


At the Edge of Lasg'len

by AnnEllspethRaven, Spamberguesa



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Ireland, M/M, Modern Era, Multi, Sindarin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 163
Words: 2,780,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spamberguesa/pseuds/Spamberguesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We can safely say, you won't find another fic like this anywhere. It started out with the basic idea of a mortal woman meeting a faded Elvenking Thranduil in modern Ireland. Then it sprouted wings, and became a full-on epic about the elves of the Woodland Realm meeting both Ireland and the world, and all the craziness that comes along with these two vastly different entities colliding...along with a king obligated to lead his people through changes he could not initially imagine. Interpersonal relationships, thorny social/psychological problems, matters of history, culture and politics...it's all here. If you join our little world, we hope you will laugh, cry and everything in between. Nothing that happens in this story is simple, or obvious, because it is about the eternal quest for love and acceptance--of self, and others. And more besides. We hope you enjoy reading as much as we've enjoyed the writing.<br/>*We publish a chapter a week, give or take.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> *This story does not carry a rape/non-con tag because no scenes of sexual assault occur 'onscreen' in our story. However, there are characters who deal with the aftermath of rape and rape trauma as well as the damage done by gender-based hate crimes; there are fairly extensive discussions of these struggles. All chapters that contain potential triggers (recollections, 'flashbacks', attempted assaults) are clearly identified with warnings at the beginning. The same is done for any chapters that contain scenes of graphic violence.*
> 
>  
> 
> Many Acknowledgements: 
> 
> To Spamberguesa, for bringing in her OC's from the Ettelëaverse series (they appear in later chapters), and for help and support with all things Irish and Ireland. After chapter 16 all material is co-written; AO3 didn't initially leave an elegant way to be clear on this.
> 
> To fellow author Nuredhel, who has supported this story generously with her time and feedback, and has agreed to be our Beta Reader (lucky us!!).
> 
> To reader Agent Of Entropy, who proofreads and does badly needed needed admin work on this monster of a story.
> 
> To Mary and Malinornë, authors of the stunning Thranduil stories found at www.thranduil.net, for their original character Thaladir, which provided loose inspiration for our OEC "Thanadir". 
> 
> To Lilith di Libri, for both proofreading the early drafts of this tale and providing valuable insights.
> 
> Most awkwardly, to the author who I now cannot find because s/he took down their very good unfinished piece...about a faded Thranduil that lived in a modern-day woods, and was in the process of seducing a firieth of his own. While this trope is the only thing that our stories share, reading it planted the seeds for this one. If the author ever re-posts their work, I will certainly give credit.
> 
> To the authors of every scholarly site on the entire Internet regarding the Sindarin language in general, and the "Sindarin for Beginners" Facebook group in particular. I could not have hoped to learn anything were it not for those who created instructional materials and who have been willing to help me keep learning.  
> For a topic as narrow as "the fictional languages of Tolkien", there is a surprising amount of dissent and divergence out there, even among persons formally educated as linguists and with access to the published letters and notes of JRR Tolkien that most of us lack. I do not pretend to be any kind of expert; my goal has been to learn to use the language in a manner that reflects the grammar and vocabulary available for this later elven tongue, and not the free-for-all that I have seen in some stories, where authors pull a phrase or three off of an unverified fan site with no regard to anything about the history of the elven peoples.That being said, I am still actively learning; there will be ongoing changes, because this just isn't easy. It will be the effort of many years. The Sindarin in this story is included to hopefully give readers a window into a fascinating yet difficult to access part of JRRT's creation. The use of the elven languages adds seasoning and flavor to an already enjoyable dish. I'm doing my best, and going back to correct mistakes when I learn more. 
> 
> To lambengolmor Elaran, who has supplied many corrections of the Sindarin and all of the Quenya used in the story.
> 
> This fic is not canonical, especially on the laws for elven marriage, elven fading, the Valar, and more. Seriously, do not use this piece as your reference for "the truth about Tolkien's elves." Though, just to tweak with your brain, many of the things mentioned are indeed solidly based in the legendarium, and the story tackles many deeper issues of JRRT's larger creation. We actually do know the difference, but, it's a fic, and we did what we felt we needed to in order to tell this particular story. :-)
> 
> There are many, many Irish names in this story, and some are pronounced nothing at all as they would look to an English speaker.
> 
> Earlene = Air lean (this is a variant of Arlene!)  
> Aislinn = Ashlin  
> Mairead = Ma-raid  
> Niamh = Neeve  
> Siobhan = Shivon  
> Saoirse = Suhrsha (younger women), Sheersa (women past 40)  
> Nuala = Noola  
> Aurnia = Ar-nya  
> Mallaidh = Mah-laith  
> Ailill = All-yill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our story begins on February 21, 2016...

Earlene stepped off the plane at Donegal International Airport, feeling desperately tired after traveling so far and enduring a tedious layover. And perhaps, feeling so filled with inner trepidation as well. Going through the terminal at JFK had proven to be a more emotional experience than she'd bargained for. That she was truly leaving New York, and America itself, never to return...the emotions that might go along with it had not crossed her mind. As the aircraft devoured the miles over the Atlantic on its way to Dublin, she tried to reassure herself with her usual intellectual reasoning that all would be well; this journey was the culmination of years of careful planning.

Focus, discipline, unwavering dedication and determination characterized her life to date. A number of prestigious scholarships had seen her though a stellar academic career. At the end of four years of difficult study beyond her bachelor's degree, she graduated from Columbia Law School with an emphasis on corporate practice. Shortly afterward she passed the bar exam with flying colors, and the rewards for her efforts followed. 

Earlene was snapped up immediately by a prestigious Madison Street firm that aggressively recruited from among the top graduates, and her rise within the firm was meteoric. And now, at not quite forty years of age, that same blazing determination to succeed in her career had morphed into a blazing determination to assume another kind of life. While there had been great personal satisfaction in gaining high regard, prestige, and the intellectual challenges of her career, a sense of hollowness followed as well. When she had reached thirty-five, after only about ten years in active practice, it became clear to her that she had further goals, however strange they may have seemed to others. 

She remembered the day vividly, when her feelings had coalesced. After a long day in the office, she'd decided to treat herself to an early evening run in Central Park. On every occasion in which she indulged herself on the winding footpaths, she found herself drawn to Cleopatra's Needle. As she stared at it, admiringly, for the umpteenth dozenth time, it finally sank in. She might be here, solidly established as a New Yorker, but she belonged here about as much as this obelisk did. Deep inside, she wanted something else...and now she was finally aware of it.

Her solitary nature, which had allowed her to devote nearly her every waking moment to her career, wanted yet more solitude. And a chance to spend her time as she chose, perhaps explore parts of life that she had been forced to leave behind. Of Irish descent, she had nurtured a fantasy for years of living in the Emerald Isle, someday. It would be a huge transition from her apartment in Queens, and her job in Manhattan. She had embraced New York City all of these years with ease, because nowhere else could one be surrounded by millions of people and yet be completely alone, in quite the same way. With wisdom passed down from her father, she had lived unassumingly given her salary, and invested her earnings wisely. Her parents had insisted on helping her, when she enrolled at Columbia, helping her to purchase a small two-bedroom condo that looked over the East River toward Manhattan. While reimbursing her parents and taking on the mortgage had bitten deeply into the early years of her salary, the price for which it had sold had made those sacrifices more than worthwhile. In addition, a surprise inheritance from her parents when they passed, of a magnitude that she could not have guessed at, left her free to make nearly any choice within reason. 

It had still not been an easy decision. Over three years ago, after extensive research and vetting through a variety of business contacts, she had hired an agent to begin the process of helping her to find a place in which to live overseas, as well as all that would be involved in a permanent relocation. In what free time she allowed herself, she pursued her dream, and prepared. Her requirements had been simple: to have land (preferably five to ten hectares) with a functional dwelling, access to water and approved for agricultural use, and as much solitude as possible. If it had serviceable outbuildings, so much the better.

The agent had warned her about the assorted fees and the stamp duty and every other possible cost...but she could not have anticipated it when over a year ago, it came back to her that a solid possibility had been located. It was an odd parcel of almost eleven hectares, that butted up against Lasg'len Forest. Part of the parcel was wooded, and all of it was considered to be devalued agricultural land on account of the need to remove far too many trees for farming purposes.  She was certain, that she could manage the parcel for her needs. One family had held it in trust for the past century, and it had come up for private sale. The more documentation and photos she was shown, the more she was convinced that the property was a dream come true. The best part of all was, it hadn't cost remotely what it seemed like it ought to...as if she were once again in the right place at the right time. Many things in her life had gone thus; she had worked hard, but still Earlene felt somewhat charmed, as though she had a bit of luck with her. Though, she didn't believe in luck. Education, learning, and logical thinking had brought her through life, and she had little use for ideas that ran outside those parameters.

Passing through customs with her laptop and a very small array of personal necessities, she was to meet her agent's contact. This woman would drive her out to her new home. After far too much research, she had decided to forego even trying to obtain the right to drive in Ireland anytime soon; the requirements, fees, and red tape involved were truly a nightmare for anyone coming out of the United States. Plus, she was arriving with an investment portfolio that, short of the collapse of society, would allow for her financial freedom. A bicycle with a detachable trailer would be her sophisticated transport to a nearby village for groceries and small purchases; this move was with the intention to live in solitude, not go hobnobbing all the time. If she really needed a ride somewhere, she could afford to hire it until she worked out the public systems. And for the rest of it, there was the fabulous world of online shopping.

The agent met her, dressed in a suitably professional manner for Earlene's tastes.  While she was not overly vain about her own above-average looks, her career had taught her the value of good grooming. She dressed conservatively, wore just enough makeup to enhance her appearance, and maintained physical fitness as part of the regimen of her law practice. Her glossy dark brown hair was kept shoulder length, allowing her to transform it into a style appropriate for the office at a moment's notice. If there was one detraction from her appearance, it would be that her demeanor was one of great reservation. Effusive smiles and cheer were not something that brought a woman far, in the competitive and serious world she'd inhabited. 

About an hour's time would be required to reach their destination, and she was  debriefed on the remainder of the arrangements that had been prepared. She was handed keys to the home, an envelope of cash that had been exchanged on her behalf, documentation on the shipment of her personal effects and their expected time of arrival, reference materials, on and on. It pleased her to see that all of this information had been laid out in an organized format, neatly assembled in a binder. This was the manner in which she herself worked, and expected no less from those she had hired. Earlene  was professionally polite, but inside of herself felt practically giddy at the thought of reaching her destination and sleeping off the incredible fatigue she felt. No matter how great the level of her organization, the last days of preparation for this transition had taken their toll.

At last, they pulled in, and she stepped out of the vehicle. Onto her land. Her home. The sense of this finally having happened flooded into her, though she was too disciplined to show any emotion. It was impossible to avoid noticing the largest beech tree she had ever seen, right at the edge of the driveway, and that many smaller specimens graced the rear of the property, along with birch and others. She was led inside, and shown courteously the basic features of the home, and that there were reference materials for these as well. The documentation had been prepared by someone who had also lived in the States...and understood the differences in managing the affairs of daily life in Ireland and America. There was a generous supply of food in the pantry, and a well-stocked small refrigerator. A fire had been lit in the wood stove, and telephone and computer service and other utilities had already been connected. Some bottles of wine for welcome had even been left for her, and a local handyman/caretaker would be by every two days to check on necessities, and solve any further issues, as she accustomed herself to her new life. 

Thanking the woman profusely, she was at long last left in her home with an immeasurable sigh of relief. Though, now that she was alone, she found that she had just a little more energy. She had to at least look around, after waiting so long. But first....she added more wood to the stove, filled the kettle with a view to some tea, and sliced some of the fruit she saw on the counter. After eating a few pieces, and with a steaming mug in her hands, winding paths took her to see the acreage. Some old and sadly neglected (but redeemable) fruit trees met her eyes, as well as many potential garden sites. Her summers, growing up and even into her first years of college, had been spent with grandparents that had tenaciously kept a small farm until they passed on. 

Earlene owed her good start in life to the fact that her own father had rejected the idea of farming from a young age. Not wanting to have the life of hard work and heartaches he saw his parents endure, he had applied himself diligently, eventually becoming a highly regarded surgeon. That same ethic of self-discipline had been instilled into his daughter and son. And yet, she'd spent her summers well into young adulthood on gran's farm, and had become thoroughly acquainted with the work. She might not be able to operate an entire farm alone, but everything about growing, machinery, canning and cooking....that she knew. Her brother Aidan had had very different interests; after they had finally flown the nest they rarely saw each other, except on the rare family holidays when everyone travelled back home. With any luck, a few dairy goats would be hers before long, and she would begin the process of keeping busy in her little world.

Walking to the wooded part, she looked up. The trees were just beginning to bud; winter kept its grip here much as it did in New York. It was fortuitous that she could arrive when she did, and take advantage of what would pass for the growing season here. She had always liked the white bark of beeches. As she walked past them, she trailed her hand along the trunks. "Mine," she said, hardly believing her luck. Faintly, she heard an echo, but in what seemed like a masculine voice. It seemed far away, yet determined. _Mine._ She laughed, feeling deliriously silly in her tiredness. "Mine, mine, mine!" she pushed back, giggling. Once again, she heard it. Stronger. _Mine._

"Clearly, it is time for rest", she mumbled to herself with a slight degree of concern, sipping her tea. Returning to the house, she closed up. Her grandparents had never locked anything on their farm, but this wasn't there, and better safe than sorry. She finished her fruit, and looked at the rooms. This was basically a large cottage, but the single bedroom did contain a rather ample bed for one person; basically a queen sized mattress. Finishing her tea and making ready for sleep, she damped down the stove and filled it for the night. Pulling the covers over herself, she shut down her cell phone. She had no intention of waking until she'd taken all the rest she wanted.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 22, 2016

The hands of the clock were moving just past noon, when she woke the following day. Her recollections were of dreams that had been pleasant, but strange. A great deal of what she remembered seemed to revolve around the trees in the woods. In the dream, the images were of the woods outside her cottage, and yet not. There were trees that were far greater, as if what remained now was the barest shadow of something that had stood long before. Great oaks, birch and beech gave way to mixed conifers of impressive size and density. 

She shrugged off the memory, and rose to rekindle the stove, feeling very grateful that her foresight had included the retainer of  a  caretaker. The value of help with matters such as firewood really could not be underestimated. 

There was much she wished to do today, and feeling well-rested, she was eager to begin. The bulk of her personal belongings were not scheduled to arrive for at least a week; in the meantime, she intended to assess the property. After extracting a clipboard and notepad from her laptop case, she plugged in her devices, pairing them up to the wireless service that somehow was available out here. Finding a  cooking pot, she proceeded to add the ingredients necessary for a decent porridge. A large container of a good milled grain mix rested on the pantry shelf, with butter in the refrigerator; she intended to make use of it, along with an egg and tea. It was just as well, out here, that she had never picked up a coffee habit.

Wearing a heavy knit sweater found in the closet, jeans and Wellingtons, she headed out with pen in hand. But not before she recalled, with a smile, that she'd need to let go of the word "sweater." She was in Ireland now, and they were called "jumpers" here. What perhaps served once as a a small barn looked to be in excellent condition. Copious note-taking ensued. Stall space, benches on which to make repairs, and room for storing forage were recorded next to lists for the basic tools of gardening; hoes, shovels, pitchfork, a wheelbarrow and an array of smaller necessities such as utility tubs were either present and in usable condition, or showed evidence of having been newly procured.  Pruning saws and cutting tools hung from neatly arranged hooks. There were a few power tools, including a mower, tiller, chainsaw, and petrol and oil to go with all of them. A typical array of lubricants, solvents, paints and oils from a previous owner lined one shelf. All were safely stored in appropriate containers, she noted with approval.

A much smaller and less well-built structure that could serve as a potting shed caught her eye. The place had an electric well pump; she located spigots and hosepipes, as well as the master circuit box and other devices of similar importance. Next, she elected to walk the property line. Evidence of surveyor's work was still visible in the form of stakes, the first of which extended just beyond the great beech out front. She placed her hand on it. 

 _Mine._  

She frowned. Since things like that could not and did not happen, she would simply disregard it. Stopping at what was clearly intended to be an orchard, she assessed the neglect of the poor fruit trees with greater attention to detail. These were apples, and plums, and possibly pears, though who knew what variety, exactly. They would need pruning, and soon; that was a high priority. A rough sketch was made of the layout, and approximate dimensions.

Following the line back, she entered the woods, and touched the trees again. 

 _Mine, mine._  

If she were willing to completely acknowledge that she was hearing the words, she would have said their tone was one of insistence, and anger. She frowned and curled her lip up. "Preposterous." When alone, she liked to speak aloud. But then she thought a moment, and smirked, deciding to play along. "Yours." 

_Yes._

Her eyebrows raised. Perhaps this was some prank, on the part of the locals? She was not ignorant of the sense of humor that existed in this part of the world, or the fact that as an emigrant she could hope to assimilate...pretty much never...into life here. A prank directed at the new American owner would make a great deal of sense, she concluded. 

That was a major factor in her decision to relocate; she knew small town life, thanks to her summers on the farm. One was a native, or an outsider, period. Sure, a person might stay forty or fifty years, and eventually gain a high level of acceptance, but she'd had enough experiences to know that small towns were just that...small. There was a way about these communities, and the people who lived in them. It did no good, to become offended; the attitudes just went with the territory. And besides, there was much that was good in them to appreciate, as well.

Emerging from the trees, she inspected the other part of the parcel, which had a less common feature; an old-style water tower, that was frankly a bit of a monstrosity. It seemed sound enough, but she did not relish having to ever tend or repair it...this was a deficit in her knowledge. Currently the pump sent water into it, so that meant it was a glorified pressure tank. She elected to place it in the category of "if it isn't broken, don't fix it," at least for now. Earlene could not say why she felt so compelled to do this, but just before she returned to the house, she looked back at the woods, and yelled rather forcefully, "MINE!" Laughing to herself, she shut the door behind her.

*****

The ancient and faded presence that had once been one of the great Elvenkings of Arda was deeply annoyed. He had defended his woods against assorted intrusions for millennia, having managed to drive off or otherwise manage almost every human interloper by one means or another. Though he was almost fully spirit now, not every bit of his rhaw, his corporeal body, was yet gone. He'd had no need of it, for a very long time. An elven fae, the immortal spirit component of his kind, could not die, and was bound to the plane of this world. Long years had passed, since the realms of Beleriand existed, into which he had been born. He had chosen long ago never to sail to Aman, the land to which all of his kind were called home and to which many had returned. He had promised the Silvan elves of his woods, what seemed like an eternity ago, that he would never leave them. 

And he never had; their King was true to his word. Even now, in his vast Halls hidden below the humus of this forest, some of those who had similarly diminished kept him company. Though, they had little to do, except care for the woods and take occasional note of the humans surrounding them, while otherwise lost in contemplation and memory. In the absence of effort to the contrary, and the easier bodily renewal that nearness to the Valar could bring them, their physical bodies had been gradually consumed by the demands of time. That was why they called it "fading"; they could no longer be easily seen by human eyes, but still had some power to interact with the physical world. Though, they remained visible enough to each other, as elves saw with a different sight. The process was reversible, though difficult; it required a great effort that could only be justified for a matter of pressing need.

The Elvenking had never permitted himself to fade quite so much as his subjects; it was his duty not to. He had ever been wiser, more powerful, more learned in lore than those under him. There were ways, in which to care for the rhaw, to coax its cells back to life and vigor, as long as the merest ember of them remained. And now, once again, a human occupied the accursed dwelling at the very edge of his forest. A female. He had been watchful for months now, as he observed the increase in activity at the home. An assortment of them had come, apparently workers, to make improvements and repairs. And in the last few days, the amount of traffic in and out had reached a crescendo. And yet none of them ever remained past sunset, confirming to him that none of these dwelled there....until now. Whoever she was, she was not working, she was _occupying_. If his first interactions were any indication, she would prove difficult. He smiled to himself. It was no matter. Was he not Thranduil? No mortal had ever stood against him, because none ever could. And perhaps, after so very long, it was once again time to amuse himself. That she was female, would almost assuredly only make his task that much easier. And enjoyable.

*****

Drinking her afternoon tea, Earlene looked at the modest yet spacious living area. There was a cozy couch on which to sit or lie down, and a small bookshelf. Just above it, a flat screen television dominated the wall. A coffee table, wingback chair nearer the stove, and smatterings of assorted lamps, which made for a cozy yet uncluttered rustic ambiance. She looked at the volumes. Someone had had a taste for fantasy, she saw. A well-worn copy of "The Lord of the Rings" seemed to have been the best loved, of all the titles here. She'd never read it, having had no time for such things. Though, she removed it form the shelf, and allowed the pages to fan past her fingers. What caught her attention were the Appendices. _A fantasy book, with appendices? Why would such a thing exist?_ Her extremely analytical mind found this to be quite...odd. She turned the pages here more slowly, noting everything from family trees to linguistic instructions, complete with strange letterings. Her eyebrows raised. This book was quite an elaborate creation, she realized, having spent her life with her nose in books of one kind or another. Being able to read well, and quickly, had been a necessity of her career. Idly turning the pages to what was entitled "The Tale of Years," she was almost ready to snap the book closed when a single word caught her eye. Lasgalen. _Like Lasg'len?_ She frowned, and read:

_" And on the day of the New Year of the Elves Celeborn and Thranduil met in the midst of the forest; and they renamed Mirkwood Eryn Lasgalen, The Wood of Greenleaves. Thranduil took all the northern region as far as the mountains that rise in the forest for his realm; and Celeborn took the southern wood below the Narrows..."_

She replaced the volume, but not before she went to her notepad and wrote down "Thranduil and Celeborn." Moving impulsively to her laptop, she first entered their names, and then later the word Lasgalen, into the search engine. What came back told her in short order that these were the names of two fictional elves, both of which had been rulers in their equally fictional realms. And there were hits that made mention of this village, though precious few; she had known that much when she researched the place. And that the one called Thranduil figured in a related story, entitled "The Hobbit."  Strange, she thought, that in all the world this word occurred in only two places. "Lasg'len, or Lasgalen," she murmured aloud. "Either way it is a lovely name."

_Mine._

Looking up from her computer screen, her body steeled against what she saw as a challenge. Apparently this prank was truly an elaborate one. Were there hidden speakers, in the home and grounds? Technology had advanced so far that the smallest sound devices were now a possibility...networked to a computer, it would be quite an endeavor, yet entirely possible, to pull something like this off. 

"Look, whoever you are, there are a few things you ought to know, to save us both a lot of bother. The supernatural does not exist, so all your effort to convince me that my home is haunted, possessed, or overrun with fae will not succeed. If you are looking to have fun, scaring off the frightened Yank, you're wasting your time. It may take me awhile, but I will figure out how you are creating the voice. And then we will all have a laugh, and I'll take no offense." Silkily, she added, "Besides, I know how this works. You have nothing better to do with your time, and you think I will eventually succumb to your games. Won't happen. Though, I suppose you'll keep at it, regardless. If you've so much spare time, I'd rather have help outside with the trees, thanks very much." 

Silence. She smirked. _I thought as much..._

Finding potatoes, a cabbage, and some ground beef, she determined to work out a shepherd's pie for her dinner. She had familiarized herself with the kitchen thoroughly by the time this was completed, and enjoyed her first real dinner with the bottle of wine she'd seen yesterday. Having not yet decided on television service beyond simple broadband, and still having no desire to read the Lord of the Rings, she turned in not long after her meal. A long and comfortable flannel shirt, held closed with a button or two, was her favorite nightdress.

The dream that ensued was vivid and compelling. A man came to her; tall, powerfully built, and unimaginably beautiful. His pale blond hair was far longer than hers, falling well past his shoulders, but not an ounce of him appeared feminine. Quite the contrary. He radiated power, and desirability. He looked at her with eyes as blue as the ocean on a sunny day; flecks of perhaps some other color added to the effect; they were ethereal. And those eyes were framed by heavy brows of a much darker color, that threw his entire face into sharp contrast; it was these brows that transformed a face she would usually have thought of as "man-pretty" into "devastatingly handsome". He wore clothing that seemed antiquated, out of place anywhere outside of a Renaissance Faire. A loose white shirt, quite long, was significantly unbuttoned. He wore fitted breeches, and boots. His clothing called to mind a rider, or a hunter, but it was impossible to say. What of his skin she could see was flawless, pale, and yet an expression of his obvious vigor.

Finely formed fingers reached out to her, offering, as an inviting smile played across his face. Even in her dream, she hesitated. Her life had not allowed time for dating, and men, but...something primal inside of her raged back. _This is a dream. For god's sake, run with it._ Not believing on some level that she was doing this, she placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around her hand, and with slow but insistent pressure he drew her into his arms, where she could smell the attractive and powerfully masculine scent of his body. He caressed her back with warm hands as he gently closed his mouth over hers. The pressure and warmth from his soft lips ignited a fire. Her body and mind both reeled, as he pulled back, smiling, to look at her. How badly she wanted more surprised her. He kissed her again, and this time the barest flick of his tongue asked for entrance into her mouth. Yielding to him, she had the sweetest encounter of her life, as her mind freed itself to the experience. His hand reached up to caress her breast, over the fabric of her clothing, before slipping inside to gently cup her. His fingers brushed lightly over a nipple that had hardened under his touch, before traveling much further down. All the while his lips and tongue gently but insistently explored her mouth.

His fingers traced down her belly without resistance, to tangle lightly in the sparse hair of her mound. With deeper kisses, his fingers barely brushed over her folds, and found evidence of desire there. With  humming sound in his throat, he lifted his fingers to his mouth, tasting them; he appeared to be very pleased. When his hand returned to touch her again, her belly lurched sharply from the flare of heat inside of her, gasping.

She sat bolt upright, awake, panting, her thoughts lost in what she'd dreamt. Groaning audibly, she tried to catch her breath. She reached her hand down to feel herself, finding that she had indeed become wet. Beyond wet. It had been such a vivid dream....she was soaked with desire, and whimpered. 

"Why did I have to wake up?" she whispered. "The first dream like that in my entire life, and I have to wake up. And god, he was so beautiful. I never have dreams like that." A glass of water was at her bedside, and she drank half if it down, pulling the covers back over her. She reached her hand down again to touch herself, wondering. There had been so few times she had ever tried this, and she was not very good at it. Already the delicious heat she remembered was fading away...it was hopeless. She closed her eyes with a sense of profound disappointment, and soon slept again. 

The dream returned. He walked toward her, and she thought she would burst from happiness. 

He spoke to her with a voice softer than velvet. _Would you like more?_

"Yes. Please, yes." Her own eagerness startled her.  

_First, you must tell me something. What is your name, sweet one?_

"Earlene."

_Very good, Earlene. Now, come here._

He resumed where he left off. He kissed her, touched her, left her breathless as he slowly built her desire. As he moved gently, relentlessly, she heard him speak again, but his words registered more in her mind. _Earlene, do you wish me to come to you again?_

"Yes, I do." Drunk with a sensation she had only ever heard described by others, how could she want otherwise? This was so vivid, and seemed so real..."Who are you?"

 _Not yet, Earlene. Do as I ask, and I will reward you._ His fingers became more insistent, as they began to work their way into her passage. _Earlene, am I the first to touch you in this way?_

"Yes."

_Then your reward will be greater, sweet one. Close your eyes._

Her inner sight went dim. She felt his hands on her hips, as he gently spread her legs, holding her. She moaned as indescribable softness closed over her nether parts, and a moist, slick warmth seemed to cover her in caresses that set her insides afire. Long fingers gently worked their way fully inside her, massaging, stretching. There was no pain, only delicious radiating heat that felt like it would spread throughout all of her. Once he had eased the entrance of his fingers, she felt herself cradled as he continued to rub inside of her folds, that were now burning with need. She felt her nipple taken into his mouth, as he suckled gently. Her back arched, as she pushed her breast to him. He increased his friction and speed, occasionally slowly lapping his tongue across her center of pleasure, until her ecstasy was blinding. With a cry, she felt her insides clench around his fingers as she rocked and pressed herself against his hand. In her life, she had never felt anything like this; the spasms of bliss and the sense of relief that followed were consuming. It was slipping away, and she was falling deeper into sleep. "Thank you," she whispered to no one.

Had anyone been there to see, they would have beheld the shimmering outline of a tall and beautiful elf, smiling as he licked his fingers with an expression of great satisfaction. _That went well,_ he thought to himself.  He had already recognized, frightening her away would require an unparalleled effort and might never succeed. It had just been established beyond doubt that an entirely different solution would be preferable. And as he savored the last tastes of her on his lips he noted that for once his duty might be entirely rewarding for him, in so many ways.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 23, 2016

Slowly, Earlene departed from sleep with the early light of morning. As awareness returned, a very strong memory of her incredible dream filled her with an elation that she barely knew what to do with. At times, she had felt something vaguely similar, such as when watching a truly engaging romantic movie. Her enjoyment of such fleeting moments had been considerable, but as with many things, she had willingly sacrificed these indulgences to her career. There was no place for daydreaming about handsome actors or emotionally charged romances among the pages of contract law, or in long case meetings whilst seated with stern men clad in tailored suits. But this... _sure god, I can have time to daydream about it now_ , she thought. Never having had an erotic dream before, it was hard to know how they were "supposed" to be. _Was it normal, to see someone so physically specific, when she could not ever recall such a person from real life? To talk to the man, like that? To be asked her name?_ Maybe it was a little weird, but a dream was a dream and...this one had been a drug. As she rose from her bed, the memory of his kiss and the feel of his hands were not far from her thoughts.

Making tea and breakfast, she realized that she could not stop the world to wallow in it, however pleasant the recollections. It had been wonderful, and now there was pruning to do. After reminding herself online about the proper techniques for apples and plum trees, and donning suitable clothes, she walked to the barn. Armed with pruning saws and loppers and whatever else she thought might be needed, she went to work on the fruit trees.

It was hardly possible nor advisable to fix this much neglect all at once, so she took care of the essentials. All dead wood was removed and stacked, and then she considered the shape of the trees. She reduced the canopy on each of them as best she could, bringing them to some semblance of a workable shape. But she also knew that Less is More, and that this was a multi-year project. Not having done this much physical activity in many years, she was becoming tired. But taking her saw with her, she walked back into the woods. There had been a few dead branches she'd seen, that could do with removing. Having cared for these, her eye then roved further. One branch that was not dead, but had grown in an inconvenient manner, hung over the pathway. It threatened to scratch her face; she'd already evaded it once. As she raised the blade of the saw to the branch, she heard her prankster, louder than before.

_No. Mine. You will do as I say._

Hesitating, she looked around her. Shaking her head, she thought a moment. Prankster nonsense or not, this could wait for another day; her shoulders already ached. Lowering the blade, she returned, dragging out some of the cut dead limbs along with her. _Why did he care what she did?_ she wondered. Whoever he was, he certainly felt a sweeping sense of entitlement. Each of her tools was hung up in its proper place, before she made one more trip to the woods to remove the last of the branches she'd pruned...cutting them up would wait. A large sandwich, a few crisps, and a piece of fruit later, she laid down on her couch and was soon asleep near the warm wood stove.

Soon, her dreams came again. Strong arms embraced her from behind, as his hands roved under her shirt to find the warm skin of her belly.

_Earlene._

She turned, to see his blue eyes staring down at her, boring through her. Wordlessly, he held her chin and kissed her firmly, thoroughly. Slowly, he pulled away, looking at her again.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, already breathless with desire.

 _I might ask you the same question, sweet one._ He looked at her, expectantly, with eyes that made her want to answer him.

"I do not understand...you came to me. And if I may not know your name, is there something I may call you?"

_I forget how little you know, Earlene. You may call me "my Lord" or "my King", for that is what I am to you. And I ask you again, why are you here? Why are you living, here?_

A caress of his fingers, down her face and neck, banished the other questions that threatened to surface from her logical mind. "I purchased this land, and have come here to live. This is my home now, my... King."

Even in her willingness to indulge in what she was certain was pleasant fantasy, speaking those two words threatened to waken her, and he seemed to realize it. He swiftly resumed his kisses and caresses. His heated hands found her breasts.

_Very good, Earlene. I am pleased. You will find that I will reward you generously for cooperation, and compliance. Would you like to feel pleasure, again?_

"Yes, my King." The term of deference came easier to her this time, and he knew it.

She continued to hear him, as he touched her. _To know me, Earlene, is an honor few are granted. I am here, because you are here. You do not yet understand, but as long as you show me the regard due to me, you will. I will never require that which will harm you, or that you cannot give. You have never had these enjoyments. They are only a beginning, Earlene._

"I always wish to have these dreams, my King."

_What are dreams, Earlene, but deep desires? I will teach you, but you are not yet ready._

Under his touches, she was soon aching for release.

 _Hear now my first command to you, Earlene. You are to cut no living wood, from the trees of the forest. Do I have your obedience?_ He had stopped his caresses, and she whimpered.

"Yes, my King."

 _Good_ , he said, as he resumed. He spoke no more, but tenderly brought her to completion, before allowing her to fade once again into deep sleep.

*****

Thranduil regarded her, asleep on her couch, with his brows knitted. He was no longer quite so concerned with the difficulty of securing the safety of his trees, though he would need to tread carefully. With a sense of easy triumph, mixed with a sprinkle of disdain, he recognized how thoroughly she did not understand her own mind. _And yet, this one can be taught_ , he considered. _More than that, she can be taken_. Smiling, he looked down at his hands, which were clearer in outline that the last time he touched her. She would restore his body. But it was her mind, for which he had to be concerned. His connection to her hung by the thread of her belief that none of this was real; she was permitting herself to indulge in what she was certain was a fantasy. He would need to surmount this, but he hardly lacked skill in securing the compliance of others.

*****

It was past mid-afternoon when she woke, suddenly aware of feeling too warm so near the stove. Rubbing at her eyes, she sat up, remembering that once again she had dreamed of him. An urgent need to use the toilet demanded her attention. As she relieved herself, she found that her soaked panties bore ample evidence of her dreams during nap time. Burying her head in her hands, she did not know what to think. Definitely, she was not ashamed; what she was feeling was an undeniable elation from a natural bodily function. _But why here, why now?_

She remembered, it had not just been carnal pleasure, this time. He had spoken to her. And while it simply could not be real, he had said, in effect, that he had come to her because she now lived here? And declared himself to be a King, her King? Shaking her head, she smiled. _Wasn't there something in psychology, about this? That women have a core need to experience masculinity, and its dominant aspect? What better way to draw that from the psyche, than to imagine not only a fabulously handsome lover, but a King...the perfect expression of male power. Maybe this is something that has been waiting to erupt inside of me all these years, held down out of reach by my self-discipline_ , she mused. _Why not give into it? Didn't I come here, to enjoy a different kind of life? And sure god, these dreams are every kind of enjoyable._

Reassembling her clothing, she felt the entire subject to have been reconciled in her mind, and moved on to think about a garden space. Returning outside, she elected to first deal with her piles of branches, retrieving the chainsaw and safety glasses. She appreciated finding that it was in good repair and started easily; nothing was more aggravating than power equipment needing more coaxing than a fussy baby in order to operate. She made quick work of the limbs, and stacked them neatly with the firewood. As the wood was all long dead, it was certainly seasoned. Recalling the one pesky limb she'd meant to cut, she walked back into the forested area to find it. But the moment she laid eyes on the offending item, she heard her prankster.

_No._

And then she recalled, with an immense frown, that her dream lover had said something else. _Cut no living wood_ , he'd told her. Commanded her, come to think about it. She switched off the chainsaw and sat down against a tree. This part did not reconcile with her thinking, at all. What deep and hidden feminine need did she have, for her psyche to tell her not to cut tree limbs? No amount of analysis yielded an answer, to this. And the end, she looked up at the branch. Either she cut the thing, or she did not. In her dream, she recalled that she had agreed to obey...him.

She stood up. As nutty and uncomfortable as this was, in her worldview, she elected to abide by her promise. But the damn branch was still in her way...

A different idea occurred to her. Returning the saw to the barn, she procured a knife, and a ball of sturdy twine. A few knots, a well aimed toss of the string ball, and a heave or two on the line later, she had the offending growth pulled two and a half feet higher. Held there long enough, she knew the wood would grow into the position in which it was tied, and eventually the twine would rot away.

"I hope me, myself, and I are happy now," she muttered, returning.

The next few hours were occupied with staking out a garden plot, and rows. As she was near to finishing this endeavor, she heard a vehicle approaching. Rising to look, she saw it was a man, driving a rather beat-up looking lorry, well-laden with firewood. She recalled that the agent had informed her that the hired caretaker was named...Ian. He opened the door immediately, to introduce himself in a friendly enough manner.

"I amn't wantin' to bother ye, ma'am, but I'm after havin' loaded the lorry, and I t'ought I'd care for 't all, an' see how yer gettin' on." He looked around with a slight air of nervousness, she noted, specifically aimed in the direction of the woods.

"Very well, thank you. I appreciate your bringing the wood; I'll help you offload it."

They worked silently together, until all was neatly stacked. Only then did her small pile of cut wood catch his eye. His expression changed to one of alarm.

"If I might give a bit 'v advice, ma'am, ye'd do well ne'er to be cuttin' on any'v the trees in t' woods. 'Tis....unlucky."

Smiling, she nodded. "I will be sure to keep that in mind," she replied, though inside of herself her gut clenched at yet one more intrusion onto this subject. After she thanked him once again, he soon departed.

As she prepared dinner, Earlene realized that she was looking forward to bedtime, with a somewhat inordinate amount of hopefulness. When all was tidied, she did decide that the least she could do was read a book. Looking at the shelf again, she found a volume on gardening, that she took to bed with her. But as much of it was far beneath her own level of knowledge, she grew sleepy from the inanity of it. Switching off the lamp, she drifted away.

She saw no one, but felt strong, warm hands kneading her sore and tired muscles, and she moaned in enjoyment.

 _You worked hard today, Earlene, and pleased me very much._ Warm breath puffed against her ear, as she felt soft kisses on her neck. She felt confusion.

"How did I please you?" The hands stopped their motion.

 _How did I please you, my Lord_ , he corrected.

She had forgotten. "I am sorry, my King. How did I please you, my Lord?" she asked again, hopeful that he might resume his caresses.

The hands expertly delved into the most tender muscle, behind her shoulder blade, and she was unable to stifle another moan of enjoyment.

 _You remembered to obey me, in the end. You did not cut my tree._ His hands moved now, to rove over her breasts, which made considering what he'd just said somewhat more difficult. But with her high level of intelligence, difficult was not the same as impossible, and the connection was being made.

"Your tree, my Lord? You cannot mean...it cannot have been you, that I have been hearing. That cannot happen..."

Thranduil knew this would be a critical moment for her, and expertly guided her to the result he desired. He kissed her gently, until she relaxed again into his embrace.

 _Sweet one, is everything outside of your previous experience something that cannot happen?_ He spoke very gently, as his hands slowly traveled over her body, awakening her desire yet again, while allowing her mind time to consider.

"When said in those words, no, my King, but...this is a dream, and what I heard before was not."

She felt herself lifted in his powerful arms, and positioned so as to straddle him, and was rapidly and thoroughly distracted by her placement over the very firm bulge in his trousers. He turned her chin, and required her to look at him.

_Earlene, at one time your kind believed the earth to be flat, fire from the gods, and anything that could not be easily explained to be magic. Is it not possible that still, there is more to be known, and understood? That even now, occurrences that seem out of the ordinary are entirely possible....and real?_

As he left her to think, he reached down and brushed his thumb over her center of pleasure, causing her to whimper, and gasp. She reached out to steady herself against him, only for both of her wrists to be caught in his hands. He moved faster than she was capable of following with her eyes.

He smiled gently, but with a hint of dominance. _To be permitted to touch me without invitation is a privilege you have not yet earned, Earlene._

She looked down, offering him no resistance, embarrassed at having overstepped her bounds. "I am sorry, my Lord. I did not realize."

He tightened his net on her mind further. _Do you wish to know how to earn this? I have already told you that you will not be asked for more than you can give, Earlene._

With her intimate entrance pressed up against a warm object of inestimable desire that she could feel pulsing beneath her, separated only by millimeters of fabric, she very much wished to know.

"Yes, my King...please," she added.

Thranduil smiled. It was not her fault, that she could not withstand him. As the humans trained their pets, so must he train her, bending her will to serve his. It was such a simple matter, for him to use her basic nature against her.

_You must agree that tomorrow, you will walk into the woods. You will kneel there, close your eyes, and call out to your King. You will not open your eyes, nor will you attempt to touch me without my permission. Will you obey me in this?_

It did not sound hard, at all, and she wanted so badly to reach out to him.

"I will obey you, my King."

 _Very good, my sweet one._ He brought her hands to his body, and released her wrists. Once again, he was clad in a partially buttoned shirt. Running her hands over his arms, and up to his shoulders, she felt his hard and sculpted muscles. His form was beautiful. As he watched her obvious enjoyment and reverence, he undid a few of the buttons, and moved her hands to gently indicate for her to keep going. Trembling with desire, she did as he had wordlessly asked. When all the buttons were undone, she hovered her fingers over his chest, looking up to his eyes to see if she had permission for this as well.

And because she did not presume, he allowed it, inclining his head to her in assent. She carefully slid the garment off his shoulders, guiding it after it fell down around his forearms. Delicately, she brought each of his hands out of the sleeves, and respectfully laid his clothing aside. His skin faintly glowed, she could now see. Slowly, she reached out to him again, still looking for his permission before placing her hands on him. Even more pleased, and knowing what she wished, he pulled her into his embrace. A cry escaped her lips, at the ecstasy of her bare breasts pressing against his heated skin. As he rubbed her back, she melted against him, giddy as her arms wrapped around him, having almost forgotten the growing urgency between her legs.

Thranduil was not fully prepared for the intensity of her responses to such small concessions, on his part. It had been an immeasurably long time, since he had experienced a maid. And yet here was not only an opportunity to further cement his cause, but gain his own enjoyment as well.

_Do you wish for yet another privilege, Earlene? Do you wish to please your King as he pleases you?_

She somehow knew, that he was not offering her what she wanted the most...not if even to touch him was placed on a pedestal. There seemed to be strings attached, to what he granted her, however simple the strings were. But god yes, she'd take whatever he was willing to give.

"Yes, my King," she said, trying to hide the eagerness in her voice.

He chuckled. _There is no shame in your desire, sweet one. No other can give you what I can, and I expect you to hunger for my touch, and the feel of my skin. Kneel before me._

It was not as hard to do this as she thought it might be, when she first heard him demand it. From her posture of submission, she watched with rapt attention as he slowly loosened the ties on his trousers, and freed himself. He was large, but not ridiculously so. With her hands, she slid his trousers down a little lower, again looking to him in the event it would meet with disapproval. While she had never done this before, she was fairly certain what he wanted....and even she had seen a few videos in her life. He watched as her delicate hands touched him, exploring his masculinity. His skin here was impossibly smooth and soft, in contrast to the hardness of his arousal. She noticed that touching in certain places caused him to breathe sharply. And finally, tentatively, she put her lips to his erection, and took him in her mouth. A groan of pleasure escaped him, which encouraged her.

What she did not expect was the taste of him...his skin here was like honey, filled with sweetness. She moved him in and out, trying to accustom her jaw and mouth to what she was doing. From time to time she tried to take him deeply in, but he was too large, and she could only manage it for split seconds at a time. And yet he seemed just as pleased with her other efforts, if the sounds coming from him were any indication. What drove her on most, though, was this savoring of his skin. From time to time, he would leak his arousal into her mouth, and the flavor was different, like ambrosia. The want of this caused her to suck on him harder, with greater variation, in the hopes of drawing more. She heard him, once again.

_It is only fair to warn you, Earlene, that after this, your need for me will increase. But unless I am very much mistaken, even now, you could not stop if you wished to._

A glance up at him revealed that he gazed down on her, the lust on his face tinged almost with a hint of pity. But he was right. Though, whether she could or could not stop was not the question...she did not wish to. Her silent response was to work at him harder; anything to draw more of the sweetness from him. It was not terribly long before his sounds of pleasure came tumbling from him almost nonstop, until the final moment when she felt him begin to go rigid. He twined one of his hands into her hair, gripping it. A reward she could not have imagined rushed over her tongue. The sweetness she had craved from him, one drop at a time, now made way for the most intoxicatingly complex savoring she had ever encountered. With a greed she did not know was possible, she swallowed over and over, trying to pull every molecule of the flavor from her lips and tongue. When forced to realize that she had removed every taste of his emission, she kissed his manhood gently, truly sorry that the moment was over. And with this mighty distraction gone, only now did she realize that her loins were soaked with want.

Thranduil, for his part, was very satisfied, and in more than one way. He was un-fading very rapidly; it would take only a few additional encounters with her to finish the task.

_Well done, Earlene. Rise now, and receive pleasure from your King._

He lifted her up, and laid her flat, bringing her legs to rest over his shoulders. As his mouth took her, eagerly lapping up all of her wetness, she enjoyed pointing her toes down to gently caress the skin of his bare back with her feet. This time, he only occasionally teased her with his fingers; but made full use of his mouth. As she became insensible under his ministrations, she could only wonder how it was possible to know how to do that much with a tongue. No sooner did she wonder this, when a humming from him vibrated against her center, causing her climax to burst in her loins. He held her hips firmly and kept his tongue against her throughout, leaving her deeply satisfied...and exhausted. With a last kiss from him, placed on her forehead, she was lost to further awareness.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 24, 2016

Earlene woke and decided that it was high time she investigated the bathtub. There was an antique clawfoot in the bathroom with newly restored enamel, which she eyed. While it was fitted with a shower head and curtain, a bath was what she wished. It was always about the hot water tap, with these things. Turning it on full, she then went to set the kettle on the stove to boil. Returning, she tested the water pouring out. The temperature was better than she hoped, which meant that just maybe, she might use that kettle for tea, and not in a desperate attempt to keep a bath from going cold far too soon. The metal on these old tubs had an amazing capacity to leach the warmth out of even the hottest water, and she knew to run the tub much warmer than she'd wish it for bathing, on account of this. Seeing that all was probably well, she made a second trip back to stoke up the fire in the stove. It looked for all the world like it was going to rain today, which would dampen outdoor plans.

By the time she had the stove burning brightly, the kettle had boiled, and now she could return to the clawfoot with a mug of tea in hand. Locating some towels, she turned off the taps and climbed in. With a sigh of happiness, she lowered herself into the steaming water that felt almost too hot...she knew that it would cool down fast enough. Leaning her head back, she allowed the water to seep into her hair, before jamming her shoulder blades against the wall of the tub, anchoring herself into a position to soak.

And now, she could no longer defer considering what she had shoved out of her active thoughts since the moment her eyes had opened.

 _What in hell had happened, last night?_ Her memories were complete, sharp and clear as the soap cake now in front of her, including all that he had said. And even she could no longer ignore the sheer improbability of the same man, in the same erotic dream, every. damn. time. she had fallen asleep in this house. With a groan, she remembered the taste of him, the feel of his skin under her hands. A sharp spasm of physical yearning from her nether parts, so strong that it caused her to cross her legs over each other, seemed to lend credence to what he had told her. She wanted him again, and so badly that her hands trembled on her tea mug a little, merely at the thought of it. For the first time it dawned on her, perhaps she was in some kind of danger. And she'd gotten this far into it because of, as he had put it, a total inability to believe in that which was outside her experience. But what was she supposed to do, never go to sleep? This was happening in her dreams, not when she was awake.

 _He said he'd never harm her_...she snorted into her own mug, spraying hot tea back up onto her face. Irritated, she wiped it away. "You believe everything strange men who appear in your dreams tell you?" She groaned. "Apparently, I do," she said to no one in particular. Then she recalled, there was something she had promised to do today. Promised him. Not to be done in the next dream, but in reality. And that she was even considering it, made her head spin.

"I only ever wanted to move someplace beautiful, and quiet, and have a garden. Maybe a few goats. I worked so hard, for so long, to have coming here be possible...and now this." She was quite aware, how badly she was ensnared by her newly awakened sexual desire. It was an incredibly powerful drive, and not something she knew how to resist...or if she wanted to. And she knew also, she was alone in the world. There was no one to call, and ask for advice. "It isn't fair," she muttered.

"That is a pointless conclusion," she told herself in disgust. "Since when is life fair? Would you make some whiny claim like that, to a judge?"

Grabbing the soap, and a washcloth, she scrubbed herself clean. She washed her hair with the small bottle of shampoo she'd brought, and finished her tea. Leaning back again into the water, she worked the suds out with her fingers, luxuriating in the calming sensation of her loose hair floating in the water. With the drain plug removed, she ran the tap again for a few minutes, filling her empty tea mug repeatedly, to pour the clean water over her hair for a final rinse before climbing out. Pouring out a favorite body oil concoction of lavender, peppermint and a few other favorite scents,  she rubbed it into her arms and legs while they were still quite damp. She dried her hair with the towel, dressed, and went to see about breakfast.

Having no wish to think further on her personal dilemmas just now, she wolfed down her porridge and opened her laptop. It was time to deal with the outside world, and cope with her rapidly bloating Inbox, though of course with another mug of steaming tea. Her formal letter of resignation to her firm had included a promise of availability, in a consulting capacity, for a generous period of time. Though, she'd gone to great efforts to close out her cases before the relocation. While she never expected to return to that world, it was the right and decent thing to do. Ensuring that she departed on the best possible terms from the colleagues that had so generously provided opportunity for advancement, was what felt right. Or as her gran would have said it, "Don't burn your bridges."

And yet after a glance at the first case query, she rolled her eyes and pushed the screen away. It was no good. Already she felt like a cat in heat, and there was no getting around what she would inevitably go and do today. If it was going to rain, as her desktop forecast suggested, then better to get this over with beforehand. Finding a hat to keep her damp hair from "bein' the death 'v her", as gran would also have said, she walked outside and marched past the edge of the woods.

Earlene lingered there for a very long time, trying to wrap her mind around what she was about to do. Her discomfort was pitched, on so many levels. In the end, only a sense that any solution to this lay on the other side of this action allowed her feet to continue. She forced herself to walk on, and before long her hands were idly brushing the tree trunks.

_Mine._

She stopped, in surprise, looking around once again, though she knew she would not see anyone. Her impulsive response told her, more than anything else, that she'd never really stood much of a chance, by coming here.

"Yes, my King. Yours."

There was no answer, so she walked on further. He'd not specified a place, and here seemed as good as anywhere. Recalling his instructions, she knelt down, sitting on her own legs with her feet extended behind her, and closed her eyes tightly. She anchored her hands on her thighs, remembering that she was not to try to touch him. He'd said to call out...which she interpreted as somewhere between a louder voice and a yell. "My King, I am here as you commanded me to be."

Only silence greeted her ears. A few moments went by, causing her to wonder. "Which is more insane, being here with no reply, or being here with one?" she muttered to herself.

"Neither is, Earlene," she heard in the soft masculine voice that she recognized too well. She bowed her head in trepidation. _This was now unavoidably real._

She immediately felt a warm hand on her cheek. "Do not fear me, Earlene. I promised you that I would never require anything that would harm you. I do not lie. I know what it took, for you to come to me here. But it was the only way to bring you past the limitations of your thinking."

Her brain was too muddled, with the sharp discomfort of facing the truth. She could not help leaning into his hand. And through this touch, she sensed that he was lowering himself down, to be closer to her.

"You must keep your eyes closed, Earlene, but you may reach out to me." She felt his arms closing around her, and she returned his embrace. Pulled close to him, as badly as she did not wish to, she began to cry.

"My Lord, why are you doing this to me? You have trapped me, by my own desires and shortsightedness. What have I done to you, to earn this?"

He stroked her back with gentle circles, soothing her. "I have indeed, Earlene. I will not deny it. At the outset, I did this to secure the safety of my woods from you. While you did not know it, your new home lies within the borders of my Realm. I am King, Earlene, and I have had a duty to perform since long before you were born, and will have it yet long after you pass on. Yet for all of this, my words have been true; I will not require that which will harm you, and can offer you great rewards in return for your obedience. It is because of a twist of fate, that you are here. But now that you have come, you are being offered an opportunity that you cannot yet understand. I am not cruel; I will fulfill the desires I have awakened in you, for as long as you wish to have this. The only price is that you continue to obey me, by not harming my woods."

She considered. For all that any woman could find much to be angry about, hearing this speech, Earlene was not just any woman. For one used to playing elaborate games revolving around what constituted "truth," she found his frank admission of motives to be completely refreshing. After a lifetime of teasing facts and truth from dark corners, someone who had enough force of personality not to hide behind a steaming pile of manure seemed like a vast improvement. She had been utterly taken advantage of, but for a reason. And if he was indeed truthful, that reason appeared to have some greater merit. "My Lord, you are King....of the Woods of Lasg'len?"

"Yes, Earlene. I have been King of Eryn Lasgalen, he corrected, for longer than you can imagine."

"Then you are....no, that cannot be..." she trailed off.

"But it can be, sweet one," he said, gently caressing her face. "I will teach you, if you will let yourself be taught."

She nodded. "I am trying, my King. I will agree, then, that I might know your name after all. Though, I do not know how to pronounce it."

He chuckled. "Let me hear you try, Earlene."

"Thran-do-ill, my King?"

He kissed her brow. "Thrrand wheel" he corrected. "You must change the way you sound the 'r'. It is rolled."

She shook her head. "I am not a linguist, my King. But I will try. Thranduil."

"That is better, Earlene. You have done well today, sweet one. I will allow you to return now to your home."

Without realizing it, she held him tighter as soon as he said this.

"You do not wish to be parted from me, Earlene?" His voice held a surprising degree of tenderness in it.

"I have landed in something very difficult to accept, my Lord, with you at the center of it. I desire you. And if this is going to be the case, I would like to know you better, if you will allow it."

He considered. "I will come to you, Earlene, when you can consent to close your eyes. You are not yet ready to see me, though you will be, very soon. This requirement will not be for much longer."

"If I kept my eyes closed, you would return with me now, my King?"

For an answer, she felt herself lifted into his arms, as he began walking.

"Yes, my sweet one. Do not think that my words meant that I do not also want you. It has been long, since I have had such enjoyments."

As she held onto him, keeping her eyes shut, she asked, "My Lord, can you blindfold me, once we are home? It is difficult, to do this; I do not wish to go against your conditions. I am afraid that I will open my eyes on accident."

He considered. "I can keep you from seeing me, Earlene, if you prefer. I can do many things; but I do not wish to frighten you. I am aware that your experience of me is straining at the limits of what you are able to believe."

"Please do this, my King. You will not frighten me. If I have accepted this much, the rest can only be assorted degrees of difficulty."

"Then for the moment, I will keep you from seeing. You may open your eyes, but you will have no sight. Is this acceptable?"

"Yes, my Lord." She opened her eyes, and it was exactly as he said. Complete blindness was upon her, which was more than a little disconcerting. "Weird..." she muttered, without meaning to. She felt him walk up the steps, and enter the house. Part of her wanted very badly to ask him why this was necessary, but something told her to leave it alone. And perhaps he was right; whatever else was happening here, the common denominator was that it was new, and beyond what belonged to the ordinary workings of this world.

He laid her down, and she knew by feel that this was her bed. She felt suddenly nervous...this was not in a dream, now.

"It will be no different, Earlene; it is only that your waking thoughts are still struggling to accept me."

"You can hear my thoughts, my King?" she asked, now feeling even more unnerved.

"Earlene, the thoughts of your kind are not hidden from me. You never need fear. You will find, in time, that you rely upon it. I see your heart for what it is, and I can assure you that I like what I see. Pretend that you are dreaming, Earlene; it will help you."

She felt herself gently lifted into his embrace, as his lips brushed against hers. Eagerly, she responded to him. Wanting to touch his face, she hesitated. Was this permitted? In answer, she felt his hand close around one of hers, to bring it to his face. Grateful, she tenderly caressed his cheek, recalling it from her dream. Her fingers followed the line of his jaw, and the edges of his heavy brows. She gently tangled her fingers in his long hair, and then her hand brushed over his ear. It was pointed...and as she felt it between her fingers, she heard him moan with enjoyment.

Her thoughts became a bit of a jumble...King Thranduil was not a King, he was an Elvenking, she now recalled. And while she did not know what that meant entirely, things such as "your kind," "long before you were born" and the fact that she could not see, under his spell, were being tossed into a new dimension. What was she doing, in the intimate embrace of someone this powerful, and...an elf?

"I would think you are enjoying yourself, unless you are finding my skills to be lacking," he said gently. "And yes, I am an elf, in your language." He knew he would have to be patient with her, to bring her through this. And while the necessity to wade through this with a mortal was somewhat tiresome, he had spoken the truth, earlier; he was hardly suffering. His words were well-chosen, and set her at ease, eliciting a soft laugh.

"I am enjoying myself, my King. I hope you can forgive my thoughts."

"I can, sweet one. Though, perhaps I need to distract you better."

He moved her hand gently from his face to his trousers. The clear invitation did wonders to cause her to stop thinking about elves. As she felt him begin to swell under her hand, even through his clothing, her loins surged. She recalled the way his trousers were laced from her dream, and deftly began to work the laces open with her fingers. His fingers were busy working their way under her sweater, and then the to the fastening of her jeans. He paused, as he encountered the zipper. The awkward tugs that followed were a small detail, but in a strange way, one that she found the most reassuring. That he did not comprehend a zipper, seemed like proof of his claims. She did not require him to struggle. "Like this, my Lord," she said softly, reaching down to flick up the slider on the zipper, which instantly allowed all of the teeth to fall open.

"I cannot say I have ever become accustomed to this notion of maids wearing trousers, Earlene," he said with an edge of disapproval in his voice.

"Then I hope, my Lord, that I can establish them as common in your eyes. They are very comfortable."

"I will allow that we can discuss this at a more suitable time, sweet one," he said with a low, rumbling laugh.

She helped him by sliding her jeans down quite far, making the rest of their removal simple. It only took a few moments more, for him to divest her of the rest of her clothing, so that she lay bare before him. Her ears registered the sounds of his own clothing being removed, and she felt him lay down next to her. The warmth of his body against hers made her senses reel; she had never before felt the bare skin of a lover in this way.  

"May I touch you, my Lord?" she asked, uncertain. Again, no answer, but only a hand that guided her own to him. Her unseeing eyes shone with appreciation, as her hands felt him. All of him. She felt his neck, shoulders, even his fingers and toes. He watched, amused and yet touched, at her exploration of him. It was necessary for her to lean up on her elbow, to feel his back, and his well muscled buttocks. When her hands were done roving, she laid back down, resting her hand against his chest. She felt very aware, both of her inexperience and that she had no idea what he would allow. And all the while, desire for him...for all of him...burned in her. But she did not have an expectation of him granting it, in spite of their proximity and nakedness.

"Earlene," he said softly. She looked to where his voice came from, though her eyes were unseeing.

"Yes, my King?"

"I know what you desire, as do I. But just as your first experience of my passion increased your want, this will do that, and more. I am content, to satisfy your desires as I have already done, if you choose it. You can still turn aside, Earlene; leave this place, and seek another life. If you accept me into your body, you will never be free of your yearning for me alone. You will not ever desire one of your own kind, or be able to form another bond. I cannot take you for my own, or allow you to seek this union with me, without your full awareness of the consequences."

She frowned. "Take me for your own...what does that mean to you, exactly, my Lord?"

He smiled, approving of the intelligence she demonstrated, to ask the question. "It means that in addition to taking my pleasure with you, a bond will form that goes beyond physical delights. It will be my responsibility to care for you. While it is not marriage as your kind understand it, it will create obligation between us. You will be sealed to me, because of the nature of intimate contact with an elf. And I in turn will honor and cherish you, for what you give to me."

"You are certain, my Lord, that there is no more? According to your words, you came to me because of duty. You are a King. You will not demand that I serve you? Or will my own desire bend me to your wishes, because you can so easily use it against me, even as you are now?"

 _Clever mortal,_ Thranduil thought, _to perceive to this depth._ This was much more, than what he would have thought her capable. _Would she actually have the strength to walk away?_

He pulled her to him, gently. "Your desire will rule you, if you take this step, and you will serve me on account of it. If you determine to serve me fully,  there are yet vows of fealty you must speak to me. Your clear-sightedness speaks well of you."

Earlene was favorably impressed, that he had again spoken the truth to her...though, _was it a complete truth?_

"Can you promise me, that you will treat me with kindness, and that your care of me will include my emotional well-being? I am already aware that you have ensnared me, my Lord, and that I never had much of a chance. The real question is, will you treat me well in my captivity, or will I spend my life regretting that I ever heard the name Lasgalen? I came here to find happiness, and contentment, in a quiet place. If I may yet have those things, then I accept the consequences."

"I give you my promise for this, Earlene. And my high regard. You have shown great discernment."

He leaned over, to stroke her face and kiss her, and her body surged in response to him. She reached down to touch his manhood, feeling him, realizing that he would be inside of her, very soon. At the thought of it, her loins seized again with want. He worked his way down her body, covering her in kisses until his lips reached her center of pleasure. Parting her thighs, he found she was already more than prepared for him. Lowering his body between her legs, he had to admit to himself that he was just as eager for her, as she was for him. That she had proved unexpectedly insightful, caused him to desire her more. He knew, he must treat her with care. Better to begin now, before his own lust weakened his self-control.

He placed himself against her entrance, and then used his member to massage her outer folds. When she felt his smoothness slide over her, back and forth, she gasped. This felt better even than his mouth. She was helpless against the pleasure that it suggested would come to her, and moaned.

Thranduil was delighted to see her longing for him, even as he knew there could be no other outcome. "Are you ready, sweet one?"

"Yes, my Lord," she whispered. Like everyone for whom this was new, it was impossible not to wonder at what would come next. What she felt for him was not love, but there was respect, and admiration. He had given as much assurance as she would ever have, of his intentions toward her. Other men promised much more...it was not a guarantee of delivery. That he had openly confessed to manipulating her caused no resentment. Quite the contrary; her life had been one of complex contests of the mind, persuasions, and seeking to gain victory by exactly the same means he had used against her. That he had inherent advantages she lacked not was not relevant, to her reasoning; he had used the means at his disposal for a legitimate reason. She rarely lost her legal cases, and to have met anyone capable of outwitting her felt very much like an inducement, not a warning.

There was not long to wait, as his gentle invasion into the center of her sensations of arousal began. But to her surprise, it was so much more than the insistence of his manhood as he pushed slowly into her. Her thighs were forced apart by the presence of his body, she could not close them if she wanted to. The weight of him on top of her both restrained and comforted her. Her hands were most naturally able to hold his biceps, even as he cradled her upper body with his forearms and hands. The feeling of being possessed by him, not merely by his sex organ but by his entire person, was not one she had expected. Nor did she anticipate how badly she wanted this, and more. On instinct, she spread her legs wider for him; yielding to him, welcoming him. He felt very tight inside of her passage, as though there was barely room, which was causing some discomfort.

"Estelio nin, meluieg."

His words rolled beautifully off his tongue, though she did not understand them.

"My Lord?" she asked softly, as she gasped slightly from his next incremental thrust into her.

"I am asking for you to trust me, sweet one. You will feel no further discomfort, and soon this small sacrifice from you will be forgotten in bliss."

To emphasize his words, he stopped moving inside of her, for a moment, to give her a chance to adjust. Lowering himself over her even more, he took time to kiss her deeply, waiting for her to relax again underneath him. When he felt her tension easing, he adjusted himself, to take one of her nipples into his mouth. As she arched her back into him for the pleasure it gave, he swiftly thrust once, fully enveloping himself within her. Though it startled her, she could not help but join him in a moan of enjoyment, to feel herself filled by him at last. Once again, he kept still, giving her time.

Her unseeing eyes looked up, as she reached to touch his face. "I do trust you, my Lord. And I thank you, for what you are giving to me." It stood to reason, she thought, that all other matters aside, few women lost their virginity to an elf. Or a King...not to mention, both at the same time. A rumble of humor, and affection, moved through his chest. He was pleased that she would consider this, in the midst of her first experience with intimacy.

"Earlene, I too thank you. That you desired me, does not diminish the gift of your untouched body, that you have offered freely. Allow your King to show his gratitude."

He began to move in her, now, setting a slow and careful pace. Her eyes widened at this unimagined sensation of physical enjoyment. The massage of her wet folds, as each gentle intrusion built the burning heat inside of her, was nearly overwhelming. She knew now why he had used the phrase "take you for my own." It had seemed a strange way to describe the act, but she now understood with perfect clarity. Every nerve in her body was telling her one thing; with each movement into her, he was claiming her, mastering her. And how natural it seemed, and how easily she accepted it...she would not have guessed. He kissed her tenderly, in response to her thoughts, and then he began to increase his tempo. Her heat now flared in earnest, as each stroke from him built on the one before. Consumed by the need for release, moans of want escaped her.

His sounds of appreciation had increased as well, and when she felt she could stand no more, an immense groan came from him, as his body went rigid. Another kind of heat and new sensation to which she could not give words rushed through her;  his seed must be flowing into her as he strained into her depths. With a strangled cry, she felt her own climax begin but there was more than last time, much more. A sensation of warmth and tingling moved from her intimate parts, and began to spread through her body. And her mind. Mixed in with a powerful orgasm, her emotions were being blanketed in a way she did not expect or understand. A reverence for him and a desire to surrender to his will consumed her, even as she realized that this could not be ordinary. She cried out in pleasure as her body contracted deliciously, around the part of him that filled her. But as the bliss in her body ebbed away, she felt more readily the change in her frame of mind.

"My Lord Thranduil, what is happening to me?" she whispered. "What is this feeling?"

He stroked her face, gently. He knew that telling her what would occur was not the same as her viscerally experiencing it. "Earlene, I told you that our union would seal you to me. It was not a figure of speech. When my seed flowed into this part of your body, my essence moved to bind you to me. Body and mind, you belong to me now, sweet one. You are mine."

Earlene burst into giggles, finding his last three words to be the culmination of every second since her arrival. "Please forgive me, my King, do not be cross with me. It is that word...Mine."

While his eyebrows raised, he also had the ability to see the matter from her point of view. He replied kindly, but with the thinnest edge of disapproval for her impertinence. "I can understand how you might feel, Earlene. But do not forget that in the case of my trees, I have every right to claim what belongs to me."

She caught the mild reproof, and replied with determined regard. "I do not forget, my Lord. I meant no disrespect. If anything, it was meant as an appreciation of your ability. Among my own kind, I am not easily outwitted. It would have been very difficult, but I could have left here. I chose to remain, to not resist. I chose to be yours."

Thranduil looked closely into her heart and saw that she spoke the truth.

Mollified, he touched his forehead to hers. "Very well, Earlene. I can see that I yet have much to learn, about you."

The placement of a kiss on his bare chest, with reverence, was her only reply. For a time, she rested in his embrace, but then spoke.

"My Lord, I must care for some obligations. Would you allow me this, while I have some time before all I can think of is desiring you again?"

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Yes, sweet one. Give me a moment, and I will return your sight to you. If you can accept it, I will remain, but you will not see me. You will only hear my voice."

"Yes, my King." She sat up, feeling for her clothing, which was swiftly placed in her hands. Sight was not required, to dress herself. Yet as she pulled her jumper over her head, a veil lifted, and she could see once more.

"That is still....weird," she said aloud.

"Are you forgetting to address me properly again, Earlene?" she heard, but the voice was tinged with humor.

"No, my Lord. That is what is known as a rhetorical statement. One that is said, but to no one in particular, and with no intention of eliciting a response."

A hint of a smile played over her lips, at the lack of any comment, as she moved to the kitchen and heated the kettle once more. Returning to her laptop, and her emails, she sat down with a sigh.

"What is that, Earlene?" he asked.

She explained the computer as best she could, uncertain what he knew of life outside of his woods. As it turned out, he had observed transportation devices, machinery, the use of electricity and more or less anything that had been seen in or around this property in recent years. But that being said, he had little knowledge of the modern world.

"Can you read our writing, my King?"

"Yes, though I much prefer the tongue you speak, to the one also used in the outer world. It has greater clarity."

"You mean Irish, my Lord? I do not know it, at all."

"It is just as well, sweet one."

She chuckled, and attended to the kettle, making more tea. "My Lord, I lack understanding concerning your....invisibility. I do not wish to neglect to offer you refreshment but...." she felt an arm around her, and a finger against her lips.

"Soon enough, I will be glad to accept. But for now, I thank you for your courtesy. Enjoy your tea." Nodding, she smiled, sitting down again.

"I want to warn you, my Lord, I often speak aloud to myself when I work. It helps me to think. I do not wish you to feel I am failing to show you respect."

"Understood, Earlene," she heard from behind her.

She began to murmur as she read: "...a claim by three directors of R & L Ltd (the Directors) against Michael Russell (the Auditors) on the grounds that the Auditors had failed in their duty to advise them against their acquisition of shares through a loan from the Company in breach of section 151 of the Companies Act 1985 (the "1985 Act"), which prohibited a company from providing financial support for the acquisition of its own shares. In the first instance, the High Court Judge refused the Auditors application for an order to dismiss the Directors' claim...." Earlene frowned as she spoke, and began typing a response as she muttered the words of her reply aloud: "In the absence of concrete rules at the current time, it is no part of the auditors' statutory duties to protect directors personally from the consequences of their mistakes and wrongdoing. But breach of statutory duty is not alleged in the present case..." Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she continued muttering to herself. "Why are they even touching on this? This is elementary..."

Thranduil's voice broke into her thoughts. "Earlene, what is that about, what you are saying?"

She stopped typing, and looked over toward where the voice seemed to originate, out of habit. "I am a corporate lawyer, my King. That is, was, my profession, from which I resigned. They are called solicitors, here. I practiced law in the state of New York. I agreed to offer consultation services to my former employers for some months yet, when I left my position. Though it may seem hard to believe, I left a very lucrative and prestigious job, to move here." She dropped her voice into a milder query, not wishing him to feel interrogated. "You...do understand I came to this place from across the ocean, and am not a citizen of Ireland?"

He considered carefully, not having understood this at all. His observation of humans was too limited, to perceive the variation in her speech. He did not exactly answer the question, but instead asked another. "Then you are one who gives counsel in matters of law, rules of government, in the place whence you came?"

"Yes, my King. But it went far beyond counsel, I was a litigator; it was my job to take complex cases for my firm's clients into a higher court of law, and win a favorable judgement."

She felt warm breath on her ear, as teeth gently closed over the edges of her earlobe, nibbling. Desire spiked through her again.

"I will return to you at nightfall, Earlene. It would please me, to find you attired in something besides trousers."

Feeling like it would be rude to remain seated, she rose and bowed her head deeply in acknowledgement of him. Seeing the door open and close, she sat down again. "That is never not going to be....weird," she said to an empty room, banishing the memory of his attentions to her ear, and returning to her cases.

When she was done, she made more tea and lunch to go with it. As she looked outside through the large glass windows, she noted that it was now raining steadily.

She could now think, a little, giving further regard to the ever-so-slight and delicious tenderness between her legs. "I know I have to accept what just happened, but it is still hard to believe," she informed the empty room, shaking her head as she began her tirade. "Because every day, a lawyer moves to Ireland, and within four days succumbs body and soul to an elf monarch. An Elvenking she has previously never seen, anywhere that was not in a dream. And, oh by the way, on whom she still has never laid eyes, because he is bloody invisible. All this happens after she went twenty years as an adult, without a man ever laying a finger on her....maybe I should switch over to psychology. Think of the case study I would have, just with today alone. Sure god, it's a good thing mom and dad are gone, because no phone call in the world could ever explain this one. And the worst part is, I don't care at all, in the way that I probably should. Why am I incapable of worrying more about having consigned myself over to him, than about my next pleasure? Either he is that powerful, or I am that undisciplined." Her heart sank, a little, as she whispered her own answer. "He is that powerful."

Her musing aloud continued. "The situation is, undeniably, interesting. Obviously he has abilities that I can't even comprehend, and yet he knows so little of the world. Maybe I need to get past my aversion to fantasy books, and start doing some reading in the only place I am likely to gain some understanding of who he is." She walked over to the bookshelf once again, and reached for "The Lord of the Rings", only to notice that a smaller book stood next to it, by the same author. "The Hobbit," she mused aloud. A few moment's scanning of the paperback led her to realize, this was the far more likely place to begin. Remembering his words, and realizing that her encounter with him had left her feeling somewhat drained, she looked first in her closet before she would read...and probably fall asleep. Much to her surprise, she saw a dress, that she was certain had not been present earlier. It reminded her of his own clothing...reminiscent of another time and place.

Stripping down, she slipped it over her head. While it was nothing she would ever have chosen, it was attractive, fitted her perfectly, and the colors of royal blue with cream colored accents flattered her hair and skin. She laughed, looking at herself in the mirror that hung on the wall. "Why not?" she asked herself, chuckling. "If this pleases you, my King, then I am happy to comply. Though, I would dearly like to see the look on my colleagues' faces, to see me wearing this in court." Returning to the couch and "The Hobbit," she cheated a bit, and read in the middle. She found snippets of passages that interested her: "If the elf-king had a weakness it was for treasure, especially for silver and white gems." The story was charming, but she was too sleepy.

Thranduil returned at the promised time, unseen, to find his new...what was she to him, exactly? Charge? Conquest? Pet? Project? sleeping once again. He smiled. _A number of terms might apply_ , he mused. But as he looked on her, dressed as he'd asked, he admitted to a growing affection. She was very intelligent, for her kind, and had a willing heart. One that he was now obligated to care for, he reminded himself. But there were now pressing matters, and he was so close. He needed her carnally just once more, in order to be fully restored. And whatever his virtues might be, they had not always included patience. Afterward, she would be significantly fatigued, making it perhaps easier to extract the last promise from her. Now that he knew of her profession, he realized that she was in a position to be useful to him...more useful than she could imagine. She had not minded already, his frank use of tactics that were arguably coercive, and he did not believe she would mind now, either. He was only saving time; that she would agree to any of his wishes in the end, he had no doubt. As a precaution against her waking, he took her vision and carefully carried her to bed, joining her in her dream.

When he arrived, he was surprised at the sharpness of her mind. She looked at him, smiling. "In dreams, in waking, and now again in dreams, my Lord?"

_Yes, Earlene. I need something from you, and this is faster. Will you allow me?_

Her look was more of an amused smirk, which mildly annoyed him. He did not enjoy being viewed as a child with his hand in the cookie jar, even if that was truthfully not far from how he was behaving.

"I was not aware that I had a choice, my Lord. Did you not inform me that I belong to you now? Am I not yours?"

His eyes narrowed. She was teasing him, but with a degree of respect that would not allow him to find fault. Earlene saw his annoyance, and had had her fun. Bowing her head deeply to him, she said only, "Do as you wish, my Lord."

He did not hesitate, as her mild resistance had only inflamed him further. Pulling her to him in a heated kiss, he ran his hands down her body. Reaching behind her, he took each side of her bottom in one of his hands, and lifted her against him, grinding against her through her dress. Though surprised at his comparative roughness, she still responded eagerly to him. Releasing her, swift hands raised her skirt to remove her insubstantial undergarment. He freed himself, as swiftly as possible. Moving her skirts, and checking only to ensure she was in some measure ready for him, he began to enter her. This was not slow and measured, as he'd done for her before; it was far more primal.

There was both discomfort and excitement for her, as he sought to couple with her using very little preparation or restraint. As he kissed her greedily, her inflamed desire for him won out, for a time. His forceful thrusts into her still very tight passage caused him to groan in ecstasy, even as she reaped both pleasure and pain from him. There was surprise for her, discovering the power of unrestrained male passion. It was intoxicating and frightening, all in equal measure. Opening her heart and her body to him, she accepted his onslaught, clinging to him as he took what he wished. Her inexperience caught her unawares, as her body climaxed hard even through the irritation and soreness he was causing. The feel of her spasms around his member brought him more pleasure yet. Too far gone in his lust, he did not heed her soft cries of pain during his last rushing frenzy, before he released into her with a mighty yell.

Earlene felt dismay. She had not known that a man could hurt her in this way, with his body. Or rather yes she knew; she was not a complete ignoramus, but it was different to actually experience it in some measure. She knew that he had not set out to do this her, but that did not alter that she was now raw and in great discomfort. "Please, my Lord," she said in a small voice, wishing only for him to leave her body so that the burning soreness and feel of bruising might lessen. The desperate fatigue she felt was beside the point.

Her words interrupted his inner sense of triumph, as he looked down at himself and saw a physical body that was solid and whole. Returning his focus to her, his eyes widened as he realized what he'd done.

_Earlene, I am sorry...I did not intend to lose control of myself like this._

She shook her head. "It is no matter, my King, but it hurts to have you still inside of me. Please..."

_Earlene, it does matter. Even though I have made a mistake, will you allow me to correct my wrong? I would not have this memory stay in your thoughts, when this is so new for you. Please, forgive me._

"I know you did not mean for this to happen." For the second time, she told him, "Do as you wish, my Lord."

He very gently pulled out of her, and was now touching her with his fingers, very lightly. A warm, tingling sensation spread through the places that he had injured, replacing the discomfort with relief and full healing.

"Thank you," she said, surprised and grateful.

_I promise that when you wake, I will give you pleasure as you should have had it. There will be no more need for me to come to you in dreams, Earlene._

She smiled at him, feeling very sleepy, as he released her back into rest. As she slept on, he returned their clothing to its original state, and carried her back to the couch. He added wood to the stove, and heated more water for tea, as he took time to sit and think. It was unseemly of him, to have treated her as he'd done. There was no excuse. His needs and goals, that his duty demanded, were one thing. But he had promised her she would not be harmed, and he had harmed her. That he had been able to swiftly remedy the damage did not factor into what had happened. He would owe her a concession, for this.

He prepared tea, for both of them. It had been a very long time, since he had taken food or drink; his body would require it now. He had seen where she kept the little bags of tea, which he admitted were a clever invention of the humans. There was much they had done, that was ingenious, he had to admit. Though he stood above them in many ways, he had been forced into a lesson of sorts, this afternoon. There were limits to his imagined superiority. She had kept her deference to him, even while he was injuring her in the worst way possible for one whose maidenhood he had taken only earlier today. Even while he was draining her, to restore himself, without her full knowledge. Looking up, he came to a decision. There would be no more duplicity; she deserved better, and she had earned it. And that aside, there were more hurdles. She had not yet seen him, with her waking eyes. Either way, she would either embrace him from her heart, or he would have to try harder to win her over to his needs...in full honesty.

He took his first sip of the hot beverage, savoring it. He would have to care for her, he realized with his brows knitted, because he needed her to care for him. At the moment, there were none in his Halls able to prepare food, or serve him, though that could be remedied shortly. It had been so long, since those in his realm had engaged with the tangible world. Perhaps it was time; things had apparently changed a great deal. Too much. Formerly, the humans had had nothing to offer of interest. But their devices, their abilities...they were far beyond what they once were.

As he looked over, he saw that she was beginning to stir.

 


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 25, 2016

Thranduil brought the mugs of tea to the table near the couch, setting them down. He lifted her carefully, and seated himself holding her in his arms, as she continued to slowly wake. One of her hands, he held in his own.

Earlene roused slowly, aware of his embrace. She was glad of it. The dream she remembered had gone...differently, than probably either of them would have liked. But he had cared enough, to make amends, and had apologized in what must for him have been an unusual circumstance. While she knew little about him, she could guess that regrets were not something he expressed often. He was not perfect, but he had been perfect in his willingness to display honesty regarding his behavior...and she would rather have the latter. Her hand was held in his, she realized, opening her eyes to try and wake a bit more. It was a strong, large hand, with flawless skin and long, well-formed fingers that were neither delicate nor coarse. The hand of a King, she thought, and then her eyes opened much wider. She was seeing him.

"My Lord?" she asked.

"I am here, Earlene," she both heard and felt from his chest, against which she was held.

"You are allowing me to look on you?"

"It is the least I can do, meluieg; it is because of you that I am restored."

She frowned, still feeling sleepy. "I do not understand, my Lord, but thank you. Your hand is lovely."

He laughed. "You are quite possibly the only person to have ever commented on that, Earlene. But perhaps it is also because you are struggling, to decide to look at the rest of me?" He spoke the last part kindly, and with consideration in his voice.

"It is difficult, my Lord. I am sorry, that my mind is not more flexible, concerning these matters."

"No, Earlene. Do not be sorry. You have done very well, and have already given me much. And you have earned far greater forthrightness, from me. I wish to apologize once more, for my treatment of you. It will not happen again."

Her head nodded slowly. "I believe you, my Lord."

"And that brings me to another matter." He raised her to a sitting position, as easily as if she were weightless. His arm reached out, to bring the mug of tea to her. Taking it from him, she saw that he wore a ring on his index finger; it appeared to be a very large emerald cut diamond, set in gold. She forced her eyes to track along the arm that was clad in a rich, dark fabric, to the shoulder over which his pale golden hair fell. Sensing her hesitation, his fingers tilted up her chin, until her eyes met his. Her heart was pounding; it was not in her to help herself. His beauty was far greater than in her dreams, for she saw him now with the clear sight of her eyes, and not the strange buffer that the memories of dreams left. And unlike in her dream, he wore a diadem of exquisite craftsmanship, that held another clear gem at his hairline. Without thinking, she sipped the tea, trying with all her might to digest the sight of him. But then she looked at the tea, he'd made her, which she'd forgotten to acknowledge.

"My King, thank you, for the tea." It was far easier to look into the depths of the beverage, than to meet his eyes.

 _This is ridiculous_ , she thought. _I have accepted him as my lover and more, and now it is awkward to look at him?_ _Then again,_ she thought ruefully, _usually the order in which those things occur is reversed._ Becoming impatient with herself, she returned the mug to the table, forcing herself to rest her gaze on him again. That she had never looked into eyes like his, was a surety. They were a dazzling shade of blue, with what looked like wheel spokes of white thread running through the irises, but there was so much more to them than their aesthetics. If there were any lingering doubts that he was indeed a King, they were dispelled. The depth of what was behind his gaze felt like a weight on her spirit. She reached her hand toward his, hovering her fingers over it, waiting for a sign of acceptance. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, as he took her hand.

"You are welcome for the tea, Earlene, but that was not the other matter. You have earned a concession from me. Even when I have not deserved it, you have behaved with the courtesy I demanded from you. I am releasing you from the obligation to speak to me with such a high level of formality. You may now call me by my name, and speak freely with me in conversation."

This was unexpected. "Thank you, Thranduil," she said softly. "I appreciate this, my Lord, very much. It will...make it easier, for me." Placing her other hand on his, she looked back up at him. "And thank you, for allowing me see you. You are...very pleasing to look on."

"I am glad you think so," he said, amused. Drawing her closer, he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, and then her cheek. They were soft, slow kisses that asked for more. He brushed his lips against hers, questioning. With the sight of him, her yearning for his body was stronger than ever. She met his lips eagerly, indulging her hands in how much they wanted to caress his face and neck. As promised, he soon took her back to the bed, where he gently and carefully loved her until she experienced bliss once again.

Afterward, he helped her to dress again. As they returned to near the wood stove, she regarded him, with her head tilted to one side. "Thranduil, what more do you want from me?"

He looked up at her, from the seat he had taken on the couch, unprepared for the question. But, she had asked. "Two things, sweet one. One small, and one much greater."

"Tell me, please?"

"The first is that I cannot take you to my Halls until you are willing to swear loyalty to me as your King. To serve me, obey my laws and commands, and to accept punishment for disobedience. To be a subject of my Kingdom, and agree to live alongside the elves, such as we are."

Her eyes widened. "And the second?"

He smiled. "I was hoping you would prepare a meal for me. I find myself in the awkward position of needing to eat once again, and am temporarily lacking assistance in this area. Those of my station are not skilled cooks. Or even unskilled ones. I am at your mercy, in this."

Earlene immediately walked to the kitchen and began peeling potatoes, and noted gratefully that there was still rather a lot of ground beef left over from the little shepherd's pie she'd made.

"Consider the second to be granted; I would never let you go hungry. Regarding the first, I hope you will not be offended, my Lord, if I feel the need to ask questions."

"I expected no less, Earlene."

"I am reading what is supposed to be a fantasy children's story, in order to learn something about you. Could you please summarize, as briefly as possible, how it is that you went from there to being in this room? I expect to learn more fully with time, but would like an overview."

Listening to him carefully as she chopped vegetables, she had to ask him to pause at one point. The onions she'd been provided with were laden with sulfur, and she desperately was trying to rinse her tearing eyes with water from the tap. She felt him come behind her, gently but firmly turning her head toward him. "Tell me what is wrong, Earlene."

"My eyes hurt, from the onions." In a moment, he remedied the problem. Backing away from the offending vegetables, she gave a more detailed explanation of how the onions reacted with human eyes to cause burning and pain. Looking to the cutting board, he asked "Will it help you, if I cut them? They cannot bother me as they do you." She felt a tug at her heart, as she nodded her assent, and asked him to continue his answer as she stood at a safe distance. The response was done at about the same time as the onions. Taking the cutting board back from him, she moved the culprits into a stock pot, adding butter and setting it to sauté and brown along with the beef.

"Can you please explain something of elves to me? I can see that you are powerful, and that you seem to be...immortal but...I am trying to understand how it is you are still here, living hidden in this world?"

This explanation was perhaps more relevant. He explained their choice not to sail to the Undying Lands and their fading, and was bluntly forthright about how he had used her to restore his body.

"If I make these vows to you, will any of your promises to me be negated? Will I no longer be allowed to live here?"

"My promises to you would all stand. I would allow you time here, and I would stay with you unless you wished otherwise. As you already know, your home lies within my realm, though at its edge. But I would also expect you to live with me, as well. There are few of us, compared to before, in my Halls. I would openly acknowledge my connection to you, and you would have a place of honor among us."

"Would you allow me to continue to meet my promises to my former employers? Will I have to give up any right to interact with the rest of the world?"

"I would never require you to break promises. Nor will I keep you a prisoner in these woods; if I cannot trust the faithfulness of your vows, there would be little point to any of it. Though I will ask you now, are there other promises or obligations to which you are committed?"

"No, my Lord. I have a living brother, but we are not close, to put it mildly. I am otherwise alone in the world."

She sifted his words, as she added more vegetables to the stock pot, and disappeared into the pantry. Returning with flour and leavening, she began to mix a quickbread.

"What do you really want of me, Thranduil? What is it that you cannot ask of me, as matters are between us now, that you require this extra measure of authority over me in order to accomplish?" Her voice was completely calm as she asked this, but her eyes did not leave him.

He looked at her with a flicker of regret. "I cannot tell you that, without securing your pledges first. I have already risked much, with you, and though I am King, I am bound by my own vows."

Her eyes blinked as she looked at him, considering. "This next question will sound terribly self-interested, but I believe it needs to be asked. What, exactly, is in it for me, if I agree to this? I can only concur that I am being asked to have blind faith in you, if I give my assent."

He smiled. "You will have experiences, and rewards, that would not be part of your life, otherwise. You will be cared for, by me, for all the years of your life. That last part alone is an offer unique in all the world."

She nodded, slowly. "One last thing. Which perhaps has only limited relevance to the discussion, but again, must be asked. I am human, and subject to my nature. I can guess that being an elf means that you are far less ruled by what you are as a physical being; less ruled by your biology. What happens, once I fall in love with you? I can see that I am less...advanced...of a sentient creature than you. Are you able to love me, in return, in any manner? This question might far better have been considered by me before we joined our bodies, but better late than never."

His blue eyes bored into her, but were not unkind. "Somewhere, I have a wife. I have not seen her face since thousands of years before those who built the ancient pyramids of your world lived. She parted from me long ago, to sail to Valinor. I chose to remain here, having promised my subjects never to leave them. If I ever see her again, likely as not it will yet be long ages into the future. With only the rarest exceptions, elves marry once, love once. I cannot love you, in the way that I once loved her. For me, the sad truth is that I will blink a few times, and you will be gone, so brief will the span of your years be in my eyes. But I can meet your desires, cherish you, care for you, grant you affection, and share my mind and heart with you, in what short time we will have. I do not expect you to understand how an elf experiences love, nor will I be arrogant enough to presume I can fully understand love among humans. There were marriages between elves and men of old, though they were few. You are already bound to me, Earlene. I hope for your sake, that what I offer you can be enough."

She listened, as she kneaded the biscuit dough, patting it into shape and leaving it to rest, as she washed her hands and turned on the oven to preheat. Nor did she speak as she added beef stock, a generous amount of barley, and the rest of the vegetables to the soup pot, to simmer. Drying her hands, she returned to him across the room, and sat next to him.

"It perhaps speaks to the truth of your words, that we are very different, because all that you are willing to give me is the definition of love, for a human. Love is not only an emotion, it is a demonstrated set of actions toward another; there are different kinds of human love. When we feel strong emotion that encourages our hearts to act in a passionate way toward another, a mate, we tend to express that in words. That is romantic love, for us. But there is also principled love; love that is shown to another out of choice, and dedication. And more than one kind of love can operate in a person, at a time. Sooner or later, I will feel compelled to tell you that I love you, and I hope it will not cause you offense. If you cannot return the sentiment, I am able to understand that. Your actions will speak louder than your choice of words. What you offer is enough, Thranduil. I may never have had a man before, but I have seen many relationships among my kind. Even if it was only out of a sense of duty, I can see that you would meet your promises to me. I am grateful to have found a mate, of sorts, however unusual the arrangement. And, you have answered my questions honestly. I will swear loyalty to you."

His lips parted in surprise. He had begun to seriously question whether his decision to forego deception would be his downfall. "You are certain, Earlene?"

"As I see it, my King, you have offered me a verbal contract, that I am accepting. I am willing to take the risk, based on what I can assess of you, that what you will not disclose to me at this moment will meet the promises you have made to me. I have already committed myself to you very deeply; it hardly seems that going a little further can matter. And, it seems to be quite important to you."

He rose, and moved to where there was some floor space. "Then come, take my hand, and kneel before me, sweet one. When you have answered all of the questions in the affirmative, you will kiss my ring. It is the final act of your promise of fealty."

Taking his hand and lowering herself to do as he'd asked, she could only wonder, what she was getting herself into.

"Earlene, will you pledge to serve your King, Thranduil son of Oropher, ruler of the Woodland Realm of Eryn Lasgalen, and to obey his laws and commands?

"I will, my King."

"Will you pledge to honor me in your heart, accept my justice for disobedience, and continue as a subject of my rule, forsaking all other authority?"

"I will, my King."

"Will you freely give yourself to me, and promise your fealty to my throne, until death takes you?"

"I will, my King."

He smiled. "I Thranduil, son of Oropher, vow to serve you as your King. I will honor, care for, and protect you as is my sworn duty, all the days of your life. Your loyalty and your service, I will reward. So say I."

He squeezed her hand gently, and she leaned forward to kiss the large diamond, idly wondering just how old this ring was, and at the same time not really wishing to know. With his hand under her arm, he raised her up, and embraced her.

"Thank you, Earlene," he said. Relief washed over him. He could now feel safe, that his designs could succeed.

Her head felt like it was swimming, a bit. She was still very tired, but at least she now understood why. He felt her unsteadiness, and went to the kitchen with her.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Stir the soup, please," she said, handing him a large wooden spoon as she poured some salt into her hand and then tossed it into the pot, before cutting the biscuits and placing them on a baking sheet with parchment, and then into the oven, setting a timer.

Thranduil watched her, fascinated. She seemed to just...know, what to do with the food. He had never given much thought to the procurement of the thousands of meals he had been served in his life. Spooning some soup into a teacup, she tasted it. Grimacing, she looked at the array of seasonings on a little shelf, and opened the small jars to toss in some of this and some of that, and then tried the pepper grinder. To her dismay, it was one of those poorly made ones that took a great effort to get just a little pepper. "Would you do this for me, please?" she asked, handing it to him. 

He copied her motions with the grinder, as she carefully added small amounts more salt in increments, and kept stirring and sampling until she was satisfied. Finally, she told him he could stop. She brought out butter, and some sliced cheese to go with the biscuits, and set out tableware for them. When the timer went off, she asked him to please sit, gesturing to one of the two barstools that allowed for eating at the other side of the kitchen island. In a flurry of motions, she ladled his bowl full, piled the steaming biscuits on a plate, and pushed the butter and cheese toward him as well. "Please, eat, my Lord," she said, half filling her own bowl. "I am sorry it is such simple fare. I can do better for you, after tonight."

"You will eat with me, Earlene. Stop your work, now. I can see your tiredness, for I have taken much from you today."

"Yes, my Lord," she said meekly, sitting down to her bowl. For a time, they ate together in silence.

"What you have prepared is delicious, Earlene. I have not eaten food in a very long time, and I am grateful for your meal, simple or no."

"You are welcome, my King. I am glad it pleases you. And....may I ask you, Thranduil, how it works, with you? Invisibility, a body that does not eat...I would like to understand better."

He explained to her the nature of their creation as elves by Eru, long millennia ago, and the twin natures of their fae (spirits) and rhaiw (physical bodies). How because they were primarily of a spiritual nature, their need for a corporeal body could come, and go; that effort was involved in renewing the physical body but that the spiritual component remained strong and whole regardless. And that the closeness between their races allowed for any of them to interact with a human, or each other, in order to gain the smallest components of life, by which they could once again re-embody themselves.

"I never faded to the degree many others have, Earlene, and so I required less effort to restore my body. But when you arrived, I was in a hurry. Not knowing your intentions, having no control over you, and seeing that plenty of objects like saws and axes were at your disposal, I had to go about matters by the fastest means possible. When it became obvious that you could not be frightened by my voice alone, seducing you and having intimate contact with you was that means."

Her eyebrows raised, as she asked the next question carefully. "You already had my compliance after you joined with me, this morning, but you were still in a rush to fully re-embody yourself? Is that why you were so...in a hurry, earlier, and what you meant by needing something from me?"

He looked up at her, realizing that once again he had failed to account for her analytical skills. The expression on his face hardened a little. Without apology, he simply replied, "Yes."

"Because," she continued slowly, "your final goal was to secure my loyalty, as quickly as possible?"

"Yes."

Wordlessly she rose from her stool and carefully took his hand, bending down to kiss his ring once again. She released him with a gentle squeeze, and excused herself. It was not her intention to leave him feeling as though he was being accused of doing something wrong; she had agreed willingly to all of this. Without speech, she let him understand that he did, indeed, have her fealty, as she returned to the bedroom. And she was so, so tired. Sitting on the bed, it was hard to even pull the dress over her head. As she struggled with the sleeves, she felt the garment lifted off of her.

She thanked him, and brushed her teeth, which fascinated Thranduil. He undressed himself, and took her to bed. That he would be willing to stay the night with her, had not occurred to Earlene. As she felt herself enveloped in the warmth of his body, her heart filled with gratitude and affection toward him. In her dreams during the night he came to her again, but not for intimacy. He held her, soothing muscles that felt tired, all the while humming softly, or whispering quietly in a strange and musical language she could not understand. Her sense of rest, quiet, and security in his arms was a gift she had never known. On some subconscious level, she knew he would be both the greatest happiness and the greatest challenge of her life, and felt at peace with it.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 26, 2016

The following morning she woke feeling as refreshed as she had felt drained of energy the night before. Her stomach growled with hunger; having been too tired to enjoy her own soup and biscuits, she'd eaten little. And there was more. She was surrounded by warmth and a masculine scent. His hand traced down her arm.

"Good morning, Thranduil," she said softly, relishing the delight of having a lover next to her. "This is quite a treat, for me. I have never before awakened to someone sharing my bed...thank you." She began to turn around, to face him, only to find herself caught in his arms, held tightly. Earlene relaxed into his grip, feeling very content. Only then did she become aware of the pulsing hardness that was burying itself against the cleft of her bottom. She smiled, wondering what he might do, and hoping it would be...something. The twinge of yearning that was now becoming familiar rushed through her loins while still feeling excitingly new. For all that she obviously had him for herself, the idea of asking him for his attentions in this way still collided with her understanding of him. How did one address, exactly, the elven monarch who was unabashedly using her in the nicest way possible, in a request for gratification? From her observations, it was hard to take a false step by according him deference.

"Please, my Lord?"

A sound somewhere between a low rumble and a hum came from him. He brushed her hair back from her neck and face, placing tender kisses there while his hands began roving. Every touch was a delight, as his hands ran smooth circles over her firm breasts. She reached behind her with her free arm, caressing the sculpted muscles of his legs. After a great deal of very enjoyable exploring and teasing of her body, he turned her on her other side, now facing toward him, so that he could kiss her properly. While thus occupied, she felt him lifting her upper leg, quickly followed by his manhood touching at her entrance.

Once she realized what he was doing, she eagerly tried to push down onto him. He chuckled and backed away a tiny bit, grinning when a sharp sigh of dismay escaped her. In the next moment he entered her, changing the sigh to a moan of appreciation. As he scissored her body against his, pulling her in close, she gasped at how wonderful this new variation felt. He was inside of her, and yet it seemed so different than his previous attentions.

"There are many positions, sweet one, each yielding a different enjoyment. In time, you will discover them all."

While that definitely sounded appealing, she found herself too preoccupied with the growing bliss in her intimate parts, to think on it very much.

Faster than she could blink, he rolled her on her back, without breaking his connection to her. Moving her limbs about as if she were a doll, he guided her through the different sensations to be had, with her legs held in different placements. It fascinated her, but she had liked best of all the way in which they had begun. Though she did discover, once he allowed her to stretch out again, that she liked to wrap her legs around his. Whatever else he had in store for her, if she could have this with him, she felt reasonably sure she could manage it. Having spent the first half of her life denying herself everything of this sort, she was not completely surprised at the degree to which she was possibly ignoring her peril. And when her orgasm finally broke in a shattering crescendo around his rigid manhood, she cared even less. He slowed his movement, to allow her to take her full pleasure. As she looked into his eyes, with his satin hair cascading onto her shoulders, she wished very much that she could taste him again.

The corners of his mouth turned up. "I would enjoy it as well, meluieg," he said. "Is that what you wish to do?"

Earlene nodded eagerly, still feeling a bit shy about some aspects of their intimacy.

Obligingly, he left her body and laid himself down at her side. That she would not need to kneel, she liked. Not that she minded the position, but the floor here was decidedly hard on the knees. Taking him in her mouth, she first encountered the taste of...herself. While difficult to describe, the tanginess of it was not unpleasant in the least. And it didn't matter, because the more her tongue attended to him, the more the honeyed taste she craved came to her. While it was true she hadn't ‘gotten out much’, for lack of better words, she had never run across anything that hinted that men gave this amazing bouquet of flavors when doing...this.

"Because they do not, Earlene. This is your privilege, in having the rare opportunity to partner with an ellon."

Though she did not know what an ellon was, she was not about to remove her mouth from him long enough to inquire just now. Conveniently, though, there was no need.

"An ellon is a male elf, Earlene, and an elleth is a female."

For all the awkwardness at having her thoughts be so transparent, she had to admit there was a certain definite advantage. He did not answer, but chuckled, as he reached his hand to caress her side. She enjoyed herself greatly, as did he. He drew her to him, after, and held her in the crook of his shoulder. Wrapping her limbs around his body, she felt extremely happy. So happy that she could even deal with her Inbox, later.

"Later, indeed, meluieg. For after breaking our fast, I will take you to my Halls."

He felt her involuntarily tensing against him, as apprehension rose within her.

"We will not stay long, sweet one. I have no wish to overburden your senses. That and, the necessity of needing to eat meals will dictate our circumstances, for a time." With that, he rose in a swift motion, taking her with him.

"How is it, Thranduil, that you move me around so easily? I can see that you are strong, but I weigh enough that it should at least be some effort."

With a smirk, he placed one hand and arm underneath her bottom, raising and lowering her with equal effortlessness. "My kind are significantly stronger than the race of men, meluieg. And among my kind, I am one of the strongest." He shrugged. "My strength is what was granted to me, at the time of my birth. I cannot help it, any more than you can help having dark hair."

"I see," she said, somewhat awed. "Then, would my strong King like to eat?"

With a light toss, he sent her a little up into the air, before catching her waist to place her on her feet, smiling. "Yes, I would."

She bowed her head to him, and went to take care of personal matters in the bathroom. Though she did not take long, she found him already dressed, and staring into her wardrobe. A mighty frown had spread across his features. As she watched him, she vaguely wondered if he would allow her to dress, or if he preferred her to cook naked. Her breasts in general, and her nipples in particular, had volumes to say about the temperature in the house, at the moment.

"My Lord?" she said politely, "May I please dress? I am cold."

Stepping aside, he nodded. "You require far more clothing, Earlene."

"The remainder of my belongings are scheduled to arrive within the week, my Lord. I assure you I have more than what I am making do with, here."

"Your clothes will suffice for your time here, meluieg. Different choices will be required, in my Halls."

Looking at him, she could guess. "You wish me to wear yesterday's dress again, that I strongly suspect came from you?"

"Yes," he said, his head held high in an attitude of authority.

Bowing her head, she found clean underwear. The dress had been fitted and stitched in such a way that no bra was needed. Pulling on a pair of cotton leggings, she heard a noise of disapproval from him, and looked up.

"You do not wish me to wear these, even though the dress will hide them?" she asked.

"Why do you need them?" he fired back.

"Because I am cold, and these will keep me warmer. With respect, Thranduil, have you ever worn a dress? They can be lovely, but they are not warm garments, unless extra layers can be added."

Frowning, he had to concede that he had not ever worn a dress. And while he could not recall that his wife had ever mentioned this, his wife had not been human. "Leave them on, Earlene. I did not know," he said, his expression softening.

Climbing into the dress once again, she shook out the skirt, which had remained marvelously free of wrinkles. "Thank you for this, my Lord. While I am not accustomed to clothing of this kind, it is pretty, and well-made."

"I should have told you, you look beautiful in it, Earlene. And out of it. You are an attractive and desirable woman."

"I am glad you think so, Thranduil," she said lightly, moving to attend to breakfast before he could work out that these were his same words to her, when she'd complimented his appearance.

The moment she walked into the other room, she groaned. In her tiredness, she'd left the pot of soup out all night. And the biscuits; they ought to be like little bricks this morning. "Nuts," she muttered. "I wanted those to eat, and now I'll have to make more."

His arm slipped around her shoulders. "What is the matter, Earlene?"

"The food, my Lord. I did not put anything away properly, and now it is not fit to eat."

"You will find it as you left it, Earlene, except for the temperature. It is perfectly wholesome, and fresh."

"It is?" she said, looking up at him doubtfully. "I have no wish to have food poisoning."

He smiled down at her. "You are living within my Realm, Earlene. You will find that many things are not as you are accustomed. The food is unspoiled, and needs only warming."

She frowned as she went to heat the kettle. "While I do not understand how the pathenogenic bacteria bow to your will, I will trust you. That being said, would you like porridge? Eggs? Cured meats? Fruit? I do not think you would appreciate only biscuits."

Thranduil was vaguely amazed to see that she could begin a sentence at the kitchen stove and speak its final words while peering into the depths of the wood stove. Crumbling some newsprint and taking a bit of kindling, she began to coax it back to life.

"I would enjoy two eggs, and porridge. Allow me to care for the wood stove."

His voice was kind, yet commanding. Looking at him, she abandoned what she was doing without protest. While she measured out the grain for the porridge, she shook her head. A lifetime of living alone had left her very unaccustomed to negotiating assorted minutiae with a partner. It felt strange, too, to want to do as he asked. _Where did that come from?_ She was notoriously single-minded and determined, with no small streak of stubbornness. She frowned, as she stirred in the salt and water, and a tiny bit of sugar, setting it on the range to heat.

"It is from having accepted me as your lover, Earlene."

The frown did not leave her face, as she stirred the porridge. "I am not complaining, I agreed to everything. But I still do not understand. Is it something that allows you to sway me, from without? Or is it that something from you has changed something within me?"

"The latter. You are experiencing the emotional component of being bound to me. While you are still able to oppose me, if you wished to put your mind to it, your feelings are inclined now to harmonize with my wishes. And my feelings are inclined to please you, as well. Though I experience this with less intensity than you, it is present."

"Too bad humans don't have that," she quipped, as she digested what he'd told her. "I can only imagine what would happen to the divorce rate."

"Divorce?"

"Divorce, my Lord, when one or both parties of a wedded couple decides to dissolve their marriage, and go their separate ways." She saw the look of bafflement on his face. "From what you have told me, Thranduil, it seems to me that humans do not always live with each other in anything remotely approaching the harmony of elves. I would have been out of a job, if human nature were different."

She made them tea, and served him his food. Reheating a few biscuits for herself in the microwave, she slathered shameless amounts of butter and honey on them as he watched in amusement. It was impossible, to not get honey all over the hand she used to eat them with. When she finished her biscuit, she found that her arm was caught like lightning. Apparently, his talents included the ability to move swifter than her eye could follow. Bringing her fingers to him, he enjoyed himself by licking all the honey off. Flushing slightly pink at the recollection of her desires, she could hardly blame him for wishing to enjoy the honey on her skin. Amused, she finished her small portion of porridge while he indulged himself. When he released her, with a mischievous expression lingering on his face, she began to wash up. Nudging her laptop open, she looked at the screen while she cleaned the dishes.

"More rain today," she said. "And later, Ian will probably come by to check in."

"Ian?" Thranduil's eyebrows raised.

"I hired the services of a local man, to care for certain matters while I am adjusting to life here. Firewood, for one, and any needed repairs or requests for supplies. I have no transportation here, aside from a bicycle. He is to come, every other day. Come to think of it, about the only thing he said to me was to warn me off from cutting your trees. Are you known to the villagers, my Lord?"

"Lore in these lands is a persistent thing," he said. "It is safe to say that there is a belief in this area, that a power dwells in these woods. They believe in elves, and few of them ever set foot inside. And those that have, were suitably encouraged to depart. They most certainly will not come here to cut firewood," he said vehemently. “Outsiders have come as well, dark-hearted men looking to prey on others. They...lost themselves in here, shall we say?”

"I find it interesting, that not a whisper of any of this found its way to me, for all the tenacity with which those working for me researched this region."

"Would it have stopped you from coming here, if it had?" he said, his blue eyes looking at her intently.

She grinned, determined to tease him. "Not in the least. I don't believe you exist, remember?" As she said it, she took and kissed his hand.

He chuckled, but then his face became more earnest. "It is time, then, to challenge your thinking once more. Come." Rising, he donned a cloak that he had draped over her wingback chair. While she had seen the fabric, she had not realized what it was. Looking outside, she saw the overcast sky that would turn to rain, and went to the wardrobe to retrieve her coat.

"You will not need more garments, Earlene. I will not allow you to become cold."

Turning right back around, she returned to him. He brought her under his cloak, holding her close against him, and offered his arm. As they walked into the woods, he explained. "As you already know, I can influence what humans can see. The entrances to my Halls are impossible to detect, unless I allow it. We now walk the pathway leading there, though, you will not need to come and go without me for the foreseeable future. The gates will become visible to you, though another human standing next to you would see nothing but trees. Once there, you may see some of my other subjects. They will appear in different degrees of transparency; that is what fading does. I did not appear to you until I was fully restored because your mind was not prepared to see an elf; much less one that was partly faded. But I believe you are ready, now.

Soon, I will begin the restoration of my people. I have decided that it is time for us to learn again of the outer world. Your kind has changed in the last century, beyond anything I could have imagined. You will help us to understand, when the time comes."

"This is what you could not tell me, before?"

"Among other things, yes."

"Do you wish to mention any of those other things, my Lord?"

He chuckled. "I can only imagine what a formidable verbal opponent you must have been, in your profession, meluieg."

"Thranduil, what is it that you keep calling me, 'meluieg' ? I remember in the night that you held me, and were speaking in a language I have never heard."

"It means 'sweet one', just as I call you in your own tongue. And, that would be a very large one of those Other Things, Earlene. I require you to learn our language, Sindarin, as quickly as possible."

How she did not see that one coming, she would never understand. Sure god, she hoped it wasn't worse than Irish, that she had no desire to learn. Or Latin. She'd pitted herself against that one when she was an undergraduate, and beginning to seriously consider law school. Either way, rolled r's were apparently about to be in her future, for which she was now glad of her three years of high school German.

"Yes, my Lord." She thought for awhile. "Do you have texts that explain the rules of pronunciation and the grammar, in English?"

"I am afraid not. You have only me, and the other elves."

"Thranduil, do any of the others speak English?"

"No, meluieg, no one has fluency besides me. Though my seneschal, Thanadir, has some knowledge of your tongue."

"Do you have writing, and is the alphabet the same as English?"

"Yes, we write, and no, it is not the same."

"With your help, I should be able to outline a format of rules that I can use to learn...but please, my King, be patient with me. And if you could procure even a small sample of the writing, that would help me. Best of all would be if you have materials that you use to teach young children literacy, if such things exist." Looking up at him, she thought she caught a nod of agreement.

When they had continued on for what felt like at least a half hour, a descending pathway led them to a mouldering stone bridge that looked ancient beyond words. It crossed over a slowly flowing stream that ran below. The stonework was almost difficult to make out, due to the preponderance of lichens and rotted leaves that caused it to blend in with the forest floor.

"At one time, that stream was a rushing river," he intoned wistfully. "Further on, it joins another stream that still carries a enchantment of sleep. I will advise you not to touch the waters in these woods, until you have learned them well. It is another of our protections against the outside world. You are seeing, now, Earlene, what any human coming to this place would see. And I now grant that you will see the gates of my Halls, as we do."

A shimmering veil seemed to fall from her vision, and she saw that the bridge was not mouldering after all. It was wrought of finely carved granite, bright and clean. Yet it was the sight of what lay beyond, that plunged her heart into turmoil. What had appeared to be an ordinary hillside was really an immense portico sheltering a towering entryway, supported by ornate columns that ascended from a mighty platform of stone. Massive doors were centered between the pillars,  ornamented with stunning metalwork that had long weathered to verdigris. Each column base and capital mimed the appearance of interlacing trees; even the shafts were carved in a semblance of their trunks. The columns, together with the intricate design of the door, created an illusion of approaching an avenue through a vastness of trees. This effect was further reinforced by the matching faux entrances in hammered metal that flanked the main door. Yet more decorative carving created casings over the arches; the sum effect of all this grandeur spoke of a dense forest, access to which was imposingly forbidden.

Her lips parted in amazement as she looked up at her King, suddenly feeling very small. The reality sank in with a crushing weight; his words had not been in exaggeration or jest. He really was a sovereign, and this astounding architectural display, the like of which belonged to the greatest rulers of this world, was likely only the merest expression of his majesty.

He touched her face gently, the palm of his hand against her cheek. "What is inside will seem very overwhelming to you, meluieg. It is a memory of the glory of time long gone by. And yet, it stands because of my power to preserve it. This is also your home, now, though I understand that it will take time for you to accept. My people will be curious about you, especially my seneschal. He is very proper, and I wish to prepare you for the strong possibility that in order to keep his happiness, he will wish to witness you reciting your vows to me, again, before my throne. He will seem to your eyes as a ghost, with immeasurable sternness, and will likely demand this of both of us. Thanadir is my most faithful and trusted servant, and his peace of mind means a great deal to me."

"Will he dislike me?" She could not help but think, that this preamble did not sound encouraging.

"For Thanadir, like and dislike are not in his vocabulary. He swore himself to my service thousands of years ago, and even though we are much diminished, he yet takes his duty very seriously. That I have claimed you, and that all procedural correctness has been cared for; those things will be his concern. He is the closest thing to a legal counsel we have, here. And whereas your knowledge is of the laws of the outer world, Thanadir's task is to administer the affairs of his King, such as they are. Time may have passed us by, here, but we cling yet to our ways and our life in these woods. Though, you will please him greatly, to address him by his proper title of Your Excellency."

He guided her on, toward the gigantic doorway that he called the Great Gates, which opened at a gesture from him.

She called to mind the bottles of wine at home, that she had not yet touched. Today had already provided reason enough to open one, and it had hardly begun. As they passed beyond the threshold into the relatively dim lighting of the interior, she saw the light changing and glanced behind her, to see the gates sealing of their own accord. Their closure shut away the external daylight with a finality that seemed frightening. What ever illusions she had of personal freedoms were stripped away, replaced by the knowledge that she was completely under his authority and control. Though she had already given this to him, it felt very different here, now, than it had in the cozy confines of her home. When she turned forward again, the spectacle in front of her caused her to plant both of her feet and stop.

Thranduil felt her resistance, and allowed it. He would not require her to walk on, until she'd had some time.

For a moment, she stood and stared. And then reflexively, turned to him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his clothing. What she was seeing was too much, and all the mental discipline she possessed could not take this in, all at once. She needed...a moment.

He returned her embrace, soothing her. "I know this is hard for you, Earlene," he whispered. "You are strong of mind, and have nothing to fear. These are my Halls, of living wood and stone. Once you give them a chance, and your mind adjusts, you will find peace and happiness here."

He felt her nod against him. After not too much longer, she released him, and turned to look again. Trying to manage humor, she whispered, "My Lord, I am afraid that part of the problem was the use of the word 'Hall'. 'Vast and ornate cavern' seems much more accurate, though I recognize that it would be awkward to say."

He chuckled. "I apologize for my failure to better prepare you. Sometimes there is harm in saying too much, and sometimes harm in saying less. It is not my wish to cause you discomfort. Do you feel you can walk on, now?"

"Yes, my King."

He led her on, up and down stone stairs, over curving arches and bridges, and winding paths of both wood and stone. it reminded her of a living cathedral, except that one navigated entirely by walking on flying buttresses instead of the floor below. The splendor and beauty of this vast space was like nothing she had ever imagined, as he led her toward the central feature of the cavern. An immense baldachin of intricately shaped stonework descended from the cavern ceiling, to grace his royal throne. As they approached closer, the elevated seat crowned with the antlers of some mighty creature came into full view...as did the spectral figures of other elves.

Somehow, this did not bother her as she thought it might, for the simple reason that she'd had advanced warning. At this point it simply...was. She saw one of the figures approach them, and bow deeply to Thranduil, not even acknowledging her. This seemed fine; just now, it felt better to be ignored. But the ignoring did not last long. The King began to speak rapidly in, how had he said it, 'SEEN darrr een'? She made out her name, at least once. This must be Thanadir, the seneschal. Thranduil's choice of the word "stern" for him was quite apt. He was handsome in his own way, but no kindness or emotion that she could discern touched his features. She had quickly lowered her eyes, when she saw that Thanadir regarded her. The King stopped speaking in Sindarin, and turned to her.

"Earlene, this is Thanadir, my seneschal."

Seamlessly, she bowed her head deeply and said, "Your Excellency," keeping her eyes lowered. She had no wish to irritate the second elf she met. Much as with her introduction to her firm in New York, abiding by accepted manners went far in trying to make a decent first impression.

"Welcome to our Halls, Earlene," she heard in a different voice, with an accent, and looked up at him in surprise. Even though she had been told he knew some English, she did not expect to hear it. Thanadir now wore a faint smile. This time she looked at him, as she spoke.

"Thank you for your kindness, Excellency." The smile increased a bit more. Averting her gaze again, she heard another flurry of exchange between them.

"Meluieg, as I guessed, Thanadir wishes to formally record your vows. While he would like for this to occur in our language, we both recognize that that would be very difficult at this present time. Unless, you feel you can memorize a short phrase, by way of response?"

Earlene raised her eyes to the King. "You wish me to speak words of agreement in your language, to vows I will not be able to understand? I can remember something short, I believe; but you must give me your word that I will be agreeing to the exact same promises, my Lord." An emphasis, while still respectful, had been placed on the word 'exact.' In her eyes, she had been outmaneuvered by him more than sufficiently, in the short time she had known him. If she conceded anything further to him, she might as well put shackles on herself and walk into a prison cell, if there were such things here.

 _Clever woman_ , thought Thranduil, smiling, as he translated her words to Thanadir.

She saw that a sour look of disapproval came over the seneschal's face as he regarded her, until another torrent of speech from his King erased it, and Thanadir's expression changed to one somewhere between admiration and pity. He replied to Thranduil, and gave a nod of assent to whatever had been said.

 

"Thanadir finds the condition to be seemly, Earlene. I am going to repeat words that mean 'I will, my King,' three times. See if you can remember them."

While she watched him and listened intently, he reiterated "Athon, i Aran nîn," very slowly. After the third time, he looked at her expectantly. On the first two tries, she stumbled, and he kindly corrected her. What she wouldn't give for an ink pen, to write this phonetically on her hand, she thought, but in the end she managed to master it.

Though partially transparent, Thanadir was apparently solid enough to carry physical objects, because he produced in short order the staff and crown of his King, which Thranduil accepted. He removed the diadem he wore, in order to place this crown on his head. It was like nothing she'd ever seen; a living wreath of interlacing twigs, and leaves. It was lovely, and fitting for a woodland ruler.

Thranduil explained to her what would happen; that he would sit on his throne. She would kneel down below, and that as before, she would respond to what he would ask her. When the questions were done, he would descend and speak his promise to her, and she would kiss his ring. While it was kind of him, almost all of her mental effort was being occupied trying to remember the words he'd taught her.

 _I will help you, Earlene, if you forget,_ she heard in her mind. That alone filled her with relief.

The short ceremony was over in a blink, and she had been able to recall the words on her own. Which was fortunate, as the import of what she was agreeing to was exponentially amplified by being here. As he raised her up, she thought of how she was now very unlikely to ever see America again...not that it had been likely, even before this. For reasons she did not understand herself, her memories of lower Manhattan and its majestic skyscrapers, amidst which she'd lived and worked for so long, surged through her. Long before New York had a single building, this had already been here for thousands of years, and so had he...it was just hard. Hard to wrap one's head around all of this. She felt very close to tears, and she had no wish to give into them.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Thanadir taking his leave, and the lovely crown and staff along with it. Replacing his diadem, the King ushered her away from the throne, further toward the back of the cavern. He kept his hand at the small of her back as they walked, both guiding and reassuring her. After winding their way through the interminable labyrinth of passages, or so it seemed to her, he opened a door and led her inside, closing it behind him. This very large and richly appointed set of rooms must be his, she thought.

"You may look at the rooms, meluieg," he said softly. "This is my private home, and is now yours as well." The comparatively confined space felt reassuring, as did the rooms themselves. They smelled of him, which she liked. Though far different than her own dwelling, she did not find the opulence intimidating. The societal circles in which her career had demanded participation had included some of the wealthiest businesspeople in Manhattan. Most of whom, she mused, seemed determine to spend their wealth trying to outdo one another. She had seen bathrooms that could rival his throne, in some respects, not that it mattered. It had interested her, to attend their parties and dinners. She fit in seamlessly, even if she did tire of having to rent expensive clothing for such occasions. It did not do, to be seen in the same dress or designer shoes twice running. Yet there were always ways to get around having to waste unheard of sums of money, and she'd managed to find rather a lot of them.

Accepting his invitation, she walked around. Tables, desks, carpets, chairs, lamps, wall hangings, objects of beauty, bed, books, scrolls. The smallest item to the largest were all of exquisite craftsmanship; most of what was here could find a place of honor in the Metropolitan Museum. The room had a warm ambiance to it, even if the temperature was cooler...she noticed there was an unlit fireplace, so presumably, it could be heated. Moreover, she could likely be content here.

"Remove your clothes, Earlene."

That was not entirely what she expected to hear. _Then again, what was he supposed to say, how do you like the colors of the room?_ Still mentally numb from having to repeat her vows, she did as he asked, pulling the dress over her head. She then removed shoes, and leggings, leaving only what little there was of her bikini underpants.

"You may leave those on; you are going to be measured," he said. Before she could utter a word of protest, Thanadir entered and approached her, with what appeared to be measuring tape and writing tools. She looked at Thranduil with a plea of desperation in her eyes, flushing red at being seen basically nude by another male.

Quickly realizing what was wrong, he went to her, temporarily blocking her from Thanadir's sight. "I did not realize this about you, Earlene, I am sorry. You must understand that elves think nothing of nudity. Thanadir has measured hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies in the course of his duties. I will not force you to do this, now, if you feel you cannot endure it." He leaned down, to kiss her cheek, and then her lips, though it was a light kiss, not one meant to arouse.

"I can manage," she whispered. "I..." he placed a finger over her lips.

"It will not take long, and you will be shown my gratitude," he murmured seductively.

"Please, do not leave me alone," she asked. He nodded, and then stepped aside, gesturing to Thanadir to proceed.

To his credit, Thanadir did nothing at all to create further discomfort for her. He was swift, worked with a professional demeanor, and never looked at her once in a way that made her feel other than that she was as interesting as one of the pieces of furniture in the room. He never once met her eyes. Even the more awkward measures, such as her breasts and her instep, he managed with delicacy. Though at one point, he spoke and was tugging at her foot, and she did not understand.

"He wishes you to lift your foot, and step on the measuring tape, longways and crosswise."

Soon enough it was over, and Thanadir bowed to Thranduil, and withdrew.

"May I dress again?" she asked him, feeling chilly.

"Soon," he said. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed, pulling back the covers and divesting her of her last bit of clothing. Though she did not understand how, the linens felt wonderfully warm, as though they had just come out of the dryer. Covering her, as he disrobed, he smiled at her kindly. "I would not have your memories of your first visit here be ones marked by anxiety and embarrassment, meluieg. I have much to learn about you, to see to your comfort as best I can. With this, I can at least assure that you will have enjoyed one thing."

As he slid in next to her and brought her into his embrace, he spoke again. "I thank you, for what you are giving, Earlene. Do not think me ungrateful."

As his hand lavishly caressed her now warm body, she only had time to whisper, "You are welcome, Thranduil," before his lips closed over hers, making further conversation impossible. For the next half hour, he created an extremely pleasant memory of her arrival. She found that many of her stresses and misgivings melted away, with the gift of his body. Resting after their enjoyments, she began to feel hungry, and realized that lunch was some distance away.

"We will depart soon, meluieg. I too am desiring food."

She was soon dressed, and she waited on him to do the same. He disappeared elsewhere in the rooms for a moment, returning to place a box on a nearby table. Turning to her, he held her chin lightly in his fingers.

"Soon enough, meluieg, you will be interacting with the outer world. I have a gift for you, which I desire you to wear. You are not to remove it, unless I do so for you." He opened the box, which held a necklace.

It was an intricate design that would hang just where her collarbones met. It reminded her a great deal of the pattern on the exterior of his gates, strongly reminiscent of trees and leaves. It was like nothing any ordinary jeweler would ever have made. The craftsmanship was incomparable. But the part that was equally not so ordinary was that it appeared to be made of a small fortune in diamonds, set in white gold or platinum. Earlene honestly did not know whether to thank him, or inform him that wearing this in the outer world was an invitation for every thief on the island to cut her throat in order to steal it.

He chuckled. "You would not go so far afield, unescorted, Earlene. I am sworn to protect you, and would never expose you to danger. This is a far more local matter. Those in the village will see this. There is no clearer message that can be sent, concerning to whom you now belong. I believe you will find that those who live here will more readily help you, and you will not need to ask for discretion or field awkward questions. And, you have a keen eye. It is very old, crafted by the dwarves."

"Thank you, my Lord. It is very beautiful; you honor me." She held her hair aside, as he moved to place it on her. Astonishingly, she could barely feel it, which confused her. Having rented a few expensive pieces in her time, she knew how much such things could weigh, and how grateful she was to have them off at the end of an evening.

He held her by the shoulders, as his eyes bored into hers. "The metal is mithril, Earlene, something that can no longer be obtained in this world. There is nothing lighter, or stronger...or more priceless. Much like the gift of your service to me."

Her lips parted; she did not know how to respond. But he did, having seen it as an invitation. With a last, long kiss from him the conversation was concluded. He gestured for her to leave, and was right behind her. When they reached the gates, Thanadir was there, and shades of others to whom she had not been introduced. The elves were all beautiful, she realized. The King had said, he would restore them? Pausing, she tugged gently back against Thranduil. Turning to Thanadir, she bowed her head. "I am pleased to have met you, Your Excellency," she said, not looking him in the eye. The King raised his eyebrows, unable to conceal a smirk at the subtle look of delight on his seneschal's face. No one else might have noticed a thing, but Thranduil did.

The King made a gesture of parting to those assembled that she did not exactly understand, but which they all returned, before they left through the gates. Given that a shocking downpour greeted them, she was sorry they were not staying here. But lunch was the better part of an hour away, and the stack of emails....

Thranduil procured a second cloak from somewhere within his own; perhaps he had had it draped over his other arm, and she had not noticed? When he fastened it around her, she immediately felt much warmer.

"Earlene, can you run?"

She smiled. "Probably not like you can, but yes, that is one of the ways in which I exercise. Though usually not in a dress."

"Then we will try. I can carry you, just as easily and as swiftly, should you tire."

Furrowing her brow, she started off at a slow jog across the bridge, fairly certain he would have zero trouble keeping up. As she warmed up, she increased her speed, hearing him behind her, until finally settling into her usual pace. The cloak somehow shed the water magically well...and she had to wonder, if magically was exactly the correct term. Things here were not normal, at least to human experience. It was inexplicable, how she seemed to remain warm and dry running through the paths that were becoming muddier by the minute, even her feet.

At this far quicker pace, they reached her home soon enough. When she finally was sure where she was, she sprinted off away from him, laughing for the fun of it, to see how long it would take him, to catch her. Quicker than she would have guessed, she was taken in his arms. He would not put her down, despite her laughing protests, until they arrived at the house. Thranduil held her so that she was raised up taller than him, and she found herself enjoying looking down on him for a change. He was smiling up at her, with sparkling eyes. "Are you having fun, my Lord?" she asked, teasing him. He smiled even wider, in response. The beauty of his face, smiling in this way, dazzled.

And suddenly, she found herself experiencing the first stab of an emotion far stronger than fondness. Without thinking, she held his face and kissed him. When she came up for air, and looked into his eyes again, a flicker of pain crossed her face before she looked away. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, trying to find some equilibrium again.

"Earlene," he whispered, rubbing her back.

She shook her head. "I knew this would  happen, my Lord. It was not going to be avoidable. I will do my best, not to be obnoxious. And you are hungry. Set me down, or we will never eat."

Once inside, busying herself at the stove happily distracted her. "I hope you like cheese," she said, as she was well along the preparations for grilled sandwiches. The soup pot had been immediately set to reheat, and now she was slicing up fruit and greens for small salads. And while she was bustling around, she started a Dublin coddle...she'd rather not have to do hours of legal work, and then start thinking ahead about dinner. This could cook for hours, and then she could make a soda bread. Soon enough, a pleased elf was eating lunch. She forced herself to not eat as much, knowing that if she gave into her full hunger, she would never make it through her emails. Starting the kettle as she buzzed around between assembling the coddle and beginning to clean up, she found him at her side, watching.

"How do you do that, Thranduil, move so quickly? If you gave me twenty minutes' head start, you could still catch me before I made it home from your Halls, couldn't you?"

"Perhaps we will have to find out," he teased. "For a human, you run well. It pleases me, that you are physically fit. Many of your kind do not seem to care for their bodies. But I am not standing here, to discuss running. I want to know how I can help you. I do not know how to prepare food, but I could do what you are doing now."

"You want to wash dishes?"

"Your keen analytical mind has an accurate grasp of the circumstances, Earlene."

Her lips parted slightly. Perhaps she had better be careful about teasing him; he was manifesting considerable talent.

Chastened, she placed the coddle in the oven. "Do you need me to explain?"

"I have watched you carefully for some days now. I believe I can manage. And if not, correct me."

"Yes, my King. Would you object to my changing my clothes after I finish here, and may I then work at the computer?"

"You may dress as you wish, and work as long as you do not mind me watching you, once I am finished."

As Earlene pondered the nature of confidentiality agreements, she decided that she a) no longer cared, and that b) if he wished to disrupt the world of domestic finance, it was his own affair. "Of course, my Lord."

Thranduil's eyebrows raised, having followed her reasoning. He was essentially pleased, that she was giving more weight to his simplest requests than what he realized were serious commitments, on her part.

Opening the laptop, and tapping a few keys, she disappeared for a few moments. Returning wearing only the leggings, a long sleeved tunic, and a woolen cardigan, she immediately began organizing her work. Though to be truthful, she had allowed herself a few seconds in front of the mirror, to marvel at the necklace she now wore. She sighed, because no matter how exquisite, it was a collar of servitude, an incessant reminder of her forsaken freedom...and yet how many masters had ever adorned those under them, like this? None came to mind. Leaving her conflicting reflections, she returned to mix the dry ingredients for the bread, and sour the milk.

He watched her flit around the kitchen, as he worked, feeling some concern. What he had felt in her, earlier, was a powerful emotion. _Mortal love_ , he had realized. And that she had understood, she would fall in love with him, and not feel loved in returned. He frowned, recalling what he had told her about this earlier, and what she had said in reply. If the sum of his emotional regard for her was the same as what their kind called love, could he not at least return her sentiment? It would cost him nothing, and he had no wish for her to suffer. He had asked, and would continue to ask, a great deal from her. It was worth consideration.

Finally settling in front of the computer, she had already begun to mutter in the elaborate language of her profession. "...a split emerged among the federal circuits regarding the scope of this class action "tolling" rule. That split, which recently deepened..." After several more minutes of sporadic reading, her fingers began to fly over the keys once again. Eventually he joined her, having finished making the tea for them, and brought his chair near to hers. As he looked on, he realized more and more the complexity of what she did. These were systems that influenced the heart of commerce for millions of those living, and he had seen enough of her thoughts and memories to realize that she had passed beyond ordinary levels of achievements. She was known by the powerful and the wealthy, and honored for her skill. If she were placed in charge of trade for the entire realm of Gondor at the height of its glory, it would have been less demanding than what she had done before coming to him. He was fortunate, and he knew it. He rubbed small circles on her back while she typed, which she seemed to enjoy greatly, from how much she leaned into his touch.

At one point, she stood up. "I have a little more to do, but..." Fishing around in her computer case, she brought out paper tablets and a pen, and placed them in front of him. "Please, would you write out your alphabet for me? Perhaps in columns, with enough space to make notes on the side of them? And then, just some simple words, maybe your name, and what you had me say earlier today for my vows, things like that?"

She saw that he picked up the pen, but appeared perplexed...until she recalled, she had seen Thanadir using a quill and ink. The use of a quill had been interesting to her, but she had been too mortified at the time to comment.

"Like this," she said gently, showing him to remove the cap, and that the ink simply came out of the pen.

He frowned. "Quills may go by the wayside, very quickly. Though, they do allow for finer writing."

"There are many, many choices in pens that are easier than quills, my Lord. I will show you, later on."

By the time she finished her work and closed the computer, he had completed his list. Her eyes widened to see the strange, flowing letters. "Wait. That cannot be..." Rising, she went to the bookshelf, and brought out "The Lord of the Rings," turning once again the pages of the appendices. She found the table entitled "The Tengwar" and returned to him, placing the book next to what he had written.

"Is this the same as your writing?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "How...?"

"I cannot answer you. Though, it was buried in these pages that I learned your name, on accident. I have never read these, outside of flipping a few pages the night I came here. The word 'Lasgalen' caught my attention, just when I was about to return it to the shelf."

Just then the loud rumble of an engine came from outside, and she looked out the window. "Pardon me, Thranduil, Ian is here, and there will probably be wood to offload. I will go help him."

Without waiting for a response, she walked outside to greet the man.

"How are you today, Ian? Enjoying the fine weather?" she teased.

"Sure look it, ma'am. God, it's fierce weather."

She smiled. "Then I'll help you, and you can go and get dry sooner."

Only then did Ian look up enough to see the necklace she wore. His eyes grew larger than saucers. He swallowed, and said nothing, but loaded his arms with wood while she did the same. When they had each taken about two loads of wood, Ian was gathering his third armload when Thranduil made an appearance to help. Ian had overloaded his arms, and one or two pieces were teetering threateningly. Before he could drop them, Thranduil removed them from the stack, to help. Ian saw him, and dropped all the wood, with a look of terror on his face. As Earlene watched, the caretaker knelt before Thranduil.

 _How do they know_ , she wondered?

Fascinated, she waited at a respectful distance as Thranduil raised Ian up, speaking kindly to him.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Ian. You may see me here, from time to time. Now let me help you with your work, so that you can indeed get out of the fierce weather."

This brought a weak smile out of the caretaker. After her past few days, Earlene felt a bit sorry for Ian. She could guess at his shock. As they worked, she saw Ian looking at her, with both concern and wonder. She smiled at him and simply quipped, "Well, no one told me he came with the house." The look of befuddlement on his face was more or less priceless. Soon enough, the job was done.

Removing his cap, Ian said: "I'm gunna head on, ma'am."

"Thank you Ian, I will see you soon," she beamed.

More tea later, she was poring over Thranduil's letters, and decided that a pencil might be in order. Rooting through her case, she found one that was actually sharp. And as she did so, a random thought occurred to her.

"Thranduil, can Thanadir and the other elves see my thoughts, as you do? And...is there a distance at which you do not hear me, if I can ask?"

He answered her in order. "They could, if you wished them to. But without explicit invitation, no one would seek to search your mind in that manner. I operate on a somewhat different level; I am King. If I choose to, I can know the thoughts of any of my subjects. Being mortal, your thoughts are very...discernible, to me. If you are within the borders of my realm, I can hear you. Were you to step outside, you would fade from my hearing."

She nodded, gratified that he would answer her last question. And then something else crossed her mind, equally random. With a jolt, she realized that making assumptions about anything connected to him was perhaps a bad idea.

"My Lord...."

He looked at her, mildly amused. "You are just now considering whether or not I can get you with child, Earlene?"

"Well, yes," she said, embarrassed. "It is not something one generally considers, in dreams. But now...and I do not have any means of birth control with me, here."

"The technical answer is, yes, I can."

She frowned, feeling suddenly very anxious. "And the not-so-technical answer?"

"You would have to desire this, with me, and understand the things that are not the same as for two mortals, before I would allow it. It would be cruel of me, to have asked so much of you, and add a pregnancy to the list of things to which you already must adjust."

Trying to read between his words, she asked carefully, "Are you telling me that while I could conceive from having relations with you, that you have a way of preventing it, unless I inform you that I want to bear your child?"

"Yes, that is correct."

She blinked at him, for both implications of what he'd revealed. She was free, from having to worry about becoming pregnant. But more baffling was that he'd just said, in so many words, that he would be willing to father a child with her. This was not something she would have expected, at all.

"If I can offer you counsel, Earlene, do not think on this more, at present. You see clearly; you do not have to concern yourself with this. And regarding the other, if your heart moves you to know more at a later time, ask again then. There is much that is new to you, now. Enjoy the pleasures of the body, without fear. I am willing to father a child with you, but I do not ask it. While children are seen as a blessing and are cherished by elves, my willingness is in recognition of your sacrifice to me. If motherhood is something you desire, I will not deprive you of it."

Not having ever given it serious thought, she did not know what she wanted. But she did know one thing; the swelling in her heart. Closing the distance between them, she spoke.

"You are generous, and kind, my King, and...I love you, for it. You are right, in that this is not the time for such considerations. But that you would do this, for me..." she shook her head, as she reached her hand to caress the strands of his hair. "Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork "Thanadir Beholds Unseemliness" housed at DeviantArt" : https://www.deviantart.com/annellspethraven/art/Thanadir-Beholds-Unseemliness-753150890


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 27, 2016

Staring at the pad of paper, and reading the appendices, she could at least see a way to assigning some sound values to the stems and bows that all seemed to look too much alike. "My Lord, please tell me the names of each of these letters?"

He pointed and slowly spoke each name in turn. "Tinco, parma, calma..."

When he had filled her list, she looked at the words he had written. "Which one is your name?"

When he indicated this, Earlene saw right away (after laboriously matching the letters of his name to the chart) that it was not as in English; there was no letter for each sound. There were letters that combined sounds, or other indicators of the values within the word. At least, though, the letters ran left to right.

"It will not please you to hear that there are two, actually three, ways in which these letters are used, meluieg. There are two methods for writing the language as we speak it; in the mode of Beleriand, there are individual letters to make the vowels, much like English. The tehta mode uses a system of extra marks to indicate vowel sounds. We will not even discuss Quenya, though at some point you will need to be aware of it and how it influenced Sindarin. You could easily use the Tengwar to write your own language, meluieg. The script allows for many kinds of sounds."

Earlene decided to ignore that last part, for the time being. "So you are telling me that there is more than one language of elves, that uses this lettering system?" 

She frowned, as she saw his nod, and wondered something. "Excuse me, for a moment." Returning to the computer, she entered 'Sindarin' into the search engine. Her jaw slackened, at the number of returns. 

"You have got to be kidding me," she muttered. There were grammars and online courses and dozens of websites devoted to everything about this language of his. _Even calligraphy instructions_ , she noted with incredulity. _For a language that allegedly did not exist?_  

It was, if possible, even more bizarre than her own bond to the King, in her eyes. She sat back, thinking, and decided she was obviously missing important information. "My Lord, would you be willing to make us some tea? Please?" Her eyes looked at him hopefully, through her bafflement.

He did not mind the request, as he saw that it was made very politely, and she in no way expected it. She was following some string of discovery and did not wish to break her train of thought, though she wanted tea. It would be much in his interest, not to mention courtesy, to do something so simple for her. "Yes, meluieg, I would."

With a look of thanks, she immediately turned back to the search engine. This time, she searched "The Lord of the Rings." Quickly she found that elaborate films had been made of the books, all of them, that were well regarded and appeared to have a considerable popular following. Perhaps she actually did recall that....seeing billboards, or whatnot, but she'd had little time to follow entertainment culture. _Forget the books, for now_ , she thought. _In a day of watching, I can learn far more, faster._

And just before the laptop closed, she saw one last email come through...."My things will arrive here the day after tomorrow, my Lord. Faster than I expected", she said, happily.

 Walking to the television, she sat in the chair and turned it on, looking at her options. The simplest thing would be to simply pay to stream these. She decided to watch them in the order of their release. In under three minutes, she has the first one cued up, extended versions, with subtitles. If she was going to spend the time on this, it would be done properly.

The tea was ready, and he offered it to her, looking up at the screen that now glowed with an image, to his astonishment. Obviously, this was new for him. Explaining the television and the concept of films for storytelling, she outlined her discoveries, and that she felt determined to educate herself in this manner.

"There are many hours of this. Almost an entire day. If it does not interest you, I understand. Though, you could tell me much, I think, if you would watch with me. I can stop the film at any time, to ask you questions or for you to tell me something. I believe this will help considerably, to teach me about the world from which you came in a shorter amount of time."

"I will watch with you, Earlene, if only because I have never seen the like."

With that consent, after they were seated next to each other with her held in his embrace, she started the movie.

In the first few seconds, a female spoke in whispered tones: "i amar prestar aen, han mathon ne nen...."

"That is Sindarin," she heard him whisper. "How is this possible?" Not five minutes later, a great battle scene was shown, and she felt him tremble beneath her. Looking up to see his stricken face, she paused it.

"Thranduil, what is wrong?" she asked carefully, kindly. He did not answer for some moments, and appeared to be seeking to master himself. She waited, until finally he spoke.

"Though you have explained that this is a portrayal, I was not prepared for how convincing this feels, to look upon. Earlene, my father died, fighting in this battle at Dagorlad, which lasted for months. I was there as well. When he fell, it was left to me to lead the remnant of our people to safety, and assume my father's rule. Two thirds of our warriors lost their lives there, on the accursed plains near to Mordor. It was so long ago, and yet...." he trailed off.

Earlene said nothing, but turned to embrace him tightly. She did not need to confirm with him, whether these things had actually happened. They obviously had been real, in some other place and time. If all this was the case, he had indeed lived through unimaginable spans of years. Though she wondered, she doubted she could comprehend the sorrows he had likely known in his life. As she held him, she fervently hoped that there had been joys as well. It felt a little like trying to understand the universe...it was so much bigger than anything she was accustomed to considering.

He perceived the sorrow in her mind, that he had suffered this loss and had seen a painful reminder, and was deeply touched. He kissed her brow, in gratitude, smiling. "I am well, Earlene. Please, continue."

A little later on, she heard, "Bilbo Baggins!? The halfling had this thing?" She listened diligently to both Thranduil and the film, as she tried to follow all that was said and done. Sometimes he would make a clucking sound of disapproval, when something was not right, accompanied by outbursts like "Glorfindel saved the Halfling, not Arwen."

Not much further on, she learned that her King had a son, long ago, who had eventually departed for Valinor, as well...and that there had indeed been love and marriage between humans and elves.

He became very excited when the characters were to enter a place called Moria, and made her stop in order to pay attention to a doorway that was shown in the film. For five minutes he narrated about the elf who made the silver lettering that glowed by moonlight (whereby he would not continue until she could say "ithil" [moon] and "ithilden" [the very precious and rare material that allowed the lettering to shine by moonlight, made from the same metal as her mithril necklace] correctly). And that this same elf, Celebrimbor, had also made the elven rings of power shown at the beginning of the film. Then he proceeded to slowly read the words of the gate,"Ennyn Durin Aran Moria....What does 'aran' mean, Earlene?"

Whereas her eyes had been about to glaze over, trying to keep up with his torrent of information, she now felt his intense scrutiny. How was she supposed to know? Yet logic quickly took over as she looked down, trying to reason. _He would not ask me, if I could not know; the only thing I could know is what little he taught me today._ Frowning, she struggled to remember what he'd made her memorize to say her vows. _Wasn't 'aran' one of the words?_ But he had never broken the sentence down for her...yet the choice which seemed the most likely was 'king'.

"Very good," he said, smiling, and electing to take pity on her by resuming his seat. As the film continued, she felt awkward, to hear again about mithril. As her fingers ran over the necklace, the wizard character told of the staggering value of this metal. Thranduil had not been exaggerating, when he called his gift priceless.

She did not like the orcs, nor the cave troll. They were foul, awful looking things that reminded her more of cockroaches than anything else. The balrog earned a pause of the film. "Please tell me, my Lord, that there were not such things as these."

He stroked her hair. "I cannot do that, for they were real. There were once armies of them. The world into which I was born was one of great strife, against evils such as this...and worse."

Looking at him, she considered. "You were a warrior, once, and fought in this manner?"

He nodded, smiling. She already had dozens of questions, and suspected it would only get worse. Rising for a moment, she mixed the bread for dinner and added it to the oven, checking the liquid in the coddle while she was at it...and set the timer on her computer. While she did so, she asked more. "You were like your son, skilled with a bow?"

"No, meluieg, and yes. All of us had some skill at all weapons. Legolas was a great archer. My preferred weapon was the sword."

Determined to complete the film without further interruption, she resolved not to pause it again unless the request came from Thranduil. Which was fortunate, because the sight of yet another elven realm had her wondering why their modes of living were so different...Rivendell, Lorien...they were so unlike his Halls and yet still felt distinctly elvish, if these representations were accurate. And given how much he liked to mention that which was inaccurate, she felt they must be generally correct. The elves were an elegant race that apparently brought a refined beauty, in harmony with nature, to whatever they touched. She nestled against him.

When the film was done at last, she did not know what to think. So much in this story was unexpected, wonderful, tragic, exquisite, and horrifying. _Then again, was that so different from the world that was familiar to her?_ She rolled her eyes. There were only five more films of similar length remaining. Leaning back into him, she did not wish to move, but the alarm would go off at any moment. Taking just a little more time to enjoy his embrace, she turned to look on him. "You are hungry, my Lord?"

With his eyes sparkling with good humor, he nodded, before kissing her brow. "I feel I owe you something of an apology, meluieg. I have learned something, from seeing this, though not what you might think." He continued, through the frown of puzzlement that knitted her brows together. "When I first met you, I felt disdainful, of your inability to easily embrace that which lay outside your experience. And yet in the face of the technology you use so readily, I find myself struggling in the same way. That your kind possess the ability to craft and transmit images such as what you have shown me...even as I watched, I found it very hard to accept. I am forced to see that I apparently share the same limitations. I ask your pardon, for thinking less of you, when I had no right to do so."

Tilting her head slightly, she deconstructed his words. "You have my pardon, though it is not an exact parallel, Thranduil. As a human I am a lesser being than you, with fewer capabilities and greater limitations. But I appreciate it, to hear you say this. If I may speak freely, my Lord, you are unusual in my experience, though I recognize that I can only view your actions through the lens of encounters with others of my own kind. You have beguiled me, and yet even as you were doing this you showed, and continue to show, an honest humility that I have never seen in someone of great authority. Most seek to maintain their power, by never admitting to any flaws. Yet by openly declaring your consideration of those beneath you, you gain greater allegiance. I count myself fortunate, to belong to such as you." Kissing his hand in reverence, she only now noticed that he had left his ring behind, in his own rooms.

Before he had time to digest what she had just said, a jangling noise emitted from the computer.

"Dinner." Rising, she stopped the noise and served him in a flurry of activity. When all was in order, she retrieved a bottle of red wine, opening it. Looking at the label was pointless, as she knew nothing of the vintages available here; she only felt encouraged to see that the bottle had a cork and not a screw-cap; the latter rarely signaled anything good. 

A search of the cabinet yielded something that could pass for a wine glass. A cursory sniff of the bottle revealed that there might be hope, as did pouring out the rich, dark red liquid into the glass. A further sniff, and taste, caused her eyebrows to raise in surprise. "Solidly above average," she said, "which I would not have guessed. May I offer you wine, Thranduil?"

Though she only noticed as she was sampling the vintage, his eyes had followed her activities with rapt attention. "Please," he intoned hopefully.

Searching for another glass, she spotted one that was even more suitable, on a shelf just out of her reach. "Bother," she muttered, looking for a means by which to not have to climb on the countertop. An arm over her shoulder gently restrained her, as he easily reached the item she wanted.

"You are to ask me for help, Earlene. I do not expect, or desire, to only be served by you."

While she washed the glass he had handed her, she explained. "It is not only a question of serving you, Thranduil. My kind have customs of hospitality. You are a guest in my home, though, come to think of it, questions of ownership have become fuzzy indeed...but the point is, no matter who you were, I would feel obligated to provide for your comfort as best I can. That being said, I will do as you ask." She smiled as she filled his glass, and hers.

He accepted her words, and the wine. His generous sampling of the glass and ensuing pleased expression amused her. Clearly, he liked wine. Idly, she wondered how many bottles were here...and that was not the only pantry item that needed addressing. They ate once again in silence; she noted that he seemed to prefer this, at least until the greater portion of his hunger was satisfied. Waiting, she watched for an appropriate time to speak to him.

"You may converse with me if you wish, Earlene. This is my habit, because of endless years of eating alone."

"I did not realize," she said, "obviously. I need to understand some practical matters, my Lord. It would be wise, for me to go shopping in the village tomorrow, for food. You said that you will not keep me a prisoner in these woods. Does that mean I may come and go as I please?"

"Largely, yes. In the village, you are still under my protection. While I do not mean to keep you caged, your welfare is now my duty. If you were to need to travel further, other arrangements would need to be made to ensure your safety...and hopefully you will consent to give me at least another week, to make those arrangements possible."

She pressed on. "Based on Ian's reaction to you, I am wondering what I may encounter from the others here. What am I to say, to questions about...me, you, and all of this? These people seem to know perfectly well who you are, or he would not have kneeled to you."

"You will not reveal anything concerning my Halls. Their existence is secret and it will remain thus; this is my greatest command to you. They believe elves haunt the woods, and they have awareness of a tall elf King with blue eyes and fair hair. You are not the first to ever see me, and the tales have passed along. There are carven stones, near the edge of the woods, bearing the same design as on your necklace. They will not ask you; that you wear it will signify in their eyes that I have taken you for my own. You are clever, and quick witted. You may answer questions about me as you see fit, though I think you already see the wisdom of saying less, if you wish for them to not flee the room. 

You are free to come and go, in part, to slowly establish my willingness to no longer remain hidden from the villagers, and that I mean them no harm. You may befriend them if you choose to. They do not enter my woods, and we have not left our woods in long years.  I would like to explore establishing discreet relations with them, over time. I showed myself to Ian for a reason; I wished to make a test of the encounter. I am still considering these, and many other matters."

"I will keep your command, as I have promised to," she replied, "and thank you for the clarification." She paused. "One of the things I must care for is establishing myself with the health care system here, and a physician..." 

Thranduil held up his hand, smiling. "You may do as you wish with regard to the formalities, but you will have no need of a physician. You are under my care. The day will come when your body can no longer renew itself; I cannot overcome your mortality. But I can likely provide you many extra years, by keeping you free of sickness and injury."

"I thought something like that might be the case, but needed to be certain. One more question, my Lord, concerning me. It was my intention, coming here, to grow fruits and vegetables, perhaps even keep food animals. I find myself in the odd position of having purchased land that apparently does not belong to me, though I must still pay taxes on it," she frowned, "the point being, do you object to what I wish to do? "

He laughed at her attempts to tackle this awkward and convoluted subject in a respectful manner, and reached out to touch her affectionately. "You may do these things, Earlene. And if you would wait but a short time, perhaps two weeks, before executing your plans, we will help you. I have no objection to raising food. We will in fact need to do this; soon there will be many requiring food...but I have seen how your kind go about these things...ugly fences and strange constructs that are not pleasing to the eye. I believe you will find that we can teach you many things, and perhaps the other way around as well."

This sounded completely intriguing, indeed. "And now, I have a questions about you. You seem interested in our technology. Do you wish to learn to use a computer, and other such devices? If you truly want to understand the modern world, the need to do this on your part will be as unavoidable as your requirement for me to learn the language of your realm. Except," she smiled, "that I cannot compel you to do anything."

He did not hesitate. "I will learn, if you will teach me. I will not ask you or the others to acquire  new knowledge, and be unwilling to lead by example."

"Then I will purchase a computer for you, my Lord; you will need one of your own. One other thing, and then I am done for now. Do you wish me to procure clothing for you, that belongs to the modern world? I did not know if it was your intention to remain hidden or to interact with other humans. Your appearance is striking regardless of your clothing, but in elven garments you will be far more conspicuous. Though, some of what I have seen you wear could be suitable."

"You will show me examples of what is required. Those among us who make clothing are very skilled, and should be able to imitate anything worn here using our own fabrics. I have not mentioned this previously, but there are vast stores within my Halls of many things, Earlene. At one time we numbered in the tens of thousands, and were provisioned accordingly. Within a short span of time long ago, many departed for Aman, leaving those few of us that remained with a great plenty. In the time before we faded, we used little enough of our reserves, and then had no further need of it. Our material goods remain preserved; they are unaffected by the passage of time. So whether it be food or fabric, there is much that we already have...though fresh vegetables are not among them."

"Then it will be as you wish." She felt considerable amusement, and stifled a smile.

His eyes narrowed, as her thoughts were muddied enough that he could not easily piece out what she found so humorous. "What entertains you so, Earlene?" he asked.

"You, my Lord. When you wanted me to vow loyalty to you, I asked you what was in it for me. There are a number of things that I have learned from this discussion that would have been strong incentives for me to do as you wished, and yet you did not mention them. It is a strange manner in which to bargain."

He stood up and came close to her, drew her to her feet, and held her gaze. His face became grave, and sincere. He spoke softly, with a diction so carefully crafted that she could not miss the emphasis he placed on his words: "Perhaps I needed to see that your choice came largely from your heart, and not because of what inducements I could offer you."

She studied him for a long time, without looking away. "You are full of surprises, Thranduil. How strange, and how wonderful, to have met you."

"I feel much the same about you, Earlene. And now I will wash these dishes, while you enjoy the remainder of your wine."

Pulling her laptop toward her, she was happy to comply. And she'd even put the time to his use, out of appreciation. In between sips, she began a flurry of internet searches, and created lists of bookmarks. One folder for Sindarin, and another for Tengwar. Her eyebrows raised at the eighty-seven page online PDF file, that was a self-contained grammar book...and it was not the only one. Downloading the files, she kept searching. By the time the wine glass was empty, she had corralled a formidable array of references. With this information, and access to a native speaker, she felt confident that she could succeed...in time. Her printer would arrive the day after tomorrow. Closing the screen, she sighed. It was a quarter before nine...just early enough that bed was not fully justifiable, and just late enough that another film just shy of four hours seemed imposing. Though, there was this thing called the Pause button.

"You will be happier with yourself if you spend the time asking me your questions about what you saw, meluieg. Then perhaps you will better absorb whatever comes next." He had finished, and offered his hand to her. "Prepare for bed. I will behave myself, for a time, and explain whatever you wish."

She looked up and thought, _perhaps you bargain well after all_. Her reward was his brilliant smile and rich laughter.

Once they were propped up against the pillows, with her held against his warmth, she heard, "Ask, now," in his velvety baritone.

"This Sauron....what was he, exactly?"

"In the beginning, Eru Iluvátar, the creator, made the Ainur. They are the spirit beings. The Valar had greater powers, and the Maiar had lesser powers, but both were of the Ainur. Sauron was one of the Maiar, and among the strongest of their kind. One from among the Valar turned to wickedness; he was called Melko, though he has several names; Morgoth being the most well known. Sauron served Morgoth. His full history is long, and filled with grief for all those who listened to him. Suffice to say that cunning, deception, despair and cruelty were his greatest weapons. He was a terrible foe, and I and my people suffered greatly on account of his deeds."

"Did you ever visit these other places where elves lived, Rivendell, Lorien? Did they look anything like what was shown? Why are your Halls and their homes all so different from each other?"

"That is a big answer," he chuckled. "Perhaps I will give a longer explanation later. But you need to understand, I never possessed one of the three rings of power given to the elves. Though I am now grateful, at the time I was not. Elrond of Rivendell and Galadriel of Lorien did have rings, and their power helped keep their lands safe and beautiful at a time when my own realm fell under shadow and darkness. We endured, in the safety of my Halls...but only just. Mithrandir, the one also called Gandalf, in time possessed the third ring. And yet, Elrond and Galadriel were neither King nor Queen. There were different kinds of elves, Earlene, and my people are a mix of grey elves and wood elves; Sindar and Silvan. Just as the countries of this world have different cultures, so it was with elves."

She nodded. "You had only one son, my Lord? Or were there other children?"

His voice lowered. "There was only Legolas. His name means, 'Greenleaf.' He led a very different life than I did, and accomplished great things. He was gentle and kind, like his mother. Yet, he had my sense of duty. I loved him, and I love him still."

There was a fierceness and intensity to his words that made his answer physically difficult to hear; she felt a crushing pressure on her chest that made it hard to breathe, for the brief seconds he spoke of his son. It was as if something poured out of him in her direction, and threatened to bury her beneath it. _Perhaps this is what he meant, about love amongst most elves, and why he cannot love me. Maybe their love burns too intensely for those not of their own kind, and to be exposed to it would be like setting a delicate plant to wither under a desert sun._

Thranduil looked down at her, resting against him, astonished. "Earlene, you are insightful to a degree that I did not believe possible, for a daughter of men. You have grasped this, with great clarity."

She lifted her head to look at him, trying to absorb all of this. And then, very briefly, he saw the flicker of pain cross her eyes, once again. Lowering her head, she held onto him more tightly, and closed her eyes. She was refusing to think, refusing to feel.

"Earlene, look at me."

_Please, not just now. Please._

"I will allow it. I only wished to tell you, that I have considered your words to me. I can tell you that I love you as one of your own kind would, Earlene, because that is true. And unless I am much mistaken, you are feeling pain now, because you believe you will never hear me say these words to you. Do not suffer, Earlene, on account of this. Your heart has great depth and purity, and I do love you. Be at peace." His hand began to trace slow circles around her back, as her mind whirled in circles.

She remained silent for some time. "I am trying to recall the last time someone said anything to me, to which I could not form a response. It feels very strange, to have every thought and feeling laid bare to another. You could use your mastery over me very differently, if you chose. I will work that much harder for you, not out of compulsion, but out of love. Thank you, Thranduil, for your kindness in telling me this."

"I was not always as I am now, meluieg. Once I was cold, indifferent, and bitter beyond words. I might still argue that I have certain tendencies toward those things. I have tried to learn, and do better."

"I believe you have had a good measure of success," she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "The next time I am seduced by a different Elvenking, I will let you know how you rank by comparison."

His eyes widened, as he took a moment to work out what she'd said, before chuckling with appreciative laughter. Questions about Middle Earth saw no further progress, as a long arm with flawless skin reached to switch off the lamp.

 

 


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 28, 2016

Soft kisses on her shoulder woke her to a voice that said: "You have much to do today, Earlene, and so do I. Can your King plead with you for an early breakfast?"

Ever so slightly perturbed about having been woken, she was sorely tempted to ask him if she was going to be served any sausage, and swiftly decided to abandon the notion. The coarse subway banter of New York City, that she'd so often heard as thousands of commuters  tossed colorful sayings around the porcelain tiled  tunnels, was not appropriate here. She did not see his puzzled frown as he heard the thought, but did not understand the reference...it was just as well. Rubbing her eyes, she simply replied, "Yes, my Lord," which was a far wiser response.

Knowing she would go to the village today, she elected to wear her hair up in the elegant pinned French twist that had been a staple of her legal career. Reasoning that she would choose a better outfit after the bath that she could defer for now, she dressed in yesterday's clothing in order to facilitate breakfast. Not much later, the singing kettle shrieked over the noises of bacon and eggs sizzling in a skillet. Thranduil looked out the window at the early morning sunshine, his hands clasped behind his back. It was difficult not to melt a little, watching the outline of his attractive and powerful physique from across the room. But if she'd been awakened, there were better things to do besides admire the sight of him.

"My King, would you like to start with the computer? Perhaps you could look and tell me the weather for today?"

Turning, he held his chin up at that particular angle she was learning to associate with determination on his part. He walked over to the machine resting on the countertop, looked at it, then looked up at her. The flicker of uncertainty on his usually confident face was...charming to see. 

"You have seen how to open it, by nudging the cover of it upward? These devices are not frail like glass, but neither can they withstand very rough treatment. I definitely do not advise dropping them on the floor." She recalled with annoyance the occasion on which exactly that had happened, forcing her to purchase a new computer. His agile fingers were able to open it easily.

"There are two main components in front of you; the screen and the keyboard. Take a moment to look at the little images on the screen. Those are called 'icons', and are much like bookshelves in a library; they each lead to far more information or capability. You are looking most for an icon in the shape of a sun, or clouds; it will usually have a number underneath it. The smaller device on the counter is called a 'mouse'...."

In this manner she guided him through several items of computer terminology.  He swiftly mastered clicking and double-clicking, and she patiently explained all the things every knowledgeable user takes completely for granted. Fortunately, his manual dexterity had never been in doubt, which increased the speed of his learning. Earlene also swiftly found, to her fascination, that he had a virtually infallible memory. While her own was very good, it paled by comparison. She only had to say something once; he did not forget new words or concepts. Questions only came when he did not understand a given thing. That was deeply impressive, and added a new layer of regard for him, in her estimation. The net result of the short lesson was that it would be partly cloudy all day, with almost no chance of rain. 

Not feeling particularly hungry after last night's substantial dinner, she forced down two eggs and enjoyed her tea while she watched him eat heartily. "Am I correct in inferring you will return to your Halls today, my Lord?" 

Thranduil nodded. "I will return to you within an hour after the sun sets, sweet one. You still intend to procure food in the village, today?"

"Yes. Which is why it would be a good time to tell me if you have enjoyed particular dishes, so that I can be sure to have more of the ingredients? I already worked out that you enjoy wine," she said, smiling.

"I have liked everything, meluieg. And soon enough, my own kitchens will return to life. Perhaps, you might keep the thought in mind today to explore purchases of larger amounts of fresh produce in the near future?"

Earlene reflected. "What do you mean by 'larger amounts,' my King? How many persons to feed, per day?"

"Two hundred, would be a good working figure," he said. Her eyebrows shot up.

"I will make some inquiries if possible...but I can see I will need more information from you before I can pursue this in earnest. Including compensation...I have adequate resources, but I am not certain how long I can sustain purchases of that size, on your behalf."

He chuckled. "You will not need to pay for anything, Earlene, though you may have to assist us to change our wealth into the currency of this world. I am King, meluieg. I am not poor."

She flushed red. "Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that..." 

In a blur, he was silencing her with his finger. "I know, sweet one. You were trying to be helpful, and solve a problem. There is much yet that you do not understand, but will in time."

"Yes, my Lord." She still felt vexed, at her abysmal choice of words, but said no more. 

Having finished his meal, he stood, and regarded her. Feeling suddenly awkward at remaining seated, she rose as well, out of respect. He leaned down to kiss her, coming very close to provoking her desire. He seemed to realize it, and released her. With his hand against her cheek, he took his leave of her until the evening. She bowed her head to him, and watched as he swiftly disappeared into the woods. Pulling on a coat, she walked outside as well...but in the other direction, trying very carefully to think of only inane things like the siding on the house, or the condition of the roof shingles. Soon she was past the beech tree, and therefore, outside of his realm. It took only a few moments to find a secluded place to sit, out of sight of the road. A fairly desperate desire to think without her thoughts being monitored had come over her, as she placed her head against her bent knees. Her hand traveled up to her neck, to rest on his necklace. Otherwise known as, the extremely visible stamp of his ownership.  _What had she done?_ Absent his proximity and influence, a torrent of doubt and regret filled her.

The events of the past...how many days had it been? flew in the face of every bit of how she had lived her entire life. Careful, calculating, shrewd, prudent...and if any of those qualities had had a place in the agreements she had made since coming here, she could not quite see it. _I have utterly given away my freedom, and my choices,_ she thought. _What would happen if I retrieved my purse and bicycle, and rode back the way I came?_ Closing her eyes tightly, she already knew the answer to that. _I would never be free of wanting him, of wondering whether I should have stayed, and my solemn word would be proven worthless._  

She shook her head. "Look at me," she now whispered aloud, to herself. "I need to do something as simple as shopping, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to be, because I no longer have what every other person around me does. I no longer belong to myself. People here will look on me like I am...branded. I _am_ branded, it just happens to be a very pretty brand. How did I let this happen? Why didn't I at least wait, make him wait, for the last of it?" She looked up to the sky, and then back down at her feet. "It is too late for all of these questions. You can ask them of yourself all day, and  the answers will change nothing. You agreed, you promised, and he will hold you to it." 

Still the dialogue continued. "Does he really love me, and do I really love him? Or is it just another part of a game, a contest, a battle of wits? I am no better off than a trapped animal. He has too many abilities, too much power, and all the control. Maybe this will be alright in the end. I just feel so....afraid. How do I trust someone who was not fully honest with me from the beginning?" She snorted. "He was fully honest about being duplicitous. What am I supposed to do with that?" 

Flopping back in the damp grass, she continued to look at the sky. "It won't matter in the least. He will return tonight, and all of these considerations will evaporate, the first moment he touches me." And then she thought further. "He has apologized to me. Gone out of his way to be courteous. Offered...to give me a child, if I wish it.  I do not know whether I am the luckiest person in the world or the biggest fool, and the most to be pitied. Maybe I am both, all at once. And only time will tell." 

She rose, sighing. "Well, if nothing else, that all needed to come out, I suppose. And now the property of the Elvenking should organize her day," she muttered. "No, actually, forget that. I want a hot bath."

While the steaming tap ran full open into the tub, she began a shopping list. Several cabbages, apples, wine. Extra bread, because right now, whiskey bread pudding sounded spectacular. Buttermilk,  milk, butter, more fruits and vegetables, depending on what was there. She hadn't seen tapioca, or rice in the pantry, either, those would be nice. And perhaps some shortening, she was not going to use butter so much for crusts...and had half a mind for making Cornish pasties. Her mouth watered, at the thought of the flaky pastries stuffed with succulent meat and vegetables. Powdered milk might also be a sensible baking resource. Meats, perhaps a chicken to roast, or some beef. More eggs.

That seemed like enough for now, so she disrobed. The necklace could be fully viewed, now. She turned it around, on herself, looking at the part that clasped behind her. Even if she wanted to take it off, she could not see how; it appeared seamless. But as removing it was out of the question, it really did not matter; the instruction to leave it on had been a clear command.  Shrugging, she added some lavender oil to the water and proceeded to soak her cares away, kneading at the muscles of her shoulders. For good measure, she massaged her feet, too, sighing with enjoyment. Feeling better, she scrubbed her face, and moved on to other things. Finding her makeup, she applied what little she used...just a small amount of foundation to even out the skin around her eyes and nose, a little translucent powder, mascara. The tiniest bit of liner and shadow enhanced her expressive, chestnut-colored eyes, and a subtle shade of lip stain completed her efforts. She had taken very good care of her skin, and appeared far younger than her years.

Jeans and a nice blouse, and a tailored tweed blazer would suffice...she was very much looking forward to the arrival of her clothes tomorrow. Soon enough, she'd need to break in the washing machine. Checking her appearance one last time, she saw that the necklace was visible at the neck of her blouse, but only very little of it.  Other symbolism aside, it was difficult to reconcile being seen wearing this kind of splendor in such humble surroundings...but this is what he wanted, so wear it she must.

Having no intention of leaving for the village until after lunch, she found her notepad and steeled herself to begin tackling his language. What made sense was, to learn the language first with only the aid of English letters. Though she would be print out the Tengwar at some point, that was not the best use of her time just now...and it might be the most advantageous to practice writing English words in Tengwar script; it would help her mind grasp the characters faster...but that would be later on.

She looked through the two complete grammar guides she had downloaded, and began to organize her thoughts.  Having always memorized via tables laid out in a particular manner, she wished to do the same here, to the extent possible...and the first thing she wanted were present tense verb conjugations. Preferably, "to be," which was always a nice place to begin. 

After several minutes of reading and frowning, she realized that it didn't work that way...this language element, so integral to English, appeared to be absent in Sindarin; its function taken over by other means..it wasn't even buried in the list of irregular verbs. When she finally did locate the reference, she saw how it was used as basically an afterthought, and rarely. "Just....wonderful." 

But there were -i stem and -a stem verbs, so she started to write out tables. Beginning with the -i stem verbs, she was dismayed at the way the verb stem morphed through the conjugation. "Tolo! in the imperative, Toled in the infinitive, and....Telegir is the second person plural? I am so incredibly doomed," she muttered. Off to the side she wrote out the stem and ending changes, hoping that there would be a pattern...and there was, but it was a complex pattern. "God why can't this be simple, like German?" she moaned. Knowing that she would regret it, she also did the same tables for the past tenses of these same verbs. "Mennin, Menninog, Mant, Mennim, Menninegir, Mennir....and Módiel for a present participle?" A whimper escaped her lips.

No longer caring that it was not yet noon, she opened a new bottle of wine, and poured a generously large glass. Taking a hefty swallow, she decided to write out possessive pronouns, first looking at the notes:  " 'i' always carries a soft mutation in the following word. The forms of the pronouns here are already under a soft mutation and will never be in their original forms," she read. "What in hell is a soft mutation?" Before she looked at that, she made the pronoun table, deciding that it might be wise to allow herself a few moments before more mental pain arrived. And then, she found the Soft Mutation Chart....eighteen different individual letters or letter combinations _that would cause those letters to change to other letters entirely._  "You have GOT to be KIDDING ME," she yelled at the PDF file. Another very large swallow of wine later, she simply stared at the screen, trying to perceive a reason for this apparent lunacy, scanning back through the entire grammar. "Because elves like their language to sound pretty??" 

Somehow, seeing that took all the frustration away, as she descended into uncontrollable laughter, until no more came. _Just...elves._

"Alright. Pretty. Somehow that is charming to the point that...I yield." With a deep sigh, she copied out that table too, and the six rules for when the mutation applied, but she smiled while she did it, thinking further. _Or rather, the six rules that she knew about at this moment, it seemed a fair bet that at least four others could be hiding somewhere._ Colors, numbers, nouns, interrogatives, nominative/object/dative pronouns, she wrote until she felt her hand cramping with discomfort. Finally, she put the pen down. 

"It is time to just...listen, a little." There were several introductory videos, and she watched a few. She knew that every day, she would have to both memorize and retain some words, tables, syntax rules...and simply keep trying until some of it sank in. At least it genuinely was pleasing to hear, and amusing too. 

"There is no clear word for 'yes', but it is easy to ask for wine. There is surely something to admire, in that," she laughed to herself. Choosing one simple thing, she tried to see if she could remember it until later. "Len suilon," she said. If she succeeded, she could greet him in his own language (formally, not informally!), however nonexistent any further discussion would be.

It was now a quarter after noon, and time to eat; she needed to leave for the village soon. There was still coddle and soda bread, which was a path of least resistance....but if she ate that, there would not be enough for them both tonight, and she wanted to offer Thranduil a decent meal. Then again, there was still a lot of ground beef, and she would bring back cabbage...a meatloaf and vegetables would not take too long, and could supplement the coddle. She could just have bread and peanut butter, which she was grateful to have seen in the pantry. Toasting two slices, she brought out the butter. Peanut butter and butter sandwiches were more or less how she had survived law school, and were in her opinion a food group. And while the bread toasted, she swiftly minced carrot and onion....but sliced the latter under the tap first, to prevent a cosmetic disaster.  That would save a few minutes, later.

The peanut butter tasted wonderful, and reminded her of how much her life had changed...she really hadn't eaten it in quite awhile, for whatever reason. Adding a scarf just in case the weather cooled, she gathered what should be enough cash plus a generous amount extra, tucking it into the inner pocket of her blazer. Gathering shopping bags she'd seen in a closet, and an umbrella because one could never be too careful, she went to the barn for the bicycle and little trailer, and departed. She did not bother locking up; it was pointless. Now that she...understood...she realized the home was safer than Fort Knox.

The village lay basically two and a half miles along, down this same road, which really would not take that long, even as she determined to dawdle and enjoy her first sight of the scenery. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw the trees of Lasg'len disappear from view behind her, at the bend in the road. While she felt far better about her circumstances than she had this morning, it was still disconcerting that her first trip to civilization, so to speak, was occurring with her a sworn subject of the elven realm in the woods. She had studied the map of this village, and Googled it so often, that she already felt she knew it well. The population was small, just some hundreds. There were quaint little businesses here, including a bakery. Though...she was an accomplished baker, and doubted there would be anything  too tempting, especially this late in the day.

By her own admission, she took forever in the little grocery. First she had to walk through and just look at absolutely everything, allowing her eyes to savor the packaging, the names, where things were, on and on down to every bit of minutiae. Only then did she begin to fill her cart carefully, from her list...being very sure to keep within what the little trailer could haul home. Finally she checked out, being sure to smile kindly and repeat a short but pleasant speech of greeting, and asking the name of the lady working the counter. _Aislinn._ Beyond getting her own name out, she needn't have bothered; she soon learned that everyone here already knew everything about her, to a degree that was disturbing. And by the animation in her face, and the fact that though the poor dear tried, her eyes kept falling on the necklace, she imagined that Ian had done his work at the pub last night. By some miracle, she remembered to ask about the possibility of larger produce orders (she used six hundred cabbages as a baseline), and received a promise of more information on her next visit.

Smiling, she paid and began to bring her bags to her trailer outside. A bit of shifting and arranging later, and it was all tucked away. Conveniently, the liquor store was so close that it was not worth moving the bicycle, so she walked to purchase a fifth of whisky for her cakes and puddings. With that secure as well, she considered. There was about an hour until sunset; enough time to stop in at the pub and say hello...not to mention care for the sacred obligation to make friends by buying a round. There was time, she reasoned, so she locked up the little trailer and rode over. It pleased her to find a decent bicycle rack to which she secured that too...she had a no-nonsense kryptonite lock, as she'd no intention of losing her bicycle. A simpler lock around the trailer spokes ensured that if it were detached, it would create something of a spectacle for the thief.

Taking a deep breath, she walked inside. In a way, this was a special moment. Ever since she'd heard that this pub was called The Spotted Dick, she had really not been able to wait to visit, just on account of the multiple levels of hilarity. Her good humor was rewarded and made better by finding none other than Ian at the bar, with a few of his mates. He rose immediately to greet her, and made introductions. John was the barkeep, and Rory and Martin were two of Ian's mates. Explaining she only had time for a pint, she gained instant popularity by insisting on buying a round. She really did not have to talk much, and was soon regaled by the heartwarming charm of hearing jests and stories told in their wonderful brogues. Though she realized, she was the one with the accent, not them. But after hours of the infernal Sindarin, the Guinness and the humor did a great deal to make her feel better. Though, she did see the glances at Thranduil's necklace. _I suppose it is unavoidable. Maybe next time I should choose a jumper, with a turtleneck_ , she thought.

Time flew by and before she knew it, a glance at her watch told her she had stayed later than she'd meant to. Giving her apologies, she made her goodbyes, knowing that at least Ian might be able to guess why she needed to return. With one last smile, she bade them goodbye, for now. The moment she was out the door, a rough looking man who had been drinking alone, at the rear, made a very quick exit out the door after her. The other men saw, and raised their eyebrows to each other.

Happy and oblivious, Earlene fumbled in her  pocket for the lock key, when suddenly she felt her arm grabbed roughly from behind; the grip was a painful vise. Gasping in shock, she was yanked around to face what she could only register as a man who'd come out of nowhere. What began as a mean, dominant stare shifted to a look of wide-eyed surprise, as she felt his grip on her arm lessen. His expression altered further, to one of glassy blankness, and without warning he collapsed to the ground. As she stared in shock at the crumpled figure, with her mouth ajar, the pub door opened and the villagers emerged. 

"I didn't...." she said, feeling almost in a panic as she looked at them, "He grabbed me and then the next moment, he was like this. I didn't do anything." She felt confused, and fearful that she was somehow in considerable trouble.

Ian walked to her side and said kindly, "Now lass, this bloke went looking for a bit'v mischief; an' he isn't one'v the local lads. You go on home, now, and leave the tidying up here to us." He patted her gently on the shoulder. She nodded dumbly, and fished once again for her lock key, her heart pounding in her chest. Switching on her light, she rode off into the dark. A backward glance told her that the men were dragging...whoever he was...toward the alley alongside the building. She didn't want to know.

Badly shaken,  she rode rather swiftly for a short time, before she slowed down and made herself think it through, as her little headlamp shone along the darkened road.   _Half my life in New York City, on the subway every day, running at night in Central Park, and nothing ever happens. But I didn't even think to pay attention, here, and....what if...and.....STOP IT,_ she told herself. _There were no what-ifs, it was over._ Nothing came of it; she'd only have to realize that in future, she couldn't take even Lasgalen completely for granted. _If you'd been paying better attention, you would have seen him, and it wouldn't have happened. Live and learn, Earlene._ By the time she arrived home, and pushed the bike into the barn, she had shrugged off the attempted assault, and turned her mind to things like...the Elvenking, and meatloaf.

"Earlene."

She felt herself caught up in Thranduil's embrace, which filled her with warmth. Stepping back from him, she held his hands while slowly reciting. "Len suilon, i Aran nîn."

His eyes widened.

"Did I get that right, at all?" It felt very awkward, to be trying to say anything, even if it was only two new words.

A smile broke out on his face, as he bent down to kiss her forehead. "You did very well, meluieg. I will help you bring the food inside," he said, kindly. "And I greet you, as well." She felt his kiss tingle on her forehead; it was hard to want to let go of him, but she made herself do it. 

By 'help,' he had meant 'carry almost everything,' since the only things she kept back were more delicate items like the bottles of wine, eggs, and bread loaves. He walked inside, with the heavily laden cloth bags hanging from his arms as though they were filled with feathers. With everything on the countertop, she began to both put the groceries away and pull out the ingredients for dinner, all at the same time....which is when she saw the clock...it was already past seven. She cringed.

"I apologize, my Lord, for my lateness. I hope you were not waiting long."

"Not too long, Earlene. I trust you had a good reason?" he smiled.

With a faint blush on her cheeks, she poured him a glass of wine. "I suppose that depends on one's point of view, my Lord. The answer could range from 'I was forging important social ties within my new community' to 'I had a pint of Guinness at the pub and lost track of time.'  I had meant to leave sooner, for which I am sorry."

Thranduil found humor in her honesty. "I can see that Ian was there? Tell me about it, and direct me where to store these items."  Chattering happily while she completed the meatloaf and placed it in the oven, she told him of the other local men to whom she'd been introduced, and the quaint and inconsequential matters they'd related to her. "A pub is an important place in an Irish village, my Lord. The traditions and customs of buying alcohol for each other and sharing camaraderie...I felt that if I am to make any effort to belong here at all, that it was a necessary obligation best cared for immediately. They were kind, to include me and welcome me."  What else had happened, had been banished from her mind.

Soon the smells of the meat wafted from the oven, while the chopped cabbage fried in a skillet with just a little salt and seasoning. He regarded her, while sipping his wine. "I see you started early, today," he teased, nodding at the bottle which had been opened before his arrival. 

Determined not to think about why she'd opened it, she demurred. "It seemed like the thing to do, at the time."

With a playful smirk, he fixed her with his gaze. "Earlene. Your thoughts were so loud this morning, that I had to check you were not standing next to me in my Halls. Twice." He chuckled heartily, as he watched her flush red with embarrassment...he found it endearing, that her cheeks did this in response to her emotions. But he did not leave her to suffer in discomfort for long; she was scooped up and held in his lap, as he kissed her. "I could not resist teasing you, meluieg. You studied for a long time, today. I expect Sindarin to be very difficult for you, and that you are making such an effort pleases me greatly. I am proud, both for your intelligence and your determination. Though, I do not wish you to push yourself too hard, too fast."

"I do not think you need to worry about that, Thranduil. Though, you can thank the Internet. From what I saw today, I honestly do not know how I could have pieced this together, only with you. It is very complex, more so than languages already considered to be difficult here. Or rather, it would take a far greater effort; I did not mean to imply that you could not teach me, but...." she shook her head, trailing off. 

His fingers were under her chin, as he sealed his mouth to hers, his kiss growing suddenly hungry. It felt like flipping a light switch, inside of her. One second she was pondering grammar and the next...god, she wanted him. 

"Remove your jeans," he whispered. Rising, she complied without hesitation, slipping off her boots first. She saw that he was unlacing his breeches, loosening the ties against the swelling that was building underneath. Though he did not specify, she removed her panties as well, and stood before him. His tongue demanded entrance to her mouth,  as his hands roved her body, under her blouse and down to her cleft, and she opened herself to him. She felt her blazer being pushed off her shoulders. The only thing she could recall to do was unlatch her bra, in the front, not wishing to make him puzzle out how to remove it. One by one, he managed the buttons of her blouse, until she was naked. He lifted her, by the waist, to straddle him where he sat at the counter. With luxurious kisses, he slowly lowered her onto himself, giving her time to adjust. Her fingers found the buttons of his tunic as he did this; she wanted to feel her breasts against his bare chest. Soon enough, he was easily moving her against him in this way, with no effort on her part. As her legs dangled from his lap, he pulled her onto himself in an easy rhythm she could not long withstand. She clung to him, gasping softly as her orgasm washed through her. His own came a minute later, as he moved her differently, to satisfy himself. Which was perhaps why she noticed so easily, no longer being distracted by her own need. As his seed rushed into her, she felt once again the sense of binding, of desiring to submit to him. To her fully aware mind, it was a very strong compulsion... _Was this happening every time? Did every time he loved her increase his hold on her?_

"Yes, meluieg, though not because I intend it. It is the nature of our connection, whether I will it or no."

She could not bring herself to care. Her heart surged with love for him, and was filled with reverence for the privilege of having him inside of her. 

"Gin melin, meluieg," he whispered, kissing her once again. She smiled, realizing she actually knew what to say in return. 

"Len melin, Thranduil." She rested her forehead against him for a moment, when a jarring noise from the timer shattered her romantic notions. It was time to check the meatloaf. They both laughed, as he lifted her off of him. Careful not to burn her bare skin, she checked the dish, and set the timer for eight more minutes before retrieving her clothes. She bent down to pick them up, and found her motion arrested by him. He held her by her shoulders, and then her elbow. 

"What caused this?" His voice had grown cold and threatening, and there was anger on his face. She looked from him, to her arm, and only now saw the deep purple bruising where she had been grabbed earlier. On instinct, she held lightly onto his forearms, and met his eyes. In her thoughts, she recalled for him what had happened. All of it.

He regarded her without speaking for what seemed like a long time, though his face softened. Averting his eyes, he held both of his hands over the bruised skin. A sensation of warmth spread from his touch, and when he released her, the damage was gone as if it had never occurred. Her eyes widened at seeing this, but she said nothing. A second later, her chin was in his grip.

"Should anything like this ever happen again, you are to tell me immediately, Earlene. I understand that you did not feel it was important, and that you wished to forget that it occurred. But you are mine, and I will not have you keeping things such as this from me."

Lowering her eyes, she apologized. "I am sorry...." Once again she was silenced. 

"Do not be sorry. Only obey me, in the future."

She nodded.  She knew what to say here, as well. "Athon, i Aran nîn." 

"Ma. Good," he said, smiling once again, and bending down to pick up her clothing for her.

"Thranduil?" she asked, hesitantly.

He looked at her, searchingly. "You wish to know why the man collapsed, when he tried to assault you?"

More nodding. 

"The necklace you wear is not only a mark of my possession, Earlene," he said gently. "It also confers my protection, within a certain area outside of my realm. To touch you with harmful intent carries a high price."

Her lips parted, as she absorbed this. "Is he...dead? Why did you not tell me?" she asked.

"He is not dead; or rather, he was not dead at the time he released his hold on you. What happened to him afterward, who can say? And," he said with a measure of tenderness and sympathy in his voice, "I did not tell you, because you are already struggling to reconcile what has transpired between us. I am not unaware of the difficulties your vows have created for you, Earlene. You are seeking to understand your changed place in the world,  the implications of your new life, and more. I did not wish to add any more burdens to your thoughts, sooner than necessary."

"You....know? Were you being truthful with me, my Lord, when you told me you could not hear me, outside of these woods?"

Thranduil drew her to him. "I was truthful, sweet one. But you are not taking into account that the moment you returned, even that which you sought to no longer reflect upon was revealed to me. There is no place in your mind that I do not see, if I am looking."

Her heart sank, as she understood clearly the magnitude of the imbalance between them. 

"I see," she replied in a very small voice.

He rocked her gently, as he held her. "I do not hold it against you, or take offense. It is different for you, than for those who have lived alongside me and served me for so long. This is entirely new, you are not an elf, and I take responsibility for the lack of truly free choice by which you find yourself here. I can only promise you that I will honor you for what you have given me, Earlene. You are entitled to feel fear, and doubt, and uneasiness. I can only hope that in time, these lessen, as you learn to trust me. I cannot undo the manner in which I secured your loyalty; I can only hope that you come to understand why it was necessary, and fully forgive me."

Reaching up to kiss his cheek,  she took her clothes  to the bedroom to put them away, choosing a simple tunic and leggings, and cardigan. She might be trying to understand what she thought of his words, if she could think at all. The timer jarred her sensibilities, as she pulled her warmest socks onto her feet, hopping through the doorway to silence the noise. The sizzling meat was done to perfection. and she removed it to cool on the counter, switching it out to warm their dinner plates with small servings of the coddle and slices of bread. The cabbage was on a very low flame; in about ten minutes more they could eat. He moved behind her, to kiss the back of her neck and pull the pin that held up her hair. Reaching around his waist, she held onto him tightly, as he stroked her hair.

"Thank you for  having some empathy for my circumstances, Thranduil. Even if I wanted to, I cannot deceive you. What has happened to me is not something anyone from my world can be prepared to accept. And yet, here we are." With a final squeeze, she released him. "Time to eat, my King. Have you had anything since this morning?"

He was at arm's length from her, holding her gaze. "No, meluieg, I have not eaten; I am hungry. And, such as it is, you are welcome.  Though, I am well aware that you are thanking me for the compassion you require because of me."

"There is that little detail," she said, with a half smile. "But as you could choose to give me no regard at all, it seemed more polite to thank you. And next time, you are to tell me if you will not be provided any food. It would have been easy to have sent you with something to eat during the day; I did not realize." 

His eyebrows raised. She had no awareness of having just issued him a command. He elected to overlook her choice of words; she had not intended disrespect.

When he began to eat what she served him, pouring him more wine as well, he was even more certain of his decision not to point out her mistake. The food was delicious, and she had created something very satisfying. 

"I inquired about the produce, my Lord. They in turn must ask, and promised to have some kind of information for me in some days, when I return."

"Thank you, Earlene."

Much to her surprise, he raised the question of another movie, while conceding that if she began to tire, they could watch the rest tomorrow.

"The container is supposed to arrive late morning; there will be time, if you have no other obligations."

Soon, they were once again seated and watching. This film, the Two Towers, reminded her of a long struggle of perseverance, on so many levels, though she did have to ask him, "A balrog...can be killed?" 

"Yes. Though, it was a great feat at arms, that few could claim."

The portrayal of the Ents, that he called Onodrim, seemed to charm him...until it did not. "None of the eldest would ever have spoken so foolishly," he said, with a measure of disdain at the portrayal.

When they had watched the scene detailing Arwen's future with Aragorn, she did not understand. And as it was the halfway point of the film, asked if they could stop.

"You told me that there had been marriages between elves and humans....but your kind must choose to die, in order to do this?"

"It was not so simple, even then. Of the four pairings anyone knows of, all were of ellith who wed mortal men. And yes, they took the Gift of Men, of mortality, forsaking the nature of being elves in order to wed....except for one; the mortal Tuor came to be counted among elves. But these matters belonged to countless ages past. As we who have lingered her for countless thousands of years have gone on, we can no longer say what our laws are in this respect, any longer. Survival, and the preservation of what little remains to us, have been our chief concerns. While I understand your curiosity, you are trying to impose the understanding of your kind onto something utterly different. The world has changed, Earlene, more than you could ever imagine."

The answer made its own kind of sense; so she nodded. He took care of the stove, as she turned off assorted devices and readied herself for bed. Though she was tired, she wanted him again, with a reckless compulsion. She now realized that the more he physically loved her, the less she would have the feelings that caused her distress and conflict. Climbing into bed, she waited for him. There was no way out for her but to fulfill her vows to him, or her death. Would it not simply be easier to yield to what was happening, than suffer from continuing to resist it? She had come here for a sense of peace...did it really matter, how she found it? On one hand, she couldn't believe her own thoughts, but on the other...she was known for her strongly logical mind and her ability to quickly analyze extremely complex circumstances; her conclusions were rarely wrong. He appeared in the doorway, and met her eyes. She extended her hand to him; it was both an invitation and a plea.

Thranduil both pitied her, and saw the truth of her conclusion. His response was to begin undressing. With the light off, he joined her in bed, leaning toward her, caressing her shoulder. "You are certain, Earlene? You will have little rest."

"Yes, I am," she whispered back to him.

He took her in his arms, and made love to her. Not once, but all through the night. He needed no time in between; she was asking him to spill his seed into her as many times as it was possible to do. Only when the light indicated the coming sunrise, did he stop his efforts. Her pleasure had been as great as her exhaustion was now; she was worn out from his attentions. As he held and caressed her sleeping body, the closest thing he had ever experienced to guilt washed over him. Never before had he so fully taken away the free will of another thinking being. It had seemed more permissible, before he understood her intelligence and her complexity. But now...

Yet he had begun this, and he owed it to her to finish it. A tear fell from his eye; it was all he could allow himself. She had presented him with an opportunity that might not come again for thousands of years more; he would have been remiss in his duty to his subjects to have let this slip away. And while on some level he admitted that once, his deeds would have been considered a great wickedness...that time had passed him by ages ago. She was one mortal life, against all the tens of thousands of years of their existence...his duty was clear, in his eyes, and he had the strength to live with his regrets.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {February 29, 2016}  
> Edited to Version 2.0 June 14, 2018

Thranduil let Earlene sleep until mid-morning before rousing her. He had determined already that he would help with the arrival of her personal effects, and otherwise ensure she had an easier day. There was a great deal of food left over that would reduce her need to prepare so much. Already he had  made tea for them, before he lifted her to a sitting position and held her as she rubbed her eyes. Earlene crawled forward to him, desiring more closeness. After countless cavernous yawns, she finally managed to wake up. A little. Stroking his hair, she kissed him. "Thank you, for your considerable efforts", she said, gratefully.

"It was easier for me than you, meluieg," he said, smiling.

"I do not see how," she said, tilting her head, "but then again, you are very strong." 

She washed her face, marveling that she was even able to walk, even though she knew he would have kept her from experiencing injury. Feeling reasonably certain that they might be done with lovemaking for a time, she wore her jeans again, and a jumper. There would be many things to rearrange and put away today, and there was no point in being uncomfortable. A bit more furniture would have to find space in the home, mostly a few bookshelves and cases, in addition to the clothes, linens, special kitchenware, artwork, and other personal effects. Downsizing as much as possible did not alter that the trappings of an adult life were difficult to completely eliminate. And some things were non-negotiable; she would never leave them behind.

A simple breakfast of scrambled eggs, rashers of bacon, toasted bread, cheese and fruit took her only moments to prepare and serve. Thranduil seemed happy to satisfy his hunger. She shook her head, still unable to believe his stamina in bed. Even with her near complete inexperience, she knew that no human man could even come within miles of what he'd done. Her sense of peace was complete, just to sit with him. Though, she took the opportunity to check emails, just in case there were any changes of plans on the delivery. He insisted on washing up, and she used the time to try to read phrases from the lessons to him, so he could correct the pronunciation. When she did well enough, he would simply reply to the simple statements and questions.

"Man i eneth lîn?"

"I eneth nîn Thranduil. A len?" he asked.

"Im Earlene eston."

"I'm glad we got that cleared up," she teased gently, before her face grew earnest. "Thranduil, can you please tell me what the rules are for addressing someone formally or informally? Would I ever speak to you, or any of the other elves, informally? I do not wish to make mistakes and offend."

"I will allow you to speak to me informally in private, Earlene, just as we do now. Though, as a general rule, you could not go wrong, especially in the beginning, by staying with the formal usage."

"How will the other elves address me? Can I get away with not learning the informal words, for a time?"

He frowned. "It would be better to learn both. Yet, most will speak to you formally, at least at first, especially if I ask them to. It would indeed help your learning, to focus more on one. Allow me to consider this."

They watched the remainder of the film, as she contentedly leaned back into his arms. He had a very strong reaction to  Gollum. When she paused to ask further, he explained that at one time it had been his duty to imprison the unfortunate creature, and that he had escaped. He sounded so irate and felt so tense beneath her, it seemed wise to move along...she could guess how much something like that might have angered him, and felt desperately sorry for whoever the guard had been. His rumble of mirth surprised her. "Believe it or not, it was my son. I was angry, but I did not remain so for long." 

She took his hand and idly massaged it, as the film wore on. The Battle at Helm's Deep was frightening, and impressive.  _ What courage it would take, to fight in such a battle _ , she thought.  _ And how horrible, that anyone would need to.  _  As she watched the dual nature of Gollum unfold, she felt genuine pity.  _ What might have happened, if he had only seen a little more kindness _ , she wondered? The tale was complex and compelling, and she now looked forward to seeing how it ended.  _ Funny, how everyone's world is a mess at one time or another. _

No sooner had she shut down the television, than the rumble of a heavy engine told her that the belongings had likely arrived. Squeezing his hand, Earlene rose to meet the driver. She'd chosen to have her things shipped via lift van; a massive crate that could hold a really decent amount of items, while being vastly more economical than a shipping container. Furniture had either been disassembled, or placed inside in such a way so as to make complete use of all available space. It would be taken off the truck by forklift and left for her to deal with, so it was important to get it as near to the house as possible. In a shorter time than she would have believed possible, she inspected it for external damage, signed for it, and it was offloaded. The driver lastly opened the unit with a crowbar before departing, saving her the hassle of finding one in the barn. 

It was unexpectedly poignant for her to see the remains of her former life sitting on the grass in Ireland, but there was too much to do, to wallow in nostalgia now. She explained to Thranduil that the boxes were marked, and could go to the kitchen area, main room, bedroom or what she had come to think of as " the room of undefined use" accordingly...there was a small second bedroom that she supposed would morph into an office, but she hadn't give it enough thought just yet. Wisely, she had left her toolbox at the front of the container; that went immediately to the kitchen counter so that it could not get lost in the shuffle of items. With his strength and speed, the unloading took a third of the time it would have taken her, working alone. Two bookshelves needed reassembling, and she would move the one currently in the living area into the office...along with everything else that was a lower priority. He expressed a desire to hang and store her clothing, which surprised her.

"Will you promise me you will not confiscate all my trousers?" she asked, teasingly. 

He looked at her, his eyes wide.  _ Clever woman _ , he thought. She might have been teasing,  but he would not have been. That battle would wait until later, he decided. "Yes, meluieg, I promise. But only for the time being." The corners of his mouth turned up, as her lips parted. He disappeared into the bedroom, with the boxes in question. She did own skirts, he noted approvingly. Her clothing tended to be of fine fabrics, well made, but not showy or colorful except for some accent pieces. She favored wool, linen and....he had see the cotton she wore, though he was not familiar with it. He saw also that she liked leather; there were boots, belts, and well-made shoes. Some were lined with fleece. Her undergarments were pretty, and also well made; he did not recognize the fabrics at all. This was all so different, than what his wife had worn. And yet, a part of him was taking simple pleasure in once again sharing his life with a female. It would not last very long, for him, and he wished to enjoy what he could.

He heard rumbling from the other room, as she heaved on the couch, and then the coffee table, to make room for the tall bookshelf. Seeing that it was far more difficult to move for her, he placed all the larger items where she wished, with no effort. With these now in place, she turned her attention to the kitchen, unpacking the boxes in serial fashion. The pantry and the cupboards easily absorbed her specialty culinary items. "Finally," she said, as she brought out her cast iron and enameled iron cookware, and professional knives. One of the few things she had spent money on was high-quality kitchenware, because of how much she liked to cook. Stacks of items appeared on the counter; packing materials and boxes that had been emptied went out to the covered back porch to await storage in the barn or some similar fate. 

Linens disappeared onto the small stands she'd brought for use in the bathroom, as did a small collection of toiletries. A short time later, all that was left were personal items, books, and other things that might be displayed. Her collection of music CDs went to the office; almost all of them were already loaded onto her laptop. But she now had her wireless speakers again, which she took a moment to place around the house and fit with adaptor plugs. There was a large space over the wall above the sofa, and she knew what would be there. Looking for a wall stud, she tapped in the screws for the heavy brass hook that would hold her artwork. When everything was done, she unpacked the books, loading them onto the shelves. With great care, she unwrapped a framed photo of her with her closest friends, placing it in a position of honor in front of the volumes that were a smattering of her entire life.  In front of the photo went a strangely shaped thing; a piece of broken stone, with melted metal was fused onto it. 

Now it was time for the last item. A large, framed wall hanging was secured in several layers of protective wrapping. Removing all of it carefully, she finally placed it onto the waiting hook. With the assistance of a friend who was a professional photographer, she'd had this taken some years back. In the foreground were the blossoms of a pear tree, and towering into the sky behind it was the tallest building in Manhattan. They'd come back for three days in a row to get this shot; it was a crystal twilight, with the light fading from sunset to dark. The exterior glass reflected the lights of nearby skyscrapers, while the surrounding sky was every tint of royal and midnight blue. As she stepped back to see this, here, her mind went strangely blank, teetering on a brink of so many things.  

Thranduil came behind her, for once unable to read her thoughts; this puzzled him greatly. He placed his hands on her shoulder, looking at the image. "What is that?" he asked. 

"That is One World Trade Center, also called the Freedom Tower," she said softly.

Something like a snort came from him. "There is no such thing as freedom, Earlene." His voice was full of derision.

Rage erupted inside of her, out of a very deep well. Without any thought, she spun around and slapped him across the face with all of her strength. " _ How dare you say that to me _ ," she spat. "HOW DARE YOU!" Her voice was at a shriek, now, as her mind exploded with her memories.  Her eyes burned with intense anger as she turned and stormed out of the house toward the road. She did not care where she was, as long as it wasn't here. Only as she left, did she notice the painful throb beginning to spread through her hand.

Thranduil stood, stunned. He would not have thought this possible, from her. Why she had done this, he would discover later. He could overlook many things, but this was not one of them. 

Appearing  in front of her to block her way, he held up his hand. His eyes glinted with hardness but his face betrayed no other emotion. "You will stop. Now." She did hesitate, slightly, but the anger in her was still so incredibly raw. She tried to walk around him, and was blocked again. While his words were spoken quietly, unquestionable authority and an edge of menace were now in his voice. "You cannot escape me, Earlene. Obey me now,  or there will be greater consequences. I cannot ignore you striking me."

If he had shouted at her, or lashed out in anger, it might have gone differently. In that moment after he finished speaking, a sliver of an ability to think rationally returned to her mind. He could not have known what he had said to her, or that his words were as spraying a fine mist of gasoline on a candle. The anger dissolved, and left in its place the reopened well of her pain and grief. And, she really had just hit him.  Tears spilled down her cheeks. Not on account of Thranduil, but on account of her realization that she would never be free from what had happened. She had done so well, for so long, and had thought that maybe...

At home, there was no need to talk about it. The entire city bore up under the memory, with resilience and quiet determination. But outside....people did not understand, in the same way. It did not matter. She dropped to her knees in front of him, looking at his boots. "Forgive me."

"Rise, Earlene, and return to the house." He had begun to see in her mind images of terrible things, and her intense grief, but he still did not understand.  She did as he asked, knowing that he followed her closely, and waited with her head bowed.

"You will explain to me, why you struck your King." There was a long pause. When she spoke, there was heavy strain in her voice.

"Yes, my Lord. Do you know what 9/11 is?" 

"No."

Wordlessly she turned on the television, and went to YouTube, and found the videos she knew too well.  "Do you keep the calendar of the outside world, my Lord?"

"No."

She looked down. "Do you know of the countries of the outer world, my Lord? The nations?"

"No."

"Have you seen aircraft, jetliners, that fly in the sky? Very large flying objects?"

"Yes."

She pulled two large books off the shelf. Opening one, an atlas, she indicated where they were in the world, and whence she had come, from across the sea. In other book, "New York City," she explained that these were the pictures of the place in which she had lived her life. 

"Fifteen years ago, my Lord, on the date of September 11, 2001, something happened in my city that changed the human world. It was in the early morning, and I was at my office working, here," pointing to the location on lower Madison Street. Rising, she brought him the photo from the bookshelf. 

"These people were my friends, my chosen family. They worked in these two buildings, here," as she indicated them. "These were called the Twin Towers,  at the World Trade Center, and were famous around the developed world." 

Earlene started the video, and Thranduil saw smoke pouring from a scar that appeared to run across the side of a tower. He could see from the photo in her book, that the construction of these buildings were massive beyond anything he could imagine. "At eight forty-five that morning, a large aircraft flew into this tower; that is why it is burning. My friend Sara worked here, in one of the floors not far above where you see the fire. There were many people in those buildings. She called me, to tell me that the exits were cut off, and to find out what had happened. She was afraid for her life. I told her to stop talking to me, and to keep trying to find a way to  leave. I did not know that it was not possible. I never spoke to her again." 

Earlene looked down, trying to compose herself, while indicating to Thranduil to keep watching. "That was another aircraft, crashing into the second tower. People that are what we call Terrorists commandeered those huge planes, to cause death and destruction, and did this purposefully. They did it because my former country is a free country, and because they hated the freedoms we have...among other complex reasons. What you see here...I watched all of this, out of the window, from not far away, as it happened. I saw the second plane crash. The buildings burned and burned and burned. And then...." she gestured back to the video, in which a great plume of dust was rising even as the structure disappeared, "they collapsed, one after the other; disintegrated into ash and dust that spread for miles. All my friends, in this photo, were killed when the towers fell. I talked to some of them, before they died. They were terrified, and there was nothing I could do to help them. I could not go home for two days, because it was not possible. Eight million people live in New York City, and they were all brought to a standstill. I do not expect you to understand what this did to me, my city, or my nation. Our freedom, and our resilience, are at the heart of who we are. The photo on my wall is of the building that stands now, built in place of the twin towers, and of the only living thing to survive what happened that day; the tree. The pear tree lived, and grew again. For you to say to me, or to any American who lost loved ones that day, that there is no such thing as freedom...." she trailed off. "All those people died, because we have freedom. You cannot know what your words meant, in my ears. You do not know our world. I should have realized this, instead of lashing out at you. It is not an excuse, and I accept the consequences for striking you, though I am  sorry. I still ask your forgiveness. Though," she looked him in the eye, "just because I am no longer free, my Lord, does not mean there is no freedom in this world."

He did not speak, for a long time. "How many perished, in this?" 

"Three thousand died, and another six thousand were injured. There were yet other attacks and other planes. Yet more were sickened afterward, as well." 

She took her photo from him, gently, and returned it to the shelf. Resuming her position, she stood in front of him with her head bowed.

After what seemed like an interminable silence, she finally heard, "Look at me," and complied.

"Earlene, what you have done is difficult to judge. To strike me is a serious crime, and cannot go unpunished. Yet of all my subjects, you are the only one who did not specifically know this. And while you are correct; I do not understand the fullness of what my words provoked in you, I can see in your mind and in your memories that  you bear a deep wound, and that I stabbed into the heart of it. You will have my forgiveness, but first you must bear the consequence of your action."

She said nothing, and waited. He approached her, and lifted her chin with his fingers. "I believe you struck me because on some level, you still think you have choices. You still do not accept your position. You will learn that you have no choices, and that the only freedom you will find is in having none." He looked at her expectantly. Lowering her eyes, she answered him.

"Yes, my Lord." There was nothing else she could say. And while she had no idea what he actually meant, her guess was that Sindarin grammar would be appealing, by comparison. As she glanced one last time at the photo of her friends, she realized that whatever the price, on some level she had done it out of her love for them, however blindly. While it did not change her fate, it at least made her feel like she had defended their memory.

"You will prepare me food, now."

Not being stupid, she noted right away that there was no request, only a command.  She had a feeling she would pay dearly for that slap, but there was nothing else for it. He was King. 

"Yes, my Lord."

She also caught the use of the singular pronoun, and did not make food for herself as well. A sharp pain came from her hand, when she moved in certain ways; swelling and bruising had set in below her fourth and fifth fingers, that she declined to mention. If he wanted to know, he would. After serving him, and pouring him wine, she stood at a distance, with her head bowed. When he was done eating, he rose. "After you clean up, you may eat something. You will then change into your dress. We are returning to my Halls."

"Yes, my Lord." 

_ Full restriction _ , she thought, as she washed the dishes and utensils. She had lost all rights with him, and would be shown her place until it pleased him to do otherwise. Honestly, it was fine. In a way, it was just bad blind luck that he had managed to say the one thing that could have ever caused her to do something like that. His efforts from last night had not been undone; quite the contrary.  His punishment was far easier to accept than it ever would have been before. She was his, and was at peace with it. There was freedom, somewhere. He would still care for her, life would go on, and she would serve him. And in the meantime, she would endure his lesson.

Not feeling terribly hungry after what had just transpired, she had a small slice of cold meatloaf and a piece of fruit. There was fortunately plenty for tonight, if they were returning here. She had thought to make a bread pudding for them but...it seemed like anything that might involve an independent decision would not be allowed, perhaps for some time. It would be best not to assume, from here on out. There was always porridge, she mused. Finishing her food quickly, she changed her clothing, and returned to him, waiting silently. He was looking at the book about New York City, especially at the pictures. After who knows how long, he closed it and rose. 

"Come," he said, and left. He walked at a very brisk pace, which mostly required her to trot to keep up with him. As she went on, it occurred to her that she would likely be shamed before the other elves. But as that was his prerogative, there was little she could do about it. The odd thing was, what he had done to her last night had softened her to the extent that she genuinely did not react to the prospect of humiliation. She loved him yet, and wished  to serve him.  _ How in the world did my anger break through this? _ she wondered? It ought not to have been possible, at all.  _ But....9/11, to someone who worked in Manhattan. _ There probably was no further explanation required. She idly wondered if he would like New York. It was impossible to explain, to someone who had never been. While his Halls were wondrous, so were the skyscrapers, so was the Park, so were the people so was....everything.

When they arrived at the Gates, they opened as before. She continued to follow him, not knowing where they were going. As they descended stairs, it began to look decidedly dark, and unfriendly.  _ Was this a...jail? _ He pulled open a barred door. "You are being punished, Earlene. Go inside."

Without hesitating, she did as he asked. He pulled the door shut behind him, and left without a word. It was cold here, much colder than his rooms had been. There was a large stone shelf in the rear of the cell, and a thin blanket. She'd hardly slept last night, and was still very tired. When it became apparent that he was not returning soon, her nimble fingers folded the blanket so that she could wrap it as a heavier shawl around her head,  back, and arms. Tucking up her skirts around her folded legs, she made herself as warm as she could, curling into a fetal position, and was soon sound asleep.

Yet even in her dreams, she was not exempt. A steady parade of images came to her, of every kindness he had ever shown her, and of what he had seen on her face when she'd lashed out at him. When she woke in reality, it was to a voice. 

"Earlene, get up."

Uncurling painfully, she rose as quickly as she could, keeping her eyes lowered. There was no way to know how long she'd slept, and her dreams had left her feeling like a horrible ingrate.

"Come."

He led her to his rooms, and gestured for her to enter, and to follow him to near where his bed stood. 

"Remove your dress."

Once she had done this, she waited, with her eyes still cast down.

"You will clothe yourself in the other, now."

A different dress had been laid over the chair for her, which he indicated.

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you." She almost choked on the words, as she struggled to master her feelings. This garment was simpler, less ornamented, but in some ways more practical. The skirts were not so long, and the fabric was heavier, and warmer. It reminded her in some ways of an army blanket, but of softer wool. As with the other one, it was very well made, and fit flawlessly. She was once again to follow him. They departed his Halls and she followed him in silence, only now realizing that she had not seen another elf today, anywhere. In her current disgrace,  that was a kindness. The sun was all but gone from the sky; she had slept the afternoon away and then some, in the cell. Her hand throbbed still; she guessed she might have fractured a bone. And, she was burning with thirst.

On their arrival, he issued the same command. "You will prepare me food."

"Yes, my Lord."  Stealing a glance at him as she answered, she tried to think of what would be easiest to do on shorter notice. Picking up a glass from the countertop, she filled it with water...she would have to work in the midst of this muddle of kitchenware that she had not yet stored, thanks to the derailment of the day. She was about to drink when his hand arrested her arm.

"I did not say that you were allowed to have anything, Earlene."

Without meaning to, she clung to the glass out of a sense of desperation, so he removed her fingers in order to take it from her, eliciting a cry of pain. Frowning, he placed the glass on the counter, examined at her hand, and looked at her. He saw that her eyes were filled with sorrow, and he placed his hands around the damage. A moment later, the injury was healed. Releasing her hand, he said once again with an unreadable face, "Prepare my food." He could see that she had almost learned her lesson; there was only one thing remaining. 

As she looked at the water she wanted so badly, she fought back tears. This message was equally clear; for anything at all, she would wait on his pleasure. For everything, she was dependent on his good graces. And, this was punishment. She moved the water to another counter, accepting his will. Other glasses she quickly placed in a cupboard, so she would have room to work. There was no need to make another main course; there was still enough meatloaf. A hearty German dish of eggs and potatoes, with a sauce, would compliment the meat. That, and more cabbage, would make for a pleasant dinner.

"May I offer you wine, my Lord?" she asked quietly, without looking at him.

"Yes."

When she returned from selecting a bottle in the pantry, a glance told her that he had seated himself, and was looking through the books she'd brought out earlier. At the moment, he was turning the pages of the atlas, only now seeming to begin absorbing the size of the world. She placed his filled glass within easy reach on the nearby coffee table, and returned to find potatoes and the half cabbage she'd need. She also selected four eggs to place in a pot, and covered them with cold water, and placed them on the stove to hard boil, before beginning to peel and chop the vegetables.

As she worked, the weight on her heart kept growing, and she did not notice that he had turned back to the book on New York. It was a very large one, that she'd purchased for the clear glossy photographs that captured the city so well. It was also where she kept the clippings  and the memories. Every obituary was there; Alika, Mary, Dina, Steve, Parshu, Sara. She'd made rubbings of their bronzed names at the memorial pools, before she'd left to come here; they were kept between glassine paper among the pages. It had been one last visit, to say goodbye. Her memories of them felt to her like the water at the pools; cascading down to the blackness below, on their way to some other place. Perhaps it was another reason she'd been able to come here at all...9/11 had taken away everyone she'd had, and afterward, no others filled the empty spaces. Perhaps she had been unwilling to allow it...it was too hard to say.

Thranduil found these remembrances as he looked through the pages that told him more about the magnitude of the destruction, and looked at all of them. After the second of her friends' names, he realized that the photograph she had shown him was of these same people. He had seen many die, and had grieved countless losses. He had also seen his kingdom attacked and his forest burned around him, and he had endured. 

Rising, he walked to look at the photo more carefully, when he noticed the object in front of it; the curious thing of stone and molten metal. Picking it up, he turned it in his hand, and his eyes widened in shock. A burden of grief, anger, and sorrow such as he had never known came from it and dropped him to his knees. The object fell out of his hand and tumbled to the floor as he gasped to take in air. His kind could be sensitive to unusual forces, and the thing he'd touched carried a memory of the agony of thousands.

Earlene immediately went to him and knelt down, in concern, reaching toward him. Hesitating, she did not know what to do. She did not dare touch him, nor did she understand what was wrong.  Seeing the piece of debris he'd dropped, she picked it up. In the days that followed, she had made and given out food for the emergency workers, as often as possible as she walked to work each morning. A nameless fireman to whom she'd offered a warm, freshly baked cinnamon roll had drawn this from his turnout gear, and placed it in her hand in gratitude.

"My Lord?" she whispered. He had already begun to regain his feet, and stood up, glancing down at her with a face that continued to be expressionless. Looking up at him, from her position at his feet, she felt like her heart was breaking. 

"I am so sorry, my King," she sobbed. "I am so sorry, to have raised my hand to you." Looking away, she buried her face in her hands. The weight of what she had done to him was proving too heavy to carry.

He lifted her up and embraced her, which caused her to cry harder. This was what he had waited to hear. 

"You are forgiven, Earlene, and you have been punished enough," he said softly. This had not been pleasant for him, but he'd felt he had no other choice, for both their sakes. That she would never act out against him again, for any reason, he felt certain. As she struggled to stop her tears, she heard a bumping noise from across the room, and gently broke away from him. The eggs were boiling, and she had to turn off the heat and cover them before they overcooked. He was at her side as she placed the lid on, offering her the glass of water. 

In a voice weighted with emotion, she thanked him. Finally putting down her strange keepsake, her hands shook as she took the glass from him; he helped to steady her as she drank, then replenished the water. He could see that she was riddled with turmoil, and would not be able to easily control her feelings. Nothing was actively cooking on the stove, at the moment, and he determined to return her to some kind of stability. He guided her to her bed, and sat her down, removing her shoes. His hands slid under her dress to do the same with her undergarments as she looked at him in near disbelief. As he drew his fingers down the skin of her legs, she trembled. When he kissed her, her chastened mind was both complaisant and deeply appreciative. He could not have guessed, how strongly she would react to the restoration of his favor. She devoured his steady thrusts as though she had starved for him. Which, he recognized, she had; leaving her to wonder when she might ever receive this again from him had been part of her penalty. Her release was a powerful one that tipped him into his own; they strained against each other in pleasure. He kissed her and stroked her skin for awhile, as they rested, to assure her of his love. When he raised her back up, she was outwardly calm, though there were traces of anxiety, that he dismissed as the lingering effects of her experience. He nudged her gently toward the kitchen, following behind and taking a glass into which to pour wine for her.

The pot of peeled and chopped potatoes was set on to boil, and she started to fry the cabbage and make sauce while the slices of meatloaf awaited reheating in the microwave. Considering the plates, she was uncertain whether she would eat with him or not; she would not presume anything.

"Earlene." She looked to see that he offered her wine, which she accepted from him. He placed his arm around her shoulder. "All will be now, as it was before your punishment. It grieved me, to have to treat you in such a manner, sweet one. "

She bowed her head. "It will not happen again, my Lord." He kissed her forehead, and she leaned into his reassurance with her eyes closed. Her sizzling roux demanded that she break away from him. As she furiously stirred milk into it in small amounts, her heart felt some gladness for the first time since this morning. When the sauce was slowly bubbling after the addition of broth, she glanced all around again, and spotted what the fireman had given her. She had never known what to call the thing, but in many ways it was her most precious possession. Walking to the shelf, she returned it to resting in front of her friends. Thranduil watched her as she did this. Now was not the time to tell her that if she'd placed this in his hand instead of striking him, it would be he who had begged her forgiveness, for his words. He understood from having touched it, more than from her explanation, why she had struck him...but the day could not be undone, and no King could tolerate a treasonous action.

Oblivious to Thranduil's observation, she began to slice off bread to cube for a pudding recipe. One of the loaves she'd purchased was from the baker's and would be stale by morning; if she began now they would be suitable for a dessert tomorrow. But then she remembered, frowning. 

"My Lord, what you told me about food staying fresh, here...what if I need for it to become stale? What do I do?" That he glided over to her and pulled her against him just to give the simplest of answers melted her heart. She was so grateful to feel his touch again, that it did not cross her mind that he also had hated the distance he had been forced to impose on her. In the end, she piled the cubes onto a jelly roll pan and placed it on top of the wood stove; this would force them to dry when they otherwise would not.

Earlene asked him if he would like to listen to music, while he ate. When he assented, she opened her laptop and played Corelli Concerti, softly. They were cheerful. He was astonished, to hear the music coming from seemingly nowhere, all around the room, and seemed to enjoy it very much.

There was no film, tonight. After the meal, she was physically and emotionally drained from the entire day. He insisted that she sit and rest, and drink more water, while he cleaned the dishes. She brought her knitting bag on the way to the couch, to do as he'd asked. There was a potholder that she only needed to do a little more work on. Scarves and potholders were most of what she made, never having had the time to learn very complex patterns; but both were welcome gifts to friends and coworkers at holiday time...and had become something for which she had developed a humorous reputation. Thranduil joined her, with the last of his wine. He held her against him as she worked, fascinated to watch the rapidly moving needles. It was a simple textile craft, but one unknown in his realm. Before long, though, her hands slowed, and then stopped, as her head drooped against him. Carefully laying aside her work, he took her in his arms and carried her to bed, removing her dress for her. As the diamonds at her neck sparkled in the low light, he looked on her with desire...that could wait. Climbing into bed to take her in his arms, he at least felt assured there would never be another day like this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2016 original note: When this story began, 9/11 was not on my mind; it was coincidental that I'd created an OFC that worked in Manhattan. But then time went on, and the idea started to creep in before I realized, we are coming up on fifteen years since this happened. Writing this into the narrative, from the viewpoint of someone who was drawn deeply into this tragedy, was a very difficult thing to do. But, I'm not sorry for the Kleenex that were sacrificed to the cause. We have all lived in a changed world because of what happened that day, and I for one don't want to let myself forget just how different life is, now, and why. And to all the Earlenes out there, who have just had to find a way to patch themselves back together and carry on living without a Thranduil to make it all better in the end...you're not forgotten.
> 
> "Man i eneth lîn?" -What is your name (formal)
> 
> "I eneth nîn Thranduil. A len?" -My name is Thranduil. And you are (formal)?
> 
> "Im Earlene eston." -I am called Earlene.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {March 1, 2016}  
> Edited to version 2.0 June, 2018  
> [Quote of poetry is from "Ozymandias" by P. B. Shelley]

When morning came, Earlene woke to bacon. With her head half buried in the pillow, she frowned, certain after a few moments that the smell was not imagined. 

Things might be better off, if she just stayed here. It had been a bit of a running joke among her friends that if she was cooking, to stay out of her kitchen. She tended to move through the space in such an energetic way that it really was safer for people to just not be there. Not to mention, she could be a little fussy about how things were done. A smile twisted her lips with a recollection of the time she'd been down with a pretty bad flu. Two of them had come over to cook a huge pot of chicken soup for her, from scratch, and a third had been ordered to make sure she never came out of the bedroom while they were doing it. And that third one, Parshu, had had quite a time of keeping her there. She could soak in his slight Punjabi accent for hours, and they knew how much she liked to hear the stories he'd tell of his family back home.  _ It had all been quite a setup _ , she mused. There really had never been a day when she didn't miss all of them, but long ago she'd had to force herself to stop really thinking about it. In the end, it had been the only way to stay sane, to keep going. And part of honoring their memory was to remember to live...it was the one thing that none of them were offered, and she wouldn't let them down.

On second thought, she'd best get up. The pain and shame of yesterday was not going to leave her mind for a long time, and it was not right that her King was in there frying a rasher while she lay here daydreaming.  _ You need to put that aside _ , she told herself.  _ You lost control and made a big mistake, paid the price, and it's over now. Don't let it spoil your happiness...or his.  _

After using the toilet and washing her face, she looked for something to wear, and found that in spite of her pep talk to herself, she could not put on the same jeans and jumper as yesterday...they were too much of a reminder. Instead she found black leggings, a long-sleeved cotton tunic with a charming irregular hemline, and a thick cardigan. Socks finished off what she hoped would be suitable attire for at least awhile. It looked somewhat bizarre with the diamond necklace, but, she was simply going to have to stop thinking about choosing every piece of clothing around it, especially on days she might be able to stay here.

"Good morning, my Lord," she said as she approached him, noting with pride that he seemed to be coping well with the food...though he was making an extremely generous quantity for two people. Not that she thought him incapable; it was just that...sometimes even very smart people just didn't get it, when it came to cooking. He looked back at her with an expression that spoke of tremendous enjoyment. 

"Aur vaer (Good day), Earlene," he said, with sparkling eyes. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. Not only had he fried and drained the bacon, he was now cooking cabbage in some of the grease and preparing to add scrambled eggs to half the pan. She smiled at him. "I infer, my Lord, that you are content with what you are doing; I only wish you to know that I am willing to take over if you would prefer. May I help you in any way?"

"Please make the tea, and toast some bread?" 

"Athon, Hîr vuin (I will, my Lord)," she said carefully, as she set about doing as he'd asked, and offering to set out plates as well. While she waited for the kettle and toast, she checked her computer. Her eyes widened at the number of emails from her firm that awaited her attention.  _ Even my punishment had a punishment _ , she thought.  _  This is what I get, for not being able to take care of any of this yesterday. _ While she elected to read them first before passing judgement, she was going to have to possibly remind them that "consult" didn't mean "work part time, uncompensated, from home". Her vision had been of spending a maximum of eight to ten hours a week on their inquiries...this threatened to spill beyond that, considerably. 

"Earlene, there is something I should have told you yesterday but..." he trailed off, as he saw that she lowered her eyes in disgrace.

"No, meluieg," he said, suddenly standing next to her, and gently holding her face. "It is not being held to account against you; you are not to dwell on what occurred." His blue eyes held hers, with a look of softness, and sympathy, until she nodded. 

"I wished to tell you that Thanadir has been restored, and will be joining us for meals, for some days. That is," he smiled, "unless you wish him to go without food."  

Her eyes widened in surprise at this announcement. "Of course he is welcome, my Lord. Is he coming now? I have not put out enough plates...nor do I have enough places to sit at the counter. But I am happy to seat you both, and stand to eat, if it would please you. I do not wish to fail to honor him, and it is something I am used to."

Thranduil looked on her with wonder, and a little guilt. He had been very hard on her, yesterday. And while he had done what he believed he must, a measure of doubt nagged at him now. But this was not the time to reflect on this more. 

"He is coming now, and, your thoughtfulness would be much appreciated just this once. Your home is not a place in which I wish to stand on formality. But there is no doubt, that he would be set at ease by your gesture." 

"Then consider it done, my Lord." She paused, as her voice shrank to almost a whisper. "My Lord? Does he...know, what I did to you?"

Earlenee tried to keep her voice neutral, but the grief lingering in her heart could not be hidden from him.

He hesitated, before replying. The truth was, that his seneschal would know; it was necessary according to his own laws, to inform Thanadar of a transgression against the person of the King. But he did not have to inform him today. Nor would he speak to the elf, until he could be assured of having the time necessary to impress upon him the complexity surrounding what had occurred, and the importance of not berating her or showing her any further disapproval, however slight. But at the moment, it was no lie to tell her that which would ease her burden.

"He does not know, meluieg. But you must understand, even if he did, it would not be held against you. Our ways are not like your own. Once I declare that a matter is concluded; it is concluded."

She nodded again, speaking in hushed tones. "I am sorry, Thranduil, not to be able to control my feelings better. I am trying but...it is difficult for me. And, thank you for telling me." Moving away, she went to bring out another place setting. It would be simple enough, to eat near the sink. When this was done, she looked up at the King, who was happily moving the last of the eggs around.

"My Lord, if I may, you will find your scrambled eggs stay moist if you turn off the flame now, and let them finish cooking with the residual heat of the pan. But what I had really wished is, to ask if I will have your permission to remain here today?"

"Is there something you wish to do, Earlene?"

"I have more work than I anticipated from my firm, and I also hoped to roast a chicken and prepare a more elaborate dinner this evening, especially in view of needing to feed Thanadir. The meal will require attention during the day. If there is time left over, I also hoped to study Sindarin."

Thranduil looked at her, his face unreadable at first, but then breaking into a smile. "Will you promise me that I can enjoy at least part of another film with you, after the evening meal?"

It lifted and eased her heart, to hear that he would like to spend time with her in this way. Walking to him, she took his hand in hers and said, "Your wish is my desire, Thranduil." Reverently, she leaned down to kiss the back of his hand. And unbeknownst to her, this gesture of respect was what Thanadir witnessed her doing, when he arrived to knock at the glass door that faced the woods. He could not have been more pleased, to see the King's mortal lady showing His Majesty such esteem. Out of regard, he waited until he saw that Earlene had released the King's hand and stepped away from him, before knocking. 

She turned to see him, and with a welcoming smile came to open the door, gesturing for him to enter. 

"Len suilon (I greet you), Your Excellency," she said softly, bowing her head deeply to him. "Len nathlam hi (I welcome you here)."

"Thank you, Earlene," he said politely.

"May I take your cloak?" she asked slowly. When he appeared confused, she carefully reached to touch the fabric of his cloak, tugging at it while saying "cloak?" 

"Cloak," Thanadir repeated, baffled. 

Earlene turned to Thranduil, with a plea in her eyes.

He smiled, and rattled off "aníra i nall lîn" (she wants your cloak), at which Thanadir swiftly removed the garment and handed it to her.

Taking it with a smile, she gestured for him to please be seated, slowly and tentatively saying, "Tolo, havo dad, Thanadir." (Come, sit down). She saw Thranduil's eyebrows raise. 

"Was what I said wrong, my Lord?" she asked, still feeling very shaky about trying new words.

"It was correct, Earlene. I am impressed that you have remembered so many phrases."

Feeling relieved, she took Thanadir's cloak to her bedroom, as she overheard Thanadir speaking to the King in agitated words so rapid she could catch nothing more than "i (the)" and even that was debatable.  She'd made the bed up quickly, earlier, but now took an extra moment to smooth the covers more neatly. Returning, she poured tea for all three of them. Thranduil was proudly filling the plates with the food he'd made, while Earlene nudged the warm toast toward the ellyn, as well as the butter and different spreads, while inquiring whether the seneschal wished sugar or milk for his tea (he did not). Thanadir was, unbeknownst to her, still trying to process his horror at finding his King preparing food for him; stern explanations had been required for him to somehow rearrange his views on what was seemly.

When both of them were seated and eating, she stood up to butter her own toast, before starting in. They ate in silence, and she kept her eyes lowered, not wishing Thanadir to feel stared at. It was genuinely nice to see that he was...solid in appearance, once again. He had an elegant face, when his features were neutral or smiling. On some level, she felt grateful to know that Thranduil had had someone to faithfully help him, for such a very long time.

He'd done very well, with the breakfast, too, even seasoning the food correctly. For a moment, she stopped chewing, as it struck her.  _ A King had cooked her a meal...that didn't happen every day.  _ Sighing at how much she never could have guessed would happen to her, she gently ran her hands over the necklace. Now that she understood what it did, she had begun to feel differently about it. It was like his arms around her, all the time. That he would protect her in this manner was something she was still digesting, but mostly she felt....touched.

When everything was cleaned up from breakfast, she saw that the two ellyn had migrated to her books. They were both seated on the couch, and Thranduil was rapidly speaking, quietly, to Thanadir, showing him the pages of the Atlas. 

Earlene had already determined that tonight's meal would consist of roast fowl, roasted root vegetables, duchess potatoes, salad, and bread pudding with a whisky sauce. To tackle it, she elected to work on it in stages; this would give her a break from so much time at the computer. She would brine the chicken now, peel and slice the potatoes and root vegetables, and wash the salad  fruits and greens so that they might dry a bit before she chopped them. She politely approached the two ellyn, waiting to be acknowledged. They had stopped speaking, but were both absorbed still in the maps and pages before them. Finally Thranduil looked up at her, as if coming out of a reverie. He had never focused so intently on anything, that she could recall.

"Yes, Earlene?" he asked kindly.

"I am sorry to interrupt, my Lord. I wanted to ask if you would mind, if I played music while I worked. I have no wish to disturb you."

"This is your home, Earlene. You need not ask me, though it is appreciated. Please, do as you prefer." With a smile, he returned his attention to the Atlas.

As she walked to her laptop, she could not help feeling baffled, though she struggled not to allow the thoughts to form. As she selected the music she wished, her mind had a burst of frustration. 

_ Wenn es mein Haus ist, warum hat alles gestern passiert? _ (If it is my house, then why did all that happen yesterday?) 

But just as swiftly, she let it go, glancing half fearfully over at Thranduil. She forced her thoughts elsewhere. Thinking in German, however much her sentiment might have been expressed differently by a native speaker, seemed like the only outlet she had just now. Hopefully, his oversight was limited to the languages he knew? She'd already made one assumption about his mental powers and been wrong. It was entirely best to move on.  The soothing strains of the music were already beginning, and she turned her attention to salt concentrations and potato peels.

Earlene was listening to Bach's St. Matthew Passion; one of the epic choral works of the western world. She'd never had an explanation for how much, or why, she loved this piece. Her family had not been religious. The extent of her musical education had been college chorus. The study of German had been left behind in high school. Though, she'd invested a lot of effort in learning it at the time, and did passably well. 

Near as she'd been able to tell, it was the power of the sentiments that were expressed. It wasn't necessary to believe whether or not Jesus existed, or whether any of those things actually happened...the point was, those same kinds of sorrows could and did happen to real people. 

And the emotion of this music...it was of no concern to her that most people didn't care about or understand this piece. She did, and especially since...that day...anything that could depict the sorrows of what could happen in this life, with a beauty and poignance that twisted her heart up and wrung out every last drop...that was all that mattered to her. There were times when she wondered if the real reason she'd stuck with the German was just to be able to understand...this. No one else knew, and she didn't care. 

Her food preparations were completed and she was into her Inbox before the arias had a chance to begin...the piece was over three hours long, so it was also a decent hourglass of sorts. With one last glance at the still raptly absorbed ellyn, and a great sigh, her fingers began typing  responses until noontime approached. She'd given thought to dinner, but not lunch....which was going to have to be kept simple. A very large can of plum tomatoes went into the blender, to be transferred into a stockpot to simmer, along with tomato paste and herbs. It was not how she preferred to make tomato soup, but in a rush it would have to do. A block of glorious Irish cheddar and sliced bread was laid out to become parmesan crusted grilled cheese sandwiches. A sweet, light slaw of  finely shredded and chopped cabbage with a conservative amount of vinegar and red pepper flakes would pass for a salad. It was not too long before she began to catch glances of interest in food, out of the corner of her eye. Smiling to herself, she readied the plates and bowls. And when it was time, she approached the ellyn to politely provide them a few minute's advance notice.

She served them and ate as before. Though this time, she hazarded a few extra glances at Thanadir. It made her feel happy, on some level, to see him enjoying his food. Once, he glanced up at her and smiled, before she could lower her eyes out of respect. It was...nice. After the lunch, Thranduil informed her that Thanadir would not return until the evening meal, and that he would be brining a stool with him. To her surprise, before he departed, he walked up to her and spoke. 

"Earlene," he said softly, causing her to actually look at him. "Annon allen." (thank you)

She smiled, genuinely glad to have helped. "Glaiss (you're welcome: lit: "joys"*), she said carefully, bowing her head to him.

As she watched him pace back toward the woods, Thranduil's arm came from behind to encircle her, drawing her near to him. 

"My seneschal is very grateful to you, Earlene, and so am I."

"My Lord," she said, to acknowledge him, but little feeling went with it. She would have treated any guest the same, and many creeping and varied emotions did not leave her free to appreciate his words. A way to change the subject quickly presented itself. "You were both enjoying the atlas, my King?"

Her efforts appeared to be successful. "Thanadir and I need to acquire an education, Earlene. Studying the maps of the world seemed like a good place to start.

She nodded, absently. "What do you wish to know most, if I may ask?" 

He reflected for a few minutes. "I wish to know most what affected the place in which we find ourselves. We need to understand what people believe, think, and how they view their lives. How humans see their world." He paused. "Earlene, if I have not made it plain before, I would like to establish...ties...with the people who live nearby. But no further. I have no wish to bring your modern world crashing down on our heads. Though, my power is sufficient for us to close the gates of my Halls, and pass out of memory once again, should the need arise. But what I would like most is to be on friendly terms with those living in Lasg'len. They have honored us, in their own way, and we have given them some small service in return, though it was ever unspoken. Our isolation has left us ignorant of all that has gone on around us, and it does not strike me as the best way to move forward."

She nodded choosing her words carefully. "To understand the present, you must understand the past, the things that shaped us and brought us to how we presently live." She walked to the shelf and selected a book. "History is a complex subject with us, Thranduil, as there are so very many people, with so many different backgrounds. Every person, one might argue, has their own truth. But events occurred which influenced all, and it would be well for you to know of those. We live in what we refer to as the Western World...while it is an ambiguous concept in some respects, it loosely refers to the countries and peoples that share common cultural values. Ireland is in Europe, which saw many struggles, but especially in the last centuries."  Handing him the book she'd chosen, she said "You can look over what is in here. Use it to gain an overview, not to read every word. Ask me questions; there will be much that will be confusing. Our world is a very big place, these days. This will give you a foundation on which to add more knowledge. There are many excellent programs...like movies, but designed to teach with both words and images. These will help you learn quicker."

He accepted it from her, with a frown. "How many people is 'very many people', Earlene?"

"More than seven billion, my Lord."

Thranduil grew quiet. "I do not know this number, meluieg."

She had learned that the Eldar had used a duodecimal numerical system and...she was not a mathematician. "My Lord, humans reckon numbers in groups of ten, and not twelve. You know the use of a hundred, and thousand, do you not?"

"Yes." 

Speaking with deliberate slowness, she said: "A thousand thousands is called a million. And a thousand million is called a billion. Does that allow you to understand?" She looked at him hopefully, dreading having to come up with a better way to explain it.

"It does." Taking the book back to the couch, he sat and opened it. Seeing that he was occupied, she retrieved a kitchen timer and went to her room. Turning the dial to twenty minutes, she flopped back on the bed, feeling increasingly unsettled. She sat up.  _ No, 'unsettled' wasn't the problem...hadn't she been through this enough times? _

Rooting through her unpacked box of bathroom supplies, she found the prescription bottle she'd not used in quite awhile. It came and went, that she needed them, and she was not about to wait until she completely unraveled. That mistake had been made once or twice already. Breaking off a small piece of the diminutive blue pill, she quickly swallowed it, tucking the rest in her pocket, and laid down again. It was not exactly a surprise, after yesterday, that she'd be in difficulty again for awhile. 

Her meltdown had done so much more than earn punishment for striking the King. Scars were torn open that had managed to settle after years of struggle, and had been fairly stable for some time. Becoming so angry like that...she placed her hands over her eyes. If she could just stop thinking, just send the memories and the feelings back into their little hole, then she would be alright. She could go back to pretending that it had happened in some other life. Yesterday had definitely not helped...not at all. Her mementos and her photo of her friends...those weren't the problem. Those were the emblems of carrying on, to her. But what he'd said, and what he'd made her feel, and talk about; for that, she would suffer.  That he didn't understand, beyond the most basic comprehension, also didn't help. Earlene shoved her hands into her eyes harder, reflexively willing herself to think about other things. There were long lists of favorite poems she had memorized, to force her mind away. " _ I met a Traveler from an antique land  Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone... " _

It helped. When the timer rang, she could feel the medication disconnecting her feelings, and her mind was clearer. Rising, she washed her hands and continued to work. When the sun lowered, she heard the thrum of Ian's lorry. Quickly finding her clogs, she went out to greet him. With a happy expression, she thanked him for the wonderful time she'd had at the pub the other day. His face broke out in a broad smile, which dampened only a little as Thranduil came up behind her. 

"Earlene," he said softly, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. "Allow me to care for the firewood. Please, return inside to where it is warm." Smiling up gratefully at him, she nodded, and bade Ian a good day before resuming her cooking.  Ian nodded his head respectfully to Thranduil, and the two worked in silence to offload the wood. Soon enough, the lorry departed.

Thanadir arrived with perfect timing for her meal, sparing himself the sight of his King carrying firewood into the house. Best of all, he'd brought a stool on which she might sit. Oddly enough, it was a fairly close replica of her simple wooden stools, which made her wonder how that had just happened to be in the King's Halls...but she supposed a lot of things were in there, from her place of pleasant detachment. From time to time, she would break off the tiniest little pieces of the tablet in her pocket, to make sure it would not wear off. She had learned to be so subtle about using this medication that was impossible to notice what she was doing; to all external appearances, she was taking a random nibble at her fingertip every so many hours. Years of practice had allowed her to know just how much to use to stifle the intolerable feelings, while still remaining highly functional. Even functional enough to write out more Sindarin grammar tables, and review lists of common phrases.

Dinner had gone off very well, and the food met her expectations. Thanadir had even been moved to say "This is delicious" in English, so she reasoned that it must be high praise, indeed. She'd seen the elf smile more than once today, which meant that everything must be 'seemly.' It still made her smile, to recall some of the descriptors Thranduil had used for him. Truthfully, Thanadir reminded Earlene a great deal of a particular bailiff that worked at the District Courthouse in lower Manhattan, and who had, in polite language, an 'overly keen sense of protocol.'  He had driven many of her colleagues to a double scotch and soda after work, but she had always found him...cute. Yes, Thanadir was also decidedly cute. Unwittingly, a large smile formed on her face as she collected the dishes to the sink.

Her reverie was broken by arms around her waist. "And do you find me cute as well, meluieg?" he asked, teasingly. Thranduil had noticed that her previously unsteady mood had transformed into one that was quite calm and relaxed, of which he was glad. And having no understanding of things like Xanax, he was oblivious to what he was actually perceiving.

"No, my Lord, you are not cute." The barest smile curled at the sides of her mouth as she felt herself gently turned around, and her face lifted to look at him. 

"If I am not cute, then what am I?" There was no sarcasm or amusement in his eyes, only genuine curiosity.

As she looked up at him, her mind was a perfect blank. A long list of synonyms raced past, but none quite sufficed.  "You are...aesthetically pleasing to a degree that exceeds the vocabulary of our language," my Lord. "And dignified. And.....powerful."  Her voice became quiet on the last word. 

Thranduil did not understand, but he perceived that she was becoming uncomfortable, and he had no wish to make it worse. "Thank you for indulging my question, Earlene. Would you like to see the film, now?" he asked brightly.

She nodded, having almost forgotten.  _ The washing could wait _ , she reasoned;  _ the dishes were soaking. _

Soon she was nestled in his lap, curious to see how the many storylines concluded. The courage, and struggle she watched were no longer something she could view as dispassionately as when she'd seen the first two films. And she felt genuinely sorry for Thranduil. When the hobbits traversed the Dead Marshes, she felt him bury his head in her neck. At first she was puzzled, but then asked, "Is this the same place....?" She felt him nodding, and reached to hold onto his arms. No one had to explain the pain of loss to her; this was another depiction of where his father had been killed.

Halfway through, she asked if he'd like tea, which was a well-hidden pretense to get at the rest of what was in her pocket...the film was provoking too many feelings. Placing two steaming mugs on the coffee table, she returned to his arms. Soon enough, she gratefully could feel nothing at all. There was so much happening, she thought. She had to pause to ask about Shelob, and was told that the spider was a lesser descendant of something far worse and larger. It was difficult to accept, and no one in their right mind would want to face such a creature. The Battle of the Pelennor Fields was terrifying to watch; everything seemed so real. Unconsciously, she pulled his arms tighter around her. It was only now filtering in, that what she'd wanted most today was this. The safety of his arms, and the sense of his protection. 

The drama of the Ring itself was tremendous to her, because she also felt like she could too well understand something having a power that could not be resisted or denied.  _ Somethings _ , she thought. But what caught her very badly, was something she did not expect. When the Ring was destroyed, and the Dark Tower fell, she froze at the sight of the great structure disintegrating and falling into rubble and dust. She had to close her eyes and look away. Thranduil sensed her agitation, but misunderstood its origin. Earlene was still grateful, that he held her tighter. She found Aragorn's coronation to be very beautiful; the plaintive song he sang was filled with emotion. 

"My Lord, what did he sing?" she asked, pausing it again.

"That is the Oath of Elendil, Earlene. It is spoken in Quenya. ‘Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place I will abide, and my heirs,  _ unto the ending of the world.’"  _

She nodded, kissing his hand in thanks. 

When it was ended, and the ship departed from the Gray Havens, she realized that in some ways she knew less than she did before...but it was a magnificent tale, and showed much that was beautiful.   _ Three more to go _ , she thought.

He tended the stove while she brushed her teeth and undressed for bed, reaching for her long shirt. Instead her hand was deftly caught, and she was swept up and placed into bed as she was. 

"As you wish, my King," she smiled, curling up against the chill of the sheets. In less than a minute, he was with her, as she reached to be against his warmth. When she was held securely against him and sighing in contentment, he spoke in what was probably the most gentle voice she'd yet heard from him.

"Meluieg, something is different, inside of you. I can feel that you are struggling, and I do not understand.  Would you tell me?"

He could feel a wave of fear roil through her. Frankly, he too felt some fear. It did not escape him that this was not present in her...before. Though he did not believe this was about his punishment of her, he was not entirely certain. What he could be certain of was her deep desire to not discuss this, and her dread that he would command her to do so. 

"Do you think you could tell me, if you had more time, Earlene?" he whispered. 

She nodded against him, and he caught thoughts of her wanting ...some days. And wanting even more to feel that she could find refuge in him. She was trying...to shut something out.

He sighed deeply. "I love you, meluieg. I would help you, if I can. If time is what you need, then I will give it to you." He began to rub her back in slow circles, and much of her agitation began to diminish, replaced by gratitude. She wrapped herself around him and clung to him tightly. Her thoughts were not coherent, but certain images flashed through that he could comprehend. He lowered his face to graze her lips lightly with his, wishing to be certain he was not mistaken. At this light touch, she sought his mouth with eagerness.  He responded, even as he sensed that this was something more than lust. What, was impossible to decipher, but one image came through with great clarity; she wanted him to take her, that she might lose herself in him, if only for a short time.

He genuinely wished to give her what she needed, feeling at a loss and worried that he was partly or fully responsible for her current difficulty. He felt, with a brush of his fingers, that she was not prepared for him. He kissed her, and cupped her sex in his hand. As her tongue sought his mouth, Earlene felt a powerful arousal wakening in her. As her desire grew to near desperation, her swollen loins were aching with want. When he brought his hand away, she was more than ready. As he touched her thighs to part them, she eagerly spread them wide for him. The luxurious moan she released as he entered her was different than anything he'd yet heard, and he was puzzled and pleased all at once. There were far more sounds of appreciation and...she was suddenly a much more active partner. He could feel the welcome in her spirit in a greater way than he had before. She matched his efforts with eagerness, even when he used less restraint, gasping with pleasure at his vigor. His arousal ascended until his release burst from his manhood with a groan of relief. As if her body had waited for this, she cried out in delight as her delicately formed hands held onto his hips, straining to pull him into her further. As his essence spread through her once again, tightening her bond, tears ran out of her eyes as she held onto him.

"Earlene, why are you crying?" he asked, concerned.

There were more jumbled images, but he could piece out her gratitude for his lovemaking, and her extreme thanks that he had not forced her to talk to him. As he rubbed her back to soothe her, he was left to consider what had transpired since coming to bed. She fell asleep with him still inside of her, and he lingered a very long time in her body, both in appreciation and reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Glaiss" - "joys" for, 'you're welcome'. I cannot locate anything that appears to be a truly good choice for this, and do not recommend using it. This one will have to wait for further enlightenment...


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {March 3, 2016}  
> Edited to ver. 2.0 June 16, 2018  
> This chapter introduces the much-loved Lorna, the redoubtable OFC from Spamberguesa's Ettelëaverse series. Mick is also Spamberguesa's OC. Obviously, Spamberguesa and I co-wrote the chapter. This was the first time I've ever worked with another writer, and it was a ton of fun....as were the chapters still being worked on :-)

Two days passed, following a predictable pattern of cooking, and everyone studying or working at...everything. In some ways she felt like her home had become a college dorm room, and her suite mates just happened to be elves. There were no more films for the moment, by consensus. When Earlene had time from emails, preparing food, and finally ordering two suitable laptops, she would play select videos about history that they would all watch together. Especially keyed in on were ones that discussed Ireland/England/Scotland, because that tangle had gone on longer than anything had a right to. 

She needed to be able to establish gently that monarchy had been...not a rousing success here, depending on one's viewpoint. And really, they had to know about the Revolutionary War; they could not afford to be set with Cuchulain and Finn MacCool but not know that Britain used to be the Empire "on which the sun never set." Besides, she had no doubt that if she could coax Thranduil to the pub sooner or later, he'd get a personal enough summary on the proud traditions of Éire. It was hard to determine how much Thanadir understood, but she kept the subtitles running and her fingers crossed.

While she'd kept herself medicated the day after he'd asked her to confide in him, as a precaution, she'd been mostly okay yesterday. And today, it was the same...there were moments when the thoughts and feelings started to intrude and other times when she could keep them at a distance. It was a strict rule with her that she not use the tablets more than two days running without at least one day off, even though she ordinarily used so little. They could be habit-forming, and she wasn't going to add that to her list of problems. But most of what had helped her to climb out, a bit, was that he'd allowed her some freedom in not forcing her to talk. Her gratitude for his compassion was bottomless, and it made her feel like she didn't have to be afraid that she wouldn't get through this.

Today, though, one  future tense verb too many had passed before her eyes. All of the stems and endings were muddled in her head, and she was not retaining anything. It was pointless. She resolved that after lunch, the house would need more groceries, whether it did or not. After a pleasant bicycle ride to town, she took her usual sweet time fussing through the store, and chatted a bit with Aislinn when she paid. There might be a lead on a farm that could supply larger volumes of cabbage, but she would need another week or two to be certain, the lady had said. 

Frowning to herself while remaining outwardly pleasant, Earlene had a different notion about the state of her inquiry...and the root cause of Aislinn’s dragging feet... she would talk to Thranduil later. Tucking all her goods in the trailer, she found herself drawn to the pub.

Once again Earlene had some hours before she was expected back, and nothing sounded finer than another trip to The Spotted Dick. The odds were solidly in her favor that the village had run out of strange men looking to manhandle women. Or, so she hoped. Though, her general self-assurances did not stop her from looking carefully around and keeping alert, as she locked up her bicycle and trailer. 

As she walked inside and gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, it was obvious that it was a little too early to find much company here. A feeling of vague disappointment washed over her; she'd genuinely hoped for the easy joviality that Ian and his mates had brought to her day the last time she'd dropped by. Greeting John behind the bar, she ordered her pint of stout, and took it to a quiet table. In a very short space of time, she found her mood shifting downward again. It wasn't necessarily a surprise...and the beer would either lift it up or sink it lower.

Only after she was five good sips into the brew did she begin really looking around. Surprised, she now noticed a woman, sitting alone at the back. Earlene thought she was fabulously striking; while appearing to be very petite, she had the most amazing mane of dark hair. It was not often that one met a woman who kept her hair past-the-waist long, and hers was filled with body that glinted in the low light. Not wishing to stare, she quickly looked back into the chocolate brown depths of her glass. She sighed, completely torn between the inclination to be alone, and the fact that she'd come in here in the first place to be with people. 

Glancing up, she could feel her own hesitation.  _ What was the matter with her? _ While she liked her own solitude, and was admittedly struggling with her emotions, it was really not normal for her to sit around second-guessing whether she should introduce herself to someone. Squeezing her eyes shut, she realized that it was a little harder, out in the world, to carry the sum of her life with Thranduil on her shoulders. 

_ I know that I love Thranduil, and on most levels I truly want to be at his side,  _ she thought. _ But there is something about this that feels like scrambled eggs, and I know it the most when I come to town. Why is it so hard, to think about telling him that I am really a sham, a mess who has struggled for years with PTSD, on and off? He's obviously trying to help me. Is this about him being a King? Thanadir lives under the same rules as I do, and has for thousands of years. He is beyond content. But then again, when I am with Thranduil, I don't feel this way. Or maybe it is about, that I don't believe he can understand in the way I need him to.  Then again, who fucking can?  _ She sighed.  _ I am starting to understand why people want to drink. With or without Xanax. _

Looking up suddenly, she realized that she was no longer alone. The woman had moved from across the room, and was now standing near her. Earlene found herself scrutinized by piercing green eyes, staring out of a diminutive face that held no small measure of hardness and calculation. For better or worse, Earlene's first impression was that whoever this was, she'd be fine walking home through the streets of downtown Brooklyn at 3am, and god help whoever tried to lay a finger on her.

 

“You’re the other new one, aren’t you?” Lorna asked, taking care to enunciate so she’d actually be understood. There weren’t many new people, in a village this small; so far as Lorna knew, she’d been the first one in two years. She’d heard an American had moved into the house beside the forest not so long ago, but this was the first time she’d  seen her. Lorna had never actually met an American, and curiosity compelled her to introduce herself.

Even other Irish people could have a hard time understanding her, so an American might not realize she was speaking English at first. “I’m Lorna. Grand to meet you here.”

Earlene smiled, completely charmed by the woman’s speech. She knew she might live here for forty years, and never sound like anything but a New Yorker lost in another country. “Thank you...I’m Earlene, pleased to meet you. And yes, I’m the new one. Is there another one? It’s only my second time coming to town, I haven’t gotten out much. Can I buy you a Guinness?” She gestured at the next stool, hoping that Lorna might be willing to join her for a bit. Aislinn at the grocery had seemed very nice, but it was clear that there was little there over with which to try and make a new friend...at least for right now.

“I’m the other one,” Lorna said, with a smile, hopping up onto one of the barstools. Her feet dangled a good foot off the ground. “Mick over there, he runs the mechanic, and he’s broken his arm. I told him I’d fill in until he had his cast off.” She nodded to a tall, rather burly dark-haired man sitting beside the fire, the cast on his left arm both grubby and covered in the signatures of half the village. “I’d love a Guinness, but only if you let me buy the next round.” She’d always heard that Americans were meant to be unpleasant bunch , but Earlene was one of the politest people Lorna had met in quite a while. “Where’re you from? I can’t place American accents at all.”

Earlene laughed. “Okay, I earned a ‘fail’ on that one, I didn’t register that you are new as well. And I accept your offer, as long as you let me buy one for Mick.”  _ So much for my legendary analytical abilities today _ , she thought ruefully. “I’m from New York City. I lived in Queens, worked in Manhattan. But originally I’m from upstate, where it’s a lot more like it is here...rural, smaller towns. You? It’s really nice of you, to help your friend out like that.”

Lorna couldn’t help but laugh. “If you do, he’ll be your friend forever. I’ve known that man for twenty years, and the way to his heart’s through the bottom’v a pint glass.” Her knowledge of New York City began and ended with Ghostbusters and 9/11, but from everything she’d ever heard, it could put Dublin to shame in some ways. 

“Well by all means Mick gets a pint, then,” Earlene said with her eyes twinkling. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with a man who’s got his romantic priorities in order.”

Lorna nodded.“I’m Dublin-born myself, but I moved into my sister’s village when I was twenty-eight, and I’ve never wanted to go back to the city.” She shifted a little, trying to disentangle her hair from around one of the stool’s spindles. It was no wonder her sister called her Cousin It. “What sent you to the big city? I know loads want to live in New York, but I’ve heard the housing prices are absolutely lethal.”

Earlene looked down for a moment, considering her next words. “Don’t feel bad, what I know of Dublin is a few James Joyce stories and...it’s in Ireland. Pretty bad of me; I’ve a lot to learn. For me, I guess you could say that what sent me to the City is ultimately what sent me away. I went there for law school, and never left. It was all very...larger than life, but the sense grew that I didn’t belong anymore. And here I am. You’re dead on, the prices now are awful...though, it worked out for me, when I sold what I had to move here. Let’s just say it was a one-way trip.”

Law school. Jesus. Lorna wasn’t going to mention that she didn’t even get her Leaving Certificate until she was thirty-five, and she definitely wasn’t ever going to let on about her stint in prison. “You’ll find loads like him, in these little villages. I know we’ve a reputation for being a load’v drunks, but it’s not entirely undeserved,” she said, with a snort. “As for not knowing much about Dublin, I ran across some eejit on the internet who thought it was in Scotland.” She eyed Earlene closely. The woman seemed incredibly healthy -- Lorna knew a few people who would murder someone for her complexion -- but there was something...strained about her. Lorna had tended bar long enough that she’d grown good at reading people, and she’d lay money something was eating at Earlene. Mairead had bludgeoned enough tact into her that she knew better than to ask right away, but something just felt off. “Met any blokes around here? I’ve always got to do my duty and tell my sister if there was somebody worth looking at, that I didn’t want to look at.”

Earlene mulled over Lorna carefully, as she took a hefty swig. She felt almost a little desperate to make friends here, and had worried that people finding out about her life before she came here would work against her. Badly. Sighing, she decided to take a risk. It’d either piss this poor woman off, or set her at ease.

“Look, I’m going to be honest. I was a big shot corporate lawyer, doing all kinds of things that no one here is going to care about in the least. I never worked for people, I worked for big businesses and….seriously, so what. Please don’t feel like what I used to do or know matters, because it doesn’t. I showed up here to raise goats and have a garden and...I just want to have a prayer of fitting in, a little bit. We had small towns back home, and I know what it’s like...I don’t expect to ever really belong here. It’s OK. Mostly, I kind of keep to myself. Or at least I did, before I got here.”

 

Lorna ran her finger around the edge of her mug, pondering. She wasn’t eloquent at the best of times, but she wanted to be reassuring. “I doubt anyone’d be able to understand what you’ve done for work anyway, but you’d be surprised, with these little villages,” she said. “They’ll adopt you, if you let them. When I moved to Baile, I didn’t know a soul -- I’d never even met my sister until the day she came and got me. They’re little, and they’re...insular, I guess you could say, but once you’re one’v theirs, you’re one’v theirs forever. They can be more of a home than you’d ever find in the city, no matter how many friends you had there.” She laughed. “Sure, anybody’s business is everybody’s, if you get my drift, but people don’t judge too hard. Not unless there’s drugs, anyway.” Not that many in her village knew the full scope of her past, and that included the rather fantastic array of drugs she’d taken in her teenage years. It was a miracle she hadn’t fried her brain.

  
  
  


Tipping another swallow down her throat, Earlene started reeling herself in.  _ Don’t be TMI, Earlene. No one wants to hear too much all at once.  _ Forcing a smile, she looked up at Lorna. ““Thanks for what you said, about fitting in. Even though I wanted to, it wasn’t easy to leave what was familiar. And my friends, um...they all left the City before I did. So, I am hoping to make some new ones here. I guess you could say I’ve met a bloke, though I’m not quite sure how to explain him, exactly. Maybe one of the locals here can do a better job of it than I can. It seems that my house, unbeknownst to me until I got here, is in an interesting location. You might say it is looked out for by someone with an ongoing interest in the property. We, ah, hit it off right away, and suddenly I’ve got a man in my life. Honestly, there are days I feel like I’m still trying to understand it all myself…” she trailed off, but then her eyes brightened. “He is definitely worth looking at. Or at least, I thought so. Though, he might be more than a little touchy if anyone did. Look, that is. He’s on the dignified side, for lack of better words.”

  
  


Lorna looked up at Earlene, arching an eyebrow. “Good, I’ll tell my sister you’ve taken the interesting one. Just be sure he treats you right, or sooner or later someone’ll lamp him out.” It might just be her, too. She’d come a long way from her violent youth, but...well, sometimes working in a bar meant you had to punch someone, and she couldn’t say she minded. That this man would be hard to explain...she’d ask Mick just what the hell that meant, because God knew it could mean all sorts of things. “The good ones -- they’re hard to find, but when you do...hell, listen to me rattle on. Once you’ve had a good one, you’ll never want another.” Even now, it was hard to think of Liam without pain. He’d been the best of the best, and she had no interest in looking again. Not that Mairead would ever listen.

 

Earlene looked at her wryly. "I can't claim to be an expert, since this is my first serious relationship. But I feel pretty safe saying I'll never be able to want another.” She shook her head slightly, realizing that no more could be said on that just now, without painting herself into a corner.  _ How do you tell another person that there never  _ can _ be someone else? And why? It's impossible.  _ Pulling herself out of her reverie, she forced herself to say something less cryptic. “If you’re around long enough, you’ll meet him sooner or later. He’s been wonderful, to put it mildly. He takes good care of me. If you ever get tired of the mechanic, my place is just up the road, a little over two miles, at the edge of the woods. I’m not always in, but if lights are on, I’m home. The kettle is quick to heat, and I’ve usually got something decent cooking. Ian comes by every other day, to bring firewood and check in...he knows the place. 

  
  


Lorna couldn’t claim much experience there, either. “I only had one, but he was the only one I’d ever want,” she said, draining the last of her Guinness. “I’d...I’d like to come by your house, if you’re in.” She didn’t have -- and never had -- very many female friends, and Earlene was definitely a different sort to the others in this village and in Baile. People with higher education didn’t tend to return; those that were left were more like Lorna, who might have done a load of reading without anything to show for it. “I’m staying in Mick’s spare room, and his flat -- well, you can tell he’s a bachelor.” Her first day in, she’d had to go around with a mop and a bucket of Pine-Sol, and throw approximately eight thousand dirty socks into a rubbish sack and stick them outside, just to air the place out. She’d lived like a civilized person for far too long. “I think you’ll get on just fine here. And if you’re ever in need of a holiday, Baile’s not far. We haven’t got a forest like that one, but we do burn all the potato stalks off in the fall and get completely ossified. Drunk,” she clarified. “Christ, I ought to make you up a list of Irish slang, so you don’t get turned around to hell and back. I’ll slap that together before I see you next. My boss sent some’v his own home-brew with me, so we can have a pint. If that lad’v yours is in, he can have some, too.”

Lorna definitely made her smile, Earlenee reflected. “The flat sounds….vaguely horrifying,” Earlene said with a wide grin. “I’ll take a guess that you are saying, in the nicest possible way, that his dwelling is less than spotless. I guess I’m lucky in that Thranduil is quite possibly neater than I am. And I’d love some homemade beer...fear not, about the Irish-isms. I won’t claim to have heard them all, but the only ones I’m missing are the ones that the Internet forgot.”

“Pretty much,” Lorna said, trying to smother a laugh and failing. Whatever that name was, it definitely wasn’t Irish. “It’s good you’ve done your homework, because people coming in from the outside sometimes can’t tell we’re even speaking English. Don’t be offended if you go hearing any’v us calling one another cunts, either -- I know it’s a terrible insult in the States, but it’s not at all here. It usually gets thrown at inanimate objects, actually.” Somebody from America would probably find the idea of a person calling their car a cunt bizarre, but, well, Ireland was Ireland. It didn’t necessarily make sense even to the Irish. “If you tell people it bothers you, they’ll try to leave off, but I can’t promise they’ll succeed, especially if they’ve been at the bottle.”

Maybe it was the stout working its magic, but this declaration sent Earlene into soft and nearly helpless laughter. When she settled enough to talk again, she knuckled a tear from her eye. “Lorna, all that is exactly why I moved here. My gran was Irish, though she came to the States long ago. None of that bothers me...you have to understand that I never owned a car in the City. Mostly I rode the subway, and let’s just say ‘cunt’ might be one of the nicer things I heard at six o’clock most mornings. While I hate to say bad things about our Gotham, the truth is that most New Yorkers, ah, to use the vernacular, ‘give no fucks’ about what bothers anybody. Not to mention, when I was fourteen years old, I once heard gran call the farm tractor 'a filthy whore' when it wouldn't start up...not quite the same, but at the time it got my attention.” The memory  made Earlene start laughing all over again.

Lorna’s eyebrows rose. “Your gran was Irish? Well, then coming here is just you coming home. Let that get about the village and they’ll take you in whether you want them to or not.” She paused a moment, thoughtful. “There’s something worse than ‘cunt’ in America? I’m not sure I want to know. My gran always told me profanity’s a crutch for the inarticulate motherfucker. Not that’s stopped...well, the Irish. Any’v us.” Tossing her mug from hand to hand, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly warm through her veins, she said, “Come into the pub some night when everyone’s around, and tell them where your gran’s from. A lot’v Irish had to emigrate after the Rising, right up through the sixties, and it was always painful. We always wanted them to come home, and now you have. That’ll count for more than you’d think.”

Earlene giggled. “I should clarify. I’m not sure there is a way to ‘rate’ profanity in the subways. All I can say is, you haven’t lived until you’ve heard a very overweight black lady who had a bad time on the night shift telling off a rude teenager who just stole her seat. I can’t even say what words get used….it has so much more to do with the attitude behind whatever gets said. And all of that kind of goes double if you’re walking through Little Italy when two Nonnas are arguing out their windows. And, gran came from Belfast...though she was a very little girl when she did….consequently she became very American, very fast. Rumor has it, her family missed getting on the Titanic by two weeks.”

“The Titanic? Christ,” Lorna said. “There’s luck and then some.” Belfast hadn’t been in the North yet, then, so it wouldn’t count against Earlene. 

As Earlene noted that their glasses were far too empty, she excused herself briefly to get three more pints from John.

Lorna was going to have to explain a few of the issues the Republic and the North had with one another, assuming she didn’t already know -- she’d done her homework on the slang, so odds were good she did, but it was best to be safe. The younger people just made fun of the North, but people Lorna’s age and older remembered the Troubles all too clearly. 9/11 had eclipsed them all, but she’d grown up hearing about the bombings and the shootings, though she hadn’t understood until she was much older.

She glanced at Mick, wondering if he was still sober enough to be half-decent company. His face wasn’t overly red, so she waved him over. “Careful you don’t trip and knock yourself out with your own cast,” she called, grinning when he flipped her off. “Or break your other arm.”

“Sod off,” he said cheerfully, slurring only a tiny bit. “You’re the reason my flat stinks like a bloody pine tree. I liked the socks.”

“I’m sure you did. Earlene’s gone for more drinks, so sit down before you fall down. You never could hold your alcohol, for all you’re built like a tank.”

Earlene returned and set down the glasses with a smile. “Mick, I’m Earlene, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I wish I’d be one of your customers, but the wisdom of Ireland is such that it’s pure hell to get a license for driving here...so it’s just going to be a bicycle for me, no car.” She extended her hand to him in greeting.

“Grand to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand rather awkwardly with his left. “Living out here, there’s not much cause to need one, really. If you’ve got to go shopping in the city or the like, Dai’s got a van for hire. It usually runs.”

Lorna snorted into her Guinness before she could help it. “If he’d pay for a new bloody carburetor, it’d run more often. I’m tempted to break into his garage and change it myself, and leave the bill stuck to his bathroom mirror. I’ve a motorcycle, if you ever need to get anywhere in a hurry.”

“Don’t do it,” Mick warned. “I’ve ridden passenger with her. How she’s not a smear on the motorway yet, I’ve no idea. People in Ireland either drive like grannies or maniacs, so you might be best off without a car anyway. I think the license is so hard to get because the government hopes it’ll keep the worst’v the lunatics off the roads.”

Earlene’s eyebrows shot up as she swallowed a generous portion of her beer, reasoning that if a little was good, a little more was better, just now. She was feeling more relaxed than she’d had in…a few days. Her agendas did not particularly include motorcycles or vehicular maniacs, but she’d no wish to be rude to her new friend. Instead, she chuckled at Mick’s warnings. “No worries. I was sort of relying on Amazon.com to take care of any big needs. Honestly I can’t imagine why I’d ever need to leave the village at this point, unless it was for something Thranduil required. I came here to sort of dig in, like a badger, and not be budged too far. But it is good to know about the van, just in case. I’m hoping to start a decent garden soon, maybe even look at how to get chickens or a dairy animal. If I wanted to look at roads and traffic, I would’ve stayed put.” For a moment, she was quiet, and then eyed Mick, who seemed to be a substantial specimen. He was clearly a sheet or two to the wind already, but she liked the man. Good-naturedness seemed to flow off of him.

Taking an extremely healthy draught, and then glancing at her watch, Erlene mumbled “Shite,” and then laughed. “You both are rubbing off on me, and it only took one round. You’re both going to think me rude, but I can only stay about ten more minutes...Thranduil has a friend coming for dinner, and I have a meat pie that needs to meet the inside of my oven at the right time, or I’ll toss a wrench in the gears. I hope you’ll let me take a rain check on the next round. But before I go, I want to hear how you learned to be a mechanic, Lorna. I meet precious few women who know the difference between vise grips and a socket set.”

Lorna laughed. “My gran always used to say that time waits for no one. An old friend taught me mechanics, about eight years ago. He told me hands as small as mine were perfect for digging around in an engine.” She wasn’t going to mention that her ‘old friend’ had been the leader of the gang she’d lived with as a teenager, and if Mick decided to, she’d fetch him such a slap.

No sooner had Lorna finished her answer, than Ian and company entered the pub.

Earlene smiled. “Well, I’d originally thought my timing was bad this afternoon, but then I was able to meet both of you. It has truly been a pleasure, and I look forward to seeing you again, either at my house or...do you come here every day, Lorna?”

“I’m not here every day, but I’ve got an email address,” Lorna said, fishing a slightly leaky pen out of her pocket. She jotted it down on a napkin, taking care to make it actually legible to someone other than herself.

Earlene hurriedly scribbled her own email on a paper coaster, and handed it to Lorna, smiling. Wishing to duck out before she had to spend another twenty minutes explaining to everyone who’d just arrived why she couldn’t stay, she tipped back the last of her pint and said goodbye to her new friends. As she walked out into the late afternoon sunshine, her spirits felt considerably lighter than when she’d arrived.  _ I think I need to start coming a bit more often _ , was her firm conviction as she unlocked her bicycle and headed off.

*****

When Earlene had been gone a few minutes, Lorna gave Mick a dig with her foot. “What’s up with this lad’v Earlene’s?” she asked. The way the woman had spoken of him…Lorna didn’t know why, but it made her seriously wonder. “I’ve never heard the name Thranduil before. Is he some kind’v immigrant, or did he just have really weird parents?”

Mick downed the last of his pint, and now that Earlene was gone, he let out a truly impressive belch. “You’d have to talk to Ian,” he said, waving the old man over.

Ian looked like the sort of old man you found in many a village in Ireland, who’d worked hard all his life and would probably keep on until he dropped. “Talk to me about what?” he asked, climbing onto Earlene’s vacated stool.

“Lorna here says Earlene claims a bloke named Thranduil, at her house, as her man. You didn’t say that Earlene was with him, the other day.”

“I didn’t know for sure,” Ian said, flagging down the barman. “One doesn’t guess what the fair folk are doing.”

Lorna’s eyebrows practically climbed into her hairline. She probably shouldn’t be surprised the old man would be so superstitious; God knew her gran had been, and Lorna had gone along with it to humor her. Still… “What in bloody hell d’you mean, ‘fair folk’?”

Ian ordered his pint, and took a long swig when it was handed to him. “Earlene’s bloke isn’t a bloke; she’s got herself mixed up with the elves in the woods. Didn’t you see her necklace?”

Elves. Of bloody course. “What elves in the wood, and what necklace?” Christ, this was a bit elaborate even for village pensioner superstition. Granted, woods of that size were begging to have ghost stories attached to them, but still. She wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this conversation.

“Ask Mick,” Ian said, raising his pint in a vague toast to who knew what. “As long as we’ve been here, everyone knows the woods of Lasg’len are protected. We don’t talk about it to outsiders. The elves protect the forest, and we shut up about it. It’s ever been that way. If we respect them, they respect us. Earlene’s house is actually in the Woods of Lasg’len, and I didn’t think it would be long before something happened. ‘Tis a shame though, Earlene said it herself. ‘No one told her he came with the house’...set up she was, buying that place with no way to know better. And, Lorna, take a good look at her next time; she wears the elf’s necklace. It’s hard to miss, it’s about a bank vault’s worth of diamonds. It means, she is under his protection. And if she’s under his protection, she’s his. Earlene seems happy enough, and she’s being treated well. Any bloke that will help his lady stack firewood, elf or man, is decent enough by me. He spoke to me one time I was out there, and was kind and pleasant enough...though he wore something like a crown, which was hard to miss. Told me I didn’t need to be afraid of him.”

His?  _ His?  _ That sent all kinds of warning bells clanging in Lorna’s mind. Earlene had had a jumper on, so for all Lorna knew, she really was wearing some kind of necklace. “How in bloody hell would a necklace be protection?” she asked. “And what in God’s name d’you mean, she’s his?” She wasn’t even going to touch the ‘crown’ bit yet.

Ian glanced at Mick. “Didn’t you tell her what happened to Earlene, a few days ago?”

Mick hesitated, and Lorna barely resisted the urge to brain him with his own mug. “If somebody doesn’t start making sense in the next five bloody seconds, you’ll all regret it,” she growled. Ian might dismiss her as all bluff, but Mick had known her since her gang days. He knew better.

“She left here, and some sleazy bloke followed her out and tried to grab her,” he said. “The lads saw what was happening, and went out to help. He was barely alive on the ground when they got there, struck down for touching her. That necklace is the protection of the elf king, Lorna.”

Protection – had she fallen into the bloody Twilight Zone? Ian, sure, she could see how he’d buy this line of garbage, being old and rural, but Mick had grown up in Dublin. Their sort weren’t known for their imagination, yet he seemed to genuinely believe this load of crap. “What happened to the bloke who grabbed her?” she asked, finishing off her pint in three long swallows. She needed far more alcohol, if she was to continue this lunacy.

Rory, the village’s resident eccentric recluse, meandered over, weaving a little. “He might’ve ended up in the dumpster out back. It’s hard to say, what with collection having been the next morning. No one here is going to take kindly to anyone who wants to interfere with the elves or what the elves claim as their own, Lorna. I don’t expect you to understand, but...it’s part of being from Lasg’len. We watch out for them, and in a strange sort of way, they keep the woods beautiful and whole for us. Not to mention, when trouble comes to the village, it almost always seems drawn to the woods. And when trouble goes in there, it doesn’t come out again. I’ve no complaints.”

Great, it was a mass delusion. It didn’t surprise her that anything that went into that forest didn’t come out – it was damn easy to get lost in the woods. She’d done it herself, several times. “Mick, I can’t believe you’d buy into this,” she said, shaking her head. The entire story was utter nonsense, but some of what Earlene had said… She’d said she was inexperienced with men; she could be easy prey for some arsehole who could talk smooth enough. Lorna had seen exactly how that ended, and it was never well.

But she didn’t actually know shite yet. She’d meet this Thranduil sooner or later, and draw her own conclusions. And if she had to lamp him out…well, it had been a while. She had no use whatsoever for controlling men, and if Earlene needed saving from herself, Lorna would do it, if it was within her power.

Mick eyed her closely. He knew Lorna, and her history – and, most importantly, what she’d done to the last man who’d claimed he’d owned someone. “Lorna, the elves, they’re not human. They’re dangerous, and powerful, and I don’t think pissing one off for no bloody reason would be the world’s best idea. This isn’t like--” he glanced at Ian. “It’s not like when we were young. You can’t be…you…and expect the same results.”

Lorna still thought he was patently full of shit, but she’d got half a rein on her temper in the last eleven years, and a great deal of sense she hadn’t possessed before Mairead and Gran thumped it into her. Patience didn’t come naturally to her, but at least she was capable of it now. “Right. Well, if he doesn’t piss me off, I’ll not piss him off. Gran managed to smack some manners into me, more or less. If he’s reasonable, I will be, too.” If he wasn’t -- if he turned out to be what she already feared him to be -- well. He’d not be the first such person she’d dealt with.

At least, this time, she’d kicked the narcotics. She wouldn’t be committing manslaughter again.

But maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was just weird, and this lot were reading things into his and Earlene’s relationship that weren’t actually there. She’d try to reserve judgment until then. 

 

*****

 

Not until they’d knocked off for the evening did Lorna corner Mick, seated on his lumpy sofa with a beer. The whole flat still smelled of window cleaner, but that was better than mildew and old socks. “All right,” she said, propping her feet up on the coffee table (so old it was nearly an antique, but so scarred and ring-stained nobody would want it), “how the fuck can you put any bloody stock in...in  _ Elves _ , for Christ’s sake?” He’d lived the same youth she did; yeah, he and his mam were originally from Lasg’len, but he’d been a little one when they’d moved to Dublin. Their lives had not exactly lent themselves to belief in the supernatural of any sort.

 

“Mam told me stories,” he said, and took a healthy sip of his beer. His broad, freckled face wore an expression more serious than she’d ever seen -- serious, and awkward. “There were stories, and there was the gobshite out’v-towner who went into the woods and never came out again.”

 

“Mick, it’s damn easy to go into a forest and not come out,” Lorna said. “You know as well as I do how easy it is to get hypothermia on even a mild Irish night, if you’ve not got shelter. There doesn’t need to be anything more to it than that.” Though honestly, given what little she’d seen of the forest beyond the village, she wondered how the hell it had survived the English in centuries past. It was possibly the only truly ancient forest left in Ireland -- she’d never seen trees that size.

 

“Yeah, well...none’v us go in there for a reason,” he muttered, looking away.

 

She watched him keenly, and wondered why, if they thought it was so dangerous, nobody had tried to warn Earlene before she moved in. Not that the woman would have been likely to  _ believe  _ it, but still. “Mick,” she said, “why’d you come back here, once you were out’v gaol? If the forest makes you so uneasy, why come back?”

 

He drained his beer. “Didn't have anywhere else to go,” he said. “I didn't want to stay in Dublin, where nobody’d hire an ex-con. Mam, she might not’ve had the greatest reputation here, but nobody blamed  _ me  _ for it. And you know what they say -- home is where, if you’ve got to go there, they’ve got to take you in…” He trailed off, wincing slightly. Lorna had never, until Mairead and her gran found her, had a proper home.

 

Fortunately, she waved his gaffe away. “There’s worse reasons,” she said. If this had been hammered into his head when he was so young, maybe it was no wonder it had stuck, but that didn't mean they’d rope her into their collective hallucination. She’d go see Earlene, but maybe she’d also pack a lunch and go for a walk in the forest herself. If she could bring back pictures of nothing but ordinary (if gigantic) trees, maybe this lot would get over it, and she could focus on finding out if this lad of Earlene’s was a creep or not. The words ‘she’s his’ all but gave her mental hives, because talk about the justification of waaaay too many abusers -- including her own father, may he rest in whatever hell might exist. People did not own other people, and anyone who tried to tell her they could would get her tiny workboot right up their arse.

 

_ Just wait,  _ she told herself, and finished off her own beer.  _ Wait until you know if there’s anything to it, or if Ian’s just an old man with a poor choice of words. _


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Later the same day, March 3rd 2016}  
> Edited to version 2.0 June 2018

When Earlene arrived home with the groceries, she was debating the wisdom of having knocked down two beers on a relatively empty stomach, having eaten a light lunch. While she was not drunk, "pleasantly far along" would be a fair descriptor.

Thranduil met her in the barn and kissed her, amused. "And here I thought you preferred wine, meluieg," he teased.

Her cheeks blushed faintly pink, as she held onto him. "I do, my Lord. But I am not certain what the social consequences might be for being seen without beer in one's glass. And as I do not mind the latter, I decided to err on the side of caution."

He looked into her eyes searchingly, learning how she had spent her day. "You did well, Earlene, and I am pleased that you made new friends."

His hand traveled suggestively down the front of her jumper and to the clasp of her jeans. The touch was electric, and confusing, all at the same time.  _ Here? In the barn?  _

Smiling in response to her unasked question, he picked her up, and took her to a nearby bench, cradling her on his lap between his knees. "I am happy to see you in good spirits, meluieg. I offer you something small to keep them thus, until there is more time, later on." 

With no added explanation, he positioned her so as to be able to kiss her deeply, and passionately. Instinctively, her arms reached to encircle his neck as she responded to him. Gently, he undid the closure on her jeans, and slipped his hand inside, covering her womanhood with his hand. She gasped as a powerful arousal filled her while insistent lips and tongue demanded equal attention. Quickly it became apparent that even though his hand on her was perfectly still, that this would drive her to completion. In her mind she heard him:

_ The more you allow yourself to relax, the greater your pleasure will be. Open your spirit to me, Earlene. _

Compliance was easy, and every second along the way was one of great enjoyment. As his provocation increased, he covered her cheeks and throat with soft, small kisses, only to  claim her mouth again just as her skin was flushing pink, at the height of her passion. His lips stifled her cry of ecstasy, as she writhed against his hand. Thranduil continued to kiss her softly as she subsided, humming softly.

"Thank you," she whispered, when she could form a coherent thought beyond,  _ did she want to know how he could do that? _ He carefully withdrew his hand. 

"Now you will have something pleasant on which to reflect, while preparing dinner," he smiled, kissing her on the forehead, "and Thanadir will be unaware of any unseemliness."

This caused her to erupt in giggles. If he had wished to further lighten her mood, he had succeeded wildly.

As she removed the grocery items, he asked, "Tell me of your new friends, Earlene."

"I met Lorna, and Mick, my Lord. They work as mechanics, in the village. We did not really talk much, aside from introductions. Lorna is from perhaps an hour away, and said she lived once in Dublin. Mick I think is a native of the village? I know little about her, but...I like her. Her speech is coarse, but I find her to be....caring. I sense perhaps her life was not an easy one." Earlene paused. "It is hard to make new friends, Thranduil, especially women friends. I invited her to visit here sometime, if she wishes. She asked about you, a little. Or rather, she asked if I was involved with anyone." Earlene smiled, remembering her enjoyment of the conversation. "She said she would bring some home-brewed beer, and share some with you as well."

Thranduil's eyebrows raised. "Then I shall look forward to meeting her."

After the meat pie went into the oven and she began working on the salad and roast vegetables, Earlene spoke again. "My Lord, may I discuss something with you?"

The King rose up from the history book, and approached her. Thanadir did not so much as raise his head.

"Yes, meluieg?"

"I have been thinking about the purchasing of food, my Lord. When I spoke with the storekeeper today, I gained an...impression...that her inquiries are not going as quickly as they might. It is my instinct that the reason is, the woman has little motivation to make an effort because she perceives that no reward is in it for her." Earlene looked into his eyes, waiting for a reaction.

Thranduil looked at her searchingly. "And it is your deduction that were she to 'perceive a reward,' as you say, that far more cooperation would be forthcoming?"

"Yes, my King. And to be perfectly fair, few humans are moved to act on behalf of another only out of altruism. More than that, I had a thought. If you were to expand your list of desired items to not only....cabbage, but to additional vegetables with excellent storage properties such as beets, carrots, turnips, parsnips and perhaps even kale and collards, you would create yet more incentive because you would be placing a larger order. If you could arrive at a percentage of payment with which you feel comfortable parting, I could propose it to Aislinn. It is my understanding from the research I did, that the average profit margin for a grocer is between one and three percent. Large orders would mean minimum work for her, with maximum profit, simply for conducting the transaction as a resale."

Thranduil considered her words, but sensed there was more. "What else is there, Earlene?" he asked softly. 

She looked down. "I wondered if you had considered livestock, my Lord. The number of people you spoke of to me...have you thought of what some dozens of chickens, and two or three dairy cows could bring to your Halls? It is true that one or two people would need to make nearly a full time job of the milking and processing, and care of the animal, but, it is a rewarding thing to have as a food. Three dairy cows, depending on breed, could supply you with a half to whole gallon per person per week, for two hundred people. If fresh milk consumption is less, the surplus can be made into butter, cheese, yogurt, sour cream and more. There is a barn here already, and with some investment and preparations on my part, it would be a pleasing thing to have...but I could not do this alone without great difficulty.  Milk cows are nearly a full time job, on their own. 

“The reason I ask is, it takes time to prepare to have such animals; they require infrastructure. A place to be milked and equipment to store and process the milk are a minimum necessity. Though, I cannot help but wonder how interesting it would be, with your ability to prevent foods from spoiling. It makes me realize, I am not sure why I am keeping the refrigerator. There is also the consideration that access to fresh milk may be desirable to some of the villagers; some may be willing to buy or barter for it...if there is anything from the outside world that you need or want." Raising her eyes back to his after this monologue, she concluded. “At any rate, thank you for hearing me."

He digested this for a moment. "These suggestions have merit, though I would like to understand in greater detail exactly what is involved. There are some in my Halls who worked long ago with these kinds of animals; all elves have a way with beasts. If I am understanding you clearly, you are trying to politely say that while you believe this would be a good idea, it is outside of the scope of what you would have chosen for yourself. And therefore, you would want a certain number of the elves to take on much, if not all, of the work?"

Earlene frowned. "As a vague place to begin a complex discussion, yes, something like that. I was no dairy farmer, but I do understand the basic work involved. I don't know if you've seen in me, that I spent summers on my grandparents' farm. There was a cow, and I helped with all the work, care of the animal, and making what needed to be made from the milk. If you are interested, I would certainly not oppose your wishes as to how the work is to be done. Had you not been here, I likely would have sought out a goat or two for myself, for the same purpose. But cow's milk can make far nicer products, and you have a population that could make use of it. And," she lowered her eyes, "I am aware that I am committed to serve you. I do not presume to have others work, without working myself."

Breaking away from this topic, she had finished preparing the vegetables. Those found their way onto a baking sheet, and joined the pie in the oven. Frowning, she thought about how nice tapioca pudding would be for dessert.

Thranduil laughed, embracing her. Kissing her on the forehead, he said, "Meluieg, when the kitchens in the Halls are once again running, you will have spoiled Thanadir so badly that he will not wish to take his meals there." 

Earlene smiled up at him, flattered by his praise. "And you, my King? Have I spoiled you as well?" Her eyes now had a mischievous twinkle, but quickly widened in surprise as he kissed her passionately on the mouth, holding her for some time before releasing her. Unable to stop herself from glancing over at Thanadir, who remained seemingly oblivious, she cleared her throat as she felt her cheeks flush. "I will take that as a Yes, my King."

"Good, meluieg. You may make your pudding now. But after the food is ready, you are to do no further work tonight." She started to form a thought of protest, but then decided against it. 

"Yes, my Lord." His hand caressed her cheek, and then he returned to his book.

At dinner, she continued to enjoy stealing glances at Thanadir as he ate his food. It had become something of a hobby, for her. He truly did seem to be appreciating the meal. The more she watched him, the more she learned to notice the most subtle of facial expressions from him. They would have been so easy to miss...a slight flicker of the eyebrows, or the barest curling of the corners of his mouth. And though she could almost always avoid him catching her at watching him, the sparkle in his hazel eyes when he did manage it spoke volumes. Then again, it was her guess that it had less to do with the quality of Thranduil's cooks, than who knows how many centuries of not having tasted food. She really could not imagine...there were some pleasures that belonged to being alive, and for most of those fortunate enough to have regular access to food, eating was one of them.  

After the meal, since she was not allowed to clean up, it seemed appealing to brush her teeth and take a bath--if for no other reason, than it seemed like the thing to do. A deft twist of a knob ran the shower first, where quick work was made of washing her hair and scrubbing her skin. Taking a look at her legs, she decided it was also time to indulge herself with the razor. When all the maintenance work was done, she set the drain plug in, checked once more that the curtain was as it should be, and laid down in the tub, letting the hot water rain over her as the tub filled. It had been worth every penny, to pay for the retrofits on this home, including an on-demand hot water heater capable of making moments like this possible. She sighed with enjoyment, and closed her eyes. It had been a nice day...a  _ stable _ day. To have even one, in the midst of a struggle, was a blessing that she did not take for granted.

Bending her head forward, she tried to knead at the muscles of her neck and shoulders, that felt a little stiff, but the necklace made it feel awkward to try. The tub was full, so perhaps she could sink lower down into the hot water instead. Leaning forward to turn the taps off, she also moved the curtain out of the way so that she did not feel so closed in.  She tried to sink down in the water but found that this put too much pressure against the necklace, driving it into her skin. Sighing, she sat back up straighter again and resumed trying to knead at her shoulders. His hand on her arm startled her. Shaking her head, she smiled. "My Lord, I am growing used to your silent movements, but are you now passing through walls as well? I did not hear you come in."

He made an amused humming sound. "You will have to wonder, Earlene." She felt his hands at the back of her neck. To her great surprise, he unclasped the necklace. She felt something inside of her lurch. Whereas she at first had not wanted to be required to wear it always, there was now a twinge of fear that it was being removed. He leaned down to kiss her. "I will replace it on you soon, meluieg. I only wished to do for you what you cannot do for yourself." His hands closed over her shoulders, as he began massaging them for her. With a moan of appreciation she leaned into his hands. He rubbed and caressed her muscles until the water had gone from hot to barely warm, at which point he insisted she leave the tub. Wrapping her in a towel, he lifted her out and dried her. She could not fathom, to what she owed this treatment. 

"Thank you, my Lord, for your many kindnesses to me. I am very grateful."

"You are welcome, Earlene," he said, with great tenderness in his voice. He kissed her, and then encircled her neck once again with the jewels, securing the clasp. She leaned into him, relaxed and sleepy. He placed her in bed, and returned shortly. It brought him joy, how quickly she reached out for him. As she caressed him in affection, she encountered his desire, and immediately sought to care for him. Though she was but half awake, she disappeared under the covers to offer him pleasure, later on tugging at him to come to her, as she offered her body. Soon enough she was satisfied and asleep in his arms.

Unfortunately, the peace of the day did not last into her sleep; the old nightmare had returned. Over and over, the towers crumbled into vast clouds of dust that blanketed the streets beneath her feet, until finally rising to consume her view in a fog of gray. And each time, the memory of her friends' voices tore pieces from her heart.


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {March 4th, 2016}  
> Edited to version 2.0

Earlene woke up that morning, not wishing to have to leave the safety of Thranduil’s arms. Except, she both had to use the toilet, and wanted to pass within striking distance of the prescription bottle that held relief for the crushing feelings in her chest. She did not know how he was not awake yet, but apparently he wasn’t. Slipping out from his embrace carefully, she attended to both needs in rapid succession. Based on how she felt, she took a half tablet. Her memories of last night were bad ones, and she did not want her misery to become apparent to him. All she needed was about twenty more minutes back in bed, and the medicine would take effect. Crawling back in, she wriggled carefully into his arms and held them around her, willing herself to think about something else:

_ In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. _

When Thranduil finally began to stir against her, she released his arms. Things inside of her were as under control as they were going to be, and it was time to get up and prepare food. Breakfast sandwiches sounded nice, with fruit. Turning to him, she kissed him tenderly on the cheek and rose. Days were going by, and still no idea presented itself concerning how to try and talk to Thranduil. Things weren’t getting better as quickly as she’d hoped. Hoped, even though she knew better than to think that she could pull out of it this soon; she'd been on the receiving end of as much professional help as the next person, and there was an unavoidable pattern to a setback. But he had not raised the subject again, and her gratitude for this ran deep. She did not understand why, but he had been so immeasurably kind to her since...their incident. It had been such a shame, for that to have happened but...just bad luck, was all.

Pulling on a black tunic and leggings, the sight of herself in the mirror caught her attention. The necklace looked a little less odd with the single dark color, she thought, running her hand over it. Smiling, she looked at Thranduil thankfully, even as he seemed to have fallen back to sleep. His face was so very beautiful. However oddly this had begun, Earlene felt happier all the time to be with him. Maybe one day, here in Ireland, her demons would be finally banished. One day.

In the kitchen, busy hands began making the biscuit dough and cooking the eggs, with the kettle on for tea. Scones sounded good as well; a box of sultanas had been on sale at the store and some oranges were in the pantry too.  _ Why not _ . Soon enough she was whirling around in a pleasant numbness, creating food. Which was perhaps why she managed to wheel around at one point, and crash smack into Thranduil. She stumbled, but he quickly caught her. Embarrassed, she stammered an apology. “I am sorry, my Lord, I did not hear you. I did not mean to be so clumsy.”

He chuckled, righting her. “Do not be sorry, Earlene, it was an accident.” He frowned. “Are you certain you feel well? Your equilibrium is not quite right.”

She smiled. “I am as well as ever, my Lord.” Earlene was not a lawyer for nothing; it was an elegant evasion that stopped fractionally short of being untruthful.

As she washed up after the meal, she’d had the satisfaction of learning that both of the ellyn liked scones a great deal. Though they had done damage to the baking sheet of them, a few still remained. The sight of others enjoying her food granted a great deal of happiness. Surely, this went all the way back to when she was a little girl and enjoyed the creations of gran and her mother.. Wiping her hands on a towel, Earlene nextwent to the computer. What did not make her happy was the next stack of emails. With a growl of frustration she went and put on her clogs and a sweater, and marched out of the house to the woods. She wanted a few moments to think. Her firm was pushing her generosity too far. Stopping a little distance in, she leaned up against a tree and tried to sort her thoughts.

“Earlene,” she heard, just before his hand touched her shoulder. “What is the matter?” Looking up into his brilliant eyes, she sighed. “I have a problem with my former employers, my Lord, and I do not know quite what to do. I told you of the agreement I had with my law firm, to be available for consultation after I moved here. It seems that my definition, and their definition, of the word “consultation” are not matching very well. They are making demands on my time in excess of what I had envisioned, and I have to find a way to stop this. Yet these are people I regard, and I do not wish to create offense nor damage my reputation. It is...delicate, to consider.”

Thranduil regarded her for a minute, drawing her into his arms, and rubbing her back. She was not certain that this was helping her think, but his soothing felt very nice, on so many levels. “I believe I can make this easy for you, Earlene. You simply must write them and say that you have taken on new obligations elsewhere, effective immediately. Because of your new duties, you can only offer them an amount of hours that fits your original vision, and that they need to modify their correspondence accordingly. Should they exceed that availability, you will use your discretion as to which cases you respond. Done. No further discussion.”

Earlene blinked.  _ What is wrong with me, that I couldn’t have thought of that? _ She squeezed her eyes shut, and held onto him.

“I will do as you say, Lord. It is an excellent solution.”

Thranduil sighed as he held her. There was more; he knew there was more. But that she had confided in him about at least something...it was a beginning.

They returned, and soon she was back at her keyboard with a much greater sense of self-assurance. Thranduil smiled as he watched her fingers fly.

*****

Lorna, having given the mechanic an overhaul with a mop and copious amounts of window cleaner the night before, decided she’d head out to Earlene’s midmorning. It was a clear, sunny morning, the sky as blue as ever it was at home, and she drew deep breaths of the fresh air as she trekked out past the edge of the village. Like any good guest, she’d brought six dark brown bottles of the home brew she’d brought with her from Baile -- she wasn’t certain how well an American would like such a heavy beer, but Earlene seemed to have enjoyed her Guinness, so it was probably safe enough. What nobody outside of Baile knew was that, beer though it was, it was also sixty proof.

*****

After only a half hour at her legal work, a very firm knock was heard at the front door. All three of them looked up from their pursuits. “Perhaps the computers have arrived?” Earlene said, rising to answer the door. Pulling it open, she was stunned.

“Lorna! Come in, I’m so glad to see you!” Stepping back and gesturing inside, she had genuinely forgotten about her invitation. Or perhaps half more likely, somehow thought it would be at a later time in the day. It didn’t matter. “Can I get you tea?”

“I’d love some, if you’ve got the time,” Lorna said, stepping inside. “I didn’t realize you’ve got company. I can come back later, if it’s more convenient.” Her eyes searched Earlene’s face. The curse of being a bartender for so long was that it gave one an ability to read people, whether you -- or they -- wanted you to or not. For whatever reason, Earlene was tense, worn. And then Lorna went down the short hallway, and saw her company, and thought she might understand why.

The most obvious, the one who pretty much commanded attention, was possibly the creepiest person she’d ever seen in her entire bloody life. Even seated, he had to be incredibly tall, and his eyes...well, they looked a bit like zombie eyes, to be honest. Combine that with Barbie-blond hair and such pale skin...where had Earlene found him? (Possibly dug him up, given how pale he was?)

The problem -- well, the most pressing one -- was that Lorna hadn’t survived as long as she had by not recognizing a threat when she saw one, and this man, whoever he actually was, was possibly the most threatening individual she’d ever encountered, in prison or out of it. It had been a long time since she’d been around anyone more dangerous than she was, and she didn’t like it at all -- and liked even less the fact that he was around Earlene, who surely couldn’t understand just what she’d brought into her home. She didn’t believe for a moment that he wasn’t human (though looking at him, she could understand why a person might), but she was convinced she was looking at someone who, if he hadn’t killed anyone already, easily could.

Not that she had any room to judge, on that score.

Her grandmother and sister had, over the last eleven years, managed to bludgeon basic manners into her, so what she actually said was, “Hi. I’ve brought beer, if anyone wants some later.”

Earlene smiled and said, “I won’t object, but perhaps you’d still like to start with tea? I can offer you some scones I just made...I thought they might clash with the beer, but, I won’t judge. And please let me introduce you, this is Thranduil, and Thanadir. And they aren’t company, they are more or less my family.”

Earlene noticed that Lorna seemed a bit tense about seeing the ellyn but...this was an Irish village, and therefore it was not possible that Lorna had not been told. Still, she did not wish for her guest to feel uncomfortable.

Thranduil and Thanadir both rose. Thanadir said carefully, “I am pleased to meet you, Lorna,” and bowed his head to her. Thranduil came forward and stopped a safe distance from Lorna. He was not certain he had ever encountered a human like this before; he could see in her thoughts that he was already at a disadvantage with the diminutive woman. While he was fascinated that she was assessing him only in terms of being a physical threat to her, it did not help him address his desire not to interfere with Earlene’s wish to befriend her. Nor did he want this encounter to go badly, based on his interest in reachingout to the villagers. As if she were a wild animal, he did not approach her closely.

Earlene’s eyebrows raised.  Thranduil spoke in one of his softest and kindest voices, with a warm smile. “I am pleased to meet you as well, Lorna. Thanadir is learning your language, and can only understand some of our conversation. Earlene has spoken of you, and I am glad to see you here. And I too would like some of your beer. I am afraid Thanadir cannot stay; he has to be somewhere else very soon.”

Earlene decided the most sensible thing was to put the kettle back on the stove while the introductions sorted themselves out.

Lorna had to admit, the bow startled the hell out of her, but she hesitated too long to make trying to return it anything but awkward. “Grand to meet you both,” she said, looking up (and up; Christ, she hated being this short) at this Thranduil. She forced herself to relax; dangerous he might be, but that didn’t mean he was going to haul off and skin her. Technically, she was dangerous, but she didn’t go around murdering people just for unsettling her.  _ Reserve judgment _ , she ordered herself. She’d seen Earlene’s necklace -- no, there was no way the thing was any kind of protection, but it had to be bloody expensive. He had good taste, at least, and evidently the kind of cash that could comfortably support someone, if Earlene ever decided she actually wanted supporting. She didn’t seem the sort who’d want to be entirely without intellectually stimulating work -- which gardening, while soothing, definitely was not. Those eyes, though...if they were contacts, they were the most incredibly realistic ones she had ever seen, but she didn’t think they were.

_ It’s not his fault he looks like a zombie _ , she told herself. God, she was bad at this; she’d spent too much of her life running off impulse and impression, and acting like a reasonable adult was still sometimes a bit of a workout. “Earlene says you’ve been a grand help to her, living out here.”

Thranduil smiled. “I am fairly certain it is the other way around, but it is kind of her to say so. I have helped where I could. I hope you ladies will excuse us for a moment; I need to speak with Thanadir before he departs. I will be back soon, to enjoy your company.”

Thranduil turned to Thanadir and spoke softly before walking out the back door. “Tolo, i sadron nîn.”(Come, my faithful one)

“Athon, i Aran nîn,” replied Thanadir. Before following him, Thanadir turned to Lorna and spoke carefully. “I enjoyed meeting you, Lorna. Goodbye.”

Earlene and Lorna watched as the two ellyn walked off toward the barn.

“Would you rather sit at the counter or on the couch, Lorna? And did you want a scone?”

“Couch, if you don’t mind,” Lorna said, and gave her a wry grin. “My feet don’t dangle so far off the floor on a couch. And I’d love a scone, if it’s not too much trouble.” She hefted her rucksack off her back. “Also, beer -- I’ll stow this by the stove for now, keep it out’v the way.” That language those two had been speaking -- it sounded a hell of a lot like Welsh, but it definitely wasn’t Welsh. She’d ask later, once she figured out how to phrase the question so it wouldn’t sound like an interrogation.

She eyed the photograph above the couch. Earlene said she’d worked in New York -- had she been anywhere near the Twin Towers that day? Even Lorna had more tact than to actually ask that question, but sure God wouldn’t that have been a terrible thing to go through. She’d been serving her last year in prison when it happened, and the entire lot of them, prisoners and guards alike, had watched the news in complete silence. It hadn’t seemed real -- she’d thought, more than once, that it felt like some action movie had been brought horribly into the real world.

“I don’t blame you. Sometimes I think those stools are going to be the death of my posture. I spend too much computer time sitting on them, but that’s going to stop soon.”

“You need a proper armchair,” Lorna said, still eying the picture. “Christ, that was a hell’v a thing, that day.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think to take them back, and she winced. Would she ever stop stuffing her foot down her throat? Mairead certainly didn’t think so, and at this rate, she might well be right.

Earlene looked at Lorna. She never minded the comments that showed some kind of acknowledgement. “It was. You don’t need to be worried, talking about it. I’d kind of wonder about you, if you didn’t. I don’t bring it up right away because….there is no easy way to talk to a total stranger about the thing that ran your life clean off the rails. Unless someone has lived in a cave, anyone who hears that someone worked or lived in Manhattan and can’t register it….yeah.”

“My gran was forever thumping me, telling me I had no tact,” Lorna said, with a wry smile, but the smile faded almost as soon as it arrived. “Were you -- were you close by, that day?” She wasn’t actually sure just how big Manhattan actually was, but she had a hazy idea that most of it wound up dealing with the fallout. “I grew up during the Troubles, all the bombings and shootings between us and the North. I thought I knew what terrorism was, until 9/11 happened. Then I realized I’d had no idea at all.”

Earlene looked at Lorna, weighing what to say. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt like if she didn’t start talking about this soon, she would have no chance of shaking her latest relapse. She was just about to speak when the kettle screamed bloody murder. With a laugh, Earlene said, “I’ll show you, but let me make the tea happy first.” Rising, she hurried to shut the thing off and filled their mugs. It just so happened that the rest of that blue pill was in her pocket, and she helped herself to it, reasoning that she was probably going to need it for this.

Returning to Lorna with two steaming mugs and a plate of scones with butter, she sat down. The same book about NYC that she’d used to try to explain to Thranduil was still on the coffee table, and she opened it to the large aerial photo of Lower Manhattan.

“You can see where the towers were, this is an older photo,” Earlene explained. I worked here, on Madison Street, just a few blocks from the courthouse. So...I basically watched the whole thing out of my office window, from a little over half a mile away.” Her voice had grown very soft, by the end of the sentence. “Look, I don’t want to be a drama queen, but it’s going to come out anyway, especially if we are going to be friends, so I may as well just tell you. Every friend I had in the world worked in the Towers. None of them made it. I got through and kept my life on track, but not without consequences. I’ve dealt with PTSD ever since then..though I had to hide it from everyone. You don't do what I did for a career, and let on that anything went wrong inside of you, ever. There were bad ups and downs at first, but eventually, everything was fine for a long time. Until just recently, anyway, and...I’m back to trying to climb out of my hole again. Some days are better than others. And, I’m truly sorry at the level of completely personal TMI stuff you probably don't want to know about that I’m tossing out at you. I’ve never learned how to say only a little, or even what to say.”

Lorna stared at her, wide-eyed. “Jesus bloody Christ...Earlene, allanah, it’s not TMI. With something like that, when you’ve endured something that bloody horrible, you say and do whatever you need to. That’s...I wish I had any way with words at all,” she said, frustrated. “I know you don’t really know me well, but I’ve been a bartender for eleven years -- mechanics is a side-job. I know how to listen. And I know what it’s like to lose...people close to you. If you need to talk about it, for Christ’s sake, do it. Someone a hell’v a lot smarter than I am once told me that talking about shite like that’s the only way to deal with it, insofar as that’s possible. What happened, that brought it back?” Triggers could, she knew, be sometimes the most random of things. The smell of gasoline, certainly, for her, and rain on pavement.

Earlene sighed. “You don’t know how much I appreciate just hearing that. What started it was, I hung that picture up some days back, and Thranduil asked what it was. Thranduil didn’t know about 9/11, or me. He said something that I realized later was completely innocent, but it pulled the ground out from under my feet and tore open everything that had more or less settled into place and stayed put for a long time. I explained it to him later as best I could, but I’m still not sure he understands. He’s tried so hard to support me. I’m not an idiot, I know he sees something is wrong and...have you ever been in a situation where you’ve found someone who makes you truly happy, and you’re just not ready yet to tell them how broken you really are? I’m kind of in that mess right now. It hasn’t been the first time something set me back. I just didn’t expect it to happen to me here.”

_ Who the hell hasn’t heard of 9/11? _ Lorna wondered. Was there some cult in the woods, that just never left its borders? That wasn’t the important thing, but it was certainly weird. “I…” What the hell could she say to that, that would actually be of any use? “I have, even if the situation was bloody different, but if he’s worth a damn, he won’t care. Christ, the perceptive ones figure it out before you need to tell them.” Liam had certainly known just how screwed-up she was, long before she said anything. “I know it’s hard, sometimes, actually letting people know what’s really going on with you, but if it’s someone who’s meant to matter to you, just dump it on him, all at once. If he can handle it, he’s golden; if he can’t, kick him to the curb. My sister always said never commit to anyone until you’ve both seen one another at your absolute worst, and have managed not to kill each other or anyone else.” Lorna was fairly certain the only reason Mairead wasn’t the one who’d gone down for manslaughter was lack of opportunity. “I don’t have much experience with men myself -- I was only married two years, in my twenties -- but the good ones...you know you’re loved, with the good ones. I’m not much’v anything, and never have been, but Liam, he made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world. It took us a while to get there, but if that giant blond (  _ zombie,  _ she thought _ ) _ bloke is worth it, he will, too, sooner or later.”

Earlene’s eyes grew wider, hearing this, and she sighed. Maybe partly from the Xanax, but mostly on account of the common sense in it. “It isn’t him, Lorna, it’s me. He’s got plenty of intuition, but all his time living here hasn’t exactly left him knowledgeable about modern psychology. His kind don’t have these sorts of problems. And, he would care. He’d help me. He wants to. I’m the idiot who doesn’t feel like I can admit to all this. I don’t know if you can understand but, I’ve been on my own my whole life. I worked around mostly men. Men who oozed prestige and power. It is practically at the core of my being to never show weakness, or emotion, or...anything. When a woman works in that world...you have to be like some sort of steel box; nothing gets in or out. I was good at it, and I somehow held up all that time. Now that I’m living another life, it just isn’t easy to suddenly behave differently. Which doesn’t change that everything you just said is obviously true...” she trailed off, glad she could feel very little. Because if she could feel something, it would be found in that finite space between Guilt and Worthlessness.

“It’s not idiocy if it’s something you’ve done all your adult life,” Lorna pointed out. “Habit’s a hard thing to break, especially when it’s really ingrained.”  _ Just what in flipping hell was ‘his kind’ supposed to mean? Was there actually a cult?  _ She seriously needed to do some Googling about this village. “You and I have had...very different lives, but I understand needing to keep everything on the inside in the inside, if you get my meaning. It’s not always safe for a woman to let on, and it does turn into habit. You’ve not been here long at all; it’s not surprising you can’t open up yet.”

Earlene thought, as she watched Lorna nibble on the scone. “True. But in a way, talking about this has been a relief.” She chuckled. “Thranduil already knows; he would have heard.”

A sonorous voice from the door said, “Yes, he would have.”

Earlene looked up and smiled, from behind a pleasantly detached face. She saw, with relief, that his eyes held no anger or reproach. “Would you like tea, Thranduil?”

“No, thank you, meluieg. But I will admit to curiosity concerning Lorna’s beer.”

Jesus Christ, for such a tall guy, he could move quieter than a ghost. Lorna didn’t inhale her scone, but it was a near thing. Meluieg...that sounded so, so Welsh, and yet it wasn’t. “Jamie, my boss and I, we made this batch,” she said, setting aside both cup and scone and fetching her rucksack. “It’s got a bit more’v kick to it than most beers. I thought I’d introduce Earlene to poitín, but figured I’d best wait. In my gran’s day, it sometimes sent people blind.” She lined up the six bottles on the edge of the table. “If you’ve got a bottle-opener, Earlene, I’ll crack the top off one or two.”

Earlene immediately rose to go fetch the requested item, affectionately squeezing Thranduil’s arm as she passed him. She handed it to Lorna, looking at the bottles and wondering if she should be worried.

“If you two can handle this, I’ll bring some poitín next time I’m out this way,” Lorna said, cracking the tops off three of the bottles. Beer was always better when shared. “The ninety-proof kind’s the best, but it’s bloody easy to drink yourself into doing something utterly stupid.” Like, oh, say, ‘kill your father’, though that had hardly been the only thing she’d been on that summer night. “She doesn’t drive, and I’m assuming you don’t, either, so no worries there.”

Earlene sighed again for the umpeenth time, as she reached for her bottle. But then again, she did that a lot, on the medication. It wasn’t like being drunk, but it created in her the same desire to take deep breaths with some frequency, if she had enough in her. Which was not rocket science; she knew the pills suppressed the respiratory drive. Thranduil sat next to Earlene, and a flicker of a frown crossed his face. He felt the same sense of imbalance in her as this morning, only now it was stronger.

Earlene raised her bottle. “To new friends,” she said cheerfully, clinking bottles with Lorna. Thranduil clinked his to theirs, echoing the words along with Lorna.

Feeling a bit determined to keep up, Earlene believed she could rest assured that one beer was not an issue with her medication; she’d done that quite a few times. But she never pushed further; it wasn’t safe. Earlene asked Lorna how she had gone about the brewing process, which caused a cascade of happy chatter from her friend. Earlene was delighted to have found something that Lorna obviously truly enjoyed talking about, and listened to her. Though, keeping up with Lorna also meant that the bottle was drained very quickly. A great sense of contentment settled over her. Thranduil had started asking Lorna more detailed questions about the ingredients they’d used, and Earlene listened to that as well.

In a short time, though, listening was becoming very difficult, and staying awake loomed as aa monumental challenge. It was becoming cold in the room, and everything felt so incredibly slowed down. The last thing she truly recalled was Thranduil catching her, as her eyes went dark.

*****

Thranduil shook her gently. “Earlene?”

Lorna turned, and her heart stuttered in her chest. Clammy, pallid, and, when she rested the back of her hand on Earlene’s forehead, chilly. She looked up at Thranduil, even as she felt for Earlene’s pulse. “Is she taking anything? Is she on any antidepressants or the like?” Earlene didn’t seem at all the type to take narcotics, but even prescription medications could have a bad reaction with alcohol this strong.

Thranduil frowned, not knowing what any of those things even were...but he could see in the mind of this woman that they were substances that would be taken into the body. His frown deepened, reflecting on what he’d felt in Earlene recently. He had to take a certain risk, here. Even with his skills, he needed to have some idea of what was happening, and what he perceived within her was outside of any of his previous experience.

“Lorna,” he said softly. “Though it may be hard for you to hear, you must realize that I have not lived among your kind. I can help Earlene, but I must be able to first understand what is harming her. For this, I need you. I am aware that something has affected Earlene’s body and mood, these past days. There are times she is completely calm, feeling nothing. Sometimes there is almost dizziness. Is there anything you could tell me, from this?”

Lorna didn’t at all have time to spare for the whole ‘not living among her kind’ nonsense. What mattered was his concern, and his confusion.

“It sounds like an antidepressant, or something like one,” she said. “Here, lay her on her side -- if she sicks up, it’s a good thing, but she needs to not choke on it. I need to know what exactly she’s on.” The EMT’s would definitely want to know, if she could actually provide that information. Christ, why had she not asked if Earlene was taking anything -- or, at the very least, warned her of its alcohol content? It was criminal bloody stupidity on her part.

Hoping Earlene would forgive her for making a mess in the bathroom, she dug through the moving box of personal supplies mostly unpacked on the floor. It was not hard to spot the medium sized prescription bottle. Xanax -- there were much worse things to combine with alcohol, though this still wasn’t good.

“It’s Xanax,” she said, emerging into the lounge, bottle in hand. “Could be worse, but that’s not saying much. Keep a hand on her, make sure she keeps breathing while I ring for the ambulance. Earlene, allanah, I don’t know if you can hear me, but we’re getting you help, all right?” This was far from the first time she’d seen this happen to someone. It wasn’t pretty, but if you could get help in time, it didn’t have to do any real damage.

“Lorna.” Thranduil spoke softly, but with command in his voice. “There is no need to call for help. What is needed is for you to explain to me what exactly this Xanax does. What does it do, to the person who consumes it?”

Why she answered, rather than running for the phone, she never did know. “It’s an anti-anxiety medicine,” she said, feeling Earlene’s clammy forehead. “It alters the brain chemistry, makes it so you don’t care about much’v anything. I was on it myself, briefly, but she’s on enough’v a dose that I’m amazed she’s not sitting on the couch staring at nothing all day. I should’ve bloody told her how much alcohol’s in that beer. A normal beer wouldn’t’ve hurt her, so it’s no wonder she drank, but this shite’s sixty proof. Basically, I’ve just poisoned her,” she said wretchedly.

Thranduil laid a hand on Lorna’s arm very softly. “Lorna, thank you. If anyone is to blame for this, it is me. None of this would have happened, had it not been for my ignorance. If anything, you have helped to save her, in more ways than one. I must ask you now to allow me some moments of concentration.” He regarded the tiny woman further. “What you see if you choose to remain in the room will startle you, Lorna; it is outside your experience. If you would prefer, step outside and return in five minutes.”

The touch startled the living hell out of her, as surprise touches were wont to do, but she’d lived among civilized people long enough that casual contact no longer totally freaked her out -- and it was enough to break her cycle of self-recrimination, for now. At least he seemed aware that he’d contributed to her Xanax use, if in fact he had -- Lorna really didn’t know shite about the whole situation. “You’re sure?” she asked, though she knew there was no way anyone could be sure Earlene would be okay right now. Again, accidental poisoning, even if it did wind up doing some good in the end.

The smart thing to do would be to go for the phone, while he did whatever it was he planned to do. Why she didn’t was another thing she never did understand; yes, she was curious, but this was not a scenario in which curiosity had any real place. Maybe it was just instinct that made her step back, leaning against the wall, watching.

Thranduil saw that Lorna was electing to remain in the room, and gave a single nod of his head. He pulled Earlene into his lap, cradling her with his arm. His right arm that supported her wrapped around her head, with his hand resting on her forehead. His left hand was laid over her middle, just under her ribs. Closing his eyes, his forehead furrowed in concentration as his already pale skin took on an even more ethereal appearance. And then, he began to glow with light. At first this was a soft radiance, but as the next half minute wore on, it rose to a brilliance that cast shadows on his surroundings before disappearing entirely.

"Earlene" he whispered, "It is time to wake."

Stirring in his arms, she felt lingering confusion. "i Aran nîn?" she asked, befuddled, and struggling to sit up.

_ You were taken ill, meluieg. Lorna's drink was too strong for the medicine in your body, but you are well now. Your friend is very concerned, and blames herself for what happened. Earlene, you must realize that though she was told about me, she did not believe...until now, unless I am much mistaken. _

Earlene looked at him, now feeling very badly.

_ No meluieg, this was not your fault. We will speak in private later. Be at ease. _

“Tá tú focáil magadh mé.”

Lorna had always been one to believe the evidence of her own eyes, and nothing more. The life she’d led didn’t leave much room for speculation of the supernatural, be it religious, superstitious, or mythical. She simply was not prepared for what she’d seen, and most of her absolutely did not want to believe what she’d seen, but there wasn’t exactly any getting around it. It had been many years since she’d done the sort of drugs that could cause such a hallucination.

Forever after, she had to comfort herself with the fact that people in shock often said utterly stupid things, because the first words out of her mouth were, “All right, you’re a goddamn Elf. Is that why your eyebrows don’t match your hair?” She wanted to check on Earlene herself, but shit, no wonder she’d pegged him as a threat as soon as she’d met him. No, he wasn’t about to attack her or anything, but lifelong habit gave her pause. When confronted with someone in fact more dangerous than oneself, caution was only intelligent, no matter how benign they were. Earlene looked on her way to being so thoroughly recovered that it was as spooky as it was miraculous.

Thranduil looked up at Lorna in surprise, contemplating that in all his very long life, no one had ever spoken to him in quite that manner. With a patient sigh, he smiled. If there was any finer example that much would be required of him in order to form a connection with the villagers, it would genuinely be a matter for incredulity.  His voice was level and patient as he replied, with the faintest smile playing across his features. “I am sorry, Lorna, for the intrusion on your sensibilities, but I cannot help what I am. And, my coloration is no different than that of my own father, or my son, and has little to do with being an elf. Many of the Sindar, the gray elves, appeared thus.”

Lorna let out a long breath. “Of course you can’t,” she said, leaning against the wall. “Sorry. It’s just...shite. The villagers said you were an Elf, but I didn’t believe them, because -- well, I grew up in a city. Nobody believes in Elves, or ghosts, or anything...supernatural, I guess. If we can’t see it, most’v us, we’ll not buy it, but if we do…” She honestly had no idea what to do with this information. It went against everything she’d ever known, and ever believed, in her entire life. “I mean…” She thought about what would happen, if the outside world found out about him -- about all the Elves, however many there actually were. “I’ll give you a piece’v advice, though I don’t know that you’ll need it: don’t let anyone outside the village know you’re here. It’s a paranoid world we live in -- there’s some would welcome you, but plenty’v others’d fear you, and...you don’t want that. You don’t want what would happen.” She was too astute a student of human nature to believe it would end anything but utterly horribly.

She took a few steps forward, eying Earlene. Part of her wanted to ask how Thranduil had even done that, but she had a feeling the answer would be ‘magic’, and she just couldn’t handle that right now. Not on top of what had already been dropped on her. “She’s going to be okay?” It was only half a question.

“I’m fine, now, Lorna," Earlene replied. "And I’m so incredibly sorry this happened. I didn’t put it together, at all, that your brew might be on the strong side. City people aren’t used to things being too different than a certain narrow range,” she said ruefully, sitting up straighter. Though, she still leaned against Thranduil.

_ Thranduil, is it safe for me to have more of what she brought? I don’t want her to leave feeling like...I know she must feel right now. _

_ Yes, meluieg. The medicine is gone from your body. _

“Lorna, I wonder if I can prevail on you to open just one more bottle. I really did like it and...I sort of feel like I missed out on round one.”

“I too would like more,” Thranduil chimed in. “Perhaps Earlene and I could share the bottle? I give you my respect, Lorna, your brew is strong indeed for a human to tolerate.”

“That you’re from the city’s why I should’ve warned you,” Lorna said, popping the cap off another bottle with more than a little reservation. “I doubt they’ve got beer this strong in the States. You’d no way’v knowing it might do that to you.” God knew she needed another herself, after that, though she’d take her time with this one. “Good to know I’ve done a decent job’v it, at least.” She set one bottle on the coffee table, where they could both reach it.

Thranduil had waited, to continue. “No one outside the village will know, Lorna, unless someone is determined to betray us. And even then, we are not without defenses. My people have remained hidden except for what rumor and legend have led others to believe for a very long time. If we needed to, we could remain hidden again. There is a wisdom among those who live here in the village, that allowed them to perceive us. We were shown respect and we gave respect in return, in our own way. And yet, the world has changed around us, more than I could have imagined. I believe it is time for us to become a little less reclusive, if it would be welcomed. I can assure you that neither I, nor any of my people, bear any ill will or mean any harm to those around us. While we will defend what is ours, it is our purpose and our preference is to remain in what is left of our woods. All elves love at heart the forests, and the green places of the world.”

Lorna paused, sipping her beer, the alcohol very welcome. “Nobody’d believe anyone who blabbed about you,” she said to Thranduil. “I’m not the only one who’d think any stories’v you were just...well, stories. Christ, even if someone took a picture’v you, it’d just get written off as a fake. My gran, people her age, they might, but they’d get written off, too. Unless you actually went out walking in the rest’v the world, you’re safe.” God knew she’d done it with Gran; she’d played along, because Gran was Gran, and wouldn’t change her mind on a damn thing until the day she died. 

Earlene's thoughts returned to her beverage. “Beer in the states, if you go in for craft beers, can be as strong as 8% or 9% but...that is really rare. Typical is around 5%. And, I’ll be honest. I like beer, but I like wine a lot more. And spirits, depending.” She laughed. “I guess I’ll try anything once. But back home, the big thing was to see how many hop plants could be stuffed into the brew mash and still have it be able to be called beer. I’ve nothing against hops but...it got ridiculous, to me. So I didn’t necessarily try anything that advertised itself by way of labels like Hop Madness, Hoppity Hop, Hop My Way Home, or the like. If you get my meaning.”

Eight or nine percent...Christ. No wonder she’d got sick. “This stuff’s 30%,” Lorna admitted, wincing a little. “I’ve never made wine, but Jamie and I’ve distilled Poitín a time or two. Irish potato alcohol, because who needs two national stereotypes when you can have one big one?” She wasn’t going to say that American beer sounded bloody awful. Even she had more tact than that. “My normal job’s tending bar, so if you’re curious about experimenting with anything before you order it at the pub, let me know. In Ireland, at least in the rural places, it’s not considered real alcohol unless there’s a chance it’ll send you blind.”

Earlene stared. “Thirty percent?” She found this uproariously funny and started laughing, ultimately holding onto Thranduil’s arm for support. It was the only possible reaction she could have, because it didn’t take quick math to realize that her King had just saved her life. When she could finally speak again, she smiled and said, "Lorna, from here on out I’m not going to try to do a thing in this country, without running it by you first. I thought I’d done my research, but clearly I missed a few important details. While I’m sorry Mick broke himself, I’m not sorry you came to town.”

Lorna tried not to laugh herself, and failed -- though at least she managed not to choke on her beer. Jamie would kill her for wasting it like that. “I didn’t think I’d have this much fun here, that’s for damn sure. My first bit’v advice: if somebody offers you Poitín, make them tell you the percentage first. At its weakest, it’s 40%; at strongest, it’s 90%. I wasn’t joking about it sending people blind.”

Somewhat abruptly, or perhaps feeling like she'd commented enough on alcohol, Lorna turned her attention back to Thranduil and fired another question at him. “Why now? I’m guessing your people’v been in here since bloody forever, so what’s drawn you out?” It was entirely possible they’d just felt like it, but...she doubted it. She doubted someone like Thranduil did anything without a reason. Elves. Elves. How was this her life? And how on Earth had Earlene reacted, when she first found out what he was? Americans weren’t known for being the gullible sort; it might well have been as much of a shock as it had been to Lorna herself. Earlene was rather braver than she was -- at first contact, Lorna would probably have legged it and never returned, because...because.

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, not expecting this complex combination of nearly dying, possible blindness, and mortal humor. Perhaps there was more that he did not understand about them, than he could readily imagine, he thought. But he was more occupied with how to answer Lorna’s question. It seemed that full truthfulness worked better than other approaches, he’d already concluded. Looking intently at Lorna, he spoke. “Nor am I sorry you have come, Lorna. To answer your question, if there is a reason behind why I have decided it is time for change among us, it was Earlene. For long years this property has been inhabited, on and off, by one or another of your folk. As long as the woods were left alone, it was no affair of ours. And, in the passage of time, people had not been markedly different. Simple people led simple lives, here.

For about a hundred of your years, prior to now, this home remained unoccupied, and then one day a flurry of activity began and culminated with Earlene’s arrival. It did not take long to realize how much the world outside had changed, in this short time. You humans have become very great, in your own way. We are curious by nature. Though this may sound overly simple to your ears, this is the first time in a very long while there has been anything new about which to be curious.”

She paused, giving Thranduil’s answer due consideration. She could well see why a modern human moving here would be cause for curiosity; the world really had changed one hell of a lot in little more than a century. They’d gone from horses and candles to cars, airplanes...yeah, there was plenty to be curious about, and so long as they stayed put, more or less, they wouldn’t be in any danger from the outside world. She wondered if they yet knew a human had walked on the moon. “It’s not what I’d call simple,” she said, rolling her bottle between her palms almost without thought. “The world’s never been as it is now, in all’v history, and it changed in a bloody great hurry.” Elves, being magical and all, had probably been used to having loads of things humans had historically lacked, but now, the humans had loads themselves that the Elves probably hadn’t even heard of before. But she wondered...it would probably take a century or two for them to exhaust all their curiosity, but what would happen when they got bored?

Not our problem, she told herself. She knew approximately fuck-all about Elves and their societies; maybe they never got bored. “It’s good you’ve got Earlene here as a guide. Most’v us in the village -- we know a lot about Ireland, but she’s got an actual education.” Lorna could help but give Earlene a wry grin. “You’ll not find many around here who can have what anyone’d call an intellectually stimulating conversation. Some’v us have done a lot’v reading, but degrees are pretty thin on the ground.” She herself actually had a decent, if spotty, education, because there was a lot of time to read in prison, and not much else to do. There was much neither she nor anyone else nearby would be able to explain, but Earlene probably could.

Earlene smiled. “College is good for some things, not everything. At least that’s what I tell myself, about wanting to come here so I could rake up chicken poop. But yes, I understand what you mean. I thought Thranduil might like it at the pub, one of these days. If, that is, we’d both be welcome. I don’t think there’s any wish to offend the sensibilities of the villagers.”

Thranduil’s face did not reveal the surprise he felt, because he realized what Earlene was doing. She was testing, probing, whether or not this visit with Lorna could be used as a way to accelerate his acceptance on the part of the others. It was a brilliant move, and not one he would have thought of himself.

Lorna turned this over along with her beer bottle. Mick had seemed downright spooked, but Ian hadn’t. It was probably all a matter of approach...and whether everyone had warning. If they dropped in unannounced, it might not go so well, but if she or Ian or someone made it known they’d be turning up at a certain time on a certain day, they’d be a little more prepared. Not, she thought, that it was possible to be fully prepared for Elves, if you’d never seen one before. “I think it’d be all right,” she said slowly, “but not just yet. Give me a few days to float the idea around. The Irish, we don’t always react well when we’re startled.” She looked at Thranduil. “No offense, but you’re a bit--”  _ creepy,  _ she thought “--intimidating, even if you’re not trying. Tall people usually are anyway, but…”

She had absolutely no idea how to say this without it sounding horrendously rude, but not saying it would do everyone a disservice in the end. “Look, there’s no way to put this that’s not rude, but it’s kind’v obvious to a certain type’v person that you could be dangerous. Some’ll be uneasy at first, but just talk to them. Once it’s clear that while you could be a threat, you’re not actually going to be one, you’ll put them more at ease. And I’m not going to lie -- with some, it might take more than one visit, but they’ll get there eventually. Also, eat before you go. The pub food’s not the worst, but it’s not the best, either.”

She debated warning Thranduil to watch how he moved, but she doubted that was actually possible. People like her and Mick -- people who had lived on the wrong side of some very bad things and very bad people -- recognized a predator when they saw one, but they weren’t the only ones who might. She didn’t think it was at all conscious on Thranduil’s part, and others who noticed might not be able to articulate it to themselves, so there was probably nothing for it. “If I say ‘podozhdite’, let either Mick or I step in for a moment. It means ‘wait’ in Russian, so nobody else’ll know what I’m saying, and we can soothe anybody that needs it.” It was probably inevitable that Thranduil was going to freak someone out, but she and/or Mick could deal with it. She didn’t fully trust him yet herself, but it was nothing personal; Lorna didn’t truly trust anyone she’d just met. In her former life, trusting too easily got you killed.

“I understand, Lorna,” Thranduil said, softly. “I can explain what it is you see in me, and in an offer of friendship, I will do so. He lifted his eyes to hers, and held her gaze. “Long ago, the world was a different place. Dark powers, the like of which you cannot imagine, sought to corrupt all that was good and light, and to destroy the beauty in which men and elves alike were meant to live and take delight. I was a warrior king, and one of great renown. I defended a realm larger than the entire island you call Ireland for a countless lives of men. I could not tell you how many I slew in battle, or in defense of my people. But never once did I use my strength against any who were not servants of darkness. While my duty was first to my people, where I was able I gave care and aid to any who served the good in our world. The darkness of the world into which I was born was vanquished in the end, long ago. Now, the safety of my woods, and my people to whom I owe my duty, are the only concern remaining to me. From what little Earlene has shown me, there are far greater perils to your world than me, or my people. I believe you have an expression, “I am on your side.” Do not confuse my power with menace, Lorna. Were I evil, the village would not exist. I have done what I could, to protect those nearby from outsiders who intended harm, without revealing myself. It was done out of respect, and gratitude.”

Lorna eyed him closely. By now she was pretty adept at spotting bullshit, and this wasn’t bullshit. “Make sure the village knows that,” she said, “when you meet them. That you’ve protected it, that is. Humans, we tend to fear what we don’t understand, but if you let us understand, they’ll be more likely to accept you.” She drained the last of her beer. “And I’ll give you another bit’v advice: don’t mention the ‘king’ bit right off. Ireland’s got nasty history with monarchy that’d take me an entire week to explain, so it’d be best to save that until everyone knows you some. ‘King’ is a word that we, as an entirely bloody people, are a bit allergic to. The idea’v a protector’ll go over grand, and it might do good if you’ve any stories you’d be willing to share. I think they’d all like to believe you’re on our side, so you’ve just got to let them know that you are. I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to be too reassuring, so just...confirm what they already want to think.” Not that she had any idea in hell how to actually do that. He’d figure out something, she was sure, and she and Mick could pave the way a bit beforehand. “You’re part’v village legend already, or so I’ve gathered. Your existence won’t come as half as much a shock to them as it did to me. Though be prepared for some bizarre questions. We’re a bit good at those, us humans.” It was unlikely anyone else would ask why his hair and eyebrows didn’t match, but it wasn’t impossible.

“Your advice is appreciated. And I have no intention of attempting to make myself a king outside of my own kingdom. Earlene has already begun teaching us about the kings that ruled these lands. In the world from which I came, being a king first meant duty and heavy responsibility. While the honor, wealth and the trappings of such a station may have been greater, so was the burden and the need to care for many. It seems many of your kings had no concept of this, and for that I am sorry. What I am among my own people has no bearing outside of my realm and my subjects, and I have no desire for that to be otherwise.”

That was a rather large relief, because otherwise things could get...messy. For absolutely everyone. She eyed her empty bottle. “Ours starved us, murdered us, and took more than a few’v us as slaves, pretty much. They’re why your forest is the only one like it left in Ireland -- they took all our timber to build themselves ships. We broke free a hundred years ago this past spring, after fifteen hundred bloody years. If you reassure everyone that you’re not looking to extend your kingdom out past your forest, that’ll help. A lot.” She looked at Earlene. “For a while in the eighteen fifties, there were more native-born Irish people in America than there were in Ireland, because the Blight drove us to look for somewhere we wouldn’t starve to death. We grew other crops, but the bloody British took them all, and only left us potatoes. When they rotted in the ground, we had nothing else.”

As she spoke, Thranduil’s eyes widened. Lorna had no way of knowing that her words were kindling a very deep grief, and shame. While he did not know about how the kings had treated her kind, he very well knew about the taking of the forest. His forest. He had never failed so utterly, in all his life, as when his complacency and his lack of vigilance had allowed this to happen. There was only one honest thing he could say to Lorna in response.

“You cannot imagine how sorry I am, that these things happened.” He could not fully hide the grief in his voice, nor keep all of the misery he felt inside from settling over his face. Earlene turned to look at him, never having heard that tone in his words before. She could not ask, with Lorna here, but...even though she could not read his thoughts as he did hers, she could feel the tension through the body against which she rested.

Great, now she’d upset him, Lorna thought. She was just on a roll today, wasn’t she? “Oi, it’s not your fault people have always sucked,” she said, as gently as she actually could. “Jesus, I’ve poisoned one’v you and upset the other. If either’v you ever want to be near me again, I’d count myself lucky. I’ve got to head out, but I’ll talk to Mick, and we’ll do some talking around the village. Earlene, let me know what day you’d like to come to town, and I’ll let everyone know.” Lorna hauled herself to her feet, automatically gathering up the empty bottles and stowing them in her rucksack. “There’s more beer where that came from, if either’v you want any more.”

“Then bring it, next time you come, Lorna,” Earlene said, her voice already serious, and rapidly heading toward absolutely no-nonsense in tone. “I don’t want you leaving here thinking that. You might not want to believe it, but you have done more good for me than you can realize, today, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it.” She glanced over at Thranduil, realizing she could not speak for him, but hoping that what she herself had said would make enough of an impression. “Besides, next time I’m going to be prepared, and make pretzels. We’ll see how your beer fares against an adequate supply of baked goods already in my stomach,” she teased.

Lorna looked slightly startled, at this declaration, and Earlene continued to press her advantage. “Besides, Lorna, I’m a lawyer. That is code for, I am a professional at winning arguments.” Her words were pointed but her tone was soft. She simply very badly wanted Lorna to leave with a far more realistic assessment of how the visit had gone.

“If I have, I’m glad,” Lorna said. “I try, even if I fail half the bloody time. And if you’ve got home-baked pretzels, you’ll never be free’v me.” She couldn’t help but smile a little. “I learned years ago not to argue with lawyers. I’ll come back my next afternoon off, though I’m not sure yet when that’ll be. Mick doesn’t keep anything like regular hours.”

“Send me an email when you know, if I don’t see you at the pub first. There are times I’m elsewhere, and I’d honestly hate to miss you.”

Earlene actually seemed to be telling the truth. Lorna counted herself luckier than she could have expected, after...everything. “I’ll do that. Business isn’t exactly booming right now, so it shouldn’t be that long.” She paused. “One thing you ought to know now, we Irish don’t say goodbye, we say good luck. Good luck to you both.” She gave them a nod, and headed off toward the forest border.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tá tú focáil magadh mé" means "you are fucking kidding me" in Irish.
> 
> The poem Earlene recites is S. T. Coleridge's "Kubla Khan"


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {March 4th, 2016. Later that day}  
> This chapter has been edited to version 2.0 June 22, 2018

_ Version 2.0 June 22, 2018 _

 

As Earlene watched Lorna walk into the distance, she felt too many confusing things settle over her--though two stood out. The first was that she did not understand what had upset Thranduil so much. The second was the sinking realization that instead of managing to confide in him, after all he'd done for her, she'd opened up instead to someone she had known for a grand total of perhaps an hour. As a well of misery opened up inside of her again, she stood up. There had to be more medication; her symptoms would only get worse until there were real problems. Allowed to go on long enough, this kind of instability could and usually did result in full-blown anxiety attacks; something she was highly motivated to avoid. Her feet had taken only two steps toward the bathroom when she heard his pleading voice.    
  
"Earlene. Please come to me, meluieg. Let me help you." He had his own grief to think on, at the moment, but he could not allow himself the luxury. For days, he had hoped that she might finally turn to him, and now the possibility existed.   
  
Earlene stopped where she stood, her lips parted. There was no command, no hardness in his voice. Only softness and a gentle demeanor.    
  
_ How could he possibly help? _ This wasn't a broken bone or a bruise.  Yet, he had just saved her life. Forcing herself, she did something extraordinarily difficult, for her. Returning to him, she went to his open arms and let herself be guided to sit once again in his lap. Bowing her head against his chest, she wrapped her arms around him in the first real show of vulnerability she'd ever offered to another.    
  
"I am so sorry, Thranduil. I am sorry I could not be honest about...being like this. I hope you can forgive me." Her chest was heaving with the struggle to speak the words, as the anxiety inside of her mounted. Facing these feelings with medication had not been easy. Without it, she felt like she was falling down a deep hole.  Ever since they built the Memorial Pools at the World Trade Center, she would visit them sometimes when she was struggling the most. In her mind, the water falling down, down, and further down into the blackness unknown...it was what she now felt like inside. The pools had their appeal because she knew that the water came back up again, to the top; somehow that gave her hope. No matter how many times it cascaded to the bottom, it returned.  She could no longer control the tears that would now pour out of her stupid, broken self, and began to tremble and sob against him as her anxiety consumed her.   
  
"Do not fear, Earlene. I will care for you. Estelio nin, meluieg." Holding onto him tighter was all that she could do.  That she had returned to him, instead of the bottle of pills, was as much trust as she knew how to show anyone. His arms enveloped her just before a feeling like, and yet unlike, the medication washed over her. It pushed back against the turmoil inside of her with a strength she could not comprehend. Where her own resilience had failed, something else took its place, as her vision filled with a bright light. When his hold on her relaxed, he leaned down to kiss her forehead. As she rested against him with her eyes closed, she was searching through her thoughts and feelings, unable to understand how he could have done this...and yet he unquestionably had. All of her torment was gone, and she felt perfectly well.   
  
It was not easy to find words. "I am even sorrier now than I was before, my Lord. I do not know how to thank you, nor how to describe my regret that I did not tell you when you first asked me. I am ashamed."   
  
He shifted her in his arms, and she knew that a command to look at him would not be far behind. Obeying before he could speak it, she lifted her eyes to his, though she felt very badly about...absolutely everything.   
  
His expression of sadness was not one that she expected. "Please listen to me, meluieg.  You have asked for my forgiveness for confiding in someone who could understand you instead of someone who could not, thanked me for fulfilling my sworn duty to you, and told me you feel ashamed because you did not wish to tell me of the harm my ignorant words caused you. When you struck me, I did as I felt I must, not comprehending the extraordinary depths of suffering out of which you acted without any premeditation. I had no way of knowing that your experiences had damaged your mind, and that because of me this harm done to you was given new life. I pushed you past the limits of your spirit, and then punished you for falling victim to the illness that I awakened. I am the one who is sorry, Earlene. I am the one who needs to ask you to forgive me."   
  
She looked down, her eyes pools of regret, as she shook her head. "Of course I forgive you. I knew that you had no way to truly understand, Thranduil," she said in tones barely above a whisper. "Even among humans, there is no guarantee that someone would have any ability to relate to my circumstances. Lorna was a surprising exception.  I agreed to live under your laws, and I do not fault you. You have to realize, someone else might have been able to tell you in a way that was different, or tell you sooner. I have lived in my world by never showing weakness, by doing anything and everything necessary to maintain outward appearances.    
  
“Even though I gave myself to you, I did not know how to lower those defenses. But thanks to a very tiny Irishwoman who can apparently drink me under the table, they are lowered now." Sitting up straighter, and looking at him, she cupped his cheek with her hand. "You saved my life today. Duty or not, I am grateful." Her eyes searched his. "And unless I am much mistaken, I am not the only one carrying a burden. While I have no right to ask you to confide in me, especially in view of my own shortcomings, please know that I would listen gladly. I love you, my Lord, more with each passing day." Leaning forward, she gently placed a kiss on his cheek.   
  
Closing his eyes, he pulled Earlene against him once more, holding onto her. The problem was, he had not expected to find that a mortal woman could be like her. They were supposed to be...otherwise. Simpler. Different. More predictable. Greedier. Could he have treated her as he did, in the beginning, had he known?  _ No, I could not have.  _   
Just as he could not have anticipated the rapidly widening depth of emotion he felt for her. At first he had felt assured that his oversight of her would be so easily managed...he had assumed he could remain far more detached. What would he say to Alassëa if she could see him now, with a mortal woman in her place? More than that, a mortal woman whose love worked ever deeper into his sentiments? With a wrenching in his heart, and an audible gasp, Thranduil's eyes widened as the understanding struck him.    
  
There was only one reason his feelings could be possible...His union with Alassëa had been severed by petition to the Valar. He had refused to sail to Valinor, to join Alassëa...though he had always told himself that she had refused to remain at his side. And if that tie was broken, it meant that he had married Earlene in the eyes of the Powers, when he joined his body to hers. Confusion washed over him. _ Have I forsaken my immortality? What have I done? _ _   
_   
Earlene gently pushed back from his hold. "My Lord?" she asked, her eyes filling with concern at the pale and stricken look on his face. Standing up slowly, he carefully deposited Earlene on her feet, facing her. There was a way to be certain, at least of one thing. If his surmise was correct, there was nothing to be done; the act was already accomplished. First he needed to test his own heart.    
  
"Earlene, I will tell you what it is you ask about. But just now, I greatly desire you. Could we? Please?" As he asked, his fingers traced down gently over her the skin of her neck, the jewels, and her breast. Confused, but eager for him as always, she took his offered hand as he led her to the bed. He needed to feel the honest responses of his heart to her, with no thought of any other concern or necessity. Focused on this alone, he felt himself surge with emotion as he entered her, and opened his spirit. She sensed something was different within him, and reached up to kiss his lips in love, and gratitude. As he moved within her, something very beautiful and rare seemed to fill the space around them. To Earlene it was the sun shining on a mountain meadow, the cool breeze on the warm sands of the shore, and the tender love of feeling cherished somehow all combined into one sensation. It was completely outside of her previous experience with him, but she both perceived and relished it. When he brought them both to their shared ecstasy, the blazing in his heart told him all that he needed to know. It was not the same as the feeling he remembered with Alassëa. Was this profound yet tempered experience of love what was granted, to those who wed with a mortal?   
  
As he rested carefully on her body, he allowed his head to drop in resignation. Of his connection to her, he now had no doubt. The full consequences of his actions would become known in time. If he had indeed forsaken the life of the Eldar, it could not be undone. Thoroughly chastened, he could not but help smile wryly at what had happened. He would not behave in a cowardly manner, or allow a display of regret to color what he would have to explain to Earlene. The degree to which he had been ensnared in his own nets could not be more thorough, or more elegant. What he'd imagined he was doing only to her--albeit with justification--he had done to himself as well. It was entirely possible that he, who had vanquished thousands of foes, would now in a short matter of mortal years meet the end of his very long life. If this was the price of his own hubris, so be it.   
  
"Gi melin, Earlene," he said, as he gently moved off of her, kissing her cheeks. "Are you hungry?" His eyes sparkled at her with warmth.    
  
While she was certainly not complaining, she did not understand what she was seeing within him. Yet after her own inability to speak to him in recent days, she could hardly demand explanations. Smiling, she realized that she must show patience, as he had done for her. If he wished to tell her, he would.   
  
"Oddly enough, not really. I think I could eat in an hour or two but...between Lorna's beer and all that has happened, I feel yet a little too unsettled to eat. But can I prepare you something, Thranduil?" Perhaps his own hunger was the real reason he was asking.   
  
"No, meluieg. I feel the same as you." He dressed himself, so she did likewise. Before she could ponder much that she had no idea what to do next, he lifted her into his arms. Walking in his woods while he spoke would make this easier.   
  
As he walked out of the door with her and into the trees, she could not help but wonder, but said nothing for a time. Held seated in his arms, she found herself looking down on him, a little, as she loosely held onto his neck. It was too hard to resist running her hands through the beautiful strands of his pale hair. As she saw him step effortlessly through the trackless expanse of trees, she considered.  _ He must know every branch of every tree here. _ It was not given to her, to comprehend how old he must be; he had not offered to tell her, and she was not sure she wished to know. As these thoughts crossed her mind, he glanced up at her, and she found his expression unreadable beyond that he seemed to want to say something but could not. Her heart filled with sympathy...she could very much relate. He stopped, and took a deep breath, glancing at her once again.   
  
"There is something I must tell you, Earlene, and I do not know where to begin."   
  
Tilting her head, she smiled, still playing with his hair with absent-minded affection. "Sometimes it is easier to state the crux of the matter. Then once it is out in the open, the hows and the whys can be explained after. Like if I had been able to say to you, 'Thranduil, I am suffering from a mental illness that I have to control with medication. I need help badly, but do not feel I can ask for it.' Something like that."   
  
He sighed once again, forcing himself to smile through his trepidation and meet her eyes. "Earlene, I have wed with you according to the laws of my people. You are my wife."   
  
With eyes that widened as she looked at him, shifting and blinking before looking at him again, she fell silent for a time. "You truly mean this, my Lord?" she finally asked quietly.   
  
"Yes, I do."   
  
Looking down, she said slowly, "For me, this is an unthinkable honor. But for you...I remember what you told me, and...I wonder if this is unwelcome for you? I would not take offense if it were. But perhaps it is best that I stop talking and let you explain how this can be; I cannot pretend to know the laws of elves in these matters."   
  
Thranduil walked on as he spoke, and for several long minutes explained how their natures as elves moved in accord with their laws, and his inescapable conclusions based on the feelings in his heart. She listened very carefully, and then frowned. "Thranduil...what has this cost you?" The question was posed as kindly as she could...the story of Arwen had not been forgotten.   
  
He stopped walking again, and looked into her eyes. "Perhaps nothing, and perhaps a very great deal, Earlene. Our gods have moved far away from us, and there are times...I question whether we have been cast adrift. Only the passing of years will tell. Whatever the outcome, I will cherish the life with you that is granted to me. While some might see this as an elegant justice for my treatment of you, I cannot view it as such. I gladly profess my love for you, meluieg. I would not have you think of me as filled with regret, because I am not. I am grateful to be your husband, and to find myself united with you."   
  
Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead, and moved a strand of hair from his eyes. "My King, what changes, between us? I do not mean to minimize what you have told me but...though the word was not used, I was as married to you as it is possible to be without a ring and a piece of paper to prove it. You already had me, in every sense of the word."   
  
He furrowed his brow, considering. "You have already become aware of my increased solicitousness toward you, these past days. It is an outpouring of my deepening love for you, and will continue." He smiled. "And I will certainly place a ring on your finger; it is our custom as well. I suppose the greatest thing would be that the wife of a King is a Queen, Earlene."    
  
"I see," she said, smiling, shaking her head. "I moved here to have a dull and quiet life. So far, it isn't working very well." Laughing, she wrapped her arms around him. "It is all your fault, and I love you very much for it. I am happy to have you, my Lord. Though," she grew quieter "I genuinely hope that the cost to you is not what I fear it is. I would never have wanted...." his finger against her lips silenced her.    
  
"I have lived for a very long time, Earlene. If it is to be, then it is to be. I will not go forward with regrets, and I especially will not have you carrying them for me."    
  
Taking his hand, she kissed it, nodding.   
  
"It is time we return for a meal, meluieg. And then afterward, I must do the most difficult thing of all."   
  
She looked at him, with her eyebrows raised in query.   
  
Smiling, he said. "I must tell Thanadir. I will want to spend the afternoon in my Halls, Earlene. Would you come with me?"   
  
"Of course, Thranduil." Though, she recalled, their computers were expected to arrive very soon. She shrugged to herself. There should be a shipping notification; she would have to check on the order. And, instructions could be sent for parcels to be left at the back door. Theft was not exactly a concern.   
  
He continued speaking, as he carried her back. She found this seating arrangement to be strange and charming, all at the same time. While she could certainly walk on her own, this intimacy was proving to be very enjoyable; she did not ask to be set down. It was also nice not to have to crane her head up to look at his face, as he spoke. "There is more to tell you, though not about our relationship. You asked me earlier why Lorna's words upset me. I told you, before, about elves, and our fading."   
  
He looked down. "Earlene, it was and is my duty to protect my woods, the woods of Eryn Lasgalen. And for thousands of years I did so, and the ways of men did not change. Sometimes they would come to make use of the forest for timbers. It was a small thing, and I allowed it because the forest was large, vibrant; there was enough for all and they took so little. The trees had long since ceased to be awake as they once were. I grew complacent and believed that eternity would stretch out ahead of us, with life continuing on in the same manner. I stopped paying attention and withdrew to my Halls with the others, to reflect and to rest. No longer did I roam the forest and watch over it carefully. I emerged one day from my reveries to find the woods had disappeared, with only this tiny tract of forest left to us. Taken. It is what Lorna said, about the timber being used to build ships." Grief filled his voice, which now was broken and unsteady. "I could not have imagined that such greed and destruction could be possible, and I had done nothing to stop it in my heedlessness.  Nothing can excuse my failure, Earlene. I have never ceased my vigilance after what happened; not so much as a branch will I now permit to be harmed, as you well know. But..." he looked up to the sky, his face covered in sorrow, "...nothing can ever undo the consequences of my neglect."   
  
He looked into her eyes, his face full of sadness. "I have never forgiven myself. It is another reason why we must all reawaken, once again. The last time I thoroughly ignored the advances of the world of men it cost me almost all of my realm. I will not make the same mistake twice. I will ensure that we at least understand the capabilities of your kind, with some measure of insight. It is why I needed you so desperately, Earlene, why I had to secure your loyalty to me as quickly as possible. You understand the laws of men to a degree that few others do. More than anyone else who might have come here, you can help us to secure our safety into the future. I might not have had a similar opportunity for another thousand years, if ever, and I could not let it slip through my fingers."   
  
Listening to this, her lips parted in astonishment. Now it all made sense. Why he'd behaved as he did from the first moment she'd arrived...all of it. A part of her almost wished to cry, out of pity. Elves were not so different than humans, after all.  _ They have hopes and fears and desperate desires just like us. Immortality and power doesn't make them invulnerable or perfect. _ She now saw the full scope of why he'd treated her as he did, and she was filled with sadness for him. Her career had left her no stranger to desperation or ruthlessness.   _ This is a Greek tragedy _ , she thought--but what she said was different. "I will help you however I am able, my King. Even if I did not love you, I would still try to help you address your fears."   
  
Once again Thranduil stopped walking, to look at her, leaving her to slightly wonder if they'd ever quite make it back for lunch.    
  
"Meluieg," he said, with a searching look on his face. "You have, with one exception that was not your fault, treated me with every form of courtesy and deference. I...used you, without compunction, until you had no choices left. I apologize to you, Earlene, for what I have done. I now believe you would have helped me had I never coerced you, had I but given you the opportunity. I am sorry. I can only offer in my partial defense that I did what I believed I must, at the time."  As he finished speaking, he dropped his head, lowering his eyes from hers in a gesture of emotional submission that she would never have expected to see from him.   
  
Too many thoughts crowded into her head, and one was worse than all the rest. Reaching out to turn his face back up to look at her,  she spoke to him in a very odd and strained tone of voice.    
  
"Please listen to me, my Lord." She had to break away from his gaze for a few seconds, before she could speak.    
  
"That you offer me an apology means a great deal to me, as one thinking and feeling person speaking to another. But...if by treating one person as you treated me, I could have stopped the towers from falling, kept my friends from dying, saved my city and my world from all that was to follow, I would have done all that and much more. I want you to know that I hold nothing against you, Thranduil. I cannot say that I would not have done the same, were I in your place. While I will not pretend to have ever carried your burdens, I understand well that great responsibility can require actions that are distasteful. Sometimes, choices become larger than the rights of a single person, like it or not. So, I can hardly hold your actions against you, when the only thing dividing your behavior from what I myself would choose is that I lack your power." She looked away once again, in the discomfort of admitting these feelings to another. But they were uncomfortable because they were true. Sighing deeply, she raised her eyes to him again.   
  
"There was more, besides. I wanted what you were offering. Very badly. Though you did manipulate me and use my desire to your best advantage, you did not remove every last thread of free choice. I, of all people, understand agreements and decisions and consequences. I surrendered to my hunger for you, knowing that there was risk. And while all that has happened was not easy for me, I am not sorry that I chose you."  With her hand still firmly holding his chin as she saw the gratitude in his eyes, she kissed him. It was a kiss that almost begged him to try and argue with her further.   
  
When she released him, they held each other's gaze for a moment. He smiled, and touched his forehead to hers, embracing her tightly before continuing his walk home. And this time, there were no more interruptions.    
  
Seeing that she had an hour remaining to prepare lunch, she changed into her dress without being asked, and busied herself making pasta with chicken and vegetables. Smiling to see her...husband...hovering at her side, she began to teach him how to make a basic white sauce. That word ‘husband’ would take some getting used to.   
  
"When we go to your Halls, my Lord,  will I be left alone? May I study?" Thanadir would return soon, and she preferred to ask this in private.   
  
"No meluieg, we will be occupied." He looked at her sadly. "I will not be leaving you imprisoned, this time."   
  
Earlene had already put this out of her thoughts, and her lips parted, at hearing the reminder. Seeing the look on his face, she smiled and shook her head. "It was not...that bad, my Lord. I slept almost the entire time."   
  
He held her close, with his head bowed over hers. "With a broken hand, while I filled your dreams with thoughts of guilt. I am so sorry,  Earlene."   
  
She pushed away from him, more forcefully than she meant to. "Thranduil, please," she asked. "Do not do this, to either of us. You could have done much worse, and I still would have accepted it as a consequence for striking you. If you will not allow me to fret about what your union with me has cost you, then neither can you keep dwelling on the more unfortunate aspects of how we began our life together." Looking up, she reached her hand up to cup the side of his jaw. "Please," she said, one last time, her eyes full of longing.   
  
Nodding, he drew her back into his arms. "I will do this because you ask it, meluieg."   
  
As Thanadir approached the house, he saw his King embracing his firiel, his mortal Lady. But when he saw how long the embrace lasted, and the look on his monarch's visage...a shadow settled over his heart. This did not seem...as it should be. He was relieved to see that they released each other, as he neared the door. It would be unseemly to knock as they embraced, and equally awkward to stand outside waiting for them to finish. Though, he had to admit, he did enjoy greatly Earlene's food, and her courtesy.  _ Not _ , he told himself as he pressed a wrinkle out of the cloth of his immaculate tunic,  _ that I would be less than content to eat anything my Lord provided, whether it was these fine meals or thousand-year-old lembas. _   
  
With a soft knock, he made his presence known. It pleased him to see Earlene look up with a smile, and come to admit him. "Len suilon, Your Excellency," she said softly, lowering her eyes.    
  
Earlene did not particularly care what being Thranduil's queen might mean for her. It was simply not in her to attempt to ‘lord it over’ one of the elves for even a minute, regardless. The seneschal might well suffer greatly for having met her, and she had no wish to add to his woes. While Thanadir settled himself, Earlene quickly checked on the computers. They would be out for delivery tomorrow; just as well.   
  
The delicious lunch was served and enjoyed, and within the hour all three of them were returning to the Halls. Thanadir insisted on following behind them, as Thranduil offered Earlene his arm. After they had passed the Gates, Earlene once again found herself walking the narrow passageways in the company of her King, though even she had to admit, this visit was far nicer than the previous one. As on the first occasion, he guided her to his throne, though he did not ascend to the actual seat. In what seemed like a blur of motion, he turned Earlene to face Thanadir, while standing behind her with both of his hands securely holding her shoulders.   
  
"Thanadir, i sadron nîn," she heard, before the words and syntax left her understanding far behind. Only years of training allowed Earlene to keep her composure. Whereas previously she had always lowered her eyes from the seneschal's in deference, she found that she could now not tear them away in a combination of unease and morbid fascination. While she could not understand the individual words, the content was no secret, nor was the fact that Thranduil was emphasizing his declaration by drawing her back closer against him while folding her into his embrace. It was possible that Thanadir's eyes were wider than Earlene's, as they regarded each other helplessly.  Her heart filled with sympathy for the elf, as she watched his expression range from disbelief, to flickers of sorrow, to confusion, finally settling into a permanent look of deep shock. Part of her wished to deeply apologize to him, though she had done nothing wrong and nothing could have been avoided, on her part.    
  
Her eyes widened in horror as Thanadir bowed deeply to her, and said quite clearly, "Hiril vuin." She was about to open her mouth to beg Thranduil to not require him to show her deference, when she felt the King's hands tighten on her and heard his voice in her mind.   
  
_ This is how it must be, Earlene. You must accept the courtesy he shows you, or you will deeply offend him. You may thank him, or merely smile kindly and incline your head, but you must not reject his gesture. _ _   
_   
Rearranging her features barely in time, she did all of the above, when he raised his eyes to hers. What she did not change was the look of sympathy for him, as she met his gaze before dipping her head in acknowledgement.    
  
"Annon allen (thank you), Your Excellency."   
  
The faintest smile played across the seneschal's face once again, softening his features.   
  
Thranduil spoke rapidly to Thanadir once more, before he nodded, bowed deeply to his King, and departed. Watching the seneschal leave, Earlene lightly placed her hands over her King's, seeking to feel more grounded than she did at the moment. The exchange had felt like a bizarre, parallel universe to that of her former occupation. Perhaps not necessarily in the courtroom, but most definitely the one out of it. Had she not seen how power could shift and transfer, with but a few words from the right person? As she held onto the King, and looked over the grand space of the Hall, her lips parted. _ What must this have been like, when hundreds and thousands of elves filled these caverns? _ She felt caught up in something so much bigger than her.  _ Stop. thinking. now, _ she ordered herself. Her soundness of mind had been returned to her, and she was not about to waste it on sentiments that would not help either of them.   
  
Gently, Thranduil turned her around to face him, taking her hands in his, and looked at her kindly. "Earlene, it is not yet two weeks since you came to my woods. Give yourself more time, meluieg, to adjust to so many changes."   
  
It was impossible to disagree with that much common sense. "Yes, my Lord," she conceded, smiling. He led her by the hand, through the corridors to his rooms. He walked in ahead of her, to the fireplace, and knelt down. While she distractedly looked around at the still unfamiliar contents of his rooms, he created a blazing fire. When she looked at him finally, she saw that his hand was extended in a gesture of invitation; he wished for her to sit with him in front of the fire. It was a welcome offer. While she was hardly freezing, neither could the room be described as "cozy". Gladly accepting, she seated herself. He placed a small book in her hand, smiling, and indicated for her to open it. To her delight, she saw that it was a children's book, with illustrations of single words written in Tengwar. It had obviously been made by hand, and was a work of beauty.    
  
"Could you remain here, and allow me a few moments to care for something?" he asked.    
  
Earlene looked at him in mild disbelief. "You are King, my Lord, you are allowed whatever you wish." Though her voice was level, there was mirth in her eyes at stating the obvious. As he nodded, she saw the same mood reflected in his own bearing, and he departed. Watching him leave, it seemed hard to believe. Even just today, so much had happened, she reflected.  _ Married. _ Wherever all this had come from, she was truly very happy. Having already been accepting of  her original circumstances with him, his changed demeanor toward her fell into a category of being more than she ever could have hoped for.    
  
_ I outdid myself on placing the cart before the horse _ , she thought, looking into the comforting flames.  _ I accepted him because of blatant lust, and I am fortunate enough to have found kindness and love on the other side of it. _ Ruefully, she considered that this was another thing that had probably happened badly out of order; she had taken a big risk. Too big. That she had arrived at her present circumstances seemed like one more example of her charmed life...give or take whether one could call surviving 9/11 ‘charmed.’   
  
Removing her boots to better warm her feet, she decided to stop considering all these things and enjoy the simple but extravagant reality. She was sitting in a King's rooms, surrounded by luxury, and held a precious and rare book in her hands in perfect comfort. Opening the first page, she saw that the first drawing looked like Thranduil. He wore a crown, and she remembered the letters she had looked at. There were only two of them here, and the first one looked like the English letter "y," which was an "r" sound for Sindarin. Each character had three dots over the top... _ this is the ‘tehta’ method of the writing _ , she recalled. Her mind began churning. This must be ‘Aran’, she realized, smiling. Those three dots meant the sound for ‘a’...it felt exciting, just to understand this. It was the tiniest triumph of learning, but it felt so incredibly special. And how fitting that it should be the first word she recognized in his written language....King. She giggled to herself.  _ At least _ , she thought,  _ until I learn the word for ‘mine.’  _ Slowly, she turned more pages, and did not see another word that she knew. And that was fine, as she had not memorized many nouns at all...the book seemed filled mostly with those. But the drawings were clever and beautifully colored, so she was lost enough in the pages.   
  
His hand gently touching near her necklace told her that he had returned. Smiling, she said, "It is fortunate that I do not startle easily, my Lord. I am becoming certain that you pass through walls." A low rumble of humor was his only response, as he sat next to her, and kissed her cheek.    
  
"I had faith you would understand 'Aran'," he said, smiling. "Choose one more picture, and I will tell you what it is."    
  
She went back through the pages, wanting a short word so that she might better remember. Pointing to the image of a daisy, she looked up expectantly. This was chosen because she guessed, she hoped, that the first sound was also "a," based on the three dots over the first letter.   
  
"Alf," he said. "Flower."   
  
Carefully closing the book after she stared at the characters for a while to memorize them, and placing it next to her, she smiled, leaning into him and resting her head against his arm. There were hardly words for how pleasant this was, or how content she felt.   
  
"Earlene, tell me of the marriage customs of humans," he asked, with curiosity in his voice, as he placed his arm over her shoulders, bringing her closer.   
  
"Which ones, Thranduil? American? Irish? There are a great many, around the world."    
  
"Start with what is familiar to you."   
  
She frowned. "Well, there are many traditions even in America, but...first it depends on if a couple belong to a religious faith. I do not, so, among some of those I knew, it was fairly simple. It is foremost a legal contract, so there are documents to be recorded with the government...a marriage license. Usually a small fee has to be paid as well, for this. This license is an official record that is made out,  before the ceremony is held that creates the actual marriage. Basically, the two people decide what it is they wish to promise each other; their vows. They speak these before someone with the legal authority to conduct the marriage ceremony and a witness and...really, that is all that there has to be, as a minimum. There are other customs such as exchanging rings, or whether or not one partner changes their name to create a common surname. Sometimes special clothing is worn for the ceremony, sometimes there is a reception; which is basically a party to celebrate the wedding. The couple might go on a honeymoon, a leisure vacation, to celebrate their marriage. In times gone by, the first act of physical intimacy would follow the wedding at the next discreet opportunity, but now, most couples manage that long before there is a wedding. And now that I am trying to explain this to you, I realize how much the answers are all over the place....really I think it ends up being whatever the couple wishes it to be; the only absolute requirements are the legal ones."   
  
"Surname?" he asked, confused.   
  
"Family name..." she laughed, realizing that another point of complete ridiculousness existed between them. "Earlene is not my full name. I am Earlene Rhian Sullivan. Sullivan is my family name. And I cannot believe that I have married you without you knowing my name..." she shook her head, laughing softly. "And neither do I know the same about you, my Lord. Is Thranduil your full name?"   
  
His eyes were full of surprise...he'd had no idea. This was certainly going to irritate his seneschal, who would now probably wish to record her vows for a third time. Quashing the thought, he answered her question. "Thranduil son of Oropher, is how I have always been known. There was rarely duplication of names among elvenkind, so more was never necessary."   
  
Earlene’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him, unable to stop finding it funny that she had never told him her full name.   
  
"Do both the male and female wear rings, in your tradition?" he asked.   
  
With her hands raised, she wiggled the fingers in question as she spoke. "Yes. Depending on the country, it is on this finger of the right or left hand. In America, the left hand is most common. But in Ireland some wear a special ring, a claddagh. Mostly I think wedding rings are an outward sign to others that the person is spoken for, no longer available to be courted. Though," she added sardonically, "they come off rather easily in this day and age."   
  
"I do not understand, meluieg. Come off easily?"   
  
Earlene looked at him in sympathy. "Sometimes married persons seek out intimate partners who are not their mates, for pleasure elsewhere. It is often easier to behave in this manner if one first hides the evidence of being wed. This used to be against many laws but now it is tolerated more than not. It certainly happens a great deal, to put it mildly."   
  
Thranduil stiffened, and his voice changed its tone. "Earlene, do you think that because I seduced you while I still believed that I was married to Alassëa, that I would do this to you?"   
  
Confusion spread over her face. "No! I...It was not my intention to imply this, my Lord. But I have seen much of human nature. If you wished to do so, I could not stop you. Nor do I pretend to understand your circumstances with your wife. Everything concerning you is outside of human experience. I can only speak for myself. I wanted you, I still want you, and from what you have told me, I can never not want you, nor can I want another. You have not said whether the same applies to you, but neither did I ask. I do not presume to judge anything about you, Thranduil," she said softly.   
  
He sighed. "I am sorry for my ill-conceived question. Then though you are not asking me, I will tell you. Countless ages of time ago, my seduction of you would not have been tolerated. 'Tolerated' is not even the correct word... it would not have been possible, were my bonds of love for Alassëa yet intact. When you came here, I was not sorry to find a reason to seduce you that was tied to my duty. I desired pleasure with you, Earlene, just as you desired me. This alone should have told me something, had I been paying any attention to my heart. My feelings for her had become buried under a span of time with which I will not burden you. In my arrogance I imagined that I would keep my promises to you, while maintaining a level of emotional detachment. There were many things that I failed to consider, obviously, and that so much time has passed since we elves lived ordinary lives did not aid me. But so you know, once you were sealed to me, I would not have sought another for intimacy.  I will remain faithful to you, Earlene, because it is just as impossible for me to go elsewhere as it is for you."   
  
Nodding, she looked at him, accepting of his words. He brought his right hand to her lap, which was a closed fist. His fingers uncurled to reveal what was held in the palm of his hand.    
  
"Elves place golden rings on each other's hands," he said simply. Smiling, she removed the larger of the two bands from him, to look at it. There was a word inscribed on the inside, in Tengwar.    
  
"What does it say, my Lord?" she asked, curious.    
  
With a mischievous smile he replied, "You tell me."   
  
Looking again, she saw that there were vowel signs, and an "r". And an "l", and an "n." Three of the only four consonants she knew. The light bulb went off. "This is my name?" she asked, softly, looking up at him.   
  
He nodded, smiling, pleased that she could puzzle it out.   
  
She gently worked it onto the ring finger of his right hand, not disturbing the smaller band as she did so.  _ We live in Ireland; I may as well choose what is most accepted here _ , she reasoned. "Mine," she said, as love and gentle humor filled eyes that  looked on him with great reverence.   
  
Thranduil held up her own ring, tilting it so that she could see the lettering inside. A smile spread over her face as she recognized the "r" and "l" again.  _ Thranduil. _ He took her right hand in his, and her heart lurched unexpectedly as he slid the ring onto her finger. The intense intimacy and beauty they were sharing filled her with joy. Her eyes were moist as she turned to kiss him, and she saw that she was not alone in this. There was no carnal thought in their shared embrace, only the love of their spirits.    
  
"Thank you, Thranduil," she whispered. "I will always remember this moment."   
  
He pulled her into his lap, and they laced their fingers together. Earlene found she could not tear her eyes away from the sight of their hands, each now wearing the bright golden rings. Idly, she wondered what she would do about this in terms of the outer world...in human society, their marriage would not be officially recognized without further...measures.  _ That's a can of worms _ , she thought. But of all people, she could navigate that if and when the need arose. For the time being, she did not wish for anything to intrude on this time alone with him.   
  
His hand moved under her chin, raising her lips to his as his tongue sought entrance into her mouth.  __ Well, almost anything , she thought, as her desire for him unfolded once again, and she was carried in his arms to his bed.   
  
******   
  
Lorna was supposed to meet Mick at the mechanic, but after that, she needed a drink or five. Jesus. She was pretty sure Mick would understand -- and even if he didn’t, she was the only help he could afford, so she basically held him hostage.   
  
Shaking her head, she marched up into the pub, squinting into the dimness as she searched for any of the old codgers she’d spoken to the day before. She needed alcohol in her before she could begin this conversation, so she ordered three shots of poitín and downed them in rapid succession. The burn of the alcohol was welcome, but she was one of the sort who’d been cursed with an appallingly high tolerance for drink, meaning she had to down half a river before she started feeling the effects.   
  
Poitín, however, worked nicely, and by the time the third shot had managed to settle a bit, so had her nerves. She’d always been the sort to freely admit she was wrong, but in this case, she couldn’t have denied it if she’d wanted to.   
  
John, polishing a glass behind the bar, gave her a once-over. “You look like someone just walked over your bloody grave,” he said.   
  
“Bit weirder than that,” she said, twirling one of the shot glasses. “I didn’t believe for a goddamn second that you lot had an actual elf living in that forest, but I just bloody met him. Creepy bastard, but he actually seems a decent sort.” She really didn’t want to admit she’d accidentally poisoned Earlene; if that came up, she was creatively editing the truth, because Mick would never, ever let her live it down if he knew.   
  
John’s eyebrows raised. “He showed himself to you? That makes two now, with Ian.” His forehead furrowed in suspicion. “Hundreds and more‘v years a legend‘v sorts, and now all’v a sudden there’s socializing going on? Leave it to an American, showing up here. When it was just our lot, things kept nice and quiet. Next someone’ll tell me he’s inviting for tea time. Wait. It was the elf king you saw, or just any elf?”   
  
“Their king,” Lorna said, wincing a bit. “I won’t lie, he looks like the creepiest person I’ve ever met, but he seems a good sort. Dead polite, and he takes good care’v Earlene. There’s a lot he doesn’t understand about the human world, but he seems keen to learn. Here, gimme another.” She held her shot glass out to John, whose look of disbelief was far milder than what he’d given when she first arrived. He poured her another shot, and she downed it at one go. “Earlene, she lived through 9/11, and he had no idea what in bloody fuck that was.” She eyed the little group; while she didn’t know many of them very well, she knew their well-meaning, busybody kind. “Don’t you go throwing her any pity parties, or I’ll lamp you out, you hear me? She’d not appreciate it, and there’s no cause to go making her uncomfortable.”   
  
She held out her glass for yet another shot, and John shook his head. “One day your liver’ll go on strike,” he warned, but poured her another.   
  
Lorna downed that one, too, hoping he wasn’t right. “Anyway, she got a bit sick off my beer, and by ‘a bit’ I mean I gave her bloody alcohol poisoning. I didn’t realize American beer was essentially piss, but piss it is, and she paid for it.” She wasn’t about to mention the Xanax, or the PTSD; those were not her secrets to share.   
  
“Was she really that bad off?” someone asked, a voice she didn’t yet recognize.   
  
Lorna snorted. “I know what alcohol poisoning looks like,” she said, toying with her shot glass. “Christ knows I’ve seen it enough before, but he...healed her, somehow. I didn’t actually ask how, because I knew bloody well the answer’d be something like ‘magic’, and I couldn’t handle that. Recovery from poisoning like that -- it’s not possible, or it shouldn’t be, but one moment I was afraid she was about to stop breathing, and the next she was pretty much fine.” And she still, even now, didn’t know what to do with that. If Elves were real, what else was? And how was she to know? Her head was too pleasantly fuzzy to worry over it too much, but the worry was still there, even now.   
  
The atmosphere in the pub settled into one of silent reflection, as each of the villagers present mulled over Lorna’s news. Though she’d not seen him initially, Rory O’Connor was the first to break the long silence. “Queer happenings, to be sure, but...a bloke like that might not be bad to have around, if you get my meaning. If he can put one’v us back together again, it makes me believe more than ever that the bad sort that’v come around in the past might’v truly gotten just the opposite from him…” he trailed off in his thought, taking another long draw on his glass.   
  
“He says he’s on our side,” Lorna said, still spinning her shot glass. “I’d believe him. I don’t know how many others he’s got living in that forest, but the other one I met didn’t seem to speak much English at all. Whoever else is in there’ll have a lot to learn, whenever they decide to cross the border.”   
  
John’s eyebrows raised, behind the bar. “Cross the border, Lorna?”   
  
She held out her shot glass, yet again. “Earlene was wondering if anyone’d mind if she brought Thranduil out to the pub some night,” she said. “If it’ll freak people out, they’ll stay home, but it might be good for everyone if he did come. Yeah, he’s creepy, but he’s been your neighbor forever anyway, and he’ll be no harm. He can’t help looking a bit like a zombie.” She downed the next shot, quite at one with the world. “Curious, he is, and he can hold his liquor better than anyone else I’ve ever seen.” That was, though Earlene might not know it, a point very much in his favor.   
  
Eyebrows now raised all around the room, but their owners were long since lulled into a more forgiving state of mind by the freely flowing Guinness. In a few short hours, this new topic for consideration would seep outward through the quiet village, to slowly coalesce into a group opinion. Odds were, for the price of a few rounds, an elf would fit right in as well as the next person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Len suilon = I greet you (formal)  
> Gin melin = I love you (informal)  
> i sadron nîn = my faithful one  
> Annon allen = thank you


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 4-5, 2016.

 "Thranduil, I know that our food is elsewhere, but I would like it very much to spend the night here. In your bed. This bed. What we shared here today means a great deal to me; I feel like I do not want to leave." 

Earlene spoke softly to him, as her hand moved idly across the bare skin of his chest. Her head was tucked in under his chin, both of them resting quietly after having loved each other. His eyes opened, surprised.

"I gladdens my heart, that you would say this, meluieg. I had feared that you have had too many unpleasant experiences in my Halls."

"My Lord, whatever was not to my best liking was hardly the fault of the caverns," she said, finding his concern humorous. "I will  learn how to live here, as well. That was, after all, part of our agreement." She frowned. "You said you had kitchens here, my Lord? And food as well? I think I would like to see them."

He groaned. "I am afraid to turn you lose there, meluieg.  The cooks are about halfway to becoming whole again, and if they see that another is doing their job, I fear they will lose motivation. All are doing their best to emerge from fading, but each has different strength."

Earlene debated asking how that worked, exactly, and decided against it. "I would still like to see the kitchens, and I promise you I will not attempt to prepare food here if that is your desire.  But if you would prefer not, just now, there is another thing I would ask you."

Her mind was unusually blank. Puzzled and amused, he realized that she might be developing some ability to hide her thoughts from him.

"I am listening, Earlene," he said, indulgently.

"I want to know what is involved, in having a child with you. Not because I want this now, or tomorrow, or next week. But I do want to have the information by which to begin considering this." Her voice dropped lower. "Unless your powers reach further than I am aware, I only have so much time in which that can be possible."

He frowned. "I do not understand, Earlene. You appear to be not yet thirty years of age. Surely there is a great deal of time remaining, by mortal standards?"

She laughed. "I will take that as an unintended compliment, my Lord, but no. I am not yet forty years of age, is more like it. And as such, there is a definite limit on the remaining time. At least, it is considered to be a general wisdom that at my age, it would be best not to dawdle too much."

"Earlene, how old are you?" he asked, with wide eyes.

"Thirty-eight, Thranduil. And yes, I look younger than that. Partly it runs in the family, and partly,  I have done what I could to care for my appearance."

He laughed softly. "We are doing an amazing job of learning everything about each other after the bonds of marriage have taken us, are we not?"

"It is rather amusing," she said, leaning up to look at him. "But I will work hard to make the best of it," she said, with her eyes shining. "I suppose it is not much different than an arranged marriage was, in bygone times. Have carnal pleasure first, ask questions and figure out the rest later." Her smirk stretched from ear to ear.

Thranduil sighed. "It is not overly complex. A child of ours would be half-elven. Of old, the child would be given the choice by the Valar as to whether to adopt the life of elves or the life of men, and would be then counted accordingly. I will be honest, there has never been an instance in which a mortal female bore the child of a male elf. I sincerely believe that I could safely see you through a pregnancy with my skills of healing; if I felt that there was risk to you, I would not have offered. The only other thing is, gestation for an elleth is usually twelve months. If I am not mistaken, nine is ordinary for mortal women. I do not have a means to tell you how long you would carry the child before birth. 

Mostly, Earlene, would be accepting that a child of ours would have an opportunity for immortality. The gift of the Eldar is a blessing, and in some ways a curse. A child born now, and choosing to be counted as an elf, would never know the life I and the others once had. We are relics here, clinging to an uncertain fate in an endless future. We would be bringing new life, and joy, into our world, but to what end? There is much that lies outside my power to know for certain. Perhaps even now, it is possible to pray to the Valar and seek the Straight Road to Aman. None who elected to remain here have done so, and none of us therefore know the answer. I only want you to understand the implications for the future of our offspring, if we were to bring one forth."

She nodded, thinking. "And what are your feelings on not only a child, but children?"

His eyes widened. "I cannot answer, for I have not even thought of it. It was most often the case than an elleth would bear only one child, though there were exceptions to this as with everything."

"Then thank you for answering my questions," she told him, stretching. "It is much to consider for me, especially when I had never considered it at all. Decisions like this are hard. One always knows what will happen, if one does nothing; things remain the same. The real question is whether opting for walking a different path will prove wise, or disastrous. What was it like for you, when you were considering whether to have your son? Or did you? Sometimes these things just happen," she reflected.

"We wanted Legolas, very badly," Thranduil recalled. "For us it was only a question of having relations until we were blessed with a pregnancy."

"Considering the responsibility never weighed on you?"

"I do not understand the question, Earlene," he said, sitting up now, confused.

"Well babies are a lot of work...they require almost constant care through their first many years. And then all the teaching and education, and more...it is a great deal of commitment, to another living being."

Thranduil smiled. "I have failed to mention something else. Elflings are not like human children. They walk and speak by their first year, and in every way develop at a much faster rate. That being said, our young do not fully come of age until the life span of a mortal has elapsed."

Earlene sobered, and moved to sit up next to him. "So a child of ours would lose possibly both of us, long before what you would think of as adulthood?"

He sighed. "It is hard to say. Even if I have forsaken my immortality, I would likely still live many years longer than you, if I chose to. Yet I would not base a decision on this, Earlene; he or she would have a home and a family among the elves here. And if I am not mistaken, not all human children are blessed with two parents that live into their own adulthood."

"True," she reflected. "But neither do I want to be selfish. I saw so many people whose only thought seemed to be, _I want a baby._  Nothing was ever said or considered, about giving that baby the best possible future. I know that the best of intentions simply do not always work out as hoped. Yet I would feel some obligation to make this choice from a  place of  considering more than my own wants." She sighed. "And I believe we have spoken on this enough for now." 

"Agreed, meluieg. And perhaps now it is time to show you the kitchens, and more places besides. It does not speak well of me that these rooms, my throne, and a dungeon cell are the extent of what you have seen of my realm." 

Earlene felt a twinge of annoyance that he had mentioned the dungeon again, but saw that his eyes were filled with self-effacing humor. The twinge passed quickly, and they rose and dressed. 

The next few hours were a wonder, to her. "Kitchens" turned out to be as much of an understatement as "Halls" had been. He showed her to a vast space that called to mind the kitchens of a nineteenth century castle. Once she'd visited Schloß Neuschwanstein and seen the kitchens, and this was a lot like that....on steroids. Banks of ovens, fireplaces equipped with spits and  assorted cast-iron spiders, a vast wood-fired stove, and more copper cookware than she had known existed in the world. This was a place designed to serve meals for hundreds and hundreds of diners. The eerie thing was, every bit of it looked like it might have been just used last night, and was waiting for the staff to come back for the next day's work. The metal was polished and bright, and not a speck of dust that she could see lingered anywhere.

"Oh, my," was all she could say. And the storerooms were...worse.  He had not been jesting, that they had supplies in abundance. Dry goods were held in drawers, bins, and in neat earthenware storage canisters on shelves. Everything was labelled, of course in Tengwar script, meaning that she could at the moment read none of it. Perhaps this, more than anything, created a stronger desire to not wait so long to learn their letters...it felt intolerable, not to be able to read. Experimentally she reached into a bin that seemed to hold flour, and took a pinch of it between her fingers. Hesitantly, she placed in on her tongue, and found to her disbelief that not only was it not rancid, it tasted fresher and more wholesome than what she had from the grocery in town.

Thranduil watched her in great amusement as she investigated, and looked longingly at all of it. If he allowed it, she would most definitely "turn loose" here...but even she recognized that preparing food under these conditions was a specialty skill. And while she'd helped her gran bake bread in the old wood-fired Wedgewood on the farm, she was not so foolish as to assume that it was easy, or that she'd mastered it. Babysitting the firebox alone was a full time headache, from her memory. And, he saw that they were not alone. Four of them had worked here, in the past. Bainor and Arnos, the ellyn, Glân and Rílas, the ellith. Thranduil turned and inclined his head to them, smiling. 

"Earlene," he called to her. Turning, she now saw the four half-faded elves that stood near Thranduil, and approached them. 

"Suilad," she said carefully, smiling. 

They all said the same back to her, in unison. She might never be fully accustomed to being able to partly see through them, but she was managing. Thranduil presumably explained to them who she was, because all of them bowed or curtsied to her with kind smiles of acceptance. 

"Annon allen," she said softly. Turning to Thranduil apologetically, she spoke in English. "I would very much like to watch them work, once they are...back. This is such a beautiful kitchen, i Aran nîn."

He smiled and translated what she had said, and smiles broke out with nods of agreement. Earlene felt very happy, inside, as they left the kitchen. He showed her their armory, the now empty stables, the library, and the many hallways of living quarters now no longer used. _A small city could lodge here_ , she reasoned.  He took her next to a place where the stream water still ran through the Halls. 

"This was a cascade of roaring water, once, and now it sounds more like a fountain," he said, ruefully.

"But to me it is very beautiful, my Lord," she said, marveling at how lovely the ferns and orchids were that grew nearby, nurtured by the constant moisture.

He smiled. "It fills my heart, Earlene, to see these familiar sights through your eyes." He leaned down to kiss her, and her heart swelled with love for him. His lips were pillow soft, and sweet, and impossible to resist. She had promised herself she would not become obnoxious toward him, but was finding herself caught in emotion that felt like it was radiating out of her.

"Do not try to temper your feelings, meluieg, for I too share them." He held her tightly, with his chin resting on her head. "We have both lived  alone, and now have each other. Let us make the most of it." 

She nodded, not speaking, because it was the only way to keep from crying with happiness. But after a few moments, as ever, she turned to what might distract her. 

"Perhaps we should return soon, so that I will have time to cook our meal," she whispered. What they were doing now could only land them back in his bed. 

With a tiny sigh, and the reassurance that since that his bed was an inevitable destination, food might be the wiser choice, he nodded. "There is yet one more thing you must see, and then we will return." He walked her through many corridors, with enough twists and turns that she truly had no idea where she was. A key had appeared in his hand, which he used to unlock a door that was heavy and imposing in appearance. Before opening it, he spoke. "Earlene, this may prove to be another...overwhelming thing. And yet if you are to fully understand our position, you must comprehend the wealth of our realm." He looked at her with great seriousness. "I do not believe I need to tell you of the trust I am placing in you, nor of the need for discretion with any who are not under my rule. This is my vault, and your help will be needed in order to convert some of what is here into the currency of the outer world."

Earlene raised her eyebrows. "I understand, my King," she said quietly. She was no stranger to shows of wealth, but had the uneasy feeling this might be beyond what she could readily imagine. He opened the door, and ushered her inside. The lighting was very dim, but with a wave of his hand, brightened considerably.

Her lips parted. _'Vault' is the latest understatement_ , she decided. This was a vast sub-cavern, of which she could not see the back from their present location. It was awash in gems, gold, jewelry, artifacts, and what she guessed were other precious metals. _De Beer's and Fort Knox combined do not hold this much wealth_ , she thought, shaking her head. He took her hand, and led her through the aisles, and she realized that this might very well equal the holdings of several major countries in the developed world. Stopping, she picked up some of the larger polished stones. If these were the high-quality diamonds she suspected they were, some of them were worth millions at auction...and yet to sell a stone twice the size of the Hope Diamond would be to attract a great deal of attention without careful measures.  _Yet,_ she frowned, _he did not seem to be thinking in terms of converting all of it, just small amounts here and there._

She looked at him. "Thranduil, in my world there are  economic factors that influence the value of precious metals and gemstones. You should be aware that it is easiest to convert gold and silver to their cash value than gems, though both are possible. Many of the individual stones alone here appear to be exceedingly valuable. The worth of all of these things is influenced by laws of supply and demand, though gold and silver have seen steady and significant increases in value in past years. When the time comes, you should reach a carefully considered conclusion as to what amount of modern cash you wish to obtain. I would advise you that you will attract far less attention, by making one large conversion or sale, than several smaller ones. What you have here is...this is very, very vast wealth, even by modern standards. Inconceivable, really. There are entire countries that do not possess anything like this; if you chose to, you could establish yourself as a world power with what you have here, though I hardly recommend that. I have more than adequate business connections by which to accomplish such transactions quietly, but I will need to explain more to you about things like banking laws and governments, so that you are informed about all the repercussions. Otherwise, as far as I am concerned, I have not seen any of this. You will hear no mention of it from me, until you choose to instruct me further."

He had watched her carefully, and saw that her heart meant every word coming from her mouth. She did not care about what was before her eyes, nor did she covet it. 

Thranduil looked at her intently. "There are many pieces of jewelry here, Earlene. You may choose something that pleases you, for your own."

She looked around, blankly. _And wear it...where? And why?_ His necklace was always on her. She closed her fist, feeling the wedding band he'd placed on her finger. Looking up at him, she shook her head. "Thank you for the consideration, my Lord, but the only things I really wish to wear are what you have already given me."  

With a single nod, he accepted her decision. For now.

Hand in hand, they departed the vault and his Halls to continue their day.

*****

The following morning Earlene roused to that particular sensation of liquid warmth between her legs. It is the feeling to which no woman wishes to wake, especially when naked and in a beautifully made bed not her own.  Mentally cursing her inattentiveness to the calendar, she tried to decide what to do, and had no good options except the more embarrassing ones. About the last thing she wished to do was tell a handsome lover that she could not move without finding some kind of a cloth first, lest blood from her period make a mess of his bed. Heaving a deep sigh, she tried to find the words when his bright eyes suddenly opened, looking at her.

"Forgive me, for not paying enough attention to your body, Earlene. Stay where you are."

She was flabbergasted, as he moved out of the bed and walked into another part of his rooms. Having heard horror stories about husbands and boyfriends who basically ran screaming from the unavoidable monthly event, this was not what she expected to hear. _A man, who somehow thinks this is his responsibility?_ It did not even process.

He returned quickly with a robe for her and a thick folded cloth, which seemed rather excessive for the needs of the moment. Before she could comment, question, or even form a sentence, he had pulled back the covers, placed the cloth between her legs, and lifted her out of the bed and onto a wooden chair, and was helping her into a robe. "Drink this," he instructed, holding a small vial of a nondescript liquid to her lips. 

With a shrug, she did as he asked. "I..." she started to say, completely tied up in a knot....and almost afraid to say too much. Her moods could and did deteriorate rapidly on the first day; it was a given. She had schooled herself at work to not speak to others unless it was absolutely necessary. Otherwise, her irritation and shortness of temper had too much opportunity to flare up. In fact, these were infamously days that she leveraged to "work from home," where she could be as cranky as she wanted to be, in the privacy of her own home. It was not unheard of for her to yell at her own legal briefs as she wrote them...making it not at all a day to be surrounded by male colleagues.

"This will not take long, meluieg," he said, kissing her softly on the cheek as he knelt in front of her, placing his hand over where she guessed her uterus was. It certainly was where the doctor prodded at, during medical exams. In seconds, an extremely disturbing sensation had begun, that felt a great deal like...everything coming out at once. 

"What...?!" she said, looking at him with trepidation.

He looked up at her, confused. "This was how I cared for my first wife, Earlene.  It is preferable to waiting days for your menstruation to be concluded, is it not?" His eyes were kind, and sincere.

"I did not know that anything different was an option," she said quietly, feeling both relieved and irritated.

His eyes closed as he grimaced. "Of course, how could you? I am sorry, for not explaining first."

She reached to touch his face, forcing herself to ask the question. "Will this keep me from being terrible company today?" 

He did not understand the cryptic question, until he searched further into her mind.

"It is difficult for you to speak about this because I am male, and what you are asking me is if I can help the mood your menstruation imposes onto your mind?" 

She nodded, feeling like she was somehow failing at...adulting. While she had no qualms about being female, there was no getting around that it always felt like a form of victimization to have hormones influence her state of mind. Men did not seem to cope with a similar sort of biological oscillation, and it felt unfair. Yet it was ridiculous, not to be able to discuss this with him.

"I am sorry, Thranduil. I have never had a man...present, for any of this. I know that it is a natural function, but it is one that most women are taught to keep to themselves. I am afraid humans are not very evolved about this subject, in spite of the fact that half the population of the world has it occur. There is a long and unfortunate list of historical and cultural associations that make a woman's monthly cycle something to hide. I should not participate in this thinking, yet the realities of my former life more or less demanded it."

"We will learn together, Earlene," he said kindly. "I will move you now, to care for the rest of this." He lifted her, cloth and all, and sat with her on the edge of the bed, having somehow procured a small bottle. He saw the ongoing confusion in her, and smiled. "I am going to pleasure you. I do not think you will mind this part," he said, with his eyes twinkling. "Close your eyes and relax into my arms."

The request was easy to follow, given that he was doing something to her that caused a feeling of tranquility. She felt something slippery applied to her intimate parts, swiftly followed by exquisitely timed caresses from his fingers. It was exactly how they had...met, exactly what he had done to her the first time she'd dreamed of him. And she realized now that she had questions, about precisely how he had accomplished that. Yet now was not the time. It was an echo of the first pleasure he had ever given her, and as such was an experience she intended to enjoy. She found that she wanted his fingers as badly as she usually wanted the rest of him. It made her recall the burning desire he'd awakened, and inflamed her body to his touches. Except, this felt like so much more. There was no reluctance, no wondering, as she opened her heart to him, her husband. He did not stop his attentions until she cried out his name in the throes of her release, not noticing that the last of the discharge was being pushed out of her body.

She was still recovering when she felt herself carried yet again, to another chamber through a door, where a steaming sunken bath awaited. He set her down long enough to remove her robe, and then carried her into the water while she craned her neck around in disbelief. "Had you mentioned this sooner, you might have had to be dragging me back to my house," she said. "How...?"

"It is heated...I believe geothermally, is the word? And such a luxurious private place in which to bathe is one privilege of being King," he smiled. 

"I see," she said, only now realizing that her mood felt much...better. She looked up at him. "Thank you, for all of what you have done for me. I am only beginning to understand how different my life will be, on account of you. There is so much that I could not have imagined," she said soberly.

He did not answer, but instead leaned down to nip at her ear with his teeth while the rumble of some undetermined noise came through his chest. Smiling, she realized that her husband was unfulfilled. It was not difficult to find a solution.

Soon enough, all needs had been cared for, and she found that soft towels were nearby. It was time to dress, and return to her home for breakfast...she was immensely in the mood for biscuits, and the computers would arrive today.

As they walked through the woods, holding hands, she began. "Thranduil..."

He smiled. "You wish to know if my seduction of you was only in your mind, or whether I was with you in body as well?"

"Well, yes."

"What do you think?" he asked, curious. 

"I think you were influencing my mind, keeping me asleep and accepting of you, while actually touching my body as well."

"You are correct," he said, "and continue to show that you are very observant."

"But..."she said. "The very first time, I woke up...and you were in my bed with me, yet I did not notice?"

He smiled. "You know the answers. Think."

She sifted everything she'd learned about him. "You can move very fast, and you can make me see only what you wish me to see?"

"Yes."

They walked on for a few minutes. 

"Well, my Lord?"

He looked at her, and the very large smirk on her face, with confusion.

"I am becoming used to you knowing my questions before I ask them, husband, so I am waiting for an answer to my question."

His eyes narrowed, because he could in truth not easily detect the thought. But then, just as swiftly, it came through clearly.

_We should discuss, at some point,  whether you will ever wish to see more of the planet than Lasg'len. Because if so, the process of acquiring documentation for you, and any others wishing to function in the outer world, would need to begin. It may not be something that can be accomplished quickly, and may require some...extreme creativity. And along with this, a decision concerning whether you wish our union to be formally acknowledged according to the laws of the land that surrounds us. This would grant you rights, concerning me, that would not otherwise exist. One that might be important to you is the legal right to take possession of my property, should something happen to me._

Thranduil looked at her. He had heard the questions, but was more intrigued by the fact that she seemed to have had control over this, mentally.

"How did you do that?" he asked, intrigued.

She pouted. _It won't be fun anymore, if I tell you_ , she said with her eyes sparkling, waiting for that particular lift of his chin to manifest itself, that would tell that her time for baiting him was at an end.

He did not disappoint, as he drew himself up. It fascinated her, to see his body language transform from quiet and serene, into that of one bearing great power.

Laughing, she squeezed his hand as she bowed her head to him. "I yield, my King. I am afraid I cannot resist teasing you, a little bit. It is a mental practice that I had forgotten about, a kind of meditation in which one practices keeping one's mind free of any thoughts. I was curious to see if it made a difference. Apparently it does."

In the blink of an eye, she found herself tossed high into the air, which brought a shriek of complete surprise as she flailed for something to hold onto. He caught her easily around the waist, twirling her around him as a parent might a small child, smiling. "Teasing me is a dangerous hobby, Earlene," he said, though his eyes were full of love.

"Is it?" she said, saucily, as her hands reached for his pale hair. "I hadn't noticed, my Lord." She was practically daring him to toss her up again, and he knew it. He could also see the battle of wills escalating to someplace better left alone, for now.

"Then I shall have to retract what I said about your powers of observation, meluieg."

Laughing, she conceded that it was an elegant response, and kissed him. He lowered her a little, to sit in his arms. "Do not make me too curious about your thoughts, sweet one. You may have your fun, but you cannot overcome my ability to see inside of you if I choose to try."

She caught the change in his demeanor, and was uncertain if this was more humor. "Thranduil?" she asked, wishing to understand.

He sighed. "I am partly teasing you, wife. But not fully. I can understand what it feels like, to have your mind laid bare to me. And how you must desire privacy, sometimes. But if you practice hiding from me too often, my response will be to push harder to look. I am capable of injuring you, in this way, and I have no wish to do so. I do not mean this as the threat it must sound like, Earlene.  It is no different to me than if somehow found myself struggling to breathe; I would try that much harder to do so. I am responsible for you in many ways, and I rely on my ability to see you fully in order to  care for you, when I am already faced with many gaps in my understanding. Ultimately, there is no obstacle you are capable of creating, that can keep me out of your thoughts. I think what I am trying to say is, please do not make a habit of trying to keep your thoughts from me. It will not go well, for either of us. Please?"

"I did not realize, I am sorry.  I will do as you ask, I have promised to obey you. But," she said, "thank you, for asking so nicely."

He set her down, and they continued walking. His hand rested loosely on her shoulder. "If I may ask, Thranduil, how do you understand what it feels like? To have your own thoughts exposed to someone, but not the other way around?" The question was asked softly; she genuinely wished to know.

Thranduil did not look at her, as he spoke. "I was the son of the King, once, Earlene. My father held the same powers that I now do, and I was raised under much the same circumstances as those in which you now find yourself. He was very stern, and I endured far more scrutiny than I now impose on you. It is why I told you that I will never hold your thoughts against you, whatever they may be. I was held to task, and I promised myself that I would never do that to another. I will not treat you as I was treated."

Her eyes widened. "I am...so sorry, Thranduil." She did not know what else to say; it sounded like one of the worst forms of mental abuse of which she'd ever heard.

"Elves are expected to be able to have far more mental discipline than what humans would be able to, meluieg. But that being said, what my father did was still...extreme."

They were nearing the house, now. "I have no means by which to relate to what you are telling me, my Lord. I am afraid I cannot view that as anything other than completely awful."

"Then we can agree on that. I hope you will forgive me if I do not wish to dwell on this. It was so long ago, and yet it is still an unpleasant memory."

In response, she put her arm around his waist, pulling herself against him as they walked the final short distance.

 _There is much, in which I am aware I cannot help you. But please know that I will always try, if you will allow it. I love you._ Releasing him, she reached for the doorknob, still feeling angry and...ill, on some level, that anyone could do that to someone else. Having heard only this, she felt glad that her father-in-law more or less existed in another dimension, because she had no desire to meet anyone that had ever treated Thranduil in such a manner. And she wondered, too. _If he did this to his son, what else had he done?_

Her husband's hand on her shoulder stopped her with an iron grip. As she turned to look at him, she saw that his face was stricken, and that he was fighting back tears. Earlene took one look at him and reacted with pure instinct. She took him firmly by the hand and with all the strength of her body, led him to the sofa and made him sit. Without hesitating she straddled him, kneeling, so that she could bring his head against her chest, cradling him against her. He would have had to break one of her bones to free himself from her hold, and her mind filled with thoughts that whatever had befallen him, she loved him. And her anger grew, because it had just become rather obvious that the beautiful elf in her arms had suffered from his parents in ways that no one should.

And under the barrage of her thoughts and emotions, she felt his own break in her embrace. He held her so tightly that it was difficult to breathe as he sobbed, but she said nothing, taking little snatches of air where she could. Tears ran down her own face, in her grief at finding this in him, and the knowledge that she had no power to do for him what he'd done for her. She could not reach in and make this, whatever it was, leave his mind. But she could hold him, which was exactly what she did until her arms could no longer support the strength of her grip, and she was forced to loosen it a little. Absentmindedly, her hands stroked the back of his flaxen head and neck. He quieted after some minutes, and she whispered in his ear.  "Wait here." She quickly retrieved a clean cloth, and wet it with cool water, returning to him and gently pressing it against his face. He took it from her, wordlessly, squeezing her hand.

_I would like to make you something to drink, that would comfort you. May I, or would you rather I stay with you?_

He nodded, barely perceptible, so she kissed his forehead and immediately went for her supply of cocoa. The powder was spooned in and mixed with sugar, and then the milk, and Earlene began to heat it. Very soon it was quite warm, and she went to her pantry. All she'd bought was whisky, but she thought she'd seen something else....and there, beyond hope, was a nearly full bottle of amaretto. Grabbing it without hesitation, she tipped a wildly excessive amount of the liquor into the hot cocoa, waiting another half minute and then turning off the heat. She poured this into a mug, and added some cream to the very top. 

"Drink this," she said, very softly, sitting next to him , beginning to rub his back with her hand. It took him a moment, but finally he took a tentative sip, which caused him to open his eyes long enough to look at what was in his cup. She smiled inside, to see that he liked it, and began to enthusiastically down the contents. Even though there was enough just in that one mug to get her roaringly drunk, she knew that he did not have the same limitations. "More?" she asked gently. He nodded, so she took the cup back to refill it.

When she returned, Earlene saw that he watched her now, his features almost returned to normal. He had the look of someone who is trying to find a way to explain something they'd really rather not talk about. She handed him the cup again.

"Thranduil, know that if you wish to tell me anything, I am here to listen and support you with all my love. But if you are not ready or choose not to, I respect that. I have some idea of what it is to carry a heavy emotional burden, though not like the one I fear you do."

His blue eyes were unreadable, save for the flicker of pain that crossed them. "I want to tell you, meluieg. But like you, I need a little more time. That and, it will not be too much longer before Thanadir arrives."  

"Then I will make breakfast. If you want more cocoa, please tell me." She reached her hand to his face, caressing his cheek. He leaned into her hand, covering it with his own. The gold of his ring glinted up at her. Patiently, she waited until he released her hand. "If you feel inclined, there is no fire in the wood stove," she smiled. "And if you do not, I will care for it momentarily."

Moving across the room, she went into a flurry of activity to make biscuits. Fortunately she now had her food processor, which reduced the needed time considerably. Looking at what seemed like an entirely inadequate amount of dough for her intentions, she made a second batch, kneading it all into one. _Why are you making this many biscuits, Earlene?_ She had no clear concept at the moment beyond...wanting biscuits. After folding the dough for the last time and patting it down to the right thickness, she looked at the ceiling, staring fixedly for a long moment. _Biscuit sandwiches_ , she thought triumphantly, looking for her biscuit cutter. Soon a hefty array of large biscuits was baking, while she furiously scrambled eggs, dug out the ham slices she was sure were somewhere, and found cheese.

When the timer went off for the biscuits, she spun on the ball of her foot to check them and crashed into Thranduil, who had somehow been standing behind her. _How did he do that?_  

He seemed genuinely amused. "When you were staring at the ceiling, perhaps," he teased. The light had returned to his eyes.

She refused to back down. "The ceiling has told me a great many things, over the years. You should try listening to it, sometime. At the very least, you owe it your breakfast. My Lord."

Smiling, she now retrieved her potholders and removed the golden biscuits, leaving them to cool on the counter. "Do you want more cocoa, Thranduil?" she asked, turning her full attention to him now.

"No, thank you. Though whatever you put in it has created the beginnings of a more pleasant state of mind, which I am sure was your intention." 

"Amaretto. Almond liquer. I like it quite a bit. Did you?" 

"May I try some by itself?"

She pointed at the shot glass she could not reach, which he handed her. Filling it, she reasoned that for him, if a little was good a lot might be better. Her eyebrows raised and she stifled a smile, when she saw out of the corner of her eye that he tipped all of it back in one swallow.

"It is good, but very...melui," he smiled. 

She paused in her ham slicing to work out what that meant and.... _duh_ , she thought, flushing faintly to have not understood right away.

He chuckled, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against him as she assembled the sandwiches. Which is perhaps why she became aware of him hardening behind her, and his hands caressing her over her skirts.

 _Please_ , she heard from him. 

She did not know entirely what to do. While she was in principle willing to welcome him, the combination of her hands being full of egg and cheese bits and the imminent arrival of Thanadir both left her mind in a somewhat indecisive state, though the rest of her already wanted him. The rest of her _always_ wanted him.

 _He is still far enough away, and you will not need your hands. Please?_ he asked a second time, almost begging.

_Of course, my Lord._

She felt his hands go up underneath her skirts, and simply tug her undergarment to one side. In an instant he had himself free, and with a groan of need she felt him enter her from behind. Slightly wide eyed, she tried to take in this new experience. His hand came around to pleasingly touch and rub her as the movements of his body pressed her down against the counter. Very quickly, she was helpless and glassy-eyed in the throes of her own lust, because nothing had ever felt quite this good. He was taking her very hard, and it was _wonderful_. She remembered that this same passion had hurt her, not long ago at all, but that was no longer the case. In her mind she begged him for more, to bring her to climax. More heat flared within her, when she thought she could stand no more. With a ragged cry he released himself into her as she writhed against him, insensible in her own bliss. When it was over, her eyes opened to take in that she had just had what was perhaps her strongest orgasm yet, with her head flat on a countertop whilst staring down a tray of biscuits. 

If nothing else, she had to wash her hands and make a break for the bathroom...she could not live with herself if Thanadir saw even a hint of a trace of what they'd just done.

 _Go ahead, meluieg,_ she heard with a chuckle. 

She fled the scene, leaving Thranduil to insouciantly lace up his breeches with a much calmer demeanor. A few minutes later, she had cared for everything from her disheveled hair to her displaced undergarments. Though, she could not do much about the pink flush still on her cheeks, or the vaguely dazed expression she still wore.

"Did Thanadir ever have a wife, my Lord?"

"No, he did not."

_Then there is some hope he won't take one look at me, to figure out that biscuits aren't the only thing I've been cooking._

Thranduil thought this was uproariously funny, and laughed loudly and musically, embracing her again from behind. Ordinarily she might have ordered him back to the sofa, but not this morning. His restored mood was worth far more than the scandalization of her food preparation. She returned the finished biscuit creations to the yet warm oven, so they would remain heated, and realized to her chagrin that she'd forgotten to heat water for tea. Except, he reached the kettle before she could, and held it high overhead to tease her. She jumped up to try to reach it, and saw that it would be no good. 

 _If you were not my King I would climb you like a ladder_ , she mock scowled at him. _Have it your own way, my Lord, but you are depriving poor Thanandir of his tea._

"This I have to see, Earlene. You have my permission."

"I what? I mean, I what, my Lord?" She covered her face with her hands. Flustered, she'd just made no sense even to herself.

"Climb me like a ladder, Earlene. This I want to see." He smiled, with his eyes sparkling. When she did not move and stood there with her mouth half open, he pressed further. "Do I need to command you to do this, meluieg?" He was enjoying himself immensely.

Her face transformed in indignation, as she reached down to strip off her boots and socks. With her feet now bare, she leaped up toward his shoulders, gripping the outside of his body very hard with the instep of her feet, pushing herself up onto her hands, so that she could get yet another purchase with her feet at his waist. Steadying herself  on his arm, she reached up to take hold of the kettle, with him laughing all the while, refusing to release the kettle handle. 

At that moment, Thanadir came within sight of the kitchen, unprepared for the horror that greeted his vision. The new Queen was actually climbing on his Majesty who....Thanadir's face suddenly relaxed as he saw that the King was smiling, and laughing. In a moment of poignance, he realized that in all the long years he had served his friend, he had never seen this kind of pure happiness written on his ruler's face. For once, it did not matter that the sight greeting his eyes was hopelessly unseemly. The ancient elf smiled in a way not seen in millennia as he looked on, seeing that their game had ended and that the King was gently lowering his wife back to the ground. Shaking his head slightly in amusement, he allowed his features to fall back into their usual neutral position before closing the rest of the distance to the house.

Thranduil refilled the kettle and set it on the burner while Earlene replaced her socks and boots. When she rose, he took both of her hands, looking at her intently. "Earlene...thank you." The words were filled with deep emotion, and she understood. Looking down at his hands, her thumb caressed the ring he now wore before she lifted her eyes to his.

"I will love you, Thranduil. All of you." Short of a grandiose speech it was as much reassurance as she could offer to tell him that whatever troubled his spirit, she would stand by him, just as he had done for her. He nodded, with bottomless gratitude written on his features, before releasing her hands.

"Then I will greet my seneschal, who is no doubt hungry," he smiled.

When the meal was concluded, she felt glad of how much extra food had been made, because she apparently had developed quite an appetite. And, so had had they, given the devastation to the numbers that once filled the tray; only a few forlorn biscuits remained. All of them were stuffed and had little desire to move, as they slowly sipped their tea without  speaking.

Earlene was the first to break their silence. "My King, the new computers should be delivered today before midday, and I will with your consent go to town for some groceries  which are nearly gone."

With humor, he looked up at her. "And a visit to the pub also, Earlene?"

She smiled, blushing a little. "There exists a strong possibility of that, yes. I should also ask if you have reached a decision concerning the produce order from the grocer's? Do I pursue this, or wait?"

Thranduil turned to Thanadir and began to speak rapidly to him. After a minute of their exchange, they both looked at her. "Thanadir feels that within the week, the need will exist for such food. You may pursue securing a purchase, if you are able."

"Do you both wish to supply me with a total volume, or do I take my best guess as to your needs?"

They ellyn both exchanged more words. 

"Between twelve hundred and fifteen hundred pounds of assorted greens and root vegetables, this time. Then we will evaluate prior to the next order. Which brings me to some other matters. You asked me earlier about the idea of documentation, whether I would ever wish to leave here, and whether we should formalize our union in the world of men. The answer to all of those things is 'yes.' And the same should be done for Thanadir, if possible. I am trusting fully in your discretion and professional skills, for this. The second matter is, the acquisition of the currency of your world. I cannot have you being financially responsible for all of my people."

Her brows knitted together, and she sighed. "I will begin working on what you ask. You must realize though, there are many things about this that are not simple. If you have time, it may be best for me to outline some of this, to both of you." 

With Thranduil's consent, the dishes were pushed aside, and Earlene retrieved her laptop and notepads. She guessed that at least Thanadir would wish to take notes.

Next followed Earlene narrating a complex list of points, while simultaneously flitting between a great many websites from which she sought information. In the pauses, Thranduil translated for Thanadir, who scribbled furiously. Their lack of birth certificates, citizenship,  their lack of established identity, the difficulties of securing passports, bank accounts, a financial presence, marrying legally with Earlene not being an Irish citizen, and a very long list of other matters great and small were indicated.

"I will make careful inquiries, but...there is a strong possibility that in order to have this be possible, the laws must be violated. There is simply no direct means by which to discreetly establish ordinary documentation for elves who have lived for millennia hidden in a tract of forest. I am very much afraid that the only way to manage will be to have identities forged and created for both of you, though there is some small risk of being caught. Yet until those papers can be established, and some suitable story concocted, we can accomplish nothing. We will likely either need to latch onto information for two babies that died thirty to thirty-five years ago, and steal their identities. To human eyes, that is how old both of you appear. Or, we need to outright forge birth certificates for both of you, and hope we manage to get away with it." She frowned. "Alternatively, we need to locate a solicitor that is willing to serve...specific unlawful needs, for a price.  And frankly, I have a feeling that the good citizens of Lasg'len might be able to help you in this, more than you know. It will all take time. But there is not cause for concern. If you wish you may reimburse me, Thranduil, later on. I am established with access to financial systems, and have more than adequate resources to provide for all of the elves' needs, for quite some time. My future is  bound to you and your people; please accept what I can do for you as a necessary convenience, in the short term."

Thranduil looked at her, and felt like his head was reeling. He'd no idea, of the intricacy of the outside world. Apparently the days when a single gem evaporated just about any manner of difficulty were long past. But as he looked on her, he realized that he had chosen wisely.

"Just as you have placed profound trust in me, Earlene, I must now do the same for you. I thank you for your detailed explanations. Much of this, I will have to leave in your hands. I do accept what you propose; it is the most sensible course of action, for now. I think you already know, I will never allow you to lack for anything ."

"I do know, my Lord. But, there is another thing. I will do what you have tasked me to accomplish, but you have something I do not. You can see into the hearts and minds of others. And for what we have to navigate to meet these goals, that is perhaps the most valuable asset we could possess. I need to ask you, what was your perception of Lorna? Is she an honest person, someone of whom I could begin to ask questions? Choosing who can be trusted will be the most important part of all of this. And for that, I would be foolish not to have you at my side. While I do not like to deceive others, all of your people are at risk, and it only takes one poor choice to cause something like this to fail. Your powers are unknown, and therefore a tremendous advantage."

"Lorna has an honest heart, meluieg. Though, she thought much of a difficult past, marred by terrible experiences. She carries a great deal of pain, but is very strong on account of it. I believe you would be safe, in speaking with her."

"Thranduil, is it possible for you to not hear a human? To choose to look away? Or is it like being next to someone who is speaking, to where you cannot...not...hear the thoughts? I do not know how you experience this."

He looked at her, trying to choose words that would make sense to her. "It is something of both, meluieg. Strong, well-formed thoughts are as discernible to me as your audible words, and unavoidable to me. But I can also choose to look far deeper, to seek out what is beneath the surface. Obviously, this requires more effort from me."

Earlene nodded. On some level, it made her queasy. She doubted that it would be appreciated by Lorna, that her thoughts were an open book to Thranduil. That everyone's thoughts were an open book to Thranduil. But what was to be done? He could not help what he was, that this was a sensory ability of his. What bothered her was that she'd agreed to live with him, knowing that he could do this, and they had not. Then again, maybe what was needed was for them to have the chance to make their own decision, just as she had...she squeezed her eyes as the 'what ifs' and the 'maybes' began to pile up in her mind.

Just then the doorbell rang, and Earlene rose up to answer it. She returned moments later with two  large boxes. "Stupid packaging," she muttered, placing them on the sofa.

It seemed their meeting was concluded, and she began to clean up from breakfast.

Thranduil insisted on doing the dishes, which caused Thanadir to insist on doing the dishes. 

 _These two_ , Earlene thought, as she found a knife and began to extract the computers. 

"Your Excellency Thanadir?" she asked softly. 

Surprised, the elf looked up at her. 

"Can you read English letters?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, Earlene."

"Annon allen," she said. She would set up both computers at the same time, then. Fortunately, she'd had the brains to order an extra power strip for all of this, and soon the kitchen counter looked like a small computer bank. Once they were connected to a power source, she took care of creating simple passwords, wifi setup, security, and all the rest. And because they were new, she set up full controls to keep them from accidentally ending up on harmful websites. Or otherwise doing anything, by which they could unwittingly invite disaster. When they learned more, they could make changes as they wished. Somewhere in the middle of this, she sent Lorna an email, that she'd be at the pub that afternoon. Just in case. She really would like to see her again and...on a feminine level, Earlene wanted to tell at least one person of their marriage. However odd it was, to her it was a happiness she felt almost bursting to share.

With the dishes washed, she invited them to sit once again, and began to explain much as she had previously. She went slowly, demonstrating, while Thranduil translated and Thanadir made copious notes. She directed them most to the Internet, choosing to show Thanadir one of the Sindarin/English websites. It seemed like a given that every elf could learn quickly, so perhaps the same information she was using could help him learn English faster?

His eyes lit up, when he realized what he was seeing and how it could be used.

 _He will probably be reciting poetry in a week_ , she thought enviously, _while I am still trying to remember how to conjugate a verb._

Under Thranduil's command, they ate the rest of the breakfast biscuits for lunch, supplemented with fresh fruit and tea. He felt like she cooked quite enough. But, it did not stop her from needing to prepare tonight's pot roast prior to her trip into town. Soon enough the meat had been browned, liquid and vegetables added, and dry ingredients for a traditional brown bread were mixed and left to sit. And then she thought about cake. Rolling her eyes, she smiled. He might have made her period go away, but he hadn't done a thing about her tendency to want to eat every carbohydrate in sight during the allotted hormonal time frame.

His head snapped up to look at her, grinning.

 _You don't really want me to cure that, do you?_ he asked, his eyes sparkling.

Grinning, she looked down. _No, I do not._ She mixed the dry ingredients for a spiced apple cake; there could be a vanilla sauce.

With the roast in a very slow oven, she soon had changed her clothes, and chastely kissed her husband goodbye. The two ellyn were completely locked into their respective screens, she noted with no small amusement. Feeling content, she retrieved her bicycle and rode off to Lasg'len.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> melui = sweet


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 5, 2016

When Earlene stepped into the grocer’s, she smiled to see that two other local women were hunkered at the register, deep in murmured gossip with Aislinn, whose changing face spoke of having just heard a particularly juicy tidbit. Stifling a laugh, she merely gave a good natured wave of her hand, as she quickly slipped down to the dairy case. It was the furthest from where the chitchat was underway, which meant it was also the safest location by which she might avoid any accidental faux pas. And soon she legitimately was mentally occupied, wanting to make certain that she found all the items on her list. She’d be stopping too, at the liquor store. Clearly, it took staggering amounts of anything to give Thranduil a medicinal effect, and she was all too likely to become the shop owner’s new favorite customer. On the up side, it would become completely obvious that she embraced drinking at home, which in this culture could only lead to greater acceptance, she mused.

By the time she made it to the front, the exchange of news had clearly wound down and Earlene guessed, correctly, that the two other women had lingered in order to have an excuse to meet her. With a maternal air of joviality, Aislinn introduced them as Mary and Chloe, wives of Ian and another who she’d not yet met. They fussed and offered friendly words of greeting while looking her up and down, which Earlene found endearing. Their curiosity was understandable, and by now she must be practically the talk of the town. _How often did someone move in from New York and hook up with the local elf-King?_ she smiled to herself. Eyes unmistakably darted to what of her necklace could be seen, and eyes equally unmistakably took in the wedding band on her finger, though no comment was made. Soon enough, they had satisfied the initial wave of their curiosity, and cheerfully moved along. As Aislinn rang up her purchases, Earlene grinned to see Mary and Chloe chattering back and forth with such vigor, that she wondered if they were remembering to breathe.

When she was at the point of payment, she took a deep breath. _Here goes_ , she thought.

“Aislinn, I wondered if you’d heard any more news on the cabbages?”

Smiling brightly, Aislinn shook her head. “I’m sorry, miss,” she said with regret that was made to sound sincere. “These things always take a bit’v time.”

Earlene kept her face completely pleasant.

“Oh, dear. I can imagine how difficult that might be. You see, I’ve taken on an odd job of sorts, to purchase fresh foods for quite a few people. And right off, I’m going to need a delivery of fifteen hundred pounds of assorted produce to my property. It will be more inconvenient, but I guess I'll have to look to one of the larger wholesalers outside of this immediate area. It’s a pity, too, the buyer is willing to pay a two and a half percent commission. But, I do understand. No one realizes, how tough it is to run a small business, do they? At home in the states, the deck was always stacked against the little guy. I’ve always thought it was a crying shame, people such as yourself working so hard, just to get by.” Earlene shook her head and sighed, looking for all the world like she felt the weight of economic injustice on her shoulders.

As Earlene suddenly became fascinated at nothing in particular out on the street, Aislinn’s eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly as she did some quick mental calculations.

Aislinn cleared her throat, which caused Earlene to look back over at her, as though her reverie had just been broken.

“You know, miss, it would be wrong'v me to not do more to help out a neighbor, especially with you being new here and all. You see, it’s that Michael, over at the farm distributor’s. He’s too into his drink, and if there ever was a slower man to answer a simple question, it’d be him. But it just so happens that I go back with his wife Sarah quite a ways, and I do believe I could put in a phone call on your behalf.”

“Oh, could you? That would be such a relief for me,” Earlene said effusively. “It just so happens that I have the list of what is wanted, with all of my contact information, right here. Substitutions are permissible, as long as the vegetables have good storage properties and the prices are at fair market value. I will gladly pay in advance for the first transaction as soon as you can notify me, but would appreciate terms of net thirty for future purchases. If, that is, the buyer is satisfied. I’m sure you understand, with banking being what it is, that a little time to settle invoices is much appreciated.”

Aislinn beamed at the more than agreeable proposal. “When would you wish this scheduled, miss?”

Laughing, Earlene said “Please, I’m Earlene to everyone here. And, anytime between three to six days hence would be ideal, though they do need to ring or email me before they come, so I can ensure I’m home. If it wouldn’t be trouble, note to the delivery driver that these will be offloaded into the storage area of my barn.”

Smiling broadly, Earlene laid her hand briefly over Aislinn’s, after she had busily jotted down a few notes. “Truly, you are a treasure. I just don’t know what kind of trouble I’d have had, without you. I cannot thank you enough,”  she said with a sincere smile. With a wave, Earlene departed, keeping the smirk she felt inside from revealing itself.

At the liquor store, she tried to think. He had liked the amaretto, but hinted it was sweet...but liqueurs were not meant to be consumed alone, really. In order to not appear to be a complete alcoholic, she chose only four bottles; in New York she kept an extensive liquor cabinet more for cooking that straight-up drinking. But either way, it was handy to have on hand. And finally, she had everything stowed and headed happily for the Spotted Dick, in a fine humor.

While she waited for her eyes to adjust to the pub's dim interior, she enthusiastically greeted John and ordered a pint, before turning to see who else was about. To her delight, she saw Lorna in the back, at a low table, and went to join her.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Lorna,” Earlene gushed, seating herself while speaking very softly. “How is it at the mechanic?”

“We had two tractors in,” Lorna said, eying Earlene. She wasn’t surprised to find the woman looked completely healthy, with no lingering sign at all that she’d had alcohol poisoning. “Mick’s been trying to do things one-handed, but he says he’s glad I’m little enough to get under a tractor without having to hoist it up. He also dropped a bloody wrench on my head,” she added, scowling as she rubbed her temple. “I told him if he sent me home with brain damage, my sister’d kill him.” Her gaze zeroed in on Earlene’s right hand, and her eyebrows rose. “You’ve got some new jewelry there.”

Earlene smiled, as a look of pure happiness came over her face. “I know this is going to sound nuts, because, well, most things having to do with elves sound nuts until you get to know about them somewhat. It turns out that at least from the elf point of view, he and I are married. And though it makes me sound like a teenager with a bad case of puppy love, I’m thrilled. I’ll tell you the long version, but only if you want; and no offense taken if you don’t. Actually, I still feel kind of bad about the mental whammy you must have had, with seeing him. I truly did not realize that you hadn’t understood...what he is. Though, why I’d think you did realize...I’m not sure about that either.” She shook her head. “If my parents could see me now...you’ve no idea. And I’m sorry about the wrench. One time working at gran’s farm I dropped a t-post driver on my head. It’s basically good that no one was around, because every time I’ve ever had something whack me on the head hard enough, I cry like a two year-old. It’s more than a little embarrassing, but dammit, it hurts.”

 _Married_...well, at least Earlene was happy about it. Lorna probably would have shanked somebody if a bomb like that got dropped on her, but she was glad Earlene was pleased. Although...why the hell hadn’t Thranduil told her that from the outset? Lorna definitely needed the long version, or she might have to get annoyed. “It’s not your fault I didn’t believe what he was,” she said, with a slightly crooked smile. “Ian and Mick tried to tell me, but I thought they were both full’v shite. If I can’t see it, I don’t believe in it -- or didn’t, anyway. You’ve got to tell me the long story, because I’ll not get my head around that otherwise.” She took a long draw off her mug, and winced. “Christ, you’re lucky you didn’t crack your skull with something like that. Head injuries do hurt like a bastard, even when they don’t bleed.” Hers had, and scared the shit out of Mick, but no harm really done.

Earlene took a very healthy swig of Guinness while gathering her thoughts. In her excitement to share some good news with a female friend, she’d forgotten about all the things that frankly wouldn’t sound so good, to an outsider. She did not want Thranduil made to look bad...nor herself, either. Now, to find a way to tell a truthful story that didn’t turn what she’d meant to be happy tidings into a minefield.

“Yeah, you can keep head injuries, all these years later and I've still refused to pick up another one of those tools.” She paused a moment. “You’ll have to bear with me, on the marriage part, because frankly there are things about it that I don't know myself. Getting involved with Thranduil was sort of like a decision to go on a thrill ride. For me it was impulsive, done on intuition, and something that I wanted worse than anything. Whether that was good or bad, I don't know, but I did it with my eyes wide open.”

She frowned, trying to choose the right words. “Thranduil is old. I mean, damn-near-forever old. I don't have a number, and I'm not sure I want one. He was born into a world with some fairly defined laws and rules. Elves loved and married once, and he had a wife. And a son. She left him, what sounds like about a million years ago, to travel to another...place that elves go. He was a King with a job to do, but she wanted something else. More years went by than anyone could count. Usually, when elves have married, they can't want another partner; it’s just how it is. But there is also apparently a way for...I don't want to call it getting a divorce, but apparently one of them can decide that the marriage is over because they've basically given up on each other; they’ve been apart too long, with no end in sight. When he and I came together, he told me he had a wife he hadn't seen in thousands of years. Maybe it makes me a rotten person, but I couldn't care about that. He wanted me, and sure god I wanted him. Apparently the fact that he was able to want me should have told him something...but he overlooked it.

"By their laws, they marry by going to bed together. Which meant that the first time we...did that, we'd tied the knot. Pretty much right after you left my house the other day, for whatever reason, the lightbulb finally went off for him, and he put it all together. And then he told me. I’m not sorry, because there wasn't ever going to be anyone else. He warned me, that if I took him on, I’d not ever want another. And I believe it; being with him isn't like being with a human man. For me, this is amazing. I know it wouldn't be everyone’s idea of a picnic, and plenty would say I’m out of my tree. That doesn't matter to me; I love him, and he’s more than anything I ever could have dreamed of. Who the hell finds themselves in a fairy tale, and it's real?” Grinning once again, she looked up at Lorna. “So that’s the novel-length version, as best I can manage it.”

That...was one hell of a lot to take in, and for a moment Lorna didn’t know what to say. She’d had some rather terrible suspicions since she’d left Earlene the other day, and she wasn’t quite sure where this fit in with them.

Earlene was a high-powered, hotshot corporate attorney. Such people did not, usually, tend to be impulsive. She’d been here even less time than Lorna, had gotten involved with (and fallen in love with) an Elf seemingly right off the bat...something just didn’t sit right. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Thranduil genuinely cared about her, so whatever had precipitated it, it seemed to be turning out well, but… But. Clearly Elves had some kind of magical powers (and even now Lorna could barely stomach that thought; yeah, she’d witnessed it, but it was still hard to come to terms with). The question, the one she wasn’t going to actually ask Earlene, was could Thranduil screw with people’s minds? How open had her eyes truly been? Call Lorna paranoid; call her a cynic (she would admit to being both), but the true fairytales were the ones with teeth, and she suspected this one did too-- or had, at first.

She was hardly going to judge Earlene for jumping into bed with a bloke who was married -- not if his wife had been gone God only knew how long. But just...Christ. She was going to have to find a way to talk to Thranduil, much as she really didn’t want to. He was, insofar as she could tell, a good person, but he gave her the creeps simply because he wasn’t human. If he’d mind-whammy’d Earlene before, he didn’t seem to be doing so anymore, but for the sake of the villagers...it wasn’t like Lorna could stop him if he did, but she wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to. She was also, for Earlene’s sake, going to put together a ‘How to be Married to a Human’ guide, because sheer logic stated he wasn’t going to have much idea how to handle having a human wife. Cynic though she was, she wanted to believe he had good intentions. There was enough of an optimist left in her for that.

But she had to say something -- something encouraging, because she truly didn’t want to hurt Earlene. “So long as he treats you well, I’m glad for you. When you find the one you know’ll be the only one...it’s like nothing else. You’re already happy, and I think you’ll stay that way. Not gonna lie, I think he’s a bit creepy, but he obviously loves you.” She’d forgive him quite a bit for that. He wasn’t just using Earlene; of that, Lorna was quite sure. And he was immortal -- Earlene wouldn’t ever lose him. There’s more than something to be said for that, she thought, running her thumb over her own ring. It was old and dinged, with only a trace of actual gold in it, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Earlene laughed. “It’s funny, that. You can think he’s creepy; I don't mind. Maybe that doesn't register for me because….well, I saw creepy, New York City style, and compared to that he can't hold a candle. He is beautiful to my eyes, but, lust and love are strange things. If we all didn't want something a bit different, the world would hardly work out, would it?”

Lorna smiled, though wryly. “True. If we all just wanted one thing, hardly anybody’d get married.”

Earlene took another fairly large swig of the beer. Or at least, large by her standards. She lowered her voice enough that there was no possibility anyone else could hear her speak.

“Lorna, I need to ask a very awkward question. If it’s unwelcome, forget I said anything, and no offense will ever be taken. You’re the only one I feel I can trust. I have to figure out a way to get something accomplished, and it’s more than a little outside my zone of experience. Thranduil and I would like to have our marriage be legal in Ireland, someday. Not to mention, him being able to ever have something like a bank account or even a credit card. To even start down that road, he needs an identity, maybe later a PPSN. As does Thanadir, who serves him. If I weren't too picky about whether or not it was done strictly according to law, might you have any ideas on that? The important thing is that it happen in a way that won’t have it all blow up later; it needs to get into the right computer systems and whatnot. I can pay, whatever it would take. I just don’t particularly want to end up arrested. I think you can see my problem; I can't exactly take them out to the Civil Registration Service, smile, and ask for a birth certificate without starting a new season of the X-Files. And yet, they are what you might call the original citizens, here. It wouldn’t be fraud so much as...evasive. I have to be very careful, with this.”

She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, pensive. “I might know someone who can help you, if I can get ahold of her. If she’s not still in business, she’ll know someone who is, but it really will be bloody expensive, especially with multiple identities. Twenty years ago it wouldn’t’ve been nearly so hard, but now, with all the computer databases, you definitely need a professional.” She sipped her lager. “This might sound like a weird question, but do Elves actually have fingerprints? There was talk years ago’v requiring them for passports, though I don’t know if anything ever came’v it. Then again, I think traveling might be a bit much for either’v them yet. This village isn’t nearly preparation enough for the outside world.” If nothing else, prison had left her with a number of useful contacts, provided you weren’t picky about silly things like legality.

“Do you know, this just chalks up to one more ridiculous thing he and I don’t know about each other? I had to deal earlier on with realizing the man had married me without understanding that I had more of a name than ‘Earlene.’ ‘Earlene Rhian Sullivan,’ I had to explain. It’s all been kind of arse-backwards, Lorna, but for me it is something to laugh about. I don’t know if you can understand being fed up with having lived too responsibly for too long...I should have gotten dumb stuff out of the way when I was younger, and never did. Anyway. I’ll find out about the fingerprints; it costs what it costs. And don’t worry, those two need considerably more educating on a lot of things, before they are ready to go anywhere.” She emphatically swigged her beer, feeling happier all the while. “But the good news is, they’re fiercely smart, and now they’ve each got their own computers to learn with, god help me.”

Earlene now swallowed mightily, finishing her drink. “I know it’s technically your turn here for a round, Lorna, but I hope you’ll let me count what you brought to my house against it and let my buy. Your help alone is worth about a month of rounds, to me.” Not really waiting for an answer, she stood quickly and marched off to the bar, bringing back more and plunking the beers down on their table.

Lorna let her buy, figuring it couldn’t hurt. “I can’t say I know what that feels like, no,” she said, fighting a laugh and losing. “I was a hellion’v a teenager. My juvenile offender list’s probably as long as I am tall.” Not that that was exactly saying much, but still. “Thranduil’ll be needing a surname on his documents, so it might as well be yours, right? As to computers…‘God help you’ is about right. I didn’t use the internet until I was twenty-eight years old, and sure God wasn’t I confused, but at least I’ve lived in the modern world. The Elves...you might consider getting them a tutor, if you can find anyone in the village who’s actually tech-savvy, so you don’t have to do it all yourself.” Lorna bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep a straight face. “Just don’t let them see UrbanDictionary yet.”

Earlene thought about it, chuckling at Lorna’s comment, if only because she imagined Thanadir encountering a great deal that would be beyond _unseemly_. “You know, that’s a really decent idea; maybe once people settle to the idea of them a bit more. I at least had the brains to set up parental controls, so that they couldn’t accidentally download fifty viruses by the time I returned home this afternoon. I’ll see how it goes, the first few days. They are like sponges...and what goes in, doesn’t come out. I put Thanadir on a website that tells how to learn their elven language, so I’ll guess that in two days he’ll have half perfect English by default. I didn’t mention this earlier, because I’m still working past half the craziness myself, but...you know those Lord of the Rings books? And movies? Elves? Well it’s those elves, though don’t bloody ask me how.” Earlene shook her head. “How Twilight Zone do you think it was, to rent those movies to learn something about Thranduil’s world from long ago, and he’s telling me that the battle in the opening scene is where his father was killed? There are thousands of websites about those books and…” Earlene covered her mouth with her hands as she stifled a groan. “Sure god, I just realized, if anything were ever to get out about them, it wouldn’t be the government we’d have to worry about; it would be the Tolkien fans. Some of them are totally obsessed nutters, and they’d flatten this place, to try and catch sight of a living elf.” She sighed, her eyes wide with trepidation. “I don’t have enough alcohol for this, at home. I really don’t. Even though I just bought more.”

Lorna burst out laughing, choking on her lager. “Viruses or porn,” she said, coughing. “I don’t want to imagine what an Elf’d make’v that.” She wiped her front with a napkin, but there was nothing for it -- this shirt was going in the wash as soon as she got home. “My mam, she read me The Hobbit as a kid, and I read it to my nieces and nephews, but I’ve not seen the movies yet. I can’t handle spiders.” The scene with the spiders in Mirkwood in the book had given her enough nightmares, thanks so much. “If his name’s in the books, he might want to think about a pseudonym for a legal name, just to be safe from the Tolkien fans. How in bloody hell d’you think Tolkien knew about all that, if it’s actually real?”

“Right now I believe in UFOs and aliens, after having had all this happen. I wish I could even guess, how the writer knew. They elves have their own deities, not at all what the ones here are. Who knows, maybe on some level that professor saw the divine lights and heard voices, and wrote it all down. I’ll never know or understand, and I’m pretty sure he died years ago. I think for me there is just going to have to come a point with this where I don’t let myself try to keep figuring that out any longer. I have to just move forward with what I’ve got, or I really will end up in the psych ward. And, you’re right, there is no way he can be ‘Thranduil’, at least on paper. Don’t suppose you’ve got a line on an Irish name that’s a little like it? His name means ‘vigorous spring,’ like, the season of springtime. He’s got me learning their language.”

“It’d be easy to lose it, faced with something like this,” Lorna said, thoughtful. “I don’t know’v any names meaning ‘spring’, but Fionn, or the Anglicized Finn, that’d not be a bad one. Means ‘fair-headed’, and Fionn MacCool’s an Irish myth -- a leader’v a band’v warriors, known for being brave and wise. And it’s not like some’v the weird shit you find nowadays. It won’t make him stand out on a list or anything like that.”

“Fionn...honestly that is a wonderful choice. Fionn. Read a historical fiction about him, somewhere along the line...it’s a name that would suit Thranduil well. And Thanadir...that’s an odd one to be sure, but so are lots of the names out there..but the whole idea is to not raise an eyebrow. I’ll have to talk to them, and get them settled on something they can live with.” She snorted. “Elves. Ok tell me something else entertaining Mick did. Did he at least get the tractor running again? And where is he, anyway? Thought it’d be about time to knock off, for him.” 

Earlene noticed that a far larger amount of the locals were starting to filter in, including Ian, who raised his cap to her from across the room as she raised her glass to him.

Ian drifted over with his glass in hand, to have a word, smiling ear to ear. “I’ve just come from your place, Earlene, dropping off more firewood. Your man came out to help, and so did another of his folk I’d not yet met. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought the two of them were on a lover’s spat about who should stack the wood. Forgive me for saying so, but ‘twas more than a bit’v fun to watch.”

Earlene could not stifle a huge smirk. “Ian, there is nothing to forgive, because I can picture that better than you can possibly imagine. You saw Thanadir; that would be Thranduil’s right-hand man, for lack of better words. He is a wonderful soul but a bit...preoccupied with propriety.” She continued to chuckle at the thought of the scene.

“I couldn’t help but notice either, miss, that your man is wearing something new on his hand.” He took in Earlene’s band as well, grinning. “I wish you both happiness, though you’ll pardon me if I’m telling it to you first. I wasn’t feeling quite brave enough to say it to him, what with the little quarrel and all.”

Earlene sincerely thanked him, but with one request. “Have a little pity on me, though, and tell the whole pub after I leave?” she pleaded, her eyes sparkling with good humor. He nodded, grinning, before returning to his mates. Apologetically, Earlene returned her attention to Lorna, who had a peculiar gleam to her smile.

“He did get it fixed, eventually,” Lorna said. “Mind you, he smacked himself in the face with his cast first. He ought to be here sooner or later, once he’s regained his pride.” She raised her mug in greeting to Ian, and promptly choked on her lager at his words. The mental image of Thranduil and Thanadir bickering over a wood pile was almost more than she could handle. At least the pair of them were willing to make themselves useful in practical ways.

Earlene tipped down most of her second drink, after Ian walked away. “I needed that swallow just to help keep the smirk off my face once I get back home,” she sighed. “I’ve got a real soft spot for Thanadir. Back in New York, there was a bailiff, I don’t know what they call them here...basically, the police officer guy that stands about like he’s got a broomstick up his arse, making sure no one mouths off to the judge or does anything else inappropriate in the courtroom. Nothing made him happier than to nit-pick every damn rule, and he drove most of my peers to drink. In fact, I’d wager several bars in Manhattan owed some of their nightly tab to that man. But in a way, he was also cute. It took me some years, but one day I had a long talk with him out in the hallway. And that was when I came to realize, he wasn’t doing it to be an ass. It was just genuinely how he was, he couldn’t help himself. He took so much pride in his job, he truly felt that it was how it all needed to be. And after that, I felt like I sort of liked the guy. Thanadir just...totally reminds me of him. And I suppose I’d better be shoving off pretty soon, don’t want to burn my dinner. Christ, I’ve got ten minutes on my oven timer,” she said, fishing her phone out of her pocket and glancing down at it. With a last swallow, she apologized to Lorna. “I’m sorry to dash off, Lorna. One of these days I’ll get in here without a food curfew.”

“At least you can cook,” Lorna said, laughing a little. “Come back when you’ve got the time.” She already had an idea stewing in her head, one which she’d relay to everyone else who passed through the pub. Thranduil and Earlene might not have had anything like a proper wedding, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a reception. And Irish receptions were...interesting. At the very least, the pair of them would likely wind up entertained, if also rather confused.

******

Earlene's cheeks were flushed from the effort of riding home faster than usual, as she felt a little chagrin. She was only a few minutes past the oven timer on her phone, but still...as she breathlessly clattered into the barn and leaned back against her pedals as she screeched to a halt, she realized to her horror that she'd forgotten to loosen her toe clips. For a moment she balanced as she tried to tug free, cursing herself that she'd tightened them down so hard. But of course she'd tightened them down so hard; she wanted to be able to make top speed coming home.  _Of all the goddamn stupid_....with one last attempt at jerking her foot out, she resigned herself. She was about to  suffer the ultimate toe clip newbie indignity of crashing over on her side, when she felt herself held securely in her husband's arms. 

With her heart pounding in her chest, she was only able to think _Youjustsavedmeandtheroastmightbeburningberightback_ , as she reached down to free the straps and sprinted for the house. To her intense relief, the meat was fine, and she added just a little more water before racing back outside. Vaguely, she marveled that Thanadir had not once looked up. However, she did not see the old elf smile with amusement, once she had flown out of the room. Back at the barn, now thoroughly winded, she embraced Thranduil after looking up at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry about that, and thank you; at the very least you spared me a few bruises by keeping me from falling."

His eyes were twinkling with mirth as he took in her face that was dewy with perspiration and her bright red cheeks. She looked utterly appealing, but he'd already promised himself he'd behave at least until bedtime. With a sigh, he contented himself with one long kiss from her deliciously heated lips. Smiling saucily, she began handing him groceries, starting with the liquor bottles.

"Since you can already see that my visit to town went well, how did you fare with the Internet, my Lord?"

His eyes narrowed, though he smiled. "I will be happy to tell you that, wife, right after you explain to me why you bound your feet to this...bicycle...and almost fell over."

"You were supposed to forget about that," she laughed. "The foot straps allow much more of the rider's energy to be translated into momentum, thereby increasing efficiency. I was supposed to loosen them before arriving at my destination, and, well, you saw how that worked out."

Thranduil chuckled, longing to brush a stray lock of hair from her eyes, but his hands were full. "Regarding the computers, I can see I have much to learn, meluieg, yet the devices are marvelous. We both thank you; it is obvious that we will learn quickly with such help."

Earlene laughed. "You are welcome. Though, I think the next lesson is going to be, how not to use the Internet. Regrettably, the Information Highway has many dead ends and potholes...not all of what you will find out there is true or useful, and it will help if you are shown how to identify legitimate sources of knowledge versus...the other. And some of it, I'm afraid, would permanently ruin poor Thanadir's sensibilities." Earlene grinned. "So how did the firewood go? Ian sends his sincere wishes for our wedded happiness; he saw your golden ring, but felt too shy to tell you himself. Actually, wait. I believe his words were more to the effect that...it did not seem like a good time to mention it."

Thranduil groaned. "I will be honest, Earlene," as his voice dropped in volume. "I have to find a way to...get through to Thanadir. He is not going to be able to make this transition, if he cannot let go of far more of our traditional behaviors. I had thought that I was inflexible, but by comparison I am halfway to being human." He shook his head.

"I wish I could talk to him," Earlene said, hoisting the remaining bags into her arms, "but I am not learning your language nearly fast enough. At my present rate it will be months before I can even have a broken conversation."

"What would you say to him, if you could?" Thranduil asked, curious. 

Reflecting a moment, she tried to find words. "I think I would be kind, but very blunt. I would tell him that even to make a trip into the village, for example just to visit the pub, he will see drunkenness, inappropriate clothing, hear every sort of cuss word, have to interact with uncouth and uneducated people, possibly have people touch both of you whilst exchanging gestures of greeting or social affection, and several other things besides...but at the same time, those are not the things that matter. These are good-hearted people with no sense of propriety, and frankly, part of that is on account of the history here. Why would any of them want to imitate the trappings of courtly behavior, when the very idea of a king is practically poisonous to them? And then multiply what I just said by about fifty, and that is what a trip to one of the great world cities would be like. And in terms of his service to you, he simply has to altogether stop this notion that as king, that he must keep you from participating in the ordinary actions of life because it is beneath your station. He can continue to serve you hand and foot in your Halls, if you both still desire this...but outside, whether it is dishes, offloading firewood, or carrying a drink from the bar, he must allow you to behave as everyone else does without interference. He can be your friend, your caretaker, your guardian, he can watch out for your interests, he can still serve you in many ways...but he has to realize that the way the two of you have interacted all of these long years...while in the outer world, it has to go. And honestly, today was a fine example of why. I won't speak it aloud; you can see in my mind what Ian thought of Thanadir's exchange with you."

Thranduil looked at her as he saw her memory, and groaned even louder. 

Earlene grinned. "All is well, my Lord; I explained, and there is no harm done. But sooner or later, it will attract all the wrong attention. And honestly, in the beginning, it has to come sincerely and kindly from you, I think. You are his King; I am nothing, by comparison. I do not envy you, needing to redefine a relationship as old as human history."

"Older," said Thranduil, ruefully, as they entered the house. 

"Thank you, my Lord," Earlene said, as he placed all the bags on the counter. She suppressed the smirk that wanted to come up, when she saw Thanadir's eyes widen in her peripheral vision, to see his King carrying groceries. The groceries were swiftly stored, as she turned her attention to mixing the batters for the cake and the brown bread. Frowning, she realized that her recipes called for two different oven temperatures by just a few centigrade; she elected to split the difference as she removed the pot roast and increased the heat. Lifting the lid, she sampled the gravy experimentally and was pleased. _Though, why didn't I think of dumplings?_

_Meluieg, you are going mad for anything resembling bread._

_I did warn you, husband._

With a smile, Thranduil returned to what he was reading on the computer. 

Dinner came off magnificently, even by her standards. And if Thranduil noticed that she ate two slices of cake for dessert, he was wise enough not to say anything about it. Especially since, to her great satisfaction, Thanadir had seconds of it as well, which pleased her to no end. A new bottle of wine had been opened, and she sipped appreciatively at the remains of what was in her glass while she cleared away the dishes. It was not that late, and wistfully, she thought about a movie...but it did not seem like a good time.  Everything had been too busy lately, and, she probably should study. Cleanup was so simple now, that she basically didn't have to bother any longer with refrigeration. Covered dishes simply could be placed back in the pantry area. She genuinely wasn't sure why she did keep the unit plugged in, except for that without it, there would be no frozen foods. And one day soon, she would make a trip in just for ice cream so...that settled that.

When she emerged from the pantry to start the little bit of washing up, she found that they were alone, and that Thranduil had about finished the dishes. "Where did Thanadir go?" she asked, surprised. 

"Where Thanadir went, is that a movie with my wife sounded far better than more hours in front of a screen, however educational it is proving to be."

She laughed. "I suppose your rank has its privileges, my Lord. You are content with another of the movies like what we were watching before?"

"Yes, what is this one called?"

Retrieving the remote control, she said slowly, "I will tell you in a moment...it was The Hobbit, something something...An Unexpected Journey. Extended edition, if you wish to be particular. Will you want tea?"

"No, but later it would not be difficult to tempt me with more of...what did you call it? Cocoa?"

"Certainly." She nodded, wondering if he would like chocolate confections, as she readied the movie. He tended the wood stove, and unfolded a blanket, sitting in such a way as to allow her to lie back against him in complete comfort, and covered her. "You are going to completely spoil me," she said, full of appreciation for his fussing.

"Meluieg, I have not even begun to spoil you," he whispered, with a suggestive nip at her earlobe. She did not answer, but flushed with pleasure.

The film's first few minutes were amazing, to her.  She had so many questions. _This takes place before the things we saw in the other films?_

_Yes, by about eighty of your years._

_That place was real? Erebor?_

_Yes, and I am taken aback at how much these...actors... look like those they are portraying._

Earlene's jaw almost hit the floor, because about three minutes in, a dead ringer for her husband appeared in the role of the Elvenking. "Oh, no," she said. "This is worse than I could have imagined. How could they...how is any of this possible?"

_Can you stop it for a moment, meluieg?_

She nodded, and did as he asked. The image froze on a beautiful necklace, that rested on a box filled with diamonds. Earlene was torn between asking what that necklace was, and the shock she'd just received at seeing a likeness far, far too close to Thranduil's on the screen.

_Look at me, Earlene._

Unhesitatingly she turned, to do as he asked. He lifted from her thoughts the reason for her consternation; she now understood that he was far too recognizable. And this, on top of her realization today that were it to become known that his people were _these_ elves, it would create an uproar and a storm of interest, because of the many passionate followers of these stories.

"Thank you, meluieg. Do not fear, Earlene. Remember, I have the ability to affect what others see. That being said, it is invaluable to know about this now, and not later. And, not everything being shown is exactly as it was." He smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I remember this day well; those were jewels that belonged to me; the already half-mad Dwarf-King, Thrain, elected to withhold them as an insult. They are the gems of Lasgalen; heirlooms of my family. Though, the necklace was made by the dwarves; they had been entrusted with the stones and hired to create the necklace for Alassëa. But long before this fiasco was ever settled, she left for the Undying Lands. Needless to say, the transaction did not go according to plan. But that," he gestured at the image on the screen, "is not what the necklace looked like, at all."

"What did it look like, Thranduil?" she asked, curious. "I am sure it was very beautiful?"

"Indeed, meluieg; it was and it is." 

"You are not going to tell me?" she asked, wondering if she was overstepping some kind of boundary or subject about which she should not ask.

Shaking his head, he smiled, for he loved that her heart could be so free from greed. "Meluieg, you are wearing it. The Necklace of Lasgalen is around your throat."

Her eyes widened and she went pale. She had known that it was valuable, and old, but...this... 

"Earlene," he whispered, drawing her to him. "I did not mean for this to upset you, meluieg. There is something you should know. I made the mistake, once, of valuing these gems more than the ones I loved, and who loved me. I will never be so foolish again. The necklace is a thing, albeit a valuable and beautiful thing. You mean more to me than it ever possibly could, and it gives me great joy to know that you wear it, and that it protects you when I cannot be at your side. Can you understand this?"

After nodding her head against him, she took his hand before she looked up. "I am sorry for my reaction. It is that I was not prepared to hear something like that. I hope you can understand, too, that I am a common person. Or, I was, before I found myself with you. I am not unfamiliar with wealth and privilege, but not like this. There will still be some things that overwhelm me, and I ask for your patience." She kissed his hand. 

"Of course, sweet one, and I do understand, more all the time; your world is just as overwhelming to me." He gestured for her to continue the film.

As she did so, she sighed. _I wonder if you have any idea how beautiful you are._

He chuckled. _I am glad you think so._  He chuckled harder, when he felt her elbow in his ribs.

He was more or less quiet for a long time; they both were, though she began to register the clucking noises he made to indicate that dwarves were perhaps not his favorites among the former races of his world. But there was a spark of interest when the wizard brought swords from a troll cave, and more interest alternating with snorts of indignation when the dwarves visited Imladris. 

When Bilbo came upon the Ring in Gollum's cave, he almost tipped Earlene over, raving about "THAT'S HOW HE DID IT!"  at which point she paused the film again, declaring that she was making cocoa, and what did he want in it? By way of distraction, she gave him a shot of whisky, as well as sufficient samples of the four new selections she'd brought home (which amounted to bourbon, peppermint schnapps, Grand Marnier, and Frangelico). She somewhat desperately hoped that he would not like the last one too much, as it was her favorite. It was actually a relief, when he chose the peppermint. It was far less expensive; and while not exactly something to "get ossified" on, as the locals would say, it made for a fabulous cup of hot cocoa. 

Resettled, with drinks in hand, they sipped their way through the remainder of the film. Earlene thought the orcs in general, and Azog in particular, were awful. 

"He was at that. Awful. I was not sorry when he met his end, though I am sorry about the price that was paid." He sighed. "I can guess I will see more of me in the next movie, Earlene. This film has ended in a location not far from the borders of what was once my great forest realm."

Something in his voice made her look at him more carefully. He looked her in the eyes. "I told you once that I was not always as I am now, that I was colder, bitter, more selfish. I can take a guess that what will be shown was of that time in my life. I think, I hope, I have changed a great deal, and that you can think better of me."

"Thranduil, I already think highly of you. Unless you are trying to prepare me for something depicting you as a baby murderer, I cannot imagine that anything I see here will change that opinion."

His eyes widened. "No, nothing like that," he said, with a faint smile.

"I didn't think so," she said, sipping her cocoa as she looked at his lovely eyes, and vaguely thinking about another piece of cake.

He laughed. "No more cake, sweet one, until tomorrow. I can see that this is a trial for you, and I will help make sure you eat properly. You are usually so careful, about eating well...this happens every month, on the day of your bleeding?"

She nodded, swallowing the last of her cocoa. "Usually, for two days." Laughing, she said "So please do not be too unkind to me, when breakfast tomorrow turns into frosted cinnamon rolls."

With a sparkle in his eye, he said "I will make eggs, and slice fruit as well. Then I will agree to your frosted cinnamon rolls." 

"Yes, my King," she said, amused. Everything was turned off, and she at least ensured that she brushed her teeth, not knowing if cavity prevention was among his talents. Though, she reasoned, it probably was; his teeth were flawless.

As she returned from the bathroom, her lips parted at the sight. Would she ever find it ordinary, that Adonis himself invited her to join him in bed? _I sincerely hope not_ , she thought, disrobing. He switched off the light as she climbed in next to him, and he pulled her to him. 

 _You were kind to me today, Earlene, and I am very grateful. I was not prepared to bury the emotions that came on the heels of all the things that went through your mind, about my father. There is not really that much to tell, but if you still wish to know..._ he trailed off.

_Of course I wish to know, if it is still something that can grieve you all these many years later. It isn't like there are too many choices on the checklist, Thranduil. It is obvious to me that you were abused; the only question is the manner in which it was done. You have already told me that mental abuse occurred. That only leaves physical or sexual abuse, and given the nature of your race, I would guess the former._

He was silent, for a time. _I had forgotten, that you have an extraordinary ability to analyze. It helps. It makes this easier to say. Earlene, I...never spoke of this, to Alassëa. I loved her, very much, but our love was different. I believed I should not appear weak, to my wife, who saw me first as a King. She did not see as you see, or think as you think. And yet it is more than time, that I told someone._

_My father was an able enough king, but at home, he was a tyrant. I was a spirited youth, but I was never bad, Earlene. And yet my face met the back of his hand more times than I can even count. It was as if he wished me to be a...slave, utterly bent to his will. To ask a wrong question, to speak a wrong word, for him to imagine that the wrong expression was on my features; any of those things could invite him to strike me. There were a few times, when it was much worse, and one occasion that almost tore my family apart. I broke under the strain of living with his demands from time to time and would speak out against him, and each of those occasions resulted in being beaten with a stick badly enough that I could not leave my bed for at least three days. The healers would tend me, but dared say nothing to him. I think it is safe to say that what the household of the king knew of my life versus what of the rest of the elven realm imagined were two very different things._

_He did not hit my mother, that I ever saw; but he dominated her, and she was afraid of him. Mostly, she looked the other way, at how he treated me. I know that she cared on some level, but she could not bring herself to interfere. She always seemed so...sad. But one day, I was being beaten, and she came in to witness it. I heard her speak in a voice I had never heard before. She told him that if he did not stop at once, she would leave him, and petition the Valar for the dissolution of their bond. And that if she ever saw the like of this again, that she would also leave. I raised my head to see rage written on her face like never before. Nothing was ever said, and that day was never spoken of, but my father never raised his hand against me afterward. When my father was killed, I did not grieve for him. I hated him, Earlene. But I did, and still do, grieve for the loss of having had a father. I loved my own son, and I could not have dreamed of treating him as I was treated. I will never understand. Mostly I have made myself forget, but there are times...as you saw._

She reached her hand to caress his face. _I hope he met some kind of justice, however it works with elves, for what he did. In my world, what he did is a serious crime, and he would have gone to prison. In prison, those who abuse children are not viewed kindly. Even among criminals, it is considered to be one of the most cowardly and pathetic things that one person can do to another; to terrorize and injure a child, someone powerless and weaker than the perpetrator. And so the justice that often occurs is that once behind bars, those abusers are abused by other prisoners in ways that are... truly horrible.  I am only glad that I will never lay eyes on your father, because I would probably want to do something very illegal to him. I am so, so sorry for what you have endured. I feel very sad, that I cannot erase what happened to you, or help you as you have helped me. I can only tell you that I love you, and deeply admire you, for having survived this with your ability to love another intact._

Their arms slid around each other as he held her tightly. _Thank you, for listening, and for your words. I believe you. In your own way, I believe you would do anything you could to defend me from harm._

_That is what people who are family are supposed to do for each other. While I applaud your mother for helping you eventually, she acted much too late, and I blame her as well. If I saw that being done to a child of mine...I think it is best that I stop thinking about this, if I can. I will only get angrier, and my being angry does neither of us any good._

She felt him pulsing against her, and pushed herself against him more firmly. _I think I can better serve you otherwise, just now. Please._

 _You enjoyed earlier today, in the kitchen?_ he asked softly.

_Too much._

_Give me two of the pillows_ , she heard. In a moment, he had her on her belly, with the pillows underneath her hips and waist, still snug under the covers. He rubbed and massaged her lower back and bottom until she felt rather desperate in her want of him; suspecting that he was probably using his many unfair talents to add pleasure to his touch.

 _Earlene, you will tell me right away, if I am too rough?_ he asked, with a note of pleading.

_Yes._

He entered her, and she inhaled sharply as she realized that this felt even better than the kitchen. Her hands sought something to hold onto, and he wrapped his arm under her collarbones, providing it to her. 

 _Wait,_ he said. She felt the necklace being removed, and heard him place it next to her, before returning his arm to below her throat. He did not want to painfully press the jewelry into her skin. He began slowly, with her body held by his in a viselike grip. The only thing she could do was cling to his hand and forearm. The back of her neck was exposed to him, as were her ears, that he seemed to like to bite gently. The pleasure from his movements was incomparable; this was a new definition of feeling that her body was being dominated by his. As his passion increased, he moved more vigorously, more roughly; his thrusts were hard. Only once did she gasp because of discomfort, and he immediately adjusted his motions. She moaned from the stimulation that felt so incredibly good, but did not feel like she was building toward a release. 

Until, that is, he slid the arm that held her waist a little so that his hand met her center of pleasure. Now, with every thrust into her, her nub was sliding against one of his fingers. It was not long after this added enhancement began, before she knew she could not last much longer. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped him with all her strength, as she sensed she was past the point of no return. As her intense pleasure unfolded, she marveled. _My God, it really is possible to see stars_. With a final thrust, he followed her, speaking her name in a shuddering voice. As she subsided, she felt aglow in the second part of her experience; feeling his essence move through her, strengthening her bond to him. Though she had never been religious, she wondered if experiences like this were what religious people believed in. It felt...sacred, between them. _I am so happy to have you, Thranduil. Gin melin._

 _As am I, meluieg._ She felt him kiss the back of her neck tenderly as he withdrew, and a moment later felt the necklace being clasped back into place. He pulled her against him, and against her back she could feel the steady beating of his heart, as she blissfully faded into sleep.


	17. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 6, 2016  
> The Taoiseach is the Prime Minister of Ireland, for those who do not know.   
> Sincere thanks to the Sindarin FB group, for grammar-checking so many of the expressions used here.

It was still dark, when Earlene woke. Thranduil had turned away from her as they slept, and for awhile she listened to the regular sound of his breathing, hoping that it might lull her once again to sleep. It did not. Carefully she rose so as not to wake him, and silently bundled clothes into her arms to take to the front room. Dressing and doing her best to add wood to the stove without making a complete racket, she poked the reluctant fire back to life. Next she put water on for tea, keeping the heat low enough so that she could have plenty of time to react before the kettle had a chance to shriek. She snuck back through the bedroom to the office to retrieve her yoga mat, and silently closed the bedroom door behind her. It had been awhile since she had pursued anything resembling her former fitness routines, and she had a sneaking suspicion that her newfound sex life was not exactly an acceptable substitute for strengthening and aerobic activities.

After sipping down enough of her tea, she began with the sun salutations, slowly transitioning from the easier positions to the more demanding ones. The better part of an hour later, light was coming into the sky and she felt energized. A run sounded delightful, and she would yet have plenty of time for the cinnamon rolls she had envisioned...especially if she mixed the dough now and allowed it to rise while she was out. Quickly this was accomplished, only with a mixing bowl and wooden spoon and kneading, as she did not wish to wake Thranduil by using the food processor. The dough was set to rise in an oiled bowl.

Returning silently to the bedroom, she found her running clothes and shoes and changed into them outside. Reasoning that if he woke before her return he could hear her anywhere inside of his realm, she elected to run in the forest. The paths they had walked on recently, the day he told her of their marriage, seemed quite nice. As she pocketed her smartphone and earbuds, it crossed her mind that for the first time in her life, she could leave behind her mace and her whistle. Or could she? While she could not for the life of her see why either would be needed, a nearly superstitious attachment to them caused her to keep the small items on her body.

With a smile of anticipation, she was soon tracking with very little sound in an eastern direction. It did not take long before her thoughts were far away. The last time she had gone for a decent run was in Central Park, and that now seemed like a lifetime ago.  Here and there, she hopped over a downed limb or avoided a rocky outcropping, but largely was pleased to find that the paths were easy. Where the elevation changed, it did so gently. At one point she encountered flowing water, and hesitated. He had said something, she thought, about not touching water in the forest? Rather than risk some strange consequence, she decided to simply turn back. It had been about thirty-five minutes, and as she had wanted an hour's run, this was far enough.

The sun had now risen, and sit surprised her to find that whereas before all had been clear, mists were filling the air. But the path, game trail, (whatever it was) seemed plain enough, and she kept on, both intrigued with and charmed by the sudden change in the forest. It had its own strange beauty, and the buds could be seen swelling on the bare trees that would soon break their dormancy. As she ran and listened to her music, she frowned to realize that they mists were thickening. Looking at her phone, she swallowed. Another forty minutes had elapsed; she should have emerged back at her home by now. The sun was not above the trees, and regardless was obscured. Pausing the music, she removed the earbuds in order to listen; the woods around her were as still as a graveyard. 

Sighing in frustration, she looked at the phone. No signal, and no surprise. But she had a compass app, and activated it. To her dismay, it told her that she had been running to the north, not west. _I should have been using this from the outset_ , she berated herself. _I have become lost, and now I need to get un-lost. Think, Earlene._

In her mind, she tried to recall the location of her home against the map of Lasg'len forest. It lay on the western edge, and at least in the beginning, she would have been heading east. Somewhere along the line she had turned north instead of west; realistically around the time she had attempted to return. In theory, if she turned southwest, she would at least improve her circumstances. Orienting herself in the correct direction, she looked out only to see that her visibility was now all of ten feet and dropping; this was pea-soup fog. She shook her head with a sigh. _This is how people get hurt. Do not add one problem to another._ _But I need to move; if I stop completely I will grow cold quickly. And it is beyond time to ask for help._ "Thranduil? Can you hear me?" Silence. But the she recalled what he'd said about hearing her the day she'd had strong emotions in her thoughts, even when he was at his Halls. And truthfully, she was becoming concerned about her predicament. Focusing, she tried again, with far more feeling. "Thranduil, please, I need help!" 

 _Earlene_ , she heard with bottomless relief, _what are you doing in the forest?_

_Wishing I was back in my kitchen, if you must know. Please,  my Lord, I am lost and becoming cold, and I would like to be un-lost and warm. I have a compass, if I could be told for certain what direction to go?_

_Thanadir is very near to you, Earlene. Stay where you are, and shortly he will be there to guide you home._

_Yes, my Lord._ She buried her face in her hands, torn between knowing that Thanadir had seen her all but naked already, and the fact that she would not ever choose to appear in front of the seneschal wearing skin-tight running clothes that left little to the imagination. _It does not matter_ , she told herself, _this is not a fashion show._ And when he finally did appear through the mists, she hurried to him and bowed her head very deeply.

"Your Excellency, thank you, so very much," she said, her voice unsteady with relief. Though she tried not to give way to fear, she did not like fog and mists. It was probably a permanent fact of her life that anything with an even vaguely similar appearance to the grey clouds of dust from...that day...would always be at least an evil reminder.

She risked meeting his eyes and found warmth there. "You are welcome, Earlene," he said kindly. "Are you..." he paused, frowning, struggling to choose a word, and opting  for something simpler. "Are you well?" he asked instead.

"Yes, now that you are here," she said smiling and bowing her head again. Though she knew she was no longer required to show him so much deference, it would be a habit that would be difficult to break. And truthfully, she did not mind. To her reasoning, any of the immortal elves deserved her respect. Whether he sensed her distress, or was simply being politely efficient, he offered his arm to her, and she gratefully took it.  

"Nerim?" he asked her, only to see a look of bewilderment cross her face. He looked like he was thinking very hard, and then said, "Noro....nerim?" and gestured oddly with his fingers in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Thing from the Addams Family running down the hall. 

 _Running down the hall_...with a flash, she thought she understood, and released his arm long enough to run a few steps, questioning back to him "...nerim?" (we run?)

With the first laugh she had ever heard from him, he smiled and answered, "Yes," and offered his arm again. The relief they both felt at this minor victory of communication was obvious. She ran easily at his side, as he allowed her to set the pace but guided her as to direction. Immediately it was obvious that her deductions with the compass had not been entirely correct; he chose a much more southerly course. How he knew where he was in the swirling mists, much less his direction, was beyond her. To her surprise, he spoke again, though his words were spoken slowly, and halting. "With the computer I have learned many new words. May I speak to you? I need..." he frowned "...practice." He pronounced the last word as prak TIZE, which initially puzzled her.

"Practice," she gently corrected. "Yes, you may speak to me, to practice," she said slowly and clearly, pausing afterward. With her heart in her throat, certain she was about to make a complete fool of herself, she forced the words from her mouth. "i lam Thindrim...íd gordh. Nathathol aen nin?"  (Sindarin is very difficult. Would you help me?)

Thanadir gazed down at her with eyes just as ancient and full of depth as those of his King. "i lam Thindrim gordh íd," he said, repeating the sentence back to her with the proper word order. "I will help you, Earlene. We will help each other." They ran on in silence after that, until at last they emerged from the forest in foggy sight of her home. Filled with gratitude toward the elf, she placed her hand over her heart and bowed to him again before they entered.

"Annon allen, Thanadir." Opening the door, in a moment she was embraced by Thranduil. "And thank you also, my Lord," she said softly.

Thranduil's eyebrows raised, at seeing her attire.

"I apologize to both of you," she said, looking from the seneschal to her husband. "This is what many humans wear for exercising; the fabric is specially made for this purpose. It was not my intention to be seen wearing these clothes.  And I do not have the skill to say this to Thanadir, who was gracious enough to not comment on my appearance. Please excuse me so that I can change, and then I will see to breakfast." 

Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the bedroom, while she heard Thranduil speaking in Sindarin that was as usual too rapid to be understood by her.  Feeling contrite enough to don a dress, she chose a long sleeve cotton shirt, leggings and a plaid calf-length woolen jumper. _An American jumper dress, not the Irish kind_ , she thought with amusement. She also freed her hair of its ponytail, quickly combing it. Emerging from the room, she found her apron, though it did not escape her notice that the King's eyes softened, to see what she wore. Though she still thought it was silly, he so obviously strongly preferred to see her wear skirts. And she did not mind indulging him...as long as it was not all of the time. To her great relief, the dough for the cinnamon rolls was just risen perfectly, and was not the over-proofed and overflowing mess she feared she might encounter.

"Earlene, will you tell me what happened to you? Why did you enter the woods alone?"

She felt a little confused at the question, wondering why he asked when he could read her mind, but answered with respect. "I woke very early, my Lord, unable to sleep longer. It had been many days since I exercised as has been my habit. Here I practiced yoga, but then I wanted to run also. I thought I would be safer in the woods and ran what I thought was east, for a half hour, and came to water. I recalled your warning and decided to turn around and return, rather than risk touching the water. But then fog came, that worsened slowly. I ran for another half hour and realized that I had lost my way when I did not arrive here, and my compass told me I was going the wrong direction. The fog became very dense and I did not wish to risk injury. That was when I called to you for help. If I have done wrong, I am sorry."

"You did not do anything wrong, Earlene; and now I understand. But because I did not know you intended to do this, you fell victim to the defenses set in place. The forest lies under many enchantments; one of those is designed to cause any mortal to become swiftly lost. You were wise to call for me; had you kept on your predicament would have worsened. I will make changes, so that this will not happen to you again. At least, not on account of enchantment." 

She smiled. "I have much to learn. I thought it was strange, that such a dense fog had come."

Thranduil frowned. "The fog is not my doing; that is merely the weather."

"Oh. But...does your...whatever it is you do, it can defy a compass? I would still have become lost, even if I used it the entire time?"

"Given that I do not seem know the meaning of this word in the way you are using it, perhaps I should ask you to explain, meluieg," he said. 

Fishing out her phone once again, she showed him. "Normal ones are separate handheld devices, but now that everyone more or less has smartphones...."

"How is this used?" he asked, fascinated. He beckoned for Thanadir to look as well. "Tolo, Thanadir."

"Like every compass, my Lord. It aligns with the magnetic field of this world, and allows the bearer to orient themselves. The idea is to use it so that the needle aligns with north, like so, and then the user can determine their direction of travel based on this."

He frowned mightily. "And this is a common device?"

"Yes and no, my Lord. It is extremely common among any who have some outdoor skills or understand any manner of navigation. But I would hazard it would also not be difficult to find someone who did not know how to use one."

"Soon, we will duplicate your run in my forest, Earlene. I would know whether or not my enchantments can defeat this device. And you may now return to your cinnamon rolls," he teased. 

"You are generous and gracious, my King," she dished back, smiling. "Lasguil, Thanadir, i Aran nîn?" (Tea?)

Seeing that both heads nodded, she set the kettle on after filling it, before turning to the concoction of cinnamon and butter and brown sugar that she spread over her rolled rectangle of dough. _I could save time and just spoon the sugar into my mouth_ , she reasoned, popping a solidified chunk of brown sugar onto her tongue. Soon lovely pinwheels of tightly rolled dough were arranged in round pans, and in the oven. _Now for frosting..._

Quietly, Thranduil had watched this production as he sipped his tea. Apparently deciding he'd seen enough, he  cracked eggs and scrambled them before he gathered apples and bananas as well as a can of pears from the pantry, and began slicing. Earlene knew that it was a not very subtle hint about the nutritional merit of her rolls, but elected to say nothing. Until the banana. "My Lord," she said with respect and a kind smile, "It is customary to peel that fruit before slicing it. And I promise you, that this will be the last day I will be preparing such as this for breakfast for awhile."

Thranduil paused, considering her words, but then laid down the knife and peeled the banana before continuing. "Allon annen, bess." (wife)

Not to be outdone, she responded. "Glaiss, hervenn." (husband) The fun of this was, to her, that he did not know which words she had learned to date... or not.

Seeing that her husband was busy cooking eggs and that she had some extra time, she came around the counter to indulge her curiosity regarding what Thanadir was doing. It only took a few moments to conclude that he was reverse engineering yet another website that taught Sindarin grammar, so as to learn the English. While this was useful in a way, it would give him only an academic understanding of English. With a sigh, she realized... _Thanadir needed television._ _But what?_

She considered carefully concerning what could teach him, about what would best impart the complexity of  modern humans. _May the powers forgive me, there is only one clear choice_ , she thought. This would teach him English,  but would also explain the best and worst of who they were as humans. Turning on the television, she went to her Amazon Prime membership, and searched.  Both ellyn looked up to see the triumph written on her face as the television loudly intoned, " _Space, the Final Frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise..._ " and then Earlene paused it, handing Thanadir the remote. "This television show is set to play with subtitles, and will help Thanadir by allowing him to hear spoken English. I would like that we watch these together, perhaps one episode on most days.  But it is for you also, Thranduil, to understand much more about humans. You will have to explain many of the words to Thanadir, at first."

Thranduil looked at her in disbelief. "Starship? Space? Earlene, what is this about, exactly?"

"It is an imaginary setting hundreds of years from now, based on the idea of a creative man. He envisioned a world in which humans had solved their worst problems and built a magnificent future for themselves, traveling to outer space to explore and learn. But the adventures in these episodes were a device by which to try to educate people living in the modern world to reconsider their very real fears and prejudices. If you wish to understand human nature, I cannot think of a better place to start." She crossed her arms over her chest, as she concluded her short speech. 

Looking helplessly at his seneschal, he began to translate, but was interrupted. "Forgive me, my Lord, for my rudeness. But I beg you; I too need to learn, and it would help me greatly if you would speak slower and more clearly, so that I might have a chance to understand some of your words. If you would be willing." Each word was spoken carefully, for Thanadir's benefit. 

His gaze was expressionless, as he considered what she had said. He did not answer, but started over, speaking much slower. "Earlene pêd, boe pedin úlim..." (Earlene says, I must speak slowly...) 

Her heart filled with thanks for this concession, and as he saw her gratitude it more than made up for what felt like a test of his patience. The kitchen timer jangled, and the rolls were done. "Se mann melui íd," (this food is very sweet) she announced to anyone who cared to know, as she brought the pans out to cool for a few moments. 

Much to her surprise, she heard Thanadir, as she fussed with removing the rolls from the pans so that she could frost them. "Aníron madd melui," (I like sweet food). Raising her eyes, she smiled at the seneschal openly, forgetting anything resembling manners. A part of her could have kissed him.

"Belain, natho nin!" rumbled Thranduil. (Valar, save me!)

Earlene did not understand these words, and wondered why a pained look had come over Thanadir's face. "What did you say to him?" she frowned, as she stirred the vanilla extract into the frosting. 

Thranduil told her, and her frown deepened. 

 _He has served you faithfully for thousands of years, and you are going to make him feel bad for liking cinnamon rolls?_ she accused, feeling suddenly volatile. Aloud she said, "Please excuse me, I will return shortly." Before any further comment could be made, she dashed off to the barn, where she stood leaning against one of the workbenches. Her sudden irritation was not expected, and she was trying to understand. And, the emotion frightened her. The last time she had become angry around Thranduil, it had been disastrous. And though this did not seem the same as that moment of blind rage, neither did she feel like herself. _I should apologize_ , she thought. _It is not for me to say how a King speaks to his subjects, and what I said is not how a subject should have spoken to a King, even in thought. Why am I feeling this way?_ As the minutes wore on, her reflections brought her no answers.

"Earlene." 

At hearing his voice, she turned to face him, dropping her head. "Please pardon me, Thranduil.  I am sorry."

He pulled her close. "You are sorry for pointing out something that was true, meluieg? Please come back with me, so that we can all eat. I have apologized to Thanadir. And after we eat, all three of us are going to have an overdue conversation, however long it takes on account of the language barrier." 

More confused than before, she did as he asked, and let herself be steered back to the house. Feeling suddenly weary, she did not enjoy her breakfast treat as she had hoped to, though she took some consolation in watching Thanadir do serious damage to one of the pans of rolls. At one point, she nudged the extra frosting toward him when she refilled her tea mug. Seeing that she had only taken two bites of her own roll and nibbled at a few pieces of fruit, Thranduil sighed as he rose from his seat to go to the pantry. Returning with the bottle of Frangelico, he tipped a generous measure into her tea mug before she could object. She smiled weakly at the resolute look on his face, which indicated in no uncertain terms that she was to consume the beverage. _Yes, my Lord_ , she spoke to him silently, as she caught the barely perceptible nod of his head.

"If you cannot eat any more, Earlene, please take your tea and sit on the sofa. Thanadir, tolo, havo dad," he said, indicating for the other elf to come and sit down as well. Tending the fire first, he sandwiched Earlene between himself and Thanadir. Though it embarrassed her a little bit, she did not protest when he unfolded some of the blanket and placed it over her lap, to keep her warm. And as he began to speak with careful enunciation, he stopped every two sentences to repeat everything back in translation for his seneschal. 

"We must all be clear, on how matters must be between us, from now on. Things cannot remain the same. Thanadir, you have served me as your ruler for countless years. And Earlene, you have served me for only days, and now you find yourself bound to me in marriage. For both of you, great change has come upon you swiftly, and both of you have an impediment to navigating this change. That problem is...me. Thanadir, your problem with me is that for long ages, our roles were clear. King and trusted servant. Earlene, your problem is that in the short time you have known me I have been a disembodied voice, a seducer, a lover, a demanding ruler, and now I am your husband; you are trying to keep up and can hardly manage. 

We are on the verge of guiding our people into an alliance, however minimal, with the world of men when this has not been the case since early in the Fourth Age of  Middle Earth. If we are to succeed on behalf of those still emerging from having faded, we must first succeed ourselves. And Thanadir, this will be hardest on you. From this moment forward, when we are not in our Halls, we must all relate to each other differently. I can no longer be King; I must be more like...a head of household. I expect that we will treat each other with the courtesy of family, for that is what we indeed are, and I love both of you. I cannot have you, Thanadir, treating me like royalty in a world that despises the very word, any more than I can have you, Earlene, afraid to speak your heart to me because you tell yourself that it is not your place as my subject. We can leave these manners intact only for where they will truly belong...behind the Great Gates of my realm."

Although Earlene understood both his words and the reason, having more or less suggested this very speech herself, she found that it came as a blow, of sorts. Her lips parted as she sipped at the tea. While she was fighting to keep a level demeanor, it seemed like her confusion had worsened, because now the foundation of how she related to him was being moved from under her. Her body, mind, and heart had been changed to bend to his will but now...that part of her was to be set aside? Glancing up at Thanadir, she saw her own feelings reflected in his face with magnitudes of greater intensity, and her heart went out to him in pity. Rising, she mumbled to please give her a moment, as she went to find Thanadir's own mug. Adding some hot tea and a lot of the sweet hazelnut liquor, she returned to her seat. Reaching to gently take the seneschal's hand, she pressed the beverage into it with eyes full of empathy before she began mechanically sipping at her drink once again. If it felt this hard for her, she could only imagine what the one seated next to her was processing.  

Earlene spoke first, slowly. Her back was partly turned to Thranduil, as she looked at nothing in particular while she tried to frame her words. "I will do as you ask, Thranduil. Now that it is upon me, though, it feels very hard. Even though I am not supposed to have understood serving a King because of not having lived this way before, this feels like...a sacrifice. Please be patient with me. I will not call you my King, or my Lord here any longer, and I will try to speak to you as I do anyone else, but..." she trailed off, as tears she did not expect spilled down her cheeks. 

Unbeknownst to her, this heartfelt response transformed everything, for Thanadir. He understood far more words than Earlene could have imagined, having devoured text with his flawless memory. As he watched his King's mortal wife struggling through her determination to obey his wishes, through grief that echoed his own far greater pain, strength and resolve filled him. If she in her human frailty could do this, so could he. Unaware of all of this, Earlene gasped in surprise when she felt the gentle brush of Thanadir's fingers against her face, as he used the fabric of his long sleeves to dry her tears. The seneschal spoke slowly, in English. "I also will do as you ask, Thranduil. In long ages, I have not ever once spoken you like this, because my love and respect for you could not permit it. You are my King, and if this is your wish I will obey you. I too ask for your patience, as I do my best to follow the example of your queen."

Thranduil did not know what he had expected, but this was not it. Thanadir's words provoked a fresh round of tears in Earlene's eyes that pooled but did not fall, as she blinked them back. "We will manage, together," Thranduil said softly. "That you will both to try to make this change brings joy to my heart." Two faces that were barely managing to smile looked back at him, as Thanadir, now understanding the value of his adulterated mug of tea, began to drink it down in earnest. No one spoke further, which is why the knock that came from the front door seemed so very loud. Earlene frowned, not expecting any further deliveries. 

"We are being paid a visit by Lorna," said Thranduil. "Would you like me to get the door, to give you another moment, meluieg?"

"Please," Earlene whispered, not sure if she was at all in a frame of mind to see her friend just now...but she would have to make the best of it. Looking blankly at Thanadir, she tried to summon resolve she did not feel. 

He surprised her again. "Mellonenin, my queen" (You are my friend) he said to her softly, taking her hand long enough to squeeze it gently in reassurance. 

Her eyes widened as the weight of the compliment settled over her. "Mellonenin...Your Excellency," she said, at equally low volume. Their shared difficulty found its perfect expression in this small moment of humor, as they both smiled widely at this strange camaraderie in the midst of their unwanted circumstances. "Thank you, Thanadir," she said, suddenly feeling like she might survive this visit after all. Rising, she turned to greet her friend. "Lorna! It is so nice to see you, would you like cinnamon rolls? And tea? I made frosting...."

Lorna had pondered calling ahead, but realized that she’d got Earlene’s email without ever asking for her phone number. She set out anyway, figuring that even if Earlene was busy, a walk in the fresh air was never a bad thing. Her news wouldn’t take long to relay, though her idea would take rather longer.

The scent of cinnamon rolls was almost enough to make her actually drool. She hadn’t had proper cinnamon rolls since she came to the village, given that she’d been spoiled by her sister’s and few others could compare. “You’re a saint, Earlene,” she said, stepping through the door and inhaling deeply. “Good to see all’v you, because I’ve got news. You’re already married, but it’d be remiss as hell’v us -- the village, I mean -- to not give you a party. I’ve got my sister planning out a wedding cake, though I didn’t tell her who exactly it was for. It’d be a good chance to see us all in our...er, glory,” she added, glancing at Thranduil and Thanadir. If they could handle Lasg’len at its most Irish, they could handle anything else it might have to throw at them. Being around that many ossified humans would be -- well, it would be an experience. Whatever they might make of it, they were certainly unlikely to be bored.

Earlene quickly moved to place two rolls on a plate, and popped then into the microwave for those few seconds needed to restore the perfect warmth and gooey-ness to the confections, as a smile spread over her face. “Lorna, we would love that! A party...that is so incredibly kind of you.” She was speaking with unusual slowness. “I should explain, we are all making an effort to speak like this, for learning. I am trying to learn their language, Thanadir is working on his English, and no one is getting anywhere when we speak at normal speed.”

Thranduil chimed in. “And my impatience is struggling, desperately, but even I have to agree this is necessary. Though Earlene is insisting we watch this...Star Trek. Do you know this...program, Lorna? I am not convinced that this is a good use of time.”

Earlene, for her part, thought she was doing a royally wonderful job of not looking like she wanted to throttle her husband. Suddenly, all her appetites reversed, and she reheated her own cinnamon roll, and then added a heaping blob of frosting.

Lorna could try to speak more slowly, but she knew how difficult her accent could be to understand even for native English speakers -- hell, even other Irish people sometimes had a hard time of it. “You’re part’v this village,” she said, as carefully as she could. “They’ve taken you in whether you want them to or not, and that includes celebrating things with you.”

She took a bite of cinnamon roll, and shut her eyes. These were every bit as good as Mairead’s, and that was really saying something. She could never tell her sister this, or Mairead would die of jealousy. “Star Trek?” she asked, opening her eyes. “Star Trek’s bloody grand. It’s -- well, it’s what humans could be, if we could get over ourselves and actually get something done. There’s fifty years’v it, too, and if you really want to sit and read into it, you can see a lot’v actual history. It’s always tackled shite that was around when it was made, if you get my meaning, like racism and the Cold War and all that.” Oh God, what were the Elves going to make of human history, once they knew more of it? They’d probably be completely appalled. “My nieces and nephews and I sat and watched all the series and movies over a couple long winters. So much’v fiction takes a pretty dim view’v humanity, but Star Trek’s lasted so long because it does the opposite.” Okay, she could get a little passionate about the subject. Her first exposure to it had been in prison, and it had been one of the earliest things to make her stop and think about the fact that the world didn’t always have to be shite. Sure, some of it was bloody silly, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “Besides, it’s entertaining.”

Earlene did not even bother to stifle the insufferable expression of satisfaction that spread over her face. When Thranduil looked at her, his eyes narrowing, innocence spread over her features. “These rolls really did turn out well, didn't they?” she asked him, fully determined to pretend that her enjoyment was not ninety percent Lorna’s comment, and maybe ten percent anything to do with her baking. “But as for the Star Trek, all I ask is that you give it a chance, Thranduil. You will learn more than you think you will, I promise you. And besides, I want to hear more about the party.”

To everyone’s shock, Thanadir spoke. “I will help, if I can. Is there something I can do?” Earlene’s lips parted, as she sincerely had no idea how an elf could possibly help plan an Irish wedding celebration.

“They’re bloody fantastic,” Lorna said, forcing herself not to eat the thing in three bites. Her own cooking could be described as serviceable at best; she couldn’t have hoped to concoct anything this tasty on her own. “As to Star Trek, you won’t regret it. Trust me.”

She blinked at Thanadir’s question. She appreciated the offer, but just how much English did he understand? It might well prove too frustrating for him, and she could hardly blame him for it if it did. Trying to follow instructions you couldn’t understand was a recipe for disaster. Maybe, though… “If I show you how to make something, you can repeat it, right?” she asked, slowly and carefully. She wanted to make ribbon rosettes, but she didn’t have the time to do them herself, and nobody else in the village knew how. Her gran had showed her, one wet winter evening the first year she’d lived in Baile.

Thanadir turned to Lorna, actually smiling. “Yes, I can. Please show me?”

Earlene spoke to Thranduil in her mind. _Did you tell him to do this? I would never have guessed._

_No, meluieg, I did not tell him._

_He is trying, very hard, Thranduil. I hope he survives Lorna._

Earlene saw her husband grin. _In times gone by, Thanadir was a renowned warrior. Now he must gain another kind of victory. Have faith in him._

_I do have faith in him. It is his sensibilities, that concern me._

This little conversation was interrupted by Lorna. “I can,” she said. “I’ve not got the ribbon with me, but I can bring it by later. My gran -- my mother’s mother -- taught me them. It’ll be a grand help to me, that’s for sure.” Privately, she wondered just how well he’d be able to get on -- his hands were quite a bit larger than hers -- but she doubted Elves half-assed anything. He’d muddle through. “I’ve got an idea, you two,” she added, looking from him to Thranduil. “About getting you legal identities. My da’s mam, she was Romani -- the Romani used to travel about a lot, and some still do. They’d not always give birth in hospital, so they wouldn’t have a birth certificate to identify them with, but there’s hoops you can jump through to establish identity as an adult. It’s a bit weird, and not necessarily easy, but I’ve a friend that owes me a favor. She’s a solicitor, but a bit’v a shady one, if you take my meaning. She’d help, if I asked her right. Thanadir, you’d need semi-fluent English first, and the pair’v you would need something closer to an Irish accent if anyone was to buy it.”

Earlene snapped to attention, not ever having heard of this particular legal strategy. Though, she was not entirely surprised; the international corners of law could be very obscure, indeed. “That could...work, and work well, as long as nothing like genetic testing is involved. We’d have to be sure about that part; the last thing I need is the helicopters landing to take in those who had the alien DNA. But if it’s just ordinary, then the only thing that could be seen as odd are their ears and maybe we can manage to keep that from being noticed? The elves are smart enough to learn about anything. Thranduil, Thanadir, what do you think about her information?”

Thranduil paused, and Thanadir continued to look at his King. “What is this...genetic testing?” he asked.

Earlene replied, “This is a complicated subject, we will look at the computer later so you can learn more. To sum up, genes are the molecules inside of the cells of living things; they dictate everything about a person. Appearance….everything. The genetic makeup of each individual is unique in all the world, and science has the ability to determine that code; it has many uses. I am guessing that as elves, your genetic codes might appear very different than that of a human, were the information allowed to be obtained. Laws say that such testing cannot be done without your consent. I think it is a small risk, but one of which I want to be careful. But the advantage to what Lorna suggests is that we could avoid the risk of being caught committing a crime. This would be more like slightly bending the law, whereas what I had thought to do earlier would be more like breaking it into pieces.”

Thranduil weighed the idea, with all eyes on him. “I see no harm in investigating this further. It sounds as though it could succeed, and this is an obstacle that must be overcome. Thank you, Lorna, for your help.” The King walked closer to the diminutive woman, and then thought better of it, seating himself while still some distance away from her. “Lorna, I do not wish you to take offense, but I am in the habit of compensating those who…(he was about to say “serve me”, but reconsidered in the nick of time) help our interests. You are providing invaluable assistance, and I would like to pay you. Would you allow this, please?”

“I can ask my solicitor,” Lorna said. “About the DNA testing, I mean. I don’t think it’d be a problem -- there’s no real reason for them to want one. They’re more likely to just give you a physical, make sure you’ve not got any congenital diseases or whatever. The ears...if you both wear your hair in a low ponytail, you can cover the ears and nobody need know otherwise.”

The idea of taking payment for this sat rather ill with her, especially since she wasn’t the one actually doing the work. Most of the useful people she’d met, like Mick and Niamh, the solicitor, she’d met either in prison or through her parole officer, not through any skill or effort of her own. Still, she had a feeling there wasn’t much use in refusing. “If you feel you’ve got to,” she said slowly. “I’d be partial to any alcohol your lot’v kept secret from us humans. The thing is, if I go home flashing around much money, my sister’ll want to know where I got it. I can’t exactly tell her, so she’d think I’ve been dealing drugs.” Which was patently unfair; Lorna had done some rather shady things in her life, but she’d never _sold_ drugs, she’d only _taken_ them -- a distinction that was lost on Mairead.

Thranduil frowned. “I do feel that I must, and yet I have no wish to cause you difficulty. If you will allow me time to think, I am certain that we can find a solution.” His eyes met hers again. “I do have wine, Lorna, that was famous in all the lands. But as redoubtable as your ability to consume liquor is, I fear to give it to you. I would not offer it to Earlene, except for perhaps a few drops. Mortals are not known to be able to manage well with it, at all.”

Earlene broke in. “I will leave the subject of the wine alone, but I do have an idea about payment. It is possible to give a prepaid credit card; no one would see any cash, and even if your family saw such a thing, they would hardly think that someone purchasing illicit substances paid you in such a manner. Not to imply that I would believe that of you, Lorna. You do not strike me at all as a….” Earlene sighed. “Enough said.”

Had Lorna been even ten years younger, she might have wanted to test her liver against Elf wine in large quantities, but she knew better by now. Not much better, but still. “Mairead, she’d not think I was doing anything wrong if I had a credit card, especially since she wouldn’t need to know I had it. She’s not that much older than me, but she’s worse than an overprotective mother, I swear.” She looked away, wondering if she should even say this, or just keep her damn mouth shut. That had never been her strong suit, so out came, “Look, I’ve done some shite in my life. I’ve not sold drugs, but I’ve done...well, enough to get me sent to prison. If I can help you lot, maybe that’ll even out whatever ledger Fate keeps.”

Earlene shrugged. “You'll hear no judgement out of me, Lorna. I spent my life working among people who were criminals of their own sort. Because much of the time that is what the rich and powerful did; twist it all around so that they could get away with what others could not. I tried to keep my hands clean of cases that involved using the law for things I felt were not morally right, but...there were also times I had to shut up and do my job or I would have paid the price for refusing. Maybe all of us should have gone to jail.” She shook her head. “I guess what I'm saying is, life isn't always clear cut and simple. Though,” she teased with a twinkle in her eye, “I hope this isn't your way of telling us that you like to burn down houses or sell body parts to the Russian mafia.”

Lorna was more relieved than she wanted to let on. “Can’t say I’ve got arson or organ trafficking on my resume,” she said. “What I have got are a number’v shady friends, and a lot’v them owe me favors I’ve got no other use for. Hell, I met Mick because we shared the same parole officer, though don’t tell him I told you. He likes to pretend he wasn’t an eejit in his youth.” She snorted, and stole another cinnamon roll. “I think he might actually still be on parole, so we’d best keep tabs on his parole officer. Don’t want him sniffing around here.”

Thranduil frowned. “No, we do not, not that it would matter. And it would seem, Lorna, that your, ah, shady friends will be coming very much in handy. Unless I am much mistaken, we will be able to help each other. And Mick, when I meet him, shall hear of none of this. We are loyal to those who are loyal to us,” he said kindly, but with unmistakable meaning.

“I won’t go blabbing about you lot,” Lorna said. “Mairead says I can be a bit’v a shit, but I’m not like _that_.” She eyed him closely, though she was pretty sure she wouldn’t read anything in his face he didn’t want her to find. While it was possible she’d make a bloody fool of herself with her next words, she doubted it. “My question for you is what kind’v mind-whammy you’ve got planned for the village, or if you’ve got one at all.”

Thranduil smiled. “You have a refreshingly direct way of expressing yourself, Lorna. And I will not insult your powers of perception by trying to evade your question. You want to know what abilities I have that you do not. That we have, that you do not. And I will tell you, because I can already see that you are willing to keep what you learn to yourself, though it is an unusual concession for me to openly reveal this. The other elves here could choose to hear your thoughts, if they tried very hard. It is not our custom, to seek to invade the mental privacy of others. But as you have already guessed, I am different. When you enter the boundaries of my Realm, your active thoughts are as loud to me as if they were spoken. If I chose to, I could hear the thoughts of the other elves, and at need they can hear me, but mortal thoughts are incredibly….impossible to not notice. It is not something I am trying to do, it is something I cannot help. I can and do communicate with Earlene by thought, much of the time; I hear her in the same way I do you. Were I to step outside of the forest, I am not entirely certain how it would be, only that I could guess that something similar would be in effect especially for those near to me. And there is more. I can alter the perceptions of human minds; I can affect what they see or do not see. You already know I can heal illness and injury. I have other powers, that allow me to protect our home in the forest; and those cannot be discussed unless you were to wish to enter my service and speak far stronger promises. I can tell you honestly that I have never sought to ‘mind whammy’ anyone who has not posed a risk to this forest, nor would I. I cannot help what I hear of others, but neither do I share it. I have ever sought to use my abilities to protect and defend. Believe me, I can understand that it is difficult to know that one’s thoughts are no longer private, and I have done everything possible to respect others. But I am King here, and when those come who would commit acts of evil, I have not regretted the ability to look into their hearts. If there is more you would know, Lorna, ask. I will answer, if my own vows to my people allow for it.”

Lorna’s first thought, because it was her, was to hope nobody had told him what a zombie was. If he could read her mind that easily here, he had to have caught what she’d thought when she first saw him. Oops. Her second thought was that that was rather more than she’d suspected -- she’d figured he’d had some kind of telepathy, but not the scope of it. It was a damn good thing he was content to sit in his forest, more or less, because he could be one hell of a problem if he chose. “That’s...damn,” she said, setting down what remained of her cinnamon roll. “I’m a bit allergic to jobs I can’t quit, so I won’t ask anything over my clearance level, sort’v thing. I just...this isn’t my village, so it’s not my problem anyway, but if you’re not planning on mucking about in their heads for shits and giggles, that’s the only promise I can reasonably ask.” She believed him...mostly. Unless she was vastly mistaken, he had to have mind-whammy’d Earlene when they met, because the timeline of their relationship and her personality just didn’t match up. He didn’t appear to be doing it _now_ , however. “Not being able to shut us out...that’ll either make your wedding party a joy or an utter bloody nightmare.”

She really did not yet know just what to make of this, because it went against absolutely everything she’d believed for the last thirty-nine years. She’d only just got her head around the idea of elves; that they -- or he, at least -- could have powers like that made her brain itch.

Christ...if he could read her mind, he’d probably seen exactly _why_ she’d gone to prison. He’d probably seen a whole load of things that made her want to cringe -- and of course thinking that made her think of all the things she wouldn’t want him to see. Not just her father, but all the stupid shite she’d done as a teenager, things both dire and petty. Given her personal history, how in all bloody hell could he want her anywhere _near_ Earlene? Maybe he was acting on faith, just like she was. _Happy thoughts, Lorna_ , she ordered herself. _Kittens. Fluffy kittens._ That, of course, just reminded her of the time she’d caught her youngest nephew shaving the family cat...this was going to take some getting used to. She still wanted to help this odd, creepy lot, because _someone_ had to. They had a right to deal with the outside world, and it had to be done safely. _Does he know I killed Da? Does he know what I did?_ She didn’t want to care if he did know, but dammit, she’d spent fifteen years pretending that had never happened, not telling anyone. Liam knew, but Liam was _Liam_. Even Mairead didn’t know the details. She doubted _he’d_ tell anyone, since there wasn’t exactly much reason to, but still. Part of her wanted to run away and find a hole to crawl into.

“Lorna,” Thranduil said softly, “would you walk with me? I promise I am not going to harm you, swallow you up in the forest, or otherwise do anything to you. But I would like to speak with you, privately.” Standing up, but not moving closer, he offered his arm to her.

Lorna stood as well, but her thoughts weren’t entirely in the moment. The harder she tried not to think about certain things, the more impossible it was -- it was like the old saying about not thinking about the elephant. Normally she had serious issues with touching relative strangers, but she was so wigged out already that a little more couldn’t hurt, and she gingerly took his arm. It had to look rather stupid, given that her head didn’t even reach his shoulder, but oh well. Earlene would be right pissed if the forest did actually swallow her up, so she probably didn’t need to worry about it. She hoped.

As Earlene watched the two of them exit the house and make their way across the still mist-laden yard, she said to Thanadir, “More tea, Your Excellency?” She could only imagine the tatters that Lorna’s mind must be in, just now. And there was no doubt in her mind that Thranduil was trying to help...she just hoped that he could. Thanadir appeared to be possessed of similar thoughts, as he also looked on. Several seconds elapsed, before he seemed to recall that she had asked a question.

“Yes, please, Earlene. I am sorry. I have...much I am thinking of.”

Earlene nodded. “I feel the same. I…” she dropped her head, realizing that she could not even form her own thoughts. “Never mind,” she said quietly, as she filled the kettle and set it on the burner. Returning with her laptop, she sat next to him, and brought up BBC news for Ireland. “Would you like to practice reading to me, Thanadir?” she asked. When he nodded, she pointed to an article she thought might not numb her mind, and kindly corrected him as he read, surprised at how few mistakes he made.

*****

Thranduil walked carefully with Lorna into the trees, fascinated at how much smaller than she was than Earlene, who was already in his eyes not exactly large. He rolled over in his mind just how much he really wanted to tell her. What he had thought to say, even he was struggling to believe, but the rawness of her thoughts had struck a deep chord within him. “Lorna, I am sorry for the mental distress that my words have created for you. But more than that, as you have guessed, I have seen what you would rather I had not. Yet we are not so different as you think.” He walked on for a time, trying to choose his words. “My own father was...awful, Lorna. I know what I endured from him and I can see shades of what you suffered as well. And while I did not, could not duplicate your solution, I wanted to. More than anyone knows. He was killed fighting a war, and I could barely contain how happy this made me. I hated him.”

 The words were spoken with a far greater vehemence than what he had used when he explained this to Earlene, perhaps because he had had more of a chance to reflect on the price he had paid for those years of turmoil. “I do not think ill of you. In a way I admire you; you did what I could not. Your life is not for me to judge, Lorna, though the laws of your land may have done so. I think what I am trying to say is...I had not understood, until I met Earlene, how similar we all really are. I had made assumptions about humans, perhaps just as you have made assumptions about me. I had thought that I was so different from everyone else, until the constant exposure to the thoughts of another proved to me how wrong I was. I wanted to tell you this in the hopes that instead of feeling like you must bear your burdens alone, that you have other options. I will tell no one, Lorna; it is not my story to tell. But should you ever wish to talk, and lighten the weight of your memories, know that I would gladly listen. And so would my wife, who likes you a great deal and would think no more of this than I do.

"And regarding Earlene...I can see that you are concerned about her. About how she came to be wed to me, so quickly. She can tell you, if she wishes. While I will not claim that our introduction to each other was free from all forms of undue influence on my part, I can tell you that Earlene is a very intelligent woman who in the end chose what she wanted to have. I did not make her my captive nor force her decisions. The only things of which Earlene is not free to speak are those matters regarding which she has made binding promises; Earlene has taken ‘the job she cannot quit’, as you say. She can certainly give you her reasons, if she wishes. I will not presume to speak for her, but I did want to assure you that I do not control her in the manner you fear.”

Somehow, Lorna wouldn’t have thought these elves could be capable of parental abuse -- which was rather ridiculous of her, since it wasn’t like she actually knew any. Seeing a couple once didn’t exactly mean much. Still… “Nobody’s ever said that,” she said, once she’d turned this over within her mind. “Not out loud, anyway -- that they didn’t blame me for what I did. Not that I’ve told many, either...my sister knows, but not the details. Not how, or what it was like.” If Thranduil had been hit with the full brunt of that memory, of her father’s brains leaking out onto the pavement while she screamed drug-addled defiance into the hot summer night...yikes. She wouldn’t wish that one on anyone. “It’s not -- look, I’ve got all the eloquence’v a brick. Talking about things isn’t easy even when I’ve a mind to, which isn’t often, but...are you sure Earlene wouldn’t blame me? She’s...well, an American might say she’s seen some shit, and I don’t really want to be adding to that. What I did to my da, and what happened to Liam, and just...oh, hell. Maybe it’s good you can read my mind, since I can’t string two words together without losing one along the way.” She was still shaken, but no longer felt like she wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there for the rest of eternity. “I’d figured you’d stopped mucking about in her head,” Lorna went on. “By the time I met her, I mean, and it’s obvious you care about her. Christ, I’m not one to judge on how people met, either -- I met Liam because he and I had the same parole officer. Romance for the ages, that, but we were happier than anyone else on the bloody planet. Give that to Earlene, if you can. I’ll write you a manual, if you’d like.” She’d already jotted down notes, actually, figuring anybody not human who was married to one would probably need a guidebook of some sort.

Thranduil looked up at the budding trees, smiling to see that soon the forest would once again come to life. “There are those who consider violence as though it was a book on a shelf, Lorna. They look at it, they turn the pages, consider the cover, and then feel that they understand. And then there are those who lived it. Who have felt the pain of mind and body, who will never have the answers they so desperately want as to why it had to be this way, who will always try to find a way to reconcile what never should have been; whether it is evil in a family, or war, or...even what this 9/11 was for Earlene. If you ever asked her, would she kill in order to stop what had happened in her city, to those she cared for, I do not wonder at what her answer would be. What she would be willing to do, to have had a different outcome, is one of the defining aspects of her world view. She would not judge you, just as she did not judge me, for some of the choices I felt I had to make when I first met her. And I already told you, that I have killed. I cannot count how many I have killed, and each one of them deserved to die. I realize that your world now thinks of these matters differently; they do not understand that some do not deserve to live. Whence I came, this was not the case. We saw what happened, when evil was allowed to endure, and we paid a great price for some of our hesitation.”

 _Who will never have the answers they so desperately want as to why it had to be this way, who will always try to find a way to reconcile what never should have been_...Jesus, wasn’t that the heart of it. How often she’d wondered why as a child, before she got old enough to realize that knowing ‘why’ wasn’t going to actually change a damn thing. “There’s plenty’v us still that think some deserve to die, but why, and how, and who gets to kill them...that’s up in the air. My da deserved it and then some, but children aren’t meant to kill their parents in this world. Even if the parent deserves it. And see, there’s people I know who’ve accepted that it was an accident -- prison staff, my parole officer -- but what sticks with everyone is that I’m not sorry. Why _should_ I be? He was bloody worthless, I mean _completely_ bloody worthless. None’v my brothers or sister even wanted to handle disposing of his corpse.”

It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if Earlene proved willing to kill someone if it would retroactively prevent 9/11, and she doubted anyone at all could fault that. “9/11...it changed things. It changed everything, really. If Earlene found someone who could prevent it by dying, I’m sure there’d be a few thousand people willing to join her in it. It’s -- it’d be a noble cause, if you like. Not like cracking your da’s head open like an egg because you’re too high to know your own strength.” That sound would never, ever leave her, though she’d got over it by now. More or less. “And whatever she had to do, if she had to kill somebody, I doubt she’d enjoy it.” She’d do it because she had to, not because she _wanted_ to.

“You may be correct, Lorna, and you may be very mistaken...neither of us could ever know unless Earlene truly were to do such a thing. But as one who has seen her mind...I believe that if my father were here today, he would have much to fear from my wife. And I think she would enjoy what she wished to do to him to a shocking degree. But fortunately that theory never will be tested, as I cannot imagine how fate could ever bring them together.

When I was brought to my father’s dead body, I dug his grave with my hands and my sword. I suppose to some I looked like a dutiful son who bore up under great sorrow. No one could have known that the finest experience in my young life was heaving the last clods of dirt that took away the sight of him from me.” Thranduil shook his head at the memory, and looked at her with a smile. “I know why you are not sorry, because I know why I am not sorry. You are strong, Lorna, though perhaps life would have been kinder if you had not been forced to become so. And I am strong, as well. Who can say, what either of us would have been, without these things that shaped us? For here we are. We have endured, while they are gone. Take comfort in your resilience, and know that you have friends here, who stand by you.” Briefly reaching over, he laid his hand over hers just for a moment, before withdrawing it.

Lorna had a number of friends in Baile. What she _didn’t_ have were friends who would actually get it, even if she dared tell them. While she had a difficult time picturing someone as poised and professional as Earlene resorting to physical violence, she was quite sure the woman wouldn’t half-ass it if she ever did. Maybe Lorna should teach her how to throw a punch, just to be safe. She wouldn’t come to any danger in Lasg’len, but if she ever had to take a day trip for some reason, it was a good skill to have. She couldn’t imagine Thranduil or Thanadir straight-up lamping someone out; their fighting skills were probably much more lethal, and not something you’d want to use in modern Earth unless you fancied prison.

 

What she didn’t want to admit – and what he was going to know anyway, damn telepathy – was that once she’d got out of prison, she’d hunted down her father’s grave and peed on it at midnight. Yeah, it was juvenile as all hell, but it was also quite cathartic – and something she’d kept to herself until now. Oops. “That’s what Liam and my sister’v told me – I’m here, and my da’s not.” Sadly, Earlene was here and her _friends_ were not, and wasn’t that bloody tragic. Losing everyone you cared about...but then, Lorna understood that. She’d just had far fewer people to lose. “My gran said outliving the bastards is the best form’v revenge. I wish you and Earlene could’v met her. She’d...well, she’d explain everything either’v you would ever need to know about the Irish. Provided you could understand her, anyway.”

 

She had to pause briefly to rescue her braid from a gorse bush that apparently wanted to keep it. “And that’s a thing. If you and Thanadir are to meet up with the people you need to talk to if you’re going to get a legal identity, you’ve both got to be able to understand broad Irish. We’ve all been muting our accents around Earlene, and I’ve stomped on mine around you and Thanadir. If for whatever reason you can’t read someone’s mind too far outside the forest, you might have a hell’v a time understanding them. Mine’s so heavy naturally that when Liam and I went and knocked about Britain, I had eight people ask me if I knew how to speak English.”

At this point in the conversation, Thranduil unobtrusively turned around so that their steps were returning to the house. “I can understand you regardless, because of what you have already mentioned. Thoughts are less about words than they are emotion and impressions; I do not have to know the language of another to see the condition of their hearts or perceive their intentions. Thanadir and Earlene are very intelligent, and will learn to adjust, though I cannot say how quickly. And because I can communicate with them, we will all at least manage until they gain proficiency. It is a strange thing, to have another hear your thoughts. While I am very old, I remember well what this was like when it was new to me. There are great advantages, and great annoyances, but we have learned to make do. And there is another thing. While I cannot help hearing what you actively think, I do have the ability to look deeper. And I would never do so, without your explicit consent or wishes. This happens between Earlene and I, but she and I understandably are in a different circumstance with each other. I hope that our discussion leaves you feeling a little better. And I want you to know also that I am sorry for those you have lost. I am ashamed to say that when Earlene first explained what happened to her city, I was not as sympathetic as I should have been because...all I could think about was that I too have lost many, and still endured. My thinking was corrected, later on. One of the unfortunate things about the sum of my life is that sometimes it is harder for me, to feel sympathy for others. And I have not liked this about myself, because when I fail others in this way, I am behaving no better than my father.  I keep trying to do better. It is all any of us can do, really. There is always more to learn, no matter how many or few years we are granted."

“I’ll try to teach you both something like an Irish accent,” Lorna said. “You’ll need one, if you’re to talk to people outside the village.” She had no idea what she’d call the accent they both used, but it wasn’t Irish as she’d ever heard it, and they didn’t need to stand out any more than they already would simply by dint of appearance. “And I can’t say I’m near so freaked, now. Honestly, I’m probably always going to find it a bit odd, but that’s humanity for you,” she admitted. “The idea’v telepathy...it’s not easy to reconcile, not for someone as bloody skeptical as I’ve always been. It sounds like it could be a nightmare, if you couldn’t control it.”

She tripped over a root and swore in Irish, righting herself with another curse. “And...I get that, actually. When I was younger, and considerably more’v a shit, I’d hear people say they’d lost someone, and some terrible part’v me would think, _I watched my husband die, what the fuck’re you complaining about?_ It took me a long while to get past being such an arsehole, and I’m bloody ashamed that I ever was.” She hesitated. “Look, I’m not -- I’m not a good person. Not really. But I’ve got family and friends, right, and they make me _want_ to be, so...I do what I can. When I can. Like you say, it’s all we can do.” Part of her hated the fact that he’d know all about the depths of the temper she’d worked so hard to subsume in the last eleven years, but part of her was obscurely relieved. Gran had been the only one who really knew, and Gran was dead.

And it helped that she didn’t actually live in Lasg’len. Once Mick was better, she’d go back to her thoroughly un-supernatural village, and come back to visit on her own terms when she had days off from the pub. It wasn’t as though she had anything else to do; now that her nieces and nephews were in their teens, they didn’t need Aunt Lorna to look after them anymore.

Thranduil grinned down at her, as the house came into view through the trees. “I like you, Lorna. And before my smile irritates you, it is there because you are not considering that precious few are inherently what you call _good_. Good is what happens because of what you just said; choices that we make on behalf of those who mean more to us than we mean to ourselves. Thank you, for being willing to converse with me,” he said, as he reached to courteously open the door for her.

Lorna beat what Earlene thought was an understandable yet slightly unexpected hasty retreat through the house and to the front door. Earlene had no chance to extricate herself from her laptop to see her off; before she knew it Thranduil had followed the swiftly moving woman as apologies and promises to return soon with materials for Thanadir floated through the air. Earlene and Thanadir exchanged helpless looks with each other. For all that she had watched this ancient elf from a distance these last many days, their sudden mutual discomfiture and state of linguistic difficulty had forged an instant bond between them.

Thranduil returned to the room to see the two closest to him in all the world more or less huddled together, trying to sort out their inner emotions over the latest news from the Office of the Taoiseach. Pairs of vaguely sad eyes looked up at him, uncertain what to say or do. He held out his hand to Earlene, indicating by gestures that he wanted to take the laptop from her; she compliantly closed the cover and handed it to him.  He returned it to the counter, where he picked up the television remote and walked back to the sofa, indicating that he wanted to sit between them.  Neither Earlene or Thanadir had taken their eyes off of him, as he lowered himself to sit. He placed his arm around Earlene's shoulder, and clapped his other hand briefly on the seneschal's shoulder in a gesture of approval. He smiled with appreciation at both of them, before they were distracted. 

" _Space, the Final Frontier....._ " Earlene leaned into her husband as she smiled, feeling that somehow, maybe, this might all work out in the end.


	18. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 6, 2016  
> The Oath of Fëanor used in this chapter was translated into Sindarin by Xandarien, who runs: sindarinlessons.weebly.com.

As Earlene watched Star Trek with nostalgia washing over her, she allowed her thoughts to drift. It wasn't like she hadn't almost memorized these episodes, that to her were a very fond reminder of childhood days spent watching reruns. Though television was not particularly indulged in at their home, there were a few things that everyone in the family agreed on, and classic science fiction was one of them. Even her brother loved Captain Kirk. Back at a time when truly positive women's role models were still hard to find, Lieutenant Uhuru and Nurse Chapel were cut from different cloth...give or take the ridiculous miniskirts. _Cut from different cloth_....with bulging eyes, Earlene realized that they had never addressed the subject of clothing that belonged to this world, for the elves. The more time she spent with them, the more their tunics and leggings and buttoned robes seemed completely normal...but if they were to be invited to a party at the pub, it wouldn't do. She would have to absolutely not forget to bring this up, after they were done with the television for awhile.

And it would be time, soon, to think about their meals for lunch and dinner; she did not have to ask, to know that Thranduil had reached the limits of his patience with her desire for sweets. But something about the day had knocked the proverbial wind out of her sails. There were few things that seemed worse than needing to cook when the enthusiasm was not there...and right now it truly had gone away. With a great sigh of which she was not even aware, she leaned into the warmth of her husband's shoulder, ruminating over her choices. There was a chicken in the refrigerator that could be roasted; that was simple enough. And surely there was rice; that and a cabbage salad...and with the oven on, she could also roast more vegetables. It would probably be an abuse of the oven space, but that would make a nice meal. Perhaps she could even sneak in baked apples without the King protesting too much. In pastry, with cinnamon sauce...

With a gasp she felt herself whisked upward and re-seated in his lap; her body was held against his tightly, with her legs stretched out. Before she could think, her ear was being nipped at not hard enough to hurt but in a manner that definitely gained her attention. Turning to look at his face in surprise, she saw his smile. 

_You are thinking about food so loudly that I am having difficulty concentrating. And when your mind arrived at dessert, it became clear that the situation was hopeless._

_I am sorry, my....I am sorry, Thranduil._ A series of soft and discreet kisses placed on the back of her neck caused her to suspect that food was not the only reason he was having difficulty concentrating. He seemed to realize he was behaving counterproductively, because he stopped. And it was only then that she realized that the blissful warmth surrounding her chilly feet was because they had been on the seneschal's lap, and he held them with his hands. Her eyes widened in complete embarrassment as her body tensed, and her cheeks flushed, wondering how she could ever apologize for this.

_Relax, meluieg. Your feet were cold; I asked him to do this. He does not mind._

_Your seneschal is being a foot warmer for me, and he does not mind? How is this not disrespectful to him?_

_Because I said it is not. Earlene, you must understand, as we...proceed...toward learning to function somewhat outside of my realm, Thanadir will be looking after your well-being second only to me. He will guard you, care for you, and see to your needs. Just as he did at one time for Alassëa, just as he did for Legolas when he was very young. To an extent he may even be your friend, but do not forget that in his heart he lives to care for anything I cherish._

For many minutes, she sat completely bewildered while she tried to pay attention to the episode, though her body had relaxed. To be truthful, Thanadir's warm hands felt wonderful, though it was still...odd. She realized she might never fully comprehend the relationship of these two ellyn, which so far exceeded the time of her presence in their lives that it was unfathomable. Finally, with a sound that was something like a snort, she mentally shrugged as the sarcastic thought escaped. _Next I will find out he gives foot rubs, too._

A rumble of humor occurred beneath her as a foot was lifted, and fingers that knew how to apply expert pressure began to massage it. With great effort, she stifled a gasp concerning how good it felt, as her cheeks burned and turned bright red. Shaking with suppressed laughter, Thranduil embraced her and kissed her once again, on the cheek. _Earlene, allow yourself to enjoy this. He does not mind._

 _So you say,_ she said, feeling completely embarrassed.

Thranduil pressed the pause button, as Thanadir turned to her and smiled. "I am asked to tell you that I do not mind," he said carefully. 

"And that is the truth?" Earlene asked, still not believing.

"Earlene, if my King asks, and if you like this, I am happy."

Thranduil leaned forward. "Now do you believe me?"

"I cannot win. Yes, I believe you. And...this is not fair."

"That is not logical, Earlene," deadpanned Thanadir.

Earlene froze, as Thranduil quit trying to suppress his laughter and howled; he had already heard enough from Mr. Spock. He had not been this happy about his seneschal's wit in at least a thousand years.

Earlene's shoulders sagged in defeat. There were no comebacks possible. Zero. Nada. "Please press 'Play'", she begged quietly. "Please."

"Only if there are no sweets served at lunch," he said through the laughing.

"I will do anything you ask. No sweets at lunch." _Please._

To her immense relief, the episode resumed. With a sigh and complete capitulation, she relaxed into Thranduil's arms and occasional soft moans betrayed how much she appreciated the foot rub.

They must have liked the show more than they let on, because Earlene woke to see that they were near the end of the third episode. She had not meant to fall asleep...

 _But do you feel better, Earlene?_   _Rested?_ She looked down to see that she had been covered in a blanket, and that her wrapped feet were still held by Thanadir, who was raptly watching a diatribe from Dr. McCoy. Thanadir laughed softly when "He's dead, Jim" was spoken.

Blinking, she nodded up at her husband, while realizing that in an incredibly short time, the seneschal already understood the humor. _I knew he wasn't stupid, but..._

_But you were not prepared for just how quickly some elves can learn?_

She nodded again. _Why am I even learning your language, when he will be fluent in English a week from now?_

_Because, Earlene, he is not the only one who dwells in my Halls. Not all of them have his gifts. I do not know that you will reach fluency quickly; it may take a very long time. But what will you do when you find yourself alone among those that do not know one word of English, and will lack the ability or the interest to do what Thanadir has done? You must learn on account of them. Thanadir is exceptional, and not representative of all of my people._

_Oh._

Just then the episode ended. "I must prepare food, Thranduil," she said, though she was summoning her self-discipline to move, after having been so pampered.  With a deep breath, she pushed herself upright, and started to think about sandwiches. And dinner and..."You and Thanadir need clothes. You told me days and days ago to show you pictures...Google 'Irish Men's Clothes', and that should give more than a good idea, unless you will let me buy you Guinness t shirts and jeans and be done with it. They wear a lot of knitted sweaters here, and I've no skill at making anything like that whatsoever. Trousers, tweed jacket, simple shirts or t shirts...even your breeches could actually work if they weren't so tight fitting, and perhaps if they laced up the side." With that she marched into the kitchen, but paused first, turning back around. "Thank you, both, for the care you showed me. I enjoyed it more than I want to say and...thank you." She was not going to lose her manners if she could help it. Not waiting for a reply, she turned on some music, and lost herself in several different recipes.

When the food for both meals was prepared, lunch was served, and she could sit down at last, she looked out the window hopefully to see that the fog had never really lifted. It made her feel cold even though she wasn't, just like in New York. There was so much to do, and she felt like she was falling behind. Blessedly, Thranduil's strategy with her former legal firm had worked brilliantly, and her emails suddenly had plummeted to astoundingly manageable levels...which was fine with her. There were moments when she still felt surprised...surprised that she was falling into another world, the likes of which she never could have imagined, and that it would be one so compelling that the abandonment of a former way of life would follow without hesitation or a backward glance. With her legal obligations completed, she began looking through her computer for things she'd bookmarked.

 _I should try to speak more of this language aloud_ , she reasoned, finding a longer text someone had  contributed. In a soft voice, she took a deep breath and tried, though the going was slow. "Gwest Fëanor.  No e gûd egor vellon, no e gwaur egor buig, Nost Morgoth egor Valan 'lân, Edhel egor Rodon egor Abonnen, Adan dan ú-onnen am Ennorath..."

The next thing she knew she was pulled roughly from her chair and was being shaken, hard, by Thranduil, whose eyes were blazing with anger. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK THOSE WORDS," he shouted at her, enraged. 

Frozen with panic, she had no idea what to do; she was completely stunned. On every level she knew that struggling would be useless; he was more powerful than ten of her. For reasons she did not understand, she went limp in his grip. The only word that escaped her lips was, "Please..." Something shifted in his eyes, and he abruptly released her, causing her to clumsily drop down to the floor. Turning on his heel, he marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him and was gone. Earlene  had more or less landed on her hands and knees, completely unhurt but confounded, and remained there in a state of deep shock. Her lips parted, she tried to process what had just happened. Thanadir came to her, and knelt down.  Slowly, she met the seneschal's eyes. "Thanadir," she pleaded, "what did I do? I do not understand." 

"Are you hurt?" he asked, as he helped her up.

"No, but I am...fearful. He was very angry."

He brought her to the sofa, to sit down. "What you were reading is something very bad, to elves. I do not know enough words, to tell you about this."

"I did not know, Thanadir, I am very sorry. I only wanted to practice."

"I know, Earlene. You know very little about us. Maybe the computer?" He rose and brought her laptop to her, and typed in 'Oath of Fëanor,' handing her the search results...and she quickly found something that would explain. As she read, her face fell. Though she did not remotely understand everything about this, she could see some of why he...lost it.

"Thanadir, in your old world, where was Thranduil from? Where was he born?"

"Doriath, in Beleriand."

She looked back at the computer one more time. _Doriath had been destroyed because of a connection to this...Oath of Whoever He Was_. A number of things went through her head. _He did not strike me, though he must have been angry enough to do so_ , she thought with shame, as she remembered her own actions. _I have no idea what to do. Leave? Go to town for the afternoon? But then I have to pretend to be happy and sociable when I am feeling neither...and besides, that is childish._ Staring blankly at the screen, she sighed, talking to herself. _He is your husband, and he is hurt. Go find him._ Rising, she went to her room, and put on a warm coat. And a hat, and insulated boots. Looking out, her heart sank a little. There was still fog, and it made her feel fearful. Lastly, she took her smartphone. _I guess we will see what that compass app does, after all_ , she reasoned. 

Thanadir stood. "You should stay here, Earlene. You will lose your way."

She smiled wanly. "Probably. What I did hurt him, Thanadir. I must try to find Thranduil. Though I did not know, it was still my doing, and I love him." Tearing her gaze away, she summoned her New York attitude, and walked toward the woods in spite of the heavy mists. And unseen by her, Thanadir silently followed after, the moment she entered the woods. This time she was determined, if possible, to take the path to his Halls. _If it were me, I would have wanted to take my ball and go home_ , she thought. Keeping her phone in her hand, she paid close attention to the compass. _I wish I could use Google Earth in here_ , _but that won't happen with no signal_ , she lamented to herself. The fog was not so pea soup thick as earlier, and she was confident that she was on the same track she had taken with him at other times; having a reasonably good memory for natural landforms. Earlene disliked very much how every sound was devoured by the mists, except for the occasional drop of condensation that fell from a tree. Even though she had no elven skills of stealth, her own footfalls barely made a noise. It was oppressive, and weighed on her sensibilities, though the strong anxiety that would have come to her prior to his healing of her mind did not manifest. Ten minutes later, she was still certain that she was on the correct path, but her compass was a disaster zone. At one point she stopped, staring at it helplessly as the compass rose spun in a lazy circle for 720 degrees, with no intention whatsoever of stopping its behavior. Clicking it off, she shoved the phone in her pocket and continued on, pulling her coat more tightly around her. _One small step for app developers, one giant leap for elven enchantments_ , she quipped to herself. And not much further on, she was descending the hill, to the bridge, and there was the Gate. _Well, I didn't make a complete hash of at least one thing._

Standing in front of the towering construct, she frowned. "Please, my Lord, may I enter?" she whispered. There was no response, but a tiny smile came over her when the massively heavy door opened of its own accord, just enough to admit her. She stepped inside, and the door swung shut. Standing still, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the much dimmer lighting before walking on. And only now did she realize how many pathways branched out from her present location. She could see where she wished to go, but not which way to choose, exactly. Six paths, and she was fairly certain that the second or third was the one she wanted? _Three is the number that thou shalt count, and the number that thou shalt count is THREE_...flitted through her thoughts, realizing that this level of mental silliness could only mean that she was nervous, intimidated, or both. She started out, but a short time later the path descended, looking too familiar. _Well, now I know how to find the dungeon._ Sighing, she retraced her steps. _Monty Python lied, and now I'll try TWO._

This seemed more promising, and began to climb up higher, toward where she knew his throne was. But then this one divided as well, and she wasn't certain...the right one seemed more familiar though. With no small sense of triumph she saw that it approached his throne, and that he was seated on it. _Husband or not, this is not easy._ Swallowing hard, she approached to the base of it with her eyes cast down, and knelt, waiting. The silence went on, and not knowing what else to do, she spoke to him in her thoughts.

 _I came to apologize, i Aran nîn. I am very sorry.  I understand a little, now, why you were angry. Please, I did not know what I was reading, did not know what the words were about, in my ignorance. I love you, Thranduil, and wish very much that I had known better. Please, forgive me._ Still there was silence, and she did not know what else to do. _Should I put myself back in the cell?_ she wondered.

"That will not be necessary," she heard, as she felt herself being lifted to her feet. She had not heard him descend the steps, but what else was new? "Gin díhenon, Earlene." He raised her chin so that he could kiss her forehead, frowning in amusement to see the hat she wore. It was only then that she realized, she had not changed into elven-made clothes before coming here. With a soft groan of embarrassment, she hung her head. He pulled her to him, embracing her. _I do not care what you are wearing, meluieg. That pales against you caring enough to make your way here alone, in spite of your fears, to speak to me._

Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head against his chest. _I should return, Thanadir probably thinks I am lost._

 _He does not, as he is standing ten feet behind you. But returning would be just as well. I have a few matters I should check on, while I am here. But Earlene, before you depart..._ she felt herself lifted and kissed soundly on the mouth. When he finally released her, her eyes were moist.

_I love you very much, my Lord._

_And I you, meluieg. We will speak more when I return. I would also apologize to you, for my behavior. I hope you can allow me a little more time._

She nodded, still feeling his kiss on her lips. 

"Thanadir, togo Earlene na i vâr." (take Earlene to the house)

Somewhat numbly, she took the arm Thanadir offered, looking back at Thranduil longingly. She saw that he smiled. _Go with him, Earlene. All is well between us._

Turning away, she allowed herself to be led off without further resistance. 

*****

As Thranduil looked down at his booted feet, he sighed, and cared for his duty of checking on his subjects. Meeting very briefly with quite a few of the elves, he could see that they were on the cusp...it would be a matter of a few days, before a substantial number were restored from fading. He'd helped the four in the kitchens, with some of his own vigor. Of all of them, these were critical, since he'd have no means by which to feed the greater numbers of them, unless the cooks could return to their duties. It was out of the question, to ask Earlene to manage any more than she was already doing. Smiling to see that all was proceeding as well as he could have hoped, he withdrew.

He slowly made his way toward the gates, when an impulse came over him. With guilt weighing on his heart, his steps took him down the winding passages until he at last came to the door of the same cell in which he'd punished Earlene. While he could not realistically lock himself in, given that he held the power of releasing any door in his kingdom, he nonetheless entered and pulled the door shut behind him. For long minutes he stood, looking through the bars, absorbing what it felt like to be held inside here. In all his long years he had never been imprisoned, even for a moment. He walked to the stone bench in back, and saw the same blanket just as she had left it, when he'd brought her out. Taking it in his hands, he sat down, still staring at the cell door, and gave way to weeping.

*****

When they were halfway back, she stopped. "Thanadir, tirio," (look) she said, bringing out her phone and showing him the compass, smiling. The old elf grinned as he too watched the dial turn in aimless, lazy circles before she put it away and they walked on.  They were back in what seemed like moments, and she added more wood to the stove as soon as they entered. Removing her heavy outer clothes, she regarded him. "Thank you, for following, so I did not lose my way, Your Excellency."

He smiled and inclined his head, looking at her searchingly. "Earlene. You can read our letters? The Tengwar?"

Her face fell a little as she shook her head. "Only a very few letters. I wanted to wait until I learned more Sindarin."

"No," he said. "You cannot practice reading this way; there is very little on the computer. That is why you  chose i 'west Fëanor (the Oath of Fëanor); I see already what is there. Almost nothing."

With a sigh, she realized he was right. Probably an entire library of Sindarin writing waited for her in his Halls, but it would not matter at all until she learned the script. 

"Geliathon, Thanadir." (I will learn, Thanadir). Looking at the clock, she judged that she had about an hour before she needed to begin preparing the rest of dinner in earnest. Or, she could work on the pastry crust and prepare the vegetables for roasting and salad now, and then buy herself a bigger block of time after. "I will learn after I work on the food," she smiled, setting the kettle on to heat. Bringing out the food processor, she measured the dry ingredients for crust, prepared iced water and scrambled egg and acidifier, and at the last minute brought out the butter. With a frown, she realized this was another reason to keep the refrigerator running...sometimes ingredients needed to be very cold. A few pulses later, she had her dough, which she swiftly removed and divided into thirds, rolling the sections into circles that she then placed on plastic wrap, stacked and returned well-wrapped to the refrigerator. 

Thanadir watched her with rapt attention. "Teach me the names of these things, Earlene," he said, gesturing all around the kitchen. Her time peeling and chopping vegetables was made vastly more entertaining by naming objects large and small. It added to her fun, when she tried to recall multiple names for things, like "spigot" and "tap".  And some of his queries impressed her. When Thranduil approached, seeing them inside through the large glass windows, it was to find his wife with a look of twisted concentration on her face while his seneschal stood nearby, pointing at a fork.

 _What on earth?_ he thought, as he opened the door to enter the silent room.

"TINES!" Earlene exclaimed triumphantly. "They are called tines," she added in a much more modulated tone of voice. Wiping her hands on her apron, she quickly walked to her husband to embrace him, but was interrupted by the doorbell. 

"Pardon me, meluieg," he said. "Lorna has returned."

Thanadir looked up brightly, returning the fork to the drawer as Thranduil seemed to vanish in a blink, answering the door. "I don't think I will ever get used to that," Earlene muttered, though she smiled. Lorna was shown inside, where Thanadir stood at a respectful distance, looking happily eager to learn what these ribbon thingys she wished him to make were. Earlene had to admit, she was a little curious herself, not ever having heard of them. Much to her surprise, Thanadir spoke first. 

"Hello Lorna, would you like tea?" 

Earlene beamed; she thought the seneschal charming beyond words, with his soft brown eyes and indescribable accent, and suppressed a smile. There was no getting around how different he appeared when he elected to smile and not be completely caught up in matters of propriety.   _So....cute_ , she thought, _like a cherub flew out of a painting_... knowing that her urge to pinch his cheeks would be permanently out of the question. 

Thranduil raised his eyebrows but commented instead, "Lorna, Thanadir, please excuse us as I must speak privately with Earlene. I can spare enough space in my thoughts to help you communicate if need be. Though, I believe that if you speak slowly and carefully, all will be well. Thanadir is learning very quickly." Smiling, he ushered his wife to the bedroom, and closed the door behind them, leaving a slightly baffled Lorna to decide about tea.

*****

Thranduil did not lose a moment, after the door closed, placing Earlene to sit on the edge of the bed, where she sat looking up at him, feeling a twinge of nervousness. And the nervousness transformed to complete surprise, when he knelt on the floor in front of her, took her hands in his, and bowed his head before speaking in much the same manner as she had done earlier before his throne.

_Earlene, I am so sorry, for the anger I displayed. I realized even as I stormed off through the forest that I had not been fair to you, that there was no means by which you could have understood what the Oath of Fëanor was. I had become too upset, and was on the verge of losing control of myself.  I left because I feared I would strike you. That I handled you so roughly was bad enough, and I beg that you can forgive me. I can only plead that much in the same way as your own experience in New York, the Oath of Fëanor arguably brought about the destruction of my world.  I felt doubly bad, to realize that I was experiencing the same feelings you must have had, when my careless words about...your past...angered you in the same way._

_When I returned to my Halls, I was trying to...think. But in among this, I heard all your thoughts. I felt ashamed that you could see clearly in your heart what had happened, and that you would place concern for me above your own interests. I should have gone to you, and yet I could not move. It was only when you spoke to me, with the love and humility that I should have shown you, that my dark thoughts and doubts were broken_. He rested his forehead against her knees, not moving.

 _I understand, Thranduil. We come from very different places and have much to learn about each other and...of course I forgive you._ His hair spilled down over her knees like the palest spun gold, and she could not resist stroking his head. _How am I supposed to kiss you when you are down there, and I am up here? I am not strong enough to pick you up._

Much to the relief of both of them, she was soon seated on his lap, as many long kisses of tender reassurance were exchanged.

 _I would like very much to do more right now, meluieg, but I fear that this is not the time for such enjoyments, with a guest in the house._ He cupped her breast suggestively, over the fabric of her jumper. _I hope when we are alone, later...._

A hungry kiss that concluded with a soft bite to his lower lip left no doubt as to her answer.

*****

Lorna quirked an eyebrow at the retreating couple, shaking her head. Elves. They weren’t human; she ought to expect them to be a bit odd. “I’d love some tea, Thanadir,” she said, slowly and carefully, doing her best to squash her accent. “I’ve brought craft supplies.” She didn’t normally carry a purse; what she had now was her gran’s old embroidered knitting-bag, fetched on a brief trip home. It had yarn, and half a dozen sets of knitting needles, and several rolls of satin ribbon in various colors. A Ziploc bag of thread-spools and a packet of needles poked out of the top. His hands were so much larger than hers that she wasn’t sure just how well he’d take to this at first, but he’d get there.

Thanadir happily scuttled around the kitchen, retrieving clean mugs and tea bags before setting the kettle on the stove. The water boiled in a hurry, given that it had hardly cooled off from Earlene’s tea, and moments later Thanadir served them and seated himself at what he hoped was a polite distance from Lorna. “Show me, please?” he asked carefully, looking at Lorna a great deal as if he feared that being near her might somehow break her. Her very small hands somewhat fascinated him; he was not entirely sure how she could manage to do anything with them.

Thanadir must have been taking lessons in making tea, because this was a surprisingly good cup. Lorna sipped as she laid out her materials on the table -- long strips of white satin ribbon, along with needles and thread. “Okay, watch me,” she said, taking up one of the strips. She could make these quite fast by now, but she went slowly, giving him a chance to see each step. Cutting the ribbon into smaller strips, she folded a small section created the first petal, which she stitched with white ribbon and pulled the thread tight to give it shape. That was the easy part; she repeated the process eight times, and then threaded her needle with a much longer strand. The stitchwork and knots had to remain at the base of the flower as she attached each petal, so as to not be visible, and the tension of the thread couldn’t be too tight or too loose -- otherwise it was either lumpy or falling apart.

She’d made hundreds of the bloody things eleven years ago, when she’d first met her gran, and they’d found a home in every village wedding since then. Once you got the hang of it, it was a bit like knitting: it took concentration, but not very much, and there was something oddly Zen about it. A good way to take the mind off things it shouldn’t be dwelling on, be they anger or grief or depression, and while they were simple little things, they were also lovely. “There, see?” she asked, setting the rose before Thanadir. “Would you like to watch another one, or try it yourself?” Christ, muting her accent was harder than it ought to be. She probably sounded mental.

“I would like to try,” he said. “Stop me if I do a mistake.” (Which came out as MISS take, but Lorna elected to ignore that part). Reaching for the needle, he threaded it with rapt concentration and reached for the first strip of ribbon. Completing the first stage, he held it up for Lorna’s approval. “This is more...fun...than when I make clothes,” he said happily.

“That’s good,” she said, taking another strip for herself. “Better than I did, my first time out the gate.” Would he understand that? He’d work it out, even if the vernacular was confusing. “These are simple. They do not take long to finish.” It was the closest she could come to explaining ‘instant gratification’; hopefully, he’d get what she meant, more or less. “You make clothes?” Elves almost certainly had nothing resembling a modern sewing machine, unless it was the old, foot-pedal driven sort Gran had. Lorna would just bet this was more fun than trying to put an entire outfit together by hand. (She had never admitted to anyone that the one time she’d tried to use Gran’s, she’d stitched over her fingers. She stuck to knitting after that.)

“Yes. Many clothes. But it is...much work. Older elves can often not sleep, so...many….what is the word, for this?” As he mimicked the act of sewing.

“Stitches,” said Lorna helpfully. “You stitch the clothes? With only a needle?” she asked.

“Yes,” Thanadir replied. It was impossible to say if his expression meant that he felt proud or vaguely depressed.

That was it -- she was going to borrow Mick’s van and pick up Gran’s sewing machine after work tomorrow. It wouldn’t be too hard to heft down to...wherever the hell the Elves actually lived, and it didn’t need electricity. “I’ve got something that might make your life easier,” she said. “I’ll bring it from my house in my village. I don’t use it, and it makes sewing things much faster.” She had no way to explain exactly what a sewing machine did, since even she didn’t know all the terms for the various bits.

Not too much later, Thanadir presented Lorna with his first finished creation, waiting for her evaluation.

Quite honestly, part of her was a little jealous. Her first attempt had been an utter hash, but this one was as perfect as Gran had ever made. “Brilliant,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

Thanadir beamed with what Earlene would have described as “utter cuteness”, just as Thranduil and Earlene emerged from the room. While Thranduil moved to the tea kettle, Earlene saw and was instantly magnetized to the craft creations.

“Those are so pretty,” she gasped. “I’m completely awful at most things like this. I can knit potholders and scarves, and I dreamed one day of learning lacemaking but….everything I try to do just sort of ends up looking like the bad attempt of a six year old.” Reaching down, she picked up the one Lorna had made, turning it around slowly as she admired it.

“Well, I can’t say I’m any great hand at most crafts,” Lorna said. “My gran taught me these, the first year I lived in Baile. Irish winters are miserable, and you’ve got to have some way to pass the time. She taught me how to knit, too, but sewing’s beyond me. I was actually going to bring Thanadir Gran’s old treadle machine -- it doesn’t need electricity, and sure I’ve no use for it. It’s been gathering dust in the spare room since she died.”

Earlene’s eyes widened. “Just a second,” as she disappeared to her room and returned, bearing a dress on a hangar. “I know you haven’t seen this, but unless I am very much mistaken, Thanadir made it. His work is...let’s just say that I completely appreciate this and it fits like a glove. He is astonishingly talented, at least by human standards, and I think he’d be over the moon to have one of those.”

Normally, Lorna didn’t have much appreciation for clothes -- her own tended toward jeans and various layers of T-shirts and flannels -- but this was the most gorgeous piece of clothing she’d ever seen in her life. “You made this by hand?” she asked, looking at Thanadir, who nodded with a smile. “Christ, it’s a good thing you never met my gran. She’d’ve died’v jealousy. Yeah, you definitely need her machine. You could actually do something with it.”

Thanadir, somehow managing to look completely nonplussed in the midst of their compliments, smiled kindly and only said “Thank you,” as he continued to sew the flowers. Meeting Lorna’s eyes, Earlene shrugged and grinned, not knowing what else to say. Thanadir was Thanadir.

Lorna managed to stifle a laugh, but just barely. “I’ve got yarn, Earlene, if you ever feel like knitting. Gran was hoarding all sorts for fifty years before I met her, and I’ve still only managed to make a dent in it. She embroidered, too, which is another thing I can’t bloody do. I just wind up with holes in my fingers.”

“I would love some of the yarn...as long as it isn’t crazy amounts. You can see the size of this place, and I sort of had an ambition to keep it on the clutter-free side if I could. But I gave away lots of my stuff before I moved here, just so that I wouldn’t import a lifetime’s worth of items. Downsizing. People seem to like potholders in cheerful colors but really, anything. There are always the scarves, and I’d think they’d be enjoyed around here. It has to be at least as cold as New York was."

“I hear you on the space,” Lorna said, sorting through her ribbon. “I’ve got Gran’s old cottage, and it’s about this size. I came to Baile with next to nothing, though, so what I mostly had to sort through were her things. My sister’s got most’v it in that cavern she calls a garage.” She dug out the rest of her rolls, laying them out on the table. “You’re right -- scarves’re popular here, and hats. They’re not hard -- I could probably teach you to make one in an afternoon. Things’ll settle down to let me once the village has thrown you two your party. Theoretically, it’s the day after tomorrow, provided Mairead’s cake cooperates. I had a hell’v a time getting her to make one without telling her why, but the only person I’ve ever met who baked better than her was Gran.”

“We are looking forward to it...I guess we can communicate about the details by email, if we don’t see each other first here or in town?” Privately, Earlene was thinking of sci fi titles like When Worlds Collide and hoping that something the ellyn already owned would make for satisfactory clothing. Though, she didn’t get the impression this was exactly a formalwear occasion...or… “I just want to check too, are ‘regular’ clothes OK for this? We don’t want to be more of a spectacle than, ah,...” she smiled, trailing off while shrugging her shoulders, remembering the time she’d completely botched an invitation when she was still in law school, and had ended up renting a gown for a party that was casual wear only. She’d had to live down the moniker “Duchess Earlene” for the rest of the academic year, and had no intention of repeating that mistake again. Ever.

“Oh, it’s anything goes, with these,” Lorna said. “Some’ll dress up, but that’s a bit’v a relative term in a little village. Usually means clothes you’ve actually ironed, but you can bet there’ll be old ladies in their Sunday best, too. There’s not much standing on ceremony in a place like this.” She was pretty sure Mick had an iron, and she was damn well going to teach him how to use it between now and then (and ignore the fact that when she’d first tried, she’d scorched both shirt and ironing board, and Mairead had shouted at her as soon as she stopped laughing long enough to do it).

“Lorna,” Earlene asked tentatively, “I need brutal honesty. I dropped the ball a bit, on the issue of modern clothing for Thranduil and Thanadir. She gestured to Thranduil’s black buckskin breeches (thankfully not his closest fitting pair, that left zero to anyone’s imagination when his tunic was not hanging below his...endowments), calf high black buckskin boots, and fitted dark grey tunic that hung down to his upper thighs and was belted. “I pretty much am doomed if I can’t come up with at least ordinary trousers, I’m thinking? I’ve become very used to seeing their clothes, but I don’t want to be putting on a Renaissance Faire at the pub. I really want them to seem as ordinary as possible when I know perfectly well….they aren’t. I know how most Irishmen dress...do you think just modern-ish trousers would work? I mean, the tunic really isn’t too out of the way, nor are the boots...this looks to me like a hunting outfit, perhaps minus all the tweed.”

Thranduil was unusually silent, sipping at his tea as though he were not the immediate object of discussion.

Lorna pondered this. Elves were going to stand out no matter what they were wearing, but something other than leather trousers would at least help. (Leather. She’d think that would be terribly uncomfortable -- Elves must not sweat.) “It’d work, yeah, but you’ll have a hell’v a time finding anything that’d fit them both outside’v a decent-sized mall. Most shops wouldn’t carry anything for people so tall. My boss, he’s tall, but he also outweighs both these two by at least seventy pounds, so that’s no good. I’ll have to think about that one.”

“I think the only solution is that Thanadir is going to get stuck sewing or altering so that the end result is something like trousers. At the end of the day, breeches are pants; they just need to be looser fitting. It will work out. Besides, I’d guess that within a half hour everyone will have started drinking enough to not notice anything besides pink tutus. It will all work out somehow. And, who knows, maybe I’m overthinking this. Everyone knows they are elves, so maybe elves should look like...elves. You’ll have to forgive me...I came from a world where social occasions carried too much weight. Every one of them was sort of like a gladiatorial event; you had to get into the trenches and achieve victory by always being ‘just so.’ I haven’t been used to anything different in a long time and...maybe I need to relax.”

Thranduil stepped forward, and lightly placed a hand on her shoulder, smiling.

Earlene laughed. “I suppose I do not need to ask if that is a hint?” she said, looking up at him. Continuing to smile, but saying nothing, he leaned down to peck her on the cheek before returning to his tea. When his back was turned, Earlene rolled her eyes.

Privately, Lorna thought the world Earlene had come from sounded bloody awful. The thought of that kind of pressure, of having to live up to the (potentially arbitrary) expectations of people you might not even like, but whose good opinion you might need...she couldn’t blame Earlene for wanting to wash her hands of it, yet be unable to do it right off. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Social occasions in Ireland are usually to give us a legitimate reason for taking the day off and getting drunk. Weddings, christenings, and wakes -- they’re all a celebration, not a ceremony. The ceremonies get left at the church door. I’ll not lie -- these two’ll get stared at and then some, but it’s just because people’re bloody curious about them.”

“Hadn’t thought about that...and of course you’re right. You know what? To heck with it, and I might just wear the dress Thanadir made. My gran used to say, ‘If they’re going to stare, give them something to stare at.’ “

Lorna laughed. “If your gran had met mine, I bet they’d’ve taken over the world. That dress is beautiful -- wear it. We should make a little brooch out’v these rose -- oh, good Jesus.”

How she hadn’t noticed this, she had no idea, but somehow, Thanadir had managed to go through well over half her ribbon. There were little roses everywhere, far more than she’d needed, but one look at him told her she had to figure out something to do with them. She had a feeling he’d look like a kicked puppy if he was disappointed.

Earlene looked over as well to see that Thanadir had been working faster than Lucy and Ethel at the candy factory. Her lips parted to see how quickly he was making the little decorations...his dexterity was phenomenal. Though if she’d thought about it, she might have figured that out from the foot rub she’d had earlier. Vaguely blushing at the memory of His Majesty the Elvenking’s seneschal rubbing her toes, she piped up. “You know, those just might make fabulous little party favors. Fix each one with a pin and have every lapel, tweed cap and if need be t-shirt decorated a bit. In the states there is always some little keepsake given out at wedding celebrations…”

That was a relief and a half. “They would,” Lorna said. “My gran collected that sort’v thing, every celebration she went to. God knows I’ve got enough ribbon.” Thanadir seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself -- no sense in stopping him now.

“I don’t have pins,” said Earlene, ”but someone must. And you know, there are times I’ve wondered about if I ever wanted to get, er, someone, a gift. And now I’m realizing...sewing supplies,” with the last two words said to Lorna in the barest whisper as she attempted to speak in code in front of Thanadir, hoping he was not listening carefully.

Lorna bit back a laugh. “Gift that keeps on giving,” she whispered back, and dug through her giant bag. Lurking at the very bottom was an old, slightly ragged plastic bag filled with an assortment of pins, buttons, and possibly, for all she knew, the remains of a small child. (Her gran had kept some very odd things. She’d found a completed rat skeleton, mounted on a plaque, at the back of a cupboard.)

“Well, problem solved,” Earlene said, smiling.

“You have fun with that, Thanadir,” Lorna said. “I’ll pick the lot up tomorrow -- for now, I’d better get going. Last time Mick tried to cook actual food, he lit it on fire. Apparently he lives off his microwave when he’s alone.”

“I’ll see you out,” said Earlene, feeling vaguely horrified that anyone could eat that badly, and guilty for not offering them an invitation to dinner. But at least this once, common sense stopped her. She was already cooking far more meals for far more people than she bargained for. And while she wanted to be generous to her friends, it might be wiser to not heap her plate up to the ceiling. 'No' had been a very hard word for her to learn, and the one she’d needed to tell it to most had been herself. Walking with Lorna to the door, Earlene frowned. “Are you walking here, or do you have a bicycle?”

“I’ve been walking while the weather’s fine,” Lorna said. “If I bring the sewing machine, I’ll haul it to the edge’v the forest on my motorcycle and carry it the rest’v the way.” She wouldn’t have wanted to bring the motorcycle into the woods even if they’d been an ordinary forest; she definitely wasn’t taking it into this one.

Earlene tilted her head and pointed out to the west. “Thranduil hears you the moment you cross past that huge tree down the driveway; that’s the official edge of the forest. Might as well take advantage of the wide world of telepathy; say hello in your mind and then let one of these very strong elves come get it for you. At first it was hard for me to deal with though...it’s still odd, but I’ve found that I rely on it now. It makes about a hundred things so much easier, and if I can’t do anything about it...may as well find something to enjoy. I’ve not once had to carry groceries into the house.”

Truth be told, the telepathy still made Lorna a little uneasy. She was sure Thranduil wasn’t actually going to do anything with it than be a captive audience to her random surface thoughts, but the sheer idea of it unsettled her. Maybe she’d get used to it eventually. “That’s a bloody relief,” was what she said aloud. “The damn thing weighs almost as much as I do. They built shite to last, back then. Thanadir’ll probably have use’v it for another few centuries, I’d guess. Gran’d be happy someone’s got it.”

“Good, then,” Earlene smiled, but then her face shifted to reflect a far more serious mood. “Look, Lorna, I don’t like giving speeches but...thank you, for being my friend. For putting up with all this (she gestured all around her). Not everyone would, and plenty would have run screaming from the start of it. I had a choice to grab my bags and get out of here, and instead I stayed because I’m really damn stubborn, among other things. Even though I care less about it all the time, I still realize how completely bizarre this all is. To find a woman friend who will roll with all of what is happening here; well, that’s kind of priceless.”

Had Lorna been capable of blushing, she probably would have. “I’m absolute shite at speeches myself,” she said, “but...honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t bolt. If I’d any sense, I would’ve, but it didn’t even occur to me. This is by far the weirdest bloody situation I’ve ever found myself in, but it’s also the most interesting, and I’ve not had many women friends in my adult life. I’m not used to not being judged and dismissed on sight, and that means more than you’d think.” Lorna knew she could be a bit of an acquired taste, so to speak; finding someone outside of her village who didn’t take any time at it was a rarity. “I know I sound like a bloody sap, but I’m damn glad I met you. Even if I did poison you,” she added, wincing a little. She was never not going to be a little ashamed of that, for all it turned out all right.

Earlene laughed, before the humor left her face again. “I can understand how that episode must have felt to you but...I’m never going to look back on that day with anything but fondness. Because if all that hadn’t happened….” she trailed off. “What you don’t know is that right after you left, we had what I guess you’d call a huge moment of trust between us. Me, trusting him. And because of it, he came back for round two and...fixed me. All the mental problems I’ve dealt with, all the anxiety I couldn’t control, he just...made it go away. Don’t ask me how, I’ll never understand it. But I had my life returned to me, that afternoon. What happened with the beer was a total accident...and because of how the day ended up, I honestly can’t care about it. I don't even think about it. You know, with all due respect and all that.”

Lorna really, really wanted to know how that whole ‘healing’ thing worked, and just exactly what it could do. If she was ever drunk enough, she might actually ask Thranduil, though she wasn’t holding her breath on actually understanding the answer. Even now, having actually seen elf magic in action, she still had a hard time reconciling it. “I’m glad for it, then,” she said. “That sounds like...hell, it’s too bad he probably can’t bottle that and sell it. Not that that lot probably need a fortune, but they’d make one. I’ll see if Niamh -- that’s my barrister friend -- can get in touch with someone who can change whatever the hell gold or jewels or whatever into money without raising any giant red flags. If you try to do it aboveboard, someone’s going to get interested, and you don’t want that.” She paused. “Y’know, Thranduil pointed something out, when I was wigging out while walking: the three’v us have all lost some’v the things and people we cared about the most. Maybe that’s why I didn’t run -- maybe some part’v me sensed that. I’ve got plenty’v friends at home, but...none’v them really get it. They couldn’t.”

With a slightly vacant expression, Earlene nodded her head slowly. “I need to talk to Thranduil. Not about you,” she said hurriedly. “I don’t want to be in others’ private business. Just so you know, I would never ask him about anything you discussed, that’s between the two of you. I meant that I need to talk to him about...what I’m allowed to talk about. There are some things I’m not free to say, but managing to get done what needs to be done is going to be downright convoluted if we can’t speak a little more openly. I’m guessing you realize, or at the very least suspect, that I have made promises to them that run fairly deep. While I don’t want it to weird you out, I have sworn my loyalty to him as a ruler, all other things aside. He’s not just my husband, he’s also my King. I’m sorry, I know that word is like poison around here, and I won’t ever speak it again if I can help it. I’m fine with it, and I completely respect that others would not be fine with it. What I’m making a mess of saying here is that you cannot know how much you are helping, and I’m hoping to not have to talk in circles about some things very soon, but at the moment, I have to. The money thing is a part of that. And about the other...I very much understand people not ‘getting it’. It’s why I didn’t make any new friends after mine died. There are some things that you either understand, or you don’t; there’s no explaining it. I….get it.”

The thought of a supernatural NDA clause wasn’t at all odd to Lorna -- she’d have been surprised if there wasn’t something like that. “I’ll not get offended if I ask something you can’t answer,” she said. “I’d imagine there’s all sorts’v shite they wouldn’t want getting past their borders, so to speak.” She’d been in a gang, when she was young; while it wasn’t anywhere near the same thing, she understood the need to keep some things in-house -- and quite frankly, she also knew that there were times that the less you knew, the better. “I’ll admit, I try not to think about the whole ‘royalty’ bit, but you’ve not got the same hangups about that as the Irish do -- though I wouldn’t advertise that bit in the village, if I were you. I trust this lot not to be pushy about it, and if I’m the one that helps, you’ve not got to worry that someone else’ll try to hold it over their heads.” And that could, she knew, be a very real problem, if certain people found out just who she was doing this for. Fortunately, people in that line of work tended to ask very few questions, so long as they got paid. Money couldn’t buy everything, but it could definitely buy silence and secrecy. “Maybe -- maybe the fact that we get it is why we can deal with the elves without losing it. I mean, I didn’t believe in shite before I came here -- did you? Or was this as much’v a shock as it was to me?”

Earlene actually giggled, shaking her head. “That I didn’t believe in this stuff or anything like it is part of how Thranduil made, ah, such quick inroads.” She looked at Lorna carefully, weighing the possible consequences of telling her more of the truth, and decided to take the plunge. “Look, I’m going to be more honest than I was before, and hope you don’t hold it against either of us. In the beginning, from almost the moment I set foot on this place, I heard voices telling me in so many words to leave the trees alone. I was completely convinced that it was some hooligans that were pranking the new American neighbor, because disembodied voices don’t exist. I was so obstinate about not considering even the possibility of anything supernatural that he felt he was left with only one other option to keep my chainsaw off of his trees...he seduced me. And even that was only possible because in the beginning, I dreamed about him. When I finally had to confront that...he was far more than a man I was dreaming about, I realized that he’d woven a pretty good net, all made possible by the fact that I was not willing to believe in what I didn’t think was real. You have to realize, my entire career has been about playing mind games with others and winning; it isn’t easy to outwit me. He got immediate credit for having been amazingly clever, in my eyes. I could’ve walked away, I had chances, but by then...I wanted him worse than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I don’t blame him, and honestly in his shoes I would’ve done the same thing he did. I was more than a little amused, in retrospect, at having to admit that there is more in the world than I wanted to acknowledge….you betcha.”

To Lorna, the very idea was horrifying -- but Lorna had been in prison, and had a violent aversion to the mere thought of being caught in any sort of net, however willingly. Had Earlene and Thranduil’s relationship turned out differently, it would have been a good deal more horrifying -- but as it was, they seemed happy. She herself would have fled and never looked back, but she wasn’t Earlene. She couldn’t look at the situation with her own eyes and expect to come up with the same result, as it were; what horrified her wasn’t going to horrify everyone, and she did have a past uniquely unsuited to considering that with complete detachment. Still, she very much understood being amused at being proven wrong about the supernatural; once she got over freaking out, she couldn’t help but laugh at herself -- and wonder what the hell else might be out there. What else she could have been wrong about. Were there actually aliens? Bigfoot? El Chupacabra? She couldn’t go dismissing anything out of hand now, a thought that was simultaneously intriguing and terrifying.

What she did have a problem accepting, though, was the idea that Elves could have much of a sex life. They seemed so...not remote, exactly, but like they’d be above anything so base. But then, how the hell would they make more Elves, if that was the case? It just seemed too weird to her -- but then, she’d also only met what, two of them? Thranduil obviously must have had some drive in that area, or he wouldn’t have seduced and then married Earlene, but it was pretty damn hard to reconcile. She was too old to be adapting to so much at once, and yet she wouldn’t give it up now if you paid her. “If you’re happy, that’s what matters,” she said. “Like I told Thranduil, I’m not one to judge how two people come together -- I met Liam through our parole officer. Yeah, it seems bloody odd to me, but he’s not human. It’d be weirder if you did get together in some conventional way.”

“I thought of that, a few times...what if all that crazy stuff hadn’t happened? There is a part of me that wonders if he would have wanted me. I mean, why should he have? Look at him, versus...me, someone...not even like him. Not even the same species. I don’t know. I guess this is why I told myself long ago, don’t waste brain cells on ‘what ifs.’ At the end of the day, they are a mental exercise that can never matter. It isn’t what happened. But I think part of being human is the ‘what ifs’, no matter how logical I try to be about it.”

“It’s not worth wondering over,” Lorna said. “It’ll do your head in if you do it too much. What we’ve got before us is what we’ve got before us -- hell, maybe he would’ve. Gran, she tried to beat it into my head that everything happens for a reason, even if we can’t tell what that reason is right off. Not sure I believe it, but it’d be a nice thought.”

A thin and cynical smile pressed Earlene’s lips together, though she tried to tone it down. “ ‘Everything happens for a reason’...that one, for me, was always the worst sort of religious-superstition kind of thing, with all due respect to those who actually believe it. I try and keep my mouth shut on the topic, because it would usually land me in trouble even in New York, and here in Ireland…” she trailed off. “But it is definitely an Irish gran sort of thing to say. I hope I’m not babbling your ear off. I have to start learning to read their writing next, and I’ll confess this conversation is allowing me to procrastinate the inevitable. I’m jealous of Thanadir, who hears everything once and has it down perfectly. While I’m not an idiot, I can’t even start to touch that kind of ability...and their language is hard.”

“Oi, yeah, don’t let any of the old codgers around here hear that. I swear old Irish people are some’v the most superstitious people on this planet,” Lorna laughed. “Christ, Gran left a bowl’v milk out for the fairies until the day she died. God knows what she’d make’v this, if she was still alive.” She pondered a moment, and grinned. “I should teach you Irish,” she said. “Or teach them Irish. If you’re not born to it, it’s one’v the hardest languages in the world -- I bet even they’d get stuck. I’d say teach them Russian, but my Russian’s crap.” She kind of liked the idea of watching poor, earnest, adorable Thanadir floundering with Irish grammar and Russian genitive case. It was terrible of her, but she couldn’t help it.

With a shake of her head, Earlene demurred. “I’m allergic to any language I can’t see how to pronounce. Theirs has some pretty odd twists, but rock-solid rules of pronunciation. I looked at Irish once and...for the life of me, it’s like some kind of secret code this country invented to keep the rest of us from knowing where you hide the liquor. And I’m afraid to say, it worked.”

Lorna burst out laughing. “You might well not be wrong,” she said. “We did whatever we could, to screw with the English. We all learn it at school, but people who try to learn it at adults don’t tend to fare so well. Russian’s even worse, though. The pronunciation’s consistent, but the rest of it’s bloody crazy if you’re starting as an English speaker. I’m tempted to teach you Cyrillic, just so you can mess with them.”

Brows arching over her brown eyes, Earlene’s face took on an almost evil grin. Almost. “But then I’d have to teach you the elvish lettering, and then we’d just both end up going to the pub.”

“I can think’v worse ways to pass an evening,” Lorna said. “I’ve spent most at the pub anyway. Mick’s flat...I don’t know. He must have some kind’v strange bachelor immunity to some’v the things I’ve found in his fridge. I mean, I live alone, but I don’t live like that.”

Earlene grimaced, unable to think of a suitable response that wasn’t overtly filled with disgust and pity or would lead to her issuing a dinner invitation when she was completely determined to not cave in. Maybe someday soon but...she just had too much to do. With a sigh, she knew that she really ought to get back inside so Thanadir could start tormenting her with Tengwar. The standard mode, not the mode of Beleriand, if you please.

“If he’s not died’v scurvy yet, he probably won’t,” Lorna said. “Still, if you’ve got an evening off, meet me at the pub sometime.” Earlene and Thranduil might be married, but Lorna would bet being around Elves for too long could get...draining. There was a lot of energy about them, so much so that she could imagine it could be exhausting.

“If the party goes off on schedule, I think I’ll be able to come down more often after that. There’s a chance tomorrow will be busier than I want it to be...and do I need to bring anything, like food, to the party? In the states we have potlucks, and it doesn’t matter if the party is for you...it’s always nice if everyone shares bringing things for everyone to eat.”

“Not for a party in your honor,” Lorna said. “Whoever it’s for just gets to eat and drink and watch everyone get so ossified they can’t see straight.”

“Okay, but I had to at least ask. You know, I love people watching. I think you have to, to live in New York City. This is going to be...one for the books. And, dammit, I guess I’d better get going and let you  go as well. Do you know when you’ll come by tomorrow? I was thinking about those pretzels…”

“I’d say late morning or early afternoon, depending on traffic. I need to get in and get out before my sister’s off work -- I’ve got to go past her house to get to my cottage, and she’d be wanting to know what I was doing with Gran’s old machine. You’ll find soon enough that the Irish can be some’v the worst busybodies on the face’v the Earth, especially when it’s family involved. Sometimes I feel like I’m bloody James Bond, sneaking about,” Lorna said, with a mixture of fondness and utter exasperation. She loved Mairead, but her sister was too used to being a mother, and had all too often lumped her half-feral little sister in with her own children at first. Unfortunately, it still stuck, long past when it should have been warranted.

“Sounds good, then, I’m sure we’ll all be here. Good luck,” Earlene smiled. “I’m learning.”

“That you are,” Lorna said, laughing. “Good luck to you Earlene, and don’t let Thanadir drown you in verbs and grammar.”

“Will do,” she said, slowly retreating back toward the door with an enthusiastic wave.

Lorna returned the wave, and headed back toward town. Yeah, this was the weirdest bloody thing she’d ever found in her life, but that wasn’t turning out to be a bad thing. Meanwhile, she had some last-minute prep to take care of, so she wouldn’t have to hassle with it tomorrow.

Earlene closed the door quietly behind her and leaned against it for a moment, closing her eyes. With a deep sigh, she tried to sort out her impressions. Lorna was a person who from the deepest place inside of people, that place from which she could feel some sense of how another perceives their role in the world, resonated with Earlene. She absolutely knew that she fundamentally liked Lorna. But other facets were not so easy to reconcile. Lorna was a product of her life's experiences; one which had not had nearly as many privileges and opportunities as Earlene's had had. There would never be the easy camaraderie that happened when people were meant to be truly close friends, by being cut out of the same cloth. The kind where you finished each other's sentences and every conversation was as easy as breathing, and shared experience formed the borders of your relationship to each other. _Just...take it slow, Earlene. Rome wasn't built in a day, and in your heart you know that she is a friend worth having. Maybe what unsettles me is no reflection on anything about her. I've shut everyone out for a long time, and suddenly now the door is open a little. And it feels almost like a stampede, by contrast. Maybe that is the crux of it._

_And maybe, you are thinking too much and should have a glass of wine, meluieg._

Opening her eyes, she saw that his handsome face peered down at her in amusement. Leaning forward, she held him, half-wishing she could stand there for the rest of the day listening to his heart beat. Understanding her mood, he rubbed his hand across her back. Relishing every touch, she knew it was time to get to work. Releasing him, she reached up to plant a quick kiss on his chin, and walked back to the living room and her computer. Opening it, she looked at some of the Tengwar sites and printed out a few charts that seemed to give the most information in the least space. "Why do they all have to look alike?" she mumbled under her breath.

"Because Fëanor apparently thought they looked pleasing. He made these letters. And though his heart fell into darkness, all acknowledge that he was gifted, and that he created many things of great beauty." 

It was hard for Earlene to reconcile what Thranduil had just said. "This...Fëanor is the same one who spoke this...?" trailing off, she feared to even bring up the subject. The last thing she wanted was more strife or tension about something concerning which she was completely without knowledge.

"Yes," said Thanadir. "The same one."

Nodding, her mind felt almost in a panic to change the subject as Thranduil laid his hand on her shoulder. _Meluieg, I am sorry. You are afraid because of how I behaved earlier; I would take it back if I could. This is my fault. I promise I will tell you the story of Fëanor, but I do not wish you to fear his name or to speak of him. Please, meluieg, can it not be as it was before?_

_I will try, Thranduil. I too am sorry but...you cannot know how much I do not ever want to see you that angry again._

_Yet it was not your mistake, Earlene. It was mine. What you are really saying is that I have caused you to be afraid of me._

As she stared fixedly at the cabinets, the feeling washed over her that she was being picked apart, like a defendant under interrogation. _Right now, the only thing I know is that if we continue to deliberate this, I will take my computer, run a hot bath, and watch kitten videos until I feel better. Maybe you are right, and maybe you are not. I feel...bewildered. The only thing I can say for certain is that this discussion is upsetting me. Please, can we not set this aside for a time?_

He looked at her searchingly, seeing that she truly did not bring any clarity of thought concerning her current feelings. It was only decent, to do as she asked. He nodded. _I am sorry, Earlene. I should not have said that._

Her head nodding, was her reply. _Thank you. If you would be willing, I would very much like to have the wine you mentioned. But you do not know how to open the bottle..._ her attempt to rise off her seat was arrested by him.

 _Then it is time I learned how. I will do it._ An edge to his voice stopped her half-formed protest in its tracks. Picking up her computer and her notebook, she retreated to what seemed like the relative safety of a seat next to Thanadir, along with her printout of the letters. Combing her bookmarks for study material brought no satisfaction, but Googling "Tengwar transcriptions" did. Apparently people out in the world had used Tengwar to write English words, and....well, why not? If the point was to learn the letters, it might actually be easier to use them this way as sort of a stepping stone. Because there was only one other way to have a practice worksheet, and he was busy making satin roses. For five minutes, she compared the letters on the computer against what was on her chart. "This won't work," she muttered. "The font is too different, and I don't need this to be even harder in the beginning."

An irritated voice broke into her thoughts. _In case you had forgotten, someone else besides Thanadir can write in Tengwar._ He was standing at the counter, trying (unsuccessfully) to divine how to use the wine corker. Though to be fair, hers was the laguiole kind, and he'd not once paid attention to how it was used.

Looking up, her lips parted, but then pressed together in sheer frustration. _Is everything I do going to be wrong today?_ No sooner was the thought out than she felt terrible. She saw him place the wine corker down, and rest both his hands on the countertop with his head bowed. _Thranduil, I am sorry,_ she sent, _but I am becoming thoroughly vexed. Every attempt I have made to study your language today has caused you to become displeased with me._

He ignored her, and spoke to Thanadir so rapidly that she caught no other words than "meno" (go) and  "parf". And she felt particularly excited about the latter one, because she actually recognized it when it was mutated to "barf". Book. Even to pick out one word felt incredibly gratifying. Without speaking, Thanadir laid down his needle and thread and left the house.

Earlene watched him retreat into the distance, completely confused, and then turned her head to view Thranduil. His eyes were fixed on her, but his gaze was calm, and soft. "Would you please come here, and show me how to use this...device?" he said, holding up the opener.

"Yes," she replied with an equal tone of courtesy, moving everything off of her lap and onto the coffee table. She gave him full marks for not doing something idiotic yet commonplace, like mining out the cork in tiny pieces. He'd not actually touched the bottle, having spent his mental energy on trying to perceive the function of the opener before ham-fistedly making a mess of the proceedings.  "Like this," she said quietly,  showing him how it was set up, and handing it back to him so he could learn how it felt to pry out the cork. Turning away to return to the sofa, his words halted her. 

"Please, would you stay here?" 

"Yes." The sound of wine pouring into a glass caused her to take a deep breath; she had not yet turned around to face him again, but not to do so would be rude. Forcing a smile through her increasingly volatile feelings, she rotated her body. He offered her the filled glass. Her eyes widened as she forced down all her thoughts to blankness. This was a very large wine goblet and it was full to within a quarter inch of the rim; half the bottle must be in there. Not knowing what to say, and not wishing to hurt his feelings when he was obviously trying to make amends, she took it from him with a polite "thank you." Sipping down rather more than one would sip, she ensured that what remained had a prayer of not sloshing out. It had been more like three hefty swallows, and on her relatively empty stomach, she knew it would likely hit her like a brick momentarily.

He had stepped around to her, and gently took the glass from her fingers, placing it on the counter before leaning down to initiate a long, soft kiss. _I apologize for my words, meluieg. I am unsure what is the matter, but it is true that I am managing to be very unfair to you today. And I am wondering if you could desire me even a fraction of how much I desire you, right now. I sent Thanadir to retrieve some books; he was asked to make sure he took the better part of an hour to return._

Her hand traced down to his groin, to find that he had not been exaggerating in the least. _Please. The sooner, the better._ Nimble fingers were already loosening the laces of his breeches before she abruptly broke away from him. "No countertop" she said, as she dashed to the bedroom, laughing. 

A half hour later, Earlene was lazily lying on top of him, idly twisting his hair into thin flaxen ropes. Her intimate areas were slightly sore, and she'd refused to let him do anything about it, because it was too delicious of a reminder of everything they had just immensely enjoyed. "I think I feel less tense," she quipped, her eyes shining at him. "And seriously", she said," her features relaxing into an expression that Thranduil had come to associate with her moments of introspective honesty, "I am now not understanding how I went my entire life without sex. The relief is...incredible."

"It is," he smiled. "But I am not sorry to have had you all to myself."

"Would it have...changed anything, changed what you did, had I not been a virgin?" They had never discussed this, and now she was curious.

"No, it would not have, not in the way you are asking," he answered. "But it would have changed something, for me. I would not have been the one to have the great privilege of being the first to give you such pleasure. Though I know it was not done on my behalf, it is something held dear in my heart, to know that you have only been....mine." He laughed at himself, shaking his head. "I do have a problem with that word, don't I?"

"Kind of," she teased. "But you are a King. It isn't the same. But...'mine' will always hold a place in my heart. After all, it was the first thing you ever said to me." Sitting up, she reached for her clothes. "Can we talk in the other room? Because speaking of you being a King, I wondered if you would be willing to discuss what is so obviously about to be on my mind. That and, you have to help me drink some of that wine...if I finish all of that glass, dinner can only come to grief."

Raising an eyebrow as he pulled on his breeches, he softly said, "Ah. You wish to...ask me to reconsider my commands to you, on what you are allowed to speak of to those not in my service?"

Earlene answered carefully. "To an extent, yes, but it is because of...how to say this? It made complete sense, when you kept apart from humans. You were practically a legend....they knew on the level of their traditions that elves lived in the woods, but that isn't the same as talking to the elves, meeting the elves, and inviting the elves to a wedding reception." With terrible coordination, she flopped over onto the bed when her foot caught in both her legging and the skirt of her jumper. Salvaging the situation, she smoothed out her clothing and approached him. "Thranduil, before we get onto the other...thank you. Thank you for this time together, thank you for understanding that it was needed. I love you very much." Kissing him thoroughly, she smiled and backed away. "I'll be in the kitchen."

Some moments later saw the Elvenking doing severe damage to the volume remaining in the glass. "If I understand correctly, you are advising that if one of us is asked, to admit that we have a dwelling in the forest, but not to elaborate too much. And to admit that we have some means, but again, not to elaborate. Meluieg, I am afraid that I hear you, but do not understand."

She sighed, looking up a the ceiling again as she sipped wine and placed the chicken and casserole dish of rice into the oven. "I'm going to coin a phrase and call this the 'Duh Factor.' Do you know this idiom?" 

His furrowed forehead answered that question. 

" 'Duh' is an informal expression that is used in response to someone stating the obvious. For example, were I to say, 'there is wine in my glass,' you would respond, 'duh!'  What I mean is, isn't it obvious that you must have a home in the forest? You are hardly a wild man in appearance, and neither is Thanadir. Your clothes are not torn and covered with leaves, you wear no hodgepodge of animal pelts, your skin and hair are clean. Clearly, you do not live in muddy holes nor in the treetops. You have some sort of home, and one could safely assume it is not a hovel. And this necklace you have placed on me? Well, it would not take a genius to presume there is more where that came from. It is sort of...obvious. But if I cannot at least confirm what everyone inherently knows because of my vows,  it comes off as...very peculiar. And the people here are curious busybodies, you've no idea the things you might be asked." As Earlene watched him, she could see understanding coming over his face.

"And there is more. Specifically, Lorna, and anyone who comes as close to us as Lorna has already come. You may wish to consider that in the future, if she were to solemnly promise never to reveal what she had seen, that it would not be unsafe for her to see your Halls. Confuse the sight of the path there, if you feel you must, even though she would never find it again with your enchantments. She would not break her word, unless I am much mistaken, though I doubt she would ever willingly swear fealty to you. I am not certain if you currently realize how valuable she is to your goals, but it is my instinct that it would not go amiss to grant her unusual concessions. A great deal hinges on her goodwill and assistance. And I have said enough on this for now. You are King, and these things are for you to decide." She smiled. "I feel like I should bow, or something, though you have forbidden it here. It is strange, to need to address you as my sovereign but without the formality."

Thranduil stared. "Under most other circumstances I would dismiss this out of hand, Earlene. But the truth is, because she came here, Lorna has been revealed to me, though not to the same degree as you. The only difference is, I have never looked to the depths of Lorna, as I have you. There was no need, and I respect what of her privacy she can yet have while near me. That being said, I have seen a great deal. More than enough to be able to say, you are not wrong in your assessment of her." Inhaling deeply, he swallowed the rest of the wine in one gulp while Earlene tossed the vegetables for roasting with olive oil and sprinkled sea salt liberally over them.

 _Dammit I want to get an herb garden started_  she frowned to herself. _If there ever was a calling for fresh thyme..._

"I give you permission to speak as you feel you must at this...reception, Earlene. I have been secretive, and fearful, for a long time. But I will be there with you. It should be only villagers, at this event. And should someone be present with evil intentions toward us, I would know soon enough. And truly, even were it known that my vault was wide open for the taking, the woods are defended, as you saw today."

That reminds me, she quipped. "Did you catch from my thoughts that my compass is worthless, in your woods? It was fairly spectacular, actually."

He smiled. "I did not, and that is good news." Rising, he poured her more wine, sliding the glass toward her. When he spoke next, there was hesitation in his voice. "Meluieg, there is more I should tell you. In very few more days, my attention will have to...shift, somewhat. I will make every effort to have myself or Thanadir be here, but for a time, one or the other of us will need to be at the Halls. My people are on the very edge of being restored. Our Halls will return to life, such as it will be with so few of us. It is time, meluieg, that if you wish to have your gardens, you should procure seeds. I would prefer to wait, a little while, regarding animals. If I am to be perfectly honest, I am...nervous is not the word, but I have not managed anything like this in a long time, though once this would have been the most trivial of all possible occurrences."

"We humans have a saying. 'You have a lot on your plate, Thranduil.'" She considered, as she peeled the apples for the dessert and expertly tucked each into the pastry, after filling the center with raisins, sugar, spices and oats. "The sad thing is, the only thing that anchors me here is wanting the use of the computer. It is useless to me in your Halls; no signal. But I do not need it all the time, and it is a short run away. Would I be...in the way, if I were to join you at times?"

Sidling next to her, he put his arm over her shoulders. "No, you would not be in the way, though I would not be able to give you as much of my attention as I would wish. Yet perhaps even looking on would be a learning experience for you. And speaking of plates, the kitchens will once again prepare food. You will no longer need to cook three meals a day for us, meluieg. Though I confess that were I to beg for a privilege on account of both myself and my seneschal, it would be that we could continue to enjoy some of your creations here. We will discuss it, when Thanadir returns. He too, has much need of the computer right now, as it is aiding his education greatly. And despite my curt comment earlier, he has the patience and the teaching skill to help you learn our tongue. There is something to be said for the fact that you are each forced to use each other's language, just now. Though I fear that you are correct; Thanadir will soon know a great deal of English."

With impeccable timing, Thanadir entered just as the last of the cinnamon caramel sauce was being scraped into a mason jar to cool. Earlene smirked at her decision to spike it with cream; it was truly all the fat and twice the calories. The only thing left to do was toggle the vegetables and baked apples in the oven; the roast chicken was already resting, wrapped tightly in tented foil.  Thranduil was handed the books, and Thanadir turned immediately toward the sofa.

"Thanadir, daro," (wait) she said, offering him the sauce covered spoon and saucepan. The seneschal approached, looking curiously and then with bafflement at what he was being given. 

"I do not understand what is this?"

Blushing and second-guessing her action, Earlene explained. "It is called 'licking the spoon.'  It is a custom in families, that when a sweet treat is being made, that the cook offers the utensils to another. It is to taste it ahead of when the dessert is served, by scraping and enjoying what little is left."

Thranduil explained more, in their language, at which point Thanadir smiled and...licked the spoon,  taking both that and the saucepan back to the sofa with him. Unbeknownst to Earlene, Thranduil had explained her feelings as well...that however strange, this was a sign of affection and favor.

"Earlene, tolo, havo,"(come, sit) Thranduil said with clear enunciation, gesturing to reoccupy her place next to Thanadir. He appeared fairly determined to consume every molecule of caramel sauce, which in her estimation was cuter than ever. Seating himself next to her, he patiently waited until her attention returned to him. "These books should provide you with more than you could wish for, to transcribe and practice reading."

"What are they about?" she asked.

Smiling, he shook his head. "You must tell me, meluieg."

"Very well, she said, I accept the challenge." Closing her laptop which she now should not need, in theory, she took the thinnest one, and handed him the others. "Would you please place these up on the bookshelf, for safekeeping?" It was very slow for her, with double checking everything, but finally she managed what was written on the cover. "i iaul vorn a i chû varan" she spoke very haltingly. "iaul....that is a cat, I think?" Just then the timer jangled, and she placed the book down. _Ten minutes and I have not made it past the title. This is....so hard_ , she thought, rising to go to the oven. _Which is why you will review this again tomorrow. Next you will only look at that chart. You are doing too much, too fast._ Removing the vegetables, she announced that dinner could be eaten as soon as there were plates on which to eat it. Thanadir hurriedly returned with his remarkably clean spoon and saucepan, and set out the necessities while she found serving spoons, reset the timer for the apples, and carved the chicken. Gran would have been proud; the old Irishwoman set great store by knowing how to dismember a fowl with elegance.

Their meal was one of the best she had ever served; five dishes was unusual even for Earlene. She was perfectly happy to see that the ellyn wanted all the drumsticks and wings; having never liked the dark meat, her own plate was happily filled with slices of tender breast cuts. An extra bottle of wine had been opened, to make up for the damage done earlier to the first bottle. By the time the baked apples were served, Thanadir looked like he might cry from happiness as liberal amounts of the sweet sauce were ladled over his (she drizzled only a tablespoon of the same onto Thranduil's apple). The highest compliment she received was that her husband actually liked the dessert. When all was cared for, Thranduil stood up, folded his arms, and said "Movie. All of us."

Not feeling the least sorry to move everything related to education off of the coffee table and to the counter, she readied The Desolation of Smaug, not needing to ask _which_ movie. Her husband was now speaking as fast as she had ever heard, presumably giving Thanadir the one minute summary of everything about the other four films.  Earlene was far less resistant to  being spoiled all over again. Thanadir's foot rubs were going to become enshrined on a pedestal, that much was obvious.

Earlene was comfortably held in her husband's arms, as the dwarven quest to reach Erebor continued. Beorn, or rather the idea that such things as men who could become bears, amazed her. She had learned four films ago to stop asking if such things had existed, because without exception every time she had inquired, they had. _The spiders...I do not mean to interrupt, but I only wish to know that those do not still live in your forest?_

_No, meluieg, their kind is long dead._

_Good._

The elven warriors were quick, impressive fighters. Earlene wished she could use a weapon like that; she'd liked archery in college, but certainly could not do what was shown here...and then the dwarves were being taken to Thranduil's Halls, past the gates she now knew reasonably well. It probably did not say much for her interest in the storyline, but all the could think of was that she had never seen Thranduil wear that many rings, and that his crown was far better looking than the spiky monstrosity they portrayed him wearing in this film. At one point she heard Thranduil mutter "who is Tauriel?"

While Earlene thought the dwarves' escape in the barrels was quite clever, she found the battle scene of them floating down the river to be preposterous. Hearing her thought, Thranduil noted _That did not ever happen. Orcs never, ever breached the defenses so near the Halls. And while my warriors had great abilities, they did not include balancing on dwarf heads while floating down the Forest River._ Earlene chuckled quietly, so as not to disturb Thanadir.

She loved the characters of Alfrid, and the Master of Laketown...they were immensely good comic relief. And she had become fond of some of the dwarves, as well. It was impossible to not have a soft spot for Balin and Bofur especially; they were her favorites for their level-headed optimism. But Smaug surprised her. She had read a tiny bit about him in the book, but she had not imagined....that. He was huge, and malevolently terrifying. Magic ring or no, she decided then and there that Bilbo Baggins had immense courage. And Erebor itself...she had seen Thranduil's vault, and all those vast riches were but a drop in the proverbial bucket compared to the gold strewn all over the place. And though she figured the dragon must get killed or the story would not have a decent ending, it still left her with a feeling of trepidation for those poor people. When it was over, Earlene had to be honest that she felt like Thanadir's foot rub had been more enjoyable than this part of the tale (which reminded her to thank the seneschal profusely for his kindness to her). It was late, and she said her "goodnights" to him before disappearing into the bedroom while he and Thranduil continued to discuss something or other in warp speed Sindarin. 

Having brushed her teeth and showered, wearing only her kimono that passed for a bathrobe, she was about to climb into bed when Thranduil came into the room, wearing his cloak. "We are sleeping in my Halls tonight, Earlene." Standing as if frozen for a moment, she tried to wrap her head around needing to dress and walk through the woods when she really did not want to...but realized she must do as he asked.

"Yes, Thranduil," she said compliantly, though she still wanted this about as much as a root canal. Turning, she walked to her closet to find her dress.

"No, meluieg. I will take you, as you are. It is late."

Now thoroughly baffled, she stood and stared at him. With a kind smile, he scooped her into his arms as though she was a little girl, and wrapped his cloak around her. Held thus, he marched with her outside and into the woods, with Thanadir following closely behind.  While she did not understand how, none of the chill of the night air reached her, cocooned as she was against him. The bright moonlight shone through the trees of the woods and while she felt sleepy, it was...magical. She held loosely onto his chest, and sometimes looked up to see his ethereal face as he moved along the path. Perhaps she dozed off for a moment, because next she knew he was bearing her through his Halls, and soon they arrived at his rooms. Just as on a previous occasion, the bedding was already miraculously warm, and she was soon tucked away in luxury. Only one thing could possibly make this nicer, and as he joined her, gently parting her thighs, she soon had her wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Oath of Fëanor: Be he foe or friend, be he dirty or clean, family or Morgoth or bright Vala, Elf or Maia or After-born, man yet unborn upon Middle Earth...
> 
> the rest of the Oath is not cited here, but can be appreciated in all is glory at this link: http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/mrezac.htm
> 
> The Oath would have been spoken by Fëanor in Quenya, not Sindarin, but was given to us by JRRT only in English.


	19. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 7, 2016

Earlene woke, rubbing her eyes, to find herself alone in Thranduil's bed; a blazing fire in the hearth had already warmed the room nicely. Propping herself up on her elbows, she neither saw nor heard any indication that her husband was here...which made it permissible to flop back down against the pillows for a little longer, while she recalled the pleasures of their bedtime. _I should get a grip on my mind, these next few days,_ she thought. _He's going to be busy, and the last thing he probably needs is to feel obligated to...service his wife._ The door to their rooms opened and shut, swiftly followed by the sight of Thranduil bearing a covered tray.

_And what if I look forward greatly to servicing my wife, so that I may have a pleasant diversion from the other demands made on my time, meluieg?_

_Then far be it from me to thwart the wishes of my King._ Her eyes filled with humor, to realize that she could speak to him as she preferred, here.

"Good," he returned, as his robes fell from his body with the undoing of just a few buttons, revealing his nude form. Which impressed her, as she'd no idea that he was not fully clothed. "I have brought tea, and porridge, which are both very hot. And I thought of what I might do with the time needed for them to cool down," he said, his eyes filled with desire. He dove deep under the covers, and with a laugh of delight, she found herself pulled further down as well. In the stuffy darkness under the bedclothes, his mouth found her nether parts, leaving her able to delight herself with attending to his manhood. Her eagerness for him was perhaps too great, since he could not long withstand her tongue and lips before he had to abandon his efforts in favor of entering her. With tender kisses he pleasured her while enjoying himself greatly, not ceasing his movements until she softly cried out. Once she was fully content, he only needed a few swift thrusts to achieve his own bliss. Spinning both of them around, still under the covers, he held her on top of his body as he released into her, cuddling her tightly against him in his happiness. 

 _The only sad part of lovemaking is that this moment cannot last all day,_ she thought, as she was held in the greatest satisfaction of body and mind. 

 _It could last all day, if that is your wish; one day I will give that to you. It is something everyone should experience, at least once. But it is not conducive to accomplishing much else_ , he said with humor in his thought.

Earlene laughed, as he pushed back the covers to let them breathe fresh air. _I am forgetting that you are actually capable of doing that. Yes, someday, you may surprise me; I would hardly complain. But in the meantime, thank you for such a lovely start to the day._ Bringing her face to his, she rubbed her cheek against his in affection. 

With a gentle slap to her bottom, he lifted her up. "Time for tea, hiril vuin," he said, holding out a robe for her. It was one of his, that she swam in for how large it was on her, but it was warm and very comfortable. Bundled up, he placed her in a chair at his table, to reveal a steeping teapot and cooked porridge. On the side were small bowls of honey, dried fruits, and chopped nutmeats. He seated himself opposite her, gesturing to help herself to what was before her. He seemed more excited about a breakfast of porridge than would usually be warranted, until it dawned on her.

"This is from your kitchens?" she asked, tasting the first spoonful. Deeply impressed, she noted the creamy texture of the cooked grains, the perfect amount of salt, and...was it a smell of flowers, that she caught? "It is delicious." Sipping the tea, it was nothing she could exactly place, but it too had an exquisite flavor.

"Yes," he said, full of pride. "After today, you will only need to cook what meals you wish to. Though, I am afraid that unless we expand our food order to include eggs and some dairy products, the offerings will be extremely simple."

"And meat?" she asked. 

"There are deer, rabbit and boar, that are wild in the forest, and abundant. While we do eat meat, we have always eaten more of grains, fruits, vegetables, and fish. There are yet some fish in the waters here."

"Chiiiiiicken," she hinted, smiling. "What of legumes...beans, peas, lentils? Those are easily purchased in great quantity."

"Vast stores of those items yet exist here. But should we manage to make a dent in them, then, yes."

"Then I will humbly allow that you know far more of your inventory than I do, my Lord," she said with a grin. It needed very little time for her to finish her food, and then turn her thoughts to wondering if she was to be returned home wearing this, or her kimono.

"Neither, Earlene. Thanadir has been making you more clothing." His eyes indicated to look a few chairs over, at the garment draped there. Glancing at him to see his nod of approval, she lifted it up. There were leggings, of the same thin leather as some of Thranduil's breeches, that she climbed into appreciatively. The dress itself was a little harder to puzzle out, though she was immediately delighted to see that this one was calf-length, made of layers of soft velvet. Thranduil helped her into it, showing her that it had a bodice that had to be laced tighter only after the wearer had it on. To her surprise, the garment lifted and rearranged her breasts much like a corset would, making them look much more voluptuous without managing to scream "streetwalker." The dominant color was burgundy, with some embroidered accents of  tiny beige and yellow flowers. When she saw herself in the mirror, with the Necklace of Lasgalen sparkling above it, her astonishment was complete. Even by her standards her appearance was....exquisite, even with her hair uncombed and no makeup. That Thanadir would work so hard to make something this beautiful, for her...her heart melted with gratitude. 

"Thank you," she exclaimed, realizing that ultimately he would have been at the source of its procurement. "I thank both of you, this is..." Thranduil came up behind her, looking at and feeling his way appreciatively down the dress. As his hands caressed her bosom, his eyes sparkled. "This dress had something for each of us, meluieg. The leggings and the shorter skirt, because I know you prefer it. And the display of your charms to best advantage, was something I requested."

Earlene's eyes widened. _How odd would it be, to be asked to sew a garment to show off someone else's wife's breasts?_

Thranduil laughed heartily. "Not odd at all, if you are Thanadir. I will confess to having long had a weakness for enjoying this sight on a female's body.  Alassëa was as lovely as you, in this regard, and Thanadir is long used to my...proclivities by now."

"Can I ask you, what did she look like, Thranduil? I hope it is not offensive, but I cannot help my curiosity." 

His eyebrows raised, and he walked over to what she supposed was something like an armoire, opening a drawer. He lifted out a framed item and brought it to her; it was a painting so lifelike that it may as well have been a photograph. Earlene could not help the sharp intake of air that the sight of this elleth caused. Her long golden hair in elaborate braids framed a face of perfect symmetry, set off with emerald green eyes. Her face was long, with a Grecian sort of classical beauty to it, and she wore a crown of summertime flowers. An elaborate necklace of emeralds graced her  pale and elegant throat. Looking on this made Earlene feel completely and utterly plain, by comparison, save for one thing: the emotion in Alassëa's eyes was almost cold, imperious. There was no warmth to be seen, no love behind the expression. It made her feel...sad, for him. He must have loved her greatly; how could he not? His first wife was beautiful beyond anything she herself could ever be....and somewhere out there, this elleth yet lived and looked the same, while she herself could only age. Her curiosity  now satisfied, she pondered if it would have been better, not to have asked to see this. Thanking him, but not meeting his eyes, she carefully handed the portrait back to him, and watched him return it to its place.

Earlene looked into the fire, realizing she must let this train of thought alone. It was pointless, and she did not wish to make him sorry that he had granted her request. Forcing a smile onto her face, she looked down again at the lovely dress. Whatever else had happened, she was here, now. And if there was one thing she could do, it would be that she would not fail in her love for him in the years that were given to her.

From across the room, Thranduil watched her, of course aware of all that had passed through her mind. He decided to say nothing, but it did not stop him from blinking back tears. That portrait had been painted not one year before Alassëa left him forever. Though he had loved his wife, he had not understood her. He had not recognized the expression written on her face that Earlene had seen and comprehended in one glance; he had not realized that she had grown deeply unhappy in their life together nor how earnest she had been about her need to sail to the Undying Lands. How he must have disappointed her...but there was nothing to be done then, or now. Mastering himself, he returned to his wife's side. "Are you ready to return to your house, Earlene?" he asked kindly. Looking up at him with a smile filled with love, she nodded. Offering her his arm, and carrying her garment that she called a kimono for her, they departed.

 Once back, Earlene announced that as she did not wish to get this dress the least bit dirty, she hoped he would indulge her with allowing her to change; she wanted to wear it to the party tomorrow. As he could hardly object to the logic, he nodded while cleaning out the wood stove. "Earlene", he called from the other room, "what am I to do with this wood ash? The container is almost full."

Peeking her head out of the doorway, she answered him. "We will scatter that under the plum trees here. Those trees need a great deal of the nutrients that ash can provide. And from the looks of them, they've not had any such benefit in far too long."

Interested that she knew something about caring for trees that he had not, he smiled as he lit the stove. His wife soon emerged, wearing the second dress that he'd had made for her. Surprised at her choice, he smiled again, and rose to start the tea kettle. She followed him into the kitchen, intent on at least prepping the recipe for soup she intended to make, and the pretzels she had promised Lorna for later on. Her progress was arrested at the point of putting on her apron, as he appreciatively ran his hands over her dress. She was beginning to have a theory about the real reason he preferred dresses, as his hands were already working their way up her skirts. "Not on the countertop!" resulted in her being maneuvered into the pantry, where a thankfully sturdy butcher block not used in food preparation fell victim to the Elvenking's latest moment of passion. The problem was,  legitimately complaining was difficult, because she admittedly could not get enough of him. With a satisfied smirk, he left her slightly dizzy and with an extremely pleasant set of sensations lingering under her skirt and in her brain. She tried to turn her thoughts to pretzels, though at first it was with mixed success.

When all of the food was cared for, she hung up her apron and brought her computer nearer to the wood stove.  She went through the steps to set up an account for Lorna's prepaid credit card, which really had not been that difficult; the only question remaining would be what sum to initially place on it. Not wishing to disturb the mood of the morning with discussions about money, she saved her work in order to discuss it with Thranduil later on in the day, and turned to more selfish pursuits. 

An hour later, she had successfully narrowed down what sort of garden vegetables did well here, and had found a source for traditional garden seeds. And then there was what seemed to be an unrelenting enthusiasm for garlic, onions, and potatoes. They even were advertising blight-resistant potatoes, which made her wonder... _how many things about growing food were harder, here?_ She couldn't assume it was exactly the same as in New York, on gran's farm. Thranduil broke into her thoughts.

_While I cannot say what would occur outside, meluieg, here within the borders of my realm you will find few, if any, such problems. We elves have...a way, with growing things. Your garden here will be cared for by my people and...you should also consider ordering some seeds in much greater quantity. In the past we made use of clearings deep in the forest, and will soon do this again._

"What seeds?" she asked, intrigued. "I mean, what seeds do you wish ordered in greater amounts?"

"Thanadir can instruct you, in this. He will be here soon." Thranduil brought her a new mug of hot tea, giving it to her with a kiss to her forehead. Blushing with enjoyment at his attentive gestures, she realized that for some days now, they'd not really had much time here alone. And while she loved having Thanadir around, she also missed...being able to act like newlyweds, with her husband. His look of adoration, toward her, spoke of his equal enjoyment of their time alone. Remaining at the counter, he logged into his own computer, while she returned to her seed catalogs.

Thanadir did arrive soon, and joined her, asking only for his notepad on which to write his calculations for the seed order. Having explained catalogs to him, she turned him loose to shop, such as it was. Numbers in Tengwar soon covered the page, and just the sight of them made her eyes want to bleed. The letters were bad enough; she'd forgotten there were also characters for numbers and indeed an entire separate numerical system. _Please please please do not make me learn that as well_ , she thought, looking over at Thranduil. 

He turned to her and smiled, responding only   _One thing at a time, meluieg._ Grimacing weakly, she nodded her head. And speaking of the Dreaded Language, it was time to return to her studies.  First, she would work on grammar tables, and then...the Tengwar.

*****

Earlene stared at the page of “The Black Cat and the Brown Dog,” as her eyes swam with the sensation of having looked at the same five words over and over; she transcribed them in her mind and then promptly forgot what they were. At the moment, the only things keeping her from hiding the book under the sofa cushion were that it was handmade and illustrated, and therefore probably half-priceless, and that she would not allow herself to admit that she could graduate from Columbia Law yet be defeated by what she was sure was an elvish children’s story.

Thranduil smirked at her, but his expression shifted as he approached, bending down on one knee in front of her. Reaching up to caress her cheek, he looked intently at her. _Though I tease you, meluieg, know that I am both pleased with you and proud of you. The letters do look much alike, but in a short time, it will seem easier. Try not to become discouraged._ With a soft kiss to her forehead, he rose. “Thanadir, alio Lorna.” (help) The King pointed in the direction of the front door, as the seneschal immediately moved to obey. He paused for a moment, very briefly, next to Thranduil. It was not often that they stood this close together, and for the first time she registered Thanadir’s height. He was tall, but not quite so much as her husband. Were she to guess, she would say 6’1” or 6’2”? Not that it mattered. All of the elves she had seen carried themselves straight and with perfect posture; if they were capable of slouching, it was news to her. If Lorna was here, it entirely justified a break from her current study; she stood and placed her learning materials safely out of the way.

Moments later, Lorna, moving very quickly, had opened the door and flown into the room ahead of Thanadir. The elf bore a bizarre and antiquated object in his arms. The Irishwoman waved a hurried greeting, as she endeavored to dodge out of the elf’s path of travel. Earlene frowned in confusion until she recognized what this was….when Lorna had said ‘sewing machine,’ she had indeed mentioned that it was the treadle kind...and that meant the thing was mounted on its own table. Since she didn’t sew, that hadn’t immediately registered. Though Thanadir carried it as though it were only made of bamboo, Earlene took one look at it, disbelieving that Lorna could have wrestled it here on her own. _That must weigh a ton...is any of it not cast iron?_

“I hope you’ve a place for it, for now,” Lorna said, half apologetically. “I was figuring Thanadir could take it home with him sooner or later, if he can get it through the woods.” Seeing how easily he carried it, she didn’t think that would be a problem -- though she also didn’t know how far into the woods the Elves actually lived. He’d manage somehow, even if he might need Thranduil’s help sooner or later. “Getting it out here on my motorcycle was...interesting. Damn thing probably weighs as much as I do.” Not that that was saying a great deal, at her size, but still. She’d been a smart monkey and actually picked it up with Mick’s van, but he’d needed it as soon as she got back to Lasg’len, so the motorcycle it had been.

Thanadir looked at Lorna, his eyes shining with excitement. Earlene could not recall him ever displaying any emotion beyond seeming generally pleased. Though it was probably too subtle for Lorna to pick up on, this was Thanadir’s version of hopping up and down...she could see the old elf was beside himself. “Lorna, thank you. Thank you very much,” he said in his carefully modulated voice, ”but...will you show me what this does? I do not know this...sewing machine.”

Earlene grinned, and interrupted quickly. “And while you’re teaching Treadle Machine 101, I hope I can get you to stay and eat lunch with us, Lorna? Pretzels and beef barley soup.”

“Of course I will,” Lorna said, and didn’t mention that it had been so long since she’d used the thing that she’d had to look up a YouTube tutorial last night. “It looks more complicated than it actually is.” She thumped her knitting-bag up onto the table beside the sewing machine, digging through it. “And Earlene, that’s not an invitation I’d need twice. I can cook, but only just -- I’ve not had anything as good as you make since I lived with my sister.” Her fingers closed on a small plastic box, and she opened it when she set it on the table. Inside were bobbins and a selection of threads, and she chose an empty one. “This, Thanadir, is a bobbin,” she said carefully. “They are your friends, and I’ll show you how to wind one once I’ve got settled.” Fortunately, none of Earlene’s chairs were too tall to let her do this.

Earlene nodded, and broke away to serve lunch, frowning for the umpteenth time about the setup of her house. When she’d imagine her life in her Irish cottage, she’d never envisioned that three would be here much of the time, not to mention guests. It wasn’t that there wasn’t the room, but the furniture just didn’t suit the use of the space. There was a wide area near the counter that was bare of furniture, unused. Maybe it was time to think about a real table, the kind that could take four to six chairs. And thought the ellyn didn’t seem to mind, the sofa was in a ridiculous position as well. It had been placed in its present location because she had counted on reclining, alone, to watch TV or films. Their willingness to coddle her aside, anyone sitting on it normally had to turn their heads to a ninety degree angle to look at the screen...it wouldn’t do.

Though, Thranduil had just told her that things were about to change. Maybe they’d be in his Halls far more than here, in the near future. Still...this was her home, and it seemed like sound reasoning that enough time would be spent here to justify doing something about this. Maybe even…

_Meluieg, you do not need to fret about this. There is furniture enough in my Halls to care for a thousand homes of this nature. If you desire something to be different, as I see that you do, you only need tell Thanadir or myself...and since I have just heard you, unless you change your mind, we will care for this very soon. You are correct, we do not mind turning our heads to watch the television. But I wish for your comfort and happiness, especially when it is this easy to provide._

_Oh. Well, then amazon.com just lost a sale…_

Chuckling, Thranduil returned his attention to Lorna’s demonstration of the machine; as it turned out, elves loved to see how things worked. Any things.

She’d explained bobbin-winding, which was really the most difficult part, careful to let Thanadir see each step. Catching the thread into every place it needed to catch could take practice, but she doubted he’d need much -- from all Earlene had said, Elves picked things up far faster than most humans, and Lorna would well believe it. They also had better hair than her, dammit.

“Okay, once you’ve threaded the needle like this, you latch the bobbin underneath it, here. Turn the wheel --” she did so, slowly, so he would see the needle catch the bobbin thread “--then put the plate back over it. Now, a modern machine wouldn’t let you do this, but I’m betting you’ll have a use for it.”

She pulled two scraps of leather out of her bag -- whose they had been, or what the rest of it had been used for, she had no idea. Her thread was white, so it would show up well, and she had to fight a little grin as she laid the leather out and dropped the foot. “Now, this is the part that really takes practice, and I’ve always been pants at it -- bad, I mean,” she clarified, reflecting that he really needed to learn modern slang “-- so bear with me. This down here’s the treadle. You rest your right foot at the front, your left at the back, and sort’v...rock it, I guess you’d say. The faster you go, the faster the needle goes.” Rock she did, very gently, not wanting the needle to run away from her -- that was how she’d wound up stitching her fingers before. Aaaand now, since she’d thought that, Thranduil would know it, too. _Dammit._

The needle flashed, drawing the thread up through the bobbin, leaving her with a nice, neat row of very precise stitches. While an Elf could probably equal them by hand, she highly doubted they’d be able to do it anywhere near that fast. “See?”

Thanadir’s lips parted in astonishment. Earlene thought he couldn’t look happier before this demonstration, but she was proven wrong. His usually schooled demeanor had fallen away completely, replaced with an air of rapture. Worried that he might start...crying, or something, Earlene announced in an extremely audible tone of voice that the soup was served, if they could take a brief pause from the machine.

Three steaming bowls were lined up at the barstools, with a tray of warm pretzels. And next to each plate was a generously filled small bowl of cheddar-beer-honey dipping sauce, for the soft breads. She herself had her food at the side of the counter, where she insisted on eating while standing; company always came first. Thranduil, smiling at Lorna’s mental narrative but wisely saying nothing, was the first one to be seated, politely gesturing for Lorna to sit at the place between himself and Thanadir.

Lorna hadn’t eaten since six in the morning, and the pretzels and soup smelled amazing. Gran, however, had thumped enough manners into her head that she sat patiently, giving Thranduil a slightly grateful nod -- she’d figured he wouldn’t announce her random mental word vomit to the world, but it was still nice to be right. “It smells wonderful,” she said, resting her feet on the stool’s spokes to keep them from dangling. _Never dig in first,_ Gran had said. _You might not be a lady, but you’re not a bloody savage._ She’d even trained Lorna out of belching every time she had a fizzy drink...when there was anyone else around to hear, anyway. Left to her own devices, she could still burp the entire first stanza of Crazy Train...crap, she’d gone and thought _that_ , too. _Oh, fuck everything._

Thranduil’s face twisted into an odd sort of grimace as he attempted to suppress his desire to laugh; to his credit, he was successful. _Lorna, do not worry. You are a wonder, to have here...though it may not seem thus to you, when you have been more or less alone with your thoughts for longer than I care to say, as I have, to hear someone like you is...very enjoyable. I love my wife, yet her thoughts are not half so...unabashedly forthright...as yours._ Glancing sideways at her, he allowed a brief smile to cross his face, but soon enough everyone was rather engrossed in their food and discussion faded to a minimum.

With a extremely satisfied sigh, Earlene was the first to finish her soup, determinedly nibbling at the pretzel even though she already felt full. Offering seconds, she was gratified that both Lorna and Thanadir wanted more. While she knew it was illogical and silly, her summers with gran had taught her that if people wanted seconds, it meant that they really liked your food. Even though she herself rarely had seconds of her own cooking, which she liked quite a lot. Thranduil, for whatever reason, was simply eating very slowly, and had a faraway gaze much of the time. Soon enough, everyone had a glazed mien of contentment, and she insisted that Lorna continue with the sewing machine while she finished washing up.

Over in the corner, her cell phone suddenly jangled. With a text message; she’d not heard that notification sound since leaving New York. Wiping her hands, she investigated, with widening eyes. “In an hour, the produce delivery will arrive. And the driver says his hand truck is broken, which I think is code for, we need to unload it by hand.”

“Hand truck?” asked Thranduil.

“A labor saving device allowing someone to move heavy items from one place to another more efficiently.”

“Ah.”

“If you will excuse me, I am changing into jeans...I really need to check that the barn is in order before he arrives.”

Once she emerged from the bedroom, Thranduil followed Earlene out, leaving Thanadir raptly listening to Lorna’s continued instructions.

“There’s loads’v stitches you can do,” she said, “but I don’t know half’v them. If you watch some videos on YouTube, and have either Earlene or Thranduil to translate, you can learn more than I could ever teach you,” she said, carefully demonstrating the back-stitch to cement the line of stitching. “You’re so tall it might take a bit to get the hang’v it yourself.” Shad no idea at all how to advise him there; he had to be well over a foot taller than her, and might need to raise the desk if he was to work comfortably. One of the very few good things about being so short was that you never had to hunch over anything.

She glanced up at the door. “D’you think they need help?” she asked. She’d feel like a twat if she left Earlene to wrestle with a load of groceries -- Thranduil could probably handle himself, but Earlene was human. It wouldn’t be half so easy for her.

“We can...see?” said Thanadir, who was declining to state his uncertainties as to how someone so small could move heavy loads at all, having been mystified as to how she’d placed the sewing machine on her...vehicle. Perhaps the Edain were stronger than he knew?

Thanadir smilingly opened the door for Lorna, having read an article about basic human protocol, which said that courteous males should do this in the presence of females.

“Thanks,” she said. He was so earnest about everything -- it would have been hilarious, yet somehow it wasn’t. It had been a very long time since she’d seen anyone so genuinely excited about...well, anything.

The pair arrived to the barn in time to see Thranduil standing back, his arms crossed over his chest as his entire bearing radiated poorly veiled amusement. He waited outside the large wooden sliding doors. Earlene was apparently inside the barn, with noises of mounting frustration emitting from the other side of the door, as the heavy framework shuddered but did not move. A hammer blow rang out, followed quickly by an extremely audible “YOU…FILTHY... STRUMPET...” and two more hammer blows. With a yell of frustration, the doors burst open just enough to allow Earlene to exit. Smoothing her sweater, and with a completely straight face, she smiled and said sweetly, ”If one of you could open them the rest of the way, I'd appreciate that.”

Lorna burst out laughing before she could help it, unable to choke it back. “Earlene,” she managed, “you’ve got top marks for class and creativity.” She had never, ever actually heard anyone use the word ‘strumpet’ before, and now she wondered why not. It was a great word, a perfect word, and when said at that volume… Lorna had to draw a deep breath, trying to stifle her giggling and failing for far too long. “That might just be the classiest cursing this village has ever known,” she snickered, and then, “I might be able to get that door open.” Eying it, she wasn’t sure either elf would actually fit through that gap; while they were both slender-ish, they weren’t _that_ slender.

Thanadir was completely baffled, having not know most of the words in Lorna’s sentence, and Thranduil hadn’t moved nor had the amusement left his face.

Earlene leaned over. “Trust me, I thought of several words that were gran-approved, but I am not sure I could forgive myself if I was the one at fault for leading Thanadir's vocabulary astray. I mean, I think I'm expected to set some kind of an example but…” as her voice dropped to the barest whisper, “that door is a right fucking cunt.” Quickly resuming normal volume, she continued, “Maybe you could get in that gap and get the leverage going, and then they could each push in opposite directions? Both sides need to open and the hardest part is shifting it in the first place. Does everyone think that is a sound idea?”

Of course, that only set Lorna off all over again; she was hiccuping by the time she managed to nod. “Sounds good to me,” she said, striving for something resembling a straight face and utterly failing. Squirming through the gap wasn’t hard, but she was right: there was no way either of the Elves would have managed it without losing a few layers of skin, and possibly a few internal organs along with it. _Did Elves have spleens? Why was she wondering that?_

She eyed the door, wondering what would happen if she just took a run at it. It was an old barn; smashing right through the door like a bowling ball was probably an actual danger, so she’d forebear. This time.

Thranduil, Earlene guessed, translated that all to Thanadir, because both ellyn took positions at either door, waiting for Lorna to heave them apart. Lorna gave a concerted shove of truly impressive strength, at which point the elves maintained the momentum. That she actually saw each of them having to expend some effort told her how bad those overhead runners were. Annoyed that those responsible for preparing the property had overlooked this, a growling noise came out of her throat. She’d be mentioning this to Ian. What was required was just a good bunch of grease, and with the elves to help by moving the doors back and forth to spread it, this was not an insurmountable issue.

To her horror she looked up and saw something that was about to be very bad. “THANADIR, DARO!!” (Stop) at a volume that surprised even her. He froze, more bewildered than ever. Running to him, she laid her hand on his arm. “Díheno nin, Thanadir, adh…” (forgive me, but…) She pointed up at the heavy support rail. The stop on the rail had disintegrated, and on Thanadir’s side of the door, the first roller had been exactly twelve inches from falling right off the track...and quite possibly causing the door to twist and tear away. He understood right away. “Earlene, len hannon,” he said,  reassured that his King’s wife hadn't gone off the rails herself.

 _That was too close,_ she thought, her heart pounding, _but at least the damn door is open._ The backup indicator on a truck could be heard at the end of the driveway, and Earlene ran down to speak to the driver. In moments, he had backed up the truck up partly into the open doorway. “Good afternoon,” she greeted him, “we will help you offload,” she said with a smile.

“Yes ma’am, righ’ after I collec’ payment; I’s told t’is order’s p’ment on delivery.”

“Certainly,” she said with a bright smile. “Right after we unload the truck while I check the items against your manifest.”

“Manifest?” The driver, who had a less than savory appearance, looked at Earlene as if she was from another galaxy.

_Thranduil, please come over here right now with Lorna, bonus points if you make sure your hair covers your ears, and tell Lorna I think this man is trying to give me a hard time._

“Yes, the manifest,” she said sweetly. “The delivery list? The itemized list of the produce you are delivering? That list?”

The man continued to stare at her as though he understood nothing, and Earlene continued to hold her ground, smiling amiably. Just then she heard the two of them come up behind her.

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. That was the most disgustingly put-upon accent she’d ever heard in her life -- shameful to hear it coming from an actual Irish person, but he probably figured the resident American wouldn’t know the difference. If he wanted unintelligible, she’d damn well give him unintelligible.

“Have you got not’in b’tween your bloody ears, y’twat?” she demanded, glowering up at him. “Or’re y’just fekkin’ wit’ her ’cause she’s American? Cough t’damn t’ing up before I jam my boot so far up your arse y’cough up shoelaces, a bhastaird bhreallghnúisisgh.” Thranduil might or might not be able to understand that one; she didn’t know how much Irish he might have picked up over the years. The Elves probably didn’t have an actual term for ‘cunt’...and now she’d gone and thought it. Brilliant. If they didn’t have one before, they did now. She was going to be responsible for corrupting the English speech of an entire race eventually, wasn’t she?

The already florid man flushed a good two shades darker. “I haven’t got--” he started, his heavy accent lost in something more natural. There was a trace of genuine confusion in his face, too; she was willing to bet he hadn’t understood her entirely. Hah. She’d never yet met anyone with a heavier natural accent than her, and this pansy was welcome to line up the syllables until it actually made sense.

“Haven’ got one?” Lorna demanded. “N’less you’re touched in t’bloody head, you’ve got one. Eit’er you’re lazy, stupid, or a damn gobshite, an’ I’d be happy t’kick you ’til I work out which. Give it over.” She held out her left hand, expectantly, wiggling her fingers for emphasis.

Give over he did, with quite ill grace. Lorna checked it over, muttering darkly as she counted, testing out the quality of the few things she could reliably quantify. The shop wasn’t stiffing Earlene, at least; the driver was just an arse.

“Hang up,” she said, glaring at him, “says she’s got whiskey on here. I don’ see any bleedin’ whiskey.”

The man winced, ever so slightly, and Lorna rolled her eyes. If you were going to steal something, at least don’t be an idiot about it -- lifting it from a grocery order was right up there with trying to stuff a bottle in your jacket at the supermarket. She marched around the side of the truck, wrenching the door open, ignoring the twat’s protests.

“Cab trasna ort thúin’, gobshite,” she growled, rooting around under the seat. The cab looked like it hadn’t seen the end of a vacuum in at least twenty years; there were even cigarette butts on the stained carpet. Classy. He really ought to go fuck himself sidewa--oh, _dammit._ Thinking and saying things in Irish sort of defeated the purpose if she just went and thought them in English again. As her nephews would say, _Fail, Aunt Lorna. Epic fail._ It was a good thing Thranduil seemed to find her mind amusing rather than annoying, because she probably wasn’t ever going to make it behave.

Sure enough, two bottles of rather high-end whiskey sat behind the seat. She snatched them out, told the driver to shove a few unpleasant things in even more unpleasant places (and this time what she thought in Irish stayed in Irish), and once he’d unloaded the lot, flipped him a double-barreled finger when he drove off.

“Focáil gabhar, cúl tóna!” she called, and shook her head. Turning, she eyed Earlene and the Elves (hey, that wasn’t a half-bad band name). “Drink, anyone?”

For a ten seconds that seemed to last an eternity, no one said a word. 

“Well!” piped Earlene breezily, “that went well!” Looking at Thranduil and Thanadir, she added, “It would be wonderful, if you could please close the doors for us, at least most of the way, in case of more rain? We are all going inside for heavily spiked tea.” Nodding in thanks to Thranduil’s unspoken message that they would care for the doors, Earlene continued as she and Lorna returned to the house. “If you could be persuaded to telephone the distributor for me and arrange for payment by credit card, I’d be thrilled...you just saved this from being a complete shambles. And if you tell whoever it is that if they ever send that driver again, they’ll not get paid, you can have all the pretzels. Aislinn at the grocery is going to have an earful, about this. And, you’re not leaving until you tell me what your favorite baked goods are. Let’s get the kettle on.” Seeing that Earlene clenched her fists as she walked, Lorna continued to be entertained, listening as her friend softly muttered sentences that clearly contained phrases like “floater on top of the cesspool of humanity.”

As the women went into the house and closed the door behind them, Earlene “went off,” as she would term it.

“That absolute….FUCKER, she fumed. You know, there is about NOTHING that I hate worse than walking turds that do things like that to other people..and to top it off, can't even make a good job of it.” Fuming, she tried to get the seal open on the whisky. “Damn it all. Can you get this open, Lorna? I'm too pissed off to open a bottle right at this exact minute.” Handing it over to a completely amused Lorna, she held onto the countertop’s edge, glowering, before dissolving into laughter. “Sure god, that was hilarious.”

It was impossible to keep a straight face with Earlene laughing, so Lorna didn’t try. She got the lid off the whiskey, at least. “There’s only one real way to deal with people like that -- well, technically there’s two, but the other results in prison time, so...yeah. No. I’ll find out if he’s a local or not; if he is, he’ll find himself without a functional truck tomorrow. You’ll not find many like him here, but there’s always a few. He’ll be the last, though,” she assured Earlene, raising the whiskey bottle. “Trust me.”

“I won't keep up with you, but pass that bottle when you’re done. Not that Thranduil doesn't know everything anyway, but I’m still maintaining my illusions with Thanadir. Maybe. I have a feeling still waters run deep, there.”

Lorna took a swig off the bottle, but only one, and grimaced. “I think I might’v taught Thranduil the definitions’v a few Irish curses,” she said, passing the bottle. “It’s a good thing Thanadir can’t read my mind without trying. I don’t want to break the poor lad.” Yes, he was probably thousands of years old, but he looked like he was around twenty, and quite delicate. She really didn’t want to melt his brain with her cursing.

“They’ll be okay,” Earlene said as she swallowed what at least amounted to a shot and a half, and then set the bottle down and put on the kettle. It wasn't about trying to match Lorna, which was impossible, but rather to feel the burning straight down her esophagus that might let her get a grip on her volatile feelings. It impressed the hell out of her that in her own way, Lorna had managed a situation she would have failed at miserably. And she should have been better prepared, for something like that to happen. Shaking her head, she pulled her thoughts back into the present moment. “Thranduil has tremendous mental resilience, he hasn't been a king all these long years for nothing. And Thanadir...I’ll try and talk to him more, about tomorrow night. Both he and I are on sort of a….I don't know how to call it. We usually speak to Thranduil with a certain amount of formality and respect, for obvious reasons. But from now on, that's out the window everywhere but their home in the woods. And it's weird, when you've been used to something else. Thanadir is actually doing really well, managing. Think of it as a sort of Stage One, for getting used to the human world. Let's face it, Thanadir may have to deal with far more than cuss words sooner or later. I shudder to think at what he will make of the more, ah, vulgar aspects of human nature. But, as we like to say at home, baby steps.”

Lorna couldn’t imagine having to speak to someone one way in one place, and differently in another. It really would be weird. So much of their lives was quite beyond her -- she suspected it was even more beyond than she knew. “Well, he’ll not find anyone in the village more vulgar than me, I think,” she said. “Mick, maybe, but even he’s got manners when he’s dealing with company. Someday, if you lot choose to have them given identities the way I’ll ask Niamh about, we’ve got to take them out’v the village. They need to be ready for that -- not just all the people, but cars, pollution -- all that. They might find it harder to deal with than they’d think.” She wasn’t going to leave Earlene to deal with that on her own -- if it was just Thranduil, it wouldn’t be so bad, but looking after the pair of them would be too much for one person to handle. While Lorna didn’t think either of them would screw up at a crosswalk and step out into traffic or anything, it was a completely unfamiliar world to them. All sorts of things could go wrong. Hell, they might have a hard time dealing with being jostled around on a sidewalk.

“True,” said Earlene thoughtfully. “But thankfully, there is time. And, we’d start small. I'd say at least the next week will be spent on learning language still. And...don't drop dead of surprise if future visits have you seeing more of them. More elves, I mean. I’m not one hundred percent certain how this will work exactly, but gardens may be happening here soon, at it won't be just me doing the work. None of the others will know a word of English, unless I’m much mistaken and….there is a lot about this I'm making up as I go along. Truth be told, I think we all are. I can tell you one thing, though; every one of them is kind, nice. I don't know how well I'll ever understand them, but I like them. If only because not a one of them would ever pull a stunt like that arse of a driver.” With a shrug, she brought out mugs and tea bags.

The thought of more elves...well, if they were all anywhere as tall as Thranduil and Thanadir, she was going to feel even shorter than she already was. She doubted she’d get stepped on, at least. “Well, once the village has got used to Thranduil and Thanadir, more elves shouldn’t be an issue,” she said, leaning against the counter. “Though more than a few at once might be a bit...overwhelming.” She wasn’t entirely sure if that was the word she wanted, but it was the closest she had. “They’re lucky you’re the one who moved here. Anybody else -- well, they could’ve got a sociopath, you know? And then they’d all still be hiding, maybe forever.” She couldn’t say she at all approved of how Thranduil had got things started, but it had worked out, amazingly enough. And it probably wouldn’t have, with anybody but Earlene.

Boiling water was added to the mugs. “I'm not sure the others will come to town, at least for a long while. I get that sense that Thranduil and Thanadir are...all-around talented, if you will? I am doing what I can to help, but I also don't want to step on toes. This is Thranduil's party, in a lot of ways. I don't know the first thing about what all of his people need, but he does. I'm just here to live quietly, in the country.” A chortling sound escaped her. “Speaking of party, what time are we to arrive at the pub, tomorrow? And not to be an idiot, but I've only ever ridden a bicycle to town. How long does it take to walk?”

Somehow, Lorna doubted it would ever be possible to truly live quietly with elves next door. No, they weren’t loud or obnoxious -- she doubted they were capable of being either, at least in the same way as humans -- but they were so very different. “Well, don’t let them step on yours, either,” she said. “Not in your own home. If they do decide to head to town someday...well. You’re the best one they could learn from.” She laughed a little. “It takes me about twenty minutes to walk to town, but I’m short. Fifteen, maybe, at an actual brisk pace? Everyone’ll start showing up at three or so, but you don’t have to be there that early. I’ll put up the rest’v Thanadir’s roses tonight, if I can find a place for them all. I had no idea he could work that fast.”

“Oh, it’s all good", Earlene said absentmindedly. 'Their home is my home, as well; I live there some of the time. It’s very nice. And at any rate, it would be rather a lot for me to manage some of the things I’d like to see happen here on my own. We’ll see how the garden goes; I’m curious. They are basically incapable of doing anything that looks ugly, and while I know how to grow vegetables human-style...I’m kind of looking forward to seeing what they do.” She pushed Lorna’s mug toward her, just as she heard the front door open. “And twenty minutes it is. It sounds like if we aimed for four o’clock, we wouldn’t go too far amiss?”

“That’d be about perfect,” Lorna said, lifting the mug and inhaling before she sipped. “It’ll give everyone time to get settled, maybe get a few drinks in if they feel the need.” She paused. “So, I’ll totally understand if this is one’v the things you can’t tell me, but where do the elves live? I mean, other than somewhere deeper in the woods?”

_Thranduil, you are certain I have your permission to speak of this?_

_Yes, meluieg. Say what you feel you must._

Earlene took a sip of tea. “I can say, but we are trusting you to keep all this completely to yourself because for now, it’s just much better that way. If we are asked tomorrow at the party, I’m afraid the answer is going to be just what you said, ‘a home deeper in the woods,’ which hopefully won’t come off as too rude for lack of sharing. Their home is underground. It’s impossible to locate unless they allow it, and a bad idea to try. The local lore about it being better for the uninvited to stay out of the woods...that’s all good advice to follow. Thranduil calls it his Halls, which is perhaps what threw me. It’s really, ah, well, it’s a palace, though not like any you’ve ever seen. If the travel brochure were left up to me, I would have called it Immense Caverns of Stunning Beauty. ‘Cavern’ makes it sound like someplace dark or dreary, but it is neither. It is perhaps dimmer inside than being out in the sunshine, but for all that it’s well-lit; everything is bathed in a soft glow. Wood and stone are everywhere, and even waterfalls. Honestly, if you want a good idea, go watch that second Hobbit movie they made, because while it isn’t completely spot-on, neither is it too far off-base...and in a million years I’m not going to understand how that could happen. There aren’t words, it’s truly lovely. A zillion years ago, I think huge numbers of them lived there and now...just a few, on the grand scheme. I’ve only seen a few places in there, and have a lot to learn. I’m honestly not sure I can find my way to our rooms there yet, alone.”

Lorna could brave the spiders, if she had to. (Seriously, though. She hated arachnids. Haaated them.) “You know, I was thinking the other night, because when I’m drunk and on my own I wonder about all sorts’v shite, but I wonder if this -- what Tolkien wrote, what’s shown in these movies -- maybe it’s just like…‘genetic memory’ isn’t quite the term I want, but it’s as close as I can get. Obviously elves are real, and they’ve been here Christ knows how long, and maybe Tolkien just sort’v tapped into something we’d all forgot? Something resonated in his head, and if the caverns in the movies look a lot like the elves’ halls here...I don’t know. It’s the only theory I’ve got. After a certain amount’v time, I think the difference between legend and reality disappears, but something just sort’v sticks in the mind, hiding until it decides to let you know it’s there.”

“That’s as good of a notion as any,” pondered Earlene, shaking her head. “And while it will never not be weird on some level, it’s kind of nice to know in a way that some kind of magic is left in the world.”

Thranduil and Thanadir had now entered the room. “Here is tea for you both, and given that we have already helped ourselves to the whisky, would you like any in your tea?”

“Just tea, for both of us, thank you,” Thranduil answered, his face breaking into a grin. “And Lorna, while I will be reflecting on what transpired outside for some time to come, the only thing that is truly obvious to me is that you managed that man by means worthy of one of my military captains of old. Though we did not understand every nuance, I think I speak for my seneschal as well when I say that watching that was thoroughly enjoyable.” Earlene handed each of them their mugs, in turn.

“Freaked me the hell out at first,” Lorna admitted, “but I think it’s kind’v nice, too.” Thranduil’s words, however, utterly cracked her up -- Shane, her old gang leader, would have been proud to hear it. It certainly made her more pleased than she probably ought to be. “It was a bit too enjoyable to do,” she said. “He’s lucky I didn’t lamp him out, but he’ll not be pulling that on anyone again. That’s the thing with the Irish -- sometimes we’re the only ones who can manage each other, if you take my meaning. Earlene, I’ll call the grocer’s once I get home, because the less you know about what I’ve got planned, the better.” She actually didn’t have anything in particular planned just yet -- his truck, if it was his and not the company’s, was going to wind up with some very interesting alterations, and if she could discover where he lived...well. Lorna was not the vengeful, volatile person she had been in her youth, but fucking with her friends was still a bad idea. The difference was that her vengeance now was annoying and more-or-less harmless.

After they all finished their tea, Lorna bade them good luck until tomorrow, and they heard her motorcycle roar off into the distance. It was now late in the afternoon, and there was yet soup enough for dinner, too. A salad and some biscuits would more than take care of the meal. Turning to look at the sewing machine, she wondered how many...accessories...it would be handy for Thanadir to have. It went without saying, that whatever he was now using were materials they'd had stored since _...the dawn of time_ , Earlene thought. _One way to find out..._

"Thanadir, I would like to make sure you have enough supplies, for this machine. Do you need thread or spools or....anything?" 

"I have much supplies in my rooms," he replied. "But I would like to learn more about this...machine."

Nodding, she began searching. If there was one thing she would give herself credit for without feeling like it was arrogance, it would be that she could use a search engine with the best of them. Especially Google. She used to joke that she would "commune with The Google." In moments, she had a video about the history of sewing machines, and it was only 25 minutes long. Deciding she'd watch it with him, she moved closer, adjusting to full screen. He offered to hold the computer on his own lap, and she did not object. Though, her neck was beginning to ache; her bravado with the barn door was now exacting a price. 

_Rest your head against his shoulder, Earlene. He will not mind. I will care for you soon._

It was a sign of how far her resistance was being broken down that she actually gingerly laid her head just a tiny bit against Thanadir's arm, to watch the video. Seconds later, his opposite arm came over and gently but firmly pressed her head against him. "Oh, fine," she mumbled under her breath, giving up entirely and slumping into the seneschal's shoulder. Which did allow her neck to feel better but... _whatever_. Far from being the boring lecture she had feared, the little documentary was fascinating. The demonstrations of how the machines actually worked were...ingenious, and that the Frenchman who invented the first successful sewing machines had his entire factory ransacked and busted up by a horde of angry tailors...well that was priceless too. But the best tidbit of all was finding out that the guy who invented Singer sewing machines "had eighteen children by assorted wives and mistresses" and died penniless after having first amassed a fortune. _Sure god, you can't make this stuff up_ , she thought with complete appreciation.

Thanadir had not moved a muscle this entire time, paying rapt attention to every minute of it. She could only imagine that with his extraordinary mind, he was probably already dreaming up ways to improve it. "Is there more you would like to see, Thanadir? I will find whatever you wish. At the very least, after seeing this, we should purchase extra needles for you. Or did Lorna give you extras?" He reached for the little box she'd left, and opened it. They saw that there were three bobbins and four new needles...that should do nicely, really. And knowing the elves they probably had a machine shop buried in those Halls...and who knew what else. If they could engrave rings, sewing machine needles shouldn't be too much of a leap. "Well if you ever want more, I can order them," she said. "Just tell me." 

Thranduil walked to sit next to her, then easily lifted her into his lap. His hands probed her neck and upper back, eliciting stifled moans when he found the sore places. Held against him, she felt the same spreading warmth and tingling as at earlier times, and all her discomfort was gone afterward. Thanking him with a kiss of gratitude, she decided it was probably either time to study more Tengwar or make biscuits, and she knew which she'd rather do.

"Earlene, wait", Thanadir said. "I made something for you."

Wriggling off Thranduil's lap in the event he had other things to do, she waited and watched while Thanadir's hands went somewhere deep into the folds of his robes. Earlene could not help but wonder, _how many pockets were hidden in there?_ At last he extracted a stack of...papers? _Was that actually parchment?_ she goggled, amazed. He handed them to her, and she fanned them out to see. Thanadir had made her flash cards, for the Tengwar. "I read that these are used by humans to help learn," he said, looking at her questioningly to see if his effort had met with approval.

Turning each of them over in her hand, she saw that the name of each one was written in English letters....tinco, parma, etc. And he had even written the translation (tinco meant, "metal"). Though these letters took their names from Quenya words, not Sindarin, they were very important Quenya words, and worth knowing. And as she moved further through the stack, she saw that he had even written ones for the tehta vowels, the carriers telco and ára, and even consonant-vowel combinations against which to test herself. In short, this was an incredibly thoughtful gift that would help her more than he could realize. Why she hadn't thought of it herself, given how often she'd used these in college, she'd no idea.

 Impulsively, she reached over and hugged him. "Thank you, Thanadir, thank you so much. They are wonderful." Quickly releasing him and looking through them some more, she did not notice the startled expression on his face. Thranduil was already telling him, silently, that this was a common human expression of appreciation and great thanks, which allowed him to compose his features by the time she looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude. No matter what Thranduil said or how many times he said it, she did not feel that the seneschal owed her anything, and on some deep level she still believed that all she had been was a world-class disruption to his entire existence. Perhaps she could be taught out of this frame of mind at some point, but it was going to take time. Right now, Thanadir could do no wrong, in her eyes.

Her enthusiasm for trying to learn had a new lease on life, and she remained in her seat, playing her mental games with herself. Lightly shuffling the cards, she chose three, at random, moving them around over and over until she couldn't get those wrong. Then she added in a fourth. She did not see that Thanadir watched her with great happiness etched on his face, as she spoke the barely voiced words more by moving her lips than anything else. Feeling immensely pleased, Thanadir returned to his computer screen.

When she had tenuously memorized about eight characters with good success, Earlene prepared to take a break on behalf of the biscuits, but not before something else occurred to her. "Thanadir, have you looked at ESL websites?" she asked very slowly. When he frowned and shook his head No, she added,"You should open a new tab in your browser, and Google 'ESL Learner.' ESL stands for, English as a Second Language; it is an acronym. There are learning tools to help people learn no matter what their original tongue is." She vaguely wondered if it was unfair of her to shove a word like "acronym" on him, but, there were about a thousand of them in the modern world, and he'd have to deal with the concept sooner or later.

It only took moments to make her dough, and soon she was free to be curious about what had so engrossed Thranduil, silently, all this time.  "Can I ask what you are reading, Thranduil?" 

He looked up with that expression of broken concentration that a thousand people must have seen on her face at one time or another, and Earlene instantly regretted the question. Before she could apologize, he raised his hand to silence her, as his face transformed. "I was reading the news, nothing more. I have been trying to gain a sense of human society and...it is overwhelming," he said, with a note of defeat in his voice. Stepping around to look at his screen, she saw that it was a news site that she would rate as less than stellar. 

"May I make a suggestion?"

"I can divine that you do not approve of my choice of reading material," he chuckled.

"It is not that, exactly," she said. "Some news sources are known for better impartiality and a higher quality of journalism than others...and this is not among those. I like to read BBC News, and have for years; it comes out of England. You can narrow your choices to the topics that matter most to you, and you should find that you will not be overwhelmed by trying to keep up with the articles. At the very least you will not miss anything of great importance, either locally or globally." She showed him his options and how it was organized, and frowned to realize that he probably needed an email address. Which brought to mind another sensitive topic. "When you have a moment, I think the three of us should speak about an important matter, Thranduil."

"Then I have a moment, meluieg. Thanadir?" 

Thranduil took over the too-often neglected wingback chair while Earlene sat with Thanadir. Earlene spoke slowly and distinctly. "This has to do with Lorna's helping us to obtain legal identities for you both. There was a part of the discussion that was not mentioned to either of you; that of names. Lorna said that in order for the attempt to go as smoothly as possible, that it would be best if everything about you seemed to blend in. And unfortunately, no Irish name is even close to Thranduil or Thanadir...and Thranduil, because of the films you have seen...I agree with Lorna that we should name you differently, but it is a sensitive thing to ask someone to abandon their name." She did not feel good about having to say this, but better now than later. Cautiously, she posed the question. "Did you understand, Thanadir?"

"I did," the seneschal replied. "It is not unusual for elves to have many names. Our names usually have a meaning, and when different roles were taken, sometimes names changed also. If this must be, I will take a new name."

"I would still call you Thanadir," Earlene said. "It would only be for use in the outside world. It happens sometimes, that a person's legal name and what they are called by family and friends is different."

Thranduil's expression was one of great contemplation, and a long while elapsed before he spoke. "I will be honest, I do not like this. But it is more necessary for me than for Thanadir. There is no choice. If this is to be accomplished, it is a sacrifice I will have to make."

This was the response Earlene had feared; she would hate it, were this demand made of her.

"And yet I see in your thoughts that you have already chosen a suitable name, Earlene?"

She could not determine from his demeanor if he was displeased with her, about this. "I was not trying to..." 

Once again, he silenced her, but his voice became much gentler.  "Please tell me, meluieg."

"Fionn. We thought Fionn would suit you as well as anything."

"Because....?" He stared at her as though he could not see into her as deeply as he wished, though she had no awareness of making any effort to thwart him.

"Because it is a very well-accepted Irish name, and because it means 'fair-haired', and in legend was the name of a mighty warrior."

"And for Thanadir?"

"We had not arrived at any ideas for him, but we would try to use similar care in choosing one. There are many names, from which you could make a selection. I think the concern mostly was, to not attract any attention by seeming other than...ordinary. I thought perhaps you would at least want to know about this, before Lorna brought more information." She did not meet his eyes, as the conversation turned into what felt like souring milk, to her. 

Seeing, Thranduil quickly rose. "You did well, meluieg, and please forgive me for my reactions being less than...joyous. I must try harder, to be sensitive to your feelings. I wanted this, and it is poorly done of me to cause you grief for doing as I have asked."

Earlene nodded. While she would prefer that her husband was less impulsive in some aspects of his behavior, it was appreciated even more that he was quick to apologize. There had been a junior partner at her law firm with a similar sort of personality, from whom she had never once heard a single word that might indicate regret for his occasional barbed comments. While she had ignored him, content in the knowledge that he would never make senior partner on account of this deficit, it had still grated.  Which is why the courtesy Thranduil now displayed was much appreciated.

As Thranduil watched his two favorite subjects, he realized how much had changed, so quickly. Faithful Thanadir, who he had known from his earliest memories, seated next to the new yet no less beloved wife he never meant nor expected to have.   _And where am I leading them?_  That he had no clear answer both worried and excited him, as he forced his attention back to the subject under discussion. "Thanadir's name has a meaning of 'trueness, enduring, someone who is steadfast," he offered. "Is there something Irish that can reflect this?"

Earlene asked Thanadir with her eyes and by pointing if she might use his computer for a moment, and had it obligingly placed in front of her. Very few keystrokes and clicks later, she replied. "Yes, there is. 'Cian.' This is the name of another legendary warrior, and according to this means 'ancient and enduring.' " Earlene regarded Thanadir and thought that a finer choice would not be possible, but waited to see as she slid the computer back over to him.

"Cian," Thanadir echoed, a small smile on his lips. "It is well, Earlene. I thank you both, that you would try to find something that means the same."

"This much, then, is settled," concluded Thranduil. "I, for one, would like to see to repairing your barn door, Earlene."

"You do not wish Ian to manage it? Such as this is, after all, why he is hired," she noted.

Thranduil met her gaze levelly. "While that is true, meluieg, what you cannot know is how much his back pains him, or that he is not fully well and becomes dizzy at times. Thanadir and I are strong, and in perfect health. I thought it would be a kindness."

Wishing to shrink into the sofa cushions in humiliation, she looked away. "I did not know," she said in a very small voice.

"It was not said to cause you to feel badly, Earlene. Ordinarily I would agree with your outlook; I felt you deserved an explanation. Come, we have better things to worry about." Standing, he waved them toward the door.

"I thought all it needed was a good layer of grease and perhaps one or two extra whacks with a hammer," Earlene opined. "At least, before I noticed that the stop was rusted away...that will need replacing; I will have to get the measurement of it to order another."

"I can make a new one," said Thanadir. "There is a list of small things I must make soon; this would be no trouble."

"You...there is some manner of forge, then, and you have skill at smithing?" Earlene wondered just how extensive Thanadir's list of talents might prove to be.

"Yes," he answered simply.

Raising her eyebrows, she said no more, and lifted the ladder from its hook on the barn wall. Climbing up, it was as she suspected; if the track had seen lubricant in the last seventy years it would have been a miracle...and yet, the condition of the metal was not at all bad, considering. 

"There is a grease gun and some other needed items on the shop bench," she said, descending. "A slight mess and some moving around of this door should fix the larger problem." Returning momentarily with a can of WD-40 and the gun, she explained. "This is an aerosol can. And for humans, WD-40 is useful second only to duct tape, in my opinion. It is an amazing solvent and lubricant, good for fixing almost anything metal that squeaks, jams, or otherwise will no longer cooperate." Showing both ellyn how to use any spray can by noting which way the nozzle aimed and pressing the button. She sent Thanadir up the ladder to spray down the track, while showing Thranduil the operation of the grease gun. Under the force of their pushing, soon each side of the door was moving freely again. Lastly, Thanadir closely examined the undamaged stop, so as to duplicate it. Rolling her eyes, she realized that he would do this from memory... _elves_ , she marveled, only a little jealous of his abilities. If she could not be one of them, it was at least a privilege to be near them.

Thranduil watched her, fascinated. _I wonder, if she had the choice, what would it be? There was one, long ago, granted this gift..._ immediately, he dismissed the thought as both unprofitable and impossible.

He saw Earlene turn fully toward him, her face expressionless, and with a light in her eyes that should not have been able to be there. A breath of wind blew her hair back from her shoulders, and he perceived a flicker of immeasurable power. And then just as swiftly, it was gone, and she seemed as she ordinarily did. Smiling, she reached her hand to him. "I will lead you," she said, not noticing that this statement was a complete non sequitur.

Thranduil took her hand, attending her very carefully. "Meluieg, why did you just say that? Lead me where?" 

"Home." There was a pause during which she shook her head, and replied, "To the house, I think," though she could not hide from him that she was now confused, and had no understanding either of whence the words came.

He caressed her cheek with a smile, but inside of himself was completely taken aback. _What had just happened?_ He returned with her to the cottage, but would not forget this occurrence anytime soon.

Though he could hardly believe he was thinking this, it appeared to be time for Star Trek. Bringing the two of them inside, he announced that they would watch television. And with television not being Tengwar, Earlene brightened immediately. He asked for her to make hot cocoa for the three of them, and she now wondered what was the matter with him; it was not like Thranduil, to enable the consumption of sweets. He seemed quiet, to her, as though something occupied his mind...but he often seemed that way, so she dismissed it and did as he had asked. And since he was distracted anyway, it was the perfect time to bury the thought deeply that involved purchasing marshmallows for herself and Thanadir, next trip to town. While the milk heated, she traded her work clothing for her elven dress.

This was a classic 'evil twin' episode, Earlene recalled, "The Enemy Within." And now she would have to get hold of her thoughts, for Thranduil's sake, as they all settled in on the sofa. She bit her lip as the seneschal swung her legs into his lap again, and slipped off her house shoes...and then she connected the dots. _I am being mentally silenced with footrubs?_ she asked her husband.

 _It is most effective, and you enjoy it_ , he retorted. 

She willed herself to focus solely on Thanadir's kindness to her, in order to not reflect on whether she felt there was Good Thranduil/Evil Thranduil. The King rolled his eyes and sighed beneath her but said nothing, at which point she could finally drop her mental narrative and pay attention. When the story concluded, he announced his further intention to watch the last Hobbit film, and would she please see to anything else needed for dinner? Rising, she did as he asked, wondering at the turn the day had taken...but not wishing to complain, considering the alternative. 

There was little to do, given the ease of making biscuits. Though, these would be cheddar-herb biscuits; there was just enough left of a delicious sharp cheese for the recipe. In minutes, everything was set so that she could have the meal hot and baked in any given quarter-hour. Gathering them once again, Thranduil began the film. Since Thranduil had learned to use the remote control he had rarely relinquished it, providing Earlene with no end of amusement.

Earlene felt vaguely vindicated at correctly guessing that Smaug was killed, and still could not imagine the courage that would be needed to face such a creature. _Like a dinosaur with a college degree, and employed as a very well-paid lobbyist_ , she rather thought. And then it seemed as though the story was driven forward by everyone being stubborn, and everyone being greedy. This, too, she found entirely believable. Increasing rumblings of discontent from the King told her that she was likely about to have an earful. _Wait for it._..and sure enough, the pause button was employed.

"I do not understand. Surely this is not what was recorded, about me? We came in truth to seek some of the treasure of the mountain, not knowing the Dwarves had survived. But we were not there with the intention of fighting to claim the wealth of Erebor, and nor was it on a chance whim that we aided those who were suffering." Lacking any information or perspective by which to respond, there was only one thing she could offer.

"I am sorry, for the portrayal. All I can tell you is, the truth of many tales is twisted by those who make films, if it is believed that by doing so the story will be more interesting to those paying to be entertained. The desire to earn money affects a great many things, among humans."

With a sound something like a grunt, he continued the film. "Did the Arkenstone really look like that?" she could not resist asking. 

"It was more beautiful even than that," said Thanadir, to her surprise. "It had a light, a fire within it, more even than this. Only a Silmaril of Fëanor has ever been fairer than the Arkenstone of Erebor." 

 _There is that name again.._.and Earlene did not inquire further. The battle scenes amazed her. 

"This much, is correct," Thranduil said. "This battle was a great sorrow, as they all were."

"It was...awful. Many of our people went to the Halls of Námo, that day," Thanadir mourned.

"You can...fight, like that?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"I believe I mentioned that already, meluieg, in answering Lorna's questions."

"So you did, but..."   _but somehow seeing makes a different impact. I wish I could shoot well, or use a weapon like that..._ her one bizarre regret in academia was that she'd had the chance to study fencing, and declined it in favor of...Latin. _What was I thinking? Oh yeah, practical, sensible Earlene, that's what._

Thranduil's eyebrows rose in surprise at seeing this desire on her part, just in time for perhaps the most offensive scene in the film to transpire. "WHO IS THIS TAURIEL??" he yelled, now completely indignant. "None of this ever happened! I had my shortcomings then as now, Earlene, but this is...this is..."

"Character assassination?" she volunteered meekly.

"Precisely!"

The rest of the film wound down through more fighting and death, though she had to admit that the notion of riding war elks and war boars completely entranced her. Not to mention the war goat. Sadness filled her when the dwarves were killed, especially Thorin. He regained his good sense in the end, and had fought bravely. _What a world theirs was_ , she reflected, shaking her head. _Somehow orcs and trolls seem more understandable that terrorists and nuclear proliferation, but it's all the same in the end._ And it went without saying, that Thranduil would never forgive these films for their depiction of him as being so cold and uncaring. As the credits ran, she put the soup on to heat and placed the biscuits in the oven...the timed preheat feature had rapidly become very popular with her, for helping manage the vagaries of cooking for elves.

While they ate, at one point Thranduil fired off quite a lot of what sounded like instructions to Thanadir. Tired of asking him to slow down for her sake, she considered that perhaps it was his way of still enjoying private communication with his seneschal. But no, that made no sense; he could communicate by thought if he chose... _whatever._ She kept hearing "i grist" which very much sounded like a word she ought to know...but her current exasperation with the language would more than allow her not to look it up until much later. Between all the little things that had swirled through her mind today and the thought of tomorrow's party, she felt more tired with every passing minute...and while it was not very late, neither was it very early. When the dishes were cleared, she affectionately wished Thanadir a good night. Nothing sounded better than a hot bath, and sleep.

"Earlene, I am going to accompany Thanadir back to the Halls, but will return quite soon. I will not abandon you," he said fondly.

They departed, carrying the heavy sewing machine as if it were made of paper. Tea sounded good, while she ran the tub and made her preparations. Within ten minutes, she found herself nodding off, and realized that this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Before she could completely fall asleep and wake up in cold water, she dried herself. The bed would not be warm without Thranduil, so she found her oversized flannel shirt. If he didn't care for it, he could do something about it later. But once in bed, curled into a ball, she found that she could only recall the images of him fighting like that. Earlene was not prone to admiring violence, but...watching that had been so incredibly sexy. It had taken all her willpower, at the time, to divert her thoughts onto something else. And now that her thoughts were not diverted, her desire for him was spiking, with sharp and nearly uncomfortable twinges of  warmth and want coming from below the waist. 

Snickering at herself in the dark room, she reflected. _These are exactly the kind of thoughts that landed you in this mess in the first place, Earlene._ Shrugging, the counterargument came easily. _Well there is probably something deeply Freudian about seeing your drop-dead gorgeous and powerful partner waving his swords around, and, I'm only human._ _And aren't swords another euphemism for...?_ now she was giggling, and not making progress on falling asleep at all.

"You wish a sword to be sheathed, meluieg?"

Too amused to feel embarrassed that he had overheard this random and carnal mental outpouring, she only laughed harder. "If it will help me fall asleep, yes, you may demonstrate your skills at arms."

How he could possibly demonstrate so quickly, she would never know.   _Elves._

_*****_

The brief shriek of the kettle woke her. Reluctantly forcing one eye open gave her knowledge that meant one of two things. Either today was shite weather, or it was only just dawn; only those two things could explain the particular quality of the light filtering through the bedroom window.

_It is the latter, Earlene. I had not meant to wake you, I am sorry. Do you wish to sleep longer?_

Given the answer was yes, but that she equally knew she would not be able to return to slumber, she swung her feet off the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes. Thranduil seated himself next to her on the bed, placing his arm around her shoulder, sitting with her quietly as she awakened. With a sigh of contentment, she leaned her head against his chest, appreciating the affection he showed her. 

 _Tonight is our party,_ he said, with great eagerness in his voice. It cheered her to hear that he was looking forward to this possibly rambunctious and assuredly Irish mortal celebration.

Turning his head, he kissed her head tenderly as he held her to him. Why she merited being coddled so nicely was unknown, but it was very, very pleasant. 

"You take exercise, sometimes, in the morning? Could I watch?"

"Of course," she murmured. _Even his odd requests were becoming normal_ , she mused. Yoga pants, layered tops and a yoga mat later, she tried to immerse herself in her routine. Emphasis on, 'tried'.

"What is the point of this?" he asked, fascinated.

"It is many things," she tried to explain. It stretches our muscles, and builds strength and coordination. And it is not just the motions of the body, but the breathing has to also happen in a certain manner as part of the discipline. It is also necessary to focus the mind on the sensations in the body."

Mystified, he continued to watch her, seeing in her thoughts that some of these poses had names, and noting that some of her muscle groups struggled more with what she asked of them than others. He now understood it would be best not to speak to her, and so he moved to another location and silently began to match her poses. As his body simply did these things readily, he did not fully understand, except to see that for her some of this was difficult. The routine took about a half hour, after which he asked if she was hungry?

"Not just yet," she said. "I will prepare breakfast in another half-hour, if you do not mind? Though if you do, I am happy to..." 

The familiar hand was held up. "Actually, I would like very much for you to wear shoes, perhaps the kind in which you would run? There is something by way of exercise I thought we might try, but it will be in your barn."

With a grin, she inferred by the location what the exercise would _not_ be, thereby eliminating one possibility.

"No," he laughed. "Though, I appreciate your desire for my body, more than you can know," he said, with sparkling eyes.

Before she could spend too much time thinking on how anyone could not desire his body, she went to find the shoes. _He could not possibly mean that his first wife...? No, that would be ridiculous. I mean, **look** at him..._

In the other room, Thranduil looked up at the ceiling, perhaps beginning to understand more why she did this sometimes. _If you only knew, meluieg.  I mean exactly that. The sight of me was no enticement, after our son was conceived...but these are not burdens you need to carry._ He shook off the memories, full of gratitude that he now found himself no longer wanting.

Walking to the barn, Earlene saw he had a huge smirk across his face. "You aren't going to tell me, are you?" she said, teasing him.

"And miss the chance to watch mortal impatience?"

"Ooooh, how about _immortal_ impatience?" she fired back, grabbing his wrist with both of her hands and digging in her feet so as to be a completely ineffective anchor against his progress. She laughed uproariously to see that she was de facto waterskiing over the grass, since he was so strong he simply pulled her along...provided she could keep her grip on him. "You might at least pretend that I am slowing you down a little for the sake of my feelings," she teased, pretending to be miffed.

Rolling his eyes, he raised his hand over his head, lifting her off of her feet. "Is this better?" 

She continued to glare at him, and did not let go until they were almost at the doors. "It will still cost you a kiss, if you want me to let go."

"I accept," he said, swinging her around to hold her against him. Kissing her passionately and deeply, she realized too late that this had been a terrible idea, from the point of view of her ability to think of anything but making love to him.

"That will teach you to challenge your husband," he said with kindness and humor. "But truly, I did bring you here to show you something I thought you might enjoy. And if you behave yourself, perhaps I can be persuaded to indulge your other wishes as well."

"I am paying rapt attention," she said, barely able to stifle her grin, as she entered the barn. Frowning, she saw an...effigy, of straw, secured to one of the giant timbers that supported the barn roof. "It is early to celebrate Samhain, is it not?" she teased, confused.

"Meluieg."

Earlene turned to him to now see that he held two swords, one in each hand. The sight rendered her speechless. Intrigue, lust, curiosity, admiration and surprise all swirled around her mind in equal measure. 

Thranduil had to work very hard indeed to not let her honest response sway his intentions, but he managed. "You wished you could use a weapon, I heard in your thoughts. If this is true, I would gladly teach you. Obviously there is no need of this skill in your world, but it is challenging to both the mind and body." 

"I cannot say whether I have any aptitude for this, but...I am interested to try. I only ask that if after a certain amount of effort I am not happy with the pursuit, that I be allowed to discontinue? I have never even held a....what manner of sword, is that?"

"I accept your terms, Earlene. And, this is an elven longsword. I believe you already have the strength needed to begin to learn the use of it."

He showed her how to hold the weapon, and the footwork and motions for two different drills. He emphasized that she move in such a way that the weapon was an extension of her arm, and many other nuanced tidbits that amounted to proper technique and avoiding fatigue. To her, there were elements of yoga, in this. When he was satisfied, he revealed to her the purpose of the exercises, pairing with her to practice a particular motion that counteracted one of his own. She was pressed for over an hour, but did not notice that so much time had passed.  Finally, with praise and a kiss, he stopped the lesson. 

Earlene knew she was a sweaty mess, and thoughts of a quick shower loomed rather high on her list of interests. But she had enjoyed this, more than she thought she would. "Thank you, Thranduil. What you taught me must be so...remedial, to you...but...swords," she laughed. "When you told me I would have unique opportunities in your service, this is not one at which I could have guessed." 

With cheeks of the rosiest red, Earlene did not manage to shower alone. For the pleasure he gave her there, she would willingly have worked through the entire morning. Afterward, he had to hold onto her carefully, so that she did not fall. Dazed, she could not accept that so much sensuality could come from the use of one bar of soap. Her interest in breakfast all but forgotten, she learned that Thanadir would not come until lunchtime, which enabled her to ponder a fresh round of lust. Thranduil laughed. "I have created a monster, and have no one to blame but myself," he said, not in the least sorry. 

The tone of voice in which she now spoke was grave. "It is often said that this kind of physical desire does not last, between those who marry. Or even those who partner without marriage," she added. "I am inexperienced but...I hope so very much that wanting each other in this way does not fade. I mean, I can understand arriving at a place where I am not constantly like a cat in heat, but I would be very sad, to lose this." 

He grew very earnest, gathering her close to him. "It is up to both of us, meluieg. It comes from cherishing each other. Caring about the other's feelings, making the effort every day to ensure that the other knows they are loved and appreciated. Doing whatever is necessary to heal any hurts that are caused. Communicating honestly, openly." He chuckled. "That last part, I am the one who must make the most effort."

"I cannot promise I will be perfect, but you will have my best effort, Thranduil, for as long as I can give it."

"And you will have mine, Earlene," he whispered. He had no intention of making the same mistakes twice.

By the time noon rolled around, one kind of appetite was finally quelled, and now she was genuinely hungry. "I am starving you, in my selfishness," she lamented as she finally dressed before Thanadir could arrive. His magnificent form was stretched across her bed, appearing much like a pleased and satisfied cat.

"I am not complaining, Earlene. I too apparently had a different kind of appetite; do not berate yourself for what we have enjoyed." 

"I will add that to my list of 'commands that are easy to obey,' " she teased.

"Then here is another one. I will help you prepare a simple meal that will not take much time or effort; from what has been described to me, we will eat in plenty tonight. And then we will have a pleasant afternoon. If you feel sleepy, you should rest after you have eaten; we may be out late tonight. This is a special day; I wish for all of us to enjoy it."

Lifting his hand to her face, she nuzzled her cheek against his open palm before kissing  the back of his hand in love and affection. "Your command is my wish," she whispered softly. She too, looked forward to this party. It was the closest thing they would have to a human wedding reception, and no matter what would be a night to remember.


	20. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 7, 2016 later in the day

It had been a few years since Lorna had planned a wedding party, and she’d never tried it without either Gran or Mairead, but she was pretty sure she and the locals had done well enough.

There was plenty of greenery to be found outside the forest, so she’d put together bouquets of ferns and wildflowers, placing one at the center of each table -- vases were in somewhat short supply, so they’d been borrowed from houses all over Lasg’len. The garlands that wound about the pillars at the bar corners were by necessity fake, unfortunately, but they were filled with Thanadir’s ribbon roses. There were so many of them that even having put pins together, Lorna still had to struggle to arrange them even halfway artistically, but she’d managed it...eventually. If he ever needed to make anything again for some reason, she at least knew now to give him a number limit beforehand.

Mick had actually been a great help, even with his broken hand -- you didn’t make it as a mechanic without a certain amount of dexterity, after all. (He’d also helped her hunt down the delivery driver who had tried to stiff Earlene. Bastard probably got a very large surprise when he tried to start his truck and discovered it had a mass of pressed, pickled cabbage in place of his radiator.) Being much taller than her, he managed to string up the slightly rusted metal lanterns she’d brought from home -- yet another random possession of Gran’s she’d never got around to getting rid of. The panes of glass were overlain with a delicate tracery of metal vines and leaves, so that the candlelight would cast their shadow over everything it touched. Given that it was elves they were dealing with, she figured they ought to go with a somewhat nature-ish theme, insofar as they actually could.

She’d made sure Mick had a clean, ironed shirt to wear, and a pair of jeans that didn’t have oil stains. It was the best she was going to get out of him, but at least they were both presentable. She’d already seen some of the older ladies out and about in their church clothes; it would, as she’d expected, be a mixed bag as far as clothing went, which was just as well. Maybe Earlene wouldn’t feel awkward in such a beautiful dress if at least some of the locals actually looked respectable, too.

The mood about town somehow managed to be tense and excited in equal measure. People wanted to see the elves, the people of the stories and legends the village had handed down for God knew how long, but at the same time, it scared them a bit. Lorna couldn’t blame them in the least -- when she’d first seen Thranduil and Thanadir, they’d been intimidating as hell. She’d tried to do her best to assure everyone that the elves weren’t something they needed to be afraid of.

“They’re a bit weird, sure,” she’d told John, while he polished the bar and she strung up garland, “but they’re not human. They’re not going to be like us. They’re as curious about us as we are about them.”

“What do they expect out’v us?” he asked.

“To be us, mostly,” she said, stabbing her thumb with a pin. Dammit. “I’ve tried to let them know what they’re in for, in dealing with the Irish. They’ve handled me just fine.”

“And if they can handle Lorna, they can handle anyone,” Mick snickered.

She glowered at him. “Shut it, you. Seriously, though, just do what you’d always do -- though try and mute your accents a bit, will you?” She didn’t know how well Thranduil’s telepathy would work outside the forest, and of course poor Thanadir’s English was still a work in progress. Earlene at least had practice, though Lorna was willing to bet she hadn’t yet heard much broad Irish. “One’v them, Thanadir, his English isn’t so great yet, so if you talk to him, do it slow and clear. He seems to be bloody curious as to how human things work, so even if you can’t hold much’v a conversation with him, he’d be happy as hell to inspect whatever you might hand him. Also, don’t even try to get them drunk. It won’t work.”

“How d’you know that?” John asked.

“Because I tried,” she said, tacking up the last of the garland, “and failed. Miserably. They’ve not got our metabolisms -- apparently their alcohol would poison us, or something like that.”

She hopped down off the ladder. “And Mick, I’m giving you the same warning I’ve given myself: don’t light anything on fire.”

“That was _one time_ ,” he protested.

“I know,” she said flatly. “I was _there_. Let’s not repeat it, shall we?”

He shook his head, muttering, while Lorna and John finished up the particulars. “Is he going to expect to be treated like a king?” he asked at last, and Lorna wasn’t surprised at the disdain in his voice.

“No,” she assured him. “He’s got his land and we’ve got ours. He was very clear about that. Just for Christ’s sake try not to be rude, all right? Whatever he might be in his own home, he’s still your neighbor. He won’t be expecting any...titles, or anything like that from us, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be polite. Just treat him like any other new neighbor you actually want to have a good opinion’v you, and don’t go messing about with poor Thanadir just because he can’t speak English very well. He’s a nice lad, and I’m pretty sure upsetting him would be like kicking a kitten.” Logically, she knew that he was probably thousands of years old, and some sort of warrior in addition to whatever the hell it was he actually did for Thranduil, but he _looked_ about twenty, and was so earnestly curious and doe-eyed that part of her was oddly protective of him. She didn’t want that curiosity tainted by human stupidity -- not yet, at any rate. It would happen sooner or later, but she wanted him to have a few actually good experiences with humans first. All too often, people met earnestness with derision, and the thought of some arsehole leaving him crestfallen...no. Never in all her life had she experienced the kind of wonder he’d displayed at her sewing machine; her life being what it had been, she doubted she was even capable of it. _He_ was, and she wanted to protect that in him, as long as she could.

*****

Having been helped to assemble Thanadir’s dress on her to its best effect, Earlene had decided to leave her hair down, though she did go to the unusual step of bringing out her hair dryer and round brush so as to ensure it styled perfectly, with the ends curling under in an even manner. Though it could not be helped, what of the diamond necklace showed would already be enough of a spectacle; wearing her hair up to show it in its entirety seemed like too much for her to endure. And as there was simply nothing to be improved with either of the ellyn, she left well enough alone. Though, perhaps out of regard for her general sensibilities, they had both made an effort to choose clothing that was not completely archaic. Thanadir had taken the time to look at hundreds of pictures of modern men’s clothing, and had perhaps been up all night with his new sewing machine, for all she knew. They both wore breeches that laced at the sides, not the front, made from light and very fine wool, not leather. The usually skin tight seams had been re-done, so that the fabric covered their boots instead of being inside of them, as per their usual habit. This gave the illusion that they wore something like ordinary trousers. They both wore long-sleeved tunics that had been altered to fit more like shirts; and each had some sort of form fitting undershirt as well. Both carried cloaks but did not wear them in the warmth of the afternoon, and Thanadir had sewn a lined woolen cloak for Earlene as well, with a hood. It would be dark, and much colder, by the time of their departure.

To say that it felt odd to be setting out with the two of them was an abysmal understatement, for Earlene. She felt like she was going to the Twilight Zone; to a combination Halloween Party, wedding reception, drunken fraternity event, and episode of The Andy Griffith show, Ireland style, all at once. That she was walking on the road to town in an elven-made dress and diamond necklace just made it all the more bizarre, in her eyes.

Thraduil rumbled with humor, beneath her arm. “Do not worry, Earlene. Whatever happens, we will all be fine. We have fought in wars; we are hardly worried about a party.”

“Well if you put it that way…” said Earlene, realizing that he was right, as usual. 

Even Thanadir laughed. “I am looking forward to this, Earlene. It has been a very long time without seeing interesting things.”

Grinning back at him, Earlene answered slowly. “We humans have a saying, Thanadir. ‘Be careful what you wish for, you might get it’.” Both ellyn thought this was very funny, but at least no more discussion of worries occurred during their walk. Earlene pointed out the grocery, and the liquor store, and then the Spotted Dick was within view at last. _They’re right, Earlene reassured herself. What could possibly go wrong?_ Pulling open the door, and holding it for the elves to walk in ahead of her, she stepped inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. Two blinks told her that there were more people than she’d ever seen and then her mouth fell open, to see the decorations.

The odd amalgamation of tension and excitement had only grown as morning gave way to afternoon. Aislinn, and Bridie Dooley, who owned the chemist shop with her husband, had joined in on the decorating, and Lorna had reassured them that they had nothing to worry about, too -- it went like that all day, until she was tempted to just get a megaphone and shout it off the roof of the pub. Word eventually got around -- as well as a hint that maybe nicer clothes ought to be thought of. (This was rank hypocrisy for Lorna; she didn’t own anything that wasn’t jeans or a flannel shirt, and had no desire to.)

Naturally, more than a few of them had already been at the alcohol, but nobody was ossified yet. A gaggle of the older ladies had taken over a corner, muttering to one another, while Bridie’s husband Jack was trying to corral their two children. The village kids were incapable of being unnerved by this whole proceeding -- they were merely enthralled by the idea of anything supernatural, especially something that had lived outside their village for ages.

Lorna herself downed a shot when she heard the crunch of approaching footsteps outside; only one set, but she figured that was just because the elves were silent bastards who could easily scare the life out of someone if they weren’t careful. “All right, you lot,” she said. “Nobody’s going to get eaten, you’re not to try to maul anyone...just act like you’re about to meet new priests.” When the door opened, she raised a comically oversized beer mug. “Welcome to Lasg’len, you two. Earlene, Jesus don’t you look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Earlene said loudly enough to be heard in what was the sudden, sepulchral quiet of the pub. To dispel any confusion, she took Thranduil’s hand and held it tightly, bringing him next to her. Though she knew full well that every pair of eyes in the place were boring holes through them, she ignored it; what else could be expected? In her best effusive tone of voice, she announced, “And thank you to everyone, so much, for inviting us here. There aren’t words, for how kind it is of you, and how much we appreciate that you would celebrate our marriage with us.” Smiling in what she hoped was a convincing manner, she released her husband’s hand and looked back to Lorna with an expression that meant _“that’s all I’ve got, and where the hell is the beer?”_ Thranduil and Thanadir stood just behind her, looking happy in a nondescript manner. Needless to say, Earlene was amazed at how quickly Thranduil had stepped back.

Lorna, having anticipated this, had a mug of beer on standby -- the pub’s brew, not her own. She wasn’t going to make _that_ mistake twice, though she’d brought some of her own for the elves.

Mick, bless him, was the first to raise a glass. “Congratulations, both’v you,” he said. “I hope Lorna’s warned you what an Irish wedding party’s like.”

“Of course I did, you eejit,” she said. “You think I’d inflict you lot on them without preparation?”

“Thanks,” John said, more than a little dryly. Lorna could still see the sweat gathered at his temples, however; he hadn’t managed to drink his nerves away yet.

The children stared at the three with open fascination, their parents unable to stop it, but kids were kids. Staring was what they did.

“Mick, why don’t you introduce everyone?” Lorna prompted, wondering if she was going to have to poke him with a stick to shift him. It was his village, not hers.

“Er...right,” he said, downing half his mug at one go. “This here’s John -- the pub’s his. Bridie and Jack’ve got the chemist’s shop -- those two rugrats there are theirs,” he added, looking down at Eamonn and Orla. Lorna prayed they wouldn’t do anything ridiculous, like try to climb the elves like trees. “Ian I think you know--” the old man nodded “--and Rory, and...oh, for Christ’s sake, introduce yourselves, will you? You’re not bloody mute.”

Lorna snorted into her mug, choking Guinness out her nose. She’d done her best to warn Thranduil and Thanadir about Irish humans. Hopefully it had been enough.

Thranduil laughed loudly, his rich and pleasant voice filling the place. “I will help. I am Thranduil, Earlene’s husband. This is Thanadir (the seneschal smiled and nodded his head at no one in particular), and we have very much looked forward to sampling your….Guinness, I believe it is called?”

Earlene was suitably impressed at this tactic...it was truly hard to go wrong in a pub by asking for liquor. And better yet paying for liquor...she had an idea. Approaching John, she asked quietly for two of the largest mugs of Guinness he had in his possession, figuring that it would take something like a half gallon just to get those two even rolling. Once he’d procured the filled mugs, she discreetly pulled a 100€ note from a hidden pocket of her dress (another clever addition for which she now officially adored the seneschal) and slipped it to the barkeep. His eyes widened as his lips began to form a protest, but Earlene quickly picked up his hand and plunked it down on top of the bill, not about to listen to it. “Elves can drink far more than we can. You may find this doesn’t cover it. And if it doesn’t, I’ll be miffed if you don’t tell me,” she said, smiling sweetly in that way she had when what she really meant was _don't argue._

Carrying the mugs back carefully, she handed them to the ellyn, surprised at how much they weighed. Then again, her grip on them hadn’t been the best.

Mick drew a deep breath, downed the rest of his beer, and started ooching his way toward the elves. He didn’t really have any idea how to properly approach them; Lorna had said he might as well just go up and say “hi”, but that sounded a bit...underwhelming. Still, he managed it, trying to ignore her completely unsubtle thumb’s-up.

“So,” he said, casting about for anything remotely resembling eloquence, and failing completely. “Lorna’s told me some about you two, and I was thinking -- if you ever need a car, for whatever reason, my van’s available.” He wondered if they were ever intending to learn to drive. If so, he hoped it was someone’s gran that taught them, not one of the younger eejits. (And not Aislinn. God love her, but she was the most incompetent person he’d ever seen behind the wheel of a car.)

Earlene decided to intervene on this one. “Thank you, Mick, that is very generous of you. I can drive, but you already know I’ve decided not to get a license here. And while it would be interesting to teach Thanadir and Thranduil, we’re a bit far from qualifying for licenses for them, either. We’re stuck on smaller hurdles like...legal identities. But if for some reason we ever need transport, I’ll be sure and look to hire you, if you’ll allow it. A village this small, I doubt exactly has a regular taxi service.” She desperately hoped that that was a suitably polite way to respond, knowing that he’d come over in the first place to try and break the ice. “How’s your arm healing up?” she asked, sincerely interested. That and, the first rule of conversation was to ask other people things about themselves, since usually others were capable of talking about _that_ subject, if nothing else.

“I’m the closest thing to a taxi we’ve got,” he admitted. “When I can drive, anyway. Cast’s got another two and a half weeks before I can get it off. I’ll actually have my shop back.” Truth be told, he wasn’t actually looking forward to it. Lorna might rag the life out of him, and about drive him to distraction with the whole ‘cleaning’ business, but it was nice having someone else to work with. “And I’ll haul things without ripping you off -- Lorna, ah, told me about that.” Probably safest not to mention what they’d actually done to the bastard’s truck. Long habit kept him quiet when it came to breaking the law, even with minor offences.

Orla Dooley, age six, was the only one of the village children ready to approach the elves just yet. While Mick offered his services, she meandered over and looked up at Thranduil and Thanadir, peering through a fringe of red hair. “You’re both tall,” she observed, in the manner of someone stating something very important. “Really, _really_ tall. Can you touch clouds?”*

Thranduil smiled in a way that Earlene had never seen before, as the young girl tugged at the leg on his trousers. Kneeling down, in the blink of an eye he had the child held in his arms, at nearly the height of his shoulders. “Let’s find out together,” he said, “for now you are as tall as I am. Shall we reach up high?” he said, slowly extending his arm toward the ceiling, which for a pub, was decently tall. Orla, her face lit up with excitement, mirrored his gesture, until the two sets of fingers were both straining toward the ceiling, still well out of reach. A look of profound disappointment settled over Thranduil’s face. “I am afraid I cannot touch the ceiling in here. Could you?” he asked hopefully.

“Nooo…” the child trailed off, realizing now that clouds were entirely out of the question. But just as suddenly, her little face brightened. “But it was fun to try,” she whispered to him, in that excessively charming way small children have of believing that they are rather quiet, when in fact everyone within ten yards can actually hear them. Orla continued to examine Thranduil with open curiosity, finding that he did not seem so very different than people, for all she had been told that he was an elf. Bravely, she reached out to touch his flaxen hair and found that it delighted her; it was as soft as silken threads. And then her eyes alighted on his ears, that came to modest points. With a gasp of happiness, she realized that there _was_ something different, and now she was beside herself.

“Did you know your ears are pointed?” she whispered excitedly to him, so that naturally the entire room heard. It was only fair to say that by now, every heart there was well on its way to melting, as they watched the easy and loving manner of the elf-king with this small one. Whatever else they worried about, no one that could be so kind to such a little one was likely to eat anyone alive, at least not anytime soon.

Thranduil knelt down, placing Orla once again on the ground, his face suddenly filled with worry. “Are they?” he gasped. “Are you sure?”

By now even Orla knew that she was being gently teased, and ran giggling back to her parents.

Bridie had tensed a bit when Orla first accosted the elf-king, but almost sagged with relief when he played along with her. Lorna gave both Bridie and Jack a very pointed look, as though to say, _See? Told you so_. It wasn’t that Bridie had thought he’d _intentionally_ hurt her little girl, but they were so tall, and their hands so large... _not human_ , she reminded herself. Strange, it was -- they looked so human, and yet even without the sight of their ears, it would be hard to mistake them for humans. Lorna had, but Lorna was stubborn as a rock -- any who’d grown up in Lasg’len probably wouldn’t have been fooled if they’d got a good look. They were both so intimidating, especially their king, but it was possibly because, as Orla said, they were both so damned tall.

 _They’ve been in there hundreds of years_ , Ian had pointed out, _and not caused us any ill. They’re not likely to start now._

Bridie certainly hoped not, because now, naturally, Thranduil was being accosted by children, until Lorna said, “Oh, give over, you lot -- he’s an elf, not a climbing frame.” Mick attempted, rather fruitlessly, to corrall them, so Bridie took pity on him and tried to help.

The elf beside him, Thanadir -- Lorna had mentioned he didn’t speak much English, but that he liked figuring out how human things worked. Bridie assumed elves had stringed instruments just like humans did, but she played an electric violin, and she had a feeling _that_ ought to interest him. She’d show him, before it was time for the dancing to get going -- everyone would need a few more drinks before they’d be willing to brave what passed for the dance floor.

Thanadir was distracted from the amusement of watching his King navigate the onrush of curious children, knowing full well how much Thranduil had adored his son Legolas. A part of him wondered very much if his King and Earlene would bear a child, not that he would ever presume to ask such a thing. He had greatly enjoyed Legolas, and arguably had raised him as much or more than his parents had. He would cherish another young one….but his thoughts were interrupted by the realization that one of the women wanted his attention.

“Hello...Bridie” he said, as pleasantly as he could manage. “How are you?”

She returned the smile. “Well enough to show you something you’d like to see, she said. C’mon.”

Working out that she wished to be followed, Thanadir walked after her, wondering what on earth...only to see her sit down and open a strange looking black case. And out of it she removed something that looked like it might be a musical instrument, but of a kind he had never before seen. “What is that?” he asked, intrigued, sitting down so as to see it better.

“It’s a violin,” she said carefully, opening the case, “that uses electricity, just like the lights.” She’d work out as she went, just how much English he spoke. “It plugs in just like this,” she said, shoving the plug into the socket and switching it on. This one was made of clear resin, with a neon light tracing the edges inside of the instrument. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “It’s strong. You won’t break it.”

“Show me what to do?” Thanadir said to Bridie, who in turn picked up the instrument (with the amplifier blessedly dialed down to an absolute minimal volume) and bow and demonstrated first the sound of the open strings, followed by a simple scale, and lastly by the effect to be had from the pizzicato, the plucking of the strings with the fingers. Thanadir’s level of facial enthusiasm rocketed, and Bridie did not need to ask if he wanted to try, as she handed the instrument back to him. He drew the bow once across the open strings, and then for perhaps a half minute, worked out the sounds produced when he placed his fingers onto the strings. Concentrating, he paused, and the beginnings of a haunting melody emerged from the violin. Bridie’s mouth opened in amazement; the first time ever she’d picked up a violin her da told her it sounded like two cats in heat. The song, whatever it was, called to mind being outside; mountains, and rivers, and wanting to go there. He did not play for long, before handing it back to her with a look of gratitude on his face. “Thank you, Bridie,” he said softly.

Lorna, out of the corner of her eye, saw Bridie and Thanadir, and smiled. Yes, he’d get a kick out of that -- and since the violin was already out, they wouldn’t have to go far for the music. Somebody was going to have get out onto the dance floor first, to show Earlene and the elves (seriously, it was a band name begging to be used) how Irish dancing went first. Chloe and Jamie, maybe -- with Bridie on the violin and Maire at the bodhran, the village’s two best dancers were out for the count. She herself couldn’t dance worth a damn, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she could, since she was on guitar. The last thing they needed was poor Mick, with his two left feet, trying to set an example.

She shifted her way over to Earlene. “Can you dance in that dress?” Christ, it was so beautiful Lorna was afraid to stand too close, in case she dropped pretzel cheese on it or something.

Earlene laughed, already feeling better for being close to the bottom of her first pint. “Yes, I can dance in it. Thanadir doesn’t make anything that fits badly, I’m not sure he’s capable.”

“Irish dancing’s a bit...spirited,” Lorna warned. “Though you’re probably right -- I don’t think he half-arses anything.” He certainly hadn’t with the roses, that was for damn sure. “I should’ve warned you about this,” she added, kicking herself. Elves were graceful bastards, but she doubted this would be the kind of dancing they were used to, and Earlene might or might not be, either.

Seeing her friend’s worried expression, she hastened to reassure her. “Don’t worry, Lorna. While I might not know how to do everything, I’ve been dragged to my fair share of St. Paddy’s Day post-parade pub parties. It’s a huge deal, in Manhattan, and to not turn out if you’ve even a drop of Irish blood is looked upon as just short of criminal.”

Lorna couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’ll tell Bridie we’ll go easy on you, first,” she said. “You’ll learn the rest’v everything now, before everything’s over. I think everyone’s just about drunk enough by now.”

“Then clearly, I need to catch up a little,” Earlene said, polishing off the last of her pint. Seeing that the ellyn still had a ways to go on their mugs, she smiled at Thranduil, who caught up to her as she headed for the bar, grinning.

“Are you nervous about dancing, Earlene?” he asked, teasing her. Frankly, he was looking forward immensely to what dancing would do to her bosom, in that dress, though he was smart enough not to say that aloud.

“No, husband,” she answered back saucily. “But as this is an Irish party, I do intend for my celebrating to be done while not entirely sober. Please John, another pint of Guinness, if you would?” She handed over her empty glass, figuring she could at least do her part to minimize the stupendous amount of washing that would no doubt commence afterward. When her glass was filled, she showed Thranduil the human custom of clinking glasses, while taking him by the hand to find Thanadir. John, who appeared to be warming up to the idea of elves in his pub, smiled at her antics as he continued to polish glassware.

Lorna, drunk enough herself to be feeling rather mischievous (and lacking in judgment), broke out the jar she’d brought with her from Baile. It was the most potent poitín she and Big Jamie had ever made -- she wasn’t going to let it near any of the humans, but it might go some little way to getting the elves at least slightly closer to tipsy. It wasn’t likely to send _them_ blind, though she’d best warn them anyway.

“You’re _not_ ,” Mick said, eying the jar like it was a live snake.

“Of course I am.” She intended just a little of it herself -- her liver had dealt with worse. “After the dancing, though, in case it actually has some effect on them.” She knocked back a shot of it herself, but only a shot; she could be a terribly mean drunk if she took it too far. This called for being a happy drunk. “Watch that for me, will you? I’ve got to get my guitar.” She’d brought the electric on the advice of Bridie, given Bridie’s violin. No doubt Thanadir would find that interesting, too, whenever she got a chance to show it to him.

Earlene and Thranduil arrived near to Thanadir just in time to see him try the violin. Once he played, Earlene’s ears locked in. _What is that?_ she asked Thranduil silently. _That is so beautiful….I want to order him a violin now._

_I do not know that it is anything in particular, meluieg. Thanadir can play our musical instruments, some of which are not dissimilar to this. And of course he can sing. As I said before, he is exceptional._

Tugging at his hand, Earlene managed to maneuver him onto a barstool. “How did you meet him?”

Thranduil looked at her searchingly, not sure this was the time or the place. In the end, he elected to keep his answer short. His wife was not stupid; she could fill in the empty spaces. _He was in the service of my father, Oropher. And as such, he was one of very few who...knew. He is older than I am, by some hundreds of years. When my father was slain, he was the first to come and kneel before me, swearing himself to my service for as long as I ruled and lived._

Earlene’s face fell, though she tried to hide it. She had not wished to dredge up the memory of...that, and certainly not here. As this was not the circumstance for further discussion, she covered his hand with hers, gently squeezing to show her acknowledgement.

Everyone was tipsy enough that Lorna felt safe giving Bridie a nod. She flagged down Maire in turn, and they grabbed their instruments from the back room.

Chloe and Jamie had agreed to open the dancing, and give Earlene and Thranduil an example to follow before the lines got going.

“All right, you lot!” Bridie cried, taking a seat atop one of the tables (shoving several empty, sticky glasses out of the way first). “It’s dancing time.”

“I think the Americans say ‘put up or shut up’,” Lorna added, plugging in her guitar. “And if anyone trips over this cord, I’ll choke you with it.”

“She means it,” Mick called, trying (and failing) to smother a belch.

Chloe and Jamie, faces rosy and eyes shining with alcohol, took their places on the empty, slightly crumb-strewn floor. Lorna and Bridie glanced at one another, and with a grin Lorna’s fingers flew over the guitar strings, setting the rhythm before Bridie’s violin soared, and Maire’s bodhran took up the beat. Jamie, with a grin that could only be called rakish, dragged Chloe into a reel with feet that practically flew.

Taking pity on the ellyn, Earlene dragged both of them off into a slightly quieter corner, to teach them the reel step. “Okay, it’s like this. Or at least, this is how I was taught.” She hiked up her skirts well past her knees, not noticing Thanadir’s raised eyebrows. “Watch my feet,” she indicated with her finger. “Point, put it in back, point, put it in back, one foot after the other. Then knee up two three four five six seven” she said, alternating the tiny steps. ”Point, put it in back, point, put it in back, knee, step in and point in back.” Before she could even ask if they needed it demonstrated a second time, they’d already imitated her flawlessly, so she ushered them back up to the line of dancers to try. And she realized for the first time, that when Lorna had asked her if she could dance, she hadn’t been thinking of the reel. She had gone to far too many American parties where a two step (if that) was all that was required to navigate the evening. Though, she could actually waltz and a few other things besides, but rarely had the chance.

 _No matter_ , she reasoned, _if I have to hike the skirts up so what, that’s what the leggings are for._ Surely the elves would not fault her for long, once they saw this step; it would be easy enough to catch her foot in the skirts otherwise. In fact, she stopped to check the inner seam of the skirt, just to make certain that there were no irregular spots that might accidentally snag easier. It took Earlene a few moments, but she quickly recalled the step and soon her face was shining with happiness, across from Thranduil who was keeping up easily. And unbeknownst to her, the smile on her husband’s face was at least in part because her breasts were behaving as he hoped they’d might. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that someone had claimed Thanadir (who was that?) but she could not spare the head space to figure it out.

The music rose and fell and soared again, Bridie’s violin giving way to Lorna’s guitar, then back, while the bodhran thundered like a heartbeat, louder than the feet of the dancers. Nobody was reserved now, that was for damn sure; get the Irish good and drunk and they’d take joy in anything -- even being hanged, as Gran once said. There was more than a little applause at just how well these elves and their resident American were handling such a dance -- hell, they were doing better than half the rest of the people.

The joy of an electric guitar was that it could scream in ways an acoustic couldn’t, and Lorna let it fly in time with the violin, skating her thumbnail up and down the string. She’d played all sorts in her life, but Irish music was literally in her blood, and Bridie and Maire were as good a set of partners as she could have asked for. They didn’t need to think, to pass the rhythm and shift it into something almost alive, and let the dancers keep up as they could.

Earlene lasted for awhile, longer than she’d thought she would, before needing a break. Not being completely dim, she went to the bar to ask John for water with which to match her intake of Guinness. Even though she knew Thranduil could help her, she had no intention of adding dehydration and a splitting headache to this party. But as her husband had no such physical limitations, she enjoyed greatly watching him and the others keep on. All she knew was, she wasn’t budging off this barstool until the whole glass of water was gone. And it also gave her a chance to watch Lorna...had she mentioned being able to play guitar? Earlene felt a little jealous. Though there had been some time in choruses in high school and undergraduate college, her life had never really allowed for a musical instrument, and she’d always felt more than a little envy of those who could play something well. Though the music wasn’t exactly what she would choose for “around the house,” much preferring her stuffier classical choices, there was no getting around the enjoyment of watching live music. Within reason. She drew the line at both hip-hop and punk because….because as gran would say, it was _wile craic._

After she had recovered herself enough, she took a small plate, helping herself to what was on the tables, but kept it within reason. Meats and some fruit, a few odd pretzels, and what looked for all the world like some homemade shepherd’s pies, that she could not resist taking a scoop of. Soon enough, she was back on the dance floor, for as long as she could manage.

The children, being the only humans not ossified to some level or another, flitted around the dance floor, a few coming up to grin shyly at Earlene before darting off again. They knew better than to get underfoot of the adults, because they might literally get stepped on, so they stole food from every available table and watched.

Mick, much to Lorna’s surprise, actually managed a respectable reel -- last time she’d seen him attempt to dance had been eight or so years ago, and to call the result abysmal was being polite. He kept well away from the elves, no doubt not wanting to accidentally crash into either, but even when he broke the reel and gave over to more ordinary dancing, he kept the beat and whirled Chloe around the edge of the dance floor. Aw. Lorna’s little Mick was all grown up.

The steel strings bit into her fingers -- it had been too long since she’d played anything strenuous, and she’d pay for it later, but it was too much fun now. Watching Earlene and the elves take the floor was an actual pleasure, because they took to it with a speed she would have had a hard time believing if she’d had no previous exposure to them. That Earlene could dance at all in that dress, let alone dance so well, took actual skill.

Eventually, the human dancers began to flag, one by one -- flag, or crash into something and bow out. Sooner or later it’d be time for the toast, and the cake-cutting, if Earlene wanted it. It wasn’t Irish custom, but it was an American one, so they’d figured they ought to have it on hand.

Earlene finally gave it up, feeling like her feet might fall off her ankles, and left the dance floor. It was only then that she noticed the cake, which was just lovely. What impressed her so much was that it was so finely done, while bearing all the marks of not having been made by a professional baker. The colored frosting flowers and icing had been applied by someone who was clearly a very talented home baker, and it was obvious to her that a great deal of effort had gone into its creation. For the life of her, Earlene could not recall who Lorna said had made this...she hoped it was chocolate. A hand on her shoulder and a rumble of humor broke her reverie.

_Sweets again, meluieg?_

Earlene began to stifle a groan when he leaned down to kiss her head.

_I am teasing you, Earlene. This is a special celebration. Eat all the cake you wish. I am enjoying this occasion, very much. More than I expected I would, if I am to be honest._

She did not answer, except to smile and take his hand, certain that somewhere nearby her pint glass was waiting for her...or was it? As she looked around at a sea of largely empty glasses, she realized she had no idea which one might be hers. Divining her thought, Thranduil shooed her in the direction of the food. _You need to eat more, Earlene. I will bring your drinks._

Nodding, she did not need further encouragement, as all the dancing had worked up a ravenous appetite. Filling a plate, she plunked down at a barstool, at least having been able to find Thranduil and Thanadir’s mugs by their sheer size.

“All right, you lot!” John called. “Enough already. We’ve a cake to cut, before everyone passes out all over my floor.”

The musicians obediently put away their instruments, while the rest moved (or stumbled) over to the main table, though at least no one knocked anything over. John, no dummy, started filling mugs -- they’d be having the toast afterward, and then everyone could do whatever they bloody pleased, so long as it didn’t involve sicking up on his floor.

Suddenly it dawned on Earlene, she had never explained this to Thranduil. _The couple both hold the knife and slice the first piece out of the cake, together. Usually from the bottom tier. Then we put it on a single plate, and then each of us feeds the other a bite of cake. With our fingers. And before you ask me why, I do not remember the reason, but that’s the tradition._

Taking her husband’s arm, they both walked toward the cake, as Earlene eyed Lorna to see her nod of approval.

_You do it, meluieg, I will keep my hand on yours._

Not for the last time, Earlene decided that she loved telepathy. As the knife sliced into the lovely creation, her inner smile widened to realize that at least _something_ inside of this was chocolate. One never knew, when the frosting was white. She carefully lifted the slice out as Thranduil held the plate for her, and then because she was fastidious, she quickly used the knife to section two small pieces off of the main slice. Figuring it was up to her to guide the way, she lifted the small bite to his lips, enjoying this moment more than she ever thought she might. While she didn’t usually go in for...ceremony, it was so nice, to have this occasion.

He was able to neatly manage taking his bite, and then did the same for her. The expression on his face was tender in a way she did not often see; _perhaps he is enjoying this just as much as I am?_ When she’d had a moment to swallow her bite, he leaned down to kiss her full on the mouth, causing the entire room to erupt in cheers and applause. And he held the kiss for a very long time, as her cheeks reddened and the enthusiasm reached a crescendo. When he finally released her, she breathlessly wondered at _where that had come from?_

 _Meluieg,_ he grinned down at her, eyes full of mischief, _I can hear the thoughts of every person in this room. I believe it was….expected._

_Oh. I’d forgotten, about that…_

He guided her away from the cake, her expression still glazed and her cheeks still burning, so that Bridie could take over management of the cake cutting. And fortunately, he even thought to bring the plate of cake with them.

Lorna, being rather more sober than many of the dancers, tagged Maire, and the pair of them starting passing out fresh mugs of beer -- _her_ beer, the special sort that nobody taking any prescription drugs was allowed. Bridie had cleared that with John beforehand, since she knew who was on what. They got ordinary brew, but John’s was plenty good in itself.

It only now occurred to her that nobody had worked out just _who_ was making the toast. Ian was the oldest codger in town, but she wasn’t sure how long he’d go on if he was let. It was John’s bar; let him do it.

“Are you mad?” he asked, when she informed him of his job. “What’ll _I_ say?”

“What would any’v us say?” she shot back. “Just...just wish them a happy life together, and that you’re glad they’re neighbors.”

“You do it,” he ordered.

Lorna glowered at him. “Not my village, you gobshite. If you don’t, I’ll tap Ian, and then we’ll be here all night.”

That was a horrifying enough prospect that it seemed to bolster John. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“Why the fuck’d _I_ owe you?” she asked, mystified. “I don’t live here. Take it out on Mick.” She hoped like hell he wouldn’t actually do that, or she’d have a lot to answer for. “Now _go_.”

With no small amount of misgiving, John stepped up onto a chair, tapping his mug with a spoon. “I’m no great hand at speeches,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll find too many in this village who _are,_ but we’d all wish you all the best. Knowing you’ve been next door as long as we’ve imagined...it’s grand to know you’re real. And Earlene, you’re the first outsider in this town we’ve actually wanted here since Mick turned up.” He didn’t look at Lorna, but she glared at him anyway. “We’re slow to change, but change we can, and...well, hell. It’s good to have you here.” He fidgeted, and raised his mug. “Here’s to you all, and the future.” Somehow, he managed to down its entire contents in two swallows.

“Still better than I’d do,” Lorna muttered, raising her mug.

Assuming it made sense to raise her glass to her own toast, though not being a hundred percent certain, Earlene and the elves imitated the gestures of everyone else in the room, and drank deeply. It was serendipitous that she had a fresh glass on hand, in her eyes. As she watched with amusement, the children and any others with a sweet tooth lined up for cake, while everyone else seemed to resume eating and drinking in earnest, though where the extra alcohol was going, she had no idea. It was clear that the room was...well into their cups, as might have been said in times gone by. Finishing up her plate of food, she was as happy as she could recall being; perfectly stuffed, just the right amount of beer in her that she was pleasantly buzzed, and so far the whole thing had been wonderful. Realizing, on some level of responsibility, that she needed to make an effort to reach out to the ones she did not already know, she decided to “work the room” and suggested to Thranduil that he might want to take Thanadir (or not) and make a similar effort. Standing up, and bringing her Guinness with her, she decided to start with Jack, who was hovering near Bridie as she continued to wrangle slices of cake onto paper plates.

“You run the chemist’s, Lorna said?” she asked pleasantly. “I’ll make an effort to stop in next time I head in for shopping, I’m running out of a few things. How long have you both had the shop?”

The beginnings of his answer were interrupted by a sharp outburst of anger from Earlene. Because there was a hand groping her breast, and she knew full well that her husband was across the room, and that even if he was not, he would never do something so crass as this. Wheeling around with her hand balled into a fist, her beer sloshing onto the floor (somehow narrowly missing the front of Jack’s shirt), someone was about to get theirs and she didn’t give a flying fuck if she broke her hand doing it.

Lorna had realized there would be trouble as soon as Sean came staggering in. Every village had that one person, man or woman, that nobody actually _liked_ , but put up with because really, what else could you do? She’d warned him away from this, but couldn’t say she was surprised he’d turned up anyway, like a bad smell.

She was halfway across the room when he made a grab for Earlene, and what happened next...wasn’t exactly clear to her. She’d made it to Earlene somehow, but she couldn’t quite say how, and then her boot was planted on his knee and her forehead was crashing into his nose, and the rage, the deep, magma-hot wrath that had always simmered at the back of Lorna’s being just...took over. It had happened before, but rarely; it was her legacy from the father she’d disowned long before he died. Hitting people, she’d always done that, though she’d given over more or less since she’d moved to Baile -- drunks at the pub notwithstanding.

But before -- she’d seen arseholes like this before, greedy little fuckers who thought the world existed for their grubby, sticky fingers to do as they wished with, and there was red -- his blood, hers, she didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. There was a scream and it wasn’t her, and the pair of them crashed to the floor in an inglorious heap that took down several stools and God knew how many dishes. There was red, and there was heat, and there, _there_ was the euphoria that came only with one thing, with hurting someone.

Without her conscious will, she snatched up a bit of shattered plate, forcing it between his lips. She’d given half a Glasgow Smile once -- if ever anyone deserved one--

It had all happened in a blur, god love her ferocious friend, but Earlene wasn’t about to let Lorna have all the fun; it was, after all, her anatomy that had just been insulted, and her temper was running red hot. With strength that could only come from the amount of anger she felt, Earlene stepped over Lorna and hooked her arm around her waist, heaving upward with her legs and basically airlifting her up and to the side, hoping she stayed on her feet. And with a mighty shove of her right leg, she parted the man’s legs before swinging her foot around in a loop so that her kick connected with that deliciously squishy place right between his thighs while yelling “ _WHO D’YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU BASTARD?_ ” at the top of her lungs. A second scream came from the man on the floor, as he twisted away from her in agony, holding his crotch. Earlene actually wasn’t done yet, and was working out how to line herself up for one more kick to his balls, but found herself restrained. She struggled to free herself, so badly did she want to pay out more, but she was being pulled further away. And the second part of the reaction was coming; tears of rage were coming into her eyes as the noise and murmuring in the room increased. She heard but did not see Thranduil say “SILENCE!” in his most commanding voice. The room went dead quiet; anyone could have heard a pin drop.

The Elvenking was deeply unhappy at this...incident, as he weighed what to do. As he turned the man onto his side to examine him, half the room gasped and some turned away in revulsion. A pool of blood was on the floor under where his head had just lain, and the man’s scalp was just...a wreckage. A triangular piece of it hung, partly detached, with his skull glistening underneath. That he was largely bald with his remaining hair close cut, made it that much more obvious. Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. The man was a villager, a ruffian, and he was seriously injured, as well. And drunk. While Thranduil wanted to simply leave him there in his own mess to suffer the consequences, he had to consider his responsibilities and his goals. If the man died, or took lasting harm, or took any harm at all, it would be forever linked back to him. It wouldn’t matter that this wretch had deserved it, and that neither he nor Thanadir had been involved; what would stick in everyone’s minds was that this was the result of the first time the elves came to town. With a deep loathing, he knew what he must do, though he did not wish to. In front of all of them, he took the man into his arms and began to heal him. As the light of his blessing formed a soft halo around them, no one breathed a word. One or two of the crossed themselves, and none of them, save perhaps Lorna who was by now elsewhere, could believe what they were seeing. When he was done, Thranduil unceremoniously dumped the now perfectly healthy and sober man onto the floor, rose, and stormed out the pub door.

*****

Thanadir, having seen that there was a back room to this place, pulled Earlene into it. He decided that it would be wiser to completely remove her from the source of her anger. Once she understood who was restraining her, she instantly stopped resisting, but now her emotions were a complete mess. With something between a sob and a wail, her arms wrapped around Thanadir’s waist as he held her protectively, soothing her as best he could while she cried in anger and frustration. By some miracle, there were clean napkins and what appeared to be an untouched glass of water. Dunking one into the glass, Thanadir dabbed carefully at her eyes and face. At this exact moment, she was only going to feel safe with one of the elves nearby, while at the same time feeling disgusted with herself. “I am sorry, Thanadir,” she whispered. “I am not usually like this. I don’t understand why I am so upset.” _You’re from New York, Earlene. So some asshole grabbed your tit, why are you reacting like this?_ She had no clear answers for herself, except that _maybe it is because this party was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me when they didn’t have to, and that walking turd had to go and ruin it._ She could only sort out that she was trying her hardest not to burst into a fresh round of tears at what a shambles this had all just become. Earlene took over the napkin from Thanadir, appreciating his efforts but finding that his incessant dabbing was becoming annoying. He began to move toward the door only to hear her unsteady voice begging, ”Please, do not leave me alone.”

Patiently Thanadir remained, sitting on the bench with his arm around her shoulders, fully prepared to give anyone else who entered the room their marching orders. As he waited, he pondered the range of experiences of which he’d partaken tonight, and concluded that for the most part, he liked the humans. Though it had also confirmed for him that should they be out in this world, in the future, he would ever have to be on his guard to protect his King and queen. Now, as in days long gone by, they could not afford to abandon their vigilance. It was not right, that anyone under his watch should have suffered the indignity that Earlene just had; he felt a strong measure of responsibility for not realizing that an occurrence like this might be possible. And, he knew better. Like it or not, the world of men had ever been thus; he had allowed time and optimism to cloud his judgement. It was a mistake he did not intend to make twice. He sighed, and from time to time rubbed small circles on Earlene’s back, hoping that it gave her some comfort.

For her part, she rested her head against Thanadir, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to summon the spirit of pugnacity that had always seen her through such occasions in the past, while at the same time envying her friend. _Lorna wouldn’t be in here crying_ , she thought to herself. _So why are you? Why can’t you be more like her?_

*****

The rest of the pub was left with the problem of what exactly to do with the unwelcome Sean. He’d caused enough drama as it was, so Bridie made an executive decision: they duct-taped him to a chair and stuck him out on the back porch. The spring nights were chilly, but he wouldn’t freeze. For one last good measure, however, Bridie kicked him in the crotch. Again.

****

Mick wasn’t tremendously surprised that Lorna would be at the heart of a pub fight. He didn’t pay it much mind -- not until he heard Earlene yell, and looked up to see Lorna beside her, bloody-faced, her expression terrifyingly vacant. Mick had only seen her like that a few times, back during their gang days -- when she got like that, he’d always been terrified that sooner or later she’d kill someone.

She had something in her hand now -- glass, a shard of plate or something, dripping red, and Mick felt his heart drop. Oh Christ, had she -- no. No, there would’ve been more screaming.

But her face, her expression...in this state, she wasn’t safe for _anyone_ to be around. Mick edged toward her, trying desperately to avoid the notice of the elves -- not easy, given how closely she stood to Earlene. Jesus, what had she done to Sean’s _face_ …

“Lorna,” he whispered. Her head whipped round to face him, and oh, that look in her eyes...Shane had always said she looked like a snake, with her eyes so cold. “Lorna, c’mon, give me that.”

She said nothing -- only stared at him, that awful blankness still hovering over her expression. The glass in her hand dripped, and he realized some of the blood was hers.

“C’mon, Lorna. Lorna. _Lorna_.” Approaching her like this was like dealing with a rabid animal. “It’s Mick, Lorna. Give that over now. Come on, give it here.” He held out his hand, praying she wouldn’t stab him -- but she knew him. He was Mick. They’d stolen a city bus and crashed it over the edge of a bridge as teenagers. He knew what she was like, what she could _be_ like -- and what she didn’t want to be.

To his everlasting relief, hand it over she did, and he saw the exact moment she returned to being _Lorna_. She wiped at her face, staring at her hand, and turned.

Lorna couldn’t say she was sorry she’d lamped Sean, or even that she’d fucked up his face, but all the blood, and his head...oh Jesus.

She didn’t actually make a conscious decision to run. Somehow, she found herself outside, the spring evening just turning chilly. With an equal lack of awareness, she broke into Mick’s van and stole both cigarettes and an unopened bottle of beer. Beer wasn’t enough -- she didn’t know that anything _would_ be -- Christ, had she killed that bastard? Had she, had she, _had she?_

The remnants of her fury jagged along her nerves, and her trembling hands could barely light her cigarette. She hadn’t smoked in years, but did she ever need one now. She needed to smoke, and to move, and...and….

The blood on her forehead was growing chilly and tacky, but her nose was bleeding freely, and she wiped it on her sleeve. It was over, but the rage, that wonderful, euphoric wrath refused to die entirely. It warred with her cold horror, the dissonance nearly enough to make her sick.

Her cigarette was bloody, though she didn’t know if it came from her nose or her fingers. She wasn’t sure it mattered. If she really had killed that fucker, it was back to prison for her. And just now, in that moment, she wasn’t sure she cared. Whatever might happen to her couldn’t be worse than what she was. What she still was, even after all these years. Jesus, what was _wrong_ with her? Why was she like this? She was thirty-nine fucking years old, and still, _still_ she did...this.

In the blink of an eye, Lorna found her cigarette suddenly missing, and found the rest of her firmly held by Thranduil.

 _You are coming with me_ , she heard in her head.

As Thranduil saw it, this was the only person who deserved to be healed from what had happened, but there had been no other option. He whisked her away faster than a human eye could follow, to the alley alongside the pub, which was shrouded in darkness. She was held firmly in his arms. He would not need to glow with light, to repair the minimal damage of her bleeding. He knew that her thoughts and emotions were nearly beyond reach, just now, which was why this was not going to be a topic for discussion. Laying his hand on her, he swiftly cared for her injuries, but was not so certain about what to do for the rest of her. Though, he had an idea. He’d connected with her once, when she was not this angry, and he hoped that it was enough to be of some value here.

 _Lorna, listen to me. The man is regrettably perfectly well, because I was left with no choice but to heal him. Or at least,_ he said with no small amount of amusement creeping into his mental voice, _he was perfectly well a few moments ago, before Bridie offered further insult to his male parts. What the other villagers will do to him, I cannot say, but neither you nor I will be held accountable for that. You need not fear any consequences, for there are none. But I cannot in good conscience release you until I see that you are in control of your anger. I understand it, better than you know, which is why you will go nowhere until I am assured you have mastered yourself._

Unfortunately, in that moment Lorna was entirely incapable of listening to him. She Did Not Do Well with being restrained -- too many fights that could have gone disastrously wrong if she hadn’t got free. She was a jumpy bastard; even her family knew better than to grab or startle her. This was a hold she put her nieces and nephews into, when they’d got stroppy with her, but she was little and he wasn’t, and without plan or forethought she wrenched her left shoulder out of its socket, twisting like a cat while she tried to pivot around the joint. It had worked for her in the past, though not in this particular hold, and not with an opponent this bloody strong. She wasn’t used to running up against someone she couldn’t beat, or couldn’t escape, and Christ she was _trapped,_ she had to get free, had to had to _had to_ , while she could still breathe.

Though he did not hurt her in any way, his grip on her was like iron. _Lorna,_ he sent to her in as gentle a tone as he could, _the wounds to your spirit have festered because of fighting and running, fighting and running. You cannot harm me, and you cannot escape me, and I know very well what a strain this alone places on your mind. At this moment, you are in my care, and the first thing to which you will need to reconcile yourself is that you have no choice in this matter. You are my friend, and I will not stand aside and witness your self-destruction when it is in my power to stop it. We will remain here, exactly as we are, however long is required, until you can accept this much._

Lorna had absolutely no idea what to do with...any of this. How the hell could he want to be anywhere _near_ her right now? “I would’ve killed him,” she whispered, her voice unsteady, half muffled by his shoulder. Her nose wasn’t bleeding anymore, but she was still probably getting it all over his tunic. “You saw -- you saw what I did to his face. If Earlene hadn’t grabbed me, I’d’ve killed him right there.” Jesus, why _was_ he near her? How could he touch her? Nobody touched her, nobody and nothing, it was just _wrong_ … Her every instinct still told her to run, to get the hell away and tear off into the night, but she knew, even through her panic, her horror, her lingering rage, that for once in her life, she was well and truly stuck. “That’s what I do,” she said, pointing at the pub before scouring her right hand down her face. “That -- that shite, it’s what I do, it’s what I’ve _always_ done, and apparently all I ever will do, and _Christ_ , d’you know what it’s like when you just want to make someone _hurt_?” She had a suspicion that he might, to some degree. _Sometimes it doesn’t matter what you do, as long as the other person hurts. As long as you win, and they lose. The sheer euphoria that came when you made someone bleed, or cry...it was headier than any drug she’d ever taken, anything else she’d ever tried._..What the hell kind of mentality was that?

She couldn’t look at him, or at anything. She just pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that someone actually dared have physical contact with her. No smart person touched her, let alone restrained her, but she could tell already she wasn’t getting loose under her own power. She’d be far angrier about that if she wasn’t so mired in shock, in complete loathing of herself and the entire universe. If he knew her, if he took a really good look at the depths of her mind and history -- if he saw not just the things she’d done, but things she’d wanted to do, planned -- he’d never let her near him or Earlene or Thanadir again.

She wished she could cry. Her eyes burned, but she’d only managed actual tears three times in her entire life -- some internal dam always held them back, until they curdled within her mind and poisoned her. _It’s what I am. I’ll never be anything better._

Thranduil laughed, in his deep baritone voice. _Lorna, I know you are not used to having the friendship of an elf, but have you forgotten, this is me? You may tell yourself what you wish to, in your anger and your disappointment with your choices, but surely you do not expect me to believe that? With every new set of thoughts, you show me more. You expect me to think worse of you as a result of what I see, and yet I do not. If you wish, I will look at the depths of you; you only need give me your consent. But I tell you now, I do not expect to see anything at which I could not already guess._

_This is the problem, with shutting yourself away. You have come to accept that certain conclusions you have made about yourself are true, and with no other voice to contradict you, you use this conviction to define your future. If you believe a thing to be true, Lorna, then it assuredly will become so. And in the same way, if you choose to believe something different, those beliefs can come true as well. I know that you did not ever mean to find yourself near a mind-reading elf, and yet here you are. You are correct in only one thing; if I saw that you were a danger to Earlene or Thanadir, I would keep you away from them. The fact that I do not, and continue to welcome you, should tell you something. Since you are not thinking clearly at the moment, I will spell this out for you, as you humans say: Perhaps I see your heart more clearly than you do, and perhaps you should consider that you have friends that are more than willing to help you._

Thranduil decided that he’d said enough, but there was one more thing he could do. She might never forgive him, but he suspected heavily that she would, even if it took her awhile. He laid his hand on the back of her head, freeing her emotions until with a great heaving sob, she burst into tears. He held her as he would a child, slowly swaying back and forth as she cried, until there was nothing left. And while she was thus occupied, she did not take note of the warm sensation in her shoulder, nor the barely perceptible click of the joint returning to normal.

Later, Lorna might be pissed about that. Having her mind manipulated, even benignly...but just now, that was exactly what she needed. The ability to cry was not something most people would value, but sometimes it was the only way to release all the pent-up toxins that could store in a person’s mind. _How do I make it stop? she asked, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. How do I stop wanting to hurt people like that? Even I know it’s not right, and I don’t want to be like this. I’d thought I was better, until that fucker. You’ve been in my head, you know how angry I can get...what do I do about it? It’s part’v me, but I don’t want it. I never have._ Tears were strange things, weren’t they? Hot and bitter, salty-tasting, but it felt like some soul-deep poison was draining itself. She couldn’t have actually spoken if she’d tried; it felt almost like she couldn’t breathe, but not quite. It hurt, but it was a good hurt, like she’d not felt since Gran held her after she’d lost Liam.

Thranduil considered her words. _I can teach you. And if that fails, I can take it from you, but you would be happier to achieve it on your own. Not tonight, but soon, when you have calmed down and all this has settled. All I ask, for now, is that you open yourself to the belief that it is possible to learn this. He paused for several seconds. What I have in mind will require a promise from you, though I do not think you will find it difficult. I will bring you to my Halls, asking only in return your solemn word never to speak of anything about them, aside from that the elves have a home in the woods. There is much there that I believe you will find...uniquely useful, in learning how to manage your rage. And either way, I will help you with this. You have helped me, and if it is your wish to be free of this, then free you shall be._ Realizing that she was as calmed down as much as would occur without more alcohol or further direct intervention on his part, he gently set her down on her feet, but just as quickly took her hand. “Shall we return to the party?” he said, smiling. “I believe I should pry my wife out out of the back room. Perhaps you could get John to pour her another Guinness?” he suggested, as he smoothly navigated her toward the pub door.

Let her in his Halls...Jesus. Not something she’d ever expected. Like, _ever_. _Of course I’d promise_ , she thought. _I already talked to Earlene about a supernatural NDA clause -- you’ve probably heard that term from her, but if not, it’s a non-disclosure agreement. Basically, it means I keep what I see to myself._ Thought of being free of this temper, this thing that had defined her life...it almost seemed too good to be true, but for once in her life, she’d go out on a limb. Liam always said she needed to have more faith in people, so she’d try. It had worked with Mairead and Gran; there was no reason nor evidence to suggest it wouldn’t work with Earlene and the elves, either. (Seriously, she needed to start a band just so she could use that name. It was too perfect. Did Earlene play an instrument? Finding out was a priority.)

“I could try,” she said slowly, “but -- there’s always a chance they’ll all think I’m mental, and boot me out. Most humans, they’re not...accepting, like you’ve been. Mick, he’s known me for years -- he knows what I’m like. I’ll try and bribe Earlene with Guinness if I can, but if that lot want me gone...well, I can’t blame them. You know I couldn’t hurt you if I tried, but they’ve got no such assurance.” If that did happen, she had Mick, and she had Earlene and the elves -- though they might want some privacy, given what Earlene had gone through. Either way, Lorna wouldn’t be alone, and that counted for more than most people would expect. She was pretty sure Thranduil would have got it even without telepathy, though.

Thranduil smiled at the excess of Lorna’s worries. “You need not fear. No one actually entirely saw what happened, and that the man’s head split open was not your direct doing. Though you cut his face, I’m afraid Earlene distracted from the notice of that rather swiftly when she pulled you off of him to kick him in his manhood. If it had not all been so dramatic, it would have been rather funny,” he mused. “Go in as though nothing happened except your knocking that man down. Trust me.” He held the door open, and gestured for her to enter.

Lorna was an absolute shit liar, but having a good cry had helped her immensely. Knowing that she had Thranduil -- and by extension, Earlene and Thanadir -- at her back, that helped, too. Mick, he knew her, he’d seen what she was like and knew the right things to do and say, but much as she liked him, he didn’t get it. Not really. That Thranduil did, almost scarily well...he’d said his father was a right nightmare, just like hers (though his, being an elf, had probably been exponentially worse). Had he learned to cope like she did, and then learned a way around that coping mechanism? Part of her wouldn’t be surprised. And if that turned out to actually be the case, and he’d truly moved past it...maybe she really could, too.

She probably looked like an absolute fright, but a quick trip to the toilet and she could wash her face. Everyone would have seen her head-butt Sean; that was no big deal. She was hardly the first to head-butt someone in a pub fight, and she wouldn’t be the last.

*****

Thranduil marched straight to the back room, pausing for a moment with his hand on the door to take a deep breath, wondering on some level if this evening was ever going to end. Though he was happy, on every level, to help Lorna any way he could, he’d not taken into account how much trouble some humans could be, and how quickly. He would definitely be making a mental note of the “Sean” for future reference. Entering the room, he closed the door behind him, only to have Earlene launch into his arms. With a silent word of bottomless thanks to Thanadir, he held her tightly as the storm of her thoughts came at him.

“Meluieg,” he whispered. “You did very well, and I am proud of you. The situation out there has been managed. The mess is cleared up, the man who accosted you has been disciplined by the villagers, and Lorna is getting you another drink. Do you think you could come out of here, with me?”

Not answering, she looked up at him. “Do I look like I’ve been crying?” she asked woefully. 

The truth was, yes, she absolutely did, but he could fix that. He gently held his hand over her eyes, banishing the redness and the swelling. “Not anymore,” he said, with what he hoped was not too much cheerfulness.

She tried to force a smile onto her face. “Just give me another half minute,” she said, as she made herculean efforts to plaster a look onto her face that was different than how she felt inside. _All those years of court were good for something_ , she reasoned. _Buck up_ , she ordered herself. Finally, she took his hand and nodded her willingness to emerge from the room, but not before looking back at Thanadir. “I cannot thank you enough,” she whispered. His smile and the nod of his head spoke volumes, as Thranduil opened the door and left it ajar.

Lorna, face washed but eyes still slightly red, bore a mug of Guinness the size of her head. “It’s safe,” she whispered. “I’m not entirely sure what they did to Sean, but I’ve been assured by everyone that he’s the only one like him in the village. You lot won’t have more problems like that.” Despite the fact that she wasn’t a villager, she’d been elected to bear the booze (and the news) simply because she actually knew the three in more than passing.

Gratefully, Earlene thanked her and took the mug, pausing long enough to take four immense swallows of it. She kept coaching herself, _don’t give that pathetic piece of shite the power to ruin this occasion_ , as she plastered a smile on her face and did her level best to resume her conversation with Jack as though a bomb had not gone off in the meantime. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the ellyn were making similar conversation with others, and that the room had, somehow, returned to a form of normalcy. Becoming engrossed in hearing about the chemist’s shop, she did not notice her husband slip away, to the back porch.

 

Sean sat with a mingled look of spite, fear, confusion and pain on his face, helplessly bound to the chair; they’d even taped his mouth. With a raised eyebrow, Thranduil realized he wished to investigate this...duct tape, which seemed like another marvelous invention of the humans. But what he came to say would not exactly require conversation. Bending low, so that he was face to face with the man, who looked extremely alarmed, he said only one thing, very softly. “If I ever hear that you have laid a hand on my wife again, or even that you have come near to her in any manner that causes her to take offense, you will have far more to fear than anything that will come of your current circumstances. Are we understood?”

The man nodded vigorously, beads of sweat pouring down his face. Thranduil stood upright, staring at him long and intently, his look one of extreme displeasure. The man at the very least deserved to squirm for a few extra moments, he reasoned. Craven at heart, Sean was a miserable creature convinced of his right to snatch at what he could not rightfully earn. There was little doubt in the King’s mind that he was suitably terrified. To his disgust, a spreading discoloration appeared on the man’s trousers; he was urinating himself in fear. Thranduil had seen enough. Turning on his heel, he left.

Returning to the room, he found to his surprise and enjoyment that four women of the village were quite taken with Thanadir, who was doing his level best to answer their questions. Earlene had let slip that he had made her dress, without use of a machine, and now the seneschal was surrounded by what constituted the Lasg’len Ladies’ Quilting Club. He was being vigorously courted to pay them a visit on their weekly afternoon meeting (Thursdays, four o’clock, tea provided) because all of them wished to introduce him to the wonders of quilt patterns...which in truth were something of which he had not been aware. Thranduil declined to rescue the seneschal, reasoning that it might actually be quite useful for him to forge new social connections in this manner. Earlene sealed his fate when, suspecting that he rather did want to go, she told him that they could go to town together, allowing her to shop and visit with Lorna at the pub while he attended their group.

The thing that most surprised Earlene is that every one of the women (all of whom were at least in their fifties) managed to not pinch Thanadir on the cheeks, though they so clearly wanted to (based on the number of times hands went halfway to his face, only to be withdrawn). With his doe-eyed and eternally youthful appearance, the awareness of his unexpected sewing skills had just earned him instant celebrity status, in the minds of the village fabric mavens. That Ian’s wife Mary was one of these ladies only cemented the serendipity of it, in Earlene’s view.

Uncertain how much time had elapsed, Earlene was only aware that she had conversed with what seemed like everyone in the room, at least a little. Her feet and back were aching...she was getting a little too old to be heaving people around, even if they were as tiny as Lorna. Though, she reasoned, maybe she needed a better fitness program. Heading toward forty did not mean that she was done for, not by a long shot…

His eyebrows raised at this set of thoughts, and realized that it was a good time to begin the process of leaving. Wisely, Earlene decided not to try and finish her oversized beer. Though, the circulating rumor that her assailant was even now immobilized on the back porch made her feel very tempted about what might be done with the remainder of her drink; part of her wanted to march back there and splash it in his face. _You’re better than that, Earlene. Leave him to be dealt with by others; you cannot afford to reflect poorly on Thranduil._ As much as she’d prefer to act like Lorna a little more often, she perceived the wisdom of her calmer side.

Hearing that was enough for Thranduil. Drawing himself up, he announced to the room in his best charming manner their deep appreciation for this celebration of their marriage and that they had enjoyed themselves immensely. And for good measure, that they looked forward very much to stopping in at the pub to visit, and that they wished everyone good luck. Earlene quickly scuttled over to find Lorna, and thank her specifically, since without her it would never have happened.

“I know you’re not the hugs type, but I thought just this once…” Earlene said, with her arms open to her friend and a twinkle in her eye. Lorna, extremely startled, managed a quick “girl’s hug” and wished them good night. So many people were actually _touching_ her tonight...it was weird as hell, but for once she didn’t count it a bad thing.

With that, she found herself led by the hand outside, and wrapped in the cloak Thanadir had made for her, which was wonderfully heavy and warm. And as she investigated it, extremely clever. There were at least five pockets that she was able to find easily, and she discovered that there was a flap-covered opening on each side, worked into the seam, that would allow her to have her arms outside of the fabric while still having it wrapped around her. She thanked him profusely for this, too, increasingly in awe of his abilities. The experience of wearing custom-designed and tailored clothing was new to her, though she was no stranger to assorted luxuries.

They did not otherwise speak as they returned, and by some previous understanding the ellyn turned away from the village on a different path, to enter the forest. Obviously, they would spend the night in his Halls. It was harder for Earlene to keep up in the slipper-like shoes she had chosen to match her dress, and Thranduil soon carried her in his arms. Her aches melted away under his touch, leaving her better able to enjoy the magical walk through the forest, under the starlight. Thanadir began to sing, in a rich and resonant tenor voice that filled her senses. She did not understand many words, but heard things like “galadh” (tree) and “eryn” (wood) allowed her to realize it was a song about nature. Though she badly wanted to listen to him as long as she could something in his song must have lulled her to sleep, because her last memory of the day was of his music weaving melodies in time to the silent footfalls of the ellyn.

*****

Lorna wasn’t the only one who nearly sagged with relief when they managed to halfway salvage the night. The brightest among the village knew just how crucial this day had been, and just how much worse it could have gone.

Bridie and Maire stood in front of Sean, eying him and his pissy trousers. Lorna couldn’t hear just what they were discussing, but she wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. Or pants. Her own gran had been named Bridie, and this one was so like a young version of her that Lorna wondered if they were related.

She herself leaned against the bar, nursing a shot of poitín, letting the sound of the crowd wash over her. Such fits of rage always left her drained, as though her soul had been hollowed-out, but it wasn’t so bad this time. Whatever Thranduil had done in her head, she probably shouldn’t be too annoyed by it, given the results. The fact that he could do that...honestly, it was pretty freaky, but she trusted him.

Mick picked his way through the crowd, and she couldn’t blame him for the wariness in his expression. His eyes searched her face, no doubt hunting for any lingering sign of the _thing_ her rage woke in her.

“I’m fine,” she said. “No, seriously, I’m good. I’d give you a pound for a smoke, though.” The one Thranduil had stolen from her hadn’t been anything like enough. She still, even now, carried the battered Zippo Liam had given her for their first anniversary; while she didn’t smoke anymore, you never knew when one might come in handy.

Mick hesitated, but pulled a crumpled pack out of his pocket and handed her one. As soon as she lit it, Maire appeared by her side with all the suddenness of an elf, and she nearly choked on the damn thing. “Jesus, warn a woman, would you?”

“Can we borrow that?” Maire’s freckled face was split into a grin so evil that Lorna had to approve, even without knowing what the plan was.

“As long as I get it back,” she said. “Why?”

“Shirtcocking,” Maire said, with an innocence that would fool absolutely no one.

Lorna burst out laughing, and Mick passed a hand over his face, shoulders shaking silently. “Mick, you mind when we did that to Big Donal? We were what, fifteen, sixteen?”

“Something like that,” he said, while she handed the lighter to Maire. The pair followed the woman back to Sean, who rather looked like he wished the ground would swallow him whole. “That was the same night you broke Michael’s nose with half a brick.”

Maire turned to eye them both. “I don’t want to know,” she said. “All right, anyone who’s not willing to see this gobshite’s langer, out you go.”

Lorna would have expected the old codgers -- especially the ladies -- to split at that point, but no. The entire bloody lot of them stayed, minus only a few of the youngest children. Sean himself looked ready to bolt as soon as his legs were free, but Lorna grabbed the carving knife off what was left of the roast, idly twirling it as she watched him. She’d learned how to do that for the hell of it one long summer, and had only sliced her hand open a few times. She had it down to an art form now, and she turned it over, fingers running along the handle, flipping it a few times for good measure. She didn’t need telepathy like Thranduil to communicate her threat: _struggle and you’ll lose your balls as well as your trousers._

Mick eyed her, and she spared him a brief look, letting him know she wasn’t going to haul off and cut the son of a bitch. Sean evidently took her seriously, for he held quite still while Maire and John yanked his pissy trousers off. His pants went next, and the entire lot got tossed into the fireplace, where Jack doused it in kerosine and tossed a few lighted napkins onto it with a flourish.

The stench of burning fabric was never pleasant, but at least she could report to Earlene and the elves (that was going to be a band, goddammit, no matter what she had to do) that he’d been quite effectively humiliated -- and would be all the more so once he’d walked home with nothing on below the waist, in a chilly Irish evening. The village wasn’t going to stand for that shite again.

(The fact that several of the children danced around chanting “Pants on fire!” only made it better; that Orla suggested they burn off Sean’s willy, which in turn made him faint, only made it more so.)


	21. Twenty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 9, 2016

It was two days before Lorna headed back to the forest, two days in which she turned over what seemed like far too many things in her mind.

She and Mick spent most of the time rebuilding the transmission on Bridie and Jack’s van, an activity she found rather soothing. They talked -- not about the present, but about their shared history, as she tried to badger her thoughts into something resembling order.

Thanks to whatever Thranduil had done, her shoulder didn’t hurt at all -- and she’d dislocated it enough times to know it should have hurt like a bastard. It certainly made her physical job easier, though she also tried not to think about how completely unable she was to get out of his hold. The fact that she knew he wouldn’t hurt her made her failure no less disturbing to her; never, in her entire life, had she failed to escape someone. Would it be like that with all elves, or was it because he could read her mind? She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to that.

On the evening of the second day, she finally got ahold of Niamh, who was a fountain of information, and emailed just about every damn thing they would need to know about establishing identities. Fortunately, no genetic testing would be necessary, but the pair of them still ought to learn something approximating an Irish accent. As Lorna had expected, Niamh asked no questions; only requested that if whatever they were doing went south, her name stayed out of it. Lorna had assured her nobody would ever know.

The next morning, a sheaf of paper tucked into Gran’s knitting bag, she headed off to the forest. She hoped like hell Earlene hadn’t been totally soured on the village -- though she’d probably be happy to know Sean had scarpered as soon as he’d made it home with no trousers nor pants. John was taking bets as to whether or not he’d ever come back.

Lorna slowed when she reached the edge of the forest, for once hesitating. Thranduil had left her with one hell of a lot to think about, and even now she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it all. This entire situation was so far beyond her, it wasn’t even funny -- what in God’s name was she doing here? She wouldn’t know if she didn’t keep going, so she drew a deep breath and stepped into the trees. At least she came bearing good news.

Earlene’s cottage really was rather similar to Gran’s, though not quite so rustic. Gran’s -- Lorna’s, now -- was at least a hundred and fifty years old, and in some ways showed its age. It was little, the pipes had issues, and it only had a woodstove for heating, but it was Lorna’s. She’d never had her own place, until Gran had died -- she’d moved into the tiny spare room when Gran got too old to live on her own, since a nursing home was utterly out of the question. Even Mairead’s house was vetoed, since it apparently had too many people. It was home now, in a way nothing had ever been, and she wondered if that was what Earlene had come to feel.

“Oi,” she said, rapping on the door, “I’ve got presents. Sort’v.”

No answer came, yet Lorna’s ears picked up the unmistakable sound of the protesting barn door being moved. By walking to the edge of the house, she could clearly see Thanadir, notepad in hand, organizing...something. Some sort of activity, as there were a great many elves, at least a dozen. Her curiosity overcoming her reluctance, she approached, waiting at his side. When he finally looked up from his checklists, as each elf bore away a box or three, his face broke into a smile. She could not help but notice that to a one, they were wearing what she would call...dresses. Some ignored her or did not see her, others looked in curiosity and smiled.

The seneschal spoke. “Hello, Lorna. Today we are moving the vegetables to our Halls. I am here, but Earlene and Thranduil are...there. If you will give me a moment?”

Lorna matched his smile with a grin. “Hi, Thanadir. I can wait, sure.” Her eyes traveled over the group, completely intrigued -- just how many elves lived in that forest, in those Halls? She hoped they weren’t all going to want identities, or Niamh might kill her, but she thought she remembered Earlene saying something about only Thranduil and Thanadir needing them.

For a few moments, had she been looking, she would have seen that Thanadir had a bit of a faraway look, though no one could blame her if the sight of the other elves was too fascinating.

He spoke slowly, relaying the words. “Thranduil says that if you wish to come I am to bring you to the Halls, if you are still willing to uphold the promise he asks of you.”

Okay, that...Lorna hadn’t been expecting to go there so soon, and the thought was more than a bit daunting, but like hell would she say ‘no’ to that. “I am,” she said, and figured Thranduil would pick that up mentally.

“Very well,” smiled Thanadir. These are among the last boxes to be taken, we can leave within...ten minutes?” Not knowing what else she could do except stand there in agreement, Lorna nodded and watched the show. Finally, Thanadir offered his arm to her, and led her into the forest.

“How have you been?” asked Thanadir, attempting to put the List of Polite Conversational Terms he’d studied to use, if possible.

More touching. Man, these people were weird, but she wasn’t going to be rude -- not when it seemed to be a social custom. “I’ve been good,” she said, enunciating carefully. “Working. Have you had a chance to use the sewing machine?”

“Yes,” he said, delight spreading over his features. “I can work much faster, it is very nice. Very clever…” he trailed off. “I would enjoy to make you something, Lorna, but perhaps our clothing is very strange to you. I am trying to learn about what humans wear.”

Lorna was genuinely touched. Out of all the people she’d ever known, only Gran had made her clothing -- had sewed her a very pretty coat her first winter in Baile, dark green wool with a hood. “I’d love that,” she said. “You might find the things I wear boring to make, though. I have one nice coat, but a person can never have too many coats in Ireland. It is cold in the winter, for humans.” She had no idea just how well elves dealt with temperature extremes, but she would bet it was better than the average human, and certainly better than the average Lorna-sized human.

“Then if there is time, I would be happy to measure you, if you do not mind.” Thanadir had received an education, from his King about mortal females and being measured. He had not known, that he had made Earlene intensely uncomfortable, the first day she came to the Halls. He tried to be very careful, knowing that he might not realize until it was too late, when he was breaching a sensitive human boundary. They had walked on for perhaps fifteen minutes, when Thanadir slowed and bowed his head to Thranduil, who had been waiting at a turn in the pathway for them. “i Aran nîn,” he said, handing Lorna over to Thranduil with more formality than she’d yet seen.

“Len hannon, Thanadir,” Thranduil replied, smiling in welcome. “Lorna meditha adh ‘wen (Lorna will eat with us). “If it will not cause you too much suffering, Lorna, I will offer my arm as well,” he teased lightly, testing the waters between them. “How are you?” he asked, knowing that the question could have a dozen shades of meaning, for her.

“I’ll pop my shoulder out again, taking your arm,” she said, but did anyway. Given that his elbow was about level with her chest, it wasn’t necessarily a joke, either. “I’m...I’m good. Surprisingly. I’ve had a lot to think about. Mick, I didn’t tell him why I wanted to, but we talked a lot. About the past, I mean, and what I used to do. Why I did it.” Truth be told, she was having a slightly difficult time not being intimidated right now -- it was ridiculous, but now that she knew he was the one person in the entire world she couldn’t escape...no, he’d never put her in another situation where she’d want to, but old habits died hard. Knowing he was never going to hurt her didn’t change the fact that he could, should he ever lose his mind and want to. (Well, if he heard too much of what went on in her head, sooner or later he might want to punch her, but she knew he’d never do it. And he was more likely, it seemed, to want to laugh at the random shite her mind coughed up.) “Did you know your language sounds a lot like Welsh? I mean, I don’t understand any’v it, but the sound’v it...either it’s based off Welsh, or Welsh is based off it.” Given that this was elves they were dealing with, she bet it was the latter.

Thranduil chuckled. “I believe you will enjoy immensely, what I have planned for your first visit to my Halls, Lorna. And sometime, I would like to hear something of this...Welsh. Of which I have not heard. But I thought you might rather want to have the time remaining to understand a little of what you will see.” He paused, seeming as though he were weighing his words. “When I first brought Earlene here, I rather badly failed to prepare her, and as a consequence, she spent most of her time in what I believe you would call a state of shock. I first wanted to be assured that you understand...at Earlene’s home, and in the village, I am ordinary, desiring to be treated as anyone else. But this is my realm, where I rule as King. And knowing how much the thought of this is disliked in the outer world, I wished to remind you that you will unavoidably see others treating me as a King. I will not ask this of you, in a gesture of friendship. Will that be...satisfactory?” he asked.

Lorna nodded. “I’ll admit, I’ve tried not to think about the fact that you’re a king, but we actually had a talk about that at the pub, while we were setting up for the party -- we’ve got our land, and you’ve got yours, and we’re separate societies, so it’s not going to be the same here as there.” She smiled a little. “Earlene, she tried to give me some warning about what I’d be finding -- that it’s the most beautiful place she’s ever seen. I’ve probably got no comparison for it, that’s for damn sure.” She glanced up at the canopy -- she’d rarely been in a proper forest before, not since her nieces and nephews quit wanting to go hiking. “Fy enw i yw Lorna,” she said, dredging up her abysmal Welsh. “Mae'r goedwig yn hardd.” My name is Lorna. This forest is beautiful. “My Welsh is absolute shite, but can you hear it, or am I completely mad?”

“The vowels are long,” he acknowledged. “i eneth nîn Thranduil. Taur sen bain,” (My name is Thranduil. This forest is beautiful) he echoed. “There are many, many tongues in your world, more than I even wish to know of...sadly those among us who had a great passion for words and languages have long since departed, and while I understand your meaning, I cannot say,” he said, wistfully, before turning back to the subject at hand. “Likely, you will find my Halls lovely, though they are but a distant echo of the life that was once within them. I must warn you also for your safety, not to try to come here alone for some time, or you will become lost. The forest is protected by many enchantments. If ever you need me, as long as you are within the borders, I can hear you. Though if for some reason I am sound asleep, it may take some shouting on your part to wake me,” he said with humor, coming to a stop. “Well, here we are,” he said, enjoying his mild teasing of her. “What do you think?”

Lorna had no desire at all to try to navigate even an ordinary forest by herself -- one that was enchanted? Nope. (And seriously, enchanted? _Enchanted_? She was getting better at accepting the whole ‘magic’ thing, since it was very obviously real, but there were some words that still sat wrong, and might until she got used to them.) “I’ll stay and shout, then,” she promised. “I’d rather not get lost and freeze, or what have you. It’s easier to do that in Ireland than you’d think -- for a human, anyway.”

She glanced around -- this was not the beauty Earlene had spoken so enthusiastically about, so she arched an eyebrow at Thranduil. “I think you’re messing with me,” she said. “Earlene’s not the sort prone to overstatement.”

He smiled good naturedly. “You are clever and perceptive, Lorna. I hope you can forgive me my humor. In thousands of years, no one who was not sworn to my service has seen this. And yes, it is enchanted. What you are seeing right now is an enchantment, that hides the gates of my Halls from mortal eyes. This” he said, with a wave of his hand, ”is what we see.”

Her eyebrows climbed. No one? Maybe she was right -- maybe he really did see something of himself in her, however totally different they were otherwise. He was taking a hell of a gamble, even letting her know this place existed -- but then, it wasn’t like he couldn’t tweak her memory later on. Which, given what she was looking at now, she might not even blame him for. Holy shit….

“I can see why you need to hide them,” she said inanely, her eyes traveling upward. How the hell could they have made something that huge, that intricate, without machinery? Just what sort of tools did they use? Each branch of the trees carved into the gates was perfect -- perfectly even, perfectly smooth, and the knotwork among them and above them looked vaguely Celtic -- had her people learned that from the elves? It wouldn’t surprise her in the least. “How...how?” She couldn’t see a single blemish or imperfection anywhere. Part of her wanted to go run her hand along one, but she didn’t want to make a complete fool of herself. She probably looked like enough of a gawking tourist as it was, but she doubted anyone would blame her. Jesus.

“It pleases me greatly that you enjoy the sight, Lorna. You may touch them if you wish; we must either pass through this entrance or stand outside all day.”

She gave him a mock glower, but touch she did, her fingers tracing the lines, which were possibly even more precise than any modern machine could make. She wondered how long it had taken to build them -- not that time meant the same thing to an elf as it did to a human. “I wish I had anything close to artistic ability,” she said. “I’d paint this, but I can’t paint worth a damn. Jesus, it’s like this forest is another world.”

Thranduil granted her as long as she seemed to wish, to admire the Gates, enjoying greatly experiencing the sight through her perceptions. “When we enter, you will find the light to be dimmer. Give your eyes time to adjust, and ensure that you can see clearly before we walk onward. There are no...handrails,” he said. With another wave of his hand, the huge door swung open, noiselessly, and he gestured for her to enter. Knowing that this was Lorna, he elected to stay very close to her just in case of...he did not even know what, but he remained close. The door closed behind them, dousing the last of the daylight streaming inside. “And these,” he said, “are my Halls.”

It did take her eyes a moment to adjust, and the first thing she noticed was what it smelled like: not musty, as she’d expect from a cavern, but fresh and alive, cool moss and water somewhere -- she could hear it, even if she couldn’t yet see it. When her eyes grew used to the shift in light level, she stared.

 _Holy chicken tits, Batman_ , she thought, and then immediately hoped he didn’t know what the word ‘tits’ meant, and then thought about what tits mean...oh fuck everything. Aloud, without consulting her brain, she lapsed into Irish: “Cac naofa.” She didn’t have any other words, because it would take someone a hell of a lot more eloquent than she was to properly describe what she was now confronted with. How could something like this, something like these halls/caverns/whatever the hell anyone wanted to call them -- how could it seem so alive? True, many of the pillars that scattered the vastness were trees of stone rather than wood, but their carving was every bit as intricate as that on the gates, and she could see moss and even ferns at the base of each. And some of the trees were living, somehow thriving in this place without sunlight -- for how could it be coming through the roof of the cave when she could see no actual holes? Was it some kind of magic too, or...oh, hell. It was a good thing Thranduil had stuck close, because she might otherwise have walked clean off the edge of the path. “Tú i do chónaí anseo?” she asked, wide-eyed, her tone almost faint with disbelief. Shaking herself, she repeated in English, “You live here? Your people, all’v you, you live here? Jesus, if I was you I’d never leave. This is...I haven’t got words for this.”

There hadn’t been a surfeit of even normal human beauty in Lorna’s life. She’d spent her childhood in a dump of a house that barely justified the name; her adolescence she’d lived in a warehouse with the rest of her gang; prison was...prison...she’d seen some beautiful places with Liam, and Baile was nice, too, but they had...it was a good thing Thranduil could read her mind, because she simply had no way at all of expressing any of this verbally. She would never have imagined something like this could actually exist in the real world.

Thranduil smiled down at the diminutive woman, amazed that anyone could think that many things in so compact a space of time. Offering his arm again, he reasoned that it might not be the worst idea, lest in her distraction she amble off the pathways. “Come,” he said simply, as he led her up and to the left. “The area around my throne acts as a sort of hub, if you will; as does this area here at the gates. Many paths branch off from each of these places. But our destination lies on the other side. And then if I can presume on your time, I hoped that you would eat with Earlene, Thanadir and I?”

If she leaned on his arm a little more heavily than she otherwise would have, it was because heights were not her friend. Even in a place this gorgeous, she eyed the edge of the walkway with a certain amount of leeriness. “I’ve got stuff for you,” she managed. “You three. I talked to Niamh, my barrister, about what we’d need to get you and Thanadir identities, and…” Yeah, she had no idea where she was going with that. What she wound up saying instead was, “You lot don’t have six forks for every meal, do you?” She was not ashamed to hear a slightly plaintive note in her voice. She’d never seen the point of having a drawer’s worth of cutlery at every meal, and she never would.

The King’s eyes grew moist with the effort of suppressing his laughter...he could barely remember the last time something had been this amusing. “No, we do not. There are two utensils, give or take ones for serving the food. In fact, I believe we use fewer utensils than I have seen Earlene procure.”

That was a distinct relief. “Have Earlene put Downton Abbey on your list’v human stuff to watch,” she said. “You’ll understand my worry then.” She reached out with her free hand and ran her fingers over everything she could touch, trying to memorize the textures.

Like everyone, she sometimes had nightmares she was relieved to wake from. But sometimes, especially when she was confronted with something truly wonderful, she was afraid that everything around her was the dream, and she’d sooner or later wake up back in prison, or somewhere equally nasty. Part of her brain was insisting that anything this lovely had to be a dream, while the rest of her knew no dream could be this real.

Deciding to minimize the largest single feature in the entire cavern, Thranduil indicated his throne but did not stop near it. If Lorna found it strange to see the few elves nearby bowing and curtseying to the King, depending on gender apparently, she made no mention of it. Turning off into a passageway, he led her down through a hopeless warren of carven tunnels to emerge at a rather large room. Hundreds of suits of armor were arranged in a symmetrical fashion by part; rows of greaves, vambraces, helmets, on and on, as polished and bright as though they’d seen use yesterday. And as he moved her further along, arrayed in neat rows, were weapons. Bows, swords, daggers and quivers full of arrows stood at the ready. Looking at Lorna carefully, Thranduil went to one rack and removed one of the shortest blades available, working very hard to suppress the smirk that threatened to spread over his otherwise carefully neutral features. Turning to her, he announced mysteriously, “We are almost there, come a little further.”

He stopped at last at a tall wooden door, and pushed it open to reveal a large training room. Straw-stuffed targets, mannequins and….objects she could not possibly name but were clearly for the purpose of practice at arms were scattered in abundance. He left the door open, and handed her the sword, grip first, waiting for a response.

Lorna stared at Thranduil, and at the sword. _Are you shitting me?_ He did not, in fact, appear to be shitting her. She took the sword, hefting it, though she had no idea what the hell it was supposed or not supposed to feel like. While she theoretically knew how to fight with a knife -- theoretically, since Shane had taught them all, but she’d never had to actually use hers -- swords...nope. She’d once beaten a guy unconscious with a push-broom, but that was hardly the same thing.

“Are you sure this is a wise idea?” she felt obligated to ask. If he didn’t, they wouldn’t be here, but the sensible part of her, the part labeled ‘Mairead’, made her ask anyway. “I mean, I’m not prone to tripping or anything, but that doesn’t mean I won’t accidentally hack my own foot off.” She suspected even elven medicine had its limits, and severed limbs were probably past them.

“Hold it like this,” he corrected her grip, “as though you were shaking hands with it. And in...we shall not discuss how many years, no one has ever amputated their own limb under my instruction, and you will not be the exception to that rule. “Now, this skill has as much to do with feet as hands.” From seemingly nowhere, he held a sword as well, until she realized that a table against the wall held many of them. “Come to the mannequin, and do as I do. If you can manage your Irish reel dance, this should pose no difficulty.” Demonstrating the footwork he used his steps to bring his blade to plunge into the mannequin with a satisfying but indescribable sound. “Now you try,” he said, backing away.

Lorna watched him carefully, trying to mimic his footwork. Despite the fact that she was much shorter, she actually managed it, but she had absolutely no idea how hard she was meant to stab, so when she did, she lost her grip on the hilt and pitched forward a bit. The sound, though...yeah, that really was satisfying, and if she tried that again, she might be able to do it right.

Wrenching the sword out was something of an experiment, since she didn’t want to land on her arse. When she pulled it free, she eyed it. It had to be razor-sharp, and probably millennia older than she was -- and she was attacking dummies with it.

What even was her life.

She drew back, lining up, and breathed. The rather hilarious thing was that she didn’t even intend to let out some kind of half-baked battle-cry -- it just sort of happened, as she slammed the blade into the dummy. This time she didn’t stumble, and she paused to inhale the sun-straw-scent of the thing.

“That shouldn’t feel as good as it does,” she said, turning to Thranduil.

“That was a very good first effort,” he said suitably impressed. He wasn’t sure with her size that she would be able to manage the blade well...though he was sure that the rage that lurked within her could manage that blade and more. “Now here is something else to try. The longsword very often requires the use of both hands, and the mental flexibility to understand which choices are best, and when. This is a different kind of attack, one that will use a downward stroke. First the footwork (which he demonstrated), and now see how the second hand is used to reinforce the dominant hand, which does not change its grip. And lastly, the stroke itself.” Lorna watched as he elegantly elevated his arms upward before he stabbed down deep into what would have been someone’s chest. “And to remove the blade, brace your hand thus against the target; this way you will not be able to cut yourself. He gestured for her to try.

Given that she was left-handed, Lorna had to work out how to mirror his movements. While she had plenty of mental flexibility in a street fight, when it came to a sword, she was completely in the dark. She stepped as he did, sweeping the blade up and bringing it down with care and more force than was warranted -- this sword was so sharp that it did half the work her muscles should have been doing, slicing down into the dummy like a knife through hot cracklings. Her stab lacked elegance, but made up for it in a strange, quiet brutality. Even holding this weapon did...something. She wasn’t sure what -- only that it set something stirring in her mind, something she didn’t recognize. She could get to like this all too easily. “How old is this?” she asked, looking from the sword to Thranduil. “This...this is bloody addictive, and I’ve done so little.”

“Are you truly certain you wish to know how old it is,” he asked, smiling, “if I tell you it is older than your pyramids in Egypt?” His face grew suddenly earnest. “I worry about speaking of age, when your lives pass by so quickly. It would seem like our existence must be as incomprehensible to you as yours is to us….and it has ever been thus. Everything you see here, all the armor and weaponry, is a relic of fighting and defending our home that we have not needed for ages; a bygone era,” he said sadly, shaking his head but then suddenly brightening. “But I am glad that you like this.” He now peered at her very intently. “Now, I would like to see you pretend that the mannequin is Sean...if you are willing.”

Lorna eyed the sword. Egypt? She probably shouldn’t be surprised. Still. Jesus. “My gran, she used to say that all’v us are born with an axe over our head, and its name is Mortality...pretty sure she heard that somewhere. Some’v us can’t handle talk’v death, but others don’t mind it so much.” Someday, maybe, she’d let him see why. It was a memory she carefully sat on, not willing yet to share it. “The world leaves us all behind in the end. You’ve just lasted longer than any other society going -- but that’s not so hard to do, when you live forever.”

She paused. This was not, perhaps, a good idea, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t hurt Thranduil, no matter how far over the edge she went; he could probably disarm her in half a heartbeat, and she knew already how effectively he could restrain her. She didn’t need to worry that she might kill him by mistake, should things go wrong. “I’m willing,” she said, facing the thing.

It wasn’t terribly hard to imagine it was Sean, with his greedy eyes and grasping fingers, blond hair cut so close to his scalp he might as well not have had any. She’d seen the way he looked at Bridie, at Maire, at half the women in Lasg’len, and the fact that he never actually did anything didn’t make her hate him any less. She’d seen what his sort could do, when she was young -- what they’d done to girls she knew.

Lorna had fairly decent vision for a human, especially a woman her age. Somehow, when she was truly enraged, it sharpened -- Doc Barry back home said it had something to do with blood pressure. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t at all difficult to summon it, because the wrath was always there, simmering beneath the surface of her consciousness, a well of rage nearly fathomless in its depth.

Her execution wasn’t perfect, which really wasn’t a surprise, but it was as close as she could get. Always when she’d fought, she’d gone in low, darting beneath an opponent’s reach, but this time she did as she was shown first, sweeping and stabbing with all the force she could muster before staggering backward, yanking the sword free and automatically bringing it across where Sean’s gut would be. She’d known, briefly, a guy who’d died of a gut-wound, and his mates said it was horrible and slow--

She never was properly aware, when this happened. Shane had once told her it was like watching her shift into someone else without actually changing -- her posture, her expression...he called it ‘going blank’. For a moment she went very still, then inexpertly brought her sword around again, charging and rising on her tiptoes, somehow managing not to trip, and drove the blade clean through the dummy’s head, twisting it with an almost sub-audible snarl. So lost was she in her own imagination that her thumbs gouged deep into what would have been Sean’s eyes, had this really been him, clawing at the blank face, blunt nails raking out bits of straw.

Unseen by Lorna, Thanadir had entered the room as well; having divested himself of his usual outer robe, he had taken up a blade. Explaining to his seneschal silently what was wanted, he gave him a moment to prepare, before simultaneously pulling both Lorna and her sword backward, returning the blade to her hand, and aiming her at Thanadir. “Lorna, you have not defeated Sean with your rage. He still stands. What are you feeling, Lorna? Are you frustrated?”

Turning her loose felt much like releasing a hound on its way to the kill, in his eyes. Her difficulties with anger ran deeper than he thought, and he thought quite a lot. He needed to see what fueled it...was it that she dwelled on the injustices of her life too often? She certainly seemed to have little hesitation or fear of expressing her anger, from what he’d just seen. But every fire had a means of being extinguished, and it was up to him to understand what fed this one. Lorna launched at who she believed to be Sean, only this time her few practiced motions were easily deflected. Thanadir’s only order was to keep her at bay and to be prepared for unconventional forms of attack; that would be child’s play for him. “Lorna,” Thranduil asked louder as she lurched forward once again with her blade. “Are you frustrated yet?” Wisely, it occurred to him to shut the practice room door, in case she tried to run.

Lorna was, at the moment, entirely beyond speech, and almost beyond rational thought, but Thranduil would be able to know exactly what she was feeling. The sword wasn’t working, but the sword was new -- she didn’t know what she was doing, so she discarded it, and didn’t have enough higher cognition to wonder why Sean had one. She’d always been a hand-to-hand fighter; it was what she knew, so she ducked beneath his reach, aiming an elbow at his stomach.

The problem, or one of many, with Lorna was that she wasn’t afraid to get hurt. When she was in the grip of her fury, she didn’t have an ounce of self-preservation. Maybe Sean would hurt her, maybe -- Jesus, that was fast. It was fast and she was fast, and sooner or later she’d land a hit, she had to, driven by one all-consuming urge: hurt him hurt him kill him -- and then there was only the heat of rage, magma-hot as it seared through her veins, her mind so blank it relied only on animal instinct.

Thranduil came into her mind as the loudest voice she had ever heard. LORNA. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO ACT OUT THE THINGS YOU THINK. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO ACT OUT THE THINGS YOU THINK…. He let it run like a tape loop in her mind, occasionally accented by, YOU HAVE LOST, LORNA. YOUR ANGER HAS CONTROLLED YOU. He heard her own voice, goading her on, and was determined to drown it out with something even she could not ignore. Thanadir continued to easily evade her attacks, even as he privately marveled at what strength of spirit she had...albeit turned to all the wrong uses.

The words in Lorna’s mind at first made no sense, but they gained clarity in a hurry, and startled her so badly she staggered back with a cry. All thought of Sean was gone, broken by nightmare, by memory -- shit, she was disoriented, and disorientation got you killed--

Phantom pain bloomed in her ribs, ghost of the kick she’d taken to her left side at sixteen. Her rib cage was actually slightly deformed, because she hadn’t dared go to hospital. Down her chest, the searing slice of glass -- the closest anyone had ever come to really getting her, the scar still monstrous over twenty years later. The things, the fights she’d nearly lost, the horrors that even now invaded her dreams at times. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t breathe, and oh God it hurt…

Thranduil ran up behind her, perceiving her disintegrating state of mind, and recognizing it as something all too familiar. He had hoped to provoke something out of her, anything that might allow him to see a fuller truth concerning what fueled her extreme transformations. He had not expected this, but when the images arose, suddenly a great deal made sense. _Lorna. Please, will you allow me to help you? I can, if you will let me._

She scarcely had the wherewithal to recognize his voice, but her instinct wasn’t always a bad thing -- it couldn’t answer him in words, but it came as close to _please_ as her shattered mind could manage.

That was all he needed to hear. He pulled her down with him to the floor where he knelt, holding her against him, with one hand over her forehead. _Be still, Lorna. There will be no pain._ At an unspoken command, Thanadir came to him as well, and faced him, laying his hands over those of his King. They both closed their eyes, and softly whispered words only they understood. Thranduil could still not say exactly why he was choosing to offer this, to heal one mortal life to whom he was not obligated, when doubtless millions of them suffered as she did. Or perhaps it was not so complicated, after all. Both ellyn understood the devastation of a broken spirit, and Thranduil knew that he would be false, not to admit that he saw something of his own trials in her. He could not help himself, back then...but Thanadir had. And now he was helping this strange, diminutive woman who was as true-hearted as she was astoundingly vulgar, and with whom fate had decreed they would share an experience. When the light of healing had faded from their countenances, he asked Thanadir to retrieve a chair. He placed her in it, as Thranduil guessed that finding herself held by either of them would displease her, they both watched her carefully. She was not asleep, but neither was she oriented; this much he could tell. And even Earlene, who was arguably far less damaged, had taken many minutes to reconcile herself to what she found suddenly missing within her.

Lorna felt...she honestly wasn’t sure what she felt. Hollowed-out, but not in a bad way. It was beyond alien -- she almost felt like a different person, but...not. Had she gone and taken something? Surely she’d remember that, and this was more...pure, somehow, than any drug. She tried to summon speech, and utterly failed; for some minutes, she was content to stay in this nebulous half-dream, while her brain tried to work out what was different.

Eventually, she managed a single word: “What?” What was this odd sense of -- of lightness? It was so wholly unfamiliar. Something she had never known was there was missing now, but it was no bad thing. Somehow, she managed to open her eyes, and saw both Thranduil and Thanadir watching her. Oh Christ, had she gone and done something embarrassing? She didn’t think so, but her recent memory was fuzzy at best. Her mind was somehow raw, and she feared to tax it, but it was less like a fresh wound and more like something lanced and drained of poison. This was…

No, this wasn’t wholly unfamiliar. She’d felt an echo of it before, during her achingly brief time with Liam. It was peace, or something like it -- something she’d never been able to find in herself. She didn’t think she was the one who had found it now.

With a word from Thranduil, Lorna found her arm wrapped firmly around Thanadir’s, as she was guided carefully through the maze of passages. After a minute, no, a quarter of a minute, she wondered how anyone could ever tell one thing from another in this elven labyrinth. Eventually, though, they came to another wooden door (had she seen any that weren’t wooden? They didn’t seem to go in for glass, here) which Thranduil opened. Lorna rapidly found herself seated at a beautiful table, with a bowl of hot soup, rolls, and what she could swear was a spork and a knife on the side of the plate. “You are to eat, Lorna, as much as you like,” Thranduil said, in his best Kingly “don’t argue” tone of voice as he seated himself across from her. Thanadir sat next to her, and she looked up to see that Earlene was present as well, smiling at her with a look that only said, she was glad to see her here.

Normally, Lorna would have automatically resented being addressed in that tone, but just now she still felt so strange, so light, that she wasn’t capable of resenting anything at all. She wouldn’t have thought she’d be capable of hunger, either, but the scent of the soup woke that with a vengeance.

Fortunately, her table manners had survived whatever odd purge Thranduil had done to her mind. She watched Earlene out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to be a creeper and stare openly. Earlene had mentioned that Thranduil had helped her -- was this what she meant? Part of her, the deep part that she could never truly rid herself of, was incredibly disturbed that such a thing was possible, no matter how grateful the rest of her was. Magic still, even now, unsettled her just a bit, but this...she wouldn’t have thought this feeling was possible. This had to be peace, or the nearest thing to it she was capable of. It was so very much like what she’d known when she traveled with Liam, but far stronger. Perhaps she’d felt a faint echo of it with Gran as well -- just enough to recognize it for what it was.

Lorna wondered how the hell she could ever repay something like that. Helping with legal shite didn’t seem like enough, somehow; not when something inside her had been so fundamentally altered, poison she didn’t know she carried drained away. It wasn’t something she could have ever hoped to do on her own.

She wished either she or Earlene had telepathy -- there were questions she wanted to ask, so many of them, but they had no place at a lunch table. (See? She really did have manners. Sort of.) Even she knew some things were too personal; she wouldn’t ask why precisely it had been necessary, though Earlene had hinted enough that she could make a good enough guess. Asking about the result, about what it felt like -- that might not be too personal.

The soup and rolls were fantastic, though it was all she could do not to dip the latter in the former and eat it that way. (Again, table manners. Gran had actually smacked her knuckles when she’d done it one too many times. Hey, it wasn’t Lorna’s fault she’d grown up without much in the way of proper dishes.) She ate far too much of both, surprising even herself with how hungry she turned out to be, and even managed to avoid belching. Gran would have been proud -- or at least, not completely exasperated.

While Thranduil enjoyed his ongoing amusement from Lorna’s train of thought as it continued to teeter down its tracks, he had silently informed Earlene of some very basic matters. Namely, that her friend had just experienced an ordeal of sorts which was private to her, had been aided by the ellyn, and that it would not go amiss after the luncheon if she could persuade Lorna to make use of the heated tub in the next room; she needed to rest and have time alone with her own thoughts. He and Thanadir would leave, as soon as they were done eating, which is exactly what transpired.

“Earlene, Lorna, you will please excuse Thanadir and myself; we must attend to some matters that will require, at a minimum, the better part of two hours.” Thanadir was already placing the remains of the meal onto a large platter that he bore away.

“Yes, my Lord,” Earlene replied serenely, considering her words only after the automatic response had escaped her lips. Perhaps that would have been better avoided, but...if Lorna was here, it was in a way time to stop hiding reality from her. Her relationship with Thranduil was both as King and husband, and it had begun to feel slightly tiresome to pretend that the first did not exist. She did not expect her friend to understand, like it, or ever wish this for herself. But Earlene had chosen it, and saw little point in continuing to obfuscate that decision...though she would equally not be nauseating about it. The ellyn were gone within a minute.

Earlene looked at her friend across the table, basically grateful to have another break from her studies; her books and notes were at another table across the room, a little nearer to the fire.

“Would you like to sit next to the fire for a few minutes?” Earlene asked. “As much as I like my wood stove, I’m afraid I’ve gotten a little spoiled, by having it.”

Lorna nodded, still seeming very much as though she was not fully present. Earlene thought carefully, before speaking. “I don’t know what happened between all of you, nor do I need to. I only want to say that if you want to talk, I’m here and glad to listen. And, as it looks like you are stuck here for at least the next few hours, there is something you might enjoy, quite a lot, in the other room. He has a private bath that is….well, it’s unreal, in the nicest possible way, and he’s welcomed you to use it if you’d like. Everything’s already in there; all you have to do is close the door behind you and enjoy yourself. I’ve got weeks of studying to do; don’t feel obligated to entertain me if you’d prefer to just have some time to yourself. Either way I’m not going anywhere.” Her tone of voice she kept encouraging and neutral, because if nothing else, she recognized that whatever had happened, it had been psychologically profound to Lorna. And that it would not surprise her in the least, if their elven gifts had been a part of it.

Lorna managed a vague wave good-bye to the elves, their departure drawing her a little further out of her own mind.

She had to admit, the ‘My Lord’ grated on her every single Irish sensibility -- especially since Earlene was his wife, for Christ’s sake. But this really was something of a separate country, for all it sat within Ireland, and its people weren’t human. She might not like their customs, but she could keep her mouth shut about it. They respected human norms while out in the world outside the forest; the very least she could do was do the same while in here. No doubt there was plenty about humanity that grated on the elves, too, but if they’d said anything about it, it wasn’t to her.

“I’d...yeah,” she said, struggling for words even as she moved. “I don’t often have a fireplace to sit by. My Gran, she always heated the cottage with a wood stove, and I do, too.” The heat felt entirely welcome as she sank down onto a very fat chair. “I’m not -- to be honest, I’m not sure what he did,” she said, casting Earlene a slightly helpless look. “I think it might be something like what you said he did with you...something in my mind I didn’t really know was there is gone now. That he can even do that -- it’s scary, but it’s not, if you take my meaning.” Oh how she wished she had a better way with words. Earlene seemed to handle these people, this place, with such equanimity, even if it hadn’t always been the case. Lorna probably wouldn’t ever stop gawking like a tourist. “I didn’t realize what I was feeling was peace. Am feeling. I’ve never properly known it before. Closest I ever came was with Liam, and even that wasn’t like this. I’m half afraid I’ll wake up.”

Earlene sifted Lorna’s words carefully. “Probably only he can tell you exactly. And he would try, I think, if you asked him. When he...healed me, of what I guess I have to refer to as my ‘mental health issues,’ I didn’t expect that he could do that, even though I already knew he could heal injuries of the body. I’ll be honest, I’ve never questioned him more about it since then; I’m not sure why. Maybe because too many other things came up, like finding out we were married.” She snorted, at what still seemed to her like the vague absurdity of their relationship, but with a smile. “But in my odd moments of trying to frame it into a possibility I can understand...I’m no psychiatrist, but our minds are just...our bodies. Everything that goes on in our brains are electrical impulses and neurotransmitters and chemicals most people can’t pronounce...and when all that stops working right, so does how we think and feel. Neuroscience tells us that our life experiences can cause that damage in the first place. Obviously, Thranduil can repair psychological injury just as he can a broken bone, though the Whats and Hows of that are beyond my ability to know. What I most remember feeling right afterward, when it happened to me, is searching my mind for the familiar sensations. Looking inside myself for the anxiety, the feeling of an elephant standing on my chest, the pain, and the certainty that I would always be broken. And it was gone. All of it was missing. For awhile I was sure it was a delusion, and that all it would come back, but it didn't. It doesn't mean I still can't get angry, or sad...I’m still learning to adjust.” Her voice dropped greatly in volume. “It was a priceless gift I can never repay.”

In spite of everything, Lorna snorted. She didn’t know what she’d do, if she were to discover she’d accidentally got married -- even if it was to her boyfriend -- but it wouldn’t be pretty. She didn’t know if she wanted to ask Thranduil or not -- it was a decision, like pretty much every other possible decision, that she wasn’t capable of making yet, but she probably didn’t have to in any kind of hurry.

She stared into the fire, watching the dance of orange and gold, searching for words. “I’m not even sure just what my mind’s looking for,” she said slowly. “It’s always been there. I’ve always been that way, as far back as I can remember, and how d’you describe something that’s been so much a part’v you that it doesn’t even have a name? I’ve always had that rage, that hate, that...that.” She absently rubbed at the scar on her chest -- it ran from her left collarbone to halfway down her sternum. “It’s...anger’s a tool, where I came from. It keeps you safe, but I haven’t needed it in years -- it’s just been a stone around my neck. I’m not sure what I’m going to do without it.”

She looked at Earlene, shaking her head again. “I was thinking that myself -- how the hell d’you repay something like that? All the shite I’ve got from Niamh, all the shady people I know...it doesn’t feel like enough. Any idiot with enough connections could do that.”

“Well, if you are me, you use it to learn to be free of unhealthy behaviors. Look, while I don't know all of your life, it doesn't take a genius to see that where I had stability and opportunities, you didn't. And I've never let myself forget how incredibly fortunate I was, to have those things. When people get a bad start in life, whether it’s shite family, poverty, poor health, lack of education, or all those things and more rolled into one, what it amounts to is lost potential. It makes the person who lost out have to work ten times harder just to survive, forget about getting ahead. Call it what you want...fate, cosmic injustice, luck...I’ve no idea. But it’s all the difference in the world, in terms of who ends up where. And yet some people manage to survive where others are destroyed. The only truly bad thing that ever happened to me was 9/11. And I felt ashamed that I couldn't get past it on my own, and that one great misfortune left me that way. Some people probably live their entire lives like it's 9/11 every day...” she trailed off.

“Don't think in terms of paying Thranduil back. First, it isn't possible. Second, it would be like trying to pay someone back for being your friend. I’m not going to claim to be an expert on him a whopping few weeks into being his wife, but that you are even here means that he thinks very highly of you. Take it for the compliment that it is, and roll with it. He’ll still want to pay you, for the stuff with the lawyer and all; he won't view that as being connected to this whatsoever. Look at this place. He has the means, and he wants to do it. Where I come from, it's called ‘salary.’ And if I could give a bit of advice, don't underestimate yourself, Lorna. I've seen plenty of people convinced into believing that what they do or who they have access to has no real value, when it absolutely does.”

Given her heinous, carefully-hidden dyslexia, Lorna wasn’t quite sure how much potential she would have had even with a better history -- but she’d never know. For all she knew, maybe she could have made it as a doctor. Christ knew she’d patched up her siblings and her fellow gang members over the years. Squeamish she was not. She picked at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. “9/11...I don’t think anyone who wasn’t affected by it could actually understand,” she said. “I mean, I grew up with the Troubles, but they had nothing at all on that. I can’t imagine…” She couldn’t imagine losing absolutely everyone she cared about in one fell swoop. Oh, she’d lost people, but it had been gradual, spread out over three decades. She hadn’t suddenly found herself completely alone, having watched them all die, even from a distance. How she’d lost Liam, that had been nightmare enough for anyone -- Christ, she hoped Thranduil hadn’t got that memory from her -- but she’d had Mairead, and Gran. She hadn’t been left entirely alone. “I watched my husband die,” she said, trying to force her thoughts into words, “but I was lucky. I’d never met my older sister, or my gran, but they took me in, and didn’t ask any questions. They didn’t try to force me into being anything I wasn’t -- just let me grow at my own pace, sort’v thing. I was twenty-eight, but in a lot’v ways I’d never grown up. I’d never had a proper, legal job...hell, I hadn’t even got my Junior Certificate, let alone my Leaving. My oldest niece, she’d say I’d never learned adulting until then. Now...my life’s not what you’d call glamorous, but it’s mine, you know? I built it for myself, and now I can -- I can see it better, with whatever it is Thranduil did. I didn’t properly see the value in it until just now.”

She looked back up at Earlene. “He’s not come right out and said it, but I think he sees a bit’v himself in me. He told me his da was a right nightmare like mine was, and I think maybe he might’ve once reacted to it like I have, and managed to move on. He must think that I can, too, and now...maybe he’s right.” She snorted, unable to help herself. “What I do...I’ve only got all these connections because I went to prison. They’re useful as hell, but there’s no getting around the fact that I’ve got them because I went down for manslaughter. What movies and books don’t tell you about prison is just how often people keep in touch on the outside.”

Earlene smiled. “I could see that. If Oropher were here I think I'd scheme to kill him myself, even though it would probably be the challenge of a lifetime. I wonder if poison works on elves? That bastard….” she muttered. “While I've never been in prison,” she mused, “connections are an amazing thing. I'd argue, no one gets anywhere without them. I didn't. My da used to say, “It's not what you know, it's who you know. And as much as I didn't want him to be right about that, he was.”

 _Not what you know, who you know._ Lorna had heard that saying, but never really thought of it in this context. “Thranduil, he didn’t give me any details, but he didn’t need to. If Oropher really was like my da...I can guess well enough.” Her own da had only hit her if she got in his way (which, admittedly, was fairly often), but what he’d done to her eldest brother, Pat...she had no idea what had happened to Pat, to this day. She’d looked, but if there was anything to be found, she’d not found it. “I’ve never really had much cause to make use’v the people I know -- not until now. But now...you’ve no idea,” she said, and couldn’t help but grin. There was Niamh, but there were also Shane and Orla -- Shane had taught her mechanics, and had a legitimate business, but he did plenty of fencing on the side. If the elves needed something moved or sold, he was their man. Orla had gone into forgery, cybertheft, and general hacking in addition to running a motorcycle shop: she’d done time herself, and discovered she had an aptitude for computers that she naturally had to put to felonious use. In some fundamental ways, Lorna had a feeling people never did change -- but so long as you weren’t hurting anyone, was that really a bad thing? Nobody in this day and age wanted to hire an ex-convict; it was little wonder so many kept on as criminals. What else were they to do?

She’d got lucky -- Big Jamie had given her a chance as a favor to Mairead, and she’d discovered that she actually quite liked mixing drinks and tending bar. Getting her Junior and Leaving certificates had taken her a couple of years, but Siobhan, who had studied to be a teacher before coming home to take care of her mam, had done what she could to work around the dyslexia. She had no problem with reading -- five years in prison without much to do gave her plenty of practice -- but when it came to writing, or reading someone’s handwriting, she was still total crap. Part of her hoped like hell elves didn’t know what dyslexia was, because she was quite sure Thranduil would make her deal with it if they did.

“Let’s just say there’s loads I can do for you lot that’re a lot more use than I’ve ever done anyone before now,” she said, shaking herself from her thoughts.

Earlene considered, and hoped that what she was about to ask was not something forbidden to her...but as it had to be asked, in order to accomplish anything, it was circular reasoning to think it was avoidable. “I’m possibly going out on a limb here regarding what I’m allowed to say, but as you're not stupid and it has to be asked eventually, do any of those people to whom you referred include someone who can sell gemstones or precious metals at a fair price? I don't think I need to tell you that their savings isn't in Euros.”

Lorna didn’t quite manage to smother a grin. “I didn’t figure it was,” she said. “My mate Shane, I know he does some jewelry, but I’m not sure the extent. I’d have to ask him what he’s willing to fence -- it’d probably take a while, since large amounts’v anything would raise red flags just about everywhere. If he can’t do too much, he’ll know people we can trust. They’ll not ask to meet with you, but they’ll probably ask to meet with me. They’re not the sort that ask many questions -- they’ll just want to know I’m not a narc or anything.” That was the way of it in any criminal network, really, no matter how minor. You might not know why the person you worked with wanted a thing, but for your own safety, you had to be able to trust them -- insofar as their kind could trust anyone, anyway. There was always the risk of being stabbed in the back, but everyone she knew had solid reputations among their compatriots. In the unlikely event this did go south, there was nothing to tie it to the elves -- just to Lorna herself, and she had enough friends that nobody but the desperate or deficient would bother with her.

Earlene nodded. “There is more I'd like to ask but...I owe it to the trust he has placed in me not to say more than he would want said, and since I'm not even sure I should have said the obvious, I should wait. Gah. That came out like a mess, but at some point I need a clearer understanding of what things sell for against their value….just because something can sell retail or is appraised for a given price, it doesn't mean that sum can be had in this situation. I had ideas about how to do this, to try and attract less attention but...when it comes down to it, it isn't so simple.”

Lorna chewed the inside of her cheek, thoughtful. “Well, once you actually can say more, give me a list,” she said. “Just a random list, and I’ll take a day trip to see Shane. If he knows what we’ve theoretically got, he can theoretically give us an estimate, but we’ve got to note down weight on that list. He told me ages ago things like gold and silver sell by weight, and what they go for depends on the market.” Whatever the hell that even meant. “I’ve got no idea at all about gemstones, but I could find out from someone, if he doesn’t know.”

_Meluieg, you may speak to her as you feel is necessary. We have placed our trust in you, in this._

“Len hannon, i Aran nîn,”, Earlene said aloud, confusing the conversation in her mind with the one being spoken aloud, before staring into space as she caught herself. “Oops. Wrong discussion. I was just given permission to, ah, speak freely.” Looking at Lorna, she tried to decide how to, no, what to say. “I think the easiest way to say this is, what they have would make your head explode. My problem is to understand how to convert what they have into what they need for their interactions with human society, in amounts and at times that will not draw government attention. How to come up with what that sum should be, currently eludes me, because I don't feel I understand the scope of their needs at all, at this point in the game. Right now, I am caring for what transactions they've made out of my own finances, small though they are by comparison. But….there are gems in there large enough to make headlines. And smaller, ordinary enough ones that would attract far less notice. Of every size and description. And while I'm not a jeweler, the quality appears to be very high. I'd thought to perhaps put one large gem out at an auction house, to just see if I could land one outrageous sum of money from a private collector. But…” she buried her face in her hands for a few seconds, before looking up. “No pressure whatsoever,” she said, her voice becoming a little shaky. It was extremely obvious, that Earlene felt the weight of this responsibility heavily.

Jesus, this poor woman… “You leave that to Shane and I,” Lorna said. “He’ll know, or he’ll know people who can find out what’s safe to do, and when. Shane -- he’s only six years older than I am, but if anybody came close to raising me, he did. He’ll help, whatever I ask, so long as I’m not implicating him in anything over his head.” Knowing him, his first question would be to ask if she’d got herself in some kind of trouble. The biggest problem with Shane was the fact that he was over-protective as hell; she’d have to find some way to put this to him that wouldn’t put his hackles up on her behalf. “With a gem...would Thranduil mind if I took a picture’v one with my phone, so I can show Shane roughly what I’m talking about? He’ll be better able to guess if he’s got something to look at.” She paused, but figured she had to ask anyway. “How d’you feel about theft? Only I know someone else -- my mate Orla -- if it’s money they’re needing in a tearing hurry, she could get it.”

“No,” Earlene answered hurriedly. “There is no need to resort to that. I came here with...resources enough. I've tried to have a pragmatic view of illicit activity. If one must, one must. But if it is possible to keep clean hands, it will always be my first choice. Not just because I've tried to be a decent person, but also because...the more times someone plays that game, the greater the chances of being caught. Not to mention...I am in a position where what I do now reflects on them, and I cannot see an elf willingly abiding that choice unless it was a question of survival. Regarding the other...I believe Thranduil would allow it, but we have to wait for his return. My privileges do not include that kind of access...nor honestly do I want them to.” Sighing deeply, she smiled. “You really ought to think about that bath,” she teased.

For Lorna, the chances of getting caught had always been something of an adrenaline rush, but she knew that was most definitely not something most people would share -- and she could easily see why the elves might not want in on that, either. She didn’t quite know what she thought about ‘privileges’, because she had no idea what that meant, and didn’t think now was the time to ask. Hell, maybe there never would be a time to. She knew there was plenty of stuff she wasn’t going to be let in on, simply because it was private to the elves and Earlene. “Well, if they -- and you -- are ever in horribly dire straits, you won’t need to stay there. I can’t imagine how you’d wind up there to begin with, but you never know, the world being what it is. I’ll have a talk with Shane, before we go any further. If I need more than him, he’ll let me know who, and I’ll bring all that back with me once I’ve got it.” She cracked her neck, wincing a bit. She was too old to be fighting like that, dammit. “A bath sounds lovely,” she said. “I don’t fully remember just what all I did, but I did it too damn hard.” A pause. “This would be the part where my nephew would say ‘that’s what she said’.”

“That one, I do not know…” Earlene noted, mystified. “What does that mean?”

Lorna laughed. “If you say something that sounds a bit dirty without meaning to, or something that could be taken the wrong way, somebody’ll come out with ‘that’s what she said’. My nephew’ll always be the first one in, once the opportunity presents itself.”

“Ahhhh. Good to know,” she laughed.

It was sad, just how stiff Lorna was when she hauled herself out of the chair, and her vertebrae cracked like a line of firecrackers. Just what the hell had she done -- or rather, what had she either hit and/or run into? This was ridiculous. “I love my nieces and nephews, but they’re all teenagers now, and stroppy as all hell. Though I’ve got to admit, Kevin can belch the first verse of the national anthem.” She wasn’t going to mention that she was the one who’d taught him how.

Earlene exploded with laughter. “When we were kids my brother was grounded for a week for doing the same thing. Dad’s sense of humor didn't go that far….” Never having entirely liked her brother, for her, it was a pleasant reminiscence.

“Oh God,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Some things cross the ocean, I guess. I told my sister it’s no bad thing if he’s doing it, because it’s good breath control. Which is rank crap, but I had to defend the poor lad.” She paused. “Should I brush all this sawdust and whatever off me?” There wasn’t actually that much, but she did vaguely remember mauling a straw dummy like a tiny, infuriated mountain lion.

“I wouldn't bother. Though if you want them tidied up, toss them back out the door once they're off; I know where I can shake them out without making a mess, and I’ll toss them back in when I've done it. I don't mind, and it would let me procrastinate studying a little more,” she said with a gleam of hopefulness in her eye.

“If it’ll help you procrastinate,” Lorna said, following her.

The room she was confronted with was over the size of her living room and kitchen combined, with a truly massive pool that looked quite like the hot springs near Kildare, but the water was a vivid turquoise. Steam curled off it, and she could see beneath the surface several benches of different heights, so a person could relax without having to either tread water or cling to the edge. There were so many jars of what she assumed were soaps and shampoos that she couldn’t help but grin. “I knew it,” she said, breathing in the mingled scents as she examined a rack full of more towels than any one person could hope to use at once. The floor was stone in some places, but in all the areas one would need to walk, there were drains formed from wooden slats. As with everywhere else in this place, she had no idea just what the hell kind of lamps were illuminating it. Obviously it wasn’t electric light, but it also didn’t seem like fire or candlelight. If she had a bathroom like this back home, she’d never leave it -- she’d do whatever work she had to from the tub. Somehow, the pool filled with new water even as the old drained, and she wondered if it was a natural phenomenon, or something the elves had designed.

All of the jars and bottles were labeled, but all the labels were, naturally, written in the elves’ alphabet, and she ran her fingers over them. “I knew it,” she said again, looking at Earlene. “Nobody’s hair is that good without fantastic products.” Mairead was a hairdresser; Lorna would know. She forked out more money on her own hair than she could probably justify, but if she was going to wear it this long, she had to take care of it. And yet, even with all the care she gave it, these damn elves had the kind of hair that would make Mairead downright greedy.

Earlene snatched up Lorna’s oddly messy clothing (were those straw bits? What had Thranduil done with her, had her clean out a stable?) Grinning, she bundled up the clothes and left their quarters. What she had elected to not disclose to Lorna was that the “nearby place not to make a mess” was outside the gates of the Halls. Anything, anything at all, to stall studying for awhile longer. She’d worked at the language all the way to lunch without a break, and still felt disinclined to continue. And somehow, she truly didn’t believe her husband would mind; he seemed more concerned that she was overdoing it than that she was being lax in her obligations.

Earlene loved that she now knew how to confidently navigate to and from at least one destination in the vast caverns. As her slippered feet padded noiselessly through the vast spaces and arched walkways, she asked herself if she would ever be able to believe that finding herself in these Halls was ordinary. _One month ago I was standing in a Manhattan courtroom, presenting one of my last cases. Today, I am the wife of the Elvenking, walking through his ancient domain while wearing elven garments. I have to accept it, but I am not certain I can ever understand how this came to pass. Or that I would not trade this for any other outcome…_

Thranduil had taught her that there was a phrase by which to open the gates; a complete _duh_...if one spoke Sindarin. “Ennyn Thranduil edro” (Open, Thranduil’s doors), she said politely, though she somehow doubted the gates were sentient. Taking the garments, she walked to the bridge in a place there were no leaves or other debris, and one at a time shook the hell out’v ‘em, as gran would have said. Bits of straw obligingly sailed off into the air, though she did spend some minutes checking and picking at the last clinging bits.

The clothes were worn, well-used. Not threadbare, but not exactly robustly intact, either. Earlene sighed and shook her head. Whether Lorna realized it or not, she had stumbled into a connection with a world that would easily bring her financial stability, if not outright wealth, by her standards. And that, she smiled is what that phrase means, “it’s who you know.” Her perception of her husband was that to the extent he could manage it, he would elect to change Lorna’s circumstances substantially, while strangely enough never requiring her to fully join the crew, so to speak. _Maybe I should feel resentment about that, even though I suggested it, but I do not_ , she reflected. _In the end I would have vowed fealty to Thranduil regardless because...I would have wanted to. I would have fallen for him, loved him, regardless... Lorna is another matter entirely; she should not be caged. Perceptions can be everything to some people, and she is clearly one who needs to believe that her choices remain solely with her...though I doubt any of us that come to care about others are truly ever free of obligation. There are bonds stronger than promises or chains, and Thranduil of all people knows that just as well as I do._

Finished more or less with her flogging of the clothes, she returned, and as promised knocked softly to warn that she was opening the door to toss back the clothes; she did not want Lorna to have the panic of thinking it might be one of the ellyn. Nudity with others could be so….weird. In college, she quickly worked past any issues of being seen unclothed by other women; the gymnasium showers had managed that. But some people never did feel comfortable, or never had that experience, so it was always best to err on the side of caution and not go barging in. Closing the door, and with a huge sigh, she realized that she could no longer defer her studies, and returned to what she saw as her duty.

Lorna had far too much fun with that bathtub.

She swiftly realized that even the shallowest of the benches was too tall; trying to sit on it left her in water up to her eyes. She opted to jellyfish float instead, simply enjoying the hot water for a few minutes while her hair floated around her like some kind of anemone.

Inspection of some of the bottles left her with what she suspected were the right ones for shampoo, conditioner, and some form of body wash. The mingling of the various scents should have been unpleasant, but it was quite the opposite. Scrubbing her mass of hair was far easier when she could just float while doing it. She and Gran had made natural soap products, and used them for so long that she couldn’t stand store-bought stuff, but this was far better even than the things they’d cooked up. If Thranduil insisted on paying her, she’d happily take some of it in the form of all these wonderful bath goodies.

While she could happily have lingered in there for hours, relaxing her stiff muscles, she was growing rather sleepy rather fast. Hauling herself out, she dried off, wrung out her hair, and wrapped it into a towel-turban before assembling her now straw-and-dust-free clothes. “Is there a comb I can borrow?” she asked, padding to the bathroom door. Using someone else’s brush was a bit personal; she didn’t want to just grab one without asking first.

“Around elves?” she heard from the other room. “Yes. Just don’t freak when you see it.” Earlene handed a comb through the door, hoping that Lorna would survive. It was ivory, with gold, and inlaid with jewels in the shape of flowers...and was also the only such implement anywhere in sight.

Lorna eyed the beautiful thing, that was probably worth more than the sum of everything she had ever owned. “What even is my life?” she wondered aloud, and set about very, very carefully combing out her hair. Whatever was in that elf conditioner made that astonishingly easy; it usually took her a good twenty minutes to patiently pick the snarls out of her hair after washing it. Yeah, she definitely wanted some of this as part of her salary. Even wet, she could already tell it had never felt this soft before. She had so much of it that it would take ages to dry, but she was quite curious as to just what it would feel like once it had.

Seriously, though. _What even was her life?_

Dry, dressed, and sleepy, she made her way back out to the fireplace, setting the comb carefully on an end-table. The sofa-type thing was probably perfectly sized for elves, but she actually had to hoist herself up onto it, sitting backward to let her hair get a little of the heat. She didn’t want to interrupt Earlene, who seemed to be hard at work again; the sofa was comfortable, she was clean and relaxed and full of very delicious food, and shortly she was fast asleep.

Earlene looked up from the books at one point to see the inevitable result of Lorna’s bath, and slightly envied her… _i lam Thindrim aaaaaaauuuugggggghhhhh_  (Sindarin) summed up how she was feeling just now.

_Meluieg, came a voice laced with affection and amusement, I have heard enough. We will be there shortly. You are to set your studying aside and take a bath yourself._

Raising her eyebrows, she tried to think of another command that would be this easy to obey, and nothing came to mind. Stacking her materials neatly, she rose and happily did as she was told. Not too long afterward, a hand on the back of her neck startled her out of the dozing she was enjoying in the hot water. Clearing her throat, she said softly, “We are going to have to discuss your silence, husband. Mortals are prone to injury from being startled.”

“Then I shall have to make amends,” he smirked, quickly shedding his clothing to join her.

She arched her eyebrows. “I am trusting you to not offend our guest’s sensibilities,” she smiled.

“I shall not,” he replied, his face still suffused with a mood she could only describe as ‘slightly bratty.’ He gently tweaked the tip of her nose with his fingertip, in emphasis. “Thanadir has taken Lorna to his rooms. She will not wake soon, and he will watch over her. It was his idea,” he added, for good measure.

“He is very kind,” she reflected. “I don’t know if you told him to do all that for me when things turned ill, at the party, but I appreciated his actions, so much.”

“I did not tell him,” Thranduil said, reflecting, “but I can tell you that he likes you, and not just because your connection to me obliges him to care for you. It is deep in his nature, to care for the vulnerable.” His words faded to a whisper, and Earlene sensed that their discussion was approaching emotionally difficult waters. She said no more, and turned to hold him. They sat for a very long time, not speaking, sharing an embrace. She did her level best to think of nothing, desperately wanting to afford him some peace and quiet from her constant thoughts.

Finally he announced, “it would seem that we should discuss finances, and that we should pay a visit to my vault. Now is as good of a time as any, I think.”

Taking the hint, she soon was dried and dressed, using the same comb as she had handed Lorna to straighten out her tangles. “This is ivory? From what kind of animal, may I ask?”

He grinned. “You are not remembering your movies, Earlene. Oliphant.”

Shaking her head with a smile, she returned the precious item to where she had originally found it.

*****

Thranduil offered his arm to Earlene as he guided her through the maze of passages to the vault door, while she idly wondered whether she would learn to find her way around these Halls before she reached old age and needed a cane to get around.

“You should never need such a device, meluieg. I can keep you much as you are now, for as long as you are given years, unless an unexpected accident of some kind were to take you sooner. Though I can heal to the very edge of death, I cannot bring back a fëa that has departed. You will not age to outward appearances, but a day will come when it is unavoidable that you will...stop, and it will lie outside my power to do anything further about it”, he said as gently as possible. “It is not given to me to undo the gift of Eru.”

That was unexpected...and a far more generous offer than any other human on the planet could anticipate. But… “Thank you, for that is an incomparable gift. Yet I do not understand all of your words, Thranduil. Gift of Eru?”

He looked at her with both reluctance and sadness in his eyes, as if debating the extent to which he should explain. “Elves are bound to the world our Father created, Earlene. Were I to be killed, my fëa would return to Námo, one of the Valar. In his Halls I would rest, until a new body was given me; and then I would dwell in the Undying Lands. Elves cannot die, in the sense of the word that you know. And while it may sound like the greatest privilege of all, our fate is bittersweet. Try to imagine living in the world when it is always springtime, and summer, autumn, and winter can never arrive, and all things around you change and fade while you remain the same. Weary of your own thoughts and existence, and yet having no choice except to continue. But humans are not bound to the world, and when they die, their fëar go only Eru knows where. It is said that the day will come when Eru will make all things again as he originally intended, before evil came into his creation...but of this I know no more than you do.”

Earlene smiled. “That is rather a lot to consider. I have ever dealt with questions of this nature by refusing to think much on them. While I am intelligent as humans go, it has always been my conclusion that some matters are too great to understand, and that one’s happiness can be stolen away by trying. You will not hear me ask too often, about matters such as this. But you do not need to be afraid to speak of them to me. I have been determined in my heart, both before you came to me and now, to live the best life I could. My time with you is and will be extraordinary, and I cannot ask for more. Perhaps if nothing else, I am providing you in return with something new. A respite from long years of the same old thing. Humans can be useful, in that regard. We surprise ourselves, as a whole, at times. And perhaps we can surprise even you. While we cannot cause your spring to change to summer, we can offer you a world filled with the best of what we have achieved, to relieve the monotony...if you can also ignore the parts that are not so wonderful.”

Her words astonished the King, who for the first time felt mildly out of his depth. That she would be so...phlegmatic, about her mortality, had not crossed his mind, but he was encouraged and gratified to see it. Neither of them spoke further on this matter, but spontaneously both stopped in the passage, reaching for each other and sharing a passionate kiss of love and shared experience. Breaking away with laughter, they continued on until they stood once again in what Earlene now fondly referred to in her mind as “the baby dragon’s room.” She regretted not having brought her own phone, which would have made this simpler, but it was back at her cottage.

“Obviously, I overheard your discussion with Lorna,” Thranduil said. “And it should not rest with you, to determine our financial needs; that is rather more the provenance of myself and Thanadir.”

“Pardon me, then, my Lord,” Earlene answered, only to see him hold up his hand.

“My words were not meant as criticism, meluieg. I only meant that such calculations fall into the category of our ordinary duties. And while we met together, this is some of what we considered. Thanadir has been relentless in his learning, and it has included his best efforts to understand your financial systems and...what things cost? For lack of better words. We have discussed at length, and feel that a sum of five hundred thousand of your Euros would be a good initial goal. As you pointed out, there is time in which to accomplish this. The ease or difficulty of acquiring this sum will provide us with better understanding of how to proceed. And I should mention, a fifth of that alone is to provide for Lorna. I believe that this would be fair compensation for, say a year, not including any additional expenses she may incur? While her only wish from me may be elven hair oils, I am not content to see that be the extent of it,” he grinned.

Earlene snorted. “I have an idea, about that. I will formally hire her as my personal assistant. It will be a legal transaction that will allow her to receive the income in an honest manner, though she will be required to pay taxes on it. Since I will be her employer, nothing will trace back to the elves, and since I am already established with a financial presence, monies that flow into my own accounts, at least in the amounts we are currently discussing, would escape notice. I have ways of moving the sums around among my holdings that would technically still be legal while allowing the activity to escape easy detection. As long as Lorna and I are both giving our taxes to our respective governments, the Powers that Be are content. I will set it up for her as a monthly salary, so that it will distribute over time...if, my Lord, this is acceptable to you.” She paused. “Lorna will earn in a year what she used to earn in ten years, if I were to guess. I can teach her what to do, to guarantee her comfort and care for the rest of her life. I do not believe that she will be changed for the worse, by this.”

“The worse?” the King echoed, puzzled.

“Some who have never had wealth use it very unwisely, when they come into it suddenly. They squander it on foolishness; luxury items, or dispersing it to undeserving friends and family that suddenly have their hands out to help themselves...such things as that. I see Lorna as having more sense. Hm. And if you are willing, I can ensure it. I can create a trust for her, into which some of these monies can go...instead of a large sum being available to her all at once, it would pay out to her monthly for all her life, with any leftovers to be given where she wishes on her death.”

Thranduil considered. “I see. Then, look into this; I like this notion. Whatever else transpires, it is my wish that she is permanently cared for, in reward for her aid to us. The trust...that will be separate, and simply because I want to give it. This...prepaid card for her, you have prepared it?”

“Yes, Thranduil. It only awaits an initial amount, to be decided upon.”

“Then, ten thousand of your Euros. And,” he paused, selecting a considerable variety of gems, ”these will go back to our rooms, where she may take her photographs. And we will see what comes of it.”

Earlene nodded, smiling, and turned to leave.

“Wait, meluieg.”

Chuckling to herself, she faced him once again, guessing what was coming. He held up a delicate necklace of emeralds and diamonds, that looked like a chain of tiny leaves and flowers. It was tasteful, and very pretty. “Lorna will be unhappy with me for insisting that she have this, but being King must have certain privileges,” his eyes twinkled.

“That will compliment her eyes, as well as match the rest of her. Being so… if you will excuse the expression, we humans call someone with her small and slight build ‘elfin’, because it is how we imagine elves and faeries would look. A necklace like that will be very nice on her.” She almost turned away again. “Are we done here?”

Thranduil laughed. “No, we are not, my suspicious queen. Your thoughts betray you; you did indeed escape here once without something for yourself, but I would like you to have this, now.” He took her hand, and placed a golden band encircled with rubies on her finger, and the rubies were in turn encircled by the tiniest diamonds. It was lovely in appearance, and did not scream out of being a crown jewel. “These beautiful things do no good, sitting here, unappreciated. I would see at least a few of these pieces greet the light of day.”

Admiring it, she thanked him. “You are very generous, Thranduil. I know that for you this is...nothing, it is an easy gift to give, and much appreciated by me. Try to remember, though, with Lorna...all such things will seem overwhelming. When you have hardly ever owned a nice piece of clothing, jewelry that would be very costly in the outer world is hard to fathom.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But, she is among us, now. It is one of many things to which I believe she will manage to adjust, in the end.”

*******

Lorna wasn’t sure how long she slept, but when she woke, she found herself neatly tucked in on an entirely different sofa.

She rubbed her eyes, bleary, wondering where she was. It was a very large room, but lined with mannequins dressed in various outfits -- some complete, some obviously not. They all seemed very elaborate to her taste, though she suspected some were simply normal daywear for an elf. It smelled strange, but not unpleasantly -- it was actually a rather nice combination of lavender and something rather more masculine, though she could put no name to it.

Sitting up, she ran a hand through her hair, and discovered that not only was it completely dry -- meaning she’d been asleep a good five hours -- it was incredibly soft. Softer than she’d ever have thought possible, in fact, and she pulled it over her shoulder to inspect it.

Yes, she most definitely wanted some of...whatever that was. Her hair was shiny. There was more grey than black now in it, but whatever the hell was in that shampoo made the grey look more like silver. A lifetime supply of this and she would be happy forever.

She didn’t at first recognize the faint sound she heard, quiet but rhythmic, until her brain made sense of it: a sewing machine. This must be Thanadir’s flat, then.

Swinging her bare feet to the floor, she stood, half afraid to move -- she didn’t want to bump into anything. The stone floor was chilly, but the heat of the fireplace was welcome.

Following the noise (carefully, so very carefully), she found another room, this one as crammed as Mairead’s craft room but far more organized, and prettier. Sure enough, Thanadir sat at the sewing machine, deep in concentration but looking so pleased that she was damn glad she’d hauled the thing out to Lasg’len. She wasn’t sure she wanted to interrupt him just yet, though sitting and staring like a creeper would be too weird.

“Hi,” she said, trusting that she wouldn’t startle him. She doubted elves even got startled.

Thanadir had already learned to expertly stop the wheel on the machine, and immediately smiled as he looked up at her, moving his chair back. “Hello, Lorna,” he said pleasantly and with only a slight hint of concern. “Are you feeling well? Do you have any pain?”

“I feel fine,” she said, choosing her words carefully -- she didn’t want to toss out any weird phrases he might misinterpret negatively. Part of her wanted to ask if he was okay, for all she was pretty sure she hadn’t landed so much as a single hit. “Better, now that I have slept. What are you making?”

“I am altering night clothes that the King requested,” he said. “Lorna, this is so much faster,” he went on, still obviously having found new love with the antique...that was millennia younger.

Altering...that was the thing she’d actually found harder than sewing something new, mostly because she inevitably cocked it up. “My Gran -- my mother’s mother -- used it all the time,” she said. “I’m sure she would be glad you have it, and can enjoy it.” She paused. “Thanadir, I have an idea. I heard you play Bridie’s violin at the pub. I would like to teach you to play the guitar, and songs in English. It will help you learn to speak it, and about Ireland’s history.”

“What is...guitar like? Is it like this?” He walked to a shelf of the room and carefully removed a stringed instrument that was not easy to identify. It had a shape reminiscent of a lute, but honestly, she did not know what it was.

“A bit, yes,” she said. “The body’s not solid like that, but they’re similar. May I see it?” She almost didn’t want to ask, but she was fascinated by all stringed instruments.

“Yes, you may,” he said, handing it to her as though it were an infant.

Lorna took it as gently as though it were made of glass, her fingers delicate on the wood. It was probably at least ten times her age and worth more than her soul. She didn’t even pluck a string -- just ran her hands along them, intrigued. Not metal, but they didn’t feel like any sort of gut, either, which she would have expected of an instrument this old. It was almost too large for her annoyingly tiny hands to play -- both her acoustic and her electric guitar had had to be specially made, or else half her sharp chords resulted in a weird buzz because her finger could never reach the entire way across the neck.

After a moment, she gave one string a pluck -- on a guitar it would have been E, and it actually sounded pretty close. Gently, carefully, she tested out the frets for Crow on the Cradle, a suitably melancholy Irish folk song that, most importantly, was not strenuous on the instrument. Her fingers itched to tune it to something more like her guitar, but she let it be. It worked just as well in this slightly different tone. “Is this all right?” she asked.

He nodded, with a look of palpable eagerness coming over his features.

She couldn’t help but grin. “Now, there are some words in this song I would be surprised if you knew, so ask me later and I will explain. This song is about war, and how terrible a thing it is.” That was an incredibly simplistic explanation, but it was the only one he was likely to understand yet. He’d get the more nuanced version when he spoke better English. “It’s been a while since I sang anything, so forgive me if I miss a note.” Not so long ago, she’d made a fairly good deal of money by panhandling with her guitar, but now she mostly played on rainy evenings when the pub was slow. Still careful, treating the instrument like something holy, she ran through the frets again.

“The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn,” she sang, slightly more slowly than she otherwise would have, “now is the time for a child to be born.”

Her fingers were getting the hang of this instrument now, and she was no longer quite so afraid to break it if she breathed wrong.

“He’ll cry at the moon, and he’ll laugh at the sun,

If he’s a boy, he’ll carry a gun,

Sang the crow on the cradle.”

She watched Thanadir, searching his expression for signs of comprehension or confusion.

“If it should be that your baby’s a girl,

Never you mind if her hair doesn’t curl,

Rings on her fingers, bells on her toes

A bomber above her wherever she goes,

Sang the crow on the cradle.”

‘Bomber’ was one she didn’t expect him to get; even if he knew what planes were, it was awfully archaic.

“Rock-a-bye baby, the dark and the light,

Somebody’s baby is born for a fight,

Rock-a-bye baby, the white and the black,

Somebody’s baby is not coming back

Sang the crow on the cradle

This one was bittersweet for her, though the pain had long since gone out of it. Hers never managed to be born, for a fight or otherwise.

“Your mother and father, they’ll scrape and they’ll save,

Build you a coffin, and dig you a grave

Hush-a-bye little one, why do you weep?

We have a toy that will put you to sleep,

Sang the crow on the cradle,”

Her fingers stayed light on the strings, but she’d dropped it half an octave. Such a sad song deserved a certain amount of emotion, and part of the reason she’d made so much panhandling was because she actually put emotion into what she played. She’d seen way too many people whose voices were technical perfection, but whose singing was utterly soulless, a chore rather than a performance. In her mind, if you were going to go to the trouble of singing something, do it right.

“Bring me a gun, and I’ll shoot that bird dead,

That’s what your father and mother once said

Crow on the cradle, what shall I do?

That is the thing I leave up to you

Sang the crow on the cradle.”

The last notes lingered in the air, drawn out by her touch. “Now,” she said, “what did you recognize, and what did you not?”

He furrowed his brow. “I do not know ‘hush-a-bye’, nor ‘rock-a-bye.’ For the rest, I know the meaning of the words and yet I do not entirely understand how they are used here. I have...pictures, in my mind, but do not know if I hear what is meant.”

“‘Hush-a-bye and ‘rock-a-bye’ are things we say to babies who are crying,” Lorna explained. “For the rest...hmm. Seventy-odd years ago, the entire world went to war. This song is much older than that, but it fits. Do you know what an airplane is? Machines that fly in the sky? A bomber is one of those, but made for war. The song is a tragedy, saying that all boys are bred for war, and all girls will live under the shadow of it. The crow represents death, which to us is inevitable, in whatever form it comes. ‘Somebody’s baby is not coming back’ is just what it sounds like: in war, sometimes your skill doesn’t matter. Sometimes you are lucky, or not. The weapons we have now are not like swords, or even bows. Some of them are so terrible that no one dares use them.” She had no idea how to explain a nuclear warhead to him, and wouldn’t have wanted to try even if she could.

“Then it is something like our songs, like poetry,” he said, reflecting. “I very much enjoyed to hear it; thank you. I would like to see your guitar. Though you do not know our language, you might enjoy our songs as well. But perhaps now you are hungry? Soon it will be time to eat. Would you like to see more of Thranduil’s Halls? We have perhaps an hour, and it is my pleasure to see that you are happy.”

Lorna grinned at him, unable to help it. “I’ll bring it, next time I come here,” she promised. “And I love music in all sorts. I can’t understand Latin, either, but beautiful songs are beautiful songs.” Not so long ago, she wouldn’t have imagined she’d be hungry again any time soon, but surprisingly, she was. “Food does sound good,” she said, “and I’ve love a tour, though I’ll warn you, I’m not so fond’v heights. When you’re as short as I am, they’re not your friend,” she laughed.

“Then if you will allow me a few minutes to finish my task, you may take my arm. I will not allow you to fall.” With a general air of happiness, Thanadir resumed his seat at the treadle, concentrating on..whatever it was...for the next several minutes while Lorna paid closer attention to the assorted details of the room.

How did the elves have so much beautiful fabric? She assumed they wove it themselves, but where did they get all this silk -- or was it even silk? Thought of crafting even one of these robes entirely by hand...it was a wonder Thanadir hadn’t snapped ages ago. It wasn’t just the mannequins, it was the racks of dresses and robes and a host of other things she had no name for. Was he the only one who made all this? Surely not. She hoped not -- but then, given that he seemed to spend most of his time wherever Thranduil was, he had to have a few helpers. Just what was his actual job description? While there was a lot she knew she wasn’t going to be told about elf society -- which was fair enough, since she wasn’t going to take on the job she couldn’t quit -- she wondered if she’d be allowed to know that.

She wandered around the perimeter, careful not to actually touch anything. Thought of wearing so much fancy clothing, every day...she’d be terrified to even move in it, in case she somehow tore it, and it had to weigh a ton. Add in the fact that it was surely all washed by hand...yikes. It was a good thing older elves didn’t need to sleep much, or they’d never get anything done.

Though...how old was Thanadir? If he’d been human, she would have pegged him as early twenties, but that was no guide with an elf. He was older than Thranduil, but not knowing how many thousands of years old Thranduil was, that was no help, either. Humans must seem like mayflies to them.

She tried not to think about what that meant for Earlene and Thranduil. Even if Earlene made it to a hundred, that was probably no time at all to an elf; from his perspective, she’d be dead in a heartbeat.

She knew he’d been married before, but did he have any idea just what he’d face far too soon? The fact that he’d find out...she’d only had two years with Liam, and it felt like he’d been stolen from her. At least she had some hope of seeing him again someday, once she followed him to wherever humans went when they died, but elves didn’t die. Once Earlene did, they’d be separated forever.

Christ, that was tragic.

She shook herself out of her morbid thoughts, examining a dress of rusty velvet. Was Thanadir married? She wasn’t sure how he could be, given that he seemed to have literally no free time, but maybe elf spouses were more tolerant of things like that. It wasn’t like they had a finite number of years to spend together.

“You appear as though you have many questions, Lorna. You may ask them; I would imagine you must wonder about many things, here.” Lorna hadn’t noticed that the treadle had stopped, and that Thanadir had silently stood up.

“I was just wondering, how many things does your job entail? I mean, it seems like you do a bit’v everything,” she said, not wanting to get into anything heavier yet.

“I am His Majesty’s seneschal, which in your tongue is also called....steward. It is many things. Ages ago, I administered these Halls for the King; all those with different responsibilities reported to me. Keeping records, caring for the King’s family, even teaching his son. In times of war, I fought alongside my King. When most of our people left, there was less to do. Little to do. So I learned many other skills. Sewing and music, working with wood, and metal. Elves that are never killed have a very long time in which to learn,” he said with an air of….was it regret? “His Majesty wishes for much to change, now. I assist him, I learn your language and about your world. And Earlene; she is also my concern, to help in any way that is needed.”

That...sounded like a job description and a half, but her mind seized on the word ‘son’. Either the kid had died or sailed, but either way, ouch. Lorna wished she didn’t understand that one. She’d privately wondered just how much fun living forever would actually be; it seemed she wasn’t entirely wrong. “I know something I could teach you,” she said. “Something that’ll be completely new, unless I’m very much mistaken. You’ve seen the thing I ride to Earlene’s? It’s called a motorcycle. The cars you saw in Lasg’len -- I can teach you how to build them.” She could easily see him quite happily elbow-deep in a gutted engine. If Thranduil was so determined to pay her, she’d pick up some classic lemon and haul it into the village. Mick had space.

Thanadir smiled. “This must be a modern human invention? I like to learn new things. For awhile we will be busy. Then I will have more time, though I must still help Earlene in her studies. Tonight at dinner, we celebrate that we are all not faded any longer. You are invited. There are elven clothes you may wear, if you wish. No one else will be…” he searched for words by which to remain polite to her, “dressed in human garments.”

If their language didn’t consist of an entirely unfamiliar alphabet, Lorna would have loved to learn it alongside Earlene. Maybe she could get Thanadir to write her a key, so she could practice it on her own and not make a fool of herself. She couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow at his slightly awkward politeness. “Meaning nobody’ll look like they went mauling training dummies and losing?” she asked, failing to quash a smile. “You’ve actually got something little enough for me?” It hadn’t escaped her notice that elven ladies, while all slender, did have something approximating an actual figure, as well as all being close to a foot taller than her. She prayed silently that some elf ladies wore pants, or this could get seriously uncomfortable. To her knowledge, never in all her thirty-nine years had she worn a dress.

Thanadir laughed. “There were elflings here, at one time, and some of them were ellith...girls, in your speech. There are many dresses here. And what I believe Earlene calls ‘leggings.’ It is usual for us to cover most of our bodies,” he tried to explain, clearly at a loss concerning how much or how little to say. “Thranduil showed me that Earlene prefers these...leggings to wear, and her skirts not so very long. I found the same, for you, if you wish to wear them to dinner. There were many rooms, to search,” he frowned, leading Lorna to wonder just how much time he had spent hunting for clothing just for her.

Oh, hell...if he’d gone and done a bunch of digging, she could hardly say ‘no’ now. She remained convinced that he would be perfectly capable of sad kitty eyes, like Puss in Boots in Shrek. Thank God for leggings, at least, but still… “I’m going to be honest with you, Thanadir,” she said. “I’ve never worn a dress. You’ll have to show me how to even get into it...that’s what she said,” she sighed, trying not to facepalm. “Show me how it works, I mean.”

He laughed merrily. “I will help you. In the meantime, I will show you a little more of the Halls.” Offering his arm, he guided her out of what she rapidly had come to think of as “smaller tunnels” into the one huge cavernous area. “We have the river, some waterfalls, storerooms, cellars, a forge...there is a room with very beautiful tapestries, and you have already been to the armory...I am not certain what you would enjoy to see?”

“You’ve got a forge?” she asked, and somehow managed to not sound too much like an over-eager schoolkid. “I’ve never seen one in real life. Though if I go get all sooty, I think Earlene might kill me. It’d be such a waste’v that lovely bath. If it was possible to build a copy’v that tub, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” All other tubs had been thoroughly spoiled for her, now and forever.

“Yes, though it is not in use unless I build the fire for it; I do not work until a list of things needs making. At one time many smiths worked there...and then it was only me, when something was needed. But very soon there will be at least one more; another ellon knows this work. There are to be gardens, at Earlene’s and elsewhere. That always means things being broken,” he said with a grin. “If you do not touch the tools, you will not become dirty. You would like to see it?”

“Definitely,” she said. “Once you’ve got it going again, I’d love to learn, too. I promise, I’m a lot stronger than I look.” She’d always been strong, but years of hauling around beer barrels and automotive tools had kept her so. She couldn’t help but match his grin, feeling rather like a kid at Christmas. She’d enjoy it while she could, because she knew wearing a dress wasn’t going to end well, to one degree or another.

“I saw your strength. Much more than I expected. You are fearless, but you are not an elf. If you do not learn to fight differently, you will become badly injured. You fight like one who does not wish to remain living.” He said the words very softly, but with the firm convictions of one who has considerable authority on the subject. “You should have many years, yet. If you have time to teach me new things, I would feel better to teach you as well. I do not wish to see you hurt, or worse.”

Unconsciously, Lorna touched her ribs. You’d never know there was a dent there unless she was wearing a swimsuit, and since she never did, nobody but Shane knew about it. “I dunno that I’d say it was that I didn’t wish to stay living,” she said, thinking back on her adolescence. “More like I didn’t really care if I died, which sounds a lot more dire than I actually mean it as.” She couldn’t help another grin. “I would love to learn, Thanadir. I’ve never been taught by someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” Shane, God love him, had been in the Army when he was younger, but he was hardly what you’d call an expert. Thanadir had said he was a warrior, which she’d suspected already. “Just don’t go too easy on me because I’m so little.” She knew that could be pure instinct for most people, whether they were even aware of it or not; hell, even she tended to be more careful around shorter people, despite the fact that most of them were taller than her. (She’d wondered a great deal how she’d wound up so small, given that nobody else in her immediate family was. Then she’d met Gran, and suddenly many things made sense.)

He smiled, but a measure of...sternness?...appeared that she had not thought it possible to see on his charmingly boyish face. “They are very close to the same, thing, though, are they not? I will gladly teach you, Lorna, but you will find that I am a demanding instructor. My teaching may cause you to become very angry with me. And that is much of what you must learn to control; you fight with emotion, and not proper training. And while I do not wish to damage our friendship, I will teach you as I feel I must.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You mean you’ll kick the shite out’v me, and tell me what I’ve done wrong the whole while? You’ll not be the first, though I suspect you’ll be much tougher than Shane was.” It had been a bit difficult for her to see Thanadir as a warrior before, but it was easy enough now. “I can’t promise I won’t lose it,” she said, with a sigh. “Whatever Thranduil did, it helped a lot, but I’ve got thirty-nine years’v it being ingrained into who and what I am. I’ll have to learn that along with everything else -- and speaking’v damaging our friendship, I ought to warn you I can cuss like a bloody sailor, and I can’t promise I won’t toss everything I’ve got when you knock me down too many times. If it helps, I’ll try to keep it in Irish.” She was probably dead wrong, but something in her, the part of her that thought of him as filled with wonder, had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate being called some of the things she knew. “I’m not known for giving up, though. Not when it comes to hitting things, anyway, and if I can hit them without totally getting lost in my own head…”

Lorna sighed again. “What you’ve got to understand, Thanadir, is that when it comes to humans, going blank like that’s never failed me. I’ve never truly lost a fight, though I’ve come close a few times -- you’re the first person I couldn’t take down, even if it also meant taking the other one down with me. It’s going to be hard for me to unlearn. Overriding that...before Thranduil did whatever he did in my head, I wouldn’t’ve thought it it even possible. It might take a bit, for me to wrap my mind around, so I can’t promise I’ll not give out at someone. Not yet.”

The old elf replied to her earnestly. “You cannot hurt me, Lorna. I do not mean it as an insult; you do not truly understand the abilities of elves. Yet. It is not your fault. I will not be seeking to injure you. I do not have to, in order to avoid injury from you. And you will learn to face an opponent, while remaining connected to your own thoughts. I am sorry to say this, but that you have succeeded all this time has been...luck. You have the capability for more, much more. And while I have always demanded respect from others,” he smiled again, now seeming beyond amused to even find himself having this conversation, ”I can manage to overlook your...colorful use of words.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t land even a single hit on you,” she said wryly. “You’re fast people, I’ll give you that -- very fast. If there’s any human on this planet that could match that...well, I doubt there is. And you’ve no idea how nice it is, to know that I really can’t hurt you.” She paused, not certain she wanted to share this, but there wasn’t any real reason why not. “I don’t think it was luck so much as a combo’v brutality and no self-preservation,” she said. “Most people, when you get right into their face, hesitate to truly hurt someone. Everyone I got that close to, anyway; I don’t think they’d even realized they were pulling their punches, or that they were hesitating -- it was just some subconscious thing telling them there was such a thing as too far. I...didn’t have that. I liked hurting people. A lot. I didn’t know how bad it was, until Thranduil went into my head and did...well, whatever that even was. Now -- I don’t want to learn so I can go out and use it on someone, which I would’ve not that long ago. I just want to know, in case I’ve ever got to.”

“And that is as it should be,” he said, his features once again returned to their usual charming friendliness as they neared their destination, and opened a door. “This is the entrance to the forges.”

Lorna stared. “Cac naofa,” she muttered. Some hazy, dim part of her had already decided that if nobody could understand you, it wasn’t really swearing.

She’d seen forges in movies, but none of them were like this. Like everything else in these caverns, they were very...elvish, meaning far more beautiful than function warranted. Multiple...stations was the only word she had...all dark now, each with a ringed fire-pit beside table and anvil, with racks of hammers and and tongs and half a dozen things she had no name for. Circular holes in the ceiling would have presumably let smoke out -- but how did the fires not go out when it rained? More magic? Firewood, stacked incredibly neatly, could be found in different places around the room -- how had they not burned through their forest over the years? Hell, how could they heat this place with wood and still have so many trees, given how many thousands of years they’d been here? One of these days, she ought to introduce them to peat. It smelled strongly of charcoal, but she fancied she could catch the ghostly smoke of fires long dead.

Her fingers itched to touch everything, but she kept her hands to herself. All the workstations were elf-sized, meaning tables and anvils were about level with her chest (were there no short elves? She didn’t think she’d seen a single one under six foot in all the time she’d been here). Like everywhere else, the floor was unnaturally smooth to her, for all it was some kind of flagstone...how had they managed that?

Patience, probably, she thought, and turned to Thanadir. “Could I learn how to do this, too?” she asked, unable to keep the rather childlike glee from her voice. She was going to have to talk to Big Jamie when she went home and see if she couldn’t start working only part-time, or else she’d never get the chance to do everything she wanted.

“Yes. Simple work can be done easily. But very detailed pieces require much more learning,” he sad. “You will first learn to make nails.”

Lorna held up one of her annoyingly tiny hands. “I’m good with details,” she said -- possibly the only up side of having frigging child hands. “I’m guess that’s probably harder than it looks.” Having only ever worked with machinery, she already anticipated...issues...with the hammer.

Thanadir frowned, on seeing her hands. Walking to one of the racks of tools, he brought a hammer, inspecting it first for cleanliness before handing it to her, handle first. “Hold this, please,” he asked, “and tell me how heavy it is for you.” He looked at her very intently. “And Lorna, you must be very honest with me; this is important.”

She took it, hefting it experimentally. It was as heavy as she’d thought it would be, and while holding it wasn’t much of a strain, holding it for an extended period might be. “I’m good like this,” she said, giving it a shallow swing, “but actually using it’d probably be another story just yet.” She had only a hazy idea how a blacksmith actually used a hammer, but just yet she was pretty sure she couldn’t do it without either hurting herself or losing her grip and braining some hapless elf.

“There are hammers that weigh less and I will locate them for you. And while I have not looked yet, I am guessing there is much you could learn on the Internet about this art before we try for the first time. Everything seems to be on the Internet. If Sindarin is, smithing should also be,” he opined, amused.

Lorna laughed. “True,” she said. “I’ll look it up, when I’m off work.” She eyed the hammer before looking up at him. “Where would I find Sindarin online? I’m not half bad with languages. Maybe I could learn a bit, to get on while I’m here.” So far as she knew, Thranduil and Thanadir were the only two elves that spoke any English at all.

Eyebrows arching in surprise, Thanadir clearly had not expected this, but equally was pleased to hear it. “Earlene could show you; she has found many, many places that teach the language in your own writing. I believe it would please her greatly to have someone…” he paused, searching for encouraging words,”...someone she can tell about her learning. I must be truthful, our language is difficult. But to learn simple phrases, and some words; that is not so hard. Earlene must learn far more, and though she studies much, it is slow for her.”

“Having someone to practice with -- someone who’s learning with you -- can make it a lot easier,” Lorna said. “That’s how I learned Russian.” Her crazy cellmate, Tatiana, had had a small class going in the Activities Room. A slightly impish smile crossed her face. “You want difficult? Try Irish. We’re raised speaking it, but for anyone not born to it, it’s one’v the hardest languages in the world. Russian’s more complex, but at least the rules are consistent -- in Irish, if you pronounce the same word a different way, it’s got a different meaning. Earlene said Sindarin’s rules are, too, so I hope it won’t take me too long to catch up to her. Make it easier if we were somewhere close to the same level.”

“I am sure she would be pleased,” said the elf, smiling. “My King promised me that I would not be asked to learn Irish. He has never asked something of any who serve him that he would be unwilling to face himself. He said….” as Thandir remembered, he demurred. “Perhaps I should remain silent on this, as I do not wish to cause offense toward your language,” he said, sheepishly.

Lorna burst out laughing, trying and failing to smother it in her sleeve. The sound echoed through the vast, silent room. “I’m guessing,” she said, through giggles, “I’m guessing he thinks it’s heinous and barbaric, or something like that.” One look at Thanadir’s expression set her off all over again, laughing so hard a stitch stung in her side. “Sure Thanadir, I’ll not be offended if you tell me. And honestly, if none’v you learn it, none’v you’ll know when I swear.”

Laughing, he conceded. “Then I believe what he said was, that he would lock himself in one of the prison cells for a cycle of the moon before he would learn a word of it.”

Lorna only laughed harder. “Níl sé go crua,” she managed. “Níl sé éasca, ach go bfhuil tú elves.” It is not that hard. It’s not easy, but you are elves.

Shaking his head good-naturedly (and absolutely refusing to take the bait) he gestured toward the door. “It is time to prepare for eating, and so we must return. Come, and take my arm if you wish.”

Prepare for eating...oh dear. She could already tell this was not going to be fun, but she took his arm anyway, and hoped she wasn’t about to make a giant fool of herself. At least neither Earlene nor Thranduil were likely to tease her about it later if she did.

On reaching his quarters and entering, he presented her with the dress he had found, and the leggings. “The King has explained to me that unlike ellith, mortal females are unaccustomed to being seen unclothed. So I will describe, and then turn my back, if that meets with your approval.” He showed her which was the front, and how to put her arms through the sleeves before pulling it over her head.

Lorna was at once relieved and still rather freaked out. Fortunately, it was simple -- dark green velvet with a front panel that looked like some sort of brocade (for all she knew). The skirt would hit her probably mid-shins, rather than all the way to the floor, and sleeves that wouldn’t trail into anything. That took some of the stress away, but she was still afraid to even touch it, let alone wear it. “Okay,” she said, half to herself, and once he’d turned she hurried out of her own clothes in record time, squirming into the dress. That it fit so very well was, she thought, a bit sad, given that it was a child’s dress, but fit it did...and oh, it felt so, so weird.

It wasn’t actually uncomfortable at all, but it was just so alien, and she hardly dared move in it. Would someone shout at her if she tore it somehow? Maybe. Even if they didn’t, she’d just bet she’d get the sad kitty eyes. She hadn’t even actually seen him make them, but she was entirely certain he could.

Her boots wouldn’t look right, so she just pulled off her socks and went barefoot, carding her fingers through her hair. Despite having slept on it wet, it wasn’t a complete disaster -- thank you, elf shampoo -- though as always, when she left it down it appeared to be trying to eat her. At least she knew how to keep it out of her food when she ate.

“All right,” she said. “I think I’m as good as I’m gonna get.”

Thanadir turned and immediately his face lit up to see her. “The laces in front should be adjusted, would you allow me?” He waited for her terse nod before moving to do so, drawing in the strings a little more snugly. Standing, he stepped back to look at her with a critical eye. “I sense that you are not used to this, and I have no wish to cause you discomfort. But if you would like it, I am able to braid your hair in a manner that would perhaps leave it more….manageable, for you.”

“You’re right enough there, I’m not used to it,” she said, wondering if she looked as stupid as she felt. “If you wouldn’t mind getting it out’v my face somehow, I’d appreciate it.” Nobody but her had braided her hair since Gran died, but she trusted him. All elves seemed to have long hair; he wasn’t going to screw it up.

Pleased, the seneschal swiftly procured a comb and set to work, parting her hair in the middle and while not pulling it too tightly, installed on each side of her head what began as a French braid and morphed into a waterfall braid, anchoring the pattern with the use of one much thinner braid that trailed most of the way down. An extremely thin and inconspicuous piece of ribbon secured the end in place. “I hope you can forgive me for saying so, but your appearance is lovely, Lorna. The young one who left this dress behind would be pleased to know that it is once again being worn.”

Now she felt about six thousand shades of awkward. Strangely, her bullshit detector wasn’t going off -- either he actually meant it, or he was a fantastically adept liar. “Oh, hush,” she said -- awkwardly, naturally. “You’ve got to teach me how to do these braids, though. With all this, it’s usually in a braid, and I’m always open to learning more kinds.” This would probably be the part where an ordinary person turned utterly red, but she still apparently wasn’t capable of that.

“I will add it to the list”, he said with good humor. Apparently he wished to upgrade his own clothing, and for a nervous moment Lorna prayed he was not about to undress in front of her...but he only removed and hung up his outer garment, exchanging it for one that was embroidered, more elaborate. She had only ever seen him in muted forest colors such as dark browns and greens, but this was a delicately embroidered coat of burgundy red, with gold threads that seemed intended to depict trees in wintertime. “If you will follow me, we are to meet the King and Earlene beforehand.” Opening the door for her, he waited for her to exit. As the other quarters were apparently not very far distant, it took less than a minute’s walk to arrive. Thanadir knocked twice, softly, and then entered without waiting for a response, as if it were a predetermined message that had been in use since before the invention of buttons. Once inside, she saw Thranduil dressed regally, Earlene dressed very nicely, and both of them quite obviously trying to keep expressions of complete astonishment at bay. “Your Excellency Thanadir, Lorna,” Earlene said, by way of greeting them.

Don’t laugh, Lorna thought sourly. She was trying very hard to move like something other than a very jerky marionnette, but she remained afraid she’d somehow ruin the dress if she sneezed. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but that was actually welcome, since it distracted her from the fact that yes, she was in a dress. _I never want to do this again. Ever._

 _Lorna_ , she heard from Thranduil, who smiled kindly. _You look lovely. Perhaps you also need to hear, that elves do not lie. And you need not worry about the dress; should tragedy somehow befall it, I am fairly certain there are a thousand more in various wardrobes in these Halls. Pretend they are your trousers, and move and walk as you wish. I have a vivid memory of the elleth who wore that dress cartwheeling through the dining hall, much to the dismay of her parents, so clearly the garment can survive some exuberance. I thank you, that you would honor us by consenting to dress as we do._

Elves didn’t lie, huh? Well...there was food for thought. What sort of thought, she wasn’t yet sure. _I’ll try not to ruin it anyway_ , she said. _I’m not used to pretty clothing. Please, for God’s sake, tell me you don’t want me to dress like this every time I come here -- I feel like an alien_. She was glad that she’d gone with Thanadir’s suggestion, and not turned up in her ordinary clothes, but she didn’t feel like herself in such a beautiful thing. She wasn’t an elf, and she wasn’t like Earlene, who could carry off lovely clothes like a model. _I didn’t want Thanadir to give me the sad kitty eyes. I know he’s capable’v them. I just know it._

If such a thing as mental laughter was possible, she was fairly certain she was hearing it now.

 _I would not require it of you just as I do not require it of you now, Lorna, but I still appreciate your willingness to indulge us. Tonight is a special occasion; I would guess that most times you visit will not be. Though perhaps, when we are all elsewhere, I may choose to be a little bit awful and challenge you as to just why you feel like an….alien, for wearing a dress. As for Thanadir, you will be surprised, at the range of what he is capable._ Lorna thought she detected a slight smirk on Thranduil’s face, but she had no time to consider it as they were all suddenly moving out the door, finding themselves in short order at this Dining Hall.

Thanadir preceded them, approaching a private dining table, ringing a handbell. Those below (Lorna quickly realized that all the other diners were on another level, whereas they were on something that looked like a balcony) fell silent immediately. Thanadir bowed deeply to Thranduil, backing away. Thranduil smiled, and spoke; this was the first time Lorna heard their silky and completely indecipherable language spoken clearly and at any length. She saw that when he finished (completely approving that he knew how to give short speeches), all the other elves held their hands over their hearts. Earlene nudged her gently as she made the same gesture, and Lorna quickly imitated, having no idea in hell what any of it meant. And then, Thanadir ushered her to a seat to the right of Earlene, taking his own place next to her; Thranduil sat on Earlene’s left. Once again, she heard Thranduil.

_If you imitate Thanadir or Earlene, you will be fine, Lorna. We have no peculiar table manners or rituals. I only ask that no food be thrown; if you can manage that, you will have improved on many a Feast Day._

Lorna managed not to laugh...barely. It took biting the inside of her cheek to keep it all in, but at least it worked. Imitation she could do. _Gran did thump a few manners into my thick head_ , she assured him. Most’v them stayed put. It helped immensely that both hair and sleeves were well out of the way.

Three male elves arrived soon, bearing assorted platters, pitchers, and covered baskets of food, before hurriedly retreating.

 _It is equally customary that male elves serve the females what they wish to eat, or that each one helps themselves. You may choose from what is in front of you, or tell Thanadir what you wish to have._ An array of buttered rolls, cooked vegetables, a lentil stew (possibly with some meat in it?) and a smaller plate of what looked remarkably like tiny, individual fruitcakes was shifted around on the table.

Earlene leaned over, and spoke quietly in her ear. “All I can tell you is, I’m probably a few meals ahead of you, quota-wise, and no matter what it looks like, their food is to die for.”

Lorna found the idea of being served way too weird, but gave Thanadir a slightly helpless smile as she took a little bit of everything, steadfastly ignoring her Gran’s voice at the back of her mind, telling her not to be greedy. She’d gone hungry too often in her early life to be anything but greedy when it came to food, especially good food. “I can’t say I’m surprised,” she whispered back. “I don’t think there’s a single thing they do badly. It’d be easy to get spoiled in here.” Superior food, superior shampoo…she wondered if the elves would be willing to translate and publish a cookbook, or if part of what made it all so good was the ingredients.

“Did you have a nice afternoon, or did you sleep through?” Earlene asked. “I was jealous, of the nap. Learning their language is like mountain climbing. With a weighted backpack, and no oxygen,” she joked.

“Bit’v both,” Lorna said. “I slept most’v the afternoon away, but when I woke up, Thanadir took me to see the forge. There’s a forge,” she said, trying and failing to stifle a grin. “I’d only actually seen one in movies. And actually, I was talking to him about this -- I’d like to learn their language myself, and I’d love it if I could study alongside you. I’ve got a lot’v catch-up to do, mind you, but I could get there eventually.” It couldn’t be harder than Russian, could it? Christ, she hoped not. She hesitated, wondering if Earlene would doubt her ability to manage such a thing, so she said, “I’ve got four languages -- I can handle one more. Hopefully.” Yes, her Welsh was shite, and so was her Russian, but they were still there. She could drag them out of the closet, even if far from perfectly.

“You mean you want to join me in Hell?” she teased. “Offer accepted! Though, to be truthful, I’m just venting. I’d been doing well, I thought, but then I hit a snag...there were not enough things to read aloud, or practice with. So Thanadir insisted I backtrack and learn their letters and...let’s just say that my mind is resisting it. But I know I’ll get there, and he’s been loads of help already. Tomorrow morning I’m going back to the cottage, where I can at least slog away over tea with alcohol in it. If you are actually serious, I can email you the bookmarks I have. I love it here but...no wifi.”

That was something Lorna could actually relate to quite well, though she wasn’t about to say so (or why). “I’d love it if you’d send me some,” she said. “I won’t have time to look at it all until evening -- I’ve got work tomorrow at eleven, because Mick refuses to get up before eight unless there’s a job waiting. I’ve finally got just about everything actually clean, so he’d best not let it go to hell again once I’ve gone.” She paused. “I wonder if it’d be possible to get wifi in here somehow? I don’t know a damn thing about that sort’v stuff, and maybe the magic would interfere with it...I still can’t believe that’s a sentence I’m saying.” She shook her head, unable to help a smile.

Earlene frowned. “The thing I worried about is...location. It is huge to them, that these Halls be...un-findable. I’m not a cyber-whiz, but I thought things like wifi gave off signals that could be detected electronically. While I would love it to death, my fear is that it’s out of the question...anywhere, that is, except at my cottage. Not to mention, there is the small issue of electricity, or the lack thereof. And yes,” she chuckled, eyeing her, ”the magic could play hell with it, too. I’ve already seen it play hell with some of the other things that I thought were Laws of Physics, so no reason to think a modem would be any exception.”

“You might well be right,” Lorna said, buttering a roll. “I’m not one, either, but if it’s got a signal, I suppose it’s traceable. I just...I’ve seen magic now, I know it exists, but part’v me still...rebels, I supposed. Every time I get used to one thing, there’s something new. I’m sure these halls could keep surprising me for the rest’v my bloody life -- and my family lives a long time,” she added, with a quiet laugh. “Is it that odd for you? I know you found out about the whole thing, er, differently than I did, but was it completely weird at first?”

Her brows furrowed in concentration, she reflected. “No, and yes. I tend to think a lot like a….flow chart.” When she thought she detected from a passing flicker in Lorna’s eyes that a flow chart might not be something familiar, Earlene elaborated in a way she hoped did not seem condescending. “Those are diagrams, that can be used to show the order in which a person reaches a decision about something. For me, it was weird only in the moment when I had to finally confront that I had been completely wrong about the existence of things that were outside of my experience. But once I had accepted that, everything else was just...odd and strange. Once my bubble was burst, I was ready to accept anything. At least, anything having to do with elves. And then rather than be weird it was more like...too many things that I had no way of knowing. I am sure there are still many tidbits of which I am not aware...but with time, them, and the Internet, I’ll have a grasp sooner or later. Now, you want completely weird? Completely weird is that everything about them is on the web. Their history, their language, those books, those movies...I can cope with magic and enchantments and telepathy better than any of that, quite honestly.”

The delicious meal was concluded, and when Thranduil saw that all of them had eaten their fill, he rose, as did Thanadir; each of them respectively pulled the chairs back for Earlene and Lorna. Once they were out of the Dining Hall, Thranduil spoke. “Lorna, it is late; outside it is nighttime. It would please me very much if you would allow Thanadir to show you to your rooms, so that you may sleep here. After an early breakfast, we will return to Earlene’s cottage. Though if it is your wish, Thanadir will see you back through the woods after you have changed your clothing.”

“Er...thanks,” she said, too startled to be any more eloquent. Sooner or later all this generosity would cease to surprise her, but it probably wasn’t going to be any time soon. “Seriously.” She might not be able to express her gratitude like a normal person, but he’d pick it up. Not so long ago, the telepathy thing had freaked her right the hell out, but by now she found it useful: she was terrible at using her words, and with this handy thing, she didn’t have to.

It took very little time for Thanadir to retrieve Lorna’s clothing, and he cleverly concealed that there was yet another garment underneath them. Guiding her through more passages and tunnels, he opened this door for her as well, and showed her inside. “The King has instructed, Lorna, that whenever you choose to stay with us, these rooms are to be yours. If anything is not to your liking, you are to please tell me.” While not so large as Thanadir’s, nor so opulent as Thranduil’s, this room easily qualified as the nicest place she had ever been told to call her own. He showed her through the first room, which held a beautiful carven table and chairs at which to sit, a couch, wall hangings, cushions in abundance, and a small fireplace which had clearly been tended awhile ago, as it had burned down considerably while leaving the room pleasantly warm. A mysterious array of stoppered bottles was on the table, each labeled with string and a tag of some kind around the neck, and numerous small objects and decorations were scattered all around. The next room was a luxurious bedroom; a four poster bed was covered with a heavy counterpane of emerald green, embroidered with trees in silver thread. A fireplace was lit in here as well, plus a large cushioned chair near the hearth, plush rugs, small tables on either side of the rather large bed (one holding an exquisite comb, hairbrush, and mirror), and a wardrobe. Thanadir showed her also, that behind yet another door was apparently the toilet.

“Everything in these rooms belongs to you, Lorna, by the King’s wish,” he said, placing her shirt and jeans on the bed, as well as the other garment...the night clothes he had been altering using her gran’s sewing machine. “Tomorrow morning, an elleth will come to this room to tend the fireplace, perhaps an hour before it is time to eat. If you close the curtains on your bed, she will not disturb you. If you leave them parted, she will wake you before she leaves. And if you have no questions, I will wish you a pleasant rest. I will come for you, before the morning meal.”

As Gran would have said, she was being presented with a feast of fat things, and just now she had no idea what to do with any of them. “I...thank you,” she said, cursing her inability to expression emotion like a normal person. “I mean it. You lot haven’t got to do this -- any’v it -- and...oh, hell. I’m shite at talking, but nobody’s ever done anything this nice for me in my entire bloody life.” Gran and Mairead had certainly tried, but she suspected there was an amount of understanding behind this that neither of them possessed.

When Thanadir left, she prowled the room, investigating the glass bottles -- she was both amused and pleased to find they contained the shampoo and conditioner she loved so much, as well as something she suspected was a smoothing balm of some kind.

The pyjamas on the bed cinched it. The nightgown was by far the most beautiful thing she’d ever owned -- Thranduil had said elves didn’t lie, so she assumed this too was hers while she was here. Christ, she was such a sap. It looked like it would actually fit, too, which was novel; most things she owned were too big to varying degrees (she refused to shop in the children’s section, goddammit).

Much as she didn’t want to take her hair out of those lovely braids, she knew sleeping on them would be a terrible idea, so she sat in front of the mirror and slowly unraveled them, carefully laying the combs on the table.

Where the hell was all of this coming from? It was so far beyond what any reasonable employee could expect that it was ridiculous. Hell, hadn’t Thranduil told her, not long ago, that there was a lot she wasn’t going to be able to know without swearing fealty? She’d been perfectly all right with it, figuring it was only fair that the elves keep their secrets from someone determined to stay a free agent, so to speak -- so why was she here now? Why let her into the heart of their home? True, she wouldn’t be able to find her way here again on her own even without the enchantments, but still. Why was she the lone outsider -- possibly the lone outsider ever, according to Thranduil?

The truly weird thing was that she didn’t think there was any ulterior motive here. Whatever the reason she was being given all of this, she was sure it wasn’t any kind of bribery -- the elves and Earlene would probably be highly insulted by the mere notion. For whatever reason, they seemed to actually want to do this...she just wished she could understand why.

Thranduil didn’t seem the sort to pity anyone -- a good thing, since she’d have resented the hell out of it -- but there was a great deal of sympathy in him. Maybe he saw more of himself in her than she’d thought, and wanted to give her what he hadn’t had when he was younger -- he’d said he had Thanadir’s support, but unlike her, he’d had the responsibility of a kingdom weighing on his shoulders. He’d had to save a certain amount of face, and God knew that had never been a consideration she’d had to deal with.

How strange it was, having that one thing unfortunately very much in common, even though they were otherwise vastly different people. And Earlene, she had to be in on this, too; on many levels, she and Lorna were very different as well, but they both knew what it was to love, and to lose everything in the entire world that mattered to you. Some commonalities transcended life experience. Earlene’s had been better, more comprehensive, but Lorna found she wasn’t envious of it. Neither of them could help the circumstances they were born into, and Earlene had made the most of hers. (Lorna had made the most of hers, too, except that wasn’t exactly a good thing.)

Earlene wouldn’t fault Lorna for her own ignorance -- because quite honestly, Lorna was ignorant in a great many ways -- but it was still something to be hidden. That Earlene wouldn’t judge her for it made it no less embarrassing, but it wasn’t like she didn’t have access to a library, even if she didn’t have a great deal of time to read most days. Just because she was ignorant didn’t mean she had to stay that way.

The fact that these three people -- people she’d come to like so much, though she’d only known them a handful of days -- the fact that they were so kind to her, even though she’d as yet done little for them...she’d known precious little of that in her life. Before now, only Mairead and Gran had accepted her without question, but they were Irish and her family, so that wasn’t precisely unexpected. Two elves and a lawyer (there was a joke in there somewhere, she was sure, though it wouldn’t make anywhere near as good a band name as Earlene and the elves) who hadn’t known her from Adam less than a fortnight ago...yeah, she was actually glad of Thranduil’s telepathy, because Christ knew she couldn’t properly express gratitude in words.

She changed into her lovely nightgown, crawling under the blankets. Her mattress was criminally soft, and she knew what she was going to do whenever she got paid: get a proper bed for her cottage. This one made her realize exactly what she’d been missing all these years.

*****

After Thranduil helped Earlene out of her dress, she crawled gratefully into the heated bed. _How does he do that?_ Though, a part of her did not wish to know; it was more fun to assume it was magical. Curling up against the soft pillows, she regarded her husband as he undressed, still wondering on some level how she had managed to end up...here. With him. Smiling, she shook her head. If these were her thoughts now, she wondered what sort of day poor Lorna had just had.

Thranduil looked up, with mirth in his eyes, before his expression softened.

“Meluieg, I wish to commend you. I know that you are not blind, and that you can see I have gone far beyond your advice to me and taken an interest in Lorna which must seem inexplicable, and even unfair, on many levels. She has been granted that for which I required your last freedom, before giving the same to you. And yet I have not heard even a passing thought of resentment, though I very much would have understood. I confess,” he said, looking directly at her, “I expected it, and was deeply surprised when it did not occur.”

Earlene smirked, but only a little. “I have had many advantages in this life, Thranduil. It would be blatantly wrong of me, to have been given so much, and begrudge another who has had so little. While I cannot see Lorna as you must, we surely are not much alike, inside of ourselves. Nor do we need to be, for her to be my friend, and yours. I know that I have your love as my mate, and as my King, and it is more than enough for me. I expect to have to share you, because of who you are. And if, as I suspect, you are helping Lorna, then I am grateful to you as well, for you can do what I cannot. She deserves better, than what she has had...by far. Maybe, for the first time in her life, she has a genuine opportunity of her own, and that opportunity is...elves.”

Dimming and extinguishing assorted lights, he joined her in bed, drawing her to him, enveloping her in his blissful warmth. “You are not wrong, in any of your observations. And yet,” he teased, ”you do not share me in every way. Some things belong to you alone.”

As she reached up with her hand to caress the sensitive tips of his ears, her thoughts came through with unusual clarity. _Suddenly my mortal mind has become quite forgetful, my Lord. What are these things, to which you refer?_

With a hearty laugh, the Elvenking was only too happy to remind her.


	22. Twenty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 10, 2016

Lorna woke the next morning to the quiet sounds of a fire being built.

She couldn’t identify them at first, and for a moment was entirely disoriented, registering only that she was on an insanely comfortable bed. Memory hit a moment later, and she opened her eyes, staring at the canopy. One thing was for certain: she had to buy a new bed for her cottage. After this one, she could never go back to the old mattress.

She sat up to find an elf lady expertly rekindling the fire, with the ease of one who had done this a thousand times before. Despite knowing the woman -- elf -- wouldn’t understand her, she said, “Good morning.” The sentiment was universal, even if the words differed.

The lady rose and gave her a bow before leaving, which, okay, that was weird, and Lorna didn’t like it at all. It was one thing to see elves bow when she was walking with Thranduil or Thanadir, but having it done to her alone made her extremely uncomfortable, and she’d have to talk to Thranduil about it. He’d probably say something about her being a guest or whatever, but he’d also know just how uncomfortable it made her, so hopefully he’d humor her.

She had to hop a little go get off the bed, the stone floor chilly beneath her bare feet, though the room was rather warmer than she would have expected given that the fire had gone out at some point during the night. Now that she was properly awake, she examined the nightgown Thanadir had given her: it was a beautiful piece of clothing, easily the nicest thing she had ever -- off-white, with a touch of lace overlaying it on the sleeves and down to her waist, but far softer than any lace she’d ever seen; the stuff Gran had used had always been starched and scratchy. The sleeves were three-quarter length -- a good thing, since they had slight bells at the elbows, and she might well have suffocated herself with something longer. She couldn’t identify the material, but it was soft and warm, and it fit so well she wondered if he’d somehow measured her clothes for reference. That should probably have been creepy, but instead it was weirdly endearing. It was a thing substantial enough that she could wear it around other people and not feel embarrassingly underdressed; even though it was white, it was entirely opaque, so she wouldn’t need to worry about her Star Trek knickers showing. (Yes, she had Star Trek knickers. Whatever, they’d been on sale, and it wasn’t her fault the Enterprise was the coolest spaceship out there.)

Lorna padded to the dressing table, which reminded her of a much fancier version of Gran’s. She couldn’t quite get over the wonder the elf hair products had done to her hair; it had never been this soft, nor this smooth, and the grey strands really had gone something like silver. Was there a way to give some of this to Mairead, for her work? Would the elves allow her to share it with anyone in the outside world? Yet another thing to ask. While they probably had more money than all of Ireland at least twice over, having legitimate sources of income might make Earlene’s job a bit easier. It would certainly make having large amounts of money in her bank accounts look less odd.

Lorna ran her fingers through her hair, and eyed her reflection. Thranduil had asked her why she felt like an alien in a dress, and the answer was quite simple. She was attractive enough, in her own odd, slightly weathered way, but it was just that: _her_ way. She wasn’t Earlene -- she wasn’t built for beautiful elf clothing, or beautiful clothing in general. It made her awkward and ungainly, and she wasn’t the most graceful of creatures to begin with, unless she was attacking something. Liam had once told her she was meant to be wild, and she believed him. Putting on such beauty felt like putting on a mask, and she hoped Thranduil could understand that. Bettering herself was one thing, and a very good one; changing everything about who she was, was not. She wasn’t truly like them, and she was never going to be, but she was just fine with that. They were giving her such great opportunity to improve herself, and she knew they’d do their best to help guide her through it, but they needed to understand that at her core, she wasn’t ashamed of being what she was. She wanted to learn, to move beyond her past, but she didn’t want to ignore it.

Normally she didn’t like wearing the same clothes two days in a row, but putting hers on now were a relief. She very carefully folded the beautiful nightgown, laying it over the back of a chair while she tried and utterly failed to make her bed -- wrestling with such a large mattress was beyond her. Having such lovely sleepwear here seemed only fitting, and she’d thank Thanadir when she saw him, but it was going to stay here lest she ruin it at home. Once she’d combed and braided her hair, she took her impromptu handbag and headed out in search of the dining hall.

She’d thought to print two copies of all the paperwork Niamh had sent her, one for the elves and one for Earlene, in case she wanted to take one to her cottage. Lorna knew Thranduil and Thanadir both read the Roman alphabet, but Earlene was the only one who would be able to decipher the full extent of the legal-ese.

Thanadir found her, quite close to the dining hall and was suitably impressed. “Good morning, Lorna. I came to find you. I am not certain the King mentioned that breakfast was in his and Earlene’s rooms. We can go there now?”

If he had, she didn’t remember it. “Good morning,” she said. “I don’t know that I’d be able to find the way there on my own.” She wasn’t kidding; after how much she’d drunk last night, she doubted she’d know how to make it anywhere but the dining hall. “Thank you for the nightgown. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever had.”

“You are welcome,” he said in his endearingly odd monotone. That was when it occurred to her...when he spoke English, he didn’t inflect many of his words, making them sound like an unending, even cadence. Then again, that he spoke English at all was pretty damn impressive, making it hard to want to mention something that petty….and as she followed him through the rabbit warren, they were at Thranduil’s door soon enough. He waved her inside to see the table laid and Thranduil and Earlene sitting near the fire, talking about something that didn’t seem terribly important to either of them.

“Good morning, Lorna,” Earlene said. “It’s more porridge today, but wait until you taste it.” Though truth be told, Earlene was looking forward to cooking a few meals at her own home...she liked fresh dairy products a little too much, she now realized, and the lack of cream, butter and cheese here was wearying, however delicious the oats were.

“Good morning,” Lorna said, unslinging her bag from her shoulder. “I can’t argue with porridge. Reminds me’v Gran. I’ve tried making it myself, but it never comes out right.” She dug the paperwork, mercifully uncrumpled, out of her bag, setting it on an end-table. “I’ve got that for after we’ve eaten. I think it’s pretty straightforward, but I’ve no background to be able to know otherwise. Fortunately, you’ll not need any genetic testing -- just a basic physical. You don’t look enough alike to be brothers, but maybe half-brothers -- it’s best to say you’re related, I think, because even when I thought you were both human, you still...stood out.” She and Mairead didn’t look a damn thing alike; it was plausible Thranduil and Thanadir could be half-siblings. And the elves...yeah, she hadn’t believed for a moment that they weren’t human, and she didn’t believe anyone outside the village would, either, but they’d certainly seemed different.

She cast a glance at Thranduil, not wanting to bother anyone else with this. _Can you please do me a favor and tell people not to bow to me if I’m not with you or Thanadir? It weirds me out._

Smiling, Thranduil regarded her. _I can try, Lorna. But you must realize that it is our custom to bow to each other in acknowledgement, regardless of station. They may find it hard to do otherwise….it is not only done to me on account of being King, though that is most of what you would have seen in your brief time here._ Aloud, he asked, “that seems well enough. This…’physical,’ this is something involving a human healer?”

Earlene chimed in. “Yes. Sometimes it is as simple as listening to your heartbeat and breathing, looking at your eyes and ears, taking your temperature and blood pressure...which makes me wonder what those are, on an elf? Maybe we should find out at the chemist’s before we learn otherwise at an exam like that. Other times it can involve a visual inspection of your fully unclothed body...I wonder if there is a discreet way of asking about that.” Nudging the forms closer to herself, she began to glance at what was written, but then realized politeness dictated waiting until after they’d eaten. Which Thranduil seemed to feel they should do, and right away.

He must have been eager to attend to business, because no sooner was Thanadir clearing away the dishes than he began to line up his handful of gems in front of Lorna. “I believe such as this are what you wished to photograph for your...acquaintance?” He had selected about thirty different choices. All were cut, all were faceted; the smallest one was at least two carats. Some ranged up to what appeared to be eight to ten carats, and they all seemed to be from among the costlier choices such as diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies. “There are larger, and there are smaller, of all of these. And more. But Earlene has indicated that these are more common than...some others.

Lorna’s eyes widened. “Jesus bloody Christ,” she said. It boggled her mind, how he could regard all the beautiful gems so casually...yeah, she knew he was a king, so logically it made sense, but still. “This is pretty much exactly what I was thinking,” she said, fishing her phone out of her shirt pocket. “Shane, he won’t ask why, but he might want to know how old some’v them are, for appraisal reasons...d’you want me to lie? Only if some’v these are as old as I’m guessing, he’d not believe the truth.” She shook her head. “You know, I’d been thinking you lot could make a fortune off those hair products, but I don’t think you need to bother. I mean...damn.”

Thranduil frowned, while managing to ignore the comment on hair products...it was a legitimate question. “Age…” he said. “On one hand, there is no means by which to determine such a thing as they are minerals, and you are correct; he would not believe the truth. Perhaps if you simply said that they have been a long time in the family of the seller, that would suffice? And that it is a very old family? I can see how over time, it would become quite the topic of speculation as to how one source has...so much.”

Lorna pondered this a moment. “I could safely say they were three or four hundred years old,” she said meditatively. “Four hundred would make sense, and though I wouldn’t have to actually say much to Shane, he’d draw his own conclusions -- the seventeenth century was the Golden Age of Piracy. He’d probably assume I’d found an ancient pirate family, though he’d never actually ask.” Thought of anyone assuming the elves were pirates was bloody hysterical. It would mean he wouldn’t question where all of this was coming from, at the very least.

Chuckling, Thranduil nodded. “I am pleased you like our...hair products. Thanadir could likely also school you in their manufacture but...there is a certain element of grace that our people lend to anything they create that makes exact duplication by other races impossible. And, while this will annoy you tremendously, I have a gift for you. I will tell you the same thing I have told Earlene. Lovely things do no good, shut away in the dark, which is why some items need to see the light of day. This is yours, now. Partly in appreciation for your help, and partly...because.” In front of her, he laid the pretty necklace he had chosen for her on the tablecloth, looking forward to engendering what he was certain would be an unprecedented state of mental discombobulation on the part of the diminutive Irishwoman.

It took Lorna a moment to register what exactly had been set in front of her. The interlocking chain of leaves and flowers, the little emeralds winking in the light… “Christ, you’re...Thranduil, I can’t take this. It’s gorgeous, it’s ancient, and it’s probably worth more than my soul. I just -- you want to just give that to me?” Why? She hesitated to even touch it; yeah, if it was elf jewelry it was probably bomb-proof, for all it appeared so delicate, but...oh, hell. She was never going to get used to elves, if they could pass out something so beautiful so casually. People didn’t give something like that to someone like her. That just wasn’t how the world worked.

 _The world is a strange place, Lorna_ , she heard in her mind as he brought it around her neck and clasped it shut. All, somehow, without feeling like he ever touched her, or her hair, which was just….weird. Elves.

“That looks lovely,” said Thanadir, approvingly, while she saw Earlene nodding and smiling as well.

“It's perfect on you, if you want my two cents,” said Earlene, “and I’ve had to rent a lot of jewelry in my life. It matches your eyes.”

“You need not fear for it, Lorna. Short of great effort on your part in Thanadir’s forging lessons, it would be difficult at best to damage. It has survived worse than you.” He declined to mention it was part of the hoard of Erebor, and had probably spent some of its existence being stomped on by Smaug himself. “And yes, I do want to just give it to you. As I said, these things do no good shut away in the dark. Now,” he said, changing the subject, “it would appear that there is paperwork to examine, studying, and other matters to settle over the use of computers. If all is concluded here, shall we?” He gestured toward the door.

Lorna looked at Thanadir, and at Earlene, and touched the necklace. These people were going to be the bloody death of her, with the way they regarded some things. She was pretty sure that wasn’t going to change, so she had to try to accustom herself to it, but...she didn’t have a lot of faith in that. Not with the way she and everyone around her had always lived; Mairead’s family was solidly middle-class, but nowhere near wealthy, and most of the people in Baile were somewhere in that bracket. Lorna herself wasn’t as broke as she looked; she had a little over a thousand euros in savings, which to her seemed a downright extravagant amount. To these three, it must seem like pocket change -- for Earlene seemed pretty accustomed to having nicer things around, and Lorna was pretty sure American lawyers weren’t exactly poor. Not if they were successful, anyway, which it sounded like Earlene had been. “Why not?” she asked, snapping a few more pictures of the jewels. Shane might well shit a brick when she asked him to deal with all of this, but once she assured him nobody was going to come after him over it, he’d be fine...and she really, really liked the idea of letting him infer that the elves were actually an ancient pirate family. She knew him well enough to know he totally would.

Once she had as many as she needed, she stuffed the phone back in her pocket and followed Thanadir, lightly touching her necklace. It had to look fairly ludicrous when contrasted with the rest of her gently shabby clothing, and she hoped Thranduil wouldn’t be offended if she left it in the forest -- with Earlene, if not here. Wearing it around Lasg’len or Baile would raise way too many questions she couldn’t yet answer. If the people of Lasg’len knew the elves were handing her priceless jewelry just... _because_ , her life would become very awkward, and she liked most of them too well to want to have to continually tell them to fuck off. She could explain last night’s absence by saying she’d fallen into a food coma on Earlene’s couch, at least, but she couldn’t do that too many more times while she was still working in the village, or it would start to look weird. The villagers already weren’t sure just what sort of connection she had with the elves -- fair enough, since she wasn’t, either -- but she didn’t want them getting...suspicious, or whatever. If they were ever to find out that she’d been allowed to see the elves’ home before the rest of them...well, it was good they’d never know. They liked her well enough, but she was still an outsider, and by any sane human logic she shouldn’t be the first Irish person to see just what the elves had going on. Earlene was different -- she’d started off an exotic foreigner, so it was only natural she’d know about everything going on around her house, but Lorna was just...Lorna. There was no reason, aside from these three’s inexplicable interest, that she ought to have been first. And yes, there were people in Lasg’len who would resent that. She wouldn’t blame them, either.

As Thanadir led the way out of the Halls, had Earlene been looking up enough, she would have seen an endless play of fascination and humor on her husband’s fair face, as he tried to follow the twisting rollercoaster that was Lorna’s mind. As he gave way to his own reflections, it occurred to him that he could not recall the last time he ever cared that much about anyone’s opinion, except perhaps Thanadir’s, to the extent that Lorna was evaluating the probable judgements of others. It was perhaps a lesson in the complexities of human society, that she weighed the perceptions of her peers along a hierarchical set of guidelines that obviously mattered very much to her. It was as if the mortals had an unspoken language, of interconnectedness. While each was autonomous, they were much like….ants. They had roles, and territories, and...it was an amazing thing he was not certain he wished to fully understand; that he had loyal humans around him to manage these issues was enough. Within reason. No ruler had the luxury of abdicating everything to the judgement of another. And yet this was all new for Lorna, and would need time to settle. And he would have to recall, for now, that the tiny tiara in his vault would need to remain out of the question...it was all he could do not to snicker at what the look on her face for that would be.

Earlene was already deep in thought, creating unwritten to-do lists for the day, sifting potential recipes, and noting things to buy at the grocery. And wondering if later, any of the promised changes in furnishings for the home might occur, especially the table and chairs, and a different couch. And more studying, legal work and….Thranduil’s eyebrows arched, at the river swelling to life that was his wife’s stream of thoughts. He was feeling unstoppably mischievous today, though he would admit it to no one.

“Meluieg, I thought we might watch Star Trek this morning,” he said, quashing his laughter as he heard her thoughts colliding and derailing as she tried to factor this notion into the pattern of plans she had been making. And just when she had almost succeeded, he added in “or not, if it does not suit you.” A polite throat clearing from his seneschal brought him back from his amusements, as he saw that particular look from the old elf that indicated his games were not entirely hidden from sight. Chuckling, he desisted. He had to be allowed _some_ fun, he smiled, but Thanadir seemed to disagree that tormenting the mortals was a suitable activity. Quickly enough, they had all reached Earlene’s cottage, and each of them set about caring for some chore like starting the wood stove, boiling water, or...what have you.

Elves were pretty hard to read, but that little throat-clearing told Lorna there was something going on unheard-of by her, and she’d just bet Thranduil was thinking something snarky. Thanadir was older, for all he didn’t look it; Lorna wouldn’t be at all surprised if there was some kind of telepathic scolding going on. The thought made her have to swallow a laugh, though Thranduil would know of it anyway. The thing she’d already decided was that she could at least keep the bizarre shit she thought unvoiced, so that everyone but him would be spared the random thoughts that rolled through her head. Given that he seemed to find them entertaining, she couldn’t feel too bad about it.

The stove was rather like Gran’s, so she split some kindling before building a fire, cursing the fact that Earlene, not being the size of a ten-year-old, had an actual full-sized axe. Gran had always warned her that she’d cut her foot off one day flailing with one, but that wouldn’t be today, fortunately. She’d die of embarrassment if she lopped her own limbs off in front of the elves. Earlene wouldn’t laugh at her if she did, but she wasn’t convinced they wouldn’t, even if they only did it on the inside.

Looking at Earlene’s cottage made Lorna think that she really ought to make some improvements on her own. It was beautifully well-built, but it was also a hundred and fifty years old, and hadn’t seen any real work since the 1940’s, when Gran inherited it. Once she got home to Baile...dammit, these three were making her actually think about her own surroundings. They were rubbing off on her.

Thanadir watched Lorna use the axe with a critical eye, and shook his head. “Lorna, there is a skill you will also need for work at the forge. Do you see how you are bringing down the axe head? You are using too much of your own strength and not enough of gravity to do the work for you. You will tire, and perhaps slip. It will be the same with the hammer. You should try to use the tool in such a way as to minimize the motions of your muscles. Do you understand?” he asked, nicely.

Lorna eyed the axe, and her little pile of wood. Her modus operandi all her life had been to just hit things as hard as she could -- which, really, said a lot about her. “I think so, but could you show me?” Granted, she’d have to work out how to mimic him when she was over a foot shorter, but at least she’d have a visual reference.

Taking the tool from her, the elf stood off to the side a bit; he worked right-handed. He held the end of the handle in his left hand, but used his right to slide his hand up the shaft toward the axe head as he brought it up in an arcing motion; reversing this motion once the axe head was falling toward the piece of wood. If he was using any effort to smash the tool down onto the wood, she could not see it; he appeared to just let it fall where he wanted it to….and it looked like no work whatsoever. He repeated his action slowly, three times, so that she could watch, before returning the axe to her. “It will not be as easy for you because you should be using a smaller tool,” he said. “But you still can use this one, letting it work for you. Expect this to feel strange, at first. And keep the wood on the side of your body that you swing on; you should be opposite of how I was.”

Lorna watched him carefully, mentally translating the action to something suited for a southpaw. Her first attempt was...well, the less said of it, the better, but she got the hang of it when she tried again. The axe remained a bit unwieldy, but it was so large that an element of that was unavoidable. The rest of it, however -- damn. She wished someone had taught her this years ago; Gran had chopped wood just like she had, so she’d not known there was any other way. “Is it the same idea with hammers in a forge?” she asked, warming up to the task now. It definitely grew easier with practice, though it would probably take a bit to truly master. She probably looked like an idiot trying this, given that the axe was about three-quarters as long as she was tall, but oh well. When one was this short, one was used to looking a bit absurd.

“Yes. In the sense that, it will be important to direct the hammer as it falls instead of banging away at the metal. You will only have one hand for the hammer; usually the other is holding your piece with tongs or...something. But the swing must be the same. And, you are doing well, like that.”

Lorna eyed both her hands, trying to picture swinging something like the hammer she’d held with one hand. If she didn’t try it like this, she’d probably wear herself out in a hurry; she might anyway, since it would be using muscles she didn’t normally use. “I’ll probably want to practice with a cold forge, first,” she said, nightmare visions of somehow managing to burn the shit out of Thanadir dancing through her head. Yeah, he was an elf, and she probably couldn’t hurt him even by accident, but with her luck...well, one never knew.

Once she had a nice little pile of firewood, she finally pulled the somewhat crumpled packet of cigarettes out of her pocket. She hadn’t wanted to smoke in the elves’ halls; huge though they were, it was still like smoking inside someone’s house, so she’d held off until she was jonesing bad, lightning up with Liam’s Zippo. She was away from the cottage’s doors or windows; she wouldn’t be smoking anyone else out.

Thranduil had come outside to observe the proceedings, and saw Thanadir making more kindling beyond what Lorna had done because...apparently he enjoyed it. He frowned to notice that Lorna was fussing with one of her...tobacco products, of which he did not approve. Though, the look on her face seemed to indicate that all was not well in her world.

Lorna eyed the cigarette, confused. “Jesus, this tastes like shit,” she muttered, which made no sense -- they’d been just fine yesterday, before she went to the halls. Had being surrounded by elf magic somehow...soured them, or something? She took another drag, every bit as disgusting as the first. Even the buzz of the nicotine was muted, totally unsatisfying...well, shit.

She crushed that one out half-smoked and lit another, wondering if maybe that had just been a dud, but nope, the second was just as bad. What the hell? “Is there something in your food that we haven’t got out here?” she asked, somewhere between Thanadir and Thranduil. She gathered up the spent butts, dumping them into the trash bin. “I kind’v liked doing that.” The Zippo, its engraving still clear even after all these years, glinted in the sunlight. Yes, it was scratched, but to her it remained beautiful, and she really didn’t like not having a use for it.

 _I am afraid you may have me to blame for that, Lorna. While it was not deliberate that this...ruination of your ability to use tobacco has occurred, I cannot lie. It is not an indulgence of which I approve; I have seen it damage the health of many of your kind. I hope you can be content with the solace that alcohol provides._ Thranduil’s face was a mix of about thirty percent guilt, twenty percent surprise, and fifty percent inadvertent smugness.

Lorna burst out laughing, though there was an edge of aggravation to it. It was a small price to pay for the aid she’d been given, but the shock of it wasn’t precisely welcome. _One of these days, I will introduce you and Thanadir to weed_ , she sent him, _provided Earlene doesn’t mind me bringing it into her house. It’s technically illegal, but there’s no reason for it to be._ The thought of either of the elves getting the munchies...it was too good to pass up, but she wasn’t going to bring it if Earlene disapproved, and since Earlene had been a lawyer, there was a healthy chance she might.

She eyed the lighter again, and sighed as she put it in her pocket. She’d find another use for it, somehow.

Thranduil stared at her, smiling, weighing internally if he wanted to truly understand what “munchies” were...and thought better of it. It was enough that Lorna was not very angry with him; he had likely pushed her as far as possible in a given twenty-four hour period of time. With a grin, he filled his arms with wood, and nudged the door open to deposit the wood inside. The kettle had just begun screaming, and Earlene leaned out of the doorway to ask who wanted tea?

“I could do with some,” Lorna said, gathering wood of her own. The cigarette had left a positively putrid taste in her mouth, and while it was likely for the best Thranduil had cured her dependency, some weird part of her actually mourned it a little. Tea would surely cure that. “I think you’ve got enough firewood to last you a month out there.”

Earlene filled the mugs, and set them out for everyone, along with cream and sugar for anyone who wanted it (she did). She sliced apples too...because. And then with a sigh, found a notepad, and opened her laptop. If Lorna was surprised to walk in and see all three of them peering into their respective computers, she hid it well. Earlene was already scratching furious notes on her tablet.

“Lorna, do chemists here usually have the machine for taking blood pressure here? I think today I’ve at least got to darken their door if I go shopping in town.”

“This one does,” Lorna said, cradling her mug of tea and inhaling the fragrance before she drank. It was a ritual she’d had as far back as she could remember, since it meant that she was at someone else’s house, and safe enough for the time being. “Since it’s the only chemist in town, it’ll have most’v what you need. Do you know how to take someone’s pulse?”

Earlene nodded. “There’s an app for that,” she said, reaching for her phone and seating herself next to Thanadir. “May I have your hand, Thanadir? Or rather, I need your finger.”

The elf looked up at her with an expression of bafflement, though it was a simple request. When he extended his hand, Earlene took his finger while balancing his elbow on her knee. With a frown, she shook his finger lightly. “You must relax your hand, Thanadir. Do not tighten any of your muscles.” She then proceeded to hold his finger against the camera flash on her phone, after she had tapped the screen, and waited. “They have the same temperature we do,” she announced happily. “Or at least, close enough to it to not create a ruckus. And the pulse is more or less similar as well.” Thanking Thanadir, she tried the same thing on Thranduil, with similar results. “Good. One less thing to worry about.”

That really _was_ good, because Lorna didn’t know what the hell they would have done otherwise. She was good at faking many things, but -- _that’s what she said_ , she thought, with an internal, defeated sigh. God dammit, Kevin. Still, the point stood. She wouldn’t have had a clue how to fake _that_. “The main thing, I think, is going to be keeping your ears hidden, and giving you something more like an Irish accent. If you’ve lived in isolation, people’ll expect it to be a bit odd, but neither’v you sound Irish at all.”

“And I’m no help, with them probably exposed to my speaking more than that of anyone else. You know, I think it’s time to start having Irish radio and TV on around here more, just to add to the chatter in this house. They can hardly start to imitate what they aren’t hearing. Surely there is something that streams live around here….”

“There’s YouTube, too,” Lorna said. “I haven’t listened to the radio in ages -- too many bloody commercials -- but there’s some fantastic Irish channels that’ll expose you to accents from all over. And the Irish, in all our...uh, glory.” Logically, she knew they would probably be just fine in the outside world eventually, but she couldn’t help but feel, absurdly, a bit like an over-protective mother, which Thranduil no doubt found hilarious. She was glad Thanadir couldn’t read her mind too, at least not without actual effort; she didn’t know what she’d do if she knew they were _both_ captive audiences to her brain’s random vomit.

“Good idea,” said Earlene, scrawling another note. “Okay, everyone is going to have to excuse me for awhile...it’s been more than two days and I have not looked at...lawyer stuff that I don’t want to look at but have to,” she sighed, looking depressed.

“You do what you’ve got to,” Lorna said. “Have you got eggs and milk? I know we just ate, but I can make some mean French toast. One’v the few things I’m anything more than basic at.” She looked around. “Er...also, d’you have a kitchen stool?”

“Yes, yes, and knock yourself out,” Earlene said, already frowning and typing...something. It was obvious that she was already completely sidetracked.

Thranduil stood up to assist her, by now having become halfway proprietary about the preparation of eggs, and very curious as to how the French made toast. He brought out the stepstool he knew Earlene had stored in the pantry, and set it down for Lorna. “I hope you do not mind, I wish to watch,” he said, leaning against the counter and sipping his tea.

“Not at all,” she said, digging out a bowl. The counters in here were just high enough to give her a bit of trouble, but not high enough for her to really need the stool just yet; she dragged it with her anyway, and ignored the fact that even standing on it, her head barely reached his shoulder. _Thanks, Gran. Thanks for the height._ “Okay, so, Gran taught me to make French toast, but my sister refined it. Mairead’s always had more money, so she was willing to add a couple things Gran wouldn’t’ve.” She cracked four eggs on the edge of the bowl, mercifully not dropping any shells in. “Tiny bit’v vanilla -- not too much, though. I made that mistake ages ago, and it was bloody awful. Plenty’v cinnamon, but what gives it the kick is just a little bit’v cream.” She had to hop off the stool to get that out of the refrigerator, studiously ignoring the fact that she felt way too much like a damn child every time she did it. “All right, now you turn the stove on to let it heat up -- just about medium, here -- and whisk the shit out’v this until it’s an even consistency.” Back up onto the stool, but she whisked it with a fork, just as Gran had done. “See how this goes? You’ll save on elbow work if you do it this way. Here, can you pass me the bread?” She was giving a God-knows-how-old elf cooking lessons. Not long ago, that sentence would have struck her as far odder than it did now.

Thranduil disappeared into the pantry, to return with two choices. One arm held a loaf of sliced sandwich bread, the other a loaf of unsliced rustic….something or other. “Which do you require?” he asked.

Lorna eyed them both. “Sandwich bread’s probably safer,” she said. “Normally I’d like something a bit more natural, but since I don’t know what’s in that, or how it’ll work, let’s go with the sandwich. Okay, now this bit’s the important part,” she added, fetching a pan. “I know a lot’v people don’t like using butter to grease a pan, but they’re not doing it right.” With a practiced hand, she scooped out just a bit from the tub, letting it run around the pan as it melted. “If it doesn’t hiss, you’re at the right temperature. Now, you take your bread --” she took slice from him “-- and you dunk it into this mixture, but not enough to let it get soaked or anything, or it’ll get soggy.” She dunked it, flipped it with a fork, and dropped it neatly onto the pan. “You want to try?”

“Just one,” he said. “Do I wait until that slice is done, or put it in now?”

“Go right on ahead and drop it in,” she said. “So long as there’s room, we just keep adding, and take them out in the order they cook in.” She hopped off the stool again to grab two plates, setting them on the counter beside the stove, and the spatula, which looked comically large in her tiny hands, dammit. Oh well. She was little. Nothing she could do about it. “Once they’ve sat a bit, start lifting the corners and checking on them,” she said, demonstrating. “Once it starts to get golden-brown, that’s when you flip it. Too soon and it won’t cook all the way, but too late and it’ll burn, and burnt French toast is an outright sacrilege.”

Given that there were four of them, she’d probably ought to make two slices apiece. She peeked again, and discovered the slice was perfect. “Okay, this is what it ought to look like, so you flip it like this.” Why yes, she did in fact show off just a little when she flipped it, because what the hell, it wasn’t like she had many actually entertaining skills. She repeated the action when the second was ready, then handed the spatula to Thranduil. “Okay, your turn.”

He imitated her expertly because….elves. Though not without comment. “You are a good teacher, Lorna. I have only begun to learn something about cooking since Earlene came. Before that I could only boil water for tea.”

“I had good teachers myself,” she said, more pleased than she let on. “Gran and Mairead, between them they managed to get a few things into my head.” She wasn’t surprised he’d not known much about cooking before he met Earlene; being a king, he’d probably never had any need to. Strange, how that thought no longer inspired a knee-jerk derision in her -- but then, she’d met Thranduil as Thranduil first, king second, and he seemed pretty willing to keep that aspect of his and Thanadir’s lives quiet for now. Probably a lot easier to do, outside of the halls.

The first slice was about done, and she grinned. “Okay, so here’s how it works at Mairead’s house,” she said, handing him a plate. “You go across the kitchen, and if you catch it when I fling it, you can eat it. I’ve never missed a toss once.”

Earlene, deeply focused on a delicate point of litigation involving international financial law, caught something sailing overhead in her peripheral vision, and managed to both witness a piece of French toast landing on Thranduil’s plate while also meeting Thanadir’s vaguely horrified and wide-eyed expression with her own. That Thranduil was laughing heartily and thereby fully endorsing whatever had just occurred left both her and the seneschal at a hopeless disadvantage, since they had no choice but to allow him his indulgences. Turning back to her screen and squeezing her eyes shut, she forced her mind back onto the nuances of the last three court precedents while silently wondering what her life had become.

Lorna burst out laughing herself. “If I had a hat, it would be off to you, good sir,” she said. “Get ready for slice number two, and then Thanadir, it’s your turn. Earlene’s busy, she gets a pass.”

A volley of Sindarin from Thanadir flew at Thranduil, who retorted in their gibberish just as swiftly. Had anyone been looking, they would have noticed that Thanadir also squeezed his eyes shut while trying to bury his head behind his laptop as he attempted to compose his features. In over ten thousand years, Valar preserve them, he could not ever recall being commanded to catch flying food. Standing, and smoothing his tunic, he hoped the slightly strained look he could not entirely banish from his features was not discernible to the mortal women. Woman, as he could see that Earlene was equally appalled and straining to focus on her work. Breathing deeply, he once again told himself to follow the fine example of his queen, give or take the slight twitching he noticed at the corner of her eye.

Poor Thanadir...Lorna didn’t feel anywhere near as bad as she ought to, however. Earlene’s slices she deposited neatly onto a plate, along with a dollop of butter to the side. She put a second plate upside-down over the top of it, to keep it warm in case Earlene didn’t want to eat it right off, and rested a knife and fork on it before bringing it to the table. “I’ll not ask you to catch flying food,” she said. “It’s here for when you’ve got a moment -- if it gets cold, just let me know.” She fetched a mug of tea, too, and set it to Earlene’s other side, with cream and sugar. Having lived with a Type A-personality sister, she knew what was needed at times -- including space.

Something like ‘thank you’ and apologies were mumbled; about thirty seconds ago Earlene’s fingers had begun flying with astounding speed at the keyboard, and her forehead was furrowed in concentration.

_Please forgive Earlene, Lorna. While I do not understand much of what is in her mind, I can tell you that it is difficult even for her and immensely complicated...she is not really even with us, just now. But your food is delicious, and I believe that if you keep Thanadir’s plate full, he may yet recover his sensibilities. I can also tell you that Earlene will only eat one slice, when she does return to this world._

Sure enough, a glance at Thanadir revealed that he had become much happier, now that he was busy eating. To Lorna’s amusement, an absolute crust of sugar was visible on the piece he was now happily slicing and eating.

 _It’s no problem,_ she sent. _My sister’s the same way, when she’s focused on something._ Thanadir, though...she bit the inside of her cheek very, very hard in an attempt to keep from laughing, and failed utterly, turning back to the stove long enough to scoop up two more slices -- though this time she was a benevolent cook, and brought them over on a plate. _I haven’t seen anyone put sugar on French toast since my youngest nephew. It’s a good thing he’s an elf, or I’d worry about diabetes._ Still giggling, she padded back across the kitchen and up onto her stool again. _You want any more, or should I finish off this batch?_

“Thank you, I have had enough. Thanadir, would you like more slices of this?”

One look from the seneschal gave him an answer. “Thanadir would like one or two more slices, if that is possible,” he said with a grin. Just then Earlene surfaced, managing to defeat at least one email. Opening the lid on her plate, she quickly volunteered her second slice to Thanadir, while diving into the other and declaring it delicious.

“Nice touch on the cinnamon and vanilla, Lorna,” she said approvingly. “This is really well done. Nothing’s worse than inferior French toast.”

Thranduil took the opportunity to ferry her unwanted slice to Thanadir’s plate, laughing at himself. If he could have imagined, even a month ago, that he would be doing this…

Had Lorna known what he was thinking, she would have labeled herself a bad influence, because, well, she _was_. The fact that she was child-sized often didn’t help, since it seemed to make people more willing to join in on her lunacy. As it was, she tossed two more slices of bread onto the pan, inordinately pleased. Despite the fact that Gran and Mairead had both been conscientious about letting her know when she’d done something well, it remained, even now, a bit novel. “Thanks,” she said. “My sister, she’s grand in the kitchen, and her husband’s a chef. I picked up a few things.” She eyed Thanadir. “All right, I know you’re tall, but where d’you _put_ all’v it?” she asked. “Do elves have denser bones or muscles or something?” She was actually genuinely curious. God knew they were stronger than any human, but why? Thanadir was quite slender, so much so that if he’d been a human, she might have been afraid of breaking him, but she knew he was tougher than any human. Maybe they were like Wolverine, except they were born with adamantium in their bones. If people had iron in their blood, why not?

 _Because that’s impossible, Lorna_ , she told herself...except she’d come to realize that that was a word she just shouldn’t be using anymore, so maybe they really were like Wolverine.

Thranduil was openly laughing now. “Many of us, Lorna would not seem that much stronger than human males. You are dealing with two...unusual cases, would be the word. The oldest of our race were stronger, and I was gifted with great strength even for an elf. There is nothing supernatural about this part of us. That we were also skilled fighters with bodies trained to many physical disciplines is part of what you see. Of old, there were men and dwarves as strong as or stronger than elves.”

Lorna arched an eyebrow, flipping the bread in the pan. “Human males, huh? What about us females? I know next to you two I’ve got nothing -- and I’ll admit, that’s bothered me a bit; I’m not used to being around people so much stronger than I am -- but there’s plenty a man I’ve knocked the shite out’v.” She tried not to think about what she’d done to that one bloke with half a brick and his teeth, and of course immediately thought of it...Mick had been there for that one, actually. It wasn’t that she was precisely _proud_ of doing things like that, but...well, she was a little woman, and she’d always been a little woman, and there were plenty who thought that meant ‘target’. She’d worked, and she’d worked hard, to get as strong as she was -- though part of it was just genetic, given Gran was Gran, and for a little old lady could haul a surprising amount of farming tools.

“It is not meant as any slight to you,” Thranduil said. “If you had precisely the same physical skills, it would still be difficult for you to harm us. We have greater speed, in addition to greater strength. But against one of your own kind...there is little doubt in my mind that you are able to damage males. But I would hazard that an extremely well-trained fighter of either gender could yet harm you. Most male elves are not appreciably stronger than female elves; but few of our females have ever taken an interest in fighting and warfare. And unless I am much mistaken, you are unusual in this regard? I have seen few human women that have your…proclivities.”

Lorna laughed, scooping one slice onto a plate. “Oh, I’m well aware how fast you lot are,” she said. “I didn’t land so much as a single hit on Thanadir the other day. He’s agreed to teach me to fight, since I don’t actually know what I’m doing aside from hitting really hard when I get a chance, and I’ve promised I’ll try not to swear at him.” The other slice went neatly onto the plate, along with a pat of butter. “I think...I’m not sure if I would’ve taken an interest, as you say, if I’d grown up differently. I might’ve had the temper regardless, but...I know you can read my mind, but you can’t really know what it’s like to be a tiny woman in the human world. You get pegged as soft, and weak, and an easy target, unless you learn how to be something else. I _enjoyed_ it, way more than I should’ve -- you saw that yesterday. We all do what we’ve got to do, and I don’t know that I’d say I’m so unusual as you might think. There’s women in the Army, and the police...some’v us just like it, I guess. There’s a phenomenon called ‘runner’s high’, but you can get it from weight lifting, too.” She set the plate down in front of Thanadir, right on top if his empty one -- there were plenty of dishes to do anyway; one more couldn’t hurt.

As Thranduil considered her words, he took a second look at her, noting her height. Frowning, he came close to her and sank down until his head was at the same elevation as hers, and found that in order to do it, he had to kneel. At which point, he was now the same height. This was not exactly a posture he was in the habit of assuming. Looking around, the first thing to catch his notice was the kitchen counter. The view was very different, he conceded, from down here. Slowly, he held out his hand, palm outward, asking her silently to hold her hand out against his. He had not realized either, that his limbs dwarfed hers, by comparison; the entirety of her hand encompassed little more space than his palm. Rising again, his face took on a very contemplative appearance. “I had never considered, how different it must be,” was all he said, though his thoughts seemed to continue.

Lorna hadn’t expected he’d do that, and she wondered what he made of it, seeing things from her eye-level. “Well, why would you have?” she asked good-naturedly. “Most people would never have a reason to. But my Gran, she used to say that short people aren’t any more belligerent than tall people -- it’s just concentrated, so it seems worse. See, someone’d look at you or Thanadir and automatically get out’v the way, but little people like my Gran and I usually have to kick someone or get stepped on.” She had actually seen the world from a rather taller perspective herself, mostly because of the time she’d been stabbed in the foot at fifteen and had to be hauled around piggy-back for a few days. Shane was about Thanadir’s height, which had put her line of view at roughly Thranduil’s. It had been very nice, even if she’d had to duck every time they went through a door.

She was honestly rather jealous of Mairead’s height. Her sister stood a full five-foot-ten, which apparently came from their granddad, though she had Mam’s curly red hair and blue eyes; looking at them, nobody would have guessed they were half-sisters. At least Thranduil and Thanadir were closer in height, and had roughly the same build; all the elves she’d seen were on the pale side, but Thranduil’s eyes were going creep people out unless he clouded their minds a bit. Lorna knew full well just how much having creepy eyes could affect how someone dealt with you; Da had hated it so much when she looked at him that he was content to chase her off more often than hit her. Gran had once told her they came from great-Gran, which Lorna believed, especially as her nephew Kevin had also inherited them. She’d always heard that green eyes were meant to be lovely, but most people seemed to find hers off-putting. Which she could actually sort of understand; she didn’t see it while looking in the mirror, but seeing photographs of herself gave her the willies.

But Thranduil and Thandir could at least pass for relatives, so long as they could learn roughly the same accent. They were elves, they seemed to be good at everything, the lucky bastards; she had no doubt they’d have it mastered in no time. They were so superior to humans in pretty much _everything_ that she didn’t understand why there were so few of them left -- but that was probably above her pay-grade, so she’d keep it to herself. While she was curious about some things, it was hardly imperative that she know them, and she counted herself lucky to know all she did already. They’d let her in on far more than she had ever expected they would, certainly further than she needed to do her job or, honestly, deserved -- at least not yet. She’d feel less awkward about it once she’d had Shane do a few things, and once Niamh had put the rest of the paperwork through. She had a distinct feeling that the things she’d been given -- the beautiful nightgown, the lovely rooms, the necklace -- were, like the necklace, ‘just because’, an idea she was going to have to get used to sooner or later, because it didn’t seem likely to stop. Somehow, she managed to feel grateful and guilty all at once, because she wasn’t used to being given things she hadn’t actually earned from anyone but Liam, Gran or Mairead. Presents from them, things ‘just because’, had weirded her out too, at first, but eventually she’d got used to it.

She tossed another glance at Thanadir. Part of her dreaded sending him into the village, because she knew, _knew_ that it was only a matter of time before someone wouldn’t be able to resist, and decided to pinch his cheek. She could warn them against it all she liked, but there were one or two very old ladies of the sort who ignored anything they didn’t want to hear, and she could only pray he wouldn’t get offended. She probably ought to warn him about it, just so it wouldn’t come as a complete surprise...the problem was that, though he was some degree older than Thranduil, he looked much younger. When she’d first met him, she’d thought him little more than a lad, and an adorable one at that -- and there was a certain kind of person, usually female, who seemed genetically hard-wired to do something about that. He could have quite a measure of gravitas if he chose -- she’d seen that in the halls, however fleetingly -- but these ladies wouldn’t know that.

She wondered how she could warn him about it, without leaving him totally horrified and unwilling to go into the village unless he was told to. Apart from walking arm-in-arm, elves didn’t, from what she’d so far observed, touch each other very much; the idea of some old lady giving his cheek a pinch would probably be both alien and awful.

Being past the French toast, Earlene tried to focus on some organization for the rest of the day. She still had to deal with Lorna’s prepaid card. Or more accurately, she was going to have to shuffle a few things around first. While she kept a substantial sum in her accounts, ten thousand euros was not something that she liked to park in her checking account. And Lorna hadn’t given any indication that she would leave soon, so there was an easy solution. Picking up her laptop, she murmured something about being a little bit cold and went to sit next to Thanadir on the side of him that placed her closest to the wood stove. For good effect, she tossed another log into the firebox before settling in. Once there, her computer screen was completely safe from Lorna accidentally seeing anything she was doing.

Creases formed on her brow as she realized that the simplest way to ensure she was not entering a financial or tax minefield would be to call the agent she had used and run the essence of this by them; they were paid to know these sorts of things. This should not be different, in principle, than if she were to hire a housekeeper; that much larger sums of money were under discussion was incidental. Closing down her screen, she excused herself without comment and procured her cell phone. There was reception at the barn; that would be a more than safe place to talk.

Lorna, entirely oblivious, hummed a little as she gathered up the dishes. Gran had always been very firm on that: you make the mess, you clean it up, and she really had made a bit of a mess. Stuffing the stopper into the sink drain, she hunted down a bottle of dish soap and turned the tap on full bore, letting it fill while she took care of the batter -- she’d learned the hard way not to pour it down the drain, so she just dumped it into the bin and reminded herself to take it out later, before it could start to stink.

It had been a long while since she’d made anyone French toast. She went to Mairead’s on Sundays, but she hadn’t actually made anything herself in years. Few people ever came to her cottage; her nieces and nephews came thundering through every now and again, but for the most part she was alone out there. She liked it; she’d grown rather private over the last few years, but she realized now that she’d been missing having people around and hadn’t even known it. While she still held back a bit, even now, it wasn’t like she did in the same ways she did in Baile. She loved her village, and it loved her, but it was filled with people who had never known the kind of life she’d led. And only now did she realize she’d been lonely.

At least, even once she’d gone home, she still had the option to come back here. It wasn’t terribly long of a ride, though it wasn’t going to be any fun at all come winter; Irish winters had a deserved reputation for being wet and miserable, which meant she’d have to invest in some proper riding leathers, and leave some dry clothes to change into once she got here.

Aggravatingly, she once again had to drag the damn stool over in order to actually get all the dishes in to soak, though she flatly refused to haul over to wash down the stovetop. She was short, but she wasn’t _that_ short, dammit.

Earlene drifted back inside, frowning to see that Lorna was stuck with dishes...generally she went in for a “the cook doesn’t clean” method with other people. Even though it was pure hypocrisy, because she _always_ wanted to both cook and clean, but she admitted even to herself that she was a little overzealous about how things were done in a kitchen. But as Lorna was obviously more than halfway through, she simply thanked her for the effort before slinking back to the computer.

The information given to her had indicated that it would essentially be Lorna’s responsibility to pay taxes on this. While it was tempting to go “under the table” on the entire thing, the sums of money were too large and could flag unwanted attention. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and then had an entirely different idea...could she simply have this card in both their names, with Lorna having signing privileges that would allow it to be as good as her own? Shaking her head, she rejected the idea. _Don’t try and get fancy, Earlene. It’s the road to perdition. This method will be fine, and if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it._ With a few more taps and clicks it was all taken care of, due to arrive likely within a week.

Washing dishes in such a very large sink, Lorna soon discovered, was an exercise in trying not to fall in. Reaching into the bottom of it put her in water up to her elbows, which in turn sank her into a mountain of bubbles -- she’d definitely put in too much soap. Still, she managed to get them all scrubbed, but when she reached down to pull the stopper, she gained herself a faceful of bubbles for her trouble. Praying no one had seen her, she wrenched the stopper out and groped for a hand towel.

A rumbling sound from across the counter revealed that Thranduil was smiling as big as she’d ever seen him smile, while trying to keep what was obviously a chuckle from evolving into full blown laughter. When his eyes met Lorna’s, he looked up at the ceiling, trying to govern himself.

_You are better than Star Trek, Lorna. Thank you for brightening my day._

A quick look around confirmed the ongoing obliviousness of Earlene and Thanadir, who were both glued to their screens.

Lorna wanted to scowl, but being told she was better than Star Trek made her try and utterly fail to choke back her own laughter -- which of course made her inhale suds, which in turn made both laughter and choking worse until she wiped her face off. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she managed eventually, between giggles. “Earlene’s sink isn’t a sink, it’s a miniature bathtub. I could go for a good swim in it.” Of course she had suds up her nose, so she blew it before glaring at the dishes. “Behave,” she ordered them, gingerly turning the tap on again to rinse them.

Looking up at the word “sink”, Earlene grinned. “Sorry about that, I’ve been spoiled having that kind of sink and I couldn’t go back.” And for whatever reason, that phrase caused her mind to jump onto something else entirely. “You know, it’s Thursday. The quilting group meets at four o’clock, and...Thanadir, have you decided if you wish to go to this? I was planning a trip to town anyway, and will work around that if you choose to.”

Thanadir looked up as though he’d just been interrupted in the middle of deep contemplations, which made Earlene feel a little guilty, but, the question did need asking.

“I should have asked for your attention first, I am sorry,” she apologized. “Did you hear my question at all?”

“Yes, I heard. Yes, I will go. Will you go as well?”

While Earlene would personally rather have dental work done that sit in on a meeting having to do with sewing, she felt she owed it to him to understand the nature of the question.

“Thanadir, are you asking to see if I am interested in this, or are you asking because you would prefer it if I went with you?”

As badly as she did not want to go, she absolutely would if she even thought that he was asking her out of a desire for moral support. After how he’d cared for her during the party disaster, she’d sit through a month of quilting….whatevers, for him.

“The second one,” he answered honestly.

“Then yes, I will go,” she answered, as she visualized the pint of Guinness that would not be in her hand with longing. She somehow doubted that anything harder than tea would be served at a quilting occasion. “But please realize, that I am not able to participate much, as I know nothing about any kind of needlework.”

Lorna, hearing that, winced and finished drying off her arms. “Oi, I ought to warn you, there’s a chance some little old lady’ll try to pinch Thanadir’s cheeks. I’ve warned them not to, but there’s a certain kind’v woman who reaches ninety and decides social conventions’re for other people. If one’v them does, I’m sorry in advance, but old people’re often a bit...odd. Sorry, Thanadir, but you’ve just got that sort’v face.”

“Sure god, Lorna, for a moment you had me worried...which cheeks you meant.”

The mere idea of some old gran pinching His Excellency’s derriere was not something she was prepared to face, in any lifetime. There were things you just did not do to an elf and...that really would have to be one of them. But Lorna was right, Thanadir was hopelessly...cute. Those doe-eyes could melt glaciers…

Lorna burst out laughing, briefly trying to smother it with her hand before giving up. “No, no, that’s a different sort’v woman entirely, and not one you’ll find in a quilting circle. These are the sort who, if Thanadir was human, would call him ‘such a nice lad’, given how young he looks. Anything but face-pinching’d be seen as obscene.” Admittedly her gran might have pinched his arse, but Gran was Gran. The woman swore she’d grabbed Bono’s arse in the 80’s, and Lorna had been tempted to believe her.

“Alright then, that’s settled. If it doesn’t go on too long, perhaps we’ll stop in for a quick pint, but I won’t make promises. Now the question is, what am I doing with the rest of this day...”

Thranduil spoke. “I can answer part of that, meluieg. Quite soon, more elves will come. It is time to begin preparing your garden.”

“I’ve got to check in with Mick, see what he’s got in for the day.” Not having a consistent schedule was a bit weird, but it only made sense, given his work wasn’t precisely steady. “I’ll be off around four or five, so I’ll be at the pub if you turn up. I’ll have to head out soon so I have time to change my clothes before I get to the mechanic. I’ll tell Mick I food coma’d on your couch, Earlene. He’ll buy that easy enough.” She glanced at her rather damp flannel shirt. Yeah, she definitely needed a change, or he’d wonder what the hell she’d been doing. Knowing him, he’d assume she’d murdered someone and dumped their body in a bog. There was no bog around here, but that wouldn’t stop him assuming.

Without explanation, Thranduil began laughing out loud as he excused himself to look at something outside. Earlene’s eyebrow rose and she suppressed a smile. It was her hunch that he and Lorna had just as many silent exchanges as she did with him...and she had seen more than one inexplicable stamp of mirth on his face, and always when Lorna was with them. _Good_ , she thought. _If he can find some joy after all this time on account of our human oddities, I’ll not stop him._

“Sure, Lorna, that totally works. You can tell anyone there’s a spare room here...which is technically true, never mind that there’s no bed in it, but I somehow doubt anyone will ever come to figure that out. This place makes a perfect excuse if need be, and definitely beats anything resembling the truth.” Earlene grinned, still sometimes unable to believe what the forest held.

Lorna pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to laugh herself. “It really does,” she said. “Mick’ll not question that, though I can’t go doing it too often or other people will.” Rolling her eyes, she headed to the door and stuck her head out, calling, “I’m probably not wrong!” before returning. “If Mick sees I’m such a mess, he’ll think I’ve murdered someone and dumped them in a bog,” she explained. “Evidently, Thranduil found that hilarious. I’m glad my mind amuses him, since it does what it wants. I once thought that if people could read my mind, I’d get punched in the face a lot, so it’s good to know it’s funny rather than annoying.”

“Then again,” Earlene said wryly, “he’s an elf.” Though, she broke into laughter herself, thereby rendering that point moot. “Oh, I give up,” she muttered, her face lined with amusement. “Time for cat videos.” She liked to check in to see if there was anything new from Henri, le Chat Noir. The deliciously existential feline never ceased to amuse her.

“All right, I’ve got time for one,” Lorna said, glancing at the kitchen clock. Mick would hardly care if she was late, but still.

“Don’t hate me, they’re in French with subtitles, but they’re incredibly funny. Or maybe ‘funny’ isn’t the word, they’re so incredibly cynical that...oh just watch the damn thing. If you don’t like it I won’t be offended.” Lorna seemed to be genuinely amused by the dark humor, but as Earlene didn’t want to be the one responsible for causing her to be late to work.

Lorna couldn’t help but crack up, and made a mental note to check that channel out later. “You’ve got me hooked,” she said. “I’ll give everyone a warning before quilting time, and hope that’s enough. If you both need a drink afterward, John’s got some Poitín that might at least take Thanadir’s edge off, and some’v my homemade beer if you want any.” She eyed her slightly damp shirt, shaking her head. She wasn’t kidding about Mick thinking she’d murdered someone.

Before she left, she carefully took her necklace off and set it atop the refrigerator, where it wasn’t likely to get in the way or lost. It was a beautiful thing, and she really did appreciate the sentiment, for all it still made her feel awkward -- but it belonged in this world. She didn’t want to risk anything happening to it out there, and she didn’t fancy trying to explain it. Maybe, someday, when the people of Lasg’len had had more exposure to the elves, but for now...Earlene would understand, even if Thranduil wouldn’t. “I’m leaving this necklace here with you,” she called. “I’ll pick it up again next time I’m back. I know Thranduil thinks it’s not worth much, but I’d die if something happened to it, and wearing it in the mechanic isn’t to be thought’v.” It occurred to her that it would actually match the coat Gran had made her, but when on Earth opportunity to wear both might arise, she had no idea. It was a thing she’d wear in this part of her life, because it really was too lovely not to; maybe someday she’d stop fearing she’d break it. Elf things seemed to be made to last, but instinct was instinct, and not easily overridden.

Meandering out into the sunshine, she headed back to town, wondering just what on Earth her life had become.

*****

Earlene sighed, now that the storm that was Lorna had departed. She’d noticed she was beginning to feel a little...edgy, and she could guess the cause. For someone who had done little but be alone, she was by her standards _surrounded_ , lately. And she could also see easily enough that while she could spend hours in silence around Thanadir and Thranduil, which made it feel as though she were by herself, Lorna brought a vastly different energy to the playing field. And perhaps, just perhaps, the flying French toast had crossed her personal limit today. Truth be told, she felt like taking a walk. Alone.

Thranduil looked at her, following all this, and reflected. “Could I go with you, meluieg, if I promised not to talk?” he asked softly. She nodded, smiling, and went to find a cardigan.

Taking his hand once out the back door, she wandered into the woods, and kept wandering. She tried to walk very quietly, and enjoyed watching the budding trees, and listening for the assorted sounds of birds and the rustlings of small animals. The changing scents of the woods registered, as did the sound of flowing water from somewhere, that she sought out. The closest she came to communicating with him was when she found the small stream, and looked to the other side of it, asking him with her eyes if it was safe to cross. When he nodded his assent, she released his hand, and took a hard run at the water (skirts and all), to clear the distance to the other side. The longer she walked through the woods, the more she noticed, and the more she enjoyed them. Whether it was the mushrooms growing against some sides of the tree trunks, the kinds of birds that flitted overhead, or the colonies of large ants that meandered the humus underfoot, the observations provided the time and framework in which to stop thinking on the annoyances of her day and immerse in something restorative. After more than an hour of walking silently alongside her, his sense of wonder at her behavior magnified. He hadn’t realized that humans would care this much about being out of doors, or would try to embrace the life of the earth.

Thranduil knew that she did not want to hear words, but offered what gift he could. As Earlene looked at more features of the forest, she somehow understood more about them. How and when they would change with the seasons. How one kind of tree influenced the nesting of one kind of bird. What kinds of plants the snail slowly tracking across the tree bark would prefer to have. When she finally understood, she turned to him, smiling in a way that showed her pearly teeth, and reached up to kiss his lips softly. One thing led to another, and they wordlessly shared love in a clearing of sunshine and tender grasses. And afterward, she rose, brushed off her skirts and waited for him to take her hand once again. Thranduil had been certain that sooner or later his wife would begin speaking, but this never occurred. She kept her silence until they reached the porch of her house, whereupon she embraced him and said only “Thank you.” In all this time her thoughts had been still, muted, and yet she was not trying to hide from him. He did not know what to think, except that their time together had been beautiful and surprisingly...elven.


	23. Twenty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 12-13, 2016

Having no idea what anyone wore to a quilting meeting, and therefore basing her garment choices far more on the forecast temperature for early evening, Earlene opted for warm woolen pants and a pretty cashmere sweater. Both to hopefully make him feel appreciated, and because the item was incredibly warm and comfortable, she also chose the elven cloak Thanadir made for her. On a hunch, earlier she downloaded the English-Sindarin dictionary to her smartphone, because just maybe some incredible vocabulary roadblock would occur that this could solve. Which was all to say, she was as prepared for this cultural encounter as she was ever likely to be. And she had to put on a brave face; she could only imagine the trepidation Thanadir must feel. It would be the same as if she were asked to travel to Thranduil’s Halls the day after she learned that elves existed. _Earlene, you did travel to the Halls the day after you found out elves existed_ , she reminded herself. She massaged her forehead, wondering how her life had become this odd, exactly. _You’ve faced off against some of the best lawyers in Manhattan_ , she reminded herself. _A few Irish biddies cannot possibly present much difficulty. It will be a nice evening and you will be helping someone who would do anything for you_. She walked to the barn to check everything was in order with her bicycle, and placed her folded cloak into one of the baskets, wheeling the contraption outside near to the house, and then returning to collect Thanadir.

Thranduil was looking a little too happy about having several hours alone in which to watch videos. Which was hard to fathom, as she had suggested to him that he begin taking a hard look at human history with a series that taught about World War I, complete with astonishing amounts of film footage. It wouldn’t be her idea of the perfect evening but, each his own.

At three o’clock, they left her house to walk to town. Though she did not expect it, the seneschal courteously offered his arm and she gladly took it. It was slightly odd, given that she was steering the bicycle with her right hand, but as it was light and no great difficulty, it worked well enough. Maybe she’d been grabbed and groped one too many times since coming here, because to feel guarded by one who could and would keep any such thing from occurring felt incredibly reassuring. Though, she was still faintly annoyed with him for pulling her off of Sean at the party. _Dammit, I deserved to get in one more kick to his nuts, because if anyone should have their testes damaged beyond use, it was that sack of shite_ she reasoned, glancing up at him. But one look at the large, expressive eyes and rosy lips set in his eternally youthful face made it impossible to continue any meaningful level of irritation with him. After they walked on for a time, Earlene spoke.

“Thanadir, may I ask you a question about elves?” Suddenly a curiosity had come over her.

“Of course, Earlene,” the seneschal replied, with an air of wondering what about them fascinated humans this time.

“To our eyes, all elves appear to be the same age. Grown, but only about thirty years old. When elves meet each other, is it the same, or is there some means by which you understand that some among you are much older than others?”

Thanadir raised his eyebrows, for this was something he considered to actually be a worthwhile question, and one to which she could not possibly know an answer.

“There is. Or rather, there was. I do not believe a human could see this, or truly understand. As we live, and so many years pass, the depth of our time living is carried in our eyes. In our expression. But all the elves here are very old. Ancient, I think is the word. So, all our eyes seem the same. There is little difference between twelve thousand years and eighteen thousand years.”

She laughed, whistling in the dark at the magnitude of the disparity, which seemed to be as profound as she had feared it might be. What could any human make, of living for that span of time? “You are correct, I cannot understand. And I cannot see. But I thank you, that you would answer my question.”

“Earlene, how old are you?” he asked, curious.

“I am thirty-eight years. And while you may always ask me anything, anything at all, I must warn you that it is usually considered not polite among humans, to ask the age of another, especially of women. How young and fleeting, I must seem to you,” she said with a smile. “We are like falling stars, whereas you are like the stars in the heavens.”

Thanadir was fascinated, not realizing that a mortal could possibly be so comfortable talking about this disparity. He regarded her. “If you could have it be otherwise, would you wish it to?”

She tilted her head. “I am not certain, Thanadir. I will be truthful, I would like to have more years than most humans have, which is often only sixty or seventy. Though from the sound of it, if I am fortunate, that is a gift Thranduil can grant me. But hundreds of years? Thousands? More than ten thousand? I would almost have to ask you the same question. Does it not become difficult, to watch all around you change, while you remain the same?”

“It can be”, he admitted. “For some, this difficulty was too much to bear, and why they have gone to be with the Valar. I have always had my King. And our people. Someone to care for, someone to serve. It has given me a purpose.”

“Then we share one thing, our two races. Those who have a purpose are happy, content. Those who do not...it often does not go so well, for them. I have never told you, how happy I am to know that Thranduil has you. You are an extraordinary being, Thanadir, as is he.”

The elf looked at her kindly. He did not need to be told that for a human, she was unusual as well, and very different from the others that lived here. “Thank you, Earlene.” After a pause, he continued. “Thranduil told me that you lived in a great city of men. He showed me pictures, in a book. What was it like? Many people live there?”

“New York City? It is an amazing place, and difficult to describe. It is so many things. Over seven million people, Thanadir. Some are so wealthy that they can rival the splendor of our King’s Halls with their homes, and others so wretched and poor that they barely survive. The best and worst of humanity is all to be found there. The city never sleeps, day or night. It is so very complicated.”

Falling silent for awhile, the seneschal considered this. “What did you like to do the most?” he asked.

“You mean, to please myself?”

He nodded.

“I could not allow myself many indulgences. My work, my...duties, took up a great deal of my time and energy. I worked very hard. But I allowed myself one thing; I subscribed to the ballet. I never missed it.”

“Ballet? I do not know what that is, Earlene.”

“It is dance. The most exquisite dance there is. It is dance that tells stories. Bodies so graceful they rival the elves, and the most beautiful music ever written.” Earlene looked up at him to see his face, and saw curiosity and interest.

“Would you like to watch a performance? I would gladly show you one. I have many favorites, that can be seen on the television.”

“I would like that very much.” His artistic soul did not require much persuasion.

Their first stop was the grocery, with quite a long list. Thanadir had never seen anything like this, and dutifully pushed around the little shopping cart, searching with his eyes over all the food labels. Though Aislinn had seen him at the party, Earlene smiled to notice the shopkeeper’s head peeking down the aisles every so often, filled with curiosity to see what the elf made of her store. Thanadir asked many questions from how the food got into the cans (she promised to show him a video at a later time) to what the boxed cereals were (unfit to eat, and she would explain later about processed food) to what the shiny clear stuff was that wrapped the meats (he had not seen plastic wrap at her home yet, and it fascinated him). Finally they checked out, and he helped her place the many items into the trailer on the bicycle.

Next, she stopped in at the liquor store to procure several bottles of wine. Teasing, she remarked that Thranduil seemed to like wine a great deal, which caused Thanadir to smile. “He has not yet returned to his cellars. I am uncertain why he does not bring his wine to your home, unless he fears it would tempt you.”

They passed the Spotted Dick, at whose door she could not help but glance longingly, and continued on down the cobbled streets until they came to the home of Ian and Mary Walsh, the hostess of the Quilting Club. They were exactly five minutes early, which seemed like precisely polite timing to Earlene’s way of thinking. With a grateful squeeze to his arm, she reached tentatively for the somewhat gaudy and definitely impossible to miss brass cat-shaped door knocker. Lifting it and letting it fall twice, she hoped that was sufficient; the device made an appalling ‘clunk’. Looking apologetically at Thanadir, she shrugged her shoulders and waited.

A bustling noise signaled the approach of their hostess. The door flew open, allowing a comet trail of perfume to exit in a swirl of air. A beaming Mary greeted them and gushed at how pleased she was to see them. Gazing on Thanadir as though he were a prize tulip at a garden show, she took the elf’s hand and glided off with him in tow, leaving Earlene to hustle behind them. With great amusement she noted the doilies, the porcelain figurines, and the nice furniture that clearly spelled out a woman who took great pride in her home. And she wondered, too...Ian did not seem like he could be a man of terribly great means...and she guessed that she was seeing many an object that had been scrimped and saved for over the course of a lifetime. Placing Thanadir in the best and most comfortable armchair, and blathering about tea, Mary breezed off to her kitchen. They were apparently the first ones there, and already Earlene was more amused than she dreamed she would be. _When all else fails, there is People Watching_ , she thought, grinning encouragingly at the bewildered elf. Though, she did stake out a much simpler looking seat that she firmly placed next to Thanadir’s chair. She would not abandon him to be surrounded, even if she had to insist on it. While they waited, they both looked around them; the only sound was the ticking of a small grandfather-type wall clock that made a rather imposing presence with its relentless tick-tocking. For the first time, she rather wished that Thanadir could speak to her with his mind only, because she would give a great deal to know what he was thinking just now.

As she gazed all around, her attention was diverted by a sharp intake of air and a strange noise. Turning her head, she looked back to see that Thanadir had the largest cat she had ever seen planted squarely on his lap, while another equally imposing specimen had appeared on the back of the armchair, and was reaching out with its paw to tug at Thanadir’s long hair. “i Iaul,” Earlene said brightly. “in Ioel!” She felt immensely pleased with herself, that she remembered how to say not only “the cat”, but “the cats” as well. Reaching over, she unhelpfully began petting the long, silky fur, which caused the animal to begin treading against Thanadir’s chest, purring loudly. In a moment, it had flopped upside down on His Excellency’s lap, and was now kneading the air with its paws. Just when the situation could not be more humorous in Earlene’s estimation, a third monster jumped into Thanadir’s lap as well. The seneschal’s eyes held a plea for help. Thanadir did not appear to notice that the cat above him was now chewing on his hair.

Chuckling and taking pity on him, she lifted (with some effort) the heavy feline that suddenly became dead weight in her arms, and brought it to her lap. Which was a mistake, because the cat swiftly discovered her cashmere sweater and immediately began drooling copiously as he kneaded at her breast in a most uncomfortable manner. While she liked cats, she had never seen one capable of this kind of salivation...drops were quite literally splashing all over her, one drop per purr. She looked up to see that Thanadir was now smiling from ear to ear at her predicament. A second knock came at the door and Mary swooped into the room, stopping to fold her hands together with a look of besotted endearment. “Hunnie Bunnie! Droopy! Oh isn’t that precious, they like the elf!” she gushed. Earlene did not have the heart to mention that all of them liked the elf, but Mary did give her a smile and mention “And I see Wobbles likes you, too!” before answering the door.

A stream of ladies entered the room, and came forward in friendly greeting. Earlene used the need to stand and meet the other guests as an excuse to gently deposit the four-legged faucet onto the carpet, turning to free Thanadir’s lap so he could stand as well. With a lazy swipe of its paw, Droopy looked vaguely dismayed as the seneschal’s hair was pulled out of his grasp. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she managed to banish the helpless laughter that was perilously close to the surface. Earlene noticed that at 5’8”, she was the tallest woman in the room, and Thanadir towered another half foot over her. To her astonishment, an elderly lady who was even smaller than Lorna (was that possible?) but incredibly spry in appearance came storming in with the use of a cane. While she was slightly hunched over, she made up for this in speed of movement. “Sit ‘im down, Mary, do I look like I can climb a ladder to get a good look at ‘im?” The other women behind her had expressions that clearly meant “here we go.”

Earlene intervened smoothly. “Perhaps we could sit and introduce ourselves?” she suggested, gesturing for Thanadir to resume his seat. “I am Earlene, and this is Thanadir, we are very pleased to be here.”

The wiry elderly lady marched on full steam ahead. “I’m Mallaidh. Over here’s Rhiannon, then Aurnia, and Síomha.” Each of the ladies received a gesture from her cane. Her bright eyes glanced at Earlene, then quickly moved on to Thanadir, who she looked up and down several times. “Sure God, you’re beautiful,” she said, before shuffling over to what was clearly her favorite chair with remarkable speed, leaving the poor elf baffled. “I am pleased to meet you,” he said, though whether he was addressing Mallaidh or all of them in general was difficult to ascertain.

Earlene had never heard this many old Irish names all in one place before, and was more than a little grateful that on account of her ancestry, they were not completely alien to her. As the rest of them were still working on which chair they wanted, Síomha was already digging into her large bag to bring out square after square that she’d apparently been working on since their last meeting.

“For the love of God, Síomha, can’t you wait until after we’ve had a cup of tea?” barked Aurnia, rolling her eyes. Turning her gaze squarely to Earlene, she said, “I have to give you a mother’s apology. I’m ashamed t'say that the worthless gobshite that ruined your wedding party's my Sean. I want you to know that when I found out what'd happened, I sent ice water down 'is pants the next morning t' wake the bugger up for work,” she said smugly. “He’ll not be feeling 'is shillelagh for a month, if I’ve anything t' say about it.”

Now it was Earlene’s turn to be baffled. “I, er, thank you,” she replied with her eyes wide, deciding that anything but brevity could only make this worse. Then again…”Thank you very much,” she grinned.

“We gals have t' stick t'gether,” she said with a wicked grin and a wink. “Present company excepted, of course,” as she glanced at Thanadir. Earlene hoped a great hope that the entire exchange had sailed over the seneschal’s head. And as Hunnie Bunnie was right back in his lap, there was a reasonable possibility that this was indeed the case.

“I’m thrilled to meet you both,” said Rhiannon. “We were out of town the night of the party, and I was terribly disappointed to miss it. It isn’t every day that we meet someone from New York City and...one of the fair folk,” she said, clearly in awe of Thanadir. Indeed, most of the room seemed more or less mesmerized by him; he was the unquestionable focus of attention.

“I am happy to be here,” said Thanadir carefully, having no understanding that his lovely eyes were currently a great source of enjoyment. “But I still do not understand what a quilt is, exactly. Would someone tell me?”

Earlene winced; she hadn’t realized.

Mary heard the question as she swept into the room bearing a large tray with teapots, cups, saucers, and biscuits, setting it down on the sizable coffee table. “Oh! You poor dear, that won’t do. Give me a moment, and the rest of you, have at the tea.”

In less than a minute, she returned bearing an armload of folded quilts. Without hesitation, she deposited them in Earlene’s arms, and shook out the top one in front of him so that he could see it, then handing it to him while she unfolded another. Even though Earlene’s knowledge of this craft was pitiful, she could see that these were very beautiful specimens, works of art. Thanadir gasped softly as his eyes widened. _Apparently in eighteen thousand years elves hadn't thought of quilts_ , she mused.

“These are beautiful,” he said with great sincerity.

Mary’s face split in a smile that made her look as if she might burst.

“We have pictures of all the ones we’ve done, Mr. Thanadir,” Rhiannon said politely, reaching into her own bag to pull out a compact but thick scrapbook that she reached over to hand him. “Here.”

Slightly miffed that his attention was drawn from her quilts, Mary nonetheless graciously smiled and re-folded her creations, stacking them once again in Earlene’s arms before whisking them away.

As all the others by now had poured their tea, Earlene prepared a cup for Thanadir, who was doing his best to look at the quilt pictures while the cat continued to knead at him. Knowing he would probably like them, she placed two biscuits on his saucer and put a little sugar in his tea as well, before pouring her own. Droopy, in the meantime, had lost interest in the elf’s hair and was half-asleep, limbs dangling down on either side of Thanadir’s head.

When Earlene noticed Mallaidh pouring liberally from a metal flask into her teacup, she quickly had to sip at her own beverage to hide her smile.

Mallaidh, never shy about her love of drink, caught Earlene’s action and didn’t bother restraining her own smile. “Young ones these days, they feel they’ve got to hide it if they drink anything more than beer in the day,” she said, capping the flask and settling it back into her quilting bag. “I don’t see why. Oh, will you give over, you monstrosity.” Lifting her cane, she leaned over to poke at Wobbles, who looked ready to start chewing on Thanadir’s boot. That cat wasn’t dissuaded in the slightest – at least, not until she poked him in the gut. Then he gave her a halfhearted glare and went to flop at Earlene’s feet, but at least he left her shoes alone.

 

Poor Thanadir...it was subtle, him being an elf and all, but Mallaidh knew a deer-in-the-headlights look when she saw one, and figured it had to be partly down to the cat passed out on his lap. She’d never seen the creatures take so fast and so well to a new person, and it was just. So. Cute. The Lorna-woman had stopped by the pub on her lunch hour to warn her that under no circumstances were any of them to touch Thanadir beyond shaking his hand, and that if anyone pinched his cheek, there would be hell to pay over it. It hadn’t seemed like a necessary warning at the time, but now, looking at him, the urge was quite strong. There was something...not cherubic about him, his face was too angular for that; the proper term was probably doe-eyed. It was bloody difficult to think of him as being God knew how many thousands of years old – not when he looked younger than Mallaidh’s grandson.

 

Síomha, heedless of Aurnia’s warning, brought out her squares anyway. Bright and colorful, like all the rest of her clothing, she already had enough for a quilt and a half, yet she kept making more. “Once you get good at it, you’ll be wanting to make them out’v fabric that means something to you, if you follow. I saved all my kids’ baby clothes and made a quilt out’v them, and this one’s old things I had when I first married.” Her house was too tidy for her to properly be called a hoarder, but she was perilously close. “Once you’re done, bring them all here so we can show you how to put it together. It’s harder than you might think, the first time out the gate. If you’ve not got your own machine, Mary’s always got time and a spare one.” Earlene might at least have passing familiarity with a machine, even if she wasn’t a hobby sewer, but Thanadir likely had no idea what Síomha was talking about, the poor dear. She had to resist the urge to pat him on top of the head.

“Lorna gave me a sewing machine,” he said softly. “It is very nice. I believe it belonged to her grandmother.”

“Grandmother?” said Síomha incredulously. “You don’t mean an old treadle, do you?”

Thanadir looked at Earlene helplessly, because to him, the machine was a complete marvel and all he could ever imagine wanting. And what was she supposed to say? She was hardly going to volunteer that anything else was worthless to him, on account of their Halls not exactly being wired for electricity. _Oh here goes nothing_ , she thought. “Thanadir has always enjoyed hand-sewing, so Lorna’s gift was something he appreciated. Though if you’d like to show him, I’m sure he’d enjoy very much seeing what a modern machine can do.”

A look of sudden rapture overcame Rhiannon’s face. “Oh! Well, there’s Pfaff, and Singer, and of course if you really want to get serious, Bernina is…”

“Sure God Rhiannon, the poor elf doesn’t need a priest’s homily on things he’s not ever seen before. Why don’t we finish our tea and show the lad how to make a square and how squares are put together? He’d probably appreciate understanding how a quilt is assembled, if he didn’t even know what one was,” ordered Aurnia. “And you can show him an electric machine while you’re at it.” Earlene had already decided she liked this forthright woman best, who seemed to be the least peculiar and the most in command of the oddities of the rest of the group.

Thanadir smiled and nodded while tentatively nibbling on his biscuit, which he did appear to like after all.

Earlene regarded him with increasing fondness. _I’m making him cupcakes tomorrow, and I don’t care what Thranduil says about it. And then he’s going to watch Swan Lake with me._ She’d already made up her mind, and that was that.

Wobbles chose that moment to bite the tip of Earlene’s shoe, earning himself a poke in the side from Mallaidh’s cane. The cat decided it was a far more interesting chew-toy, and could gnaw away all he liked. The three were spoiled beyond all belief, but easily distracted...more or less. The other two seemed pretty determined to stay with Thanadir, shedding assiduously all over his pretty...tunic, or whatever it was called. At least neither were eating his hair anymore.

Mary bustled in with more cream and sugar, as well as several books of patterns. By now all the quilters didn’t need one, but Earlene and Thanadir might well want to get some ideas. Her hand actually itched to pat him on the head, but Lorna’s warning -- or at least, her expression while giving it -- was not easily ignored. Mary wondered how Earlene managed to resist the urge, given she was probably around him fairly often. (Just what was his job description, anyway? He’d been such a help after Sean just had to come in and groped poor Earlene like he was some kind of city eejit with no manners.) Earlene didn’t yet know it, but her reaction had impressed the hell out of the villagers, who wouldn’t have expected an American to be quite so...spirited...in retaliating. That had been a kick that would have made a footballer proud. They’d tell her so someday, once enough time had passed that she could look back on the incident without wincing.

“Now you two don’t be shy,” she said, setting down her tray on an end table. “If you’re wanting anything, tell me. I’ll not have my guests going hungry.”

Mallaidh, sorting out her spools of thread, snorted. “She means it,” she warned the two. “She’ll stuff you ’til you burst if you let her.” Which, in Thanadir’s case...Earlene looked healthy and perfect, but Thanadir could stand to gain a few pounds. He was a very slender-looking lad, almost delicate...he needed to eat an entire sheep. Possibly two.

Earlene politely took one of the pattern books onto her own lap and gave another one to Thanadir, showing him surreptitiously via gestures how he might use the book to crowd out Hunnie Bunnie without being entirely obvious. Somewhat miffed about being displaced, the gigantic cat now came over and was serial rubbing itself against Earlene’s trousers. But if it gave Thanadir a break, it was a worthwhile sacrifice. She could not help but notice that the meticulous elf’s dark-colored clothing was now coated in fur...but such were the vagaries of interacting with the human world. And, he seemed genuinely fascinated. His lips were slightly parted, and his eyes were glued to the glossy colored photographs. It was as if she could see him thinking, and she wondered when the first elven-made quilt would appear...or how beautiful it would be. The pictures were interesting in their own way, but she could not presently fathom the level of devotion that was accorded to this hobby.

Soon enough the ladies took the party into another room, which she had not seen, though this did not stop Mary from bringing little tidbits of food on a plate to Thanadir at the most inopportune times. Mallaidh raised her eyebrows on more than one occasion, but decided it was never obnoxious enough to warrant intervention -- though she did have several opportunities to poke the cats again. The three monstrosities seemed to have claimed Thanadir for their own, though they were happy enough to be distracted by Earlene periodically, and were trying desperately to mark their territory with fuzz and drool in equal amounts.

As it turned out, much to Earlene’s approval, the ladies were working on a project (two, actually) for charity. There was a pensioner in town for whom they wished one smaller quilt to be a holiday gift, and another much more ambitious undertaking was destined to be raffled off to raise starting money for a proposed seasonal community garden. That these women would turn their efforts to such kindness deeply impressed Earlene, who made a mental note to try and learn more about all of what was actually going on in this town.

After they had determined the current goals by committee, they began to piece together some of the squares with the use of a sewing machine that made Earlene’s laptop seem simple by comparison. In the meantime, someone had put some smaller scraps and a needle and thread into Thanadir’s hands, and soon all gathered were marveling at the precision and speed by which the elf neatly hand-stitched the sections together as he had been shown to do.

The cats dutifully followed everyone into what was clearly the quilting room, and in sequence were trying to climb onto the worktable. Earlene watched in morbid fascination as the relatively fragile worktable creaked dangerously each time a cat jumped up. Mary, clearly believing it was the cutest thing ever, sighed in rapture, at which Mallaidh rolled her eyes. She decided to risk the question.

“Mary, are those cats...are they a special breed? I cannot ever recall seeing housecats that are so big before.”

“Oh! You have never heard of Ragdolls? All of mine come from Blackberry Hills Ragdolls, and they in turn are members of the United Kingdom Ragdoll Breeders as well as the Governing Council of Cat Fanciers. We had to travel all the way to Wexford to get them, and on more than one trip! Honey Badger (as it turned out, Hunnie Bunnie was a nickname) and Droopy are littermates and...”

Earlene was instantly sorry she had asked, because the next ten minutes were a breathless explanation of the special charms of the Ragdoll breed, as well as information on the pedigree of her furry darlings. Though Earlene felt slightly guilty, she mentioned that while they were very lovely, she thought Thranduil might be allergic to cats. Which was complete and utter nonsense, but if it freed her from talking more on this topic, it would be worth it.

By the time they were making their “thank-yous” and “good lucks”, no fewer than four instructional books had been placed into Thanadir’s arms, as well as the loan of a seam ripper, a rotary cutter, and a quilting ruler. He politely but insistently declined the offer of a large volume of batting, stating that he had his own materials.

Soon enough, all was tucked into a bag and safely stowed in Earlene’s trailer. They were the second to leave, after Rhiannon, who breezily claimed that she still had far too much work to manage for her medical transcribing business and left walking down the street while still chattering to herself. Thanadir could probably have stayed longer, but she thought it would be better to keep this first visit a little on the shorter side. And with a small degree of selfishness, she felt like she had done her duty to the Woodland Realm for an evening. She used the excuse of needing the ladies’ room to allow everyone a few more minutes with Thanadir and to avoid the impression that she was dragging him away. And when she returned from taking her time with the necessities of life, the seneschal appeared to be awaiting rescue.

Mallaidh weighed Lorna’s warning against her own inclinations, and settled for patting Thanadir lightly on the cheek, calling him a “good lad” and insisting that when he came back, she’d bring him a rubber apron in defense against all the cat drool. When Earlene emerged, Mailladh leaned in close. “If you make a circle’v duct tape with the sticky side out, you’ll get all that hair off your clothes easy enough. I’ve told Mary she either needs to brush those things or shave them, but that’ll never happen. If I was her, I’d take a Hoover to them.”

“I heard that, Mallaidh Burke,” Mary called. “You’ll go nowhere near my cats with any kind’v... _equipment_.”

“They’re balls’v fluff with legs,” Mallaidh called back. “And drool.”

After unlocking her bicycle, Earlene walked it slowly away, once Thanadir indicated his readiness. The meeting had been two and a half hours, and certainly seemed to have given him a great deal on which to reflect. Earlene did not wish to disturb him, as he seemed lost in his thoughts, but one question needed asking.

“Thanadir, how would you feel about stopping for a pint of Guinness? I would like to say hello and see if Lorna is in, but if you prefer to return right away I am glad to go with you now.”

It was obvious that the request surprised him a little, but with the flawless decorum she had feared he might display, he acceded to her wishes at once. She wondered quite a lot if he actually wanted to do this, but as he did not seem find her request completely distasteful, it would be better not to interrogate him. He held the pub door open for her, and not for the last time, her heart filled with gratitude to find herself living among such a gracious and kind individuals. As she briefly met the seneschal’s eyes, she could not help but realize that she had more affection and regard for him than she’d ever had for her own brother, not that that took any doing; she had more regard for a lump of clay than for her brother. Thanadir would always be family to her, now, and it felt like this was what she’d somehow been meant to have. Thanking him, she walked to the bar and ordered two pints from John, placing a ten euro note on the bar which he refused. She arched an eyebrow in query.

“You overpaid me by about six pints’ worth the night of the party,” he said, placing the filled glasses in front of her. “Fair’s fair.”

Nodding her head in thanks for his honesty, she handed one glass to Thanadir. “Can you see if Lorna is here?” she asked, knowing that his eyes would have adjusted to the dim interior almost immediately.

“Yes, over in the corner.”

Truth be told, Lorna had been rather nervous about the quilting party, but neither Earlene nor Thanadir looked disturbed or upset, so her warning to the old ladies must have actually worked. She raised her mug when Thanadir looked her way, silently grateful his second experience with humans other than her and Ian had been a positive one. After the disaster than had been the party, it was crucial that he see that most humans were not like Sean. The old ladies were harmless enough, even if they were prone to gossiping. They weren’t likely to do or say anything upsetting -- weird, yes; upsetting, probably not. Little old Irish ladies were pretty good practice for dealing with the outside world...even if three gigantic monstrosities masquerading as cats were involved. Seriously, those things were bowling balls covered in fur, and had what seemed to her an unnatural fixation with trying to eat long hair.

“I see you’ve survived,” she said, not bothering to hide her grin. “I hope none’v those old biddies pinched your cheek, Thanadir.” Mallaidh was the one she’d worried about; as the eldest, and given her drinking habits, Lorna had thought she’d be the one who might throw etiquette to the wind and pinch anyway, warning or no warning. (Seriously, though; Thanadir really did just have that kind of face. Whenever he and Thranduil went out into the real world to get their physicals for their identity papers, the poor elf might have to fend off people who found him too adorable for words).

Earlene and Thanadir seated themselves. “We did. I will confess that even though I know nothing about it, it was interesting. And that they make the quilts to give out to others, that’s lovely to know. I just might have to buy tickets for their Christmas raffle; you never know...and what they are working on is going to be an art piece in its own right. They are a lovely group of characters and…” her voice dropped to a whisper “those cats are another thing entirely.” They chatted on for a few minutes more, with Earlene assuring her that she intended to have Niamh’s paperwork for citizenship completed by the day after tomorrow at the very latest. Knowing that dinner wasn’t going to cook itself, though, they said their “good lucks”, finished their Guinness and left.

Thanadir held the door for her once again, and this time Earlene took the time to put her cloak on; it had cooled off quite a lot more now that the sun had been set for some time. And while she was delayed with settling it on herself, she felt convinced she heard something. Standing still, she listened more carefully in order to hear without the noise of the rustling fabric, and this time it was unmistakable. “Mew.” And it was quite close. Looking down, she saw a little head poke around the nearby telephone pole; it was a kitten, perhaps twelve weeks, by the looks of it. The tiny creature appeared cold and unhappy, and Earlene immediately picked it up in order to get a better look. It did not look terribly cared for. Glancing up at Thanadir, she said, “Excuse me, please, this will just take a moment.”

Marching back inside, she held out the little creature to John. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Aye, it’s been lurking about here for a few weeks now. Always begging. There’s a stray that looks quite a lot like it, my guess is, that’s the mum.”

She looked down at the little orange tabby, riffling through its fur to make sure it wasn’t full of fleas or anything else that would be a cause for immediate intervention. “Well, it can’t stay out in the cold with no food. I’m taking it with me. And if you hear it belongs to someone, I’ll gladly return it, but I’ll not leave the little thing out here.”

John raised his eyebrows and said only “Aye,” rather slowly. He didn’t think it was anyone’s and given that it was hanging around his pub, she was doing him what likely amounted to a big favor.

In moments, the little creature had disappeared deep into her sweaters and cloak, where its presence could no longer be observed. Truth be told, she had tucked it into one half of her bra, which was of the sort that stretched easily. The stillness and contented purring told her that for now, it was happy enough. Returning to Thanadir, they set out for home. Except this time, he insisted on pushing the bicycle, and giving her his arm to hold. Happily, she accepted the courtesy and decided to ask if he had enjoyed the quilting meeting.

“Yes, I did. They are not like elves, but they were kind. I liked that they are working to give to others. And it was interesting, to see another human dwelling besides yours. But is it usual, for humans to keep cats in their homes?”

Earlene laughed. “Yes, it is usual. Some people make their pets into children. I would say that Mary has done this. There are many kinds of animals that people keep as pets, but cats and dogs are the most common. Did you mind the cats very much?” _I might as well test the waters_ , she reasoned.

“I did not mind. But, the one that...how do you call it, when water runs out of the mouth?”

“Drool. Drooling.”

“I did not like the drool so much.”

“I think we can agree on that. The good news is, not every cat does that.”

“They are not all the same?” he asked, confused.

Now she paid closer attention. “Thanadir, you have never kept a pet before?”

“No. It is not something usual for elves.”

Gazing up at him, Earlene could hardly process this. It was true that she had not kept pets from college onward, but they’d had cats, when she lived at home with her family. And gran had always had a cadre of mousers and ratters and a few that generally lazed about. Her choices had been far more about the demands of her life, and had little to do with not wanting a pet.

Thanadir saw her expression and asked softly, with a hint of amusement, “This displeases you?”

Embarrassed to have been staring at him, she quickly looked away. “No, Your Excellency, it does...I mean, No, Thanadir, I did not intend to imply….” She stopped, before the sentence could go more off track. “Nothing about you displeases me,” she said finally, wondering why someone usually so eloquent was suddenly incapable of speaking coherently. “It is only that to a human, it is hard to imagine living for thousands of years and never having the enjoyment of a pet.”

“I see.” His face was filled with genuine mirth, and she was now trying to recall if she had ever seen him display this before. The King’s most trusted servant was turning out to be immensely complicated. Adjusting her hold on his arm, she sighed. It would likely take her the rest of her mortal life to even begin to understand him, not to mention the one to whom she belonged.

When they clattered into the barn, Thranduil met them, and the two ellyn carried the groceries. To her surprise, her furniture had been changed, but she had no time to appreciate it just now. Charmingly, that the King was showing his seneschal how to put the food away...but she had other priorities. Earlene did, however, thank him that everything in the home now appeared to be far more as she wished it to be. Preheating the oven, and reaching into the chicken they’d purchased, brought out the giblets and at once set about mincing them whilst cooking the neck in some water on the stovetop. Only after this was cared for, did she remove her cloak. Earlene gave him credit for his powers of observation, because it did not take him long to notice.

“Meluieg, what has happened to your...bosom?”

Thanadir’s eyes were now also drawn to the discussion, and being the clever elf that he was, he smiled and turned away to his computer, deducing right away. Turning her back, she fished the little one out of her sweater, and held it up to her husband.

“It was warmer in there. And if you will kindly hold it, I will finish getting its dinner and some other necessities ready.” The kitten was placed in Thranduil’s hands, where he looked at it in disbelief, staring back at the tiny creature as it emitted another pitiful “Mew.”

Earlene ‘tsk tsk’d’ him. “You cannot stare at a kitten as if you are considering eating it for dinner, Thranduil. It wants to be petted. Like this.” She arranged his limbs so that he was holding the kitten against his body, and showed him how to scratch and pet the fluffball, which erupted in purrs. The King’s eyes widened. Thranduil was not often speechless but he was clearly struggling with some thought or opinion which he thought better of voicing. She saw this, but chose to completely ignore it. “I do not understand. You must know how to show affection to a kitten?” Suddenly much happier from the attention, the kitten batted at the King’s hair.

A strangled noise from across the room drew their eyes to a sight that just two weeks ago she would never have believed could happen. Thanadir was openly laughing.

“Tsk,” said Earlene in exasperation. “Elves!”

Not much afterward, Earlene had a small saucer on the floor with warm broth and warmed minced liver, and the little creature gobbled at it enthusiastically. Tomorrow she would have to return to town for a little canned cat food, and later tonight she could order some basic supplies on Amazon.com. There were two more things needed, a little bed and a litterbox. She approached Thanadir, explaining what was wanted and begging him to procure something like a small piece of fleece, some clean but unspun wool, or a pelt, and a basket of some kind. He grinned and nodded, taking his new quilting supplies with him, leaving with a promise of a good dinner on his return. There was a box in the pantry that could be modified for a temporary cat box, and there was plenty of loose dry soil on the barn floor, all of which could be cared for once dinner was underway.

The chicken was swiftly prepared for roasting, a salad of mixed greens and apples with a balsamic mustard dressing appeared, and in gratitude to Thanadir, she stirred together sugar, special high-quality cocoa, cornstarch and the rest, and had a pot of chocolate pudding bubbling on the stove that she poured into individual bowls and covered with plastic wrap to cool...but not before she sprinkled chocolate chips over each serving. All this time, she glanced at her husband. As the minutes passed his expression softened as he rubbed his finger against the little creature, until the corners of his mouth began to tug in a smile. Finally, with a sigh, he spoke. “I take it that you intend to keep...him,” he said, after taking the formation of the cat’s external anatomy into account.

“Yes,” she replied evenly. “Unless someone in town reports him missing, which I very much doubt will be the case, he has no home and no care.”

“And?” he asked, smiling, seeing that there was more in her mind, and at least determining that she would not escape without full disclosure. He came up behind her to draw her against him as she finished peeling potatoes that she intended to mash.

“And gran always had orange tabby cats at her farm in New York,” she replied softly as she glanced up at him.

His eyes were shining with good humor, and he kissed her head softly. “Very well, meluieg.”

Feeling a little braver, she decided to hazard a question. “What did Thanadir think was so funny? Why was he laughing? I didn’t know he could laugh,” she noted.

With a face bright with fond recollections, he chuckled. “I believe my seneschal is recalling when Legolas was an elfling, and had a penchant for wishing to make pets out of assorted forest creatures. Alassëa only encouraged this behavior, leaving me in the position of having to impose reason. While Thanadir would never speak his mind in those days, he derived no small amount of amusement at watching me have to tell my young son why he could not keep a porcupine, or a fawn, in the Palace. Among other things. That you would bring home a stray creature is, for him, a connection to a fond memory.”

“But he told me tonight that he had never kept a pet, and that it was not usual for elves to keep cats or dogs in their homes.”

“It was not usual,” the King agreed. “The world was very different, and mostly elves have never had a desire to keep animals captive in any way. My son did not intend to do this; he was very young and did not yet understand. Which is why I spent a great deal of time returning forest animals to their own mothers,” he said ruefully. “Yet I can see that much has changed, and that these creatures are now meant to live alongside humans. What will you call him?”

Tilting her head as she dropped the potatoes into a pot of water, she considered. “I do not yet know. Gran used to say that if you wait a bit, they manage to name themselves.” Recalling that kittens often needed to...eliminate...after eating, she whisked him off with her to the barn, in order to complete a makeshift litterbox. Perhaps she need not be bothering, she reasoned, as she watched the little orange ball enthusiastically dig a hole in the loose barn soil before happily squatting over it. The smell that greeted her nostrils reminded her to invest in very good quality cat litter, and that she was quite content that this had not just occurred inside of her house. Sooooo cute, she thought. Sooooooo cute.

 _Meluieg, your potatoes are boiling over_ , she heard.

Damn. _Turn down the flame Thranduil, please._ Whisking up the kitten and the box, she hurriedly trotted back to the kitchen. Returning the kitten to her husband, she washed her hands thoroughly and resumed her focus on the meal. Thranduil sat down with it, where it promptly kneaded his abdomen for a few minutes before curling into a purring ball and falling asleep in the crook of his elbow.

“Do your healing talents include animals, Thranduil? It might have worms and other parasites, will need vaccinations, and when the time comes, neutering. I should ask if I will need to find a veterinarian.”

Skritching it under its tiny chin with a finger, he smiled. “I will make a bargain with you, wife. I will confess to you that I can care for all of these matters, if you will promise not to mention it to Thanadir. I do not ask you to lie to him if asked directly, but if you would agree not to tell him outright.”

“Of course. I think you forget sometimes, I am sworn to do as you ask,” she teased. “But may I ask why?”

“I fear for his health if he is given too many more reasons to laugh.”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled at the non-answer. “It is perfectly acceptable to admit that you two have a rivalry that goes back to ten thousand zillion years ago. And besides, he is beautiful when he laughs. Do you know, I think he actually teased me about something, tonight? You did not tell me he had a sense of humor.”

Thranduil frowned. “I am not certain that I knew. He is experiencing many new things. Perhaps there is a side to him that had nowhere to express itself, in all this long time, until now.”

“I cannot help but think that it is exposure to us, that plays a part. How we humans can be anything but amusing to you elves, is beyond me. And Thanadir had a very liberal dose of human foibles, this evening.”

Searching his wife’s memories, he began to chuckle, which morphed into outright laughter as the antics of Mailladh and the cats came into recollection. “Surely this little animal will not grow to such a size?” he asked.

“It seems doubtful that he is anything special, breed-wise, so I would guess he will not be nearly so big. Those cats were something out of the ordinary. I will spare you the details.” She placed the potatoes into the food processor with salted butter melted into hot milk, to make the mashed potatoes. Stirring in grated cheese and chives, she placed them in a casserole dish covered lightly with foil, and added them to the oven along with the roasting chicken. Done at last, she joined her husband on the sofa, which now faced the television in a normal fashion. “Thank you again, for this change in the furniture. I appreciate this, very much.” As she gazed over at the table and chairs, she reasoned that they could eat there tonight and christen it. But soon her attention was attracted back to the kitten, that yawned adorably. Leaning over as she caressed it with her finger, she kissed her husband. “I appreciate this, too,” she said. While she’d known there was little chance he would ultimately object, he could have chosen to be a pill about it.

“Don’t you need to change your clothing before dinner, meluieg?” he murmured as their kisses deepened.

“Thanadir is…?”

“Far enough away for what I have in mind. And besides, I saw what you endured for his sake. It is only right that I reward you for taking such good care of my seneschal,” he said playfully, pulling her along with him to the bedroom. She was instructed to do nothing but hold the kitten, and had to admit afterward that he managed to make that assignment more enjoyable than she could have guessed was possible. Fortunately she had enough time to rearrange herself before Thanadir returned, bearing the requested items. Which of course, he had already made into a cat bed, having accurately guessed why she wanted them. Taking the kitten from her, he gently deposited it in his creation, at which point a crescendo of purrs came forth as it kneaded the soft lining before settling down to a final collapse.

“Tail”, said Thanadir, touching the diminutive little paws.

“Tailig”, said Thranduil.

“That’s a brilliant name,” Earlene murmured. “Your word for ‘feet’ is ‘tail’...it’s so silly it fits perfectly. Thank you, Thanadir, for making the little bed.”

The ellyn were served dinner at the table for the first time, and Thanadir received the heapingly large bowl of pudding with a squeeze to his shoulder from a grateful Earlene. If extra whipped cream made it onto that bowl as well, it did not matter to her. Afterward she worked on the mix for cupcakes and made a buttercream frosting while Thranduil insisted on doing the dishes. “I would like to have Thanadir for two and a half hours tomorrow. May I?” she asked him.

“You are going to spoil him, Earlene,” the King said with a smile. “But yes, you may. He will enjoy what you have in mind, I think. May I watch for awhile too?”

“Asking is not necessary, you know that. And I enjoy spoiling him. He has cared for you since before the human race invented the spoon. You cannot fault me if I want to thank him for that in the only way I have to show him gratitude.” She transferred the frosting into a bowl and covered it, saving the spatula.

“I do not fault you,” he said, drying his hands. “I love you for it, though perhaps I do not always express it very well.”

Thanadir looked up from his computer, having registered that he was somehow the topic of conversation. Earlene brought him the spatula and mixing bowl to enjoy. “I am sorry Thanadir,” she said to him. "I did not mean to be speaking about you in front of you; that was not polite. Please forgive me.”

“I do not understand what was being said,” the seneschal said, trying to catch up but content enough to have the extra frosting. “I forgive you, for whatever it was,” he said with humor.

“I am not entirely certain either,” she chuckled, bringing her own laptop to sit next to him. “Except that, I am making you a sweet treat for tomorrow, and was asking for the time to watch a ballet with you. Maybe after lunch, if it suits you?”

“I would like that,” he said. “What is it about?”

“It is about a prince who goes hunting to shoot a swan. But before he does, he realizes the swans are really women that have been transformed by an evil magician. The story tells how he saves them.” She replied to him while ordering a proper cat box and litter online, before beginning to research quality kitten food. Once she felt satisfied as to the information, she closed her computer. “Thranduil, I did not ask you how your afternoon went; did you watch the videos of the war?”

“Two of them,” he said, finishing with the dishes and joining her. “Enough to begin seeing that war is very different now.”

“And that was a hundred years ago, and is nearly ancient history by our standards,” she said softly. “Would you like to watch more? I have no mind for studying tonight, and if I don’t watch something, I am going to bed.”

“You may watch what you wish, meluieg, but I have seen enough of war for one day.” Absentmindedly, he handed her the remote control.

Browsing with no particular goal in mind, she saw something that looked like it might be interesting. It was for children, but sometimes those were very entertaining. _"He’s Shaun the sheep, he’s Shaun the sheep, he even mucks around with those who cannot bleat…"_ Within five minutes she was laughing, right after seeing that the absurdity was set in a place called Mossy Bottom Farm, run by an incompetent and half-blind farmer. Not many minutes later, it was obvious that the elves were watching along with her. Thranduil pulled her against him, and they all enjoyed a quiet evening filled with laughter at simple humor.

*****

The following morning Earlene rose early. Thranduil woke her with kisses, and promised to return soon. Tail (she somehow thought Tailig did not sound nearly as interesting) was awake and hungry in the bathroom, where she kept him in order to minimize a potential for mishaps. He was fed before anything else, loudly mewing his displeasure at having been kept waiting that long, and she preheated the oven to bake the cupcakes. In among this, she began to work on the paperwork for Niamh. By the time the litterbox had been christened, the batter was in the oven, and the checklist of things she did not know about the ellyn and about which she had made line item notes was growing.

Cooling cupcakes on the counter and a cup of tea later took her feet outside to where the elves had been preparing the garden; she had not seen it yet. When she arrived at the location, she was fascinated. Rows had been marked, and trellises created, but not normal ones. Curving pieces of wood formed the basis for everything and to her fascination, she could not find a right angle. Stones had been brought from somewhere, and laid down in a pathway. It was a skeleton, but a very attractive skeleton, and nothing she ever would have thought of or considered. What was here so far reflected nature, and the elegance and love of beauty she had come to associate with those to whom she had joined her life.

While she stared at it and sipped her tea, an arm slipped around her waist.

“My King, one of these days you will frighten me out of my shoes doing that,” she chided, taking his hand briefly before sliding her arm around him.

“Do I need to remind you that you are not to call me that, here?” he said gently but firmly.

“No, but as we are not in my house, I thought I could afford one reverential slip of my tongue, my Lord. Oops, I believe that makes two of them. All I need to do is call Thanadir ‘Your Excellency’ and my morning will be complete.” Earlene looked up to see him just beginning to glower and giggled. “Forgive me, Thranduil. I have a weakness for teasing you, sometimes. I will do as you ask.”

His face softened on hearing her words and broke into a smile. “I suppose it is what I deserve, for what I made you endure when first we met. I cringe now at the memory, meluieg. There is nothing to forgive.”

“Our situation never will be usual. Do not hold the past against yourself, Thranduil. We are moving forward, and to that end, there are questions I must ask you for Niamh’s paperwork. Come inside. And perhaps you will tell me about the state of your stomach, and whether Thanadir wishes breakfast.”

“Thanadir is bringing a basket of food from the Halls for us within the next half-hour; if you would be content to make us tea that is all we will require.”

“Very well. What we need to discuss is, what sort of tale we are inventing for your non-elven lives. Humans have things like birthdays, parents, family, and life stories. I’m afraid we are going to have to invent those things for you in a manner we can all keep straight."

****

There being nothing on the books for that day, Lorna decided to head out to check on Earlene, and see how she and the elves were getting on with the paperwork. Even now, Lorna was rather relieved the quilting party hadn’t turned out to be a total disaster.

She downed a mug of tea, and was just finishing braiding her hair when Mick, who she suspected had already been awake for hours, came in to dig through the fridge. “You smell like oil,” she said. “I thought there wasn’t anything to do today.”

“There’s not,” he said, pulling out a Styrofoam container. It held half a pub sandwich, and she fought not to wrinkle her nose. Those were good when fresh; otherwise, not so much. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m headed back out to Earlene’s,” she said. “Check on a few things.”

Mick hesitated. “Lorna, what do you do out there?” he asked. “What’re they doing out there?”

“Learning about Earth,” she said, which was both vague and completely true. “There’s a lot’v history to catch up on, even before you get to the modern world. Earlene’s taught them to use computers, and I know they watch movies. I taught Thranduil how to make French toast a few days ago.”

Mick tried to picture that, and completely failed. He simply couldn’t do it. “Tell me you didn’t throw it across the kitchen,” he said, pained.

“Of course I did,” she said, stuffing her right foot into her boot and lacing it up. “Earlene brought Thanadir to the quilting club yesterday, and they both left covered in cat fuzz. They’re ancient and immortal, Mick, but they’re still people.”

“I know,” he said, “but it’s still hard to reconcile, you know? I mean, look at them...how can you just treat them like, y’know, normal people?”

It was something of a good question, actually. “When I met them, that’s what I thought they were,” she said. “I didn’t believe the lot’v you for a moment; I thought they were just tall, kind’v creepy humans. Whenever they get back into town, you’ll get used to them.” She jammed her left foot into the boot, doing up the laces. “I’m off for a bit -- d’you need anything, when I’m on my way back?”

“I’m good,” he said. “Lorna -- be careful, okay?”

She snorted. “Careful? There’s nothing to be careful about, eejit,” she said, lightly flicking his ear before picking up Gran’s knitting bag. “You’ll see that eventually.”

She headed out into the morning sun, meandering toward the forest. There was no point in hurrying, so she took her time. Shane had all the pictures she’d taken off her phone, though his response had been a large amount of near-gibberish mixed with swearing. Soon enough, she was going to have to take a trip to Dublin so she could prove she was actually serious about this whole thing. That, and she really, really wanted to see his face when she implied that the elves were actually an ancient pirate family. Thranduil would probably get a kick out of it, and he could show it to Earlene and Thanadir.

*****

Earlene felt like her head was spinning. “So you are telling me that you do not know your birthdays, because elves only celebrate aur-en-onnad? I understand the Sindarin words, Thranduil but you cannot mean….”

“Yes, we can mean just that, meluieg. We celebrate the day an elfling is conceived in the womb. And since pregnancy is for one year, it more or less amounts to the same thing. We will understand that from now on, in the human world we will use the term ‘birthday.’ I have looked up the calendars and mine would be your March 30th. Thanadir’s would be October 28th.”

Earlene made the notes. What she was going to say about schools, residences, on and on, she had no idea. The vague twinge of a headache was starting when a firm knock came at the door. Raising her head, she felt vaguely hopeful.

“It is Lorna,” said Thranduil, beginning to rise.

“I will get the door,” said Earlene, all but flying out of her chair. _Anything to get a minute away from this exercise in creative writing_ , she thought. It felt like no small amount of pressure, because whatever story was concocted had to be a very good one; airtight, plausible, and one that could stand up to awkward questions. Pulling the door open, she greeted her friend. “Your timing could not be better, she said, almost pulling her inside. I’m trying to work up science fiction for filling out Niamh’s forms and I think my head might explode. Can I get you tea?” she asked. “I’ve always thought that the best lies have as much truth mixed in as possible. So we have their version of birthdays, but what I’m to say for where they went to school, if they went to school, where they lived...ugh.”

“Tea’d be lovely, thanks,” Lorna said, giving Thranduil a wave. “I’d been thinking about that myself, actually. They can’t have gone to proper school without having identification already, but I was thinking -- and I realize how this sounds, but it’s the best I’ve got -- when I first saw the pair’v you, Thranduil, and found out how little you knew about the world, I thought you were part’v some cult in the woods. There still are a few people who like to live ‘off the grid’, so to speak, so they’re self-educated, that sort’v thing. It’d explain anything outsiders might find an oddity, especially if you run across any human...eccentricities...that you’re not familiar with.” There was simply no way of getting around the fact that some outsiders were bound to find Thranduil and Thanadir really weird, but that would be a handy explanation.

Earlene perked up suddenly. “Thranduil, you told me a little once about...they are called Valar? Would you tell me more about what you believe, just an outline?”

Thranduil arched his eyebrows. “It is not complicated. Eru Ilúvatar, the father of all, first created the Ainur. The spirit beings. There were thirteen of them that were known as the Valar; one named Melko turned aside from the will of our father to evil. Other Ainur were created called the Maiar; they were lesser in power than the Valar. The Valar were the ones largely responsible for forming and shaping the earth according to the will of Eru. After the creation was complete, the Firstborn, the elves, were awakened. Much later came the Afterborn; the race of men. The Vala Aulë created the dwarves. Evil creatures such as the balrogs, the great spiders, orcs...those were the twistings of Melko or the shapes taken by Maiar who turned against Eru to serve Melko, who came to be known as Morgoth. And I am afraid that is ridiculously oversimplified, but you did ask for an outline.”

Earlene looked at Lorna, who looked back at her. “To anyone modern, that would sound as out there as the Church of the Holy Doughnut, don’t you think? And for them it is truth, no acting required. All we need is something to call it, and an explanation for where the rest of their...order... went to.”

“It does,” Lorna said. “And it sounds like the sort’v thing a practitioner would want to go off the grid to practice. Apparently there’s all sorts like that in America, so there’s no reason there shouldn’t be in Ireland, too. Where the rest went, though...that’d be harder. I guess we could just say the rest want to stay off the grid, but have a couple who can deal with the outside world? I’m not sure that’s even legal, but Niamh can give us some advice there.” Both elves had very long hair; maybe she could spin them as some kind of neo-hippies as well -- though of course that led her to picturing both of them in tie-dye and headbands, which was a mistake. It was a mental image she’d never be rid of, now.

“Thranduil, is what you believe...your...is ‘gods’ a proper term? Is there a word for your beliefs? And please excuse my questions in that, I do not know how to ask you in a way that shows respect for your...your…” she stopped talking and looked up at him helplessly.

He smiled and returned to the table with steaming tea mugs. “While I do not understand much about this world, I can see that there are belief systems here. I believe you call them ‘religions’? So I understand the nature of your question. You want to know if this is a religion and if we have a name for what I have described to you?”

Earlene nodded.

“The answers are that it would not be disrespectful to say ‘gods’, no, and no. We do not think of this as a religion because...in the world of our youth this was not something we believed; this was reality. These were beings among whom we lived and with whom we spoke, not something told about only in a book or held in the minds of our people.”

“OK,” said Earlene slowly. “Then we will not try to call it anything, if you yourselves did not. And regarding the long hair; maybe we should just not say anything, at least on paper. It stands to reason that if they are so...apart from general society, that they just simply are this way. Call it cultural, if you will. And it is also reasonable that they would be looking to have help, namely us and Niamh, to care for things like forms and navigating the government process. How else would they know about any of it? They wouldn’t. But I think there is one story we do have to invent. We can’t tell the truth about how they returned to contact with our world, because that would draw attention to the rest of those living in the Halls. So what do we say?”

That was a damn good question. “I’d have to check with Niamh, to see if we could get away with being so vague, but maybe we could just say they decided they wanted to make contact with the rest’v the world. I’m not sure just how detailed an explanation the government’ll be wanting, but since most’v the people who need to get identification this way are Travellers or the like, I’m guessing they’ve not got to provide a home address, sort’v thing. Niamh’ll be able to help me hash out some kind’v cover story -- I’ll not have to tell her the actual story to get her help. So long as we pay her, she won’t ask any questions at all.”

“That suffices. And speaking of payment, at least in the States, solicitors require a retainer. If you find out what that sum is, I’ll get it cared for. It is universal among my colleagues that money on the right side of the ledger really helps get actual work started. And the last place on this form is for 'relationships'. Thranduil, Thanadir, would you agree to be half-brothers for this purpose? It would mean you shared only a father or a mother. It is untrue, but would help your story seem as ordinary as possible.”

Thranduil looked at his seneschal before speaking, who in turn bowed his submission in a way that was subtle...but Earlene saw. “We agree. For the sake of helping you remember, we will say that we are of the same father, but different mothers. As Thanadir truly is older, he will be the elder. Does that suffice?”

“Yes. The only thing remaining is your false ages. You look between thirty and forty years of age as humans. Might I suggest thirty and thirty three?”

Both ellyn nodded their assent.

With a few remaining scrawls of her pen, Earlene finished the last line of the forms, reviewed the pages once, and then folded them neatly, placed them in an envelope, and handed them to Lorna. “For better or worse, here we go.”

“It’ll work out,” Lorna said, tucking the envelope into her bag. “Niamh’s a sneaky one. I’ve got no idea what she wants for a retainer -- she’s not asked for one yet, and I’m guessing she won’t, until she’s actually got to put some work in.” Privately, she wasn’t so sure anyone was going to buy Thanadir as being thirty, but they could pretend. She’d thought him twenty at the absolute oldest when she’d first seen him, but he could have a gravity about him that would make him seem older to someone who thought he was human. “And I’ve sent Shane the pictures I took -- I think I’ll have to head to Dublin sooner or later, just to reassure him I’m actually serious about this.” She paused, reluctant to say what she did next. “Earlene, while I’m reluctant to ask this’v you, my sister’s got to know something about you if I’m going to work for you, so I’d really appreciate it if you could come out to Baile and meet her sometime. She’s not as bad as I make her out to be, to anyone who isn’t related to her. And if you’ve got time, maybe you could see my cottage.” She wasn’t even that bad to her family, either, for all it could sound like she was; Mairead was just bossy, but she was bossy because she loved people. She just had a damn odd way of showing it.

The sound of a truck on the road outside slowing and then leaving caught Earlene’s attention. “Of course and, just give me a moment please, I think I just heard the postal delivery.” She scuttled off to the door and returned a moment later, having looked through the letters and seeing one of particular interest. Back in the kitchen, she found a knife and slit one open, extracting the contents and reading carefully. Satisfied, she returned the papers to the envelope, minus a small card.

“I would be glad to travel to Baile, Lorna. But if I am not mistaken, and I apologize for this, Thanadir must come too. I won’t bore you with the nature of all of my agreements, but I cannot be left...unguarded.”

Thranduil sat back, reflecting, his long legs crossed out in front of him at the ankles. “I would like to go too, if I am welcome. And yes, regrettably, Thanadir acting as guard is under ordinary circumstances something I feel is a necessity. While I do not doubt that Earlene has some abilities regarding self-defense, having seen at least one example of her spiritedness, there are...too many Seans, in your world. I will not risk that anything remotely similar ever happens again.”

Earlene cringed slightly, not relishing what the highly independent and obviously very streetwise Lorna was making of this restriction, but, she was bound by her vows. The ceiling was suddenly looking very interesting.

 _She can’t go anywhere by herself? That..._ Lorna did her very best to take what she thought of that, tuck it in a little box marked cultural differences, and set it somewhere at the back of her mind. It wasn’t easy, and she was going to have to try to reconcile it later, out of thought-range of Thranduil. He didn’t need to be hearing just what she thought of that -- and, as she kept reminding herself, Earlene signed on to this herself. _God, this was almost too damn hard..._ Lorna wasn’t used to policing what she said; what she thought was damn near impossible.

“I’ll have to borrow Mick’s van,” was what she said, but couldn’t help wondering, _why in flying fuck would anyone agree to that, ever?_ before ruthlessly tamping it down. It wasn’t her business, they all seemed to be in accord over it, but the very thought of being stuck in such an arrangement was horrifying to her. _You’re not the one stuck in it_ , she reminded herself. _Earlene must be okay with it, or she wouldn’t be. Don’t be Mairead._ Her sister had a tendency to want to get into the center of everyone’s business, and Lorna had always done her level best to avoid that, but the mere thought actually made her itch. “It might be good for you two, actually -- you’ll be seeing life outside Lasg’len before you have to go to Dublin or somewhere bigger. Baile’s not too much unlike Lasg’len, though I’d say we’re a bit...saltier.” And that was really saying something. “They’ll be curious, but nothing worse.”

Thranduil was genuinely taken aback by the storm of opinion Lorna sought so very hard to suppress. He knew that even if she wished to, she could not contrive her thoughts; he was hearing what was sincere and genuine. And it gave him pause. _Lorna, I would like to speak to you about this later, if you are willing. I do not understand much of what I see within you. To me, my command to Earlene is out of love; a desire to protect my wife, who I cherish. Yet I see that you feel very differently. I have always worked to keep all my subjects from harm, and the idea that I would protect my flesh and blood less than the one who prepares our meals is not something I can fathom. And yet I wish to learn._ There was a pause, and he saw Lorna’s head bob in a terse nod. She was obviously struggling with very passionate feelings on the matter, and for now, he knew that wisdom meant leaving this alone.

Earlene now spoke. “Well, as I’ve not seen anything but the airport and Lasg’len since arriving, I would enjoy it. And I do want to see your home.” She paused. “What came in the mail, this is for you, Lorna. This is the prepaid credit card with your first month’s salary. I spoke to the person who I hired to advise me about financial matters on this side of the pond, and they informed me that the money will act as a salary to an independent contractor. You will have to pay taxes on this as income. If you want, I would be glad to inquire about what strategies might be available to you for tax sheltering what of the money you do not feel you will immediately need. You also may wish to have this eventually go elsewhere, like a bank account or other form of investment or retirement fund. In the beginning it will be manageable, but depending on what choices you make, you may find that it begins piling up fast.”

“Retirement fund?” Lorna had never actually had such a thing, unless you counted her savings. She’d paid taxes for years already, though technically having two jobs might complicate that. “Earlene,” she said, more than a bit suspicious, “how much is on this thing?” Given the staggering generosity she’d already been shown, she had a dreadful fear it was far more than she’d anticipated. She sipped her tea, trying not to wince.

“Ten thousand euros.”

Oh, that had been a mistake. At the word thousand, Lorna managed both spray tea all over the table and inhale half her mouthful, immediately coughing most of it up and out her nose. Classy. “You--” She couldn’t properly speak, not when she was coughing so hard, wiping her face with the tail of her flannel shirt. Christ, she’d got it in her fringe, all down the front of her. “What--” Nope, still coughing. Her sinuses burned, but she finally managed to mostly hack up everything she’d inhaled, coughing it into her sleeve. Brilliant. “Are you mad? Ten thousand euros -- Earlene, what I’m doing isn’t worth--” hack, cough “--anywhere near that much. Jesus.” And yet more coughing. _What...just what?_

“Lorna.” A look came over Earlene’s face and she drew herself up in a way Lorna had not seen before in her generally mild and amiable friend. “At the end of the day, I was paid what I was paid for my work because of one thing. My life’s education and experience allowed me to accomplish what some people needed done very badly, but could not do themselves. Maybe you are telling yourself that because your background didn’t include a degree from a university and avoiding time spent in certain institutions, that what you have to offer is somehow less valuable. Maybe you are even telling yourself that it is borderline worthless. If you listen to nothing else I ever say, listen to this: Knowledge and connections to what other people want and need equal power. And access to power has a price tag. The difference between the people who succeed monetarily in this world and those who do not is one thing; those who come out on top do not sell themselves short. They understand their worth and they leverage it for everything they possibly can. Know your worth, Lorna, and do not let anyone else tell you that you are less than you are.” With that, the look of focused intensity that temporarily made Lorna feel like she was possibly about to be eaten vanished from Earlene’s face, and her body relaxed into its usual demeanor. Looking over, Lorna saw that even Thranduil had raised his eyebrows in surprise. Standing up, Earlene tossed her dark hair behind her shoulders and went to pour herself more tea.

“That’s...Jesus.” She didn’t know what to do with that. Liam, Gran, Mairead -- they’d always told her to be proud of what she was, but nobody had ever actually told her she could be something more. Probably, she thought, because they were all like her; Mairead had the most education out of all of them, but she’d never counted that as much difference. “I’ll try, Earlene. I can’t promise anything more than that, just yet.” She’d always felt that she had known her worth, and that it hadn’t been what Earlene thought it was. Wrapping her head around the idea that she was wrong, that she’d been wrong about it, was not going to happen instantly. Not at her age.

She eyed Thranduil, somewhat suspiciously. If he didn’t have a hand in this, she’d be very surprised. The generosity of these people really was going to be the death of her -- possibly literally, if she was eating or drinking anything when they dropped a bomb like that on her again. “I think I need to hang this shirt up outside,” she said, picking at her tea-soaked flannel. “I’ll be right back.” Fortunately, like any sensible Irish person she wore layers, and her tank top didn’t feel like it was more than damp.

Seriously. These people would be the absolute bloody death of her.

“I’m sorry, Lorna,” Earlene sighed when Lorna returned. “I didn’t mean to go ‘courtroom’ on you. It’s just that...I’ve had a long time to think about things like this. When you walk down the street every day, knowing that every hour you spend at work is bringing in a rather large sum, and then you pass someone on the street who has to work more than a day to earn that same amount, you start thinking very heavily about the nature of ’work’ and ‘value.’ I put in a great deal of effort for what I earned and I won’t apologize for it, but I also met people who had no higher education but formidable savvy that out-earned me by quite a lot. Parsing out the reasons why that was so…” she shrugged, and turned back to sipping her tea.

“I can’t say it’s the sort’v thing I’ve given much thought to,” Lorna said, sipping what little was left of her tea. “We all just...do what we’ve got to do, but I’ve never personally known anyone who’s brought in anywhere near ten thousand euros a month. It’s more money than I can bloody imagine, and sure it’s more than I know what to do with.” Seriously, what the hell was she going to do with ten thousand euros a month? Her cottage needed some work, but not nearly enough to justify such a paycheck...well, she’d told Thanadir she’d teach him how to fix a car. At least now she could actually afford to buy one.

Earlene chuckled. “Yes you do, you know me. And I had to learn what to do with it, and I had guidance from others who knew how to use it wisely. I absolutely do not want to be a busybody, but if you want I am happy to advise you. There are two goals; the first is securing your future. Looking at your needs and ensuring that when you are older, how you are going to eat, or have a home, or pay to keep the heat on, isn’t even a question. And then afterward, it is looking at what you might wish to have, or do, and understanding a wise path to those goals. Learning to balance now and later against each other, and to separate needs from wants. Learning that your money can make you more money if it is wisely invested. That sort of thing. What day would you like to go see Mairead? Perhaps you and Thranduil can work that out?”*

 _Money making more money..._ yeah, she would definitely need help. Earlene had a point; Lorna had no children, and she couldn’t count on her nieces and nephews to look after her when she got old. “I think I’ll need it,” she said. “The thought’s giving me a headache even now. Mairead...I don’t think Mick’s got anything going tomorrow, either, so if it’s not too short notice for all’v you…” Her eyes traveled from person to person. She had to figure out how to explain her issues with Earlene being stuck with a babysitter without it coming off as horribly offensive -- because, while she thought the very idea was crap, she didn’t want to be an arsehole about it. (Not being an arsehole was a new thing for her. Tact was not a family trait, but hell, she tried.)

“Finance is not the most interesting subject in the world but...it’s all a damn game, leveraged to be really great for the people who know how to play it. Lucky me, I do. So we can talk about that soonish-like. But it’s yours to do with as you wish; what I’ve done is just...one way to choose. And tomorrow is fine if it is…? Thranduil?”

His blue eyes had tracked back and forth in this conversation, which highlighted some of the intricacies of the human world. He found that there were times he simply enjoyed looking on the minds of the mortals as they conversed; it was an education all in itself for him. Breaking out of his reverie, he considered for a moment. “Yes, that would be possible. More work is to be done on the garden here tomorrow, but I feel confident that Thanadir can provide any needed instructions in the morning. If I may ask, Lorna, at what hour do you wish to leave, and can you estimate how long we might be away?”

“I’m usually up early,” she said. “Mairead’s not off-shift until three, though, so if we leave at around two -- it’s about an hour’s drive from here to Baile, if I’m actually driving like a reasonable person. Thing is, I know she’ll try to con us into staying for tea, so if we don’t want to stay, I’ll have to start pushing on her early. She’s a lot like me, just...worse.”

“I do not mind being polite and visiting, if that is your wish. And leaving later in the day would allow more oversight of the goings-on here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lorna said, relieved. While she could get out of tea with Mairead, it would be a hassle and a half. “Earlene, what’s your mobile number? It’ll be a lot easier if we can call instead of having to email.”

“Of course. It was silly of me to not have thought of that.” She swiftly wrote it out and handed it to her. “Perhaps you can call and hang up or text, and then I’ll add you to my contacts.” This was all cared for and then Lorna said her ‘good lucks’ until tomorrow.

*****

After Lorna left, she found the piping bag and tips hiding in the box of rarely utilized cooking equipment that had still not been assigned a permanent home. The buttercream had been removed from the refrigerator during the visit, and was now the perfect consistency. With practiced ease, she placed the swirls of frosting onto the little treats until the tray of them was completed. She had never gone in for decorative sprinkles, though some of her fancier creations had had chocolate shavings...these would not be so elaborate. When they were done, she went to the television, and set up the requisite video. Some years back, she had grown very fond of the Kirov Ballet version of Swan Lake. It was true that the company was sometimes not as crisp or precise in the scenes that included many dancers, but the principals--the ones who danced Odette/Odile, the Prince, the Jester and von Rothbart...they were beyond amazing, in her estimation. It had been awhile since she had watched this, and it would be just as much a treat for her as Thanadir. Everything was almost ready.

“Thranduil, if you want to join us, we are nearly ready. I know you do not want cupcakes. Can I offer you fruit or something more to your liking?”

“No meluieg, I have eaten enough. If you will allow me just a minute, I will finish this.”

“No problem, more time for cupcakes.” She showed Thanadir how these were eaten, and he watched her curiously as she peeled away the paper liner and took a bite. Earlene was always opinionated about not piling on so much frosting that it was impossible to take a bite without frosting going into places frosting was not meant to go. And yet there was always enough to balance out the cake. Thanadir carefully imitated her, already feeling enthusiastic about the frosting he’d sampled last night. Trying not to stare at him openly, she did glance at him as he took his first bite. She smiled, because it was obvious that the response was favorable. If he only had an idea, of all the sweets she could make for him. The corners of her mouth curled up at the mere thought of it. Fudge, cookies, pies, bars, cakes, tarts, bettys, crisps, charlottes, taffys, ice creams, brickles, caramels, butterscotches, truffles, petit fours, meringues, tortes…

“Meluieg.”

Her daydream interrupted, she looked up at her husband, realizing what he had just overheard and waiting for the criticism.

His face softened. “It was very kind of you to make these. I would like to try one. Perhaps a half of one? Would you share one with me?”

She tried to keep her face from revealing her surprise. No, surprise was not the right word. _Astonishment._ That was the better term. Rising, she retrieved a knife and sliced one in half. Thranduil joined her.

“Are you sure you want this?” she asked kindly. “I appreciate what you are doing but these are...quite sweet.”

He did not answer, but instead popped the half-cupcake into his mouth in two bites. She was right, but it was not going to stop him from eating it. He had caused her to expect censure for her enjoyments, and it had not been right of him. Meanwhile, Thanadir was on his fourth cupcake, and had frosting on the tip of his nose. Earlene grinned and picked up the remote. “In the beginning there will be music only. That is called a prelude. The film will show you the characters. If you have any questions about what you see I am happy to pause it and answer.”

Pushing ‘play’, she leaned against Thranduil a little, saving her half-cupcake for later. The lovely music washed over her, and eventually the dancing began with the scene in the park. Perhaps five minutes in she heard from Thranduil. “I have a question.” Pause.

“I can see that the story is being told in dance, in gestures. But...I have never seen a human stand and move with their feet bent in such a manner, bearing weight on their toes. Why are they doing that? Better yet, how are they doing that? Toe tips cannot support the weight of the body.”

Earlene considered how unusual it must look to one who had never seen it. “It is done because it is beautiful, visually elegant to see. It is difficult and painful, and requires great strength and training. You do not even want to know what they endure, and what happens to their feet. As to how; those are special shoes called pointe shoes, built in such a way as to distribute the weight of the dancer to the rest of her foot. More or less.”

By the time Act One was over, everyone was absorbed in their own kind of enjoyment. Thranduil had to acknowledge that the grace and elegance were lovely and impressive to see, and their physical prowess would gain even the respect of an elf. Earlene, having seen this more than once, looked for details she had not previously noticed that she might appreciate. Thanadir, however, was entranced. The loveliness of the costumes, the grace of their movements...this was incomparable, in his eyes. In all his long life he had never seen the like and he thought the dance was uncommonly beautiful. He seemed equally mesmerized by the music; she noticed that after awhile he recognized the main theme and would hum it with his lovely voice. At one point he reached down to lift Earlene’s feet into his lap, which she assumed Thranduil had asked him to do. The King’s eyebrows raised, because he had not, and this could only be a reflection of how much he was enjoying himself...but he decided not to tell Earlene.

As she was benefiting from another marvelous foot rub, there would be no complaint. The amusement for her was in watching the scene where the Prince’s tutor was trying to return his errant pupil to study, when he would clearly rather spend his time in other, less serious pursuits. _And yet here is my own tutor watching ballet and giving me a foot rub_ , she smirked. The irony was perfect, though she would never tell Thanadir. Though, this did rather fall into the category of ‘cultural education.’

It was nearly two magical hours, in which she managed to stuff down another cupcake and a half. Earlene had chosen this version for a reason; it was one of the few productions in which the Prince and the Swan Queen both lived. She’d never liked that so often this was a tragic story, though she’d seen quite a few versions regardless. It felt sad, when it was over. No one spoke for awhile, and she hated to be the one to break the spell of Thanadir’s wonderful hands on her toes. Yet she need not have worried.

“Earlene, gather your study materials. Thanadir will escort you to the Halls, where we will spend the night.”

“What about Tail? How will he be cared for?”

Thranduil had the most peculiar look on his face. “You will bring his bed. And the kitten. Food and a place for his necessities will be provided.”

Earlene smiled. “Thank you, Thranduil.” Minutes later, with Thanadir insisting on carrying everything but Tail, he offered his arm and they departed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling cultural? You can watch the video of Swan Lake that Thanadir enjoyed so much here, it's free if you can put up with occasional commercials: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rJoB7y6Ncs


	24. Twenty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 16, 2016

Earlene woke in the softness of Thranduil’s bed to see that he was already nearly dressed and very alert. Hauling herself out of the warm covers to join him, she clothed herself shortly before Thanadir arrived with a tray of food and tea. Wordlessly, they all seated themselves. She was uncertain why no one was particularly loquacious this morning, but as she did not feel fully awake, decided it was best left alone.

“I thought, Earlene, that you might like to understand a little of what it is I spend my time doing when I cannot be with you.”

The statement was cryptic, and with no discernible emotion.

“I would be glad to know, my Lord.” As he seemed to want her to do this, agreeing felt reasonable.

His eyes met hers kindly, while Thanadir seemed unusually occupied with his porridge. They finished their meal in silence, at which time the seneschal cleared the table.

“Thank you, Thanadir, for bringing the food,” she said softly. The eyes that met hers seemed like they were coming from a million miles away. “You are welcome,” he said, before looking away.

 _Was it something I said?_ she wondered, even as she realized that his demeanor likely had nothing to do with her. Living in New York, a city of eight million people, had taught her that pretty much never was anything about her.

Thanadir disappeared, and Thranduil led her off on what amounted to a grand tour. First the kitchens; the cooks and those who helped them. Then those who cared for housekeeping. Then the gardeners, those who patrolled (she hadn’t known that anyone did), the hunters, the foragers, the wood gatherers...basically, they had the necessities of life pared down to about two hundred elves that shared an intricate network of duties that served to maintain their insular world, and their King made a point of talking to each of them more or less at least every other day if possible. He and Thanadir basically acted as hubs of information; they coordinated their combined efforts. _What was this when there were thousands of them?_ It was hard to imagine.

They walked through many sections of his Halls she had not yet seen, until the thought of the promised excursion with Lorna was sounding like a welcome opportunity to plunk down and do nothing for awhile. It afforded a great deal of pleasure that while she could not truly understand their speech at normal speed, she was beginning to catch more isolated words and phrases that she did know. She could hear the sentences and sometimes almost parse out what the words must be, whereas not so very long ago it was nothing but a stream of gibberish. Every day she was building new connections to more words, and more than anything else she was grateful to Thanadir, whose patient skill had been helping guide her learning.

This grand tour concluded in time for her to return to their rooms and find that Tail was enthusiastically climbing some damask curtains that were over in one corner. Horrified, she quickly extracted the little creature from this activity, which caused him to erupt in purrs. “I am so sorry,” she said apologetically to Thranduil. He took the kitten from her and rubbed its chin. Grinning at her, he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“I should not say this, but I find these antics endearing. I did not know that their young were so amusing.”

“I am not certain I did either, but I am finding out quickly,” she said with chagrin, as she batted at its little paw with her finger. It was added to her mental task list that researching feline behavior, very soon, gained priority status. Thranduil kissed her once more, this time on the lips, for good measure.

“Come, meluieg. Thanadir will serve the meal, and then we will return to your cottage until it is time to depart with Lorna.”

***********

Thranduil leaned in raptly toward his screen, reading a website about Baile, while Thanadir was quizzing Earlene about verb conjugations, asking her to say the same sentences over and over, declining the verbs in present and past tense. It felt vaguely terrifying to repeat these aloud to the seneschal, but Thanadir had taken over her instruction and would not be gainsaid. The gentle elf had managed to coax her into moving past some of her mental roadblocks, and had offered enough encouragement that it was beginning to seem less overwhelming. Really she was doing well, stumbling far less on the assorted lenitions than before. Which still made it a relief when the knock came at the door though it was yet early; they had not yet been back for twenty minutes. Though, that had been enough time for Tail to settle down on Thanadir’s lap and fall sound asleep, his nose and eyes buried under a little foreleg.

Thranduil looked up. “It is Lorna, and I will get the door.” There was apparently not going to be an easy escape from her language lessons, and Thanadir pointedly reminded her that she had left off at the second person plural, future tense of anira- before her concentration was interrupted. Earlene was meeting a new side of the seneschal; the gentle but incredibly strict teacher. That he vaguely called to mind the professor who had taught her freshman course in Constitutional law was not helping. But she could not disconnect her mind from noting that her friend had just arrived.

“Please, may I say hello?” she asked her tutor, to which she received a nod in the affirmative.

Lorna zoomed into the room, to which Earlene said, “Good afternoon, tea? And there are cupcakes if you’d like one or two…”

“You’re spoiling me, you are,” Lorna said, glancing at Thanadir -- she suspected he was the one who was really getting spoiled. “I know I’m early -- I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.” She’d thought cleaning out Mick’s van would take longer than it actually had; his flat might be a disaster, but the van just needed a Hoover and window-wash. Driving like a reasonable human would be something of a trick, but she could do it if she had to.

“You’re buying me about three minutes away from my taskmaster, so, I’ll say ‘no’...but I’m not off the hook. Language lessons.” She put the kettle on, which only needed about half a minute to heat, while she found teabags. “Thanadir, Thranduil, would either of you like tea?”

Two heads shook No, and both of them were watching her. With a sigh, Earlene retrieved a cupcake from under the glass keeper and placed it on a small plate for Lorna, sliding it toward her just before she poured the water. “I’m sorry, we’ll have to chat later it would seem.” Obediently, she returned to Thanadir while Thranduil kept his eyes locked on Lorna.

_Perhaps you can enjoy your cupcake, and then we might talk?_

Lorna suppressed a wince. She’d been trying all morning to figure out how to explain her stance on ‘Thanadir the babysitter’ without coming across as a complete arsehole. _Sounds like a plan_ , she sent him, and didn’t bother to hide it when she took a sniff of her cupcake before taking a bite. She had an appreciation for baked goods, and she wasn’t ashamed of it.

What the hell was she to tell him, exactly? How could she explain all the reasons making Earlene take Thanadir everywhere were total crap, without coming off as completely offensive? It really was a cultural differences thing, she knew; he wasn’t just trying to be a controlling creep, like any human with such stipulations would be. Why, oh why would Earlene agree to such a thing to begin with? But then, not everyone would find it as horrifying as Lorna did -- though a good many would. She tried to imagine anyone imposing such a restriction on Mairead, or Gran, or...really, any other Irish woman. It would be a no sell from the very beginning; the mere thought really did make her itch. How did Earlene not find it...well, demeaning? She wasn’t a child; she didn’t need a babysitter. There had to be some way of conveying that without it sounding like a personal attack.

 _You do not need to worry about how you sound, though I appreciate the effort to vaguely leave my sensibilities intact_ , he said, looking on with far too much humor on his face. Forcing himself to behave, he turned his eyes back to the screen.

Lorna fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. She really was glad he found her amusing, because otherwise things would be pretty damn awkward. Instead, she ate a bite of cupcake, and shut her eyes a moment to savor what even Mairead would have to admit was pastry bliss. I’m planning on savoring this, so I can eat it while we walk, she said. If her mouth was full, she’d have to think before she opened it, too -- though given that he could read her mind, that was a bit pointless. Oh well. She had to try.

He rose, and opened the back door for her, while Earlene unhappily recited “Tellin Lasg’len, tellinol Lasg’len, toll Lasg’len…” as Lorna followed him. She did not raise her eyes to her husband, knowing that basically nothing could save her until it was time for them to leave. Thranduil closed the door on the declension of _tol-_ , smiling. His wife struggled now, but she would absolutely need this knowledge.

He turned his attention now to Lorna, amused at her enjoyment of the cupcake that he had personally found to be almost inedibly sweet. _So if I understand correctly, humans place individual freedom above safety? I can see that you feel that my requirements are grossly unfair._

 _Safety is a relative term,_ Lorna said. _Earlene lived in New York City just fine. See, I know this isn’t your intent, but by making her take Thanadir everywhere, you’re telling her you think she’s incompetent. While she doesn’t have the same kind of skills I’ve got, she’s a grown woman, not a little girl, and most of Ireland isn’t exactly a hotbed of danger._ She tried quite hard to tamp down her own revulsion at the idea, and was pretty sure she succeeded. Eating the cupcake certainly helped. _And you have to keep in mind, I’m coming at this from a purely human perspective. In a human marriage, neither partner gets to put any restrictions on the other, and that’s the only reference I have for marriage. I’m in the dark as to how you lot do it, but...yeah, I really think it is unfair. Personal autonomy is something humans value quite highly._

Thranduil reflected on this. It had not been a topic of discussion between them; Earlene had never expressed distaste concerning this. Though, he did perceive that it had felt humiliating to his wife, to have to confess this restriction to Lorna. But, such considerations never had a chance to be a topic; when Earlene swore fealty to him, it left her under obligation to obey him in all respects. Her opinions on this matter had not been known nor considered. But for all this, Earlene had very little discernible objection to the requirement. She was certainly free to voice this to him; he would listen. He turned to Lorna.

_I know that you cannot hear my thoughts as I do yours. What I am turning around in my mind is a comparison of the strength of your feelings against what I saw in Earlene. She was not upset at having to bring Thanadir in the least; I have only ever perceived from her that she likes to be with my seneschal and that he provides her a sense of security. But it is true that she felt embarrassed to tell you about it. She sees your strength, and admires it, but seems to have no wish to be as you are. And this is what I am trying to understand._

Well, if Earlene didn’t have a problem with it, then it wasn’t a problem. Still… _There might come a time she wants to go out on her own, though_ , she said. _On a...oh, I don’t know, a girls’ day or something, where a lad like Thanadir wouldn’t fit._ She smiled, shaking her head as she took a last bite of cupcake, transferring a blob of frosting to the end of her nose while she was at it. _We humans are nothing if not different. What one finds revolting, another has no problem with -- it’s just how we are. Earlene’s had no need to be as I am, so I’m not surprised she’d not want to. The thing you’ve got to keep in mind with me is that I’ve been in prison, so I’ve got some, ah, strong feelings about personal freedoms. It’s a bit of a knee-jerk reaction to having been stuck in a cage, and I can’t do much about it, so you might get flashes of it from time to time that’ll make little to no sense to you. There’s some things that just don’t make sense without specific context._

Thranduil pondered her words, trying to find a comparison in his life for her experience, and could only manage seeing some similarity to his father’s frequently tyrannical restrictions when he was an elfling. _I had not considered that this experience of losing your freedom would have influenced your views in this matter. Are your feelings also because of gender? Would you feel as strongly if I told you that I did not want Thanadir to go out into your world alone, either? I do not mean into Lasg’len, but rather the world outside of our forest and the village._

Lorna considered this. _Partly, yes,_ she said. _But also, with Thanadir, this world is alien to him. There’s very good reason to not want him out on his own -- he still has pretty shaky English. Earlene’s on her home turf, so to speak; she’s probably had the world by the bollocks -- great, another expression he didn’t need to know -- for years now, given what she did for a job. If she was going into Dublin at night -- yeah, then I could see wanting backup. But I don’t exactly have the right perspective to look at any of it. The thing about prison, the thing you can’t understand, since you’re not human and have never been to human prison, is that once you’ve spent enough time only being able to do a thing whenever, however, and wherever someone else tells you you can, it...leaves a mark. I spent five years with virtually no autonomy, totally at the whim of someone else and usually shut in a cage, so it’s easy for me to read into things stuff that isn’t actually there -- though I can tell you, it would be wise not to let this...whatever it actually is...become common knowledge, because I’m not the only one who’ll look at it weird._ They had a good image with the village right now, but that was the kind of thing that would make people look a bit askance.

The King raised his eyebrows, on hearing this statement of fact. _You have given me a great deal to consider. It is...hard, for me, to find what we have done for such a long time colliding with your world. I do not know if you can understand, this did not come from a place of wishing to deprive anyone of freedom. When someone swears fealty to me, it is not merely another making promises to me with no obligation in return. I take an oath to them, as well. To serve, honor, care for, protect. I am under heavy obligation to ensure the well-being of those under my wing, if you will. If something were to happen to Earlene or anyone else to whom I owe my duty, it would be my fault. My responsibility. My guilt. And in the short time Earlene has been here, she has been assaulted twice by males. I know that the arrangement of king and subject is something that has become alien to this world, but it is all we have ever known. I can at least promise you that I will be talking with Earlene about everything you have mentioned. I will ask her to tell me her feelings, and whether she wishes that matters were different._

He was under a heavier obligation than he could realistically live up to, or so Lorna thought. She paused, looking up at him. “Sure Christ, it’s not your fault Earlene found the only two cretins within a hundred-mile radius,” she said, appalled that he’d think so. “Thranduil, d’you really think it’s your fault if something happens to one’v your people outside your forest? I mean -- look, you’ve not got to feel guilty over something like that. Shite happens. You can’t go blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong to your people, or you’ll go mad. That...you might resent this comparison, but my old gang leader, Shane, he was like that -- felt responsible for all’v us, and it cut him to the core, every time something happened, even though he’d no control over it.” She’d watched it come close to tearing him apart more than once, too, but he’d never been able to let it go. His people were his people, and he did everything he could -- but to him it was never enough, because the world was big and cruel and didn’t care how safe he wished he could keep them. All he could really do was teach them all he knew, and give them the tools to navigate that world.

Now that they were well beyond the house, he also switched to speaking, shaking his head. “I would say rather that your Shane is excellent leadership material. I well know that I cannot control the world. In my time I have watched not hundreds but thousands of my kin perish, Lorna. While I hear your words, it is never so simple for me. Forgive me, but you have agreed to be responsible for yourself; I have agreed to be responsible for each of my subjects. No king of an elven people has ever felt differently, and there have been many. And while it is true that not every ill occurrence is avoidable, there are such things as ‘taking precautions.’ For example, I cannot control it if any of my elves were to be in the outer world and happen to be standing in a place one of your terrorist bombings occurs. But if Thanadir is with Earlene, he can and will defend her against an assailant. And yet I will still discuss this with her, because I would agree that you have a point about relative levels of risk. Surely, too, Earlene’s feelings matter as well.” While he was genuinely open to learning, he was not fully seeing that their autonomy mattered more, though he was perhaps seeing a concept that it might depend more heavily on circumstance.

Lorna mulled. He had a point, and a very good one. She had no personal context at all to relate; Lorna was a caretaker, but she’d never been any kind of leader, and probably didn’t have it in her to be one. Though she worried, when he said Thanadir would defend Earlene against an assailant -- she had, after all, seen just how easily Thanadir dealt with her, and thanks to Shane’s training, most assailants probably couldn’t do what she could. The last thing any of them needed was for him to get arrested in the line of duty, so to speak, even once they did have ID’s; the risk of someone figuring out things they didn’t need to be figuring out was too high.

“Well, if Earlene’s not got a problem with it, I don’t see how it’s as much’v an issue,” she said slowly. She was going to have to consciously remind herself that not everyone was going to have the same hangups as her. “But yeah, talking to her about it would be a good idea. You can’t go wrong with communication, and any wife appreciates it when her husband’s willing to speak and listen.” Way too many human husbands failed pretty hard at the second, but Thranduil wasn’t human. What Lorna wondered was how much Earlene would be willing to say out loud. Would she be as forthcoming as she would be if Thranduil was a human? Ugh, there were too many things Lorna just didn’t know, and didn’t need to know because they were none of her business, but it only made the whole situation harder for her to evaluate. There was obviously a good deal Thranduil still didn’t know about the human world, but there had to be far more about the elven world that Lorna had no idea about. He was smart, though; she trusted him to be able to reconcile what he learned of humanity to his own society, even if it took a bit of work to get it there.

She thought of Liam, and what she might have done to protect him, had she known what would happen the night they wrecked the van. Would she have forced him to stay in the car park until morning, rather than try to drive in that storm? She had an unfortunate feeling the answer was ‘yes’, but would she have actually had a right to? They’d spoken vows to each other, though not of the sort the elves probably had; where did the line between protection end and freedom begin? If it was that difficult to pin down between ordinary humans, it was probably infinitely more complex in this situation. Still, Earlene was a grown woman, and to Lorna’s twenty-first century, republic-born, feminist mind, that ought to mean she was the one who chose whether or not she went accompanied anywhere. If she didn’t mind having Thanadir with her, though, then it was a bit of a moot point; the three of them were in accord, with no need for anyone to rock the boat. Yeah, to Lorna it seemed weird, but it really wasn’t any of her business, and she was absolutely not going to be Mairead about it. True, there was no way to hide it from Thranduil, if she found something exceptionally odd or backward, but that didn’t mean she was going to get involved. He might be a bit of a captive audience to her thoughts, but she didn’t have to go dumping them on everyone else, and she wasn’t going to. Hopefully that would count for something.

“I get it,” she said, shaking her head. “Wanting to keep Earlene safe, I mean. You know why, though I hope to Christ you’ve not actually seen that memory.” Unconsciously she rubbed her left leg, which still ached something fierce when it rained. That was a memory she wouldn’t wish on anyone -- she’d mostly suppressed it herself, except in nightmares. “I wish -- I wish I could explain this better, even to myself. I guess it’s one’v the things you lot’ll just have to work out as you go along, as your world keeps meeting ours. It’s not like there’s any precedent for it.”

Thranduil walked without speaking for a time, though he was careful to temper his long strides so that he did not force Lorna to struggle to keep up. Finally he spoke, hoping he was choosing words that would help. “I have seen glimpses. Enough to know the generality of what you suffered.” He stopped walking, and the volume of his voice dropped. “And I am so very sorry, that this happened to you. I did not mean for my words to imply that you are unaware of consequences. Lorna, should you ever wish to speak about this fully and ease your burdens, be aware that I can and will help you. But that is your decision; I have no wish to pry into your deepest privacies.

And I want to thank you. You are right, our two worlds can be difficult to reconcile. But by conversing with me, you allow me to see...how do I say this...a broader brush stroke of human thinking, on this matter? Earlene does feel free to talk to me; she could not hide it if she felt otherwise. So when we have discussions, there is no doubt in my mind that she is sharing her genuine opinions. But she does not think like you do. Your mind filters many possibilities, whereas hers is more like an arrow that flies straight to a target. Focused, highly logical. I am not telling you this to say that one is better than the other. Yet in terms of my ability to learn about humans, our conversations are most illuminating.”

On the one hand, part of her did want to talk about...that, someday, but she had to weigh it against what that memory might do to him. Yeah, he’d seen some pretty horrific shite over the course of his God-knew-how-long life, but that might give some of it a run for its money. For all she’d tried so hard to suppress it, her nightmares were still crystal-clear. “I...might,” she said, staring at nothing. “I never have, before, because it’s not like I’d known anyone who’d understand before. In prison, they tried to have me see a psychologist, to get me to reconcile what I’d done to my da, and I hated it so much that I never went to one about this.” She’d actually bitten the woman, which she wasn’t proud of, but the damn doctor just hadn’t been willing to let up.

She wiped the frosting from the end of her nose, and looked up -- too far up, goddammit, why did she have to be so short? -- at him. “Nice to know some’v the things my brain hacks up are helpful,” she said, with a half-smile. “I think it might help, having a couple different perspectives. It can’t hurt, anyway. You’ll meet all sorts, when you go out into the world; might be good to have the preparation of multiple human minds first.” Multiple minds who wouldn’t, like many in the village, be too awed to create an accurate baseline. Everyone in the village knew what the elves were, and reacted accordingly, but out in the world, they’d get the same reaction as any other human would. Thranduil would find himself confronted with minds quite different from her or Earlene, but if he had even a little preparation, it would make it easier. Going to Baile might help quite a bit, in that regard; its people would be curious, but nobody was going to be weird or hostile. The equivalent of wading in the shallows, before heading into the deeper waters of a city.

Thranduil smiled. “You spend much thought concerned with the welfare of Thanadir or myself, in relation to you. It is endearing, and appreciated, but unnecessary. I have had my own difficulties, but I was granted a great deal of resilience by which to manage them. And the sum of my experiences has, I am afraid, made it very difficult to shock or surprise me. And I most certainly do not wish to have you try to bite me,” he said, grinning while deciding it was also a wise time to change the subject. “You have mentioned your sister in scattered conversations. Will you tell me more about her? I have already gathered that she is perhaps overly concerned with your well-being?”

Lorna laughed. “I was like that even before I met Gran and Mairead, and they just made it worse. And I promise I won’t bite.” That had got her out of many a scrape, but that was all in her past, now. “Mairead...I complain about her a lot, but she and Gran are the only reasons I survived after I lost Liam. I’d never met either’v them before -- Mairead, she’s my half-sister; Mam was only seventeen when she had her, so the grandparents raised her. I was a bloody mess when I first came to Baile, so it’s not like she didn’t have a reason to be concerned -- she’s just carried it on a lot longer than I needed it. She’s got four kids, so being a mam is just part’v who she is, and she’s enough older than me that I think it was just natural she treat me like one’v her kids, too.”

She shook her head, as always half-fond, half-exasperated when thinking of her sister. “And at the time, I did kind’v need it. I’d dropped out’v school at fourteen, I’d never had a proper job -- in a way, the normal human world was a mystery to me, too, and she just took that in stride. The problem is that she’s never accepted the fact that I actually grew up, that I’ve got halfway decent judgment now. It’s why she’s got to meet you lot, or she’ll never be done badgering me: I know damn well she’ll assume I’m too daft to know if I’ve got myself into something illegal.”

Lorna honestly wasn’t sure what Mairead would make of these three, but at least she wouldn’t think they were the Mafia. There was no arguing with Earlene’s credentials, and you didn’t have to know just what positions Thranduil and Thanadir actually held to realize they were used to being in charge of...something. Whether Thranduil wanted to be or not, he could be pretty bloody intimidating, just by the sheer fact of his height. Mairead herself was close to six feet tall, but unfortunately for anyone Thranduil wanted to set at ease, he’d tower over most people. Thanadir was so adorable that he wouldn’t intimidate unless he actually tried, and she was going to have a hell of a time keeping Mairead from trying to feed him everything in the house. She only thanked God that Shannon, Mairead’s eldest, was away at university, or Mairead might well try to set the pair up. That would be a level of awkward even Lorna couldn’t deal with.

Breaking down in laughter, Thranduil found that the mental imagery was simply too much. “You make a good point. I am realizing that I should perhaps warn my seneschal that he may be found desirable by some of those who encounter him. While I will not presume to speak for him in matters of the heart, I do not believe he feels open to bonding with another. He might appreciate being tutored concerning a polite way to decline...advances.”

Lorna couldn’t help laughing herself, because she could all too easily see poor Thanadir floundering, too polite to tell someone to shove off. “I think it’d definitely be a good warning,” she said. “So far no little old ladies have pinched his cheek, but you never know, and he’d definitely appeal to a certain sort’v young women especially. Some humans can be kind’v...obvious, when they think someone’s attractive. My gran’d say they’ve got no shame, which’d be a bit rich, considering she had none at all. Most’ll be put off easily enough, though a few...well. You never do know. I don’t know how you lot feel about straight-up lying, but I’ll tell you one thing -- a wedding ring’s a good way to tell people you’re not interested.” She held up her left hand, where Liam’s ring still rested on her finger. “There might be a few that stay pushy, but it’s usually men that do that. Women tend to take the hint, unless they’re completely ossified.” She’d never been partial to the pretty sort herself, but there were loads who’d descend on Thanadir like vultures if given the opportunity. Thranduil himself was visibly married and intimidating enough that nobody was likely to actually approach him, though she couldn’t promise he wouldn’t get...comments...voiced or otherwise. Neither one of them yet had any idea how perverted human beings could be, and she couldn’t help but wince. She preferred her gentlemen with slightly more melanin, but there were more than enough that went after the pale types. (Lorna herself didn’t get it, and couldn’t prevent herself from wondering how a woman could handle a man who probably glowed in the dark. _Shit,_ now she’d gone and thought that. _Wonderful, Lorna. Nice going_.)

“Is this a bad time to inform you that we elves do have a light that emanates from our skin?” Thranduil teased mercilessly. “I do not mind, Lorna. Even with my limited experience in such matters, I understand that what is attractive to another is intensely personal and often inexplicable. But Earlene seems to manage just fine.” He was having much, much, much too much fun.

Lorna burst out laughing before she could help it, torn between mortification and powerless amusement as she covered her face with her hands. “Are you serious?” she asked, looking up at him through her fingers. Christ, her sides hurt, but she couldn’t stop laughing. “You lot actually glow in the dark?” Well, they’ve got the Irish beat there, she thought, wiping her eyes. She still couldn’t stop giggling, but honestly, she’d hope she could be forgiven. “I guess it’d be handy on the way to the toilet at night.” Christ, had she actually just said that? But it was true -- no need to light a lamp. That thought just set her off all over again, to the point that she actually had to sit on a stump, trying desperately to get a handle on herself and failing utterly. The last thing she needed was to randomly think of that at Mairead’s, and set herself off laughing all over again.

Rolling his eyes, he refused to take the bait. “There is a difference between a soft glow and a light bulb, and it is clearly time to return and rescue Earlene. I will assume that the vehicle ride in store for us will not be too much worse than being in a dwarven war chariot?”

Somehow, watching him roll his eyes was too hilarious for words. Still giggling, Lorna hauled herself to her feet. “I promise I’ll drive like a reasonable person,” she said. “You and Thanadir have never been in a car, and I don’t want to give Earlene any reason to not want to ride with me ever again.” She wouldn’t be a very effective taxi if her prospective passengers were too terrified to have her as a driver. Behaving behind the wheel wasn’t easy, but she could do it. Though she really, really wanted to know what it would have been like, driving a dwarven war chariot.

“You actually do not want to know from experience, I assure you.” He offered her his arm and after she accepted, he relented somewhat as they walked back. He told her a little about the great war machines built by the dwarves, engineered to travel over almost any terrain, and the strange, large animals that had drawn them.

Back at the cottage, he placed his finger over his lips to indicate Lorna should be quiet, and opened the door just in time to hear Thanadir demand, “Translate ‘the male elf will eat that apple,’ please. And then write out your translation.”

 _I am in hell_ , Earlene thought, before trying to answer. He at least allowed her the use of her notes, but had higher expectations for accuracy on account of it. “i ellon meditha... gordof... san.” The answer came slowly, and she was madly flitting through pages as well as the little dictionary she’d bought. She looked up at Thanadir hopefully, as she began writing this in Tengwar. His time was appreciated, and Earlene truly did not wish to disappoint him.

He smiled. “Yes. You have done well, Earlene,” he said softly. “I know this is very hard. That will be all, for now.”

 _Thank the gods_ , she thought. _Any of them. All of them_. So focused was she on the little task, she had not heard anyone enter and was unaware of them until Thranduil spoke.

“We should think about leaving, soon,” he indicated.

Looking up, Earlene nodded. “I will change.” She was still wearing her dress from the Halls, and left to find something suited to the modern world in the bedroom. The ellyn were already wearing the same clothing they had worn to the party, with the addition of something like men’s sportcoats which magically had just appeared. It lent them a reasonably modern appearance, though to anyone with a critical eye for fashion their attire would still seem a little off.

When she emerged, she was clothed in a way Thranduil had not seen; a woman’s professional business suit; slacks, and a lovely white silk blouse. High quality, tailored, dark blue wool with navy pinstripes, medium heels plus delicate sheer hoisery, her hair pinned into a French twist, and carefully applied makeup constituted what she jokingly thought of as her suit of armor. He openly stared at her, and she arched her eyebrows.

“Meluieg, what are you wearing?” he asked, baffled.

“This is formal business attire, Thranduil; this is how I dressed for my professional work. As the purpose of this visit is to convince Lorna’s family that I am not some minion of the underworld, I intend to use every means at my disposal to establish that nothing about her employment with us is a joke. Or nefarious. I am going to be framing this in terms of, you have hired me, and I have hired Lorna. Though I admit, our being wed does make this all a little unusual, but I believe I can talk my way through that more than adequately. No offense to your family, Lorna,” she said as kindly as possible. “And, I sincerely hope that somewhere between here and there you know where we might stop to buy a suitable hostess gift; a houseplant, bottle of wine, some useful item, a treat from a bakery...something? I was hoping you could help me out with that part. I cannot have us arrive empty-handed without feeling rude.”

Lorna stared, unable to help it. Yeah, she’d known Earlene was a lawyer, but the suit really...hammered it home, and would definitely make an impression on Mairead. Truth be told, she’d never even heard of a hostess gift, but they could stop at the bakery in Baile -- Siobhan’s chocolate buns were to die for. “I know’v a place,” she said, and tried to ignore how very scruffy she suddenly felt. The only times in her entire life she’d ever actually seen someone wearing a business suit in real life had been, naturally, when she was in court, but none of the solicitors she’d dealt with could wear on quite like Earlene did. “And trust me, I’m not offended. I know Mairead, and Mairead knows me -- if she doesn’t think it’s some kind’v joke, I’d be very surprised. I’ll bet you anything she’ll start out thinking I’ve got into something criminal, then that it’s a joke, and then...who knows. She’ll probably surprise me.” She did not need to be daunted by Earlene, for fuck’s sake; this was Earlene. Feeling scruffy was acceptable, but she didn’t need to be disturbed by the suit.

“I’d offer to hand her a business card but as they all connect to my old firm, that would be more than a little pretentious,” she quipped. “Don’t worry. This will be fine; talking at people until it IS fine...that’s been pretty much the last decade of my life.” She chuckled. “We look like a motley crew, which for whatever reason seems very funny just now.”

Lorna looked at Earlene’s suit, at her own jeans and flannel, and the elves in their not-quite-modern clothes -- Earlene had a very good point. “I’m not sure Mairead stands a chance,” she said. “And that thought amuses me a lot more than it ought to. All right, you lot, pick seats -- I cleaned out the van, so there’s no need to worry you’ll get anything stained.” Thank God, too; she hadn’t counted on anything like the suit, and she’d have hated to lay a towel down on a seat or something equally awkward.

“Thranduil, I think you should sit up front. This is your first real view of the outside world and...you might as well be able to view it,” Earlene quipped. “Maybe you could trade with Thanadir for the ride home, then you’d each get a good look at the sights.” Without further hesitation, she directed Thanadir to climb into the rear seat. She followed him and plunked down, and checked that the seat belts were in order for Thanadir, who seemed very lost as to what he was doing, being strapped into this strange metal box on wheels. She figured Lorna would be more than capable, as a mechanic, to show Thranduil the wonderful world of opening car doors and other minutiae. That and, she felt somewhat focused on assuring that the seneschal felt as comfortable as possible on this little adventure. She kindly explained to him what the belts were for and showed him how they were released, and let him do it himself to ensure he understood. At least, she noted, there was about a mile of leg room for him behind Lorna.

Lorna saved Thranduil the effort by leaning over the gearshift and opening the door for him, demonstrating how the seat belt worked by putting on her own. Fortunately for him, the front seats were bucket seats, or else he’d be sitting with his knees under his chin, given how close she had to scoot her seat to the steering wheel. Mick’s van had seemed overkill until she saw both elves in it; even Earlene might not have been terribly comfortable in something smaller, given the height of their company.

“All right, I promise I’ll drive like a reasonable human,” she said, firing up the van. Old and battered it might be, but it purred like a kitten; Mick looked after the workings of his own equipment as well as he did everyone else’s. She’d done an easy thirty on her way out here, but she kept it under twenty for now, no matter that her foot actually itched to go faster. She could save it for the motorway, though even there she’d have to behave herself. It was a rather alien thought, but at least it was a good test of her self-control. Thranduil might say that her concern for the welfare of both elves was unnecessary, but in this case, it really wasn’t. While she doubted her normal driving would make either of them scream, she wouldn’t be surprised if it made them want to, and she wouldn’t wish it on poor Earlene, either. Yeah, Earlene had lived in New York City, but Lorna doubted that would help much.

In the backseat, Earlene began to fill Thanadir’s head with vocabulary terms, asking Lorna to correct terms that were only used in America. She actually had no idea if “boot” and “bonnet” were what was said here. While she’d researched many things about Ireland, automotive lingo had not been one of those topics. As Lorna began to gain speed as she moved beyond the confines of the village, she saw Thanadir’s eyes widen.

Taking a guess, she took his arm, just as she did when they walked from place to place, hoping he would find the touch of a friend reassuring. She tried to imagine how she would feel if the speed of a horse had been the fastest thing ever experienced, and then to find oneself under modern locomotion. Her guess had not been wrong, for it endeared her to no end when he reached over with his opposite hand to cover hers with it. _Even the very brave can feel apprehension_ , she thought, though she knew he was incredibly capable within his sphere of normality. _It’s all in what you’re used to._ She placed her own hand over his in reassurance. Part of her wanted to pet him on the head but that would be going too far. _If only he did not look so impossibly doe-eyed. There had to be some part of the human genetic code that was hardwired to cause people to respond to those with his facial features. There simply had to be._

Poor Thanadir...glancing in the rear-view mirror was possibly the only thing that kept Lorna from speeding up and cutting off the gobshite that had just cut her off. It had been a long time since she’d done nothing but keep up with the speed of traffic, but she really didn’t want to see what heart failure looked like in an elf -- assuming that was even possible. She’d rather not find out, and she’d bet none of the rest of them would, either. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she fought the impulse to pass this eejit.

A side-glance at Thranduil told her nothing; he was damned impossible to read when he wanted to be. Was he indifferent? Was he as freaked-out as Thanadir? She had no idea, but it was yet one more reason not to push it. Part of her wondered what he’d make of it, if she ever did let loose and actually drive like herself; either he’d love it or he’d murder her. Probably not worth testing, no matter how curious she was.

Eventually, she found a way to pass the twat in front of them without having to do anything drastic, and wound up much calmer. If she slowed down a bit, just to make him suffer...well, it wasn’t going to upset any of her passengers. It didn’t help that it had been ages since she’d driven anything this big; Mairead wouldn’t let her borrow the family Explorer precisely because she normally drove like such a psychopath, so she’d been reliant on her motorcycle for years.

It seemed to take far too long to reach the Kildare exit, but she made it eventually, and hoped slowing down would help poor Thanadir’s nerves. It was still much faster than he’d ever have gone before, but not so fast as the motorway.

“You all right back there?” she asked.

Earlene waited a moment to see if Thanadir would choose to answer. When it appeared he would not, she piped up in such a way as to deflect attention from the poor elf. “We’re good, just enjoying the scenery. You know, this really is a beautiful country; you’ve no idea what it’s like to see green everywhere instead of asphalt and concrete. For years all I had was Central Park.” Without her even being aware of it, her thumb had begun to rub back and forth over his wrist, hoping that it offered him a little solace. She was unsure what he was thinking, and could only guess at what she thought might be the cause of his apparent distress.

“I’ve got some idea,” Lorna said, cottoning on and hoping speech might distract Thanadir. “I grew up in Dublin. I didn’t see much in the way’v green until Liam and I went traveling, and then when I moved to Baile. Dublin’s not a patch on New York, but there wasn’t much green in my life ’til I was an adult.” Earlene and the elves might like Baile, too; it was far more farmland and sheep-rearing than Lasg’len, but they had a little patch of forest of their own -- far newer than Lasg’len’s, but pretty nonetheless. Her cottage stood not too far from it, and she’d gone on many a hike. Maybe Thanadir might find it soothing to take a walk in, before they left again -- no, it wasn’t his home, but it was trees, and green, and peace. She had some hazy idea that he might be able to...recharge, like a battery, in the right environment.

She side-eyed Thranduil again. _You all right? In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re a bit hard to read -- are you as bad off as Thanadir? I can pull over for a bit in Kildare, if you two need it._ They could afford to pause a while, and poor Thanadir really did look like he might be on the verge of a meltdown. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like, to be in a car for the first time as an adult, and go so much faster than you might have even thought possible. He was God knew how old, and this was possibly the first entirely new experience he’d dealt with in thousands of years. It definitely put a crimp in the whole idea of him playing bodyguard when Earlene left the village, and that was aside from the fact that sooner or later he’d be taking a several-hour trip to Dublin. It might be wise to take him for short rides around the village, to acclimate him to being in a car at all; the speed limit there was nice and slow, and they could easily pull over any time he needed to. Once he’d got used to that, she’d take him out on the motorway at night, when there was less traffic. As a last resort, he could always take a belt or two of that elven wine to settle his nerves.

Lorna, broke into her thoughts. _I am well, and enjoying the scenery and seeing many new things. While it is possible that the motion of the vehicle is disturbing Thanadir, it is equally possible that his mind is working rapidly, analyzing possible threats to myself and Earlene in this environment. He was foremost a warrior, and a skilled tactician. I know him well enough to tell you that he is still very much in control of himself. And even if he were feeling unwell, he would not admit it unless I tore it from his mind. He is far more than he appears to be. Having seen more humans now, I can guess how he appears to you. Young, innocent, untested. I can assure you that he is none of those things._

 _Is that why he has a death grip on Earlene?_ Lorna quipped, unconvinced.

Thranduil frowned. _That is difficult to say. He may believe that he is comforting her, having no real awareness of Earlene’s sophistication. I confess I have not discussed many things adequately with Thanadir; among them being the reality of what Earlene’s life was before coming here._ He laughed. _As if I completely understand it myself. But at least I have the access to her thoughts and memories, so I comprehend somewhat._

If Thranduil said Thanadir was okay, he was probably right -- he was the mind-reader, after all. Still, all the evidence of Lorna’s eyes made her wince a bit, because it was difficult to overrule. Logically, she knew Thanadir could probably kick her arse without breaking a sweat -- if elves even did sweat -- but Thranduil was right: he looked so young and innocent, and the dissonance was not easy to overcome. His was a face that made a person want to comfort him, and give him cookies with warm milk. That he could probably break most humans in half was not readily evident, and easy to forget.

 _I don’t think even I could comprehend what Earlene’s life was before she came here_ , she admitted. _New York City’s not like anything you’ll find on this side of the Atlantic._ Even the thought of the subway in New York just didn’t compute; Lorna had only seen it in movies, but she doubted she’d want to hassle with it, and Earlene had, so far as Lorna had gathered, used it every day and managed to avoid murdering anyone while doing it. That was a more impressive thing than she probably realized. One thing was for certain, though: Lorna was never going to inflict her actual driving on either one of them.

While Earlene held onto Thanadir out of sympathy, the New Yorker in her refused to ask him if he was well. It was not possible to forget his stern and dignified demeanor when first she met him, and she could not bring herself to ask him anything that might assail his...preferred public persona. She had too much respect for him. Plus, it was always possible that she was misunderstanding.

Besides, she needed to reflect on her ‘presentation.’ Not fully certain why this was the case, she only knew that this felt like work. In the sense of, this had to do with business, and when she was in a place of business, she was not accustomed to any challenge. In her old life, she had status that was the envy of many. Few people dared to cross her because they knew the power she held by virtue of her reputation and her connections. And back then, while she did not feel that she ever abused it, she had understood the necessity of using it at times to maintain her position at what she thought of as the top layers of the swamp. It was the reality of that world. For Mairead, there would be no explanations given, as to her full background. _Or…?_ It was best to be clear.

“Lorna, may I ask you if Mairead knows that I am newly arrived in Ireland? I am pondering my speeches.”

“Mairead doesn’t know anything yet,” Lorna said. “I’ve not told her about anything except what I’ve been doing working with Mick, because I didn’t want the interrogation.” Fortunately, she had backup now; she really doubted Mairead’s interrogation could stand up against Earlene, though she was highly amused by the prospect of watching her sister try.

“Perfect. Excellent. Now I can pursue my favorite strategy; ‘Less is More.’ And unless Thranduil disagrees, I’m going to suggest that outside of Lasg’len, the ellyn are Fionn and Cian. We’d best all get used to using those names when away from the village.” With that, Earlene sank back into a brooding silence.

 _What in hell are ‘ellyn’?_ Lorna asked.

Thranduil looked sideways at Lorna. _That is the word in our language for male elves. Only one male elf is an ‘ellon’. And does that mean something to you? ‘Less is more?’ I do not understand._ He was beginning, even by his own admission, to think of Lorna as an important mortal informational kiosk.

 _It usually means that if you can get away with it, the less said about something, the better_ , she said. _You let the other person mentally fill in the blanks and do half the work for you -- it can be way more effective than actually arguing._ Lorna had never actually seen it in a courtroom context, but Gran had been good at it, when she’d felt like it. She had a feeling Earlene probably had it down to an art form. _It also means Mairead won’t know what hit her._

Much to everyone’s surprise, Thanadir broke his silence. “Can you please tell me something about the place we are visiting, Lorna?” Short and sweet, and the soft but very keenly focused eyes were now riveted on her.

Lorna didn’t quite breathe a sigh of relief, but she came close. Speech was a good sign. “It’s a lot like Lasg’len, really,” she said, easing off the exit onto the rather calmer road that led to the village. “More farmland, but it’s nearly as small, and most’v the families have lived there for generations. Although the people here are a bit...saltier, if you take my meaning.” She didn’t actually know how to explain it better than that, and it was highly probable Thanadir wouldn’t take her meaning, but he’d see for himself once they got there. “I didn’t realize it at first, but my gran’s family’s been there almost two hundred years. That’s quite a bit’v time, for humans.” Given that she’d been handed all this money, she was damn well going to fix up her cottage, and see if this lot would come out for dinner when it was done.

The village, as they approached, looked somewhere between picturesque, gently shabby, and oddly homey. None of the buildings were newer than forty years old, but they were well-kept, and Molly and Big Jamie contrived to hang floral pots off the lamp-posts in the spring. Siobhan’s bakery was near, so Lorna made for it, relieved to find the car park largely empty. Half the town was still at work, and the other half was probably at the pub.

Earlene looked around with interest. It did look like Lasg’len. She smiled, inside of herself. Maybe she did miss the hum and vibrant energy of the city that never slept, but not enough to seek it out. Her heart yearned for quiet places. These small towns had roots that ran deep. It was nice to hear about families being in places for a very long time. “Lorna is...I am not sure how to ask this, is the name Donovan connected to this region of the country?”

“You know, I don’t know,” Lorna said, setting the brake and cutting the engine. “I don’t know a whole lot about most’v my family, for all Gran was mad for scrapbooks. Now I’ve got to look it up.” It wasn’t a terribly common surname, but it wasn’t exactly uncommon, either. “All right, everyone who wants a chocolate bun, let me know -- they’re Mairead’s weakness, but you’ve got to try one before we leave.”

“Let me give you the money to buy a dozen for Mairead, boxed, and whatever else everyone wants. I’ll have a taste but if your Mairead is anything like the ladies at the Quilting Club, we’ll be getting stuffed up one side and down the other at tea. Actually, scrap that. Get two for Thanadir and I; I’ll have a bite and I’m pretty sure he would enjoy the rest of them. You and Thranduil get what you wish.” She handed Lorna forty euros and started thinking about what form ‘chocolate buns’ might take. Settling back in, she snaked her arm around the seneschal’s once again, thinking.

 _Oh, good Jesus_ , Lorna thought; Earlene had given her so much money already, but by now she knew better than to argue. “Mairead really will fill us up like stuffed bears,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “I’ll make sure Siobhan doesn’t rattle on too long.” Out the door she went, stuffing the money into her pocket, trying not to shake her head. _Thranduil, if you’re coming with, remember to keep your hair over your ears._ Siobhan was tall enough that she’d notice if he didn’t.

With two waves of his hand, Thranduil shook his hair loose from behind his ears and gestured for Lorna to precede him. _I can ensure that she does not see my ears even if she does, Lorna. But your caution is admirable. After you, please. This is a place where bread is made?_

It is, she said, dodging puddles in the car park. The asphalt hadn’t been re-done in thirty-odd years. Bread, cake, cookies, you name it. Siobhan only opened it about five years ago; before that, it was the village’s one failed attempt at a fast-food restaurant, and a smoke shop before that. Businesses didn’t tend to thrive in Baile unless they were something absolutely everyone wanted to frequent.

The interior of the shop was lovely and warm, and smelled of all kinds of deliciousness. Siobhan herself was on-shift, and Lorna wondered if she had time to warn him that he was about to get hit with some tremendously perverted thoughts. Siobhan was not shy about appreciating attractive people, men especially, though at least she usually kept it to herself when around strangers. The fact that it was only in her head would not spare Thranduil, however.

“I was beginning to forget what you looked like, Lorna,” Siobhan said, but her eyes blatantly appraised Thranduil with a kind of cheerful, un-self-conscious appreciation. Lorna rolled her eyes. _I’m sorry in advance_ , she sent him.

“Yeah, well, I’ll be out’v town for a bit yet,” she said, grabbing a cardboard carton. “Mick won’t have his cast off for another fortnight. Siobhan, this is Fionn -- he’s my new mate’s husband. She’s out in the van, with their other friend.”

For a moment, Siobhan was visibly disappointed, but only a moment. “Welcome to Baile,” she said. “Lorna, it worries me that you’ve got a box. Did you piss Mairead off again?”

“Not yet,” Lorna said, passing it over the counter. “But I’m probably about to. I want a dozen chocolate buns, four cinnamon rolls, and a blueberry loaf.” She looked at Thranduil. “Anything and everything’s good in here, but the cherry tarts aren’t too sweet.” He didn’t seem terribly keen on the sort of cavity-inducing deliciousness she, Earlene, and Thanadir seemed to prefer.

“I will place it at your discretion, Lorna. A cherry tart, then.” He glanced around the shop, doing his best to suppress a smile at this mortal woman’s thoughts, to which he could not afford to react. That she so openly and expansively wondered about his private anatomy and what he could do with it was unexpected; Earlene had been far more mentally modest about her physical desire for him. Siobhan’s thoughts were inestimably amusing, and he was using much of his age-old discipline not to bring Earlene inside so that she could provide answers as to his talents.

His eyebrows did, however, shoot high up on his forehead when the use of chocolate syrup entered her lascivious thoughts. It was likely highly beneficial that his seneschal could not hear humans without effort; he was not certain Thanadir could easily tolerate this level of….wantonness. He found the display cases of baked goods interesting, and waited for Lorna to finish her purchases. Though, just when he was going to follow her out, he could not resist turning to the woman and giving her a broad smile. “Pleasure to meet you,” he intoned, before returning to the van.

Lorna didn’t miss his sudden shift of expression, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know just what the hell Siobhan was thinking. Nevertheless, once they were out to the van and she’d loaded the boxes, she asked anyway. _Just how bad was it? I know Siobhan, and while she’s probably more creative than most you’ll find, she’s not the only one you’re going to have to deal with._ Given some of the things Siobhan was willing to say aloud, Lorna could only imagine -- and didn’t want to imagine -- what went on in that perverted head of hers.

 _You are prepared to hear the answer?_ he asked.

 _If you feel the need to warn me, now I have to know,_ she said, clambering up into the driver’s seat.

_I must adhere to some level of chasteness and propriety. Yet I feel I can tell you that chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and intimate parts of my body were heavily involved. She is most….bold. This is...common, for mortal women?_

Lorna burst out laughing, cackling so hard she nearly cried as she rested her head against the steering wheel. _Are you serious? Well, she is a baker._ Oh God, Thranduil had no idea, none at all... _It can be, yes. We often make, uh, note when someone attractive walks by. Most of us are polite and keep it in our heads, but that won’t protect you much._ Jesus, she had to get this under control, but that certainly explained his expression...oh, hell.

Still giggling, she managed to start the engine. There really weren’t many women out there who didn’t look at someone attractive and file them away for later, ah, perusal of the personal variety. Thranduil was just unfortunate enough to have to know what they were thinking -- oh Christ, she hoped like hell Mairead wouldn’t go thinking anything...wrong. He probably wasn’t her type, but you never knew.

 _I am more than capable of overlooking the thoughts, Lorna. Though I will confess that befriending you has been far less awkward on account of the absence of them in your mind. So however odd this may sound in human terms, I sincerely thank you for not being attracted to me_. With the corners of his mouth curled up, he gazed straight ahead out the window and managed a deceptive if technically truthful cover story. “You will have to forgive Lorna,” he said, glancing back at Earlene and Thanadir, who were both looking at Lorna as if slightly concerned for her sanity. “She heard something humorous from her friend who runs the bakery and has not quite recovered herself,” he smiled.

Both Earlene and Thanadir nodded. Thranduil turned around to smile at both of them, and saw them seated together with Earlene holding his arm. _Thank you, meluieg, for taking care of my seneschal._

She smiled back at him. _I am uncertain who is taking care of whom. But...he is...I confess he is a bit like a teddy bear. And if you do not know what that is, I beg you to allow me to explain it later. I could not keep a straight face and right now I need to focus._

With a smile full of love he nodded before turning back to face forward. Though now, he absolutely could not eradicate from his mind wondering what Earlene would make of what this woman had desired to do to him. After all, his wife did like sweets a great deal. With a sigh, he decided it was more profitable to dismiss this line of questioning for now.

Lorna had mostly got herself under control as they pulled out onto the road, though she took the precaution of pinching the webbing between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, giving herself something to focus on as they traveled down the mostly-empty streets. _Chocolate syrup...Piece of advice_ , she said, because she had no shame and she’d really rather spare Earlene, _if you ever do want to mess about with...that...be careful where it goes. A woman can get a very unpleasant infection in a very unpleasant place._ True, he could heal it rather easily, but still. Some things were best avoided.

Thranduil’s eyebrows arched up, but no response was forthcoming.

Lorna hadn’t expected one, and so had time to mull her whole lack of attraction over. At first she’d assumed it was simply because they were so pale, but they were all such eye-candy that that shouldn’t have mattered. Every elf she’d seen so far was inhumanly beautiful, but the key word was ‘inhumanly’. To her they seemed physically like statues that lived, and one wasn’t attracted to a statue -- or at least, she wasn’t. They were walking works of art that could be appreciated in much the same way as a painting: nice to look at, but not something she was at all tempted to touch, let alone shag. Maybe her indifference made her racist, or species-ist, but it seemed only humans were capable of getting her motor revving. Humans with a much higher melanin content. (The fact that elves actually glowed in the dark was going to make her laugh for the rest of her life. There was white, and then there was white.)

Mairead’s house was one of the last in the village, right beside the low, river-rock retaining wall that separated the village from the pastures beyond. The Explorer was in the driveway -- Mairead was home, though it was a bit early for Kevin. The kids would be off school, but Lorna was quite certain they were off at friends’ houses -- they were at that age when staying home was something you only did if you were sick.

Lorna pulled into the driveway, killing the engine. The house was on the large size, but hardly gigantic; two stories, it was built half of brick and half of wood, sturdy and tidy, if not precisely lovely. Mairead kept the yard up, though it was a bit early for most of the things she liked to be growing. “All right, shoes off at the door, or she’ll find a way to murder us all,” she said, and meant it. The one time she’d forgot and gone upstairs in her boots, Mairead had threatened to dangle her out an upstairs window by her ankles, and Lorna was fairly sure she’d meant it.

Earlene arched an eyebrow. She had never gone in for this “shoes off” habit where guests were concerned, especially one-time guests, but there was really no choice in the matter. She tried to remind herself to put her Friendly Face on, not her Courtroom Face. Twisting her lips into something resembling a smile, she dropped into the persona she felt was needed. Perfect posture, standing a little off to the side, and lingering behind Thranduil and Lorna. She released Thanadir’s arm before exiting the van, knowing that hanging onto the body of someone beside's one's partner was not exactly a human custom. Tugging at the lapels of her jacket gently out of force of habit, she waited with the others at the front door. As an afterthought, she reached up with her hand to check that ten miles of the Necklace of Lasgalen was not showing out of the neckline of her blouse; it did not feel as though it was, but she patted the fabric together over her collarbones nevertheless.

Lorna let herself in -- hell, she’d lived there for five years, and Mairead told her to keep her key. The house, as always, was warm and cozy, and smelled vaguely of lavender -- Gran had given both her and Mairead a lifelong love of it. The floor of the entryway was beautifully finished oak -- hence why Mairead was so draconian about shoes -- giving way to linoleum as you entered the kitchen to the right. It was as big as a family of four would need, with stainless-steel appliances and wooden cabinets, the countertops shiny granite. Just now the stove had a kettle the size of a small child’s head sitting on it, heating away, while something that smelled vaguely like vanilla baked in the oven.

“Oi!” Lorna called, unlacing and wrenching off her boots. “Are you dead, or what? ’Cause if you are, I want your SUV.” It was an old, if morbid, ritual between them; each would enter the other’s house and, upon not immediately finding the other, ask if anyone was alive.

“Over my dead body!” Mairead called, from somewhere in the lounge.

“Well, yeah,” Lorna said. “Kind’v the point, that.”

Mairead came into the kitchen, her eyes -- very blue, just like their mother’s -- widened at the sight of her guests. Lorna didn’t need Thranduil’s telepathy to know what her sister was probably thinking: Earlene in her suit would suggest Lorna had got herself into trouble somehow, but the elves, in their odd assortment of clothes, kind of put the kibosh on that idea. Though they were sisters, they looked nothing alike; Mairead was tall and pale and freckled, her curly hair red as a carrot.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing guests,” she said. “I’d’ve put something more in the oven. Come on in, all’v you -- keep your shoes.”

“How come they get to, but I don’t?” Lorna asked, indignant.

“Because you live here, you eejit,” Mairead said. “You did, anyway. Have you had tea yet?” she asked, her eyes traveling over the trio of Earlene and the elves (it was going to be a band name, god dammit, if it was the last thing Lorna did).

Earlene smiled a little, with approval, at being invited to keep her shoes on. And she intended to; stockings and other people’s floors were rarely her concept of a good thing. Her first sight of Mairead was surprising. The home had a cozy yet orderly atmosphere, and she definitely appreciated that one glance at the kitchen revealed that this was a fellow cook. The two sisters were nothing alike, but that meant nothing; her and her brother were from different planets, as far as she was concerned. She kept her silence and what she hoped was an affable smile.

“Not yet,” Lorna said. “Mairead, this Earlene Sullivan, and Fionn and Cian -- they’re Sullivans, too, though they’re not related to Earlene. I’ve taken on a job with them.” There, there was that out of the way -- now to see what Mairead did with it.

Her sister did not disappoint. Those blue eyes could be incredibly sharp, and just now they were curious, wary, suspicious, and protective in an odd, equal-measure amalgamation. “A job doing what?” asked, her tone still light -- her Company Voice, Lorna knew.

“As a Personal Assistant,” Lorna said. “Earlene, she needed someone who actually knows the country on a personal level.” She’d leave Thranduil and Thanadir out of it unless Mairead asked.

Now Mairead looked outright worried, though she was trying desperately not to show it. “How did this come about?” she asked, again glancing over the three.

Earlene smoothly took over. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, offering her hand to shake without breaking eye contact. “As you can likely discern, I am American. I came to Lasg’len to retire from my position in New York City, where I worked as an attorney. Solicitor. I met Lorna some time ago, and we became friends. It became obvious to me that Lorna has skills that are valuable, and it made perfect sense to hire her, as I have in turn agreed to do some consulting work here. I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have found such a discreet and capable employee. You must be very proud to have her in your family. Lorna speaks of you often, and I am very glad to finally meet you. I rather insisted on being shown a bit more of the countryside, I hope you will forgive the unannounced intrusion.”

 _Oh, damn_ , Lorna thought, watching Mairead shake Earlene’s hand. Mairead took measure of Earlene again, then glanced at Lorna, who could practically hear the wheels in her head spin. “What of her skills are of benefit?” she asked -- her way of not-saying my sister has no education, what the hell are you having her do? “She’s a capable one, but I’d not think you’d have much call for the things she’s best at.” Her mind had to be at war -- Earlene looked legit because she was legit, but Mairead had a point. Lorna really wasn’t equipped to be a conventional PA, and they couldn’t really tell Mairead she wasn’t a conventional PA. When she glanced at Lorna, Lorna knew exactly what she was thinking: what have you got yourself into now, little sister?

Earlene looked at Mairead with an expression that was kind but still managed to convey an air of indulging a small child with a silly question. “The business term for what is of benefit would be ‘social engineering.’ Out the gate, I was receiving a delivery of purchased goods valued at thousands of dollars. (Earlene was exaggerating a wee tad, but Mairead would never know the difference). The delivery driver was intent on robbing me, and while I was by no means backing down, I also was not making any headway against this individual. Inside of two minutes, Lorna managed the situation one hundred percent to my advantage. I am an outsider attempting to conduct business in a country to which I am not native. As I said, Lorna has discretion and capabilities that are precisely what I need.”

A little of the tension left Mairead’s posture -- that was in fact something Lorna was quite good at, and had done more than once with deliveries to the pub. “Christ knows she’s got enough’v a network,” she said, “and she’s not the sort to stand by and let someone get stepped on.” That, however, brought up another worry -- one that she was at least tactful enough not to bring up in English: “Lorna, nach bhfuil tú ag déanamh rud éigin mídhleathach, tá tú? Rud nach bhfuil a fhios aici faoi, go, a fháil di i dtrioblóid má tá tú gafa?” Lorna, you’re not doing anything illegal for her, are you? Something she doesn’t know about, that’ll get her in trouble if you get caught?

Aaaand there it was. Lorna had knew it would hit sooner or later, and was glad that even Thranduil, who could read her mind, didn’t speak Irish. “Bhí tú ach a i iarradh, ní raibh tú? No, Mairead, Níl mé.” _You just had to ask that, didn’t you? No, Mairead, I’m not_. Nevermind that that was actually technically a lie, but still.

“Tá a fhios aici do stair?” _Does she know your history?_

“Tá, i ndáiríre, déannan sí. An féidir linn titim sé anois?” _Yes actually, she does. Can we drop it now?_

“Lorna, imní orm,” Mairead said -- _Lorna, I worry_ \-- and that was the thing: when Lorna was on her own, she seemed entirely capable, but when you got her with Mairead, she always came across...younger. More like the person she’d been eleven years ago, lost in the world. “Tá tú teacht go dtí seo, agus níl mé ag iarraidh a fheiceáil a thagann tú ar ais.” _You’ve come so far, and I don’t want to see you fall back._

“I’m not gonna,” Lorna said, glowering at her. “You know why Earlene wanted to come out here and meet you? Because I’ve talked about you, and she knows you don’t trust my bloody judgment worth a damn. You’d think I’d signed on with the mob or something, because Christ forbid Lorna get a job that actually uses more than her hands.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mairead protested.

“Yeah, actually, it is,” Lorna said. “I know you don’t think I’m stupid, but you can’t tell me you think I’ve got sense.”

Thranduil had heard more than enough, having had an early lifetime of experience in which being run down for never being able to meet the expectations of another was a prominent feature.

“Mairead,” the Elvenking said in a voice that was amiable enough but with more than a few underlying hints of the force of his personality, “perhaps it would help to clear the air if I explained further. Earlene and I recently wed, and I believe we owe you thanks for the exceptional cake that was at our celebration in the village. Just as Lorna works for Earlene, Earlene works for me; it mostly has to do with sourcing and consulting for our own personal projects and interests which are on a somewhat large scale. I do not wish to sound overly rarefied, but to put it bluntly, we have the means to do as we wish. Lorna has been more than forthright with us about her colorful history. You will forgive me if I consider myself to be a reasonably good judge of character, and choose not to hold her past against her. It is somewhat apparent that you do. While your family matters are not our business, I hope we can reassure you that we feel quite happy to call your sister our friend and are grateful to have her in our employ.” As he spoke, his sea blue eyes bored through Mairead, only partially veiling how disdainful he felt concerning her treatment of her sister. It was not his intention to stir trouble, but neither would he watch this go on unchallenged.

Forthright though Mairead usually was, she couldn’t meet that stare for long. She looked back at Lorna, who was startled by the expression she wore: she’d never actually seen her sister look pained before. “I don’t hold it against her,” she sighed. “How can I? It’s my bloody fault.”

Lorna blinked, genuinely nonplussed. “What?”

“You think I’ve ever forgiven myself for not hunting the lot’v you down, after Mam died?” Mairead asked, and Christ, suddenly she looked old. “I’m your family. I should’ve had you all.”

“Is that --” Lorna paused, because quite suddenly, so very much made sense. “For Christ’s sake, Mairead, you were twenty-bloody-three years old. D’you really think you’d’ve got custody’v us? Any’v us?”

“Gran could’ve helped,” Mairead sighed. “We both regretted it until the day she died.”

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “Mairead, Gran chased the tax man off her land with Granddad’s .12-gauge. She got you because Mam gave you to her, but she wouldn’t’ve got us. Now will you stop with that and get the tea? Now that we’ve given my employers a bloody show. Christ, why in flying fuck did you not say this years ago?” she demanded, and pulled her sister into a hug. Notably, she didn’t tense when she touched Mairead; family was different, to her slightly warped way of thinking.

“Because, you eejit,” Mairead said. “Just because. Now let go’v me and get the teapot, will you?” She looked...drained, almost alarmingly so to Lorna’s eyes, but a hostess was a hostess.

 _Sorry_ , Lorna sent Thranduil, hoping he’d pass it on to Earlene and Thanadir.

Earlene had watched this verbal ping-pong with mounting trepidation and the side of her head started to ache in a way it had not ached since she last saw her brother. Except, in her case, the familiar kind of argument was always without the happy, huggy ending. Even though mom and dad were fine with it, even though she was on a good track for success of her own, nothing she did was ever good enough and he relished running her down for not following both dad and himself into medicine. Never mind that in the end, she out-earned him three to one. There was too much poison in the water between them and she had no interest in ever trying to heal her issues with _Doctor Sullivan_. Her biggest reflection on him amounted to _Fuck You_ and this conversation had done a surprisingly good job of dredging that memory up. But this wasn’t her family or her problem; she was here for Lorna and things seemed to have taken a positive turn. As she sat there without speaking, she felt Thranduil’s hand gently move to the back of her neck. It was very subtle, but as he lightly rubbed the muscles there, the pain that had begun abated just as quickly. Her eyes closed for just a moment. Thank you, she said to him, already wishing on some level that they were on the way home. She was entirely too much of a hermit for this kind of thing. Or rather, she wanted to be a hermit, and it had all become a miserable failure.

Thranduil was surprised at what he saw inside of Earlene but now was not the time; he filed this away for later.

 _Lorna apologizes for her sister_ , she heard. _She wanted you to know._ A weak smile and a faint nod was all the reply Earlene gave; sadly this was familiar enough to her. Though, they usually had the good sense to keep it in the family but then again, this was Ireland.

Making tea was a ritual that could calm and soothe anyone, and Lorna and Mairead had perfected it to a dance over the years; the former filled the pot and laid out the accoutrements, while the latter took the cake from the oven, letting it cool on top of the stove while she brought out cream and sugar. Lorna picked one of Mairead’s more neutral blends; her sister was partial to sweet tea, but Kevin wasn’t, so they had some that wouldn’t make Thranduil want to wash his mouth out.

“Wish she’d told me this years ago,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’d’ve slapped her head on straight. Come on, you lot -- sit wherever you want,” she added, gesturing to the kitchen table. Hadn’t this been a drama and a half. “Mairead, I’ve got things from the bakery -- I’ll get them.” The cake, while probably delicious, wasn’t enough for four people, and she didn’t want Mairead to die of embarrassment at being unable to feed her guests a proper tea.

Out she darted, grabbing the box, which was still slightly warm. Of course looking at it reminded her of Siobhan and her ridiculous thoughts, which in turn made her have to tamp down wholly inappropriate laughter. (Really, Siobhan? Chocolate syrup? It sounded like a recipe for some kind of fungal infection.)

“All right, Mairead, do what you want with these,” she said, setting the box on the counter, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her laughter at bay -- the fact that it would be so out-of-place made it that much harder to contain.

Earlene gently nudged the seneschal, who still looked faintly traumatized, and gestured that they were moving on to sit at a table. Realizing what was happening, he gave her a nod of thanks. She did not blame him in the least, if his solution to witnessing this minor squabble was to retreat into his own thoughts. It was enough that his first two visits to mortal homes had been marked by weirdness, however benign (she did not feel that her own home counted). _Would it be possible to convince Thanadir that this wasn’t always the case?_ She sighed. _Here, the odds were not looking favorable._

Mairead eyed the box, and the cake, and Thanadir, and Lorna tried not to wince. Thanadir really did look slender, but to an Irish mother like Mairead, he was too skinny.

Having sampled this woman’s cake already, Earlene was debating between the bakery cake and the cake cake. The box was being nudged around the table. And the cake was sliced into five divisions. She felt fairly certain that in her present state she could not eat an entire baked good. Placing one slice of Mairead’s cake on Thanadir’s plate, and one on her own, she calculated that she could easily give another half of hers to Thanadir. The table was far too quiet, and Earlene had no wish for this visit to end an awkward mess. Here goes, she thought. “My gran was from Ireland, Mairead, and she could bake but not nearly as well as you. Did you go to culinary school? The cake you made really was wonderful.” That was more than enough for any normal person to grab onto, she reasoned, as she looked up with a smile.

“Was she?” Mairead asked, genuinely interested -- amusingly, the Irish could be rather like hobbits when it came to family trees. “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it -- I used to make wedding cakes for everyone, but it’d been a while before Lorna set me to it. I learned from my gran, but I’m not as good as she was. She could make a cake without eggs that actually tasted like a cake, which I’m pretty sure shouldn’t be possible.” She brought out a large stack of napkins, just to be careful, and set one of the chocolate buns on Thanadir’s plate. “Eat up, lad. You need a bit’v meat on your bones.”

Lorna groaned. She’d known that would happen, and that it was inescapable, but still. “Mairead, don’t badger him,” she said. “You’ve only just stopped doing that to me.”

“Only because I know it won’t do any good with you,” Mairead said, taking the strainer out of the pot and bringing it to the table. “You lot ought to stop by the pub, sooner or later,” she said. “It’s where Lorna’s worked for years, and Big Jamie’ll want to meet you. He’s the older brother Lorna never actually asked for.” He was not, however, over-protective like Mairead. Lorna did feel rather guilty about having to make him hire somebody new, and she intended to stay on part time while he trained them.

“What county was your gran from, Earlene? You sound like you’re from...New York?” Mairead hazarded. “I don’t know too much about American accents.” She eyed the elves, and Lorna knew she was itching to ask them where they were from, too, given that their accent was totally unidentifiable.

“She was from here. Belfast. But she came to the States a long time ago, in 1912. Gran was an infant, and when she grew up she married an Irish American who wasn’t first generation. By the time I came along, any chance at me having an accent was totally out the window. And yes, I am from New York City. I lived and worked there for more than the last ten years. Though gran lived upstate; she had a farm.” It was nice of her to ask, Earlene thought. It made her feel a little less ridiculously invisible.

Lorna could see Mairead mentally revise her assumption of Earlene’s age. It wasn’t surprising; Earlene looked like she could be in her twenties. “She got out before the Rising,” she said. “And now you’ve come home. Everyone that left, they always wanted their descendants to come home. She’d be happy you were here now. And if you haven’t got any siblings you’ve not asked for yet, you will soon enough.”

“Here’s the thing you three’ll learn about tiny Irish villages: anyone’s business is everyone’s,” Lorna said. Earlene already had, whether she knew it or not: Lorna was something of a professional little sister, whether she wanted to be one or not.

“I will keep that in mind,” Earlene grinned, trying to seem affable when in truth she had no idea what to say. Thranduil, however, seemed determined to be social today.

“Thank you, for the tea,” he said, while vaguely hoping that Thanadir had not come across the colloquialism ‘lad’. Though usually resourceful, he was at a loss as to how to continue the discussion. He saw in Lorna’s mind that her sister was employed arranging...hair, and with hair being rather close to ears, this might be an entirely unsafe topic of conversation. Given what the last mortal female wished to do to him, it was not too far-fetched to fear that such an inquiry might land her hands running through either of their hair...though Valar be praised, this one did not harbor carnal thoughts toward him. _Lorna, we do not wish to appear rude but none of us have any idea what to say._

 _Don’t worry, I’ve got this_. Lorna knew well how to handle her sister at tea, and made sure to ask about all the little goings-on of the village, explaining them to Earlene and the elves as if acclimating them to the vagaries of rural Irish life. Given that Baile was in many ways like Lasg’len, much of it would be familiar to the three.

“Niamh’s been out to light the fire at your cottage every few days,” Mairead said. “I think she might want to move in.”

“Not a chance,” Lorna warned. “I’ll be back here once my time with Mick’s done, and I’ll just be doing traveling for work.” There was no way she could give up Gran’s cottage; it was hers now, too. “Earlene, she’s got a lovely cottage -- it reminds me’v Gran’s, though it’s seen improvements more recently than Gran’s.”

“They stand forever for a reason,” Mairead said to Earlene, bringing out a second pot of tea that likely nobody actually needed -- but this was Ireland, and that was what you did.

“True,” said Earlene. “I had a decent amount of retrofitting and work done before moving into it, but the place is over a hundred years old. It wasn’t going anywhere, and the structure on both house and barn were very solid. Do you know who built your gran’s cottage?”

“Great-great Granddad,” Mairead said. “I think it was...Christ, 1878? Maybe a little earlier. Lorna kept up work on it even when Gran was alive -- Gran wouldn’t hire help, but Lorna was family.”

The conversation descended into the vagaries of caring for an ancient cottage, the hassle of getting out supplies and work, while Mairead tried desperately to feed Thanadir more buns and Lorna patiently rescued him, insisting that he could eat them on the trip home. By the time they’d cleared away the tea and cake, Lorna felt fairly calm -- though she felt a spike of equal parts fondness and exasperation when Mairead pulled her aside and told her to find out if Thranduil had a brother, because yes, he was a bit on the pretty side, but he seemed nice and surely his brother would be nice, too? Lorna, who was rapidly coming to think of Thranduil as some kind of brother himself, felt rather ill, and had to assure Mairead that he was in fact an only child.

“Let me know next time you’re in the village,” Mairead said, pressing a package of various treats into Lorna’s hands. “We miss you, allanah. Pub’s not the same without you.”

“I will,” she said. “But we’ve got to get off now. Give Kevin a dig in the ribs for me.” She had never forgiven her brother-in-law for trying to deep-fry a turkey on the nice fancy barbecue she’d bought with some of her hard-earned money, only to light the entire thing on fire and force her to shove it off the end of the deck.

“Oh, away with you,” Mairead said, waving them off as they got into the van.

“Christ,” Lorna sighed. “All right, now what?”

“I vote for alcohol or going home,” said Earlene, realizing after the words were out how that might have sounded. “I don’t mean to run your family down, Lorna, I apologize for how that probably sounded. It is only that...there was far too much of a reminder of me and my brother mixed up in all that. You must feel exhausted. Thranduil? Thanadir?”

Thanadir, who offered no reply, was originally meant to take the front seat on the way home but she silently asked Thranduil if they could keep their seating. The only thing worse than her present level of tension would be to watch Thanadir’s pitiful expression from the back seat while feeling powerless to do anything about it. It didn’t matter that she had no idea what he was thinking. He was turning into a walking security blanket and if Thranduil encouraged it, she wasn’t going to argue. But she did leave him the window seat, again.

Gathering the sum of his wife’s thoughts, he declared, “I believe we have time for one Guinness at the pub.” Which apparently settled the matter.

That sounded like an excellent plan, though Lorna would only have half a pint. Technically she could probably handle a full one and be under the legal limit, but she didn’t need to be freaking out her passengers.

“You’ll love this pub,” she said, pulling out of the driveway. “It’s called Jamie’s, because the oldest son’v the family that’s run it for eighty years has been called Jamie, so it’s passed down, sort’v thing.”

“Well that is less inflammatory to American ears than 'The Spotted Dick' ”, Earlene quipped, smiling.

There was more traffic now, though, as with Lasg’len, ‘traffic’ was a relative term. The streetlights had kicked on with the onset of evening, and there were plenty of people out and about on the pavements when Lorna parallel parked outside the pub. The name of it was stenciled on the window in green and gold leaf, the low light of the room beyond making it glow somewhat.

The pub was big, a little bigger than Lasg’len’s, the bar and floor of the same dark, shining wood, kept mirror-polished by Big Jamie and his two bar hands, Michael and Lorna. It smelled like alcohol and sandalwood, the top-shelf liquors behind the bar shining like jewels in the lamplight. This was a place of peace for Lorna -- there had never been any stress for her here, save for the few fights she’d had to break up over the years. It was only half-full now, but it would fill up soon enough.

Big Jamie, who lived up to his name, was at the bar, and he grinned when he saw her. He was nearly as tall as Thranduil, broad in the shoulders and in the gut, his face as red as his hair. “Where the hell’v you been, Stranger?” he mock-demanded, coming out from behind the counter to pick her up in a bear hug, lifting her right off her feet. He was another of the precious few who could touch her without her wanting to freak out.

“Oi, enough’v that,” she said. “I’m only here for a bit. I’ve taken on a second job -- this lot’re my employers.”

“Hello,” Earlene said brightly, liking the look of the friendly man. “I’m Earlene, this is my man Fionn, and this is Cian. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Hands were shaken all around and the necessary and obvious drinks ordered. Earlene wondered if she should get something much stiffer than Guinness into Thanadir, but it was not her place to suggest any such thing. She kept quiet, and let that she swallowed a third of the glass in one go speak for itself. God help them, if anyone pawed at her. _Just, god help them._

Thranduil, who Earlene was realizing was an extremely phelgmatic individual, smiled and sipped at his glass, more or less absorbing what was occurring around him.

Lorna had to field many questions about her new friends, and she tried like hell to keep them from getting swarmed by every busybody in Baile. They were, in very short order, pronounced ‘a good sort’, and then she had to fend off far more free drinks than any reasonable person, even an elf, could consume.

Big Jamie kept them up with pub snacks, but he eyed Thranduil and Thanadir with faint puzzlement, as though he couldn’t quite figure out why he was eyeing them. They didn’t see many one might call ‘exotic’ in Baile, which those two certainly were, in their own way, but Lorna doubted he’d be able to figure it out.

“We’ve another newcomer,” he said. “I’ve been half thinking’v offering him your job,” he added, teasing. “He’s Doc Barry’s cousin or something like that -- Scottish bloke, and a doctor.” He pointed at a table near the massive fireplace, where the village doctor sat with possibly the prettiest man Lorna had ever seen in her entire life. Seriously...wow.

He was Indian, or so he looked, just like Doc Barry; probably had a Scottish parent and an Indian one, like the Doc did. Clear skin the color of teak, black hair with a slight wave to it, probably close to Thranduil’s height, if she was any judge...pretty. He was pretty, and for the first time in her life, she felt too awkward to approach someone. “What’s his name?”

“Ratiri Duncan,” Big Jamie said. “Dunno if he’s staying here or not yet.”

 _Stay here_ , Lorna thought. _STAY HERE_. She wished she had Thranduil’s telepathy and ability to influence minds.

 _Go meet him_ , she heard. _You will regret it if you do not._

Lorna looked back at Thranduil with a cocked eyebrow, fully expecting to see teasing etched on his face. But nothing was there, and he quietly turned to Thanadir to speak to him very softly in Sindarin while Earlene stood nearby, hoping for a chance to catch something more than the word “the”. To her surprise there were some that flew by her awareness; conjugations of “come”, “go”, the odd preposition...not much, really, but anything was an improvement she could feel good about. She saw that Lorna was walking over to speak with a man and a woman at a table; one was apparently a local physician. The man was handsome in a sort of way but...she peered up over her glass at her husband, who was beyond Michelangelo’s David, in her estimation. His fair skin and ethereal blue eyes...she sighed. No one else was ever going to look remotely interesting by comparison, and that was completely fine with her.

Lorna wasn’t nervous, she wasn’t, because she didn’t get nervous, dammit. Yes, this lad was very pretty -- and more like her age, so ‘lad’ didn’t exactly work -- but she’d talked to lots of men. (But this one was so. Damn. Pretty. Christ, Thranduil was going to laugh at her until the end of time. At least she wasn’t having actual pervy thoughts.)

“We don’t see many new people,” she said, waiting for Doc Barry to wave her to sit. “I think I was the last one, and I turned up eleven years ago.”

“I wasn’t intending to stay,” the pretty man said, “but I think I might. I’m Ratiri.”

“Lorna,” she said, shaking his hand -- naturally, it was far larger than her own, with long surgeon’s fingers. “You could do worse. You’ll not find a better pub anywhere else in Ireland.” She wished the village had something else to recommend it; unfortunately, there wasn’t much. “What’s brought you here?”

“I needed a change,” he said, eying his mug of Guinness. She didn’t know the regions of Scotland very well, but she thought his accent sounded vaguely Glaswegian. “Wasn’t anything in Scotland for me anymore.”

“That sounds familiar,” Lorna said, sipping her own Guinness, careful not to give herself a foam mustache. “Well, the weather here’s no worse than Scotland, and you’re less likely to get punched in the face if you follow the wrong football team.”

“Oi, not so fast there!” Big Jamie called. “It’s happened.”

“Ignore him. He just likes a good story, whether it actually happened or not.”

Ratiri had thought he’d met everyone in Baile, though he supposed he’d vaguely overheard someone mention a temporarily absentee bartender. He hadn’t expected them to be a truly tiny woman with green eyes and silver in her hair -- a tiny woman with a heavy accent and a voice he could listen to all day, even if he did have a bit of a hard time understanding her. “Some things are the same no matter what country you’re in,” he said, and Christ, didn’t her eyes light up when she laughed.

“Mind you, we did have a pub fight that ended with someone getting knocked out with a bar stool,” she said, neglecting to mention that she’d done the knocking. “I think all our countries share that, too. A pub fight’s a pub fight.”

To his disappointment, he noticed she had a wedding-ring glinting on her left hand. “What does your husband do?”

Lorna stilled. “He’s dead,” she said. “I’ve just never taken it off.”

Well, now he felt nice and wretched. “Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Sure you had no way’v knowing,” she said gently. “I know it’s a bit weird, keeping it on all this time.”

“I did, too,” he admitted. “Not easy to let go.” It had only been within the last year that he’d taken it off, in fact, though Katherine had been dead nearly twenty years. Ovarian cancer had taken her at twenty-five, and that had been that for Ratiri, until he met this tiny woman and went and put his foot in it. “When, ah, when will you be back for good?”

“I’ve got another fortnight as a mechanic,” she said, taking a long pull off her glass. “I might travel a bit, with my new job, but I doubt it’ll be that much.” She nodded at Earlene and the elves -- they looked content enough, for now. The locals were obviously a bit too interested, though harmless. “Earlene, she’s hired me on as a personal assistant, though so far that’s mostly consisted of me dealing with gobshites who’d try to cheat a foreigner.”

Ratiri burst out laughing. Lorna might be Irish, but she already sounded like she’d be right at home in Glasgow. “Well, when you’re back...look me up,” he said, trying not to sound awkward and utterly failing. He’d never known how to talk to women; Katherine had had to do most of the work in that regard, because he’d been so painfully shy at twenty-three. “Right now I’m roughing it on this one’s sofa, but I’ll be looking for a flat meantime.”

Doc Barry chose this moment to elbow him, and say, “Give her your bloody number, you spoon.”

Watching him flounder made Lorna feel rather better about her own awkwardness, especially as she wrote her own number on a slightly stained napkin with the Doc’s rather leaky pen, trading Ratiri. “Sooner or later I’ve got to get this lot home,” she said. “Cian, he’s not so fond’v driving after dark.”

“Can’t blame him,” Ratiri said. “Irish drivers are as insane as we’ve got them in Glasgow, and that’s really saying something.” Her hair looked so very soft, and he found himself wanting to touch it -- not in a skeevy way, but just...because. She was so small she seemed rather doll-like, but far too tough to actually be a doll. Perhaps fey would be a better word -- an overgrown fairy, beautiful in a slightly wild sort of way. The kind of fae that lured good travelers off their paths, and did God knew what to them. He probably shouldn’t find that as attractive as he did.

“You’ve no idea,” she said, grinning, only for Big Jamie to call over, “Don’t ever let her drive you anywhere. I made the mistake’v letting her drive me to Dublin when my truck was on the blink, and I thought I’d die’v heart failure right there on the motorway.”

“Hush, you,” Lorna said, glowering at him before turning back to Ratiri. Unfortunately, out of the corner of her eye she spotted Niamh, Mairead’s youngest -- seventeen, as tall and red-haired as her mother, and currently making heart-eyes at Thanadir. Oh good grief...hopefully the girl wouldn’t actually do anything. Lorna really didn’t want to have to intervene, but she’d need to rescue Thanadir if Niamh was daft enough to approach him. And -- oh sweet Christ, in came Siobhan and her sister Molly, who ran the Market. _Sorry, Thranduil_ , she thought.

Siobhan arched an eyebrow, but dutifully took a table by the fireplace with her sister -- admittedly, she nudged Molly and whispered, but at least they’d keep it to themselves, and Molly was markedly less of a pervert than Siobhan. Hot on their heels was Nuala, Doc Barry’s lone nurse, who was the closest thing to a Goth the village could boast, though she was too lazy to do much more than dye her hair and test some very odd makeup. Mick and Alec, the twin drunks who had initially been the bane of Lorna’s existence, followed shortly after -- already two sheets to the wind, by the look of it, and intent on chasing their way to the third.

The pair of them and Nuala all paused a moment, taking in their newcomers with the kind of measured, inspecting not-quite-stare that only the residents of small towns were capable of. Big Jamie seemed pleased by them, and was the weather-vane within his own pub.

Old Orla (called such to distinguish her from Young Orla, Big Jamie’s wife) meandered in behind them, bearing her knitting bag. Once a schoolteacher, she now spent most of her time knitting sweaters and looking after her eight cats. To Lorna’s dread, she zeroed in on Thanadir like a shark -- Lorna wasn’t sure which was worse, Orla or Niamh. Orla would pinch his cheeks, but Niamh would attempt to flirt, and doubtless embarrass both of them. Thanadir was too damned polite to put them off.

“Nuala!” she called, in what could only be described as a stage-whisper. “Nuala, will you corral Old Orla? Little old ladies like my friend over there way too much, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Nuala blinked, peering around Mick. “When the hell did you get back?”

“I’m just here for the evening,” Lorna said. “Seriously though, will you deal with her? Cian, he’s got the sort’v face little old ladies just want to pinch, and you know she’d do it.”

Nuala perused Thanadir, and Thranduil, and Earlene, and -- oh God, Lorna hadn’t prepared Thranduil for the possibility women would have pervy thoughts about Earlene, but Nuala just might, because Earlene looked just like her type. “Knowing Orla, she’d pinch his arse while she was at it,” she said. “I’m on it, but you owe me a pint.”

“Put it on my tab,” Lorna sighed, glancing back at Ratiri. She wondered what he was making of this village so far. At least nobody could call us boring, she thought. “Have you been in here much, since you got to Baile?”

“Every night,” he assured her. “I have some idea what I’m getting myself into, moving here.”

Doc Barry snorted. “No, you really don’t, but that’s no bad thing. I’d never leave. There are some right mentallers in here, sure, but that just makes it more entertaining.”

Niamh, damn her, was sidling up to Thanadir -- Nuala had rescued him from Old Orla, but Lorna was actually going to have to get off her arse and do something about this.

Niamh had no idea who this young man was at first, but word traveled around the pub fast: he was somehow connected to Aunt Lorna’s new bosses (and what was up with that? Mam would know), and he had the kind of eyes that made her sigh. So she took her gin-and-tonic and slowly made her way along the bar, too shy to approach him more directly. Eventually, she made it close enough to say, “Hi,” and actually be heard.

Thanadir turned slowly, not being entirely certain that he was the intended target of the greeting; his mind had been exceedingly occupied with both his observations of the human world and his inner level of discomfort at being in it. The latter surprised him; he had not always been this way, and it had not overly perturbed him to interact with the residents of his village...but perhaps that was the thing, it was Lasg’len. The humans there dwelled on their figurative doorstep whereas for long centuries this place had fallen under the umbrella of ed i arnad (outside the kingdom). His eyes fell on a mortal female, barely at their own age of majority, from the looks of her. She had coloring much like the one whose dwelling they had visited. He did not wish to be rude. “Hello,” he replied; perhaps just as at the party, she was introducing herself. The humans seemed to like to do this.

Even his voice was pretty, though she had no idea where his accent was from. “I hear you’re with my aunt Lorna’s new boss?” she said, half a question, almost too shy to look at him.

 _Oh, Christ. Thranduil, I’m about to lie out my arse to my niece -- tell Thanadir to run with it, will you?_ “Be right back,” Lorna said to Ratiri. “I’ve got to go rescue Cian from my niece.” Hoisting herself over the back of her chair, she wove through the patrons until she reached Niamh’s other side.

“You’ve met Cian, have you?” she asked. “He’s just got out’v University.” _Translation: he’s too old for you, kid_. She silently prayed Niamh wouldn’t ask too many questions, because she was a shit liar, Thanadir knew nothing about the modern Irish education system, and honestly, this all had the potential to go very, very wrong. Shit. “English isn’t his first language,” she added.

Unfortunately, that left her wide open to Niamh’s next question: “Where’s he from?”

Lorna’s brain went blank. Literally, entirely blank. “Wales,” she said -- the first thing that came to mind, based solely on the fact that Welsh seemed to be partly based off Sindarin. “A little town I can’t pronounce, where they don’t learn English at school.”

“Then why’s his name Irish?” Niamh asked, her eyes flicking from Thanadir to her aunt, and back again. “And why can’t you pronounce it? You speak Welsh.” Now there was outright suspicion in her tone.

“No, I mangle Welsh,” Lorna corrected. _Um. Um. Shit. Thranduil, help. Distract my niece -- I can’t lie to save my bloody life._

Thanadir felt genuinely puzzled as to what was now occurring, and his eyebrows were raising even more as to why untruthful statements were being made about him to this young firieth. In a moment of irritation, his placid exterior dissolved, replaced by the stern seneschal. Earlene saw this in an instant and immediately realized something was very wrong, and for whatever reason, this interaction tipped her personal pressure gauge into the red zone. She laid a hand on his arm and spoke softly but urgently to him in Sindarin. “Thandir, an i ngell nîn, mabo nin ed hi...thi.” (Thanadir, please take me out of here...now). Looking down at her, his features altered again and without hesitation, he offered his arm to his Queen. With a glance that was half apologetic, half angry, Earlene spoke.“You will please excuse us, I am not feeling well.” No further explanation was given, and Earlene and Thanadir simply left, leaving Thranduil, Lorna, and a very baffled young Niamh standing there.

“Oh, well done, Niamh,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Here’s a tip: next time you see a lad you like -- one your own age, I might add -- don’t give him the bloody third degree. Wait for him to offer you something.”

Niamh arched one very red eyebrow. “Because you’ve done so well yourself,” she said, almost a drawl as she glanced briefly at Ratiri.

“Shut your gob or I’ll shut it for you,” Lorna said, hoping like hell Thanadir was all right. That was a sign they ought to be heading out, to her disappointment; she’d wanted a bit more time to talk to Ratiri, but she had his mobile number, and he had hers. She could easily come back for another day-trip or two before her time with Mick was over. “Now go get yourself ossified.”

She left her niece at the bar, making her regretful way to Ratiri. “I’d best get this lot home,” she said, “but it was grand meeting you, and I’ll give you a ring next evening I’ve got off. If we’re lucky, our downtime will sync up sooner or later.”

He gave her a smile that was practically heart-stopping, and all the more endearing for how awkward it was. She was bad at this, but he was, too, so she felt a bit better. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said.

If Lorna had slightly more spring in her step once she’d left the pub...well, it was getting dark. Hopefully nobody would notice. Once everyone was in, she fired up the engine and headed out of town.

Earlene breathed a mildly buzzed sigh of relief to be loaded up in the van and headed homeward again. Though mostly she’d really enjoyed the outing, there were things about it that hadn’t worked. At all. _What in hell is happening to me?_ she asked herself. _All these years at a high-powered job with being as extroverted as I ever needed to be, and now I’m caving over an afternoon trip to a small village?_

 _But it was never really you, was it now?_ came back the mildly unwelcome answer.

A dark thought crossed her mind. _And who am I, exactly?_ That she had no clear answer was not particularly something she wanted to think about right now. Reflexively, she slid her hand through Thanadir’s arm again, and leaned her head against his shoulder, just to close her eyes for awhile. _I’m from New York City, goddammit_ , the internal argument continued, with her unable to reconcile the view she’d had of herself for so long with the feelings now being experienced. _Yes but you aren’t there any more, are you?_ said some spiteful part of her. And in a flash, she realized that maybe this was all going to end with the inevitable need to face her past in a way she’d been certain she would never want or need. It took a lot, but for a short moment she did her level best to still her mind and therefore block her thoughts from Thranduil. _I’m going to have to go back, even if it is just for a little while. Jesus. And I don’t believe in Jesus._

From the front seat, Thranduil silently asked his seneschal to put his arm around Earlene. He’d not meant to ignore all of the assorted things that had erupted within her today but they had seemed more...inconsequential...until now. While he couldn’t comprehend everything, he knew that she had buried something from him, and that alone seemed alarming; it was not her way. And he could do absolutely zero about any of it, until later.

Too mentally fried to resist, Earlene let herself be held against Thanadir, where the sound of his heartbeat gave her something else to think about, something soothing. Taking only the time to announce that she needed to stop at Aislinn’s on the way home for kitten food, she fell silent and still.

Lorna was as quiet as everyone else on the drive home, sensing they all needed a rest, though she told Earlene she’d stop in at the shop. _Hey Thranduil?_ she asked at last. _Whenever you’ve got time, I think I’ll take you up on your offer about Liam. If I’m ever to manage anything with Ratiri -- if that properly becomes an option -- I need to deal with this first._ Though he’d told her he was difficult to shock, and though he’d assured her she didn’t need to feel concerned for his mental well-being, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of dumping that memory on him. A certain level of concern was simply built into her being, part of the bedrock that was Lorna that would never be expunged. Logically, she knew he’d seen worse -- and wasn’t that a horrifying thought -- but she herself couldn’t imagine worse, so yeah, there was a little guilt. Hopefully he’d understand that, and wouldn’t hold it against her. _I realize this is cheating, but...did I make a half decent impression? What did he think of me?_

Thranduil reflected on this... _cheating, indeed_. He counselled himself that he needed to be careful not to upset the balance of Lorna’s life. In the easy camaraderie he’d found with her, he perhaps had been somewhat incautious regarding what he’d been willing to tell her. And from long years of rulership, he knew one thing: when in doubt, defer. _I will help you, Lorna. Perhaps in the days ahead, you will have some time to return to my Halls. We can discuss this, and many other things. For now I will only say, you made a very favorable impression. But, I did not require telepathy to perceive this._

That was all Lorna needed to know. She smiled in the twilight, in a way she hadn’t smiled in over eleven years. _Thank you_ , she said. _It’s been a long time since...well. Since something might even approximately be a possibility -- that I’d even want it to be_. She didn’t even fully know what it was about Ratiri -- yes, he was gorgeous, but she’d seen a number of very pretty men in her life, and not been drawn to them like she was to Ratiri. At the risk of sounding like a complete and utter fucking sap, there was something about him, some elusive quality, that felt...well, like coming home. He was the sort she wanted as a friend, even if it never went beyond that -- but she’d quite like if it did go beyond that. She’d spent the last eleven years just sort of existing, content, even happy at times, but without any real thought for the future. Now...now there was a future to think of.


	25. Twenty-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 16-17, 2016

It was dusk by the time they reached the cottage, and Lorna dropped off her passengers. “Sorry about...that,” she said. “Someday you’ll have to see the village again, if you’re still willing, when there’s not loads of family drama.” And when she’d done some warning that Thanadir was not to be hit on. Her attempt to spare him Niamh’s attention had been pretty disastrous -- even she could see that. If he wasn’t willing to wear a fake wedding ring, she’d come up with some other story. She wasn’t such a shit liar when it was premeditated; it was only when she tried to do it on the fly that she was total pants at it.

She winced a bit when Earlene gave a rather overly-polite goodbye and stormed into the house -- Lorna couldn’t blame her a bit, either. To have that be possibly her first experience outside Lasg’len aside from arriving in Ireland...Christ. Well, the three of them could relax and de-stress, and possibly drink. God knew she needed one. Or five. Hopefully John wouldn’t ask her too many questions -- then again, as a lifelong resident of a little Irish village, he’d probably totally understand if she gave him a broad view. Every village had a Mairead, though she hadn’t yet worked out who Lasg’len’s was. “Look after, her will you?” she said, to both the elves. “If I was her, I’d need it. Dealing with my sister can be a pain in the arse for me, let alone anyone else.”

Lorna’s van hummed off into the distance as Earlene plunked the bag of kitten chow onto the counter, and the box of litter on the floor. The first thing she did was find Tail’s bowl and fill it with the food. It was not her first choice of brands. She told Aislinn what kind she wanted, and that she’d rather buy it from her than Amazon if she’d be willing to carry it. And as Aislinn’s level of enthusiasm for the idea had been unclear, time would tell on that small matter. Next she found Tail’s improvised litter box and took it outside; it did not appear to have been meaningfully soiled so she simply scattered the contents around the grasses in a less travelled area of the yard. Once back inside, she filled the box with real litter and placed it in the barely used office; hopefully out of the way and in a place that would not cause olfactory offense. Two real litter boxes and scoops were already on order, as was a shamelessly indulgent assortment of cat toys and a laser pointer.

Tail had arrived and was affectionately coming unnervingly close to shredding her stockings, which caused her to disappear into the bedroom, since dealing with all this while not in her best suit was a wiser idea. She did not appear to notice that whereas Thanadir had returned at once to his computer after tending to the wood stove (days ago he had been shown the concept of its function, and now it was rare that Earlene or Thranduil ever managed to touch the thing), Thranduil had basically stood there, watching her bustle around. When she emerged, Thranduil noticed with a raised eyebrow that she was wearing garments he did not usually see her in before bedtime. Flitting around to care for a few last things for the kitten, she approached her husband at last. “I am very tired and I want to go to bed. There is soup, bread, wine and a fruit salad here if you are hungry. May I?” she asked, still not really looking at him.

Frowning, he embraced her. “Of course, meluieg. Come.” He led her back into the bedroom, and waited for her while she cared for human matters. “Would you like me to rub your back?” he asked kindly. For the first time she met his eyes briefly, considering, and finally she nodded. Before crawling into bed, she had donned flannel sleepwear but left the buttons undone, allowing the shirt portion to slip off of her shoulders. After she had buried her face against the pillow, he kissed her on the cheek before his warm hands found her shoulders. He both felt and heard her relaxing under his touch, as a huge sigh escaped her. From past experience, he knew to tread carefully. Something had bothered her a great deal, but he sensed that part of her frustration was that she herself did not understand its source. This was no time to try to extract answers, so instead he gave what comfort he could. For such a brief and allegedly simple excursion into the human world, more had happened than he could have imagined.

With a small smirk of chagrin, he realized that any thoughts of exploring chocolate syrup with his wife were going to have to wait. Small noises of contentment escaped her as he saw her determination to avoid thinking and fall asleep; perhaps retiring so early was her way of deferring having to reflect on the day. Though, he did feel that her mental fatigue had manifested physically; she had not been untruthful. He exercised what he thought of as his kingly prerogative; inside of about five minutes, she was sound asleep. As he gazed down on her flawless skin and glossy hair, he could not resist reaching out a finger to trace across her cheek and lips. To him, she was the loveliest creature on this world; even though the physical beauty of his first wife had perhaps exceeded that of Earlene’s, he now realized that for all her charms, Alassëa had lacked an inner loveliness that Earlene possessed in abundance. “i firieth vain nîn,” (my beautiful mortal) he whispered, as he tugged the covers over her shoulder. Rising, he left the room soundlessly and extinguished the light.

With a sigh he returned to Thanadir, continuing to speak to him in English even though it was not their ordinary custom. “We are alone for dinner this evening, my old friend. Are you hungry?”

The seneschal looked up from his reading and given the forced informality of their circumstances, allowed a smile to creep over his face. “When in the last fifteen millennia have you known me to be physically whole and incapable of eating?” he gently teased.

Thranduil had begun to wonder if he had made a grave error, by not insisting on this change in their relationship a good ten thousand years ago. While the pull of tradition was yet very strong for him as well, having the experience of Thanadir unfold out of his stiff formality had proven both enjoyable and insightful. With a chuckle, Thranduil went to set the food to slowly heat, ensuring that the kettle of water was over a very low flame so that it would not accidentally scream.

“What are your thoughts on your first real foray into their world, Thanadir? Arguably you have now seen more of them than I have.”

A long pause ensued while the best answer was considered. “I could not understand all of what was spoken today, at Lorna’s sister’s home. But I believe that many, even most of them are not like Earlene. With one notable exception, the others I have met are kind and appear to mean well, but they are also...how to say this? Undisciplined, erratic in their social interactions. Their homes are comfortable, though not like those of our people...and yet not so different. The device in which we sat, the van...that is surely a marvel. There are many marvels, that the humans seem to take for granted, and I would guess I have only encountered a few of them. It was difficult for me to not compare all those I met against Earlene and Lorna. And if you will forgive me, I have a sense that Earlene is somehow more like we are, though I do not understand how that could be. I do like Lorna very much but it is not...calm, to be around her.”

Thranduil grinned, at hearing this assessment. “I cannot disagree, though I confess that the lack of calmness is perhaps what I find most enjoyable in Lorna. When you went to the quilting group, were those there like Lorna?”

Thanadir laughed, still amused at the memory. “No. They were very different. The woman who lived there, she had three of these.” His finger pointed downward to Tail, who was already belly up on his lap. “But they were gigantic, with very long hair, and...if I did not know better, I would say that the woman existed to be seneschal to her cats. Many of the other women there criticized the cats but I had to admit, there was much amusement to be had. It was pleasant to see that humans take so much enjoyment in simple delights. I do not know why we elves did not keep such things as these, in ages past,” he said, as he dangled his finger against Tail’s diminutive paw pad, always jerking it back before the needle sharp claws could gain a purchase on his skin. “They really are quite delightful,” he said softly, as he smiled at the kitten’s antics.

“I think the easy answer is, you and I are older than the domestication of these creatures. In the First Age of Arda, the closest we were going to get to that endearing kitten was the wild cats of the far southern lands, and certainly no one was about to have one of them inside of a Palace. Or a home, or a talan.” Thranduil shook his head, at just how much time had passed before their eyes. Taking a deep breath, he decided it was long past time to have a different kind of discussion.

“Thanadir, how much do you actually know of Earlene? About her life, I mean. Whence she came and who she was, prior to coming to this place.”

Thanadir looked up, frowning. “Very little. Our relationship has ever been that I am told your wishes, and see them done. It does not occur to me to ask, my….Thranduil. I have cared for her as you have instructed. Forgive me, it is yet difficult to address you informally.”

“Then I think it is time that I remedy that gap in your knowledge. It would seem that she has taken easily to you. It is very different than it was with Alassëa, is it not?” he asked with a smile.

Thanadir remembered well the stiff and distant demeanor of the former Queen, who seemed to take some measure of delight in thwarting his attempts to carry out His Majesty’s instructions for her well-being. Though he had won out in the end, especially when her pregnancy with the Prince had reduced her to a state of greater need of assistance, it had been many centuries of exasperating trials before they reached an understanding. Which was to say, before she reached an understanding of his value as a caregiver. With a sigh, he answered. “Yes, very different indeed. A thousand years of my service might have been far easier, had Alassëa been as Earlene is.”

“Earlene was resistant, in her own way. It took me awhile to break down her belief that she has brought your life to ruin. Though, she still thinks that in some capacity, she no longer resists,” Thranduil said with humor.

“She thinks what?” Thanadir was uncertain he had just understood correctly.

“Before she met you, she was told of your role in my service. I confess that I mentioned that you were stern, and deeply interested in matters of orderliness and propriety. She wished very much to gain if not your favor, the avoidance of your disapproval. But it was not out of self-interest,” he said softly. “I did not have to explain to her how much you have done for me in all our time together for her to perceive it. Or at least, perceive it as best she could with her limited awareness of us. She is grateful to you, Thanadir, because she knows you can give what she cannot...a continuance of care for me, after the years granted to her are gone. And that being said, she fears that my finding myself wed to her has proven to be a great disruption in the ordinary pattern of your life with me; one she did not wish you to have to experience.”

Thanadir was stunned to hear this, and realized that in truth he obviously did know nothing about her.

“I think I should start at the beginning. You heard what you needed to know when she was first brought to my Halls, but I think it is time you hear the unvarnished truth of the entire tale. I owe it to you and the relationship she is forming with you.” With a sigh, and with interruptions for tea and food, he carefully related all the relevant details of their relationship to date. Given that this was Thanadir, there was little need for him to edit his tale, though any reference to intimacy was mentioned respectfully and with delicate enough language. That being said, little was left to the imagination. From their first encounter, to his disastrous handling of her survival of a great tragedy of their world and beyond, he omitted nothing. Thanadir kept his silence except for when words were used that came outside of his ability to comprehend, like “litigator.”

When Thranduil was done at last, he simply stopped talking; this was the age-old signal that it was now time for questions or comments. And he grew slightly uncomfortable, because it was rapidly becoming apparent that his seneschal was speechless.

“I would not fault you”, he continued, “if I have earned your censure for my actions. There were many missteps and much of what I did was simply...wrong. And yet it was wrong only in hindsight. It was wrong when I realized far too late how rare Earlene is. In all my years I have never tried to navigate something like this, and I now cannot undo what was done.”

Thanadir raised his eyes to his King and said in honest assessment, “Even were it my place to criticize you, which it is not, those are not the thoughts that come to mind. If all is as you say it is, I would conclude that you are immeasurably fortunate. Do not take my words to imply doubt. It is only that I do not share her mind as you do, so I am taking into account only your observations and impressions.”

“Perhaps you should consider it.”

“Consider…? I am sorry, I do not understand.”

“Perhaps you should make the effort and see her mind for yourself. I know it does not come easily to you, and I do not demand this. But as this circumstance is not going anywhere, you may find it more helpful than not.”

Thanadir nodded slowly. He had been given much to digest.

“Perhaps we could end the day on something more lighthearted,” Thranduil offered.

“I liked Sean the Sheep,” Thanadir said with a note of hopefulness in his voice.

Thranduil grinned. “Truthfully, so did I...but please let us keep that within our family. I am still attempting to maintain some kind of image as a pillar of Elvenkind and I believe it would not help my standing in the village, were it known.”

“Your wish is still law to me,” came the soft answer...with a slight smirk.

Thranduil nodded as he fiddled with the remote control, and adjusted the volume down; their hearing was much sharper and he did not wish to wake his wife. Before pressing “play” he looked over at his friend. “Though I have not thanked you often enough, I am thanking you now. I could never have managed any of this without you, Thanadir. I consider myself deeply fortunate to have walked almost all my days with the blessings of your support.” He could not keep all of the emotion out of his voice, as he spoke.

With a deep bow of his head and an appreciative smile to his King, the ancient elf looked up in time to see a claymation rooster crow.

******

When Earlene’s eyes blinked open, it was still absolutely dark. The nearby warmth informed her senses that Thranduil slept beside her; several minutes of carefully listening to his breathing confirmed that he was not awake. Whereas, she very much was. Squeezing her eyes shut, waves of dismay washed over her, because while she felt rested nothing about her inner sense of unease had diminished from having slept. Rising, she silently took care of necessities, feeling now fully justified in having invested in a noiseless toilet (something she had questioned as a single person, but the contractor had insisted it was the greatest thing since sliced bread so she’d agreed). Another compulsion led her to open her small jewelry box. Whenever she felt awful and could not understand why, she would find her father’s wedding ring, which she could keep from falling off her thumb if she was careful. He’d always had a way of finding perspective, and this was her last tangible connection to him. Slipping it on, she tightened her hand into a fist to help secure it. This time there would be no workout clothes; she fully intended to lose her bad mood in the woods, and in the event she found herself in another of Thranduil’s enchanted directional vortices, she was going to be dressed to be out in the cold and damp. She would not move so fast or strenuously as to cause herself to become a sweaty mess, but chose layers that could be unzipped or unbuttoned if need be. Her waterproof hiking boots were put on carefully, and at the last she placed Thanadir’s cloak on her shoulders; every time she wore this wonderful wrap the more she liked it. Silently, she stepped out of the room, walking only on her toes, and made for the refrigerator for the only thing that sounded vaguely edible right now--a glass of milk. It was still force of habit to store dairy products chilled, in spite of the strange powers inside of the Realm. Pouring a mug full, it was swallowed inside of two breaths; milk was another of her specious “food groups.” Placing the empty mug in the sink, she gave herself a moment to adjust to the bolus of cold liquid she’d just ingested; drinking it so quickly had left her narrowly avoiding brain freeze.

Yet that was a secondary concern; the compulsion to be on the move felt overwhelming. _They say you can’t outrun your own shadow, but she wasn’t so sure; it couldn’t follow when there was no light._ A few seconds later, after pocketing a small but powerful flashlight in the event she found herself in a mess, she all but flew to and out of the door, pausing only to close it silently behind her. With a sigh that carried a measure of anguish, she wrapped the cloak around her as she trotted into the silent trees, doing everything she could to minimize the sound of her footfalls. Today she ran “properly”, with her heels never touching the ground, swinging her hips to extend her stride. It was a slower but less energy consuming technique that she used sometimes...because. Fortunately, moonlight and starlight lingered under a clear sky, meaning that she had enough light to make out larger landforms, as well as a general route. _What did it matter? I’ll be lost anyway. And I don’t care._ That her husband could locate her easily was a given, so it wasn’t like getting lost was a permanent concern, especially with proper clothing.

Unknown to Earlene, her movements in the kitchen had not gone unobserved. The elves had watched Sean the Sheep videos until nearly midnight; it hardly mattered, when they could both forego sleep for days at need. Thranduil had insisted that Thanadir stay and sleep on the sofa unless he adamantly wished otherwise; it was very comfortable, and pillows and blankets were always strewn around it anyway. The seneschal did not move as he watched the Queen, not wishing to startle her; it was far too dark in the cottage for mortal eyes to have noticed his presence. But when she passed by him and he noted her garments as well as her haste...something was amiss. It took him only a moment to sit up and pull his boots on. Pulling his own cloak from the back of a chair, he was speedily in pursuit, tracking her at a respectful distance. Though, not too great of a distance; her relative silence, for a mortal, very much impressed him.

Earlene did not know for what duration she ran, but it was quite awhile. At this pace, she likely could run for hours, though that was not her intention. There was light filtering into the sky, and it was now quite easy to see. She had encountered a slow incline; this was not something she recalled seeing before, and felt curious to investigate. So much of the woods had appeared relatively flat that any changes in elevation were a matter for curiosity. Arriving some minutes later at what passed for the crest, she looked to see that she was on the edge of a depression of sorts; it reminded her a bit of a volcanic crater though not remotely so dramatic in approximating a conical shape or the usual size. Frowning, she wondered what could have formed it; there was no evidence of volcanic activity anywhere in this country, as far as she knew. But amidst her ruminations, she saw something that amazed her, and rushed off again down the slope. It was quite possibly the largest oak tree she had ever seen in her life, and it stood alone down in the bottom of this...whatever it was. Geological construct.

A sense of reverence slowed her down as she approached; it was too beautiful for words. And while she did not go in for religious sentiments, this place felt sacred. Some branches were so old and heavy that they grew along the ground, twisting in hoary magnificence, for that was the color that some of the clinging mosses imparted to the thick limb nearest to her. Filled with uncertainty, she reached out to touch it, not knowing if she should. Her self-restraint was no match for the desire to come into contact with it; a wish to climb into its living arms jolted through her and would not be denied. _Surely if there was something deeply important about this place, Thranduil would have warned me or told me, as he did with the enchanted streams?_ It was impossible to resist, and her light steps led her high into the canopy, where she saw a branch from which it would difficult to fall; a perfect place to sit. Or so she hoped. The fabric of her cloak was a marvel; somehow it slid over the rough bark, refusing to catch or snag.

Settling herself and folding the warm fabric around her, she immediately felt more peaceful than she had since leaving for Baile yesterday. A large branch forked upwards next to her and she held onto it, leaning against the tree. _Gee, all those years I was accused of being a tree-hugger, and it’s finally true,_ she mused. _I am probably being delusional but this tree feels so special...and given that the elves have guarded these woods basically forever, who was the last human to touch this tree? Has any human ever touched this tree?_ The notion that she might be the first to do so filled her with awe and a sense of privilege. But it did not take long for her thoughts to turn back to her encumbered feelings. _So what the hell is the problem, Earlene? You’ve been in the dumpster since five minutes after you arrived at Mairead’s and got to watch Lorna’s family circus. For which, by the way, you were completely prepared and warned._

 _Or was I? Everything was fine until...it was fine. When they were just arguing, it was embarrassing but seemed completely normal. But then they actually straightened it out and hugged each other and that’s when you went to hell. So you do know what’s wrong after all….because you’re still running away from the fact that that will never happen for you._ Memories of her brother flooded into her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to force them away. _Asshole_ , she thought. _Just…..asshole._

 _But it runs deeper than that, doesn’t it? Why did you really come here, Earlene? Why did you come to Ireland?_ To that, she had no clear answer except the ones she’d always told herself, at least, until she remembered what else she’d thought yesterday. _Who even am I?_ And the same thing came to mind that often did when that question came up….but this time she was alone. Without ever opening her eyes, she started to sing one of her favorite songs from Hedwig. Hedwig and the Angry Inch. No one knew, how many times she’d gone to see the musical, or that she found the plaintive and odd story of a genderqueer singer who struggled to understand both love and him/herself compelling beyond words. At first her voice was very quiet, but did not take long to reach a fairly impassioned rendition. And once again unbeknownst to her, the elf who had followed her here followed some more, and silently alighted very near to her, and listened in wonder. He did not understand all the words, but he knew anguish when he heard it. It was also very apparently time to do as his King had suggested. Swallowing hard, he marshaled all his concentration on the wall of her thoughts, until he found a way inside. It was so very difficult to enter, but once there, it would be much easier to stay until he broke the connection.

 _You know the sun is in your eyes, and hurricanes and rain, and black and cloudy skies._ _You’re running up and down that hill, you turn it on and off at will. There’s nothing here to thrill or bring you down. And if you’ve got no other choice you know you can follow my voice through the dark turns and noise of this wicked little town._

_Oh Lady, luck has led you here. And they’re so twisted up, they’ll twist you round I fear. The pious, hateful and devout; you’re turning tricks till you’re turned out, the wind so cold it burns; you’re burning out, blowing ‘round. And if you’ve got no other choice you know you can follow my voice through the dark turns and noise of this wicked little town._

_The fates are vicious, and they’re cruel. You learn too late you’ve used two wishes, like a fool. And then you’re someone you are not, and New York City ain’t the spot; remember Mrs. Lot and when she turned around._ _And if you’ve got no other choice you know you can follow my voice through the dark turns and noise of this wicked little town. It’s a wicked little town._

It summed up so much about her life, to date. A tear rolled down her cheek though her eyes remained closed, and after her song ended, Thanadir could stand it no longer. “Earlene”, he whispered, reaching to touch her arm.

Her eyes flew open wide, as she turned to see the seneschal only a foot away. That he followed her was obvious, how was not obvious at all. But what did it matter? Here he was, and she felt awful. “I am so sorry, Your Excellency. I did not know that I would take up your time by coming here, it was not my intention to disturb you.” She blinked at him, wiping her face quickly with her sleeve.

Thanadir looked on in dismay; the King had been completely in earnest about her feelings toward him. The genuine affection she felt for him was fully overshadowed by a reverence and respect that far exceeded what he asked from anyone. He now saw that she would kneel to him; the only thing that prevented her was the knowledge that on her marriage to Thranduil, he would not tolerate it and that it would offend him were she to do so. This would not do, at all. That she was feeling such obvious pain and sitting there only concerned for his sensibilities; this was not what he wanted.

“Never mind about that,” he said softly. “I can see that you are struggling, Earlene. Please, come here.” He held his arms open to her. His kindness was not what she expected, and it took all her will to not dissolve into tears. But she could not keep her chin from quivering. In her eyes, anything he asked of her was as good as a command from Thranduil, and she moved to comply when in fact she’d rather have fallen down a deep hole for how embarrassed she was at this moment. He made her task easier by moving closer to her, before folding her in his arms. “It is time that I told you some things, Earlene. My King suggested that I make the effort to understand more about you, and so for the first time I am seeing you as he does.”

She sincerely wondered what minor deity she had managed to offend today. _Could this get any worse?_ "Then I am sorry you had to bother, Thanadir. I am sorry you have had to bother with anything about me. I never meant to crash into your life and turn it upside down. I…”

His hand, so full of warmth, came up to cup her cheek. _Earlene, stop. You have not ruined my life, nor rearranged it in a manner that I find to be intolerable. I will acknowledge that it has been a challenge, for me to adapt to the many new experiences that your arrival has brought._ Her head hung down, and he lifted her chin carefully, forcing her to look at him. "I consider you to be more than the wife of my King, Earlene. You have shown me only courtesy and kindness since we first met. I like you, very much, and I cannot bear to have you thinking that I only tolerate you because my King commands it. I am here to care for you just as I do him; I do this gladly. I am happy you have come to us, Earlene. You have filled my King’s heart with joy, and given him many gifts that I cannot. You have been near elves long enough to know that we do not lie. Though I could see, that after what my King confessed of his actions toward you last night, how you might be slightly unclear on that point,” he smirked, releasing her chin.

Hearing his words and being forced to look into the depths of his eyes that were stern yet compassionate affected her deeply. _Then, thank you. For your kindness, for your teaching, for how much you have given to my husband. For everything. I will admit that this is the first time I have heard what you think and feel from...you. I would not have dared to ask, I respect you too much._

She looked away from him even as she felt herself held more tightly; and with this gesture of kindness Thanadir won out through the last of her resistance. Returning his embrace, she rested her head against him. It did not help her present internal state, but was comforting.

_Can you tell me what is wrong, Earlene? Is that what your song was about? I did not know you could sing._

_I cannot sing_ , she said, not considering that she had a voice to which anyone would wish to listen.

 _I will be the judge of that, but as your vocal talent is not the important part of my question, we can set that aside for the moment. What is wrong, Earlene?_ This time the question had more emphasis.

_It is not easy to answer, Thanadir, because I still do not know myself. But I will try. Please be patient with me. Am I right in guessing that Thranduil spent time last night telling you about me?_

_That is correct._

_Well, my visit with Lorna’s sister reminded me of my own family. There were many arguments like that. I have an older brother, who has said many unkind things to me over the years. When I heard Mairead belittling Lorna, it reminded me a great deal of what I lived with. But when I saw that the two of them learned why they each felt as they did, and they showed affection to each other...it hurt, to see that. Because it has never happened between my brother and I, and it never will happen. I should not let this bother me now, so far away and so many years later, but I cannot always help it. And there is more. That song is about someone struggling to understand who they are, what their place in the world is. I thought I understood why I chose to come and live here, but now I am wondering if I was not deceiving myself. And, if your life has not gone upside down on account of my arrival...mine has. I moved here to be alone. No one had ever claimed my heart. I don’t know if you can understand what it was for me to have never had a romantic relationship of any kind in my life and then in the space of what, two weeks, find out that I am wed? To an Elvenking? And now, I don’t know what my life has become or what my life was in the first place. What any of this sounds like to one who has lived as long as you, I have no idea. I would not be offended if my troubles seem petty or ridiculous to you; I am certain that others have far greater problems. But, you asked._

Thanadir rested his chin lightly on Earlene’s head. _I did ask. And I can see there is something else you should know. Though we have lived long, our emotions are no loftier or more difficult to understand than your own. We have been tempered by our long span of years, but I assure you our ability to understand the things of which you speak is fully intact. My King told me that you know of Oropher, and what he did?_

_Yes._

_Then I do not feel as if I am betraying confidences by telling you that it took my King thousands of years to largely break free of the damage done to him by his family._

_You are not entirely making me feel hopeful, Thanadir, as I do not have thousands of years in which to solve my current problem._ Earlene leaned back away from him to meet his eyes, a smile now on her face. It was her attempt at humor, which he met in kind. _I am sorry, perhaps I should not be joking; what happened to Thranduil is not a laughing matter. Humans often use humor when they are uncertain what to say. Forgive me, if I have caused offense._

Thanadir marveled at her. _You did not; there is nothing to forgive. Is it...usual, for humans to be so concerned for the feelings of others? Please excuse the question, but you are the first mortal with whom I have communicated in this manner. There is much I do not know._

Earlene frowned. _We do not have your gifts, and so I cannot say with any certainty what others think and feel. But humans usually demonstrate their inner selves by their outward actions; by this, I would say that many are concerned. I am concerned because my friends matter to me a great deal. I think you now know that I lost all my friends, and why. You, my King, and Lorna are all I have in this world. So it matters a great deal to me, that I do not give offense._

_Firieth vilui (dear mortal woman), it would take a great deal more than that to offend me._

_I will try hard not to discover your limits, Your Excellency. But I wondered if I could ask you a personal question; if you do not wish to discuss this, you have only to tell me. What occurred in the pub yesterday, when Lorna’s niece approached you...did you understand what was happening?_

_No, I did not. One moment I was speaking to her, and then next moment Lorna was saying things about me, many things, all of which were untrue. I was becoming angry, but just as quickly you asked to be taken outside. And as something was obviously causing you to feel unhappy, I was soon distracted._

_With respect, would you like me to explain it to you?_

She felt him nod, and took a deep breath, hoping to choose her words well.

 _The first thing you must understand is that to human eyes, you appear to be perhaps twenty-five to thirty years of age. You are also someone that many women will find to be very attractive. Please forgive me, Your Excellency, but you are beautiful, very fair in appearance. I am unable to have romantic feelings toward you from having been bound to my husband, but I am not blind. Were I free, I would find you attractive myself. Lorna’s niece was approaching you in the hopes that you were available for a relationship_. Earlene paused for a moment, having felt his body stiffen somewhat against her. _Is it...accurate, for me to guess that you have no interest in such an attachment with another?_

Thanadir sighed. _It is accurate. And while I mean no disrespect to you, it would above all not be my desire to join with a mortal. Long ago I made the decision to delay finding a wife of my own, when I knelt before my King to pledge my service to him. As you can see, the delay has continued,_  he smiled. I _have not regretted my choice. But...I did not realize. Are you telling me that I can expect a similar occurrence, anytime I am among humans?_

I _am afraid so. I certainly understand why you would not wish to wed a human, and your decision to serve our King makes perfect sense to me. For all of my mortal limitations, it took so little time to decide to speak my vows to Thranduil. I love our King, Thanadir, far more than I love myself. I understand how easy it is to pledge everything to him._

The seneschal saw that this was not an exaggeration; she could not hide her true feelings from him. And he already knew just how much she had given; never had a mortal made these vows to his King prior to her. There was more he wished to understand, but this would need to wait until later. She returned to the topic at hand, and he did not interrupt.

_You have the particular misfortune of having facial features that are associated with innocence and….forgive me, emotional frailty. There are times when the sight of you affects even me. I have been saved by the fact that I know far more about you, and do not make the mistake of being deceived by your appearance. However, there may be a simple solution to this difficulty, if you are willing to hear it. I will confess to you openly that it involves mild deception._

_I am listening, Earlene_. His eyes twinkled with amusement at this new information, that could not be more absurdly at odds with his actual personality.

 _Well, I will rarely be bothered by the same problem, nor will Thranduil, because we wear wedding rings. Not as I have read elves do, but on these other fingers. That is an outward sign to others that we are not available, and is respected by the vast majority of people. Though you are not wed, if you wore a ring others would assume you were, and you would deflect almost all unwanted attention. It would only be a lie if you were asked directly whether you have a wife and said “yes.” Would you feel as though doing so was….seemly?_ Though she did not know it in Sindarin, Thranduil had indicated that it was one of his favorite words.

The rumbling laugh she felt answered before he did. _Yes, I would be content with such a solution. But, your words seem to indicate that some humans will yet make an attempt?_

_Yes. Not to be indelicate, but some humans have no particular regard for marriage; you should realize that many have intimate relations with many partners regardless of being wed. And honestly, I cannot place myself above them; I welcomed Thranduil without any thought of marriage. Many humans have strong physical desires and are only seeking to satisfy those; they are not seeking matrimony. Please understand, that Lorna does not know know that elves do not lie. I am certain that no one told her. Humans often do lie. She was trying to protect you from what her niece was doing; though I am sorry to say it was a very bad attempt. It is part of why I intervened; I judged that in addition to my own feelings, it was the only way to end a deteriorating situation; it did not bother me to deflect the attention away from you._

_I should also warn you...among us, attraction can take a number of forms. It is possible that you may be approached by males as well as females. It is complicated, to explain to one without a human frame of reference. But if you like, I can teach you what to say so as to make your position politely clear with no possibility of confusion. Would you give me your hand, Thanadir?_

Puzzled, the elf held his left hand in front of her. Looking at his fingers, she wondered if her father’s ring would fit him. It would make her happy, somehow, to know that while her da was gone, some part of him would travel along with one who would always care for her. She worked it off of her thumb and showed it to him. _May I place this on your hand, to see if it will fit?_

_Yes. But where is that from? I have not seen you wearing it before just now._

_It belonged to my father, who died. He was a wonderful man, and I know that he would appreciate very much the care you have taken of his daughter._ It slid easily onto his long fingers, and fit perfectly. _Well, that is convenient. It is yours to wear if you wish, Thanadir. I would be honored. I only ask that if for some reason you no longer desire to use it, please do not melt it down into a...I don’t know what. It is the only reminder of him left to me._ Caught by an unexpected stab of grief, her eyes welled up with tears that she hurriedly tried to wipe away.

Sincerely touched, the old elf was at a loss for words until he felt her pain and her attempts to force it away. _There is no shame in tears, Earlene. You have nothing to prove, not to me. You would do better to release your emotions._

 _You would not think me weak?_ The force of the question, and the challenge behind it surprised him.

_No, I would not. It takes more strength to show vulnerability._

_Do all elves think as you do, Your Excellency? Because few humans share your belief_. With that she burst into tears, pouring out everything she’d bottled up since yesterday.

His arms enfolded her once more. _The wise ones do, Earlene._

As she quieted, the response finally came. _I have neither the will or the strength to argue. Thank you, for your compassion. I am sad to say that it is not something one is guaranteed to find in all humans. Please know how much I appreciate you, and all your people. I wish I had always known the elves. Though I believe I am going to have to face up to some things I thought I had left behind, I have felt at peace living with all of you._

_What do you mean by that, Earlene? Face up...how?_

She looked away from him. _‘Face up’ is an idiom that means, ‘confront.’ When I came here, I did not expect to ever return to New York. Now I am not so sure. I cannot explain, but for my long-term peace of mind, I feel as though I am going to have to go back, even if only for a short visit. Though, I am no longer free to decide such things. I belong to my King now, and I would not be forsworn. Sooner or later, I will have to speak to him. That is, unless he is already awake and therefore hearing all of this anyway. Have you ever felt that you must do something, even though the reasons are not fully clear to you? That is what I am feeling now. Maybe I am wrong, and this sense will pass. Time will tell._

At just that moment, her stomach growled audibly.

“I think it is time we broke our fast,” he said with amusement.

“Then we’d best leave, because we are probably an hour from breakfast,” she quipped. When she saw that his face registered only more mirth, her eyes narrowed. “Then again, you like as not know where you are, whereas I am lost, like usual. Surely this place is known to you, and special. This tree is like no other I have ever seen.”

“It is not your fault, that you fall to the King’s enchantments. Your run took you in a wide spiral. You are very near the Halls. Our King says I am to take you there, and that he will meet us shortly. And yes, this tree is special, beloved by all the elves. Your heart is much like ours, Earlene. I see in you a great love of the woods and growing things.”

Nodding, she smiled, releasing her hold on him, and accepting his hand to help her up; he had already sprung lightly to his feet. He noted that she climbed down easily, and seemed very steady while walking on the branches. Still, he followed her closely, unwilling to leave her safety to chance. “You do not have to fuss so much, but thank you,” she said.

“It is easier to fuss than to explain to my King how I let you fall,” he fired back.

“I suppose. It is odd, though, for me. It is unusual to go from running alone at night in Central Park to having an ancient ellon watch over me like a guardian angel.”

“Does my guarding of you bother you? For indeed that word is not far from the truth.”

She reflected for some moments before answering him. “If you had asked me if this would bother me weeks ago, I would have rather vehemently answered that Yes, it would bother me. But now...she sighed. “I am used to being independent, Thanadir. Alone. Self-sufficient. And in a very short space of time it has all changed. Because it is you who guards me, I find that I do not mind; I might feel very different about another, though. I still believe that I am capable enough, but to my great surprise, I have accepted you in this role. I feel safe with you, Thanadir, though I know there are many dangers in the outer world against which you could not defend me. Maybe I am tired of always having had to be strong on my own. There are many women who would tell me I ought to be bothered; I cringe to think what Lorna’s opinions on this are. But she and I are not the same and either way it doesn’t really matter. So, that was all a very convoluted way to say, “No, it does not bother me.”

******

It had taken Lorna four days to work up the guts to go to Earlene’s -- four days in which Mick wondered what the hell was going on with her. She had to edit the truth, but truth she told: that she’d met someone she could actually be interested in, and she had some things she needed to work through before she could even think of taking it anywhere. For all Mick could be awkward, he was a good sort, and spent that first evening sitting on the roof and drinking with her. While he might be even more shite at using his words than she was, he was a grand listener.

What finally drove her out toward the woods wasn’t entirely her own conviction: the second day she headed back to Baile, because Mairead had baked a cake in apology for dragging Earlene and Company into their family shite. She carried it with her now, done up in a cardboard carton; for all Mairead could be overbearing and aggravating, she was still Lorna’s sister, and Lorna knew that all her nosiness was ultimately out of love -- it was just occasionally horrendously misguided. They’d had a good long talk about that, and about why she needed to quit feeling guilty she’d never found Lorna or their other siblings. She’d also got some more information from Naimh -- mainly, a doctor who wouldn’t ask too many questions before signing them off for their official identification. As soon as Lorna had thrown a thousand Euros her way just for what little she’d had to do so far, she became even more accommodating, outright offering services Lorna hadn’t asked for yet.

The day was warm and sunny, spring now in full swing, and she let the sun soothe her as much as it actually could. Still, when she reached the edge of the forest, she hesitated. Once she crossed it, he’d know how nervous -- hell, how borderline terrified -- she was.

She thought of Ratiri -- of how she wanted to see if she could actually build something with him. It was the first time in eleven years she’d actually wanted to, and she couldn’t let the chance pass her by because she was too afraid to face her own past. So she stepped into the trees, and nervous though she was, she still felt a bit of an idiot for calling out mentally. _I’m, uh, here,_ she said. _If you’ve got a moment. If not, I can come back later_. The fact that the elves didn’t have mobile phones was a distinct disadvantage, at least if they were busy and didn’t need visitors.

_Earlene will be with you in in a moment, Lorna. Go inside the cottage, and make yourself at home. She is at her barn, and will bring you here._

Lorna had to consciously remind herself that she didn’t need to worry about Thranduil’s mental well-being, but to an extent, she just couldn’t help it. She was a caretaker by nature, and she was about to drop something horrible into the mind of a friend. Not being a little concerned by that would just make her an asshole, so hopefully he’d forgive her for it.

Doing as she was asked, she went around to the back, and when she didn’t catch sight of Earlene or hear obvious noises from the barn, she went into the cottage. Tail had obviously been given a ball of yarn, because the little orange fluffball was furiously occupying itself in the destruction of said yarn, rolling around the floor in ferocious abandon. It was riveting Cute Overload, and Lorna found herself standing there, barely having the presence of mind to offload Mairead’s cake onto the table, as the antics mesmerized her. For all that it was totally stupid, it took her mind off of some of her nervousness. She knelt, tickling the kitten and earning herself a few tiny kitten-bites. Mairead had always had cats -- she had a big, fluffy bastard that her eldest son had actually shaved one hot summer, believing he had to be too hot with all that fuzz. Mairead had about hit the ceiling -- not so much because of the shaving itself, but because Kevin could easily have hurt either himself or the cat. (Though the fact that he chose to do it in the lounge, and got fuzz everywhere, didn’t really help.)

She hoped Earlene had recovered from her Mairead Experience, and that Thanadir realized she’d meant well, in her disastrous attempts to save him from Niamh. Unless it involved punching someone, she never had been good at thinking on her feet; even among all her faults, she was a generally honest person, which wasn’t always a good thing.

Earlene concluded her seed organizing over which she’d been dawdling, on hearing the instructions from her husband. Yesterday's mail had brought the packets; the kind with beautiful color photographs on the outside, and she could not resist arranging all of them by type on the shop bench...alliums in one row, cruciferous vegetables in another, cut and come-again greens...on and on. It made her feel happy, and gave a sense of anticipation; Thanadir had promised her that she would be able to do some of the actual seed planting. It was one of her favorite activities, and she could not fathom the idea that “her” garden would not only be constructed but planted without her being a part of it. Being mostly done fondling the packets is why she was able to abandon the project with only a minimum of resentment. It wasn’t Lorna’s fault, it was just that days after her long talk with Thanadir, something was still simmering inside of her. They’d spent the night at the cottage yesterday, and she had begged to be able to have some time alone, and “unguarded.” She was fully aware that Thanadir would have shared all that she told him with the King; it was expected. Thranduil had continued to be kind and supportive, but did not pry. Nor had he tried to corner her into having a conversation about her own family. When the expected pressure had not come it was a surprise and a relief, and did a great deal to increase her already considerable trust in him. But there was still nothing further to say because in what time she’d allowed herself to mull it over, no great insight had been forthcoming.

Returning to the house, she greeted her friend and offered tea...here or at the Halls, it was her choice. Between the kitten and the cake, they both had a good laugh over the state of their lives, which is when Earlene suggested that they bring the cake with them, if it wasn’t too much trouble. Offered the choice between carrying the kitten or the cake, Lorna chose the kitten and the two of them set off.

“They’re going to plant the garden tomorrow, and I was hanging out here to organize the seeds”, Earlene said by way of making conversation. “Not sure if you’ve gotten an eyeful of the garden they’ve been setting up over there.” Her head nodded the general direction in which to look. “Thranduil wouldn’t let me build it myself because he said that the human gardens he’d seen were ugly eyesores. The problem is, he was right, and I’d never have gotten anything to look like that. I wouldn’t have known how.”

Lorna caught sight of the distant enclosure, surrounded by an elegant fenced border that was somehow all made of curves. If a right angle was anywhere in there, she didn’t see it. It was pretty like everything elves touched was pretty, and while she wasn’t exactly acquainted with the plans for it or what the point of it was, she had to concede it looked lovely. Nevertheless, it was a good thing Gran wasn’t around to hear Thranduil say that; she’d have done her level best to thump him. How had they done this? Hell, how did they manage half the things they’d managed, when they entirely lacked technology? The answer was still probably ‘magic’, at least partly, and even yet part of her had an issue with that word. It was utterly stupid of her; God knew she’d seen enough evidence of it, so it shouldn’t seem odd to her anymore. Sooner or later it would cease to be, she was sure.

About a half hour of not walking terribly fast later, they meandered to the Gates of the Hall. “I’m guessing he has let you see them, and that you aren’t just looking at a hillside?” Earlene asked, nodding up at the massive columns before them.

Lorna nodded, smiling, wondering if Earlene minded that she could. And without her asking, the unspoken question was answered.

“I’m glad. It would have been even weirder, to be the only human allowed to see this. It really is so beautiful, and I still often can’t believe I can come here.” Turning to the gates themselves, she whispered “Edro, ennyn Thranduil.”

Hearing the words that sounded like a mumble strung together, Lorna was reminded that they’d gotten exactly nowhere on her interest in learning Sindarin, and mentioned it to Earlene, who immediately had a look of remorse cross her face -- which in turn made Lorna wince. Earlene had so much on her plate already that she didn’t need to be feeling bad over that. “Jesus, I’d completely forgotten. I am so sorry...can we agree that before you leave the area this time, I at least set you up with the books and websites you need back at my cottage? But...maybe there is something small I can give you now. Their words for ‘hello’ literally mean “well met’. You say ‘Mae g’ovannen’.”

Lorna repeated the words, trying not to slaughter them with her accent and failing miserably. Her natural accent was so heavy that she probably wasn’t ever going to pronounce any of it right -- Tatiana had been forever harassing her over her inability to pronounce Russian -- but she could try. Hopefully she’d be comprehensible, at least. (Then again, she could be hard to understand in English; that Earlene and the elves seemed to manage it so easily for non-Irish people had to at least partly be down to luck. Though Thranduil couldn’t help but cheat, in a sense.) She wondered a bit if Thanadir always understood her as well as he appeared to, given that English was his second language.

Earlene paused inside the gates as they swung shut behind the two of them, waiting for her eyes to adjust. “I wish I had the instantly accommodating elven eyesight,” she quipped. “I’m always vaguely terrified I’ll forget one of these days and go sailing off a walkway. I usually need a full minute, and then I’m good. You let me know, when you are good to go.” They both needed about the same amount of time. Earlene pointed out to Lorna, in case Thranduil hadn’t, that she needed the third walkway from the left to reach the throne. Because she was leading, she did not notice Lorna’s nervous glances toward the depths of the cavern nor her careful tracking down the exact center of the arching walkway. She did, however, manage to notice her husband seated on his throne, crowned, speaking to a group of elves with Thanadir nearby busily taking notes. Usually she would curtsy as she approached the area, but with a cake in her arms, Lorna, and a kitten, she was certain she would make far less of a spectacle by lingering back away from them while the discussion concluded. Listening very carefully, she realized it had something to do with watches, schedules for guarding. She wondered idly just how much time and effort was put into warding off the one human that might try to come here every fifty years or so...but it was not her place to comment. When the group departed, Thranduil descended and approached them with a smile; Thanadir came near as well.

“i Aran nîn, Your Excellency,” she said by way of greeting.

“Meluieg,” Thranduil said, kissing her on the forehead, taking note that she was protecting whatever was in the box with her life. “Lorna, welcome,” he said with a nod.

“Cake, from Mairead,” Earlene explained, noting with amusement that Thanadir’s expression immediately perked up.

“Then we shall have it later, with tea,” Thranduil said, carefully taking it from her. “But right now, Earlene, I would like you to practice at swords with Thanadir. There is something I must discuss privately with Lorna.”

As it was not instruction to look at more vocabulary, the command was met with relative enthusiasm. “Of course,” she nodded, taking the seneschal’s offered arm after bowing her head to him.

With mirth-filled eyes, he greeted Lorna. "I hope you will forgive me not offering you my arm, but I am under the distinct impression that should I drop this cake, nothing good will come of it.”

In spite of her nerves, Lorna laughed a bit. _It never does to waste one of Mairead’s cakes. Even Siobhan can’t beat them -- they’re some recipe of Gran’s that she’d passed on only to Mairead._ It hadn’t been a slight against Lorna; Lorna simply couldn’t have made proper use of it, and it could well have fallen into the wrong hands...somehow. Her own cooking was...serviceable. She wouldn’t poison anyone with it, but most of it wasn’t terribly enjoyable, either. She’d learned to cook too late in life; she hadn’t even touched an oven until she was twenty-eight, and she’d got in more than one argument with Mairead’s gas range before Mairead refused to let her touch it again. The fact that one of those arguments had come dangerously close to involving a hammer...well, Mairead had a valid reason.

Thranduil smiled at this, enjoying that even though he could perceive her uneasiness, she was still a fountain of humor. They walked on in silence back to his rooms, where he carefully placed the cake beyond all harm on the table, looking back and forth from the kitten to the cake and to the kitten again, hoping that the little creature could keep out of trouble. An eyebrow raised when Lorna deposited both kitten and a pocketed ball of yarn on the floor, first rolling the yarn away from them. Satisfied that the little hunter’s instincts were occupied for the moment, he turned his full attention back to Lorna, inviting her to sit with him near the fire.

_Are you certain you are ready for this, Lorna? I have no wish to force you or rush you._

_I don’t know that I’ll ever be certain, she said. But if I don’t do it now, I never will, and I’ve sat on this too long already._ She had to admit, being this vulnerable didn’t sit well with her, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. Thranduil wouldn’t judge her, or think her weak, or use that vulnerability against her -- she was sure of that, even if she wasn’t sure just how she was going to react to this. Whatever happened here, would stay here. Kind of like Vegas, only not nearly so much fun.

Looking carefully at her state of mind, Thranduil slowly and gently gathered her into his arms and drew her up onto his lap, certain that he did not want to know what ‘Vegas’ was. She was practically the size of a doll against him, but he caught glimmers of what was coming and, unless she struggled away from him, he would not allow her to disgorge this without showing some form of compassion. _I want to first address the concern for my well-being that I have seen in you, Lorna; it shows that you care. However, I strongly perceive that you will have far more difficulty of this than I will. Take your time, my friend. I will help you, as you tell me, if your pain in telling it becomes too great._ Lightly placing his arm over her shoulders, and sitting very still, he waited for her to begin in her own time.

Lorna shut her eyes, for once not utterly tensing at physical contact. Summoning this consciously was not easy -- not after she’d spent so long repressing it. She was safe now, she reminded herself. She wasn’t doing this alone; Thranduil had said he would help her, and he was becoming one of a very few people in her life she truly trusted with...well, her. With the shit that went on in her head. She drew a deep breath, letting her head rest on his shoulder, and pulled the memory from the depths of her mind. It had lurked there far too long.

_They’d been criminally stupid that night, she and Liam, driving out into that sleet, but it hadn’t been so bad when they set out, and he didn’t want to turn around. Had he not been the one driving, he might still be alive; his reflexes never had been as good as hers._

_The wind was so high that the van shuddered on the empty motorway, the sleet driven nearly horizontal. The van was warm, though, the heater blasting to keep the windscreen from fogging. This was before she knew anything about mechanics, so there was always a faint smell of exhaust, mingling with the harsh detergent they washed all their clothes with at the laundromat._

_They were on their way to see his cousin -- the only family he had left -- while she clutched an ultrasound in her hand. They’d just found out the baby was a girl, and were bandying about baby names as they drove._

_“Saoirse,” Lorna said, staring at the blurry image. “After my mam.”_

_“Morbid, though, isn’t it?” Liam asked. “Naming a kid after someone who’s died.” He probably wouldn’t argue it for long, though; he never did, when she truly wanted something. Christ, how she loved him -- dark-haired, grey-eyed, perpetually scruffy, to her he was the most beautiful man in the world._

_“I don’t see why,” she said. “There’s only so many names in the world. Sooner or later, everyone’s named after somebody dead.”_

_He laughed. “Lorna, sometimes your logic --”_

_He never got any further. To this day, she didn’t know what they’d hit -- an oil slick, an ice patch -- but it didn’t matter. The van spun with stomach-lurching suddenness, crashing into the metal barrier of what she realized too late was a bridge._

_She was sure she screamed, though she no longer remembered it. What she did remember was the terror that spiked through her, squeezing her heart as the van plunged headlong into the icy, treacherous currents of the Shannon._

_Pain blossomed through her chest as she hit the seat belt, but Liam, he so often forgot his, and she so often forgot to remind him, and somewhere in the dark there came a crack that would haunt her to her dying day -- though at the moment, she had no idea what it signified. Instinct seized her, a bone-deep fear of drowning spurring her to action where her conscious mind shut down; she clawed off her belt, seized Liam by the arm, and somehow, through some feat of strength she didn’t think she’d ever duplicate, she hauled him up to the back of the van and kicked the doors open._

_Pain exploded through her left leg, but she didn’t yet know the significance of that, either. All she could think of, insofar as she could think anything, was that Liam couldn’t swim -- that she had to get him to the surface or he wasn’t getting there at all. The icy water stole what little breath she had, forcing them both back into the van, but she kicked and strained and swum as best she could, the current dragging at them both -- ever after she suspected it was pure luck that brought the pair of them to the bank._

_The sleet struck her face like frigid stones, the bank a combination of ice and mud that was nearly impossible to haul herself onto. Liam’s inert weight wasn’t helping -- was he unconscious? Was he dead? Oh Christ, don’t let him dead, she couldn’t bear it, she couldn’t._

_Sobbing for breath, lungs burning, she eventually managed to get Liam up with her, onto what little flat ground lay beneath the stony bank under the bridge. It was steep, but they had to get up there -- nobody was going to help if they didn’t know there was anyone who needed help._

_“Liam, allanah,” she said, shaking him lightly. His pulse still thrummed beneath her fingertips, but his skin was so cold. They needed to move, or they’d freeze. “Liam, for Christ’s sake, I can’t haul your arse up the bank.” Even she realized how hysterical she sounded, her voice unsteady from shivering. She was so cold it hurt, her entire body shuddering in bone-rattling waves._

_She nearly fainted from relief when his eyes opened, dazed and blurry though they were. He started coughing immediately -- deep, wet, hacking coughs, and she rolled him onto his side, thumping him on the back to bring up whatever water he’d inhaled. He was alive, he was alive, and though she was frozen, though it felt like she’d been dragged through a field of gorse bushes stark naked, they’d survived that._

_“Lorna?” he managed, after what seemed like forever, once he’d finally hacked up all the water. “What happened?”_

_“You drive like an eejit,” she said, scarcely aware of what left her mouth. “Come on -- we can’t stay. We’ve got to get up to the road.” She wasn’t actually sure what good that would do, given that they’d not seen another car in the last half hour, but surely someone would come. They had to._

_“I --” Liam started, but lapsed into horrified silence. “Lorna, I can’t -- I don’t think I can move.”_

_Dread dropped into her stomach like a ball of lead, and she clawed her sodden hair out of her eyes before taking his hand, squeezing it hard. “Allanah, for Christ’s sake tell me you feel that,” she said, her fingers closing over his -- so much larger, his hands were; it took both of hers to cover one._

_“I --”_

_Her memory went blurry there, mercifully, though not for long -- clarity returned when she tried to stand, to climb up the embankment. It was tall and steep, but she could manage it -- or would have been able to, had not pain jagged white-hot through her left leg, just before it collapsed beneath her._

_“Jesus fucking Christ!” she cried, the last word muffled as she hit the ground and all the breath drove from her. No. No, she wasn’t going to fucking deal with this -- she’d get up that goddamn bank if it fucking killed her. Walking wasn’t an option, but she could still drag herself, and drag she did, her grip slipping each time it landed in the half-frozen mud. Oh God she hurt, but it was so cold that everything was going numb, her fingers left with all the dexterity of sausages. The wet mass of her hair tangled itself on every goddamn bit of shrub it could tangle on, weighing her down, but she was nothing if not stubborn. It wouldn’t stop her, her leg wouldn’t stop her; nothing short of bloody fucking Armageddon was --_

_Her grip slipped, and down she went, clawing at whatever scrub and weeds she could, but they too were coated with ice, and what she didn’t lose hold of tore right from the ground. She landed near Liam, at least -- Liam, who looked utterly terrified, and who she had no idea how to comfort._

_“Fuck it_ , _” she said, trying to force away her own fear. “Someone’ll come, allanah. Sure they’ve got to see that hole we made. They’ll get you to hospital.” She couldn’t promise anything could be done, not when she didn’t know just what was wrong, just what had broken, but Lorna had never left him, and she never, ever would._

_She hauled herself over to him, sliding through the mud, pressing herself very carefully against his side. She had to keep him warm -- they both had to keep warm, somehow, if they were to survive this wretched weather, but they could do that._

_“It’ll be all right, allanah,” she said, brushing his soaking hair back from his forehead. Pellets of ice had stuck in it already, and she shook them free. “I’m with you, Liam, I’m always with you. No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”_

_Still there was fear in his eyes, and she babbled until her throat was raw, carding her fingers through his ice-stiff hair over and over. “We’ll get to hospital where it’s warm and safe. I love you, allanah, Christ do I love you.” He was so pale, his lips bloodless blue. She tried to rub some color into his face, but her hands were so cold she could scarcely feel them. She scarcely even registered the sleet on her own face anymore, but he had to stay warm. Yeah, she was tiny, but she was a living heater, and she’d keep him warm, wouldn’t she?_

_She was slowly growing warm herself, now, warm and sleepy, but she knew what that meant -- she had to stay awake. She had to stay awake, but she was so fucking tired. Liam, his eyelids were drooping too, and Lorna kissed his cheek, rubbing her hand from his temple to his jaw and back again. “Stay awake,” she said, her voice little more than a hoarse rasp now. “Stay awake, allanah, stay with me. Stay with me.” She pressed her fingers to his pulse, barely able to feel it with how numb they were. His eyes were unfocused now, vacant, though he still blinked against the sleet._

_“Stay with me,” she whispered, but she was going under herself -- though not fast enough. She was still awake to feel his pulse still beneath her fingers, to see the blankness of death creep over his eyes. It was the last thing she saw, before darkness took her, too._

_Why or how she woke later, Lorna never did know. The sirens were loud, sure, but she shouldn’t have been able to wake. Her vision was blurred, the whirling red and blue lights on the bridge nothing more than vague shapes._

_She blinked hard, rubbing her eyes, and the first thing they focused on was Liam -- Liam, white-faced, lifeless, eyes glazed, staring at nothing._

_A scream rose in her throat, but her voice was so abused that it produced little sound. She found herself shaking him, repeating his name, as though by doing so she could somehow make him answer from wherever his soul had gone._

_“Liam -- Liam --”_

_She flinched when someone touched her, automatically flailing to hit them. Man, woman, she didn’t know -- they were saying something, but she couldn’t make out any actual words. All she knew was that Liam was cold and still and there was nothing at all behind his grey eyes._

_Someone reached for her again, very gently, but she clung to Liam’s stiff hand and wouldn’t let go -- if she let go they’d take him, they’d take him from her, they’d take him and they’d never return him -- he’d be -- he’d be --_

_Two pairs of hands, struggling to lay her onto some kind of board, insistent now, and she slammed her elbow back into someone’s face, dragging Liam closer, gripping him as though all that mattered in the world depended on it._

_“Fucking stop!” she snarled, when the hands touched her again. “Liam, get him, he needs you -- get him on this thing, I’m fine, I’ll be fine --”_

_“Ma’am, you need to let us help you.” It was a man, calm, why was he so calm? “Let us help you, and we’ll help him.”_

_“You won’t,” she said, half-turning to glare at him with her blurry eyes. “You won’t, you’ll take him from me, you’ll --”_

_What happened from there was a mystery. Either they sedated her, or she lost consciousness again, but when she woke she was warm and clean and dry, in a room that smelled of disinfectant and electronics -- hospital, she knew, even before she opened her eyes. There were needles in her arms, tubes where there shouldn’t be tubes, and she was practically floating on a wave of morphine._

_Liam._

_Lorna’s brain refused to cough up anything but that, but Liam’s name. Her eyes refused to open yet -- not until she heard someone move beside her bed._

_Her vision remained fuzzy, but she made out a tall woman with incredibly red hair, as well as a smaller, older woman with piercing blue eyes. Both were looking at her with expressions she probably couldn’t have interpreted even if she’d been able to properly see._

_“Who are you?” she asked, her abused voice a rasp and nothing more._

_The tall woman took her hand, and she automatically flinched. “I’m your sister, Lorna. This is your gran. The hospital -- they called us.”_

_What? Why? How? Lorna had never spoken to either of them in her life -- they didn’t even share a second name. She’d find out -- much later -- that the hospital had been at its wits’ end to find her next of kin, and run across these two through government records._

_“Liam,” she said, struggling to sit up; she didn’t have an ounce of strength in her, and she collapsed back with a wince. “Where’s Liam?”_

_The little old lady -- her gran, she had a gran -- nudged the taller woman out of the way. She was as tiny as Lorna herself, her hair snow-white and face lined with sun as well as age. “Lorna, allanah, he’s gone,” she said, taking Lorna’s hand -- such tiny hands, just like hers. “We’re taking you home with us.”_

_She’d known -- she hadn’t wanted to, she’d wanted to deny it until her denial could bring back the dead -- but hearing it confirmed...he’d been so terrified, so cold and afraid and he’d died like that…._

_Tears were not in her nature, and not by choice. Lorna often wished she could cry, but she’d only ever managed it twice -- until now. They were strangely hot, hot and bitter, silent at first, stinging on cheeks worn raw by sleet._

_“You just let it out now, allanah,” Mairead said, gently rubbing her shoulder. “Get it all out.”_

_Let it out she did, sobbing so violently that, she found out later, one of the doctors wanted to sedate her. Mairead nearly lamped him out for it -- Gran knew better, knew that she had to get this out now or she was never going to._

_She hadn’t known yet, that she’d lost the baby. That came later, and with it, grey depression that settled over her like a blanket. But Mairead was with her, and Gran, and somehow she survived. She survived, but this had haunted her nightmares ever since, poisoning her. She couldn’t keep it, not now, not if she ever wanted to have anything with Ratiri -- or anyone, for that matter. Ratiri was the first she’d wanted, and she couldn’t let this keep dragging her down into those icy waters._ “In all my dreams I drown,” she said, she thought, uncertain if she spoke aloud, of what Thranduil could hear.

His arms tightened around her, just a little, and he rested his throat lightly on top of her head in sympathy. If only he could count how many times he had comforted those who had lost someone to tragedy, but at least among their kind, they knew where they went. They knew what their hope and their fate was; he did not know what became of mortals. The Valar had never told them anything by which to comfort the Secondborn, for they did not know themselves. He needed to be absolutely clear as to what Lorna wished, because while he could modify or even erase her memories, it had to be done right the first time. _Lorna, I am so sorry, but I can promise you you will no longer be tormented by dreams about this. Now that I have seen, I need to explain. I can alter your future with regard to these painful memories in one of two ways. I can erase all memory of the accident from your mind, but you would have no recollection of how your mate died or how you were injured. The other choice is that I can allow you to remember, but have them be so muted that they no longer call to mind any emotions. This should cause your nightmares to stop as well. I must ask because I cannot “tinker”; it is one or the other. And while I can guess which you will want, I must hear it from you._ Without disturbing her, he reached one arm around to bring a nearby blanket; with a deft motion he draped it over her body before resuming his embrace. Though he would never tell her, the only difficult thing about this for him was to see her suffering. There had been far too much pain held in a body that to him was much like a child’s.

What did she want? She was more aware of the world now, no longer trapped within her own memory. Her automatic response should have been ‘erase it’, but...could she live with that? Could she live with a hole in her memory, even one she’d asked for? She couldn’t say ‘yes’ with any actual certainty. _Can you just...make it not hurt? Mute them, suppress them...whatever you have to do._ She was vaguely aware she was shivering, either from the chill of the Shannon or the horror of the entire memory. Her eyes burned, but her damned atrophied tear ducts refused to do their job. Her instinct was to curl into a ball, but that didn’t work so well now. She was small enough as it was; there was no reason to try to disappear entirely -- she was still safe. Thranduil had officially joined the very short list of people who could touch her without her tensing or flipping out, and he was warm -- she needed that, after the frozen horror of that memory. Being willing to have the worst experience of her life dumped into his brain earned him a level of trust only two other people currently held. Mairead and Big Jamie had taken care of her without ulterior motive, because they cared about what happened to her, and now he had, too -- three times, in fact. There had not, in Lorna’s life, been a surfeit of people who had proven to actually give enough of a shit about her to help her without expectation of something in return, who had demonstrated that the very worst of her wouldn’t drive them off. And unlike the two of them, he’d know it without her having to wrench the words out. He was warm and she trusted him, and that was enough.

Understanding clearly now what she was experiencing and what was wanted, he leaned down to whisper to her. “Close your eyes, and be still.” He adjusted his hold on her to cover her forehead with one of his hands, and a slow drowsiness came over her. Eventually he pulled her down into a sound sleep, as the light of his healing gained in brightness. This was not so complex or difficult as eradicating the deep rage he’d seen in her before; that had been unusual enough to benefit from the assistance of his seneschal. This was far simpler of a task. He considered, as his power moved through her mind to correct what had ingrained itself, how this skill had most often been used to take away the memories of those who had encountered the elves in ages past, to preserve their anonymity. He was not sure he ever recalled using his gifts as he was using them now. And perhaps that was because before Lorna and Earlene, he had never called any of these mortals his friends. He was genuinely glad he could help her, and sincerely wanted her to have a chance at happiness. When his light ebbed away, she slept on, and he kissed her on her forehead. _I give you my blessing, firieth dithen (little mortal)_. He adjusted the cushions on the couch, and laid her down near the fire. But as he moved her to do so, he frowned. Her ribs, that he felt through her shirt...he placed his second hand on the opposite side, to verify that they did not feel the same. _What in the world…?_ He hesitated, but then reasoning that he was not in any way offending her modesty, carefully lifted the lower edge of her clothing to reveal the bottom of her ribs. He gasped to see the indentation from bones that had broken and never been properly set. Moving the fabric up just a little more to visualize the entire area, he saw the beginnings of a cruel scar that ran away under the cloth. Squeezing his eyes, shut, he made a decision. Unbuttoning the shirt everywhere but over her breast, he pulled back the fabric as needed to see the full extent of the injury and shook his head in pity before he returned all her clothing to how he had found it. He could live with the fact that she would never know he had done this afterward, and laid his hands over the gruesome reminders of what must have been a horrific wound, restoring what should never have been damaged so badly. She would wake in a while, but after the recollection of that ordeal, he felt she deserved some untroubled rest. Earlene would be back soon enough. Or so he thought, until he heard the anguish coming from his wife’s mind. Without hesitation he ran from the room; it was not a good sign that she was in one of his dungeon cells.

*****

After most of an hour of hard work, Earlene found herself revising her impression that she was better off with Thanadir teaching a physical discipline versus Thanadir teaching Sindarin. If anything, her instructor was more demanding in this capacity. And the thing of it was, it was impossible to become angry with him. If she’d ever seen a more masterful combination of cajoling, criticism, encouragement, expectation and expertly applied pressure to excel, she couldn’t recall where. Truth be told, he reminded her of…. _her_. His method of discipline was quite similar to how she had treated herself in her law career; perhaps that was why it felt so comfortable and beyond reproach. Or at least, psychologically comfortable; the rest of her was tired and aching as her muscles protested against the clashing motions. Thranduil had schooled her at this every other day since their first lesson, and while she still had zero ability in her own estimation, she gave it her best and faithfully copied what she was shown to do in these drills. Her envy of their elegance and mastery was bottomless; it was obvious that for them this swordwork was as difficult as making scrambled eggs was for her. Finally, Thanadir released her, declaring that they were done for now, and praising her for her effort. She thanked him for his time, as always, and returned the blade to the table that was in the practice room.

“I will escort you back to your rooms, Earlene,” he said. Biting her lip, she realized she very much wanted more time alone.

“Your Excellency, I know the way. May I please walk by myself?”

Thanadir tilted his head. It was not an unreasonable request, and his next obligation was closer to their present location by far. He smiled, and nodded. “Did Lorna tell you what kind of cake it was?” he asked hopefully.

Earlene laughed. “No, but I promise you that we will both find out at the same time. I will not allow it to be eaten without you.”

The beatific grin that lit up his features was reward enough for her. With a bow of her head, she departed from the room. Having had many more days to explore, she had a rudimentary knowledge of where all the “main” areas within the Halls were now. Dining hall, kitchen, practice room, armory, throne area, the King’s rooms and more were all now securely filed away. Including the dungeon, to which she felt suddenly drawn. That she had found herself unaccountably imagining that she was aiming her sword at Aidan during much of this session was unsettling her more than she wanted to admit. She was aware, because he had told her, that Thanadir would not often look into her thoughts unless he felt there was a compelling necessity. It was impossible to understand why it was difficult for him because she had no means for comprehending any of their telepathy; she could only accept that for the seneschal, such was the case. Working her way back to the gates, her mood descended further into blackness with each passing step, as her feet were drawn down the path into the dungeons. It was the first time she’d come here, since the day she’d been imprisoned in punishment for striking her King, an action she still remembered with shame. This place held no ill feelings for her, and she doubted she would be here except that all the rest of the Halls were beautiful and soothing, and this was the only place that could reflect how she felt right now. Finding the door that she remembered as the cell in which she’d been locked, she found that it swung open noiselessly. Still very warm from exercise, she nevertheless wrapped the thin blanket here around herself, knowing that sooner or later being overheated would turn to being too cold. Sitting on the stone bench, she drew her slippered feet up underneath her, and leaned her head into the soothing cool of the stone walls, wondering why thoughts of her brother were festering at the surface of her mind. For long minutes she sat very still, until she drifted to a place of being neither awake or asleep.

_It was Christmas night, the year after she’d graduated from Columbia Law with honors, and been hired at her firm less than a month after receiving her degree and passing the New York Bar Exam with 398 out of 400 possible points. The entire family was gathered at Gran’s farm upstate, and it being an Irish family, the very spiked holiday punch was flowing freely. Earlene had been having a fabulous time with Ma and Gran, laughing and sharing jokes in the large farmhouse kitchen as they cooked dinner for the large group. Both women had made no secret of how pleased they were for all she’d accomplished, though she tried to keep it toned down; she didn’t want a scene with Aidan. It was a perfect evening thus far, largely because beyond saying “hello” to her brother, she hadn’t spoken to him._

_Four years older than Earlene and finished with his residencies, he was already a practicing specialist in his chosen field of neurology. He’d dated strings of women but had been unable to land “the one,” and the latest of his love interests was here tonight with him; a sweet and pretty woman named Chelsea. Earlene very much acknowledged his achievements, and was proud of him in her own way, though she said little. Even light conversation about careers always turned ugly between them, and she’d learned long ago to never raise the topic._

_At last they were all seated at dinner, with Granddad proudly carving the perfectly roasted turkey. And when everyone was seated and well into their meal, that was when it happened. Aunt Mary had asked Earlene to tell a little bit about her job; all of the family was proud of her. Her parents had made no secret of informing the rest of the family just how prestigious of a position Earlene had earned in her field. Before she could open her mouth to give a carefully framed answer, Aidan, who was drunk off his arse, broke in._

_“Earlene’s new job title is called Spinster For Life, Aunt Mary. Look at her. Twenty-six years old and never been on a date, and almost certainly never been...well, you know,” he said cuttingly. “Earlene will never be attractive to anyone, and she’ll die with a stack of books on corporate law next to her in bed.”_

_The entire room went deathly silent. Her da’s face had gone beet red in anger as he rose from his chair and hauled his son out of the room by the collar, knocking over his chair. Earlene had a vivid memory of looking straight ahead, ignoring the horrified expression on the face of Aidan’s date, with a very fake and very graceful smile plastered onto her face. “If everyone will please excuse me,” she said softly. She rose from her chair and left the room, retrieved her coat and purse, walked to her car, and drove away. As she traveled slowly down the long drive to the main road, she had the presence of mind to stop for the ten seconds needed to power off her cell phone. And she drove, and she kept on driving until she reached her office in Lower Manhattan; the small parking garage was empty on Christmas night. Breathing shallowly, she took the elevator to the 30th floor, wondering why she’d never noticed the attractive pattern on the plush carpeting before. Like a robot in a trance she'd navigated to her office door, where she switched on the computer and sat down, looking at the stack of folders that organized assorted facets of the case she would litigate in two more days; her first for the firm and the one that would mark her as a brilliant rising star with unlimited potential in the eyes of her peers. As the operating system loaded, she brushed one tear from her cheek, and with an iron will banished the emotion and the memory from her mind._

_Three weeks elapsed before she called her parents, and she made it abundantly clear that she did not wish to hear about what had happened, she did not wish to discuss it, and that in the future, she would not be in attendance at any family function at which Aidan was present; this Christmas had been the absolute last straw. Though, her insistence did not stop her mother from blurting out that Aidan’s girlfriend broke up with him that night, over what he’d done._

But now she was neither at her office or in any circumstance to stop these poisonous recollections from consuming her; a combination of rage and disappointment and the sting of those words….and the truth of them. Tears poured out of her, as she began to fully awaken out of the memory that surfaced in a half-dream.

 _Hadn’t Aidan been right? Hadn’t he been right, about all of it? Look at her. The only reason she had a man to call her own now was the sheer insanity of an accidental situation. Who was she kidding? Had she not happened to pick this house, she would still be sleeping next to those law books. It wasn’t like Thranduil would have ever seen her in a room full of women and said, ”oooh, that one!” It was all a matter of circumstance and Elven law concerning marriage. Why would anyone want her?_ Tears gave way now to rasping sobs as this long-buried cruelty washed over her and tore at her mind.

Thranduil was moving toward her location as fast as he possibly could without creating a spectacle for which Earlene would not thank him, though he did send out a call to Thanadir to please stay with Lorna at his earliest convenience, to watch over her. Rushing to his wife, he picked her up and held her to him. “Meluieg. Earlene. I am here with you. You are not alone, my sweet one,” he whispered. He would be in disbelief that anyone could speak so heartlessly to their own flesh and blood except that he knew better.

What to say to her beyond this was another question entirely. He had to find a way to answer this deeply held belief about her own undesirability with exactly the right words, because she was too intelligent to deceive with murmured assurances. She was correct; he would not have chosen her in the manner she now thought about, and he knew better than to insult her by claiming otherwise. And yet her feelings were not rooted in the truth. Yes, he had felt it was his duty to seduce her, but she was wrong, to think that no one would want her. That _he_ had not wanted her. From the first touch of her lips, he had desired her. From the first taste of her body, he had hoped his path would allow him to claim her, to fully join his flesh to hers.

For all his arrogance and lack of empathy in those first days, there was never a question that his lust for her had preceded his love; in his eyes she had been incredibly attractive, highly enticing, from solely a physical standpoint. Even at these remembrances, he felt a stirring in his groin; and he knew that it was this, that he had to communicate to her in a way that she could fully believe.

There was another way besides words, though he had never before attempted it. “Earlene, open your eyes. Please, meluieg, look at me.”

It was not easy, but she slowly obeyed him, her sad and reddened eyes meeting his own. The instant she did, she inhaled sharply in surprise; he had torn away the barriers by which she was prevented from perceiving his mind, and built a bridge to allow her to see him as he saw her. It was a great strain, and he could not keep it up for long, but he could manage long enough for this.

He did not have to speak to her, or explain, because she _saw_. Not only his feelings for her, but most of that which he had never voiced; she was forced to understand that this ancient and beautiful being had indeed wanted her, and he wanted her even now. Her pain and humiliation at her brother’s words were erased as her insides lurched with desire, and with thanks and silent pleading she reached down to stroke at the bulge in his breeches. Burning with mutual need, they completely ignored their ludicrous surroundings in their haste to remove enough clothing to join their bodies. Their encounter was as swift as their arousal had been. With nowhere to go that would not yield bruised limbs or torn knees, Thranduil had elected to hold her against him while he wildly bucked into her; she had little memory of the encounter except being locked against him in a passionate kiss until his frenzied movements gave both of them release. And afterward, he sat down carefully while still joined to her, as she cried more in gratitude for his love. She did not notice until afterward that somewhere amidst their contact, her connection to his mind faded. It did not matter.

He spoke very softly in her ear. “You have carried that inside of you for a very long time, Earlene. I am so sorry, that you were spoken to this way. When you told me that you had a living brother, I never thought to ask more questions concerning why you had no relationship with him. I hope you can see now that though his words were cruel, they were not true. And I want you to know that I do not keep you from knowing my thoughts willfully; it is regrettably a great difficulty for me to allow you to see them.”

She nodded her head, while noticing the tear-stained mess she’d made of the front of his tunic.

“I have other tunics. Many other tunics. I forbid you to worry about clothing, at a time like this.”

A second nod came, but it was accompanied by the beginnings of a smile. “Can I worry instead about when the last time was you had carnal relations in one of your own dungeon cells?”

He tightened his hold around her as he used all his determination to not laugh at full volume. “Oddly enough, I was thinking the same thing. But I am not sorry. However, in view of the fact that I do not need us being found in this state…” He gently lifted her off of him and set her down, reassembling himself enough to be presentable. Once he had laced himself up, and she had recovered her own items of clothing, he took her back into his embrace. “Our quarters are occupied by Lorna and Thanadir at the moment,” he explained. "But something on the order of three thousand chambers with beds all lie empty. Do you desire more, Earlene? I would gladly share my love with you again, but perhaps in a more welcoming location?”

Her feelings of not wanting to take up his time ran headlong into her actual desire and for once, she chose what she wished for most. Shyly, she looked up at him eagerly, nodding. With a smile, he lifted her into his arms and descended further, taking her to long disused rooms where no one would find them. Or hear them.


	26. Twenty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 17, 2016

With a sigh, Earlene considered that they had a guest, that she had told Thanadir ages ago that she was heading to a destination she had never reached, and that as much as she still desired the attentions of her husband, she was on the verge of being physically drained. Bright blue eyes appeared over her face, hovering there. “You are feeling inclined to behave responsibly, meluieg?” he said mischievously.

Earlene laughed. “That is my usual inclination, my King. Though, I am grateful that this once, you led me astray. I needed this. I needed you. Thank you,” she said, looking on him with open adoration.

“I am not done with you yet, wife,” he said with eyes full of desire. “But I will concede that good manners dictate we should return.” He lifted her easily to his arms and hugged her to him, rocking her. “I love you very much, Earlene.”

Oh, how she did not wish to leave! But it was time, and there was the promise of more, later. “Len aníron,” (I want you) she whispered, to feel his hold on her tighten a little more.

He smiled. “There is something else I must tell you. Lorna has had another...ordeal, today, that is private. We should treat her with extra kindness.”

Earlene blinked at him, her mind already deducing. “And I had to pick today to add to your burdens, didn’t I? I am so sorry, my Lord. I hope you understand, I was not trying to keep these things from you. I think I was trying to keep them from myself. I did not mean to have such bad timing.”

“Meluieg, no...please do not think this way. I feel guilt, to have been caring for another while you were in pain.”

She shook her head. “No. Do not. This was like...a boil, an infection. It chose its own time to burst; neither of us had any say in the matter.” She gently pushed away, before leaning back toward him for one last kiss before dressing herself. “I will look forward to later, my Lord.”

*****

Lorna woke disoriented, at first not recognizing the cloud-soft pillow beneath her cheek. She was nice and warm, having been laid beside a fire, and it eased the strange ache in her chest.

The weird thing was that it wasn’t an unpleasant ache -- it felt rather like a wound had been lanced, and left her lighter. She’d felt rather the same thing when Thranduil and Thanadir took the rage from her: hollow, almost, but not in a bad way. The fact that she had a kitten sleeping under her chin no doubt helped her feel better.

She was beyond grateful, and yet part of her was disturbed -- her rage and her grief had been part of her, in some measure and from various causes, her entire remembered life. Without them, who was she? _What_ was she? At thirty-nine years old, she was going to have to adapt to a very large change. The thought was intriguing, but it was also scary as hell. At least she’d have help figuring everything out.

For so much of her life, she’d blundered on full-speed ahead, with little thought to what might happen if she failed. She was too old to be doing that now, though; if she fell off a metaphorical cliff, she’d land hard, and she was no longer young enough to bounce. She wanted to figure out who and what she was, but she didn’t want to go changing anything in ways that weren’t her. She was a tiny ex-con with a filthy mouth, who had said and done some things both horrible and wonderful. She still had the temper of an Irishwoman -- she was just no longer in any danger of resorting to violence unless it was offered to her first. Calling someone a gobshite and telling them to get fucked was quite a step back from braining them with a pint mug for looking at her funny.

She sat up enough to look into the fire, pensive, lifting the kitten onto her lap and wrapping her blanket around her. The kitten woke up long enough to yawn, then curled up on her lap and fell right asleep again. While the thought of Liam and their accident was never going to be pleasant, Thranduil was right -- it was a distant thing, no longer crippling.

 _Who am I?_ she wondered -- and then, because Mairead was a _Les Miserables_ fan and because her own brain was ridiculous, it responded with, _I’m Jean Valjean!_

The thought made her burst out laughing, and she brushed her fringe out of her face. Oh god dammit, now she was never getting that song out of her head. Ever. She hoped Thranduil liked show tunes, because he was going to be subjected to them whether either of them liked it or not.

Her stomach chose that moment to gurgle, making its demands for food quite well-known. Why she should be so hungry, she didn’t know; maybe whatever Thranduil had done burned through the calories, even though she’d been still, or maybe she’d been asleep longer than she thought. Could she find the kitchens? She was pretty sure none of the elves besides Thranduil and Thanadir spoke English (and come to that, how did Thranduil become so fluent? She was pretty sure Thanadir hadn’t known much -- if any -- before Earlene turned up...had Thranduil learned it just by telepathy?) That...was a fairly big accomplishment. English was such a weird bastard of a language that it was little wonder so many people had a hard time learning it. Then again, elves seemed to be some kind of linguistic geniuses, given how fast Thanadir had picked it up even in the brief time she’d known him.

How would she hack it, when it came to Sindarin? Lorna was one of those people who had an ability to understand a new language without an insane amount of difficulty, but as soon as you asked her to _speak_ in it, it all went out the window. Tatiana’s rather scary tutoring was the only reason she could actually speak Russian aloud at all.

Christ, she needed food. She stood, and nearly choked on her own spit when she realized Thanadir had been there the entire time. “Sweet merciful _Christ_ ,” she said, her heart lurching. “You lot are too quiet for humans.” The kitten, naturally, had to scale her chest; thankfully, she always wore at least two layers of shirts outside of summer, so it didn’t hurt nearly so much as it would have otherwise.

She eyed him. Did it make her shallow, that she wasn’t attracted to any of the elves? Was she really so narrow-minded, that the fact that they were so pale automatically put her off? The answer was probably ‘yes’. It disturbed her that she could _be_ so shallow, but it also made her worry: there was, after all, always a chance Ratiri was the same way, and preferred someone who looked like...oh, Siobhan. Should he, she could hardly fault him for it, especially given the way she was herself...hell. She wished she looked like Earlene. 

She thought of Earlene with a pang of...not jealousy, because she liked Earlene too much to ever be jealous of her...but, well, Earlene was beautiful. There was no grey in her glossy dark hair, and her skin hadn’t seen the kind of sun and wind Lorna’s had. She was tall and she had a perfect figure, and she was basically everything Lorna wasn’t.

And the thing was, until recently, Lorna hadn’t _cared_. What she looked like was of little consequence; she didn’t want men to notice her, so it was just as well that none did. Save for when she’d been with Liam, she’d always been one of the lads, and she’d enjoyed it. True, she’d been a lad with very long hair, but still.

Ugh, she couldn’t think of this right now. Not when she was so hungry. “Could you take me to the kitchens, Thanadir? I’m about ready to eat the sofa, I’m that hungry.”

Previously unnoticed by her, there had been a small bowl of fruit on a sideboard, and the elf immediately moved to begin slicing an apple. “The King and Earlene will be here shortly, and now that you have woken I will go to return with food. No one has eaten. But here is something so that His Majesty’s sofa can remain uneaten.” He smirked while handing her the plate. Of course all the apple slices were arranged in a perfect pinwheel pattern and were meticulously uniform in size. _Elves._ “Please excuse me, I will not need long.”

Thanadir swept out of the room, nearly crashing into Earlene, who had a very guilty look on her face. However, seeing no censure in Thanadir’s smile, she relaxed a little as she passed him. The “Queen” routine meant nothing to her; she knew perfectly well who actually kept this little empire, as well as her husband, on an even keel. “i Hîr nîn,” (my Lord) she said to him respectfully, having decided that it was ridiculous to keep on unvaryingly with the heavily Anglicized “Your Excellency”. Someday she would have to ask Thranduil where on earth he’d picked that one up. Now that she realized that the title had no Sindarin equivalent, that he had chosen to initially instruct her to say that to Thanadir made little sense to her. Though, to be fair, given the amount of effort that had gone into her just trying to remember ‘i Aran nîn’, could she really blame him? At any rate, his amused yet appreciative expression as he nodded his head in acknowledgement of her address at least told her that she had managed an appropriate choice. There was little doubt in her mind that an incorrect phrase would have met with a kind but immediate correction.

“Gelialennol vaer, Earlene” (You learned well, Earlene), Thranduil said approvingly.

“Defin, i Aran nîn”, (I try, my King) she said with humility, before moving along so she could see her friend. “How are you today, Lorna? I’m fried and starving and am having predatory thoughts about Mairead’s cake. Or a hot bath. A little of both, actually.” She smiled and hoped that her humor was worth a damn just now.

Lorna tried to repeat the words under her breath, and of course her accent made a complete hash of all of them. “I’m better than I was,” she said honestly, looking up at Earlene. “Your little friend here took a nap with me.” The kitten had decided her shoulder was a perfect place to perch -- which wouldn’t have been an issue, except it had also burrowed its way into her hair, and was now purring like a tiny chainsaw in her left ear. Oh well. Cats were cute, it was how they got away with everything up to and including actual murder. “I’m just about starving too, though.” She had no-so-discreetly managed to eat half the apple slices on the plate in very short order, but at least had enough manners not to lick her sticky fingers.

Earlene glanced at the plate. “I’d keep eating, if I were you. Don’t tell me. Thanadir sliced the apple?” she asked with poorly concealed amusement and a sigh. “I think there is probably….nothing, he can’t do perfectly.”

“That isn’t true, meluieg. There is at least one thing.”

“Oh?” Earlene asked with a general tone of disbelief.

Thranuil noted that even Lorna looked highly interested in the answer...though he tried not to laugh as she surreptitiously ferried another apple slice to her mouth. _Lorna, just eat the apple. None of us think less of you for being hungry_ , he said with mock sternness as he looked at her. “I will tell you but only if both of you promise never to let him know. At least, insofar as you have any control over the matter. He is still rather sensitive about it.” The nodding heads from both women both gave their assent. With a grin, he continued, lowering his voice. “Thanadir cannot bake to save his life. During the most recent...era, when he and I were the last to fade, there was a brief time when we both still required food. Every day for two weeks he occupied the kitchens, trying to make heads or tails of dough and the stoves, and every day something resembling what I believe your kind calls ‘hard tack’ was the result. Any of your biscuits have been airy clouds by contrast, Earlene. There is a reason he enjoys your food as much as he does,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

Earlene’s lips parted. _Baking is easy_ , she thought. _Well okay maybe not easy, there is some knowledge and art involved, but it hardly requires a degree in aerospace engineering...poor Thanadir._

Lorna didn’t quite choke on her apple slice, but it was a near thing. Jesus, even she could bake -- not very well, mind you, nothing fancy, but her food was edible and even sometimes enjoyable. Part of her felt quite terrible for being relieved that Thanadir wasn’t perfect, but, relieved she was.

She polished off the last of the apple, giving Thranduil a mock glower as she did so. He really did seem to enjoy winding her up -- but then, she did make it a bit easy, and she didn’t particularly mind. Big Jamie did the same thing -- Thranduil was just better at it, and she blamed at least part of that on his eyebrows. With them, he was capable of facial expressions Big Jamie just couldn’t pull off. It probably wasn’t a talent he was aware he had...well, until now. _Oops._

Laughing, Thranduil was saved from going further astray by the arrival of Thanadir, who bore a large tray of meats, breads and cheeses; there was also something that strongly resembled a beet and cabbage salad. Earlene was happy to see this, as it meant that the vegetables she’d ordered were actually being used and eaten. That and, she really liked beets and cabbage. The table was set and Lorna was pointedly encouraged to sacrifice manners and begin eating. Though, Thranduil’s comment that just this once, they wouldn’t tell her Gran almost earned him a kick under the table. Almost.

“So, I’ve got more news from Niamh,” she said, at least managing not to chew and talk at the same time. “She’s found a doctor who’ll do exams for the ID’s, and who won’t ask any questions if we throw enough money at her. Downside’s that she’s in Dublin, so it’s a bit’v a drive.” She didn’t look at Thanadir, but she didn’t too. Dublin was almost two hours away, most of it on the motorway; she really needed an excuse to get him to drive around the village with her first -- one that wouldn’t offend his pride. As for Thranduil...yikes. With his telepathy, and Dublin being...Dublin...he might have an issue, too. They’d probably both be wanting a drink by the end of the day -- hell, they all might.

The kitten chose that moment to creep down her arm, cross the table, and hop onto Earlene’s lap, purring all the while. How such a tiny thing could make such a loud noise, Lorna had no idea, but she wanted one. If only she was able to take care of one...her jobs being what they were, she might well be away from home days at a time.

“Not on the table, Tail!” Earlene said in horror as the little fluffball plopped into her lap. “I am sorry,” she said, even though there was no way anyone could have stopped it. She needn’t have worried, because Thranduil was too busy shaking with suppressed laughter at the look on Thanadir’s face. Amused, the King broke off a small tidbit of meat and offered it to the kitten. Earlene’s eyes widened. _My Lord, you will teach him to expect human food while we are eating, if you do that. With respect, I sincerely...discourage this._ She felt helpless...it was soooo not her place to correct him here, but she’d spent hours reading on what not to do with a pet cat and this was close to the top of the list. A light frown passed over Thranduil’s face, which she caught. _At least I managed not to say it aloud._

 _So you did_. He sighed. I suppose you are right. _Though, what is the point of them if they cannot be spoiled a little?_

Earlene decided it was wise to completely avoid answering. “How far away is Dublin, Lorna? Will it be possible to care for the appointment and meeting with Niamh on the same day? That would be wonderful….I hate to have you carting us all over Ireland yet I see little alternative.”*

“Close to two hours, depending on traffic,” Lorna said. _Less, if I drive like normal_ , she thought, but she wasn’t about to say that aloud. “I’m sure we can do both the same day. Niamh got really accommodating once I threw money at her.” She hadn’t actually heard that specific tone on...well, anyone, once Lorna told her that cost was no object, followed by a thousand euros as a retainer. “I’ll try to get my hands on something better than Mick’s van, but I’m not sure what else I’d find that’d seat all’v you comfortably.” Much as she’d always been unhappy about her lack of height, at least she didn’t have an uncomfortable time sitting in cramped places. Liam, one drunken evening, had said, You’re not small, you’re _storage-compatible_. How odd it was, to think of that memory without it hurting.

“I thought the van was fine. It ran and it’s local; hard to ask for much more than that without having to get ridiculous and buy our own vehicle that you’d still get stuck driving everywhere. Were you comfortable in it, Thranduil?”

The King nodded. “Obviously I have no other experience for comparison, but I can tell you that it is considerably more comfortable than an elk or a horse.”

Earlene put her improvised sandwich down for a moment, because...well, she’d never thought about that. Not remotely. _There are times I wish there was wine here_ , she thought, with a light shake to her head.

“There is wine here,” said Thranduil aloud. “Would you like to try some?”

Earlene stared at him. “There is? How could...oh, never mind. If it won’t make me grow a third hand, yes, I would. I like wine. Do you drink wine, Lorna?” Earlene realized that this had never exactly come up in conversation; she just assumed everyone in Ireland would rather have beer or something stronger yet.

Lorna didn’t actually make grabby-hands, but she thought about it really hard. “Sometimes,” she said. “Big Jamie’s not so big on it, but there’s a few in the village that like a glass of an evening. I couldn’t much tell you a good wine from a bad, though, unless it’s straight vinegar. Mairead bought some when she and Kevin had their fifteenth anniversary, and I thought it tasted like cough syrup. Not that that was a bad thing,” she added. She’d actually been quite proud of herself for not getting into the bottle later and drinking the whole thing.

 

Thanadir spoke. “i Aran nîn, sa inc ma? Ti firith.” (My King, is that a good idea? They are mortals)

It took Earlene a moment to puzzle out what was said, and then her eyebrows arched. Then again, assuming her husband did not wish to kill her, he probably had a plan. And Lorna could probably drink pure ethanol and still go dancing. But, she decided to simply ignore that Thanadir had actually said anything.

“Ú-gosto, Thanadir” (Fear not, Thanadir). Standing and going to the sideboard, he broke open a sealed bottle of wine. He poured a tiny amount into two glasses. As in, about an ounce each, before filling two other glasses.

“I am letting you taste it as we drink it, because I know you are curious. Beyond this, though, I cannot provide it in good conscience without first watering it down. Even for you, Lorna, this will be very, very strong. Its properties go beyond alcohol content, shall we say?” He placed the glasses in front of them.

“Why do I feel like I am being handed a chemistry experiment?” Earlene asked. After what she’d just heard, she basically decided that the safest thing would be to simply wet her lips in order to gain a taste of it. Raising the glass, she smelled it and was immediately astonished. While she was used to the complexities of wine, this was amazing. It was as if grapes and berries and flowers and wood flavors and the entire wine universe was all in there. It had a deep, dense burgundy color and she did not know if she should be worried that it had an astonishing opacity. And the flavor was...trouble. It was delicious beyond anything that she had ever tasted and god she wanted more...but felt afraid. But she just had to have more of it. She had to. She let herself swallow half of what was there, savoring the incredible taste. Looking up at Lorna, she was curious to see her reaction.

Being thirty-nine rather than nineteen, Lorna didn’t just slam it back right off. She followed Earlene’s example and tasted it, bit by bit, and immediately wished she could have an entire damn barrel of it. If this was what wine was supposed to be like, she didn’t wonder why so many spent so much time rattling on about it. And then it kicked her right in the teeth.

She’d always been a fan of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series, and before she registered what left her mouth, she said, “Is this like a real-life Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster?” Holy shit, her head hadn’t felt this floaty since she was a teenager -- half like the top of her skull was trying to unscrew itself, and yet it was not at all an unpleasant sensation. It wasn’t quite like being properly drunk, either; warmth traveled through her veins, like liquid sunshine, leaving her more at peace with the world than she’d been in ages. She was so relaxed in her chair she felt a bit like a noodle.

Earlene immediately began giggling. “Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster? I haven’t heard that one in years. Lorna, do you remember the Vogon poetry? ‘And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles, or else I’ll rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don’t!” At this point the giggles morphed into nearly uncontrollable laughter; Earlene was having trouble catching her breath. “And Marvin the Robot? ‘Brain the size of a planet, and all I get to do is open doors?’ “

Earlene might have registered that Thanadir was shaking his head in dismay, if her eyes had not been clouded by the tears of laughter running down her cheeks. It was a full-blown episode of hysterical mirth. “O freddled gruntbuggly,” piped Earlene, laughing harder still. Thranduil swiftly removed the glass from his wife as he caught the seneschal’s frosty look that said ‘I tried to warn you.’

Lorna burst out laughing. “And the whale,” she said. “The whale and the petunias that thought ‘oh no, not again’. I want to go to the restaurant at the end of the universe.” It normally took a very, very large amount of alcohol to get her truly drunk, with the result that she rarely had been in her life. Now, however, she was completely ossified, and so relaxed she was close to boneless -- which meant that when she twisted around in her chair so she could rest her feet on the back, she nearly slithered right off and onto the floor. “Though I bet they don’t have a decent cheeseburger, all that way from any planet with a self-respecting cow.” The thought only made her laugh harder, even as she struggled to untangle herself from the mess that was her own hair. Rather like a spiderweb, it had caught her -- and unfortunately, her attempts only led her to fall right out of her chair after all.

“Oops,” she said, still too much of a noodle to even register anything like pain. “That was--” She hauled herself to her feet, more or less, and blinked hard. Everything appeared to be very gently rocking, like a ship at sea, her balance completely shot. “What the hell’s in that wine?” she asked, giving Thranduil as suspicious a look as she was actually capable of, under the current circumstances. “It’s like...special brownies, only, y’know, wine.” She dissolved into laughter all over again, and got the fantastic idea to haul herself up over the back of her chair -- fortunately, she was light enough that she didn’t just tip the whole thing over. She did, however, get stuck like that briefly, unable to go forward or back, eventually pitching head-first onto the seat. “...I meant to do that,” she said, through a fit of giggles.

Openly glaring at his King, Thanadir rose and gently guided Lorna back into her chair. “Boe annon nen andin” (It is necessary to give them water) he said to Thranduil, who was genuinely surprised that the miniscule amount had so swiftly yielded this result. Earlene had mostly dried her tears and was beginning to manage intervals during which she didn’t laugh, until she exclaimed “Forty-two!” after which both women immediately started up with fresh peals of mirth. Thranduil hastened to pour them water into unbreakable drinking vessels, encouraging both of them to drink. Thanadir deduced that the key to success would come from getting each of them to stop reflecting on their shared humor, since they were obviously egging each other on to new rounds of laughter. He turned Lorna’s chair so that she had to look at him, and waited until she could listen to his instructions to drink the water. Thranduil saw, and did likewise with Earlene. And nobody noticed that Tail took the opportunity to jump back onto the table, and was now standing in the center of the platter of food, happily chewing on a long slice of roasted meat. It took the better part of five minutes for the water to be consumed, but afterward Lorna and Earlene sat quietly with only brief and occasional eruptions of humor. Their faces were plastered with beatific smiles as they both took renewed interest in their food.

With wide eyes Thranduil was the first to notice the kitten, which he whisked into one hand (meat slice and all), and placed on the floor before his seneschal could catch sight of it, counting himself extremely fortunate that he had escaped detection. When Thanadir finally did return to his meal, he immediately drained two thirds of his glass in one swallow. Right about the same time, Earlene sat up and said to her friend, “You brought cake!”

“I did,” Lorna said, still weaving a little even where she sat. “It’s a Mairead cake, so it’s extra good, and at least it’s big.” She was utterly starving again -- why did elf wine give you the munchies? Did it have some of the same properties as weed? If so, no bloody wonder the elves liked it so much. She wondered if it would be possible to duplicate the effect with some substance that wouldn’t, you know, kill them if they had more than a sip or two. Unfortunately, despite all her connections, she didn’t know anyone with the background in chemistry that would be needed to figure _that_ one out. “Would this -- okay,” she said, looking at Thranduil, who still appeared as though he were rocking slightly, “if this was like, diluted and baked into brownies, would it still get people drunk without poisoning anyone? Because it would make some seriously tasty brownies.” The richness of the wine, with its trace of sweetness that wasn’t too much, would go _fantastically_ with chocolate, and there was so much alcohol in it that she doubted it would all bake out.

Thanadir rolled his eyes. He did not need to ask what a ‘brownie’ was to understand that this had been a terrible decision.

Clearing his throat while trying to maintain his waning (if not outright tenuous) hold on the dignity of his table, Thranduil opted to change the subject. “I shall serve the cake,” he declared, noting that Thanadir had finished his meal and that Earlene was idly sweeping her finger across her plate, mopping up crumbs to lift to her lips. He un-boxed it carefully and cut into it as he’d seen Mairead do previously. Holding the knife at the angle for the second cut, he looked at his seneschal questioningly, asking silently if the slice was large enough, and sighed as he moved the knife in an ever widening angle until the subtle frown transformed into the hint of a smile. _I will never hear the end of this_ , thought the King, _even though no words will ever be spoken_. Transferring the substantial slab onto a plate, he passed it over to Thanadir’s waiting hands before slicing much smaller servings for the women. For himself he took the barest shaving and placed it on a plate; he fully intended to have several glasses of wine instead.

“Oooh, custard filling!” declared Earlene. “It’s a shame that Mairead doesn’t run the bakery, no disrespect intended to your friend Siobhan. Do you know, I thought the chocolate syrup she used in those buns could have been of a far better quality?” Just at that moment, she heard a vaguely strangled noise come from her husband but elected to ignore it...the cake was too delicious and she was still _starving_.

Lorna, naturally, went and straight-up inhaled half her cake at that, hacking like a deranged TB patient as she fought to bring up the crumbs. Even now, she had just enough presence of mind to do her best not to actually waste her slice, because that would be a crime. “Given some’v the things she’d like to use that syrup for, I’m surprised it wasn’t,” she said, in between coughs. She’d somehow got frosting on her nose _and_ her chin, and trying to wipe it off just succeeded in smearing it further. “Apparently she can get a bit...creative, though I still maintain there’s places syrup just shouldn’t go. According to Molly, her term is ‘chocolate popsicle’.” She tried not looking at Thranduil -- she really did, but she couldn’t help it, and then she was choking and laughing at the same time, tears springing to her eyes as a stitch developed in her side. At least she managed to say no more than that, and thus avoided embarrassing Thranduil or Earlene any further (though she wondered, as she wheezed, if he was actually capable of blushing or not).

Earlene paused, her fork hovering over her cake. Thranduil looked sideways with trepidation as Earlene’s analytical mind flared to life. Even under the influence of the elven wine, she did not miss a thing. Looking up to assure herself that Thanadir showed no signs of looking on in her mind at this exact moment, her gaze returned to her cake. She sent one thought only to her husband: _Busted_. Whether he knew that idiom or not remained to be seen, as the corners of her mouth barely turned up in a smile. Aloud, and with a completely straight face she said, “well, it’s good cake, and there is certainly nothing wrong with a well-made cream filling.” Before anyone could react, Earlene deftly changed the subject. “Lorna, who was the handsome man you were chatting up at the pub, is he someone you know?”

Thranduil silently rose to pour himself another glass of wine, returning with the bottle of it to the table as Earlene looked on in silent envy. It had been almost cruel, to be allowed to taste something so wonderful that she so obviously could not have without the consequence of an early demise.

 _Well-made cream filling_...of course that set Lorna off again, though this time she managed to contain herself soon enough. She was still giggling, however, when she wiped her face with a very nice napkin, and managed to speak. “I’d just met him,” she said, sipping water to clear the last of the crumbs from her throat. “He’s Doc Barry’s cousin. Hasn’t got any idea how to talk to women, but I don’t know how to talk to men, either, so we’re even there. I actually want to talk to him,” she added. “I haven’t wanted to talk to a bloke in years, not like that. There’s something... _something_ about him.” It was quite apart from the fact that he was bloody gorgeous, too; she’d seen her share of attractive men over the years, but he was the first one she’d wanted to get to know. She was actually rather relieved Ratiri could be so awkward; it meant she wasn’t alone. “He’s a doctor himself, apparently, though he didn’t say why he’d come to Baile, I get the feeling there’s something he’s leaving behind.” There were only so many things _I needed a change_ could mean, after all. “If I knew more about him, I’d ask him to do the exam on these two, and save the lot of you from a trip to Dublin. If he’s too observant, though, he’ll notice too many things that don’t add up for you two to be human, and that’d be...well, I don’t know if it’d be bad or not, but I’d rather not risk it. Dublin’ll be...well, it’ll be an experience, but it’s safer.” Even now, she was giggling every so often -- just more quietly.

Calling Dublin ‘safer’ than anything was a bit hilarious, but it really would be an experience. It wasn’t that she was afraid the elves couldn’t take care of themselves -- what she feared was that they could do it too well. Humans were, after all, quite fragile compared to elves; one too-hard punch could probably break some bastard’s face.

 _We are more than capable of not leaving a swath of destruction in our wake, Lorna._ There was a hint of irritability to his tone, which hardly seemed reasonable since he was on what, his third glass of that miracle elixir? Lorna rolled her eyes.

Earlene spoke. “When do you think we’ll be able to do this, Lorna? It sounds like this will be an all-day adventure. Do you know how, erm, _thorough_ of an exam this is likely to be?” Earlene knew enough to know what places a health exam on a male could include and did not envy the ellyn the idea of fingers. There.

 _You’ve never been to Dublin_ , Lorna said. _The destruction might find you, whether you like it or not. You only think you’ve seen drunk Irish people on a rampage. If you don’t believe me, take a look at some of my teenage memories._ Aloud, she said, “Niamh said any time in the next week’d be good, since the doc knows we’ve got money. From what she’s said, it’s not _that_ invasive -- no ‘turn your head and cough’ sort’ve thing. The just want to make sure the person’s healthy, doesn’t have a heart murmur or anything like that. Peeing in a jar to check kidney function’s probably the most invasive thing you’ve got to worry about.” Fortunately. While she figured both elves could put up with a more, uh, thorough exam, they’d hate it, and she wouldn’t blame them. Some things were their own special brand of hell. At least they’d never, ever have to deal with a pelvic exam. The mere thought made her twitch.

“Well, then, my King, what day do you think would be best? Most human institutions function on having appointments in advance; we should schedule as soon as possible for the sake of orderliness.”

At the word “orderliness,” a smile broke out on Thanadir’s face, and Earlene worked very hard not to burst into more giggles. While the effects of the wine were ebbing fast, she was not yet free of its grip. Averting her eyes, she focused instead on her last bite of cake.

Thranduil was now halfway down his fourth glass, and appeared completely unaffected by the beverage. Truthfully, his mind was currently occupied by the disturbing imagery of rectal and pelvic exams he had just seen in the two women. _In what barbarity did these humans engage?_ he wondered to himself. “You choose, Lorna. As you are the one who must drive us, it makes far more sense that we bend our time around your availability.”

“Mick’s not got anything on the books tomorrow,” Lorna said, still giggling a bit. “I’ll see if I can get us in tomorrow afternoon or so. If I throw enough money at this doctor, I’m sure she’ll do whatever the hell I want.” Heading into Dublin in the afternoon also meant the traffic wouldn’t be too heinous, and if they got out soon enough, there wouldn’t be rush hour on the way back, either. It wasn’t just the elves’ nerves she was worried about, either -- driving like an actual sane person was surprisingly difficult for her, and managed to set her on edge. All her aggressive instincts clamored to be let free, but with passengers, she just couldn’t be that much of an asshole, even if two of them hadn’t been quite new to driving in general.

“So just to clarify; doctor, meet with Niamh who then can presumably be able to file this paperwork, and...Lorna, you need to tell us of any expenses you are paying. You aren’t to be using your salary to cover anything at all for us...petrol, clothing you end up buying...anything. And I wondered, my Lord, if Lorna and I could return to the cottage after lunch to discuss...human things.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed at his inability to easily see what ‘human things’ amounted to, but as the beginnings of his fifth and final glass of wine had finally mellowed him (final, only because the bottle was now emptied), he consented. A barrage of very rapid Sindarin from Thanadir commenced as he began to clear the table. Earlene was beginning to suspect more than a little that as she gained in ability, the two of them were deliberately speaking faster and faster when they wished her to not understand. Which made no sense, as they still had telepathy but... _elves._

“Sounds right,” Lorna said, eying the empty bottle. Someday, she wanted to experiment with watering it down, and see what happened. “I’ve not told Niamh anything but that I’ve got two ID-less men and I can pay for her to get them whatever they need. She shouldn’t go asking any personal questions, even if she’s curious.” Which she probably would be; even to one who didn’t know the elves weren’t human, there was something just... _different_ about them, something indefinable but almost palpable. _Human things_...she wasn’t sure what that meant, but in conjunction with their current conversation, she was afraid it had something to do with pelvic exams, oh god. No, Lorna hadn’t had one in twenty years, nor was she going to ever have another one, thanks so much. There were things that went in places things like that just shouldn’t go, and all of them were cold, and she had no idea why any woman would do that more than once.

“Then we will excuse ourselves; thank you very much for the lunch, Thanadir, and the cake, Lorna.” With a gesture for Lorna to follow, they departed, leaving the two elves to...whatever important business was at hand. When they were out of the warren of tunnels and into the main cavern of Thranduil’s Hall, Earlene finally spoke. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to not think about Zaphod Beeblebrox around a telepath? I mean, I’m guessing you do, but….” her giggles pealed through the otherwise vast and silent chamber, causing a few random elves to look up from their occupations and smile. The mortals were interesting, and well-thought of.

“I’ve given up trying to not think’v any certain thing around Thranduil,” Lorna said. “It only means I wind up thinking’v it in more detail than I would otherwise. I’m glad my brain amuses him, because I’ve got no control over it whatsoever. I think the term is ‘word vomit’.” It was much better that he start laughing than start looking ill, or irritated. She wasn’t actually sure what the hell she was going to do, should she and Ratiri ever actually manage something...she thought Ratiri was quite pretty, but she doubted Thranduil would be terribly thrilled by whatever _appreciative_ thoughts she had about the man.

It was a swift walk through a pleasantly sunny afternoon back through the woods to the cottage, while they chatted and laughed more about favorite science fiction books and shows they’d both enjoyed. The aftermath of it involved a promise to have a movie night with buttered popcorn and Monty Python and the Holy Grail, elves or no elves. Where “Hitchhiker’s Guide” cracks and jokes left off, movie quotes began until the two of them rolled inside, having laughed until it was becoming painful. By mutual agreement, they set aside the topic before they both needed over the counter pain relievers to manage their aching sides.

“So the not so big-deal reason I wanted to return here is to finally make good on the Sindarin, if you’re still in any kind of a mood to take a look at it. I was hoping that they’d stay in the Halls because….for all they obviously speak it better than I do, they don’t entirely understand what it’s like for a native English speaker to tackle it. I’m quite possibly being an idiot, but I thought I’d have a better chance of explaining it to you while being less intimidating. Though, I have to say, Thanadir is one hell of a tutor. Thranduil is of course brilliant, but he doesn’t stay as focused and disciplined like Thanadir does when he’s teaching, and he can also get a little more impatient. Thanadir, no matter how badly I’m screwing up, never takes a misstep but...god he can be stern and demanding, and I always feel like I’d rather die than disappoint him or waste his time. That’s my short two cents on the elves and their comparative tutoring skills, anyway. And the last thing? No matter how often I remind or beg the two of them to speak slower around me so I can hear them, they forget. That or they’re speeding up deliberately, hell if I know.”

“Thanadir sounds like Tatiana,” Lorna said. “She was my cellmate in prison, and she taught me Russian. Every time I got something wrong, she’d smack my knuckles, until I gave up and lamped her out. Not a solution that would work with Thanadir.” Even if it _would_ work -- if it probably wouldn’t hurt herself rather than him -- he just had that _face_. She could easily see Thranduil getting a bit cranky, too -- the problem with having someone who was genius at something was that they didn’t properly comprehend why something that was easy for them wasn’t that easy for everyone else. Her eyes narrowed. “Speeding it up? If we can speak it aloud enough, they won’t be able to get away with that for long.”

“I’ll confess that speaking it is my weakest skill” she quipped while setting the kettle on to heat. “I do better with what I can see on paper in front of me, and the sounds they have and the rules of pronunciation are of course...well, you’ll see.” She gestured for Lorna to sit at the sofa, reasoning that they currently had the entire coffee table free for spreading out papers. An intimidating stack of papers and books hit the table with a plunk. Earlene sat, and pulled out a few things. “Though I’ve been rubbish at getting together with you about this, I did plan well enough to get you your own materials started. The two main things here are a large printout that covers nearly all the relevant grammar, and a dictionary. What do you have for a computer...is there a laptop or notebook you have to use? Because if not, you’ll need one of those too.”*

“I’ve got a laptop,” Lorna said, eying the papers. “It’s at Mick’s right now.” Okay, this was a lot to take in, but she could do it. Typed things weren’t really an issue for her anymore; she might read a bit more slowly than normal, but not by a very great deal. So long as she kept plugging along every night once she’d got home (or rather, back to Mick’s flat) she’d be able to get through it in a fairly reasonable amount of time. The alphabet for Sindarin would be another story entirely, but she’d imagine everyone had some level of trouble with that. It wouldn’t look odd if she just had a bit more than most.

“There are other papers here too. One is a chart of their alphabet. The others are verb charts; shortcut reminders to how to conjugate verbs in the various tenses...but they are only general guides because of course there are exceptions. And I’m going to totally back up here. I’m used to thinking about information in a certain kind of way. I don’t expect that you do. Don’t worry about what you might not have learned yet; it makes no difference. We will start wherever we have to. Did you get along with grammar, in school? If I go on about participles and adverbs and the like, does that work?” Earlene suddenly felt awash in waves of awkwardness, because there was absolutely zero truly good way to ask someone about their level of education without coming off like a goddamn snob. But at the same time, she had to have some idea of where they were beginning; it wouldn’t help either of them if she was speaking Greek the entire time she tried to explain this shite.

“I know nouns and adverbs and that,” Lorna said, neglecting to mention that she’d learned it all in prison, not school. “Participles...not so much. I went to school in the shitty south end’v Dublin -- our teachers weren’t that worried about what we learned or didn’t learn.” And she’d left school at fourteen, but even if she hadn’t, she doubted she would have learned that much. “They didn’t figure any’v us would grow up to need to know that much. None’v us were going to be doctors or the like.” Unbeknownst to Earlene, Lorna was feeling rather awkward, too, because there was no way Earlene could understand the school system of 80’s Dublin, and how little almost everyone had cared about the kids on the south side.

“Ok, no problem. By tomorrow I’ll have a printout for a reference list of parts of speech that will include examples of what-in-hell is meant, in plain English. Unfortunately, this being an offbeat and supposedly invented language, the only worthwhile grammars out there explain themselves as though you know all that already. And I’ve got to warn you too, there are a lot of crap websites out there, which just makes it harder to tell the ones that are worth looking at from those that aren’t.” She stood up to head off the kettle, which was about ready to shriek. “The only other thing to say just now is, come at this without caring about it too much. It’s got some quirks that are going to send you straight down the bottle of your strongest stuff if you go at it like I did, feeling like I had to have it all learned in a week. There are fun exercises that just involve short phrases, things people actually say to each other...take in those first. It will make the parts that are truly no fun seem less godawful. And Thranduil reminds me a lot, the entire point of this is that all the other elves like as not won’t learn any English; he wants me to be able to talk to more than just him and Thanadir.” Her sense of feeling awkward had only expanded as she spoke; it was time to just shut it before this turned into a church sermon.

“It can’t be worse than Russian,” Lorna said, and hoped like hell she was right. She picked up the top paper off the stack. “Christ, I know more about Russian grammar than English. Fucking accusative case made me want to murder Tatiana and the entire prison.” If she could sort these all out aloud, and associate each with a taste or a smell, it would make her life much, much easier. This section was by necessity going to be associated with this fragrant black tea. “If I make a hash’v it at first...well, that’s how I learned Russian. I was awful. I got the bones down, then worked out the details later, though I never did manage to speak it as well as I understand it -- seriously, that fucking accusative case can fuck off and die in a fucking fire. It’s the same with Welsh; I can understand it well enough, but speaking it I sound like a drunken sailor. Then again, my accent’s so heavy that I have a hell’v a time in any language. I was trying to repeat the words I heard in the halls, and I’m pants at it.”

Earlene debated if she should say this, and then decided...Yes. “There’s something else, too. That alphabet was invented by an elf that lived a million years ago, Fëanor was his name. He was apparently dark-haired, gorgeous, talented and brilliant beyond all description and he went about as bad as an elf could go. The things he did led to elves murdering other elves. Specifically, if I understood right, murdering those who were the ancestors and kin of Thranduil’s people. All these years later, it is still a sore subject for him, and by pure bad luck I blundered right into the middle of the emotional core of what happened. He...let’s just say it wasn’t a pleasant day around here. The language we are trying to learn, Sindarin, is different than the elven language Fëanor’s lot spoke. That was called Quenya. It was older, more developed, and arguably prettier than Sindarin….and a lot of Sindarin words come from Quenya. But in Thranduil’s youth, one of their kings banned people from speaking Quenya. I can’t say as any of this could matter in your learning, but I just wanted you to know that this...political and emotional pitfall exists. And that if you ever come across something called the Oath of Fëanor, it might be a good idea never to practice reading it aloud here.” Maybe she shouldn’t have told all that to Lorna, but she meant well. She’d never fully gotten past seeing Thranduil’s anger, and did not want her friend to ever experience that if she could somehow help her to avoid it.

Lorna winced. “Did he flip out?” she asked. She could scarcely imagine hating someone so much that the mere sound of words could piss you off -- not even her father had pulled _that_ one off, and she wondered, as she’d wondered several times, whether or not living so long wasn’t a double-edged sword. When something awful happened to you, you literally had eternity to let it stew, and probably only get worse with years. And if this Fëanor had straight-up murdered some of Thranduil’s family...yeeeesh. That would be a bit more than a sore spot. “It seems so mental -- all this being something real, and almost nobody knowing. I wish that Tolkien bloke was still alive, because I’d love to ask him a lot’v pointed questions.” Obviously he wasn’t someone who’d met an elf and learned all this from them, or Thranduil probably would have known about it...how damn weird. It would do her head in, if she wondered about it too much.

“I guess the best comparison would be if The Troubles had been caused by just one person, and the by association that man’s sons and daughters. Imagine how everyone on the wrong side of the violence would feel about that name...and if there was a speech, or a declaration, that they used to stir the violence, how you’d feel about hearing it no matter who said the words. I need to read more, but Fëanor made all seven of his sons swear an oath that led to all of the bad that happened. And it was all over three jewels; amazing jewels that captured light like no other and that only he had learned how to create. And yeah, Thranduil flipped out. But at least he did better than I did. The one time I got that mad at him, I hit him as hard as I could. All he did was yell and leave. And….Jesus, that was TMI. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ever said that. If there is any chance you could somehow forget I mentioned that, I’d appreciate it. I’m never going to not feel like crap for what I did.”

Lorna’s eyebrows went up. “Earlene, allanah, I’m a bartender,” she said. “Believe me, I’ve heard worse. Hell, I’ve _done_ worse. I can’t say I’ve ever hit my boyfriend ’cause I was furious, but I’ve hit a load’v other people, half the time with more than my fists. You don’t seem the sort to lamp someone out -- what’s the word? Premeditatedly?” She seriously couldn’t imagine Earlene smacking someone out of malice aforethought, unless she were actively in danger. “At least you didn’t break his nose with half a brick. I mean, I doubt that would actually _work_ , but at least you didn’t try.” And that, boys and girls, was why she worried about taking the pair of them to Dublin. Should someone come at them with half a brick or any other improvised weapon, the ‘someone’ would wind up in a world of hurt. Arrogant as it sounded, if Lorna didn’t stand a chance against one of them, it was unlikely anyone else would, either -- and moreover, would have no idea what they were up against. And if someone tried to pull some shite with Earlene...well, Lorna didn’t even want to think of it. So long as they were out of the city before the pubs were emptying out, she’d be less worried.

She _had_ hit Liam, though, several times, but always when he was waking her from a nightmare, and yeah, she’d felt like crap herself, too. He’d always told her it wasn’t her fault, that she literally had no idea who he was, and while he was right...still. That it should happen at all, no matter who she thought he was, made her cringe. But she had a suspicion, one she didn’t want to voice, mostly because she was pretty sure she didn’t need to: Earlene had to have got so furious with Thranduil over 9/11. Hell, he’d outright said her state of mind was his fault, but Lorna had never wanted to pry, because even she had some personal boundaries. That...yeah, that was something that would warrant getting violently, crazly angry over, without a second thought. And this Fëanor...how were the elves not giant, walking balls of neuroses? Or were they, and were just incredibly good at hiding it?

Earlene laughed softly. “Well, I’m still ashamed, but, given that I broke my hand doing it while I didn’t hurt him in the least…” she sighed and shook her head. “And no bricks were involved. Honestly, the only time I’ve ever gone after someone was Sean, at the party. It’s not that I’m incapable of getting that mad. And the other time, the time I was grabbed outside the pub...I never had a chance to do anything. I didn’t have to; the necklace did worse than anything I could have managed. I never did know, what happened to that man,” she said, as she caught the look of wary confusion on Lorna’s face. “In all the fun, maybe no one ever explained this?” asked Earlene, tilting her head and pointing at the glinting diamonds around her neck. Seeing Lorna shake her head No, she sighed. _Well, as long as it’s TMI day,_ she thought.

“I’d not heard’v that at all,” Lorna said. “I’d only thought there was Sean.” What was this necklace? She’d thought it just a very pretty gift; she hadn’t realized it had anything to do with Earlene’s protection -- Ian had said that it _meant_ she was protected, but not exactly by _what_.

“Before the night I met you, I’d been to the pub one other time. My first night there. I’d had a grand time, all the lads were in there and I had a wonderful hour or so talking to them. Went outside to unlock my bicycle to ride home, and since I wasn’t in New York, I’d totally dropped my guard. Next thing I know this man came out of nowhere, and had a hold of my arm. He was big, much stronger than me; he’d gotten enough of a grip to leave a huge purple bruise. Before I could think, scream, fight, anything, it was like all the light was leaving his eyes; he dropped like a stone. I honestly thought he was dead. Then the lads came out, saw him. All I could think was that I didn’t want them to believe I’d just killed a man, but Ian just took it in stride. He said in so many words, ‘he’s not local, go home, we’ll take care of this.’ And I never knew anything more about it. I didn’t get a huge explanation later, but Thranduil made it clear that this...does something, to anyone who would lay a hand on me. He said it didn’t kill the man, but he wasn’t conscious either. I think I have to be in some kind of proximity to Thranduil for it to work; he said it confers his protection.” She snorted. “You know, just in case all of this isn’t already weird enough for you...but I can’t say I minded.”

Lorna was troubled. _Deeply_ troubled. What the hell would happen if someone made a grab for Earlene in Dublin, in even a semi-public place? Hell, what did the necklace -- and hell, that was a whole other can of worms -- decide was too much danger? Or would it...take some kind of holiday, if Thranduil himself was around? Because if it decided to zap some arsehole in an alley, she’d have a hell of a time trying to explain it away. While it was unlikely anyone would try anything, given Earlene would be in a group, one never knew. Just...how did it _work_? She was fully aware there was one hell of a lot she didn’t know, but in this, it seemed Earlene didn’t know much either. Thus far, Lorna had make a policy not to ask questions that weren’t her business, but in this case, there was information she felt she needed to know before they went out into the world. While Thranduil might tell her to sod off, she was asking anyway, first chance she got. “Did he say anything else about it?” she asked.

Earlene’s forehead furrowed. “He told me it is called the Necklace of Lasg’len; it isn’t just any old piece of jewelry. It was made by dwarves, and is a family heirloom. The metal on it, it isn’t white gold or platinum, but mithril; some priceless element of their ancient world that now isn’t to be had any longer; it’s harder than the diamonds. And...now that I think of it, I think his exact words were that ‘to touch me with harmful intent carries a high price.’ If you’re asking how it works, I cannot exactly tell you. The only other thing is…” she paused, and looked at Lorna. “I’m trusting you to not be weirded out. It doesn’t take a genie to realize that you would not want to be stuck with many of the things to which I have agreed, and that’s ok, that we’re different. But I’d hate to feel like that divide between us is so big that I have to be afraid of what I can say to you. I don’t need you to agree with or even like all of my choices, but I do need to feel like I can be honest without sending you running screaming the other way.” She heaved another sigh. “I am under a command not to remove or even try to remove the necklace. Only Thranduil can take it off me, or put it on. Other than that, there is nothing else I can tell you, though he might explain more.”

Truth be told, Lorna _was_ weirded out a bit, but not too much; by now she knew Earlene enough to know she hadn’t signed on for this for the wrong reasons. “I’ll be honest with you,” she said, “sometimes it does make me a bit uncomfortable, but I’m getting used to it, because you really _aren’t_ me, and this isn’t the kind’v situation I’d be afraid’v, if Thranduil was human. I’ve still got my gut reactions, but I...know better?” she offered, uncertain how to phrase it. “I mean, I get -- really get, now -- that you haven’t got a problem with the whole...you know,” she gave a vague wave. “I need to stop looking at things through my own experience, and I’m starting to...sort’v. It’s not easy. What’d send me screaming the other way doesn’t bother you, and if you’re not bothered by it, why should I be? So long as you’re happy, that’s what counts. Though...you sleep in it?” she asked. “I’d think that’d be bloody uncomfortable.” It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, but she’d think it would leave...indents, or whatever, and it couldn’t be comfortable to shower in, either.

What remained difficult for her, though she was working on it, was the whole ‘command’ thing. Inevitably, all her life, as soon as someone told her to do something, she’d gone out and done the opposite, just to be a little shit. She really did only have her own experience to go by, and learning -- truly learning -- that not everyone had her issues was taking some work. Which, she’d spent thirty-nine years with her issues, and she’d known Earlene and Company for what, a fortnight?It would come, with time. Earlene was a smart woman, and she wasn’t cowed; that was what counted. (Although Lorna wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the ‘my lords’ and ‘my kings’, simply because she was Irish and there was just too much history there; she got around it by pretending she didn’t hear it.) Earlene seemed entirely fine with calling Thranduil ‘my king’, so there was nothing wrong with it. It wasn’t like he was forcing her. It grated on Lorna’s twenty-first century Irish ear, but so what? She wasn’t the one affected. What had surprised her immensely was finding that, in a few ways, she was actually quite narrow-minded -- but then, these were situations she’d never found herself in before, and couldn’t have had any way of predicting. And Ireland had such a centuries-old hatred of monarchy that her initial thoughts really weren’t any surprise.

Earlene chuckled. “Well, since we’re having honesty hour--and thank you, for what you said; I haven’t made tons of friends in my life, but even I’ve managed to figure out that a friend to whom you can’t really speak your honest mind is really only an acquaintance. But anyway. Yes, I sleep in it, and it only rarely digs in. I seem to recall that trying to wedge myself against the bathtub was an issue.” Her voice dropped by a few notes. “When this was first placed on me, I resented it and liked it all at the same time. It felt like a very beautiful dog collar. But that was before I understood anything about it. Now, it reminds me of Thranduil. Maybe everyone isn’t this sappy but, I love him. And when he’s not near me, it feels like he is, because of this.” Her hand laid over the jewels. “Now, I actually start to come slightly unglued when he takes it off. How things change,” she said, shaking her head. “Love is strange.”

Lorna’s romantic experience was so severely limited that she couldn’t quite comprehend that. The words ‘dog collar’ sent a rather unpleasant shiver through her, though that one wasn’t actually based on her own experience, but that of a friend. Part -- a very large part -- of why she’d initially been so skeeved out by some aspects of Earlene and Thranduil’s relationship was that she’d known a woman who’d been in a supposed S&M relationship that was in reality completely abusive -- complete with actual dog collar. Seeing that this was not the case had taken a bit at first, because she had no other frame of reference. “It really is,” she said. “Sometimes it takes a few years, like Liam and I, but Mairead only knew Kevin a month before they’d fallen for each other. They’ve been together close to twenty years now. I think, when you meet the right one, you just...know. Maybe not right off, but it’s like something in them calls to you, you know?”

“Ohhhh yes. Um, it’s more than you might imagine." In spite of what had just been said between them, Earlene once again weighed the wisdom of what she was about to say to Lorna but decided to continue her disclosures. "Were you told yet, that the decision to be intimate with an elf can’t be undone? It’s more than being in love. He and I are literally incapable of turning aside to other partners, physically or emotionally. It is difficult to explain but...an unbreakable bond forms. Our first time, I could literally feel something move through my mind and body, tying me to him. And while I have not been with a human man, I’m pretty sure this is not what happens. It is apparently an aspect of elven marriage.  I was told what would happen, warned, before we...but I hadn’t truly understood. How could I? There is no frame of reference among us for this. But like with everything else, I now wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Lorna turned that one over in her mind. “I think...maybe I can,” she said. “Imagine, I mean. Liam and I, there wasn’t anything actually binding us but each other, but neither’v us ever would’ve turned to anyone else. There were other people I found nice to look at, but it was...abstract? I didn’t have any desire to actually do anything, or even think of them as, y’know, sexual beings. Liam was it, right up until I saw Ratiri. He’s the first bloke I’ve been attracted to since Liam.”

She laughed a little. “Liam’s and my first time...it was my first time ever, and he didn’t exactly have much experience, so the earth didn’t precisely move. There was a lot’v laughter and we got the condom wrong at first, but later...I’ll not understand how different it would be with an elf, but I’m not sure it’s as different as we might think. When you love someone, it’s like nothing else matters, and you really wouldn’t give it up for anything.” She paused. “And Liam had a really fantastic arse. I mean, _really_ fantastic. We were roadies for Judas Priest for a while, and he had these leather trousers...brilliant, it was.” The memory made her burst out laughing, actually, because at one point he’d got stuck in them, and been highly embarrassed when she’d had to literally peel them off him -- before they’d started any kind of relationship.

Earlene began giggling uncontrollably.  "Sure god, you’ve no idea how good it feels to hear I’m not the only one with stories to tell. Judas Priest?? Thranduil was my first. I guess you could say that my job didn’t leave me with a lot of room for relationships. It wasn’t that I didn’t want someone, I just never blundered into that person. Maybe I was far too easy to seduce,” she said ruefully, “but when you’re almost forty before anyone even tries…” she shrugged. “I’m not going to feel apologetic about it. I know he isn’t your type but to me Thranduil is perfect. Beautiful, like no one I could ever imagine. And what he can do…” her cheeks began to turn red. “Okay, I do not need to turn into a complete tell-all here, I’m sorry.” She laughed again. “Though I don’t feel drunk any longer, I wonder what the hell was in that wine. Sure seems to have loosened my tongue,” she giggled again.

Lorna laughed. “You want to talk about ‘blundered’...Liam and I shared a parole officer. We kept meeting up our first year, then, once our parole was up, we went to England and went touring, just as friends first. I’m not even exactly sure when it turned into more -- one day, just did. And Judas Priest...that’s how I learned to play guitar, actually. How and when. It was way too fun, even if half the time we were slogging around in mud.”

She shook her head, leaning back on the sofa. “Earlene, does it make me shallow, that I don’t think Thranduil and Thanadir are attractive, y’know, like _that_? I mean, objectively they’re both lovely, but they don’t do a bloody thing for me -- does that mean I’m shallow? I think it means I’m shallow, and I’m worried Ratiri might be the same way. I don’t look like you, or like Siobhan, though God knows my hair’s got better.” She picked up her braid, running her fingers over it. It was certainly better than nothing.

“Shallow? No. Physical attraction is incredibly...specific, I think. In general, dark-skinned men have never done it for me; though I will allow that in the same way, Ratiri that you met strikes me as very handsome in an artistic kind of way. I had to turn shades of red a few days back, explaining mortal women to Thanadir. We’ve become closer than I’d expected to be. I somehow found the guts to tell him that were I not bound to Thranduil, I would find him incredibly appealing. It’s obvious to me that I think most elves are desirable. Or I would, if I were capable of feeling that way toward another of them. It’s like you said, no one but Thranduil will ever do anything for me. But back to Ratiri...I don’t know him, but I’ve made my living in part by being exceedingly good at reading the body language and mannerisms of others. That man found you attractive. He radiated it, actually. While I cannot read minds like my husband can, that was plain enough. You do know that you are very pretty, right? You have a face and body that is positively elfin. And your eyes, Jesus. You look like you flew out of the pages of a book about fae. I look like a damn lawyer. I know that I’m a certain kind of attractive. But that’s the thing; we’re all a certain kind of attractive. It just depends on who the one is that’s looking.”

“It’s obvious to Siobhan, too,” Lorna said, trying not to laugh and failing. “While I don’t know that she actually shocked Thranduil, she did surprise him a bit. Woman’s a right pervert, and apparently she’s even worse inside her head.” She couldn’t help but smile, even as she swirled her tea in her mug. “Did he? I’m such shit at talking to men, but he was pretty bad with me, too, so at least neither’v us was better than the other. I’d wondered how a man like that could be so crap at talking to a woman, but I think he’s like me -- I think he lost his first, and that was that, for ages.”

She looked up at Earlene. “Elfin?” she asked. “That’s bit ironic, given...well, everything.” It was not, to her knowledge, a word anyone had ever applied to her in the history of ever, but she’d take it. It certainly beat ‘scrawny’ any day of the week. “You don’t look like a damn lawyer, though -- well, unless you’re in your suit, but then that’s entirely the point. You wear all these elf clothes like you were born to; Christ, I’d half suspect you were an elf myself sometimes, if I didn’t know better. You...sometimes you _move_ like them, too, you know? Usually when I see you in the halls, so maybe I’m off my nut, but I don’t think I am.” Had Thranduil noticed that? He had to have.

 _Really?_ Earlene had no idea. Though, there was no doubt that in her heart, she felt like she belonged with and to the elves, to a depth she wouldn’t have believed possible. “And here I thought it was just because of Thanadir’s skills as a tailor,” she joked, looking down. But there was no doubt that the words were said with honesty. _Honesty_...that reminded her.

“Lorna, I remembered something I’d meant to tell you, about Thanadir. Please don’t hate me for saying all this. The thing in the pub in Baile, with your niece? It was a valiant rescue attempt, and you had no way of knowing this, but elves don’t lie. Especially Thanadir. If I hadn’t gotten him out the door when I did, you would have seen the full force of the King's Seneschal. He may have the pitiful puppy dog look much of the time, but trust me, that is not who he is. There is a lion behind that façade, with fairly firm views on what is acceptable and what isn't. I had a long talk with him explaining why you lied to try and get rid of Niamh; he understood and isn’t upset at all. I loaned him my da’s wedding ring, to stave off problems in future. But I think if it comes up again, we should just say he’s 'not available' if asked, and no more. I also spent two hours, teaching him how to recognize how people act and practicing how to politely and not-so-politely turn down being hit on by both women and men. If it happens again, he’s prepared. He may not look it, but he is more than capable of asserting himself.”

“Oh Christ,” Lorna said, wincing, “That would have ended...so, so badly. Not violently or anything, but...ugly.” Seriously, the thought made her shudder. The people of Baile were a good lot, but if they saw what they would assume was an outsider giving shite to a local, there would have been Words. Rather nasty words, many containing four letters. She wished she was a better liar, that she could have put Niamh off without making a total hash of things. “But -- the elves, they’re pretending to be humans. That’s a pretty major lie.” Were the elves massive rules-lawyers?

Earlene looked at her with a rather intent expression. “Good grief, I never thought of that angle. Some lawyer I am. I wonder how they would respond to that observation?”

At that exact moment the door opened, and Thranduil entered, smiling. “I hope I have allowed you sufficient time for ‘human things’?” he teased.

Both women’s eyes rolled, but Earlene was first to retort. “I thought we did pretty good, having a private conversation about personal topics knowing you hear everything we say. For a human, that takes a lot, I hope you realize.”

Thranduil looked at both of them with affection and humor. “I do,” he said softly. “Do not ever believe that you are both other than very much appreciated,” he said with a raw sincerity that was almost embarrassing to hear.

Using the lull to change the subject, Earlene pressed on, with a tone of respect included in her question. “I wondered if you would be willing to answer Lorna’s remark? How do you reconcile not lying with a rather strong need for a certain kind of deception?”

The humor fell away from his face, and he sat down in the chair opposite them, slumping just a little. His long legs stretched out in front of him, almost clear under the coffee table as he picked aimlessly at a button on his tunic. “Ah, that,” he said with chagrin. “I think the topic might be better understood if the words were changed a little. No exact law or requirement hangs over our heads for this; it isn’t as though one goes to elven prison for speaking a lie. But as with many things, it is deep in our hearts to choose to be truthful. You must understand that ages ago, our world was undone by two who lied and deceived first the elves, and then men; Morgoth and his slave Mairon. The bitter fruits of that era made a lasting impression on the consciousness of all of us, as a race. So it might be better to say, Earlene, that elves strongly prefer not to lie. You of all people are aware that I have employed deception when I felt that there was a great need; and there were consequences for my choices. Does that clarify?” As he concluded, he looked on with a smile, seeing the stack of instructional materials in front of Lorna. Feeling mischievous, he picked up a pencil and a notepad.

Earlene nodded. “It is my mistake. I did not clearly understand this nuance, and a conversation I had with Thanadir gave me the impression that it was far more of an absolute rule. I must remember to be careful; his English has improved so very much I forget that I should ask discerning questions.”

“No harm is done,” he said kindly, handing the notepad to Lorna. “I see that you have the chart of our letters. Can you work out what this says?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eyes.

Smiling, Earlene glanced at the word. Their character for “L” was among the most distinctive and easy to remember; she did not need to think about the three consonants to realize what he would have written. Though, she was still jealous of his handwriting; her own script still looked, in her eyes, like a second grader’s attempt at art class.

Lorna really, really wished she could have stopped the utter dread that stabbed through her. _Shit, shit, abort, abort!_ She’d have a hell of a time even if the letters were in the Roman alphabet. She scanned the chart, hoping like hell it would just...jump out at her, but no such luck. _Wait...was that --? Probably not._ _Fuck_. Anger stirred in her, mostly at herself: she’d been so certain she’d be able to wrangle this on her own, where nobody would actually know just how bad this was.

Thranduil’s face betrayed no outward reaction as he spoke silently to his wife. _Earlene, do not respond in any manner to what I am about to say aloud_. “Lorna, forgive me. I did not realize that you have a time constraint this afternoon, I did not mean to hold you up with my silly word games. We will see you tomorrow, to go to Dublin? May I ask what time we are to be ready?” His gaze was calm and level.

It was odd, just how relieved and unhappy she could be all at once; relieved, that Thranduil had given her an out, but unhappy that he’d worked this out in the first place. Elves probably had no idea what the hell dyslexia even was; shit, even a lot of humans didn’t understand it. “I’ll come by at around ten,” she said. “That will put us in Dublin at around noon. If all goes even half-ass to plan, we should be on our way home by three.” She doubted the doctor’s appointment would take that long, and Niamh wouldn’t hold them up. “We can pick up some take-away from a pub for the way back. Mick won’t mind if we eat in his van so long as we don’t leave a mess.” Unfortunately, she was entirely certain Thranduil wasn’t going to let this...this, go, but at least she didn’t have to deal with it right now. _Thank you_ , she said. _You can -- you can tell Earlene, if you feel like it. Just...once I’m gone. She can explain it loads better than I could._

As Lorna walked to the front door, the words came clearly into her mind; _You are correct, mellonenin, which means, my friend. With this difficulty too, I can help you, when you are ready. It is not your fault, Lorna. Good luck, for now._ The tone faded out with the sound of a smile, if such a thing was possible.

She’d trusted Thranduil this far, and he’d never let her down; he did not, she knew, judge her, which was more than she could say of a lot of people. She trusted Earlene with it, too, but couldn’t actually admit it to her face. _Good luck to you, too,_ she said, a slightly bastardized farewell. _I’ll be out in the morning._ Papers in hand, she headed out toward the edge of the forest, determined to spend some time studying on her own, so she wouldn’t have _that_ embarrassing problem again.

She noticed the mail in the box, halfway to spilling out. Though she didn’t want to pry, she couldn’t help but notice the letter on the top had a U.S. postage stamp. Probably something from Earlene’s work. _Hey Thranduil, the post’s here. I’ve stuck it back into the box. Something on top Earlene might want to see -- it’s from the States._

Once Lorna had been gone for the better part of a minute, Earlene looked up in amusement. _That would be one of those ‘necessary deceptions?’_ She smirked.

His eyebrows arched at her. _Yes. Surely I have made no secret of being far more inclined to deception that my beautiful and morally stalwart seneschal?_ His eyes sparkled like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar by a parent with no intention of offering discipline.

“You have not,” she said with humor. “I have always assumed it somehow went with the crown. And I am hoping I may speak aloud?”

His head dipped in a nod.

“Would you like tea?”

His head shook from side to side, his eyes never leaving hers.

“May we have a conversation that will have greater complexity than Yes or No answers?”

Again, a nod, though this time he could not repress a grin, chuckling at her mock exasperation. “Give me just a moment, meluieg,” he said, rising and inexplicably walking out the front door. Earlene hurriedly gathered her Sindarin materials and returned them to the shelf, lest anyone get the incorrect idea that she was eager to study just now.

Her husband returned swiftly, handing her a stack of mail, though he could not resist riffling through it in fascination; he had not seen much of this ‘mail’ before.

Earlene looked through the stack and immediately froze when she saw the letter from America. Thranduil noticed that she went slightly pale.

“Meluieg, what is wrong?” he said, moving at once to her side and seating himself. He placed his arm around her in concern.

Her chest felt tight in spite of herself. “This is from my brother. From Aidan,” she whispered. _How in the ever-loving fuck could this come today? Why today, after everything that just happened? Didn’t she deserve just twenty-four hours to enjoy feeling free of everything he’d ever said to her? Shit._ As much as part of her wanted to toss it in the wood stove, she knew she couldn’t. The asshole was still family. _Maybe._ Delicately, she slipped her finger under the edge of the flap and worked it open, after she noted the postmark. It was dated back in February; this letter had been forwarded more than once. Not a surprise; he was not even thought of, in terms of who she’d notified as to her departure.

She pulled it out, it was a Valentine’s card, which immediately generated a noise of disgust. It appeared to be one of the sort that came with solicitations for donations to charitable organizations; unsurprisingly, no discernible care had gone into its selection.

“Earlene,” she read aloud, unsure if her husband’s talents extended to reading a physician’s cursive handwriting. “It has been a very long time.” _You bet your goddamn arse it has, Aidan._ “I am sorry, for what happened that Christmas.” _But not sorry enough that you could apologize sooner than thirteen fucking years later._ “My life has changed, though still in practice. I have a daughter now, born this last Christmas. I named her Alannah, after Gran. She has dark hair and eyes, like you.” Earlene’s suspicious nature immediately went on alert. _No mention of a wife, no photo._ “I want you to meet her. I tried to look you up in the City, and was told you’d moved abroad. I hope this reaches you. My contact information is below. I know that things haven’t been the best between us but we are still family, Earlene. -Aidan” _This reeks like a fishmonger’s cart_ , she thought.

Placing the card on the table, she turned to Thranduil, to seek the comfort of his arms. _I had been about to ask you if we could talk about what I’ve been feeling recently, and how you would feel about my returning to New York for a short visit. I took it for granted that if you didn’t outright overhear the conversation, that Thanadir would have talked to you about what I told him some days ago. That discussion just got tied in a knot._

His hand stroked the back of her head. _I heard. I have been waiting, meluieg, for whatever was held inside of you to have a chance to make itself known. And today, it did. And I can see, though I will ask to hear it from you to ensure I understand, that you are asking me both as your King and your husband, if I would allow you to briefly leave, to return to New York for a short time in order to explore your emotions?_

She nodded. _That would sum it up. I feel a desire to visit places I thought I did not need to see again, meet up with colleagues I have left behind. I do not fully understand this myself, but what you have healed within me has left me different. Becoming yours has also caused change. As has everything that has happened to me in this life which I never could have expected. I understand in a way I did not, before, how much I was hiding from myself, how much I imposed rules and order on myself to form an identity. It is all falling away now, and…_ she sighed, unable to finish.

_And you feel as though you are no longer certain who Earlene is?_

Another nod. “And now this,” she said, gesturing at the letter. “I’ve no idea what this is about, but every instinct I have tells me that this is far more than what is said here, and that it does not necessarily mean anything good for me.”

His arms wrapped around her, and pulled her to him. “As your King, Earlene, my answer must be No.”

A knot formed in her stomach, but began to ebb quickly. She had stopped resisting her circumstances weeks ago, and if this was her King's decision, so be it.

“You misunderstand me, meluieg. What I cannot allow is for you to go alone. You are my wife, and my queen. But...this brings me to a related topic. I know it is no secret to you that Lorna and I communicate a great deal. Her thoughts are so different than yours, and I learn. It disturbed her considerably, that Thanadir or I guard you at all times, by one means or another. She felt that it was intolerable, demeaning, and a range of other undesirable attributes. I was very much interested at the strength of her feelings, when I have felt no such objections from you. The only thing I have ever sensed from you is that it was something about which you would rather hide from your fellow humans because you knew they would not approve. I explained my reasons to Lorna, and to her credit she listened. But I also promised her that I would discuss this with you, and take your opinions into consideration.”

Earlene blinked at this onslaught. Well, she’d known they talked, yes, though it was slightly weird to realize that she was the subject of some of those conversations. _Erm…_ she reached up and held onto his forearms.

“Is there a question contained in here?” she asked, not understanding what was wanted. His observations were correct but…? “Are you asking me if I really feel differently than I feel?” That was terrible phrasing, but at the moment she was at a loss to do better.

“Yes.”

“You want to know if I want more freedom, less oversight, than what you have decreed for me?”

“Yes.”

She filled her lungs to capacity before allowing all the air to escape in a sigh. “The problem is, the answer to your question is Yes, No, and I Don’t Know, all at once. This is a difficult thing to explain, please be patient. I vowed to obey your laws and commands, when I swore fealty to you. Strictly speaking, those words leave no room for discussion. If you tell me I must do something, I must; otherwise I break my vow. I knew this when I spoke the words. When I first arrived I did not envision wanting to go anywhere or do anything; I came here to quietly live alone, not being aware of just how impossible that was going to be. I had no way to know that I would fall into something extraordinary and outside of human understanding. Being guarded and monitored is not something usual, to modern humans, though it is not absolutely unheard of. As a modern woman, I am not supposed to want anything like this; I am supposed to want freedom and independence and self-determination. Yet I gave those things away to you, with almost no resistance. If I had to say why I did this, it would be that something in you called to me. You gave me a chance to fully cross into your world, and I accepted the cost of doing so. I also know that even had I waited and taken longer to consider, the outcome would have been the same. You and Thanadir feel more like family to me than any family I ever had. Maybe because of this, I do not mind being guarded. Were I guarded by different elves, I might feel differently; I cannot say. There are times when I would like to be alone more than I am, at home or in your Halls. And it does feel strange to have to ask to go somewhere when previously I just went; no human adult would choose this. But, I feel safe with elves. I like being with you and Thanadir because you know how to be quiet. You allow me to feel like I am alone, even when I am not. I looked out for myself all my life, and now I don’t have to any longer. And either way I have no choice, so it is hard to know why I am even thinking about it." She looked down, and spoke with softer words. "You told me, the day I struck you, that I would learn that the only freedom I have is in having no choices, that I would learn to accept my position. Your words seemed cruel then, but, I believe that I have learned. It took time to understand, it is no different than for Thanadir. I have seen that your word is law to him as well; he surrendered the same rights and freedoms, and does not suffer in his service to you.”

Thranduil listened carefully, trying to sift her words and her emotions. “What I am hearing is that you are almost wholly content to be under my authority, having  accepted that your happiness has taken another form. But that there are still times, and I believe I saw one just a moment ago, when you yet wish you could do as you pleased. It is easy to keep your vows when you are isolated with the elves, but harder when confronted with the customs of the human world. And that you would like to have more time in which to enjoy a sense of solitude.”

“Yes.”

He rocked her gently while he held her, considering. “The last one, I can grant easily. I can see in your thoughts that you were used to having a great deal of time alone, and that coming here has reversed that, and it is not your preference. But that even now, you are uncertain how much time you wish."

Earlene chuckled even as she nodded again.

“The other...meluieg, I wish you to know that I do not think you incapable. I know that you lived your entire life without incident in a vast and complex city of men; that you understood how to avoid danger and that you even had some means at your disposal to protect yourself. But as I tried to explain to Lorna, you are mine now; my responsibility and under my care. Were anything to happen to you, even through no fault of yours or mine, I could not bear it. If you feel that you must return home, we will go as a family. I realize that there are papers and requirements and obstacles, but unless I am much mistaken those will soon be behind us. If you wish, we could even invite Lorna. And as your husband...you will not be meeting with your brother alone. He has done enough damage and I will not allow him to do more. Not to mention, I will not miss an opportunity to see his heart and understand what on earth is wrong with him.”

“I intend to go a little farther than that. With your consent, I will contact him. I will also have him investigated; I have connections. I do not believe for a moment that this visit is about any real desire to repair our relationship. And Thranduil...I fear it may be a great deal worse than that. That he mentioned a child, did not mention a wife or a mother, and out of the blue writes that he wants me to meet my niece?...something is very wrong. And while I do not wish to jump to conclusions, this is Aidan.”

“You fear on some level that this is an attempt to coerce you into taking his child?”

“Actually, yes, I do. He never made a secret about not desiring children. He wanted a wife, partner, however you wish to call it, but made it clear on more than one occasion that he never wanted to be a father. Though, people can and do change their minds on that as they go through life. I may be one hundred percent wrong, but I intend to go into this meeting fully researched for every possibility at which I can guess. Because again, this is Aidan.”

“And if your guess is correct?”

Earlene snorted. “Then we would both need to answer the question of how we felt about undertaking twenty years’ responsibility and beyond for raising a child that is not ours. A fully human child, in the midst of an elven realm. At a time when I have not even been able to determine if I want you to give me a child of our own,” she trailed off.

He tilted his head. “You feel that one thing might trigger another, so to speak?”

“It would not be outside the range of potential emotional responses to such a situation.”

Turning her, he effortlessly adjusted her in his arms so that they could face each other. “There is much yet to know before any conclusions can be drawn. It may be that you are incorrect, and that the letter asks no more than what it says. I think that we should keep this possibility private between us, for now. If Lorna and Thanadir need to know, the time will come. Just as I do not share her private matters with you, the same is true in reverse; she knows nothing of your past with your brother. But I will break one small confidence to tell you that Lorna was pregnant once, and lost the baby in a tragedy. It devastated her, and I hope that she will tell you in her own time. I tell you now so that you can understand that for her, anything about this subject would be volatile, intensely emotional.”

Earlene’s eyebrows raised. “She lost that baby when she lost her husband, didn’t she?...don’t answer that. That poor woman.” Earlene shook her head. “I will be honest, Thranduil. When I think on children, I vacillate. There are times I think about carrying your child, raising a young one with you, and it fills my heart. To know the experience of carrying something that is yours, in my body. Of seeing your happiness, and having the joys of watching my son or daughter grow. Then there are other times when I look at how full my days are now and I wonder how it could even be possible, or where the time would come from.”

“Our days will not always be this unsettled, Earlene.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Right now there is much to be done. Gardens, appointments, papers, learning languages and culture, finances, establishing identities. Sooner than you think, this will be behind us, and we will be far more occupied with living our lives. Enjoying our lives. I am not unaware, that you have struggled with what you would call a ‘lack of peace and quiet.’ While I obviously cannot promise that you will have the life here you once envisioned, I can tell you that something far closer to it will arrive in time.”

Thranduil reached now and hugged her to him, feeling his heart swell with joy. It appeared very, very likely that he would father another child. Earlene only needed a little more time, to see the leanings of her heart for what they were.


	27. Twenty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 20, 2016

Lorna, that night, had the bright idea of slowly poring through the alphabet, then labeling it with the Cyrillic equivalent. For whatever reason, she found the Cyrillic alphabet much easier than the Roman, so, slowly and laboriously, she made notes on her chart. It probably wouldn’t help, but she had to try.

She sat up far later than she ought to have, on Mick’s rather uncomfortable couch, drinking extra water so she wouldn’t wake up with a killer morning-after. Eventually she slept like the dead, notes stacked as neatly as she could on the coffee-table.

The next morning, once she’d showered and wrung out her hair (seriously, thank God for that elf shampoo; she’d swear it helped her hair dry faster), she eyed what wardrobe she’d brought with her. She didn’t own a single thing that could be called professional by anyone, but she had a green-and-black-checked flannel that was actually ironed, and with her newer pair of jeans, it wasn’t too bad. She wasn’t worried about Niamh -- who did, after all, know her -- but she didn’t want to give the doctor any chance to look at them weird. She’d ordered a few things off Amazon the other night, but they wouldn’t be here for probably another four days at least. Oh well.

“You’re taking that lot to Dublin?” Mick asked, more than a bit dubiously.

“God help me, I am,” she said, lacing up her boots. “It shouldn’t be too bad, knock wood. Just two stops.” She hadn’t told him exactly what she’d been setting up for all of them, and Mick, bless him, hadn’t asked. Doctor, Niamh, pub food, home. She wasn’t looking forward to the drive itself -- and she’d bet poor Thanadir wasn’t, either.

Off she went, making certain the van hadn’t acquired any surprises since she drove it last, and headed out to Earlene’s. Sooner or later, once she was alone, she’d have to do donuts somewhere, just to get all her pent-up driving energy out of her system.

Earlene had decided that the ellyn’s clothing was a no-go after their last trip, and had gone shopping in the village’s secondhand store. She insisted that they learn to wear printed t-shirts, because in her estimation, blending in and not having anything about them attract the eye was important. Because of course, strikingly beautiful men over six feet tall with hair that fell below their shoulder blades weren’t going to stand out one little bit. For her own outfit, she dressed down substantially; no suits today. There was no need to play “prestige battles” with Niamh, whoever she was; she was just damn grateful for the woman’s help (whatever the shady nature of it). Her life wasn’t allowing her to consider being a lawyer here too, nor did she want to be. However, it had occurred to her that she could drop one thing in this woman’s lap that might have value; the promise of shared favors. Earlene might be no one here, but she was most definitely _someone_ in one of the biggest cities in the world. And she had her own set of connections and ways to make things happen; Niamh knew the game just as well as she did and Earlene had quite a lot of game to offer. Discreetly, of course. And who knows, it just might save the elves a little cash. So, jeans and a plain tee with a partially buttoned blouse over it. And a cleverly arranged scarf that allowed as much or as little of the necklace to show as she wished. There were moments it was beneficial to scream Wealth; other times, not so much.

Before long, the van could be heard in the driveway, and Earlene still felt indecisive about the elves’ hair. Loose? Masculine ponytail? She huffed, and grabbed two plain black elastic bands, cramming them in her pocket. Her purse, such as it was, was a very small backpack design meant to hold only cash, a few cards and ID, comb, lipstick and not much else. Lorna seemed to have a good sense of these things, they could figure it out on the way.

Lorna drove into the driveway and parked, hopping out. “D’you think Thanadir’ll be okay for this?” she asked. Yeah, Thranduil had said he was fine, but Thranduil wasn’t Thanadir, who had not spoken for himself on the matter one way or the other. They’d be in the car twice as long; if he wanted a few belts of that wine, Lorna wouldn’t blame him, though she also wasn’t sure what it would do to any blood tests the doctor might run...shit. Well, the poor lad was just going to have to muddle through (and she really, really needed to stop thinking of him as a lad, but it was just. So. Hard. It was the Puss in Boots eyes, dammit. If he didn’t want people worrying and fussing over him, he shouldn’t have been born with that face.) It was probably fortunate for everyone that he couldn’t read minds without actually trying; had he been able to, he probably would have been constantly annoyed. Very annoyed.

 _Or very amused, mellonenin. My seneschal is more complex than he appears,_ Thranduil smirked. _If it is of such great importance to you, you may certainly ask him if being in the van disturbs him._

In Lorna’s estimation, Thranduil had far too much resemblance to a scamp at the moment for her to fall for that suggestion. She’d ask the damn question her own way. “Thanadir, is there anything that would make you more comfortable while we drive?”

The seneschal looked at her, smiling. “The van is fine, Lorna, but thank you for asking.”

Thranduil looked disappointed that she had not taken the bait, to which she barely arched one eyebrow. They all elected to keep their former seating arrangement...because.

Well, Earlene and Thranduil had said Thanadir was compulsively honest; if he said he was fine, he was fine, despite the evidence of her eyes the last trip out. “So, I was thinking’v teaching you two to drive,” she said, pulling out into the village proper. “Even if you decide not to get a license, it’s a good skill to have, just in case’v...whatever. The village is a good place to practice -- nice and slow, without much traffic -- and sure I doubt the constable’ll care.” The entire village seemed to know about the elves; if they wanted to learn to drive, nobody was going to stop them. (She would not, however, be teaching them on Mick’s van; double-clutching was an art form, one they’d probably pick up depressingly easily once they’d got the hang of shifting in general, and she just couldn’t deal with that. Feeling that level of inadequacy just wasn’t on her menu.)

Earlene felt pleased that whatever seemingly gloomy thoughts had been colonizing Thanadir’s mind during their last outing seemed less present (or altogether absent) today. Who knew, maybe the backseat just wasn’t having a good day, before. Once they were underway, she felt that a mental checklist of sorts needed addressing. “This is mostly for Thanadir’s benefit but...I wanted to talk a little about this physician appointment and what to expect. Unlike you, Thranduil, he doesn’t have the benefit of our human memories of what happens. Or perhaps you have an easier way of conveying this to him? If I’m worrying over nothing please tell me; I only am trying to imagine how I’d feel in your place, having a stranger touch me and do a medical exam. Even a simple one requires contact.”

Thranduil frowned. This was true, though he’d thought it wouldn’t matter given that their people were not ashamed of their bodies in any manner. He sighed. “Then one at a time, would each of you think about your memories in as much detail as you are able? And while I thank you for accuracy, perhaps that detail does not need to include, ah, things unique to you as females.”

Earlene erupted in laughter. “But that’s the best part,” she quipped. “Or not. Lorna? Who goes first?” Thanadir had that look on his face of one who is desperately trying to keep up.

Lorna, cackling herself, pulled onto the larger road headed for the motorway. “Well, a lot’v mine _was_ unique to me as a female, since I was pregnant,” she said, “but there was other stuff, too. They’ve got a thing called a stethoscope, that they’ll press to your chest and your back, to listen to your heart, and she’ll probably ask you to take a few deep breaths so she can listen to your lungs. The stethoscope is always freezing, no matter how hot it is outside. I think it’s just a thing. She’ll have you stand on a scale to weigh you, and measure your height. What might prove more awkward is that you’ll probably have to wee in a cup.” That was always difficult for her, anyway, but it was a lot more awkward for a woman to try to pee in a cup than for a guy. At least guys wouldn’t get it all over their bloody hands every god damn time. “Maybe blood tests, which can sting a bit -- they stick a needle in your arm and take some samples. When I was in prison they did that every bloody week, because they were that afraid we’d somehow got drugs in. I finally told the doctor if they were that convinced it was happening, they needed new guards, not new needles.” It was much easier to talk about...that...now, which was somewhat surprising. Her time in prison was something few even in Baile knew much about.

Earlene’s eyebrows raised. This only added to her general desire to never go to prison. “Okay for me, there is also a machine that takes blood pressure. It will squeeze your arm in a cuff and make odd noises but it should not even be uncomfortable for you. They will also take your temperature...it will be a device that they put in your ear, roll over your forehead, or as you to hold under your tongue for a certain amount of time. They will also check your eyes, by shining a light into them or by asking you to track their finger with your eyes. They may ask to look inside your mouth as well. They may ask if you have health problems…..has Thanadir learned the words for parts of the insides of the body? Um, there are many words for those parts in what is sort of another language. For example, we usually say ‘heart’ but they say ‘cardiac.’ We usually say ‘stomach’, they say ‘gastrointestinal’. They will ask if your parents had any of a number of health problems. If you don’t understand probably it is easiest to say ‘no, there is no problem’ because you two are perfectly healthy. It is possible I’d be allowed in the room with you as a translator or...helper; if that is the case this will be easy because you two can just see my thoughts or do whatever it is you do. Lorna, can you think of anything else?”

Lorna pondered as she eased onto the motorway. “They might ask about vaccines,” she said, and fought, oh so very hard, the urge to immediately run the person next to her off the road for being a gobshite. “Just say ‘no’, because otherwise they’ll ask for details. As adults, you don’t actually have to get them, though they might try to bully you into it -- and with good reason, if you were human. If you’d actually been humans living out away from civilization all your lives, your immune systems would be a nightmare, but I doubt the doctor’ll ask much about that -- it’s not her business if you wander out into Dublin and immediately catch tuberculosis and...and I dunno, malaria at the same time.”

All right, the guy next to her was severely pissing her off. She needed to merge, and he simply refused to either slow down or speed up to let her do it. Gripping the wheel so hard her knuckles went white, she managed to speed up without completely slamming her foot on the gas, and if she cut him off a bit...well, it was his own damn fault. _I hope you appreciate just how difficult this is for me_ , she said. _I’m driving like my damn gran -- no, Gran was more aggressive than this._ _I want to run half these bastards right off the motorway._ She did not, however, want to give Thanadir a heart attack -- because while he might be fine with her driving now, he really wouldn’t be if she drove like herself -- and poor Earlene might well try to murder her. She had a sneaking suspicion, however, that Thranduil might actually enjoy barreling down the motorway at ninety miles an hour, weaving through cars like a pinball. He’d probably have even more fun if he was the one driving.

 _Would you like me to make you feel calmer?_ He asked with all indications of enjoying himself far too much. _Then again, you would have made a fine cavalry rider in battle. The dwarves would have adored you, Lorna._

 _For the sake of everyone inside and outside this car, that might be a good idea_ , she said, and wondered just what riding in cavalry would have entailed. Anything the elves rode would be hopelessly oversized for her, but she was willing to bet she probably wasn’t a great deal taller than the average dwarf -- and if they were anything at all like the films she’d seen, they shared her love food, of drinking, and occasionally of fighting. _I like the thought of riding a goat into battle_ , she added. _Or were they giant sheep? Ever since you mentioned a war-chariot, I’ve been very, very curious._

The gobshite behind her decided trying to pass her was a good idea, so she spend up just enough to keep him from doing it; if she couldn’t drive aggressively with her passengers, passive-aggressively was the next best thing.

Thranduil reached over and laid his hand on her shoulder, and she literally felt some of the anger leaching out of her. _It would help if you would breathe deeply_ , he said. _I would hate to make you fall asleep._ Lorna had already learned that glowering at him didn’t work; he just laughed harder.

 _Fine_ , she said. _Just, fine._

Earlene watched with a combination of amusement and fascination as her husband touched Lorna and the color on her tiny knuckles and hands went from white to reddish to normal. Though, a few times, flutters of nervousness were creeping up within her. Though she’d seen every antic under the sun from cabbies, it didn’t mean she wanted a competition. Now fully past any insecurity of this sort with Thanadir, she once again threaded her arm through the gap near his elbow. _Elven security blanket_ , she thought ruefully. But to her surprise, the seneschal leaned down and asked her to provide more anatomical terms. And for once, Earlene was completely unaware that she was being distracted. She immediately relaxed as she tried to remember Greek and Latin roots and began to name what she could, never noticing Thanadir’s mirthful smile.

Whatever mental roofie Thranduil had going on in Lorna’s head, she had to admit, it made the drive a lot less aggravating than it would have been otherwise -- though she did crack the window a bit, so she didn’t actually fall asleep. Even when they got off the motorway at the Dublin exit, she had no wish, even in passing, to run over, stab, shoot, or kick anyone, which, given that this was the M7 to Dublin, was more than a minor miracle.

This was a good day to be visiting the city; the sun was shining, and it wasn’t too windy. Unfortunately, that meant people were out in force, and she winced a little at the thought of the mental assault Thranduil was likely under right now. There were over half a million people in Dublin proper, and she still wasn’t sure just what his range was; for all she knew, he was getting hit by _all_ of them. “So, Dublin’s been around since the tenth century,” she said, by way of whatever distraction she could bring. “That’s not that long to you two, but for us, it’s a very long time. There’s marks’v the old city everywhere, if you know where to look.” The traffic was heavier now, but Lorna felt so perilously close to outright stoned that she didn’t mind at all; she was more than happy to wait for people to take their turn. They still had plenty of time to kill, even as she navigated the crowded streets. God, could she get Thranduil to bottle this and sell it to her?

 _I already fear I am violating the Prime Directive with you, Lorna. Show me some mercy and do not ask me such questions. I already will never hear the end of having offered you elven wine. If I interfere with you too much more, you might end up with pointed ears,_ he teased.  _Not to mention, they might take my Elvenking license away,_ he said, half-worriedly darting a glance toward the back seat.

Lorna tried - and utterly failed -- to choke back her laughter. _Prime Directive? But that doesn’t quite work -- I know you exist. And I think everyone who has to deal with me might be happier if I was more relaxed._ Certainly everyone on the road would likely appreciate it, if they knew what it was sparing them. She wondered who ‘they’ were, and they immediately realized she didn’t have to: ‘they’, if the reaction to her and Earlene’s wine-tasting was any indication, was probably Thanadir.

“All right, you lot,” she said aloud, “I want you to take a look at that big spike up head. It’s called the Spire of Dublin, and it was meant to be built for the turn of the millennium, but they didn’t even start it until two thousand two.” It was a huge -- very huge, four hundred feet of huge -- gleaming metal...spike. Not a statue, not a pillar, a spike. “It’s meant to be self-cleaning, but that broke, so now there’s no way to clean it. And while it’s _technically_ the Spire of Dublin, you’re more likely to hear it referred to as the Erection at the Intersection.”

Earlene, still holding onto Thanadir, desperately hoped that he had not yet learned this word. _Did unwed elves...was it like human males…?_ she could feel herself turning pink and turned her face away from the seneschal and allowed her hair to dangle in her face, praying that Lorna would not notice or point out her flushed cheeks. Sure, with Thranduil that word was better than the welcome wagon, but…. _Thanadir, for god’s sake._

Lorna’s eyes darted to her left and noticed a bizarre sort of wheezing sound coming from Thranduil. She hoped she hadn’t jinxed the whole thing by mentioning tuberculosis, but thought better of asking him what that noise was all about.

_Meluieg, Thanadir does not know the sexual usage of this word. Yet. Though a male elf's penis can become erect at times, the drive to experience a climax barely exists in the absence of forming a bond to a mate. And if I may, we also do not feel shame about the normal function of our bodies. I have noticed that humans seem to have many difficulties and entire thought systems organized around everything having to do with intimacy._

_Alright. I cannot deny that last part. Thank you, I will attempt to behave like an enlightened adult. So why do I still feel like I am in high school back here?_

_I believe you already answered that question, meluieg. It is Thanadir._

_My life used to be normal_ , she thought. _Normal._

_So did mine._

With a small groan, she shifted back in the other direction and leaned her head against Thanadir’s shoulder, determined that somehow, this day was ending with at least two pints of Guinness.

The miracle of iPhones was the GPS function; it allowed Lorna to find their destination without too much stress -- though seriously, she wasn’t stressed at all right now, and it was _brilliant_.

They found themselves in front of a rather nondescript building on a side street, faced with a plain metal door and a single window in the brick wall. Whoever this doctor was, she probably wasn’t open to general practice. What the hell had Niamh found?

“All right,” she said, looking at the elves, “you let Earlene and I do the talking at first, okay? I’ve got to feel out this doctor before we do anything else.” She’d almost said feel _up...that’s what she said_ , she sighed to herself. Opening the door, she stepped inside.

It was warm, but not too warm, and though the surroundings were very plain -- pale tile floor, white walls, speckled ceiling tiles -- they were all very clean, and though they didn’t look new, they didn’t look old, either. There was nobody else inside, and no nurse at the intake window, but the tinkling bell above the door brought out a woman Lorna assumed was the doctor.

Her age was hard to determine; she could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty, on the tall side of average, with dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. Her face seemed open enough, though, and fortunately not unduly curious.

“Hi,” Lorna said. “I’m Lorna, I talked to you this morning. Niamh said you were good at getting people in at short notice.”

“I am,” the woman said briskly, eying the elves. There was something in her expression disturbingly reminiscent of a butcher sizing up a few choice cuts of meat, but there wasn’t anything actually _skeezy_ in it. More like someone faced with something unexpectedly perfect, rather than ‘I want in your pants’. That was _marginally_ less creepy; at least there was nothing personal in it. “These are Fionn and Cian, I presume?”

“They are,” Lorna said. “They’re new to doctor’s offices, so Earlene and I have prepped them as best we could.”

“I’ve no wish to be intrusive, but if it would be helpful for me to be present in the room, they’re willing,” offered Earlene as unconcernedly as possible. The doctor nodded with an equal lack of interest and waved all of them down the hallway. Earlene looked at Lorna quizzically, because it actually seemed like all four of them were going to be taken into the exam room. Both women shrugged at each other simultaneously. Earlene had an acquaintance once, who’d been in California and had gone in for one of their medical marijuana cards; she’d been told that if you had a pulse, you could pay the money for the appointment and walk out with your paperwork stamped and approved. It was becoming obvious that this was quite similar. Which really, was a perfect outcome.

She produced two sealed urinalysis containers and handed one to each elf. “Give a sample; there are two bathrooms across the hall. Cap the sample and leave it in the room when you are through; there is a plain white basket clearly marked near each toilet.”

Earlene imagined very clearly for Thranduil what he was to do, and hoped that he could somehow pass that along to Thanadir, no pun intended. In all likelihood this would be the worst part of the whole thing, since no conversation she’d ever had with him included discussing his ability to urinate on command.

Lorna, out of deference to whatever the elves might have to take off -- well, deference to Thanadir; she doubted Thranduil would care -- took out her iPhone, scrolling through her email. The doctor did whatever it was doctors did -- out of the corner of her eye, Lorna saw her take out plastic-packaged needles, plastic vials, all the usual shite. She worked with such economy that they’d probably be out of here in relatively little time, provided nothing went wrong (and even as she thought that, she mentally knocked wood). She just hoped poor Thanadir could actually piss in a cup -- he was so far out of his depth already, and she knew most humans could have, uh, _issues_ with peeing on command when visiting the doctor.

It was a great relief to Earlene when after only five minutes both of them returned to the room. And knowing them, they would not accept anything less than accomplishing their goals. She genuinely did not want to know… One at a time, the doctor examined them in a friendly and efficient manner. Earlene kept an eye on what was done without trying to be obvious. Though, unless she was much mistaken the physician had a little more than professional interest in asking them to remove their shirts in order to listen to their hearts and lungs. Honestly, she couldn’t blame the poor woman, how often did something like this walk in the door. She equally hoped she could not be faulted for taking a quick glimpse at Thanadir. While not as sculpted as her husband, his form was still lithe and lovely. Besides, given that he’d seen far more of her disrobed when they first met, she felt her curiosity was slightly justified. To her great relief, when it was time to examine their ears, the otoscope simply darted to the entrance of the external auditory meatus; no attention was paid to the outer ear. It was all stunningly routine. Rote questions were asked to which she clearly thought the answers in the event they were needed, blood samples were taken and...that was it. Though it took a bit of a while to do one then the other. All in all the appointment took just about three quarters of an hour. Earlene thought of one last thing.

 _Ask Lorna if she knows if we walk out of here with signed papers or of it is something that goes back to Niamh_ , she asked.

 _She’ll give us the papers_ , Lorna told Thranduil, when he asked, and indeed the woman came out of her office bearing a manila envelope.

“If you need anything else, let me know,” she said, “but that should all be in order. Niamh’ll know if anything’s amiss.”

“Thanks,” Lorna said. “I mean it. It makes things a lot easier.” She didn’t elaborate, and the doctor didn’t ask her to; money really could buy silence, Lorna reflected. (Though why in God’s name was Earlene insisting that she not use any of her own money to pay for all this? Why was she getting such an obscene salary, if she wasn’t meant to use some of it in line with her job? She was fairly certain they liked giving her all this stuff partly just to make her brain blue-screen.)

Out they went, into the sunshine, and she hoped the city smog wasn’t getting to the elves too much. It wasn’t as bad as it could be in some cities in the world -- being right next to the sea kept it down -- but even she noticed the difference, having lived away for eleven years... _Yes, I know I’m worrying_ , she told Thranduil, unable to smother a wry smile. _It’s what I do. I would rather you two not be uncomfortable in the place where I grew up._ It was an instinct she was probably never going to succeed at fully quashing -- to them, everything in the modern world was new, and she wanted them to enjoy it, if they could. There were so many things she knew they _wouldn’t_ enjoy, and while she also knew they could handle anything the world had to throw at them, she didn’t want them to have to deal with the nastier side of modern humanity any more than they already had...or at least, not yet. There was beauty in this world, and it was that she wanted them to see, before being confronted with too much ugliness. And a certain level of protectiveness for those she cared about was simply built into the foundation of her being. Gran had called it all her maternal urges getting frustrated and misfiring and taking vent wherever they could, whether the person they vented on needed it or not.

Both of them seemed to have come out of their exam without any real unease; for their sake, she’d continued not paying attention. Christ knew how awkward she’d feel if the situation was reversed, and Thanadir _had_ said they were accustomed to covering most of their bodies -- which she figured might well mean they wouldn’t even like having their shirts off in front of people who weren’t, uh, _close_ enough. Maybe she was wrong, but she wasn’t willing to push it when she could so easily just stare at her phone.

“All right, Niamh probably won’t keep us long,” she said, unlocking the doors and letting them all in. “From all I remember’v her, she’s blunt as hell, but she’s as efficient as they come, and she won’t ask anything she doesn’t feel she absolutely needs to know.”

 _We are both fine, Lorna,_ Thranduil tried to reassure. _We both found it to be fairly benign. Honestly, the most difficult part was the light being shined directly into our eyes; they are more sensitive than yours to intense light sources. You must understand, we do not have the...issues, you humans do about our bodies. Any of us could stand before you nude with no qualms; for us the sight of our bodies does not have all the connections to intimate behavior that you humans seem to attach to it._

God, she hadn’t thought of that -- she was pretty sure elf eyes were far keener than humans, so having a light shine right into them had probably sucked. _That’s a mindset I think a lot of us wish we had_ , she said. _Us, we’re taught from childhood that being naked is something to be ashamed of. Even I’m not free of it entirely, for all I grew up in a warehouse with no privacy._ She couldn’t actually imagine what it would be like, to not have that issue at all. _Though hang up -- Thanadir told me you lot cover most of your bodies -- it’s why I stared at my phone in there, just, you know, to not make anyone feel any more awkward than they already were. If you’ve not got any bodily taboos, why such modest clothing?_ She was genuinely curious, too; it seemed an odd paradox, but then so much about the elves often did, and she’d given up trying to work them out according to human rules.

_You have likely noticed that in our home, our surroundings are...more beautiful than they need to be, for lack of better words? That regardless of the function of a thing, it is made in a way that is lovely? Clothing for us is the same. We are modest in the sense that we do not flaunt our reproductive organs provocatively, one might say, but we cover ourselves more because it is more beautiful fabric with which we can adorn ourselves. There are baths within the Halls, used by both genders; not every dwelling in my Halls has a private bath. I suppose the rule is that we act as politely toward each other clothed as unclothed and...for obvious reasons, other races have not seen us unclothed in a very long time. How often could we have needed to bathe in sight of humans?_

Lorna gave this due consideration as she pulled out onto the main thoroughfare. Mixed-gender bathing...there were few groups out there who wouldn’t find that awkward. If anyone but, oh, Mairead saw her without her togs on, she’d probably die of embarrassment -- Mairead got a pass because she’d helped deal with the aftermath of Lorna’s miscarriage, and she was family. Otherwise...yikes. _A lot of us bathe every day,_ she said, slowing as she approached a stop sign. _I do a lot of physical work, so if I don’t bathe every day, I smell. But I’d imagine humans sweat a lot more than elves, if elves even sweat at all._ Given that they all wore leather trousers, she was betting they didn’t, or they’d be perpetually uncomfortable. Liam certainly hadn’t been fond of them, no matter how fantastic his arse had looked. _I think part of our problem too, though, is that most of us are insecure about our bodies. We don’t want anyone looking at us and judging us, and unfortunately, that’s something most humans do._ The only people she could think of who were totally content to walk around with nothing on were porn stars….oh, shit. She actually pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing like hell she hadn’t thought that.

 _Under hard physical exertion, elves do sweat. We have always valued cleanliness of all kinds. As do most humans that I have seen recently. It was not always the case; a visit to a human city in ages past was more likely than not to be an unpleasant tour of truly offensive smells. You have come a very long way from chamber pots emptied through open windows, I can assure you. Tell me more about what you mean by “judging us.” I do not quite understand. You all have bodies, do you not? And I will ignore whatever a ‘porn star’ is since I can see that it not something with which I need to occupy my thoughts.”_ He grinned, while giving her a sidelong glance.

Lorna managed not to facepalm. _I’ll let Earlene explain porn stars_ , she said. _Definitely her job._ She wouldn’t thank Lorna for that, but that was an explanation that ought to come from his wife. She could...do whatever she felt like with it. _The invention of indoor plumbing made bathing a lot easier. Even when I lived in the warehouse, we had a tap and a curtain. And ‘judging us’...what’s considered attractive in western society is actually really bloody narrow, especially with women. Any of us that don’t fit that ideal -- which, honestly, is most of us -- can feel a bit self-conscious at the thought that someone’s judging us for not looking perfect. It’s absolutely daft, I know, but it’s so ingrained in our society that even I’m not over it, and I’ve normally got no shame about pretty much anything else._ Liam hadn’t minded -- Liam had thought her beautiful, but Liam was her husband, and spouses always found their partners lovely. Spouses weren’t strangers who were judging solely on aesthetics -- which was probably why people trusted their partners with that kind of vulnerability, and nobody else.

Thranduil frowned. He had never perceived this kind of thinking from Earlene. But..perhaps this topic was better laid to rest, at least for now. And speaking of topics…

_Meluieg, did you wish to mention to Lorna about...more documents?_

Earlene cleared her throat. “Uh, Lorna, before we get to Niamh’s, something else has come up. I figured it’d be best to talk about this before we make it to her office. For a number of reasons, I am looking to return to New York City, briefly, as soon as it is possible to do so, but I won’t be going alone. Long story short, passports, preferably between six to eight weeks from now, are suddenly on the docket. And that includes for you too, if you are willing to travel with us. I am planning a visit that would be between five and seven days; you would have no expenses of your own. Though, you’ll have the easiest time of it, you can just use the ordinary process of applying. Not sure what this will do to Niamh’s brain, but better than you hear it first.”

Fortunately, Lorna was focused enough that she didn’t actually swerve off the road. New York? _New York?_ She’d been out of the country, sure, but Britain didn’t exactly count. Crossing the Atlantic...the thought was terrifying, but it was also really intriguing. New York could swallow Dublin three times over, probably, and she’d seen pictures of it: it would probably be brilliant to actually be there. Admittedly, she ran the risk of getting stepped on, but it was a risk she was willing to take. “I’m sure she can do it,” she said, taking a right. “She always was a bright one on her feet. I haven’t got a valid passport anymore, so I’ll have to renew it. Niamh’ll work it all out, and we can just throw money at her as we go.”

“That works, and I’m going to leave much of the talking to you. And, there’s another thing. While I don’t run in the same, ah, circles as Niamh has done here, I’m not above making it known that if she ever has a legal need across the pond...I know people who know people. I’m not in contact with underground people, per se, but rather people who are...influential. Like you, I can call in favors, now and again. Not sure what that amounts to, and I wouldn’t say it to her myself because I don’t want to come off like a name-dropper but...let’s just say that my contacts go very high indeed. The people I know don’t count their income in millions. They add zeros. And those are the kind of people that make one phone call to a mayor, to a police chief, to a congressman or woman, and suddenly something happens. Not saying I can ask for a mass murderer to be turned loose or something completely over the top, but...if it’s a question of someone half-decent who just needs help because of being in a bad spot, as a one-time deal...that kind of thing. My reputation is on the squeaky clean side, rather than the other way around.”

Lorna’s eyebrows rose as she glanced at Earlene in the rear-view mirror. It sounded surprisingly like something that might actually be shady, in some way or another. Lorna approved. “I’ll let her know,” she said. “She says you can never have too many allies.” Jesus fucking Christ, just how much money were they talking? How much money did _Earlene_ have? Lorna had long suspected she had quite a few zeroes behind her account, too. “And if you let her know -- if I let her know -- they’ve got that much behind them...shit, I think she’d want to put us on permanently. She’s the sort you can trust, so long as she knows she can trust you, too.” The thought of having connections like that...it went well beyond what Lorna had, or what Niamh would have, or -- hell, than any of her cadre of Irish criminals put together. To say that the entire lot of them had rather modest origins would be a vast understatement.

“If she doesn’t believe you, just tell her to look me up. My name is...known.”

Lorna hadn’t yet bothered to think about the human side of what she’d got herself tangled up in -- which, to be fair, there hadn’t been much time. The Byzantine world of American corporate law and its associated trappings was entirely beyond her.

Another left and they’d reached a quieter street, this one rather less plain than the one in which the doctor’s office was located. Niamh had a window with her name on it and everything, her office professional if not precisely posh -- thick cream carpet, mahogany furniture. Lorna had only ever been in it once, but it was nice without being daunting. “All right, she’s not going to ask questions, but she is going to be curious as bloody hell, so Thranduil, I can’t promise she’s not going to speculate one hell of a lot inside her head.” About their case, their circumstances, and -- unfortunately -- probably about the elves themselves. In less that professional ways. Lorna knew Siobhan, and her type, and she’d always had a weakness for men with long hair, even without...everything else about the elves. Hopefully she wasn’t as, uh, _creative_ as Siobhan.

Thranduil chuckled so much now at seemingly random times that if Earlene didn’t know the likely cause, she would suspect her husband was becoming diagnosably mentally ill. It was a modest law office lobby, and Earlene smiled. There was something about the smell of the books. The endless bound volumes of this law and that law and...on and on. It didn’t matter what country it was, it was still bound volumes up one side and down the other. The slightly musty odor that wafted past her nostrils was familiar, comforting. She’d left the lot of hers back with her firm, figuring that some enterprising individual would eventually have the use of them. The place was quaint, and had the feel of an old practice. Or at least, a practice in an old office. Thanadir, for his part, seemed suitably entranced, never having seen an encyclopedic-style collection of human books before. She could practically hear his mental enjoyment of the orderliness of the neat rows of publications.

Lorna went and rapped on the inner door -- Christ, it even had a nameplate -- and Niamh opened it. A few years older than Lorna herself, middling height, a touch pear-shaped in a pleasant way, her hair was a shade too red to be called auburn, her eyes warm and brown. God, wasn’t it weird to be seeing her looking so... _professional_. She had, after all, slept in the same warehouse Lorna had, running about in ratty clothes and stealing food from wherever they could find it. _Now_ look at her.

“You’ve set me some challenges, Fun Size,” Niamh said, and Lorna just about wanted to die. That nickname...Mairead used it, too, god dammit. “Fortunately, I like challenges, and God knows you’ve given me enough money. Come on in, the lot’v you.” She gestured them to follow her -- fortunately, the office itself was quite large, large enough for them to all sit more-or-less comfortably. Her eyes took in all three of them, with the same sharp, measured curiosity she’d always regarded everything with. She didn’t give much away, and never had, but Lorna could see she was highly puzzled by all of them. Earlene most definitely didn’t look like the sort Lorna would ever have had cause to keep company with, and of course the elves, even if you didn’t _know_ they were elves, were still...well, they stood out.

“I’ve got everything you’ll need right here,” she said, to all of them in general, setting two envelopes on her desk (dark wood, mirror polish, how long did she spend keeping that up?). “Add in the medical exam and I’ll submit the lot.”

“We need passports, too,” Lorna said. “Well, these two do -- I just need to renew mine.”

It was at that moment that an astonishing oversight on her part occurred to Earlene, who used all of her self control not to wince and squeeze the bridge of her nose. Stalling for time, she asked Niamh, “I hope you don’t mind the question, I’m a lawyer in the States. I’m just curious, what the papers are? You’ve saved me in a hundred ways, because the last thing I wanted was to try and figure out the ropes here in Ireland. I’m Earlene, this is Fionn, and Cian. We’re very pleased to meet you.”

_Thranduil, I made a very big mistake. Oversight. You have to sign these papers. I am assuming that both you and Thanadir have signed about a million documents in Tengwar. We’ve never practiced you writing your own signatures in English letters. Do you both know how to spell your names? F-i-o-n-n and C-i-a-n. The last name is S-u-l-l-i-v-a-n. Just do the best you can, and take your time writing if you need to._

_Just, shit, how could I have not thought of this?_ Earlene was truly in a state of disbelief regarding her own stupidity. _This is just...absofuckinglutely unacceptable._ Hell generally had no fury like when she was mad at herself.

Niamh rattled on pleasantly enough for a moment, explaining the forms. If she noticed that Earlene’s gaze unfocused a time or two, her expression did not betray it.

Niamh had not been born yesterday. She could see the sudden tension in Earlene, and the brief glances the woman spared the two men. _Why,_ she didn’t know, but she’d learned long ago how to be distracting. “I can get you your passports, too,” she said, “but it’ll be expensive. There’s people I’ve got to grease, to get passports that fast for two people who’ve just got legal identities.”

Lorna too glanced at Earlene, and at the elves, wondering what the hell was up and figuring it out pretty fast. _Thranduil, I can tell her you two learned a different alphabet growing up,_ she said. _Given that you’ve supposedly lived isolated from society, it’d make sense._

_Short of informing her we are not human, say what you feel you need to, Lorna. Your friend can be trusted._

“You’ll have to give Fionn and Cian a bit to sign,” she said. “They grew up in a really, really isolated community, and the alphabet they learned isn’t ours. It’s...very different, so learning this one’s not happened overnight. They’ve learned, but they haven’t practiced their signatures in English much yet.”

Earlene figured out how it was that the ellyn kept calm. Thanadir did it by not worrying about words he could not understand and trusting fully in Thranduil to manage any situation, no matter how ridiculous. And to Thranduil, after thousands of years of running a Kingdom, an unpracticed signature was about as much as obstacle to him as a snowflake in July. That she felt so out of her depth in the midst of anything legal felt like utter humiliation. Now she didn’t want two pints of Guinness, she wanted whatever it took to get half-ossified, as her friend would say.

He smiled broadly and easily and spoke to Niamh. “Forgive me for not shaking your hand earlier,” he said breezily as he extended his hand to her. “As Lorna mentioned, we...have not gotten out much, until recently, and many things are new. Including signatures in English. But we will manage fine,” he said charmingly as he shook her hand. 

Thanadir took the clue, unspoken or otherwise, and extended his own hand next. “I’m pleased to meet you, and thank you for all your help.”

“I’ve owed Lorna a favor for ages,” Niamh said, clearly trying not to betray how flustered she was, and failing. Her face didn’t go very red, but it did pink a bit, and it was all Lorna could do not to facepalm. _That_ would certainly be an effective distraction. “And I’ve never had a case like yours before.”

 _I’m sure she hasn’t,_ Lorna thought, trying desperately not to laugh even as she gave Thranduil a rather pointed look. “Well, you don’t owe me anymore,” she said, and then, knowing Niamh would be highly _delighted_ by the idea, she added, “I’d like to keep you on, if you’re willing. I’m not sure what else we’ll need in the future, but I trust you, and I don’t say that often.”

Niamh, poor Niamh -- she was trying not to actually stare at the elves, particularly at Thranduil, masking it in businesslike tidying of the medical papers she’d been handed. “I’d be happy to,” she said. “So long as this isn’t going to clap back on me somehow.”

“It won’t,” Lorna promised. “There’s no antagonists or anything like that. We just need what we need.”

Thranduil smiled, even more charmingly than the one he gave before he spoke the first time. And it was highly suspect that Thanadir’s countenance suddenly looked rather especially doe-eyed and beatific as well. “Regarding the passports, we had wished to go and visit Earlene’s home in New York City, as soon as we might. While it isn’t a complete emergency, there is a family matter, and we wished to travel as a family. We’d hoped to go in the next two months; you would know better than us what strain we are placing on the bureaucracy here. If it costs, it costs; we have the means to pay. And there is one other matter on which you might advise us. Earlene and I have married, according to the customs of our community. But because of my citizenship status, we cannot be legally married here. Yet. I would like to rectify that as soon as possible, but Earlene is of course not a citizen.” He simply stopped talking then, looking at Niamh with an unmistakable air of _and what are we going to do about this little problem?_ while still continuing to smile.

Earlene had never before seen him take charge quite like this and...her regard for him was soaring even as her own self-esteem was temporarily eroding under the increasingly circus-like atmosphere of this conversation.

Lorna looked at that smile, and at those doe-eyes, and bit the inside of her cheek _really hard_. If those two didn’t stop that, she was going to bust out laughing and look like a complete nutter. She’d say he was laying it on a bit thick, except it was working...Jesus, though. Thanadir’s eyes. _Puss in Boots, goddammit…._ “Niamh, I need your toilet,” she said, escaping and choking back her own laughter until she got to a place she could successfully vent it.

“The passports I can _probably_ get you within six weeks,” Niamh said, looking a touch more flustered. “A marriage certificate...that will take longer, mostly because I’m going to need to look up a few things. You’ll be Irish citizens, so you and Earlene theoretically won’t have any trouble getting a license, but that’s only in theory. I’ve never dealt with this method of acquiring identification before, and I’m sure there are strings I don’t yet know of. I can’t promise you a date on that one yet.”

Lorna, having more or less mastered herself, made it back into the room, sitting beside Earlene, who seemed...down. It wasn’t tremendously obvious, especially to someone who didn’t know her, but _something_ was bothering her. There were some moments when Lorna rather wished she had telepathy, so she could silently promise a drink when they were through. She nevertheless shot Thranduil a slight glower, trying to tell him to behave without actually using the word.

“You can only do your best; we will have to wait to make our travel plans as there is nothing else to be done; we do not intend to swim the Atlantic. And concerning the marriage; again, when we are able. It changes nothing about our daily lives, but we would like to have the benefit of being legally proper when that can be the case. Would five thousand euros more on your retainer suffice? If that is not adequate please name the sum you desire; we will have it to you directly.”

Niamh’s eyebrows rose. “It would be more than sufficient,” she said. “If you give me your contact information, I won’t need to go through Lorna here, if she doesn’t want me to. Though I still mean to take her out drinking, one’v these days.” They did in fact have some catching-up to do. “I’ll warn the lot’v you, if you take her to New York, don’t let anyone step on her. She bites.”

Earlene opened her purse and found her wallet, which still had some business cards. Though, she actually hesitated handing it over as she felt at the moment like a disgrace to her profession. “My email and cell phone are still correct, on this, please just ignore the rest,” she said softly, handing it to Niamh.

“Thanks,” Lorna said dryly. “Because, you know, I don’t want to keep my job or anything.”

“Oh, hush,” Niamh said, taking the card -- though when she looked at it, she let out a highly unprofessional, “Holy shit.” She knew that firm -- even here, all the way across the Atlantic, she knew that firm, and her eyebrows rose again. “You worked there?”

“I’d been made a senior partner, four years ago. Yes,” Earlene said quietly. Though, it made her feel marginally better, to have the acknowledgement. _Maybe don’t be so hard on yourself, Earlene_. But she wasn’t really listening. In fact, she was telling that inner voice to _fuck off_ , in no uncertain terms.

Niamh, once again betraying her roots, said, “Bloody Christ. And you moved all the way out here….” It wasn’t a question, because Niamh didn’t ask questions, but it was close. “I’ve never had an actual bigwig in here before. There’s not much like it to be found in Ireland.”

“It’s okay. I came here to have a different kind of life. It’s hard to manage that better than moving to a sleepy village in Ireland, no? But if you ever need a favor back in the direction of the States, Niamh, you let me know. You and Lorna, you can’t imagine what you’ve done for me. For us. I can’t offer help in ways that are overtly, ah, illegal, but I have connections, and I don’t forget who my friends have been.” She smiled kindly but knowingly, and then left it at that.

“You lot might be the best thing that ever happened to me,” Niamh said, to which Lorna added a quiet, “I _know,_ right?” “I don’t know that I’ll ever have cause to take you up on that, but I think you kindly for offering. If you’ll email me your government paperwork, I’ll see about getting you a marriage certificate set up, since I’ve already got theirs. You take care now, Earlene, Fionn, Cian. And Lorna, don’t get them in too much trouble.”

“Hush, you,” Lorna said, rising. “We’ll be in touch, Niamh. Get in touch with Shane sometime, would you? He thinks I’m making up that I’m talking to you again.”

“Oh, I will. Sooner or later.”

With that, they all rose and said their goodbyes, and loaded back up in the van. Earlene fished out her smartphone in order to make notes on her to-do list, and then slouched next to Thanadir. Really, it had all gone fine in the end...though not on account of her. _Well, you said you don’t half know who you are anymore. Aren’t you glad to see that you’re right?_ She had no answer for herself. Thranduil stared straight ahead, not knowing what to do. He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her. None of this would have been so difficult without their need for secrecy and their unprecedented circumstances...circumstances he’d created and dictated. It was absurd, that she blamed herself for not thinking of every last thing when she had already thought of so much, helped them navigate this far. But he knew that she wouldn’t thank him for it, not in front of Lorna. And yet he couldn’t just ignore her. He took his best guess.

 _Meluieg,_ he said with all the gentleness he could put in his thought. _We will talk, later. I know what it is, to try and live up to very high expectations for oneself. I know why you are unhappy; I have felt this disappointment with myself as well. Please know that I love you, and keep in mind that today succeeded. Lean against Thanadir. We will find some Guinness, I promise._ Turning around, he met her eyes briefly, saw a faint smile and nod, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Thanadir’s arm came over her shoulder, even as she subtly shook her head. Thranduil wanted her to feel better, and was doing what he felt he could. And as much as she did not want it to, it was working.

“Lorna, I know that we had mentioned returning home afterward but...is Baile on the way? I think we would all like a drink, perhaps even some food. And last time, we had to leave somewhat abruptly. Unless there is something better here, or something you would prefer more?”

“It is,” she said, pulling out and headed for the main road. “And Big Jamie’s got some’v the best pub food you’ll find this side’v the country. It’ll be good for you lot to see the village without, you know, something hanging over our heads.” She didn’t say _Mairead_ , but she didn’t need to. _Is she all right?_ she asked.

_Yes. You have to understand, Earlene has lived her life being the best of the best. Never making mistakes. Giving her entire self so as to not have a whisper of a chance of making a mistake. In her own way, Earlene did a job as difficult as my own at the height of my rule. Flawlessly. She made a small mistake today. To most it would be nothing, but for her it is very hard. She will survive. She just needs a chance to see this in perspective. Much has changed for her in a very short space of time. Right now she mostly just wants to be...I believe ‘get half-ossified’ was what I heard. And food would be a good idea as well. I do not need a repeat of the elven wine episode. But she must not become ill. Just remember, you can drink more than four or five of Earlene. Thanadir would not speak to me for a week._

Lorna smiled, though thought of a job like that made her cringe. The pair of them were as alpha as they came, in their jobs, and while she sort of was, hers was bartending. Nowhere near the same caliber as either. _Now that I can do_ , she said. _I don’t think even poitín could have the same effect as the elven wine. I’ll try to keep her from getting ill, but I can’t promise I’ll succeed. If we can get her to pace herself with food and water, she ought to be okay; if she likes French-dip sandwiches, Big Jamie’s are to die for, and they’re huge, so that’d keep her occupied. Give her a mental hug from me, will you?_ Mental hugs were easier. They didn’t involve all that physical contact.

Traffic was rather worse now, but, though she was driving rather aggressively, she was only doing it to keep up with traffic. Dublin drivers really did tend to be completely insane, and she felt her blood pressure rise as she swerved around some prick in a muscle car who evidently thought he looked much better than he did. He honked, and swore, and she smile again, a little of her ire draining. While it was probably wrong just how pleased she could be by making some gobshite’s day worse, pleased she was. It meant they got out onto the motorway in one piece -- though she swore under her breath when they did, because there was more traffic here, too, and she knew exactly how she’d handle it if she was alone in the van. She could see it, but she couldn’t do it, and it was making her twitch.

Thanadir cleared his throat on a diagonal from her, his eyebrow raised. Earlene was finally leaning back against his shoulder looking out the window in mild contentment, until the traffic maneuver caused her to tense against him.

 _Now you’ve been put on warning, Lorna_ , Thranduil teased. _You’d best behave, next he does more than clear his throat._ The amusement in his mental voice was bottomless.

 _He’s more than welcome to do this himself_ , she said, a bit sourly, though she couldn’t help a dry half-smile. _I have to wonder what he’d do if I actually, you know, drove like me. Aside from possibly attempt to strangle me with my own hair._ She was perversely tempted to do it, because she was an awful person, but she wouldn’t do that to poor Earlene -- especially not right now. Still, she cursed under her breath as a lorry did its best to cut her off, and sped up just enough to make it have to get in behind her, because she did _not_ like being behind lorries. It was a motorcyclist thing; you were too easy to miss, and thus run over.

 _Never cross Thanadir. He is subtle. He would not do or say a thing. But then at some later point in time, he might be, say, teaching you a skill, or perhaps sparring with you, or some other endeavor in which he has the ascendancy. And then, Valar help you, he will take every inch of it out of you, and with interest. I have had just a little while in which to observe his traits. My son learned all of this the hard way as well; Thanadir arguably raised Legolas as much or more than we did. So as your friend, I have discharged my obligation to warn you_ , he said merrily.

Lorna tried not to laugh, she really did, but she couldn’t banish the mental image of this Legolas (who in her mind looked much like teenage Thranduil) getting his arse handed to him by Thanadir over some offense -- Thanadir, whose expression wouldn’t actually change much. The thought was too much, and she dissolved into laughter. It helped quite a bit that traffic temporarily thinned out, allowing her to go at a place that would actually get them there before bloody nightfall. _He sometimes reminds me’v the librarian at the prison, actually,_ she said, still giggling. _Very...proper._

 _I am convinced that somewhere in each institution of any given size, there is a Thanadir. The world needs them, in order to function. But there can be only one_ , he said, recalling the time Erestor of Imladris and Thanadir had to share duties in a temporary and frankly disastrous arrangement.

 _There can only be one…_ Lorna spluttered again, changing lanes. _I wouldn’t’ve pictured Thanadir as the Highlander_ , she said, and she really couldn’t; while she could well imagine Thanadir with a sword, that was it. _Though the thought of him having a...a proper-off with someone like him is almost too good to be true._ It certainly kept her going on their way to the Kildare exit, even if it also kept her laughing. _That was a bit much, what you did to Niamh_ , she added. _Not your most subtle moment. Between the pair of you eejits, I had to get out of there before I died laughing and mucked it all up. Mind you, it worked, so I guess I can’t be complaining, but still. Good grief._

 _Exactly_ , he said, his eyes twinkling. _It worked. Which is precisely what I emphasized to Earlene. Besides, if we are found attractive, why wouldn’t I use that to our advantage? She was becoming suspicious that we were deceiving her, or would cause her trouble. If I went a little overboard in my efforts to reassure her, no matter. And am I hearing that it would entertain you to see Thanadir spar with another? I had considered doing this for Earlene, who has begun to learn. It is a good motivator, for a beginner to understand the end result. Perhaps I can tell him it was what I promised you if you could behave yourself while driving for the entire day._

 _If you don’t stop making me laugh, he’s going to suspect something’s up_ , Lorna said, her shoulders shaking from her effort to hold it in. _He’d said he’d teach me to spar, but neitehr’v us have had the time. I’d love to see what he does, though -- because I didn’t actually see much, when I went after him that day, except for the fact that he’s faster than a bloody snake._ She wiped her eyes, her cheeks sore from grinning. _Though if you tell him that, let me be around when he hears it. I absolutely need that mental image forever._

The exit wasn’t terribly far now, so she started easing her way over. _You also need to tell him that I’m going to have to tell little white lies about...all’v us,_ she said. _I know he’s compulsively honest and that, but people are going to ask questions just out of curiosity -- it’d be rude as hell not to answer, but obviously I can’t exactly tell the truth, either. Basically, if he hears me telling some lie, he needs to accept it’s for a reason._ She’d try to stick as close to the truth as was possible, but sooner or later the lie would come in.

 _I understand, but I would advise you to use caution. Unless I am much mistaken, Earlene will stay very close to my seneschal. She understands him, better than you do. He is very capable of speaking for himself in most instances now; it may be better to let him do so than to say something ill-advised that attracts more attention. I like you very much, Lorna, but you are terrible at lying on short notice._ Thranduil put a great deal of humor into his words, hoping that she would understand without feeling offended.

Lorna snorted. _Oh, I made sure everyone at the pub knew to leave Thanadir alone_ , she said. _I just mean things like...well, why we were in Dublin. It’s easier to say we were there on Earlene’s business, and leave it at that._ She laughed again. _I know I am. Total pants at it, and I always have been._

_Ah, but that is not a lie; we were indeed there on Earlene's business. You are simply not stating  that there was more._

She pulled off at the exit, headed toward Baile. _You know, the one time I really, truly tried to lie and failed at it completely was when I first met Liam. I didn’t want him to know we had the same parole officer, so I tried to say she was my sister. I tied myself up in such a knot I just gave up trying to speak._

In the rear, Earlene’s eyebrows raised as she saw the road sign. Tapping Thanadir’s arm gently, she pointed up at it discreetly, waiting to see in his eyes that he registered where they were headed. A rumble of humor beneath her shoulder assured her that he understood.

Thranduil chuckled, shaking his head as he continued his conversation with Lorna. _I would think that might have been a permanent discouragement. But then again, if you wed with the man, then obviously...it worked, even if in the most roundabout of ways. That is the problem with terrible ideas; sometimes they egg us on because they create success._

 _It did work_ , she said, able, now, to think on Liam fondly and without pain. _But I don’t think I’ll be trying it again. What worked once probably wouldn’t, a second time._

The street was only lightly populated; it was a bit too early for most to be out of work. She found a parking spot right out front of the pub, and peered in through the window. A good selection of people, but mercifully, she saw no Niamh; she’d read the girl the riot act already, but seeing her might make Thanadir rather uncomfortable.

“All right, you lot, anything on Big Jamie’s menu’s good, but his French dip sandwiches are to die for. I know we’ve not got elven wine, but poitín’s as close as you’re going to get,” she said, hopping out of the van. _I’ll try to keep the really strong stuff away from Earlene_ , she promised.

Earlene exited and stretched. She could berate herself later in the privacy of her own home, there was no point ruining her outing over her mood of self-criticism. And she was hungry. Though, she wondered if they had cream stout here, the regular wasn’t sounding quite as good right now. “How’re the fish and chips?” she asked hopefully. She knew better than to ignore recommendations, but a good battered piece of fish just now...

“Bloody good,” Lorna said, shoving open the door. “We grow the potatoes ourselves, and Jamie gets the fish through Molly, who gets them through her brother, who’s a fisherman, so they’re in here fresh every day.”

“Oi, you,” Big Jamie said, saluting her with a beer stein. “Wasn’t thinking to be seeing you lot back here so soon. No Mairead this time?”

“No Mairead,” Lorna said. “We’ve been out to Dublin today on business, and there’s no better place to stop on the way home than here. Earlene, she’s thinking fish and chips, but I’d murder a French dip.” The elves probably weren’t going to recognize half the things on the menu, but if there was anything they were wanting to know, Thranduil could ask her without asking aloud.

“I’m glad to know Mairead didn’t put you off,” Big Jamie said. “I know she can be a bit...much.”

Lorna glanced around the somewhat dimly-lit room, and was a little too delighted when she spotted Ratiri sitting beside the fire. She wanted to go and talk to him, but she had responsibilities as a host as well as a friend and employee. No, she wasn’t technically working here right now, but she had done for the last eleven years, and some things were just ingrained.

Earlene nudged Thanadir to the bar, and hogged a menu for the two of them to read. To her delight, she found that he liked to think about things in as orderly a manner as she did, and she helped him categorize the choices by food type. In the end, she stayed with fish and encouraged him to try the French dip; like as not he could have a piece of her fish as well. It was a given he’d never had chips. And he agreed to share a salad with her, which would keep the meal from being a nutritional travesty. Considering what she knew of his tastes, she ordered a double amaretto on the rocks for him, and cream stout for herself. And because she was feeling completely evil, after they had their drinks (she saw Lorna still showing Thranduil the menu) she claimed a table for five and introduced herself to Ratiri, inviting him to join them since Lorna and Thranduil were coming momentarily. She also engineered the seating so that Lorna would be next to him. _Why not, she thought. I’ve got to get one thing right today, sure god._

Thanadir looked very interested in Ratiri. Earlene guessed he might not have seen someone of Indian descent before. “Ratiri, Lorna said you are a physician? Are you in general practice?”

“I was a pediatrician,” he said, “at Great Ormond Street in London, but I’m a GP here. Not much cause for a pediatrician outside a city, and I didn’t want to live in a city anymore.”

“Ah. Well, one never knows. I’ve been considering being in the family way and...well, where there are people, there are babies and children. And your father, he practices here as well?”

Lorna, still standing by the bar, caught that -- mercifully, she didn’t actually have anything in her mouth to choke on, but she was rather surprised. Good on Earlene.

“No, my cousin,” Ratiri said. “His father did, before him. My father died some years ago, but he was a doctor, too -- he met my mother in India as a young man.”

“Forgive my mistake, and I am sorry for your loss,” Earlene said. “Cian is with my man Fionn, and knows little of the world. Later I will show him where India is, but may I ask, what province your family came from? My gran kept a farm, and in our town in rural New York was a Punjabi family. They kept a beautiful orchard, and were known all around for the fruit they sold. I liked to hear them talk of home. Though, the conversations were always a little difficult as I know zero of that language and their English was a little broken. But we managed.”

Lorna made it over just as Ratiri smiled, bearing a mug of Guinness roughly the size of her head. “Nagpur,” he said. “It’s in Maharashtra. They met while he was with Doctors Without Borders in the early seventies. His family weren’t thrilled he’d married an Indian woman, and hers wasn’t thrilled she’d married a white man, but they made it through. I know they were happy, even if my mother occasionally wanted to murder our neighbors.”

Lorna laughed. “Well, you know, you’re not properly Scottish if you don’t want to kill your neighbors,” she said. “It’s the same here, really.”

“I heard that!” Big Jamie called.

Ratiri tried to hold in his laughter, and utterly failed. “When did you come to Ireland?” he asked Earlene, though he kept sneaking glances at Lorna, who was naturally totally oblivious.

“Just a matter of weeks ago, actually. I’m from New York City. I came here to retire to a dull life in rural Ireland. The only part of that that actually happened was the rural Ireland part,” she grinned, wondering if Ratiri would catch the joke. She was guessing not.

_Meluieg, I did not think you were the matchmaking type._

_I was feeling mischievous._

_I see_ , Thranduil said, his voice laced with humor.

“And then some gobshite tried to cheat her, so we met, and I got hired, and now I’m kind’v a...cultural interpreter,” Lorna said, figuring that actually sounded like a real thing. Maybe. “It’s fun, but I miss the village. Staying on my mate Mick’s couch isn’t what I’d call ideal.”

Ratiri winced a bit; being a doctor, he no doubt had plenty to say about sofa-beds. “How long will you be, before you come home?” he asked, and he was fairly sure he didn’t sound too interested. Fairly sure. Christ, but he was bad at this.

“Another fortnight,” she said, and sipped her mug. Naturally, this gave her a foam mustache, and really, there was no graceful way to wipe that off. Oh well. “I’ll be going back and forth some, for work, but I’ll be home again once Mick’s hand’s better.” She really hoped he was asking for the reason she thought he might be, if that wasn’t unspeakably arrogant of her to think he’d wait about for her.

Ratiri looked at her, and Earlene, and the men. There had been a lot of speculation as to just what the hell Lorna had got herself roped into, but the three of them looked legitimate. Legitimate what, he didn’t know, but he trusted they weren’t unsavory types. There had been even more speculation about the men than Earlene, who Mairead said was an American lawyer -- exotic, for these parts, but understandable. The other two, though...there was something _different_ about them, something he couldn’t hope to explain, and he wasn’t the only one who’d spotted it. He’d have thought he was mental, if it had been just him, but Big Jamie had seen it, too.

But they’d brought with them Lorna, and he _really_ didn’t know what to make her her -- which wasn’t a bad thing. She was tiny and fey and there was just _something_ about her, like he’d been meant to meet her. Unfortunately, that she still wore her wedding band, so long after losing her husband...except, he noticed, she wasn’t now.

Hmm. Hopefully, that meant what he hoped it meant.

Earlene was watching Ratiri like a hawk, though pretending not to. She did break away long enough to quietly ask Thanadir if he liked the amaretto, to which he enthusiastically nodded. She grinned, enjoying a great deal that she had someone with whom to share her sugar enthusiasm. It did not escape her notice, though, that Ratiri’s eyes were drawn over and over to the ellyn. She sighed. _They know without knowing,_ she thought. It interested her, that to her eyes they seemed so human. Astonishingly beautiful, but...completely normal. From the first time she laid eyes on Thranduil, in dreams or otherwise, only his beauty occurred to her. No part of her said “ooooh, weird” or “oooooh, alien” and definitely not “oooooh, elf”. She knew that Lorna thought them different, but she just did not see it. Was something the matter with her, or was she just so attracted to them that she was lost in the middle of it? It could hardly be ruled out. But it wasn’t like her, to fail to observe when others did. Idly, she wondered how her husband planned to manage this.

As she watched her besotted friend, it was already a foregone conclusion to her, where this was going. How long did Thranduil intend to allow Ratiri to remain ignorant? Or would he simply release Lorna to live more of her own life, and not plan to ever enlighten him? Somehow that latter one seemed unlikely. Thranduil had taken unusual risks with Lorna, and he didn’t seem like the sort to just let go. As she swirled her stout, she hoped for his own sake that Ratiri had a very developed sense of the ridiculous and the wondrous, and a broad dose of open-mindedness. He was going to need all of it. At just that moment, Big Jamie hollered that some of the food was ready, and she invited Thanadir to collect it with her. He needed to learn about condiments and casual dining, and this was as good of a place as any. That Thranduil met her eyes with a huge smirk as she passed him was beside the point. She gently traced her fingers across the back of his neck as she passed by him.

“Have you been about much?” Lorna asked Ratiri. “There’s woods behind my cottage that’re lovely, but don’t go in by yourself -- it’s easy to get lost. God know I did. Twice.” And hadn’t that been embarrassing as bloody hell.

“I love forests,” Ratiri said, trying not to sound utterly bland and awkward -- _I love forests? Who even says that?_ “I lived near a patch of one as a kid, before my parents moved to Glasgow. There wasn’t much to it, but I thought it was beautiful. We didn’t often get snow, but when we did, it was like walking in fairyland.” Lorna belonged in fairyland, he thought; it wasn’t just her height, it was her eyes, her hair, her face -- everything about her. And God didn’t he feel like a royal creep for thinking so much about a woman he’d only met twice.

“We live near a beautiful forest,” Thranduil said. “Perhaps you would be willing to come and eat with all of us, one evening? My wife is a very good cook, and we would enjoy to have you. Both of you. It wouldn’t do, to not feed Lorna,” he teased. Again, he was having far too much fun.

Lorna stared at him in undisguised shock. That was possibly the last thing she had expected -- Ratiri wasn’t from Lasg’len; it wasn’t like he’d grown up with legends of elves. He surely wouldn’t risk it if he didn’t mind that there was some chance Ratiri might find out about...everything. Her thoughts were far too much of a jumble to actually ask any questions; she managed a mental, _Bzuh?_ and that was it.

“I’d love to,” Ratiri said, and hoped he didn’t sound too eager. He wasn’t a teenager, for God’s sake. He’d handle this like a damned adult, no matter how hard it was.

“Good,” said Thranduil. “If Lorna will work out a suitable day as soon as possible, then we will plan on it. Is there anything you do not care to eat?” He had been reading news articles and had learned about the dizzying array of vegetarianism, veganism, gluten-free-ism, piscatarianism and every other assault on what he felt was perfectly good food...but he at least knew enough to ask.

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” Ratiri said. “Other than that, I don’t have any preferences.” His mother had been a devout Hindu, but his father had been a devout Scotsman, and thus fond of pretty much every meat there was -- though he kept it away from the home dinner table, out of respect for his wife. He’d taken young Ratiri on a tour of all the best pub foods in Scotland instead.

“I’ve got work at the mechanic tomorrow during the day, but I’m off in the evening,” Lorna said. “Next two days seem clear, barring an emergency.”

“I’ll be off tomorrow by five,” Ratiri said, “though I’m betting Indira might let me go at four if I poked her.” She’d teased him quite a bit about Lorna, but she was his cousin and could get away with it. “What I don’t know is if she’ll lend me her car.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lorna said. “Mick’s got no use for this van while he can’t drive it. I’ll pick you up.”

Just then Earlene and Thanadir returned, bearing food. Thanadir had taken an instant liking to ketchup and had piled an astonishing amount of it on top of his chips. Earene was trying very hard to work the grin off of her face by biting down on her cheeks. She also placed another whiskey on the rocks in front of Ratiri. “Big Jamie said this was what you were drinking,” she smiled, and added in a much more hushed tone of voice, “I hope he got that right.” Her cod looked fried to golden perfection, and Thanadir placed a second cream stout down for her, as he’d had a free hand. She looked at Lorna and Thranduil, feeling a dilemma. Usually it was rude to begin eating before the others, but this was a pub. “Would we offend you if we start eating?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. For all she knew Lorna and Thranduil had never ordered food.

“Earlene,” her husband said, “please eat. I took the liberty of inviting Lorna and Ratiri to dinner tomorrow night, and they’ve accepted. Ratiri says he is allergic to shellfish.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she said, with a big smile on her face. “Ah, what time works for you? Six? Seven?” Her mind already had rocket boosters firing, trying to figure out what in hell she would cook...another day’s notice would have been nice, but oh well.

“I can bring something, too,” Lorna said, feeling it wasn’t quite fair to drop this on Earlene out of nowhere. “I don’t know _what_ , but if you wanted anything.” No, she couldn’t cook anything more than just something serviceable, but that was why she had Mairead.

“Yes,” beamed Earlene. “Wine. A decent red wine. Complex, and on the sweet side. With whales and petunias.” The look on her face when she said it, eyeing Lorna, was priceless. Both women suddenly began laughing without explanation, and it went on a little too long for the comfort of everyone else at the table. Finally recovering herself, Earlene cleared her throat. “My apologies. It’s a...girl’s joke.”

“It is,” Lorna confirmed, and the only reason she gained any control over herself was studiously avoid looking at the elves. “Big Jamie’s got some good wines, though nothing like we’ve had before.” That was a statement she couldn’t have clarified even if she’d wanted to. “It’s -- hang on, I’ve got food. Be right back.” She hopped up at Big Jamie’s call, and managed to keep her snickering quiet as she fetched hers and Thranduil’s sandwiches.

Ratiri knew quite well he had to be missing more than he even realized, but he didn’t ask. Not yet, anyway; this wasn’t the time. Absurdly, all he could think of was fairy wine, which wasn’t in the least helpful.

A cough from Thranduil caught Earlene’s attention. She knew by now that since there was no cough, he had just heard something that caused a catch in his throat, and sincerely wondered what it was. More or less she could live without resentment that she would never have elven gifts, but this was one meeting where it would have been altogether amusing to know everyone’s thoughts, like the proverbial fly on the wall. Her fish was delicious, and she daintily dabbed pieces of it into the tartar sauce. Thanadir was devouring his sandwich with astonishing speed while still managing perfect eating manners. Without a second thought, Earlene placed a full piece of fish and a cup of sauce on his plate. Starting in on her second beverage, she was beginning to feel quite happy. And that was when she did something that was perhaps unwise. She said to Thanadir softly but audibly, “Anírol nen?” (would you like water?)

The seneschal nodded, and she rose to return to the bar. Ratiri heard, and tried to puzzle out the language, though he did not ask aloud. Earlene seated herself again momentarily, bearing two glasses of water. Not particularly thinking either, Thanadir murmured “Len hannon.”

She’d stuffed herself silly and was nursing the stout, when Big Jamie affably brought them the salad they’d not heard him call out for. Earlene groaned but Thanadir started in like a starved rabbit. Feeling obliged, she stabbed a few forkfuls but left most of it to him; he obviously still had room. So she slid the remainder of her chips over to him as well, and wondered if she should find him a dessert. “You were right, Lorna, the food here is wonderful.”

“Most’v these reciples’ve been in Jamie’s family for decades, if not longer,” Lorna said, incredibly pleased. “Between him, Michael, and Orla, they’ve got the best pub food I’ve ever found, and I’ve been in a load’v pubs.”

Ratiri laughed, but he was half distracted by watching Cian -- how the hell could such a slender man eat so much? Where was he _putting_ it? He didn’t look like he had an ounce of fat on him, yet he ate enough for two people. Lorna seemed quite content to put her food away, but not to the frankly ludicrous extreme Cian seemed to be managing. Ratiri hadn’t seen anyone eat like that since his own father, who had been a bit of a weedy man who looked like he’d blow away in a stiff breeze. Maybe it was something in the Irish air.

 _Is he going to eat himself sick?_ Lorna asked, her eyes flicking to Thanadir. She highly doubted it -- elves probably _couldn’t_ eat themselves sick -- but for the sake of Mick’s van’s interior, she felt duty-bound to ask. It had to be a true compliment to Jamie, that an elf would find his food so good -- not that she could ever tell Jamie, but still. It was enough that it existed.

 _You are asking me?_ Thranduil asked, taking the last bite of his sandwich. _Thanadir, be sick?_ His blue eyes sparkled as she shook his head No. _Impossible. In fact, I would wager that he could eat another half-sandwich before declaring himself truly full._

All around the table seemed content, and dinner was agreed on for 6:30 the following evening. Earlene decided that she had the entire way home in a food coma to prepare the meal in her head, and also noted that it would be very wise for her to take advantage of the ladies’ room before they left. Excusing herself, she happily meandered off.

Lorna, out of long habit, gathered up the dinner things into the stacks she’d always made to take them back to the kitchen. She looked up at Ratiri, and further up, and had had just enough to drink that she thought nothing of standing on one of the chairs, to better be able to look him in the eye.

“I’m going to have to carry a stool around, with you,” she said, grinning. “Or stilts. Though with stilts in a forest, I’d land on my face and smash...all’v it.”

“Not a mental picture I needed,” he said, laughing a little. “You don’t need a stool. Tiny is good.” He immediately looked like he wanted to slap himself, and Lorna couldn’t help but laugh.

“You try that when you’ve got to buy your trousers in the bloody children’s section,” she said, taking pity on him. “I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?” Boy, this...how was it going to go? What exactly did Thranduil have in mind? She glanced at the elf in question, suspicious. If she was beginning to learn anything about him, it was that he never seemed to do something without a reason, but whether or not he would explain that reason until after the fact was anyone’s guess.

As they rose from the table, Thranduil could not resist grinning at Lorna knowingly. Earlene, in the meanwhile, had settled up with Big Jamie when no one else was looking. It was very cute to see Lorna enjoying herself. No, cute was not the word. It was nice. Of all people, Earlene understood what it was to wait a very long time for someone you actually wanted. She genuinely hoped they, and all the weirdness, worked out somehow. Everyone made for the door, and loaded up into the van. Her eyebrow raised, recalling the size of the drink Lorna’d had.

With a wave of her hand she caught Thranduil’s attention. _She is...okay to drive?_

A single nod was all the answer she needed.

Lorna had paused just long enough to buy a bottle of Jamie’s best red (whatever that actually meant) before she gave Ratiri a grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, mate,” she said.

“Looking forward to it.” Well, at least he sounded like as big a dork as she felt. If they had to be like this, at least they both were.

She headed out to the van, depositing the wine into Mick’s box of tools so it wouldn’t rattle around. “All right, you lot -- we’re off. If you fall asleep on the way back, I’ll not blame you,” she said, firing up the engine.

Returning to his seat and his now well-watered whisky, Ratiri fished his phone out of his pocket and opened his browser. _Anirol nen_ , he entered. Nothing. Gibberish, even. He had a very good memory for words. _Len hannon_. ' _Thank you'….in….Sindarin?_ And it had to be right; it fit the context. Someone had been given something, and saying “thank you” for the glass of water made perfect sense. Wait. He entered another search term. _Sindarin word for 'water'_ …... _Nen_. Who in hell spoke Sindarin? He’d never heard of it. _Sindarin….the invented fictional language of J.R.R. Tolkien spoken by….elves._ Switching off his phone, he sat and started into the fire for a very long time.

As the van pulled onto the main highway, Earlene had it pretty much worked out in her head. Five people. A roast beef, duchess potatoes, a green salad with shredded beetroot and carrot, wine, fresh bread if it could be managed by herself or the bakery (she’d need to scuttle off to town early in the day for both the bread and meat) and chocolate something or other for dessert. She’d have wine already, and Lorna’d bring more. Or rather, the bottle in question was being currently traumatized on a toolbox, so probably no worries there.

_Thranduil?_

_Yes, meluieg?_

_Can we all have a conversation about Ratiri? I mean, a real conversation with the four of us talking aloud about where this is going? What your intentions are? Because I sure as heck would like to know, and I’d bet money so would Lorna. With respect to the fact that I am sworn to do whatever you ask me and you don’t have to explain a damn thing if you don’t actually want to, of course._

He laughed loudly. Aloud. Which was either a very good sign or precluded ultimate dismissal; she’d find out momentarily, she guessed.

“Earlene has just requested we have what she refers to as ‘an actual conversation’ about my dinner invitation to Ratiri,” he said. “And as it is a fair question, the answer is Yes. And as Lorna has mentally noted, I often do not explain my actions until later. Do you mind this, Lorna?”

“Mind what?” she asked. “Ratiri coming to dinner? Hell no.” While Thranduil could possibly intend to just wipe his mind of anything he might see that shouldn’t be seen, Lorna trusted him not to. She was pretty sure Ratiri wouldn’t be coming, were that even an option.

“Lorna, I am sure it has already occurred to you that you are included with us as family, trusted with knowledge of us in the same way Earlene is. With your interest in Ratiri, which I will venture to say is mutual, it is a foregone conclusion that he must either be included with us or excluded from us. He is an honest, good-hearted man. He already realizes that we are not ordinary, though he cannot possibly understand why just yet. I have no wish to interfere in your ability to form an attachment with him, Lorna, if that is the path you choose. Meaning, there is only one real option; he has to be welcome in Lasg’len. It would be wise, for us to not appear so often in Baile, because Ratiri is not alone in his observations. He is capable of discretion, but we should not spread ourselves further, so to speak. If you will forgive me, I had to leave Big Jamie in a frame of mind in which he is no longer inclined to think on us so much. Or at least, no longer inclined to think on what he perceives as our being unusual. I cannot say how easily Ratiri will accept us. Or how exactly to go about admitting him to our proverbial inner circle. I have no wish to startle him like I did you, Lorna. Thoughts? This affects everyone here."

Lorna wasn’t at all surprised Big Jamie had been one of the others to notice there was something...different… about the elves. “You know,” she said, choosing her words with care -- not an easy thing, given how terrible she was at using her words at the best of times -- “when I first signed on here, I didn’t expect I’d be let in this close, given that I didn’t sign on for the job I couldn’t quit, sort’v thing, and I’d figured it would only be fair that I wasn’t. You lot operate on formalized promises, and you’ve got my word on my terms, so I totally figured I would be staying outside a bit. I’m shite at saying it, but I really appreciate you lot -- that you’d let me in, and that you’d consider letting someone else in because I like them.” _Like them_ ; Christ, she sounded like she was in secondary school. She had to laugh a little, though. “Me being so startled was half my own bloody fault; I’d been told you were elves, and wouldn’t believe it. I can’t say I wasn’t warned.” How in God’s name they were to let Ratiri in on it...she’d have to think on it, and hope someone came up with something better meantime. _How about not giving him alcohol poisoning,_ she thought. Then again, he was Scottish; his liver was probably as impervious as hers.

“Well,” said Earlene, “he probably didn’t grow up in the superstition capital of the world, so I’m guessing that belief in fae aren’t part of his vocabulary. He’s a scientist. I don’t want to project myself onto him but I think that once he is confronted with irrefutable evidence that elves exist, the rest is going to be no particular difficulty for him, give or take that he will want to understand things that are not understandable; you Eldar do rather defy the known laws of physics, as near as I can work out. But really, as long as he will agree to keep your secret, it won’t be too hard. The real question is, he is far more interested in Lorna than the rest of us. Is that interest enough to buy his silence until he has a chance to get to know about all of us and that we are decent individuals who cannot afford to be exposed to the outer world? He is a doctor, and doctors do have to keep confidences.”

“And keeping it’s not that much’v a hardship,” Lorna added. Even if Indira got curious, it was easy enough to twist the truth a bit, even for her, and she couldn’t lie to save her life. “If you really want to, anyway.” The elves had already become family to her; the motivation was already there. That it was both her and Earlene keeping that secret made it easier, so hopefully there being three of them would make it easier for Ratiri.

“There’s always the direct approach, too,” said Earlene. “If Thranduil has determined he is trustworthy, then, we can also choose to apologize profusely for bursting his bubble and simply tell him the truth. Though I admit, the idea of bringing a dinner guest in with the deliberate intent to wreck his sensibilities sort of flies in the face of hospitality. I don’t know how you feel about it Lorna, but you can make this easier or harder by what he is told on the way here; you could choose to maneuver the discussion in that direction and just simply say that you can tell him why they are different if he will promise to keep what he learns to himself, because it’s crucial for all of our safety; that isn’t a lie.”

“I’ll feel things out as we drive,” Lorna said. “It’ll give me enough time to figure out how he might react to just straight-up being told, though God knows I’d not do it on the motorway. And I’m hoping that knowing I trust you all will count for...something.” What, she wasn’t sure, but hopefully _something_. “If he’s come here by himself, it probably means he’s good at keeping things to himself. And...he just doesn’t strike me as the type that’d betray someone like that. I’m no telepath or anything, but I just don’t think he’s like...that.”

“Nor do I,” said Thranduil. “Thanadir, you have not said a word. Do you have any thoughts, my friend?”

Thanadir cleared his throat. “My thought is to help you accomplish what you wish, Thranduil. But there is another thing no one has said. He will also come to the Halls? Because knowing about us seems to lead to that.”

Thranduil considered. Yes, it most certainly did. “If he navigates learning of us, then yes, he would. He will have the choice to join us, be part of our family here. And there is also another possibility, one that I do not wish to mention, but I must. If it all falls apart, if he and Lorna do not form an eventual bond, if he rejects our acceptance...he can be made to forget everything. It is not a step I would take willingly or lightly, but as I am risking much, it has to be understood that my ultimate obligation is the protection of all of us. And as I do not have a human perspective, I would ask both Earlene and Lorna, is that an equitable path for me to walk?”

Lorna winced a bit; the thought sat ill with her, but at the same time she very much understood the need. The elves couldn’t let their existence get out; that was just a fact there was no getting around. While the thought of too much tweaking of anyone’s head disturbed her, she could understand why it could potentially be quite necessary. “I think it’s the only path you really can walk,” she said, “if you’re going to be willing to let in more outsiders. There’s always that risk, and honestly, I can’t think what else you could do.” Christ did she hope it never came to that -- if it did, it did, but she hoped it never would. Earlene simply bobbed her head, nodding. In her mind, nothing could be more sensible.

“I am hoping that for the foreseeable future that this will be the last time we take this risk. I would not be considering this if I thought there was any real chance that this would not work, based on what I can see of his heart. He is a good man. But I have to consider every possibility. So, it seems that one way or another, tomorrow will be a most interesting day. A most….interesting….day,” he trailed off. Nothing further was said, as the steady hum of the motor accompanied the meandering thoughts of each of them.


	28. Twenty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 20, 2016

As the van moved along home Earlene was already forming her mental--and not so mental--checklists. She guessed Thanadir might think she was more than a little odd, the way she’d click on her smartphone, swipe a few words, shut it down, click it on, swipe a few words. Though, he never said anything about it. He was always polite that way, even when part of this routine included leaning against his shoulder for a few minutes before sitting bolt upright to tap in more words. By the time she’d arrived home and they’d said their “good lucks” to Lorna and thanked her for chauffeuring, Earlene practically itched to get to her laptop. No one was going to want dinner tonight, after that lunch. Or rather, anyone who did want it could get it in the Halls; she had no intention of cooking anything beside tomorrow night’s meal. Politely but tersely, she informed the ellyn that she could not be disturbed for a time.

Looking at her brother’s contact information, she decided that she was going to add at least some small layer of distance. Quickly, she created a new email account with Google and linked it to her usual one; it would be this, that she would use for correspondence with him; by no means was she going to make access to her easy. The communication was, by her standards, very terse: 

_“Aidan. Congratulations on your daughter, I hope she is bringing you joy. I am not in a position to return to the States on short notice. It is possible that in two more months, or thereabouts, I will visit briefly. The only way to meet sooner would be for you and Allanah to come here. However, we do not have any spare room; this is a one-bedroom cottage on the outskirts of a small village. While your apology is appreciated, I’m sure you understand that more lies between us than can be repaired with a card. I will advise you when I am able to plan a visit. -Earlene”_

_A one-bedroom cottage and room for ten thousand inside the forest,_ she mused, _but you’re hardly welcome in either location_. Her favorite part of this entire letter was a single pronoun, “We”. _Let him wonder._

Next came the phone call, since tapping out the short letter had just started her rolling. Upon further reflection, she determined that this would be handled centrally; she decided to hit up a classmate who had been a good school friend and had gone into family law. By luck, she was put through immediately. In her usual crisp manner after the greetings and the niceties were out of the way, she laid out the entire thing; her suspicions, and the preparations she wanted in place for herself long before she returned to New York; this could be anything from a total waste of time to a cross-continent adoption. Her friend agreed to handle it; all of it, including the services of a private investigator. Earlene gave profuse thanks, and assured her that within the hour she would have an email with Earlene’s contact information. They concluded their discussion laughing, both saying at the same time “always know where to send the bill”...it was an old joke between them from a class on Legal Business Management. When she hung up, she stared at the screen for a few more moments, before sending the agreed-on email; no less would be expected. If Earlene was known for nothing else, she had quite a reputation for caring for task lists faster than a piranha on a carcass. When it was all done, she bit her fingernail and retrieved a blank manila folder; into it went Aidan’s card. That folder might be quite thick, before the next two months had elapsed. She shut her laptop then, staring for a moment. Warm hands found her shoulders.

“That was quite a thing to watch, meluieg,” Thranduil teased. “I did not dare interrupt you.”

“Good,” she said, turning to kiss him, then thinking better of it and standing so that she could fully end up in his arms. “Besides, I had to do something to repair my self-esteem.” Her voice lost its humor. “Thank you, for what you said to me, earlier. I find myself in the awkward position of you having done my job far better than I did. You are remarkable, Thranduil; not many could find themselves so out of their element and yet completely master a situation as you did. And yes, I know that it goes with your job description, but that doesn’t change anything about the end result.”

He smiled. It was not often that he was acknowledged in this manner. “Thank you,” was all that was necessary. from him. He could see that she had reconciled herself to what had occurred, and that it required no further discussion. “Do you wish to spend the night here, or in the Halls, Earlene?” he asked.

She frowned. “Here, if you do not mind. I would like to have more than enough time to prepare this dinner, if I may; I should go shopping in town for what I will need in the morning if I am to get anything decent at the baker’s. It is important that it go well, for me. And given that much rides on this encounter for Lorna….”

Thranduil held up his hand. “It is not necessary to convince me that you deserve a chance to have minimal stress over the guest that I invited to your home without consulting you first,” he said with humor. “I think we all could use a quiet evening. Perhaps something to watch…? Star Trek?”

“Why not,” Earlene quipped.

Thanadir looked up from his computer and smiled, from his usual perch on the sofa. Sometimes she could swear she saw him sitting there, even when he was gone. “Space, the final frontier...” he intoned brightly. And something about that managed to melt through all of the tension she’d felt from the day's events. Aidan, Ratiri, paperwork, doctors...she loved both ellyn. Her family.

Laughing, Earlene continued. “...These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise….”. And it did not surprise her in the least when Thanadir continued, because he had already memorized the whole thing.

*****

Lorna, unfortunately, woke the next morning having fallen to the Communists overnight, which left her grouchy as hell. She took half a hydrocodone for her cramps before heading down to the mechanic, losing herself in the work while the drug took hold. It did far less for her than it would for most, but given she was working with power tools, that was actually a good thing.

She couldn’t get tonight off her mind, even when she stood elbow-deep in the gutted engine of Ian’s pickup. What would Ratiri make of the whole...everything? Would he run away screaming? Probably not. Thranduil wouldn’t have invited him if he thought that likely. Still...ugh, she shouldn’t be nervous about this. Whatever would happen, would happen, and meanwhile she didn’t need to be taking her thumb off with anything. The fact that Thranduil could probably fix that was entirely beside the point.

The day passed largely without incident, though she had to pop the other half of the hydrocodone, thankful that by this stage in her life, periods weren’t actually that much of an issue. Yes, she tended to want to murder everyone she met, but right now she was too keyed-up with anticipation.

She took a shower before she left, to make sure she didn’t smell like gasoline or oil, washing her hair with the lovely elf shampoo. For once, she figured she’d leave it down when she went home; for years, she’d worn it in the braid to keep it under control, but with these elven hair products, it controlled itself. No matter what Earlene said, she wasn’t the sort men usually looked at twice, and while Ratiri had, she’d like to keep him looking -- and she knew her hair was her best feature.

She noticed right off that the dent in her ribs was no longer a dent, and the scar that ran over the side of her chest was gone. Thranduil’s work, surely, but she couldn’t find it in her to be embarrassed he must have had her top off; he was one of the few heterosexual men in the world she knew wouldn’t be, er, getting anything out of it himself -- not after what Earlene had said about elves literally being incapable of being attracted to anyone but their spouse. (Not that she would have thought he’d be beforehand, but now she knew it for fact that he wouldn’t.) She’d have to remember to thank him later; if all went well, sooner or later Ratiri would see her with her top off, and she’d quite like it if he would appreciate what he saw. Lacking the dent and the scar, hopefully he would.

One of her packages from Amazon had arrived: black leggings and a red-and-black flannel tunic top. (She was never giving up the flannel. Not unless it was pried out of her cold, dead hands.) While it could hardly be called feminine, at least it wasn’t actual men’s clothes.

“Are you ever going to give my van back?” Mick asked, when she headed downstairs.

“When I’m done with it,” she retorted. “I’ll change the oil for you, though.”

“I’ll not get a better offer than that,” he said, waving her away. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Lorna paused. “What does that even include?” she asked, genuinely wondering. “Figure skating? Origami?”

“Shut it, you,” Mick said, shaking his head.

“All right, all right.” Out she went, off into the sunshine. It looked like weather was coming in, however; there would be rain by nightfall, and wouldn’t that be fun to drive in. At least the van’s tires were new.

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove, and winced a little. Her cramps weren’t bad, but they were annoying, and she couldn’t even drink too much to calm them -- not given that she had to bring Ratiri home later. At least she wasn’t afraid she’d make a fool of herself; he was every bit as awkward as she was, which was a bit hilarious, at their age -- for she assumed he was somewhere near her there. There was no grey in his hair, but his bearing told her he was well north of thirty.

Some gobshite in a Prius cut her off, and Lorna’s eyes narrowed: for once, _finally,_ she could drive as she normally did. Gunning the accelerator, she came up half a hand behind him before swerving into the right lane, narrowly dodging an SUV that laid on the horn.

“Sorry, mate,” she said, completely unrepentant, and cut neatly in front of the Prius before slowing to the closest thing to a crawl one would manage on the motorway. It wasn’t something she maintained -- she was just proving a point, before speeding up again. She knew all the spots the cops liked to lurk, so she knew when to slow down to something approaching the speed limit, but otherwise...well, Mick’s van had a powerful engine, and he wouldn’t have been able to put it to the test for a while.

It meant it only took her forty minutes to reach Baile, and she paused to run a comb through her hair, feeling like an idiotic teenager as she did it. She was about to meet up with a bloke she quite liked, and thought was quite pretty. Sue her.

Ratiri sat inside the pub, rather nervous -- for more than one reason. Several people had warned him about Lorna’s driving, but if her boss(es?) could handle it...but then, Earlene was from New York City. Her idea of safe and sane driving might be a little...skewed.

What should he even expect out there? Nobody in the village seemed to be entirely sure just what Lorna did for Earlene and her husband; ‘dealing with gobshites’ was a bit vague, and probably wouldn’t necessitate a full-time job. Perhaps he was about to get in over his head, but he found he didn’t care. He’d come to Ireland because Indira was the only family he had left; he’d been stagnating in London, and lonely, but there wasn’t anything to tempt him back to Scotland, either. He wouldn’t be able to practice his specialty outside of a city, but he didn’t mind being a GP. It was something different, and he’d been craving a change.

The white van he’d seen yesterday pulled up out front of the pub, and Lorna hopped -- actually hopped, good God she was tiny -- out of it. That hair of hers...as a younger man, Ratiri had seen many women he found physically desirable, but with Lorna there was something -- well, more pure. He didn’t crave getting her into his bed; he simply wanted to run his fingers through her hair, to see if, as he suspected, she would be as warm as a cat. Maybe more would come later, once he knew her better, but for now he just wished to look, and perhaps to pet, because there really was something rather feline about her. Feline and fey.

When she came through the door, he had to bite back a laugh. She wore a pair of black Doc Martens, brand new, and while they weren’t quite comically large on her, they were close. She was... _adorable_ was the only word.

“I hope you signed your will,” Big Jamie said.

“Hush, you.” Lorna glowered at him, looking rather unimpressed. “I can drive like a sane person when I feel like it. You think Earlene and Company would ride with me if I didn’t?”

“Maybe they like taking their lives in their hands,” he deadpanned.

“Shut it.” She gave Ratiri a grin. “I won’t kill us both, I promise. Tales’v my driving have been wildly exaggerated.”

“No they haven’t!” Michael called from the kitchen.

“You shut it, too!” she called back. “Don’t believe a word this lot says about me. Lies, all’v it. Lies and slander.”

Now Ratiri _did_ laugh, and rose to follow her out the door. Quite honestly, before he’d seen the interior of the van, he’d wondered how someone so small could even drive the thing. The answer, apparently, was ‘barely’; even with the seat scooted all the way forward, seeing over the steering wheel had to be a chore. The passenger seat, by contrast, was all the way back; either Earlene’s husband or their...friend? Nobody had actually said just what Cian did. One of them had been sitting in front.

“You’ve got a bit’v leg room there, at least,” Lorna said, pulling out onto the street once he was buckled in. “This isn’t my van, but I’ll have to get one, if I’m going to be driving so much. I’ve got a motorcycle, but you can’t exactly haul anything on one.”

He tried to imagine Lorna on a motorcycle, and failed. She was so small, how could she control one without leaning over so far she fell off? “If you’re driving your boss and her husband around, you definitely need something this big.” It wasn’t often Ratiri ran into a man as tall as he was, but Fionn stood eye-to-eye with him. Fionn, the man with the Irish name but without an Irish accent; Ratiri had no idea just what his accent actually was, but Irish it was not.

“You said you lived in the country as a kid?” Lorna said, as they headed for the motorway.

“I did,” he affirmed. “We moved to Glasgow when I was twelve, and I hated it. I missed the moors, and my trees. Dad told me that was just the way of it, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.”

“No, no it didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Opposite, for me; I grew up in Dublin, and moved out here when I was twenty-eight. Have your lot got the same superstitions there that we do here? My gran was as superstitious as they came, and I thought she was winding me up a few times with some of the shite she believed.”

He snorted. “If they’re not the same, they’re probably close,” he said, and didn’t yet know her well enough to say that he’d missed them, in the city -- missed believing in fairies, even though he knew they didn’t really exist. Like Agent Mulder, Ratiri had wanted to believe. “I actually went to Carterhaugh on holiday while I was at university. Do you know the ballad of Tam Lin?”

“I do,” Lorna said, stepping on the accelerator. It wasn’t quite enough to make him jump. “Liam, my late husband, he and I passed through that area one year when they were having the festival at Carterhaugh. He told me not to go picking roses because he didn’t want to have to fight Tam Lin to get me back. I told him I’d fight Tam for him, thanks so much.”

Lorna might be tiny, Ratiri knew better than to underestimate small people: both his parents had been on the short side, and they’d each been twenty pounds of dynamite in a ten-pound sack. “It was the festival I went to,” he said. “We’ve got fairies in our blood, the Scots, whether we like to admit it or not. Even in Glasgow I’d see people leaving out bowls of milk for the fairies at night.”

Lorna wanted to count that a fortunate sign, but just because he seemed to want to believe, it didn’t mean he’d _still_ want to once he was confronted with reality. And even if he did, Thranduil’s telepathy, or more accurately that he couldn’t turn it off, might prove a sticking point. He’d proven to her that she could trust him with the random vomit her brain produced, but Ratiri didn’t know him, and would have no such assurance by experience.

God, that was another thing -- for whatever reason, he’d let her off when it came to speaking any formal vows, but would he do the same with Ratiri? He’d taken one mother of a gamble on her, so she hoped he’d be willing to take one with Ratiri, too. While the Scots didn’t have _quite_ the same hangups with monarchy as the Irish, they were close.

They traded national mythologies until they reached Lasg’len, which he eyed with interest, though it really did look much like Baile. When they passed through town, though, and he caught his first sight of the forest, she heard his breath catch.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” she asked, well aware that it was the understatement of the decade.

“I didn’t think there was any ancient forest left in Ireland,” he said, staring. He’d only seen truly ancient forest once in his life, when his dad took him and his mam hiking when he was a child.

“Wait’ll you see the cottage,” she said. “It’s like something out’v a fairy tale.”

They passed through the trees, and he saw what she meant: it was a cottage, yes, but it looked like part of the forest, as though it had been formed rather than built. Warm light spilled from the windows, though he saw no other vehicles.

“C’mon in,” Lorna said, parking the van and hopping out. (Seriously, she hopped. It was adorable.) He followed her, out into air growing chill with evening.

Inside, Earlene had done all she felt she could. After the usual preparations had been done, the house was checked for any cleaning needs. But somehow, like the Halls, the place just never seemed to get dirty. Whatever, she’d take it. The table was set, the roast was due to come out in exactly fifteen minutes. With another fifteen minutes for it to rest, that would mean that the meal would commence at thirty minutes past the agreed-upon time; any earlier, and delayed guests jeopardized the perfect time to slice the roast. Any later, and one tended to have crabby guests. The potatoes would go into the oven to brown their piped spiral tops to perfection the moment the roast came out. _I love duchess potatoes_ , she thought, not for the last time. They made people think they were eating much fancier food than they really were, an illusion she was happy to endorse. It was all ready to roll and...she heard the sound of a motor. _Good one, Lorna, right on time._

Looking up, she smiled at Thranduil and Thanadir. While by agreement they’d left their cloaks hung up in the closet, they were both dressed in solidly elven clothing. As was she, for that matter; having decided to wear the least fancy of the garments Thanadir had made for her. There was no attempt to conceal the necklace...this was them, at home, in all its splendid weirdness. _I don’t really know what the Valar much are, but if they are real and they can shake fairy dust on this evening, I hope to hell they might consider that._ All three of them looked at each other with expressions that more or less said, ‘here goes.’

This was not quite what Ratiri had imagined -- okay, nothing like he’d imagined. Earlene was a very professional, businesslike woman, and he’d thought her abode would reflect that, but this seemed more fit for the fae themselves. She, her husband, and Cian (seriously, though -- who was he, and what did he do? Nobody at the pub had any idea) all looked quite relaxed, more so than they had at the pub. Home, he knew, could be a powerful draw, and alter a person’s comfort level to an astonishing degree. “Hi,” he said, a touch awkwardly. “Thanks for having me.”

Lorna followed just behind him, kicking out of her boots -- rather hilariously, she didn’t actually have to untie them to do it. “Traffic’s not bad,” she said. “It’ll rain later, though, so I might be a while getting back later.” Even with the horror taken out of the memory of Liam’s death, she was never going to feel comfortable driving in a downpour. It just wasn’t going to happen.

“What can I offer you to drink, Ratiri? I have wine, bottles of Guinness, and a half-respectable assortment of stronger stuff. And of course, lovely Irish tap water,” smiled Earlene. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“Guinness, please,” he said. “I’m trying to get used to it so I actually fit in. It’s pretty popular in Scotland too, but not like it is here. I swear in Ireland, if you don’t like it, they take your license away and possibly shoot you.”

Lorna burst out laughing, totally unable to stop herself.

“You have a lovely home,” Ratiri said, looking down at her with a smile before turning back to Earlene. “And to be in an ancient forest -- there are so few of those left anywhere in Britain, and I didn’t realize there was one here.”

“Thank you”, said Earlene. “I’m not completely sure who built this place; it’s old. I had a lot of work done before I moved in. Half of the land that goes with the house is forest, but as any of the villagers will tell you, it’s safest to stay out of it. It is very easy to get lost in there. ”

“That I would believe,” he said, trying not to stare at the men’s clothing. His mam hadn’t raised any fool; staring was rude, and there was really no polite way to ask. Earlene’s clothing he might have written off as her enjoying dressing quite formally -- her dress was beautiful, and that necklace, good grief -- but such clothes on men were rather outside his experience. They certainly fit the surroundings, but why?

Lorna didn’t seem to find it peculiar in the least, and his curiosity about her job grew. Between all these clothes, the whispered Sindarin he’d overheard...were these people Tolkien re-enactors? They’d have to be quite dedicated Tolkien re-enactors, and wealthy, but he’d heard of such things. Should they truly want to remove part of their life from the modern world, having someone like Lorna would make sense: somebody had to interact with it. “My dad always used to tell me to have respect for nature, because it has no respect for us.”

“That’s both creepy and apt,” Lorna said, her eyes darting from him to the elves, and back again. She could practically see what was going on in his head: his brain wasn’t dismissing what he was seeing on the surface, but going anywhere deeper -- yet -- was a no-go. Not that she blamed him; like her, he’d spent his entire life living in what he’d believed to be the rational world, no matter how much he might have wanted to believe when he was younger.

“Earlene, I know you said you were a lawyer, but Fionn, what do you do for a living?” He didn’t want to sound too nosy, but he was curious, and it still counted as polite conversation. (He’d get to Cian later; interrogating was even ruder than staring, and he could practically feel Mam slapping him upside the head all the way from thirty years’ past.)

Thranduil looked up and smiled. As always, the challenge was how to guide them in without completely assaulting their senses. That the man was not connecting the dots fully was obvious, but at the same time, he had learned something dangerously close to the truth, and it was a matter of hours before he might choose to offer what he’d observed to others once he returned home to Baile. ‘Whispered Sindarin’...this mortal had been intelligent enough to not only overhear one very quiet exchange between his wife and his seneschal, but to investigate and reach a nearly accurate conclusion; that was impressive. And they really only had this evening to crack open the egg; he also read in Ratiri’s mind that he and Thanadir were now a topic of much speculation in the Baile pub in spite of his efforts to discourage this. _No risk, no reward_ , he thought. And either way, he still held full power here, for the moment...a circumstance that might erode quickly indeed.

“You might say that I have nothing to do except be a King over my own little Kingdom, Ratiri. It is not necessary for me to earn a living, having adequate means. Nevertheless I have many responsibilities, overseeing projects and caring for my workers. Cian works alongside me. We live an unusual life, out here; it is a close-knit community. We have been very grateful to include Lorna in our lives, since meeting her; she is as family to us. Your question, though simple, is a difficult one to answer, because so much about us is unfamiliar at best to those outside of Lasg’len. I have no wish to make you uncomfortable; coming here can feel like stepping into another world.”

That certainly explained how he, Earlene, and Cian could afford to live as they seemed to. And an entire community...well, an ancient forest of this size could easily contain a whole village, Ratiri would think; perhaps Earlene’s house was the...gateway, sort of thing, between the community and the wider world. They’d certainly managed to hide themselves quite well; usually, alternative communities made the news sooner or later, but he’d never heard of...Lasg’len. That tickled something in his brain, though he could not yet have said what.

“It certainly looks like it,” he said. “Trees like this, there are people who would give their right arm to live somewhere so beautiful. Everyone in Baile’s been wondering why Lorna hasn’t come home too often on her days off, but I think I understand it now ,” he said, giving her a smile. But how had she fit into all this? She wasn’t a resident of Lasg’len, and he would have thought a secretive community would have done its best to keep outsiders in the dark, yet here she was, tiny and fey and looking too much like she belonged among the trees. Earlene would have started out even more of an outsider -- but then, if she’d bought the cottage, taking her in only made sense; it would be take her in or drive her off. He eyed Fionn closely, intensely curious, before turning his eyes to Earlene.

“Are you a linguist buff, Earlene?” he asked carefully, his tone light and curious. He didn’t want to sound like he was interrogating her, because he was quite sure he hadn’t been meant to hear her words with Cian last night, but he couldn’t let it go. “Forgive me, but I heard you and Cian, and I’m always curious about languages, for all I’m pants at most myself.”

She knew that she had open permission to run with it; they were all trying to breach whatever disbelief he would have brought here with him, as quickly and gently as possible. And frankly, the bent of his questions made it appear that he might be more ready than they’d guessed to have his bubble burst. “Yes and no,” she said, smiling. “English is my favorite, by far, and I am a little over-fond of grammar. But there was also German, and then Latin. And then of course the challenging i lam Thindrim (Sindarin; literally, “the tongue of the Sindar)...did you actually recognize the language?” she asked with an amused expression, tilting her head as she handed him his Guinness.

“I didn’t,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “which is why I looked it up. I hadn’t known Sindarin was a real, full language until then.” While he had read The Lord of the Rings, and seen the movies, he was only a casual fan; he knew there was far more material out there than he was even aware of. Of course there were going to be people that learned to actually speak it; a number of fictional languages had inspired people to master fluently, and according to Google, there were a fairly decent number who had learned Sindarin. Including, apparently, this lot.

That was the logical, sane explanation, and his conscious mind wasn’t willing to properly entertain that there could be any other, because this was the real world. And yet...Ratiri-the-boy would have embraced the ‘any other’, and some trace of him tried to remain in Ratiri-the-adult, however lunatic it was.

“I’m impressed,” said Earlene, misinterpreting his level of comprehension concerning the situation, and assuming that he was merely being coy. “It was lunatic to find out that you could learn it from the internet. I can’t imagine why people would bother unless they had to. It’s very difficult, unless of course one is an elf. I guess there are Tolkien nutters aplenty. One of these days I’ll read the books,” she concluded breezily, suddenly interrupted by the oven timer. “Excuse me please, that’ll be the roast.”

Thranduil’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead as he forced down the smiles and the laughter that wanted to erupt. Gaining control of himself, he looked over at Ratiri and shrugged to himself. It was like watching a gear mechanism slowly begin to seize up, and he reminded himself to stop enjoying this so much.

 _Unless they had to…? Was it a requirement for living in this community?_ If it was as tied to Tolkien as Ratiri suspected, it would make sense. But to not have read the books, yet live here... But then, Earlene hadn’t known about this when she moved here, had she? “Possibly to see if they could,” he said, half to himself, half to Lorna and Fionn -- Cian, he noticed, seemed to have a tendency to hang back when he felt like it. “The rest of you speak it?”

“I don’t,” Lorna said. “I’ve only just got all the materials gathered.” She wondered what Earlene’s angle was -- if she meant to just drop Ratiri into it as though it were all self-evident. It would certainly get the point across. “The alphabet’s mad enough on its own. You’d need four bloody calligraphy pens just to write it.” Indeed it was so difficult that she was highly tempted to skip it entirely, and focus on learning the language orally. At least that she could actually do, without tying her dyslexic brain in knots she’d never undo. “These two, though, they’re fluent.” Let Ratiri make of that what he would.

Ratiri didn’t know what in hell to make of any of this. Oh, Ratiri-the-child was begging him to just flat-out ask if they were elves, despite the fact that it was rationally impossible -- but even Ratiri-the-child conceded he’d look like a nutter if he did and was wrong, and he’d rather not look like a nutter in front of Lorna. The scientist in him knew it was likely not what they would all have it appear, but his gut...his gut told him something else. Something unsettling, but not at all in a bad way.

Thranduil decided that the moment was as ripe as it was likely to get without copious alcohol. “Ratiri, there is no easy way to say it; Earlene had far more trouble with it and we won’t even discuss Lorna. You have an opportunity in front of you, to experience something very rare. It requires only two things. One, that you are able to open your mind to considering what lies outside of your usual experience. And the second, that you not betray the considerable trust we are placing in you.” With that, he very openly and deliberately moved his long hair behind his ears, revealing their shape. “This is not a joke, nor are we deceiving you,” the King said, his eyes boring into those of his guest.

What left Ratiri’s mouth did so without consulting his brain: “You are fucking kidding me,” he whispered, taking in the ears -- they weren’t plastic surgery. And Fionn’s eyes...he’d never seen eyes naturally that shade of blue before. Cian had enough of the same look about him, though their coloring was quite different -- was he actually seeing this? The rational, adult, scientist part of him rebelled against it, but the deeper part, the part that had always hoped, even if it hadn’t dared believe... _holy shit._

Lorna cackled. “That’s exactly what I said,” she said, lightly elbowing him in the side. “A bit louder, too, and in Irish.”

Ratiri’s brain simply refused to slow down enough to fully process any of this. His first thought was _how? How were they here, in this world, in Ireland? Where had they come from, and when -- and how in God’s name had Tolkien known about them? Had one done precisely this, and let a human in on things?_

“Somebody, please, explain,” he said, a little helplessly.

Thranduil smiled, but his expression was kind. “You are asking yourself the wrong question, Ratiri. It isn’t ‘how are we here’. We have always been here. It is you humans, that came afterward; we have hidden ourselves away for longer than you can imagine, content to go on with our lives. What you call ‘Ireland’ was once part of my vast Kingdom. My name is not Fionn, it is Thranduil; we have had to adopt other names to be able to move about at all in your world. I am the last of the Elvenkings, and this small patch of forest is the remnant of my Kingdom; Cian is my sensechal, whose correct name is Thanadir. And we do not know how this...Tolkien knew what he did of our world and our history. It is a mystery to me; Earlene was the one to bring it to our attention, that were were known to humans after a fashion. And how dangerous it would be for us, were it known that we were ‘those’ elves. We are known, have been known, to the village of Lasg’len since time immemorial, though we have only recently established more open relations. And yes, I am able to hear your thoughts. And Earlene’s, and Lorna’s. Thanadir could if he wished to try, but given the choice he will prefer not to as it is difficult for him. I am sure you have many questions, and I will answer them if I am able.”

 _Thranduil...wait, what?_ Not that Ratiri was terribly familiar with The Lord of the Rings, but he was fairly certain Thranduil was the name of Legolas’s father. And that Thranduil was looking at him and nodding, right now....Jesus. That he could hear thoughts, though -- oh God. Ratiri frantically searched through his recent memories, trying to recall if he’d thought anything especially obnoxious or embarrassing, and was suddenly very, very glad all his thoughts about Lorna had been mostly pure. The last thing in the world he needed was the King of the damned Elves coming down on him like an overprotective older brother, or father, or...whatever. “You hear everything we think?” he asked.

“He doesn’t do it on purpose,” Lorna assured him. “With humans, he can’t help it. He won’t use it or hold it against you, though, even if you think up something bizarre and stupid. Because God knows that’s half the shite my mind’s come up with.”

“This is all…” _a bit much_ , Ratiri thought, and yet he wasn’t sorry. This -- this would take some getting used to, certainly, but like hell would he walk away. Though the telepathy...that really did make him somewhat uneasy, simply because he could never be sure if he was going to embarrass himself or not. He could be pretty awkward all on his own even when he actually voiced things; what went on in his head was exponentially worse. “Although, if it makes you feel any better, I think people outside would have a hard time believing what you were even if you told them. I -- some of us at the pub, we knew there was something different about you, but none of us thought ‘elves’.” _And here I thought Lorna looked like the fae_ , he thought, shaking his head.

“You’re taking it far better than I did,” Earlene quipped as she covered the meat to rest and popped in the potatoes. “And before eating, too. Dinner’s just ten minutes off. Does anyone besides me want wine? And Lorna, your hand is suspiciously empty at the moment, what’s tonight’s poison?”

In truth, Ratiri wasn’t sure of that. He took a long pull off his mug, the Guinness bitter and welcome on his tongue. This really was all a bit much, and he’d be needing time to come to terms with it, because -- well, because. He’d just found out something he’d always thought was fiction was not only real, but had probably been around for ages before humans even migrated north of the equator.

Lorna gave him a ginger pat on the hand. “You just...take it all in,” she said. “Earlene, if you’ve got any’v that wine, I’d love to try it.” There was no way it would equal elf wine, but the elf wine had made her curious about the human variety.

Ratiri looked down at her. She seemed to find this so normal, as did Earlene. How long had it taken them? Neither, so far as he knew, had been here terribly long -- Lorna definitely hadn’t. _How, after only a fortnight, did she regard this so easily?_

“You’re going out into the world now,” he said, looking at Thranduil and Thanadir. “It must seem so odd to you.” He could scarcely imagine it, going from forest halls to pavement, cars, electricity. They both seemed quite at home in Earlene’s cottage, but their first trip in a van might well have been an...experience. “Why now, after all this time?”

“That was the first question Lorna asked,” said Thranduil with a grin. “I guess you could say, Earlene started it like a pebble rolling down a hillside, by moving here. It caused us, or rather me, to understand just how much your world had advanced...you must realize that to our eyes, your society changed little, for a very long time. I felt it was prudent to...understand what it was we lived in the midst of, now. The last time I failed to understand, the forests were lost; I will not willingly make that same mistake twice. We care only about the preservation of our woods, and what little remains of our way of life.”

One thing was for certain: when Ratiri got home, he was ordering every single piece of literature Tolkien ever published about Middle-Earth and its people. Thranduil had damn good reason to be curious; the world really had changed immensely in less than a century, which even by human standards was a fairly rapid advance. To an elf, a century was probably just about enough time to sneeze. “How are you finding it? Lorna said you had been to Dublin -- what do you make of the modern human world?” He took another long pull off his Guinness, the alcohol settling him some.

“Thanadir? How would you answer?” the King asked.

Earlene had poured wine for everyone but Ratiri, and while Earlene now knew that human wine was at best flavored water to the ellyn, they did seem to still appreciate the taste. Though, why that would be the case, after the delicious elixir that she would now never not crave, she had no idea. She quickly pressed the glass into the seneschal’s hand, before doing so would cause her to interrupt a sermon. To her surprise, she’d found that _if_ a topic interested him, Thanadir could and did respond with a tremendous amount of analytical detail...so much so that she now was careful what she asked him.

After taking an appreciative sip, the seneschal began to answer in his charming monotone. Which was, for the record, beginning to acquire a slight lilt that made it even more charming. “As a people, you have not changed. You are still a society comprised of very good-hearted and very bad-hearted individuals. Your technology has increased your life span but not for all. Even with your short years, your ingenuity has been amazing. Your greatest skill has been the gathering and sharing of information, and your ability grows ever greater as your learning increases. Many inventions and devices are marvels, like this computer. Like the television, like the car. But you have also put your learning to evil uses. You do not care for the earth beneath your feet as you should, nor the water nor the air. Nor do you always care for each other. To elves, this is very difficult to understand. I mean no disrespect to you, but that is my answer.”

Ratiri was somewhat surprised he thought of them so charitably -- the negative things he said were all quite true, but they were less than he’d thought. “There are a number of us who wish that we did take better care of the earth,” he said, “and each other. I was lucky enough to spend my childhood around them, though I had to move to the city as a teenager, and I hated every second of it. I came to Ireland to get away from pollution and crowds, somewhere the air was cleaner.”

He shook his head, finishing his drink, only to nearly drop it when something spiky latched onto his ankle. Peering down revealed a tiny fluffball of a kitten, staring up at him with round eyes. Oh God that was cute. “I didn’t realize you had a ball of fluff with legs, Earlene,” he said, kneeling to pick up the little creature.

“Careful, he’ll try to crawl down your collar,” Lorna warned. “He’s cute, but he’s a monster.” _Thranduil, should I tell him he needs to really promise that he’ll keep all this to himself, before he knows anything deep?_ she asked. It might sound, at least at first, a bit better if the stipulation came from her; while Scotland’s issues with monarchy weren’t half so vehement as Ireland’s, they were still very much there, and it might make things easier if she was the opener to Thranduil setting that rule as king of his people.

Earlene smiled. “That’s Tail. It is eternally amusing to me that the Sindarin word for ‘feet’ is ‘tail’. He has such little paws, and was abandoned and living outside the pub in town,” she said adoringly.

_Do as you feel is best, Lorna. But I can tell you, he is more than capable of understanding what would befall us, should he fail to do so. He wishes us no harm._

 

Ratiri eyed the kitten, which eyed him back. “The Sindarin word for ‘feet’ is ‘tail’?” he asked. “That sounds like it ought to be part of a joke.” The kitten reached out and bopped his nose with one tiny paw, and Lorna just about melted.

 _Well, if he knows what he’s doing, I’ll leave him to it_ , she said. _I don’t want to push him with anything yet._ Yes, he seemed fascinated by them all, but she didn’t want to stress him out when it was so new. Because it was new, and she well understood the human tendency to belatedly panic once presented with something entirely outside one’s experience. Once he’d had a day or so to digest it, she’d bring up...well, anything that might need bringing up. Aloud, she said, “I wish I could keep one of those little things, but I’m not home enough.”

“Indira’s allergic, so I can’t get one so long as I’m sleeping on her couch,” Ratiri said, setting the kitten down. Naturally, the little critter scampered across the floor and tried to climb Lorna’s leg -- had she been wearing jeans, it wouldn’t have been an issue, but leggings, she found, were not nearly so robust. Biting back a stream of very creative invective, she hastily grabbed Tail and picked him up, only for him to tug some loose thread with his claw and immediately snag a run right up the fabric.

“Thanks, cat,” she said, picking him up and glowering at him. Being a kitten, he just sat and looked cute, mewing quietly for good measure. “You’re lucky you’re so adorable.”

“Did he scratch you?” Ratiri asked, setting aside his empty mug.

“Not much. Just wrecked my new pants. I just got the bloody things last night.” She was pretty sure no fabric should unravel that easily. Christ, she needed another half a hydrocodone, which meant this would be her only glass of wine for the evening. “Take this monstrosity, will you? I’ve got to pop into the kitchen for a moment.”

Ratiri took the fluffy little thing, so tiny it could practically curl up in his palm. A thought occurred to him. “Do elves keep cats?” he asked. Domestic cats, so far as he could recall, had only been, well, domesticated for some five thousand years.

“They do now,” Earlene quipped, even more amused.

Thanadir smiled. “We had this same discussion. Long ago, no; cats were not like this. But we like Tail very much,” he said, wiggling his finger gently at the little creature. “A lady in the village keeps cats as well,” he said. “But they are...different. They drool.”

While cat discussion was transpiring, Thranduil’s eyes followed Lorna and narrowed. _There is no reason to suffer, my friend, or be embarrassed concerning the cause of your discomfort. All I need to do is touch you; I can easily come behind you for a moment in the kitchen. No one else would know. It is the least I can offer against the destruction of your clothing,_ he mused. _What is the point of knowing an elf if you do not take advantage of it?_

Earlene clucked her disapproval of the fabric. “Did those come from Amazon? Because if they did, send them right back for a refund. It is ridiculous, that a kitten claw could cause that to happen; surgical gauze is made better. I wouldn’t put up with that for a minute. I’ll send you the link to the brand I’ve gotten before; they can survive anything.”

 _Oh, dammit..._ truth be told, Lorna was embarrassed, which surprised her; in the past, she’d never cared if her male friends knew she was surfing the crimson tide, but there was a difference between knowing and knowing. _Please_ , she sighed, reflecting that actual embarrassment was not fun at all. Normally she was a person with pretty much no shame, but being around a telepath while riding the cotton pony was...awkward.

“They did,” she said. “Here I thought buying things on Amazon would be easier, since they actually have sizes for tiny people, but I hope the quality isn’t all like this, or I’ll have wasted time and money.” She poured herself a glass of water at the sink, mainly to distract herself. Thank God Ratiri didn’t know this, at least; yeah, he was a doctor, but still.

Thranduil stood up, ostensibly to procure another bottle of wine in the pantry, but at the last moment turned and briefly laid a hand on the small of Lorna’s back. _Feel better. Not to be indelicate, but we elves have a way to eliminate the entire event in a matter of minutes. If you wish, ask Earlene about it; I fear I have annoyed you enough on such a personal subject. Please forgive me; it is difficult for me to see one I care about in distress._ Just as swiftly he moved away, and the clinking of bottles was the only thing that gave evidence of his activity.

The relief was instantaneous, and Lorna shut her eyes. _Thank you_ , she said. _That is better_. While on the one hand, eliminating it in a manner of minutes sounded brilliant, but on the other, she was sure it would be embarrassing. She really would ask Earlene later, though.

The jangling of the timer interrupted conversation once again. “Alright everyone, that’s the dinner bell,” Earlene declared. “Please have a seat at the table, which will be the only safe place to be inside of thirty seconds.” Thranduil, having been the recipient of more than one crashing collision against his wife when she was preparing food, needed no further encouragement, and whisked the wine corker off the counter on his way there. Earlene happily let him have the head of the table; there were really not enough places to sit to waste time on who sat where. The warmed basket of bread was already there, as was the salad. Her duchess potatoes were piped into individual crème brûlée dishes, and she came along to place one on each plate, issuing warnings that the ceramic was very hot, and for everyone to please serve themselves the salad and vegetable. Before the bowl had traversed the table, a perfect medium-rare sliced roast beef was laid out in front of Thranduil, who was instructed to serve it. Salt, pepper; everything met with approval to her critical eye. “Does anyone want anything else by way of drinks or...anything at all, before I sit down?” she asked politely. When the expected “No’s and No Thank You’s” reached her ears, she declared victory and happily seated herself. Unbeknownst to Thanadir, a Chocolate Charlotte was at this moment chilling in the refrigerator.

It had been a long time since Ratiri had sat down to a meal this nice outside of a restaurant; neither he nor Indira bothered cooking anything beyond the basics; her husband was the chef in the family. “It looks wonderful,” he said, and meant it. Sight of the beef almost made him smile; the fights his mam and dad had got in over it when he was little were a bit legendary in the neighborhood. Mam won at home, as always, but sometimes the neighbors would actually come stand at the back gate to listen to her shouting in Hindi.

“Earlene’s a fantastic cook,” Lorna said, sitting just as he did. “I’ve got spoiled, staying in Lasg’len. I’d try to get some pointers, but I know from experience there’s not much use. Stick me next to a stove by myself and it all goes to hell.” She felt the kitten take a light swipe at her dangling foot, but at least if he was there, he wasn’t causing mischief anywhere else.

Earlene could not resist. “That’s not entirely true, Lorna. You make a mean French toast. And now I know that bread can fly,” she teased.

Lorna burst out laughing. “True,” she said, loading some salad onto her plate before passing the bowl to Ratiri. “And then I fell in your sink.”

He eyed her, dishing some salad before passing it across to Thanadir. “You what?”

“Earlene has a sink you could drown a small child in,” she said, laughing again. “I was washing up the dishes and just...fell in. That’s the joy’v being tiny.”

“Yes, well, at least you don’t have to duck when you go through low-hanging doors,” Ratiri said, fighting laughter and barely winning. “I have in fact knocked myself out that way, when I was a teenager.”

“Ow,” said Earlene sympathetically. “Just, ow. Have you siblings, Ratiri?”*

He shook his head, passing his plate to Lorna, so she could hold it out to Thranduil for some of the roast beef, once she’d had her own filled. “No, just me,” he said. “Mam had such a difficult pregnancy with me that she decided one was enough. Lorna, I know you have a sister -- I’ve met her --”

“Sorry,” Lorna muttered, wincing a bit

“--do you have any siblings, Earlene?” He didn’t quite yet dare ask the elves that sort of question; he had to wrap his brain a little more around, well, elves.

“I have a brother, two years older. I would tell you that we are estranged, except I was just contacted by him for the first time in over twelve years. That was who the letter was from, that you were kind enough to find in the mailbox the other day, Lorna. Anything else remains to be seen. He is a neurologist, last I knew. And unless I am mistaken both Thranduil and Thanadir are only children as well...though please correct me if I am wrong.” She was now frowning, struggling to remember if she’d ever asked that, about Thanadir....but a placid nod from the seneschal seemed to confirm what she’d said.

Every neurologist Ratiri had ever met had been insufferable, so he was somewhat predisposed to dislike this brother anyway. Both elves were only children... _how many children did most elves have?_ He had a rather hazy idea, from reading years ago, that the answer tended to be ‘not many’. “I always wanted siblings as a child,” he said, “until I got in a fight with one of my friends, and realized how nice it was to go home to a room I didn’t share with anyone.”

Lorna dissolved into laughter, fortunately not actually choking on potato. “I grew up with three others in a tiny house,” she said. “There wasn’t anything that didn’t get shared at some point, up to and including toothbrushes. None’v us knew then just how nasty that is.”

Ratiri winced; yes, that was in fact quite nasty, but Lorna was still alive. He’d learned snatches of her history, here and there, at the pub; he knew she’d spent her childhood poor, and her adolescence on the street, so little comments like that didn’t shock him -- and clearly she was fine with everyone else knowing about this, which relieved him. If she found it easier to communicate the harder things, the lighter ones shouldn’t be too much trouble.

Thranduil decided that precious time was wasting, and steered the conversation back. “Elves more often than not have only one child,” Ratiri. “Though there are exceptions. We were never known for our ability to increase in population swiftly, so naturally the opposite happened.”

“Do you know of any others out there?” Ratiri asked. “Other elven civilizations, or other beings that were around in the First or Second Ages?” If there was still one elven enclave, there could well be another -- there were areas in Canada and Russia especially that had huge swathes of ancient forest that humans still likely hadn’t even seen.

Thranduil shook his head. “By ‘out there’, if you mean on Earth, I do not see how. The Elven realms of Imladris and Lórien were abandoned swiftly once the Fourth Age began. Ours was the only other elven realm of Ennor, that you often call Middle Earth. It is possible of course that scattered elves linger on, faded. But if you mean are the elves of those former Realms still alive, then yes; to my knowledge all of our people except for the handful of us here dwell in Aman. Valinor, you may have heard it called. You seem somewhat familiar with our history?” he asked hopefully.

“Somewhat,” Ratiri said. “I read The Lord of the Rings -- one of the histories of Middle-Earth -- fifteen years ago, but I know there’s a lot more material out there. I know that most of you sailed, but I had thought you all had. It makes me wonder if there any...any hobbits.”

“I’d bloody love to meet a hobbit,” Lorna said. “They’re short, they like to eat and drink...we’d get along great. Hobbits would make great Irishmen, come to that.”

He wasn’t going to make a crack about her height, he wasn’t...he knew from Big Jamie just how much she detested that, so to it he said nothing.

“I suppose anything is possible,” mused Thranduil. “With us having isolated ourselves out of necessity, for all I know the Onodrim are still walking about. The Ents. And yes, the Halflings would make respectable Irishmen, come to think about it. Though, they preferred to eat more than drink, and here it seems the other way around,” he noted. “Most elves did sail. We were caught up in a sort of circle, here. I vowed to my people that I would never leave them, and so I remained. And too long ago to count, we could no longer decide if they remained because of me, or I because of them. But we were content, and all our needs were met; there was not an impetus to do otherwise. And so here we yet are. I suppose we fell victim to something shared by many; we like our home, and without ever having cause to leave it, we did not.”

Earlene thought about this, about the human tendency to want to call someplace home and just...stay, especially when that home was one that was well-loved. It was difficult to find fault with the reasoning; anyone who claimed not to understand that was kidding themselves or had an attachment disorder.

Ratiri had always been delighted by the Ents, while sad that the events of The Two Towers were something of a swan song for them. Still… “There are many worse reasons,” he said, thinking of how his mother was willing to completely uproot herself and travel halfway around the world for the sake of his father. To stay, or to go, for those you love...he wasn’t sure there was better motivation. “How many of you are still here?”

Beneath the table, the kitten had decided that biting Lorna’s leg was a fantastic idea. Since he was tiny and so were his teeth, she didn’t mind at first, but soon enough she was doing her best to surreptitiously jar him loose without kicking anyone. This, naturally, meant she kicked Ratiri, who then wound up with a kitten on his leg. The thickness of his trousers at least meant he didn’t get a calf full of claws, but still. He scooted his chair out so he could disentangle the kitten’s claws, holding up the little fluffball. “You,” he said, “are not helping.”

Tail mewed, far too adorably, and scurried off as soon as Ratiri set him down...right under Earlene’s chair.

Earlene glowered. “That is enough of you, little one.” Reaching down, she deftly snagged the errant fluffball in her hand, and excused herself. A can of gourmet kitten food and a saucer later, both items were taken to the office where he could eat, do what came after eating, and then hopefully settle down into his kitten bed and fall asleep. As she knew the answer to Ratiri’s question, she felt she could forego hearing the response.

This time Thandir spoke. “We are about two hundred. Nothing, compared to so long ago. And yet we are a family.”

Everyone but Thanadir had finished their food, and Earlene took stock of the table. Perhaps it was better to say, Thanadir was finding new things to eat. While she had no intention of shorting his food, she decided to cast her net upon the waters. “There is a chocolate dessert,” she announced. “Who would like to have tea with it? I apologize, I am not set up for coffee at all, Ratiri.” As anticipated, the seneschal’s eyebrows raised in enthusiasm and he now stopped glancing furtively at the remains of the roast. _Sure god he’s cute_ , Earlene thought, for at least the hundredth time.

“Tea would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble,” Ratiri said, hoping he still had enough room for whatever piece of deliciousness was to follow this meal. Two hundred...not so many at all, to living a forest that large, yet neither was it only a handful. A small village worth. There were enough of them that it didn’t sound, to him, totally tragic.

“D’you need help, Earlene?” Lorna asked. A glance at her leg told her these leggings might as well go for dusters, and serve as an object lesson in why cheap things were usually cheap.

“If it’s not trouble, you could clear off the plates. Don’t even think of doing the dishes, though”, she smirked. “I’ll get the food; there are clean plates and forks for dessert.”

The kettle was put on, and in the interest of visual harmony, a teapot was prepared instead of mugs with bags. And, she got out a far finer tea than they drank ordinarily; loose-leaf African Rooibos, with sugar and a small pitcher of cream. Soon all of it was where it needed to be with Lorna’s help, and she brought out the Charlotte and placed it in front of Thranduil to serve. Thanadir looked as though he might cry for happiness; Earlene had deliberately doubled up the recipe into a much larger incarnation of its usual self. She’d no doubt at all that as rich as it was, Thanadir would be able to polish a quarter of the thing himself. He seemed to manage four human servings of just about anything with zero difficulty. Though, Earlene noted with approval that Lorna’s romantic interest was a good eater as well. She’d always felt vaguely suspicious of males that could not put away a proper meal; there was something just wrong about it.

Once everyone was bravely soldiering on through the rich mousse filling, Thranduil reached into his tunic pocket, and deftly tossed a small pouch to land in front of Lorna’s dessert plate. “Lorna, it is more than time these went to Shane. You are to promise me that you will keep your perspective and remember that you are far more important. And if you do not, I will give you hugs, and Thanadir will make you more dresses to wear.” It was the best threat he felt he could manage.

Lorna’s expression of abject horror at both of these statements made Ratiri wonder what the hell had been going on out here already. Though, if hugging someone was some form of punishment...he was certain he would find out, sooner or later. Meanwhile it was all he could do not to laugh, because Lorna actually twitched before opening the little bag.

“You are fucking kidding me,” she said, taking out a ruby. “Keep my perspective, he says. Keep my perspective about this thing that’s probably worth more than everything I’ve ever owned ten times over, he says. I’m sorry, Thranduil, but while I’ll ditch this lot if I absolutely have to, I’m not just going to toss it over.” If for whatever reason, God forbid, it came down so something she thought she couldn’t handle, she’d cut and run -- though she also couldn’t imagine any circumstances in which that might actually happen. “This is the other part’v my job,” she said to Ratiri. “I know all sorts’v shady people. My old mate Shane, he fences shite, so he’s going to be our gems guy.” She hoped; it wasn’t that she feared he’d turn it down so much as that he didn’t run in the circles necessary to sell something worth this much. At least he could put her in touch with someone who could, but she’d rather deal with him.

Ratiri stared at the ruby, and the bag, and at Lorna. “You mean to go take those somewhere alone? You don’t have a...a guard, or something?” Nobody in the human world traveled with something that valuable on their own.

“I don’t need one,” Lorna said. “Trust me. I’ve got Mick’s van and steel-toed boots.”

Ratiri shook his head. This really was all a bit much; he was sitting with elves, elves who handed out precious gems like they were marbles (and then inexplicably swore to use hugs and dresses as punishments, which...what. Just...what.) Though...that probably meant Lorna had some measure of touch-aversion, which mean he’d need to be careful himself. He didn’t want to freak her out or piss her off by tapping her on the shoulder.

“We are not quite as deranged as we seem, Ratiri,” Thranduil said. “As you might have guessed, our wealth is not in Euros and we are still in the beginning stages of being able to function in human society; for this we need money, and people without a legal identity cannot exactly waltz into one of your banks and ask to please trade a jewel. Lorna has our trust. Gems are not exactly as marbles to us, but I would have her understand that her welfare and safety means far more than any of those. I have more gems, but there is only one Lorna. And while I could offer to have her guarded, I will leave it to you to discover how well that would be accepted. As for the rest, well, Lorna is Lorna,” he concluded. Thanadir nodded happily in agreement, while scooping up the last forkful of Charlotte.

“I dunno, we can be pretty deranged,” Lorna muttered into her teacup, thinking of the elf wine, but she was pleased nevertheless. The concept of family beyond Mairead remained new, but she was adapting to it now, aided each time someone said something...well, like that. It was a warm and fuzzy feeling, and fortunately it was not the kitten trying to climb down her shirt.

That Thranduil would have such care for a human employee made Ratiri think either the elves had changed a great deal, or the books had misrepresented them. From what he’d got out of Lord of the Rings, few elves cared what happened to anyone who wasn’t an elf, but Thranduil wasn’t just spouting empty words. It counted for more than he possibly knew, even with his telepathy, because it said more about him than he likely realized. “Why would you not want to be guarded, Lorna?” he asked, though he had a fairly good idea he already knew -- he’d heard stories from Big Jamie. And Michael. And Orla. And Mick the Drunk and his twin, Alec. From pretty much everyone, actually.

“If I had a guard, I’d spend too much time making sure no shite happened to them,” she said, with a smile and expression that were entirely serious. “With some things, I’m best on my own, and especially going into certain places. Go in with some kind’v backup, you look afraid, and if you look afraid, you might wind up with a shiv in your kidney.”

He wasn’t certain if she was serious about that or not, but it probably was best not pressed. Her eyes, in the light, were so very green...Thranduil no doubt found it hilarious that he’d thought Lorna the fae-like one, but to a human looking at her, he couldn’t be blamed. _Um...Thranduil?_ he thought, having no actual idea how to speak telepathically. _Does Lorna have some kind of touch-aversion, and how do I not step on it? Because he seriously didn’t want to startle her._ According to Big Jamie and Mairead, a startled Lorna usually wound leaving whoever startled her with a bruise at least, or dislocated shoulder at worst. (Big Jamie still wasn’t sure just how exactly she’d managed to do that to Michael, but apparently neither was she.)

Thranduil’s voice flared in his mind, which was surprising as hell even though he had asked the questions. _If you are asking me if Lorna dislikes being touched, the answer is generally yes. Until, that is, another has earned her trust. I have noticed that contact fares better if she is asked first, or informed of another’s intentions before the attempt is made. I am sorry that I cannot say more; I do not betray the confidences of others. But I believe that with a little time, she would tell you herself._

 _Thank you_ , Ratiri said. _That’s all I need to know right now._ When he’d asked about her in Baile, he’d been given more information than she probably would have wanted; he’d leave the rest to her. If there was one thing he’d noted about Ireland, it was that people gossiped as much as they did back in Scotland -- though he’d yet to find anything malicious about it in Baile, at least. Lorna was well-liked there, for all she wasn’t a native; it had given him hope that he too would manage to be able to truly call it home, in time. Once he was no longer sleeping on his cousin’s sofa, anyway; the thing simply was not built for someone his height -- but then, few things were. Should Thranduil choose to travel out into the world, he would find there was no such thing as a hotel bed long enough for someone six-foot-five.

Lorna was still sorting through the gems, muttering a bit to herself. Shane was going to shit a brick at this lot; it would probably be best if she brought him a bottle of something appallingly alcoholic. “Why would someone want to buy a ruby this big?” she wondered aloud. “What would they do with it? I know there are loads’v rich people who like to buy something purely because it’s expensive, but something like this...Jesus.” Rich people were weird. Really weird.

“Probably no one ever did buy that, Lorna. The dwarves mined gems because that is what the children of Aulë loved. And like as not a dragon sat on it for several centuries somewhere along the way, and perhaps I traded for it or was given it. Or my father before me, or Elu Thingol before him. What is in my possession came through many channels in a bygone world. Who can say? But...they are beautiful to look on. What else are gems good for? They cannot be eaten.”

“I’ve rented jewels like that, to wear,” Earlene quipped. “For fancy parties hosted by wealthy people. I’d say the truth is between what each of you just said. Rich people want to impress rich people..but gems and jewelry are pretty.” She shrugged, obviously not caring either way.

“A dragon?” Lorna and Ratiri said in unison. But then, she thought, of course there was, if everything else was true. Ratiri’s mind immediately went to Smaug. Holy shit. “You know,” Lorna said, “you could eat a gem, but it would feel really awful coming out the other end.”

Ratiri choked on his tea, though fortunately he didn’t spit it out. “I doubt a dragon would notice either way,” he said. “I know this sounds daft, given that I’m sitting in the same room as elves, but dragons are hard to believe in still.”

“Consider yourselves fortunate; the dragons of Morgoth were terrible foes. And it stands to reason that as some of what I have came from the hoard of Erebor, some of it was sat on by Smaug. They existed once, and the films Earlene showed me, while lacking accuracy in some respects, did a very fair job of portraying a fire-drake.”

That...that was a hell of a thing for Lorna to wrap her brain around. As a little girl, she and her oldest brother had spent one whole summer pretending they were stalking Smaug (who was, in actuality, their da), working out the best ways to kill him (in retrospect, she’d been a very morbid child).

Ratiri shook himself. Smaug had been quite fantastic onscreen; seeing him in real life would have been quite another. “You’ve given me a lot of food for thought,” he said. “More than I can digest just yet. Thank you -- all of you, for letting me in on this. I always wanted to believe -- have you seen The X-Files? If not, you should; I’m sure you’d find them fascinating, given all they have to say about humanity and human nature. I always wanted to believe, but I grew up, and you’re not meant to believe when you grow up, not if you’re a self-respecting scientist. This is...more than I could have expected.”

Earlene snorted. “Try being a self-respecting lawyer,” she said, shaking her head. “Welcome to our little corner of the world, Ratiri. I am glad you could join us, and I look forward to knowing you better. There is more, when you are ready. It really does take some getting used to but...I would not go back. Not for anything. And, they can’t watch the X-files yet because they need to finish Star Trek...but maybe later.”

The thought of elves watching Star Trek was a rather peculiar one, and almost one that simply did not compute. Being allowed into this corner of the world was possibly the most fascinating thing that had ever happened to him. “This is everything I always wished I could believe in, but was certain could not be real.”

“It doesn’t get much realer,” Lorna said, “but I should get you home before the weather gets too nasty.” She could hear the light patter of raindrops on the roof, and wanted to be there and home again before it turned into a deluge. For the first time in eleven years, thought of driving in a storm didn’t unnerve her, and she sent Thranduil a grateful look. She hadn’t actually known she’d had that worry until it was gone. “I can bring you back later, when you’re ready. I know this is a lot to work through.”

It was, but Ratiri knew he could do it. For the first time in years, he no longer felt aimless -- no longer had reason to just go through the motions. Elves, magic...Lorna. He knew so little of her still, but he felt drawn to her, just as he’d been drawn to Katherine so long ago. Lorna had suffered and lost, and understood in a way few others could have done -- and she had found this place, these people, who had taken her for their own in so short a time. “I’d like that,” he said, rising. “Thank you, Lorna, Earlene, Thranduil, Thanadir -- thank you for all of this, including that lovely meal.”

Earlene shook his hand warmly, not being sure if he was the hugging type. “We were very glad to have you, Ratiri. I know Lorna will drive carefully, and we will see you soon. Both ellyn shook his hand as well, and then their guest and Lorna were gone.

 _Drive carefully, my fearless friend,_ Lorna heard in her head as they backed down the driveway. It took effort not to snort, but she managed.

 _I will_ , she said, flicking on the windscreen wipers. Headed back toward the village, she cast a side glance at Ratiri. “You can’t tell anyone,” she said. “I mean, not anyone -- even Mairead and Big Jamie don’t know. If this lot chooses to let more’v us in on this, it’s got to be their decision.”

“I understand,” Ratiri said, and he genuinely did. “Why did they let me in, though?”

She was not about to say that it was largely because of her, because _gah, no thanks._ “Thranduil saw something in your mind,” she said, and it was true; just not the whole truth. “He knew you were trustworthy. He doesn’t tell anyone what he sees in other people’s minds, so don’t worry that he’ll go blabbing about what you’ve thought to any’v us. He hasn’t told Earlene my shit, and she told me she’d never ask. He only shares if we give him permission.”

That really was rather a relief. While Ratiri hadn’t had any...undue...thoughts, he would still rather Lorna not know that he thought her like a fairy. That was embarrassment he just didn’t need.

The motorway didn’t have too much traffic -- nobody would want to be out on such a miserable night. Ratiri had too much to turn over in his head, and Lorna let him do it; God knew she’d needed time herself, after she found out the elves were in fact actually elves, and the village wasn’t just completely cracked. He’d taken it rather better than she had (but then, he hadn’t watched Thranduil heal Earlene from bloody alcohol poisoning).

“I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?” she said, when she dropped Ratiri by Doc Barry’s house. “If you’ve got more questions then.” She was entirely certain he would, too.

Right now, Ratiri’s only question was when he could go back, but it wasn’t one to be asked yet. “Thank you, Lorna,” he said. “I -- well, to say I enjoyed that is an understatement. I’ll call.”

The look he was giving her just about melted her sappy heart, and she held off her pleased grin until she’d turned the van around. That had gone better than she’d hoped; he was startled, yes, and maybe a bit overwhelmed, but he had enjoyed it. He’d enjoyed it, rather than being frightened or put off; while she hadn’t worried it would scare him, she had been a tiny bit concerned he’d find it way too weird and book it.

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t, and if he was going to become more present in her life (which oh, she’d hoped) he’d need, by necessity, to come into this part of it.

When was the last time she’d been this simply happy? She couldn’t remember, but she hoped it would last.

*****

“Well, that seemed to go off as hoped, though only you truly know, Thranduil. And while I will not ask you to break confidences, is it allowed to ask if my impression is correct?” Earlene looked up at her husband while bringing the last of the dishes into the sink to soak.

“It is allowed. I believe it is only fair that I answer you, given the degree to which I imposed on your good nature. I will simply say that I could not have hoped for better. That he will keep his silence, that he hungers to know more but for the right reasons; those I believe are what you wish to know? There is no reason he cannot be brought next to the Halls, when he returns.”

“Yes. Thank you.” It was...different, to her, this time. There had been a reason for Lorna, a fairly calculated one. That they had all become friends with her to the degree they’d had was not something originally anticipated. But Ratiri; there was no need for Ratiri at all, except for Lorna. And while it was amusing in a sense, it also met a certain kind of logic. Lorna clearly didn’t want elves to be her life, not in the way Earlene had chosen. And yet to have her in their circle yet expect her to remain alone, to have to shut out all others to keep their secrets...it wasn’t fair. She hoped very much that her friend found what she desired in this man. While she was hardly an expert on romantic relationships, to see the degree to which Lorna’s departed husband had meant so much to her, and how long she’d clung to it...that had been hard to see. And Thanadir, she mused, looking up at him briefly...he was as married in his own way to Thranduil as she was. Soon enough the dishes were getting washed, and Thanadir had appeared at her side with a dishtowel, insisting on taking over drying duties. She rolled her eyes and began handing him the rinsed plates and glasses, one at a time.

Finally, they were all seated again on the sofa, having agreed on two more episodes of Star Trek. Earlene found herself somewhat eagerly wishing for them to get through the original series, so that they could start on The Next Generation; she liked that show even better. And then her computer jangled with an email notification. With some trepidation, she looked at the screen...a part of her was anticipating and dreading Aidan’s reply. Yet this was not Aidan, but Lorna. “Lorna wants to know how we felt it all went,” said Earlene with a smile. Feeling a little silly, she wrote back. “Six thumbs up, and the Great Gates will open next time he comes. If you figure he won’t have a heart attack, that is...see you soon :-) -E”

Lorna read the email three times, grinning. She shut her laptop, snuggling down into her blanket nest on Mick’s highly uncomfortable sofa. Yes, she was happy, and for once in her life, happiness didn’t scare her.


	29. Twenty-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 23, 2016

To Earlene’s surprise and pleasure, the next few days were treated for her as though they were some kind of vacation. Her daily Sindarin sessions with Thanadir were changed, and took the form of walks with him in the woods. He would speak to her about their surroundings, giving her time to work out what he’d said, asking simpler questions and giving her a chance to answer. This was so much more enjoyable, there were hardly words, and she found she remembered better, and absorbed new words better, in this manner. Thranduil took her running, and continued to instruct her at swordsmanship. And to her surprise, announced that she would learn a second skill; knives. Knives one threw at a target, more specifically; apparently some kind of prerequisite was learning to spin the blades in her hand while still keeping all her digits. Feeling that her life around culinary knives should at least provide some advantage, she did as she was asked and found it harder than it looked. “You will need practice, meluieg, but I believe you have it in you,” he said proudly, pleased with her initial efforts.

There was time for relaxing, and movies, and time alone. She was afraid to even say anything about it, unless it all somehow vanished. On the fifth afternoon after they had hosted Ratiri, Earlene found herself with time to do whatever she wanted, and brought out the box of her video collection. “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” she whispered, looking longingly at it. _Did she dare?_ She loved to sing along to the songs, she loved everything about it but...the mere thought of Thanadir within a mile of this film sent vague waves of terror through her. Blushing furiously at the memory of “The Erection at the Intersection”, she could only imagine what she’d feel like if she had to explain this. And yet the ellyn were busy at the Halls, it was not likely that there would be a safer time.

Feeling unaccountably cheerful, she shoved in the disc and went to heat some tea, listening to the hideous DVD intro that repeated itself every thirty seconds.

“What poor and unfortunate creature had to die in order for you to wear that?” Earlene imitated flawlessly. “My Aunt Trudy?”

Giggling, she returned with her mug and sat on the sofa, her eyes shining with happiness. The absurdity trailed along, and then came one of her favorites. She sang, entranced:

_“When the earth was still flat, and the clouds made of fire, and mountains stretched up to the sky, sometimes higher….folks in the earth were like big rolling kegs, they had two sets of arms, they had two sets of legs…”_

which was why when warm hands rested on her shoulders she screamed, accidentally tossed the remote into the air, fumbled to catch it again, and hit STOP in a desperate hurry. _Nooooo…_

They came around to each side of her, like wolves circling prey, and plunked down on the sofa.

“I thought you were busy for some hours,” she said as casually as possible.

“We finished early,” said Thanadir brightly. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing, just a silly movie. You wouldn’t like it,” she said too hurriedly, staring fixedly straight ahead, knowing that her flaming cheeks were betraying her even as she spoke.

“Don’t you think you should let us decide that, meluieg?”

Something in his voice caused her to look at Thranduil, and see the Cheshire cat grin plastered onto his face. “You cannot want to do this to me,” she whispered. “Please.” She almost felt near tears.

“Earlene, look at me please,” she heard from her other side. Swallowing, she slowly turned to face the seneschal, who took her face in his hands. “You must stop thinking of me as a child who cannot know about all of the human world. I am told that soon, we are to travel to your city. I must understand more, if I am to meet my obligations to my...to Thranduil. And to you. You do not wish me to see this film because you are embarrassed that it will offend my sensibilities, is that correct?”

The barest nod was all she could manage; her cheeks were still burning. And her chin was beginning to quiver. “There is nothing about which to feel this way, Earlene.” He pulled her to him, and gave her a chance to try to calm down and return her brain to some kind of order. Thanadir looked up at Thranduil, who nodded, and who also placed his hand on her back.

 _Thanadir, you have no idea what you’re saying_ , she thought.

Thranduil tried another tactic. “Meluieg, if you cannot tell us these things, who can? We must understand the human world, even the parts that are unfamiliar to us.”

After a minute, she took a deep breath and pushed away from Thanadir, hardening her resolve as it seemed she had no other choice. “All right. Fine. I’ll get over myself. But if I felt the way I did, it was out of respect for you, Thanadir. If this is truly what you wish, I will explain; we will start this over from the beginning. You are to tell me when you do not understand. Much of this movie is about a kind of music to which humans listen, called ‘rock and roll’. Or at least, much of this movie that is not about sex, is about music. I will put the subtitles on to help you understand what is said.” But first, she stood up, taking her tea with her. She opened her bottle of whisky and poured a huge glug into it and added some sugar. And then another glug for good measure. Returning as Thranduil watched her with raised eyebrows, she lifted up the remote and started the film over.

It took four hours, to watch the hour and a half film. She only pointed out a single quote to them as the absolute most important. “Listen carefully, because this is what the entire film is about. Humans seek to feel whole, and many of us have no idea how to go about it. We only know that something is missing:

_”It is clear that I must find my other half. But is it a he or a she? What does this person look like? Identical to me? Or somehow complementary? Does my other half have what I don't? Did he get the looks? The luck? The love? Were we really separated forcibly or did he just run off with the good stuff? Or did I? Will this person embarrass me? What about sex? Is that how we put ourselves back together again? Or can two people actually become one again?”_

And four hours later, she had expounded on the Cold War and the Berlin Wall, cultural icons, erections, penises, clay breasts, full medical examinations, glam cosmetics, penile amputations and sex change operations, transgenders, genderqueers, lesbians, gays, transsexuals, transvestites (with a special side emphasis on wigs), sex as a tool of power (with at least one sideways glance at her husband), prostitution, molestation and child abuse, sugar daddies, anal sex, oral sex, feminism, menstruation, religious imagery, cultural references, older technology, and what seemed like no fewer than twenty euphemisms for assorted human sexual acts; including her personal favorite, “the jobs we call blow.”

With an initial slight amount of inner glee she watched both of them begin to pale a little, but she pressed on, feeling only partially sorry for their discomfiture. While she regarded them deeply, they both needed to learn (at least a little) to respect her knowledge as well, and that while she may not be however many thousands of years old, she knew things about this world they would never have a way of understanding. She declined to tell them that the palette of sexual behavior on the part of humans could be so, so much more than this, descending into an utter depravity at the extreme end of the spectrum.

At the end of it, she faced them and took both their hands. “I have done as you asked me to. Please consider that in the future, when I seek to not share some aspects of humanity with you, that it is not because I believe you incapable of knowing, or because I am ashamed, but rather because you are beautiful and pure; untouched by many of our struggles and philosophical quests. Your innocence is something rare, and special. Do not be in too much of a hurry to lose it, especially when the knowledge can be of no real benefit to you.” Lastly, she turned to Thanadir with a gleam in her eye. “I hope you forgive me.”

The seneschal regarded her, and slowly a smile came over his face. “You did as I asked,” he said wryly. “But in the future I will pay more heed to your wishes. There is nothing to forgive.”

She turned to Thranduil, moving her fingers through his hair. _And you...I think it is time, soon, that you understand something about chocolate syrup._ The look on his face made the entire four hour ordeal completely worth it.

*******

Aislinn’s delivery van abruptly dropped its radiator right in the middle of the store’s car park, so Lorna was busy as hell. Nevertheless, she talked to Ratiri daily, answering what of his questions she actually could answer, and promising to bring him back to the forest as soon as she had a spare moment. He told her that Indira (and wasn’t it weird, hearing he called her that; in Baile, she’d been Doc Barry as long as she’d lived there) was taking him to Dublin to buy a car, so she wouldn’t have to play taxi to him.

“Take Big Jamie with you,” she said, seated out on an upturned bucket in the sunshine. “Nobody’ll try to cheat you if you’ve got him with you.” Given that Ratiri was foreign, it was almost a surety that any dealer would try to tack on whatever hidden fees they could cough up.

She spent that evening trawling ads for used cars; yes, all she was likely to find were complete lemons, but restoring it would be half the fun. If Earlene and the elves were absolutely determined to give her all this money, she might as well spend some of it, and she’d want a car come winter.

Logically, she ought to get something she could comfortably haul everyone in. She pondered a Volkswagen Bus, but Earlene would probably die of horror. A van was probably best, and yet...and yet. Yes, a van was sensible, but what she really wanted was a classic car -- specifically, a red ’66 Dodge Charger. She and Liam had always talked about getting one, and now she actually could.

 _You’ve got money, you eejit_ , she told herself. _Get both. One for work, and one for you._ Unless she got lucky, she wasn’t going to find both right off, so she hunted for the van first.

She found a lemon for five grand in Dublin, and had Mick drive her to see it. It was as bad as she’d thought, but it ran; she’d get it back to the mechanic easy enough, and it could sit outside when they had something going in the shop itself. It was an ’82 Ford that had once been red, but was now faded orange. The body was sound, at least, with no rust, but the engine rattled like a drunk throwing dice, the heater didn’t work, the radiator leaked, the exhaust manifold was cracked...it was going to take some work, but hadn’t she promised Thanadir she’d teach him mechanics? He’d probably pick it up in some obscenely short amount of time, and be a grand help. She’d never ask Mick to take time away from his proper job, but hopefully Thanadir would have enough of an interest.

Ratiri, she found, had an academic knowledge of mechanics, and he’d promised to come out his next day off and let her teach him. She had every intention of taking him to the Halls instead, should he want to go -- though she wasn’t eloquent enough to give him proper warning about how beautiful it all was. All she could say was, “The loveliest thing you’ve ever seen, multiplied by a hundred.”

Ratiri, for his part, had managed to process much of what he had seen and heard at that tasty dinner party. Taking long walks in the fields helped; they weren’t quite like the moors of his childhood, but they were green, and quiet. Being away from the constant company of Baile proper, he had a chance to think.

Really, he should have been more...stunned, shouldn’t he? He should have been disturbed, overwhelmed, but -- he wasn’t. Yes, the elves had been a surprise, but he’d been, all unconsciously, preparing himself for it already. The language, their strange otherness; part of him had known, even if the rational, scientific side of his mind flatly called it impossible.

He was a child of rural Scotland, a place steeped in fairytales going back centuries. There were sensible adults who still believed in the brownies, the banshees, the fairies both benevolent and wicked. He hadn’t realized how much of an influence it had really been on him, until he was confronted with elves and neither passed out nor fled. And he turned it over in his mind, beneath the warm sun of Irish spring (rare though it seemed, at times).

And so, his next day off, he gave Lorna a call and drove his new car (a Ford Bronco, bought in case he needed to haul large amounts of...whatever) out to Lasg’len. It still had the new-car smell, and he wasn’t yet fully used to how it handled -- but drivers in Ireland were no worse than those in Scotland. It had amused him that Lorna was clearly trying to temper her natural driving instincts, when she drove him to Lasg’len; he had, after all, lived in both Glasgow and London. He was a rather aggressive driver himself, and difficult to shock. Short of plowing over an old lady or a small child, he doubted much would surprise him. That said, if this spoon didn’t get out of his way -- good. The traffic wasn’t anywhere near as bad as either London or Glasgow, thank God.

He hadn’t had much time to take a look at the village of Lasg’len itself the first time he was here, so he took his time, eyes passing over the houses, the little grocery, the pub...all much like Baile. Ratiri suspected most small Irish villages were constructed along basically the same line.

The mechanic was on a side street -- a gently shabby building with a gently shabby sign that said only “Mick’s”. If everyone in town knew who the mechanic was, why call it something else? Ratiri thought. The bay doors were open, and he pulled up out front, getting out and rapping on the doorjamb.

Lorna stuck her head out from under a sedan, grinning when she saw it was him. She rolled herself all the way out -- she was lying one some kind of board with wheels -- and hauled herself to her feet. Her hair was braided and wrapped around her head like a crown, likely to keep it out of the way, her hands black with grease and several smears on her face. One of them ran from her nose all the way across her cheek, and Ratiri understood why Big Jamie called her “Adorable, in a slightly scary way.” “Was hoping you’d turn up soon,” she said, beckoning him to follow her outside. “I’ve almost got this one done, then I’m off for the day. You want to wait, or head to the pub?”

“I’ll wait,” Ratiri said, “if you don’t mind me talking and distracting you.”

“Bloody hard to do, that,” she said. “There’s cold fizzy drinks in the office, if you want one. It’s actually warm today.”

That it was, and he gladly took a fizzy drink while Lorna rolled herself back under the sedan. He poked her for information on Baile as well as the elves, but about the elves she would say only that it would make far more sense coming from the source itself.

Once through, she scrubbed her hands and forearms, stripped out of her coveralls (even the smallest of Mick’s let her wear her own jeans underneath), and was about to head out when Ratiri pointed a smudge on her face. Annoyingly, that didn’t want to come off half so easily as it had on her hands, so she said ‘screw it’ and headed out anyway. “You want to walk, or drive?”

“It’s a nice day,” Ratiri said. “I’d like to walk, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she laughed. “It’s what I do myself, unless I’m picking up or dropping off.”

A few curious people watched them pass through the village, but nobody said anything -- just as well, because Lorna really didn’t want any busybodies up in her, well, business.

Beside her, Ratiri seemed so peaceful -- much as she’d come to feel, when she was headed this direction, and he hadn’t even been here but once. She suspected he had craved this, the supernatural, the supposedly nonexistent, far more than he had ever been aware of. She wondered if, like her, he would come to realize he hadn’t known something was missing until he found it.

*****

Earlene’s phone jangled briefly on the coffee table, where she languidly reached over to pick it up. They had moved to the far end of the spectrum, and she was being treated to another foot rub and Sean the Sheep; both of them felt sufficiently chagrined at what would live on as The Hedwig Incident that they’d decided to be especially nice to her.

“Lorna’s coming out, with Ratiri. In over an hour or so,” she informed. “Showtime,” she chuckled. “What does Your Rulership wish to do?” she teased.

Thranduil looked at her archly while she received a reprimand to the bottom of her foot from the seneschal. She laughed. “Your firieth repents of her impudence. But seriously, may I have an idea? Will I need to prepare a meal…?”

“Ah.” Thranduil now understood the nature of her question. “No, you will not need to cook. Though, I have not actually given thought to...what to do. I would think that for Ratiri, simply going and seeing would be enough to occupy his mind? I am certain he will have many questions. And if the entire thing becomes repetitive for you, you can always continue your combat or language lessons with Thanadir. I thought too we could eat there, as we must eat somewhere. I suppose it depends on how much time our guests have to spend.”

“Fair enough, thank you,” she said, as a soft grunt escaped her when a particularly sore spot was expertly rubbed out by Thanadir’s thumb.

The closer he and Lorna got to Earlene’s cottage, the more nervous Ratiri became -- which was totally ridiculous. He had been invited and accepted among these people; there was no need for nerves.

Except that while he was in Dublin, he’d hit a bookstore and bought a copy of everything they had Tolkien-related. He was a fast reader; while he’d by no means got through all of it, he’d got through quite a bit, and the thought that he actually knew people who had taken part in these stories -- that these stories were, somehow, true -- it was nearly enough to do his head in. He had so many questions now, but enough tact to not actually ask them (yet).

Lorna seemed entirely at home, heading up the driveway, and Ratiri wondered how many times she’d been out this way in the brief time she’d known the elves. Given the way they all interacted, he would have guessed they’d all known one another for years -- which, well, the elves had, but still.

She rapped on the door, first making sure the post wasn’t falling out of the box. “Any zombies in there?” With a grin, she turned to Ratiri. “One’v these days, I mean to introduce Thranduil and Thanadir to zombie movies. They’ve got so much on their list already, but seeing Shaun of the Dead would...would enrich their lives.”

Ratiri burst out laughing. “Perhaps it might.” He’d be very curious to know what they’d make of the concept of zombies -- what would people who lived forever think of the walking dead?

Inside, Thranduil winced. He’d had just about enough of movies for one day, never having anticipated that what he thought would be a pointed lesson to his wife not to be secretive about her interests would turn into so much more than he bargained for. He also wondered, on some level of deep discomfort, what it said about him that he found this previously hidden understanding of the range of human sexual interests a little...exciting. He absolutely did not need zombies added to his plate at the moment. “I believe our guests are here,” he noted.

“Can we be rude and tell Lorna to let herself and Ratiri inside? We’ve only got one minute and this episode is over, “ she pleaded. It was one where the three pigs were about to get theirs, and those were her favorites.

“Your manners are atrocious meluieg,” he quipped, while at the same time doing as she asked. _Earlene says,_ _please let yourselves in. You must forgive her, she has one minute of Sean the Sheep left._

Lorna burst out laughing, while Ratiri was somewhat confused; he’d never actually heard of Sean the Sheep before, but the alliteration meant it was probably something funny. “Has she showed you Henri the cat yet?” Lorna asked, shooing Ratiri in before her. “I think he’s my new favorite.”

“Henri?” Ratiri asked.

“I’ll show you later, if Earlene hasn’t got it handy.” She led him to the lounge, giving the three a wave, and Ratiri took it in. All the questions he wanted to ask were tangled up in his head, so much so that he suspected even Thranduil might have a job of sorting them out.

Lorna beat him to it. “You lot look a touch awkward,” she said. “Did we come at a bad time?”

Thanadir held his hand up. “Wait! Sean is going to get the apples back from the pigs!”

As Ratiri and Lorna came around to where they could see the TV screen, he saw a sheep suspended between flying barnyard fowl make a bombing run to remove the fruit from in front of three pigs that bore a striking resemblance to Oogie Boogie from “Nightmare Before Christmas.” Lorna joined everyone else in the room cackling in laughter, while Ratiri looked from the elf to the television screen to Lorna and back again, not sure he was actually seeing this. All the sheep in the yard cheered and split the apples and…..oh, good grief.

Earlene hit the pause button, still laughing. “Forgive me, these episodes are more addicting that chocolate.” Standing up, she reached to half handshake, half-hug Ratiri, asking brightly if they would like tea? And then not waiting for the answer, because, of course they would. She glided across the floor to warm the kettle.

Ratiri had to do some immediate revising of...well, many things. Tolkien had said a great deal about elves; none of it suggested that they would find a claymation cartoon about a sheep amusing (admittedly, it looked hilarious, but he wouldn’t have thought elves would have an appreciation for it). He’d thought than an elf sense of humor would be more subtle than that...maybe relying on the written materials so much wasn’t the world’s greatest idea.

Lorna lightly elbowed him in the ribs. “Smartest thing?” she said. “Don’t assume anything. I keep finding myself doing it, and keep getting proved wrong. Which, yeah, it can make life more entertaining, but possibly not easier.” She had all kinds of fun rolling with the chaos, but not everyone was going to. Ratiri was a doctor; she’d hazard he liked things a little more orderly than she did.

Tea mugs were soon distributed all around, and Thranduil sidled over to Ratiri. “And how have you been, my friend?” he asked, with eyes fill of mirth.

Ratiri laughed quietly. “That is not an easy question to answer,” he said. “I went and bought everything I could find on the history of your people -- everything Tolkien wrote -- but, though I’ve read half of it, I still feel like I don’t know enough. To us, those books are fiction. Very beloved fiction, but I don’t think anyone ever tried to claim anything in them was real, so finding out that you all are...I have so many questions, and half of them are probably too rude to be answered.”

Thranduil was surprised and touched at this response...he had not expected that Ratiri would have that much interest. Even Earlene had not rushed into asking questions about this, though he had some awareness that she had it on one of her task lists...she’d been too occupied with her assigned task of learning about them and to function with them in the here and now.

His eyes were very kind, as he spoke without words. _If I might offer some advice, ask what you wish. I am more than capable of declining to answer, should I need to. It is generous of spirit, that you would make so much effort to learn of us. Not having read these books myself, I am uncertain exactly what they say, but there will be much time to discover this._

Aloud he said, “Do you wish to see more? Perhaps Lorna told you that you would be invited to our Halls, if your sensibilities survived meeting us in the first place.”

 _I can bring the ones I’ve already read, if you’d like,_ Ratiri said. _There’s quite a lot to go through, but you might find it interesting. I don’t know how accurate they are to your actual history or not, but it might be entertaining to find out._

Did he wish to see more? Hell yeah he did. “She did,” he said. “She also said she had no real way to warn me how beautiful I would find them, so I had best be prepared to stand still for a bit and take it in.”

“And not fall off the walkway,” she said, grinning. “I hope you don’t mind heights.”

“Not usually,” he said, and was rather more excited than a man of his age should be. _Screw that,_ he thought. _I’ll be as excited as I like. If ever anything justified it, it would be this._

Thranduil smiled, gesturing out the back door. “Then, come. You may wish to leave the tea here, though, we are fresh out of kitchen sinks for the next twenty minutes. I should ask too, how much time you have available? We can eat there later, if you are able to join us.”

An elf with such a sense of humor was still odd, simply because it was so at odds with everything he’d read for the last twenty-five years. Ratiri looked forward to finding out what other surprises lay in wait. “I’m off work tomorrow,” he said, drinking most of his tea before setting the mug aside. “I can be out as long as I’d like without worrying about sleep.”

“You’ll bloody love it,” Lorna said, downing her own tea in three long swallows. “Seriously, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.” At least she wouldn’t be the only one gawking like a tourist this time (because she was still going to gawk a bit. It was impossible not to.)

Thranduil led the way, inviting Ratiri to walk alongside of him. But not before he sent to Lorna, _I hope you will once again allow me to have my fun with the Gates?_

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek. _Of course. It’s too fun not to._

 _I knew I liked you._ The smirk in his voice was palpable.

As they proceeded along the path, Thranduil reiterated the same warning to Ratiri, not to try to traverse this path alone for the first several visits and not to try the other paths at all.

“He’s not joking,” Earlene quipped. “I’ve started to make a game of it, and it is not possible to not get lost. Even a compass will not help you in here. Or rather, it will help you to get lost faster, but that’s about it.”

Thranduil chuckled. “I keep forgetting to fix that for you, meluieg.”

“Don’t bother; as long as Thanadir doesn’t mind chasing me down, it’s become kind of an entertainment.”

The King shook his head. “As you wish,” he said smiling before he continued on. “We are happy, though, to take you on walks in the woods, should you wish to see more of them. There is much beauty, here. Though, as none of the villagers have ever been invited, it may be best not to mention this to others. While they know the elves live in the woods, they do not know about what you will see.”

Ratiri wondered if any of the villagers had ever been too curious -- or incautious -- to test the forest themselves. Had he lived behind such a forest as a kid, he almost certainly would have, and have got hopelessly lost.

“They’ve asked me weirdly little,” Lorna put in from behind him. “I’d’ve thought they’d want to know everything I do, but they keep pretty quiet. They must know that if I -- or the elves -- wanted them to know, I’d say so.” It had, admittedly, made her life much easier.

“The villagers have never become incautious. For countless generations they have known, and shown us respect. But others have come, in years long past. Others, who intended harm to those we have always watched over, in the village. To come in here with such an intention is never to return,” he said without further elaboration.

 _I bet that means he has dungeons_ , Lorna thought. _And not the fun kind. Oh great, of course her mind went there..._ she’d focus on Ratiri, except that would just make it worse. _Oops._ It wasn’t her fault he was walking in front of her, and had a damn nice arse in jeans. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for that.

Thranduil rolled his eyes and counted himself fortunate. Though, he now wondered at the lack of Earlene’s apparent interest in his...arse. Did that mean something?

With Earlene and Thanadir serenely bringing up the rear, the path was traversed in the usual twenty plus minutes at a leisurely walk until they reached the bridge. “Ratiri, this is your first experience of what you would call elven magic. You are at the Gates of my Halls, yet your eyes cannot breach the enchantments that conceal them from human sight. Look around you, carefully.”

Lorna watched Ratiri a little too gleefully, considering how she would have fallen for it utterly if not for Earlene’s warning. Ratiri’s eyes darted over the trees, searching, sharp and intelligent. Unlike her, there seemed to be an actual method to his search. “I can’t see it,” he said, sounding impressed but unsurprised.

“And now you can,” said Thranduil, with a wave of his hand. “Welcome, to the last Elven fortress in this world.”

Ratiri was scarcely aware of his breath catching. He’d seen drawings of these gates, and images on a screen, but neither were nearly enough to prepare him for seeing the real thing, towering and impossibly smooth before him. The sight tugged at him, at the feeling he’d had when he was a boy and his Nan read him stories about far off lands and fantastical creatures. “Holy shit,” he said.

“That’s what I said,” Lorna piped in. She was having almost as much fun watching him as she presumed Thranduil was; he already looked dazed, and he’d seen nothing yet. She could only hope it wouldn’t prove too much for him.

Earlene came up to Ratiri and took his hand, giving him a moment to...absorb it all. “Ratiri, there is something you should know. Outside, you see all of us as friends, interacting with each other. But you should also understand, Thanadir and I are sworn subjects of this Realm, and Thranduil is our King. You and Lorna are invited to this world without any expectation being made for you to act toward him or Thanadir as you will see the rest of us do. You are our friend. It is going to seem very strange to you, maybe even uncomfortable, unless you are unusually familiar with the manners shown to a ruling monarch. I felt I should...warn you,” she said smiling. “In a moment you will have even more surprises to deal with.” Releasing his hand, she backed away, bowing her head to Thranduil.

Smiling in approval, he gestured for them to finish traversing the bridge, and commanded the massive door to open with another wave of his hand. “Please, enter. You will likely find that your eyes need time to adjust; do not walk far until you can see clearly.”

Ratiri wasn’t terribly familiar with historical monarchy, but it would seem that wasn’t going to be an issue. Did Lorna find it awkward? She was Irish; he’d think she’d hate the very idea. The Scots weren’t fond of having been stuck under one king or another for centuries, but their kings hadn’t done the sort of things they did to the Irish. Still, if she didn’t seem to mind, it was highly unlikely he’d find it overly weird.

“He means it,” Lorna warned. “It’d be too easy to walk right over the edge if you don’t pause a minute.” Later, if necessary, she’d tell Ratiri to do what she did in the halls, and just kind of turn a blind eye to the monarchy aspects. Yeah, it was there, but that didn’t mean one had to dwell on it; she regarded it as simply being part of a foreign culture, and let it be at that.

Ratiri duly halted, blinking, breathing in the scent of stone and moss and, rather surprisingly, living things. When the door swung shut, however, he jumped a little. There was something weirdly final about it: he was in now, all the way, any thought of backing out gone. Not that he’d wanted to to begin with.

When his eyes adjusted, they widened, and again he felt his breath catch. This was what he’d imagined, and more; when he’d been in med school, he’d drawn in illustrations of Mirkwood, of the Wood-Elves’ halls, but none of them had come anywhere close to doing the real thing justice. He wanted to run around everywhere, and see all that was to be seen, while at the same time he wanted to stay still, and take it all in. There was a strange ache in his chest, something he couldn’t identify, but it seemed to have lodged itself there from the moment he could properly see.

“Would you like to just explore, Ratiri? You may. I would be happy to send Earlene with you, or simply allow you to get lost; we can come for you if need be. I only must warn you that no other of the elves can speak a word of your language.” The sense of appreciation and yearning in this man were palpable, and if he could manage to not fall off of a walkway, there was no harm he could actually do.

He didn’t think he’d ever in his life want to do anything more than explore. “I might -- a guided tour, sort of thing, might be a better idea,” he said, looking from Thranduil to Earlene to Thanadir and finally to Lorna, who looked rather delighted at his delight. “Otherwise I won’t know what I’m properly looking at; it will just be beautiful, without meaning.”

 _Jesus, he’s loving this_ , Lorna thought. She hadn’t seen anyone this pleased by anything in years. He’d read so much...she needed to read all of it, if she could. Thranduil had said he’d fix her dyslexia, but nobody even knew what caused it, so how could he? With a sigh -- for she really was embarrassed by it, for all she shouldn’t be -- she’d ask him about it later. She wanted to know what was behind Ratiri’s wonder, what he knew that fueled it. In that, he reminded her a touch of Thanadir, with his wonder at things like sewing machines.

 _Because Eru gave elves the power of healing, my stubborn friend, that is how_. Thranduil grinned in her direction when he caught her eye, before returning his attention to Ratiri. “Thanadir knows more than I do of the technical details of these Halls, but I will manage. These were natural caverns, expanded and beautified by the skill of the dwarves. The elves of this Realm have known two other homes, long since abandoned to antiquity. At one time thousands of our people lived within these Halls. As I told Earlene once, it is a vestige of a former glory. It has all the features of a small city. There are kitchens, storerooms, innumerable dwellings, armories, a library, places to work wood, metal, and fabric; stables long abandoned, and things more common that I am forgetting to mention. And of course as you can see, this is a kingdom; there is a throne, and a King,” he said with self-effacing humor.

He led them over arching stone paths, past the hub of his throne. “Earlene, Thanadir, do you wish to continue your sword lessons, or remain with us?” Earlene bit her lip. She was enjoying Ratiri’s experience, but for her this was now old news. And yet even she had never exactly had a tour; maybe she would learn something new if she remained. Looking at Thanadir, she asked with her eyes if he minded waiting a bit. He patted her shoulder reassuringly, and did not seem distressed or impatient...so she waited.

So many things, and God, Ratiri wanted to see all of them. What he was most curious about was, naturally, their medicine. “Did you have any equivalent of a hospital? I know elves don’t get ill, but how did you treat injuries?”

 _Definitely a doctor_ , Lorna thought, smiling, but she was curious herself. _At the height of the Halls’ population, there was simply no way Thranduil would have had the time to take care of absolutely everyone on his own, right?_ She wondered how Ratiri would react to knowing just how much Thranduil could heal himself.

“There were Healer’s Halls, in ages gone by. They are yet here. But much of our medicine was not what you would recognize. It is given to us to heal swiftly and much of our skill would fall also into the area you would likely define as ‘magical’. According to power, elves had greater and lesser skill at healing, but all elves have some ability. It is possible to kill us, to injure the body so badly that our spirits must depart to Mandos. But more often than not this only occurred in times of warfare. Outside of that, irreparable injury was rare indeed.”

 _Speaking of that, thanks for healing the dent,_ Lorna said. _I think you’re the only bloke in the world I’d actually trust to have my top off while I was unconscious without being a pervert about it._ Though, there might well come a day she’d quite like Ratiri to perv, but that was another story.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows. _I will have you know that I went to absurd lengths to *not* remove your top, knowing that you would not be pleased to be viewed unclothed. Later I would like it if you told me just how that injury came to be, but not now. I hate to rush a good battle story._

“From all I’ve read, humans and elves are technically the same species,” Ratiri said. “Technically, and yet you live forever unless you’re killed by some external source -- you don’t get ill, you possess magic...I have to say, as a human, that it really does feel like we got shafted. The number of human diseases alone is nightmarish.”

Hearing him use a word like ‘shafted’ made Lorna try desperately to choke back her own laughter. “He has a point,” she said. “If a human ate as much sugar as Thanadir, they’d be sure to get diabetes sooner or later. And elves don’t get cancer, or heart attacks, or any’v the other shite we’re prone to.”

“There was a time when men, noble men, lived far longer lives; this was when your race was newly awakened. But your blood has diminished. There is no comment I can make except to say that for some, the gift of elven life has not always proven to be a gift. There are some who suffered unimaginable torment from which escape was not possible. And no matter what our race, our spirits are ultimately in the hands of Eru, who we are told yet has unfinished work. There is a limit to our knowledge,” he said simply.

“Our medicine now is a wonder,” Ratiri said. “We’ve come so far in the last hundred years, but we can’t cure everything. I wish we had a little of your magic. Even things like arthritis, which isn’t dangerous but is terribly painful -- I think there is a reason so many doctors don’t believe in any religions. When you see so much senseless suffering, it can be difficult to believe in an Eru or anything like one.” He shook his head, realizing he was turning into a Debbie Downer. “Enough of that, though. That all of you exist, even if there aren’t so many of you, and that you can heal, is more than I would have dared imagine.”

“What he can do is a priceless gift,” said Earlene softly. “While I have great respect for your profession, there is no comparison. And, please excuse me, I will see you later on.” Turning to Thanadir, she said “I am ready.” As they walked off, Earlene felt taken aback. Not just that she’d said that, but that the need to say that had struck her so strongly, and whether or not it had been right to say anything at all. She looked down. It wasn’t medicine’s fault, per se...but after what she’d lived with, suffered with...being able to heal that? _That_ was healing. Realizing that she felt resentment, that her human doctors couldn’t do anything for her except give her Xanax to keep her from feeling….she sighed and tried to clear her head, knowing that there would soon be no room for distractions if she was to survive the seneschal’s lesson.

Thranduil looked at his wife in surprise but quickly saw the complexity out of which the comment was made, and the contrition for it. He elected to say nothing, and move back to the conversation. “Much of what has befallen humans in recent times has been a direct or indirect result of human activity, though. No one wishes to see another suffer, especially not the innocent. But even in our time, the world did not unfold as planned. Elves too have suffered greatly from the evil intentions of others. While we are not susceptible to the same ills as you, we have not been without sorrows.”

Anger flared through Ratiri at Earlene’s words, all the hotter because he knew she was right. He drew a deep breath, trying to dispel it. “Nothing that lives has been,” he sighed. But...he had watched children die of cancer, unable to do a thing, and why did humans have cancer? Why would Eru -- and he was assuming the mythology of the elves was fact, which was a very hard thing for him to swallow, having been raised Hindu -- do that to humans? He likely wouldn’t say, even if someone were able to ask him; one thing that seemed common across most religions was that the gods tended to be tight-lipped about their plans. “To live is to suffer,” he quoted. “To survive is to find some meaning in the suffering. I think it was Nietzsche who said that. Normally I’d say he’s a bit of a pretentious twat, but he came up with a few good ones.”

Lorna snorted, swallowing laughter. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard Nietzsche called a pretentious twat before,” she said. “I’m not so sure I’d call him the twat so much as all the fedora-wearing, deliberately malnourished uni boys who drink huge lattes and pretend they know what the deeper meaning is.” One of those tossers had wandered past Lorna’s gang one hot summer evening (wearing a scarf), and made the mistake of saying something condescending. He’d wound up naked, tied to a fountain with that scarf. Needless to say, he never came back.

Thranduil shrugged. “Blame Melko. Eru did nothing but create a beautiful music with the faithful Ainur. And Ratiri, I am going to apologize for what Earlene said. She came to me suffering from something beyond the reach of your medicine, and her comment came from that place of her own experience, and the hopelessness she had once been made to feel. I know that it was not her intent to offend you. Perhaps,” he said, hoping to divert the discussion from the philosophical morass threatening to strangle it, “you would care to see the kitchens?”

“It’s fine,” Ratiri said, and it mostly was. “I can only imagine the ovens you’d need, to feed the former population here.”

“I haven’t been there, either,” Lorna said. “But I bet I’d fit in one. As long as nobody shuts me in, anyway.” She’d been wanting to know where the kitchens were anyway, in case she got peckish some night she was staying here and wanted a midnight snack.

Thranduil’s eyes widened. “Do all humans do as in the movie we saw today? Have their children play in the ovens?”

Lorna blinked. “What the hell were you watching?” she asked.

“We insisted Earlene show us ‘Hedwig and the Angry Inch.’ Which turned out to be something of a misjudgment on my part. But in the movie, the child Hansel played in the oven because their home was so small. When you said that I thought that perhaps this was a strange custom of your kind.”

Lorna’s eyes widened. “You watched -- you and Thanadir watched --” She was torn between amused and horrified, and tried, oh so hard, not to die laughing. Naturally, she failed.

Even Ratiri was rather surprised; he knew little of the elves, but he had a hard time imagining them watching that movie without coming away from with with a laundry list of questions, not all of which Earlene might feel comfortable answering. “It’s not a custom,” he said -- the only thing he trusted himself to say, lest he follow Lorna.

The King pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, we watched. I thought I was, what is your expression, pulling one over on Earlene, who had been trying to enjoy the film alone; apparently she is very fond of it. I believed she was trying to hide it from us, and so I insisted she show it and explain it all. Once she made up her mind to do so, she spent the next four hours enlightening us about your more interesting intimate behaviors in excruciating detail. There are certain words I will never hear in the same way again,” he confessed, shaking his head.

“Oh, I bet,” Lorna managed, cackling. She was laughing so hard she gave up and sat down, because if it managed to disturb Thranduil, then poor Thanadir...Thanadir, who had such a love for propriety. She wished, oh how she wished she’d been there for that one…

“If you keep laughing like that, you’ll choke,” Ratiri said, but couldn’t fully keep it back himself. He hesitated to touch her, to try to draw her to her feet, so he sat beside her instead.

Lorna wiped her running eyes, a stitch aching in her side. “Oh God...just...I need to introduce you to Repo! The Genetic Opera. It’s not as full’v sex things as Hedwig, at least. And at least now you know that when Earlene’s trying to enjoy something alone, there’s probably a reason.”

“She said as much,” Thranduil said, offering his hand to her to help her up. “We are well aware that we received more of a lesson than we bargained for. You will be pleased to know that Thanadir, aside from turning slightly pale, held up remarkably well.”

“For Thanadir, turning slightly pale is fairly dire, I’d think,” Lorna said, taking his hand and hauling herself up. Ratiri wondered just how Thranduil had won her trust enough to allow physical contact, and how he could do so himself, given time. “If coughing slightly is his form of censure, turning pale must be coming close to passing out.”

The King snickered. “Please do not tell him I laughed about that,” he said worriedly before smiling again. “And I will not tell him you said it in the first place. Ah, and here are the kitchens. Bainor and Arnos are the ellyn, Glân and Rílas the ellith. It is to their skill here in their domain that we owe all the wonderful food. Mae g’ovannen” he said, in greeting to his subjects.

All of them immediately stopped, and bowed or curtsied briefly. “i Aran nîn,” they said in unison, before waiting one last respectful moment and continuing with their work.

Lorna still wasn’t used to that, but Ratiri had never seen it at all, so he jumped a little. Yes, he came from a monarchy, but only technically, and it wasn’t like he’d ever actually seen a monarch in action, so to speak. Each of them worked with a precision he could only envy, without a single wasted movement, almost as graceful as dancers. How did they manage it, cooking with fire? Obviously they’d been doing it for thousands of years, but still; the few times he’d tried to do anything more ambitious than roast a banger, he’d realized how little he knew.

Lorna, being, well, Lorna, was eying the ovens, because once she got an idea in her head, it was hard to get it out. “All right, I’m doing it,” she said, fishing out her mobile and handing it to Ratiri. “I need photographic evidence of this,” she said. Unbuttoning her flannel outer shirt, she set it out of the way, ignoring the fact that the cooks were probably going to think she was utterly mental. Choosing an oven at random, approximately chest-height on her, she wrenched the iron door until it came open. Tipping Ratiri a salute, Britain-style, she levered herself in.

Not only did she fit, she had a surprising amount of room; just what the hell had they cooked in here? Christ, she could take a nap, if she didn’t mind sleeping on stone.

“How is it?” Ratiri asked, snapping her picture as she peered out the door.

“Not bad. Give me a pillow and a blanket and it’s as good as a flat.” She pushed her fringe out of her eyes and ran her knuckles over her nose right before she sneezed, and Ratiri, completely unable to help it, burst out laughing. She had transferred quite a lovely smear of soot across half of her face, right over the bridge of her nose. The force of the sneeze dislodged a fine layer of ash and soot, which drifted down onto her like some kind of polluted snow.

“What?” Lorna asked, and looked at her hand. “...Oh. Well, fuck.” She had not, unfortunately, thought this through. At all. Had she, she would have checked to make sure the oven had been cleaned first, but noooo, she just crawled on into the first one that struck her fancy, and now she was fucking filthy.

Rolling out of the oven, she looked at her arms, and her vest top, and her jeans, and... _oh, Christ._ The sound of her mobile’s camera shutter made her glower at Ratiri, who looked like he was having far too good of a time and feeling rather guilty for it.

 _He’s lucky he’s so damned good-looking_ , Lorna thought, glowering at him. “I might,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans, “not have given this enough consideration.” All the action did was smear the soot around. Beautiful. Thranduil was never, ever going to let her live this down, either.

He had been conversing pleasantly with his kitchen staff when motion in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Lorna was…. _what in the name of Eru??_ He reasoned that if he could continue the conversation concerning tonight’s treat of savory leek and potato soup, rabbit pie and honey cakes for just a few moments longer, the other elves might not notice that his human guest had just emerged, filthy, from one of the ovens. _Clearly, someone had too much energy this afternoon._ He stole an extra few moments while he considered what to do. His eyes narrowed. Well, she was already dirty…

 _Lorna, if you would oblige me by walking on the other side of Ratiri as we file out, I will manage to leave some aura of mystery as to why there is soot on the floors. Besides, I think I have a better idea on how you can amuse yourself.. I think now would be an excellent time, while the cooks are yet distracted._ He moved himself over toward their cooking ranges for a moment, pretending interest in the contents of the soup pots, and thereby drawing the elves’ gaze away from a bespeckled Lorna. Who he met in the passageway outside, at a pointed distance. Crossing his arms, he gave her a scolding look, that was quickly replaced by an almost evil grin.

 _What are you thinking?_ Lorna asked, more than a little wary. That grin boded no good.

 _I am not the one who is going to have to wear a dress tonight because her clothes will have to take a day’s tour through the laundry. Thanadir will be delighted. As will I_ , he chuckled.

Lorna felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, no…” She really, really should have thought this through. “I could...detour back to Mick’s?” she offered, already knowing that wouldn’t fly. It would take her two hours to get to Mick’s and back.

He languidly shook his head No. _That will not do; it is not every night that we have rabbit. Besides, I am not done with you yet; you have too much energy. It is time you picked up a sword again, and joined Earlene for awhile. Besides, you are already dirty, a little more cannot matter. Come._

He led them down more passages and past the familiar armory, where ahead they heard the clanging of steel.

It only took Ratiri a moment to realize some kind of telepathic conversation was going on -- one which Lorna wasn’t terribly pleased by, either, though she brightened near the end of it. “Swords, Ratiri,” she said, grinning up at him. “Swords. I used one once in here, but I was pretty crap at it. I’m too short. You’ve got to try, though -- you’re elf-sized, you’d handle their weapons brilliantly.”

Ratiri wasn’t so sure about that. While he hadn’t been terrible in sport at school, he hadn’t been great, either -- but he would absolutely love to try. Just to be awful, he snapped one more photo of Lorna, who snatched her phone back from him with a mock glower. Mairead had warned him she hated it when people called her adorable, but God help him, she was. Covered in soot, the silver in her hair dusted darker by it...she looked like a sprite who’d gone diving down someone’s chimney.

“Strike! Test! Hit! Again! (pause) Strike! Test! Hit! (pause) Again!” The seneschal’s sharp orders were heard clearly out the practice chamber door. Three heads peered cautiously into the doorway opening, to see Earlene, drenched in sweat, repeating an exhausting-looking drill as Thanadir barked commands at her.

“Please, Thanadir, my arms are turning to jelly,” she pleaded.

“Twice more,” the seneschal demanded, “and I expect your best.”

The look on her face hardened into one Ratiri would not particularly want directed at him, ever, as she half shouted with the effort needed to repeat the maneuver, one in which an attacker attempted to thrust at a defender’s face. He noted that the pretty dress he had seen her in earlier was laid aside, and that she was wearing a tunic and leggings now, that hung limp with perspiration off of her.

“Only once more, Earlene,” he said, and after her blade crashed against his once more he helped support her shoulders while he took the blade from her. “Well done my queen, well done! You are improving greatly,” praised the seneschal.

“Then why do I feel as though you removed my skeleton?” she moaned, trying to catch her breath.

Thanadir chuckled. “It will get better. And I think now you can rest; it would seem we have other pupils.”

“When do I get to see both of you that actually know how to do this...do this?” she asked, not understanding what he meant, and not seeing they were no longer alone. “Aside from trying to kill me, I don’t understand what half of this does, that I practice.”

Thranduil came up behind her, laying his hand on her arm. “That was very good, meluieg. I am willing to grant your request, if Thanadir agrees. I do not think Lorna would mind to see this, either. Ratiri, I hope you do not mind bearing with us, it is time to deliver on a promise that has been floating about for some days now.”

Eager nods met his eyes, and Thanadir bowed his head in assent. “I must emphasize that you (no one could fault him if he especially looked at Lorna while saying this) are not to do as we are about to do inside of the next decade, and better yet never. Proper safety means wearing appropriate armor and taking other precautions. We have had a very long time to understand what not to do."

Thranuil shed his outer clothing (what was it called, anyway? Shirt-like coat? No one really had any idea) and selected a sword, moving into the same circle in which Earlene and Thanadir had been practicing. With a seemingly formal ritual of bows and salutes, they began. They were a blur of steel, always in motion except for the times they locked together in an impasse; only to break apart and continue. Though even Earlene kept waiting for a blow to land, none ever did; their skills were too evenly matched. After some minutes Thranduil exclaimed “Daro!” and with their hands held over their hearts, they bowed to each other one last time before leaving the sparring circle.

Well, now Ratiri felt hopelessly inadequate -- not that this wasn’t entirely expected, given all he’d read about the differences between elves and humans. What worried him was that Lorna looked a little too interested -- if she didn’t try doing that with something sooner or later, he’d be very surprised. Perhaps he could convince her to try it with some kind of modified Nerf sword. Of course, she was so small she’d have a hard time finding someone she could spar with in the first place; Earlene was the second shortest among them, but she was still a good nine inches taller than Lorna.

“You show me something that brilliant, then tell me I should never do it,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “I know none’v us’ll ever be anywhere near as fast as you lot, but can we really not practice that at all, with like...blunt training weapons, or whatever it is you use to start? Or do elves even do that?” She wouldn’t be surprised if elves didn’t need to start off with blunt anything.

“The problem, Lorna, is that I cannot see you being content to stay with 'blunt anything',” he said in mock exasperation. “We train using real weapons, but our education is slow, disciplined. I do not have to fear that Earlene will ever disregard the tutelage of Thanadir and decide to take her sword and….well, never mind. Though if you have something truly unable to cause harm and to confine yourself only to it, then of course you may do as you wish. Though, I fear for your safety nonetheless.”

He was wise enough, Lorna noted, not to give her any further ideas. If the elves didn’t use any kind of blunt weapons, maybe she could craft something out of wood -- he underestimated her ability to take hits from various….things...and still get up. What she was only hazily cognizant of herself was that that was not actually a good thing; fighting with improvised, long-range weapons was half of how she’d wound up with the dent in the first place. Cricket bats were heavy, solid, and could do more damage than the average person might guess. (Which was, in part, why she loved Shaun of the Dead so much. It would be her preferred weapon of choice in a zombie apocalypse any day.) Though she wasn’t about to point out to anyone that she’d once beaten a guy unconscious with a push-broom. That probably wouldn’t help her case.

She looked up at Ratiri, who arched an eyebrow. “I’m not helping you,” he said. “If I find something you couldn’t accidentally murder someone with, then I’ll help you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, and sneezed. A fine dust of charcoal shook out of her hair, and he fought the urge to just dust it off and wipe her face with the end of his sleeve.

Thranduil rolled his eyes, and handed both Ratiri and Lorna their swords while issuing rapid fire instructions to Thanadir in Sindarin. “Thanadir will instruct you; this will be brief so that your bodies do not become excessively tired from the unfamiliar exercise. I would advise you to be kind to my seneschal, Lorna. He has many dresses to choose from. And then we will see about baths for those needing them; we will rejoin you shortly.” With a grin, he guided Earlene away from the room.

 _You are having way too much fun, Thranduil_ , Lorna fired at him.

 _Do you blame me?_  came the answer. _Behave yourself._

Lorna shook her head. Dresses. She lifted her sword, wondering just how young the elves started training, if they had a sword her size. She glanced at Ratiri, who looked much more natural holding his -- surprisingly so, given he was a doctor. One might even say suspiciously so. “Ratiri,” she said, “did you ever do historical re-enactments when you were younger?”

He gave a slightly guilty start. “Got it in one,” he said. Katherine had roped him into it, but he’d been surprised to find he’d enjoyed it quite a bit.

“All right, Thanadir,” Lorna said, looking at him. “Time to run us ragged, I’m guessing.” She looked forward to that probably more than she ought to.

The elf appraised them with a critical eye. He could only work with them one at a time, but then again, he had seen Lorna’s tenacity to attack even the mannequins. He would assign her a solo drill.

Lorna honestly wondered a bit what was going to happen when she did this. It was very controlled, almost like a dance, graceful and measured. The last time she’d held a sword, she’d lost her shit and mauled a training dummy, but she was better now. One hand at the base of the hilt, the other just beneath the guard, she brought the sword around in the clean, sweeping arcs Thanadir showed her -- well, she did her best. She wasn’t used to a sword, after all; sometimes her movements were not what one might call even. It was almost like meditation, really; you had to pay attention to what you were doing, but lacking an opponent, you didn’t have to think, just focus.

The sword wasn’t what she’d call heavy, but keeping her movements even made her arms and shoulders burn in a slightly pleasant way. Some of these were muscles she didn’t use so often, but they didn’t hate her yet. And the burn lessened as she lost herself in the repetition, each set of movements sliding into the next -- not seamlessly, no, but easy enough to be getting on with.

Thanadir nodded approvingly. “I want you to spend your time focusing on form over speed. You are training your body to be familiar with these motions, and the movement of the blade. As I work with Ratiri, I will check that you are remaining in the proper alignment, and correct you if necessary. If you do well, Aran Thranduil says I am to have you stab something.”

Ratiri looked entirely different. As tall as the King, and obviously reasonably fit, he seemed to already have a strong sense of posture and form. “We will begin with basic footwork,” Thanadir announced. “You will keep the blade in your dominant hand while you practice. Though you will not be using it, it will help focus your mind on the importance of properly using your feet and legs.” He demonstrated what looked for all the world like a lunge forward with his left leg, then a lunge backward, then a return to a neutral position, without ever moving his right foot. “You have no difficulties with your body, your...joints, to do this?” he asked. Further reading had allowed him to realize that even young humans could have damaged bodies. When Ratiri nodded that he was fine in these respects, Thanadir demonstrated the same maneuver on the opposite foot. “You are to do this with each side of your body as many times as you are able without tiring, but not more than ten. If you tire earlier, try to do one more than feels comfortable then stop. You are not to strain yourself.”

His quads were going to hate him, and Ratiri knew it, but he gamely went at it. Fortunately he had a good sense of balance, so he didn’t wobble like an idiot, though it took him a few tries to get it properly right. Predictably, he was tiring by the fifth, but he managed to push it to nine before he had to stop. He was, after all a doctor; he wasn’t going to push that past his endurance. He rested for a count of five, then switched legs, the burn in his quads already a harbinger of misery to come. He really was more out-of-condition than he liked, but it could be much worse.

Lorna emerged from her zen state long enough to note that such lunges really did fantastic things for Ratiri’s arse before she slipped back into her groove again. Her shoulders were tensing now -- the sword might not weigh much, but having it in constant motion was more tiring than she might have expected. Still, she wasn’t going to beg off just yet; there was a difference between ‘tiring’ and ‘oh God I’m a noodle’. The thought made her smile even as she continued this odd, controlled dance. Hell, next time she got too pissed off, maybe she’d practice it with a stick or something.

Thanadir stopped both of them; they had done well, and it was important to not over-exert them. He reviewed with Lorna and showed Ratiri for the first time the same exercise Thranduil had taught her previously; the simple downward stabbing attack into the mannequins. He encouraged both of them to alternate hands, though, to strike from each side. This used different muscles, and hopefully Lorna’s mannequin would survive.

Doing this one felt...odd, given what she’d done the last time she tried it, and indeed while looking at this effigy, something stirred in her mind. Dropping a lid on it wasn’t too hard, but that it was there at all disturbed her. She stepped, stepped, swept the sword over her head, and brought it down into the target with a touch too much force -- being as short as she was, she stabbed into the dummy’s gut rather than its chest. Pulling the blade free, she eyed it, momentarily oblivious.

Ratiri was at least tall enough that he had little issue with the move itself, though his execution of it was hardly what one might call perfect -- Lorna pushed too hard, but he didn’t push hard enough, fearing to actually break the mannequin (never mind that that was the entire point of the thing to begin with).

His second try went rather better, as he started thinking of the sword less as an encumbrance and more as an appendage. His legs ached, his shoulders ached -- he was going to regret this later, but not much.

Lorna eyed her sword, and her dummy, and drew back, mimicking the other move Thranduil had shown her, with a touch more vim than was strictly necessary. The feel of the sword as it sliced through cloth and straw, the thunk when she attacked...well, he’d said it was satisfying, and it most certainly was.

“That was well done,” he said, “both of you. Many elves did not fare so well, their first time trying.” The seneschal indicated that they were to leave their weapons behind, after which he guided them back to the upper levels. “I am to take you to the King’s rooms, but first I must acquire something from my own rooms. This way, please. And perhaps, Lorna, I have something you may enjoy seeing.”

They arrived soon enough at one of many unmarked wooden doors, and he welcomed them in, though he did eye Lorna. “Please, if I may ask you to remain there; soot is very difficult to remove from some of these fabrics.” But he returned momentarily with...were those quilt squares? “I made these using your machine. Do you like them?”

Lorna wished her hands weren’t so filthy, so she could examine them more closely. “Thanadir, they’re beautiful,” she said. “Is this a pattern you got from the quilting circle, or did you make it yourself?” Her money was on the latter, given, well, elves.

 _Wait, wait...what?_ The thought of Thanadir in a human quilting circle was almost more than Ratiri’s brain could handle right now. Picturing him surrounded by little old ladies, teacups, and probably cats (if this village was like every other), was just about too much. The quilt squares really were pretty, though, which Ratiri echoed aloud.

“I read all the books and then...extrapolated. I wished for something that called to mind the trees, and nothing I saw exactly suited. I am glad you like it,” he said happily. “Excuse me for just a moment.” He laid his squares aside, and disappeared briefly, returning with a nondescript bundle, wrapped in equally nondescript cloth. “This way, please,” he said, indicating they were to continue on. 

A few minutes later they were at a door in a passageway that seemed to have fewer doors, and the customary two raps followed by walking in was made. “Inside, please; these are the King’s rooms.” He caught himself. “The King’s and Earlene’s rooms, rather.” Thranduil poked his head out of an adjacent doorway.

“Welcome, Ratiri,” he said enthusiastically. “Lorna, I believe you know where the bath is? Earlene has just finished and removed all her things.” The statement was polite but left no room for discussion. The King looked expectantly at Thanadir, who nodded. “Thanadir has a package for you; inside is a suitable garment. If you will please leave your other clothes in the bathing room when you are done, we will test the collective powers of the launderers.”

“God, wait’ll you get a load’v this tub, Ratiri,” she said. “It’ll spoil you for life, you’ll never want another.” She dreaded just what Thanadir -- or rather, what Thranduil, because he was a little shit and enjoyed this far, far too much -- had decided a ‘suitable garment’ was.

Ratiri, who felt vaguely as though he shouldn’t actually be in here, invitation or no, said, “Don’t waste all the hot water.”

“That,” Lorna said, disappearing through the door, “won’t be an issue. Trust me.”

She shut the door, and did her level best not to shake too much soot onto the floor as she stripped off; fortunately, working with the swords had shaken most of it free, and she piled it as neatly as she could. Given that she still couldn’t read any of the writing on the various bottles, she did her best to remember which ones she’d used before.

Sinking into the bathtub with a happy sigh, she soaked her hair and allowed herself to jellyfish for a minute or two -- much though she wished she could linger, she couldn’t keep Ratiri waiting too long. She scrubbed, rinsed, scrubbed again, washed her hair, and finally bundled up in towels she could have used as a blanket. Even now, the short amount of time it took to comb her hair surprised her -- and mercifully, there were human combs. Earlene must have been as unsettled by the ivory one as she was. Approaching the bundle as though it contained a live snake. She really, really didn’t trust Thranduil.

Though on this occasion, it seemed she could. The dress the bag contained wasn’t bad at all: plain black velvet, with some kind of green ribbon lacing at the front, and almost criminally soft. Already pinned to it was a beautiful brooch, made in the shape of a four-leafed clover. Each leaf had a line of diamonds on the inside, followed by a line of emeralds, and then diamonds again, with a larger diamond at the center...the damn thing was probably worth more than Lasg’len, and she just knew he’d tell her to keep it. The fact that it was Irish, though -- that he’d somehow wound up knowing the significance of four-leafed clovers -- meant being given this didn’t appall her. Unlike the necklace, she suspect it wasn’t given solely to make her brain blue-screen. (She still wasn’t taking it out of the Halls, though; thought of losing it was nightmarish.)

When she pulled the dress on, it hit her at about calf-length, and she discovered that there were black suede boots in the bundle as well, that, as it turned out, actually fit her tiny feet. The dress, mercifully, actually had rather large pockets, and in the right one she discovered her emerald necklace. Laughing, she shook her head and pulled her hair out of the way so she could fasten it around her throat.

She eyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’d do, she supposed; the combination of the dress and the jewelry certainly made her eyes stand out. For some reason, she was almost reluctant to let Ratiri see her like this, which made no sense whatsoever. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped back out through the door.

Earlene looked up from lazily combing her hair near the fireplace; sometimes if she could keep it just so as it dried, the ends would all cooperate and turn under the way she liked them to. Catching sight of Lorna, her lips parted. “Sure god, you look beautiful in that! Damn, now I want black velvet,” she joked, though she would never have the nerve to actually ask Thanadir to make something like that; it would feel too impudent. Standing up, she moved closer. “The pin is perfect...where in hell would he get a four leafed clover? Makes you wonder how far back some of the traditions go, doesn’t it?” Leaning down, she said very softly, “If Ratiri doesn’t lose his eyeballs at seeing you, there’s something wrong with that man.”

Lorna burst out laughing, though there was a slight edge of...not nerves, not quite, but close...to it. “It does make me wonder,” she said. “Even looking at the gates, how Celtic they seem in places, I’ve got to wonder just how much they gave us over the centuries, on purpose or not.”

She smoothed at the velvet. The fact that it fit so well made her feel a lot less awkward in it -- not like a little girl playing dress-up (though she probably was wearing some little elf girl’s dress, but whatever. She wasn’t going to think about that.) “Here goes nothing, I guess.”

Ratiri still felt vaguely as though he shouldn’t actually be in here, for all he’d been invited. He had only within the last five days discovered elves were actually real; to be sitting in the Elvenking’s parlor was beyond surreal. How did Lorna treat it all so...normally? It had been so little time for her.

His eyes traveled the fireplace, the smoothness of the stone walls. “When I was a kid,” he said, “I wanted to be in The Hobbit. I wanted to live somewhere like this, but my dad said life didn’t work like that, that there wasn’t any point in dreaming of something that couldn’t ever be real. He wasn’t mean about it or anything; he was just a man who believed only in what he could see and touch. And then he went a married a Hindu.” To this day, Ratiri didn’t understand how his parents’ marriage could have been as happy as it was.

Thranduil looked at him in sympathy. This man had a fine mind, by comparison to every human male he’d yet met, come to think of it. His struggle to reconcile what he was seeing here with the backdrop of his existence to date was tangible, and entirely understandable. When he had chosen to reveal himself to Earlene, he had been in control of that introduction, as he was now. He wondered how well he, or any of his people, would fare had they not known the human world existed and yet found themselves drawn into it as suddenly as this one had.

“And so you are finding it difficult to process that this dream turned out to have a basis in reality? That would be completely understandable.”

Ratiri nodded. “I am. Of all the things I never would have expected to find...I came to Ireland because I needed something else. All I thought I’d run across would be beer, football, and possibly fewer sheep. That I should wind up in Baile, and meet Lorna, and all of you, it still somewhat beggars belief.”

“You were supposed to be here. Otherwise you wouldn’t be.” Lorna paused. “That sounded a lot more profound in my head.”

Ratiri turned in his seat, and promptly turned into a mute idiot. He’d thought she’d looked like a fae before, but in that dress -- it was simple, exactly what she needed, because she was so small too much decoration would have looked off. It matched her hair, still damp, hanging loose down to her thighs. And those eyes of hers; yes, she was a sprite, albeit a sprite with a foul mouth and a penchant for crawling into small spaces with no forethought.

He could not help smiling at the man’s thoughts, just as he could not help having Thanadir prepare these garments in the hopes that she might have occasion to wear them. That Lorna had obliged him in the manner she did exceeded his hopes. And if he were very lucky, the kitchen staff would not ask too many questions about the soot on the floor. Which reminded him. There was yet time before dinner, and perhaps Ratiri would like to see his rooms.

“May I borrow you for a few minutes, Ratiri? This will not take long.” Thranduil stood up without explanation and gestured to the doorway.

Wondering what on earth, but not feeling as though it would be polite to decline his host’s wishes, he gazed with thinly veiled longing at Lorna, who merely smiled and waved as they left.

Walking though more mazelike passages, they eventually stopped. Ratiri was beginning to wonder how anyone learned their way around here, and whether a Minotaur would appear.

Thranduil shook his head, chuckling, and pushed open the door. “I am aware that at the moment, you have no lodging to call your own. Make of it what you will, but these are your rooms now, if and when and whenever you wish to stay with us. Lorna has her own rooms here as well; they are not in short supply. You may consider anything you find in here to be yours. I understand this is not...usual, for humans to be offered a home, but among our people the basic needs of life are considered to be a right, not a privilege. I realize that it will take you time to learn your way to the Halls as well as through the Halls, but it all makes sense soon enough; Earlene was able to master the path to our rooms by her third visit. And I will tell you the same thing I told Lorna; when you are within the borders of my realm, I am able to hear your mind. The tree at the base of Earlene’s driveway marks the outer edge on that side; so if you to go to her home I will know you are here. Someone will come to walk you here, until you are certain of the path.”

Ratiri blinked at him, unable to conceal his startlement. To be given rooms here, on his first visit...he had no idea what to say. Then again, Thranduil was a telepath; he didn’t need to say anything. “Thank you,” he managed, inadequate though it was. “This is more than I would have ever believed possible. This is…” This was the dream of a lonely boy in a small Scottish village, isolated by his complexion. He was never really bullied -- that waited until Glasgow -- but he was too different. He didn’t play sport; he read, he walked for hours on the moors, in all weathers. His height and strength kept him from being accosted, as well as the fact that his dad was the village doctor: nobody wanted Doc Duncan pissed at them. Mainly, he was alone, and filled that loneliness with books and stories and daydreams. Even his vivid imagination, however, could not have conjured this.

A hand was laid on Ratiri’s shoulder, and he turned his head to see a face filled with understanding. “I will leave you here for just five minutes; I have one brief errand to attend to just down the passage, and then I will return. I thought you might wish to look around; if you have any questions I am happy to answer them but I imagine that rooms are rooms,” he said with a smile.

They were exactly what Ratiri would expect of rooms in the Woodland Realm -- the walls were carved here and there with the delicate silhouette of trees, the fabrics of the furniture rich and soft, embroidered with leaves and branches. The bed, when he tested it, was possibly the softest thing he had ever felt, and thought of returning to Indira’s too-short couch made him wince. The mattress was actually long enough -- he suspected he’d find a great deal in this place was properly sized for him, given Thranduil’s height.

He ran his fingers over one of the carved posters of the bed, wondering how long it had taken some elf to painstakingly etch a delicate garland that crawled all the way up it. To elves, time was immaterial; when you literally had eternity to do it, producing works of immense beauty was likely...not easy, but certainly not so difficult as it would be for a human.

As promised, the King returned when he said he would, and they walked back to his rooms.

******

Thanadir had excused himself to oversee meal preparations, leaving Lorna and Earlene occupied with drying their hair.

“I don’t mind this at all, in fact I love it, but there are days my hair dryer in the cottage has a certain appeal,” she sighed, as she hung her head forward closer to the warmth of the fire.”

“Can’t say I usually bother, but, that makes sense,” replied Lorna, who in truth had never owned a hair dryer. Yet it seemed like the thing to say.

“You know,” Earlene said in a rare moment of mischief, “one of these days we’ve got to get our hands on that wine again. I mean, I don’t want to get us sick or anything but….sure god...I’ve never laughed so hard or felt so good in my life. I’ve never done street drugs but...is it wrong to admit I can’t stop thinking about that stuff? How much harm could it do if we just poured out that same tiny bit, but then had the brains to take it by the drop instead of a shot glass’ worth? I can’t help but think it would be the perfect evening.” She chuckled. “Especially if the right stupid movie were involved.”

“It’s not wrong at all,” Lorna said, tilting her head back a bit. Sitting far enough away from the fire to avoid overheating her hair took some calculation, but she was pretty sure she’d worked it out. Nothing smelled like it was burning, anyway. “I can’t stop thinking about it, either. It’s not just like booze, it’s a bit like weed, and -- well, a few others I’d rather forget I took. I think -- oh, hell, you know what we should watch? Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” It was a great stoner flick; watched while seemingly stoned and drunk was a fantastic idea, she was sure.

“God...that would be so fun,” she giggled. “Well, we’ll both have to keep our eyes out. And even trickier will be to not think about it around Thranduil...who for all we know is hearing this. But...I don’t do it often, but I can keep him out. It isn’t easy, but I’m trying right now. Who knows, maybe he wouldn’t care. Yet somehow I doubt it will be offered again. The trick will be getting him to start drinking it around us while pretending to realize we shouldn’t have it.” Laughing more, she said, “you don’t know until you try. But if we could just make off with even the dregs of a bottle, we’d be golden.”

“If I wanted to be a shite, I could just think in Irish,” Lorna said, and did just that -- though trying to speak in English and think in Irish wasn’t the world’s easiest proposition. It helped that she’d literally grown up speaking both, at least. “How can you do it? Keep him out, I mean? I wouldn’t think a human could manage that.” It might be a useful thing to know -- especially if things progressed with Ratiri at any point. Barraging Thranduil with thoughts of a less than pure nature would be, well, rude, especially since she was certain he didn’t share her admiration of Ratiri’s arse.

“Well, all I can say is if you’re not an expert at it, don’t try, he isn’t stupid. And it’s a kind of meditation I learned long ago, where you practice thinking about nothing. Somehow, if that is at the forefront of your mind, it muddles his ability to hear...but I was also warned, if he truly tries to look, it is impossible to hide from him. We sort of have an agreement...I can have my little games from time to time, but I don’t try to hide important things. And it’s fine; I love him and I don’t really want to.”

Lorna wondered what it would be like, constantly having someone being able to read your mind without being able to read theirs in return. It was one of a very few things she literally couldn’t imagine, even though she’d spent time in the forest. She was pretty sure Thranduil wasn’t in her head nearly as often as he was in Earlene’s, and Earlene lived here all the time, unlike Lorna. “If he knew why I was thinking about it, he’d thank me,” she said, drawing a comb through her hair. “I find Ratiri dead sexy. I’m quite sure Thranduil does not. I really doubt he’d mind if I found a way to...to blank that, every so often. Which, if this goes anywhere, we ought to teach Ratiri, too.” That would probably seem even worse to Thranduil, given that she was something approximating a shit of a little sister. She knew how squicked she’d be, if she couldn’t help overhearing Earlene’s racier thoughts.

“What does he do, though, if you ever get pissed and think something awful?” she asked. “I mean, even with the people I love, I’ve got furious and thought all sorts’v nasty shite that I’d never voice, because I know it would’v hurt them. I’d think that’d be awful for the both’v you, not being able to keep anything apart. I mean, there’ve been times I’ve wanted to rip Mairead’s head off and shit down the hole, but even then there’s things I’d thought that I wouldn’t’ve wanted her to know.” She knew how she’d feel, if she’d had no way to keep those thoughts from Mairead -- and how she’d feel if she was Mairead, and could hear them all.

“Nothing, ever,” said Earlene, surprised. “I...don’t know how much he told you about what his father did to him but I’ll tell you that it had to do with telepathy. It was the worst kind of mental abuse imaginable, in which any wrong thought was held against him. I can’t say more both out of regard for his privacy and for the fact that I’ll smash something because even thinking about it just enrages me, that someone could do that to their own son….” with visible effort, she regained some semblance of composure. “He made it clear that no matter what I ever thought, it would never be held against me. He knows I am a human; however disciplined my mind is on average, it isn’t what an elf can do or be. It would be like….forgive the comparison, it would be like punishing a dog for not being a human. He just would never do that. I have gotten the impression that being a King has meant on some level being like a dad, except to about a zillion people. If you’re a good dad, you know when to step in and you know when to back off. Except for one rough patch at the very beginning, he’s not ever disappointed me.” Then again, she teased, “I’d guess that I am not even capable of thinking some of the colorful things that must cross your mind. I feel like my life was more on the boring side, give or take.”

That wasn’t quite what Lorna had meant. “I wouldn’t’ve even thought’v that,” she said. “I more meant...how can he handle it emotionally? I know if I was Mairead, and could’ve heard some’v the things I thought over the years, it’d hurt like hell. I mean, you deal with it, but it’s not something you forget, right? Christ, you don’t ever really forget even shite you yell at each other, if it’s bad enough.”

“Aahhh, I did not understand your question correctly at all. Oops.” She sighed. “He can handle it. Something happened, recently. I remembered something really ugly from a long time ago. I’d forced myself to forget it but it surfaced again, for lack of better words. He came to me, and part of how he tried to console me involved letting me see inside of his mind. Don’t ask me how he did it; it was very brief. He said that it is incredibly difficult to let a human see into him in that way. I’m still working out how to put that experience into words. How do you process that you are the only human being to have ever seen into the mind of another? But, I can tell you that what I saw there was strength. He has emotional strength beyond anything I could have imagined, and a depth of concern for others that goes with it. I’d hazard to say that Thranduil is the last person on this planet you need to worry about, in that respect.”

Lorna shook her head, ruefully. “He’s forever telling me I haven’t got to worry, but that’s not easy for me. I worry about people. It’s what I do. I blame Gran and Mairead for it mostly, but I sort’v...even when I was a kid, I took care’v my siblings, for all I was the second youngest. It’s just in me. He didn’t give me any details about his da,” she added, drawing the comb through her hair again, “but given that he knows what my da was like, and said that his was much the same, he didn’t need to. I know my da would’ve done, if he’d had telepathy, so I’ve got a pretty good idea what happened to him. My da was a hitter, sometimes out’v bloody nowhere -- none’v us ever wanted him to walk past us, in case he got a wild hair up his arse and decided to backhand one’v us. Didn’t take much guessing to think Thranduil’s was probably the same but worse. At least I had three siblings to divvy it up between; he was the only one.” She had no idea how to even ask just what it must have been like, seeing into Thranduil’s mind; if someone as eloquent as Earlene had a hard time processing it, it had to be indescribable.

She laughed. “I think ‘colorful’ is one way’v putting it,” she said. “He told me my mind was...I think he called it a joy? Something like that. He told me not to be ashamed of the random shite it vomits up, because it’s entertaining. I was so bloody embarrassed every time I thought up some curse word he’d never heard before. But he’s --he’s good at dealing with ugly things from people’s pasts. I felt like shite dumping it on him, but I had him fix my memory’v Liam’s death. I still -- it’s still there, but it doesn’t hurt like it did. I haven’t had the nightmare since then.”

“If it’s anything like what he did for me after my 9/11 issues...then I’m just glad for you. It’s pure poison, what experiences like that can do to a person. I hope I didn’t completely piss off Ratiri with what I said awhile ago, about human medicine...I realized when I walked away how that might have sounded. I was referring to what Thranduil did for me after that because I’ve felt...almost angry in a way...they hand you pills and tell you to talk to people and then it really never makes a difference; you can’t get it out of your head. But Thranduil did, and…I forget Ratiri likely doesn’t know about me. Ugh. Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve put my foot into my mouth. And for the record, I don’t care what you tell him about me. It feels to me like before this grand adventure is over with, we three humans are going to know each other quite well” she snorted.

Lorna wasn’t going to mention that he had looked a bit pissed, until Thranduil clarified. “It was poison,” she said. “Bad enough that I tried repressing it for eleven years, but it came out in my nightmares. I hesitated to drop it on Thranduil because while I know he’s seen all sorts’v awful shite, it might’v given some’v them a run for their money.” She shook her head again, with a crooked smile. “In prison, after I’d killed my da, they sent me to a psychiatrist,” she went on. “The woman wouldn’t leave off, wanting to know why I didn’t feel any guilt even though it was an accident, so I finally bit her. That was the end’v that.”

Earlene laughed. “I met with a few psychiatrists that I wanted to do that to as well. I’m actually a little jealous of that solution. I don’t know what it is about those people but I’ve not met one yet that isn’t a complete goddamn prick. They started at me like I was something on a microscope slide, as if I was in there because I’d asked to feel that way. The only reason I put up with it was because I needed the medicine, and without them I couldn’t get it. Yeah, that was fun,” she muttered. “And you got put away for doing in your sack-of-shite-child-abusing da? Isn’t that fucking typical. In the States...I can’t even read about it anymore. Case after case in which an abused woman kills the jerk in self-defense and then she ends up getting twenty years. It’s a damn travesty.”

“And here I thought it was just the one I’d dealt with,” Lorna said. “I did. Got five years for manslaughter, because I didn’t actually mean to kill him. He was drunk off his arse, I lamped him, and he tripped down the front steps and smashed half his own skull.” She was amazed, just how easily she could speak of this now. “I might’ve got a lighter sentence if I’d lied and said I was sorry, but you’ve seen how crap’v a liar I am. Though if prison did me one good thing, it gave me an education. I’d left school at fourteen, but the prison had a library, so I made up for some’v it. Still can’t handle more than basic maths, but I learned a lot’v history. And Russian, though I got that from my cellmate.”

“I can’t imagine how...frustrating that would feel,” Earlene said. “There is a part of me...this having been a lawyer thing. You don’t go into it because you actually want to do some good in the world, you go into it because you like playing games. That was the appeal of it for me; who is more clever than whom, and the best argument wins. I tried not to let myself think about it over the years, that I’d chosen this profession that was based on a system that was so flawed it wasn’t funny. I could never have gone into criminal law because I think dealing with cases like yours would have sent me over the edge….my life was just a focused mental exercise until I decided to walk away from it. I don’t know, I think I’m still trying to work out what I thought,” she trailed off.

“I have to admit, the fact that I’m Irish isn’t the only reason I’d never’ve sworn fealty,” Lorna said. “I swore after I got out’v prison that nothing and no one would ever control me again. Everything I’ve done since, the life I’d built in Baile, was under my terms and mine alone. Thought’v handing over even the tiniest bit’v my freedom just about gives me hives, thanks to that damned place.” She looked at Earlene. “You know, I’d wondered what would draw someone to law. My only experience was with defense lawyers, and only the young ones seemed to have much heart in it. What did make you decide to walk away from it? -- from the fact that Niamh nearly shit a brick, you must’v worked for an even more prestigious firm than I’d first thought.”

Earlene sighed. “This might not make a ton of sense. And yeah, my marshmallow floated at the top of the cup of cocoa, you might say. ‘Prestigious’ barely covers it; there was nowhere else to go up. I’m fairly sure half my office thought I was entirely mad, to choose what I did; plenty of people wouldn’t want to let go of what I had. But anyway. I liked to run, for exercise, and over the years most of that happened in Central Park. Do you know what an obelisk is?” she asked, not wanting to insult Lorna’s intelligence but realizing that this was not high on everyone’s vocabulary list.

“They’re Egyptian things, yeah?” Lorna said. “Haven’t you got one somewhere over there -- a big, tall white one? Can’t recall what it’s called at the moment.” It looked rather like the Erection at the Intersection, just made of plaster.

“Yeah, those are the things. Ours is called ‘Cleopatra’s Needle,’ at least to New Yorkers. Well, I never could say why, but for every run I ever took I wound up in front of the damn thing, like it was some kind of magnet. I’m probably one of the few people on the planet that managed to memorize all of what’s written on it; there are plaques with translations at the bottom. But anyway. I just had this...thought? epiphany? mad realization? enter my mind one day that I belonged in New York about as much as that obelisk. And I never stopped thinking it, and my mind turned to how I dreamed of living here when I was a kid at gran’s farm and hearing her tell the family stories. It became this obsession that wouldn’t go away. And I realized, I had enough money, I’d already done it all, and maybe there was more that I should be getting out of life than what I was doing. Like I said, I think I’m still working on that one...everything that’s happened to me since coming here has made my plans seem less clear than they were when I made them.”

“Isn’t it weird, the things that can make us pause?” Lorna said. “And sometimes, that pause is all you need to realize you ought to be doing something else. Then you wound up here and got seduced by an elf, and the rest has been history. I know you said you don’t believe things happen for a reason, but I think sometimes we’re just in the right place at the right time for us to think’v something we might otherwise not. If we’re lucky, that turns out well. You ran in Central Park in the right place to see that obelisk; I don’t know how big the park is exactly, but I think it’s big enough that you could’ve easily run elsewhere, right? Sometimes things just...happen, and if our eyes are open, we can do something.”

Earlene chuckled. “The Park is huge, but I’m partial to the big museum, which is close by the obelisk. But, yeah. And maybe that’s another part of it, what you just said. I’m not religious. But then all this happens, and there are the Valar and Eru, and the elves insist they are dead-on real. Not like religions at all, but beings they’ve seen and talked to. Lots of them, not just one or two to where you can chalk it up to delusions and wishful thinking. I’ll confess that while I’m still not really ready to believe in anything like that, it’s got me wondering. And...I need to read so much more. I think the Tolkien books...but I’ve not had time in this rush to learn Sindarin…”

With that, Thranduil returned with Ratiri, announcing that within twenty minutes, Thanadir would bring their meal. He seemed especially enthusiastic about it, though if there was a reason, it went unmentioned. Earlene and Lorna looked at each other and shrugged, as if to say “girl talk over.”

Ratiri had seen much, and had much to think about, but when he looked at Lorna, he forgot most of both. The dress was lovely, but her hair, now dry, looked like liquid silk, the silvery threads glinting in the lamplight. She was tiny and lovely, and he both wanted to touch her and was terrified to.

Lorna, for her part, was feeling suddenly awkward under the weight of his stare. It wasn’t creepy or anything, but it was -- intent. She had a feeling that he was one of those people who gave whatever currently occupied his attention the whole of it, and she wasn’t used to being the whole of anyone’s attention for very long. Neither one of them seemed capable of speech, which even she thought was sadly hilarious.

Earlene decided to risk a query. “Do you have wine that isn’t Elven wine here, Thranduil? It would be nice to have some. Maybe I should get some cases, to keep here?”

Taken aback at the now delicate subject, he considered.”I am not certain, meluieg. And yet there is time, it would be very easy for me to check the wine cellars.”

“You have cellars? Where are those? I took a class on winemaking once, those are all very interesting.” Truthfully, she had. She needed an undergraduate science course for graduation, and had decided to enroll in the very popular enology general ed class. And, the thought was the perfect mask to her real intent.

“You are forgetting your films, meluieg. They are off of the dungeons of course, where it is uniformly cool in the deepest parts of the Halls.”

“Hm” she acknowledged the answer with an interested nod, setting her mind back onto dinner as he left. Only when he was quite some minutes gone did she look at Lorna with a grin that said ‘up to no good.’

Ratiri immediately wondered if he could see them -- he wanted to see the cellar where Bilbo and the dwarves had escaped, because his inner fanboy demanded it. He followed Thranduil, after a question of _Can I go with you?_ This telepathy thing was odd, but he was already deciding it had its uses.

Lorna smirked. If Ratiri knew the way, maybe she could talk him into helping them on their mission -- and, because Ratiri didn’t yet know there was a mission, Thranduil could see nothing in his mind.

Thranduil and Ratiri returned, bearing two sealed bottles of...whatever it was. Earlene paid careful attention to labels on them. “I can read the characters and the number but...what does this mean? How does this work?”

“What do you think it says,” Thranduil asked.

“T. A. 2915” she replied.

“If I tell you that the ‘A’ stands for ‘andrann’, can you guess at the other?” he asked.

 _Oh, nuts_ , she thought. She was supposed to have memorized cardinal and ordinal numbers for her next lesson...what absolute bad luck not to have completed that task. _But...it started with a ‘T’.....crap...min, tâd, that is the only “T” one but….dammit...to make it an ordinal number it chances to...shite...tadui?_ Her teeth clamped down on her lip. “I have to guess tadui andrann (second age) because I cannot be certain,” she confessed sheepishly. “I guess this will teach me not to slack off.”

“Meluieg, that is correct, you did well for being unsure,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. He truthfully was very proud of her.

Relief washed over her. “So that was when it was bottled?”

“Yes, and though you would not have a way of knowing this, bottles are identifiable by region by their style. Each winemaking area with which we traded long ago used a certain kind of bottle, as each area had a certain kind of glassmaking custom. These came from an edain settlement near the sea of Rhûn; we kept a supply for guests that were not elves,” he remembered fondly.

Her eyebrows raised, because she remembered perfectly well the shape and appearance of the elven wine he’d opened, though apparently he’d not brought any with him tonight.

“We may as well have this; I would say they are as aged as necessary at this point,” he said chuckling.

Eyebrows raised further. Human wines of fine vintage could command thousands of dollars for having been aged decades; she’d been privileged to sample some truly costly specimens in her time. This might be extremely interesting, for one who enjoyed wine.

Lorna made idle note of all this, focusing on it only lightly; instead, she kept her mind on Ratiri, and how much she wished she was able to hold his hand without twitching. She wanted to, but she knew she couldn’t, not yet. She thought of him, and of movie night -- Monty Python, here they came. Possibly with coconuts, if she could get hold of any, because they would be utterly perfect. Perhaps, for the day, she would call herself Tim.

Thanadir arrived, bearing a tray that appeared to be so large and heavy that Earlene could not see how he could possibly manage it. If there was less than 30 pounds of food and dinnerware on it, it was news to her. Her polite offer to set the table was politely refused by the seneschal, who asked all of them to please be seated. With efficiency that put a professional butler to shame, he laid out the place settings, managing without a ruler or other measuring stick to set everything down in perfect relation to the other objects. In an amazingly short time, wine was poured, and plates were being filled with what appeared to be an unusually delicious repast. When it was politely permissible for her to do so, Earlene sampled the wine. _Beam me up, Scotty_ , she thought as her eyes widened. “Thranduil, have you any idea how much this would sell for at a fine wine auction? Not that it matters, but after this I don’t know how I can ever open an ordinary bottle for you again.”

Her King did not respond, but merely smiled and laughed. To him the entire notion must just seem silly. Earlene shrugged, determined to enjoy her thousand-dollar-a-sip vintage.

Ratiri was not what one might call a wine connoisseur; he enjoyed a glass every now and again, but he’d rarely bothered with truly fine wines. This, though -- he’d never had anything remotely as good, and suspected he never would again, unless it came from the elves.

This day had been odd, and wondrous, and more than he would have ever dared imagine since he was a child. He was here, and this was real; the halls, the elves, all of it. He could go back to his ordinary, shiftless life, knowing that he could return. There was more out there than he’d thought; wanting to believe had actually paid off. He wondered what other surprises lay in wait, and looked forward to finding them.


	30. Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 24-March 30, 2016
> 
> Dear Readers, in this chapter some epic silliness occurs. If you have somehow not ever seen the films "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" or "The Breakfast Club", large segments of this chapter might not be as much fun to read. Here are some links for your cultural enlightenment, should homework be necessary:
> 
> Monty Python https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVs7QIRYsrc  
> Breakfast Club https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uty34ldE610
> 
> Because it would be wrong, for you to laugh less hard than we did. :-)

The next day, Earlene and Lorna walked ahead of the males by some distance, at which time Earlene elaborated on the concept of aur en onnad, figuring that if nothing else Lorna would learn three new Sindarin words that might be able to stick. Plus the weirdness that elves celebrated conception, but hey, what did it matter when the elleth carried a baby for 12 months? It was as good as a birthday. “And Thranduil’s is March 30,” she said with a smile and a sideways glance.

Lorna put the two pieces of information together with blinding speed. “Party?”

“Yep.”

“Pub?”

“Just my thought exactly.”

“I’m on it,” she grinned.

“Perfect, and I can catch you up with a few other things by email. Today is finally the seed planting for the garden and….” Earlene quickly filled the conversation with drivel so that their thoughts would not attract Thranduil's notice.

Soon, Lorna was motoring back toward Lasg’len. Her new van was still having issues, so she’d borrowed Mick’s again; Aislinn’s own van was done and gone, so she had nothing to worry about.

She’d talk to John later -- she had to meet Shane in Dublin soon, and see if she couldn’t make him shit a brick when he saw what she’d brought him. The little bag rested securely in her coat pocket; it was a bit warm for a coat, but her jeans wouldn’t hold it without looking weird. She was a bit too conscious of what she carried, which meant that her knife was in her other pocket.

Blissfully, she could drive however the hell she pleased for once, so she did precisely that, leaving a number of aggravated and/or terrified motorists in her wake. It meant she reached Shane’s in about half the time it would have taken if she’d had a passenger.

She hadn’t actually seen him since before she’d gone to prison, though they’d spoken on the phone a few times. Though he moonlighted as fencer of things both cheap and expensive, like her, his enduring love was cars. He ran everything out of his mechanic, which looked rather like Mick’s, though less shabby on the inside. It smelled like rubber and metal and motor oil, and she paused a moment to breathe it in.

“You’ve got shorter.”

“Oi, fuck you, too,” Lorna said good-naturedly. Shane hadn’t changed terribly much; there was grey in his dark ponytail, lines on his face that had not been there when last she saw him, but he was still tall, and he hadn’t let himself go physically. “You bloody giant.”

“Not my fault you’re the size’v a goddamn sprite,” he said, and swept her up into a brief hug. “C’mon, let’s talk.”

He led her into his tiny office. He certainly wasn’t dressed like any kind of fencer; he had on the same sort of oil-stained coveralls Lorna and Mick wore at work -- but then, that might well be why he was so successful. He didn’t look like he did what he did.

His desk was somewhat cluttered, and he shoved a few stacks of paper and a half-empty coffee cup out of the way so that she could spread out her gems, lining them up in a row.

Shane stared at them, and at her. He hadn’t wanted to believe the photos she’d sent him; while he knew she’d never lie to him, he also knew she had no idea how to tell a real jewel from paste. But when he picked up a ruby -- Jesus, a seven-carat ruby -- he realized this was in fact legit.

“Lorna,” he said, holding the gem up to the light, “I’ll not ask where you got these, but are you in some kind’v trouble?”

“How stupid d’you think I am?” she retorted. “These’re legit, okay? The people that have them, they’ve had them for a bloody long time, and don’t see the point in sitting on them and letting them gather dust any longer.” That was a slightly mangled metaphor, but whatever.

“How long?” Shane asked, setting the ruby down and picking up a diamond. This one he needed his jeweler’s glass for, yet it appeared disturbingly perfect.

Lorna shrugged. “About four hundred years.”

Four hundred years -- nobody had ever accused Shane of being stupid. If whoever these people were weren’t descended from pirates, he’d be very, very bloody surprised. Either they were, or they’d stolen it all from an actual pirate family (also a possibility, though not overly likely; a pirate family that got robbed was a pirate family that got revenge). “And there’s more?”

“Some,” she said, not willing to give away a damn thing -- not because she distrusted Shane, but because she was having a bit too much fun. “Can you fence it?”

“Some’v it, yeah,” he said, setting down the diamond and picking up another. “If you don’t mind it, I’ll have to get in touch with another fencer. I just don’t know the kind’v people who’d be able -- or willing -- to buy much’v this, let alone more’v it.”

It was disappointing, but Lorna had expected it. “I trust you,” she said. “There’s a higher cut in it for you if you’ve got more contacts up the food chain, so to speak.”

“I do,” he said, “but I don’t want to let them in on the whole’v this yet. I’ll feel one out with this ruby first.”

Lorna snickered. She couldn’t help it. “That’s what she said.”

Shane burst out laughing. “Nice to know you haven’t changed,” he said, shaking his head. “Have you got time to stay?”

“Not long,” she said. “I’ve got work. And yes, it’s legal work,” she added, before he could ask. “I’m a PA for an American lawyer.”

Shane blinked, genuinely nonplussed. “You. A PA. For a _lawyer,_ ” he said. “How the hell did _that_ happen?

Lorna had already come up with the abridged (and technically true) version: “I met her in a pub, and stopped off at her house just while some gobshite delivery man was giving her a hard time. I dealt with him, and now I’m a PA and...and cultural translator.” It was a term she’d made up, but it sounded fancy.

Shane shook his head. “Only you, Lorna. Only you. Don’t get yourself shot.”

“Piss off,” she said fondly. “I’ll come and stay longer when I’ve got a chance.”

She did stop long enough in Dublin to pick up Thranduil a T-shirt, since he’d need a collection: this one was black, with the Enterprise stenciled on it in white, with the words GET IN LOSERS above it, and WE’RE GONNA BOLDLY GO below in the original series’ font. He would love it or hate it, but either way, Earlene would probably laugh.

*****

“It is your aur en onnad, there is a celebration for you at the pub beginning at five o’clock, and you will go. That is, unless you want to no-show on the entire village that is looking forward to feeding you and watching you drink. Your choice, entirely, but I should warn you that Thanadir and I have already agreed to attend. And, if you refuse you will disappoint Lorna, who has planned this party,” Earlene said, grinning from ear to ear at the look of disbelief and initial refusal she had heard from him. “You wished to be involved with the human world, and part of the human world is that we celebrate birthdays. It is no different for you than it would be for anyone else. It is to show the recipient a nice time and allow them to be among friends, and it is an excuse for everyone else to eat fussy food and drink.”

Thanadir was deeply involved with his computer screen and pretended not to hear, but now that she knew him better she did not miss the subtle twitching at the corners of his mouth that betrayed his actual level of amusement at the predicament of his King. Looking away lest she further compromise his co-conspiratorial efforts, she returned her gaze to Thranduil. Walking to him, she reached up on her toes to murmur in his ear. “I made chocolate syrup, for afterward,” ending her sentence with a vivid mental image of the use to which she intended to put it. And truthfully, there was a chef’s squeeze bottle of a very well-made chocolate sauce (the store-bought stuff was unbearable) in her purse. Along with a small, wrapped bundle with a ribbon and bow around it, from her and Thanadir.

“Very well,” he said, half-placated and half-badgered. “Just do not think I have forgotten YOUR aur en onnad, Thanadir,” he said with a smirk.

The seneschal looked at him with eyes that could melt a glacier, so warm and innocent and long-suffering did they look. Earlene could not help but snicker. _So he *does* know what those beautiful orbs are good for, after all_ , she realized. _Elves._

At the appointed hour, the three of them walked to down. Because of their probable final destination in the Halls, she asked if she could wear human clothing to this party, and bring her cloak with her. Thanadir had since provided her with other altered dresses, and she could just as easily wear proper attire once there. _As if attire is going to be necessary in the King’s rooms tonight_ , she mused. Perhaps he would have been less resistant to the entire idea of attending the party if she’d mentioned the custom of Birthday Sex along with it...shrugging her shoulders to herself, she looked up at him.

_Is that a more pleased expression I see on your face, husband?_

_Perhaps_ , he said, as the beautiful blue eyes looked at her with a sideways glance. The most intimidating and charming skill he possessed was to look at others in this manner that could be everything from imperious to highly seductive, without ever moving his proud head a single centimeter. A rumble of humor at her thought moved through him, as he patted her hand that rested on his arm. The light was dimming in the western sky, as crows in the distance fought noisily over a favorite branch in a nearby tree.

******

John at the bar (and Lorna would never, ever be able to think of him that way without humming “is a friend of mine, he gets me my drinks for free” under her breath) wondered why in God’s name the elves would want to come back to the village, after the disaster with Sean.

“Because they know the rest’v us aren’t like that, you eejit,” Lorna said, downing a swallow of something sweet and dark and nameless, something John had brewed himself. “Now, I’ll have the food taken care’v -- I’ll get some baked goodies from Siobhan in Baile, and I called Mairead and asked her to make a cake.”

“Did she make the one we had at the wedding reception?” Bridie asked.

“She did. If she’s feeling generous, she’ll do it again; otherwise, I’ll pay Siobhan extra. She’s near as good with cakes, though not quite so much.” And she made such amazing chocolate buns, which Lorna could now no longer eat. Chocolate syrup had been ruined for her, god dammit.

“We’ll get things going,” Bridie promised. “God knows there’s enough greenery about now, and a few flowers we wouldn’t have to buy from the shop. We can decorate it grand in here.”

“You’re saints, both’v you,” Lorna said. “I’ll be back.”

She’d already phoned Ratiri yesterday; he’d be in Lasg’len by five or so, which was the earliest he could manage. He had work the next day, so he couldn’t linger long, but it would be good for Lasg’len to see him, and him to see it. He’d wanted to know what in God’s name they were to do about presents, and Lorna told him the general plan was to give him fun T-shirts, for when he and Thanadir went out into the world. Ratiri had not quite known what to make of this, but promised to try anyway.

He’d asked her several questions about the elves, but mostly he seemed to be content going over it all himself, and plowing through every single written work Tolkien had ever put out. He read at a rate that left her feeling quite inferior, honestly; even if she did get Thranduil to fix her damn dyslexia, she doubted she’d ever read _that_ fast. He’d got through The Silmarillion in a day and a bloody half, and she suspected it only took that long because he’d been called into work.

When she picked up her cake, Mairead made her promise to take pictures (Lorna suspected this was partly for Niamh’s benefit). Siobhan, naturally, was her cheerfully perverted self, firing off all sorts of questions about both Thranduil and Ratiri, until Lorna threatened to jam a boot up her arse. She got her order of chocolate buns, cherry tarts, a blueberry loaf, and two dozen cupcakes -- half of them chocolate, half vanilla, frosted with Siobhan’s special buttercream frosting, the recipe of which was a completely secret. The elves might have human cooking beat in most respects, but in baking? Not so much, in Lorna’s opinion.

She headed back to Lasg’len, purchases in hand, wondering what exactly the elves would make of this.

*******

Sincerely hoping that this occasion would be free of fiascos, Thranduil held open the pub door for Earlene and Thanadir. Earlene saw the beautiful decorations and knew immediately that Lorna had pulled it off once again, as she asked if the elves wished Guinness (yes) on her way to see John.

“And how has business been?” she asked the bartender with a warm smile as she placed another hundred Euro note in front of him with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t argue with her,” Lorna said, passing by to hand out some buns to whoever was near. “You’ll lose. Trust me.”

“We’ll start with three Guinness, please, John,” Earlene said, determined to financially torment the poor man.

John still looked nervous about it, so she stuck a bun in one of his hands, and the money in the other. “There. Made it easier for you.” The people of Lasg’len, she was sure, would have something of a difficult time with Earlene’s easy generosity, mainly because it wasn’t something that normally happened in real life.

“You people,” he said, shaking his head, but he poured three drafts. “You’ll be the death’v us, this generosity’v yours.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Lorna said. “It doesn’t do any good, so you might as well not.”

“It isn’t generosity if I’m paying you for what I’m buying, silly. Your beer isn’t free, nor are the lights, or the paper in the restrooms. You’re running a business. But if you’re really feeling bad and want to throw a spare pint at me for taking that kitten off your hands, I won’t complain,” she teased mercilessly. “And Lorna, once again you’ve outdone yourself. It looks lovely in here. And pardon me,” she said, grabbing all three glasses in her two hands, “got to get the lads started.” She waltzed away, obviously in fine humor.

Lorna laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll let her know it was you lot,” she said, and it mostly was; she’d just managed to stick a few ferns here and there. The garlands that festooned the pillars were simpler than they’d been for the wedding party, but this had been planned with far more haste. “That kitten is bloody adorable, by the way, even if it does like trying to crawl into my hair.”

“So how does this work, this elf birthday party?” he asked.

“Well, so far as I know it,” Lorna said, making grabby-hands for one of the jars of poitín, “it’s not celebrating birthday, but conception. Elf ladies apparently know right away when they’re up the yard, and an elf pregnancy lasts a year, so they celebrate when they, er, got started.”

“A _year_?” Maire said, appalled. “Christ, just... _no_.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lorna said, knocking back a shot of poitín. The burn, it was beautiful. “I mean, I doubt they get morning sickness as bad as us, but _still_. Walking around with a bowling ball in your gut for that long would be awful.”

Earlene heard the chatter of the women at a slight distance and...wondered. She hadn’t allowed herself a lot of time to think about her niece, Aidan, _everything_. But she just had this feeling, like a train coming down the tracks. There would be no way she could mentally tolerate raising Aidan’s kid as a solo act because it was Aidan’s kid. And that was a crummy thing to say, because she of all people knew that the best thing that could possibly happen would be to get anything with a pulse away from her toxic brother. For all she knew, it was a beautiful child and it certainly hadn’t asked for Aidan to be her parent. And then she’d want a child of her own, because if she was going to be raising a child anyway, she would want one that was not Aidan’s. And all of this seemed so wrong, and yet she knew herself to know that this would be exactly how she would feel. _Maybe it’s not the worst, she thought. Children are conceived all the time for far less noble reasons. Children are conceived all the time for no reason other than wanting an orgasm_ , she reminded herself. _And maybe it is stupid to think about any of this when you’re working off of guesses and a few sentences on a cheap card_. With a sigh, she took a large two swallows of the chocolate colored liquid and tried to see what else had been done around the room.

Ratiri arrived as soon as he could, bearing a rather inexpertly wrapped parcel. He was a bit hesitant to enter this bar sight unseen, because he knew how unwelcome most outsiders could be viewed by some. _Oh well_ , he thought, marching up the steps, _if they’ve got problem with it, it’s not like I sleep here._

The pub wasn’t quite so nice as Jamie’s, but he suspected that was merely because he was so fond of Jamie’s. It had been decorated beautifully, though: strands of garland made of live flowers, some wild, some store-bought, with metal lanterns, currently unlit, hanging from the ceiling. There was also a rather mouth-watering scent of baking, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since noon.

Mercifully, he spotted Lorna -- she was sitting up on a pub stool, so he could actually see her in the crowd. He made his way to her, parcel under his arm, highly relieved.

“I was hoping you’d get here soon,” she said, giving him a smile that nearly rendered him speechless.

“When I’ve got to, I drive like a Glaswegian,” he said, a thing that didn’t sound too inane to him. “Think I might have run someone off the M7 at some point, though.”

Lorna laughed. “If a person lets themselves get run off the M7, they’ve only got themselves to blame. C’mon, let’s go say hi.” He noted that she came close to touching his arm, but hesitated, and he wondered why. Not wanting to be touched was one thing, but why not touch someone if you (apparently) wanted to? He’d ask Thranduil, except Thranduil seemed pretty intent on respecting everyone’s privacy. So long as he wasn’t accidentally doing anything that would drive her off, he wouldn’t worry.

Earlene caught the almost-contact between Lorna and Ratiri and rolled her eyes. _And I thought I was bad_ , she mused. While in a million years she never would have dared approached Thranduil on her own, had them meeting each other normally somehow been an option, she blushed to remember the lack of time necessary (had it taken her even two seconds?) to accept that hand once it was held out to her. She wondered, had anyone ever tried to hit on her? Or was she oblivious, back then? It stood to reason that for a long time after 9/11, she was closed off tighter than Fort Knox but years later... _If I were to guess, I probably radiated untouchability. The job, my position, everything...when could there possibly have been time for a man, even if I would have been open to the idea of one?_ Shrugging her shoulders was followed by taking a generous swallow of ale; she was never going to know. But these two...it was so screamingly obvious they wanted each other and neither one of them had the nerve to make the first move, however tiny. And yet, it was Lorna. Earlene really had no idea how to help, or if she should; her tiny friend struck her as someone who could respond very badly to...interference. For the time being, she’d curb her impulses to shove them into each other. Or so she hoped.

Lorna ran into Bridie along the way, and introduced her and Ratiri to each other; she wound up glad Bridie was married, because she gave him a look of cheerfully open appraisal, and gave Lorna an entirely unsubtle thumb’s-up behind Ratiri’s back when they passed. It was all Lorna could do not to facepalm.

“Hi, Earlene,” he said, when they reached her. He didn’t think he sounded too nervous -- and honestly, he wasn’t. Yes, he was the lone Scot, but he was in a pub with an American and, oh yes, elves. “Lorna said we were bringing gifts?” He held up his parcel, not wanting to say what it was aloud, for he knew just how keen elven hearing was. There was no point spoiling the surprise -- though honestly, Thranduil would know anyway. Dammit.

“Riiiiight,” Earlene said brightly, fishing in her bag for her own little parcel. She’d done a solidly mediocre job on the wrapping, having only a copy of a local newspaper from Baile (‘newspaper’ being a generous term for the publication) with which to wrap it, but she managed, and Thanadir had extra ribbon and a gift for the clever tying of bows. As these were all basically useful gag gifts, she didn’t mind in the least. Had she had time, she would have shopped in the thrift store for them. “Lorna, is the cake out? I thought we could put whatever presents showed up near it.”

“I can get it out,” Lorna said. “John didn’t want to leave it where anyone could steal any before it was time. Where’s our birthday boy?” she asked, ignoring the fact that such a title was totally wrong on Thranduil.

Earlene giggled, loving every moment of this, and nonchalantly pointed to the corner drinking ale.

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “Yeah, that’s no good,” she said. “C’mon, Ratiri. You and I are going to get that cake, and we’re going to park it in front of him, and he’s going to be the center of _everyone’s_ attention.” Hey, he’d made her wear a dress. It was fair game.

“Is that a good idea?” Ratiri asked, clearly a bit dubious.

Lorna grinned, just a touch wolfishly. “Oh yes.” She led him back to the kitchens, where Mairead’s cake resided in a cardboard carton. She took the lid off and revealed a cake frosted beautifully with green icing, blades of grass picked out here and there with a toothpick. “She didn’t have time for trees, but a field’v grass’ll do.” The thing wasn’t quite the same size as the wedding cake, but it was close. It had been agreed earlier that three modestly sized green candles would be all that were used, since a cake the size of the entire pub would still be unable to hold the right amount of candles for this occasion.

She bore it out into the main room, Ratiri going before her to part the way. “You,” she said, when she reached the table, “need to cut this cake. Everyone, get over here while Thranduil cuts cake.” She didn’t actually smirk at him, but she didn’t need to; he’d got her with the ovens, so now it was her turn.

Earlene whispered quickly to Lorna who nodded, before they broke out into “Lá breithe shona duit” (Happy Birthday to You). Earlene hoped like hell she’d remembered how Google claimed the words were pronounced. It must have been half-baked recognizable, because soon the entire pub joined in. Thranduil looked completely baffled as Earlene telepathically explained to him the custom of wishing for something privately, and then blowing out all the lit candles once the brief song was concluded. She almost lost both the song words and her train of thought when Thanadir began laughing. This party had already exceeded her expectations, and it had hardly begun.

No sooner had the Elvenking navigated this cultural hurdle than someone from the back yelled “Speech! Speech!” and Earlene again explained silently what was wanted.

Thranduil rose, smiling; at least he appeared to be a good sport about it. “Thank you, to everyone. We have had some interesting experiences in your world, since venturing out a little more since last we saw you. But I want you all to know that no other place has felt as welcoming, or as much like home as when we can be with those of you here. Your kindness in doing this for me is very much appreciated.” He raised his drink amidst much applause and clinking of ale glasses.

 _Damn, that was a good speech_ , Earlene had to admit.

Lorna, however, heard a different speech in her mind. _If it is the last thing I do, I will find out your birthday, mellonenin dithen._

Well.. _.shit. But it is not my birthday_ , she said, arching an eyebrow ever so faintly. _You’re the center of everyone’s attention. Good speech, though._ She tipped him a vague salute, and John headed over to hand her both knife and cake-server.

Ratiri brought a large stack of paper plates, and Lorna, taking a bit of pity on Thranduil, didn’t cut him a slice that was overly large; Mairead’s cakes were very tasty, but he really didn’t seem to want more than moderate amounts of sweet things all at once. _You can’t say I never did anything for you_ , she said, placing a plastic fork on the plate before handing it to him.

John and Ratiri between them managed to get something of a line going, while the ladies of the Quilting Circle kept it tidy with a judicious application of canes and, in Mallaidh’s case, cursing. Orla, fairly bouncing in her shoes, darted around the line and stared solemnly up at Thranduil, the fingers of her left hand in her mouth; her right, clutching a gift wrapped up in construction paper, was held behind her back. She removed them just long enough to say, “How old are you? Because I know you’re not three. Grown-ups aren’t three.”

“Ah!” he said, bending down close to her. “I am older than three. But I cannot tell you how old I am.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he cupped his hand near her ear. “Do you see that other elf over there?” he pointed at Thanadir. Orla nodded solemnly. “He says elves aren’t allowed to say their age, and I’ll get in big trouble if I tell you. But I can tell you, because you’re my special friend, that I’m older than thirty. Shhh!”

With eyes as wide as saucers, the child began to skip away gleefully, before remembering that she had a present for him. Rushing back up to the King, she shyly put her little package in his hand, blurting out in a rush of words “Imadethisforyouhappybirthday” before darting back off across the pub. Flummoxed, Thranduil looked at the little brightly colored bundle, and Earlene explained that people were often given gifts on their birthdays from friends and family. The entire display was about the cutest thing she’d ever seen, and thanks to the attentions of the quilting club, Thanadir had seemingly been none the wiser concerning the latest besmirching of his character.

That...really was the cutest thing Bridie had ever seen. Orla hadn’t had much time to make something, but she’d been adamant about it, and even made the wrapping herself. She ran up and wrapped her arms around her mother’s leg.

“I did it,” she stage-whispered.

“I know,” Bridie said. “And you did it very well. Now come get in line so we can get some’v that cake.”

Go she did, joining the queue, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. It was weird to see the grown-ups so excited, like it was a holiday or something. Well, a holiday that wasn’t just a birthday.

Ratiri stood just a little ways back, watching for now. Watching was what he did; he surveyed who and what was around him before jumping to conclusions, or into actions that might blow up in his face. Lasg’len reminded him much of Baile, but not quite so...rowdy. They were welcoming enough to him, pressing a pint into his hand and trying to direct him at the nibbles set out for after the cake.

Watching Thanadir was a little more entertaining than it probably ought to be: he had the old ladies of the Quilting Circle around him like some kind of very chatty honor guard. One of them had a liberal second jumper of luxurious white cat hair atop her actual red one.

“And none’v them have pinched his cheek,” Lorna said, honestly impressed. She’d been sure one would have broken down and gone for it by now, warning or no warning.

“Why would they?” Ratiri asked, mystified.

Lorna laughed. “He’s got a face old ladies would love to pinch,” she said. “I was terrified it’d happen when he and Earlene went to a meeting, but I guess not. I wonder if he knows he’s got them hanging off his every word?”

Ratiri wasn’t sure. Unlike Thranduil, he didn’t seem to read minds without effort; if he couldn’t do that, just how adept would he be at reading humans who weren’t Earlene or Lorna?

Mick, bearing a pint himself, sidled up. “Lorna, what’s this about elves being pregnant a year?”

She eyed him. “Why in God’s name would you care?”

“Because...it seems a bit wrong, doesn’t it?”

Lorna snorted. “To us, maybe. Not to them. And elves are a lot healthier than us just by nature, so I’d imagine elf ladies don’t have the same shitty pregnancies we do.” Though...that was a good point. She’d heard Earlene say she was thinking about a kid; would she have a human-length pregnancy, or an elven, or something in between? Probably something Ratiri ought to ask, since he actually knew all the terms, but she wasn’t about to say so with Mick around. “Mick, this is Ratiri. Ratiri, Mick.”

Their “Good to meet you’s” were almost in stereo, and she grinned into her mug. Ease him in as she’d been eased in, and go from there.

“How’s that arm coming along, Mick?” Earlene broke in cheerfully. “Lorna’s not been beating on you, has she?” It amused her to no end that the cast she’d seen weeks ago had slowly become lost in color (Had the wrapping been blue to start with?) to steady layers of automotive grease. “I wanted to thank you too, for how much use of your van we’ve had lately...it’s been appreciated, and Lorna is such a safe driver!” Earlene knew perfectly well that if no other comment she made could generate consternation, that this quip should get a rise out of Mick.

“Beating?” Mick said, eying his cast. “No, not beating. Cleaning, though….” He burst out laughing at the accusation that Lorna was anything remotely approaching a safe driver. The woman herself inhaled Guinness-foam, choking like a dying carp. “If you’ve managed to get her to drive safely, I’ll nominate you for Pope my own bloody self.”

“You --” _hack_ “--Mick, I’ll--” _wheeze_ “--get you.” Ratiri thumped Lorna on the back a few times. “You just wait, Mick,” she warned, “I’ll get you out to Dublin sometime, and you’ll be trying not to piss yourself the whole way.”

“Ireland is certainly very...Irish,” Ratiri said, looking down at her. That, at least, was not something he thought sounded utterly asinine, because it was patently true.

Lorna grinned up at him. “Oh, you’ve no idea yet, mate. Earlene, she’s been here long enough that she’s getting an idea.”

“How long did it take?” he asked, looking at her.

“Eh, maybe five days,” she joked. “I had an Irish gran, it isn’t like all this is completely news to me. And Mick, I’ll be expecting my Pope hat when you’ve got a minute, because Lorna hasn’t made me so much as flinch when she’s driven us around. Though, I’ll wager she’s drunk a lot extra once she got home again to make up for it.” Earlene did not often tease Lorna, but it was very hard to resist, just now.

Lorna, still coughing a little, laughed. “That I have, actually,” she said, not about to mention the telepathic Xanax Thranduil had given her on the way to Dublin. “I’d not put you and Thanadir through my driving, though I’m not a hundred percent convinced Thranduil wouldn’t actually enjoy it.”

“Likes taking his life in his hands?” Mick asked, genuinely curious. Lorna poked him in the side.

“Hush, you. If he ever asks, I’ll take him out. There’s something about doing a hundred and twenty down the motorway….”

“I wouldn’t think you could get away with that here,” Ratiri said, surprised. “I managed ninety on my way back from Dublin, when I bought my car, but I wouldn’t think you could get away with 120 even in the middle of the night.”

Okay, Lorna had quite liked this man, but now she thought she might just love him. A driver after her own heart. She hoped Thranduil wasn’t paying attention, because he’d never let her live it down.

“Bloody made for each other,” Mick muttered into his mug. Lorna didn’t kick him, but only because she was feeling benevolent.

Orla had found her way back to the Elvenking, and was currently occupied with telling him how she’d learned geometric shapes and demonstrating that she knew how to tie her shoelaces, from her new perch on his knee. And as she had an attentive audience, no end to her chatter was in sight. Bridie noticed from across the room and came to find her daughter. “Orla, come along now, Thranduil won’t be able to open your present if you don’t let him get to it.” Delighted at the thought, Orla quickly jettisoned herself off of his lap and began jumping up and down in a sort of imaginary hopscotch around the pub floor, so great was her excitement. “Open mine! Open mine!” was heard by all in the high-pitched little voice.

Thranduil was trying to not look astonished as families and individuals laid wrapped items on the table at which he and Thanadir sat. He had not expected this, and was truly touched...and curious. What in the world would the mortals give him? As Orla was not to be denied, he picked up her brightly wrapped package first, hearing from Earlene that tearing the paper was expected and permissible. Teasing the child, he made a very slow production of it. “You’re not doing it fast enough!” Orla protested, much to Bridie’s chagrin. Clearly she could take no more, so he tore off all the wrapping to reveal a….Earlene’s hand flew to her mouth as she tried to keep from laughing. Thranduil held it up, painted popsicle sticks with bells hanging off of it. “It’s a wind chime!!” the little girl blurted out in her uncontainable enthusiasm.

“You made this?” Thranduil asked with a suitable look of wonder and gratitude on his face, as Orla eagerly nodded. He shook it gently, so that the tiny bells rang, to giggles from Orla. No adult there missed how kind he was to the little girl. “I shall treasure it,” he said. “It will be on my favorite tree, so that I can listen to it in the wind!” Only then did he carefully pass it to Thanadir for safekeeping. Satisfied, Orla at last skipped away to see what food she might sneak while no one was looking.

Jesus, that was the cutest thing Lorna had ever seen. Mick, fumbling the box with his one good hand, set it down before Thranduil. The wrap-job was crude, but given that he only had one working hand, that was understandable. The elves would be so hard to shop for that she couldn’t imagine what he’d got them.

“You might find that useful,” Mick said. “Or at least, fun.”

Thranduil thanked him and opened the box, which declared it to be a battery/solar operated radio. He knew the word but the device baffled him.

“Damn that’s clever, Mick. Doesn’t need electricity to run, and dead useful,” exclaimed Earlene as she silently explained to her husband, whose face transformed into one of increasing eagerness as he thanked the man for his thoughtfulness.

Next came Earlene’s gift. “You need some more things to wear that are very ordinary for humans, so you can blame me for receiving some of these items,” she said, doing her level best to think about bricks while he opened it. He grinned up at her, knowing what she was doing to hide her gift from him. He pulled out...cloth; it was some kind of garment. With a baffling image of some kind on the front of it. “That is called a t-shirt,” she said. “And that is a picture of an art sculpture that depicts the Irish hero Fionn Mac Cool and his hound dogs.” She looked at the room. “Did we ever explain that since we can’t really use their names outside of Lasg’len, we chose Fionn for Thranduil and Cian for Thanadir?…”

This was met with what seemed like general approval, if the nodding of the heads was any indication.

Lorna and Ratiri set down their parcels next, each hoping they hadn’t somehow got the same thing. He looked at them both with bottomless amusement, surprised at just how much he enjoyed this feeling of curiosity coupled with hopeful expectation. Just because he suspected it would annoy Lorna a little more, he chose Ratiri’s gift first; another t- shirt...but what in Arda…? “A map of Ennor?” he asked, somewhat in disbelief to see what he considered to be a drawing from his ancient history on a garment. “How do I put one of these on?” he asked Earlene. As he was wearing the simplest white tunic that was also reasonably fitted, she assisted him to pull it over his current clothing. He looked down happily at his shirt, and then smiled up at Ratiri with sincere thanks. “And now Lorna’s…” should I be afraid?” he teased.

Ratiri was inordinately pleased; he’d hoped Thranduil would like it. He wondered if the elves had any idea just how popular the stories of them were, and had been for half a century. Maybe -- oh. Oh. He had no idea how well this would go over, so he wouldn’t mention it yet, but Comic Con. _Comic Con_.

Lorna snapped a few pictures of Thranduil with her mobile. She’d already decided she was going to make two scrapbooks, one for her and one for them. _Don’t be afraid_ , she assured him. _It’s not too weird._

He opened his package and…”Oh my,” he said, as he held it up to look at what it said. Thanadir burst into laughter, harder than anything yet seen from him. Thranduil turned it around for public viewing. “We have been watching Star Trek, and it would seem that Lorna wishes us to never forget it.” Earlene joined Thanadir in openly laughing...this one was never going to be forgotten. “Thank you, Lorna,” he said with a grin, already forming ideas of what he would gift her with on her own occasion.

The next was from Rory, another t-shirt; laughter went up all around when the Guinness logo was revealed. Truthfully, the black color looked very good against his skin, Earlene thought. John gave poítin, Jack and Bridie a t-shirt with a distinctly local flair: “Lasg’len, est. 1658.” Everyone laughed at Thranduil’s response, as he held it up: “That was a good year,” he joked. Lastly, the quilting club presented a truly beautiful medium sized decorative pillow with a pattern of a tree. Thanadir could not wait to look at it, poring over the stitches. Earlene guessed that this had been either a work already in progress or a completed project with which they were willing to part; having seen what was involved she knew that there was no means by which this had been done in just five days.

The cake was eaten with an unseemly speed that might have made Thanadir wince, but Lorna wasn’t surprised; it was a Mairead cake, after all. She nursed another pint, and glanced at Ratiri. “Where’d you find that shirt?” she asked. “It’s brilliant. He thought so, too.”

“Amazon,” Ratiri said. He had a slight smear of green frosting on his upper lip, and it was all she could do not to wipe it away. “I don’t know that he and Thanadir properly understand how huge Tolkien’s works are, but I mean to keep giving them little things. As long as they don’t have anything to do with Mordor on them, anyway,” he amended. “I doubt that would be a reminder anyone would want.”

“Probably not,” Lorna concurred. She snapped another pic of Thranduil, just because she found it so hilarious. “I don’t know that they know what they have in you yet.” She wasn’t sure that _she_ knew, but instinct was instinct.

Thranduil thanked everyone again at what he hoped was sufficient volume, though it was obvious even to him that cake and the next round of drinks were of far greater interest. And as real food began to be uncovered, he perked up more. Quite a few assorted savory treats were appearing on the tables, and soon enough he was tucked away with more ale and a plate full of both pub fare and homemade delicacies. _Earlene had been right, this was a very nice occasion...if it held together_ , he thought, recalling from last time that it was not over yet. When it appeared to him that the mortals had all taken some food, he then prodded his seneschal to leave off staring at the stitch patterns on the pillow and go feed himself. Earlene was mingling around the room, but returning back to him every so often, beaming at how content he appeared to be and kissing him on the cheek.

Lorna, feeling quite mellow now, drew Ratiri around, introducing him. It didn’t matter that she’d been in Lasg’len less than a month; she’d been absorbed into the elves, which was good enough for the village. It meant that Ratiri was welcomed, too -- and, Lorna noted, an object of some fascination for the village’s young, single women. Fortunately, he seemed somewhat disturbed by the attention, and stuck to her side. _How_ could someone so attractive be so awkward? It was adorable as hell, but it baffled her. Not that she at all minded, because she was, well, her.

“Will we be seeing much’v you?” John asked, leaning against the bar.

“Some,” Ratiri said, “when I’ve not got work. I’m one’v the doctors in Baile, so I’m not exactly free to just come and go whenever.”

“Neither was Lorna, at first,” John said. “Somehow, things find a way’v working.”

Lorna had no idea what the hell that was supposed to mean, and was just buzzed enough that she didn’t care. She did, however, keep an eye on Ratiri; he had to drive home, after all. But he was Scottish, and a doctor, and she had little doubt he knew his limits far better than she did.

Ratiri, looking at one of the old women who stood clustered around Thanadir, turned to John. “Why does that women have half a white jumper?” he asked.

John snorted. “Mary? She’s got three giant fluffballs she calls cats, which she spoils rotten. It’s not safe to sit on any’v her furniture.”

Earlene and Thanadir hadn’t looked overly fuzzed when they came from their meeting, but there was still some. “You know,” Lorna said, “years ago, I heard about this woman in America. If you brought her a garbage bag filled with your cat’s fur, she’d spin it into yarn and knit a sweater for you. I wonder if Mary’s ever heard’v her.”

“No,” John said. “Don’t you bloody dare.”

“C’mon, Ratiri,” Lorna said. “Let’s go cause some trouble.”

The great thing about having such a tall companion was that it was quite easy to cross the room. She wanted to take his hand, she did, but she just couldn’t do it yet. Mary stood near Thanadir, and Lorna didn’t need telepathy to know she was desperately resisting cheek-pinching. “So, Mary,” Lorna said. “Have you ever given any thought to knitting cat fuzz?”

Ratiri managed not to laugh -- barely. He glanced at Thanadir, shrugging.

Mary looked mildly indignant at the suggestion that Hunnie Bunnie, Droopie and Wobbles would be party to any such action. “I think not,” she said frostily, before giving Thanadir one last look of mild longing while promising to see him at the next meeting. To hear that he’d actually been making quilt squares exceeded her wildest h0pes for the elf. Swiftly returning to the rest of the gaggle of quilters, she continued her gossip. It involved struggle, but Earlene kept a straight face. They all lingered a bit longer, and Earlene decided that she would indulge in an extra half-pint, dumping the extra portion that would have sent her beyond the point of wisdom into Thranduil’s glass. Earlene had gone rooting around for an empty wine box, and discreetly gathered up her husband’s gifts into an orderly arrangement, carefully placing little Orla’s wind chime on top. Thanks were given, and good luck’s said, and the three of them stepped out into the night. It had been determined that Lorna would return to the Halls with them, but Earlene and the ellyn waited outdoors to give her a private moment (or as private as possible, in a village pub) with Ratiri.

“Come back, when you can,” Lorna said. “You’ll just get deeper and deeper down this rabbit hole, and it’s brilliant.”

“You’d have a job keeping me away,” Ratiri said, smirking a little. “Not now, after all I’ve seen.”

Lorna was just drunk enough that she hesitated. There was such _happiness_ in his grey eyes, a delight she understood all too well. Without pausing to think, she rose on her tiptoes -- and it was on the very _tips_ of her tiptoes; god damn he was tall -- and kissed him on the cheek, before taking off out into the evening air.

Ratiri watched her go, too stunned and too pleased to move right away. He stood for several minutes, unwilling to move yet, taking in the pub, the people...down the rabbit hole was right.

Thranduil was going to know what Lorna had done, and she did not care. Let him tease her.

*****

The expected ribbing did not come. Thanadir held back and offered Lorna his arm, as Thranduil had already walked on with Earlene and was several feet ahead. And yet by the time they entered the woods, they were all together. Lorna had never seen this route, Earlene knew, and she recalled what the few other walks like this had been; pure magic. Her hopes were fulfilled when shortly after they passed into the woods and beyond the strange carven stone that marked its border, Thanadir began to sing. Whether it was a trick on her mortal mind, an enchantment of the woods, or that she now had a better understanding of their tongue she did not know, but everything around her seemed more...real. The stars overhead appeared to grow in size, the trees struck her as being alive with a brooding and ancient presence, and the night air became a fluid medium that parted before them. Thranduil’s rich baritone joined Thanadir’s deep tenor, and Lorna looked up to see that the elves’ skin really did faintly glow with an ethereal sheen; she’d poked fun at the idea, but she couldn’t now. She hadn’t seen the inside of a church much in her life, but they looked a bit like what she’d always been told angels would. They were _real_ , though, something that stood before her, doing she didn’t know what. Even had she been more eloquent, she still might not have words for it. Earlene had no idea how long they walked but she wished it would have lasted longer. Something about this short passage with the elves pulled her heart to them in a way that she could not explain. No wonder she felt confused half the time; the draw of these beings who had claimed her for their own was irresistibly strong...at least to her. The only thing she could say with assuredness is that she had not wanted this transit of the forest to end.

It was late, and they went their separate ways to their rooms. Earlene shot Lorna a very meaningful wink and a nod. Operation Monty, all week in the planning, was underway.

It was all Lorna could do not to laugh; she might have, if not for the lingering effect of whatever the hell the elves had done. She’d know they had magic, she’d seen it, but that -- that had been new. It made her kick her boots off, lay on her bed, and stare at the canopy, enjoying the criminally soft mattress. What else could they do, the elves?

It was a thought she’d entertain later. She’d kissed Ratiri -- on the cheek, but still. She’d done it. The thought made her smile sleepily, curling up atop the beautiful covers. Hopefully Earlene would keep Thranduil busy for a while, much as the thought squicked her; she needed a nap.

******

Earlene had spent a few days pondering and planning for this night. He had always taken the lead in their intimate life, being the experienced one. But being the dedicated learner that she was, her laptop accompanied her outside the forest one afternoon when the ellyn had been gone. Her wifi signal still made it over there, and she had more than an hour to read and digest every technique for pleasuring a male known to science. Or rather, known to American magazines that focused on this sort of thing. And as it was all far more than she’d ever known about, she at least had a laundry list of possibilities to try. Not to mention, there was the chocolate syrup, which could actually play into some of what she’d read (though, every article indicated it was an “apply and lick off” kind of routine; elven healing or not, she was not about to invite a yeast infection, thank you very much). Personally she thought it was silly since his body tasted far better on its own, but, whatever. Ever since he’d passed within range of Siobhan’s brainwaves in Baile, he’d been fascinated by the idea, and it wasn’t as though she disliked chocolate.

What had been hardest of all was keeping her mind in such a state as to obfuscate her intentions; it was terribly challenging to surprise someone who already knew everything one thought. But, she’d tried. So when they arrived in their blessedly warm rooms (who dealt with this fireplace, and how did they know when to light it?), the first thing she did was wordlessly spread one of the very large bath towels on top of the bed. There had been enough time to order some supplies, too. Silicone lubricant (which felt amazing when she’d placed a few drops on herself by way of a test drive) and massage oil; simple yet high-quality products that seemed to command wide-ranging enthusiasm. He was a sensual person, and she hoped she could give him a sensual evening.

The first time around, she went straight for the syrup, guessing that he’d lived in anticipation of this for awhile. And she decided to try to combine it with a massage and something that the articles insisted would “drive him wild”. Apparently there was a gland inside of him capable of generating a great deal of pleasure, and there were two ways to get at it. One, she knew she was not yet ready for; that involved delving into an orifice that she honestly was not sure he would be comfortable with even if she could be. So, scrap that. But apparently if she could successfully press into and massage the area behind his family jewels, much the same thing would be accomplished; that was something she was willing to try.

When she insisted he lie down on the towel after she had slowly and teasingly divested him of his clothing, he did not seem inclined to protest. First were kisses, and then an oh-so-brief test drive of all these allegedly erogenous areas. Lower lip (meh), over the thyroid gland (he loved it), nipples (happy, but how happy?--who knew), and by then she was already on her way to the southern hemisphere.

She made her best visual show of applying the syrup to him in decorative patterns before using only her left hand (because something had to stay clean) to stroke him several times with it, while somehow managing to leave most of it on him. She’d made the syrup from high quality dark chocolate, rich in flavor but not so sweet, and traced some along his lip. When he enthusiastically grabbed her hand and began licking it clean, she felt that was a win-win; now she did not have to bother with it and could attend to the rest of him (Plus, now she knew he liked dark chocolate). Gently and erotically, she did not stop until every bit of it was gone, and then she kept on. Pouring quite a generous amount of the massage oil into her hand, and holding onto it until she reasoned it was warm enough, she drizzled it languidly below his manhood. His thighs, his twins; a leg was lifted just so she could get to his incredibly firm and shapely rear. And while her mouth was busy with his manhood, her right hand roamed just about everywhere south of it. Caressing, teasing, testing. Trying to not be obvious, she finally swept her thumb a little more firmly over this alleged spot of wonder, and elicited enough of a moan from him that she decided the article might have been right.

Oh, how she delayed him! Nothing was done quickly, even though his rising heat was obvious. As the minutes passed, she returned to that little gland more often. Sometimes she used her knuckle and sometimes her thumb; but it was always slow, always careful. Eventually he was glassy eyed, writhing beneath her. She’d not imagined she could...control him, like this. It was incredibly erotic for her, to watch his response; and then she went to work in earnest. Her thumb no longer left its commanding position on the slickly oiled skin, as she forced him to rock between that sweet pressure that jolted him with pleasure and her warm, soft mouth that claimed his manhood. His hands grabbed at the bed coverings as he moaned for relief until finally, his body could take no more and tumbled over the edge. If how loudly he yelled her name as his seed burst into her mouth was any indication, she’d succeeded wildly. While he rested, she turned him onto his belly and massaged him, spending a great deal of the time between his waist and his knees. It was a foregone conclusion that he would know she was unsatisfied and eventually do something about it. During their second encounter she relinquished all control to him, taking the opportunity to do a longer test drive on some of those other magazine recommendations. The towel was tossed aside in favor of going under the warm covers; she did everything she knew how to heighten his enjoyment as he strained within her to reach another climax. She really had intended to offer him yet more, but he fell asleep shortly after he left her very satisfied body. His face looked like Eros himself must have been imagined as he slept, lips slightly parted. “Happy aur en onnad, my love,” she whispered, while she watched.

Earlene waited and waited, on some level not believing she was about to engage in this completely teenage stunt. And yet the minor thrill (not to mention the sheer ridiculousness) of the idea, coupled with the belief that she was not really doing anything wrong, drove her on. When minutes had passed of his steady and deep breathing and he did not move, she became fully convinced he was asleep. Dressing in a warm woolen tunic and leggings, she added her cloak and found leather slippers that should allow for walking silently. She might not be a ballet dancer, but she was no klutz either. On her way out, she gathered some apples and some dried fruits that she found into a cloth; it might be a good idea to have some kind of food for this escapade.

Raising her hood so that if she was casually seen it would not be totally obvious that one of the humans was loose, she padded noiselessly to Lorna’s rooms. As agreed on, she entered and deposited the fruit on the little table. Earlene spoke her name until she woke. “Lorna!” Though with anyone else she would gently shake the person, she valued her skeleton. She really did feel a little sorry for her friend. While she herself did not exactly like to hug random strangers, Lorna obviously dreaded most human contact to a very strong degree. But, that was a personal thing, and not her business. “Lorna!!” she hissed a little louder.

Lorna jerked awake, flailing a little. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but her head had cleared, for the most part. “We good to go?” she asked, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and hopping off. Her boots would be no good at all for this, but she had elf-shoes, and God know what else -- she was pretty sure that every time Thanadir found something that fit, he stuffed it into her closet. Fortunately, some of it was practical, not dresses -- tunics, and something that seemed somewhere between tunic and dress, a dark green wool-type fabric. It was this that she snagged, pulling off her current, modern tunic (she had a vest-top underneath, so she wasn’t exactly concerned) and pulled on the other one. Why? She had some hazy idea of camouflage. Maybe she was still a bit drunker than she thought.

“You’ve got your phone and it has a flashlight app?” Earlene double checked and saw her nod.“You might want to get a cloak, if there’s one in there...it’s cold down there even midday. And...Lorna, you realize we are going through the dungeons to get there? I think they are actually kind of nice, I go there to be alone with my thoughts sometimes...but I know how you might feel about…cells, and stuff…” she asked hesitantly, wondering why in hell she couldn’t have managed to think about this sooner than right now. She could go on her own, if need be.

Lorna twitched. The thought was not a pleasant one -- at all -- but in pursuit of that heavenly wine, she could suck it up and deal with it. “I’m good,” she said, tapping her phone’s flashlight on and pulling on her cloak. How in God’s name could anyone think cells were nice? But then, Earlene had never been stuck in one. “It’s all for a good cause.”

“OK. But if you get too, I don’t know, creeped out, just tell me. I could go in alone if need be, it’s just more fun to cause trouble in pairs.” Leading the way, they crossed through the deserted throne area, and along the elevated paths toward the Gates. What Earlene didn’t know were the other means by which to reach her destination, so she had to rely on the ways she already could navigate. Turning at the Gates, they took the next path, downward. As always, an orange-y glow lightly faintly illuminated everything (very handy, that!) and they trailed down until they reached the first of the cells. They all looked a bit alike to her, though she’d not test driven any but her favorite one. She was not sure what it said about her, that she found some weird solace in this place. Maybe it was just the idea that no one else had any reason or motivation to come here. Zero. Zilch. And her time here just hadn’t bothered her, both voluntary and involuntary. In fact her last interlude had left a rather favorable final impression...shaking off these silly thoughts, she remonstrated with herself: _Focus_.

Lorna, for her part, was having a harder time than she’d anticipated. No, the decor was nothing like the prison she’d been in -- this was much prettier -- but cells were cells, and bars were bars, and she shuddered, unable to help it. Yes, she’d got out of prison nearly fifteen years ago, but she still dreamt of it sometimes, and now there were doors, and bars, and locks, and she needed to be out of here in a hurry.

Turning off at the point Earlene believed Thranduil had been describing, she found another door a short way down another passage, and tested it. There was no lock. Pulling it open, she peeked in. “Sweet Baby Jesus,” she uttered. It was very dim; they would need at least a little more light, but there were stores of wine here beyond anything she could have imagined. _A frippin’ winery might not have this much_ , she guessed.

Lorna’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, I know thousands’v people used to live here, but this still seems a bit...excessive.” Not that she was going to complain, but _still_. She wondered if it would be possible to steal a whole barrel and hide it in her spare room at her cottage. Elves must have livers even more robust than that of Irish people (and no elf was going to understand how impressive a thing that actually was). “How do we want to do this?”

That was a very good question, concluded Earlene. Clearly, the barrels were to be ignored. But that still left what appeared to be racks of thousands of bottles. “Well, the one thing I can guess at is that we don’t want to choose a bottle like what we had at that last dinner. We know that’s ‘normal’ wine. He said he only had a little of it by comparison, so the odds of getting the right stuff are in our favor. And I remember the shape of the bottle of what he gave us first, though I never got a look at the label. And shite, here I thought it would just be a few hundred bottles. This….this is….yeah. But we can try, and hope we find what we want. I mean, it tasted like blackberry syrup to me, not wine. So we’re looking for...that first bottle. And I’ve no idea if it helps but the cap...wasn’t there white wax and then red wax over it? They can’t all look like that, either. We’ll have to work together because we only have one light.”

“Here, you’re taller,” Lorna said, holding out the phone. “I’m not much use if I can’t lift it high enough.” _Why the hell did the bottles have to look so similar?_ She didn’t yet see any caps that fit that description.

Earlene streamed down the rows at a fairly good clip, feeling fairly determined. Though even she was despairing, a little. And then on the third long row…”These,” she said. “I’m almost positive. And look, here’s an area where some are missing, like they’ve been taken more recently...whenever that was. “Can’t this place have some dust, for god’s sake? A zillion years ago and it looks like the housekeepers were just in here. Here, hold the light for me please?” She handed the phone back to Lorna and carefully lifted the bottle. “N.A... I don’t know shit about their history, but unless I’m way off, this means “Third age, 2510” which means zero to me. What do you think, do we place our hopes in this one?”

“Might as well,” Lorna said, eying the bottle. “Except I think we ought to get a second one, different...vintage? Just in case this turns out to be the human wine.” The bottles were about the same size as ordinary human bottles; hauling a few wouldn’t be hard.

“Agreed, no point coming down here twice. So...I’ll just go pick anything at random from the central collection, I guess. As long as the label says something else, it stands to reason that it’s elven wine.” She walked along. “Here, this says ‘Dorwinion’, whatever that is. And that’s different, so, it comes with us.”

They both laughed more than was probably good for them, and carefully held their cargo in their arms, hidden under their cloaks. Earlene closed the door to leave everything as it was, and they slunk along until they returned to Lorna’s room. “Victory!” Earlene laughed after the door was closed, offering a fist bump before she realized she didn’t know if that was even a thing here in Ireland. But as Lorna returned it, it obviously was.

Water and drinking glasses were in the rooms, and more water was to be had from the area for personal necessities. Lorna had brought the shot glasses Earlene had provided earlier, wrapped up so as not to clunk around in her bag. “So, do we see if we succeeded?” she quipped.

“Let’s do it,” Lorna said, producing the glasses. “Christ, I feel like I’m fifteen.”

Earlene laughed. “Well, we’re acting about like it, so that fits. Pinching wine from the elves’ cellars. Who in hell can even make that up? This has to be a mortal first,” she joked as she dug at the wax seal with her fingernail. It came off without a great deal of fuss, and she found herself wondering. “I wonder if it’s supposed to breathe for a bit, usually wine does,” she said, taking an investigatory sniff. “Sure god I think we’ve hit the jackpot. It smells just like the other stuff,” she said, holding the bottle for Lorna to take a whiff of her own.

Lorna took a deep sniff, and nearly sighed with happiness. Elf wine wasn’t just the best wine she’d ever tasted, or the best alcohol -- it was the best liquid, period. She wondered if there was any possible way to duplicate the taste without the potential lethal side effect of drinking more than three sips. “So, okay, when I was fourteen, I lived in a big warehouse in South Dublin,” she said, kicking off her shoes. “It was a damn hot summer evening, we were bored, and for some bloody reason I don’t remember, I decided stealing a city bus would be a great idea. I was high as balls at the time, so I’m sure that had something to do with it.

“We waited until night, and Shane -- our gem dealer -- took the lot’v us to the bus yard, because he knew there was no stopping me, and we were all bored by then. He’d taught me how to hot-wire not that long before, so I was shite at it; he had to finish it up for me, and then we just ran down the gate and out through Dublin, blasting Whitesnake on the radio and weaving all over hell and back. I could barely reach the pedals, I could barely see over the steering wheel, and eventually I crashed through a barricade and completely wrecked the thing. We all had to walk home...Christ, a good ten miles? Something like that. But it was fun. Ask Mick about it sometime -- though I don’t know that he enjoyed it that much.”

“Oh, my,” Earlene said. “And to think that the worst thing I ever did was stay out five minutes past curfew once, and I caught hell even for that. There are times I feel like I haven’t lived,” she said with a sigh. “Then again...a bus?” Snickering noises came from her as she carefully poured the wine into the two glasses before replacing the stopper. The bottles were carefully put on a shelf next to empty vases, out of harm’s way. “It’s a damn waste that that happened before YouTube, you know that, don’t you? Think’ve the hits you would have gotten. I have to admit I really would have liked to see that, on some level. Though, preferably not from inside the bus. No wonder Mick teases you.” Lorna was carefully handed her little glass. “I’d say bottoms up, but as I intend to consume this by the drop, I can’t. Oh, and we should probably pour water before we’re laughing our arses off and lose all coordination.”

“I don’t know how I survived some’v the shite I did, outside’v blind luck,” Lorna said. “God, if there had been YouTube...it would’ve been golden. Oh!” She set aside her shot glass, flailing a bit as she hopped off the bed. “I got something while I was out today. Two somethings, actually.” Fishing through the bag, she found a plastic grocery sack, from which she produced two coconuts, a large cleaver, and a small, wickedly hooked knife. “Thank God there’s nobody about much to hear us.” Theoretically, she knew how to do this. She’d seen Siobhan do it once, so surely that counted as knowledge, right?

“Ha ha!” erupted Earlene, with no regard to the hour. Truthfully, she assumed these stone walls could kill just about any sound. “I’m going to borrow your smaller knife; I’ll slice those apples _before_ the wine, that will reduce any possibility of us ending up like the Black Knight!!”

“Good idea,” Lorna said, sniffing the coconuts. Fresh coconut smelled rather different than the dried or fake stuff. “All right, I’ve got to get these a bit wet first. Be right back.” She left the cleaver on the end-table, not pausing to realize that it was kind of a monstrosity that looked like it ought to be used in a zombie apocalypse.

Earlene bit her lip, not wishing to say the wrong thing but hoping like hell that Lorna knew how to actually open a coconut, and that the lovely elven table wasn’t about to be sacrificed to the gods. _Then again, she did have the right equipment...what in hell would they have here to catch the water?_ Looking around the room, she saw a decorative bowl fairly high up on one of the shelves and found she could just reach it. “Coconut water holder, coming up!!”

To her delight (and no small amount of relief), Lorna cracked the cleaver over the fruit with expert aim while Earlene held the bowl underneath. Give or take one mild spray up both their shirts, which was truly minor damage given the task at hand, they caught all the water, and decided to be fancy pants and pour it all into the half-filled water carafe already in the room. Lorna held her hand out for the curved knife and began raking some of the fresh coconut out of the shells. Between the two of them a pile of apples and coconut ended up mounded in the bowl between them on the bed, more or less in front of Lorna’s laptop, and what were probably expensive crystal goblets of coconut flavored water joined the shot glasses of wine on the side tables. The cleaver and knife were left elsewhere.

“This is going to be one for the storybooks,” Earlene laughed, still wondering where in hell Lorna learned to open coconuts that well, but not wanting to insult her by asking.

“If anyone asks, we’ll say they migrated,” Lorna said, looking fondly at the coconut halves. “I watched Siobhan do that once when I was at the bakery. Stole Mick’s cleaver; I’ll give it back tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll live without it, because I don’t know that he’s ever used it. Bastard’s almost as sharp as an elf sword.” She set up the laptop, rolling the movie.

It had been years, too many years, since Earlene had treated herself to this particular brand of silliness. But she was sure she remembered a lot of the dialogue. Deciding it was time, she dipped her finger into the elven wine, one dip at a time. Dip, suck finger. Dip, suck finger…. “How quick did it hit you, when you tried it the first time?” she asked her friend. Dip, suck. Dip, suck. She was determined to become as inebriated on this stuff as possible without completely going blotto. And fortunately, the elixir had such a short time from consumption to effect, that shouldn’t be hard to achieve. In less than ten minutes, she was feeling as happy as she’d felt last time, if not more so. Just enough coordination was remaining for her to set the shot glass of remaining ruby-colored ambrosia on the table, safe from any mayhem.

Lorna laughed, joining her. “About thirty seconds,” she said, savoring the sweetness of the wine. “Which made me feel like a damn lightweight, but whatever. I don’t want to give a laundry list’v all the drugs I’ve ever taken, but this feels like a few’v them, only better.” At the second failure of the credits, she cackled. “Ralph the Wonder Llama. How the hell did they come up with this?”

“What I wonder is how this all got past the people who controlled the purse strings, back then. This film is pure crack, which is why it’s so brilliant” she said, already feeling the wine freeing her emotions...but without such an instantaneous blast as last time. Dip, suck. Dip, suck. Whatever this wine was, she didn’t want to ever leave it be; she hoped Thranduil could understand that. Nothing in her life had ever made her laugh this easily, or just think everything was so. goddamn. funny. She didn’t want to wreck herself on it, but she very much wanted to be able to laugh like this now and again. _Oh god here come the coconuts_...and it was hilarious. Lorna was next to her, imitating the same noise with her shells, both of them giggling for all they were worth.

Lorna was laughing so hard it was all she could do to hit her coconut halves together, already so at one with the world it was almost obscene. “I learned,” she said, when she managed to stop laughing enough, “I learned more about swallows watching this bloody movie than I ever thought I’d want to know.” She waved the coconut half in her right hand. “They’ve migrated! They did! You know, I read they used coconuts because they couldn’t afford horses, so they just went with it?” Dipping her pinky in her glass, she gave it another lick. It really was like liquid sunshine, more potent -- and more effective -- than anything she’d had in years. The sad side effect of Lorna’s lifetime of illicit substances was that very little had much of an effect on her now, but hoo boy.

At the scene shift, both women immediately yelled, “BRING OUT YER DEAD!” so loud they could have _woken_ the dead, had there been any around to hear them. Lorna followed it, shortly thereafter, with, “I don’t want to go on the cart!”

Earlene, all but breathless: “I’m getting better!”

“No you’re not,” Lorna returned, in a truly abysmal English accent. “You’ll be stone dead in a moment.” Another dip of her finger, another drop. God, when had she last laughed this hard?

Earlene shrieked with delighted laughter when she discovered that not only could Lorna do the coconuts, she could also do a more than fair imitations of the trumpets in the soundtrack music. “Oh my, I completely forgot these scene with the King! ‘Ow’d you get that, then? By exploiting the workers. King of the ‘oo?” Lorna looked over, hardly believing that Earlene was capable of making that much noise. She was laughing so hard she was crying. “ ‘I din’t know we ‘ad a King, I thought we were an autonomous collective….You can’t expect to wield supreme executive power just because some wat’ry tart threw a sword at you’...Oh god, that is so funny…”

“Your accent is fantastic,” Lorna giggled. “You actually sound English.” She cackled. “You can’t expect to wield supreme executive power --” she stumbled on the word a bit, adding a few too many syllables “--just because some watery tart threw a sword at you. If I--” she dissolved into laughter, “If I went ’round saying I was an emperor because some moistened bint lobbed a scimitar at me, they’d put me away!” She gave up at that point, laughing so hard her lungs ached.

She came out of it, however, in time to yell with Earlene, “HELP! HELP! I’M BEING REPRESSED!” before actually falling off the bed. “Son’v a bitch.”

Several things happened all at once. Earlene howled with laughter as Lorna tumbled off the bed, and instinctively she reached over to pause the laptop. Given how loudly Lorna was laughing herself, she was far more worried that Lorna would die of oxygen deprivation than anything having to do with landing on the floor. And that was when the door to the room burst open. It was very dim in the room, meaning that she was not completely certain who it was. How she had the presence of mind to ask in Sindarin, she would never know, given that she barely had a mind just now, but she stopped laughing to ask between giggles, "Man te?" (Who is it?).

The figure stepped into the room, and as it came closer, spoke. “It is Thanadir. Is everything….well?” The elf saw the cleaver on the table and felt rather alarmed.

Giggles continued to emit from the floor beside the bed but Earlene ignored them. “It is very well, Thanadir. We are watching a funny movie. I do not know if you would care for it, but you are welcome to join us if you wish.” An involuntary burst of giggles accompanied this announcement to the seneschal, and she desperately feared that they were, as they would say in the vernacular, _busted_. But he said nothing, and instead regarded her.

“This movie is not like...the other?” He asked delicately, not sure how to word it.

More laughter from the side of the bed, and it took all of Earlene’s effort to not do the same. “No, Your Excellency, this is very different. It is a very silly movie, what we call a parody. It makes fun of an English legend known as King Arthur and the Holy Grail. You will have to forgive us, though, we will laugh a great deal.” He seemed to hesitate, but then to her complete astonishment, agreed. Taking a moment to ponder their setup on the bed, and reasoning that he was used to being an elven pillow anyway, she traded positions with him, took a huge gulp of coconut water (narrowly avoiding spraying all of it all out of her nose while thinking of the word ‘coconut’), and settled herself against his chest.

Lorna had finally regained her place on the bed, and was doing battle with her hair to get it all out of her eyes. “I think we should just start over, Lorna, we’re only ten minutes in. And we’d probably better do subtitles too. Oh, and show Thanadir your coconuts.” Earlene stopped, vaguely horrified at what she’d just said, and both women blurted out in what could only be described as laugh-talk “That’s what she said” at the same time. _If the elf is still speaking to me by morning, it’ll be a miracle,_ she thought. “Let’s try that again. Thanadir does not know what a coconut is, unless I am much mistaken. Do you?” she angled her head back at the baffled elf.

“No.”

Lorna held up the two half empty shells. Earlene continued, “it is a fruit that grows in places where it is very warm all of the time. The white part is what is eaten. Here, try some.” Holding up the plate, she pointed to the white meaty pieces.

Seeing at least one thing that made rational sense, he bit into it and seemed pleased. “It is very tough, but sweet.”

“Help yourself to the fruit,” she offered. “OK Lorna, roll it.”

That this was the second time through did nothing to stop the giggles, and Earlene wondered if Thanadir could understand a word of it. But he actually laughed at “I’m being repressed!” and she had to conclude that he must be getting _something_ out of it.

Unfortunately for Thanadir, Lorna was a rather clingy drunk. Maybe it her brain making up for the fact that she was normally so touch-averse, but he wound up with her plastered against his side like a cat, hair threatening to choke him. “The Black Knight!” she cackled. “’Tis but a scratch!” she managed, more or less at the appropriate time, and somewhere in there she got, “Look, you stupid bastard, you’ve got no arms left!”

Earlene thought she might completely lose it when she heard “Good counterattack” from the elf behind her. If he was appalled at the fake spurting blood, he did not show it. And then he started to laugh at the armless, one-legged Black Knight who still tried to fight.

Lorna made no comment on the flagellants. As the only theoretical Catholic, she probably ought to, but she wasn’t too sure on the explanation herself -- and honestly, not saying anything was funnier. Poor Thanadir. “We’ve found a witch!” she crowed. “May we burn her? But how do you know she is a witch? She looks like one!”

Earlene half wanted to invite the seneschal to read her thoughts so he could better understand this travesty of Medieval civilization, but then he’d also know she’d been into their wine, so that was a no-go. Besides, when _Spamalot!_ started, she had to make some effort, while laughing herself, to direct Lorna’s legs away from her laptop, as she was trying to imitate the dance steps and threatening to kick the screen. But soon after, they reached what she would call a calmer segment of the film, which let Lorna settle herself again. Only to be undone by…the Frenchmen.

Lorna cackled. “You don’t frighten us, English-pig dogs!” she cried, in a French accent even worse than her attempted English. “Go away and boil your bottoms, sons of a silly person! I blow my nose at you, you so-called Arthur --” except, when she tried to say _Arthur_ in that abysmal accent, it came out more like _Asser_ “--King. You and all your silly English kinigguts.” She had no idea what the hell that word was supposed to be, but it sounded hilarious.

Both she and Earlene no doubt scandalized Thanadir thoroughly when they mimicked the French knight, tapping their hands on their heads and blowing raspberries at the screen. Thanadir was never going to have any respect for either of them ever again, but just now Lorna couldn’t care.

They stumbled a bit on what he said next, but each managed, more or less, “I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries. Now go away, or I shall taunt you a second time!”

“So, okay, okay,” Lorna said, trying to subsume her laughter, “apparently that’s actually a legit insult. ‘Your mother was a hamster’ means she was a slut and had a bunch’v children, and ‘your father smelt of elderberries’ means he was a drunk.” She had learned that from Mairead, of all people, the first time she’d seen this movie not long after moving into her sister’s house.

“I absolutely did not know that”, said Earlene, suitably impressed. “Elderberries?” If she was sober enough tomorrow _and_ able to remember this conversation, she’d have to look that one up.

Even drunk as Lorna was, she managed to sing along with Sir Robin’s minstrels remarkably on-key, but when she reached, “His head smashed in and his heart cut out, and his liver removed and his bowels unplugged, and his nostrils raped and his bottom burned off, and his peni--” she felt Thanadir twitch, ever so minutely, and when she looked at his face, she laughed so hard she nearly cried. He was difficult to read, but there was something approaching horror in the depths of his eyes. To be fair, the idea of nostril-rape _was_ pretty horrifying.

Earlene did not let the singalong go unattended, either. Lurching over across Thanadir, she made a grab for the coconuts, then became reduced to laughter once again when the thought of grabbing Lorna’s coconuts flitted through her mind. She spent a good minute alternating between singing the song along with Lorna while clipping the shells together for sound effect and laughing helplessly into Thanadir’s knees before she finally made it back upright. Part of her wondered how she could ever face the seneschal after this, but she was seemingly incapable of bringing herself to care.

“Castle Anthrax,” Lorna snickered, popping some coconut meat into her mouth. “Not a very good name, is it?” She was content to watch poor Sir Galahad with little comment, mainly because she couldn’t have hoped to mimic any of the women’s higher voices without sound like a boy who’d been castrated.

Earlene wished to let Castle Anthrax alone just based on not wanting to further expose Thanadir to the concept of harems, possibly one of the few things not covered in Hedwig and the Angry Inch, but none of that stopped both women from yelling “Shit!” at just the right time in the dialogue when the knights escaped.

The lovely misty forest had always creeped Lorna out a bit, and yet she wanted to go hiking in it anyway. “Ni!” she said, sounding rather like a demented guinea pig as she did so.

“Ni!” said Earlene. “We are the keepers of the sacred woooord. Ni!“Ni! Ni! We will retuuuuuuuurn, with a shrubbery!”

“I wonder why shrubberies? Not that there’s much point in asking, mind, but still. Why a shrubbery?”

“Really,” agreed Earlene. I mean, why not a _topiary_? If you're going to put something completely nanners into the plot line, why not go all the way? Why stop at suburban landscaping plants when you can go for formal garden hijacking? Even she wasn't sure what in hell she was talking about, but at the moment it sounded profound. She still felt all might not be totally lost, when Thanadir laughed at the cartoon-y clouds jumping up and down, and the man arguing with the sun to set. The sun with legs sticking out of it.

“The Tale of Sir Lancelot,” Lorna intoned, then dropped her voice. “One day, lad, all this will be yours!” Then, higher, “What, the curtains?” God, had castles really had no shutters in the windows? How had they not all frozen to death?

“But I don't want any of that,” Earlene said with a dead-on nasally imitation that impressed the hell out of Lorna. “I’d rather just...sing...but I don't want that!But I don’ like her!”

Lorna caught on, quickly. “Don't like her? What's wrong with her? She’s beautiful.” Both of them were trying to out-yell the other.

“She's rich!”

“She's got huge….tracts of land!” That scene got no further, and they were both once again laughing so hard they were crying. When she had slightly recovered, Earlene blurted out, “Thranduil is a wonderful King. He loves his tracts of land!”

“Oh my _God_.” Lorna flailed, nearly falling off the bed. “Earlene, allanah, I like you both immensely, but there are some things I just do _not_ need to know.” A glance at Thanadir told her it had gone right over his head, thank God.

Earlene thought that comment was slightly unfair, as she _did_ have to hear once about Liam’s arse, but it was hardly worth causing a scene over. That and, respect for the deceased. Or something like that.

“Message for you, sir,” Lorna deadpanned, as poor, sweet Concorde fell over with an arrow to the chest. “You know, I always wondered how he got better,” she said. “I mean, I know people can live with bullets and things inside’v them for years, but still.”

“I think they just liked the line ‘I'm getting better.’ Which you have to admit was a good one”, Earlene opined.

Watching Lancelot cut his unfortunate swath of destruction through all the wedding guests, Lorna shook her head. “He really is a bit stab-happy, isn’t he?” she observed. “I had more restraint when I was seventeen than he’s got, and that’s the age I was when I all but bit someone’s nose off. Never been able to eat fried chicken since -- cartilage, you know,” she added, as if that actually made sense. “It crunches.”

This was too much. “Lorna, ‘tracts of land’ just cannot be worse than that. They can't be. Ok we're even, now we each can't un-hear something.” And even that was terribly funny, because, more laughing.

“Ni! Ni! Are you saying Ni! To that old woman?” Lorna saw that Earlene clearly had a slight fixation on the Ni! thing,

“You know,” Lorna said, “Roger the Shrubber sounds a bit dirty. It just...does. But that’s a nice little shrubbery they’ve got, at least.” She never had been able to work out why the Knights Who Say Ni were meant to be so terrifying within the movie’s universe, but figured it was best not to question. As far as the Pythons were concerned, logic was on permanent holiday, and she loved it.

“This whole thing with the shrubbery was just one big bait and switch, and what even are those things on their helmets?” Earlene broke in.

Lorna resumed, ignoring her. “And what _is_ it with the British and herring? I mean, I get that it’s an inherently funny word and all, but...y’know.” Even she didn’t know, so she doubted either of them did, but she’d had a thought and now she’d lost it. “Also, I would like to point out that the Knights themselves said the word ‘it’ a few times, so I think they’re just gigantic trolls with nothing better to do.

To both their surprise, Thanadir laughed out loud at the part when Sir Robin's minstrel was eaten, and there was much rejoicing. He laughed at the damnedest things, but that an elf understood any of this humor was actually kind of impressive.

“In the frozen land of Nador, they were forced to eat Sir Robin’s minstrels,” Lorna said, attempting to sound profound. It failed when she added “Yaaaaaay” in a rather flat sort of tone, which set her off laughing so hard she inhaled a strand of her hair. She hacked and coughed as she pulled the mess out of her face, wheezing until she sat up and snagged a few apple slices. “Mmmm,” she said. “Cannibalism.”

Earlene rolled her eyes. In her private opinion, hair should only be so long.

When the scene approached Tim the Enchanter, Lorna got her coconut halves again, clopping a bit harder than was strictly necessary. “Okay, right, another fun fact -- when Tim the Enchanter says ‘There are some who call me...Tim?’ he sounds like he’s hesitating because John Cleese couldn’t remember the line. They kept it in because it was funny.” She flailed an imaginary staff, making explosion noises, nearly whacking Thanadir with her elbow as she did. “Grrrrrail,” she said, rolling her r’s perfectly -- Tatiana had spent days teaching her how to do that.

“That is our quest,” Earlene dropped in at just the right time.

Earlene had moved way past the Hand Grenade. “...guarded by a creature so foul, so cruel, that no man yet has fought with it and lived!” Her sides were now painfully aching from laughing too hard but she still could not stop.

“Behind the rabbit?” Lorna said. “No, it is the rabbit.” She would have kept on, but Earlene’s laughter was contagious, and she had to wipe tears from her eyes while she tried to catch her breath.

“Yewwwww silly sot!! You had us all worked up!” countered Earlene. This scene was going to be trouble, because clearly both women knew far too many of the lines. “Wha’s ‘ee do, nibble yer bum?”

Thanadir had shifted forward, clearly becoming more interested in this scene once the knight drew his sword and went forth to meet the rabbit in mortal combat. He was already laughing...and then the unbelievable happened, he didn't _stop_ laughing. “The little rabbit!” The old elf laughed harder as he pointed at the now blood-soaked bunny. Lorna and Earlene both looked at him, to see a tear rolling down his cheek, which just made the whole thing funnier.

This did not help Earlene at all, as the Holy Hand Grenade was imminent. _I'm in a bed with an eighteen thousand year elf and a cussing Irishwoman, laughing hysterically at an attack rabbit, blasted on elven wine. What the fuck happened to my life??_ She did not particularly want an answer.

“The Holy Hand Grenade!” Lorna cried, clapping her coconuts after she stole them back from Earlene. “ ‘Oh Lord, bless this, thou hand grenade, that with it, thou mayest blow thine enemies to bits, in thy mercy.’ I want a Holy Hand Grenade. I wouldn’t even do anything with it - I’d just like to be able to say I _had_ it.” Because honestly, who wouldn’t want one, if given the chance? Who would turn down a Holy Hand Grenade?”

“Lorna, you have to be kidding me. If you had a Holy Hand Grenade the first driver to piss you off on the highway would be driving him or herself into the crater you put into the middle of the asphalt,” Earlene asserted, not buying it for a minute. Thanadir, apparently having paid better attention to Lorna's driving than she'd realized, nodded gleefully.

“I really wish I could dispute that,” Lorna said, sounding momentarily something approximating sober, “but I really can’t. Though I’d hope I’d save something brilliant as a Holy Hand Grenade for someone especially obnoxious, like anyone driving a Prius. Because whoever it would be, they would, being naughty in my sight, snuff it.” Her last words were another attempt at the rather odd tone and accent of Brother Whoever-he-was.

Their banter ran on through the monster that vanished with the animator’s heart attack, and left them at the Bridge of Death, where they could all agree that the need to repeat the lines outweighed other concerns.

“What…..is yer name?” they croaked in stereo. “What…..is yer quest”...”What...is yer favorite color?”

“That’s easy!!”

Their downfall was the capital of Assyria, and poor Thanadir had to lean forward past their laughing to hear the answer, since anything called Assyria had bypassed his attempts to learn about modern countries. That the answer was not given upset him. “What _is_ the capital of Assyria?” He demanded. “ _Where_ is Assyria?”

Both women looked at him blankly but thanks to too many hours The Met, Earlene actually had this. “It's Nineveh, Thanadir, but Assyria doesn't exist anymore. It used to be where Iraq is now. At least, I'm pretty sure…”

“Fun fact,” Lorna said, “and I only know this because Mairead and I looked it up once when we watched this movie, but Assyria had two capitals. I don’t remember why, but that’s what Wikipedia said.” While Wikipedia was hardly a reliable source of information, it was probably right about that.

“Damn. Makes me want to take back last year’s donation to the Museum. False advertising, or something,” Earlene grumbled. Make that _two_ things to look up, if she could remember this conversation...and she’d already forgotten the first one. _Shit._ “I totally forgot there is an Intermission with ten minutes to go in the movie…and, I want that dragon boat.”

“God, me too,” Lorna said. “Forget the Grail -- I want the boat and the Holy Hand Grenade.” She paused. “I bet Shane’d shit himself if I gave him something like the Grail to fence.” She’d rather not give him a stroke, but at the same time.... “But seriously, how did the French get there first? I know we’re not meant to wonder, but I can’t help it.”

“Ha ha! ‘A nasty taunting…’ I think I would have traded law school to be the scriptwriter for this film,” she said wistfully.

“Those are terrible helmets,” Thanadir said. And then the police car pulled up with the bobbies that arrested the cast.

“I’ve never quite embraced the end of this film” said Earlene. “It always left me feeling a little hollow, and the music annoys the hell out of me.” With a big sigh, she stretched against Thanadir, deciding it might be nice to set him free from being used as a couch pillow. Turning around, she faced the elf. “I would guess that this was quite possibly one of the strangest experiences of your life, Thanadir,” she said. “Even some humans do not enjoy this kind of humor.”

“It is among them, yes,” he said. But at least he was smiling when he said it. “It is late, I should rest. So should you”, he said pointedly. “Thank you for inviting me to watch...that,” he said, as he took his leave.

Lorna looked at Earlene. “Either we’ve educated him, scarred him, or both,” she said, waiting; she didn’t want to bring up wine if he was anywhere near enough their door to hear it.

“I’m going with both. Not sure how I’m ever going to look at him after the display I’ve put on tonight, but, I guess they should learn that we like to be like this sometimes, and it’s no harm done.” She reached for the wine again. Throwing caution to the wind, she tipped what was left in her glass down her throat. Just once, she wanted to feel like she’d had a real mouthful of this absolute ambrosia. “Want any more?” she asked Lorna. “I figure I’ve got forty-five seconds before that hits me. Got another movie?”

“Gimme,” Lorna said, making grabby-hands. “I’ve got so many other movies.”

Earlene swiped both their shot glasses and made haste toward the wine bottle, refilling the small glasses carefully before it could all go to hell. She was willing to explain a lot of things about tonight after the fact, but wine all over the elves’ carpet was not among them. Looking at what still seemed like the pitiful amount she’d allotted to them, she looked back at the water glasses. “Eh! Hurry and take a good swig of your water, I’ve got an idea. There needs to be some room in the glass, though, and we ought to keep up with drinking something besides this. I’ll add the wine to the water; what the hell, it might slow it down a little.”

Before a minute was out the main bottle of wine was safely back on the shelf, and two different variations on trouble were available on each end table.

“As long as we keep pacing ourselves with water, it ought to stave off any morning-afters,” Lorna said, sipping. There hadn’t been one after their last attempt at this stuff, but they also hadn’t had so much. “And how d’you feel about The Breakfast Club? That was my second exposure to American cinema. The first was Day of the Dead.” She hadn’t seen Breakfast Club until sometime in the 90’s, but the contrast between it and Day of the Dead...well, she’d wondered quite a bit about America.

“I looooove that movie,” said Earlene, giggling once again even though nothing about the question was funny; she was succumbing again to the wine. “Is it just me, or does it start to wear off right about at an hour and a half or two hours?”

“I think you’re about right,” Lorna said, taking another sip. “Which is a lot longer than most things last for me, but still.” She hunted through her folder until she found the movie in question. “I spent years thinking this was what all American schools were like. So fancy.”

“I think it’s all quite a mix; some are fancier than that and others are total dives. It all depends on where you are and the wealth of the area. But whatever the building is, socially, this movie sure made an impression. I could see a lot of my own experience in it...even though I never got detention. My parents would’ve killed me.”

Lorna sat back, sipping her wine. “They’d’ve killed you over _detention?_ Christ, mine never even noticed. I got expelled when I was fourteen, and for once it wasn’t for something I did. Well, I was there, but I wasn’t actually involved. My older sister, Siobhan, she got the bright idea to drop a lit cherry bomb down a toilet in the girls’ room. What happened was about what you’d expect, and I’d got in so much trouble before that the headmaster assumed it was my idea. As if Siobhan wasn’t capable’v thinking up stupid shite all on her own.”

The wine had hit hard enough that Earlene’s mental image of an exploding girl’s lavatory sent her off the cliff again, but this time she held her ribs. “Oh god it hurts, what in hell did I think I needed to keep laughing for?...” This was incredibly voyeuristic to her, as though she was getting to peek in on a life she never could have dared to live. “Run the movie before you kill me,” was the last she managed to get out. Reaching for a folded blanket, she curled up in it and tried to force herself to eat some apple without choking.

“It burns, Doctor, get it out,” Lorna said, leaning forward to click the movie on.

Earlene was feeling the unaccountable urge to really push it with the wine, even though she knew better. She didn’t believe it would truly hurt her. Send her further out of her head, yes, maybe. Listening to all these stories of Lorna’s...she never did anything wrong. Never risked anything, never pushed any limits. It was less than half a cup of elven wine for chrissakes, and she was on a soft bed, warm and safe. Just for once, why not? And still she couldn’t throw caution to the wind, quite right. As the watched, she took on the heavily watered wine first, remarking to Lorna that it was surprisingly good this way; as if the wine took over the flavor of the water. It wasn’t so syrupy now as when at full strength, but made the water delightfully punch-like.

“Bender!” Lorna cried, when the delinquent in question entered the scene. She’d identified quite a lot with him, and rather wanted his coat.

Earlene’s favorite stupid part came, with the jackass principal. “I hated that guy,” she said of the character. “ ‘You mess with the bull, you get the horns.’ Who in fuck would even say something like that? No wonder the kids thought he was a dick.”

“The sort’v man who says something like that, the only sort, are insecure dinguses with a langer the size’v my pinky,” Lorna said sagely, taking another sip. She really did feel so warm, so content. “He’d’ve had the shite kicked out’v him behind the gym at my school, and I’m sure a few’v the teachers would’ve helped.”

“Ha ha! I’d pay to see something like that. Or, at least I think I would. It’s one thing I loved about home. Mostly, when people acted like that, they got called out. New Yorkers have a fairly short brain to mouth response time.” *

“Not surprised,” Lorna said. “A load’v Irish people moved there a century and a half ago.”

“True”. She couldn’t say at what point she heard the rest of the wine calling her, but she decided in her skewed state of mind that it would be slightly more responsible to get another glass of water before adding in the last of the wine. As she weaved around the end of the bed toward the carafe of water, she tripped on something. And there was one thought, and only one thought; not to break the glass in her hand. Which in turn accounted for the weird twist she made as she fell, and whatever she hit her head against on the way down. It was a glancing blow, but it too was funny, and giggling insanely, she got up, proudly displaying her intact glass, goblet, or whatever it was. “Saaaafe!!” she hollered proudly, pouring her water and walking unsteadily back to the bed, using all her focus to set her prize down on the end table before crawling back under the blanket. “You should do somfing about zat carpit, id tripped me,” she complained.*

“Jesus _Christ!_ ” Lorna cried, unwittingly sounding quite a bit like King Arthur. “Earlene, allanah, you’re, uh, bleeding.” She snatched the nearest thing to hand -- the flannel shirt she’d discarded when she changed clothes -- and pressed it to Earlene’s bleeding temple. “Hold that,” she ordered, lighting a lamp after a bit of fumbling. With words that slurred, she was either staggeringly drunk, suffering a concussion, or both.

“Don’ worry about it, doesn’t even hurt. Must’ve caught myself ona corner’v sumpting,” she said, touching her finger to where Lorna said it was bleeding. There was a looking glass mounted behind the bed, and she kneeled up, giggling, tracing a smiley face with the blood on her opposite cheek, laughing. “There,” she said. “All better!” Lorna wasn’t much buying it, until she saw that the thing really had stopped bleeding, or so it appeared, but not before she shoved Earlene’s hand out of the way to see that the cut wasn’t _that_ big. Though, she winced at the bruise that was forming around it.

Looking at that smiley face, Lorna shook her head. “Earlene, you would’ve scared the shite out’v some’v the other gangs,” she said. “Talk about war-paint. You sit here and stay sitting up, and I’ll get a cold compress.” She tripped herself on her way to the toilet, but didn’t manage to wound anything in the process (she did have rather more practice at moving about while under the influence of….well, everything). Wetting a washcloth, she staggered her way back to the bed, sticking it against Earlene’s temple. “Hold that there. It might keep the bruise down.” She highly doubted that, but at the very least, it couldn’t hurt.

Earlene laughed more, but traded out the cloth for the shirt. “Oops, sorry about the shirt,” she said. Though, it was already shades of red, so, it could have been worse. But no way was she disturbing the smiley face. And then the dance scene came to “We Are Not Alone,” and she howled to see Lorna start in on the dance moves. Taking another huge swig of wine/water, she tapped the volume on the laptop as far as it would go. Clapping and sort of dancing while lying down (her stability was obviously shit just now), she sang along for Lorna’s benefit.

Lorna was a shit dancer at the best of times, but she was so drunk she didn’t care, and she doubted Earlene did, either. Trying to mimic Claire’s twirling turned out to be a terrible idea; not only did she run hip-first into the end table, her flailing hand smacked the cleaver, giving her pinky finger a nick a good half-inch long. The thing was so sharp that she didn’t notice until she felt the wet heat of blood.

“Son’v a _bitch_ ,” she grumbled, holding her hand up. “We’re one for one, I guess.” It was a little nick, but hand wounds, like head wounds, had a tendency to bleed like bastards no matter how small.

Earlene threw her shirt at her, without comment and with a minimal amount of laughing.

Lorna wrapped the sleeve tight around her hand, raising it over her head so that it rested against the headboard. “Shane taught me that,” she said, looking at Earlene. “If you have a real injury, I mean, you raise it up over the level’v your heart, so it doesn’t bleed so fast. ’Course, your head’s automatically above your heart, so, y’know. Easy, that. I got stabbed in the foot with a steak knife, so he made me lay in the ground with my feet propped up on chairs. Embarrassing as hell, it was, but it worked.”

Earlene looked at her with mild disbelief and the beginnings of a headache. “I’m going to toss back the last of this stuff; I’m getting a little tired and maybe it’ll finish the job. Either way, this whole evening was in the ‘let’s do it again’ category,” she said. Downing the last of the liquid happiness that was in her glass, she smiled. He’d grown up to be damn ugly, but she’d had such a crush on Judd Nelson in this movie…and it wasn’t long before she drifted off to happy places.

Lorna knocked back the last of her own drink, slipping into slumber with her hand still over her head, until eventually she went limp as a noodle.

At daybreak the following morning, a brown-haired elleth opened the door, bearing her pail for wood ashes, and silently entered the room. Passing through to the sleeping area, her eyes widened in alarm as she saw the strange cutting tools on the table and floor, and then took note of the bed. Both firith (mortal women) were together here, in astonishingly odd positions, sound asleep, and bearing evidence of injury. Hurriedly leaving the room, and nearly dropping the pail as she set it down, she rushed to find the King’s seneschal.


	31. Thirty-one

When Lorna woke, she wished she hadn’t. A vague clunk made her stir, but it was more than enough, ringing through her head like a churchbell.

While she wasn’t generally prone to morning-afters, she’d had a few spectacular ones, but this easily put them all to shame. Even before she opened her eyes, she could practically feel a second heartbeat in her head, her no doubt horribly dehydrated brain seeming to pulsate inside her skull. Her eye sockets themselves felt like they were lined with bony spines, so many and so sharp that she was keeping her eyelids shut, thanks so much.

She was half laying off the end of the bed, face mashed into her pillow, left arm dangling. There was a dry, crusty something on her hand -- memory tossed up a fuzzy recollection of dancing like an idiot and smacking her own cleaver. Having just about enough energy to haul her arm up, she burrowed into her pillow, knowing already that the only cure for this was to sleep it off.

 _Let me die_ , Earlene thought, as a sound she did not comprehend, something metallic, sounded through her brain like a million manhole covers clanking down an echo chamber. _This is why you didn’t go to wild parties, this is why you didn’t get drunk at the pubs, and this is why an entire midtown construction crew is jackhammering inside your head. What did I even do?_ What came out of her mouth was probably more of a generalized moan. She wanted some water, badly, but getting to it seemed as probable as starting up the slopes of Mt. Everest. It seemed like she fought for a long time, but eventually one eye cracked open. _Where am I…? If she could only go back to sleep…_

What sounded like a stampede of African wildlife rang in her ears, causing her to moan again and try to cover them. Or at least, one of them. And even that was a bad idea, because the side of her head hurt. Worse than the headache. All she clearly recalled were Monty Python and coconuts, and that information wasn’t doing anything to clear her hazy memories. _This must be a headache_ , she reasoned, and she didn’t like it one bit. But at least the stampede had stopped. Something was touching her, very softly, maybe it was a hand, against her face. A sense of warmth spread over where it had hurt, and that hurt diminished and then left. But it did nothing for the pounding in her head. Hands tried to move her and she resisted them, whimpering, because, _god, my head is pounding_. And then the stampede started again before it went quiet.

“Wh’izzit?” Lorna mumbled; her best attempt at ‘who is it?’ She hadn’t heard anyone else come in, but given that they were in a hall full of elves, that wasn’t surprising. Unwilling to open her eyes -- for she knew exactly how well that would end, with a morning-after like this -- she wondered if she could crawl to the toilet, because oh God did she need to wee. This hadn’t happened the last time they’d had this wine. Had they really had so much more this go-round? She couldn’t properly remember, which was something she’d been quite familiar with, when she’d been younger and considerably more stupid.

She flailed vaguely with her left hand, fumbling like a blind person. “Wh’izzit?”

“Lorna,” rang in her ears like the cacophony of hundreds of people yelling at once, a male voice.

“Oh my God.” Her own voice was little more than a dry rasp. Pain exploded in her head, and she instinctively pulled her pillow over her head, not quite smothering herself.

Thanadir was baffled at this behavior, but he could also clearly see that her extremity had been injured, since neither apples nor coconut meat could explain the dried blood that appeared to be on her hand; he was certain this injury was absent when he’d left them. “Do not move,” he instructed, in what sounded like an explosion of mountain thunder between her ears. A weird but not unpleasant sensation began to replace the sting of the cut.

“Ow.” Lorna had no intention at all of moving just yet, for all her bladder was threatening mutiny. God, this was -- she didn’t even have words for this. “Can I pee yet?” The words were so muffled they were probably indecipherable. “Get up. Must pee.”

“Awwmygerd quit shooouuting,” or something vaguely like it, emitted from Earlene, who moaned pitifully, curling into an even tighter ball as her arms wrapped into the blanket and started to wad it over her head. No longer asleep, but definitely not fully present, her awareness was focused on doing anything she could to minimize the pain of each throb of her head, and drown out the sound that she perceived as others speaking into megaphones. And as neither Thanadir or Lorna had spoken above a whisper, the old elf was entirely flummoxed. His eyes roved around the room to the cleaver on the floor, the plate of food on the bed, the empty glasses on the end tables, the empty carafe, the blankets, the bottles of wine and vases...his eyes snapped back to the wine. Rising, he walked over to the shelf and held up the bottle with the broken seal, and observed the level still in the bottle, looking back at the two miserable figures on the bed. For quite possibly the first time in thousands of years, he felt anger rising toward his King.

Fighting to regain his composure, with his elegant fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, he looked around with a glare when Thranduil burst into the room. When his nearly silent footsteps approached, Earlene faintly croaked, “for the love of all there is can’t you lot be quiet??” A part of her was very much convinced that the street crew was working outside of her office, but, something about that conclusion really wasn’t making sense. And yet it was the only explanation her mind could form to explain the incredible noise.

Thranduil heard his seneschal’s sharp and silently transmitted opinion on the evidence of what had likely transpired, but easier yet for him to perceive was the pain and distorted perceptions of both women. And that his wife was far worse off than Lorna. Walking to the bedside immediately, he began to lift her as carefully as possible. “Nooooo, it hurts,” she whimpered, as she tried to feebly fight him off.

 _Be still Earlene, I will make it better. Just a moment longer_. He looked up at Thanadir, silently asking for water in the glasses, and more water in the carafe. They would both be very, very thirsty in a matter of moments. Holding her to him, he corrected the problem, and the pain in her head dissolved away, along with the confusion. Her eyes opened, as she tried to comprehend a number of things. _Do not speak, Thanadir will help you drink_ , she heard. As she was burning with thirst, that instruction seemed like a wonderful idea. Trading positions, he handed Earlene over to the seneschal. She felt his arm around her, and the rim of a glass held against her lips; she drank greedily. _Not too fast_ , she heard with a certain tinge of humor, though nothing about this seemed funny to her.

Rising, he went to Lorna to do the same. _Mellonenin dithen_ , _I will help you to feel better, I am going to touch you. Moving you may hurt your headache but it will only be for a moment._

Lorna managed a vague mumble, curling into a rather tiny, pathetic ball of hair and misery. She at least managed to pry the pillow off her head.

As he took Lorna into his arms, part of him very much wanted to laugh, but he knew he was already in enough trouble with his seneschal, whose view of him having allowed them to try the wine was now in a very dim place indeed. So instead he tried to maintain a suitable look of contrition. And yet looking over at Earlene and catching sight of the dried blood smiley face on her cheek nearly undid him. He could see that Lorna would have to choose between two significant needs; she was ready to burst and ragingly thirsty, all at the same time. Like as not she was going to choose to care for the first. Sighing, he lifted her and carried her to that side of the room, carefully placing her on her feet. _There should no longer be pain, or disorientation. But just in case…._ she was at least not so far away.

“Thankyousomuch,” she managed, before staggering into the bathroom. Not at all concerned with the differences between a human toilet and an elven one, she at least managed not to wee on the floor. Or herself.

She still staggered on her way back out, but not so badly. “If that’s what a proper morning-after’s like….” she sighed, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a nightmare, tangled around her like a spiderweb. “Worth it, though.” She managed to make it to a glass of water, chugging like a drunken frat boy, as she was pretty sure the Americans would say.

Earlene, now toward the bottom of her third glass of water, was beginning to recall what had brought her to this pass. Her thirst was starting to abate. A little. And what arrived was the realization that at the moment, she’d caused a disruption. She still was not quite steady enough to trust herself to hold the beautiful glass vessel by herself. After what she’d already done to keep it from breaking, she was not risking dropping it now. And the one she dreaded facing the most was the elf holding her up and helping her drink. “I am sorry, Thanadir,” she said, raising her eyes to his though she was half-afraid to look at him.

The lack of censure in his eyes made her feel worse. “Keep drinking, Earlene. You have not yet had enough. And do not worry,” he said to her softly. “That you are well, is my concern. Not the other.”

She really had no idea what to do with having been even mildly irresponsible, because she’d had so little practice at it. Thranduil smiled and shook his head, marveling at the disparity between these two mortals.

Thranduil was pouring glass after glass of water for Lorna, still trying to subsume his state of amusement. _Are you feeling better, Lorna?_

 _I am, thank you_ , she said, and meant it. Unlike Earlene, she had quite a lot of practice at being terribly irresponsible, so she didn’t feel guilty -- her only real regret was having drawn Earlene so far down the alcoholic rabbit hole. Earlene didn’t have her rather fantastic history of substance abuse, after all. She chugged yet more, trying desperately to quench a thirst more raging than anything she’d ever encountered before -- and, because she was drinking so fast, she wound up belching. Rather loudly.

“I’d say that was a seven,” she said, before resuming her drinking.

Earlene’s eyes widened but she said nothing, and continued to gratefully accept water. She was hardly going to comment about manners in her present circumstance. It took some more minutes, but finally her own need to use the, uh, facilities became hard to ignore. Realizing that Lorna was able to manage now on her own, Thranduil returned to Earlene to help her in that direction. Shortly after, all four of them were seated again on the bed, with Lorna attempting to wrangle her hair.

The difference between Lorna and Earlene still fascinated Thranduil, but he could not afford to indulge himself in these observations. “Do either of you still feel thirsty?” he asked. Heads that shook No both answered. He smiled. “It would seem that I have created a monster,” he said, looking at both of them with thinly veiled mirth. Thanadir’s arms crossed, and Earlene had the feeling this conversation was about to go badly. And yet she was very much surprised to hear her husband’s words. “Both of you, listen carefully. I know why you did this, and I accept responsibility for having made the mistake of introducing you to something you would want so badly and yet not be able to tolerate. You have just learned that drinking too much of it has a painful consequence. And yet, in spite of this experience you will still wish to have it. So next time, please ask. Were you to drink the wine with an elf present, preferably me, we could permit you to have your indulgence and keep the worst of the ill-effects from causing you such grief.”

Lorna snickered.

If his King had announced that he was going to open the doors of his Halls to all of Dublin, Thanadir could not have been more appalled. Earlene looked up to see that the seneschal no longer had his usual complexion; he was quite flushed. And she knew where this was headed, and why. Moving toward Thanadir, she grasped his shoulders. “Please, Your Excellency, may I say something to you?”

Mastering himself, he looked at Earlene and nodded. “You probably cannot understand this, but, while we would have been fine had we never tried it, we did try it, and now we cannot bear to be told we may never have it again. We will always wish to drink it; both for the taste and what it does to our emotions. Something that lets us easily feel so happy and lighthearted is not common for humans, unless it is one of the far more harmful substances in our world. The King’s offer will allow us to enjoy something rare, and be safe from becoming sick. I did not mean to drink too much of it; I tried to avoid becoming ill but did not know enough. But to deny us completely is to tempt us too much, and will cause us to try to procure it on our own...like we already did. Please, do not be angry. I only wish to have this sometimes. It would be very cruel, to take it away. There are far worse choices to be made, in our world.”

“I’ve made most’v them,” Lorna said, picking futilely at her hair with the comb. “Could be worse. At least we didn’t steal a city bus and go joyriding at two in the morning. All we did was watch movies, eat weird shit, and laugh. A lot. And fall over a bit.”

“Yes...I hit my head because I fell and was overly determined to not break my glass,” she lamented.

Only now did Thanadir see Earlene’s dried blood smiley face, because she faced him. Somewhere between the ridiculousness of this and her respectful words to him, he softened. Moistening the hand towel with some water, he began wiping her cheek clean. “Very well,” he sighed, “you have made your case, though I still think you would do better to not have the wine.”

“You are probably right,” she agreed wistfully as she leaned against him. “But then I would not have laughed so hard at the movie, and it felt wonderful to feel so happy and carefree and...silly.”

Lorna rather wanted to go joyriding again, but alas, Lasg’len had no buses, and the closest thing to a taxi was Mick’s van. Not nearly the same thing. “Oh Thanadir, if you’d only met the people I grew up with, you’d realize this was nothing. Stealing a bus isn’t even the stupidest thing I’ve ever done -- just the most destructive. I think.” She was a terrible influence and she knew it, but she could always comfort him with the knowledge that Earlene was above influencing unless she didn’t want to be. If only her damned hair wasn’t such a disaster -- she’d be at this for hours, so she’d best not get jam in it if she ate toast.

“A bus?” said the seneschal. “You stole a...the very large vehicles?”

Thranduil began laughing. “You see, my faithful friend, two bottles of wine were rather conservative, by comparison.”

Earlene groaned.

“And for the record, had you opened the other bottle, you would have been much worse off. Dorwinion is much stronger than what you drank.”

Lorna’s eyebrows rose. “There’s something stronger than what we had? Now I know you lot are way too lucky -- you must not have livers the same way we do. Or kidneys. Or stomachs.” Thought of anything stronger than that nectar they’d had last night was almost mind-boggling. She’d wondered about getting the elves stoned a while back, but now she doubted mere weed would do the trick.

“Yes, as I just mentioned. I will make a bargain with you two. I will be fully transparent about the wine, all the variations of it, and what it will do in various manners of consuming it, if you promise to not use it again unsupervised. Do we have an agreement?”

Earlene did not entirely know why he was asking, as he could simply order her to do whatever he wished. As it was, she thought he was being extremely generous in his response to this...incident. “For my part, yes,” she replied.

“We do,” Lorna said. “The more the merrier when you’re drinking, anyway. You’ll have to be here next time we watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I’m not quite sure just what Thanadir made’v it, but he laughed at times.”

“I’M BEING REPRESSED,” said Thanadir, standing up tall and offering his hand to Earlene. Both women broke out in laughter, and Thranduil was not sure he wished to know.

“Perhaps I may bring my wife home, so that we can begin considering things like dressing, and breakfast?” he asked.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Lorna said. “I need a bath, and maybe if I wash this mess, it’ll be easier to comb out. It looks like a bloody badger tried to make a nest in it. I don’t know that I can remember my way to the dining hall, though.” Honestly, she had to make a map of this place, so she didn’t get lost and wind up in a room full of cheese, with no exit.

“We will eat in my quarters; I can come for you some time from now if you do not recall the way there.”

“That I can find,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d ever be hungry again when I first woke up, but God am I now. If I don’t deal with this mess now, though, I’ll never manage.” She held up the still-tangled wad of her hair. “You lot don’t wait on me. I’ll be there once my hair’s no longer Cthulhu.”

Earlene snickered at the reference but let it alone, and left on Thanadir’s arm. Once they were some way down the passage, she spoke. “I really am sorry, for having caused a disturbance. I am not very good at being irresponsible.”

The seneschal gazed down, amused. “I can see that,” he said. “There was no harm done, Earlene. The elleth who found you both was very worried, not understanding anything about what she saw. And if you will excuse me, I will see to our meal, and rejoin you shortly.” She found herself handed off to her husband.

 _You are not at all angry?_ she asked him.

_Meluieg, you seem to forget your efforts on my behalf. If you think that indulging in my wine and giving yourself a splitting headache will cause me to anger after such a thoughtful and well-executed experience as you provided to me last night, think again._

_Oh. Yes, I’d managed to forget about that. Mortal memory, and all_ , she grinned.

Chuckling, he shook his head as they walked on.

********

Lorna had a very tasty breakfast, a stop off at Earlene’s cottage to pet the kitten, and then back to Mick’s, where she discovered Chloe’s Kia had shat out its radiator. She spent the next four days dealing with that mess, and realized abruptly that Mick would be getting his cast off soon. She’d stay on a few days, to make sure he could handle it without her, but then her original reason for coming to Lasg’len would be over. She’d have to figure out a new schedule, and divide her time between Baile and the forest. Given that she’d spoken to Ratiri a few times, she couldn’t say she was sorry for the excuse to go home for a few days each week.

The second day, she got a letter from Niamh: all things papers and passport were good to go. She also got a few more things from Amazon, including a patchwork velvet tunic that she wasn’t willing to wait for an excuse to wear. She still had a clean pair of jeans, so she tossed it on with them, heading out for the cottage.

The day was another bright and sunny one, which was a bit unusual for Ireland -- only rarely did they have so many nice days in a row this early in the spring. She wondered if the elves had anything to do with it, consciously or unconsciously. At this point, honestly, she wasn’t willing to rule anything out.

 _New York_ , she thought, as she approached the driveway. Thought of going to New bloody York was exciting and fucking terrifying, because she’d never been on a plane in her life. She was going to get as drunk as she could get while still appearing sober, or else she’d see if she could steal a Xanax off Earlene, because she didn’t foresee herself handling that well. She hated heights at the best of times, and they’d be flying over water. A lot of water. Water the plane could crash in. The thought made her twitch.

As Lorna hopped out, she could swear she heard shouting. _What the fuck?_ She listened again, and there was no doubt. It was Earlene’s voice, and the words “YOU FUCKER!! YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE FUCKER!!” were coming over the drive loud and clear. Christ, had she driven up in the middle of a fight with Thranduil? But...she usually wouldn’t talk to either of the elves like that...or would she? Maaaaaaybe she’d better go around the back. Maybe she’d better talk to Thranduil first? _Maybe this was not a good time…._

Lorna crept around the back, wondering why the hell she never made use of her damn mobile, except to take pictures with. There was no Thranduil back here, nor had he yelled anything -- and she was fairly certain he wouldn’t take being yelled at without yelling back. In a few ways, she was pretty sure he was just too much like her.

Looking through the window revealed that Earlene was alone, and apparently furious with the television. Okay. So, no domestic argument; just...whatever the hell she was watching. _Thranduil, is Earlene okay? She’s pissed off at whatever’s on her TV. Apparently really pissed off._

_We were just on our way, Lorna, because I too am wondering what in Eru’s name is going on. I may as well investigate because I certainly cannot focus on inventories with what I am currently hearing. Thanadir and I will arrive shortly._

“THAT IS NOT A GODDAMN STRIKE, THAT WAS A MILE OFF THE PLATE!! ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND????” came through loud and clear.

Strike...plate...the terms were vaguely familiar. Okay, she was probably watching some sport or other -- what the hell sports did America have? Basketball? That weird thing they called football, that actually wasn’t, because you don’t pick up the god damn ball in proper football? No, and no; process of elimination left baseball. How very American.

“You sound like you want to rip someone’s head off and shit down the hole,” Lorna said, giving a somewhat perfunctory knock on the back door -- perfunctory, because she doubted Earlene would hear it.

“Hi Lorna! Ha ha! Yes I do, and it usually is an umpire, and this turd is one of the worst in baseball. Cannot. Stand. Him. YOGI IS ROLLING IN HIS GRAVE, YOU MORON!!” she hollered, with projection Lorna could not exactly say she’d heard before. The scene was highly amusing. Earlene was wearing a pinstriped white shirt with a large number 3 and the word RUTH across the back, and a blue hat with a Y superimposed over a letter N. Even she could work out that this was probably a New York ball team, but beyond that, she was clueless. Still, it was damn funny to see the usually collected Earlene carrying on….like she did, every day behind the wheel. Rolling her eyes, she quipped “I’ll get the kettle.”

Earlene smiled, liking it that Lorna felt at home enough now to just get her own tea going. A moment later, it went to a commercial and she muted the TV. “Sorry about this, it must look like quite a scene. I’m not really that much of a sports nut but Opening Day for the Yankees is a very long-standing family tradition. Baseball is a fairly passionate thing for a lot of people in the City. And while I don’t watch every game, I do keep up on the team. It’s a pretty big cultural thing, to put it mildly. Do you know baseball at all? I was under the impression that outside of America it isn’t terribly well known.”

“I know it exists, but that’s about it,” Lorna said, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove. “I think it’s vaguely like cricket? They both have a bat and ball, at least. I was never much into sport myself -- we played it at school, but I got banned from cricket after a boy pulled my hair and I hit him with a bat.”

Earlene winced but pretended to ignore her latest confession of assault and battery. “There’s a little more to it than that. The basic rules of the game are really quite simple, but then, as with most things, there are subtleties and finer points of play that lead to it really being this incredibly nuanced….thing. When I was a little girl, I’d watch and it would think, ’oh, the pitcher is throwing the ball and the batter tries to hit it.’ And now I realize that there are novels that could be written about the strategies that are actually happening between the pitcher, catcher, and batter. And all of that is probably not very interesting so I’ll shut up,” she smiled self-effacingly, not wanting to drown her friend in unwanted enthusiasm. “Oops, commercial’s over,” she said, bringing the game back on.

The kettle would be a bit in boiling, so Lorna sat down, wondering just what the differences between baseball and cricket were, aside from vastly different bats and a smaller ball. Hitting someone with a baseball bat, she thought, wouldn’t be nearly so effective. She certainly would not have expected Earlene to be so enthusiastic about it, but family traditions ran deep. The opening of football -- proper football, dammit -- drew out a load of people who otherwise weren’t too interested. “So how’s it work?”

It being right after the bottom of the third inning, it was as good of a time as any to explain a little, but before she could draw breath, the ellyn arrived. Instead of the usual greeting, they both blankly stared at her, with Thranduil finally asking, “Meluieg, what is….Ruth?” Her attire completely baffled them.

Earlene grinned. “Not what, who. It is a name, this shirt is the baseball uniform worn by Babe Ruth, one of the greatest, if not the greatest, New York Yankee in the history of the game. Yesterday was the opening day of baseball season in America, and I am watching my team, the Yankees, play against the Houston Astros. This was supposed to happen yesterday, but the game was cancelled on account of rain. Which in April in New York is not in the least bit surprising. I was just about to explain the game to Lorna. The teams take turns attempting to score and attempting to defend against the other team's efforts; only the team at bat can score. The defending players have nine players on the field at any given time. Five in the infield, which is anything inside of that diamond of white chalk. Three in the outfield, and one who while usually in the outfield does as needed. Each batter has up to three opportunities to successfully hit the ball; if the ball is not caught, then that allows the batter to run to the bases. Should the runner make it all the way around the bases, a run, or a point, is scored. Each team plays until three outs are called against them, and nine innings are played. Those are the most minimal details, though there is much more to it”, she said breezily, before hollering THAT WAS A STRIKE!!” at a volume that caused Thanadir to blanch.

Thranduil, clearly having stumbled on a previously unseen facet of mortal behavior, parked himself on the sofa and asked for tea. Lorna cocked an eyebrow and got out more mugs and teabags.

“So it basically is a bit like a less stupidly complex game’v cricket,” she said, pulling the kettle off the stove as soon as it started to scream. “And I guess screaming at umpires is a universal constant, no matter what the game or part’v the world.”

“Probably. But it really is complex on some levels. Especially for anyone into math and keeping records. There are people who follow the statistics of baseball, and it’s completely ridiculous. There are statistics on the statistics….but I’ve never been too interested in that part of it.” As the game went on, Earlene continued to elaborate on what they were seeing, and the elves were reasonably impressed at some of the more difficult plays that were made, and later on Earlene explained the phenomenon of the ‘seventh inning stretch.’ Which gave her a moment to realize that Lorna probably came by for a reason having nothing to do with the Yankees. “Anything new going on, on your end?” she asked.

“I’ve got paperwork from Niamh,” Lorna said, fishing it out of her bag. She still carried Gran’s old knitting bag, because she flatly refused some modern handbag. Why, she wasn’t sure; she just...did. “Passports are a go. We’ve got to get our pictures taken and she’ll give them to whoever the hell is fast-tracking this for us. Normally it’d take about six weeks to get one, but she thinks she can knock that down to four.”

“Oh, wow. So then the question becomes, how sure is she? It’s sort of the cornerstone to planning a trip; if you can’t have definite dates it all gets a lot more complicated...flights, lodging and all that; they tend to get a little picky on that sort of thing. But...if we were to plan it eight weeks out, it at least sounds like we’d be allowing a cushion even? You and I are good either way; you only need a simple passport and I’ve already got one. Obviously. And then there is the question of, does that time frame work for you?”

“It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do,” Lorna said. “I’ll work for Jamie until he’s got someone new trained, but I think he halfway does already. Niamh’s about ninety percent sure she can have them in four weeks, but since there’s that other ten percent...yeah. I’ve got to admit, I’ve never been on a plane before, and it scares the ever-loving shite out’v me -- though if Shane comes through with those jewels, at least we could afford good seats.” While she would probably fit in an economy seat quite easily, none of the others would.

Earlene laughed. “Frugal as I am, even I refused to fly coach coming here. It is money well-spent, and the ellyn in one of those cattle cars….it would be comical. Planes are very safe, Lorna. You’ve seriously got a better chance of being run over in Lasg’len by a clown riding a bicycle than in being in a plane accident. And there is no reason we can’t get a direct flight into New Jersey or JFK. It’s basically the first of April now; I guess we’ll aim this for the first of June. Which will be nicer anyway; the city can still be miserably cold this time of year, and usually it isn’t so hot yet in early June. Nor are kids out of school; there are lots of things in favor of that calendar slot.”

“See, everyone says that,” Lorna said, dunking her teabag. “And I’m sure they’re right, but even so, I’m getting as drunk as I can be and still appear sober before I get on that plane. Heights are not my friend, and they never have been -- one’v you lot can have the window seat. I’ll just take some melatonin and try to sleep the whole way.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “You will be with me, Lorna. I will not allow you or your sensibilities to come to grief. You may save all of those for what Earlene has described to me of this...subway.”

“That’s not fair,” Earlene retorted. “I only pointed out to you that you will not be viewed as having legitimately been to the City unless you ride the subway. I rode it every day, and I’m still here,” she teased. “Besides, if anyone is equipped to manage the personalities one finds there, it is Lorna.”

Lorna laughed. “You’ve no idea how much I’m genuinely impressed you rode the subway every day and didn’t murder someone,” she said. “So long as I don’t get stepped on, I’m good, but I can’t promise I won’t get in a cussing match with someone, if what you’ve said already is true.” The thought held a certain appeal to it -- though it was a damn good thing Thranduil and Thanadir had dealt with the worst of her temper, or God knew what she might have done on a subway, other than nothing good.

“Well, the beauty of it is, when you really get rolling you tend to lapse into Irish. So who knows, you’ll like as not fit right in. That’s what can be so odd. The first Rule of Subway is, never talk to anyone. Better yet, never even make eye contact with anyone. Anything that goes wrong on a subway train is almost always a result of violating one or both of those simple requirements.”

“Why would you be so...unfriendly?” asked Thanadir.

“It isn’t being unfriendly. To be unfriendly, one has to be rude, or hostile. It is actually a form of great courtesy, and therefore friendliness. There are over eight million people in one place, Thanadir. We are all surrounded and we would all like a little time to ourselves. We give this gift by ignoring each other, as much as possible.”

Earlene was feeling more than a small twinge of guilt, for enjoying that the seneschal was obviously perplexed.

“This makes me realize something. There is a lot you could read about, in the two months ahead, to understand more of the City. I’m afraid that there is human culture and then there is New York culture. It is time to get you both email accounts, and send you articles to read. At least that way you will get a laugh out of learning these things.”

“There is a random fun thing I read, about a billion years ago,” Lorna said. “The origin of toe tags: most’v the coroners in New York were Irish in the eighteen hundreds, and there’s an old Irish custom’v tying the toes’v the dead together so they don’t walk. Hence, toe tags.” That’s right, George Romero: Ireland was way ahead of you.

“Part of me wishes this was a longer trip, Lorna, because with the stuff you know we’d clean up at a pub quiz night. It’s a shame, really….”

“Some other trip,” Lorna said. “Yeah, the cops and the coroners were all Irish, because nobody else wanted to do either job. Being a cop was dangerous, and being a coroner before refrigeration was just gross. I wouldn’t want any’v my...customers...chasing after me in the night, either.” She sipped her tea, trying not to laugh. When she’d first heard that tidbit ages ago, she’d dreamt of toe-tied zombies trying to chase her and failing. “The air pollution, though -- I’ve heard it’s rank. Are we sure these two won’t hate life, even if they don’t get sick? And yes, Thranduil, I’m aware I’m worrying. It’s what I do. I don’t have a child or a cat, so everyone gets worried about.” She arched an eyebrow at him, the quirk almost a dare.

The King’s only reply was his look of pure innocence and mock pain at her effrontery. Lorna stuck out her tongue at him while Earlene ignored all of it to answer the question.

“It can be less than wonderful in the summer, and I’m not saying you won’t smell car exhaust because you will. And some other things too; piss comes to mind. It’s a huge city and that means it has armpits and arseholes. But it’s right at the edge of the ocean, and windy as hell more often than not. We will spend more time than not closer to Lower Manhattan.”

“What all should I even pack?” Lorna asked. She’d have to buy herself some luggage, for the closest thing she had was Gran’s old suitcase -- the thing had come as a wedding present. In 1945. She’d never traveled heavy, but she’d also been content to wander around like a homeless person and only carry clean underwear. Probably not something she should do in this situation, lest none of these three actually want to be seen in public with her.

“At the very least boots or shoes that are nice yet comfortable. I want us to have time where we don’t have to care about how we look. But I’ll be honest, if I meet up with any colleagues, it would make you feel less awkward if you blend in with their sort. So probably one more conservative outfit that is simple, high quality, and fashionable. Like slacks and a blouse, that sort of thing or similar. Capri pants and cotton tees that aren’t printed will get you taken more seriously than shorts and printed t shirts. Maybe a good pair of walking sandals..I guess some of this depends on how hot or cold you usually run. For all the rest, I’ll know a lot more when I get into the planning process. That time of year, it’s around 75F in the daytime and 60F at night and...crud, what is that in centigrade?; I’ve never gotten totally used to the other numbers...ok figure it will be around 25C in the day, maybe hotter yet. Maybe 15C at night. Like that, give or take how much anyone can know about these things.”

That was pretty hot, by Irish standards; summer clothes were a definite. Lorna wasn’t sure what walking sandals were, but that was what Amazon was for. “Well, I’ve got good boots already,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll muddle through.” She didn’t have that giant scar over her left tit anymore, so she could actually wear a vest-top without drawing stares.

“If you want I’ll help you shop online, but I don’t want to be a busybody. And needless to say, if you even think it’s for this trip, we want to reimburse you. I think I might be shopping a little myself. I could use an extra top or two and...Thranduil, this necklace...does it, uh, work in faraway places?”

Her husband grinned. “If I am in the faraway places with you, then, yes,” he said, coming over to steal her baseball cap, and placing it on his own head.

“Well,” said Earlene with a frown, “now you’ve done it. I’d better never see you in a Mets cap. You’ve just declared fealty to the Pinstripes.”

Thanadir was grinning from ear to ear. “He’s being repressed!”

Lorna choked on her tea, laughing so hard she nearly dropped her teacup. Hurrying into the kitchen for a hand towel, she wiped her face and the front of her shirt. “Never change, Thanadir,” she said. “Never change.”

*****

Lorna spent a few days pondering what to do, while she busied herself working on the van (which she had already dubbed the Mystery Machine, even though she’d never get away with making it look like the Mystery Machine. Alas, only in her mind).

The thought of shopping with Earlene was rather daunting -- especially as she had been recommending things like slacks and blouses. Clothing like that worked very well on someone built like Earlene, but on someone built like Lorna? She’d look like a little kid playing dress-up, and feel like a stranger in her own skin.

She still had close to five grand in her account, at least, so she could afford something good. Buying her leggings off Amazon had taught her that quality was variable, so she’d try doing something in person. Even she could tell a good quality fabric from a bad one, thanks to Gran.

No, she didn’t want to go with Earlene, but she also didn’t want to go alone, so she rang Ratiri. Who was suitably disturbed.

“Lorna, while I would love to spend a day in Dublin with you, I have to warn you I have no idea how to shop for women’s clothing,” he said.

“Neither do I,” she retorted, grunting a little as she wrenched off a lug nut. “We can hit a pub afterward. We’re probably going to want to.” She knew she would, anyway. She had good boots, and a good coat, and she could get luggage off Amazon, but clothes...how the hell could she balance not embarrassing Earlene with not turning into a stranger? The mere thought of slacks and a blouse made her twitch. There had to be an in-between.

So she met him in Baile, picked him up, and on the M7 discovered that he was a passenger after her own heart -- encouraging her moments of recklessness without actually being a backseat driver. After having forced herself to be so careful when ferrying around Earlene and the Elves (and it was going to be a band, god damn it; did Ratiri play an instrument?), it was quite refreshing to have a passenger who said, “Go on, you can get around him. What’s the accelerator for, if not to stomp on?”

“You’re seriously going to New York?” he asked, while she dodged around a Prius, muttering about Holy Hand Grenades. Earlene was right; she really would lob it at first opportunity.

“I am. Scary thought, but exciting, too. I’ve been to England and Scotland, but I’m not sure such a relatively short distance counts, does it? It’s not like going over the bloody Atlantic Ocean. It’ll be warm there, too -- 25 degrees at least, Earlene said. I don’t know that she realizes how hot that is to us, in our damp, drizzly countries.” Ireland did get plenty of warm summer days, but not usually that warm. _Cotton_ , Gran would say. _Lots of cotton._ She’d never had any use for all this synthetic fabric tripe, as she’d put it.

“Well, even if we don’t find anything, you can have a pint or five,” he said. “I’ll drive home if I need to.”

“Best offer I’ve had in months,” she said, shooting him a grin.

Dublin had five major department stores, and she’d researched all of them online. Brown Thomas was stupidly overpriced; on their website she saw a blouse -- a damn blouse -- that was three hundred fifty euro. _Why? Who the hell knew._ Anyway, they’d be giving that one a pass. She’d have to ask Earlene why someone would charge such highway robbery for a blouse, and why anyone would pay it.

Debenham’s was first to be hit, though mercifully not literally. Parking in most of Dublin was utter shit, but there were ways to be sneaky even with a van (though not all of them were precisely legal, but whatever). It still meant there was something of a walk to the store itself, but the day was lovely and she had Ratiri with her. She was hardly going to complain.

Neither had mentioned her kiss to his cheek at the party, and she wondered what that meant, until he somewhat hesitantly touched her hand. Was he as touch-averse as she was? It would explain quite a bit, and honestly, it made things easier. If they both had this issue, it meant she wouldn’t have to feel weird or guilty about taking the whole ‘touching’ thing more slowly than was probably normal. His hand was warm, and so much larger than her own; if it weren’t for the grey in her hair, from a distance she’d probably look like a child walking with him. It had been so long since she’d simply walked hand-in-hand with someone -- she and Liam had all the time, and she’d kicked anyone who called them sappy.

Ratiri looked slightly uncertain, so she gave him a smile and a squeeze of her fingers. It was something of a relief, really, that he was was as awkward as her. It meant she wasn’t afraid to say or do something utterly stupid; after all, he was just as likely to pop off with something odd. Mutual awkwardness was actually rather nice, if a bit pathetic, at their age.

“Are you going to be able to handle the flight?” he asked, as they approached the doors.

“I hope so. I figure I’ll get us all to the airport, then knock back eight or nine shots before we get on the plane.” She couldn’t mention Thranduil’s telepathic Xanax out loud, though she’d tell him about it later. When it came to anything related to the elves, he was such an adorable nerd, and she loved it.

Ratiri, for his part, really had no idea what the hell he was doing. He and Katherine had been students; they’d both lived in jeans and T-shirts, with nary a tunic in sight. She’d been much taller than Lorna, though willowy; the things she’d worn just wouldn’t work on someone so tiny. (He would admit this to no one -- and fortunately, he hadn’t had the thought until after he’d last seen Thranduil -- but if he managed not to fuck it up and things actually progressed in a more romantic direction, how the hell certain things would...work. She was tiny, and Ratiri was not...in more ways than one. The last thing either of them needed was for certain, er, _things_ to be nothing but uncomfortable.)

Still, he would do his best now, and try not to let the fact that he thought she was lovely in anything muck things up. That would hardly help her -- though he also doubted Earlene would care too much, so long as he tried to steer her away from too much flannel. She did seem to have a fixation for it; just now she had on some sort of tunic of black-and-blue check, with black leggings (not the same pair the kitten had destroyed), and big black boots of a sort Katherine had worn -- Doc Martens, he thought. The entire getup ought to have looked ridiculous on a woman of thirty-nine, but she was adorable.

If only he could keep her away from the plaid, she could look adorable and less...rustic. ‘Tiny lumberjack’ was probably not what she ought to be going for.

He refused to let himself be bewildered by a department store, even a sprawling monstrosity like this one, despite the fact that he hadn’t been in one in years. At work he lived in scrubs, and at his height, he had to buy his normal clothes at specialty stores. That both he and Lorna were so bad at this at their age was vaguely pathetic, but at least they were both bad at it -- and in their defense, neither had strayed far out of the narrow lane of their lives after their respective spouses had died. They had to re-learn to engage with the wider world -- at forty-one and thirty-nine.

This was going to be a disaster, but at least it would be an entertaining one. If they both had to learn, at least they were doing it together.

As soon as they entered the place, Lorna was damned glad she’d brought Ratiri, because all the racks of clothing in immediate view were roughly her height. Lacking the help of someone taller, she could well get lost in here, like it was that Greek maze with the minotaur. _Jesus._ The place was massive, and came complete with a free-standing map with a ‘you are here’ mark at the entrance.

“We’re doomed,” she muttered. “I think we actually are going to need that pint.”

Ratiri laughed. “Probably. I’m guessing you’ll want ‘petites’.”

“It’s that or the children’s section,” Lorna muttered, shaking her head. “I’d really rather not hit that.”

The store, mercifully, wasn’t terribly busy, but it was still busy enough, to the point that Ratiri wound up going ahead to clear the path. Watching her navigate the racks of clothing was more than a bit hilarious; she went at shopping like a general went to war, flipping through each with rather impressive speed.

She frowned, a frown that grew ever deeper. “This is all shite for little old ladies,” she grumbled. “Screw it, I’ll hit the full-sized people section, and Thanadir can alter them. I’m tiny, not seventy.”

He actually had to agree with her, though not laughing was an ever-harder battle as she stalked toward the women’s section (were petite women not considered women? Why was the petite section just labeled ‘petite’? Obviously there must not be anything for short men in the fashion world.)

Lorna, because she apparently had a bloodhound’s instincts for plaid, immediately found two: one a deep red and dark grey cotton, with three-quarter sleeves; the other deep green and black check, sleeveless, and, rather terrifyingly, made out of silk. But the fact that it was silk, she was sure, would make the pattern more acceptable. The price tags of both made her quail a bit, but it was for work. Fuck it.

Ratiri felt rather more awkward that he had expected, and not just because of the strange looks he was receiving from other women in the section. Lorna was so small that she hid easily among the racks; from a distance, he looked like a man alone in the women’s section, no doubt agonizing over some article of clothing he didn’t understand. He fumbled through the racks as an excuse not to look at any of them, pretending to be intent on his task.

“Lorna,” he said, pausing. “Look.” He held out a short-sleeved tunic of black velvet, which had flowers and leaves of grey and silver embroidered around the neckline and down the front. Surely Earlene would have no objection to that, and it would look quite lovely on Lorna.

“Gimme,” she said, making grabby-hands. “Jesus that’s lovely, and it won’t make me feel like Corporate Skipper.”

“Skipper?” he asked.

“Well, I’m too short to be Barbie, aren’t I?” Lorna asked, and burst out laughing at his expression. “I can’t very well say flat-out ‘no’ to slacks and a blouse, even if they make me twitch, but if I find things like this -- if you find, you’re better at it than I am, it seems -- I won’t have to. If I have to go out in shite I’m not comfortable in, it’ll wreck my trip, and I’ll turn into a ball’v awkward.” Because, you know, she wasn’t already spectacularly good at that.

Ratiri pinched the bridge of his nose, and dissolved into helpless laughter himself. “Corporate Skipper,” he groaned. “Now I’m never going to un-see it.”

“You’re welcome,” Lorna grinned. “A few more and we won’t even have to hit another store. I just need something lightweight with no sleeves -- maybe two somethings, in case I spill something on the first. Though I’m not letting go’v my boots unless it’s sandal weather -- women’s shoes’re bloody torture devices. Whoever designed high heels was a damn sadist.”

Two racks over, a middle-aged woman in a grey business suit choked on a laugh.

“Try this one on,” Ratiri said, holding out the velvet tunic. “If it fits, we’ll look for more like it.”

Finding the dressing room was something of a mission -- surely there ought to be more of them, with a store this big? -- but when they did, Lorna left her bag and her other shirts with Ratiri, and swapped her flannel tunic for the velvet one. It was wonderfully soft -- softer than anything she’d worn that wasn’t elf-made, in fact. It was a little big, as expected, but it actually worked. It meant she didn’t feel like an idiot when she went out to show it to Ratiri.

“How’s it look?” she asked, rubbing the fabric between her fingers.

 _It looked...perfect_ , he thought. Somehow it went perfectly with her big black boots, and the silver in the embroidery brought out the silver in her hair. The Elves might be the Elves, but she was still a little sprite. “Lovely,” he said, and for once didn’t feel at all self-conscious about saying it. Perhaps this would be less difficult than he thought.

*****

For the last six days, Earlene had been spending inordinate amounts of fun time on email, sending ridiculous amounts of links to articles on everything under the sun. AranFionn at gmail dot com had been created, and was being stuffed to the gills, as was HiiirCian at the same provider. Lorna had not been spared either, being peppered with everything from pictures of print tunic tops to suggestions for high quality sandals. Even by her own admission, she was having a little too much fun, but it was occurring in among that which was less fun; the meticulous planning of this trip. Alone, she could have wrapped this up in a day; there were luxuriously housed colleagues that would have gladly hosted her without batting an eye. But this...this was all but an entourage. So the silly articles made her laugh...and maybe a lot of that was because she’d never given thought to how the denizens of the City viewed themselves, exactly. Nor how outsiders viewed them; it proved to be an all-around education.

Her reading called her own little identity crisis to the forefront, as well. The level of eagerness she felt for this journey surprised her. She’d been so certain that she was turning her back on the States for good. Not only had she wished for a different life, she wished to escape the sense of the ridiculous she was beginning to feel there. It was an election year, and after already listening to months of political blather, it was becoming apparent that the candidacy was shifting toward a Clinton/Trump contest. Shaking her head, she sighed. Obviously, she had no objection to earning money, nor to being shrewd in business dealings. And yet, the man’s ongoing lack of modesty had caused her opinion to turn toward the negative. The rest of the country might know of him, but not like New York City did. He’d been haughty and dismissive when she’d met him, and she hadn’t liked at all the way he’d looked her up and down, as if she was already laid out in his bed. The memory sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. And yet the other...in so many ways that option appeared no better. And when the time came to vote, could she actually cast a ballot? _I’ve knelt before my King, swearing fealty and the forsaking of all other allegiance or authority. America might not know it, nor do I plan to tell them, but haven’t I more or less cast aside my citizenship? Can I still vote, in any kind of good conscience? I kind of doubt it…_

And yet something still made her want to return. Was it a sense of pride in where she’d been, the resilience of the city she’d called home for so long? Was it just wanting to walk among the skyscrapers once again, and feel the pride in everything that people who lived and worked there had accomplished? Or was it a yen to look on the relics of the things that had caused her so much pain, when she’d now been given the gift of healing? To say goodbye one more time, from a place in her heart that wouldn’t shatter every time she tried? _Maybe it is all these things, and more besides,_ she reasoned.

During this moment of introspection, a notification chime rang. Expecting that it was another query from her firm, she grinned and toggled over a tab to open to her email. After Thranduil had helped her regain control of her consulting situation, she found that she now enjoyed the correspondences with her former office. They were stimulating, challenging, and were all being channeled through one of her colleagues with whom she’d had a close working relationship (and who was not a blithering idiot). It had provided the atmosphere and the encouragement to not simply turn away wholly from her vast store of knowledge but to keep a foot in the pond, so to speak.

But it was not from Tim at all; it was from Claire Frazier, who she’d hired to help sort her situation with Aidan. And it was a link to an encrypted email, which meant that it was important. “Thranduil, would you mind coming to sit with me?” she asked. He still liked to perch on the stool at her kitchen counter to use his computer, which vaguely amazed her as both she and Thanadir, when he was here, strongly preferred the sofa. Realizing right away that this was potentially important and unsettling information for which his wife wanted his emotional support, he closed down his screen and went to her. _This may be nothing but..._

 _It may be something_ , he finished, seating himself next to her with his usual elegant grace. She clicked it open.

_“Earlene, greetings. I’ll spare you the fluff; we have more information than we expected at such an early juncture. Specific documentation dug up by the P.I. is attached, but here’s the summary:_

_Your brother Aidan married a Madison Darst, aged 30, two years prior, after what appears to have been approximately nine months of seeing her. Much of the information obtained came via personal friends of Madison. These were only too eager to talk to the individual I hired; thus the relatively rapid results. Their stories had a great deal of consistency, and much of what was said was supported by postings on social media; we feel fairly confident concerning the accuracy of what is here._

_Madison wanted a baby very badly. Aidan did not, but was very taken with her. You can see via the attached pictures that she was extraordinarily attractive._

“That sounds like Aidan’s type”, she muttered aloud as she read and then thought….was??

_He relented on this subject prior to their wedding, rather than risk her loss. Though his wife was very much in love with your brother, few of her friends felt enthusiastic about the match. When asked why, the replies were variations on, ‘I can’t explain to you why I felt as I did; I simply did not trust him. I felt like he loved her more for her looks than the rest of her.’ “_

_And that sounds entirely believable of Aidan too_ , flared her thought.

_“Next comes information that is tragic, and I’m sorry to be the one to relate it. Madison died from a preventable complication of pregnancy, immediately after giving birth to Allanah. She was very immersed in alternative ideas about health and wellness, as were some in her circle of friends. In spite of Aidan being a physician, and in spite of her having no particular medical background, she did not adhere to what would be considered a normal routine of wellness examinations as her pregnancy progressed. Our understanding from what we saw via social media posts is that Madison vehemently defended her views, seeking a healthy pregnancy by her own methods. She ate a meticulous diet of organic foods, exercised, certainly there was no drinking or drugs...you name it. This apparently was a source of strain between her and your brother, and at some point in her nine months they had ‘agreed to disagree’. He could not force her to seek what she referred to as “Western medicine,” and her views extended to insisting on a home birth with a midwife._

_Everything seemed well, Allanah was delivered at 7lbs, 1 oz. on December 25th at 4:32pm. Madison continued to refuse hospital care or any manner of examination or monitoring. Within twelve hours after the birth, she experienced seizures from a condition called “postpartum preeclampsia,” and could not be saved. It was...disastrous. Those who were friends of Madison rose to the occasion and helped Aidan round the clock with Allanah, until a full-time professional caregiver could be hired. Your brother, it appears, has colleagues but no one fitting the description of a personal friend.”_

_Small fucking wonder_ , she breathed, but had to add, _Merry Christmas. Jesus._ _Even Aidan did not deserve that._

_Then it goes from bad to worse. Aidan has unhesitatingly cared for Allanah by every means financial, but has been reported as having no interest in the child. For Madison’s sake, her friends have maintained a ruse of friendliness toward him in order to be able to have a window of access into the home, but to a one they are all dismayed and distressed about his disinterest in his daughter. The P.I. was able to determine by means I will not mention here that your brother has profiles on a number of  matchmaking sites, and has been already followed to three different locations, at which he met with women for what strongly appear to be dating purposes._

_As much as I wanted to hope your instincts were wrong, Earlene, it would seem you know your brother well. Regarding the most extreme possible outcome, your adoption of your niece, you need to be aware that Madison had no living relatives who would be able to contest Aidan’s relinquishment of his daughter, if indeed that is his intention. New York State law and Irish family law place the following hurdles in our path…"_

A truly formidable list of attachments accompanied this missive that Earlene decided she would look at later. Closing her computer, she tucked up her legs underneath her, seeking her husband’s arms. He brought her into his lap, holding her tightly.

 _I wanted to be wrong_ , she said.

_I know you did, meluieg. This is not your fault, nor the child’s. What will you do?_

_That depends on you, more than a little, Thranduil. My life does not truly belong to me any longer. When I swore myself to you, this was the absolute last scenario I could have envisioned. And, look at my life. Our life. I am to raise a child that is not my own in the Halls of the elves? This is at a minimum an eighteen year commitment. And…what about what I want, for me?_

Her mind simply seized. It was too hard to say all of this, too hard to confront the level of selfishness she’d found in herself on this topic.

_Earlene, meluieg, I already know that which you feel you cannot speak. This is...me._

_I suppose it is_ , she sighed.

_Let us discuss these things one at a time. I can tell you that I will gladly support you in this task, if it is indeed your choice to undertake it. The little child is your family, Earlene. I love children. Thanadir loves children. Lorna too would surprise you, in this. We do not lack for love, nor housing, nor food, nor willingness to guide and teach._

Earlene nodded. _You must know, I do not intend to make this fully easy for him. I will ask a price, a financial price. He does not get to do this to me, to us, with no consequence whatsoever. He also will retain no parental rights. And he will be told in no uncertain terms that if he fathers another child, I will return to America and kill him myself. Off the record and out of all hearing of others, of course._

Thranduil chuckled before he commented further, tightening his hold on her a little. _As for the other...Earlene, I made you a promise. But I also told you that you would have to be the one to ask me. I cannot, I will not influence you in this decision._

She stared at the sofa pillow, suddenly fascinated with its geometric pattern. Blinking once, she still stared in silent reflection. _Would waiting make a difference? What if all this with Aidan isn’t right; what if it all falls through and there is no Allanah, will it change what you want?_ A certainty, and a desire that seemed to come almost out of nowhere flared within her. _No, it will not. And you only have so much time, you know that_ , she reminded herself.

_Thranduil, I want a child. I wish to bear your child. I want us to have a child, of our own. Is that what you need me to say to you?_

Keeping his mental tone calm when his heart soared with joy was not easy. He still felt he had to be careful; she needed to have this decision be completely her own, without him affecting her thinking. _It is, meluieg. The time is not yet at hand, for your body to conceive. You will bleed again, quite probably tomorrow, and then I would guess you have another two weeks before your time of fertility, give or take. You have a while, in which to be certain of your heart. But I will not ask again; should your feelings change, you must tell me._

His answers brought more questions that she wondered if she should ask... _but if I cannot talk to him, who can I talk to?...Thranduil, you speak as though you can wave a wand and this will be accomplished with ease. I do not doubt your abilities but...this is outside my experience. Humans do not ordinarily get to know when such efforts will have success._

He tilted his head. _I suppose then it is different_ , he mused. _You would...wish to know, when it is time?_

_If it would not offend somehow; it would be a rare privilege. Humans do not often know with any certainty which act of love creates a child. Baby. Can I use that word? I know that you say ‘elfling’ yet this child will be both and neither._

_It would not offend. Our child will be most correctly called ‘peredhel’ but I do not intend to cause a fuss over terminology. And Earlene, do you have a desire for one gender more than another?_

_You can do that?_ she asked in disbelief.

_Yes, I can. Or I can do nothing at all, and leave it to chance._

_I would have to think about this….but right now, I do not believe I have a preference. If you do, I certainly hope you will choose. While I am grateful for both your promise and your concessions, this is your child too._

Turning in his arms, she reached to kiss him. The conversation had ignited a primal fervor within her that took them swiftly to her bed, where she allowed herself to imagine what would take place so soon. Happiness and desire settled over her in a way that had seemed missing, lately. As she moaned with pleasure under his steady thrusts, amidst all the recent uncertainty she knew that she wanted him, and she wanted this.


	32. Thirty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Nerd Note: in previous chapters the word fëa was used to indicate the spirit component of an elf or human. Unfortunately, it finally came to my attention that this word is Quenyan. Oops. The Sindarin word is fae, and will be used henceforth. It is both singular and plural in this form.]

Earlene and Thanadir gazed on the results of their shared construction project with obvious satisfaction. It was a conflation of what Earlene recalled her Gran doing for this, and Thanadir’s gift for rendering anything to which he set his mind into something attractive and well-engineered. Fifty-five little puffballs on legs scuttled around inside; after weeks of hinting and some cajoling, Thranduil had finally agreed that trying out the keeping of a limited number of fowl would make both culinary and economic sense. Earlene had talked to the seneschal for hours already, disgorging everything she knew about the care and keeping of chickens, and Thanadir was fascinated to watch both their antics and their rapid growth. Right now they were inside the barn, and further protected from drafts of cold air in the confines a special pen made of fabric, stakes and twine. Heat lamps, water, food, and some of the sawdust readily available from thousands of years of work in the woodcrafter’s chambers rounded out the setup of their chick pen. The project had, if nothing else, justified Earlene’s insistence on routing electricity to the old barn prior to her arrival; otherwise a morass of extension cords running to the house would have been the only means.

Thanadir’s head had been filled with words like “wattles” and “gizzard” as he had been shown on the computer how their bodies were constructed, and what would be expected for their growth...and how less than a year from how, four dozen eggs a day to supplement the needs of the Halls would be easily achieved. She hoped to convince Thranduil to double their number, but also did not blame him for wishing to tread cautiously with livestock. Because she had been allowed to choose, she’d selected a mashup of breeds that would be visually charming with appealing personalities; no bitchy White Leghorns or Araucanas were going to infest her yard when she could have the likes of mellow and friendly Buff Orpingtons and Jersey Giants. A gentle laugh from the seneschal occurred as he watched the mostly tan and black chicks run around madly in play, but then stop and fall asleep where they stood in sudden exhaustion. His observations were interrupted, however, and he raised his head. “I am to bring you to the Halls, Earlene; our King wishes it.”

Earlene smiled and nodded, accepting his arm as she took one last look at the enchanting baby birds. It was difficult to leave them, because chicks were as a general rule more entertaining than TV. With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, she turned her thoughts to their destination. In all likelihood, today would be the day. It still felt completely odd, this idea of going to her husband now because it was time to conceive; if anyone else ever quite went about it this way, it was news to her. He had told her two weeks ago that she would have about this much time to reconsider, and she’d tested her heart by doing a great deal of reading. It had occurred to her that if nothing else, she should be doing her best to educate herself on that for which she was asking and...nothing she’d read changed her mind or her desire. The lengths to which some couples went to become pregnant were both humbling and amazing...and not in a good way; she’d simply had no idea that people ever had to bother too much beyond having sex unless there were serious fertility issues present. That some women tracked every day of their cycles, recorded their body temperatures and ran home to have scheduled liaisons at just the right day and time boggled her mind. How Thranduil knew, how he could control all of the things he seemed to be able to control; she wanted to ask and yet she didn’t. That it fell into the category she would call “elven magic” was obvious enough. And beyond that, what good did it do her to ask questions when she had no hope of understanding the answers? Two days prior he had smiled, and told her not to be surprised if at some random time of day she was summoned to him for the fulfillment of his promise to her.

Earlene parted ways with Thanadir at the Gates, grateful that she could continue to their rooms on her own. This was one occasion on which she did not really wish to feel “handed off.” Entering and quietly closing the door behind her, she already felt warmth emanating through the rooms via the fireplace, which must have been lit for some time. _That was considerate,_ she mused. _At least feeling cold will not be an issue for me._

“No, it will not be, meluieg.” Her husband met her at the doorway to their bedchamber, wearing only a robe. She walked to embrace him, feeling excited and a little nervous. Pushing her gently away to hold her at arm’s length he regarded her, and she knew that look. True to his word he had not asked her to re-state her wishes or inquired whether she was certain of her decision. This was appreciated; too often she’d heard of women being endlessly questioned over these kinds of choices, made to feel as though they must justify their wants one way or another. Yet she also knew that he desired to hear it spoken aloud, one more time.

“I will save you the trouble of wondering,” she said softly to him. “I am as sure as I am able to be, that this is what I want.”

He nodded, a radiant smile appearing on his face. “I have said little because I felt it was important, very important, not to sway you with my own thoughts and feelings. But I believe I have fulfilled that obligation and can now tell you how much I have hoped for this, and how greatly I have desired it. I too want this blessing, more than you can know, Earlene.”

Her lips parted. “Then you have hidden your feelings very well...and here I feared that you were doing me a one-sided favor.”

“No,” he breathed, his voice growing husky with desire. “I acted as I did because I knew the degree to which you would wish to give me what I wanted. I could not in good conscience ask this of you without feeling a conviction that you wanted the same thing. Not for me, but for yourself. You have already given up everything, for me. Given everything, to me. I could not ask this too, unless it was truly your heart’s desire.”

Earlene nodded, loving him even more. That he would show this kind of regard for her warmed her heart. Gentle hands began to loosen the ties on her dress, until it slid off of her; even as the sash on his robe loosened and the fabric fell open to reveal his arousal.

“Is there anything...unusual about this? Do I need to do anything different?” It was the dumbest sounding question ever but, how was she supposed to know? Her frame already trembled lightly at the touch of his hands; he stood behind her. One hand caressed her breast while the other cupped over her womb suggestively after traveling down her belly before slipping off her undergarment.

With soft laughter he swept her into his arms. “Not to my way of thinking. We will be occupied for some time, though. I did not think you would mind, that I would wish this to be a memorable experience for both of us. Do you understand, that this does not happen right away after my seed is given to you?”

“I doubt that I know as much about it as you do but yes, I am aware that insemination does not equal immediate conception, if that is what you are asking. I know that sperm have some, ah, swimming to do.”

 _Yes_ , she heard as he claimed her mouth, _but as with any pursuit of victory, it does no harm to ensure that all available forces are committed to the cause._

He entered her easily as she giggled at his analogy, lifting her body onto his, so well had her thoughts and anticipation prepared her for him. Moments later she was laid on his bed, enjoying both his attentions and the sight of his beauty as he took her with vigor. And his lovemaking did seem different, to her. As he neared his climax, she was not yet close to her own. She wished to move her body against his but instead her hips were caught in his hands, locked into immobility as he raised himself onto his knees while pulling her pelvis up onto his lap. As the expression on his face spoke of impending bliss, his light increased. Not so brightly as she knew it could, but with an unmistakable radiance. His eyes opened at the last moment to meet hers as he called her name. “Earlene!” came from him in a gasp, even as she felt his emission filling her. The beauty of him in his ecstasy caused her to forget her own need completely; it was a sight etched into her memory. She reached to touch his hand that held onto her. He did not release her body from his grasp, but moved his fingers over hers as he gazed on her with adoration, recovering himself.

With a grin announcing that his intentions were far from completed, the lubricant she’d purchased for his aur en onnad appeared in his hand, and was drizzled over her center of pleasure. He withdrew only slightly from her body, while leaning forward to place the silky liquid on her breasts as well. While he had caressed her bosom many times, it had never felt quite like this. The sensation of his sliding hands moving over her sensitive nipples... _oh, my_ , and a noise of dismay escaped her when he stopped to return his attention to her unsatisfied loins. The touches were soft and electric, as his fingers deftly slid over her nub, causing her to wonder why she had not ordered a case of this stuff the day after she’d learned he was real. He chuckled. “If I appreciated the enjoyments your purchase gave to me, I could do no less in learning how it might give you the same, meluieg.”

 _I have no complaints_ , was all she could manage to think. With his member still buried mostly inside of her and his fingers increasing her heat, he slowly brought her to the edge, with tiny rocking movements that teased but would not bring satisfaction. Finally, she reached desperation. _Please_ , she begged as she tried to move against him but was prevented. _Please, let me finish_. With eyes full of love, he relented, as the fingers of one hand caressed her to completion while the other covered her womb, delicately palpating her there while each contraction rippled through her loins. When at last she subsided, he laid her back down as they were when he had begun.

“Do you want to tell me what all that was about?” she asked weakly, lost in a haze of euphoric feelings.

He laughed with joy. “It helps, if your climax occurs when a pool of my seed surrounds the entrance to your womb. You might say I was ensuring swifter results. But I am far from done with you, meluieg.”

 _What a pity_ , she thought, still half-insensible. The next hours were unfettered pleasure. Long massages, positions he had not previously shared, and the many times he released himself into her. The only similar experience she’d had with him was the long night in which he’d made love to her, binding her decidedly to him, and that event already felt like a lifetime ago. Though she still perceived this element of their lovemaking, it had grown so subtle over time that she had to pay very careful attention now, to notice. Which made a form of sense; she was now deeply entwined with his spirit in a manner that had more depth and complexity than when their bond was brand new. At times he would pause, looking at her carefully, placing his hand over her womb. If she hadn’t known where the organ was located within her before, she certainly did now. _Had it ever been felt from without quite so much?_ She doubted it. And then he would smile, begin with gentle kisses, and claim her body anew.

It felt like hours had already passed by, yet he was again causing both of them to groan with lust. They strained against each other, their bodies colliding until with a near shout his orgasm triggered hers. This time he had held her up onto his lap, so that she straddled him as her cries of fulfillment were muffled by his devouring lips. When she was able to flop back on the bed, she wondered if anyone had ever passed out from having had too many climaxes in a limited period of time. Her growing tiredness was eclipsed only by her hunger for food. Her stomach obviously felt that her next meal was overdue. She opened her eyes after catching her breath to see Thranduil studying her carefully once again. A humorous comment was on the tip of her tongue when precipitously she felt an isolated, strange lurching sensation. It was frightening; a little bit like when one dreamed of falling, only to wake in a panic...but it was gone just as swiftly as it had arrived. Her husband saw this, and looked at her again while his face transformed with an expression of purest joy. “Earlene, meluieg,” he cried, as he lifted her and covered her face in soft kisses.

Stunned and a little disoriented, she connected her sensation with his reaction. “That feeling, that was…?”

“Yes. You have just conceived, my beautiful wife.” His eyes filled with tears of gratitude and she hardly knew what to say.

“I have never heard of that...experience...happening. What was it?” she asked softly, holding onto him.

He answered with reassurance, and some contrition. “Some of your fae tore away, and joined with mine to create the fae for this new life. It is the way with elves. Earlene, you will likely have to forgive me many things. I do not know, what about childbearing is common to my race and not to yours. I will not have the awareness, of every aspect of what you will be able to expect; I can only guide you through each little event as it arises.”

“I trust you with my life, Thranduil. I am yours. Thank you, thank you for what you have given me. It is so hard to believe….me, a child…” her eyes were shining with happiness as she rose up on her knees to hold him tightly.

“I think it is time we made ourselves presentable, as I know you wish for food and probably will equally wish for Thanadir to not see us as we presently are.”

Earlene giggled happily and nodded as she was lifted off the bed and into his arms as he marched toward their bathing room. She had not thought about it during their passion, but they were both oily and sticky from the sum of their activities. Even here, he made a sensual production of washing her, pulling one last climax from her with the clever use of his mouth as she lay at the edge of the pool. Not to be outdone, she demanded the same of him. “I thought you were hungry,” he gasped as she sucked on him hard.

_I am. This surprises you? You know how much I like sweets._

“True,” he shuddered, as he burst into her mouth.

_But you must promise me mercy for the rest of the day; I am mortal and if experience pleasure again I fear I will be rendered unconscious, and then I would be unable to reflect on our joy._

“I promise, meluieg,” he said, as he weakly took a wooden bowl to rinse the last of the suds off of her. For all his stamina, even he was feeling close to spent. They somehow dried themselves, staggered out, and reassembled their clothing. Seated together on the sofa by the fire, Earlene rested, radiating happiness but visibly tired.

The gears roared to life as she began to think of more questions. “How does this work? I mean, is it customary to tell others right away? It is usual for humans to wait a while, but that is often out of fear that something will happen to the pregnancy. No one wants to say anything too soon and then have a miscarriage.”

“That will not happen to you. And meluieg, all of the elves will know the moment they see you. Your fae has changed, with the new life inside of you. Though if you wish to wait to tell the humans, I will respect this.”

“Wait,” she said. “You mean to tell me that Thanadir will just look at me, and know that there is a bun in the oven? Really? You can’t be serious….even though I know you probably are,” she sighed.

He laughed. “There will not be long to wait, as he is on his way with food. And I promise you, he was not told of our plans nor was he aware of the purpose of this afternoon’s time alone with you.”

“I don’t mind. Second only to you, I am closer to Thanadir than anyone. I would want him to share our joy. That is, if this is not adding to his burdens,” she quipped. It was still a little bit hard at fleeting moments, to let go of her fears that she made work for the poor elf.

“Meluieg, you must not say that to him, not even in jest,” Thranduil spoke, with all earnestness in his voice. “If I know Thanadir, this will mean the world to him, and he will not appreciate any insinuation that he would find a child of ours to be troublesome. He adored Legolas... _adored_.”

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I would do anything, not to offend him or hurt his feelings. Thank you for telling me.”

“I know that you did not realize, and I understand that this is your sense of humor,” he said kindly. Just then, they both heard the clinking of tableware in the outer room.

“Well, here goes,” said Earlene, smiling. She went to the doorway, and made sure that nothing fragile or heavy was in the seneschal’s hands before walking a few steps closer to him. “Hello, Thanadir, i Hîr nin” she said softly.

“Hello, Hiril vuin,” the seneschal said with a smile, not looking at her.

She tried again. “My King tells me that there is something you will like very much, but I think you have to look at me first.”

“Very well, Hiril vuin,” he said with an indulgent smile as he straightened up and then turned his attention to her.

Earlene was not at all prepared for what happened next. The sporks and knives that he held in his hand clattered noisily onto the dishes, as his lips parted in astonishment. He ran to her and dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulled her to him. “Galu!” he exclaimed with a half sob, as his eyes filled with tears of joy. “How I hoped for this!” he said in a voice that broke with emotion.

Thranduil came to his side and placed his hand on Thanadir’s shoulder. “Share in our joy, my faithful friend.” He raised him back to his feet, and held his shoulders as he looked from his King to Earlene and back again, with his gaze finally resting on Earlene in beatific elation.

Earlene reached to hug Thanadir once again. “Hîr vuin, I am blessed to have you at my side, to help and love our child. To know you feel so much joy adds to my happiness.” Thranduil adjusted his hold to embrace both of them, his heart filled to overflowing.

“There is one thing, my friend,” said Thranduil. “We have decided that for now, we will keep the knowledge of this joy to our sworn people. There will be a time, soon enough, to tell our close human friends, but it is not just yet.”

“You have my obedience,” the ancient elf said softly, rejoicing too much to care.

For the next few days, Thanadir’s indulgence toward Earlene during what was ordinarily their time spent as teacher and pupil reached record heights. He was suddenly less demanding in every aspect of his tutelage, and instead allowed her pursuits like time in the garden weeding the seedlings, or watching the chicks. They even viewed video footage and documentaries about New York City, for his learning. Sometimes Thranduil was able to join them for these. And always, she would catch the seneschal looking at her and smiling. At first it seemed odd, but as everything else he did was charming in her eyes, this became no exception. So it surprised her, when she walked toward him to present him with a mug of tea, and a very different look came over his features. His eyes widened again as he whispered, “gwanûn.”

“I do not know that word,” Earlene said. “What is gwanûn?”

Thranduil looked at her as well, his own face taking on the same expression. “Meluieg, would you sit between us, and lean back into Thanadir’s arms please?”

Baffled but compliant, she did as she was asked, only mildly chagrined when she felt her legs lifted over the King’s lap and her husband’s hand laid over her womb. _I’d better get over any lingering modesty issues_ , she thought. _From everything I have read, there is little that won’t be seen or touched by the end of this experience._

Thranduil laughed both at her mental comment and for happiness.

“Will someone either supply a translation or let me up to get my dictionary?” she asked, mildly annoyed.

“You tell her, Thanadir,” Thranduil said. “Your sharp eyes were the first to see.”

“Gwanûn are twins, Earlene. You are carrying more than one child.”

“Ohhhh,” was all she could manage as she tried to digest this, blinking. “Well, let’s get it all out in the open. Are they fraternal twins?”

“No, meluieg. That would have happened on the day of your conception. Thanadir sees two new fae where only one was before. They are going to be identical.”

“And their sex? I did not ask, and you did not tell me if you made a choice.”

Thranduil looked down at her, smiling. “I did choose.

Anírnen iell,” he said. _I wanted a daughter._

“Well, it looks like your order was doubled at the checkout counter,” she deadpanned, before adding with greater seriousness and a twinge of envy, “I wish I could see what you see. But it is enough, to receive your blessings. I hope they like each other,” she said wistfully. “All of them.”

Thanadir raised an eyebrow, but said nothing further, and the King sighed. “Thanadir, I believe it is time that you be included in another confidence. That is, if Earlene will allow it.”

Her head nodded. “I am relying on you for so much of this, Thranduil...this is your decision. I do not object at all...but perhaps you would please tell him. I do not want to ruin my present happiness by speaking of my brother. Tell him, please. Tell him all of it.”

The better part of an hour later, with Earlene still held in the comfort of Thanadir’s arms, the entire tale of Aidan was told, and the old elf was nearly speechless. “Three young ones?!” he both asked and exclaimed.

“We cannot be certain until many other things transpire, my friend. But much the same as we are doing, you should prepare yourself for the possibility. More will be known when we have met with Earlene’s brother, and seen the child. This is also why we are, for now, deciding not to speak of our joy to Lorna or Ratiri. Our Lorna suffered much grief once, from the loss of her unborn child. We would like her to learn of these developments in a manner that will bring her joy as well, and not add to her heartaches.”

“As you wish, Thranduil,” said Thanadir, beaming with contentment. Earlene felt herself squeezed like a doll and kissed on top of her head, and giggled. They were all in such good spirits, and she hoped it never ended.

**************

Lorna had returned to Baile, and her cottage, and her pub, though she was mainly training her replacement -- not in mixing drinks, which he’d learned quite well already, but in how to handle the often unruly late crowd. She’d put the fear of Lorna in all of them years ago, and she let it be known that if anyone gave Andy a hard time, they’d answer to her.

She’d taken Ratiri on long walks in the woods behind her cottage, and had started putting in a great deal of work on the cottage itself. It was beautiful, to be sure, but it also needed a lot of work. The walls were built of river-rock, the floor hand-laid hardwood save for the kitchen, which was tiled with stone chipped and shaped by her great-grandfather. The kitchen cabinets were oak, but like the floor, they were in bad need of sanding and refinishing.

The wood stove stood on the border between kitchen and lounge, where it could best heat the house. It was still perfectly good, and probably better-made than anything you could get nowadays. Still, it needed a good polish.The furniture was all Gran’s, most of it from 1945 -- built to last, but it needed new upholstery, and she found a man in Dublin who’d do it with actual vintage fabric. She ordered herself a new mattress, a memory-foam, king-sized monster that took up much of her bedroom; she’d have that expanded on sometime this summer, along with the bathroom. Nothing in the human world was going to be as amazing as Thranduil’s tub, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t upgrade to something much better than the closet-shower she had.

Ratiri insisted on helping her, and together they sanded and refinished the hardwood floors -- beautiful things, laid down originally with the cottage. They did the same to the kitchen table and all the cabinets, the fumes occasionally driving them outside even with all the fans they’d set up.

Yes, she could probably afford to have all the work hired out, but Gran wouldn’t have liked it, and really, there was no point. Basic work Lorna could do herself; it was things like construction and wiring that she didn’t dare mess about with. And it gave her time to spend with Ratiri outside the pub, outside the elves -- just two people, hard at work, sweating and occasionally swearing in tandem. For a doctor, he had a pretty impressive repertoire of curses -- but then, as he pointed out, he’d done his residency in Glasgow, and been called all manner of things by the drunks arriving in A&E.

A week into it, they took a day off, because she’d found the perfect Charger: 1966, red once upon a time, though the paint now looked much the same hue as a tomato, so the Tomato it was christened. It wasn’t nearly so much of a lemon as the van, either; she didn’t feel she had to be nervous it would fall apart on the way back to Baile. After an oil change and some basic cleanup, she took Ratiri to Dublin with her to pick up her passport, and some of the cash Shane had managed to produce from those gems -- he hadn’t sold many yet, but he had ten grand waiting for her. Earlene would have to deposit it, somehow; Lorna didn’t actually know what bank she used, or if she’d even want to deposit something that big in one lump sum to begin with. God knew it would be safe enough with the elves, until she did decide what she wanted to do with it.

“Does it make you nervous, carrying that kind of cash?” Ratiri asked, eying the envelope on her lap.

“You’ve no idea,” Lorna said, passing a whole line of eejits who apparently lodged their thumbs firmly up their arses when they got into a car. “I’m still not used to this bloody salary’v mine. What I get a month is over half what I used to bring in a year. What I’ll do with it once the cottage is done, I’ve got no clue in hell. There’s only so much a person needs. Admittedly my family tends to live forever, so I should put something by, but I can’t imagine quitting work. I’d die’v boredom without something to do. At least Gran had all’v us to nag after.”

Ratiri burst out laughing. “What was your gran like?”

“Me, but worse,” Lorna said. “If you think I’ve got no filter...let’s just say it’s a good thing she didn’t live to see the elves, because I know she’d grab Thanadir’s arse. Maybe Thranduil’s, too. She swore she grabbed Bono’s, and given it was her, I’d believe it.”

That set Ratiri off all over again. “I should have come to Ireland years ago,” he said. “You have a lot in common with us Scots, and your weather isn’t as miserable.”

Lorna side-eyed him. “Your weather was worse than ours?”

“Colder,” he said. “Just as damp, but colder.” At least, it had seemed so; maybe perception played a part in the whole thing. He had people in Ireland, whereas in Scotland, he’d had no one. Maybe that made all the difference.

“I don’t remember it being too awful, but I was also there in the summer,” she said, pulling off at the exit toward Lasg’len. “Though you’ve not yet experienced an Irish winter. You want to talk about damp and miserable...good for business, though, if you run a pub, and there’s not near so much drink-driving in a little village like Baile. Doc Barry gets most’v her business in winter from the eejits who think getting three inches’v snow’s a great excuse to tie a sled to the back of someone’s car and go tearing off down Main Street. Whoever stays on the longest wins.”

Ratiri eyed her. “You’ve done that, haven’t you?”

“...Maybe,” she said, trying not to look shifty and failing utterly. “Though at least I’ve never broken any real bones doing it. Noses don’t count.” She laughed. “My first winter in Baile, Dai at the mechanic for some reason had just the hood of a VW Bug, so he somehow rigged it up on a rope behind his pickup. Siobhan and I were the only ones who dared ride the thing, so on we went, and off he went, and it all went good for a block or so. Damned gobshite must’ve forgot we were back there, because he hit his brakes, and the two’v us just kept on going. I was in front, so I somehow managed to break my nose, knock myself out, and smash my two front teeth. I spent Christmas Day high as a kite off the meds the emergency dentist in Dublin gave me when he put in the fake ones. Covered in bruises, too; surprisingly, slamming about on a big piece’v metal gives you bruises. Amazing, I know.”

“Why can I imagine that all too clearly?” Ratiri asked, shaking his head; he was clearly trying to stifle his own laughter, and completely failed. “Though I don’t really have any room to talk. During my gap year, a lot of us went and traveled through the States. Montana gets a lot of snow in the winter, so we decided to rent some snowmobiles and go riding about in negative thirty weather with Star Wars helmets. I was Boba Fett.”

Now Lorna was the one who burst out laughing. On the surface, she had a very difficult time picturing that, but by now she knew he was such a nerd at heart that it wasn’t really hard to imagine at all. “I hope nobody ran anybody else over.”

“Two of my mates had a collision, but nothing serious. The damage to their wallets was worse.”

Lorna shook her head, coasting down the hill to Lasg’len. Someday she’d explore where all the back roads along the way here actually went, but there was no time right now. For now she made her way through town, waving when she recognized someone -- it was rather odd, that the villagers hadn’t objected over her, an outsider, getting closer to the elves than any of them. Lasg’len was a small village; if someone had had something nasty to say, she’d have heard of it, and she wondered why nobody seemed to mind. Admittedly, they didn’t know just how deep she -- and Ratiri, as of recently -- had been let in, but still. She would have expected some form of resentment....unless they didn’t want the elves too close, and were happy to have an intermediary.

They pulled into Earlene’s driveway, and Lorna leaned out the window. “Oi, I’ve got shite!” she called. “Not actual shite, but, y’ know.”

“Why can I picture you carrying a bag of feces in one hand and money in the other?” Ratiri asked, of no one in particular.

“Because you’re starting to know me,” she said, giving him a rather wicked grin.

************

“I do not see patients on either Wednesdays or Thursdays, nor the weekend, and could meet with you on any of those days during the week of your visit,” Earlene read aloud. “Perhaps the earliest day would be best, in case something comes up? I’m certain you know of suitable places to meet in Manhattan; please choose a day and time. And if it is not too bold of me to ask, I noticed that you have been using the word ‘we’ in your emails, so I assume I will be meeting you and another?” Earlene read, heaving a huge sigh. _Yes, Aidan, you’re a genius,_ she quipped to herself. Her fingers flew over the keyboard but then just as suddenly stopped. This meeting needed to not be rushed, and yet at the same time she did not desire to leave them susceptible to any potential vagaries. Each day and hour of this trip was precious in her eyes, and if her brother truly wanted this meeting, he would have to make an effort to see that it occurred on time and as planned, barring some major upheaval.

Glancing over at Thranduil, she shook her head lightly. Not so many weeks ago she would unhesitatingly have answered as she felt was best. But now...it was better that she asked for his input. Even though this was something that would occur on her terms, nothing about this endeavor could hope to succeed without his support. He was King, and the first right of directing what would occur belonged to him. “Do I respond to the lesser of these questions, and tell him of you, Thranduil?” she asked him softly. “On one hand, a part of me would love to not mention that I am wed and let him find out when he finds out. On the other, I have no interest in playing games in the manner in which I am almost certain he is indulging. And, what of Lorna and Thanadir? I cannot in good conscience float a baby past Lorna and expect her to manage the emotional surprise this meeting may bring with no chance to prepare herself, and nor can I in good conscience tell those two to wander Madison Avenue alone while you and I meet with Aidan.” Her eyes did not leave him as she waited for his instructions...or the lack thereof.

He tilted his head, reflecting on her questions, and then stood up to sit next to her on the sofa, where he re-read the email. “Meluieg, tell him that you are traveling with friends and family on this visit who have never before seen America. It is all he needs to know. Were you to provide names or more information, there is a possibility he would attempt to investigate us in return. I see no reason to facilitate that. And I see too that it is your intention to meet him in a public place sheltered from the elements. I approve of this; it shows good judgement. Such surroundings will certainly not favor any displays of untoward behavior on his part. Wait to provide him with your cell phone number, though. Not until nearer the time of our arrival there.”

Her fingers resumed their dance over the keys. “Aidan, we will meet you June 8th at 8:30am at The Atrium. 590 Madison Avenue. On this visit I will be traveling with family and friends that have not seen the States before so yes, I will not be alone. -Earlene” _Well that was suitably terse_ , she thought. _This is so...hard. Even after everything, I am still fighting to not to let myself hope for something that I know cannot happen. There will be no ‘Lorna and Mairead Ending’ to this encounter._

“Meluieg,” he whispered, as he tenderly bent his head down and kissed her cheek. “I know that it is difficult for you to harden your heart, in spite of all that has happened. And whether or not I am your ruler, I still thank you for your trust. I will not allow you to falter, or to make yourself vulnerable to your brother. No one deserves your goodwill less, in my estimation. We must all keep in mind that what is being done, is being done solely for the welfare of your niece. Because neither of us wishes to leave an innocent child to be raised by such a parent, if it can be avoided.”

 _He is right._ They would leave in three short weeks, and those weeks would fly by, no pun intended. As the days to her conception had approached, she’d taken stock of her mental and emotional reserves and made an unusual decision, for her. She had abandoned her original intention of planning every bit of this trip herself, and then elected to have Lorna be the one to see to many of the details, with the aid of a travel agent she’d used in the past. Earlene had helped and monitored; she’d disgorged much information on flights, pricing, classes of travel, airport experiences, hotels (the good, the bad, and the ugly), packages, and how to keep tabs on what a travel agent would suggest and try to book….and then how to create a folder and use the printer at the cottage to slowly begin organizing the information into a reference and an itinerary. If she was allegedly using her as a P.A., it would serve all of them well for Lorna to gain some experience and confidence with these sorts of things.

There had still been many details to manage. It wouldn’t do, to go around the City wearing elven clothing, however wonderfully made. While it was charming, things that were different were things that attracted notice, and it was already going to be hard enough to sweep two very tall, attractive males under the figurative carpet. So they’d made trips to the thrift shops in both Lasg’len and Baile. Decent solid t shirts were easily found for Thanadir, and jeans that were broken in but not worn to the point of unsuitability. A pair of slacks each and an order of short-sleeve cotton shirts with some buttons at the neck took care of the informal-wear needs...along with the black cargo shorts. The shopping was straining her sensibilities, and Lorna helped with that, too. For everything they ordered, the agreement was that both women had to imagine the elves wearing the garment without either of them bursting into laughter...and it was a harder rule to abide by than anyone initially imagined.

To her dismay, Earlene found that she had to supplement her own clothing. Her closet held silk blouses and well-made, conservative attire. But she was returning to be a tourist at the end of springtime, not to spend a day at the climate-controlled office. In the midst of one of her shopping sessions, her email chime sounded at the same time she thought she heard an engine in the driveway. Her eyebrows raised at taking note of the sender, and her mouth fell open at the message contents.

*****

Lorna and Ratiri exited the car, and she gave it a fond pat as she headed to the cottage. “You home?” she called, rapping on the door. She hadn’t quite reached the point where she would just open in and stick her head in.

“Sure, come on in,” Earlene said at a respectable volume. “You’re not going to believe what just landed in my Inbox, you’ll need something stiff in your tea for this one. We’ve been invited to a formal social occasion in Manhattan. My classmate apparently let this visit slip to another of my colleagues and life just got interesting. Jesus Christ,” she huffed; this tossed a massive wrench into her travel wardrobe planning. For someone who wasn’t religious, she was certainly invoking assorted deities quite a lot since she’d moved here. She considered saying _by Eru_ like the ellyn did, but somehow that didn’t just yet fit into her vocabulary. Yet.

 _Because that wasn’t terrifying._ Lorna set her money aside once she’d shut the door behind her, casting Ratiri a blatantly worried glance. “How formal are we talking?” she asked, already dreading it. Knowing where Earlene kept the whiskey, she busted out a bottle in advance, because the thought of attending a party full of lawyers and lawyer-type people sounded about as appealing as a root canal without anesthesia -- at least, if she wanted to avoid doing anything that might embarrass Earlene.

“Erm, good question. But it’s safe to say, given the host, that at the very least rented clothing would not be avoidable. Think of it as an episode of ‘How the One Percent Lives.’ Something like that. The question is if we want to bother. On one hand, I’d seriously rather not. But the flip side is, I’ve been outed, and unless I want to heavily singe some bridges that would be better left un-burnt, I’m not sure I have a great deal of choice. These things are not to be declined lightly,” she said with a look of annoyance. “It would be on our last night there.”

 _Oh brilliant._ “So, you know me, Earlene,” she said, gathering a teacup for herself and Ratiri, who sat at the table. “You know that, even with my best intentions, I’m probably going to do or say something that’ll embarrass you -- provided any’v your mates can understand me to begin with. What in the name’v all hell would I even do, if I went with you to that? I mean, I could try to keep Thanadir out’v trouble, but I doubt he needs that much.”

Ratiri could only be grateful he wasn’t along for that ride. He’d had enough of formal occasions working at Great Ormond Street -- a decent suit for a man his height did not come cheap, and after renting a tuxedo for his first wedding, he’d vowed to never do it again. Thanadir might fall at the very upper end of what a rental store would have in stock, but Ratiri was quite sure, thanks to experience, that Thranduil was going to have an issue.

“Well, it’s open to discussion, as are most things I’d planned for us to do. But...seriously Lorna, if those people have a problem with me, my family, or people I'm close to, fuck them. I walked off from that life to do something else, and I’m proud to have you in my life and as my friend. I’m pretty sure we can all collectively keep each other from falling into the penthouse pool or something similarly ridiculous. And it would be good for a few of those pretentious bastards to have to slow down and listen carefully when someone talks, for a change. Personally, I think you’d enjoy it more than you might imagine. Just remember, for all their goddamn money they still shit once a day, however fancy their toilets are.”

Ratiri choked on his tea, and Lorna burst out laughing. “Aaaand now I won’t be able to not think that,” she said, adding a healthy dollop of whiskey to her tea and Ratiri’s. “I, y’know, appreciate it. Hearing that, I mean.” She couldn’t use her words, but Earlene knew that about her by now. “I will at least make certain I don’t belch. Ratiri and I, we went shopping a bit ago -- found stuff for me to wear on holiday that’s not flannel.”

“I couldn’t keep her entirely away from plaids, but I tried,” he put in. “And I think we entertained the other shoppers, at least a bit.”

“I still maintain heels were invented by a sadist,” Lorna grumbled. “Fortunately, I don’t think they even make them in size child.” Very fortunately, because nobody could ever ask her to wear them if none would fit. Earlene wouldn’t, she was sure, but she was equally sure that Thranduil would, just to be a little shit. Sometimes, despite the fact that they were two very, very different people, he reminded her way too much of Pat. Her eldest brother had been, though the term probably hadn’t existed at the time, a troll extraordinaire.

“You don’t need them,” Earlene quipped. “Besides, it isn’t like we have to stay long. You show up, have a drink, I make the obligatory chitchat rounds, we eat insanely pretentious h’ors d'oeuvres that some caterer invented, admire the home, and after that our duty is fulfilled unless by some colossal accident a worthwhile conversation occurs. In fact, if our wonderfully talented seneschal can manage it, you and I might just be able to have something to wear to this out of the Halls, which would cut down on the annoyance of finding something once there. For the ellyn, I could send their measurements in advance to my tailor; they’d have loads of time to get a tuxedo altered.” She of course declined to mention that this invitation was to a building in which the apartment in question cost easily over sixty million dollars and commanded a view of all Manhattan and Central Park. Lorna was doing well so far; it was best to ease her in slowly. “Ha, and here I’ve been spending all my time looking for good cargo shorts.”

Ratiri tried to envision either elf in cargo shorts, and failed utterly. Even his vivid imagination just couldn’t do it. For one thing, they both, as Lorna had confided in him, literally glowed in the dark; legs that white...not desirable.

“You have a tailor?” Lorna asked, though really, she wasn’t surprised; Earlene had a job where you wore very nice suits every day. Even she knew that very nice suits didn’t usually come off the rack -- or if they did, they were altered until they fit just right. “That’s handy as hell.”

“Thranduil’s definitely going to need significant alterations,” Ratiri said. “Evidently, ideal height for a man is somewhere between five-eleven and six-two. Any taller than that and you are a freak for whom clothing is not designed. If Thranduil hasn’t found that out yet, he will soon enough. I can loan him some things, if he needs any.” They had roughly the same build, and Thranduil’s clothes fit him decently enough that he was pretty sure it would work the other way, too.

Earlene laughed, her face breaking into a fond smile. “Ah, you’re only saying that because you don’t have Gino over at Baldwin Formals in the wings. He’s this delightful older Italian gentleman that hides in the back and does all the most difficult alterations. There is nothing that man can’t do. Nothing. I met him when he saved the day for one of my colleagues over some nameless function lost to memory. I made him chestnut cookies as a thank you, and he went over the moon; it was apparently something his nonna made for him in Italy and the rest was history. For obvious reasons I didn’t have too much need for tuxedos, but unless something happened to my friend since the holidays, this will be the least of my worries.”

“Lucky,” Ratiri said. “When I got married, the tailor got it wrong, and I swear my tuxedo wanted to crawl up my arse. I spent the entire ceremony hoping the crotch wouldn’t rip.”

Now it was Lorna who choked on her tea, laughing so hard it nearly shot out her nose. “That,” she said, coughing, “is why Liam got married in jeans.”

“I was so happy to change,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “I wore the tuxedo for Dad’s family, but I swapped it for Indian clothes for Mam’s. A Hindu wedding is basically a week-long party, though I thought Katherine’s mother and mine would come to blows that first day. Katherine’s family weren’t that pleased she’d married someone mixed-race.”

“Wait, what?” Lorna asked. “Seriously? You’re like a mother’s wet dream.” She paused. “That came out wrong.”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.

Earlene was having the worst time keeping her face from showing emotion. For a few seconds a valiant effort was made by biting the insides of both cheeks at the same time, but then it all fell apart. Her laughter was somehow kept silent but it was very obviously there, as she tried to work out in her mind exactly what a mother’s wet dream added up to, while superimposed on a vivid image of Ratiri not being able to move in skin tight tuxedo trousers that probably left nothing to the imagination. And because this idiom likely originated with Lorna, she might not genuinely want to know.

Earlene’s silent, carefully-controlled mirth only set Lorna off, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “It’s a compliment,” she wheezed, “somehow, I promise.” Still giggling, she grabbed the bag of money and handed it to Earlene. “Shane’s fenced some’v the gems,” she said, struggling for a straight face and totally failing. “There’s ten grand in there. I didn’t know what else you might want me to do with it, and it won’t be safer anywhere but here.”

Ratiri, to his distress, was actually blushing a little, and prayed no one would notice. He busied himself with his teacup, the tips of his ears burning.

“Thanks,” said Earlene, “and thanks too, to Shane,” she added, hoping to give Ratiri enough time away from being the subject of anything having to do with wet dreams. “Every little bit helps, as they say.” It was hard not to roll her eyes. _How did my life get this weird?_ she asked herself, and not for the last time. Time to change the subject. “Ratiri, you said you were reading all those Tolkien books. I wondered, when you’re done with it, if I might have a crack at the Silmarillion if that’s one of the ones you have? I’m a little overdue for taking a harder look at...all of that.”

“I do,” Ratiri said, silently grateful as he sipped his tea. “I can give you all of it, to go through when you’ve got time.” Earlene seemed pretty damn busy, but she probably made time to read in the evenings, even if she didn’t get much. “Though you might not have room for it all at once,” he added, glancing around her cottage. Between the Lost Tales, the Unfinished Tales, and the various odds and ends he’d found on Amazon, her bookshelves didn’t have enough space. There was a shocking amount out there, in bits and pieces -- though Quendi and the Eldar was possibly the most disturbing. He’d thought Eöl and Aredhel’s relationship was creepy enough in The Silmarillion, but in Quendi and the Eldar, it had been out-and-out rape. Not what he had expected from Elves, but there you were.

“You’ve plenty of time,” she said reassuringly. “I’m just finishing _The Hobbit_ , and then comes the much larger one on my bookshelf that I’m sure you’ve already read. And I’ll like as not have Thanadir to help me. Or rather, answer questions and read with me, I didn’t mean to imply that he has to help me read. Er, not in English, anyway,” she laughed at herself with self-deprecating humor, because there will still times her brain seized up when reading in Sindarin, and he most definitely did have to help her read. “I had to learn the language first but I seem to have cleared enough hurdles that I can now turn my attention to other pressing questions. Like, who are these elves I live with, and where did they come from?...it’s the little things.”

Ratiri laughed. “Understandable. I’ve been looking at the language myself, and I have to admit, it’s giving me trouble.”

“It’s the damned alphabet,” Lorna said. “It was invented by a god damn arsehole. Half the letters look the same.” Knowing who had done it, and what else he’d done...no. God dammit, she was giving over and getting Thranduil to fix this fucking dyslexia, as soon as she could corner him. Provided, of course, he could actually do it. “The structure, at least from everything I can gather, isn’t any more complex than Russian, it’s just...different. If I was going at the language thinking it was fictional, I’d swear whoever did it made it so stupidly hard on purpose, just to make sure anyone who wanted to learn it had better really want to learn it.”

Earlene tilted her head. “It’s not like much else I knew, but then again I didn’t know many. My favorite line from all of my learning of it is still the one that said a certain number of their grammar rules and things I found most difficult to learn are because the elves like their language to sound pretty...just...elves,” she said with undue emphasis and a sigh.

Lorna cackled. Given all Thranduil had told her about why they dressed as they did, and made things as they did...yeah, it made sense. “I’ve got half a mind to shove Russian down their throats,” she said. “I’d wager even Thanadir’d struggle with genitive and accusative case at first. I keep telling myself if I can learn Russian, I can damn well learn Sindarin, at least sort’v.” Irish was different; yes, it was a crazy difficult language, but not if you’d grown up speaking it like she had.

“It was all I could do to master German as a child,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “If you can call it ‘mastering’. I speak Hindi thanks to my mother, but it hardly counts if you were raised with it. It’s nothing the same as learning it as an adult.”

This was all well and good, but Earlene was no longer in love with talking about Sindarin as a general topic of conversation. If someone wanted to know that the plural of “firieth” was “firith” and that this was also the word for “autumn”, well, that was grand. Nothing but the finer points of ludicrousness of her adopted tongue interested her, lately. With a small huff, she reflected on how the children inside of her would be fluent in it, with no effort whatsoever. Zero. She was about to become one of those immigrant parents whose kids spoke the native language better than they did. And with no accent. Shrugging to herself, she left off this set of musings and decided she felt mischievous enough to hunt larger quarry. Which is why her next audible question was, “So, do you two get to see each other very much, outside of our fair Elfland?” The gentle but definite smirk on her face left little doubt about her current attempts to be nosy.

That smirk, unfortunately, only made Ratiri’s face burn, to his consternation. Lorna just laughed. “I’ve taken him out to see my own woods,” she said, shooting him a grin, “even if they’re nothing like yours, and he’s been helping me fix up my cottage, since I’ve got the money to do it. Nice having somebody who doesn’t need a ladder,” she added fondly.

“I haven’t had a chance to do much like that, since I moved to London,” he said. “Dad was an amateur carpenter in his spare time, so it’s been...nice.” Nice for more reasons than one, but that, by this point, was implied. “And Lorna has attempted to teach me guitar, but I’m a fairly poor student.”

“My guitar’s just too small for your hands,” she assured him. “It’s no bloody wonder you can’t do it -- not when one’v your hands just about stretches across the whole body’v the thing.”

Earlene grinned, pleased to know that their time together went far beyond coming here. Trying next to frame how she might get out to see Lorna’s cottage sometime without looking like a party-crasher proved fruitless, because at that moment the ellyn were opening the back door. Anyone else might have managed to tread noisily on the steps of the small deck, but no such luck with elves. Oh well. “Did you miss us, or were you afraid we were buying you too many frightening clothes in your absence?” she teased.

“The latter, meluieg,” Thranduil said without hesitation. “Having seen glimpses in your mind of this thing called a ‘tuxedo,’ I felt a need to make haste, for both our sakes. And Lorna, Ratiri, welcome once again,” he said with a gesture of welcome. Thanadir did as Thanadir always did; softly tell their guests “hello” before plunking down next to Earlene and opening his laptop. Earlene smiled and shook her head; the seneschal’s appetite for information far outweighed his interest in small talk. Her eyebrow raised to see that he was reading a detailed history of the five boroughs of New York. Doubtless he would have lessons to teach her, by the time of their departure.

“They’re sufficiently alarming garments, or can be,” Ratiri said. “I’ll spare you any more of the nightmare of my experience than you’ve already seen, but if Earlene has a tailor, you’ll be in good hands.”

Lorna really wished Ratiri had pictures of this tuxedo fiasco. Preferably without the coat, because thought of him in skin-tight trousers and nothing else...sorry, Thranduil, she thought, unrepentant. It was not her fault Ratiri had an amazing arse. It just wasn’t, and she was a heterosexual woman not otherwise drawn to anyone else -- of course she was going to admire.

The Elvenking looked straight ahead over at the tea kettle. He so very badly wanted to defend the appearance of his own derrière, which Earlene found most lovely. But modesty and propriety dictated that he do no such thing. And yet... _I am certain that other, equally shapely rear extremities exist in this room, Lorna_ , he said acerbically. _I do not mind your observations in the least but you might give equal credit._

Lorna didn’t quite make a face, but it was close. The thought reminded her starkly of her brother Pat, who had never lacked for girlfriends -- if you could call them that; there wasn’t much romance in his sixteen-year-old life, but plenty of girls. They no doubt thought he had a nice arse in jeans, but that didn’t mean she wanted to think about it. _How about no,_ she sent back, only half aware of the depth of the connection she’d made. _Earlene doesn’t give equal credit, I’m sure, so I won’t, either._

Thranduil’s eyes widened, because he had only dug himself a deeper hole. Earlene most certainly did admiringly notice the physical traits of others, but she was not attracted to them. Or as she would put it in her own thoughts, ‘I am not blind.’ And yet it was not his place to reveal that to Lorna or anyone else. There was only one reply open to him, however unsatisfying it would be: _I am not at liberty to comment. Regrettably._ Which was probably the same as giving away the answer, but still gave him technical absolution from guilt.

Okay, still...Earlene probably wasn’t looking admiringly at anyone who reminded her of her brother. Thranduil and Pat had next to nothing tangible in common, but they could both be little shits with a very similar sense of humor. Somehow, through some odd, unobserved happenstance, Thranduil had managed to worm his way in with Pat and Mick, wherever the hell either were now. He was an ancient elvenking...who could be a every bit as much a little shit as either of her brothers. Even so. Just...uh-uh. The thought left her vaguely ill.

His sense of being miffed at having lost this small verbal sparring match rapidly fell away in the wake of this new set of thoughts from Lorna. That she had come to view him in this way...as a sort of family member, and not only as a friend, and with all her aversion to forming close bonds with others…it really was an unprecedented compliment and he was wise enough to see it as such. And to let this entire subject drop. _Mostly. I suppose_ , he smirked back at her, before entirely changing the topic by speaking aloud.

“Then I am to understand that we have had an addition to our plans while in New York?” he queried Earlene with humor.

“Yes,” she replied, reaching out for him and hoping in her laziness that he might indulge her by sitting next to her. While she was sure that it was far, far too early to be playing the pregnancy card, the truth of the matter was that both ellyn had been spoiling her rotten and she was growing rather fond of it. Too fond, even by her own admission. Though, this was not a journey that brought idleness once the destination was reached; she reminded herself that the destination only meant that the the real work began. And with the very real possibility of having a different baby in her arms before her own arrived… _.yeah, I’ll take the being spoiled while it lasts._

Once he had seated himself, she explained that the invitation was from the circle of her business associates, and without specifying it aloud let him understand that they were being invited to the home of one of the fabulously wealthy business magnates of the City. And that she could take it or leave it, but there would be some small consequences to her should they decline.

“I see,” he sighed. “And because of its nature, special attire is required?”

“Yes. Though, it need not be complex at all. If Thanadir can provide me with your measurements, everything can be managed without difficulty. The clothing needed for you can be altered, rented, and delivered to our hotel room with no disruption to our schedule whatsoever. And...if you are willing, Thanadir (she now turned to the seneschal, who began to come out of his academic reverie), rather than Lorna and I renting gowns, I would consider it an honor to wear a dress from the Halls. I thought perhaps two somethings could be altered that would fit us? I could give you examples of the sorts of garments that would be appropriate?”

A look of profound happiness came over Thanadir’s face, causing Earlene to wonder if she’d just unleashed a monster. He nodded eagerly, and when he realized that this was all that was being asked of him, he was soon immersed once again in his reading.

“Well that takes care of that, it would seem,” she noted with a smile. “And since no one looks bad in a tuxedo that actually fits properly, I’m sure you both will appear admirably. I am sorry, Ratiri, I can’t help but laugh at your predicament. Hopefully nothing else went wrong with your special day; no fallen cakes or mass food poisonings?” Earlene really did not know what was the matter with her today, she simply could not resist quizzing the poor man. He blushed to perfection even with his lovely, dark complexion and that he did it so easily was becoming too much fun.

Ratiri laughed. “Well, there were a few drunken fights out behind the building, but that’s only to be expected in a Scottish wedding,” he said. “If at least one person doesn’t lamp one other person, it’s considered a bad omen.”

“We really do have more in common with the Scots than I’d thought,” Lorna muttered, and genuinely wondered why the hell there had been so much animosity between the two peoples for so long. Maybe because they really were so similar. “I hope you got your money back on the tuxedo.”

“Katherine...made a scene,” he said, weirdly proud. He’d always been such a shy, reserved person, while she was the exact opposite: when she wanted something, she went out and got it -- even if, in the case of her husband, she had to just about hit him over the head to make him realize she was interested. “It was beautiful. We got our money back and a free voucher for future tailoring.” Yes, he had to admit, he had something of a type. Small, aggressive women really did it for him.

Thranduil sat and enjoyed the assorted thoughts playing through the human minds. They were so...interesting. Interesting for both their similarities and their differences. The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence.

“All right, so what have we got to worry about in New York, Earlene?” Lorna asked. She hesitated to bring this up, but instinct drove her forward. “D’you think there’s any real risk’v, you know, terrorism?” It was as delicately as she knew knew how to put it; asking if Earlene thought there was any chance somebody would blow somebody else up would be a bit not good.

Unnoticed by any but Thranduil, Thanadir’s head immediately rose up from his reading; he was extremely interested in this answer.

Earlene laughed, surprised that her chest did not immediately feel a crushing weight at that question. She breathed easily, as she answered, still grateful for the miracle that had allowed her this. “Well, there is a risk of terrorism anywhere and everywhere; you probably already know that. But after 9/11, places that are likely to attract that kind of attention became heavily guarded; beyond that we just have to hope the people who get paid to stop those kinds of things are able to do their jobs. It is nearly as hard to get through security at the 9/11 Memorial as it is to get through the airport. Thranduil and Thanadir, that means that people are paid to inspect bags and purses for weapons, and police officers are nearby. Police are uniformed persons whose occupation it is to be sworn guardians of public safety; they are armed and authorized to take a variety of actions. On this trip we will pass through many machines designed to detect metal objects like knives or guns hidden in our clothing. And I also like to tell myself, the odds of being in something like 9/11 twice in one lifetime are a statistical impossibility, just because it makes me feel better.

It is the smaller kinds of crime, that are more realistic to worry about. We’ll bring some cash with us each day, but most of it will stay in the safe in our hotel room. We’ll rely on credit cards to pay for meals or buy things, just to not have to have too much cash on us. Never show money, jewelry, or anything that might be thought of as valuable and easy to grab in public. You organize all that somewhere else, out of sight. You keep wallets and such in front pockets, not back pockets. I have always carried pepper spray, and this trip will be no exception; some will be waiting for me on the other side of the pond because I can’t have it here. If you want to gawk at the tall buildings or other sights, you gawk from a place where it is safe to do so. Thieves look for people that are out of their element, tourists wandering around staring at their maps looking lost or...whatever. No New Yorker does this. If someone panhandles, which means ‘begs for money’, you ignore them no matter what; they are often lying and sometimes dangerous. Thieves often work in pairs; one distracts you, while the other tries to steal your belongings. You don’t go to certain places at night. You don’t walk on certain streets late; you take a cab. It’s really just common sense stuff like that. We aren’t taking clothes that will mark us as wealthy. And just by virtue of there being four of us, with the ellyn so tall; that alone is a discouragement to a criminal. Actually, this is the biggest liability of all,” she said, pointing to her necklace, “and I will dress so that it stays covered; it would be for the best.”

Ratiri stared without meaning to. Twice in one lifetime...had Earlene been in New York for 9/11? If so, Lorna hadn’t said a thing about it, which was somewhat surprising. Big Jamie had said she played her cards close to her chest, and he must have meant it. “Why wear the necklace at all?” he asked. “It would stand out like a beacon.” Truthfully, he wondered why she wore it now; it had made sense with the lovely dress she’d had on the night he’d come to her cottage, but not so much with more casual clothes. She must really like it, but safety was safety, and that was one hell of a lot of ice in one place. Obviously Elf jewelry.

Pepper spray wasn’t legal in Ireland, though Lorna had known a number who carried it anyway. Having seen what it did in person, she pitied whoever got in Earlene’s way.

Earlene grinned. “Thranduil, perhaps you would prefer to answer Ratiri’s question?”

The King was becoming more amused by the minute at learning all these assorted tidbits of human society and their rules. He nodded, placing his arm around his wife’s shoulders, while tracing his fingers along the gems of the necklace. “The easiest way to explain is to say that you would likely call this a magical object. It is the Necklace of Lasgalen, and it confers my protection on my wife. Should someone lay their hands on her with harmful intent, they would be struck down; immediately incapacitated. Earlene always wears it because I have asked it of her, for her safety. And yes, Earlene witnessed the... 9/11.”

“‘Magic’ is an explanation you’ll hear a lot, so you’d best get used to it,” Lorna said, secretly relieved Thranduil had said ‘asked’ and not ‘ordered’. Ratiri didn’t yet know them well enough realize what they had going wasn’t the kind of skeevy thing you’d get if they’d both been human; he needed to learn more of them, or he was likely going to have the same knee-jerk reaction she did. Honestly, even she was still perturbed by the fact that Earlene couldn’t ever take it off by herself, but she was getting past that. Ratiri needed more of a chance to take everything in before he found out details that he, at this point, would probably find unsavory.

“Magic?” Ratiri was absolutely delighted. If he’d actually seen any magical jewelry in the Halls, he hadn’t known about it. He sobered swiftly enough, though. “I’m sorry. I know that must have been horrible, and that ‘I’m sorry’ is rather an empty platitude, but still.”

Earlene smiled, and her eyes travelled over to her large framed photograph. For the first time since that disastrous day she’d hung it on the wall, she could really look at it and feel something other than shame over her actions. Thranduil’s arm tightened around her in love, and reassurance. “More or less, New York is filled with resilient people. I think that how quickly that went up in place of what was destroyed, speaks volumes,” she said as she tilted her head up at the depiction of One World Trade Center. “But, thank you. I can see that Lorna keeps her own counsel, so I’ll tell you what I told her. All my friends were killed that day, Ratiri. Their picture is up there, on the shelf. Alika, Mary, Dina, Steve, Parshu, and Sara. All of them worked in the twin towers. Some weeks back I made an unfortunate comment to you for which I never apologized, about the limits of medicine. What Lorna obviously also didn’t tell you was that my experience left me mentally scarred and beyond the help of doctors. Thranduil was the one to heal me from the damage I carried, and free me from a long and painful struggle. So yes, it was awful, but...life goes on, you know?” she shrugged and smiled.

Jesus...Ratiri rose, looking at the picture. To lose everyone -- not just lose them, but watch them die...that was a horror he couldn’t imagine. To have been there -- it had been terrible enough when viewed on a telly screen; thought of witnessing it firsthand was beyond nightmarish. That she’d recovered enough to keep going all the years between then and meeting Thranduil -- to keep lawyering on -- was testament to a strength he would imagine few could boast. He himself didn’t think he could have done it, in her place. “It does,” he said, knowing it wasn’t enough, but he was too wrapped up in this revelation to say more. “Thranduil, he explained that you’d had some negative experiences with the failures of modern medicine. I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, his eyes flitting from face to face in the picture: all gone some fifteen years now, their lives cut short by hatred. Six people among thousands, and yet their worth was not diminished for having been among such a huge number. He doubted there had been a single casualty who hadn’t been mourned by someone, whose loss hadn’t scarred at least one heart. Earlene had found a peace he would suspect many still hadn’t to this day.

Earlene studied the emotions that played across Ratiri’s face, and without particularly considering her actions rose up to give him a hug. “It’s OK. I know how much there was to take in when you first came to the Halls and there is never a good way to tell someone this about myself. I’m sorry, because I know it’s shocking. I really don’t mind talking about it, and I don’t mind that people are curious.” She backed away from his embrace when she finished talking and nodded to the photo of her friends. “To me, talking about it lets them live on. For all the shit I went through, I got to keep living. They didn’t. I try to honor that, as best I can.”

“It is, I think, the only thing you really can do,” he said, picking up the somewhat odd object that sat before the photo: stone, granite of some sort, with twisted bits of melted metal woven around and partially through it. He knew that he couldn’t actually feel what had happened to those near this piece of debris, but his mind called up far more than he wished it to. To keep such a memento...he supposed it was no different than keeping the ashes of a loved one, but as he cradled the thing in his palm, he would swear the pain and death and terror that must be soaked into it tried to seep into his brain. He turned it over in his hands before setting it aside. “To be remembered is the best thing the dead can ask of the living. Is that…?” He could only ask the question, pointing at it, once the thing was no longer in his hand.

Tilting her head at him, she inferred what he wished to know. “That is probably my most cherished possession. Or rather, it was; the gifts my husband has given me have somewhat nudged it into a lesser position. I don’t know for certain, but it came from somewhere inside the zone of disaster. You have to realize that Manhattan was brought to a standstill, for days. Right after even the first tower collapsed, Lower Manhattan was...indescribable. It was a white-out from impenetrable clouds of dust, and debris. On the streets right near there you couldn’t see, you couldn’t breathe; I was lucky enough to be upwind of all of it though I was not really very far away. Hundreds of thousands of people were trying to leave Manhattan and were trapped; many people forget that it is an island. The roads gridlocked, and the subway stopped working. I couldn’t go home for two days. My office was maybe a half-mile away; I worked on the twenty-fifth floor and had a direct line of sight to the towers. We stayed there, all of us; we had enough food and water to be okay. Later on, when the smoke and dust cleared enough and the cleanup began, I did what I could. We all did. I would get up early, and bake food to give to the firefighters and work crews. One day, I don’t know, maybe it was a week after, I gave something to eat to a fireman in the early morning. He pulled that out of his turnout coat and put it in my hand. It summed up...everything. We were destroyed and yet something still continued on. Changed, and yet oddly beautiful.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, as she became more enmeshed in her memories than she’d allowed herself to be for quite some time.

This was more than Lorna had heard, and more than she had expected Earlene to share. On the surface it seemed such a morbid thing, and yet she understood. To cling to some reminder, even of something awful -- it was a reminder that you’d survived, that despite the horror, you went on. Damaged, maybe; changed, certainly, but you made it. Somehow. Out of all the death and horror...she’d actually had to go and look up the One World Trade Center, after her first talk with Earlene. What the hell was that bird -- the phoenix? The one that rose from the ashes? “Will we go there?” she asked. “The memorial?” She felt a need to bring something, some...something. She couldn’t imagine a worthy tribute; somehow, lighting a candle just wasn’t anywhere near enough.

Would the elves have any concept at all of just what had happened? The still had so little knowledge of the outside world...but then, they’d be getting to the States on a plane. They’d have some idea what it would be like, smashing one of the things into a building. Lorna had watched the second tower get hit on the tv in the prison day room, unable to believe her eyes, because at first they’d thought it was some mistake, some colossal failure of instrumentation. To not see it as it happened, let alone firsthand...they weren’t human, so how could they understand it? For all the horrors she had no doubt at all they had seen in their long lives, this was something else, something that was unfortunately massive, death on a scale surpassed by so few other events.

“I wonder if you can possibly be aware just how much strength that must have taken,” Ratiri said, and meant it; quite often, it seemed, the strong didn’t know just how strong they actually were.

Earlene smiled. It hadn’t felt like strength at the time. It hadn’t felt like anything, except the knowledge that she was alive and they were all dead. “I will go, and so can you if you want, Lorna. We all can. I used to go quite a lot. For me it’s a graveyard, where my friends are. I go and leave flowers on my friends’ names. It takes awhile, because they are scattered all around the pools. That photo on the wall, that’s taken from inside the Memorial. It’s a very nice place, now.”

For the first time, Thranduil began to connect some very uncomfortable dots. He remembered what touching that object had done to him. And now he was to go to the place whence this came? Could he? He’d never told Earlene what had happened to him...and it fascinated him that Ratiri had been sensitive to it as well. Not to the degree that he had been, but still, for a mortal to perceive anything at all...he felt confused, uncertain. Thanadir, listening to her words, had not ever heard her speak of this. And he looked on her with different eyes, because this discussion was giving him insight into her experiences in a greater way than what had previously been possible.

That Earlene could speak of it so stunned Lorna, who wasn’t sure she’d be able to regard such an event with even a tiny bit of equanimity. God knew she herself had avoided anything to do with Liam’s death; she’d actively repressed it until she finally let Thranduil deal with it for her. She sure as hell hadn’t ever gone back to the bridge railing; even driving over the damn thing made her twitch.

She glanced at Thranduil, and cursed her ability to read people. While he was very, very hard to read, he wasn’t impossible, not for her -- mainly because in some ways they really were very much alike, even if totally different in others. With his telepathy, was he going to be able to hack it? She knew he wouldn’t want her to worry, but god damn it, she couldn’t help it. This lot were family to her now, whether or not she was fully prepared to admit it to herself, and she looked after her family, to the best of her often limited ability. In this she could do nothing of any help, tangible or otherwise; she was only grateful Thanadir didn’t share that curse unless he really tried. Earlene had made her peace; Lorna need not fear for her. Her almost pathological need to look after those she cared about had little need to buoy someone who had buoyed herself.

 _Yes, I’m worrying_ , she said, knowing she was probably irking Thranduil and not caring in the least. _Let me worry. It’s what I do. You can read my bloody mind; you know it’s how I care._ It was fucked-up and rather dysfunctional, but she’d never claimed to be stable or normal.

Thranduil looked over at her and smiled, with a surprising amount of serenity. _I do know. And I thank you_. Even he knew that there were times to set sarcasm and teasing aside, and this was assuredly one of them. His wife leaned into him, not particularly feeling any emotional consequence from this conversation. If the only thing he had ever done for her was to free her from the burden of this experience, he knew he had done much. And as the weeks had gone by, the sting of their misunderstanding over this terrible event was fading, for both of them. He kissed her head.

 _You’re welcome_ , Lorna said, relieved that he wasn’t annoyed, because she was going to do it regardless. She literally couldn’t help it.

Sensing this little family probably could use some time alone, she said aloud, “Ratiri and I should probably head out; it’s too nice a day to pass up.”

Bless him, he picked up immediately. “There are still two dining-room chairs to deal with. If we manage to keep on like this, we’ll have everything we can do ourselves done in a fortnight.”

With encouragement for them to come back soon, Lorna and Ratiri made their departure, amidst the usual “good lucks.” And as they were basically family, they had all begun to collectively no longer bother behaving so formally when comings and goings occurred. Earlene continued to sit between the two elves, trying to decide to pull her mind out of her current reminisces...or not. Thanadir was the first to speak. This conversation had shown him that to the humans, this event was on a par with the great battles of Beleriand in their collective thinking. And he felt he did not know nearly enough. “Earlene, would you tell me more? Show me more? I would like to understand better and...I do not.”

“I would be happy to. Er, I will do this willingly, would be a better choice of words.” Taking up the TV remote, she began finding photos and images to show him. But much to Thranduil’s surprise, she began to tell a different story than the one explained to him. It was of the skyscrapers of the city, and how wealth and commerce had shaped the construction and skyline. This was a much larger tale than simply the destruction of which she had spoken, and she wove it into what she knew the seneschal had been reading about the history of the city. She let him understand through photographs just how much just Manhattan alone had transformed itself in what to an elf would be the blink of an eye, and how the twin towers had been a part of this. And how they had in some ways been a statement. They were completed five years before she was born...Thranduil listened, and learned. And then she showed film footage, different images than what he had seen initially, that told far more of her personal experience on that day and the days to follow.

When she finally was done speaking, she waited for Thanadir to ask questions, but instead her husband spoke. “Meluieg, the object Ratiri picked up. Do you remember what happened, the day you…” he hesitated to finish the sentence.

“The day I struck you,” she said, smiling weakly. “I am slowly moving past my sense of shame.”

“As am I, Earlene, but, do you remember what happened when I picked it up?”

 

She frowned, confused. “I remember picking it up, when you dropped it because you fell...something had happened to you, but I did not know what. I could not dare to ask you.”

“What happened to me was that I touched it, Earlene. It carries memory, terrible memory.”

She retrieved it. “This thing? This made you fall down like that? I do not understand. It is only a piece of stone, and metal, but you speak of it like it is kryptonite. It can harm you?” she asked, suddenly feeling like she should keep it away from him.

Thranduil began to reach for it again with a certain amount of trepidation, when Thanadir forcefully leaned over Earlene and arrested the motion of his hand. “Ú,” (no) the seneschal said sharply, instead holding out his hand to Earlene with a look that did not exactly invite any defiance on her part.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked with trepidation, recalling how Thranduil had dropped to the floor. Her hand was still closed tightly around her memento, wondering if it was somehow the human equivalent of elven wine, except without any of the fun and laughter.

“Annathol han annin, Earlene.” (You will give that to me, Earlene).

Her lips parted; she had never heard him speak to her so directly or with that tone of voice. She turned to the seneschal with her eyes lowered and opened her hand, having generally determined that while she would obey him, she would also knock him flat to take it away if that became necessary in her eyes. Unseen by her, Thranduil raised his eyebrows. A deeply buried and irresponsible part of him would very much like to see that happen. _Almost._

Thanadir grasped it without a second’s hesitation, and gasped, his eyes widening a little. But it was not the relatively catastrophic reaction Earlene feared. He seemed affected by the thing but not...floored. Only after reflecting on it for a moment did he nod and extend it toward Thranduil, who still looked at it hesitantly. He did not relish being knocked back a second time, and yet it seemed important that he understand how visiting this place on their itinerary might affect him. Taking a deep breath he picked it up once again and in Earlene’s estimation, had close to the same reaction Thanadir did. Was it that he was prepared for what he would find? Or had some kind of initial shock worn off? He felt distinctly uncomfortable, holding it, but....it was a discomfort that was managed easily enough; not the temporarily incapacitating reaction of the previous occasion. Rising, he returned it to its usual position on the shelf. “All is well,” he said, convinced that the matter was settled.

Earlene stared straight ahead, trying to process the last few moments, making a mental note to herself that if this was Thanadir’s reaction to the potential threat of an inanimate ball of debris, that she was going to have to be unusually cognizant of him on this trip...and with that came the sudden realization that many aspects of their time there might truly be not relaxing. Between Thanadir and Lorna, what would they be doing, anticipating an attack by everyone moving down the pavement (and the fire hydrants too, just for good measure?) _I don’t need this. Can’t anyone just goddamn trust me? Its my city, for crying in the mud_ , she fumed, before other thoughts added themselves to the mix.

 _Earlene just...stop_ , she told herself. _You don’t actually know what he was thinking. You know he acts out of loyalty, and love. You are taking him three thousand miles from the only home he has known for longer than there have been...I don’t know, bricks, and asking him to function in an environment completely alien to everything he knows. The poor elf doesn’t even know what a shoe shine stand is. Just...let this one go, and chalk it up to Thanadir being Thanadir._ Sighing silently, she picked up her laptop and added another item to her list of things she would try to control even though it was technically impossible.

 _Meluieg_ , she heard. _Thanadir is old, but he is not older than bricks._

Her eyes squeezed shut. _I will keep that in mind, husband._


	33. Thirty-three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers, Valentine's Day is coming up, so we are sharing the love. We will release three chapters; tonight, Sunday, and Tuesday, hoping it makes life a little more special. Thank you for reading our zany fic :-)

Were it any birthday but her fortieth, Lorna would have just skipped the day and had the party later. As it was, Baile would murder her, and Thranduil would doubtless find some way to make her life rather annoying. He really was too good at that, the little shit; if he ever somehow met Pat, she was doomed, and possibly the rest of the world along with her.

She at least put her foot down and said she absolutely had to be out of the pub by ten, so the lot of them would have a little time to sleep before they had to get on the plane. Well, the elves probably wouldn’t need it, but she and Earlene would; they could nap the rest of the way. So far as she knew from her checking and double-checking, all their shite was good to go, right down to the huge, neon-pink bows she’d sewn to all their luggage. Yes, it was bright and obnoxious, but it was also very easy to spot amid a sea of probably identical baggage.

“You fuss like Gran,” Mairead said, but there was approval in her voice. “I think you’ve got everything covered, so just relax and enjoy your birthday.”

Lorna, seated at her kitchen table, snorted. “This is my job, Mairead,” she said. “I don’t want to muck up the first big thing I do right out the gate. I already had no idea just what traveling abroad entails -- it’s so much more than just getting a passport and throwing stuff in a suitcase.” If not for Ratiri, she didn’t think she could have managed it, and not just because she still couldn’t spell worth a damn half the time. Thranduil killing the dyslexia had helped, but it wasn’t a cure-all for the entirety of her reading and writing issues.

Ratiri also took care of any business that had to be conducted over the phone, since she had a realistic expectation of how poorly it would end if she did it herself. His accent was smooth, and he could mute it quite well; even the Americans they dealt with didn’t have a problem with him. Lorna, on the other hand...yeah, no. She’d bought him a giant poster of a map of Middle-Earth off Amazon, one so big it would take up half the wall in an average bedroom, and had it laminated. Ever since, he’d been tracing out the journeys of various characters with Vis a Vis markers, because he was a complete nerd, and she adored him.

“Yeah, well, you only turn forty once,” Mairead said. “Or as I called it, my first anniversary of turning twenty.”

Lorna eyed her, and laughed before she could help it. “Of course you did. Fine. So long as Niamh leaves poor Cian alone. The lad’s a shy one, and I’ll not have anyone crowding him just because he’s got Puss in Boots eyes.” She’d already made that warning generally known, but with this crowd and his face, you never could be too careful.

Mairead shook her head. “You certainly do find the odd ones,” she said. “At least they’re the good sort’v odd.”

You have no bloody idea, Lorna thought, rising. Maybe, if they got started early, she could get out a bit earlier, too, and just leave the rest of them to drink themselves silly. She herself made certain to eat a big sandwich first, because the less alcohol Thranduil had to magic out of her system, the better. She rather dreaded whatever he might have got or found or made her; if it didn’t involve some sort of dress, she’d be very, very surprised.

She and Mairead headed out, walking through the pleasant evening. Ratiri had said he would meet them there, and keep an eye on Earlene and the Elves (and someday it would be a band, dammit, it just would) in case they arrived first.

******

Earlene sat in the back of Ratiri’s sedan with Thanadir, holding his arm by long habit. She had seen twitches of Lorna-like traffic tendencies and although he was suppressing them marvelously, she remained unconvinced of his ultimate level of self-control. Attempting to distract herself, she organized her thoughts. At precisely one o’clock and one minute, she had already logged in to check all of them in for their flight, and printed boarding passes. Though it was hardly quite as necessary for business class but...it got them out of that hell known as the terminal a little sooner and was therefore worth it, in her estimation. So that was out of the way. The thought she wanted to chuck in the circular file, but could not seem to, was how in fuck were they going to an alcohol-fueled Irish party the night before leaving on this trip?? Just, how?? But she had to let it go. When Lorna finally had mentioned it to her she seemed to feel it was no great matter, and by then it was long past the time when rescheduling the date of departure would be an easy thing to manage. For her personally, one of the most difficult things in the world about other people was pretending that some aspect of their behavior hadn’t perturbed her in the least, when it absolutely had. It wasn’t like she didn’t know why; when something mattered to her, she was an absolute control freak, and anything that threatened that perception of control was a negative. Whether it was or not; she was aware of her inclination and that this kind of outlook sat poorly with most other people (until they derived the benefit of precise planning and flawless execution, of course). Reality didn’t breach the inclinations of introverts and hyper-planners. Let it go, she told herself forcefully. It’s a special occasion, she’s been there for you, so just...let it go.

Thanadir pulled away from her and quickly turned to grasp her hand, which caused her to laugh. In a moment of pure silliness some weeks back, she’d taught him about Thumb Wars...and found out that it was perhaps the one physical skill on this Earth for which she had more or less a chance to evenly match him. Certainly, he was stronger but he never pressed that advantage; her long and dexterous thumb was really not so much less able than his, and the old elf seemed to derive endless amusement from this. So, she indulged him. What she did not seem to have noticed, yet, was that he started this up mostly when she was stewing over something or other, or becoming distressed. Thranduil smiled from the front seat. His seneschal was clever. Very clever. One had to be, to outwit Earlene.

Watching an Elf indulge in a game of Thumb Wars was somehow not the oddest thing Ratiri had seen this last week, though it was fairly high up there. He had to wonder a little at Earlene and Thanadir’s closeness, physical and otherwise; obviously it wasn’t what it would look like if they were both humans, but he wasn’t certain what it actually was. Tolkien had failed him there; in writing almost exclusively about the remarkable and noble, he’d left little to go on when it came to the second-tier and below, as it were. Ratiri was at least relatively sure that the duties of a seneschal didn’t include sticking to the Queen like glue, but then again, what the hell did he actually know?

Thranduil chuckled. _In this case, they do, Ratiri. You find what you see to be strange, by human standards; nor would they behave in this manner were you not considered part of our family; Earlene is aware of how other humans would feel at seeing their closeness. Thanadir does not only serve me in an administrative capacity; he has also watched over my family for these many long ages. He provided the same chivalrous care to my former wife, and my son. Elves and their mates cannot turn aside to others. The relationship between Thanadir and Earlene is one of chaste attachment; Earlene’s well-being is Thanadir’s concern. He would defend her with his life; he is guard and teacher, friend and caretaker. Their relationship has my approval and to some degree is at my insistence._

This was far more than Lorna had ever told him; Ratiri was still figuring just how closely she kept her own counsel, when it came to herself and other people. It wasn’t something he could fault her for, either -- he’d just have to start asking questions himself. _I’d figured there wasn’t_ , he said, _you being Elves and all. It does look a bit odd to humans, but just because something so innocent is unlikely if it’s two humans involved._ He paused. _Does Lorna let them touch her? Without flinching, I mean?_ Of late she’d been quite happy to touch him, but she still flinched slightly if he touched her without warning. Thranduil got away with it, so why couldn’t he? What did he need to do, to cross that threshold? Every time she twitched, it cut him a little, because he could only imagine why she reacted that way in the first place.

Thranduil paused, trying to choose his answer in a way that would not add to the man’s internal struggles. _I have seen Lorna take Thanadir’s arm, when it is offered. And I am struggling to think of when Earlene has ever attempted to touch Lorna. Earlene seems to only show affection to those she likes a great deal but she is also very observant of others’ behavior; she is aware of Lorna’s preferences and therefore does not even try. She would consider it to be vaguely rude, on some level. Regrettably I cannot say much more except...her behavior is not about you, Ratiri. It has nothing to do with you. Keep your spirits up, and be patient._

It was all Ratiri could do, and he knew it, but...her twitches were automatic, to the point that he wasn’t sure she was even always aware of them. From what little he had gleaned, her father had been an abusive prick -- hence why he was dead -- and he couldn’t help but wonder just what had happened in that household. How many times did a child need to be hit, before they shied away from any form of contact? He didn’t know, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

But she was willing to touch him now, which was surely progress -- she’d take his hand, or poke his shoulder, or stand on her tiptoes to ruffle his hair. He counted that as rather enormous progress, as did the others of Baile -- most of them still hadn’t managed that from her, even eleven years after her arrival.

He pulled off the motorway, internally shaking himself. He could be patient. He was a doctor; patience was what he did, but still. He wondered just what of Lorna’s past Thranduil had seen in her mind, but he would never, ever ask.

The King smiled as they approached the party, with their wrapped presents in the back seat, grinning from ear to ear at his own gift. He’d not had too long to wait, to have his revenge for her Star Trek t-shirt. That, by the way, he fully intended to wear on this trip; he’d already sneaked it into their carefully itemized belongings when Earlene wasn’t looking. He always liked to have the last word; he’d not been a ruler for thousands of years by allowing others to keep the upper hand. It would drive Lorna mad; though she had never been ruler of anything, she was much the same way.

Lorna watched Ratiri’s SUV pull up out front of the pub with narrowed eyes. She didn’t trust Thranduil as far as she could throw him -- and given that that was practically impossible, that was really saying something. He’d as good as vowed revenge for his birthday gift, and she could only hope Earlene had managed to curb his inclinations.

She was already two drinks into the evening, enjoying a multitude of snacks and nibbles, enduring more than a few ‘over the hill’ jokes -- fortunately, Ratiri hadn’t said anything like that, but he’d already passed that threshold two years ago. And if she smiled as soon as she caught sight of him...well, nobody was willing to rib her over it.

“You didn’t scare them to death with your driving?” she asked, when he entered the pub.

“I can drive entirely reasonably when I feel like it,” he said, with feigned hauteur. “Or at least, when I need to.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said, giving him a light poke in the side before looping him into a half-hug. “You’d never actually feel like driving like a gran if you didn’t have to. Earlene, I’ve got everything packed, labeled, and good to go,” she added, knowing her friend was probably gnashing her teeth on the inside.

Earlene smiled brilliantly and ignored the comment; Lorna shouldn’t be having to worry about that on her birthday, even if she herself was. “Happy Birthday, Lorna,” she said warmly. “Is there a gift pile?” she asked, hoping that Thanadir’s present to her would not audibly ‘clunk’ or ‘clink’, though he had wrapped it well. Besides, if she was slightly eager to get her glass of Guinness to deflect notice from the fact that she was having only the faintest occasional sips of alcohol (under the insistent instruction of Thranduil, who assured her that no harm whatsoever could come to the children from such a little amount, especially under his care), could anyone blame her?

“Terrifyingly, yes,” Lorna said, pointing to a table near the fireplace. The were a surprising number of...things on it, the wrap-jobs of various quality, some rather worryingly shaped (she was pretty sure one was an axe. A very, very large axe.)

Ratiri could only laugh. What he’d got for her actually hadn’t been something he’d had to get at all; he’d inherited all his mother’s jewelry, including her assortment of combs. Lorna’s hair was every bit as long and thick, and Mam would want them to go to someone who would actually wear them, not leave them in a box to gather dust.

Guinness finally in hand, presents properly...presented, Earlene made her way back to Thranduil, whose sparkling blue eyes she now noticed had followed her around the room. She tried very hard not to think of what she’d like to do with him, just now, on seeing that gaze she knew so well. Right now, she felt very happy. And she was damn well going to enjoy it, because Eru only knew (yes, she’d actually started thinking this sometimes, in her head) what conundrums and messes this trip might throw her way. How she wished it were as simple as a few days of playing tourist...but it wasn’t. _And worrying about it won’t make it happen any faster_ , she also reminded herself. _Just like it hadn’t gotten the ellyn’s passports delivered any sooner (christ, that had been a relief when they’d arrived) or the gowns for this late, unexpected and socially lofty invitation altered any sooner._ But it had all been done, and eventually, this will be too.

Slipping her arm around his waist, she felt the ripple of his muscles as he leaned down to whisper, “all will be well,” reassuringly into her ear as she smiled. _How could it not be, really?_ They waited patiently, and chatted quietly with Thanadir at the corner table they’d staked out, waiting for when the presents would be opened.

Big Jamie, never one to be inhospitable, brought a tray of jam rolls over to the pair, holding it in a vague toast to them and Cian before setting it down. “There’s nibbles and more,” he said. “This lot’ll be ossified inside’v an hour, and Lorna was adamant you all be out’v here by ten. Which seems criminal for a fortieth birthday, but you’ve all got somewhere to be tomorrow.” He still did not know just what to think of this little group -- nor, precisely, while Fionn and Cian even made him look twice, and yet they did. That did not, however, mean he was about to be a poor host. “Can I get you anything else -- drinks?”

“Thank you Jamie,” said Earlene. “If it isn’t trouble, perhaps we could have an order of fish and chips, stew and one of your lovely French dip sandwiches? We’re off to Dublin tomorrow, and onward. It was a bit of bad timing, really; all our plans sort of washed up against Lorna’s birthday. But fear not, we can keep celebrating. I intend to see that she ends up in another sort of Irish pub before the week’s out.” She had caught that Thanadir had looked around hopefully at other possible food options, already having made steady progress on some of the jelly rolls.

“Coming right up,” Jamie laughed. “You’ll have to come in and tell me if they get it right in the States. Any self-respecting pub that calls itself Irish ought to do it properly.” He took the order to Michael, who was sweating as he cooked -- Orla was busy beside him, harried but pleased. Large occasions were a lot of work, but they could also be a great deal of fun. Just so long as nothing got smashed.

Lorna eyed the staggeringly, stupidly large cake on a center table: apparently it was the combined effort of Mairead and Siobhan, and thankfully contained nothing resembling chocolate syrup (seriously, she could never eat that again. Ever. Thanks, Siobhan.) It did, however, have buttercream frosting and cherry filling, and she knew Thanadir would adore it, even if Thranduil would probably pass. She’d press Earlene into the biggest slice she could, because mmmm, cake.

“It was a bet between us,” Mairead said, when she asked. “We had to see if we could.” The 40 on the top wasn’t made of candles, but of cookies, home-baked, each with a birthday candle at the center, actually standing up atop the thing. The frosting itself had been dyed black, with the obligatory ‘over the hill’ tombstone at one end.

“I’ll push for cutting as soon as I can,” Lorna said. “I’m sure Ratiri’d like another chance at one’v your cakes.”

“I would. They’re more addictive than crack.” He wondered just what Thranduil made of the cake, of the general joking atmosphere. Humans marking their age in such a way must be really, really weird to him, especially since forty years was approximately half a breath to an Elf.

The food arrived swiftly, and after silently conferring with Thranduil, she nudged the fish and chips and stew in front of Thanadir. A slice with the knife later, she had the small section of sandwich she desired for herself, and she nudged the rest of that in front of the seneschal as well. Her husband apparently felt content to make do with “nibbles,” which was such a charming term. She hadn’t had the heart to tell Big Jaime that there was basically no hope that Irish pubs “did it right” in America, beyond serving the obligatory Guinness and usually decent shepherd’s pies. Because, of course, they were really Irish _American_ pubs. The oldest she could think of in Manhattan only hailed back to around 1870; it just wasn’t the same. While her piece of sandwich was steadily devoured, she gazed around the room. Lorna looked happily rosy-cheeked with Ratiri hovering nearby, Mairead was gazing with satisfaction at the cake, Siobhan was _good grief_ looking longingly at her husband, and Niamh was across the room heaving sighs at Thanadir. It was almost enough to make her spit her water laughing.

 _Are you feeling mischievous, meluieg?_ She heard.

_Maaybe. Will the mischief create a public nuisance or embarrass Lorna?_

_Not what I have in mind. I think we both realize that the baker is staring rather too much at me; I thought you might appreciate a kiss._

_You’re awful. Do it._

She heard the low rumble of laughter when she turned to him and received a tasteful and yet clearly passionate kiss that was likely not noticed by anyone...who was not actually staring at them relentlessly. It lasted long enough and had enough smouldering gazes that their feelings for each other were abundantly clear.

 _And?_ asked Earlene.

_I am not certain I should tell you, meluieg._

_Is it worse than anything in Hedwig and the Angry Inch?_ Earlene looked on him with open amusement, resting her head against her hand, elbow bent and leaning on the table.

_It is that...what she was thinking only about me, she is now thinking about you, too._

_Well, as we are unable to invite her to join us, I suppose that leaves the whole thing rather at an impasse, does it not?_

Thranduil nodded, not even daring to ask, and returned to his Guinness.

“Are you sure you’ve got to head out at ten?” Molly demanded of Lorna, ooching her way around the table to stand at the tiny woman’s free side. “My gran’ll be up later than that.”

“We’ve got to get on a plane,” Lorna reminded her. “If you’ve got too much’v a morning-after, you look like you’ve got...I don’t know, cholera or something, and they’ll not let you on. Or is cholera the one that makes you shit yourself to death?”

“It’s one of several,” Ratiri said, trying not to laugh, “though rare in Ireland these days, I should think, given that nobody now shits in their own water supply.” He nudged the table of presents with one foot. “Open some of these,” he said. “We’ll have to get them sorted before we go anyway, unless you want your sister organizing the lot.”

“Oh, God help me,” Lorna groaned. She really did dread whatever Thranduil might have got her, though she was curious as to what Thanadir might have come up with. Earlene was sensible and human, but Thanadir...who knew. Not her, at least not yet. “All right, pass me something. If I get started, people’ll just...wander on over.”

Ratiri handed her his gift, totally unashamed to give it first. Lorna tore open the paper (leftover Christmas wrapping, because that was the only kind anyone ever had in Baile, unless they were feeling ambitious). In it was an old, beautifully finished wooden box, square and flat, carved with an intricate design she ran her fingers over before opening it.

Within lay three golden combs, equally as old as the box, if not more so. Clearly Indian in design, they had to have been his mother’s: two were tear-drop-shaped, set with small red stones, while the third was a curve that looked like it had been inlaid with pearls, with several beads hanging off each end.

“Christ, Ratiri, these’re lovely,” she said, looking up at him. “Were they your mam’s?”

“They were,” he said. “Her mother gave them to her, when she got married.”

There were many times Lorna cursed the fact that she so sucked at using her words, and this was certainly one of them. She had to settle for giving him a hug, and coiling the heavy fall of her hair up so that she could secure one of the combs into it. It was wildly out-of-place with her jeans and vest top, but she didn’t care. She was taking at least one of these two New York, because she was damn well going to wear it to this fancy shindig.

Earlene shamelessly leveraged her ability to stand on top of Thranduil’s feet to buy an extra two inches to see the gift opening clearly, held securely. _Score, Ratiri_ , were her exact thoughts as she grinned at the combs. If her reluctant friend needed any further assurance of this man’s intentions toward her, this should scream it about as loud as a tea kettle. _Men didn’t give their mother’s jewelry to just anyone. Ever._ _Hopefully that notion will penetrate. Soon, before I lose patience with these two…_

Mairead gifted Lorna their Gran’s best china, to be used now that her cottage was complete (Lorna fully intended to have Earlene and the Elves out one evening for dinner; Ratiri was a far more accomplished cook than she was, and between them they could come up with a meal that was more than just edible). She’d already bought a chair he could sit in comfortably, so it wouldn’t be much work to buy another. Thanadir was just enough shorter that the sofa ought to be comfortable enough. Big Jamie, not to be outdone, had bought her a beautiful set of wine glasses; Siobhan insisted her gift be opened in private, which, given that this was Siobhan, was a slightly alarming sign. If it didn’t involve some type of lingerie and/or sex toy, Lorna would be very, very surprised.

She drank steadily as she opened her gifts, since there was no point letting free drinks go to waste, leaning ever more heavily against Ratiri as the evening wore on. He really did smell wonderful, she noted: a trace of sandalwood, some faint but pleasantly dark aftershave, and just plain clean man.

Ratiri, had he known what she was thinking, would have thought the same of her. Perhaps it was the Elf hair stuff she used, but Lorna smelled of lavender and fir, with just a trace of thunder, of a summer storm. He was not ashamed to admit -- to himself, at least -- that he had taken more than one surreptitious sniff of her hair. If Thranduil had found it creepy -- and there was no way he hadn’t noticed, being him -- he hadn’t said anything, so Ratiri felt free to creep away, so long as nobody else caught him.

Lorna eyed the gifts from Earlene and the Elves (Thanadir played an instrument; if Thranduil and Earlene didn’t, she was damn well going to teach them, because they needed that band, dammit) with a little trepidation. She trusted Earlene and Thanadir, but Thranduil, as mentioned, was a little shit. He would not get her anything humiliating, but she was prepared for something rather...odd. (She wondered how many of his people, including Thanadir, would faint if they actually knew she thought of him as a Pat-worthy level of little shit.) It wasn’t a bad thing, for all it could sound like it to anyone who didn’t know her. Allowing someone to be a little shit without serious retaliation was, from her, a sign of affection.

Thranduil, by now, was deriving far more amusement at Lorna’s trepidation. To his way of thinking, he’d already won this round between them, solely by causing her to worry so much about his gift. Which was not only perfectly suited to her, it was just a trifle. No jewels, nothing embarrassing. He grinned happily at her discomfiture.

Lorna narrowed her eyes, figuring she’d best get this over with. That grin meant nothing good and she knew it. The package was wrapped in fabric, unsurprisingly, bound with twine. She untied the bow somewhat gingerly, and laughed with relief at what she found: a T-shirt, patterned like one of her red-and-black flannel shirts. It was even on the large side, as she preferred to wear them.

 _Well-played_ , she sent him, holding it up for general inspection. _Very well-played._

“Oh God,” Mairead groaned. “More plaid. You have no sense of style, Lorna, unless Ratiri helps.”

“Hush, you,” Lorna said.

Unable to resist, Earlene had moved forward just long enough to push her and Thanadir’s gifts at her, knowing they’d both be appreciated.

Thanadir’s package -- at least, she was assuming it was his, giving the wrapping -- was so oddly shaped Lorna had to open it first. It proved to be a beautiful fireplace set -- hand-forged, by the look of it, and as perfect as any elven-crafted thing she’d yet seen. It would have pride of place beside her woodstove.

“Jesus, where’d you get that?” Molly asked.

“It never does to ask them that,” Lorna said. “You’ll never get an answer.” _Hey, it was true._

Earlene’s, unsurprisingly, was the most practical, especially given their upcoming trip: a leather messenger bag, big enough for her laptop and whatever other crap she could think to carry, without being overly huge for her. “You lot,” she said, of course lost for words. _Tell them both thank-you for me, will you?_ she asked Thranduil. “You’ll be the death’v me.”

Smiles came back to her from the elven contingent; especially Thanadir was obviously pleased at the appreciation bestowed on his gift, and Thranduil was still chuckling with a twinkle in his eye.

Lorna grew ever drunker, a new drink pressed into her hand every time the old was emptied, while she opened her very odd assortment of presents. It wasn’t too long before it was cake time, into which she almost fell face-first when she blew out her candles.

“All right, you lot, eat this and we’ll head out,” she said, checking her phone and stumbling into Ratiri. They had a few minutes yet.

Earlene looked at her slice of cake with enthusiasm. Though she’d been careful to eat as well as she always did and then some, Thranduil had told her she need not worry to the point of avoiding everything devoid of nutritional merit. But as this was a Mairead cake, she felt not the least sorry that it was twice the size of the slices other people seemed to have. Shrugging, she scarfed it down...god, and cherry filling, too. Not the cheap shite full of cornstarch but the real deal; dried cherries soaked in some kind of alcohol (was that a hint of kirsch?) and then placed into a delicate custard of some kind. It was to die for, as was the buttercream. In spite of herself, though, she found that after three quarters of her slice she was locked in a struggle with it; she refused to waste a bite of it but was too full. After taking a breath before eating one more small forkful, there was a tap on her shoulder, and a smirking Thanadir looked at her with eyes full of hunger. Laughing, she relinquished her plate, and wondered where in hell he put it all.

The party was just getting going, but she noticed Ratiri prodding Lorna toward her good-byes, or good-lucks or whatever they were, and figured they likely should do the same. She quietly slipped Big Jamie enough for their food and drinks and a little extra when she thanked him for all they’d done for Lorna, and reassured him they would take good care of her in New York. “I promise you she’ll have some stories to tell, I just can’t yet say what they’ll be,” she grinned at him. _This was Lorna they were talking about, after all._

“Try not to let her get arrested,” Jamie said, only half joking. “We’ll have cake for you lot, when you’re back. You’ve been good to her, so you’re a bit’v all right in our books.”

Lorna meandered over, gave Jamie a drunken hug, and let Ratiri lead her out to the van. “We’re off in the Mystery Machine!” she said, slurring a bit and fist-pumping the air.

“Good luck with her,” Mairead said, rolling her eyes. “Fly safe, all’v you.”

Earlene privately thought that flying safely had far more to do with Aer Lingus than with anything about them, but, that wasn’t what friends and family wished to hear at times like this. So what came out was, “We will, don’t worry. We’ll be back before you know it.” Ratiri had all of their contact and itinerary information to share with Mairead should an actual need arise, so Earlene didn’t feel too guilty; they were both quite accessible for the duration of this trip; there was even wifi on the damn plane. They could all chitchat at thirty-three thousand feet for hours, if they wanted to.

Thranduil took one careful look at Lorna and quietly sighed as he cared for her circumstances before climbing into the back seat with Earlene between the two ellyn; she didn’t mind. Lorna was firmly placed into the front passenger seat and belted in by him while he ignored her feeble and uncoordinated protests. Ratiri looked at him questioningly but thought better of asking what he was doing. Once they were headed down the road, the King’s hand reached forward and grasped Lorna’s shoulder firmly for several minutes while Ratiri watched with sidewise glances and a great deal of curiosity, as a muted but distinct soft glow played around the King’s body. This had the aftereffect of transforming “complete ossification” to “extremely buzzed”, which Thranduil hoped was a suitable compromise. He had no intention of leaving her in a state that might result in vomiting in his Halls. For good measure, he softly reminded Thanadir in Sindarin to ensure that any elven wine that might yet be in her quarters made its way elsewhere, prior to her arrival in them. He could easily stall for the time needed to accomplish that essential task. He did not trust her ability to remember her promises in this condition, not one bit.

Lorna hummed lightly to herself along the way, quite at one with the world. Good food, good booze, good cake, fantastic presents...turning forty wasn’t so bad after all. Whether she would still feel like that tomorrow, when she boarded an airplane for the first time in her life, remained to be seen.

Ratiri, listening to her, couldn’t help but smile. She quieted along the motorway, eventually falling asleep, slumped in her seat. He wanted to know just what Thranduil had done, because whatever it was, it seemed to have calmed her, and possibly even sobered her.

He let everyone digest assiduously in silence, quite full and pleased himself. He’d sleep like the dead tonight, his mobile charged so that he’d have his alarm, rather than relying on someone outside (how the hell did the Elves know when to get up if they didn’t see the sun? Just because...Elves? Probably. He imagined quite a few things were just ‘because Elves’.)

The night darkened as they reached Lasg’len, the headlamps cutting swaths through it. When he reached Earlene’s driveway, he helped Lorna out -- while she might not be as drunk as she was, she still tripped and staggered a bit, swearing in Irish. She seemed quite content to let him help her -- until he laid a steadying hand on her shoulder and she twitched. Again.

He knew he shouldn’t feel terrible about that, yet he couldn’t help it. It always seemed to be her shoulder, or her neck -- anywhere near her neck. _Just what had happened to her?_ Nobody did that without cause, especially not so unconsciously.

Thranduil felt sorry for the poor man. _Ratiri, offer her your arm,_ he suggested. While he did not like to interfere, this time he felt justified. Much to Earlene’s delight, the ellyn sang again, as they walked through the dark forest, and it was just as incredible as always. Though, she could not stop her mental check-listing entirely. All their things were prepared and triple-checked at the cottage; there really was no reason to keep on this way _except when keeping on this way manages to catch an oversight_ , she reminded herself. Tail had been temporarily pawned off on Mary, in the village, who had been more than delighted to look after the little creature. And, it gave Earlene some satisfaction to think that Hunnie Bunnie, Droopy and Wobbles were not in for a restful week. Again the walk ended too quickly, and at the Gates Thanadir left them quickly, dashing off down paths Earlene did not know. Yet. With great contentment she walked with Thranduil to their rooms, knowing that there was time for rest and no need to rush too much in the morning.

Ratiri was pleased and relieved when Lorna actually took his arm, happily leaning against him and listening to the Elves sing. Never in his life would he have guessed he’d hear such a thing; all he could do was focus on it, and keep her close. To walk in another world, while still in the one he’d always inhabited...he wasn’t drunk, but he still didn’t have words for it.

Lorna, mellow if not steady, stumbled her way along, clinging to Ratiri’s arm each time she threatened to pitch forward. He was warm and steady and he smelled so very good, but she was sober enough that she didn’t just straight-up sniff him like a creeper.

She was, however, just drunk enough that when they made it to her room, she had enough liquid courage to quite abruptly climb Ratiri like a tree, pulling him into a somewhat sloppy, rather inexpert kiss. It had been years since she’d done this, and she was never very good at it anyway, but for once her reserve and inhibitions had gone down the drain, vanished along with her sobriety.

Ratiri twitched, and let out a noise very like a squawk, which would haunt him until the end of his life. He at least had the wherewithal to grab hold of her, even as the impact sent him staggering backward into the wall. She was utterly smashed and he knew he shouldn’t be kissing her back, but he couldn’t help it, not entirely. She tasted like cake and liquor and Lorna, and it was all he could do to set her down, disentangling her arms from around his neck.

She must have misinterpreted him, for she tensed, drawing away. “Sorry.”

“I’m not,” he said, running his fingers along the smoothness of her hair. “But you’re very drunk, Lorna. Try this again when you’re sober, and see if you still want to.”

“You want to?” she asked, with a very uncharacteristic hesitance.

“I do,” he assured her, smoothing his thumb along her cheekbone, “but not like this. Sleep, Lorna. When you’re back from New York, we’ll...see about doing this properly.” His Dad had raised him to be a gentleman: if you were thinking about getting intimate with a lady, you took her to a nice dinner, then to a film or theater or ice skating or...whatever. You didn’t just start snogging her in a hallway.

“Okay,” she said, rising on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She disappeared into her bedroom before he could say anything more, and he heaved a great sigh. He wasn’t sure if he ought to hope she remembered this tomorrow or not.

********

At exactly 7:30am the following morning, for the first time in his elven life Thanadir was treated to a fair imitation of a military master sergeant. “Everybody. You have fifteen minutes to care for any further matters, including being in whatever clothing you have chosen for the flight; we leave for the cottage at that time. No exceptions.” The glare leveled at the ellyn as they each ate their first spoonful of porridge caused both of them to pause. Lorna and Ratiri showed no inclination to argue. Their breakfast had been brought with what Earlene felt was maddening slowness, today of all days. She herself ate at an accelerated rate, knowing perfectly well that the next six hours would be what she not-so-fondly termed “The Clusterfuck.” You arrived for the flight the recommended time early, because you never, ever took security or whatever else might be going on at the terminal for granted. This meant, more often than not, rushing just so that you could sit around with your proverbial thumb up your arse for the next two and a half hours...but it was all the more reason why you left things like eating a full breakfast to after you’d passed the gauntlet. There were times when the lines had been so bad, the delays so ridiculous; given that she was trying to travel internationally with two non-humans who had very recently received legal documentation, in her opinion some tension was merited and allowable.

Thranduil saw all of this flare through her mind and had to acknowledge that while he did not see the problem, several factors that might lie beyond his control could be encountered, and her concerns could not be dismissed out of hand. That and, it would be simply arrogant to assume that he somehow knew and understood all of what this would entail because of access to her thoughts. He did not, and what they would do today was unprecedented in the history of his people. “Very well, meluieg,” he said placatingly. “It will be as you wish.” Earlene relaxed visibly, further reinforcing the wisdom of the response.

Thanadir’s eyebrows arched at Earlene’s words, but if the King took no offense, neither could he or would he. What seemed like just a few minutes later, they were loading their bags into Ratiri’s automobile, amidst that dazed aura of ‘are we really doing this?’ so common to multiple inexperienced travelers. Earlene asked Lorna to double-check in the car that her carry-on items lacked things like...tiny pocket knives, screwdrivers, just...anything of an objectionable nature (the list was longer and more ridiculous all the time, in her opinion; and the request came not because she thought Lorna was incompetent but because she’d lost tiny penknives every. damn. time. through failing to remember to check her purse carefully enough, and she said as much to clarify).

Lorna had been smart enough to get everything but her carry-on ready to go before she got drunk last night. She’d been equally smart in choosing her clothes: leggings, sandals, a sleeveless tunic under a long-sleeved one, her hair in one long braid. She also had her iPod and a book in her carry-on, on the off chance she actually stayed awake; she fully intended to have a drink or five and sleep.

While she and Ratiri hadn’t said anything about the previous night, he’d flushed like a brick as soon as he saw her, so she was pretty sure she hadn’t put him off. When he insisted she sit up front, after a glance at Thranduil, she was quite sure. He wouldn’t want her there if she’d gone and scared him off.

Earlene did not mind in the least to find herself with not one but two walking security blankets. This would be so, so much easier in so many ways if she were doing this alone...and yet maybe not in others. She took her husband’s arm. _We’ve spoken about what to expect on this part of our adventure to an extent, but you understand that you are the one who must communicate with me if anything at all seems strange or starts to seem difficult for you or any of the others? Airports and travel are a very bad direct result of 9/11. More than any other single thing, flying to a destination is difficult and people are fearful and paranoid because airplanes were used by the terrorists. You cannot joke, you cannot say one word that might imply that everything is not completely serious. Words like ‘bomb’, ‘terrorism’, ‘hijack’ and similar are enough to get you taken into custody if they are overheard by another. I need to know that you understand this. You feel responsible for me, but in terms of you coming with me to New York, I feel responsible for all of you. Lorna is going to be only slightly less lost than you ellyn._

Thranduil placed his arm around her. _I do understand. Your current level of anxiety alone tells me that this is a serious matter. I will not speak or act in a way that is inappropriate, and I will be paying careful attention to you._ With a squeeze of appreciation, she leaned into him, generally not looking forward to the next twelve hours. The kicker of it was, they would leave at 1pm and arrive at 3pm after eight hours in transit because the planet would rotate, just to annoy her.

The fact that Lorna was mildly hung over was the only reason she wasn’t more nervous -- which was damned good, because she was nervous enough as it was. At least her slight morning-after was distraction enough that she could actually bring herself to walk toward the airport, once Ratiri had let them off with all their luggage. (She managed to give him a kiss on the cheek before all but fleeing, hauling her carry-on, her Gran’s old suitcase, and another one nearly as tall as she was. She planned on bringing back souvenirs, dammit.) There were many people in Baile, and she actually had the money to buy them shit, so she was damn well going to.

She was also going to be a smart cookie and stay behind the elves when they got inside. Crowds were not her friend; crowds in an enclosed space, even less so. Thranduil and Thanadir could probably part one like the Red frigging Sea, so she’d stay like a barnacle to whichever elf Earlene hadn’t attached herself to at any given moment. (The poor bastards, they had no idea how possibly literally she might mean that, too.)

Thranduil smiled. _Yes, we do, Lorna. We are here to help you, and we welcome that you keep close to us. I don’t think I need tell you that I am paying very close attention to Earlene. Anything at all you wish to understand, simply direct that through me and she will answer. That we all have as good of an experience as possible is something she has worked very hard to ensure. While she does not worry in the same manner as you, it takes another form; that of all her extensive planning. She knows you have never flown and while she may not show it, she is very concerned for your feelings._

Earlene seemed to just know what to do. They were all coached to have passports and other IDs together, in an easily accessible pocket. Boarding pass folded inside. She marched them to the baggage counter where they did not need to panic like some of the arrivals in that line next to them were doing; she had already prepared tags that were both on the luggage handles and inside each item. With greater efficiency than Lorna believed could happen their belongings were taken from them and were seen disappearing down a conveyor belt, heading to places unknown. Hurdle one had just been accomplished.

Next was security. They were early, there were no huge crowds by the standards of what could be the case, and this greatest moment of tension for Earlene was navigated easily. Though she had actually been cleared for the “fast track” line, she stayed back and kept in the queue with those who had not been thusly blessed, refusing to leave them. What Thanadir thought of having to take his shoes off and the rest of this charade, she could only imagine, but in no small part to her exhaustively preparing all of them for what they would experience, it really was rather easy.

Lorna, growing ever tenser in what seemed to her such a crowd -- was this airport ever not crowded, she wondered; somehow, she doubted it -- finally caved and grabbed the back of Thranduil’s shirt, at least careful not to yank any of his hair, out of fear that she’d get lost if she didn’t have hold of one of them. The space was so big it echoed, the tile pale and chilly beneath her feet when she dutifully took off her sandals. At least the weather was fine, the sun shining golden outside the oddly louvered windows; they wouldn’t be taking off in a rainstorm.

Putting her bag through the X-ray whatever-it-was was strangely nerve-wracking, despite the fact that she didn’t actually have anything bad in it. As she’d expected, the pin in her left leg set off the metal detector, but she’d been smart and got a note from Doc Barry explaining that yes, she had a pin in her leg. She managed to hold still while a hand-wand was waved over her leg, confirming that that was in fact where the metal was, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she made it through, keeping firmly between Thranduil and Thanadir until Earlene, who seemed so enviably calm, followed.  

Two down. "Now for the last one. I'm sorry, because we're going to have to do everything we just did all over again." This was the US Customs pre-clearance. Again, somehow the queues were decent, and apparently they all passed muster because no one wanted to inspect their bags.

When they all had their shoes back on and computers back in hand on the other side, for the second time, Earlene allowed herself to relax a little. “Now we do what I call ‘hurry up and wait.’ We have some time, before we go. There is shopping, eating, drinking, and zoning out with electronic devices. Oh yes, and talking. Other than those options, I’ve never figured out how to improve on this part of the experience. What would make you happiest?”

“Will there be alcohol in those drinks?” Lorna asked hopefully. She really should not be this tense, but she was going to get into a giant metal tube and fly over several thousand miles of ocean. Ocean they would splat against like a bug if they fell out of the sky -- and then drown, if they didn’t splat all the way.

“There could be,” said Thranduil. “But we should eat some actual food first, and then perhaps you would also let me help you as well,” he said quietly to Lorna.

“The best thing here, according to the Internet, is a...Thai noodle place,” she said, frowning. “I’ll just point out, by the time we arrive, get to our hotel and all that good stuff, it is going to be about nine in the evening according to our bodies...just to, you know, plan yourselves. And of course only Lorna and I will think that matters,” she said with a smile. “This way to the noodles.” As they walked, Thranduil put his arm across Lorna’s shoulder, determined to leave her seeking alcohol because she wanted it, not because she needed it. Thanadir, having no idea what Thai noodles were, felt keenly interested to find out.

Thai sounded good. _You couldn’t go wrong with noodles,_ Lorna thought, and she’d defer to Earlene’s judgment when it came to such a drastic time zone change and the resulting jet lag. Part of her really disliked how comforting being touched was, just because it ought to be weird and wrong, and yet was not. Only she could find being comforted something to be disturbed by. It left her far less tense, though, her nerves no longer stretched tighter than an over-extended guitar string. “How long have we got to wait, exactly?” she asked. Her phone was in her bag, somewhere; she didn’t know how long the whole mess had taken, but she suspected not as long as it had felt like.

“The flight leaves the ground at one o’clock. Figure that the twenty to thirty minutes before that is for boarding and….airline stuff. It’s about 11:30 just now. So, basically an hour, or, enough time to eat, use the restrooms and take a few pictures of your chariot, if you care. There’s wifi both here in the terminal and on the plane,” she said, trying to be helpful.

Food, bathroom, photos...sounded good. Another thing Lorna had bought was a rather high-quality printer, because she’d decided to take after Mairead and scrapbook. Currently she had two going: one for her and one for Earlene and the Elves. Looking out the window at the massive planes, however, proved to be a mistake. She’d known they were big, obviously, but not that big -- which was rather stupid of her, but there you were. It wasn’t like she’d ever seen one in real life.

She had a sudden mental image of the scene from Airplane where the plane taxied right through one of the big plate-glass windows, and wondered if they’d all be grounded if some idiot managed it here. That, naturally, sent her brain down an entirely different tangent. “Of course I’m serious,” she muttered, “and don’t call me Shirley.”

Earlene heard the reference, rolled her eyes, and decided that silence was best. Thanadir was much happier once they had eaten, and he’d finished everything that Lorna and Earlene couldn’t. The thing she debated was whether or not to buy Thanadir snacks...but those would amount to modern, processed, packaged food, the hideousness of which had never before sullied elven lips. He might like it, and he might find it inedible, and she was not certain she wanted to discover that either way. Yet the other side of it was, the elf could probably eat the entire complement of meals for all of business class and still have room. _Perhaps some salted nuts, could not go too far amiss…_

The four of them stood, prior to boarding, staring out of the massive window at the A330-200 airbus that would carry them to New York. It was the first time either elf had seen an airplane up close and in person, and perhaps the same was true for Lorna as well; Earlene was not sure about that part. Thanadir especially stared at it, fascinated. “How can this possibly fly?” he asked softly. “It is large and must weigh a great deal, and those wings do not move as a bird’s do.” Like Thranduil, he had seen the great machines far overhead in the sky, but even elven eyes had their limits as to what they could discern. Earlene smiled and explained the physics of their operation; the tremendous thrust generated by the jet engines, how the airfoil created the lift that allowed for flight, and the speeds at which they would move in comparison to the speed at which they had driven in the automobile. The elves listened and seemed to have considerable appreciation. “If you are very lucky, when we are being seated, it is possible you might see a glance at the cockpit, where the pilots are. The controls are amazing. Before 9/11 it was common to be allowed to take a quick look if you asked but now, I’m almost afraid to be caught sneaking a glimpse.” She sighed, regretting how much had changed. And with that, it was time to board.

Because Earlene was Earlene, she’d found out that four pairs of the seats in business class were the most desirable, and arranged for them to have those kinds. They would be separated by a short distance, but that was a small concern. A reviewer had termed these luxury window spots “Captain Kirk” seats, which made them instantly appealing. Thranduil had already agreed with her that he care for Lorna; he could enjoy the window seat and Earlene would give Thanadir the same; they could trade off if anyone wished. Business class was worth the cost. Massage seats, huge screens, very good food, and most priceless of all, the ability to completely recline and therefore sleep if one wished. She truly felt sorry for Lorna’s deer-in-headlights expression and lingered back to have a word with the flight crew. “My three guests have never flown before,” she said softly. “And my female friend is very nervous.” Nothing else needed mentioning; the flight attendant smiled and nodded in the universal understanding of ‘got it.’ Smiling, she guided Thanadir to his seat, explaining quietly that he could do as he wished. As she passed Lorna, she reminded her to set her phone to Airplane Mode. _And the rest would be up to the flying gods_ , she reasoned, settling herself with a contented sigh.

The fortunate thing about being Lorna-sized -- and it was one of a very, very few fortunate things -- was that the seat was more than big enough for her. She quite happily ceded the window seat to Thranduil; she would have insisted, had he made it necessary. She fussed with her bag, doing as Earlene instructed with her phone, toeing off her sandals. Either she needed a stiff drink or a nap, but she doubted the latter was an option until they were up in the air and could actually move their seats. (They couldn’t do that yet, right? Probably not.) Jesus, she shouldn’t be this nervous -- they hadn’t even started moving yet, let alone taken off. Thranduil and Thanadir looked enviably calm, and they ought to be even worse off than her. But then, though flying was certainly new to them, they’d seen other awe-inspiring things.

“How long until we can order booze?” she asked Earlene, in something of a stage whisper. It was probably too much to hope the airline had poitín, but she was going to ask anyway, dammit.

Thranduil paused a moment. _Earlene says, “once the plane reaches a certain altitude the flight attendants will automatically ask to take your order. Piece of advice, get water to go with; planes are dehydrating. They try pretty hard to keep you happy in business class,_  he grinned, as he relayed her words.

Not long after, the inevitable speech about safety and evacuation happened. Poor Lorna. Earlene then shared as much information as she could with her husband two rows back. _The plane is about to be pushed back; the motion will be noticeable, and the aircraft will lumber along the ground on its way to the runway. You will see out the window that we pass a large number of white stripes on the ground at some point, and after that you will hear a roar of noise as they fully engage the engines. The force of it will push you into your seat, a little. When we reach a certain speed, the pilot will send the plane into the air and it will shudder as it leaves the ground; this is all totally normal. And then we will climb, and keep climbing. The engines will still make a great deal of noise until we reach a certain altitude. Maybe you can somehow impart all that to Lorna, who I would guess will find this upsetting._

Thanadir was already studying air traffic routes, finding everything to be fascinating. Thranduil turned to Lorna. _How are you doing, Lorna?_

 _I could do with a drink, but otherwise I’m okay_ , she said, hoping she looked more convincing than she felt. She actually wasn’t as bad as she’d been when they boarded, but they also hadn’t really got going yet. _I don’t suppose you can make me take a nap later, can you? After I’ve had a drink?_ Thought of being over water...just no. While she no longer had such a fear of drowning as she’d had before he’d dealt with her memories of Liam’s death, she was probably never going to be comfortable with large bodies of water. Yeah, the plane had rafts, apparently, but the ocean was cold, and choppy, and they could so easily get lost...yeah, no, she wasn’t going to focus on that. She’d look forward to her booze instead. Even if the plane didn’t have any poitín, they probably had some pretty high-class liquor, and that made all kinds of things all kinds of better.

Looking out the window and observing, Thranduil saw each itemized occurrence that his wife had noted, and knew what must come next. _Give me your hand, Lorna_ , he said, not particularly waiting for a response as he reached over and took it, just when the jet engines roared to life. He did what he could for her; while not wishing to render her completely insensible, hopefully some blanketing of her fear resulted as well as some reassurance. Earlene, meanwhile, was happily chattering at Thanadir, who seemed to soak up everything she told him. While she’d never been around aviation per se, previous flights had left her curious about many things, and she’d researched a great deal about how it all worked; she found the large aircraft to be rather impressive achievements of engineering. And she very much would never forget the look of simple wonder when the ancient elf saw the ground falling away beneath his window, and had his first view of the world from the air. It made her happy, that she could actually believe now and again that she had brought him good as well as an element of chaos.

Lorna twitched a little when the plane took off, but Thranduil had given her enough telepathic Xanax that she did nothing more than twitch. So long as she resolutely ignored the fact that the windows existed, she could relax, giving his hand a grateful squeeze (and, of course, immediately thinking of guitar-playing nuns, because naturally she wasn’t getting Airplane out of her head any time soon. She wondered if it was on the options for the in-flight movie.) _Maybe this won’t be so bad_ , she said. I’m sure Thanadir’s fascinated. She didn’t need to see him to be able to picture his understated but almost childlike glee at finding something new. _Fun fact: the first planes were mostly make out of cloth. In World War II, right, there was this squadron of Russian female pilots called the Night Witches. They’d fly low over the German camps at night, below the radar, then shut their damn planes off so they couldn’t be heard coming, bomb the shit out of the camp, turn their engines back on, and get the hell out. The Nazis were terrified of them._ Tatiana had certainly been an education about many things Russian, not just the language.

Soon Lorna’s drink was on its way, and now Thranduil tried for another strategy, having found the movie options. _I will not stop you sleeping if you wish, but would you like to watch a movie with me? Surely some cultural tour de force is among these selections, about which you could enlighten me._

Lorna gave him a half-grin, knocking back her drink as soon as it was in her hand. Damn, that was some good Scotch. _Are you sure you want a cultural tour de force, after Hedwig and the Angry Inch?_ she asked, scrolling through the selections. While Thanadir might not appreciate Aliens, she thought Thranduil might...once he had some background info _. Okay, so this movie is actually the second in a series, but you don’t need to see the first. I snuck in to see this one as a kid and it scared the shit out of me. It’s set in the future, like Star Trek, but not optimistic. Humans can travel in space, is what you need to know at the outset._

She queued up the movie, letting Thranduil know he should ask whatever questions he had -- space travel was a familiar concept, but it wasn’t the same thing in the Alien universe. Lorna had always found the opening rather horrifying, mainly because it was a fear that could be realistic in the right setting: to get put in stasis so long you outlive your child...just no. Sigourney Weaver sold it way too well. Nine-year-old Lorna had just been glad her cat got left at home this time, and wasn’t in any danger.

Burke, the slimeball. He’s a metaphor for everything wrong with corporations and their greed. Earlene, she could probably tell you all sorts of stories about corporate bullshit. She tried not to think about just how the man got his comeuppance in the film, instead focusing on the assorted space marines. Now this is actually a metaphor for the Vietnam War, which is a whole other history lesson and mostly involves the States and Vietnam itself. This lot are the dregs, who got sent out on this mission because they’re expendable, and none of them know it. They think they’re the Lords of bloody Creation. She was so lost in the movie -- and her commentary -- that she forgot they were God knew how many thousand feet in the air.

Thranduil watched, impressed on some level that the film was having an emotional impact on him of any kind; drawing him in and inviting him to suspend his understanding of the real world. He was enjoying this more than he cared to admit. What in Eru’s name….? There was a creature, a vile looking creature. Morgoth himself could have invented it….and then it was clinging to a man’s face...the hard thing about this, Lorna, is that in my world of old, things not so different from this were actually real. And yet it does not change that this is vastly entertaining, somehow….

The spiders? she asked. Ugh, I can’t stand spiders, but I’d hope they didn’t lay eggs down a person’s throat so the new spider ate its way out of the person’s chest. Just wait ’til you see the full-grown alien. Apparently what they do, how they breed, it’s one big metaphor for rape. She’d read a highly informative article once, detailing all the weird shit going on with the design behind the Alien universe. It was a lot more than what one saw on the surface. That it had been done, in the first movie, to a male first, was entirely intentional: Ridley Scott wanted to make the audience squirm, to think. When it came to useful education, Lorna was rather lacking, but she was a fountain of random trivia.

Earlene set Thandir up to understand all the entertainment options available to him, and spent her time watching movies with him, taking a really decent nap after taking advantage of the massage features built into her seat, and generally enjoying the fact that she wasn’t packed in like ground meats into a sausage casing. It seemed crazy, to spend so much money to travel like this, but not arriving exhausted and irritable had its value. Thanadir enjoyed the food very much, especially when Earlene relinquished half her dinner to him. She just was not as hungry as he seemed to be, ever, and it felt like taking food from a starving person. After she woke from her sleep, Thanadir asked her about what he was seeing; they were tracing over the edge of the east coast of Canada and the US by now, and he had been enjoying himself watching their progress and descent on the video display screen.

Lorna had sworn she wasn’t going to look out the window, but apparently they were over land again now, so she sat up on her knees to peer past Thranduil -- she didn’t actually want to get close to the window, but seeing the earth so far below wasn’t as bad when she was a seat removed. It very nearly gave her vertigo; she had to focus on the plane’s wing more than once to reorient herself. “For hundreds’v years, people said we’d never do this,” she said, half to herself. “They said we’d never fly, and we flew. Then we’d never break the sound barrier, and we did. Then we shot human beings into space in what were basically tin cans. You’ve got to put Apollo 13 on your list’v movies to watch. It’s based on shite that actually happened, and I promise there’s nothing, y’know, kinky in it.”

She had to sit down again when they began their descent in earnest, so abruptly she almost knocked over her empty dishes (she’d manage to limit herself to three tiny liquor bottles, which was something of a miracle. Thranduil and his telepathic tranquilizers...seriously, she really did want to bottle it.) Still, as fantastically comfortable as these seats were, she’d just about give her left kidney for a real bed.

After a landing that Earlene privately rated as a “B+”, they made their way to baggage claim. A trim looking woman who held a small sign that said “Sullivan” caught her eye, and Earlene introduced herself. Her travel agent had decided it made the most sense to simply send her employee to ferry them to their hotel, which was an extra touch that was much appreciated. She saw at a distance that someone possessed the wisdom to have Thanadir clear a space for Lorna at the carousel before carnage could ensue; she’d forgotten to warn her friend about the unspoken rules of baggage etiquette and how few people actually observed them. The bright pink ribbon-festooned pieces of luggage were plucked off one at a time, with Thanadir equally wisely letting Lorna do most of the work, and only helping her with the ones that were particularly large or unwieldy. To her amusement, she noticed that the ellyn had created a small island for themselves, because the first person to try to push Thranduil aside had apparently been the last. That humans would simply rebound off of an elf shouldn’t have surprised her, but it was still funny to watch.

Watching the few people who dared stumble into the elves...it was a good thing Lorna was busy, because it was all she could do not to keep a straight face, even as she felt rather guilty. Being jostled like this had to be a new experience for both of them, and Christ knew what a pounding Thranduil’s brain was taking in this crowd. She tried to think of something harmless, but naturally could only think of that scene in Airplane where the ‘no-frills’ passengers came out the chute with the luggage. She kind of wanted to try that, but oh well. A few well-placed elbows meant she and Thanadir between them managed to get all their luggage out in one piece; she was damn glad she’d put on the bows, because quite a lot of people had very similar bags and suitcases.

Like a smart person, she let Thanadir go ahead of her, following not quite on his heels until they’d reached Earlene, Thranduil, and a lady with a sign, who evidently had something to do with them. “I think we’ve got it all.” It was still lovely and cool within the airport, but she wondered what it was like outside.

“Lisa is the kind person who is driving us to our hotel, to save the bother of this being a taxi ride,” Earlene said with a smile, as they all followed the young woman, whose only defining characteristic was her utter plainness. Their bags were soon loaded, and Earlene thanked the travel deities (because it seemed somehow disrespectful to bring Eru into this discussion) that they had avoided US Customs by caring for all that in Dublin and were now headed out with just under an hour to spare before commute traffic could wreak its special form of hell on them. Every minute counted, and she made sure they didn’t dawdle at getting away from JFK as quickly as possible.

By Lorna’s standards, it was quite warm outside, though not unbearably so. She shed her outer tunic and tied it around her waist, grateful she’d worn layers and sandals. What surprised her was the exhaust fumes -- she doubted a city-dweller would notice at all, but she’d lived so long in the Irish countryside that she sure as hell did.

She let Thanadir do most of the stowing of their luggage -- he would, she was sure, be fantastic at Tetris. Even already, everything she’d seen seemed so...so big, compared to Ireland, and they weren’t even that far from the airport. From her vantage point in the middle seat (because at her height, one was always in the middle seat) she felt as though they were driving through some artificial canyon.

She thought, naturally, of just what would happen in this crowded place if a zombie outbreak happened. All these cars; didn’t New York have something like eight million bloody people in it? Packed like Spam in a can...that, in turn, made her think of The Stand, and the truly haunting scenes in Manhattan. That she was here, actually here, had yet to properly register, and not just because she was still slightly groggy from her nap.

Earlene pointed out a few scenic...things...to Lorna, not wanting to be overwhelming. It had never fully registered in her mind, how strange her home would be to one who had never seen many (or any) of the major world cities before...and there was a lot of reason to argue that this one reigned supreme. It was hard not to be proud of New York, for the good it had. All huge cities seemed to share the bad, but what New York had that was positive, it had in abundance. Their drive toward Manhattan had them squarely aimed at the lower part of town, where the skyline and its many famous buildings were easily recognized….Empire State Building, the Freedom Tower, Chrysler Building, and a few other notables that most everyone had at least seen in a photo. Her charmed existence came through once again, because the traffic that should have been starting in earnest just hadn’t yet. They’d taken the nicest suite at the Park Central Hotel on 57th Street; it was well-recommended and more importantly was located more or less in the middle of everything Earlene wished to show her family. Travel agency magic had ensued, because while they were offloaded, check-in was somehow magically being accomplished even though they were technically fifteen minutes early. Moments later, key cards in hand, they were off to their suite that was pretentiously named ‘The Times Square.’

Everyone was admonished to guard their key cards with their lives and to keep them always always always in a pocket...that way, when one of them managed to fail at this, someone else would be able to let the rest of them into the room. Earlene demonstrated to the elves what they did, and with a click they entered the (by New York City standards) spacious accommodations.

Lorna was both glad to be off the crowded streets, and glad for a chance to kick her sandals off. The unfortunate thing about leggings was that they had no pockets, but sports bras made great pockets, especially if you didn’t naturally have much to put in one: her key card joined her mobile phone, because any lunatic willing to try to grab that would be lucky if all they lost was a finger. “It’s very white, isn’t it?” she asked, refusing to touch anything until she’d washed her hands. The beds were big, though, and she was small; if she’d be sharing with Thanadir, at least she wouldn’t kick him off the edge. Having spent her adolescence in a warehouse that lacked privacy, sharing sleeping space with someone was not a big deal to her; her only worry was that she might accidentally kick him in the kidney or something if she had a bad dream.

“I think it’s a hotel thing,” Earlene said, frowning. “I’m with you, I always feel like I have to be afraid to sit on the damn things whether I do or not. They all love white. I’d guess it is because that way, it screams ‘hey, this is totally clean and pristine, just for you!”

Most of Lorna’s clothes could stay in her bags, but she had to hang her fancy dress up, and let a few of her tunics un-crumple. She was not going to test the beds by jumping on one. She simply wasn’t going to do it, no matter how tempting it was.

For the next many minutes, they were all occupied with unpacking their things and setting them in places that made sense. They’d brought some jewelry, for their special invitation, and that along with a significant sum of cash went into their safe. And finally, with a look of pure mischief, Earlene bounced herself on the bed before rebounding back up to her feet. Thranduil looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and her response to that was to giggle and jump on the bed with both feet, and bounce up and down a good three times before flopping back down on her rear end. “What?” she quipped. “I’m glad to finally be here. With all of you. We made it; the least I can do is jump on the bed a few times and hope whoever is staying on the floor below us isn’t trying to sleep right now. Besides, this is the first time in my life I’ve been here to pretend I’m a tourist. That’s Times Square,” she said, pointing at the garishly monstrous video screens that could be seen in the distance, “and I’m showing some respect.”

Well, if Earlene could do it, Lorna felt entirely justified in hopping up onto her bed and giving it a few experimental bounces, at least managing not to actually say Wheeeee! out loud before she sat, flopping back and shutting her eyes just a moment. “This city,” she said, looking out at the massive buildings beyond, “is huge. As in, everything in it is huge. I’m used to being small, but not this small. I wish I had Marty McFly’s hoverboard.” Though of coasting along above everyone’s heads was fantastic, and the fact that she could think that while sober told her she needed more to drink. “So what’s our plan?”

“It’s 4:30, here-time. Meaning that it’s midnight-thirty, Ireland time. New York doesn’t ever stop and the moment we go outside, you’ll forget that you’re tired. I’d planned for us to not have to do much besides stroll around to see Times Square and where some of the theaters are, gawk around, and of course eat. The food in this area is solidly just OK; it’s more for tourists. But there is an Irish-type pub that won’t poison us across the street a bit, coffee shops and bakeries, and places to eat cheesecake of every description until even Thanadir has to concede defeat. So the first question is, do you want to eat now, or in awhile? And since I know Thanadir’s answer, the actual question is, are you ok to wait a little or do we eat first?”

“I’m good either way, but I’d love a drink,” Lorna said, knowing Thanadir would probably appreciate the support. “Should I even be hauling my satchel around, or just, y’know, keep doing what I’m doing?” She gestured vaguely at her mobile, just visible over the collar of her vest top.

“You’re fine. Most tourists don’t look like we look, and I pity the poor bastard that makes a grab for your phone,” Earlene chuckled.

Thanadir smiled and said softly, “I am happy to wait, to eat.” Whereupon Thranduil said, “I think I am less happy. I would like more food as much as I think Lorna would like a drink. Why don’t we try this...pub; it would easy our transition to being outside Ireland.”

“Of course,” she said, gesturing for them to all leave. “Just remember what I said about not stopping on the sidewalks. There will be lots of time to ogle the buildings, I promise.” She led the way back to the elevator, before changing her mind; this hotel was somewhat labyrinthine in its hallways. “Come on, this’ll be fun. Let’s take the stairs down. Never hurts to know another way out besides an elevator, and going down isn’t so much work.” What she didn’t do was complete her sentence with the words in case there is a fire. The stairwell was another world. Gone were the luxurious carpets, and instead an echo chamber of fluorescent lights and random echoes that seem to come up from the pits of the earth greeted them. Not the sort of place she’d be alone late at night, but it was fun to bounce down whilst holding the rails. “Lorna, remember the part in Holy Grail where the animated guy had to go down all the stairs?” she said as she clattered down multiple steps at a time in a manner that alarmed Thanadir somewhat. He made quite a lot of haste, to follow her closely.

Lorna cackled. “I do,” she said, sandals flapping somewhat as she followed suit. She’d never seen this side of Earlene before; perhaps being on her home turf, so to speak, brought out something more carefree in her. “Getting back up all’v them’ll be a bitch, but if we’re drunk enough we won’t care.”

“Pffft,” Earlene fired back. “You know you’re drunk to even try that; going up is what the damn elevator’s for.”

They were just a bit too tall for her, which made going down them all the more fun. “I bet these’d be wicked with a sled, so long as you could corner with it.” Part of her was tempted to try to slide down the bannister, but if she lost her grip, it was an awfully long way down. Twenty years ago -- hell, even ten -- she might have dared it, but she was wiser now. Or at least, less willing to risk shattering all her bones. It would make for a really shitty return flight, if nothing else. “So, I know getting it home’d be a nightmare, even if I just carried it in my luggage, but is there someplace I could get a knife? Only I just don’t feel comfortable walking around a city without one. I’ve not done that since I was ten years old.” She was fairly sure Thanadir, the ever-vigilant, would want one himself. While she highly doubted she’d actually need to use it, it was...well, like a security blanket. A very sharp, pointy security blanket.

Earlene tilted her head, somewhat content now to go down the stairs in a manner approaching normalcy after five floors had been descended with great silliness. “That isn’t hard, depending. You mean something just normal? A folding knife? Or are you talking about a Bowie knife?”

“Folding knife’s best,” Lorna said. “Well, a Bowie knife would be, but I’ve got no idea how legal they are in the States. I don’t need one tonight, but my back’ll itch if I’ve not got one sooner or later, if you catch my meaning.” She was morbidly curious about handguns, but that was never going to happen. She couldn’t bring it back to Ireland even if she could legally get her hands one one in New York -- which, with her arrest record, was doubtful.

“There is a place but...there are some very strange laws on the books here, about possession of knives. You don’t want to know how many people are jailed here each year because of not even knowing those laws exist; it’s become a big stink and they’re trying to overturn it. I can show you the website; the place itself is quite a distance from here near Lower Manhattan. We’ll be in that neighborhood at some point, I just can’t say it will be tomorrow. I can’t say they’ll have the sort of thing I think you have in mind...and while I understand your reasons, about the last thing that needs to happen on this trip is running afoul of the NYPD.”

That hardly seemed fair. The criminals probably had knives and guns, after all. “So what in bloody hell do people here actually defend themselves with?” she asked, baffled. “I mean, pepper spray hurts like a bastard, but it’s no guarantee the person you spray’ll go down.” She’d watched someone power through it once, and it had been terrifying -- not least because he’d been crazy pissed off he’d been sprayed in the face. “Oh well. It’s annoying, but it’s not the end’v the world.” There were four of them, after all, and while she might not have a knife, she did have very sharp teeth. And here she’d thought weapons were everywhere in the States. She wondered if the elves were as weirded out by the lack of knives as she was; she had no idea if they normally carried when they left the forest or not, but she was willing to be they did. If Thanadir was Earlene’s bodyguard, Lorna really doubted he went out totally unarmed.

She wondered if there were any lowlives idiotic enough to try to mess with him. She doubted any would go after Thranduil -- he was just too damn intimidating, if you didn’t know him -- but Thanadir...she would swear Thanadir cultivated his delicate, slightly doe-eyed appearance on purpose. She could see some criminal with more teeth than brain cells going after him, and winding up very, very surprised. For the five seconds they stayed conscious.

“I’ve lived here all my life without a knife or a gun. You use your brain. Trouble doesn’t follow you for blocks, especially when you are in the company of two males over six foot tall. It comes out of being in the wrong neighborhoods and being alone in the wrong places at night. I know when people don’t look right, for where they are. If someone is acting weird, I’m on the other side of the street before I’m even done thinking about it. I watch what others are doing and I pay attention to who is near me. I know where police are, and what places are under surveillance. I carry pepper spray and while it’s true that it might not stop a person, I can just about guarantee you it will give me time to get away; I can run. I’ve taken self-defense classes and I’m not afraid to behave aggressively if I think it’s needed. I know how to act, how to be, so that I don’t look like an easy target. This is actually one of the safest cities there is, especially the parts we will be seeing. Besides, truly violent criminals don’t waste their time on knives; they have automatic handguns. If someone is determined to shoot me, then I’m dead. But it hasn’t happened yet, and I have a lot of reason to believe it won’t on a week long trip, either.”

While it was probably the same in the nicer half of Dublin, Lorna had grown up on the shitty side. She wasn’t used to thinking about what it was like in the nicer section. “I’m so used to Dublin,” she sighed. “Knives are the thing, there. I’m just so used to carrying one that I almost feel naked without it, no matter how safe we are.” Even now, she shied away from the idea of cops as the good guys; she’d let Earlene deal with any, should it somehow become necessary. And she knew, better than many, that safety was an illusion, no matter where you were. But Earlene was right; with these two with them, only somebody high on...oh, bath salts, or something...would dare start anything.

They all exited the glass-fronted lobby, waiting a moment before going through the revolving door that led to the street, having agreed beforehand that their mode of navigation would be for Earlene and Thranduil to clear the path, with Thanadir and Lorna following. Even Earlene found that she had to resist the temptation to look up at the buildings, because….it felt so damn good to be back here. It just….did. Even the traffic fumes smelled good, however stupid that seemed. And yet, as she led the way to the crosswalk with the efficient demeanor of a native, she knew that the gladness wouldn’t extend to remaining here. Visiting, just feeling and sharing her longtime home with her adopted (and not so adopted) family. In less than a minute they were at the doors of P.J. Carney’s and seated in one of the polished wooden booths. “This place is only about ninety years old, Lorna. Noplace is going to rate against home, just so you know. America just doesn’t have the depth that the old world does.”

It was a bit odd, because there was Irishness to it, and yet not. It was too sleek, too modern, though it tried to mimic age. It smelled like an Irish pub, for the most part, though there were a few food-scents she didn’t recognize, and rather more grease. Most of the drinks were different, though she was pleased to note they had Guinness -- couldn’t have called themselves a proper Irish bar without it.

“Ninety’s still nothing to sneeze at, for a pub,” she said. “There’s many back home that’v been around longer, but many that haven’t, too.” The booth was upholstered in vinyl, not leather, and didn’t that feel odd: it was another almost, but not quite, thing. Given that her feet dangled a few inches above the floor, she settled for sitting cross-legged, trying not to knee anyone in the side in the process. “Though I can’t say I ever thought I’d see quesadillas on any Irish menu.” She wasn’t about to try the Shepherd’s pie. She didn’t want her heart broken.

The server came round, and it began. “Mac N Cheese with Irish Cheddar and a California Turkey Club with a Guinness,” piped Earlene. “Shepherd’s Pie and a Spinach and Arugula salad and Guinness,” added Thranduil. Earlene wondered if the seneschal would one day say, “The Whole Menu” but then again that’d be giving him ideas. “Steak sandwich with fries and Guinness” said Thanadir, to her surprise. _Good choice, filling_ , Earlene thought with approval.

“Can I get a large’v the Buffalo Wings and a Drunk and Stormy?” Lorna asked, figuring Thanadir would eat what she couldn’t, and liking the drink purely for its name.

The server, a young, pleasant-faced man, paused, his eyes going momentarily blank with utter incomprehension. Right. Shit. Lorna repeated herself as carefully as she could, until he got the drift, looking incredibly apologetic. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “People back home have a problem with it, too.” If he understood any of that, she’d be very surprised.

“Well, Fionn and Cian, what do you think of my city, with its not-so fresh-air, so far?” Earlene asked, smiling.

Thranduil looked at her with an expression that seemed a bit faraway, until it struck her. “You’re bombarded here, aren’t you, by thoughts?” she guessed.

“Yes. Somewhat,” he said, smiling and seeming more present now. “It was fine in our rooms. But even in Dublin, it was an...experience...for me to have so much to ignore. And this is exponentially more challenging than Dublin. But do not be concerned, it is not the first time I have adjusted to so many voices. I can and do manage to disregard much of what I hear; there is only a period of becoming accustomed to it. But that is not the answer to your original question. While I have seen very little I would guess, I confess I am in awe. There are hardly words to describe having flown in the sky, and seeing the land from above. Looking at the buildings in photographs and then finding myself standing near some of them is very different. I can see that your world is not perfect, but what has been achieved is amazing.”

Thanadir nodded, his expression shifting dramatically to one of greater seriousness. “I feel somewhat more like Lorna, I think. To have so much to account for, to be around so very many people of unknown intentions...is unnerving. To be away from the place in which I feel a sense of control; to this also I am unaccustomed. But I am trying. I know that it is necessary, and listening to you speak of how you have managed without weapons or the skills of our people has given me much to consider. I too can see that I am surrounded by astonishing things, and I look forward to what we will learn here.”

“I feel very small,” Lorna said, laughing a little. “I’m with Cian -- being someplace I can’t control’s a bit weird, but I’ll get used to it. I’ve never been around so many people before, and it’s like they all know where they’re going. I’m not so sure I’d get stepped on even if I didn’t have Cian as a human shield.” She just barely remembered not to use his real name; she was going to have to get into the habit of calling them Fionn and Cian in her head for the next week. “It’s sure a hell’v a lot different than Lasg’len. Shite, it puts Dublin to shame.”

“Everyone feels small here, honestly. Having an extra foot or so just doesn’t help when it’s all that big. Or at least, I don’t see how it can…” Earlene trailed off. But just then the drinks arrived, and with a happy clinking of glasses, they toasted their time here. When the food came, she could not resist eyeing Thranduil’s shepherd’s pie, because she so badly wanted to know if they’d made a hash of it or not.

Buffalo wings were everything Lorna had hoped they might be, and her Drunk and Stormy good enough that she’d suggest it to Big Jamie when they got home. Good food made her feel a bit less like a stranger in a strange land, even if the food itself wasn’t quite familiar: they just didn’t do proper buffalo wings back home. Naturally, she wound up giving half of them to Thanadir, and reflected that her gran would have loved the elf; she always had liked a lad who could appreciate his food, and that Thanadir did and then some.

Of course, buffalo wings were messy things, and she wound up surrounded by crumpled napkins, but it was worth it. She even managed not to belch, though it was a near thing at one point -- ginger beer was, after all, on the fizzy side, and she wound up making a noise that sounded rather like a demented toad, but at least she didn’t belch.

There were hours yet of daylight when they finished at left, happier to have a real meal inside of them. Had she been alone, Earlene would have gone to Central Park without hesitation, and run for at least an hour. But with guests and a full stomach...no. While she doubted it was an issue, she already determined that she was not going to be that pregnant woman, that used her condition to swell up to something approximating the dimensions of a beached walrus. Though….twins, she probably was going to have that happen regardless. Times Square it is, she thought, the most touristified place in the entire city. But they were tourists, so why not? And she knew exactly where she was taking Thanadir, and what she was buying him.

As they approached the massive screens that dominated the setting by day or night, Thranduil looked on in wonder. He remembered that not two short months ago, he’d been almost stupefied to see the television screen in Earlene’s cottage come to life for the first time...and this was larger than a thousand of them. The images were of nothing consequential and yet mesmerized with light and color. Shaking his head, he remembered to keep aware of his surroundings. He could see in his wife’s thoughts that this place was a magnet for visitors, and therefore likely was also a magnet for those who would like to steal or annoy. As they made their way down the sidewalk, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, despite Earlene’s admonitions. There was a man, playing a guitar and to all appearances, he was completely unclothed. _That’s the Naked Cowboy_ , he heard Earlene think. _Did you want a photo with him?_ His eyes widened.

Anything that could make Thranduil halt had to be worth seeing. Releasing Thanadir’s hand, she wormed her way to the edge of the crowd, and...oh my. Yeah, Siobhan would appreciate this one and then some. “Earlene, do me a favor and snap me, will you?” she asked, fishing her phone out of her bra. Picking her way out across the pavement, she gave the man as dazzling a grin as she could and posed like Vanna White presenting him as a prize.

 _You’ll be happy to know he’s got skivvies on_ , she told Thranduil. Not that they at all detracted from the fact that he had a very nice arse. He was actually quite good with his guitar, too -- not just a pretty face and a great arse, but legitimately talented. Fishing a fiver out of her wallet, she cheerfully dropped it into his case, tipping him a Britain-style salute.

Earlene chuckled and shook her head as she imagined what they’d say at the office to know she was snapping photos of her friend with this, uh, icon of the City. Fortunately, the camera was pointed in the right direction and she just generally hoped that the photo did not make its way to Ratiri immediately. That poor man….

Lorna, quite pleased, practically skipped back to the little group. She’d heard New York called ‘the city that never sleeps’, and it was so loud that she’d well believe it. It really was so at odds with Dublin, too; in Dublin, you saw plenty of the lazy sort, just meandering about, in no particular hurry. Everyone here seemed to be on a mission, and with the sidewalks it was almost like a weird sort of dance -- crowded though they were, everyone somehow got out of each other’s way, without consultation. She wondered if it was some kind of latent telepathy, slowly developed over centuries. Sticking close to Thanadir, she had to marvel a bit as she watched them; given that they surrounded her so closely on all sides, she had little choice but to pay attention. At least half the things that were of interest were high enough that she didn’t need to be tall to see them.

“Do you like M&M’s, Lorna?” Earlene asked. “The candy? They have that in Ireland, right?”*

“We don’t, actually,” Lorna said. “We’ve not got much American candy, unless it’s special-ordered through somewhere. If it’s candy, though, sign me up.” While her sweet tooth wasn’t quite so developed as Thanadir’s, it was certainly close.

They walked over a block, onto Broadway, with Earlene keeping them all mildly distracted by pointing out other sights. But then she stopped and gestured. “Well, while I won’t say that M&Ms are the best thing ever, because they aren’t, they do have their place in our culture. Behold. Three stories of chocolate, in rainbow colors. This is the most ridiculous thing I can show you today, unless the Naked Cowboy has a brother.”

They all stared up at the construct known as M&M World, where a multistory talking piece of candy glared down at them from a huge display screen. “Eru help me,” breathed Thranduil, as he saw the look of happiness washing over Thanadir’s face. Earlene was already marching inside, determined to buy Thanadir a small box of them so that he would at least understand what on earth the point of this place was. Thranduil heard his wife say, “Ask Lorna what ‘marketing’ is….”*

Lorna was possibly having sensory overload. While she wasn’t a kid in a candy story, she was child-sized. She vaguely overheard Earlene, but couldn’t quite bring herself to tear her eyes from the literal pillar of clear plastic tubes, each filled with a different color candy. The din was all but deafening, the crowd jostling a little more than it did outside. “‘Marketing’ is making bloody certain people want to buy what you’re selling, even if it’s shite they don’t need and might not even want. If it looks good enough to them, they’ll buy it, so you put it in...well, that.” She pointed at a plastic Statue of Liberty, the body made up of a green M&M with a disturbingly sultry look on its face. She wanted five of them, and she was more than willing to climb the rack to get at them. “You have to make them want it.” She paused. “That’s what she said.”

Ealene returned just then with a small box of the things, and opened them, pouring some into everyone’s hand. “When I was a kid, these were advertised as ‘the milk chocolate candy that will melt in your mouth not on your hands.’ Which is true to an extent. If you grew up in America, unless you lived in a cave or your parents belonged to some weird dental cult, you spent at least a few hours of your childhood sorting all these out by color, making flowers and such out of them (she demonstrated in Thranduil’s hand by placing a yellow one in the center and six red ones at the outside in a fair imitation of a primrose) or some other form of silliness. But...you just eat them,” she said, popping one into her mouth.

Lorna’s hands were a bit small, but she managed it anyway, and tossed one back. It wasn’t the best thing she’d ever eaten, but it wasn’t awful, either; chocolate was chocolate, but this seemed a bit cardboard compared to what she was used to. Still, the damn things proved addictive in short order, which she only realized once she’d eaten the entire lot inside of three bites. “They’re not that grand, and yet you can’t stop eating them,” she said. “There’s a feat and a half. Maybe it’s witchcraft.” She eyed the Statues of Liberty. “Here, either one’v you two grab me five’v those things, or lift me up so I can, will you?” she asked. Seriously, there were people in Baile who needed one of those. It had to happen.

Thranduil arched his eyebrows and made certain he’d heard her right. _Five of these?_ he asked, hoping he was wrong. At seeing her completely earnest nod, he handed her what she wished. The hardest part of doing it was repressing what he thought of these...objects.

 _There are certain people who need these_ , she said, somehow clutching the lot of them as she grinned at him. _Whether they want them or not. I’ll make Mairead put it on her mantle for at least a year. And nobody can give it to the thrift store, or everyone’ll know._ Yes, she could be rather diabolical, in her own small and annoying way. And she couldn’t lie -- she did in fact want one for herself, because if anything screamed America, it was this.

Earlene looked at Thranduil helplessly and bit the inside of her cheeks. She’d been shockingly naive to think that Lorna would go home with “I <3 NY” t shirts or coffee cups. To distract herself, she turned to Thanadir and asked what color or colors of candy he’d like to have. It was touching, the way he walked past the long tubes of candy, finally settling on one of the multicolored mixes. Two pounds seemed like enough, and he nodded his approval. Besides, they were close enough to buy more before they left.

“Thank you, meluieg,” he said, knowing how much she enjoyed exposing Thanadir to new forms of sugar, “but I think it is time for you to rest now.”

Earlene had to concur, and a slightly tired nod from Lorna sealed the decision. After all, on their body clocks it was now something like three o’clock in the morning, and they’d only had naps on the plane. Returning to the hotel, and getting first dibs on the bathroom for brushing teeth, that was when she saw it. “What. The. Fuck.” came from the bathroom. “Uh, Lorna? Did you actually see this?” She could not take her eyes from it.

Lorna, unwinding her braid, followed Earlene’s voice into the bathroom, and halted at what she saw. “Christ in a bloody sidecar, what’s that thing?” she demanded, unable to tear her eyes away. It was a portrait, a close-up of some androgynous person, rendered in vivid colors -- none of which would have been that big of a deal, except it very blatantly wanted to eat the viewer. Seriously, that was the look of a cannibalistic serial killer if ever she’d seen one. “Not sure I can take a proper shit knowing that’s looking down at me. For all I know, it might try to eat my brain.”

Earlene walked to the wall, and gently lifted the picture, only to find that it resisted her. “Goddamn thing has a Permanent Sticking Charm on it,” she said, her eyes roving around. “Ah, where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Taking a bath towel, she snapped it open and in a moment, the offending object was shrouded in snowy white terry cloth. “Housekeeping will probably have a fit, but, ask me if I care,” she muttered through her toothpaste. She figured she’d change when Lorna went for her turn; at this point there was little Thanadir hadn’t already seen.

“I doubt we’re the first to do it,” Lorna said, finishing with her hair and busting out her toothbrush. “They’re probably creeped out by the bloody thing, too.” She took care of her teeth and face before swapping her somewhat gritty clothes for the nightgown Thanadir had made her. The pollution here must make for a lot of laundry, she reflected, padding her way out into the room. “All right, to my knowledge I don’t snore or drool, but I sometimes kick a bit,” she told Thanadir. “Though I’m so damn tired I doubt it’ll be a worry tonight.” She actually had to hop a bit to get up onto the bed, which was every bit as soft as the new mattress she’d bought herself back home. Crawling under the blankets, it wasn’t long at all before she was out, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed, face slightly mashed against her pillow. The old elf looked over at her with a smile, shook his head and kept reading whatever was on his laptop.

The ellyn dressed in long, loose-fitting tunics that were vaguely reminiscent of nineteenth-century sleepwear, minus the nightcaps. Thanadir was propped up against all the pillows, reading. Earlene was becoming very sleepy; as soon as she realized there were no emails about which she had to care, she closed the screen and set the machine against the nightstand. She’d already set an alarm for rather late in the morning and…..”Shit,” she breathed, flying back out of bed and heading for the door. Opening it, she put out the Do Not Disturb placard, because….because. Crawling back in, she flipped the covers over her and sought Thranduil’s warmth. Lights were turned off, and the last thing she clearly remembered was his arm coming around her, pulling her to him under the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scary Bathroom Guy, for your enjoyment: http://www.getawaymavens.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/Park-Central-Hotel-NYC-Bathroom.jpg
> 
> Lorna's M&M Statue of Liberty souvenirs: http://douglasshoopphotography.smugmug.com/keyword/statue%20of%20liberty/i-NpVCPCh/A


	34. Thirty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extensive video links are provided in the end notes for this chapter; they are below so as to not be a distraction. Enjoy :-)

Lorna woke the next morning in the exact same position she’d fallen asleep in, which meant she had one hell of a crick in her neck. According to her phone, it was seven in the morning, which made her groan. Sunrise always roused her, whether she wanted it to or not; food and caffeine were both necessary. Given that this was America, she’d give coffee a try, once she felt more or less human again.

She gave the elves a vague wave when she half-stood, half-rolled off the bed, zombie-staggering her way to the bathroom. Brushing her teeth and washing her face helped -- all the more so because that ungodly painting still had a towel over it. Seriously, _whose_ idea had that thing been? Even with it covered up, she was leery of showering with the damn thing in the same room, but shower she did, careful to keep it short so she and her hair didn’t use up all the hot water. The bathroom really was so terribly _white_ , pale stone that was chilly under her bare feet, but the water was gloriously hot, sluicing away the grit of the city. While the air pollution was not so bad as she’d feared, she had got astonishingly dirty for only having walked a few hours.

The nightgown Thanadir had given her was beautiful, but her ancient dressing gown was...less so. For one thing, it was older than she was; it was a patchwork monstrosity that had been presented to her gran as a wedding present in 1945, when World War II had dictated function over fashion in pretty much everything. It certainly made a ludicrous contrast with the nightgown, but it also kept the wet mass of her hair from wrecking the fabric while she brushed it out.

“Caffeine,” she said, cracking her neck. Even she had to admit it was a disgusting sound, and yet it felt so nice. “Caffeine and...and...donuts. New York’s famous for donuts, right?”

Earlene blinked, feeling far more like having a private tumble in the sheets with the gorgeous male next to her than in dealing with reality, but, that wasn’t happening. This was her party, so to speak, and she had guests. She vaguely thanked the powers that the telepathy in this room only extended to one ellon (who was smiling a little too much as he gazed out the window at the garish lights of Times Square), and heaved herself out of bed. “Give me ten minutes, and we can all get going. We might as well anyway; this is going to be a long day. We’re crossing town all the way to Battery Park; today is our day to see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Very important; everyone needs to have a photo ID today, either your passports or...whatever. I hoped you might really enjoy this, Lorna; I’ve always admired how much you know about Irish history but I’m guessing that this is a chapter less familiar to you. There are lots of things that tell the story of what happened to all those desperate bastards that took the chance on coming here about a hundred and some odd years ago. Anyway. It won’t be cold but it can be windy; dress however you need to.”

In record time, she showered (cursing herself for not thinking to invite her husband in here, but then the 'ten minutes' aspect would have gone to hell after all), climbed into clothes and more importantly shoes that would be comfortable through hours of standing around and looking at displays. This even included leaving housekeeping a $20 tip and a note asking for indulgence with the shrouded bathroom picture.

It had been a really long time since she’d been out to Ellis Island, and they’d done tons with the place, much of which she’d not seen since the restorations and improvements. She was just as excited for herself, to enjoy this experience. By group agreement they clattered down the stairs again, this time with Thanadir amusing himself by taking the steps three at a time. _Will I ever really know him_ , wondered Earlene? _Probably about the time I’m ready to croak. Maybe._ She laughed and did the same thing, but two at a time. “We’re eating at Tisserie, just next door to the right out the hotel doors. It’s supposed to be yards better than the bakery down in the lobby,” she quipped.

“Two fun things about Ireland and the States,” Lorna said, figuring there was no harm mimicking the action. “One, during the worst’v the famine, the Choctaw tribe sent money to Ireland, despite the fact that they were bloody broke themselves. There’s a statue now, commemorating it. Two, at some point during the Famine, there were more native-born Irish people in America than there were in Ireland. The English took all the good shite we grew and just left us with potatoes, and when the Blight happened, they were happy to let us starve.” Well over a hundred and fifty years later, that was still a chip on the shoulders of the Irish, who really were capable of carrying a grudge and a half. Then again, when a million people starved to death for no reason, one could be forgiven for a centuries-long grudge.

Thranduil thought he was beginning to understand the sheer depth of the Irish loathing for all things monarchy. She had spoken of this before with vehemence, but she did it now almost blithely; the hatred was not a conscious choice, but an immutable part of their being.

Earlene wanted to respond but decided to save it for later; they’d be talking about this all day. Besides, once they had walked next door to Tisserie, the display case of things like spinach and cheese croissants and cinnamon rolls of delicate puff pastry had a way of pushing aside the Potato Famine, at least for awhile. She suggested that the ellyn order hot chocolate or almond milk, as they were assured of liking it; they could then try her mocha and know if they’d like to have that as a second course or on future days.

Lorna decided to tackle a latte, having never even seen one in her life. The thing was huge -- apparently ‘venti’ meant much bigger than she’d thought -- but it was sweet and creamy and went perfectly with her croissant. Rather like the pub, there was a newness to this place she didn’t often find in Ireland; the floor was some dark hardwood that seemed remarkably un-scratched for the amount of business that came through it, the lamps suspended over the long counter very bright. Did people in the States have more vision problems than they did in Ireland, or was Ireland just unusually dim? Either way, she took a picture of the sign on the wall behind the counter: it was the bakery’s name picked it out light bulbs, like an old-fashioned marquee. Still, while the pastries were incredibly good, they couldn’t beat Mairead’s baking. Mairead would be pleased.

The only trouble with lattes, she found, was the milk/foam mustache. She went through a few too many napkins trying to deal with that problem, until she finally gave up. The thing was so damn tasty that she definitely wanted another later. No wonder people yattered on about coffee.

While they were munching, Earlene checked her phone. In preparedness, both she and Lorna had conducted a major dodge to avoid nightmarish cell phone charges on this trip. “I still can’t goddamn believe needing to pull a stunt like routing all my incoming messages to a Google number and shutting down data outside of wifi to avoid twenty dollar per MB data charges. Maybe I’ll make a few phone calls and see who I can fucking sue, because I’d have a little too much fun prosecuting that case. Even if I’m totally full of hot air because it would mean being here for months on end to do that. But it _sounds_ appealing,” she fumed as she checked her email and their electronic tickets for the ferry and tours. Looking up, she saw Thanadir demolishing his baked goods and wanted so very badly to lightly pinch his cheek. Caress his cheek. _Goddammit why did he have to be so cute?_ She tore her eyes away only to hear Thranduil chuckling at her. _I can’t help it_ , she said to her husband. _It’s like he has superpowers, or something. Does no other elf react to him this way?_ There was always hope that she was not alone.

_We are accustomed to our own beauty, for lack of better words, meluieg. While I appreciate my seneschal in many ways, I am afraid this element from which you humans seem to suffer is missing, for me._

_Well, consider yourself fortunate._ “It’s time to go, we have to get moving.” They crossed the street for wrapped sandwiches for later, deciding to forego carrying drinks around. Earlene was already drooling at the lox, caper and cream cheese one she’d ordered, it had been forever since she’d had good lox. Or perhaps not precisely forever, but at least three or four months. Saaaaaaalmon. With Lorna obligingly stowing their food in her satchel, they descended into the 57th Street subway station to catch the R Line to Lower Manhattan. She demonstrated how to buy the tickets, and how to pass the turnstile before descending further to see the oh-so-familiar tiled walls of this vast transit system.

The subway fascinated Lorna, because she’d never seen one. Dublin had trains, but the ground was too marshy for anything like a subterranean system, and unlike New York, they didn’t have pumps or retaining walls. Like everything else, it was huge, but she’d discovered if she stayed roughly between Thanadir and Thranduil when they were actually in motion, it was easiest. It didn’t look this big in movies, nor did it echo as it did in real life.

What truly intrigued her was that it was exactly as Earlene had said: nobody was looking at anyone else. In Dublin you smiled and nodded to all you made eye contact with (especially if you were drunk), but somehow, these New Yorkers contrived to have privacy despite not actually having any at all. She took a few pictures of the station, because if she was going to be a tourist, she was going to _really_ be a tourist, goddammit.

They creaked on for the better part of half an hour before finally getting to the Whitehall Street/South Ferry station. “This is it, unless we really want pizza in Brooklyn,” she said, standing to get off. They ascended to the streets above, and shortly found themselves at the edge of the water. “This is where the Hudson and East rivers meet, and flow out to the Atlantic. We’re more or less facing the Hudson,” she explained. “There are more little islands than anyone really wants to count, all through this area. The first place we will go is Liberty Island; you can see the Statue already. That’s what Lady Liberty looks like without M&Ms being involved,” Earlene quipped sardonically.

“Before we get any further, hands,” Lorna said, rifling through her bag until she found a bottle of hand sanitizer. She’d seen _Contagion_ ; she knew what fomites were, and she didn’t want to carry some exotic strain of...of fungus, or something, back to Ireland with her. Because she was a movie junkie (there wasn’t, after all, much else to do in prison, aside from read and let Tatiana badger Russian grammar into her), her strongest association with the Statue of Liberty was the Ghostbusters making her walk through Brooklyn. “She’s made out’v oxidized copper, isn’t she? She’s not actually meant to be green, I think.” She was pretty sure the Statue had been a present from...France? For some reason? Transporting and assembling something so large would be a feat even _now_ ; how the hell they’d done it a hundred-odd years ago, she couldn’t imagine. “Sure a hell’v a lot more impressive than the Erection at the Intersection.”

“I’m not sure,” Earlene said. “I think the, uh, Erection is taller. But I will completely agree that given the choice, this is the one I’d rather look at for any length of time. And yeah, when it was first here it was brown-ish, before the copper turned to verdigris.” They spread out along the rail of the ferry. Tourist season, if there was such a thing in a city that was such a magnet for visitors as this one, hadn’t yet begun in earnest, and there were fewer people moving toward the monuments than would be the case later in the day. Something else occurred to her. “Is this your first time on water, i Hîr nin?” she asked Thanadir very quietly, after having learned the value of not allowing easy Sindarin phrases to be overheard in public after their experience with Ratiri.

“Not exactly,” he smiled. I have been down the Anduin, a mighty river. But even that had no comparison to this...and certainly not to the great ocean we crossed to come here. I have never beheld salt water. But I imagine this looks very similar?”

“It does,” nodded Earlene. “The only real difference is that here the surf, the water is not coming against the shore in waves. But the smell of the air; that is the smell coming in from the ocean.” The ferry chugged along, and the usual kinds of prattle that caused Earlene to generally avoid people sailed through the air. ‘Look honey, the boat is moving!’ _Is it really?! Who would have known without you to tell us that?_ ‘Oh! Look! You can see Manhattan from here’! _A opposed to, downtown London?_ And then her mental narrative paused. _I’d better get used to it. Unless a miracle happens, I’m going to be saying exactly the same things, because children are on the way. What are the odds that mine will begin speaking in intelligent sentences?_ This time tomorrow, they’d be within minutes of meeting Aidan, and the thought made her stomach clench. Now that this encounter was almost upon her, it felt very different than when she was so far away, planning it. _And that’s because tomorrow, you actually have to lay eyes on the bastard_ , she thought.

Thranduil’s arm came around her; his silky hair was streaming in the breeze. This only added to his striking appearance. While no one seemed to be staring too much, Earlene easily caught the appreciative glances being thrown in the King’s direction. _And you will not be alone, meluieg. Unless you strongly object, it is somewhat my intention to take control of that discussion. You will be introducing me as your husband; the more I speak directly to him, the further I will see into his intentions. We will not be leaving this meeting without any thought of his that bears on the matter being known to me._

Her eyes tracked some seabirds that sped past them over the water. _For anything else, I probably would object on some level. But you have seen the worst of this, for me, and while it is not usual for me to admit weakness, this time I will. Everything that has passed between he and I is proving too hard to just forget. It will be as you wish, and with my gratitude._ Her hand found his, and grasped it; lacing her fingers tightly into his.

Lorna was damn glad she’d thought to braid her hair, though her fringe whipped in her face anyway. The salt air reminded her much of Dublin, a taste of home in this foreign land, the sun glittering on the water making her squint. She snapped a few pictures of the approaching island, which looked so perfectly uniform she wondered if it was either man-made or man-altered. Looking at photographs, one didn’t get a proper idea of the scale of the statue -- seriously, how in bloody hell had it been shipped over the Atlantic in _sailing ships_? Even brought in pieces, it must have taken ages.

 _Christ, imagine passing that as an immigrant_ , she thought. It was impressive as hell even now, but back in the day, back before there was modern equipment to put her together, she must have been staggering. While she knew a few odd bits of trivia about the Irish in America, that was all she knew -- they’d fled starvation and they’d had a shitty time of it. Typhoid Mary, she was Irish, wasn’t she?

While she knew little of her da’s family, if the rest of Mam’s had been like Gran and Mairead, she suspected they’d rather have starved than left home. There was an old Irish song about the land’s forty shades of green, and she couldn’t imagine them giving it up for anything. “I’m pretty sure the French gave her to you lot in part as a thank you for...something, and in part as a way’v giving the English the finger,” she said, turning to Earlene. “Though I could be wrong on that. We’ve always kind’v liked the French, because they hated the English so much.”

“That might have been,” Earlene pondered. “Given that they helped finance the Revolutionary War and probably saved our arses….er, America’s arses…” she trailed off. It was yet very hard to remember, especially here, that her view of her own citizenship was at best scrambled eggs at the moment. On paper, of course she still was a US citizen...but the rest of it?

Thranduil saw the anxiety his wife felt from these thoughts, and recalled that this was not the first time this topic had crossed her mind. They’d never discussed it. He frowned. Even she would realize, this wasn’t something that was discussed; he was a ruling King to whom she owed fealty. And yet now that he had seen a fraction of this great land, maps had told him the scale on which the rest of the world operated. This vast city was but a bare fragment of the nation whence Earlene came and it was many, many times larger than what was now called Ireland. He saw in her mind that because of the realities of her connection to the elves, nothing about her allegiance to him had to negate her rights here. And at the moment, her US citizenship might make certain things (the adoption of Allanah came to mind) a great deal easier. _Meluieg, I owe you some answers, to set your mind at ease. I understand, perhaps somewhat better than before, that it is not an easy thing for you to disconnect from your past. That you came to me, gave your service to me, does not negate that this is the land of your birth and where you have spent nearly your entire life. I do not fault you for still feeling as though you belong here, nor your use of pronouns like ‘us’’, your sense of pride or even the patriotism you feel. None of those things threaten me. I only ask for what you have already promised; your service and your obedience. Smile at your flag, sing the songs of this land, have your opinions on the politics of this place you have called home; I take no offense nor do I forbid it. As long as you uphold your vows, the rest takes away nothing from me. I hope hearing this helps you._

Surprise washed over her; this was not what she would have expected him to say. It was utterly practical and a very generous concession and yes, it did help. _Well I won’t burst into the Star-Spangled Banner just now, but, thank you. I can feel less awkward. I would have thought that all that would matter more to you, somehow. You have ruled for so long…_

 _You are confusing me with Thanadir, meluieg,_ he grinned. _My seneschal might not see it in the same light as I do; however, it is not his decision. It became apparent to me that if I wished to move easily through your world, ‘getting over myself,’ as you humans would say, had to be accomplished. It caused me to reflect a great deal on what actually mattered._

Privately, she thought that showed a great deal of wisdom...but now it was time to disembark and admire this very large national icon. And somehow she still could not forget the damn M&Ms.

“I think you helped them at some point, too,” Lorna said, “when they got rid’v their own…” Perhaps not a tactful thing to say -- though the fact that she went and thought _topped their own king_ anyway rendered it a bit moot. Eh, she tried for tact. Hopefully that counted for something; it wasn’t like she wanted to sound like an arsehole, she was just naturally good at it. “Jesus...the scale’v her.” Being Lorna, she naturally wanted to go and climb...something, but she was a responsible, forty-year-old adult, goddammit. Besides, everything here looked too tall anyway; even her time in the Halls hadn’t made her immune to heights.

She glanced at the elves, wondering what they were making of this. Just how odd was it for them to see all the grand shite humanity had managed, without any outside help? Because if there was one thing she’d been getting from her reading of _The Lord of the Rings_ , it was that humans kind of got shafted. There wasn’t a single thing they could do that elves, dwarves, or both couldn’t do better; they had the shortest lives, and were physically the least hardy, yet _somehow_ they’d wound up the dominant...species? Not species, but whatever. It had to be at least a little bit surreal, since even what they’d seen of Dublin hadn’t had anything on New York. The Erection at the Intersection, while very tall, was hardly a feat of engineering and construction. It was a damn spike. Lady Liberty, on the other hand, was a marvel.

“This way,” said Earlene. “We have tickets for the Crown; we’ll have to pretty much put everything in lockers that isn’t a camera or a smartphone.” Both ellyn looked at her, uncomprehending. “The Statue of Liberty is hollow,” Earlene explained. “There are stairs, to climb to the top of it, inside. It isn’t easy to get the permission to do it but…” she shrugged. “I always wanted to do this. Oh, and, I’m sorry, Fionn and Cian; you will have to be careful not to hit your heads; you are both taller than the available space. Back when this was built, next to no one reached your stature.”

They were going all the way to the top? Oh dear. Well, for something so once-in-a-lifetime, Lorna could suck it up and climb the stairs -- though if she wound up having to grab the back of someone’s shirt, she wasn’t going to be ashamed of it. So long as she didn’t look down, she ought to be okay. Hopefully. She hoped the locker would prove big enough for her bag, and discovered that it was -- barely. _Any chance of that telepathic Xanax, Thranduil? Heights are not my friend, but I’d rather not wreck this for Earlene._ Plus, if her friends in Baile found out she’d been to the statue but not gone up and brought back pictures, she’d never hear the end of it.

Thranduil smiled at her, not replying, for just then a National Park Service employee made a production of checking their identification against their tickets before waving them on. _Take my hand, Lorna_ , she heard. They walked on briefly together, before arriving at the entrance to the narrow staircase. _Go up in front of me. There is no means by which to fall over the side, and I will not allow you to fall backward. From what I can see of the construction of this, falling would be achieved only with some difficulty indeed._ Earlene, who had a gleam in her eye much like that of a kid on a new set of monkey bars, had asked if she might go first, and they all soon saw why; she sprang lightly and eagerly up the stairs and disappeared quietly. _This will be my biggest chance at aerobic exercise unless I go running, and I’m not missing it_ , she smiled gleefully. Unseen by her, Thanadir followed in both surprise and mild alarm. Thranduil chuckled and said silently, _Take your time, Lorna. Earlene misses her exercise._

Lorna tried not to snort, and failed. She’d smoked for too many years to take the stairs like that, but she felt rather easier with Thranduil behind her. That the railings were so solid helped, too; it wasn’t half so nerve-wracking as she might have thought, and the stairs weren’t even too tall. Well, not by much, anyway. _I’ve never seen the appeal of exercise_ , she said, plodding along. _I’ve always been so active anyway that there wasn’t much point._ She could see why Earlene would want to; lawyering (if that was even a word) wasn’t exactly heavy on cardio. _Though I think poor Thanadir might have heart failure if he keeps seeing her on stairs. I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate hearing it’s adorable, but it really sort of is._

Thranduil sighed, wondering if he needed a less cute seneschal...he’d really had no idea that the humans were so fixated on this sort of thing. _His heart is in excellent condition, along with the rest of him_ , he replied, narrowly missing hitting his head on the stair above him once again...he really must remember to focus on his surroundings. When did you say this statue was placed here? The higher he ascended, the more impressed he felt. How had they done it?

 _You lot are always in excellent condition, and it’s not fair_ , Lorna said, though her thoughts were light enough. _God, I know it was over a hundred years ago...I want to say the 1880’s? I know they had to ship it in pieces, back when the only way we could power a ship was with wind and steam._ They had to be near the top now, and the area remained mercifully closed-in. It would probably suck for someone with claustrophobia, but she didn’t really have that issue. She wasn’t _fond_ of tiny spaces, but really, who was?

Earlene was happily trying to catch her breath, having forced herself to keep that pace all the way to the top. Her blood was pounding in her ears and it felt wonderful. She tried to think of something she might ask the Park docent that he had not already been asked a billion times, and nothing came to mind. But then, she thought of a different way to ask. “What interests you the most about this statue that few people know and no one ever bothers to ask?” she quizzed.

The ranger, who clearly bore up under this tedious duty without complaint, gazed at her in surprise. “Leave it to a native to ask a good one,” he chuckled, taking note of the lilt of her speech. “Okay,” he said, just as Lorna and Thranduil completed their ascent, “my favorite item of trivia is, that when they built this thing, they used three hundred different types of hammers to do it. How can you beat knowing that?”

Thanadir’s eyebrows raised. “You cannot,” he replied softly, deeply impressed. Not even he had that many hammers in their forge. _They only had two hundred and nineteen_ , he thought, with a frown.

“I didn’t know that many different types existed,” Lorna said, hazarding a glance out the window and immediately regretting it. Drawing a deep breath, she took out her phone, fiddling with the camera until she was ready to look up again. “Here, you three -- pose.” Trying to get a decent angle of the city out of the crown -- she didn’t know whose idea it was to set it up as an observation deck, but it had been a phenomenal one -- was surprisingly difficult, and Thranduil and Thanadir were so tall that she couldn’t really get the shot around them anyway, but she had to try.

Earlene stepped out, asking to trade now with Lorna. Because she always had to be different, she asked for a different photo...she had them step away from the window, and set her camera to ‘panoramic.’ This would either work or fail, spectacularly. She positioned herself to begin the photo with her family, then transition to looking out of the crown. The result was weird and something she liked, and she felt it was a success. And just then, she heard the approaching steps of the next group of people. “We’ll descend when they make it here,” she said obligingly, to save the Ranger the trouble of asking.

“Manhattan?” he asked her, wanting to confirm her affiliation.

“And Queens,” she smiled, answering. “But not anymore; I moved to Ireland, and this is my first trip back here with friends and family,” she gestured.

“Yeah?” he said, suddenly animated. “My gran was from Ireland.” He lowered his voice to near a whisper. “She said everything was a….you know, a…the c-word. I can’t say that at work, but damn it was funny,” he confided.

Lorna burst out laughing. “You’re not Irish if you don’t,” she said, though to him it would have come out more like, “You’re no’ Ey-rish ’f y’don’t.”

The Ranger’s eyes grew wide. “Sure God, I’ve not heard that brogue since I lost gran...I could listen to you all day long, lady. You’ve made my day, coming here,” he said, as the next wave of four tourists ascended. “Safe travels, okay?” And with that, he waved them off with a wink. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Lorna said, unable to keep herself from grinning. Having an American actually _in_ America understand her made her day, too -- though she still insisted on going down behind the rest of them. It wasn’t like she weighed much; if she tripped and fell, she wouldn’t knock the lot of them down like bowling pins, but the stairs actually weren’t as unpleasant as she’d expected, given how tall the statue was. When they reached the bottom, Earlene figured they had twenty minutes before the ferry to Ellis Island, so they all elected to use the time to stroll completely around the pedestal of the statue on the brick walkway.

Earlene held onto Thanadir’s arm, as they walked alone, some distance ahead of Thranduil and Lorna. “Was there anything like this in your world, my Lord? I mean in the sense that, this statue was the first thing that a great many people saw when they risked everything to come to what they hoped was a better place. It was a beacon of hope, for thousands. I do not know enough about the Eldar to know if some similar thing exists for you?”

The seneschal considered. This was another very good question. “Long ago there were the Havens, out of which our people departed for the West, for our home in Aman. But it was not really the same as this Statue. And yet it held the idea of returning to our true place in the world,” he said wistfully.

“Do you ever regret that you stayed here?” she asked carefully, with great respect in her voice.

He did not respond for many seconds. “No...and yes, Earlene. I mean no offense, but I am not sure you can understand.”

“None is taken, Hîr vuin.” She might not understand with the depth of one who had lived so long, but the idea of trying to find the place in the world in which one was meant to be? _I understand nothing but that_ , she thought, as she looked up at the unmoving verdigrised visage that always gazed across the ocean, as if waiting for something.

*****

“America’s...not what I expected,” Lorna said thoughtfully, looking out over the water. “It is, and it isn’t. It’s big and loud and...and young. I don’t know a lot’v the history, but I do know that most’v the people who came here over the years were desperate -- it wasn’t just the starving Irish. In most’v Europe, it wasn’t -- it wasn’t like it is now. If you were born poor, you were going to live and die poor. You had no future, because the nobs made sure you wouldn’t, because they were selfish, rich fuckers who didn’t care about anyone who wasn’t like them. So they came here with next to nothing, because yeah, they might fail here, too, but at least they had a _chance_. It was more than they were going to get back home. I’m not sure it’s something your lot -- elves, I mean -- would understand. From what I’ve read so far, you’re not greedy like humans can be.”

Thranduil glanced down at her. “Generally, no, but that assessment is not so clear-cut as you might imagine. Greed and envy, wrath and desperation have marked our time in this world as well. Not all who had wealth were bad, just as not all who did not were good. I hope I have made a little bit of a difference, in how you view these matters. I cannot make up for the sum of what has befallen your people. But I have tried, and will keep trying,” he said. “I feel it is the least I can do.” Looking up, he saw that Earlene and Thanadir were beckoning them to hurry a little; apparently they wanted to board the ferry that was to depart imminently.

“You’re not human,” Lorna pointed out, managing to speed up without actually jogging. “Your entire society’s not like any human one, so right off you’ve got an advantage. I really doubt you lot’ve ever done to us anywhere near the shite we’ve done to each other. I’m almost afraid for you and Thanadir to study our history -- if you really knew some’v what we’ve done in the past, you might not want anything to do with us. Sure, it doesn’t happen anymore, but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.” From everything she’d gathered from her reading, some of the elves had been assholes and done horrible shit, but they probably hadn’t burned one another alive over different interpretations of the same damn holy book (which didn’t even have any actual proof that it _was_ holy, except for some guy saying so), or enslaved each other (and justified it by that same holy book...there was a reason Lorna had issues with organized religion), or...well. The list went on.

It was a quarter-hour ferry ride to their next stop, and they had tickets for what was called the ‘Hard Hat Tour,’ one that would tell extensively about the hospital that had existed on Ellis island; they had the 11am time slot. Once they arrived, there was still a little time to kill, so they spent it looking in the museum and archives. There were computer terminals that offered access to the vast database of millions of arrivals at this place. For giggles, Earlene sat down. “Allanah Donovan”, she typed in, knowing that this was gran’s maiden name. She didn’t really expect to find much, but did it anyway. She was here, wasn’t she? And it would be neat, really neat, to know something like the name of the ship that brought gran and her family here. The results came up right away...there was gran’s name, written in a ledger with the rest of the family. “This is amazing!” she exclaimed to the rest of them that were nearby, returning to the screen. “This is….” Earlene’s heart dropped right through her, as she stared at the record. Her gran was Allanah, age 3 years, and there were her parents, Eíthne and Pádraig; which she’d not known. There it was, June 1, 1912. But there was also the record of another child. A son, aged 8 years. _Aidan Donovan._ He’d failed the medical exam; there was a symbol next to his name on another record of a circle with an “X” in the middle of it; that stood for ‘definite signs of mental disease observed.’ And this little boy had been denied entry. He’d been sent back to Ireland, alone, and her family had remained. Tears sprang to her eyes. _I knew Aidan had been named at gran’s request, but this….this….how could no one have talked about this?? Had her own father known? What had ever become of this poor little boy, who assuredly had been the victim of institutionalized discrimination? How could any eight year-old boy be ‘definitely mentally diseased,’ with what they didn’t know about psychiatry at that time? And to have travelled all the way back, all alone…_ Earlene tried to blink back her tears, not wanting to cause a scene. _Aidan Donovan, no doubt long dead._

Thranduil came over quickly, realizing everything, but was careful to not make it worse. He placed his hand on her shoulder. _I am sorry, meluieg._

She did not respond, wishing only to bottle up the emotional impact of what she had learned. Or at the very least, not be reacting to it publicly. It took her a moment, but she mastered herself. And that was all the time it took for Lorna to have responded to her initial outburst, and come over. “I found my gran’s record,” Earlene said, in a voice that did not reveal her inner turmoil. “I didn’t know that this is where she arrived. On the _S.S. George Washington_ ; the next ship to bring new arrivals here after the _Titanic_ sailed. They’d traveled from Belfast to Southampton, to make this sailing. Jesus Christ, it was all true.”

It occurred to Lorna that Earlene’s family had luck on its side, at least in two cases: her gran dodged the Titanic, and she dodged 9/11...two of the biggest disasters of the modern world. Peering over Earlene’s shoulder, her eyebrows went up. “I didn’t know your gran was a Donovan,” she said. “My great-granddad was an Aidan.” The two women stared at each other. Neither were uncommon Irish names, but it was still a bit weird.

“Honestly I’d forgotten about it myself until I sat down here. But...it can’t be. I mean, that’s almost like ‘John Smith’ in the States, right? The odds against it are crazy.” Though, now Earlene was not going to stop from wondering. _Impossible_ , she told herself.

Lorna shook her head. “No, it’s nowhere near _that_ common,” she said. “I don’t know much about my da’s family. They didn’t approve’v him. I do know my gran tried to get us taken away from him at one point, but my damned mother wouldn’t testify against him.” Lorna had loved her mother, but the woman had been downright delusional in thinking Da was anything other than a waste of humanity who deserved everything he got in the end. If Mam had let them get out of that bloody house long before...but there was no use thinking about it now. It really was weird, though, especially since, if her math was right, her great-granddad would have been somewhere around that age at that point. Da’s family had kids young even by Irish standards; her gran had been seventeen when she had him. The odds were ridiculous, but Lorna was curious enough to check when they got home. While it probably wasn’t _that_ Aidan Donovan, she wouldn’t be surprised if there was a connection in there somewhere. (If there was, she could never, ever tell Mairead. Mairead would want to throw some ‘welcome to the family’ party, it would be a nightmare.)

Glad that it was time for their tour, Earlene rose with her head spinning. _It just...no. It couldn’t be._ As their tour led them through the frankly creepy bowels of what had been an unimaginably large hospital complex, she began to hear more than she ever wanted to know about the history of how new arrivals were ‘medically processed.’ Some of it was that certain diseases just weren’t curable; this was the era before the invention of antibiotics and so things like trachoma and scarlet fever, that nowadays people barely even knew of, were serious problems. But then the story led into a tale of prejudice and anti-immigrant hysteria, as it so typically did. And yet it was coupled with many stories of extreme compassion. It was...heartbreaking.

And over a hundred years later, wasn’t she hearing the same shit in the news, with the anti-immigrant vitriol some were spewing? Her day here was taking on a tone of being completely surreal. Thranduil had long since shifted to her side, probably having instructed Thanadir to pay attention to Lorna. _You don’t have to fuss over me, you know. I’ll be okay, it’s only that learning this about my family…_

 _Was unwelcome and shocking_ , he finished for her. _Especially in view of your meeting tomorrow._

 _Something like that_ , she admitted.

_Meluieg, you are my wife, my other half. I will fuss all I like._

_Yes, my King_ , she answered reflexively as she leaned against him. But a smile came with it.

Lorna really didn’t quite know what to make of this. Oh, she’d known immigrants had it shitty in America, but she hadn’t known you could be stuck back on the boat and sent home for whatever reason the staff dreamed up. How many of the Irish were like little Aidan, and got sent back to starve? Sending back a _child_ , all alone, whether or not he had anyone to take him in once he got there -- it just went to show that as cruel as people could be, they were even worse back then. Or at least, she’d like to believe so.

All these diseases, though -- Ratiri should be here. He’d find it fascinating, but she just found it tragic. Most of these could be cured by antibiotics now, but back then they could get you tossed back onto the ship and sent home again. Trachoma...eurgh. She really could have done without seeing a video of the ‘treatment’ for that, and wound up rubbing her own eyes in sympathy.

Glancing at Thanadir, she really wished she could communicate with him telepathically, too. And wasn’t that just _weird_ : the telepathy had been a horrifying concept at first, but now she just viewed it as useful. She wanted to ask him if he found the idea of having to get approval to go somewhere -- such weird, often arbitrary approval -- was weird to him, given that she couldn’t imagine elves ever doing such a thing to one another, even if they actually had been susceptible to disease.

When the all-too-informative tour was over, everyone agreed that eating their sandwiches was a good idea, though each of them in their own way wished to digest more than just food. Thanadir had taken away that this place had been a marvel of efficiency with some very unfortunate tangents that were both immoral and cruel. But as seneschal, he knew full well of the difficulty of managing so many needs for so many people. It was not simple, at all, and that these Edain had managed it in some fashion, with their limited resources and lack of anything resembling medicine...it was phenomenal. Millions had come through here; a number he could barely comprehend.

The King, for his part, pondered the vagaries of why this place existed. _Yes, this nation had welcomed those who sought a better life. But it had hardly been altruism; these people were wanted for the same reason Sauron had wanted orcs. Laborers, bodies; a workforce to be used to best advantage with no regard for suffering or the lives of others. And yet nothing about it had been simple, either. Had elves been so different? Noldor against Teleri, who in turn had disdain for the Moriquendi?_ None of it had gone as Eru intended, and the answers did not lie with him.

“Christ, now what?” Lorna asked. “That’s one hell’v a lot to digest, and I don’t just mean the sandwiches. It must’ve been so much easier for everyone when they could just land somewhere on the shore and go do whatever they felt like doing.” On the other hand, they probably would have died of scurvy on the ship over back in the 1700’s, but still. At least they wouldn’t have to have a doctor examine their junk while they stood in a long line of other people.

“We can look at the rest of what’s in the visitor center and whatnot...but there is now no timetable. When we’re done, we take the ferry back to Manhattan, and I’ll show you some other things on this side of town.”

Lorna stretched, and somehow managed not to burp. (Seriously, this was a legitimate effort. Normally, after a good sandwich, she’d just let one fly, but nope, she was in public. Dammit.) “You have to wonder if the people who work here don’t go home drained at the end’v the day,” she said, gathering up her trash. “Under the weight’v this history -- it’s not been very long, but there’s sure a hell’v a lot there. I’d be afraid’v the memories.” She almost said ‘ghosts’, but ghosts wasn’t quite what she meant. Some things, she was sure, imprinted; a lot of hope, a lot of fear, and a lot of pain had been jammed through here in a huge concentration, and in a relatively short amount of time.

“I would think that you learn not to think about it, just like any other unpleasant part of any job,” Earlene reflected. Collectively they rose up, looked around some more, and decided all at the same time that they’d seen enough. By two o’clock, they were back to Manhattan. “We’ll just take the sights here from one side to the other,” she said, and began leading them from Battery Park up West Street, at a leisurely pace, to Fulton, where the massive One World Trade Center loomed overhead.

“Is that where we’re going?” Lorna asked, pointing. She’d known it was on their itinerary, but not just what day they’d be there. Her dreams were going to be full of New York history, distant and recent. She’d have plenty of things to email to Ratiri tonight.

“I thought you might like to ease into everything about this place on the positive side. You’ve only really heard much from me about everything that went wrong and went to hell. This is the other side of it; the collective will to raise this tower out of the ashes of what was. And even if none of that matters, it’s impressive as hell and the views are amazing. There is an observatory at the hundredth floor; that’s where we are going. It’s only been open about a year.”

The hundredth floor...Lorna didn’t laugh, but it was a near thing. At least she could find more things to email Ratiri, provided they allowed photography inside. “Will they want to dig through my bag before we go in?”

“I’d guess there will be something,” Earlene said. “Anymore, if the building even vaguely matters at the very least someone wants to glance at your stuff or have you pass through a metal detector.” It turned out to be fairly benign, and soon they were inside of a frankly amazing elevator ride high into the sky. Earlene smiled; the speed of the elevator was damn impressive. As was what was happening; the elevator walls via technological wizardry took on the appearance of the outside world, and as they ascended a time lapse portrayal of the city since the 1500s commenced. Thanadir was astonished, and for whatever weirdness she’d just endured at Ellis Island, seeing the old elf so enraptured by this ascent placed a smile on her face.

Lorna, by contrast, was plastered against the doors, eyes resolutely shut. Yeah, it was an illusion, but it was a very _realistic_ illusion, and her brain stubbornly refused to acknowledge the difference, and the speed of the thing did not help. Her stomach and everything else in her seemed to lurch about two inches left, which, given everything she’d just eaten, was rather less than pleasant. Thranduil placed his arm around her, making a mental note that once they descended from this attraction, his wife might want to consider limiting the number of things they did that involved “up.” While recognizing that being in this city hardly made that a simple task, surely there was something they could do to help their acrophobic friend. _Take my arm_ , he asked Lorna. At the very least, he could keep her from feeling...how she felt.

Lorna had come quite a long way; where once she’d been highly reticent to touch him at all, she now shamelessly clung to his arm like a barnacle. Which probably looked extremely stupid, but she was beyond not caring. _When you’re as short as I am, heights suck_ , she said. _They’re unfamiliar anyway. Stick somebody my size in something that goes this high, this fast...actually, I’m just a wuss, but I’ve got to try to justify it somehow._ She managed a smile, at least, mind momentarily taken off the fact that they were hurtling into the air.

 _There is no need_ , he smiled. _And the good news is, Earlene tells me this is the best elevator in the entire city._ Which, given that they were already at the 102cnd floor, might actually be true. A somewhat strange video that portrayed a diversity of city scenes later, they were allowed to descend one floor to enjoy the actual observatory. Earlene fished out her phone. _This_ was where to take some photos; the view beat that of the over-touted Empire State Building.

Releasing her death-grip on Thranduil’s arm -- seriously, it was a good thing elves didn’t bruise easily -- Lorna relaxed and took out her phone, snapping away. She had Earlene and the Elves (still going to be a band, dammit) pose before the windows, doing what she could to minimize backlighting. This was all going in her scrapbook, and the one she was making for them. If she emailed them to Mairead, Mairead would share them with Baile, and save her the hassle.

Earlene spent most of her time on the side facing east, looking out. And down. It was still unreal, that they had been so big, and they were gone. Those massively huge, huge, buildings, gone. And replaced. She shook her head. They’d not learned a damn thing from the _Titanic_. Or from anything, maybe. While she could not fault the ambition, it would never bring back her friends. Those black pools were beneath her feet, now, looking as deep as she remembered them. Thranduil’s eyes widened. He did not wish to leave Lorna, but now...by Eru, he had not known that sightseeing could be this volatile. He silently asked Thanadir to go to Earlene, and the seneschal sidled alongside her.

“The buildings, in the elevator ride. The ones that came and went so quickly. Those were….?”

Earlene smiled. He gained points for being diplomatic, at least. “Yes. They were right here. You see the black pools, down there? That is where they stood.”

Nothing further was said, as his arm came around her and pulled her against him. _I am sorry, Earlene_ , she heard.

The voice in her mind broke her reverie. _You need not do this, Thanadir. I know it is very difficult for you._

_It is not more difficult than what you have faced here, when you were always alone, Earlene. You are alone no longer, and with my years, I reserve the right to express that to you any way I choose._

A laugh escaped her in spite of herself, and she leaned her head into his chest. _Very well, my Lord. I will not presume to argue the point._

_Good._

Her arm wound around his waist. _Not alone any longer. It’s a nice change in circumstances._

“Oh, doesn’t that young couple look adorable!” whispered one lady of advanced years to her friend as they passed.

Earlene rolled her eyes and shook her head. Today, she just gave no fucks about that.

As much as Lorna would really rather not approach that window, she knew she wasn’t actually going to fall out -- and if Earlene could do it, so could she, dammit. To be in this place -- to be here and be okay with it -- meant she really did have to be as healed as Lorna herself was.

 _She’s okay, right?_ she asked Thranduil, just to be safe, and then just about choked on her own spit when she overheard the old lady’s remark. She wasn’t exactly _surprised_ \-- platonic friends in modern society usually weren’t that tactile -- but still. Maybe it was just her, but Thanadir almost seemed to have a deliberate air of...not _androgyny_ , but something similar. He didn’t project any kind of sexuality at all -- and as someone who’d spent many years deliberately being as sexless as possible, she knew it when she saw it. _Exactly how annoyed are you all going to get if that keeps happening?_

Thranduil grinned. _Do we look annoyed? And yes, Earlene is okay. She is...remembering._

Earlene saw them in her peripheral vision and held out her other arm for them to join her. Though, she wasn’t delusional, she just assumed that Thranduil would take her other side because Lorna just wasn’t that tactile.

Under most other circumstances, Lorna would have let Thranduil be the one to reach Earlene first, but, though she could be awkward as all hell, Lorna did want to be supportive. She cared, even if she was shitty at showing it ninety percent of the time, so she took Earlene’s hand with nary a twitch.

Turning her head, mild disbelief quickly transformed to a smile of appreciation as she regarded her friend. “We can go see them now, or we can come back another day; the museum is a bigger undertaking so either way we’ll likely be here again,” she said softly. Unbeknownst to her, Thranduil knew that she herself would prefer to go visit the pools now, and manipulated group consensus in her favor. When they’d all photographed and looked at landmarks long enough, they returned to the street level and rounded the corner to enter the 9/11 Memorial. But not before Earlene bought a half-dozen flowers to take in with her.

Lorna cast a glance at the elves, knowing god damn well that neither would actually say anything if they were having any kind of -- of psychic problems, or whatever. And because they wouldn’t, there was nothing she could do, but she gave both of them a leery eye anyway before following Earlene -- Earlene, the one person she _wasn’t_ worried about right now.

The pools, even at a distance, were so strangely peaceful. Lorna remembered, vaguely, that before they’d decided to build them, there had been the towers of light, and wondered why they’d switched. Maybe because walking among two giant squares of searchlights was hardly serene. The sound of the trickling water was loud enough to drown out the background noise of the city, and it was so very surreal, standing on the site of a nightmare she’d watched play out on a TV five thousand miles away. There was no trace of that nightmare now; all that remained was memory.

Earlene took the three of them across the rather large open area to a particular tree and said “This is the Survivor. The same one as in my picture, at home. The only living thing to have made it through the collapse of the towers.” She smiled to see how healthy it looked; it was always a little larger at each visit she’d made over time. And then she held out her hand to Thranduil. _It’s on account of what you’ve done for me that for the first time ever I can do this without it tearing my insides apart. Would you like to walk with me?_ She explained also to Lorna and Thanadir what she was going to do, and that they were welcome to come, and welcome to spend their time here as they chose; she only did not wish for them to feel excluded.

Thranduil took her hand. He was astonished, that being here was not at all what he had feared. It was peaceful, and calm to him. Serene, even. Nothing could be more different than the feelings that came to him in this place, compared to the... _they really were going to have to assign a better name to it than The Object_ , he thought. He let himself be guided by her, as one by one he saw the names he remembered. Alika Kahale. Mary Smith. Dina Ricci. Steven Williams. Parshu Srivastav. Sara Flaherty. A flower was laid over each name. After the last one, a single tear fell, before she turned to him. _Thank you, for all that you have given me, Thranduil. Thank you. For healing my past, and for giving me a future. I used to wish I could fall into this pool and sink into those holes until I would just disappear. Not to feel that any longer...I do not have enough words for my gratitude._

_You are welcome, meluieg. It was my privilege._

She stood with him for a little longer, watching the water. “Come,” she said finally, with a smile. “There is more to see.”

The walls of the pools were tall, nearly chest-high on Lorna, and she ran her fingers over the names, the stone cool beneath them. That each was a person who had lost their life here, and broken someone’s heart...she hoped the survivors could do what Earlene was doing, and actually find peace here.

“Watching this was unreal,” she said. “It was the only time the rec room was completely silent. They thought the first one was an accident, see -- that the plane’s guidance had gone horribly wrong. Then the second one hit.” She’d thought it horrifying on television; she couldn’t imagine witnessing it firsthand. “I would’ve thought this place would feel -- well, like something horrible happened here. I wouldn’t’ve expected this.”

“I too feared that being here would be difficult,” said Thanadir softly. Even though he had just see the images of the mighty buildings, it reached the limits of his comprehension that such large, large objects could be gone. And yet, here they all stood.

They filed out, each with their own thoughts, and went a few blocks over. “It was stupid, and improbable, but I cannot help that I really liked the movie National Treasure. Remember the church, at the end, and the treasure was down in the bowels of it somehow? This is the church.” She led them to the doors of Trinity Church, before something else occurred to her. “This is a place of worship for those who believe in the Christian religion,” she explained to the ellyn. “It is fine to enter, but it is respectful to not speak or speak very softly, and to behave with decorum that shows regard for anyone who might be praying or doing….religion things.”

“Is it?” Lorna asked. “One of the what, three decent movies Nicholas Cage has ever done? Beautiful church, though.” She hadn’t been inside a church since Gran’s funeral, but she suspected prayer was prayer, and you just tiptoed around it, no matter what. At least there were only three rather shallow steps; after Lady Liberty, Lorna was a bit done with stairs for a while.

It was a lovely building -- a small cathedral, really, rather than a church, and a decent replica of something medieval. The long lines of arched windows were probably twice her height, the pews shiny, but it didn’t smell like church back home: the Episcopalians must not be big on incense. The stained-glass window at the very end was as elaborate as anything you were likely to find in Ireland, though.

She inevitably felt guilty going into church, just because she’d only ever gone when someone wanted her to go to confession, and she had such a laundry list of shite to confess it almost wasn’t fair to the poor priest. Gran made her go not long after she’d moved to Baile, and the expression on Father Flannery’s face when she confessed to beating a bloke unconscious with a push-broom...well, the man had never looked at her quite the same since.

When they left, Earlene shrugged. “It seems strange, taking anyone from Europe here, because an incredibly old church by American standards is still a joke anywhere else. But at least the windows are pretty,” she opined.

Thanadir was confused. “I do not understand what the building is used for,” he said. “It is lovely, and must have been a great work to build. But what does it do?”

Earlene took a breath to answer, but then bit her lip, looking at Lorna as if to say, _How would you explain it?_

“Churches are...well, most religions have got an equivalent, but basically, churches are where people meet up to do religious things,” Lorna said. “Pray, and listen to sermons, which usually involve some bloke reading out’v a book, depending on the religion. Way back when, long before this one, people poured all their money and work into churches and church things because life sucked so badly they were counting on a good afterlife. Unfortunately, it meant that for far too long, they weren’t paying attention to making this one any better.” She really didn’t want to tell Thanadir just how many people had murdered one another over a damn book -- or at least, not out here. “You lot, you know where you go when you die. We don’t, and a lot’v us can’t stand that, so we find something to believe. Whether it’s good for us, anyone else, or not.”

“That sums up what could be a very long discussion,” Earlene concurred. “As you can tell, some of us no longer believe in that sort of thing. But many still do. There was a time, not so long ago, when to not belong to some kind of faith was to risk total ostracism. You could be thought bad, evil, just for not believing as others do, even though most of them can’t find much to agree on. But our world is changing; in countries like this one many are abandoning religion. And yet in other places, people are turning to it more and more...and those tend to be places where life isn’t too good right now.”

And next came into view a sight Earlene was sure Lorna would adore. “Just don’t rub his balls. It’s all I ask,” she said laughing. The Wall Street Bull.

While Lorna did not actually squee, she certainly did in her mind. Fishing her phone out of her bra, she handed it to Earlene. “I need a picture,” she said, passing her bag to Thanadir (no way was she just setting it down, not even on Wall Street). Figuring out how to scramble up onto the thing took a minute, since it was so smooth there was nothing to grip. _Thranduil, help_ , she said. While she could theoretically jump, she’d look like an utter eejit if she couldn’t actually grip anything. (And that was not, in fact, what she said.)

Chuckling, Thranduil tossed her lightly to the creature’s back, where other tourists immediately began to click away at seeing such a tiny woman riding a bull and...Earlene bit the inside of her cheeks, hoping past hope that no one would yell any obscene encouragements at Lorna. And before that could happen and cause a scene or worse, Earlene hurriedly snapped a photo of her.

Far too delighted, Lorna half-slid, half-fell off the bull’s neck, giving it a pat and trying not to cackle. “I’m printing that and putting it on my wall,” she said, retrieving phone and bag. “Just because I have to.” And no, she was not going to take a picture of its bollocks. Siobhan would just have to live with the disappointment.

“What is this place?” asked Thanadir, looking up at the New York Stock Exchange.

“Sadly, what goes on in that building arguably causes the world to turn,” Earlene said. “That is the financial heart of this entire country; a place where businesses trade securities. It is a way of exchanging money, but on an unimaginably large scale and not just within this nation. Everywhere. There are other institutions like it in a few other places in the world, but this is a big one. When things go badly here, they go badly for the world.” Earlene knew that even though that was _the_ answer, it was not a good one. How did one explain the artificial manure pile of corporate finance to someone whose transactions took place for years with gems and metals? He could learn, certainly, but why he would wish to bother was beyond her. “I am sorry, because I know my answer is not helpful. If you truly wish to learn about all of this, I am happy to show you, later, but we would need some time.” _And yet for all that goes on here, the wealth that is in your vault would make this entire place take pause and notice_ , she shared with her husband.

They rounded the corner past the Trump Building, which she pointed out with a certain measure of disgust before they headed up Broadway.

Lorna grimaced. “He looks like a Cheeto,” she said. “With a ferret on his head.” Among other unsavory things, really. “Seriously, how can a man with that much money walk around with a five-euro spray tan and hair that looks like something you’d scrape off the side’v a motorway?”

“We’d all like an answer to that, trust me. The way this election is shaping up...honestly, though I still could vote, I don’t think I’m going to, unless Sanders somehow makes it. And with our media and the way things are going here...that doesn’t look too likely. I’ll count my blessings that I’m under a different government these days,” she said. “I mean, _at least_ Fionn’s got good hair.”

Thranduil was not sure he wished to know why his hair could matter to his rulership, or what a Cheeto or ferret were.

“And his eyebrow game is strong,” Lorna added solemnly. Because if she was going to be in America, she might as well say something American.

“I’m taking us to ogle the Brooklyn Bridge, which is more or less on the way to my old office,” she explained. “Though if you see anything you find interesting, do tell.”

Brooklyn...Lorna didn’t want to admit that she had a bit of a location-crush, mainly thanks to Ghostbusters and Captain America. Her feet were going to utterly hate her by the end of the day -- her sandals, which had seemed so comfortable this morning, were rapidly losing their cushiness, and she suspected she’d be soaking her feet in a hot bath once they were back to the hotel room. The heat was also getting to her a bit, though she doubted anyone who wasn’t Irish and used to living under chilly clouds would have an issue with it. Her outer tunic, so welcome on the boat ride to Liberty Island, wound up tied around her waist, as she’d worn flannel shirts as a teenager (yes, grunge had made it to Ireland).

They meandered around through streets that seemed a little less interesting, though Earlene pointed out things Lorna had heard of, like the Federal Reserve Bank and they even walked up Pearl Street so that Earlene could pass Titanic Memorial Park. “D’you remember Unsinkable Molly Brown?” she asked. “This place got put up at her insistence, to remember those who died. A 60 foot lighthouse in the middle of traffic. Go figure, eh?” Of course, Pearl Street not only took them behind her office building, it also avoided a variety of restaurants. They wouldn’t stay long; she felt guilty because surely Thanadir was starving by now.

“Of course it did,” Lorna said, laughing. “She wasn’t born with money, so she still actually had a soul. And when I say shite like that, you two, I’m talking about how rich _humans_ suck. You’re exempt.”

They all walked into the lobby, and it took maybe ten seconds for the security guard to rush up to Earlene with a near sob of enthusiasm. “You came back!” the man gushed. He seemed to be around Earlene’s age, neatly uniformed, with an ‘everyman’ look about him.

With a laugh, she hugged him back. “I had to, John. I missed you too much. That and, I couldn’t get a decent cup of coffee,” she joked. Thranduil’s eyebrow raised, to which Earlene was oblivious. He could see rather quickly that while this individual was among many his wife had greeted daily, the poor man had desperately wished that there might have been more, though he had never spoken a word to Earlene. “My humor aside, I am here being a tourist, with my family. This is my husband Fionn, my brother-in-law Cian, and my good friend Lorna. Please meet John, who kept us all safe these many years,” she beamed. The crestfallen look on the man’s face passed quickly, and he dissembled well when he shook their hands, looking at Fionn with thinly concealed envy.

“You’ve married, Earlene?” he asked softly, not wanting to believe his ears.

“Love at first sight, John,” she quipped, as she took her husband’s arm and looked up at Thranduil adoringly. “Please excuse us, we’ve only a few minutes. We’re just popping in to say hello and be on our way. But it is good to see you,” she said with conviction before turning to leave. She ushered them all to the elevator, and hit the button for the twenty-fifth floor.

Lorna looked at Thanadir, wondering if he’d spotted what she’d spotted. Thranduil would know for sure -- but if there actually _was_ something to spot, clearly Earlene never had. Poor bloke...unrequited feelings were a bitch and a half, and even worse, Lorna suspected, when you worked with the person. She counted herself extremely bloody lucky Ratiri was as much of an awkward, if earnest, dork as she was about what they’d got going. Whatever it even was; she still hesitated to give it a name. This poor John would probably spend God knew how long kicking himself for never saying anything, though he’d likely had good reason not to. Dating people you worked with tended to be a no-no no matter where you were.

Lorna heard Thranduil, in the elevator. _Earlene has no idea_ , he said, his voice tinged with sympathy. _But even if she had, it would have made no difference._ Just then the door opened, to reveal long, carpeted hallways and fluorescent lights. They walked along, until coming to a very formal, and very expensive looking set of double glass doors, with the brass placard stating “Law Offices of Oehlert, Darst, Bernardi and Tisdale” tastefully mounted thereon. Earlene opened the doors and walked into the reception area where two women both squealed her name in what was probably a very unprofessional (but very quiet) manner. There were hugs all around, and further astonishment that she was here. All were introduced yet again, but this time it was Lisa and Selena. “Is Mr. Oehlert in?” Earlene asked. “We only wanted to say hello. Ten minutes, tops.” The one called Lisa checked a computerized calendar and picked up a telephone, hanging up quickly.

“It’s your lucky day, Earlene. He’s not only got twenty minutes free, rumor has it he just went to your old office. No one’s filled your shoes,” she said, beaming and waving them through. What only Thranduil had the hearing to catch, as they filed along, was the woman muttering sadly, “No one can fill your shoes.”

A few seconds later they were at a door that still bore her brass nameplate, which Earlene silently pushed open. “Missed me too much, eh, John?” she teased. An extremely well-manicured gentleman who could have been anywhere from fifty to sixty-five years of age stood up from the stack of files he’d been examining with astonishment and greeted her warmly, looking on the rest of them with wonder. He radiated confidence, and power. “Please excuse the informal dress. We were out playing tourist. John, these are my family and friends. You may as well be the first to hear, I’ve married. This is my husband Fionn…” These introductions were going to get made a lot, she realized all of a sudden. She did not miss the way in which each of her entourage was scrutinized; behind that friendly exterior existed an analytical machine whose powers rivaled her own. It was with a vague sense of relief that she saw, all of them had ‘passed inspection.’

“Then let me offer my sincere congratulations to you and Mr….?”

“Sullivan, John. We kept it simple,” she smiled, knowing full well that he was trying like mad to comprehend how cool and calculating Earlene was suddenly married.

“I need not tell you then, that you have the rarest of treasures,” the lawyer said looking at Thranduil with respect.

“You do not,” Thranduil said warmly, firmly returning both the man’s gaze and handshake, and liking what he saw.

“Rumor has it you were roped into Sandrgraust’s party later this week, Earlene,” he teased.

“That would be true. We’re all roped into it, because where I go, they go. But I hope we won’t disappoint; I’m not planning to stay too long. I genuinely can’t say when I’ll be back on these shores, and we’re trying to make the most of our time.”

“Understood,” he said. “Though, I think you’ll find there will be more than a few characters at this one; our esteemed client has been keeping some interesting company these days,” he said with a frown. “It was gracious of you to be willing to come and, I won’t lie, you’re making us look good. But listen to me. It was so kind of you to come see me here, and if I may say so, your unpaid work for us continues to be of the highest caliber,” he grinned and winked.

“Anything for you, John,” she returned demurely. They went waaaaay back; he was like a father to Earlene, and she owed much of her success to his insistence that she be given the opportunities to prove herself.

“Lorna, may I ask where in Ireland you are from?” he asked unexpectedly, suddenly turning his full attention to her.

“Dublin,” Lorna said, somehow managing not to utterly freeze under the stare of _eek, a lawyer! A non-Earlene and thus scary lawyer_ , even if he did look like somebody’s warm old uncle. “I moved out to a little village called Baile eleven years ago, but I grew up in the south side’v Dublin.” Now to see if any of them could make heads nor tails of that one.

The man’s face split into a huge grin. “My Gran on my mother’s side was Irish. County Cork. You’ve no idea how good it is to hear you speaking,” he said wistfully. “She passed on many years ago.”

“It’s good to be understood,” Lorna said. “I’m sorry she’s gone. Nobody who hasn’t had an Irish Gran knows what they’ve missed out on. I sometimes swear all Irish Grans are really the same woman.” Anyone who had known multiple Irish grandmothers had probably suspected the same thing.

“I know you have appointments, John, so we’ll take our leave...and perhaps see you at this esteemed function?” Earlene smirked.

“You may count on it,” he smiled, shaking all of their hands one last time. And in a flash they were making their way elsewhere. Departing the building, Thranduil was deep in thought. He unquestionably liked this man, who was the closest thing to….himself, he had yet met in the human world. John Oehlert was clearly a man of great influence and wealth, but what his wife might have never realized was the sheer regard this man had for her. He’d given Earlene nothing, except the opportunity to show her worth, and had been rewarded both personally and professionally on account of it; his quip about her ‘unpaid work’ had not entirely been in jest. Her influence was still felt, here. What had taken him unawares more than anything were the man’s thoughts from the moment he looked back at the King with the new understanding that they were wed. It was a pure distillation of wonder...wonder that revolved around whether this giant blond man in front of him had any idea of the treasure he possessed. He wasn’t an idiot; of course he valued Earlene, just as he loved her. But maybe he was having to see other sides of this subject that were previously hidden from him. Earlene was as unknown in Ireland as he himself was. Only here, for the first time, was he seeing her through the lens of those who knew her.

It was a bit of a hike, but many blocks later, they stopped outside of a generally uninteresting building on the corner of Washington Street. A bronze placard on the side said “Triangle Shirtwaist Factory (Asch Building)” and that it was a Historical marker. Earlene explained. “So this is another piece of my family history I’ve not told you of, and that I saved especially for you, Lorna. Yesterday you saw that my gran’s mam was Eithne. She had a sister, Carmel Reilly, who worked in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, that used to be in the top floors of this building. She was one of only a few Irish employed there, and therefore one of the few that knew a word of English. Ever heard of it?”

It did ring a bell, actually. “Was it a fire, or something?” Lorna asked. “I think it was a fire. I know they were all locked in, so a load’v women couldn’t get out, and died there. Did she…?” She didn’t finish the sentence, though she wasn’t sure why. It was so long ago that it was likely past mourning.

“Yes. It was March 25, 1911. And that Carmel survived the fire is what let gran and her parents come here, the following year. Had she died, they wouldn’t have had their sponsor, and their place to live. But out of 500 women that worked here, 146 of them died in the fire. The story that came down to me was that she worked very close to the one open exit out of the place. The moment she smelled smoke, she was down those stairs without a second’s hesitation; she was terrified. And it was a good thing, because from what they said later, in minutes the place was an inferno. Makes me realize how dicey it even was that I ever happened. Between this and the damn near miss on the Titanic, it’s a miracle my ancestors ever made it long enough to procreate.”

It had already occurred to Lorna that Earlene’s family was damn lucky, but _Jesus…_ “Something wanted you alive,” she said, and she was only half joking. That wasn’t just like avoiding a train crash; the Titanic and 9/11 were among the worst disasters of the modern Western world, and to escape that fire -- well, it was enough to make Lorna wonder. She didn’t believe in fate or destiny, though she really was starting to think some things happened for a reason. It wasn’t something she _wanted_ to think, but she couldn’t help it. “That’s a lot’v near-misses.”

Earlene could see Thanadir not understanding, and knew that she would have to back up. “Remember our movie, and when the man said ‘I’m being repressed!’ ?”

He nodded, still not seeing any connection. “You need to understand that all those years ago, workers had no rights. None. Especially not women workers. They were one of many groups of people that really were repressed. So the people who owned the factory, the ones who employed them, did not have to give them decent working conditions. They were made to work long hours, with no warmth in the winter and no way to escape the heat in the summer, and for very little pay. The doors that should have stayed open to allow movement through the building were locked, because that way no woman could easily steal some of the fabric they sewed on the machines...machines not unlike the one Lorna gave you. The rooms were filled with cloth and a kind of paper that could burn very easily, and somehow a fire started. The women could not get out. Before anyone knew what was happening smoke was everywhere and all the fabrics caught fire. There was a fire escape, but it was not made well enough to hold the weight of many people so it collapsed. There were engines that could spray water to douse the fire, but the water could not reach that high. There were ladders that the firefighters had, but they were not nearly tall enough. There were nets, by which people below tried to catch the women who jumped, but they broke. For no good reason at all, almost a hundred and fifty young and vulnerable women died by burning, inhaling smoke, or when they jumped out of those windows up there, in desperation. The people below were helpless to help them. Because this happened, changes were made. Laws were passed. The saddest thing about us humans is, we see what needs changing, to make things better, safer. But we don’t do it, ever, until people die. I wish I could tell you why. We apparently like to repress each other. Because we can.”

The elf looked up as she spoke, and his expression changed to one of horror as he listened and tried to imagine. _Why in Eru’s name would anyone do that?_

“I have a different question,” said Thranduil. “Twice today you have spoken of a _Titanic_. And while I can see in your mind that it was a ship, and that something happened, I do not know about this.”

Earlene sighed. “Lorna? Your turn, if you want.”

“The _Titanic_ was the biggest passenger ship ever built at the time,” Lorna said, trying not to twitch at Earlene’s description of the fire. She’d known it happened, but she hadn’t known details. “It was basically a small, floating, ship-shaped town, and the papers said it was unsinkable. Of course that’s bloody tempting Fate, so it ran into an iceberg on its maiden voyage and sank. The problem was that, because it was supposedly unsinkable, they didn’t have enough lifeboats, and there was such panic that some’v them were sent off before they were full. There was something like what, a little over two thousand people on it, I think? Anyway, over half’v them died. Though if the captain and crew’v the bloody _Californian_ hadn’t had their thumbs up their damn arses, that number might’v been a lot fewer. It’s almost like the ship was cursed -- absolutely everything that could go wrong, did.”

Earlene picked up where Lorna had left off. “Most of those who died were the same sorts of people as died here” she gestured up. “Poor. Desperate. People whose last dime was spent in the hopes of getting to America. They were held down below until most of the boats were gone, because the rich and wealthy believed that they had more right to live than anyone else. The water that night was below freezing, and from hitting the iceberg to sinking the whole disaster was over in less than three hours. The thing about the Titanic was, it was the biggest achievement to date in so many ways. You see these buildings, all around you. Humans want bigger, better, taller, faster, and they often don’t care how they go about it. All of that arrogance was distilled, in a way, into that one ship. And when it all went to hell, the world somehow really wasn’t ready to face that. Lots changed because the Titanic sank, too, but tell that to all the ones who died, and their families.”

*****

They had a marvelous dinner. They were not far from Chinatown, and Royal Seafood beckoned. Besides, what better way to introduce the elves to this completely non-western eating tradition than the garish yellow chairs and red walls at this place that specialized in Cantonese food that was the real deal. Lobster, half-chickens and a parade of delicacies made their way onto the table. Earlene felt she was working out a method of calibrating food that was most successful. She ordered for six hungry people, and all the food always disappeared. It was wonderful as always to watch Thanadir’s face dissolve into rapture when the dishes arrived; she did not bother asking the others what they might like beyond verifying that everyone actually ate watery things and chicken-y things. Afterward, they caught the train back to their hotel and more or less all flopped on the beds. Even Earlene was a little footsore, and she was more or less used to this...on a reduced scale. Standing and walking were different than running it turned out, much to her chagrin. She did not have to wait long for a solution, when the perpetually energetic seneschal took her feet into his lap.

“I’d like to say I don’t need this on account of how I’m a native New Yorker and all I did was walk around the City today, but I’m afraid that even for me, it was a lot. Thank you, Thanadir.” All her remaining self control went into stifling the noises she might ordinarily make at how good this felt, because Lorna probably already thought they were all weird enough. This was the most her feet and lower legs had ever ached, and as he worked on them, she noticed something. They felt...better, than they should. Her eyes narrowed. She’d never even thought to ask, but could he heal like Thranduil did?

The inevitable chuckle came from the other side of the bed, where Thranduil was nose deep in his laptop screen. _Thanadir does not have the same skill level as I do, but yes, he can. I did not think you would mind._

 _I don’t, I really don’t_ , she thought. And then it came out. _I would guess Lorna is hurting at least twice as much as I am, and, I’ll leave that alone now._

The King’s eyebrow raised up. _Lorna, Thanadir is most skilled at what he is doing for Earlene, and if you are in discomfort, he can eliminate much of it. Would you allow him to do the same for you?_

Lorna, laptop already open, matched his eyebrow out of sheer surprise. On the one hand, it seemed weird and a little too personal, but on the other, there was no reason it ought to. Nobody had given her a foot rub since Liam, but that didn’t mean he had to be the last one she’d allow near her feet until the end of time. _Let me wash my feet first_ , she said, _but if he doesn’t mind_ … She’d been walking about in sandals all day; she wasn’t going to inflict that on anyone. Her normal reticence to be touched by almost anyone was outweighed by just how very sore her feet were.

_He does not, and neither of us will be happy knowing that you are feeling pain._

When Thanadir finished and moved over to do the same for Lorna, Earlene was happily surprised to see it and wisely did not remark or look. And after the elf was about three minutes into what she was sure were Lorna’s aching feet, it seemed like it was time to bring up something else. That Lorna was being lulled with elven healing might help. She hoped.

“Lorna, there is something going on that you need to know more about, for tomorrow morning. This is weird and awkward for me, and some of that is because I know that this isn’t going to sit well with you. So I’ll just have out with it, and I’m asking you to try and keep your temper somewhat inside of Manhattan, if possible. You might’ve heard me say that I have a brother, and that we’ve not spoken in over twelve years. The truth is, he’s a complete arsehole. He’s always treated me badly, and a lot of things have been said over the years that were completely nasty. I can’t even tell you what his problem is; I’ve never known.

That letter that he sent me, the one you saw in the post, was asking me to renew contact with him. And usually I would have hands-down said _Fuck Off_. But there is something else going on, and I don’t know exactly what it is. And specifically, that something else concerns the fact that he has a baby daughter, and I’ve found out that his wife died giving birth to her. Tomorrow morning Thranduil and I are going to meet him and my niece, in a public place, and I wanted you and Thanadir to be nearby but not quite at the table, because there are so many things I am not sure about.” She stopped talking, looking carefully at her friend, trying to gauge her reaction thus far.

Lorna went very, very still. She hoped, oh so much, that this wasn’t going where she feared it might. If this Aidan was such a gobshite, and only now getting into contact with Earlene… _You don’t know what this is yet, she told herself. Nobody does. Keep your shit together_. “I’m guessing no matter what, you’ll be wanting a good drink afterward,” she managed, despite the anger that roiled in her gut -- it was anger that might well prove pointless, so she’d sit on it, but if this son of a bitch was trying to fob his daughter off on -- _deep breath, Lorna_. They would see tomorrow. Until then, until they knew whether or not he was trying to offload his daughter, there was no use in letting that anger free. Even so, it was hard, because... _because_. If he really was trying to get rid of his kid, she’d be honor-bound to murder him, and that would just get messy.

Earlene watched the emotions play across Lorna’s face and...saw. The woman wasn’t a fool, but at the same time that kind of anger was not helpful. It wasn’t helpful to her, and it wasn’t helpful to Allanah. So, now what? A deep breath went in, and out, before more was said. “The biggest thing I know about you is that you’re not stupid, Lorna. And the second biggest thing is that you’d be pissed as hell about the same thing anyone with a brain is thinking right now. But there’s one thing, and one thing only that matters to me; the welfare of that little girl. Maybe tomorrow is nothing; maybe it really just is ‘meet Auntie Earlene.’ You should know too, all Aidan’s been told is that I’m traveling with friends and family; he’s not aware Thranduil exists beyond vague hints. But if more really is happening, I have a game to play and I’m determined to win it in the best interests of that child. And for that, I need to know that all of us can keep our shit together, smile and nod, and look like we all are nothing more than four adults who just love, love, love that we’re getting to meet a sweet baby girl with nothing else whatsoever on our minds.”

All Lorna could do was nod. “Thranduil, you’re going to have to help me with that,” she said, staring at nothing. “You know how crap a liar I am. It’s not just that I might want to shank your brother, Earlene, it’s that -- Christ. I don’t know if Thranduil’s told you, but I lost my kid when I lost Liam.” She paused, picking at the hem of her tunic. “Mine was a girl, too. Would’ve called her Saoirse. If this turns out to be what I’m afraid it might be, I’ll have to go for a walk.” Possibly a walk to a pub. She wouldn’t make things hard on Earlene and the others, wouldn’t make a production, but she simply could not remain around a man who would give away his child. Even whatever Thranduil and Thanadir had done about her rage issues might not be enough, should she be faced with someone who could give away their own flesh and blood.

But maybe she was wrong. Maybe they were all wrong, and it really was ‘meet Auntie Earlene’. She’d hold onto that hope, for now, because to do otherwise was unbearable.

Sighing, Earlene nodded. “I don’t want to put you through something that is too hard. The thing of it is, for me, is that some people ought not to be parents, and my brother is one of them. If he could say the things he did to me, he could say them to his own daughter as well, and that’s the part I can’t live with if I can make a difference. I don’t want to drag you into my family shite. I haven’t quite known what I think, because there is a lot of baggage here, though for different reasons than your own….and I am so, so sorry, about your loss. We’ve worried a lot, about how to tell you all this. Thranduil told me only that you had experienced this kind of loss, and, I took a guess as to when and how. I….” she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You do what you need to do, and if you need to take Thanadir with you, take him with you. I’m not going to allow for this to drag on; he gets about an hour to say whatever he has to say.” _And Christ I hope that is a really, really good foot rub, over there._

Later on found all them with some bottles of wine and cannoli, all piled on one of the beds, watching Titanic on one of the laptops. Tomorrow would be a busy day. Afterward, by unspoken agreement they all kept to their own thoughts.

Lorna sighed. Things would go how they would go; there was no point dwelling on it until then. Fortunately that really _had_ been a good foot rub. Downloading some of the pictures from her phone, she opened her computer and wrote Ratiri an email.

******

Lorna had only been gone two days, and already Ratiri missed her terribly. It was so co-dependant of him that he was ashamed of himself, yet he couldn’t help it. He wondered how disgusting it would be for him to email her, but when he opened his account, he was pleasantly surprised to find she’d beaten him to it. Her spelling and punctuation left a bit to be desired, but given her patchy education, he wasn’t surprised; it was actually weirdly endearing. She did the best she could with what she’d always had.

 _My feet about fell off_ , she wrote, but its been worth it. _New York is huge and busy and full of more amazing shite than I’d realized. We went up into the Statue of Liberty and the One World Trade Center, and down Wall Street before we stopped in at Earlene’s old work. I knew she’d been a big shot in the States, but I didnt realize how much of one. (And let me tell you, being in a room full of lawyers is nerve racking even when I haven’t done anything wrong.)_

_I’ve attatched some pictures, and I aut (did she mean ‘ought’, he wondered?) to have more tomorrow. we went through Ellis Island, and wasn’t that weird, and saw the old Triangle Shirtwaiste factory, or whatever its called now._

_I also bought souveniers, and I’ll be picking up more later. Be afraid. Be very very afraid. I’m having the time of my life, but I miss you._

Ratiri was hardly afraid, though he _was_ rather amused, and something warmed in his chest to know she not only missed him, but was willing to say so. He opened the attached images and burst out laughing. Some of them were conventional shots, mostly of Earlene and the Elves, but in others...Earlene must have taken the snap of Lorna and the Elves inside the Statue of Liberty’s crown, and Lorna looked rather terrified to be so close to the windows. She likewise looked far too pleased to be riding the Wall Street bull, though he had to wonder how she’d got up there to begin with.

 _Don’t wear yourself down to exhaustion_ , he wrote back, the doctor in him unable to resist. _Drink lots of water. I want to hear all about it when you get home, so stay in one piece. For such a young city, New York has a lot of history, and it sounds like Earlene is a good guide. I’ll share these with the village, if you don’t mind, so that you won’t have to field quite so many questions right off when you get home (though I have so many myself.)_

He hesitated, and finally wrote, _I miss you, too. I hope you have fun, but I’ll be glad when you’re home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three days one of us spent visiting New York City was not nearly enough knowledge for us as writers to give these chapters adequate realism or tell our story. Hours of documentaries and film footage were watched and discussed in order to compose these chapters. Some of it was so mind-bogglingly interesting and transformative, to us, that we decided to include the most important of these video links in the event others would like to see.
> 
> Immigration Through Ellis Island: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4wzVuXPznk  
> Forgotten Ellis Island: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuPZr68T_fg  
> Island of Hope-Island of Tears: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qh5CWbTDsuQ&t=6s  
> Ellis Island-The Digital Archive: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH2hllmZdRg  
> Climbing Inside the Statue of Liberty: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYxc-ZaYGmg  
> The Elevator Video at One World Trade Center: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKTPaqbXrAY  
> The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire 1911: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCB4SgXRgKg  
> Triangle-Remembering the Fire: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkUCz94qHz8


	35. Thirty-five

Immediately following a relaxed morning of coffee and the New York Times (and an informal commitment to eat their way through the entire pastry display case over the duration of their stay) they began the walk toward the Atrium. 57th Street was less congested this time of the morning, and it was with a sense of contented amusement that Earlene led the way, rounding the corner at Carnegie Hall. _Would they know the classic ‘groaner’? One way to find out,_ Earlene reasoned. “Have you ever heard the joke, ‘How do you get to Carnegie Hall?’ “ Three blank faces stared back at her. “Practice, practice, practice.”

 _Aaaaaand pretty much nobody understood that_ , she thought, before shrugging. It didn’t change the fact that the acoustics in there were second to none. They meandered near assorted shops and galleries, passing Tiffany & Co. and the Torneau store (with about twenty clocks over the storefront, just in case you needed to know what time it was, anywhere at all). And just beyond that was their destination, a large indoor public space that had nice seating, including trees and birds. She’d told them to bring their laptops, knowing that there’d be wifi and time to kill; they were early. After angling for a very central table, they agreed that Thanadir and Lorna could sit closer to the doors in case Lorna felt a need to vanish, but near enough that if she wanted to meet the baby she could. Provided she could do it without it turning ugly, she might just try.

Thranduil sat next to Earlene. Close enough to be close, but not in a way that screamed ‘smothering’. She’d texted Aidan last night, saying she would be with a man with long blond hair, and left it at that. They were both busy with their reading, though it didn’t take a genius to notice that Earlene’s eyes shifted every ten seconds to the clock on her screen. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could feel it, as she reached for Thranduil’s hand. _Why is this so hard?_ she asked him, significantly disturbed by the roiling emotions she could not seem to keep in check.

_Because he wronged you, meluieg, and you are afraid, with justification, that he will wrong you again. I am here with you. Remember that he has no power over you; I will not allow him to harm you in any manner._

Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she still wondered what in hell had happened to her. There had been a few times she’d heard her nickname at the courthouse; they’d dubbed her the Ice Queen. _You’d never know it right now_.

So it was perhaps for the best when at a few minutes after the appointed time, the voice she’d done her best to forget sounded behind them. “Earlene?” she heard tentatively. Both she and Thranduil turned at the same time to stand up; here was Aidan. He looked much as she remembered; the total opposite of her. Carrot red hair and mustache, and penetratingly insouciant blue eyes. He stood a little under six feet tall, with a decent but not award-winning trim physique. And definitely, a few more lines on his face than she remembered, though someone capable of thinking him handsome would still call him that.

“Hello, Aidan,” she said, meeting his gaze evenly, but with no offer of a hug or even a handshake. “This is my husband, Fionn,” gesturing. “And this must be little Allanah?” she asked, her voice softening for the first time. Without thinking, she reached her arms out tentatively, asking without words to hold her. The little girl was beautiful, already showing that she too was a ginger; her features were symmetrical and she seemed to have a sunny disposition. To her surprise, Allanah extended her tiny hands toward Earlene. _Did they do that, so young?_ She really had no idea, not knowing up from down about babies but at any rate, the girl was a living porcelain doll, dressed in a lovely little lilac summer dress. Aidan handed Allanah to his sister, which saved them both the awkwardness of contemplating any actual physical contact.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Thranduil, in what she recognized as one of his most soothing and neutral tones.

“You also,” said Aidan, clearly not expecting what was in front of him; the King towered over him by half a foot. “And it would seem congratulations are in order, Earlene; I did not know you had married,” he said, doing his best to wrangle his features into a sincere smile as he took in Thranduil’s appearance and strikingly long pale hair.

“Sit, please,” offered Thranduil, as laptops were shut and Earlene quickly lost herself in staring at the child and taking surreptitious yet deep sniffs of that smell that could only be described as baby.

“Does she have a middle name?” asked Earlene, her face breaking into the first semblance of a smile.

“I stole from yours, but not completely,” he said sheepishly. “Rhiannon.”

“You went all out on the family names, I see,” she grinned. “Those are lovely choices, and gran would have been thrilled.” She paused. “I found myself thinking, the other day. Do you have any idea why they named you ‘Aidan’?” she asked, doing her best to have the question seem utterly casual.

“No, I’ve no idea. The only thing ever said was that gran had really, really wanted me named that, and that Da caved in,” he shrugged.

Earlene nodded slowly. Part of her wanted to tell him what she’d found on Ellis Island but the other part... _no. Walking in here like this, it didn’t mean he deserved jack shit._ “Well, how have you been?” she asked, casting her net over the waters. She could not afford to let on that she knew as much as she did. “Is there a Mrs. Sullivan?” she asked with a smile, even though it was the most heartless question in the world.

He ran his hands through his hair, showing a glimpse of agitation. “There was,” he breathed, with a note of dejection in his voice. Earlene gave her best acting performance of being concerned yet puzzled, as she let Allanah gum her finger. “I lost her, just after the baby was born. Her name was Madison. You would have liked her.” He made a noise that was almost a snort. “She wasn’t like me, at all.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said, preparing to drive the spike home. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, but she gave you this beautiful little girl.”

“Yeah, she did.” The wooden response, the lack of anything resembling paternal affection toward this baby froze her insides, and made her want to stand up right now and march her niece back to the hotel. But that wasn’t possible, and she forced herself to focus. Thranduil’s voice sounded in her head.

_You are doing well, meluieg. And since these are not ordinary circumstances, I feel no need to’ play fair’. He is close to speaking the truth about why he is here; you were not wrong in anything at which you have guessed._

_Well then, full speed ahead_. “Aidan, let’s take a moment here and just do something gran would have loved. I’m sure you heard her say more than once, 'the fastest way across the field is straight through the cow shite'. So why not save a lot of hassle and tell me the real reason why we are meeting here? Wanting to make nice like this, it isn’t like you. Or has that much changed?” Her eyes bored into his; he did not flinch or express surprise at her words.

“Nothing’s changed, little sister. I see it hasn’t with you, either. And that’s fine. Knowing you, you’ve already figured all of this out; figuring it out is why you made it to the top, isn’t it?”

 _Only you could make an offhand compliment into half an insult_ , she thought. “If I did figure it out, big brother, then you would know that regardless, I want to hear it from your lips. It wouldn’t be like Earlene, to lay all her cards on the table, would it now?”

Thranduil understood that the game was afoot, in earnest now. Both siblings were keeping to just this side of civility...barely. The thinly restrained aggression in Earlene was something that was well-practiced, and he perceived only now that this was a glimmer of what her opponents had faced in a courtroom. The gentle and compliant wife he so dearly loved was only one aspect of her; she could use her words to flay someone where they stood, if she chose.

“No, indeed,” he said, taking her measure before tilting his head with a smirk. “As you can see, Allanah is cared for. Clean, healthy, well-dressed. What she is not, and likely never will be in the way a child deserves, is loved. I doubt I need to explain myself to you, of all people. I’ll not pretend I deserve any kind of award, because I don’t. We both know I’ll make a shite father, and her mother, who wanted her so badly, isn’t coming back. Madison had no family. I’ve no right to ask, but for Allanah, I will. She needs parents who will love her, and we both know that isn’t coming from me. I’d rather see her with her own flesh and blood than a stranger who wants to adopt her.”

Thranduil looked at him in disbelief, even though everything up to this should have prepared him. “You are asking us to…?” he trailed off. He needed to hear it, in plain words.

“I am asking you if you would consider adopting Earlene’s niece,” he said.

“Jesus, Aidan,” said Earlene. “I give you credit for brutal honesty but...this is really want you want to do? You’d place her for adoption?”

He leaned back, and looked up through the glass roof. “It is exactly what I plan to do, and what action I take from here depends largely on the outcome of this discussion.”

A stony silence came over the conversation, and it was taking more and more of her self control to not stand up and bolt with the baby. Finally Earlene’s head snapped around. “There would be conditions. You don’t just get to hand her to us and waltz off.”

Aidan smiled, sensing victory. “I expect to part with a sum of money that fairly reflects my financial responsibility to my daughter,” he said, “and more besides, because you didn’t ask for this to happen to you. While I know you aren’t the sort that would want to be ‘paid’, it does not change the fact that I am asking you to make sacrifices because I am incapable of being a decent parent. Neither are children free of cost; she deserves an education so she has a chance in this world, just like what you and I had.”

“You’ll sign over all your legal rights?”

“If I wanted parental rights, Earlene, we would not be having this conversation,” he breezed.

“You understand that this can’t happen overnight? There are rules and laws, and we live three thousand miles away.”

Aidan smiled even wider. “There are lawyers and airplanes, are there not?”

Thranduil spoke again. “It does not even concern you, that you have only just met me, and that you would be giving your daughter over to be raised by me as well?”

The man was just about to speak when Thranduil held up his hand forcefully, with his eyes blazing. “Stop,” he said in a tone of command that brooked no opposition. “Disregard that I asked, and do not answer.” What the man was thinking was an outrage, made worse by the fact that too many of his perceptions were correct. His thoughts were repugnant; Aidan’s entire estimation of Thranduil as a fellow male was based on an assessment of his virility and that he had obviously had achieved a difficult conquest. The King did not know what to say, or do. It was true, that at the outset he had relied on exactly these skills. And that he _had_ those skills. But there had been a reason, and he had never intended that he would use Earlene and then cast her aside in favor of another, and another. He was honor-bound, from the moment he began with her, to be loyal to her. Just as he knew she would have to be loyal to him. That this was elven nature was beside the point... _how could anyone set out to treat another in this manner, with deliberate intention?_ His stomach wanted to turn.

Aidan complied, showing no surprise, returned Thranduil’s stare. His thoughts echoed clearly in the King’s mind as they emerged. _It’s probably just as well. If you, Fionn, whoever you are, managed to defrost Earlene and pop her cherry, a baby will hardly be a challenge. She wouldn’t have taken up with anyone not fundamentally decent; you’re the least of my worries. If you aren’t a stud extraordinaire, I don’t know what one looks like._ Fionn, in his estimation, exuded a confident sexuality and part of him would dearly love to be able to discuss how he’d worked his way between his frigid sister’s legs, and what other fun he might be having on the side, with that set of abilities. _I ought to hand Fionn a prize; he has to be a talented seducer….maybe he has a few pointers to offer? It never hurts to add more tricks to the bag...maybe he’ll even tell me how she is between the sheets._ The thought made him smirk. _Maybe someday soon, over a drink._ His head turned back to his sister, as he reluctantly pushed his sexual contemplations aside. “So what’s next, Earlene? Surely you have half the paperwork waiting in the wings already.”

“You will be contacted by my attorney,” she said without emotion, “and we will begin the process. It is all made more complex by the fact that I’ve emigrated, but, that is nothing insurmountable. But there is one thing, Aidan. You only get to do this to us once. If this is how you feel about children, eliminate the potential for this little problem.”

“You’ll be pleased to know that for perhaps the first time ever, we agree on something. _That_ has already been accomplished. And, I would imagine that we should conclude this discussion for now. The fact that we’ve not started brawling yet is something of a family achievement. There is only one other thing; I understand that you are here for most of the week. Did you wish to see Allanah again?”

It was the first thing resembling human compassion she’d heard from him for most of this conversation. “I do, and I don’t,” Earlene said. “If you look to your left, you will see seated by the windows a very tiny woman with long black hair, with Fionn’s brother Cian. She would give her left eyeball to have what you are throwing at us, and I genuinely don’t want to put her through this again. Don’t let her size fool you. She’ll want to kill you where you sit, for what you are doing. In fact, no, we are not meeting again; I’ll make that decision now. But if you would allow it, I’d like to take Allanah to be introduced to the rest of her future family.” _And to leave you alone with whatever my husband is going to come up with to say to you_ , she rationalized. Seeing her brother’s unconcerned nod, she rose and walked toward Lorna and Thanadir. Sitting down between them with a calm smile, she said “This is Allanah, my niece.”

When Earlene walked away, Thranduil spoke to Aidan. Keeping a level voice and showing no outward emotion now took the sum of all his experience, because honestly he wanted to kill the man where he sat. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you,” he opined, as his eyes further assessed Earlene’s brother. It was one of the few things he could say that was true and not a grievous insult. The man was not fully evil; it was not remotely that simple. Neither was he particularly good. He was something beyond _immoral_ , he was _amoral_. Nothing pointed the way toward right or wrong inside of him, beyond the most basic generalities of what wants he had determined took priority.

“Da always said I was a piece of work,” Aidan grinned. “Don’t worry, you’re not alone in your observations. I’ve heard it all before. And….look. I don’t deserve what you both are doing, just like I don’t deserve Allanah. I’m not stupid enough to believe that your generosity is for me; it’s for the baby, and for that you have my thanks. None of this was supposed to happen like it did and…” he shook his head.

“Who takes care of Allanah? Forgive me, but I cannot envision you changing soiled clothes and feeding a little one,” said Thranduil.

“Behind you,” Aidan smirked, with a dip of his head in acknowledgement, “maybe six tables away, is a young woman. She is a professional nanny, and her services will be retained until this process is completed. I can see to it that my daughter is physically taken care of, Fionn. I just can’t do a damn bit more, and that’s the part that’s no good.”

“I would imagine not,” the King said, for once nearly speechless. It was easily discernible from Aidan’s thoughts that this young woman gave more services than just child care, for which she was being generously compensated. He wanted to vomit, and elves were not even capable of this reflex. This encounter needed to end very soon; even _his_ self-control was beginning to erode. He lapsed into silence, watching Earlene at the other table.

Lorna had been trying very hard not to eavesdrop, but was mainly saved the effort by the chatter of the other diners. Jesus Christ, that kid was cute...and Earlene’s brother looked like both a gobshite _and_ a bit constipated. They didn’t look related at all, but that was probably for the best, honestly. If you hated your sibling, it was easier to hate them when they didn’t look like they could _be_ your sibling. “Can I hold her?” she asked, and then, more quietly, “Are you okay?”

“Absolutely you can hold her,” said Earlene, handing the baby over to Lorna. “I’m OK. I have Thranduil. This meeting’s just about concluded, but I wanted both of you to at least see her. Christ isn’t she precious?”

“She’s lovely,” Lorna said, stroking her fingers over the baby’s fuzzy down of red hair. “So lovely.” Holding this child made her heart hurt, and yet she didn’t want to put the baby down. Such large eyes -- blue eyes, blue as the sky, staring with curiosity at Lorna. Lorna, who would like nothing more than to take this baby and run for it, however disastrous it would be for, well, everyone. Almost unconsciously she started humming, while the little thing inspected her braid with interest, tiny fingers not quite finding purchase. Oh, it _hurt_ , but it was not something she wanted to give up, either.

“Earlene, the child is very beautiful,” Thanadir said with eyes full of both admiration and yearning, reaching out his long, delicately formed fingers to caress her cheek.

“I agree. She’s as Irish as they come. Allanah Rhiannon Sullivan. Gran would have been so proud, it’s a damn shame she didn’t live long enough to meet her. But her name lives on, so I guess in a way it’s all the same.”

“D’you know what ‘Allanah’ means in Irish?” Lorna asked.

“I thought it meant ‘child’ but...what in hell do I know,” she said. Earlene got out her phone and turned off the flash. “I’ll take some pictures,” she offered.

“‘Little dear one’,” Lorna said, looking up. “It’s an endearment, back home.” Gran had called her that, right up until the day she died.

“Well then that fits her all the better,” Earlene said. “Did you want to hold her, Thanadir?” The elf nodded, and with visible reluctance Lorna handed the baby over. It did Earlene more good than she could say to see that this child had a future with people who were going to love her to death. Not literally of course, but _the life_ this child was going to have, growing up with Peredhel cousins in an elven kingdom. It was the stuff of fairy tales and for this child, it would be a reality. In a matter of seconds the baby cooed and giggled for him, while trying to eat some of his hair. Laughing, Earlene rescued the seneschal’s unbound tresses. “All right, reluctantly, I have to return her to her da. Everyone wave good luck,” she said, making little waves at the delighted child, before returning to the table.

“Do you think I could possibly have your address, Earlene?” Aidan asked.

“As long as it stays with you and any necessary legal paperwork only, yes. I’ve not really wanted to be easy to find. Obviously.” She texted it to him. “Earlene Sullivan, Ennyn-En-Eryn, West Lasg’len Road, Lasg’len, County Clare.”

“Where in hell is this?” he asked, amused.

“It’s nowhere, about two hours west of Dublin, which was the whole point of the thing. It’s a cottage on some land, maybe a mile outside of what barely passes for a village.” A sigh escaped her, as she gave Allanah several kisses; she found herself strangely unable to stop doing this. “Well, until next time, I’m guessing,” she said, with some sense of exasperation. “You’re not going to go changing your mind on me after I’ve got my heart set on this, are you?” she asked him, her eyes filling with restrained menace.

For once, the mask dropped and his perpetual cockiness dissolved away. “No, I won’t. I give you my promise, this will go as smoothly and expeditiously as I can manage; no games. I know I’ve treated you like dirt, Earlene, though I like to think I’m somewhat beyond saying the kinds of things that have come out of my mouth in the past. Besides. I think if I pulled a stunt like that, you really might send your friend after me. I can safely say, we’ll be seeing each other sooner than you think,” he smiled. “Fionn, it was a pleasure.” Aidan offered his hand, and Thranduil shook it, to Earlene’s vague surprise. Taking Allanah, without a backward glance, he transferred the baby to her nanny, and beat a swift exit.

Earlene plunked back down in her seat. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she said. “Just….” and she burst into tears and dove face first into Thranduil’s chest, desperate to not make a scene. _Please don’t let me do this_ , she begged him. _I know you can do something...just, please…._

His arms came around her, and she felt the painful emotions ebbing. _Meluieg, you did so very well. I am proud of you; be at peace_. He kept her in his hold, until she regained her comportment. He was not above admitting to himself that he was gaining just as much comfort from holding her as she was from him. As he soothed his wife, he did not know if he should share the last thing he saw in her brother’s thoughts. Or for that matter, _anything_ he saw. It came when he spoke of seeing them soon; a definite image of Aidan planning on coming to them, but, did that actually mean anything? It was why he wanted the address. Was this simply part of whatever the humans’ legal process was, that would need to happen? Likely it was nothing, and this did not feel like the right time to upset Earlene further.

It took every ounce of willpower Lorna hand, not to sprint after that ginger twat, knock over his damned nanny, and steal that baby. But she didn’t; she didn’t even say anything awful...in English, at any rate. It had hurt, and she had known it would hurt, but in time, unless she was very much mistaken, that kid would be coming to Ireland. And she would be the best god damned aunt that ever walked the face of the bloody Earth. Right now, though, she needed a drink, and she was entirely sure Earlene needed one much worse than she did.

They beelined back to the hotel lobby where Earlene ordered four Bloody Marys, not too spicy, extra strong, and dared the bartender with her eyes to say one word about it. Her glare softened when he looked her up and down, and very openly let the vodka generously pour into the glasses. Then they all retired to a corner of the (she thought) bizarrely decorated lounge where she slumped in against the cushions. “So how much of what came out of his mouth was actually some version of the truth? If, that is, you are willing to reveal that information,” Earlene asked her husband.

“All of it,” he answered softly. “He was not lying. I told him the same thing I tell you now; I have never met anyone like this. Right and wrong, in his mind, are whatever he needs them to be. There is some odd structure to his reasoning, but it is a dangerous one. His morality is based on whatever affects him personally.”

Earlene spoke again. “He says, he wants us to adopt his daughter, and was already prepared to concede every demand I made. I guess I was kidding myself; he knows me as well as I know him. He knew the lengths I’d go to, ahead of time. So I don’t know how fast this will take place, but unless something happens to screw all of this up, that little girl is coming to live with us. My brother is an absolute and complete piece of work,” she breathed, wasting no time at swallowing a third of what was placed in front of her before she realized perhaps this was too much alcohol all at once. Thranduil said nothing, but moved to place his arm around her.

 _Drink it_ , he said, and do not worry. _I will protect the children_.

“Feicfidh mé craiceann an bastaird,” Lorna growled, knocking back her entire drink in three swallows. The burn of it offset her rage, which shocked her in its intensity -- she’d been afraid this would happen, so why the hell was her wrath so molten now? It was all she could do not to hunt the fucker down; in that moment she could have snapped his neck with nary a qualm, and taken that baby far away. Instead, she ate a handful of peanuts, and held out her glass. The bartender gave her a slightly disbelieving look, but shrugged. “Feicfidh mé air mar a rinne _mé le mo da._ ” Her second drink went down nearly as fast as the first, but it did little to quell her anger. How the hell could anyone look at that beautiful baby girl and give her up? That son of a bitch had no actual compelling reason to give her away -- he wasn’t sick, he wasn’t struggling financially, he just...he was throwing away what she’d lost. Like it was nothing.

“You are not quite correct, Lorna,” Thranduil said in a defeated tone of voice, still processing everything that had happened. “He did have a reason. He is incapable of loving her, and that also was no lie. In his own terribly disturbed way, he decided that the best thing for her was to be placed with people who could give her what she deserves, and his second thought after that was to give what remained of the child’s living relations the first chance to have her. As much as all of this tears at my heart, I believe he is actually doing the right thing. I have never seen a heart so warped, so...damaged. No child deserves to grow up with _that_ as a parent,” he said vehemently. He felt that of all those seated here, he and Lorna should know about that reality. And yet Earlene’s sibling seemed to add a whole new dimension to what could go wrong.

“No,” she said, holding out her glass. “No, they shouldn’t. I guess we should be grateful he’ll admit he’s a sociopath.” How could a person be like that? How could someone just...not love their own child? She couldn’t understand it, and she likely never would. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. “She’ll be happy with you two. With all’v us, because I hope you’re aware I’ll hover like a vulture. I can’t not.” It might be unfair to Earlene, as the adoptive mother, but this was just something Lorna wouldn’t be able to force herself not to do. She couldn’t leave this adorable kid too far away.

“I think I was sort of hoping you would say that,” Earlene said. “This is all a little sudden, for me. There’s no doubt in my mind I’m doing the right thing but...Jesus, three months ago I was a single woman and now...zoom! It’s taking some adjusting. I couldn’t do this without all of you.”

“What’s the American term -- life throws you curveballs?” Lorna asked. “You couldn’t keep me away with a stick.” And she was fairly sure Ratiri would be equally present. They had discovered his wife’s uterine cancer because they thought she was pregnant, and that had been that.

Earlene looked at Thranduil, whose eyes were equally locked on hers. They both seemed to nod, ever so slightly, at the same time.

“There is more, Lorna. We were waiting to tell you until we felt more certain it would be happy news, and much was unknown before this meeting. Allanah will not be the only child. Earlene is expecting,” he said, while a dazzling smile lit up his entire face.

“Christ, you’ll have _two_ \--” Lorna might be the least demonstrative person ever, but she managed to lean over to give Earlene a hug, and not even spill what little remained of her drink. “Two babies, you’ll want help. I’ll dragoon Ratiri, too, though I can’t let anyone else in Baile know or you’ll be drowning in baby clothes.”

Surprised and pleased, Earlene returned her hug, lingering with her arm around her loosely, just long enough to add “Erm, not two. _Three, is the number that thou shalt count…_.” she rattled off in an iconic tone of voice. _I can’t stop Monty Python_ , she thought. _I just can’t_. “It’s twins. Or the Holy Hand Grenade, take your pick.”

Lorna’s eyebrows practically shot to her hairline. “ _Twins?_ Oh good Jesus. Are you sure you should be walking about so much right now?” Yeah, they were half-elf kids, and thus could probably survive a nuclear blast, but _still_.

Earlene laughed while gesturing to her husband. “If he says it’s OK, it’s OK. I feel fine. Remember, my legs are more used to concrete than yours are. I’ll worry about all that later on, I’m sure, when I’ll need to be half-carried everywhere. For now, too...I wouldn’t mind, not everyone knowing for a little longer. Ratiri’s OK, of course. But it’ll be obvious soon enough and...I wasn’t lying, I’m still enjoying getting used to the idea…” she sighed, feeling like a change of subject was in order. “And if we’re all sufficiently de-stressed, we should think about heading out. We’re going to the Bronx Zoo, and maybe one other thing afterward.”

“What is a ….zoo?” asked Thanadir, rising from his seat with a look of still being undecided about the merit of Bloody Marys. Lorna eyed him while making a sort of grasping hands gesture at his glass, and in short order relieved him of the remainder of his beverage.

“It’s a place where animals live,” Lorna said, finishing her drink and Thanadir’s. “Usually animals that are endangered. They get put in a zoo so they’re safe and so people can see them. If there’s a butterfly house, we should avoid it, though, because for some reason butterflies love me.” She grinned. “I can keep the sprogs to myself, for now. I mean, I’ll tell Ratiri, but that’s it.”

The only crummy thing was needing to basically go right back to Madison Avenue to get the express bus to the Zoo, but they managed easily enough; it wasn’t _that_ far, and Thanadir genuinely had not seemed to mind fixing human feet.

Once they were ensconced in the back of the bus in relative privacy, Earlene filled Lorna in on the fuller story of Aidan; specifically, what her hired investigator had found out about the entire thing, and how Madison had died. “Isn’t it beyond ironic? Here she is, married to a doctor, and won’t have a thing to do with it. It’d be like you and Ratiri getting hitched someday, and your kid gets an ear infection, and you’d rather have a Celtic ceremony out on the back porch (complete with sacrificing live rabbits) instead of letting him give the child medicine. It blows my mind, but doesn’t change the fact that the whole thing was bloody awful. In a way I feel like I’m helping her, too. Madison, I mean. She’d not have wanted her baby to be with a man like Aidan; not when she wanted Allanah so much. I wonder if that poor woman ever even knew my brother at all. Or knew that I existed...” she trailed off.

“Unless she was dense as lead, she probably didn’t,” Lorna said, and rather carefully didn’t think about marrying Ratiri -- because if there was a real chance of that someday, she didn’t want to jinx it. “I don’t get anyone who won’t have _anything_ to do with modern medicine. Gran made all the natural shite she could, but she still went to the damn doctor if she got really sick. As she put it, ‘A pill for every problem’s bullshit, but you can’t cure pneumonia with herbs.’ And she went to Dublin to have Mam and my aunts and uncles, exactly because if anything went wrong with a home birth, that might be the end’v her. Great-Gran died having Gran’s youngest brother -- something went wrong, and she hemorrhaged. Gran was eight, I think.” She herself certainly would have had Saoirse in hospital, if she’d actually carried the baby to term, because the obstetrician she saw in Dublin told her that at her size, there was a chance she’d have issues, depending on how big Saoirse got in utero.

The bus left them off near the Fordham Road Gate, where they strolled alongside the few visitors that were equally early arrivals. “I’ve never been here before, I could never seem to find the time,” Earlene explained, reflecting. “Fionn, Cian, there are some things you should realize about why this place exists, and others like it. It is partly what Lorna said but...the animals you will see today, in a way it is a great sadness that they are here at all. At one time, all of these creatures existed in unimaginable abundance, in different places around the world. But especially beginning about a hundred and fifty years ago, hunting them, slaughtering them for no real reason, and destroying the places they live became an entrenched pursuit. And one day some wiser people realized that it had gone so far that they were almost all lost. So places like this were made. A long time ago, zoos were awful, worse than human prisons. Now, at least an effort is made to understand their needs and try to meet some of them. But even now, today, the problem of killing them is still horrible. It is all driven by greed, and the time may come when these captive animals are the last of their kind. I wanted you to visit this place not because of this depressing part, but because I am guessing you do not know of the existence of even a fraction of these creatures. There is no other easy way by which to see them, alive and in person. We humans have treated this planet as if we have another planet to go to when this one’s done being ruined,” she opined.

“Isn’t that the bloody truth,” Lorna muttered, thinking of the Industrial Revolution, of how blithely people had poisoned the land. It had taken decades to undo, and even now, with all the laws in place, it was still far from perfect. “I’d like to think most’v us’re better now, though. I know America did a lot to save its ancient forest, once you lot realized you were hacking down too much’v it. Ireland did the same, once we were our own country, but by then there wasn’t much left to save.” The States had the advantage of not being inhabited by Europeans for millennia, and so hadn’t had nearly as much time to be razed to the ground, as well as being bloody enormous. The native people, not being a bunch of greedy industrialist fuckers, had only taken what they actually needed.

Looking at the map, Earlene realized that there was no way to limit the distance they would walk; seeing the whole place meant essentially a great deal of walking. She elected that they would begin straight down the middle. Or roughly, from the tigers to the reptile house.

Arriving first at the tigers, she was surprised to see them rather active. “These are the distant relations of little Tail,” she said. The great cats were cavorting in a pond, but Earlene tilted her head, because to her it looked very much like what some cat owners fondly termed ‘a slappy fight.’ “They are a far cry from Droopy and Hunnie Bunnie, no?” she asked Thanadir, grinning. He was fascinated; and just then one of the tigers opened his mouth to clearly reveal his teeth.

“They are deadly,” said the seneschal, looking on in awe. “They hunt all things, do they not?”

“Yes. Some kinds of them are native to the land from which Ratiri’s family comes. They are feared even today, in places where humans live near the jungle.”

“I read somewhere that once they get a taste’v human, they want more,” Lorna said, “but I’ve got no idea if that’s a load’v shite or not. It sounds like it ought to be.” It sounded, in point of fact, like an excuse to kill tigers.

They moved toward another large enclosure. “Brôg!” exclaimed Thanadir. Earlene bit her lip...another word she did not know.

“Bear, meluieg,” she heard.

“So they existed in your…?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “You are forgetting the film you showed me. Remember Beorn, who changed into a great bear? He lived at the edge of my forest.”

Lorna wondered what had ever become of him, and decided she didn’t want to ask. She’d bet the answer was a tragic one.

The Butterfly House was magical; that the insects flew here and there without being behind glass. Earlene knew very little about wildlife or ecology, but what she could do is read an an astonishing pace and explain the signs, some of which used complex zoological terms, to Thanadir. Before long she made a game with the gentle elf out of seeing who could point out the most butterflies.

Lorna had thought visiting this exhibit wasn’t a good idea, but it turned out she was right. For whatever reason, butterflies _loved_ her, especially her hair and, unfortunately, her face. (Bees did, too, and they were rather less welcome; having one crawl up her nose as a kid was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of her young life. Fortunately, it had got bored and crawled out again.) She wound up having to squinch her eyes shut as a huge monarch decided to investigate her eyebrows, until it deigned to fly off again. Normally she’d get one or two land on her within the space of a week in the summer, and she was always so terrified she was going to injure one by moving wrong, especially when they were in her hair and she couldn’t see them. This, however, was ridiculous. _Gran said I must smell nice to them_ , she told Thranduil, not daring to open her mouth lest the swallowtail on her chin try to crawl in. How she was to get them off before she left, she wasn’t sure, but she was sure you weren’t supposed to let them out.

Earlene decided to rescue Lorna, but not before taking a photo of her because it was too. damn. cute. And as they were near the exit, one of the docents saw and took pity on them as well, explaining the importance of nudging the creatures away without touching their wings, that apparently were made of microscopic feathers that could be damaged. Which made Earlene feel horrible for every butterfly she’d ever caught when she was a little girl, but how was she supposed to know? Finally, Lorna was passenger-free and they moved on.

“Next is the Reptile house.” And before Thanadir had to ask what those were, she explained that these were a class of life that could not regulate their body temperature like other creatures could, and that they had scaly skin and reproduced by laying eggs.

“They have four legs but lay eggs?” the old elf asked, not sure he was hearing correctly. That or, the mortals had lost their minds. Thranduil grinned, sure he was about to enjoy this. _This_ , would be something utterly new.

Lorna laughed. “Earlene, does this zoo have a platypus? Thanadir, those things would blow your mind. Even we think they’re ridiculous. It’s this furry creature with a bill like a duck, warm-blooded, but it lays eggs. There are all sorts’v jokes about how the platypus was the result of some deity needing to make use of all the spare parts.” She herself had seen precious few reptiles -- Ireland, contrary to popular belief, did have snakes, but they were just garden snakes.

The ellyn were completely engrossed with these creatures. Green vipers, the strange looking gharials, very large constrictor snakes, poison dart frogs...Earlene honestly had the impression that what they were seeing here was stranger to them than the sum of the entire human world they’d yet encountered. Earlene and Lorna traded off explaining things like ‘why they were called poison dart frogs’ and spent the rest of their time deriving as much amusements from watching the elves watching the animals. Thanadir especially could not get over the otherworldly stillness of the aquatic reptiles. He’d half convinced himself that they were not real, when suddenly the creatures moved, and it dawned on him that this was its key to success as a predator. They were all enjoying this exhibit so much, it seemed like there was no point rushing. Yet unfortunately for Earlene, it was the downside to reading so fast; she already had the information filed away while the others were still reading the informational display. Out came the map. “Next stop, Mouse House.” This sounded slightly distasteful; the only thing she’d ever done with rodents is kill them, as quickly as possible. Did New York really need a house to showcase rats and mice?

And yet all was not as it seemed. These were _different_ rats and mice. The room was dim, and full, but Lorna managed to squeeze her way forward anyway. She loved rodents, having grown up around a number of them -- too young, at the time, to realize the diseases they could carry. And the little gerbils...she just about melted. They were so small, and so fuzzy, and she just wanted to stuff all of them down her shirt and walk out like that. Maybe she could get one when they got home, except Tail would probably spend all his time trying to figure out ways to eat it. She snapped a number of pictures, though she knew she was probably the only one who would be interested in them.

“A mongoose,” said Earlene, pointing. “I wonder if Ratiri’s family ever saw these things...I mean, I’ve no idea what it would be like, living in India. Do things like this just run around, or do you have to go into the wild to find them? It’s New York. If it wasn’t a rat, pigeon or cockroach, I couldn’t say what it was.” She shrugged. There was far less group enthusiasm for the rodents. Except for Lorna, of course, who seemed rather enraptured.

‘Primates’ and ‘Plains of Africa’ were next, in no particular order, and Thranduil seemed to wish to see gorillas. Why, no one was certain. They arrived at the glass enclosure and she heard him whisper, “What in Eru’s name…?” The look on his face was one she’d never seen. The place was full at the moment of noisy nattering children and parents that if possible made more noise yet, so they stood back and waited a bit, for those to move along. When there were fewer people, she ventured to ask.

 _What has caught your attention to such a degree, if I may ask?_ His eyes were still as wide as saucers.

_They think, meluieg. They think and they speak to each other, communicating ideas, though it is not with speech like yours. They use gestures and sounds. But it is not the same as an adult human; and yet the older ones among them have the same ability to reason as a young human child. How is it that they are kept in these conditions?_

She was not sure how to answer. “I do not know enough to fully answer...but it is much as I said before. In their home they are hunted. Their heads and their hands are cut off to make trinkets and souvenirs. Parts of their bodies have value and on account of it there are few of them left. And while it is known that they have a kind of intelligence, you must understand that we cannot know what you know. At least here, they are not going to be shot. Though I could guess that if they are capable of such thoughts, they would perhaps like to be elsewhere.”

Thranduil nodded slowly, digesting what he had been told. This was unjust, and yet, were not many things in their world thus? Surely the lot of these animals was no worse than much of what he’d learned about the life of most humans in the early days of this city. In fact, it was assuredly far better.

Wasn’t it weird, Lorna thought, how closely humans were related to some primates? She didn’t know what the ratio was, but she knew that with chimps it like ninety-something percent DNA, yet humans could reason and chimps couldn’t. What the hell was the word? Sapience? Something like that. There was a Terry Pratchett line -- something like humans being were the falling angel met the rising ape. Maybe that was giving humans too much credit.

They moved past the wild dogs, and since the only standard of comparison was the wargs of long ago and the occasional domestic dog they’d caught sight of over the long years, there were raised eyebrows from the ellyn but no further comment. Perhaps Earlene and Lorna should drag the into watching The Lion King some night...it was a good deal safer than Hedwig and the hyenas were...hyenas. To her delight, Earlene caught sight of the giraffe building. “Oh!” she said, walking on ahead with more eagerness. There were platforms which to ascend, but Thanadir quickly moved to stop her, with something like panic in his eyes as he looked up at the quadrupeds that towered over him. “Come, my guard,” she said laughing. “For all their size they are gentle, and will not harm anyone. Trust me, nothing that could harm anyone is allowed in a modern zoo. I am a lawyer, I know these things.” Offering her hand, she led the skeptical elf up the steps as she exchanged a glance and an eye roll with Lorna...but all in good humor.

At the top, within seconds Thanadir found himself face to face with the head of a curious giraffe. If Earlene was charmed by him most of the time, the sight of him gazing into those limpid, deep purple pools of the animal’s soft eyes just about pushed her to caressing his cheek. She actually had to ball her hand into a fist, it was the only way to stop herself.

How could Thanadir seem like a doe-eyed lad _and_ a baby-sitter? It was probably an elf thing. Either way, Lorna happily bounded after them, finding a piece of rind to feed a giraffe. Pictures just didn’t do them justice; obviously they were very tall, but they seemed even more so when you were standing right next to one.

The fence on the enclosed platform was tall enough that she had to do what she had no doubt you weren’t _supposed_ to do, and climb it a bit so she could reach. One of the giraffes, looking as gently derpy as they seemed to in all the pictures she’d ever seen, bent its head -- but it didn’t go after the rind, it went after her braid, which dangled over her shoulder into the enclosure.

Lorna flailed, dropping the rind. Mercifully, her hair must not have tasted very good, because the animal spit it out, leaving a quarter of it covered in slobber. Eeeew. “That was a mistake,” she said, and hunted around for a water fountain. Fortunately there was one close enough down below that she could at least try to rinse out the worst of it.

“I didn’t think her hair looked like leaves, but, I’m not a giraffe” Earlene said, admiring the animal. Ever since she was a little girl, she wondered what it would be like to ride one. Never mind that you’d fall off, never mind that there was nowhere to hold onto or that you’d need an extension ladder to even get up there. She would just always....wonder.

 _Can you even ride a horse, meluieg?_ Thranduil asked with amusement.

She arched her eyebrows. _Likely not as well as you can, and it has been awhile, but I was known to hold my own on the back of a horse at gran’s farm_ , she answered archly, assuming that the question was meant because her abilities were doubt. It was the use of the word _even_ that caused her response to become somewhat frosty.

 _I am sorry_ , he said contritely. _I should not have assumed that you have never ridden_ , looking down at her with what could only be described as sad eyes. He bent down to kiss her in apology, but something appallingly warm and slimy came between them, and his eyes flew open. Thanadir, in the meantime, had enjoyed a prime view of the giraffe’s growing curiosity with his King and the resulting sampling of both his and Earlene’s faces. The seneschal doubled over in helpless laughter, causing the King to sputter and Earlene to slide to her knees in laughter as well. The giraffe, in the meantime, saw nothing edible and walked off in search of something worthwhile, utterly bored.

Lorna had just about reascended the stairs when she saw the giraffe so handily cockblocking -- well, kissblocking -- Thranduil. His expression made her choke on her own spit, completely unable to keep her laughter at bay. It only grew worse when Thanadir got in on the action; she wound up leaning against the far railing, cackling so hard she could barely breathe. Of all the things she had never thought she’d see...she had just enough wherewithal to fish her phone out of her shirt and snap a picture, because seriously, Ratiri would never forgive her if she didn’t immortalize _that_ moment.

Thranduil remained speechless for a full minute, after which Earlene approached him (her laughter largely being under control) and kissed him full on the lips. “Would you like to try again?” she said, her eyes shining from having had such a good laugh. This seemed to mostly break the spell he was under. _I am sorry for laughing but it really was very funny._

“I suppose it was,” he smiled. “But I hope it is understandable that I now want off this platform.” Thanadir immediately passed Thranduil to descend, shooting him a look of contrition. “i sadron nîn,” he chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder to show there was no offense taken. He unbuttoned his well-slobbered outer shirt to reveal that he was wearing the Star Trek t-shirt Lorna had given him underneath.

“Could be worse,” Lorna said, wiping her streaming eyes, her words still hitching with giggles. “At least it wasn’t a monkey throwing a handful’v shite. They do that, y’know.”

His expression changed. “You will forgive me if I would rather skip that particular exhibit,” he said. “My dignity can only be assaulted so much in one day.”

“Come,” said Earlene, taking his hand and only now seeing his t-shirt. _Get In, Losers, We’re Gonna Boldly Go_ , it screamed. She bit the inside of her cheeks, refusing to react to it. How in hell had _that_ come here? She’d packed his clothing.... “Let’s go see the King of Beasts. You’ll feel better then,” she quipped, hoping she wasn’t pushing it too far as she caught a mischief filled giggle of approval from Lorna.

“They need to watch The Lion King,” she said. “Fionn, I dare you to get in a staring contest with one. You’d probably actually win.” Most people wouldn’t, but elves, she had noticed, didn’t seem to blink as often as humans did. They could probably out-stare damn near anything.

 _The animal is suitably impressive_ , he said to Earlene with approval, feeling somewhat mollified, watching as the big male cat strode toward them, fixing them with its eyes through the glass that separated them. For all he had seen in this life, a tiny thrill ran through him. That was the look of being marked as prey, though he knew that nothing could possibly happen here. There was a female also, and a cub, approaching the male lion playfully. “From Africa,” Earlene quipped while the cub lazily swatted at his father’s...dangling parts. In another few seconds the lioness was lying down and being mounted and….the sight of the mating was interrupted by the jarring whine of a small child all but shouting, “ _what’s he DOING to her_?” at which point both Lorna and Earlene had to back away, tears of laughter beginning to roll down their cheeks.

“This is the best zoo ever,” she said, trying to catch her breath. That poor parent…

Lorna tried to pack it in, she really did, but she just couldn’t do it. That kid...it would have been hilarious on its own, but that _kid_...well, he or she just got a lesson in the wonders of the natural world. And, because she was a little shit, she took a picture of that, too, because Ratiri needed to know just what kind of day they’d had. A glance at the elves showed a Thanadir who looked as amused as he decorously could, while Thranduil looked torn between a headache and losing his shit just like she and Earlene had. She’d never actually seen an elf pinch the bridge of their nose before; it was such a Mairead expression it only made her laugh harder.

Earlene smoothly tried to pretend none of that had just happened. “So it says there is a monorail we can take. We’d get off our feet for a bit, and might see an elephant. Not quite an oliphaunt, but so it goes,” she grinned.

Thranduil offered his arm to his wife. “I think that would be an excellent idea,” he laughed, with one final sideways glance at the mother who was so clearly struggling with how to explain sex to her toddler.

“No kid of mind is going to have to ask that question,” Earlene muttered. “Get them around the goats and the roosters and put a stop to _that_ ignorance right away.”

“I found my da’s skin mags,” Lorna said. “I think I was seven or eight. Didn’t have a clue in hell what I was looking at, so I asked Pat. I thought he’d catch fire, his face was that red. Once he’d got the mechanics worked out, I think my words were, ‘That’s disgusting.’ Only, you know, less polite than that.” Not words she wanted to say in public, where other small children might hear her. “Put me off the whole idea until I met Liam.”

Earlene listened, realizing how sheltered she’d been until she was already an adult. Sure, she knew what sex _was_ ; you didn’t be around farm animals without understanding the mechanics in a big hurry. But for herself? Maybe it was her parents’ emphasis on everything else but that; it was hard to figure just now in hindsight. Maybe really it hadn’t been until the internet made taking a look at this or that easy and absolutely anonymous that she’d educated herself a little more. But with no partner and no real interest in emulating what she saw (not to mention a sneaking suspicion that real people just didn’t act like that under ordinary circumstances), it was another thing to be bypassed until Thranduil had allowed for all those curiosities to be answered.

“I have a question, if it isn’t offensive to ask,” Earlene said softly enough that only their group could possibly hear her. “I have heard from you more than once that you do not have the same issues as humans about the body and intimacy, so, here’s hoping. Don’t answer if you don’t wish to. When you marry...I mean, when an elf marries another elf...do you educate each other, somehow about the act of intimacy? Do you somehow just _know_ what to do? Because humans very often don’t, and an amazing array of disasters that range from funny to tragic follow from that ignorance. Just like that kid you saw...plenty of humans will do anything to not tell their children about reproducing, whether it’s animals or people. I just...wondered.”

When Thanadir answered, Earlene had to remember to close her mouth before insects flew in. _That_ was the last thing she expected. “We are all taught, at a young age, the ways in which our bodies work. All of them. Were I to wed, I would understand how to proceed. I will also comment that there are materials that were recorded, offering greater insight into these matters. Books, in plain language. As I have no wife, I have no interest in their content, but I would know where to look should the time ever come. I hope that answers your question,” he said, with a smile.

“It does,” she said, still in disbelief. “Thank you.” _Did not see that one coming. Not one bit_ , she thought, struggling to keep her expression neutral.

Lorna tried to picture elf parents sitting their kids down and giving them The Talk, and wondered just how they’d even go about it. Was it all distant and clinical? She couldn’t imagine that, since while she’d bet they could be distant, she doubted they were ever really clinical. It was certainly a better way to learn about it all than finding your da’s porno mags, which had been off-putting and unpleasant, and left her feeling like the whole act was probably just cheap and stupid and yet another way for women to get used. Not until she met Liam had she realized it could be otherwise.

She had to hand it to Mairead -- when it came to that, her sister hadn’t fucked around, she’d just told her kids what was up and that was that. And -- uh-oh.

“I...will be right back,” she said, making a break for the sign that, quite mercifully, said ‘bathroom’. She was badly off her cycle, and she usually had cramps, but of course she’d fall to the Communists while she was on holiday -- she always did, no matter where she went or when she was in her cycle. She didn’t care how much of a line there was -- if she had to, she’d duck behind a trash can and get on the cotton pony in front of God and everyone.

Earlene frowned, because there were only two reasons a woman needed to dash for the bathroom that badly. As it was, she could not be terribly helpful; near as she could tell, she had a nine to twelve month vacation from that issue. _There has to be some bright side to transforming into an Oompa Loompa_ , she figured.

There was in fact a line, and Lorna did in fact give zero fucks. The bathroom was huge, with twelve rows of stalls on each side and a line of black plastic trash bins near the sinks. Fortunately for everyone else in the room, her tunic was, well, a tunic, and this saved her from flashing the entire lot of them. Once she had everything arranged and her hands washed, she glared at all of them, daring anyone to comment. The entire line of women and girls had gone quiet, staring at her with varying levels of disbelief and horror.

“What, you’d rather I wrecked my knickers? Fuck off.” Out she stalked, in rather high dudgeon, not calming until she reached her little group. “ _Anyway_. Where were we going?”

“Bird house,” Earlene said, while Thranduil stared off into the sky. She wondered at this as well as his expression, but thought a hiatus from asking questions was in order. “Or rather, Bird House, via this monorail thingy.” The two women were more than happy to plunk down into one of the train cars. Maybe it was the day of the week, but the place had a surprising lack of lines; they waited perhaps five minutes for their turn. This part of the visit was surprisingly tranquil. There were enough trees in the acres on acres of habitat that was gliding by to make her forget she was in the middle of one of the largest urban areas on the planet. Truthfully, just being on her arse for ten or so minutes made it more than worthwhile. They disembarked, and went to see the birds. In theory, none of those would be mating. In theory.

Lorna had a less-than-amiable relationship with birds, mainly because of their tendency to shit on everything. She liked them just fine as long as they stayed on a branch or something, but as soon as they started flying...not so much. Nevertheless, some of these were fascinating. Toucans she could recognize from pictures, but there were shitloads of what looked like different types of parrots, all varying sizes and colors, like jewels, or candy rolled in feathers. (And she’d know; her brother Mick had rolled a peppermint up in someone’s fake costume feather boa as a kid. It looked like what you’d get if you skinned Elmo. Mick was always finding and stealing weird shit; the boa wasn’t even the oddest thing he’d ever brought home.)

Thranduil found the birds to be lovely, but...perhaps he was suffering from seeing an excess of new creatures. That life on this earth exceeded what he’d known of, and to such a degree...this would take a very long time to fully absorb. And yet, there was the Internet. His seneschal’s expression seemed to reflect much the same, and so it was with considerable relief when the words “sandwiches” and “outside” entered the dialogue. Not so far away was a magnificent fountain with few people, allowing them to bypass... _what in Eru’s name were those?_ They looked something like cattle, but...all wrong. Thanadir must have thought the same, because he asked Earlene what 'those' were.

“Bison. They are also commonly called buffalo. There were millions of them at one time, herds so large it was said that you could not see the end of them as they ran over the grasslands in the central plains of this country. And then men killed almost all of them for their hides,” she said with disgust. Thranduil wanted to ask if she was perhaps exaggerating, but he would not make that mistake since she so plainly was not. It called to mind again meeting Aidan. Clearly, some humans were wonderful, and others were reprehensible. And yet after Fëanor could it truly be said that they were so very different? Though, Fëanor had been one, and humans that were evil seemed to have been many. This would not be an easy question to answer.

“They’ve cross-bred them with cows now,” Lorna offered, trying to be surreptitious about re-arranging her leggings. “For food. Beefalo, I think they’re called. They get bigger than normal cows, so you can get more food off them.”

Thranduil tried to imagine this and really could not. But soon the sandwiches were passed around, and he was able to think of other things, like this construct the humans called a hoagie. He did not wish to admit how much he liked this food, and wondered if they could be made for him in Ireland.

Lorna did manage to keep her manners about her, mostly, and not completely inhale her sandwich. Whatever this was, it seemed very American, and she meant to see if Big Jamie could duplicate it Irish-style when they got home. “I don’t know about anyone else, but my feet’re going to kill me if we keep this up too much longer,” she said. “I don’t know why they’re sore, given I’m on them all day back home, but Christ are they.” That and she didn’t want to have to ask Thranduil to deal with cramps while out and about. Yeah, it was easy and totally unobtrusive, but still. They hadn’t kicked in yet, but they would. Of that she was entirely sure.

When Thranduil finished his sandwich, he turned sideways and patted the fountain border on which they all were sitting. “Put your feet up here, without the sandals. We will hardly make it through what Earlene has planned next, with both of you in pain.”

Thanadir wordlessly asked the same of Earlene, who did not hesitate to comply. She had on sunglasses, and within a minute was not only enjoying herself completely while feeling the soreness dissolve from her feet and legs, she could also note the glares of unabashed envy that every woman marching a fleet of children into the zoo was sending in her direction at seeing this private Footrub at the Fountain spectacle. Smiling and waving would have been rude, but she was still tempted. Who was she kidding, if she saw this herself she’d be hard pressed not to ask if the ellyn were for hire. She might even beg.

Lorna wondered what it said about her, that getting on the cotton pony in front of God and everyone didn’t faze her, but having a public footrub struck her as weird. Weird, but not anywhere near enough for her to say no, though she did silently apologize for the state of her feet. They’d been clean this morning, but she’d been walking on gritty pavement in sandals. _Thank you. Seriously. If you two ever wanted to go undercover as humans with, y’know, actual jobs, you’d rake it in pretending to be masseuses._ Provided they could handle touching a bunch of human feet, anyway. Mairead had told her horror stories of people coming in for pedicures with all sorts of awful...issues. Right now the ache of her feet and burn of her calves was draining away like water through a sieve. Perhaps fortunately, she was so busy lounging and appreciating the lack of ouch that she didn’t notice the looks anyone was giving, because some things were too awkward. At least, not until some passing, unseen woman muttered, just loud enough to be heard, “Wish my boyfriend would rub my feet.”

No. No. Bad. _Wrong_. So, so, _so_ wrong. She was so disturbed she barely heard another passing woman mutter something about ‘tampons’ and ‘in front of _everyone_.’ That made her automatically flip the bird; she was too agitated to do anything more. Just...no. She actually twitched a bit. (And yet she didn’t withdraw her feet. Priorities. Being skeeved did not outweigh a nice foot rub, and never would. Some things were just instinct.)

Thranduil gave her toe a gentle pinch by way of mild rebuke, but could not keep himself from grinning at her and shaking his head. _Only Lorna_.

The botanical gardens next to the zoo were sheer magnificence. For all that the ellyn enjoyed seeing the animals, this was a place with which they seemed to have a spiritual alignment. There were multiple arboretums. Gardens for roses and lilies, bulbs and peonies. An actual forest. Lilacs and aquatic plants and...it was unreal. There was strangely little talking among them. Lorna walked holding Thranduil’s arm, and Earlene took Thanadir’s. While it was not the same as time spent with them at night in their own forest (nothing was ever, ever going to compare with that), this was not so far off. The lush greens of summer were very beautiful, and there were so many acres here that their wanderings almost made them feel as if they had the place to themselves, though of course that wasn’t true.

“I wouldn’t’ve thought New York would have something like this,” Lorna said, eying a massive magnolia. She really, really wanted to climb it, and was entirely sure she’d get shouted at by some park aide if she did. Damn. “It’s a city. They all have parks, but this is a bit more than a park.” She wondered if the elves would...recharge, here, like batteries. Depriving them of some kind of nature for too long probably wouldn’t be any fun for them at all -- hell, anymore, she wouldn’t enjoy it, either, but she was human. They were connected to the earth in ways she wasn’t.

The pinnacle of all of it was the conserved forest that was here, especially once Earlene read the signs explaining it. This entire place was chosen in 1895, because it was on a chunk of land that represented an uncut, original, native forest. Meaning, that here she had a vision of what it had looked like before humans crossed the sea and began to change it all into something very different. This thought, the sheer contrast...she felt it like a weight on her heart. How it was that she had never thought of these things before formed an amorphous curiosity in her mind, but it was nothing for which she could frame words. Walking here, now, in the care of a woodland elf... _maybe part of what is happening to me is that I am awakening to how much I want nothing else but this_. She glanced up at Thanadir and for the first time, recognized how much she envied him. Them. _All of them_. They would _always_ have this, and it tore at her heart a little. _You can’t think about it_ , she admonished herself. At least she had here, and now. Exactly two humans in the entire world were walking in a forest, with elves. And she was one of them.

Thranduil listened, and could say nothing. For this, he had no answers, and her limited years were a sorrow he was unwilling to consider.

God, Lorna wanted to climb that magnolia. Being a mature adult sucked, somehow all the more so because she’d turned forty. Otherwise, some of this reminded her very much of the woods behind her cottage. “You lot should come see my woods sometime,” she said, looking at Thranduil. “They’re not like yours, but nothing is. I wandered about in there a lot with Gran, after I first lost Liam. It’s peaceful, and there’s a few paths. Great-granddad even built a bridge over the one decent-sized stream.” And Gran had, in all seriousness, put milk outside at night for the fairies. If only she’d lived this long -- but then, Gran was Gran. She wouldn’t pinch Thanadir’s cheek, she’d pinch his arse.

“I would like that,” he said with sincerity, while at the same time trying to frame the disparity between the spiritual musings of Earlene and Lorna’s thoughts. These two could not be more different, and yet it was those extreme divergences that provided him with such joy. “You know,” he said, “I would know if others were nearby. And if you did not make inordinate amounts of noise or shout, I could also keep them from seeing you in the tree. Should someone come along,” he clarified. The twinkling in his eyes was as close as he would go to open encouragement.

Lorna’s eyebrows rose, and she grinned. “You,” she said, “are an enabler. And I am not going to complain at all.” Setting her bag aside, she kicked off her sandals and darted across the grass, for the moment deliberately forgetting that she was a forty-year-old woman. When she was a child, she’d always wanted trees to climb, but the shitty end of south Dublin had a sad dearth of them. Not until she and Liam went traveling had she been able to, while he hovered below her in every expectation she’d fall out.

Up she went, rather like a cat; Lorna was not normally an unduly graceful person, but put her in a tree and she could easily follow a squirrel. The bark was rough beneath her hands and her bare feet, the heady scent of the flowers heavy around her. Up she went, and higher still, surrounded by pale pink, slightly waxy blossoms. Shutting her eyes, she basked in it, the heat of the day temporarily calming rather than oppressive.

Earlene heard...movement, and turned to see what caused the sound, and her mouth fell open with mildly indignant envy. But she didn’t want to climb a magnolia; she’d made eyes not thirty seconds ago at a laurel tree they’d just passed. “No fair!!” Releasing her hold on Thanadir’s arm, she turned on a dime and made tracks for the tree, running as fast as she wanted to. Which right now equalled, as fast as she could. Her hair streamed behind her as she grinned in anticipation, and timed her approach and the running jump she would take into the crotch of the tree. She’d found a rock wall climbing facility over a year before her departure, and she missed the activity; she’d been rather good at it. The arboreal specimen in question had a variety of scaffold limbs and ninety degree angles, and she had herself a pleasant thirty feet off the ground before the shrinking size of the limbs ended her ascent. Little fuzzy white blossoms were everywhere around the leaves, and it was just...lovely. And only then did it cross her mind. “You are right behind me, aren’t you, my Lord? I should have thought to announce my intentions but I had a sudden fit of impulsiveness,” she said in some measure of lighthearted apology, laughing while she tried to turn herself.

Thanadir’s face was amused more than irritated. “You behave much like an elfling, Earlene, and it surprises me.”

She tilted her head. “Are elflings prone to random moments of being mildly irresponsible?”

“Yes, and sometimes it is not ‘mildly’, but I do not wish to give you ideas”, he smirked.

His logic could hardly be faulted, and, she guessed he would prefer that they returned to the ground, and yet…”I cannot descend if you are positioned there,” she pointed out with humor.

He effortlessly leaped over to another branch, gesturing with a measure of glee in his eye that she now had no such hindrance. _That looks so fun! but...no._ It was unfair to tax his sensibilities further, and she was too high up to risk falling. With a smile, she descended easily to the crotch of the tree, only to realize with a frown that it had one of those shapes that made climbing up far easier than the reverse. She had almost worked out a way to jump down when Thanadir looked up at her from the ground. It took willpower to resist calling him a show-off, but she managed. Smirking at her predicament for only a moment, his face softened and he held out his arms to her. “You _want_ me to jump to you?” she asked dubiously, not seeing how that wouldn’t get both of them flattened in an unpleasant heap.

He crossed his arms in mock indignation before resuming his gesture of invitation. “Estelio nin, Earlene,” he said softly. (trust me)

 _Well, damn_ , she thought. She’d really, really rather just do this on her own and... _dammit. But, I do trust him_... If there was such a thing as jumping lightly, she tried to do it, at least in her mind. And then she was on her feet, his hands at her waist. Nothing had hurt, and she hadn’t even landed hard. “Manen agoreg?” (How did you do that?)...Ú, _man_ agoreg….?” (No, _what_ did you do?) She stared at him.

He offered his arm, smiled unfathomably, and replied “Ni edhel,” (I am an elf) as if that explained everything.

Unless Lorna was much mistaken, Earlene had picked a tree herself. The thought made her grin -- Earlene was always so...not dignified, precisely, but close. So adult. That she would be willing to climb a tree, like a child, like Lorna -- it had to be a good thing.

Lorna, however, abruptly decided she needed out of hers, because something small and many-legged landed on her nose, tiny wings fanning her skin. When she opened her eyes, they immediately crossed, but spotted a very large bumblebee.

“Shoo,” she said, lightly nudging it with her forefinger. It apparently didn’t want to, but it also didn’t seem poised to sting her; it just wanted a break, and her face was a good place to land. So she let it sit, shutting her eyes when it tromped its way up to her forehead. Eventually it took off, and she half-climbed, half-fell out of the tree (going down always was harder than going up, but whatever). She had petals stuck on her shirt, in her hair, and one, _somehow_ , between the toes of her left foot.

At the end of this final walk, they all looked at each other, and it did not need words. Their time had been magical, but...Food. Drink. Go Home, such as it was. On the cross-town bus, Earlene stared at the assorted billboards and ads that flew past her tired eyeballs and saw one that cheered her. “Hey Lorna, did you know they are going to do a human remake of the Disney _Beauty and the Beast_? I read an article about it, and it sounds like it’ll be incredible.”

“Are they?” Lorna asked. “Gaston reminds me way too much’v bloody Aidan.” Glancing at the elves, she wondered what _they’d_ make of it. Had they even seen 2D animation before? _Beauty and the Beast_ was as good an introduction as any; it had won awards, if she recalled correctly. “If it’s on the cable menu, we should watch it. Human fairytales are interesting things, though the ones you get nowadays are just a bit different than the ones written a few hundred years ago.” She’d never forget when she found out how the _original_ Little Mermaid had gone. Good fucking grief. Hans Christian Andersen, he clearly had some issues.

“I love that movie. We should watch it regardless; there is almost always a version lurking on YouTube if nothing else.” Earlene actually cackled. “Aidan. _No oooooooone fights like Gaston…_ ”

Lorna immediately jumped in, waving her arm in a sweeping gesture that narrowly avoided smacking the poor bastard to her left.. “Douses lights like Gaston….”

And then, they were both on it, much to the horror of the ellyn. “In a wrestling match nobody bites like Gaston!” After which, fortunately, they both began laughing uncontrollably, irritating the hell out of the dour commuters. And neither Earlene nor Lorna gave any fucks, though Thranduil and Thanadir flashed some of the other riders shrugs of apology.

******

Lorna, both footsore and rather crampy, claimed the bathroom when they _got_ back to the hotel, taking a nice long soak. While the tub wasn’t a patch on hers in the Halls or in her cottage (she’d sprung for a damn nice one, when she renovated) it was still relaxing. New York really was grimy, even more so than Dublin, and the rooms were so white that she didn’t dare touch anything. Eventually, clean, relaxed, and swamped in sweatpants and a T-shirt she’d stolen from Ratiri (a very old, faded Nirvana shirt he’d been holding onto for twenty years, black with a yellow smiley face), she wadded up the pillows so she could rest against the headboard. _Hey Thranduil, can you fix my cramps?_ she asked, still feeling just a touch awkward about it. Why, she had no idea, but whatever. None of them thought it was weird, so she’d get over it.

(Ratiri, though...Ratiri, who was a bit more conventional than Lorna was, and was carrying preconceived notions about the elves, however much he was trying to discard them...sooner or later they’d blue-screen his brain, poor guy.)

The King, looking up from his laptop screen with a slightly weary expression after the sum of the day, held out his hand to her. While he wouldn’t say it aloud, it warmed his heart that someone this reticent had begun to trust him so much. Nothing could be easier, and that problem was soon fixed.

 _Thanks_ , she said, already more relaxed. Speaking of Ratiri, she fired up her laptop and downloaded the day’s pictures. He would appreciate them in a way no other could. Lion sex, her as a butterfly-magnet, and Thranduil getting licked by a giraffe...he was going to wonder if New York would survive the lot of them.

Earlene disappeared into the bathroom not long after Lorna emerged, and if Thanadir or Lorna noticed Thranduil slip in after her, they were wise enough not to comment on it in any manner. Lorna just stuck her headphones in, doing her best not to be slightly squicked (seriously, Thranduil had so reached Pat-status in her mind that just...no). Fortunately there was YouTube and cat videos.

“Poor Lorna is drowning out what she fears we are doing in here together,” he smiled at Earlene as they undressed.

A grin of reply quickly softened to a reflective look. “Most times, I could be persuaded. But after today...all I want is to sit in hot water, with you holding me, if we can somehow actually both fit in there.”

“We will manage.” He unclasped her necklace for her, and laid it aside. He cradled her against him in the steaming water, while they exchange silent and private thoughts.

When they emerged, Earlene flopped on the bed. “Hot water fixes everything. It also does something to make your skeleton not solid anymore,” she groaned, fumbling for the remote. She did not seem to care that it looked a little odd for her to be searching the TV options with her head hung upside down off the end of the bed. “Ha! Found it!” she exclaimed triumphantly, rolling over onto her stomach. “OK, whenever everyone’s ready” she piped up. “No way in hell I want to go out, and that means, we’re getting room service. Here’s the menu, figure out what you want everyone….”

Fifteen minutes later, they began their silly evening, all piled on the bed closer to the flat screen TV. Thanadir’s popularity rose to an all-time high as he kept on with more foot rubs, and Lorna and Earlene happily sang along to the whole damn movie at what for them was a reasonably quiet volume. “ _Little town, it’s a quiet village. Every day, like the one before…”_

It had been a good day, all in all. Weird, but good. And yet, weren’t they all? When elves were involved, there was no such thing as ‘normal’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnote: While we’ve gone to great pains to describe these places as they actually are, we made one exception: there is no interactive structure at the Bronx Zoo that allows one to pet the giraffes. But we couldn’t resist the idea of the scene, so, there it is anyway.


	36. Thirty-six

The next morning found them at their now-familiar ritual of sipping coffee and assaulting the baked goods case at Tisserie; by now most of the staff must have heard of Thanadir’s appetite, as they covertly and not-so-covertly watched him devour pastry after pastry. Lorna, not trying to be remotely covert, took a picture of him and his empty, crumb-filled plate. She still had no idea where he put it all, unless his stomach was a TARDIS. His T-shirt was fitted enough that she’d be able to tell if he had a food baby.

It was a good deal hotter than it had been the day before -- 78 degrees fahrenheit, which she’d had to convert on her phone to 25 and a half degrees celsius. Not hot by New York standards, apparently, but broiling by that of the Irish; fortunately, the nicest of her tunics, the black velvet one, had short sleeves. Thranduil had fixed the scar on her left leg (though the pin had to stay in; there was simply no way of getting _that_ out short of surgery), so she no longer had to be self-conscious about letting anyone actually see her legs. She also wrapped her braid around her head like a crown, to keep it off the back of her neck. She was fast discovering that having long, thick hair in a hot and humid climate was not a comfortable thing, and she prayed their day’s destinations had air conditioning. Earlene had lived here for years, and was no doubt used to it, and Lorna was quite sure elves didn’t care about extremes of temperature unless they were really extreme, but she’d lived almost all her life on a tiny island where the average summer temperature was 16 degrees celsius, which was about 60 degrees Fahrenheit.

Just the knowledge that today would not be overshadowed by her brother was enough to restore Earlene’s overall enthusiasm. However, she had taken some time after _Beauty and the Beast_ to send a very detailed email to Claire, her lawyer. If it contained more detail than would be usual in a professional setting, she hoped she could be forgiven. Claire was a friend, and not only someone on retainer. It was not possible to leave out her mixed feelings of being very excited about Allanah and completely disgusted with every aspect of her brother’s demeanor. The ball was now out of her court, at least for the moment. But in the back of her mind, her thoughts were already simmering on at least one thing: Adoptions usually required the oversight of social workers. Specifically, an inspection of the prospective home for suitability, safety, etc etc. That whoever these people might be would never see the Halls of the Elvenking went without saying, which left her poor cottage to be the alleged reflection of Allanah’s future home. The unused room that currently housed every item she’d not quite decided what to do with would have to be converted to a nursery. And what did it matter, she had an entire barn; it wasn’t like storage space had to be an issue. Would it be wise, or necessary, to add on to the home itself? The little place was already the scene of so much more activity than she could ever have envisioned...and while the social workers might not know it, the additional reality was, two more children were on the way. Not all their time was spent at the Halls; the baby would need a suitable place of her own. The _babies_...at least they were all female. Yet it was hardly realistic to expect that past infancy, the children would be content to share a tiny, cramped room. And Thranduil had said that their own children would be different; precocious. She shook her head as she sipped the swirls of the whipped cream melting atop her mocha. These were all matters that could be left to later.

Earlene stifled a grin as she nibbled on her spinach and cheese croissant. She’d caught just after they arrived today that every moment the staff behind the counter had a lull in their patrons, glances were being cast at the seneschal, who had limited himself to only five baked goods this morning, and a yogurt parfait. Part of her was glad that she was both relatively wealthy and that she had mentally agreed with herself that she would not be evidencing her customary frugality on this trip. Not six months ago she would have been horrified at the sums of money going to food, drink, and admission to the assorted attractions but...not this time. Money no longer even had real meaning, not when her own portfolio was now backed by a literal King’s ransom in wealth. Her own resources were merely a conduit for what Thranduil would provide; she wasn’t really spending her own funds, truth be told. And as the beautiful seneschal appeared to be finishing the last of his morning beverage...she decided to leave Lorna and Thranduil here to relax a few moments longer, and take Thanadir with her to the deli across the street for their day’s lunch supplies.

Lorna had already decided that she’d been missing out all these years, in her stubborn refusal to drink coffee. Admittedly, this was coffee with a load of cream and sugar, but still. “All right, I didn’t want to make Earlene feel guilty by asking this,” she said, draining the last of her mug (which was more the size of a small bowl; _everything_ in America was huge). “Is there any way to deal with, y’know, this heat? Because too much time out there and I’ll drop, but I don’t want Earlene worrying I’ll keel over from heat stroke every time she looks at me.”

Thranduil looked up from the front page section of the Times and frowned, recalling that he had caught thoughts of discomfort from her off and on, when they were at the zoo. “Yes, I can help you. But we should also ask Earlene. There may be some very simple solutions to this that we have not considered. I will acknowledge that it is far warmer here, but Cian and I have a much greater zone of comfort and adapt quicker to changes. Try to remember, Earlene does not worry about the same sorts of things you do. She does not lack empathy, but neither would she hover over you in anticipation of your dropping in your tracks. But either way, I will make sure I pay greater attention. I am not certain of today’s plans, but I believe that much of our time will be spent indoors.”

Lorna laughed. “I’d figured as much,” she said. “It probably takes some bloody extreme hot or cold to faze you lot. This is literally the hottest weather I’ve ever seen, though; Ireland isn’t exactly known for what anyone here would probably call a heat wave. So long as she’s not worried, though -- my problem is that I’ve lived too long around hoverers. Mairead, Gran, even Big Jamie...they’ve rubbed off on me in a bad, bad way.”

Earlene and Thanadir returned, with Earlene biting her cheeks hard. Lorna raised her eyebrows, seeing that the seneschal was laden down with what appeared to be more than four sandwiches, if the bulge in the paper bags he carried were any indication. Making her beloved grabby-hands gesture, she took the food from him to find how to possibly stow all that in her leather satchel. She’d give credit for one thing; these New Yorkers knew how to wrap food.

“We should go now, if everyone is ready?” Earlene announced. A temporarily unfocused look came over her face as her husband passed on information silently. _Ah. The first thing for that is, a wet cloth around one’s neck. And I have such a thing in my purse; it has not yet been warm enough for me to need it._ Thranduil nodded, and she continued aloud. “The first thing today is the Metropolitan Museum, one of my favorite places. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and, you’ll be pleased to know it’s air-conditioned,” she smiled, as she led them outside and hailed a cab. They’d be on their feet quite enough today, there was no need to add taking public transportation there to the list.

“I looked it up on Google last night,” Lorna said, hefting her bag. “It seems to be up there with the Louvre or the British Museum in terms’v she sheer amount’v stuff in it.” Not that she’d been to either of those places, but she knew they were two of the biggest museums in the world. Though of them made her vaguely nervous, for the purely nonsensical fear that she might somehow accidentally touch and break something, despite the fact that that was pretty much impossible.

The cabbie dropped them off near the steps to the imposingly large building, which looked very much like it would be at home in one of the great cities of Europe. Give or take the food carts hawking every imaginable form of sausage and other street fare; all three of them surreptitiously glanced at Thanadir, who apparently was actually full. His head did not even turn toward the delicious smells, so interested was he in what lay ahead.

Lorna was just glad to get into the air conditioning, but she just about halted in her steps. While she’d seen a picture of this online last night, the reality, like so much she’d seen in this city, was so much _more_.

Like half the things she’d seen in New York, it was far larger than it had to be, pale stone shaped into massive walls and arches, much like a cathedral, with a massive, round skylight over the very center. It was crowded, but not unduly so; she wasn’t worried about being trampled underfoot. Even so, it echoed, the room vast enough that even ordinary speech was amplified into a slightly bewildering din.

There was, fortunately, one of those ‘you are here’ signs, so they wouldn’t be wandering aimlessly. Egyptian art was probably among the oldest here, maybe going back five or six thousand years -- a scarcely-conceivable time to a human, but probably little time at all for an elf.

Earlene knew the place, though; she’d likely be a better guide than any of the ones that came with the place, since she’d know how best to answer the elves’ questions. Lorna’s knowledge of ancient Egypt was, like so many things, limited to fairly useless trivia: the fact that when a family’s cat died, they shaved their eyebrows and stayed in mourning until they grew back, or that most people got around the endemic head lice issue by shaving their heads and wearing wigs. Of the actually important bits of history she knew next to nothing.

On arrival, the three who had not seen this place before were given the chance to ogle the Great Hall, so lovely and ornate. Earlene could tell that even Thranduil was suitably impressed, for while it was different of course, there were echoes of the beauty of his stone Halls here. When everyone seemed to have absorbed what they wished, Earlene steered them toward Egypt. There were few other patrons near them, and she turned to her husband while they stood in front of a lavishly painted wooden sarcophagus. “You said to me once, early on that before there were pyramids in Egypt, you existed in the forest. That phrase always stuck with me. But what I always wanted to ask you was, if you never left your woods, how did you know any such things existed?” Her keen eyes stared up at him as she crossed her arms.

Lorna, who recalled hearing something similar from Thranduil in the past, thought that was a damn good question, and joined Earlene in staring him down. Thanadir simply kept his Mona Lisa smile, while meandering nearby to admire a statue of Bast in a display case.

The King looked from woman to woman and smiled; it was an insightful query yet he felt the answer would disappoint them. “I did not wander off and visit those lands, if that is what you are wondering,” he said. “But others did. Two men came along the road near the forest one day, travelers and explorers. This was perhaps one hundred and fifty of your years prior. What exactly they were doing in a place like Lasg’len I never knew. But as they walked, they told their stories, and in short order I was intrigued a great deal. I will confess to having followed them unseen, for some time, just to hear their tales and see the images in their thoughts. It was amazing, to me, and it is how I learned some things concerning the outside world. When you came to me, Earlene, it was the only thing I knew of that was very old in the human world, to use by way of reference. Not very exciting, perhaps, but that is the answer.”

 _What a day that must have been, in the life of a bored elf_ , Earlene reasoned. “All this must be so...entertaining, for you,” she realized. While there were no pyramids here, a great deal of human history was crammed under this roof. The best of them, in a way. Nothing was here because it was worthless, or lacked a story to tell.

Lorna and Earlene moved past the jewelry and the baskets (how in fuck did a basket survive for three and a half thousand years, without elves?) to the Temple of Dendur, where they spent some time looking at the hieroglyphs just inches from their faces. “I learned a little about these, once,” Earlene said, resisting with difficulty the temptation to reach out and touch the carvings. “Their language is insane; Sindarin is ten thousand times easier. For example, see that one that looks like squiggly lines? That is what is called a uniliteral. That is both the sign for water, and also the sign for the sound of “n”. And there are biliterals and triliterals. And there is grammar, and rules for combining them and...it’s a goddamn nightmare, is what it is,” she said thoughtfully. “Rosetta Stone or no, how anyone ever made up from down out of hieroglyphs is a miracle.”

“They had a bloody complex culture,” Lorna said, “and a bit’v a weird one.” She tried to stand on her tiptoes to read the plaque beside a fragment of pale, carven stone. “When you died, they mummified you, when meant yanking out all your organs and sticking them in jars. The theory was that once you got to the afterlife, you’d still have all your bits, though I’m not sure just what good having everything in jars would do. You got buried with whatever treasure you actually had, which just meant your tomb got looted at first opportunity by anyone brave enough to risk pissing off the dead.”

Eying the line of sarcophagi, she added, “So, there was this king, right, King Tut, who died and got buried and forgot about, so when he got found in the nineteen-twenties, his tomb was pretty much untouched. This English tosser decided to take half the shite to their museum, against the warnings’v the native Egyptians, and a bunch’v the people involved in it died or had some other awful thing happen to them. It made the idea of a ‘mummy curse’ really popular.”

“I’ve never know what to think of that,” Earlene quipped. “Yeah the British and the French arguably packed off with gobs of what wasn’t theirs to have, but at the time Egypt was a hopeless excuse for a society, and had it not gone to the hands of academics at the time, would any of it be left at all? It seems so hard to say. I mean, look at that broad collar there, all that gold and those beautiful stones. How in hell did they even manage, and you can’t tell me it wouldn’t have been ruined in some backwater of Cairo had it not gone to a museum. That and ten thousand other things like it,” she trailed off.

“One’v those questions that can’t be answered,” Lorna said. “On the one hand, they’d left it alone for thousands’v years already, but on the other, a lot’v them were desperate. Then again, I automatically have to call bullshit on anything the English do, ever. If I don’t, they’ll take my Irish license away,” she said, giving Thranduil a side-eyed grin. She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said, and the thought of Thanadir somehow taking away his license to be an Elf king was just too damn hilarious. “Oi, so, you see that statue’v the cat? We domesticated dogs, but the theory is that cats just sort’v...moved in, and domesticated themselves. They got rid’v the rats and mice that ate the grain, and they were cute and fuzzy, and the Egyptians wound up worshipping them like gods.”

“And Droopy, Wobbles, and Hunnie Bunnie do not know that anything has changed,” quipped Thanadir to appreciative laughter from everyone but Thranduil, who had not yet had the pleasure of meeting these feline monstrosities. However, of the four of them, Thranduil was the one who most often was found indulging little Tail. He decided that never mentioning finding the kitten in the platter of meat would be wise.

Lorna, now somehow at the head of the line, bypassed the American wing for now, heading to Arms and Armor. This was more her style, because it was more her history. She’d never seen a suit of plate armor in real life, and it looked like an absolute bitch to wear. She could only imagine how long it must have taken to get on right. “Fun but disgusting fact? That armor was so difficult to get in and out’v that the knight would just shit and piss in it, and his page had to deal with cleaning it afterward.” Unable to ask this aloud for security reasons, she added, _I can’t imagine you lot doing that, so how the hell did you manage it? Or do you just not have to go as often as we do?_ Not a question she would have ever thought she’d ask, but hey, it was a good one. Inquiring minds needed to know. Ratiri would also be interested in the answer. What she did not anticipate was that Thranduil would immediately brainwave this query over to Thanadir.

The seneschal erupted into laughter that he then attempted to stifle against Earlene’s shoulder while she patted him on the back. _Oh, this had to be good, if the elves were both laughing at it_...and “it” almost assuredly came from Lorna, Earlene reasoned, just before her husband brought her up to speed. Even Thranduil seemed perilously close to, as Lorna might say, losing his shit. When another visitor fired an accusatory glance in the seneschal’s direction, Earlene said aloud, frostily and in her best fake accent, “Well, we’re Eye-rish, so if we want to talk about Henry the Eighth shitting his trousers, what’s it to you?” The woman’s eyes widened and she hurriedly retreated to the other side of the room, at which point Earlene joined them in laughter. _Oh, this was not going as planned but who cares…._

And it was, after all exactly the display they were at; one of the dear monarch’s last suits of armor, when his personal corpulence must have been at impressive proportions.

Thranduil gently but firmly lined up his errant charges against the nearby wall until everyone regained their composure, though privately he found his wife’s unexpected outburst to be hilarious. “The answer to your question is,” he responded very quietly, “that you have not seen our armor. Since this subject intrigues you, I will happily don mine when we return home, and you will see that elven armor suffers from no such design flaws; we were more than able to take care of life’s necessities in a sanitary manner at need; we were not orcs, by Eru.” His voice was earnest but his eyes were twinkling. And now he would spend all day with these labelled as “privy suits” in his mind. _Oh, the trials of being a friend of Lorna…_

Fortunately they were all soon appreciating some of the finest weapons he had ever seen in the next rooms, of a kind he did not know. Earlene explained that these were early firearms, which only seemed to engender further confusion. So she first explained black powder, and shot and bullets, and that basically everything he was seeing were the technological evolutions of what they called guns, or firearms. An ornate powder horn or two helped them envision her descriptions of how they worked; the flintlock and the wheellock. But these were no ordinary weapons, inlaid as they were with gems and precious metals and ivory. “These were functional weapons, but they belonged to royalty; kings and queens, emperors and empresses. No ordinary person would have had anything like them.” When the King’s eyebrow raised, she hoped more questions would not follow. While it was possible to fire guns here in the States without undue difficulty, it was out of the question back home.

“You know how I keep saying European --” Lorna couldn’t say _human_ , not out loud “-- royalty sucked? Yeah, they did. They wanted to make sure nobody but them had anything fancy or useful, like these guns. The English kept the Irish from having them because having an armed population that actively hates you is a terrible idea. As a result, it was bloody hard to hunt anything, because nobody really knew how to make bows anymore -- and the English got pissy if we killed their precious birds or rabbits anyway. Birds and rabbits were worth more than we were.” And in that, at least, their own poor had shared. Impoverished English tenant farmers had starved right along with the Irish, worth no more to their so-called ‘betters’ than people on the other side of that narrow sea.

Thranduil digested all of this. It was true, for him, that he’d had gems, the finest of clothing, objects and trappings befitting the kingship he had claimed. But to enjoy these things while his people half-starved? To dress in silks while his subjects went half-naked? The behavior described was a moral outrage. He had always taken great pride in the welfare those who had given him their fealty. Down to the last child, his elves were well-fed, well-clothed, and well-housed. Each had some task to do, according to their desires and abilities. Their happiness meant a great deal to him; they were like his children, in a manner of speaking. These human monarchs sounded...execrable. But on their way out, both he and Thanadir stopped to greatly admire the rapiers and other variations on swords that were housed here; even though it was obvious that these were for ceremonial use only.

Feeling over-saturated in warfare, Earlene tugged them upstairs to something she at least knew Thanadir would enjoy; the collection of musical instruments. This was one of her favorites. There were concert recordings online, of some of the famous violins and other stringed instruments displayed here; especially the ones by Stradivarius. Which got her to thinking. The day of their wedding party, in town, how Thanadir had just picked up Bridie’s violin and within seconds been able to play it. She should really see about buying one for him...talent like that deserved to have an entire music room at its disposal. Besides, from a purely selfish viewpoint, gifts like that to Thanadir would likely equal long hours of listening to him play when she was that beached whale that was now inevitably part of her future. For a moment she had a vision of being wrapped up on a cold winter’s day, listening to music...and it was incredibly appealing.

“Who is this...Stradivarius?” asked Thanadir, enthralled by the instruments he knew he was not allowed to touch. “I see his name here, more than once.” Earlene pondered how to frame the reply.

“It’s not just one guy, it’s a whole family,” Lorna said, “though this one bloke was the main one who made these. The really big deal about Stradivarius violins is that nobody actually knows how he built them -- the process was a secret, so people have tried and failed to re-create them for the last three hundred years or so. Supposedly they sound better than any other sort’v really good violin, but in blind testing they don’t actually seem to. They’re mainly so famous because nobody knows how the hell they were made.”

Nodding, Earlene felt she could not have summed it up better, and moved on toward the piano...which she wished she could play. Come to think of it, she wished she could play something. Anything. With a slight feeling of bitterness, she looked on it as yet another bypassed opportunity. Had it been worth it, to push almost everything else aside to be so good, so well-regarded, at just one thing in this life? Or had it all been a colossal mistake, costing her more in lost enrichment and enjoyment than she could ever get back? _Well, it’s not too late_ , she said to herself. _If you want to learn to play something, what’s stopping you?_ While she stared at Cristofori’s piano, she had no answer. What _was_ stopping her? Sure, it wouldn’t be like for Thanadir, five minutes and he’s playing Beethoven or whatever, but she was not incapable of learning… her thoughts drifted away on this until she felt the seneschal’s arm slip around her own.

“Are you well, meldis?” he asked, as his attention was already being diverted to the object in front of him.

“I am, i Hîr nin. I was only lamenting to myself that I cannot play an instrument, followed by wondering exactly what is stopping me.”

“If you do not have a good answer, perhaps we should seek to address that, Hiril vuin,” he said softly. “Earlene, what is this, in front of us?”

“That is the first piano,” she answered. “Or rather, it is the second piano, but it is the oldest of its kind still in existence of those made by the man who invented the instrument. Each of those keys can be pressed, alone or in combinations, to produce the sound. The sound of it is lovely, and there were many, many compositions written for it.” And suddenly it flashed into her mind what she would like to learn, though it was completely mad. _Harpsichord_. She loved all the music written for harpsichord, and if she were to learn, that is what she would enjoy the most. _Yeah, because those are a dime a dozen on Amazon, she thought. Leave it to you to want the most impractical thing next to a….tuba._

She was about to pull away when she found her arm still firmly held; the seneschal smiled at her. “What instrument would you like to learn, if you could?” he asked.

Earlene had a deer-in-the-headlights moment, because having just figured that out, she could not tell him honestly that she did not know. “It’s too impractical,” she demurred. Which was the wrong thing to say entirely, because now she had gained his full attention. 

“That was not what I asked you,” he said with a note of sternness though he still smiled.

Sighing in defeat, she pointed across the room. “Those. All the music I most love to listen to is written for those. But they are not easy to find, and I would imagine they are very costly. They are like a piano, and yet not.”

“Harpsichord?” he said, looking at her, only to see her nod as her cheeks flushed with some embarrassment. This could only lead in one direction, and now she’d put her foot in it, clean up to her ankle.

Lorna was highly distracted by the mandolins. They were one of the earliest precursors to a guitar, so of course she’d be interested in them. The construction of this type of stringed instrument really hadn’t varied a great deal, right up until steel-stringed instruments came into being. She had been lucky enough to get her hands on a steel twelve-string once, but her stupid tiny hands hadn’t be able to manage a bar chord worth a damn. She had all this bloody money now -- maybe she should buy herself a better acoustic, but she was attached the one she’d had. She and Liam hand panhandled all over Ireland and Britain with it, and it was not a bad instrument. She’d try a violin, if she could get a well-made one in child-size. A piano was a nope, but she wouldn’t have been able to fit one of _those_ in her cottage anyway. Trying to be a musician when you had freaking tiny child-hands took some creativity.

Thranduil had spent his time reading all the informational descriptions and wondering what in Eru’s name half of these things sounded like when played. Then again, they would be home tonight, and there were videos on the Internet. That is, if they did not have another sing-a-long on his bed. The women were so silly at times, and yet it brought joy to see them in such light-hearted abandon. He had to stifle a laugh at his memory of what they’d done during one of the songs, taking the cutlery and cleaned plates from their meal and waving them about; he and Thanadir had been busy keeping all the items from being flung about the room...something about _Be Our Guest…_

It was soon time to move on, and they found themselves in an area with yet another ancient and lost civilization. This section housed exhibits from a place called Assyria, and the palace of an unpronounceable king. _Aren’t you glad, my Lord, that you do not need rooms for purification and ritual protection?_ she teased.

Thranduil arched his eyebrows at her. _Are you certain I do not have them? After all, you have not see the entire Palace_ , he teased back.

 _True, but if you were sacrificing bulls in there I think I would have heard something by now_ , she smiled, getting in the last word. “Oooooh, Gates of Bablyon stuff,” she said, moving off toward two lions depicted in bas relief in glazed tiles. “This place would have give yours a run for its money,” she said very quietly, determined now to remember to show him the reconstructions of the Ishtar Gate so he could have an understanding of the context of these two creatures.

 _Hey Thranduil, how old were you, when this was current?_ Lorna asked. She still didn’t know just how old either he or Thanadir were. “Okay, so, there was this guy in ancient Babylon named Ea-nasir, and he’s got what’s believed to be the world’s oldest complaint form. He was into everything -- copper, kitchen goods, second-hand clothes, and everyone hated him, because apparently he was a cheating gobshite. Anyway, he’d get this old-school hate-mail and he _kept_ it. All’v it, in some room in his house, and now we know who he is four thousand years later -- all because he was an asshole.”

 _When Babylon was current, or Assyria? I do not know Ea-nasir_ , he returned, with a smirk of amusement, before realizing that Lorna and Earlene had long reconciled themselves to a view of his age that was more or less accurate. Lorna had him at at least ten thousand years of age, and Earlene had begun to use closer to twenty thousand so...really, there was no point fearing any longer for their sensibilities. _I will be honest, Lorna, I would have to sit down with Thanadir and carefully compare calendars to tell you my exact age. There comes a time when one stops keeping precise records of such matters. Thanadir mentioned a figure of eighteen thousand years to Earlene some time back and...that would not be too far removed from accuracy._ The look in his eyes was almost apologetic but, there was nothing he could do about it.

Lorna’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. _All of a sudden I don’t feel bad about turning forty_ , she said.

It was the best answer she could have given, because it put him at ease and genuinely made him laugh. That they could share humor about a topic that in some ways was not funny in the least touched his heart.

Already at their visual saturation point, and yet with room upon room remaining to be viewed, they walked more quickly now. Bronzes and ornate Art Deco rooms bled into pillared halls, extravagant objects from the Far East, and even entire rooms preserved from other cultures and historical eras. Some time was allocated at the end to the store/gift shop, which had some really nice offerings. Lorna found a very pretty set of Art Deco peacock earrings for Mairead, who would find any and every excuse to wear them.

Finally, they’d had enough. “Bathrooms, anyone, before we leave, and do you mind if we eat outside? Earlene asked, with an overly hopeful look on her face that no one felt inclined to naysay. Being smart that way, the women made use of the facilities before departing. Earlene marvelled at how little elves seemed to need this function, and decided not to think about it. Especially given what she’d read pregnancy would do to her relationship with toilets. Lorna just needed to deal with the fact that when one rode the cotton pony, the pony occasionally had to be replaced. At least this time a stall was available.

They exited back out onto 5th Avenue and walked around the building. It was obvious that Earlene was on a mission to somewhere she wished to go and...ah. They rounded the corner of the museum to see that on the side of a small hill, there stood an obelisk. A little path led up to the base of it where there were benches, and with great happiness Earlene plunked down and waited for the distribution of sandwiches.

Soon everyone was munching their food, and after seeing Thranduil wrinkle his nose at the sharp scent of her lox and cream cheese sandwich (Earlene saw no need to eat anything _but_ lox, for the duration of this visit) she stood up to slowly circle the great pillar. _Here we are again, you and I. Except, I left, and here you still are_ , she reflected at the silent monument that told its praise of a forgotten Pharaoh to the skies above. _And I was right, I didn’t belong here. And neither do you, though I suspect you are not going anywhere._ Earlene did not care about her odd mental relationship to this ancient carving. Seeing it once again felt like checking in with an old friend. She continued to eat her sandwich, and ponder all the changes that had come since she last stood here.

Lorna, already sweating, conscientiously chugged water while she ate her sandwich, mainly so she could tell Ratiri she did. It was so hot she almost wasn’t hungry, but she ate anyway, knowing that if she didn’t, she’d regret it later. She wondered if she could get away with dumping the rest of the water over her head without anyone looking at her weird.

 _Is Lorna too warm?_ Earlene asked Thranduil, temporarily breaking off from communing with the obelisk.

_She is, meluieg._

_I’ll be right back; I need to get this wet_. A water fountain was not so far away; it would allow her to tank up herself as well as soak the bandana. Though, perhaps a better statement would be, the fountain was no so far away for a runner. She paused. Thanadir had finished his food. _Perhaps you could let Thanadir know; it will save him the trouble of being surprised when I leave. I need to run or else this will take forever._ Thranduil looked up with a grin and a slight nod, and seconds later Earlene was off to what she fondly thought of as The Watering Hole. They ran easily past several tourists whose wider middles spoke of the probable inability that they would run much of anywhere.

“Why are so many of those we see physically unfit?” Thanadir asked carefully, not entirely certain how to phrase this.

“Many reasons. We lead more sedentary lives now; just decades ago people had to move around more, do more physical labor. But the biggest reason of all is food. You have not been exposed to the worst of it because I refuse to buy it or eat it. Processed food. That means, all the things you see in the stores that are in bags and boxes and cans. Food that has had something done to it so that it lasts a very long time. Outside of our King’s Realm, food is _supposed_ to spoil within a given amount of time. Fresh food has the nutrients bodies need. When vegetables and fruits and meats and grains are eaten, one isn’t hungry later for foods that are not healthy. But the kind of food that most people eat fills the stomach but does not give nutrition. And so people are hungry for more and more of it. They weigh too much and become ill, while their bodies are actually starving. It is more complicated than what I am saying now, but, that is much of it.”

Thanadir thought privately that for a human, Earlene ran very well; not so different than what the elves could do. He was fascinated by this thing called Public Drinking Fountain, which seemed like a marvel. Though, he watched as Earlene constantly had to move her head to keep the water from splashing in her face. “Did you want to try?” she grinned, wetting the cloth. He eyed it skeptically and declined, he was not particularly thirsty. Lorna was delivered of the bandana, which hopefully would keep her a little cooler. They walked at a very leisurely pace to the west, with the vague destination of Belvedere Castle. When they came within sight of it, Earlene pointed it out to Lorna with a grin. “They built it just to look nifty,” she said.

New York, Lorna decided, was just full of surprises. An arboretum, and now a castle. A tiny castle, but a castle nonetheless. “It does,” she said, pulling her phone out of her bra even as she scurried toward it, bag somewhat awkwardly thumping against her side, keeping her _eeeeee!_ internal. Ratiri was going to love this, she thought, as she snapped away before turning on the video camera. “Okay, so look at this,” she said, panning it over the castle. It was about as big as a decent-sized house, suitably castle-esque for something produced in America. “Earlene says it was just built to look good, just...because. I’m going to see if you can actually go inside it.” Even if not, she was totally willing to climb part of it. She’d climbed a tree, so why not a castle?

“There is no real explanation for this place, as near as I can tell,” Earlene explained. It is what is called ‘a folly.’ In this instance that means a building whose purpose is to look good, for lack of better words. But I have read that there is a weather station here, and that it is a good place to watch birds.” She eyed Lorna, frowning. “Thanadir, you may wish to turn guarding me over to a higher authority for the moment. I’d hate for our Lorna to end up on the wrong side of gravity.” Whether to laugh or be mildly concerned, that was the question. Earlene watched her friend make a solid attempt at scaling a wall in a less than usual manner, but Thanadir was already silently closing the distance to her. Unlike that derp of a tourist that had managed to fall, she would at least have a safety net that hopefully would not be needed.

Lacking any other way to carry her phone, Lorna opted to hold it in her teeth, grateful her sandals had good soles. Not looking down, that was the real trick; this was rather higher than her tree of yesterday, but scrambling like a squirrel was not new to her.

Once she’d got up, however, and could survey her temporary domain, she realized just _how_ high she was, and, after snapping a few more pictures and some video, immediately started looking for a better way down. Climbing with her bag really had not been the wisest idea, but this was New York; like hell was she leaving it unattended.

A bit of scrabbling led her to a slightly lower slope, so she inched her way along it, scratching her arms on branches as she went, but still having far too much fun. She managed another shot of the castle, and paused to wipe her face with her damp bandanna.

 _I have a feeling she probably isn’t supposed to be doing that_ Earlene sent to Thranduil. _I also have a feeling that the lone individual some hundreds of feet behind us might be a police officer. You might want to encourage her to descend. Quickly._

Thranduil wondered if this was even a shadow of what having three young ones would be like. _Lorna, you must jump down to Thanadir. He will not allow you to hurt yourself. Earlene tells me that this is wiser than the policeman who is nearby managing to see you there. It is likely not lawful to be climbing the building._

Thanadir, calm as always, held out his arms.

Despite knowing how tough elves were, the human instinct in Lorna’s brain told her that she would squish Thanadir like a bug if she jumped from this height. _How can it not be legal? If it’s not legal, there ought to be a bloody great sign._ Either way, trying to keep her bag steady, jump she did, eyes squeezed shut. Even such a modest fall was stomach-lurching, but at least she didn’t knock Thanadir over when she landed. He didn’t even stumble, which -- well, _elves_.

Via silent communication everyone scuttled off hurriedly in the direction of the Lake. One or two bored passers-by had watched the little show and applauded, and, that was enough for Earlene. It would probably be a miracle if Lorna didn’t flip them the bird. Or two birds, since this was Lorna. She rolled her eyes, but she need not have worried. Thanadir had offered his arm in a manner that suggested she might not get it back for a few minutes. Fortunately a particularly thick grove of trees obscured them nicely, and Earlene made off for the Bow Bridge. It was pretty and a relaxing sight, and only a little out of the way of their next destination. The lake was weirdly green at this time of year, but in New York any color that was not brown was probably a positive thing. That being said, she wouldn’t swim in it even were it twenty degrees hotter.

Though Thanadir was obviously unwilling to relinquish Lorna’s arm, she was more than adept at using her phone’s camera, even if she had been getting a few weird looks for keeping it in her bra. Whatever. She got some lovely shots of the bridge, which looked rather like something out of a fairy tale. (Yes, she was a little tempted to use the railing as a balance-beam, but not _that_ tempted, since she knew full well she’d just fall off. She would behave, for once.)

In spite of the warmth of the day, the lake and trees were soothingly quiet, and reminded Earlene of many a run she’d enjoyed. If there was a trail in this park she didn’t know, it was news to her. They strolled, saying little, until their path came to a mosaic circle with the word _‘Imagine’_ inscribed in the middle. “I guess at least Lorna knows what this is,” she said with a hint of sadness.

“Christ, where do I start?” Lorna asked. “With the Beatles? With Lennon? If I explain the Beatles, we’d be here all day. A musical phenomenon like that takes more than five minutes to describe. They were one’v a group who basically changed the face’v music in the last century. John Lennon, he was one’v them -- kept making music even after the band split up. Beautiful music. Some mentaller shot him in the back in 1980, and I never have heard why. Maybe he didn’t have a reason. People like that often don’t.”

“He lived right across the street,” Earlene said, pointing up West 71st Street. “It happened right outside the building. That’s The Dakota.” Earlene paused. “What Lorna said, it was more than that. Not only were their songs amazing, a lot was happening at that time in the country. An unpopular war was being waged in Vietnam and there were many people that were very tired of it. People who wanted to see peace. Perhaps more than any of the other musicians, John Lennon spoke out uncompromisingly in favor of love and the idea that we should just all get along. He wasn’t perfect, no one is, but his ideas resonated. This, here,” she waved at the mosaic, “that was the name of one of his songs that said the most about all these sentiments. He wanted us to imagine a different world, a better world, because he felt that if enough people did the same we’d get there after all. We’ve not gotten there,” she said softly. “Not at all.”

“I dunno that it’s as bad as that,” Lorna mused, tracing a line of the flower with her toe. “I mean, it’s _bad_ , but most people, I think, are good, when you get right down to it. Problem is that the good ones usually aren’t the ones that seek power. I think most people just want to...live their lives. Raise their families. Be happy. The news, it only shows what sells -- hate, fear, violence. It makes the world seem worse than it is -- ignores the good that’s there to balance out the bad. I can be pretty bloody cynical, but Gran thumped that into my head. Literally. She said if we lose sight’v the good beside the bad, what’s the point?”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen some nasty, nasty shite in this world, but I’ve also seen wonderful things I’d never’ve expected. Little things, not something flashy. Kindness where I’d never’ve looked for it. There’s a saying we’ve got, that love is blind, but sometimes I think it’s silent, too. It doesn’t always ask to be recognized.”

“That’s true,” admitted Earlene, “and I don’t mean to be a pessimist. I guess I was thinking in terms of the grand scale; about our ability to not have wars and terrorists and unchecked greed. Sure, all kinds of things happen on a smaller level that remind me that people are good.”

Thranduil listened, fascinated. This was one of those honest and spontaneous discussions that told him more about mortals than anything else. Thanadir stood in front of the mosaic, leaning in and appreciating the symmetrical design of flower petals around the word Imagine. “That changes all the time,” said Earlene quietly. “Since it was installed here, it rarely looks the same two days in a row.”

He straightened up and fixed her with the doe eyes she suspected he knew she could not resist. “I do not know the song,” he said plaintively.

She sighed, being more than a little shy about singing in front of others. But that look could make her walk into traffic, she felt fairly certain. It was a superpower. _Oh just sing the goddamn thing_ , she told herself. She was barely aware of taking his hand, to steady her nerves before they could run away.

“Imagine there's no heaven, It's easy if you try,” she began in a strong and smooth voice. To her immense relief, Lorna joined in almost immediately, which made this seem easier.

“No hell below us, Above us only sky…” And that was when the unexpected happened. They were not singing loudly, but it was enough to be heard by two others who were not so far away. They too joined in.

“Imagine all the people, living for today…” A few more came and their voices were added.

“Imagine there's no countries, It isn't hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for, And no religion too. Imagine all the people living life in peace…” And suddenly they were a magnet of sorts; people were jogging over and a circle was forming. Thanadir was astonished and did not understand their behavior. But his Queen was safe; none of these mortals seemed to intend harm, and not a one of them stepped on the mosaic, he noticed. And neither Earlene or Lorna seemed to be the least concerned beyond mild surprise.

“You may say I'm a dreamer, But I'm not the only one. I hope some day you'll join us, And the world will be as one...

Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can. No need for greed or hunger, A brotherhood of man.

Imagine all the people sharing all the world…” Thranduil did not know humans could or would do...this. It was spontaneous, and every thought that surrounded him revealed that they sang because they wanted this. They wanted the world the words described, very much, and this was a way to express that. This was far more than a song. Even Lorna, who he feared might be ready to assault someone for being too close by, seemed to be in harmony with the moment.

“You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope some day you'll join us And the world will be as one…”

It ended as quickly as it began; in seconds what had seemed like at least sixty people _where had they all come from?_ dispersed, leaving the four of them.

“Well, I think we just created a flash mob,” said Earlene, shaking her head in mild disbelief. “And now you know the song...Cian.”

“You wouldn’t find _that_ in Dublin,” Lorna said, looking at the suddenly empty space around them. “But I don’t know that I’m that surprised. I think we want it all the more because it doesn’t look likely we’ll get it. The ones that go after real power, the ones who’re looking at the government -- there’s good ones, yeah, but there’s also a lot’v arseholes, no matter what kind’v government you’ve got. Difference with democracies and republics is that they’re answerable to other people, and if they break the rules, they get kicked out.” That was the theory, anyway; she was quite sure there were plenty out there that _should_ get kicked out but didn’t, because money. “Maybe, with this next generation -- a lot’v the worst bigots in many places are older, by our standards, sixty-odd on up. It sounds a bit brutal, but once they die off, the world might be a better place.”

Earlene wasn’t so sure, because in the last two millennia, every time some arse died off, a different or bigger arse managed to fill the space. _Nature abhors a vacuum_ , she thought. _And apparently so does politics_. With a shrug to herself she realized she was still holding Thanadir’s hand and dropped it, coming back to reality and fishing her phone from her little backpack purse. It was nearing four o’clock which meant, it was time to close the distance to Lincoln Center. Regardless of their exact path, there were buildings and traffic, so she elected to take them down Columbus Avenue because, why not? As they crossed 65th Street, she explained the famed Julliard School and its near-legendary status in the performing arts, before guiding them into the impressive complex of theaters and music halls. “I wanted to take us to something I hoped especially Thanadir would enjoy,” she said, “though this is a little odder than I envisioned. We are going to see the New York City Ballet, and there was little choice as to the program given the short length of our time here. The dances tell two different stories that are set to more modern music by an important Russian composer. That is another way to say, music that is less pretty and more dissonant at times, yet no less filled with emotion. The two dances are called “The Firebird” and “The Rite of Spring”. The first is about a magical bird who helps a prince fight against an evil sorcerer. The other is about pagan rituals; an expression of primitive worship, and at the end a chosen virgin dances until she dies in sacrifice to...something or other.” The ellyn stared at her, and she shrugged. “I didn’t write the thing, and, I definitely cannot explain Russians. Though, interestingly enough, when the Rite of Spring was first performed it caused a riot. People were not ready for the precious tradition of ballet to turn into this, nor were they interested in seeing the darker side of humanity as subject matter,” Earlene smiled. _That was the thing about classical arts, you didn’t have to make up all the parts that were weird about it._

“I’m not even sure the Russians can explain the Russians,” Lorna said. “It’s a huge country -- more square miles than Pluto, so there’s no lumping them all together. Though I’ve got to admit my experience is a bit limited. My cellmate was Russian -- she’s the one that taught me the language -- and she was just a bit mental. She’d found out her husband was cheating on her, so she killed him _and_ the other woman.” She’d offered to give Lorna a prison tattoo -- apparently, killing someone merited a skull on the knuckles, and the more you’d killed, the more skulls you had. Lorna, as politely as she could, had declined. “She looked after me, when I first got in there. She was mental, but she was a good ally, and you need allies in there.”

Laughing, she added, “During the Cold War, they celebrated the October Revolution every year, and once the Soviet Union disbanded, the government had to make up a new holiday so everyone could keep getting drunk on that day. Also, the word ‘soviet’ means ‘union’, so us calling it the Soviet Union just meant ‘Union Union’.”

They entered the building and Earlene smiled to herself to see that her guests were suitably impressed by the Koch Theater...while at the same time she found she could not get ‘Union Union’ out of her head; Lorna was a fountain of trivia. The rows of red velvet seats added an overtone of luxury to the ivory toned balustrades, and the golden ceiling and stage curtain; it was an attractive venue. Thanadir especially seemed enchanted, which she’d hoped for the most. Whatever the seneschal actually thought, he carried a sense of childlike wonder that she hoped never vanished. It probably gave her more happiness to watch him, than it gave him to see this.

“Jesus Christ,” Lorna muttered. You could fit what, two, three thousand people in here? She’d bet it took ages to seat them all. A stage like that, you could perform anything up to and including a very cramped game of cricket. And Firebird...it was, so far as she knew, an offshoot of Koschei the Deathless. “Nekotorom carstve, v nekotorom gosudarstve zhil-byl car'; u jetogo carja bylo tri syna, vse oni byli na vozraste,” she muttered. _In a Kingdom in a state there lived a King; this King had three sons, and all of them were of age…_ There was no way she’d remember the entire thing, not anymore, but Tatiana had been fond of it. (Then again, Tatiana had been fond of stabbing people with plastic sporks.)

Earlene had seen both pieces before, and she hoped the costumes were good. It wasn’t like the music ever changed. Of both of them she liked the Firebird best; while not being a dancer, it seemed like an inordinate of time was spent en pointe in this piece. It had to be hard to dance, especially the role of the Firebird herself.

 _Will we survive with our sensibilities intact, meluieg?_ she heard in a gentle tease.

 _It won’t be worse than “Sugar Daddy” from Hedwig_ , if that’s what you are asking, she smirked silently, taking his hand. _But Russian folk tales are a little strange. Come to think of it, an inordinate amount of longer ballets are from Russian composers. I’m sure there is a reason, I just don’t know what it is. But I thought you might like it; there are things you see in a live performance that are much harder to notice on a video, if it is possible at all. You’ll see how hard they are actually exerting themselves. And in your lucky case, I’d guess that you can even hear the thoughts of the performers. I’d be very curious to hear about that later, if you feel any of it can be shared. I’ll never know what it is to dance like this._ Earlene had a sudden and disturbing vision of a woman pregnant in her third trimester in pointe shoes and...it really wasn’t working.

_‘The Rite of Spring’ can be sexualized, depending on the choreographer. There were times and places in human history when our beliefs and practices were little above those of animals. People thought that gods were everywhere, that natural forces were gods, and that they had to be appeased. Much of it was violent, brutal, appalling. I think this is what the composer had in mind, what he wanted to force people to consider. And I guess we’ll find out…_

The curtain was rising, on a very dark and morbid scene. And turning her head, Earlene saw Thanadir’s lips part at the visceral experience of having this illusion presented right in front of him. When the Firebird took the stage, an audible gasp went through the audience and a brief roar of enthusiastic applause followed. The costume was incredible, even to this jaded group of New Yorkers. Realistic long golden feathers sprouted from her arms out of red plumage, with oranges, reds and golds on her body suit. A leotard of screened reds and golds down to her calves added the the effect, while not hiding her musculature (presumably it was a leotard, and not body paint? There was no means by which to tell). A stunning headdress that gave her a crest of red and golden feathers completed the ensemble. She’d seen a lot of costumes, and this had made coming today worthwhile in and of itself. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she was taken aback for a second reason. _My King, look at your seneschal. I hope you realize that he is worth all the treasure in your vault, and some more besides._

Thranduil looked to see a single tear rolling down the corner of Thanadir’s cheek, while his lips were parted. He was completely entranced and...even the King had to admit, the sight of his innocent enjoyment was hard to set aside. He squeezed Earlene’s hand in acknowledgement, before forcing himself to watch the performance, and she had to do the same.

Lorna had never actually seen ballet before -- even on TV, really. It wasn’t something anyone she’d ever lived with was into, so she just didn’t have the exposure. The costumes were gorgeous, but more than that was the way they all _moved_...they must be phenomenally strong, to be that graceful without breaking something in their feet or ankles. How much practice would it take, to be able to do something like that? She probably couldn’t spin like that more than twice without getting dizzy and falling over, let alone sweep -- and she had to call it _sweeping_ , for lack of a better word -- so smoothly.

The tights on that bloke, though...oh dear. It looked like they’d been spray-painted on, and given that this was actual Art, she felt rather guilty for appreciating his arse. She was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to ogle Art, but seriously, how did those tights even _work_? You probably weren’t allowed to take pictures in here, or she’d totally do it, and send one to Siobhan.

Thranduil genuinely wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, because both mortal women were absolutely enraptured with the male dancer’s rear extremity. Though even he had to admit, it was a fine specimen of anatomy but...he was not used to this. Usually Earlene’s thoughts were not in alignment with Lorna’s and it amused him to no end that they had found common ground...here. It was no detraction from his wife’s appreciation of his own physical charms. These were very athletic mortals, and not reflective of the general population, that much was certain.

The ellyn and Lorna were grateful for the program notes. The plot was simple enough, and it was easy to follow what the dancers were describing, having read about it. Though how an egg was supposed to allow a... _deathless one_? to keep from perishing was beyond Thranduil. The wraiths of his old world were certainly more difficult to kill than that. Eänur and Glorfindel together could not utterly vanquish the Witch-King; should it only have been so easy.

Each time one of those lady dancers went up onto her toes, Lorna couldn’t help but wince a little. Yes, it was graceful and beautiful, but what was it doing to their _feet_? Their feet, their legs...some joints, she was sure, just weren’t meant to bend like that, no matter how lovely the result.

A thunderous applause after the Firebird was hoisted up in victory at the end of the dance gave way to an intermission, but Earlene had no interest in leaving her seat. Her head was actually deep in her phone on Yelp!, trying to think of what would work best for dinner. She saw something that made her laugh and handed the phone to Lorna so she could read about Holey Cream, the place where they sold ice cream scooped on top of donuts. With what she hoped was discretion, she pointed at Thanadir. Though for actual food, Italian sounded better.

Lorna’s eyes widened, and she gave as discreet a thumb’s-up as she could. That sounded damn tasty, and the thought of watching Thanadir -- he’d be like a kid in a candy store, only better. And hell, she’d want a little bit of everything, because turning forty had done nothing to kill her sweet tooth.

That part was concluded. Now to figure out the perfect Italian place. Thranduil had actually decided to use the restroom and...she frowned, hoping that he would know what to do. He knew how to use the facilities in her home but aside from the pubs, where had he ever...oh, he was a damn Elvenking, if anyone could figure it out, he could. “Lorna, look. There is this place called Becco, they have an unlimited pasta option,” she said quietly. “The downside is, it can get crowded and noisy to the point of obnoxiousness. There’s another place, closer, and higher rated, a little pricier….? They have the fancy stuff, and pizzas too.”

“So long as we can afford to feed Thanadir,” Lorna said. “He has a hollow leg, I swear. Or he’s like a cow, and has a second stomach. Somehow. I’m not entirely convinced it’s not a TARDIS.” One of these days, when the elves were done with _Star Trek_ , they really needed to see _Doctor Who_.

It was hard work, very hard work, not to burst out laughing at the TARDIS comment, because it was true. How did Thanadir ever manage to fade in the first place? How could he possibly stop eating in order to do it? Maybe she didn’t want to know, and it was probably very impolite to ask. Thranduil returned without showing any evidence of mishap, so Earlene leaned over him to show Lorna her second choice. The food was highly rated and a little easier on the wallet, too. That way she could order him a few pasta dishes and maybe the rest of them would get a forkful before it vanished. Poor Thanadir…

“That looks good,” Lorna said. And pasta was filling; even Thanadir could only handle so much (she hoped, anyway). She snuck a few pictures of the venue, flash off, since it didn’t look like anyone was going to stop her; while she might not be able to send Siobhan a picture of that dancer’s arse, she could at least show off the interior.

“The Rite of Spring” looked promising as well. Earlene was relieved to see that there were no weird frou frou costumes that basically covered the dancers’ bodies. Ballet without being able to see most of the human form was ‘why bother’ in her worldview. This dance could be edgy to the point of creepiness sometimes, and it looked as though that might be the intended effect here. The movements were raw, passionate, primitive. It was _very_ convincing.

Lorna’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. This was Art, and she had not expected Art to be this...sexual. She was so surprised that it actually at first distracted her from the rather obvious male anatomy on display. She didn’t even know that she could call this sexual; it needed a more high-brow word like erotic, which was not a word she had ever used to describe anything in her life. When you had that much arse on display that gracefully, to say nothing of, _er_ , other features, ‘erotic’ was the only way to go.

She hazarded a glance at Thanadir, wondering if he was going to be intrigued or utterly scandalized.

Some of the dance steps (could you call them that?) looked very, very hard. The lead ballerina walked around the stage, completely crouched down and….how? Just, how? Earlene was yoga-fit, but this was at a whole other level. And the men...there were several leaps that looked as if they were imitating the moves of the gorillas they’d seen at the zoo, in imitation of being on four legs….wow. Part of her wished she could give all of them a tip, because she knew they didn’t earn even vaguely enough money for what they did. They must love their art, down to the last one. Knowing that all the women there were going broke just trying to afford pointe shoes...it really wasn’t fair.

That was it -- Lorna, when they returned to the hotel, was going to try a few of those. She was reasonably flexible for a woman her age; once upon a time, she’d been able to touch the back of her head with her foot (something she and Liam had had fun with -- he had quite enjoyed her flexibility). Yes, that was over a decade ago, but still. The more complex moves here were utterly beyond her, but surely she could manage a simpler one.

 

The virgin collapsed onto the stage in a final flourish, everyone applauded, and then they made their way out. The performances had been as good as Earlene hoped they might be. If she had to give this up from here on out, this swan song had made that bearable. Maybe someday they’d get their act together and and the ballet would offer simulcast subscriptions; it seemed like with technology, that kind of thing couldn’t be too far into the future.

Happily, she ushered everyone into the aisle to join the queue of departing patrons. They’d had good seats, quite close to the front of the orchestra, and so they were among the last to leave. It surprised her when she felt herself held back by Thanadir; what had she done this time?

“Earlene, thank you,” he said, reaching down to kiss her on the cheek. “This was so...I am very grateful.” Her face lit up in a smile, to know she had succeeded. Especially when, by the time it was all said and done, there would be so few things she could really do for him of a meaningful nature.

“You’re welcome,” she beamed, taking his arm. “Now let’s feed you.”

Thanadir liked New York, very much.

Lorna stretched, joints cracking, quite ready for food herself. She had actually managed to sneak a tiny bit of footage of that Rite of Spring dance, because she knew that more than Siobhan would appreciate _that_ bit. While those blokes all had fantastic arses, she still preferred Ratiri’s.

Her stomach growled embarrassingly loudly. Oh well. If these fancy people wanted to look at her weird, let them. At least she hadn’t burped.

“Back to the hotel first, or straight to food? It’s ten streets down and around the corner from the hotel, right around where the theaters are.”

“I vote food,” Lorna said, figuring Thanadir would be right there with her. Moving, sadly, alerted her to another issue. _Thranduil, cramps. Please. Ow._

The King offered his arm to her, wondering if she had ever asked Earlene about...this issue. But he had no cordial here and so there was nothing but time that could help her. _Every month_...he frowned. It seemed like a recipe for bleeding to death. Ellith had a considerable advantage.

Lorna took his arm, and just about sighed with relief. _I wish there was some way to bottle and sell that_ , she said. _Whatever it is you do. However you do it. Millions of women around the world would throw money hand over fist. There’s no logical reason for periods to be this awful, and some women have them so bad it makes one week out of every month a living hell. I’m guessing elf ladies don’t have this problem._ She somehow couldn’t imagine an elf lady ever needing to curl up with a heating pad on her abdomen.

 _They do not have these troubles; our medicine cares for that. And I am sorry; it is indeed unfortunate. I am glad, that I can help you_ , he said, and he meant it.

It was just one long stroll, down 6th Avenue into the heart of the theater district. They’d be coming back here tomorrow, for the next treat...and arguably the last big hurrah in terms of entertainment. They only had two more full days remaining; their time here was flying by. Fun had a way of doing that. The theater names they were passing were self explanatory, so they strolled along, admiring the occasional incongruous sight such as a horse and buggy in the middle of the avenue at a stoplight, and similar sorts of random amusements. Finally they reached their destination, Trattoria Trecolori, with all the pasta anyone could want. Usually she would’ve avoided any place to eat in the Theater District just on principle, but the Yelp! Reviews for this place had been so solid that it seemed like a completely safe choice.

Lorna knew very little about Italian food, but probably figured she’d be safe with a minestrone (provided Thanadir didn’t eat it all). The restaurant, predictably, was crowded, and she did her best to stay on Thranduil’s heel, lest she get stepped on. It smelled good, at least -- very, very good, and it only made her stomach rumble again. The Italians, she reflected, really were a lot like the Irish -- fiercely clannish, yet they’d argue from sunup to sundown, over next to nothing. It was how they showed they cared.

After conferring a little, it was agreed they would order as a group and find a way to share it all. Two kinds of salad, caprese, minestrone, antipasti, and then a parade of pastas. There were lots of different sauces and flavors on parade, so there was no point skimping. Rigatoni, gnocchi, tortellini, fettucine, linguine, and a chicken scarpariello just to break up the starch. A little. Earlene guessed that this just might tip even Thanadir into an inability to eat dessert, but, they’d see. And there was still time to get him to the sugar. Thranduil felt very grateful that his wife knew so much about food, because he was utterly lost. The names were strange, he’d only ever eaten pasta once or twice at her cottage and the only thing he felt certain of is that everything smelled very nice. After she rattled off all the food, she added two carafes of house red wine, and figured if they didn’t go home happy, it wouldn’t be her fault. Service was very prompt; inside of ten minutes bread, wine, salads and soup were already on the table.

Lorna actually managed to nibble bread, rather than inhale it, and sipped at her wine. Though it was probably excellent by human standards, it just couldn’t compare to elf wine. (Then again, what could?) “So, I have to wonder just what happens to those dancers’ feet after a while,” she said. “I mean, it’s not a natural way to stand. The wash-out rate has to be huge.” You could only do that for so long before your joints just went ‘nope’.

“It’s completely disgusting, I can’t fathom how anyone does it. You spend your whole life working to be a dancer, then if you make it you get paid dirt, get a ruined body, and you better hope you marry a podiatrist. Oh and they make you buy your own shoes. I read that if they can’t afford new shoes when they need them, they’re out of a job. What a deal,” Earlene said, shaking her head. “I feel guilty for enjoying it so much, it’s like I’m….I’m...I’m helping them be repressed.” The similarities were suddenly too weird…

“Now I feel really guilty admiring that guy’s arse,” Lorna muttered. She wondered just what crazy diets they had to go through, and probably didn’t want to know. “I don’t get why anyone would want to. I mean, they must _really_ love what they do.” Had she ever loved anything enough, to do that to herself over it? Not anything that wasn’t a person. “I don’t know that you can say you’re helping them be repressed, though. They wouldn’t have any work at all, if people didn’t go see them perform, and then they’d have shite joints and be unemployed. Though why in God’s bloody name they’d make you buy your own shoes, I can’t imagine.” Somebody involved was too lazy to do the figures and work out what it would cost to get shoes for the lot of them, she was sure.

They had just finished mowing down the first round when the real food showed up; they had to assure the server that they would be more than happy eating off of small plates in order for it all to fit on the table. Thranduil watched in complete amusement as Earlene did not wait or speak but began dexterously scooping a portion of each order onto the seneschal’s plate, making a neat hexagonal shape out of it somehow before placing it in front of him. She did the same for Thranduil and Lorna after they both indicated with general alarm that they wanted their portions to be...smaller. Biting hard on her cheeks not to laugh, she complied and soon they were all eating.

This was pasta in a way even Lorna’s brother-in-law couldn’t have managed it, and that was really saying something. She occupied herself eating, somehow not devouring everything on her plate inside of five minutes. As ever, watching Thanadir was both a joy and an education in just how much one slender male could put away. Thranduil didn’t eat like that; was Thanadir’s stomach actually a TARDIS? She couldn’t think of any other explanation. She could eat a hefty amount of food for a woman her size, but she had nothing on Thanadir.

 _How did the rest of you not starve, when he eats like that? Or is he normal for elves?_ Ratiri would certainly be interested in the answer.

Thranduil sighed, but not in a way easy to notice as he surreptitiously glanced at Thanadir’s current state of culinary bliss.

 _It was not ever quite like this, before. He has always been known to enjoy his food when it was available. But I have seen him in times of war, and want. He is the first one willing to go without, so that others can have more, when there is a lack. A more selfless individual, you could not hope to find. But now...he has been brought within reach of a superb cook who enjoys spoiling him, and there is no lack. For perhaps the first time, he is enjoying food in a manner not previously possible. I enjoy food as well, but not that much. Do you know, I cannot actually answer your question? His is as physically fit and healthy as ever; he does not gain in weight. I cannot explain; neither do I know of another in my Halls with such appetite._ He shrugged, and with his usual decorum kept eating.

Lorna laughed silently. Thanadir violated the laws of physics -- that was the only explanation. Whatever the reason, watching him was oddly enjoyable; very oddly, because normally watching people eat wasn’t precisely something she enjoyed much. _If he’d been human, he’d be getting sick._ She knew that from experience. Prior to moving in with Mairead, her diet had been odd, often poor, and equally often spotty. Large amounts of food just hadn’t figured into it, so when she was finally presented with a table full of things she hadn’t necessarily even heard of, she’d tried all of it, and inevitably eaten herself sick. For elves, there didn’t seem to be too much of a good thing, if Thanadir was any indication.

Earlene had refilled Thanadir’s plate for the third time and was almost done with her own meal when she heard a voice very close to her left ear. “Gesu bambino!” Lifting her head, startled, she looked up into the face of a formidable and wrinkled old Nonna who wore an apron and had her hands on her hips, smiling broadly at Thanadir. “Mangia come tutti i dodici apostoli!” she said. Startled, the elf looked up from his eating, not entirely certain what was happening. Thranduil’s eyes widened and all his self control was needed to keep his features neutral. “You like?” she said to Thanadir carefully in her broken English.

Earlene felt she had better help. “She is asking you if you like her food, Thanadir. I suspect she is the family cook for this restaurant.”

“I like it very much,” the seneschal said politely, nodding.

“Ai!” she said, smiling from ear to ear. “Nonna vi aiuterà, si sta morendo di fame,” was sputtered at remarkable speed, and she turned on her heel and swiftly left.

Earlene did not have any idea how she would get through this. Her Italian was complete crap, but unless she was much mistaken, this lady was about to bring Thanadir even more food. “Excuse me, I need the ladies’ room,” she choked, leaving the table quickly. And when she got there, she leaned against the wall and giggled. And giggled, gasping for air. This had to be fast; she couldn’t abandon them. _Sure god, how in the world did they manage this stuff?_ Patting her face with a wet paper towel, she tried to put on her best courtroom look before departing.

She returned to her chair less than thirty seconds before Nonna returned, setting down a plate of lasagna and trefunghi, a mushroom dish, in front of him. “Nessuno che sembra il nostro Salvatore sos offre la fame nel mio ristorante,” she said, patting him tenderly on the cheek as he looked at her in utter incomprehension. “Gesu bambino! Mangia! Mangia!” she said.

“She wants you to eat,” Earlene whispered as discreetly as possible. “Grazie, signora, grazie,” she said politely, wondering if this woman knew any English? They were out there, the holdouts, and this might be just the place one would be found. With a profound sigh, the woman returned happily to the kitchen, but not before she noticed two who were obviously her grown sons watching her and shaking their heads.

“Cosa stai grardando? Tornare al lavoro,” she hollered, while the other patrons looked on and smiled indulgently. Nonnas could say whatever shit they wanted to, and they knew it.

Lorna had to pinch her thigh really, _really_ hard to keep a straight face, and even then she wound up having to stuff a piece of bread stick in her mouth. She didn’t dare look at Thranduil, or she’d utterly break -- looking at poor bewildered Thanadir was bad enough. While the language might be different, tiny old grandmothers seemed to be the same among the Italians as they were the Irish. At least Thanadir could probably eat whatever the hell she put in front of him, though Lorna wouldn’t put it past an Italian Gran to be able to actually leave him full.

Earlene decided that she really didn’t care if they were charged for the extra dishes or not. She had enough room to take a forkful of the mushrooms for herself, and they really were excellent...and she would make up much of it in the tip, if they weren’t. The memory of this was going to be fairly priceless. She rolled over what was said. _Did that woman tell him he ate like all twelve of the apostles? Do not think about it_ , she ordered herself, and returned to sipping her wine.

When their check was brought, their waiter looked at them sheepishly. “I am sorry about my grandmother,” he said. “She is very set in her ways.”

Lorna and Earlene grinned at the same time. “Our families are Irish,” Earlene said. “It is exactly the same, but the swearing is different.” The man’s face transformed as he nodded and smiled.

Lorna, still pinching her leg, downed half her glass of wine at one go. If she didn’t get out of here in short order, she was going to explode from the effort of keeping her laughter at bay. All the pinching in the world wasn’t going to be enough.

Earlene settled up and soon they were waddling out. And dammit if Thanadir hadn’t cleaned both of those plates, with each of them having taken only tiny slivers just so they could try it. Thranduil suspected, however, that his seneschal had at last arrived at a place of having eaten too much. It was subtle, and perhaps only he would notice, but there were traces of bodily discomfort in his movements. And, for perhaps the first time he could ever recall, visible distension around his middle.

Thranduil saw that his wife at least suspected the same problem, because she seemed to dawdle noticeably as they made their way back to the hotel up 7th Avenue. Earlene did point out the sign for the Radio City Music Hall, because many people had at least heard of the Rockettes. She personally didn’t see the fuss, but, they _were_ famous. Holding onto Thanadir, she darted furtive glances at him from time to time, hoping he wasn’t suffering extreme gastric distress, and wondered if elves had anything like Rolaids.

Lorna, full and at one with the world, did manage to hold her laughter in until they were out of the restaurant, and then she dissolved into helpless giggling. “She and my gran could’ve taken over the world,” she managed. “Christ, I could do with a charcoal biscuit before bed, though, or I’ll be miserable.” Thranduil, from what she’d seen, had actually eaten like a sane person, and probably wouldn’t be curled in a ball dying of indigestion at two in the morning.

“I will be encouraging you to drink plenty of water,” he smiled down at her. “Though, the food was indeed delicious. I suppose if we were going to tip into excessive eating, that was the place to do it.”

“I love pasta,” sighed Earlene. “I should make it more often. It isn’t that hard.” A faint groan from Thanadir caused her to glance over, and pat his arm with her spare hand. She genuinely felt sorry for him; being blindsided by a Nonna determined to feed you was no joke.

 

All four of them were extremely thankful for the invention of the elevator. When they returned to their room, there was mass flopping on the beds and for a time, no one moved or spoke. Earlene was the first to roll to the remote control, to bring up the evening news. The weatherman blathered on about some astronomical happenings for the month of June. Though she had missed the closest day of opposition, Saturn was supposed to be visible in the night sky. “You know, I’d dearly love to go for a jog in the park tonight. Just a short one. I miss doing that. But as I know I can’t go alone, I worry about whether this is the worst night ever to ask for company after that dinner.” She glanced worriedly at Thanadir’s midsection; he was not the one who was pregnant and yet…. _poor Thanadir._

“I will go with you, Earlene,” he managed to say. “Though it would be an act of mercy on your part, if you could first allow me an hour or two.”

“You are certain?” she said. “This can wait…”

Thanadir held up his hand in a gesture that meant, no further discussion would be tolerated. “We will go,” he said with conviction.

 _Well, it is a warm and beautiful night_ , she reasoned. Rising and digging through her luggage, she found a loose tee and her running pants. She hadn’t worn these since the first morning she’d gotten herself lost in the woods, and it somehow felt very homelike to be using them again in Central Park. _Just like old times._

“You have fun with that,” Lorna said, kicking off her sandals. They’d done far less walking today, so her feet weren’t very sore. “I’m going to lay here and be a slug for now.” She flopped back onto the bed, lacing her hands behind her head and staring up at the ceiling. It was lovely and cool in here, away from the heat and humidity of the outdoors -- heat and humidity that nobody else seemed to even register that much. The joy of growing up on a tiny, misty island, but the wet bandana really did help quite a bit. “Earlene, how the hell d’you think that guy in red’s tights worked? It looked like they’d crawled right up his crack.”

“You know, even I wondered about that. I mean, there is always little to the imagination but his, ah, attributes were rather exceptional. Let me Google it; there must be something they wear that’s not ordinary. Sure god I hope those things never get snags or runs. That would be a performance alright, and not in the way anyone wants.” She paused. “Doctor Dancebelt’s Guide. Well, this sounds promising….oh, my.”

“Doctor Dancebelt’s Guide?” Lorna asked. “All right, now you’ve got to explain.” Every time she heard the words _oh, my_ she automatically repeated them in her head in George Takei’s voice. Every. Goddamn. Time.

“So apparently there is a thing called a Unibutt,” Earlene said, her eyes wide as she read. “ ‘Backstage, the last thing most male dancers do before going on is to pull their tights’ rear seam up into their crack.’ Sure god, and here I thought only the women suffered,” she said, half-aghast. “ ‘An idealized male round-mound bulge is part of the ballet costume…’ oh, my…’some companies ask male dancers to wear two pairs of white tights for a super-white (and no see-thru) look…..’.... _those poor men_.”

Thranduil had been certain nothing could outdo the Nonna, until this conversation happened.

“Excuse me, I would like to take a bath,” Thanadir mumbled, as he moved past them. Earlene and Lorna barely appeared to hear, and Thranduil wondered deeply about the state of his life.

Lorna laughed so hard she actually fell off the bed, wincing when she hit the floor and not caring in the least. “Earlene, email me that link,” she said. “I need to put it in the email I send Ratiri, along with what little I filmed’v that scene. _Round-mound bulge…_ ” She dissolved into utterly helpless laughter again, hauling herself up and flopping back on the bed. “Thranduil, you’ve had a bit’v an education this trip, haven’t you? I mean, I have, and I grew up in the modern world. How are you and Thanadir not overwhelmed?” Still snickering, she at least managed to pull the pins out of her hair and take her braid down, unwinding it with no real urgency.

Only then did it occur to Earlene that they had been speaking about this with males present. She rolled back over with a somewhat apologetic glance in his direction. “Sorry. It’s just that when you don’t have the plumbing, you can’t help but wonder.” _That and, I did keep hearing about your lack of body issues_ , she added, reaching to work off his boots. For whatever reason, she felt like rubbing his toes. While continuing to watch the news with her head hanging upside down off the end of the bed again, because she liked it.

“I do not find it overwhelming so much as different. Do you find my Halls overwhelming? Maybe it is not the best comparison, but, they are very different. I enjoy the newness, it is interesting. Though I will allow that humans can be filled with surprises,” he smirked. “I will not forget the Nonna anytime soon.”

“Heck, life is an education no matter what,” piped Earlene while she delicately rubbed an elven toe. “Even if it is male dance equipment.”

“Equipment and _equipment_ ,” Lorna snickered, flailing for the hairbrush she kept in her bag (she had another in the bathroom. With hair as long as hers, you always needed a backup brush.) “I don’t know that anyone can forget Nonnas. Or Grans. A certain type’v person seems to be universal, and that includes little old grandmothers.” She drew the brush through her hair, still marveling at how soft the elf hair products left it. Seriously, it was unfortunate that it apparently took elf magic to properly make them work, or she’d try to brew some for Mairead.

Thranduil sighed, not even caring about the droning content of the evening news. He was trying to recall if Earlene had ever rubbed his toes before and... _it really is rather nice_ , he thought. “I take it, Lorna, you have zero interest in running with Earlene?” he asked, just to confirm. He was trying to decide if he had any himself, or whether he felt confident sending his wife and seneschal alone. His wife had done this same activity, alone, for over a decade, he knew. Assuredly he was being ridiculous to worry further.

“None whatsoever,” Lorna said, pulling more of her hair over her shoulder. She had so much of it that she had to split it in half, some over each shoulder, to get it properly brushed. Otherwise she couldn’t get all the knots out. “Especially not with all this food sitting like a lump on my stomach. Earlene, I don’t know how you can enjoy that. It’s beyond me.” She’d always had physical jobs, and stayed in shape simply because she worked hard; the appeal of jogging or running was entirely lost on her. She might, however, try a few of those weird dance moves in the bathroom, where she could take a hot bath if she somehow pulled something.

Lorna’s thoughts caused Thranduil to consider that staying behind might be doubly advisable, in the event something anatomical ended up faring badly. But in the meantime, he still had his foot rub.

“Trump Trump Trump,” Earlene hissed in disgust. “I don’t know what’s going to be worse; now, or when this election is over. We had a great music duo here in the city, Simon and Garfunkel. A line in one of their songs went, ‘Laugh about it, shout about it when you’ve got to choose, any way you look at this you lose.’ And that, my friends, sums up the current state of national politics.” Just then, Thanadir emerged from the bathroom, his long hair damp. He looked as if he felt better. Though how anyone could want to bathe and _then_ run, made no sense to her.

“At least you live in Ireland now,” Lorna said, stretching and cracking both her ankles. “And you’re married to an Irish citizen. Given how much money you’ve got, if you wanted to apply for citizenship yourself, I don’t think it’d be that hard. I don’t know what all’s involved in it, but I do know their main concern’s that you’re able to support yourself, and you’ve already been living there what, four months? You haven’t got any kind’v criminal record standing in your way, you’re well-educated...you’re the kind’v immigrant the government actually wants. Christ, with practice I think you could even pick up the accent.” She still didn’t know _how_ much money Earlene actually had on her own, but given the law firm she’d worked at, and how she was able to pay Lorna the ridiculous salary she did even _before_ the gems were sold, it was probably a lot.

Speaking of all that money, Lorna needed to get more souvenirs while she was here. The M&M statues were hilarious, but she needed more than that, especially to give Ratiri.

Earlene thought it wise to not comment on her views of citizenship here or in Ireland; the depth of her feelings concerning her fealty to Thranduil were not something she imagined Lorna could stomach, now or ever. It would be more profitable to stretch a little before her run, so she spent her time moving through increasingly difficult yoga contortions while Thranduil watched in amusement. Thanadir watched too, not having seen this yet, but his face held no emotion. And in order to have a prayer of focusing on what she was doing, she ignored both of them. Half an hour later, she straightened up.

“We can go now, if that is still your wish,” the seneschal said. Earlene laced up her shoes and went to her purse. Thanadir or no Thanadir, she never jogged without her bobby whistle and her pepper spray. Never.

They walked over to 8th Avenue; she had a mind to keep this run on the shorter side; just to the lake and back, passing the seasonal amusement park that operated there. The city was in twilight, and the lit skyscrapers provided a stunning backdrop as they moved out of the streets and crossed into the park itself. She explained Trump Tower to Thanadir; that the man who owned the building was seeking to become the leader of the entire nation. “It is very...big,” he said, apparently finding nothing else meritorious about it. _Everything about him is big_ , she thought, _including his capacity for creating controversy_. And yet those sentiments were better left unspoken to her utterly disinterested audience. _How petty modern human politics must seem, to such an ancient being._ As she prepared to break into a running pace, she instinctively looped the keyrings that held her whistle and spray into each hand, having always taken self-defense very seriously. The spray stayed in the right hand, the whistle in the left. Sure, it wasn’t a guarantee (nothing was), but she liked to think that if she went down, she was taking someone with her.

The park at night was lovely, and this was exhilarating to her senses. Thanadir ran easily and silently at her side; her footfalls made little noise and his made none at all. Though strangely enough, this made her miss running in their woods at home. It was good to her, that she missed Lasgalen; that told her that her decision to leave in the first place had not been a poor one. They ran on to Bethesda Terrace, a scenic spot near the lake, and she came to a halt, taking his arm. They stood there for some minutes, enjoying the stunning view of the city lights that bordered the park. And that was when she thought she heard something, and released the seneschal’s arm to look around her. Moving out of the trees was a man whose demeanor caused her to go on red alert; in the dark he appeared ungroomed, moved erratically, and was already saying “hey, spare any change?” as he moved toward them.

“We’re leaving, now,” she said to the elf. A lot seemed to happen, very quickly. The man who spoke kept advancing, and Earlene barked “Back off!” in a tone of voice that would have slowed most people down. _Was he on drugs?_ His next step brought him almost to her, and her pepper spray was suddenly being offloaded full into his face. The amazing thing was, that didn’t stop him, and for the first time she felt a stab of fear. Before she could bring her whistle to her mouth, he grabbed onto her arm, which caused her to violently kick into his groin. From either her kick, the power of the Necklace, or both he went down like a rock, but now she herself was half choking on the fumes from the spray; he’d come too close to her face. Vaguely surprised that Thanadir had not intervened, she turned to realize something else was going on behind her.

Her assailant had not been alone. Her mouth hung open to see that the elf had a second man held up off the ground by his throat, and that something _Jesus was that a gun_? was being forced from his grip as the snapping noise of a bone greeted her ears. The weapon clattered to the ground while he wriggled impotently in the seneschal’s iron grip, unable to breathe. Earlene carefully kicked the weapon a short distance away. Red hot anger washed over her, and she turned back and leveled a second kick at her own would-be attacker’s crotch, eliciting a scream of agony. She might not have gotten in enough kicks to Sean, but goddammit she wasn’t missing out this time. But her lashing out had just caused this encounter to become noisy, and while they’d done nothing wrong...if this attracted the attention of a police officer, they could both count on being front section news before they left New York. _No. Just...no. Her name was not going to be in the paper. Not like this._

With a sickening thud, the seneschal slammed the man against the ground with great force, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Perhaps this will teach you to attack women” she said, as she kicked him in the nuts too, as hard as she could. Taking Thanadir’s hand, she silently urged him away as fast as they could, not slowing or stopping until they were within a few dozen yards of 59th Street. The run gave her the time and space for some of her emotions to bleed away. For years on years, she had done this very thing without incident. And yet tonight, had she been alone, would have been her Waterloo. That those men were planning on far more than panhadling; of that she was sure. Slowing to a walk for a minute, she finally came to a stop, and reached for the elf. “Thank you. I would not have been okay tonight, had you not been with me. I don’t even really want to think about what you saved me from. Just, thank you…” she said as she embraced him with great feeling, not knowing what else to say or how to say it. The fear she did not allow herself to feel before, she was feeling now.

He gently pushed her back and lifted her head with his fingers, so that she had to look up at him. “You are welcome, Earlene. But I want you to know that I am proud of you. You were alert and prepared. You fought back. And truthfully, you saved at least one of their lives, because had you not acted as you did, I would have killed one of them to ensure I stopped the other. As it is they are both only...damaged.”

While she did not wish to, she was involuntarily shaking. He pulled her back against him, and whispered reassurances to her. That she had acted in a way of which he approved; it meant a great deal to her, and left her feeling like she could yet hold her head up. “We will run again, before we depart,” he said. “I would not have this be your final memory of something from your home that you enjoyed so much.”

Earlene nodded, taking a deep breath. He was right, and it was a good idea. The odds of that happening twice were astronomical. Taking his arm, she shook off her bad feelings and focused on what had gone right, not what had gone wrong. And now she had to tell Thranduil; no way would she dump _that_ in Thanadir’s lap, tempting though it was.

*****

Lorna ran through her own stretches, just for the hell of it; they were the ones she’d learned from Shane, who’d learned them in the army. If she was going to try to attempt any of that crazy ballet contortion, she needed to be as well-stretched as possible. A lovely hot bath helped relax her, so when she was through and had donned her ancient T-shirt and cut-off sweatpants, she wrung her hair out as best she could, braced herself against the sink (studiously ignoring the still-covered portrait, because seriously, eek), and tried quite valiantly to touch the back of her head with the ball of her foot.

Her spine still flexed quite well, if she did say so herself, but her quads were less pleased even in spite of her stretching. Still...she tried to reach over her shoulder to grab her foot, which proved to be a mistake. Her balance quite abruptly gave up, sending her crashing knee-first onto the tile floor in a tangle of wet hair and cursing.

“I’m good,” she called automatically -- and then spotted her knee. Oops. The damn thing didn’t actually hurt much until she looked at it, and then she all but facepalmed. Still, she’d had to do this once before, years ago; shoving a kneecap back into place wasn’t _fun_ , but it also wasn’t that difficult if you knew what you were doing, and Shane had made sure they all did. The _sound_ it made was rather unpleasant, and she swore like a drunken sailor before wrapping a hand-towel around it. Asking Thranduil to fix this was humiliating, but not enough so that she wasn’t willing to do it.

She barely had the door open, when it pulled away from her, nearly causing a second upset in her balance. This time, however, she was not allowed to hit the floor.

“And to think I felt not going jogging with Earlene was the more sensible decision,” he teased as he supported her weight. “And before you have a chance to give me one of your special salutes, yes, I will fix this.”

He helped her carefully to the bed instead of lifting her; that would only serve to move her injured joint more. Frowning, he tried to ponder the best way to do this. That he had her permission, he was well aware. Tough as she was, he did not wish to cause her more pain. She had seemed about to say something, when at a touch from him, she slumped asleep against the pillows. He then felt less squeamish about pulling and moving the joint as he needed to, until all the structures moved back into place. Another moment to ensure that all the damage was undone, and she was brought back to wakefulness. “You were about to say?” he said, smiling, knowing that he could half-likely expect an earful now that she was restored to order.

“I was about to say I’m good,” she said, “even though I wasn’t. Thanks for…er, that. Apparently I’m still flexible, but my balance has gone to complete hell.” Lorna poked at her knee, fascinated. She knew he could heal just about anything, but that didn’t make it any less amazing when he actually did it. Last time this had happened, she’d been screwed for months, stuck with a sports bandage Shane had lifted from some shop. Now it was so fine she’d never know she’d done a thing to it. “Though Christ, warn me next time you’re about to knock me out, will you? Not that I don’t appreciate not being awake for that, but waking up without realizing you’d gone under is a bit freaky.” She was already wondering if there was some way she could try doing that again -- some way that wouldn’t involve dislocating any joints. The sink was obviously a no-go.

“If it will not offend your sensibilities, I can offer to hold your waist just as the dancers did? At least you will not crash to the ground and reinvent your skeleton a second time?” His words were sarcastic but the tone of his voice really was not. Lorna suspected he was trying to make this bit of epic common sense digestible to her.

“As long as I won’t crack my head on the ceiling,” Lorna said, not bothering to point out that she was heavier than she looked. That didn’t matter with elves, the lucky bastards. She wasn’t actually sure about the upper limits of their strength, but she’d wager they could probably at least lift the front end of a decent-sized car.

“I think I can manage that,” he said drily. “I will merely be making sure you stay upright unless you tell me to do something different.” His hands came around her midsection, above her hips, barely touching her, but prepared to prevent a loss of balance. Truthfully, this seemed amusing. Though most of Earlene’s yoga poses would be easy for him, perhaps this was something different?

Lorna was a bit more careful about attempting this a second time, wincing as her hip popped. She just. Couldn’t. Do -- oh, wait. This time she managed to reach back and catch her ankle, but it wasn’t -- no, a bit more -- she cackled in triumph when she managed to touch her big toe to the back of her head, then immediately swore as she dropped the pose. She probably shouldn’t have tried that, but she could still do it, dammit. “Forty can go fuck itself,” she said, grinning. “If I can still do that, it can fuck right off.”

The King released her when it was apparent she had two feet again to stand upon, and now he was intrigued. _That_ , he had never tried. He kicked off his boots, with a determined look on his face. “Is there a trick to it?” he asked, as he began to arc his leg up behind his back while reaching behind his shoulder, a look of concentration on his face. He was close, but not quite there. “How are you supposed to convince your leg to do this??” he asked.

“It’s all in your muscles,” she said, half unable to believe he was actually going to do it. “Your glutes and your quads. Plus having bones like a jellyfish, but neither’v us is young enough for _that_ anymore. Arch your spine as much as you can and you’ll get closer.” She hoped elves couldn’t throw out their own joints, because could Thranduil actually heal himself? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

“Yes, I can, though I would never hear the end of needing to,” he said, renewing his efforts as he bent his back even more and triumphantly felt his fingers brush his foot. With one extra effort he snagged it, and just as quickly let go, with a faintly pained look. “That is truly not easy,” he said, now exponentially more impressed with Lorna. “You almost caused a serious blow to my self esteem,” he joked, but it was with humor in his eyes. “I will try to act my age now,” he said, straightening up before seating himself back on the bed.

Oh, Earlene would be so, so sorry she missed this.“I’m sure you would’ve survived,” she said dryly, grinning. “It was a lot easier when I was twenty years younger. I wouldn’t’ve tried it again if I hadn’t got someone who could heal anything I tore nearby.”

Now that Earlene wasn’t actually here, Lorna felt she could say this. “D’you have any idea how lucky you are that it was Earlene that found you?” she asked. “You’ve not seen much’v the human world yet, so I don’t think you can. _Somehow_ you got a woman who’s brilliant, educated, well-connected, and willing to sign over her autonomy entirely, forever. That just doesn’t _happen_. Yeah, there are people out there who get into relationships with power imbalances, but they’re short-term, and usually have stipulations attached, so the sub doesn’t actually have to do something they really don’t want to. Normally, the only sort who’d sign on for what Earlene did would be meek doormats who didn’t want the bother’v having their own opinions, and yet you found her. Or she found you. The odds’v that, especially in a tiny little village like Lasg’len, are astronomically low. I can’t say I’ve ever believed in divine intervention, but that makes me wonder. You might’v found the only woman like her on Earth who’d sign on like she did without being a weak little mouse.”

An Irishwoman -- _any_ Irishwoman -- would have automatically bailed, but America’s issues with monarchy were so far in the past they weren’t issues anymore. An American wouldn’t have immediately told him to get fucked, but the sheer odds of an American, let alone an American like Earlene, finding that cottage to begin with? Lorna wouldn’t take that bet. Even yet she didn’t understand why anyone would do it, but her life experience pretty much rendered that impossible. She was Irish, and she’d been in prison, and the latter especially gave her a rather skewed worldview. There was a world of difference between surrendering your freedom willingly and having it taken from you, and she’d had hers taken. Once _that_ had happened, thought of voluntarily surrendering it ever again was just inconceivable. Still, for someone, anyone, to surrender as Earlene had done, completely and forever...Lorna wasn’t kidding. That just didn’t happen, and certainly not with someone as intelligent and self-possessed as Earlene. Maybe those Valar actually had had a hand in it.

Thranduil was attempting to digest this piece of brutal honesty which had never occurred to him, and frowned, but before he had any time for rumination Earlene and Thanadir returned. The storm of his wife’s thoughts snapped him onto other topics entirely. Trying to master his own rising anger, he quickly took her into his arms as her memories poured out at him. Thanadir stood quietly, his face showing no emotion. “I see,” he said aloud. “You are unhurt?”

Earlene froze in confusion. “I think so,” she said. “I don’t think I stubbed my toe or anything.” Thranduil gently pushed her sleeves up to reveal slight bruising around her arm.

“Almost,” he said kindly. She had done exactly as he had wanted her to, and he must ensure that he did not leave her feeling that he was in any way displeased with her. Closing his hands over it, the marks were gone in seconds.

“I did not know,” she said, “I--” His finger came up to her lips.

“I only care that all is well for you,” he said. “You did very, very well, and like my seneschal, I am quite proud of you.” He chuckled. “You may have even prevented a damaged part of the mortal gene pool from reproducing itself.” With a kiss to her head, he hugged her to him once again.

Lorna was completely and utterly baffled, and wished like hell she had Thranduil’s telepathy. Based on Thranduil’s words she could, however, guess. “Something happen in the park?”

“Uh, yeah, it did,” said Earlene. “Sorry, maybe I should have said all that out loud but I’m still getting over it a little.” She heaved a sigh. “So we ran back to the Lake, it’s pretty there, and stood a few minutes to enjoy the view. I need to preface, when I run, I’ve got a bobby whistle in one hand and spray in the other.” Holding up her hands, she demonstrated, because the objects had not left her grasp, though now she tossed both down on the dresser. “Some panhandler was coming toward us, and I was making ready to run away from there when he came at me. The whole can of spray went into his eyes but he didn’t stop. Thinking back, he was acting like a tweeker. And then he grabbed my arm, and hit the ground like a stone. I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could but then I heard noise behind me and see Thanadir holding up a second idiot by his throat, with the other hand on this guy’s wrist. _That_ fucker had a gun, and dropped it right after what I’m guessing were his arm bones being snapped. I kicked the weapon away. And the guy met the ground with quite a thump. I don’t know what shape he’s in and honestly I don’t give a rat’s arse. Somewhere in there I kicked everyone in the nuts again for good measure, because I was pissed. Pepper spray guy made a racket and we ran away; there is no way I wanted the cops to find us. It would’ve meant names in the paper and right now I just don’t need that.” Another sigh was heaved. “So over fifteen years of running in the Park at night alone and had Thanadir not been with me, I would have had my ass handed to me on a plate. Actually, I suspect it might have been a lot worse than that.” She looked at Lorna one last time and shook her head. All of those conversations about the indignities of being guarded flashed through her head as she spoke and, what was she supposed to say? It had just quite probably saved her from rape, murder, or both. Shit.

Lorna felt quite bad that she wished she’d been there. It was a terrible experience that she wouldn’t wish on anyone, but...well, at least Earlene couldn’t read her mind. She didn’t want to say anything that might be mistaken as her diminishing any of it. “Tweekers are some’v the most dangerous,” she said. “They can be like...like zombies, just fast. Their ability to feel pain and fear are both gone. Kicking them in the goolies is about all you can do.” Unless you carried a knife, but then things could get messy with, you know, police. She wondered...Earlene didn’t look like she’d got a rush off of it. She just looked pissed, and shaken, and maybe a bit more pissed. It stirred Lorna’s own anger, because how dare some sticky-fingered fuck try to lay hands on her, like she was...like she was _property_? She wondered if they were still to be found, somewhere in the park. She might not need -- no. No, and yet she was so tempted, because a kick to the junk wasn’t enough punishment for what they’d tried to do to Earlene. Maybe she ought to take a walk herself. “I’m guessing a drink’s in order?”

“Probably.” She looked up at Thanadir. “I”m just curious, if I can ask. Was that man still alive when we left? Do you know?” She’d been careful to kick the gun, not touch the gun, for a reason.

Thanadir tilted his head. “He breathed yet. Which is more than he deserved,” was the simple reply.

While this was not entirely what she wanted to hear, she nodded. Whether he lived or died, she could care less. That their encounter was untraceable to them, _that_ mattered. No possibility existed of fingerprints, or having been filmed. No possession had been left behind. The men were both in need of medical assistance; the odds of the NYPD coming across them were quite good. It was dark; their features would have been unrecognizable. As she reviewed this all in her mind, she felt as assured as possible that they had avoided what she would consider a serious annoyance and intrusion into her privacy. Especially with Allanah’s future in the balance, their lives needed to seem...normal. Very normal.

Thranduil heard all of this pass in her mind with interest, understanding now the full scope of the issue. Earlene excused herself to take a shower, and the King waited until the water was running. “Lorna, I see bottles of wine. And glasses. Surely that is a good idea, about now?” Truth be told, he still felt insecure about the wine corkers; the one they had here was completely different than the one in Earlene’s cottage. What did these mortals have against wax seals? Surely Lorna knew how to use the...object.

Lorna drew a deep breath. What she really, _really_ wanted was to go hunt both those fuckers down and make them regret the day they were ever born. “It is,” she said. She had some vodka, too, since human wine did fuck-all for her; eight or so shots of that and she wouldn’t feel like murdering anyone in the face.

She took a bottle of something red from the mini-fridge, eying it and the wine corker atop the fridge. She’d seen Mairead use one, but she’d never tried it herself. Still, how hard could it be? It was a corkscrew. It screwed, right? Except balancing it on top of the bottle took both hands, so she had to set the bottle on the dresser. It seemed like no matter how she screwed -- t _hat’s what she said_ , she thought -- the damn thing didn’t actually go down into the cork.

“Well this is fucking wick,” she said, eying it in frustration. “Either’v you know how this damn thing’s meant to work?”

Thranduil came over to her, now not feeling so bad. “I have always seen Earlene remove the...substance, that is on the outside, first. The….metal.”

Lorna eyed it. “Well, that’d explain a bit,” she said, peeling at it. Naturally, it was too thick to peel that way, and her fingernails were awfully blunt. She wound up breaking part of it with her teeth, then tugging the rest of it free. “Okay, let’s try this again.” It took all her effort not to just ram the thing into the cork and tear it to bits.

Thanadir now came over, interested. “I have always seen Earlene screw it in further,” he noted, genuinely attempting to be helpful. All three of them were staring at the bottle as if it had mystical powers, when Earlene burst out of the bathroom, wrapped modestly in a towel.

All of them were huddled over something that seemed terribly important, so she leaned over as well to see what it was. Perhaps more than anything else, this broke her dour mood over what had happened in the park. “Are you drawing straws over who will pull the cork out?” she asked, honestly not knowing that there could be a problem.

Thranduil looked up and smoothly intervened. “No, meluieg, Lorna was just showing us how to use this kind of opener.”

“I’m sure she’s better at it than I am. I always have to hold the bottle between my knees with that kind before pulling the cork out; those give terrible leverage. But at least they’re cheap,” she quipped. “Excuse me, I forgot to bring clean clothes in there,” she said, swiftly grabbing the needed items before disappearing again into the bathroom.

Well, if Earlene had a hard time with it, Lorna was hopeless. “Forget this,” she muttered, grabbing the hand-towel off the handle of the mini-fridge door. Wrapping it around the bottle, she braced the neck against the edge of the dresser and hit it as hard as she could.

The glass snapped cleanly, and when she took the towel away, she found a smooth, even break. “There. Now we just have to drink the whole bottle, which, wow, what a hardship.” She grabbed a glass and held the towel over it, slowly pouring the wine. It would filter out any glass particulates that might have managed to get into the wine. There was nothing quite like breaking glass to cool one’s temper, though she’d be much happier if she could just go smash the empty bottle.

Earlene reemerged from the bathroom in time to see the...proceedings. Her eyes widened in disbelief. _It’s a fucking wine bottle, for god’s sake...really?? With a...towel??_ This was really close to the French toast episode, and the last thing she needed to see right now.

_Meluieg, if you can possibly manage, I would be very grateful if you could not react to this. I will explain at a later time. Could you play along as though this were somehow normal? Please?_

Taking another deep breath, she returned to the bathroom because that’s where...combs were. _Sure_. She walked to the toilet and lifted the towel. _THIS IS YOUR FUCKING FAULT_ , she said in her mind, as she pointed to the disturbingly bizarre face. And with another great sigh she came out for a third time, combing her hair. “Pour me a glass,” she said. For Thranduil, she would do anything in her power. _If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song references:  
> "Imagine", by John Lennon  
> "Mrs. Robinson", by Simon and Garfunkel
> 
> "Meldis" is an affectionate term that indicates a female friend.


	37. Thirty-seven

At the bakery the next morning, Lorna got her usual pastries and tried a new coffee (chocolate cappuccino with extra foam and whipped cream, the addition of which actually made the barista twitch a little -- and as ever, she’d had to convey her order through writing, since none of the damn employees understood her accent) and for the first time paused when she passed the basket of newspapers. The headline arrested her where she stood:

_“Amazons Take Revenge in Central Park.”_

No. _No._ Hardly daring to believe what she was seeing, she gleefully snatched one up and brought it back to the table with her. She barely managed to avoid setting her cup right on Thanadir’s plate (his disturbingly full plate. His appetite seemed worryingly muted this morning.)

Her eyes darted over the article, following it to its continuation on a further page. She looked at Earlene, and at Thanadir, and pinched her leg really, really hard. What had happened last night was not funny in the least, but this article…

 _Thranduil, those muggers thought Thanadir_ was a woman, she said, unable to speak aloud just yet. She was shaking from her attempt to stifle her laughter, and she wasn’t going to be able to manage it much longer. _Help me. This isn’t funny_ , _it’s_ not, _except it totally is, and if you don’t help me I’m going to die laughing._

Earlene looked at the permutations of Lorna’s face as she chewed her croissant and frowned, until her eyes drifted onto the headline also. Inhaling sharply, a flake of pastry immediately flew down the wrong pipe, causing her to race outside so she could cough and splutter without being a spectacle. Tears were streaming down her face as she tried to clear her windpipe with rasping coughs that would probably earn her suspicion as a TB patient. In her experience, it was always better to cause a scene out on the sidewalk than in an enclosed building. Always. _Oh HELL no_ , was all she could think, concerning the headline. Thanadir appeared alongside her in a flash, turning her toward him, and placing his hand on her back. In a matter of seconds she no longer felt the horrid sensation... _how did they DO that?_ she wondered. Her composure regained, she thanked him profusely, and they returned inside. Without hesitation she purchased two papers, reasoning that Lorna might not have known to pay for the first one, and returned to her seat and the newspaper. Her eyes were riveted and wide as saucers.

_“An attempted assault on two joggers went terribly wrong for the criminals last night at Bethesda Terrace in Central Park”, the article declared._

_“They were Amazons,” raved one of the criminals-turned-victim at police. News of the violent acts of self-defense spread throughout the Park’s homeless community; had the assaults succeeded, it would have marked the Park’s tenth violent crime this year._

_NYPD apprehended and arrested two incapacitated males late last night after the pair admitted to assault and attempted robbery. Authorities believe they may be the same individuals responsible for a recent spate of violent crimes in city parks. It was the second time in only three days that nighttime attacks on women were reported._

_Michael Thain, 30, and Devin Matthews, 27, are paroled offenders who have served sentences for numerous crimes and violations. But on this occasion, the evening did not go according to plan._

_NYPD called emergency medical workers to the scene. Both men were transported to area hospitals for their injuries, where both confessed to an attempted robbery of two female joggers. Matthews had been pepper-sprayed and was the recipient of multiple kicks to the groin region by the unknown woman or women, who defended themselves vigorously. Thain reported being hoisted, choked, and disarmed by ‘an Amazon that broke his arm’ before he lost consciousness._

_Matthews was found by NYPD rolling in pain on the pavement and Thain was barely coherent; both men were screaming ‘protect us’ and ‘they were Amazons!’_

_Thain will face additional charges for being a convicted felon in possession of a firearm. A handgun with fingerprints matching Thain’s was recovered from the scene. Drug paraphernalia and methamphetamine were also recovered from both men; the results of toxicology screening are pending._

_A hospital worker who insisted on anonymity stated that injuries to both men included ‘serious damage in the form of rupture to the male genitalia.’ “_

_No victims have as of yet come forward to report the assaults. NYPD is asking for any witnesses to please contact Detective Sabean at (718) 233-4578.”_

Lorna, still pinching her thigh, shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. The fact that Earlene had ruptured both their bollocks made her feel rather better about not hunting the pair down last night, but they thought...they thought Thanadir was a woman. Okay, he had long hair, and he was a slender sort, so she supposed he could be mistaken for a very tall woman in the dark -- but only by someone on drugs. He didn’t exactly have a woman’s figure. (Then again, neither did she, but _still_ …)

Thranduil looked at his wife with an arched eyebrow; her return expression was somewhat dour.

_This was the best possible outcome, Hîr vuin, but I would rather that nothing of the sort had happened._

_They brought this on themselves, meluieg. What was done was necessary, and now these men can face the consequences of your laws._

_I barely know how to thank Thanadir._

_He knows of your appreciation, Earlene. To see you safe, he would do that and much more._

 

Earlene took her husband’s hand, and surveyed the untouched pastries still on Thanadir’s plate. The bakery staff shot disappointed glances his way from time to time. She’d seen a piece of paper passed around, and wondered if they had made a betting pool centered around the seneschal’s appetite. “Cian, you are not hungry this morning?” she asked kindly.

Thanadir looked up sheepishly from his chocolate cappuccino, which seemed to be his favorite coffee. “I think the...Nonna...did something to me, Earlene. I still feel full from last night.”

Earlene patted his hand in sympathy and helped herself to one of the uneaten baked goods while her phone chimed with a text message. “I understand. I am only grateful that she did not also bring you dessert. We can save these for later. Today we will go first to another museum.” She frowned. “Your tuxedos for tomorrow night have arrived at the concierge. Now I have two reasons to return to our room for a moment. If you will excuse me, this will take only a few minutes.” She stood to leave, swiftly procuring a bag for the treats, and Thranduil rose with her.

“We will both be back momentarily.”

Neither Lorna nor Thanadir seemed to mind, as they were both now occupied in the newspapers.

The tuxedos were indeed there. Earlene had a mind that these would need to be tried on before they went to the theater in the mid-afternoon; if any alterations were needed, Gino needed enough time to manage that but the odds of this being an issue were minimal. The genial old Italian tailor simply did not ever make mistakes. Thranduil insisted on carrying both garments, and his amorous demeanor in the elevator they had to themselves suggested that his reason for accompanying her had to do with more than acting the part of bellhop.

Once inside the door, all doubt vanished, as she felt his swollen masculinity pressing up against her. “I thought if I could be very quick, that you might indulge me?” he said, as he pressed kisses against her throat. It took little convincing, as she had yearned for him as well but had been held in check by the need to not cause Lorna or Thanadir discomfort. Thranduil chuckled. “You mean, Lorna. Thanadir would merely turn his back and ignore us.”

“You’re joking,” she breathed as she undid his jeans, freeing him, at the same time she stepped out of her own capri pants, and just had the presence of mind to hang the Do Not Disturb placard and lock the door. The rest of the conversation had to wait a moment, but not much longer. Their lust was intense, and in what was perhaps a record for brevity they satisfied each other’s wants for the time being, groaning as they each found release. In the tender aftermath of soft kisses, he explained. “I will confess that when Alassëa and I were newly wed, there was more than one instance of unseemliness that Thanadir had to endure from our eagerness. And while I now look back on our behavior and shake my head, it taught me that he can and will do just as I said, and take no offense. He views the marital act as another way in which I find happiness, nothing more or less.”

Earlene snatched up her pants, disappearing into the bathroom to both ease nature and reassemble herself. “You elves are remarkable. It is hardly possible for people to hear or see such...activity...without becoming either offended or aroused. Were it not the case, there would be no porn industry.”

This caused Thranduil to recall something. “Lorna told me once that I should ask you what a ‘porn star’ is,” he said as he pulled on his trousers.

Earlene rolled her eyes. _Why am I not surprised?_ “They are film actors, but ‘porn’ means, films in which adults have sex with each other. There is only rarely any kind of plot or story. It is watched to arouse and facilitate sexual fantasy, most often for males who are not partnered. But really there is no clear description for who watches it or finds it appealing. I will confess to having seen some, in order to satisfy curiosity and to try and learn a thing or two but…” she dropped off in mid-sentence.

“But what?” His curiosity was piqued.

“But what is shown is almost always sex in the absence of love, and I believe that much of it does not reflect what a healthy couple would want of each other. Especially, it seems like it teaches men to use women for gratification more than how to treat their partners as individuals. Maybe it is just my perception.” She laughed. “Besides, with you, I hardly have much motivation to seek that out. You have kept me very fulfilled, in this way. And that being said, we should return before our dalliance here becomes too obvious,” she teased, with one final tasting of his soft lips and a sigh. This vacation was very nice, but it was the least they’d made love since coming together. _Soon we will be home_ , she thought, with a smile.

They took the elevator down. “I meant to thank you again for last night,” he said. “About the wine, I mean. What I could not tell you is how upset Lorna was, and that it was necessary to allow her to vent her frustrations with alcohol or find some way to prevent mischief while she went out looking for those you and Thanadir encountered. I felt the alcohol was the lesser of two evils, however great the indignity to the wine bottle and the hotel towel.”

“Well, that’s not good,” Earlene frowned. “I know that she responds...differently, than I would, to many things. But especially here, you don’t go looking for additional trouble. There are times I wonder if it would be better to just not tell her about things that are upsetting. While I hate to edit, it’s better than worrying that the truth will provoke her into doing something unwise.”

Thranduil looked at his wife. “I would ask you not to do that, meluieg, and to give me your trust. Lorna can, and will, learn to do better. But not if she is denied the opportunity. Not if her thinking is never challenged. I do not feel as though I can say more, without…”

Earlene reached up and placed her finger over his lips while her other arm circled his waist. “Even were your word not law to me, I have heard enough. I am not blind; you have your own friendship with her and I will not stand between you. I will do as you ask, and I do not require elaborations. That being said, thank you for explaining to me; at least it makes more sense now.”

Thranduil returned her embrace, kissing the top of her head, and reflecting on what Lorna had told him yesterday. She had been right; of all the mortal minds he had encountered, none had been like Earlene. None whatsoever. _How, indeed, had she been the one to come to him? Valar?_ It was much to consider.

Their absence had not been deemed excessive, apparently, as both Lorna and Thanadir were still reading the Times when they seated themselves. “Today we will be in the neighborhood, so I see no reason to carry lunch with us. We can go when everyone is ready.”

Lorna had just about finished her coffee (and had to continually wipe off a rather impressive foam mustache before it grew ever more impressive). By now she’d mastered, more or less, her impulse to burst out laughing...so long as she didn’t look at the paper. Still, though, how could a person mistake Thanadir for a woman? Yes, he was on the skinny side, and yes, he had fabulous hair, but he was also over six feet tall and entirely lacked anything remotely resembling tits. “I’m good,” she said, nibbling the last of her pastry. Her bag was re-packed for the day, and without sandwiches, she’d be able to fit more things in it. She intended to get more souvenirs, dammit, and something less weird than the Statue of Liberty M&M’s. She’d got Mairead a real, nice thing; now it was Ratiri’s turn.

Earlene led them the few blocks over to the Museum of Modern Art, with a plan to let the suffer among the weirdnesses on the ground floor for awhile, then to take them upstairs to the masterpieces that were the royalty of art on the fourth floor. Then they could amble their way through the rest of it as much or little as they liked. She found that the contrast was just as effective as an art appreciation lecture. Honestly, some of the ‘modern’ art in here were pieces to which she’d never exactly reconciled herself. All the academic preaching in the world just didn’t convince her that a vertical line on a canvas belonged in a museum.

Lorna looked around the room, uncertain what to expect from the name of the place. The interior of the building was mercifully cool, but some of its contents...what the hell was this? Yeah, all of it was bizarre, and she suspected there was some pretentious reason behind all of it, but this one...it was a canvas, taller than she was, painted cobalt blue, with the word OOF painted on it in huge, yellow letters. “ _This is art?_ ” she demanded, offended on behalf of all actual art everywhere. “ _This_ is _art_? Are you fucking kidding me? All right, I’ll accept most’v these have got some meaning behind them, but just...no. This isn’t art, it’s some twat fooling the world into thinking painting OOF on something is worth more than getting binned with extreme prejudice.” It was a really, really good thing that she was probably unintelligible to most if not all of the other patrons, because she wasn’t about to hold back. “Any kid with paint and a ruler could do that, and I’m betting the bloody thing’s worth ten thousand dollars, isn’t it?”

Earlene enjoyed Lorna’s tirade because privately, she pretty much agreed. And while she didn’t know the purchase price of this work, ten grand was just likely waaaay too conservative, given the donor list behind its acquisition. It was probably best to say nothing, and hope Lorna liked the Andy Warhol a little better. Then again, it was fun to foment dissent… “You shouldn’t waste _all_ your fuming on ‘OOF’, Lorna,” she said, gesturing across to the next room. “Here is the marvel known formally as ‘Equivalent V.’ I want you to pay special attention to how this is two layers of firebrick, stacked in an orderly fashion. At gran’s farm, Aidan and I made about a dozen of these. Red brick, fire brick, salvaged brick, burned bricks, cinder blocks, cinder pavers...get the idea? And yet stupid us, if we’d only had the brains to drive it down here, one of those piles could’ve probably paid for my first year’s tuition at Columbia.” She felt both satisfied and vaguely horrible as she watched Lorna’s eyebrows shoot up into her fringe, as she stared at the thing. Too late, Earlene had a twinge of regret...hopefully Lorna wouldn’t start re-stacking the bricks; she hadn’t thought of that….with a visible glare at her, Thranduil chose just that moment to swoop in because he wanted to show Lorna something.

_Meluieg, shame on you._

_I was just entertaining myself._

_We will discuss this later._

_Yes, my Lord_ , she said silently, while her ear to ear grin spoke of a far different outcome.

“That’s a patio,” Lorna said flatly. “That’s not art, it’s a bloody _patio_.” She paused, pained. “Earlene, for the love’v God, tell me they’ve not got period art here. Seriously. Tell me.” Given some of the garbage she’d already seen, she wouldn’t put it past this place.

Earlene frowned. “Most of the art here is period art….wait. Suddenly I don’t think we have the same definition of that word. You don’t...oh my god, you don’t mean… No. Just, no. I think it’s time we went to the fourth floor. Look, there’s the stairs!” At the top, there was a lovely Andrew Wyeth that she enjoyed very much, ‘Christina’s World’.

Now see, this was what Lorna called proper art, because it actually took skill to produce. She could build a patio or paint OOF on a canvas; she could not, however, do this. “All right, I know there’s always meaning behind a real painting, so what’s behind this one? Is she paralyzed or something?”

“It says a little bit, on the description,” Earlene said. “That woman was someone the artist knew, she’d had polio. So probably you’re right, that she couldn’t walk. He wanted to show how the woman overcame her condition. Down but not out, or something like that.”

Lorna shivered a little. Gran had grown up long before the days of the polio vaccine, and had a few horror stories to tell. Big Jam’s mam had had to go into hospital and get stuck in an iron lung for a while, because her lungs wouldn’t work right.

Not far away was an artist she actually knew, and not just from _Doctor Who_. There had been a print of _Starry Night_ in the prison library, and it had made her very curious about Van Gogh, and why he painted as he did. The theories that he was schizophrenic made, in Lorna’s opinion, a lot of sense, the poor bloke -- though there were, so she’d read, doubts about whether he’d been the one to cut his ear off or not. She actually had to tuck her hands behind her back to avoid reaching out and touching the paintings, because she was terribly curious as to what they would feel like. “You know,” she said, “I read that a lot’v the Impressionists painted like they did because their eyesight was shite. They painted everything as they saw it, because for whatever reason, they didn’t have glasses.” She was pretty sure glasses had been expensive as hell back then, so a lot of people who needed them didn’t have them. She was quite grateful that she’d reached forty and still didn’t need them -- but then, Gran had had close to perfect eyesight until the day she died, and she’d been 97.

Earlene definitely was not an art historian, but she tried to explain to the ellyn that up here were paintings that were famous and recognizable to most people, by artists whose names most everyone knew. And that some of the artworks were very, very valuable, which was why guards were everywhere to make sure no one touched them or did anything else they weren’t supposed to. And how the different periods of art reflected different ideas, different ways of seeing the world. Unsurprisingly, they liked the Monets and Van Goghs more than the Picassos and Dalis (“Salvador Dali must’ve dropped a lot’v acid,” was Lorna’s observation)...but at least they got to see them, along with it a wide swath of what passed for western art. Plenty of people had seen a picture of ‘Starry Night’, but not so many were privileged to stand in front of the real deal.

Thranduil and Thanadir had said little, while at the museum. Lorna had taken a moment to inspect the gift shop, so the three of them waited for her in the cavernous entry area.

“What did you think?” she asked them.

Thranduil smiled down at her. “Aside from your shameless baiting of Lorna concerning the bricks, I found this enjoyable. Many things here are heartfelt, and moving to look upon.”

Earlene’s lips parted. He was apparently more serious about that incident than she had realized. “I ask your pardon,” she said with humility, lowering her eyes. “I will not do that again.” Apparently she was not allowed to have that particular kind of fun, but, she could take that in stride. She conceded, he knew more about Lorna, and likely had his reasons.

Thanadir witnessed this exchange, and his high opinion of Earlene continued to climb. He very much understood being the subject of this kind of rebuke, having received the same from his King more times than he could count. That she responded to Thranduil as he himself would gained his favor, though he knew that nothing about her actions had anything to do with him.

“You have it, meluieg,” he said, brushing her cheek with his fingers in affection. That he could be so forthright with his mortal wife was something he was coming to appreciate a great deal. Satisfied that she was forgiven, Earlene turned her attention to Thanadir.

“And you, Cian? Did you like the museum?”

Thanadir turned his thoughts from wherever they were to focus on her question. A slight wrinkle to his youthful forehead was the only thing that betrayed this being a slightly difficult question to answer. “Humans are a complex and diverse group,” he said. “The paintings seemed to be about so many different things, and some of them so obviously took a very long time to create. Some I would like to see again, others, I would not. What I take away with me is that the more I try to understand what defines mortals, the more it eludes me.”

 _Well that is food for reflection_ , she thought. Did she have a sense of what defined elves? While she hadn’t spent time pondering that, she had a feeling that it was an easier answer. And before this great philosophical matter could receive further attention, Lorna returned from the gift shop.

Lorna wasn’t quite sure how she was going to carry an 11” by 13” mounted print, but whatever. They’d wrapped it well on top of the shrink wrap, shrouding it in paper and tying a string around it so she could hold it like her purse. She’d drop it off in their room -- hell, maybe she’d try to hang it over Scary Bathroom Guy. It wasn’t nearly big enough to cover him entirely, but better than nothing. “I knew some modern art could be bloody stupid, but that damn OOF picture takes the flipping cake. For anyone to take that seriously to begin with must’v involved witchcraft.”

Back in their room, Earlene announced that it would be necessary for the ellyn to try on their tuxedos for tomorrow night. _Please please please let them need no alterations_ , she thought. As their time here was winding down she was regretting this party invitation more and more, but there was no getting out of it short of all four of them getting the flu (beyond unlikely). After explaining a few details Thanadir might not have seen before, she turned her back though she did not need to, and left them to their devices. A few moments later, throat clearing caused her to turn back around. _Holy Christ, they look good_. It was an expansive effort, to keep her eyeballs in her head, but for Thanadir’s sake she tried; Thranduil would know what she was thinking regardless. Which was, that if she had ever wanted to shove him onto a bed and fuck him senseless just based on appearance alone, now would be that time. Only the thinnest hint of a smile and arch of an eyebrow betrayed the degree to which this was pleasing the Elvenking. Trying to beat back the faint flush that she knew was creeping over her cheeks, she refused to look them in the eye and wrenched her mind onto what was important; that these fitted properly. They wore classic ‘James Bond’ type black tuxes with a twist; the lapels were in black satin and a different silk necktie had been provided for each. Thranduil’s had black and silver diagonal pinstripes, and Thanadir’s was of an impressionistic print with blacks, dark greys and muted burgundies. They would definitely not be out of place in any manner, tomorrow evening.

“I can find no fault with any aspect of these; I hope they are comfortable enough?”

Nods and smiles from both seemed to settle the matter.

Lorna had headed into the bathroom, for privacy reasons -- hers more than theirs, given that they didn’t seem to care who saw them without their togs on. She hadn’t tried on her own dress since Thanadir altered it for her, and she wanted to make sure nothing had somehow gone wrong. It hadn’t; the burgundy velvet was nice and smooth from hanging in the closet, the wrinkles having straightened themselves out (elf fabric, wtf, but she wasn’t complaining). It was a kind of Empire waist, with a neckline bordered by a gold ribbon embroidered with suns. The sleeves were embroidered with gold vines, twining their way up her forearms -- it was a lovely dress, and not too much for someone her height.

What she really needed to do was practice with that lovely comb, so practice she did, bringing it into a half-updo bun. The lower half she left loose, just because she could, and decided that she’d pass muster, once all was said and done. Still trying to work out how to move in a slightly longer dress without look or feeling like an eejit, she rapped on the door. “You two decent out there?”

“Yes,” was Thranduil’s amused and drawled response. “You may come out.” She could have never bothered to have gone in there, but he knew this was Lorna. “Besides, your opinion is wanted.”

The skirt on this thing was longer than she was used to, but mercifully, she could walk easily enough. She stuck her head out the door, and her eyebrows rose.

Privately, she’d wondered just how well tuxedos would work on the elves -- after all, tuxedos were thoroughly modern garments. She needn’t have worried, though; both of them carried it off a touch too well -- possibly well enough that Earlene was going to spend the evening silently staking her claim against all the other women there, if the rich types even did that. “Swanky,” she said, heading out and circling them both. “Props to your tailor, Earlene, but I wouldn’t go leaving Thranduil or Thanadir for more than three seconds. I don’t know if your sort actually grope each other, but you never know.” She felt a tidbit ill saying that; while Thanadir hadn’t reached Pat-status, he was still nevertheless someone she would never, ever think of like that. The thought of anyone else doing so was vaguely wrong.

Earlene was not certain how to respond to that, because she had never been to one of these parties with an escort to whom she was romantically attached. More or less she’d had a pact with Tim Browning from her office; they would meet up at these things together and between the two of them, fend off unwanted attention. Though few knew it, Tim was uninterested in women, whereas Earlene didn’t want the hassle of anyone attempting to hit on her. So successfully had they kept up this ruse over the years that not a few idle gossips believed them to be in a well-hidden office romance. John Oehlert alone knew the truth aside from them, but that was the fabulous thing about John; he kept confidences utterly private.

“Well, it looks like we’re set for tomorrow. We’ve about an hour to change again and get to our next destination. If no one is starving, I thought we’d find dinner afterward?”

Thanadir was first to say yes, which caused her to feel awful. _Nonna ruined him_ , Earlene lamented privately. _We won’t even make it to Holey Cream at this rate_. Aloud she said, “We’re going to see a theater performance. So clothes that are on the nicer side would have us looking the least out of place,” she offered.

Lorna’s velvet tunic was still smooth, since she’d had the foresight to hang it up, and she had knee-length leggings that were slightly classier than shorts. “Somebody help me get this thing out’v my hair, will you? I’m afraid if I try to take it on my own, I’ll break it.” It had three strands of pearls that looped forward from the comb on either side of her head, hooking into her hair, and it seemed to be a lot older than it would have been if someone had given it to Ratiri’s mother when it was new. She didn’t even want to think about what it was actually worth.

“I’ve got it,” Earlene said, her nimble fingers carefully working out the ornament. This was the first time she’d seen it up close. The weight and smithing of them immediately told her that these were not costume, and that they were, she guessed, upwards of 70 years old. She did not know Far Eastern jewelry well, but she was sure that this was at least 10 karat gold, if not 14, and there was a _lot_ of gold on these. Even if it was the lower grade, they were still valuable for the precious metal alone, never mind the pearls. They were a beautiful gift, and she was so glad that Ratiri had given something this thoughtful and personal.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Lorna asked. “Ratiri’s mam, she came from a family that had money, and they weren’t best pleased she was marrying some middle-class white bloke from Scotland. Still, _her_ mam was an old battleaxe who wanted her only daughter to be happy, so they got a proper wedding in spite’v the rest’v her family, and she got sent to Scotland with all sorts’v presents so it wouldn’t seem like another world to her.”

Earlene tried to think if she had circumstance like it to compare. “My family was as pasty white as they come,” she said. “But unlike many, they weren’t bigots. I never heard a harsh word about anyone from other backgrounds. I give them credit for seeing past that. Dad was Irish, obviously, but mom was only half. So I’m actually a bit German. It was the running joke that maybe that’s where my coloring is from, since an awful lot of the family looks more like Aidan. Seems like people love to pick on others for their differences, too often.”

“I got picked on a bit at school,” Lorna said, shaking out her hair. “If you were even vaguely brown at that point, people looked at you weird, but it was never _too_ bad. There were four’v us, and we looked out for each other: if you fucked with one Donovan, all four came down on your head like the fist’v an angry, drunken god. Kept the worst’v it at bay. I didn’t care if someone called me Pikey, though I’d thump them if they called Mick that. He was so much more sensitive than the rest’v us.”

Earlene raised her eyebrows. This, perhaps, explained a few things. She’d never had any occasion to have to have a...what did you even call that...pack mentality? Because in her world, with the exception of her brother, people were fundamentally decent. And for Aidan, dad and mom were quick to come down on the worst of his shite, especially when she was younger. There had never been any need to think this way. She sighed, remembering what Thranduil had asked of her, and felt vaguely ashamed. It wasn’t intentional, that she’d lost sight of their different backgrounds, but, she had. Handing Lorna’s comb back to her with a kind smile, she excused herself to hunt up some clothes, and retreated into the bathroom. For a moment, she stood, looking at herself in the mirror, before her heart lurched to see she was not alone. “You’re going to kill me one day, coming in like that so silently,” she gently reproached her husband. “The human heart isn’t built for being startled like that.”

Thranduil smiled. “And yet I will not allow yours, which is perfectly healthy, to fail,” he said. “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being who you are, meluieg. For your love, your compassion, and for your willingness to follow my direction.”

 

“You are welcome, but aren’t you praising me only for doing what is expected? I believe I agreed, especially to that last part,” she teased.

She received no reply other than a kiss, a suggestive bite to her lower lip, and a smile. Sighing and shaking her head, she changed her clothing.

Lorna, shaking out her tunic, carried it and her half-leggings into the bathroom, and nearly screamed blue murder when she realized Thranduil was in there, too. When Earlene followed after she shooed him out, she changed as fast as she could, throwing her hair back into a braid and carefully laying the comb in its flat wooden box. The box went back into the hotel room safe, because she didn’t care if everything else somehow got nicked, so long as that stayed safe.

They retraced their steps nearly to the restaurant of last night, with Thanadir darting worried expressions at whether he was secretly being taken back to face Nonna again. Taking his arm and patting it, she deliberately led them further down Seventh Avenue before turning off toward the Majestic Theater. “Phantom of the Opera” seemed like a safe and romantic choice (but not too romantic), and certainly was nowhere near what had begun to be thought of in her mind as _Hedwig Level_. She would have to watch it again at home, alone, even if it meant sneaking off with her laptop and earbuds to a dark corner of The Spotted Dick. Her enjoyment of it had been compromised, and needed rescuing.

They found themselves again in a lovely theater, and looked around appreciatively. “What is this about, Earlene?” Thanadir asked, curious.

“This is a musical. Not at all like Hedwig,” she hurriedly added, “but alike in the sense that it tells a theatrical story, both in words and in music. It is about a young woman who is alone in the world, who works as a dancer at an opera house in Paris. The setting is something over a hundred years ago in history. All sorts of things happen to her, when two different men become romantically interested in her, and one of those men carries a dark secret. As you can see the name of it is “The Phantom of the Opera.”

“Phantom…?” he said, with a hint of confusion, and then she understood.

“A ghost, a spectre... _a faded presence_ , for lack of better words?”

 _That_ word, he knew very well. He nodded, and took his seat.

This was one Lorna knew very well. Mairead was a big fan of West End and Broadway musicals, and had loads of soundtracks. As much of a creep as the Phantom was, she couldn’t help but feel rather sorry for _him_ , the poor bastard. Yeah, he did some reprehensible shite, but he was so hideous he didn’t dare show his face. That had to fuck a person up. And Raoul...he was just a gobshite. Pushy didn’t do him justice.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, too, in the prologue, given how old and broken he was. And the effect, when the chandelier was lifted and the opera house returned to glory, was staggeringly well-done for a stage production. It actually made her shiver a bit.

Earlene knew this musical backwards and forwards, and this was an excuse to enjoy it again; the music in it was brilliant and had enough classical-like elements to hold her interest. Of course now that she thought about it, maybe it was a little uncomfortable, too. There were echoes of how she came to be wed, in here, though in her eyes she’d gotten a better outcome, by far. But using seduction as a tool of manipulation? Oh yes, that chapter was covered in depth. Aaaand maybe she should think about something else, like how incredible the staging was, and was that an upgraded chandelier?

Thranduil’s arm came around her, and his head leaned down to touch hers. They both knew, their beginning could not be undone. _Nothing changes that I love you, meluieg._

 _I know._ She leaned into his hold, glad to be there, however infamously it had all begun.

Perhaps mercifully, Lorna was too entranced to make that unsettling comparison. She had never been to a live show until the ballet, and this was quite different from ballet. That Carlotta was a twat, though; any performer worth their salt went on come hell or high water. Poor Christine... _she_ was a precious cinnamon roll, too pure for the world, and deserved better than the two men she’d attracted. A sociopath and a gobshite...every girl’s dream. Except, you know, not. But that she, at her age, had believed in an ‘Angel of Music’, as opposed to insanity or a potential stalker...well. Some people were just naive, and the girl _was_ an orphan.

And as creepy as the Phantom was, the set and scene when he took Christine underground left Lorna wide-eyed with delight. It was spooky and beautiful, and whoever had first blocked it out was a genius. Candles and music and mist, oh my.

Earlene was transfixed...whoever the singers were, they were _that_ good. And she’d heard more than one, in this role. The soprano was flawless, and believable in her role as a young woman. And the guy singing the Phantom...um, _Jesus. Sex in a bottle_ , just like he needed to be. Glancing over at the seneschal, she smiled. _I hope, later on, it will be workable to take him to see movies, movies on the big screen_. She now wanted him to see the best ones, with all the enticement a real theater had to offer. Hm. Of all the activities on this trip, simply going to see a movie had not crossed her radar...but just any movie wouldn’t do. This would require some thought...though, _Alice in Wonderland_ already came to mind....

A light brush of fingers on her cheek helped steady her busy thoughts, especially since her brain was probably drowning out the singers in Thranduil’s ears. _I am sorry_ , she sent. She managed to refocus her attention for all the many scenes. There was intermission, and then her favorite one of all...the Masquerade. This, in her mind, was the pinnacle of the production, not only for musical complexity but also for the show-stopping wardrobe. Probably the highlight of her time was going to be the memory of Thanadir’s face when the gorgeous dresses and masks, waistcoats and realistic animal costumes were all trotted onstage at once. When he was completely entranced, his lips parted and his entire face relaxed and it melted her heart to see this.

Just like with the ballet, this was a _really_ good production.

Lorna found herself following the song, mouthing the lyrics while the dancers spun, until the Red Death made his appearance. How the actor could move in that mask and not run into anyone or anything, she didn’t know. _Don Juan Triumphant_...talk about a pompous bloody title. Not just a sociopath, but a pretentious one, and yet she still found him less obnoxious than Raoul. Poor Christine. Alas, this was not like _Repo! The Genetic Opera_ or _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ ; audience participation was not encouraged. (And she was, sooner or later, showing both movies to the elves...though not at the same time. Nowhere near the same time. Just...no.) While this Phantom sounded like sin personified (where had they found this performer? He was phenomenal), she still didn’t think he was as good as Graverobber in _Repo!_

All too soon, the final strains of music played, and the rose was left behind. Enthusiastic cries of “Bravo!” echoed all around, and Earlene glanced at Thanadir once again, to see that another lone tear rolled down his cheek. She did not care, she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Meldir,” she said, patting him on the arm. Did Thranduil have any idea how special his seneschal was? Of course he did, but...still. She was quickly distracted by a kiss to her own cheek, as she looked up into the sparkling eyes of her husband, their blue muted and changed in the still-dim lighting. _I will kiss your cheek too_ , if you help me a little, she said mischievously. His extra inches of height made that a challenge. She felt his lips instead, but that was hardly a problem. They applauded along with the rest, and a good time had been had by all.

That had been bloody _brilliant_. Lorna could see, now, why Mairead was so in love with musicals; her sister had actually been to a few in the West End, and seeing them live was so much better than just listening to a soundtrack. She didn’t at all mind that her arse had gone to sleep, sitting in that lovely comfy chair; they had a bit before it would be their turn to file out. “I didn’t realize it’d be like _that_ , seeing it on a stage,” she said. “Or hearing it.” Mairead had a grand sound system, but nothing compared to a live performance.

But now she was hungry, and hoped Thanadir’s appetite had returned at least somewhat. She needed to eat and digest all she’d just seen, the beauty and the sheer scope of it. She’d never given live theater a great deal of thought one way or the other, but now...Jesus.

Earlene leaned in as they waited their turn to leave. “So there are multiple choices but I was thinking Mexican, Greek, or Afghani. Any input? I thought we owed Thanadir an ethnicity where nothing like a Nonna could possibly appear.”

Lorna didn’t want to point out an an Abuela might be just as dangerous as a Nonna, because she really wanted Mexican. She’d never had proper Mexican food; the average Irish stomach couldn’t handle spicy foods, so even true Spanish dishes weren’t a thing. They were all the watered-down sort that contained maybe half a pinch of anything discernibly spicy. “I vote Mexican,” she said. “We can always get Greek back home, and I’m not even sure what Afghani food is. I’m not feeling _that_ adventurous.”

Earlene knew that the ellyn would not know up from down about any of her proposed choices. And, she should be able to steer them away from anything too risky. “Then Mexican it is,” she said. “We will walk over to Hell’s Kitchen, there is a great place by 54th Street.”

Lorna used the walk as an excuse to stretch a bit, pleased that today wasn’t nearly as oppressive, heat and humidity-wise. Still warm by her standards, but it was rather nice. Humming under her breath, she eyed the city, still feeling so very small within it. But then, she was fairly certain _everyone_ felt a least a little small -- possibly even the elves. With so many people here, how could you not?

And yet she found she missed Ratiri immensely. Sending him emails full of the weird and wonderful shite they’d done wasn’t the same as talking to him, and they were banjaxed by the time zone differences.

“Meluieg, is not ‘Hell’ a religious word for a bad place in the afterlife? Why is this area called ‘Hell’s Kitchen’? That seems like a terribly unattractive designation, for a part of a city.”

Breaking into laughter, Earlene choked out a reply. “It is. And you ask a good question; there is still no agreement as to why it has that name, exactly. But all of the answers given will reflect on the fact that at one time, this area was awful. It was working-class Irish for much of its history, poor, and violence ran unchecked here. Everything changed beginning about forty years ago, so of course I have no perspective on what it once was. The one I like the best was said by Davy Crockett, an American frontiersman. He said, in so many words, that the Irish were so awful that they were too mean to clean Hell’s Kitchen.”

Lorna burst out laughing. “Well, we’d take that as a compliment,” she said.

Ushered in, they all found themselves seated and handed menus that only Earlene had a prayer of understanding. The waiter looked all too eager to mansplain it all for them, and seemed vaguely disappointed when she had no intention of asking him to clarify the offerings. She ordered different house margaritas for all of them, on the rocks, and had all but hers upgraded to a grande size. Lorna would either love or hate tequila, and this was the benign way to test the waters. “Pick what you’d like, or if your brain freezes I’m happy to do what we did last night with, uh, less food.”

Lorna eyed the menu, spoiled for choice. She’d never actually had lobster before, so why not. “Can I get the Langosta?” she asked, looking up at the waiter -- who, naturally, looked down at her with polite incomprehension. Her accent was probably mangling even the name of the dish beyond recognition. Holding the menu out, she pointed, and comprehension dawned.

“Yes, yes.” He turned to Earlene. “Does your friend have a hard time here, needing a translator? My abuela, she understands, but she cannot speak, too.”

Lorna didn’t even bother to stop herself facepalming.

Earlene looked up at him with her sweetest expression, and spoke. “Ella está hablando inglés.” _My friend, your tip just went down at least seven percent_. The look on his face transformed from confident smugness to embarrassment and confusion. “We are Irish,” Earlene explained further. “This _used_ to be an Irish part of town.” And then she continued to breezily order four entrees ranging from sea bass to the chicken borrachos, plus two more orders of tacos different than what Lorna had asked for, because no one should have been to Mexican without having had at least one (and these were small). She should not admit to herself how much she was enjoying the waiter’s defeated expression, but, dammit, she really was. All those lunches with her Hispanic friend at the office, who had taught her flawless pronunciation plus some basic phrases, had just paid off in dividends. Maria would be very, very pleased.

“I knew that’d happen sooner or later,” Lorna sighed. “I just _knew_ it. D’you have any idea how lucky I counted myself, that you lot could understand me without resorting to bloody sign language?” Yeah, Thranduil had the telepathy, so her verbal speech wouldn’t have mattered either way, but Earlene and Thanadir had not, to her knowledge, had much trouble at all when she kept it muted. “Christ, even when I first moved to Baile people had an issue sometimes. You should’ve heard me trying to deal with customers at Jamie’s.”

Earlene frowned. “I never thought you were that hard to understand. I mean, when you go off into Irish yeah, I can only get that I’m probably hearing cussing. It’s funny because I always figured I’d be the one no one would hear right; I must sound like a complete...American. The only thing I can say in my defense is, at least I’m not from the south. They really do sound completely different, down there.”

Thranduil watched all of this with interest and amusement, and then their drinks arrived. Privately, he thought that the beverage was close to the size of Lorna’s head. For fun Earlene had switched up the flavors. Thanadir had watermelon, Thranduil the traditional lime, and Lorna got guava. After they all were done seeming alarmed, they cautiously leaned forward and tried them. At least the elves seemed to not be repulsed. Earlene now looked at Lorna. “You can all trade off, if you’d like, the fruit juices are different.”

Guava, Lorna discovered, was sweet, but not overly sweet. She did a bit more than ‘try’, though; ignoring the straw, she took what was at least a fairly restrained drink. Jesus, she could have the whole thing on her own, but she dutifully passed it onward, setting it before Thanadir’s plate.

The elves and Lorna passed their glasses until the round was made, after which Thranduil declared, “I like best the one I originally had. It is not so sweet.” Earlene arched her eyebrow. That left Thanadir and Lorna to pronounce judgement on watermelon and guava.

“Christ, I like them both, but I think the guava’s my favorite. If we’ve got that in Ireland, I’ve never heard’v it,” Lorna said, intending to look into it once they were home. By the time the drinks had fully made their rounds, she was feeling quite at one with the world, and possibly even very slightly buzzed. That was some potent damn tequila, if it could do that to her so soon.

“I like my watermelon,” Thanadir said. “What is a watermelon? What are any of these fruits?”

 _Valid question_ , she thought. Bringing out her phone, she soon had photos of the three to show him. “Honestly the only one half typical to this area is watermelon, and only in the summertime. But I think you may have seen where Mexico is, on a map? It is much warmer there, and all these fruits are very common.”

The waiter now appeared with their plates, and the smells were enticing. He seemed only mildly perturbed by their intention to share plates, to which Earlene sincerely believed that he needed to get out more often. Much more often. But best of all, after having had a brief rest, Thanadir’s enthusiasm for food seemed to be renewing. “These are flavors which might be unusual to you, and sometimes this cuisine can be spicy hot. I tried to choose foods that would not be too strong.” The nodding of heads and the steady eating seemed to mean that her choices were decent, and the food really was delicious. Because there had been no real cause for complaint, the poor man’s tip was restored to being within an anticipated range, and soon they left. _Now, for the moment of truth._ “Can I interest anyone in dessert?” she asked. “There’s a really fun place, right nearby.”

Thanadir immediately looked nervously optimistic. _Victory!_ thought Earlene. But so much better, if Lorna jumped on board, too.

“Donuts?” Lorna asked. “Sign me up.” She was going to gain ten pounds on this trip, but oh well. This was a city of amazingly tasty food, and she wasn’t about to deny herself -- plus, they’d done so damn much walking that she needed to keep her calorie count up anyway. At least, that was her excuse.

Earlene took Thranduil’s hand. _For what I am about to do, forgive me_ , she sent. The King chuckled and shook his head. He did not seem too upset, but neither had he laid eyes on this...quite….yet. Rounding the corner, they approached Holey Cream, where 'all the fat and twice the sugar' was not merely a saying. They came to the storefront, and she explained. “This is a dessert establishment that specializes in combining donuts and ice cream. Or cupcakes and ice cream. And toppings. And any imaginable form of sugary thing with every conceivable form of fattening sugary thing. I personally recommend the donut and ice cream sandwich, but don’t let my lack of imagination slow you down.”

Thranduil looked at the display cases and his lips parted, as he looked up at the menu, down at the donuts and cupcakes, and back up to the menu, and saw the other patrons filing out with their orders. _By Eru, now I know why she said that._

Lorna wanted absolutely everything. _Everything,_ starting with the Nutella donut , through the hot fudge sundae, past the Irish coffee ice cream and down through the sea-salt caramel. “Please, please tell me some’v these donuts’ll keep overnight,” she said, wondering if it would be too much of a hassle to have half this shop shipped back to Ireland. Probably.

“Donuts get weird after a day, but that depends on your level of personal determination, too.” Earlene’s hand flew over her mouth as she saw Thanadir approaching the donut display like a pilgrim arrived at a shrine. Somehow, somehow, the place was not crowded at the moment, so he could afford to do this without incurring anyone’s ire. “Do you know what you would like?” she asked him encouragingly, even though his eyes clearly said ‘the entire shop’.

“I like chocolate,” he said, overwhelmed, “but I do not know what to do.”

“Do you want me to order for you?”

The seneschal nodded.

“Donut sandwich, that chocolate cake donut with the chocolate glaze and chips, one scoop of Belgian chocolate chip ice cream, and the other scoop Midnight Cookies and Cream.” _And may the Valar help you eat it_ , she thought. For herself she picked the same, but chose ice cream flavors she suspected she and Thranduil both could share--sea salt caramel and pistachio on a vanilla glazed cake donut, because it was a foregone conclusion she could not possibly eat all of it herself.

Lorna, determined, managed to combine enunciation with her shitty handwriting and build her own sundae: Irish coffee ice cream, salted caramel, Nutella donut, whipped cream, and chocolate sprinkles, just...because. At least the cashier was patient when it came to her rather hellish accent, and the result was a cardboard carton half the size of her head, a mound of creamy deliciousness that she was probably going to regret later, but whatever. She clutched it like a child -- hell, like Smeagol in _Lord of the Rings_ \-- inordinately pleased.

 

They paid, and began ambling down the sidewalk on the still warm summer evening. Thranduil, who was more than content to have his share after his wife lost her battle with her dessert, realized that the best thing he could do would be to bring up the rear of their single file line so that no one crashed into a rubbish bin or otherwise became lost. To their credit, they did keep walking, though not perhaps as fast as some of the natives who passed them might have liked. Once they reached Times Square, though, all bets were off and they stood in an out of the way place, bunched together, with Thranduil ensuring any potential trouble remained at a distance while his charges ate themselves silly. What boggled him the most was that no fewer than eleven passers-by looked at the nutritional debacles with great envy, and asked for directions to the shop. After the third time, even he could say “796 Ninth Avenue” as though he lived here, and point the correct way. _The Elvenking of Eryn Galen is now giving directions to donuts_ , he thought, and had to pinch the bridge of his nose on principle. Thanadir, to his partial astonishment, ate his entire dessert. Earlene consumed exactly two-thirds, carving her spoonsful out in an elegant way that left the remaining portion still visually attractive and in pristine condition. And Lorna….

Lorna worked her way through her carton with single-minded determination, unwilling to waste even a spoonful. She would utterly regret it later, especially on top of the Mexican food, but that was what Thranduil and his lovely, wonderful magical healing was for. She was gaining an ever greater appreciation for it on this trip, even if only for either annoyances like cramps, or the results of her own stupidity. Letting any of this go to waste would be a travesty, so she ate on, unaware that she had a tiny dollop of whipped cream on the end of her nose. Watching the screens, the lights, the foot traffic, the real traffic...strangely, a shiver passed through her, and she thought again of _The Stand_ , and what had happened to Manhattan in the book. She definitely needed to not go to bed with indigestion, lest she have nasty dreams.

Earlene handed over her dessert to Thranduil, who held out his hand with an utterly amused look. He tasted the first bite, and almost hated to admit that he really liked the pistachio, whereas the salted caramel was only slightly sweeter than he preferred. Even the donut, if he avoided the glazed section, was half-enjoyable. They returned to their hotel room with eyes that were just as glazed as the donuts. Everyone but Thranduil wordlessly laid themselves down onto the layers of pillows, propped up, and stared into space, with an occasional soft moan. After ten minutes, Earlene fumbled for the remote, and turned on the television.

Lorna decided it was time to ditch the leggings for her sweats, so she hopped into the bathroom and swapped out her fancy clothes for her rather ratty ones, then broke out her laptop. She had another email to concoct for Ratiri, which included a picture Earlene had taken of her with her dessert from hell. “I don’t think I’ll eat another thing for the next five years,” she said.

Earlene began flipping through movie choices but then stopped, rose up, and semi-discreetly ditched her clothes in favor of loose, baggy garments that she would not feel obligated to think about breathing in. While doing so she caught sight of her dress for tomorrow night and wondered if she should eat between now and then. The better question was whether eating was possible. With another grunt of discomfort, she laid down again.

And there it was. _The Princess Bride_. With a soft chuckle, she did not even ask, but went ahead and selected it.

“Yeeeessss,” Lorna said, grinning. “I’ve always wanted to sword fight someone and say I’m not left-handed, except I actually am left-handed.” She settled back against her pillows, snickering a little the grandfather pinched the kid’s cheek (studiously not looking at Thanadir), and even more when the grandfather said, “When I was your age, television was called books.” It was weird to think that that kid was around her age. Who the hell named their kid Buttercup, though? Yeah, she was blonde, but still. “Cary Elwes was a looker, but he sure did age weird.”

Earlene took her wad of pillows and edged back against Thranduil, determined to be mildly mushy during this epic extravaganza. “Why is it always a Prince?” she muttered. “Sometimes it’s a King.” But she really didn’t want a response to that.

“The first time I heard the name ‘Humperdinck’, I just about laughed myself sick,” Lorna said. “I mean, really? Not exactly subtle, that.”

 _We’re watching The Princess Bride_ , she wrote Ratiri. _These poor elves arent going to want to watch more movies ever again._

“We are but poor lost circus performers,” she said, cackling, before returning to her email. “I can think of very few weaker lies.”

_I’ve attached a picture of this crazy bowl of ice cream. We went to this place called HOley Cream which had so many deserts it would take me a year to eat them all. I didnt get any pictures at Phantom of the Opera, though I took a couple of the theatre before everyone got seated. Thanadir especialy loved it._

Ugh. She realized she sounded utterly pathetic, but she didn’t care. “Thranduil, my digestive system is going to make all of us very unhappy if you don’t please put me out of my indigestional misery.” She was pretty sure ‘indigestional’ wasn’t actually a word, but whatever. “Please?” She could tell already there was a cauldron of nastiness brewing in her gut, and she was sure they would all prefer it if it didn’t manage to unleash itself to the world via the power of fart. For all she knew, elves _didn’t_ fart. (It was one of the few questions she just wasn’t going to ask, either. Ever.)

“There is nothing nearby, not for miles,” Earlene said, grumbling only mildly inside of herself when Thranduil rose to help Lorna. It wasn’t the helping Lorna part, it was that she’d just gotten over here (the beds were huge) and had remembered her first quote. Then again, the spectre of what ‘indigestional misery’ might reference could be something she’d thank him greatly for averting. He returned soon enough, and made up for his absence by setting aside his laptop and taking her into his arms so that she could watch the movie resting against him. Now she felt very happy.

“Thank you,” Lorna sighed, beyond relieved. “You know, the way Vizzini says ‘Unemployed, in _Greenland?!_ has always cracked me up. Like somehow being in Greenland was shameful, not being unemployed.”

“THOSE are the SHRIEKING EELS!!” now Earlene was having more fun, especially when Thanadir actually gasped just when the eel was almost ready to bite Buttercup. _God he is precious_ , she thought. Fortunately, no one but her likely noticed because Lorna was too busy making the shrieking eel noise.

“Here we go!” Earlene said. “I get Inigo….. ‘That Vizzini, he can _fuss_.’” Lorna did not skip a beat.

Lorna cackled. “Fuss, fuss… I think he like to scream at _us_ ,” she said.

“Probably he means no _harm_ ,” Earlene said, while actually wiggling in Thranduil’s arms from excitement. She ignored that she heard ‘Eru, help me,” from the peanut gallery.

“He’s really very short on _charm_ ,” Lorna snickered.

“You have a great gift for rhyme,” Earlene said, gently poking Thranduil.

Lorna gave a vague but expansive gesture, fortunately not hitting Thanadir in the face. “Yes, yes, some of the time,” she said, then, in a higher voice, “Enough’v that.”

Earlene splayed out her hands. “Fezzik, are there rocks ahead?”

“If there are, we all be dead,” Lorna said, nearly knocking her laptop off her lap as she shifted.

In stereo, and past caring, both women now ran on in duet: “No more rhymes now, I mean it!”

“Anybody want a peanut?” Lorna asked, and dissolved into helpless laughter.

Thanadir picked that exact moment to ask, “What is a peanut?” and Earlene lost it too. She had to reach over to pause the playback, because three minutes were necessary to regain speaking ability, by which time Thanadir had already rolled his eyes and Googled “peanut”.

Taking advantage of the pause, Thranduil stole the remote from Earlene. “I fail to see why this dialogue is so funny,” he said. “Can either of you explain, while still retaining the ability to breathe? Even your thoughts do not make sense.” he complained.

His wife sat up and turned to him. “It’s the _Princess Bride_. One of perhaps only a handful of perfect movies ever made, to which most of the dialogue is known and memorized and cherished. It would be wrong not to laugh, because it is funny.”

That Lorna was nodding in vigorous agreement was not helping, so he relented and returned the remote.

 _Besides, it isn’t like I’m reenacting the swordfight_ , Earlene reasoned. _At least that would be an understandable cause for grouchiness._ “What is the swordfight scene, and how do you reenact it?” the King asked aloud.

 _Oh now you’ve done it_ , Earlene thought, looking nervously over at Lorna. _I hope the hotel room survives._

Lorna grinned. “The sword fight is _brilliant_ ,” she said. “Inigo and the Dread Pirate Roberts have a sword fight despite the fact that they’re kind’v figuring out they could be friends, if they weren’t meant to be enemies.” She hopped off the bed, rifling through the closet in search of something vaguely sword-like that also wouldn’t actually break anything. For whatever reason, there were a few empty cardboard tubes at the back, too big to be for paper towels but too small to be wrapping paper of any sort. With a flourish, she presented one of them to Earlene, who immediately thought, _natho nin_ , while realizing she had no choice. “You seem a decent fellow,” Lorna said, in a truly horrendous attempt at a Spanish accent. “I hate to kill you.”

Earlene sprang up onto the bed, only faintly groaning at her still bulging stomach. “You seem a decent fellow,” she returned. “I hate to die.”

“Begin,” Lorna said, still in that awful accent. No doubt her wild attempts at cardboard swordsmanship would make the elves wince, but she was having way too much fun. “You are using Bonetti's defense against me, uh?”

“I thought it fitting, considering the terrain,” Earlene said, now bouncing over to Thanadir and Lorna’s bed in one leap.

“Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro,” Lorna said, springing up onto the mattress. She paused only long enough to set her laptop safely out of the way, where she couldn’t step on it, and did her best not to trod on poor Thanadir, either.

“Naturally, but I find that Thibault cancels Capo Ferro, don’t you?” Earlene whacked at Lorna’s cardboard tube a few times gratuitously, hoping like hell she wasn’t about to step on Thanadir.

Lorna dodged around the poor elf, barely. “Unless the enemy hasn't studied his Agrippa, which I have!” She gave Earlene’s tube a few swats, for effect. “You are wonderful!”

Feeling her way with her toes, Earlene did her best to step to the other side of Thanadir, while saying, “Thank you, I’ve worked hard to become so.”

“I admit it, you are better than I,” Lorna confessed, taking a couple steps backward so the poor elf could have some breathing space.

“Then why are you smiling?” asked Earlene, feinting forward though her feet went nowhere.

“Because I know something you don’t know,” Lorna said, still smiling.

“And what is that?” Earlene queried dramatically.

“I,” Lorna said, tossing the tube from her left hand to her right, “am not left-handed.” Except that she was, and extremely so, so her already pathetic swordsmanship, if it could be called that, grew even worse.

“You’re amazing!” quipped Earlene, bouncing backward off the bed to the floor and alighting softly (after checking that she could not possibly do something stupid like land in a trash can.)

“I ought to be, after twenty years,” Lorna said, following her. Fortunately she had not had enough to drink to upset her balance, so she didn’t stumble into Earlene or anything else.

Earlene edged around the foot of the bed not sure if she should admit how fun this was. It might beat how amusing her husband hopefully found this. “There is something I ought to tell you.”

“Tell me,” Lorna said, with a rather dramatic sweep of her arms, just barely blocking a blow from the cardboard weapon.

“I’m not left handed either,” she said, tossing the cardboard tube to her other hand at the same time she leaped back up onto the bed. She was honestly amazed she caught the thing, it would have been just like her to drop it.

Lorna followed her. “Who are you?” she asked, her accent veering from half-assed Spanish into something vaguely Dutch.

“No one of consequence,” she said, standing momentarily tall and looking as capable as she actually wasn’t.

“I must know,” Lorna said earnestly.

“Get used to disappointment”, Earlene deadpanned.

Lorna shrugged. “Okay,” she said, and redoubled her so-called ‘attack’.

Earlene was not expecting this, having assumed that the last of the spoken dialogue would end their exchange. She dropped into a crouch, instinctively using the footwork she’d been taught to back away from Lorna, at which point she began to trip over Thanadir’s legs (how this had not happened sooner, was perhaps the real miracle), only to find herself firmly caught before she could fall off the bed.

“Entertaining as that was, I believe it would be good to return to viewing the film,” the seneschal said in that voice that meant, the fun was over. For emphasis, he extended his hand, silently asking for her cardboard tube before effortlessly carrying her back to her own bed and plunking her on the mattress. What Earlene did not see was that Thranduil was shaking with laughter. She mistook the scowl that came over Thanadir’s face as being directed at her, and meekly reached for the remote without a hint of resistance. With a last huff of indignation directed at his King, he shrugged at Lorna as he returned to his former place. Secretly, he was pleased that Earlene had remembered her sword training, but he would not divulge that just now.

Oddly enough, they had just reached the Cliffs of Insanity, which meant that the real sword scene was only minutes away.

“Killjoy,” Lorna muttered. “We hadn’t even got to the best part.” Rolling her eyes, she flopped back onto the bed, defiantly hanging onto her own cardboard weapon. “Once you’ve seen this scene, you’ll see why we ought to’v finished it.” In that moment Thanadir reminded her far too much of Mairead, a comparison she was quite sure he wouldn’t appreciate. At all.

“MAWWAIGE,” hollered Earlene, having regained her enthusiasm by then. “MAWWIAGE, iv whaa bwings us togevaaaaah, today.” Laughing, she did have the presence of mind to say to Thranduil that this was not any kind of ordinary human wedding ceremony. This information did not stop him from snuggling closer against her.

Later, Prince Humperdinck onscreen said, “A technicality that will shortly be remedied. But first things first. To the death.”

Lorna snickered. “No! To the pain.” Her attempt at an English accent was every bit as awful as her attempt at a Spanish one.

Humperdink, again: “I don't think I'm quite familiar with that phrase.”

Grinning, Lorna said, “I'll explain. And I'll use small words so that you'll be sure to understand, you warthog-faced buffoon.” She was too busy laughing through Humperdinck’s next line about being insulted, but she managed her own. “It won't be the last. To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists, next your nose.”

“And then my tongue, I suppose. I killed you too quickly the last time, a mistake I don't mean to duplicate tonight,” Humperdink intoned.

“I wasn't finished,” Lorna declared. “The next thing you will lose will be your left eye, followed by your right.”

“And then my ears, I understand, let's get on with it.”

“Wrong!” Lorna said gleefully. “Your ears you keep, and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe

that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out "Dear God, what is that thing?" will echo in your perfect ears. That is what "to the pain" means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.” She paused. “D’you have any idea how often my gang and I tossed that one around? There’s a reason I remember it so well,” she cackled.

Thranduil’s eyes widened. Not at the film dialogue, but at how much Lorna apparently would like to have an excuse to do those things to one she felt deserved it -- specifically, last evening’s muggers. He tried to think on his many, many experiences fighting, and for all he had killed he could not relate to this level of bloodlust outside of a pressing need to enter that frame of mind. He could honestly say that he had never sat home on his throne and fantasized about torturing orcs. Right now, there was nothing he could think of to say; he would have to reflect on this more.

Lorna, all oblivious, giggled her way through the rest of the movie, eventually tossing her cardboard tube back into the closet. “We should do that again, with Ratiri. He’s more’v a nerd than he lets on to most, I’m sure he could quote it, too.”

Thranduil held out his hand for the remote. Movies were fine, perhaps something else interesting was on? This one had been charming, for all the silliness. “This one, ‘Apollo 13’ is it good?” Enthusiastic nods from the women confirmed the choice, plus, there might be something to be learned here. He and Thanadir watched, but Lorna and Earlene fell asleep at various points in the film. There were many choices, and he and the seneschal stayed up rather late, enjoying the quiet activity.

********

“That’s the Titanosaur,” said Earlene. “They only just acquired it before I left New York. It was a big deal, no pun intended.” Their cab ride to the Museum of Natural History had been spent with her trying to explain what sorts of things they would see, and that there would not be paintings. Or bricks.

“Jesus bloody Christ,” Lorna said, staring up at it. Obviously, dinosaurs were enormous, but you just didn’t get the full, true scope of it until you were standing in front of the skeleton of one. “Good thing we weren’t around when they were, or we’d’ve all been breakfast.” Had elves been around then? Just how old were they, as a species?

Thanadir and Thranduil stared at the skeletons and frowned. Then looked at each other, frowned some more, and kept on frowning. “We have never heard of anything like this. These. I have seen and fought many of the creatures of Morgoth but…

“If I may tease, these are so old that you are as young to them as we are to you. They lived before any kind of human life existed on this world. Or, er, any two-legged intelligent creatures. Not thousands of years ago, but hundreds of millions. Some of these are skeletons of herbivores; plant eaters. Others I imagine could have given dragons a run for their money. You can sort of tell by the teeth,” she offered.

“Next Movie Night has to be _Jurassic Park_ ,” Lorna said. “Some’v it’s inaccurate because we’ve learned more since then, but it’s a damn good movie, and somebody must’v sold their soul to the Special Effects gods, because it still looks shockingly good even today.” She paused, and knew exactly, exactly what she had to get Ratiri. “If there’s a gift shop here, I need to get something shaped like a velociraptor. I don’t even know what, but... _something_.”

“I think we should see the Planetarium show first; that will get really crowded later on,” Earlene hinted. “We can come back and ogle the dinosaurs in greater detail. And I’m pretty sure the gift shop here will make you happy, Lorna,” she smiled.

The Planetarium film was called Dark Universe, and promised to be an explanation of cutting-edge understanding of the history and composition of the universe, complete with astonishing graphics and NASA footage. Earlene bit her lip. They’d not discussed this topic, or anything like it. Did the ellyn know about anything beyond what they saw when they looked up at the night sky? Feeling remiss for not having prepared them for this branch of science in any manner, there was little she could do now; they were all in line.

 _Do not worry, meluieg, I am certain we will manage_ , Thranduil said.

 _I know you will manage, beloved. It is whether or not your frame of reference for your very existence is about to be given a rather large shove, or not, that concerned me. I feel bad for not thinking about this, but as we all know, I do not manage everything_. She smiled and shrugged.

The film impressed the hell out of Earlene and Lorna. It was incredibly interesting, and educational. When they emerged, Earlene said, “I’m not so good with this kind of information; the math and the physics. I feel like I understand what they showed, but in half an hour I’ll struggle to even tell you what dark matter is. Sure makes you wonder what we’ll know in another hundred years, if we keep plugging along. Just, damn…”

The ellyn actually looked vaguely pale, which was saying quite a lot. Thanadir was the first to speak. “How could you know about all this? I did not understand until the movie last night that humans have gone up outside the planet. And to see so far away, so long ago. It is very difficult to accept that all this has been, and we did not know.”

“You couldn’t be expected to, now could you?” Lorna asked. “You lot, you’ve got some wonderful things that we just couldn’t ever duplicate, but you’d no way’v knowing anything about technology -- and there’s still loads you don’t know. Hell, there’s loads I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Astronomy, though -- that’d do anyone’s head in, if they thought about it too much. Anyone but the astronomers themselves. You know we’ve got a space station floating around above Earth? The one they showed in the film? It’s not got anything like _Star Trek_ \-- we’re still waaaaay behind that level’v technology -- but it’s an international thing, and it’s got astronauts from all over the world, studying the effects space has on living things. Ohhh, and that gives me another idea for Movie Night -- _The Martian_.” So far as she’d read, the science behind that one was hard, not soft, and actually pretty damn accurate.

In a sense, she felt a bit sorry for the elves. Without actually trying, they’d automatically been superior to humans in pretty much everything for...well, forever. Finding out humans had so surpassed them in a couple ways must be kind of a shock, but she hoped it was a good one.

“I would very much like to learn more about these things,” said Thanadir.

Earlene chuckled. “There are hours upon hours of excellent quality programs that will teach you. And then you will have the website for NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, which operates all the space telescopes that have allowed many of these discoveries to happen. For all that I don’t remember what I’ve learned, I too enjoy this. Perhaps I can watch some of it with you,” she grinned. “Did you watch it on TV, Lorna, when the Mars rovers landed in 2004? Our whole office had that up on computer screens, I will confess. It was very exciting, even to a bunch of lawyers.”

Lorna grinned. “Liam and I did, yeah. We’d heard it was happening, so we actually got a hotel room rather than sleep in the van. Bloody early in the morning for us, but we just stayed up all night. Liam, he’d figured we’d be on our way to Mars ourselves by now. Neither one’v us knew a damn about spacecraft.”

“Why would so many people care about that, meluieg? I do not understand.”

 _Why did they care about it...it’s a good question._ “Well, for me anyway, even though I understand none of it and am not smart enough to have contributed anything but tax dollars, it was something people accomplished. Humans. And so in a way it felt like it was something all of us had managed. Something to be proud of.”

“And you Lorna? Why did you do that?” The King looked genuinely interested in the answer.

“That’s easy,” she said. “We’re a bunch’v greedy, cantankerous fuckers, but we somehow got our shite together enough, and were willing to give enough, to send something into space. Something that wasn’t going to make a shitload’v money for anyone who worked on it -- just something that was meant to learn and explore. All we’re getting from it is knowledge, not some kind’v profit, and you’d be hard-pressed to find many out there who’d open their wallet for that, yet we did it. Restored my faith in humanity a bit. I’ve got to say, it gave me chills. Then Liam laughed, and poked me, and we got drunk.”

“We had champagne in the lunch room. It didn’t feel so awful, given that everyone there was working into the evening that day; this was hardly happening during normal business hours. In fact that night may have set a record for case productivity, at least until those balloon-thingys entered the Martian atmosphere.”

“Martian?” asked Thanadir.

“Mars. _Carnil_ ”, said Thranduil, using the Sindarin word he would understand.

“You have sent objects...to Carnil?” the seneschal asked, his eyes widening.

Earlene and Lorna nodded, feeling vaguely apologetic though they’d not had shite to do with it. The poor elf looked like his brain was about to liquefy. “Let’s go see the exhibit about sea life,” Earlene offered. “I heard there is a replica of a whale there now.”

“I would like to learn more of that, Thranduil said,” looking a little concerned for Thanadir himself... _that_ wasn’t usual.

Poor Thanadir… “We’ve got a really famous book about a whale,” Lorna said, hoping to be a distraction. “ _Moby Dick_. It’s one’v those books you either love or hate. I’ve never tried to read it myself, though I’ve run across some damn odd analyses’v it.” The most interesting had been that the book was actually somehow a representation of Ahab’s desire to fuck a whale. She’d certainly never think about peg-legs the same way again. Ever.

They went to the Hall of Ocean Life, which they all enjoyed immensely. The life-size fiberglass blue whale did not disappoint. It caused Earlene to realize, she’d never been on a ship or on the ocean. Then again, gazing at the depiction of the giant squid and the sperm whale, she wondered if that was a bad thing. The sea was a big, mysterious place with plenty they didn’t know about. _Was it true they now knew more about outer space than the oceans?_ Museums always seemed to do this to her; she learned, and yet what she really learned was...how much she hadn’t learned. And seeing it through the lens of the elves made it a little odder still.

The ocean unsettled Lorna for a number of reasons, and many of them had to do with reading too much H.P. Lovecraft while in prison. Sure, Cthulhu wasn’t actually real, but on the other hand, _what if he was?_ Between that and the more mundane, extant creatures like anglerfish and those tiny jellyfish in Australia that put you in horrible pain for like a month...the ocean could keep its mysteries. Really. Though she did adore penguins (and had seen a rather charmingly hilarious documentary about them, narrated by Benedict Cumberbatch, who apparently couldn’t actually pronounce the word ‘penguin’; he called them ‘peng-wings’, and his pronunciation just got worse the longer the documentary went on. Someone at the BBC no doubt thought they were clever, handing him that one).

There was another film to see, this time about living in the Arctic. While Earlene felt less optimistic about this, it was still a chance for the elves to see something about places she genuinely hoped they would never wish to visit. Because New York and Irish winters were the worst she intended to deal with, ever. And since she was going to be beached walrus pregnant for the next one, she just might not see the outdoors until it was over.

Given that there was little actual underwater footage, Lorna actually enjoyed the film, and of course seals. Baby seals were the cutest fucking things in the world, and she wanted one. Hell, she wanted five, but alas, inland Ireland was not their favorite habitat. They did actually turn up seasonally on the Irish coasts, but that didn’t mean stealing one would be a good idea. Alas.

Earlene realized there were two other things the ellyn would really like, or so she hoped. “Come, Thranduil, this next part is for you,” she said. “Or at least, I think you of all people will appreciate what is here.” Taking his hand, she led them to the Hall of Gems. Earlene had to wait a few moments, and she struggled to blank out her thoughts so it could be a surprise, but she was able to victoriously park him in front of the Star of India, the most famed sapphire in the world. _Something not in your vault_ , _my Lord_ , she teased. _Is in not beautiful?_

The elvenking’s eyes flared because _by Eru, it was beautiful indeed_. He had sapphires, but not to compare with this. So large, and so perfect...exquisite to behold. And yet he looked at his wife, carrying his unborn children, and knew which was more precious. He turned and kissed her on the side of her head. “It is beautiful, meluieg. And it pleases me to see it where so many can admire it.”

Lorna’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, it’s that thing,” she said. “I’d forgot it was _here_. I hope it’s under better bloody security now.”

“Do I detect a story?” Earlene asked, curious.

“A weird one,” Lorna laughed. “That thing got stolen in 1964. The security here was absolute shite -- dead batteries in the alarms, and they actually left all the windows cracked for ventilation. These two gobshites basically just walked right in and took it, along with a load’v other jewels. One’v them called himself Murf the Surf.” She let that sink in for a moment. “Anyway, they were gobshites who hadn’t got an ounce’v subtlety between them -- and maybe about four brain cells while they were at it. The super weird thing -- one’v them -- was that Murf the bloody Surf was actually violin prodigy, of all things. They got caught in pretty short order because they were living it up in some hotel room, tossing money around like it was nothing, and then their trial was a mess and a half. They made a movie about it in the 70’s, and one’v the gobshites helped write it.”

As badly as Earlene wanted to believe that Lorna somehow had this all wrong, it was just nutty enough that it was probably true. Shaking her head, she drifted over to look at the big emerald, hoping that that one was free from stories. “People’ve got no decency,” she fumed. “They can’t keep their sticky mitts off of what ought to belong to everyone.” Greed annoyed her, deeply. Thranduil tilted his head, but elected to remain silent. Thanadir shook his head, and thought his King had quite enough gems as it was.

“Stealing something that big and recognizable, I don’t know what they thought they were doing,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Anybody with half a brain knows you don’t steal something you can’t easily fence. If it’ll get spotted as something stolen right off, there’s not many that’d buy it from you.” She spoke, unfortunately, as one with knowledge of just how that worked. And not all of it was learned from Shane.

The last things to see, unless they wished to stare longer at dinosaurs (which was never a bad thing) were the meteorites and the exhibit about forests; it seemed wrong to keep an elf from anything having to do with those. This was about the big trees that were in California, and their ages. Had elves seen Sequoia trees? Earlene shrugged. _Who knew what they’d seen…_

Jesus, these trees got bloody huge -- while it was possible the ancient forests of Britain and Ireland had produced something this big, Lorna rather doubted it. She didn’t know if sequoias even grew on their side of the Atlantic. Standing next to that quartered stump, she found it was wider than she was tall, and she snapped a few pictures of it before having Earlene take one of her standing beside it, for sheer scale purposes.

If Thanadir and Thranduil’s astonishment at seeing the cross-sections and other specimens from this faraway forest were any indication, they had not ever beheld such trees. Her heart felt squeezed to see their looks of undisguised longing, and her lips parted. Could she take them to such a place, one day? California was further away, but...it was still possible to fly from Ireland to one of the big airports on the west coast on a nonstop flight...she thought? Earlene had been to San Francisco, once, but that had been for work and there was zero time on that trip for anything resembling sightseeing. The more she saw their hunger to learn, the more she wished to find ways to satisfy it, especially when it concerned matters that were close to their hearts. Maybe. Time would tell.

They enjoyed the meteors, such as they were, and then even Earlene was interested in the gift shop. Was it too early to think about dinosaur-related childrens’ toys? She doubted it, and hell if any girl of hers was ever playing with a goddamn Barbie.

Lorna, who had neglected other gift shops to an unforgivable degree, had a field day in this one: her nieces and nephews all got astronomy-related things, just because they were pretty, and who didn’t love a pretty, starry sky? She herself got a lamp that projected a constellation onto the walls and ceiling. Ratiri, though...she was a little shit, and got him two different kits. They were metal dinosaur skeletons, one a velociraptor and one a titanosaurus, both of which would stand between three and four feet high. Either he’d love it or he’d kill her, but she was pretty sure he’d love it. He didn’t have any place to put either so long as he was staying with Doc Barry, but he did have rooms at the Halls.

Earlene chose three plush and allegedly baby safe toys; a triceratops, a duck-billed dinosaur, and a stegosaurus. They would probably be gummed to death...when did elflings teethe? She was really going to have to sit down with Thanadir one day and ask these things; the seneschal tended to give answers in a detailed format that her brain could absorb, whereas Thranduil tended to respond in summary form with broader descriptions. In the cab back to the hotel, Earlene looked at Lorna’s gifts with some envy. She’d no room for any such thing, but they looked so _fun_ … yard-art worthy, even. Though, she could guess that elves would not think these were some kind of suitable excuse for garden gnomes, somehow. They arrived back at their room with the better part of four hours left, before tonight’s party, and tomorrow relatively early, they needed to leave for the airport. Where had the damn time gone?

Lorna, footsore but pleased, took a quick shower when they got back to the room, using a little of that time to just relax before she had to hassle with her dress and hair. “So what can we expect at this party?” she asked, cracking her neck as she eyed the little makeup she’d brought. Mairead had taught her how to do eye makeup, though she rarely wore it. In this case, mascara, eyeliner, and some kind of dark gold eyeshadow, to match her dress and comb.

“Well, that’s the strange thing about them. What’s expected, near as I can tell, is to show up. It’s like...it’s like in Harry Potter, being in the Slug Club. You don’t actually matter, but there you are, like an ornament or a status symbol to whoever is hosting the event. There is all the food and twice the liquor, word to the wise, it’s easy to get smashed at these things if you’re not careful. I know you can outdrink me by miles, but even you could fall off the rails. Expect that we will be in a home that cost about ninety million dollars; our host is one of the wealthiest in this City. It might not seem that way once you see it, let’s just say he paid for a view similar to what we saw up in One World Trade Center.

Basically we seem to stand around, holding our drinks, now and again eating an hors d'oeuvre or a small plate of whatever--you’ll find it’s all finger food, there is no sitting down to a table. Servants will come around offering flutes of champagne and little dainty things to eat; you can stand in a corner all night and still go home stuffed. Sometimes I talk for a few minutes to everyone there, other times I spent the whole night with my escort. I should explain, too. I have a friend at the office, Tim, who might be there tonight. He’s attractive, and gay, and that last part’s top secret. He and I would always go to parties together, so much so that lots of people thought we were secretly a couple. We never bothered to inform them differently. I’m just putting that out there so that if we greet each other warmly, no one gets the wrong impression.”

“Gay?” asked Thanadir, clearly struggling.

“He wants to have intimate relations only with other males,” Earlene said. “He is not interested in women aside from friendship.”

The seneschal nodded, sighing. He was looking forward to returning to the forest, where life was predictable. Earlene felt a little sorry for him, as she watched him rub his long fingers against her father’s wedding ring as though it were a talisman to ward off evil. Which for him, she supposed it sort of was. Raising her eyebrows, she realized she might need to tell Tim that Thanadir was off-limits. Unfortunately, those two would make a devastatingly handsome pair. Feigning a need to use the bathroom, she excused herself...this was a train of thought that seriously needed derailing.

Lorna gave this due consideration, stretching her feet and cracking her ankles. “Rich people,” she said, “are _weird_. I’ll do my best not to get plastered or stepped on.” Earlene’s old boss was probably the only one who would be able to understand her, so at least she could avoid making chit-chat with anyone but him -- and if she was anything like a decent person, she’d ward all the posh women away from poor Thanadir, since wedding ring or no wedding ring, she could see a few of them trying, and the poor lad had been through more than enough weirdness this trip already. She didn’t want his brain breaking before they got home.

“Eh, you’ll be fine. Sandgraust is more decent than you think. He worked his way up from nothing; he knows life from all sides. And while I’ll grant that there are valid stereotypes, not all rich are the same just like not all poor are the same. There’s arseholes in either bunch. And, all that said, I’m going to hog the shower for a bit.”

Earlene grinned when it became plain that she _and_ Thranduil would be hogging the shower for a bit. _Oh well, what a shame._

Lorna’s eyebrows went up. “Y’know, I think I’ll go for a walk. Stop in at the bakery. Exactly how _long’v_ a walk does this need to be?” Yes, she was heinously squicked, but whatever. The bakery really did have good pastries, and she could shoot off an email to Ratiri while she was at it.

Earlene had no idea what Lorna was talking about, and looked at her, then Thranduil, then shrugged and took her clean t shirt and pants into the bathroom. Thranduil smiled. _Lorna, feel free to go for a walk if you wish to, but I think you are spending too much time imagining what is not occurring when Earlene and I are sharing the bathroom. That being said, if you go, I would not mind a spinach and cheese croissant; I did not eat much this morning, and perhaps Thanadir would like something as well?_ With a smirk, he too disappeared into the bathroom. He knew he was being awful, but it was equally true that on the last occasion, his diminutive friend had dutifully drowned out nothing whatsoever.

Lorna burst out laughing. _Even I know what two people usually get up to in the shower, she sent him_ , shaking her head and packing up her laptop. “Thanadir, d’you want anything from the bakery?”

The seneschal looked up from his laptop and smiled. “A bagel with cream cheese and lox please?” He had tried Earlene’s and realized what he’d been missing.

“Can do,” she said. “Tell those eejits they’ve got twenty minutes. If they’re still in there when I get back, I’m going to sit outside the door and make cat noises.” Shouldering her laptop bag, she headed outward, shaking her head again. She couldn’t like -- it rather made her think about just how the hell things would actually work if she and Ratiri ever got to that point. Given their height difference, God only knew.

Despite the complete hypocrisy of everything he was about to do, given his earlier reproof of his wife, his brain was practically afire with the opportunity Lorna had just provided. Feeling very much like indulging himself all the way around now, he entered the shower where Earlene was scrubbing at her hair with shampoo, eyes closed to keep the suds out. The moment his hands were on her, she gasped. He hadn’t done this in a long time, this...psychic arousal, that he could do, but he was using it on her full force now. “Shhhh,” he said, as he supported her from behind so that she did not stumble. Within seconds, he was giving her an experience that ranked right up there with what would forever stand out in her memory as the Breakfast Sandwich Moment. It took all her effort to remain quiet, but he made it very worth her while, in spite of the fact that she could only wheeze at the moment when she most wanted to scream in her enjoyment. As he held her, breathless, she managed a whisper. “You’re going to be the death of me, but at least I’ll enjoy myself on the way out.” He did not seem to hear her, as his body went rigid and she felt him reach his own satisfaction. _Where in hell had this come from?_ She wondered, still unable to open her eyes for the soap everywhere. With a chuckle, he carefully helped rinse the offending suds away as he easily lifted her to trade places.

_We must make haste, meluieg. I wish to do something._

_I thought you just did make haste._

Openly laughing, he took the bottle of shampoo and lathered his own hair while she worked the conditioner into hers. Still not understanding why, she did hurry as he’d asked, and completed her ablutions. _Dress, quickly._

_What on earth..?_

_Trust me._

Sighing, she hurriedly yanked on her clothing and finger combed her damp hair, when she’d rather be applying moisturizer and foundation, but, he was King. To her complete incomprehension, he left the water running in the shower, and practically yanked her out of their room and down the hallway after he’d climbed into shorts and a tee of his own. _Do you have any intention of telling me what this is about?_ she asked him silently.

_I ask your indulgence. I am teaching Lorna a mild lesson. It seems that she believes that any moment I seek to be alone with you, I am having carnal relations with you. I wish to make a point._

_But you just were having carnal relations with me._

_Meluieg…_

_Very well, my Lord_ , she said, now highly amused. _These two_ …. Not five minutes later, an unearthly sound came from down the hall. It sounded like a cat in heat and... _oh god no_ , Earlene thought. _It can’t be…_

This was allowed to go on for exactly ninety seconds (she knew because she was counting) at which point she heard, _now meluieg, we will return to the room. You first._

Earlene looked at him like he’d just gotten off the ship from Pluto, but she did as he asked, and had to knock on the door because duh, they’d left their key cards. Lorna answered the door, and the look on her face was admittedly priceless when she saw Earlene looking at her quizzically (because there was no doubt whatsoever left as to the origin of the caterwauling), passing her as she returned to her suitcase. Thranduil, shaking with laughter, followed her in just before the door latch could click shut.

Lorna eyed the still-closed bathroom door, and the two of them. “You, Mister, are King’v the bloody Gobshites. I don’t supposed you told Earlene why you’d dragged her out into the hallway, did you?” Without waiting for an answer -- because let’s face it, she already knew -- she said, “I warned him that if you two weren’t out’v the bathroom in twenty minutes, I’d go sit by the door and make cat noises.” She was having sudden, very vivid fantasies about duct tape and Thranduil’s eyebrows. Alas, there was literally no way to ever pull that off in reality, but a girl could dream. “It’d better not be all steamy in there. Us ladies need makeup, at least tonight.” The glower she leveled at Thranduil would have been a lot more menacing if she hadn’t been fighting laughter herself.

“I’m actually counting on it being steamy, because no, he didn’t tell me, and now I’ve got to try to get moisturizer into dry skin,” Earlene grumbled. “Excuse me please, I have firieth things to do.” She felt she marginally owed it to Lorna to at least pretend to be aggravated, even though she’d gotten a laugh and an amazing orgasm out of the whole thing. Probably she ought to thank her but...no. But she did shut off the damn tap, when she entered the steam room.

Thanadir, in the meantime, had his eyebrows still hovering near his hairline at hearing what his King had just been called by Lorna, and no small indignation was mounting at this perceived effrontery. Fortunately, Thranduil noticed this in time.

“Havo dad, i hadron nîn. Pân vae.” (Sit down, my faithful one. All is well.) Thanadir cast his eyes down, and seated himself. He did not fully understand or approve of how Lorna chose to express herself some of the time, but this was not for him to say. It was likely for the best that he returned to his reading, so with a sigh he did so.

Lorna shook her head. “You are so lucky I like you,” she said, before dissolving into laughter herself. With Earlene in the bathroom, she took her makeup to the big mirror beside the door, holding her fringe out of her face with a comb while she did as Mairead had taught her. It was just as well Mairead _had_ taught her, or she’d make an utter hash of this.

The bathroom door burst open. “Can someone who is more inventive than I am make this damn door stay open? Else the steam in here is never going to clear.” She was far beyond needing moist air, and if the hotel hair dryer was going to have a prayer of working, something had to give.

Thranduil, interested in keeping the peace now, left Thanadir happily munching his pastry while he put his own down. The door had a device on it that caused it to shut automatically, and with the ability truly tall people seemed to have, he managed to wedge it open.

The bathroom was occupied, and Lorna couldn’t do her hair until she’d got her dress on, so she stepped into the closet -- tiny as it was -- and wriggled her way into it. Lacing up the back by herself was a neat trick, and she’d probably have to have someone fix it for her later. Brushing her hair took a while, but she wanted to get the kinks out from her braid -- something that wouldn’t have been possible before she’d started using the elf shampoo. Coiling the top half into a bun, she carefully secured it in place with the comb.

She would do, she thought. She wasn’t the one everybody would be looking at -- she’d happily cede that position to Earlene. The dress was lovely, and the comb, and she’d actually managed the shimmery eyeshadow without overdoing it or getting it all over her cheeks.

Earlene now marched out, having done battle with hair and makeup. The funny thing to her was, before, it was always “party-wear” for her to leave her hair down, since at the office it was always worn pinned up, no exceptions. Never mind that now, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d styled it that way since going to Ireland. No one from here was the wiser. She stepped out of the bathroom and caught sight of Lorna. “Jesus Christ, you’re beautiful.” Marching straight off to get her phone, she insisted on a photo of the three of them, since apparently everyone was dressed but her. And just to be awful, she sent it to Ratiri with a message that said one thing: “;-)”

Lorna came as close to blushing as she actually could, smoothing down the velvet that was already totally smooth. She felt like a bit of an eejit, but she also wasn’t used to wearing anything this nice. Being a Thanadir creation, it fit perfectly; there was none of the problem she had with ordinary clothes, where even garments supposedly made for someone her size bagged in weird places. Her sandals she kept, however; the dress was long enough that they wouldn’t be obvious, and anybody who was likely to notice them would be a weirdo who stared at feet.

Knowing Lorna would probably prefer not seeing her girls on display, Earlene returned to the now cleared bathroom with her own gown, yanking the door shut behind her. Thanadir’s designs never seemed to require a separate bra, and this was no exception. She was a little curious...he’d had her try it on for final fittings, but had not allowed her to see herself in it; something facilitated easily by the relatively few mirrors on hand in the rooms. But she could see it now, and her lips parted. Her breasts were...how did he _do_ that? If any more cleavage showed, she would have considered the garment to be tacky. As it was, it was still completely tasteful, yet left her looking stunning and desirable. _Thank god I’m not coming back anytime soon_ ; she was not sure she wanted the office to remember her this way, but, as neither John nor Tim would think worse of her, who cared? Besides, it was obvious that this had been created to please one pair of eyes alone. And that was fine; she and Thanadir had their priorities aligned in this, apparently. Though she still found it incredibly odd that an unwed ellon could comprehend breasts as well as he seemed to. _Best to not think about it_ , she reasoned. The dress was otherwise ethereal. Because she knew the difference, there were clearly elven elements to the design, but it did not scream “weird” or “out of place.” Far from it; it was extremely fashionable. The last thing to choose now was lip color; she carefully applied a stain in a color that flattered the gown. There was no need of further jewelry with her necklace on display; she took one last moment to admire the glittering gems in the mirror before wiggling her feet into the matching leather slippers Thanadir had also made and exiting the room.

Thranduil leaned against the wall across from this door, eagerly awaiting his surprise. When Earlene emerged, he was not disappointed. Without taking his eyes off his wife, he reached around Thanadir’s shoulders to briefly hug the elf to him. “Len hannon, Thanadir,” he whispered. Admiring her for a few moments longer while she blushed under his stare, he reached into his pocket. “I have something for each of you to wear. Because I know that both of you cannot stand it, consider these on loan for the evening, so that you do not have to waste brain cells pondering jewels.” He turned to Lorna, and fastened a lovely ruby and pearl choker around her neck. And on his wife, he fastened a stunning garnet bracelet. Stepping back, he looked at both of them, feeling very pleased with what he saw. “You both look exquisite. I am only sorry that Ratiri is not here to appreciate this.”

“Whisht, you,” Lorna said awkwardly, but inordinately pleased. She touched the necklace, and rather wished Ratiri was here, too. She wouldn’t feel quite so out-of-place if he were. (Though she had to remind herself, as she noted the rather fantastic things Earlene’s dress did for her cleavage, that at her own height and build, tits would just look weird. She couldn’t carry them off right.) Earlene might think she looked like ‘a damn lawyer’, but right now, there was something very elf-like about her. “All right, now Thanadir, I know you don’t like lying, but if people notice your wedding ring -- and you might have to point it out, if someone gets pushy -- like as not they’re going to ask about your wife. Just tell them she’s back home in Ireland and hope they don’t ask for details. I’ll stick with you, since Christ knows we’re both in over our heads here.”

Thanadir reflected on how, or if, to respond to Lorna, who did not seem to comprehend his aversion to untruths or his ability to manage for himself. How did you penetrate the reasoning of someone who should be able to understand that if you could kill a stranger at need, you could manage being propositioned? He sighed. “Thank you Lorna; I am sure I will be fine. I do not believe this will be that sort of party. Or, let us hope so.”

Lorna gave him a half-smile. “I worry about the people I care about, Thanadir,” she said. “It’s what I do. Ask Thranduil. I know it drives him up the wall sometimes, but I can’t help it. The fact that you can handle yourself through weird shite doesn’t mean I want you to have to do it alone.”

The old elf laid his hand on her shoulder and patted it gently, with a smile. He did not always comprehend Lorna, and then some, but she appeared to have a good heart.

Earlene pocketed some cash for cab fare, her identification and key card, her lipstick and her phone, all of which could be secreted in cleverly hidden pockets throughout the garment.

“Well, here goes nothing,” said Earlene brightly, gesturing them out the door.


	38. Thirty-eight

The second they stepped out of the elevator to round the corner and enter the lobby, heads snapped around at the sight of them. Earlene had called down to the concierge while they were getting ready, to have a cab waiting; this was not a time they were going to muck around standing on the sidewalk. She approached him regally, discreetly offering him a tip while his eyes widened at the sight of her obviously very real jewels. “Right this way, ma’am,” he breathed, pocketing the money and very formally gesturing for them to follow him. “Your destination?” he politely inquired.

 

“One57”, she replied, reminding herself to keep a straight face at the not so slight way in which the man’s eyes bulged. 

 

“Of course.”

 

He held the cab doors for the women as they entered the back seat with Thanadir, and then for the King as he took the front. While Earlene had experienced hundreds of cabbies in her time, she noticed right away a certain elegance of deportment with this driver, and was pleased. The concierge clearly knew his business. In a way this was a bit silly; their destination was easy, easy walking distance, but one did not walk the streets of New York City flashing this kind of jewelry, no matter how short the journey.

 

At the lobby, they were greeted by the doorman. “We are guests of Mr. Sandgraust. Earlene Sullivan and party,” she informed. With extreme deference, they were ushered toward the private elevators, and sent to the 89th floor.

 

Jesus, wasn’t this posh, and yet even out here, it seemed...sterile. Cold. Nothing like the elves’ Halls, which managed to be even posher while having some  _ life  _ to them. Lorna tried not to walk like an awkward idiot, doing her best to mimic Earlene’s confident stride -- problem was, Earlene was about nine inches taller, so Lorna gave up before she could trip over her own dress. She didn’t have any handbag but the satchel, but the dress had a few pockets she’d managed to stick a few things into, including her mobile. Tacky it might be, but Ratiri would be wanting a few pictures, and she’d be happy to give him some, if only to illustrate how weird rich people were.

 

A knock on the door was answered promptly by a grinning man in his early sixties who looked as though he were already relaxed and happy. “Earlene!” he said. “I just won a bet with John Oehlert, because I knew it was you.” 

 

“And how was that, Michael?” she laughed, reaching up to peck him on the cheek in a more European style of greeting.

“My watch. It is  _ exactly _ seven o’clock. He didn’t believe me, of all people.”

 

Earlene grinned. “Well, I  _ do _ have a reputation, don’t I?” she quipped, shaking her head.  _ That _ level of precision was accidental, but sadly was just like her. Michael Sandergraust then stepped back a moment. 

 

“I am told that a very lucky man has won your affections, Earlene?” he said kindly. 

 

“It’s all true,” she smiled. “And I thank you for having all of us. Michael, this is my family, from Ireland. Fionn, my husband. Cian, his brother, and our very dear friend Lorna. You caught us just in time; it’s our last night here in the City.”

 

The ellyn’s hands were shaken, and Lorna’s hand was carefully and lightly kissed in an extremely respectful manner. “Friends of Earlene’s are friends of mine,” he said. “You’ve stolen away one of New York’s brightest, but I can’t fault you. I give you all my best wishes for your happiness and your future. And listen to me, when there are drinks and food waiting. Come in, please, and make yourselves at home. You’ll find old Oehlert hiding out on the north side, you know how he loves to ogle the Park.” He winked charmingly, before turning his attention to the next ring of the doorbell.

 

“Well, drinks and food are all in the same place, shall we?” Earlene gestured into the next room.

 

“Please,” Lorna said. She’d been badly startled by that kiss on the hand, mostly because it was so unexpected. The place remained oddly sterile, though there was a bit more personality than in the hallway. The windows were gigantic -- the heating bill for this place in winter must be a royal bitch, and she’d personally always be worried about someone spying in with binoculars or something. The recessed lighting in the bar was a nice touch -- and Christ, was she glad there  _ was  _ a bar, even if it seemed a weird thing to have in a flat -- and the floor, the counters, the cabinets, they were all so very shiny. It would either be a joy or an utter nightmare to navigate in socks, depending on your level of agility.

 

There was a lad at the bar, young, pleasantly attractive a cookie-cutter sort of way. While she wasn’t certain if something so plebian would be served in such a swanky setting, she asked for a rum and Coke -- and was impressed that she only got a momentary blank stare, before the lad lined up the syllables and figured out what she’d said. “Cheers, mate,” she said, toasting him and doing her level best not to knock the whole thing back at one go.

 

The trouble with the entire setup, she soon realized, was that it had all seemed to have been designed for someone taller than average, so much taller than her. Sitting on something without her feet dangling probably wouldn’t be possible, but oh well. “There’s so much space,” she said. “You’d not find a flat like this in Ireland, and probably not in England, either.”

 

“This is a unique situation,” Earlene said. She didn’t think she’d mention that at its sale, it broke all cost records for a place in the City. “It would not be my choice for a home, but the views are amazing. I want the woods, which I suppose is why I left for Ireland.” 

 

Once they’d admired a few of the rooms, and the traveling trays of h’ors d’oevres had passed Thanadir enough times that she thought the edge might be taken off his appetite, she suggested seeking out John, who was known for his habit of settling in an attractive corner with a good bottle of Scotch. Earlene knew Thanadir would be popular as the evening wore on; sooner or later the wait staff ran out of their ability to tempt the guests with their tidbits, and had to spend longer and longer getting each tray emptied. And then, she bet, each one of them would realize he was still willing to take food, and keep returning. This could end up worse than with the Nonna, but for now she’d keep her peace.

 

“I’d be afraid’v some creep trying to look in my windows at night,” Lorna said. She wasn’t going to go too close to the windows herself, because the view really  _ was  _ amazing, and also very, very high off the ground.

 

She cadged some nibbles as they went -- she had no idea what any of them were, but they were tasty, and she needed a bit more in her stomach before she drank  _ too  _ much. This wasn’t bad so far, but there also wasn’t really anyone here just yet. What it would be like when she was surrounded by the American equivalent of nobs remained to be seen.

 

“I thought I’d find you here or at the other corner, John,” she teased. “And I’m sorry to hear I lost you a bet. Don’t suppose you’d believe that my punctuality was purely coincidental?” she teased.

 

“I would not,” he said, rising to shake all their hands, “but I should have known better than to take that bet. On the other hand, it keeps Sandgraust happy and a happy client…”

 

“...is a paying client,” they both said softly in stereo, laughing. 

 

“Tim might be by, later,” John said while looking at Earlene. He was looking forward to one last party hurrah, but I took the liberty of breaking his heart for you. It didn’t seem fair to withhold your good news,” he said mischievously, seeing that Lorna’s glass was lamentably empty. “Don’t suppose you’d like to help me damage this bottle?” he said, eyeing Lorna. “Sandberger pressed into my hand when I got here.” The label declared that it was  _ Ardbeg Special Release Double Barrel 33 Year Old Single Malt Scotch Whisky, Islay. _

 

Earlene’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, but she said nothing. Or rather, she did say aloud, “I think you’d like it, Lorna. Not to mention, when John gets going he likes to talk about his gran.” She smiled when Lorna held out her glass, looking only slightly suspicious.

 

Well, this evening was certainly looking up. Lorna gave the whiskey a sniff before sipping it, and just about melted. “Bloody Christ, this is heaven,” she said, and then nearly cringed. “I mean, it’s grand. I’ve never had Scotch this good, ever, and back home my mate Jamie’s got a good selection. He runs the pub I used to work at.” This was actually something worth savoring, and she didn’t say that often. “You’d find some who’d sell you their firstborn for that, back home.” She was only half kidding, too. Scotch that fine and, well, alcoholism was called the Irish Virus for a reason. There were plenty who would go to some surprisingly extreme lengths to get their hands on alcohol of this quality.

 

John grinned from ear to ear. “You have no idea how good it is to find someone who can appreciate a real drink. My gran adored Scotch. Every year I’d give a good bottle for her birthday, and every year she’d see it, glare up at me, open the bottle, swig it, and then replace the cap before she’d smile and thank me. Bless her soul…” he smiled, shaking his head at the memory. 

 

“I’m going to pop back to the bar and find something for myself, can I bring anything for anyone?” she asked, lacing her fingers into Thranduil’s.  Thanadir seemed content, having been bestowed with a Long Island Iced Tea. Not too frou-frou, but sweet, and with enough alcohol in it that the elf might actually notice he was drinking sooner or later. On their way out of the room, she flagged the attention of one of the wait staff and pointed out Thanadir as someone he might wish to keep in a steady stream of tidbits. Feeling like her duty was done for the moment, she made her way to the bar to ask for sparkling water and lime.

 

_ Meluieg, you can drink if you wish,  _ Thranduil said. 

 

_ I thank you, but there is no need. I am just as well off with this. Are you content to be here, so far? _

 

_ Yes. Our host seems genial and was perhaps not what I expected. For one so wealthy, he seems irreproachable enough. I think I expected that an extremely wealthy mortal would be somehow...reprehensible, on some level. _

 

_ I am trying to get Lorna to understand, wealth is not an indicator of character. There are reprehensible ones, to be certain. Perhaps a few of them will even be here tonight; you of all will see and know them. Michael has always been someone for whom I had regard.  _

 

_ Why did you react so strongly to the drink John offered Lorna, if I may ask? _

 

_ Of course you may; you are my Lord. It is because that bottle of liquor cost probably what we pay her in a month. It is very expensive. I doubt she knows the value of it and I have no intention of telling her. Can I get you anything more to drink? _

 

_ No, but I would like to try more of the food. _

 

_ That makes two of us. _

 

She procured small plates for them to fill, and they helped themselves to the elaborate and dainty foods on the trays in front of them. It was short work to enjoy these, after which Earlene thought she would show him some more of the rooms while they wound their way back to their group.

 

Lorna, meanwhile, just laughed, trying to sit without spilling her drink and barely succeeding. These chairs really were too big for her, but oh well. “Your gran sounds like my gran,” she said to John, sipping her Scotch. “But I think all Irish grans are basically variatons’v the same woman. Tough as shoe-leather, no verbal filter, appreciation for fine booze, and all. My Gran told me she pinched Bono’s arse in the 80’s, and I’d believe it. It’s the kind’v thing she’d’ve done.” All right, John she liked, but she’d already got a good impression of him at Earlene’s office, so she wasn’t surprised. And she couldn’t imagine Earlene being willing to work for an arsehole, no matter how good the pay was. “Where’d your gran come from?” She couldn’t recall if he’d said or not, they’d met so briefly.

 

John leaned back. “You asked before, and I told you County Cork. But now that we’re genuinely talking, the real answer is Skibbereen. Heard’v it?” The alcohol was relaxing his voice a little, and the barest hints of a brogue that he usually carefully suppressed started to manifest.

 

“Skibbereen?” Lorna asked, holding out her glass for a refill. “There’s a song about it, back home. Tragic folk song, like so many are. Was it the Famine that drove your family out?” It had, she knew, hit Skibbereen especially hard -- not that it went easy on anyone.

 

“It was stranger than that,” he said. “Gran came in the early 1930s, poorer than poor, with her mam. She was only a little girl, but had plenty of memories of how godawful it was on the ship, and how godawful it was still once they got here to the City. They lived in Hell’s Kitchen, barely getting by. But their family before them, that was the worst of it. Plenty of them died in the years of hunger, but mam’s ancestors, as the family stories’v come down, went inland. For work. We really don’t know who went where or who survived what; we only know someone did, else there would never have eventually been gran. In the mid 1920’s gran’s parents went back to Skibbereen, because apparently the first time around for the family wasn’t bad enough. You know how it is, home calls. But in the end they emigrated; they had to. Gran eventually married and gave birth to my father; he was the one who near worked himself to death turning a few turnips and nothing into a successful restaurant. It was him that made sure I had the education and the opportunity I never had. Earlene and I have talked about it a great deal, how lucky we both are. Our grandparents had nothing but dirt under their fingernails, and two generations later, the likes of us got to stand on their shoulders. I never forget it. It’d be wrong.” He broke off abruptly, shaking his head at how things turned out for some and not others.

 

Thanadir listened, fascinated. He knew nothing of Earlene’s mortal family, save seeing her brother at a distance. Stories like this were yet new, in his mind. He also felt badly, because he was beginning to put together that not so long ago, those outside their Halls had suffered greatly from lack of food. They elves had been oblivious to this, as far as he knew.

 

“Home does call,” Lorna said, sipping -- she wasn’t used to sipping, but that was just what you did with liquor this fine. “Christ do I know that. It was a bloody crime anyone had to leave, and even yet we’ve not forgiven the English for it. I’m pretty sure my great-great gran killed the tax man, actually, though Gran would never actually confirm it, or maybe I’d’ve been born here, too. Family...sometimes we get lucky, and they’re the ones that’v suffered for us.” Not in her case, but then again, it was partly yes; Mairead and Gran had certainly given all they could, when they brought her home from hospital, for all she was a literal stranger to them. “We’re tough, us Irish, and if we don’t take care’v our own, we’re daft, drunk or dead, as my Gran used to say.”

 

Earlene took Thranduil through a room with an indoor pool, which he confessed gave him ideas. Though his own, smaller pool was in so many ways more lovely and more functional; and yet this was for swimming and not for bathing. It fascinated him to see that for all the wealth needed to own this home, his own was far more beautiful, far richer in appointments, and needless to say more solidly constructed, but that was an unavoidable difference between a cavern and a skyscraper. The sun was setting, and in the twilight the city lights were coming on; here was a new view by which to appreciate them. Earlene pointed out the Chrysler building, so striking at night, and a few of the other landmarks that took on a different appearance when day turned to night. She could not resist stealing a kiss when they were alone; he was so attractive to her, in these lovely clothes, that it was genuinely difficult to control herself. There was little doubt in her mind what she’d do with access to a lockable bedroom, however socially unacceptable this would be. She made an effort to get her thoughts under control; she did not need to add soaking wet underwear to her list of distractions at this party.

 

Thranduil leaned down to nip at her ear.  _ We will be home, soon, and I promise you I will make up for our lack of private time in a suitable manner _ . He did not tell her that her chest was flushing enticingly with her arousal, and elected to take pity on her.  _ I will help you. I have created this monster, and it is not right that I leave you feeling this way at an occasion where we cannot join together. _

 

His arm came around her, and she felt her lust ebbing away.  _ Good grief, you can do that too? _

 

He chuckled.  _ I love you, sweet one. Let us return to Lorna and Thanadir. _

 

_ Probably a good idea _ , she thought ruefully.  _ And, thank you.  _ In moments they had returned, just in time for the waiter to offer more tidbits and champagne flutes. This time, Earlene did accept a drink; she liked champagne. They joined the conversation and soon found themselves engrossed in all things Irish and Ireland. The drinks and food kept coming on a regular schedule, and not a few toasts to Erin were proposed. It was a moment of triumph when even Thanadir began to refuse food. A tastefully restrained cheer went up when John and Lorna killed the bottle of Scotch, and Earlene insisted on taking a commemorative photo of them with the bottle. A few other guests popped in from time to time, a few of whom Earlene knew and greeted, but once it was obvious that the conversation in this room was not shifting from the Emerald Isle, they would leave just as quickly.

 

It was just as well that Thranduil and Earlene had returned, because Lorna was, in spite of the rather heroic amount of Scotch she’d consumed, feeling quite awkward.

 

Others had drifted over to talk to John -- others who looked at her and Thanadir quite curiously. He, however, blended in rather better, even with his long hair and the fact that he was rather more attractive than most of the men here, and he fielded questions with a serenity she envied.

 

“What is it you do for Earlene?” one woman asked -- she’d given her name as Susan. She was tall and blonde and willowy, in a long, dark blue gown that probably cost more than Lorna’s car, her teeth blindingly white. (What was  _ with  _ Americans and such white teeth? In Ireland, you were likely only going to find that shade on a pensioner’s dentures.)

 

“I’m her P.A.,” Lorna said, speaking carefully and slowly. “I take care’v all the Irish business for her, since it can be difficult to navigate for a foreigner. It’s more different than you’d think.” And it wasn’t even a lie, so Thanadir couldn’t glower at her for it.

 

To Susan’s credit, she only blanked out for a moment before she lined up all the syllables. “How did you come into her employ?”

 

“Now this I have to hear,” a man said. Lorna hadn’t caught his name, but part of her instinctively disliked him, mainly because he seemed rather smug. And he, too, had frighteningly white teeth, in addition to what was obviously a spray-tan (though at least a high-quality one, that didn’t leave him orange).

 

“I was out at her house one day when she’d got a delivery’v groceries. Gobshite driver tried to cheat her out’v two bottles’v whiskey, so I lit into him and dug through his van ’til I’d found them. She figured an Irish person could better deal with the Irish than an American could, and she’s not exactly wrong.” Again, broadly true. Lying was a lot easier when you were lying by omission.

 

That elicited blank stares all around, until John, laughing, translated. Thank God he was here -- Thanadir could translate too, of course, but John was well-known among this lot. What he said would carry more weight.

 

“If it makes you feel better,” Lorna said, “even other Irish people can have a hard time understanding me. Surprisingly, Earlene’s never had an issue with it.”

 

“Are you Earlene’s brother-in-law, sir?” Susan asked Thanadir.

 

Lorna had to resist her immediate impulse to jump to his aid. He could handle this, but he so hated lying...on the other hand, saying he was Thranduil’s brother was an agreed-upon lie, rather like his wedding-ring. Fortunately, Susan had one as well, so Lorna probably didn’t need to worry he was about to get hit on.

 

The seneschal looked into the woman’s eyes with a relaxed smile. “Yes and no. I have ever lived with Fionn’s family, and we call each other ‘brother’. Though as you might guess from our appearance, we are not related by blood.”

 

What the hell, Thanadir? Oh well. Deviating from the script was fine so long as everyone stayed on the same page. Unfortunately, in deviating, he had just dug himself into a hole. “How long have your families known one another?” Susan asked.

 

“Were you orphaned?” the smug man added. “Whatever the reason, it was good of Fionn -- that’s his name, right? -- Fionn’s family. I’ve heard the Irish take care of their own.”

 

Thranduil was smiling. For reasons he could guess at, Thanadir had changed their agreed-upon story, slightly, and now had himself in a slight….pickle, as the mortals would say.

 

Lorna fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. In altering their cover story he’d opened himself up for this, and for once she was going to let him reap the consequences. They’d spun their story as it was for a reason, as he was finding out, and as he would no doubt continue finding out. _ Thranduil, please rescue him before this whole interaction turns into an utter hash _ , she said, pained.

 

_ He got himself into this, Lorna. Do not worry. Thanadir has not been my seneschal for all these long years for no reason. However he chooses to answer, this will be a lesson of sorts, for him. _

 

_ That it will be _ , Lorna thought, a touch sourly.

 

“Our families are old ones,” Thanadir answered more carefully, realizing that the ice under his feet had grown thin. He had a certain sense of dismay; he should not have created a variation on what they had agreed they would say. He had only managed to give these mortals fodder for curiosity by saying more than he needed to. He looked up briefly into the bright and amused eyes of his sovereign, and issued a silent plea for forgiveness. The barely perceptible nod he received in return let him know that he had not offended, but would now need to undo his mistake. Only one opinion in this room mattered at all to him; he could now speak without further hindrance. “There have been many generations.” The demeanor behind his features now shifted to one that began to alarm Earlene, because she knew it well and would do a great deal to let it lie sleeping. In just a matter of seconds, the angelic cherub moved aside to a face that spoke of potential menace, and the tone of his voice deepened as his eyes locked with that of the smug man in open challenge. “You will excuse me, if I do not wish to speak of the circumstances of our families beyond what I have already said. It is not a fitting subject, especially in such gracious company. May I ask a similar question of you? So many here seem to have stories of family having come from other places. What of your own history?” The evasion was a disappointment to those listening, who had hoped for juicier fare from these relatively exotic strangers. Yet, not a one present missed the clear rebuff from the young man, who apparently was not such a pushover after all. Though as his words concluded, his features relaxed back into their usual charming appearance.

 

“I could do with another drink,” Lorna said, making her way through the crowd. Jesus, how many people were here? More than she’d expected, and possibly more than she was aware of, given the flat had two floors. Freaking out the other party guests might not end well, either, and when Thanadir got like that, it was so damn jarring compared to his boyish appearance. Oh well. Not her problem.

 

What  _ was  _ her problem was the fact that literally everyone here was at least five inches taller than she was, but at least nobody accidentally elbowed her or anything. She needed the bar, and then she needed the loo.

 

Unfortunately for Thanadir, he’d attracted yet more of an audience, and at least one of its members was highly attracted to  _ him _ . She was far too well-mannered to actually say so, but had no such mental restriction, and freely admired him rather lasciviously. Marie, her name was, who had recently turned forty-one and was rather depressed about it. This lovely young man was quite decorative, however, and his image would be quite a visual deposit in her spank bank.

 

The Elvenking’s eyes flared slightly, and he felt vaguely relieved that his seneschal missed so much of what transpired around him. Though, these mortals were affecting him slightly, because he found himself wondering something he’d never wondered before. _Were_ _Thanadir to wed, just what sort of proclivities might he have?_ Glancing up at the city skyline, he chastised himself for even considering such a thing. His own ability to indulge once again in lust was clearly addling his reasoning.

 

“Earlene, I didn’t realize you’d be coming with guests,” Marie said, eying both Thanadir and Thranduil with outward decorum, her gaze lingering only a  _ little  _ too long. She was trying not to be visibly disappointed when she spotted the wedding-ring on Thanadir’s finger.

 

“I wanted to come back and tie up loose ends here, and my new family has never been. It hardly seemed fair to miss the chance to show them around. And to be honest, I’ve managed to get myself over to see a few attractions I’d never seen, like Ellis Island or going up in the Statue of Liberty. I’ll admit it’s been fun, playing tourist.” Earlene’s eyes narrowed, but only slightly, as she possessively took Thranduil’s hand into her lap. Marie was well known for being a fair, if far more discreet, imitation of Samantha from  _ Sex in the City _ . There was little doubt what was going through her mind just now about either of the ellyn. Not that she could blame her for that, but no one was going to make eyes, however subtle, at her husband unchallenged.

 

“Of course,” Marie said, sipping at her champagne. Unfortunately for all, while  _ she  _ was decorous about her admiration, they drew in another who was...less so. Iris Haverford, the much younger wife of one of John’s golfing friends. Beautiful, blonde, a notorious flirt -- and both she  _ and  _ her husband were equally notorious for cheating on one another with regularity. Which wasn’t to say they were the only ones, but the other cheaters in that social set at least tried to be discreet about it.

 

Marie fought the urge to tread on her foot. She was quite enjoying the view here, and if Iris was...herself...Earlene would undoubtedly take it elsewhere. As it was, she rolled her eyes at the woman’s blatant appraisal of Earlene’s two guests. Really, there were  _ standards _ . Yes, both of those men were gorgeous beyond all fairness, but looking at them like slabs of meat was just...crass.

 

“Earlene --” Oh, lovely, Iris was already drunk “--where did you find  _ these  _ two?”

 

“They’re her new family,” Marie said pointedly. There was no actual restraining Iris, but one had to try. Yes, she herself would later shamelessly use her toy collection while thinking of this lovely young man, but that didn’t mean she was going to be gauche enough to let him  _ know  _ that.

 

Thranduil slipped his arm around his wife possessively but with an amused expression. “I am Earlene’s husband, Fionn. It is nice to meet you,” he said, though he did not extend his hand as he usually would have. In this case, it would only be adding some oil to the flames. “This is my brother Cian.” Thanadir gave a brief nod of his head, but his features were once again clouding over at what even he could see of the lust painted on this woman’s face. It was astonishingly  _ unseemly _ . He expected better, of those with so much wealth and alleged status. Though  _ why _ , exactly, he could not say. 

 

Marie had done her best to mask her disappointment at spotting Cian’s wedding-ring, but Iris didn’t even try. She really  _ was  _ drunk. “Where’s Andrew?” Marie asked, even more pointedly. “He must be wondering where you are, and I think you could use a bit more to  _ eat _ , Iris.” The woman had probably consumed all of four hors’ d'oeuvres before breaking into the vodka.

 

“Oh, who knows?” Iris said, still eying Fionn with such disgustingly open disappointment. “Off drinking.”

 

“Maybe you should be off drinking  _ with  _ him,” Marie said, yet more pointedly still. If she was forced to march Iris out of here -- if she was forced to give up such pretty eye-candy early -- the younger woman was going to find herself very, very unhappy when she sobered up. 

 

Lorna, who had witnessed this entire exchange from a slight distance, rolled her eyes. Good  _ grief _ ...and she’d thought rich people were meant to be classy. This one had all the subtlety of Siobhan.

 

_ Lorna, the woman’s husband is at the bar, where you just were. He had glasses, and a red necktie. He is older,  _ she heard in her head.

 

 _Got it_ , she said back. Weaving her way through the crowd, she set her empty glass down, plucked the champagne flute out of Iris’s hand, and said, quiet solemnly, “D'fhear céile atá ag lorg agat, tú shreel ré. A ligean ar a gheobhaidh tú ar ais sula ndéanann tú amadán níos mó de tú féin _agus_ é.” _Your husband’s looking for you, you bloody tramp. Let’s get you back before you make a bigger fool of you and him._

 

By now, word of Earlene’s odd little P.A. had spread -- including the fact that the woman’s accent was so heavy she was all but incomprehensible. Even Iris had enough standards to pretend she understood, though she hadn’t caught a word. She did, however, eventually recognize the word ‘Andrew’, and somehow, found herself being led away by the hand, listening to a soft, soothing stream of nonsense.

 

“Sin é,” Lorna said. “Tá mé cinnte go bhfuil do fear céile pósta tú ar chúis amháin nó eile, agus tá mé cinnte go leor go raibh sé do tits. Agus b'fhéidir do chuid fiacla. A ligean ar lámh tú ar ais chuige anois.” _That’s it. I’m sure your husband married you for one reason or another, and I’m pretty sure it was your tits. And maybe your teeth. Let’s hand you back to him now._ The woman was surprisingly unresistant, and it wasn’t difficult to dump her on a bar stool beside her husband. “You might want to keep her here,” she told him, and hurried back to her little group.

 

The moment Lorna took custody of Iris, who John had always found to be generally distasteful (and more so after her second drink), a smile spread over his face. It was like a vision of his gran, come to life. He was only able to understand something about ‘your husband’ before the meaning was lost to him, but it was the most Irish he’d heard spoken in one place since her passing. Shaking with laughter at Lorna’s take-charge attitude, he had to turn away to face the windows for a moment. However much he was enjoying this, it would be equally crass to be seen openly laughing at the amorous woman’s comeuppance.

 

_ Well done, Lorna, _ said a very pleased Thranduil. He’d been tempted to do the same, but really, that would have been awkward on so many levels.

 

Earlene looked knowingly at Marie with a shrug and a smirk. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” Marie’s own extremely subtle admiration of her husband was now completely forgiven, having been overshadowed by Iris’ theatrical performance.

 

“Indeed they do,” Marie sighed, taking a somewhat larger sip of her champagne than was necessary. “I wish my P.A. was that...forthright.”  _ Pushy  _ was not quite the right word, and yet at the same time, it was. She was fairly certain Iris wouldn’t have stood a chance even if she hadn’t been drunk. “I am afraid you haven’t missed a great deal, since you’ve moved away.”

 

Lorna, shaking her head, reappeared at the edge of the group. “Hopefully she’ll stay put,” she said. “If her husband’s got any manner’v sense at all, anyway.”

 

“Lorna isn’t just a P.A.,” said Earlene very clearly, looking from Lorna back to Marie. “That part is at best secondary. She’s my friend. Our friend. And she is a friend  _ anyone _ would be lucky to have.” There was something in Marie’s tone that had far too much of an air of saying ‘nice servant you’ve got there,’ and Earlene would have none of it. Her own tone of voice was not angry or aggressive, but rather beyond matter-of-fact. “And while I do miss all of you...I was right to move. My heart is in Ireland, now.”

 

“You’ll make me blush in a minute,” Lorna said, just a touch awkwardly. Outward displays of emotion while among strangers was something she still wasn’t used to yet. “Meanwhile, I’ve got to go find the toilet.”

 

Marie blinked, a bit startled. “Of course,” she said. “It’s a lovely place to live, and I’m sure they’re lovely people.” It was a bland inanity, but nevertheless appropriate. “And you really do seem lucky to have her.”

 

*******

 

These parties were dull, but Von Ratched attended them anyway. He had to keep an eye on his investments, but those investments had minds so tedious it was a chore more often than not.

 

Despite his height, he could be ignored when he wished -- and he often wished, for he could only endure so much banal conversation. Money and power were the only preoccupations of many, and even those with nobler intentions lacked true intellect. They were cattle, with so little variation.

 

And then he saw  _ her _ .

 

_ She  _ did not belong here, and obviously so. Tiny, visibly uncomfortable (and a touch drunk), in a gown quite unlike the carefully stylish ones worn by the other women...who had brought her here, and why?

 

Her immediate thoughts were occupied with a need for the restroom, but he would waylay her a moment anyway. “You look lost,” he said, when he reached her.

 

She twitched a little, turning to him, and froze.

 

Now  _ that  _ was interesting. Von Ratched could not help but be a touch intimidating, but this tiny woman recognized him on sight for the true threat he was. She didn’t know  _ what  _ he was, but she knew he was dangerous. Sheer animal instinct knew a predator when she saw one, even if she were not truly cognizant why.

 

“Looking for the toilet,” she said, in a very heavy Irish brogue. “Champagne’ll go through you like that.” Though she didn’t look drunk, one touch of her mind told him she was. Quite a bit.

 

Lorna had expected a bunch of stiffs in suits, with hopefully a few bright spots like Earlene. So far the only real one she’d found was Earlene’s old boss, John, who was such a good sort she wondered what the hell he was doing here. This guy, whoever he was, screamed ‘threat’ every bit as strongly as Thranduil, for all he was obviously human. As tall as Thranduil, probably around her age, a touch of grey in his blond hair, but his  _ eyes _ \-- she’d thought Thranduil’s eyes were creepy, but they had nothing on this guy’s. They were so pale a grey they were nearly white, cold as glaciers.

 

“I believe it is this way,” he said, with a smile that would probably have been charming if he hadn’t been giving off blatant serial-killer vibes. Seriously, who the hell let him in here? She really didn’t want to go anywhere with him, but she also really needed to pee, so her bladder made the decision for her.

 

“Forgive me, but you seem rather out of your depth,” Von Ratched said, leading her down the hallway. She would not, he thought, pass a field sobriety test; it wasn’t blatant, but she was weaving a bit. “Who roped you into coming here?”

 

“My boss,” she said. He had to resist the temptation to touch that long, silky hair. The other women here used shampoos and products whose artificial stink quite put him off, but whatever she used was natural, infused with lavender. “We’re not staying long.”

 

“Lucky you,” he said, for once not lying. “Can I at least tempt you into one more drink, before you go?” He infused the question with just the barest trace of compulsion --  _ after all, she wouldn’t want to be rude, would she? _

 

“Just one,” she said warily, once they reached the bathroom. “I’ll meet you back out there.” Why she agreed to that, she had no idea, but it seemed the thing to do. She’d promised she’d try not to embarrass Earlene, and telling off some creep in the middle of this swanky party would be sure to do just that.

 

“I don’t think I caught your name,” the man said, his gaze just a touch too intent. He’d actually be rather handsome, if he wasn’t the creepiest thing that had ever creepied in the history of ever. As it was, even having him so close made her itch.

 

“Lorna,” she said, and it was  _ all  _ she said. “Be out in a minute.”

 

_ Lorna  _ he thought -- a rather lovely name. A gentleman wouldn’t lurk, so he didn’t; instead he returned to the party, and collected two flutes of champagne. Such a pity it would likely be impossible to take her home with him; as it was, he would simply monopolize her time until her employer took her away, and left him again to his tedium.

 

Lorna was not at all pleased. She stayed in the bathroom rather longer than she needed to before heading back out into the main room, hoping she’d get lost in the crowd. At her height, it wouldn’t be difficult. There was no tangible reason that man should freak her out as much as he did, but freak her out he did, which pissed her off. He was a suit; unless he was some kind of cop, she could probably break both his knees and run like buggery, and yet he unnerved her in a way nothing else ever had. It would have been impressive, if she hadn’t been so skeeved.

 

“While I cannot say you blend in, you are nevertheless difficult to find.”

 

Lorna twitched again, but nevertheless took the drink he offered, doing her best not to knock it back at one go.  _ Thranduil, help _ , she said.  _ I’ve got a creeper. Beam me up, Scotty. _

 

That gave Von Ratched pause. She thought someone would actually hear her… Surreptitiously, he brushed the back of her hand, careful not to let her notice. Seeking her deeper thoughts was risky -- mortal minds were so easily broken, and this was not the place to do so -- but he wished deeper insight into hers.

 

Unfortunately, she was so unsettled by him, and her mind so clouded with alcohol, that it was difficult to find anything else. While he could not say he had ever been likened to a zombie before, she certainly thought he resembled one. Such a pity he could not prove her otherwise. He was somewhat shocked at how very much he wanted to.

 

“I’ve got friends this way,” she said, pointing toward the corner they’d been lurking in much of the evening. She’d feel a hell of a lot better with backup.

 

The Elvenking heard her with amusement until he saw in her thoughts the one of whom she spoke, and frowned; he did not particularly like the look of this man. His eyes scanned for Lorna and at her entrance into the room, all seemed well enough, until he saw what followed. It could not be. It absolutely could not be. And yet every ounce of his memory and his powerful perceptions told him that it absolutely  _ was. How? And...just, how? _

 

From across the room, those pale white eyes locked to his own of sapphire blue, as each registered the other. Thranduil was not about to stand here and evaluate this. He held out his arm to Lorna but did not speak to her, earnestly hoping she would for once without question accept the silent invitation to physically come to him; it was critical that he be able to touch her.  With a sigh of relief, she moved to stand next to him, and in that next second his arm came over her shoulder in more than just a gesture of affection; this was a blanket of protection to her mind. Earlene stood across the room, having broken away for a moment to admire the views.  _ We are leaving, immediately, _ Earlene, Lorna and Thanadir all heard in concert.  _ Earlene, return to my side. All of you, follow my lead _ . He meant this in a more than physical sense, as he spoke aloud. “It has been a pleasure meeting you all, but we must regrettably depart. A pressing matter has come to my attention.”

 

Earlene did not understand but was making her way to his side and did not hesitate to support him. “John, please give Michael my thanks and my regrets,” she said, pecking him quickly on the cheek. “I hope you know you’re always welcome, should you feel the need for a quiet vacation,” she said quietly, so that only he could hear.

 

Thanadir, in the meantime received a very different message.  _ Balrog. _

 

His lips parted at what his King showed in his mind, but understood immediately what was wanted. Thranduil would go first with the firith, quite literally in his arms. He was to follow just behind, a buffer against the worst possibility. Foremost a warrior, he returned only one thought:  _ Athon _ .

 

Now  _ this... _ It was all Von Ratched could do to keep a feral smile from crossing his face. This was the last thing he ever would have expected, and yet the greatest find he had discovered in millennia.  _ Elda _ , he sent the elf, his gaze shifting from lovely little Lorna to the elf --  _ two  _ elves. What were they doing here, now, after all this time? Disappointingly -- yet intriguingly -- as soon as the taller of the pair touched Lorna, Von Ratched had no more access to her thoughts. So this one was quite a  _ powerful  _ elf to boot…

 

The other woman, though...even before she went to the taller elf, Von Ratched could not touch her thoughts, a thing which ought to have been impossible. His eyes narrowed, bending more of his will upon her, and yet still there was nothing. How? She was mortal, firieth; none of them had ever been able to resist him. Surely it could not be her own doing -- one of the elves must have done it to her, or for her. Perhaps the powerful one was even more powerful than he had suspected -- but then, why was Lorna not protected as well? It could not be innate magic, but perhaps something tied to an object the taller woman carried or wore.

 

As they moved out in what was almost a formation, both ellyn locked eyes with this stranger, and Thanadir now fully saw for himself what his King had seen. His face blazed with strength and fearlessness. Thranduil, for his part, returned two words as he moved past the creature, the mortal women held firmly in his protective grasp:  _ Elbereth Gilthoniel _ . That this abomination of the ancient world still roamed free disgusted him. It had assumed a fair form, and doubtless had hidden power. But even the mightiest of these had fallen before the Children of Ilúvatar. This was a dangerous enemy, but not an undefeatable one. The call to Varda was meant to imply one thing, though even as he sent it he knew that it would likely prove fruitless: _ Leave us alone _ . 

 

Earlene felt lost, not comprehending the reason for this abrupt departure. She walked in her husband’s hold with her head held confidently, and could not help but notice the strange man with the oddest and coldest eyes she had ever seen. Her gaze revealed no fear but rather a mild contempt. Whoever he was, she would rather meet one of the reincarnations from the Natural History Museum’s carnivore collection than  _ that _ .  _ Who was he and what was he doing here? _ It wasn’t Sandgraust’s style to keep company with people who were disreputable.

 

Von Ratched could have followed them, but that was not how he worked. Direct confrontation was not his style, and in any event he had a position to maintain among the cattle. So he sipped his champagne, watching them retreat, smirking ever so slightly. He would find them, in due time; meanwhile, he had time to decide just what he wanted to do with them. Two lingering Eldar, a firieth who could block his mind, and another who was so oddly lovely he wanted to keep her in a cabinet, away from prying eyes.

 

Lorna, for her part, was just glad to be getting the hell out of there, away from Creepy McCreeperson -- who had to be  _ really  _ creepy, if Thranduil was willing to hustle them out so blatantly. She had many questions, but she wasn’t about to ask any of them until they were safely away from this building. She still shuddered a bit at the way the bastard had been looking at her. Gross.

 

Down the elevator and out the lobby, no cab was now waiting. Realizing from Earlene how close they were to the hotel, he made an easy decision. They would walk, unseen. And so it was that they wove their way down the sidewalks, past the mortals whose eyes did not perceive them. Into the lobby of their own hotel, and into the elevator there. Only then did he cease his efforts. Should they have been followed, no information of their passing would be available through the unprotected minds of others. Looking down at Lorna, who he finally released from his grasp, he worried. How much had...whoever it was...gleaned from her mind? She was rather drunk, which worked in his favor on this occasion. And another aspect that bothered him deeply was the look in the man’s eyes, as he surveilled Lorna. Predatory, _ proprietary _ . It turned his stomach to think on it. But there was simply nothing to be done, except to leave this city and reflect with Thanadir on what small extra measures might be taken. It was with a sigh of relief that they entered their room and the door clicked shut behind them.

 

“I’m assuming he was more’v a creeper than I’d thought?” Lorna said, and it wasn’t actually a question. She shuddered again, almost wanting to take a shower to get the skeeze of his gaze off her.

 

Thranduil gestured for them to take seats on their beds, so that they could converse facing each other. Thranduil heaved a huge sigh. “First I want to thank you both, Earlene and Lorna, for doing as I asked without question. That man was the most dangerous one you will ever meet, aside from me. And which of us is the stronger is something I do not know at this time.” He smiled weakly. “You have laid eyes on a balrog, though not in the form in which you are accustomed to thinking. That word, ‘balrog’, it means ‘demon’ in our language. It is a word that can be assigned to any of the Ainur that elected to follow Morgoth, turning wholly to evil. He,  _ it _ , is not an elf but rather one of the ancient race first created by our father Eru. Since he cannot be a Vala, it only remains that he is of the Maiar, the spirit beings but holding lesser power. Sauron was a Maiar, as were all of the wizards told about in the films you watched. It is obvious that somehow, one of these remained all through this long span of time, much as we ourselves did. I can tell you that he is evil, and would likely harm us if he could just on principle. I brought you to me, Lorna, to shield your mind, which assuredly is as clear to him as it is to me. Beyond that, I am afraid you know as much as I do.” He hung his head, and shook it. “I never expected this. Anything, but this.”

 

Lorna shuddered again, but tried to be reassuring. “Well, I doubt he got much out’v my mind,” she snorted. “All I could think was how bloody creepy he was -- and I called you with my mind, but given how badly I mangle pronouncing your name, I doubt he got anything off me  _ that  _ way. I wasn’t thinking about Earlene or Thanadir or home. Having him so close was so horrifying I literally couldn’t think’v anything else.” This...she had no idea what to  _ do  _ with this, but they’d be going home soon -- and while it didn’t take a genius to work out her accent, he didn’t have her last name, and Lorna was hardly an uncommon name in Ireland. Though Earlene...but had Earlene actually given anyone her address, or did she just say she’d moved to Ireland? Lorna was pretty sure it was the latter. Sullivan was an incredibly common second name, though she wasn’t quite so sure about the name Earlene.

 

Shaking her head, she added, “I’d thought he was looking at me like he wanted to turn my skin into a person-suit. Didn’t guess I might actually be right.”

 

Earlene leaned in to her husband. “I will only do what you ask me to. But, I could have that man’s name for you, quickly. I have never laid eyes on him before tonight. But clearly Sandgraust has, or he would not have been there. And...something John Oehlert said to me, when we visited the office, makes me wonder if he does not know of and disapprove of this man. If you would allow it, a few text messages might give you a name. I am the real liability here, because everyone at that party knows me. I will say that I have made myself less easy to find; I gave no forwarding addresses. While a few, such as my own lawyer and the company that shipped my belongings do have a location, that would take some doing to find. I have not used social media since moving to Ireland. Which is all to say, I will be difficult to find but anyone can be discovered in time. The unfortunate aspect is that once found, I am at your doorstep.”

 

Thranduil considered. “You of all people know discretion, Earlene. You may inquire.”

 

Earlene pulled out her phone, and in a few seconds had tapped out to John,  _ Let me know when you’ve left One57.  _

 

_ Already gone, _ the reply came immediately.  _ Everything OK? _

 

_ Between you, me, and the wall, need to know who the tall man was with the very pale eyes at Sandgraust’s? _

 

_ Wondered if that had something to do with your swift departure. That was Raoul Von Ratched, someone you can be very glad not to know.  _

 

_ Thanks, John. I owe you one. Be well :-) _

 

Earlene grimaced, but knew that John immediately deleted all text messages; he could not afford to have sensitive confidential information sitting around on a device that could potentially be stolen. And she did the same, as she obliterated the conversation, through long habit. “His name is Raoul Von Ratched, and I was right that John’s opinion of him is not a good one,” she said. “So, we have a name.”

 

Lorna’s eyebrows went up. “Raoul?” she said. Somehow, that creepy son of a bitch sharing a name with the gobshite from  _ Phantom of the Opera  _ took a touch of the menace out of him. Not  _ much _ , but some -- because he’d probably chose than name himself, and who in their right bloody mind would call themselves  _ Raoul _ ?

 

“We are not without defenses, even against such a one as that,” said Thanadir, with a resolute look on his face. 

 

“Indeed we are not,” said the King, realizing the truth of the matter. “Balrogs are not invulnerable. Glorfindel slaughtered one, as did Ecthelion.” He did not mention, that both paid with their lives for their deeds. He shook off the notion. The point was, they could be killed. “And we must remember, for all our distance, we still are elves, we still have the blessings of the Valar. Morgoth has been chained away to the Void for a great span of time. Whoever this is, it has no master, and no purpose aside from evil. Morgoth did not stand, and neither will this one, should he seek to interfere.”

 

“I can get us better weapons, too,” Lorna said, kicking off her sandals. “Handguns and assault rifles aren’t legal in Ireland, but Shane can put me in touch with someone who could get one or a dozen. If he can be killed, a mini-gun’s worth’v bullets ought to do it. Even if not, it would sting like a bitch.” Guns, flamethrowers...the modern world had loads of long-range weapons. They probably couldn’t hurt to have around.

 

Thranduil smiled. “His body can be damaged and killed, as can ours. And he can likely heal non-fatal damage with skill similar to my own, Lorna. I am not certain that seeking to kill him with human weapons is the best choice. Do not forget, he is not as you are; his body is only a form, a manifestation. Kill him and his spirit can take a new one, though perhaps not the same as the old. Which is why a weapon that can damage his power would be entirely more useful, and those weapons were not ones made by mortals.”

 

Earlene raised her eyebrows, and decided that once home, those books would be a priority. Too much was happening and she was tired of her ignorance of their people. Her people. It was like being an American and not knowing there was a Constitution, for crying in the mud. “I am going to change, I’ll just be a minute,” she said, grabbing her comfortable clothes.  _ Jesus Christ, what an evening. _ She emerged thirty seconds later, carefully laying the gown on the bed to fold and roll it in a way that would allow for packing. Because packing was what they needed to do now; tomorrow at seven they would be getting their ride to JFK to begin the long haul back to their home. And to her surprise, she could hardly wait.

 

Lorna caved and took a shower, washing off whatever imaginary toxin had settled over her skin. It meant she could pack away her toiletries tonight, which she did. In her nice soft, warm nightgown, she felt rather more at ease as she packed away her souvenirs, all the odds and ends that had become strewn around the room, leaving out only clean clothes for tomorrow.

 

Before Lorna could emerge from the bathroom, both ellyn had changed as well, and Thanadir and Earlene busied themselves replacing the tuxedos and other accoutrements on their hangers and in their bags, until all was zipped up in perfect order. These would be dropped off to the concierge, in the morning. Earlene returned her bracelet to Thranduil, who arched his eyebrows at her and smirked. “Oh,” she said, shaking her head. He’d no intention of taking it back; it was something said to assuage Lorna’s sensitivities. “Thank you, then,” she said. “It is lovely.” Where she’d wear it was beyond her, but, maybe in the Halls? It  _ was _ very pretty. _ It couldn’t hurt to play Queen now and again _ , she reasoned. 

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. Alassëa had never been shy about wanting more jewels. And as his Queen, he gave them to her gladly. They were worn regally, but what had it been worth once he realized that she would far rather have another necklace than his attentions? He was far, far happier now, with this firieth who truly loved him as a whole being, and not for his vault. 

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “Well,  _ I’m  _ giving you my necklace back,” she said. “I’ll happily borrow it again, but it’s not like I’d have any cause to take it out’v the Halls anyway, and it’s safer with you.”

 

“A deal is a deal,” Thranduil smiled, holding out his hand for it. “But it did look lovely on you. It will be sent to your rooms, when we return.”

 

She laughed. “I’ve learned not to argue,” she said, handing it to him, “much, anyway. Just when I feel like it.” Lorna looked at her laptop, but she had no idea what to email to Ratiri. This was the kind of creepy-ass thing best told in person, so she just dropped him a note say they were all tired and ready to be home, and was he still able to pick them up tomorrow night?

 

_ Thank bloody God _ , she thought,  _ this was the last day of our trip.  _ She didn’t fancy the idea of trying to hide in New York City, and she’d imagine trying to exchange tickets on such short notice would have been a nightmare.

 

Ratiri could tell her in more depth what Maiar and Ainur were, and she could give him all her little goodies. As much fun as she’d had here, it would be good to be home, in her own bed, an ocean away from this creep.

 

Everything was mostly packed away, but something did not feel right. Earlene looked up to see Thanadir staring at her. “Hîr vuin?” she asked.

 

“I said we would run again tonight, in the Park. Are you willing?”

 

Her lips parted in indecision. This was the last thing on her mind, after everything else that had transpired. It was late. And yet most of tomorrow would be spent immobile on an airplane, and it was indeed her last opportunity. “Yes.”

 

“Lorna, I presume you do not mind being left here alone for a time?” Thranduil asked, already knowing the answer but wishing to be certain. “Because I would strongly prefer to run with Thanadir and Earlene.”

“I’m good,” she said. “Don’t know how much longer I’ll be awake, I’ve drank that much this evening.” She really was weirdly exhausted, probably from all the tension, for all it hadn’t started that long ago. She felt safe enough in here, and Earlene and Thanadir would be a lot safer out there if Thranduil was with them.

 

It only needed moments, to put on the correct shoes and depart their room. Earlene looked at her whistle and now useless pepper spray, the empty canister of which she would toss in the lobby trash. Why she could possibly need it was beyond her but, dammit, tradition. Wishing to avoid coming anywhere near One57, she led them over to 5th Avenue to pick up the tangle of paths that would eventually merge with East Drive. There was no question about her destination, tonight.

 

Thranduil felt impressed that even in the dimmer lamplight, Earlene unquestionably knew these paths by heart. He’d not run with her in a long time, and she set a pace that he found impressive. She was strong, and fit. They arrived at the inevitable obelisk, to which she reached out her hand to touch (like she knew she was not supposed to, but this was a special occasion, she reasoned) in a farewell she imagined was rather more final, though who knew. This visit had accomplished what she hoped it might, and perhaps a bit more. This had been home, but would never be that again. She was only a visitor now. Who she was exactly, had not been fully worked out, but it had nothing to do with her old existence. “Goodbye, Ozymandias,” she said aloud. It was her pet name for the beloved monument.

 

“Ozymandias?” asked Thanadir. “I thought this was called Cleopatra’s Needle?” the elf said, confused, as he kept a wary eye around them for any others.

 

“Ozymandias is the name of a poem. I will recite it for you. She took a deep breath and spoke to the pillar; this poem was one of many that she had memorized, to try to keep her pain under control when she struggled with the worst of her troubles:

 

_ I met a traveller from an antique land,  _

_ Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone  _

_ Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,  _

_ Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,  _

_ And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,  _

_ Tell that its sculptor well those passions read  _

_ Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,  _

_ The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;  _

_ And on the pedestal, these words appear:  _

_ My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;  _

_ Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!  _

_ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay  _

_ Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare  _

_ The lone and level sands stretch far away. _

 

Do you understand?” she asked Thanadir, who shook his head No.

 

“I think I do,” said Thranduil. “The poem talks of a ruler who was once mighty, and who built great monuments to his fame, and that declared his greatness. Yet time went by, and nothing remained of all he had made except for one lone inscription to his fame. Just like this obelisk, that praises a King no one recalls.”

 

“Almost,” said Earlene. “That King’s name is still known to some; he was very famous. But for all practical purposes your answer is correct. And, I thank you, Cian. I would not have remembered to do this, and I am very glad for this chance.” For another moment, she stood between them and held both their hands before they all turned to leave. It was fitting; her future was now with them.

 

******

They entered the room very quietly, to see the adorable sight of Lorna, passed out with her fingers still resting on her keyboard. With a smile, Earlene carefully slid out the computer and closed the lid, plugging it onto the charging cord; she’d no doubt want the full battery for tomorrow. Thranduil came up behind her and frowned, and laid his hand very softly on her forehead. This, as he saw it, was not only compassion but self-preservation; without intervention she would be most unhappy on awakening. He then ordered Thanadir into the shower, ignoring the arched eyebrows he received in response. Slipping off their shoes, they waited for the bathroom to be free, since Earlene at least was a sweaty mess and had no intention of going to sleep in this condition. Thanadir emerged wearing only a towel, which was unlike him, but then again Lorna was obviously lost to the world.

 

Without any threats of caterwauling, or as his diminutive friend thought of it, ‘squicking’, he paid his wife the luxurious attention he’d wished to for days. She was tiring, and he meant for her to sleep very well. But first things came first. She leaned against the tiled wall while as he kneaded her shoulders and back under the hot water, generally using shameless amounts of soap. He tended to her calves, legs and shapely rear end as well.  _ For all Lorna went on about assorted ‘arses’, _ Thranduil mused,  _ she clearly never considered female ones _ . Earlene’s was as firm and desirable as one could wish. By the time he worked his way from her full breasts to the place that carried his children, he was thoroughly aroused. He lifted her off her feet as she gasped in surprise, having visions of cracked heads in a shower stall (what a 911 call _ that _ would be).

 

_ Estelio nin _ , she heard back with humor as she relaxed into his hold. He took his time, wondering how infinite the hotel’s supply of hot water might be. He adjusted the spray so that the warm water fell on her breasts, that he occasionally indulged in giving more attention. He wondered if Earlene knew, of the delights her body would yet give her, as he imitated the suckling of an infant and immediately felt her clench against him. Eru had provided so many delights, and he admitted to yearning again for something he’d only enjoyed very few times; nursing at his wife’s breast. To him it had been beyond erotic, and he felt himself hardening within her at the thought of it. Under his steady ministrations, Earlene was having greater and greater difficulty maintaining her silence.  _ Please _ , she said.  _ Though you tell me he is used to it, I have no wish to scandalize Thanadir. I hope to have better manners, but you are pushing me beyond endurance. _

 

It was a fair request, and he was close to his own limit as well. He forcefully thrust into her as he kissed her fervently, their moans of bliss lost in each other. Earlene did not dare let go of her hold on him. He kissed her tenderly, all over her neck and face as she recovered in his arms. 

 

_ I did not tell you this earlier, _ he heard,  _ in fact I do not know how to say this, because you will tell me it is to be expected. At the party, when you took us out of there; your intention to protect both Lorna and I was so...obvious. I have felt the same from Thanadir; a sense that he would give everything before he would allow me to be harmed. It is not...usual, in our world. There is no manner in which I have not felt loved, by you. Expected or not, thank you. Wife, subject, or not, that you would incur risk for me when I am mortal and you are not...I want you to know that I am grateful, my Lord. _

 

For once, there was no lecture, no further discussion. Only soft lips against her own, kissing her deeply.

  
  


********

 

Lorna woke the next morning mercifully free of any sort of morning-after. Since she’d already taken a shower last night, all she had to do was braid her hair, get dressed, and pack up her laptop.

 

She’d been so deep asleep she hadn’t dreamt, which was also a mercy; she’d been half afraid she’d have nightmares about Creepy McCreeperson, but there had been nothing of any sort. She just needed food and caffeine and she’d be good to go. Mostly. She was not going to enjoy being on the plane. It just wasn’t going to happen, but she wasn’t half so freaked out by it going back as she’d been coming in.

 

It being the last day, she and Thanadir between them managed to clean out half the pastry case at the bakery, and Lorna snapped some photos of the menu, because if anyone could duplicate these tasty bits of deliciousness, it would be Mairead and Siobhan.

 

It really was a good thing this was the last day, because the heat and humidity had soared, and the interior of the airport was so crowded the air conditioning wasn’t doing a great deal. Still, she stuck close behind the elves, so nobody stepped on her. Ratiri had confirmed he was in fact picking them up in Dublin; her worries, theoretically, were all dealt with. The thought of putting the Atlantic between the lot of them and Creeper was quite a relief, too.

 

Getting on the plane, she was torn. It wasn’t fair to deprive Earlene of Thranduil as a seatmate, but Lorna had got a vague impression that Thanadir didn’t actually like her all that much. Whatever, they’d work it out among themselves. She’d be taking a nice long nap anyway, if she could get Thranduil to put her under, so she’d wake up with some energy when they got home. There were loads of things to give and show and tell Ratiri, and the souvenirs to sort and wrap for her friends in Baile.

 

Thranduil pondered what he was perceiving from Lorna and frowned. He could guess at the origin of her impressions of Thanadir, but her views were clouded by their differences in personality. Thanadir would give his life to protect Lorna, but it did not mean he was inclined to endure flying toast. It was not about ‘like’ or ‘dislike’, and it bothered him that she would feel this way.  _ And yet how to do something about it?  _

 

Thanadir’s head tilted to one side as Thranduil...informed him. His eyebrows raised, and while they waited to make their way to business class, he considered for a few moments before leaning down. “Lorna, would you mind it, if I sat near you?”

 

Lorna blinked, startled. “Sure,” she said. “You go on ahead and have the window seat. I know you’d appreciate it a hell’v a lot more than me.”

 

“Thank you, I will,” he said politely. They settled themselves; it was all much the same as last time. Thanadir watched Lorna furtively as her eyes betrayed growing agitation that she worked hard to dissemble, as the flight attendants went through their ‘if we need to make a water landing’ speech. He kept on watching, until the were within seconds of takeoff, before offering his hand to her. “Hold onto me,” the old elf said in his kindest tone of voice.

 

Lorna took it with only the barest trace of hesitation. “Not sure I’ll ever like flying,” she said. “Once we get up, I’ll just pretend we’re not up. A lot easier to do if I’m not seeing out the window.” The ‘water landing’ was the worst of it this go-round, too. Thought of it...no. Just...no.

 

It was harder for him, much harder, but he had healing abilities of his own, and he did his best to let his sense of peace flow into her. That he did not understand her fear and anxiety did not mean he would ignore it. He rather enjoyed the sensation of the great machine roaring to life, and the sight of them leaving the earth. He looked out the window in rapt fascination as the great city of men was left behind; in only one minute they were so very high and far away. He remembered, with chagrin, to release her hand, and as he fiddled with his video monitor that gave him wind speed, altimeter, and miles to their destination, he considered what else he might say to her. 

 

“What did you enjoy the most? I think like us, you have rarely been so far from home?”

 

Now rather more relaxed, Lorna half-smiled. “I’ve never been anywhere near so far from home,” she said. “I loved it, until last night, but I’m glad to be going home, too. New York’s grand, but it’s not Ireland. I’m happy we’re headed back to open spaces, y’know? It’s like...it’s like being in canyons, in the city, big deep ones. I think my favorite was the natural history museum. So much I’d never’ve seen at home.” She didn’t want to say that he’d seemed a bit overwhelmed at times, so instead she asked, “What’s the oddest thing you learned, while we were there?”

 

He laughed. “That was definitely what happened last night, but I think this is not a place to discuss that. But aside from that…” he frowned. “I learned so, so many things. But these dinosaurs, and that film about the heavens above us, those were both strange and important to me. And maybe besides that….was Nonna at the restaurant.” He grinned, clearly remembering the first time in his long life he had ever over-eaten.

 

“Christ, Nonna,” Lorna said, fighting back laughter. She was only grateful the old lady had  _ patted  _ his cheek, not  _ pinched  _ it. “I still wonder how it is you can eat so much and be built like you are. I mean, I eat a lot for someone my size, but still. My Gran, she’d’ve loved you. She’d’ve taken it as her personal challenge to feed you too much. Little old ladies, especially grans and nonnas, are just like that. I just wish I knew what she’d said to you. We’ll have to ask Earlene later.”

 

“I know that it is...amusing to others, how much I like food,” he confessed, while keeping his voice deliberately low in volume. “And I am not sure how this began. My family were Silvan; people that preferred to dwell in the forest lands. They came under the authority of Fionn’s father. When I was young, food was not plentiful. Everything had to be gained by hunting, fishing, or foraging. There were no places for gardening, and it was much work. I remember feeling hungry, often, but it was not right to ask for more than my share. Later on, I was accepted into the service of Oropher’s household and there was food to enjoy, wonderful food. I worked as Steward, and the leftovers were abundant. Plus, the workers in the kitchens liked me,” he grinned, clearly lost in his memories. He shrugged. “I do not ever seem to grow in the wrong direction. You do not see me every minute of every day, but many of the things I do are physically demanding. I do not mean to seem...excessive, but food, especially food like we have eaten on this trip, and the food Earlene cooks...it is wonderful.”

 

Just then the attendant appeared, to ask what drinks they would like to have.

 

Lorna ordered a rum and Coke, and considered this. “Earlene really is a bloody good cook,” she said. “I didn’t exactly grow up with a load’v food myself. Might be why I’m so damn short.” There hadn’t been any place for her to garden, either -- their surroundings had just been very, very different. Stealing counted as foraging, though, right? Sure it did. “Can your lot --” she’d just barely stopped herself saying ‘elves’ “-- even get fat?” Somehow, she doubted it. 

 

Thanadir frowned, after also ordering a rum and coke along with water. “It should theoretically be possible, were we to eat such as the Holey Cream all the time,” but since we do not, probably it would take great effort. I wonder if Earlene knows how to make donuts,” he said wistfully.

 

He was so wistful that Lorna laughed. “If she doesn’t, I’m sure she can learn,” she said. “Mairead’s got recipes out the nose. I tried to help her once and just wound up burning myself on the hot oil. I’m a rubbish cook myself, so staying with Earlene so often’s been spoiling me. Then again, I’d probably die’v malnutrition if I wasn’t around  _ someone  _ who could cook. I actually managed to light pasta on fire a few years ago, and that shouldn’t even be possible.” Fortunately she’d done that at home, or Mairead would never have let her live it down.

 

Thanadir’s eyes widened and he debated if he should swallow his pride in an offer  of friendship. “I am not a good cook either. I tried, one time, to do the work in the kitchens, and it did not go well. Apparently there is more to baking bread than one would believe. All of my efforts were inedible, and finally I was asked to stop trying. That was very hard. I am not used to failure. Not like that,” he shook his head, looking very sad. “I did not light pasta on fire but I found out that bread is flammable,” he offered sheepishly.

 

She remembered what Thranduil had said, about his inability to bake, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “God isn’t there ever,” she sighed. “Gran tried to teach me to make it the old way, in an oven like you’ve got at home. What I wound up with was a charcoal lump. I think it managed to burn to a crisp without actually catching fire, which I’m fairly sure violates the laws’v thermodynamics.” Not that she knew much about those, but still. It didn’t seem like it should be possible, and the thing had actually crumbled when she took it out of the oven.

 

“No, it does not, because after I caught one loaf on fire I did what you describe to the next.” They looked at each other and some form of shared humiliation started them laughing. Thanadir looked out the window briefly, shaking his head before turning back to her. “I know we are not very similar, Lorna, but I do like you very much. I am not very good at coping with things outside of what I think they should be. I am not always easy to be around, and I am sorry for that. I want to apologize, because I am sure there have been times that I have been….what was it you said, the night we watched the movie with the sword fight? No fun. It has often fallen to me to be...no fun, and I know that I do not always know when to stop.” The doe eyes were being deployed in full force, though not on purpose. It was not usual for him to speak like this, and he was sincerely sorry for his increasing awareness of how mortals tended to view him.

 

Jesus Christ, the doe eyes...they could be a god damn super-weapon. “You like ‘seemliness’,” she said, which was not a word she’d ever even heard of before she met the elves, “and I’m about as seemly as a bag full’v rabid weasels. I’d figured I was just grating on your nerves, since Christ knows I’m good at that. The only people than can really stand me being  _ me _ around them very long’re my sister and my old boss, and even they call me childish sometimes. It’s…” How the hell could she put words around this? Communicating with Thranduil was easy, because half the time he seemed to know what she was thinking before she did. Actually using her words was more difficult than it ought to be for a woman her age. “I’ve spent most’v my life just trying to have fun in the moment, because the future wasn’t worth thinking’v. All I -- hell, everyone I knew -- knew when I was younger was that the future was probably going to be crap, so there was no point thinking or worrying about it. I’m not so bad that way anymore, but still. I’m kind’v used to people rolling their eyes and disapproving’v me, and normally I wouldn’t give half a shit, because there’s not that many people in this world I actually give a shit  _ about _ . You lot, you’re my friends.” She shook her head, picking at the end of her braid. “I didn’t have a childhood, Cian,” she said. “I had a da who beat the shite out’v us, never enough food to go around -- half the time, especially once I got older, it wasn’t safe to go home, so I just went wherever I could take shelter. If I’m childish now, it’s because I didn’t get to be then.”

 

The seneschal’s lips parted at what he was hearing; it took considerable effort to not let his entire face betray his emotions. It was all so obvious, now. He had never asked his King why he invested such time in Lorna or what the reason was for his obvious closeness to her; it was in no way his place to do so. But to hear plainly now, that she had been treated by her own father as Thranduil had been treated by Oropher...it was horrifying. He would never forget the heartbreak of what he was forced to witness, or what it was like to hold the broken young prince in his arms as he tried to offer some kindness and comfort when it was safe to do so. “I am so sorry, Lorna. I did not know, and I hope you can forgive me. For a very long time, it was my role to do as I was asked to do, without questions. Everything is changing now, and I am slowly realizing that my old habits do not serve me well. I cannot promise that I will never become fixated again on what is seemly, but I will try to show more understanding. And, I would do anything to help you. You only need ask. You are strong, and have much spirit, but there are times all of us need others.” 

 

His sentiments were interrupted by the arrival of their beverages. 

 

“You had no way’v knowing,” she said, as gently as she was able, once they’d taken their drinks and the hostess moved on. “It’s not exactly something I go around advertising, and I know Thranduil doesn’t let on anything unless I tell him he can, which happens approximately never.” She actually managed to give him a ginger pat on the hand, which for her was downright effusive. “And Christ knows what you’ve gone through, meeting the, uh, modern world. Must’ve been a shock and a bloody half, trying to get used to it, even before we went to New York. You’ve handled the whole mess’v it better than I probably could’ve, if we’d been in opposite places. Hell, you two’ve handled it better than I  _ did _ , when I first went to live with Mairead.” She glanced down the aisle, making sure the hostess couldn’t hear. “You want to know something pathetic? I’d never used a proper butter-knife until I was twenty-six. When my brothers and sister and I were little, we’d get soup in a big pot, and just eat it out’v the pot -- sometimes we didn’t even each have our own spoon. My table manners weren’t so much awful as nonexistent, and my Gran drummed them into me by literally smacking my hand if I got something wrong.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. “I’m doing what I can for you lot, too. We do sometimes need others, though that’s been a hard lesson for me to learn over the years. Even if some’v us are bloody different people,” she added, giving him a crooked smile. Hopefully Thranduil could untangle anything she didn’t get across well, since God knew there was probably plenty.

 

He drank his water, and with a slightly mischievous grin swapped out her empty rum and coke for his full one. “I will not tell if you will not,” he smiled.

 

It was unavoidable for Thranduil to hear all of this, as he held his wife’s hand. He wished that he had done a better job of introducing these two to each other. Gazing out the window, he thought of the many, many times he had taken Thanadir for granted. He had been a part of his life for so long, that life without him had become unimaginable. And in these past months, he had been forced to realize how much he had overlooked that reality. His stern and eminently capable servant had thoughts and feelings of his own, in addition to great love for him. He could not see precisely where their lives were headed, any longer. There would be children, and the joys of family, to which he was greatly looking forward. And beyond that, later?

 

_ You will be shown the way home. _

 

His head snapped around. It had been Earlene’s voice in his mind, but the same strange light he had seen in her eyes many weeks ago was present once again. He hesitated to respond, to say anything.

 

He waved his fingers carefully in front of her unseeing stare that was fixed on him. 

 

_ You do not yet understand. But you will, in time.  _

 

_ Understand what, meluieg? _ he asked, unable to stand this any longer.

 

Earlene blinked, confused.  _ I am sorry, my Lord. What are you asking? _

 

_ Meluieg, do you remember what you were thinking, just now? _

 

She shook her head.  _ I was going to ask you a question, but now I cannot remember what it was. _

 

He smiled, hiding his concern from her as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.  _ If you recall what it is, I am here.  _

 

Nodding, she turned her attention to her video screen as Thranduil carefully watched her thoughts. He could see that she had a sensation of having ‘skipped’, of not recalling the last few moments, and that it puzzled her, but not enough to spend much time considering. He sighed. Frowning, he turned on his own video screen, and sought something to watch.

 

By the time they landed in Dublin, Lorna was a bit drunk and quite at one with the world. It was somewhat jarring to be arriving so late in the evening, but to smell the sea air of Dublin, to feel the nice,  _ cool  _ temperatures, was bloody wonderful. The airport wasn’t even as crowded this late at night, so finding their bags wasn’t too much of a difficulty. (Though God was she glad she’d sewed on the ribbons; it made everything exponentially easier.)

 

“All right, we’ve not forgot anything, have we?” she asked, counting the luggage. “I’m half plastered, I’ll not know it otherwise.”

 

Thranduil cocked an eyebrow and frowned at his seneschal, who looked mildly chagrined. He had tried to be friendly to Lorna, and thought that giving her all of his alcoholic drinks in addition to her own would be appreciated. Perhaps six had been too many? The King elected to not interfere, but did hover nearby since he was not having her fall down or otherwise incur bodily harm until she was able to greet Ratiri. Thanadir and Earlene managed the bags easily on their own; that was the marvelous thing about luggage with wheels.

 

Ratiri was lurking in the lounge near the entrance, drinking a very large Thermos of tea and reading, unsurprisingly, a volume of the  _ Book of Lost Tales. _ He stood up when he saw them, and Lorna was drunk enough that she pulled him into a sloppy hug when she reached him.

 

“You’ve got souvenirs,” she said, grinning up at him. “Be afraid.”

 

Given that this was Lorna, he probably should be, but he was just glad to see her in person again. “You’ve already sent me some terrifying pictures,” he said, inwardly so very, very glad she hugged him so readily.

 

She had even more terrifying things to tell him, but that could wait until they were all safe in the Halls, since she wasn’t actually the one who knew what the hell she was talking about anyway. “But there’s so much more,” she said.

 

“Your sister made me promise to make certain you hadn’t murdered anyone while you were away. I assured her that if you had, it would have made the news.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Just wait,” she said. “Where are you parked?”

 

“Car park, second floor. You have everything?” he asked, of the group in general.

 

“We think so,” said Earlene. “And I’m truly sorry about this beastly arrival time. It’s dismaying that we’ve been heading this way since 7am in another time zone, and now we’ll have you up past two.” She came closer to give him a slightly awkward hug in greeting and by way of thanks. So much that was so surreal had transpired in five short days that it felt like half a lifetime.

 

“The nature of the beast, half the time,” Ratiri said. “I’ve got tomorrow off work, so it’s no matter if I’m up all night.” He led them out into the beautifully cool night, and helped them get their assorted bags and suitcases stowed. It was a damn good thing Lorna had bought a van, because even his Bronco couldn’t have seated everyone comfortably.

 

“I guess you’d best draw straws for seats,” he said, somehow managing to shut the back doors without breaking anything.

 

“Ride up front, Lorna. I will improve your clarity if need be,” smirked Thranduil, climbing immediately into the place behind the passenger seat.

 

Thranduil was going to know how grateful he was without the bother of saying anything -- though that was also still a touch disturbing, because one day, Ratiri was bound to think something he’d rather anyone else not know about. Oh well. Lorna had said that Thranduil kept everything to himself, unless given permission to do otherwise.

 

Lorna hopped into the passenger’s seat, fumbling with her belt a bit. Once everyone was secured, it was off and outward. The good thing about the utterly shit landing time was that there was next to no traffic on the motorway at all -- unfortunately, he’d been warned about his driving habits by Lorna, and was stuck driving like a granny the whole bloody way to Lasg’len. A hundred and thirteen kilometers an hour was just sad -- but sooner or later he and Lorna could take her Charger out and see what it could do.

 

The village, of course, was completely asleep, not a single window lit as they coasted through the silent streets. It stayed silent right up until they pulled into the drive at Earlene’s cottage, the engine ticking a little when Ratiri shut it off.

 

Lorna had in fact fallen asleep, and took a vague swat at him when he tried to shake her away, very much like a cranky but highly lazy cat. Mindful of what her sister (and half the rest of Baile) had said, he opted to find a stick to poke her awake with.

 

_ Ratiri, allow me to help, _ he heard from Thranduil. He opened the passenger door and laid a hand on her shoulder, before undoing the seatbelt and lifting her out of the van while Thanadir and Earlene quickly dragged their pieces of luggage into the front door of the cottage. Ratiri and Thranduil walked around to the back doors. It was a clear night, and not too cold. Thranduil handed Lorna off to Ratiri.  _ Take her, please. I will be just one moment. She will not wake.  _ The man looked surprised yet pleased when Lorna was transferred to his arms. At the very least, it could be said that he did not appear to mind. Entering the cottage, he tried to determine what the delay was. 

 

“I am sorry, Thranduil. It is cold here, for me, and I was trying to get to my cloak but…” she waved her hand in frustration, because they had neatly blockaded that part of the hallway.

 

“Leave it be, meluieg. Thanadir or I will ensure you stay warm.”

 

She knew better than to doubt, and at once turned off the light and made ready to leave, taking Thanadir’s arm. The white light had just ruined her night vision; it would take many minutes now for her eyes to readjust. They began the walk to the Halls.  _ When you tire, Ratiri, tell me and I will take her from you. I know she is heavy to carry for such a distance.  _ The King’s eyes sparkled in the dim moonlight, and they entered the forest path. 

 

As happy as Ratiri was to have his armful of Lorna, he had actually been wondering how the hell he could possibly get her that distance by himself. She was tiny, yes, but seven stone was still a bit for any human to carry on a thirty-minute walk.

 

“Lorna sent me a number of somewhat odd photos,” he said, quietly so as to avoid waking her. The great thing about Elves was that he didn’t need to speak up. “Was your trip as mad as she made it seem?” The video of the mating lions, and that child’s distressed reaction, had made him laugh so hard he’d shared it with everyone at the pub.

 

“Madder,” said Earlene. “I do not know where to begin. Wait, yes I do. This is far from certain, but did she tell you about what I found out on Ellis Island?”

 

“She said your great-uncle was a Donovan,” Ratiri said, trying not to stumble. Hey, it was dark and he had human eyes. “She thought it would be something to look into, once you were home.” There would be an odd serendipity to it, if the two did turn out to be some how related. Family finding family, without even realizing it. This would be so much easier if Lorna wasn’t completely dead weight, but he didn’t particularly want to give her up just yet.

 

“Yeah,” said Earlene. “We never knew why gran wanted my brother named Aidan. She insisted on it. Turns out that Aidan Donovan was my gran’s brother, turned back at Ellis Island, shipped back home. If it really turned out to be a connection, it’d be amazing. And that wasn’t the half of it.”

 

Ratiri was fairly sure someone in Dad’s family had gone to America, but he hadn’t realized Ellis Island would toss people back. God, what a horrible thing, and especially for a child -- for if he recalled correctly, Earlene’s gran had emigrated as a little girl. “Ireland’s a tiny island,” he said. “I’d be surprised if there wasn’t some connection there, however distant. And she sent a lot of pictures of the place, and you lot. What did you have to do to get her to pose by the window in the Statue of Liberty Crown? She looked ready to run away.”

 

“I did not realize how much Lorna dislikes heights until this journey”, said Thranduil. “But even she could not possibly fall out of those windows. It was over with quickly,” he chuckled.

 

Earlene chimed in. “As I recall it she did well enough. Everyone was fairly occupied with learning about the three hundred different hammers used to build the thing,” she quipped.

 

“She hates heights, and yet she likes to climb trees,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “Whereas I don’t mind heights, but you couldn’t pay enough to get up into a tree.” He was too tall, and weighed too much because of it -- and unlike Elves, couldn’t break the laws of physics and allow himself to walk along slender boughs. (Or on snow. Seriously,  _ that  _ just wasn’t fair.) “But she didn’t get herself arrested. Mairead owes me a fiver.”

 

Earlene pursed her lips, wondering how close Lorna might have come to that, had she gone troddling off to Central Park the night of the ‘incident’, but said nothing. That entire story was best not told at after two in the morning. Thranduil allowed Ratiri to soldier on for awhile longer, but at the halfway point the poor man had more than exceeded expectations, and he took Lorna to carry the rest of the way. They all went first to their guests’ rooms, to set Lorna into bed. Earlene gently removed her sandals and as the rest of her clothing was loose-fitting, decided to call it good. Thranduil pulled the covers over her and kissed her on the forehead, and Earlene dropped the curtains closed on her bed so that the elleth would not wake her in the morning. They said goodnight to Ratiri after ensuring his rooms were in basic order, and went each to their own rooms. 

 

Thanadir entered his quarters with a smile and sat down at Lorna’s sewing machine. He was just in a mood to work on a quilt square, for a short time. Thranduil and Earlene wasted no time undressing and going to bed. They did not make a drawn-out encounter of it, but did take full advantage of no longer needing to be completely quiet.

 

Ratiri, exhausted himself, changed into the strange, soft nightshirt the Elves had given him, crawled into the wonderful softness of his bed, and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 


	39. Thirty-nine

 

Lorna woke the next morning quite pleased to be  _ home _ \-- well, in her home-away-from-home.

 

She took a lovely bath, soaking in the hot-spring-fed pool, put on some of the human clothes she’d left here (including one of her beloved flannel tunics), and headed out in search of food.

 

She paused at Ratiri’s door, debating whether or not she should knock, but they’d kept him up awfully late last night; if he wanted to sleep in, she’d let him sleep. God knew he deserved it.

 

Earlene and Thranduil never seemed to eat breakfast in the dining hall, and as none of the other elves spoke English, Lorna couldn’t exactly eat there, either. Hoping they were both awake and not, uh, celebrating being home, she headed for their room, reassuring herself that they’d probably got  _ that  _ out of the way last night.

 

Thanadir and Ratiri caught up with her; apparently the smiling seneschal had pressed him into duty, as he was bearing a large tray while Ratiri carried a large teapot. “Good morning, Lorna,” Thanadir beamed at her. “I hope you are hungry. Today we have apples and raisins in the porridge.” Apparently the produce orders were expanding, at least a little. At Thanadir’s direction, Lorna knocked twice on the door and pushed it open to allow breakfast to precede her into the room. Earlene was sitting by the fire in their bedroom, reading to Thranduil. Or at least, trying to. She still could not remotely process the Tengwar at the speed of English.

 

“Good morning,” Lorna said, giving the pair of them a grin before shoving open the door. “We’ve got food, if anyone’s up for it. Did you sleep well? I crashed out like a baby.”

 

Ratiri, bearing a paper gift bag, set it down on an end table. “This got put in my room,” he said. “You might want to open it after we eat.”

 

“I slept great,” said Earlene. “It helped that for us, it was a 10pm or so bedtime. Can’t even imagine how tired you must be, Ratiri. You’re the one that really got kept up all night,” she replied, carefully setting the book down on the sofa and joining them at the table, enjoying the sight of Thanadir meticulously setting the table. She could not resist coming next to the elf and giving a quick half-hug. It was so,  _ so _ good to be home. Moving around, she greeted Ratiri in the same manner. It really had been immensely kind of him, to haul their arses back here at such an ungodly hour.

 

Ratiri, not being nearly as awkward about physical contact as Lorna, returned the half-hug. “I was an on-call physician for many years,” he said. “I’m used to it, and this bed is so much more comfortable than Indira’s couch.” He really did need to get a flat of his own in Baile, sooner or later; the dissonance between this lovely bed and that fold-out couch was too much. Though speaking of that… “Lorna mentioned that you were pregnant,” he said, taking a seat beside Lorna, who had taken up residence on the sofa nearest the fire. “Twins. You’re tall enough that hopefully that won’t be too uncomfortable for you, so long as everything goes normally.” He had seen pretty much every single way a pregnancy could go wrong over the years, but there were Elves.

 

What he _ wasn’t  _ going to bring up yet -- because there was no  point -- was that twins might necessitate a visit to a human hospital. No matter how wonderful Elven medicine was, he had a feeling C-sections were beyond them. Time enough for that later, if it looked like it was going to come to that. If not, no point in saying anything.

 

“Yes. April 25, this began. So, a little more than six weeks? I suppose I’ll be a scientific curiosity, of sorts. I’m of the understanding that this pregnancy is unique in all the world; the first one ever of a mortal woman and an elven father. We’ve no idea what the gestation will be, outside of a likely time frame. But as there isn’t anything that Thranduil can’t manage, I’m not too concerned. Though, it’d be nice, if I didn’t carry them the full year,” she said with a smile. “And you already know too about Allanah. We should talk, soon, because while I doubt it will ever be needed, the government people will assuredly want to see that I have an established physician. I confess I would prefer that to be you, if you are willing.”

 

Lorna, taking a bowl of porridge, watched Ratiri with undisguised -- though affectionate -- amusement. He was in Nerd Mode now, his grey eyes absolutely alight. “Are you the first mortal woman to carry a Peredhel child?” he asked. “Will your children... _ default  _ is the only word I can think of...as humans, or Elves? I’d always figured Peredhel started out as physiologically Elves because in all known cases, the mother was an Elf.” He shook himself, and took some porridge of his own. “Of course I’d be willing. I worked at Great Ormond Street long enough that I’d look good on paper.” It wasn’t arrogance to say that; he’d worked for fifteen years in a very prestigious hospital. On paper, that did in fact look good, especially to an adoption service, or whatever one used to adopt a child that was already a blood relation.

 

“No, it’s not like that, though please correct me if I’m not saying this right,” she smiled at her husband. “They will be more like elves, regardless; the difference is that they will have the choice, of whether to be counted among elves or men. And yes; you’ve read the books that I desperately need to get going on. There were only three pairings of elves with mortals, and in each of those, the female was Edhel. I think Lorna told you, they will be girls?”

 

Three...three...he’d swear he’d read there were four. Beren and Lúthien, Idril and Tuor, Arwen and Aragorn...who the hell were the fourth? Mithrellas and...some Númenorian whose name was Númenorian, and thus too ridiculous to try to pronounce. “She did, yes. You’re going to have three little girls running around.” God help them. Give the lot of them tiny wooden swords and at least they’d wear each other out, even if they’d probably constantly go around covered in bruises (assuming Elves actually  _ could  _ bruise). Poor Allanah might well wind up resenting the twins’ durability, since it meant they’d be able to fall out of trees far more safely -- not that they’d be likely to fall in the first place, because Elves.

 

“You may be correct, Ratiri,” said Thranduil, enjoying his porridge. “If a fourth union happened in Númenor of old, it would have been outside of our knowledge. And, the harder part will be that our children will need to care for Allanah; they will develop much faster than she will in every respect but reaching maturity. Our people have the milestone of physical maturity at fifty of your years, and are considered fully adult at one hundred.”

 

Wouldn’t that wind up being odd...mentally much older than their foster/whatever sibling to begin with, but then still looking quite younger than her once she’d reached adulthood. To be the sole human child among Elves...well, he and Lorna would be around often enough. The kid would more humans around than just Mom, which would probably be a good thing, since God knew how inferior it would be easy to feel, living permanently as a human among Elves. “And yet they can run and sing by the time they turn one,” he said, laughing a little. “I had always thought Tolkien just liked the idea of skipping dealing with babies. I don’t know about Elf children, but human babies are entirely helpless and unable to communicate through any means but crying. I think every parent who ever was would wish their baby could speak so young.” The crying, as he’d so soberly seen over the years, was a double-edged sword; yes, it let the parent know the baby was in distress, but far more than one sleep-deprived, post-partum-depression -suffering (immediately or by proxy) parent had snapped and shaken the baby to shut it up, only to accidentally kill it.

 

“My gifts will allow me to understand Allanah’s needs, and ease her discomforts,” Thranduil said. “Hopefully, it will be easier for her on account of this. And meluieg, when she is with us, we should see about helping your body to be able to feed her. I can only imagine what she is now being given,” he said with a grimace.

 

“Helping…?” If that meant what Lorna though it meant, it was eminently practical, but also, to her, obscurely disturbing.  _ Why _ , she had no idea, because it shouldn’t be. Thought of breastfeeding had always been unsettling to her, for no good (or understandable) reason.

 

Ratiri, however, was too much of a doctor. “You can  _ do  _ that?” he asked. “Without impacting the pregnancy?” Maybe he sounded a bit too eager, but...doctor. Pediatrician. Of course he was curious.

 

“He can do anything, Ratiri,” Earlene said softly. “He can heal broken bones with a touch. He could choose the sex of our children. He could repair my mind. I don’t know how he does any of it; I assume it is beyond what I could understand. And so you know...you can ask me anything, about this process. I will tell you anything I can, of my experiences. You must be curious, you are a scientist.”

 

“The trouble with my curiosity,” Ratiri said, because he knew already this would be true, “is that I suspect the answer will most often involve ‘magic’, and I’m too much of a scientist not to wonder. How does it work?  _ Why  _ does it work? I don’t know how much  _ X-Files  _ any of you have seen yet, but one character says ‘Nothing happens in contradiction to nature--’”

 

“‘--only to what we know’v it,” Lorna finished, grinning. “Ah, but I’ll raise you one:  _ Thor. _ Magic and science are two sides’v the same thing. Theoretically.”

 

Thranduil raised his eyebrows. “I could try to explain, but I lack the words for many of the...smaller? structures in the body. In the end, I am only influencing or rearranging to health what is already there. All of us have this gift, in some measure, though I am unusually able. You would ask me how I do it, and I would only be able to tell you that the life force of our kind, energy, if you will, moves from me to act as I wish it to. And likely, because this is nothing you could duplicate, it would be unhelpful. It is among the blessings given to the Firstborn.” He dabbed his lips with his napkin, having finished his food. 

 

“I couldn’t duplicate it, but I’d love to learn anyway,” Ratiri said, remembering that he actually had breakfast, too. After a bite, he said, “It’s the curse of scientists. We want to know everything, however useless.”

 

“How you lot ever sleep, I have no idea,” Lorna said. She’d already almost finished her porridge.

 

“We often don’t,” he admitted. “We might preach about the evils of caffeine, but that doesn’t stop us being addicted to it. Oh,” he added, “I found this in my room. I think it was one of your birthday presents that got stuck in there by mistake.” He handed her a rather garishly red gift-bag, topped with a froth of curly ribbon.

 

Lorna had thought she’d opened all her gifts. Oops. Setting aside her bowl, she pulled at the ribbon until the plastic gave, digging through the sparkly tissue paper. 

 

Unfortunately, she made the epic mistake of pulling its contents out, rather than just peeking into the bag. What she found…

 

“Oh, fucking  _ Christ _ ,” she groaned. This had to have been Siobhan’s gift: a glittery purple vibrator. With bunny ears.

 

“Is that--” It took Ratiri a moment to figure out what he was looking at, and then he blushed scarlet all the way to his ears.

 

“Unfortunately, yes it is,” Lorna sighed, stuffing it back into the bag. Her own face was actually rather hot, because Jesus, she’d opened the damn thing in front of  _ Thanadir _ . This was possibly the least seemly thing the elf would have ever seen in his life. “I’m going to murder that woman.”

 

Earlene started giggling uncontrollably, and when she could not stop, excused herself and closed their bedroom door behind her, knowing that Lorna would really, really not be happy about this. Which made it worse in a way, because her mirth was heard to only increase in volume, with the occasional shriek of laughter. “Excuse me,” said Thranduil. “I believe Earlene cannot breathe…” he trailed off as he hurriedly left the table and followed her, closing the door behind him. He found her on the bed, clutching her stomach, trying to speak. “I’m sorry…” was all she could manage before more laughter came and tears were forced out of her eyes. Not knowing what else to do, and finding this undesirable for the children, he quickly took her into her arms, bringing calm over her. “I’m so sorry,” she said, as her breathing returned to normal. “I did not mean to cause a scene.”

 

“Meluieg, I do not understand,” he said. “What was so funny?”

Earlene explained the purpose of the device in the most delicate terms possible.

 

“Oh by Eru, that Siobhan woman is  _ impossible _ ,” he spat, now feeling very sorry for Lorna. There was humor, and then there was crassness. He would never, ever tease Lorna in such a manner. And, the beginnings of a plan were forming.

 

“Come, meluieg. We will return now.” He led her by the hand, back to the table, where she sincerely apologized to Lorna for her inability to control herself, with a blush on her cheeks.

 

“Thanadir, could I prevail on you to clear the table? We will leave soon for Earlene’s cottage,” the King said, waiting until the elf departed before speaking further. Lorna and Ratiri were both deeply interested in their teacups. When the door shut at last, Thranduil continued. “Lorna, she has gone too far, this time. I wish to teach her a lesson, but I do not know how. But I am most definitely open to suggestions.”

 

“She’s impossible to embarrass,” Lorna sighed, casting a glance at poor Ratiri, who was still red as a firebrick. “Seriously, we could send a male stripper into her bakery and she’d just smile and applaud. The whole village knows what she’s like -- she’s not ashamed’v it. There’s got to be  _ something _ , though.”

 

“Go for something clinical,” Ratiri managed, not looking at anyone. “There’s nothing sexy about a gyno exam.”

 

“You don’t know Siobhan,” Lorna said darkly. “Trust me. If she’s not hit on at least one gynecologist, I’d be very surprised.”

 

Thranduil sighed. “Well, maybe nothing presents itself now, but sooner or later…” he shook his head. “I do not appreciate seeing my friends embarrassed in this manner.” Earlene turned a deeper shade of pink, at hearing this. She really, really wished she could not have laughed.

 

“Not the first time,” Lorna sighed, shaking her head. “I know it’s bloody hilarious, because Jesus, look at the damn thing. It’s  _ sparkly _ . Just... _ why? _ And why rabbit ears, of all damn things? I don’t think I want to know.” She shook her head. “There’s got to be some toy out there that’d embarrass even her. As long as Thanadir doesn’t know about it, poor bloke. I can only imagine how horrified he’d be if he knew, given that you lot are...you lot.”

  
  


“He did not know what that was,” said Thranduil. “Nor do I plan on informing him. Enough of this; there are many other matters to discuss; we should return to the cottage.” 

 

This made Earlene feel better; she really had not wanted to make Lorna feel bad. And it was true; the rabbit ears  _ were _ what had done her in….

 

“And pick up that kitten, sooner or later,” Lorna said. “I’m sure he’s torn apart Mary’s house while we were away. Assuming her three monstrosities didn’t smother him, or drown him in drool.” Those three...she liked cats, she did, but those three were a menace. A fluffy, fluffy, drooling menace. “What d’you want me to do with…?” She held up the bag, wincing a bit. “Y’know what?” She marched across the room, tossed the bag through the bedroom door, and shook her head. “Merry early Christmas.” The pair of them could likely have fun with it, as much as she did  _ not  _ want to think that thought. She had her own battery-operated friend that was not  _ sparkly _ ...oh fuck, why did she think of that?

 

Carefully not looking at Thranduil, she followed Ratiri to the door. Yeah, she knew he’d never say anything, but it was bad enough that he knew at all. Shit.

 

Back at the cottage, items and luggage were sorted. Earlene tossed a spare copy of the NY Times at Lorna, grinning. “Here, I kept one too. I knew you’d want a memento of the Amazons of Central Park,” she smirked.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Um, yes,” she said, tucking it into her bag. “I’ll explain in the van,” she added, to a very bewildered Ratiri. She wasn’t actually sure if Thanadir knew the contents of that article, and if not, she didn’t want to be the one to clue him in.

 

“If you say so,” Ratiri said, just a touch dubiously. Sorting through the bags to find Lorna’s luggage wouldn’t take too long, though he dreaded what she might have bought for souvenirs. “We got all the bags out of the van last night, right?”

 

“Yes,” Earlene said. “We put everything in here, just for safekeeping.”

 

Somehow, the cottage didn’t have that odd musty smell houses got when they hadn’t been occupied for a few days. Lorna was quite sure hers would, so the first thing she’d be doing was open all her windows to air the place out. She’d check in with Big Jamie in the evening, once she’d got everything settled at home and had a chance to just relax for a bit.

 

Between the two of them, she and Ratiri got all her things stowed. “All right, you lot, I’ll be back when you need me,” she said. “One’v these nights I’d love to have you all out for dinner at my cottage. Ratiri here can actually cook, so I won’t even be poisoning you.”

 

“I would love that,” said Earlene, and she meant it. She’d been disappointed, their first time in Baile, to miss out on seeing Lorna’s cottage. That sounded so...charming. “We’ll be in touch by email at least...drive safely, you two,” she teased, as she waved them off with the elves.  _ Their first trip was really over, now...back to reality _ , she thought.

  
  


Earlene turned to Thanadir. “Would you like to go with me into town? I should get Tail, and groceries also. Or I can take my bicycle; it is only if you wish to take a walk,” she said. His momentary hesitation was all she needed to see. “I will go on my own, Thanadir. I do not mind,” she smiled, and went to change her clothes and deal with her other belongings. 

 

As she approached Mary and Ian’s (last stop), she hoped the kitten had left their home intact. An enthusiastic Mary smiled happily as she invited Earlene inside (a good sign), and hustled her into the living room, where Tail was happily asleep on top of Droopy. Her eyes widened, but as no figurines were apparently broken and there were still curtains, she counted it as an acceptable outcome. “How was New York?” Mary gushed, as she offered tea. Earlene declined, citing the need to do a great deal of post-vacation chores but did offer her the news of a possible link to Lorna’s family, as well as the Nonna story, knowing it would delight Mary to know that it was possible to overfeed Thanadir. She also promised that they would come to the pub, soon, to share some pictures and stories, before she tucked the sleeping bundle of fur into her bra. Thanks to good planning, this one was not an underwire but rather one of those stretch to fit types; fortunately, her breasts were very firm and she could get by with less support on occasion.  _ For now _ , she mused, as she bicycled home,  _ until The Girls transform into udders. _

 

*******************

 

“All right,” Ratiri said, once they were safely on the motorway, “you’ve got to explain the newspaper.”

 

It was a mistake, because Lorna burst out laughing, which didn’t make for great driving. “So, Earlene and Thanadir went jogging in Central Park and got mugged, which isn’t at all funny,” she said. “The  _ hilarious  _ part is that they fought the muggers off -- burst their bollocks, actually, they’d been kicked that hard -- and the muggers thought Thanadir was a woman. Check out this headline.”

 

Ratiri took the paper from her shoulder-bag, reading the article with increasing disbelief and amusement. It didn’t take much for him to dissolve into laughter, too. “That’s...that’s  _ priceless _ ,” he said, staring at the paper. “Please tell me Thanadir doesn’t know this.”

 

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, so don’t tell him,” Lorna said. “Still not sure how they made that mistake. I mean, yeah, he’s got fabulous hair, but any self-respecting mugger would’ve looked for tits, right?”

 

“I couldn’t say,” Ratiri said, trying to rein in his laughter and utterly failing. In truth, he actually could see how someone might mistake Thanadir for a very tall woman in the dark; the Elf did have a rather delicate, androgynous face, and some coked-up half-wit could easily make the wrong assumption. “I’m glad you’re home.”

 

“I am, too,” she said, and didn’t bother fighting a smile. “New York’s a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Ireland’s home.  _ Baile’s  _ home. And Christ, wait ’til you see some’v the pictures I took. I didn’t send you all’v them, though you got most’v the best.”

 

“I showed your video of the lions to the pub,” he confessed. “Big Jamie laughed so hard I thought he’d choke.”

 

“Why am I not surprised?” Lorna snorted. “Jesus, I thought  _ I’d  _ choke.” She paused. “D’you want to stay at the cottage for a bit, once I’ve got everything unloaded?”

 

“Of course I do. I’ve missed you,” he said, a little more quietly.

 

“I missed you, too,” she admitted. “It was fun and all, but I don’t think I want to go anywhere far again for a while. You don’t even know how many times I looked at something and thought you’d love it.” It was a bit of an admission to make, but his smile made it worth it.

 

**********

 

For the next many days, their routine settled back to something resembling the ordinary. Claire sent word on Monday; Aidan had already been into her office and signed everything, with a notary. And that he’d also marched in with a cashier’s check for the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, with the funds being accessible to the attorney, Earlene and Allanah (with stipulations) when she reached twenty-one years of age. Paperwork had already been forwarded to the Office of Children and Family Services. She was recommending to retain counsel in Ireland, as well, since that too would come into play. “Looks like more work for Niamh,” she sighed. Well, if there had been any doubt that Aidan was serious about all this, money talked. All of it was forwarded to Niamh, and after a moment’s hesitation to Lorna as well, and she reclined back on her sofa. 

 

This was going to be a new chapter. Her days would be spent caring for a child, and then children. She felt eager, ready. And yet, humbled, too.  _ I am going to have all kinds of help _ , she thought.  _ So many women have no such thing, which would no doubt transform what should be joy into abject drudgery. _  With a sigh, she turned her attention to her bedroom, and frowned. From her gesture of impatience the lid of the laptop snapped shut, and she stood up to take a harder look at the spare room. And her bedroom. And bathroom. None of this would do, but what should there be instead? Who should do the work? That the elves had both the ability and willingness, she did not doubt. But there might be things like home inspections, and code inspectors, and….intrusions. And talented as Thranduil’s people were, modern electrical and plumbing were outside of their experience. Her frown deepened. Contractors here would mean disruption and...the more this added up in her mind...she walked to the French doors and looked out.  _ We might need a whole other home, is what we might need. _ She shook her head. This needed a great deal of consideration and planning. There was yet time. But it was already summer, and she did not wish to be building in the dead of an Irish winter.

 

Thranduil followed her thoughts from across the room, and saw the diversity of considerations in her mind. He sighed. It would be best, to speak first to Thanadir, and then perhaps they all should talk.

 

********

 

Lorna went back to her three days a week at Jamie’s, and showed some of her assorted photos at the pub. (Siobhan got a slap upside the head, and a warning that she was going to regret the day she was born.) Mairead had barely dared touch her earrings for fear of breaking them, and Ratiri had been far too delighted with his dinosaur sculptures -- he’d had to promise to build them at Lorna’s cottage, because Doc Barry refused to have them in her house. Lorna intended for them to live in the Halls, if he wanted them to.

 

Ratiri helped her with the last finishing touches on her cottage, and one misty Sunday morning, she got an email from Niamh that made her grin. The subject line was “All Systems Go”, and it told her that all was ready for Earlene and Thranduil -- sorry,  _ Fionn _ , and it was still so hard to remember that, even after New York -- to get married, right down to a date and time at the Baile registrar’s office. She forwarded it to Earlene, and glanced around her cottage, because she’d be damned if she’d let anyone else give them a wedding-dinner. A second one. She’d given it a good going-over when she got home, but the kitchen floor could use a wash, and she had to plan out some menu or other for when the lot of them came over. That was what people did, right -- plan menus? While she could always ask Mairead for help, she didn’t want to. She’d put on her big girl pants and do this herself (okay, she’d ask Ratiri, but it wasn’t the same thing. Honest.)

 

He came over as soon as he was able, bless him. “Don’t get too ambitious,” he warned, sitting at her kitchen table. “I can’t manage very many things myself with any actual level of competence.”

 

“Well, for one thing, we’ve got Thanadir,” she said, sitting across from him. “I’m tempted to head to Kildare for a roast or something. I don’t want him going hungry, but good Jesus you should see how much that one can eat. You know how Big Jamie can put away his food? Yeah, Thanadir’s got him topped. I only saw him get actually full once, and that was because the gran at this Italian restaurant kept bringing him new dishes. He seemed kind’v disturbed to  _ be  _ full, too.”

 

That in itself was unsettling. “We can get fruit platters, or something,” Ratiri said, “but we should at least make the main dish. I can just about manage a roast -- Dad left me some recipe I’ve got in a box.”

 

“You really need a flat,” Lorna said, shaking her head. 

 

“I know,” he sighed. “One of these days I’ll get around to it. But we can do a roast, and get nibbles from Big Jamie and whatever shop we hit in Kildare.”

 

That sounded as good as anything else. While it wasn’t Molly’s fault Siobhan was such a pervert, Lorna still wasn’t inclined to shop at the Market. She also hadn’t yet come up with a suitable punishment for Siobhan, though she’d wracked her brain. Sooner or later, something would occur. No doubt Mairead would gladly help with dessert, especially once Lorna told her what Siobhan had given her for a birthday present.

 

“I’ve never had a dinner-party,” she said. “Not just by myself. I helped Mairead, but I’m forty bloody years old and this is the first dinner party I’ve ever given. I’m sure that’s sad.”

 

“I helped Katherine give one,” Ratiri said. “Just one. It was a disaster, but given that we were what, twenty-three? Something like that. It was no wonder it was an epic failure. At least nothing caught fire.”

 

“Lack’v flaming bits is always a good thing,” Lorna laughed. “Christ, even going to Kildare sounds like a pain in the arse. It’s like I’ve used up all my store’v ‘let’s go somewhere’ in just five days. Lasg’len’s about as far as I’d want to travel, and I’ve not really been tempted to even go there yet.” Unless she was much mistaken, though she’d be back to work out there again soon enough. It was good she’d had a break.

 

********

 

Earlene read her email excitedly. “Thranduil, we can be married now, in Ireland. Niamh’s got it all sorted, and Lorna’s invited us to take care of that in Baile and have a dinner with her and Ratiri.” Then, in a sense of muted awe, “She didn’t even tell anyone in town, so we can actually do this with peace and quiet.” Her hand traveled down her belly. While it didn’t actually matter in the least, there was just something about not wanting to go to the Registrar’s Office visibly knocked up. There just...was.

 

He came behind her to read the email, and bent down to kiss her. “What exactly is involved?”

 

Earlene frowned. “Well, we bring our identification. Passports would do. We sign some things, and we both declare that we are free to marry each other. Which amounts to, declaring that we are not married to anyone else. Some fee is paid that I’d guess Niamh already cared for and...we recite some vows in front of a court official, sign some more papers, and that’s about it, I believe.” She thought. “Oh, and we will need two witnesses.” They both turned their heads to look at Thanadir. The old elf looked up and smiled. 

 

“Cian would be most honored,” he said, “of course.”

 

“What are these vows?” asked Thranduil.

 

Earlene frowned. “I’ve no idea,” she said, reaching for her computer. But I might in a moment.” She scanned and clicked and scanned some more. “From the looks of it, we declare in simple statements that we are free to marry each other, and that we accept each other as husband and wife. After that, it looks like it could almost be...anything at all of our own choosing of suitable….it says here, ‘seemliness.’ “

 

“We could speak our vows in our own tongue?” he asked, curious. 

 

Her eyes widened. “I would think, though, it would likely be smiled on if they were also recited in English as well. There are such things?”

 

“Yes,” Thranduil said. “Though the joining of bodies is the defining act of union, there are spoken vows, had we gone about this in a more...planned...fashion. They are not long, or complex. And I would very much like to speak them to you, if you would be willing.”

 

“I would. I will do my best. I suppose it will be easier now that remembering what to say to you was before I knew a word of your language,” she laughed softly.

 

“Yes. And I believe you would find a willing tutor in either of us,” he said. The nodding of Thanadir’s head gave confirmation. 

 

“Well since I am outnumbered,” she chuckled.

 

“When is this, meluieg?”

 

“Another good question. It looks like we are at Lorna’s good graces on this. Niamh has somehow bypassed the usual notification of intention period and already has an appointment, one I assume we wish to keep. I will ask her what it is? And I can tell her to please not make a fuss?” 

 

Thranduil nodded, pleased, and returned to his reading.

 

********

 

“I think we’re good to go,” Lorna said. “Bless Niamh, though Jesus we’ve only got five days’ notice, and it’s at bloody noon. It’s a good thing they don’t want anything huge. Christ, I ought to decorate.” She actually still had some of the ribbon rosettes Thanadir had made for Earlene and Thranduil’s  _ first _ wedding-party, and there was plenty in bloom in the woods behind her cottage.

 

“One thing at a time,” Ratiri said. “That’s the easy part. If we get a roast from Kildare in a day or two, we can marinate it for my Dad’s recipe. It has to cook all day, so we’ll have to put it in the oven at two in the morning.” He did not look forward to that in the least, but the result was always worth it. “Before that, we get a fruit platter and a cheese platter, and whatever else you’ve got room in your icebox for, so we can actually feed Thanadir.”

 

“You,” Lorna said, almost accusatively, “are so calm.” She leaned across the table and poked him on the shoulder. “It’s not fair.”

 

“I  _ am  _ a doctor,” he pointed out, giving her a half grin that made her insides do things she was not yet ready to admit to. “We do sort of have to be.”

 

“Touche,” she said. “Thank you, though. For helping me. I’d make a hash’v it on my own.”

 

“You wouldn’t, you know,” he said, more seriously. “You’d be fine.” He paused, reflecting on what he’d seen of her cooking thus far. “Well, all right, not with the roast, but you’d be fine with everything else.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” she said, but burst out laughing, unable to feign annoyance. “All right. We’ll get this going.”

 

*****

 

Earlene heard the faint sound of the motor out at the road. “I think she’s here,” she said excitedly. It seemed a little silly, when they’d been wed now for months, but it still felt natural to look forward to this. They’d manage to do absolutely everything in this relationship out of order. Everything. It was not possible to make up anything so odd….meet (sort of), have sex, whoops we’re married (according to Eru but not according to Ireland), celebrate said marriage, conceive children, get married in Ireland. The only thing they might be managing in the proper slot was, adopting Allanah after they were wed in every manner possible, give or take that they’d started that early too. Sort of.  _ Oh, what does it matter _ , she thought.  _ I have the most wonderful man I could ever want.  Still, this is the only wedding I’ll ever have so….  _ A loud, cussed outburst in Irish and a slammed door declared that indeed, Lorna had arrived. 

 

Earlene smoothed her hair, into which Thanadir had braided roses. He had also set what were apparently traditional braids into his own and Thranduil’s hair; she rather liked them. A lot. The ellyn were always attractive in her eyes, but these added a certain flair that reminded her, a little, of the warriors of some of the Native American tribes. But only a little bit; no face paint, no feathers...for which she was grateful.

 

“All right, you lot, everything’s ready!” Lorna called, making her way into the cottage. “Jesus, Earlene, you look lovely. Everything’s set up with the registrar, and I even managed to keep the rest’v the bloody village from finding out about it. That’s something’v a feat, in a village like Baile.” Ratiri was still looking after the roast, which would come out of the oven once this lot got to the village. So far, nothing seemed to have gone disastrously wrong, but she was keeping her fingers crossed anyway. One never knew, after all.

 

They loaded up into her van, Earlene double checking that they all had passports and...it occurred to her, they’d forgotten something. “Er, Lorna, we were sort of hoping you might be willing to be one of our witnesses for this ceremony. I think it just means having some kind of ID on you, being willing to declare that we’ve not got other wives or husbands stashed in a closet and to sign off on the papers. I should’ve asked sooner and, well, at least we have Thanadir for the other half of this.”  _ You really are slipping, Earlene. Honestly…. _ she said to herself.  _ Is it too early to blame this on hormones? _

 

Lorna blinked, but rallied. “Sure, I can do that. I doubt Ratiri’ll mind watching the roast a bit longer. He doesn’t realize he does this, but when I’m in the kitchen, he hovers. It’d be annoying as shit if it wasn’t kind’v endearing.”

 

“Ha ha!” said Thanadir, appreciatively, because he decided that this was cute of Ratiri to do. Thanadir liked Ratiri. As they chugged along back to Baile, Earlene sat in back with the seneschal. It was a little weird, but it meant something to her, that Thanadir would be their witness while he wore her da’s wedding ring, as he always did. It would be like a little bit of him was with her today. Though, she smiled, he’d like as not roll in his grave to know that his only daughter had quit being a lawyer and married a King of the elves. It just wasn’t the sort of thing her family went in for. Gran, however...gran would’ve loved it. At least, if she could have made it past fearing for her immortal soul and all that stuff; even to the end she had held with her own brand of Catholicism.

 

For once, Lorna didn’t resent driving like a granny. It was a special occasion, after all. Traffic wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible, either, and they made it to Baile without incident -- though she did glance at her mobile a few times, praying Ratiri wasn’t going to call her and tell her the cottage was on fire because the roast had spontaneously combusted. (She wouldn’t be surprised; that recipe had proven more complex than she’d thought or Ratiri had remembered.)

 

“So I’m sure you all know what’s up anyway, without me needing to say anything,” she said, as she pulled off the motorway. “You just do you, and Ratiri and I’ll give you a good dinner.” Yes, even Thanadir. Mairead had been prevailed upon to make a cake, though not told it was a wedding-party cake. So far as she knew, it was just to make Lorna’s first time playing solo hostess would be as painless as possible.

 

They exited the van at what was a very typical looking Civil Registration Service office and entered, feeling slightly clueless. The worst case scenario would be that the entire day would fall apart, which seemed vaguely reassuring. Thranduil and Earlene both removed their wedding rings and handed them to Thanadir, having agreed to at least pretend that they were not already wed for the sake of argument. They went to the correct window and an absolute prune of an older middle aged man glowered at them. Earlene fought down a terrible desire to giggle at him as she explained their purpose and their appointment time. He looked at her as though she were incomprehensible, whereupon Earlene turned to Lorna with a vaguely pleading look.

 

Lorna fought not to roll her eyes. “They’re here for a wedding,” she said. “It’s all bloody arranged, Donal, don’t you try to tell me it’s not, unless you’ve gone and lost the damn paperwork. If you keep bungling shite they’ll boot you on your arse, and I’ll jam my boot  _ up  _ your arse.”

 

He grumbled something in Irish that she elected not to translate, and gave a vague wave toward a room at the end of the hallway. Lorna, muttering darkly, shook her head and led the little group onward. “Tell Jamie you’ll be needing a pint and a charcoal biscuit, you look like shite!” she called behind her.

 

They stepped into a room that looked about as old as Baile; brickwork, worn wooden floors, and a simple dais with a small table available. The man sourly set out paperwork in neat stacks. “First the bride n’ groom sign and date these,” he indicated, pulling out something that looked like a stylus or a conductor’s baton, take your pick. “Groom first.” He tapped the precise location on the document and proffered a pen.

Trying not to smile, Thranduil did as he was asked. Since the original fiasco, he and Thanadir had practiced their assumed signatures a great deal. Some more taps followed. This time Earlene did have the presence of mind to inform them that this was  _ 6-23-16 _ . Ahead of time, and everything.

 

“Now, Bride.” Earlene smiled at him, convinced that he desperately needed a laxative. She carefully signed her name and added dates, in better than usual handwriting, surprised at how nervous she suddenly felt.

 

The man who was apparently Donal bent over, made a production of examining the writing and the fields, and then signed his own name to the document, obviously pained that there was nothing amiss. 

 

_ Sure god, he’s the anti-Thanadir _ , Earlene thought, as she arched her eyebrow. Terrified as she’d been the day she had to have the seneschal witness her vows to Thranduil, he’d been kinder to her than  _ this _ .

 

He cleared his throat and leaned over his bifocals, and now launched into a speech he’d like as not made a thousand times.  He launched into the purpose of the ceremony blah blah, reminded Lorna and Thanadir about rules regarding taking photographs or video (did it look like Lorna had a camera crew down her top?), and that they were only to throw confetti outside the Service office doors. Earlene fought very, very hard to not roll her eyes. And finally, looking meaningfully at their witnesses, he asked in his best tone of menace: “If any person present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage they should declare it now.” He looked back and forth at Lorna and the seneschal three times each, clearly disappointed that no one was saying anything. Lorna just glowered back at him, her eyes threatening something far more unpleasant than murder if he didn’t get on with it.

 

_ He does not approve of males with long hair, meluieg _ , Thranduil offered in an attempt to help Earlene keep her sense of humor. A twitch at the corner of her mouth indicated that it had been a wise choice. While at the same time, she wondered what he  _ did _ approve of. 

 

“You will please answer the following questions: ‘Are you, Fionn, free to lawfully marry Earlene Rhiann?’ ”

 

“I am,” said Thranduil clearly.

 

Donal now turned to Earlene, who noted the involuntary twitch at the corner of his eye. “Are you, Earlene Rhiann, free to lawfully marry Fionn?” 

 

“I am.” 

 

He seemed satisfied, because now he went back to Thranduil. “Fionn, repeat after me: I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Fionn, take you, Earlene, to be my wedded wife.”  Which was managed easily.

 

Earlene too, did the same, after waiting patiently for Donal to drone through it. “I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Earlene, take you, Fionn, to be my wedded husband.”

 

“The groom’s ring for the bride?” Donal inquired dourly, looking at Thanadir, who handed it over to Thranduil. “You will place the ring on your bride’s finger, and recite your vows.” This was his favorite part, because it was usually where he got to watch people flounder. 

 

The King made great efforts to keep his face unflinching, though in truth he rather wanted to bop the man at this point. Thranduil looked at Donal before he made a move, and said rather clearly, “We will be reciting our vows in the language of our people first, then repeating them in English. This is acceptable?” He was taking no chances. At first Donal frowned, but then nodded. 

 

_ More chances for them to muck it up _ , he reasoned. 

 

Thranduil now smiled and turned to Earlene, who blushed as he returned her ring to her hand. He spoke clearly, his eyes locked on hers as he held her hands. “Im Thranduil Oropherion, a Fionn, Aran Eryn Lasgalen, im annon vi meleth uireb anlen. Gur na ‘ur, rhonn na ronn, fae na fae; im gwedhon.  Lasto i ‘weth nîn, Eru Iladar, a mentho i ‘alu lîn am ven .  I, Fionn, give myself to you in love eternal. Heart to heart, body to body, spirit to spirit; I bind myself to you. Hear my oath, Father of all, and send your blessing upon us.”

 

Earlene smiled, placed his ring on him, and carefully recited the same. They’d had quite a conversation, about these vows. Both felt they should pledge their undying love, for that much would be true. But in a concession to the realities of their union as mortal and immortal, they did not include a declaration that each belonged to the other forever, as elven vows usually would. Out of love for him, Earlene did not wish his chances for future happiness to be impeded, once her time was gone. It was important to Thranduil, too, to speak his vow to Earlene before Eru using his true name, in whose sight they were joined. What was said in English mattered far less to them, and as for what was said in Sindarin; this officious dimwit would never know the difference.

 

Donal, now clearly annoyed that no mistakes were made, grudgingly said a few more words before finally stating, “I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

 

Thanadir and Lorna politely clapped, and as Thranduil claimed his kiss, Earlene could have sworn she saw Lorna’s foot lash out and kick Donal’s shin. This seemed supported somewhat by the fact that the lemon-puckered man began clapping as well. They were allowed exactly fifteen seconds before with another glare, he took out his stylus once again and presented a new round of papers for the signing of the Register. 

 

Lorna had decided that Donal was going to be very, very unhappy next time he went to the pub -- if he was smart, he’d delay that for a while. She glowered openly at him, silently promising retribution before looking at Thanadir and rolling her eyes. Oh, if only she could communicate with  _ him  _ telepathically; whatever he was thinking about Donal was probably gold. The man was the worst sort of bureaucrat one was ever likely to find, and she wondered just what kind of fight he’d had with Niamh over this. It had probably been at least semi-epic.

 

The signed everything, multiple times, and were told that their official certificate of marriage would arrive in the mail (they did get a decorative one to take with them right now) but really barely heard that part. Earlene simply felt very happy, in spite of the surreal ceremony (that was almost to be expected, anymore). Thranduil was hers now, in every way possible, acknowledged by her world as well as his. Though it had been a formality, she glowed with contentment, remembering her manners long enough to thank both Lorna and Thanadir for being their witnesses.

 

“You’re welcome, you two,” Lorna said. “Now c’mon -- there’s tea that’s actually dinner at my cottage, if Ratiri’s not burned it down with that roast.” That was that now, for them -- they’d have a piece of paper and everything. She’d had hers and Liam’s laminated, but they’d probably do something classier, like actually frame it.

 

She led them all back down the steps and out to the van. “I want pictures, too. You’ll look brilliant in the trees out behind the cottage.” With part of her ridiculous salary, she’d bought herself a Nikon digital camera, so she could take actual professional-ish pictures. It would be put to good use now.

 

“That would be lovely,” Earlene said, still in a rose-colored haze. “Besides, I’d far rather have photos without that prune of a solemnizer in them. Where on earth did he come from? You know him?”

 

“Everyone who’s ever had to deal with the registry office knows Donal,” Lorna snorted. “Apparently my gran tanned his hide as a boy for getting into her vegetables, and now he hates Mairead, me, and anyone remotely connected to us. So, sorry about that.” She tried not to laugh. She really, really did, but she utterly failed as she fired up the engine. “Word round the pub is that he hasn’t taken a shit since nineteen-seventy-two.”

 

“You’ve got my official encouragement to get the man a batch of Ex-Lax mint chip ice cream. Send me the bill,” she said drily. They puttered a long, Lorna being in excellent humor, until they pulled up to a charming cottage in a woodsy area, the sort with predominantly birch and beech.

 

Lorna snorted. “Christ but it’s tempting,” she said, parking out beside the cottage. Nothing smelled like it was burning, which was an encouraging sign. She led the three of them around to the front door, which was standing open and letting in the summer sunshine.

 

“Oh Lucy, we’re home!” she called, in a rather terrible attempt at a Desi Arnaz accent. “Everything still in one piece?”

 

“Astonishingly, yes,” Ratiri said, giving them all a wave. The kitchen was fairly cramped to have so many people in it, so they’d turned it sideways, letting it stick out toward the lounge. Every single surface had been scrubbed and/or polished, so the hardwood floor gleamed like new. The rafters were, mercifully, just high enough that Thranduil wasn’t going to have to bend to avoid cracking his head, and she’d thought to remove the bunches of dried herbs that usually hung from them, so he could avoid getting smacked in the face by lavender. “Everything’s just about ready. All we have to do is take the fruit and cheese out, and we can dish the roast whenever we feel like. Has anybody got tea preferences?” Lorna had multiple canisters, all loose-leaf, because Gran had considered bagged tea an abomination not fit for human consumption.

 

“I like most kinds,” Earlene said. “Maybe nothing with much licorice taste, though?” She smoothed out her dress even though it didn’t need smoothing, and wove her arm around her husband’s waist, pulling him close.

 

Thranduil smiled, and put his arm around her. He had done enough reading, enough looking at photos, to know far more about what mortal weddings could be like since the day he’d first asked her about them. Very elaborate, fancy, beautiful parties they were; ones that reminded him more of the formal affair when he’d wedded Alassëa. And Earlene could have had similar, but none of that had mattered to her. All her excitement, all of what she’d truly enjoyed today, was that he belonged to her, and she to him. His heart swelled to think of how he loved her. Later, he had a little surprise of his own planned. But for now, he leaned down to kiss her head, careful to not crush any of the red blossoms that beautified her dark hair.

 

Ratiri busied himself with the tea while Lorna led the other three into the lounge. The afternoon sunlight played off the row of prisms hung across the top of the window, casting little rainbows over the stone walls and the tall, oak china cupboard Granddad had built for Gran when they married. Between the sofa and armchair she already owned (still so freshly reupholstered in 1940’s-period brocade), she’d only had to borrow one extra armchair from Mairead, so all the taller people actually had somewhere to sit. “You pick your spots, the lot’v you,” she said. “I’ll get the nibbles out. Mairead’s made a cake for afters.”

 

Earlene chuckled at Thanadir’s broad smile. She would make herself eat some, but honestly didn’t feel that hungry. It truly surprised her, that she felt like a teenager in love right now, and how much the quirky but very real ceremony had meant to her. But Lorna and Ratiri had obviously worked very hard at fixing them a treat, and she would stuff herself, to the best of her ability. Earlene chose a chair better suited for a smaller person, leaving the better options for the ellyn and Ratiri.

 

Lorna brought out the fruit and cheese platters, setting them on the coffee-table along with a stack of Gran’s china plates (white bone china, that Gran had freely admitted had been stolen by some relative working in England in the 1890’s). “The roast’s just about out, but it’s got to cool before we can actually dig in. I’ve got wine, Guinness, and a bottle’v what’s either poítin or paint thinner, but I  _ think  _ it’s poítin. I drank it last night and didn’t go blind, anyway, so there’s a good sign.” She was mostly teasing. Mostly.

 

The kettle screamed, and Ratiri followed her with a tray bearing mugs, tea strainers, and an assortment of leaves. “I stuck with softer things,” he said. “This is Irish Breakfast, and this one’s some kind of lemongrass, I think. Lorna doesn’t keep her jars labeled.”

 

“I like to mix them up and play Tea Roulette in the morning,” she said seriously. “Dish up, the lot’v you,” she added, though it was Thanadir she looked at.

 

Earlene decided that Random Lemongrass had its merits, and tried for that one. She was not going anywhere near anything that might be paint thinner. Just, no. While her peredhel children were doubtless hardy, she was not about to test that on anything Lorna could not identify, thank you very much. Thranduil began filling his plate from the trays, gesturing for Thanadir to do the same. Earlene passed her plate to her husband with silent requests, which he happily cared for. _ The way his eyes look, today...good grief, you’ve got a bad case of it _ , she teased herself. Thanadir was making what looked remarkably like a Dagwood sandwich out of cheese slices and fruit, much to Ratiri’s amusement.

 

“So, if you’re willing, I’d love to get some pictures’v you lot in the trees out back,” Lorna said, while Ratiri went to deal with the roast. “I’ve been working on a scrapbook for months now -- two, actually, one for me and one for you. Even if nobody in the village’ll ever know it, it’s the first elf wedding we’ve ever had, and it ought to be commemorated.” She filled the strainer and stuck it in the teapot, checking to see everyone had napkins and the like. She’d seen Mairead do this dozens of times over the years; she could handle this ‘hostess’ thing. It made her feel like a real grown-up (at forty bloody years old); she’d had her own home for several years now, but it had really still mostly been Gran’s. Working on it made it truly  _ hers _ , and the fact that she’d done much of the work by hand only made it more so.

 

It would never compare to Thranduil’s grand Halls, nor would anything within it, but it was hers. She’d had so little to truly call her own for most of her life, but she had a home and a car and a life not entirely confined to Baile. She had a situation a great deal of Tolkien nerds might literally murder her for (apparently there was this thing called fan fiction that, given that she actually  _ knew  _ elves, she wasn’t going to touch with a ten-foot pole). She had Ratiri, who somehow managed to be the most gorgeous yet utterly dorky man she had ever known, sweet and yet as awkward as she was herself. And for once, finally, she could let herself be happy without being afraid it would be taken away from her.

 

They went outside and took several variations on every kind of photograph. Group photos, individual photos (Thanadir was shown how to operate the camera to take some of Lorna with her friends). And then much to Earlene’s surprise, some “artsy” shots of her and Thranduil holding hands, looking at each other, and even one that involved a tasteful kiss. Lorna had laid heavy emphasis on the word ‘tasteful,’ which caused the couple to burst into good-natured laughter. Earlene found herself looking at the trees again and again, when a completely outrageous idea popped into her head; something she’d seen on the Internet. Later she took Lorna aside, and the words ‘dinosaur’ and ‘Photoshop’ were among those whispered quietly. Lorna’s face immediately brightened in a grin of pure mischief as she nodded. Without more explanation Lorna set them up for one more photo, this time with the camera on a timer. “When I say ‘Go’, everyone act like you’re running toward the house. Don’t ask why, just do it.” The shutter clicked, and she was satisfied with the result. Finally, they were allowed back indoors.

 

The roast, Ratiri pronounced, was done to perfection, and Lorna was happy to let him and his surgeon’s hands dissect it. (He was a doctor, she had to call it ‘dissection’, dammit.) It certainly smelled perfect, spicy and rich; she’d hope so, given the effort that went into the damn thing. 

 

“Well, what d’you think’v my cottage?” she asked. “There’s more to it, but not much more. I had a new bathroom put on so I could have a proper tub, though I’ll never match anything in the Halls.” She’d got the table itself set, inviting everyone to sit wherever they felt like, brewing more tea while she brought Mairead’s cake over as well.

 

“I like it here very much, Lorna,” said Thanadir, admiring the furnishings. He could see that by mortal standards, many of these objects were a little older; unlike the shiny new and very artificial objects in their New York hotel room. Here he could recognize real wood, and fabrics; the same kinds of materials he himself would choose. He ran his hand admiringly along the oaken cupboard. “This is very well-made,” he said. Which coming from an elf, was high praise indeed.

 

Thranduil gently ruffled her hair as he walked past. “Your home is lovely, Lorna. I will no longer worry about where you dwell, when you cannot be with us. To be here feels...wholesome,” he said, gazing approvingly around at not only the construction but the nearby trees as well.

 

Earlene simply nodded, unable to improve much on what the others had said. Though she did add one thing. “It’s incredibly special, to have your family’s home. Everything is charming, and doubly so because it means something to you.”

 

Lorna did a slight double-take; she hadn’t realized Thranduil worried about her when she was not with them. Maybe they really were a bit more similar than he was willing to let on, because that was very much something she would do. “Great-great-Grandda was stonemason,” she said, turning this new knowledge over in her mind. “It’s probably the only reason the family’s still here, and not America. Well, that and Mairead and I are pretty sure Great-great-Gran killed the tax man, but Gran never would confirm one way or other. Given that she chased the next generation’s tax man off her lawn with Grandda’s shotgun, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true. Great-great-Grandda built this table not long after he built the cottage -- it’s over a hundred years old. He didn’t like working with wood so much, as I understand it, but it didn’t stop him. He did the floors, too, and the garden-wall out back. Gran always kept a vegetable garden, but I’ve not been so great about that myself.” Which was just as well, given that she often spent days on end away from home now. “I had all the wiring redone, since it was older than my Mam.”

 

“And that was one of the few things we didn’t do ourselves,” Ratiri added, bringing out a bottle of wine and glasses. “That and most of the plumbing.”

 

“I would very much like to see your garden, later on,” piped Thanadir, though he was largely ignored beyond a nod and a word of promise from Ratiri.

 

“Funny you mention that,” said Earlene. “I’m finding that I am in the beginning stages of thinking about what to do with my own cottage. A year from now, there will be three children added to our family, and while one extra room as a nursery might do for a short time, that won’t last for long. Nothing about how the cottage is used now fits the original plan, which was simply for me to live there alone. I’m thinking about remodeling, I’m thinking about adding on, and I’m even thinking about whether a whole other home might make better sense. And while I’m no less capable than you, I worry about the government busybodies that will maybe want to keep their noses in Allanah’s welfare. I’d prefer it if the elves cared for all of it, but somehow things like ‘building inspector’ and ‘code violations’ and other annoyances keep coming to mind. Yet I’ll be damned if any ‘modern’ home is being built on that parcel,” she groused.

 

Thranduil still offered no comment; Earlene trusted their relationship enough by now that if he had firm desires or directions, that he would speak.

 

Her tone was so sour that Lorna almost choked on her slice of roast. “Let me look into it,” she said, trying not to laugh. Of course she utterly failed. “I’m sure I can find you a construction company that’ll give you what you’re looking for. You don’t want some big outfit -- you’ll be wanting a family business, I think, but if they’re licensed and bonded, any government busybodies ought to be satisfied. I...oooh, there’s an idea.”

 

“Your tone makes me less than sanguine,” Ratiri said, and he did indeed look rather wary. “You don’t usually sound like that unless you’re about to do something...less than advisable.”

 

“You mean ‘stupid’?” she asked, grinning at him. “No, this isn’t stupid. My mate Orla -- she’s another from the old gang -- her legit business is construction. If you write me up the general specs of what you want, I’ll pass it to her and see if she can do it. If not, she probably knows someone who can.”

 

“Do I even want to ask what her  _ non _ -legit job is?” Ratiri asked.

 

“Computer hacking. She’s got more money than God, but she has to have some demonstrable way’v earning it. She did her stint in prison, too, and decided she liked both computers and building shite. Odd combo, but she’s an odd one.”

 

“You’re kidding,” said Earlene, sipping from her wine appreciatively. “This could serve more than one purpose. While I’m not technologically illiterate, neither am I remotely at the level of people like that. I’ll be honest, since the minute we got that creeper’s name in New York, I’ve been tempted to search him, but, I’ve not done it. I desperately want to know that anything I might try to do from the cottage can’t be traceable, and I know just enough about computers to realize that savvy, wealthy people with unusual aptitudes might have the means to do just that. I worry about that man finding us, for all I know Thranduil protects everything inside his borders. He already knows we’re in Ireland, and my name, which is bad enough. I don’t want to be the one who left the trail of crumbs, so to speak.”

 

“She’d take that as a challenge,” Lorna said. “Trust me, Orla’s...well, as I say, she’s an odd one. She’ll do something just to prove that she can. She’s the one who does all Niamh’s and Shane’s systems, and Niamh especially needs a secure one.” She twitched a little, pouring herself some wine and knocking it back. She still hadn’t got over being so skeeved out by that son of a bitch’s pale eyes. He probably  _ had  _ wanted to turn her skin into a person-suit. (Except he’d need like three more peoples’-worth, or he’d get, like, person-shorts.)

 

“Who is this creeper?” Ratiri asked.

 

“Some bloke we met at Earlene’s fancy lawyer-party,” Lorna said, “except he’s not a bloke, because he’s not human.” She looked at Thranduil, who was the one who actually knew what he was talking about.

 

Thranduil sighed. This conversation was inevitable, and, it was perhaps overdue, given how many days they had been home. “You asked me when we first revealed ourselves to you, Ratiri, whether or not there were other beings still on earth from the earlier ages of this world. I told you I did not know, which was true. But when in New York, we encountered one of those beings. A  _ raug _ , or perhaps better known to you as a  _ balrog _ .” He held up his hand at the look of wide-eyed horror that greeted him. “These words do not only mean those who took on the form of shadow, and flame, for as you likely know they were of the Maiar; their physical forms were often only bodily manifestations. What defined them was their spiritual corruption on entering the service of Morgoth. This one had taken on the form of a human man, but there was no mistaking its power or its menace. It was the last thing I ever expected to encounter. He recognized Thanadir and I immediately for what we were, for he spoke it to me in my thoughts. We left the party at once, but I would be naive to think that the encounter was the last of it. Though, a part of me very much hopes it was just that. Earlene obtained the name of this man before she left from one of her associates; beyond that, we have taken no further action.”

 

Ice seeped through Ratiri’s veins. If such a thing was still wandering around on Earth, it wasn’t just going to let the Elves alone. Not unless something else diverted its attention, and what could possibly do that? Nothing. But, so far as Tolkien had ever written, killing a balrog had also meant the death of all but one of those who killed it. That, however, was with swords; surely modern weaponry could give them some kind of edge. He hoped. “You found a balrog,” he said, rather helplessly, “in New York City. You found a  _ balrog _ …how do we kill it?” It was, he was sure, the only way to deal with the damn thing, because once it found them, if it found them, it wasn’t going to just go away.

 

“Bit like a zombie, that one,” Lorna said, shaking her hair and pouring more wine. “Those eyes’v his...Jesus bloody Christ. Wouldn’t’ve been surprised if he’d followed me into the toilet, broken my neck, and eaten my brain.”

 

Thranduil smiled. If nothing else, his mortal friends had...how did the humans say it?....grit. “You are not quite correct. They can be killed; Tuor of Gondolin killed a number of them and he yet lived. And, I can do nothing, unless it seeks us out. I will not go searching for it, beyond educating ourselves as to what it is doing in the human world. My duty is clear; it is to protect my people. Should it indeed come to us, though, we are not defenseless. And yet he is a foe beyond mortals. He is dangerous, if only because he can hear your thoughts as easily as I. And unlike me, who would never search your minds deeply without your explicit consent, I very much doubt if he would have any such scruples. Earlene is protected from such intrusion by her necklace; at the party, he could not access her mind. But the necklace acts as it does on account of the bond Earlene and I share; I do not have any means of shielding others unless they are in physical contact with me.”

 

“Yeah, well, trust me, all he got off me was how creepy I thought he was,” Lorna said, dishing herself up more roast. Christ was it good. “I mean, I said your name, but you know how much I mangle that on a daily basis as it is. Otherwise I just wanted out’v there before I sicked up everything I’d eaten. Which would’ve been a damn shame, given how good that Scotch was.” Because of course Lorna had her priorities.

 

“I can’t...bloody hell.” Ratiri wasn’t sure what to do with that little piece of information. “What’s he been  _ doing  _ all this time?” It was not at all a pertinent question, and yet he wondered.

 

“That’s what Orla’ll find out,” Lorna said. “If his name’s attached to it, she’ll find it.” She wasn’t certain she wanted to know, since she wouldn’t be surprised if it involved torturing small baby animals for no actual reason.

 

“If John Oehlert thinks he’s a piece of work, that’s all I need to hear about his character,” said Earlene. “And that he was even there tells me that whatever he is doing, he is doing it at the pinnacle of wealth and influence and likely in a way that bodes no good for anyone.”

 

“Well that’s brilliant. Can’t say I’m sorry we’ve got the Atlantic between us and them.” Lorna shook her head, smiling a little. “Aren’t you glad my accent’s so thick I can’t even pronounce your name right?” she asked Thranduil. “Hard to figure your name out when I don’t even say ‘thran’ right.”

 

He chuckled, with a twinkle in his eye. “You may never hear me admit this again, because you do rather drink more than I would wish, but that and your significant level of inebriation were doubtless a salvation of sorts. I can imagine that whatever he tried to find within you, what he actually took away was particularly unsatisfying. I confess I find that aspect of the encounter extremely amusing.” His open appreciation of Lorna being Lorna was unmistakable.

 

“That reminds me,” said Earlene. “I have two emails to forward to you, which I confess I’ve sat on for a few days for purely selfish reasons. Two different people from the party want to hire you. They’d move you, all expenses paid, to New York, and pay you obscene amounts of money. Your management of the drunken spectacle of Iris attracted a great deal of favorable notice,” she said, before adding in much softer words, “it’s just that I’d be sick if you left. But you deserve to decide that for yourself.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows arched. This had escaped his attention entirely, and a very worried expression darkened his own face, before he had the presence of mind to dissemble.

 

Lorna laughed, though she sobered at Earlene’s words, genuinely nonplussed. Rich people, she decided, really  _ were  _ weird -- but then, they didn’t know what she’d actually  _ said  _ to Iris. “I doubt they’d be thinking so favorably’v it if they knew I’d told her her husband had married her for her tits,” she said, shaking her head. “Earlene, don’t take this the wrong way, but you couldn’t pay me enough to live in New York. It’s nice to visit, but I’d go mad within a fortnight if I actually  _ lived  _ there. You lot’re family to me now, even if it’s in no normal way. Christ, I need to do some digging, actually, because you and I might  _ actually  _ be family, somewhere back up the tree.” It warmed her in ways she couldn’t express -- of course, because she couldn’t use her damn words -- that Earlene thought so of her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

They didn’t carry on, but the look of unabashed relief on the part of both Thranduil and Earlene was unmistakable. No one was certain Thanadir had even heard the conversation, because he was extremely occupied with his food. They enjoyed all of the food, and the cake was another evolution of Mairead’s talents. Earlene definitely ceded credit to this woman; she might be a touch annoying but sure god she knew her way around a cake. Thanadir went with Ratiri to look at the garden, and tilted his head. “I could help, with this,” he said. “If it would be welcome. Then you could have vegetables while there is good weather.” The idea was greeted with extreme enthusiasm. 

 

When they were done, Earlene sighed. “This has been such fun, but I feel we should get out of your hair. It’s an hour back and then another hour for you to return.” Wistfulness came over her. “We really need another movie night. That was so much fun.”

 

Thranduil groaned. “Was not every night in New York a movie night? You two are dangerous. We need a film for which you do not have all the dialogue memorized.”

 

Earlene looked at him blankly, but Lorna saw this as some manner of challenge. “”I haven’t got anything going tomorrow,” she said. “Movie night’d be grand tonight, if you’d like. With your wine,” she added to Thranduil, “which you promised we could have if you gave it to us.” She gave him rather shameless kitty eyes -- she doubted she could top Thanadir, but still. She could try.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened while Earlene suppressed giggles. Ratiri piped up. “I’ve no plans tomorrow either. But what’s the problem with a ‘movie night’? I feel like I’m missing something,” he said affably.

 

“I would really like that, to keep on celebrating awhile longer with our friends,” she said to Thranduil. Her voice was respectful but her wishes were very clear. 

 

The King sighed. “Valar preserve me, I can see I am outnumbered. May I at least know the movie you wish to view?”

 

“Jurassic Park,” grinned Lorna, without a minute’s hesitation.

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows knitted together. “And that is about…?”

 

“Dinosaurs,” said Earlene. “Like the ones we saw in the museum. It is a very good movie and I promise you that I only know two quotes. At least, I think that’s all…” she trailed off. 

 

Thanadir’s face broke into unrestrained enthusiasm. “I would very much like to see dinosaurs,” he said to Thranduil, with a note of pleading.

 

“Very well,” he relented, though his smile ruined his attempts at sternness.

 

*********

 

With five of them, the sofa was strained to capacity but they made it work. Earlene made popcorn for them, and brought out cookies she’d made and frozen previously. Tea was provided all around, and they were ready to begin. Lorna was crammed precipitously between Ratiri and Thranduil, who were both obviously trying to not crush her. Earlene perched somehow on the elves’ laps in a configuration that looked improbable but was one with which they obviously had some comfort level. Lorna raised her eyebrows at them, but as the alternative was to be in a different chair at a ninety degree angle to the screen, she remained silent.  _ This place really does need to be bigger _ , she thought. If it was this crammed now, she didn’t want to think about what it would be like with three toddlers.  But there was nothing else for it, it was a cottage, and no better configuration was going to be possible under the current circumstances.

 

As promised, Thranduil retrieved and prepared the wine for Lorna and Ratiri, offering Ratiri what amounted to five drops of it undiluted for him to taste.

 

It was, Ratiri discovered, by far the most delicious liquor he had ever tried in his life, not too sweet but not bitter, rich as chocolate.

 

“Be careful with it,” Lorna warned. “It’ll hit you like a brick. Wrapped in lemon.”

 

His eyebrows rose. “I see what you did there,” he said, while she sipped, very carefully, at her own.

 

“You can also expect to feel a bit stoned, as well as drunk,” she said. “Which is bloody odd, because it’s not  _ quite  _ like feeling stoned, but close.”

 

Ratiri eyed his glass. “I would love to do a chem analysis on this stuff.”

 

“Meluieg,” Thranduil said, “I must give you a choice. Because of the strength of this and your pregnancy, I must either dilute this to the point of being what you would feel is lightly flavored water, or you must do without, or choose a mortal alcoholic beverage. I am sorry.”

 

Earlene shook her head. “Thank you, but I am fine with tea. I expected to not have anything at all, so what you have allowed me has been a treat. Do not worry. It is worth the inconvenience,” she said, her eyes full of love.

 

The King kept back more of what he had prepared for his friends, while offering some to Thanadir, who declined. Not wishing to consume what they could not have in front of them, he too opted for just tea. “Here we go,” said Earlene cheerfully, as she pressed the button on the remote.

 

The alcohol was already doing enough of its job that Lorna didn’t mind so much being squashed while the offloading of the velociraptors went terribly wrong. “God, so I saw this in the cinema, and this whole opening freaked me right out,” she said. “I mean, what a way to go.”

 

“It was probably fast,” Ratiri said, “if the thing got his leg. Cut a femoral artery and you’re bled out inside of seven minutes.”

 

“Yeah, assuming it didn’t eat his spleen before then.” Yes, she was already nice and warm and kind of floaty.

 

“I could never figure out how they screwed up so badly,” Earlene said. “A bazillion staff, hydraulic equipment, enough weapons to quell a military coup, and one...you know...still does all that?” She broke off. “Ha ha! The lawyer. You know, he has a lousy suit.”

 

“He rather does,” Ratiri said, with a level of disapproval that made him laugh, given the state of his own wardrobe. “He must not be a very good lawyer, for all he works for some random rich people. His suit doesn’t even fit right.”

 

“It was the nineties,” Lorna pointed out. “Everyone wore their clothes too big. The real question is why the hell he was wearing a suit out there to begin with.”

 

Earlene giggled. “Sadly, it’s expected. If you’re an attorney, that’s what people feel you should look like, just like Ratiri probably has to wear a lab coat or scrubs. One time, I had to tour a rendering plant in a suit and heels. You don’t even want to know. Though at least I had the brains to wear my cheapest one, because there was no getting the smell back out of it, ever.”

 

Lorna wrinkled her nose. “Oh God…”

 

“This bloke’s a bit of a spoon, though,” Ratiri said. “Given what happens to him, and all.”

 

“Spoon?” Lorna asked. “Does that mean the same in Scotland as it does here?”

 

“I don’t know. There it means someone so stupid they can’t be trusted with sharp objects,” he replied.

 

She burst into a fit of giggles that she had to muffle against his shoulder. “Yup,” she said, still muffled. “Same thing.”

 

“Hush!” hissed Thranduil, who was in reality trying to work out what in Eru a chaotician was supposed to be. Earlene giggled, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. And because that side of his face was hidden from Lorna, she also took a second to flick her tongue against the edge of his ear. This seemed to distract him, for a moment, because he shot her a sidewise look that warned her she might not wish to light that fire just yet.  _ We would not wish to be unseemly, meluieg.  _ But his voice held affection, and humor. She squeezed his arm.

 

That only made Lorna giggle harder, though she mostly muffled it against Ratiri’s T-shirt. “Rock star,” she muttered. “Except, y’know, nerdy.” The lift of the helicopter, and then the drop, made her twitch a bit, just because she could only imagine how freaky that would be in reality. Christ, she loved this music, too...so epic. Though why they focused on the arse of the guy opening the helicopter door once it landed, she didn’t know. Especially since it was in baggy khaki, and its owner in a salmon-pink polo shirt.

 

But when the lot of them saw that first dinosaur...it had given her chills in the theater, and even yet it still did a bit. They sure as fuck knew how to shoot scenes back then. “Though of course the blood-sucking lawyer thinks they’ll make a fortune with it.”

 

“Sadly, that’s what they pay us to do. Though,  _ that _ guy totally had shares of stock in the place. It’s the only thing that could explain that level of enthusiasm,” she opined.

 

“That, or cocaine,” Ratiri said, entirely deadpan, but lost it when Lorna did, bursting out laughing. At least he mastered it before she did. “And even though all of this science is essentially junk, it  _ sounds  _ so good.” It had pulled him in entirely as a teenager, before he knew better, and even now he was willing to suspend his disbelief.

 

“Life finds a way,” said Earlene. 

 

Thranduil glared at her. 

 

“I said I knew two quotes,” she said softly. “Don’t I get my two quotes?” Her cheek nuzzled against his.

 

A sigh of mild exasperation was his only answer, but there was a smirk along with it.

 

“The bloodsucking lawyer!” Earlene said. 

 

Thranduil turned his head and kissed her soundly, running out of ways to silence his mortal.

 

_ But that was the second one _ , she protested, while pondering the silliness of such a desirable form of discipline.

 

“Grant and these kids...poor bloke,” Ratiri said. “He’s got no idea, and they know it. I just can’t get over Samuel L. Jackson. I retroactively keep expecting him to say something about motherfucking snakes on a motherfucking plane.”

 

Lorna dissolved into laughter again, finishing her glass. “Thanks for that. Christ, though, the T-Rex...I just about pissed myself in the cinema. I think everyone else did, too.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes and poured them more wine. Perhaps  _ that _ would stop them talking. Though he was careful to not give too much more.

 

The scene where the lawyer ran into the toilet stall began, which was perhaps the most exquisite humor in the film, but Earlene felt her body tense involuntarily. All these years later and that T rex looked very, very real still. Thanadir recoiled, the moment the animal broke through the roof of the car, tightening his hold on her. Somehow, she did not mind. It did not get spoken aloud, out of regard for her husband, but all she could think was,  _  that man’s got stainless steel balls, to actually attract that thing toward himself. And from a man who says he doesn’t like kids.  _ She wished she could reassure Thanadir, but could do little more than hold onto his arms. Having not warned him about the ‘suspense’ genre, this would be quite the next hour.

 

Lorna really didn’t wonder why those children looked so fucking terrified. With that thing bearing down on her, she would, too, whether it was real or not. Thranduil didn’t seem predisposed to enjoy commentary on this one, so she leaned up enough to whisper to Ratiri, “That thing cost like half the film’s budget, and some’v the circuits got wet filming, so every so often when it wasn’t being used it would move on its own, and you’d hear some random person screaming bloody fucking murder.”

 

Ratiri smothered a laugh, but barely, and eventually it bubbled over anyway, though he tried to muffle it in her hair. “I’d brick it,” he said quietly, and then both of them had to fight the giggles.

 

The film ran on, and then came the other sequence that always gave Earlene hives; the velociraptors in the kitchen. Of all of the uncomfortable ideas in life, being hunted by an alpha predator was among the worst. It gave her a sudden and unusual sympathy for rats; things that killed and ate other things were not known for their compassion or consideration for methodology. The shudder that went through her brought Thanadir’s hand up to rub gentle circles into her back. Which was not what she wished him to feel compelled to do, but it was very pleasant nonetheless. And finally the damn thing got locked in the freezer.

 

“Fair play on those kids,” Lorna said. “I’d’ve pissed myself and got eaten by now. Y’know, those raptors were all lads in suits? I saw a picture once’v someone in all of it but the feet. They had trainers on instead. It was surreal, to say the least.”

 

“Yeah, but if it’d really happened, think of the therapy bills,” Earlene mumbled. 

 

This time Thranduil did not rebuke his wife. Even though none of it was real, it was  _ very _ realistic. Finally the end came, with the final scene of the fearless but rather outmatched velociraptors attacking the tyrannosaur, and the banner “When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth” floating down past it in a last, supreme irony.

 

It was nearing dusk when they hauled themselves off the sofa. Earlene pushed some fruit and cheese at her clearly happy guests. She envied their enjoyment of the wine, but that would just have to wait. As it was, they were very cute to watch. Taking little Tail along with them, they began the walk toward the Halls.

 

Lorna, giggling and not quite steady, wove her way along beside an equally unsteady Ratiri. It was early yet; they needed to watch another movie, but what? “Has anyone else seen  _ Mad Max: Fury Road  _ yet?” she asked of the world in general.

 

“I love that movie,” Ratiri said. “And apparently most of it was actual practical effects.”

 

“Which would be why it actually looked real. I want a guitar that shoots flames,” Lorna said, almost wistfully.

 

“I hope I won’t offend if I take a pass on that one,” quipped Earlene, for which Thranduil felt most grateful. Thanadir kept near to the mortals, to ensure no one fell. At the Halls, this was more so; each of the ellyn rather insisted on offering their arms to Lorna and Ratiri, respectively on the arching walkways so far above the ground. Which while perhaps not completely necessary, was definitely in the “safe not sorry” category.

 

“So, my laptop still should be pretty charged,” Lorna said, still feeling so rosy and at one with the world. “I just wish I had better speakers. We’ll have to watch it in my cottage someday. I stuck the TV and the sound system in my room, so I wouldn’t ruin the lounge with modern shite. I’ve got enough bass to shake the roof off.”

 

“That,” Ratiri said, a little muzzily, “sounds like too much fun. Annoying, but fun.”

 

“You lot have fun,” Lorna said, once they’d reached safety away from the aerial walkways. She gave them something that was a bastard cross between a wave and a salute. “We won’t burn the caverns down, I promise.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes but continued on his way with Earlene, clearly having other interests on his mind. That and, even Lorna could not burn down a stone cavern. He hoped. Thanadir had disappeared to places unknown, for he was nowhere now to be seen.

 

Getting through the door was more difficult than it ought to have been, because Lorna’s fingers seemed to have all the dexterity of sausages. Once inside, she managed to light the lamps without setting anything on fire, and poked up the fire itself. (How had it not gone out? Did some elf just come in and poke it up periodically throughout the day? Wouldn’t surprise her.)

 

“How did you manage New York?” Ratiri asked, while she hunted her laptop down, opening it and bringing up the movie. “I mean, you’re so…”

 

“Don’t say it,” she warned, pointing at him. “Don’t even.”

 

“But you  _ are _ …”

 

Setting the laptop aside, Lorna hopped up onto her bed, standing to face him. Like this, she was actually rather taller than him. “You were saying?” she asked, poking him in the chest.

 

“You’re still tiny,” he said.

 

“No, you’re just the size’v a tree. You and the elves, it’s not natural.” She sat, pulling her laptop across the mattress, and Ratiri sat with her.

 

“You know, when I first saw you, I thought you were the one that looked like an elf,” he admitted, shifting her pillows so he could lean against the headboard. “You were like some fae that snuck into the human world, but you couldn’t quite mask what you were.”

 

Lorna looked at him and burst out laughing. Oh, the irony… “Why fae?” she asked, fussing with the other pillows.

 

“Because you’re tiny,” he said. “And your eyes don’t belong anywhere near a human face. And all this hair...that was before I realized you were essentially Cousin It when it was free.”

 

That only made her laugh harder -- hard enough that she lost her balance and crashed into him, knocking her forehead against his. “Cousin It?” she questioned, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Well, you’re a very  _ pretty  _ Cousin I--”

 

Lorna attacked his sides before he could finish, tickling everywhere her small fingers could reach. Ratiri rewarded her by flailing, utterly helpless. “I’ll wee myself if you don’t stop,” he said -- or rather, gasped, his breath stolen by laughter. “This bed’s too nice to be wee’d in.”

 

She sporfled, giving up, giggling so hard she had a stitch in her side. “True. Wee in your own bed.”

 

“I’d rather not wee in anyone’s,” he managed, still chuckling. “Just, on principle. Wee’s not actually sterile, you know. It’s filled with bacteria.”

 

“And that is the single least romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” Lorna said, too drunk to realize what had actually come out of her mouth. “Hey Ratiri? Would you be pissed if I kissed you?” Aaaand  _ that  _ was out of her mouth, too.

 

He looked at her, and though his grey eyes were somewhat clouded with alcohol, they were still clear enough. “Pissed? I’ll only tell you I’ve wanted to kiss you for the last two months if you’ll promise you won’t thump me for it.”

 

“You,” she said, suddenly feeling very warm, “just did.” And yet she hesitated. “Um. So, I haven’t done this in almost twelve years, and not  _ too  _ often before that. I mean, Liam and I, since we traveled, a lot’v the time there wasn’t much in the way’v privacy--”

 

Ratiri leaned over and shut her up -- rather handily, with a kiss.

 

It was a rusty kiss, hesitant, and yet it did all sorts of very pleasant things to her insides. “It’s been fifteen years for me,” he said. “I think we’re both in the same boat.”

 

Lorna ran her fingers through his hair -- Christ it was soft, with a slight wave to it, black as coal. “Then let’s see if we can work this out.”

 

At least they managed to get the laptop out of the way, though there was quite a bit of fumbling and laughter, culminating in her braid somehow getting caught in his fly. They had to put everything on hold to rescue it, because even drunk, Lorna wasn’t letting scissors anywhere near her head. She didn’t have sexy lingerie -- plain boy shorts and a sports bra she probably didn’t need -- but he didn’t seem to care. Rusty he might be, but Ratiri was a doctor; he had very deft hands, and he learned fast. Granted, not without issue.

 

“ _ Jesus _ , that tickles -- no, wait -- that’s better. Oh  _ damn, _ that’s better.”

 

“How can that tickle? Just... _ how _ ?” he asked, disbelieving.

 

“My nerve endings’re weird. C’mere -- you taste good. I think the wine tastes even better when it’s second-hand.”

 

Ratiri laughed. “Somehow, that is the most erotic yet disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Shut it,” Lorna said, dragging him down for another inexpert kiss.

 

“Bossy, aren’t you?” he asked.

 

She grinned at him. “You’ve got  _ no  _ idea.”

 

******************

 

Thranduil smiled, as Thanadir took his leave, and took his wife to their rooms, where they sat by the fire. “You are happy, meluieg?”

 

Earlene nodded, looking into his eyes before she spoke. “I did not know it was possible to love anyone as I love you, Thranduil. If we are to be like many couples, I know that times may come that are difficult, or in which we feel less harmony. I will always give my best to bring us back to the place we are at now. Your happiness means everything to me. Our lives together have barely begun, and... _ and that I am privileged to spend mine with you is more than I could have dreamed. You did start out as a dream for me, and now that dream is real. _

 

Thranduil reached for her, as tears sprang to her eyes from the emotion that overwhelmed her. He held her tightly, his own eyes growing moist.  _ Earlene, I think it is time I told you something that I have withheld. It did not seem to matter earlier, but today I vowed that I bound myself to you body, heart, and soul.  _

 

She backed away from him, a questioning look on her face.

 

_ It is about my first marriage. _

 

Her eyes widened. Suddenly she felt fearful.  _ Was there some...elven thing...that was now about to impede their happiness? _

 

_ No meluieg, it is nothing like that, _ he said, _ kissing her brow. While we both live, we are joined in the eyes of Eru and the Valar. This is meant to be a sacred bond. And yet as you know, I have had another wife.  _ He looked away for a moment, before returning his eyes to hers.  _ The day you asked what Alassëa looked like, and I brought out her portrait, you saw in an instant what it took me far too long to ever realize. Her visage was haughty, cold, distant. And there was yet another occasion on which you wondered if my wife had no longer wanted intimacy with me, and yet you rejected that possibility out of hand as something incomprehensible. And that is what I need to tell you. My first marriage was not brought to its end only by the physical separation we experienced. Long before she set sail for the Undying Lands, she wanted little to do with me. Both my body and the affections of my heart were rejected. _

 

Earlene’s lips parted in disbelief. But even she knew that relationships were rarely one-sided failures. With a heart full of pity, she let him continue. 

 

He smiled wanly.  _ Your mind already perceives that this was likely not only the fault of my wife. When I think back, I try to be honest. I was consumed by the duties of being a King to my people, just as she was consumed with the advantages that marriage to a King could provide. Our early years were happy; we took delight in each other much as you and I do now. There was pleasure, and the enjoyment of companionship. Perhaps we stopped seeing each other as valued partners. Perhaps we each became too mired in our own wants. Perhaps we took our bond for granted. I will not pretend to lay all the blame at her feet when it would be unfair of me to do so. But by the time we sought to have the blessing of a child, there was already distance. I only can say for certain that the day Alassëa conceived was among the last times I was permitted to express physical love to her. We loved our son, and raised him as best we could. Every effort was made to give Legolas the appearance of loving parents; we never fought or disagreed in front of him, and yet some part of me doubts that we erased every trace of the tensions between us. I would imagine that in all this long stretch of time, he unavoidably came to be aware of the truth of the matter, and I can only imagine what he thinks of me. The dissolution of a marital bond is so rare among our kind… _ He shook his head.  _  Distance became resentment, and resentment became antipathy. In the end, she was bitterly unhappy that I would not sail with her, and I was bitterly unhappy that she would not stay at my side.  You see, meluieg,  _ as a tear rolled down his cheek as he stroked her face with his fingers,  _ she was never like you. You face a span of years so brief, and yet your only thought is how you can use all of them for my happiness. She had eternity, and her thoughts were for herself, and for me; to slowly turn increasingly toward the former, with the passage of time. _

 

_ I will not make the same mistakes, Earlene. I will not fail you as I failed her. I will honor you, as you honor me. I could not live with myself if I ever caused you to doubt my love. I wanted to tell you these things because I want you to understand how priceless the gifts you have given me are, in my eyes. I know the pain of losing these, the pain of feeling that the one you believed held your heart now rejects you.  _ He hung his head.  _ I have been given a second chance with you, Earlene, and I am so grateful. _

 

His words felt very real, very honest, and even without her powers of perception, it was palpable, how badly he needed to say them. “I am so sorry, that this terrible experience was yours, Thranduil.” Leaning forward, she gently kissed his tears away. “You found me a virgin. Not only bodily, but in every way. It is not usual, for a human, to reach my age and not ever have had any manner of romantic attachment, however brief. So I had no experience with love, and relationships. But I did have eyes and ears. I watched what others did, and saw their marriages and their partnerships. I saw the many that failed and the few that succeeded, and I hope I learned a few useful things. In real life I have not been tested; I will not pretend that I have, husband. But like you, it is very much on my mind not to fail. I belong to you; there will be no other. I think, I hope, that with this as a priority, that the rest will keep as it should. Do not let the sorrows of your past steal your happiness now. Our love is new, and strong.” 

 

Leaning into him, she held his face in her hands, placing soft kisses on his cheek, and throat, as she felt him relax from her attentions. 

 

“What did you learn?” he said, gently catching her hands. “Your thoughts are diffuse. I would like to know,” he said with great sincerity. 

 

“Well, it seemed to come down to C’s. Or rather, words beginning with the letter C.” She sat back a little. “The couples that succeeded knew how to compromise. How to listen to each other and to find solutions to problems which allowed both to genuinely be content. They communicated. They spoke their hearts to one another. Of course with you, there is little choice for me,” she teased, smoothing back a strand of his hair. “And choosing. As in, choosing your battles. There are times that one person or another feels so very strongly about something, and compromise is not possible. One mate must capitulate to the other; there is no middle ground. Not doing this very often, or not doing this except at great need; that mattered.” She chuckled. “But there again, you are King, and therein have greater power. Yet you have not made my vows to you burdensome,” she said with a shrug. “I have been very happy. You, Thanadir, even Lorna and Ratiri.”

 

Thranduil tilted his head. “You feel greater affinity to Thanadir than to your human friends?” he asked, wishing to be certain of his impressions. 

 

She nodded.

 

“Can I ask, why?”

 

Earlene regarded him carefully. “I have no way of saying this in a manner that will not sound…   No. Let me preface this by saying, I do understand what can and cannot be. The answer to your question is, my spirit is at home with you. With elves, I mean. I would rather be one of you. Not for your gifts or your immortality, but for your hearts. I would rather walk among the trees, or climb in them. When you sing at night under the starlight, it is as if I have everything I ever wanted. When Thanadir teaches me, my spirit feels hungry for the wisdom I hear. I find with every passing week that the world of humans means ever less to me. It is difficult for me to explain. I wanted to go to New York in part, because as Thanadir put it, I was no longer certain who Earlene is. And while I still am not fully certain, I now feel very clear about who Earlene is not. I will not wish to go to New York again, Thranduil. It is over, for me. My life in your forest, and in your Halls, is what I wish to have. To give you children, see your joy, and appreciate our family. There is peace here. Out there.” she gazed into the fire and gestured in an encompassing wave,”...the more things change, the more they stay the same. And not in a way that gives me happiness.”

 

His eyes widened, to listen as she spoke like this. He had seen flickers of it, yes, but to hear this articulated so clearly...he did not know what to say. Their future was ultimately veiled to him, but now Lorna’s words to him in New York rang in his ears. That a woman of her astonishing achievements from a great city of the edain would somehow come to this exact place, and be in possession of her gentle and pliant nature? 

 

“Thank you, for telling me,” he said, running his hands through her hair, unable to resist leaning forward to kiss her lips gently. “I love you Earlene, with all I am.”

 

She returned his kiss, her heart lurching as she remembered the day she initially believed she would never hear those words from him, that he would never feel able to speak them to her.  _ Len melin, Thranduil.  _ Feeling an overwhelming desire to show him attention, she took his face in her hands once again, running her hands through his satin hair, aching for his body. But she refused to rush. Relishing the taste of his skin, she kissed and teased, appreciating every curve of his throat and neck as her dexterous fingers unbuttoned his tunic until his chest was bare to her. Her eyes admired the perfection of his body as she sampled every bit of skin she could manage to find with her lips. With her tongue and lips she pulled gently at his nipples, wondering if it felt the same for him as it did her. The moan that she elicited told her that it at least did something beneficial, which caused her to smile. As her mouth worked its way to his smooth navel, she heard him speak. 

 

“Please meluieg, may I have you?”  His hands reached to her waist, and the look of pleading in his eyes was not one she could refuse. Without comment, she rose and unlaced the bodice of her dress, until it was loose enough for her to remove. Standing next to her, Thranduil helped slide it over her head, and laid it on a chair. Her hands eased his tunic off  his shoulders; catching the fabric easily as she stepped behind him. Her fingers quickly glided around to undo his breeches, exposing the evidence of his desire. Boots and what remained on either of them were quickly removed, leaving them to face each other in open admiration of their beauty. 

 

Earlene offered her hand to him, tilting her head as she smiled. “Do you remember what you said to me, after you fully claimed my body for the first time?”

 

He swept her up unto his arms, holding her close to him. His warm smile was tinged with the sweetest hint of chagrin. “I believe you are referring to my telling you, that you were mine?”

 

She nodded. “I am yours, my Lord. By the laws of your people, and now by the laws of mine as well. You are my King, and my husband; I freely give you all that I have, today and for all my tomorrows. Take my body for your desire, for your comfort, and for your joy.

 

Thranduil laid her on the bed carefully as he admired her. His hand caressed her belly as he parted her legs. The sight of her desire beckoned him and his pale hair draped across her thighs as he tasted her, intoxicating his senses. He, too recalled their first time, and the thought of it made his need almost unbearable. His hand swept over her belly and he gasped in delight. It was very early yet, but he could unmistakably feel a slight swelling. His daughters were growing, and strong. “Meluieg”, he paused, his eyes shining with delight. “I can feel them. Just barely.”

 

She slid her own hand down, and could also detect a firmness that was not present before. “Thranduil,” she said, her eyes shining with love and joy as she looked up at him. He could wait no longer, and guided his manhood into her welcoming passage. With a catch to his breath, he had to pause. So great was his excitement, his orgasm was ready to burst. Earlene guessed the cause. “Let yourself go, my love. I know you will not leave me wanting. Let me enjoy the experience of your pleasure.” He looked hesitant. “Please?”

 

Relenting, he leaned down to kiss her tenderly as he backed nearly out of her before thrusting deeply. He groaned, gave another, and his body went rigid as she felt him pulsing inside of her. She found it erotic beyond belief, to so clearly feel and watch his enjoyment in the absence of her own. He felt the tension increase in her strong thighs as her arousal increased. As he breathed heavily, he found that this release had done nothing beyond take the edge off of his lust. Tonight, he wanted a great deal more. He arched his back to reach her breasts, suckling at them. First the right, then the left. They were perfect, shapely, firm. 

 

_ Why does that feel so good now?  _ She could not speak, as she pushed her breast against his mouth, for the enjoyment it gave her.

_ Your body is preparing for children, meluieg. This will help speed the process; I will do this often now. Relax, let your mind imagine you are feeding our daughters. Imagine milk flowing from your breasts. Embrace with your feelings the pleasure this gives.  _

 

She did her best to imagine. It was hard, to imagine what she had never felt before. But she did remember gran’s cow, the way the animal could hold in the milk when she was upset or when she wished to express her discontentment. And also how the milk would leak from her udder, flowing right into the pail, when she was relaxed and happy with her calf nearby. Letting her thoughts go free, she did as he asked, almost not noticing that he was now gently moving inside of her. The stimulation did not let up, and she clutched at his arms, the bedclothes, even his hair as her sensations added and multiplied. A soft ‘click’ distracted her, and she felt more of the slick lubricant drizzled on the breast he was not nursing at; soon the gentle and steady massage of his hand was tending to that nipple as well. Perhaps she was about to discover if it was possible to burst from feeling too good. When her heat was reaching a fevered pitch, he left off and placed this same slickness on her other breast. Lowering himself against her, grunts of appreciation bespoke of his own delight in feeling his chest slide over her breasts. “I love you, Earlene,” he repeated as his lips brushed against hers, asking. Her mouth opened to admit his sweeping tongue as he gently but steadily drove her to orgasm. Her euphoria left her delirious, as her fingers twined in the hair behind his neck, thanking him over and over before pausing. 

 

_ Are you near to more pleasure, for yourself? _

He smiled, and nodded, while she frowned in concentration, trying to squeeze down on him as she tugged at his hips with her hands, insisting.

 

_ Meluieg, I do not need to… _

 

_ I do _ , he heard back. With surprising strength, she held him and rolled both of them over still joined, so that she was on top, her breasts swaying temptingly near. With a moan of  capitulation he latched onto her as she drove down on him. She could hardly get enough of this, or of the extra suction he seemed to apply as he reached his second release. 

 

He folded his arms around her, pulling her close as he felt radiant joy. “Eru has blessed us, Earlene,” he whispered.

 

Earlene had been reading. On the computer mostly, but also she had begun in earnest, already finishing the Hobbit and was well into the Lord of the Rings. Words tumbled out that would have stunned her, even a few months ago. “The Valar as well, my King.” It was no longer possible to deny the evidence of her life; the gift of everything about the elves, who did not lie. Her children...just, everything. She had never believed in anything, but now truly believed in this.

 

“The Valar as well,” he echoed softly. He played with a strand of her glossy hair. “Your hair is longer now,” he said appreciatively.

 

“I felt you would wish that I stop cutting it,” she nodded. “None of you seem to, and I would prefer to be as you are.”

 

He sat up, easily bringing her with him, carrying her to the pool. They spent many minutes there, quietly conversing, giving tender caresses, and relishing their closeness. Finally he lifted her out and dried her, wrapping her in a soft robe. “I have something for you, Earlene, a gift. Two somethings, actually, but for the other we must wait until tomorrow.”

 

Her face fell. “I have nothing for you, Thranduil...I did not think…”

 

“No meluieg,” he said, kneeling in front of her. “Earlene, you are all the gift I need in this world,” he said, kissing her belly. “This is something small, something I hoped you would enjoy.”

 

He brought her to the next room where a stack of bound leather volumes rested on a table; she’d not taken note of them earlier. “These are for you,” he said. “I hoped we might read them together.”

 

“Complete works of….oh, my,” she said, realizing now what this was. “Tolkien.”

 

“Ratiri helped me order these. He was very excited,” Thranduil smiled. “ _ Very _ excited.”

 

Earlene chuckled, able to imagine all too well. “Thank you,” she said, sincerely delighted. “This is very thoughtful.”

 

“I believe we will all understand some things more clearly, after these are learned. Or at least, I hope to.”

 

“I am growing tired, but maybe just a few pages?” she asked hopefully. 

 

He nodded, and swept her into his arms again, with the book held against her. Opening it, she frowned; there were words written in Tengwar around the borders of the page but she recognized few of them.

 

_ “There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made. And he spoke to them, propounding to them themes of music; and they sang before him, and he was glad.” _

 

“Ilúvatar?” said Earlene, confused.

 

“Iladar, meluieg. I would guess that much of what you will see here will be words in Quenya, the language of the Noldorin elves.”

 

Earlene nodded, and continued reading.

 

*************

 

Lorna did know from experience that trying to get clothes off while drunk was a somewhat awkward, proposition, but at least she got Ratiri’s off without actually ripping any of them. He, naturally, had been far more careful.

 

In spite of everything, she couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. She no longer had the dent in her side, or the scar on her chest, but she also had next to nothing for a figure. Christ, at forty years old she still wore a damn training-bra.

 

Even through his alcohol-induced haze, he managed to notice this. “Didn’t I tell you you were like a fae?” he asked, looking down at her. “Fairies don’t have curves. They wouldn’t be at all aerodynamic.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, all unease forgotten. It was such a  _ Ratiri  _ thing to say, and it made her run her hands up his chest, smooth and brown and surprisingly hairless for someone who was half Scottish. “Why am I afraid you’ll someday try to design me actual working wings?”

 

“Because you know me,” he said, and kissed her again. They were both learning, figuring each other out, and if it involved a few bumped noses and one clash of teeth, it was worth it.

 

She  _ was  _ smart enough, even drunk, to worry a little about the Tab A into Slot B end of things, because she was tiny and he was...very much not. Add in now long it had been for her…

 

“Don’t worry,” he said, when she voiced her uncertainty. Jesus, his voice had dropped to a register that made her toes curl. “If I’m good at nothing else, I  _ am  _ good at this.” He worked his way down her body, and yes, he managed to tickle her sides again, but she didn’t mind. Her wine-addled brain actually didn’t take his meaning until he reached his destination, and then --  _ oh _ .

 

“Jesus bloody…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, because while she’d thought his fingers were talented, they had nothing on his tongue. Lorna had never exactly been vocal during sex, but holy  _ shit _ . She’d already had a battery-operated friend at home, but it wasn’t a patch on --

 

Her vision quite unexpectedly went white, almost agonizing pleasure hitting her out of nowhere. She was pretty sure she pulled some of his hair out, but good  _ grief _ ...he could be such a shy man that she wouldn’t have expected he could do that at all.

 

“Where the hell did you learn  _ that _ ?” she asked, shivering.

 

Ratiri smirked at her. “I  _ am  _ a doctor,” he said. “I know how anatomy works.”

 

“Evidently,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “So, okay, how the hell are we going to do this? Because you’re giant-sized, and I’m…”

 

“Wee,” he finished for her. In truth, he hadn’t thought that far ahead; he couldn’t think that far ahead, not with this lovely, hazy warmth in his mind. “We’ll just have to get creative, now won’t we?”

 

“There’s a sentence that never ends well,” she snickered. “All right, doctor. Let’s get creative.”

 

Even drunk as he was, Ratiri knew he had to be very careful. He wasn’t going any further until his fingers had had a chance to do a little more work, and since Lorna seemed to enjoy kissing him without expectation of more, kiss her he did, stroking and exploring. Yes, she bit his lip at one point, and yes, she really did seem to like pulling his hair, but the sounds he drew from her throat were worth it. And yet, in the background, things exploded on the computer screen, a strange counterpoint that was, he had to admit, oddly erotic. What that said about him, he didn’t want to know.

 

He jumped a bit when Lorna broke the kiss, a trifle breathless, and latched onto his neck, tasting him with a fervor that momentarily made him forget what he was doing. Oh God...he was going to have the hickey from hell tomorrow, and he didn’t care. At all. 

 

“You,” she said, “taste good. Really, really good.” And he did -- spicy and clean and male, some odd combination that was purely Ratiri.

 

“Please don’t rip my throat out,” he groaned, resuming his ministrations, though they were somewhat more unsteady now that she insisted on distracting him like this.

 

“Blood doesn’t float my boat,” she assured him, moving to the line of jaw. Her breath, wine-sweet, was hot against his skin, and he shuddered, wanting nothing more than to just get on with things, but she was tiny and she’d gone without for eleven years. This was not going to be a swift process.

 

Unfortunately for both of them, the laptop chose that moment to ring out with, “MEDIOCRE!” in the strident voice of Immortan Joe, and both of them burst out laughing, quite jerked out of the moment. Lorna flailed a bit and shut it, scarcely able to breathe she was laughing so hard.

 

“So,” Ratiri said, wheezing, “I have an idea. Come with me.” He rolled off the bed, and Lorna took a moment to appreciate that his arse was indeed incredibly fantastic without trousers. He picked up a lamp, and she followed him, confused, as he led her into the bathroom.

 

“You haven’t done this in so long,” he said, setting the lamp on the counter and leading her into the tub. “Hot water relaxes many things.”

 

She arched an eyebrow, her arms winding around his neck. “Oh  _ does  _ it?”

 

“Yes,” he said, fingers back at work as he kissed her again, “it does.”

 

It did feel more relaxing, and she explored the expanse of his skin almost lazily, tasting where and when she felt like it. The pace of his fingers increased, and she abruptly bit his jaw when a second climax took her by total surprise. Mercifully, she hadn’t made him bleed, but when she leaned back, there were definite teeth-marks. “Sorry,” she cringed, running her thumb just beneath the mark.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he groaned, and she felt him shiver. Wait, did he  _ like  _ that? She filed that bit of speculation away for later. “Are you ready?”

 

“I’d better be,” she said. “I think I’ll lose my bloody mind if we stop now.”

 

Ratiri kissed her forehead, and looked at her seriously. “Lorna, I want you to tell me if this hurts,” he said. “I mean it. Don’t ignore it and think it will go away. We can go as slow as you need to.”

 

His concern warmed her more than the water, and she ran her thumb along his cheek. “I will,” she promised.

 

They  _ did  _ have to go slowly, because Lorna’s battery-operated friend had been for external use. Internal use hadn’t happened in over a decade, and it probably took them a good ten minutes to get there, and another ten of stillness, to give her body the chance to adjust. Their height difference wasn’t so great it kept them from kissing, so kiss they did, slow and lazy, though the urgency grew when he finally, carefully, moved. Even then they went slowly, but oh Christ, Lorna had forgot what this felt like, this union. She was going to be sore as hell tomorrow, there was no way around that, but she sure as hell wasn’t sore  _ now. _ She wanted to go faster, harder, but even through her intoxication she knew that was a terrible idea.

 

Slow they went, but his deft doctor’s fingers made up for any lack of pace, and this time she sank her teeth into his shoulder, her blunt nails digging into his back. This climax was shockingly strong, so much more so than the others, and she felt rather than heard him groan, brought over the edge by her.

 

“I was hoping I could hold out longer than that,” he said, the words a warm breath against her hair.

 

Lorna leaned back to look at him. “Ratiri,” she said, beyond sated, “you got me off three bloody times. Don’t beat yourself up.”

 

That seemed to mollify him a bit. “If you say so,” he said, helping her from the tub. Fortunately the elves kept her stocked with more towels than any one person could sanely need, and soon enough they were dried off. Ratiri sat and combed her hair before the fire, a soothing action that he enjoyed quite a bit as well. He’d wanted this, wanted  _ her _ , and never dared hope he had a chance.

 

He was sober enough now to wonder if she would want him to stay, but she didn’t leave him wondering long; hair combed, she grabbed his hand and led him to her bed, plastering herself against his side like an overgrown cat once they were beneath the covers. It wasn’t long before sleep had pulled them both into darkness.

 

*************

 

Lorna woke the next morning with a surprisingly mild morning-after, though she froze when she realized she wasn’t alone, momentarily unable to remember just what the hell she’d done last night.

 

Memory hit her like a truck, and with it, terror.  _ She  _ didn’t regret what had happened the previous night, but what if Ratiri did? They’d both been drunk. Maybe he’d done something he hadn’t actually wanted to.

 

By the sound of his breathing, though, he was already awake. Halfway dreading what she’d find if she met his eyes, she raised hers anyway.

 

There was awkwardness in his, yes, but no regret. “Hi,” he said, and winced at how inane it sounded. Fortunately, Lorna giggled.

 

“Hi,” she returned, stretching, and winced a bit. Oh, yep, sore. Not terribly so, given how careful they’d been, but the fact remained she’d had something rather large in an area that hadn’t had anything but a tampon in it for twelve years. No way around a little soreness.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?”

 

She shook her head. “No. It was just a bit’v stretching I’m not used to, if you take my meaning.”

 

Incredibly, Ratiri actually  _ blushed _ . Oh God, that was beyond precious. He was a cinnamon roll, too pure for this world. “Sorry,” he said, running his fingers through her hair.

 

“Don’t be,” Lorna said, arching an eyebrow. “Trust me, it was worth it.”

 

Something in her tone made him burst out laughing, but Lorna winced a bit. “Oh God,” she groaned.

 

“What?”

 

“Thranduil’s going to know what we did. He won’t tease us, but he’ll  _ know _ .” Then again, given the rather impressive hickey she’d left Ratiri with,  _ everyone  _ was going to know. She really wasn’t glad she hadn’t drawn blood when she bit him last night.

 

That only made Ratiri blush even darker. “Oh, wonderful,” he groaned. “Hopefully he won’t say anything. I can’t handle being teased and questioned. This is...ours. Not theirs.”

 

“Let’s see if we can keep it that way,” Lorna said, rising and wincing a bit. “If we don’t get dressed in a hurry, whoever comes and deals with the fire in the morning’s going to get a nasty bloody shock.”

 

**************

 

Earlene woke with something soft wiping on her nose over and over. “Mmmstill sleepy, Thranduil,” she murmured, stretching luxuriously while snuggling further against his warmth. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. “Please, myLrrrrd?” she said, sighing. 

 

Thranduil, who cradled his sleeping wife in his arms, began shaking with laughter. Earlene had not opened her eyes. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. 

 

“I will wake up,” she said with more conviction and a deep sigh, since it seemed to be his obvious wish. Wipe. Wipe. Her eyes opened and crossed, to see an orange paw about to swipe across her nose. “Ohhhhh….” she moaned. “I should have known. My little mischief maker.”  Reaching out with her finger to caress his still small (but growing) face, Tail erupted in ecstatic purrs, stepping up and down as he treaded blissfully on the soft coverings.

 

He could contain his mirth no longer and openly laughed, covering her face with soft kisses. “Good morning, sweet one. My lawfully wedded wife,” he said, with a countenance full of joy. 

 

She returned his kiss, already hearing the clinking of tableware in the outer room. Hugging him again, she grunted. “I had thought that once I was pregnant, I might not want you so much. I did not know what to expect. I want you more than ever”, she confessed, looking at him hungrily and yet knowing that Thanadir had brought their meal.

 

“I had pleasure twice last night, you only once,” he said quietly. “Allow me just a moment.” With a gentle nudging aside of the kitten, he swiftly evened the score. 

 

“You are nothing if not considerate,” she joked, with gratitude at the warm satisfaction in her loins. “And good at math.”

 

Laughing again, he helped her into a less elaborate dress than the one she’d worn yesterday, and quickly combed her hair for her. Thanadir’s roses had, alas, fallen victim to last night’s time in the bathing pool. Radiant with happiness, they walked out to greet the much-loved seneschal.

 

“Good morning, my Lord,” said Earlene, sincerely glad to see him as always. “Did you know about the beautiful books I was given, Thanadir?” she said excitedly. “I hope to be far less ignorant, soon.”

 

He stopped what he was doing to quickly hug her, in a gesture of familial affection. “I did see them, and I hope to read them as well. They are lovely.” Something about the way he was smiling at her seemed...odd, but, this was Thanadir. One rarely knew what was in his thoughts, exactly.

 

Thranduil smiled. “I believe Lorna and Ratiri will be here in a moment,” he said, as he took it upon himself to begin pouring tea for everyone. In a few moments the two knocks came, and their friends ambled into the room, smiling. Thanadir was just moving around the table to distribute the elven sporks (was there actually a word for those? Because Earlene was fairly certain it wasn’t ‘sporks’ in Sindarin) when he looked up to greet them and dropped all of them onto a plate with a clatter.

 

“Ai!” the seneschal cried, rushing to Lorna and dropping to one knee to carefully embrace her, tears springing to his eyes. Earlene watched him, wondering if he’d lost his mind.  _ Thanadir? Hugging Lorna? _ Ratiri’s expression seemed to betray the same worry. In the next moment, with tears in his eyes, the old elf rushed from the room with something very like a muffled sob escaping him. Earlene looked to Thranduil with helpless confusion; Lorna had frozen in complete bafflement. The King stood up, his eyes wide in amazement, as he stepped around the table, looking from Lorna to Ratiri and back again.

 

Still frozen in bewilderment, Lorna asked, “What in God’s bloody name was  _ that _ ?” Thanadir was always courteous with offering his arm, but he’d never come anywhere close to actually hugging her. Was he drunk? Had he lost his mind? Could elves even  _ lose  _ their minds? Ratiri looked like he was wondering the same thing.

 

“Lorna,” Thranduil said softly, his eyes shining with happiness. “You are pregnant. With twins. Allow me to be the second to express my joy to both of you.” He knelt down to kiss her forehead briefly, understanding that she did not know. Had not known…

 

Lorna felt all the blood drain from her face. She’d been told, years ago, that she’d never be able to get pregnant again. It was the only reason she’d been willing to do anything without a condom. She cast a look at Ratiri, who looked as grey-faced as she was sure she did.

 

Both of them sat -- her on the sofa, him on an armchair, unable to speak. Far too many thoughts swirled through Lorna’s head, none of them pleasant: she was forty years old, she’d already miscarried once, but  _ what the hell was she going to do with twins? _ She knew next to nothing about babies, and Ratiri -- Jesus, they weren’t at the point where they were ready to be parents. Not yet, not so soon. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d be there for her, but kids in any relationship changed things, and theirs had just started. Oh, she wanted these children, because she’d wanted children ever since she lost Saoirse, but this was both totally unexpected and totally terrifying.

 

Ratiri, for his part, was beyond frightened, and for partially the same reason: Lorna was forty, and twins had a higher rate of miscarriage than most knew, because it usually happened so early on in a pregnancy the woman might not even know she was pregnant. Often they just thought they were having a slightly late, unusually heavy period.

 

Lorna, however, looked like she was about to have a panic attack, and he had practically no idea what to do about it. He was so stunned himself that he was all but incapable of speech; all he could manage was to lay his hand on hers, hoping he could reassure her that he was not going anywhere, ever.

 

Thranduil saw. And heard. He hurried to kneel in front of Lorna, carefully taking her hand. “Please forgive me,” he said, with great sincerity. “I did not think about your perspective. If you never believe another thing I ever say to you, please believe this. You have my promise that I will do all in my power for your health and the health of your children. We are here for you, both of you. I would never allow any harm to come to you, Lorna, if I could prevent it. More than anything I want to see you feel the joy you deserve, my friend.” His hand reached up to carefully caress her cheek, afraid to say or do too much, but wanting so badly for the shock and fear he saw in her to be assuaged. 

 

Lorna had only one question. “Can you promise me I won’t miscarry?” Terrifying as this prospect was -- because she was so damn unprepared, so far  _ beyond  _ unprepared -- losing them would destroy her.

 

That was the foremost thing on Ratiri’s mind, too. A miscarriage at her age wouldn’t just be devastating, it could be dangerous.

 

He reached his hand toward her, and then hesitated. “May I touch you?” he asked. “On your lower belly,” he clarified, waiting for her response. “I would need you to move your clothing down, just a little.”

 

She did not appear utterly happy with the request, but did as he asked. So small was her body, he laid three fingers over her womb and closed his eyes, concentrating. “Your body is as sound and whole as could be wished, here,” he said, “and the fae of the children are strong,” he smiled. “Lorna, I cannot promise you that there could not be an accident; a physical mishap when you are elsewhere. I can promise you that I will oversee the health of your pregnancy on each occasion you are with me, and heal anything that was amiss. I cannot control every moment of your existence, though. I can only promise so far as what I can actually...do.”

 

Relief washed through her, so intense it was almost dizzying. “If everything’s as it should be in there, I ought to be okay,” she said. “Christ. Thank you for that -- I’d never be done worrying, otherwise.” She didn’t think she need worry now, though. The women in her family tended to handle pregnancy and childbirth well; Mairead had had four, and their mam had five, all without incident. But they had told her, in hospital, that she’d never conceive again...she gave Thranduil a look that bordered on suspicious. Happy, yet suspicious. “I bet you fixed that and didn’t even know you were doing it.”

 

“Side-effect healing?” Ratiri questioned, much of his tension draining.

 

The King’s eyes widened. “I did not ever...I did not know that you had been told this, nor did I seek to heal this about you. But...there has been a great deal of intervention from me and it is not at all out of the realm of possibility,” he confessed. “For your joy, I am very happy. For what I now realize is perhaps not the timing you had wished for….” he shrugged, helplessly. “We are all in this together?” he said, rising. “Allanah will have playmates,” he said, his eyes lighting up with eagerness.

 

Earlene rose up, having sat in stunned silence for much of this time. “I am so happy for you,” she said, going to Lorna. This time, she was getting a hug, issues or not. That Lorna hugged her back, caused her to blink back tears. She went to Ratiri next. What a wonderful two days this was turning out to be!

 

Thanadir returned, having apparently regained his composure. His face was beatific. “Five little ones, Thanadir. Are you sure you can manage?” Thranduil teased.

 

“Manage?” said Thanadir, incredulous. “I am overjoyed. You know I love children,” he said, half indignant.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, mainly at his tone. “You don’t know what I was like as a child, Thanadir,” she said. “If these two’re anything like me, you’ll want to tear your hair out. We are -- I guess we are in this together,” she added, looking from him to Thranduil to Ratiri. Ratiri, who...oh dear. She groaned. “You are going to get so,  _ so  _ many Shovel Talks.” Oh, this was going to be a nightmare if she didn’t nip it in the bud straight off.

 

A little of the color drained from his face. He knew Baile, by now; it wouldn’t just be empty threats. “Oh brilliant,” he said. “What sex are the twins?” he asked Thranduil. “Lorna, do you want to know?”

 

“Yeah,” she said. “I need to know if I’ve got to get workers back out to my bloody cottage.”

 

“A male and a female,” he answered softly.

 

“Four girls and one boy?” said Earlene. “Oh, that poor lad…” she sighed. “Well, that’s final. It’s time we discuss what we are doing here, as well. My cottage is officially sunk. There has to be a place with room for all of us. And I mean, all of us. Everyone in this room, Allanah, and probably three or four others I don’t know about yet.”

 

“But...there is room for all, here,” said Thanadir, not understanding.

 

“There will be people from the government. The children might have human friends. The children will require the trappings of a human home, in order to be able to function with the outer world. I do not see how to avoid needing a second dwelling place. I am afraid I am faced with either completely remodeling my cottage to add on many rooms, or constructing an entirely new dwelling to serve the needs of our growing family,” said Earlene.

 

Thranduil nodded. “Earlene is correct, Thanadir. The Halls are for...us, alone. There must be a place for us to exist for...human needs, so to speak. A place large enough for us to live there, when we are not living here. This is our sanctuary, but it does not serve every purpose. But we have much time, in which to consider these things, and our breakfast should be eaten,” he said, inviting all of them to the table. Today there was a...they were a bit like crumpets, and they were delicious, served with butter and a fruit compote.

 

Earlene bit into hers. “This butter…” she said, as her eyes widened. “This is wonderful…”  _ Had they ordered dairy, on the last produce order? _ She frowned, not understanding. Thranduil and Thanadir and Lorna exchanged sidewise glances, which Earlene did not see. 

 

“After breakfast, meluieg, I want to show you the rest of your present.” She looked up at Thranduil and smiled, and forgot all about her crumpet.

 

Quite abruptly, crumpet halfway to her mouth, Lorna groaned. “I can’t drink,” she said, horrified. “I  _ can’t drink _ .” That...well,  _ shit _ . Yeah, she’d been off it while she was pregnant with Saoirse, but she’d only  _ known  _ she was pregnant for two months. She certainly hadn’t spent nine months basically forbidden any substances that were actually fun.

 

“I am sure you will live,” Ratiri said. “If it will make you feel any better, I’ll abstain, too. We can be miserable teetotallers together.” Coming from a Scottish man, that wasn’t an empty statement. He was still slightly in shock, the full weight of this revelation not yet having fully sunken in. This was a massive, irrevocably life-changing thing that had come out of  _ nowhere _ , and while he wanted those children every bit as much as Lorna, he had no idea what this meant for them -- and didn’t know how to ask. She always claimed she was the one who was bad at using her words, but he was not, at times, much better at it himself. He knew what he wanted, but he needed to know what  _ she  _ wanted, and he had to ask without coming off as pushy. She was as unprepared as he was, and the last thing he wanted to do was smother her.


	40. Forty

“Your present is back at the cottage, Earlene,” Thranduil said with a hint of mischief. 

 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything, Thranduil. You’ve given me everything I could want,” she smiled, her hand moving down to the slight bulge that she relished now being able to feel. “Though, I really do like the books. Which I hear were in part your doing, Ratiri, so thank you as well,” she said kindly. “Orla is coming this morning to look at the electronic security, don’t forget.”

 

Thranduil nodded and grinned at her, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere, not that she blamed him in the least. It was shaping up to be a glorious summer day, and she was looking forward very much to thinking about...housing. And nurseries.  _ Five children. Throw in the cat, and they were the Brady Bunch, albeit a rather warped and multinational version. _ The thought made her giggle a little, as she glanced at her husband. Who obviously did not know what the Brady Bunch was, and fortunately seemed willing to forego finding out, at least for the moment. When they emerged from the woods, Earlene took the usual path toward her back door, only to have Thranduil tug against her. 

 

“This way, meluieg.”

 

“My present is in the barn?” she said, baffled. Three of the five of them were nodding heads at her. “Ah. A conspiracy, I see?” Furtive looks from Lorna caused her to chuckle until she entered the barn door. “You got me more chicks?” she guessed hopefully. “I’d been thinking that what we have won’t be…” The words died on her lips. “Oh!” she said, her mouth agape. A beautiful, dainty Jersey cow was standing in the barn, which had been transformed with a thick bed of straw and heavy wooden railings for a pen. And at her side was an even more adorable little heifer calf, that did not look more than three weeks old. She hesitated, not wishing to startle the animal.

 

“Go ahead, she is very gentle,” said Thanadir. “I will go with you.” 

 

Earlene gracefully climbed through the rails to let the animal smell her, as the limpid dark eyes considered her with mild interest, searching out a treat. The seneschal pressed a small apple into her hand, which was taken by the dextrous tongue with the expected amount of slobber. “She is beautiful,” she sighed, besotted. “What is her name?”

 

“Buttercup,” said Thanadir softly.

 

Earlene and Lorna looked at each other and said in stereo “The Pwiiiiiiiincesssss Buttercup,” before giggling uncontrollably.

 

“Oh, by Eru,” said Thranduil, exasperated. 

 

Laughing, Earlene returned to him, kissing him full on the lips. “I promise, no more Princess Bride jokes when you are near,” she said, at which he looked mildly mollified. “The butter at breakfast….?” 

 

The King laughed. “I told  you she would figure it out, meldir,” he said to Thanadir, who smiled in defeat, nodding. 

 

“I think tea is in order, while we talk about cows, babies, houses, and milking duties,” Earlene said, smiling, eagerly looking forward to asking a great many more questions. “And thank you, so much. I hope we all will enjoy what she will give us.”

 

“There are already many who will help, Earlene. I did not expect you to care for her alone,” the King said. “Them, alone. For soon enough there will be two to milk, or so I am told.”

 

“You have a little while yet for that,” she smirked. “But...real milk. It’s...orgasmic.” And it  _ was _ , compared to that shite in the cartons, in her estimation.

 

Passing behind Thranduil, Lorna muttered, very quietly, “Mostly dead is still slightly alive.” Behind  _ her _ , Ratiri fought a snort, and lost. 

 

******

 

Outside an engine could be heard pulling into the drive. “That’d be Orla, I think?” asked Earlene. A work van with a company logo could be seen out the window, but Earlene decided it might be wiser to let Lorna greet her. They were friends, after all.

 

Lorna hadn’t actually seen Orla in years, but the woman hadn’t changed much. She stood a full six feet tall, well-muscled, tattoos of various sorts coiled around her arms, with a short ponytail of hair as pale as Thranduil’s. Her eyes were a blue so dark it was jarring, especially given how pale her eyebrows were. She wore jeans and a man’s tank top, and she was already eying the available land.

 

“Either you’ve got taller or I’ve got shorter,” Lorna said, and made a rather undignified squawking sound when Orla pulled her in for a hug.

 

“Maybe both,” the woman said. “Now, you said you’ve got more than one job for me.” One of those white eyebrows arched, and the glee of a challenge, one Lorna had seen all too often as a teenager, lurked in her eyes.

 

“I do,” she said, “but I’m not the only one. C’mon and meet everyone.” She led Orla into the cottage, first checking her boots. “You lot, this is Orla -- she and I go way back. Orla, this is Earlene and Fionn -- they’re the ones that own the cottage -- and Cian, who’s Fionn’s brother.” She gave Thanadir a somewhat pointed look, communicating as best she could that he needed to stick to the script. Orla wasn’t an idiot; you didn’t get to be as good with computers as she was by being a dim one.

 

“Grand to meet the lot’v you,” Orla said, her eyes traveling over them one by one, cataloging absolutely everything. She’d always been their lookout when she was a teenager, because she noticed things. It was only a mercy she was such hard-headed skeptic, and would write off anything she thought of as impossible.

 

“Pleased to meet you too,” said Earlene, immediately taking the measure of Orla, approving of what she saw. This one paid attention, very careful attention, and Earlene liked that a great deal. Thranduil and Thanadir also shook her hand. It was a foregone conclusion that tea would be accepted. 

 

“So what’s it you’re in the market for?” Orla asked, as direct as Lorna remembered. “Lorna here says it’s a double job.”

 

Earlene nodded. “Yes. We met someone on a recent trip to the States who is a very dangerous individual. Wealthy, powerful, connected. We have reason to fear we might not have seen the last of him. I worked over there as a lawyer, and know just enough to realize that someone good can cut through the usual electronic protections like a knife through butter. I want two things. I need information on this bastard not traceable to us here, and I want this place to be as impervious as reasonably possible to...excuse my not knowing all the right terms, but ‘cybersnooping’ seems to fit what I mean. And we might want a house built, but, one thing at a time,” she grinned.

 

Orla returned the grin, though hers was positively wolfish. “Lorna’d said it was something like that,” she said. “Two seconds.” She went back to her van, and Lorna glanced after her somewhat nervously. She knew that expression;  _ someone  _ was going to have a very bad day, but at least it wasn’t going to be them.

 

When Orla returned, she had a somewhat dingy cardboard cardboard carton. When she opened it, it showed what looked like a modem built by Doctor Frankenstein, the plastic casing removed to allow for a mass of wires and more than one chip of some sort. “This is your new best friend,” she said. “Anybody who tries to lock onto your signal will have it bounced back to them, but if they even come anywhere near your wifi, I’ve not done my job right, and that’s never yet happened. You’ll be cycled randomly through servers and ip addresses around the world -- nobody’ll trace you. It’d be a wild goose-chase.” She set the thing on the table. “I’ll get it hooked up for you, and if you give me anything at all you know about this bastard, and I’ll find all I can. Might take me a week or so, given the legit business and all, and going at it a more roundabout way.”

 

“Not a problem,” said Earlene. “We’re just grateful to have someone who can manage this.” She handed Orla a piece of paper that had very little written on it:  _ Raoul von Ratched. Approx 6’ 5“ tall, pale blond hair, extremely pale eyes. Business associate of Michael Sandgraust, New York City, NY. _ “That’s all I have, but I will be astonished if that is not more than enough.”

 

“It’s more than enough,” Orla said, folding the paper and tucking it into her pocket. “If I’ve got the one associate, I can find the rest. Twat won’t know anyone’s looking for him if his name isn’t what’s getting searched for.”

 

“Good luck,” Lorna said. “Don’t get caught.”

 

*****

 

Lorna passed her hand over her stomach, still uncertain if she was excited, uneasy, or some tense combination of both. There was so much to think about -- not just the cottage, or baby supplies, or anything like that, but...well, shit. How were she and Ratiri to do this? She liked him immensely, yes, but they weren’t at the ‘in love’ stage just yet, and she hoped he didn’t feel like he had to try to rush into that or anything. It would make sense for him to move in with her -- Christ, he spent so much of his free time at her cottage anyway -- but would he want to? Could she handle it if he did? She’d lived alone for the last five years, and Gran always said that people who lived alone got weird and set in their ways -- and she’d know, since she’d done it for twenty years. Just...oh, Jesus. At least her family lived to be as old as the damn hills, so they wouldn’t wind up orphans by the time they were thirty.

 

But, most pressingly at the moment, she couldn’t drink. God dammit. 

 

Aloud, she said, “Real milk really can’t be beat. Old Dermot, he’s almost the age Gran was when she died, he has a side-business selling raw milk in the village on the sly. It’s not legal to sell in Ireland, but like that stops him. Only trouble when I lived with Gran is she always scooped all the cream off for her tea unless I beat her to the bottle in the morning.”

 

“Your grandmother sounds more and more like mine,” Ratiri said, squeezing past and out into the lounge. He wasn’t used to being around many people who were even close to his height, let alone as tall as him, and maneuvering in a smaller space took some creativity. Poor Lorna, so terribly short compared to all of them. Big Jamie had told him that was why she liked staring at blokes’ arses a lot -- she had a good view from so far down. Ratiri had laughed until he nearly choked, especially when Jamie went on to add that she gave his a perusal every time he wasn’t looking.

 

“I like your gran already, and Dermot too,” Earlene said. “I won’t even want food anymore, just park me in the barn with a glass. And a teacup.” She beamed with happiness.  _ All this lovely food! _

 

But as she looked at Lorna, her thoughts shifted. “I’m not going to say a word to anyone else until you say it’s ok, just so you know. I wanted some time to settle into the idea and you deserve the same.”

 

“We can’t realistically tell anyone for about another month and a half,” Ratiri said, looking from her to Lorna. “Under normal circumstances, it would take about that long for you to work it out naturally. What terrifies me is your sister.”

 

“My sister terrifies everyone,” Lorna sighed. “She’ll not give you too much grief, though. God, I don’t know why I’m scared’v this, but I am, a bit. Earlene, you actually planned yours, right? You had warning?”

 

Earlene looked at Thranduil.  _ Do you mind? _ A smile and a shake of the head that he did not gave her permission. 

 

“More than that. He kept me from getting pregnant. When we began our relationship, he promised me that if I wanted a child one day he would give me one, but that it would be my decision. I’ll be honest, what drove this into the forefront of my mind was Allanah. You saw Aidan. I...I couldn’t live with the idea that I’d be saddled with his child, and not one of my own. Don’t get me wrong, I will love that little girl to the best of my ability. But Aidan and I have too much history, you haven’t been told the half of it. So I made my decision, and, well, here we are,” she smiled. “But even though I knew what was going to happen, it still took time to get used to the notion. If it is any consolation, what made me just as happy that day was seeing Thanadir. He responded the same way to me as he did with you. Though, come to think of it, you might have gotten a bigger reaction,” she teased. “I think he had more sporks to drop.”

 

Surprised, the seneschal looked up and smiled at her, not realizing she’d felt that way.

 

“Wait,  _ wait _ ,” Lorna said, eying Thranduil. “You’ve basically got at-will birth control? Jesus you lot got the long end’v the stick, didn’t you?” She was a little disturbed by Earlene’s language, the ‘being saddled with’ in particular, but then, it was Aidan. That gobshite was the poster-boy for gobshites, and the kid had his coloring. Hopefully she wouldn’t look much else like him, or she’d be a right ugly little one, poor thing. “This...I don’t know how long it’ll take to get used to it. I didn’t think it was even  _ possible _ , so...yeah. Bit freaked out.” And she wasn’t about to admit that Thanadir hugging her seemingly out of nowhere had only freaked her out even more. Poor bloke was just being happy.

 

Ratiri wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m still bloody terrified,” he said, looking down at her. “That won’t last. Every parent with a surprise baby feels that way at first. Trust me. At least neither of us fainted -- and yes, I’ve seen that happen.”

 

Thranduil decided that silence was golden in this instance, and held his mug with a genial expression on his face.

 

Earlene sipped her tea. “I can imagine it would be...startling. But...forgive my forthrightness, you two will be great together. And...you’ve got Lorna’s place, you’ve got a home here...hell, soon maybe you’ll have two homes here. Or...at least I figured you’d both move in together soon anyway?” Matter of fact as she tended to be, it did not even occur to her that she was managing to blunder into a topic the two of them needed to discuss and rather dreaded, because neither one of them knew how to start such conversations.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri, who looked back, and appeared every bit as petrified as she felt. “We hadn’t exactly talked about it,” she said, “but it would make the most sense. I mean, sooner or later, y’know? Especially now that it’s all fixed up -- though I’m going to have to add on another bloody bedroom,” she added, pained.

 

Ratiri had hoped, oh so much, that she’d say that. “We have time,” he said. “Nine months.” More like probably eight, given twins were almost always premature, but no need to freak her out over that just now. “And...well, it’s not like I ever did find a flat in town.”

 

Lorna choked on a laugh. “There’s no flats to be had in town. You’d’ve been living on the Doc’s sofa until the end’v time.” A certain amount of pressure in her chest eased. “Though I’m not so sure I’ll be terribly fun to live with, once the hormones kick in. Also, Liam always told me I kicked in my sleep.”

 

“Where  _ will _ you put another room, in your place?” asked Earlene. 

 

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Lorna sighed. “If I was feeling ambitious and felt like waiting and saving money, I’d just build up on the attic and make a second storey. Orla’d be able to at least look at it and tell me if that’s a feasible idea, if I’m calling her anyway. If I go and stick another one somewhere on the outside, it’ll look weird.”

 

“High ceilings,” Ratiri said. “Depending on whose height they get.”

 

She mock-scowled at him. “If there’s a short joke somewhere in there, it’d best  _ stay  _ in there,” she warned, poking him in the ribs.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of uttering it,” he said, with a solemnity that was just as false.

 

Just then the sound of a Star Trek transporter came out of Earlene’s closed laptop. All of them went quiet and looked at it as pink-faced, she walked to the sofa. “I changed my email notification sound,” she confessed. “I found a website that had downloadable...nerd alerts,” she said, turning even redder.

 

“Send it to me,” Lorna and Ratiri said, almost in unison. Which made her feel less hopeless. She grinned and nodded, opening the screen.

 

“THAT COMPLETE AND UTTER GOBSHITE!!” she shouted, suddenly enraged. There was no thought, no anything. She ran out of the house, because if she didn’t, something was going to get smashed. The only thing that felt like it could keep that from happening was running. Before anyone knew what had happened, she had disappeared into the trees. Or, before almost anyone. With only a few seconds’ hesitation, Thanadir had gone after her.

 

Lorna, naturally, went to see just what the hell had set Earlene off like that. Tilting the screen so she could better read the email, she saw that it said:  _ Earlene! I’m sure you miss Allanah, which is why I’ve decided to bring her for a visit. Don’t worry about putting us up, I’ve got that all worked out. See you in a day or three. -Aidan _

 

“That  _ gobshite _ ,” she growled. “The fucking arrogance’v--” From there she descended into Irish invective, backing away before she could do something stupid, like smash Earlene’s laptop. “I ought to gut that son’v a bitch like a trout.” She actually feel her blood pressure climbing, an unfortunately clear image of doing precisely that rising in her mind.  _ Your ears you keep, and I’ll tell you why _ . No, not killing him. Never that. The dead didn’t suffer, and this cretin, this  _ cretin  _ \--

 

Ratiri looked at Thranduil, totally unsure what to do. She looked, as her sister would put it, ready to rip someone’s head off and shit down the hole. “Lorna, what is it?”

 

“Earlene’s fuckin’ brother,” she growled. “He’s going to try to dump his kid off on Earlene early. He’s going to abandon that beautiful baby girl and wander off to be a man-whore and he  _ doesn’t fucking deserve it.  _ I want to cut off all his goddamn limbs and make him  _ eat  _ them.” 

 

Thranduil did not often find himself not immediately perceiving what to do, but this situation had gone from a pleasant conversation to a train wreck inside of seconds. He had to think, quickly. He’d seen Earlene’s thoughts, and while part of him wished she would have turned to him instead of running out the door, he did not blame her. He saw her rage, and what she’d made of her brother’s words. Lorna had swiftly reached the same conclusion. Her rage, spiralling out of control, rather alarmed him more. Earlene would be watched over by Thanadir.  _ Ratiri, I will help Lorna...but it might be good if she were taken from here. She has no means by which to insulate herself from this circumstance, and her emotions are a risk to the children. _

 

The man met his eyes in complete agreement, especially on that last part. 

 

Without warning, Thranduil came from behind and laid his hand on Lorna’s shoulder. “Lorna, I would rather not have to do this, but I promised you I would care for you and your children. Your anger is not good for your little ones, my passionate friend. I know you will wish to drink, and you must not do that either. This is the only gift I can give you.” She fell back in his arms, still awake but extraordinarily disconnected. He gently lifted her, carrying her to the van with Ratiri holding doors for him. “Take her home,” Thranduil said. “This will wear off in a little more than an hour. She may have trouble remembering why she was angry. Or that she was angry. She will remember the cow, and drinking tea. Distract her. Watch a film. I will have to face the consequences for doing this at a later time, and hope she forgives me.” He sighed heavily; he so very badly had not wanted to damage his friendship with this diminutive woman, and knew that his actions had probably crossed a line. “It is likely that when you return here next we will have Allanah, and then Lorna will grow angry all over again. If you have some way to help her reconcile this without experiencing these feelings, it...would be good. You are skilled in the healing arts of your race. I will do most anything for her, Ratiri. That I have done this, that I had to do this, grieves my heart, in not asking her consent before I acted. My gifts are not a solution, to her rage and anger,” he said with a defeated and broken expression, his voice all but breaking on the final word.

 

“I’ll try,” Ratiri said. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure she’ll forgive you.  I’ll make sure she knows why you did it; while she might be angry, if she knows it was for the good of the twins, I really doubt she’ll hold it against you for long.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll take her for a walk in the woods behind her cottage; she always seems to find that soothing, and so do I.” He shook his head, and gave Thranduil a helpless look. “How can anyone do that to their own child?” 

 

“I could answer that question, but the answer would leave you with less peace than you feel now,” said Thranduil, carefully setting Lorna in the passenger seat with a happy and oblivious grin, belting her in, and adjusting the seat so she would stay in place.

 

”I’ve seen it -- and things like it -- for the last fifteen years. Abandonment, abuse, neglect...there’s more than one reason I came to Ireland. I couldn’t stand watching what the world did to its children, so I went and hid in a tiny Irish village, and I met Lorna, and then all of you. And yet even now, there’s yet another who wants to toss their baby away.”

 

He looked at Lorna. “But she’s got hers.  _ We’ve  _ got hers. Ours. Lorna’s anger, though...I wish I knew what to do about it. With everything I’ve heard about her life, I don’t wonder where it comes from -- and oh God, what’ll she be like when the hormones start in earnest?” Not even Thranduil might be able to control that. Yoga. They would learn yoga together, and she could laugh at him when he failed at it.

 

“Earlene practices that exercise,” said Thranduil. “Let us hope it can help. And Ratiri, I sincerely am joyful for you as well. You will both find your way. We will tell you what we know...when we know anything,” he said, shaking his head. “If you will excuse me, I should see to Earlene. She is apparently giving Thanadir quite a run; I do not wish her to break my seneschal.” With an attempt at a halfhearted grin and a clap to his shoulder, he turned and ran elegantly toward the woods. 

 

Ratiri shook his head, climbing into the van. One thing was for certain: his life was unlikely to ever be boring.

 

He glanced at Lorna, who sat rather vacant. He did not look forward to dealing with her once she worked things out; she’d likely be furious, at least until she understood why Thranduil had done it. Ratiri was just grateful he  _ had  _ done it; extreme spikes in blood pressure were never good for a pregnant woman, and that sort of  rage guaranteed one. Time in her woods would calm her, and maybe they could work through just why this infuriated her so. He had a very good idea, given he knew she’d lost a child already, but for it to make her react this strongly was...odd. It was odd, and she needed to tell him why, if she at all could.

 

********

 

The venom Earlene felt for Aidan poured into every stride, giving her power she’d never before experienced. Some rational side of her might had guessed that she was working off of adrenaline, except that this component of her personality was at the moment bound, gagged, and locked in a closet. Her feet flew, her legs propelled her forward like springs, and her anger blazed. Before college she used to run cross-country, and that beckoned to her now. Though there were paths of sorts in the forest, she’d left the one she was on some minutes ago. Over logs and streams, around trees, swiftly and nearly silently.  _ Goddamn him, goddamn him and his money and his arrogance and his gobshitedness straight to hell.  _ What pierced her like a needle was what she herself could not reconcile...for all that she was doing this for that beautiful little girl,  _ he was getting his way. He was dumping what he saw as his ‘inconvenience’ on her and he was winning. And he did not even have the fucking grace to see the process through in the socially accepted manner. Oh no, he had to have it his way. Wait a week or two and then let’s make a bombing run on Earlene so we can go find someone else more fuckable without a baby in the way. After all those things he said about me. After all those things he must have *thought* about me...thought about me.. _ .her eyes widened as she suddenly connected some completely revolting dots, and she now ran even faster because in speed, perhaps she could leave behind her sense of violation and disgust.  _ Is this what drives people to do illegal things? Why do people like him even get space on this planet? Why?  _

 

All these thoughts cycled through her mind as she ran and ran. She did not slow, and nothing about what she was doing was helping her. But she knew that soon she would tire; at least, she would if she kept on at this pace. This small piece of reason began to at least try to make an argument when she heard him.  _ Meluieg, I wondered if I might ask a small favor? _

 

Startled, she slowed a little. She had forgotten everything, and everyone, in the depths of her anger.  _ Anything, beloved _ . Earlene now wished he were here, except, her feet were the reason that was not the case.  _ Oh, damn it all. _

 

_ Do you think you could allow Thanadir to catch up to you? His pride is being injured, meluieg, and soon I will have to deal with an aftermath I would prefer not to. Please, for me?  _  His voice was plaintive. 

 

_ As you wish, my King.  _ He knew what that phrase meant, now.  _ What did he mean, ‘let Thanadir catch’...oh, no. _ With a groan, she understood, as she slowed to a walk. How could she not realize, he would have followed her? And here she had... _ oh Valar, no _ . Distracted and embarrassed, she buried her face in her hands and the next moment was on the ground, pain shooting through her ankle. “You have just got to be fucking kidding me,” she whispered. Standing up, she saw the uneven hole she’d just stepped in, that caused her leg to twist out from under her. There hadn’t even been a hard landing, she just sort of....collapsed. Rising and attempting another step caused a searing throb of protest; the only thing she could do now was sit down. “Damn, you, Aidan,” she said, reaching her emotional limit. “Just...damn you to all fucking hell.” There were too many feelings, and too much anger. She burst into tears, and in seconds was crying about crying while her ankle throbbed.

 

Thanadir found her quickly, which caused her to sob harder. “I am s-sorry, Hîr vuin,” she wailed, clinging to him even as she wondered what in fuck was the matter with her. “Goheno nin,” she whispered, feeling completely miserable.

 

Truthfully, the seneschal had been more than half-ready to give Earlene a lecture, one increasingly motivated by his growing ire that she was outdistancing him.  _ Was this being done on purpose? _ And regardless of intent,  _ how _ was she doing it? This was absolutely galling his sense of inherent superiority. Yet finding her on the ground, in tears, was not what he expected. One look at her told him he was out of his depth, and that he needed to make the effort to understand what had happened. The turmoil he found in her thoughts, and the reasons why, were not expected. Her behavior had not been motivated by anything having to do with him. What  _ was _ on account of him was her injury, earned by her distress and inattention once she had been made to realize he was pursuing her without success. Which for now, he would ignore.

 

Moved to pity, he examined her ankle and held it in his hands. He could not do as well as his King to heal her, but he could reduce her discomfort. “Better?” he asked, as she nodded through more tears. Taking her in his arms, he held her close, carrying her effortlessly as he walked. _ I am not angry with you, Earlene. Your feelings are understandable. There is nothing to forgive. _

 

She felt too confused and overwhelmed to argue, and held loosely onto his neck, moving his glossy brown hair aside so she would not pull on it. But try as she might she could not stop her tears. They were coming for too many reasons. Thanadir carried her to the Halls, through an entrance she’d not yet seen and would never find again on her own. In another minute she found herself seated on a table in one of the practice rooms. The old elf gently kissed her forehead. “Earlene, do you understand why you are crying?”

 

“Yes, and no,” she said quietly, looking at him through eyes that were becoming red and swollen.

 

“It is because you feel powerless. You have had your choices unfairly taken from you and have been left with a difficult path to walk, one which will ask you for much sacrifice. Raising a child is a labor of love. Raising a child not your own is to give a great gift to another. But having the raising of a child forced upon you, by one whose heart is corrupt; that is something for which the Valar themselves would praise your selflessness. I cannot change your circumstances, but I can help you to feel better, if you will trust me. Will you try?” he looked into her eyes with great sincerity.

 

“Yes, Hîr vuin,” she said softly. The moment she answered, he placed the hilt of a blade into her hands.

 

“I do not have the skills of our King, but I will try to help your injury again,” he said, taking her ankle in his hands and closing his eyes. The same beautiful light came over him as she watched, and she could not help forgetting her troubles in the face of his love and efforts on her behalf. It humbled her, that he would try so hard to help her. This was beyond a job description; this was done out of generosity, and friendship. The sight of this, and the peace it brought, eased her turmoil.

 

“Try to stand now, Earlene, and walk.” 

 

A twinge could still be felt, but not the significant pain of earlier. 

 

“Now this is the motion you will use. First the footwork, and then the use of the blade.”

 

With a shout of aggression, she buried the sword deep into the mannequin, under his instruction. And if that mannequin had red hair, in her mind, she felt no one could blame her.

 

********

 

Lorna wasn’t aware of when she got home, or how, or why she’d gone. She remembered the animals, and the tea, but there was a rather large blank gap, and even as relaxed as she was, that disturbed her. Immensely.

 

She couldn’t bring herself to ask any questions, even when Ratiri helped her out of the car and led her into the woods. Sunlight dappled the ground through the leaves, the scent of warm earth and fresh greenery enveloping her. The only thing she was remotely sure of was that Thranduil had to have done something to her, and she very much wanted to know why.

 

It took her a while to be able to voice the question, and when she did, Ratiri sighed. He had to be completely honest with her, or this would only end in tears, and they weren’t likely to be hers. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and was relieved when she leaned into him.

 

“Earlene got bad news,” he said. “Her brother is coming with his daughter, and she’s convinced he means to abandon the baby with her. When you found this out, you got furious, and Thranduil...calmed you, somehow, because he was afraid of what your anger would do to the twins.”

 

He actually  _ felt  _ the rage stab through her, felt the sudden tension in her shoulders, heard the sharp, harsh breath she sucked in.

 

“He wouldn’t have done it if not for the twins,” Ratiri insisted. “You looked ready to, as your sister would put it, rip someone’s head off and shit down the hole, but there was nothing to take your anger out on. Please don’t hold it against him, Lorna. He didn’t do it for no reason.” 

 

“He had no right to do that,” she growled. The rational part of her knew that was a very, very good reason to do such a thing, and that she ought to be grateful for it, but he’d done it without asking her. He’d sent her loopy and then sent her home, and hadn’t asked her leave for either. That...that was actually less infuriating than it was horrifying; she’d known all along he could do things like that, but hadn’t thought he’d ever do them to  _ her _ . He’d never, to her knowledge, manipulated her mind without her expressed consent; he’d always been very careful about asking her first, and receiving her permission, before he did even minor things. This...wasn’t minor. To hijack her will like that, no matter how noble the reason -- it made her twitch.

 

“He should’ve asked,” she said, glaring at everything and nothing. “He knows I don’t -- that I don’t go  _ blank  _ anymore, he made sure’v that himself. He should’ve  _ asked.  _ I’d’ve said yes. He should’ve asked, and he bloody  _ didn’t _ .” Part of her wanted very much to go rip him a new one -- except for one, that would be the last thing in the bloody world Earlene would need right now, and for two, Lorna actually wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be near him at the moment. Not if he was willing to fuck with her brain without her consent, even if he did have good reason to.

 

Ratiri, bless him, said nothing -- just pulled her into a closer half-hug. They walked together in silence, across a little stone bridge her great-grandfather had built over a burbling creek. Her fury and her horror were a half-step removed from her, and she actually hated it. She needed to feel, if she was ever to move past anything, and she couldn’t, not like this. It was numbness, yet not quite; enforced peace, perhaps, entirely at odds with her true emotions.

 

“He’s getting away with it,” she said at last. “Earlene’s brother. He’s getting just what he wants, and I wish there was some way’v making sure he pays. I don’t know all that much about him, but I don’t need to. Thranduil says he’s a bit’v a sociopath -- he didn’t use that word, but it’s the only one that really fits -- and he’s throwing away his child. That’s enough to make him worth nothing more than becoming a smear on the motorway, but Earlene hates him so much it’s got to be much worse than I already know. Thanadir and I, we sat apart when she and Thranduil went to talk to him -- Aidan, that’s his name -- and I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Christ was Earlene pissed. When she gets angry, she gets...neutral. Must be a lawyer thing, since you can’t exactly give out at someone in court. She exploded later, but just then, she was neutral, except her eyes. I think she wanted to murder him more than I did. How the fuck the two’v them are related, I can’t fathom.”

 

Ratiri rubbed his hand along her arm. “Sometimes it happens that way,” he said. “So many good families have a black sheep, often for no fathomable reason.”

 

“This one’s getting just what he wants,” Lorna said, an odd ghost of rage twisting in her gut. “Exactly what he wants, and sure Christ do I want to make him  _ pay _ .”

 

“Karma will get him,” Ratiri said, with complete conviction. “I’ve seen it often enough that I’m a firm believer in it. Sooner or later a person’s deeds catch up with them, and he likely has a lifetime’s worth of bad ones.”

 

He paused, looking down at her. Mairead had told him she felt things with unfortunate intensity, and that she never had properly learned to govern what she did with her emotions. She was much better than she’d been when she first came to the village, but no one had ever accused her of tranquility. One of her nephews was fond of Americanisms, and as he put it, she had no chill. His exact words had been, ‘She’s about as chill as a bottle of beer at the center of the sun.’

 

“Lorna, I’d like to teach you meditation,” Ratiri said. “True meditation, not the odd sort the western world has picked up. You don’t actually have to sit still to do it.” Sitting still, he knew, was just not a thing Lorna did unless she was working on something. “And...before I left, Thranduil told me he expected to catch hell for this, and looked wretched about it. Truly wretched. He didn’t want to have to, but he felt he needed to.”

 

She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t fully with him. He’d seen her angry before, but he’d never seen her this...troubled, for lack of a better word, and it was more worrisome than her fury. He wasn’t prepared for it, and didn’t know what to do with it.

 

Still Lorna stared at nothing, though she wrapped her arm around Ratiri’s waist. She got why Thranduil had done what he did. Hell, he’d promised, little more than an hour before, that he’d do what it took to take care of her children. He’d thought it necessary, and he’d probably even been right; the logical part of her, the one she’d been developing in Baile all these years, knew that, and knew that if she was at all sensible, she’d be grateful for it. Part of her even was. But to her, logic was acquired, not innate. The intrinsic, primitive part of her, the part that wouldn’t be governed by rationality, felt strangely betrayed. She  _ shouldn’t _ , yet she did. And until she’d processed this, she wasn’t going anywhere near that forest. Between this and the fact that she was  _ pregnant _ , which was a whole other jar of bees -- it was all too much, but at least the woods were peaceful. She could work through it in here.

 

She ought to email Earlene when she got back to the cottage, and make sure everything was okay. It more than likely wasn’t, but she needed to know Lorna and Ratiri were thinking of her, and that they’d do what they could to help.

 

Though if it involved going to the forest in the next few days, Ratiri was on his own. She’d cough up some excuse, and let him believe it was a legit one. If he did, Thranduil wouldn’t know otherwise. She needed a little time to process this like a rational human being, and rationality did not come easy to her. She couldn’t go back to that forest until she was certain she wouldn’t fly off the handle, because that would help absolutely no one and nothing. Lorna was an adult, god dammit. If ever there was an occasion to act like one, it was this.

 

Meanwhile, she would wander, and then she would knit. She was going to need baby clothes soon enough.

 

**********************

 

Aidan pulled into what occurred to him as a sad excuse for an Irish town mid-afternoon. The cobbled streets and nondescript buildings struck him as solidly lower middle-class, if that. “Some spot you picked, little sister,” he muttered, frowning. “Ennyn-En-Eryn, West Lasg’len Road...where the fuck?” Then he remembered, she’d mention she lived  _ outside _ of town, just at the same time he was passing across from The Spotted Dick. Glancing over at Allanah in the rear-view mirror, he smiled. “What say we stop in for a drink, little bundle? Then I’ll be able to say we did at least one thing as father and daughter,” he snorted.  _ Aidan, you appall even me sometimes,  _ he said to himself, quickly followed by a shrug.  _ Get used to it, _ he answered back. Parking, he lifted his daughter out and opened the heavy door to the pub, needing a moment for his eyes to adjust. A moment later, he made out a man behind the bar, polishing glasses with a sour expression. 

 

“Hello,” he said in what he thought was a suitably friendly manner. “I’m Earlene Sullivan’s brother, on my way to visit her, and thought I’d get a drink first. I don’t suppose you know exactly where she lives?” he asked hopefully. 

 

John eyed him steadily. “We’re not open yet,” he said, completely unwilling to serve this man, even for the sake of that little girl. Earlene hadn’t said a great deal about her brother, but she hadn’t needed to. What she  _ did  _ say was more than enough. “She lives up the road -- just keep going along it and it’ll take you to the woods. Her cottage is right at the edge.” How in God’s name could such a one be related to Earlene? It was a blessing he was abandoning that wee one. Better she grew up with those who’d love her.

 

Raising his eyebrows in suspicion, there was nevertheless not much he could do or say about the refusal of service, since he did not actually know if this was true or if he was being fed a load of shite. With a crooked smile, he thanked the man and retreated, returning to the car, before looking up and seeing plan B. With a broad smile, he walked to the liquor store. “ _ They’re _ open,” he said aloud to himself, as he marched in and bought himself a fifth of Scotch. Returning himself and baby to the rental car, he looked both ways and saw no one, at which point he tossed back a very generous few slugs of the liquor, relishing the burn of it as it warmed down to his belly. “Alright, Bundle,” he said. “Time to face the Ice Queen,” he quipped. “Whoops! I mean, your Auntie. Soon to be your mother, or any damn thing she wants to call herself.”  With an obscene grin, he drove off. 

 

“Ennyn-En-Eryn, there you are. What in fuck kind of name for a place is that?” he wondered as he peered at the empty driveway, but not too much. Hearing the bellow of what was quite obviously a cow as he opened the door, he snorted.  _ Only Earlene would trade in a good life in the city for kicking shit and living in the middle of nowhere. _ A sharp knock on the door was answered swiftly by Fionn.

 

“Aidan,” Thranduil said, looking neither welcoming nor rejecting. “It seems you are expected. Come in. I will not insult your intelligence by pretending that this is not happening quite a lot sooner than we originally anticipated.” The rebuke was not nearly as sharp as it could be, but it was very much present. 

 

The man’s only answer was a grin, though his very clear thought was,  _ ah, but it works fine for me! _ The arrogance was still astonishing. Stepping inside, he saw Earlene sitting next to….”Hi sis,” he said, before speaking to Thanadir. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name from seeing you in New York?” Uncharacteristically, the seneschal did not move.

 

“That is Cian, my brother,” said Thranduil. 

 

Earlene continued to say nothing, her face unreadable. The silence was deafening, as Aidan looked around the very tiny place. “I see you weren’t kidding about the size of your home,” he said. “At least there is remodeling,” he breezed. 

 

“Let’s cut through the crap, Aidan,” she said. “You’re done waiting around, and you’ve no intention of seeing the paperwork process through, do you?”

 

“Your keen insight never ceases to amaze, Earlene,” he grinned. “We both know where this is going to end up. No authority in their right mind is going to take her from you, not with all those papers already signed. I can live with being accused of child abandonment by Irish authorities; I hardly intend to show my face in this charming corner of the world again.”

 

With thinly veiled disgust she rose from the sofa, and walked near him, holding out her arms, forcing him to close the distance between them to take Allanah. Her arms wrapped around the baby in a manner that suggested he would be risking death to pry his daughter back out of them.  _ And for the love of all there is, was that alcohol she smelled on him??  _ Giving her all to control her mounting rage, she spoke with a voice that still remained level.“What of her things? Of which I am sincerely hoping you brought at least  _ some? _ ” 

 

“They’re in the car,” he smirked. “Back in a moment.” He returned with a suspiciously modest carrying-bag of items, and Allanah’s car seat, that she took from him and placed on the table. Now she was sure, she _ definitely _ smelled booze. Some diapers, two feeding bottles, a tin of powdered baby formula (she grimaced to see that high-fructose corn syrup was the first ingredient), three clean sets of clothing, and two thin blankets. “She was fed just before I came here,” he offered helpfully. 

 

“I see,” Earlene replied, returning his stare levelly.  _ What is one supposed to say at a time like this? Just, what? _

 

Thranduil saved her the bother. “I suspect you know she will be cared for. We will not lie to her, when she is old enough to understand, she will be told as near to the truth as a young one can hear, and everything when she is of age. Your choices are your own, but she will not be denied knowing her parentage.”

 

Nonplussed, he stared back at Thranduil. “You just reminded me of one more thing,” he said. Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew a small album. “Here,” he said, handing it to the King. “These are photos of her mother. Madison’s friends made this for Allanah. I think you’ll find their contact information in there as well. They would like to know how she does, if you’re willing.” 

 

_ The implication being, that they would and you would not, you complete and utter gobshite? Our mother and gran would spit in your face and twist off your nuts if they had lived to see this moment… _

 

Thranduil looked nervously at Earlene, sensing she was within inches of her breaking point. “Aidan, you have our contact information. I see no need to prolong this moment. It would be for the best if you were on your way,” he said quietly. 

 

With a twinkle in his eye the man looked from Fionn to his sister. Her body language revealed nothing, but he knew. He smirked, and said, “Goodbye, Earlene,” before turning and walking out. The door clicked behind him. 

 

Thranduil turned to his wife. “Meluieg, go to Thanadir,” he said kindly but directly, as he walked toward the door himself. 

 

Earlene obeyed, feeling almost completely numb. She held her niece securely, as tears streamed out of her eyes and Thanadir took her into his arms, saying what he could in Sindarin to soothe her. What calm of spirit he could impart to her, he gave gladly. He did not need to join to her mind to know what she must be feeling, after what he had just witnessed. Even he wished to kill the man, which in and of itself was an unsettling thought for an elf. In moments, Thranduil heard the car engine roar to life and leave, and the last of the man’s celebratory thoughts faded as he crossed the borders of the forest. He seated himself on the other side of his wife, and with his seneschal closed a protective circle of loving arms around Earlene and Allanah. No one moved or spoke for many minutes.

 

_ Meluieg, we spoke of this necessity earlier. Are you ready? _

 

Earlene nodded, and with a sigh loosened the laces of her bodice. 

 

_ You may feel a slight soreness, but it will pass quickly, _ he said, laying his hand over her sternum. 

 

A few moments later, she handed Allanah to Thanadir, rose up, walked to the can of formula, and threw it with decisive aim and great force into the trash.

  
  


***********

 

Lorna wasn’t pleased to be called back to Lasg’len, but Mick needed her help with something only hands as tiny as hers could deal with, and she couldn’t exactly say no without being a giant bitch. Ratiri had rather wisely given her a small dose of Xanax before they drove to Lasg’len; one time, he felt, couldn’t hurt the pregnancy -- and certainly less so than any stress she might experience from heading that close to the forest again so soon. 

 

It took less than five minutes, and almost wasn’t worth the bother of coming all this way -- she had to jam her hand into the engine of an Oldsmobile and extract a few bits of corroded Christ-knew-what -- but Mick was Mick, and she’d do much worse for him.

 

She and Ratiri stopped in at the pub, though she agreed not to actually have anything to drink. God, this made her feel weird...she’d forgot what Xanax was like. She’d taken it a while after Liam died, to get her through the worst, and it made everything very...even. Steady. Unnaturally so. 

 

“No drink, Lorna?” John asked, and he looked almost concerned. But then, she’d been such a regular drinker while she stayed here that she supposed it did seem rather odd.

 

“Stomach upset,” she said, by way of explanation. “Don’t want to go making it worse.” That wouldn’t be the truth for a while yet, but if this pregnancy was anything like her first, she’d be miserable for a bit come around the second month.

 

“You just missed Earlene’s gobshite’v a brother, not fifteen minutes ago,” he said, scowling like thunder. “Like a snake, that one. Told him we weren’t open. Didn’t want his arse polluting my barstools.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, surprising even herself. “You’ve got a way with words, John,” she said, but she looked at Ratiri.

 

The shriek of skidding tires broke her thoughts, followed by a crash so loud it rattled the glasses behind the bar.

 

John had just enough time to say, “Wha--” before there was a second crash, this one slamming right into the front of the building. The entire lot of them twitched, and Lorna dropped her mug, cider splashing and dribbling off the counter.

 

Ratiri made it out the door before she did, but barely, and what they saw froze them both.

 

The car that had been hit was unfamiliar to Lorna, but the one that had T-boned it was an ancient, wheezing, rust-spotted Dodge Dart she knew belonged to Sean. Of fucking course it did.  _ It  _ scarcely had  dent in it, but this other car, this silvery new thing she couldn’t identify and didn’t want to try, had been entirely caved in on the right side. There would be no getting at the driver that way -- not that there was probably much point. If there was anything more than pulp left, she’d be very surprised.

 

The Xanax certainly served her well here; she ignored the frantic Sean, instead prying open the passenger door. Ratiri wasn’t going to fit through here, not with the roof twisted like it was from the impact. With that unnatural calm, she looked at the driver’s face, and paused.

 

No. Fucking. Way.

 

There was so much blood on his face that at first he was impossible to recognize, but that haircut and that ginger hair -- Aidan. This was  _ Aidan _ .

 

Panic cut through Lorna’s haze. She didn’t give two shits about him -- Christ, let him die -- but did he have that little one in the car? A look at the backseat told her he did not, and she nearly sighed with relief. She pressed her fingers to the side of Aidan’s neck, and to her surprise found a weak pulse that slowed even as she felt it.

 

She had a choice. If she told Ratiri, he’d feel bound by his oath to intervene, despite the fact that he hated this piece of worthlessness. He’d feel he had to, though even she, being no doctor, could tell  _ that  _ was an exercise in futility. A person’s neck wasn’t supposed to bend that way, and the sheer amount of blood, shockingly red, that poured from some head wound...it streaked his face like obscene war-paint, staining his parted lips. His eyes were open, but vacant; the lights were barely on, and certainly nobody was home.

 

“God hath given you blood to drink, you gobshite,” she whispered into his ear, and crawled back out of the car. “He’s dead,” she said, and felt no qualm in the lie. He’d  _ be  _ dead by the time an ambulance could get here, especially if he was left like that. He would die, and be no one’s problem, and stop wasting the Earth’s precious oxygen.

 

Was there anyone who would mourn him? Lorna doubted it. And that...she could think of fewer things more tragic.

 

“Are you sure?” Ratiri asked, looking uncertainly from her to the wreck of the car -- also ignoring Sean.

 

“I am,” she said, and it was possibly the first truly convincing lie she’d ever told in her life. “Has John run for the police?”

 

“He has,” Ratiri said. “Not that I think Sean there’s going anywhere.” Indeed, the lad looked so stricken he was about to be sick, yet Lorna felt a perverse urge to thank him.

 

Ratiri, unfortunately, had to try to squeeze himself into the wreck to check Aidan’s pulse himself, but that didn’t actually wind up working -- the roof of the cab was too badly dented. Flailing blindly at the side of the man’s face was not a good way to find a pulse, even if there was one to be found. Lorna could fit in there easily; him, not so much.

 

“We should tell Earlene,” she said, with a somewhat chilling dispassion. “She’ll probably want to celebrate.”

 

That she could be so calm about this, even on the Xanax, disturbed Ratiri more than a bit. He knew she’d seen some nasty things in her life, but he hadn’t thought any could have inured her to  _ this _ . There had to be something she had not shared with him, or she wouldn’t be able to be as oddly cold as she was. Yes, Earlene probably  _ would  _ want to celebrate, but that still wasn’t something that ought to be said aloud. Maybe he’d given her too much Xanax, though he’d given her a small enough dose as it was. She looked just a touch glassy-eyed.

 

“We should,” he said, “but I’m driving.”

 

“Why drive?” she asked. “We could just call her.” It was the most sensible thing to do, after all; it kept her from going near the woods, it kept Sean from running off -- not that he looked likely to do  _ that _ ; his brain seemed to have blue-screened on itself -- and Earlene would have some very happy news.

 

“Lorna,” Ratiri said, slightly pained, “that’s not the kind of news you give someone over the phone. Not if you’re so close you can literally drive there in five minutes. We’ll have to come back once the coroner and county police arrive, though that will take a while.

 

Lorna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay,” she said, though she really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to go anywhere near that cottage.  _ For Earlene _ , she told herself, heading to her van. She let Ratiri drive, which was entirely unlike her, but she had to try to pack everything in before they arrived. Earlene didn’t need the stress that would come with knowing Thranduil and Lorna had...issues...and he’d never say anything, so neither would Lorna. But she had to be able to shut it away.

 

Ratiri, mercifully, didn’t speed along the way; he gave her time to do what she needed to do, and said nothing when she lingered in the van a moment after he got out.

 

He rapped on the door, wondering just how the hell he could tactfully put this. ‘Your brother’s so much pulverized meat’ was hardly appropriate, yet it was quite honest.

 

Thranduil opened the door, his eyes wide. He had already heard their thoughts. Stepping back, he allowed them entrance, and did not try to meet Lorna’s eyes, his gaze was directed at the floor as he desperately tried to think of whether or not to interfere with what Earlene was about to hear. Interfering had already come at a high price, and regardless, his wife had the right to know.

 

Lorna, for her part, stayed well away, reminding herself that they were here for Earlene. Still, she’d let Ratiri do the talking; he actually had tact, which was not a thing she was in noticeable possession of.

 

“There’s no really easy way to say this,” he said. “Sean T-boned Aidan’s car outside the pub. He’s dead.” Very dead. So dead, and he and Lorna were going to have to go deal with things neither of them wanted to, sooner or later. No, they hadn’t actually witnessed anything, but they’d heard it.

 

Earlene stood up, with Allanah in her arms, as disbelief came over her and she tried to think. Thranduil walked to her side and put his arm around her; it was obvious that a silent exchange was occurring between them. 

 

“Police will come. I’ll take Allanah into the forest before I hand her over to any one from the government. The paperwork isn’t finalized,” she whispered, terrified. “I don’t know how anything is done here.”

 

“Meuieg,” the King said softly. “No one will take her from you. I will not allow it.” Which was true enough; he could cause anyone who came here to forget there even  _ was _ a baby until they looked at their clipboards back in Dublin.

 

Earlene nodded, now pacing back and forth before looking at Ratiri. “What….happens?” she asked.

 

“The police and the coroner will come,” he said, “and take statements. They’ll take the body, presumably to Dublin, and most likely run a toxicology report. You being his only next of kin, you’ll likely have to settle a few legal details and, I’m sorry to say, be the one to decide how to deal with his body.”

 

“Niamh can help,” Lorna said, leaning against him. “With Allanah, and with the police. She’ll know what to do.”

 

“It’s such cut-and-dried vehicular manslaughter that they shouldn’t bother with you much, not past the formalities,” he added. “You’re Allanah’s only blood relative, and you were already in the process of formally adopting her. Realistically, I can’t see anyone trying to take her, especially since she’s not an Irish citizen. I’m sure it will hang in legal limbo for a while, but it’s easier on everyone involved if she stays with you.”

 

Tail, all oblivious, scampered out, and decided scaling Lorna’s jeans was a fantastic idea. He was getting a bit too big to be doing that, and she had to pry his tiny claws loose so she could hold him. He purred like a chainsaw, headbutting her, and it cut through a bit of the Xanax-fog.

 

Earlene, noting Lorna looked somewhat disconnected, addressed the rest of her questions to Ratiri -- though being Scottish, he couldn’t answer them all, and said they would need to defer to Niamh.

 

Thranduil slipped away from the group of them to the barn, which was easy enough. Between the baby, this shocking news, questions, everything, there was enough distraction afoot that his absence would not be noticed for a time. And one advantage to being King was the ability to tell one’s seneschal that a matter needed attending to, and have that go unquestioned. He knew Lorna’s every thought. The consequence for his actions of some days previous was a price he knew he must pay, though he’d been left with no choice. That he had not taken more time to carefully frame his promise to her was something he was deeply regretting. Of the spirit of his vow, he was glad; he truly would do almost anything to help her and her children. There was almost no one else he wanted to see find happiness more than his tiny friend. But that the cost of his promise could  _ be _ their friendship; that part, he had not thought through. He had broken her trust by the choice he’d made, and so he had lost everything between them. And this was the grief that was so very difficult to bear, today of all days. It would be another of the sad requirements of his long rule and even longer life. He would miss her, terribly, though she would never be far away in body. But in spirit? She might as well be across Ireland. Lorna did not visibly have the capacity to forgive; he had known this from the beginning. Reaching down, he carefully picked up one of the chicks that stood alone, away from the others. It appeared somewhat forlorn, and he held it close to him and sat on one of the wooden benches against the tall poles that held up the barn roof. From time to time the little bird would peep, perhaps feeling somewhat heartened by the attention. He leaned his head against the heavy timber, as tears streamed from his closed eyes. The occasional catches in his breathing were the only sound that betrayed the depths of his sadness.

 

Lorna, kitten still in her arms (and under her chin), wandered aimlessly out the back door, not quite numb enough to avoid unease. She hadn’t planned on coming back here, not anywhere near so soon. She was unsettled, and in spite of her best efforts, she was still somewhat angry, and the Xanax was just holding it all half a step removed from her.

 

Something rustled in the trees, and Tail squirmed free of her grasp before she could stop him, taking a few strips out of her chest while he was at it. “If you get eaten by whatever you’re chasing, it’s your own fault,” she muttered. There were other fuzzy baby critters to be found -- the chicks in the barn were still tiny and downy -- and she made her way around the side of it, wondering when they would be able to go home.

 

She hadn’t expected -- and certainly hadn’t  _ wanted  _ \-- to find Thranduil here, but find him she did, and he was….what.  _ What _ . Was he seriously--?

 

All right, even if she hadn’t been doped on Xanax, she wouldn’t have had any idea in hell what to do. Lorna never had learned how to deal with crying people, but leaving him like this would just be shitty, because she hadn’t thought he  _ could  _ cry. Why --  _ why _ ? He sure as hell wasn’t unhappy Aidan was dead. Had something else happened meantime? “Um,” she said, but couldn’t think of anything to follow it with. Brilliant.

 

His blue eyes flew open with what could only be described as halfway between panic and having been caught completely unawares. He froze, though his expression of misery did not change as he looked at her.

 

“I left so that you would not have to be near me,” he said quietly. “Why are you here?” That part genuinely made no sense to him.

 

Lorna blinked, thrown. “I...what?” Apparently that was the only word she was really capable of. “Thranduil, I don’t, y’know...I don’t  _ hate  _ you or anything.” It was true. She didn’t hate him. It didn’t mean she’d wanted to  _ see  _ him, but she didn’t hate him. “Why…?” She couldn’t actually ask him aloud why he was crying, for some odd reason. It was so jarring to see it, because it was the last thing in the entire world she would expect. “I came out here because I needed air. And something fuzzy to hold.”

 

It seemed to take him longer to answer, as though he were the one full of Xanax and not her. “I never meant for you to see this, and for that I am sorry.” He looked down at the mix of soil and sawdust and hundreds of years of...barn...at his feet. “I know that you do not hate me. I equally know that nothing will ever be the same, Lorna. I have broken your trust, and I know that you cannot forgive me. And I will miss...you, more than you can know.” More tears splashed from his eyes, with these words.

 

Okay, this… “For Christ’s sake, don’t apologize for me stumbling over you while you were having a cry,” she said helplessly. “I...look, I understand why you did it, I do, and the part’v me that’s actually smart’s grateful for it, but...Jesus, Thranduil, why didn’t you just  _ ask _ ?” That was the crux of it, the entire problem -- the part that disturbed her, and yes, it had hurt her a little, too. “I don’t go blank anymore, you know that.” She never, ever would have thought he’d could be torn up like this, at least by something so...so...unimportant, in the grand scheme of things, and she had no idea what to do. Seeing him like this was so far beyond wrong, but she was terrible with emotional things at the best of times.

 

He raised his eyes again, to hers, making a halfhearted effort to wipe his cheeks dry. In the end, he ended up staring into the pen of chicks. “There were two reasons,” he said woodenly. “The first is that I made you a promise, and I did not believe there was time. The life within you is new, fragile. If there is a time when the children could be susceptible to serious disturbances from the body or emotions of their mother, it is especially then. I did what I felt I must, regardless of the cost. The second...my wife had just run into the woods, carrying this news in her mind, Thanadir left, and then there was you...I believe you humans call it ‘a lot happening at once.’ Earlene is pregnant as well,” he said in a tone that spoke of helplessness and making necessary decisions in a split second. “I am not immune from making imperfect decisions. Though...even had I had more time to think, I do not believe I could have in good conscience chosen differently.”

 

God that last...that hurt. A lot. Knowing that he’d basically had too much on his plate and screwed up actually made the whole thing easier to reconcile, since God knew she’d done more than her fair share of fuck-ups when there was too much going on to handle. Probably nobody held up well under pressure one hundred percent of the time. But to hear he’d have done it even if he’d had more time to think…

 

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” she sighed. He was her friend, and most of her wanted to forgive him, but she had no idea how -- especially because she had never figured out if  there was any way for her trust to be repaired once it was cracked. “Thranduil…” Jesus, why did any of this have to happen? “Look, Thranduil, I am going to do my best to get over this, but don’t you fucking  _ dare  _ ever do that again. You’re my friend, but I’ll not lie -- I don’t trust you right now. I want to. God dammit, I  _ want  _ to.” Her eyes burned, but unlike him, her tear ducts just didn’t want to function.

 

An undefinable cry of anguish came out of him as he looked at her. There was sadness, and exasperation, and some anger too. “Don’t ever do that again?” he said, incredulous. “Have you heard nothing I have said, Lorna? Would it be preferable to you that I waited to ask while your womb changed, allowing your children to pass  by instead of remaining in your body, while I asked your permission? I made you a  _ promise _ ,” he choked out, his voice rising in volume. “One I will keep even if I  _ do _ cause you to hate me in the end. Do you think I make oaths of this nature to just anyone?” His head dropped. “I hoped, when we met, that I could give something to you that I was often denied. I….” he fell silent, because anything else that might be said seemed only likely to make this conversation more ruinously painful than it already was. He leaned forward, releasing the little chick back into the pen with a peep of protest. “I do not hold your feelings against you, Lorna.” With a set to his jaw that seemed to indicate a determination to stop talking, he said no more.

 

Even through the Xanax-haze, some things were starting to make rather more sense. It didn’t fix everything, but it  _ explained  _ quite a bit, and possibly in ways he hadn’t even intended. Sighing, she sat beside him, tripping a little trying to avoid stepping on a chick. Looping her arm through his, she rested her head against his shoulder, and sighed again. “You are such a gobshite,” she said, “and you really are so like Pat it’s not even funny.” She paused. “Well, all right, it  _ would  _ be, and probably will be, later.”

 

“I am not a gobshite,” he said stonily, though he could not help looking down at the sight of her arm in his, and paying a bit more attention to the state of her thoughts. He hesitated. “Lorna, is everything...well? You are different, in your mind.” Even in this mess, he could not help the concern he felt for her.

 

Lorna looked up at him, swatting a bit of his hair out of her face with her free hand. “You really are,” she said, but there was something akin to affection intermingled with the exasperation in her tone. “Someday I’ll try to explain why. For now just accept it, and know being a gobshite isn’t always a bad thing.” She sighed a little. “Ratiri gave me part’v a Xanax,” she admitted. “Which is probably the only reason I didn’t sick up my entire lunch when I saw what was left’v Aidan. Who, by the way, was still alive when I found him, though I doubt he lasted long.”

 

“ _ That  _ man is a gobshite. Was a gobshite. And I did not just hear that,” he said, before pausing. “Can I hug you?” he asked quietly, not believing until it was rather too late that he had just said that aloud.

 

“ _ Yes _ , you gobshite,” she said, trying to muffle her grin against his shoulder. “Aidan was the bad kind’v gobshite. There’s gradations, y’know.”

 

Carefully bringing her into his lap, he held her like an oversized doll, his eyes squeezed shut in hopefulness. He would not let himself believe that this was fully repaired, but that she seemed to  _ want  _ to repair it...it was something.  _  I feared I had lost you,  _ he thought to himself, as he sighed. A small tremor ran through him, in his sense of relief. “Thank you,” he said. “I would imagine the next few days here are going to be…..” he sighed and shook his head against hers. “Thank you for lightening one burden of my heart. And...Lorna, while Earlene completely despises her brother, try not to say those things yourself. It will not happen yet, but it will happen. Earlene will not grieve losing Aidan. But she will grieve losing the brother she desperately wanted and never had. That part is going to be much worse. And now she is an instant mother, with no time to have prepared. She will need all of us.” With some reluctance, he let her go, smiling to see that her feet did not touch the ground even though he was seated on a rather low bench.

 

Lorna looked up at him. “Thranduil,” she said, with uncharacteristic seriousness, “it’d take a hell’v a lot to drive me off for good. I’m about as unforgiving as they come, but family’s different. My older brother, he always did have it worse off when we were kids, and would try to protect the rest’v us even when it did nothing but make his life even worse, and thought it was his duty to care for us whether we wanted it or not...does any’v this sound familiar?”

 

Tears began to pool in his eyes again and he quickly buried his face against her shoulder. “Maybe I  _ am _ a gobshite,” he said. This conversation was becoming both surreal and so very close to things about himself he had barely discussed even with Earlene. Probably only Thanadir understood the full scope of what his experiences had been in the course of his emotionally difficult life. That he had been given the strength to manage those difficulties had not made the experience of them any less unpleasant. “I am not the same person as your brother. I never had a sibling. But yes, I understand your point.” His head lifted up again, his features restored to order before once again twisting with the difficulty of speaking. “I think you are perhaps seeing that I am not fully what I appear to be, on the outside. I hide many things away from others. I would have hidden those from you too, except that you seem to have a knack for doing the unexpected,” he grimaced. “And come to think of it, that too sounds familiar.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Hate to burst your bubble, Thranduil, but though I can’t read you  _ well _ , I can read you better than you’d think. I figured  _ that  _ out during our first actual conversation. Didn’t occur to me right off, but in some ways you and I really do think alike. Which is kind’v disturbing, given you’re an elf-king and I’m an ex-convict, but what the hell.” 

 

His features slowly spread into a grin. “That  _ is _ disturbing,” he agreed, while at the same time obviously relishing the statement.

 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Lorna said. “And with Allanah, Ratiri knows all about dealing with human babies. Pediatrician and all that. Earlene’ll have help, as best as we can give it.” She eyed him, even while she cracked her ankles. “I think it’s time you get a nickname: Trasfheisteoir Báirbre. I’ll let you figure that one out on your own. Now hold still.” Fortunately she had a packet of tissues in her pocket, because she pulled one out and reached up to wipe his face. Once finished, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Don’t tell anyone I did that.”

 

He was certain he did not want to know the (probably disrespectful) translation from her abominable native tongue, choosing to focus instead on the unexpected kindness of her gesture. A thought came through to him. “It would be very wise of me to help my wife right now,” he said, as the faint cry of a baby reached their ears. “Someone is hungry.” Rising, he stepped out of the chick enclosure and waited for her to extricate herself as well. “I will not say a word,” he added. He would not ruin the moment by commenting on it, but the sparkle of joy more often seen in his eyes had returned and spoke for itself.

 

Earlene looked at her niece in alarm as she transformed from sleepy to rather animated to unleashing an appalling wail a moment later. Both Ratiri and Thanadir said, almost in stereo, “She is hungry.” 

 

Her lips parted. _Of all times, where in the world had Thranduil gone?_ _I have to…? Not in front of two males, not the very first time_ , she thought, not feeling certain how much more she could take today. Putting on a brave face, she smiled and said, “Excuse us, then,” and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Loosening her bodice quite a lot more, it was at the least obvious that the baby needed a nipple. _Did this hurt? Would Allanah know what to do?_ Tears were pooling in her eyes as her anxiety mounted. This was not, not what she envisioned for her first experience. And every second Allanah cried was broadcasting to the world, ‘Earlene does not know what she was doing’. 

 

At that moment the door opened, to admit her husband.  _ Help me _ , she pleaded.  _ I feel so embarrassed; I have breasts and no idea how to use them. _

 

Thanadir was instantly given a request. He looked nervously at Lorna and Ratiri. “I hope this does not offend you but...I am asked if we could all go for a brief walk?” and in a much softer voice he added, “Earlene has never breastfed, and having an audience is not helping her do what needs to be done.”

 

“Ah,” Lorna said. “Yeah, let’s go.” She let Thanadir lead them out, taking Ratiri’s hand as they went.

 

Thranduil sat with his wife, taking the infant, which quieted immediately though she remained very animated. “Here meluieg, sit back against the pillows. You need to be comfortable. In a moment, the house will be empty.” He did not mention that by sheer irony, it was time for Buttercup to be milked, and the three of them were going to watch Rîniel in her duty of milking the cow. Once she was settled, Thranduil brought a soft towel and laid it over her abdomen. “Choose a breast, Earlene,” he said with a smile. Her eyes widened at the changed feel of her body; she was unquestionably...larger. Nudging her dress and underlying tunic around, she freed her left breast. He could see she was yet very tense. “I know it is asking a great deal right now, but you must be relaxed. Like when you anticipate pleasure,” he explained, even as he saw that this was an uphill battle right now. She took several deep breaths, giving her best but…

 

“Thranduil, I do not know if I can do this right now. This feels like being asked to sing the National Anthem at the ballpark,” she said. “With no warning.”

 

He sighed. “Meluieg, take Allanah in your arms, hold her on your right side. Free your other breast as well. And move over, so there is room for both of us.” This was not what he envisioned either, for this, but he had to do  _ something _ , and this would very likely work. It only needed a few seconds, to rearrange all of them. He leaned up against her, with his hand gently cupping her breast. “Kiss me, Earlene.”

 

“Do  _ what? Now _ ? This is hardly the....” his finger came to her lips. 

 

“Trust me, Earlene. You must let down your milk, and this will allow it to happen. Eventually when you know your body in this way it will be very easy. But now, this is all new, and you are being asked to do this under the worst possible circumstances. For just a few minutes, do not think about Allanah. Pretend we are alone, and that we are to make love.”

 

“I will try. Every male in this house knows more about what to do than I do,” she said, trying to hide the bitterness and sense of defeat in her voice.

 

“I know, meluieg. It is not your fault.” No further discussion occurred, because he kissed her. At first her responses were tense, not at all like her, but he maintained his efforts, gently caressing her as he deepened the movements of his teasing tongue, and she began to yield to his advances. Half in disbelief that he was having to resort to this (he was going to ask to see Lorna’s Gobshite Gradation Scale, just because), he moved his hand to rub her mound, teasing her, causing her to want him. His lips brushed over her breast, and his tongue teased there as well, bringing a soft moan as she pressed into him. As this seemed to be going in the right direction, he swiftly worked his hand up her skirt, to gain better...access. Roving hands and a finger that worked its way slowly inside of her aided and abetted a mouth that carefully began to suckle at her. As pleasure took her mind off of everything that had just gone on, finally, he began to taste her milk. She moaned softly at what he was doing, which felt...good grief. Leaving off with his mouth for a moment, he sat up enough to reach over and caress her other breast, until he saw the beads of milk there as well, and carefully transferred that to Allanah’s lips.

 

Her little tongue coming out and the grimace of pleasure from her little face were almost too much for him but, this was not accomplished just yet. “Lift her a little higher, Earlene; guide her mouth to your nipple.” He reached over and very gently, well,  _ milked _ her, to encourage Allanah. With the second taste, the little mouth latched on and “Oh!” Earlene gasped in surprise. 

 

“Relax again, Earlene,”  he encouraged. “Think only on what feels pleasurable to you.” He continued the effort of his fingers and his mouth, though he was careful not to bring her near climax; he would owe her that later. When Allanah had spent maybe ten minutes, he encouraged Earlene to offer her the other breast, which seemed to continue apace. He kept on talking softly to her, praising, showing her affection. As she relaxed more, her face took on a satisfied glow. Eventually the little girl slowed down and with a tiny yawn fell asleep, her mouth half open around Earlene’s nipple. Thranduil carefully removed her to her crib.

 

“Thank you,” she finally spoke. “I never would have managed this. I was having a waking nightmare of needing to bring Thanadir in her to show me what to do and…” she shook her head. “I love Thanadir but I do not yet feel ready for that yet. I know in the end he will see it all. He has  _ already _ seen it all but…” she sighed, with more shaking of her head. 

 

Thranduil laughed softly. “I love you, Earlene, and I am sorry I was tardy. Thanadir would have helped you, but I will acknowledge that the two of you like as not would have been in significant difficulty trying to encourage your breasts to cooperate. And while Ratiri could likely articulate everything quite well, I believe that for all his professionalism, even he would not have relished the task. Understand, meluieg, the first many times may have their ups and downs. You and Allanah will grow used to each other, and in the end you may find you have more trouble keeping your milk in than letting it down.”

 

“Where did the others go?” she asked, feeling suddenly awful that they’d been basically kicked out on her account. 

 

“To milk the cow.”

 

Earlene pinched the bridge of her nose. “What happened to my life?” she whispered. But she was smiling, and looking at her husband with love.

 

Lorna, Ratiri noted, seemed markedly less tense -- which was a relief, since they were going to have to deal with police inquiries, but at the same time, he wondered about it.  Now was not the time to ask, however; instead, they observed the cow. Both of them lived or had lived near farmers, so it wasn’t new to either, but watching an Elf milk a cow was rather...different. They even did  _ that  _ gracefully, and the cow actually stood patiently, not swatting her in the head with an irritated tail, nor stepping on her foot or kicking the ceramic pails over. 

 

The kitten, of course, came bounding over to the barn, and Lorna went to shoo him away before he could get in at the chicks. He jumped up into her arms instead, of course scratching her again in his earnestness, and watched the proceedings with his big, round kitten eyes. So long as he stayed put, she’d hold him.

 

Thanadir introduced the elleth who was taking most of the care of Buttercup. “This is Rîniel,” said the seneschal. She knows very little English.”

 

“Hello”, said the elleth, who had a medium frame and light brown hair, and a placid, cheerful countenance. She also waved, looking questioningly at Thanadir, who smiled encouragingly. 

 

“Rîniel worked very hard to practice waving Hello,” he explained. “It is not an elven custom.”

 

Feeling a bit ridiculous, Ratiri said, “Hello,” and waved in turn. Lorna couldn’t manage a proper wave with her armful of kitten, but she pulled off some sort of odd hand-flap that might have been a wave.

 

“Is this this something she did before?” Lorna asked. “When all you lot were here?” Seemed weird to think of elves milking cows, though it shouldn’t. Somebody had to do it.

 

“Mostly. It has been long since we kept dairy animals; I believe that this was Earlene’s idea to which the King finally relented. Rîniel’s mother at one time had this duty; she grew up around cows and goats kept for milk. But now only Rîniel is here; her family chose to sail long ago. She seemed very glad to take on this work.” He lowered his voice. “And I am very glad to have fresh milk again,” he grinned.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, but Ratiri wondered why this Rîniel had stayed. Why had any of them -- this last enclave of Elvendom in Ennor? There must have been a reason. While he had no idea just how large the Elven population of Earth had been at its height, there had to have been a hell of a lot of them, and almost all had gone.  _ Almost.  _

 

“You can’t beat fresh milk,” Lorna said, while the kitten clambered up onto her shoulder and started chewing on her hair. “And fresh eggs. People that live in cities don’t understand what they’re missing.”

 

Thanadir watched enthusiastically as the creamy milk foamed into the ceramic jugs, already dreaming of butter. Rîniel was very fast, and the whole affair took less than fifteen minutes. She had thoroughly groomed the animal with brushes beforehand, and now made to return the milk to the Halls. The humans looked on in fascination to see that her system was that of a carrying-yoke; the two vessels of milk were suspended by cords so that she could carry them by means of the wooden device. With a smile and a polite bow of her head (and a wave) she briskly walked off into the woods with the filled jugs swaying from the yoke. The seneschal tilted his head. “It is safe to return to the house,” he smiled. “I would like tea.”

 

_ Poor Earlene _ , Ratiri thought. Breastfeeding could be difficult for a new mother under any circumstances, but she’d been handed this baby out of nowhere, just been told its father -- her brother, however much she hated him -- got mashed into chutney in a car wreck...it was a miracle she’d managed at all.

 

“Could do with some myself,” Lorna said. She was fairly certain some of her scratches were bleeding, but this little fluffy chainsaw was too cute for her to get angry at for long. Tucking the kitten beneath her arm, she followed Thanadir to the cottage.

 

Earlene already had the kettle on, while Thranduil had laid the sleeping little girl in the crib brought from the Halls, which for now would be kept in her bedroom. It sounded so stupid, inside her head, but she felt genuinely proud of herself. She’d actually done it, never mind needing constant coaching and, um,  _ constant coaching _ . Blushing a little, she tried to put that past her. A great deal of this...children and reproducing stuff...seemed to have to do with accepting that bodies did what bodies did, and she could work with that reality or against it. While she would not have guessed that lust and breastfeeding were two words that had any place in the same sentence, if it fed Allanah, it made no real difference. That it had felt euphoric and very satisfying by the end, well, that was good because she was going to do rather a lot of it.  _ How euphoric is it going to be at 3:30am? _ she wondered. But again, she would be blessed with so much help, and would not overlook her good fortune in this regard.

 

As she distributed the bags of tea, her mood darkened a little. The visceral satisfaction of having nursed for the first time would have to give way to the ugly reality that her only brother was dead. And, Sean.  _ Sean? _ To compare it to the plot of a bad movie would be doing a disservice to all bad movies, everywhere. Ever. Would the police just...show up? There was so much she had no way of knowing. 

 

Lorna set the kitten on the floor, only for him to eye the end of her dangling braid and make a flying leap for it. Ratiri caught him, taking him into the lounge and setting him on the sofa. “Cream tea’s only proper when it’s got actual cream in it,” she said, leaning against Ratiri when he returned. “Is the little one asleep?”

 

Earlene nodded. “You can hold her if you want, she dropped off toward the end of her...meal,” Earlene grinned. “It was…ok, I always thought I’d never be one of those types that goes on and on about ‘baby this’ and ‘baby that’ but it really was the cutest thing ever. I’ve got a lot to get used to. You’ve no idea what that felt like, to know that every male around me knew what to do when I didn’t,” she said, now able to poke some fun at a circumstance that was not very funny at all less than an hour ago.

 

“Sorry,” Ratiri said, while Lorna snorted.

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t’ve had a bloody clue, either,” she said. “Let me get this fuzz off my shirt first, so I don’t make her sneeze.” She hurried into the bathroom, wetting a bit of toilet-tissue and wiping it over the cat fur Tail had donated to her. Yeah, he’d scratched her a good few times -- she couldn’t let Ratiri, who wasn’t over-fond of cats without trimmed claws, the weirdo -- know about it, so she dabbed some more and rearranged her shirt.

 

“Let’s see this little one.” She wasn’t going to pick her up without someone else in the room, though -- someone who actually knew how to properly hold a baby.

 

“When they are little ones, you have to support their head and neck,” Thranduil said softly. “The muscles are weak there, yet, and the head is so heavy.” Knowing she felt reluctant, he carefully picked her up but first found a small towel to put against Lorna before laying Allanah in her arms. “While I do not believe you have to worry, I do not wish you wearing her latest meal should the worst happen,” he smiled. “If nothing else, her father did keep her healthy, though Earlene was most disapproving of the food she was given. I cannot say I blame her,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, smiling at the sight of Auntie Lorna.

 

Christ but she was precious...and she’d never have to deal with Daddy Dearest ever again. Lorna was half tempted to send Sean a bouquet. “Her name means ‘little dear one’,” she said, looking down into that little face. “Even if her da was a twat, at least he gave her that. And sure she’s definitely Irish. Look at that hair. She’ll be as ginger as my sister, I’m sure’v it.

 

“Before much longer we will have to confess Earlene’s pregnancy to the village; she is beginning to show,” Thranduil said. “I hope we survive the celebrations. But first...regrettably we must clear the final hurdles her father sent our way. How strange life is, Lorna. One day I am threatening Sean should he ever come near my wife again. Another day, he has killed my brother-in-law, except it is practically a cause for celebration. I have lived a very long time and yet all the strangest parts of it have had to do with Sean. I do not know what to make of that.”

 

Lorna looked at him. “Welcome to Ireland,” she said, smirking a little. “You’ll be surprised just who can wind up doing a good deed by mistake -- even if it doesn’t look like a good deed to most. What’d you threaten Sean with, though? If it didn’t involve a bog, it’s not a proper threat.”

 

Allanah yawned, and made a sound very like a squeak, and Lorna just about melted. Jesus, she was going to have  _ two  _ of these in nine months...thank bloody God Ratiri knew all about babies.

 

“I said very little to him, in actuality,” Thranduil replied, remembering. “The sum of it was that if he ever touched Earlene again, or came near her in a manner to which she objected, that he would have a great deal to fear. What seemed to do him in the most was when I continued to stand and stare at him after speaking. Or at least, that was when he urinated himself,” he concluded with a shrug. “I am guessing that he will receive unavoidable punishment, for what happened?”

 

“Christ, he pissed himself…” Lorna shook her head, laughing at the memory. “He will, but it’ll be less if he gets a clean tox screen. Reckless endangerment is a lighter prison sentence than a DUI. Either way, I’m tempted to send him a bloody care package every month. Aidan….” She glanced at the door.  _ Even if there had been some chance of saving that son of a bitch -- and I really don’t think there was -- I wouldn’t have said anything. I’d’ve let him die. _ Ratiri, no doubt, would find that horrifying, but Ratiri was a doctor. He was literally oathbound to save life where he could. Lorna had no such compunction, and no oaths to anything.

 

The King sighed. “While your anger frightens me sometimes, for your own well-being...I would have chosen no differently, Lorna,” he said. “You do not know what was in that man’s mind; it is a burden I have chosen to carry and never tell to Earlene. She would not cope well with knowing how bad it was. I have met orcs with more morality. I am only relieved that Allanah will grow up away from any such influences. It will grieve her, someday, to understand what her father was. But that tale is a long way off from the telling. In a way, it is a blessing. She can be told that her father died, and we raised her, and that will not be a lie. Though it will very much be only part of the truth.”

 

“I can guess,” Lorna said. “Any man who’d try to toss over his infant daughter months after its mam died...I can make a guess. Wanted to get out and...what’s the Americanism, play the field? Here I was so furious that he’d got away with it, that he was going to get everything he wanted, and now this…” She laughed. “Ratiri said karma’d get him in the end. This little one, though, he did her a favor by dying. It’s all the truth she’ll ever need to know.”

 

“And yet when she is of age, the choice to learn more will lie with her,” he said, just before something appeared to distract him. “Enjoy her,” he said with a smile, “please excuse me.”

 

Earlene had decided that it was time to care for some unpleasant realities before her emotions could become mired any further. Specifically, she wrote to her lawyer Claire to give her the news, explaining the situation and relating everything that transpired and what was said; this would also serve as her documentation of Aidan’s abandonment. Thranduil felt he owed it to her to sit next to her as she did this. In the meantime Ratiri and Thanadir were enthusiastically discussing breastfeeding techniques. For once, Thranduil was glad to see that Earlene could completely block out what was said around her when she was intently concentrating.

 

“We probably ought to go deal with the police,” Ratiri sighed. “Given Lorna’s history with car wrecks, I wish I didn’t have to put her through that, but we were both there.” Thank God he’d given her the Xanax, or he didn’t know  _ what  _ it would have done to her. More quietly, he added, “If anyone needs to ID the body, she’s met him before -- sort of -- and I’ll tell whoever asks that Earlene’s pregnant and doesn’t need to be seeing that.” He was a doctor; his word would carry a certain measure of weight there. From what little he’d seen himself, it wasn’t pretty; while Earlene might have hated her brother, she still didn’t need to be seeing him like that, even if she hadn’t been pregnant. But he also didn’t feel like prying Lorna away from that baby -- she seemed to be feeling much better, and he didn’t want to disturb that.

 

He didn’t want to pry into her personal business, but from a sheer medical standpoint, he had to know.  _ Are things...better, between you and Lorna?  _ he asked Thranduil.  _ I don’t want to invade either of your privacy, but as her caregiver I have to ask that much. I can’t keep giving her Xanax, but will she be well, if I stop? _

 

For the barest moment, a flicker of fear, and pain, washed over Thranduil, to be quickly hidden as his sense of discipline, and duty, reasserted itself. There was hesitation, until he considered the words actually said. ‘Better.’ Better did not mean ‘fully well,’ it meant...what it meant.  _ They are better,  _ he admitted.  _ I feel far more hope than I did when you first arrived. I believe, in the absence of further shocking or deeply upsetting events, you could stop giving the medicine. Though today, it was great good fortune that she was insulated in advance against what transpired. Lorna likes Allanah a great deal and is of course welcome to be here with her as much as she likes. When the authorities have had their demands fulfilled, we will like as not retreat to the Halls, at least for a few days. Earlene’s life will not be the same now, and she deserves a chance to understand her new role away from the reminders that this home may offer. I would like it, and so would she, if you came to visit. Maybe bring movies we could see there? I know Earlene wants to read her new books and I will encourage this, while she is spending time with Allanah and feeding her. _

 

_ We can do that _ , Ratiri said.  _ I can’t promise she won’t have to deal with legal things somewhere down the line, but Lorna has Niamh, so we’ll take care of all we can. Tell Earlene not to worry about it. Lorna’s always happy if she’s got someone to shout at, and people tend to give her what she wants just to make her stop.  _ It probably said something about him that he found that rather charming, but he really did. He liked that she was a tiny ball of aggression and hair and somewhat alarming green eyes.  _ It really is something of a joy to watch. _

 

Lorna glided out of the bedroom, walking with the sleeping infant in slow, rocking motions, perfect contentment written on her face. She slowly made her way toward the sofa where Ratiri sat next to Thranduil when Allanah woke with a tiny little gasp and loosed a belch of completely impressive volume into Lorna’s ear before smiling and nodding off against her shoulder.

 

Lorna choked on a laugh, shoulders shaking with the effort of suppressing it. “When she’s older, I’ll teach her to belch Black Sabbath songs,” she said. “Well away from Earlene. It’ll be our little secret.”

 

“You’re lucky she didn’t sick up on you,” Ratiri said, and she grimace.

 

“Not looking forward to that, with ours.” She had a sudden mental image of a veritable choir of belching five-year-olds, and had to choke back a fresh burst of laughter. “Well, whatever else this turns out to be, it’s unlikely to be dull.”

 

_ Eru help me, _ Thranduil said to himself, grinning. And it was the happiest he had felt in days.


	41. Forty-one

Thranduil read to Earlene from _Quenta Silmarillion_ , the Story of the Silmarils, while Earlene sat near the fire nursing Allanah. It seemed silly to be having a fire in July, but the underground fortress was always a steady variation on “cool”. And while she had no doubt that it was far warmer in their rooms than the elves might need or wish for their own comfort, they had given her well-being the priority. Thanadir had made her a number of simple but very useful garments; they were a sort of wrap-around vest, with soft fabric that was readily absorbent. The panels that covered each breast were heavily pleated, which allowed her to stay a little warmer, and drier. Thranduil had been right; it was very soon after she’d gotten the “hang” of it that the mere sound of Allanah’s hunger opened the floodgates. She could control the letdown of her milk somewhat, but...not all the time. At any rate, the garments allowed her to stay more comfortable. After her second or third experience feeding, she did not even bother shying away from the seneschal; what was the point? The sight of her breasts meant nothing to him, and Earlene was rapidly becoming used to her body serving a different purpose entirely.

 

The little girl, when awake, was never bored. Walks in the forest to grab at leaves and rocks, a favorite game of Looking In The Mirror With Thanadir, who would talk to her incessantly in Sindarin, encouraging her to make sounds, and of course the remarkable ability of Thranduil to know her mind and explain her developing thoughts. Allanah was healthy, happy, and loved.

 

With his ability to fill in the blanks and explain what did not seem to make sense, Earlene soon understood much about the world into which her husband was born. It was a tale of sadness. There had been elven kingdoms of beauty and splendor, but always with destruction and devastation following not far behind. She learned of the extraordinary awakening of his people, and the terrible acts of violence and deception by the one who came to be known as Morgoth. It would have been hard to accept or believe this was anything but fantasy, except that she was living among people who had been there, and seen. And while she said nothing aloud, in the back of her mind she could not forget the... _thing_ ...they had met in New York. _How could anyone wish to follow or serve such a one as Melko?_ It failed to compute, on every possible level. Her affinity to the elves grew all the time, and that there could be any desire to differ from these beautiful and gentle people became more difficult to understand.

 

And the Valar, and Eru himself...the notion that there was perhaps a greater plan, a greater good; that felt more hopeful to Earlene. It did not entirely make sense to her, the concept that so much suffering would be allowed to go on before an original plan of creation that was thwarted would be repaired, but, many things did not make sense to her. Enough humility was built into her psyche that she could accept...them. That these powers, for lack of better words, did not seem to want churches or worship or ceremonies impressed her favorably. One thing she’d never understood about religion was why any of that could possibly matter to a deity worth serving. What guide or parent actually _wanted_ followers who were sycophants, obsequiously muttering prayers over and over, or serving up pompous rituals? Not one that made any sense to her; that sort of thing had always struck her as the ravings of something that had a narcissistic personality disorder. The elves, though, clearly saw the Valar more as loving parents, with roles to play. They guided, and guarded, and were forces for good. It felt...rational.

 

On the fourth day after Allanah arrived, Earlene asked if they might go to the pub, just to say ‘hello’. It seemed only right to make an appearance. Aidan had, after all, hit the goddamn building, and Earlene had not been to see the damages or ask about...anyway, it was only right. So late afternoon one day, with Allanah squealing in delight as Earlene and Thanadir gently “walked” her in the grass near the roadside, they arrived just in time to see the locals filing in. Earlene had changed out of her elven clothes. Or more accurately, she had hybridized them; she wore human leggings, one of Thanadir’s miracle milk-control garments, and a pretty and airy loose fitting print tunic with a flatteringly uneven bottom hem. And sandals. She looked radiant and lovely.

 

The growing din of the pub muted a bit as they came in, awkwardness overtaking many. While it had got around town that Earlene hadn’t liked her brother (because he was a gobshite), the fact remained that he’d _been_ her brother, and he’d been killed quite suddenly -- and gruesomely, if Lorna’s expression had been any indication. It had certainly left an impressive dent in the external wall of the pub. John still wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do about it, because unless he completely redid the siding, there was no masking it.

 

Sight of that little baby, though, cut through the awkwardness and then some. Big blue eyes, a soft down of vibrant ginger hair...the girl giggled, and half the population of the pub melted.

 

“How’s everything been settling in?” John asked. He wasn’t sure if the police had been out bothering them or not, but they’d certainly been _here_ often enough -- too often, he’d think, because seriously, it was a DUI manslaughter. Nothing complex about that. They’d only left the final time because Lorna had shouted at them, something about a lawyer.

 

“I was thinking to ask you the same question,” Earlene said sheepishly. “I’m truly sorry not to have come out sooner. He...my brother was such a gobshite”, she said emphatically. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but I can’t forgive him for both what he did to me when we were younger and then to his own daughter. Do you know he didn’t even say good-bye to her, when he left? And then he got himself killed, and hit your pub…” she trailed off. It was truly difficult to summarize Aidan in anything less than a short story, much less a few sentences. Though, “gobshite” was always a good place to start. She looked at them all, somewhat helplessly.

 

“You haven’t got any need to apologize,” John said. “None’v this was your fault. We all figured you’d take what time you needed -- it wasn’t just that your brother died, but now you’d got a little one.” The cutest little one he’d seen in years, actually. “I’m not surprised he didn’t. I didn’t like the look’v him the moment I saw him. Sometimes people just have that _something_ about them….” He shook his head. “But what can I be getting you?”

 

“Pints of Guinness for the lads and...is there something like soda water and lime juice, for me?” she asked hopefully. Alcohol had no appeal right now, and she wasn’t sure what the choices were, for anything else. “And John...is there insurance, on your pub? I’m a lawyer. I’ve got a lawyer. And my brother was many things, but he was not poor. I’ll not have this costing you, what happened. I couldn’t live with myself.”

 

“Coming up,” he said, taking down two mugs. “I’ve got a few fizzy drinks, if you’d want to look at the menu. Good to have cold on a hot day. And I have -- adjustor’s just dragging his feet getting out here, of bloody course.” He set the menu before Earlene, filled two pint glasses, and tickled Allanah under the chin. Her gurgling giggle made more than one nearby patron grin like an idiot.

 

“Sure isn’t she adorable,” Bridie sighed. “She could be on an advert for laundry soap.”

 

“Her mother was very, very beautiful. Ungodly beautiful. I’m not sorry to have Allanah but…” she shook her head. “She is a very happy baby, and healthy. And her Auntie Earlene figured out feeding her, and everything,” she chuckled, enraptured by the child’s blue eyes. She could be related to Thranduil, that’s how blue they were.

 

None of them were ever going to come out and say it was a good thing her brother had been mashed to a pulp inside his own car (Lorna’s words, apparently), but most of them were thinking it. That beautiful baby girl deserved good parents, without the specter of a gobshite one hanging over her head. That the elves were so willing to help was a relief; there were a few in the village that weren’t certain just how they’d take this random tiny human getting foisted on them, but Bridie had seen how Thranduil was with little Orla. She’d had no concerns at all. “What manner’v formula have you got?” she asked. “Because a lot’v the brands out there are shite.”

 

Earlene chuckled. “This formula,” she said, pointing to her chest. “I guess it’s not a secret that my husband has...unusual abilities. He helped things along a little, because of exactly that problem.” She hesitated. “It isn’t just Allanah,” she said, glancing down and smoothing her tunic over her now very visibly swelling abdomen.

 

“You’re…?” Bridie didn’t get a chance to finish that, because Maire, squealing like an eejit, bounded over.

 

“You’ve got one in the oven?” she asked, somehow managing to avoid spilling her pint all down her front. “ _And_ this little one? Christ it’s good you’ve got help.” She glanced from Thranduil to Thanadir, who always seemed so serene -- not that they’d seen him many times.

 

Earlene smiled from ear to ear. “No. I’ve got _two_ , in the oven. Twin girls. And I have the best help anyone could want. Thanadir loves children even more than Thranduil, and that’s saying quite a lot.”

 

“Three little girls?” John asked. As the father of three himself...God help them. They were going to need it.

 

“You realize you need a shower, right?” Chloe asked, struggling through the crowd and coming to rest against the bar. “And _we’ll_ plan it, not the Quilting Circle. Christ that’d be a nightmare.”

 

Bridie twitched a bit. Yes, yes it would. “Grand old ladies, the lot’v them, but you’d wind up drowning in baby clothes from the nineteen-fifties.”

 

 _As opposed to the Third Age of Arda?_ Earlene thought, but of course did not say aloud. “There genuinely isn’t a lot we need. The elves have...no shortage of clothing and baby items. But speaking of the Quilting Club….is Aurinia okay? Lorna told me it was Sean and...I know I can’t do a thing about it, but she’s still a mother, and I can’t imagine what she’s being put through right now.”

 

John sighed. “She’s bearing up,” he said, “but it’s hard on her. Sean’s a waste, but he’s her only son, and his da...none’v us could ever work out why she married his da. The ladies’v been looking after her, and no doubt knocking up a quilt to send him in prison.” Sometimes, all you could do was keep your hands busy. At least Aurinia had something to do with hers.

 

“She’ll be all right, in the end,” Bridie assured. “She’s a tough one. Had to be, given the gombeen she married.”

 

Earlene sipped on what had morphed into her soda water with grenadine and lime, since she felt like something sweet but on principle generally avoided soda pop. Thanadir sidled over, looking longingly at Allanah and curiously at her drink. She handed the baby over to him, and Allanah immediately grabbed a fistful of his hair and stuffed it into her mouth. There were far worse things than elf hair to chew on, but she handed the seneschal her drink to try while she gently disentangled his locks with the help of funny-faced distractions, and smoothed it behind his back. “Nothing’s safe from those little hands,” she said adoringly before returning her attention to Bridie. “I should go visit her,” Earlene said. “It’s the decent thing to do.”

 

“If you do, go earlier in the day,” Bridie warned. “She’ll be drunk by now. The ladies’v tried to get her out to the pub, but she won’t come. Maybe she will, if you talk to her. She’s just sick with guilt, for all it’s not her fault Sean turned out as he did.”

 

“Sean’s got nobody to blame but Sean,” Jack said darkly, coming up behind his wife. “But it’s hard on her. Might do her some good to see you. And that little one.” He gave Allanah a little wave, and she returned him a happy smile. Three little girl babies...Bridie hoped elves didn’t need as much sleep as humans, because they weren’t going to get it once those twins were born.

 

Orla, wide-eyed, approached Thranduil. “Did you find that baby?” she asked. “Mam says when people want babies, they find one. I dunno where, but...somewhere?”

 

Thranduil immediately picked the little girl up into his arms. “This one is our relative. Do you have an Auntie?”

 

Orla nodded her head solemnly. “Well Earlene is _this_ little girl’s Auntie. But some things happened, and now she will be living with her Aunt and Uncle. But now that I know that…” Thranduil made a show of looking in each direction to make sure no one else was listening “…I will keep a lookout for them. I like babies, so maybe if I am very lucky, I will find some more?” He looked into Orla’s eyes to see if she agreed with this strategy.

 

“You’re smart!” Orla exclaimed.

 

“Only because I have you to give me such good ideas,” he said with great seriousness. With a squeal of excitement she turned into a wiggle-worm, and so he quickly set her down, as she busily began looking around the pub furniture for any babies that might have been overlooked. His eyes were alight with joy to watch her innocent antics, as he chuckled.

 

“When are you due?” Bridie asked. “Maire mentioned elf pregnancies can last a bloody year, but you’re human, except you’re carrying half-elf babies…” Even if maths had been one of her stronger points -- which they hadn’t, really -- trying to work _that_ out might have just resulted in a headache.

 

Earlene smiled. “Well, good question. Elves and humans have married before. But it has always been an elf woman marrying a human man; it has never before been the other way around. Between nine months and a year, or, whenever they are tired of being in there, I guess is the answer. Anywhere between late January and late April of next year. Their aur en onnad is April 25th,” Earlene said, hoping desperately that discussing elven...realities...was not off-putting to Bridie. But she _seemed_ a practical sort…

 

“It’s never been a human woman and an elf before?” Bridie eyed the pair, and wondered why the hell not. Sure, they weren’t her type, but there were plenty out there that loved that sort. “Well, I guess that’ll just make everything more interesting. Once they drop, you’ll have a better idea when it’ll be. I doubt it’ll come out’v nowhere.” Obviously elves and humans were similar enough that they could interbreed, so childbirth probably wasn’t too much different between the species. “Have you given any thought to a breast-pump? I’ve got some in the chemist, and with twins, you might be better off with one. Otherwise, and I’ll be frank, you’ll wind up with raw nipples. Plus, it’s always nice if the da can feed the babies a bit, too, and obviously that takes a bottle.”

 

“You know…” Earlene thought about this. “He can heal...most anything. But these two being able to feed her...that might really be nice, when the time comes. Sleeping for more than an hour might be nice, too. We’ll definitely talk about it. I’m still a complete rookie at this, but it’s getting better,” she grinned. “It’s amazing how it sounds so easy until you have to do it for the first time, and have your figurative thumb up your arse.”

 

“The people that tell you it’s easy are full’v shite,” Maire snorted. “They say ‘oh, it’s instinct’. No. No, it’s bloody not, which is why all’v us women have to swap advice. You’d be amazed how unhelpful my obstetrician was with my eldest. It’s lucky you’ve got a husband that can heal things. Though, with twins, be aware you might wee yourself once or twice when you’re closer to full term. Your bladder might not tell you what it needs until it’s too late.”

 

“This conversation is proving completely illuminating,” said Earlene. “I’m realizing, I really need to start reading. I mean, I’ve read, but not about things like this. And forewarned is forearmed, as they say.” She paused. “I was ready to come unglued, the first time I tried to nurse her. Thranduil had stepped out for a moment, the baby got hungry and started crying, and the only two around were Thanadir and Lorna’s friend Ratiri. And both of those two knew ten times more about it than I did. But I just couldn’t talk to them, not the first damn time. I mean, I would’ve, if I’d had no other choice but...Jesus. Thank god my husband came back almost right away, and showed me what to do. It was surreal. That taught me the hard lesson that just because you have the plumbing doesn’t mean you know anything about how to use the toolkit.”

 

Bridie winced. “First time’s always the hardest,” she said. “It doesn’t just...happen., like it would if our bodies were made in any sane way. We’re the only bloody mammal that can’t just nurse our young without someone telling us how first.”

 

“How does that work, though?” Maire asked. “You being able to nurse when you’re still so early on? Is it some kind’v, I dunno, magic that they do?” Ever since Sean, they’d all been curious about just what healing powers Thranduil actually had, and how they worked. It had been a damn nasty wound, and by the time he was done, there was no sign of it.

 

“That’s the only version of an answer I am able to understand. It’s an ability they have, all of them. Thanadir can heal too, it’s just that of the bunch, Thranduil has the most skill and...the others seem to have limits, to what they can do or what they can do at one time. But Thranduil, I’m not sure what he _can’t_ fix.”

 

Thranduil had been listening, because that was not avoidable, and thinking very seriously. These villagers were under his wing, in a way. And while he did not wish to be burdened beyond reason, it occurred to him that he had a gift he could give them of inestimable value. It would not only be a very decent thing to offer, it might buy his people goodwill that would prove incalculable. He joined them, and was about to speak when something distracted Maire, who excused herself momentarily. Which was just as well, because his words were mostly for Bridie. “Could the three of us step away, for a moment? There is something I would like to tell you that I would rather not turn into an uproarious discussion just now.”

 

With a puzzled look, a shrug and a nod, Bride headed for the pub’s back room, yanking the door open and ushering them inside.

 

“Thank you,” said Thranduil. “I have been thinking. A consequence of us entering your lives is that you are learning that we have abilities you do not possess, through no one’s fault. I have given this a great deal of consideration, and I think it is time I offered this. As you were just discussing, I can heal most anything wrong with a mortal body. Disease, injury, all of it. I want to help those who live in Lasg’len.” He looked into her eyes, but then looked away. “But I am not one of your doctors, nor do I wish to be. I do not wish to be asked to help with every cut and bruise. And as with what happened to Earlene’s brother...if I cannot be there in time, there is also nothing I can do. I cannot raise the dead, nor can I keep one who is aging alive indefinitely; I cannot overcome your mortality. Yet there may be times when you have need and nowhere else to turn; it is for this, that I wish to offer my help. But as with everything else about us, outsiders must not know. Do you understand?”

 

God, wouldn’t that be grand...and a giant relief. “You’ve got no idea how good it is, to hear you offer,” Bridie said. “Doc Reilly retired, and I’m the closest thing we’ve got to an in-town medical professional. Ratiri, he comes as we need him, but he lives an hour away. I can handle garden-variety shite -- cuts and bruises, as you say -- but for something worse, Christ yes I’d be grateful as hell.” She sighed. “I’ll admit, the forest and you lot in it are why we’re having an issue finding a new doctor. Bringing in outsiders’d be dangerous, and we can’t get Ratiri to move here permanently. We’d need to shift Lorna for that, and I’m not sure that’s possible.” Looking at him, she added, “How does it work, your magic? Is it even something that can be explained?”

 

“Ratiri and I had this conversation,” he said, a little helplessly. “I can only explain that I have an energy, that I suppose you would call ‘magic’, that I can send to bring health to overcome disease, to knit what is broken into wholeness. It is helping along, at an accelerated rate, what the body can already do. It happens at the level of the very small structures in the body...forgive me, I do not have the vocabulary of your scientific disciplines. That is the best I can do, to describe. I am sorry, that I cannot do better.”

 

Bridie laughed. “Of course he did, and I’ve no doubt he’ll try to foist medical books on you, if he hasn’t already. I’m glad as hell for your offer, in any event, but how can we get ahold’v you?” She really doubted they had mobiles.

 

“Do you understand the borders of the forest? That the edge of Earlene’s driveway at the cottage is one part, and the standing stone before the trees nearest the village is the other?”

 

Bridie nodded. Of course she understood; those were the exact places they’d always known never to go past.

 

“If you are inside of those boundaries, by even so much as two feet, I can hear your thoughts. Anyone’s thoughts. Were you to go there, and call out for me aloud or in your mind, it matters not, I will hear you. If I am asleep, I might need a little extra...effort. The only exception would be is if we were away; obviously if we have travelled outside the forest, this does not help. It is best that you do not enter the woods themselves. No one from the village would be harmed, but you would become lost, and one of us would have to find you. Earlene does have electronic devices; if we are at her cottage it would be possible to contact us there. She will give you the information.” Earlene fished around in her pockets, grateful when Bridie pulled a pen out of her purse. Napkins abounded, and soon this was cared for.

 

He could hear thoughts inside the forest...Jesus, better not let _that_ get out. No surprise Earlene trusted him enough to do that, given they were married and all, but it _was_ a bit surprising that Lorna and Ratiri would. Either way, it was going to stay on the quiet. “It’s good to know,” she said, “and thank you. I mean it.”

 

“You are welcome,” he said, appearing to be genuinely happy. They exited the room, and rejoined the others.

 

“Thranduil, I am sorry, but we should be thinking about walking back. I’d been hoping to put a decent dinner on the table before Allanah becomes hungry again.” Thanadir had almost finished his beer, and...that seemed entirely reasonable.

 

“If you’d come back in a day or two -- let’s call it two -- we can have a potluck,” Bridie said. “I know there’s more in town that’d like to see that little one, and hear your news.”

 

Earlene and the ellyn looked back and forth, each hoping the other would think this was suitable. Three heads nodded back, and smiled. “About this time? And what can I bring, or do you want to email me? Otherwise I’ll just make something up…”

 

Bridie laughed. “Yeah, around this time. Bring some’v that milk I know you’ve got to have. I know you’ve got a cow out there, and we’d all love some real milk.”

 

“Seriously?” Earlene laughed. “OK, special order from Buttercup. Do you want me to pasteurize it?”

 

“Probably a good idea, given the kids’ll be having some. Just to be safe. I’ve never actually heard’v anyone getting sick off truly raw milk, but I just know I’m tempting fate if you don’t,” Bridie said.

 

“I understand. Were it not for the unusual situation, later on the stuff’d never touch Allanah’s lips without it being pasteurized until she was much older. Can’t be too careful when it’s other people’s health. And, we will see you then. I’ll tell Lorna and Ratiri, too.” They waved their good-lucks, and left for the cottage.

 

*****

 

Over the intervening days since they’d last visited the forest, Lorna had discovered that trying to meditate was something of an exercise in frustration.

 

She couldn’t turn her brain fully off without chemical aid. She just couldn’t do it, try though she did. Even while wandering the woods, enjoying the summer warmth, she turned things over in her mind -- work things, family things. Dealing with Aidan had been unpleasant, but not unduly difficult thanks to Niamh (who got sent a very nice bottle of whisky for her efforts); all Earlene wound up having to do was sign a few forms and decide what to do with the corpse. Ratiri pushing the “she’s pregnant and traumatized and acquired a surprise baby early” excuse had been surprisingly effective, so much so that Lorna had only needed to really shout at one person. She’d been almost disappointed.

 

Ratiri insisted her walks be gentle, which meant he always accompanied her in case she...tripped, or something. Lorna honestly didn’t know what he thought might go wrong, and didn’t particularly care to ask. That he hovered like a mother hen was endearing as hell, so she let him, for once not averse to the idea of someone fussing over her. It gave him joy, in an odd sort of way, so she’d let him have it.

 

His things had been trickling their way into her cottage, though he hadn’t properly moved in yet. The first night he spent at her house elicited much comment from the pub regulars, until she threatened to lamp every bloody one of them out if they gave him any grief over it. Christ, it was going to be _so much worse_ when she let on she was up the yard. She didn’t even want to think about it.

 

Just now, though, Ratiri was trying to teach her yoga, saying that she would want to stay flexible when she started developing an actual bump. Mat rolled out on the lounge floor, she was stretching -- carefully -- with her fingers hooked over her toes.

 

“I can touch my foot to the back’v my head,” she pointed out. “I’m pretty flexible already.”

 

“Don’t you dare try that right now,” he said. He sat facing her, cross-legged, the sunlight glinting on his hair. “That can wait until post-partum. Several _months_ post-partum.” The very thought made him twitch a bit. “I know you don’t like being reminded that you’re small, Lorna, but you are, and you’re carrying twins. There’s no such thing as too much preparation.”

 

She grimaced. “At your height, what’re the odds of these two being, y’know, huge?” Releasing her toes, she sat back, crossing her own legs.

 

“Very tall parents don’t necessarily produce oversized babies,” he said, smiling a little. “But at your size, even babies of a more average weight might prove an issue. You’ve got narrow hips. I know that the Elves can heal pretty much anything, but I doubt they can do a C-section, so we’ll have to consider that it might be necessary to give birth in hospital. There’s a difference between healing someone and somehow widening their pelvis, and I don’t think the latter is actually possible.”

 

“It’d probably hurt like a bitch,” Lorna said, with another grimace. “There’d be fewer questions later on down the line if we had them in hospital anyway. Christ, I’m not looking forward to telling the village about this.”

 

“Why not?” he asked curiously.

 

“Because I guarantee you we’ll get hounded to get married right off.” They’d never actually talked about marriage, because it was too early to even be considering it. She was hoping they’d end up there someday, and was pretty sure they would, but now was not the time. She’d be damned if she’d let anyone railroad her into something for the wrong reasons, and anyone who tried was in for a guided tour through whatever hell she could produce. “And I’d really rather not have to lamp anyone out right now.”

 

Ratiri didn’t even want to _think_ about what Indira would have to say. While she wasn’t an overly traditional woman, in a few ways she was, and he was quite sure this would be one of them. “If they get too annoying, at least we can go spend a long weekend at the Halls. Hopefully, if they know we’ll just pack up and leave when we’re not strictly needed, they’ll at least pause before speaking.”

 

Lorna snorted. “Not likely, but hope springs eternal.” When he stood, she let him pull her to her feet, and for a moment just stood with her arms around him, head rested lightly on his chest. He ran a gentle hand along the curve of her spine, and she smiled. Yes, this was going to turn into a nightmare and a bloody half in not much time at all, but Ratiri was proving to be everything she could have hoped for. This was hardly the ideal start of a relationship, but at least it was working, and it helped that both of them wanted the twins. They were doing a bit better than just muddling through.

 

Her computer let out its e-mail notification -- the sound of the TARDIS dematerializing. Earlene had sent her the link that the website that had produced the Star Trek transporter noise, but the TARDIS was louder and easier for her to hear from the lounge. She went to check it, and grinned.

 

“Earlene and the Elves are having a do at the pub in Lasg’len,” she said. “News’v the sprogs got out, so there’s a little informal party tonight.” It would be something of a relief to see just how these things were meant to go, too, when she had to do one in Baile. She just hoped there wouldn’t be too much beer -- the smell of it was beginning to do unpleasant things to her stomach, though she could deal with it for now. Ratiri had told her that likely wouldn’t last; she hadn’t yet hit the morning-sickness phase, but if she was already having a touchy stomach due to smells, she’d probably hit it fairly soon. Oh joy.

 

“Did you get the baby booties done?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

 

“I had to pick the left apart and put it back together, but I did,” she said. “And I’ve got Gran’s baby clothes. They’re almost a hundred years old now. Family heirloom.”

 

And it was a _family_ heirloom, because she’d done some research, and had a bit of news for Earlene. After everything, hopefully it would be happy.

 

Figuring out what to bring was a bit difficult, but Mairead had given her a platter of biscuits she hadn’t actually got into yet, so there was that.

 

She had a bit of charcoal biscuit before they left, and brushed her hair out before putting it back into a smoother braid. On such a warm evening, she figured they’d take the Charger, and enjoy the wind through their hair on the motorway.

 

“It’s weird,” she said, adjusting the seat once she’d got in the car. “I feel like I ought to feel more pregnant, so I swear I’ve just got weird phantom...nothings.” She had no idea how to articulate it, but that was the way it was. She kept thinking she was going to feel something moving, even though it was far too early for that.

 

“You’ll be feeling real things soon enough,” Ratiri said. “Are you actually taking your vitamins?”

 

“...When I remember,” she said, a little guiltily. She actually drove at a reasonable pace through town, but that went out the window as soon as they were past the border. Being up the yard hadn’t yet changed her driving habits, though actual _babies_ probably would. “Honestly, I try.”

 

“Do, or do not,” Ratiri said. “There is no ‘try’.” The very slight arch of his eyebrow, when she glanced at him, utterly cracked her up.

 

“All right then, Yoda, I’ll work something out.” She didn’t dare poke him in the side while driving, but as soon as they’d reached the pub (in forty minutes rather than sixty, because her driving really was a special thing) she jabbed her thumb against his ribs, tickling lightly before scurrying out of the car.

 

“You,” he said, “are evil, and one of these days I will make you pay for it. With interest.”

 

Lorna looked at him. “Ratiri, allanah, you are a precious cinnamon roll,” she said. “You’re not threatening. I’m sorry.” Shaking her head, she fetched the biscuits from the backseat, grateful they hadn’t gone all over.

 

He briefly considered doing something appallingly childish, like giving her a noogie, but refrained. “Oh, just wait,” he said instead, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “You will not see it coming.”

 

“I’m sure I won’t,” she said dryly.

 

The pub was already on the crowded side, the long tables laden with food, but given that these were Mairead biscuits, they’d be popular. Lorna, naturally, couldn’t see worth a damn in a crowd, but Ratiri spotted Earlene, who was joined by Thranduil and Thanadir.

 

“That baby,” he said, “is so cute you could use her as a weapon.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, letting him lead her. “Ratiri says you could use Allanah as a weapon, she’s so cute,” she said, somehow not making grabby-hands.

 

Earlene handed Allanah over to Lorna, knowing that it was what she wanted most, greeting both of them somewhere in there. “She’s a big hit here at the pub, having taken everyone over with her superpowers, “ she joked. “Quite the exciting week, and this helps make up for how it started,” she said enthusiastically. The food looked amazing.

 

“I’ve brought Mairead-biscuitss,” Lorna said. “Lucky I had them on hand. She doesn’t actually know about the sprogs yet, but I swear she’s got some instinct, because she keeps giving me food. Lots of food.” Allanah, gurgling happily, grabbed her braid and examined it with tiny fingers.  “And what’re you looking for, little one? Just don’t eat it, yeah?”

 

Naturally, the baby did just that. “Lovely. Why don’t you give me that back now, allanah. And I call you that like it’s an endearment, not your name. Because _that_ won’t get weird.”

 

“I’m sure she’ll live,” Ratiri said, running a hand over the baby’s downy tuft of red hair. She stared at him, round-eyed, so enraptured it was all Lorna could do not to laugh.

 

“I think you’ve got an admirer. Has she settled in well -- no more problems feeding?”

 

“Everything has gone really well. I’m not sure I ever had a problem aside from the part where I did not know what to do or how to do it the first time,” she said with mild embarrassment. “I’m not even usually shy or...reserved. I could stand here now on full display and not care. It was just something about feeling so stupid, for having the anatomy and no idea what to do with it. Oh well, live and learn,” she said cheerfully. “And how have you both been doing...has some time to settle into the idea happened?” she asked hopefully.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “Yes, and no,” she said. “Mainly because dealing with the village’ll be a nightmare once they find out. We’ve been slowly moving Ratiri in, a bit at a time, but once they find out I’m up the yard...God. I think we might come stay in the Halls for a bit, if it gets too obnoxious.”

 

“If Indira has an issue with it, I’ll quit,” Ratiri said. “I have money, and I won’t let anyone hound me. I’m not sure that she would _too_ much, but out-of-wedlock babies aren’t exactly encouraged in Indian society.”

 

“Nor in Ireland,” Lorna muttered, “but sod all that. I talked to Orla -- she’s coming out to take a look at my cottage next week, and if you’re willing, I can ask her to see your property, too.”

 

“God yes,” Earlene huffed. “And I was serious, when I talked about having room for all of us. We’re all not going anywhere, and if a remodel or new home is going to get done, it’s going to be in such a way that you have a place that’s comfortable for all of you, both here and...further inland. And, excuse me for all it’s not my native country, but that’s horseshit, for anyone to say things like that to you. This is 2016, and you don’t go and wed because of a pregnancy. It’s none of anyone’s goddamn business, and I’ll happily get a cab to Baile and put my foot up anyone’s arse I hear about that’s saying stuff like that to you. It’s fine for a concerned close friend or family member to have their polite say, one time only. After that...completely unacceptable,” she said, with a certain level of...they weren’t sure what...coming into her expression that was nearly as alarming as Lorna working up one of her heads of steam.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri, and though neither had telepathy, they were both wondering the same thing: were the hormones kicking in? _Probably_ , Lorna thought, but hell, she’d take it. “I might just take you up on that,” she said, gently rocking Allanah. “Ratiri wants me to keep my blood pressure down. Nevermind that I’ve never had issues with it,” she added, giving him a dry look.

 

“You’re forty years old and you’re carrying twins,” he said firmly. “I’d rather you avoid pre-eclampsia, and I’m sure you would, too.” He rather wished he had even a fraction of Thranduil’s power, because, though everything seemed perfectly fine this early on, if something did go wrong, in a village like Baile...it didn’t bear thinking about. Lorna was very healthy; her age shouldn’t, theoretically, put her or the twins in much peril, and yet he worried, because he was a pediatrician, and knew just how many things could really go wrong.

 

Earlene’s eyes widened and she swallowed and her voice had completely abandoned the energetic tones of her near-tirade. “Do what he says, Lorna. That’s nothing to fool around with. Not even a little.” She did not want to say aloud that that same illness was why Allanah had no mother; she knew that she really didn’t _know_ about such things. But that this could be a risk to her friend, her friend who did not live with them...fear had settled over her.

 

Earlene’s sudden shift alarmed Lorna. “Are you all right?” she asked, shifting Allanah in her arms. “I do, mostly. Do what he says, I mean.”

 

“Except take your vitamins every day,” Ratiri said, though he too was looking at Earlene, and wondering how she knew to fear such a condition. Thranduil, he was sure, would not have told her about it...Allanah. Allanah had no mother. _Ah._ “She should be fine,” he said to her. “Her family history of childbirth is positive, but it never hurts to be safe.”

 

“I’m working on that,” she said, lightly elbowing him in the ribs. “I haven’t had a drink in a month. I call that in itself a victory.”

 

Earlene tilted her head. “Thranduil could...let you, if you did that around him. But you still can’t have much, and I don’t even ask about the elven wine. Honestly I’ve sort of given it up, because not being able to drink all I want to has made it seem like it’s pointless. Though, wine at dinner is still nice, I guess. That it’s not a total moratorium has been a thing most don’t get to do.

 

Now it was Lorna’s eyes that widened. “ _Could_ he? Christ, I’d give someone’s left arm for some hard cider. The smell’v beer’s put me off a bit, but cider just smells like cider.” She wasn’t drooling, honestly. Not really.

 

Ratiri laughed. “So long as it won’t do any harm, I don’t see any reason why not.” It wasn’t true alcoholism with Lorna, he knew; it was the psychological need, not the physical. If she could have a bit, she’d be satisfied, or so he hoped.

 

“Did you want me to ask him?” Earlene queried. “As usual, I don’t actually know what this involves.  I suppose it would be best to get that part clear beforehand.”

 

“Please do,” Lorna said. “Seriously, I will give him someone’s left arm. In a velvet box.”

 

“She’d do it, too,” Ratiri said.

 

Earlene’s eyes slightly unfocused as she spoke to her husband across the room. “He will be over in a moment.” And sure enough he was just that, bearing a glass of the hard cider Lorna asked.

 

“Not too fast,” he said, offering Lorna the drink. “And, hello. You were both missed, as always. Though, Earlene and I have been spending much time reading the books you helped us acquire, Ratiri. We are nearly done with The Silmarillion.”

 

“Oh, I plan on savoring this,” she assured him, handing Allanah to Ratiri, who happily bounced the little girl. “He’s been teaching me yoga, and trying less successfully to teach me to meditate.”

 

“Her mind is never truly quiet,” Ratiri said, eying her with a mingling of exasperation and affection. “No matter what I try. I dread what our children will be like.”

 

“Honestly, I do, too,” she said.

 

Thranduil tilted his head. Her mind had been quiet, once, but only when she went into that accursed state of mind he’d taken away from her. And there was very little else he was willing to do, to manage her psyche, out of fear he’d already done more than he should have. To heal the broken, that was one thing. But to alter a personality...no. That was beyond what was moral. Yet he guessed that if a day could come when she could experience some true peace and happiness, that she would better be able to find stillness. What Ratiri could not understand was the degree to which she’d not had it. And he hoped, very much, that these children, and this man, would give her that which she’d been denied.

 

Still savoring her cider, Lorna glanced around the room. It was getting ever fuller, and she spied several gift-bags here and there; Earlene was going to be going home with baby gifts, whether she wanted any or not. “So, I did a bit’v research,” she said. “About what we found on Ellis Island.” She pulled a rather crumpled piece of paper out of her handbag. “My great-granddad on my da’s side was name Aidan Donovan. He grew up in a children’s home in Dublin,” she said, passing the paper to Earlene. “Take a look at that picture.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Earlene breathed. The resemblance to gran was unmistakable. Hell the resemblance to the whole family... _she_ was the one who was the outlier, appearance-wise. “We’re...what even _is_ that?” Genealogical relationships and degrees of removal were never her strong suit.

 

“Third cousins, I think,” Lorna said. “Second or third. I’m not so grand at that sort’v thing myself, which is kind’v sacrilege, since I’m Irish. We’re meant to be able to trace our family tree out to sixth cousins and their distant relations. Either way, though,” she added, laughing a little. “Surprise. I won’t tell Mairead if you don’t want me to, though.”

 

“I…” Earlene stammered, looking at her. “I want to get this right first. Wait. Cousins is when it’s your parents, that are siblings. And second cousins is when it’s your grandparents. So it would make sense that third cousins are for great-grandparents, which is where we’re at. But what is the thing when people are ‘removed’? We’re going to be saying this all over the place, let’s not muck it up.” She fished out her phone and started tapping in words. “You’ve got to be shitting me, you need a PhD in gobbledygook to understand this,” she said, trying to puzzle it out. One chart to the other, they didn’t seem to make sense in English. “Ohhhh...wait I see what is wrong. I’m not looking at this right. Our common ancestor isn’t Aidan Donovan, it’s actually Padraig and Eíthne. My great grandparents, your great-great grandparents. So if I use this chart then we are….second cousins once removed. Thranduil! You are Lorna’s second-cousin-once-removed-in-law! See, we really are all family! Who’d’ve known??” Beaming, Earlene cocked her eyebrow at Lorna. “Are we allowed to hug on account of special occasion and all?” She was teasing. _Mostly_.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. Their children would actually be blood relatives, however distantly. Eru help him, _that_ he had not known. The edges of Thanadir’s mouth were twitching.

 

Lorna looked at Earlene, and at Thranduil’s wide eyes, and grinned. “Why not?” she said. “Group hug.”

 

Behind her, Ratiri choked on a laugh as she threw her arms around the pair of them, a little too theatrically for sheer necessity.

 

Thanadir was losing his battle and was now actually snickering at his King’s expression.  Not to be unkind; he liked Lorna. But it was beyond funny to see that his sovereign had acquired an unexpected relative. Relatives. _And did not Lorna have many siblings?_

 

“Thranduil! This makes Mairead and her family relatives too! Just think of the cakes!” Earlene looked at him carefully, noticing that he went a little pale at the word ‘Mairead’. “I think he needs a drink,” she said to Ratiri, who was openly laughing. “Better get something stiff.”

  


“Poítin,” Lorna said, gingerly patting Thranduil on the shoulder. “He needs some poítin. John’ll give you the good stuff.”

 

Off Ratiri went, still laughing, and Allanah laughed with him.

 

Thranduil turned to Lorna, worry suddenly coming over his face. “I do not mean to insult you. I am happy. I am just….I did not expect…Mairead...”

 

“Brain lock. Worst case I’ve seen in awhile,” Earlene said, patting him on the shoulder while she held her arm around his waist. ”It happens,” she said, with sympathy.

 

Lorna didn’t even try to smother her grin. “Wouldn’t’ve expected it from him, but finding out you’re related to Mairead _would_ be a bit much,” she said, while Ratiri returned with the poítin. Just to be an utter shit, she added, “Just knock it all back. Go for it.”

 

Sniffing it cautiously, he could not detect anything about it except that it was alcoholic. Consuming it in a single swallow, he looked up, puzzled. He did feel some mild warmth, as it worked its way to his stomach.

 

“How many shots was that?” Earlene asked, sniffing at his empty glass and recoiling at the obvious strength of the liquor.

 

“Eight,” Ratiri said, laughing.

 

“I think I might feel something,” Thranduil said. “Just a little to, ah, ease the transition to...Mairead,” he said, shaking his head, but smiling now. “Thank you, Ratiri,” he grinned.

 

Earlene looked at Lorna. “Well, let’s get the news out in the open. You want to do it or should I?”

 

“You’re the eloquent one,” Lorna said, “you’d best do it.” She wrapped her arm around Ratiri’s waist, tickling Allanah under her chin.

 

Earlene took Thranduil’s empty glass and a nearby spoon and stood up on a chair, noting out of the corner of her eye that Thanadir immediately moved to her side. His overprotectiveness was positively endearing, especially since eventually she was probably going to need it. “WE’VE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE,” she said in a voice that revealed years of polished use. A hush fell soon enough.

 

“In New York, we all visited Ellis Island. That’s where many of the emigrants from Ireland first came to American soil, including my gran. In 1912, having sailed from Belfast. And now we’ve a bit of a story that shows what a small world this is. There are records kept there, and on a whim I searched my gran, whose name was Allanah Donovan; little Allanah here was named for her. Allanah’s parents were Eíthne and Padraig, and gran was only a few years old on arrival. Now, what I did not know was that my gran had an older brother, Aidan Donovan. My gobshite of a brother, rest his soul, was named after this boy. Little Aidan was rejected at Ellis Island, forced to sail back to Ireland alone while the rest of the family stayed in the States. And what Lorna here has found out, is that Aidan Donovan is her own great-great grandfather. So Lorna and I are second cousins once removed.”

 

Cheers of enthusiasm went up all around, and Earlene saw that especially Mick was almost falling off his barstool. But she wasn’t done yet, and held up her hand. “There’s just a tiny bit more. I mentioned that gran came to America in 1912. But what I didn’t tell you was that they were originally to have sailed on a different ship. They arrived in June of that year. The vessel they were to have taken, but had to delay their plans for some reason in order to get the next one, was the R.M.S Titanic, that sailed in April.” Wide eyes and murmurs greeted that bit of news. “And one last thing. Something else happened, that almost prevented Eíthne and Padraig from being able to come to America. Eíthne’s sister Carmel was their sponsor. She worked at a place that would go down in history as the Triangle Shirtwaist factory. The year before my family emigrated, Carmel survived the fire at that factory that killed one hundred and forty-six women. Which is all to say, it is apparently hard to get rid of us, because here we are all back, reunited in Ireland!”

 

More cheers went up all around, and now the village had a story to keep busy with for at least the next two weeks. Earlene stepped off her chair, now quite done and wanting another soda with lime juice. Lorna applauded. “And now that’ll spread around the whole village inside’v a day,” she said. “You know this means Mairead’ll give you ten tons’v baby shite, if I do ever actually tell her. She might do anyway, just because she loves babies.”

 

Privately, Ratiri thought Mairead was rather terrifying, and somewhat dreaded telling her about Lorna’s pregnancy. She could be like a giant battle-axe if she chose; the kind of woman who two thousand years ago would have been driving a war-chariot while covered in woad.

 

“Eh, you have to tell her. It’s family. Though if you want, let’s save it for now. Sooner or later you both will end up with a similar shindig to this one in Baile. When that happens, I’ll make the same announcement if you wish. There is no need to mention just when you knew, as I see it, and as you and I are the actual friends, it’d make sense you’d tell me first. She doesn’t scare me. Hell she’s rather a bit like me, it’s just that I like to think I know to turn that, uh, force of personality off most of the time and keep it in a jar until it’s needed. If she doesn’t like it, let her argue with me.”

 

“She’ll love it whenever she hears it,” Lorna laughed. “The Irish only deny our families if they’ve done something awful, like supported the English. Then she’ll want to piece together everything about our family back to the time’v the bloody Crusades.”

 

“You’ll wind up with a scrapbook,” Ratiri warned. “One as heavy as a bag of bricks. I know Mairead’s type.” Allanah made a grab for his nose, and he patiently let her, though gently directed her tiny hand away when she actually reached for his nostrils.

 

Somebody pass by bearing a pint of Guinness, and Lorna’s stomach lurched, and then did more than lurch. She must have turned green, because Ratiri said, “Breathe through your nose,” in one breath and , “Thranduil, help,” in the next.

 

The King’s hand immediately touched her back, causing the nausea to dissolve away. “I am sorry, Lorna, for not paying closer attention. Is this becoming a problem?” he said, looking at both Lorna and Ratiri.

 

Earlene reached for the baby, to let them focus on what she guessed was a near-nausea incident. She’d not had a whisper of a twinge, so far. In fact, she had never felt healthier or more full of vitality. However, she figured it would be tasteful not to mention that fact. Though, now she was curious...was it her, or had Thranduil helped her all along and kept problems away?

 

“Thanks,” she said, sighing in relief. “It’s the Guinness, or any grain alcohol it seems. It’s not a problem yet, except for that.”

 

“It will be, though,” Ratiri said. “Give or take another fortnight. That’s when it typically sets in for human women, if they’re going to have trouble with it.”

 

 _Definitely shut up_ , thought Earlene with a look of sympathy. She’d been reading more since talking with Bridie, and had seen quite a list of problems that had been nowhere in sight. She was also becoming ravenously hungry.

 

Now Thranduil reached for Allanah, as she heard him in her mind. _Go with Thanadir, Earlene. Eat. It would be best not to bring food back here just yet._

 

“Excuse us,” she said, already yielding to the gentle tug at her waist from the seneschal. She found him one of the larger plates, handing it to him with a grin.

 

“You are not having the same problems as Lorna?” he asked her, looking at all the food.

 

“Not in the least. I have never felt better. I would not mind going running, even right now,” she beamed, before she remembered something and her face fell a little. “Thanadir, I never did properly apologize for what I did last week. I am so sorry that I did not think that you would be following me, which was such….” she shook her head. “I was so angry. I do not ever remember feeling like that before, and I was not thinking. Only running. The chase I must have led you on...I wanted to tell you myself that it was not my intention to do that to you. I know what you told me, then, but I still feel badly.”

 

He regarded her with no emotion she could discern, until she began to feel a little uncomfortable. “There is one thing,” he finally spoke.

 

She swallowed. “Yes, Hîr vuin?”

 

“How?”

 

Confusion washed over her. “How...what? I do not understand what you are asking.”

 

“How did you outrun me, Earlene?”

 

The question still baffled. “I ran, Hîr vuin. As fast as I could. I do not know what else I could tell you. It was...running. With...feet.”

 

A strange expression now came over his face. “Are you teasing me, Earlene?” he asked in a strained voice.

 

“No, Your...I mean, Thanadir, I would not ever, not when you have asked me a question. I am answering you as best I can.” She was becoming flustered, and a little hurt. “Please believe me,” she added quietly, pleading. Thanadir lived on a bit of a pedestal, in her eyes, and this inexplicable behavior was beginning to cause her distress.

 

 _Earlene, please eat, now,_ broke into her mind, in a tone that was just as odd as the conversation she’d been having.

 

_Yes, Thranduil._

 

She began to fill her plate and now rather wanted to eat alone, in a corner, where she could at least count on herself not to be weird. There were little tiny sandwiches, and crackers and cheese, vegetables and dip, and some angel had made individual serving shepherd’s pies that were still warm, perfectly browned on top. And _oh god, a real corned beef..._ not looking at Thanadir, she took her plate and retreated to a deserted table far at the back of the pub, feeling ravenous but forcing herself to chew her food and eat at a normal pace.

 

“Is there anything you can give Lorna, for when the morning sickness truly sets in?” Ratiri asked Thranduil. “Charcoal biscuits don’t do much good in that area. Wrong cause of nausea altogether.”

 

“And you’ve not lived until you’ve sicked up in your own hair,” she said, shaking her head. “Not that you lot would know, but trust me, it’s not pretty. I got so drunk my first New Year’s in Baile that I threw up in my hair, tried to wash it in the tub, fell over, and couldn’t get up. Beautiful, it was. Mairead’s never let me forget it.”

 

“Maybe the time away from drinking has some merit after all,” Thranduil said, wishing that she had seen fit to take better care of herself, and worrying over her for something she’d done absolutely years ago. He shook his head at himself, electing to change the subject. “I hope that you are able to come to the Halls tonight, or at least stop by the forest. There is a cordial, a medicine, that could help you with this problem when you cannot be near me; I can give you a supply or send Thanadir for some if need be. And Lorna, there is another matter, something else I am not certain Earlene has remembered to ask you. Or rather, ask you to ask Niamh. When the process was begun to adopt Allanah, we did not include me because we feared to draw attention to the fact that we were not legally married. But now we are, and Aidan is not returning. I wish to adopt this little girl as well. It is the most security we can provide her, then.”

 

“I can do that,” she said. “Shouldn’t be hard for her. Christ, at this rate I think she might just wind up your personal solicitor. Even not knowing anything about you lot, you’re already the most interesting clients she’s ever had. I’ll check in with Shane while I’m at it, and see where he is with the rest’v those gems.” She looked up at Ratiri. “We can come to the Halls,” she said. “I’ve got nothing tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure the surgery’s dead empty.”

 

“It is,” Ratiri confirmed. “Nothing dragging us home this evening.”

 

“Good,” Thranduil smiled. “Would you excuse me, to eat? I do not wish to bring food over here and add to the problem.”

 

Lorna laughed. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’ve got another present for Earlene, but I’ll give it once everything’s over.”

 

Ratiri leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You’re going to have far too much fun with this family information, aren’t you?”

 

“Not half so much as Mairead, but yeah,” she said, grinning up at him, though she sobered a touch. So far as Earlene’s known all this time, she hadn’t got any family left. Now, there are times I’m not sure I’d wish Mairead on anyone, but if Earlene lets her, Mairead’ll make sure she never feels like she hasn’t got family. I’m more subtle, which is not something I ever thought I’d be able to say.”

 

“It _is_ a bit disturbing,” he said. “But then, I’ve met your sister. At least if she castrates me, Indira can fix it. Though that would be a bit awkward.”

 

Lorna tried to smother a laugh, and failed completely. “That won’t happen. Mairead likes you, and she’ll know I’d skin her if she did. And you know, I think she might be our ally against the people who harp on us about getting married.”

 

“Really?” he asked, surprised. He would have expected the exact opposite from her somewhat traditionally-minded sister.

 

Lorna rested her head against his shoulder. “Our mam married my da because she got up the yard with my brother Pat,” she said. “To say it didn’t end well would be the understatement’v the century. This isn’t the nineteen-fifties -- there’s no reason to rush anything.” Maybe it ought to be weird, talking so frankly about marriage when they’d only known one another four months, but somehow it wasn’t. She’d been hoping before the twins that, at some distant date, they’d get there anyway.

 

Theirs was not the stuff of sweeping romance -- they weren’t Thranduil and Earlene. They were both too awkward to make a properly romantic story, but they were nevertheless real, and she felt she’d known Ratiri far longer than she actually had. Lorna didn’t believe in soulmates, but she _did_ believe in kindred spirits. Something in Ratiri had called to her from the moment she set eyes on him, though she hadn’t realized that at first. Yes, he was incredibly handsome, but she’d met many handsome men before him that she hadn’t actually been drawn to. All the others she’d been content to admire from afar, impassive, regarding them like -- well, like she regarded the elves. Living art; pretty, but not something she was tempted to touch. Ratiri was the first she’d ever had any actual urge to speak to, let alone know.

 

Maybe it was a good thing she’d got up the yard when she did. The pair of them were so reticent that otherwise it might have taken them twenty years to get together.

 

Earlene mowed down her food and still wanted more, and rose up for seconds only to see the ellyn staring at one another near the table of food. Or rather, to see the ellyn staring at one another before Thanadir cast his eyes down and bowed his head before turning and walking to the table she was just leaving. _Uh-oh_ , she thought. She had seen a similar exchange one other time, and unless she was much mistaken, the seneschal had just been rebuked. Now she felt even worse. This had to have something to do with her, and she did not want him in trouble on her account. Thanadir did so much for her; if he was angry with her, why did he not just say so? She filled her plate again, choosing a large helping of fruit and cabbage salad, and more meat and cheese. Returning to the table, she saw that Thanadir had chosen the seat opposite her. Glancing at him nervously, she took her seat, only to realize he had no food. Frowning, she started to get up again, only to hear Thranduil say _Sit._ He’d been right behind her. Was she going blind? He handed Thanadir a full plate, seated himself, and then spoke.

 

“Thanadir?” he said Thranduil quietly, but expectantly.

 

“Earlene,” the seneschal said, causing her to look up from munching her cabbage, startled. “Please forgive me for the manner in which I spoke to you. I was being unkind because I do not wish to accept that you are capable of outrunning me. Because I do not wish to believe a mortal is capable of doing anything better than I can. I have failed in my duty to my King and to you.”

 

She felt her stomach turning. “Thanadir, I do not understand. Was I wrong, to believe that you liked me?”

 

“He likes you, Earlene. But he liked you better when he also felt justified in believing that he was in every way superior to you.” Thranduil’s words were quietly spoken but brimming with ire. “I would have thought that he might have learned from my own mistakes, mistakes that I freely confessed to him.” The King stabbed his fork into his shepherd’s pie in irritation, while Thanadir hung his head in shame. “It is extremely unattractive, is it not, to see that one who is otherwise so accomplished has become so prideful that he cannot find it in himself to allow another thinking being to have just one or two things in all this wide world in which to be his equal, or his better?”

 

Witnessing this admonishment was not what she wished to be doing, and _dammit all to hell_ that she was still even hungry. Her mind quickly sifted the sum of what she had seen and heard. And something came to mind, too. Thanadir had told her once that he would _especially_ not choose to wed with a mortal. And while she still could not fault him for that...humans had a saying, “too big for his britches.” Perhaps Thanadir had lost perspective, a little? She glanced at him again. He frankly seemed close to tears. She frowned. Everyone fucked up, now and then. Mostly, she wanted this uncomfortable scene to go away; this was a party, for god’s sake.

 

“Thanadir,” she said softly. “Please look at me.” Those eyes were filled with sorrow that she had to force herself to ignore, or else she’d never be able to say what she felt she needed to. “You are not human, so maybe something you do not know about us is that we easily become too lost in our own point of view and lose our way. I do not know one of us who has not, myself included. I forgive you. I love you, Thanadir. Not for all the many things you can indeed do so very well, but for your heart. For your kindness, and your compassion. I think you know that I admire you a great deal, that I look up to you. In many ways you are the brother I wish I could have had and did not. I…” She froze, because she had just manage to define for herself what this elf was to her, which had eluded her for a very long time. And it _hurt_. She rose up without a word and walked as fast as she could for that back room, praying that it was empty.

 

Thranduil did not move, as Allanah dozed against his shoulder while he continued to eat. Thanadir had a chance here, to begin to correct his misstep, and he would do it of his own volition, or not. It took exactly three seconds, but the seneschal rose and followed Earlene. Thranduil was pleased to see this choice, though his irritation was far from abated.

 

Grief washed over her like a wave crashing into the shore as the door swung closed behind her. Thanadir was, in her mind, what her gobshite of a brother was _supposed_ to have been like, and now Thanadir was being a bit of a gobshite himself. Could she really feel mad at the elf, just for badgering her as he did? She could understand why he could think all those things. He was an _elf_ , and an exceptional one at that. He _was_ better than her, at most everything, and hell if she knew how she’d run faster than him. Hormones? Give him long enough, and in what few things there were that she did very well, he could push past her. Because he had time on his side, and she did not. She could only make of herself whatever was manageable inside of a few years. An elf having an ego, was that really a first? Not from what she’d read in the books, and, he was a far cry from Fëanor. She could probably find a way to live with him being stuck on himself. Though, Thranduil was right...it was unattractive in someone who otherwise was as attractive as they came, in her estimation. What she cared about more was that she saw him as someone who was supposed to not be Aidan. And that he was _being_ like Aidan, even a little bit...that did not feel good. _What have I ever done to him, except exist?_ Her chin quivered, as tears spilled from her eyes. Arms came around her, _goddamn these elves and their walking through walls._

 

“Earlene, I am so sorry for the pain I have caused you,” he said, openly crying. “This is not the first time my King has censured me for this. I have a problem, and from time to time think too much of myself. And then I say something I should not.”

 

 _Aidan would never apologize. Never._ She held him to her tightly. But then as she thought more and more, she let him go and sought to turn away.

 

“Earlene?”

 

She shook her head, trying to dry her tears and sort her emotions as her head spun back around, her eyes flashing at him in anger and disappointment. “I am always going to wonder now, what you really do think of me. I was right. I am nothing but something that interferes with your life, Thanadir, and I would rather you had not said what you did that caused me to believe differently. You had Thranduil to yourself before I came along.” She looked at him even more intently, her eyes challenging his. “Is that why you can serve him? Because he is the only one you have ever met that you felt was _better_ than you? Would you even speak to me, were it not for him?” She sucked in air, after the words had tumbled out, not having really meant to say them aloud. _What have I just done?_ Fear washed over her, which did not take away from the fact that everything spoken had been true in her eyes. _I might be just a dumb mortal, but I’m still a lawyer who has outwitted people just as smart as you, Thanadir._

 

What Earlene did not realize was that the seneschal had once again delved into her thoughts, and was stabbed to his heart by the totality of what he saw there. The words her brother had spoken to her were whirling in the forefront, as was her hurt over her sense of betrayal by him. And for the first time, something that had been completely veiled from him; the full scope of Earlene’s ability to logically analyze. A vast and finely tuned instrument, able to take in immense amounts of complex information both tangible and emotional, and process it at dizzying speed. She’d never spoken aloud of this, never let on about her talents in any manner...because she had no ego to go with it. There was no pride that dwelled in her, nothing about her that caused her to hold herself above the other humans around her, even when she so obviously _was_ above them. And that same humility was what allowed her to so easily look up to him, to admire and appreciate him. No upbraiding he had ever heard from his King was able to penetrate the folly of his thinking quite like this insight was managing to do. The magnitude of his mistake and his shortsighted failure was descending on him with a sense of physical weight.

 

“Please, Earlene,” he said, dropping to his knees and taking one of her hands in his. “I have been very foolish. I did not...understand.”

 

She did not pull her hand away, though part of her very much felt like doing just that, as she stared down at him. “I have only one question. Did you just say that of your own volition, or is _he_ is telling you to do this?”

 

Thanadir’s eyes widened in grief to hear her words, even as he realized why she would ask. “I am speaking for myself, just as I am now seeing your mind, Earlene. And that I am seeing your mind is why I can realize how wrong I have been. And the damage I have caused. Thranduil tried to tell me, but hearing was not the same as...seeing. I am so, so sorry, and I beg that you would give me the chance to earn your forgiveness. I wish you would…”

 

It seemed to her as though he was choking on his own words, but this part was making her curious. Was that the end of his sentence? Or was there more? “You wish I would what?”

 

“I wish you would help me,” he said miserably. “There is no pride in you, only humility. And only now do I see the degree of your own intelligence and achievement, and yet you are not given to the same arrogance of thinking that I am. I can see that I am not better than you. Not at all. I do not wish to keep thinking like this, Earlene, seeing everyone around me as ‘better’ and ‘worse’. I want to change,” he said, tears now splashing out of his eyes again.

 

Glancing at the door in nervousness, she saw that it had a latch. The only thing worse than this conversation would be someone barging in here. Leaning back, she slid it home. This was...awful, but there was only one thing she knew to do. Lowering herself down, she knelt in front of him and took him into her arms. It had never made sense to her, how people gave into this shite thinking in the first place, but if he was lying to her, he was doing a bang-up job of it. Aaaand Thanadir did not lie. She pulled him close to her. “I will try to help you, Thanadir, but mostly this has to be you, helping yourself. No one can make you think differently except...you. I do love you, and it makes me feel better, to hear you say these things. But right now, you must recover your composure. I will not leave you, until you are ready to go back outside.” He nodded, his breath catching as he tried to master his feelings. She used the edge of her tunic, which fortunately was a flowery print and would not show moisture, to dab away his tears as he grew quieter.

 

“I cannot imagine what you think of me,” he whispered.

 

She arched her eyebrows, smiling. “Thanadir, you can read my mind. Surely you are not having to imagine?” More kindly, she added, “You told me once that your thoughts and feelings as elves were not so different than that of humans. I think that is a good thing. It means we can better understand each other, and that our similarities outweigh our differences.” Turning his head with her hands, she kissed his cheek. “Come, mellonenin. There is nothing here that will not be made right in time. I do not hold grudges. Please. I cannot bear to see you so unhappy, especially at a celebration.”

 

Nodding, he smiled weakly, and held her tightly once more, standing upright and somehow gracefully taking her with him as he did so.

 

“I will not open that door until you smile, Thanadir. When I leave this room, I am going to the ladies’ room, and you are going to go where you wish, not looking like you are at a funeral.”

 

This elicited a half snort of laughter, and some of the light came back into his eyes. “Thank you, Earlene,” he said. “I am very grateful, for what you have said to me. I would like to speak again about this...later.”

 

“I give you my promise, we will.”

 

Forcing his face into a smile, he nodded to her that he was ready to leave. Earlene gave him her best smile as she slid back the latch, and slipped away to the restroom that was very nearby. Thanadir returned to his seat, to face his full plate of food and his King, who ignored his return. With a sigh, he picked up his fork, trying not to let his complete sense of defeat and foundering show outwardly. His eyes travelled across the room, to alight on Ratiri, and Lorna. Unthinkingly, he watched the man as he absentmindedly chewed his first bite of food.

 

Lorna could just about handle food again, so she and Ratiri made their way to Earlene and the elves. Little Allanah looked to be passed out on Thranduil’s shoulder, which was just about the most adorable thing either of them had ever seen.

 

“Is she sleeping through the night yet?” Ratiri asked, as he and Lorna pulled up chairs. The baby was, he noted, drooling slightly, limp as a noodle in a way only young children could be.

 

Lorna looked from Thanadir to Thranduil, and fought the arch of an eyebrow. Thranduil looked so neutral she suspected he was pissed off, though she couldn’t imagine at what. Thanadir was harder for her to read, but he looked a touch...off, in a very subtle way. Time to chatter, before the atmosphere got even weirder. “I’ve heard teething’s no fun, either,” she said. “Let her gnaw on cold things, if it’s not already something you’ve got to do for elf kids. I’m guessing yours are probably a lot less fussy than ours.”

 

Earlene plunked down in her seat, and started in again on her food with obvious relish, looking guiltily at Lorna. “Don’t know if you want anything, but these little pies’r to die for,” she said, trying not to be appalled with herself for talking while her cheeks were full of cabbage. She flushed slightly pink at her lack of manners, but was honestly still too hungry to care.

 

“I’ve got biscuits,” Lorna said, brandishing one. “Easy on the stomach, and tasty. You’ve hit the starving phase, have you?”

 

“It’s around the right time,” Ratiri said, but he was eying Earlene speculatively. While there was the occasional woman who had a trouble-free pregnancy, it was quite rare, and she was carrying twins -- yet she was all but glowing, without even a bag under her eyes. Given that she was still feeding a baby, she really ought to logically look at least a bit run-down, unless Thranduil was constantly buoying her, and could he actually do that, every minute of every day? It was possible, Ratiri conceded, yet he suspected it was not merely that. Scientists weren’t supposed to put stock in intuition, but he wasn’t that pigheaded.

 

“Earlene is unusually physically fit, by comparison to others I have seen, Ratiri. She can run for miles, climb easily, and arrived here eating much as the elves do. I have done little to interfere with her, though I know that time will come when it is needed. And yes, I can do as you are wondering. I am very strong, even for an elf.”

 

Glancing at Thranduil, Earlene shrugged. How she had maintained her body was no great thing in her eyes. In some ways, maybe it was the one manifestation of her own foibles; just another manner in which she’d shown off her legendary discipline, albeit without words or fanfare. Her interlude with Thanadir was still very raw in her thoughts. She had her own kind of pride. Everyone did; it was just that she’d always worked very hard not to let hers leak all over the floor because it was so damn uninviting in others, when it did. “Yes,” she answered Lorna. “Suddenly there is no such thing as food I don’t like. The cabbage, by the way, is particularly sweet,” she pointed out enthusiastically.

 

Ratiri really wanted to ask how and why Thranduil had become so strong, but now was not the place to have that discussion; best to save it for a fireside in the Halls. “Speaking of that, I’ve bought something, though it’s been sitting in my SUV for the last week -- it’s a basic book on cellular biology. You might not yet know the terms for all the things you can manipulate, but this could prove interesting.”

 

“I made a bit’v a mistake in looking in some’v his other books,” Lorna said, nibbling a biscuit. “I’d read some on the 1918 influenza, but not much, and I wish I didn’t know now. Could’ve done with that once I’d _had_ these kids.” Wrinkling her nose, she added, “I think I’m off cabbage for a bit. I haven’t yet hit the hungry stage, but when I do, I’m sure Big Jamie’ll keep me fed. Probably try to foist off more than I could hope to eat.”

 

Earlene stood up to go get more food, watching to see that Thanadir had mostly cleaned his plate; his rate of eating was unnaturally slow. She also forced a smile at what Lorna had said, even though the thought of a pregnant woman being fed a steady diet of pub food appalled her. When she returned with more small sandwiches and another shepherd’s pie (it wasn’t her fault if the rest of this place wasn’t eating fast enough) she placed a cupcake in front of his plate without comment. He did not look at her but he smiled, as he peeled the paper off and began to eat it. She glanced around the room as she devoured the pie. “I see that ossification is well underway.” There was something extra-amusing about watching the room fall victim to ethanol when you couldn’t really have any yourself.

 

Lorna eyed her, and Thanadir, and Thanadir’s plate. All right, what the actual fuck? She wasn’t going to ask, but she was definitely going to wonder. Thanadir was almost always outwardly serene, but he seemed downright...subdued, right now. She cast a glance at Thranduil, and was unsurprised to find she got absolutely nothing off him. He could do ‘neutral’ like no one else she’d ever met. “That it is,” she said, turning her attention rather wistfully to the bar. Yeah, she couldn’t handle the smell of Guinness right now, but that didn’t mean her brain wasn’t telling her she still wanted some. “Christ, I’ve got a present for you -- figured I’d give it before everyone else got going. Be right back.” She hauled herself to her feet to fetch her gift bag, while Ratiri shook his head.

 

“I dread once she reaches her third trimester,” he said. “She’ll be miserable, and I have no doubt she’ll take it out on everyone within a ten-mile radius.”

 

“I could do much to keep her comfortable,” Thranduil said. “But it would mean altering your living arrangements. I have no expectations and your wishes are your own; I only wish you to know that the offer stands,” he said quietly.

 

“I think she’ll be willing before then,” Ratiri said. “She’ll not want to be living in her cottage while it’s being renovated, and she’s already in the nesting phase. She has narrow hips, and she’s carrying twins, so there’s a possibility she’ll start dislocating them by her seventh month.” He’d only see that happen once, but it hadn’t been pleasant for anyone involved.

 

Thranduil’s eye widened and he shook his head. “Not under my care,” was the only comment he made. The King seemed strangely distant right now, though, even at the thought, he rose up with a smile. “Excuse me for a moment.” Earlene glanced up as she saw him head in the direction of the bar, looking mournfully at her own empty glass before shrugging to herself. She was hungrier than she was thirsty. And yet her eyes lit up to see that in a moment, she was offered another one of the sweet soda water concoctions, and that he had brought one for Thanadir as well. His own was….? “Soda water and lime, meluieg. I tried yours and find that I quite like it.”

 

Lorna made her way through the crowd, bearing a slightly squashed gift bag, a froth of curly ribbon all but obscuring the top. “Sorry,” she said, handing it over. “Got a bit carried away, but you can get it open.” The next thing she passed over was a spring-switchblade.

 

Earlene deftly opened the knife and slit the ribbon. “The only thing keeping me from having visions of Siobhan’s gift bag is that I know this is from you,” she said, shaking her head. They still hadn’t, er, pressed that gift into service, not that Lorna needed to know any such thing. Folding the knife again, she handed it back, and reached into the bag carefully, pulling out something that felt like fabric, wrapped in tissue paper, that she moved aside to reveal something that looked very old but in perfectly kept condition. It was a tiny knitted jacket, and matching shorts, obviously hand-made. The color was ivory, though whether that was the original color of the wool or the color the textile had taken on with age, she was unsure. Earlene held it up. “Lorna is this…?” That Lorna would part with what she suspected was one of her family heirlooms stunned her.

 

“They were my gran’s,” Lorna said. “She was born in 1914, so they’re actual antiques. They won’t be fitting quite yet, I think, but they’ll be just the right size around when you’ll be wanting them. Irish autumn can be nasty.”

 

“Thank you, so much. I’ll do the best I can to care for them. And maybe after Allanah’s outgrown them, you’d like it back for your own daughter?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to imply in any way that she did not want the gift...but that it could be worn by each of their daughters; she didn’t want to be selfish…Earlene was genuinely touched.

 

“Christ, we can pass them around,” Lorna laughed. “Gran’d say they’re no use sitting in a box. Mairead’d had them last -- I had to go dig through her attic while she was at work.”

 

Someone over by the bar was making noises about opening the rest of the presents. “Might want to get to that, before they riot,” she said, shaking her head. The Irish...well, they were certainly themselves.

 

With a happy sigh, Earlene rose up and offered her hand to Thranduil, who still had a distracted demeanor. _I did the best I could, with Thanadir. I hope I have not disappointed you,_ she sent him.

 

_It is not you in whom I am disappointed, meluieg. We will speak of this later. Not now._

 

With a squeeze to his hand, she took the lead in opening the presents, while Thranduil did his best to appear suitably engaged. The villagers were very kind, giving many small toys, picture books and the like. What Earlene particularly appreciated was that thought had gone into these; no one gave them things of which they already had thousands. And the quilting club, bless them, gave something that was useful immediately; a sort of fabric sling that could be used to cradle Allanah against her for nursing, freeing her arms. For this, especially, she was incredibly grateful, not having thought of such an item herself. They thanked everyone profusely, and then unsurprisingly, Earlene quickly visited the ladies’ room again.

 

Lorna was rather impressed, and hoped Baile would be as creative. Once everything was packed up, the pair of them gathered it all -- she insisted on taking some, despite his paranoia about heavy lifting. “None’v this is heavy, you eejit,” she said, giving him an affectionate dig with her elbow. “I’ve got to keep in condition _somehow_ , and running sounds as appealing as a root canal.” She’d smoked for too many years to find the idea anything but unpleasant.

 

Earlene thought privately that nothing sounded better than running, just now. The temperature was perfect, her food had had plenty of time to digest, and her feet practically itched to run. Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, and a look of pure mischief came over his face. He had been brooding over a suitable punishment for Thanadir; this had happened one too many times to completely overlooked. _Go, meluieg. Return to the Halls. Go by the entrance nearest the village, or to the cottage and onward. You will not become lost. I have Allanah, and will care for the gifts._

 

 _Really? I may go running?!_ _Alone?_ Her mental voice brimmed with excitement.

 

_All I ask is that you slip away. Say nothing. We will meet you at the Halls, quite soon. Take your time._

 

This was very odd, but as it was exactly what she wished to do...without a word, she moved gracefully through the crowd of people, and out the back door. Lengthening her stride first into an extended walk, and then a trot, she moved rapidly into a run, her feet flying over the lush green grasses. When she’d had a minute, she would go faster, but for this moment, the feel of the sun on her face and her own wind in her hair was pure joy.

 

Thranduil was helping Ratiri box all the small gifts, when he heard his seneschal. “Where is Earlene?” he asked with great deference, knowing that he was in disgrace in his King’s eyes.

 

Thranduil looked at him, revealing no emotion. “She wished to run home, and I said Yes,” he simply replied. “I imagine she has been gone for a minute or two.”

 

The color draining from his face, he now spoke silently. _Please, which path did she take?_

 

“Excuse us just a moment,” Thranduil said to Ratiri, walking some distance away. The King regarded Thanadir coldly. _You are no longer required to follow her everywhere, Thanadir. It is not in either of our interests for you to be tasked with something so obviously distasteful to your standards._

 

_Please, my King. Do anything you wish to me, but not this. I have a terrible fault but I care deeply about Earlene. I will not forgive myself if she is injured and I am not there to help. Please, do not take away my chances to repair the wrong I have done. Please…_

 

Determined that he had squirmed enough for the moment, Thranduil answered. _The cottage path. And do not think this excuses your behavior._

 

_I do not, Thranduil. I know that you have no reason to believe me, but I sincerely wish to do better. I am ashamed of myself. And I yet expect to hear your judgement for what I have done._

 

A smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. _Go, Thanadir, if that is what you wish to do. Catch her, if you can._

 

Without another word, the seneschal disappeared from the room.

 

**********

 

They dropped many of the parcels off at Earlene’s home, and then took a leisurely walk through the woods to the Halls. Though it was a warm evening, Lorna shivered a bit; being pregnant seemed to make her a touch more sensitive to chills, and Ratiri wrapped his arm around her, letting her lean against him as they walked.

 

He hoped she’d be willing to move here, later. He was fairly certain she would, out of sheer discomfort, but he’d do his best to persuade her if she were resistant. Once she hit her third trimester, he’d feel much better if she were near Thranduil, just in case. Hip dislocation was awful, and best dealt with by someone with literal healing hands. Otherwise he wasn’t worried; her blood pressure was quite good for a woman of her age, and she didn’t have diabetes, nor did she have a family history of it, as far as she knew. Her mother, sister, and grandmother had all had uneventful, if somewhat uncomfortable, pregnancies. Still, he would rest easier if she were here.

 

Thranduil was quiet until they reached the Halls, leading the pair to his quarters. Once they were settled by the fire, he looked at Ratiri. “I spoke with Bridie,” he said, “and proposed an arrangement. Lasg’len has no resident healer, and I offered to aid any who should fall gravely ill or sustain significant injury. Bridie knows I can hear whoever crosses the border of my forest, but I said no more concerning my abilities to hear the thoughts of others.”

 

That, Ratiri thought, was a fantastic idea -- and that not letting Bridie know any more about Thranduil’s telepathy was the wisest course of action. “It’s a relief,” he said. “I can’t be here full-time, and with catastrophic injury, there’s much that I just can’t do. I don’t have the facilities or equipment for it, and with something like acute appendicitis, time can be critical. It could well take an ambulance too long to get here.”

 

“Or heart attacks, or whatever,” Lorna said. She was leaning against him, and looking a bit sleepy.

 

“Exactly. Far too many things can go wrong with the human body,” he sighed. “Heart attacks, strokes, cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, a whole host of neurological disorders...I wish there was some way of duplicating even a fraction of your power. We’ve come a very long way in such a short span of time, and can cure dozens of things that were untreatable a century ago, but there’s so much that’s still beyond us.” They struggled to find, to create, and Thranduil could heal with nothing more than a touch...sometimes, Ratiri hated being reminded of just how unfair the universe was.

 

What was he to do, if someone in Baile developed cancer, or had a heart attack? Exactly where was the line of who would receive help, and who wouldn’t? Would Indira, or Mairead’s family, qualify because they were related to himself and Lorna, but everyone else was banned? As a doctor, he had sworn an oath to do all that he could to aid the afflicted, but this was not his gift, and not his realm, and it left him feeling helpless. He wished, so very much, that Elven medicine involved less magic and more actual, reproducible _medicine_.

 

Thranduil sighed. “I am well aware that there is an entire planet full of humans who could benefit from what elves can do, Ratiri, and I do not want you to think that I am uncaring. But there simply has to be a limit; this function is not my purpose in this world. I will offer you this: Should you become aware of a need from which you feel you cannot turn aside, I will do as you ask. But I ask you in turn, not to go looking outside of your community for that need. And, I know too that many of your kind succumb before their time to conditions they have brought on themselves. I would ask that you not bring one to me to be healed who will simply turn back to the very thing that sickened them in the first place. Is this a suitable compromise?” he asked.

 

“It is,” Ratiri said, “and thank you.” He had no intention of looking for anything at all outside of Baile, medical or otherwise; he’d gone there to retreat from the outside world, too burned out by watching children die. Baile he could look after -- Baile, with its tiny population, had little in the way of dire conditions, but one never knew. Cancer could strike anyone, regardless of their personal vices or lack thereof. He’d lost his father and Katherine to it, and he wouldn’t have been able to bear watching another die of it knowing there was help to be found. “With any luck, there won’t be any need, but the human body is a fickle, often fragile thing.”

 

“Does athelas still exist?” Lorna asked, rather sleepily.

 

Thranduil tilted his head. “I cannot tell you,” he said. “It has not been seen in a great span of time, and was not terribly common even ages ago.”

 

“Well, shit. So why is it you’re so much more powerful than other elves, with the healing and shite?” she asked, stretching a bit and snuggling closer against Ratiri. “Is it because you’re so old?”

 

Ratiri had been wondering that himself. Elrond had been written as a great healer, but he’d needed time, and a few tools (like athelas), but Elrond had been, so far as Ratiri had worked out, about six thousand years old at the time of _The Lord of the Rings._ Lorna had told him Thranduil was around three times that.

 

“As always you have a way with words, my dear friend,” he chuckled. “I am not certain I can fully explain this either, but it is because I am King. My father before me had unusual powers of mind and body. When I spoke my vows and assumed his throne, I began to discover I had abilities that were not present before. And before you ask, no, I cannot tell you whence they come. Though if I have wished to believe it is a blessing of the Valar, I hope no one can blame me. I have little to do, now. But long ago, when this was a kingdom of tens of thousands of elves, trust me, I needed all the advantages I could have.”

 

 _Unusual powers of mind and body..._ the words made Lorna shudder a bit. Her da had only been able to hit his children. Christ knew what Thranduil’s had done. “I don’t believe in coincidences,” she said aloud. “If you’ve got it, it came from somewhere. The odds’v it just happening to you two at random can’t be very good.” To her, with her lifelong issues with monarchy -- she actually made a face, but couldn’t help a dry, almost sour smile. “See, you’ve actually got some like...like divine benediction, that you can demonstrate. Human kings hundreds’v years ago believed they were divinely appointed for no actual reason except that they’d come out’v the right snatch. They couldn’t actually _do_ anything like you can.”

 

“That,” Ratiri said, “is because we as a species can be staggeringly idiotic. We’ve got a bit better over the centuries, but still.”

 

He grinned, only for his expression to transform. “I must leave for a moment. Can you stay with Allanah?” he asked. “I need to help Earlene.” He barely waited for their puzzled nods before dashing off.

**********

 

With just the right amount of food and drink in her, Earlene was feeling more energetic than ever, and stopped just for thirty seconds at the cottage to put on her favorite off-road running shoes, the ‘barefoot’ ones that basically looked like a sleeve for feet. Mostly they gave just a little protection in case of stepping on some hidden sharp thing, which was never the worst idea. Actually yelling “Wheeeee” in her delight, she dashed off into the woods, much to the amusement of Rîniel, who at that moment was not far distant as she made her way to Buttercup for the afternoon milking. The King’s mortal wife was pleasing to see, and she looked forward to speaking with her at some point, excited to hear that their queen had learned a great deal of their language.

 

That Thranduil had actually told her, to take her time, and that she would not get lost...this was a special occasion indeed. Having never tried to stay to the western edge of the woods before, she figured that today was the day, and found herself rewarded with the sight of trees that were much grander in every manner. Taller, more robust. _Were they older?_ She’d no idea. Most of these were beeches, and she so very much wished she could find one to climb but so many of them were just immense, with the lowest scaffolds being far above her reach. So she ran on, so happy she thought her heart might burst. Their trunks were smooth and white, and she ran her hands along them, dropping now and then into a walk just so she could enjoy the sight and feel of them better. The beech-nuts were forming, and now she doubly wanted to find some she could climb; they’d been a favorite when she was a little girl at gran’s farm. Jogging on, and definitely losing track of time, she found her goal at last; a hoary old thing that for whatever reason had grown more outward than upward. Zipping up into it, she sat for some moments on a big fat limb not very high off the ground, before climbing higher. Nothing was given a second thought; these limbs were large and sturdy.

 

Thanadir was being given the run of his life. He was trying to recall when since the Battle of Dagorlad he had run this far, this fast, all in one short span of time. And with every footfall his view of his own idiocy seemed to grow, and expand. He did not blame Thranduil for his anger. Though it could hardly be said to have happened often, happen it did. Over and over, once every so many centuries, until with their fading away their lives had ground to a halt and any interactions or routines of ordinary life had vanished away, and along with it the capacity for his arrogance to rear its ugly head. Until now. And because he could not rid himself of this foolish and pointless pride, he had torn the feelings of beautiful and gentle Earlene, deeply angered his King, and shown himself unfit for his duties. Whatever his punishment would be this time, it was hard to imagine that he would find it any worse than living with his own disappointment and disgust with himself. He was only thankful that Earlene was running with no thought to hiding her path; her trail through the lush undergrowth was completely obvious to him. In the distance, an ominously loud _crack!_ greeted his ears, and he redoubled his efforts.

 

Earlene had continued out on the heavy limb, intent on the large cluster of developing seeds at the other end. She loved these, even when they were not ripe. They reminded her of nutty jelly beans, and she would waste hours nibbling at them if given the chance. And she was being careful. This was a good twenty-five feet off the ground, and she was not about to fall. Holding the branch above her, she bounced on the limb with all her weight, checking it for soundness; reassuringly it did not move an inch. Nothing could be more solid. Which is why when she walked confidently twelve more feet out on the giant limb, the explosive _crack!_ behind her caused her to freeze. It was not only the sound, there was a lurch. Something was wrong with this branch and she did not know what to do. She swallowed, and tried to assess her circumstances. This was too high for her to fall without serious consequences, even though the forest floor was not asphalt. The branch underneath her could break if she moved. Or not. The branch above her was just out of reach, unless she jumped. Which might also break the branch underneath her. And while she was strong, she had never been able to do things like pull-ups; her ability to hoist herself up onto said branch was nil, which would leave her dangling in space with no way to get down….shit.

 

 _Meluieg, do not move,_ she heard.

 

_I can do that, but I cannot even tell you where I am except that it is a long way from everywhere._

 

She heard another small crack.

 

_You must jump for the branch above you, Earlene. Do it. Now._

 

Pushing off without hesitation, she looped her arms over it, but it was just as huge and fat as the one she’d been on; she did not have a good grip, and...this was bad. The reality was, she wouldn’t last a minute like this.

 

_I am sorry, Thranduil. This is very bad luck; I will fall. Is there any way I can fall that might save the children?_

 

 _Do not let go, Earlene, help is not far away._ Leaning helplessly against the stone wall of the passageway, all he could do is thank the Valar for the stubborn insistence of his seneschal. How was it possible, that she found the one rotten limb in what was probably the whole of his forest?   _Save them, please_ , he silently begged Thanadir, while at the same time he encouraged his wife to hold on, even as he could feel her arms failing in strength.

 

She was trying so hard, not to let go and not to give way to the sense of being terrified that wanted to creep up, as she focused on the burning of her arms as her hold began to fail. Without warning, she felt an arm held in an iron grip. “Let go, Earlene. I have you.”

In the next moment she was lifted up and carried down out of the tree with dizzying speed.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered, holding tightly to him as the fear she would not let herself give way to before seeped through her. “If you hadn’t followed me I--he said you _weren’t_ following me...why _did_ you follow me?” It could not be helped that she was now involuntarily shaking. She could have lost their children, been injured, or killed, or all three at once, even though she was not sure that made sense.

 

He sat with her on the ground, his arms wrapped around her as silent tears of relief ran down his cheeks. “I followed you because I could not live with myself if anything happened to you. I cannot love you in the same way as our King but I do love you, Earlene. Yours is a beautiful spirit and your heart is bigger than mine. I have much to learn.”

 

 _CRACK!_ The limb on which she had stood now snapped and crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. They both stood now to look at it. “I tried so hard to be careful, Thanadir. I did everything I could think of. I even tested the branch. But not well enough…” she looked down. “I have no way to thank you, once again, for saving me. And our children. And my husband’s happiness. I am so grateful to you...I hope you understand that I would not have held what happened today against you even before this. And now…” she took his hand, and kissed it.

 

“Then maybe I have redeemed myself, a little bit,” he said, still looking deeply unhappy. “My King is very angry with me, Earlene, and it is no less than I deserve.”

 

 _Not any longer,_ they both heard. _Please, come home to me._

 

The barest traces of a smile came over Thanadir’s face, as they walked to the Halls. A short distance outside, they were met by Thranduil, who embraced Earlene tightly, before asking her to continue on alone. When she had departed, Thranduil stood and stared at him, and Thanadir knelt. “I give you my word, I will do my utmost to overcome my faults. It will not be as it was in the past. Please forgive me, my King.”

 

Thranduil pulled him to his feet. “I forgive you and more, Thanadir. I am not perfect either.” He paused. “Do you know why this shortcoming of yours has galled me so much, over the years, Thanadir? All of us have flaws.”

 

Thanadir met his eyes and shook his head. “No, my King. I only know that this is not the first time I have grieved and disappointed you in this way.”

 

“It is because you are far too good of an elf to have such as this dwell within you. You are far too kind. Far too compassionate. Far too caring. It does not belong in you, Thanadir. It is a blight on an otherwise perfect beauty. I will trust to your words, and if there is anything by which I can help you succeed, I hope that you would tell me. You are far more to me than a subject or a servant, meldir.” He embraced and kissed him on the forehead, leaving him standing in the woods, while he hurried to reach his wife and hold her close. His sense of relief against what could have been a tragic disaster was palpable.

 

Thanadir took a different path, one that accessed the forges. Once inside, he sat down amidst his neatly ordered racks of hammers and tongs, and cried bitterly.


	42. Forty-two

 Thanadir reappeared at dinner time, laying the table for the five of them without comment, as usual. Earlene rose and gave him a half-hug, which he returned with a smile, touching his forehead to hers in an extra gesture of affection. Realizing that it would make the most sense and seem the least peculiar, Ratiri and Lorna were told of Earlene’s near-mishap, and Thanadir was given a great deal of credit. All the rest, of course, would remain forever private between the three of them. A hearty soup, bread and vegetables that seemed to go well no matter what time of year proved delicious. The soups were milk-based often, now, and the newly churned butter that appeared with the bread made for a small but wonderful addition to the meals.

 

“I did not wish to believe how advantageous a dairy animal would be, meluieg, but I am now thankful you were so passionate about one. It has not proven burdensome for Rîniel, and everyone is enjoying their food a great deal more.

 

Smiling happily, Earlene declined to mention to him that at some point the cow would need to be dried off before she was impregnated again, but, he would find out. Soon Thanadir was clearing away the meal.

 

“Hîr vuin, would you be able to return here, once the items are removed? There is something I would like all of us to be able to talk about together.”

 

Thanadir murmured a polite agreement and left with the tray. There was now a carafe in the room at all times, with drinking glasses, and Earlene poured herself some water. The seneschal returned very quickly, and soon they were all seated comfortably in the large chairs and sofas in the King’s bedroom. No one seemed to find it odd that Lorna and Earlene wanted mostly to be on the sofa by the fire. Earlene was surprised, but did not complain, when Thanadir seated himself on a small stool that allowed him to rub her feet. She had run for a very long time today, and his hands felt extremely wonderful.

 

_Thranduil, please tell him that he does not have to do this for me out of guilt. He has done more than enough in my eyes._

 

_Meluieg, this is one time when I must refuse to pass that along. Let it be. Please, trust me._

 

With the barest nod of her head, she began. “I wanted all of us to have a real conversation about housing. I know I’ve brought it up more than once but before Orla is actually able to come here, I want to hear what everyone thinks. This isn’t just whether we should wire the house for wifi or whether Ratiri and Lorna want three rooms all to their own or four. It’s also...how will these children be educated? How much exposure to the outside world will they have, including technology? Will our biological children be treated differently than Allanah? What about when children from the village wish to come and play? What will this home be like, as in, I can hardly envision some ugly modern building being constructed. I would like it to feel like a place heavily influenced by elves. Things like this,” Earlene explained.

 

“Meluieg, that is rather a lot of things,” Thranduil teased. “But in seriousness, I can see the wisdom of it. I can see in your mind that there are...schools, to which children can be sent, but that they can also be educated at home?”

 

“Jesus, that _is_ a lot’v things,” Lorna said. “Well, your biological children will only be treated differently in the outside world if people know what they are. In the village, they’re getting used to the idea’v the elves as people, so I doubt there’d be too much.” Christ, she hoped not; talk about a way to breed resentment. Allanah was in an unenviable position, and they’d have to do their best to make it easy for her once all the children got older.

 

“I would recommend full exposure,” Ratiri said, “because if you don’t, and they hear about it from Lorna’s and my children, curiosity might drive them to do things none of us would want. Better they learn in a controlled environment than sneak out into a world they’re unprepared for.”

 

“As for the house, we could knock up drawings,” Lorna added. “I mean, _I_ can’t draw, but I’m sure these two can,” she nodded to the elves. “As for schools...keep them here. There’s too much risk they’d draw attention out there, and I’m sure none’v you want to deal with things like parent-teacher conferences. I’m pretty sure those are a thing that happens.”

 

“They are,” Ratiri said dryly. “My sport teacher was forever complaining to mine that I wandered off and read a book every time we played lacrosse.”

 

Lorna eyed him. “You’d probably murder someone with a lacrosse stick if you used it wrong.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Earlene ignored this and pressed on. “Like every parent, I want my children to be able to function in the world, while knowing full well that I don’t think an awful lot good about it. Especially Alanah; she deserves the chance to be an ordinary human woman, if such a thing is even possible with the life she’s going to have. I feel sometimes like, I did ‘my thing’ out there, and now I’m happily retreating to living as I do. But I’ll not keep her chained to the same set of expectations. If she wants to go to college and then to the Peace Corps in Tobago, that’s got to be her decision. I see now that I’ll face the same hell as everyone else, wanting to keep them safe and wanting them to live their lives,” Earlene mused. “I too was hoping you can draw, Thanadir, at all? I am not skilled. But maybe we do not need that just yet. I’m assuming that a room for each of your children and one for yourselves is a foregone conclusion? I’d thought of the idea of a house with wings; a way we could be under one roof but still have our own private spaces. Maybe it would share a very large kitchen and eating area. I like the idea of designing it not just for babies now but for the duration. Big enough to account for yet more children, in case that happens. And there has to be a place to play, and learn. And the more I talk the more overwhelming this sounds.”

 

Lorna pondered this. “With Allanah, she can come out to Baile sometimes, if you’d let her,” she said. “Nobody there’d know her family was anything different, so she’d be treated like a normal little girl, and she could see what life is like in a town that doesn’t know elves exist, but is still safer than Dublin. The worst things that’v happened in Baile in the last, oh, thirty years, have all been my fault. Nothing to hurt her there.”

 

“And she’ll already know ours, so she won’t be going in as a child on her own,” Ratiri added. “Wings sound good, or even separate buildings with a dog-trot between. It does sound a bit overwhelming,” he said, shaking his head, “but we have time before the babies arrive. You have even more time than Lorna, potentially.”

 

“What’ll be important is getting started on this so the frame can get up before winter hits,” Lorna said, stretching her feet toward the fire for a moment, relishing the warmth. “External construction during an Irish winter just doesn’t happen, but if Orla can get the bones up, the inside can go at a slower pace.” If she was occupied here, Lorna really hoped she could recommend a secondary service to fix her cottage up. While it didn’t have to get done right off, if she didn’t do it soon, it wouldn’t happen.

 

“I was thinking along the same lines, and here it’s already July,” Earlene said. Though, we’ve one advantage, I think. I don’t know if it’s feasible but I’d guess elves know how to build many things; the question is if they’ve the time.”

 

“There are many who could help,” said Thanadir. “And if the King would allow it, it would be possible to build a home in the trees.”

 

“What do you mean, Thanadir?” the King asked, baffled. The seneschal of all people knew that there would be no cutting of trees, anywhere in their borders.

 

“Like _galadhremmin_ , only different, my King,” he answered. “Do you recall, in the Second Age, how the Silvan elves would build homes using living trees as the support timbers? They adjusted as the trees grew, and those were pleasant and beautiful dwellings.”

 

In truth, he had forgotten about those...and it was an interesting idea. _But with human builders involved?_ “Indeed, those were lovely. But it would take some doing, to find just the right place. And if I am remembering correctly, there were elves that built homes in the trees themselves, a little like the Galadhrim?”

 

Thanadir nodded his head.

 

Lorna had always wanted a treehouse as a kid, but been stymied by the fact that there were no trees. Thought of her children having the most epic treehouse in the world to play in, built by elves...yes.

 

“How would you heat them?” Ratiri asked, fascinated. “Could they withstand the weight of stone fireplaces?” For that matter, how did they heat _this_ place, given they seemed to be adamant about leaving the forest alone? Where did they get the wood?

 

“Of course you’d think’v the practical shite,” Lorna said, giving him an affectionate poke. “I wouldn’t have the elves work on the actual house, though. It’s got to meet code, which means no work done by anyone who isn’t licensed and bonded -- which means Orla.”

 

She eyed Thranduil speculatively. “Have you got any control over the weather in here?” she asked. “Because if you can keep it dry, Orla’s crew can work longer into the autumn.”

 

“I cannot, Lorna. That is outside of my gifts. And yet if Orla’s crew can be persuaded to allow my people to do some of the tasks...much will depend on design. We can build in ways that are functional and durable, but it may not represent the solutions humans would choose.

 

Earlene pondered. “I read about earthen homes once. They look completely charming and I think if they are done right they can be made legal. What if we looked into that? Thanadir is smart, maybe if we looked at a ton of pictures and talked about what is available by way of materials, some ideas could be had?”

 

The quiet seneschal wondered if Earlene was trying to be extra nice to him, or cause him to feel better about himself. He sighed, and concentrated on her feet.

 

“The trouble isn’t whether or not Orla’s crew would allow you, but whether or not the building inspectors would,” Lorna said. “You’ve got no idea how crazy regulated everything is out in the world. Everything has to be signed and sealed and inspected, and doubly so because you’ve adopted Allanah. Though I suppose you could just mind-whammy the inspection agents.”

 

“You say that with a little too much relish,” Ratiri said. “I’m rather glad you don’t have telepathy.”

 

“Oh, hush, you,” she said, but she couldn’t help a grin. “So long as you can pass basic inspections, I think that’s all that matters, but I’d have to ask Orla for more details.” As inconvenient as it was that Thranduil couldn’t muck about with the weather, it was almost a relief to know there was in fact _something_ he couldn’t do. She felt guilty for thinking it, but she couldn’t help it.

 

“Well, there is another way of approaching this,” Earlene said slowly. “My cottage is my cottage. All nice and tiny and legal. All I have to do is make the spare room into what looks like a nursery. As long as it’s safe and clean, ta-daaah. There is no law that says it’s a crime to have a very small home, and if Thranduil and Allanah and I live there, it’s hardly their damn business. And then we get Orla’s help to make sure that whatever else we build is simply...safe. So nothing’ll catch fire or cave in. And we build _that_ home exactly as we damn well please, and if the government goons come asking, the elves make sure they go back whence they came. Five of the ten acres I allegedly own are in the woods. If we build what we all actually want, hidden out of sight, who’s ever to know the difference, especially when the elves guard the woods?” Her vision was distracted by the sight of Thranduil rising in a great hurry.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Good point,” she said -- and then went horribly green.

 

“Deep breath,” Ratiri said, literally picking her up and not-quite-tossing her at Thranduil. “Help, please.”

 

Thranduil was there in a second, easing her nausea. “Before another minute goes by...Thanadir, excuse me, but the stores of the cordials that the ellith would use to control their pregnancy sickness? Lorna needs them, rather badly.”

 

Nodding, he disappeared without a word. Earlene’s heart bled for the poor elf. She knew Thanadir well enough by now to see the depth of his pain. When the others had gone, later, she hoped that she could speak more with him.

 

“Cor, thank you,” Lorna said, sighing with relief. That could get old in a hurry, if left unchecked. Though seriously, what the fuck was up with Thanadir? She was probably never going to be told, but that didn’t meant she wouldn’t wonder. “Mam had it pretty bad for a while when she was pregnant with my younger brother, but it went away after a bit, so I probably won’t have to take a cordial against it for the next eight months.”

 

Ratiri rubbed her back, helping her sit back down. “It’s a good thing there’s one available,” he said dryly, “otherwise your sister would work this out the next time you saw her and sicked up over a pint of Guinness.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes, refusing to consider that particular bit of imagery. “What you will be given is meant to be dropped into tea. Or water. But the catch is, it must be in your system before you feel ill. For ellith, it worked to use it once every eight hours. I would begin with two drops in tea, every eight hours. I do not recommend putting the drops directly into your mouth or you may cause the problem you seek to avoid,” he warned.

 

Thanadir returned, with a tray of small ceramic vials, and poured a glass of water, placing these things in front of his King before rejoining Earlene.

 

Thranduil demonstrated that there was a delicate ceramic rod on the end of each stopper, that could be used to easily control the two drops going into the glass of water. “Drink it slowly. The taste is neither pleasant nor awful, but either way, your stomach is feeling unsettled.”

 

Lorna sipped, testing. It was rather like the tea Gran had favored, herbal and nothing more, but it set to work almost immediately. “You,” she said, “are a bloody godsend. I really don’t need to be announcing this by sicking up all over someone at the pub, so this is perfect.”

 

“What’s in it?” Ratiri asked.

 

A pained expression came over the face of both elves. “It is four things. A root, a seed, and two different leaves. They are placed into wine and allowed to stand for some time. I am sorry, it would take me quite some time and reading to try to find the words in English.”

 

“I really need to learn your language,” Ratiri sighed. He wanted to take a crack at that library, but he couldn’t do it yet.

 

“It’s all on the Internet,” Earlene teased. “It’s a good place to start. I’ve sent Lorna all the files. You just need to get in there and have a small challenge. Like, come back having learned to say ‘My name is Ratiri,’ or ‘well met.’ Start small.”

 

“If this one will leave me off Irish lessons,”  he said, giving Lorna a pointed look. She stuck her tongue out briefly, but went back to sipping her cordial. “It’s a ridiculous language.”

 

“Sindarin is a language where the word for ‘feet’ is ‘tail’,” she pointed out blandly. “I need to actually use all those files too, though. I’ve been putting it off.” She sighed. “Another fortnight or so and I’ll need to drop this bomb on the village,” she said, absently rubbing her abdomen. “This ought to get interesting.”

 

“I think you’re worrying too much about it. It’s pregnancy. Last I checked it’s been happening since the dawn of time. And it’s _still_ none of anyone else’s goddamn business, especially when you want and will love these children.” Earlene realized she was getting _that way_ again, and forced herself to stop talking about this and enjoy the attention being given her feet. And ankles and legs, because he was doing that too, and it felt so very nice.

 

Lorna sighed again. “You’ve not lived in a tiny Irish village long enough,” she said. “Anyone’s business is everyone’s. It’ll die down, but Ratiri and I are probably only going to have real allies in Mairead and Big Jamie at first. I’m not looking forward to having to shout at people.”

 

“You can’t shout at people,” Ratiri pointed out. “Blood pressure.”

 

“I’m beginning to regret getting rid’v my nausea,” she said. “Otherwise I’d sick up on you, Mister. You don’t shout, but one’v us has to.”

 

“That,” he intoned, “is why you have Mairead. It will get out in the open, and then we can just come here for a few days, so no one can bother us.”

 

Earlene desperately wanted to point out that far too much ado was being made about nothing, but forced herself to shut it. Just then, Allanah woke, and Earlene knew she had exactly twenty seconds before crying to be fed would commence. Which Thranduil apparently also knew, because he was already lifting her up and walking toward her. “Right on schedule, the famished little one,” Earlene chuckled, undoing the ties on her tunic without warning. In seconds, she had one of her breasts available, and the moment Allanah was held against her, she latched on hungrily. Thranduil watched her for a moment, smiling. As he returned to his seat, Earlene remembered something. “Bridie pointed out to me that there is a way for you and Thanadir to feed Allanah, if you would like to. She says they’ve got a breast pump in there at the chemist’s. Would either of you enjoy doing that?” she asked. “It sounds simple enough.” Earlene did not even notice, at the moment, that Lorna was suddenly looking everywhere but at her.

 

“They’re really not hard,” Ratiri said, ruffling Lorna’s hair. She poked him in the side again, contemplating the fire; she could give Earlene _some_ privacy, in the same way riders on the New York subways did. “And it can be good for bonding.” He laughed. “There is actually a contraption for a father to wear that mimics breastfeeding more closely. I have never once seen a father voluntarily wear it.”

 

Lorna looked up at him. “Wait, _really_?” she asked. “What’s it look like?”

 

“It wraps around the back of the neck rather like a scarf,” he said, “except that the ends look and, I’m told, feel like actual breasts. You fill it with warmed milk and let the baby do what babies do.”

 

“That,” she said, “sounds kind’v horrifying.”

 

“Well, it can’t be any weirder than doing this,” Earlene joked. “Never thought I’d have so much in common with Buttercup. But it’s what they need, so, it’s what you do.” She tilted her head to see that Thanadir looked up at her with a little glance of envy, and understood right away that he would very much enjoy a chance to feed the baby...though not necessarily with the device being discussed at this moment.

 

“A natural tit is never weirder than an unnatural one,” Lorna said. “Yours has just been magicked. It’s a good thing she’ll be on solids by the time your twins arrive, though, or you’d probably be hating life. Not looking forward to it myself.”

 

“You’ll do fine,” Ratiri assured her. “Probably.”

 

She burst out laughing. “Ratiri, allanah, that all depends on whether or not I actually get tits. I don’t think Gran ever did, and I wish she was still alive for me to ask how she managed it.”

 

Ratiri, naturally, blushed. The two of them hadn’t yet gone back to bed in _that_ sense, both to avoid any, er, strenuous activity, and because neither was quite ready yet. “It’s entirely possible for small-breasted women to breastfeed,” he said. “Size doesn’t affect milk production.”

 

Thranduil wisely said nothing, though he now realized that this was something of a desire of Lorna’s. An eyebrow raised. Earlene’s eyebrows also raised, for an entirely different reason. “Unfortunately it seems like milk production affects size. There can be too much of a good thing, sometimes. I feel like I’m trying to run with water balloons stuck on my chest. I’d be more than happy to share, but I guess it can’t work that way.” And once again, Thranduil again wisely said nothing, because as far as he was concerned, there could not be too much of _that_ good thing. As she thought more, Earlene now frowned. “Ratiri, that hardly seems to make sense. If I have two dairy cows, the one with the larger udder is going to give me more milk. Though, you’re a doctor, and I know you wouldn’t say it without a reason...but it just seems counterintuitive. Then again neither do I sit around milking myself with a graduated cylinder trying to see what is actually going on…” she trailed off, realizing how much she still did not know about it all.

 

Lorna laughed. “I’d fall over, at my height, or my spine would snap.”

 

“It’s not quite so simple, with humans,” he said. “Much of the human breast is composed excess tissue --” he didn’t say ‘fat’, because he knew how well _that_ tended to go over “--but the mammary gland itself is often the same size regardless of the rest of it. In theory, Earlene, you could nurse them, but I wouldn’t advise it. Wet-nursing was always a gamble, especially when the woman and child weren’t related in any way. You and Lorna grew up in very different parts of the world, and likely don’t share all of the same antibodies -- and these children will only be three-eighths European, which would complicate it yet further.”

 

He twined his fingers in Lorna’s hair, almost absently. “Now, what _could_ be an issue, were we on our own, would be a potential inability to produce enough milk for two infants. Many women have difficulty there, which historically contributed to the higher infant mortality rate of multiple-birth children. And if you think formula is bad nowadays, in the Victorian era, many brands were nothing but flour and water. Add in the mistaken belief that cow’s milk could sustain an infant and it’s a wonder any baby survived into childhood.”

 

“Well that’s morbid,” Lorna said.

 

“The Victorians were so staggeringly ignorant that I don’t know how their society didn’t collapse,” he said dryly. “They had arsenic in their wallpaper, for Christ’s sake. They put _borax_ in spoiled milk to make it taste better.”

 

“Lysol originated as a douching solution,” Lorna said. “Can you even imagine? Ugh.” Her lady bits cried out in silent horror at the mere thought. She rubbed her hand over her abdomen, and sighed. “Would you lot mind coming to Baile, when I let everyone in on this? I feel like I need all the backup I can get.”

 

“I do not believe you could keep Earlene away, Lorna. I sense that she is, how do you say it? ‘Spoiling for a fight.’ And part of me cannot wait, out of morbid fascination,” he grinned.

 

“I am not,” Earlene hissed. And absolutely no one believed her, having already seen shades of the coming wrath, but they were too polite to say otherwise. Allanah grew bored with the first breast, and the other was freed so quickly and in such a huff that even the baby looked surprised. Thranduil decided that perhaps he should retreat from this line of discussion.

 

“Of course, mleuieg. I am sorry,” he said in tones that were a little too convincing. She wanted to glare at him, but just then Thanadir found that spot behind her shoulder blade...with a sigh, she dropped it.

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek, but didn’t remark. Instead she said, “I appreciate it. I love that lot, I do, but some’v them can be overprotective and just nosy. Not enough goes on there, and they haven’t got anything like elves to fill pub talk.”

 

“Well, they’ll have us being related. Hardly as exciting as pregnancy, but maybe a minor distraction of sorts? One can hope,” Earlene said.

 

“Oh, that’ll be plenty exciting,” Lorna laughed. “Finding out I’m related to my boss? That doesn’t happen every day. I can guarantee you we’ll be presented with a full family tree within a week, because that’s just how the Irish do it. Then we’ll both drown in baby clothes and other things.”

 

“I would really enjoy knowing more,” Earlene quipped. “All those adverts for the ancestry websites and such... it looked so interesting, but it was another thing for which I never had time. If someone else has more motivation, far be it from me to get in the way.”

 

Lorna yawned. “Christ, sorry,” she said. “I’m just about done in, though I’ve done fuck-all today. Pregnancy’s more tiring than it ought to be, given how early on I am.”

 

“Why don’t you go get some rest? There’s no need to apologize. If you want anything, you know where we are _and_ the way to the kitchens,” she chuckled.

 

Lorna laughed. “True,” she said, hauling herself to her feet. Ratiri helped her the last of the way, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “’Night, you lot. Goodnight, Allanah.”

 

Ratiri echoed her goodnight’s, and the pair of them meandered out. That both wandered to Lorna’s room was not, for them, unusual; he’d spent several night at her cottage, though they did nothing more than sleep just yet.

 

Earlene returned Allanah to Thranduil, who loved to hold and play with her quietly when she was done nursing. “She likes us, Earlene, in her own little way,” he said, as he watched her blue eyes.

 

“What is it like, in her mind?” Earlene asked, absentmindedly rubbing her sore neck and shoulders as she replaced the garment over her breasts and buttoned her tunic. It was her own fault; she tended to want to watch her feed, even though there was really nothing to see. But the sight of the little mouth working away at her breast was still new and novel, and so all the time bending its head forward took its toll. Without a word, Thanadir moved to sit next to her, turning her so that he could knead at her neck and shoulders. She shot him a look of open gratitude, for his current spoiling of her. And she wanted to talk with him, too, but first she had to await the answer to her question.

 

“She observes, and she has simple feelings. Most of her mind is taken up with her physical wants; when she is fed, comforted, loved, those cause her happiness. Being hungry, or soiled, that is the opposite. But she already recognizes the three of us, and experiences positive emotions when she sees us. And she knows her name; that too.”

 

 _How I envy you, sometimes, for your insight. But that you shared yourself with me once, just so that I can understand a little…_ her eyes met his across the room, shining with happiness. He quickly changed her nappy; this was another semi-miraculous gift in her eyes. He _knew_ when she was soiled, and he did not have to send his fingers on unsanitary explorations. Allanah was already falling asleep as he laid her down, clenching one of her tiny fists onto her stegosaurus toy.

 

 _Meluieg?_ she heard. _What is wrong?_

 

_It is Thanadir. Can you not see how much pain he is in?_

 

_Yes, but he is best left alone._

 

_No. He is not. I have trusted you in everything about him since the day I first met your seneschal. So I am asking you if you would please come here, and trust me._

 

_To do what?_

 

 _To do what you would do for me, if I were hurting that much. We are family, Thranduil. He needs affection, and reassurance. And I will hazard that it would mean a great deal, not coming from me alone._ _Would you follow my lead?_

 

She could hear the sigh in his thoughts, but he relented. _Very well._

 

Very suddenly, she turned toward Thanadir, catching him by surprise when she took both of his hands in hers. “Would you like to speak more about today, mellonenin? (my friend)” Her words were softly spoken and as kind as she could make them.

 

“There is little else I can say, Earlene. I feel...so ashamed.” His expressive brown eyes dropped down to look at nothing.

 

“There is something I can say. You asked me to help you, and I thought of something, but I need to make sure I understand. You told me that you have a habit of seeing others as better or worse than you, is that right?”

 

He nodded.

 

Earlene wrapped her arms around him, pulling him toward her. “What would happen, meldir, if you simply stopped comparing? If every time such a thought came into your head, you told yourself that it did not matter, moved along with whatever you were doing, and only worried about Thanadir? I can see that you are hurting, and I want you to feel better. This serves no purpose for you.”

 

“Yes it does,” he blurted out. “I know what you are trying to do, but I do not deserve to feel happy.”

 

She tightened her grip on his hands. “And you have done this to yourself every time you have failed this way in the past, have you not?”

 

He looked up at her, some ire written in his eyes. “Yes,” he said, with a slight edge of hostility to his tone.

 

“So what I am hearing is, that you have done the same thing over and over and yet believe that somehow, this time, your results will be better? By repeating the same actions that have led to an eventual failure? How well has that worked for you?” she asked, tilting her head and meeting the fire in his eyes with her own challenge.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. He would not have believed Earlene capable of this. Though why that should be the case when he knew better, he could not say. Except that, this was Earlene and _Thanadir._

The seneschal tried halfheartedly to break her hold and rise, at which point she sat on him, pinning him awkwardly to the sofa. “You will go nowhere, until you talk to me. Unless you are planning on hurting me to do it, because that is the only means by which you are leaving.”

 

“You have no right…” he hissed. The elf’s anger glinted in his brown eyes.

 

“No right to _what_ ?” she half-shouted in his face. “No right to care about you? No right to love you? No right to tell you that you claim to want to change, but try to run off so that you can cling to beliefs that even stupid humans know cannot hope to give any success? You are my King’s seneschal and my dear friend, and that gives me _every_ right.” Her eyes blazed into his from inches away, begging him to try and argue.

 

His lips parted as the anger ebbed from him. Nobody, _nobody_ had ever spoken to him like this. Not even his King. A frail firieth, and yet she dared to challenge him in this way... because she cared for him. He knew she was right, and did not want to admit it, and he felt his carefully crafted shell breaking. Tears spilled from his eyes, and Earlene held him tightly, rubbing his back with her hand.

 

“I cannot help you if you will not let me, Thanadir. I want you to forgive yourself, and then I want you to tell me where this came from. I want to know when it started, if you have to go back to when you hunted dinosaur eggs.”

 

He cried, and Earlene silently beckoned for Thranduil to come too. _Hold him. And if that is too complicated, hold both of us._

 

And as she had hoped, he began speaking to both of them. “I was young, and we were very poor, my family and I. We were often hungry. But I came to understand that I was...smart. That I could learn easily. And that the skills I learned could make me useful, which is how I came to the attention of Oropher, and gained a place in his service. You cannot imagine what that was like, to finally have nice clothes and enough food. It was when I learned that being like...I was...brought me good things. Others who could not do as I did, they could not change their lot in life. I believed that I was better, because others told me I was. And I was afraid. Afraid that if someone better than I came along, that I would lose what I had gained. I cannot explain exactly, and maybe you would not understand. Long years went by and...it became how I am. I had to always be better. I am sorry, my King. I never wanted anything about me to cause you unhappiness.”

 

Thranduil was speechless. _Had not Earlene insisted…_ “Thanadir, my faithful one, why did you never tell me of this?”

 

“It was my duty to serve you, my King. Not to add to your burdens.”

 

The King’s eyes widened, as for the first time he gained a possible understanding of something from long ago. “Is this why...when Erestor came to live with us, everything ended so badly?”

 

The seneschal’s head nodded, even as his body shook with sobs from the memory of long-buried grief.

 

Thranduil half wished to cry himself, even as he understood why, until now, this had never come to light. “Do you understand that Earlene is right, in the things she said to you? You are our family. I cannot bear to know that you live with such feelings. I want you to be happy, to feel joy. Can you try to do as she asks, and stop making comparisons? Our lives are not a contest. And even if they were, there is only one Thanadir.”

 

His arms moved for the first time, or tried to. “Please let me embrace you in return,” he said to Earlene, a smile coming over his face, as she laughed and released him as his arms came around both of them. “And I never hunted dinosaur eggs. I am not _that_ old,” he grumbled.

 

“Yes you are,” they said in unison, as they each kissed a different one of his rosy cheeks in affection. Even he had to laugh.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For giving me what I did not realize I needed.”

 

“There is much more where that came from,” Earlene teased, finally scooting off of his lap. “Earlene rarely loses a case, Thanadir,” she smirked.

 

“Valar save you, my friend,” Thranduil said, rising. “They are your only hope,” he chuckled.

 

“I do not mind,” he said, looking at his King and queen, with joy returning to his face. His family. He was loved.

 

*****

 

Lorna put off this discussion for a fortnight, but she knew that she had to break this to Mairead first, because if her sister found out about it at the pub, both she _and_ Ratiri would find themselves murdered in the face. And for this one, Ratiri needed to not be with her. He could come into it later, once Mairead had had some time to wrap her head around the idea.

 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t Mairead’s day off, so Lorna had to catch her right after work at three. Her sister was naturally suspicious about this, and vocally so.

 

“Cottage,” Lorna said. “I’ll explain it there. This needs a bit’v privacy.”

 

Mairead peered down at her. “Are you okay, Fun Size?” she asked, concern lacing her tone.

 

“I’m fine,” Lorna said, “but I’ve got a couple things to tell you, and one’v them we don’t need an audience for, so just follow me, will you?” Thank God Thranduil had given her that cordial, or she’d be wanting to sick up right now. This morning she could barely keep anything down long enough to take it.

 

“Is something wrong?” her sister persisted, and Lorna rolled her eyes.

 

“ _No_ ,” she said. “Will you just come on?”

 

Sighing, Mairead did, though the concern didn’t leave her blue eyes even when she got into her SUV. She followed the Charger through the village, out past the low border-wall and up to the cottage.

 

Lorna had had the windows open all day, so it smelled of summer -- sweet grass and dry earth, as well as lavender. With Ratiri over all the time, she’d had to hang the dried bunches along the walls, so they wouldn’t smack him in the head.

 

“Gran’d be proud,” Mairead, said, taking it in. Lorna had had the whole family over for dinner not long after the renovations were completed, and Mairead, who’d grown up in the cottage, had nearly cried. Given how no-nonsense she was, it had freaked Lorna right out.

 

“I’d hope so,” Lorna snorted. “Christ knows it took enough work, but it was worth it. As was the new bathroom.” She bustled in the kitchen, putting the kettle on automatically before sitting at the kitchen table. “First bit’v news is that when Earlene and I were in New York, we went to Ellis Island and discovered her gran had had a brother who got sent back. He grew up in a Dublin children’s home and grew up to be my great-grandda. Small world, but it’s a small island.”

 

Mairead’s eyes widened. “Are you bloody _serious_? Does she know this?”

 

“Yes, and yes,” Lorna laughed. “She’s also wound up with her brother’s baby girl -- he got hit and killed in a motorway accident, and her mam died having her -- so I gave her one’v Gran’s old baby outfits. Family heirloom and all.” That was the concise version, anyway; she wasn’t about to tell the whole story to Mairead. “On top’v that, she’s up the yard with twins -- girls, both’v them, so it’ll get plenty’v use.” She paused, figuring it best to get this out of the way when her sister wouldn’t have a mouthful of tea or anything. “I’m up the yard myself. Ratiri and I got a bit too drunk a little over a month ago, and things just sort’v...happened.”

 

Somehow, Mairead managed to choke on absolutely nothing, turning a very odd shade of greenish-blue before paling. “You’re -- Lorna, what in _fuck_ were you thinking?” she demanded. “You’re an adult and it’s your life, but there’s a little thing called _condoms_.”

 

“Drunk,” Lorna pointed out. “Christ, we were more than drunk, we were completely off our heads. He says it’s way too early to tell if they’re boys or girls, but they’re definitely there. I don’t regret it, or this.”

 

Mairead rubbed her temples. “Jesus, Lorna. I don’t suppose I’ve got to ask if he’ll stand by you, given that the pair’v you seem joined at the bloody spleen lately.”

 

Lorna’s laugh was overridden by the scream of the kettle, and she hastened to get it off the burner. “He will,” she said. “He’s always wanted kids, too, but I need you to help me fend off all the codgers and eejits who’ll be telling us to get married. Neither’v us is ready for that yet, and he says I don’t need to be lamping everyone out while I’ve got one in the oven.”

 

“He’s right,” Mairead snorted. “At your age, you’d best be watching your blood pressure.”

 

“Ratiri already is,” Lorna assured her, fixing up the teapot with some Oolong. “Keep in mind, he’s a pediatrician. Couldn’t ask for a better da there. He’s got me on a load’v vitamins.” She pointed the sugar tongs at the shelf above the stone, which did indeed have a long line of colorful plastic bottles arranged on it. “I’ll tell you, though, not being able to drink is absolute shite. I thought it was bad my first go, but I must’v forgot _how_ bad. Thank bloody God I’d already quit smoking, or this’d be even worse.”

 

“Oh, just wait,” was Mairead’s encouraging rejoinder. “Along about month six, you’ll be wishing it was over. I always did.”

 

“And yet you had four,” Lorna said, fetching two cups from the cupboard. “At my age, I don’t think I’ll be doing this again.”

 

Mairead took a cup from her, looking from it to the rest of the cottage. “Ratiri’s always wanted kids, huh?” she asked. “Why hasn’t he got any already?”

 

“Because his wife died. I thought everyone knew that,” Lorna said, ferrying the teapot and various accoutrements from counter to table. “But it’s worse than that. They found out she had cancer because she’d had a positive pregnancy test. She went in to have it confirmed and discovered it was actually a malignant uterine tumor, because apparently cancer can do that. She was dead inside’v six months.”

 

“Bloody Christ,” Mairead whispered.

 

“I’d thank you to keep that to yourself,” Lorna warned. “If he’d wanted it to be common knowledge, it would be.”

 

Mairead sighed, shaking her head. “I’ll do what I can, Fun Size,” she said. “Including lamp someone out, if I’ve got to.” Looking at Lorna, she asked, “How in bloody hell does he walk in here without cracking his head on the rafters?”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “They’re just barely tall enough that he doesn’t have to duck. Hopefully our kids’ll get some’v that height, because being my size sucks. It’s not actually fun, you know.”

 

“As much as I don’t want the answer to this, how the hell did he not break you in half?” Mairead asked.

 

That only set Lorna off all over again, so much so that she made Mairead pour the tea. “Creatively,” she said. “His equipment matches his height.”

 

Mairead grimaced. “Okay, _that_ I didn’t need to know.”

 

“You asked.” Lorna dropped a single sugar into her tea, and sighed. Normally she liked three, but Ratiri was trying to keep her sucrose intake down a bit. “Anyway.”

 

“Have you thought’v names yet?”

 

“Christ no. Well, we have, but we’ve not actually put any real possibilities out there. It’ll have one Irish name and one Indian, but we haven’t decided in which order yet. I’m leaning toward Bridie for a girl.” Saoirse would always belong to the baby she’d lost, gone before she could live, but Gran had been a tough one, and this baby could do with a much worse namesake. “No bloody idea for a boy’s name yet, but there’s time.”

 

“Well, there’ll be talk, but I’ll what I can. Is this this why you’ve been steadily moving his shite here for the last fortnight?” Mairead asked.

 

“Pretty much. We didn’t want to move him in officially until we’d got this out’v the way. Earlene and her family’re coming to the pub tonight, too, so we’ll have backup.”

 

“Why in Christ’s name didn’t you say so before now?” Mairead demanded. “I’ve got to bake something.”

 

“Oh, drink your bloody tea,” Lorna said. "Biscuits don’t take that long, and you’ve not been here in weeks. And just be glad _I_ don’t make people take their shoes off at the front door.”

 

*****

 

“Meluieg, you will...try, not to get very upset with Lorna’s friends, won’t you? From everything I have seen in her thoughts, they do mean well.”

 

“Thranduil, no they _don’t!_ It’s the entire point I’ve been trying to make Lorna and Ratiri understand. You are confusing the issues, just like they are. That they are good people who care about her is _one_ issue. That they are also bored people, and opinionated about things that are none of their concern whatsoever is a _second_ issue, and that the first circumstance exists does not excuse the inappropriateness of the other.” She spoke with such vehemence that both ellyn simply stared at her. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. Her next words were quieter. “Please forgive me, for speaking as I just did. I am struggling more and more to contain my emotions. There are times I feel like all of my usual inhibitions went on a vacation. In my heart I mean no disrespect, but what comes out of my mouth seems to run much faster,”she said with chagrin. “I am sorry.”

 

Thranduil embraced her. “Meluieg, I know that this is what your pregnancy is doing to you. I do not hold your words against you, but that you would take some of the sting out of them is appreciated,” he said with a smile and a kiss to her forehead.

 

“Thank you for your forbearance. Both of you have already endured much. I wish I could promise that I could control my outbursts, but I will not be that foolish.” Her self-deprecating humor was at least alive and well.

 

“It has not been all bad,” said Thanadir with a smile. He had felt free of a very old burden since the last time she spoke in this manner, which had been greatly to his benefit.

 

“I suppose,” she said, leaning into him affectionately while smoothing her hand over her visibly bulging belly.

 

“I hear Lorna’s vehicle,” Thranduil said, ushering them out the cottage door. “Come, my family, and we will hope that Baile survives us.”

 

“Well, Mairead’s forewarned,” Lorna said, when she got out to open the van’s side-door -- it was sticking, for some reason, and needed a good dose of WD-40. “She took it pretty good, even if she did have to go and ask me how Ratiri didn’t break me in half. She’s promised to help against the gobshites, however many they may be.”

 

“I do not believe the gobshites will prevail,” Thranduil said drily. “Then again, did you not tell me in New York that I was King of the Gobshites? Perhaps it is time for me to assert the powers of my throne,” he teased. He’d waited rather a long time to trot that one back out at her, truth be told, and this seemed like an excellent opportunity.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, so hard she nearly choked. “I,” she said, “would pay to see that. I really, really would.” She let him do whatever it was he needed to do help Earlene get Allanah settled, for once not resenting the fact that she’d have to drive like a granny. A baby in the car demanded it.

 

Thanadir’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, but Earlene reached up with her hand, smiling at him and smoothing his brow with her hand. She rolled her eyes quickly, and he returned the gesture. He felt vaguely reassured, that though the dignity of the monarchy was being assaulted by its own King, he still had Earlene to share in his view of reasonable propriety. She chuckled against him, just as Allanah began to wail. Soon the backseat was a nursing station, with Earlene dozing off happily against the elf.

 

Lorna drove quite conscientiously, cognizant at all times of the baby on board -- the baby that was fortunately having her tea now, rather than in front of God and everyone at the pub. Small-town Ireland just wasn’t used to that sort of thing.

 

Ratiri was already waiting at the pub, with Mairead to keep him company and fend off anyone who got too curious as to why he and Lorna were so often away from town together. None of them had any malicious intent; they were just genuinely curious, because they liked the pair of them and wanted to know what was going on.

 

“It ought to be on the busy side tonight, so that’ll mean it’ll be all over the village by tomorrow afternoon,” Lorna snorted, when they reached the turn-off. “Then our job’s done and I can just get on with gestating. Christ am I glad I’ve got that cordial, though -- I can tell how awful it’d be without it just by what I feel like when I get up in the morning.”

 

“Try taking three drops, when you drink your last cup at bedtime,” Thranduil advised. “You may find that it will help you more.”

 

“I’ll do that,” she said. “Would’ve given the game away a fortnight ago, if not for that, and then I’d’ve had a nightmare on my hands. Me and Ratiri both.”

 

The street outside the pub was busy, so much so that she had to drop everyone off outside before she found a place to park. The summer evening was absolutely lovely, so it was no wonder everyone was out and about.

 

“I’ve already told everyone about Allanah, so hopefully you won’t get too many questions,” she said. “They got the condensed version about your eejit brother and how you wound up with her, so you’ll probably just get a load’v inquiries about how she’s settled in, and sympathy that your brother was such a twat. Every family’s got one somewhere in the tree.”

 

Thranduil smiled benignly as he took Allanah from Earlene, who adjusted her clothing over her very full bosom one last time as she exited the car. The King smiled. He had thought her body attractive before, but now that those breasts were so beautifully rounded and firm...with a deep breath he forced his mind onto other matters; the last thing he needed to do was give Siobhan more to contemplate by entering the pub with bulging jeans.

 

“Are you ready, meldir?” Earlene said to Thanadir, knowing the seneschal would have to endure his usual share of longing stares from a given percentage of the townspeople.

 

He nodded, grinning. “There is always the food. It helps me overcome my trials,” he said brightly. This garnered a belly laugh.

 

“You surprise me more and more...Cian. You show so much more humor, now. Was this always there?”

 

He nodded, his eyes meeting hers with a touch of shyness.”You have helped me stop worrying about how others see me, so much. It is still hard sometimes, Earlene. But I am learning, and trying very hard. I like how I feel now.”

 

“Then my heart is glad for you. Come, your sandwiches are waiting,” she teased, following Thranduil and Lorna through the door.

 

A chorus of greetings headed their way, with as many for Earlene and the Elves as for Lorna. The pub was quite crowded, but even those who had never met the trio raised a mug, because that was just how it worked here.

 

“You’re in luck,” Big Jamie called. “I just got some fresh fish this afternoon.” _Trust him to remember_ , Lorna thought. She caught sight of Mairead and Ratiri in a corner booth, each with a pint before them.

 

“I have a hungry brother-in-law to feed, Jamie. You know what to do.” Earlene leaned in closer to whisper, “I’ll have you know that this is the only place I’ve seen him look forward to coming, for food.” It seemed superfluous to mention that this was the _only_ place they went for food; that was beside the point. Big Jamie’s face took on a truly pleased glow as he barked her order at the cook.

 

“Is this little Allanah?” he asked, his eyes traveling to Fionn and the baby, who was looking around with wide blue eyes. “Lorna’s told me how you came to have her. I’m bloody sorry your brother was a plonker, but I’m glad you’re the one that’s got this one.” He eyed her abdomen. “Though she _didn’t_ tell me you’d got another one in the oven. Lorna, why didn’t you tell me Earlene had one in the oven?”

 

“That’s her news, not mine,” Lorna said. “I just told you lot about Allanah so she wouldn’t be badgered with the same questions over and over. There’s this and other news, but it’s better told on a full stomach, so let’s get everyone fed first.”

 

Earlene smiled at him mischievously, taking her soda drink and another sweet concoction she dreamed up for Thanadir; with a little coaching Jamie was able to put together what seemed to be a passable tequila sunrise. She dipped her finger into the cocktail to check, and nodded to herself before returning to the table. Passing Siobhan on the way, she noted with extreme amusement that the woman’s eyes were fixed on her breasts. _It’s always nice to brighten someone’s day,_ she smirked to herself. For just a moment, she wondered what if...only to feel deeply inside of herself that she could not even genuinely consider it, though some part of her very much wanted to. _Being bound to an elf is likely for the best,_ she mused. _I can see that hosts of problems are prevented by not being able to want to even consider such things._ With a sidewise smirk at the woman, she took her seat next to Thanadir.

 

Lorna ordered herself a basket of chips -- she’d been craving them lately, in large quantities, but Ratiri tried to limit her intake. His already tiresome excuse was “blood pressure”, but he knew what he was on about, so with many a sigh she had small portions.

 

Ratiri looked at Earlene and Thanadir. “Glad you could make it,” he said. “If Mairead was our only line of defense, I think she’d scalp someone.”

 

“Oi, I’m right here,” Mairead said. “I wouldn’t scalp anyone. Too messy.” She too eyed Earlene’s abdomen. “Lorna told me you were up the yard with twins, so I’ve got some baby things for you. She said you’d got clothes in plenty, but there’s more than that. Teething rings, for a start -- that little one’ll be wanting them soon enough. You put them in the freezer so the baby can gum at them to numb the pain. I’m hoping this lot’v been spoiling you,” she added, looking at Thanadir. “I’m sorry my daughter was such a shreel when you first came here. She hasn’t got the sense God gave a clam.”

 

“Do not worry,” Thanadir said kindly. “I look much younger than I am. It is something I live with.” He paused, before adding, “I do not think I have ever told you how much I enjoy your baking. Earlene is very good with food, but your cakes…” A perfect expression of ecstatic longing appeared on his face, briefly, the sincerity of which was beyond question. Just then Jamie called their order. “Excuse me,” said the elf. “I am hungry.” His arms were soon happily laden with baskets of fish and chips and sandwiches, as Earlene watched him from the table, covering her mouth lest she succumb to the cuteness.

 

Mairead eyed him in disbelief, though Ratiri, by now, was used to Thanadir’s unusual appetite. “I’m glad you like them,” she said. “It’s always good to hear, especially because I’ve got some biscuits to send with you. Lorna didn’t give me enough time to bake a cake.”

 

“I’m sure we’ll live,” Lorna said, making her way over with her chips.

 

“Easy on the catsup,” Ratiri warned, as she sat beside him.

 

“You,” she said, pointing a chip at him, “are no fun.”

 

“Your blood pressure will thank me later,” he said. “I’m serious about the pre-eclampsia, Lorna. You’re very healthy, and I’d like to keep you that way.”

 

“He’d have me eating rabbit-food if I’d let him,” she sighed. “Be glad you’re not married to a doctor, Earlene. All they do is badger.” Earlene didn’t need a doctor, and they both knew it; she had all the vitamins and things she could hope to need. “He’s lucky he’s so damn pretty.”

 

Thranduil frowned, across the room. It was not his place, to interfere in another couple’s private concerns, but at the same time, his diminutive friend was being denied a great many things by this well-intentioned overprotectiveness. _Ratiri, perhaps you could consider allowing Lorna the foods she wishes when I am here with her? I can understand your caution at other times, but I will not allow any harm to come to her when she is near me._

 

 _Thank you,_ Ratiri said, and meant it. He was fairly certain that one of these days, especially once the hormones kicked in, she might just murder him over all of this. “Oh, go on then,” he said. “I suppose I do worry too much.”

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow at him, but couldn’t help a smile. “You think?” Thranduil had to have a hand in this, so she sent a silent _thank you_ his way.

 

“If I was you, I’d be careful,” Mairead warned him. “There’s some things you can’t deny an Irish person for too long. She’s given up Guinness, which is a sacrifice and a half in and of itself.” Mairead hadn’t gone through half so many odd rituals and restrictions on any of her pregnancies, but Lorna had said he did actually have something of a point. Still, it seemed overkill. “Earlene, I hope you’re not getting baby-sat like this.” Earlene’s age was hard to guess, but given her former job, she had to be in her mid-thirties. One didn’t make it as a high-powered solicitor while still in their twenties.

 

She grinned at Mairead, who was seated opposite her. “Not in the same way. But Fionn and Cian help me more than you could imagine. Without the both of them this would be so, so much harder, and I don’t want to even think about the idea of three babies all on my own. I’ve already a great deal of respect for those who had to manage alone.” She shook her head, because the truth was she was spoiled and doted upon, and not a bit of this was happening for her as it did for most women. And she knew it. Thranduil broke away at last, and dragged a chair over so that he could sit next to Earlene. Mairead stood at once and reached out for Allanah, who was handed over to her next admirer.

 

Lorna had never seen Mairead outright _melt_ before, but little Allanah managed it. “She’ll be such a ginger,” she said, tickling the baby under her chin. “And look at those eyes… I’ve not seen such a sky blue since my Mam.”

  


“She looks like you, Mairead. And I think she will look just as beautiful when she grows up.” Earlene meant that very sincerely; she thought Mairead was, for all her rough edges, a stunningly attractive woman.

 

To Lorna’s surprise, Mairead actually _blushed_. That was something she’d only seen a handful of times in the past eleven years. “It’s kind’v you to say,” she said, more than a touch awkwardly. “She’ll be such a lovely one. She’s not got your coloring, but I can see her features in you already. She might not be yours by birth, but she’ll look like she could be.” The baby reached out and snagged one of Mairead’s red curls, immediately trying to put it in her mouth, and Mairead gently disentangled it from her tiny fingers. “Don’t you be scowling at me, little one,” she said gently. “There’s plent’v things you actually can stick in your mouth.”

 

“And soon enough I’ll have two’v those, with no practice,” Lorna said. “There’ll be five between the pair’v us, God help us all.”

 

“We’ll be fine,” Earlene chuckled serenely. “We have much more than many people, and what’s most important is that all these children will know they are loved. No gobshites, isn’t that right, Allanah?” she cooed at the little girl, who squealed happily at the tickle to her chin.

 

“Don’t let them around Lorna too much when they’re learning to speak,” Mairead teased, “or you’ll not be able to understand them.”

 

“Oh, hush, you,” Lorna said, pointing a chip at her. “I wasn’t _that_ bad. You understood me.”

 

“Mostly,” Mairead grinned. “I pretended to a lot more than I let on at times.” She sobered a touch. “You might want to make this announcement now, before everyone gets too plastered to actually retain it tomorrow.”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Lorna sighed. Hopping up onto her chair, she tinked a fork against her glass. “All right, you lot, two things: my boss is my second cousin and I’ve got one in the oven. Discuss.”

 

Mairead covered her face with her hand, and Ratiri unsuccessfully tried to choke down laughter. “That’ll just about do it,” he said, shaking his head.

 

Stunned silence echoed all around, and Earlene decided to take full advantage of it, kicking back her chair and standing on it. “I’ve a bit more to add to that. I wanted to tell the story of how we found out that Lorna and I are distantly related. And before I can do, I’ll make my own announcement, because to anyone not three-quarters ossified, it is obvious that we are expecting. Twin girls,” she said while she stretched her tunic over her belly to make the picture be worth a thousand words, as the room full of faces looked first confused, and then generally pleased. Earlene launched into what was now her well-polished tale, including a little more emphasis on the shock of finding out that America had rejected certain immigrants for the sorriest of reasons. For a final flourish, she ended on the happy note that their children would be third cousins once removed, thereby reuniting part of the Donovan family more than a hundred years after it was divided.

 

When Earlene finished, no one could hear a pin drop. But then most surprisingly of all, a tiny, wizened old woman made her way through the crowd, drawing Lorna down off her chair.

 

Oh, brilliant. Old Orla. Lorna braced herself for a lecture, and was entirely shocked when instead she got, “Congratulations, allanah. I’m happy for you.”

 

Lorna was so stunned she couldn’t actually reply right off. She eventually managed a stuttered, “Thank you”, wondering if Orla had been replaced by a Pod Person. That was the _last_ thing she’d expected.

 

She glanced at Mairead, who looked equally gobsmacked. Orla was one of those they’d both expected to provide the worst reactions, and yet she meandered off without nary a nasty word.

 

Big Jamie, every bit as shocked, instead gave Lorna a careful hug, for once not squeezing the breath out of her. “You tell me if you need anything, you hear me? And Christ, what’re the odds’v you two being so closely related?” he added, looking from her to Earlene.

 

“I’d wondered the same thing myself,” Lorna said. “I’m so shite at maths I didn’t want to try calculating it.”

 

Earlene smiled, completely pleased at how this was progressing. Though, out of the corner or her eye, she noticed that her husband had a faraway look, and a faint smile on his face. An eyebrow raised, and she had a private moment of suspicion that she kept buried deep inside of her thoughts. Aloud, she said, “It really is amazing, what a small world it is. And what the Irish endured,” she noted, even as she realized that was not a subject she wished to think on just now.

 

“God, there’s a subject for a nasty winter’s night,” he said, shaking his head -- though he soon looked as gobsmacked as Lorna when another of the codgers came over and gave her a hug, offering congratulations and nothing more. Poor Lorna looked so intensely uncomfortable that all these people were _touching_ her that he had to intervene.

 

“She’s up the yard, you lot,” he said. “Quit getting your bloody germs on her.”

 

Naturally, the next old lady blatantly ignored him and hugged her anyway.

 

“Did you or did you not hear the man?” Mairead demanded. “Get your wrinkly paws off her or it’s me you’ll be dealing with.”

 

The woman looked at her, scandalized -- but, given Mairead was the one who washed and set all their hair every week, said nothing before scurrying off.

 

Doc Barry was the next to approach her -- she’d been another Lorna had worried over, as had Ratiri, but all she said was, “You get in for your check-ups, you hear me? I know my cousin must be looking after you, but he doesn’t have an ultrasound machine.”

 

Ratiri stared at her. That was it? No ‘When are you getting married?’ She didn’t look anywhere near drunk enough to forebear her disapproval.

 

“I will,” Lorna promised. If nothing else, she’d like to have an ultrasound to stick in her scrapbook.

 

“I was wondering when you’d get on with things,” Nuala said. She was the surgery’s sole nurse, and looked from Lorna to Ratiri. “Siobhan owes me a tenner. She thought it’d take you a year.”

 

“Shut it,” Siobhan called. “I’m baking you some chocolate buns, and if Ratiri says a word about diabetes, I’ll thump him.”

 

Lorna just about choked, and had to pinch her hand, hard, to avoid bursting out laughing. Chocolate buns and chocolate syrup had been forever tainted for her. “I’d take a cherry pie instead,” she said, eying Ratiri. “It’s got fruit in it. He can’t complain.”

 

Ratiri rolled his eyes, but wisely said nothing.

 

Thranduil stood up, if only to help disperse some of those still hovering near Lorna. “I have a question,” he said to her, his intensely blue eyes looking especially contemplative. “Earlene...told me...that your ancestor was sent back to these shores because he was believed to be mentally disturbed or deficient. Did your research turn up any information as to whether this was indeed true?”

 

Lorna, silently grateful, said, “Not that I was able to find. They didn’t keep much track’v that in children’s homes. I know he grew up to be a drunk, but that could well’v just been bitterness. I’d be pissed too if my family got in but I got tossed back.”

 

“His grandson was a tosser and a half,” Mairead said darkly. She knew more about Lorna’s da than Lorna herself probably did; their gran had not hidden her disdain for the man. “Makes me wonder if it ran in the family.”

 

“I hope not,” Lorna said, touching her abdomen, and yet part of her worried as well. She was self-aware enough to know that, had she not met the people she had over the course of her life, she might well have turned out something like him. Shane had probably been crucial in getting her set on another path; she’d told Thranduil months ago that she was not an inherently good person, but that the people in her life made her want to be. Shane was the first to make her feel like she was of any real value...and she just realized she had the perfect name for her son. “At least it won’t carry on by nurture. Nature can be overridden.” She glanced at Mairead, who, having dealt with her for so many years, would know that quite well.

 

“I would agree wholeheartedly,” said Thranduil, who carefully kept the affection he felt for her from being revealed on his face. Turning back to the table, he commented, “I am going to get myself a sandwich, as I see that the table is now clean.” Earlene and Thanadir looked at each other sheepishly. But the worst part was when each of them said, ”I would like another sandwich,” in stereo before both of them blushed furiously.

 

Thranduil chuckled softly. “Fear not, I will order three sandwiches. And salads,” he added, noting the lamentable lack of anything resembling better nutrition among the sad remains of the baskets of chips and sandwiches. Anyone else?” he asked politely, before disinterested shakes of the head sent him back to the bar.

 

“One of these days, I will get you to eat a proper salad,” Ratiri said, as Lorna sat, dodging more hugs.

 

“I had some spinach a week ago,” she protested. “Why am I taking all these vitamins, if I’ve got to eat that green shite?”

 

“They’re meant to supplement the green shite, not replace it,” he said. “You need the iron, and you can’t just go getting it from meat.”

 

“No fun,” she reasserted.

 

“You’ll thank me when we have healthy children,” he said.

 

“Earlene, tell me you know how to make a salad that isn’t totally boring,” she said, and didn’t care how plaintive she sounded.

 

“I know how to make a great many of them. He’s right, you know. I won’t even take vitamins, because I don’t believe the body can really use them in that form. Forgive me Ratiri, I have my foibles. I believe we’re meant to get nutrients from food. Kale, collards, beet greens, arugula, lettuces, shredded root vegetables, endives...I guess I need to have you over for a dinner of salads. I understand, but I’m guessing you’ve not have salads worth having. The Italians alone have turned it into an art form. You’ve not lived until you’ve had a panzanella, with the radiccio seared just right and the tomatoes and beet greens marinated in the lemon juice…” she had to clap her hand over her mouth, because she could feel her own salivary glands having some kind of almost uncomfortable response to her imaginings. Though, she giggled to see the look of near rapture on Ratiri’s face.

 

Most of those really did sound amazing. “Getting nutrients solely from food only works if you have unfettered access to enough of the right sort of food,” he pointed out. “Most don’t, unless they can both find it and afford it. And I know Lorna appreciates the effect the prenatal vitamins are having on her hair and her nails,” he added, smiling at her.

 

“She actually let me cut it,” Mairead said. “You know how long it’s been since she’s let me do that? She mostly trims it herself, because she’s afraid I’ll take off too much. Though it’s been in such fantastic condition lately I haven’t thought I needed to.”

 

“It’s grown like a weed,” Lorna said. “Even I can only handle it so long. Past my bum is just too much.”

 

“That doesn’t change the fact that you need salads,” Ratiri said. “And you can’t just eat all the things you call ‘interesting’ and leave the lettuce or spinach. That’s not how this works.”

 

“You should’ve seen it when Gran tried to get her to eat her vegetables,” Mairead said, rolling her eyes. “She was a terrible influence on my four. ‘But Aunt Lorna’s not eating her veg, so why should we?’” she mimicked.

 

“The joy of being a grown-up is that nobody can stop you eating like shite,” Lorna said. “Unless you’re knocked up, apparently.”

 

Earlene sighed, not wishing to be seen as preachy by her friend. _Going on and on never changed how anyone chose to eat. But maybe eating vegetables that are prepared right will,_ thought Earlene. People didn’t realize there was a world of difference in greens off a farm versus in the stores, or greens that came in from places where they technically would grow but weren’t getting the right weather. Frost-kissed kale and summer kale...well, they might both be kale but the similarities stopped there. Gran had railed on about eating when she was younger, but had the kitchen know-how to back it up, and all that exposure to farm-fresh food had taught her a great many things. “Ratiri, I have to disagree with you slightly. People used to know how to preserve fresh foods, how to do more with them. Take cabbage. The only way it’s more nutritious than just eating it is fermenting it, and then it lasts for months, tastes bloody wonderful, and has even more nutrients plus beneficial microbes. We just don’t really pay attention to food any longer, as a society. There used to be ways people overcame the limitations you mention. They still exist, even if we’ve turned aside from them.” She declined to mention that even now, a weighted crock of the stuff was out in her barn, and that she could hardly wait to get into it. She’d made the Vietnamese kind, with garlic and the hot peppers...and she had to clap her hand over her mouth again, wishing Jamie would hurry with the sandwiches.

 

“If you have the knowledge, and access to the necessary materials,” he said. “I’ve seen more than one person in A & E with food poisoning from improperly canned goods. Too many of them either didn’t sterilize it properly when they canned it, or it didn’t seal right. There ought to be canning classes, so nobody winds up with botulism, but you’d still need properly fresh produce, and you’re not going to find that in a supermarket. Farmer’s markets are what you’d need, if you could find one.”

 

“Molly keeps what she can in her shop that’s grown here,” Mairead said. “Christ can you taste the difference, too. Her apples...the main reason Siobhan and I can bake as we do is because’v the farmers. Nothing like fresh apples in an apple pie. I just wish cherry trees could handle it in Ireland, because it’s hard to beat a fresh cherry pie.” She sighed. “I’ve tried matching Gran’s pickle recipe, but somehow they never do come out as good as hers did. I’ve never tried cabbage, but I ought to, since it’s one’v the few things this one’ll eat,” she added, eying Lorna. “Lorna’ll have more than enough fresh stuff once all the harvests’re in. I might even be able to get her to eat carrots without drowning them in ranch dressing first.”

 

“I like tomatoes, too,” Lorna protested. Admittedly, she liked them with salt, but she didn’t need to be mentioning that.

 

“Tomatoes are a fruit,” Ratiri pointed out, and immediately wished he hadn’t, because the glower she bent on him was rather disturbing.

 

Thranduil returned, placing sandwiches down for each of them. Earlene bit into hers, completely ignoring Ratiri’s remark (was the man _trying_ to get himself lamped out?) but her mind had gone into overdrive. Once again, she had to force herself to slow down and chew her food, even as she stabbed at her salad with enthusiasm.

 

_Meluieg, what is it that you want? I can see that you are trying to hide what you are thinking. Please do not._

 

Her head bowed, as she took another bite of sandwich. _I want a greenhouse, Thranduil. I can pay for one but I cannot construct it. Especially not now._

 

He saw in her mind what this was. _Why do you wish for this?_ He asked, wanting to understand clearly.

 

_If we had one we could have some citrus trees. They cannot otherwise survive the cold here in Ireland. We could also raise plants faster, little starts from seeds that will grow more quickly that can be transplanted. I know it is asking much…_

 

_Earlene, let me consider it, please? You do not need to feel ashamed of wanting things at your home, especially when those things might help all of us. I was resistant to the cow and I now see I was completely wrong about it. Later, I would like you to tell me more._

 

 _Yes, Thranduil._ She smiled, and felt very loved. _Lemon meringue pie…._

 

Lorna managed a second basket of chips, given Thranduil was on hand to deal with excess sodium. Eventually, once all baskets and plates were emptied, she stretched. “I ought to get you lot home, before I fall into a food coma,” she said.

 

Earlene, while full, was also now slightly uncomfortable. “That’s a good idea,” she murmured, heading to the ladies’ room. Thranduil grinned because in spite of all that, he could see she was still thinking about food. But it was not in jest...his gifts allowed him an unparalleled experience; the ability to understand the experience of a human woman’s body as she carried a child. He was already in considerable awe, and they were not yet halfway through this adventure.

 

Ratiri, unfortunately, had work the next day, so he couldn’t accompany them back. He kissed Lorna’s forehead, and promised that he’d finish moving his shite on his next day off. They left amid a final flurry of congratulations, and as soon as they were outside, Lorna twitched.

 

“Why are people so tactile?” she asked, even as she let Ratiri hug her. “Seriously, they’re so touchy-feelie, and most’v them ought to’ve known better.”

 

“They’re Irish,” he said. “The only answer I can think of. Drive safe.”

 

“There’s a baby in the car,” she said. “Of course I will.”

 

“Three babies,” he pointed out, rubbing her abdomen.

 

Lorna gave him a half-grin. “True. I’ll see you tomorrow, allanah.”

 

Chugging down the road, with Allanah sleeping soundly in her car seat, Thranduil spoke to Earlene. “Tell me now more about these citrus trees, meluieg. And what a greenhouse does.”

 

“Well…” as quickly as she could, given that she doubted this topic was remotely interesting to Lorna, she outlined lemons, limes, oranges, grapefruits, the “-quats”, and that there were basically an astonishing variety of possibilities. And that the greenhouse would work by keeping large volumes of water stored in barrels inside, to absorb heat during the day and release it at night, and that usually this system would allow for enough warmth to allow for the trees to do well enough. And in summer, it would also give them the extra heat they wanted. “I want the fruits because they are filled with vitamins and valuable in cooking,” she said. “Especially the lemons. They cannot otherwise be grown here.”

 

“Look into it, then. With Thanadir. And when you have something clearer in mind, we will see how this might work,” he said. He did not let on, but that she knew so much about something from which they all might benefit was  most beneficial.

 

“So, that went suspiciously well,” Lorna said, when they’d reached the motorway. “One might even say unnaturally so.” She cast a brief glance at Thranduil, eyes narrowed, but a smile tugged at her mouth.

 

“So the King of the Gobshites has pleased you?” he said with a smile, as he gave her his sidewise glance without moving his head even a fraction of an inch.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and tried to rein it in enough that she could actually stay in her own lane. “I’d wondered a bit. Thank you, Thranduil. I mean it. I’d been dreading that more than a bit. You’ve got a new nickname now: Scáileáin Saol. Means ‘life-saver’.” Which wasn’t to say he’d dodged the other one, but this was one she’d actually say aloud. She was such shite at expressing herself, even now, but he’d know just how grateful she really was. It was so odd -- at first she’d found the very idea of his telepathy horrifying, but now she was glad of it. It meant he knew all the things she didn’t know how to give voice to.

 

“Then I am duly rewarded,” he said drily, adding afterward with no trace of sarcasm, “You are welcome, Lorna.” He knew that he might still not be one hundred percent back in her good graces, but he was trying, by every available means which he could feel did not exceed certain boundaries. Even though he did not believe he had done anything wrong. Neither would he admit that his wife’s clear yet acerbic analysis of the situation had allowed him to form the idea in the first place. Just for a moment he allowed himself a thought of perverse pleasure; what his sire would think, to know of his life now. He wondered sometimes, _had Mandos ever released him?_ It had been a very long time; perhaps whatever corruption that had caused Oropher to behave as he had was now purged from him. _King of the Gobshites, he probably would have thought that most fitting. Wed to a mortal, and seeking to be friends with them. I’m sure I’ve managed to meet all of his staggeringly low expectations,_ he smiled. _But you were a fool, father. There is love and goodness in these people. There was love and goodness nearly everywhere, except with you…_

 

He glanced back to see Earlene held by Thanadir, contentment and security written all over her bearing. He smiled to see it, because he remembered well how many hours those same arms had held him, speaking words of consolation and counsel. His father had forged strength in him because there had been no other choice, if he wished to endure. Thanadir had done the rest, allowing him to believe in himself and see a way forward out of his own pain and despair. And here they all were now, riding along in a van in the modern human world. Could he ever have guessed at any of this? His mental meanderings were interrupted by the realization that they were already back. Understanding that Lorna was tired and wished to return home, they thanked her and made a hasty retreat into the house; he was the last one inside, lingering to ensure her nausea would be kept away for her return trip to Baile.

 

Before Lorna left, she passed Earlene a large, sealed envelope. “This is everything Orla found about Von Arsehole,” she said. “I don’t know what’s in it, but I’ve never seen her so skeeved, and that is really, _really_ saying something.”

 

When he returned inside, he found both his wife and seneschal standing to face him in the living area, with crossed arms and smirks. “Thanadir and I have to tell you that we have agreed upon a mildly subversive action,” she said, with mock-imperiousness.

 

“Oh? And may I know what form this rebellion against my rule will take?” he said, half-amused and half-exasperated. He did not believe for a moment that this was to be anything terribly serious.

 

“Just this,” said Thanadir, as both of them knelt before him. “Though you joke and have your fun with Lorna,” he paused.

 

“You are yet our beloved King,” Earlene finished. “And I for one am so proud of the kindness you showed to her today when you just as easily could have let matters alone.”

 

“Which is to say,” finished Thanadir, “that even though you have forbidden it here, our hearts compel us to disobey you. This once.”

 

“You two,” he whispered, kneeling down to join them and take them in his arms, hugging them tightly. “Then you must receive your punishment, which will be to later on view two Star Trek episodes, and three of Sean the Sheep.” They all laughed together in love and absurdity, for what else could it be called?

 

********

 

It was good fortune that they were full, because Thanadir and Earlene now spent hours looking at earthen homes. She showed photo after photo, and so she would not tire of bending her neck down, she cast her laptop screen onto the television. Soon even Thranduil took notice and joined them. Discussions ensued about what they did not like (right angles and garish exterior colors) and what they liked very much (incorporating the  living trees, using downed wood for support and roof timbers--oddly enough, they knew where to find at least one impressive specimen thanks to Earlene’s near-accident--and the placement of glass bottles into walls to insulate and to admit extra light. The elves had timber stores of their own, and it occurred to Earlene that if they would simply spread the soiled straw from the cow into one particular paddock and allow her access for awhile every day that she could make some of the cob for them merely by walking around with her heavy hooves.) The excellent building material of used auto tyres could be had free from the mechanic in town, and wine and beer bottles were hardly in short supply in an Irish village. It was then that Thanadir asked for a bag of flour, and for them to please follow him. He led them into the woods, with Earlene vaguely wondering if he’d lost part of his collection of marbles. But no. He stopped at a particular clearing in ‘her’ part of the woods, where there were some of the largest trees. Using the flour to leave a glorified chalk line, he walked a curving perimeter as he described his idea for the overall shape of the home and how it would be used.

 

“This is huge,” said Earlene, astonished to see the scale of what he was proposing.

 

“To do all that you have said you wish, this is how it would need to be, Earlene.” According to the drawings, this would essentially be two homes, joined in the middle by a very large roofed space of astonishing versatility. It would be a place for children to play, adults to sit and converse. Snow and rain would be warded off in wintertime, and in summer it would be cool and shaded.

 

Looking back toward the cottage, some sixty feet distant, she commented, “there is easy enough access for both electrical and water. We could talk to Orla about connecting to the well for the cottage.”

 

“No, meluieg. There is a natural spring not far from here. If we are not wasteful, there is enough water for many people and for the creatures of the forest also.”

 

“And speaking of waste,” she said, “what about sanitation?”

 

“I have studied the many possibilities. There are such things as ways to compost the wastes, and there is also what your home has already; a septic system. If I understood correctly we will not live here all of the time; that makes it easier.”

 

Earlene nodded. Done right, those “eco” ideas could work, and she doubted Thanadir did much of anything too far wrong. And, she was aware that having a home designed by elves would require some concessions. She would have electricity and running water. Standard toilets were something she could manage without, as long as it was clean and without...smells. Seeing the flour outline made it seem far more...real.

 

“I am proposing this design because if we are to do this, it is as Lorna said. We should begin very soon.”

 

“Lorna said that Orla could meet with both her and us, sometime this week. In fact I believe there was a day available two days from now. Do you think you could draw something, or could we have pictures to show her on the computer?” she asked Thanadir.

 

“Yes, if you help me. I do not wish to make notes in Tengwar if an outsider is to see what I have done, and my writing in your language lacks precision.”

 

“I would be honored to,” she said, genuinely awed at the idea that she could help him with something.

 

The old elf paused. Before, he would have thought about how this lack of ability on his part made him “worse,” and yet what he would have missed was the joy in Earlene’s eyes that she could help him in some manner. There had been many small occurrences of this nature over the past many days that continued to drive the lesson home. He was giving his all to no longer make comparisons, and was finding small delights unlooked for almost everywhere on account of it.

 

They returned to the house, and Earlene immediately sat at the table. “I guess we should read this, and get it over with. As Fearless Leader, I think the right of seeing this first goes to you,” she said, handing Thranduil the envelope.

 

Taking it, the King grimaced. “You are assuming it is in some format I am capable of comprehending,” he said, “but I thank you for your deference, however likely it is that you will have to decipher it.”

 

He carefully slit the paper open with a knife he retrieved off the countertop, removed and unfolded a single piece of paper. It took exactly five seconds. “It is as I feared, meluieg. This requires translation.” He handed the sheet to her. Taking it from him, she scanned it. He did not know it was possible to roll eyes and frown at the same time, but Earlene managed. Clearing her throat, she read:

 

“I don’t know where you dug up this son of a bitch, but he’s a sneaky fucker. He’s mainly active in pharmaceuticals, but he’s a silent shareholder in several forms that specialize in industrial chemicals and fertilizers. I do mean silent, too. I had a hell of a time tracing him, and it was almost always through someone who knew someone who was actually involved with him. I’ve attached papers related to each company and what his theoretical involvement is. I say ‘theoretical’ because he doesn’t seem to really DO anything that I can find. He’s just sort of there. He has two very fat bank accounts under his own name, but half a dozen more under various aliases, and I’m positive there are more I haven’t found yet.

 

He’s not new at this, though. I’ve found records of a Raoul von Ratched active in Germany in World War II, which was probably this twat’s grandfather. Not MANY records, because that gobshite was just as secretive as this one, but he seems to have been involved in experimental medicine. Those were harder to get, and I’ll warn you that some of them may not be accurate. Either way, he’s inherited some shit, and seems determined to keep it hidden.”

 

Earlene said nothing for a full two minutes, but her mind was visibly calculating. “Well, that’s not good,” she said quietly.

 

“There is much I do not understand in these references,” said Thanadir.

 

Earlene looked up unhappily. “I will explain all of them to you, meldir. All I ask is, please not tonight. Give me until tomorrow. The things I will have to say will be very dark, and I do not wish to weigh down my heart when today has been so pleasant.”

 

Having received several flashes of terrible things from his wife’s mind, Thranduil nodded. “Tomorrow.”

 

Earlene asked to be excused for a few minutes, mysteriously taking her laptop into the bedroom. Perceiving her veiled thoughts, Thranduil rose and followed her a moment later, where he found her seated on the bed reading like mad.

 

He sat next to her, loosening the laces of her top, and gently brought his mouth to her breast, causing her to moan. “That is not fair,” she whispered. “How am I supposed to do this when you are...driving me crazy”?

 

“I am teaching you, meluieg,” he managed to mumble without ever releasing her breast. Which was fairly impressive, actually.

 

“Teaching me what, that I cannot resist your seductions? Did we not establish that the first five minutes you met me?”

 

He had been attempting to enjoy a particularly luxurious drink of her milk when he had to stop on account of laughter. “I suppose that is true,” he chuckled, electing to take pity on her as he restored her clothing. “I had meant, you are in here hiding your thoughts from me again.”

 

“You are not the only one who can hear me, my...Thranduil, and the reason I am doing that is because I am trying to buy Thanadir a gift. A surprise. I never know when he will choose to look in on me, and I am taking no chances.”

 

“And what is this surprise? Did you not know, meluieg *kiss*, that I can *kiss* keep him from hearing you if you would but confide in me?” He was teasing her mercilessly.

 

“Well I do now,” she said, exasperated, though it did not stop her from reciprocating his affection eagerly. “You have never actually told me this before, in case you did not realize,” she returned, not about to be outdone. ”It is a violin,” she said. “I wanted him to have more musical instruments to play. Perhaps next it will be a flute. He learns everything, so quickly, and I would dearly love to hear him play for me when I have reached the proportions of a small land mass and cannot do very much else.”

 

“It might not be that bad, meluieg,” he said, unconvincingly. She was, for all he knew, only a quarter of the way through her time, and already her belly was stretching.

 

“I wanted this,” she reminded him. “I did not expect it to be perfectly easy. That you have made it so simple for me, thus far, I appreciate more than you can know.”

 

“I have not done anything except help bring on your milk, Earlene. The rest has all been you. You deserve much credit for the care you have taken of your body. And, yes, you are having a measure of good fortune as well. But know that I will help you in every way I can, just as I have done for Lorna.”

 

Earlene smiled, as she clicked the order button. “I said I would never ask about your relationship with her, and I still do not want to. But something that was said the other day; I cannot seem to get it out of my mind. Are you going to…?”

 

He smiled at her. “If I am, I would keep my promise and never tell, meluieg. After all, it is a natural occurrence. I do not interfere with everything, contrary to popular belief.”

 

“Of course,” she said, smiling knowingly. “I love you, Thranduil,” came through with her eyes sparkling with mirth.

 

“And I you. Now perhaps you can come out of this room, and allow Thanadir to enjoy his punishment?”

 

“As you wish,” Earlene snickered, standing up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

  
  



	43. Forty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING TO READERS **this chapter contains a non-con scene in which female character is assaulted "off-screen". No graphic descriptions.**
> 
> April Fool's Day extra installment :-)

 

Lorna spent the evening curled up on her newly-reupholstered sofa, making her way through _The Silmarillion_ while sipping cocoa.

It was easier, without the dyslexia, but she was still never going to read as fast as Earlene, and certainly not as fast as Ratiri. There was just no competing with someone who could read this entire book in a day, god dammit.

It was _weird_ , too, reading this and knowing some of the people who had witnessed it -- or parts of it, anyway -- in real life. Some elf must have found Tolkien, or vice versa, and laid it all out on him before headed to Valinor or Aman or wherever the hell most of them had gone. Thranduil and Thanadir were Sirs Not Appearing In This Book, but still...yeah, it was weird.

The back of her neck prickled, hairs rising. Puzzled, she looked up -- and screamed bloody fucking murder.

Von Ratched, the creepy fucker from Earlene’s lawyer-party -- Von Ratched the god damned _Maia_ \-- was standing on her lawn, staring in at her. What... _what? How --?_

For a moment, she froze, unable to believe just what she was seeing. Those ungodly pale eyes -- how had she ever thought _Thranduil_ had zombie eyes? -- were fixed on her with something she vaguely recognized as predatory, an icy fascination in their arctic depths.

It was only a moment, though; heart lurching, adrenaline dumping into her veins in a searing flood, Lorna scrambled to her feet. Instinct ran through fight-or-flight even as she knocked over her cocoa, and dismissed both: she couldn’t outrun him, and she couldn’t even fight an elf, let alone -- whatever the fuck he was.

She was going to die. He’d found her, _somehow_ , and he was going to fucking murder her.

Her feet moved without her conscious will, sending her tearing for the kitchen. Grandda’s .12 gauge stood beside the fridge, and she scrambled through a drawer for a box of shells probably older than Mam. Her trembling hands dropped most of them, but the heat of rage, lovely, welcome rage, steadied her a bit. If he was here to kill her -- and she couldn’t imagine why else he _would_ be -- she wasn’t going to make it easy, god dammit.

She managed to get one into each barrel, locking it shut, and with terror and wrath warring in her gut like rabid rats, she kicked  open her front door. Facing him down the barrel of a gun gave her a brief illusion of safety.

“ _Get off my lawn_ ,” she snarled, and gave him both barrels.

The boom was nearly deafening, the recoil enough to dislocate her left shoulder -- nearly enough to knock her right on her arse.

She hadn’t actually expected to hit him, though she’d hoped she might get lucky. No dice -- he grabbed the gun and wrenched it out of her hand. Faster than she could blink, he’d tossed it aside, seizing her by the throat and driving her back into the cottage.

 

“It has been a very long time since someone tried to shoot me, little Lorna,” he said, backing her into the wall. He wasn’t quite choking her, but she could feel the strength in his hand; he could snap her neck in half a breath.

 

“What else was I supposed to do?” she asked, before her mouth could consult her brain. “Wait for you to bust in here? Hide until you dragged me out and killed me?”

 

Kill her? _Kill her?_  Oh, if she only knew. “You have much strength of spirit, little Lorna,” he said, stroking his thumb along her jaw. She twitched, and snarled at him. “Such a pity it is not matched by strength of mind.”

 

Lorna fought it, for all she knew it was pointless: her fledgling forays into ‘thinking nothing’ were as much use as wet tissue paper. She never actually knew when Thranduil was in her head -- he left no mental footprint -- but Von Ratched...it was like he was digging through her brain with a rusty spoon, tearing through her mind without thought or care, and oh Christ, was _this_ how she died?

 

 _No._ She kicked him, hard, but all it did was make something in her own ankle go _click_. Her blunt nails clawed at his hand with a ferocity that gouged his skin, and still he didn’t relent. His grip remained relatively lax, just enough to hold her in place, but fighting it would leave bruises, should she live long enough, for his fingers were hard as stone.

 

He released her abruptly and she staggered away from him, having great, burning breaths, her raw throat on fire. Without thinking she braced her left arm on the wall and shoved her shoulder back into the socket with a _crack_.

 

Avathar watched her, intrigued. She knew she was going to lose, and yet she defied him -- so unlike the others he had hunted over the centuries, when his boredom grew too great. They groveled and pleaded, but little Lorna...she was terrified of him, but she was also enraged. She would not flee into the night.

 

He smiled, slow and predatory. It had been years since he’d truly _wanted_ , but he wanted now. He would take of her, and he would give, and he would not even burden her with memory. He would even be merciful and spare her her children, which would require a certain amount of care.

 

Thranduil, however, would see all of it. Every. Last. Detail. It would be worse for him than if she was forced.

 

Lorna, momentarily unaware of his intent, snatched a lamp, or tried to; she found herself unable to move, completely paralyzed as a strange, hazy warmth filled her mind, driving out all fear and wrath and, shortly, rational thought.

 

He approached, running his thumb along her cheek. She truly did have remarkable eyes, hazed though they now were with forced desire. This close, he realized that the lavender he had smelled at the party was not her shampoo, but merely _her_ \-- lavender and lightning, a combination so heady he couldn’t have left if he’d wanted to.

 

“You will enjoy this, little Lorna,” he said, tilting her chin up, “though not half so much as I.” He bent his head and kissed her -- softly at first, for in this he would be no monster, and smiled when she kissed him back, quite thoroughly under his spell. Breaking the kiss, he took her hand -- such a small hand, though strong for a firieth -- and led her to her bedroom.

 

When he was finished, he washed her and dressed her and healed almost all evidence of his presence; she would assume she had had some pleasurable dream, forgotten upon waking. She had quite enjoyed herself, if he did say so himself; he had taken many a woman to his bed, most lovelier than her in a conventional sense, and yet, though she was not untouched, there was something pure in her, something the others had lacked. She would go to Thranduil with his message, and he would be quite curious to know what the Elvenking would do with it. Would he tell Lorna what had been done to her, or would he elect to bear the burden of it alone? If he said nothing, she had no reason not to return home, and perhaps...well.

 

Perhaps Avathar would have to call again. Little Lorna Donovan could prove very addictive.

 

\--

 

When Lorna woke, she was surprised to find herself in bed; she didn’t remember _going_ to bed. She did feel a touch under the weather, though, and she’d zombied about half asleep far more often than once, if she’d crashed on her sofa before moving to her bed. A dull headache squeezed at her temples, annoying but far from crippling.

 

A glance at the bedside clock told her she’d best get showered and off to Lasg’len. If she was coming down with something, Thranduil could fix it easily enough. She was also sore somewhere she shouldn’t be sore, unless something was wrong. _That_ she’d definitely have him fix, and without telling Ratiri; if he didn’t have to worry, there was no point worrying him.

 

She actually remembered to take all her vitamins, though she wrinkled her nose at having to drink the weird protein shake Ratiri had insisted was some recipe of his mother’s. She liked spicy things, just not this early in the morning -- she was allowed one cup of tea a day, so she just made sure it was a very _big_ cup, and put it in her Thermos before heading out to Lasg’len. It was a bit odd, actually; she’d spent so many years rarely leaving Baile, and now she was back and forth all the time.

 

The day was slightly overcast, but still warm, and it looked like it would burn off later. It had been a sunny summer, by Irish standards, but Ireland was Ireland, and would only tolerate clear skies for so long.

 

The smoke issuing from the cottage chimney told her Earlene was home, so she headed for the front door once she’d parked. Christ, this headache was getting a touch worse, but Ratiri had told her only to take paracetamol if she really, really needed it, and this was nowhere near that level. Between that and the discomfort down under, she really wished she could have more caffeine.

 

“Everybody decent in there?” she called, cracking the door open as she rapped on it.

 

“Come on in,” Earlene hollered, though she could not move. Lorna entered the home to see one of those things that made her head pound a little harder, because it was too goddamn funny, but she knew she must not laugh. Must. Not. There Earlene was, with Thanadir. They both had on aprons that were spattered with flour, and Thanadir’s was much more gummed than Earlene’s. And it was beyond obvious, she was trying to teach the elf to bake breads. “You must stop thinking about the recipe, Thanadir, and listen to me. That is only half of the information. Bread is like...children. You can read all you wish to about how to raise them, but in the end each child is different and you must come to the task with flexibility as well as the sum of your knowledge. That dough is trying to speak to you, meldir, and you are not listening to it.”

 

“But it is not saying _anything._ It has no mouth, Earlene,” he said, frustrated.

 

She sighed. “It is a figure of speech. What I mean is...let me ask this way. What does the dough feel like to you, right now?”

 

“It is very sticky.”

 

“Good, that is correct. Now what did I explain the dough must feel like, if you are to be successful?”

 

“It must have some texture of being sticky, but it will stay together and not come off on my hands.”

 

“Yes. And how did the book explain you would correct this?”

 

“I would knead more flour into it until it behaves as it is supposed to?”

 

“And what did Earlene tell you to use so that you’d make far less of a mess doing it?”

 

“The dough scraper.”

 

“Show me,” she said, trying to smile encouragingly, before she remembered. “Sure god Lorna, I’m sorry, we’ve been so wrapped up in this. Tea?”

 

No one knew why that question even got asked. They’d all heard Ratiri’s lectures, so now she kept an herbal blend that was quite tasty on hand, with no caffeine. Something she’d known of in the States. “We’ll not be much longer here, and I think Thranduil’s in the barn looking at the chicks.” She reduced her voice to a whisper. “He thinks I don’t know he likes to pet them,” she explained with a conspiratorial wink.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Who _doesn’t_ like to pet baby chicks?” she whispered back. “Anyone who doesn’t has something wrong with them. Or is allergic to chickens, if that’s even a thing. I’ll go find him -- I’ve got a headache that’s enough to be annoying, but not enough to justify a paracetamol.” She wasn’t going to mention her other little issue, because...just no.

 

Out she went, squinting a little when a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds. He’d been so miserable when last she’d seen him out here that she was almost nervous to go looking. “How big are these fluffy little bastards?” she called, opening the wire gate.

 

“Big enough to be less amusing, small enough that eggs are still months off”, he lamented. “And yet I still find that I like them, especially these Buff Orpingtons...and this little one,” he bend down to hold out a few bits of cracked corn between his long fingers, “has especially learned that I am a good food dispenser. She likes me,” he said happily. “And how are you to- “ The words died on his lips. “You are not feeling well?” he asked, desperately wanting to be wrong about the first signs of what he was perceiving.

 

“I’ve got a bit’v a headache,” she said, kneeling to hold out her finger to a chick. It inspected it, but, as there was no food involved wandered off. “And I’m a bit, er, sore. Where I shouldn’t be. It’s not anything dangerous for the sprogs, is it?” She stood, wincing a bit. “I can’t imagine why it would be, but what the hell do I know?”

 

He stared at her, trying desperately to think, and decided to sit, because at least that would buy him a few more seconds. His voice was as strained as she had ever heard it when he spoke again. “Lorna, I need to ask for your trust. In order to be certain of why this is the case”--his guts were wrenching to have to edge around his suspicions, but he could not afford to be wrong about this--“I need to look into you more deeply than usual. And for that to be safe, you need to willingly open yourself to me. This can only work if you can genuinely do this with no reservations. And after what has passed between us…” he looked down for a moment, before meeting her eyes to await her answer.

 

Okay, he was royally freaking her out now. She’d seen him upset -- hell, more than upset -- but this was different. She didn’t know _what_ this was, but she knew that he wouldn’t be asking this just for shits and giggles. Disturbed though she was, she felt an odd impulse to comfort him in spite of her own nerves. “Okay,” she said. It wasn’t easy -- she still hadn’t forgot what he’d done, after all -- but this was Thranduil. She knew, deep down, that she could trust him with the big shite. He wouldn’t be so insistent unless it was damn serious. “But you’ve got to tell me why, once you’re, y’know, done.”

 

He nodded, and patted the bench for her to sit next to him. “Do your best to look into my eyes, and not blink if you can help it,” he asked with one of the worst attempts at a smile yet seen from him. One of his hands held the back of her head while the other supported her spine. He looked into her memories even as he dissolved the pain of her headache; her blood pressure was yet normal. He moved through thoughts that were hidden more deeply until… Not visibly reacting to what he’d found there was probably among the hardest things he’d ever done as ruler. And it had been done on account of _him_ . She had been used to strike at _him_. His spirit was tearing with grief even as he gave his all not to show that to Lorna. And the pain she had been left with, in her intimate places, that was meant as an obscene kind of a calling card. Blinding rage threatened to well up within him...and yet how would he assist her not to feel the same if he allowed himself that luxury? Every spoken curse he had ever known tapped at the corners of his mind, for what he wanted to do to this creature. But his first concern must always be those he loved, as it ever had been.

 

“This next part is as awkward for me as for you. There is nothing wrong with the children. I can remove your discomfort, but I think we would both strongly prefer it if I not touch you on that particular part of your body. But if you can cover yourself with your own hand, and I can touch on top of your hand, that will work just as well. It is up to you,” he said simply. Buying just a little more time, he tried to understand how by all the Valar and Eru as well he was supposed to impart this information that felt like it was destroying him. As it was _meant_ to. As it was _intended_ to.

 

“...Okay,” she said, wishing this was the weirdest thing she’d been asked to do lately. (It wasn’t. Ratiri and his food concoctions...no.) Sticking her hand over her crotch was a bit odd, yeah, but rather less odd than the rest of Thranduil’s behavior. Why was he freaked out? What the hell was he looking for in her head? “Hit me, I guess. Well, you know.” She gave him a slightly awkward pat on the arm with her free hand, just because she felt like she ought to do _something_.

 

Gingerly, he reached down to touch the tops of her fingers, until no trace was left of the soreness. Withdrawing his hand, he gave a tremendous sigh. “And now for the fun part,” he said, “which is not fun at all.” He looked at her very intently. “Tell me what I do, Lorna, when what I must tell you will cause you to become very angry, with good reason. What do I do, to help you for the sake of the children? I would rather not damage again what I have so badly wanted to repair,” he said, with the look of someone truly at a loss for what to do.    

 

“I…” She stared at him, totally unable to answer that question. A chick pecked her foot, then wandered off. How to keep her from getting angry, without knocking her out again? Jesus. “Um...okay, try this.” It was an odd attempt at a solution, but it was the only one she had, and he looked like he needed it anyway. Scooting over, she wrapped him in as much of a bear hug as someone as tiny as her could manage. “There. If this doesn’t work -- if whatever you tell me still flips me out -- you have my permission to knock me out...temporarily. For like, five minutes.”

 

Oddly enough, the courage of those tiny arms helped to give him back some of his own. “Earlene told me once that if I had something very difficult to say, that I should state the crux of the matter plainly. And then once the words were said, that it would be less awkward to continue the discussion. There is no good way to say this, Lorna, so I will try her advice. That man from New York, Von Ratched, found you at your home. He overruled your thoughts and your will, and he had intercourse with you without your knowledge or consent. And he did this because he saw it as a way to strike at me in a manner guaranteed to get my attention.” For all his strength, he could no longer control his emotions. “I would give my life for this not to have happened. Please believe me. I am so sorry,” he said in a voice filled with anguish, as adrift as he’d ever felt in all his long life.

 

It actually took Lorna a moment to register what he’d said, just because it seemed so totally ludicrous. “The creepy bastard from Earlene’s party?” she demanded, leaning back enough to look up at him. “He found -- he did _what_ ?” The only thing -- the _only thing_ \-- that kept her from exploding into a tirade and a half was the fact that Thranduil looked like someone had sucker-punched him right in the solar plexus.

 

How had -- if Von Ratched had found her, _how_ ? How could he have tracked her down and -- and -- Christ, her skin was crawling, as though doused in some invisible, unexpected toxin. “I--” She couldn’t go anywhere with that, because words weren’t to be found. Without realizing what she was doing, she clawed at her arms through her shirt, suddenly so fucking _filthy_ , and -- and --

 

But there was Thranduil, who really did look as though he’d been hit, and hard. “Stop fucking looking like that,” she demanded, wrapping her arms around him again because seriously, what else could she do? Just... _what_ ? “ _Stop_.”

 

His arms came around her, and he did not ask permission. “We will have to bring each other through this, Lorna. If I am to stop looking like that, the price is that you too must master yourself. We both must. Or else he wins. I do not yet see how, but he will pay for what he has done. I will not let him win. This is a heavy blow upon my spirit, but I will agree to fight him. I will deny him the satisfaction he imagines he will get from this attack, if you will. For that is what it was. I believe your military leaders would call what he has done a ‘preemptive strike’.”

 

“I’ll kill him,” she said flatly. “I swear to bloody Christ I’ll find a way to skin him alive, even if it takes me fifty bloody years. I need my grandda’s gun, but if that son’v a bitch has been in my cottage...how the fuck can I keep him out?” She looked up at him again. “Can you keep him out’v my head? Can you build me a...a wall, or something? If this is just his preamble, if he’s not going to fuck off, I don’t want him to ever have a chance to get in my head again.”

 

Thranduil shook his head. “Your gun will not help you. There were few weapons ever made that could harm him meaningfully, and because he could overrule your mind, you would never have a chance. You did shoot him, somehow, which is impressive. And because the weapon was not powerful enough to kill him at once, he lives. It might have taken him three minutes to heal from his injuries, if that. You cannot keep him out, nor can you kill him by any means that comes to mind. He is like me, Lorna, but without the restraints of morality. I have little I can offer you. Were you wed to me, you would have the same protections as Earlene, but...we both know that is not possible. Her necklace functions as it does because she is sealed to me in spirit. You and I cannot have that same bond. The only thing I can offer is the protection of my Realm. He cannot come into my Halls, that much is absolute. Were he to come into my forest, he would be known in seconds. Please stay here. I do not wish to tell you this, but he hoped that I would not tell you, so that he would have another chance at you. He finds you...attractive.” He turned his head away. “It turns my stomach to say these things,” he whispered.

 

It was nearly enough to make Lorna vomit, too. He’d been looking at her so oddly at that party, but she hadn’t interpreted it right at all, apparently. “So I can’t go home,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. “I have shite there. My computer, my...just, things. And Ratiri -- Christ, if he’s read my mind, he knows about Ratiri. Ratiri’s not safe, either.”

 

Shutting her eyes, she shuddered, her grip on him tightening to the point that a human might have been fearing for their ribs. “I know we’ve got to tell Earlene and Thanadir the fucker’s here, and that he’s been at my house and in my head, but Thranduil, you’ve got to do this for me: don’t tell them anything more. Not what he did. I’ll not have anyone looking at me like some kind’v fucking _victim._ ” She’d tell Ratiri, once she knew how, but this -- she didn’t want this known. She couldn’t bear it.

 

“I will do as you ask, Lorna, but they would both not look at you in any such capacity, after perhaps a few minutes of the initial shock. You cannot really know what lies within them, but I do. And, he could care less about Ratiri. This was not very much about you, Lorna. It was about me. That he found you attractive comes about fifteenth after the chance to strike at an elf still living in this world, not that I am in the least denigrating your appeal.”

 

“I just...nobody can know,” she said, somehow managing to curl into a ball without actually letting go. “Ratiri, I’ll tell him, because I can’t keep this from him, but I’ve got to try to get him here, too, because Ratiri’s your friend and my boyfriend and I don’t trust that fucker not to hurt him, and I can’t lose him, I _can’t_ .” She wasn’t crying because she couldn’t cry over this, and she didn’t really even _want_ to -- she didn’t know what she wanted. She’d shot the fucker, at least she could tell herself that, for all the good it had done her. “I just... _Jesus_. I need my shite. I need Ratiri. Would it be safe for me to go back to the cottage in daylight? I just need a few things.”

 

“Only with me. And I will tell you now, not knowing where he is, what he is doing, what his next move is...I do not wish to leave. But if you ask it of me, I will.  I would rather that Ratiri bring those items to you here.”

 

She shouldn’t ask him to -- it wasn’t fair, not when they really didn’t know where Von Ratched was or what he was doing -- but Christ, she couldn’t sit here. She couldn’t. If she wouldn’t be able to go home for God knew how long, she had to see it once, to gather her things and lock it up and...and… “If I stay, I’ll go barking,” she said, the words not much more than a whisper. “I can’t go in there and pretend yet, I _can’t_ , and I know it’s not fair, I know I haven’t actually got any right to ask you to go with me, but I’ve got to. I can’t stay, not now. I need...I just…” Words failed her yet again, but what she needed was to go out on the highway, to feel like she had at least a _little_ control. She was angry, yes, very angry, but it was contained, buried deep and kept safe away until she could let it out more safely. A chilly rage, deep and still as an Arctic lake at dawn.

 

“If you need it, you will have it,” he said soothingly, sending Thanadir a silent message. “Come. I must have something, before we can leave, it is in the Halls. If you wish greater speed, ride on my back and I will carry you. If you wish to walk, take my arm.” Silently she pointed “up”, and with a grin, he sat once again on the bench so that she could climb onto his back, telling her how to use his hands as stirrups. “Hold onto my neck, but I would like it if you do not choke me.”

 

“I’ll try,” she said, thinking, even through everything, that this was one of the more ridiculous things she’d done. And yet, oddly, it was comforting; Shane had had to carry her like this, when she’d been stabbed in the foot as a teenager. She’d felt safer this way than she had almost any other time she was growing up.

 

He sprinted off at a pace that was fast enough to be distracting, with strides that were surprisingly smooth and free of jostling. They made it to the Gates in perhaps four or five minutes, as his long legs devoured the distance. “Come,” he said again, offering his arm. They traversed the long walkways, and then set off in a direction he had never taken her before, to end up at a nondescript but heavy wooden door. He paused a moment. “I had not intended to bring you here, but as they say, what difference does it make, at this point? I already know you will not reveal what you see inside, you have more than earned my trust. Waving his hand over the door, he pulled it open, and by some means or other caused the lights to brighten. “I doubt the nature of this location needs explanation,” he said, smirking.

 

“...Jesus fucking Christ,” she breathed. No wonder he thought the gifts he’d given her were like giving somebody marbles. She hadn’t thought this much bling had existed in the entire world, and it was enough to distract her, just for a moment. Gems of all colors and sizes, gold and silver, necklaces and bracelets and Christ knew what else, all in a space that was less a vault and more a cavern. It glittered in the light, the air almost shimmering. “What -- what’s in here, that you need?”

 

“Something I hoped never _to_ need,” he said, with a heavy heart. He led her through the aisleways to where a simple rack was mounted into the stone walls, and on the pins rested a single sword in a black scabbard. With a deft motion of his wrist, he partially unsheathed it, to reveal a blade so black it seemed to swallow the light around it. And indeed, to look on it was to believe one was seeing pulsing and thin veins of fiery light, even as a slight chill filled the air nearby. Thranduil quickly drove the blade home, and the sense of draining warmth dissipated. “This is Anguriel, believed to be lost to the ages. Do you know the name, Lorna?”

 

She’d made her way through most of _The Silmarillion_ by now, but there were so damn many names that she had to hunt her memory. “Was it made by the twat in the forest? Starts with an E, ends with ‘hello, dubious consent’?” Which really was not something she needed to be thinking about right now, and she shuddered, barely fighting an urge to scratch at her own skin.

 

“Only you, my friend,” the King shook his head smiling. “Yes. ‘That twat’ was named Eöl, and whatever else you may think of him, no one else ever achieved what he did in the history of our people. However questionable. Do not think for a moment that he was other than great and powerful, though how he used those gifts left something to be desired. Be careful, too, about viewing everything in the books you have read as an absolute truth. The tales are true from a certain point of view, and yet they did not represent the only version of those same matters. We do not know the full story of Eöl and Aredhel, that much is certain. But I did not come here to give a lecture on the history of Beleriand. I am here because this is perhaps the only weapon that exists capable of giving me a significant advantage against our foe. Lorna, I want you to look at me now, and hear what I am going to tell you.” And he did wait, until he was certain as he could be that he had as much of her attention as she was capable of giving under the circumstances. “This blade is not ordinary, Lorna. It is deadly. It has a will of its own, the will of its dark maker. It wants to kill. It wants to drain the spirit of another, for indeed that is what it was forged to do. You must not touch it for any reason. Not in curiosity, not in anger. It takes a great force of mind and body to control, and you do not possess what is necessary. No mortal now living does, and few elves do either. To handle it, even sheathed, is to risk your life. I want your word that you will not attempt to come near to this object, and I will be asking the same of Earlene and Ratiri.”

 

It was somehow one of the loveliest yet most horrifying things Lorna had ever seen. She wondered how in the name of bloody fuck Thranduil had wound up with it, but this wasn’t the time to ask. “I promise,” she said. Swords were not for her. She was a creature of the modern world; knives were as close as she would get. She looked up at him. “Are you going to kill that son’v a bitch with it?” she asked, searching his face. “Will you gut him like a bloody trout so I can piss on his corpse?” Because that was, she knew, the only closure she would ever get. If she couldn’t kill him, she could damn well mutilate whatever remained of him, and leave him no dignity in death. It might not be enough even then, but she’d try to make it so.

 

“I will use it to defend those to whom I owe my duty, and my Kingdom. As will Thandir, when he has occasion to bear it. Should that creature attempt to come here, yes, I will try to kill him. But I will not hunt him into the outer world, which is perhaps what he desires will occur. I had hoped we would be left alone; I would not ever have attempted to seek him out. Interfering with whatever he is doing in the wider world exceeds the scope of my purpose, unless the Valar themselves were to command me to do otherwise. And yet that is not and never has been their way. Should I succeed, I promise that I will not interfere in whatever you wish to do to what remains. But that is part of my thinking in bearing Anguriel. I have already explained that he cannot be killed in a permanent sense. But this blade has the ability to drain his power away, so that whatever continues on will be weakened, impaired. If I could ruin his ability to take on a form that will keep him from ever again functioning in your world, it would be a worthy achievement.” He buckled the sword onto the left side of his belt, and offered his arm again.

 

Wrong as it was, Lorna almost hoped they’d run into the fucker. Maybe this nightmare could be over before it began for anyone but her. “I wish it could be me,” she admitted, taking his arm. If she leaned on him more heavily than usual, she could probably be forgiven. “I wish I could...I supposed I ought to be grateful I don’t remember anything, but I still wish I could pull a bloody Viking eagle on him. Even that wouldn’t be revenge enough.” How in God’s bloody name...no. She wouldn’t think of it right now, just like she wouldn’t think about the fact that if the fucker decided to stay out of the forest, she might never be able to go home. These were not thoughts that would be of any help to anyone.

 

He led her down more twisting corridors until they were at the now more familiar armory. There was a particular side room, from which he removed a particular blade from a cabinet more ornate than the others. Walking down the passage further, he went into the practice room, and retrieved one of the throwing knives Earlene used for practice, offering the handle to her. “You are blessed with much courage, Lorna. You are a match even for me in this regard, and I do not say that lightly. I would like to be wrong, but I believe we will not have to go looking for this one even were we inclined to. That he would come here so quickly after learning of us speaks of a certain impatience. And while an aggressor appears to have strength, it is often a sign of fearfulness. I do not know where this creature was during the War of the Ring, but Sauron was defeated just on account of such foolish overreach, when otherwise victory would have been unquestionably his.”

 

“I don’t feel very courageous right now,” she sighed. “I just want revenge, which I know isn’t the same thing.” She took the knife, turning it in her hands. Shane had taught them all how to throw knives, but she’d never been very good at it -- if she hit something, it was likely by accident. “If he comes looking...I hope I’m there, if you find him. I’d like to watch him die.” She shifted the knife in her fingers, eying the nearest target. It had been years since she’d done this, yet somehow the blade actually hit the target, sinking in with a satisfying _thunk_ . “And if possible, I’d like to stick one of those in his eye.” _Your ears you keep, and I’ll tell you why_. She’d never get the chance to visit the contents of that speech upon him, but hell, a girl could dream.

 

“Very good,” he complimented. “I am ready to return when you are,” he said quietly. Seeing that she was more than willing to depart, he led her out via the doors in the forges, then on through the woods back to the cottage. “Go ahead and start your vehicle, and I will give Thanadir his sword. I will join you in just a moment. Is that acceptable?” he asked, realizing that she might not wish to be left alone for any reason.

 

Lorna nodded. “I still need a little time, before I deal with...other people. Figure out where to put this... _this_ .” She fished her keys out of her pocket, but realized her handbag was in the cottage. _Dammit._ Her hands weren’t steady, the keys jangling slightly. “Can you get my bag? I’ll get everything sorted in the car.”

 

“Of course,” he said, and he did not move. Seconds later Thanadir appeared outside with the requested bag, unfortunately not doing a very good job of appearing dignified in his flour-covered apron. It would have been tempting to laugh but for the look on his face. There was nothing amusing about it. Thranduil silently offered him the hilts of his sword, while Thanadir took notice of the weapon his King bore. His jaw tightened. If there was any doubt about the seriousness of their circumstances, it was gone now. With a curt nod of his head, the seneschal disappeared back inside.

 

Lorna fired up the engine, and the purring rumble of it calmed her a bit, the miserable whirl of her thoughts stilling somewhat. “Okay,” she said, hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, “I can get us to Baile in half an hour, but I need you to trust me.”

 

“I am harder to kill than you are,” was all he said in reply.

 

In spite of everything, _that_ made her smile. “Good.” She was reasonable going through the village, but even then, being behind the wheel of this powerful engine made her feel powerful, too. Once she hit the back roads outside of town, though, all bets were off. The pavement was dry, so she felt no compunction in taking them at 113, motorway-speed. The engine growled like a demon, tires eating up the asphalt as she shifted. To feel the stick beneath her palm, the satin-smooth shift of gears...oh, it helped. It helped a great deal -- though it helped even more when they reached the motorway, which fortunately wasn’t in heavy use.

 

She stomped the accelerator, the needle on the speedometer climbing to 160 as she wove her way to the fast lane. There was little she could do right now, but she could drive -- she drove like a maniac, and she was _good_ at it.

 

Thranduil refused to react, knowing how much she needed this. In a brooding silence, he fingered the hilt of Anguriel and allowed some of his anger to simmer away, that this accursed weapon was even in his hand. The sword had lain all these ages in his vault for a reason. It was not a weapon that a Child of Ilúvatar should ever have conceived, much less wielded. He wondered, idly, why Eöl created this. Created _these_ , actually, for this was a sundered twin; the shards of its mate were long gone beneath the waves and now only Ulmo knew its fate. He wanted to believe, he hoped, that the intent had been to fashion a mighty weapon against the powers of Morgoth. But he himself had heard its whispers, and was not so certain. _Valar, let this end swiftly_ , he silently prayed. _And grant me your wisdom._ He had so much to lose, now, that he had not had before. But he knew he could not change Vairë’s tapestry; what would be, would be. When was the last time he had prayed, for anything?

 

Lorna calmed, even as her pulse jumped. The needle climbed to 190, other cars scattering out of her way with a chorus of honks, but the Charger purred and almost flew, and something in her, some knot of ugly tension, loosened a fraction.

 

She was sane enough to slow down as they approached the off-ramp, but even then she was doing twice the legal limit on the back roads. She only dropped to the actual speed limit when she approached Baile, lest they draw attention she was in no fit mental state to deal with.

 

Looking at her cottage...hurt. This was her home, her sanctuary, and it had been invaded in the worst way. It was so lovely now, just as it ought to be, and God knew when she’d be able to come back.

 

“All right,” she said, slowing to a stop. “I just need a few things, and I’ve got to talk to Ratiri, but sure Christ I’m not ready to do that, not face-to-face. I don’t know how in fuck I’ll deal with anyone ever again.” She had to tell him this, sooner or later...didn’t she? Surely, if she could be forgiven for keeping anything at all to herself, it would be this.

 

He reached over to place his hand on her. “I will be touching you as much as possible while we are here.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing at what he’d just said. “Let me try that again. I will be keeping my hand on you to shield your thoughts, just in case.”

 

(Even now, even in spite of everything, Lorna couldn’t help it. “That’s what she said,” she muttered.)

 

“And no, Lorna. This is not your shame. If you will not allow me to bear the guilt and discomfort for what has transpired when all of this was on my account, neither are you allowed. You have a family for a reason, and this is not the time to shut them out. When our people are attacked, who attacks one attacks all. We stand with each other. You required me to disclose the most painful thing I have ever spoken to another in my entire life to you, today. You owe Ratiri no less.” He spoke so very quietly, but with a conviction that was painful to hear.

 

“How?” she asked, looking at him. Her voice was unsteady, and she hated it. “How can I tell him? I don’t know that I could even spit out the words. It’s...I wish there was a manual for this sort’v thing. You know how shitty I am at expressing myself even when something horrible hasn’t happened.” Was that really the most painful thing he’d ever had to tell anyone in eighteen thousand years? Surely there had been worse. This was bad, but she wasn’t the first woman this had happened to, nor would she be the last.

 

“Yes, it is,” he said, with more anguish in his voice than he intended to allow. “Elves cannot be...raped,” he said. “I have never known the pain of speaking this to another.” He sighed. “Lorna, it may be best to retrieve your belongings and tell him he must come to you at the Halls. That you are safe, but are not able to return. And that you will explain when he comes. He will worry, but not like he will worry if you tell him now and then depart with me. You are carrying his children. To any kind of man of worth, that means...everything. But if you would rather speak to him now, I will help you. Either way, I am not leaving the sight of you. I too am shaken.”

 

She really wasn’t used to hearing him like that, and she hoped like hell she’d never have to be. Leaning awkwardly over the gearshift, she hugged him. “Every time you sound like that, I’m going to hug you,” she warned. “Then you’ll get Lorna cooties and smell like flowers, and my hair might try to eat you.” Shutting her eyes, she sighed. “I can’t tell him now. I’ll call him and tell him he’s got to get some things and get ready to stay in the Halls a while. He can tell Doc Barry there’s an outbreak’v something in the village.” He couldn’t leave now and she knew it, not without raising far too many questions they couldn’t answer -- and she didn’t want anyone else getting dragged into this.

 

Thranduil laughed. “Unlike you, I enjoy physical affection, so that is a terrible threat. I will be honest, Lorna, it has been too long since I have had to deal with this...shite. And I do not relish dealing with it again. But deal with it we must. And, I think what you have suggested will be wise. Come. Let us retrieve your possessions. I must think again like a warrior, and warriors do not sit in driveways chatting in cars when the position of the enemy is not known.” He exited the vehicle, turning all of his senses outward, and detected nothing.

 

Lorna drew a deep breath, getting out herself. Her cottage was still in perfect order; there was no sign anyone but her had been in it last night, and yet she twitched. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her bed at all; she just pulled her big suitcase out from under it and threw in almost every piece of clothing she owned. Her laptop went into its bag, but then she paused in the kitchen. If she was going to be away God knew how long, she wanted her kettle, and her tea, and she tossed the damn vitamins in her bag as well.

 

Quite abruptly, something hot and ugly welled in her chest, and she brutally forced it down. This was neither the time nor the place to give vent to it, even if Thranduil did have that sword. She swallowed, hard, and zipped her case closed. The guitar came next, case slung over her shoulder by a worn strap.

 

She couldn’t resist running her hand along the smooth kitchen table. God damn it, she _would_ be back here. This wouldn’t drag on for the rest of eternity. She wouldn’t fucking let it.

 

The last thing she grabbed was her grandda’s shotgun. It might be worthless against this fucker, but at the very least she didn’t want his disgusting hands on it. Whenever she was able to come home, she was going to have to do a few epic loads of laundry, and possibly fumigate.

 

Looking at Thranduil, she squared her shoulders and lifted the case. “This is everything I’ve got room for,” she said, and this time she kept her voice steady. “The Americans have got a saying: let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”

 

He nodded, trying to appear more cheerful than he felt, for her sake, though it was tearing him apart to be here, to know what had been _done_ here, that she could now never separate from her love of her family home. His hatred for this creature of Morgoth swelled like bile rising from within him, and he forced himself to push it down. In all his days of fighting evil, nothing had ever before felt this _personal_. Momentarily they were in the car, and driving away.

 

Lorna’s driving was slightly less insane on the way back to Lasg’len, but only slightly. Even with Thranduil and that ungodly sword, she still felt...exposed. She wasn’t going to feel properly safe until she was within the bounds of the forest again -- and not properly relieved until Ratiri was, too.

 

She drew a deep breath. She was going to be with Earlene and Thanadir again soon, and they’d know how horrified she was -- just not the entirety of why. Thranduil might say it was not her shame, but actually accepting that herself wasn’t going to happen right off.

 

She could do this. She had to do this.

 

When they finally pulled into the cottage driveway, she nearly sagged with relief. “All right,” she said -- and burst into tears.

 

Well. This was inconvenient.

 

Thranduil came around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and simply extricated her without words, carrying her to the barn. He sat down and held her, carefully rocking her as he might Allanah. Thanadir had been asked to bring Lorna’s  belongings inside the cottage. Earlene saw the laptop and silently plugged Lorna’s into a charger, reasoning that it would help ensure it was serviceable. Earlene had hers charged as well, having used the time waiting for Thranduil’s return to download a few movies. She did not know what these new developments would mean, for spending time at her cottage, or whether the plans they were laying for their new home would grind to a halt. And now was not the time to ask.

 

Sifting what little she already knew, two very bothersome pieces of information remained floating at the top of her analytical chart. First, this man had come all the way to Nowhere, Ireland and they were now on red alert. Second, Lorna was being brought to stay in the Halls indefinitely. And those two pieces of information distilled down to very few possibilities, and none of them were good at all. She had long cleaned up the flour-y mess she and Thanadir had made, and elected to place their dough into refrigeration, where it would be stable for days. There was a chance it could be retrieved and baked in the Halls, which she would enjoy trying if the kitchen staff would allow it. What was not so easy to manage was Thanadir, standing basically at attention, with a drawn sword in the middle of the living room. His eyes burned with a fey gleam, and for all her closeness to him, she did not dare disturb his watchfulness except to inform him of her intentions when she went to use the lavatory. And even that was on account of the change in his expression, when he seemed to fear she might exit the home without him. She packed up her knitting to bring with her, and passed the time working on her consultations while Allanah slept in her lounger. They helped divert her mind from the palpable tension in the room. It was uncertain, how often she would be able to return. And yet surely something would be managed; they could hardly function by behaving as though they were besieged when the man had not been seen anywhere near here. _Not been seen anywhere near here._ That was an inadvertent third piece of information. _That man had been in Baile; there was no other logical conclusion._

 

Lorna did her level best to master her tears, swallowing the sobs that tried to break free. She could do this once she was in her room, in the Halls. She wasn’t a child, for fuck’s sake; she’d kept this kind of shite on the inside almost all her life, so she could damn well do it one more time.

 

“Do I look like I’ve been crying?” she asked, looking up at Thranduil. That ugly heat in her chest lingered, burning, but she didn’t know how to banish it yet.

 

“Honestly, yes, but I can help with that. But Lorna, it is so hard for you to cry. It would be best for you to let yourself cry while you can. No one will come here, no one will see you. In the end you will feel better.”

 

He had a point, damn it, and he was one of the few she trusted to have around when she cried. So she gave in, curling into a ball like a child, the burn of her tears painful yet welcome. She couldn’t even speak, but then, what would she say? There was nothing _to_ say.

 

 _You’re going to have snot all down your front_ , she managed at last, her breath hitching in her chest. _Sorry_. She was fairly sure that came out. Wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands, she finally looked up at him. “That’s as good as it’s going to get,” she said. “We might as well call Ratiri and get on.”

 

“Wait a moment.” There was a supply of clean, folded towels, and the barn had running hot and cold water, for which he mentally praised his wife’s foresight. Dampening one in warm water, he returned to her and cleaned her face, and let her blow her nose. “Now hold still,” he said, touching his forehead to hers. In a very few moments, the redness in her eyes was gone, as was much of the physical sensation of having sat around sobbing. “That looks better,” he smiled, tossing the towel into the bucket for cloths needing laundering with enviable aim, while Buttercup watched unconcernedly as she chewed her cud. They returned together, and entered.

 

Earlene remained seated, sending only one thing to her husband. _I will help however you tell me I may._ She was otherwise silent, and pretending as though there was not a terrifyingly irate elf standing seven feet from her with a razor-sharp weapon drawn. Her eyes moved only briefly from her computer screen, in an effort to give them as much sense of not being scrutinized as possible.

 

 _Thank you_ , she heard back, as she continued to read her emails.

 

The next one was from her lawyer. _Aidan had named her and Allanah his sole heirs? With an amount held in trust of…._ even her eyebrows raised. This was _after_ the quarter million he’d already given. _Christ, I need a financial planner to help the financial planner. But at least you, little girl, will never want for anything. Except, you will, because your Auntie Earlene has the sense to not let you grow up as a spoiled, entitled brat who thinks money grows on trees. You can think it grows on trees after you understand what it is to work and earn it._ Was it wrong, to take some minor glee in the fact that her net worth had been more than his, in the end? She blushed to think of all her recent discussions with Thanadir. Did it make her _better? No, not better_ , she thought. _We each did what we thought was best for us and it wasn’t a contest._ Shaking her head, she clicked onto the next one.

 

Lorna actually felt like she could be around people now, and borrowed Earlene’s phone, ringing the Baile surgery. In a surprisingly calm voice she asked to speak to Ratiri, and sighed with relief when she was transferred to him.

 

“Lorna, what is it?” he asked, obviously concerned -- and perhaps understandably, given she’d never rung him at work before.

 

“Ratiri, allanah, I’m going to be staying in the Halls for a bit,” she said, “and it’d be best if you came, too. Tell Doc Barry you’re needed in Lasg’len, and bring whatever you can. I’ll explain more once you’re here -- I can’t right now.”

 

“Lorna, what happened.” It wasn’t a question, and she cursed how well he knew her.

 

“It’s a long story,” she said. “Now will you come?”

 

He sighed. “Of course I will. I’m off-shift at six.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes, quite a bit of tension draining from her. “Good. Stay safe. I am, now.” He’d need to be reassured, even though he’d already know, given where she was and who she was with.

 

“I will. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

 

She rang off, and pushed her fringe out of her face. That little cry had helped quite a bit. “We’ve got company in Ireland we didn’t want,” she said, figuring Thranduil had already told them, but needing to say it aloud herself.

 

Earlene looked up, met her eyes, and nodded solemnly. The thing about phones was, you could so often hear both sides of the conversation, especially in a confined space where everything else was still as death. And now she was sure of her convictions. Later, she would tell Lorna she was there to listen when she chose to talk. There was zero else she could do, except perhaps drop the hint that she had quite a lot of ability to figure things out on her own...but this was Lorna, and strategies she might use on others were not always wise with her. Earlene now studied her husband carefully, seeing the strain on his carefully neutral face. His _too_ neutral face. If her first conclusion was correct... _he blames himself_.

 

Thranduil closed his eyes. This was one time when he wished Earlene was not half computer. He turned to look at her, only to see that she quickly lowered her eyes from his gaze. His wife was not avoiding him; it was her way of showing him her submission. Her abilities, she could not help having. But that she would say nothing about this even to him, unless he initiated the discussion, was clear. He felt her concern, her love and her deep respect for him. It was enough.

 

“We will leave now,” the King said. “Earlene, you will take Allanah and your extra belongings. I would like it if no computers or phones were left here. Earlene, please shut down Orla’s device that allows us to access the Internet when we are here. Thanadir, you will take Lorna’s large suitcase. Lorna, please take the rest of your personal items.” It was only a few seconds’ extra work to add the ellyn’s laptops in with her own. She elected to simply take the wifi modem with her, guessing at the possible thinking behind his request. In the end she had rather a decent load of items, but she was very strong, and the Halls were no great distance away. Bundling the child in her arms, she led the way out the back door. Thranduil scooped up Tail and closed the door, bringing up the rear. Earlene set a walking pace that was brisk without being too fast. Not looking back once, she spoke the words of opening at the Gates, and made her way to their quarters. She was grateful to put Allanah down when she reached her destination, and remove the satchels and bags from her shoulders. And she did not get thirty seconds’ reprieve before the baby fussed with hunger. With a smile of resignation, she freed her breasts and leaned back against the pillows on their bed, cradling the baby against her body.

 

Her thoughts drifted to the cold, unnatural eyes of that bastard. Something extraordinary must have happened, because she could honestly see Lorna as someone who’d rather die than be...violated. There was too much anger and rage to ever just give in to someone who threatened her. Even someone who’d hit her; it just wouldn’t stop _Lorna_ . It had to have been much...her eyes widened as she added in yet more memories of what Thranduil had said about him. There was most certainly an additional weapon in such a one’s arsenal. She began to cry, she could not help it. It had not happened to her, but when one heard about such things...it was often rather impossible to sort out what felt like a violation against all women. Lorna was her friend, and she saw red. _I would gut him from his throat to his goddamn willie if I but had the means. He would look like a hung pig in the barnyard by the time I got through with his miserable innards, the motherfucking…_

 

“Meluieg” he said sharply. She’d not heard him come in, and hurried to wipe her face with her sleeve.

 

“My Lord,” she answered. “Forgive my thoughts, please. I am sorry, that…”

 

He held up his hand. Apologies were not what he wished to hear. He carefully took hold of Allanah, who released her breast, and looked into the little girl’s eyes. She wiggled a little, but allowed herself to be laid down in her crib without protest. He crawled up on the bed next to his wife with pain written all over his face, and Earlene opened her arms to him. Reaching down, she did the best she could to bring his legs up over her, holding onto as much of him as she could, pulling him down against her, stroking his fine hair. Trying her hardest, she thought only of how much she loved him, and guided his hand to rest over the bulge in her abdomen. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was everything, but soon a heaving sob broke from him as he held onto her.

 

 _What could she say, that she was so sorry?_ Of course she was...any decent one, human or elf, would be. The only fix for this situation was revenge or that it never had happened in the first place, and neither of those exactly seemed like options. Those were outside her control. What was in her control was to offer him what comforts she could give. She spoke carefully. “I am your mate. Any comfort I can give, whether it is my spirit, my body, anything at all, it is yours without hesitation. You are my heart, Thranduil. Something bad has happened, but we will all find a way to overcome. We will care for each other through our sorrows and our joys.” She held onto him tighter yet, kissing his golden hair.

 

He did not know how it happened; it was the last thing that was on his mind. A tender kiss on the lips, overwhelming feelings of frustration and pain, and an unexpected arousal of body swept over him. Even as he felt himself dragged to tears, he found himself taking Earlene’s body. She guided him, encouraged him, and accepted him as much of his grief and rage were channeled into lust so intense that it made him feel ashamed of himself for being able to feel such desires at a time like this. “Let go, my love,” she whispered to him. “I am here for you. Confusion and sorrow and desire drove him onward to a mighty release that caused him to collapse against her. She embraced the weight of his body, and his pain, soothing him with soft kisses against his cheeks while her hands rubbed his back. When he stirred again, she guided him to the bathing room, where he barely seemed communicative. “Promise me you will stay here,” to which he mutely nodded. “I will return very soon,” she said. Barefoot she ran, past the dungeons and to the cellar, where she quickly found the bottles of Dorwinion wine, tucking two of them under her arms. On her way out, she nearly crashed into a stern-faced Thanadir, who crossed his arms and glared at her.

 

“They are not for my use, Hîr vuin. If my husband has ever needed wine in his long life, it is right now, and unless you intend to make me your prisoner down here, he is going to have wine.” Her vehemence and her explanation were not to be argued with, but he said only one thing.

 

“Earlene, the seal can be difficult to break on those without spilling, and you should not get the wine on your skin. Would you allow me to help you?”

 

She nodded, and handed him one of the bottles, which was safer, knowing that he would be behind her. “Earlene,” she heard again, and stopped. “This way. It is faster.” With a curt nod, she followed at his heels, now seeing the elusive shortcut that she had been certain existed. As they approached the door, she spoke quietly. “Please do not let him know you are here. I cannot explain. Can he...can he drink more than one bottle of this?”

 

“I have seen him drink three and a half. Once. It was when...it was a time he was very upset. But it was not good, he could not be woken for a day. Two is a very good place to stop.”

 

“Then please open them both for me, but pour me a goblet as soon as you can. He is bathing.” The seneschal nodded his head. “And Thandir...thank you. For everything.” She managed a weak smile, that he returned. Swiftly he did as she asked, and with a kiss to his cheek, she carefully picked up the goblet he’d poured and walked attentively so she would not spill any. To her relief, he was still in the pool. “Please, drink,” she said, holding the goblet in front of him. With a dull expression, he took it from her. “I will be right back once again,” she whispered. Exiting one more time, she grabbed the two open bottles and placed them away from danger behind him, and disrobed to join him. He had already emptied the glass, so she reached to refill it. The first bottle was demolished inside of two minutes, leaving her reeling at the obvious discrepancy in their physiology. And he held out the goblet yet again. This time she spoke. “I would ask you to slow down a little bit, beloved.” A flare of ire was in his eyes.

 

“Not for you, but for my sake. Please. This is my first experience, and though I know it does not affect you as it does me, it is difficult for me not to feel frightened at seeing this.”

 

That seemed to give him pause, because he relented, nodding. So she poured him more, and sat with him. The water temperature had been adjusted somehow for the sake of the unborn children, and was kept at her body temperature. Which still felt very pleasant, to her. He did slow in his drinking, and she turned him to knead at his back and shoulders, which she did for a very long time. It was pleasant for her to be in here; it made her feel buoyant and removed the sense of weight from her breasts and abdomen. Soon she felt roving hands, and offered herself again; bracing herself against the sides of the tub while he took her from behind. When he sank back into his seat, he took her in his arms and spoke. “Your kindness has taken some of the edge of my misery away, Earlene, but I still do not know what to do. While I feel some relief in my body, my thoughts are still burdened and my heart is weighed down. I have never faced this before and it is tearing me apart inside.”

 

It was a very deep sigh, for her. She moved to straddle him, so she could face him. “What you do not do is show any of this outside these rooms. You do as you are doing now; you bring these feelings to me. If you are angry, you yell at me. If you feel lust, you take my body. If you feel sorrow, you cry to me. Others look to you for strength and our friends will need that strength. And you are very strong. It does not matter, that right now you do not know exactly what to do. It will come to you. Those who are bad never win in the end, Thranduil. They just do not. They cause heartache and misery. Even Morgoth...he ruined many, many lives, as did his followers. But in the end, they did not prevail and neither will this one. It will not erase what happened, but we will all carry on because we have love, and each other. What do you think that debased thing out there has? Nothing. Nothing at all, because power and corruption are not worth having. That kind becomes greedy. That kind makes mistakes. You are good, my King, and we will all find a way.”

 

The simple faith she had in him was humbling. And though he very badly wanted to find something with which to argue, he could not. He held her tightly. “Thank you, Earlene. Thank you for being here for me.”

 

She kissed him on the forehead, fearful even of the wine on his lips. “It will not harm you,” he said, rising from the water, taking a towel and pouring himself more. He dried himself as did she, and donned a robe. “I interrupted your feeding of the baby,” he said, chagrined, adding a moment later, “and you received no pleasure from me.”

 

“That is not necessary,” she said. “That you feel loved, and supported, that is my concern.” His blue eyes appeared much calmer, as he curled up again next to her. Nor was it a great surprise when his hands went wandering, causing her milk to let down so much she wondered how Allanah was not choking on too much food. But as the baby seemed particularly happy, who was she to complain? When he finished giving her enjoyments, she felt drained in a strange haze of physical contentment mixed with difficult emotions. He must have taken the baby from her and laid her down to sleep, because she woke who knows when later, in his arms with her clothing more or less reassembled and a light blanket over both of them. It had been a brief and welcome respite from a day that likely would not end willingly. Realizing from the sound of his steady breathing that he too likely slept, she closed her eyes, hoping to steal just a few more minutes.

 

*******************

 

Lorna couldn’t sit still.

 

She unpacked all her things, arranging them around her rooms so that she had enough reminders of her human home. Her clothes went in the closet beside those the elves had given her. Her laptop and her phone wouldn’t be good for long, unless she could charge them at the cottage, but it wasn’t like she could do much with them anyway. She could watch movies, at least. In the coming days, she was entirely certain she was going to need plenty of distractions.

 

Christ, she wanted a drink. She wanted a whole row of drinks, because there was something she had to do, and it would be a fuck of a lot easier with chemical assistance. That she couldn’t have it sucked way more than it ought to.

 

Out she went, wandering, exploring. Thranduil was taking this harder than she was, and Thranduil could read her mind. If she was calm -- if could contain this, lock it in a little box and put it away far at the back of her mind, where she could deal with when it was safe to do so -- it would help him as well as her.

 

The question was, how did she do that?

 

Her feet carried her to the forge without her conscious will, and she went to stand in a patch of the sunshine let down in bright spears through the roof. _You’ve been hurt before_ , she told herself, _and you’ve survived._ There had been her ribs, and the cut on her chest, and the knife in her foot, and too many blows to count from her da. There had been fights that had left her bruised to hell. These things had happened, and they were things she _remembered_ . They had happened, and she had not broken, and God fucking _damn_ if she would now. She might not be able to kill that son of a bitch -- and oh, did that gall her -- but that didn’t mean she had to let him win.

 

So she took that pain, that rage, and carefully placed it in a box, wrapping it up like some kind of dark, malignant present. It fought her, trying to slither out as soon as she’d got it in, but she was Lorna fucking Donovan, and nobody ever won against her.

 

She needed, she thought, as she tilted her face up to the warmth, to figure out why the fuck this was worse than all the others. She didn’t remember it. It was an abstract; yeah, she’d been a tidbit sore where she shouldn’t have been, but that was it. There were no bruises, no injuries, no other pain of any kind. There was not, she told herself, any reason to cry over this, no reason to want to smash the entire world. And if she said that often enough, she might just believe it.

 

Shutting her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose, drawing a deep, steadying breath. She hadn’t actually eaten anything this morning, and she knew where the kitchens were. Hopefully the staff would let her cadge some food, if she could somehow convey that she was hungry. If nothing else, the rumble of her stomach ought to accomplish that.

 

Her eyes burned, her chest burned, and again she drew deep breaths, even and calming, doing her best to emulate what Ratiri had taught her. She wasn’t going to think about how she was going to tell him this, about how she could possibly break this to him in a way that wouldn’t shatter something in him. How he was to sustain himself through this, Lorna didn’t know; he didn’t have her rage, her quiet, icy, depthless wrath that lurked deep within her mind, still for now, waiting.

 

 _Food_ , she told herself, and headed off in search of the kitchens. Unfortunately, she had only actually been to the kitchens once, and after fifteen minutes of meandering, she had to accept that she was lost.

 

Well, _fuck._

 

Thalion carefully hung his sword and light armor on their customary pegs before leaving the guard room, having returned from his assigned daily patrol of the forest perimeter, and was about to return to his quarters when his sensitive ears thought they caught the sounds of footfalls. Silently investigating, he followed the sounds until he came up behind... _what in Eru’s name?_ They had no elflings among them. From the shape of the body, the being was female and...one so small could not possibly be a threat, so perhaps accosting her was not needed. Unsure what else to do, he cleared his throat loudly.

 

Lorna jumped, swearing, heart lurching -- but when she turned, she found an elf, and an unfamiliar one. She only seen any besides Thranduil and Thanadir very briefly. “Mae govannen,” she managed, hoping her accent wouldn’t totally mangle that. “You scared the shite out’v me,” she added in English, because she had absolutely no idea how to say any of it in Sindarin. “I’m lost. I feel like an eejit, but I’m lost, and I’m hungry.”

 

Thalion regarded her. He’d somehow understood her greeting, though the pronunciation was very bad. “Mae govannen,” he returned, placing his hand over his heart in greeting. “Im Thalion eston. A len?” (I am called Thalion. And you?) He spoke slowly, realizing that she was not well-versed in their tongue.

 

“Im Lorna eston. Lost,” Lorna repeated. “I’m lost,” pointing at herself.

 

Thalion frowned at her deeply. This had to be among Aran Thranduil’s firith; he had heard there were three mortals that came here, though he had not seen them before. Was this Aran Thranduil’s queen? And she called herself Lorna Empty? That was an extremely peculiar name, but it was not his place to judge. “Tolo,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him.

 

“Thanks,” she said, and wished like hell she knew the words for ‘kitchen’ or ‘hungry’. “Can you take me to the kitchen?” she asked. “I’m starving.” She went to mime the action of eating, but her stomach chose that moment to growl quite audibly, rendering it moot. Lovely. Well, if she could keep her shit together around this stranger elf, she could certainly try to do it around people she actually knew, and who knew her. “Yeah,” she sighed. “What it said.”

 

Thalion stopped and looked at her again. “Ni saig?” he asked (are you hungry?). When she did not respond, he mimed the gestures of eating and chewing, with a look of query on his face, pointing at her. When she smiled and nodded, he grinned. “Tolo,” he said again, and now took a different turn in the passageways to set out for the kitchens. Once there, he spoke rapidly to Glân, who nodded sympathetically, having seen her before. She chattered back something unintelligible to Thalion, who nodded and departed. Smiling, the elleth served up a bowl of soup, some rolls and butter, placing these swiftly on a tray and telling Lorna “tolo,” who had by now inadvertently added that word to her vocabulary as well. She was shown around a corner to a place where there were a few tables at which to eat, with both chairs and stools for sitting. “Mado, a hi daro” (eat, and wait here)  she said kindly, gesturing at the food to Lorna.

 

“Thank you,” Lorna said, hoping that would cross the language barrier. Predictably, all of it was delicious, because everything produced by the elves was, but she managed to keep her manners _and_ her shit together while she ate. If she was going to be staying in here God knew how long, she had to get serious about learning Sindarin -- a few words and phrases weren’t going to be enough, not if she wanted to communicate with any elves who weren’t Thranduil and Thanadir.

 

The food heartened her quite a bit, calming the storm of her thoughts. “It’s delicious,” said, again hoping her tone and her smile would convey what she didn’t know how to say in Sindarin. She still wished she could have wine, but that wish was dulled a bit now.

 

The elleth returned to her duties, but not many minutes after, Thanadir appeared. “Hello again, Lorna,” he said kindly, sitting next to her. “I hear that you met Thalion.”

 

“Hi,” she said. “I did. I’d got lost, and he found me before I could get even more lost, and these wonderful people gave me food. I hadn’t eaten this morning, so Christ did I need it.” She looked at him, searching his face, wondering what he had or hadn’t guessed. Thanadir was much harder for her to read than Thranduil was; he had impenetrable serenity down to an art form, no doubt crafted over the years by his job. (And she still wasn’t sure just what his job was, aside from ‘everything Thranduil tells me to do’. Maybe that was the entirety of it.)

 

“We will begin helping you more with the language, Earlene and I,” he chuckled. “I know that this day has been less than wonderful, but perhaps this will lighten your heart a little. Thalion came to me to inform me that he had found Lorna Empty and taken her to the kitchens, before asking me if that was an ordinary name for a mortal. He told me you pointed to yourself and said ‘lost’. That is our word for ‘empty.’ I confess that I laughed,” he said, mirth playing around his eyes and face.”

 

Lorna stared at him, and in spite of everything, she burst out laughing. “Wait, your word for ‘empty’ is the English word for ‘lost’? That’s as bizarre as your word meaning ‘feet’ being ‘tail’. No wonder he looked at me like I was mental.” Not so very long ago, she’d thought it might be years before she could truly laugh at anything, but that sheer level of absurdity demanded it. “I can’t promise I’ll ever be able to pronounce your language, but I’ll certainly try. Reading your alphabet might be another story entirely.” Even without the dyslexia, so many of those damn letters looked almost identical, and forget writing them. Her handwriting with the Roman and Cyrillic alphabets was bad enough, and you didn’t need a damn calligraphy pen to handle them.

 

She sobered a bit, wondering if Ratiri was all right. She wasn’t going to be able to truly rest easily until he was safe in the Halls, too. Food hadn’t done anything to calm her jittery energy, but in her condition she couldn’t exactly spar...but there _was_ something else she could do. “Hey Thanadir, could you take me to the training room? I can’t mess about with swords just now, but I’d love to practice throwing knives. I know how to do it, but I’m total pants at it -- my aim’s awful, and always has been.”

 

“Of course,” he said. Once she’d finished her food (and neatly stacked her dishes, because old habits died hard) he did just that.

 

The weight of the knives, however slight, calmed Lorna. Her mind didn’t quiet, simply because it was never quiet, but she was strangely soothed. Shifting her grip, she eyed the target, and couldn’t help but imagine von Ratched’s face on it.

 

Rage took her then, but it was not like the fury she’d felt before Thranduil and Thanadir fixed her brain. This was icy, controlled, implacable as a glacier, seeping through her veins rather than surging. She hurled the knife as hard as she could, and though it didn’t strike where Von Ratched’s head would be, it _did_ hit him in his theoretical chest, burying itself to the hilt.

 

“You are better that I would have expected, and you will be better still soon. You must understand that as with swords or archery, the precise placement of your stance is important to accuracy. I will show you what to do, soon, and then we will have you practice more.”

 

“Thank you,” Lorna said, and meant it wholeheartedly.

  


*******

 

Try though she did, Earlene could not go back to sleep and rose carefully so as to not disturb her husband. She shook her head at the volume of wine that had gone into his body, walking silently to the bathing room. Apparently he’d managed to do in both bottles; which she removed to the sideboard for Thanadir to do as he would with them. Walking back, she saw something new, a sword. _Where had that come from?_ She walked toward it, reaching out, and then hesitated. This belonged to the King, and she did not have specific permission to handle it or touch it; it was not hers. Curious, but deferring to what she saw as her duty and her place, she left it alone and did nothing but look at it. There was something about it, even in the scabbard, that...disturbed. She backed away from the blade and felt it less...and approached it and felt it more, placing her fingers on her necklace.

 

It had already been made plain to her that powerful...artifacts...existed for them, and perhaps this was another. Tilting her head, it did not take all her powers of logic to deduce a possible reason for its sudden appearance. Her heart filled with pride at him. If he had procured this, he did not intend to do nothing, he had already done _something_. He intended to defend them, and once again, the thought of it humbled her. The truth was, she would be a blip in his long life. Hopefully it would be a happy blip, but there was nothing she could do to change the inevitable. And that he would risk that existence to care for them...she shook her head. Were their positions reversed, she would not hesitate to do the same; she loved him.

 

Breaking out of her reverie, she sucked in her air in surprise to see that Thranduil was awake and watching her intently; he had not moved. “You startled me,” she said, though it need not have been spoken.

 

“I owe you an apology,” he replied. “I made a grave error, by leaving that sword here without explanation. One which could have cost both of us dearly. And yet you observe, and reason, and analyze, and more often than not reach essential conclusions without me. I am...gratified, Earlene, both by your determination to obey me and your sheer intelligence. Many others would have committed a fatal error in your place.”

 

“Thank you,” she said. “But it seems hard to take credit; this is what I did with my life, my Lord. You mean to tell me then, that the sword is dangerous, and that I am not imagining what I sense from it?”

 

He nodded. “That is Anguirel. We read of it, though it was not something spoken of much.”

 

“Eöl’s blade, of…” she had to strain to remember…”galvorn? Really?” Her eyes turned back to it, astonished. Such a piece of history, here, in front of her? “Could I see it? I do not ask to handle it, and you have my word I will not go near it with or without you being here.”

 

Thranduil nodded, and fully unsheathed it, and Earlene gazed on the blade in awe, drawn in and repulsed all at the same time. _There were whispers…_ “Please sheathe it. What _is_ that? What is wrong with that thing?” she asked, horrified.

 

“It is dark, as was its maker, meluieg. I would prefer never to have brought it forth, but as we are up against something extraordinary….” he shrugged. “That man will not know that this blade survived the ages, if he ever knew of it at all. And I am rather counting on that. If he is to be defeated, I would dearly love to know that he can never return in a manner to harm others again.”

 

Earlene regarded him, a cold gleam coming into her eye. “I do not believe it could happen to a nicer person,” she quipped with gallows humor. “It would be an elegant justice. I should like to know its story, but perhaps later. At the moment I am, as Lorna might say, ‘creeped out.’”

 

*******

 

Ratiri had no idea in hell what to make of Lorna’s odd phone call, but he’d never heard her sound so strained. Lorna could sometimes be difficult to read, but not for him, not anymore. _Something_ had happened, and it had been all he could do to finish out his workday. He fed Indira an excuse about Lasg’len -- a highly unseasonable flu outbreak that would likely keep him busy for a while. Packing his clothes and books, he drove to the village with dread in his heart.

 

What could have caused her to ask this of him? It had to be pure desperation, and he didn’t want to imagine what might have precipitated it. What could be of any threat to him?

 

Jittery, he sped along the motorway, and kept speeding even once he’d reached the minor roads. Lasg’len ignored him as he drove through it, pulling up Earlene’s driveway.

 

Nobody was in the cottage, which struck him as odd, and strangely sinister, though he could not have said why.

 

Feeling a bit of a dolt, he thought, _Lorna sent for me. I’m at the cottage._

 

_You remember the path we took to the Halls. Do not remain at the cottage. Walk into the woods on that path, and Thanadir will meet you very shortly. Lorna is safe, Ratiri, but we all face a difficulty now. We will speak when you arrive._

 

True to what was said, Thanadir arrived very quickly, silently running down the path...with a longsword strapped to his belt. This could not be good.

 

“How bad is it?” he asked, knowing it would do no good to ask more. He hefted the luggage he had brought out of the Bronco, eying the sword. What in God’s name--? No. He’d ask when they were all together, and hope the answer wasn’t as dreadful as he feared.

 

“It would be best for me to leave that answer to my King. I guess at many things but what I know is limited. The only thing I can tell you with certainty is that the balrog has followed us to Ireland, and on account of that, there is danger.”

 

Ratiri felt the blood drain from his face, dread dropping a ball of ice into his stomach. No wonder Lorna had sounded so strained -- but _how_? Oh, the why of it was easy enough; Thranduil was probably the most fascinating thing he’d run across in millennia. “Now I’m not certain I want to know more,” he said, and perhaps he could be forgiven the slightest twinge of unsteadiness in his voice. He wasn’t completely mental.

 

“Me either,” admitted Thanadir. “And yet duty requires that I do.” He sighed, and turned, taking Ratiri’s heavier bag for him. “I hope you do not mind, it is far easier for me to carry this than for you. Come.” He led the way back, with little conversation, quickly depositing the belongings just inside the door of Ratiri’s quarters before continuing on to the King’s. Lorna had apparently already joined them there. In her best attempt to bridge long minutes of utter awkwardness, Earlene brought out her laptop, and without saying a word to Lorna about the real reason they were all here, showed her the many photos she’d collected on Pinterest that could possibly provide ideas for their new home. She hoped it would both distract and not prove terribly demanding mentally.

 

“I thought I did not want garish colors until I saw all the stained glass. Some of those walls are so beautiful,” she sighed. She sat with notepaper, trying to draw loose sketches of ideas, also not wishing to appear as though Lorna was any kind of object of scrutiny. _If it had happened to me, what would I want right now?_ And the only two answers that came back were, _Thranduil, and to gut the bastard like a pig, give or take drawing and quartering. Vivisection? Castration?_

 

“Meluieg,” said Thranduil sharply. The pained look on his face told her that this was not the right time, but this time she met his eyes with far more fire in them. _I will try to do as you ask out of love for you, but I too have thoughts and feelings on this. I am a woman. There are things about being a woman you will never fully understand. With respect, Thranduil._

 

An unfathomable expression met her eyes. He looked away, before looking back again and nodding. “Thranduil does not care for so many colors,” she said aloud, doubting that she was fooling Lorna, but circumstances called for making the attempt.

 

It _didn’t_ fool Lorna, and for a moment that odd, icy rage crept forward, insidious as fog -- not at either of them, but at the entire situation. Her nails dug into her palms, and she drew a slow breath. None of this would be necessary if she’d bloody stayed here last night, rather than insisting on going back to her cottage. She could just as easily have crashed in her room here; God knew she’d been sleepy enough. “Is there any way at all I can get at least half-drunk?” she asked. “Even a bit.” What she really, _really_ wanted was some weed, but she didn’t have any of that, so it wouldn’t be an option even if she wasn’t up the yard.

 

Thranduil looked at her helplessly. “If you are half-drunk, so are your children,” he said sadly. “I cannot protect them from more than a little and your tolerance, for a mortal, is very high. I can dampen your feelings, or cause you to sleep. I can erase your memories, and alter them. But I would be loath to do so, and you would have to be very, very certain of your wishes.”

 

For a moment, just a moment, she felt a stab of utter loathing for the two beings currently residing within her. If not for them, she could get drunk. Really, really, wonderfully drunk, but she couldn’t do _anything_ right now because of them. In that moment, she didn’t care if they got drunk -- she didn’t care what at all it might do to them.

 

But the moment passed, as swiftly as it had come, and that chill fog enveloped her again. Thanadir and Ratiri would be here sooner or later, and she would be in a room with too many people, people who would look at her like she was some _victim_ , something to be _pitied_ \--

 

Her nails dug into her palms again, this time deep enough to draw blood. _No._ She could be cold and still and immovable as the foundation of the Earth. _Teach us to care, and not to care_ , she thought -- a line she’d read in a book, though she didn’t remember when, or where. _Teach us to be still._ “No,” she said. “I…” She shook her head. _This is mine, and I will own it._

 

Thranduil stared at her, both angry and sad. She was not trying to push him and the others away; she could not see what he saw. _It is not yours alone to own, my tiny friend. It is ours. But I will not add to your burdens now by arguing with you just now, though you are making it very hard_ , he thought to himself alone. He could not blame her for wishing to be drunk, not in the slightest. Not when he’d mowed through his own wine just to feel some moments of peace. _I am beginning to understand why the mortals curse as they do. I really am._..he moved to sit next to Earlene. He was not in the least interested in thinking about this home just now, but even he had to admit that many of the ideas were lovely...if only he could remotely care about this right now. And he could not.

 

 _Still_ , she thought, though it was the last thing she wanted. She wanted to throw knives again, but she couldn’t right now. She wanted to do something that made her feel strong, something aside from the frigid mist of her anger….

 

“You have that look again,” she said to Thranduil. “Stop looking like that. Otherwise I’ll make you.” If a hug didn’t work, she’d give him a damn wet willie. _That_ could snap just about anyone out of just about anything.

 

“You would have that look too, if you were viewing photographs of bathrooms that look like a box of crayons sicked up,” he growled at her, refusing to engage on this. They’d had their moment of emotional honesty earlier, and he genuinely was trying not to place his burdens on her.

 

Earlene glared at him, rather liking those bathroom photos. Not that she wanted one, but it had its own kind of beauty. And weren’t they all just playing along here anyway, waiting to trot the elephant into the room? _Sure god I wish Ratiri would show up_ , she thought, now opening pictures of a room lit by blue glass windows. There was not long to wait, because the customary two knocks fell on the door, followed by the remainder of their little family.

 

And back came the ice, containing Lorna’s dread, the fear of what Ratiri would think. All she could do was hop to her feet and hug him, unable to actually speak. He was here, and he was safe, and relief uncoiled through her. Her biggest fear was no more.

 

His arms came around her automatically, but he looked from the top of her head to Thranduil. “Thanadir said the balrog found you,” he said, wishing there was some way he couldn’t believe it, but there was no way the Elves could be wrong about such a thing.

 

“Yes, said Thranduil. “The man from New York. Who I had very much hoped would remain there,” he said, his sea-blue eyes revealing no emotion.

 

“I suppose asking what he wants is a stupid question,” Ratiri sighed. A balrog could want very few things: either to destroy them, to harry them, or possibly to force them to expose themselves to the outside world.

 

“It is not a stupid question. The precise answer is unknown, but none of your notions would be outside of the realm of likelihood. He has already made it clear that he means us harm.” His eyes bored into Lorna’s, awaiting her decision as to who learned what, and how.

 

Lorna shut her eyes, but opened them a moment later, meeting his gaze. This might be harder for him than for her. _Tell them, Thranduil_ , she said. _Let’s just get this over with._

 

“I will try to do as I did earlier, when I discovered what had happened and told Lorna, at her insistence. Please do not confuse the lack of emotion in my voice to mean that I have none; it is the only means by which I can speak of this.” He looked down at the carpet, trying to remember when any single day had felt this difficult, and with very few exceptions, could not. Raising his eyes to Ratiri, he continued. “This...Von Ratched went to Baile to find Lorna. When there, he used the same mental powers I possess to violate her, and ensure that she took pleasure in what was done. Her children are not harmed. Her memory of the event was erased, and she was left with slight physical signs only of what had occurred. Just enough to ensure that it would come to my attention, because the act was intended in a small way to gratify a perverse desire, and in a large way to strike at me through one who was defenseless against his abilities. Lorna asked to be told what I discovered, and I did so. I armed myself, and we went to Baile to retrieve her belongings. She has agreed to remain here; it is the only place I can protect you with absolute conviction. And here we all are, but there is a little more.” He sighed, and retrieved his blade. “Ratiri, this is Anguriel. Perhaps you too recall the name?”

 

Oh Christ, he hadn’t told her she’d _enjoyed_ ...Jesus, did that mean he’d actually _seen_ …?

 

Lorna ran for the loo, kicking the door shut behind her, and just barely made it in time to throw up everything she’d eaten. She had a sudden, very violent urge to jump into that tub, clothes and all -- so violent that she did just that, scarcely having the wherewithal to kick her sandals off first.

 

Ratiri’s horror swiftly gave way to panic. “Lorna? Lorna, let me in. Please, _please_ let me in.” The door wasn’t locked, so far as he knew, but he wasn’t going to go barging in there without her consent. “Can you kill him?” he asked Thranduil, looking at him. “I know that sword, and I know who made it. Can you--?”

 

“I would do everything in my power to defend against him,” the King said. “But neither will I seek him out beyond my borders. And I think you know that in a fight, there is no such thing as a guaranteed outcome. He does not know that Anguriel exists any longer in the world, and against him it is a mighty asset. But I think this can be discussed in more depth once far more important concerns are cared for,” he said, indicating the door to the bathing chamber with a nod. Very softly, he said, “Thanadir, Lorna will need dry clothes. This once, no dresses, please.”

 

The seneschal nodded and left immediately.

 

Ratiri shut his eyes. He did not know just what Lorna needed -- she was too complex a creature for him to predict, and he did not want to get anything wrong. She prided herself on her strength, and that had been taken from her in the worst possible way, by a man… “Earlene,” he said, “it might be best if you see how she is. She may not want a man with her right now. Not even me.” _Not even him_ , for all it cracked his heart.

 

Lorna was oblivious to all of it, too busy scouring at her hair, her skin, flinging various bits of sodden clothing off the side of the pool and scrubbing herself raw, trying desperately to get _clean._ She hadn’t known -- if Thranduil had actually _seen_ that, she might just die.

 

Earlene looked at Ratiri, and her first internal thought was, _You have to be fucking kidding me. She’s_ your _lover and you want_ me _to go in there?_ But then as always the calculator went into motion, and the wheels clicked. With an unfathomable expression, she rose and stormed into the bathroom. She was being asked to do something outright dangerous, and this was a calculated risk. Outside, Thranduil’s eyes widened as he realized what she intended to do, and he froze. He had absolutely no idea what to do. Zero. Nothing. The two women he loved most in all the world were in the next room, and this was quite possibly about to make a battle between an ent and a troll pale by comparison.

 

The door shut behind Earlene, who studied Lorna for a moment. She was partially disrobed, scrubbing at herself self-destructively, and there were greater than 95% odds that she had no awareness of Earlene at all. The first part alone was astonishing; this was Lorna. “Stop it!” she bellowed at her sharply, in a tone and at a volume that would have broken through many a state of mind. Nothing. And now Earlene became angry. Off came all the clothes except her underpants. Like a cannonball she bombed into the middle of the pool to face her. “Stop it!” she hollered again. Nothing. _Jesus fucking Christ_ , she thought. Rising up to her full height like an impression of Morrigan herself come to the battlefield, with eyes blazing, she slapped Lorna across the face as hard as she could, yelling again, “I SAID STOP IT!!” And she was counting, very much counting, on the density of the water to slow a retaliatory kick that could harm her children.

 

Lorna didn’t kick, but neither was her retaliatory punch calculated. It just sort of...happened, her mind still too lost in its own fog of horror to fully comprehend what she was doing. A little awareness came back to her, though, and she stared at Earlene in total horror. Jesus fucking Christ, she’d -- “Earlene…” What the actual _fuck_ ? She was only vaguely aware that her left cheek was stinging, but she was _very_ aware of the fact that Earlene’s lip was bloody. “Jesus, why-- _why are you in here?!_ ” Even if Earlene didn’t know just how dangerous it was to be around her now, Thranduil had to. “Are you insane?” Even now, even without going blank… “I could’ve broken your damn neck, Earlene. You shouldn’t _be_ here. _Nobody_ should be here, not…” How was she to get this off of her, this poison, if someone was trying to stop her? Christ, she’d… “I didn’t know all’v it,” she said, the ire leaving her voice, replaced by weariness. “I didn’t know the bastard’d made me...I didn’t know that. And I didn’t know Thranduil had actually _seen_ it.”

 

Earlene simply stared at her. Calculating. And wiping her lip. “Good aim,” she said, before continuing. “I’m _in_ here to break up your goddamn pity party, Lorna. Did you think that lot out there was going to manage it?” She sighed. “Look. What you’re doing isn’t going to help. If it was, I’d have turned around and walked back out. This isn’t _you_. And you weren’t going to break my neck. I don’t know everything about you, and you don’t know everything about me, either.

 

OK, first thing. Everyone out there loves you to pieces, and apparently so do I, for being here. You don’t need a delivery truck of ‘oooh poor Lorna,’ and none of them out there are going to give it to you.  And second thing...it was never about sex, Lorna. It was about power. Him taking yours away, and him taking Thranduil’s away. One very educated guess as to why my husband didn’t tell you earlier? He was in shock himself and it didn’t occur to him because he doesn’t care about sex. He doesn’t care what you felt or liked or experienced in your body. It’s sex. He cares very much, that his cherished friend got used as a pawn in the sickest possible kind of game. And if he’s being fully honest with you now, it’s because you have to know. There is no depth to which people like that piece of shit will not sink. None whatsoever. If my husband didn’t tell you, I could see that fucker finding some way to trot it out later, just to wreck your trust in Thranduil.

 

“This isn’t just you, this is all of us. He’d have done it to me just as easily, if he’d had the chance. And either way, the game is afoot. And that all doesn’t help you and how you are feeling one goddamn bit. Get it out there, Lorna. Talk about how you feel, and for once in your life, quit worrying first about everyone else. I can tell you how _I_ feel. I want to gut the fucker from his langer to his tongue, and pull it all out slowly in little pieces. He’s not going to make me feel goddamn afraid because I’m not going to let him win. And I don’t think you are either. I just think that in the shock of all of this, you’ve lost your grasp on that. And now I’ll shut it for a bit.” She did indeed stop talking, but the fire did not leave her eyes.

 

“The thought’v him _seeing_ that...I can’t not be horrified by that, Earlene. I haven’t got it in me,” Lorna said. “And the worst is that I can’t kill that bastard. I was throwing knives earlier, pretending he was the target, but I’ll not have my own revenge.” Her tone took on something akin to a snarl. “Christ, do I want my revenge. I’m bloody violated and Thranduil keeps looking like someone kicked him in the gut half the time because he somehow thinks this is his fault. He’s worse off than I am, and Ratiri…” Jesus. Ratiri was good and kind and likely totally unsure what to do. “I know he won’t pity me. I know that. But knowing something doesn’t mean you believe it.” She shook her head. “Christ I want a drink. I want a drink and new skin, and I can’t have either. Though there’s one thing I wish I did remember,” she said, meeting Earlene’s eyes for the briefest of moments. “Apparently I shot the fucker. Didn’t do any _good_ , but at least I tried.”

 

“Well that was a little something” she said, nodding approvingly. “Okay what we have going on here is a confusion of the issues. And I’m about to go on like a pompous arse but I’m doing it because down to my soul, I think you need to hear this. If it gets too much, you can smack me again, just try and hit a fresh spot,” she grinned. “First. You _can too_ not be horrified by it. You make up your mind not to, and that’s how that happens. The human mind is an amazing thing. You didn’t believe in elves, until you did. And yes I’m making something that sounds very hard seem very simple, but being horrified is your choice Lorna, not something that has to be. That blond elf out there has tons of sex, I would know. He does. not. care. He also eats, sleeps, and uses the loo. We all have bodies, and they do things. You’ve nothing to feel ashamed of. That’s it. That’s _all_ there is. And if there’s more, it’s because _you’re choosing to keep it there.”_ She waited a moment, determined to give her words a few seconds to sink in before moving to the next soapbox.

 

“Second.  You don’t know for a fact that you won’t have a shot at that man. None of us knows how this will play out. Anything else is speculation. And Third. You’ve known Thranduil long enough to know how he sees the King Thing. You’re not going to change that about him. In a manner of speaking, he’s not wrong. Had that twat not seen us with elves, he’d sure not have bothered to come here on our account. Thranduil will get himself past the guilt, blame, and responsibility bit. I’ve told you before, he is very strong.” Earlene tilted her head. “Do you understand that elves cannot be raped, and that’s part of why this is so hard for him? They die, rather than have that happen. We don’t have that luxury. And I’d be willing to bet quite a lot that this Von Ratched knew that, and figured this out just because it was the ultimate nose-rub-in-the-shite, to an elf.”

 

In spite of absolutely everything, Lorna couldn’t help but make a face at the mention of Thranduil and sex in the same sentence. That was never not going to squick her, because she was too close in too fraternal a way to think of him as a sexual being without twitching a bit. “I didn’t need to hear that,” she said, pushing her wet hair out of her face.

 

“Lorna, I’m sorry, but you actually _DO_ need to hear that. Just like people in the store need to know meat comes from dead animals, and kids need to understand storks don’t deliver babies. Thranduil is a living, married elf and that part of his life is just as normal and natural as breathing. You’re not twelve. Adults have sex. It’s _life.”_

 

She hadn’t actually broken out the shampoo, but she did now, working at it much more calmly now. “I didn’t know that. Jesus. They _die_ ?” Just...why? Elves were stronger and tougher than humans, and unless they were killed by violence, they lived forever, but _rape_ killed them?

 

Earlene caught the look on her face. “No. Not like that. Elves are granted the gift to have their spirits depart their bodies and flee to Mandos rather than endure violation in that way. It is a choice, and apparently one that was utilized at almost every known opportunity.”

 

That...okay, _that_ was horrifying, and yet how many humans would kill to have that ability? Lorna wouldn’t -- she was sickened, and she was pissed, but she didn’t want to be dead. “Earlene, I realize the pair’v you have got a happy, fulfilling sex life, but Thranduil reminds me so much’v my older brother, and would _you_ want to think about your brother having sex, even if he hadn’t been, y’know, _him_ ? It’s like thinking about your parents having it off. I’m glad for you and all, but I’d rather not think’v it.” She rinsed the shampoo as best she could, still tempted to scrub, but she’d forebear for now. “You tell me not to try to think’v everyone else, with this, but I’m a worrier, Earlene. I don’t know how to shut that off. Thranduil feels like shite, Ratiri no doubt wants to help but’s afraid to do the wrong thing…” She sighed. “And to be perfectly honest, worrying about them makes me feel better. If I’m looking after someone else, I’m stronger. If I’ve got people blaming themselves and...and...well, _anything_ , I’m powerless. So the pair’v them had best get used to it. I’d force-feed you healthy food if you weren’t already eating better than I could ever manage.”

 

Earlene chuckled. “I get it about the sex. I do. Sadly, with Aidan, it was something we all had to imagine rather a lot, because it was Aidan. And while I did not wish to spend hours contemplating what he did and how he did it, I certainly accepted it. Just like with mam and da...we were open and  practical about such things at home. No one went on and on talking about it, but neither did anyone pretend it didn’t happen. And I’ll not rub your nose in it _if_ you’ll quit using it as something to feel horrified and ashamed over for no goddamn reason. I’m dead serious about that, Lorna, and you’ve no idea just how much more I could choose to say. So that part’s up to you. You can worry too, _if_ you don’t use that as a justification to wall yourself off from those who care about you. If you have the right to worry and care to regain feeling a sense of power, so do they. All we’ve got is each other, in this. It’s about having balance. I’m not an idiot, I know there are times when all this is going to hit you like a brick. But you’re _Lorna_. I really sort of expect you to go down to the practice rooms and stab something, rather than try to scrub your own skin off. Anything else is just against the laws of the damn universe.”

 

Lorna absolutely could not help the face she made, but she masked it by holding her nose and ducking under the water, rinsing out the last of the shampoo. “You sound so bloody much like Mairead,” she sighed, when she surfaced. “And sounding like Mairead isn’t always a bad thing.” She paused. “I needed a bath anyway. Hadn’t had one today. This wasn’t _totally_ pointless.” Except now she was scrubbed half-raw and had no dry clothes. Great. Unable to help it, she burst out laughing. “Someone, somewhere, would pay one hell’v a lot to see this turn into a porno,” she said, wiping at her face.

 

“Yeah, they would”, Earlene said, rising out of the water with no concern. “I’ll wager I could get a six month supply of cupcakes out of Siobhan, just based on the tits alone.” She calmly walked to retrieve a towel. “And if you’ve not figured it out by now, I could care less who sees ‘the girls’ at this point. You and I both are going to be milk cows before all this is over with. And to think the first time I came here, I almost lost it at Thanadir taking my measurements. How things change,” she sighed, wrapping a towel around her body before taking another for her hair. “There’ll be clothes out there for you, because there will be”, she said, climbing back into her dress before shucking off her soaked underpants. Like as not she’d traumatized Lorna enough today, there was probably no need to add a view of her lady bits to the parade. “I’ll toss in your clothes for you,” she smiled. “And Lorna...Ratiri needs you. And you need him. For god’s sake give that man some reassurance. There’s nothing worse for a bloke than not knowing what to do, and he doesn’t. Let Thranduil know when you are dressed; he will fix up your skin, before you leave here.” With a smile that spoke of success in battle more than anything else, she exited the room, trying to wipe her face into neutrality as she did so.  Not to mention, hide her swollen lip. There was no need to relate anything; Thranduil had heard it all. Gracefully accepting the bundle Thanadir offered, she left it just inside the door for Lorna before retreating to their room for a moment. That was all the time needed for Thranduil to come and repair her injured lip. If his methodology for healing her was slightly unusual as a reward for what she had done in that room, he thought it fitting. Earlene reeled back, in a pleasant haze and blushing from the long kiss she received.

 

Lorna hauled herself out of the tub and found a towel, and winced when she went to use it -- Jesus she’d done a number on herself. Her skin was angry and red all over, but at least she felt _clean_. Whatever invisible toxin that fucker had left her with was definitely gone.

 

Mercifully, whoever had got her clean clothes had brought one of her flannel tunics and some leggings, though she winced again when she put them on, wrapping her hair in a towel. Drawing a deep breath, she stuck her head out the door. “Thranduil, I need a bit’v help.” _And do you mind if I borrow your comb?_ she added. She had zero idea what she could tell Ratiri, but he enjoyed combing her hair, and she enjoyed having him do it, and it needed to be done, so perfect.

 

To his credit, Thranduil banished every trace of worry and anxiety from his face before he entered. And though it tore his heart to see her skin, outwardly he smirked. ”You like to make certain I am not bored. This much is apparent,” he said matter-of-factly. In moments, her abrasions were repaired. Before he departed, he handed her a comb. _You wish me to send Ratiri in?_ His blue eyes gazed on her serenely.

 

“Please,” she said, but grab-hugged him before he could go. “Your life would be so boring without me,” she added, squeezing his ribs before releasing him.

 

His face lit up with a smile at the unexpected affection, for which he was truly grateful. _You have no idea how right you are, Lorna._

 

 _Good_ , she said, the sight of that smile a relief. _Keep that expression. Otherwise you will get attack-hugged when you’re least expecting it._

 

“All yours,” he said aloud cheerfully to Ratiri, who looked rather like the last one waiting to...well, _something_ unpleasant.

 

Ratiri really didn’t know what he was going to find, but both Earlene and Thranduil looked...well, not terrible. He went into the bathroom to find Lorna, dressed, dry, in one piece, and no longer looking like she either wanted to die or murder someone. All of these things loosened a bit of the tension in his chest.

 

“I’ll not drop dead, allanah,” she said, squeezing the water out of her hair.

 

“Of course you won’t,” he said, carding his fingers through the top of her hair. “You’re like a cockroach. You’d survive a nuclear blast.”

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek, but didn’t manage to fully contain her laughter. It was weird and sweet and entirely _Ratiri_. “C’mon, come use that thing,” she said, leading him over to a bench and tossing her hair behind her.

 

He was so tall that he took one of the folded-up towels and used it as a cushion to sit on the floor behind her. She’d shown him months ago how to properly comb hair as long as hers -- brief, light teasing at the snarls at the very ends, working his way carefully upward, from one side of her hair to the other. It was so soft against his fingers, silky and smooth, the silver that threaded the darkness glinting in the lamplight.

 

Lorna shut her eyes, relaxing as best she could. There was always something very soothing about Ratiri’s touch -- yeah, he was a doctor,  but it had to be more than just that. There was a gentleness to him she’d rarely seen, but that didn’t mean he lacked strength. Quite the opposite; he’d carried her furniture about with surprising ease, when they’d been renovating her cottage. He was sweet and odd and more of a nerd than most knew, wrapped up in a form that belonged in a magazine. And she still had him -- no matter what, she knew she would always have him. She only wished she had telepathy, so she could convey everything she couldn’t say out loud.

 

“Stay in here with me, allanah,” she said. “In the Halls. I’d lose my mind if you went out where he could get you.”

 

“Trust me,” he said, the comb now at shoulder-height, “I have no intention of leaving. There’s nothing out there that would be enough to draw me.”

 

Lorna smiled, though he couldn’t see her. This was going to suck, of that she had no doubt, but they were safe. That bastard wouldn’t get him, or her.

 

But that didn’t mean she didn’t want her shot. It didn’t mean she wasn’t going to start carrying some throwing-knives. Maybe anything she did would be as inconsequential as a mosquito bite, but god dammit, she was going to get that bite.

 

When Ratiri was finished with her hair, she stood up, looked down at him, and kissed his forehead. “Thank you, allanah.”

 

He managed a smile. “You won’t be able to call me that for much longer,” he said. “You’ll confuse little Allanah.”

 

“I’ll call you what I like,” she said, taking his hand and drawing him to his feet. “Now I’m cold and there’s a fire, so let’s just go sit.” Out she led him, to the sofas near the fireplace. There was a soft blanket draped along the back, and she grabbed it and wrapped herself up in it, resting her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, cheek against her hair.

 

“Ratiri,” said Thranduil. “Now does not feel like the time to have an extensive conversation about Anguriel. But I must ask you for the same promise I have been given by Lorna and Earlene. It is not an ordinary object, and is dangerous in the extreme. You must not touch it, you must not go near it, no matter what. Do I have your word?”

 

“You do,” Ratiri said; he had absolutely no desire to go anywhere near that sword, let alone touch it. The thing was strangely sickening, and he chose to focus instead on the sweet lavender of Lorna’s hair. The soft rhythm of her breathing told him she was asleep.

 

“Thank you,” said the King softly, bringing Earlene one of her books and promising to join her momentarily. In the outer room, he leaned in closely to Thanadir and spoke earnestly. No one else noticed him bow deeply to Thranduil, remove his own sword, and replace it with Anguriel before departing.

  


*****************

 

In the village called Lasg’len, Avathar stood unseen, watching the forest.

 

He had followed the one called Ratiri -- having been unable to follow little Lorna, who drove like a demon.

 

He was disappointed he wouldn’t have another night with her -- Thranduil must have told her the truth, if his stricken expression had been anything to go by. Avathar was surprised he would go with her to her cottage; the expectation had been that he would squirrel her away, and not let her out of those lovely Halls. To leave his forest, and bring her to gather her mortal things...she was dearer to him than Avathar had thought, which only made this all the more satisfying.

 

And then Ratiri, little Lorna’s mortal lover -- he too was brought in, and that was even more of a surprise. No doubt he would remain in the Halls as well, out of reach.

 

For now.

 

Avathar would not enter the forest yet -- not until he knew more of it, and of the enchantments that protected it. This Thranduil had abilities beyond the Eldar he had known so long ago, and it would be unwise to enter his realm lightly.

 

The expectation was that he would lock himself away, and keep his people safe within his borders. But the Eldar in his woods were not his _only_ people; this village lay unprotected. In time, Avathar would decide just what he wanted to do with them.

 

“I left you your children, little Lorna,” he said to himself, while the dying sunset stained the trees red. “Aren’t I merciful?”

 

Yes, he was merciful. Merciful enough to lurk, and linger, and leave them wondering what he would do next.

 


	44. Forty-four

 

Earlene made every effort not to complain or give way to irritability, but it was becoming something of a challenge. The last week had seen a number of meetings among the four of them; Thanadir had been absent often. Though Thranduil did not volunteer information regarding how the seneschal occupied his time, the disappearance of Anguirel from their rooms caused her to suspect that he was on patrol. That their enemy was known to all, she divined from the visible strain on the faces of most of the elves she encountered. Left to her own devices, and with the luxury of Lorna and Ratiri to watch Allanah between feedings, Earlene was able to move about, listen, and speak to some of the others that dwelled in the fortress. She did not press Thranduil for information; while he dissembled well around Lorna and Ratiri, the weight of his extra burdens was obvious to her, from whom he did not try to hide his feelings. His temper was shorter, his emotional and physical needs greater. All she had she gave him willingly, but after the fifth day it was obvious that this was not a healthy state of affairs; something would have to give. On the sixth day, she begged to be allowed to run in the forest. Reluctantly Thranduil granted this, insisting on personally accompanying her with Anguirel. He required her to stay well within the borders of the woods, but anything was better than nothing; she thanked him profusely for his indulgence of her wishes.

 

As she sifted and observed relentlessly, one thing registered: Thanadir was always present at their evening meal. And so the day after her run, Earlene decided on a mildly audacious course of action. Thranduil was elsewhere, and she kept careful track of time that day via the sand-glass in their rooms. Once she determined it was within the hour before their supper, she departed, walked to the seneschal’s quarters, and after knocking, let herself into his rooms...where she began to pace slowly, the same few feet of floor, until he returned. Not expecting that there would be anyone, the elf did not notice her until the door was closed. His cloak came off, and she observed that he wore Anguirel. Then he saw her, and his eyes widened.

 

“What are you doing in my private rooms, Earlene?” he asked. There was emphasis on the word ‘private.’

 

“I was hoping to speak  _ privately _ to a friend. I give you my word that I have not moved but four feet from where you now see me, and have not even allowed myself to look around with my eyes at your belongings. While I apologize for the intrusion, I did not do so lightly.”

 

He knew her too well to believe she was exaggerating. “Very well. I accept your apology. I did not mean to speak curtly to you, but this was not expected. What is it?”

 

“Are you forbidden to speak to me about what you are doing with your time?”

 

“No,” he said hesitantly, “but you are not an elf.”

 

“Can you tell me why that has any bearing on this discussion?”

 

Thanadir sighed. “It is because your minds are vulnerable to...him.”

 

“But mine is not, Thanadir. The King himself said so.” She pointed to the jewels at her neck. “I will not play games with you, meldir. I respect both you and my husband too much to interfere inappropriately. But I too have a mind for planning and analysis. I see the strain my husband is under, and because of that I do not wish to add to his burdens by asking him about these things. Yet I hope you could understand, if I say to you that I would simply very much like to know what is going on? What few observations I have made already tell me that the current situation is not sustainable; it will not do to hide behind these gates forever. I deduce that you are spending much time in the forest. And I think you know that I cannot hide that I have spoken with you from our King even if I wished to. I ask you also, so that I may keep his time with me filled with what comforts I can give him and not...this.”

 

He considered for many moments before speaking. “I will talk to you, Earlene. You have proven discreet and faithful, and your vows mean a great deal to you. Please sit down.”

 

Her head bowed to him deeply in gratitude.

 

“ _ It _ has already found us here,” Thanadir said with no small measure of disgust. “He lurks at the edges of the woods, not far from your cottage, mostly. He watches. Sometimes, he departs toward the village. Aran Thranduil was clear that we were not to follow his movements past a certain distance away. But he does not see us. He is not a wood-elf,” Thanadir said with a touch of pride. “We believe he is studying the movements he is allowed to see. Rîniel continues to milk Buttercup and care for the animals; and once each day one of our number goes to your cottage. Who goes is varied. You might say that the whole of this week has been spent trying to gather information about our enemy. The most skilled among us have tracked him. He has a...like a vehicle, but rather large. A place in which he takes shelter when it is wet or late at night; there are others like it near to the one in which he stays. It is my belief that eventually, he will cross our borders.”

 

Earlene considered what she had been told. “Has he been seen with any devices? Anything in his hands?”

 

“No. He is dressed as an ordinary Irishman. Not the same clothes as were worn by people in New York.”

 

“Thranduil told me that he could affect what mortals can see. More than told me; I experienced it myself. I would assume this Von Ratched has the same ability. He must be either stealing or buying food from the town, and yet those there would see him as an human man, if indeed they see him at all.” She smiled. “Perhaps you will not approve of this proposition, but I will make it nonetheless. I am in a position to be uniquely helpful, I believe. If to hurt our King is his desire, I would be a tempting morsel indeed. I am protected from his mind, but he could not know how or why. I would be extremely surprised if you did not attract some interest, were he to believe I was vulnerable through spending time at the cottage. And were I to go to town for groceries escorted by you and Thranduil, or be seen running near the forest borders, I would imagine that would be an occurrence of overwhelming interest. Should it serve your purposes, as time wears on. We are all in a chess match, and as always the question becomes, who has the best command of the game play? I like the idea of him being fed deceptions.” Her head tilted a bit. “Thank you, very much, for speaking with me. If neither of us are reproved for having had this discussion, I would very much like to hear more, when there is more to hear. I will leave you in peace, now.” 

 

“You are welcome, Earlene.” They both laughed when she was a little stuck in the soft cushioning of his sofa, and needed two tries to get up. 

 

“Hîr vuin,” she said, bowing her head to him once more before departing.

 

Thanadir shook his head and smiled. He very much liked the workings of her mind, and now he had more to consider.

 

Earlene returned to her quarters just in time to here the beginnings of Allanah squalling to eat, and rushed inside, taking her from Ratiri. “Sorry about that,” she said sheepishly. “I almost ruined your eardrums, but better slightly late than never.” With an amused smile, he handed the baby over. She moved into the bedroom for just a moment, reasoning that for a change it might be slightly kinder to her friends, to get the process properly underway first rather than her usual habit of randomly fishing out her boobs. Once Allanah was latched on, she returned to them, just in time for Thranduil to storm in.

 

His expression was not one Lorna was encouraged by, mainly because there were elements in it she recognized: he wasn’t just pissed, she was certain. There was a touch of fear in there, somewhere, unless she was much mistaken.  _ Well, this isn’t good. _

 

“Have a scone,” she said, shoving the plate toward him. It probably wouldn’t do any good, but what the hell, she had to try.

 

The two heavy blows on the door followed her words, with Thranduil shooting a baleful look at anything concerning scones as he leaned back to pull the door open to admit Thanadir, who ignored his somewhat frosty glare. Thanadir set down his heavy tray, and began setting the table like usual.

 

Thranduil removed his light green cloak and tossed it over a chair. “Thanadir. Earlene. In the bedroom, please. Now.”

 

_ Three guesses what this is about, _ Earlene thought,  _ and two don’t count.  _ But she held her head high, feeling certain of the technical appropriateness of her actions. They filed past him, and he closed the door.

 

Lorna, being Lorna, immediately seized on how very  _ wrong  _ that sounded, which of course meant her brain went places she’d really, really rather it didn’t. Sure, someone out there would probably pay to see it, but...yeesh. She was not ashamed by the fact that she twitched a bit, because no. That would be like picturing all of her siblings...nope.  _ Thinking of something else now. _ “I’m guessing the pair’v them coughed up something he doesn’t like,” she sighed, leaning against Ratiri. “Whatever it is, I’d love to help. It’s lovely in here, but if I don’t get out under open sky in a hurry, I’ll go spare. I wish somebody’d tell me what in flying fuck’s going on out there. Not knowing’s driving me mental, too.” Even if she couldn’t actually do anything about any of it -- and oh, did that gall -- she wanted to  _ know _ .

 

Ratiri wanted to tell her sky wasn’t that important, except that he too was feeling its lack. He sat still far easier than Lorna did, and had spent much time studying Sindarin, seated on the floor of the practice hall while she threw knives (he had no desire whatsoever to learn that skill himself; he stuck with swords), and waited. And waited. And waited some more.

 

Thus far, Lorna refused to talk about it, and he wasn’t going to do or say a thing to try to nudge her. She’d speak of it in her own time, even if that took the next six days, or six weeks, or six years, but he saw what she was doing: knowing Thranduil couldn’t help but read their minds, she was doing her best to keep hers busy, so that she was not the only one distracted from whatever her trauma had done to it. It likely wasn’t healthy, but it was working for now, and he was not a psychologist -- he couldn’t exactly suggest anything better.

 

Still. Sooner or later something would give, and all he could do was be there. The strain of not interfering was occasionally great, but Lorna wouldn’t appreciate anyone hovering, so he didn’t. He stayed beside her, even if it meant, at one point, letting her try to French braid his hair. It wasn’t nearly long enough, but it didn’t stop her trying.

 

Lorna, for her part, was largely sustained by dreams of murder. Though she had no memory of that fucker coming to her house, she nevertheless had elaborate dreams of slaughtering him in increasingly creative ways, which at least was nice to wake up to in the morning. Certainly far better than nightmares.

 

But she wanted to go outside. She wanted to  _ do  _ something -- she was safe in here, but she was helpless. Helpless, and in the dark.

 

*****

  
“Explain yourselves,” Thranduil said, very quietly but with eyes blazing in anger.

 

Thanadir moved to speak but Earlene both held up her hand against him and stepped forward. “It is very simple. You had not forbidden either of us to discuss it. I asked first, as you already know. I am sworn to obey you. I did not and will not take any manner of action that does not have your approval. What I am not sworn to do is sit around, useless, content to ignore the fact that my husband is facing a difficult adversary. I have neither your powers, nor your strength, but I do have a mind that is very adept at exactly this sort of difficulty.”

 

His eyes bored into hers. “This is not one of your games, Earlene. You cannot imagine the consequences of what we are facing.”

 

By some miracle, she remembered to keep her voice at barely above a whisper. “With respect, my King, you are wrong. This is absolutely a game, albeit one with outcomes that have significant weight. And perhaps, just perhaps, I have even more experience than you in going up against the kind of individual that plays on exactly this kind of game board.  _ He _ has been at one with the modern world for at least the last eighty years, while you were shuttered in here not knowing the function of a combustion engine.  _ He _ has involved himself with the underpinnings of power and influence in this world,  _ my _ world, while you have kept to your forest. And  _ he _ , unless I am much mistaken, is above all other things bored and unchallenged, which is the sum of the reason he is parked outside your borders. Are you willing to risk everything on the conviction that I have  _ nothing _ to offer?”

 

He stood, frozen, listening to her words, whereas Thanadir seemed just generally astonished at the sum of what had come out of her mouth. Thranduil did not move. She had said what she had to say, and bowed her head deeply to him in a gesture of submission. Her words would stand on their own merit, or not; the rest was up to him. His shoulders dropped, and he slumped into an armchair. “Sit down, both of you”, he said, his intensity broken. He regarded his boots for a time, before speaking again. “I will concede that I am feeling the weight of a responsibility that has not been this heavy in a very long time. Two mortal females I care about deeply for different reasons, are under my protection against a creature that has already made the extent of his depravity quite clear. What would you have me do?” he asked, obviously frustrated. 

 

“Win the game, of course,” she said. “And if you are asking the more precise question of how do I wish you would allow me to participate, it would be to include me. Allow me to know what you learn. Listen to my ideas, whether or not you choose to act on them. What harm can there be in hearing me out? Considering every option should be a basic function of any problem solving exercise.” 

 

“Let us not pretend, Earlene. I heard your conversation with Thanadir. Your ideas include using yourself as bait. I find that kind of offering to be completely unacceptable.”

 

“Even if I could prove to you that actions involving negligible risk could possibly gain you a victory? Do you not understand the power you are handing that man, just by virtue of the reasoning you are using right now? If you are paralyzed into indecision by perceived risk to three mortals, he has already won. I do not intend to sit here and argue this right now. But later on, would you at least consent to hear me out in greater detail? I have never once knowingly disobeyed you, Thranduil,” she said, before falling into silence.

 

His head fell back as he steepled his fingers, hating with every fiber of his being that he could find no flaw whatsoever in any of her words. Finally a cavernous sigh came out of him. “Very well. And I have delayed dinner long enough,” he said. 

 

Earlene knew better to even think happy thoughts at her victory. With another bow of her head, she rose. “I will be out in a moment. Allanah is almost done.” It was only when both ellyn had left the room that she allowed the tiniest corner of her mouth to turn up in a smile.

 

Lorna looked at the elves, searching their faces. “I don’t know what you’re planning,” she said, “but I want in. I’ve got to know what’s going on or I’ll go spare.”

 

Thranduil sat down and openly glared at her. “There is no planning. There has only been gathering information, and planning about planning.” Thanadir poured him wine. Days ago Earlene had already promised not to say a word about wine or ask for any; it was important to her that he be able to have this without feeling guilt, and even Lorna had agreed, though it was far more galling to her. He looked up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to those seated at the table. “I need an agreement on this. That my temper is less than even at the moment is hardly a secret. I am willing to discuss, and share information. I am not willing to argue. If we can all work with that condition, this topic can continue. Otherwise, this is my home. Even I need a place I can come to feel my obligations somewhat less. Can we all...work with that?” 

 

Earlene did not look up, and only nodded her agreement while sipping her water.

 

“We can,” Lorna said, and she actually meant it. Ratiri echoed her affirmation.

 

“All I want is to know what you’ve found,” Lorna said evenly, though she was incredibly tempted to do a drive-by hugging she knew he wouldn’t appreciate right now.  _ I’m hugging you in my mind, and you’re gonna like it _ . “Even if it’s not much,  _ not  _ knowing just makes me feel helpless. If all he’s done so far is -- is pissed at the edge’v the forest, I’d still rather know than wonder.” She glanced at Ratiri. “And we both want outside. Doesn’t have to be  _ far  _ outside -- hell, even if we stuck just near the gates, at least we’d have breeze and sky.”

 

“And a pregnant woman should ideally have at least some exposure to sunlight,” Ratiri added -- ever the doctor. He wasn’t going to go on about Vitamin D.

 

Simply hearing that response from the one he most expected to battle removed a weight from his spirit. The moment Lorna spoke, Thranduil’s expression visibly softened, as he took a drink of his wine. “Regarding the latter, yes. I will find a way for you to have time outside under some kind of guard. This has caused difficulty for Earlene as well, and I now realize that I cannot expect you to dwell indoors every moment of every day.”

 

Thanadir now ladled a rich stew of beef, potatoes and lentils into their bowls. Another thing for which Earlene had lobbied was the purchase of uncut sides of beef, from the local dairy farms. It took some doing, but it left them with a supply of highly affordable lower-grade meat ideal for stews and soups. Not to mention the bones that would provide nutritious broth; every bit of the animals would be used. The fact that the elves did not simply eat slabs of meat at their meals made the justification of this dietary addition so much easier. Though, the sight of four ellith apiece carrying the heavy sides with shoulder-yokes was something she would not forget anytime soon.

 

“Regarding what we have found, I would guess Thanadir has more than adequate grasp of that so as to answer?” This was said with a slight smirk. He really had no grounds to blame his seneschal for speaking with Earlene. He had only  _ wanted _ to have them. In spite of himself, he was relaxing more than he anticipated.

 

The beleaguered elf managed a smile at his King’s words, and related what they had observed. Because he was not specifically asked to, he mentioned nothing about Earlene’s thoughts on the matter, their earlier discussion, or what they had learned of this man via Lorna’s friend. While everyone wished to include Lorna to the extent possible, they kept coming back to one central problem; there was only one Necklace of Lasgalen, and Lorna was not the one who wore it. They could not afford their enemy to have another accidental glimpse into her mind that could betray any of their knowledge of him.

 

Thought of going outside made Lorna happier than anything else had managed all week. She didn’t care if they had to stay within a dozen yards of the damn front door -- it would be  _ outside _ . She wanted to walk in the trees with Ratiri, and momentarily forget all the shite going on in their lives.

 

Ratiri had busily applied himself to his food, but he kept glancing at the sword in its sheath. “How did that come to make its way here?” he asked, nodding at it. For some reason, he was reluctant to speak its name, nonsensical though that was. “I had thought it had been lost ages ago.  Literally.”

 

Thranduil shook his head. “I have few facts and many educated guesses. It was presented to me in the War of the Last Alliance, after the death of my father, and after the death of Gil-Galad, in whose possession it came to be. I was heir to the throne, and had already assumed the leadership of my people, though I would not be officially crowned King until our return to Eryn Galen. Only two things were plain: Elrond, who you must recall was formerly of Lindon, did not want anything to do with it, and, possession of it required an elf of considerable strength. What I will never know is who kept it for Gil-Galad; he bore a different weapon entirely. Presumably one of the mightier ones in his service, or perhaps it was kept in reserve by his page? I do not know. As for how it came to be in Lindon at all, that is yet more guesswork. I spent no small amount of time pondering this. The mate of this sword, Anglachel, came to Túrin Turambar, who reforged it and named it Gurthang. It was later shattered, and its shards now lie beneath the seas. As you know, Elu Thingol refused to wield Anglachel on the warning of Melian, because she perceived the malice in the blade. Malice that lives in this sword as well. But I digress. Were I to guess, it likely came to Lindon via a refugee from Gondolin, for indeed the surviving Gondolindrim made their way to Lindon in what numbers remained. As to how it came to Gondolin? That is known even in the stories of this man Tolkien; Maeglin stole it from Eöl. Those are my best surmises. Perhaps I could ask the blade itself, but I have no wish to. Bearing it is bad enough.”

 

Lorna looked at it, and at him. “It  _ talks _ ?” she asked. “That’s the creepiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” She must have missed that bit in her reading, but eurgh. 

 

“Whatever was done to create Anguriel and Anglachel, I do not even want to imagine. Yes, it is capable of speech, and its voice is one of deadly cold. Anglachel spoke to Túrin, when it agreed to claim his life. I rue that this thing has any need to be among us,” he said, his expression turning to one of great loathing and anger.

 

Earlene shuddered, having heard the whispers. And now she knew, that had not been her imagination.

 

Ratiri shook his head. Maeglin. He’d wondered, during his reading, just why Maeglin had turned out as he did. There were differing accounts about Eöl and Aredhel’s relationship, and just how presumably abusive it had or had not been, but people like Maeglin were rarely the products of happy homes. 

 

“Once we’re done with it, can it be melted?” Lorna asked, now thoroughly skeeved. It was a good thing they hadn’t done it  before now, her pop-culture-fed brain compared it a touch to Loki’s staff in  _ The Avengers  _ \-- semi-sentient, capable of fucking with the brains of everyone around it...at least it couldn’t shoot glowing blue shit. Thank God for small favors.

 

“Thanadir is the most talented smith left among us, and I would not endanger him by asking him to try. It is not an ordinary object, Lorna, and artifacts such as this...let us say they have a will of their own, and have been known to be capable of fighting for their own survival. When this is over, it will go back whence it came; deep into my vault, behind a door with enchantments of which only I am the master.”

 

Earlene saw that there were biscuits to go with the stew, and happily took three, buttering them. At least if she had to be deeply disturbed by that sword behind her on the table, she could have carbohydrates.

 

“Can’t say I’ll be sorry to see it go,” Lorna said, sipping her water and wishing like hell it was wine. “While I’m damn glad I don’t remember any’v...that, I do wish I could remember shooting that bastard. Too bad I didn’t take half his head off -- even if it wouldn’t’ve killed him, it would’ve slowed him down.”

 

Thranduil swallowed his food. “You apparently did yell at him to...how did you say it? ‘Get off my lawn.’ Which for you, contained an astonishing lack of obscenities.”

 

Unfortunately, Lorna had made the mistake of trying to eat a biscuit; his words made her laugh so hard she choked, so surprised she could do nothing else. Ratiri thumped her on the back a few times until she coughed up the offending bit of bread, and she took a few sips of water. “I told him to get off my lawn and shot him. Well, at least nobody can say I didn’t try.”

 

“It was more than try, Lorna. It was extremely courageous,” said Thanadir. “Few others could have managed anything close to it.”

 

She ducked her head a little, still unused to such frank compliments even though she’d received quite a few in the last months. “Might have done more good if the shells hadn’t probably been older than my mam,” she said, but she gave him a grateful -- if naturally awkward -- smile.

 

“I’m suddenly nervous about what you might do to me whenever we have our first fight,” Ratiri said, rubbing her back in case she needed to cough up anything else.

 

“Nah, I actually like you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

 

“Be underwater first,” Earlene quipped. “It slows her down.” There was no explanation, and Earlene kept right on eating.

 

That only made Lorna choke again, while a bewildered Ratiri helped her wheeze it back up. He debated asking, but decided he didn’t want to know.

 

_ Meluieg _ , Thranduil rebuked.

 

_ Yes, my Lord _ , she silently replied with the barest hint of a smirk. But she did not feel too guilty for having said it.

 

Lorna, finally done hacking up her food, downed the rest of her water.  _ Hey Thranduil, can I talk to you later? _

 

The clear blue eyes looked up at her, and he subtly gave a single nod. He was extremely determined to enjoy his meal, and took another drink of wine. But he did give more courtesy than that.  _ We will go for a walk. _

 

In an effort to make him smile, she trotted out a saying her eldest niece was so fond of:  _ Cool beans. Hey, is there some way to, I don’t know, transfer your wine-buzz to me telepathically?  _ She couldn’t quite keep the grin off her face when she asked -- not that she tried very hard. Every time she actually managed to pull a smile out of him, she counted it a victory.

 

He looked across to her.  _ The sad truth is, ‘wine buzz’ starts for me after the second full bottle. We all have our trials to bear. What I am consuming now, for me, does as much as two shots of your poítin does for you. _

 

Lorna actually, physically winced a little. That was next to nothing...just how high  _ was  _ his tolerance? Something told her he could probably drink even other elves under the table without breaking a sweat.  _ Dammit. Had to ask. I really, really wish we had some weed -- either you’d love it or you’d totally hate it, but I bet you’d love it. As long as we had enough munchies, anyway.  _ There was little more annoying than being stoned with nothing to eat. If Earlene was building a greenhouse...no. Bad Lorna.

 

“Have you felt your babies moving yet?” Ratiri asked Earlene.

 

She shook her head No. “They were conceived on April 25th. So, three months and one week, almost to the day. But they are most definitely growing, if my midsection is any indication,” she smiled.

 

“It’s always convenient when you know exactly when,” he said, glancing at Lorna, who gave him a fond dig with her elbow. “Lorna’s considering giving birth in hospital, because it’s twins.”

 

“But mostly because Thranduil, while you are my friend, having you deliver my kids would just be too goddamn weird,” Lorna said. “I’m more’v a prude than Earlene, though I never thought I’d ever be able to call myself a prude. That and unless you can actually reorder my skeleton, I might need a C-section.” If he actually  _ could  _ manipulate her skeleton to that degree...well, the idea was fascinating, in a gross kind of way.

 

Thranduil’s lips parted, slightly, but he said nothing. This was the furthest thing from his mind, at the moment, and this was not an appropriate time to discuss such a matter. Though, part of him wondered just how much more these people needed to see, to comprehend that short of the moment of death, there was nothing he could not do to a mortal body. He dismissed the subject. This was not his decision.

 

“Granted,” Lorna sighed, “that’s depending on Von Fuckface out there. Though I won’t lie -- if I had the chance to knock him down and have my waters break on him, I wouldn’t mind a bit.”

 

This caused Earlene to start giggling, though she brought herself under control fairly quickly, for her. That Thranduil kicked her under the table (he was gentle, but it was still a kick) helped quite a lot. She had just finished her stew, when they heard a wailing from the bedroom. “I  _ knew _ she didn’t nurse long enough,” she muttered, rising to go to her. When she returned, with the baby latched on, she sat in a huff. “I want that breast pump Bridie told me about. There has to be a way to manage going to town. Life can’t grind to a halt forever on account of….yeah.”

 

God, Lorna loved the idea of going to town, for all she knew it just might not be an option. She wanted to -- Christ, did she want to -- but while she was, as Mairead said, stubborn as a mule, she wasn’t stupid. As much as she loathed the fact that she had no defenses against that son of a bitch, it didn’t change the fact that she had none, so she contented herself with eating the last of her biscuits. Part of why she was so irritated about her wine restriction was that she still didn’t really feel  _ pregnant  _ yet. Yeah, there was the morning sickness, and more fatigue than normal, but other than that it just felt like she was being denied alcohol for no reason. As much as she wasn’t looking forward to the baby bump from hell, at least it would make it it feel a bit more real.

 

“I’ve got some cash,” she said, “just in case bank cards can’t get used, for...whatever reason.” She didn’t want to actually say ‘in case none of us can go’, let she jinx it.

 

“I will make no promises of any kind concerning this,” Thranduil said, rather irritated that Earlene had spoken.

 

“Forgive me,” said Earlene, hearing the unmistakable edge to his voice. “I did not think. Something that is all too common these days. I did not mean to…” she stopped, sighing, because she knew she’d put her foot in it.

 

“I know, Earlene. Something will be managed,” Thranduil said, with a kinder tone. 

 

She nodded, genuinely feeling badly about her mistake. “Please excuse me,” she said, rising again. “I really need to sit in a more comfortable chair.” Which was not altogether true, but the sum of the day had just gone into the red zone for her, and she wanted to be alone. Returning to the bedroom, she closed the door behind her.

 

_ Why the hell _ , Lorna wondered,  _ did she ask forgiveness for something that didn’t need forgiving? _ What she’d said was only sensible, if potentially a hassle. Christ, there were plenty of humans out there...oh.

 

_ Oh _ .

 

How this would work, she wasn’t sure --  _ if  _ it would work, she wasn’t sure -- but hell, it was worth a shot. “I say we bring in Orla anyway,” she said. “Her and her crew, to work on the house, and pretend we don’t see Von Arsehole lurking like a creeper. Maybe he’ll get bold and do something stupid. Because so long as we’re sitting in here, he’s probably going to just sit out there, and it’s us he’s concerned with, not some random human construction crew. If we give him enough rope, maybe his boredom and his arrogance with hang him for us.” It sounded like insanity, and maybe it was, but when dealing with someone like that… “He won’t predict it, and I think that might be what could give us the upper hand. If we can keep surprising him, and keep him off-balance, sooner or later he’ll fuck up.” How  _ much  _ later, she had no idea, but hopefully not too far along down the road.

 

Thanadir privately thought that this notion had considerable merit, but was not about to say anything out of turn. He rose and began clearing his and Earlene’s dish, thinking. Thinking. “Excuse me for a few moments. I believe it is time for Allanah to be changed, and I wish to do that for Earlene.” It was quite possibly the closest thing to an untruth he had ever spoken, and he frowned inside of himself at the words tumbling from his mouth. But it did have the desired effect. No one questioned why he wanted to leave the room.

 

Entering the bedroom silently, he heard exactly what he feared. Earlene had her back to the door, reclined against the end of the sofa near the fireplace. Occasional sniffles betrayed the real reason she had wished to come in here. Thanadir effortlessly moved her forward, to sit behind her and hold her. He said nothing. 

 

“Thanadir,” she whispered, “I am not used to being like this. I know that pregnancy can change many things about a female body. But for me to feel like I am losing control over the acuity of my thoughts, and what I speak to others…” she shook her head, as more tears rolled down her face. “Maybe for most people this would not matter in the least but it is hard for me to even find words for how in control of this sort of thing I am used to being. That I am speaking thoughtlessly as much as I am…”

 

The old elf stroked her head with his hand. “Earlene, you are under strain just as we are. And after hearing the sum of your words today, I believe your difficulties are no less real than mine, or Aran Thranduil’s.” He hesitated, because speaking like this to others did not come easily to him. “Your intelligence is formidable, Earlene. Not just for a mortal. For anyone. You have earned my respect and I do not give it lightly. Do not berate yourself for the limitations of your body. Our King understands, and I know he loves you very much.”

 

She nodded, leaning back into him. “That thing out there will not win,” she said with a hardening edge to her voice. “You understand that, Thandir, do you not? Because we are good, and he is not, and that is how it will be.” Her voice held an eerie weight of conviction that astonished him, and his heart surged with pride that she counted him as a friend.

 

“I know, Earlene.” Allanah finished nursing, and an unmistakable sound from her tiny bottom indicated that Thanadir had not spoken an untruth to leave the room after all. “Stay here, and give her to me. I will change her.”

 

Handing her over, Earlene adjusted her clothing, wiping her face. “Thank you, meldir,” she whispered, curling up and staring at the flames.

 

*****

Thranduil listened to Lorna, distracted. “I will think about what you have said, Lorna. I do not mean to dismiss your words. I hope that you can understand that there are times I desperately need to stop thinking about this matter, just for awhile. This is one of those times.”

 

Lorna eyed him speculatively. “Okay,” she said, “what’s the stupidest, most ridiculous, most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done?”

 

_ What in Eru’s name…?  _ “I…” he frowned. His youth was not much given to foolishness, on account of Oropher’s tyranny. Part of him wondered if it was not his seduction of Earlene, but that did not really fit this question.  _ There was that time, with the first elk…  _ He’d stalked the animal for days, convinced that if he could simply get close enough to it to touch, that the skill of his people with beasts would see him the rest of the way through to taming it to his will. But he’d badly underestimated the spirit of the giant Rhovanion bull, and when he decided that the key to success lay in dropping onto its back from the trees overhead, he’d gotten the ride of his life. By all rights, both he and the elk should have been killed, because what followed had been a violent match of strength and will that in the end sent both of them plunging off a thirty foot cliff and into the deepest parts of the Forest River. He held his mouth and chin in his hand, debating if he wanted to confess this lunacy to her. Even Thanadir did not know the full truth of this tale. “It was when I chose to go about taming an elk in a rather ill-advised manner,” he said. “Why?”

 

“You wanted to think about something else,” she said, grinning. “And I don’t know about you, but sometimes re-telling stories about my own stupidity makes me feel better about the person I am now.”

 

“Only you, Lorna,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “Though if we’re on that subject, it was definitely riding a snowmobile in a Boba Fett helmet. It didn’t exactly allow for wonderful visibility.”

Thranduil chuckled. “I must be careful, not even Thanadir knows the full truth of that tale. I was guilty of several errors of omission when I at last returned home from that adventure.”

 

“You already know about the bus,” she said, leaning against Ratiri. “God, what was the second-dumbest...too many to count, though I think trying to build a barbecue on the roof’vthe warehouse comes in there somewhere. It’s not something you should do while the entire lot’v you are stoned off your gourds.”

 

“There is very little you should do while stoned off your gourd,” Ratiri said. “Sitting and eating is just about it. Watching a laser-show never hurts.”

 

“When all this is over, and I can get weed,” Lorna said, “and once everyone’s done with breast-feeding and that, I want to get you and Thanadir stoned and put on a laser-show. I don’t care how old you are, there’s no way you’ve ever seen  _ that _ . And maybe a water-balloon fight. There’s so much about modern Earth you’ve not yet experienced, so many fun things. You and Thanadir really have seen a disproportionate amount of shite, given how limited your experience has been.”

 

Thranduil listened to this and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, what difference does it make”, he said. “It was thousands of years ago. From watching those films, you might have learned that I rode an elk. But that elk was one in a long line of them. It was the first one,  _ that  _ was the story. I first came up with the idea when I was in the forest hunting, and….” he confessed the whole tale, somewhat bolstered by the fact that Thanadir had not yet returned from changing the baby. “So you can see, that nearly matches your bus incident, though at least no other elves or roadways were involved. Mostly.”

 

Lorna tried to hold in her laughter, and failed utterly. “Jesus, that’s brilliant,” she said. “Don’t tell your kids that, they’ll try to top it, and fail. It’s a damn good thing you’re an elf, or you might’ve wound up a smear on the ground. If I had a hat on, I would take it off to you.”

 

Ratiri certainly had been getting an education about elves. Three months ago, he wouldn’t have been able to picture Thranduil, even a young Thranduil, doing that, and he did still have trouble with it, but at least now he could  _ do  _ it. “It worked,” he said. “Eventually. That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”

 

“ ‘Brilliant’ would not be the adjective I would choose to apply to my decisions that day,” he said with chagrin, but his face was lit with a beautiful smile as he recalled the memory so long forgotten. “And yes, it did work,” he chuckled. Behind him, just then, he heard a throat clear, and turned to see Thanadir with an insufferable smirk and a cocked eyebrow. 

 

“It will take me a week to find that record in the archives. I trust that you will repeat your story later, so that I can add in the *accurate* revision, my King?”

 

If there was an answer spoken aloud, it was lost to the sound of the laughter at the table.

 

Lorna was...content. She hadn’t thought she’d ever be able to say that again, a week ago, but she had her family and delicious food, and for now she would shut out everything outside this room. Anything else could damn well wait; she wouldn’t pester Thranduil about anything just now. It wasn’t urgent, and she was so relaxed that she didn’t want to. Let it wait. “And yet we’ll all be wanting our kids to be safe and responsible,” she said, shaking her head against Ratiri’s shoulder. “I don’t know how to be a parent. Mam tried, but didn’t get far, and the less said’v Da, the better.”

 

“We all pretend, Lorna. I did not disclose my few instances of foolishness to my son. Who, I will freely admit, had far greater sense in some respects than I did. I liked to believe that what he did not know, did not hurt him,” Thranduil said. It did not help one bit that behind him, Thanadir rolled his eyes upward and nodded to himself. 

 

“Well, at least you survived my driving,” she said. “And didn’t wee yourself. If past reaction’s any indication, that’s more’v a feat than you’d think. I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.” Which was entirely true; she just usually had passengers who would probably murder her if she did. Well, Earlene might murder her; Thanadir, according to Thranduil, was apparently more devious and subtle. Which might actually be scarier.

 

The King snorted. “Earlene  _ would _ murder you. Thanadir would find a way to make you wish you had been murdered. I am afraid that you will have to be content with limiting that experience to me.”

 

“Do I want to know?” Thanadir asked, frowning.

 

“No,” said Lorna and Thranduil in stereo, before they both began laughing again.

 

“How fast did you manage?” Ratiri asked. “You don’t have to tell me now, but I want to know later.”

 

“Fast enough,” she said, attempting to be demure and failing horribly. “ _ I  _ enjoyed it, at least.” It wasn’t entirely a lie; while ‘enjoy’ was not a word anyone would use for it, she’d felt powerful, in control -- the closest she could come to joy. Part of her wanted to do it again someday, without any urgency. “Watch, there’ll be traffic cops all up and down the motorway now, if they got enough calls from other drivers.” She was pretty sure she hadn’t caused any accidents, though. Pretty sure.

 

Thranduil, eyeing with concern the unmistakable transformation of Thanadir’s expression, decided that changing the subject might be very wise. “Excuse me, I should check on Earlene,” he said, rising. Which was true, as she had been gone an inexplicably long time. Silently, Thanadir passed along some pertinent information to him. Entering and closing the door behind him, he saw that in the low light she had fallen asleep against the sofa, with a drying tear-stain still visible on her cheek. The sight affected him very deeply, as he knelt down in front of her. Studying her face in the flickering light, he cast his eyes down. He had leaned on her very heavily this week, and demanded much. She had not faltered even once, until her tiny misstep at the dinner table.  _ She is giving me all that her mind and body has to give, and I have caused her grief now that she has reached her limits. I am sorry, Earlene.  _

 

He stood up again, having made up his mind. Returning briefly, he made his apologies. “Earlene has fallen asleep, and I wish to care for her and Allanah. It is yet early, but I hope you do not mind it if I excuse myself.”  _ I hope, Lorna, you would allow me to talk with you in the morning instead? I am sorry. If it is very important and cannot wait, please tell me now. _ When she smiled and shook her head No, he nodded and wished them a good evening. Thanadir had already left, having cleared the table.

 

********

 

Lorna was exhausted, though she didn’t know if it was the food, the situation, or the sprogs.

 

Keeping up her game face -- and game  _ mind  _ \-- was exhausting. Having others grieve and anger what had happened to her...no. She couldn’t deal with that, and neither could they, so she did what she had to to. She didn’t need people worried about her, so she did what she’d always done: looked after people.

 

Ratiri, she was sure, knew what she was doing, but he humored her. If she wanted to pretend it was okay, he wasn’t going to press her to think or act otherwise; it probably wasn’t healthy, but he knew her well enough to know that trying to push the issue would end in  _ somebody’s  _ tears, and they probably wouldn’t be hers. For a man who didn’t have telepathy, he could read her so well it was almost scary at times.

 

He said nothing when they returned to her room -- their room, since they’d both spent the night in it all week --  but he guided her to sit before the fire so he could rub the tension from her shoulders. He had positively magic hands, knowing just where to knead and how hard, until she was relaxed as a noodle.

 

Tired though she was, she didn’t want to sleep. Weirdly, though she had no memories of it, she kept having nightmares about Von Ratched showing up on her doorstep -- nightmares where she  _ didn’t  _ shoot him, and instead he murdered her. 

 

A thought occurred to her, and she hauled herself to her feet. Her iPod had been mostly charged the day she came here, and she hadn’t turned it on since; her laptop was likewise still at nearly full battery. Opening it, she plugged in both iPod and portable speakers, not caring that it would drain the battery in a heartbeat. Clicking through to her Nostalgia playlist, she hit play and turned up the volume.

 

“I can’t dance for shite, but let’s give it a go,” she said, reaching for his hand as the strains of Banana Rama rang out.

 

“Neither can I,” Ratiri admitted, taking her hand. “At least we’ll be rubbish together.”

 

“She’s got it,” Lorna sang, leading him awkwardly out around the sofa. “Yeah baby, she’s got it.”

 

Laughing, Ratiri managed, “I’m your Venus, I’m your fire.”

 

Hearing that in his deep voice made her dissolve into laughter, naturally missing the beat even more noticeably. The good thing about so many 80’s songs was that there really was more than one beat to follow, though neither one of them seemed capable of picking one and sticking to it. Oh well. It wasn’t like anyone could see them.

 

They managed to make it through the song without knocking into anything, though it was a near miss a few times, and she came as close to contentment as she’d yet managed since...it.  

 

Ratiri watched the tension leave her eyes, and felt some of his own dissipate. This was silly and ridiculous and  _ fun _ , which he wouldn’t have thought possible not so long ago. Yes, they were both dreadful at this, but there was no one to see them, and watching Lorna laugh was a welcome distraction. Indira was probably wondering what the hell had happened to him -- Mairead wouldn’t wonder yet, since Lorna was often away from home for days on end, but Indira had surely tried to call at least once by now. He was going to have to get away from the Halls enough to call her, because they really didn’t need her driving out to Lasg’len and discovering its people were perfectly healthy. There was simply no way for  _ that  _ to end well.

 

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Lorna, whose chose that moment to belt out, “ _ IT’S RAINING MEN!”  _ in time with the music. That set him off laughing so hard he had to lean against the back of the sofa, while she tried her best to keep up with the song despite obviously not knowing all the words. He’d been extremely fond of Lorna, but now he was perilously close to loving her.

 

Unbeknownst to him, Lorna was thinking much the same thing. Not yet; this wasn’t the time to say anything, even if they’d been there. But sooner or later...well. They’d see where things went.

 

********

 

Allanah was clean, fed and sound asleep, and so he gently lifted his wife from the sofa to their bed, loosening and removing her clothing before covering her. He disrobed before joining her, relishing the sensation of her body against his. She stirred, and he heard her thoughts of confusion.  _ You fell asleep, meluieg. We are in bed. _

 

Her arms reached for him, weak from sleep.  _ I am so sorry for my words, Thranduil. _

 

_ No, meluieg. It is I who am sorry. You have met my needs in every way you were able, and I have not given you the same attention. Do not become weighed down by this, and I will do the same. We are all in the midst of a trial, and are doing the best we can. It is difficult. _

 

_ Please _ , she asked, wanting the comfort of his body. As he drove into her in a gentle and steady rhythm, he heard something from her he did not expect. Earlene was relaxing and very close to her own pleasure. Her arms tightened around him.  _ Valar, bless and protect my husband _ , she prayed. A restful calm came over him as they reached a tender completion in shared love, after which Thranduil held her in his arms. For the first time since coming to them, that night little Allanah slept through.

 

Thranduil was the first to wake, his hand resting on Earlene’s swelling abdomen. His rest brought him a greater peace of mind than he’d felt since Lorna’s...assault...occurred. He could still barely call what had happened by its name, even in his mind. The thought of it was still filled with pain, for him. Though in an odd way, it had comforted him, a little, to understand that she would not have wished for the gift granted to elves in this regard. That she somehow would rather endure this violation, than depart from this life in order to avoid it. And if this was her desire, it helped give him the strength to fight back, and not succumb to despair. Especially when he had seen that Earlene shared Lorna’s conviction. While no human female, he gleaned, in any way wanted to tolerate that this could occur, he saw with a great sorrow that it was a potential reality that all women feared, and for a reason. His eyes squeezed shut, no longer wishing to think about this exact subject. 

 

What he did wish to think about, had to think about, was what to do. He was trying to open himself, break down his resistance to this notion of what amounted to baiting the man. Earlene seemed to think that it was not a great risk, to take certain actions. Lorna clearly felt that they should, for all practical purposes, put on a display of sorts for him. He was able to consider no further before Earlene stirred in his arms, trying to turn to face him. He moved her body to the position she wished, and she sighed happily as she held onto him loosely, seeking to press her skin against his own.

 

_ Thank you,  _ she said contentedly.

 

_ Meluieg, I do not wish to intrude on your rest, but may we discuss the balrog? _

 

_ Of course. _ Her mental tone was amused, more than anything else.

 

_ Would you tell me more, about how you feel he can be...manipulated...without risk? _

 

_ My exact words were ‘minimal risk’, Thranduil. We both know there is no such thing as zero risk in a situation like this. But yes, I will. First, hold your assets clearly in mind. He is alone; we are many. While we cannot be certain, an educated surmise leads us to believe that his powers are similar to your own as opposed to vastly greater than. This surmise is borne out by the following evidence: One, he did not arrive here until he had a mortal to follow; this was likely Ratiri. Two, he has not attempted to enter your borders yet, which indicates that he is hesitant. He would not display this behavior if he had full confidence in what powers he has available to him. Your powers are amplified inside of your borders. You know every tree branch, every root; he does not. You also have two main routes of coming and going to the outer world; my cottage and the path at the standing stone; he cannot monitor both of those at the same time. Your wood elves, according to Thanadir, possess skills of stealth that this creature does not. You have armed fighters, he does not. You have Anguriel, he does not. You have a mortal wife who is protected from his mental powers; while he is probably aware of this already, he does not understand its source. From the moment of his arrival, we were already at the Halls. That we used to live some of the time at the cottage, this he does not know for certain. He can only know what he has seen. _

 

_ Now let us consider your liabilities. Three of your charges are mortals, weak and relatively vulnerable both physically and mentally. Though if I may say, I would wager I can outrun him. Whatever information he could extract from Lorna’s mind about you, your Halls, your defenses; we must assume he knows. That he has already delved what the villagers know of you as well is a given. However, he could not have learned too much from them beyond that your seneschal enjoys quilting, that we have Allanah, and that I am with child. _

 

_ Next you must ask yourself, what does he hope to accomplish? Consider everything you know. This creature laid eyes on you in New York and came all the way here, though no words were exchanged between you… _

 

_ That is not entirely true, meluieg. _

 

_ Oh? _

 

_ I called upon Elbereth, in his hearing. _

 

_ And this was to declare your allegiance to the Valar? _

 

_ Yes. _

 

_ Those were, then, not words of threat to him. Nothing about them indicated that you would seek him out, challenge him, seek to harm him? _

 

_ That is correct. _

 

_ And yet he has sought you out, challenged you, sought to harm you by striking against those you love. We already know that this man has an interest in wealth, and power, and cruelty; the sum of his know actions have told us this. So list the possible motivations for why he is now at your doorstep. I would offer that he simply wishes to gain power over you, or if he cannot do that, kill you and those serving you. Is that not what the evil ones of your world always sought to do? Have power and dominion over others, and leave misery in their wake? I would think it would give him rather a lot of enjoyment, to accomplish this when he had formerly believed that all the powers for good in this world had left long ago. He does not need wealth. If there is a possible motivation for what he is doing aside from desiring power and that he has not faced a challenge of this sort in over ten thousand years, I should like to know what it is. _

 

_ Moving along. With your aforementioned assets in mind, begin behaving in a manner that is unpredictable. We should do the unexpected. What could he honestly do to any one of us mortals, guarded visibly by not only you and Thanadir, but also unseen elves? You have archers, do you not? There are many trees, between here and town. We should spend time at the cottage. We should do all sorts of carefully planned, relatively safe things that make it appear that we are unaware of his presence. In only a week, he does not understand that the patterns he sees are ones reflecting your evasion of him. But he will know from the villagers that I go to town regularly. That we go to the pub occasionally. Fail to do so, and you will inform him that his presence is known. Those are more or less the sum of my considerations, my Lord. _

 

Thranduil closed his eyes again, holding her against him. He’d been an idiot. Laid out like this, how right she was seemed so obvious. And yet he had not seen it. What was happening, when he was the one succumbing to fear and emotional considerations, and his mortal wife was the one capable of maintaining precise detachment, coolly considering all parameters without a trace of distraction? But he already knew the answer. This was what she had given her whole life to perfecting, whereas he had spent the last many millennia unchallenged, and falling away from the sort of disciplined thinking that used to be a daily requirement. He was not incapable of this reasoning; but it had fallen into disuse.

 

_ Thank you, meluieg. Now I think I hear Thanadir, and Allanah will wake with hunger very soon. _

 

With a chaste kiss, they rose, dressed, and began caring for the necessities of the day. Soon Allanah was fed, and Thanadir entered. He’d not had a chance to play with her in three days, and the doe-eyed look of pleading Earlene saw when he held out his arms was not to be ignored.

 

“You don’t need your superpowers, Hîr vuin,” she said with humor. “I would never keep you from her.”

It took him a moment to understand what she meant, after which he looked at her sidewise. “Too obvious?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she grinned back. “You must be far more judicious and use that only as a last resort.”

 

He grinned and nodded, happily taking the baby while Earlene chuckled. When the two knocks came on the outer door many minutes later, Thanadir laid Allanah down. “I will bring our meal,” he said as he disappeared, passing Lorna and Ratiri.

 

Earlene and Thranduil went out to welcome them, and pour the tea that had been kept warm under a cozy. 

 

_ You had wished to speak to me, Lorna? I have not forgotten,  _ the King smiled.  _ Shall we walk? I am certain Ratiri and Earlene can find something to discuss. _

 

_ We shall,  _ Lorna said, and almost laughed at how stupid she sounded when she tried to be formal.  _ I discovered he’s as terrible a dancer as I am. It makes it so much more fun when your partner’s as crap at it as you are. _

 

Thranduil smiled, seeing that she had found a means by which to lighten her spirits. Dancing...he had not done that in a very long time...but fading somewhat reduced those sorts of impulses. He waited, to hear what else she would say.

 

Lorna followed him out the door, not caring where they went.  _ So, whatever you plan to do with that son’v a bitch, whenever you know what you  _ can  _ do, I want in, _ she said.  _ I don’t want to be left in the Halls. He might’ve done what he did to get to you, but you’re not the one he did it to, and if there’s even the tiniest chance I can get some kind of revenge, I want that chance. _

 

They meandered toward his throne while he considered her words, his face unreadable. And arriving there, he turned around at the stairs leading to the elevated seat, sat on the fourth step, and leaned forward against his bent knees. 

 

“Your request places me in an interesting quandary, Lorna. On one hand, you are not one of my subjects; I hold no moral authority over you. And yet you are my friend, now dwelling under my protection. But that is not the interesting part.  _ That _ comes from my promise to do everything in my power to protect your unborn children. Do you see my dilemma?” he asked, in a tone that spoke of deep uncertainty of what ‘the right thing to do’ might be.

 

“The right thing to do is accept that I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions, and who has every right and reason to do whatever I can to even the scales,” she said, but she said it gently, sitting beside him. “Protecting my children shouldn’t mean hampering my free will. I’ve been wronged, as wronged as any one person can be. If there is even the tiniest hope that I might make him pay, it’s my right to do it. If you were in my shoes, you can’t tell me you’d want anything less.”

 

He looked out into the open space of the Halls before him, a sight so familiar and yet always welcome, for him. “Yes, I could. I am not here to argue with you. But you and I do not have the same views of these issues, at all. You have never known what it is to be bound in solemn obligation to many. Just as I have never known, not for a single moment of my life, what it is to be able to only consider myself and what I would wish to do. What I do not believe you are taking into account is that at this point, this is about much more than just you. That part stopped the moment he arrived on my doorstep. He means to harm us, gain power over us, destroy us, or all of the above. That is over two hundred lives, besides your own, whose interests I must consider and protect.” 

 

“You’re right,” she said, “I don’t know, and I never will. It’s something I’ll never be able to understand. I’m not asking to go hunting him with my grandda’s shotgun -- I just want the opportunity to help, in whatever it is we wind up doing about him. Even if it just means passing somebody weapons, or...I don’t know. Whatever. The son’v a bitch is beyond any’v us humans, and I promise I’ll not go off hunting him or anything.” She snorted. “I can’t even actually go near him, can I? Not knowing what he might get out’v my brain. The lot’v you are my family, and you’re right -- we’re all in danger here.” She looked up at him, searching his face. “I don’t know what you could possibly need me for, and I won’t unless you tell me. What can I do? For you, for Earlene and Thanadir and Ratiri and all these people I can’t understand, but who’ve been so kind, the few times I’ve met them?”

 

Her reply had his attention, more than she could have known. He weighed the sum of what he knew about her, and decided to risk being completely frank. “Lorna, when we first met each other and for a time afterward, one of the things you wondered deeply was why you were allowed to know so much, when you had not spoken the same vows to me as Earlene. The simplest answer to that is, at the time, I did not know enough about humans to understand that such formal promises do not really function the same in your world as they do in mine. Earlene is rare, in that on account of her background, the concept of oaths, promises, vows...these are understood by her in complete alignment with how they are viewed by elves. They are a foundation of how we order our world. Oaths and vows are rarely spoken among us, because to break them is unthinkable; they drive us on with a terrible power. If you cannot understand my words, perhaps recalling the story of the sons of Fëanor will shed some light. But with others, other humans, I came to understand that each of you simply has honor, or does not. In your world, promises are routinely made and broken...or not. And that it all depends on the heart of the one speaking the words. You have never failed in a promise to me, Lorna, not even a little bit, and I have watched very carefully. If you can promise me that you will do as I say in regard to anything having to do with this man, no matter how great your rage or what the circumstances, I will accept your word. Only you know if you can manage such a thing, and I will not think less of you for not wishing to make such a commitment. Regardless of your decision I will try to find...something, because I do understand your desire.”

 

It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to her, and yet terribly difficult. Lorna took promises seriously, too -- when you lived in a gang, you had to, because quite often all you had was your word. It was why she’d said she wouldn’t swear fealty; she couldn’t swear it and then break it, so she just wouldn’t in the first place. Could she promise this? Was she actually capable of it? Before, before he and Thanadir had got rid of her ability to go blank, the answer would have been an emphatic ‘no’, but it wasn’t now.

 

The question was, did she trust Thranduil in this? Of course she did. She knew him well enough by now to be certain he wasn’t going to do anything stupid -- and that he wasn’t going to coddle her. “Y’know one’v the things I’ve always liked about you?” she asked, seemingly apropos of nothing. “You’ve never been condescending, consciously or unconsciously. You’ve never looked at me like I was fragile, or a child, or a doll. I trust that you’re not going to stick me on a metaphorical shelf ‘for my own good’, but before I say anything more, am I right? Will you never...Christ, I don’t know how to say it. If you promise me you won’t treat me like a doll, I promise I’ll listen about everything to do with that twat. I may not like it, but I’ll do it anyway. My temper doesn’t rule me anymore.”

 

“Then I accept your promise, Lorna. And I think you will like this next part. Come, Thanadir will have brought our meal by now. And we are all going to discuss, as you would say, ‘How to fuck with his head.” He held out his arm to her with a smile that spoke of no good for someone, but rather a lot of interest for her.

 

Lorna’s answering grin would have been rather terrifying to a human. She took his hand, rising. “I’m quite good at that,” she said. “I’m sure I can cough up something to add.” She really was immensely relieved. So long as she wasn’t the doll, the living china thing stuck on a shelf while everyone else contributed, she was happy.

 

*****

 

Earlene was always a tad at a loss as to conversing with Ratiri, and most definitely needed to think of something. While she liked him very much, the sense existed that he was as lost in medicine as she had been in law, and there was not a great deal of overlap between their two professions. However, there was always Rule Number One:  _ When in doubt, ask the person something about themselves. _ A lovely smile appeared on her face. “Well, how are you finding all….this?” she indicated with a sweeping gesture of her arm, knowing that ‘this” could mean a number of different things.

 

The fact that a forty-two-year-old physician could turn into a total fanboy never failed to make Lorna laugh at him, and he well knew it. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “I wish the circumstances were different, but I’d never imagined what it would be like to actually stay in this kind of loveliness for more than a day. Though I’m a bit worried,” he added. “I’m sure my cousin’s tried to call me, and if I don’t call her back, she’ll wonder what’s wrong. I told her there was a flu outbreak in Lasg’len, and if she turns up and finds that everyone’s fine...I’m not sure what would happen, and I don’t want to find out. How far do you have to go from the Halls for mobiles to work?”

 

“It’s not so much the Halls, it’s the enchantments on the forest,” Earlene replied. “They basically create a total fiasco for everything that relies on signals of any kind. But, while I do not wish to overstep my bounds, I think some things might be changing as of today. You might have your question rendered moot during breakfast. And if I am wrong, we can talk to Thranduil about at least you returning to the cottage with a guard. Phones work in there, and in the barn as well.”

 

That would be a relief. “Good. If Indira came out here, I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t want her getting on that bastard’s radar even a little. He probably wouldn’t bother with her, but probability isn’t certainty, and she’s the only blood kin I have left.” 

 

Tail jumped up on the back of the sofa, and Ratiri gave the cat’s head a skritch. “Is Allanah sleeping through the night yet?” Asking a woman about her baby tended to rarely be a bad thing, even if the baby wasn’t hers by birth.

 

“Well, as of last night, yes. It was a very nice surprise, too. Of all the times we both really wanted to have a break, it was then.” She paused. “I don’t know how regular parents can manage. That he can know what she thinks, what she wants...I can’t even fathom, really, how much guesswork and difficulty that’s eliminated.”

 

“Quite a lot,” he said dryly. “Most parents work out their baby’s signals within the first few months, but it’s hit and miss. Allanah seems like she would be a happy baby even if left to her own devices, though. And God knows she’s Irish enough, with that hair.” He wondered what any outsider would think of, if they saw her with Earlene and Thranduil -- the little girl looked like neither of them, and a blond and a brunette didn’t often produce red-haired offspring, unless both happened to carry the recessive gene necessary for red hair. “Tell me, how long did it take you to get used to this place? I feel like I’m in a dream.”

 

“A short time,” she admitted. “The first two visits were awkward for reasons of their own, and their newness. But after...I began to feel very quickly as though I was somehow always meant to be here. And even more, outside in Thranduil’s forest. There is really little I like more than to just spend time in the woods.” She smiled crookedly, because that probably sounded basically nuts to other people.

 

_ That  _ he could understand. “I’ve always wanted to go back to the forest,” he said, while Tail climbed down his chest to curl up on his lap. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I came here, but this is like no other. I know I sound daft,” he added, shaking his head, “being so enthusiastic about this at my age, but to find it’s all real -- I think the term is ‘fanboy’, but I’ll wear it with pride. This situation, for one who’s loved Tolkien’s works for so long, rather demands it.”

 

“I think that’s part of what is so strange for me. I did not know a thing about it, except for knowing that the books existed. And then in short order found myself wed to the Elvenking. It does not escape me, how many women might like to have found themselves in my position. And yet for all that, perhaps not so many of them would have been suited to the reality of it,” she mused.

 

“I would hazard most would not,” he said honestly. “One of the oddest things I’ve had to do is let go of all my preconceived notions about the Elves. Having read so much, I expected them to be a certain way -- and to an extent they are, but only to an extent. I would not have thought they had senses of humor, or that even one might enjoy quilting,” he added, laughing. “And cats. They’re more than I’d ever imagined, or would have had cause to imagine. I could see a great many people being hung up over the differences.”

 

Earlene nodded. “And part of me wonders, too...Thranduil is not a character in a book. He is a person, with needs and wants all his own. How many people would see him as just that, and not simply expect him to fulfill their preconceived notions? But, all that is a series of rhetorical questions, as I am not planning on going anywhere for some time.”

 

None of them were going anywhere for the foreseeable future, but Ratiri was hardly going to bring it up. Not when Lorna and Thranduil entered the room, both looking just a touch too pleased. In a few ways, if very few, those two were terrifyingly alike. And that was so,  _ so  _ wrong, because there didn’t need to be two of either of them.

 

“Food,” Lorna said, sitting beside him and scratching Tail under the chin.

 

As if summoned, Thanadir appeared at the open door bearing the usual laden tray. The ordinary routines were observed, until he lifted the lid of one of the dishes. “What in Eru’s name are those?” the seneschal asked.

 

“Those are pancakes,” Earlene said. “I am afraid I have been spending some time in the kitchens without supervision. You may consider this to be my doing,” she smirked. “Though, I do not think you will be disappointed.”

 

“I see,” said Thanadir, privately amused, as he served all of them some. There were also fresh fruit slices, and of course the ubiquitous porridge. 

 

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until most of the food had been consumed, when Thranduil spoke. “Last night Lorna mentioned having Orla come, to begin building the home. This morning, Earlene gave me her detailed analysis of our circumstances, as she sees it. I would like you to repeat what you told me, meluieg, for the hearing of all. And then I will begin listening to every idea we can devise regarding what we might do to create a vast pattern of confusion for this creature.”

 

Earlene nodded, and repeated with great accuracy what she had said earlier, adding in only that bringing in Orla and beginning the home construction would be excellent, assuming that a number of guardian elves would be positioned to protect and to observe Von Ratched’s movements. And that it would truly be ideal to have them go to town. “But in my estimation, there is something else that needs working out. If we take it as an educated guess that Von Ratched can hear Lorna’s thoughts as can Thranduil, we need to understand the range. Outside the woods, how far away can you hear her thoughts, Thranduil, and Ratiri’s? Or mine, for that matter? We need to understand how this works. Because if the range is as limited as I think it might be, we could have no end of amusement by managing trips to town of which he is unaware and have this appear purely coincidental. Not that I am not taking this with great seriousness. But games have to have some fun as well,” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief.

 

“I was telling Earlene that I need to go out that way anyway, to call my cousin,” Ratiri said, “if that can be managed safely. We don’t need Indira heading this way to try to figure out why I’m not answering my mobile. It might be as good a time as any to test it, if anyone’s willing.” The bastard obviously had some kind of sick interest in Lorna, one which Ratiri highly doubted would apply to him as well.

 

“Yeah, if that’s happening, you’re not going by yourself,” she said, though she glanced at Thranduil for feedback. She was going to absolutely loathe it if he told her to stay behind, but a promise was a promise. Thought of Ratiri out there alone was almost more than she could bear -- though he wouldn’t be alone. Even so...she was going to worry. It was what she did.

 

As much as Ratiri wanted to protest, he knew it would be futile. Lorna was incredibly protective; it was just what she did.

 

“That part is simple, since unless I am mistaken, his movements are...Thranduil, is it allowed to speak of this?” Earlene asked.

 

The King nodded.

 

“He is tracked. It probably goes without saying that any of us humans going near the outer edges would be guarded by at least Thranduil or Thanadir bearing Anguriel. But the beauty of it is, he cannot be in two places at once. Thanadir could guard Ratiri and I at the cottage while Thranduil takes Lorna outside the borders at the Standing Stone. And you could meet us back there as well. I opined that if we do not begin behaving as though we are unaware of his presence, we will lose that advantage. He may be a complete tosser, but he cannot be stupid.”

 

Lorna was quite fine with that idea -- nothing was going to happen to her with Thranduil there, and she wouldn’t need to worry about Ratiri and Earlene because they’d have Thanadir. They’d all get to go out into the fresh air and get some sun, if any sun was to be had. She’d have Ratiri charge her electronics while they were at it. “I’m good with that,” she said. “Hopefully this’ll start us doing his head in.”

 

“And I’ll let Indira know that under no circumstances is she to come to the village,” Ratiri said. “You don’t know my cousin. Once she figured out there wasn’t any outbreak, she wouldn’t stop hunting. She’d get herself lost in the woods inside of five minutes.”

 

“That would be wise,” said Thranduil. “The last thing we need is that kind of concern.” He sighed. “We have to assume that he will try to leverage against us threat of exposure to the outer world, and the well-being of those connected to us. The less he knows about those connections, the better, though he will have learned of some of that through Lorna. That is the problem, really...we have no understanding of what information he obtained...or not. That forces us to assume that if Lorna knew it, so does he, whether or not that is in any way accurate.”

 

Earlene reflected. “It is an extreme precaution, but I think you should not call using your own phone, Ratiri. Orla supplied us with a device that will hopelessly scramble all computer activity undertaken at the cottage. I brought it here, rather than chance leaving it unattended. I would rather you call her via an internet number. I do not trust for a minute what that man has hacked into or otherwise has the ability to surveil.”

 

“That’s fine,” he said. “She’ll just assume I’m calling from the Lasg’len surgery.”

 

Lorna’s nails bit into the palms of her hands. There was no use feeling guilty over the fact that the fucker had dug through her brain like a kid with a Cracker Jack box -- there was, after all, absolutely nothing she could have done that would have stopped him.  _ Shooting  _ him hadn’t stopped him. That did not, however, change the fact that he knew what he did because he’d got it out of her head. Before she knew what she was doing she was on her feet, making some excuse about using the toilet before she headed into the washroom. Yeah, Thranduil would know better, but she doubted he was going to spill it to everyone else.

 

Lorna sat on the floor, head in her hands, running through Ratiri’s breathing exercises. She had about forty-five seconds -- that was about how long it took to pee and wipe, though she suspected she could linger over washing her hands. She did just that, taking that guilt and storing it away with the anger she didn’t have time to allow herself to feel.

 

“If Orla says he’ll not get to us, he won’t,” she said, emerging and retaking her seat beside Ratiri. “I’d trust her more than anyone else. Her Frankenthings’re more reliable than anything you’d get from a legal source.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes tracked her to her chair and did not leave her.  _ If I cannot wallow in guilt for what happened, neither can you,”  _ he sent to her. Aloud, he said, “Then after we are done with our eating is just as good a time as any. Thalion will be coming off duty momentarily, will he not, Thanadir?”

 

The seneschal noded. “The moment he returns, we will know of Von Ratched’s most recent movements. And though you do not customarily do this, my King, perhaps it is time to resume speaking to more than only me with your gifts. Iauron will relieve Thalion,” he said pointedly. The implication was clear; Thranduil had the means to have real-time information, and he should make use of it.

 

“I cannot disagree, Thanadir. All of you, make your preparations. Lorna, you should dress for at least an hour’s walk. Earlene, gather what electronic devices you wish to bring with you. All of you should wear your cloaks. We will meet at the Gates. And Thanadir, care for the dishes at a later time, or ask another to do this.” Thanadir had not stopped in his manufacture of clothing late at night, and all of the humans found themselves with cloaks made of lighter fabrics not designed for warmth, but concealment. With the exception of Lorna, on account of her stature, these garments made it impossible to discern elf from mortal, when they were worn. They also served the purpose of visually obscuring what, if anything, the wearer carried along with them. 

 

Lorna nodded, and took Ratiri’s hand almost automatically when they stood. She could not resist, however, mentally sticking her tongue out at Thranduil. Her sentiments weren’t half so nice when they were getting thrown back at her. “Allanah, will you charge my shite?” she asked, looking up at Ratiri. “I’m sure we could get better at dancing, with enough practice.”

 

“So long as you keep singing while we go, that’s not going to work,” he said, not quite smothering a smile. “Stay near Thranduil.”

 

“You stay near Thanadir,” she countered. “I’m stubborn, Ratiri, but I’m not stupid. As much as part’v me would love to chase that bastard down, I know I can’t, so I won’t.”

 

“Good,” he said. “I just found you. I’d rather not lose you, or our children.”

 

“Christ you’re sappy,” she said, but she rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

 

When they reached her room, she traded out her sandals for her boots. Her cloak seemed a bit odd when paired with jeans and a somewhat ratty Judas Priest T-shirt she had left over from her roadie days, but oh well. If it would keep her safe, it was what mattered. Ratiri actually looked like he ought to be wearing one; he was so damn pretty he could probably have passed for an elf if he’d been pale enough to glow in the dark. (And seriously, she was never going to let that go.  _ Ever. _ )

 

They made their way to the Gates, Ratiri carrying the bag that held their assorted electronics. Lorna was already pondering what might be done with a car battery or two, so they wouldn’t have to come out to the cottage to keep charging everything.

Earlene was ready too, carrying Allanah in her sling as well as some other things unmentioned, underneath her skirts. Thanadir had made her boots that aided her ability to run in near-silence even further, and included a clever addition; pockets that held throwing knives on either side of her leg. She was deemed good enough with them to merit being armed, and so she wore four of them, accessible but well-hidden. Her own laptop had been used sparingly, but most definitely needed charging as well. And then it hit her, as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I will be placing orders for solar chargers on Amazon, when we go to the cottage. It might take a few days but then we can at least keep our devices powered, allowing for some more films.” And what she did not say aloud was,  _ had Thanadir’s violin come? _

 

They received word via the appearance of Thanadir with Thalion. And as she could not recall meeting him before, Earlene introduced herself. “Mae g’ovannen, Thalion. Im Earlene eston.”

 

Thalion looked on her with surprise, but bowed low. “Hiril vuin,” was all he said.

 

“We should all go now,” Thanadir said, nodding to Earlene to lead the way. With a smile and her head held high, she set out, not walking too fast. This was only her second time outside in a week, and she was rather determined to enjoy it. Compared to usual, they kept very close together.

 

Ratiri was simply glad to be out in the fresh air. The Halls were easily the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but the fact remained that no matter how big they were, you were still always inside. The forest was lovely, especially so near the height of summer, the breeze just enough to stir the leaves and touch his face.

 

“Earlene, practice, if you wish, as we walk. It would be good for you to do this in places besides only the rooms.”

 

Ratiri had no idea what the seneschal was talking about, but he did not have to wait long. Earlene swiftly bent down and hooked her finger on...something, only to in the next moment swiftly hurl a knife into a tree some twenty feet distant. “That was well-done, Earlene,” he said approvingly. “To be honest, for a moment I forgot you carry Allanah. That you have such a fluid motion even thus burdened shows you have much promise at this.” Earlene flushed with pleasure. Thanadir did not ever give praise that was unearned. Not so many minutes later, they emerged from the trees and walked as they usually would to the cottage. It was summer, so it was not terribly cold, but there was a sense of dampness. Unsurprising, given that the stove had not been lit in days. Allanah was placed in her lounger, and they all went about caring for various chores. Ratiri began to manage the electronics, Earlene set on a kettle, and then cared for the wood stove. Usually Thanadir would have done this, but he was their guard. He confirmed that the front door was locked. 

 

“Meldir, I need to check my mail, and for packages. Let me take your arm, to do this. I will be safe, and it ought to confuse our friend to no small degree as to our relationship,” she smirked. “And anything that causes confusion is most certainly worth doing.” Thanadir did not like this, but relented, realizing that she was correct. Her mailbox was very near the road. “You will smile, and we will discuss something, in Sindarin, as we walk.” 

 

If this was not the strangest thing Ratiri had heard all morning, it was all the proof he needed that life had become very odd indeed. He grinned in spite of himself and shook his head as he discovered where her cottage’s electrical outlets were.

 

“Man agoreg, Hiril vuin?” Thanadir asked. (What do you want, my Lady?)

 

“Cur, mellonenin,” she answered as she leaned into him with exaggerated affection. “Cur aníron.” (Cheese, my friend. I want cheese.)

 

“I ‘ell nin, Earlene. Pedithon Rîniel.” (My pleasure, Earlene. I will speak to Rîniel)

 

“Far mill o ‘ach safelir? (Do we have enough milk?)”

 

“Carelir.” (We do).

 

“Maer.” (good) At the mailbox, she kissed Thanadir on the cheek in her happiness at this information about absolutely nothing that mattered, gathering the few notices and one bill. For good measure, she blathered on about how nice the cow was, just to add to the irrelevance of what was being said. And to her great delight, a box from Amazon was not far from the door frame; it had been difficult to notice for how well it blended in with the wooden siding on the cottage. All these things were brought inside. 

 

“Do you not think that was a bit much, Earlene?” Thanadir asked, grinning in spite of himself.

 

“That was entirely the idea, meldir,” she giggled. That had been completely idiotic  _ fun.  _

 

Ratiri, having set up all that needed charging, went out to shamelessly eavesdrop. His Sindarin was still positively skeletal, but he would swear they were discussing...cheese. He shook his head; they’d know what they were on about or they wouldn’t be doing it. “Well, if he wasn’t confused before, I’m sure he is now,” he said. “I hope he chokes on it.”

 

******

 

Lorna was beyond glad to be outside. The canopy was thick, the sun piercing down in shafts, but even passing beneath them was glorious. It had to be good for the sprogs, too; while the air in the Halls was never even remotely musty, there was no substitute for fresh air, so pure in this part of Ireland. Were this any other place, she would have disliked being trapped on sheer principle, but it was so lovely here that she could never resent it.

 

Thranduil guided her along the somewhat winding path to the standing stone. He knew that his friend was completely disoriented, never having come from this direction before. And sadly, that was likely for the best at this point in time. Thirty minutes’ unhurried walking had brought them to the border of the forest, and they crossed past the marker. “I believe the point of this exercise is that we keep speaking to each other in thought until I cannot hear you.” He immediately felt uneasy about this, even though he knew that four archers were watching them at this moment, with instructions to bring down any other being that went on two legs that might approach Lorna. And yet Earlene suspected that this range was not as great as he believed.

 

Lorna looked up at him, and poked him lightly. “I’ll be fine,” she said, and stepped out of the trees.  _ Okay, I’m just going to chatter about nothing,  _ she said, slowly backing away from him.  _ I don’t see anything out here, but like that’s a shock. Doesn’t the sun feel bloody wonderful, too. Someday, when all this is over, you’ll have to go driving with me again. It can be loads of fun, especially at night when there’s no one out. So much better than playing pinball with traffic. _

 

He held up his hand to her, she had begun to fade a few feet ago and had just dropped away completely. “How far apart are we in your reckoning? I would guess...fifteen of your feet?”

 

Lorna eyed the distance. “I’d say about that, yeah.” She looked around, wondering if she’d actually see anything that might be hiding. The bastard was so horrifying to be near that surely she’d know, right? It wasn’t something worth testing, so she headed back to the forest, wishing she didn’t feel so very relieved to be within the safety of the trees.

 

_ Earlene was right _ , he reflected with chagrin. This range, outside of his woods, was quite limited. But really, this was good news. The chances were very good, that this Von Ratched had no greater ability than he did. There was more about this that he would like to determine, but he could sense Lorna’s desire to return to greater safety, and he would not begrudge her. He offered his hand, and they strolled on speaking in thoughts only, when they spoke at all. It was a very beautiful summer’s day, and it gave him great happiness to enjoy this walk to the cottage, weaving through the trees inside the edges of the woods. 

 

On their return, Ratiri had apparently made his phone call, the wood stove was blazing, and Earlene was shamelessly enjoying a documentary on...no, she was not. A few seconds more were enough to reveal his grave error. She was showing Thanadir a documentary about the Nazis, and their atrocities. Ratiri looked deeply unhappy, and was trying to disregard this film by immersing himself in something on the computer.

 

Ratiri wasn’t happy in general. Indira had not been pleased that he hadn’t returned her calls, and had threatened to drive out there. He’d managed to put her off, citing contagion, but he couldn’t do that indefinitely. Sooner or later she’d come tromping down here, and then what would they do?

 

Lorna didn’t know what was up with him, but she had a guess, and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Well, his range is probably pretty small,” she said, to everyone and no one. “Are the chicks still chicks?”

 

“They’re another week older,” quipped Earlene. “I would like to see them too, may we?”

 

Thranduil nodded. “I will stay here. Go with Thanadir.”

 

Earlene paused the gruesome video, glad enough for a break from this material, and they went to the barn to see the fully feathered young birds. “They no longer need those lamps on, Thanadir. That much is certain.” They looked healthy, and content to be scratching around in the large spaces of the barn. Soon they could be let outside, when they were just a little bigger.

 

Lorna meandered around the side of the barn, peering out into the grass beyond the forest. She didn’t expect to actually find anything -- the son of a bitch wouldn’t have lived this long by being obvious -- but she was quite sure he was out there anyway. Determined to show him that his little visit hadn’t broken her, she let out the loudest belch she could muster without the aid of a fizzy drink. It was rather impressive, if she did say so herself, and with a grin she returned to the cottage.

 

Ratiri, standing in the doorway, eyed her, pulled somewhat out of his worry. “Did you enjoy that?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

 

“I did,” she said, mustering every ounce of primness she could summon. It wasn’t much.

 

“We should return,” said Thanadir, suddenly aware because of a word from Thranduil that Lorna had left them. He tried to hide his irritation that Lorna had slipped outside the barn when he had been speaking to Earlene; did she not understand the seriousness of their circumstances? And yet whether or not to reprimand her belonged to his King; she had already returned to the cottage. Though, he would be untruthful were he not to admit to himself that he was in part angered because this reflected poorly on his extremely simple assignment to guard the two women. 

 

Earlene turned her head away from watching the pullets; they could no longer be called ‘chicks’. Thanadir looked very unhappy. “Of course, meldir,” she said, taking the arm he offered her at once, and they walked back to the cottage.

 

Thranduil eyed Lorna. She had not intentionally sought to thwart Thanadir; of this he was aware. He sighed to himself. Nothing had happened...this time. He would speak to her later and clarify her understanding of what it meant to be guarded, but not now. It would serve no purpose other than to weigh down her spirits. 

 

“Thranduil, may we stay here awhile? And if we may, can I cook us lunch? I would rather do something more cheerful than finish watching this documentary with Thanadir.”

 

The seneschal looked up. “Earlene, I would rather not see the rest. I believe the sum of what you wish to impart to me is that our enemy had a direct role in the murder of countless other humans by means that are unspeakable? I have seen enough to understand this.”

 

“Yes. And I am sorry that you had to know these things about us. Though, understanding now that some of what happened was directed by something that was not human at all...in a very small way, it makes me feel a little better. But only a little, because it could not have been possible without the support of men just as evil as he is.” Turning away after seeing Thranduil’s nod of assent, she went to the pantry to assess what ingredients were on hand.

 

Lorna used the opportunity to check her email, though there wasn’t much in it; Mairead had sent her a few random photos, so she replied with some nonsense about dealing with a construction company. It wasn’t  _ entirely  _ a lie, and it was much easier to lie by omission when it was in writing. She was only grateful that she and Ratiri were on that fucker’s periphery; their families were likely safe, unless they came barging into the village. That might be a worry with Doc Barry, but nobody else.

 

_ I have an idea,  _ she sent to Thranduil, not wanting to speak it aloud in case Von Fuckface was somehow within hearing distance.  _ Orla’s good with computers. She’s  _ really  _ good, and probably even better than I know. What do you think about having her hack his business shite? Maybe, if she fucks it up enough, he’ll have no choice but to go back to the States, at least for a while. _

 

_ He cannot hear you inside of the borders of my Realm, Lorna. It is only outside, that there is risk. And, this is worth discussing among all of us.  _ Thranduil stood, which attracted everyone’s attention. “Lorna has opined that perhaps Orla could electronically invade our enemy’s business interests, thereby causing difficulties that might cause him to depart for a time. I would like to hear your thoughts.”

 

Earlene waited until she was done measuring out her flour, because otherwise it would be a spectacular way to lose count of her volume. “That is an excellent idea, with two caveats. First, that there is zero risk of her activities being detected. Second, that this take place at the time of our choosing, so that we can correlate his actions to the event. And another thing,” she said, suddenly having an idea. “Thanadir, did you say he has a vehicle in which he is living when he is not spying on us?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Could you describe it in greater detail?”

 

He appeared confused, until Thranduil spoke. “Show me, Thanadir.” The King’s eyes took on a faraway appearance for a moment, and then he smiled. “Meluieg, it is a recreational vehicle.”

 

“Oh, then that is interesting,” Earlene quipped. “There are such things as GPS tracking devices. From what has been explained, I would think nothing could be simpler than for one of the elves to go to it unseen when he is away, and attach the device somewhere well out of sight. Were he to depart, we could know whence he came.”

 

“This idea, I like,” said Thranduil. “It would be safest for me to do this personally; I alone can keep any mortal from seeing me. Order this item at once, Earlene, and Lorna, please contact your friend with this request as well as a summons to come here. Thanadir’s plans for our home are fully drafted, and he has made a model of it with clay and other materials. I think that if we increase the activity seen here in all manner of unpredictable ways before possibly causing a need for him to depart, it could only aid our cause.”

 

Lorna nodded, rather relieved she’d managed to contribute  _ something  _ of actual value. The brutal truth was that she just wasn’t smart like Earlene and Ratiri in a great many ways, but at least she had connections, and she knew how to use them. “Whenever we decide to do it, we’ve got to let her know well in advance,” she said. “It can’t be done overnight, not if it’s to look natural -- if all his shite fucks up at once, it’ll look suspicious as hell. I’ll ask her how long it’ll realistically take, but it might well be a month or more. We’re also going to have to come up with something to tell her, because unlike Shane and Niamh, she  _ will  _ ask questions. It’s in her best interest to know everything she can, so we’d better get our story straight.”

 

“That is why we need to notify her  _ now _ ,” said Earlene. “So she has the time. There is also the possibility that she will not be able to succeed; that cannot be discounted. It is simply giving us the most options. As for our story...well, the truth is, he is a bad man who has decided to fuck with us because that is what he likes to do. If more explanation is needed, we can offer that he has learned we are wealthy, and that he wants to find a way to get at what we have. Or, that we came to his attention because of my circle of influence in the States. Those also are true. Beyond that, we would have to tell her everything, and while that is not my decision, it does not seem preferable. Knowing about that would only endanger her as well; her mind is vulnerable to him. In fact, better she  _ not _ come here herself, now that I think on it.”

 

Lorna couldn’t help but smirk a bit. “Orla thinks you’re really fit,” she said. “She’d understand why some arsehole might want to follow you. I don’t know if you noticed how much she was trying to eye-fuck you, but she texted me later wondering why all the gorgeous ones were straight.” Lorna had never known Orla to be into tits, but apparently she was quite into Earlene’s. “I’ll email her and see what she says. Some creeper following you’d give her plenty’v motivation -- she hasn’t got any patience with creepy men who can’t take no for an answer.”

 

Earlene laughed uproariously. “Well, it’s nice to be admired. I think. I’m, uh, glad to help the cause,” she smiled, shaking her head as she tried to return her focus to her recipe. Though, she made a mental note to go ahead and breastfeed Allanah in front of the woman, should she return here. A grin spread over her face.

 

_ Meluieg, _ she heard.  _ Behave yourself, or we will have to retreat to your room soon.  _

 

The thought of this occurring with Lorna present was enough to create instant compliance and mental discipline.

 

“I’ll email her now,” Lorna said. “What’s the American saying? Get the ball rolling? Can’t hurt.”

 

*********

 

Avathar eyed the forest, turning over what he had seen, and what he had been unable to do.

 

While this had proven more interesting that he’d anticipated, it was also frustrating. Earlene -- Earlene, who was visibly with child -- had been so temptingly close, and why? Surely she ought to have been sequestered safely in the Halls, yet here she was, vulnerable, with only that slender, soft elf -- an elf with whom he would swear she was being unfaithful to her husband -- to guard her? While the mortals were within the bounds of the forest, he could read none of their minds, to his mounting annoyance. And where was little Lorna, aside from presumably with Thranduil? Surely he would have known, had they left the forest; her mind stood out like a beacon, even if Thranduil could shroud his. He seemed to dislike having her out of his sight, which made Avathar wonder if Earlene was not the only unfaithful one. There had been nothing of it in little Lorna’s mind, but if Avathar himself had taken her and then taken her memory, he might well not be the only one to do so. He really was terribly curious about just what went on in those Halls, but he would not obtain it until he could catch  _ someone  _ on their own.

 

The mere fact that they would leave those Halls for this cottage baffled him. It was a tiny place, so mundane, so  _ mortal.  _ Something about it drew them, and tonight, when they were away, he would risk entrance. He needed to know why -- his curse was the need to know anything,  _ everything _ , and he couldn’t rest until he had done so. Information was not allowed to elude him.

 

There was nothing to be gained this day. He would return under cover of darkness, and divine just what it was that would drive these mortals to risk their own safety. Once he knew that, he would discover why the elves bothered with these mortals. To seduce one was one thing -- he had done it often enough himself -- but to wed one? He could not imagine the circumstances that would induce anyone with any standards to bind themselves to a mortal. And if the cottage would not enlighten him…

 

He should have come here earlier. He  _ would  _ have, save that little Lorna was surprisingly difficult to locate. ‘Lorna’ was not nearly so uncommon a name as he might have thought, and though her accent was Dublin, he’d had to trace her through a fairly circuitous, bewildering path. She had not been legally employed for eleven years, and thus paid no taxes; records of her were difficult to locate prior to her employment with Earlene -- Earlene, who had been even  _ harder  _ to find, despite the fact that he knew her full name. There were many, many Sullivans in Ireland. 

 

_ At dark _ , he thought, and left them to it.


	45. Forty-five

 

The elves and their mortals retreated to the Halls at dusk, but Avathar waited until full night had fallen before he entered the forest.

 

The moon was waning,  but it still provided more than enough light for his sharp eyes to see the cottage clearly. Within, it was...ordinary. Old, by mortal standards, but there were millions of other tiny homes like it scattered throughout the world. Its age might hold some attraction for a certain kind of mortal, but why were these eldar so fixated on it? It was nothing.

 

He ran his hand over the counter, long fingers tracing the canisters that held tea leaves, flour. So simple, so prosaic...so worthless, in any meaningful sense. Even yet he did not understand, and nor did he believe he was going to. One could not find meaning in that which meant nothing -- which sounded like the drivel one found in bad fortune cookies, but was nevertheless apt.

 

Earlene loved it here -- that much he could tell easily. He did know what a home felt like, for all he did not keep to a single one himself. Though she had presumably moved to the Halls for the duration, she had still left many of her things, washed silver in the moonlight.

 

She had, as had little Lorna, it would seem: a black T-shirt was tossed over the back of the sofa. When he picket it up, it smelled of her --  lavender, and summer, with a touch of petrichor. He would take it, but he needed something of lovely Earlene’s as well.

 

A search of her dresser made him spoiled for choice. Unsurprising for the wife of an Elvenking, Earlene had some very high-quality lingerie, including a bra of blue silk, with underwear to match. The bottoms he would leave, in a drawer quite disturbed from the tidy state in which he’d found it.

 

Little Lorna’s T-shirt would be more easily overlooked, unless he left some sign; fortunately, Earlene kept lavender, and he laid a large sprig where the shirt had been. Still he did not understand why they came here, why they should risk their safety. Both women were with child, Earlene more heavily so, _and_ she had the baby who was not hers, yet here she came each day.

 

He needed her mind. Little Lorna’s, though entertaining, was also fragmentary in places; he suspected her earlier drug use had caused it. It traveled on branching paths, almost bewildering even to him, but he was certain Earlene was far more forthright. He just needed to catch her alone, but that seemed unlikely. Failing that, he had to get her away from the soft, slender elf, Thanadir -- did the king know she cuckolded him with this one? Did he care? In any event, Avathar did not think the elf would prove a deterrent, but he _could_ well summon others, and whether or not Avathar could kill him quickly was an unknown.

 

But he had time. He was patient. He could wait.

 

*******

 

The next fortnight passed with little sign of their nemesis. He seemed to be circling the forest, testing for pathways. But as far as they could determine, he had not entered Thranduil’s Realm.

 

Mercifully, Orla was far too busy to come out to work on Earlene’s house herself, and all the more so because she’d agreed to take on Lorna’s request. As Lorna had suspected, mentioning that the creep seemed to have a thing for Earlene had helped quite a bit; as a result, Orla was on the lookout for anything she could use that might begin her work  subtly. Lorna deliberately didn’t ask.

 

Ratiri had spent several days tackling the library, testing out his Sindarin and cursing over the damned alphabet. Lorna booted him out when the construction crews arrived, wanting him near -- it hadn’t taken much persuasion, since it meant they were outside. The weather continued to be mostly fine, though that wouldn’t last; by mid-September, they’d be looking at rain, and lots of it.

 

Though she was only two months along, she’d swear her abdomen was rounding. Ratiri said it was no surprise; she was a tiny woman, and she was carrying twins. She  hoped that didn’t mean she’d end up with the baby bump from hell, and he was for once tactful enough not to say that she almost certainly would.

 

They no longer stayed overnight in the cottage, ever, as they had done formerly. Earlene missed it, but the necessity for the change was obvious. She was not about to require Thanadir to stand guard all night long just so that she could sleep with her husband in a different bed; that would be too selfish. But they had returned there, almost daily. This gave them the chance to keep their electronics charged, gave time for them to download content for looking at later, and in general helped soften the sense of being besieged that had been so prevalent earlier. Earlene had brought Thanadir’s violin to the Halls in its box, offering no explanation to anyone as to the contents of the package. He was very busy with extra duties, and it seemed cruel to present him with something for his leisure enjoyment when he had so little time for such things. She was convinced that this state of affairs would not go on forever, so the instrument was left in their rooms. Sometimes she would open it, to admire the glossy brown wood, or to lightly pluck an untuned string, imagining the joy they would have in hearing him play it.

 

 _What could he do,_ she wondered. _Was he skilled enough to play the masterworks? Could he ever manage the Beethoven Violin Concerto, or the fireworks of Paganini?_ That was rather a lot to ask, even of an elf, but this was Thanadir. One never knew.  

Lorna had made good on her idea of some car batteries to power small devices, and Earlene’s solar chargers had helped as well. One day, much to everyone’s amusement, Thranduil and Lorna had snuck off to town while Earlene, Thanadir and Ratiri made a deliberate spectacle of themselves playing croquet. It was on this expedition that they retrieved not only two deep-cycle batteries from Mick’s mechanic, but purchased the breast pump Earlene had wanted as well. Earlene had found the croquet set at the secondhand shop in town some months ago, and in the fine weather it was a perfect amusement, especially once Buttercup had spent an afternoon tended by Rîniel grazing the grass near the driveway. This left them with an elegantly trimmed playing area, with surprisingly few cow pies to avoid. The game was fun of itself, but the idea that they were being watched at this ridiculous pursuit made it more so. Thanadir won, and Earlene did not miss the opportunity to hug him and kiss his cheek in congratulations.

 

“Hiril vuin, I must protest the degree to which you are enjoying this. Your motivations are of an unseemly nature,” he spoke quietly.

 

“I fully admit it, meldir,” she whispered. “But I cannot ask your forgiveness, as in my estimation, this concerns the security of our Realm and is done on behalf of our King.”

 

“You are still enjoying yourself too much,” he grumbled, though a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

 

“I will bake you some cookies, to make up for maligning your character,” she teased mercilessly.

 

“I believe it is time to return indoors, Hiril vuin,” was all he would say, crossing his arms. They both knew she had won, and she needed to leave him with some measure of dignity. With a smile and a bow, she helped Ratiri collect the wickets and balls.

 

When Thranduil and Lorna returned some hours later, everyone was in a fine humor, knowing that Von Whatsit (at this point, they had dozens of names for their foe, some benign and others far less so) would learn later that he wasted the opportunity to find Lorna outside the forest while instead watching lawn games.

 

Earlene was thrilled about the breast pump, because now when Allanah was hungry, a bottle was always ready. With the magic that preserved all foods, the milk she readied ahead of time remained sound and wholesome, and the bottles she filled only needed to be bobbed in the heated pool for a minute before they could be fed to her. Though, she did not get too far ahead of Allanah’s needs. It allowed her much greater freedom and others could now enjoy feeding the baby. Not to mention, she was now being introduced to other foods, so mashed and strained beets, carrots, peas, greens and other nutritious choices were now offered as well.

 

One morning at breakfast, Earlene was absentmindedly spooning porridge into her mouth when another epiphany came. “We’re a bunch of….well, never mind,” she said. “How is it we’ve had the brains these past weeks to take advantage of having two paths that lead to the Halls, but did nothing about having two vehicles at our disposal that are currently bunched up and useless, both in my driveway where they can easily be observed? That seems like a rather unfortunate oversight,” she said with chagrin.

 

Ratiri paused, spoon in hand. “He has no way of knowing the Elves can’t drive,” he said. “We could confuse the piss out of him.”

 

“I’d always been meaning to teach these two,” Lorna sighed. “The chance never really came up, but at least the three’v us can. Thranduil, so long as you’re with whoever’s driving, we’d be safe. He already can’t mind-whammy Earlene, and you can keep him away from Ratiri and I.” She had a brief, idle fantasy of mowing the twatwaffle over, before applying herself to her eggs.

 

“I think one of the cars, with Thranduil’s consent of course, should be moved either to town or to another place just inside the borders of the forest. What about Mick’s?”

 

Lorna shook her head. “Mick’s my friend,” she said. “If Von Ratched knew that...Christ knows what he’s doing in the village, but if he’s not started in on Mick already, I’d rather he not notice him.” She would not at all put it past the fucker to harm, or threaten to harm Mick, if he thought it would get him something. “Out behind the pub might work, though. Nothing but rubbish bins there.”

 

Thranduil shook his head. “No. No vehicles outside of the forest. Outside of the forest means leaving them in a place they can be tampered with. We have placed trackers on Von Ratched’s vehicles. How was that possible? It occurred because he could not monitor his vehicle all the time. I will not expose anything we use to the same potential risk. And yet your observation is a good one, Earlene. There are places along the edges of the forest. Places where a vehicle could be driven over ground that will leave no sign of its passing, and then it could be hidden with brush. We would be able to depart by vehicle at any time of our choosing, and there would be nothing he could do, for he would not know.”

 

“Our version of a bat-cave,” said Earlene, grinning. “I like it.”

 

“He must be so frustrated,” Ratiri said, with a relish that was a bit too blatant. “No doubt he intended us to go hunt him down, and instead he’s been watching us play lawn games. How is Orla coming along?”

 

“She’s still gathering shite,” Lorna said. “She’s planted a few tiny viruses that will take a while to turn into very _big_ viruses, but so far only in one company. It’s glacial, I know, but it has to look natural or it’s no good.” She snorted, debating on whether or not to tell them Orla had said that while Earlene’s tits were very nice to look at, that didn’t mean any creepy gobshite ought to be stalking her across the Atlantic just to ogle them.

 

“You know, it’s odd, that,” Earlene quipped. “If he wanted us to come out and chase him, and we’ve done no such thing for three weeks, and to all appearances are not even considering him...what is he still bothering for? What else does he believe he will learn, by parking himself across the road and just watching?” It made no sense to her, and she did not like things that did not make sense.

 

“He might be waiting for one’v us to fuck up,” Lorna said. “One’v us humans. I don’t think he knows he can’t get into your head -- or if he does know, I’m betting he doesn’t know why. He’s such an arrogant fuckwit that I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t think one or all’v us are too stupid to know better.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrows raised. “That is an excellent bit of theorizing. Now I have to think more about that…” she immediately fell into a contemplative silence, the computer obviously now switched ‘on’.

 

“If it can at all be managed,” Ratiri sighed, “I really ought to take a day-trip back to Baile, or else Indira might come gunning for me.”

 

“She’s a bit scary when she’s peeved,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you can stand living with her.”

 

“Headphones,” he said seriously. “And loud music.”

 

“Today we will move the vehicle, Ratiri. It will be yours that we move. You and I will simply get in and depart, with no warning. We will continue on the road once we get to town; there is a place where it branches to travel north. And then I will show you where we will keep it. If you are confident you can find this place, you may continue on your way. Given that we know the man’s vehicle, it would be very obvious, were he to follow us. Perhaps you could send a message concerning your intentions once you reach your destination; we will then know when to expect you back. When you return, it will be to the place I will have shown you.”

 

Everyone who was paying attention agreed; Earlene was still lost in thought, and did not move until the others began to leave the table.

 

“Thank you,” Ratiri said, profoundly relieved. He really was worried Indira would haul herself out here if he wasn’t careful, but a day back home would reassure her.

 

Lorna wanted, oh so much, to go with him, but knew it was a terrible idea. He’d be fine on his own, and it wasn’t like there was anything she could do to protect him anyway. She’d just have to keep herself occupied so she wouldn’t worry herself to death, which probably meant practicing throwing knives some more. She was getting damn good at it, if she did say so herself, though she doubted she’d fare half so well with a moving target. She’d have to ask Thanadir if there was some way to arrange that -- some way to pull dummies on strings or the like.

 

They filed out of the Halls, to the cottage, where Earlene left off her footwear. She’d worn a very different dress that Thanadir had made for her; this was designed for working. It had multiple aprons that matched, for the sole purpose of both utility and filth. There were also large loose scarves, that she could tie around her neck, use to hold back her hair, or dampen and tie around her neck and throat to help keep her cooler for work, as she was doing today. Never having spent time wearing such items, she had not realized their versatility. She’d never before had an apron into which to bundle produce, or small animals, or awkward but light objects she wished to carry. It was like having a second set of arms, really, and Earlene loved it. Though lately, they were spending at least some time helping to work on the house. There were many elves assigned to this, mostly ellith, since they tended to not favor guarding and the use of weapons. Thanadir told her that in times gone by, the elves had a mighty army, and that there was one elleth who served as one of the King’s commanders. She had been a formidable fighter, but as with many others, had chosen the road to Aman long ago. Hearing this pleased Earlene greatly, because it emphasized that their roles were not assigned by gender, but by aptitudes and interests.  

 

Ratiri fussed over Lorna a great deal when they all shared in the labor, because the raw materials for earthen houses could at times be heavy. But they were not as a rule _that_ heavy, and Earlene was not sorry he was gone today. Just so that for once, she would not have to hear him constantly asking Lorna to carry smaller amounts of cob or fewer stones as they worked. Orla had sent one of her extremely qualified building supervisors; this woman came out every third day to work alongside them and monitor their progress. She also ensured that things like the correct insertions for the eventual passage of pipes and electrical wires went in their proper places. Much of what needed doing was simply the transport of materials; the elves had tremendous stores of sized stones, timbers they had collected, and similar. Feet were needed to work the straw into the earthen slip that made up much of the raw building material, along with a steady stream of used tyres that came from Mick’s. It turned out he had an absolute hoard of these that he’d been keeping, rather than deal with the modern disposal requirements; these disappeared into the outer walls of their earthen home. It had not been three full weeks, and already the foundations were complete and the courses of the external walls were being laid. Even John at the pub had helped, when he learned that glass bottles of varying colors were wanted; he too had a vast hoard of such things on hand.

 

Earlene and Lorna worked as they were able, but tired easily. It was ordinary for them to work for an hour, then return to the cottage to rest until they felt they could continue. The most satisfying thing was that they could do _something_...but today the work had gone a little sideways.

 

“How was I supposed to know the ellith made up that entire batch of cob with extra water?” Earlene spewed at Lorna in frustration, while her friend was cackling nonstop. “LOOK AT ME, for god’s sake!”

 

Part of Lorna felt bad for laughing -- Earlene was, after all, quite pregnant by now, and at the moment rather dirty. Her usual habit of carrying the lumps of cob in her apron had just gone very badly, on account of the extra moisture in the mix. “I’m sorry,” she  managed, but couldn’t sustain it -- laughter overtook her entirely, so hard she nearly cried.

 

“Aaaaauuuuuughh!” Earlene huffed, marching back to the cottage with several puzzled ellith left behind, and followed by her friend who was still gasping for air and a seneschal who was not really sure what to do. Earlene went toward the bedroom before she was sharply spoken to.

 

“Hiril vuin! Wait,” insisted Thanadir, who preceded her first into the room, ever vigilant.

 

“Thandir, I wish to take a shower. Am I allowed, or is he hiding in the bathtub?” Earlene did not mean to be cross or joking but at this exact moment her breasts felt like they were encased by the bogs of Erin, and it was not a happy experience.

 

“You may, Earlene. But I insist on remaining in the doorway. I will turn my back.”

 

“I do not care, Thanadir. Whatever you have managed to not already see will be seen before my daughters enter the world, that much is assured. I just want this sodden dress off of my body,” she groused. _Just, shit._ This particular garment laced up the back, and Earlene had to mumble her thanks to Thanadir for loosening them. Otherwise, the sticky fabric would never have budged. In moments, she was lathering off the mess, and was quickly enjoying the bliss of being clean. Filing past Thanadir, with a towel wrapped around her, she opened the drawer for her undergarments and stepped back, wide-eyed and speechless. “Lorna! In here, please! Now!”

 

Lorna had never been much of a sprinter, but she managed it now, boots and all. “Jesus, what is it?” she asked, deftly dodging a kitchen chair and stool where neither should be to reach the bedroom.

 

Earlene pointed to the drawer. “Okay, so I’m one of those people that folds everything before putting it away. Weird, I know, but there it is. I just opened my drawer and I see THIS. And unless I’m really off, my prettiest bra is…gone. Just, what the fuck?!” Her voice was rapidly taking on a very strained quality. “You don’t think...is anything else in the cottage...fuck I don’t know, different?”

 

For once, the nausea that stirred in Lorna’s gut had nothing to do with her pregnancy. Earlene was fastidious; she wouldn’t just lose a bra (unlike Lorna, who rarely wore one anyway). If it was a matched set, she’d wear it _as_ a matched set, not one piece...oh dear.

 

“I’m not sure,” she said, making her way back to the lounge. She didn’t know enough about Earlene’s knick-knacks to know if anything minor was missing, but -- oh. Oh, shit.

 

The twisted lump of metal and stone, Earlene’s memorial of 9/11, was gone. There weren’t many who would be able to understand what such a thing was, but... _shit._

 

The only other thing out-of-place was a rather large sprig of lavender, sitting on one arm of the sofa. Earlene didn’t keep things like that inside the house, and certainly not where anyone was likely  to set anything.

 

Somehow, she didn’t actually want to touch it; instead she returned to Earlene’s room, and the dread in her stomach increased. “Earlene, I’m sorry, don’t think this is too weird,” she said. Picking up one of the remaining bras, she gave it a sniff, and recoiled.

 

She knew that scent -- dark, deep, earthy, horrifying in an intangible sort of way. She’d woken up to it surrounding her, though she’d felt too ill at the time to register it for the alien thing it was. “He’s been here,” she said, and immediately ran to the toilet, losing everything she’d had for breakfast.

 

“Thanadir,” Earlene whispered, looking lost. She was not about to make an extreme scene; a perverted man in her lingerie drawer was hardly a drop in the bucket to what he’d done to Lorna. “Did any of your elves see him cross the King’s borders? While I cannot speak to my drawer, the lavender was not there when we left yesterday. Which means, he came between our departure and now.”

 

“If this was the case, I was not told, Hiril vuin,” with an expression hovering somewhere between bafflement and distaste. He shook his head. “Thalion himself is assigned to this area. It would take a very great skill to elude those who were watching; this disturbs me greatly.” His brows were knitted in a frown.

 

“Well, if he was here, he was here,” she said, removing another of Thanadir’s more humble creations from the rack in the closet. Usually she might have chosen a tunic and leggings but with everything happening...clothing that let her have at her knives was a priority; right now that meant brown elven-made dresses. She was able to get into it with some help from Thanadir, who adjusted the laces as best he could, to allow for her swelling body. He was polite enough not to comment on the fact that this outfit now barely contained her bosom adequately. He did not have to; she looked in the mirror. “Oh, dammit all,” she said in frustration, removing the dress. A tunic to wear underneath it allowed for far more modesty, the dress was then put on again. Wordlessly the seneschal helped adjust it some more, and the result was something Earlene did not find humiliating. “Thank you, meldir. I am sorry for my outburst. This...behavior,” (she gestured to the drawer) “is depraved.”

 

He sighed, nodding. “I can do nothing until Thranduil returns,” he said.

 

“I know,” she said. “Come. Let us look for what else might have been disturbed.” She went into the living room, and her eyes roved around. It did not take her ten seconds to notice what else was taken. “That son of a syphilitic whore’s cunt,” she hissed. “That oozing rectal boil on a dragon’s arsehole…” Realizing that this could only culminate in more and more words that would scandalize her dear elven friend, her jaws locked shut in anger and she would say no more.

 

“One thing,” Lorna said, emerging from the bathroom. “There’s a bunch’v lavender on Earlene’s sofa. I’ve got no idea   _why_ , but I’m pretty sure I left a shirt here, and it’s gone, too.” God, ew. It wasn’t underwear, but _still_.

 

“What was the shirt?” asked Earlene. “Do you remember?”

 

“One’v my favorites,” Lorna grumbled. “I’ve only got three from my roadie days, and that was one’v them.” She wasn’t sure wanted it back, even if it could be _got_ back -- not after it’d had his sticky paws on it. “I saw what he’d taken, off your shelf,” she added. “‘I’m sorry’ is bloody useless, so let’s just have some God damn tea.” She was reaching for the kettle as soon as she’d spoken, so fed up with the entire situation that she wished -- oh, she _wished_ \-- that she could add whisky to her tea. That the creep had been in here, that he’d stolen Earlene’s most prized possession _and_ her damn bra -- that he’d somehow snuck past the border and back out again without attracting anyone’s notice...she wasn’t going to think about it. Instead she chose to put the kettle on, hunt down the tea things, and start singing ACDC’s _Dirty Deeds,_ except replacing ‘done dirt cheap’ with ‘done by creeps’, because there came a time when you just had to give in to absurdity.

 

Earlene did not take long to join in, because, well, it really did capture the scope of the thing. Somehow, within minutes, they’d had a decent laugh about it and went out into the sunshine with Thanadir watching over them.

  


“This’ll be lovely,” Lorna said referencing the building project, sitting on the woodpile with her face to the sun, enjoying it with closed eyes. “And all the better because’v the things the village’s given. I see these new houses, when I go to Dublin, big and fancy and without an ounce’v soul. This one’ll have...character, that’s for damn sure.”

 

She rubbed her hand over her stomach, and the very slight rounding she felt. “I’m glad my kids’ll have this,” she added, more quietly. “It’s what I wanted, growing up.” Her kids would have enough to eat, and warm clothes, and toys, and security. They’d get the education she never had. It was all she could wish for, for them, and more. Their da was as far from hers as it was possible to be.

 

“Let’s ask Thanadir to go look at the animals,” Earlene suggested, already having washed her feet and put her boots on again. It was long habit for her; you did not go near hoofstock with bare feet, ever. Not to mention, though she’d done her utmost to check and clean, old barns meant old nails, and it simply was not worth the risk of a punctured foot. The seneschal readily assented, and they walked to the barn. It was another absolutely glorious summer day, though summer was waning. The elves had explained that on their calendar, the season was already Iavas, the time for harvests and the approach of what humans would consider an “autumn-like” time in the natural cycle. On the way, they stopped at the garden near the barn, which had done very well. Delicious tomatoes were ripening, and garlics and onions were curing in the sunshine. Squashes and peppers had yielded bountifully, and an assortment of root vegetables and greens had given countless salads and steamed vegetables for their meals. It had been such a tremendous success that she could hardly wait for a greenhouse. Having discussed it at length, it was decided to simply add a greenhouse to the house itself; it would make heating it easier in the coldest weather and would add a beautiful green space for a variety of plant life in their home. And much to her great joy, it turned out that the elves had advanced abilities with clay as well. They had a kiln, and in storage were hundreds of glazed vessels with lids that were able to hold water. This would make the passive solar heating of their greenhouse one touched by beauty instead of what she’d always seen used before...plastic buckets with lids, or 55 gallon drums in ghastly colors. _It was all so exciting!_ Earlene thought with joy, her hands cupping under her belly which she knew was only going to grow larger. Much larger.

 

The barn was pleasant as always. Buttercup was eating from her hay rack, for whatever reason preferring that to the grasses outdoors. Her calf, who after much argument was now called Butterbean, was still many weeks from weaning. (Thanadir had wished to call her ‘gach’, after the Sindarin word for ‘cow’. Earlene and Lorna absolutely refused to endorse _anything_ that was a homophone for a Klingon culinary delicacy).

 

Standing in a corner where she could watch both the bovines and the chickens, Earlene sighed with contentment.

 

Lorna was content to admire them, too, until her stomach gave a roil. Christ, had she forgot her tea this morning? She _had_ , being too damn worried about Ratiri, even though Ratiri would be bloody _fine_ , and now… Not wanting to sick up in the animal pen, she legged it out the back, barely making it around the corner before everything she’d eaten that morning came back to visit the world. Porridge, she decided, wasn’t nearly as good when coming up the other way. _Christ._

 

“Lorna,” Thanadir said, seeing she was ill and sprinting after her.   
  
_That poor woman,_ Earlene thought. She still felt vaguely guilty, that her time pregnant had been marked by nothing other than robust health and the barest beginnings of occasional fatigue. And she suspected that this had more to do with her body being busy feeding three other things besides her, rather than anything else. Despite her efforts at good nutrition and keeping fit, it stood to reason that sooner or later the law of averages was going to catch up. And her thoughts being so far away were why it was so astonishing, when she heard an unexpected utterance.

 

“I knew that sooner or later, you fools would make a mistake,” a terribly cold yet rich baritone voice spoke near her, like a snake. Her head snapping up, she saw that creepy fucker, not four feet in front of her. Trapping her, because after all, she had chosen to stand in a corner formed where the rails of Buttercup’s pen met the barn wall. _Well, this is bad,_ thought Earlene, who refused to outwardly react. The calculator had already roared to life, listing her options, her assets, her liabilities. _You will not have the satisfaction of seeing my fear, even if this is the end of my time, you absolute fuckwad._ And oddly enough, she did not feel afraid. Annoyed, angry, irritated, vexed...yes, all those things. But not afraid. There were four knives in her boots that it stood to reason this tosser did not know of, and just maybe if she was very lucky, there would be a chance to use them. And some other part of her mind offered a prayer. _Valar, if this is to be my end, please, allow it to count for something._

 

“You’re very well-guarded, Earlene,” he said, eying her curiously. He’d heard much about her in New York, both aloud and in the minds of all who had known her. “Such a pity your husband is not here.” It irked him, in fact, that he didn’t know _where_ her husband was. The elves had proven even less predictable than he had thought. He bent his will on her, yet still he could not enter her mind. She was _mortal_ , and possessed of no innate magic. He would not have thought he would ever find physical contact necessary to read another’s mind, and that too irked him -- though her outward lack of fear was more amusing than anything else.

 

“What does he see in you, Earlene?” Still he did not touch her, though he advanced a pace. “Eldar do not wed mortals.”

 

Earlene smirked at him. “And yet this one did. You would need it explained, wouldn’t you? Love. Decency. The blessings of Eru. Concepts that one such as yourself doubtless is at a certain loss to comprehend.” That was all she would say, as her cold expression returned. He was a tall man, as tall as her husband. Why on earth she could hear Inigo Montoya’s voice in her head at a time like this, she would never know, but it was happening nonetheless. She _hoped_ he would grab her. _Because I know something you don’t know._

 

Avathar didn’t actually roll his eyes, because the gesture was far too human, but he didn’t need to. “Love?” he asked, his dismissiveness downright caustic. “A fiction your people created in an attempt to give meaning to your short, pointless lives.” His eyes narrowed. “I had thought your people would be a challenge, Earlene, and instead you have proven yourselves half-mad. Tell me, does your husband know you cuckold him? Or,” he added, thinking this a bit more likely, “is that what you wished me to think? Did you guess I was there?”

 

“That is an amusing question, for a rapist to ask,” she fired back. “Do you always spend so much time, contemplating the intimate lives of others?” Her hatred for him was boiling just under the surface, but she would reveal nothing. It was as if her whole life had trained her, only for this.

 

He gave her a smirk, though he was somewhat surprised. “You know of that? It was hardly rape. She enjoyed herself quite thoroughly.” If only he had time to grab little Lorna, but he did not. Her mind was so terribly odd and interesting, and he’d enjoyed her even more than he’d expected. It had been a very, very long time since he’d run across anyone with stones enough to _shoot_ him -- when this was over, and all was as he wished it, he would keep her, and he would keep her happy and content. Mortal minds were so easily bent to his will.

 

“Actually, yes, it was. You had sex with her after you took away her ability to knowingly consent. If you were right, she would be happy and joyful about what you did, and she is not. All you did was use her body against her so that you could _rape_ _her_ and find something good to say about it. No thinking person alive would accept your assertion. You’re a _rapist_ , and only _you_ are capable of thinking otherwise.”

 

She was so insistent, so righteous...such a pity he’d have no time with _her_ , but he knew that he did not. “The Ice Queen, they call you,” he smirked. “I can see why. How I wish I could leave you alive,” he said, and genuinely meant it, “but your death will break Thranduil, and I will rule him and what remains of Elvendom in Ennor. However pathetic and tiny a number they may be. Even such a paltry group could well prove useful.” His smirk widened. “I will at least give you the mercy of  making this quick.” Faster than she could have blinked, he took her head in his hands, intent on snapping her neck. It would be quick, and painless, and he was entirely certain that for Thranduil to see her unmarred would be worse than if he gutted her. But then she spoke, and he faltered, just a little.

 

Earlene saw that her time was at an end with him, and out of some deep place within her, words erupted without thought. _“A Elbereth Gilthoniel  o menel palan-diriel, le nallon sí di’ngurthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!”_ (O Elbereth Starkindler, from heaven gazing afar, to thee I cry now beneath the shadow of death! O look towards me, Everwhite!)

 

It had been a very, very, _very_ long time since something had surprised him so. Even discovering the last of the Eldar had not been such a shock, but Avathar found himself suddenly all but boneless, collapsing onto the ground with jarring force, momentarily utterly disoriented. _What…?_

 

Earlene knew that she should run, but something other than her own will had taken over. Maybe it was a profound rage, maybe it was what she deeply wanted to do, maybe it was something else. She would never know. What she did know is that she saw her opportunity and took it. “This is what we do to pigs,” she hissed, retrieving one of the blades from her boot as she bent over him. “This is for Lorna.” She drove the knife in just above the belt of the trousers he wore, and tugged it upward with all her might in a sweeping motion that finished deep across his throat. It was a throwing knife, the blade was sharp and delicate more than sturdy. It skipped over places with bones, and went somewhat deeper in places without. But that she had cut him from one end to the other, that at least was something. She had only cold indifference to the pain that showed in his contemptible eyes as she wiped her blade clean on his clothing. Fear began to come over her, too. _How long does the necklace...last?_ He could not be killed by ordinary means. As hard as she could, she rammed her booted foot into his nuts before turning and running from the barn. Where finally, she had the presence of mind to yell what she should have yelled all along. “Thanadir!!” she cried out, not seeing him. _Of all the times for us to all be split up,_ she thought, running toward the cottage. If he were to somehow follow her to the cottage, he would at least give her time to throw four knives into him as he came through the door. She need not have worried; the seneschal threw open the door when he saw her running.  “He is in the barn,” she shouted at him, glancing nervously behind her.

 

Lorna’s head snapped up, dropping her glass. Snatching one of her knives out of her boot, she took off after Thanadir, red murder in her heart. She couldn’t go _near_ him, she knew that, but maybe she could get just close enough to throw a knife or two and then leg it out of range.

 

What she found, however, stopped her cold. There was no Von Ratched, but there _was_ a truly astonishing amount of blood. No human could have bled that much and lived, but there was a damn trail of it leading out of the barn -- had the son of a bitch walked out? What the hell did Earlene _do_ to him -- and how had she managed it? “Uh...you’re bloody,” she said, stating the blatantly obvious and not caring in the least.

 

Lorna couldn’t ask any of those questions, though. All she could do was look at the knife in her hand, and that staggering pool of blood. “God fucking _dammit_ ,” she groaned, feeling downright cheated. Turning to Earlene, she said, “Just.. _.what_ ?” Blinking, she registered what she was actually looking at: Earlene looked like Wednesday bloody Addams during the school play in _The Addams Family_ , sprayed and streaked with gore. Jesus, just what had she _done_ to the bastard?

 

 _Return to the cottage. All of you. Now. You are not to leave each other’s sight for ANY REASON._ The voice was Thranduil’s and contained immeasurable wrath. At least for Earlene’s part, it filled her with trepidation as she now began to second guess every word and action that had come from her. She looked at Lorna blankly, with parted lips, and turned to obey at once. Once back at the cottage, neither Lorna nor Thanadir could persuade her to say a word. Earlene found herself in the extremely emotionally untenable position of having probably done something very wrong for which she absolutely could not feel sorry.

 

Lorna, still feeling thwarted but far more freaked out, set her knife on the counter rather than returning it to her boot. Earlene had to have gutted the fucker like a pig, _somehow_ , and yet he’d got up and run -- crawled, whatever -- off. No wonder he’d shrugged off her shotgun blast like it was nothing.

 

“That was badass, Earlene,” she said. “Whatever it was, it had to be badass.” Lorna had to give her mad props for it, too; doing that to someone, even someone who deserved it as much as that bastard, wasn’t a thing everyone could actually bring themselves to do.

 

Earlene smiled weakly, breaking her silence to say only five words before refusing again to say more: “I did it for you.”

 

Not ten seconds later, Thranduil burst into the room with eyes that, if possible, showed even more anger than on the day of her disaster with the Oath of Fëanor. She would not be a coward about this. Earlene walked to stand before him, with her head bowed. What she did not expect was that he would take her in his arms with a sob of relief, holding her so tightly that she could hardly draw breath. _Does this mean I am not in trouble?_ she asked.

 

 _Meluieg, no, you are not ‘in trouble.’_ His breath was still catching, with the relief he felt. When he could finally look up, he saw that Thanadir looked stricken as well. He sighed. “I am sorry, for the harshness of my words. I returned inside the borders only to perceive that our enemy was fleeing, and the sum of your thoughts did not allow me time to understand anything but that he had attacked. I felt afraid,” he admitted. “And angry. Will you please tell me, what happened?”

 

“She did something badass,” Lorna said. “I was in here, being sick like a useless _girl_. You should see the barn.” She felt an obscure need to back Earlene up, for all it didn’t seem she needed it. For once, she wasn’t reticent about putting her arm around Earlene’s waist.

 

Images were coming from Earlene and Thanadir and Lorna, all at the same time. He shook his head. “All three of you were in the barn. And then Lorna, you felt ill because...you forgot your cordial...and you followed her, Thanadir, believing that she was at the most risk at that moment?” He saw two heads nodding, because Earlene had not caught this part at all. And next the King turned to her, seeing his wife’s uncertainty and fear that she had somehow disobeyed him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Earlene, do you object to me telling them what I see in your mind?” Earlene shook her head No. “Meluieg, you did nothing wrong. I am proud of you, more proud than I can say, but I understand that you are now feeling the aftermath. Sit down, with Thanadir,” he said, dampening a towel and giving it to the seneschal. She did so, but not before giving Lorna a half-hug and a smile. Thranduil now elaborated the entire dialogue that he gleaned from her mind, and spared no detail on what she had said, or done. Earlene was somewhat retreated into herself during the telling, and though Thanadir held her in his arms, carefully cleaning the splattered blood off of her skin, his eyebrows were close to his hairline by the time the story was completed.

 

Lorna was proud as hell of Earlene, and grateful -- and more than a bit ashamed. She pushed the last to the side, and let herself only feel pride. “It should’ve killed him,” she said, “and I’m hoping like hell that it did -- how far could he have got?”

 

“It didn’t,” said Earlene, only now seeming to return to reality. “Not by a long shot. This is what you call ‘winning the battle but not the war.’ He is a balrog, Lorna. That is why this is all such a problem.”

 

Thranduil smiled. “It may be a problem from which we have just earned a reprieve. On my return, I witnessed an RV leaving town at a great rate of speed. I believe that we should check with our sentinels first, but if it is as I suspect, we may wish to notify Orla to track his vehicle.”

 

“He has also revealed his intentions to us, because of this encounter,” said Thanadir. “That is something valuable, as well.”

 

Lorna twitched. She really wished she didn’t know what that bastard had said about her; no, she was not surprised, but still...her skin crawled, and she sat on that, too. “He must not know much about elves, if he thinks you lot’re that easily dealt with,” she said, giving herself a mental shake. The shame was still there, and so hard to tamp down. Nevertheless, she managed it. Somehow. “I wonder what the fuck he’ll do now. Hopefully he goes home.”

 

“I’m sorry it couldn’t have been you, Lorna. I really am. I know what you’d like to do to him. I did it for you because I had a chance and I took it. But let’s not kid ourselves. I wear this necklace, and it is both the only reason I am not dead and why I had a shot to hurt him at least a little bit. He may go home. But if we’ve seen the last of him, my name’s not Earlene Sullivan. I’ve just made a dangerous enemy pissed as hell, is what I’d wager.”

 

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Lorna said. “Anger can make you stupid.” She did, after all, speak from experience. “If he’s that pissed, he might make mistakes.” They could hope, anyway. God, how long could she keep this -- oh. For once, she wasn’t annoyed by nausea, and she legged it for the toilet, sicking up the water she’d drunk. For once, she was content to worship the porcelain god without asking for help.

 

“That does it,” Thranduil shook his head. “Thanadir, find out right now from the sentinels whether Von Ratched has left. Whether yes or no, I am taking Lorna back to the Halls to get the cordial into her. If he is gone, you will remain here with Earlene, and we can all enjoy a finer lunch.”

 

Earlene immediately perked up at that thought, and leaned away so that Thanadir could care for his duties. It was only then that she realized she had been all but sitting on the sheathed Anguriel. Her demeanor had changed toward the sword, it now occurred to her. A new and complete understanding came over her, concerning why it was among them, and that it had a role to play that was hardly less gruesome than what she herself had just done. Was Eöl somewhere, living yet under the glow of Anor, and did he have any concept that his creation was poised to rid the world of a great evil? It was likely one of many things she would never know.

 

Thanadir returned within ten minutes. “He has gone, Thranduil.”

 

The King regarded Lorna. “Good. Lorna, if you could quickly notify Orla? Then after, let us go and resolve at least one issue.”

 

Lorna nodded, rinsing her mouth out again and using her laptop to send a swift text message. Swallowing her tangled emotions, she said, “I can’t believe I forgot that this morning. It’s what I get for worrying, I guess.”

 

 _No, it was a simple oversight, and very understandable._ He offered his arm. _Do not think your own thoughts about all that transpired are hidden from me. You know better, by now. I will not badger you, but if you wish to talk about it, I am willing to listen._

 

 _I’m trying not to let this shit rule me_ , she said, taking his arm. _I know we can’t afford it, but…_ She didn’t want to ask this, because she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer, but she had to anyway. _Do you know what he, or did you...see it?_

 

_Lorna, are you very sure you want this question answered? It has not escaped my attention that when you learn things that are deeply unpleasant to you, they become a torment to your mind._

 

Lorna looked up at him, rather sadly. _I think you just did_ , she said.

 

Thranduil sighed. This was not enjoyable for him. _Before I answer, I want to say something. Earlene spent rather a lot of time, elaborating to you what I would think about something like this. And she was correct in all of it. I do not...care.  What I saw was, the experience as viewed from within your own mind. I did not “see” in the sense of witnessing one of what you would call ‘a porno movie’. But your own thoughts, sensations, memories...those are what I am left with. I am sorry, Lorna, for something this personal and private to you being in my awareness. I can only tell you that I am able to dismiss it in a way that I fear you cannot._

 

Oh God...oh _God_ , it was what she’d been afraid of, and yet that fear still hadn’t prepared her for...it wouldn’t have been as bad, had she not known what the fucker had said about her, what he’d…

 

No. No, she wouldn’t do this. She’d take her fury and her shame and she’d lock it away with everything else at the back of her mind, but oh, it _hurt_ , so very, very much. _Thank you for telling me,_ she said, her jaw clamped shut lest she say something aloud. She wasn’t going to dump this on anyone -- not him, not Ratiri, not _anyone_ , god dammit. She’d throw her knives. She’d throw her knives, and bury her shame, and bite her tongue, and she’d be no one’s liability. There was too much going on -- they didn’t need to be worrying about her. She was, after all, just one person out of two hundred.

 

Except...it was a long walk, and her eyes burned, and the deep breath she drew to keep her composure wasn’t quite steady.

 

Thranduil ground to a halt, plunking down to sit on the ground without warning. “Come here, Lorna. Please.” He held his arms open to her, taking an educated guess that she would not refuse him.

 

If she was wise, she’d say no, because she wasn’t going to be able to keep her shit together if she didn’t, but she sat, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m okay,” she said, in the face of all evidence. “I will be, anyway. I just need a little time.”

 

He folded his arms around her. “I know that you will be. I know that you are capable of surviving. Your ability to survive is not at issue here, Lorna. It is more than that. It is that you still do not understand that there is no shame in any of this that belongs to you. None. None whatsoever. I will not stand by while you take on exactly the burden he wishes you to, and suffer in exactly the manner he hopes for the most. I can ignore many things, but not that.”

 

“I know I shouldn’t be ashamed’v it,” she said dully. “I know that, but...oh, hell, I don’t know how to put it. Knowing and feeling aren’t the same thing. It’ll go away, in time, but there’s so much going on right now. It’s not about me, and I don’t need to be wasting everyone’s time with something this...this _stupid_ . It wasn’t my fault, and I shouldn’t be ashamed’v it, but you know how sometimes you can tell yourself a thing over and over and still not actually _believe_ it?” She shut her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. He wouldn’t be having this issue, if he was in her place. And if he wouldn’t, she shouldn’t, either.

 

“I do,” he admitted. “But the other thing you are failing to see is that you are not ‘wasting our time with something this...stupid’, as you call it. Lorna, we all care deeply about each other. You are doing noone any favors by trying to care for the others while not allowing anyone to care about you in return. That is not how these things are supposed to work,” he said as kindly as he could. “Do you not see that this is the one thing our foe does not, cannot understand? Did you hear what he said, to Earlene? That he believes love is something mortals invented to justify their short time on earth? Love is so much more than that, Lorna. It is our strength, and the reason that the likes of him will not ultimately prevail.”

 

“And here I try so hard not to be a burden, I make myself one anyway,” she said, not without a measure of dryness. “I’m not good at this, Thranduil. Gran and Mairead took care’v me after Liam, but I was shattered then. It wasn’t a case’v letting them do it so much as I wasn’t in any condition to say no. I’m shite at letting people look after me. One’v you’ll have to tell me how to do it. Ratiri, I can take my mind off it when I’m with him, but I’ll drain him if I’m taking from him all day, every day.”

 

“And yet this same man spends every day, patiently waiting and hoping for the moment when you will confide in him about what happened to you and what your feelings are. It is not really that difficult to understand what others want, Lorna. They want the same things you do. The hard part is whether you can allow others to determine for themselves, what it is they wish to give. Because right now, you are trying to take that choice from them, whether or not you realize it.” He closed his eyes speaking this, because against all his principles he was doing something he never did--revealing the thoughts of one of them to another. He only hoped that when all was weighed, that Ratiri would forgive him for his breach of confidentiality.

 

At first, Lorna didn’t actually know what he’d done. Given that she didn’t have telepathy herself, she didn’t initially realize she was hearing someone else’s thoughts -- specifically, Ratiri’s. Part of her recoiled a little, not wanting to invade his mind, but she was pretty sure this was not a real-time thing. Hearing thoughts in someone else’s mental voice was so distracting that at first she didn’t register what they were saying. _Is she well? She never says. I don’t know if she ever will say. At least she lets me dance with her, and sleep with her, but she’s never_ said _anything about it. Why? Does she not trust me?_

 

 _That_ made her flinch. Did he really think she didn’t trust him? Christ, she’d be remedying that immediately. She’d hoped that the fact that she touched him without reserve, that she didn’t just sleep in the same room but beside him, sometimes _on_ him, would be proof enough of that, but evidently not.

 

_I just want her to be happy. I love her, and I just want her to be happy._

 

Lorna’s eyes snapped open. He what? He _what_? Well, now she was good and terrified, and all the more so because she’d been dancing around the issue herself, never quite willing to go there, even in her own mind -- she’d been afraid he wasn’t there yet, either, because they really had gone about this backwards.

 

He obviously still wasn’t ready to say it aloud, either. “Is he as afraid’v it as I am?” she wondered aloud. Thranduil might or might not answer that question, but she had to ask it anyway.

 

Thranduil kissed her on the forehead. “I am already up for the Bad Elf award,” he sighed. “I will only say that if there is one thing I have seen common to human and elf alike, it is that in the end we are all rather similar in both our fears and our hopes.”

 

Lorna actually managed a smile. “I’m going to take that as a yes,” she said, “and when this is over, I’m going to make you the Bad Elf award, and just write everything on it in Irish so nobody else knows what it actually is.” Maybe...maybe it wouldn’t freak Ratiri out so much if she said it first, but...how? With Liam, she’d been stoned off her gourd. How hard was it to get out three words? It wasn’t the words, it was the opportunity. Ugh, she was bad at this. But...Ratiri loved her. He _loved_ her. He loved her, so why in mother _fuck_ was she crying? Sod that. Wiping her eyes, she shook her head. “Okay, you’ve successfully distracted me.”

 

“Good,” he said, rising to his feet without warning and lifting her with him, holding her seated in his arms. “Eru knows, this is not an easy achievement,” he said drily as he continued walking. It was his own way of obscuring that to see her happier, a weight was gone from his heart.

 

“You’re not going to put me down, are you?” she asked, though she wasn’t displeased. “You and Shane. He hauled me around all the time, usually because I’d done something stupid and hurt a foot or a leg. The stabbing was _so_ not my fault.” She smiled. “Someday, you should meet Shane. I think you’d like each other, even if he didn’t know what you actually were. You’re both too bloody tall, for a start,” she teased.

 

 _Stabbing?_ He definitely did not want to know. “I will put you down if you wish,” he said. “Though the unvarnished truth is, I enjoy holding you, I walk much faster than you, and every now and again I reason that I might have a chance at indulging myself before you protest too much.” He looked at her sidewise, but was completely failing to keep a smile off of his face.

 

“Oh, okay,” she said, with mock exasperation, before she burst out laughing. “I don’t mind. Tell anybody I said this and I’ll deny it up one side and down the other, but you make me feel safe. You are one of exactly seven people I’ll willingly touch. Given you’re the only one that can read my mind, you’re the only one that knows just how big a thing that is, for me.” It was her ultimate sign of trust. Maybe it was an odd one, but she was rather an odd little person.

 

“I usually do an impeccable job of telling no one anything,” he said ruefully, shaking his head. “Are the trees not beautiful, at this time of year?”

 

Lorna laughed. _I won’t tell if you won’t_ , she said; then, aloud, “They are. Especially from this vantage point.”

  


*****

Watching them leave, Earlene had to admit that it felt like a weight removed, just knowing that that gobshite was _gone_ , even if only for awhile. “Would you come with me please, meldir? I need your strength.”

 

Thanadir nodded and they returned to the barn. They agreed that it would be worthwhile to take a rake and the two minutes needed to obliterate the bloody evidence of what had happened earlier, for poor Rîniel’s sensibilities. And then, she showed him a place where some boards covered over a small pit she’d dug into the floor. “That crock needs lifting up, and to come to the kitchen,” she said, unfolding assorted cloths that kept the ceramic vessel clean. “It is becoming hard for me, now, to lift heavy things.” The elf was happy to oblige; for him the heavy crock was as nothing. What in Eru was in there, had him rather curious. Taking it to the sink, she carefully wiped the edges of the lid, even though it appeared to be clean. Opening the lid, she sniffed experimentally, and was pleased. Retrieving two bowls, she used a pair of tongs to lift some of it out. Stabbing a fork into it and chewing, a look of unfettered happiness settled over her. “Oh, that’s good stuff,” she said to no one in particular. “Here, Thanadir. There are some hot peppers in here, but if you liked the Mexican food in New York, this should not seem too spicy. Tell me what you think?”

 

The elf looked at the bowl, baffled. These were obviously chopped vegetables, mostly cabbage, but she had had it in the ground? That seemed completely irregular. He tried a bite, and she laughed when his eyes widened in happiness. “This is delicious, Earlene,” he said, fascinated.

 

“Good,” she laughed. “You can help me, meldir. We are going to try to make a salad that Lorna will actually want to eat more than two bites of. If we are very lucky, we will succeed.” There was some beef in the refrigerator, and the beginnings of an Asian-themed beef and kimchi salad were underway. Thanadir went with her to the garden and they gathered broccoli, and a variety of greens which she sorted into two piles. “These will be soaked in vinegar and water,” she explained after chopping them. “The others, we just chop.” It required more than an hour, to fuss with the vegetables (some were steamed, make a ginger and sesame dressing, and sauté thin strips of beef, all of which would go on the salad. Thranduil and Lorna returned with impeccable timing; the food was served in bowls that were first filled with steamed rice before adding generous servings of the completed salad on top. Sadly, she had no wontons to add for garnish, but some things could not he helped on short notice.

 

The only reason Lorna did not automatically regard the salad askance was because Earlene was a fantastic cook, and Lorna doubted she could come up with something bland if she tried. The fact that it had meat on it was also a point in its favor, before she’d even tried it. “All right, this already looks a lot more complex than any salad I’ve yet seen,” she said approvingly as she sat. It smelled good, too, which was not something she’d ever been able to say about a salad before.

 

Earlene said nothing but smiled to herself; she did not need words to evaluate whether recipes “worked” for others. If it was being eaten with any kind of visible relish, that was enough feedback.

 

Thanadir was going on at such a pace that Thranduil said “ú-mado lim,” very quietly (do not eat fast).

 

She did not comment for several seconds, and simply stated “I made a very large amount.” This seemed to brighten the elf’s demeanor a little. She sighed. Not even Von RatchetSet was going to ruin her day, or her time with her family.

 

Lorna took a forkful of salad, and tried not to look too distrustful when she sniffed it. Hey, it _looked_ amazing -- far more colorful than any other salad she’d encountered -- but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something ‘meh’ underneath it. She took an experimental nibble, and smiled. There was _taste_ \-- real taste, with an actual kick to it. If this wasn’t some form of Asian dish, she’d be very surprised. Another bite proved the first was not a fluke. “Are you sure this is a salad?” she asked. “It’s tasty. There’s no boring lettuce. There’s no boring _anything_.”

 

“Ha ha!” laughed Earlene. “Not only is it a salad, it is more nutritious than the other kinds because those vegetables are fermented. The vitamins and minerals in them are more digestible and they contain beneficial microbes. That being said, unimaginative people have proven to be the ruination of salads everywhere. To be honest, the problem is, they aren’t quick. Good ones take some time to make, but who wants to eat the bad ones?” she shrugged, and then remembered.

 

“Thranduil, in all the excitement, I forgot that there is more to tell you. That man was here in the cottage, and he took some things.” She listed the ones of which they were aware, concluding, “if there is more, it has not yet been discovered.”

 

The King leaned back, having eaten his fill, and asked for tea, which Lorna was nice enough to take care of since the others were yet eating. Earlene glanced at him but kept eating; he appeared to be reflecting on what he’d been told. It took her longer to eat now, because it seemed to take forever to fill her up and she refused to rush. It was no matter, Thanadir was just beginning his third bowl.

 

The King thought to himself. _Earlene’s object from 9/11, I regrettably understand. One such as him would cherish the force of sorrow it holds. I equally and nauseatingly understand the theft of Lorna’s shirt, and the lavender, though just once I would so much like to not tell her that which will anger her or add to the insults this man has heaped on her. But Earlene’s brassiere? I can only conclude that he wishes to ‘sample’ my wife and this is his way of saying so, or that he has the proclivities of the people in the Hedwig film, or something in between. But he did not try to violate Earlene; from what she described he meant to kill her. I should not make the mistake of assuming this creature is still in possession of any sanity. Really, I do not know whether to laugh or cry._

 

“Why the fuck did he take my _shirt_ , though?” Lorna wondered. “It’s not like it’s a bra, it’s a fifteen-odd-year-old concert shirt with a hole under one armpit.”

 

 _Eru, would this nightmare ever be over for them?_ He sighed. “If I were to take an educated guess, it is because he liked how you smell. Very much. He seems to have taken items that remind him of...things he likes and wants. I am sorry, Lorna.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, as she considered this.

 

Lorna twitched, glad she’d taken the anti-nausea cordial. “ _Ew_ ,” she said. “He can keep it. I don’t want it back now.” Though God, that just reminded her of how she’d known it was him in the cottage. Yeah, she was fumigating her room and burning all her bedding, whenever she made it home. Possibly her mattress, too, as lovely as it was. She could get a new one. “I knew it was him because I could smell him,” she said, really, _really_ glad she couldn’t gag right now.

 

“You could?” said Thranduil, suddenly interested. “Can you show me? I do not mean to sound...odd, but this could be helpful to our cause.”

 

She made a face. “It’s...distinctive,” she said, rising. “Hard for me to smell with my human senses, but it’s there.” She led him into Earlene’s room, and yes, she had to sniff Earlene’s lingerie a few times. “Here.”

 

Thranduil smelled also, being careful not to touch the fabrics. He rose. “Thanadir, tolo hi,” he called. (Come here)  He asked his seneschal to take note of this as well, before nodding and closing the drawer. They all returned to the table.

 

Earlene had thought in silence for some time. “I want to know how he did it. The elven sentries were watching. I do not believe for a minute that any were lax in their duties, and yet he was able to come in here unseen. How was he not seen?”

 

 _Clever, clever wife. You are so close to the most likely answer._ Aloud he said, “you already know, meluieg. You have just not put together the pieces. What was a balrog, of old? It was flame. And something else.”

 

Her face fell. “Dúath,” she whispered. “That is not exactly reassuring,” she said. “Not at all.”

 

“Not all’v us speak Sindarin,” Lorna pointed out, though she recalled the _Fellowship of the Ring_ film. “...Oh.”

 

“Great,” Earlene deadpanned into a theatrical voice. “Who knows, what evil lurks in the hearts of men?” Whereupon she buried her face in her hands. “Where’s sexy young Alec Baldwin when you need him?”

 

“He got eaten by older Alec Baldwin,” Lorna said. “All right, so the son’v a bitch can what, hide in shadows? Is he some sort’v shapeshifter?” Sauron had been, she knew, from reading _The Silmarillion_ \-- much good though it had done him, given Huan kicked his arse six ways from Sunday.

 

This at least made Earlene giggle, because that first part was sadly true.

 

“I do not know for certain, Lorna,” Thranduil replied. “But I know the skill and tenacity of my warriors, and I know the nature of our foe. It is the most likely conclusion, that he came here at night when circumstances favored him. And should we find that he returns or has not truly left, I will need to change my habits as well. I could have known of his incursion...had I been awake. Is it too soon, to find out some information on his movements?” he asked hopefully.

 

“I’ll ask Orla,” Lorna said, though, rather ridiculously, she was highly annoyed it was that shirt Von Assclown had stolen. Why couldn’t it have been one of the numerous rummage-sale rags she always had on hand? Ugh. “She might well be monitoring him real-time.” She rose to get her laptop, still internally grumbling. That he liked the way she smelled was so, so squicky, yet also not surprising, because he was a creep. It still didn’t explain the lavender, but whatever. Returning to the table, she opened the machine. _I’m going to regret this,_ she said, _but why the lavender? I mean, what the hell?_

 

 _I cannot persuade you to take some pity on me?_ Thranduil smiled and did his best to make Thanadir eyes. But he was not Thanadir, and she was having none of it. His shoulders sagged in capitulation. _To him, you smell like lavender, and he finds that very, very appealing._

 

Lorna wrinkled her nose. _I’m switching shampoos_ , she said, twitching a bit. _And laundry detergents. Have you got any shampoo that smells like...I don’t know, pine cones or something?_

 

She pulled up her email and shot a brief one to Orla, including a question as to whether or not they could have something that would allow them to track him independently. “I hope he fucks off,” she said. “Orla’ll want to come out here sooner or later herself, and I can’t put her off forever.”

 

“You and me both,” said Earlene. “Though I suppose he is already fully recovered from...me.” Was she surprised that she had actually done that? That she _could_ do that? No and yes. While she never wanted to be a criminal, and did not feel she was, this whole thing existed in another category for which human laws and rules did not suffice. It must have hurt, she saw the look on his face. But it was just that; it hurt for awhile. A very little while, from the fact that he had survived at all. And there was little doubt in her mind that should he come for her again, her luck would be very different. How she wished, that he could just go and be gone for good, but her heart told her that she would have no such luck. As it was, she thanked Varda, who she only now realized might have answered the words of her prayer. _Please be gone_ , she thought. One thing was certain. If he was not gone, she wanted to go back to the Halls. Staying here in anything resembling a peaceful state of mind for today hinged on Orla’s response.

 

“I don’t know just what you did, but it had to’ve been pretty damn impressive,” Lorna said. “I’ve never seen that much blood.” And she, regrettably, had seen quite a bit of it in her life. “If he could survive that, it’s no wonder he made it through two barrels to the chest.”

 

Earlene smiled. “Well, okay. I think I told you, after what he...did to you, what I wanted to do to him. And I got the chance, though in retrospect I was probably being an idiot. I cut him open from his belt to his throat, and cut his throat too. Just like what we did to pigs on gran’s farm. I didn’t have the best knife for the job but...it couldn’t have felt good.” It still felt very odd talking to talk about, but she was trying.

 

“You tried to take him out, with the best tools you had to hand,” Lorna said. “You kept him from going after Thanadir and I, or anyone else. You can’t call that idiocy -- that’s just being protective. Christ knows what he’d’ve done if you hadn’t.” She grinned. Earlene really had no idea just how impressive that was.

 

“Yeah, but I think it was a one-shot deal, courtesy of Thranduil’s necklace. I know that’s what dropped him; he was going to kill me. Were I to guess, he meant to snap my neck. And necklace or not, he might have succeeded but he delayed long enough for it to do...whatever it is that it does. He won’t make the same mistake twice. Of that I feel fairly certain. He’s a right piece of work, and I hope to hell we can kill him, because he won’t hesitate to kill us.”

 

“Probably in horribly inventive ways,” Lorna muttered, waiting for her email to ping. “Though I hope he wouldn’t be stupid enough to draw it out with some.” Earlene had the necklace, and Thranduil was...Thranduil. If he gave Thanadir more than a minute, he’d have trouble, but Lorna wasn’t sure just how much. Thanadir was a badass, but without any weapons...well, she wouldn’t want to see that fight. There was fuck-all _she_ could do, but if Orla’s email was accurate, he might be headed out of their hair. “His RV’s headed to Dublin,” she said. “That’s all she’s got so far.”

 

“Christ, that’s _something_ ,” Earlene said. “Just to know he’s gone for awhile, just to know we could go to the pub or...whatever...without feeling besieged...I’ll take it. You know, we should at least text Ratiri, too, especially if it looks like he’s away for a bit. I could be wrong, but, think about it. Why do you go to Dublin? Why did _we_ go to Dublin? Because that’s where there’s a major airport. Something tells me he didn’t come here on Aer Lingus. It’s possible he means to get out of here for more than a day, if he drove back all that way.”

 

“If he did, Orla’ll know, and she’ll tell us.” Much of Lorna wanted to go home, but she desperately needed new bedroom...everything, and she wasn’t sure how she was ever going to really feel _safe_ there again. _Hey Thranduil, have you got any equivalent of elf Xanax?_  she asked. _Something I can take with me?_

 

 _I could help you for a time, Lorna,_ if _he is indeed gone. But you would not be fit to drive, were I to do what I believe you would actually need. The problem is, it will not last more than an hour or so, without much more significant...alteration. You might be better off in this instance with the real Xanax, if Ratiri approves._

 

Yeah, Lorna already knew the answer to _that_ one. Damn. Well, it would be some days yet before they could be certain he was gone, she was sure. It wasn’t just that he had to leave, he had to _stay_ gone. Meantime, she’d order new bedroom shite, and just be sure she was at the cottage when they delivered it. _I mean it about the shampoo, though. Something that smells like pine cones? Moss? Anything but lavender?_

 

 _Yes, we do. Like as not such an item already exists in your bathing room. Earlene or Thanadir can identify the labels for you, and if you wish we will remove the ones you do not want. And maybe if we are fortunate, a time will come when that man does not ruin a perfectly good flowering plant._ He was trying to joke, a little, but a part of him was a bit sad, as well. Though he more than understood why, he too had enjoyed the scent of lavender on her. But this was far less important than her happiness. He thanked her for the tea, and did his best to keep a smile on his face.

 

Just then Allanah began to fuss, and as it was close to her feeding time, Earlene rose to head off wailing sounds, hoping no one would mind if she watched some television. It seemed like a good time to tune everything out, and moments later the cheerful Sean the Sheep song was helping do just that.

 

Lorna pretended she didn’t see the sadness, and smiled back. While she might not be cursed with the ability to read people’s minds, she _was_ cursed with the ability to read _people_ , whether she or they liked it or not _._ At least in this instance she thought she could understand part of where the sadness came from, so she left it be. How much harder must it be for Thranduil to avoid reacting to the things he read in people’s minds? She had a hard enough time keeping what she saw in emotions to herself. _If I can con Ratiri into wearing it when we haven’t got anywhere to go, I might get over it faster,_ she said, giving him an out.

 

Thranduil tilted his head, his smile suddenly seeming more genuine. It was nearly inexplicable, the difference, but it was there. Lorna’s lips twisted up into half a smile.

 

Her email let out the TARDIS wheeze, and when she opened the message, the smile turned into a full-blown smirk of triumph. “Orla says he’s at the airport,” she said. “He’s on his way out.”

 

*****

With lighter hearts, they made their way back to the Halls in the later afternoon. Earlene noticed that her husband seemed pensive, on and off, but just when she began to worry about him, he would seem well enough again. She handed him Allanah to carry, hoping the bubbly little girl’s cheerful noises would help, while she tried to guess at how he might feel while at the same time trying to muddle her thoughts on this. Of one thing, she was certain. If that monster was gone, even for a time, tonight she would give Thanadir his gift.

 

Their dinner was a delight, and she chuckled to see it. A mozzarella cheese had been made from Buttercup’s milk, and was served with basil and fresh sliced tomatoes in an elven Caprese salad. That it paired rather strangely with a lentil stew was beside the point. _When the chickens begin laying I really am going to have to show them pasta,_ she reasoned. After the fresh sliced fruit that passed for a dessert, Lorna and Ratiri made a fairly rapid departure for their own rooms, which was understandable given the sum of the day. And for purely selfish reasons, she felt glad. She wanted the chance for just the three of them to have this moment, though she could not say why.

 

“Meldir, would you come back here please, after the meal is cleared away? There is something I would like you to see.”

 

With barely a glance in her direction, he murmured, “Athon.”

 

 _Wonderful, he feels awful too,_ she thought, quickly subsuming her observation. Thranduil had steadily mowed through his first bottle of wine during the meal, and was now well into the second. She said nothing, trying to be understanding of how few avenues for comfort or relieving tension he had available to him...and the one most commonly employed could simply not be managed at certain hours. Walking to him, she lightly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek in sincere affection before taking up her laptop. It made her happy, to look on the pictures of earthen homes and...think, searching for ideas they might have overlooked or...what have you. Which was why she was distracted and not minding his movements, when he rose and brought a third bottle with him, and retreated to the doorway of their room. “I would like time alone, meluieg. I hope it would not be asking too much to take Allanah into this room, and give Thanadir your gift without me? I am certain I will have the joy of it on many occasions.”

 

His words surprised her. Had there been fewer matters occupying her own mind, perhaps she would have considered the request more deeply. But as it was, Thranduil asked for so few things of this nature, it was an automatic response to do as he asked, though she felt disappointed about the violin. Yet, it was a small thing and one she would assuredly survive. Allanah was brought out, and placed on her lap, where Earlene talked to her about their house, always being careful to use good diction. It did not bother her in the least that Allanah would speak fluent Lorna as she grew, but she was equally determined that the sounds of correct English would find representation in her child’s brain as well.

 

“Your Naneth has learned all about rocket stove heaters, Allanah. They are very efficient. Can you say ‘efficient’? Ef-fic-ient…” said Earlene. She sighed when the girl showed interest in nothing but what lay under the fabric of her tunic. “Maybe you need to say ‘breast’ instead. That is far more practical just now, is it not?” Amidst this inane chatter she barely noticed when Thanadir returned and seated himself.

 

“You wished to see me, Hiril vuin?” he asked.

 

“I did,” she smiled. “Our King wished to have some time alone and gives his apologies. There is something for you, and I have been waiting for a time when that...thing...would not be ruling every moment of our lives. It is the case on the table,” she indicated with a nod of her head. “I hope you enjoy it, meldir.”

 

Curious, Thanadir rose and in a moment had worked out the clasps. Earlene did not worry that this would be a complete giveaway, guessing correctly that he would not have seen enough instrument cases to immediately understand what this was. When he opened the lid, all the reward she could have wished for shone in his eyes.

 

“I did not try to tune it or do anything else, since I feared I would manage to break something if I did. There are extra strings, beneath, since what I read said that could happen, especially the E string.” She hesitated a moment. “At the risk of being forward, I wondered if we could go to your quarters? I did not wish to disturb the King with the music, but I would enjoy so much just to watch you. Even if all you do is figure it out a little. I do not think I can learn to play something like this, but I am still curious.”

 

He thought for a moment. “I will invite you,” he said, even as a frown flitted past his face at Thranduil’s behavior. This was simply not like him. He looked to the sideboard and saw only two empty bottles of wine; perhaps his King had wished to drink and rest for a time. It had, after all, been an eventful day in a manner that no one wanted. Baby and all, Earlene closed down her laptop and followed Thanadir and violin out the door.

 

This time, she seated herself on the same sofa as before but gave herself permission to actually look at his rooms, or what she could see of them. It was clear that a bedchamber was in the back, but instead of their two large front rooms, Thanadir had what would better be described as one extremely large room. It made sense; the elf did so many projects and...things...that the need for a sizable open floor space was hardly surprising. There were shelves containing books, fabrics, parchments, garments, personal belongings...it was a visual jumble and yet there was neatness and orderliness to all of it. Laying the violin case down carefully on a table, he walked to a shelf where she saw a different instrument, something that resembled a lute/mandolin/who knew what, actually, but that it appeared to be a plucked stringed instrument was plain enough.

 

He adjusted those strings to some notes he knew. “There is a pitch pipe in the violin case,” she told him, trying to be helpful but not to be a busybody either.

 

He smiled. “I will tune the violin next. I am doing this because I am curious how the two compare.”

 

 _He is tuning it with his ear? Oh, one of *those*,_ she thought. She had known people who had this musical gift of pitch accuracy, and she was not among them. For the next half hour, she remained basically silent, not wishing to annoy the seneschal. It felt like a rare treat, to be allowed to come here by invitation, and even the small plucks and initial tests of how tight he wanted the bowstring to be were very interesting to her. Somewhere in there the baby finished nursing, and she reassembled herself just in time to hear him begin playing. _How can he possibly know what to do?_ It was a wonder to her, but she earnestly did not care if he played Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. The sounds were lovely and her eyes shone with appreciation. And Allanah chose exactly that moment to spit up her entire meal all down the front of Earlene’s dress and begin crying.

 

Thanadir immediately stopped to take her, offering Earlene a towel, but she declined. This dress had an apron, and there was no point soiling yet more cloth.

 

“I am afraid your audience has been diverted,” she said, disappointment in her voice. “I am sorry to miss this, but I have to…” she trailed off, because it was beyond obvious, what she had to do.

 

“No, Earlene. I will go with you, and help. She needs changing, too.”

 

The gratitude in her eyes did not need words. Thanadir took Allanah, who quickly stopped crying in his arms. When they reached their rooms, Earlene bit her lip and whispered. “All of her things are in the bedroom, as are my clothes and the bathing room. I am sorry to disturb him but…” she genuinely did not know what to do.

 

“Let me, Earlene. I will go first.”

 

 _Well this felt embarrassing_ , having someone go in before her because she felt afraid to bother her own husband. But right now, she did not care, and nodded.

 

Thanadir entered to see his King asleep, slumped in a large chair. A bottle of wine was near, and a goblet. And another on a sideboard. And...with widening eyes, he began to understand that Thranduil would not be waking anytime soon. He gestured for Earlene to take a new garment and bathe while he cared for the baby. The moment she was gone, he went to the wine bottles and found them empty. _Oh, Eru,_ he thought, shaking his head. There was nothing to be done, and his life was not in danger. With a look of pure pity and sadness, he went about his tasks, making a decision when he was finished. He carefully removed his boots, and lifted his King’s heavy frame out of the chair to lay him on the bed, covering him in a light blanket before kissing his forehead. It had been a very, very long time since he had last done this. “i Aran nîn,” he whispered, as Earlene emerged, clean and in a new dress.

 

Wordlessly, he ushered her out of the bedroom. “If you will accept, we can return to my rooms. He is not going to wake anytime soon, Earlene.”

 

She nodded before his words fully registered, when they were out in the passages. “He drank more than I thought he did?” she asked, having had a moment to analyze what was said.

 

“Four bottles,” Thanadir said. “I am...sorry.”

 

“But there will not be lasting harm?” She wished to be doubly certain, though Thanadir’s behavior had already provided that answer.

 

“No. The only difficulty is when he will next wake. And...the feelings that he will have when he does.”

 

Earlene sighed. This was not what she wanted, but, maybe this was an opportunity of another kind. She could talk to Thanadir openly, and privately. At least until the next time their conversation came to mind. “Meldir, is this because of what could have happened, today?”

 

A long pause ensued, during which time they reached his chambers and he gestured for her to be seated again. “Very likely,” he said, looking down. “The last time he did this, Earlene, became drunk like this, was the day Alassëa left him to depart to Aman.”

 

“I was afraid of that,” Earlene said, with a heavy sigh. “Thanadir, we all know that I am mortal. He is going to lose me someday; I see no way around that reality. I can understand that it would be especially cruel for him to have found love again, and have it taken away so soon. And the children,” she said, holding her belly. “But let us not pretend. I am sitting here speaking to you right now because I was very, very lucky. Do not look at me like that, Thanadir!” she said as his expression became suffused with guilt. “It would not have been your fault! We have all been too careless in our understanding of what this thing is willing to do. He wants to ruin my husband, by any means possible. He means to destroy all of us. And as he is very determined, it makes the chance of him succeeding very great. If he comes upon me again, I will very likely die, Thanadir. He will not make the same mistakes twice. If anything, my actions likely have endangered us all by making him more vicious, more determined. In my heart I know this is going to get so much worse, before it can resolve. But there is something I want from you, if you and he live and I do not. I want you to tell him that I do not want him to despair. I want him to seek happiness. He is the most beautiful being I have ever known, and I can endure anything except the knowledge that he would not keep on. If the worst should happen, meldir, will you make him understand that above all other things, this is what I wanted? Only his happiness matters to me, and that he be open to one day finding it elsewhere.”

 

Thanadir stood, stunned, to hear this from her. “These are not things anyone wishes to discuss, Earlene,” he choked.

 

“That is why they _must_ be discussed, Hîr vuin. I would have you know this now, rather than when it is too late for me to speak the words. Whether I meet my end now, or in forty or sixty years, or whatever inconsequential span of time by your standards, I want that someone to whom he can listen tells him that I wanted his happiness. More than anything.”

 

“I will do as you ask, if you in turn promise me we will not speak of this again.”

 

Her lips parted. This response was not expected, and his request was difficult. _As is yours to him,_ she reminded herself. “I promise you, Thanadir.”

 

He picked up bow and violin in his elegant hands, and resumed playing melodies both sweet and cheerful. Quite some time later, she thanked him, and returned to her own rooms with the sleeping baby. Remaining dressed and joining Thranduil under the blanket, she lay awake for a very long time, hoping to see some way by which she could survive this. The only answer, every time, was that she would have to remain in these Halls for the rest of her days, never to know the outer world again. All of them would be consigned to this fate, if absolute safety was their goal. And worse yet, she turned over in her mind other possibilities. Those involved what he would be willing to do, the toll he would exact, should they choose to retreat in this manner. Were she in von Ratched’s position, her next choice of game play would be obvious. In stomach-wrenching despair, tears flowed from her eyes until fatigue took her into sleep.

  


*****

 

Avathar was unused to pain of this magnitude.

 

Little Lorna had shot him, but it had stung for all of five minutes. _This_...never had anyone inflicted such injury upon him, and he very much wanted to know what had protected Earlene long enough for her to do it.

 

He changed his clothes in his RV, showering until all trace of blood was washed away. The wound was a raw, angry line, and he knew his insides had to be in just as bad a shape. The pain was dull now, but flared when he moved. This would not be a comfortable flight back to America, though at least he had his own private jet.

 

He would not make the same mistake twice. When next he saw the woman, he would not waste his time in taunting -- what he intended now would be torment enough. No, when next he saw her, he would simply kill her. Whatever protection she had, he doubted she would withstand a bullet.

 

But first, he knew what he had to do. It would be messy, and could not be accomplished in too short a time, but he would tear down all the world she had left outside of that accursed forest. And then, perhaps….

 

Realistically, it would take at least a year, but perhaps he would tear down the forest itself. If he could not breach the gates, he could expose them, and let the world of mortals do what it would with them. She would be dead, Thranduil would be exposed, and perhaps little Lorna would be up for the grabbing.

 

They would pay for this. All of them.

 

When he boarded his jet, he took out the blue satin bra. He had hoped to dress Earlene in it after he tortured her to death, but that was not an option. He would have to settle for some other manner of creativity, and returning it through the post.

 

Little Lorna’s shirt he would keep. It smelled of her, lavender and summer, somehow calming. Perhaps it was a reaction to the pain, but he found he craved her, and knew he would find no substitute. He didn’t just want to smell her, he wanted to touch her and taste her, and the intensity of this dismayed him. He needed her at least once more, so she was out of his system, if that were possible. Perhaps, he thought, eying the shirt, he would have to send her...gifts.

 

He would have his vengeance, and he would ensure they suffered the full force of his wrath.

 

*********

 

Lorna had been downright buoyant since her talk with Thranduil -- discovering Ratiri loved her had rendered any further discoveries of Von Ratched’s creepiness to be little more than squicky, as opposed to totally horrifying. Yeah, the fact that he thought she smelled good enough to steal one of her shirts was gross, but whatever. She was only pissed it was one of her favorites.

 

She took Ratiri’s hand, suddenly a bit nervous. How had she told Liam she loved him? Oh right, they’d been high out of their minds. Not exactly an option, here. And what if she told him she loved him and he panicked? There was no guarantee he’d say it back, after all, even if he did feel it.

 

When they reached her room -- their room -- she paused after he shut the door behind them, running her thumb over the back of his hand. Watching it meant she didn’t have to look him in the eye, which she wasn’t quite ready to do yet.

 

“I know I haven’t talked to you as much as you’d like,” she said. “About -- well, this. I know you must feel like I’ve shut you out, but it’s not on purpose, allanah. I’m shite at using my words, and until today the whole thing was too horrifying to think about, let alone talk about. And I have this problem where I try to protect everyone and just wind up leaving them on the outside, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

 

Now she looked up at him. “I can’t promise I’ll ever be _good_ at communicating, but I’ll try. I won’t keep you out for what I tell myself is your own good. I don’t get to make that choice for you -- but that doesn’t mean there aren’t some things I might want to keep to myself. I can’t be entirely an open book, but I’ll try to let you past the cover.”

 

His grey eyes -- such a clear grey, in contrast to his coloring -- regarded her with an expression she couldn’t name. It didn’t look discouraging, at least; it seemed to be some odd combination of hope and fear and, well, everything she was feeling right now. “Thank you,” he said at last, and the relief in his voice made her feel momentarily wretched. Lorna hadn’t realized just how shut out he’d felt until Thranduil showed her.

 

“I trust you, allanah,” she said. “You know that, right? Don’t ever doubt that I trust you. If you’ve talked to anyone in the village, you know that’s a rare thing. Even if there’s things I can’t talk about -- the things that just have to stay with me -- it’s not that I don’t trust you, or that I’m trying to be overprotective. Sometimes there’ll be things that have to stay mine, but…” _Quit beating around it, Lorna_ , she ordered herself. “Before I fuck this up, you know I love you...right? Because, um. I do. Love you, I mean.” Jesus that was awful. At least she’d got it out without it turning into total word vomit.

 

Fortunately, Ratiri didn’t leave her waiting in agony for long. She had just enough time to see a smile creep across his face before he kissed her forehead. “Can I kiss you, Lorna?” he asked. “Properly?”

 

“Two seconds,” she said, her own relief palpable. Kicking off her sandals, she hopped up onto the sofa. “Now neither’v us’ll break our necks.” She couldn’t help but laugh as she wrapped her arms around his neck, until he shut her up with a kiss. For someone with comparatively little experience at this, he was certainly good at it.

 

“Can I do _more_ than kiss you?” he asked, something slightly wicked in his smile that did all sorts of pleasant fluttery things to her insides.

 

“Yes, you goober,” she said, and kissed him again.

 

*****

 

Ratiri lay awake long after Lorna had gone to sleep, thoughtful.

 

Was it sad, that he had so little life outside of this place, and these people? Probably, but it also wasn’t new. His world had ended when Katherine died. The only time he had ever not felt lonely, to some degree or another, was with her, and losing her had shattered him. He’d walled himself off, turning his work into his life, going home each night to his lonely flat and a succession of goldfish. He hadn’t loved, or been loved, and now, elated though he was, part of him was also terrified. When you loved someone or something, you gave it the power to destroy you utterly. It was a risk he’d once thought he’d never take again, yet look at him now. He was living his dream, with this odd little sprite of a woman who made him realize how incomplete he had felt before.

 

Yes, he loved her, and it, and yes, he was terrified. Should he lose all he had found, all he had been granted -- at his age, it might destroy him. It was not a positive way to think, and he tried to shove the thought away. Though they’d gone about it all wrong, he had Lorna, and they would have children. He couldn’t live his life in fear of what he might lose, and he wasn’t going to let himself.

  
The fire had burned low, and he looked at Lorna, her head rested on his chest. Her hair was so very soft -- she was warm and alive and _his_ , and she’d let him be hers. These Halls, these people...it was everything he’d dreamt of as a boy, and more. He would not be afraid of this. He would not lose it. He’d spent far too much of his adult life cut off from the world, and he wasn’t about to let the risk of loving stop him doing it.


	46. Forty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 4-7, 2016

“I want us to go somewhere else, while we can. Can’t we go to the sea-side? Please? I want to smell the ocean, and just...not think about all of this, for a little while.” What Earlene was not saying aloud was her deep-seated conviction that their respite might be all too brief. 

 

Thranduil raised his eyes to the ceiling, before his head dropped again with a smile. Her point was well-taken, and surely, they could feel certain about him truly being elsewhere? The longer they waited, the riskier such propositions became. Not to mention, Thanadir and the other elves had tied in the roof of their home to the surrounding trees. The ellith were now working on binding lengths of new-cut straw into the tight bundles that would be the thatching for this roof, with Orla having insisted on a few tweaks to the ancestral technique to help it be more durable. Really, this would be their best chance at something like this for months to come.

 

“Yes, meluieg,” he said softly. “We can go. I presume you already have a destination and are but awaiting my permission to make a reservation?”

 

She nodded, turning the computer to show him with a beautiful smile of happiness. “Thank you, Thranduil,” she said, rising to kiss him in gratitude. “It is a little place, not so far away. There is a view of the Aran Islands, and we could take the ferry to see them.”

 

“Aran Islands?” he asked, amused.

 

“That is what they are called,” she shrugged. “I do not know why.” They had returned to the cottage during the days, to help with the house, and had gone to town every other day. “You mean it, we really may do this?”

 

He nodded, feeling at the moment that her obvious happiness was worth the risk they hopefully were not taking. With a few clicks of her mouse, she made the reservation, and supplied payment information. “Three days from now, to stay a week. And hopefully Lorna and Ratiri don’t kill me for not asking first. I will send her an email.” She kept in touch with Lorna daily, even if it was to only relate minutiae. They had both agreed that communication, in view of what had happened, was a good thing. Because any  _ lack _ of communication would be their failsafe that trouble had returned, and to return at once to the safety of the Halls.

 

********

 

Lorna, having got rid of her bedding, bed, and bedstead for good measure, had spent much time essentially fumigating her cottage while Ratiri moved in with her. Thranduil had donated her a bedframe, to her delight; the headboard was carved to look like woven branches, and she splurged on window curtains to match it.

 

Doc Barry had chewed Ratiri up one side and down the other, but he’d hit on the perfect excuse for any further absences: his girlfriend was forty, pregnant with twins, and had to travel for her job. The Doc had said he wasn’t going to get paid, which was only fair, but Ratiri had savings in plenty.

 

They’d spent the last week sitting by the fire in the evenings, and sometimes watching movies, reveling in the peace of their home --  _ their  _ home. Their only communication was from Earlene and the Elves (which still, goddammit, needed to be a band name), and Lorna always checked it as soon as the TARDIS sounded.

 

She laughed when she read the message. “That lot wants to go on holiday,” she said. “To the coast near the Aran islands. I love it.” She’d heard of them before, but had quite forgot them when she learned the Sindarin word for ‘king’. “Let’s do it, shall we?”

 

Ratiri came to peer over her shoulder, his hands and shirt dusted with flour. He’d been attempting to teach her to make bread, but such was the layout of her kitchen that it was hard for two people to work in it. “Why not?” he said. “I’d say we all deserve it.”

 

Lorna fired off a confirmation, and sighed when she returned to her attempts at bread. Ratiri was a wonderfully patient teacher, yet she still somehow always got it wrong. Finally, as a last-ditch attempt at distraction, she dragged over the kitchen stool, hopped up onto it, and kissed him soundly. “How about we try something else?” she said. While she couldn’t sound seductive if her life depended on it, she was quite happy to grab his arse.

 

“One of these days, this will stop distracting me,” he said, sounding entirely unconvinced.

 

“You keep telling yourself that,” she said, and kissed him again.

 

*********

 

“I would rather just run, Earlene,” Thanadir said in frustration, nearly tipping over for the tenth time.

 

“No, you would not,” she said. “Meldir, you are the most talented person I know. You are not going to be defeated by a device nearly every human child has mastered by the age of seven. You must be going a little faster, is all, to be able to balance. You cannot go at a walking pace and expect to succeed,” she said, determined not to let the stubborn elf win. “If you will not speed up, I will run behind you and push you until you are going fast enough.”

 

Those apparently were the magic words, because horror came over his visage, that a pregnant mortal would need to do this to teach him. With a look of both determination and profound annoyance, he finally did as she instructed, while Thranduil chuckled softly.  _ He _ had learned to use the bicycle easily, and was deeply amused at the struggles of his seneschal. 

 

“I do not mean to harass him, Thranduil. It is only that I want to see the Aran Islands on our trip, and I am not going to watch him run the entire time the rest of us are using rented bicycles. Not when it is so easy to learn.”

 

“I believe you need not worry any longer, meluieg. Look,” he said with a grin. Thanadir was disappearing around the bend in the road, apparently having finally ‘gotten it.’ “I will give you some advice, meluieg. When he returns, do not be too effusive in your praise of him. Acknowledge his success only, then move on. Otherwise his pride will be hurt worse than it already is.”

 

“I thought we had all agreed to send his pride on a permanent vacation?” she asked acerbically.

 

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” he fired back.

 

“As you wish, Thranduil,” she said with exasperation. And a smirk, because yes, she did know perfectly well what he meant. A light and affectionate slap to her bottom summed up his response, and earned him a giggle. “Feeling adventurous?” she teased. “I did not know that spanking interested you.”

 

“Perhaps I am full of surprises,” he retorted, not to be outdone, and smiling when her eyebrows arched. They both broke into laughter and shared a kiss. It felt like a new beginning, to have relaxed love and humor back in their lives. She wondered if she would ever take it for granted again, or fail to remember that there were people all around the world that lived every day with the threat of people like von Ratched hanging over them.  _ I doubt it,  _ she thought, as she smiled to see Thanadir returning to them, doing his damnedest to not look as pleased as he so evidently was.

 

******

 

“I was so determined that ‘baby things’ would not take over my life or require a separate vehicle, and I am apparently not succeeding,” she said, frowning at the disaster Allanah’s necessities were making of Lorna and Thanadir’s attempts to pack the van; there was barely room after their food and clothes. And that was after she had already decided to nix the stroller, in favor of the three tall and strong males that could carry the little girl should her own arms tire. Car seat, lounger, playpen, breast pump, bottles, dozens of nappies, bags of clothes and blankets...Earlene growled in frustration. “Why does it all have to take up so much room? A baby should not require fifteen times her own mass in accoutrements,” she grumbled. Thranduil rolled his eyes and saw an easy way to partially disassemble a few of the worst offenders, and soon all was set right. On what could have been among the last sunny and lovely weeks of summer for all they knew, they were soon motoring toward a nowhere town south of Galway.

 

Lorna let Ratiri drive, since he was by nature more careful and she knew she was a better navigator, having been born here and all. Thank frigging God for SmartPhones and GPS, though; it beat having to wrestle with a map a thousand times over.

 

The day was a sunny one, and she prayed it would last. The weather in Ireland could be unpredictable, but especially on the coastline. If it  _ was  _ going to go south on them, she hoped it would hold off until they’d got everything into the guest house. She’d looked at pictures of it online, and it was an adorable little place.

 

“It can get bloody windy down there,” she said. “Mornings usually aren’t so bad, but afternoon might not be too pleasant on the beach for Allanah. Looks like that house’d be plenty cosy if the weather decided to shat on us, though.”

 

“Even if we do nothing but stay inside and play board games or...whatever...it will be a change of scenery. But I really want to see the islands, get to walk around near the ocean. That was sort of a hard thing about New York. You’re right there on the Atlantic, but there’s no sense of it. Just the noise and pollution of a big city. No sound of the surf or...all of that. And it’s supposed to be where those lovely sweaters are from, too. Wouldn’t mind adding one against the coming winter.” She wanted to be able to think of cozy days in the Halls, enjoying her pregnancy in whatever way one could enjoy being the dimensions of a beach ball.

 

“Christ, I’d like to get some’v that yarn, too,” Lorna said, squinting and pulling down the sun-flap. “I’ll not be wanting to do much but knit in a few months. I already have to pee every fifteen minutes.” Ratiri had already factored that into their schedule, figuring Earlene had to be having the same issue, to one degree or another.

 

Onward they went, while he conscientiously stuck to the speed limit, though she could tell it was irking him a bit. She’d make it up to him later, so long as he was quiet about it. Thranduil and Earlene would hardly care, but they didn’t need to be scandalizing poor Thanadir.

 

Earlene surprised Ratiri at one point, when they were between Nowhere and The Middle of Nowhere, with another bathroom request. The look on Ratiri’s face was priceless, in her estimation. “I don’t need a bathroom. I just need you to pull over, I’ve got this quite managed.”

 

“Uh, there is nothing but grass for miles, Earlene. How…?”

 

“Just pull over, Ratiri, or you’ll force me to demonstrate  _ inside _ the van, and then we’ll all be very unhappy,” she said sweetly but with an edge of not being incapable of said action. She hopped out, with Thranduil doing his damnedest not to smirk (Earlene glared at him), stood facing away from the side of the van near the rear tyre for all of about twenty seconds, then returned. “Thanks, we can go now,” she said, feeling vastly relieved on every level.

 

“All right, spill,” Lorna said. “How’d you do that? What did you use, and for Christ’s sake have you got another?”

 

Earlene laughed. “Actually, I do. I always keep a few extra brand new ones. I figure by now, the company owes me a share of stock for increasing their business.” She fished in her purse, and handed Lorna a P-Style, in its packaging. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “I’ll warn you that it may take a small bit of effort to get used to it, but the things are foolproof to anyone who has any common sense whatsoever.”

 

Lorna looked at the package, then tore it open. “All right,” she said, “this is the most brilliant thing ever invented by man -- or probably woman, in this case. Ratiri allanah, stay put -- I’ll be right back.”

 

Once behind the van, it did take her a moment to work out how to get things set up in a manner that wouldn’t leak, but oh, what a relief. She’d always thought blokes had it unfairly easy, so now the tables were evened.

 

“That has my official stamp’v approval,” she said, putting it back in the package so she could clean it later. “Beats the hell out’v having to squat and hope nobody sees your arse.”

 

Ratiri tried not to laugh, he really did, but utterly failed. “You’re probably right, but you’re being a bad influence for Allanah. You don’t want her first word being  _ your  _ first word.” 

 

(Given that Lorna’s first word had been ‘fuck’, he wasn’t wrong.)

 

Earlene was helplessly giggling, before realizing she was already hungry, and fishing around in her bag for a banana. She peeled and bit into it, until she noticed Thranduil looking at her sidewise with an insufferable smirk on his face. One that caused her to turn rather pink in the cheeks.  _ YOU are awful, _ she chastised him.

 

_ It is hardly my fault if I find you attractive and am desirous of your attentions. Nor am I to blame that you have chosen to consume such a wantonly provocative fruit. _

 

_ It is a *banana*,  _ she glowered.

 

_ If you say so, meluieg. I have tasted them, and I know how you like sweets. _

 

_ Thranduil Oropherion, you will pay for that later. _

 

_ I was hoping you might promise that, meluieg,  _ he said, drawing her close to him and kissing her cheek.

 

Earlene wished she had the ability to appear  displeased, but it was hopeless. She sighed, and ate her snack, now not able to think about the scenery. And yet it was very necessary to change her mental track. “Did anyone bring any games? I brought a fair amount of card decks.”

 

“I brought my gran’s old chess set,” Lorna said, “though I’ll warn you all that I murdered everyone in prison at it.”

 

“She murdered me, too,” Ratiri said grimly. “I’ve rarely lost a game, and she slaughtered me.”

 

“I had five years to practice,” she pointed out. “It’s what I did when I was dodging Tatiana’s Russian lessons. I learned more in prison than I ever did at school, though most’v it wasn’t exactly useful.”

 

“I like chess,” Earlene piped up. “I bet the ellyn would too, if they learned. I know a few fun card games that are essentially brainless with minor chances at hand slapping. And who knows, maybe this place will have some games too. Or jigsaw puzzles.” Thanadir had been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. “Are you well, meldir?” she asked softly.

 

“I am enjoying the scenery,” he said, taking the hand she offered. “And remembering a time when all of this land was forest.”

 

Earlene laced her fingers in his, wondering something she had never wondered before. Sure, the English and whoever else had cut down all the old forests. But why in hell had no one ever replanted the trees? By rights this country could be covered in trees inside of twenty years. She sighed, shaking her head. Really she knew nothing about the ecology here, only that in the States, in some places they’d restored what had been lost.

 

Chess and Tatiana gave Lorna a thought, but she tucked it away for now. No point spoiling this before it began. “Little place on the coast? I’m sure they’ve got loads. And it looks in the pictures like there’s plenty’v room for Allanah to play.” Baby-proofing it might prove tough, but not  _ too _ tough.

 

Ratiri pulled off at the right exit, out into the back of beyond. The village was so tiny it made Lasg’len and Baile look like metropolises, the buildings brightly painted -- probably necessary, in a grey Irish winter. Lorna loved her country, but at times it could be undeniably bleak, especially around the middle of February. “Jesus, will you look at this place,” she said, when they pulled up to it. It was every bit as adorable as the pictures had shown -- white stucco and blue trim, with warm light shining from all the windows.

 

The proprietors met them as scheduled and introduced themselves. If they were surprised by the motley appearance of the group, they hid it well. A house key was handed over, and they were shown inside and told of the amenities. They lived quite close by, should there be any problems, and they were delighted to meet Allanah. The place was cheery inside, with brightly toned woods all through the kitchen and beautiful picture window views of the ocean. They were very soon engaged in the business of unpacking their things and deciding how to allocate the three bedrooms. Which was really not so complex; two of the rooms had much larger beds, whereas a third had beds that were, while still quite nice, clearly more suited to single persons. Thanadir unhesitatingly claimed that one for himself. To everyone’s unspoken relief, all the bedrooms were scattered throughout the house and not wall to wall.  _ With a little care, private activities might remain exactly that _ , Earlene smiled to herself. She busied herself with setting up Allanah’s things while Thanadir lit a fire in the wood stove. The little girl had entered the ‘worm’ phase this last week, scooting along in some manner of locomotion that could not exactly be called a crawl but was more or less done on her belly. In moments her playpen was set up so that she could safely indulge herself while the adults continued to settle in.

 

Earlene wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the bedroom situation; Lorna grinned when she saw the rooms. She had fast discovered that having a lover as tall as Ratiri when you were as short as she was required a few interesting gymnastics that were not necessarily quiet (or successful. They’d fallen off the bed more than once at her cottage.)

 

“Such a view it’s got, on a nice day,” she said, looking out the window of the sitting room. It was every bit as cosy as she’d hoped, too; even if the weather turned to shit, they could enjoy the indoors. There weren’t many things to be collected and put out of Allanah’s reach, either; plenty of board games that were easily switched to higher shelves.

 

“I could stay here a month,” Ratiri said, leaning back in his chair and sighing with relief. Being off the road was more wonderful than he was going to let on, given the strain the drive had taken on his nerves. He wasn’t  _ quite  _ as bad about it as Lorna was, but it went against his nature.

 

Everyone wisely stayed out of Earlene’s way as she set up her foods and equipment in the kitchen; she did not travel without her food processor. Here there would be no elven luxuries; things like refrigeration would need to be minded. They’d take some meals in the nearby village, but she had also planned a meticulous variety of menus for a few nice dinners that would yield easy leftovers. Taking no chances, she’d brought along what had been jokingly christened The Pot by her friends in New York. It had belonged to gran, who had given it over as a present to Earlene after graduation from her bachelor’s degree and when she’d moved into her home in Queens. It was a generally indestructible stainless-steel affair of high quality, that in its day had cost dearly. Heavy bottomed, and according to gran, able to feed the Tuatha dé Danann for how much soup it could hold. With a fond smile, Earlene placed it on the stove and sorted her meats and vegetables. She hoped a worthy fish could be procured in town; this  _ was _ the coast after all. They’d also brought breads, lunch meats, cheeses. Even a few bags of crisps, though mostly she didn’t go in for such things. Earlene immediately set about making spice cookies for Thanadir. It was early afternoon, and no one was hungry for all they’d eaten just before leaving. 

 

“You need to learn to make bread while we’re here,” Ratiri said, pulling Lorna onto his lap. “Maybe a change of scenery will help.”

 

She laughed, resting her head against his shoulder. “I’m not sure  _ anything  _ can help,” she said. “I swear the dough sees it’s me and then decides to go into revolt. It’d behave if it was you. There’s other things I know how to cook.”

 

“Yes, but now it’s a personal mission,” he said. “I won’t fail as a teacher. You’ll be a successful apprentice, padawan.”

 

“Nerd,” she said fondly, poking him in the ribs.

 

“Guilty,” he admitted freely.

 

A wheezing, or perhaps it was a coughing sort of sound came from the kitchen at the mention of learning to bake bread. It had been the best Earlene could do to not completely erupt in laughter at learning there were _ two _ bread-challenged among them. She genuinely did not want to hurt Thanadir’s feelings, so having a nice bronchial cough and then heading to the sink for a glass of water was the best dissembling she could do.

 

“You okay in there?” Lorna asked, sitting up a bit. “You need a lozenge or something?”

 

“We’re all just fine,” she said, clearing her throat. Truthfully, she’d intended to make more than one batch of biscuits, and they’d better stay out of her flour supply. Bread for her was usually a slow-fermentation, two or three day multi-grain affair concerning which she somehow doubted Ratiri could approach her level of nerdiness. Thranduil smirked at his wife while he looked out the window, and  Thanadir looked with confusion at the box marked “Jigsaw Puzzle.”

 

“Here,” Lorna said, rising from her human perch with some reluctance. “Go on and dump it out on the floor --” he did so “-- and sort out these little pieces. They all fit together to make this picture on the front’v the box, but no two’re the same shape. It’s best to start with the edges.” She hunted down a corner, and then a piece that went with it, snapping them together. “Some people, if they’ve got a big, complex one, will frame it when they’re done, I guess because why put so much work into something you’re just going to pick apart?”

 

The old elf looked from the picture, to the mess of pieces, to the picture, and was instantly enthralled with the challenge. Thranduil looked over with an expression that amounted to “we’ve lost him.” And indeed, the pieces were already being ordered by color and other subcategories of organization known only to Thanadir. Forty-five minutes later, Earlene placed a plate of freshly baked cookies and a glass of milk on the floor near the puzzle, and the cuteness was complete. He laid on his belly, propped up on his elbows and with his long shins bent up at the knees, ankles crossed; the sight was captivating. Unseen by the seneschal, both women silently snapped pictures of him munching the cookies, with the puzzle in the foreground.

 

Ratiri bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if Thanadir knew just how adorable both women found him. It was yet another preconception down the loo, too -- had you asked him even a month ago to picture an Elf laying on the floor doing a puzzle while eating biscuits and milk, he would have been utterly incapable. Thanadir was such an odd combination of propriety and a wonder that could occasionally seem almost...not childlike, not that, but similar. When he discovered something new, his reaction was as real and raw as that of a child.

 

His ruminations were interrupted by Lorna, who came and sat on his lap again. She was getting heavier, but that just meant she weighed more than a wet cat. He didn’t think she knew that she occasionally had nightmares -- she was so crap a liar that she couldn’t have kept it from him if she did -- but they’d tapered off in the last week, for which he was grateful. She  _ did  _ have a tendency to not so much sleepwalk as sleep _ talk _ ; she’d sound and look fully awake, and the only reason he knew otherwise was because they would be having two entirely separate conversations. It had creeped him right the hell out the first time it happened, but Mairead said she’d always done it. Evidently it ran in the family.

 

Earlene took Allanah out of her playpen to let her explore the floor, such as it was, purposefully putting her down out of sight of Thanadir. There was hardwood floor and an area rug too, which should give her a healthy dose of new germs, she reasoned. This all seemed good for about ten minutes, in which she had to take the rug tassels out of her mouth at least five times when suddenly she felt so tired.

 

“Let me, meluieg. I will take a blanket and take her for a walk outside.” There was a stiff and cool wind blowing, making the air a little chilly. Earlene nodded at him gratefully, slumping onto the sofa. With raised eyebrows, she looked at her feet. Were they a bit swollen? _ No. They are not, whether or not they are,  _ she said to herself with annoyance. But that did not stop her from slipping off her clogs and putting her feet up on the sofa, with a sigh of relief. It just felt so damn good, anymore, to be on her back for a bit, where gravity wasn’t using her boobs and her belly to reconfigure her spine.

 

“Does anybody want tea?” Lorna asked, figuring she’d make some anyway. It was to her pride that the Irish actually drank quite a bit more tea than the bloody English; the joke was that if you didn’t have fifteen cups a day, you got your license taken away. “And yes, Ratiri, it’s herbal.”

 

Earlene raised her hand and waved it about. “Meeeeeeee.”

 

“Coming right up,” Lorna said.

 

“I know I worry too much,” he said, setting her on her feet. “Indulge me.”

 

“I already do,” she said, giving him a smirk as he followed her into the kitchen. Of course all the tea things were in the last places she’d expect, but she got the kettle on. Poor Earlene and her stomach...Lorna would get there in time, she was sure, though at the moment she still had no tits. Oh well. She’d rather have none than deal with what poor Earlene was stuck with. It was far too early for her to feel the twins moving, but she rubbed her hand over her stomach anyway. “When all this shite’s over -- when they’re old enough to understand -- I want to take them to Scotland. I want them to see where you grew up. You’ve said so little’v it.”

 

“There wasn’t much to say,” he said. “I was a lonely boy who daydreamed a lot, with parents that fought like demons but loved each other anyway, and made sure I knew I was loved, too, even if the rest of the world didn’t quite know what to do with me. I didn’t do the sorts of mad things you did...until I was in my twenties, anyway. My gap year, it was...special.”

 

“You only pretend to be respectable,” she said, filling the cream pot with milk. “I’m on to you, Mister. You’d still go snowmobiling with a Boba Fett helmet. Don’t lie.”

 

“Maybe,” he said, with a failed attempt at sounding noncommittal. “I just wouldn’t crash this time. Did I mention I hit a tree?”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, leaning against the counter to support herself. “No,” she said, “no you didn’t. You just said your friend crashed.”

 

“It was more of a glance, really. Didn’t even knock me off my snowmobile.”

 

She rose up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek just as the kettle began to scream. By now she knew how everyone took their tea, so she fixed it up and carried the tray out to the lounge. “I come bearing the elixir’v life,” she said, and reflected that Ratiri’s speech patterns really were rubbing off on her to a slightly appalling degree.

 

They all enjoyed their tea, while Earlene lazily looked over at the floor and the puzzle and…. _ seriously?  _ Learning forward just a little more gave her a view of the box. While it was only a 250 piece puzzle, it still should be taking more than...had it even been a total of sixty minutes?  _ Good grief, Thanadir. _

 

A few seconds later a cry of frustration came from the seneschal. 

 

“What is wrong, meldir?” she asked.  _ How could he be upset, when he’d like as not set some world puzzle speed record? _

 

“It is missing a piece...I cannot finish it?” He looked stricken.

 

“There’s always one,” Lorna said, turning up the cushions on the chairs. There was surprisingly little to be found -- just some random coins and a couple of marbles -- but under the second was the missing piece, and she held it up triumphantly before handing it to Thanadir. “Now you can.”

 

Thanadir looked at Lorna as if she had the powers of the Valar. “How could you possibly know where something so small was?” he asked, happily accepting it.

 

“Sofas and armchairs tend to eat things like this,” she said. “Once Allanah’s doing more than inchworming, you’ll find all sorts. Marbles, keys, cat toys, random wads’v tinfoil, but there’s always that one missing piece, and if it’s not in a sofa, it’s somehow under a fridge.” Christ but he was cute. Without explanation, she snapped his picture with her phone, intent on putting it in the scrapbooks.

 

“Thank you, Lorna. It would have…bothered me a great deal, to leave it unfinished.” With immense satisfaction, he admired the puzzle on the floor, only just beginning to work out that it would be in everyone’s way and that there was no simple means by which to move it elsewhere. Another frown clouded his face as he stood up.

 

“Don’t worry,” she said, following his gaze. “I’m old hand at this bit.” Carefully folding the corners of the box flat, she slid it underneath the puzzle, bit by bit, keeping the pieces locked together. Just as carefully she lifted it up, and gingerly handed it to him. “There. Still in one piece.”

 

With a beautiful smile, he asked for it to be placed on the large coffee table, at least for now. It needed appreciating.

 

*******

 

Lorna and Ratiri had both lived alone for years -- Lorna for five, Ratiri for fifteen. Both were rather set in their ways, and both were also now sharing a rather small cottage. In the interest of not eventually wanting to murder one another, they had a system so that each could have some ‘alone time’. It was a system that worked better in summer than it would in winter, when nobody would want to be going for many walks in the forest behind the cottage, but it worked for now. (They also now had two refrigerators, because both had their own system for stocking one, and they were not alike. The second fridge occupied the room with the water heater, safe out of the way.) The original fridge couldn’t have held enough food for two people anyway, so it was a double win. 

 

He was grateful that Lorna was pragmatic enough to realize their life together wouldn’t be sunshine and roses without effort, but though she could be irreverent and occasionally a touch immature, she was at heart a pragmatist. The irreverence and the bouts of immaturity were things he loved about her, but they were not the whole of her. She cared with an intensity that was sometimes as ferocious as it could be awkward. Given that Indira had given him the label the Mom Friend, it was no wonder they got on so well -- the Mom Friend apparently being the worry-wart who looked after everyone, whether they liked it or not. And he  _ was  _ the Mom Friend, no matter what he tried, so he’d given in and embraced it. He had little doubt he drove Lorna and Earlene half mad, but that was just what Mom Friends did.

 

Every other day or so, one of them would take a walk, while the other got the cottage to themselves. It wouldn’t be long before Ratiri would be the one who was always taking the walk, unless Lorna wanted to go with an escort, just because once she had the baby bump from hell she wasn’t going to enjoy it much.

 

In any event, once the tea was drunk, Ratiri meandered out into the green fields. He’d never yet been in such close quarters with all of them, and especially not for a week. He was self-aware enough to realize that Lorna wasn’t the only one who had trouble communicating with others; it largely came from having lived alone for so long, but that wasn’t the entirety of it. At work, he was competence personified, but in his personal life he’d had a tendency to put his foot in it. The fact that he was naturally shy hadn’t helped matters.

 

Lorna had been helping, he thought, as he watched a horse trot up to the fence to visit. Watching her attempts had made it somewhat easier for him -- she wasn’t good at it, but she tried, and he didn’t attempt to make her spit out every little thing. When she’d told him she needed to re-paint and rearrange their bedroom, he hadn’t needed to ask why, but later she’d told him that even though she didn’t remember what had happened in there, that room as it was had become a horror for her.

 

He’d tried to imagine what it would be like to be raped and not know about it, which had been awful enough, but eventually she’d broken down and told him that not only had she evidently been made to enjoy it, Thranduil had seen the whole thing in her memory. Had experienced it, and even though he could compartmentalize it, it had still been humiliating at first. He’d been so horrified they’d both gone for a walk, watching the sunset through the trees. She’d also explained why she’d asked him to use lavender shampoo, a request that had baffled him until she told him of Von Ratched and his creepy fetish.

 

But now they were here, with Thranduil and Earlene and Thanadir, and he could only ask so many questions about history and Sindarin and babies. And he couldn’t even relax with a glass of Guinness, because he would never be that mean to the alcohol-deprived ladies in the group. He trusted them not to judge him if his efforts were terrible; everyone had to start somewhere. At the very least, if they were going to laugh at him, at least they’d do it in private.

 

What was he, now? Thranduil rendered all his skills and education moot, a fact he tried not to think about too often. The fabric of what he did was now superfluous, and unlike Lorna, he had no defined task. Did he have any place among them on his own merits? What did he have to offer in his own right? He wasn’t stupid; he knew they wouldn’t have let him in on all this if not for his and Lorna’s interest in one another. Was he one of them, or was he a hanger-on?

 

It was not a question he wished to ask, but in the interest of that damnable communication, he probably ought to. He’d get an honest answer, which was why he wouldn’t be asking it until they were home again.

 

Thranduil strolled in the distance, a striking figure with his long silken hair caught in the ocean breeze, carrying a baby with a polka-dotted blanket. Earlene smiled to see him through the French doors; he at least appeared to be enjoying himself. It occurred to her, how little time alone her husband ever managed to have. She’d done without a great deal of it since they came together, and while there were moments of blissful isolation, they were infrequent. That and, with time spent in the Realm….she was never really alone, was she?  _ Unless Thanadir is lurking in my mind, I’m actually not being overheard right now,  _ she realized, shaking her head. While mostly she loved her life, and assuredly would want no other, it was not without sacrifices.

 

Ratiri, now thoroughly chilled, just about sighed with relief when he entered the warmth of the house. It was Lorna’s turn to wander off into the breeze, after a swift kiss. The lovely green wool coat her Gran had made her still buttoned over her abdomen, and it fluttered rather like a cloak as she stepped outside.

 

He went to sit in her vacated chair, admiring the puzzle -- naturally, Thanadir had put it together faster than most people would have. “It feels like Scotland out there,” he said. “I’ve missed the wind, even if my ears  _ do  _ feel like they’re about to fall off.”

 

“It’s a lot like New York,” said Earlene wistfully. “And come to think of it, past the Aran Islands, the next stop arguably _ is _ New York, or one of the other eastern seaboard cities. It’s part of why I am so glad Thranduil consented to come here. I miss that smell, the feel of the wind. It really doesn’t ever seem to get to the forest, for whatever reason.”

 

“I want to say it’s some feature of the topography,” he said, unlacing his boots, “but the answer is more than likely ‘magic’.” Prying the footwear off, he eyed her curiously. He wasn’t at all sure how to ask this without sounding rude, but he was curious nonetheless. “You haven’t got to answer this if you don’t want to,” he said, “but exactly how does being part of the Elves’ monarchy work? I only know about historical human monarchies, and not much at that. Do you…” Oh, hell, might as well go for broke, “do you really have to do everything he tells you, and can’t do anything he tells you not to?” He had to admit, though he would never say this aloud, that he couldn’t understand the appeal.

 

Earlene tilted her head, evaluating what she knew of Ratiri, deciding how to frame her answer. And honestly, she felt like she wanted a little more information. “I’m a little sensitive about answering that, but not for the reasons you might think. How to say this…” she briefly raised her eyes up to the ceiling. “I’ve no problem talking about it, in fact I’ll talk about it until you wish I wouldn’t, left to my own devices. But I’m very aware, from what I’ve sensed from Lorna, that others think I’m out of my tree for the decision I made. And that’s the hard part. I’ve made a choice that means the world to me, but to others, I can see it written on their faces that they feel it was a shite thing to do and generally incomprehensible. And that’s the part that makes it hard. I’m human, and no one likes to feel judged for what they wanted in their heart.” Her eyes bored into his, because if he couldn’t understand the unspoken question in her words, he sure as hell wouldn’t understand the answer to his question. Thanadir remained silent, but his full attention was now on this conversation.

 

“Lorna is Irish, and has been in prison,” he pointed out. “She is never going to be able to understand it. Hatred of monarchy is practically built into her genetic code, and she’s only had what, six months to get over it? It’s testament to how much she likes you all that she’s managed as much as she has. I’m just...curious. Elves aren’t humans -- it’s not like you joined up with Bloody Mary Tudor. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want to, and you’re a smart woman. I can’t imagine you walked into this blind; you made a conscious choice, but I don’t know you well enough to guess why -- not that I like guessing anyone’s motivations,” he added, a little dryly. “I know I’m not the most socially adept human being in the world.”

 

Smiling, she felt better. “Please don’t think I hold how Lorna feels against her. I don’t. It’s just that sometimes, you want to feel fully accepted and it is simply reality that it can’t always work out that way. I guess you could call it an emotional reality running headlong into an intellectual imperative. But anyway. How it works. The vows I made to Thranduil were as follows; three statements to which I responded in the affirmative. She recited slowly:  ‘ Will you pledge to serve your King, Thranduil son of Oropher, ruler of the Woodland Realm of Eryn Lasgalen, and to obey his laws and commands? Will you pledge to honor him in your heart, accept his justice for disobedience, and continue as a subject of his rule, forsaking all other authority? Will you freely give yourself to him, and promise your fealty to his throne, until death takes you?’ “ 

 

Earlene paused, while Thanadir’s lips parted in astonishment. He could not say why, but that she remembered each exact word surprised him considerably. This was proving more illuminating than he could have imagined, because Earlene could not possibly know that her vows had been his as well. They were what he pledged to Thranduil from his heart on the battlefield of Dagorlad, thousands of years previous. 

 

She continued speaking.“I would imagine that hearing this already answers some of your question; there is little room in there to not understand that yes, I have promised to do as he asks and look to him for what I do, though that last part is slightly fuzzy. We have a balance, I suppose you might call it. I do not ask him if I may use the loo or buy a roast for dinner. But for anything that would affect me as one of his subjects, or affect another one of the elves, yes, definitely. That is what fealty means, to me. Not to mention, when one person oversees the welfare of two hundred others, it is common decency. But there was more, Thranduil spoke a vow to me in return. Those words were that he would vow to serve me as my King. He would honor, care for, and protect me as is his sworn duty, all the days of my life. My loyalty and service, he would reward. Most people probably would not guess that the obligation runs both ways. And those would be the...essentials, I believe. If I am not mistaken, your next question would be, Why?” As that seemed like rather a lot, she gave him time to digest what she had said.

 

Ratiri turned this over in his mind, staring into the middle distance. While it was not something that would ever appeal to him, given what he personally perceived as drawbacks, he could see why it would to others. “It’s a bit like being a priest, or a vicar,” he said eventually. “The vows you take, and the service you pledge. But if you’ll forgive me, I do wonder why. I don’t judge you for it, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t help but wonder why.”

 

“I could stand around for days and try to come up with logical reasons, but those would be a smokescreen,” Earlene grinned. “It really boiled down to something completely simple. Love, and the deep seated perception that Thranduil is good, and honorable. That and, we had reached a bit of an impasse. He certainly wasn’t going to go away, and neither was I.  It was the obvious means by which the two of us were going to manage to move forward. You have to understand, too, Ratiri, that I went to Lasg’len to basically drop out of life. To be a hermit. To just do what I wanted to do, alone, and with no one particularly bothering me. I was tired of the life I’d led, or I would have kept with it. That my plans went as awry as plans can go because a stunningly beautiful elf king appeared out of nowhere is something that is still a considerable source of personal amusement.”

 

Ratiri couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “I came to Baile for the same reason,” he said. “Then I met Lorna, and through her I met you...I can’t call my life quiet, precisely, but I wouldn’t trade it. I’ll be honest with you, Earlene: what you have done is not something I would do, but I can understand why you did it.” Possibly better than she knew. Earlene, from the hints Lorna had dropped, had spent much of her adult life alone. With the Elves she had not just family, but community. She was part of something, as perhaps she never had been before in her life, and it was something amazing. He sighed. “I’ll tell you something, though: Lorna is never going to understand. You’re a good enough friend to her that she’s genuinely trying -- we’ve had a few conversations about it, and she’s had nothing but good to say about your dynamics --” Christ, he hoped she wouldn’t give out at him over  _ that _ “-- but she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t judge you, don’t get me wrong, but she had her freedom taken away against her will. The thought of voluntarily surrendering it would be an anathema to her, but don’t take that to mean that she judges you in any way.”

 

They had, in truth, had several conversations about it, because he’d found the idea uneasy at first himself, until Lorna pointed out that she’d never seen Thranduil treat Earlene as anything but his equal, and always with respect. Whatever vows they’d all spoken among one another, there did not appear to be active subjugation.

 

“It is possible that some of my memory is influenced by what I gleaned off of Lorna in the very beginning,” Earlene admitted. “Lorna and I are so different. If a person tried to create polar opposites, I’m not sure they could succeed better than the two of us. There is a great deal I admire about Lorna. She has a... _ je ne sais quoi _ that I would give a great deal to have, and don’t. Yet I think our differences are why we do not know each other that well, really. I observe, and analyze. It is how I process information. But speaking about complex topics aloud...it has not gone so well, there. But, all things in time,” she smiled. And though her face was an impenetrable mask, this conversation told her at least one thing. Lorna and Ratiri could simply never, ever know all of what had transpired between her and Thranduil at the outset. Earlene did not find those things to have been offensive, but _ they _ most certainly would. There was only ever so much that they were going to understand, but, so be it. For that, she had Thanadir. There was no doubt in her mind that when it came to all these matters that her human friends found so difficult, he did not. Their hearts were the same, toward their King.  _ I should ask the seneschal, sometime, if he has ever spent time in the dungeon. It might be a very amusing conversation indeed. _

 

“Lorna suffers from the same problem I do,” he said. “We both tend to err on the side of caution when it comes to fear of being rude. She’s worse about it than I am, but she also had a grandmother who would slap her upside the head if she said something wildly inappropriate. I don’t feel comfortable saying too much, but she likes you a great deal, and is afraid she will disappoint you. Though for God’s sake don’t tell her I told you so. She’s trying to be better at actually using her words, but I don’t know that she’ll ever be good at it.”

 

Earlene shook her head. “If there is one thing I am aware of with Lorna, it is the disparity between her life and mine. I had loving parents and college. She got beat up and dropped out of school. I had law school and wealth. She had to mostly educate herself and barely got by. I had so, so many opportunities compared to her, and don’t think I don’t know it. Now and again I have lost sight of that, and I’ve felt like shite for managing to be so callous. She has no idea, how much she’s managed to do with the circumstances she was dealt. Maybe someday she’ll see it. Now and again I’ve gone off at the mouth about that but…” she shrugged. “Lorna’s not the sort that wants smoke blown up her arse, and I don’t blame her. Besides, Thranduil understands her better than I do. I know that he cares for her as best he can and...they are much closer friends than she and I are; that’s ok. It’s not my business, and it seems to do both of them quite a lot of good.” A smile turned up at the corners of her mouth, because in the distance a diminutive green coat now bobbed along beside Thranduil and his polka dots. They looked so cute it was absurd. Or so absurd it was cute. One of those.

 

“She admires you a lot,” Ratiri said. “And I don’t think she’s daunted by you anymore, though she admitted she was a bit, at first. You’ve lived through things she’s certain would have destroyed her, and come out the other side. I know they would have destroyed  _ me _ .” If he had lost every single person who was dear to him -- if he’d watched and heard them die -- he’d probably have committed suicide sooner or later. “As odd as it sounds, I think Lorna and Thranduil have a good deal in common, in a few highly compartmentalized ways. She is so terrible at using her words that there are times I wish I had telepathy myself; she’s genuinely trying to get it out, but can’t. I thought  _ I  _ was bad about it, but I can be a fountain of eloquence compared to her. She’s told me the things he’s done for her mind; it’s little wonder she trusts him as she does.” The pair of them did look a tiny bit ridiculous -- Lorna tended to talk with her hands, as the saying went, which could get rather hilarious if you couldn’t hear her. Her coat flapped in the breeze, and he pondered putting another kettle on before their return.

 

“That’s just it, though. I didn’t live through it. I only pretended to, getting by on poems and pills. But either way, it’s not a contest. Life dished up shite but somehow, here we all are. Thanks to Thranduil.” Finding the memory troublesome, without even thinking she rose up and went to Thanadir, leaning against him. “I’m glad you’re with us, Ratiri. You’ve no idea what it’s meant to me, to see Lorna be so happy. At least, give or take recent events, but those still don’t take away from the good that has happened. I worry sometimes that we must seem...a little boring. I find it odd, sometimes. I had one particular function to do, and now I don’t do that at all, more or less. But it’s taught me that happiness isn’t defined by my former job, that much is certain.” 

 

Thanadir’s arm came around Earlene in a gentle hug. “Tail?” (Feet?) he asked, to which she eagerly nodded, moving down so he could rub her feet.

 

“Len hannon, meldir,” she said with a happy sigh.

 

Ratiri’s eyebrows rose. “A little boring? Earlene, this is literally my dream come true, but you’ve hit on something I was rather unhappily thinking of on my walk. I feel rather superfluous, too -- Thranduil’s healing ability renders my own moot. I’m of somewhat little use, unless Lorna and I are away from the Halls. She has more contacts than God, but exactly what tangible contribution can I offer? None that I can think of, and there are times it makes me...well, rather insecure. After my wife died, everything...stopped. My world ended, but I was still a doctor. Now everything has been essentially reborn, but being a doctor doesn’t count for anything.” He shook his head. “But Lorna makes me happy, too. I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone again, after Katherine -- didn’t think I’d  _ want  _ anyone. Then I saw that tiny elfin woman in a pub -- and yes, she’s the one I thought ought to have been an elf, when I first met you all. Oh, the irony.” She still struck him as vaguely fairylike, albeit a fairy who cussed like a sailor.

 

Thanadir spoke. “Ratiri, you do not understand. Aran Thranduil wanted you,” as if that piece of information alone should be completely self-explanatory. Earlene saw the worsening confusion on Ratiri’s face.

 

“I believe what Thanadir meant to impart is that, you are not here at my request, or Lorna’s. The King took the initiative to bring you into our circle.” She smiled, feeling this should be quite a reassurance.

 

It  _ was  _ reassuring, but it was also somewhat baffling. Ratiri didn’t know why Thranduil should want him in on this whole thing, but he was entirely sure Thranduil kept his own counsel.

 

Seeing that he still was not comprehending what either of them were trying to convey, Earlene realized she would have to be far more direct. “Ratiri, what we are trying to tell you is, Thranduil does not only see the thoughts of others, he sees the heart. What sort of person each individual is. None of us humans are with him because of what we can do or what function we can serve so much as that he has seen our innermost natures. He has seen through you and judged you to be a person of great worth. As he did with Lorna, as he did with me. Thanadir, am I using the right words to say this?” she asked. 

 

The old elf nodded. “That was very accurate, Earlene.”

 

“So you are not here because of what you can do. Or what you cannot do. You are here because he wants you to be.” And while even she had to admit that this sounded like the oddest of circular reasoning, there was not much else she could say about it. Her husband sensed things, perceived things...they had no way to fully explain what Ratiri was asking to know. Perhaps she could have offered that if he was among them it was because Thranduil sensed that sooner or later, he would be useful in a way even he could not imagine? But that sounded weird, and weirdness was precisely what she was seeking to avoid. There was already enough of that going around just...because elves.

 

“For once in my life, having an answer that can’t be quantified doesn’t bother me,” Ratiri said. “Thank you for telling me that. It’s set more than one thing in my mind at ease.”

 

******

 

Thranduil smiled to see this place, his first real view of the actual ocean. He wondered, would the legendary sea-calling rise in his heart? It did not appear so, and yet he liked the sound of the waves and the shore birds and the stiff breeze. He kept the blanket protectively around Allanah, who looked around in wide-eyed wonder.  _ This place, I enjoy,  _ he thought. And after he had strolled among the rocks for quite some time, he smiled to see a diminutive green coat with legs approaching him. Not that he would ever describe her thus within her hearing.

 

“How’s she liking the view?” Lorna asked, picking her way across the beach. She felt closer to at peace here than she had in weeks, out in the chill ocean air. “Such a big thing for such a little one to see.” Just because she could, and partly to be a little shit, she hugged him, and then immediately tripped over a stone and had to flail to right herself.

 

A steadying hand reached out to support her arm. “Indeed,” he answered, wondering if she was at all noting the irony of her words. He thought better of pointing it out. “It is a very different view than in the forest, and I believe she likes the sea birds most of all,” he said. Her little mind thinks those are especially delightful. And so far, she has not become cold.” Allanah giggled at him in delight when he reached out to touch the tip of her nose.

 

“I think most parents’d kill to be able to do that,” she said, grinning at the baby. “If we could know what they were thinking, it’d save a lot’v work and sleep deprivation.”

 

She looked out at the sea, the grey waves capped with white. “Just wanted to tell you I’ve been better, now,” she said. “Since we talked, I mean. Ratiri and I took care’v shite at the cottage, set it to rights --” and by that she meant completely re-do her bedroom “--and I don’t have nightmares now. And I’ve got Ratiri wearing lavender, if you hadn’t noticed.” Yes, he was using her old shampoo. Hey, whatever worked.

 

Thranduil knelt down, smiling happily. “Then that deserves a proper hug, and not one of your sneak attack ones.” It was hard to detect, the lavender, when the ocean breeze was so fresh and strong, but it was there. “I am glad,” he murmured, and he meant it. Maybe, they would be blessed with this being a very enjoyable week that would refresh all their spirits. That was his hope, anyway. “If you do not mind, Lorna, I have already been out here for quite some time and suspect that the little one will not be content too much longer. May we walk back?”

 

“No one expects the sneak attack hugs,” she said. “Well, except you. We might as well head back, before the wind kicks up and blows us away. Well, blows me away -- I love this coat, but it really is a bit’v a sail in a strong wind. She might even be wanting a nap, the little sprog. Though she’s a bit big now to be a sprog.” Laughing, she added, “I think Thanadir thinks I’m a magician for finding the last puzzle piece in a chair. He hasn’t got any bloody idea how adorable he is, does he? Or does he do it on purpose?”

 

Thranduil smiled a they turned back and carefully picked a path through the irregular rocks that made up the beach. “At risk of further earning my Bad Elf award, I will tell you that yes, he knows how he can affect others. But he does not do so on purpose. Usually.” A huge smirk appeared on his face as he left Lorna to connect the dots.

 

“I am so making you an actual Bad Elf award,” she teased, but she wasn’t joking. She didn’t need to tell Mick what she was doing to borrow some of his equipment.  _ And that little shit.  _ Of course he knew. Oh well, the secret was safe with her. “It’ll act as a candleholder, so you can even do something useful with it, and if it’s in Irish, nobody else’ll ever know what it says.”

 

“Do not misunderstand me,” the King smiled. “Thanadir never does that over a serious matter. He would consider it to be gravely inappropriate. But for something lighthearted, like wanting Earlene’s cookies or to play with the baby, yes. He cannot help his appearance. Once, long ago, he showed me a drawing he had made of his mother. It wrenched my heart, to see the look of sorrow captured there.” Even now, he shook his head at the memory. It had been easy to see, whence his seneschal came by his wide, innocent eyes.

 

Well, that had taken a turn. “He’d said he was poor as a lad,” she said, “and hungry. I didn’t ask much more than that -- I know sometimes people just don’t want to talk about that shite. And here I spent so much effort trying to keep him away from all the ugly shite in the world, not knowing he’d already seen so much. I know you think I worry too much over you lot, but at first, when you were just getting a look at the human world, I didn’t want the first things you saw to be ugly. With the sewing machine and all...he’s got a wonder to him that I don’t think I was ever capable’v. I didn’t want to see that ruined, and then Sean happened.”

 

“All elves have seen many sorrows, Lorna. It is part of the consequence of our long lives. Yet, I do not think it will ever be possible for Thanadir to lose that of which you speak. His mind is one that ever seeks out new learning. In the end, his spirits are never dampened for long. As for Sean…well, what can one say exactly? Bad choices are bad choices.” They reached the doors, which Lorna opened and held against the stiff breeze.

 

“We’ll have to remember not to use those if anyone’s playing cards or a board game,” she quipped. “That could be a slight disaster.”

 

Ratiri nearly laughed to see Lorna -- hood askew, half her hair blown free of her braid. She looked adorable, but he knew she didn’t like being  _ called  _ adorable. “I thought the wind might catch your coat and carry you away,” he said, helping her out of it and brushing her hair out of her face.

 

“Not with this gut,” she retorted, “and it’s only going to get worse.” At least Earlene had some height to balance her out; Lorna was going to look like a bowling ball with legs and arms. “That little one enjoyed the seagulls, apparently.”

 

“I think it is time for many things, for the little one,” said Thanadir, whisking her away.

 

“I don’t know if I have ever said aloud how grateful I am that you and Thanadir almost always seem to take Allanah away when diapers are in question. I really do not feel like I do my fair share with her,” Earlene said, even as she grimaced and adjusted her breasts that had once again become annoyingly heavy with milk.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. It took less than one minute to change the baby, but hours each day to feed her by one means or another. “You are welcome, meluieg. It is our pleasure,” is what he was wise enough to say aloud. Thanadir returned, and Earlene happily hoped Allanah would reduce the size of the water balloons, if only for awhile. “What shall we do tomorrow?” she asked. “There are the islands to see, the nearby town, and of course there is goofing off and watching movies and playing games. Thoughts?”

 

“I’d say horseback riding, if the weather’s fine and you actually want to do it,” Lorna said. “I’d understand why you wouldn’t, though.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind just walking a bit,” Ratiri said, “even if it had to only be a bit. Then we could all see who could slaughter who at chess.”

 

“I can ride, if I am not overruled,” said Earlene. It is being on my feet for longer periods of time that is becoming more difficult. My arse seems to still be holding up just fine. And since we have someone that can fix being saddle sore...but I think that if we really want to see the islands, we’ll need to rent bicycles. They’re too big, for horses to get us much of anywhere, and that’s if they are the cooperative sort.”

 

Thranduil sighed.  “I will admit I am worrying too much, but I would rather not see you on a strange horse, meluieg. And, I think you will find that being in a saddle will be less comfortable than you think.” The full truth was, he hoped to relax on this trip, and spending the time fretting every moment about Earlene being thrown and possibly taking a blow to her abdomen was not going to reduce his level of tension at all.  He knew beyond doubt that she could ride a bicycle; he had never seen her ride a horse. Though, she’d told him she could.

 

“Then I will not ride,” she said, smiling at him. “There are many other things. And, I would like to find a sweater. A cardigan. One I can enjoy until there is too much of me to button it up.”

 

“I haven’t been on a horse in thirty years,” Ratiri said. “I vote bicycles.”

 

Lorna grimaced. “D’you know hard it is to ride a bicycle at my size? Even my tiny bloody hands can have trouble with the brakes.” It was embarrassing to admit, but it was true. “I wonder if I could take a horse while you’re all on bicycles? Either that or like, sit on a skateboard behind you?” She was only half joking, too. “I do want yarn, though. It’ll be getting really cold right around the time I won’t want to be moving much, and I’ve got some old sweater patterns’v Gran’s. Might as well give it a shot.”

 

“Maybe they’ve got tandems, and you could just be a passenger?” Earlene asked, looking at her tiny friend. She was not about to mention children’s bikes, even though that was the obvious solution.

 

“We will think of something. We will go and if we have to hire a farmer and a pony cart, we will manage,” said Thranduil, clearly uninterested in pursuing the minutiae of this discussion. “And I agree with Ratiri. We have all week. Earlene said it is supposed to be good weather at least these next three days, so for tomorrow may I suggest that we just enjoy ourselves here?”

 

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Lorna said. “Christ, I could lay and look at that view for a day. I’m just glad you gave me that wee thing, Earlene. I’ve got to go every damn ten minutes, at least I won’t have to go find a handy bush.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing, pulling her down to him. “Before long you wouldn’t be able to squat anyway,” he said, hand splayed over her belly. “We’ll work something out. There’s no point worrying about it, especially when we haven’t had dinner yet. I’ll teach you to make bread one of these days.”

 

“Earlene taught me,” said Thanadir brightly. “I’m getting better.”

 

Earlene erupted in laughter. “Oh meldir, you sound just like the man in the Monty Python movie.”

 

“I’m being repressed?” asked Thanadir.

 

“No,” said Earlene, now gasping for air. “The ‘I’m getting better’ man.” She was saved the trouble of elaborating when Lorna croaked “Bring out yer dead!”

 

“Do I want to know?” said Thranduil, boggled at the jumble of images coming from all of them, including Thanadir.

 

“I don’t want to go on the cart,” Lorna said, as though that explained everything. Ratiri was too busy wheezing with laughter to actually say much of anything. “Thanadir was with Earlene and I, the night we watched Monty Python. He enjoyed it more than I’d thought he would, given he wasn’t very familiar with Monty Python’s kind’v humor. And I still want a Holy Hand Grenade, even if I  _ would  _ lob it at someone on the M7.” 

 

“We’re not an autonomous collective!” piped Thanadir, which gained roars of appreciation from all the mortals present. 

 

“Oh hell,” said Earlene. “This is no good. Lorna, cue it up. We’re going there. Thranduil, it is time you lost your, er, it is time you saw this movie. It is only a little over an hour.” She was already blushing furiously because while she might not have  _ said _ it, he most certainly heard her  _ think _ it. “Don’t forget the subtitles,” she asked.

 

“We’re popping his Python cherry,” Lorna whispered to Ratiri, who immediately descended back into helpless laughter.

 

“That,” he wheezed back, trying to keep it in a whisper, too, “isn’t something I needed to hear.”

 

“Sorry,” Lorna said, sounding anything but. She loved watching Ratiri laugh -- he could be so reserved normally that it was like watching the sunrise.

 

Thranduil, sensing defeat, sat down and rearranged Earlene so that she could nurse comfortably while he held her. He’d already worked out to have partial revenge, having unfortunately (for Earlene) caught the Huge Tracts of Land reference in her mind. He did not need to move his hands to cause a very pleasing warmth to develop in her body. She sighed, knowing that turnabout was fair play, and shrugged. The best part of all was watching Lorna and Thanadir and Ratiri, each trying to outdo the other; from a single viewing, Thanadir recalled an astounding amount of dialogue. Cupped hands were used in place of coconuts, and a good time was had by all, even Thranduil, who chuckled more often than not. Yes, this was completely ridiculous, but it was also much of what he had come to appreciate about mortals. And in all his years with Thanadir, he had never seen so much laughter and simple joy.  _ Holy Hand Grenade, indeed. _

 

“Seriously, though,” Lorna said, “I really do want a Holy Hand Grenade. I’d use it as a paperweight.”

 

“You don’t have any paperwork,” Ratiri pointed out, looking down at her. Never, ever would she get tired of the gleam that entered his eyes when he was amused.

 

“I’d get some, just for that.” She’d do it, too.

 

“How about I just get you Excalibur?” he asked.

 

“If some moistened bint throws it at you, I’ll have to go tear her hair out,” Lorna said solemnly. “I won’t have any choice.”

 

“Maybe if you’re good, Santa will get you one for Christmas,” Earlene said drily, really not wanting to get up and make dinner. It felt so, so nice to be off of her feet.

 

“I will help you, meluieg. We will cook together.”

 

_ Promise? _ she said.

 

With an incredibly sexy rumble coming from his chest in reply, he picked her up and they went to the kitchen.

 

Lorna glanced at Ratiri, who shrugged. Those two weren’t going to have it off in the kitchen, which was all that really mattered, and Earlene was such a fantastic cook that it didn’t matter who helped her.

 

“Should we break out the chess?” Lorna asked.

 

Ratiri grimaced. “Do we have to? All the games we’ve played have done nothing at all for my self-esteem.”

 

“You’ve just got to stop thinking as linear as you do. Just look at it like it’s a mystery disease and you’ve got to examine all the possible causes.”

 

“You never give me a chance,” he said dryly. “Before I can get my bearings you’ve mowed through my pawns and half my knights. You should play Thanadir.”

 

“Thanadir,” she said, looking at the elf in question, “would kick my arse inside’v two minutes -- wouldn’t you, Thanadir? You and Thranduil’ve got probably five hundred times more experiences as tacticians than I do at the very least. All I’ve got comes from dealing with gang shite, which isn’t even close to the same thing.”

 

“I do not know of what you are speaking,” the seneschal said. “What is this….chess?”

 

“It’s a strategy game,” Lorna said, rising to dig out her set. “You’ve got a number’v different pieces that can only move in specific ways. The goal is to capture this one,” she added, holding up the queen “And block this one in.” She held up the King. “Whoever gets it wins. Well, that’s the simplified version, anyway. You have to know how to take out the opposing player’s various pieces without getting your own taken out instead.”

 

Thanadir stared at the board, the gears whirring in his head immediately. “Show me, please,” he asked.

 

Lorna grinned, setting the board on an end-table and dragging it over so they could sit facing one another. “Okay, so this is your King,” she said. “Each piece had different ways it’s allowed to move, and he can go one square in any direction.” She set the figurine down. “He can also move  _ around  _ this one --” here she held up a rook “--he can move any number’v squares in rank or file, but he can’t jump anybody else.” She laid out the rest of the pieces, their positions, and what they could  and could not do. “People don’t think much’v pawns,” she said, lining them up. “You’ll her the term used a lot in English, usually to describe someone that’s been used and doesn’t actually matter, but in chess, if it goes a certain way, a pawn can become the queen.” Aaaand her brain went into slightly uneasy territory there. Moving on. “I’m looking forward to you beating me, Thanadir. I’ve never had a proper opponent.”

 

“I’m right here,” Ratiri complained, but it was good-natured.

 

“And there’s loads you can do that I can’t,” she said, tossing a cushion at him. “Accept that I’m too ruthless for you and move on.”

 

He grinned at her, too content to move to harass her. “My beautiful bloodthirsty sprite.”

 

“And don’t you forget it.”

 

Thanadir and Lorna set up the board properly, and began their game. There was decent struggle, given that this was Thanadir’s first ever game, but with two bishops and a knight remaining in her arsenal, she put the elf into checkmate. And while he spent fifteen tense seconds staring at the game board in disbelief, he finally looked up, smiled, and congratulated Lorna warmly on her victory. If Earlene happened to walk by thirty seconds later, with a glass of their elven wine for him and a kiss planted on his cheek, no one but Thranduil was really the wiser about why that occurred. Earlene reappeared soon after, announcing that dinner would be in an hour and immediately sitting on the love seat with Thanadir who kindly resumed work on her feet.

 

“And now that I’m a hundred percent certain you’ve memorized every single thing I did, I know damn well you’ll kick my arse next time,” Lorna said, picking up the pieces. “I haven’t run up against a challenge like you...ever, really. I’m not used to people who actually make me work for it.”

 

“I would like to try,” said Thranduil. “But I cannot see how to have this be...fair. I cannot shut out your thoughts,” he said sadly.

 

Lorna pondered this, looking from Earlene to Ratiri. While she couldn’t yet say she was  _ good  _ at meditation...focusing on a vague inner fog, nebulous as the mist over the trees behind her house, she said, “How well can you read me now?” If she could fuzz it a little bit, she’d have at least a chance at not getting murdered in six moves.

 

“Too well,” he said, shaking his head. 

 

“We have four laptops in this house,” said Earlene. Do you really mean to tell me that there is no such thing as a simple chess program that will let you play each other by computer, so you can be in different rooms?”

 

“There’s got to be,” Lorna said. “Christ, Google probably has some free program.” Grinning, she hopped to her feet. “This’ll get interesting, and then maybe I’ll try to sniff the fumes off that wine.” This teetotaller thing still sucked, and did not suck any less with the passage of time. And the worst of it was that she’d still be stuck with it even after the twins were born, because of nursing. She was never, ever doing this again -- she had no idea why any woman would be willing to do it more than once.

 

Earlene helped set up Thranduil’s computer and in less than ten minutes, Thranduil had gone into the bedroom chuckling with his computer. If Earlene thought it was vaguely surreal that Lorna had to keep shouting “Can you hear me now?” across the house, she said nothing.

 

Seated on her bed (which was apparently far enough) Lorna opened her laptop. She’d never played a virtual game before, so she let him make the first move, and wondered if she was actually, finally going to get her arse handed to her. At least, if she absolutely  _ had  _ to be beaten by someone, it would be the King of the god damn Elves. She couldn’t think of a better opponent to lose to.

 

Earlene’s phone timer went off, waking her from the nap she had not meant to take.   _ I want to cry,  _ she thought, disoriented. Her feet were blissfully warm underneath the blanket Thanadir had draped over her; he and Ratiri were watching Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, and the seneschal was entranced.

 

Ratiri saw Earlene flailing with the blankets and offered to check the timer.  _ He’d been able to cook that roast...could he handle testing a meatloaf?  _ She frowned.  _ Earlene, he’s a goddamn doctor. Give the man credit that he can use a digital thermometer.  _ “I need to check that the meatloaf has reached 70C,” she said. “The thermometer is right by the oven. If it’s done, please take it out to rest a bit.”  _ You are such a control freak,  _ she pointed out to herself. And yet it was simply too easy to remain one with the sofa.

 

“Mission accomplished,” he said cheerfully on his return. “Dinner in ten minutes, I’d guess?”

 

“If we’re not done with this game, you lot just go on without us,” Lorna called. She was rather surprised she hadn’t got stomped on already.

 

Ratiri shook his head. “We’ll have to save them some, I suppose. God knows how long they’ll be able to keep it going -- Lorna’s stupidly good at this, but she’s not Thranduil.”

 

Earlene raised her eyebrow but...this was vacation. If he’d rather obsess over a game of chess than eat dinner, she’d not bother him. The table was already set, and three of them immensely enjoyed meatloaf with a tangy sauce, a mixed salad of greens, fruit, and some shaved root vegetables in a vinaigrette, and mashed potatoes. Deciding to not bother asking, they pressed on with their Star Trek. As subtly as possible, Earlene used her breast pump to save up what she could for Allanah against midnight necessities. For a time afterward, she dozed against Thanadir until dozing became fast asleep. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the room she and Thranduil had chosen. His King was sitting cross legged on the bed, raptly staring at his screen. Thanadir came up silently behind him, looking at what was transpiring; their game also had a chat feature. “Why do you think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king?” Thanadir read aloud softly, causing Thranduil to startle. The seneschal smirked from ear to ear. “Would you like to put your wife to bed, my Lord, or would you rather blow your nose at Lorna? I await your instructions.”

 

Refusing to appear nonplussed, Thranduil rose smoothly and cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if this game were declared a draw,” he said quietly, gesturing to place Earlene on the bed.

 

“How long has the board been like that?” asked Thanadir. 

 

Thranduil struggled to keep a neutral face. “Quite some time.”

 

“I see,” said the older elf, doing his damnedest to not let on how much he was enjoying this. “I will take my leave, then.”

 

Lorna couldn’t believe they’d had to call it a draw -- except that she kind of could. Thranduil had vastly more experience at tactical matters than she did, but they did both think rather alike in some ways. She stared at the blinking message, and fired back,  _ I take off the hat I haven’t got, good sir _ .

 

“You look absurdly pleased with yourself,” Ratiri said, shrugging out of his overshirt and pulling off the T-shirt beneath it. “Thranduil didn’t murder you?”

 

“We called it a draw,” she said, shutting her laptop and rising to get her pajamas. “I’m guessing because Earlene went to bed? Somehow I think she’d boot him out if we kept on. It wasn’t going to go anywhere any time soon, either. We’d’ve been stuck for the next week.”

 

“That is why you play with timers,” Ratiri said. “I’m impressed.”

 

“I’m surprised,” she said, stripping off her trousers. “A bit, anyway. I thought he’d murder me, but I’d hate to go to war against him. We’d wind up with two dead armies while we like, arm-wrestled in the middle of a corpse-field.”

 

Ratiri eyed her. “Lorna, sometimes I really don’t know what to make of your brain.”

 

“Neither do I,” she said, crawling across the bed and kissing him. “Okay, I know for a fact we’re out’v Thranduil-range, so we haven’t got to feel self-conscious about this. And I’m sure the pair’v them have traumatized Thanadir so often he’s immune to it by now.”

 

Thranduil wandered guiltily into the kitchen, finding that all the food had been put away. Truthfully, he had not meant to become quite so absorbed in their game, but he could not stop himself. Had be been aware he was so competitive? He was not really very hungry, so he chose a piece of fruit and plunked down next to Thanadir, who was happily watching another Star Trek movie. 

 

The trouble Lorna and Ratiri quite often had with their intimate life had started out as lack of experience -- somewhat remedied by now, through practice -- but also a not inconsiderable height difference. When one partner was a full foot and a half taller than the other, things needed to get a bit...creative, and unfortunately this was an unfamiliar bed. Somehow this resulted in both of them, by then less than half-dressed, tipping right off the edge of the mattress. Fortunately they missed the end-table, but the floor was hardwood, and somehow Ratiri managed to land on his right side in such a way that he felt the shoulder pop right out of joint. He was luckier than Lorna, who hit it face-first, causing a crack that made him wince even more than his shoulder.

 

The shoulder was easily dealt with, but when Lorna sat up, cursing like a sailor, the entire lower half of her face dyed red with blood, he winced again. Even in the muted light of the lamp, he could see she’d broken it.

 

Unable to help himself, he fell into helpless laughter, because really, while they were on  _ holiday _ ? This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was certainly the first injury.

 

Lorna glowered at him, pressing the first thing to hand -- his discarded shirt -- against her face. She couldn’t hold it, though; the situation was so absurd that she giggled even as she cringed. There was absolutely no way she was going to Thranduil like this, even if she did manage to get a shirt on. Ratiri was a doctor, he could sort this out.

 

“It would hurt, Lorna,” he protested, when she asked it of him, her voice muffled by the shirt.

 

“I’ve broken my nose before, allanah,” she said. “I know what getting it set feels like. I’ll live.”

 

He hesitated, unwilling to cause her such pain when it could be so easily avoided. Yes, he could feel his face burning at the mere thought -- even if Thranduil didn’t laugh at them openly, he’d surely be laughing like hell on the inside -- but if that was the cost of setting Lorna’s nose without it being agonizing, he’d pay it. He said as much, too, even as he felt his face burn.

 

“ _ You  _ might be, but I’m not,” she said. “You can’t read him as well as I can. I’ll know exactly how ridiculous he finds it.”

 

“Why can you read him so well?” Ratiri asked, shrugging into his shirt. His shoulder hurt like an absolute bastard, which was not surprising. “Why do you just read everyone so well?”

 

Lorna grimaced, something visible even around her impromptu bandage. “Self-defense,” she said. “Da was unpredictable, but if you could read his cues, you’d know when to be out’v the way so you wouldn’t get hit. Prison honed it, then tending pub tempered it. Now I can’t turn it off. It’s given me some tiny sense’v what Thranduil must go through; it’s not that I  _ want  _ to do it, I just can’t help it.” Ratiri had been her blind spot, which was just aggravating, since he’d been the one she most wanted to read. Perhaps it was because she wanted to that she hadn’t been able.

 

“Well, get your shirt on and let’s go see him,” Ratiri said, privately finding that bloody tragic. He knew by now that she wouldn’t want to hear it, so he just helped her get on and button a flannel and led her out into the dimness of the house.

 

He really didn’t want to be the one going to knock on Thranduil and Earlene’s door, but from the quiet sounds of the TV, Thanadir was still awake. They probably wouldn’t mind it half so much if he was the one to disturb them.

 

Ratiri didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that Thranduil was in the lounge, too, but either way, he was, and it only made Ratiri’s face burn even hotter.

 

That poor man...he’d gone the color of a brick now, so Lorna saved him the trouble. “We had a bit’v a mishap,” she said. “Two, actually.” She didn’t offer any explanation, given he’d see it all anyway. She wasn’t sure she was actually capable of blushing herself, but she was probably closer than she’d ever been in her life.

 

Thranduil’s eyes turned to them. “Thanadir, ti harn,” he said softly (they are wounded). Thanadir reached to carefully examine Lorna’s face, while unfortunately the movie ran in the background with Bones saying,  _ ‘Now put away your butcher knives and let me save this patient before it’s too late!’ _ The old elf was at a complete loss as to why Lorna, who was obviously in pain, dissolved into laughter. He looked at Thranduil helplessly, until some silent instruction or other sent him to the kitchen for a damp kitchen towel in a very dark color.

 

“I am guessing you are not here because you wish to watch Star Trek,” Thranduil said kindly to Ratiri even as he moved to his side. “This will not hurt you, please stand as still as you are able.” In less than a minute, the pleasant warmth had spread all throughout his shoulder girdle, until he felt his arm slowly and painlessly lifted until nothing more than a soft ‘click’ was felt. In the dim light of the room, the light of the Elvenking’s healing energy shone more noticeably, before dimming down.

 

“Thank you,” Ratiri said, sighing with relief. In spite of everything, he watched what Thranduil did with utter fascination. If only his magic could be bottled and sold...but then, if it could, it wouldn’t be magic.

 

“And now for you, Lorna,” he said. Thanadir had carefully blotted the worst of her nosebleed off of her face, and kept what was still flowing from making a worse mess. The King stepped around behind her and placed the ends of his fingers over each side of her nose. “This is going to feel very strange, you may even feel this in your teeth, though it will not hurt. Everything is rather close to everything else, where faces are concerned.” He was just ready to begin, when Chekov intoned,  _ ‘Scotty! Now would be a good time, _ ’ which started Lorna laughing all over again. “Lorna, you really must be still,” Thranduil said, mildly exasperated.

 

“Sorry,” she managed, trying desperately to contain her giggling. That Ratiri was so blatantly trying to contain his own was not helping, and he must have known that, because he turned away.

 

Finally, she contained herself, and very soon after the last wayward bone was set to rights. Thanadir finished carefully cleaning her face, wisely choosing not to inquire how the injuries were managed in the first place. As Thranduil checked her face one last time for symmetry, he vaguely wondered if he and Earlene were missing out on some form of intimate excitement, because he could not for the life of him recall a single instance in which they’d even come close to falling out of their bed. Oh well, he was not about to inquire. “I am going to bed. But if anything hurts or if you feel unwell, come and tell Thanadir if you feel uncomfortable about seeking me out. I suspect he is too entranced in Star Trek movies to retire anytime soon,” Thranduil said before leaving the room. Thanadir’s grin gave enough of an answer.

 

Lorna touched her nose with mild wonder. The other two times she’d had to have it set, it had hurt like a mad bastard, and she’d had bruises on her face for a month. That Thranduil hadn’t teased them surprised her, until something clicked in her head and she realized he never actually had. Oh, he teased about small things, but never once about Ratiri, even when she’d been at her most awkward, and she wondered why. Sooner or later she’d ask him, when they had the time.

 

“Goodnight, Thanadir,” she said. “Thanks for helping with the mess.” God only knew what he’d made of this -- but then again, this was probably not even remotely close to the weirdest situation he’d ever seen.

 

When Thranduil entered their bedroom, he was surprised to see Earlene propped up in bed with her eyes open.

 

“Meluieg?” he said, concerned. “Are you well?”

 

“I think so,” she replied. “I woke, and now I do not feel sleepy, but my body still feels a little tired, if that somehow makes any sense. “I missed you,” she teased lightly, holding out her hands to him as he was disrobing.

 

“I am sorry,” he said, snuggling against her warmth. “I was…”

 

“You were having fun,” Earlene said, holding him against her. “Please, please do not apologize. If you want to spend this entire week playing computer chess with Lorna, do it. I never see you getting to do what you want to, Thranduil, unless it is…” she blushed, just a little. “Well, you know.”

 

In spite of his current level of comfort, he propped himself further up to be able to look at her.  _ In my entire life, no one has ever offered me this. A little while, to just be like anyone else. No demands, no expectations.  _ “I almost do not know what to say.” And he meant it.

 

“Then do not worry about that either,” she said, smiling, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. 

 

“I smell toothpaste,” he teased her. The mortal habit of brushing her teeth was one she had not given up, though he had told her it was no longer necessary to do.

 

“Old habits die hard,” she grinned. “Besides, I would think it more pleasant that meatloaf.”

 

“Perhaps I should investigate further,” he rumbled, his desire rising.

 

Earlene glanced down, smiling. “Am I still...attractive to you, at all? I would understand if the changes to my body were off-putting, now or later on. I see myself unclothed now and...it is not the same,” she said. “It is already nearly impossible for us, to make love as we used to.” While it was not like her to think in this manner, lately, flitting moments of wondering about this passed through her mind.  _ Better to just say it now, than when it becomes so much worse.  _

 

_ Meluieg... _ his hand caressed her cheek.  _ I can understand, how you might think this way. It is hard for me to imagine, even though I share your mind, what your body’s changes would feel like, were it happening to me. I do not care that I cannot lie on top of you any longer, to join with you. These are my children, that I desperately wish to have. You cannot realize what a gift you are giving to me, Earlene. What you see as changes that make you no longer appealing are just the opposite, for me. I desire you very much, and I would show you, if you will allow it. _

 

“I will never be able to accuse you of not knowing the right thing to say, even if I could doubt your sincerity,” she said, kissing him as his hand traveled to her swollen belly. Another low rumble of humor in his chest was the only answer she received.

 

*****

 

Lorna and Ratiri decided not to push their luck, and merely went to  _ bed  _ when they went to bed. Should they attempt anything tomorrow, they’d have to be more careful. This was embarrassing enough to deal with once; twice was just not to be borne. If only the floor wasn’t so hard and cold...oh well. The tub here wasn’t big enough, and they’d found out already that the shower was just awkward. Ratiri wondered if he ought to consult Google, but he wouldn’t trust anything he found on the Internet to actually be comfortable. Most of it seemed designed to look good without the consideration that the partners involved might want to  _ enjoy _ it. Maybe there was a Reddit thread for couples with drastic height differences. He wouldn’t be surprised. Despite knowing Thranduil wouldn’t say anything of it, he still didn’t feel comfortable searching the website while they were on holiday. Knowing he would not be judged really didn’t make the fact that Thranduil would know what he was doing any less awkward for him.

 

Lorna fell asleep well before he did, and he spent a while just stroking her hair. He’d make it up to her when they got home, and had a bed they wouldn’t need to fear falling off.

 

*******************

 

Earlene woke early the following morning, delighted and truly glad that her husband apparently knew of many more intimate positions than she could have imagined; ones that were enjoyable for her and made her swollen belly not matter. And the one where their legs had been scissored against each other, while she rested comfortably on her back...her insides lurched merely thinking on it. The warm glow of satisfaction still lingered, as she pondered baked apples versus crepes. The latter won out. She’d bought coffee as a special treat, and put it on to brew while she mixed her batter. Only then did she walk to the living area to see Thanadir curled in a blanket, completely fixated on the television. “Meldir?” she said, sitting next to him, wondering. “Did you sleep at all?”

 

He shook his head No. “Earlene, why are so many cutting boards for sale? These are a popular possession, for humans? And...watches, too?”

 

_ What in Eru’s name?  _ she thought. And then it dawned on her.  _ He’d been up through the night, and what came on, in the wee hours? _ “Thanadir, were you watching infomercials? The shopping channel?”

 

“I think so,” he said. “They told me that if I called in the next ten minutes I would get an extra cutting board.”

 

Earlene began to snicker uncontrollably, reaching for him. “If I may give you some advice, Thanadir, those programs are...bad for the mind. I will show you how to find other movies or shows to watch. Shopping programs are difficult to explain, exactly; they are...not truly honest.”

 

“I at least knew that I did not need a pedicure set,” he smirked. “Human culture is very strange, Earlene.”

 

“It is,” she agreed, kissing him on the cheek. “I will not even attempt to argue our case. Excuse me now, breakfast will take me quite awhile.”

 

“Can I help?”

 

She nodded.  _ Maybe I can teach him to cook crepes? Who knows.  _ She began to dig out the ingredients for the ricotta and fresh fruit filling.

 

Ratiri woke before Lorna, but had no desire to get up right away. He stayed curled around her until she stirred, and turned to look at him. The first thing she did was burst out laughing, touching the end of her nose with no small amount of wonder.

 

“That really is useful,” she said, “if embarrassing to ask for. We’ve really got to get this angles thing worked out.” Even when she was as primed as woman could be, there were some angles that were just a nope, and they could be hit without warning. Supposedly size didn’t matter in either direction, but there had been a couple times it had felt like she was being punched in the cervix in certain positions, which was an even bigger nope. Fortunately, what Ratiri lacked in experience in that department he more than made up for with the things his fingers and tongue could do, neither of which ought to be legal. She’d always thought the whole ‘seeing stars’ idea was nonsense, but no, it was very possible. More than once, on a good evening. The record was six, which had left her all but brain-dead the next day, and feeling rather like a noodle.

 

Unfortunately, she could not properly reciprocate. She knew from rather disgusting experience that her gag reflex was too sensitive, but she still had a tongue, and deft if tiny fingers -- she was, after all, a guitar player, and a good one at that. And he was so beautifully  _ responsive… _

 

She shook herself, wanting to get her thoughts in order before she inflicted them on poor Thranduil. He’d said he didn’t mind, but it still wouldn’t exactly be polite to dump them on him first thing in the morning. Rising, she pulled on clean clothes, and let Ratiri brush her hair -- he enjoyed doing it, and she enjoyed having it done, so it was a win-win. Once everything bathroom-related was taken care of, they headed out in search of tea.

 

The kettle was quite hot, and the coffee had long been ready. Earlene and Thanadir had visibly been at work for some time, and the result was an impressive pile of neatly folded and filled crepes, placed one at a time into a larger pan in a warming oven. It turned out that for all his struggles with yeast breads, he was dextrous and beyond adept at understanding when and how to turn the delicate creations. Earlene was very impressed. She showed the seneschal how to make a respectable porridge, as well, figuring that when the grains were cooked, everyone could help themselves when it suited them. “We have done well, Thanadir. I cannot thank you enough,” she said, giving him a half-hug before taking seat for a while, to get off her feet.

 

Lorna savored her one allotted cup of caffeinated tea, watching the rising sun glittering on the dewy grass outside the kitchen door. In it she put three drops of her anti-nausea medication, beyond grateful that she had it; without it, she would be utterly miserable. Ratiri sat beside her, long legs stretched out yet out of the way of general traffic. Neither one were about to mention the previous evening’s...issues, but there was plenty of food to distract themselves with.

 

“This is lovely, you two,” Lorna said. “I haven’t had crepes in years, since I lived with Mairead. They never quite work right when I make them.”

 

Even Ratiri knew better than to say that was a charitable way of putting it. What she’d produced was edible, but that was all that could be said for it. Not that he could have done a great deal better, so he kept his mouth shut. He was one of those people who was quite a good cook until they tried getting ambitious, at which point it all went to pot. He could make elaborate Indian dishes thanks to his mother, which Lorna had liked thus far, but he wasn’t sure just what Earlene and the Elves’ attitudes toward spiciness and curry would be. Lorna loved spicy foods, but even she’d had a hard time with pork bharta. He’d have to start with something like shrikhand; sweet, but not too sweet, and surely Earlene had introduced the Elves to yogurt by now.

 

“There’s a trick to them,” Earlene said. “The batter has to rest. Believe it or not what got me succeeding with those was a little cookbook I picked up in Germany, on a trip when I was a student. I’ve always used those recipes and never had a problem since. It’s sort of absurd, but so are a lot of things in life,” she grinned. Only one crepe and a small serving of porridge were eaten; she was learning fast that eating big meals was becoming a terrible idea, and had started trying to eat smaller amounts more often. To that end, she re-filled her own plate before covering it in wrap and placing it in the refrigerator; she’d be hungry again in an hour and a half. Just then, Thranduil came in with Allanah and she thought her heart might melt. For the first time ever, her husband had something that faintly resembled bed head.

 

“You find useful things in the oddest places,” Ratiri said, looking from her to Thanadir and back again, and then at Thranduil. “What are your thoughts on spicy foods? I mean, truly spicy, not the cheap knockoffs you’d find in Ireland?”

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek when she saw Thranduil’s hair, saying nothing. It wasn’t actually bad, but given that his hair was normally perfect (seriously, how the hell did he do that, anyway?) it gave her mild amusement as she savored her tea. “Careful how you answer that,” she warned. “Indian food doesn’t mess about.”

 

“I like Indian food. A lot,” answered Earlene. “I doubt I’m as skilled preparing it as you are, but I can make a few things. Spicy is fine. ‘Spicy let’s go to the hospital or drink a gallon of milk afterward’…not so much. That and, I have never met a chickpea I didn’t like.”

 

“He makes some bloody good desserts, too,” Lorna said. “I’d never had anything like them before, but even Mairead approved.”

 

“My mother thought all men should know how to cook as well as women,” Ratiri said, a bit ruefully. “This resulted in Dad and I being given lessons, usually at the same time, while she threw up her hands and swore in Hindi. I swear sometimes he botched it on purpose, just to get her going. Then they’d wind up dancing to Sinatra ten minutes later.” He shook his head, unable to define his family. “It was somewhat odd, really. Mam wouldn’t eat meat, and Dad never brought it home for her to cook, but he’d take me out back with the barbecue and teach me. She didn’t care, so long as it wasn’t in the house.”

 

Earlene tried to envision the amalgamation of cultures and temperaments Ratiri described and found she really could not quite manage it. And yet it was charming, and interesting that these stunningly diverse backgrounds had produced Ratiri. Each of them, in their makeshift family, were really quite...not ordinary. And yet Earlene loved all of them; each of those near to her was worth about ten thousand Aidans.  _ You cannot choose your family, I’ve always heard. But I’m not so sure that is true.  _

 

The carried on with their lazy day. Lorna had packed all of the Harry Potter films, and the elves found them to be enthralling. The humans ducked in and out of this, and with the exception of Earlene and Thanadir taking a long walk while Thranduil watched Allanah, nothing meritorious whatsoever was accomplished. Except, they made it to the village and back, with Thanadir bearing a rather substantial fish that was destined to become chowder for dinner. Thanadir’s clothing and long hair garnered a few stares from the locals, but as his ears had been hidden from sight, it was likely nothing terribly peculiar. Earlene chuckled to herself when later, it became apparent that Thranduil and Lorna were back at their chess games. A pleasant evening was had by all in one manner or another; tomorrow they intended to be on the ferry out of Doolin, to Inis Mor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Video input for researching the story, which we highly recommend if you’d like to appreciate this upcoming next chapter (47) more:  
> The Beauty and Music of the Aran Islands https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CMtBIMIS0Q 
> 
> The Story of the Aran Sweater: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDDE-ZwCaZo 
> 
> Rick Steves on the Aran Islands (first segment)  
> https://www.ricksteves.com/watch-read-listen/video/tv-show/best-of-west-ireland }


	47. Forty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 8-14, 2016

Lorna and Ratiri remained wise, and did nothing in bed but sleep. As often happened, he woke up tangled in her hair, and had to try to unwind himself without waking her. A quick shower and change later and he went out to make tea; she slept longer now that she was nearing her second trimester, and he felt he might as well let her. Given that no one else was in the kitchen, he whipped up a big pan of scrambled eggs and put on a pot of coffee, just in time for Lorna to zombie her way into the kitchen. The longer she slept, the harder it was to badger her into proper wakefulness in the morning. Pressing a cup of tea into her hand, he went to grab plates.

 

Earlene had been woken out of a dead slumber by Thranduil, who gently reminded her that it might take some organizing in order to prepare for her day with Allanah. And to be honest, he was right. She’d packed the baby things for this trip, but this was the first excursion away from home or a home-like setting with the little girl they had yet attempted. Going to the Spotted Dick in Lasg’len was one thing; if disaster somehow struck they were a short walk from home and all he clean clothes and nappies one could want. This, as she began considering what would need bringing, was more difficult. And it had been her genius decision to forego the stroller on this trip. What had she been  _ thinking? _

 

“What you were thinking, meluieg, is that you would have three strong males to help carry some of her things. And her, if need be. Do not fret, only focus on packing what will be needed, and on feeding yourself. If you are willing to deal with the inconvenience, we can avoid needing bottles by your feeding her when we are...wherever we will be. I will feed her your milk from last night, and some of the strained vegetables.”

 

Thanking him, she nodded her assent. “I will bring a scarf.” While she had no qualms about feeding the child in public, they were in a very insular, very Catholic area of the country, and she did not wish to offend local custom when it could so easily be avoided. At least, not here. She could offend her own community far easier, she mused; they had to live with her. Dressing but not minding her hair in the least for the moment, she ambled out to hunt down the smell of delicious eggs.

 

“There’s coffee,” Ratiri said by way of greeting, pointing the spatula at the pot. Between the Elves and Lorna, he’d already gone through an astonishing number of eggs, so he just fried all of them. If there were any leftovers, Thanadir would surely eat them.

 

Lorna, now far more human, raised her empty mug in a toast and went to take a shower. When she returned, hair wrapped in a towel, she said, “All right, so we’re taking a ferry, then bicycles?” Hopefully at least one of the bikes had baskets, for all their baby shite. God, she didn’t even want to  _ imagine  _ what it would be like when they had five babies. She’d get Shane to find her a decommissioned school bus.

 

“That’s the plan. Today is just Inis Mor. The ferry goes to all of them, if we feel the pull, but six hours with Allanah and my belly might be all that I can handle. But honestly, if we see the ruins, and I can buy a sweater and look around the isle a little I’ll feel like it was a lot. Funny how the larger you get the smaller your expectations,” she joked. A smouldering glance from across the room came from her newly arrived husband, bearing a changed and fed baby. Earlene smiled. What he had said to her, about her changing body...it had made her feel so loved, at a time when she was trying to manage so many things being different. “There are still some eggs, Thranduil, and coffee,” she said, taking the baby. “We should all plan to go in about a half hour, the ferry leaves at ten.”

 

Lorna combed her hair and sat with it over one of the heating vents to get it as dry as she could, wishing for more tea. On the other hand, it was probably just as well she couldn’t have any, because she was already going to have to pee every ten minutes. Thank bloody God for that thingy of Earlene’s, which was tucked into her leather satchel, carefully sanitized and done up in a plastic baggie. She’d practiced with it in the bathroom, just to the hang of it, to Ratiri’s intense amusement. “I really hope they’ve got enough bikes with baskets,” she said. “Otherwise we’ll be having an issue.” She wanted to stick her bag into a basket, because trying to ride with it would be a real bitch.

 

It was an overcast morning but the weather geniuses insisted no rain, as they drove to the ferry’s departure point. Earlene had deliberately neglected to mention the name of their chariot across the ocean to Lorna, figuring she would see it soon enough. There were not really many other passengers and she knew herself well enough to know that while she would not have time to turn green from motion sickness on this short of a crossing, neither would she be stupid enough to take one of the seats inside. She walked to the rear rail, holding Allanah tightly as she was protected from the winds, and faced forward like a sensible person. Thranduil came behind her, anchoring them protectively with his arms; she was not fearful in the first place, but now there was no possibility at all of her becoming unbalanced. The bleak Arans were visible in the distance. From the reading she’d been doing, this part of her adopted country told the same sad story of the English oppressors but from a different angle. This land, these western holdings, were deemed to be essentially worthless, so the English stayed away. They’d not been so much in Connaught, and apparently not at all to the Arans, where managing a living was harder than usual.

 

The name of the boat made Lorna burst out laughing -- the  _ Happy Hooker?  _ Really?  -- and took her mind off the fact that they were going on a boat, yikes. If she glommed onto Ratiri like a limpet...eh, whatever. The scent of the sea was very strong, the fine spray kicked up by the boat chilly on her face, and she wished she’d worn her long coat. It would have been stupid of her, since she could hardly ride a bike in it, but still. She hazarded the interior, simply because she was too cold to to stay outside. Cold had never bothered her until she got up the yard, and now all of a sudden she was freezing if she was outdoors without six layers for very long. Being on a bike would warm her up, at least.

 

“I would give a tenner to find out who named this boat, and why,” Ratiri said, sitting on a bench and drawing her beside him. “I suspect the story would be worth hearing.”

 

_ Earlene knows,  _ he heard back in his head.  _ But I suspect you would have to come out here to hear about it. _

 

Ratiri looked at Lorna, weighing whether or not she’d find it worth it. “Earlene knows,” he said. “If you’re willing to go outside and freeze.”

 

“This I have to hear,” she said, and plastered herself against his side as they went out into the chill. “Fionn says you know why this boat’s called the  _ Happy Hooker _ ,” she said.

 

“I’m logging this on the calendar as the first time I knew something about Ireland you didn’t,” Earlene teased Lorna. “There’s a special fishing vessel, called a Galway Hooker. It has nothing to do with, er, the other sort one thinks of with that word. They’re built for the windy oceans around here. Very pretty, almost always black hulls and red sails. The word ‘hooker’ is really the Irish word; I can’t remember the Irish spelling, that’s your department. Anyway, that’s what this ferry’s named after. And I apologize for dragging you out here, it’s just that I know I can get seasick and I’m not about to risk it by going into the cabin.”

 

Lorna laughed. “I’ve got to admit, I had no idea at all,” she said. “I’ll still be wanting a picture’v it for the scrapbooks, because it’s too good not to.” Shivering, she actually crawled into Ratiri’s coat, wrapping her arms around him. Laughing, he returned the gesture, folding her into his coat like a burrito. Her legs were still freezing, but oh well.

 

Thranduil reached out a hand and laid it on Lorna’s shoulder.  _ I cannot be everywhere at once, but at least for now, do not be cold.  _ He did...whatever it was, and it suddenly felt like standing someplace much, much warmer, with the sense of cold leaving her limbs. It felt like jumping in a damn hot tub, actually.

 

Lorna sighed with relief.  _ You are the absolute best,  _ she said, and meant it. It meant she could un-burrito herself and appreciate the view. It was much easier to do when she wasn’t shivering so hard her teeth just about chattered -- she was going to get her Irish license taken away if she didn’t stop being so sensitive to temperature. Hopefully that would revert back to normal once she’d had the sprogs.  _ I would be so bloody miserable without you. _

 

_ I am very happy I can help you, Lorna. Though, even I am imagining all of us with four more children to care for. This is going to be...interesting, is it not?  _ He could not avoid the combination of smirk and chagrin written on his features.

 

_ I’m getting us a bus _ , she said.  _ I don’t care who I have to pay, we’ll have a bus, so we can have all of us plus five babies plus all the shite needed for five babies and still actually be comfortable. I know Thanadir says he can handle it, but can he actually? Has he ever tried? Five babies is a lot of babies. _

 

_ Given that the number of babies exceeds the number of Thanadir’s arms, I might be inclined to agree with you. Though, I will deny it if you tell him I said that. _

 

Lorna laughed silently. She had a sudden mental image of Thanadir with Allanah on his back, pushing a double stroller with each hand and the strap of a diaper bag clenched in his teeth -- and, having had it, couldn’t banish it. Eventually she gave up, and let herself sporfle behind her hands.

 

_ Well, you could have come up with an elk bearing saddlebags filled with nappies, so I will count myself grateful.  _ Before anyone could laugh too hard, they were docking. Thanadir held the very full bag of items for Allanah, which included two other large folded and empty bags. Earlene had the foresight to realize that shopping for sweaters and yarn might equal a great deal of bulk to carry home with them. 

 

“The dilemma I see it is as follows. It’s near lunchtime. We could shop for sweaters and have the rest of the day to see the island, only to be stuck with carrying around bulky purchases. So, someone besides me figure out in what order we will try and see the sights.” 

 

Thranduil took charge. “If I might suggest, from what you showed me, the very old ruins you wish to see are furthest away from here. If you indeed want to see them, we should do that first before you or Lorna can become too tired, hungry or uncomfortable. The rest will sort itself out. That would mean the next goal is procuring bicycles.”

 

Beaming at him, Earlene nodded, glad that someone had a brain engaged. Solving such a basic problem should not be challenging in the least...but there was that world  _ should _ . The walked the short distance to the bike hire, and thankfully, the proprietors of this business had already seen everything. There were bicycles with baby seats, tandems, singles, large ones, small ones, ones with small trailers. It was decided that Thranduil would have one with a trailer. The island roads were lonely and there would be little traffic. Earlene and Thanadir would take a tandem in case she wearied, though she did not expect to. Ratiri and Lorna chose ones they could each ride alone. They were all very serviceable. Thranduil led the way up the Cottage Road; their first little destination would be small Kimurvey beach, as they made their way to  Dún Aonghasa.

 

It had been a long time since Lorna had really traversed her home country, and even longer since she’d been on a bike. Her center of gravity had shifted, so she wobbled a bit until her balance worked itself out. She was glad Thranduil had inadvertently made her quit smoking, or this would have got tiring in a hurry. As it was, she could appreciate the clean sea air without wheezing for it. That she had found a bike small enough surprised her, just as much as the fact that Ratiri and Thranduil had managed to each find one they wouldn’t have to hunch over with. Mercifully, whatever Thranduil had done to keep her warm held, even though the breeze knifed its way through her jeans. Equally mercifully, none of them seemed to be in a hurry; it meant she didn’t have to pedal flat-out to keep up. 

 

The sun was bright and fierce, the beach unusually smooth and sandy, the water as blue as any lagoon in the tropics, though she wouldn’t so much as dip a foot in it. Fortunately there weren’t many people about; they pretty much had it to themselves.

 

They rode at a leisurely pace to the beach, which was a good place to stop and look at the views. Thranduil kept a very slow pace, mindful of Lorna. Earlene steered for herself and Thanadir, her balance and command being much better. And she thanked the elf, since his power alone would have been enough to move their bicycle; she was superfluous and was glad enough of the chance to save her energy for the sum of the day. A small graveyard caught Thanadir’s attention, and he went to look at the stones. Some were in Irish, which he could not read; Lorna translated those for him. But some of the ones he could understand told of people lost at sea. He looked out over the immeasurable expanse of ocean, and reflected.

 

“It’s a risk everyone takes living here, if they work on the water,” she said. “The sea is greedy, my gran would say, and takes its own sacrifices. As much as I always told her it was nonsense, I sometimes wonder if she was right.”

 

Ratiri shivered a little. He’d spent his childhood in the highlands, and hadn’t seen the sea until he was sixteen. It was big and wet and cold, and it had  _ things  _ living in it. Scientist though he was, some of the things to be found in the deep creeped him  _ right  _ the fuck out.

 

Earlene took Allanah, and walked toward the shore and the water that seemed so very blue. Here all was very calm, not at all like the slightly rougher surf where they’d been. Thranduil followed, gazing happily down at her.  _ I do not expect to take up all your time,  _ she said, peering up at him,  _ but I love having you to myself when I can. _

 

_ Meluieg.  _ He held her, his hand moving discreetly down her belly out of the sight of anyone else.

 

_ I wish we could… _

 

_ As do I, Earlene,  _ he said, nuzzling her affectionately, and leaning down to kiss her.

 

Sometimes she felt her love of him so much it hurt. Shaking her head and feeling determined to act her age, however hard it was proving, she returned a peck on the cheek to him, and began to walk toward the bicycles. They all resumed their ride, passing (of all things) an ice cream shop, which Earlene strongly suspected might become their lunch when they returned from seeing the fort. Weirdly, the visitor center was actually in Kimurvey, so they took their time seeing it and some of the shops that sold crafts before continuing to pedal toward the fort itself.

 

Earlene’s mind seemed to register two main things.  _ Rocks and grass.  _ If nothing else, she already had tremendous admiration for the hard work and ingenuity it must have taken to live here, especially before ‘tourism’ was a known word in these parts. Soon, ahead, they saw the slate gray rocks looming.  _ Built 1100BC? Just...how? And why? Who came here, and what were they afraid of? And as old as this is... _ she cast a glance at Thanadir and Thranduil, once again having trouble processing it all.

 

“Zombies,” Lorna said, leaning against Ratiri. “It’d be the perfect place to hole up in a zombie apocalypse. It doesn’t look Roman, either -- I don’t think the Romans ever bothered out here. Not many people ever have, so this makes no sense.”

 

“Maybe, thousands of years ago, this was some sort of way-station for boats?” Ratiri asked, though he sounded unconvinced of himself. “Having a permanent structure here would only make sense if there were enough people coming through to warrant one.” How odd it was -- this was ancient by human standards, yet Lorna had told him Thranduil was eighteen thousand years old, and Thanadir even older. It was too difficult to wrap his brain around, so he didn’t bother; he just admired the view, arm around Lorna, squinting a little in the sunlight.

 

Thanadir wished to look over the cliff edge, and Earlene could not watch.  _ Please tell him to come back,  _ she begged Thranduil. While she did not think him incapable, she’d read that these rocks could and did fall into the ocean at times. Though it embarrassed her that she could not control her irrational fear for someone else, it did not change that she could not. Her face was still buried in Thranduil’s tunic when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned pink to see Thanadir smiling at her. “I am sorry,” she whispered. He smiled and shook his head contentedly, and went to study how the rocks had all been stacked, for no mortar had been used in the construction of this site.

 

Eventually everyone had seen and taken pictures, and twenty minutes later they were ordering ice cream cones.

 

Ratiri knew better than to say anything about the size of Lorna’s cone -- he’d seen the picture she’d taken of the monstrosity she’d got in New York. Still, it looked comically huge in her tiny hands, and he had to resist the urge to kiss the top of her head, for he knew she wasn’t keen on being overly affectionate around a large -- or even medium --number of people.

 

“Let’s see what damage I can do on this bastard,” she said. It was cookie dough, with whipped cream and sprinkles, and he shook his head as she set about figuring out the best way to eat the damn thing.

 

_ And I can’t even tell her she’s adorable _ , he thought, and turned his attention Allanah, who  _ was  _ adorable, and who was too young to mind being called such. “She’s handling this better than I would have expected,” he said, wondering if Thranduil had something to do with that.

 

“She is still warm, not quite yet hungry, and thought the rocks were interesting. I would guess that we have twenty minutes before that shifts,” he grinned. “By which time Earlene will have eaten her ice cream, and will be happy to sit somewhere quietly with her feet up to feed her. Then she will need her nappy changed, and we will likely have all be well until we return to the mainland. Little did I think that all those years of...my occupation...would be put to quite this exact logistical application,” he chuckled, offering her the tiniest dab of his vanilla ice cream on her little lips, as the baby’s eyes widened and she smiled happily.

 

“Managing with children is like managing nothing else,” Lorna said. “Christ, I watched Mairead, when I first moved in with her...she’s got four, and they were all young, and it was like watching them getting ready to storm the bloody beaches’v Normandy before school every day. I don’t know why in God’s bloody name she did this four times, though,” she added, rubbing her stomach. “I’m not even three months gone and everything just feels...wonky. Earlene, what’s it like, where you’re at?”

 

“Well, it’s only been very recent that I’ve started to feel tired more easily. Like more is going out of me than is coming in. I’ve tried my best to eat everything I can with plenty of nutrients, but I’m still hungry much of the time. And now if I eat big meals I feel unwell. Stuffed. So I’m trying to eat less, more often, but that isn’t always easy to do. And my feet hurt sometimes, but I think it’s because my posture is becoming rubbish. I lean back to try to counter the weight in my belly and...I think this is just how it goes, and then some.” She shrugged helplessly. “Not sure what else I could do, really.”

 

“We’ll both be hating life come the finish, I’m sure,” Lorna sighed. “Where around here do they sell the sweaters? I want yarn. I’ve never made a sweater before, but I’d love to try it.”

 

“Booties,” Ratiri said, stealing a bite of her ice cream. “Baby booties. Lots of them. They tend to get lost, or so I surmised from the sheer number of babies who would come in to Great Ormond Street with a mismatched pair. The dryer must eat them, like socks.” He was tempted to learn to knit himself, just because. 

 

“We’ll wind up with a garbage sack’v them, by the time I’m done. Trust me.”

 

Earlene silently pondered what on earth it would be like, with their children. Children that were going to be precocious and wholly outside her experience. Well, she’d find out. She finished her ice cream in record time, and sought out a quiet place to...manage, frowning at the sudden influx of visitors.  _ Just my luck,  _ she grimaced. Thanadir took her arm. 

 

“Come with me, I will help you not be seen by the others until you are arranged.” 

 

“You are an angel,” she said, gratefully. He held up her large scarf in a way that did not attract attention, and then once Allanah was latched on, he draped it and arranged it in such a manner as to hide her body without smothering the baby. And, he stayed near, just to talk to her.

 

“You are very kind to me, Thanadir. I want you to know that I appreciate what you do for me, very much. More than I can say. You always manage to make everything...work.”

 

“And you have been very kind, to care for your niece as your own daughter, Earlene. Plus you cook me food. Between you and I, I feel I have the better end of the arrangement,” he teased.

 

“Meldir, you are developing a refined sense of humor.” Earlene was not about to give up quite so easily.

 

“Perhaps,” he said, grinning.

 

******

 

After they returned their bicycles, the Aran Sweater Market did not disappoint. “Lorna, they have clan sweaters. And kits. And yarn. And...everything.” With delight, she looked through the patterns, finding the ones for O’Donovan and O’Sullivan, and privately liking Lorna’s better. It was obvious to her that she was going to spend too much money in here, and she did not care. The clothes and knitted pieces were beautiful and would be treasured.

 

Lorna, beyond delighted, flitted around like a slightly sugar-crazed hummingbird, collecting patterns and yarn. While she was nowhere near capable of knitting one of these yet, she knew that if she didn’t get there at some point before she popped these kids out, Gran would come and haunt her. She could make tiny sweaters first, for practice, and save Ratiri’s for last. His would be biggest, and if she fucked up, it would be more easily noticed, so he didn’t get one until she actually knew what she was doing.

 

“If you don’t slow down, you won’t have any energy to get back home,” Ratiri pointed out.

 

“Killjoy,” she said, but there was fondness to it. “Fine, fine. But there will be knitting, and lots of it.”

 

“So long as we keep the cat out of your yarn, that will be fine.” Ratiri wanted a cat, but they traveled between places so much it just wasn’t practical.

 

“If we’re lucky, Tail will stay confined to quarters”, Earlene laughed. It was clear that Thranduil would offer no comment, so she asked the ellyn if they would want and wear sweaters of their own. Thanadir eagerly accepted, whereas Thranduil declined having a garment but very much wanted one of the sage green throws for their bed. In the end, her tally was two sweaters, a throw, a hooded scarf shawl and one of the knit wraps that looked like it was invented for a nursing mother. She would have felt silly and wasteful, except that these were warm, beautiful, and wearable all through her pregnancy and after. Winter was coming, and she lived in a cavern more than half the time. Unnoticed by her, Thranduil added yet one more item to her pile, something he thought would also be of great use. 

 

Lorna grabbed a lovely purple hooded…thing, the same scarf/shawl thing Earlene had chosen, while Ratiri took several of the throws, knowing Lorna would want one tonight. He’d woken up with her plastered against his chest in the night, mumbling that she was cold, so at least one more blanket was a must.

 

“How did your mother cope with living in Scotland?” she asked him. “It’s as cold and damp as Ireland.”

 

“Space heaters,” he said solemnly. “And lots of bright, colorful fabric. Poor Dad spent half the time walking around in his pants and vest because it was so hot to him.”

 

“I really, really wish I could’ve met your parents,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“It is 2:30, and our ferry departs at 4:00,” said Thranduil. “May I suggest we eat something that is not ice cream?”

 

He was mildly glared at by the women, but that much time to kill made that decision an easy one. A lovely pub, Joe Watty’s, was nearby and well-rated.  _ And they have seafood, _ Earlene smiled to herself. What she would want would be no secret.  _ Mussels, and a salad. _

 

The interior of the pub was bright and airy, and smelled wonderful, except for the fact that it also smelled of beer. She didn’t even have to ask; Thranduil automatically took care of the incipient nausea. After all that ice cream, she’d stick with some kind of appetizer. For all the smell of beer turned her stomach, she nevertheless looked longingly at the Guinness taps behind the bar.  _ Someday _ , she told herself.  _ Someday _ . She wouldn’t be stuck in pregnancy-limbo forever, unable to engage in any of her usual vices -- not that she’d exactly had many left to begin with. Under Ratiri’s gentle badgering, she forewent battered shrimp in favor of oysters, which were at least not deep-fried. 

 

The problem with him, she had discovered fairly early on, was that he shared a variation on Thanadir’s superpower: Ratiri couldn’t have managed actual doe eyes if his life depended on it, but even when his coaxing aggravated her, the sheer tenderness of it usually made her go along with it anyway, because she didn’t want to disappoint him. It was likely why he’d been such an effective pediatrician, but a perverse part of her wondered what he was like when he was really, really mad. She’d seen the tiniest flash of a hint a few times, always when he was dealing with some tosser, and she suspected that very,  _ very  _ deep beneath the mellow surface of Ratiri lurked a temper every bit as intense as her own. He was, after all, half Scottish, and from the sound of it, his mother had been even more strong-willed. One didn’t grow up in such an environment and come out of it entirely mild.

 

The food arrived swiftly, and no sooner had Earlene scooped the first shellfish into her mouth than a singer caught her attention. It was just...a lady, and she’d come in for a Guinness. Having taken two swallows, she had set her glass down, and begun a song in Irish. Her voice was strong, clear, and though Earlene couldn’t understand a word of it, thought this was completely amazing. It had spirit to it, a sense of deep roots. And as an American, she had a very pure appreciation of the privilege of sitting here listening. Thranduil caught his wife’s thoughts, and paid closer attention, realizing that for the mortals, this was an unlooked-for opportunity and very special.

 

Lorna smiled to hear it. It wasn’t often you heard Irish spoken anymore in most places, but there were still a few where it was the dominant language. She’d teach her children, even if Ratiri might have difficulty with it -- Irish was one of those languages that was learned a lot easier in childhood. Hell, even the elves didn’t want to mess with it. Listening, she enjoyed her lunch and leaned against Ratiri, quite content. They appreciated the song while it lasted, and then with twenty minutes to catch the ferry, decided they’d best settle the bill and get themselves down the hill. Allanah expertly snoozed against Thranduil’s shoulder, her little mouth open and drooling ever so slightly on the protective cloth draped over him, something for which Earlene admired her husband a great deal. How he could balance her and still manage to eat was quite beyond her comprehension. No one asked Thanadir to hold her at mealtimes, for reasons that did not need mentioning. But the older elf did come in handy, for he was put in charge of carrying the bulky bags of knitted garments and yarns, with which Ratiri had to help as well. Nothing was heavy, but the volume they were carting off was rather impressive.

 

Lorna, unfortunately, lagged slightly at the back, slowed by the heavy lunch and desire to enjoy the view. It meant she didn’t have anyone taller nearby to keep her from getting mowed down from behind by a spotty teenage boy with one hand on the bike handlebar and the other taking a picture with his phone. She pitched forward with an odd sort of squawk, while he went arse over teakettle right over the top of her, landing hard on his side and leaving her -- and, more annoyingly, her hair -- tangled in the bike.

 

Thranduil immediately handed Allanah over to Earlene, and sprinted back up the hill. She looked helplessly at Thanadir but then realized that she had nothing to offer except minding the baby and their things; Ratiri had understandably dropped the bag he carried the moment he saw what had happened.

 

“What in bloody fucking --”Lorna snarled, trying to shove the thing off her, but her hair had decided to mimic Cthulhu, and had latched quite firmly onto the pedals

 

The boy, somewhat dazed, struggled to his feet, blinking at the tiny woman who was growling at him to get back there so she could rip his langer off and shove it down his throat. He didn’t have a chance to do more than that, though, because a hand clamped around his collar and pulled just a bit too tight.

 

Ratiri was not a violent man. He was not an angry man; one of the American residents at Great Ormond Street had called him ‘chill’. Just now, he was about as chill as a bottle of beer in a volcano, his grip tightening yet further. The boy stared at the ice in his grey eyes, going quite pale himself.

 

“Are your parents here?” Ratiri asked, his voice deceptively measured. A glance at Lorna told him Thranduil was with her, but he still didn’t want to leave her for long. “My girlfriend is pregnant, and you just ran her over. Where. Are. Your.  _ Parents _ ?” He was thoroughly dismayed at how very much he wanted to punch this little shit; it was not like him at all.

 

The boy swallowed, pointing closer to the docks, but before Ratiri could drag him there, a freed, wild-haired Lorna came stalking up like a tiny avenging Fate. Ratiri might not be a violent man, but she had no compunction about punching the little sod right in the goolies. “If you can’t fekkin’ look where you’re goddamn going,  _ stay off the bloody bike _ ,” she growled, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as he all but folded in half.

 

His alarmed, increasingly irate parents came scurrying up, only to be faced with the ice in Ratiri’s eyes and Lorna’s rather obvious baby bump.

 

“Keep that animal on a leash,” Ratiri snapped, wrapping his arm around Lorna’s shoulders. To his own dismay, it took all his willpower not to kick the little shite right in the gut, but he didn’t. That he should even consider it must mean Lorna was rubbing off on him.

 

Thranduil stood and watched the couple dispassionately as they fussed over the boy, glad that nothing worse had come of this. “Your son ran down a pregnant woman because he was looking at his phone instead of  the path in front of him. You are very fortunate that she is uninjured,” were the extent of his comments before he turned and left to join the others. Comments that were designed to remind them that rather than pondering how they could find ‘justice’ for their child’s current state of discomfort, they should be concerned about far worse consequences. Without discussion they boarded the ferry, suddenly rather glad to put the ocean between themselves and that completely unnecessary incident. 

 

Earlene sidled over to Lorna. “You’re OK?” she asked. “I mean, I know you are or they’d be fussing. I just...wanted to hear it from you.”

 

“Just pissed and probably bruised,” Lorna said. “But at least all I did was punch him in the langer. That’s personal growth, for me. Even a year ago I’d’ve probably broken his nose with a rock.”

 

Ratiri, cold and still, said nothing, but he rubbed at Lorna’s back, carding his fingers through her tangled hair before pulling her close. Some dark part of him, so deep he didn’t want to admit it was there, longed to do that himself. The urge to harm that little shit had been far too strong, for him, even though it had been easily subsumed. That he could feel it that strongly at all troubled him. “I’ll give you a back rub, when we’re home,” he said eventually. “I’m sure you’ll want one.”

 

Thranduil held his wife, saying nothing. Thanadir remained close by Earlene, not wishing to admit that he felt...baffled. It was obvious to him that everyone else was feeling varying degrees of emotion; no one was laughing or smiling, and all of them had gone quiet. But he did not understand; Lorna had not been harmed, none of their belongings were lost or damaged. But he liked it when Thranduil reached out his arm to draw him closer to them. He had almost always been able to believe that he mattered to his King, and yet never would have dreamed that one day he would be looked on as far more than a seneschal.  _ A seneschal who is carrying bags of sweaters _ , he frowned, even as Earlene hooked her arm loosely around his. 

 

“Did you have a nice day, meldir?” she asked kindly, wondering what on earth an elf would think about this bleak and unusual place that yet had its own stark beauty. 

 

He had to think about it. “I enjoyed seeing this place. I would not want to live here; I love the forest. And yet I see that it is special and that those who dwell here have made it their own.”

 

Earlene smiled. “I could not have said it better myself.”

 

*****

 

The past three days had been glorious. As in, a glorious weather system moved into their area, and they watched the battering rain and rising surf through the French doors and picture windows while they steadily fed the wood stove. Plus, the house had ordinary heating, so it wasn’t as if the bedrooms were made to freeze in the chill weather. Earlene had kept them in a steady stream of baked sweet treats, much to Ratiri’s annoyance. Thranduil and Lorna continued to lurk in random corners of the home, having worked out multiple locations that allowed them to be the requisite distance from each other to play more games of chess. Occasionally one of the other of them would actually sit in the room with the television, but they had all realized days ago not to attempt conversation. Though occasionally, Earlene would slip a glass of Thranduil’s wine into his hand and give a quick kiss to his forehead.

 

Thanadir had brought his violin, and spent long hours playing songs that he knew. Earlene tried something, which was to play some classical pieces for him on her computer. And it floored her, when at least with the simple ones, he could with almost flawless precision imitate the melodies.  _ I have an elven Mozart _ , she thought, pondering how she could help him learn more. And when the seneschal was not musically occupied or eating, he could be found at the puzzles. There had been eight good jigsaw boxes in the home; the largest was a 1500 piece monstrosity. He had begun taking note of the time he began, and seeing how quickly he could finish. She shook her head, and for her part watched random videos about everything from caring for farm animals to a few new Henri le Chat Noir posts she’d missed.

 

Ratiri himself was both troubled and fascinated. Troubled, because of his reaction to that idiot lad; fascinated, because the more he watched Thanadir, the more he wondered. Could Elves have similar conditions to humans? They were resistant to illness, yes, but if he was right, what Thanadir had was not an illness but a neurological condition, if that was actually possible. Thranduil might or might not know, given that he would have had no way of knowing what a neurological condition even was prior to his introduction to the modern world, and Ratiri was the only doctor he’d spent significant time around.

 

Between his ruminations and making certain Lorna ate a few vegetables in between sugary snacks, he was quite preoccupied, and had no chance to talk to Thranduil until the pair of them eventually came up for air from their games -- had it been multiple, or were they still stuck in the same one? The two of them thought too much alike for it to be easy on either one (which was a tiny bit scary, all things considered). Given that Lorna wanted to take a nap, they had a while. 

 

Sensing that Ratiri wished to converse privately, he poured some wine and walked up the spiral steps to the little loft of this house and seated himself, enjoying stretching out in a lovely armchair that actually fit his height.

 

Ratiri followed him, listening to the rain pound against the windows.  _ I’m not sure how much you’ve picked up from my mind in the last few months, _ he said, taking the other armchair.  _ This has only occurred to me in the last few days. Do you know what conditions of the brain are? The differences that can sometimes exist in one, but not another? _

 

Thranduil stared blankly, trying to glean from the man’s thoughts what was being referenced. _ I am afraid that I am not grasping what is in your mind. I am aware that mortals can have damage to both their emotions and their cognition, and that an assortment of causes can do this. And I am aware that minds differ; personalities vary among minds that would be considered ‘healthy’ both in humans and elves.  _

 

Ratiri considered this, pondering how best to say this.  _ There is a condition among mortals called Asperger’s Syndrome, _ he said at last,  _ and Thanadir demonstrates some very striking characteristics of it, so I was wondering if it was something that might exist among Elves as well. When he is engrossed in something, the rest of the world appears to cease to exist; everything he does it precise in a way that I suspect is beyond what’s normal for Elves. Watching him with the puzzles was what first made me think of it, and then I looked back at all the time I’ve known him. Asperger’s is not a disease; rather, it’s a...neurological difference, I guess you could call it, though that’s not a true medical term. He seems occasionally to have a difficulty in reading people that I suspect isn’t just the result of culture shock, because he otherwise looks like he’s over that by now. _

 

The King’s first reaction was one of defensiveness, which he did his best to quell.  _ Are you trying to tell me that there is something...abnormal, about my seneschal? I do not understand. He excels beyond almost all others of our kind that I have ever known. This can be a...syndrome? Your understanding of mind and body is similar to yet very different than my own, Ratiri. It is as if we see the same statue, and yet you stand on one side and I on the other. I am afraid you will have to explain in greater detail. Pretend I know nothing about...anything.  _ The only reason he did not dismiss this discussion as both insulting and erroneous was the respect he had for this man’s intellect. If he felt something was present, he owed it to him to listen very carefully, before disregarding him.

 

_ Some of humanity’s greatest thinkers and artists and inventors are thought to have had Asperger’s _ , Ratiri said.  _ Da Vinci among them -- if you haven’t read about him, you ought to. He’s fascinating. Asperger’s is not an abnormality in a negative sense -- rather, call it a difference. It can be the source of the kind of focus Thanadir has, and that focus is what allows them to shut out distractions and excel at whatever they choose. They can ignore discomforts like hunger and temperature shifts -- not that that’s likely a problem for any Elf -- because whatever has their attention has them completely engrossed. They can also obsessively keep records; is he more precise and detailed about that than would be ordinary for his job? It might be difficult to tell, there, but they tend to not want anyone else to touch something they’ve ordered or created, for fear of marring it. It’s thought that people with Asperger’s are why humanity has any written records, and where a number of our advances in science stemmed from. In other words, it’s not bad. Just different. And if Thanadir was a human, I’d have given him a tentative diagnosis based on physical behavior, but as he is an Elf, I can’t guess one way or another without further data. _

 

Thranduil furrowed his brow, now hearing more things to which he could relate.  _ And what are these people you describe like when it comes to relationships? How do they relate to others? _

 

_ It depends,  _ Ratiri said.  _ Some of them can’t at all, while others simply have difficulty reading social cues -- inability or difficulty to easily understand the emotions of others, or why those emotions are present at any given time. Those they are close to, they tend to be extremely loyal to, and may perceive a stranger as a rival for the attention of the person or people they care about. At other times they might welcome a stranger if there is something in that person they find they relate to, though they often can’t articulate it. People with Asperger’s very often have immense difficulty discussing their emotions, because they can’t always put words around them even to themselves. _

 

Thranduil found himself in a rather difficult dilemma. Everything Ratiri had just told him cast a blazing light upon thousands of years of his own bafflement at certain elements of Thanadir’s behavior. And then there were recent events, which were to be kept confidential. But that all this could be the case because there was something organically different about the ellon? It was true, what he had said earlier. There was indeed only one Thanadir, for he had never seen nor heard of another elf with such a combination of attributes. And yet he had to make some kind of response.  _ I will consider what you have said. There are certainly some similarities; I will do what I can to learn more about this. And Ratiri...I do not think I need tell you that it would be best that Thanadir never know of this discussion. He would not understand how to hear the words as anything other than negative. And while there are limits to what I can ask of you, I would prefer that neither Lorna or Earlene hear either. I too am guilty of being overprotective. I care a great deal for Thanadir’s welfare. And to that end, I am curious. Did you bring this to my attention because there is some means by which humans can help such a one, or was this solely by way of interest? _

 

_ I had figured this ought to stay between the two of us _ , Ratiri said.  _ I’m not sure any of the others would understand that it’s not negative. Thanadir doesn’t appear to need a great deal of help, but in some situations it might be...clarifying. I’ve seen him look somewhat baffled by things -- on the ferry, he looked confused at our upset. There are times those with Asperger’s can appear callous, but it’s not callousness, or confused when there should be no confusion. At times he may simply need extra care when confronted with something new and utterly foreign -- Lorna said he had some issues during his first trip in the car, but they were absent on subsequent trips.  _ He smiled.  _ I admit, she’s rather protective of him, too, for all she knows he doesn’t actually need it. She says that he is a precious cinnamon roll, too pure for this world. Whatever that even means. _

 

Thranduil tossed his head back as a smile erupted.  _ I have yet to convince Lorna that behind that Precious Cinnamon Roll is a warrior of such ability that even she would be astonished. He cannot help his appearance of wide-eyed innocence. There was a time when even some of the elves thought the same. But for all those living now in our Halls...they have had thousands of years to understand Thanadir’s ways; he is seen more as a prince than anything else. His command carries nearly the weight of my own. Trust me, no one wishes to see him displeased. He is stern but fair, and I do not know how I would have managed my rule without him at my side. _

 

_ She told me what happened when she tried to fight him _ , Ratiri said, shaking his head.  _ Seeing him wonder at her sewing machine forever cemented him as a cinnamon roll, I think. She said it was the sweetest, most adorable thing she’s ever seen in her life, and there is some truth to the immutability of first impressions. Between that and the ribbon roses...logically she knows that he’s a badass, as she puts it, but in her mind he is first and foremost a cinnamon roll, to be protected at all costs. She also assumes that his job description is ‘whatever you tell him to do’. _

 

A small groan escaped Thranduil.  _  It has been difficult for me, with Lorna, who deeply dislikes even the word ‘monarchy,’ to know what makes for a fit topic for discussion. It had not occurred to me that the actual duties of a King’s seneschal were of any interest to her. And ‘whatever I tell him to do’ is not how I would choose to describe it,  _ he chuckled softly.

 

_ It’s been rather difficult for her, too _ , Ratiri said.  _ She’s hated the very idea of monarchy her entire life, and then she meets you lot, and you’re nothing like anything she would ever have expected. I’m sure she’ll get over that knee-jerk reaction eventually, but give her time. She likes you enough that she’ll try, once the concept ceases to be an anathema to her. But given her personal history, she’s just never going to understand the thought of voluntarily letting anyone rule you. If she hadn’t gone to prison, that might be different, but she’s independent to an exasperating degree. Mairead’s amazed she’ll let me take care of her at all. Thanadir, though -- someday, you’ll be able to explain what it is he does. Given that we’ve only seen him in certain circumstances, I’m not surprised that’s her assumption, though. _

 

_ It really is not so difficult to grasp. At one time, my realm was much like a human city; there were thirty thousand of us. And Thanadir was the level of organization just under me. It was his function to understand and monitor vast amounts of personnel and information, distilling all of that in order to allow me to make informed decisions, enforce laws, pass judgements. It also fell to him to see that my commands issued down to whatever level of effectiveness required them. What you see of us now is not what used to be.  _

 

Ratiri could imagine it, given his reading, and the lifetime of imagination he’d spent among some of Tolkien’s books. Lorna, he was sure, simply would not; she didn’t have the background, but she could perhaps come close.  _ Do you ever wish it was possible for any to return from Aman, or are you content as things are? I know your population is greatly reduced, but your Halls are lovely no matter how many live in them, and those who are left must love Ennor with tenacity, to have hung on so long. It’s selfish of me, but I’m glad you’re all still here. I didn’t realize just how empty my life was, before I came to Ireland and you let me in. I don’t think I’ve ever actually thanked you for that. _

 

_ You are welcome,  _ said Thranduil, appreciative of the acknowledgement.  _ As for the other...one thing both my wife and I share in common, Ratiri, is that neither of us are very good at what-ifs. We both tend to consider matters as they are, content to ignore what cannot be. So your question is difficult for me to answer. I have only ever tried to focus on my duty at any given point in time. Though...it would be dishonest for me to tell you that I would not like to see my son again, who I love very much. And yet others who have crossed the sea...perhaps would not be so eager to see me, or I them.  We do love our forest; I believe we will love it until the Earth is made new. _

 

Ratiri wondered when and how that would happen. Just about every religion had its own idea of Dagor Dagorath, and none could agree on the details.  _ Something tells me you’ll have Lorna’s and my descendants for God knows how many years to come _ , he said. Lorna, who thanks to Thranduil was fine despite having been run over by that bloody sod...even thinking about it made his blood pressure creep up. Never had he wanted to hit someone so very much. He’d only ever been in a single fight, and that was in secondary school; violence was just not something he did, or even wanted to do, so why now?

 

The King had no desire to speak about descendants, because while their time here had allowed the others to forget the danger that threatened them, he could not. Discussing an uncertain future felt to him like tempting fate just now. Yet conveniently, another topic had been provided, so he smiled.  _ You are to be a father. The desire to protect our loved ones runs very strong, does it not?  _ It was really only after the words had been thought that he realized, this subject was not on any safer ground than the other.

 

_ I suppose you’re right,  _ Ratiri said.  _ It disturbs me somewhat, that I could wish for that, but the timing certainly makes sense.  _ He laughed silently.  _ I’m just relieved Lorna didn’t do anything worse than punch him in the bollocks. God knows I wanted to do worse, but at least he may have trouble using it for anything at all for a while.  _ On that vein, he felt his face heat.  _ Speaking of which...question. _

 

_ Yes?  _ Thranduil said as kindly as was possible, both dreading what this might be and yet not wishing to say anything that would cause the man to shun seeking him out. That he had gained this much trust surprised even him.

 

Ratiri felt his face heat even further. Wonderful.  _ In the library, do Elves have any...uh, books on intimacy? Because...um. _

 

Thranduil smiled and nodded.  _ But they are written in Sindarin. Then again, they are illustrated. And just about every wed ellon in the Realm has probably made their way to it at one time or another. Perhaps even a number of the ellith as well, but that is beyond my knowledge. I will not claim exemption,  _ he grinned.

 

Ratiri was practically certain his face would catch fire soon enough, which was just ridiculous. He was a goddamn doctor; were this situation any but his own, he would be able to discuss it quite coolly, but unfortunately it  _ was  _ his situation.  _ I’m sure I’ll work it out,  _ he said.  _ I’m still terrible at reading it, but I’ll...give it a shot.  _ If it could be of any help at all...but then, he doubted most (or any) Elves had his and Lorna’s particular issue.  _ Remind me to give you a copy of the Kama Sutra. It’s India’s answer to...whatever it is you have. Ask Earlene.  _ Not that he at all wanted to think of either of them in that context, but...they’d probably enjoy it?

 

_ I will,  _ he smiled.  _ Ratiri, you need not...fear, this topic, with Earlene or I. We both try to give some regard to propriety with others, but I think it is safe to say that neither of us have qualms about discussing this part of our lives, as long is it is done with tact and respect.  _ He declined to mention some of the things Earlene had hammered at, where Lorna was concerned.

 

Jesus...might as well go for broke, though he had to look at the ceiling to ask this question.  _ I’ll just get this out while I’m still able to do it without spontaneously combusting _ , he said.  _ Do you know of anything that can be done about...size disparity? All I’ll say is that it’s caused issues, including making us fall off the bed more than once, though the other night was the first time anything got broken or dislocated. It’s no good for either of us if it leaves her hurting.  _ That was just about as delicately as he could phrase it; he wasn’t going to add that Lorna at one point likened it to being punched in the cervix.

 

_ I see,  _ said Thranduil, though truthfully he actually did not want to see at all. And equally truthfully, he could cause what was small to become large, and what was large to become small. He swallowed.  _ Ratiri, I too must say something awkward for me and just...put it out there, as I think you humans say. I am nearly unable to even think about Lorna in this manner. Partly because of what happened to her, partly out of respect for her privacy, partly out of my friendship with her, and partly because of what I believe she would call ‘squickiness.’ You are a different story entirely; we are both males in a relationship with another that we love. It is from this viewpoint that I can manage to communicate. I can cause a body to change; it is within my ability. Were you very certain you wanted this, I would help you, though it would be a little awkward even for me. And yet, were I to have this same difficulty with Earlene, I believe I would give or do almost anything to find a solution. It is...a valued part of our lives. _

 

Oh  _ God _ . This was officially the most embarrassing conversation Ratiri had ever had in his entire life, and that included both his parents sitting him down to give him the Talk when he was eleven. He couldn’t tell them he already knew about all that, but it was a good thing he  _ had  _ known, or they would have made the whole concept horrifying. Did he want to go through this? Um, no. Hell no. Too awkward to be borne, but if it meant things could actually...work...without hurting, he could probably endure it without actually catching fire from sheer mortification. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed.  _ It’s probably my only real option,  _ he said.  _ I could certainly never ask Lorna to, uh, have things adjusted; she’d die of embarrassment and probably poke me until I gave in and left her to it. _

 

Thranduil nodded sympathetically, considering how he would feel, were he in Ratiri’s proverbial shoes. And part of him wondered...was Ratiri really so...oversized? or was it just that Lorna was too... _ by Eru I do not wish to think about this. _ He only knew one size, his own. While he had certainly seen other ellon disrobed, he doubted any ellon had ever seen another aroused.

 

Ratiri winced.  _ I can honestly say this is not something I would ever in my life have thought I’d need to ask, but can you take a bit off the old Johnson? _

 

For quite possibly the first time in all his long life, Thranduil felt so much heat in his cheeks that he considered he might be blushing.  _ Ah, we are discussing then length and not girth? Please know how sorry I am to have to inquire, but I think we would both appreciate no mistakes being made.  _ Thranduil looked up at the ceiling.  _ And...did you wish this done incrementally, for lack of better words? I would think that perhaps a rapid adjustment could be too obvious?  _ The King’s eyes looked hopelessly chagrined, but he determined to carry on however horribly awkward this was.

 

Ratiri shut his eyes in silent pain.  _ Length _ , he said, a touch wretchedly.  _ Incremental might be...I can’t believe I’ve even asked you this. She’d be less likely to notice that, I think. _

 

_ Alright. We can both squarely agree on the fact that this is for a higher cause. We are both well aware that we feel awkward and embarrassed and...this is no one’s fault, Ratiri. I should say now, that I am in awe, that you would trust me not only to speak about this but to...help you. I am so sorry to ask but...I would like to leave your privacy intact and not touch you except over your clothing. But...I have no idea of your...size. When you are aroused. I must have some frame of reference.  _ Thranduil looked at him helplessly, feeling fairly certain that he couldn’t believe he had asked this, either.

 

_ You want me to...measure? Lorna’s going to wonder what the hell I’m doing. Unless...oh, hell, we have two bathrooms.  _ Thranduil was handling this rather better than he was.  _ What I don’t know is whether or not we have anything like a measuring tape.  _ It wasn’t something one would habitually pack...wait. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through the app store...yep. There was an actual damn app for that.

 

_ Do your best,  _ he said encouragingly.  _ I do not require extreme exactness, only some kind of understanding. _

 

_ I’ll...be right back.  _ Out of some kind of politeness, Ratiri retreated to the furthest bathroom -- that way poor Thranduil wouldn’t have to realize that yes, it was thoughts of Lorna that got things going. The app was somewhat difficult to get right at first, but once he had his number, a few thoughts of Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day took care of the...issue...nicely. Fortunately, he didn’t run into Earlene or Thanadir on his way back upstairs, or he might well have melted into a puddle and died.

 

_ Nine inches,  _ he said, not knowing where to look, other than not at Thranduil.  _ I’m not sure how much I’d need to...er, take off...for things to be more copacetic. _

 

Every effort was made to keep his expression neutral.  _ While I do not claim to have extensive knowledge of such things, I believe that you are unusually endowed. I will be blunt, in the interests of camaraderie. While I have not measured with great accuracy, I am less than seven inches, and yet we are the same height or close to it. Earlene seems to find me...pleasing, and has never complained of pain. That being said, at what rate do you feel this should be...managed? _

 

That...was a surprise. Oh, Ratiri had known he had a bit more below the belt, but not  _ that  _ much. Jesus. It was also a very good question.  _ All right, I know you don’t want to think about this, so I’ll keep it as vague as I can, but is there anyway to have the...increments...occur one at a time after intercourse?  _ Might as well keep it as clinical as possible, and think about the sand outside rather than anything...else.

 

_ Yes. This can go at any pace you choose. And to be clear, I can reverse the process *slightly* should you feel an error has been made toward the end. What I truly do not wish to do is correct grave errors. Perhaps now take a few moments and consider how you wish to begin. I will also point out that it will be far easier for us to have a few discreet moments alone here and there while still on this holiday. Once we return home, finding reasons to vanish together might be more challenging. I would hazard that both of us desperately wish not to be seen while thus occupied. _

 

How was this Ratiri’s life? How?  _ Good idea,  _ he said.  _ I will see what I can do about...er, tonight. I don’t know that she’d notice a quarter of an inch.  _ He was going to die, he  _ was _ . He was going to burst into flames of sheer mortification and leave nothing but a tiny pile of ashamed ash on the floor.

 

_ That will not happen. Though perhaps when this is done, you and I should walk to the pub in town. I somehow feel we will deserve it. Earlene will not wish to go out in this cold, and Thanadir will choose to stay with Earlene.  _ He sighed.  _  If you could undo your trousers, just the button and part of the zipper. I need to touch you here,  _ he demonstrated on himself.

 

Ratiri, intensely relieved that things could proceed from the internal, as it were, did as directed. This was far less awkward that it might have been if they’d attempted this purely externally; the lower abdomen was quite preferable to actually dealing with his junk.

 

Thranduil gingerly laid his hand on Ratiri with one last instruction.  _ I think we can also both agree that if anyone ascends those stairs that you are to push my hand away by any means necessary.  _ His expression was a perfect mixture of squeamishness and humor before he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He did what he did, and it was over in approximately twenty seconds. He resumed leaning back in his chair.  _ Life is always full of new experiences, Ratiri, regardless of age. Remember that.  _

 

Ratiri couldn’t help it -- he burst into quiet laughter, barely managing to smother it.  _ Thank you,  _ he said.  _ I believe I owe you a pint. Or twelve.  _ Lorna was likely still asleep, and given her issues with the smell of beer, probably wouldn’t want to go anyway, but he’d bring her back a pastry just in case. As if she hadn’t had enough already.  _ This is horribly awkward, but I just want her to be happy. _

 

_ And that we can agree on,  _ he said.  _ Come, let us away. Though, even I cannot manage twelve pints,  _ he snickered.

 

********

The remainder of their time was spent largely in happy laziness. Earlene forced herself to go for daily walks lest she completely turn to jelly, and they all went on one longer outing to see Doolin Castle on one of the days that was fine, and ate one dinner at the pub. Though they all agreed, the food on Inis Mor had been better.

 

When their time was at an end they had the drive home, and Thranduil turned over many things in his mind. The discussion that would not leave him was what Ratiri had surmised about Thanadir. He found himself drifting back to a very long time ago, recalling carefully what had occurred in the past, particularly the disastrous meeting of Thanadir and Erestor. All this time later, and the embarrassment, confusion and pain of poor Erestor still echoed in his mind. It had been the same year as the Lord Elrond had departed for the Havens...

 

********

 

It was a fine summer day, when Erestor and Glorfindel at long last set their horses' hooves on the elf-path to Thranduil's Halls. While the Chief Counselor of Imladris had felt more than capable of making the journey alone, his longtime (and rather overprotective) friend would not hear of it. "I want to meet you in Aman because you arrive at the shore, not because you passed through the Halls of Mandos," the golden warrior quipped. And truthfully, Erestor was glad of both the extra measure of protection and the company, for it was just over a three weeks' ride at the best pace their horses could manage. Though these parts had been cleansed of evil, unwelcome surprises could still lurk in unexpected places. And though Erestor was more than capable with knife, bow and sword, he would never be the mighty force of nature that was Glorfindel.

 

"Soon I will be safe enough here, with the time to fulfill one last duty on these shores, old friend. Though I imagine, you and I will not meet in Ennor again. You mean to depart quite soon yourself, after your return to the valley?"

 

His golden head nodded in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the new-growing trees. Though not so many seasons past this forest had burned in a conflagration, renewal surrounded them, and some virtue still remained with lands cared for by elves. "Yes. It has been many long years, since I have seen Aman, and I will confess that I am eager to find rest. Eager to turn my mind to all the pursuits I have set aside in my long service on these shores. Not to mention, old friends. I hope to renew a great many relationships. Who knows what homes my family has built, in what cities our people live? Know that you would always be welcome, Erestor, under any roof in which I also dwell. You have been my good friend all this long while as we served the Lord Elrond together. I would say that I will miss you, except that it is my hope to barely notice your absence before I see you again."

 

The dark elf chuckled at his friend's direct yet sincere humor. "Thank you, mellonenin. Though as you know, part of why I am here is that I do not yet have a clear sense of what I want; only that the world around me has changed and I no longer feel certainty concerning where I wish to be. Unlike you, I have ever been more reserved. I have made few close ties, preferring scholarship and service. And now that neither of those things are particularly necessary any longer..." he shrugged, his glossy black braids glinting in the sun.

 

"You feel as though you may manage one more effort for posterity, in mining Thranduil's library for knowledge which our own may lack," Glorfindel finished drily. While he personally did not find Erestor's wishes to be any kind of worthwhile reasoning, he cared about his friend too much to offer such a blunt assessment.

 

"You do not approve," Erestor said. It was a statement, not a question; he knew that tone of voice. 

 

Glorfindel sighed. "It is only that it would not be my choice, meldir. I have no right to comment on this and you do not need my approval. Know that at the end of the matter, the joy of your heart is what I desire you to find. And if it is to be here, among the trees of Eryn Lasgalen, then I am content."

 

_ The joy of my heart _ , thought Erestor sadly.  _ My heart has been content, but I do not know that it has ever felt joy. _ He had heard the whispers. Erestor the Strict, Erestor the Grumpy, Erestor the Dour. He could not help his coloring, nor the shyness that had always been his. Lord Elrond had understood, that he found greater comfort among his manuscripts and his books than in the large gatherings in the Hall of Fire. Though sometimes Glorfindel or Lindir would drag him to these, insisting that he make an occasional appearance. And he obliged them, not wishing to be thought uncaring of others or a complete recluse. It was not that he was incapable of asserting himself; quite the opposite. Some had taken a look at his slender frame and assumed that he had no skill at arms. They had been swiftly disabused of such notions, quite often in a sparring ring under the watchful eye of Glorfindel, who took great pleasure at adjusting the thinking of those who would disrespect his friend.  

 

These memories caused him to smile, and at the end of a few more days' easy walking they at last found themselves at the gates to the last elven kingdom in Ennor. A guard welcomed them and saw that their horses were cared for, and escorted them inside. "I am to take you to Aran Thranduil, my Lords. We are honored by your presence."

 

Erestor and Glorfindel both privately marveled to see these caverns, that were an echo of Menegroth long lost. They were led across stone archways to the throne of the King, where they bowed deeply before the great Elvenking Thranduil, who descended and greeted them warmly. "Welcome, my Lords, to my Halls. It is not often that we have such esteemed guests. Lord Erestor, the purpose of your stay with us is intriguing, and when you have taken refreshment I would like to hear much more of it. And...I was unclear about one matter. You are welcome here always, but we were unsure about the intended length of your visit?"

 

Erestor smiled but allowed his face to show only dignified confidence. "The uncertainty, my Lord, is because of my uncertainty. I have not yet reconciled myself to the changes that have come over our people in the twilight of our time in Ennor. It may be that I would wish to stay some months, and it may be...if you would consider accepting my service, my Lord, that I would offer myself to dwell permanently among you. If, that is, you would welcome it. I do not mean to presume."

 

Thranduil's eyes widened. The talents and intellect of Erestor of Imladris were legendary.  "It is I who would be honored, should that be your desire, Lord Erestor. But you have journeyed far and now is not the time to speak of such things. Before my steward, Galion, leads you to your chambers, I wish to introduce my seneschal, Thanadir." 

 

This was the first time Erestor of Imladris would see the ellon who was in some ways the embodiment of both his own position and Glorfindel's. Wide brown eyes of unreadable demeanor greeted them formally, the seneschal's head bowing for exactly the correct amount of time in acknowledgement of their station. There was no warmth in them, and no welcome. Only a cold efficiency. The faintest traces of a frown passed over the King's face, but were banished immediately. 

 

******

Erestor passed from shelf to shelf in the Library, frustrated. Glorfindel departed over two weeks ago; they said their parting words privately, and thus far, Erestor was finding his new life to be a study in contrasts. The King to whom he might one day bend his knee had been kind and effusive in his welcome, going out of his way to ask about his well-being at times when Erestor knew that he had many duties. But the King's seneschal, *that one* was enough to cause him to tear at his hair. It had seemed well enough, in the beginning. A large desk was provided for him in the library itself, with a generous supply of ink, parchments and quills. But when he began to explore the archives, he could not perceive the system of organization. He was far from dimwitted, and yet four solid days of careful investigation yielded nothing onto which he could impose a frame of reference.

When he next saw Thranduil, he mentioned this in passing, hoping that he was overlooking something simple and easily overcome; it was not unheard of and even the brightest could make mistakes. So it was with dread in his heart when Thranduil informed him that he would send Thanadir to assist him. He did his best to thank him and pretend that he was pleased at the King's response.

And so it was, that Erestor sat at his desk reading a volume when he heard the sound of a throat clearing. Though he arguably outranked Thanadir by the convoluted rules of their culture, he did not want to get into...that. The raven-haired elf rose and bowed, according Thanadir all possible respect. "Your Excellency," he said, keeping his eyes lowered at first. "I am sorry to disturb you. I have not been able to discern the organization of the collection here, and hoped you might enlighten me."

 

Thanadir stared at Erestor. He did not want him here. They did not need him here.  _ He _ did not need him here. For two ages he had managed this Realm under his King, and the last thing he wanted was for his position to be threatened by the well-known gifts of this ellon of Imladris. What if Thranduil liked Erestor better? What if Erestor proved smarter, more capable? Everyone knew of his achievements. Why could he not have gone to Aman like the others?  _ Why come here?  _ What he said aloud was, "The collection is arranged primarily chronologically, and secondarily by subject."

 

Erestor was boggled. All his long years of diplomatic skill were necessary to keep his eyes from popping out of his skull.  _ Why in Eru's name would anyone choose such a ludicrous system? _ He could be here until the Fifth Age, trying to work that out. And yet his eloquence abandoned him, as he raised his eyes and tried to find something to say that was both helpful to his wishes and not critical.

 

Impatient with the dark elf's silence, Thanadir spoke again, in a voice laden with curtness. "If you wish to reorganize it, be my guest.  I would only ask that you create a system by which to locate the items. Our numbers are reducing as more of our people depart, and there is no one who can be spared to assist you." While the seneschal kept his face neutral, he saw that his words had the desired effect. It was a monumental task, what he proposed, hidden behind the thinnest veneer of sympathy.

 

"I will try again, with this new information," said Erestor, managing a half-smile. "Thank you for your valuable time, Your Excellency."

After Thanadir departed, Erestor squeezed his eyes shut. As much as he did not wish to, he had little choice but to apply himself to the reorganization, else he would never accomplish anything. Every last item. 

 

For two solid months, he worked long days until his back ached by every late afternoon, appearing only to take meals when he was hungry in the Dining Hall. He had abandoned the dress of Imladris, with its longer robes and surcoats, in favor of the leggings and tunics preferred by the Wood Elves. In his neat and exacting script, he made a note of every single record, every volume, every scroll. It was fortunate that the library had few users, because in the first four weeks of his activity masses of materials were piled on the tables as be conducted the removal from the shelves. 

The only positive, if there was a positive, was that by this means he saw all of the material. Everything. And by the time he had reached the three-quarters mark of completion, he believed he had reasonable insight into the nature of the collection. That is, until the day came that found him in the farthest reaches of the cavern, and he discovered a single volume in a single alcove. Curious, he opened it and blushed furiously, even as he could not take his eyes from the material. He had never wed, never felt a calling toward one who could be a mate. And while he had never truly given any thought to the marriage rites of their people, these illustrations left no doubt as to what could be presumably enjoyed with an elleth, once joined before Eru. Shaking his head, he slammed the cover closed. Propriety demanded that this be left alone; it was not a fit thing to view for one who was single with no intention to wed.

 

Which was why when he looked up to see Thanadir watching him with arms crossed and eyebrows raised, there were not words for his horror. In the four thousand years of his life, he had never been this humiliated. He could not move, he could not speak. But the seneschal did. "I came to see what progress you have made. It would appear you have discovered many things, Lord Erestor." 

 

There was nothing else for it; he'd been caught. He held his head up as best he could. "I can at least say that I closed the cover before I was aware you were here," Erestor said softly. "We do not have such materials in the library at Imladris. I will not be viewing it again; nor will I remove it; it seems obvious that it is hidden back here for a reason. Do you wish it included in the catalog?" It was the absolute best he could do to try to find some humor in something he did not find terribly funny.

 

"I do not view that which is unseemly," said Thanadir. "I will leave it to your judgement that if it is not acceptable for use by all, it should be excluded," the seneschal said coldly. Erestor walked past him, out of the alcove, moving toward his desk. Anything, to step away from the accursed book. Thanadir followed him, and glanced down at Erestor's cataloging. "May I?" he asked, indicating the sheaves of parchment.

 

"Of course," Erestor said humbly. He waited patiently as Thanadir examined the work. While his expression remained unreadable, inside of himself the seneschal seethed and roiled as he beheld the beautiful, neat script. It was better than his own. It was perfection. It was  _ intolerable _ .

 

"What will you do, when you have completed the catalog?" asked the seneschal. 

It was the most conversation this elf had been willing to provide since his arrival. How Erestor had hoped that they might be friends, since their respective duties for their Lords must be so similar. He missed Imladris. He missed Lord Elrond. And Glorfindel. He even missed the twins, at this point in his lonely existence here. "I have identified the volumes that I believe may contain records useful to my research," Erestor said softly. "I will begin reading them, and taking what notes I deem will be valuable, possibly including transcribing some passages. If I return to Imladris, my work must be something that my horse can manage to carry."

 

"If?" queried Thanadir. "Surely you cannot wish to stay here. The forest is miserable in wintertime, and the caverns cold. Why would you want to live among us, when you could have Aman?" 

 

"Why do you live here, Thanadir, if I may ask? Perhaps my reasons are not so different than your own."

 

The seneschal drew himself up, his eyes beginning to blaze. "I have vowed to serve my King, whom I love and will never leave."

 

Erestor's lips parted at the force of this response. He was stunned at the aggression behind the words. "Your Excellency, have I offended you? I have done my best to work and disturb no one."

 

Thanadir's self-control crumbled. "You are not wanted here, Lord Erestor of Imladris. You are not needed here. I have no feelings on the matter." With that, Thanadir turned on his heel and stormed out. 

 

Erestor was stunned. He had thought that Aran Thranduil had wished to make him welcome, but if this was what his own seneschal was saying.... _ I was a fool to come here _ , he thought, as he felt his heart breaking.  _ I would have given you my very best, King of the Woodland Realm, but I have just enough pride remaining to not be fed deceptions. If these were your feelings, better you had refused me altogether. I had only hoped for a home yet in Ennor, among my own people.  _

 

He looked around at the huge library, that would require another two full weeks' effort to set in order.  _ Two full weeks, for what? When I have no future here? Better I leave now, before the Redhorn Pass is lost to me and I must endure in these Halls until the springtime.  _ While it pained him that his impeccable reputation would suffer for this, the choice was clear. He must abase himself before the King one last time, to beg provisions for the journey. Surely these would not be begrudged, if his presence here was so unwelcome. He stood immobile, tears streaking down his cheeks from his closed eyes, trying to summon the courage to seek out the King. He need not have bothered. 

 

"Lord Erestor?" Thranduil said, shocked at the appearance of his guest. 

 

The ellon's dark brown eyes flew open. Would there be no end to his humiliations, this day?  _ Are the Valar cursing my very existence? _

 

"My Lord," the counselor said, desperately trying to master his trembling voice."Forgive me, for this. I am afraid you have found me in a difficult moment."

 

Thranduil moved around, reaching out to him, and Erestor recoiled. "Please, my Lord. I was about to come to beseech you for provisions, so that I may leave. I never wanted to cause such disruption."

 

"Leave? Disruption? Erestor, what in Eru's name has happened to you? Explain yourself!" Thranduil felt incomprehension and a sense of deep foreboding fill him.

 

"Your seneschal told me I was not wanted or needed here, my Lord. I presumed he was speaking on your behalf," Erestor all but whispered, even as he blanched at the transformation of this beautiful King's face into one darkening with pure wrath that struggled to master itself.

 

"You will please be seated, Master Erestor, at your desk. And I will sit in this chair near you. And neither of us are leaving until I have a full understanding of what has transpired for you in your time here." The King's sea-blue eyes glittered.

 

Erestor felt intensely uncomfortable; he was being asked to divulge very private information. It was not a request, it was a demand. And yet if he had contemplated swearing fealty to Thranduil, surely he had best explore this constraint now and not later? Thranduil was a King, and he claimed the rights and powers of his station. To serve him meant not being able to say No. "Yes, my Lord," the dark elf replied miserably. And so he started at the very beginning, and ended with where he was found.

 

The King kept his silence for many minutes while his eyes blazed with anger, and he weighed many things. Finally, he raised his head and spoke. “Erestor, there are no adequate words for my embarrassment at the treatment you have received. I have only one question for you. Is there any means by which this situation could be mended, in your eyes? You have been wronged and assaulted with unspeakable rudeness by one I believed to be beyond reproach. Regardless of your answer, this is a shame I will bear for the rest of my days.” Those blue eyes were fixed on those of the Counselor.

 

Erestor thought, very carefully. “I have spent my life advising others, my Lord, and I do not believe I am answering your question lightly or carelessly. It is obvious to me that your seneschal, for reasons I do not understand, cannot abide me. And if I may be blunt, you would be forced to choose one of us over the other. I will not remain in a place where I would be responsible for displacing one who has served you loyally, just as I have served my own Lord. I will not lie. I had thought to offer myself in your service, with no hopes or expectations of a position of favor. I have...done all of that, my Lord. The ambition I came here with was only one of finding a sense of family among my people on these shores, to replace the family I had that has broken apart. I would counsel both of us, please, allow me to return to Imladris. Wherever I am to go, it is not here. Perhaps this is the will of the Valar, to turn me to Aman. I have no wish to remain where I am reviled,” he said with downcast eyes. “Please.”

 

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose. “As much as it pains me to say it, I must agree with you, Lord Erestor. You are a jewel, and would have been treasured by me. Honored. Your intelligence and your noble heart would have added grace, wisdom and beauty to my Realm, but it seems this is not to be. I am angrier with my seneschal than I can say, but something more is amiss. As he is my subject, this is my mess to clean up, so to speak. I will not delay you. You wish to depart at once?”

 

The dark elf nodded. “As soon as I can gather my few belongings.” 

 

“Your horse will be saddled and provisioned, and you will be escorted by my guard over the mountain pass.” 

 

Erestor opened his mouth to protest but the King held up his hand. “It is the one thing I can do to even begin to redress what has happened,” he said. “I only hope that should we ever meet again, that you would consider calling me a friend. I would very much have liked to have known you, Erestor of Imladris,” the King said sadly, placing his hand over his heart. “Farewell.”

 

Thranduil rose and left the room and with one last look around him, Erestor did the same. The King stormed back to his throne, his face darkening more with every step. He turned to his guards. “You will find Thanadir the seneschal, and you will arrest him. You will take him below to a cell. Above all, he is not to be harmed.” The guards looked at each other, and at the King, dumbfounded. “Have I spoken words that were in any way unclear?” he all but shouted at them. They looked at each other again and left immediately.

******

Thanadir sat in his quarters, staring at the wall with eyes wide open but unseeing. His life must surely now be over. Even as he left the library, he could not really understand how the words had come forth from his lips. He knew why he had felt threatened, he comprehended that much of his feelings. But how had it gone so far? That was what he could not grasp, no matter how many times his shameful words replayed in his mind. When the heavy knock came at his door, it was more than half-expected. He rose and opened, lowering his eyes. “I will not resist you,” were his only words to the guards that led him away.

 

He was given extra blankets, and extra food, but they went untouched. For three days, he only sat and thought, his appetite nonexistent. His hands were cold, but he did not notice. Everything seemed to stop, although from time to time he did drink the water he was given, and he was forced to address the necessities of life as well. Otherwise, he did not speak, or move. Sometimes he fell asleep, slumping against the cavern wall, but it brought no comfort.

 

Thranduil could stand it no longer, when the same report was given to him each day. He descended the pathway, and waved at the guard with a gesture to open the cell door. “Leave us,” were his only words. He entered, and stood before his disgraced seneschal, who did not appear to see him. “Thanadir,” he finally said, beginning to worry. The brown eyes raised to his, and he immediately knelt before his King. “Explain yourself,” Thranduil demanded. “Explain why you took it upon yourself to drive off my honored guest with unkindness and lies.”

 

“I cannot,” Thanadir whispered, his palms held up to Thranduil in a gesture of submission. “I have asked myself this same question for every waking minute and I cannot. I cannot even ask for your forgiveness,” he said, tears now splashing from his eyes. “I can only tell you that I am deeply ashamed, and very sorry. I do not deserve a place in your service.”

 

“What am I to do with you, Thanadir?” the King said, now agitated. “This is not the first time, though it is most assuredly the  _ worst _ time.” He ran his hands through his flaxen hair, exasperated and troubled beyond measure. “And you cannot or you will not tell me why.”

 

“I do not know, my King,” he sobbed. “There is something the matter with me and I do not know what it is. I am so sorry...”

 

This was breaking both their hearts. Thranduil knelt down and took his seneschal in his arms. “I love you, meldir, but I cannot ignore this. You have overstepped your bounds in a manner I would not have believed possible.” He pulled up the far more slender elf to sit next to him. “You will be returned to your quarters, Thanadir. You will not leave them, and you will be relieved of your duties for a month.”

 

“Yes, my King,” Thanadir whispered, hanging his head. It was far more generosity than he deserved. 

 

Many days passed, in the beginning, and word returned to Thranduil that Thanadir’s food was going largely uneaten. In spite of their diminishing numbers, it had not been easy to manage in the seneschal’s enforced absence, and he had had little opportunity to consider other matters. It had not occurred to him that this would happen. When the time for the next meal came, he entered the elf’s rooms with his tray of food to find the rooms dim, and cold. His bedchamber door was open, and yet he was not in his bed, which showed no sign of having been slept in. Turning around, baffled, he looked carefully until he saw that Thanadir was curled into a ball at one end of his sofa, asleep. He had mistaken him for some piled items of clothing. With his heart wrenching, he laid down the tray and took the ellon’s hand to feel it was cold. With a sigh, he turned to the fireplace, which was laid, and started a blaze. He studied Thanadir, who had unquestionably grown thinner, and had never felt so at a loss. Yes, he deserved consequences for his actions. But not like this. He may as well have been left in the dungeon cell, and this had gone too far.

 

“Thanadir,” the King spoke, drawing the weakened elf to him, waking him. Dull eyes looked back, not comprehending. “You cannot go on like this, meldir. Or do you mean to leave me?” he asked softly. Thanadir’s head shook No, and he began to cry again. Thranduil held him tightly, soothing him. “I forgive you, meldir. I want you to eat, and begin taking care of yourself. If you will promise me to do this, I will come to see you every few days. Please do not force me to command you, Thanadir. Not for this.” Thanadir still cried, but he nodded his agreement. “No more tears,” Thranduil said, rocking him as though he were an elfling until he regained some equilibrium. “Now you will sit at your table with me, and take food.” No words were spoken, but as Thanadir ate, the King’s large hand steadily rubbed his back. It was an obvious struggle, for him to eat the entire meal, but at last it was managed. “Stand up, now,” Thranduil asked. His fingers came under the seneschal’s chin, forcing him to look up. Only his considerable willpower and discipline allowed the King to speak in spite of the pitiful expression he found there. “You are loved, meldir. I love you. You are to care for yourself. Bathe. Remain warm. Play your instruments, read your books. Do you understand?”

 

Thanadir nodded. “Yes, my King.” Thranduil embraced him, and when he felt his own ribs encircled in return, he smiled. He had won. With a kiss to his forehead, he turned and departed.

 

At the end of this time, a chastened and quiet seneschal returned to his tasks, trying to piece together as best he could where it all had left off. He endured the shame of everyone knowing that he had done something bad enough to merit an unprecedented punishment, though only Thranduil ever knew the reason. And he did not smile again for a very, very long time.

 

******

 

Thranduil looked out the window at the scenery passing by, considering. _ Asperger’s _ . And a possibility that through no fault of his own, Thanadir had been left vulnerable to certain cruelties perpetrated by his own mind; the same mind that was in all other ways so extraordinary. What was it, he had said? _ A blight on an otherwise perfect beauty.  _ He squeezed his eyes shut. He had been wrong. This was Thanadir, in his completeness, and he had not understood. Earlene dozed against the seneschal’s shoulder, held in his arms so that she could not fall over. From time to time, he would lean his head to gently rest against hers. 

 

When they arrived back at the cottage, Earlene sat on the sofa for a moment, holding Allanah, staring absentmindedly at Thranduil. One moment, he was ordinary, and the next moment, he wore Anguirel. Blinking her eyes, she frowned as she muddled her thoughts, suddenly understanding. Even in remote Doolin he had taken no chances, but he had hidden that from the mortals. And now their holiday was over.

 


	48. Forty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October 16 - early November, 2016.

“Thranduil!” Earlene said with more than a hint of positivity, “the papers have come, via Niamh. It’s all over with, all sorted. We are officially Allanah’s parents.” She glanced over the documents. Lots of Blah Blah Blah, as she jokingly called the verbal currency of her profession, but this time the blather contained an official court seal. These would of course be filed away... _ someplace besides this cottage _ , she reasoned. Until things changed, this was no longer assuredly a secure location. Who knew what paperwork Von Rapetched would decide might titillate him, on any future visit to her home. After the bra, probably anything was fair game.

 

The King walked over to view the documents, just out of curiosity. Official papers were hardly a new sight to his eyes, but what modern human ones would look like interested him. Leaning down, he kissed her, his hand resting gently on her belly. “One down, two to go”, he chuckled,  smiling at her and sitting.

 

Earlene brushed aside a strand of his hair. “Now that it is altogether too late, I think there are some things we should discuss about Allanah. And maybe about our own children as well.” Her eyes met his with earnestness. “I had planned, intended, that Allanah would call us mother and father. But that from the earliest time she is old enough to understand, that she would also know that we are not her biological parents. With the choice being left to her to say ‘Aunt and Uncle’ if that is what she wishes. I have seen friends who suffered from being deceived about having been adopted, and I do not want that for her. But as in all of this, your opinions matter rather more than my own,” she said with humor.

 

He leaned forward to kiss her. “As always, I appreciate the honor you show me, Earlene. But in matters of raising our children, I will be very reluctant to fall back on my title of King to make decisions for our family. You have just as much of a right to voice opinions. Family life among ordinary elves is not a patriarchal one, as it seems to have been in many human traditions. And in this, I agree with you. It would be usual, among elves, for us to be called Adar and Naneth, or shortened forms of those words. And yet in the world outside, I believe Mam and Da are what is common. What will we teach Allanah?”

 

Earlene frowned. “I have no objection to the Sindarin words,” she said. “In fact, I prefer them. This is our family, and even outside of Lasg’len, it would be a rare person indeed that would catch on. ‘Nana’ is a common word for ‘grandmother’ in many cultures, though ‘Adar,’ not so much. And yet I am willing to manage it if you are. And surely the children themselves might have something they choose, regardless of what we think?”

 

“True enough,” he laughed.

 

“And discipline? I will not willingly stand for any kind of physical punishment. And I do not believe you would want this either,” she said softly. While she did not wish to raise this sensitive subject, it needed agreement long before it was necessary to use it. 

 

“Legolas was never struck, never beaten,” said Thranduil. “We were always able to reason with him, to teach. When punishment was called for, it was in the form of being sent to his rooms or a loss of privileges. Alassëa and I shared equally in disciplining him, and Thanadir was granted this right as well, if he saw the need. As we invited him to take on a significant share of our son’s care and parenting, we trusted him to have authority as well. Thanadir was and is stern but gentle. Would this meet with your approval?”

 

“It is how I was raised. Yes. Though,” she grimaced, “I am afraid I did see my father resort to harsher measures with Aidan. He was not so pliant as I was. I believe he was spanked a time or two, but I recall it having happened after an extreme escalation of other measures having utterly failed. But that need not enter this discussion.” She paused. There was one more thing on her mind, but she truly did not wish to voice it. And yet this was Thranduil, from whom nothing was hidden. Looking up into his eyes, her lips made a crooked smile.

 

Thranduil sighed. “Should any elven child lose his or her parents, the rest of the community would care for and raise that one with love. But in the case of Allanah...this is difficult,” he said. “Perhaps a conversation is in order, with Lorna and Ratiri. I am certain they might be thinking along similar lines. Lately, that has become somewhat unavoidable.”

 

Neither of them wished to consider the things that might happen, with a monster loose in the world. And yet they had to. His arms came around his wife, and they held each other in silence, finding comfort.

 

*****

 

Avathar was displeased, but that was nothing new, of late.

 

His pharmaceutical company had contracted an unfortunately virulent computer virus, once which seemed to be infecting not just his server, but that of his main rival. He found hackers tedious, and usually hunted them down, but this seemed to be a highly coordinated effort that he had little motivation to combat at the moment. That was why he had underlings.

 

Healing from the wound Earlene had dealt him had taken several days, and his mood had only grown ever blacker. The woman would pay with everything she held dear before he was through with her; it was only a pity there were so few left on this shore that she cared about. 

 

John Ohlert was first and foremost among them, and this was one of the things Avathar found unpleasant. The man was slightly brighter than the rest of the sheep, and thus more entertaining, but he was as as father to Earlene. There was no primer a target.

 

He often worked late, long after all others had gone home for the evening, and Avathar now lurked in his office, leaning against the wall in the shadows, while the lights of New York cast glowing lines where they passed through the slats of the blinds. He had in his hand a wicked knife, and an ancient one, forged by himself from the chain that once bound him to his pit. There was little it would not rend, and flesh and bone were not among them.

 

Sure enough, John came bustling into his office, rubbing at a crick in his shoulder. He set his briefcase on his desk before turning on the lamp, and froze.

 

While there were occasionally others who worked this late, John rarely saw them, and no clients were ever allowed in after hours. To find this man, this deeply unsettling man...every single instinct he possessed told him to flee. Something about Von Ratched had always struck him as  _ wrong _ ; it wasn’t just his height or his bearing, which was far too precise for a corporate CEO (or scientist, or doctor, which he apparently was as well), or even those ungodly eyes. There was just  _ something _ , and it all but screamed across his nerves now.

 

Von Ratched smiled, though there was little humor in it. “You’ve always been more observant than the others, John,” he said. “So few suspect me, even by a fraction, and yet you...you cannot know me for what I am, but you very much suspect what I am not. Frail-minded though your kind is, I must respect that.”

 

Heart lurching, sweat gathering at his palms, John gave in to the urge to back away. He didn’t know what lunacy the man was spouting, and yet some deep, primal part of him, some part not constrained by nonsensical chains of generally accepted plausibility, told him that what he was facing was not a man. It was madness, rank paranoia, and yet that didn’t stop him believing it was true. “You shouldn’t be here, Mister von Ratched,” he said, his voice unsteady. “It’s late. Perhaps you could come by again tomorrow.”

 

Von Ratched shook his head, standing straight. John wasn’t a short man, but Von Ratched towered over him, as he did over most people. “I wish I need not do this, John,” he said, and sounded like he actually meant it, “but you are dearer to Earlene than anyone left in this land. At least I will grant you a clean death.”

 

And clean it was; he snapped the man’s neck with such speed that there was no room even for pain.  _ Oh Earlene, if only you had not driven me to this _ . Lying the body on the floor, he set to work, the cream carpeting soon stained red. He would not mail her any of this man’s body parts, though he had seen such things in fiction -- that would be tasteless. John’s pocket watch, however, the golden case sticky with blood... _ that  _ she would receive. That and her brassiere, but it would take him longer to do as he wished with it. It had an entirely different use, and would serve an entirely different purpose.

 

These people...he had ignored them for thousands of years, slumbering within distant mountains. They had fought endless, tedious wars over religion, been driven by greed, died in droves of sicknesses that anyone with any sense could manage -- all in all, quite boring. Not until what they came to call the Industrial Revolution did they pique his interest, because not until then did they begin to climb out of the morass of their own ignorance. And to have come so far, in so very short a time...it was unprecedented. And he wanted in on it, because there was so much opportunity for power, and few of them even knew it.

 

And yet even then they could provide only so much interest. Even the brightest among them were limited and dull by his standards; their breakthroughs could be fascinating,  but only for a time. They lived and died in the space of a breath, and none could even hope to approach being a worthy adversary for him. He had thought himself the last remnant of the First Age for millennia, and then…

 

Then he’d found Thranduil. Thranduil and his seneschal, and Earlene, and lovely little Lorna, who he should have stolen when he had a chance. He could not have held her long -- her mind might be weak, but she had a will as strong as the bones of Ennor -- but he wished he had not released her to Thranduil so soon.

 

And Earlene...he very much wanted to know what protected her, and how. It was not something innate, because she was mortal; it simply could not be. He would find a way around it, and he would make her pay. He had been gentle with little Lorna; she had enjoyed herself, he had been careful not to harm her children, and he had not burdened her with the memory of their time together, knowing that it would prove a horror to her no matter how pleasant the experience itself had been. He had seen an expression in her mind: a precious cinnamon roll. In a sense, it fit; she was precious, and yet he wanted to eat her in a way rather more enjoyable than cannibalism. He needed to get her out of his system, this little stuffed animal with razor-sharp teeth he had no doubt would rip out his throat were he near enough. Once she  _ was  _ out of his system, he would give her the opportunity to avenge herself, because he suspected she might be more creative than one might think.

 

With Earlene, it would  _ hurt _ ; he would make her long for death before he was through with her, and kill the spawn residing in her womb, and then he would return her to Thranduil, as broken as he could make her. She too had a will of iron, and oh, he would enjoy shattering it. Normally he disliked forcing a partner; tears irritated him, but in this case he would make an exception. She was strong for a mortal, but she would beg for mercy until her voice gave out before he gave it to her.

 

He strongly suspected that whatever protected her was tied to Thranduil, and that if he were to separate the two, it would fail. He could not directly touch her to do so, but that need not stop him. When it came to what he wanted, nothing ever had.

 

*******

 

The air had become much colder now during the days, but Earlene still fought on to remain as fit as possible. There were times she still tried to run around, but the logistics of supporting her belly made matters very difficult. She had shown Thanadir, with no small amount of embarrassment, photos of pregnancy support belts she’d found on the Internet. He was very kind, and did not tease her at all. After taking a series of measurements, he came to her two days later with something similar in concept and yet far better, as with all things to which he set his mind. Rather than a garment with garish elastic bands that looked like something out of a circus freak show, he had designed something  that was governed entirely by sturdy laces. It was reminiscent of a corset, but with two panels that could be infinitely adjusted depending on how tightly the heavy yet comfortable fabric was snugged. When worn, it allowed her upper body to take up far more of the weight of the babies. And while it did not allow her to run as she used to, it did allow her to walk briskly with relative comfort. This in turn allowed her to stretch out and exercise especially lower back muscles that had become tense and tired from the strain of the awful posture she’d begun to adopt. 

 

Though ambitious, it was very late morning when she decided that she wished to go to town. It would be good to purchase some chickens to roast, for variety. Plus there was another reason, long overdue. Thanadir walked at her side, as in spite of the chill weather her breathing became heavier and her face beaded with perspiration at the effort of her very rapid walking. “Hiril vuin, I think you should walk slower,” he said as kindly as possible. Her pace faltered, and she crumbled into a much slower walk. The truth was, she’d been forcing herself out of a sense of pride to keep on, though the speed had become harder to maintain with every passing yard. 

 

“Thank you for being a voice of reason, meldir,” she said once her breathing had slowed. “This is hard for me. I miss running, Thanadir. I miss being able to move quickly. I feel much of the time as though I am living in something that is not even my own body.” Looking up at the sky, she tried to summon some self-discipline. “I am sorry. I should not be complaining to you. This is what I said I wanted, and this is part of what must happen. I just need to stop thinking so selfishly.”

 

Thanadir did not answer or comment, but offered his arm to her instead, which she gratefully took. As they neared town, she turned to him. “I should have warned you, but I want to visit Aurinia, from the Ladies’ Quilting Club. It is long overdue for me to do this; I hope you do not mind. We will not stay too long. Or at least, that is my intention.”

 

Thanadir frowned. “You are good friends with her?” He knew that Earlene had met the woman at least once, perhaps they had connected by the computer, without his knowledge?

 

“No, not at all. It is just that after what happened to her son, it is beyond time for me to speak with her.” 

 

The elf said nothing, but nodded. Earlene saw the look of confusion pass over his features. “You do not understand why I would visit her, meldir? You can ask me things that do not make sense to you, Thanadir. I feel like the least I can do is try to explain humans to you, when you have done so much for me.”

 

He glanced at her and nodded, and she saw what she was certain was fear, though it passed quickly. As she studied his face, he seemed to be waging an internal struggle, but then arrived at a decision. “It is not easy for me to admit when I do not know things, Earlene. I feel afraid. But I trust you. I...do not want others to know this, about me.”

 

“I would never betray your trust, Thanadir. Next to Thranduil I care about you more than anyone else. I think you must know that. And if you did not; well, you do now.” And yet even as she was speaking the words, her mind lurched into motion, because something here was not right at all. Thanadir, the most able and exquisitely intelligent person she had ever known, afraid of something so simple? “I am going to see Aurinia because when her son went to prison, it had a connection to me. It was not my fault, and not really anything about me, but her son did kill my brother. Most people would feel very responsible, if someone connected to them did something very bad. Like, imagine that somehow Rîniel went to town and killed a person. I know that would never happen; this is just for the purpose of illustration. Thranduil would feel terrible, he would feel responsible, because he is her King. Just in the same way, Aurinia probably feels responsible that her son did this thing. And because of that, it would likely mean a great deal to her to hear from me that I do not hold her in any way responsible, and that I do not have bad feelings toward her in any way. Honestly I do not even have bad feelings against Sean in any way, but that is on account of how very bad my relationship with my brother was. It should have mattered to me, that he died, but it does not. That part is not normal.”

 

Thanadir considered her words, his brow furrowed. “So because of all you have said, you are going to offer her comfort even though she is not someone close to you?”

 

Earlene nodded, alarm bells going off again. “Yes. Although I am not a religious person, there is a sentiment that many humans practice because it makes sense to us. ‘Do for others as you would like others to do for you.’  If I were in Aurinia’s position, I would very much want to be comforted, because as a mother whose son did something awful, she must be suffering a great deal, emotionally. So that is my reason for doing this, even though it has taken me an inexcusably long time to manage it.”

 

Thanadir brightened. “Now I have something I can understand. It is only that...I would not feel a need to do this for someone to whom I am not close. I did not know that others would.”

 

What Earlene could not have known, as she did her best to elucidate these emotions, is that Thanadir had looked in on her thoughts, hoping to gain better insight. She was simply so used to him not choosing this on account of whatever manner in which it was difficult for him, that it never occurred to her to muddle her mind around him. Which was why he found himself seeing a huge ‘data sorting’ of everything Earlene had ever observed about him, and a word that kept recurring.  _ Asperger’s _ , and whether or not this was something that applied to him. Earlene sifted and considered whether elves could have the same cognitive differences as humans, but to her this topic had a different interest.  _ Had I the choice, would I sacrifice some of my emotional intelligence to be like Thanadir? To be the smartest, cleverest, most creative? To master what is difficult with such relative ease, and to have myriad advantages at the cost of a deficit that has likely caused him a great deal of pain?  _ Because if she accepted this framework about him, it explained beyond question the difficulties he’d had. With her, and apparently with others in the past. Her heart bled for him, at the confusion and suffering he had to have endured because he lacked this one particular skill set.  _ Whether this describes him or not, it would not matter to me either way,  _ she reflected.  _ If anything, I would love him all the more. He is precious, unique, more than I can ever hope to be, and I am privileged to be his friend. Perhaps if anything I can review that condition, and find ways to help him more, help his happiness. _

 

They walked on in silence. Thanadir had been forced to leave off his connection with her, which took such intense concentration to maintain that he could never manage it for long. But now he felt troubled.  _ Was _ there truly something the matter with him? Something that  _ explained _ him? Whatever this was, Earlene seemed to think that it was both the greatest asset and a serious liability, all at the same time. A tremendous difference from what was ordinary.  _ What did that mean? _ For now, he did not wish to discuss this. But he now had some words.  _ Asperger’s. Emotional intelligence _ . And he had a computer.

 

They reached a house, and Earlene knocked. Aurinia answered the door, with an expression that Thanadir recognized as sadness. And surprise. She invited them in, and closed the door.

 

*******

Lorna and Ratiri had been planning.

 

They knew Von Ratched was still out there, and that there was every chance they’d have to move back to the Halls for God knew how long. It was with this in mind that they went on something of a shopping spree, both online and off.

 

The cottage was no longer secure, but they needed a better way of charging their electronics than the car battery, which wouldn’t last forever anyway. The answer was solar panels and a metric arseload of wire.

 

They also brought all the books they could grab, since Lorna had no interest in trying to wade through Sindarin when she just wanted downtime. Between that and all the yarn Lorna could get her hands on, as well as Gran’s ancient book of knitting patterns, she could at least occupy herself once she turned into a land whale.

 

She was already well on her way; she could still see her feet, but only just, and she’d barely entered her second trimester. It was only a matter of time before she started waddling, God help her. Ratiri had insisted on bringing in weights of various sizes, so she would still be able to get at least some exercise when she couldn’t move much.

 

They also knew Thanadir’s birthday (for so Lorna could only think of it) was coming up, so she arranged with Mairead in an advance for a cake, and she and Ratiri went a little nuts with gift-buying, but it wasn’t without ulterior motive: if they were going to be stuck, they could keep all five of them busy.  _ Star Trek  _ books (dozens); a beautiful chess set; Jenga (which Ratiri was certain he’d excel at), and an absolutely beautiful Fender acoustic guitar. Lorna could teach him to play even once she couldn’t do much else, and would adore it if he’d try to teach her the violin in turn. Earlene had connived with Lorna, sending her own purchases to Baile so that the deliveries would not be seen at the cottage. A Complete Works of Shakespeare, DVDs of some of the best film versions made, and an extensive collection of art supplies that included pastels, pencils, charcoals, watercolors, and all the things necessary to use them. Different sized pads of art paper were sent as well.

 

When they finally had everything gift-wrapped and all their other things in order, Lorna flopped on the bed. If she was this miserable now, where was she going to be in six months? One thing was for certain: she was never, ever doing this again. Two would have to be enough. Normally she was a stomach-sleeper, but that wasn’t an option anymore, so she’d spent her nights restless until it occurred to her to ask Thranduil for some kind of elven sleep aide. It worked, but she still woke with a sore back. Fortunately, Ratiri’s talented hands were not limited to sexy uses, and he seemed quite happy to give her backrubs on demand. There were times Lorna wondered just what she had done to deserve this man.

 

“Have you got any idea how much I love you, allanah?” she asked. It had occurred to her some months ago that she might not say that as often as she should, so, in the interest of boosting her ability to actually communicate, she said it often now. She knew she could be weird and hard to read, and she didn’t want him doubting for a moment how much she loved and appreciated him.

 

“I do,” he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I love you, too. Now let’s go get dinner.”

 

***********

 

Lorna picked up the birthday cake from Mairead, promising photos in return (which meant they were going to have to knock together a backdrop that didn’t look like, well, elves lived there). This one was shaped and colored like a leather-bound book, because Mairead had learned a new icing technique from Siobhan and wanted to try it out. It was a damn big cake, too big for even the five of them to eat at one go, so it would be the gift that kept on giving.

 

All their assorted presents were good to go, wrapped with various levels of expertness (or lack thereof). Lorna had plenty of practice, but Ratiri did not, and even his doctor’s precision didn’t always make for the best results. He made up for it by covering half of the available surfaces with dozens of stick-on bows -- Lorna had had a huge bag left over from last Christmas. It had occurred to her that Thranduil might well be secretly jealous Thanadir was getting such a haul, so she’d give him a hug. He liked them, and knew they were rare currency from her unless your name was Ratiri.

 

Getting everything set up in Earlene and Thranduil’s cottage didn’t take long. Ratiri distracted Thanadir by directly greeting him, which gave Lorna and Earlene a chance to disappear into the pantry so that they could look at the cake, which had jokingly been called ‘The Precious’ in more than one email exchange. For this evening, one of the elleth was watching Allanah in their quarters in the Halls, and with any luck her daughter would sleep the entire time. Thranduil had played with her an extra long time today and hopefully had worn her out.

 

“I have a small tube of white buttercream ready to go. If you want, I could write his name on the cake in Tengwar. It’s only four letters, and would fit easily. What do you think? Do it, or leave it be? It really is perfect, even as is,” Earlene admired. Mairead’s cakes were such that one hesitated to interfere, even in small ways.

 

“I think he’d be delighted if you did put his name on it, but have you got the right...tip, or whatever?” Lorna did have some hazy knowledge of how to frost a cake, learned mainly from Mairead, who had huge numbers of metal tips that went on plastic bags full of frosting. “Christ, if you can actually stand her long enough, one day the pair’v you ought to swap recipes.” If the two of them were to ever bake together, the sheer tastiness that would result might well break the universe.

 

“Yes. This piping tip that is round but not too wide will let me imitate calligraphy just slightly. And I have a second smaller tip to make the vowel sounds over the top. The tehta, if you’ve gotten that far. Believe me, I am of a ‘less is more’ way of thinking. The hardest part about Tengwar is to write it with a smooth hand. I try too hard and my writing still looks childish, in my opinion. But as long as it’s good enough for Thanadir not to be completely appalled…”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. True to her expectations, she had a skeletal understanding of how to speak the language about as well as a five-year-old, but she couldn’t write it worth shit.  _ Ratiri  _ could, which was something of a surprise, given doctors were usually notorious for terrible handwriting. “I think you’re better at it than you give yourself credit for,” she said. If she’d noticed one thing about Earlene, it was that she was something of a perfectionist -- not surprising, given she was a lawyer, but sometimes she was too hard on herself. Not that Lorna would ever say so in so many words; it wasn’t the kind of thing anyone actually liked hearing. “He’ll love it. And all this stuff.”

 

“I hope so. He does so much for me. In some ways he is the unsung hero of my life. I’ve never doubted for a moment that Thranduil would do anything and everything for me but...he can’t. I can’t capitalize on his time that way. It’s like Thanadir has in part made a gift of himself to make up for all the little things...like being willing to be a spare pair of hands. Something. It’s hard for me to put into words sometimes. But that anyone would be willing to do so much for someone else, just because...even I know you don’t find many of those. And it’s not easy to thank him. How do you thank a genius that can do almost everything better than you can? But at least I want to try. Thank god for one thing. He loves sweets, and he shows no signs yet of making better desserts than I do. And definitely not better than Mairead,” she snorted.

 

“I still think he’s a cinnamon roll,” Lorna said. “Yes, I know he’s a badass warrior, but he also makes little ribbon roses, and I thought he was going to cry when he saw the sewing machine. He’s a cinnamon roll, just one that could probably decapitate a person with a dinner plate at forty paces and break a grown man in half. None of that means he isn’t sweet and too pure for this world.”

 

Earlene chuckled. “Now I’m going to end up baking cinnamon rolls. But I agree there is only one Thanadir, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a pedestal for him. So if you want him in the baked goods case, I won’t argue.”

 

“Thranduil thinks me thinking that is a bit ridiculous, but I don’t think he’s seen some’v the sides you and I have. I mean, him with that sewing machine...it was the most precious bloody thing I’d ever seen. And the roses...I’m still not sure what to do with the leftovers,” Lorna laughed.

 

“Eh, hang onto them. They’re too amazing as party decorations, and it’s Ireland. There’s always another party,” she said, smiling at the frosted result. “There. And it even doesn’t desecrate the cake, and it’s legible. As my gran would have said, ‘Always quite while you’re ahead.’ “ Earlene admired her little icing creation. “I can see Thranduil thinking that. He has known him rather a long time, to the point where sometimes I think my own understanding of him will always pale. And yet we are all different, and sometimes one person sees what another doesn’t.”

 

“Eighteen thousand years,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Can’t even fathom it, so I don’t try. Oof,” she grimaced, rubbing the small of her back. “Jesus, if it’s this bad now, I don’t want to think about what it’ll be like in another three months. Why’d it have to be  _ twins? _ And according to Ratiri, that’s my fault, not his, since I’m the one who released two eggs in one month. That man is so lucky he gives such good backrubs. Sometimes he’s got all the tact’v a stoat, but I’m not one to talk there.”

 

“Who do I get to blame?” wondered Earlene rhetorically. “Cellular something or other, I guess. Oh well, whatever the reasons, we’re in the same boat,” she smiled. “And I too have felt a little like a mess. If my center of gravity gets put off any more I’ll be walking on all fours bent over backward just to try and balance out. There are times I wish the kids would grow sideways, and not out front. Abdominal organs are overrated.”

 

“I’m sure as hell starting to hate my bladder,” Lorna groused. “Every five minutes, I’m not even kidding. I’d looked up pictures of little women pregnant with twins online, and I wish I hadn’t. ‘Land whale’ is about appropriate. I’m going to get a skateboard or something to sit on, and Ratiri can pull me along behind him with a string. Maybe glue two together, so I’ll actually fit.” Speaking of Ratiri, where the hell was he? He needed to get his arse in here before Thanadir did.

 

“Great. Now I’ll not want to know. Except I will. Gee thanks, Lorna,” Earlene laughed good-naturedly. “ ‘Land whale’, I like that...c’mon, let’s join the blokes before they come find the cake. The rest of the food’s ready or about to be.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve got a solid nine inches on me,” Lorna said, following her. “That’s a lot more room for two sprogs to grow. Especially if they wind up giant-sized thanks to how tall their das are.” She couldn’t actually say  _ this  _ out loud, but at least sexing up Ratiri had got a lot less uncomfortable. Her lady bits must be stretching a bit, but whatever the reason, her hormones were thankful.

 

Earlene felt it wise to not point out that while she did indeed have that height, she was pretty sure she was carrying around proportionately heavier water balloons.  And speaking of water balloons...Earlene noted with amusement that Lorna was developing a bust. That it would not be close to what she herself had to put up with seemed likely, but there were most definitely curves now, and she was only what, four months along? Grins were suppressed. They’d know for sure about weights when they were all born...though, it would be interesting to know Lorna’s weight gain as a ratio to her own... _ nope,  _ thought Earlene.  _ Not going there. Some things are too dangerous for science.  _ Handing Lorna a mug of tea, they joined the others. She mentally checked off that she’d not forgotten any of the food. It had been deliberate, that she had cooked enough for nine people when there were five of them. This was Thanadir’s meal, and he was going to eat himself into a coma if that was what he wished to do. Thranduil caught her eye from across the room with something between a smirk and that insufferable look of vague chastisement.  _ Yes, I am spoiling your seneschal, and tonight, I’ll not hear a thing about it. Because surely you would not be so cruel as to command your much-too-pregnant wife to the contrary,  _ she smirked back. That he closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly told her that she was being indulged just as she expected.  _ Thank you,  _ she said with sincerity.

 

Ratiri came in just behind them, looking far more serene than Lorna, who still couldn’t lie to save her damn life and had a difficult time keeping this kind of secret. She couldn’t wait to see Thanadir’s face, because she knew what he looked like when he truly appreciated something, and it was like watching the sun rise. He  _ was  _ a cinnamon roll, albeit one who could potentially have fangs and gnaw your ankles off like a piranha. Great, there was a mental image she was never going to banish.  _ Sorry, Thranduil. _

 

The King shook his head, smiling, not looking at her lest he fail to maintain his imperturbable outward appearance.

 

“It’s almost time for eating,” Earlene said, giving what everyone by now jokingly called ‘The Five Minute Warning,’ though never in her hearing. Ratiri once had made the mistake of not being in his chair before an oven timer went off for dinner, and the ensuing crash against him as she launched across the room caused him to privately decide ‘Never again.’ He and Lorna found seats, and he helped her adjust her chair so she could sit comfortably and still be able to reach the table. What she’d be like by the end of this trimester...he hadn’t said anything yet, but she might well wind up eating off a tray balanced on her stomach. It might not come to that, though, so best not say anything yet.

 

Salads of her delicate pickled baby beets, capers, minced cabbage and carefully shredded winter greens with pan-roasted radicchio in a persimmon-yogurt dressing were already in front of them, with Earlene fussing at them to go ahead and start eating.  A platter of roasted butternut squash cubes with lentils, diced carmelized onions, pancetta and parmesan cheese was laid down for everyone to serve themselves, and in front of Thanadir she placed an immense prime rib roast that had been cooked to medium rare perfection and sliced. And then the oven timer went off. Earlene returned with the last item; a tray full of individual Yorkshire puddings that had reached a towering height; she rapidly placed one on each of their plates. Except for Thanadir, who got two.  Earlene immediately served him three slabs of the beef and a hefty amount of the squash, whereupon Thranduil gestured for her to be seated so he could take over serving the rest of the meat. A generous bowl of her handmade creamed horseradish sauce lay at the ready. Thanadir had been told that he was to indulge himself eating right away; Earlene would not stand for perfect Yorkshire puddings falling flat out of pointless politeness. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Thanadir appeared to be about to cry with happiness at the food.  _ Just wait, meldir. This is nothing.  _ She was looking forward to this so much…

 

Thranduil looked on with interest. Both Lorna and Earlene, and Ratiri too to some extent were excited more than anything for the pleasure of watching Thanadir enjoy himself. He thought back to his early prejudices. How wrong he’d been, about humans. They were as generous and desirous of making others happy as his own people...when they were not starving and barely able to live. It was that last part, that he had failed to take into account, and that mattered rather a lot.

 

_ Cinnamon roll _ , Lorna thought, watching Thanadir. He enjoyed things with a simplicity she didn’t often see outside of children; when he focused on something, he  _ focused  _ on it, and there was just something adorable about it. She could only imagine how delighted he’d be by his presents; he was so...so  _ unaffected _ . What you saw with Thanadir was what you got; when he was pleased, there was no artifice to it. 

 

She applied herself to her own food, wishing she had the patience to cook like this. Part of why her gran had got nowhere with her was simply because she disliked cooking; it didn’t hold her attention. Mairead had always taken care of it when they’d lived together, and when she’d lived alone she could get by on her simple meals. Thank God Ratiri enjoyed cooking, or their kids would be in trouble.

 

Earlene took only small amounts of everything, indulging the most on the meat and the pudding, because Yorkshire pudding was another form of carbohydrate ecstasy. She hoped their little dinner would drag on long enough to make more room for Mairead’s cake, because if she had to be carried out of here begging her husband for relief, it was going to fit. One by one the others finished while Thanadir happily continued eating. This was the fun part, though the mortals had all agreed amongst themselves that taking bets on when he would stop eating would be tactless. To the general astonishment, he stopped after only seconds of the food. Earlene narrowed her eyes at Thranduil with a look of general suspicion.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri, who looked back, and both wondered if Thanadir was somehow ill. To Ratiri’s knowledge, Elves didn’t really  _ get  _ ill, but a lot of the things he’d thought he knew about Elves had turned out to be wrong, so what the hell did he know?

 

“You feeling all right there, Thanadir?” Lorna asked.

 

_ I did not tell him to stop eating, Earlene. I promise you. _

 

Thranduil would not try to deceive her about this. So for reasons of his own, he was done eating; she shrugged. By prearranged signal, Lorna nudged Ratiri to go get the gifts. Earlene rose and spoke to the seneschal. “We have something for you, meldir. Would you come sit on the sofa now?”  _ Dammit Lorna,  _ Earlene thought, now unable to stop thinking ‘cinnamon roll’ at the sight of his curious and slightly eager expression. 

 

Lorna followed them into the lounge, taking up residence on the arm of an armchair -- she’d just sit on Ratiri when he got in. It took three trips for him to bring it all, arranging it around Thanadir, somehow managing not to grin at the elf’s expression. It was like watching a kid on Christmas morning. A very ancient, very lethal kid, but still.

 

“Go ahead, Thanadir,” Earlene said kindly, sitting next to him in case he felt self-conscious. “Choose one and open it.” 

 

Eyes shining with happiness, Thanadir did just that. One after the other, the gifts were revealed, while Thranduil stood back and smiled.

 

Lorna snapped away with her mobile. “We all had to think a bit,” she said, “and coordinate. I’ll teach you how to play Jenga, and you and Thranduil can play chess -- you’re the only one’v us he  _ can  _ play, without it being totally one-sided.”

 

“The  _ Star Trek  _ books are good, too,” Ratiri added. “Well, all the ones I got you are. I’ve read most of them, regardless of quality.”

 

“Nerd,” Lorna said affectionately. “And I’ll teach you guitar, if you’d like, while I’ve still got enough’v a lap to do it.

 

“Thank you for these wonderful gifts,” Thanadir  said quietly, appearing to not quite be able to believe that all these things were for him. The truth was, in his entire life gifts had been rare. And this many?

 

“I too have something for you, Thanadir,” said the King. Everyone looked at him in surprise, because he’d been invited to participate in their brainstorming and politely declined, saying that he was sure they would do very well. He’d not said a word about this. He held a wooden box in his hand, not overly large, and placed it in front of the elf on the low table. Thanadir looked at it and then looked up, completely puzzled. Thranduil sat next to him and explained. “You have served me for countless years, Thanadir, and your own family is no longer on these shores. When we moved into the human world, we agreed to say that you are my brother. I felt it was time that this was acknowledged in a different way.” Thranduil lifted the lid on the box and picked up the mithril brooch in his fingers; the small diamonds inlaid into it shone in the low light. “I think you know, what this is?” he asked.

 

Thanadir’s eyes were wider than saucers and he found himself unusually at a loss for what to say. He nodded, though he did not know how he could possibly accept what he now saw was being done. And yet this was his King; neither could he refuse. Thranduil smiled, having anticipated exactly this result. “This is the symbol of the royal household,” he explained to the rest of them. “The birch tree, in winter. Only those who are of my family may wear it.” He pinned the precious item into Thanadir’s clothing. “I have called you friend, and seneschal. Now I call you brother, as well.” Thranduil kissed each of Thanadir’s cheeks, seeing the moisture filling his eyes. 

 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” he somehow managed to choke out. Earlene managed to restrain herself to a stray tear or two. If it were her, she’d be sobbing, of that much she was certain. “Gwador,” said Earlene, leaning over to kiss his cheek as well. She looked over to Lorna in desperation. They did not need telepathy to understand ‘ _ Get the fucking cake before everyone starts crying _ ,’ fortunately.

 

Out the cake came, displayed on the table with a candle not on it, for fear of marring the frosting, but at one end. Mairead really had outdone herself this time, and Earlene’s lettering certainly looked perfect to Lorna’s eye. She had not expected Thranduil’s gift to Thanadir, and it was damn near enough to make  _ her  _ well up. And now it wasn’t a lie, saying they were brothers, so Thanadir wouldn’t have to dig himself into a hole trying to tell something closer to the truth. (Hey, she was a pragmatist. Sue her.)

 

She moved back away from the table to let the others approach, but snagged Thranduil before he could get there, hugging him.  _ I know he got way more presents than you did for yours, so have a hug. I don’t give them to just anyone. _

 

A low rumbling chuckle came from him as he returned her affection.  _ Seeing him this happy IS a present. I count it all to be very fair,  _ he smiled.

 

Earlene tried to bring Thanadir to the cake, except, she could not get up without  the use of both arms, so it turned out that he had to help her, laughing. “Well that was not graceful, but, now you must have one last thing,” she said with a smile as she steered him to the table.

 

Lorna lit the candle while Ratiri dimmed the lights a touch -- which meant he shut off the one over the sink. “Mairead made this,” she said. “There’s enough we can save some for later, so you can have it for a few days. Earlene did the writing on it, though.”

 

Earlene had a sudden moment of panic.  _ Please let the letters be right, even though I am sure they are… _

 

_ They are, meluieg. You did very well.  _ Thranduil came behind her, holding her snugly which also served to take some of the weight off of her back. 

 

_ I love it when you do that. Looooooooove it. Thank you. And thank you for what you did for Thanadir. That was the most loving gesture...to see him so happy like this…  _ she turned her head to lean against his strong arm, nuzzling him.

 

Thanadir looked astonished. “The cake is...a book? It looks so real,” he said. “It can all be eaten?”

 

_ He has never seen fondant,  _ she thought.  _ This is….adorable. _

 

“It can,” Lorna said, while thinking,  _ yep, cinnamon roll _ . “Mairead’s a bit’v a wizard with cake designs -- not literally,” she added, not wanting any confusion. “But she might as well be. This is a special type’v icing you’ve not seen yet. Is there an equivalent of ‘Happy Birthday’ in Sindarin?”

 

“Pretty sure we have to rely on English,” Earlene quipped, beginning the song to save the bother of having it degenerate into a language discussion. The cake was pronounced (predictably) delicious, and when everyone but the ellyn were obviously sorry about how much they had eaten, everyone took a present to carry for Thanadir back to the Halls. Earlene had invested in a DVD projector that could run for long hours off Lorna’s battery system, and they’d begun working out how to convert Ratiri’s room into more or less a movie theater (having hijacked a white sheet for a screen, much to the initial chagrin of the cleaning elleth). It was slowly being improved, and would give a place where Thanadir could eventually see some of his Shakespeare movies. Though at the moment, Earlene wondered why exactly she thought the Complete Works had been a good idea, when it weighed close to as much as another baby. She hugged it to her breast and sighed, determined to do her share with the gifts.

 

Ratiri kept an eye on Lorna, who gamely trudged along, carrying the only thing he’d let her carry -- the Jenga and chess set. He knew she wouldn’t try to tap out when it came to walking, not when Earlene was so much worse off and handling it just fine. Stubborn woman. He himself carried the guitar -- she’d tried to take it, and he’d put his foot down, so she at least wanted to be where she could see what was happening to it.

 

“Slow down, you lot,” she said. “I’m short and I’ve got two cantaloupes in my gut. I can’t go this fast.” Why were all her friends so much taller than her? Why?

 

“Unless you strongly object, I would like to carry you, Lorna,” said Thranduil. He could see perfectly well that this was a struggle for her though she was trying not to let on.

 

“I feel like such a useless lump,” she sighed. “Earlene doesn’t need to be carried, and she’s further along than I am. If you wouldn’t mind giving me an airlift, I wouldn’t object to having one.”

 

“I know you hate hearing this, Lorna, but you’re tiny,” Ratiri said. He wished, so much, that he could be the one to carry her, but at that distance, it just wasn’t going to happen. He was fit, but he was still human; Lorna still didn’t weigh much yet, but carrying her any distance would be impossible right now. “You’re going to struggle more.”

 

“I know,” she grumbled. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

 

Thranduil wisely declined to mention that his wife’s significant physical fitness was also a factor; he would praise Earlene again for that later, in private, when talking about it would be less likely to precipitate violence. He scooped her into his arms in a way that allowed her to ‘sit’ against him. And to be fair, she was walking with Thanadir, her arm around his midsection. What only he and Thanadir knew was how tightly Earlene was gripping him to try to take some of the weight off of herself. She had been cooking all day and her legs and back were in increasing discomfort though she did not let on.

 

“Pregnancy sucks,” Lorna sighed, and only Thranduil knew just how happy she was to be off her feet. “Never doing this again. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t twins.”

 

Ratiri kept his mouth shut, for once; he could have told her that at her size, it wouldn’t have been terribly fun no matter how many babies she had gestating in her tiny womb in her equally tiny midsection.

 

“Earlene, I don’t know what your secret is, but when we’re not all half-dead, I want in on it.” Jesus she was pathetic, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough to ask to be put down. Thranduil wasn’t going to drop her, and so long as he was carrying her, she wouldn’t trip and land on her own face.

 

“It’s Thanadir’s mind, of course,” she quipped from up front. “Which is another way of saying, his sewing skills. He made me something that has helped me a great deal. But at this point in the day, I’m not in much better shape than you are, I’m just being stubborn as hell.”

 

“While I’ve got the Airlift Special,” Lorna groaned. “Which I do appreciate, by the way, don’t get me wrong,” she added, looking at Thranduil. “ _ Really  _ appreciate, because I was about to land on my damn face, but I wish I didn’t need it.”

 

_ I would hardly be a decent person to watch you struggle when I can so easily help. I will spare you the platitudes about how it won’t last forever. It does not change that it is difficult. You are doing very well,  _ he said simply.  _ Do not feel you have to somehow compete with Earlene. You are very different people.  _ Thranduil had never realized how challenging it was, to continually try to be encouraging while not saying the wrong thing. He could see how much more women struggled than most ellith, though even for elves childbearing was not simple. But to be so  _ tiny _ ...he sighed. He could not carry her children, but he could carry her. She was deposited on her own bed with a kiss to her cheek, while Thanadir helped Earlene continue to her own rooms.

 

For her part, she was trying to decide just when the simple walk from the cottage to the King’s rooms had become so goddamn difficult. As it was, the focus needed to keep going was ridiculous; the feeling in her back and legs had crossed into outright pain. They had many yards yet to go when she was scooped off her feet, carried now in Thanadir’s arms. An involuntary squeak escaped her from being startled as she looked at him in surprise. She wanted so badly to argue, having almost made it; her lips were already parted to speak.  His eyebrows arched and he shook his head No. It was so very hard to stop competing, especially against herself. He laid her down on her bed facing away from him, and immediately began massaging the screaming muscles of her back. Her eyes burned with irritation at how useless she felt, even as she knew there was nothing that could be done. Just,  _ dammit.  _ And even more  _ dammit _ was that she was being ill-mannered, which upgraded the situation to needing to take a Fukitol. With a very deep sigh, she forced herself to speak in a tone of voice that held appreciation. “Thank you, meldir.”

 

*******

 

The next morning, Thanadir took all of their electronic devices to the cottage in the early morning as had been his habit, including Orla’s scrambling contraption. Weeks ago he had been shown what to plug in and how, and usually in the thirty to sixty minutes he spent checking that the animals were being minded and that all was well, everything would be fully charged again and updated. Earlene and Lorna had checked that the settings on everyone’s email, news, weather, etc. were such that the connections would refresh once there was a WiFi signal; thus when the gizmos returned to the Halls they could all care for necessary communication while working or reading offline. It had proven to be a reasonably elegant solution to potential future realities as well as the decreasing mobility of the pregnant women. 

 

It was before breakfast when Thanadir returned, distributing electronics, for which he was thanked. Thranduil was busy feeding Allanah, and Earlene stretched for some minutes before looking first at her email, a warm shawl wrapped snugly around her.  What she read there was news so devastating and so unimaginable that at first there was no thought, no emotion. Only the numb suspension of all belief that she had experienced once before in her life, as the first tower had collapsed in front of her eyes. She stood up without a word and left their rooms, descending through the passages via the shortest route to the dungeon, running into her cell, the only place where it felt like she could begin to process what had happened. “I like it here,” she whispered to herself. “I do not know why but it has never bothered me.” She turned around to touch the tan colored stone of the cell wall, tracing her fingers down the relatively rough-hewn surface. “What have I done? I didn’t do anything wrong but it still had a consequence, and now how will I ever live with myself?” The description in the email she’d received from Tim at her firm...what had happened...she turned to the corner drain and vomited up the water she drank when she had risen, as pain and grief wracked her body. Sinking to the ground, she held onto the stone shelf and buried her face in the same stupid blanket that was always here as a keening cry of loss was forced out of her.

 

Thranduil froze, in their rooms, as he realized something was terribly amiss. Little Allanah was not right this morning, she was fussy and in discomfort and he was trying to perceive what it was. Even with all his gifts very young children without speech could be troublesome to understand, and he could not right what was wrong until all was clear to him. He could not leave the baby.  _ Thanadir, please, go to Earlene. In the dungeons. Something is badly amiss.  _

 

In the kitchens, the seneschal set down the tray he had been about to carry and dashed away at a run. He knew better than to question or argue, his instructions had been quite clear, but what in Eru’s name was she doing  _ there _ ? It did not take long to follow the sounds of intense grief. On opening the barred door and entering he was stunned. He had seen Earlene cry before, but not like this. This was the sound of someone whose spirit was tearing, and he rushed to take her into his arms. A flood of information came from Thranduil, who in the rooms above had learned the cause. Thanadir’s eyes widened even as his hatred for that depraved monster planted another seed of pure fury into his heart.  _ Help her, meldir. She can listen to you in some ways better than me. Bring her back when you are able. _

 

Thanadir swallowed. He had done a great deal of reading, when no one could see him, and the reading had shown him many things that had resonated deeply, about himself. When he learned that there were others like him, albeit very rare, it had made him feel less set apart. Others had his strange and inexplicable fears, that no other elves seemed to share. He was not the only one who sometimes struggled to understand or express emotions. It was not that something was the matter with him, it was that he had a difference. An unusualness. Earlene had correctly guessed at these things, and yet she did not think less of him. She envied him, and felt that she had little to offer by comparison. He was loved by her as a brother, and a guide. Admired, respected. She had determined to try to help him without his knowledge, protect him from his own limitations, because she honored him. And now this horrible deed had been done, specifically to hurt her in a way so cruel it staggered the senses. This was warfare, but Earlene had never been in battle. The  _ raug _ had mirrored her own attack on one who she had seen as being like a father to her, and her usually gentle nature could never have imagined or foreseen this.

 

He would have to do the best he could. “Earlene,” he said softly, rubbing her back. “I am so sorry. So sorry.” He rocked her against him as she cried, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing.

 

“I am responsible for this, Thanadir,” she got out brokenly. “And I do not know how I can live with it. John is dead because of what I did. This was done to him because he was someone I cared for. Someone who helped me. Do you understand, that I achieved what I did in my life because of him? Because he insisted I have the chance to prove myself?” She coughed, choking on her own tears and emotion.

 

“Earlene, listen to me,” he said sternly, shaking her very lightly, just enough to startle her. It worked as he hoped it might; she sucked in air sharply, looking at him with wide eyes but she stopped crying in order to do it. “Listen to me,” he said again with more kindness. “You know I would not lie to you, Earlene. Not even a little. You are  _ not _ responsible. Our enemy is very bad, evil. This is how evil behaves, and I know you have never seen such as this. I am so sorry that you did. But you cannot think this way or he wins. It is what he wants, it is why he did it. He is striking a blow, in the way that all his kind do. With malice, and darkness. You will grieve the loss of your friend, and I will be at your side to help you. But I will not allow you to blame yourself. Do you understand me?”

 

She nodded, reduced by her emotions to simply obeying her trusted teacher. And deep down, she knew he was right. But the pain of it…”I have never had a feeling like this,” she whispered. “I have lost loved ones but this is different. This is terrible, Thanadir. I do not know what to do, how to think about this so that it does not tear me apart.”

 

The elf closed his eyes. This was a question he wished he did not know how to answer, but he had not been so fortunate. Few of them had. “Your husband, our King, could respond to this better yet than I, Earlene. He would tell you that this is the price of fighting evil. He has endured this every time an elf in his service lost their lives fighting in countless wars against such creatures. It has hurt him, Earlene. He could choose to feel responsible for all of their deaths, since they fought and perished at his command.  But he does not, because he too knows this is not true. And yet it does not lessen the pain of his loss.”

 

That was not a perspective she had considered. “I will have to reflect on your words,” she admitted. “It does not make this less horrible, for me. But it helps a little. I am not a warrior, Thanadir. I am in over my head, so to speak, and have never had to confront anything like this. Or rather...that is not strictly true, come to think of it. But last time I confronted this I did not fare well. I came away badly damaged.” She held onto him tighter, desperately not wishing to have those same feelings come over her again, and rule her mind as they had once before.

 

“And yet you have much courage, Earlene. I have seen it, more than once. And this time you are not alone.”

 

Her hold on him was very tight. “How do you not let yourself start becoming afraid?”

 

He continued to rub her back in slow circles, soothing her. “You already said it once. He is not going to win. And you tell yourself that, and you believe it in your heart, even though your mind knows that this is possibly erroneous. Earlene, courage is not the lack of fear. Courage is being afraid, and doing what you know needs to be done in spite of it.”

 

Her lips parted as she rested her head against his shoulder. Tears still came from her eyes but at least she could now speak. “You have given me much to consider, Hîr vuin.”

 

They sat in silence like this, for many minutes until Thanadir spoke again. “Earlene, why are you here? In a dungeon cell?”

 

She blushed. “I...think this will sound strange. You probably know by now that I hit Thranduil in a moment of great anger, within days after I pledged my service to him. So unlike you, I was brought here as a punishment. But...it really did not bother me to be here. Or rather, I felt it was the least of my troubles, after what I had done. It is quiet, and I feel like I can think. And I still do not understand myself, but when I am very sad or hurting, something about this place comforts me. To me the worst prison is not made of bars or stone walls, Thanadir. It is here,” she tapped her head. “In my mind. That must sound idiotic, but that is my answer.”

 

“No, Earlene. It does not. And you are wrong. I too was imprisoned here, though I barely remember it. I understand what you are saying better than you might think,” he smiled weakly.

 

“You were? I...forgive me, it is not my place to pry.”

 

Thanadir shook his head. “You of all people, I do not mind telling. But I do not want the others to know. It was long ago, and because I spoke words to Erestor of Imladris that never should have been said. He was the King’s honored guest and I drove him to leave. I was so afraid that he would take my place, and I acted very badly. A little like what happened with you, but so much worse.” 

 

She nodded, listening, surprised and yet not. “Likewise, about the knowing,” she said sheepishly. “Though maybe it is different for me. I...Lorna and Ratiri can never know, that I was kept here. For what I did to my King, it was just in my eyes, but they would not understand. And there would be no way to ever make them see my viewpoint. They would hold it against Thranduil, and I cannot have that.” She sucked in air sharply, as a random ache tore through her abdomen and she reached to rub at it.

 

“May I take you back, Earlene?” he asked, concerned. “I would like it if you were someplace warmer, and I know our King is worried for you. He could not leave little Allanah, she was not feeling well when this started.”

 

“Yes. If I feel I must come back later, I know the way.”

 

They both chuckled at this. He supported much of her extra weight as they returned, and Thanadir left her inside the door. “I will bring food soon,” he said, with a kiss to her forehead. “I do not tell you very often, but you have my love, Earlene. Now go and sit, and put your feet up,” he scolded with a smile. Closing the door, she still felt awful. But it was an awful she knew she could survive. The waiting arms of her husband were there, and they went to sit together, their foreheads touching in silent conversation.

 

******

 

Lorna slept so deeply that when she woke, she was still in the same position in which she’d gone to sleep.

 

Ratiri was up already, and his damp hair suggested he’d got through with bathing. She was glad, because she needed the tub herself, to ease her aching back. It was humiliating, needing to be carried like that when Earlene could manage fine on her own, and Lorna was determined to start on whatever exercise routine Ratiri might deem safe for her. She’d been in reasonably good shape before she got knocked up, but evidently nowhere near as good as Earlene, if Earlene could make such a walk while carrying so much up front.

 

Lorna kissed Ratiri’s cheek before heading to the bathroom, and eyed herself when she stripped off. She still could see her feet, though she didn’t know how long  _ that  _ would last; the trouble was that she actually had something in her chest area now. Not much of something, but enough that she might actually need to buy a bra one of these days, and she’d decided already that she didn’t like it. She had an unholy terror of winding up like poor Earlene -- though part of that had been Thranduil’s doing, so maybe he could control hers. She didn’t have a third baby she needed to be nursing.

 

“Starving,” she said, when she was through with her bath, meandering back out into the lounge. Even with all she’d eaten last night, she was once again ravenous, but either her metabolism was on overdrive or the twins were consuming it all, because while she’d gained girth around her middle, she had yet to gain much actual weight.

 

“This is not new,” Ratiri said, guiding her before the fire to comb her hair. Both of them missed electricity, but they’d figured they’d best get used to it before they couldn’t leave the Halls for God knew how long. “Your body wants it for something.”

 

“Yeah, to fill up a black hole,” she snorted. She was so hungry that she wasn’t willing to wait for her hair to dry; she just threw it in a braid, tossed on a clean tunic and leggings, and lumbered after Ratiri, pretending not to notice how much he slowed down for her.

 

It had got to the point where they only gave a perfunctory knock on Earlene and Thranduil’s door; they took breakfast there every morning, so it wasn’t like they were unexpected, and it saved Thanadir the hassle of having to open it for them every day.

 

This was the one day, however, that Lorna wished they had waited.  _ Something  _ had happened, if their expressions were anything to go by, and it wasn’t something good.  _ Loss _ . “We can come back later,” she said, gently halting Ratiri with a hand pressed to his stomach. He went very still, eyes flitting from one to the other. “Just let us know -- and let us know if you need anything.” She itched to ask what happened, but if they wanted her and Ratiri to know, they’d tell them. Otherwise, Lorna didn’t need to be all up in their business, as an American might put it.

 

“You will stay,” said Thranduil sharply, even as dismay washed over his face. “I am sorry,” he breathed, clearly struggling for composure. “I meant to say, please stay. Please forgive my choice of words. This affects all of us.”

 

With clearly mixed emotions, they did as they were asked, and sat. 

 

“I am sorry that this may ruin your appetites somewhat, but I will help with that. Especially Lorna and Earlene, you must be able to eat. If you want to know, Earlene’s computer is on the table; read the email she received from her office in New York. I have to warn you that the content is graphic.”

 

Neither needed it spelled out -- whatever this was, it had to do with Von Ratched. Thranduil wouldn’t look so stricken if it were anything else. Ratiri wrapped his arm around her and she leaned into him, though whether for her comfort or his, she wasn’t sure. 

 

Ratiri read quite a bit faster than Lorna, so he was the first to sit wide-eyed and grey, staring first at the laptop and then at Earlene. One of Lorna’s emails had been about Earlene’s boss, and how much he’d meant to her…

 

When Lorna reached the end of it, shocking, blinding rage flashed through her, but it lasted only moments, drowned out by grief. She’d only met John twice, but he was such a  _ nice  _ man, so unlike what she’d ever expected of a rich person -- down-to-Earth and kind, kind in a way she’d seen in very few in her life. Though if nothing else, she was relieved to see that he had already been dead before that monster profaned him as he had.

 

“Jesus,” she whispered, and without thought went to sit beside Earlene, wrapping her arms around her friend. She didn’t offer platitudes, didn’t give any empty ‘I’m sorrys’; in such a situation, words were useless. Touch was not.

 

Ratiri shut his eyes. They had always known Von Ratched would resurface sooner or later, but  _ this _ ...he was only thankful the pair of women had Thranduil to tend the worst of their hurts, so grief wouldn’t consume them. Lorna had written that John seemed to regard Earlene as a daughter, and Von Ratched… Ratiri wasn’t callous enough to say, ‘Now what?’, but he couldn’t help but think it. Before, Von Ratched had been a threat, literally lurking on the edges of their world, but this was the opening salvo of all-out war.

 

“‘Now what’ is that we eat the meal Thanadir is bringing here, Ratiri. We are all deeply sorry that this has happened. This is horrible and painful, as it was meant to be. And I do not mean to minimize anyone’s emotions or suffering but I am now forced to take stronger measures, because we have been told all we need to hear about how far he is willing to go.”

 

_ Mairead _ , Lorna said.  _ I have to get my sister out of Baile, somehow. Send her on...on an extended holiday, or something. I’ve got the money.  _

 

_ As do I, Lorna,  _ Thranduil’s eyes held her own.  _ We will be discussing that and more later this morning, right after matters within our Halls are dealt with first.  _ Aloud he said, “After we eat there will be a...I suppose you would call it a ceremony, at my throne. Plans have been made against this day since the moment Von Ratched left Ireland. It is our system for reassigning duties and other matters. You are under no compulsion to attend, but you are welcome should you wish to.”

 

Lorna and Ratiri looked at one another. “We’ll go,” she said, but added,  _ This afternoon or tomorrow, Ratiri and I need to go to Baile and pick up some things for Earlene -- mourning things. Aside from Allanah, I’m the only blood kin she’s got left, and we take that shite seriously here.  _ And she could try to figure out just how in flying fuck she was to convince Mairead -- stable Mairead, who rarely did anything without careful planning -- to pack up her family and take them on holiday for God knew how long. As much as she loathed the idea, and as uncertain as she was that Thranduil would be willing to do it, if worst came to worst, she’d ask him to plant a suggestion in Mairead’s mind and get her moving. It was that or tell her the truth, and yeah, no. Lorna might not have sworn official promises (because she was allergic to them) but she’d given her personal word that she’d keep knowledge of this place and its people to herself, and her own words meant more to her than any empty oath she might repeat. But even if she’d been an oathbreaker, Mairead would never believe her anyway.

 

She felt guilty, thinking about her sister when Earlene had just lost someone so dear to her. Did doing so make her selfish? Probably, but it was human nature. All she could do for Earlene right now was hold her, her own god damned eyes burning but bone-dry.

 

“ Nach bhfuil tú ina naonar, ar cheann daor,” she said, hoping the gibberish of Irish would soothe as English would not. “ Tá tú do theaghlach, ag fola agus trí rogha. ”  _ You are not alone, dear one. You have your family, by blood and by choice.  _

 

Earlene hugged her back, feeling dull and somewhere beyond emotion at the moment. But she knew Lorna was trying. This was Lorna, the never-tactile. She willed herself to move past the surprise at what she still found to be unusual, and just return the gesture in a way that did not feel perfunctory. Why had that become so hard? Right now, she had no idea and no will to figure it out. Though for maybe the first time, she actually noticed how silky Lorna’s hair was, and smiled.

 

*******

 

Before Lorna and Ratiri made their way to Thranduil’s throne, or at least a place within good viewing distance of it, Thanadir had quietly informed Ratiri of the uniqueness of this event, and that despite Thranduil’s minimizations it was something that had not been done since before the Battle Under the Trees. He had come to realize that the man was intensely interested in everything about their people in a way that Lorna was not, and did what he could to assist his understanding.

 

It became obvious to Ratiri based on counting their numbers that every elf in the Realm was present, gathered around the throne of the King in a formation that was somehow graceful in spite of not being strictly regimented.  _ Two hundred and eleven of them,  _ he thought, having at last the precise answer to at least one question. The manner of their organization was uncertain; there was some division of them by gender but this was not strict. All of them stood in regal stillness, and in absolute silence. Earlene stood next to Thanadir, a circlet on her brow. In one hand she held a crown of woven birch twigs and autumn leaves, and with the other she kept a staff of polished wood and mithril upright.

 

Thranduil appeared out of nowhere, and every head of his subjects bowed to him deeply, in unison. The sight was elegant, and appeared choreographed though there was no reason to believe that this was the case. The King wore much finer clothes than they had yet seen; the fabrics were richer and there was a surcoat that was elaborately embroidered with the designs of the forest trees in winter; the same image as on the brooch that Thandir now wore. He walked to stand in front of his seneschal, who bent down on one knee before him before being raised up. Thanadir turned to Earlene, taking the crown from where it was balanced on her hand. He set it upon the King’s head, and then next took the staff and presented this to him as well. Thranduil now walked to the dais beneath the steps to his throne, turned to those assembled and spoke. While Ratiri could not understand every word, he caught enough of what was said to understand the crux of it.

 

“Though we are fewer in number, we are not lesser in resolve, as we once again face a struggle against an ancient and determined foe. As of today we revise the usual duties each of us bears in order to listen in the forest. All will share in this. Thanadir will now read the assignments; come forward when called.” Thranduil turned now, ascended to his throne, and sat. One at a time, Thanadir read names or pairs of names, and each individual or twosome moved up quickly to either go down on one knee or curtsy deeply, depending on gender -- and Lorna, try though she might, couldn’t help but twitch a tiny bit at the sight. It was their custom and she respected it, but even now, she couldn’t bring herself to like it. She’d always worked her way around the whole ‘monarchy’ idea by calling it ‘cultural differences’ and doing her best to ignore it, as she had no doubt the elves ignored some of the things about the human world they disliked. Had she not been hormonal and grieving, it might have stayed at that, but between everything she felt a tendril of...not disgust, not anything so strong as that, but distaste. It so went against her every instinct, but she wasn’t about to let on.  Each elf was given a nod of acknowledgement from the King, but at the moment of Lorna’s thoughts, his focus turned from them, to her. It was subtle and not easy to see, but a look of sadness washed over his face before it was banished, and his attention returned to his subjects. These were schedules of some kind; they were being assigned to times and regions of the forest though they made no sense to either Earlene or Ratiri. All of it really did not take very long, but when Thanadir finished his reading, no one moved. 

 

Thranduil descended, and moved to an area of the stonework baldachin against which one of the massive tree roots that ran through the caverns had twisted and turned over countless centuries. It contained a natural hollow, into which he placed the end of his staff, his face already beginning to glow with radiance. His hand was offered to Thanadir, who in turn extended his own to another elf, and so on until they were all in contact with each other in a long, winding chain. Thranduil began a song on his sonorous baritone that was quickly taken up by all of them. Earlene had remained standing in her place throughout this, somehow managing to still appear dignified despite her swollen abdomen. Their song was ethereal, a blend of all ranges of voices, woven in a tapestry the like of which none of the humans had ever heard before. Earlene remembered the ‘elven songs’ in the movies they’d watched, and that was a pale shadow of the beauty that now reached her ears. Their light increased to a brilliance that moved toward the King, and in turn into the tree itself. A thrum, a vibration, could be felt in the stone beneath their feet. They saw and felt...something, move up and out of the caverns and into the woods beyond. The light from the elves died away; their song was concluding. And yet that of the King remained, and his connection to the tree was not broken. All watched, as the King’s light took on a distinctly green shade, blazing one last time in an emerald brilliance, before ebbing swiftly away. 

 

Very slowly, as if seeking to recover from a great strain, Thranduil removed the staff from the tree, with Thanadir following him. He stopped in front of Earlene, touching his forehead to hers. The staff was left with her, but the crown he yet wore. All assembled bowed to the King one last time, and then dispersed. When the last had gone, Thranduil moved to see Lorna and Ratiri. “We will return to our rooms,” he said softly, not making much eye contact with either of them.

 

_ Thranduil _ , Lorna said,  _ can I talk to you? You have the sad eyes and I think it’s partly my fault.  _ He’d just done so much -- so staggeringly much, more than she’d expected of elves even with all she’d seen and read -- and she didn’t want him feeling like shite on her account. Knowing -- or at least guessing -- that she’d hurt him hurt her, too. He was her brother from another mother, at least as far as she was concerned, and even if the sad eyes  _ weren’t  _ her fault, you could never go wrong with hugs. 

 

He looked down at her.  _ Yes, but I am very weary just now, Lorna. Even I have limits, and I am very near to them. _

 

She wondered if she should just let him rest, but she didn’t want him to do that while still feeling like shite that was probably at least partly her fault.  _ It won’t take long _ , she promised, and tried to send him what approximation of peace she could summon.  _ But I doubt you want me to give you a hug in front of God and everybody, so that can wait a moment. _ Public hugging was something she still wasn’t used to yet, for all he looked like he needed it. She’d hurt him silently, and she didn’t want it dragged out in company.

 

He shook his head, but he smiled.  _ I do not know what ‘God and everybody’ is, but it sounds very bad. So I appreciate your sense of discretion. _

 

_ Not something I’m known for, but you’re welcome _ , she said gently. When they reached his and Earlene’s flat, she kept him back while the others continued into the lounge.

 

_ I made you sad _ , she said, hugging him.  _ I’m sorry. You don’t need that shite on top of everything else, and I’m sorry.  _ This was a proper hug, too, the kind that on a human would be little short of rib-crushing. She’d made him sad at the worst possible time, and if she could do absolutely nothing else, she’d try to fix it. It would be one less thing on his plate.

 

He sat, taking her along with him, and holding her. A very large sigh escaped him.  _ I am not sure it is wise to discuss this just now, but, as you humans like to say...what the hell. I appreciate your words. It is only that I have tried so hard, so very hard, to try to be someone who could be completely accepted by you. I am not an idiot, I understand your views of kings. I really do. I can read your mind, Lorna, and the sum of what I have seen there more than justifies the contempt you feel. But I do not believe I have ever been those kings. Even when I was considerably more of a ‘pompous arse’, as you might put it. And I cannot help that I am a King, any more than you can help that you are not one. I have done my best to reconcile myself to this gulf between us. But there are times when even though I understand, it hurts. I do not blame you. We are both trying, and I do not know how to do any more than I have. I am still your friend, and you are mine. And here we are. _

 

Oh, Jesus…  _ I didn’t know, _ she said, tightening her hold -- as if that was any kind of excuse. Lorna well knew how selectively oblivious she could be, when it was convenient to her. It was something she’d been working on for the last decade, but it still wasn’t gone.  _ Jesus, I didn’t know, and I’m sorry. You’re not the one who’s got to do anything more.  _ Oh, great,  _ now  _ she cried? Her eyes were dry and burning when she found out about John, unable to produce a single god damn tear...so not helping right now.  _ Thranduil, I can’t promise you I’ll be okay with the ‘king’ thing any time soon, because you know me -- I don’t make promises if I don’t know I can keep them, but I’ll try.  _ Okay, she had to stop this. Fucking tears. She wasn’t about to let go of him just yet, though, which unfortunately meant she wiped her face on his fancy robe- thing. At least her nose wasn’t runny.  _ Sorry. I’m sure it’ll come out. _

 

He began laughing, and could not stop.  _ If I were to give you one command, it would be, Do not change, Lorna. You cannot imagine how you brighten my life. Or how much you have made me reflect and consider. By Eru, this is going to be the end of me, I have no energy for this right now.  _ And still he laughed.

 

It was laughter that was contagious, and she had to join in, though she was still crying a bit, too. No doubt the others thought they’d both lost their minds.  _ Well I’m glad I can help more than I hinder _ , she said.  _ You really are like my brother from another mother, though Thanadir would probably be horrified if he knew I thought so. _

 

The Thanadir in question poked his head around the doorway, wondering at the sounds he heard, and simply grinned, withdrawing immediately. 

 

With a groan of reluctance Thranduil set her on her feet. “Lamentably, the trees of our forest are not enough of a defense, and there is much more to discuss. We should join the others. But I thank you, for cheering me up,” he said tiredly. He looked worn, but merry.

 

“You’re welcome,” she said, relieved, wiping her stupid eyes on her sleeve. “And you have a very nice dress...coat...thing…” It reminded her vaguely of  _ The Matrix _ , elf-style. When they got dressed up, they were more metro than she would have thought. (Then again, she was fairly sure she’d mistaken some blokes for ladies once or twice. It was the hair.)

 

They seated themselves, with Earlene somewhat insistently requiring her husband to sit with his feet up, while she pulled off his boots and glared at him when he appeared amused that she wished to rub his feet.  _ After what you just did out there you will sit still and rest and you will have to issue a direct order, if you think anything different is going to happen.  _ The sight of his wife’s fierce insistence left him no doubt that he was loved, and honored. And truthfully he was very tired. He relented, nodding his head to her in gratitude as he found himself in the awkward position of trying to conduct what passed for a meeting while having his feet kneaded by her strong fingers.

 

Lorna curled up next to Ratiri as best she could, given that her gut already got in the way of everything. He wasn’t actually capable of speech just yet, still lost in the sheer power of what he’d seen. Logically he’d known the Elves were capable of magic, but knowing it and seeing it were two very, very different things. It was achingly beautiful, and yet the reason for it…. He pulled Lorna onto his lap, resting his chin atop her head. He had never told her that holding her could occasionally be like cuddling a stuffed animal, and he valued his manhood enough that he never would.

 

“I heard what was said by you, Thranduil, and the words of the song, but I do not fully comprehend what happened out there,” Earlene said respectfully. “Am I to understand that you can somehow ask the trees for help? And if that is correct,  _ how _ can trees help? Forgive my ignorance. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen or heard,” she said in a voice that seemed to vanish into silence.

 

It was Thanadir that answered. “The...you would call it magic, of the King allows him a special bond with the forest. Our enemy can move unseen. In shadow. You already know this because he went to your cottage, Earlene. At times when there has been a great need we have called on the trees. The woods of the Elvenking are not completely ordinary. They know what lives among them, what passes by them. Shadows cannot hide from them. If he comes inside the borders again it will be known to us; the trees will tell as long as there is an elf to hear. That is what all the assignments were about. That we will each do our part, being scattered through the forest at all times, listening.”

 

Her lips parted. “It is a...magical sentry network?” she asked, trying to find vocabulary when there was none.

 

“That,” Lorna said, “is amazing. Beyond bloody brilliant.”

 

Ratiri pondered this, skipping over a thought he didn’t want and settling on a better one. “Is it something like the Girdle of Melian?” he asked.

 

“No,” said Thranduil. “It is us asking the trees for help. And them agreeing to do so. They have no power to keep him out. Only the power to detect him should be breach our borders again. He will not know about anything like this, or that it can be possible. Such as him have ever overlooked the creation of Yavanna, and its power, whereas the elves have ever shown her works the greatest honor second only to Elbereth. I do not think I need to tell you that I feel forced to assume he is on the move again, and that we must take precautions as if he is already on our doorstep. Earlene, Lorna, you are more vulnerable than ever as you grow heavy with children. And then there is the issue of those we care about outside of this forest. I have agonized, since reading of his deeds, because he makes it plain what he is willing to do to break our will. It is this that grieves me most. Inside this fortress, we are beyond his reach. Not so our mortal friends in Lasg’len, and even Baile. I do not know what to do. They are vulnerable in a war of which they are completely ignorant...and yet that will not save them.”

 

“Mairead’s in the most danger,” Lorna sighed. “Mairead and her family. I want to send them on indefinite vacation to...southern France, or somewhere, but I’ve got no idea how to convince her to go. If I just told her some mentaller was after my family, she’d want to go to the police, not go on the run.”

 

“What about Big Jamie?” Earlene said. “Is he not just as vulnerable as your sister and her children?”

 

Lorna looked at her. “... _ Fuck _ ,” she growled. “He is. Jesus, I could  _ maybe  _ have conned Mairead into going on an extended holiday --  _ maybe  _ \-- both’v them? Jesus…” How in the name of fucking hell was she meant to pull this off? Thought of any of them suffering the same fate as John...it was nearly enough to make her sick.

 

“There’s only one choice”, Earlene said, “if we agree that doing nothing is not an option. We have to tell them the truth, and hope that they would be...like Ratiri was. And yet I cannot see them being content to endure an indefinite limbo in the Halls. Orla in theory should be able to find some corner of the planet far enough out of Von Ratched’s reach that it wouldn’t be worth his while to keep looking. What worries me more is, how far does this go? Will he decide to cut up Ian? Little Orla in town? Bridie? It is the fact that we cannot possibly shield all of these people who have embraced us that makes me ill.”

 

“Orla could hide them somewhere, if we could convince them to go,” Lorna said. “He wouldn’t be able to trace them, and I doubt he’d waste his time looking. With Lasg’len...Christ, could we shift the whole village? Unlike Baile, they know about you lot. Could we afford to just uproot them all and sent them to Tuscany or wherever?” The logistics would be appalling, but better that than vivisected.  _ Anything  _ was better than that.

 

“There is far more to consider,” said Thanadir. “You cannot overlook the possibility that this action was taken to create a reaction, from us. To see what we will or will not do. We have no knowledge of his location, his movements. Moreover, this may be the beginning of a pattern. How did he begin? He committed a terrible crime, and waited to see how he might leverage our response to his advantage. He had an opportunity at Earlene, in the end, though it went badly awry. And now he has committed another terrible crime. Who is to say what his precise intentions are? We know he wishes to strike at the King, and now presumably Earlene as well. So why take the one action guaranteed to cause us to go on the defensive again?”

 

Earlene drove her thumb into the arch of Thranduil’s foot, impressed with Thanadir’s analysis and easily using it to extrapolate. “Because the first time around we went into ‘lockdown’ for a week, and then changed to a pattern of guarded caution. This gave him a chance, once. Perhaps he hopes or believes we will repeat this behavior?” She tilted her head.

 

Something occurred to Ratiri that he absolutely was not going to voice right now, in company -- Mairead and Big Jamie  _ might  _ be safer, if for an icky reason. Von Ratched had killed John to strike at Earlene, but striking was not what he wanted from Lorna. Pissing her off would not work in his favor, assuming he was at all serious in his...whatever the hell that was.

 

Thranduil spoke. “I think we should proceed, and quickly, as though he is not here yet in Ireland. And I do not believe he is. I do not believe he knows of our awareness of his airplane, and there are few ways to cross the great ocean. It is very inconvenient to do to your friends and family, Lorna, but I am afraid Earlene’s analysis is correct. We will have to reveal ourselves to them, and take measures to hide them. I do not believe you could live with the alternative.”

 

“I couldn’t,” Lorna said. “If my inaction kills my family and my friend -- I couldn’t live with that. I’d lose my mind. I owe those two the fact that I’m both alive and sane right now. I can’t repay them by leaving them open to a nightmare they’d never see coming. Not any more than I could sit back and let someone discover you lot, if it was within my power to stop it.” She actually managed a smile. “If nothing else, it’ll be interesting to see how they react. They’re Irish. Nothing keeps them down for long.”

 

“Well, let me know if I’m cooking dinner,” Earlene grinned. “And for once, maybe we should give Mairead a break and tell her she doesn’t have to bring a cake.”

 

A soft moan of disappointment escaped the seneschal.

 

“Or not,” she smiled, shaking her head.

 

Lorna and Ratiri departed soon afterward, with Thanadir escorting them though they more than knew the path by now. At the halfway mark, Lorna was visibly beginning to flag. “Thranduil said I am to carry you if you tire. And to ask you to please not slug me,” he said amused and yet half-seriously, as he lifted her up into his arms while Ratiri did his damnedest to contain his laughter by finding a fascinating mushroom growing on a tree stump.

 

“You lot are so lucky I like you,” Lorna said, glowering at Ratiri. “Thank you, though. I mean it.” Thanadir couldn’t read her mind, and needed actual verbal gratitude.

 

The elf smiled, and delivered her safely to her vehicle, waving goodbye to them before turning back. Soon, it was his turn to walk among the trees and listen. No one could blame him, if he had assigned himself this section of the forest.

 

********

 

Thranduil leaned back, still not having moved from the sofa. “Meluieg, you have rubbed my feet for a very long time.”

 

“Compared to how long Thanadir has spent rubbing my feet?” she said obstinately.

 

“Thanadir is not six months pregnant.”

 

“And I did not just use up all my energy doing...whatever it was you did that was so moving that I will never be able to forget it. I could not help you, because I am not an elf. This is one of what few ways I have to show you my gratitude, and to do something for you in return.”

 

“You are becoming a very stubborn and insubordinate subject, Earlene,” he teased, as his lips curled into a smile. 

 

“Good.” She let go of his feet and moved herself under him more, forcing her legs under his as he watched in amusement. “Give me one of your hands,” she asked, leaning over to grab one of them when he did not move quickly enough to suit her. His eyebrows raised; he had never had his hands massaged before.

 

“You are impatient, too, though I confess I am enjoying the results,” he intoned.

 

“And you are very loquacious, for one who must be rather tired.”

 

He sighed, realizing that this was Earlene, and the odds of him winning a verbal battle were poor. “I am.”

 

For many minutes he enjoyed the touch of her hands, while she pondered. 

 

“Thank you for considering that, but I do not think such a thing is warranted. You are pregnant, your strength is being drained quite enough by our children.” 

 

“Perhaps. But the methodology was pleasant, even if it did leave me very tired,” she said quietly. Her mind had gone back to memories of their earliest days together, when he had lain with her and somehow taken her energy into himself, when he was still partly faded. “I would still do it gladly. There is nothing wrong with my strength. It is more that gravity and my anatomy are not so very compatible these days. Besides, I can sleep if I am tired. You, on the other hand, have a kingdom to manage.”

 

One eye opened to look at her. “Why do I think this is a thinly veiled attempt at seduction?” 

 

“No idea. But then again, surely you meant that as a rhetorical question?”

 

He chuckled. Her tenacity was impressive. “How do you do it, Earlene? How do you experience such a terrible loss, and still manage to think of others?”

 

Reaching for his other hand now, she considered the question. “What Thanadir said to me helped. A great deal. I am never going to forget John. And I doubt I am done grieving his loss. But what Thanadir said about courage...it is true. I will honor his memory as best I can by not letting that thing have the satisfaction he desires. It is the best I can try to do.”

 

“I am sorry, that I could not come to you. Please know that I wanted to.”

 

She snorted. “Were it not my strange tendency to run to your dungeon every time I am very upset, you would not need to. And you did come to me. I have long accepted that when you cannot do something for me yourself, you send Thanadir. And while he is not you…” her head shook. “Sometimes he says what I most need to hear...Ow!” A frown came over her as a brand new discomfort in her belly completely distracted her. Thranduil sat up very quickly, having felt it through her thoughts, and placed his hand on her. 

 

“You are being kicked. One of them is pressing up against your ribs, too.” He rubbed at her skin until it felt better, as she relished his touch. And she had no means by which to not think on how much she wished to be touched more. “I do not mind,” he said. “It is a compliment, when the one you love desires you.”

 

“It also feels selfish, and rude, when I can see how tired you are. There are times I wish I could shut off my mind.”

 

“I think you are forgetting that it was my decision to seduce you,” he said, kissing her softly. “Actions have consequences.”

 

“I was rather eager to be seduced,” she said, not about to let him off easily.

 

“Because you were dreaming,” he reminded her.

 

“Dreaming, awake….it did not change that you were and are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. It is true that had you approached me as you are now, I would have not offered myself quite so rapidly, because of feeling too shy. I would have wanted you just the same, but felt unable to show it. How could  _ anyone _ not want you?” The yearning in her voice was palpable.

 

_ This  _ was something new, and a little astonishing. He had never considered this particular aspect of how she felt about him. “Meluieg, you must know that not every female finds me desirable.”

 

“Maybe. But I will always think something is wrong with them,” she grinned. “Ow!” wiped the smile from her face. “What are they doing in there, having an argument?”

 

“They do not have thoughts yet, meluieg. At least, none that I can sense. And, enough bantering.” He swung his legs off of her lap and rose in a fluid motion, lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. The garment she was wearing for the ceremony they’d had was extremely simple, and loosening some laces allowed him access to a great many places. Yet that did not suffice. “Off with this,” he said. “I want to enjoy all of you. Properly.” His hands moved everywhere as he became aroused, remembering this first encounter with her.  _ The first touch of her hand, the scent of her skin, the taste of her.  _ The memory of it made him groan with anticipation, as he caressed and touched. Her milk let down, giving him more with which to occupy himself.  _ I would not wish the discomforts of pregnancy on you all the time, Earlene, but your body gives me more enjoyment now than ever. Your skin is rosy and glows, your hair grows long and shines. Your breasts give delight and my hands feel my children inside of you. I wish you could understand that everything about you is exquisite to me. _ He lifted one of her legs gently and entered her easily, the eagerness written on his features.

 

‘Exquisite’ to her was confined to the sensations he was creating in her at this moment in time, when between his mouth, his hands, and his manhood no part of her felt neglected. He had always been a talented lover, and that had not abated in the slightest. With each passing week, he found some new angle or change in position that allowed both of them to have great enjoyment in spite of her swelling belly. Maybe even because of it, she wasn’t certain. Her body reacted differently; her arousal was more intense, and she felt delightful sensations throughout where she carried the girls. And it felt so easy now, for his efforts to bring her to the heights of pleasure, as if her body wanted to climax for him. It was all a jumble.  _ Valar, I love you Earlene,  _ she heard as he achieved his release mixed in with the sounds of Allanah beginning to fuss. The next thing she knew the baby was nursing, quite content to find that her meal was already flowing freely. Back in bed, her husband molded himself against her, caressing both her and their little girl. Mercilessly, his fingers found their way to her cleft and continued to explore, as she could only helplessly enjoy herself from his attentions. These were precious moments for both of them; proof that their love and happiness could not be easily broken. They continued to exchange tender kisses as her mind lingered on how much his words caused her to feel appreciated. Her reverie was interrupted.  _ Meluieg, have you thought at all, about what we will name our children? _

 

Her eyes widened a little, because truthfully every time a thought had wandered down that path, it immediately encountered a roadblock. She had read many elven names, and there were many Irish names, not to mention many names in general; it felt impossible. Names that would not draw ridicule in the human world seemed desirable, yet these daughters would outlive her; their lives would hardly have begun when her time was over. Unless they would choose a destiny that Earlene would not find comprehensible, they would always live on.  _ What to call them, indeed? _ And while many elven names were beautiful, some had four, five syllables. That made them at best a mouthful to manage and at worst something that everyone would truncate into a nickname.  _ Perhaps it would be best to wait until they come into this world, to see if there is something about them _ . What she said aloud was, “Did you”?

 

Thranduil chuckled softly. “No, but now I at least see your thinking on the matter. Most humans have two names, do they not? A first name and a middle name?”

 

“Three, if you count the surname. But, yes. Many do, at least in English speaking lands.”

 

“I do not mind, meluieg, to wait. I have no strong opinions or anything already in mind.”

 

At that moment Tail came bounding up onto the bed with wild eyes, and raced to attack the tassel on one of the decorative pillows. With a great show of grabbing it in his claws, he began to bunny-kick it into submission. “At least we got one name right,” Earlene quipped, beginning to go glassy-eyed because in all this time, he had not stopped his pleasuring of her.

“I think we have conversed enough about this, for now,” he said, joining his body to hers. Somehow he managed to not jostle the baby in the least, as he moved within her until her her eyes squeezed shut so tightly that her vision went white. He smiled as he kissed her softly, watching her go limp with relaxation underneath him. For a brief time, both he and Earlene dozed off and when he woke, he saw that Allanah slept too, her tiny rose-red lips gone slack against Earlene’s nipple. With a smile of immense joy, he held his little girl against both of them, to sleep for just a few more minutes.

 

********

 

{July, 1810  Krysuvik, Iceland} 

Avathar did not know how long he had slept. Time meant nothing to one who was timeless, and Ennor had not been worth walking in millennia. As with most of his kind, he had retreated to the wilderness, to a mountain undisturbed by by the hairless monkeys who dared call themselves the Secondborn. Their pathetic lives were over in a heartbeat; they were beneath his notice, so he retreated, awaiting something worthy of his time. Until, one day, his home was disturbed.

 

He stirred, irked, yet curious.  Someone or something trod upon the sulphurous slopes of his mountain, foolishly braving the traps he had set. Who would be foolish enough to venture here, to this desolate land of treacherous, shifting earth and boiling water? And  _ why _ ? They were not yet near enough for him to discern their thoughts, but they were in fact mortals. When last he roused, there had been none living in this land save him; when had they arrived? This he must investigate, for those who disturbed his home could not be allowed to leave it.

 

George MacKenzie was fascinated, but he was also a touch nervous. He had explored many a remote area as a mineralogist, but none quite like Sulphur Mountain. It had an Icelandic name, but he couldn’t have hoped to pronounce it if he tried. It was a hellish place, literally; the stink of sulphur was heavy where it issued from banks of white clay, steam issuing from vents sometimes too small to be seen. Very, very hot steam, so hot he was quite certain it would scald any unlucky enough to touch it. It hazed the sunlight, while at the same time reflecting it and bewildering the eyes. All too often the vapors would thicken until none of the party could see the others, leaving them to fumble their way along, carefully trying to avoid any pitfalls. And indeed one of the party, Mister Bright, took one wrong step and wound up in hot clay to the knee.

 

He swore, wrenching himself free, and George and the others hurried to him as fast as they could through the mire of fog. Cutting his trouser leg free took only a moment, pulling the superheated fabric away from the burn and stripping off his boot as well, all while he cursed. The fabric was so hot it burned the tips of George’s fingers, but Bright’s own burns were not so severe as they might have been, had he stepped in water. His trousers hadn’t had time to saturate on his leg, and though they had to strip off his sock, his actual boot was useable. The leg was angry and red, with a blister here and there, but no worse -- not that George was willing to let him continue.

 

“I won’t have you risk yourself,” he said firmly, when Bright vehemently protested. The man was pale and sweating, locks of dark hair stuck to his forehead, and George remained immovable. “You need that wound tended to, Bright, and should you go on, you’d risk the rest of us along with you.” The heat was already nearly unbearable; to go on while supporting him was not to be thought of. Even getting him back down the mountain would be difficult enough. The sulphur burned the lungs, and seemed to coat the skin in a fine layer of grit -- God knew what it would do to an open wound, especially if he remained overly long.

 

Down Bright went, with ill grace, and the rest went on, through a landscape of steam and clay and boiling mud, into a cauldron of glittering, sulphurous crystals. It was like walking upon an alien world, and George wished he had some means of capturing all that he saw. It became more beautiful, and more bizarre, until they reached a chamber that seemed almost man-made. The crystallized sulphur glittered even brighter, though it was lit by nothing he could discern, so hot it was all but unendurable. There was nothing to be found -- not until, quite suddenly, there was. 

 

A man stood before them, where no man had stood mere moments ago. Very tall, powerfully built, unfashionably long, pale hair, and entirely nude. Was he some eccentric that had made his home in this hellish place? If so,  _ how _ ? There was nothing here to hunt, and surely even the cold spring was not drinkable.

 

The man said nothing -- merely watched them with eyes as pale and cold as chips of ice. George had thought this ludicrous peculiarity, but the sharpness, the focus of those eyes, arrested him where he stood, and his heart leapt into his throat. The strange man approached --  _ stalked _ , more like -- regarding George and all his party as though he were a scientist and they some fascinating new species. When he spoke, it was in no language any of them could understand -- certainly not English, but not Icelandic, either. There was something hypnotic in that arctic gaze, something that dulled his mind….

 

George shook himself, stepping out of the cavern. There had been nothing in there of note, though unease lingered within him. Down they went, through slopes both hellish and beautiful, and he wondered if he dared return. There was a wealth of sulphur, and yet something within him warned against exploiting it.

 

****

 

When the mortals had left, Avathar stood long in silence. He could not understand whatever tongue they spoke, but what he had seen in their minds -- they had come far, so very far, further than he ever would have thought them capable. Perhaps it was time to wake, and walk among them, and see what entertainment they might provide. 


	49. Forty-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 6-7, 2016

On the drive home, lacking any major distraction, Lorna grieved. She’d barely known John Oehlert, but they’d bonded over that bottle of whiskey and stories of Ireland. She hadn’t known as much about Skibbereen as she’d liked, and had wound up Googling quite a bit on her iPhone. He was so very unlike what she’d thought rich people must be -- and indeed, unlike many others at that party. She could only thank God he had been dead before that bastard went to town on him, and wondered why Von Ratched had done it. To kill him first was a twisted sort of mercy from a man she wouldn’t have thought would have any mercy in him.

 

He wouldn’t get his hands on Mairead’s family, or Big Jamie’s. She had the money to send them somewhere nice, and Orla to cover their tracks. John had been easy to get to, but hopefully Von Ratched wouldn’t want to expend the energy necessary to try to track them down. The forest was his target, the forest and Thranduil and Earlene. Now that he’d done his thing with Lorna -- and ugh, she didn’t even want to _think_ about that -- hopefully she and those she cared about would be beneath his notice.

 

She said as much, and Ratiri gave a vague, hopeful answer. He wasn’t so sure at all about that, but now was not the time to say so. He’d hoped Lorna was off Von Ratched’s radar now that he’d done...what he’d done...but the fact that he’d taken her T-shirt, that he’d noticed her at all, made Ratiri deeply uneasy. She might be secondary on his list, but she was almost certainly still _on_ it, if for different reasons. He wouldn’t kill her right off, Ratiri was sure, but that would not be a good thing.

 

“What are you going to tell Mairead?” he asked, weaving through traffic. It was late into afternoon now, but they hadn’t yet hit rush hour.

 

“The truth, or part’v it,” Lorna said. “Earlene lost someone very dear to her, and I want to help her mourn, but God knows I can’t do it on my own. Mairead’ll make a cake and I’ll get Jamie to bring along some’v the good stuff, and when we’re at the cottage, Thranduil can do his elf-thing. Bit hard to argue with it, once you’ve seen it. Once that’s out’v the way, we can get down to business and lay out plans.”

 

“What will they tell everyone in Baile, though? They’re both business owners, it’s not like they can just vanish for God knows how long without some excuse.”

 

Lorna sighed. “That,” she said, “I don’t know. One thing at a time. Thranduil won’t want to do it, but if all else fails, he could mind-whammy a few people.” Which amused her, in a slightly dark way, given what he’d tacitly admitted he’d done to Earlene. She wondered how much Earlene had...humanized him, for lack of a better word...before she herself came along. She’d told him how fortunate he was that it was Earlene who had found him, but she wondered if he even yet understood _how_ fortunate. Earlene wasn’t just one in a million, she was possibly one in a _billion_ , and she was the one who had found that tiny cottage in the ass-end of nowhere. That she was so smart and so accomplished yet willing to sign over her freedom to an extent even most BDSM enthusiasts would call extreme, to be deferential but still very much her own person, still so very strong -- Lorna wouldn’t have believed it possible. She still didn’t properly understand it, either, but she didn’t need to. She was quite certain there were things about her that Earlene would never understand, either. They were two very different people.

 

What would have happened if she’d been the one to buy that cottage? It wouldn’t have been pretty, nor would it have lasted long. She would have told him to get fucked as soon as he’d demanded her fealty, and then she would have been Queen Bitch of the Universe and donated the cottage to some historical society. Not only would nobody else have been able to ever move in, he would have had tourists tromping through from time to time. Yes, he was very, very lucky it had been Earlene.

 

And Lorna was lucky he hadn’t demanded the same of her. She’d wondered why until he told her; he knew her even better than she thought. Her word was better than any formal oath she might swear, and it had the added benefit of not giving anyone any actual power over her. She liked Thranduil a great deal; he was her friend, her brother from another mother, but that didn’t mean she wanted to hand him the authority to order her around. If she did that, they wouldn’t be friends anymore, they would be king and subject, and _that_ was such a horror to her that she actually twitched.

 

But she’d promised him she’d try to accept that he was a king as well as her friend, so try she would. He’d accepted so much about her, so much that others wouldn’t, that she owed it to him.

 

Ratiri pulled off at the Kildare exit, meandering around the back roads until they reached Baile. Mairead would still be at work for another half hour, so they’d hit the pub first.

 

She looked at Ratiri as they went inside -- poor Ratiri, who hadn’t signed on for any of this shite. Granted, Lorna hadn’t either, but she’d had more time to adjust than he had, and no illusions about the elves and their history to break. She doubted he would ever regret finding them, though, which was a mercy. Were he to regret it, it would break her heart; he’d so loved fantasy all his life that having it ruined for him would be a true tragedy.

 

The pub was still sparsely populated, with only the daytime regulars. Michael and Big Jamie were behind the bar, talking about football, from the sound of it, while Jamie polished the dark wood.

 

“One’v these days we’ll forget what you look like,” he said, looking from her to Ratiri. “You’re here weeks on end, then gone as long.”

 

“We’re not here for any good reason, unfortunately,” Lorna sighed. “We just had word Earlene’s old boss died. Murdered, and bloody horribly. Man was like a da to her, so she’s broken up, and I can’t handle helping her mourn like the Irish do by myself.”

 

Jamie put down his rag. “What happened?”

 

“It’s not fit to talk about where anyone’s eating,” she said darkly. “It was bad. Really, _really_ bad. I wish you’d come out with me, Jamie, for the evening. I know it’s asking a lot, but aside from her little niece, I’m the only blood relative she’s got, and I’m not good at this. You and Mairead got me through losing Liam. I’m hoping you can help me get Earlene through losing John.”

 

“’Course I will,” Jamie said. “Ronan’s old enough that he can start helping to look after the place anyway. You going to get Mairead, too?”

 

“I am, once she’s off work. Can never go wrong with one’v her cakes. Christ, you should see Cian putting one away.”

 

“His stomach is attached to a black hole,” Ratiri said. “It’s the only explanation.”

 

“Orla was impressed,” Jamie said. “I’ll get her to do up a fruit platter, and I’ll make some fresh sandwiches before we go.”

 

“You’re a saint, Jamie, you really are,” Lorna said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. She wondered how the hell he’d handle finding out that wasn’t the only reason she was dragging the pair of them out to Lasg’len -- Thranduil had said Jamie had been wondering about the elves, so maybe he wouldn’t be _too_ shocked. Mairead, on the other hand...Mairead was more like Lorna, a pragmatic sort not given to the fantastical. She was going to need evidence more concrete than pointy ears, which after all could  be the result of prosthetics or even surgery (which was a thing Lorna had boggled to find even existed). Thranduil was going to have to demonstrate some power or other, and it _really_ needed to not be telepathy. Oh well. They’d figure it out when they got there.

 

She and Ratiri went to visit Mairead at the beauty shop, not wanting to wait until she was off work to get the explanation out of the way. She’d want to get a cake baked, unless she already had one sitting around (a definite possibility, with Mairead) but they might not have time. Thanadir would be sad, but Thanadir also still had plenty of leftover birthday cake, so he’d live.

 

Baile’s beauty shop had last been updated in the 1960’s, so parts of the interior were definitely...vintage...but it was nevertheless professional, clean and tidy and smelling faintly of perm solution, which made Lorna’s nose wrinkle. How the hell Mairead could deal with that on a regular basis, she didn’t know, but there were plenty of old ladies who still had their hair permed and shampoo-set in the same manner they had when the shop was new.

 

Mairead herself looked frazzled, and Lorna felt rather guilty for dropping this on her, but there was nothing for it. The news made her eyes widen, though her hands, bound by muscle memory, kept moving.

 

“That poor woman,” she said. “Of course I’ll go. I just wish I had something baked.”

 

“Don’t worry about it yet,” Lorna said. “There’s still birthday cake leftover, and Big Jamei’ll do up some sandwiches. She’s not in much’v an eating mood right now anyway.”

 

“Bad, was it?” Mairead asked.

 

“Oi, Mairead O’Reilly, you can’t go abandoning us just like that,” Anne said. She was co-owner of the beauty shop, a short, curvy woman roughly Mairead’s age, her hair done in a platinum bob better suited for a woman ten years younger.

 

Lorna glowered at her. “My cousin’s friend got vivisected,” she said. “Yes she can, and she will. Thank bloody God we didn’t get sent any pictures, but the description was bad enough. Only mercy is he was dead first.”

 

Anne paled. “Why in God’s name would anyone do that?”

 

“We don’t know yet,” Ratiri said, lying far more smoothly than Lorna ever could have. “And right now it doesn’t matter. The man was like a second father to Earlene, and she’s devastated, so yes, we’ll be stealing Mairead and Big Jamie for an evening.” His tone was one Lorna had never actually heard before -- it brooked no argument.

 

“All right,” Anne said, eying him. “You go on then, Mairead, once you’re done there. We’ll figure something out.”

 

Lorna sighed. She was not looking forward to this. At all.

 

****************

 

“Lorna got them all to come, and they’ll be here within an hour and a half,” read Earlene. “Sure god _this_ is going to be fun. Not.”

 

They had all walked to the cottage after Thranduil had rested for several hours, mysteriously having finally fallen asleep after...activities. It was just as well; it gave Earlene some time to think about the totality of how awful this was all likely to get, in privacy. Though she could not really hide from her husband and did not want to, nor did she want the constant patter of her own fears and concerns to have to be another burden for him to manage. He was going to have quite a lot of those. After extensively turning it over in her mind, she kept coming to an inescapable conclusion: Securing the safety of Lorna’s loved ones would likely be a sort of ‘last hurrah’ with the outside world until the birth of these children...that looked to be over three months away. For their safety, and due to their increasing physical limitations, she and Lorna were….well, fucked. You couldn’t fight against a Von Ratched in any manner of speaking when your abdomen needed its own postal code, that much did not take a genius to work out. Like it or not, they were both committed to the obligations of childbearing until the children were born. _No wonder they called it Confinement, in times gone by. It’s a jail without bars, not that I think I’ll mention that to Lorna,_ she reflected. Her world was about to become very small indeed, and the only thing for it was to accept, and try to find something in it that amounted to sunshine. _This would be a truly excellent time to have a final fling with Amazon.com,_ was another notion. Books, something she wanted to learn about, try to do...something? _But I’m not Thanadir. I can’t just get colored pencils and be Goya in a week, or pick up some musical instrument and do what he does….but I am still very intelligent and there must be something valuable to which I could bend my mind,_ she reasoned. _At least, the part of my mind not occupied with which tit just got sucked dry or when the last time was the baby shat._ Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. _This isn’t working._ Rising off the bed, she decided to walk around the Halls. Because if nothing else, she’d be goddamned if her mobility wasn’t preserved until the last possible instant, and that meant keeping on no matter what hurt or what was heavy. With a set to her jaw, she checked that Allanah was sleeping soundly before lengthening her stride as much as she could and leaving their rooms.

 

*****

 

Fortunately, Mairead and Big Jamie hadn’t asked too many questions on the drive -- but then, what was there to ask? Earlene’s boss, her friend, had been murdered and gutted. That kind of spoke for itself.

 

Jamie had somewhat outdone himself on sandwiches and other nibbles, so much so that they took Lorna’s van rather than try to balance it all in Ratiri’s Bronco (the back of which was filled with odds and ends already; he might be a doctor, but he was still a man, and thus his car was obligated to be something of a disaster). Driving it was becoming ever more uncomfortable, but nobody drove her van except her, dammit.

 

Darkness had fallen by the time they passed through the village, rounding the curve and headed for the cottage. “Jesus, look at those trees,” Mairead said, peering out the window. “They make your forest look like a baby.”

 

“It sort’v is, compared to this,” Lorna said, thinking, _you have no idea. Yet._ She really wondered how these two were going to take this nightmare of a revelation, and hoped it wouldn’t be a disaster.

 

“Is that where Earlene lives?” Jamie asked, when they approached the cottage. “Christ she got lucky. Er, until now.”

 

Mairead rolled her eyes. “Jamie Corcoran, sometimes I could slap you.”

 

“Oi, shut it,” Lorna said, pulling up the drive. “Her husband and brother-in-law’ll be in with her, too.”

 

“That poor lad,” Mairead said, shaking her head. “Niamh’s still carrying a torch for him.”

 

“She’ll be carrying it a long, long time,” Lorna snorted. “He’s too old for her. _Way_ too old.”

 

The lot of them got out, each taking up some of the Styrofoam boxes filled with God knew what. Jamie had a fruit platter on top of that, too; it was fortunate Thanadir ate so much, or they’d be having leftovers for weeks.

 

Lorna managed to balance everything long enough to open the door, rapping on it as she did so. “You lot in here?” she called softly.

 

Earlene came to the door with a suitable grimace and even slightly red eyes. Jesus, did she feel bad for putting on an act. Not that it _was_ an act in the strict sense of the word, but this wasn’t how she actually grieved. _This is for a higher cause,_ she told herself as she thanked them for coming on such short notice, and the disruption when they barely knew her. They were all invited in; some snacks had been put out like crackers and cheese and fruit, and glasses and every form of alcohol in her possession. Because, Ireland.

 

“I’m afraid we’ve brought a kitchen’s worth,” Lorna said. “Dunno where you want these?”

 

Mairead didn’t bother asking. She neatly deposited her boxes on the kitchen counter and enfolded Earlene in a hug. “It’s sorry I am,” she said. She gave hugs rather better than Lorna did; she did, after all, have four children, and she wasn’t the size of a ten-year-old with bony elbows.

 

“Thank you, Mairead,” Earlene said, returning the hug. And she meant it. Whatever odd first impression this woman had made on her had long faded into the background. Things were settled, plates filled, drinks offered, and soon everyone was seated. Thanadir wisely held back from the main group of them at Thranduil’s silent suggestion; it would allow him to enjoy what was brought with greater discretion. While they ate, they made small talk, no one knowing exactly how to begin (that was Lorna’s department) and besides, sense dictated that they not ruin appetites until after the food was eaten.

 

“So, I’ve brought you out here for more than one reason,” Lorna sighed. “We know the man who murdered John. He did it specifically to hurt Earlene, because he’s after all’v us, and I’m worried you’re next. I want to pack both’v your families off somewhere until this is over.”

 

Mairead choked on her sandwich, and Ratiri thumped her on the back until she brought it up. “You _what_?” she demanded, wheezing. “Lorna Saoirse Donovan, you explain yourself right this bloody minute. I can’t just go haring off God knows where -- I can’t afford it, for one thing.”

 

“ _I_ can,” Lorna sighed. “Look, his name is Von Ratched -- we met him at Earlene’s lawyer party in New York when we were there. He saw us -- specifically, those two,” she pointed at Thranduil and Thanadir “--and decided to make our lives hell.”

 

“ _Why?_ ” Big Jamie asked -- a damn valid question, even she had to admit.

 

Ugh, how to do this...she looked from Thranduil to Thanadir to Earlene, and saw that Thranduil held up his hand, fixing his eyes on Jamie and Mairead. “This conversation is about to become very painful for all involved,” the King said, “because the answer to your question is that Cian and I are not human.” He was looked at like he was announcing that the UFOs had just landed, and not in a good way. “I know you have no reason to believe Earlene, or myself. I am hoping that your knowledge of Lorna and perhaps even Ratiri will at least allow for hearing this out, because it could not be more serious.”

 

Mairead looked at Lorna, who winced. “Cén cineál joke breoite é seo? Nó a chreideann tú i ndáiríre é?” _What kind of sick joke is this? Or do you actually believe him?_

 

“Níl sé greannmhar, Lorna,” Big Jamie added, visibly repelled. _It’s not funny, Lorna._

 

“Fuck it,” Lorna sighed, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. Without actually pausing to consider what she was doing, she picked up a steak knife -- Earlene’s knives were all so beautifully sharp -- and sliced her palm open with it, not even registering what she’d done until it was over. Oops. She held the offending appendage out, ignoring their stereo cries of alarm. Even Ratiri twitched, though he knew what was coming. “Thranduil, fix it, please. This’ll make you two shut up and believe.”

 

Anger flashed across the King’s eyes. “This would better have been demonstrated by someone _not_ pregnant, Lorna, but as ever you make your point.” He reached to touch the tips of her fingers, slowing down his ordinary speed of healing. He’d be damned if she pulled this stunt a second time, because he was accused of this being some inane parlor trick. In about thirty seconds, the injury was completely gone, and Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose. _Valar, this was going to be a mess._

 

“Well, I was hardly going to stab Ratiri,” she said, holding her hand out for Mairead and Jamie to inspect. Mairead had gone quite grey, but Jamie looked from it, to her face, to Thranduil.

 

“I bloody knew there was something different about you two,” he said, wide-eyed. “I _knew_ it, for all it had to be mad. What -- what _are_ you?”

 

“What I want to know is why in bloody fuck you’d do something that stupid, Lorna?”  Mairead demanded, temporarily distracted from any supernatural happenings by an urge to shake her baby sister. “You’re up the yard, you can’t go -- _that._ ”

 

Lorna sighed. “Again, I was hardly going to stab Ratiri, and I know you’d sit there and think this was some fucked-up prank for the next six hours if I didn’t. Thranduil and Thanadir are elves.”

 

“Elves who could have just as readily demonstrated this _instead of you_ ,” Thranduil said icily, for the first time ever seeming to be genuinely hacked off at her. “Your sister is correct, Lorna. You cannot...oh what _good_ does it do,” he said, exasperated and slouching in his chair.

 

“It does plenty good, just always after the fact,” Mairead said. “Believe it or not, she’s better than she was.” Eying Thranduil closely, she took in the truly unearthly blue of his eyes. “Elves?” she said. “ _Really?_ ”

 

“Yes, really,” Lorna said. “Fine, fine, I won’t do it again. It’s not like I make a habit’v it or anything.”

 

“You got stabbed in the foot as a teenager,” Ratiri pointed out.

 

“By _someone else_. Anyway, yes, elves. And the one that’s after us, he’s not an elf, he’s a Maia, and he didn’t know there were any elves left until he saw us at that party, and now he’s...hunting. And I don’t want him hunting you.”

 

Thranduil tried again. “I am truly sorry for this...assault on your sensibilities. There is a reason we have remained hidden from almost all humans outside of Lasg’len. But Lorna is not exaggerating. You are here because we have valid reason to fear for your lives; this discussion is not being undertaken lightly. The...evil creature that is out there is more powerful than any human, with abilities that would leave any of you defenseless. He has already been here once, and that is why Lorna and Ratiri stayed away for so long. Because here, I can protect them. We have reason to believe there is little time remaining before he returns to these shores. We want to engineer a way to keep you safe, one that does not involve having to stay here. We live...differently. No electricity. It is not something you would tolerate well, I would guess. But there are ways to hide you in the world outside of here, and no one has to afford anything. This is on account of us, and I will gladly pay whatever is needed to see you and your family safe. There is every reason to believe that if you remain, what happened to Earlene’s friend in New York will happen to you as well. We could not sit by and leave you to that outcome.”

 

Mairead didn’t go grey -- this time she went green. Her husband, her children...she’d yank the eldest two out of uni, and take the youngest from school. As much as she wanted to dismiss this, she couldn’t -- she couldn’t afford to -- but there were so many considerations, so many things she’d have to work out before they went. Who would take care of the house? What in God’s name was she to tell Anne -- what was Kevin to tell his boss?

 

Big Jamie, thoroughly shaken, looked at Thranduil. “I can understand why he’d go after Mairead, being Lorna’s sister and all,” he said, “but why me? I’m no kin to her.”

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek, so hard she drew blood. “He knows what you are to me,” she said. “He can read minds, and apparently he turned up at the cottage a few months ago and dug through mine. Evidently I shot him, at least,” she added, looking at Mairead. “Didn’t do any _good_ , mind you, but y’know, gold star for effort. He’d go after you, Jamie, just as sure as he would Mairead.” _That’s all they need to know_ , she said to Thranduil.

 

“You _shot_ him,” Mairead said, eyebrows climbing. “How do you know that, if you don’t remember?”

 

Oh, _shit._ She hadn’t planned on letting this one out, but there was really no way around it. “Thranduil can read minds,” she said. “This arsehole, Von Ratched, he made me forget, but Thranduil found it.”

 

Mairead’s eyes widened yet further. “He reads _minds_ ….” Out of  absolutely nowhere, she burst out laughing, though there was an edge of something akin to hysteria to it. “He reads minds and he’s been around Siobhan. I am so, so sorry.”

 

Thranduil blushed a little pink and he cleared his throat. “I will tell you the same that everyone else in this room already knows. I have no choice in this; I cannot _not_ hear humans near to me. But I do not reveal what I cannot help knowing. To anyone, unless I have very specific consent to do so. That being said, I thank you for your sentiments, because...that was...yes.”

 

Was he...was he _blushing_ ? He _was_. Oh, how Lorna wished she had her mobile handy.

 

Mairead looked at her. “I have no idea how you haven’t murdered that one, if you can’t help but read her mind,” she said. “So...where would we go? How long would we be away?”

 

He shook his head sadly. “This is the bad part. I cannot say how long. The last time he came, he lingered outside the borders for weeks. An unsuccessful attack on my wife and the injuries he sustained are why we believe he left and returned to America. He will return, though we cannot say when. Beyond that he means to ruin us and those we care for, we know little. As for where you would go...Lorna has a friend, Orla, capable of hiding you electronically. I would envision someplace comfortable, and remote. Earlene tells me that there is something called Witness Protection. It would be like that. You would go to where your needs would be cared for, under different names. Your food, housing, teachers for your children...it does not matter to me; I will pay for whatever is necessary. Your contact with the outside world would be through protected electronic means only. It would be best that none of us knew where you went.” He sighed. “You would be welcome, to dwell with us. But I do not believe you would be happy.”

 

“I was thinking somewhere in southern France, but it could be anywhere,” Lorna said. “Get a villa big enough for the lot’v you and you can just grow grapes and make wine, or...something like that. You’d be safe away until this was over.”

 

“Jesus, what I am I going to do about the pub?” Jamie asked, half to himself. “What’ll I tell everyone? It’d be bad enough either Mairead or me taking our families and heading off into nowhere, but both’v us at once? Michael can’t look after the pub on his own, but I could get him some help. Otherwise, though…”

 

“Meningitis,” Ratiri said, speaking through steepled hands. “Bacterial meningitis. Should one child from each family “contract” it, recovery is difficult and long, even if it’s spotted early, and of course it’s contagious. I’d have to lie like a rug to the health advisory and to Indira, but spontaneous cases aren’t unheard-of. There doesn’t have to be a general outbreak. Orla can fudge hospital records as needed, and you’ve all got an excuse. Not a thoroughly tidy one, granted, but better than nothing at all. That way, if Von Ratched does return to the village, nobody will know a thing about your disappearance save “sickness”.”

 

“Would that work?” Mairead asked.

 

“With Orla, it just might,” Lorna said. “She really _can_ fudge records. If they get taken to some hospital in France, who’s to know the difference? There’s a paper trail that can be followed, and disappear into bureaucracy.”

 

“That may be the most elegant solution, however much I hate to see you risk your professional reputation, Ratiri. Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say,” Earlene frowned.

 

“I can’t think of a worthier cause,” he said, a touch grimly. “I don’t care if I lose my license, if it keeps them alive.”

 

Lorna took his hand, gently squeezing it. That meant one hell of a lot, coming from him. “When this is over, we’ll tell you,” she said. “You can come home then, and sooner or later I’ll’ve popped these kids out, so, y’know, babies.” Mairead and Jamie both _adored_ babies; she was less likely to get shouted at for doing something stupid if she could stick a baby in each of their arms.

 

Mairead rubbed her forehead. “Only you, Lorna,” she said, shaking her head. “You just _had_ to go and find elves, didn’t you?”

 

“It’s not like I did it on _purpose_ ,” Lorna protested. “They were here, Earlene was here. I met Earlene, I met them. It’s not like I went UFO hunting and...and tripped over them or something.”

 

“I’m afraid the blame is mine,” said Earlene. “On all counts. I’ve been the conduit for all of this mess, and yet there was no way I could have ever known it would turn into...this.” Her voice became very strained on the last word. She was trying very, very hard to remember Thanadir’s counsel, but it didn’t make the emotional realities of what had happened just vanish into the ether, either.

 

Lorna leaned forward in her chair. “Earlene,” she said seriously, “look at me. The only person to blame in all’v this is Von Fuckface. That’s it. This -- none’v this is your fault, you hear me? _None_ ’v it.” It was rare that she spoke with such conviction, something bordering on stern -- rather like her Gran had done to her, when she’d been blaming herself for Liam’s death.

 

Earlene snorted. “I know. And you are not the first person to have said as much to me today. I just want this to be over, as do we all,” she said, glad that she had somehow managed to not say a number of things to Lorna that she might have regretted substantially. With a sigh she rose to get some water to drink. That Thanadir was near the sink might also have been a factor…his arm came around her, as he spoke to her very quietly at a volume no one else could hear.

 

Jamie, pensive, looked at Thranduil. “You’ve said we might not want to live with you,” he said, “but not where you live, exactly. If we’ve got to get uprooted, shouldn’t we have a chance to choose, before we get sent all to hell and gone?”

 

Thranduil smiled weakly. “Yes. I will be blunt. You cannot speak of what you will see; I must be able to trust you in this. It would go badly for us, were we discovered to the world at large. We have dwelled here for thousands of years, remaining inside the borders of our forest, guarding the people of the nearby village in what ways we were able.” He looked meaningfully at both Mairead and Jamie, and was satisfied with their nods of assent. “There are a little over two hundred elves, that dwell in my Halls. We remained when the others of our kind elected to...go elsewhere. And, I think Lorna can explain to you that I am different, than what you have been used to. But you must be told that I am the Elvenking, and that you stand inside of my Realm. What you are not seeing is our home, and if you wish to, you must walk with us. It lies in the woods.”

 

“He means it, you two,” Lorna sad seriously. “You can’t tell anyone. Not Kevin, not Orla -- nobody.”

 

Neither precisely liked lying to their spouses, but extreme times, and all that. “Elvenking?” Mairead asked. “Elven _king_?” There wasn’t any distaste or derision in it -- just shock. “Lorna, you do find them.” She rose, and looked at Jamie. “Let’s see what we’ve got going on here. I promise I’ll not tell.”

 

“Me too,” Jamie said, rising as well.

 

They all departed, with Earlene gladly taking Thanadir’s arm. _You need only tell me, if you cannot walk the distance, Lorna. It does no good to wait until you are ready to topple over,_ Thranduil emphasized. He was in no mood to have Fun With the Gates, this time. He led them through, and at the halfway point, wordlessly lifted Lorna into his arms before continuing on. When they crossed the stone bridge, Earlene mildly wondered what the new ones were seeing, until she saw a wave of her husband’s hand and heard gasps from Mairead and Jamie. The Gate, as always with him, opened seemingly of its own accord. He spoke to them as they approached the massive portals. “Your eyes will need time to adjust, once inside. We will wait.”

 

How in the name of mother fuck he’d managed to haul her sister so far, Mairead didn’t know; yeah, Lorna was little, but she was also rather pregnant. She blinked in the dimness, and as soon as her vision cleared, her breath caught.

 

“Sweet granny on a bike on Sunday,” Jamie said behind her. This... _this_ was in Ireland? How had nobody found it? This ancient forest should’ve been crawling with tourists, since it was the last like it left.

 

“I know,” Ratiri said. “I don’t know if you’ve ever read _The Hobbit_ or _The Lord of the Rings_ , but they’re both required reading in the future. These people, they’re _those_ Elves. The very last of them who’ve stayed in this world. The forest and the Halls are protected by Thranduil’s magic -- nobody’s found them because nobody really notices, and anyone who comes into the forest unescorted gets hopelessly lost.”

 

Mairead stared, rather helplessly. This was a bit much -- she wasn’t the sort of person who had ever been into fantasy, though come to think of it, the kids had actually seen the _Lord of the Rings_ films when they were young. Mairead hadn’t paid a great deal of attention, and yet...damn. Just... _damn_.

 

“And the one evil gobshite left in the world found the last’v the elves,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “Makes you bloody wonder. You two, this is where you’ve been staying, all this time you’ve been gone?”

 

“It is,” Lorna said. “We’ve got flats and everything, but the only power comes from solar panels and a car battery I rigged up. All the books in the library are in Sindarin, which is an insane language that makes Irish look easy, so it’s not exactly easy reading. The kids’d go spare inside’v a week.”

 

Mairead eyed her suspiciously -- specifically, her braid. “You’ve been getting your hair products here, haven’t you?” she demanded. “I _knew_ it wasn’t just some old recipe’v Gran’s.”

 

Lorna shook her head. “Mairead, you and your priorities. _Anyway_.”

 

Earlene chuckled, thoroughly amused. “I like you, Mairead. None of this has been very funny lately, but, life with elves generates a certain kind of absurdity.” She shook her head. “C’mon. I can show you a little bit of it before my feet tell me to go to hell. Most of the caverns are dedicated to living space for elves that no longer live here. The rest is what you’d expect to keep a large number supplied with the necessities of life. It’s like a small city that’s now run by a skeleton crew.”

 

That...was a bit tragic, really, Mairead thought. Such a huge space, with so few...why would anyone leave this? “Happy to help,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d love to see some, but not if your feet’re going to go and swell up like balloons. I remember what hell that was.”

 

“Why in fuck did you voluntarily do this more than once?” Lorna asked. “I mean yeah, I’ve got two in one oven, but still. I’d think it’d suck even if it was just one.”

 

“The reward’s worth it,” Mairead said. “Right up until they learn the word ‘no’, anyway.”

 

Earlene burst into laughter. “They can argue that with their uncle Thanadir. These poor kids don’t know what they’re in for. Oh, and that...Thanadir is Thranduil’s seneschal. I guess you could say ‘second in command.’ And my feet will be fine for awhile. I took a pretty long walk around here this morning, that went okay.”

 

Mairead looked at Lorna. “So when you said he’s too old for Niamh, you really meant it, didn’t you?”

 

Lorna choked on a laugh. “You’ve got _no_ idea. They actually don’t properly remember how old they are, but at a guess it’s something like eighteen thousand.”

 

Jamie tripped over his own feet. “He _what_?”

 

“Eighteen thousand,” she said, “or thereabouts. Didn’t anyone mention they live forever?”

 

“Um, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Jesus. _Older_ than Jesus.”

 

“Way older,” Mairead muttered.

 

They walked through the kitchens, storerooms, the dining Hall, the armory. Earlene mentioned that there were myriad rooms for doing specialized tasks like iron or wood work, and that the Halls were much like a rabbit warren. Turning, twisting tunnels all over the place, with what seemed like a thousand doors, but that sooner or later most passages emptied out into this grand and beautiful central cavern that was Thranduil’s Hall, with his throne, with the sound of falling water still moving through the depths below. Lorna took over leading the way now, wanting them to see how she lived here.

 

“Ratiri and I each had our own, but, well, we share one now,” she said, pushing her door open.

 

“Obviously,” Mairead snorted.

 

“Hush, you.” Lorna lit the lamps, their cosy glow cast over the little sitting room. She’d added some oddments to it, in addition to all the things she’d brought from her cottage; bundles of dried flowers hung upside-down from hooks on the ceiling, scenting the room with sage and lilac. It was still fairly warm, the fire having only recently burnt down, and she knelt as best she could to add more wood to it.

 

“Here’s the thing,” she said. “It’s gorgeous here. I mean, bloody beautiful, but just how long could you and your families last without wifi? You two aren’t like me -- you didn’t grow up without electricity. Your kids’d go spare, especially Kevin and Aislinn. Once we’re in here, we’re _in_ here, too; there might well not even be any going outside.”

 

Mairead ran her hand along the back of the sofa, feeling the texture of the fabric. _She_ would love it here, but her children? They were the products of the twenty-first century, for all she’d tried to keep them away from too many videogames. Depriving them of their phones might result in legitimate withdrawal, and no matter how many books they brought, if they were in here any appreciable amount of time….

 

“I don’t know that I’d be able to handle not seeing the sky,” Jamie said. “I mean, goddamn it’s gorgeous, but I don’t know how I’d find it if it came to not be able to leave. And as sad as I am to say this, my middle daughter’d crack without electricity. I’d say it’d be good for her, but not under these circumstances.” He looked around -- at the mantle, lined with knick knacks from her gran’s, the modern world meeting this ancient one in a cheerful jumble. “If it was just me, I’d love to stay, but it’s not. And I’ll not inflict my children on you when they’re grizzling about something.”

 

“I won’t inflict Niamh on Thanadir,” Mairead muttered. “Even I’m not _that_ mean.”

 

“He would manage better than she would,” smirked Earlene. “He is far more than he appears on the surface, and she might not like him so much as soon as she had to learn something from him. He is a holy terror as an instructor. But anyway. I know how you both feel. We’ve sort of worked out a hodgepodge system for having at least a little of our electronics. And it is possible to go outside and into the forest, but not alone. While the security is good, any of us in the forest would have to be guarded by one or more elves. Our protection from Von Ratched is only absolute inside of these Halls. So as you’ve already noted, it is pretty necessary to be able to keep happy with the lifestyle of, oh, a hundred and fifty years ago.” Fairly suddenly, she could feel her feet becoming unhappy. “I’ve really got to put my feet up a bit. Our rooms are not far from here, you’re welcome to come see them too if you’d like. But at either rate, please excuse me for awhile.” She turned, feeling awkward to leave them, but, _feet._

 

Lorna had a feeling neither elf would be keen to carry her back to the cottage just yet, and Mairead and Big Jamie ought to see a bit more, if they wanted to; given that this place was part of why they had to leg it elsewhere, they might as well understand why. “We’ll at least stick our heads in, if you don’t mind,” Lorna said. “It’s the other part’v these Halls we see most often.”

 

“Please do,” sort of carried back at them, already from some feet out the door. _When did I become this rude?_ Earlene asked herself, shaking her head even as sharp pains began telling her that her lower spine was officially pissed at her insistence on being a tour guide. And in seconds she found herself carried again.

 

“Earlene, you must learn to simply ask me. This is no effort for me at all, and it is not desirable for you to feel pain when carrying the children.” Thanadir’s soft brown eyes looked into her own from inches away.

 

Biting the inside of her cheeks, it took all her self-control not to fire back that _if someone didn’t want Pain and Children in the same sentence, why didn’t they goddamn all lay eggs and sit on them, like chickens did._ But that was not an option. Lashing out at Thanadir would not only solve nothing, it would be the height of ingratitude. _Or you could try *talking* to him,_ she reminded herself. “I will try to do as you ask,” she agreed, forcing down her ire. “But you must understand some things too. This keeps changing, for me. It was not this bad until very recently. Even were I pregnant with a fully human child, Thanadir, I would be facing at least another three months like this. Or worse. That feels like a very long time, to a mortal. Too long to do nothing and be content to become a…” She could not say it, but the words would have been something along the lines of ‘living incubator.’

 

It was not easy, but he tried to consider this from her point of view. His only frame of reference, however tenuous, was the month of punishment he had once endured, confined to his rooms. Unable to pass through those doors or see the sun and trees for four weeks, realizing all the while that his King could have required him to endure that duration in one of the cells. Forced to keep some semblance of normalcy when he would have preferred to remain catatonic on his sofa. Seen from this perspective, her fears and frustration at facing longer than three times that span of days suddenly did not seem so trivial.

 

“There is something I would like to talk to you about, Earlene, but not now. Later, when there is privacy. But I will tell you that I will do my best, to help you. You are my family. While I cannot carry your children, obviously, they are my family too. We will get through this together, one day at a time,” he said softly.

 

It was not what she expected to hear. Another small lecture of some kind or another would have made more sense; this surprised her. And made her feel far better than any  speeches about how she should feel or what she should do. She did not reply, but a happier face looked back at his by the time they reached the door, and a nice sofa with cushions awaited.

 

Oh, how Mairead wished she could have had someone who could carry her during her pregnancies. It would have saved her feet a great deal -- but Earlene’s still looked swollen, and there were a few tips for that.

 

Lorna and Ratiri had obviously been in here many times, given the ease with which they moved about, but Mairead could do nothing at first but stare. She’d thought Lorna’s rooms fancy, but this...good grief. This was opulence on a level she’d never seen, in real life or in films.

 

“Bloody Christ,” Jamie said from behind her -- though he laughed a bit when he saw Lorna had to hop a bit to get up onto an armchair. Ratiri scooted in with her, pulling her onto his lap.

 

“Can I see your feet, Earlene?” Mairead asked. “I can give you a tip there -- a couple times a day, lie with your feet up and a cold washcloth on each. Sounds daft, but trust me, it works. It’ll keep your ankles down, too.”

 

Lorna filed that bit of information away, knowing she’d want it later, too.

Thanadir’s eyebrows raised, and he immediately rose from her side to procure said items, first placing pillows under her feet after elevating them.

 

“Thank you. I’d guess I’m about to give this a try,” she smiled, at seeing Thanadir’s reaction. “Well, we may not have electricity here, but as you can see we are not exactly being made to suffer. We are given a great deal of help that I’m well aware most don’t have.”

 

“It’s fortunate you’ve not got to be on your feet all day every day,” Mairead said, grimacing a little. “I worked right up until my due date with Shannon, because I was an eejit who thought I was Superwoman. With twins, you’ll be wanting that help, come month eight. This might or might not help, but if you lean back a touch when you walk, it might fix your center’v gravity a bit and save your spine. My eldest son, Kevin, was over ten pounds when he was born, and my doctor told me to give that a go.”

 

“I’d probably fall over if I tried _that_ ,” Lorna snorted. Unlike Earlene, she was no athlete.

 

Mairead eyed her. “ _You’ll_ need to be dragged about on a skateboard,” she said. “Two, if you can glue them together.”

 

“Funny, that’s just what I thought,” Lorna said.

 

Earlene laughed. “Leaning back is why my spine feels this way. Everything really was fine up until just this week. The reality is, I’m just going to have to start admitting that I can’t do what I used to until this is over with. I would guess that while Lorna and I are very different people, we share a certain, ah, spirit of independence that makes this seem rather difficult….said every woman since the dawn of time. I know this isn’t anything unique, but it’s new for me,” she said quietly. “I’ll just have to adjust.”

 

“Twins’re always a bit more difficult,” Mairead said sympathetically. “And just because every other woman’s said it doesn’t mean it’s not bloody annoying. It’s worth it, come the finish. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t’ve done it four times.”

 

“I don’t know why you did it four times anyway,” Lorna said. “I don’t know why Mam did it five. I’m glad I’ve got two for one, because _I’m_ not doing it again.”

 

“Just be glad you’ve got magical healing on hand,” Mairead said. “You’re Gran’s size, and she dislocated her hips by month eight with all three’v her kids. Bed rest, the whole time.”

 

Lorna stared at her in blatant horror. “ _No_ ,” she said, even more grateful Thranduil could heal just about anything.

 

“Unfortunately, yes. And she only ever had one at a time. At least you won’t be able to cause much trouble then,” Mairead said, eying her pointedly. “And you know how to knit.”

 

“I think the pair’v us’ll be doing a load’v that,” Lorna said, looking at Earlene. “We’ll have enough baby booties for an army.”

 

“You can never have too many,” Mairead said sagely. “They’re worse than socks for getting lost. Earlene, are you having boys or girls, or one’v each?”

 

“They are girls. Identical, I am told,” she smiled. “I admit, I wonder what they will look like; Thranduil and I could not have more different coloring. In my family, I am the proverbial black sheep. Most of them are like Allanah, so...who only knows.”

 

“Might wind up a combination’v the two,”  Mairead said. “Be interesting to see, that’s for sure. If Lorna’s don’t wind up doppelgangers’v her, I’ll be very surprised. Her da’s genes were strong -- all four’v them look like her, but our mam looked like me. No idea where the eyes came from, though.” Secretly, she rather hoped Earlene’s didn’t inherit their father’s. His were...um, distinctive, and they didn’t need to be standing out _too_ much.

 

Thranduil heard all sides of this discussion and wisely kept silent, though he smiled pleasantly. It was not occurring to Earlene that he could answer all of these questions. Yet. And until that happened, it was best not to comment. There were times when he was vaguely thankful, for the effect her pregnancy occasionally had on her usually honed capacity for deduction.

 

Earlene smiled too, but for a different reason. On account of Thranduil, they all knew who was having what, but it was most definitely not her place to offer that information.

 

Jamie looked at Mairead. It had to be getting late, unfortunately. Neither wanted to deal with the harsh realities of what awaited them back home, but they had to be dealt with nonetheless. “As much as I don’t want to say this, I think we’d best head back,” he sighed. “I’ll work out what to tell Orla on the way.”

 

“I’ll hash out the details with my Orla,” Lorna said. “How does southern France sound? Some isolated place big enough for both families?”

 

“If we’ve got to go, it might as well be somewhere nice,” Mairead said. “Kevin took French at school. We could handle that there.”

 

“Good. I’ll see what can be done.” She levered herself off Ratiri’s lap with a slight wince. If her back was this sore now, she didn’t want to know what it would be like in another three months; thank bloody God for her built-in hot springs in her flat.

 

“I think I’ll not be going with you back to the cottage,” Earlene apologized. “But I really do thank you for coming out and not on account of what we’ve had to discuss. My friend John had meant the world to me and...I know what kind of person he was. It’d mean something to him, to know that in any manner he was helping others.” She gave Mairead and Jamie awkward hugs as best she could with her belly. “I hope we get to socialize again under better circumstances.” With a squeeze to their hands, she lowered herself awkwardly back onto the sofa. Thranduil smiled at her encouragingly, saying something only she could hear, before lifting Lorna into his arms again. Earlene and her friend exchanged weak smiles and waves as they departed that amounted to, ‘Land Whale.’

 

Unsurprisingly, Jamie and Mairead sobered as they left, and Ratiri beckoned them both closer, concocting a plausible cover story, including the basic symptoms of bacterial meningitis. Orla and Kevin would need to be told that it was a thoroughly mundane witness protection scheme -- very necessary, but only because Earlene’s friend had been murdered, and that, as Lorna’s friends and family, they risked being targeted. Nothing supernatural need be mentioned. They were distracted enough that Lorna looked at Thranduil.

 

 _Thranduil, why was what I did wrong?_ she asked. It wasn’t a sarcastic question; she genuinely didn’t get it. _I know those two. We’d’ve sat there arguing it until we were blue in the face. They never would’ve gone to the Halls with us -- not without some kind of proof. I believed in what you were because I saw your healing ability. I knew they would, too._ To her mind, her logic was perfectly sound, but nobody else seem to think so, and she was legitimately baffled as to why. It needed doing, so she did it. Why was that wrong? What was she missing? There was no actual harm done. Mairead and Big Jamie believed. Wasn’t that what mattered?

 

Thranduil brought his attention out of what was being discussed between Ratiri and the others to focus on Lorna, blinking as he tried to fathom what could possibly have been unclear about it...only to see that she truly did not understand.

 

_Lorna, it is two things. Everything about your pregnancy is more difficult, higher risk than what Earlene faces. You have, I think, been told this. While it warms my heart to know of your faith in me, it is not right to presume on my ability. It is not right to place your children under any risk, on the grounds that I can make it right. You are using me, to do such a thing without my consent. The second matter is that you did not even consider the children inside of you, before you acted to harm yourself. You were simply being Lorna, by yourself. You were thinking of others, but acting as if you were only accountable for your own life at this point in time. Do you not think that I or Thanadir could have cut ourselves, instead of you, if that was what was needed to gain their belief? Or that I could not do other things that did not involve knives in order to demonstrate my power? You acted impulsively and on your own. That is why I was angry. I am not angry now, Lorna. I am not perfect nor do I claim to be. I see how hard you have tried, and how much you have grown. But you asked and I am giving you the most honest answer I am able._

 

Lorna turned this over in her mind. That she was using him had not at all occurred to her, though now that he’d laid it out, she had no idea why it hadn’t. It _should_ have, but… _I’m bad at this_ , she said, sighing. _I did what I thought I had to, because that’s what I’ve always done, because until so recently, everything was...contained. It was…_ She didn’t know how to explain it, even to herself; even with her family and friends, she’d been ultimately her own and no one else’s. _It seems like all I ever do is fuck up, every time I try to do something on my own, and I don’t see it until it’s too late. And I don’t know how to fix it._ Short of having her brain totally re-organized, she didn’t know if it was even possible. She was better than she had been, yes, but she’d been so bad to start with that that wasn’t saying a great deal. As much as she loved her newfound family, things had been so much easier to manage when she was on her own. She hadn’t worried about failure, when she was alone, because if she did fuck up, it didn’t hurt anyone but her. Caring about people was a double-edged sword, not helped by the fact that she’d in a sense isolated herself for the better part of ten years. She had friends and family in Baile that she loved dearly, but they weren’t _close_ like this. _I didn’t think I was a failure until I had people in my life to fail._

 

He chuckled softly. _You are experiencing what I have, what Thanadir has, what Earlene has. Each in our own ways, although I am not free to discuss anyone’s experience but my own with you. It is part of growing, Lorna. You are not bad at this so much as new at this. You are not a failure. We have all failed, Lorna. We have all made terrible mistakes out of fear or ignorance or simply doing what worked for us before. In this, you are not alone. Do not let yourself be weighed down, it is not worth it. But if you can, in the future, try to include those around you. Ask for collaboration. I learned long ago that if we could simply communicate before we decide, many errors could be avoided. But it is so easy to say, and so hard to do._ He kissed her firmly on the cheek, looking straight ahead as he walked on.

 

Almost against her will, she smiled. _New at this at forty years old_ , she said, a little wryly. _I know that doesn’t seem like much time at all to you, but to a human, that’s just wrong. I’ll try. I’ll probably keep failing half the time, but I’ll try. And someday I’ll tell you how I got stabbed in the foot._ Totally _not my fault, I might add._

 

Ratiri knew them both well enough by now to realize they were having some silent conversation, so he finished up the cover story with Mairead and Big Jamie. It was flimsy, but with Orla to back it up...if all else failed, if he absolutely _had_ to, he’d tell Indira of the ‘witness protection’ excuse, but he’d rather avoid it, if at all possible. The fewer people knew about this, the better, especially if Von Assclown decided to pay the village a visit. If there was nothing at all to find but the meningitis excuse, he might not realize right off that it wasn’t legit -- but if he saw anything in Indira’s mind, the game would be up on that end.

 

“Is Lorna even awake?” Mairead asked. “She’s awfully quiet. Are you going to have to drive us home?”

 

Ratiri debated lying. “Telepathic conversation, probably,” he said. “That happens a fair bit around here. You get used to it.”

 

Mairead had no idea how. She found the idea of spending large amounts of time around someone who couldn’t help but read your mind to be highly disconcerting, just...because. Still, she wondered, just how did this work? She had to test it, or she’d always wonder, and she knew her sister well enough that one question itched in her mind: _Why does she let you touch her? It took close to a year for Jamie and I to even get hugs._ Ratiri, now, Ratiri she could understand, because any heterosexual, red-blooded woman would want to tap that, but that was an entirely different kind of contact.

 

 _You would have to ask her that, for I am not free to discuss it without her explicit consent,_ the answer flared into her mind in his voice. Which she was hearing, but not hearing, God if that wasn’t the weirdest thing ever. _But an answer I could give is that we are friends._ He met her backward glance with a smile, and mirth from his ethereally blue eyes.

 

She very nearly stumbled, so shocked by the sheer oddness of it. Ooookay, now she knew what _that_ was like. _I’m calling you the Lorna Whisperer,_ she said. _I get the contact thing with Ratiri, she wanted in his trousers, but you got her trust somehow in so short a time. I’m not sure, even with your telepathy, you realize just what a feat that is._ Lorna was much like a hedgehog; a softy on the inside, sure, but you had to get past all those spikes first.

 

“All right, you lot,” Lorna said, yawning. Emotional shite sure did drain her lately, possibly now because she had two cantaloupes residing in her gut. “Ratiri, I know I said nobody drives my van but me, but I’m making an exception.”

 

Ratiri laughed. “Take a nap,” he said, taking her from Thranduil and setting her in the passenger seat. He absolutely was not going to say loud that it was like carrying a doll, but he was pretty sure Thranduil would agree.

 

“I wish we’d met under better circumstances,” Jamie said, “but I’m glad for the warning. Look after these two while we’re away, would you? Ratiri’s got his head on straight, but Lorna’s...Lorna.”

 

 _Lorna Whisperer_ , Mairead thought, and in spite of everything, she fought a smile. “We’ll get everything ready, for when we’ve got to go, though Christ knows how much we’ll be able to bring.”

 

“He’s not going to trash your house while we’re away,” Lorna called, though in truth she wasn’t so sure about that.

 

*******

 

Earlene watched her friends depart, rubbing absentmindedly at her abdomen. She had grown so accustomed to wearing the expected elven dresses that it was becoming hard to remember when she’d last worn leggings. _Probably right after I started swelling enough to wreck the spandex, were I to have kept wearing them,_ she thought ruefully. Mairead had been right, the washcloths had helped, and what was continuing to help were Thanadir’s skilled hands on her calves, feet and ankles. How much misery he’d taken away with these frequent attentions, she could not begin to reckon. They often ran out of things to discuss, and would sit in silence as they were doing now. She appreciated that he was not a being who wanted or needed constant chatter. He knew how to be around someone else, content to simply...be. As did she. But this time he was the one to break the quiet.

 

“I said there was something I wanted to tell you, and we are alone now. This is not so easy to say, but I will do my best.”

 

Her brows knitted faintly; this was not like him. _Please don’t let this be weird,_ flitted through her mind. Aloud she said encouragingly, “I am listening, meldir. Take your time.”

 

He smiled, hesitating, then began. And indeed, some of the words were halting. “I told you that I too was jailed once. But there was more. That was not my entire punishment; what I had done was very bad in the King’s eyes.” The words were quiet, and mostly he looked down as he spoke, or at her feet that were in his lap. He told her of his month in his rooms. All of what had happened, all of what he had felt, and then grew silent again for a time.

 

It felt like he wanted an answer. Earlene felt heartbroken, to hear this, because it was what she had feared, for him. He had been placed in a situation beyond his limitations, had succumbed in a manner that was too predictable, and had paid a heavy price in loneliness, fear, and doubt. “I am so sorry, Thanadir. I would have given much, to have been there for you. To have helped you.” The words sounded vaguely pathetic, but they were true. What she felt she could not say is that she understood perfectly well how it had all gone to hell in a handbasket for him, and it was no one’s fault. They had had no way of knowing.

 

Whether he was in her thoughts or simply perceiving accurately the play of expressions across her face, the result was the same. “That is more what I actually wanted to talk to you about, Earlene. I know you did not mean for me to learn this from you, but I did. I learned about Asperger’s, and I learned about those who have...emotional intelligence. I read everything I could, and I feel that you are right.”

 

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh meldir, I did not mean...I did not want...I never meant for anything to hurt you.” _Oh hell well haven’t I gone and fucked this up one side and down the other._ And far away, at the cottage, Thranduil’s attention was drawn from having said good-bye and checking that the room was left half-tidy to a conversation occurring in his Halls that left him aghast. He left immediately, running through the forest.

 

“No, Earlene,” he said, shaking his head at the stricken look on her face. “It is not what you think. I know that you never would have spoken to me about this, and I understand why. For the humans who are like this...many are treated very badly. Made to feel as though there is something wrong with them. But you made sure I would not think this. At least, not on account of you.”

 

“I did?” Her stomach was in a knot and now she was baffled. Memory was no longer so sharp, and she could not piece together what he had seen in her mind, or when, or any of it. “I do not want to interrupt you, Thanadir, but you have me at a tremendous disadvantage. I cannot recall what you might have seen in my thoughts, or when, or...anything. I can only tell you that I would never have wanted to cause you pain.”

 

“Please do not worry, this is what I am trying to tell you,” he said with a little more insistence. “It is the best thing that ever happened to me, Earlene. I have lived for a very long time, not able to understand myself. Not able to make sense of why I would say and do and feel certain things. I have never met another elf like me. Never _heard_ of another elf like me. And I had no reason to think more about that, except when I would so badly disappoint my King.” He looked up at her. “You cannot know what it means, to find that there is something that explains _me_. And when I saw your thoughts, you did not dislike me or think that I was broken in some way. You wished you could be like me, though you felt sorry for what you knew I had endured when things went badly. That perspective is what colored my thoughts when I began reading. You are very kind, Earlene, and I am very fortunate to know you. I wanted to...tell you, because I feel better now, for having learned. Happier. And I owe that to you.”

 

While it was not making a very good showing on her part, she could do no more than look at him with her lips parted in astonishment. “The part of me that is not speechless would say that you are welcome. But most of me _is_ speechless.” She smiled weakly. “I guess this is what I get, for having decided that you should not hear about this from me. Perhaps I had no right to make that choice, to deny you information about yourself. I did not know what to do, what was right. Only your happiness mattered to me, and if you have found it in greater measure on account of my mortal foolishness, then I too will be happy.”

 

The outer door wrenched open, as Thranduil stormed into the room, coming to a halt near them. For a moment, they all stared at each other, trying to understand. Earlene could see that he’d hurried back and his agitation, but had no concept as to why. It was obvious that he had heard their conversation as he heard most everything, but why would what was said here cause him to appear so….what even _was_ that look? Being flustered? Worry? Regret? She was at a loss, as she saw his shoulders sag. And Thanadir appeared to be just as confused. “My King?” he asked, not knowing what was the matter.

 

Thranduil knelt before Thanadir, further increasing the elf’s bewilderment. “I must add to this discussion, though I never believed I would. When we went to stay at the sea-side, Ratiri spoke to me, having made many of the same observations as Earlene. And as I listened, meldir, I realized how badly I have failed you. What you have endured because of my ignorance, and my judgements. I told you that your mistakes were a blight, and I would give anything not to have said those words. I too did not understand, Thanadir, but I do now. I meant never to speak to you, and only ensure that you were protected from future situations that could cause you difficulty, while doing all I could to let you understand that you are loved, and cherished. And now I see I was wrong even in this. Please forgive me. I would never have survived, without you. And while I did what I felt was right at the time, I must now live with the knowledge of how cruelly I treated you.”

 

Thanadir rose up, his cheeks coloring. This was entirely too much. “This is not what I want!” he said, his voice almost angry. “I am not a...glass container, that will fall on the floor and shatter.” And just as quickly he sat down again, vaguely horrified that he had all but shouted at his King. “I am sorry,” he said, fear and sadness coming over him.

 

“Both of you. Stop it. Right now.” Earlene’s voice cut through both of them like a knife. “Thranduil, sit next to him”. She glared at them. “Now, please,” was added when he did not appear to be moving quickly enough to suit her. “What you are both trying to say is that you each love the other, and that you regret what happened in the past. But now we all know more than we did before, and will all work to take better care of the other. That is all there is. We will move forward. No needless guilt, no feeling shame for what was beyond anyone’s control. Give each other a big hug, while we all thank the Valar that we are blessed enough to have such love in our lives.” _While I wonder how it is I can possibly speak more inappropriately or impulsively than I have just done, however noble the cause_ she thought, biting her lip. This was obviously relayed silently to the seneschal, because both ellyn burst into laughter. They hugged each other, with her sandwiched in the middle once they had shifted her around as though she had the weight of a ball of yarn. She tried to pretend she was grumpy, but was convincing no one, and in the end laughed too. “I love you both, more than I can say.”

 

“I will bring tea,” said Thanadir, his merriment heard all the way to the door.

  


******

 

Mairead and Big Jamie spent the ride back to Baile wondering just how the hell they were to put this to their respective spouses. Neither Kevin nor Orla were stupid; they’d want answers, details. This was going to require a bit of outright lying, which would not be pleasant, or easy -- and they were lies that would have to last forever. There would be no disclosure after the fact, and _that_ was hard.

 

The children would probably find it exciting; even Shannon wouldn’t mind missing time at uni to spend a while lazing about in southern France. The’d have all the amenities they’d be lacking in the Halls -- though quite honestly, both Mairead and  Jamie wouldn’t have minded staying there, if it were just them.

 

Orla and Kevin, though...what a nightmare this would be, if only a private one. That was a heavy secret to keep from one’s spouse, especially when one had to keep it forever.

 

Ratiri dropped them both off at their respective homes, then drove out to the cottage. This was possibly the last night they’d stay here for months, though hopefully it wouldn’t stretch on longer than a year. He couldn’t even imagine what they’d do if it did.

 

Lorna roused herself when he parked, yawning and stretching. Her back cracked like a line of firecrackers.

 

“Lovely,” he said, helping her out. He poked up the fire in the stove while she put the kettle on, looking troubled.

 

“What is it, mo chroí?” he asked, drawing her to the sofa.

 

“Sometimes I feel like I fail at...adulting,” she sighed, curling up beside him. “Seems like half the things I do are wrong, and I don’t see it coming until I’ve already done it.”

 

“You mean your hand?” he asked, taking it in his.

 

“Not just that,” she said, “though that’s part’v it. My logic makes sense to me, but not to anyone else, and Christ am I good at putting my foot in it.” Without even saying a word aloud, either. “For all I can be good at reading people, I sure as hell don’t understand them, and then I go and hurt them _because_ I don’t understand.” There were times, and they were growing ever more frequent, that she wondered darkly if she hadn’t been better off alone. You couldn’t hurt people through your own ignorance if you didn’t let them close enough to begin with.

 

Mairead and Big Jamie had always accepted her as she was. Conversation with them wasn’t a potential emotional minefield, as it seemed to be with Earlene and the Elves (still a good band name, dammit). She knew Ratiri thought some of her ideas and traits to be odd, but he didn’t hold them against her, and she’d have known if any of them hurt him. Ratiri was an open book to her, direct and without pretense; she knew him, knew what he liked and disliked, what he did and did not appreciate. There was much they didn’t have in common, but surprisingly quite a bit that they did, for all their lives had been so different.

 

But with Earlene and the Elves...lately, it seemed like everything she did was wrong. She had no idea how to fix it, either, because every time she thought she had, she went and screwed something else up. It was...exhausting, and Lorna didn’t know what to do. There had to be _something_ , though, given they were all going to be in the same place for God knew how long.

 

“You’re trying, Lorna,” Ratiri said, coiling her hair around his fingers. “Don’t beat yourself up. You started out at more of a disadvantage than you likely realize.”

 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m still fucking up now,” Lorna said. At least she was cognizant enough to realize that this was partly hormonal -- she never got maudlin like this under normal circumstances, but her damn body was betraying her. “And we’ll be back there, and that son’v a bitch might come do _anything_ to this cottage, and…”

 

Her eyes fell shut, and she fell silent. She’d spoken very little of Von Ratched to Ratiri thus far, mainly because she had no words for it herself. Talking with Thranduil had helped her, yeah, but nothing was going to fix it all right off. This was a minefield, too. Lorna didn’t want people worried about her when there was so much else going on, when they didn’t have the time for it, but if she kept it to herself, people got pissed at her. Which was it? Could she win at all? This was her god damn best attempt to make the lives of those she cared about easier, and all her efforts wound up doing were causing pain. She didn’t want to hurt the people she cared about -- didn’t want to be a burden, too ignorant, too limited, to understand those around her.

 

Maybe it would be better for all concerned if she’d never met them. She loved them dearly, and was fairly sure she was doing nothing at all to help right now.

 

“Lorna, you know this is your hormones,” Ratiri said gently.

 

“Doesn’t make it suck any less. Christ knows I’ll just get worse anyway.” She was already edging into the ‘weird cravings’ end of things. “I wish…” No, she couldn’t wish that. She wouldn’t even think of it.

 

“You wish what?” he asked, still stroking her hair.

 

“I wish we could go to France, too,” she sighed, resting her forehead against the crook of his shoulder. “I know we can’t -- pregnancy and all that -- but I don’t hurt Mairead and Jamie. I don’t fuck up around them. I don’t look at them and see that tiny flicker of _pain_ and know it’s my fault it’s there.”

 

“Lorna, people hurt one another, all the time,” he said. “In a thousand ways, every day, because most of us can’t read minds. It’s part of life. You learn from the hurts you deal, and the hurts you receive, and you move on. Mairead and Jamie didn’t do you any favors, insulating and isolating you as they did. You’re discovering at forty what most people go through at twenty.”

 

She looked up at him. “You’ve never hurt me,” she pointed out.

 

“Not yet, no, but give it time,” he said. “I’ll stick my foot in it sooner or later. Honestly, I’m rather shocked I haven’t done it already.”

 

Lorna smiled a little. “Done everything a bit late, haven’t? Is it this hard when you’re twenty?”

 

“Probably not quite,” he said meditatively, “simply because at that point your entire peer group is going through the same thing. But it isn’t easy no matter what your age. Lorna, I know what it is, to want to shut the world out because it’s too complex, and can so easily cause you pain. I did it for fifteen years, and it’s no way to live.”

 

“I know it’s not,” she sighed. “I know it in my head, but right now I just...urgh.”

 

“Right now your hormones are on a downswing,” he said, kissing her temple and rising to get the screaming kettle off the burner. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had some tea and a good sleep. But I’ll give you this to chew on, mo chroí: when someone loves you, they accept that sooner or later you’ll hurt them, and vice versa. I wish someone had taught you that years ago.”

 

“But I did know,” she said, “sort’v. Mairead and I, we’ve had our ups and downs...but she’s my sister. That kind’v goes with the territory.”

 

“And you call Thranduil your brother from another mother,” Ratiri pointed out, putting some herbal tea to steep in the pot.

 

That actually  made her laugh. “Yeah, but I don’t know if he thinks’v me as a sister from another mister,” she retorted. She sighed again, rubbing her abdomen. “Let me tell you, it’ll be a lot easier to get a handle on all this when I’ve not got two cantaloupes in my gut. Not making anything easier, are you?” she asked of her stomach. “You’d better be cute, you hear me? Especially considering your Uncle Thranduil might have to deliver you, and that’s just a whole other level’v weird I really don’t need to be thinking about right now. Only guy I want seeing my snatch is your da.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing, carrying the tea things to the coffee table. “If it’s at all possible, I’ll endeavor to do that myself,” he promised. “I’m not an obstetrician, but I know how it works.”

 

“It would be appreciated,” Lorna said, still rubbing her abdomen as she looked around the cottage. At least it was built to last; it could probably sit empty a decade and be none the worse for wear. Sooner or later Von Assclown would be dead, and they could come home and put up a second storey, and everything would be as it should be. Little Allanah could come to play when they were her and not at Earlene’s, and have a chance to be around human children who would know nothing of her parentage.

 

“Our poor son,” she said, shaking her head as she poured tea. “Surrounded by girls on all sides...I hope there are some lads in Lasg’len he can make friends with.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll live,” Ratiri said, pouring his own tea and sitting beside her again. “Maybe Earlene will want more children, and have a son.”

 

Lorna stared at him. “Are you kidding me? Look how miserable she is now. Unless she contracts selective amnesia, she probably won’t want to repeat this any more than I do. Especially if she carries her kids a full year.”

 

Ratiri grimaced. “All right, you’ve got a point. Either way, our son will survive.” He paused. “Though I do hope he doesn’t inherit your height.”

 

Lorna eyed him. Unfortunately for him, he’d set his teacup down -- unfortunately, because it meant she had no compunction about attacking his sides with her fingers, tickling away.

 

“If I piss on your couch, it’s your fault,” he said, trying desperately to speak around his laughter.

 

“Oh, you haven’t had nearly _that_ much tea,” she retorted, but had mercy. Leaning back, she sighed again. “Have we got everything? Everything we wouldn’t want Von Arsewipe to get his icky hands on? As much as I’d love to take the furniture, it’s just not practical.”

 

“I think we’re as ready as we can be,” he said. “Drink your tea and let’s go to bed.”

 

“Bit early for that, isn’t?” she asked.

 

Ratiri arched an eyebrow. “I said ‘bed’, mo chroí, not ‘sleep’.”

 

“In that case, let’s chug.”

 

*************

 

In a concession to Earlene’s seemingly insatiable curiosity, early on the morning of November 7th they were at the cottage, careful and alert. Thranduil and Thanadir had agreed that no mortal would be out of immediate sight of them, outside of the cottage, for any reason. There would be no more chances at the kind of mistake that could have cost Earlene her life, even though they had no reason to believe that Von Ratched was anywhere near. Earlene set the television onto one of the BBC channels that was reporting returns for the US Election; polls had closed in the western United States only one hour ago, at 4 am Ireland time.

 

“Really?” said Earlene, crestfallen. Though why, she couldn’t say, because there was not going to be a pleasing result to this contest regardless. “Well, looks like the media couldn’t have been more wrong this time.” She’d kept out of the discussions, following the forecasts only to a minimal degree. The only certainty was that America had become spectacularly polarized, and would remain thus regardless of this outcome. They had tea, and Thranduil and Thanadir cooked a respectable breakfast under Earlene’s tutelage from the chair. They would not allow her up for more than a few moments, but she had taught Thanadir one success: biscuits. She had shown him how to use the food processor to mix the dough and he had become very good at this method. Thranduil fried a rasher of bacon and made scrambled eggs. With that and some cheese, they had all the makings of breakfast sandwiches. And Earlene blushed at one point, because as long as she lived, she was not going to forget just how erotic one breakfast moment in here had been. Thranduil looked up from his cooking, smiling beatifically at her, though the gleam in his eye was somewhat less pure in nature.

 

“Well, fuck,” she said with finality a few hours later. “The odds of this outcome changing are statistically nonexistent. So it’s President….” She could not pronounce it aloud. With a sigh, she changed the television to Sean the Sheep. Her own ballot had come in the mail, and she had stared at it for weeks, finally casting her vote for Finwë, one-time High King. As Finwë was safe in Valinor, she decided it was a reasonable choice. And while she’d considered voting for Thranduil, she loved her husband too much to wish that mess on him. _Better one of the Noldor, who were far more accustomed to drastic upheaval._

 

“Were you like, the one sane American?” Lorna asked. “You left and the country lost its mind?” Apparently the old slogan was true: _anyone_ really could become President in America. She was really hoping this was some sort of sick joke, but she highly doubted it.

 

Ratiri shook his head, but said nothing. He kept more in touch with the political reality of Europe, owing mainly to his profession, and he didn’t even want to _know_ what ripple effect this was going to have. The United States held a great deal of influence outside of its borders, but if this Cheeto in a bad toupee got elected, it was going to lose much of it. “Scotland roasted on him Twitter, you know,” he said at last. “He passed through and made some ignorant comment about Brexit, and we skewered him.” Brexit, admittedly, had been part of why Ratiri had left; yes, Scotland had voted to remain, but that might not help them much in the long run.

 

“Evidently not enough,” Lorna snorted. “I wonder how long it’ll take someone to assassinate him? I hear John Hinckley, Jr. got released from prison this year. Maybe this time he’ll succeed.” Morbid? Yes. Did she care? No.

 

Earlene interjected. “The thing is, Lorna, the country is becoming ungovernable in so many ways. It’s never been perfect, but we’re reaching a new place, about which many thinking persons are very unhappy. It isn’t liberal versus conservative, or Democrat versus Republican...the issues run so much deeper. It would not have mattered who won. And I for one am glad that I am now elsewhere.” She shook her head. “If we go back anywhere in the States again, it’ll be only for a holiday. That lot’ve got to live with this mess. I can only envision the reverberations this will have on my field. There will be a new Supreme Court Justice nominated, and...no thanks.”

 

“I wonder how many people will try to emigrate to Europe,” Ratiri said. “ _That_ might well turn...messy. If I was American and I had the means to do so, I wouldn’t waste my time about it. Get out before Oompa Loompa can put his foot in his mouth so deep he shits out his own shoe.”

 

Lorna looked at him and burst out laughing. “That was very Irish’v you,” she said. “Let me guess, Big Jamie?”

 

“...Maybe,” he said, looking faintly sheepish. “I’m rather glad we’re in Ireland, all things considered -- and I’m glad I got here before this horror show could get started. I think everyone’s going to clamp down on immigration from all over, at least for a while, until we see what this lunatic has in store.”

 

“If we’re lucky, a heart attack,” Lorna said. “Take a look at him.”

 

“I know,” Ratiri said. “Even underneath all the orange, that is not the complexion of a healthy man. I’ll lay money he has a massive coronary within the first year, once he realizes the fun times are now over and he actually has to work.”

 

Earlene privately thought that if that happened to the majority of Congress and the Cabinets, it might be off to a good start. Barring that, there was always another baboon to join the circus. Thanadir proudly announced breakfast, having been gone for a short time. He had returned with frothing, fresh milk from Buttercup, and made hot cocoa with it from scratch as a treat for all of them. “Meldir, I love you,” Earlene said, savoring every drop of this gloriously chocolatey concoction that was heated to perfection. He smiled kindly, but she could tell he was very pleased with himself. Afterward, they watched some movies, enjoying the rare treat of being in the cottage. The sound of an engine stilled near the driveway, causing all of them to stop the film and look up. “I think that’d be the post,” Earlene said. “It’s about the right time.”

 

“Has anyone ordered anything?” Lorna asked, while Thanadir went to fetch it. She and Ratiri had been getting various things off Amazon for the last few months, and it was easier to have it sent to here than Baile, where they might or might not be at any given time.

 

“Something addressed to both of you,” Thanadir said -- Earlene’s hands were occupied, so he handed it to Lorna. It was a plain cardboard carton, with nothing but a shipping label and a customs stamp on it. No return address.

 

“Weird,” she said, fishing a knife out of her handbag and cutting the packing tape. Inside it, nestled among packing peanuts, were two smaller boxes -- one addressed to her, and the other to Earlene. Lorna passed Earlene’s to Thanadir and opened hers, even more puzzled.

 

In it was a lovely hairbrush -- it looked antique, and was so heavy she suspected it was backed with real silver, not some imitation. There was no note, however. “What in God’s bloody name?” she said, turning it over, as though she might find some tiny clue as to who had sent it, or why.

 

Earlene looked at her box. “Can I borrow that knife?” she asked, taking it from an obliging and curious Thanadir. Whatever was inside was heavy, for its size. Her frown deepened when she saw that it was a gold pocket watch, the kind a man would have, on a long and presumably expensive fob. It appeared to be quite old, with elaborate engraving, and yet there were odd stains on it. She depressed the latch release and it sprang open. ‘Jack Oehlert’ was written in the gold. Incomprehension gave way to understanding and an instant clouding of her features with both revulsion and anger. She wanted to throw it through the window, but could not, for she knew what this was. Her hand closed around it and she turned to hold Thanadir and began sobbing. The baffled elf instinctively held her close.

 

Lorna looked at her, and at Thranduil, clueless and helpless. _What’s she got? What’s wrong?_

  


Earlene felt her hand being gently pried at. _Meluieg, please, give it to me?_ The object was released into his hand as he silently explained to the others. _This is John Oehlert’s pocket watch. I see in Earlene’s thoughts that it was something he carried with him always; it belonged to his grandfather, who earned it at the end of a life of very hard work after bringing his family to America. It was John’s reminder of his family, on whose shoulders he believed he had climbed to achieve his own success. I do not think it needs explaining, whence this came._

 

Oh, _Jesus_ ...that just made the hairbrush all the more baffling, but that wasn’t what mattered right now. _Tell her this, when she’s in any fit state to hear it,_ Lorna said, grief lancing through her. _That fucker thought he’d use this to hurt her, but she’s the one John’d want to have the thing, I’m sure. Once it’s no longer a horror to her, it’ll be a reminder of somebody she loved._ Christ, that lovely man...of course he’d carried a pocket watch. Proud of his heritage, his family...Irish in everything but the land he was born in.

 

Thanadir whispered to Earlene softly in Sindarin. She was already trying to compose herself, nodding in agreement at whatever he was saying to her, even as new tears splashed from her eyes. The elf continued his words, rubbing her back, and soon she was wiping her face on her sleeve before Thranduil held out a damp cloth to Thanadir, to whom he nodded in grateful approval. It made him very happy, the bond that these two shared. Just as he and Lorna had shared a similar kind of negative life experience in common, he understood that the same held true for his seneschal and his wife. Shared misfortune could create powerful sympathy, and comfort in times of distress. When she felt a little better, Earlene turned to him of her own accord, her eyes now flashing more with anger. “I wish what I did could have killed him. So much,” was all she could say. No one present was about to disagree. And now that her own moment of intense grief was past, she looked at the hairbrush with her brow furrowed. That it meant something, she was certain, but she did not really wish to ask.

 

Lorna had no such compunction. “What’s with this?” she asked of the world in general, holding it up. “Earlene’s make a fucking horrible sort’v sense, but a hairbrush?”

 

A brief look of discomfort passed over Thranduil’s face. _Eru, not again,_ he thought.

 

Lorna looked at him. _Thranduil, please, just tell me. I can handle it, and I’ll always wonder otherwise._

 

“He liked your hair. Very much. The feel and scent of it. He...enjoyed himself brushing it. I am sorry,” he said, wondering at the ongoing ability of this man to extract harm from his assaults.

 

Under any other circumstances, Lorna’s flail as she tossed the thing away would have been comical. “Oh, _ew_ ,” she said, shuddering, shivers of revulsion crawling up her spine. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. I don’t suppose we could just...return to sender?” No, there was no return address. Shit. “Well, it’s an antique. Maybe Mary’d like it, so long’s we don’t tell her the story behind it.” She let Ratiri pull her down into his arms. She’d have him brush her hair later, because he was Ratiri and she actually _wanted_ him to touch her. In this case, with this one thing, Von Wretched could suck it. As Sarah said in _Labyrinth_ , ‘ _my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. You have no power over me’._

 

“Am I the only one who wants to go back to the Halls now?” Earlene asked, sorry to have had her interest in watching films dissolve and yet feeling that if there was a day to have be ruined, it may as well be this one, which had been sort of… _pre_ -ruined.

 

“Not remotely,” Lorna said, gingerly picking the hairbrush up with two fingers and dropping it back in the box. “Anybody know Mary’s address? Drop this in the post so it’s not here any longer than it has to be.” Squick. Squick, squick, _squick_.

 

“Leave it in the spare room for right now, Lorna. When Thanadir goes to town next he will take it. It’d take a half an hour to do the online package postage shite and it isn’t worth it. If you don’t want it in the house, perhaps Thanadir would be kind enough to run it out to the barn, and set it into the bicycle basket. It won’t be forgotten, trust me.” She turned to Thranduil. “Someday, that watch will be a cherished remembrance. But if you could keep it somewhere, for now. I just really can’t be looking at it yet. He’s got no other family, else I’d send it on to them.” No more was said, lest she start crying again.

 

Lorna was quiet a moment. “No,” she said thoughtfully, picking up the brush again. “I love how he thinks he’ll freak me out with this shite. He thinks he’s got that over me, and over you, Thranduil, since he has to know I’d ask about these things. He wants to break both’v us, and you know what? Fuck him. This can sit right here until I give it to Mary.” She looked at Thranduil. “He’s not doing this to either’v us again.”

 

“You know, you’re right,” Earlene said. “Fuck him, and the plane he flew in on. Now I don’t care what we do. Stay here, go back, whatever. I’m not letting him influence my day. He’s a fly on Buttercup’s cow patty, and a sickly one at that.”

 

“I,” Lorna said, levering herself to her feet, “need a wee, and then I need a walk. Trump the Chump left a bad taste in my mouth even before this shite.” Literally -- but then, she actually had felt a little bile rise at Thranduil’s explanation of the brush. Gross. “I just wish the chickens were still little fuzzy things, not big bastards that try to eat my toenails every time I go out there.” Rubbing the small of her back, she half-walked, half-waddled her way into the toilet, really wishing she could have some vodka right now.

 

Ratiri eyed the brush like it was a snake. In truth, it seemed like he was more upset by it than Lorna, but he was quite capable of keeping it to himself. “I’ll go with her,” he said, rising himself. “But I’m taking this with me.” He picked up his mug of cocoa, and waited until Lorna emerged to hand her hers. They clinked mugs, and sipped, and Lorna didn’t bother trying to restrain a burp.

 

“There, that was for him,” she said. “I’ll dedicate my next fart his direction, too.”

 

Thranduil shook his head, but he smiled. “After you,” he gestured, ready to follow whichever direction this walk would take. He looked back to see that Earlene and Thanadir were thumb wrestling, with both their faces rapt in intense concentration.

Lorna set down her cocoa before she left, snagging a bottle of fizzy water from the fridge. She led Ratiri and Thranduil out to the barn, chugging as she went, and when they were far enough away that she wouldn’t scandalize Earlene and Thanadir, she belched, rather impressively, “FUCK YOUUUU.” A pause, another chug, “IN THE EEEEAAR.”

 

Ratiri utterly lost it, laughing so hard he had to lean against the wall of the barn, while Lorna took an exaggerated bow. “Thank you, I’m here all week,” she said, followed by a smaller burp. “I’m an adult, I promise.”

 

Thranduil stood with his hand covering his mouth, wanting to laugh as hard as Ratiri but refusing to allow it. _Eru, what has happened to my life?_ And yet he knew the answer. In spite of all the danger they faced, he would not trade this in for what he had a year ago. For anything.

 


	50. Fifty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 14, 2016

Earlene looked up from the intricate fabric tassel Thanadir had taught her to weave; a six-stranded sennit that would decorate some bells that had been scavenged from an ancient harness. “I feel like shit for having asked for this tree, Lorna,” she confided, since the ellyn were gone from the room and so was Ratiri, whose eye for logical solutions had been commandeered earlier in the day. “Or rather, these _trees_.” Lothiriel sat with them, the lovely elleth who had been assigned some weeks ago to care for Allanah when Thanadir could not be present, and to help the firith as well. But as she spoke almost no English, the topic was safe from her ears. “I’d no idea they’d have to go to Dublin to get these things, that they would weigh what they weigh, and that it would take an act of god to return them here.” She shook her head.

 

A few weeks ago she’d decided she wanted a holiday tree very badly, and it was going to be Allanah’s first birthday. But when she told the ellyn of the custom of bringing in a cut conifer, they had both blanched. A fake tree was useless without electricity, since all the good ones now had fiber optic lights. So, that left only one real option; Earlene had special-ordered living fir trees. First they chose a large one, grown in a wooden container. The tree itself would be between five and six feet, but with the height of the container that held the root ball, it would be a fairly substantial specimen. As the discussions commenced, it became apparent that if they were to share their holiday with all the elves, _two_ trees would be required. The larger one would reside in the Dining Hall for the enjoyment of all, while a smaller and far more manageable tree would be brought for their family, to have in their quarters. And afterward, if Thranduil allowed it, the trees could be planted...somewhere.

 

“I wouldn’t,” Lorna said. “They took it as a challenge, because all men are the same, even if they’re elves. Gave them something to do and got them out’v the house.” Oh, how she wished _she_ could get out of the house; yes, the caverns were huge and beautiful, but there were things about the human world she missed. She knew, though, why it wasn’t an option -- but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Laughing, she shook her head. “I tried to get a Christmas tree home on my motorcycle one year. In a rainstorm. Not a wise idea.”

 

Earlene simply stared at her, wondering vaguely why anything Lorna had done in the past was capable of surprising her. “God my life was dull, compared to yours,” was all she could manage, trying to imagine a fir tree on said motorcycle. “Ok, I have to ask. How did you even mount the thing on the bike?” Because her best solution would have been to strap the thing along the frame of the vehicle and sit on it, and the thought of tree needles up her lady bits really wasn’t settling too well.

 

Lorna, somewhat sheepishly, said, “Okay, I want to preface this by saying it wasn’t a long trip or at high speeds, and I didn’t have a terribly good understanding of the drag that would happen. I tied the bottom of it to the back fender, the top of it to the handles on really long string, and just sort’v...sat under it. I’d figured I’d be going so slow it wouldn’t matter -- it was just through the village and out to the cottage. Yeah, nope. I got a valuable lesson in physics that day, and Mairead has laughed at me ever since. I wouldn’t call your life dull, I’d call it sane.”

 

No response was possible, except a nod. Earlene turned to Lothiriel, and with her usual reluctance said, “Boe padad,” (it is necessary to walk) reaching for her hands. It was a phrase even Lorna had learned well, because both of them became uncomfortable quickly, and the only relief they could find was in walking around the room a bit before that too became a lost cause. They had both reached a girth that made standing up unassisted very difficult, and Ratiri and Thranduil both insisted they ask for help. Lothiriel was much stronger than both of them combined on a good day, and swiftly helped her to her feet with a look of sympathy. “Ú-onnen gwanûn, a gad mimp roen i gant nîn thiant sui hen” (I did not bear twins, and at eleven months my shape appeared like this).

 

 _Please Eru, not twelve months. It cannot….it just...cannot._ But she said nothing aloud. _You wanted this,_ she reminded herself for the nth time. She took a deep breath, holding her own abdomen, and walked, trying to take steps that stretched her muscles. And it was perhaps five minutes later, that she had to return to her usual throne on the sofa. Lorna, for her part, reigned from an armchair with an ottoman. Yes, there they were, Queens over the Living Rooms. When her walking had become more limited, Thanadir had insisted she try different kinds of exercise. He would help her into her swimwear (without which her bust became a roadblock to progress) and then the pool, which was large enough, and required her to do things like kick against the water while he kept her from going anywhere and...all sorts of strange things, really. But the water took away so much of the weight of her pregnancy, and she was able to do things like jog in place and swing her submerged limbs in rapid movements, using the resistance of the water. He also required her to pull and push against his hold on her arms or legs; and his regimen was demanding to the point where she would be out of breath and quite tired at the end. Thranduil was privately very grateful for this, because only Thanadir could manage it. Earlene would have probably tried to strangle him in his sleep had he asked the same of her, and yet she did what the seneschal asked without more than an occasional glare. She tried to be civil to all, but her temper had become far shorter and more unpredictable.

 

Earlene and Lorna would trade off with the pool, and lift weights while the other was in it. It had been Ratiri’s idea to keep up their upper body strength, even though they couldn’t do much else besides swim. Fortunately, Lorna’s fear of water had been dealt with months ago, but she had rather the same issues as Earlene: Ratiri insisted she push as far as she safely could, and he’d endured more than one episode of snarling Irish invective. Unfortunately, he had his own version of Thanadir’s Puss in Boots eyes, so she couldn’t stay mad at him, which meant she got pissed at everything else, inevitably spent about fifteen minutes maudlin, then just wanted pickles. So, so many pickles. As of this week, the pickles included barbecue sauce for dipping.

 

Ugh, she just wanted this to be _over_ , and she still had three more bloody months. At least she wasn’t like poor Earlene, though she felt rather terrible for feeling grateful for thinking it. “I’m wondering more than ever why any woman does this more than once,” she said, to the world in general. “I think elves’ve got the right idea, just having one.” At least she’d made many, many baby booties, and taken to sharpening knives when she couldn’t stand being domestic any longer. Ratiri cautiously let her throw them every so often, just to give her some walking exercise -- though not often, since it meant an elf had to carry her all that way. As time went on, she was less tempted to do it anyway, because her back started hurting so abominably in so short a time that it wasn’t worth it.

 

“I hope Thanadir remembers to take pictures,” Earlene said wistfully, wishing she could have gone with them to Dublin. But it was out of the question. She had given Thanadir her phone, which he had long since learned to use with ease, hoping she might gain at least a little idea of their day. And the hours dragged on. Eventually she had made all the sennits she could stand, and had to do something else. With a sigh, she picked up Thanadir’s Shakespeare book, that he often left here. Lorna had nodded off, apparently, and it was just as well, for eventually The Bard would do the same to her. While she loved to listen to this read aloud, as Thanadir had learned to do passably well, reading it as text was not so much fun. They’d even all joined together, some nights, sitting around and each taking a role. All of them stumbled at first over the strange older English, but after awhile they found the words and phrasing seemed rather normal. They would do their best to “act” the plays with only their voices, and invariably ended up with much to think about, and talk about. It was a way to pass the time, and had its own rewards. That and it was just damn funny, when one of them would begin a sentence with ‘Prithee.’

 

It was not long before “The Winter’s Tale” had sent Earlene to sleep as well. Lothiriel smiled and took the book from her, opening it to see the strange written characters and frowning. The illustrations were beautiful, and she wished to know what the book was about; she would have to ask Thanadir. Moreover, she determined to learn the mortals’ language; it was apparent that they were not going anywhere, and only two of them could speak any meaningful amount of Sindarin. She would like to talk to the one named Lorna, and she could not except through a translator. Both firith seemed very nice, albeit very miserable just now. She sighed, watching over the sleeping ones while her fingers turned the pages of the indecipherable book.

 

 _The longer this went on, the more often Lorna dreamed of being_ normal _again, not this lumbering land whale that could do nothing but be a useless lump. She dreamed of walking through the forest behind her cottage, free and unencumbered, with no protruding gut in her way. It was a lovely dream, the sun bright and warm around her, the scent of the forest hanging in the air...and of course she had to wake up from it all too soon._

 

Wake, curled on her side, for it was the only way she could sleep halfway comfortably anymore. She was still a land whale, still a useless lump, and just now, on a downswing of her hormones, she was profoundly depressed. She hated this, hated everything about it, and sometimes, when she hit the depths of these lows, she caught herself wishing it had never happened. Such thoughts never lasted; she truly did want these children, but sometimes her hormones got the best of her for a bit.

 

Looking at Lothiriel, she said, “Drauthas.” She was pretty sure it meant something like ‘fatigue’. She wished she knew enough of the language to express what she truly meant: it wasn’t just weariness of the body, but of the spirit. She felt like an arse, too, because women had been doing this for hundreds of thousands of years...but then, probably a great many of them had felt and did as she did now. She was by no means the only one who had hated everything, but she knew so damn little of this language, even now, that all she could say was ‘fatigue’. Much as she didn’t want to dump it all on Ratiri, she’d promised months ago to use her words, so use them she would, insofar as she was able. One of the problems she still retained was an inability to actually articulate the shite in her mind even to herself, but Ratiri was good at coaxing it out and giving her words to use. She really did not deserve that man, and did what she could to repay him.

 

Some random pain woke Earlene, who rubbed her eyes, and needed the toilet. This was so freakishly pathetic. “Lothiriel, elio nin?” (help me). It bothered her to no end that their language did not have an easy equivalent of ‘please’, because she was reduced to using a pleading tone of voice to try and express that. Saying ‘an i ‘ell nîn’ (for my joy) when goddamn nothing about it was joyful simply…. _grated_ . Otherwise, she felt rude beyond words, though both ellyn had reassured her that this kind of thinking did not enter the equation. Strong hands soon helped her to her feet. “Len hannon,” she said gratefully. At least they had _that_ part of good manner, so she could say ‘thank you’. Tottering off to the restroom, she always pondered Bridie’s words of advice from some months ago. More specifically, when she would finally manage to pee herself. There had been a few close calls, prevented probably only by what amounted to the iron strength of her pelvic floor muscles. An unanticipated urge to cough, or sneeze, was the worst kind of danger; though thankfully she’d not known so much as a light cold since coming to Thranduil.

 

Feeling relieved, she cleaned her hands, thinking of her husband. _I miss him. And I miss Thanadir._ Truthfully, she was almost never without one or both of them for a minute, and she was ashamed to admit she hated it. Her chin quivered. _Oh this is the goddamn end,_ she thought. _I am sitting here crying because two people went to town for an afternoon?_ And yet she could not stop. It was as if misery wanted to pour out of her, which made her grow more ashamed and filled with self-loathing by the minute. It was quite some time, before she re-emerged, thankful only that Lothiriel’s oversight did not extend to intruding into the restroom to check on her. She hadn’t really gotten going crying compared to what was possible, so perhaps no one would notice. Or rather, Lorna probably would notice, but she might not say anything, since she seemed to be just about as much in the dumpster herself.

 

Forcing herself to return, Earlene flopped down with a sigh. “There has to be a way not to go mad, with this. There has to be. A way to not be a pathetic, quivering mass of self-pity and annoyance. A way to have the soundtrack in my head not be one from a bad movie. All this time I’ve tried not talking about it, and that’s not working worth shit any more. Just, goddammit.” She stared stonily ahead, at a loss to answer her own rhetorical question.

 

Her words lifted Lorna out of her fog of depression. “If there is, I don’t know’v it, so we might have to...experiment, a bit. And holy shit, that did _not_ come out the way I meant it to.” The unintended entendre made her burst out laughing. “I mean we need to evade these well-meaning but overprotective males and do some shite for ourselves. Something aside from knitting, reading, and sharpening knives.” She didn’t yet know what that something else _was_ , but the pair of them were creative. They’d come up with something.

 

“You mean like go to the cellars, climb into an empty wine barrel, and make a break for Lake-Town?” Earlene quipped. And then she wondered. “Where in fuck did all those places go, anyway? Was there a Lonely Mountain somewhere? Because it sure doesn’t seem like it now.” A huge snort came out. “Maybe if we just laid down and rolled? I can’t stand being carried everywhere but what am I supposed to do, rollerblade? The floors here aren’t exactly good for that, and falling off the arches would be a one-way trip. But you know, I’d give a lot just for a simple wheelchair. Just to go to the table and back. Just to go down the hall without needing to be carried. To see what, I don’t know...but, come to think of it, the route between here and the Dining Hall should be wheelchair-safe. Those paths don’t go near the throne, no arches.”

 

“I want one of those motorized sofas,” Lorna said dreamily, “but I’d settle for a wheelchair. Although, building a sofa would at least give me something to do besides knit, and Thanadir’s always so damn curious about things. Even a wheelchair, though -- they’re not hard to get, and it’s not like the elves have trouble carrying things. We could get wheelchairs easily.” But she wanted -- oh, she _wanted_. She was going to look up the specs to build one next time she had actual internet access, and then she was going to get Ratiri to get her the parts, and then she was going to build a god damn motorized armchair. And she’d even give it an engine powerful enough to be street legal. How she would get it out of the forest, she had no idea, but there was time to plan.

 

“Far be it from me to rain on your parade,” she grinned, thinking privately that that was the most absurd thing she could think of for transport in the Irish countryside. Not to mention the forest. “But...maybe a wheelchair isn’t beyond question. And yet I hate to turn this place upside down for something that won’t last forever. Oh, I’ll have to think about it.” _What really sounded good was an Olympic sized heated swimming pool, and then she could be somewhere and go further than two feet under her own power with grace and elegance._ A very hard kick from one of the girls only served to emphasize how much none of that fantasy was going to be happening. _Please come back soon,_ hovered at the forefront of her mind.

 

******

 

As they motored down the M7, Ratiri was still unable to believe what he had just witnessed. When they arrived at the nursery, they were greeted by understandably skeptical workers who took one look at them, another at the van, and then at the trees. And each other. Ratiri, at Thranduil’s silent suggestion, managed to convince the employees that he needed to verify which payment card had been used for the transaction (Earlene had sent hers with him, having tried to think of every conceivable thing that might go awry). When they all returned five minutes later, the potted trees were in the van, and two smiling and generally innocent looking males appeared as though nothing unusual whatsoever had just happened.

 

“How’d you manage it?” the one whose name tag identified him as Ian asked, in complete disbelief. The larger of the two containers had to have weighed in the vicinity of 275 lbs. , and that was before rainy weather had added the weight of moisture to the root ball. Thanadir and Thranduil looked at each other blankly before Ratiri came to the rescue.

 

“They work out,” he said, hoping the vague answer would somehow fly. “If there’s nothing more, we’ll be off, then?” Nods sent them back into the van expeditiously, with Thanadir somehow managing to weave around the larger of the two trees in order to find a seat. As it was, the rear view mirror showed an elf head sticking up out of branches.

 

Ratiri bit the inside of his cheek, somehow managing not to laugh. He flexed his rather sore right hand, grimacing a little. “I hate to say this,” he said, pulling out of the car park, “but I needed a bit of a break. Lorna’s hit a point in her pregnancy I never thought any man would regret, but good _grief_. I’m almost relieved when she’s moody.”

 

“I forget, how advantageous it is to have Thanadir. Not for _that_ , of course, but to help. It is taking a great deal of effort to keep Earlene even vaguely comfortable. Their feet, their backs, their legs...I do not honestly see how humans have populated the earth to this extent, if this is what your females must endure to give birth. And I cringe to think of what women experience who do not have helpful partners, or who have worse complications. Though I would not dare speak it to either one of them, they have had an easy time of it thus far.”

 

“Alassëa struggled as much as Earlene,” Thanadir pointed out. “Earlene has been much like an elleth, in all this.”

 

“Some women have it easier than others,” Ratiri said. “Those that keep the babies, at any rate. I was so nervous at first with Lorna’s because one-third of human pregnancies will spontaneously miscarry, often before the woman even knows she’s pregnant, and twins at a higher ratio than that. Lorna, at her size, carrying twins, is at a hopeless disadvantage. I just wish she would focus more on eating pickles and less on, er, bedroom things. A human man can only handle _that_ so many times in one day. She’ll pass out of it in a month or so, thank God, or she might kill me. I’m forty-two, not twenty-two -- but then, at least it’s a little while she’s not uncomfortable and miserable, so I shouldn’t complain quite so much.”

 

Thranduil frowned. “I will likely regret asking this but...the item that Lorna did not wish to have from her friend Siobhan...are there not...contrivances, that might provide you a respite?” He shook his head. “I confess the item has yet to be...explored. Earlene has seemed disinterested in such things in favor of, ah, what is ordinary.”

 

Thanadir’s eyebrows went up. Though some part of him wished to find this conversation unseemly, his King was wed, and he had every right to discuss these matters if he chose. And as it was not something to which he ever gave thought, it was somewhat...illuminating. It had not occurred to him that females might wish for marital affection when they were with child. And especially not that they might wish it to the point of being demanding.

 

Thranduil saw the play of thoughts across his seneschal’s face, and took pity on him. “You must understand, meldir, the gift of Eru provides an extreme amount of physical enjoyment for both male and female. This pleasure allows for freedom from pain and discomfort for mortals, though only briefly. And because of the the way the female body changes as the children grown, there is an influence on the mind to seek out this comfort in excess of what is usual. You have seen how much Earlene struggles with her emotions, and her clarity of thought. This is being done to her mind, by her body. She cannot help any of it; and in fact it is apparently how it was meant to be. I do not know how better to explain it, for you.”

 

“I don’t know if it’s the same with Elves as with humans,” Ratiri said, “but our emotions are largely governed by hormones and biochemicals -- processes that occur within the body, which are entirely apart from our cognitive experiences with the outside world. Pregnancy alters them, and is why women can seem so...volatile. It’s also why Lorna’s eating huge amounts of pickles and barbecue sauce. Quite honestly, both of them are handling it better than some of the women my colleagues treated over the years. One of my friends worked in A & E -- Accident and Emergency -- and had a man come through with a fork stabbed through his hand. His wife was eight months gone and he made some crack she evidently resented. A lot.” He grimaced. “As for those...things...I’ve seriously thought about ordering her something on Amazon. Problem is, I’m not a woman. I don’t know what sort of…” His face heated, and he said no more.

 

“Perhaps Earlene could help, discreetly,” Thranduil said, though with a grave measure of uncertainty. “She at least shares the same...anatomy.”

 

Thanadir considered that while the idea of such overwhelming pleasure was intriguing on some level, it sounded like a great many regrettable complications went along with this privilege. And as there were chocolate desserts, he felt comfortable with the conclusion that he was not really missing out on anything he could not live without, if he had managed for over eighteen thousand years as a single ellon.

 

Thought of asking Earlene was rather humiliating, but Ratiri’s hand by now experienced random bouts of cramping, and he was having back problems. Still… “I don’t know that I could ask her that myself,” he said, wincing a bit. “But if you wouldn’t mind…” Earlene was Thranduil’s wife; she probably wouldn’t mind being asked those questions if they came from him. “And I really wish Lorna’s cravings would shift. Pickles, pickles, pickles and barbecue sauce coupled with green tea and blueberry...I don’t know how she can stomach it.”

 

“I will agree that that sounds lacking in nutritional merit,” grimaced Thranduil. Though he had tried each and found them reasonably likable, both at once seemed vaguely horrifying. “I suppose I should consider myself fortunate that Earlene has not evidenced these sorts of desires.”

 

Thanadir remembered something. “I am sorry, Thranduil, I have only just now recalled something. Earlene asked if we could go to a larger grocery store. There were some items she wished.”

 

“Which were?” the King asked.

 

“Apples, peanut butter, and something called marzipan. Or a kind of holiday bread called Stollen. She wrote them into her phone, perhaps I am not saying the words right.”

 

Ratiri laughed. “I know what all of those are. I hope you did not speak too soon, Thranduil.”

 

The King frowned. “Me too.”

 

“Still less obnoxious than pickles and barbecue sauce, though,” Ratiri said. “I’ll see if I can’t get her onto something less disgusting.” There was a supermarket not far away, according to his GPS, so he headed that direction, weaving through traffic rather less aggressively than normal. “She’s partial to blueberries, but they’re not in season. Have to see if this place has some anyway.” Fruit was healthy, after all. He’d get her ice cream if there was any way to keep it frozen that didn’t involve a half-hour’s walk to the cottage. “So what have you done for Earlene’s Christmas presents?” He’d ordered a multitude of things off Amazon for the lot of them over the last month, and though there was no keeping Thranduil from knowing what his would be, at least the others need not. Admittedly, Earlene and the Elves (and he was always going to consider it a wonderful band name, too, _thank you, Lorna_ ) were tough to shop for, because they had just about everything, but he’d managed some things. That plus wrapping paper and he was reasonably set.

 

“Thanadir and I have a terrible dilemma, with this,” he said, sighing. “In New York, Earlene had a discussion with Thanadir about music. She would like to learn an instrument, and he required her to tell him what would please her, though she tried to refuse. It was a harpsichord.” The name was said slowly, as though it did not roll easily off his tongue. “It required an unparalleled amount of scheming, to acquire. Lorna had to use her friends to locate such a thing, and use her own funds to hide the payment of it from Earlene, though she will of course be reimbursed. They are costly, and rare. Thanadir had to be shown how to tune it, since we cannot exactly bring other mortals to the Halls. Having it delivered, and carrying it the rest of the way without Earlene knowing was a feat. It is beautiful, and Thanadir has already acquired some proficiency at playing on it...but to give her this present when she now can barely move, and is so uncomfortable? It seems like a kind of cruelty. And yet it is the only thing I have to give, that she wanted but could not obtain on her own.”

 

Ratiri considered this as he pulled into the car park. “I wouldn’t call it a cruelty,” he said. “Rather, it gives her something to look forward to, and she can listen to Thanadir play for her. Anything new and distracting will be a help, but something she wanted so much? It would be welcome.” He’d never actually seen a harpsichord in person, and had no idea how in the hell even Lorna’s connections could have found one.

 

“Those are good points,” Thanadir said encouragingly. He had been trying to sway Thranduil to not worry so much about this, because he too felt that it would be favored greatly by Earlene. His own gifts were far simpler; his first quilt, made for her with a birch tree pattern. A pretty dress that would fit her now, and another that would fit her after the children came. And of course a little dress for Allanah. For his King he had done something much less elaborate and yet more heartfelt, but would not share that here, of course. For Lorna he too had made clothing, and a small quilted throw with a shamrock on it. And for Ratiri, he had laboriously prepared a writing set, with several quills that he had heat-treated and trimmed himself from saved feathers. There was an ancient inkpot to go with this, and something he had prepared on parchment by hand and framed; a visual demonstration of to how to correctly make each calligraphic letter stroke for the Tengwar alphabet. He hoped he had done well, in his efforts.

 

“All right, groceries,” Ratiri said, shutting off the engine. “I have to admit, being out under open sky is...odd. It almost makes me paranoid.” _Please, don’t let me be turning into a human mole._ He didn’t need agoraphobia.

 

Thanadir and Thranduil were slightly taken aback by what any human would generously label ‘holiday shopping madness’. They had never seen a grocery of any size other than the one in Lasg’len; this one was dozens times larger. And there were people everywhere, most of them looking harried and unhappy. They both kept close to Ratiri, even as they realized that they cut striking and noticeable figures in the aisles on account of their height alone. Thranduil did not know whether to laugh or cry, since the thoughts of those who saw them were either “Gorgeous”, “Poofters”, “Gypsy” (in Ratiri’s case) or just diffuse curiosity. He was fairly certain that for one or two middle-aged ladies, he had entirely made their day just by passing before their eyes. When he smiled beautifully at them, this notion was further confirmed. Fortunately what Earlene wanted was very easily located, and the Stollen and marzipan were apparently seasonal treats. Thranduil watched Thanadir’s face as he saw the assorted sweet treats for this time of year and told him to indulge in some more items. _Brother, or fourth child?_ He smiled, shaking his head.

 

Ratiri picked up two big boxes of blueberries, ignoring the exorbitant cost of such a fruit out-of-season, along with apples, honey, and unfortunately, more pickles and barbecue sauce. Ice cream might not be an option, but vanilla yogurt and assorted canned fruit was. He got some dipping caramel for the apples, too, just in case -- he really, really needed to get her to eat some fruit, even if it involved combining it with sweet things. He also grabbed some powdered Tang -- it kept longer than orange juice, and had plenty of calcium and vitamin C in it. Along with it went a case of fizzy water, because she’d just started craving carbonation in the last few days...and his cart was full. When the _hell_ had that happened? Oh well.

 

The lot of them found a line, waiting patiently while those around them waited not-so-patiently. Ratiri really didn’t understand why so many people were in such a damned _hurry_ \-- was there anything in their lives that justified it?

 

It was with a sense of relief that they returned to the van, somehow tucking their purchases in amongst the greenery. When the M7 at commute hour was a saner prospect than food shopping, surely it was best to leave civilization to itself. By mutual consent, the trees would come to the Halls the next day; no harm would come to them on Earlene’s back porch in the night. It would be quite enough to shift all these groceries.

 

“I vote wheelbarrow,” Ratiri said, eying the haul they’d bought. The fizzy water certainly had to go in it, and the smaller things could sort of...balance on top. The Elves were strong, but carrying all that for over a mile would still be no fun.

 

“I cannot argue,” said Thranduil. “I know where it is located, in the barn. I will be back in a moment, and we will have these trees out as well.” It was only a few minutes later when two mentally weary elves and one altogether weary mortal made their way into the woods.

 

Ratiri prayed Lorna wouldn’t want to immediately jump his bones when he got home. The trouble was that he just couldn’t resist her, even when he knew he ought to; sooner or later he was going to die of exhaustion. Maybe she would eat her blueberries and go into a food coma early.

 

It was odd, how approaching these gates felt like coming home. He would not want to live here forever, and yet it really was a kind of home.  And it was with profound relief that he passed through those massive gates, knowing that no matter where the hell Von Ratched was, he couldn’t get at them now.

 

*******

 

“You know,” said Earlene, breaking another long and morose silence, “if we’ve got gifts to wrap for that lot, best do it now while they’re away. It won’t be easier a week from now, and we’ll be broadcasting our thoughts to Thranduil, if by some miracle he doesn’t already know every single thing we are giving him.” She hoisted herself up, this time under her own determined power. There were sheets of brown paper, for this purpose, and string. Somewhat determined to live in a ‘when in Rome’ manner, she would make do with just these, and hope that they didn’t look altogether like a three year old did the work.

 

Getting to Lorna’s rooms took a bit of creativity. Her gift to Earlene was safe in Thanadir’s rooms, and he could probably wrap it far better than she could. Thranduil’s big book of Irish history got hauled into his and Earlene’s room, though, and wrapped as best she could. She and Ratiri had gone in together on Thanadir’s: an iPod and one hell of a lot of classical music and audiobooks, much of which was pirated, because fuck spending thousands of dollars to fill the damn thing. Ratiri’s...was waiting. She tucked the little box in her pocket once she’d wrapped it up. “Oof,” she said, rubbing her stomach. “I swear one’v them’s having a rave in there.”

 

Earlene chuckled. “I’m going to excuse myself to the other room for a bit, but if you want the facilities just go on through. I have to write something and need what’s left of my brain cells to do it.” She saw that Lorna looked to be occupied for awhile yet, and something had occurred to her that could not wait, if she was to do it. Yes, she’d bought Thranduil an enlightening and totally impersonal History of the World in one volume, and had not at all been happy with this as her gift to him. But what she really wanted was a way to communicate to him how much she loved him, and how extraordinary her life had become on account of him. And that couldn’t be bought, but it could be written; the one thing she could do best of all. Taking one of her pens with her, she left to sit at the desk in their bedroom with some parchment, and put into words what she wanted him to know. _If the worst happens in the months to come, at least he will always have this, which is more than the words of Thanadir passing along my wishes._ With a huge sigh, she folded it, and forced herself to put it away and push it out of her mind before returning to the other room.

 

Lorna had everything wrapped that could be wrapped, and was lying on the sofa with her feet up and trying to brush her hair at the same time. It wasn’t the world’s greatest idea, but she did it anyway. She was actually going to need a trim fairly soon; something in the vitamins Ratiri had her taking had it growing like a weed, to the point that it was almost brushing the back of her knees. That was too long even for her, and not just because she had to wrap it around her neck like a scarf to pee. Thanadir was good with scissors; maybe she’d have him do it. “So, I read these science fiction books where they had uterine replicators, so a baby could just get cooked up in there and no woman had to suffer through pregnancy. Why the _hell_ don’t we have that yet?”

 

“Probably for the same reason we don’t have Orgasmatrons or Malthusian Belts,” Earlene quipped. “They’d make too much sense.” She watched in idle fascination at the Lady Godiva-worthy tresses that Lorna was brushing. Her own hair had now grown to somewhat below her shoulders; she’d not cut it in any fashion since coming here. But she certainly intended to, before it could become anywhere near as long as Lorna’s. Just then a noise was heard in the outer rooms and her heart leaped in hopefulness. Thanadir entered first with some bags of what appeared to be food, and was altogether a welcome sight. A very tired-looking Ratiri and Thranduil came in afterward.

 

Lorna rolled herself off the sofa and hauled herself to her feet, trundling over to give Ratiri a kiss on the cheek. “Back from the wars?” she asked.

 

“Supermarket wasn’t as bad as it’ll be in a week and a half, but it was bad enough,” he said. “I bought you blueberries.”

 

“You’re a saint,” she said, grinning. “I’ve got all your presents wrapped.”

 

“Well, I _haven’t_ got yours, so you need to stay out of the movie room for now.”

 

While Earlene was watching this exchange with amusement, Thanadir was slicing an apple for her at the sideboard, procuring also a spoon with which he scooped some peanut butter onto a small plate. He sat next to her to present this treat, nodding courteously to Lothiriel, who now had permission to leave. Earlene gave her utmost not to attack the food like a ravening animal, and instead thanked him politely and forced herself to chew the food. It tasted so soooo wonderful. The seneschal did not know how dangerously close he was to receiving an excessive and public display of affection; fortunately she had the apples for that. Thranduil watched the sum of her thoughts and could only tell himself, _at least it is not pickles._ She was even polite enough to not ask, if there was Stollen.

 

Lorna headed back to the sofa, snagging her hair on an end-table along the way. “Thanadir, could you at some point cut off some’v this nightmare?” she asked. “It’s a bit much even for me.”

 

“But it’s pretty,” Ratiri protested, untangling it. “And soft.”

 

“It’s also almost as long as I am tall,” she pointed out. “I have to wrap it around my damn elbow to put it in a braid now. Enough is enough.”

 

Ratiri understood, but at the same time, it make him somewhat sad. Brushing it kept her from pouncing on him every time she got him alone, and it made her seem even more like a fairy. A fairy that had swallowed a bowling ball, but still.

 

“I can do this now, if you wish,” said Thanadir. “There are shears here.” He looked at her expectantly, to see whether she meant ‘some point, now’ or ‘some point, later’. It had finally registered that not all mortals spoke with precise intent.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind doing it now, I’d really appreciate it,” she said. “Take off oh, this much,” she said, showing him fifteen centimeters. “I’ve never had it this long, and I’m not fond’v it.” She hopped up onto the sofa, so he could actually work without sitting on the ground. The sad thing was that even standing on the sofa, she could barely look him in the eye. Christ did she hate being so short.

 

Thanadir did as he was asked, having the presence of mind to silently double-check with Thranduil that his understanding of fifteen mortal centimeters was completely accurate. The hair he set aside in a neat stack. Why, he could not say, but he intended to take it with him. _Perhaps to decorate toys for her children? This would make a wonderful addition to a stuffed horse doll…_

 

Earlene interrupted him. “Meldir, when you are done, does my hair need any fixing at the bottom? I do not want it shorter, but perhaps it is uneven by now?” Not being particularly vain, she did not look at herself very often in the mirror, and really did not know.

 

“Your hair looks very nice yet, meluieg, and does not need any attention,” Thranduil said smoothly. Which was largely true. He enjoyed so much that it was growing longer, he could not bear to see even a tiny bit of it lost. His wife accepted his word, shrugged, and nodded. Though she did reach for him imploringly.

 

 _I missed you,_ she said silently. With a smile he moved next to her, and placed an arm around her shoulder as she gratefully snuggled against his strong frame. He laid a hand on her belly just in time to feel another powerful kick that caused her to gasp with pain. He grimaced. He could not stop the children’s movements, nor did he want to, but he could mute how intensely she felt the discomfort.

 

“I will help,” he whispered very softly, as she nodded with gratitude. Warmth replaced what felt like bruising. He raised his head to speak to all of them.“Tonight in the Dining Hall we are going to try something very new. Word has spread of your Christmas holiday, and my people are interested. They like the idea of showing kindness and gift giving. So among all the elves, all names will go into a large bowl, and all will draw a name to whom to give a gift. But as we do not shop or order on the computer, likely it will be simple things. A poem, a song, a special trinket, or even just words of appreciation. I wanted to ask you, Lorna and Ratiri, would you like to do this with us? I would understand if it were awkward, since you have not met a great many of the elves. And yet maybe this would aid in that?”

 

“I would gladly do this,” said Earlene, thinking that the idea was charming, and had much more in common with an original view of Christmas spirit than whatever the celebration had devolved to in modern times.

 

Lorna didn’t even need to ask Ratiri what he wanted to do, though she looked at him anyway. “Of course we would,” she said. “It’d be good to meet them, even if our Sindarin’s...shaky.” He was better at it than she was -- and actually comprehensible -- so he could do most of the talking, if neither Thranduil nor Thanadir were on hand to translate. Lorna decided to see just how much of it she could understand herself. She shook her head, relieved to have all that hair gone, and thanked Thanadir.

 

******

The following morning Earlene woke, and it was dark. She heard the noises of little Allanah in her bed. And needing to pee was going to drag her out of this warm bed now that she was properly stiff from having fallen asleep on her back...dammit all, she knew not to do that. Struggling, she forced herself to turn onto her side, frustrated now at the size of the bed. Maybe if she crawled. Just when she had her legs under her, her body was effortlessly lifted. “I am sorry, I did not mean to wake you,” she said, feeling ridiculous again.

 

“I was not asleep,” he murmured in her ear, carrying her to the facility and rubbing her back. “Earlene, I know how hard this is for you, but you must understand that neither Thanadir or I are in the least bothered. We want to help you. We cannot carry the children in our bodies; only you can. It is our way of honoring what we know you are enduring.”

 

She snorted, cleaning up while feeling tremendously relieved to have her bladder be empty. “The part of me that can still be rational knows that. But that seems to be diminishing all the time. I did not understand just what the totality of this experience was, Thranduil. And I do not mean to complain; I wanted this. Maybe we will want more children yet. I do not know. I have always relied on being logical and so much of the time, it is not wanting to….oh, hell I can’t even say what I mean,” her shoulders sagging in defeat as she reached for him to help stand up and wash her hands. He carried her back to bed, and she was happy for the warmth of his body. This time he placed her on her side, caressing her back until nothing more was sore or otherwise causing her discomfort. She was gathered against him, where soon she felt him pulsing against her bottom. Feeling hopeful, she moved her upper leg forward, and tilted her hips back toward him invitingly. He eagerly accepted, and she drowsily enjoyed what he offered.

 

_I know you tell me you do not mind, but I miss being able to participate more fully in this. I feel like I lie here like a walrus at the seashore, and you do all the work._

 

 _Meluieg,_ he said, grunting as the tempo of his thrusts increased, _please name one occasion on which I have complained about expending the effort required to make love to you._

 

He had a point there, and at the moment she could not spare further thought on it because she was quite swept along by his passion, finding her pleasure along with his.

And afterward, she drifted back to sleep, never having managed to answer his question.

 

**************

 

Lorna’s bladder woke her the next morning, and she had to disengage herself from Ratiri’s arms to sneak to the toilet. Having shorter hair, comparatively speaking, made that much easier.

 

Ratiri was still dead asleep, so she let him be, poking up the fire herself so the elf lady who came in wouldn’t have to manage it on her own. Lorna always traded words with her, listening carefully to the Sindarin and teaching her the English equivalent. It was every bit as difficult as Irish, but owing to the dyslexia, Lorna had largely learned Irish orally. She doubted she would ever be fluent in Sindarin -- she was simply too old to be learning a new language -- but she could probably wind up with a working knowledge of it, if she practiced enough, and God knew she had little else to do right now. She couldn’t even play guitar with this gut. She had a newfound respect for Gran, who had somehow, at Lorna’s size, done this four damn times, and back before prenatal care was really a thing.

 

Maerwen, the elf lady who dealt with the fires, came in quiet as a ghost, carrying her bucket and brush. She was lovely, like all the elves, with dark hair as long as Lorna’s and clear blue eyes that were nowhere near as creepy as she’d once found Thranduil’s. (She wondered when she’d precisely _stopped_ finding them creepy, but it had been quite some time ago now.)

 

“Aur vaer,” Lorna said, in careful Sindarin. _Good morning._ Even with what little she knew, she had to speak very slowly, because her accent had a habit of slaughtering her pronunciation.

 

“Good morning,” Maerwen returned, in equally careful English. Her accent was a touch odd, but perfectly comprehensible -- though amusingly, it had a trace of Lorna’s own in there. “Ci maer?” _Are you well?_

 

“Ni maer,” Lorna said, and then repeated it in English, “I am well.”

 

“You do my job before,” the elleth scolded lightly, to which Lorna grinned.

 

“Darthas telu,” (literally, “a hateful wait”) she said. “Bored.”

 

“Bored?” Maerwen repeated, visibly confused.

 

Lorna touched her abdomen, then mimed waddling. One thing about the elves, they were damn good at improvised pantomime; they took her meaning far more easily than most humans would.

 

The elf’s eyes cleared. “Ah. This too shall pass.” Because she had learned it as an entire phrase, rather than individual words, it came out oddly, but she meant well. Lorna couldn’t help but grin again, sitting on the sofa with some difficulty. Maerwen left, and Lorna pondered.

 

She really wanted to get revenge for that damn hairbrush -- specifically, she wanted to record a bunch of belched profanity and mail it at random to one of Von Creepface’s companies. It sounded like a fantastic and hilarious idea, but, in accordance with her determination to Adult, she’d actually ask someone before she did it. Surely she didn’t have to let that go without some kind of retaliation, right? Nevertheless, she’d ask.

 

It was odd, how everything to do with that _creature_ and what he’d done to her had ceased to horrify her. Oh, it was creepy and gross, but it no longer made her want to scratch her own skin off in sheer disgust. Thranduil’s words must have helped more than she’d thought, because the hairbrush ought to have sent her into a fit of unendurable revulsion, and yet all it did was squick her. Yeah, Von Shitsicle had had a fetish for her hair, and had possibly, according to Thranduil’s attempt at delicacy, had a hand shandy while brushing it, but...so what? She couldn’t remember it. It might as well have happened to someone else.

 

 _My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. You have no power over me._ And he didn’t; she’d so thoroughly kicked it that she’d suspect Thranduil’s involvement, if she didn’t know that wasn’t how he worked. She could have asked him to deal with it for her, but for some reason she hadn’t wanted to. If she didn’t manage it on her own, never truly _would_ be managed. Putting a telepathic plaster over it would not have allowed it to heal. Plus...even if he’d fixed it for her, he’d still be stuck with it. Taking the easy way out when he couldn’t do it himself...it felt like cheating, like something unfair and wrong. No doubt he’d scold her for worrying about him, except that it wasn’t even worry; it was just fairness. Bad enough that he had all her memories of the, er, _event_ \-- and okay, _that_ really was going to squick her until the end of time, but it was manageable squick. She no longer wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

 

She wondered how Mairead and Big Jamie were doing. She’d had one communication from them, when they reached Tuscany, but Orla had warned that anything further ought to be infrequent, just to be safe. Evidently their villa was huge, the weather lovely, Orla and Kevin had actually bought the Witness Protection scheme (for now), and all in all it would have been like a perfect holiday if not for why they’d had to take it. Still, they were safe, and that let Lorna sleep at night. Orla had given them all fake ID’s, though the speed at which she’d had to do it meant they weren’t as thorough as she’d liked, but at least thorough enough to pass muster to get a villa and handle things like grocery deliveries.

 

Lorna rose, stretching, and set about finding clothes. She mostly lived in tunics, housecoats, and fuzzy pyjama trousers now, though that last had a hard time staying up anymore, but at least she wasn’t wandering about in the clothes she slept in. She had a _few_ standards. She waddled into the toilet with them, setting them on the counter, shucking her nightclothes and crawling into the tub.

 

What time was it? Beautiful as the Halls were, she missed sunlight, partly because she had no idea how early or late in the morning it was. Gran’s old clock was unreliable and mostly for decoration, but oh well. No doubt, if they looked to be oversleeping breakfast, someone would come get them.

 

To her pleasant surprise, Ratiri joined her in the tub, and they both had a very good morning before getting dressed and heading for Earlene and Thranduil’s rooms. Thank God it was a short walk, because it was only going to get more difficult to make. (Motorized armchair. It was going to happen, god dammit, and she’d figure out some way to get it out of the forest sooner or later, even if it meant putting it on a sledge and dragging it.)

 

They walked into Thranduil’s rooms discover that Earlene looked incredibly pleased with herself. She was standing at the dining room table, with a small cushion underneath her belly. Basically, she had parked her entire stomach on top of said cushion and could now happily stand like a normal person, with the babies resting on the table top. A look of concentration furrowed her brow; she was trying to cut paper snowflakes using the very sharp but finicky elven shears whose location Thanadir had so conveniently revealed last evening. “Good morning,” she said brightly.

 

“All right, I’ve got to try that,” Lorna said. “Good morning.” She was pleasantly sore in all the right places, and couldn’t help a grin as she sat down, curling her feet under her. “Granted, I’d need a footstool, but still. Weather says we might get a white Christmas.” At least, it had last night, when she’d listened to the solar radio Mick had got Thranduil for his birthday. There’d been exactly two white Christmases in her entire life, but it seemed like Ireland had been getting colder winters the last few years. Not that she could complain.

 

Ratiri eyed Earlene’s setup. “I wish I’d known about that when I worked in London,” he said, sitting beside Lorna. “A great number of women would have appreciated it.”

 

“It was just a...notion, that turned out to be helpful. I’m not sure why it makes such a difference, in principle it’s along the same lines as the garment Thanadir made for me. Except with that, it only allows that my upper back can take more of the weight off my lower back. With this, the bag of bricks is being supported by...not me.”

 

Just then Thanadir came in, bearing a tray, and took one look at Earlene’s position. She knew by now that if he stopped walking and his lips parted, that it meant some facet of his sensibilities had just been assaulted. And to her surprise, someone new was with him, an ellon she’d not yet met. Smiling, and pretending that she needed to move off to make room for breakfast, she put away her craft project while greeting the new elf. “Mae g’ovannen, im Earlene eston. A len?”

 

“This is Ortherion,” said Thanadir, bypassing her greeting. The ellon smiled shyly at Earlene with an expression that seemed to say, ‘Thanadir is being Thanadir.’ She grinned openly, since she had the luxury of standing a little behind the seneschal, who could not see her at the moment with his back turned. “He does not yet speak any English, but has expressed a desire to learn. It will be his duty to take over serving meals, and assisting Lothiriel with tasks related to caring for the children. Ortherion and Lothiriel are wed to each other,” he explained.

 

Earlene politely nodded her head to him, trying to smile encouragingly while not giving away her good fortune. Ortherion was the name she had drawn last night in the Hall, and were it not for this sudden shift in the duty roster she would not have known him from Adam. Beyond that, though, she wondered how the ellon felt at being brought into their mortal petting zoo. “I think I should use the restroom before having tea.” With a sigh and an arm that draped lightly in affection for a brief moment around Thanadir’s waist, she waddled out of the room, teasingly throwing her cushion at Lorna.

 

Lorna caught it, looked at Thanadir’s expression, and at Ratiri, and barely managed to smother laughter. “You’ve got to admit, it’s creative,” she said, rising and fiddling with the cushion. She was right; she’d need a stepstool for this to work properly, but at least it looked like it _could_ work. “She might want it all the more, before this is over for her.” Lorna dreaded reaching that point, though at least by the time she did, she’d be close to the finish line. Poor Earlene might well have an extra three months, which...no. Just no. “Hello, Ortherion. Mae g’ovannen. Im Lorna eston.”

 

“I eneth nîn Ratiri,” Ratiri added. This would be good practice for his Sindarin, though he knew he was also likely to make a fool of himself while trying to do so. Oh well. That was how one learned.

 

The King appeared. “If you are up for it, Ratiri, I thought we would retrieve the trees after this meal? I confess this is beginning to generate some enthusiasm. Thanadir used that conduit of information known as the kitchens to inform the Halls about the Christmas tree.” Thranduil seemed wholly unaffected by yesterday’s outing.

 

“We may as well, before the weather turns,” Ratiri said. “ _If_ it turns. How are we going to get them here?” The wheelbarrow wouldn’t make it through the terrain even if the trees had been able to fit. He could help carry one, but not for a full two miles.

 

“The smaller one would do well enough in the wheelbarrow,” said Thranduil. “The larger one...for that, I am having Thanadir commandeer four other ellyn who will doubtless suffer some indignity at being used like pack mules, but our combined strength can easily manage the distance. My being there and helping should soften the blow considerably,” he chuckled. “What I hoped you might do is...I believe ‘supervise’, is the word. Our conveyance is such that a steadying hand on the tree would not go amiss.” He stood back while Thanadir demonstrated the cupboard in which clean tableware was stored to Ortherion, who was clearly trying to make the best of navigating his newfound proximity to his King and seneschal. He and his wife had been accorded a great honor, in his eyes, but it still felt somewhat...intimidating.

 

Ratiri was legitimately touched. Given their strength, they really didn’t need him, but he could be useful nevertheless. “I’ll want to put my boots on, but of course I’ll help,” he said. “Lorna’s brought her Gran’s old ornaments, too.”

 

“They wouldn’t match the tree in the dining hall, but they might do well enough in here,” she said. “Most’v them are from when she first married in 1945, though some came from the 60’s, too, and they look it. I guess it’s called ‘vintage’ now.” It really was interesting, and somewhat amusing, to see Ortherion appear so daunted...she was so used to seeing Thranduil as her friend that she’d never stopped to consider what it must be like for one of his people to be near him. Nobody in the Irish government was popular enough to draw this reaction; it seemed more like how one would regard a celebrity. She managed to smother a smile, realizing that Ortherion wouldn’t find it funny in the least. It was bizarrely adorable, actually.

 

Earlene piped up.“The paper snowflakes were a notion I had, that Thranduil will allow. Even though it is a bigger tree, it will still be a tiny thing in the Dining Hall. I told Thanadir how thread can be used to hang them from the ceiling, one at a time, and I think it will look lovely, especially in the low light.” This idea would be rubbish, were it not for the fact that the cavern roof of that hall was shot through with tree roots. It would require a ladder-like thing and a hardy soul to hang them all, but these _were_ wood elves... “Of course, they each have to be ironed flat after they are cut out, or the whole thing will look tackier than a cheap imports shop.” Earlene too watched Ortherion, and found her heart melting.  While all elves were some measure of lovely, this couple was...plainer. They had the brown hair and eyes typical of the Silvan elves, though Lothiriel had streaks of hazel in hers that made them rather striking. But their features lacked the stunning beauty of Thranduil, or the endearing cuteness of Thanadir. Which did not matter in the least one way or the other. _Stop being so shallow, Earlene,_ she chided herself. _That he holds his King in such obvious regard, is what matters here._

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, because both Lorna and Earlene had nearly identical perceptions, and he was struggling to think when the last occasion was on which _that_ had occurred. When the table was laid, Thanadir explained that this was the extent of what was needed, and that after a particular interval of time, he was to return with clean dishes and utensils to replenish the cabinet, and clear the table. The King stepped forward and spoke. “Thank you, and thank Lothiriel for your willingness to undertake these duties. Welcome to our home.”

 

Ortherion flushed in surprise and delight. “i Aran nîn,” he said quietly, with a bowed head and hand held against his heart as he withdrew. Thanadir smiled to watch him leave, shaking his head. He would find this amusing, except that he understood that feeling all too well.

 

“Breakfast is ready,” he said, gesturing for everyone to sit while he poured them tea.

 

*****

 

The week became more cheerful by far, for Earlene and Lorna especially, because they had activities now on account of the holiday. Deadlines, even. All three mortals took turns with the shears, producing snowflakes from the ream of Earlene’s printer paper with which they had absconded. There were different sizes, but they all had done their level best to make them very intricate which meant that just opening the finished item could take several minutes. And then, after, there was always the risk of burning the finished snowflake when ironing it smooth. At Thanadir’s suggestion, they quickly learned to place the paper items between pieces of spare cloth that he used for this purpose when ironing garments. To Earlene’s surprise, the elven irons were much the same as what humans used prior to electricity; actual iron affairs of assorted size and weight that could be set to heat on top of an device that was in direct contact with the coals of the fireplace. Lorna did this work at the hearth, both for ease of use and to not accidentally scorch any of the King’s fine furniture or other belongings. From her gran, she had far more skill at using the temperamental devices, whereas Earlene was certain she would manage to incinerate all of it. The labor at their craft project was ungaily and awkward and completely took their minds off of their own discomforts. And they were both extremely grateful for Lothiriel, because with Allanah actively crawling everywhere now, having someone to mind with an eagle eye that the little girl did not wander toward the fireplace felt crucial.

 

Though, Thranduil had been communicating with Allanah. He explained that though her reasoning was very undeveloped yet, that he was able to instill in her a sense of wishing to avoid things that were very dangerous. In this case, he had encouraged her away from any fascination with the hearth. While Earlene scratched her head at some aspects of this, there was no way she could comment. And while the idea of telepathically influencing an infant seemed odd, the baby’s safety in these Halls was assuredly worth it.

 

Thranduil and Thanadir both took note of this drastic shift toward the positive, and tried to think of what they could do, after Christmas day, to give the women a similar sense of purpose. Thanadir said that he had an idea, only that he was uncertain how to execute it, and the matter was let be for now. It was five days yet until the actual holiday, and there seemed like so much yet to do. Tonight would be the decorating of the tree in the Hall, and after the meal, some brave ellyn were to hang all the snowflakes the mortals had made. Thanadir had provided string to them, and a kind of glue, and each flake was prepared with a delicate coil of thread of different lengths, that was waxed, and attached to a small hook. It was tedious work and took as long to manage as the damned snowflakes themselves, but the end result (fingers crossed) should be very beautiful. The women walked toward the Dining Hall until Thranduil determined that each of them had gone far enough, and they were carried the rest of the way. The sight of their entry was no longer the spectacle that it had felt like the first time or two. Word had spread that women bearing twins did not have the same resilience as ellith, and that it was no shortcoming on their part that they required so much assistance. And many were openly astonished, when they saw what mortal Earlene willingly endured to bear Thranduil his children. Tiny Lorna, to a one, they all pitied, though not a single elf would dare mention this aloud to any of the King’s household. Her resilience had been spoken of by Thanadir, and no one thought less of her. In fact, a few of the ellyn were extremely curious, later on, to watch her throw knives, but that would have to wait.

 

Earlene had spent some time seated in the kitchen with the cooks, explaining in her passable but far-from-fluent Sindarin about sweet baked goods. Sugar was not something known to them, only honey. And yet sugar was inexpensive and easily had in the mortal world, however lacking in nutritional merit, and made for better textured results. So with the procurement of a volume she chose not to mention to either of the ellyn during the last shipment of groceries, a supply that would more than care for the occasional feast night was procured. They already had eggs, butter, and the finest flour in abundance; the rest was simply technique. It went without saying that most elves would likely veer toward Thranduil’s taste for sweets, or lack thereof. So she directed them to flavors that were not so cloying, like vanilla, butterscotch and spice; they began with the simple pound cake. Molasses had also crept in under her influence, allowing for gingerbreads. And unbeknownst to her, a description of gingerbread people and houses took on a life of its own in the kitchens, once she had departed and written out the recipe.

So it was with unfettered delight that Earlene saw a table near the tree, holding a monstrous gingerbread house. Before she would sit to eat, she insisted to Thanadir that he let her look at it. Lorna came with her, not about to be sidelined. Both their lips parted, and though she knew it was hormonal, Earlene had to stop herself from crying.

 

Lorna stared at it. “What,” she said, “in mother _fuck_ …” This thing wasn’t a gingerbread house; ‘house’ didn’t do it justice. Little bits of greenery from the forest were used to make “shrubbery” around the house, and there was a way to place a candle inside of it so that it appeared illuminated from within. There were little candies that were colored red, obviously made from sugar at the hard-crack stage. “How?” she whispered to Thanadir. “There is no food coloring here?”

 

“Beets,” he said proudly.

 

“And the royal icing?” Earlene asked. “That requires a specialty ingredient….?”

 

“Aislinn at the store ordered it for me.” His smile was becoming very smug.

 

“Meldir, you are amazing,” she said, her face full of open admiration. “And wonderful.”

 

He now insisted that she sit, and guided her to a chair next to Thranduil; Ratiri did the same for Lorna. And yet neither woman could take their eyes off of it...it was the nicest gingerbread house they had ever seen.

 

“You are pleased, meluieg?” the King said, drawing her close.

 

“Everything you do is so beautiful,” she said. “Thank you, for giving me this life.” Her eyes shone with sincerity. A kiss to her forehead was all he had time for in return, because their food arrived.

 

Lorna, naturally, had to snap about a dozen pics with her mobile, intent on showing Mairead whenever she got the chance. If anything would impress her sister, it would be this. “This thing is bloody amazing,” she said, leaning against Ratiri. _Trust elves to take a simple human tradition and utterly run away with it_ , she thought. It was almost too lovely to be eaten. She wondered how long it had taken to make, and how many had worked on it, and decided she probably didn’t want to know. She _really_ wouldn’t be able to eat it if she knew how many man hours -- elf hours -- had gone into creating it.

 

“Somebody hold up Allanah near it, will you?” she asked. “More pictures.” She was putting together a baby-book for Earlene and Thranduil, to be presented on the anniversary of the day she became theirs.

 

All the elves ate quickly and so did the humans, because everyone present wanted to see the snowflakes being hung. The show was not disappointing. ‘Ladder,’ apparently, was not an approved concept. ‘Braced tree branch,’ was a far better description of what she saw. Three ellyn came. Two bore a long branch that easily reached the fifteen feet or so to the cavern ceiling, and a third had one that was somewhat shorter with a fork in one end. The limbs were joined against each other, at which point Earlene simply stared and thought, _You have got to be kidding me_ , even as she knew they were not. A group of them had assembled; each had a snowflake. With what was obviously laughing and jesting in Sindarin, the first one lightly ran up the branch to the ceiling while his cohorts below kept the limbs from swaying to either side, hung his snowflake, then ran down just as easily. The construct was then repositioned to a new location a little apart from the first, and the process repeated. “Does gravity even exist here?” she asked, hopelessly envious. For all her fitness, this feat exceeded her skills even before her present circumstances existed.

 

Lorna watched with blatant jealousy. She’d probably topple over sideways if she tried that right now; hell, she doubted she’d make it a full three steps. Ugh, she was _so_ never doing this again. “Only if you’re human,” she sighed. “Say, did you ever read _Dune_?”

 

“I did,” Ratiri said, which left her entirely unsurprised.

 

“Baron Harkonnen was really, really fat, and he had those anti-gravity suspensor things so that he could actually, y’know, walk. I really, really wish those actually existed.” Looking down at her gut, she sighed, and chose to look at the tree instead. She wouldn’t have thought simple paper snowflakes could be so lovely, and yet they _worked_. Christmas seemed a touch more real in here, which was a bit hilarious, since only Thranduil and Thanadir had even heard of the holiday before now.

 

She thought of Ratiri’s present, and what went with it, and nerves fluttered in her stomach. She’d have an answer one way or another, but the waiting was...well. Her little soundmix of various burped profanities had at least kept her mind off it.

 

“I suppose all of you can do that without thinking twice about it?” Earlene asked Thranduil, who was enjoying the spectacle mightily.

 

“No, we cannot. They cannot. It is not as easy as they make it look. Most of those participating are the most skilled of our fighters remaining to us, and that aptitude has been gained by untold hours of practice running through the tree limbs.”

 

Sorely tempted to ask if he and Thanadir were able, she forced herself to silence, because this was not a carnival. Which is why she pinched the bridge of her nose when they both rose at the same time on either side of her, grinning at each other like teenagers about to do something ridiculous. _Oh, to be able to hide my thoughts,_ she lamented. The seneschal held his hand out for a snowflake, to the obvious astonishment of all present. The Hall went silent as he ran up the branch. Halfway down, he slowed to a walk, to the astonished murmurs of all...this was much harder yet, as the speed was part of what made balancing easier, and yet he strolled along as though he were on a sidewalk. With a groan, Earlene realized that now the gauntlet had been thrown down. She glanced over at Ratiri, who had that expression that seemed to say, ‘Next stop, A &E.’ Thranduil now held up his hand, and simply strolled to the top, his balance and footing flawless, hung his snowflake, and strolled back down. Those holding the limbs did not know whether to bow or laugh and nod their heads; fortunately they chose the latter. Earlene breathed a sigh of relief, however foolish she knew her concern had been.

The decorating now took a turn for the worse. Ellyn that were running up the branch previously now decided they, too, had to make it harder for themselves, and began to try to imitate what they had just seen. When one ended up having to lower himself hand over hand down the branch on account of slipping off, and Earlene was covering her eyes with her hands, orders were issued that put a stop to the contests. Soon, the last flake was hung, greatly increasing her ability to relax.

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek, trying to look sour and failing utterly when Thranduil came strolling down the branch. _Show-off_ , she said, barely managing to restrain a smile. His expression was oh-so-much like Pat, like Shane, like all her friends before they did something inadvisable but too tempting to pass up.

 

Ratiri was seriously considering trying that himself. It was a terrible idea; he’d almost certainly fall and break something, but unlike the women, he didn’t have the excuse of pregnancy. He was just... _human_ , so ungainly compared to the elves, and part of him very much wanted to try.

 

Lorna looked at him. “Don’t even,” she said. “They’re mentallers, you’re smarter than that.”

 

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”

 

Thranduil rose again, and the tree limbs were swiftly carried out of the Hall to...wherever, though the ellyn bearing them returned very soon. It could not have been far. The King began to speak, explaining that it was the custom of the mortals to use a tree for this holiday and to decorate it with lights because it brought to mind that which was still green and living, and drove away thoughts of the cold winter outdoors. And that while they were all welcome to hang ornaments or trinkets of their own on the tree, that this decoration was his gift to all of them. With one wave of his hand, the lights in the Dining Hall dimmed dramatically, and with a second wave, the tree blazed to life. Elf or mortal, every pair of lips parted in astonishment, for the tree was aglow with lights that had no apparent source, and glinting colors came from everywhere within it, for a treasure trove of gems were scattered richly throughout the branches.

 

“Bloody hell,” Ratiri breathed. Lorna could only nod, because she knew those gems had to have come from that room that was far too large to be merely called a ‘vault’. How had they got up there, though, and when? Did one of these elves have telekinesis, and nobody had let on?

 

 _Okay, now that’s_ really _showing off_ , she said, but her mental voice was warm with approval. _Kind of impossible to top that._ And, of course, she pulled out her mobile and snapped more pictures. At this rate she was going to need five scrapbooks, not one. Still, it would be worth it.

 

 _You are welcome,_ he said with mildly insufferable smugness. When he seated himself, he found his face pulled around; Earlene kissed him without any thought of propriety or protocol. She only wanted to thank him for something so lovely, and in this spirit it was accepted. When he broke away from her, he tried to recall if Alassëa had ever even contemplated kissing him in public, beyond what they exchanged at their marriage ceremony. He was reasonably certain that the answer was No. He glanced sideways, seeing from the expression on Thanadir’s face that his friend was preparing to inform Earlene of her mistake.

 

_No, meldir. Say nothing. I do not want her told. I will find a way to speak with her when she can hear it. I would ten times over have a wife who loves me and out of ignorance makes a small mistake such as this, than the alternative._

 

A subtle nod signalled the seneschal’s understanding.

 

Leaning against Ratiri, Lorna grinned. “ _B'í Oíche Nollaig í,_ ” she sang,

 

_“'S mé caochta óltach,_

_Dúirt seanfhear 'n aice liom,_

_Sí mo Nollaig dheireanach í._

_'Sin thosaigh sé gabháil linn,_

_An 'Rare Old Mountain Dew'_

_Chrom mé mo cheann go ciúin_

_'S mé cuimhniú ortsa.”_

 

Earlene might recognize some of the terms in here, or so Lorna hoped. She hauled herself to her feet, grabbing Ratiri’s hand and taking him with her.

 

_“Nach orm a bhí an t-ádh_

_Tháinig sí isteach go breá_

_Airím istigh i mo chroí_

_Gur linn an bhliain seo romhainn_

_Ó Nollaig Shona dhuit,_

_Is tú mo Stóirín_

_Feabhsóidh rudaí fós_

_Amach romhainn atá sé,”_

 

He had no idea what the hell she was singing, either, but she’d explain it later.

 

_Cóir an NYPD 's iad_

_ag casagh 'Galway Bay',_

_'S na cloig ag bualadh leo_

_Lá breith Mac Dé._

 

Yep, Earlene might definitely get _that_ one. It was all Lorna could do not to laugh.

 

_A Sclíteach, a Chonúis,_

_'Chacsmuitín an donais_

_Nollaig Shona mo thóin_

_Faraoir gan é thart_

 

She gave up after that, unable to stifle her laughter.

 

Earlene, having heard a few Pogues songs in her time (part of her buried trove of non-classical music that she would rarely own up to liking), chuckled. She was... _where_ ? Listening to…. _what_? Only Lorna.

 

And now it was time to return to their rooms. It must have been all the excitement of doing nothing at all, but Earlene felt very weak, below the waist. Her legs were telling her to go straight to hell. This time she did not wait to nearly fall, but turned to Thanadir immediately. “I do not think I can walk right now.” The words were embarrassing to speak, but every day with her growing belly felt like a contest of the ocean wearing away at a cliff, and the ocean never loses; she was becoming inured to her circumstances. With a kind nod, the seneschal lifted her into his arms. With yet more humiliation, she asked to be carried to near their lavatory; she might as well minimize how far she had to try to walk. He was waiting for her when she finished. “Thank you,” she said, hoping that he understood just how much those words encompassed, before he placed her down in her usual seat with the others, and seated himself next to her. He insisted on rubbing at her legs, thinking this sudden weakness to be somewhat strange.

 

Lorna actually managed to stubbornly lumber along, eventually leaning on Ratiri for support. “I can carry you, you know,” he said. “It’s not _that_ far.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” she warned. “I can do this, for now.” Yes, perhaps she would regret it later, but if Thranduil and Thanadir could run up that damn branch, she could make it back to his and Earlene’s room, god dammit.

 

Ratiri seriously debated doing it anyway, but knew she would make him pay for it later, and not necessarily in the fun way. She was pale and sweating by the time they reached the room, but she’d done it, and she all but collapsed onto the sofa.

 

“So, in the interest of Adulting,” she said, hating how out-of-breath she was, “I’m pondering retaliation. Specifically, sending him a belching chorus of swearing in English and Irish.” She looked at Ratiri and Thranduil in particular, since they’d understand why. “Good or bad?”

 

Earlene’s response was one of inner panic, at the same time she had such strong awareness that nothing about her was really working right anymore, probably her reasoning skills included. She had just enough presence of mind left to shut up. But the sentiment made her very nervous. So nervous that without being fully aware of it, she reached her hand down to hold onto Thanadir’s knee. What filled her thought was, she had retaliated against Von Ratched, and it had cost John Oehlert his life.

 

“As hilarious as that would be, I would say bad,” Ratiri said. “We can’t know what it would make him do. I know you want to make him pay, mo chroí, but this isn’t the way to do it.”

 

 _Then what is?_ she wondered, and looked at Thranduil. “Thoughts?”

 

“I am sorry Lorna, but I am compelled to tell you what Earlene feels she cannot say. She lashed out at this creature, and the consequence was John Oehlert. And yet I do not wish to be the one who always dissuades you from how you seek to redress the wrong done to you. And yet when one throws stones at a hornet’s nest, there is usually a result.” His expression was one of frustration and hopelessness, because he so badly wanted her to be able to find some peace from what had been done to her.

 

Well, that was depressing. She leaned against Ratiri, staring into the fire. Much as she didn’t want to bring the mood of the room down, her hormones were refusing to cooperate. “I want to talk to Orla,” she said at last. “I want to burn down his entire world, but I can’t do it myself -- none’v us can.” It wasn’t even so much what he’d done to her, though that was a healthy chunk of it. What he’d done to Earlene, to John -- what he’d do to Mairead and Big Jamie, if he was let. _I hate Adulting_ , she thought, wishing adamantly she hadn’t asked, because she’d been in such a good mood. They all had. _I wonder what would happen if he got hit with napalm._ Tatiana could probably get her some. No matter how tough his body was, fire was fire, and if it was fire that couldn’t be put out...but then, wasn’t his original form shadow and _flame_ ? But that was his _original_ form; he’d have to...shift, or whatever...ugh. “Let’s stuff him into a cannon and fire him into the sun.”

 

“Would that I had a suitable cannon,” Thranduil said drily, privately wondering if even that would work. For that matter would Anguirel work, as he hoped it might? He could only hope that Eöl’s malice extended not only to the Noldor, but to the servants of Morgoth as well. If the ilk of Anguirel could slay a dragon, surely a balrog was a far lesser challenge?

 

The room fell rather silent, with Earnene releasing her grip on Thanadir’s knee with a glance of apology. And she felt desperate to change the subject. “I am sure I can trust you all to keep my secret. I need help, with the ellon whose name I drew earlier in the week, if I am to have time to come up with any kind of a suitable gesture. I have only just laid eyes on him today. It is Ortherion. Could either of you ellyn please tell me something about him? What he prefers or appreciates? Or perhaps what his role here was, long ago?”

 

Thranduil spoke first. “At the beginning of the Fourth Age, he was considered to be an able fighter. He has skill in working with wood. I believe he preferred carving? Is that correct, Thanadir?”

 

The seneschal nodded. “It was some time after the Battle Under the Trees, that he wed Lothiriel. They were, by the standards of our people, young yet, and unwilling to leave their forest home. They are quiet, and loving. Their only child, a son, departed for Aman long ago.”

 

Earlene sighed. That was as unhelpful as she feared it might be, yet aloud she thanked them.

 

“I’m not certain what to do for Thalion, either,” Ratiri said. “I’ve never met him at all, though apparently he thought Lorna was mental because our word for ‘lost’ is the Sindarin word for ‘empty’.”

 

Lorna snorted. She didn’t wonder why he’d looked at her like she was off her nut. Her eyes traveled over the fat leather book on the shelf nearest. Hey, elves loved poetry, right? “Shakespeare,” she said. “Translate a sonnet or something into Sindarin. If you can find one that isn’t like, a love poem or something, because that would be super creepy.”

 

 _That_ would be a challenge, and one Ratiri might not be equal to, but he could certainly try.

 

“There is one that would be really good, for a fighter,” said Earlene, impressed as hell and privately annoyed in equal measure, because she hadn’t thought of it. “If someone can get it down for me, I think I can find it. That is, if you want to do that.” She sounded vaguely hopeful, because if Ratiri didn’t, she’d steal the idea in a hot minute.

 

Thranduil wanted so badly to give Lorna something to feel good about that he broke his own rule. _My wife is extremely jealous that she did not think of your suggestion, Lorna. I thought you should know._ He smiled, with merriment in his eyes. Lorna managed to contain her own smile, but barely, her spirits lifted.

 

Ratiri rose, fetching the book and handing it to her. “I certainly can’t think of a better idea,” he said. “If I had more time, I’d get him a Claymore, but unfortunately that’s not an option.”

 

Earlene riffled through the pages, realizing that (thank god) the index was the kind that gave the sonnets by opening verses as well as by number. “Here. It’s number fifty-five,” she said, handing it over. The good news is, you have two here who can help you with that task.” She handed the volume to Thanadir, which really amounted to, shoving it across her stomach at him.

 

Ratiri took the book, reading through it. It was mercifully brief, but it was still going to be a bitch and a half; he was most definitely going to need help. The only thing more difficult than trying to translate modern English into Sindarin was try to translate Elizabethan. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, determined.

 

“Maerwen’s getting a scarf,” Lorna said, “because it’s just about all I can make right now. At least I’ve got nice yarn.” It was actually antique yarn, too, older than she was -- soft, dark green cashmere Gran had somehow kept pristine.

 

 _What on Earth am I going to do for Ortherion with only a few days remaining, whittle a butler’s measuring stick? Because *that* wouldn’t be tacky...I can knit potholders and scarves. I can prepare food when I can stand upright and...I really didn’t get out much, did I? I doubt he needs a lawyer._ Her mood felt like it was spiralling rapidly. “I hope you can all excuse me, I really feel like I need to be in warm water right now.” _If I can walk there without falling on my face._ Thanadir helped her to stand, at which point Thranduil brought her where she wished to go. He could feel her emotions crumbling, but she had a right to her feelings. This was difficult, and he understood her frustration. For once, he elected not to comment or interfere. After helping her undress, he lowered her into the warm water. Knowing she wanted really to be alone, he kissed her cheek. “Tell me, when you wish to get out, and I will help you.” Magically, a full glass of cool water was left behind as he departed, next to the pool. Where it had come from or how he possibly could have carried it in here unseen served to distract her for several minutes, until her thoughts returned to moroseness and she gave way to tears.

 

Lorna broke out her knitting, working at the scarf while Ratiri rubbed her feet. That poor Earlene had so abruptly left probably meant her hormones were on a downswing, so it was best to leave her until she actually asked for help -- or at least, that was how Lorna had always found it to be in her own case: _go away until I want you_.

 

Thanadir looked at Lorna, and reflected on Earlene’s leaving. And how quick it was. He did not know if this was wise or not, but she was his friend, and had not been able to even walk tonight. He rose, without a word, and marched toward the bathing room, opening the door very quietly to find her crying. Her back was turned to him, her head buried in her folded arms at the side of the pool. With a deep breath, he removed his outer coat, lest more water than he wished be involved, and laid down on his stomach in front of her, reaching to take one of her hands in his. Her eyes blinked opened, and she reached to hold onto his arms. She felt like quite possibly the greatest emotional failure on the planet, and was past caring. When she felt his head touch against hers, very gently, she did not shrink away. Ordinarily she would have thought she wanted to be alone, but somehow this was like...if Tail came in. Someday she might work out why she reacted to this elf as she did. Or rather, didn’t react. _Oh, fuck it all._ She still cried for awhile, because the misery had to drain to somewhere else. Nothing was going to change, not tomorrow or next week or even next month. Snivelling, she finally sighed, and tried to wash her face with water. “I feel better now,” she whispered, though she sounded unconvincing even to herself.

 

“I do not believe you,” he murmured in return. Which was just funny, and made her giggle in spite of herself. Or at least, that was her term for the noise that emitted from her throat.

 

“I am trying to feel better now?” she asked. That felt less like a fabrication.

 

“That, I can take into consideration,” he said, smiling at her just a little. And then he had an idea. “Earlene, you can read very well. When you are done in here, would you come out and read some of the poems to me, from my Shakespeare book? I am not skilled enough in that form of your language; you read much it better than I.”

 

He was using the doe eyes on her.

 

“You are not being fair, meldir. You know perfectly well what you are doing.” She wanted to glare at him, but that was failing, too.

 

“Does that mean you will read to me?” He was unabashedly using all of his secret powers.

 

“Oh, by Eru, you win,” she said, exasperated but laughing too. “Go on now, and if you could please ask Thranduil to come in? I would like to have just a few more minutes.”

 

He rose, retrieving his coat and making his way out. “Thanadir, thank you,” he heard as he opened the door. Turning his head partway back, he smiled and nodded, before disappearing. Earlene shook her head, and splashed her face properly, and blew her nose now that he was gone, because she still had some standards left. Pushing back to sink further into the water, it only now occurred to her that she was not wearing a stitch of clothing. _Yeah. I have standards, alright. What happened to my life, exactly?_ But at least now she was snorting. Swimming around a little, she enjoyed being able to actually move freely, before that went away too. _Nothing like knowing I couldn’t haul myself out of here unless my life depended on it,_ she thought.

 

“That is why you have me, meluieg,” she heard from behind her. “Sit against the side, facing away from me.” Seconds later, her bottom was perched on a folded towel on the edge, her lower legs still in the pool. He wrapped her with a dry towel, before lifting her the rest of the way to her feet. And he did not let go; he could feel how weak and unsteady her limbs were.

 

“Why is this happening to me?” she asked.

 

“The children are pressing against the nerves that govern your walking. It should be temporary,” he said, drying her. When she was seated, he held out the much looser night tunic she sometimes wore, and a warm robe to go over it, and she was returned to the room, with her legs draped over Thanadir’s lap again. Seemingly from nowhere, he produced the heavy volume, handing it to her.

 

It took a moment, but she finally found what she wanted and began reading. “To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were, when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still…”

 

Ratiri listened, soothed by the cadence of Earlene’s voice, lightly rubbing Lorna’s feet. She had fallen asleep, her knitting on her chest, and he gently took it from her so she couldn’t lose any stitches. She’d regret sleeping on her back later, but he couldn’t bring himself to rouse her -- for once, she seemed quite comfortable, sleeping without the aid of any Elvish concoction. She was entering the last and worst stage of her pregnancy, as far as discomfort was concerned, and he wished there was more he could do to ease it. She was so _tiny_ , her hips so narrow...he would carry her around in a sling, if he was able and she was actually willing. While she needed a certain measure of exercise, even the walk here from the Dining Hall had all but felled her.

 

She shifted in her sleep, frowning, brows drawn together. If she was having a nightmare, he had to wake her, though he didn’t want to -- she never seemed to remember them in the morning, and he’d rather she not start.

 

 _Does this happen often?_ Thranduil asked Ratiri, gesturing to Lorna.

 

 _I wouldn’t say often, but more often than I’d like_ , Ratiri said. _Whatever she’s dreaming about, she never remembers it, but she’s hit me more than once in her sleep. Though the sleep-talking is the creepiest. I’d known it could happen, but I’d never seen it before. You think she’s awake, until you realize you’re having two different conversations._

 

_If I may ask, what does she talk about?_

 

 _That_ was the truly unsettling thing. _Murder_ , Ratiri said. _I’ve never seen her look like that when she’s awake, but she’s almost...reptilian, I would call it. It’s like she’s a different person. I know she’s had anger issues in the past, and that she has a very good reason to want to kill someone, but it’s still unsettling. Eventually she falls back and sleep and wakes up, and that’s that. Could she be remembering something? Something we’d all rather she not?_

 

 _There is no ‘could’, it is exactly what is happening, for I can see what she is dreaming of. I do not know what to do. These images should not be there. I do not want them there, it is bad for the children; her body is filled with stress from her thoughts. And yet this will not kill anyone, so to speak. I am deeply reluctant to act without her explicit consent. Ratiri, perhaps this is something you could do. Tell her what is happening, and that it would be better were this taken from her. There is no benefit to her enduring this in her sleep. And perhaps she could hear it from you, more than me._ What he did not speak aloud was a fear, based on a very uncertain guess, that another possibility was occurring. That whatever had been done to her to block her memory, was fading. He hoped he was wrong, and he hoped that perhaps he would be allowed to eradicate this cancer before that could become an issue. He sighed. Being good, at times, was so very difficult. He could have said nothing, and no one but him would ever have known. And yet, he had learned a thing or two about mortals and deception. He shook his head, though the motion was so subtle only he could see it.

 

 _I will_ , Ratiri said, still rubbing her feet. _I’m glad she doesn’t remember them, because they can be so violent, and God has she scared me a few times. They were so infrequent up until recently, but they’re getting worse, and I’m sure she’ll listen._ She trusted Thranduil, even with what he’d done to knock her out...Ratiri hoped. There was no reason she shouldn’t listen, at any rate. Or so he believed.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> William Shakespeare, sonnets 55 and 104
> 
> The Pogues, "Fairytale of New York" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9jbdgZidu8 (the song Lorna sings in Irish, in the Dining Hall)


	51. Fifty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 15, 2016

The next morning woke Ratiri with a punch to the face.

 

It was not the first time Lorna had hit him in her sleep, though it was definitely the hardest. He winced, touching his jaw; he’d have a bruise there later, he was sure. 

 

Lorna herself hadn’t woken -- she’d actually fallen back into deeper sleep, sprawled across his chest, breath warm against his skin. Even pregnant and only nominally ambulatory, she had a hit like a longshoreman.

 

Carefully he eased himself out from beneath her, heading to the loo for a cold compress. He hadn’t actually told her she’d been doing this, but maybe he ought to. He had to talk her into letting Thranduil help with her nightmares, sooner rather than later.

 

When he emerged back into the bedroom, he saw she was not only awake, but grey-faced, her mouth a hard line. She looked at him, her expression somehow a cross between a kitten and a wolverine. “Ow,” she said -- it was all she said, a sound somehow both irate and pathetic.

 

“What is it?” he asked, coming around the bed.

 

“Legs,” she said, this word rather more pathetic than irate. “What happened to you?” Her eyes flicked over his face, but there would be no bruise yet.

 

“You did,” he said, with a slight laugh. “You hit me.”

 

Lorna winced. She hadn’t done that in years -- there had been a few times she’d hit Liam in her sleep, but she’d thought all that was behind her. “Christ, allanah, I’m so sorry. Let me see.” She moved to sit up, and immediately regretted it; pain lanced through both her legs, hot and sharp and shockingly intense. She clamped her teeth together, head falling back on the pillow. What in mother  _ fuck  _ was this shite? It was so intense it was nauseating, climbing up her nerves and into her back. “ _ Ow _ . What the fuck?”

 

“It’s nothing dangerous,” Ratiri said soothingly. “It happens sometimes, with pregnancy.” He fetched her the cordial Thranduil had given them, so that he need not get called in every time she had a headache or cramp. Unlike most medicines, it actually tasted good -- a bit like oranges, according to her.

 

Lorna sighed with relief almost immediately, and Ratiri wondered how the hell that actually worked. With any normal oral medicine, it would take at least a little time to absorb into her system, but this seemed nearly instantaneous. 

 

That it worked so swiftly meant he didn’t hesitate with his next words. “Lorna, this isn’t the first time you’ve hit me in your sleep,” he said, sitting on the bed beside her. “You have nightmares that you obviously don’t remember, and they’re getting more frequent. I want Thranduil to deal with them for you.”

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. “Thranduil,” she said, “is not a magical Band-Aid.” His words of some days ago came to her -- that she’d been using him without knowing. Obviously he  _ would  _ know now, and would probably agree to it, but it seemed such a trivial use of his abilities. While she certainly didn’t want to be hitting Ratiri in her  sleep, she also didn’t want Thranduil in her head like that yet again. She’d been relying on him so much to deal with her mental issues that she was a bit ashamed of herself, honestly. It meant she wasn’t actually dealing with things herself -- she was just fobbing her problems off on someone who could deal out a quick fix, no muss, fuss, or effort on her part. And that just seemed  _ wrong _ .

 

“No, but he wants to help,” Ratiri said -- a mistake, because her hormone-amplified temper flared.

 

“You talked to him about this before you talked to me,” she said flatly. “You went behind my back and told  _ him _ , but not me?”

 

“Not on purpose,” Ratiri said. “You were having one when you took a nap last night, and it just rather...came up. He’s worried, too.”

 

“How long have I been having these?” she demanded, sitting up straighter.

 

He sighed. “Going on three months, now. At first they were infrequent, but they’re getting worse.”

 

Lorna stared at him. “Ratiri,” she said, “this shite has been going on for  _ three fucking months _ , and you didn’t think to, I don’t know,  _ tell me _ ?”

 

“I didn’t think you needed to know,” he said, realizing this whole situation was going south. “You didn’t remember them.”

 

Her stare turned into a glower, rage that was somewhat shocking in its intensity coursing through her. “Didn’t need to know?” she repeated. “ _ Didn’t need to fucking know?  _ What in mother fuck gives you the right to decide what I do and don’t know about myself?”

 

“You’re being dramatic,” he said. “I didn’t want you to worry. You’ve got so much on your mind already.”

 

He did have a point -- there was logic behind his decision, but it was still bloody  _ wrong _ , and Lorna’s rage and her hormones weren’t going to accept it. “You don’t get to do that,” she snarled. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, like I’m some bloody goddamn child. I am sick to fucking death’v people lecturing me -- don’t you fucking tell me I’m being ‘dramatic’.”

 

Ratiri rose. “You  _ are _ ,” he said, glaring at her -- she’d never seen him look like that before, at her or anyone else. “I’m sorry, Lorna, but your judgment really is impaired right now. You didn’t need the stress this would have added -- that it’s adding now, obviously. You need to see Thranduil. This isn’t something you should be dealing with on your own.” He was right and he knew it, but he knew already he wasn’t going to make her  _ see  _ that right now. Even without the hormones she was stubborn as a bloody mule.

 

“I,” she said, swinging her legs off the bed, “don’t  _ need  _ to do anything except take a piss. I swear to Christ you just get more and more bloody controlling the longer this goes on. ‘Eat this, don’t eat that’. ‘Do this, don’t do that.’ The un-bloody-spoken ‘You’re incompetent and can’t function without me hovering.’ I’m tired’v everybody fucking telling me what I should or shouldn’t be doing.”

 

“You wouldn’t take care of yourself if someone didn’t make you,” Ratiri snapped. “You’d be drinking caffeine and eating all the wrong things, and putting those children and yourself in danger.”

 

“I’d. Be.  _ Fine _ ,” she growled. “I wouldn’t be eating bloody rabbit food like you’ve got me on, but I’m not stupid, Ratiri. It’s not like I’d go inhaling salty chips if you weren’t looking over my god damn shoulder.”

 

“I’ve been doing everything I can for you,” he said, his ire rising. “ _ Everything _ .”

 

“Including treat me like a fucking child,” Lorna retorted. “You think I don’t appreciate it? You think I haven’t been trying so much myself, to give you what you deserve -- what I’ve never given anyone else, because I didn’t know how? I’m not sitting on my arse just taking from you, Ratiri Duncan. I thought you’v all people’d see that.”

 

“I can’t read your mind, Lorna, so how the hell would I know?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, genuinely wounded under her anger. “And here’s me, thinking I’d showed you. Thinking I’d said so, even though I’m shite at using my words. Apparently I’m even worse at it than I thought.”

 

“Stop,” he said. “Just...stop.”

 

That only added petrol to her smoldering rage. “Quit. Telling. Me. What. To.  _ Do _ ,” she snarled, and even through her fury, even through a level of wrath that burned as hot as ever it had before Thranduil and Thanadir  had fixed her mind, she knew she had to get out of there. She knew with full certainty that if she didn’t, Ratiri was going to get hit, and she couldn’t live with herself if she did that.

 

She stalked into the bathroom, doing her business and washing her hands, but her ire didn’t cool. If anything, it intensified, focusing down into a needle-fine point that stabbed in a headache behind her left eye.

 

“Get out,” she said, when she returned to the room. “Just  _ get out _ .”

 

Ratiri stared at her before shaking his head, muttering something she wished she hadn’t heard: “Try harder.” Out he went, and she had no doubt at all that he was off to get Thranduil, that he was ignoring and patronizing her.

 

Fuck. That.

 

She couldn’t lock the door -- he had a key -- but she shoved the sofa against it. Even Thranduil would have a job of getting  _ that  _ open.

 

She wanted a drink. Oh  _ God _ , she wanted a drink. Somehow, even with the pain cordial, her headache was intensifying, her vision blurry. In years past her temper had done this to her, but it was worse now, possibly because it had been so long.

 

But something -- something inside her, something within her mind -- was... _ cracking _ . It was the oddest sensation she’d ever felt, and with it came an inexplicable spike of terror. This was -- what  _ was  _ this? 

 

_ This was a scent, dark and earthy and distinctive, one she’d hoped she’d never encounter again. It was horrifying, and yet now there was something hypnotic in it. _

 

_ Lorna had never let herself think about what Von Ratched had actually done to her, because it would help nothing -- she’d assumed it was something disgusting and degrading that he’d made her enjoy, and left it at that. What she remembered now was neither. _

 

_ It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder how Thranduil could know the fucker’s motivations behind his ‘gifts’ when it was her memory, but she knew it now. The son of a bitch had told her how beautiful she was, how lovely she’d smelled and tasted -- had wrung climax after climax out of her until she’d screamed herself hoarse, his hands and his mouth everywhere, taking her like a lover would, like  _ Ratiri  _ would, and she’d  _ loved  _ it. She’d loved the way he felt, the things he did to her -- all the things she liked best, pulled from her memories. She’d cried out for him, his name -- his true name, helpless in the sheer strength of her desire. He hadn’t forced her to enjoy being degraded, he’d forced her to feel like she was the most desirable thing in the world, so careful with her she might as well have been made of china. And what she’d  _ felt _...what she’d  _ wanted _...Christ, what she’d  _ begged  _ for...he’d manipulated her mind and driven her to heights that wouldn’t have been possible without telepathic influence, and the force of it, so at war with her revulsion, drove her to her knees, clutching her head. _

 

Lorna wasn’t actually aware that she was screaming -- she was too lost in the nightmare of her own memory, her mind horrified almost to breaking point.

 

******

 

When an eye opened, Earlene found herself alone in their room, though the fire had been lit. Not sort-of alone, but truly alone; Allanah was not in her crib and there were no sounds in the outer room. Lying there, she began to review the new heights of pathos to which she had ascended yesterday. As near as she could tell, the highlights were losing the ability to safely walk unaided even a little, and having a complete meltdown in the bathing pool without even realizing the seneschal was six inches from her nose. Her nose attached to her bare naked body, not that that actually mattered, but surely it might be nice to at least recall one’s own state of nudity?  _ Fuck this. You’ve always tried to work things out on your own, Earlene. Figure it out.  _ With an edge of determination, she threw off the bedclothes, and swung herself to the edge of the mattress, tentatively testing her strength. Not good.  _ Fine. If Allanah can get around this way, so can I. In fact, I’d wager I did this once too.  _ And she carefully lowered herself onto all fours, which actually wasn’t that difficult since her legs seemed to want to go to jelly anyhow, but it was done in a controlled fashion. And she crawled toward the lavatory, realizing that  _ this _ she could do fine,  _ this _ she could do on her own. Her upper body was strong, easily powerful enough to help her uncooperative legs to get herself to the toilet. Pink-faced but actually not feeling like a useless lump for the first time in days, she enjoyed the blessed happiness of peeing out a full bladder, even as she began to reprove herself.

 

_ You know, you ought to be bloody ashamed of how you’ve been acting. What about people who find out they have MS, or ALS, or any of those other horrible conditions that put a person in a wheelchair and take away all use of their body? And it will never  get better for them, except when they pass on from this life? The only thing wrong with you is the two beautiful and immortal daughters you are being given by your elven husband. Two little girls that you’ll get to meet somewhere inside the next four months, give or take. And you have the gall to turn into a whinging pile of self-pity? Badly done, Earlene. Badly done. Thanadir might sympathize with your shite, but goddammit if you should be okay with this. How did the Ice Queen look yesterday, blubbering away over nothing? Just, keep your perspective, lady. Yes, it’s been hard, but you’ve got nothing on other people’s problems. _

 

Feeling mentally readjusted, she cleaned herself and washed her hands, simply resting her abdomen on the ridge of the basin while she did so. Frowning, she caught sight of her hands.  _ These fingernails have got to go, and the only clipper I can think of is at the cottage. Didn’t he say once, that elves don’t have to trim their fingernails, or something? Surely they at least have to file them, on occasion?  _ With a shrug, she lowered herself back down and crawled up, raising herself up like a prairie dog at the entrance to the bedroom. Yesterday’s dress was nowhere in sight, perhaps Thranduil had left it in the bathing room? _ Screw that. _ She crawled to the wardrobe, and opened the door to the side that held her expanding collection of dresses. And given that there was only one other choice that was both clean and able to fit on her swollen body, that reduced the options. With a few flicks of her wrist she was able to cause the garment to release from its hanging device, and fall on her. Sitting on her own heels, she pulled her tunic off and the dress on, slowly beginning the process of adjusting the laces. The top ones had to be loosened before her breasts could be shoved where they needed to be. Allanah was not nursing quite so much, and her ampleness had reduced by a little, but not enough to suit her. For all her best efforts, and in spite of having on Thanadir’s milk-absorbing garment underneath, she was left with a cleavage worthy of the seediest Renaissance Faire costume. She poked at her bosom hopelessly, trying to stuff it further inside her clothing, and burst into laughter. This is how Thranduil found her. Giggling, on the floor, and with Huge Tracts of Land quite prominently displayed and jiggling enticingly. Even though he could read her mind, he approached cautiously, not understanding this new development.

 

“Meluieg?” he asked, kneeling down next to her, silently enjoying his view. He kissed her and gently embraced her.

 

“Good morning, Thranduil,” she said. “Could you take me to a chair, please? Adjusting my clothing is not going so well, down here. 

 

Privately, he thought it was adjusted to perfection. “Of course,” he smiled, already feeling a stirring in his breeches. “But meluieg, I would be remiss not to inform you that the sight of you has already created the beginnings of lust. You are very beautiful, today. Too beautiful,” he said wistfully. 

 

Earlene laughed. “Well I cannot walk, but I can get by on all fours just fine. I am certain you could manage to do something, with that?” she said mischievously, before her voice softened. “Please, have me. You will feel better, and so will I.” To emphasize, she was already tugging loose the laces of his clothing, caressing him.

 

“I do not think this will take long,” he said, his voice growing husky even as his hands roved under and over her clothing. She kissed him luxuriously as he freed himself and then anchored herself on the soft and thick carpet, soon feeling his hands on her and the warmth that spread from them. If there was one thing she wished she could bottle and share with other human women, it was this gift of his to arouse desire. How he could take general amorous interest and shape it into intense physical lust in under a minute by the touch of his fingers; a great many would likely give much to have such a privilege. And it only increased and amplified, when his manhood replaced his long and dextrous fingers. The electric sensations of his movements inside of her, so blindingly intense...she did not resist the climax that tore through her, followed by the sounds of his own release. He raised his body, pulling her back against him, onto him, holding her tightly against the onslaught of his pleasure. Twisting around in his arms, she sought to kiss him. 

 

“I love you, Thranduil. More than I can say, more than anything.”

 

“And I you, Earlene.” His face was buried in her neck, taking in the scent of her hair, appreciating the warmth of her body, but most of all feeling waves of love for her willing spirit. “Thank you,” he said, raising her off of him. He carried her to the requested chair and kissed her, before restoring his clothing to order. “I am not so skilled as Thanadir, but perhaps I can help with your dress? Or at least try?”

 

She nodded gratefully, because the other laces were in the back, where she had little hope of reaching them in spite of her flexibility. Right now she would likely agree to anything at all, so pleasant was the sensation that lingered in her body.

 

“Meluieg,” he continued carefully, “there is something I was asked...to do, by Ratiri. He wants your help but is embarrassed.”

 

“Then it has to do with sex?” Earlene chuckled.  _ Three guesses and two don’t count, with those two. _

 

Thranduil grinned. Clearly his wife’s powers of analysis were intact, at least for the moment. “Ah, yes. I need not tell you that this is a matter needing the greatest discretion?”

 

“It’s about sex  _ and _ Lorna doesn’t know he’s asking for help?” she quipped, a mischievous eye looking up at him.

 

“By the Valar, Earlene, which one of us can read minds?” he joked, laughing. “Yes, you have assessed the situation correctly.”

 

“And what is this matter that requires help?” Her tone now was shot through with complete amusement.

 

“Well, if I understand correctly…”

 

“Thranduil. Out with it. If those two are influencing you, I shall become cross.”

 

His rumbling laugh ran through her with a thrill, as he hugged her against him. “Very well. Lorna has apparently become insatiable in her level of desire, and Ratiri is not an ellon. He would like to find a means to satisfy her that does not involve the full use of his own body, and is at a loss.”

 

“Well, there are about ten thousand sex toys available for sale. Why doesn’t he order some? You know, like Siobhan’s dildo, except something a woman would actually want brought near her?”

 

“I believe that is the crux of the question, Earlene. He does not know what items might fit that latter definition. Lorna clearly did not approve of her friend’s gift, and he is therefore...very uncertain as to what if anything could please her.”

 

“Ohhhh. Well why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

 

She caught a grimace on his face. “Honestly, meluieg, I felt uncertain about your views on...contrivances. You have not seemed interested in…”

 

Earlene laughed harder. “And clarity washes down from on high,” she giggled. “Thranduil, it is not that I could not be interested in them. It is that you are so good as a lover, and your own anatomy is so incredibly satisfying to me that I have had little incentive to try. But if it would please you to use Siobhan’s toy, or anything like it, I am willing. You only need procure it when you wish. That is,” she said with a frown,”if you know where it even is, I confess I lost track of it.”

 

“I put it away,” he admitted with a slight blush. “And thank you for telling me so plainly. As well as for the compliment. But this does not answer Ratiri’s question?”

 

“Ah. Well, unfortunately I am not very experienced with such products. Which is to say, not experienced at all. But I will own up to having done some reading. There are many kinds, that do many things. One class of them uses batteries, to create vibration or other...motion, either externally or internally. They appear to be very popular, because it does not matter what size of item one chooses; the vibration alone brings a woman to climax. I would guess that it is something like what you are able to do to my body, except...a little different. Lorna seems to be a no-frills kind of woman. Surely something like that, not in a garish color? There are products that are made to feel soft, like the consistency of a real male member. If the reviews are to be believed, women cannot tell them apart from their partners, once warmed and...inserted. If you wish, I will go online and find some suggestions for him, but I would need to do this at the cottage.”

 

Thranduil smiled, happy that his faith in her comfort with this subject had not been misplaced. “I think he would appreciate that very much, meluieg. I ordinarily would not willingly involve myself in this, but…”

 

“But Lorna is a total handful even when she isn’t miserably pregnant, they have no Thanadir, and Ratiri is barely treading water as time goes on?”

 

_ By Eru, does she know my thoughts?? No, it is impossible… _ “Something like that,” he said, afraid to say too much.

 

Earlene tilted her head. “I will not inquire further, I know you cannot break your confidences. I hope you know, too...I do not mind, should you want or need to tell others things about me. There are only a few very private matters...things that have transpired between us as King and subject, or things you have seen in me about my brother...that I would not ever want shared without my consent. I trust your judgement, and that you know enough about me to perceive the difference.”

 

He had just finished adjusting the laces on her dress, and his eyes widened to hear this. Her words essentially absolved him of more than one occasion on which he had strayed out of bounds. He knelt down in front of her. “Thank you, for what you have said here.” Earlene could not resist leaning forward to kiss him. He was so, so beautiful. 

 

“You are welcome, but it will cost you something,” she teased. “Find me a clean undergarment? Please?”

 

He threw his head back and laughed.  _ How did I ever believe I loved Alassëa? _ They had never had any of this, between them. Only sex, and finery, and the shared willingness to parent their son. And for just a flashing moment, a sorrowful thought crept in.  _ And one I had for centuries, and the other I will have for only a few decades, if I am very fortunate. _ It felt very unfair, and yet he would not have changed his mind. He found and brought what she asked for, and raised her up so that she could finish dressing. “Time to eat,” he said, hearing the noises of Thanadir and Ortherion in the next room, and lifting her into his arms. He moved through the doorway, and his eyes widened at the exchange assaulting his awareness from Lorna and Ratiri. “Thanadir,” he said aloud. “Something requires my attention, will you please?”

 

Earlene frowned, but did not resist as she was taken into the seneschal’s arms. She dissembled as though she did not realize that something had just happened to mightily grab at her husband’s notice. “Aur vaer (good day), Hîr vuin, Ortherion,” she said with all the politeness she could muster, as she held onto Thanadir’s shoulders. Thranduil left their rooms in an obvious hurry. She was seated on the sofa, only now realizing that Allanah was still nowhere to be seen. “Allanah…?” 

“Adh Lothiriel, Hiril vuin,” (with Lothiriel) said Ortherion kindly, causing her to turn her full attention to the ellon.

 

With an appreciative nod, she thanked him. “Len hannon,” she said. “Thank you,” she added slowly.

 

“Thank you,” he imitated carefully.

 

Earlene nodded. “Len, you. Hannon, I thank.”

 

Ortherion looked at her appreciatively, glancing furtively at Thanadir to perceive if this was permitted, to speak with the queen. Earlene did not wait, and spoke with pleading eyes. “Thanadir, I hope that it is allowed, for Ortherion to converse when he comes here. Else he will never learn any English. Please?”

 

Thanadir frowned, but then laughed to realize she was doing to him as he did to her, and sighed. “It would not usually be considered proper decorum, Earlene, but times are changing. Have changed. What you ask is practical, and kind. I will not interfere.” And to the other ellon, he elaborated on what the queen had just said. With a look of both delight and relief, Ortherion smiled. “Thank you,” he repeated again. And now Earlene knew exactly what to do for this ellon. There were no written materials, to explain English to a native Sindarin speaker, and clearly none of the others had Thanadir’s staggering intellect. It would be a great effort, but she had more than a week’s time, to try and translate much of her grammar file into something that could aid him to learn English. She would ask Thanadir to help her. Her time for the next many days would be beyond spoken for.

 

******

 

Thranduil strode down the passages, almost but not quite running. He encountered Maerwen outside Lorna’s door, pushing lightly against the obstructed portal. She was capable of shifting it, but did not know what was the matter or if she should. At the sight of her King rounding the corner, she curtsied and lowered her head. 

 

“Aliathon, Maerwen. Gwanno.” (I will help, Maerwen. Go (lit.=’depart’.) The words were rushed but spoken with kindness. He was obeyed immediately, and with a single push of his hand, opened the door as though a sofa were not blocking it. There was no consideration or hesitation; he ran across the room with a tiger’s grace to see Lorna crumpled on the floor, and with a touch sent her into unconsciousness. He pulled her into his arms and cried with rage and hurt, knowing it was the one time he would have the luxury of doing this while holding her. And with those tears came a blazing resolve. If there were consequences, he would pay them, but this memory would never harm her again. He did what he should have done last night, and laid his hand on her head to burn any recollection of these memories from her mind. While he held and rocked her, he prayed to the Valar on his knees that they be given the chance to undo their enemy. Pleaded as he never had before, with his eyes squeezed shut, for something he desired. 

 

A blaze of light seared across his closed eyes, which opened in disbelief. An ethereal figure of mighty presence stood before him, his hair a flowing white-blonde lighter than his own. An openwork crown of spreading wings graced his brow, and a mantle of midnight blue covered robes of pale turquoise with scrolling trimwork. His eyes blazed with the light of the skies above, and terrible power emanated from him. In the stillness of the room, the air moved, charged with force. “My Lord,” Thranduil spoke, lowering his head even as he held Lorna protectively against him. 

 

“You are surprised, Aran Thranduil?” spoke the sonorous voice of the Lord of the Wind. “Then again, it has been long, even as we count the passing of time, has it not?” That neither the words nor the tone were unkind, imparted to Thranduil some courage. He raised his eyes once again.

 

“I did not expect…” he trailed off, overwhelmed and at a loss for speech.

 

“To receive a response to your prayer? We have watched you, and watched over you, in your long years of isolation, little one. And now perhaps something has arisen which brings our purposes into alignment. Something for which we have long waited.”

 

“My Lord Manwë?” Thranduil asked, awash in confusion. 

 

“I will speak plainly to you, last of the Elvenkings to grace Eru’s creation. You have beseeched us for something. And yet there is something we would ask of you in return. Will you hear our price, for granting that this creature, the one known to us as Avathar, will be made vulnerable to you?”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” even as he experienced a sinking feeling that he would not like this.

 

A sonorous and merry laugh came from the King of the Valar. “Know that you are dearly loved, Aran Thranduil, as are all those of the Firstborn in your care and keeping. And even these of the Secondborn, who have taught you so much.” His attention diverted for a moment, Manwë reached out his arms, silently asking for Lorna. With a pounding heart, Thranduil handed her over with reluctance, not daring to refuse. “Though we bargain with you,” Manwë said sadly, ”do not think we have been without sympathy. None of Avathar’s deeds ever should have occurred. That he escaped destruction, by accident or oversight, has displeased us greatly. Your courage is beyond question, my friend. As is that of this fragile tiny one.” The dazzling Ainu spoke with tender regard, before he leaned forward to kiss Lorna’s forehead. Thranduil stared in open astonishment, as he received her back into his arms, fixed by Manwë’s eyes. “Our price is that you do what should have been done long ago, Thranduil. You will lead your people to come home. Home to Aman, where they belong.”

 

“Earlene,” Thranduil whispered, in a flash of understanding. “Those times a strangeness came over her…”

 

“Yes. You are yet given many years, as the humans count them, little one. Enjoy your children, mortal and peredhel. Watch them grow. See what you will see, in the world of the Secondborn. In time, you will understand with finality why we have asked this of you. Before the years granted to your wife have reached an end, you will be led home.”

 

“I cannot leave her,” Thranduil gasped, tears welling into his eyes. “Please…I love Earlene.” His heart was wrenching apart; his duty to his people was clear, and yet to require this of him….

 

“No, little one. You misunderstand. You will not leave her. She will show you the way; Earlene is my vessel, sanctified to me. Did you never wonder, how out of all mortal females in the world, she came to you?” He smiled, before his face took on grave seriousness. “I will have your answer, Thranduil. What do you choose?”

 

He had never felt more bewildered in his life, except perhaps on the day Oropher had died and the magnitude of his new obligations were washing over him. There was no choice here, and he knew it. One did not refuse the Valar, without grave consequences. They did not ask on a whim, and to ignore their will had always been a precursor to tragedy. His head bowed deeply in submission. “I yield to your bidding, my Lord. I give my promise to do as you require.”

 

The Vala smiled. “We hear it, and accept your vow. Be vigilant. We rejoice, to know that we will see you soon. Blessings, Aran Thranduil.” He felt a touch under his jaw that raised his head, and the lips that pressed to his brow. In its wake he felt a powerful yearning.

 

With a wind that moved through the room, the Lord was gone. For a very long time, Thranduil remained frozen, kneeling on the carpet, holding Lorna to him. Tears splashed from his eyes. Though it was subsiding, muting into something bearable, he knew what this yearning was and why it had been given. 

 

For now, there was only one to whom he could confide this, and whose counsel he would accept. His head absolutely reeled, and he desperately wanted wine. Slowly, he rose, carrying Lorna. She would sleep for many hours yet, and he had obligations. Deeply stunned and shaken, he absentmindedly pushed the sofa back into place and tried to compose himself as he brought Lorna back to his own rooms.

 

*****

 

Rarely in his life had Ratiri been well and truly furious. He was, by and large, a peaceable man, with the patience that was called for to be a good pediatrician. But this -- all of this -- had been slowly taking its toll for months, and Lorna was the last straw. She wasn’t stubborn, she was downright pigheaded, and Ratiri knew he was going to have to fetch Thranduil, since she wouldn’t go on her own -- but not yet. He needed to work some of this out first, so he went to the training hall, fuming.

 

It was empty as ever, and he took up a sword, running through the warm-up exercises Thanadir had taught him. He’d hoped the action would calm him, but it only made him more furious, and he went after a dummy with cold precision. The weight of the weapon in his hands did help, but not by much.

 

He always had to be the calm one, the steady one -- had always needed to, all his life, to balance out his larger-that-life parents. He’d been the calm one with Katherine, though she hadn’t been anywhere near as volatile as Lorna. And now there was Lorna, pigheaded and occasionally astoundingly immature. He was not, just now, able to think about how far she’d actually come, and how much of a disadvantage she’d been at before she met him. Yes, she was trying, but sometimes, in his darkest moments, it just didn’t seem like enough.

 

So he stabbed and he sliced, working through the drills as Thanadir had shown him, a kind of violent meditation that shut out his anger, his stress, his fear that they may well be trapped in here forever. The Halls were beautiful beyond anything he ever could have imagined, but he was human. He needed sky, and he had to admit he missed ready electricity. He missed many things about the human world -- Guinness, and pub sandwiches; the internet, his mobile; the ability to drive where he wished, or to drive at all. He’d lived in the modern world too long -- if he’d been dropped here as a kid, he’d have turned his back on modernity without a second thought, but now...now it was harder. And he was quite annoyed with himself for it, because it told him just how spoiled he’d been without realizing it.

 

And he worried about the twins. Thranduil had staggering powers of healing, but unless he could actually rearrange the human skeleton, Lorna could well have serious complications. Obviously he could manipulate...some things...but could he widen a pelvis? If not, she might need a C-section -- and he was not qualified to do it. Oh, he  _ knew  _ how, but he’d never done it; it wasn’t his specialty. And even if he’d been qualified, he had none of the tools necessary. He didn’t know Lorna’s blood type, and he was not a universal donor. If Earlene wasn’t, either, a transfusion wasn’t an option -- because he highly doubted Elves and humans had compatible blood types.

 

He hacked the head off the dummy, watching it fall to the ground with a  _ thud _ . The scent of dried straw wafted through the air, and he felt a bit ashamed of himself. Thranduil dealt with so much more than he did, and never even seemed impatient -- but then, it wasn’t like Ratiri saw him all the time; perhaps he too had to come and take his frustrations out on a dummy or five.

 

*****

 

Thranduil walked past Earlene and Thanadir bearing Lorna to the sofa in their bedroom, placing her on it. Earlene’s head jerked up, her eyes widening, but one look at Thranduil’s face caused any words to die on her lips. He returned, and obviously spoke silently to his seneschal, and the two of them made to leave.  _ I love you, my King,  _ she said silently to him. Thranduil stopped, and turned back to gaze on her. Without breaking his eye contact, he walked to where she sat and leaned down to kiss her. It was a demanding kiss, one that insisted she yield to him. She did not need to understand, but calmly gave him what he wished, reaching up to caress his cheek. He already knew that she was here to support him in whatever manner. Or at least, she hoped so. Just as abruptly, he turned and stormed out with Thanadir in tow. Though there were offices, he preferred a location where no one would disturb them; his seneschal’s rooms would suffice. 

 

When he entered, the mask he had held over his emotions crumbled. “Thanadir,” he whispered, with an agitation the seneschal could only recall seeing once before. Cautiously, Thanadir reached for his monarch, drawing him close. Thranduil touched their foreheads together, and proceeded to disgorge everything that had happened to him, every word that was spoken. When he broke away, he crumpled onto Thanadir’s sofa. “Meldir, I feel lost,” he said with uncharacteristic lack of control. “And afraid.”

 

Thanadir sat next to him, now equally stunned, and carefully placed a hand on Thranduil’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. “Surely, my King, this is a great blessing? We have been…” he did not wish to say the wrong thing. “We have been apart from our people, and from our Lords, for a very long time. And we are yet granted years here, with our mortal friends? I will not fear to go, wherever you lead me.”

 

“My faithful brother,” the King said, grateful for his steadying presence, breathing a sigh. “I feel too that I can face our future. Indeed I must; I have vowed to obey them, and it is no accident that the longing for Aman was placed in my heart. It is...what do I tell Earlene? Do I tell her anything? And what of Ratiri, and Lorna? This will affect them, and yet I would spare them the anxiety of what is to come. If I barely understand, how do I expect them to?”

 

Thanadir considered very carefully, choosing his next words with great caution. “My King, you know that I love you. And I love Earlene also, in a measure I never believed I could feel toward a mortal. I care too about Lorna and Ratiri, deeply, though my bond to them is not as strong. Thranduil, I will ask your forgiveness now, for the words I am about to speak. Though you are wed to Earlene, there are times I do not believe you take the measure of her correctly. There is nothing you have shared with me that Earlene would be incapable of hearing. But regarding the others...perhaps it would be best to keep this among your sworn people. From what the Lord Manwë has spoken to you, much will occur. It is my belief that with time, your path will become clearer than it is now. If it is my counsel you wish, then I can say no better than this.” He lowered his eyes, wondering how much...what did the humans say?..how much he had put his foot in his mouth.

 

At first, the observation about Earlene  grated. But as he forced himself to reflect, he admitted that Thanadir was not wrong. In some ways, his seneschal understood her better. Just as he and Lorna had a strange commonality, so did Earlene and Thanadir. “I will reflect on your words. And there is nothing to forgive. Though I would prefer not to admit it, you are correct. That I could unburden myself to you...this has meant a great deal to me, and I thank you. I am sorry, that…”

 

“My Lord,” said Thanadir, shaking his head. “No King of our people would have been unaffected, by what you experienced. I would do anything for you. To listen to you was my privilege.” They looked at each other for some moments, not speaking. “Thranduil, what...happened, to Lorna? Was something...done...to her, as it was to you?”

 

“I do not know,” he whispered. “It is my great hope, that some manner of blessing was bestowed. It was extraordinary.”

 

“The Valar have had few direct dealings with mortals,” Thanadir admitted. “And none were left untouched. If there is an occasion for you to share with Lorna what occurred, I believe in my heart that you will know it at that time. But especially before her children come, I would advise you to keep your silence.”

 

Thranduil nodded, rising. “My thoughts feel more ordered, now.” He grimaced. “And yet this morning is not over yet. Ratiri and Lorna had a disagreement, in addition to all of this. Which makes yet another task for me. Return to Earlene, meldir. Lorna will not wake for some time. I should go to Ratiri.”

 

Thanadir stood also. “The mortals are a great deal of work,” he mused. “And yet I have found great happiness alongside them.”

 

The King smiled as he enveloped Thanadir in a bear hug. “As have I, gwador.”

 

The seneschal smiled as his eyes widened in delight. Thranduil had never called him that before. As he returned to Earlene, Thanadir shook his head.  _ It had all begun, with her. And Eru only knew where it would end.  _ And yet more than anything else, it felt exciting, optimistic. When he entered the King’s rooms, Earlene’s alert eyes followed him, though she did not ask any questions. He sat next to her, taking her hands. “All is well, Earlene. I believe the King will speak to you at a time of his choosing. But even if not, I will risk telling you that all is well.”

 

She laughed softly. “Do not get yourself in trouble on my account, meldir. I accepted that I would not know many things, when I swore my fealty to Thranduil. Nevertheless I thank you, for your reassurance.” A smile of happy contentment that was usually given only to him, came over her face, before that expression shifted. “Please, I am very thirsty,” she said. The pitcher of water was at the sideboard, and procuring it for herself was not possible. He rose immediately.

 

“I am sorry, Earlene, did you want your tea? Or water? Breakfast is rather delayed, today,” he frowned. 

 

“Please, water. I can wait awhile yet to eat. I think.”

 

Thanadir smiled, hoping Thranduil would not need too long.

 

******

 

“Ratiri,” said Thranduil kindly. “Forgive my intrusion, but I hoped you would be willing to come for our meal. Lorna will not be eating with us,” he said softly, on the odds that this information might help sway him.

 

Ratiri lowered his sword, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He did need to eat, for all his appetite was nowhere to be found. “I doubt I need to tell you we fought,” he said. “She’s too stubborn for her own good.”

 

“I do not disagree,” he agreed, before hesitantly adding to his words. “There are some things you should know. Would you come with me?”

 

Well, that was nice and cryptic. Ratiri cleaned the sword off and put it away. “Should I be worried?”

 

“I….” Thranduil looked at him helplessly, knowing that this response was a complete failure. Could he be forgiven, for having been pushed beyond what even he could manage in a single morning? “I do not fully know. But I do not think so.”

 

The very fact that Thranduil didn’t ‘fully know’ was in itself worrying, and enough to make Ratiri follow him. “I said something I should not have,” he admitted. “Something I’m not sure she’ll forgive me for, because it was one of the worst things I  _ could  _ have said.”

 

“It is not my business to interfere in another’s relationship, Ratiri. But know that...your struggles have not been hidden from me. If I am given the opportunity, I will do what I can to help her see reason. You have a listening ear with me. However, I am afraid I may be in my own cauldron of hot water with her. After you had your disagreement, something happened. Whatever Von Ratched did to keep her from remembering her rape dissolved away. She collapsed. I may pay for it with everything between her and I, but I rendered her unconscious and I wiped out all memory of what occurred. I could not bear to know that she would live with this, and I could not bear to continue enduring her forced struggles with every new aspect of this assault that has come to her awareness. And then...more happened, that I cannot yet share with you. Things that I barely understand myself. She was extraordinary blessed.” He shook his head. “I cannot say more. I will tell her what I have done; that duty will not fall to you a second time. By Eru, I need wine,” he said plaintively.

 

“She collapsed,” Ratiri echoed.  _ She collapsed, and I wasn’t there. _ It was true he probably couldn’t have  _ done  _ anything, they’d both been so angry that it might have done more harm than good, but still...that hit her, and he wasn’t there. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but part of him was jealous that Thranduil could help her so much better than he could, in half the time. “That...she’ll forgive you for that, I’m sure. Once she knows why.” Oh, how he wished there was any way he could get Thranduil to tell him what that ‘blessing’ was, but he knew better. “I’m not sure she’d ever  _ not  _ forgive you, honestly. She calls you her brother from another mother.” And family, he knew from long, long years of witnessing patients at the hospital, were often more readily forgiven than lovers or spouses.

 

“I am sorry, Ratiri. I truly do not mean to do for her what you cannot. Or rather, I do, but…” he groaned. “I think, I hope you know what I am trying to express. If it is any consolation, Thanadir can help Earlene in ways I wish I could, but cannot. And I do not know what form this blessing has taken. Regarding the other; I take nothing for granted. She will not wake soon, this time. And when she does wake, I cannot say what her frame of mind will be. Only that there is likely not enough wine in my cellars to manage it.”

 

“I may need to ask you for a drop or two myself,” Ratiri sighed. “I shouldn’t -- she needed to hear most of what I said, for all I doubt she’ll listen right now. I’ve never met a more pigheaded person. The last thing, though...you and I might be sitting in the same barrel of hot water, at least at first. She’s often wondered why women do this more than once, but I wonder just as much why their husbands or boyfriends or whatever would want to, either. I feel rather guilty, complaining about the strain of being supportive when she’s so physically miserable, but it  _ is  _ a strain.”

 

“I know it is,” Thranduil said sympathetically, placing an arm loosely across his shoulder. “My first wife was...well let us just say that Earlene, for all her struggle to date, has coped as well or even a little better. Lorna went into this with many more disadvantages, which has been helpful to no one. Do not think that your efforts have gone unnoticed. And Ratiri, it is perhaps beyond time to offer you more help. Lothiriel has begun coming. Ortherion now helps Thanadir, so that Thanadir can help Earlene. You have been largely without assistance. If you would like an elleth to be with Lorna, if only to give you some time alone, please say the word. Perhaps I too could help more, assuming she will still be speaking to me.”

 

“I would really, really appreciate it,” Ratiri said. “I can’t say that she’s demanding -- she’s not, unless it’s, er, bedroom-wise -- but she can barely move on her own now. Someone who could help would be wonderful.” He followed Thranduil, sighing again. “I realize this was both of our faults, but I still feel guilty at times. Neither of us thought for a moment of protection -- she had thought she was sterile, but  _ I  _ didn’t know that. The wine really didn’t just destroy our inhibitions, it smashed them into the earth and sowed the ground with salt.”

 

“Ratiri,” Thranduil said, stopping. “Your physical desires are common to your race, and nothing for which to apologize. And if there is any fault, it may very well be mine. I did not know of Lorna’s reproductive condition. I healed her on three different occasions, maybe four. My energy moves forth to restore, and repair. And suddenly she is able to conceive, albeit with children that she desires greatly. And then I provided you with our wine. While I cannot know for certain exactly what transpired, it certainly seems that some culpability rests at my feet.”

 

Ratiri turned this over, and actually burst out laughing. “Of course,” he said. “Magical incontinence. The two of us really do want these children, for all they weren’t planned, but honestly I think that’s been a bit harder on both of us. You and Earlene made a conscious decision to have children. Lorna and I got hideously drunk on incredibly good wine and accidentally made babies. We might both desire the outcome, but there are moments that I stop and wonder just what in God’s name I’ve got myself into, and I know she does, too. Something I’m sure will only get worse with two a.m. feedings and nappy changes,” he added, shaking his head.

 

“As long as you are among us you will have all the help you wish. All elves love children, and we have not been blessed with them in our Halls for a very long time. And I apologize to you, for not stating this plainly, sooner. Had you had more help, perhaps this morning would have been avoided.” They had reached the door, but before he pushed it open he said one last thing. “Earlene knows nothing, Ratiri. What she learns or does not is up to you.”

 

Ratiri pondered this. Earlene already knew about the rape; should Lorna try to keep  _ this  _ secret, the strain of it might tell...but then, he’d tried to make one decision for her, and look how  _ that  _ had ended. It was up to Lorna to tell that...and it occurred to him, only now, that if he’d actually told Lorna  _ why  _ he wanted Thranduil to help her -- something more than vague ‘nightmares’ -- she might have been more receptive. If she’d known the source of the nightmares...it wouldn’t have made up for him not telling her she was having them weeks ago, but it probably would have mitigated much of her wrath. In not telling her, for fear that panic might lead her to make bad choices, he’d effectively shot them both in the foot. It was all he could do not to facepalm.

 

Oops. 

 

Well, there was no help for it now. “Had I chosen my own words better, it at least might not have been as bad,” he said, shaking his head. “Lorna can tell her, if she wants. She accused me of making decisions for her, and while she was being rather over-dramatic, she also wasn’t entirely wrong.”

 

Thranduil smiled. “I am not perfect, in my relationship with Earlene. Neither is she. But I love her with all my heart, and I know that she feels the same. I would do anything, to work past mistakes I have made. We have both had our shortcomings; I would argue I have been responsible for most of them. Earlene forgives readily, and has a loving heart. This has been a blessing for both of us. Love, and a willingness to forgive. It is what allows for problems to be solved.” He walked into the rooms, to see Earlene leaning against Thanadir, quietly reading to him. His motion in her peripheral vision caused her to look up. “My King,” she said in greeting.

 

“Meluieg,” he smiled in return. “I think it is more than time for our breakfast.” Thanadir took away the book, and lifted Earlene to bring her to the table, before she blushed and whispered to the seneschal, who obligingly changed course and headed for the lavatory. “Lorna is asleep on the sofa in our bedroom,” Thranduil told Ratiri, pouring tea for them all. Earlene was returned quickly, and placed in her usual chair. Thranduil noted, to his disappointment, that Thanadir had managed to adjust Earlene’s clothing for her so as to greatly reduce her displayed cleavage. Still, at least he’d had the morning. He smiled, reflecting on how any sanity he still had remaining was likely owed to his wife’s generosity in welcoming their brief encounter. With a sigh, he served them all porridge.

 

*****

 

“You are coming with me, Earlene. Thanadir, will you please ensure that at least one person remains with Lorna to watch over her, however you see fit to manage it?” With a nod from the seneschal, he lifted her into his arms. She held on loosely to his neck, curious but mostly glad to be near him, held by him. “I thought we might go to our cell,” he said, smiling. 

 

“Our cell? I thought it was my cell,” she teased back. 

 

“That is because you do not know that I too have gone there to have an occasional...moment.”

 

“Ah. Well in that case, I am happy to share it with you.” She paused. “It seems like such a waste, really. I like it down there. Maybe we should bring in a sofa?” 

 

“You are not ordinary, Earlene, have I ever told you that?” 

 

“Perhaps not in so many words, my Lord, but I have felt acknowledged by you for what abilities I possess.”

 

A few minutes’ later he sat with her held in his lap, and took her hands. “Earlene, something happened today. I hope that you can forgive that I spoke first to Thanadir, out of a need to…”

 

Her finger was on his lips. “You are King, my Lord. While I thank you, you will never owe me explanations for any decision you make inside of these Halls. And probably not outside either, but assuredly the former.”

 

“Even so, I have no easy way to say this. I must show you my memories, Earlene. Are you prepared?”

 

“Insofar as I am capable, when I know nothing, yes.” She took a deep breath, trying to keep Thanadir’s reassurance in mind. Her husband tilted up her face, to touch his forehead to hers, while she reflexively held his arms loosely. For the next several minutes they remained thus, until Thranduil broke away from her. She frowned. “Well. That _ is _ rather a lot. And yet...what a blessing, for you, Thranduil. I confess that even though I have come to accept the Valar as the elves do, I had never expected to see anything like this, even vicariously. I...ah, imagine I will be digesting this for a time, as I am certain you are doing also. Know that I love you, and will willingly do anything asked of me. Though I do not understand what this means, entirely, for myself or all of us.”  _ They are real, _ she could not help but think.  _ Really real. Not, in a book or my imagination. And beautiful... _ her heart filled with awe, and reverence at what her mind had seen. 

 

“You understand, Earlene, that in the end you are being asked to leave this world, to go with us?” 

 

She smiled weakly, nodding. “In many ways I have already left this world, Thranduil. That much was accomplished the day I came here. But yes, I understand. If I may remain at your side for as long as is given to me, nothing else matters.” Stroking his cheeks with her hands, she nuzzled him.

 

“Thanadir was right,” he murmured, his face pressed against hers. “I underestimate you when I should not.”

 

“We have not known each other for even a year, husband. We will grow together, come closer, learn of each other. This is only the beginning. Do not fault yourself.”

 

He closed his eyes, feeling that his heart might burst with the love he had for her.

 

“I will take you back now,” he said. “Besides, I know that now you have a great project on which to work. I believe your gift will create great envy, Earlene. It is ingenious, for you to have thought of it.”

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, but you knew that,” she smiled as she was carried away. “I will not speak of what you have shown me, without your permission. So you know.”

 

“You may speak with Thanadir, and myself. But no others.”

 

“You have my obedience,” she replied, her mind already turning to how to organize her present for Ortherion.

 

******

 

Earlene was already many pages into filling her notebooks, trying to make examples. Thanadir had remained at her side, looking at the Sindarin language file and giving suggestions. He recommended paring out some grammar elements from what she was attempting, lest the project become boggling. “Even if all you did was provide a sheet of phrases for him to learn, it would be a generous gift. Do not worry about any but present tense, for verbs. Focus on creating sayings useful for conversation, then build on them with grammar elements that allow them to be flexible. I will help you, and make this easier. What you are creating can eventually help others also. This will be a...test.” 

 

“Very well, meldir. Your ideas are sensible, as always.” With a sigh, she turned to a new notebook page and tried to begin thinking of what kinds of things were said most often, in a day.

  
  


***********

 

Ratiri had hit enough things for today, but he was still restless, so he made his way to the kitchens. The world always needed more biscuits -- and he was willing to shamelessly bribe Lorna with food. Given the state of her hormones at present, he couldn’t precisely fault her for her reaction -- she likely would not have had it, were she not pregnant. He had no doubt she’d have got  _ annoyed _ , sure, but that? No. She would either wake up maudlin or still extremely pissed off, but either way, biscuits were good.

 

He certainly hoped Lothiriel or someone would be able to help in future. He simply couldn’t cope with this on his own anymore -- honestly, he shouldn’t have been trying to for the last fortnight at least. Under ordinary circumstances, there would have been family, friends -- others for her to lean on, so she didn’t have to lean so heavily on him. He loved her dearly, and he knew she loved him as well, but this situation had done neither of them any favors. And it was because she loved him that he trusted that she’d forgive him, even if it took her a few days. Except…

 

_ Try harder _ , he’d said, and oh, how he wished he hadn’t. The words haunted him even as he waved to the cooks, who by now knew him a bit -- he spoke enough Sindarin to let them know he had permission to muck about down there, so they left him to it, only showing him where various ingredients were if asked. He gathered flour and sugar and assorted tools -- measuring cups, a mixing bowl, a biscuit sheet and rolling pin. Thanadir had bought chocolate chips the last time he’d been to the village, and chocolate was good for releasing endorphins, as well as being extremely tasty.

 

But... _ try harder _ . He’d kicked her right where she was most insecure, but under ordinary circumstances, he was entirely sure she’d just give out at him a bit over that and move on. In her current state, though, being ruled by her hormones to such a degree? He wasn’t getting off that easy. Hence, biscuits.

 

He would be so, so glad when these children were born, though he suspected not so glad as Lorna. They would have two beautiful children, and she would actually be herself again...and if they were very lucky, they’d have the option to go back to the cottage. They’d need to put the second storey on sooner or later, but while the twins were babies it would be best to have them close anyway. They’d be a family, with a home of their own, and their place in the human world as well as the elven.

 

They hadn’t really pondered names for their children yet. Lorna wanted to name the boy Shane, but they hadn’t yet come up with a name for their daughter. They had time yet, but he rather liked the name Chandra -- it had been the name of a child who would have been his elder sister, stillborn three years before his own birth. His mother would likely approve. Hopefully Lorna would, too. It was certainly alliterative enough, Chandra and Shane. Would they look like him or Lorna, or would they be genetic outliers and look like neither? He was half white, and she was three-quarters; there was every chance at least one of them would come out pale (and then they would constantly be looked at as though they’d stolen him or her. Lovely.) He really did hope they’d wind up taller than Lorna, though; while she was an adorable little sprite, the fact remained that she struggled a bit in a world built for people who were at least over five feet. Neither of his own parents had been tall; his height apparently came from his great-grandfather, a redheaded giant of a man would get drunk and try to run people down on his horse for looking at him funny, and once knocked over a man in a pub by using another man as a club. Wherever Ratiri had got his normally patient disposition from, it sure as hell hadn’t been his family. Evidently the insanity on both sides went back generations.

 

If only his mother could have met Lorna -- but then, perhaps it was best they hadn’t. They’d probably have taken over the world inside of five years. Still, for his parents to have seen his life now, all that it had become...hopefully they could, from wherever the dead went.

 

*******

 

When Lorna woke, she at first had no idea where the hell she was, aside from not where she’d been. Why had she been out? What the hell had happened?

 

She was, she realized, in Earlene and Thranduil’s room, lying on the sofa with a blanket over her. Recalling the events leading up to this was a struggle, but she managed it -- she and Ratiri had fought, she’d told him to get out, he’d gone, and then...then what? Had he gone and got Thranduil anyway, and she’d been knocked out yet again?

 

Anger stabbed through her, but it was brief; Thranduil wouldn’t do that without her consent -- or at least, not just because Ratiri asked him to. Something had happened, but what?

 

She hauled herself up off the couch, determined to find out. Waddling into the sitting-room, she found Earlene, Lothiriel, and Allanah, all looking quite cosy.

 

“How did I get here?” she asked. “And why?”

 

Earlene looked up from her writing, and frowned. “I...don’t actually know. But I suspect Thranduil will come soon, he’s been in every so often, to check on you. Sorry. They didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask.” What she did not add was how desperately glad she was not to know, because from what she saw of Thranduil’s encounter with Manwë and Lorna’s minor involvement therein, ignorance was likely far better.

 

Lorna sighed. She ought to get started on Maerwen’s scarf, but she was restless, and sad. She went to sit with Allanah, making the little girl giggle by tickling her under the chin. “What’s the first thing you want to do, once you’ve had your kids and can actually move again?” she asked, looking at Earlene. “I have to say that jogging never appealed to me, but I might start, just because I can.”

 

“Ohhh running, definitely. At least, if I can find a way to control the udders here,” she pointed to her chest. “They’ve gone down, a little bit, but my guess is, that’s just the calm before the storm. And cooking will be a close second. I mean, I can’t even walk right now. The only way I can be in a kitchen is if someone else agrees to be a living pair of hands for me. And while Thanadir would, and I love him for it, it isn’t the same. It’s like...if I played his violin for him, or something. The point of the  thing is to do it yourself. I miss yoga, too, but not as much as running.”

 

Lorna looked down at her chest. “I’m not sure I like having even what little’s there,” she said. “There’s never been anything before. As if my gut hadn’t wonked my body out enough already.” Shaking her head, she said, “I miss playing guitar. I miss being able to walk more than a dozen yards. I miss not being a giant bundle of hormones.” Yes, she was actually a bit close to tears, which was appalling. She never cried, and certainly not over stupid little nothings like an argument with her damn boyfriend. That was just pathetic.

 

Earlene looked at her with pity. “I had a giant meltdown last night, Lorna. And I think just going off on my own and sobbing, and then sobbing some more once Thanadir found me, was the best thing I could have done. I feel better today because I gave myself a good lecture this morning, but I don’t think it would have been possible before just getting it out of my system. And I’m not so stupid as to believe I won’t have another meltdown again sometime soon. It’s not your fault, but you might feel better if you just go...indulge yourself. You know where the bathing pool is. Either way, you have my sympathy,” she said, with all the sincerity she could manage while her head was clogged with trying to provide some common irregular verb conjugations.

 

“I think that might be a good idea, before anyone who isn’t female comes back,” Lorna said, hauling herself to her feet. If she had to do this, she didn’t want witnesses. Waddling into the bathroom, she shucked her clothes, climbed into the welcome heat of the pool, and cried like a bitch. She’d been trying not to let herself feel too sorry for herself -- this sucked, but it was finite, and it was hardly the the first time a woman had undergone a shitty pregnancy -- but just now she allowed herself to wallow. And she’d fought with Ratiri over not much at all -- she’d come frighteningly close to hitting him, which truly disturbed her. Her temper hadn’t been this easily frayed since before Thranduil and Thanadir did their thing in her head, and it scared her a bit that she could...backslide, like that. Yes, Ratiri could occasionally seem annoyingly paternalistic, but so what? Why the hell had she gone off on him like that? Well, she knew why; hormones, a word she was beginning to hate.

 

It was stupid, and as much her fault as it was his, except...except. Except he’d told her ‘try harder’. Either he genuinely didn’t know how hard she  _ had  _ been trying, or he didn’t care. She doubted it was the latter; Ratiri wasn’t the sort to not care. Which meant he just didn’t notice, that her efforts weren’t enough, and she really, really hoped nobody minded if she got a little snot in this pool, because now that she’d got started, she couldn’t stop, fat tears plopping into the lovely warm water. At least she was silent about it, or as silent as she could be, letting all her maudlin thoughts out at one go.

 

******

 

Thranduil returned, realizing Lorna’s present state of affairs. Earlene realized he would already know everything he needed to, and could ask if he somehow did not. “Break time,” he said, knowing she had been sitting at the table for quite some time now. “I want you to try to stand, leaning against the table. I will get a cushion for your belly,” he said. She managed this, though it was obvious to her that her legs were but a poor part of the equation. “Do your best to step in place,” he asked her, standing behind her and rubbing her neck and shoulders. Lothiriel smiled, while doing her best not to stare openly. Many had wondered about the nature of their bond, but it had become swiftly apparent to her that their King genuinely loved his mortal bride and adopted daughter. Not that she would share this with others; to be identified as the source of such idle chatter would bring her into disgrace, especially with the stern seneschal. And that was to be avoided at all costs, because it was his favorable opinion that had brought her here. She busied herself playing with Allanah when the child was awake, and did her best to mind her own business.

 

Lorna, red-eyed, wet hair wrapped up in a towel, waddled out of the bathroom. She hadn’t realized Thranduil had returned, or she would have stayed put; Earlene was a fellow pregnant woman, and understood ridiculous tears. Thranduil was neither, and having him see her when she was such an irrational mess wasn’t quite what she’d planned on. Still, turning around and going back would be hellaciously rude, so she wiped her nose on her sleeve (that was another shitty thing -- no Kleenex with the elves) and went to clamber up onto an armchair. “How did I get here?” she asked. “And why?”

 

Just then Thanadir came in as well, and Earlene did not waste a second. “Meldir, please?” she reached her arms to him. Thranduil would care for the rest, because while she truly did have to use the lavatory, what she really wanted was to flee the room before what was assuredly a private conversation began. And truthfully, after what she’d been told earlier, some time with her elven security blanket would not go amiss. The words spoken by the Lord of the Valar would not leave her thoughts, and her inability to forego analyzing was yielding some thoughts that made her feel nervous in their rawness.

 

Thanadir closed the bedroom door behind them, leaving Thranduil and Lorna alone with Lothiriel. A quiet word from the King caused the elleth to leave with Allanah, departing to walk the passages outside..

 

Only then did Thranduil meet her eyes. What did it say about his relationship with this diminutive woman, when it caused him more trepidation to speak with her now than to have knelt before a Vala? It was absurd, and he knew it, but he could not help his feelings. “You are here because I carried you here. I think you remember that you had a disagreement with Ratiri. But after that, something happened. Whatever Von Ratched did to you, to prevent the memory of your encounter with him failed utterly. You remembered everything, all at once, and you collapsed under the weight of it. Many things were happening in your body and mind, all of them bad for your children. That is how I found you, in your room, after pushing your blocked door open. I rendered you unconscious and destroyed every shred of those memories within you.” He looked down, before raising his eyes again. “I elected to accept the consequences of how you would feel about what I have done. I could not endure either of us being put through this again. I am sorry, Lorna.” There was little else he could say, and fell silent.

 

Cold horror filled her, though perhaps not for the reason he’d think. She’d remembered... _ that?  _ She hadn’t thought that a possibility, but it would be just like that disgusting son of a bitch to set a...a time limit on it. A shudder wracked her, leaving her to curl in on herself -- she couldn’t imagine, didn’t  _ want  _ to imagine; she’d tried her damndest  _ not  _ to imagine, because doing so could go nowhere good. 

 

Had she not been a disgusting ball of hormones, she might have taken that with something closer to equanimity. As she  _ was  _ a disgusting ball of hormones, she couldn’t actually summon words -- instead, rather like a child, she clambered down off her chair and somehow managed to haul herself up onto his lap, naturally bursting into tears like a goddamn baby. What the fuck was wrong with her? She’d just done this, she’d thought she’d got it out of her system, but this...words still weren’t to be found, though the front of his robe was possibly getting a nice layer of snot.

 

He would never understand her. Fully prepared to be screamed at, or have objects thrown at him by a snarling badger in human form, yes. But he would not dwell on this. He wrapped his arms around her, silently asking Thanadir to do something for him. Seconds later he reached up, to feel a handkerchief placed in his hand, which he gave to her. Not a word was spoken, only slow circles rubbed on her back with his fingers. When he sensed that there was nothing more to cry, he gave her awhile longer yet, before speaking. “Lorna, this may seem like a strange question, and I ask you to bear with me. Do you feel...different, in any way? Do you remember anything at all, from the time you were unconscious?”

 

Lorna wiped her nose again, and shook her head against his shoulder. “I didn’t know I was out until I woke up here.” Her voice was hoarse, her sinuses utterly clogged. “Why? Should I?”

 

“That part, I cannot say at this time. In this, you must trust me. I love you Lorna, very much. Do not be concerned about your emotions, or your tears.”

 

Well, that was a non-answer, but she knew him well enough by now to know it was all she was going to get, until he decided to tell her more. That would annoy her so much more if she wasn’t so weary. “You’re lucky I trust you,” she sniffled, wiping her nose again. “I love you too, ard deartháir. Even if you’re secretive, and you’ve got better hair than I do.” Yes, she’d called him ‘tall brother’. It was apt.

 

He gave no reply, only a chuckle that rumbled through her. “Your hair is much longer than mine. And dark, and lovely. Perhaps you should ask Lothiriel to braid it for you, as the elleth do.

 

“Maybe I will,” Lorna said. Drained though she was, she realized, rather abruptly, that she was starving, though it was obviously past breakfast. “Can I bribe someone for some toast?” God, she sounded so pathetic. Fucking pregnancy. She really was never, ever doing this again.

 

“Yes, we will have food brought for you. But if you would eat them, there are apples and peanut butter here.” 

 

Thanadir beelined from the bedroom out of the rooms even as Thranduil said, “Would you like the apple slices, or would you prefer to wait for Thanadir to return?”

 

“I probably ought to actually eat some fruit,” she said, shaking her head -- for the thought made her think of Ratiri, which just made her sad. Somehow she managed to get back to the floor without falling over or elbowing Thranduil in the gut, which she called a win.

 

“Sit,” he ordered, before smiling and adding, “please.” Moving to the sideboard, he began slicing one of the apples onto a plate, though not quite with the elegance Thanadir would have managed, and brought them to her, returning to his own chair. He elected to test the waters. “Ratiri feels very badly about your...disagreement, Lorna. He was here to check on you.”

 

Lorna munched on an apple slice so she wouldn’t have to answer right off. Part of the problem with being a disgusting ball of hormones was that knowing she was didn’t help in the least. Logic had little place right now. “He told me to try harder,” she said, staring at the plate of slices. “I know he probably didn’t mean it, but I don’t think he’d’ve said it if he didn’t on some level. That shouldn’t hurt like it does, but it does.”

 

“It is not my place to interfere in your relationship with him. But I will offer that when two people who love each other are both very upset, words are spoken that were not meant, and are later greatly regretted. I have said things to Earlene in anger that I wished I had not. I apologized, and she forgave me. Or rather, if I am to be completely truthful, she forgave me, and I apologized,” he said ruefully. “I know he loves you very much.”

 

Lorna wasn’t entirely sure how apologizing could come  _ after  _ forgiveness, but she would freely admit she was not the most emotionally aware of human beings. “I love him, too,” she said, “and I know this shouldn’t hurt like it does -- I know it’s just me being a hormonal mess -- but god dammit, it  _ does  _ hurt. I’m a big gooey ball of stupidity and hair, and knowing that doesn’t make it any better.”

 

“Loving someone rarely comes without hurting someone, or being hurt. It is a risk. And it does hurt. Your feelings are not your fault, Lorna. I know that this does not really help in any meaningful fashion, but it is true. I wish there was more I could do for you.” He very much meant it, too.

 

“Breakfast and tea’s probably a start,” she said, eating more apple. “Already had a bath. Sort’v.” She couldn’t help but smile as she touched her wet hair. “I think I might’ve got snot in your bathtub. Sorry about that.”

 

He laughed. “It drains and refills constantly. That is the least of my worries.”

 

“Well that’s a relief.” She nibbled the last of her apple. “You want to know why I gave out at you over the first time you whammie’d me, but not this one?”she added. 

 

His eyebrows arched in query.

 

“The first time, you took away any chance I might’ve had to deal with it on my own.  _ This  _ was something I would’ve been totally unable to deal with on my own -- this was a nightmare done to me by a creature totally beyond me, that I had no chance against. So...thank you.”

 

For a few moments, he tried to reflect on her words. He truly made an effort to understand, but could not. Perhaps in some vague emotional sense, yes, but the logic was unsound. In  _ both  _ cases, he had taken away her chance to deal with it on her own. In fact, he had acted more egregiously this time than in the first instance, in the sheer scope and scale of what he had done. The difference was her perception of her ability to manage the difficulty. And he was absolutely, utterly, and in all ways not going to point any of this out or discuss it further. He had just dodged a rain of arrows that were headed straight at him. Perhaps this was a gift of the Valar. “You are welcome,” is what he said aloud, even as  _ Thank You _ echoed in his mind...just in case.

  
  


*****

 

Earlene sat near the fire, held comfortingly against Thanadir, staring into the flames. “Thranduil told me what happened, meldir. Showed me, what happened.”

 

His long unbound hair fell near her hands, and unthinkingly she twisted a strand of it onto her finger, and off, and on, as she tried to find words for half of what she wished she understood.

 

The ancient elf sighed. He struggled to imagine, what this knowledge must feel like, to her. “You must wonder about many things,” he replied kindly.

 

“Yes. But mostly I do not understand, why. If what is in those books about your people are true, mortals do not go to Aman. Or at least, few mortals. I am nobody, Hîr vuin. Why me?”

 

He turned to chastely kiss her head. “Are you truly nobody, Earlene? You offered yourself freely to serve one of the greatest Elvenkings. If not the greatest, for none ever came close to matching his length of rule, outside of Aman. You are his wife, joined with him before Eru, and bearing his children. The King of the Valar has named you as set apart by him for a purpose.  That is not any definition of ‘nobody’ with which I am familiar.”

 

She sighed, unable to refute his logic even as it still made no sense on every level of self-awareness available to her. “I know it is a long time off, at least in my perspective. But...what if I have to meet Oropher? And Thranduil’s son, when I stand in his mother’s place? Even Alassëa? I can barely even fathom the sheer awkwardness of such encounters. You have to understand, for me, though in my mind I understand they are real, they are so far away and removed as to be…” she shook her head, unable to find words. “And the thought that I might actually see them, as I see you now…”

 

Thanadir laughed, softly. “I will confess a similar thought came to my mind as well. I wronged Erestor of Imladris greatly, and by extension mighty ones who love him dearly. I do not relish what might await me, in that regard.” 

 

“No one will ever harm you, gwador” she growled with open outrage. “I will not stand for it.”

 

His eyes widened in astonishment. He nearly laughed, until he recalled what she had done to Von Ratched. “Earlene...I cannot have you standing between the likes of Glorfindel, and myself. He is...Glorfindel.”

 

She settled again, into his arms. “I do not care if he is Glaurung, if he thinks to hurt you. But I will agree that this is not a profitable line of thought, and that I am quick to anger lately.”

 

Thanadir’s heart warmed, that anyone would care for him in this way, especially a firieth. He shook his head lightly at the thought of Earlene standing her ground against the golden Lord of Gondolin in all his legendary wrath, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I think that is wise,” he said. “But you do need to keep something in mind. I made a serious mistake, and hurt a good-hearted and noble ellon grievously. I must find a way to make amends for what I have done, or at least try, when that day comes. You will allow me this, I hope?”

 

Bursting into giggles, she nodded her head. “I am ridiculous, Thanadir, and I know it. I feel foolishly overprotective, because I love you.  Some foe I would make, against one so powerful.”

 

“I do not underestimate you any longer, Earlene. Do not underestimate yourself.” 

 

A huge sigh escaped her, and then Thanadir needed to assist the King. She grabbed a pillow as he departed, curling up against that instead.

 

*********

 

Porridge, toast, and tea made Lorna feel quite a bit better, and she set about combing her hair before the fire.

 

Something had to be done about this hormone bullshit. She was putting herself and everyone around her through hell, and that was just  _ wrong _ . The question was...what? She  _ knew  _ it was hormone bullshit, but she’d told the truth when she told Thranduil that knowing that didn’t help. Meditation was about as much use as a fart in a windstorm right now, going for walks unaided was all but impossible, and there was only so much time she could spend knitting and sharpening knives. Chess was only an option with Thanadir; everybody else she beat too fast, but he tended to beat her more often than she beat him, and so provided a challenge she could sink her teeth into. He was, however, so busy that she was unwilling to ask him for the time. Poor Earlene had it worse off than Lorna did right now; she had actual need of him. Lorna might not be able to walk far, but at least she  _ could  _ walk.

 

Something had to give, though. Obviously there was nothing Thranduil could do, or he would have already done it. None of her substances of choice were an option, long walks were out, things like throwing knives were also a no-go….

 

Well,  _ shit _ .

 

Rolling her eyes at herself, she stacked her breakfast dishes as she always had while working at the pub, and eyed the Christmas tree. There was little on it yet; she’d wanted to put up her Gran’s ornaments, but hadn’t got around to it. Well, here was one thing she could do, and she hauled herself off the sofa to do it.

 

They were contained in cardboard cartons older than Lorna herself, wrapped up in equally ancient tissue paper. Some of the colors were a touch faded, but others were still bright: glass balls with a divot in one side, painted to look like stars or suns; bells ringed with lines and dusted with glitter, most of which was long gone; vague tree-shapes that were banded with multiple colors. There were quite a lot of them, too, mainly owing to to the fact that as a young man, her grandda had been as unashamed a thief as Lorna herself had been in her teens. (Evidently it ran in the family; her great-gran’s wedding dress had been made of silk stolen from England by a dock-working relative.)

 

There were some, too, that her grandda had carved -- he’d made a new one for Gran every year of their marriage, and Mairead had learned woodcarving specifically so she could carry on the tradition after he died.

 

...Woodcarving. Now there was something to be learned, something she’d actually have to focus on, unlike knitting or sharpening. Even if she was shit at it, it was something to  _ do _ , something to take her mind off the fact that she was a land-whale, and only going to become more so as time went on.

 

The ornament-hooks were still attached, though a bit rusty in places, and she waddled across to the tree to hang them everywhere she could actually reach --  which wasn’t saying a great deal, but still. The bottom half of the tree would look lovely by the time she was done, and somebody taller could take care of the top.

 

Even such comparatively little action left her weary, and she went back to sit on the sofa, curled up as she sorted through the ornaments. God, this was pathetic; under normal circumstances, she could work all day with only a break for lunch, but ten minutes putting up ornaments wiped her out? Ugh.

 

_ No Lorna _ , she told herself, not wanting to let the maudlin pall of hormones settle over her. It was pointless, of course; the pall fell anyway, and she lay where she was and stared into the fire. Maybe big, long naps were the real answer. She drifted off to sleep before she could ponder it further.

 

Ratiri, now bearing a plate filled with four dozen biscuits (it was somewhat easy to go overboard, with ovens that size), took an educated guess that Lorna would still be in Earlene and Thranduil’s rooms. He hadn’t expected to find her still asleep, but neither was he surprised.

 

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t ‘still’; ornaments were strewn about on the table in front of her, the bottom of the tree dotted with them. They reminded him of his grandmother’s ornaments, so dated and yet so perfect. She looked at peace right now; he’d set the biscuits down and read until she woke. He hoped she wasn’t going to be utterly furious with him -- but then, hanging ornaments wasn’t the action of an enraged person. Smashing them, now that would be more like it; hanging them up and taking a nap, not so much.

 

She was so deeply under that he brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Despite the fact that he and Thranduil made sure she was as physically healthy as she could be, she just looked...drained. Miserable. He was almost grateful twins tended to be premature; at least it meant she’d be only looking at another two months of this, not three, and Thranduil could keep the babies healthy once they were born. Yes, she’d be laid up for a bit afterward, but at least her body would be her own again.

 

She muttered something in her sleep, but it was in Irish. Leaving her to it, he went to hang up more ornaments, filling the half of the tree she couldn’t reach. One thing was for certain: if she didn’t want a tubal ligation -- and quite honestly, he wasn’t sure one would  _ work _ , thanks to Thranduil’s  magic incontinence -- he was getting snipped. He could never put her through this again.

 

She woke just as he was putting the star atop the tree, tired and unhappy, rubbing at a crick in her neck.

 

“I brought biscuits,” he said, somewhat awkwardly.

 

Somehow, she managed a smile. “Can I just go to sleep until this is over?” Lorna actually wasn’t one hundred percent certain she was ready to talk to him right now, but whatever. She had to sooner or later.

 

“I wish I could say yes, but your muscles would atrophy,” he said, sitting beside her feet. “Lorna, I’m sorry about this morning.”

 

“So am I,” she said. “I can’t promise I’ll be any better, because’v these fucking hormones, but I’ll try.”  _ Try harder _ , flitted through her mind, and she sat on it. He didn’t actually mean it, of that she was fairly sure, but at the same time, she wasn’t going to be able to forget about it yet.

 

“Lorna, you don’t need to apologize,” Ratiri said, pulling her feet onto his lap to give them a rub. “I’m a doctor. I of all people ought to understand the hell a pregnant woman’s hormones can give her. You give out at me all you need -- I’m half the reason you’re in this mess, after all. All I ask is that you don’t leave any lasting scars.”

 

That drew a slightly larger, slightly more genuine smile, though that fell a touch when she said, “But I’ll try.”

 

He winced; he  _ knew  _ he was going to regret that one. “Come here,” he said, moving to sit beside her, tugging her until she was curled up against him. “Lorna, you already try as hard as you can,” he said, running his fingers through her hair. “If anything, maybe you shouldn’t just now. I should never, ever have said that, and I’m sorry.”

 

“Did you mean it?” she asked, her forehead pressed against the side of his neck.

 

“No,” he sighed into her hair. “Lorna, I see how hard you try. I see how far you’ve come, possibly even more clearly than you can, given I’ve got an outside perspective. And I’ll tell you something -- if you try  _ too  _ hard, if you try to change yourself too much to suit what you think other people want of you, you’ll just be miserable, and not  _ you _ anymore. You’re profane and volatile and loyal to a fault, and I for one would not want you any other way.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes. “You’re good at that.”

 

“At what?” he asked.

 

“Apologizing. And you even made biscuits.”

 

Ratiri laughed. “A food bribe never hurts.”

 

*******

 

Earlene continued to read sonnets to Thanadir, and then they would spend some time trying to understand them. Some intentions of the poet were obvious, and others would have to wait for an internet connection. Mostly what she was enjoying was the chance to explain some very detailed features of her language to him, something she genuinely enjoyed discussing. It was a treat to watch the elf perceive the plays-on-words, the double meanings, and the elegance of poetry and how it was composed. She pointed out “iambic pentameter” to him, and told how most older poems had not only “rhyme” but “meter.” And that the definition of poetry, in the eyes of many, was the concept of using the best words, in the best way. She felt certain that most anyone else would have run screaming from the detail and the sheer nerdiness of the subject, but he relished it as much as she did. They had just begun discussing what the phrase “maiden gardens unset” might mean, when Earlene stopped. “Do you smell cookies?” she asked him in disbelief, feeling her stomach lurch with lustful cravings. 

 

“I smell something like...a dessert,” he said, now noticing it too. “Ohh,” escaped his lips. “When I was sent to bring food for Lorna, the kitchen ellith were helping Ratiri bake something. You are probably right, Earlene.”

 

She looked at him. “I cannot go out there before the next meal. I will crawl across the floor and take them over like Smaug plundering Erebor.” It was not an exaggeration. The smell made her want whatever they were in a way that defied rational thought. “Oh, bother. Not this, too.” she whispered helplessly. 

 

“Will it help you, if I slice an apple?” he asked, feeling sorry for her. 

 

“No thank you. I will try to act like an adult and wait for the next meal. I just hope they are put away beforehand or they will  _ be _ the next meal.”

 

The seneschal felt justified in sending a silent message to his King. Not very long after, the clink of tableware was heard, and Thranduil entered the bedroom. Earlene’s face lit up with joy, to see him, and he sat next to them. “You two are making quite a study of a language nobody speaks any longer,” he teased. 

 

“It is very beautiful, my King,” Thanadir said, “I…”

 

Thranduil laughed and caressed Thanadir’s rosy cheek. “I know it is, dear one. I am teasing you. It is my way of rejoicing that somehow, the cumulative events of this morning have not caused the walls of my fortress to come tumbling down. Hopefully now we can have the simple joys of our coming holiday. Lothiriel has returned with Allanah, and is feeding her. And Ortherion has brought our meal. Come, my family. Thanadir, I will help Earlene.” The two ellyn looked at each other meaningfully as Thranduil helped his wife to the lavatory. Thanadir left the room, to discreetly place the plate of cookies well out of sight. Until  _ after _ lunch.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This lovely artwork provided the inspiration for the description of the Vala:  
> http://www.deviantart.com/art/Silmarillion-Manwe-348316658
> 
> "Gwador" means 'brother', but not a brother by blood. It is a 'sworn brother' to whom a special and inviolable bond is declared.


	52. Fifty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dec 25, 2016

 

Maerwen’s scarf was locked, cocked, and ready to rock, as the Americans might say. The elleth tended to favor earthy browns and greens, and fortunately Lorna had had a few skeins in different shades of both colors. While stripes didn’t seem to figure into the elves’ clothing...at all, but what the hell, that was just what you did when you didn’t have enough yarn to make one thing. It too was done up in paper, now residing under the Christmas tree.

 

Ortherion’s gift had been completed only earlier that day and Earlene felt ridiculously nervous, reminding herself over and over that this was just a fun thing. But as usual with the things she worked on, she’d put too much effort into it, gone overboard, and now wondered if the entire thing wasn’t ridiculous and if the ellon would even like it at all. Oh, she was certain the unflappable smile of thanks would occur, and that was the worst part. She  _ knew _ Thranduil and Thanadir, but it had taken her months on end to learn to read the seneschal. Other elves still felt...opaque, to her. It was not obvious what they felt or thought.  _ Oh can’t you shut up and let it go, Earlene. It’s just supposed to be a little thing. God, I want some of that wine.  _

 

The past days prior to this Christmas Eve had been wonderful in the sense that they were busy; the days had felt full and stimulating instead of empty and with nothing to focus on but the assorted unhappinesses of pregnancy. One other positive development had manifested as well; after the fourth day of being unable to walk, something shifted, and Earlene’s legs cooperated again. Though, it was uncertain how much of an improvement this was. Thranduil was unconvinced about the stability of this change, and feared that she would fall. Though she did not have to be carried, she had been...he stopped short of forbidding her, but he made it clear that he very much wanted someone to walk alongside her at all times. Had it not been for how much she was enjoying her projects, she felt reasonably certain that an epic fit of sulking might have been the outcome, but as it was, she’d risen above it. For now. And it was of course another one of those things she felt she could not vent to Lorna, because….that might be like throwing gas on a fire. 

 

After days of waiting, the time for the Yule Feast and the gift exchange was at hand. Realizing that it was likely to be the most momentous event remaining before the birth of her children, Earlene was for her part greatly looking forward to it. There would be sweets, real sweets, like cake and some candies. They were to exchange their ‘family’ gifts tomorrow, and it would of course be Allanah’s first birthday. Allanah was already dressed very prettily, and happily gnawed on the ribbon that decorated her little gown. Earlene, on the other hand, stared into her wardrobe whilst contemplating her options. There were three dresses that fit her now, and she was wearing one. The other two were...the other two. All of them were worn all the time, because they were more or less all she had. It was senseless to ask for many dresses when this would all be over with so soon, so she had never said a word to the ellyn, nor would she. But tonight, it felt like a heavy blow. A holiday on which she got to appear like she did every other day. She sighed as she gazed mournfully into the open doors, allowing herself a maudlin moment before she would force herself to dissemble that she was perfectly happy with it all. Really, her dress was clean and as good as any of the others, and she always had on her very beautiful necklace that felt like a part of her body, anymore.

 

A soft tap came on the door and she contorted her features into a theatrically practiced smile. A smile which became far less contrived when she saw that it was Thanadir, and not Lothiriel, though she felt horrible about that disparity. He walked to her, obviously hiding something behind his back, which caused her eyebrow to arch, though she said nothing. He laughed, knowing that little went unnoticed by her clever mind. “This is for you, dear Earlene.” Her hopefulness shot up, at seeing one of his familiar cloth-wrapped bundles of what was so obviously fabric. Untying the string freed it, to reveal a lovely gown of emerald green, but this was nothing like anything elven. It was modern, and it was stunning. “I will help you with it,” he said kindly, though he had to wait a moment because he was having the air squeezed out of him by her hug of thanks. He laughed. “I know how hard it has been for you, Earlene. Even I would not be happy with only three garments to wear.” Which elicited a chortle, for Thranduil was known for his neat but unassuming manner of dress, almost always wearing colors of the forest whose only ornament was embroidering... in the same colors as the fabric in question.

 

Once on her, she saw that it was a flowing gown with a plunging neckline that made no secret of her...assets.  The panels that went over her shoulders were really meant to be folded down, further adding to the daring display. A soft and very long tie wrapped repeatedly just under her bust, allowing the rest of the flowing fabric to move with every step. It was so very beautiful, but some teasing was required. “Meldir, was this a present only for me, or for the King as well?” she smiled, laughing as she lightly hefted her breasts with her hands. 

 

Thanadir smiled mysteriously and replied, “It will bring happiness, will it not?”

 

This caused her to laugh uproariously, because they were both perfectly well aware of Thranduil’s proclivities, though they were only rarely freely acknowledged in conversation. The topic was not ‘seemly,’ and they both respected that unspoken boundary.  She only shook her head; it need not be said aloud. He offered her one of the lovely white knitted garments she had bought on Inis Mor, and regarded her with a critical eye. “Would you allow me to braid your hair?”

 

With an eager nod, she sat for him. He often wore his nearly waist-long hair partially pulled back from his face in two neat and thin braids that somehow were not in the least feminine. That or, she was becoming so accustomed to elven habits that males with braids seemed more commonly masculine to her now than anything else. Soon he was finished. “Thranduil will return very soon, and Lothiriel is in the outer room should you require assistance. You are content where you are?” With only the faintest grimace  she replied to him. 

 

“I would prefer to be nearer the fire.” He offered his hand to help her rise, and hovered nearby as she walked the tiny distance, biting her cheek to stave off the verbal tantrum that wanted to escape. It would be churlish, to force him to listen to her complaints after he’d shown her such kindness. “Thank you, Thanadir,” she said with sincerity. 

 

He gave a kiss to her cheek. “This was my pleasure, Earlene. You are welcome, and your appearance is very beautiful. And now to surprise Lorna. I hope,” he smirked before departing.

 

*****

 

Unbeknownst to Earlene, Lorna was having a similar issue. Even her ordinary tunics no longer buttoned over her middle, so she’d been content to wander about in various flannel nightgown-slash-dress-slash-small tent combinations. Tonight was a special occasion, though, and she could hardly wear those lovely combs Ratiri had given her with a green-and-black checked housecoat and fuzzy slippers -- for her feet had been too swollen for ordinary shoes for the last month. Yay.

 

Poor Ratiri was at something of a loss, too. Being a smart man, he knew better than to just say she looked lovely in anything, so don’t worry about it -- he didn’t want a boot lobbed at his head, thanks so much.

 

“I’m a lump,” she groaned, flopping onto the bed -- on her side, since laying on her back anymore really sucked. “A disgusting lump in flannel, in a hall full’v elves. Shoot me now.”

 

A soft knock came at the door, admitting the seneschal, who was as politely direct as always. Had he made some sort of study out of that? One could rarely accuse him of wasting time. “I must give you part of your present early, Lorna. I hope you like it.” He held out a wrapped package to her, his face largely unreadable as always.

 

“Thank you, Thanadir,” Lorna said, her mood rising a bit. Sitting up, she unwrapped it carefully, and grinned at what she found. A deep green tunic, cut to actually fit her current body shape, along with a red-and-black tartan scarf, black leggings, and soft black boots -- the type that weren’t actually meant to be worn outdoors, and could thus stretch to fit her feet in any way needed.

 

Her damn hormones of course misted her eyes over, and she hopped off the bed to hug him. “Thank you, Thanadir,” she said again. It wasn’t just that he’d brought her something nice to wear -- he’d brought her something  _ she  _ would like to wear, something Lorna, not Elf.

 

A rather large smile graced his features, by Thanadir-standards; he had taken his best guesses and succeeded. “You are welcome,” he said in his usual cadenced tones, though with extra warmth. “I will see you soon at the feast.”

 

Oh God, she was such a sap. “I won’t be ashamed to be seen there, now,” she said, running her fingers over the tunic.

 

“Thank you,” Ratiri said, just as heartfelt and with no small amount of relief. He hadn’t been certain what he was going to do, honestly, because this was one area in which he had no experience at all.

 

He turned at the doorway, and announced, “There will be cookies!” before flitting off to do whatever it was he did with his time.

 

“Well, he’s got his priorities straight, that one,” Lorna said. “Here, allanah, help me out. I really am a land whale.”

 

It took some doing, but they got her into her outfit, and she actually smiled when she looked at her reflection in the mirror over the dressing-table. She looked -- and felt -- like a human again, not a flannel slug. Brushing out her hair, she worked in the beautiful combs, and beamed at him.

 

“You look lovely,” he said, and meant it, bending down to kiss her forehead. “Now let’s get biscuits.” He offered her his arm, just like the Elves did it, and together they headed out to see just what Christmas with the Elves would be like.

 

*********

 

Thranduil came breezing into their bedroom after happily nodding in acknowledgement at Lothiriel and Allanah, and stopped in his tracks, stunned. Which told Earlene the answer to her tangential question, of whether or not Thranduil knew of this or had discussed her dress with the seneschal. That would be a resounding  _ No _ . Her gratitude for her meldir soared, even as she enjoyed the sight of her husband’s appreciation.

 

“You approve?” she asked, amused. While she would not be so crass as to ask, she guessed that his eyes might not be the only part of him registering approval. And yet, her thoughts were not hidden from him.

 

“Surely you cannot blame me,” he said softly, now walking to kiss her, even as he placed her hand on the answer to her question. “And yet now is not the time for lovemaking. Regrettably. You are always beautiful in my eyes, Earlene. But this...I now fear that my gift for Thanadir will be poor by comparison.”

 

Her head tilted in curiosity but she knew better than to inquire; he was very secretive about giving gifts. So after escorting her to the facility one last time, they all made their way out, with Earlene covering a delighted Allanah’s face in kisses. And they all laughed, and Earlene blushed a little, when the little fist made a definite grab at her displayed breasts. “Hungry already, little one? First we will try some of the foods at dinner.” They moved along to the festive hall, which had many more candles lit than she had ever before seen; it was lovely. And no sooner had the King seated his family and himself, than the meal was served. He gave Lorna an admiring nod across the table, as platters of lovely food appeared. It was an exquisite presentation, and Thanadir looked fit to cry with happiness. Because Lothiriel ate with them to mind the baby, Ortherion did as well. Everyone did their best to make their relatively new additions feel welcome and comfortable.

 

Jesus, didn’t Earlene look lovely...Thanadir must have got to her, too, like the Fairy Godfather for pregnant ladies who didn’t want to feel like slugs. “How do they cook all this, given they’ve got no electricity?” Lorna asked Ratiri, as quietly as she could. “I mean, I’m sure the answer is ‘because elves’, but still.”

 

“It’s ‘because elves’,” he said, loading his plate. Steamed vegetables, and plenty of baked sweet potatoes for Lorna, who had developed quite a craving for them (if only the Elves had marshmallows). Four different kinds of meat, none of which he could name on sight, though he suspected one of them was some kind of pheasant. Rolls, fresh butter, more pies and cakes than he could count, and he had to make sure to get a little of all of it for Lorna, to satiate her sweet tooth. It was all Elf food; he didn’t have much room for disapproval.

 

She stared longingly at a carafe of wine for a moment before settling down to her meal, and he worried that as soon as she was through nursing, she was going to go on the bender from hell. Something told him she wasn’t going to nurse the twins as long as Earlene was nursing Allanah, but her body would tell her when it was done. Earlene was a slightly different case, her body having been manipulated to produce milk early.

 

Earlene noticed Lorna prodding a little at her sweet potatoes and motioned to Thranduil at one particular ceramic container that held a small ladle, and nudged it in front of her friend once she received it. “Here, Lorna. I’ve been corrupting the kitchen staff; Thanadir has been slowly bringing some of my kitchen tools over here that don’t need electricity. I took the liberty of showing them how to make marshmallows, and therefore, marshmallow sauce.” She grinned in spite of (well,  _ because of _ , would be more like it) the look of dismay that flashed across Ratiri’s face.  _ It’s a goddamn holiday and she deserves to drown her yams in sugar if she damn well wants _ , Earlene thought rebelliously. Besides, if elves made it they probably found a way to add...some vitamin or other, though that made no logical sense.

 

Lorna’s face lit up, and she made somewhat restrained grabby-hands for the dish, slathering her sweet potatoes in about a half-inch worth of fluffy white goodness. “Corruption is a good thing, sometimes,” she said, and at least managed not to speak with her mouth full. “God, I could eat these every day for a year.”

 

Ratiri was quite sure she could, and he would just keep his happiness at the fact that it wasn’t feasible to himself. He pretended not to notice just how much of both she added as she went along; she wasn’t going to have room for much else if she kept on like this, but he’d learned months ago not to remark on her appetite in any way, shape, or form.

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. She felt that she herself ate awfully well, but Ratiri was bordering on insanity with the degree that he worried about Lorna’s eating. Not that it was something to aspire to, but it stood to reason that many women in the outer world lived on Skittles and Coca-Cola during their pregnancies and still managed to deliver healthy children. By contrast Lorna was eating a nearly perfect diet; the meals provided to them were balanced and made from real, whole foods; nothing was processed that did not involve special “human” treats. No additives, no highly refined craptastic products of the modern industrial food system. Even if they fed her nothing but hot chocolate made from Buttercup’s milk, she wouldn’t be doing too badly. 

 

It dismayed her, that she could not eat very much at once; perhaps somehow some of this could be brought to their quarters later to enjoy when her hard-pressed stomach had made room again. When Thranduil finished eating, so had most everyone else within her sight, and the King rose. With both excitement and nervous butterflies, she thought the gift exchange might begin now, darting a nervous glance at Ortherion, who looked happy as he leaned down to whisper something to his wife that made her smile. They seemed very sweet, very happy together, and Earlene wondered how many eons of time they had been wed, feeling a twinge of jealousy over something she knew was denied to her.  _ You cannot think about that _ , she admonished herself.  _ Ever. Never ruin what you have; only be grateful.  _ And with iron discipline, she did just that, blinking back the moisture in her eyes that had barely begun to pool.

 

He spoke, and the light dimmed all around the Hall, and most of the candles were extinguished. While her understanding of their language remained imperfect, she believed that his words said, more or less, “We celebrate our Feast of Yule with the mortal customs of Christmas tonight, in honor of new friendship and love.  The custom of the gift exchange will follow after, but it is now that we remember this celebration of light in times of darkness.” There was a pause, during which all who listened seemed to withdraw into reflection. “Before the first of our people awoke on the shores of Cuiviénen, our Lady Elbereth had placed the stars in the sky, that we would not be left in darkness. When some of our people heeded the summons to Aman, they found another creation of Light; the Two Trees sung into life by the Lady Yavanna. When these were destroyed, darkness was not allowed to prevail, and the Valar set Ithil and Anor into the heavens. We rejoice in the Light given to us, but most especially our beloved starlight, even as we now mark the solemn remembrance of what has been lost to the world. Ruscion, if you would?”

 

All eyes turned to a beautiful dark-haired ellon of noble bearing that stepped forth to take the offered hand of the King, first bending on one knee before him in respect before he rose. Thranduil in turn bowed his head deeply to this one. The King, who would have been difficult to see in the faint light were it not for his soft radiance, waved his hand once. The space in the middle of the hall filled with a shimmering vision of the Two Trees of Valinor, Laurelin and Telperion. Thranduil was sharing Ruscion’s vivid memory, for all of their honor and remembrance. Earelene’s hand instinctively moved to cover her heart; she did not notice that the other elves did the same. Nor did she have awareness of her own gesture, except that her heart compelled her to do so. The beauty was as nothing she could imagine; they were being shown the minutes of the waning of Laurelin and the waxing of Telperion. And as the latter tree blazed into the flame of its golden beams and the silver light of softer hue died away, Thranduil allowed the vision to fade. With one last bow, he released the hand of ancient Ruscion, as all present bowed their heads in thanks. There were not words, and Earlene wondered how, exactly, she belonged with these indescribably spiritual beings who seemed to exist on a lofty plane so far above her. It was a given that she would have to find some mental space alone, to consider this. She had just been allowed to see something from  _ Valinor _ ...how did one even begin to process a privilege of that magnitude? Her eyes squeezed shut. Thranduil had told her once that if she elected to serve him, she would have experiences and rewards, that she would not otherwise.  _ That certainly was no exaggeration _ , she frowned.

 

Her thoughts were a runaway train. One of the Eldar,  _ here, _ has lived in the light of the Trees? She felt like her mind was on the verge of melting. Manwë one week, the sacred trees of Valinor the next. It all felt very big. Too big.  _ Mortals were never meant to have anything to do with such things _ , she thought. Though nothing about her expression changed outwardly, her insides seemed to be frittering apart. At that moment, Thanadir reached his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her to his kiss on her cheek in the still-dark cavern. “Be at peace, Earlene,” he said softly, even as she was blanketed by very different feelings. Calm, tranquility, acceptance sifted through her.

 

“Why did you say that?” she asked Thanadir, very quietly and for his ears only. “Did Thranduil tell you to?”

 

“No,” he shook his head, confusion now suffusing his voice whose tones and inflections she knew so well. “I...do not know why. Have I offended you?” Now she heard hints of worry.

 

“No meldir, it is only that…” she sighed. “I think I would like to speak with you later; this is not the place or time for my musings. But, thank you. Your words were needed.”

 

If anything could be one of Ratiri’s childhood dreams come true, it was this. Of course he’d tried to imagine it all as a boy, but even the most vivid of human imaginations had limits; he simply didn’t have the context to visualize something so hauntingly beautiful. He pulled Lorna close -- Lorna, who he noticed had  _ tears  _ in her eyes, staring with rapt fascination at something no mortal could conceive of unaided. To have seen such a thing -- to have lived it -- Ratiri wondered what twist of Fate had brought him here, so that he could have met these people, and experienced something most would never dare believe could be real.

 

Lorna hadn’t had a great deal of imagination as a child; her life had not allowed it. Nevertheless, she and Pat had based games off  _ The Hobbit  _ when Mam read it to them, hunting dragons and treasure in fantasy wilderness of a sort they’d never seen in real life. Then she’d discovered elves, and they’d let her into their world...what had she done, to deserve this? Had all the misery in her life been some sort of pre-emptive karma, building up to give her something wonderful? Yes, there were tears in her eyes, because nothing in her entire life had ever been this beautiful -- it was so lovely it hurt, a dull ache in her heart for all the things she had never seen, and that her short mortal life would never let her. To witness this, even in memory -- what in fuck had Gimli said, in  _ Fellowship of the Ring?  _ ‘I have looked on that which is fairest’, or something of that nature. She understood it now. A tiny, wounded sound left her throat, tear-tracks glittering in the dim light.

 

It could not be only the mortals that felt so affected, because as the lights came up again and candles were re-lit, all faces in the hall were suffused with a solemn joy...even though presumably, this was not a brand-new sight for those present. And even though it had been a vision, an effulgence seemed to linger in the air, just as had been described of Laurelin and Telperion of old; that their light did not merely illuminate but moved in dews and mists that continued to shine. 

 

Thranduil glanced over at their table, realizing with some inward dismay that it had been a serious oversight, not to have told the humans in his care what the celebration entailed, but it was too late now. He would have to find...something, later, especially for Earlene. Continuing on, he announced the gift exchange. Packages large and small waited under the tree, and Thanadir moved to assume this duty. He would read the name to whom each gift was addressed; inside would be included the giver’s name. Thranduil would hand his seneschal the items, one at a time. So with a considerable smirk on the part of the King, the first name Thanadir read was….Thanadir. Every eye eagerly looked at him; for all his reputed sternness it was obvious that he was a cherished favorite of all the elves. A table was provided, for unwrapping in the sight of all, and he revealed a wooden, hinged box, whose lid he lifted, with a gasp of surprise as he looked up at Thranduil in disbelief.

 

The King smiled and removed his gift, lifting the ornament bearing a green beryl to his seneschal’s brow, and placing the lovely circlet on his head. “Merry Christmas, Thanadir,” he smiled warmly. “It was my privilege to draw your name,” he clarified to the still-bewildered elf. Even Thanadir could not retain his grasp on his usual formality, and his deep bow was rendered somewhat comical by the grin of childish delight he could not erase from his features. Earlene did not care, she applauded, and Lorna and Ratiri joined in the clapping. All the elves looked at them in confusion before concluding en masse that this must be part of the custom, and joining in, which caused some snickering among the humans. It was all in good fun, and Thanadir’s ornament added to his beauty.

 

Maerwen came next, receiving the package that was only  _ somewhat  _ clumsily wrapped (Lorna tried). The scarf had actually come out quite well, long enough to wrap around someone’s neck and still have plenty of ends to tuck into a coat. It was soft and warm, and Maerwen thanked Lorna with an inclination of her head.

 

Ratiri was called after her, and discovered a book in Sindarin -- specifically, a picture book, much like a primer used by human children. The note enclosed said that it was from Vanya, one of the laundresses, whose own child had used it.

 

“Len Hannon, Vanya,” he said, holding the little book reverently. When he returned to Lorna’s side, she joined him in looking through it, at the beautifully painted images and flawless calligraphy. Even Ratiri, with his doctor’s precision, wasn’t ever going to emulate it perfectly.

 

Up went Ortherion, receiving his package. Earlene felt vaguely terrified, and was trying hard to keep her face from showing it. Even as she admitted to herself, that her emotions were completely ridiculous. How was it that she could do what she did, in a courtroom, in complete control of herself, and now be reduced to a quivering mass of worry over giving a gift to an elf? While part of the answer was ‘hormones,’ there was more. She actually cared about the elves, and what they thought, in a way she had not with any other large group of people before. Ortherion opened the wrapping, puzzled at first, but then he began to read and perceive what this was. His face lit up with what appeared to be a favorable response, as he looked from the document, to Earlene, and back to the document again. ‘Booklet’ might be a better word, because it had needed enough pages that Thanadir had insisted on carefully sewing it together for her by hand, with the kind of thread used to bind books. He’d even trimmed a regular file folder down into a sort of cover for it, and even though it was a hopeless cannibalization of assorted common office supplies, he had rendered the finished product into something halfway attractive. His “Thank you, Hiril vuin,” seemed genuine, and he returned to his seat and excitedly began to show Lothiriel what he had been given.

 

_ Well it wasn’t a total bomb _ , she thought, relieved.  _ He seems to actually like it. _

 

Thranduil could not avoid knowing her response, and felt so sorry for her. She was becoming an emotional shadow of her former self, and he did not know what to do for her.

 

Lorna went next, waddling her way up to the table, infinitely grateful Thanadir had given her nice clothes -- it would have been somewhat embarrassing to walk this gauntlet in fuzzy slippers. Her gift turned out to be from Thalion, the guard who had found her while she was lost (she was never, ever going to get over the fact that the word ‘lost’ meant ‘empty’ in Sindarin. Ever.) It turned out to be a set of throwing knives, better suited to her tiny hands than those used by the elves, perfectly weighted. “Len hannon, Thalion,” she said, lightly running her fingers over the flat of one’s blade. She didn’t care what Ratiri said -- she was practicing a bit with these tomorrow, even if just for a little while. He could hover, if he felt the need.

 

And so it went -- Rîniel presented Earlene with an ink drawing of Buttercup and the chickens; Bainor the cook received a set of human specialty kitchen items from Thanadir; Thalion was given Ratiri’s framed translation of Sonnet 55 in Sindarin. That one took a bit of explanation, including that it was difficult in places, because translating Shakespearean English into Sindarin wasn’t an exact science. 

 

Thranduil was next, and both Lorna and Ratiri leaned forward, wondering what on Earth Feren would have made for him.

 

The King unwrapped his package, and looked in admiration. It was a woodcarving, something meant for decoration in the home. The same pattern of trees in winter leading into a portal was rendered in bas relief on the wooden tablet. Thranduil was obviously very touched by the effort and gave sincere thanks. Earlene liked it because it was well-done but not opulent, and hoped he would keep it in their bedroom.

 

Many more small things were exchanged before the evening was over. Books, poems, an axe (the mortals did not understand this, but as everyone laughed they assumed there was an inside joke they did not understand), small gifts of food, drawings, and what Lorna was sure was a carved stone rabbit for use as a doorstop (again, unfathomable...elves). As a special treat, a very lightly sweetened hot cocoa was ladled into drinking bowls and served to all, to conclude the celebration. Happy chatter was heard all around, and Earlene was pleased to realize that they had been there long enough that she could eat some more food with her cocoa.

 

“I’m taking these knives out tomorrow,” Lorna told Ratiri, “and you can’t bloody stop  me.”

 

He winced a bit, because he knew that tone -- it was one of complete finality. “Can you at least ask if Thranduil will go, too?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Jesus allanah, I’m not going to stab my own foot or something.” Fortunately she was quite enjoying this cocoa, so that was all she said.

 

“I know. Still, would you? Please?”

 

God damn him, he had something close to Thanadir’s superpower. She couldn’t resist it when those grey eyes turned on the Puss in Boots look. “You’re a manipulative sod, but fine,” she said, trying to sound stern. She couldn’t keep a smile away, though. “Someday, you’ll have something that’ll make me hover over you and breathe down your neck twenty-four hours a day, and you’ll realize how bloody annoying it is.”

 

He was wise enough not to respond verbally -- he just leaned over and kissed her temple. Bastard knew just how to get to her, and yet she let him, every time, because he was Ratiri.

 

It being late, they went their separate ways; their own private family holiday would commence in the morning. Thanadir took Allanah, who had fallen asleep some time ago, from Lothiriel and kindly bade them a good night. He smiled. Earlene did not see because of where she was seated, but the couple had hardly left off from looking at her gift to Ortherion since it was given. Thranduil insisted on sweeping Earlene into his arms as they walked back, with Thandir following at a little distance, admiring the sleeping infant. He strongly suspected that his King was having increasing thoughts of a nature inspired by Earlene’s dress, and wisely gave them some room. And indeed, Thranduil was fully appreciating the sight of Earlene’s charms as they bobbed enticingly, mere inches from his eyes. In spite of her swollen belly, she actually felt pretty tonight in this lovely garment, and blushed to see her husband’s eyes drinking in the sight of her body.

 

Probably fortunately, Lorna was entirely unaware of anything untoward; she’d enjoyed her dinner and she’d like to keep it down. She leaned ever more heavily on Ratiri, but she refused to ask him to pick her up. He knew better by now than to offer, either; when she wanted help, she’d ask, and that was that.

 

They made it back to their own room in one piece, and she gratefully flopped onto the sofa, sighing in contentment. “Christ that was tasty,” she said, leaning her head back and shutting her eyes. “Best Christmas dinner ever, though don’t tell Mairead I said that.” She wondered how her sister was doing in France, if she and Big Jamie were having one big Christmas dinner together. Probably, and knowing those two, there’d been at least one fantastic row in the kitchen.

 

“I value my scalp more highly than that,” Ratiri said dryly, sitting beside her.

 

Lorna yawned hugely. “So you get your present tomorrow, but you don’t get it in front’v everyone else,” she said, and paused. “And I didn’t mean that to sound kinky. I just mean it’s private.”

 

“I trust you,” he said, not entirely certain he meant it. Either it was going to be something sweet, or something he should be utterly terrified of. Either way, it was bound to be interesting. “All right, let’s get you into pyjamas before you fall asleep on the couch.” He pulled her to her feet, helping her out of her Christmas clothes and neatly folding them over the back of the sofa. Her nightgown didn’t fit anymore, so she usually slept in one of her flannel tents. After a trip to the bathroom and a quick brush of her teeth, he had her bundled in for the evening. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

 

Ratiri sat awake and read for a bit, but it wasn’t long before he too headed into slumberland, barely remembering to turn out the lamp before he did.

 

*********

 

Thranduil was dipping his head down with increasing frequency to place kisses on Earlene’s exposed breasts, which was at first exciting but then became borderline alarming when she realized that he had lost all awareness of Thanadir as his desire rose. Biting her lip, she was not quite certain what to say. Perhaps he would return his senses quite soon? Though when he was nudging fabric further aside and nearly exposing her nipple, matters were not appearing hopeful. Well, there was always strategy. “My Lord,” she breathed in her best honeyed tones into his ear, “if you would wait until the baby is settled and Thanadir has said goodnight, I will make it worth your while.” It was her best ploy, and she had no idea how to back it up, but it was all she had and she did not want to see her dear friend mortified. He lifted his head, his eyes already glazing with lust, but he smiled at her. 

 

“As you wish, meluieg.” 

 

Very soon, it was time to deliver on her promise, and there was only one thing that came to mind. Well, he would either be over the moon from this or beyond appalled, and there was only one way to find out. But at least that would take yet awhile, because he was not remotely done enjoying her dress. She was right back in his arms, and he had resumed where he’d been asked to leave off. With a dangerously naughty gleam in his eye, he’d kissed his way down her throat to her full breasts while murmuring “mine”.  _ That word _ hadn’t been heard in a long while, and it was charged with memories. Memories of being possessed by him. Memories of willingly yielding to him. Craving him. A thrill ran through her frame at the recollection of the first time he had touched her, for it had started much like this. He delicately slipped the fabric off of one nipple as he leaned in to latch onto her. Eyes closed as his hands roved to slip off her undergarment, caressing her under and over the sensual fabric of the dress as he nursed. It was hard to know how long this went on; the steady insistence of his tongue while fingers explored and teased and untied and unlaced and unhooked. Both breasts had been exposed at some point early on in his ministrations, because he had easily managed to slip the dress over her head, thus keeping it from any harm. 

 

Thranduil relocated them to the sofa near the fire, continuing now without the interruption of her clothing to stifle his progress. Carefully taking her breast again, he paid worshipful attention to her body, teasing her with light brushes of his hands all over until she stifled a moan as she was lifted and lowered onto his member with incremental slowness. Just enough of her mind was left intact to marvel at how he’d worked out this position, because she was seated across his lap. He could nurse on her and thrust into her at the same time and coupled with the fire’s heat warming her skin deliciously, a delirium of arousal had come over her. “I am yours, my King” she whispered. “All that I have to give, is yours.” She gasped as the children inside of her kicked hard; he instantly responded by caressing her abdomen with soothing touches even as he set the rest of her aflame. The harder he suckled the greater her enjoyment became; the sum of his attentions were euphoric in a way that exceeded anything she had known before. With a stifled cry of ecstasy she climaxed hard around his unrelieved shaft; he held nearly still to allow her to take her full pleasure, kissing her softly as her breaths game in great gulps. 

 

He too was reeling from this, for his pleasure in lovemaking was always doubled; he shared her mind and therefore the bliss of her responses. She returned his kisses with fervor; her lust was satisfied but not her wish to show him love.  _ There is something I would like to try, to please you, but I am afraid I will offend you,  _ she blurted out in a moment of complete honesty. She had thought about this so many times, since his aur en onnad, and lacked the courage to ever do more but bury the idea.

 

_ What is it? _ he asked, curious.

 

In images rather than words, she showed him what was done, and that (if the written word was to be believed) that it would afford him an extreme physical pleasure. Like what she had done for him before but...more.

 

_ This is outside my experience, but if you are willing, I will be as well.  _ She was carried to the bed while he retrieved a towel, because there was always the chance that uncharted territory could be messy. He spread it out and laid himself on it, taking up the silently requested position of lying somewhere between on his side and on his belly with his legs scissored open; giving her access to all of his intimate places. She warmed their lubricant in her hands before touching him, thankful that her fingernails had finally been carefully trimmed down and smoothed by Thanadir some days before. Even as her hand explored new places slowly and gently, she positioned herself between his legs so as to enjoy him with her mouth, knowing that this alone was something that gave him bliss. Light touches gave way to firmer pressures as she used her tongue and extra hand to full advantage. And after many minutes, one of her slender and well-slicked fingers found its way inside. The articles had been right; it was not hard to locate what she was seeking and with a very gentle touch she applied the first caress. 

 

Feather light but relentlessly, her dexterous finger kept up its ministrations while she kept him in her mouth, encouraging him silently to rock against her and gently thrust into her mouth and the fingers curled around his member. The moans began almost immediately.  _ Meluieg, I beg you, do not stop. This is...I have no words. _

 

_ I want to feel your enjoyment, beloved. I will not fail you _ . The torrent of soft but impassioned sounds from him was like nothing she had ever heard. It felt like a privilege beyond compare. Of all those alive, only she could give this intense pleasure to her King. She noticed how he pressed himself against her new efforts with zeal as he built up to his release. “Earlene” escaped his lips as she felt the spasm tear through his nether regions as he writhed in her hold. What he poured out was eagerly sought, and when he had subsided she crawled up to hold him.  _ I love you, my Lord.  _ Tender kisses were placed on his chest, neck and face as he smiled in happiness, though her belly made reaching some of him a tad awkward. That and needing the lavatory, when she didn’t trust herself to crawl much less walk. 

 

With a chuckle, he sat up, gathering her against him.  _ Meluieg. We will care for your needs, and then ask Irmo to bless us with pleasant dreams. And he will most definitely have his work cut out for him, after the pleasures we have had when yet awake. Thank you, for what you gave me. _

 

_ I will assume the report was favorable, then?  _

 

He did not stop smiling beatifically until he had fallen sound asleep as he kissed his wife’s radiant face.

 

**********

 

Christmas morning had its own alarm clock, as Allanah’s cries woke them both. Earlene instinctively flailed the covers away to go to her, but was hampered by herself, and that Thranduil had taken over that side of the bed. (Privately, she suspected it was a ploy to keep her from going to the restroom on her own; there was little room on her side of the bed to get out of it and the only real way out of the bed was over his body.) “I will care for her, meluieg. Stay in bed.” She was both soiled and hungry; the former he cared for swiftly and for the latter, he brought her to her naneth and joined them both in bed. The little tears of upset were quickly replaced by contentment as she suckled hungrily, causing Earlene to gasp. 

 

“I think her mouth is becoming stronger,” she said in a strained tone of voice, “but Happy Birthday, sweet little girl”. It was rather early, to have what felt like an industrial strength suction pump attached to her anatomy. Moments later, it became apparent that wandering fingers were intent on enhancing her experience, and so Christmas morning was off to quite a nice start. When the baby was done, Earlene ensured that more than one thing was sucked on, so that when the sounds of tableware were heard clinking in the outer froom, all within the bedroom were quite content. “Everyone will be here soon,” Earlene murmured, this time very glad to be helped to the facilities. 

 

“There is time to use the pool, meluieg, and I know that you would like it. As would I. Just a few minutes?”

 

She nodded, unable to resist the idea. If they spent more time nuzzling each other and kissing in the pleasantly warm water than in rubbing the scented soaps on each other’s bodies, no one was complaining. “Happy Christmas, Thranduil,” she said as he dried her off, clearly far more interested in returning to bed than in behaving himself. 

“Happy Christmas to you as well, Earlene,” he smiled. “You can forgive that your husband is insatiable, I hope?” he murmured in a teasing voice.

 

She laughed. “I feel loved, Thranduil. There are no complaints, for I desire you as well. It is only that you may never get me past my inability to ignore poor Thanadir’s sensibilities.”

 

The King chuckled. “I remain unconvinced that he truly has any left, but I do not wish to cause you discomfort. Come, let us get you dressed. I thought perhaps you would enjoy wearing human clothing today? It is a special occasion.”

 

Her eyes lit up. Long used to the elven dresses, she in many ways even preferred them. But that it had been the same. three. dresses. for weeks. “Yes, please.” Maternity leggings and one of her very loose and wide tunic tops had been procured from her clothing at the cottage. She had her Inis Mor cardigan, and felt very happy. 

 

When they emerged, Lothiriel was waiting for Allanah, and Ortherion was finishing with the table. “Good morning and Happy Christmas,” they said in stereo. And Ortherion added, speaking carefully, “Thank you for my gift. I like it very much.” (He pronounced ‘much’ more like ‘mooch,’ which was adorable.)

 

Earlene’s face lit up in a smile. He really  _ had _ liked it. “You are very welcome,” she said slowly. Just then Ratiri and Lorna entered, with Thanadir bringing up the rear.

 

Lorna had managed to take a bath without actually falling asleep in it, which was a miracle. Ratiri helped her back into her Christmas clothes and got her hair combed out and braided. She even managed the walk without waddling too badly.

 

“Happy Christmas, you lot,” she said, a sentiment echoed by Ratiri as he helped her up onto the couch. “I love the cardigan, Earlene.” She looked so happy to be in human clothes for once.

 

The sentiment was echoed all around, and tea was poured. Ortherion bowed and retreated, and they all moved to the table. There was the usual porridge, but also fruit tarts that were perhaps leftovers of the pie-making process. And to Earlene’s delight, the kitchens had paid attention to another of her recipes, squash pie. There was actually squash pie with sweetened whipped cream for breakfast.  _ Perhaps if I say nothing the others will leave them be, and there will be more for me.  _ It was an educated guess, that this was unknown here. And besides, not everyone liked squash pie, even in America. Absurd though that was, to her way of thinking. Thranduil’s eyebrow raised, but he said nothing. He was in rather a frisky mood, which he attributed to having had entirely too much pleasure last night. There were two squash tarts, and he served himself one of them just to see the look on her face. When he saw only her smile of unselfish happiness that he would enjoy this, his mischief was undone. Now he was genuinely curious, and used his knife to cut a small slice. Pleasant surprise came over him. This was not too sweet, and the spices created a warm sensation. He sliced it in half, transferring the cut part to her plate. “Try this, meluieg. It is very good.” His eyes sparkled. He should probably be ashamed of his sense of humor, but sometimes it was difficult to control himself. She laughed, shaking her head at him.

 

“Thanadir, have you tried this?” she asked, cutting off a small piece for the seneschal seated next to her and placing it on his plate. To her great astonishment, he tasted it and wrinkled his nose.

 

“I am sorry, Earlene, I do not care for this. The texture is very strange, to me.” She did not know whether to note on the calendar that she had found a dessert he did not like, or celebrate that there was more for her. Possibly both... everyone enjoyed the extra variety, she drowned her little tart in whipped cream, and soon it was time for presents.

 

It being Christmas, Lorna had two cups of tea, and her look at Ratiri dared him to say anything. Wisely, he did not; honestly, she was far enough along that he didn’t know why he still worried, but he couldn’t help it. He certainly couldn’t fault her for eating two fruit tarts, for he did it himself.

 

He glanced at the presents under the tree, and wondered just what on Earth she meant, saying his was to be private but  _ not  _ something kinky. Perhaps he just wasn’t yet caffeinated enough, but he had no idea what could fit that description.

 

“Thanadir, it really is so nice to have something new to wear,” Lorna said. “I hadn’t wanted to get new clothes, but I feel like a human, not a lump’v different sorts’v flannel. The same thing over and over gets boring, so it’s nice to have this to break it up some.” She was actually considering ordering some more stuff off Amazon, or at least looking at pictures and asking Thanadir if he wouldn’t mind concocting something like it; she’d feel like less of a land whale if she had a few different things. She wasn’t quite as bad as poor Earlene, with just the same three things day in and day out, but she’d reached the point where she was close. Hopefully this was a sign Earlene was leaving off her seeming obsession with elf clothes, and adding some human variety. (Lorna was never, ever going to understand the appeal of dresses. She recognized that other women took to them like she took to plaid, but the allure had passed her by.)

 

Thranduil’s inner world was somewhat brought to a standstill, at hearing Lorna’s thoughts, He turned his focus to Earlene again, watching her. Her fingers were running the fabric of her top through her hands, and she was thinking about the flower pattern and that it gave her happiness to see it. That it cheered her. And yet prior to a fleeting thought this morning, she had not ever complained about the clothing she wore here, nor had he observed that this subject was even in her consideration. He would have to ask, later. 

 

“So it’s my first Christmas in another country. My family would do much like what Thanadir and Thranduil did last night; someone, usually my father, would randomly grab presents and hand them over one at a time and we’d all watch them be opened. What do people do in Ireland, or does it just depend on family?” Earlene asked Lorna.

 

Lorna laughed. “I only know Mairead’s family, but with four kids, it was like a shark frenzy. If we’d tried it that way we’d’ve been there all day, but there’s just us five, so your way’s probably better.” She shook her head. “One time Niamh pulled a wad’v tissue out’v a bag, tossed it, and hit a candle. You can imagine how well  _ that  _ ended. I thought Mairead would have a coronary. One Christmas when I was a teenager, Shane somehow nicked an entire turkey right out’v someone’s oven and we had it for dinner.”

 

“Someday I really need to meet that man,” Ratiri said. It wasn’t the first Shane story he’d heard.

 

“I almost feel like I do, too,” said Earlene, though with mildly mixed thoughts on the matter. She loved Lorna, but then there were those times like with the French toast…and she might not necessarily be able to cope with too much of that in a concentrated dosage. “Ratiri, how about you? Would you like to be the Hander-Outer of the gifts?” She felt like Ratiri so often was marginalized somehow, and it was a human holiday. His face lit up with a smile, and she could not honestly believe that Thranduil or Thanadir could care. A glance at the King seemed to swiftly confirm this, and it went without saying that if it was well with him, it was well with the seneschal.

 

It was easy enough to figure out which ones Lorna had wrapped (though he couldn’t say his own were too much better) so he passed those around first, figuring it might be good to get theirs out of the way (especially because he wasn’t entirely certain what Lorna had got everyone, and it paid to be careful). “In case you couldn’t tell by the wrapping, these are from Lorna and I,” he said, returning to sit beside her. “I’m not certain just what all of hers are, so I’m sorry in advance. Possibly.”

 

Lorna elbowed him in the ribs. “Hush, you.”

 

Earlene’s package felt bulky and squishy, which had her guessing “weird scifi themed throw blanket” but she was completely wrong. She pulled the string loose that held the bundle together. It was a velvet robe in a truly lovely rust color that was reminiscent of autumn leaves. Soft and flattering, and cut in such a way that would fit her now and after she gave birth. And the sleeves were even those wonderful bell-shaped kinds, that you could shove each of your arms into as though they were a muff when you were really cold. She stood up to go and hug her, and give profuse thanks, only mildly annoyed when Thranduil hovered over her as she walked the short distance to Lorna. The two women exchanged a knowing look that said, more or less, ‘we might let them live.’ Which was quickly supplanted by a look of surprise from Earlene at her robe being tugged from her lap by invisible forces...until she realized Tail had come under her feet, and was saving their lives from the wrapping string and paper. She rolled her eyes, and tickled his tummy.

 

“Now, it probably goes without saying that I had a huge amount’v help from Thanadir on that one,” Lorna said. “And by that I mean I managed to sew the straight seams, and he was nice enough to take care’v the fancy things for me.” She hadn’t even wanted to try to sew in the sleeves. Somehow, she  _ always  _ fucked that up on a garment, no matter how hard she tried, and left the underside of the armhole all puckered and weird. There was a second gift from Lorna, too...a book on the Irish in New York City. Her hands were instantly drawn to turning the pages...this was going to be wonderful reading.

 

Thranduil next opened this, smiling as he realized how hard his friends were trying unsuccessfully not to think of what his gifts were. Alas, only Earlene had ever managed some mastery at this. But he had the grace to pretend to appear somewhat surprised. A History of Ireland, and a compendium of world religions and their origins. While the content of the packages may not have been news to him, the contents of the books were. Beautiful photographs, old photographs, maps...he was going to enjoy this greatly, and he sincerely was grateful.

 

Thanadir came next, and opened his gift only to frown at it. It was a little device, much like Earlene’s phone, and yet not a phone at all. He looked up, puzzled. “Ooooh, that is an iPod, meldir. It plays music, and you can listen to programs on it too.” That information made him smile, just like the thought of an elf roaming the Halls wearing earbuds struck her as completely anachronistic.

 

“It has playlists of different classical composers,” Ratiri explained. “They’re all labeled. Also some traditional Irish and Scottish folk music.”

 

“And Enya,” Lorna added. She’d figured the elves would appreciate Enya.

 

“But wait, there’s more,” Earlene quipped in perfect imitation of late night TV sales. To her shock, Thanadir caught the reference and laughed.  _ He is amazing,  _ she thought with great fondness. His other gift from Lorna and Ratiri was a chess set. 

 

“My mother had one like this,” Ratiri said. “It’s an Indian set -- the pieces reflect the Indian equivalent of each European piece. Ivory’s illegal now, so these are marble.” Each piece was pale and smooth, somewhat larger than its European counterpart, and of course rather heavier. The board itself was black, but alternating squares had a delicate tracery of white leaves, of the same sort which formed a border around the entire board. 

  
Thanadir’s innocent eyes were filled with delight, and Earlene was fairly certain that either Lorna or Thranduil was not going to bed tonight. He was picking up the pieces and admiring them with his long, delicate fingers, and she wondered how long it would need before Thranduil had to leave the Dining Hall running all night as a Game Room. The King’s eyebrows raised at hearing the thought; really it was an excellent suggestion and he would have to discuss it with Thanadir.

 

Lorna opened her package to find a soft robe that was heavier than a dressing gown, fleece-lined, big enough to actually button over her stomach. It was plaid, to her delight -- a pattern of emerald green and a deeper, blue-ish green, with lines of dark red and white.

 

“It’s the Clan Duncan tartan,” he said, and just about fell over when she tackle-hugged him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 

He disentangled himself from her hug after a moment, needing air, and passed around the next round of gifts, noting that they were all much better-wrapped than either his or Lorna’s. Oh well. It was the thought that counted.

 

This batch appeared to be from Thanadir, which made the wrapping suddenly understandable. Earlene was very surprised to receive anything, because he had already given her the gorgeous dress last night. “Oh, Thanadir,” she exclaimed, holding up the lovely gown that was clearly for some months in the future. It was a mauve color, with green fabric rose leaves sewn onto it, and clearly designed with springtime weather in mind. It was not fancy so much as just incredibly pretty. The bottom was irregular, too, in a flattering way; it reminded her of a fairy dress. “Thank you.” The only tragedy was that there was no way to even try it on, now; she would have to be content with holding it in front of her.

 

From the feel of Lorna’s package, there was also clothing in it, and she was pleased beyond words. When she opened it, she found what she thought of as ‘elf camouflage’; it looked much like what she’d seen the guards wear, a tunic of deep greens and browns, along with leggings and even boots actually small enough to fit. “Thank you, Thanadir,” she said, running her fingers over the fabric. “I’d hug you if I wasn’t sure I’d fall over if I tried to stand.”

 

Ratiri opened his to find a beautifully soft, beautifully heavy length of fabric that turned out to be a cloak, of a shade of green that would help him blend in with the forest. And yes, his inner nerd had a silent fanboy moment, because  _ he had an Elven cloak.  _ It had a hood, and  _ pockets.  _ So very many pockets. He needed to find things to put in them, just because they were there and shouldn’t go unused. “Thank you, Thanadir. I want to go outside just so I can wear it.”

 

Earlene couldn’t recall the last time she had seen Thanadir smile this much, and it made her so happy. Guessing how lonely and misunderstood he must have felt at many times in his long life, and now this...it was heartwarming, even if her hormones were involved in her perceptions. Thranduil had a gift too, which he opened. It caused his wife to stifle a gasp of enjoyment. A modern dark grey blazer, in what she thought was about the sexiest cut she’d ever seen. And trousers that matched. They were casual enough to wear to the pub and yet oh so classy. She had likely just experienced what it was like for Thranduil, to see her in clothes that advertised her cleavage.  _ Just, hot damn _ , Earlene thought. 

 

There was a small package for Allanah, but by group agreement they decided to save it for the afternoon and her little party.

 

The next round of presents were Earlene’s. She had to giggle when the one colossal box was dragged out and placed in front of Ratiri, who looked genuinely alarmed. This was Earlene, he reasoned; it couldn’t be anything  _ too  _ disturbing. He opened it carefully, and to his delight discovered beer-brewing equipment, pots and carboys and even a funnel, complete with big, dark brown bottles.

 

“Dad and I did this, when I was a kid,” he said, lifting a bottle out of the box. “Well, we tried. After it blew up three years in a row, Mam wouldn’t let us anymore.”

 

“I know how to make it not blow up,” Lorna said. “We can have proper human beer.” Christ, she’d have as much fun with it as he would.

 

“Thank you, Earlene,” he said, looking up at her. He was rather more moved than he wanted to let on. 

 

Thanadir opened his large stack; it was books. There was a little note, explaining that these were her favorites, and she wanted to share them with him. The pile was tall; these were titles like Moby Dick and The Three Musketeers, Country of the Pointed Firs, the Little House on the Prairie series, and more. A shared nod between them was more than enough communication. Thranduil opened his, to find three cashmere sweaters in different colors, marvelling at their softness. There was a letter, too.  _  That is private, for your eyes only. You might want to read it when you are alone. Definitely not here,  _ she told him. With a warm smile of thanks, he tucked the missive into the lining of his outer garment. All eyes turned to Lorna, who had four packages; tiny, small, medium, and what was almost assuredly a book.

 

Lorna started with the smallest of them, and discovered something that looked like a cross between elf-work and human-celtic -- an oak-knot rendered in metal wire, used as a barrette. “It’s lovely,” she said -- unlike the combs Ratiri had given her, this could be worn every day without fear of something happening to it. It took a bit of doing, but she managed to loop her braid up, fold it over, and affix the pin. The next smallest made her cackle with delight. “It’s the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch!” she said, laughing so hard she had to lean against Ratiri, who took it and duly admired it.

 

“Thankfully not actually live,” he said, passing it back. “The M7 wouldn’t be safe.”

 

The next felt like fabric, and indeed it was: a Holy Hand Grenade T-shirt. A T-shirt big enough to use as a nightshirt even now, and black, so it wasn’t see-through. The fact that the grenade was encircled with the words “to blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy” just made it even better. Tucked within it was a Holy Hand Grenade window sticker. By now laughing so hard she could barely breathe, she managed, “Earlene, you are the bloody best.”

 

The last one, the book, turned out to be a book on hair braiding. For all Lorna usually wore her hair in a braid, she had a terrible habit of just using the same plain, basic style, so she’d have to practice now. With her new pin, it would be even more fun -- and she could come up with more elaborate styles for her fancier combs. “Allanah, d’you want to learn how to braid?” she asked, showing him the book. He’d made no secret of his borderline fetish for her hair, and she was unsurprised when he agreed. “Thank you, Earlene.”

 

She grinned, having the time of her life. Thranduil’s gifts were next, and with his usual secrecy, he’d hoarded them all away from the tree. Earlene rolled her eyes, finding his quirks endearing. He first handed Thanadir’s gift to him; more books. But these ones were more volumes of human poetry. Earlene idly wondered just how fast the elf would read all these, and decided she did not wish to know. Next, a fairly hefty box of medium size was walked over to Lorna and placed on her lap, with a too-happy grin.

 

Lorna wasn’t going to lie -- that grin made her legitimately nervous. When she opened it, however, she just about squeed with delight. “Jesus, you don’t do things by halves, do you?” she asked, pulling out a mug. There were twelve of them, and they were all  _ Star Trek _ themed -- a blueprint of the  _ Enterprise  _ and one of the  _ Excelsior,  _ one with the Starfleet logo in the colors of each crew department, and another...that one made her laugh, and she held it out to Ratiri. It was black, and had a stencil of the  _ Enterprise  _ on it, with GET IN LOSERS, WE’RE GONNA BOLDLY GO wrapped around the top. “Thank you, Thranduil,” she said. “I’ll have to drink a lot’v tea, now that I’ve got these,” she added, with a pointed look at Ratiri, who wisely didn’t protest (but then, he was a bit too busy fanboying over the mugs).  _ Picard/Riker 2016, if only _ , she thought.

 

Ratiri was to be given something for which wrapping was pointless. “Please close your eyes for a moment, Ratiri, and hold out your hands.” When this had been managed with a nervous smile, over Lorna’s involuntary gasp of envy, a sheathed sword was placed into the man’s grasp. “You may open them now,” Thranduil said. At seeing his expression of disbelief, the King noted, “there is nothing quite like the motivation to be gained from wishing to be equal to a fine weapon, Ratiri. Because I know the significance would not be lost on you, I have chosen a sword for you that came from the armory at Menegroth. Our smiths in later centuries were never able to achieve the skill of those in Beleriand. This blade has served Elu Thingol, my father Oropher, and myself. Now it is yours.”

 

Ratiri was so busy taking this in, so lost in the history of what he now held in his hands, that he couldn’t respond. Lorna laughed a bit, still looking at the sword rather enviously -- though not  _ too  _ enviously, since she had her knives. “He’ll be away a bit,” she said.

 

Ratiri had thought, by now, that he was used to this -- that he’d accepted that all of it was true, and wouldn’t have any further trouble or awe. Yeah, nope -- his brain had all but shut down at the knowledge of what he was holding, of the  _ history _ ...He was nowhere near good enough to justify having this blade, but Thranduil was right -- it was good incentive.

 

“I…” That was all that came out as he carefully drew the blade, the firelight glinting red along the razor-edge. When he was a boy, he’d imagined having a proper sword, not the sharpened sticks he’d made. Never, ever would he have dreamt….

 

He looked a little too natural, holding that thing. And really, really hot. Lorna strove to get her thoughts under control, insofar as she could, and at least not scandalize Thranduil on Christmas bloody morning. “Breathe, allanah,” she said. “Nope, he’s well away.”

 

Earlene was so busy staring at Ratiri with her mouth open that she failed to notice her husband smiling at her; she’d had no gift yet from him. And then her eyes narrowed, because Lorna looked excited, and even the imperturbable Thanadir had traces of interest on his face, though only her or Thranduil might have been able to see them. It smelled of conspiracy. “It is difficult to sneak anything past Earlene, wouldn’t we all agree?” asked Thranduil, to a chorus of nods, enjoying her growing discombobulation. “Come, meluieg. Your gift is in the next chamber; there is not room here.

 

Her frown deepened.  _ What had he done, brought in a draft horse? _

 

_ No, _ he chuckled silently, holding his hands out to her. They all exited the rooms (Ratiri carrying his re-sheathed sword, of course), and she too was asked to close her eyes. She was carefully maneuvered to sit on a….something. It felt like a bench.  _ What in Eru’s name…?  _

 

“Thanadir will help you with your gift, Earlene. You may look, now.” 

 

“Valar,” Earlene whispered, gaping at the double keyboard in front of her, the beautiful ebony colored naturals gleaming in a row. “You really got me a….how did you…oh who cares thank you so much” is more or less what tumbled out. She reached toward the keys, looking at Thranduil to make certain that this was something she was allowed to touch (every one she had ever been within ten feet of had a sign somewhere with strict instructions to keep one’s hands off) and pressed a single, tentative note, feeling the resistance as the jack plucked the string...the sound was lovely, shimmering. Thanadir placed a spiral bound book in front of her with a clear cover, the sort that would have been run off at a printer’s. ‘Starting on the Harpsichord, A First Book for the Beginner,’ she read.  _ You have got to be kidding me. Someone actually wrote this?? Look at how much I can learn...I have something to do now! And this instrument is so beautiful... _

 

Turning again to Thranduil, she reached for him, wanting to give him a hug. Lorna and Ratiri smiled and thanked them again for their gifts, recognizing that these three were going to be snogging the harpsichord for some time yet, and elected to retreat with their gifts, promising to be back in some hours for Allanah’s little party. When they were gone from the room, Thranduil gave Earlene a hug and a passionate kiss to go with it, so glad was he to see her happiness. He retreated to a sofa; it had been decided to remove some of the less relevant furnishings from this long disused chamber in favor of providing a place that multiple persons could enjoy hearing music. Lorna had given the idea of having it be a place to play more than just the harpsichord. While Earlene and the Elves had not been envisioned as some sort of weird Baroque Irish ensemble, it might be her closest chance to ever having Earlene and an elf in possession of musical instruments within ten feet of each other. Because clearly, her friend was not going to do something sensible, like learn to play an electric guitar in order to make this band name happen. Hey, sometimes you had to make lemonade out of lemons. 

 

Thanadir quietly sat next to her, smiling, and they began to discuss the book. Earlene did have some understanding of written music, and helped Thanadir comprehend what was written about musical notation. He in turn had been playing on the instrument for weeks now, understanding the assorted sounds that could be coaxed out of it depending on whether both registers were used, or how long notes were held, or any number of subtle technical efforts. He had already worked out scales and fingering, and showed her what to do, setting many exercises to begin imitating. As the clear notes sounded, she wondered if she would perish from joy. Thranduil listened for some minutes, and then recalled the letter in his pocket. His wife and seneschal were as distracted as it was possible to be; he was as good as alone. Quietly, and carefully, he unfolded the paper and read:

 

_ Dearest Thranduil,  _

 

_ The most difficult challenge left to me is the simple act of creating a gift for you that can be a surprise--not easy, when the one you love can see into your mind. But today you are away in Dublin, bringing home holiday trees, and I have a rare moment in which to try.  _

 

_ Right now, my thoughts are laced with melancholy. You are away from me, and Thanadir is with you. I feel divided from everything in the world that matters most to me, except our children inside of my body. I could not have understood, what pregnancy would be like. It is joyous, and yet more difficult than I imagined. But for your happiness, I would welcome this again, if you wished it. I think humans perceive the passage of time with greater tedium, sometimes, just as I understand that my experience is colored by the changes to my body. You have done everything imaginable to ease carrying the children for me, and even when I feel overcome by the most irrational moods, I have not lost sight of this. But none of this is what I wished to convey in this letter, so I will move along; I cannot say how long I have, before your return to the forest. _

 

_ It occurs to me that compared to some, I am not overly sentimental. Perhaps neither are you, and between the two of us it offers explanation as to why you have asked little regarding my early life, and I have offered even less. I have told you next to nothing of my family, or what forces shaped me except some assorted unpleasantries concerning my brother, by which time I was already a grown woman. So spectacular has my failure been on this subject, that I have never even told you the names of my parents. John Conor Sullivan met my mother, Anya Ingrid Weber, in the 1970s. My father’s family was very solidly Irish, as is likely no surprise to you. When my parents were first introduced, they went on several dates before my father understood that my mother’s name was Anya, and not Eíthne. The sounds, how they are pronounced, are very similar, and he believed he was courting someone of an Irish background. And to be fair, my grandmother on that side was Irish, but it was still something of a surprise to him. At any rate, they were already falling in love, so gran had to cope with the fact that some German blood was coming into the family. This was a joke, of course, my mother was held in high regard by all. They eventually married after a long courtship, then came Aidan, and two years afterward I was born. _

 

_ My early memories were of being loved, and feeling that there were expectations for me to meet. My father worked very hard to not follow in the footsteps of his parents, who were essentially farmers. He wanted something different for himself and his family, and earned the money to have an education. He became physician like Ratiri, a surgeon. It was made very clear that while I was allowed interests and the normal pursuits of childhood, that it was my ‘job’ to take my education seriously. Both Aidan and I had my parents’ considerable aptitude for learning, and therefore, there were no excuses. Generally I enjoyed school, and both of my parents instilled in me the desire and ability to acquire and process information. When I was a child, computers were not yet common. I grew into my adult life with a knowledge of how to seek answers from books, and later on how to make use of computers. I had a number of female friends, a few of them close, and did not believe that anything about my life was unusual. I participated in activities with others my age, though it is also true that at heart I preferred the solitude of reading my books. Though I had opportunities, I did not try to excel at anything except learning. Perhaps I believed that if I took the time to learn a musical instrument, or how to dance, or participate in theater, that I would only have to set it aside later. I felt like I could not give myself permission to focus on anything but learning itself, I think is what I am trying to express. _

 

_ My life as a younger person was not unhappy, but neither did it ever feel complete. My parents, who I loved very much, provided me every tool by which to succeed as an adult.  But one thing went wrong, I believe, or was missing. I cannot say exactly why, but I never learned to be truly open to others. If I had to place blame somewhere, I suppose it would be with Aidan. I wanted to love my brother, but there was almost only ever scorn, and mockery. When I did not date boys or have romantic relationships, he was quick to instill words that caused me to feel that something was the matter with me.  Words that I am forced to admit I came to accept as true.  And when no one of the opposite sex ever made any real attempt to pursue me in that way, it made the words even easier to accept. But even then, I believed I had enough. I had friends, accolades, and a position of employment that was coveted by many. I felt I was doing what I was supposed to be, with my talents. Even after the loss of what friends I had in this world, nothing about my core beliefs in this regard had reason to change. _

 

_ You may never understand how out of character it was for me, to perceive a growing emptiness, to wonder what I might be missing in my life, and to actually take the steps to leave all that behind to seek out a new existence here in Ireland. I did not come here to seek a mate, or even friends. Just to continue on alone, and try out learning the things I had deferred, to see if perhaps some of those would fill in what seemed to be missing. And then within hours of my arrival, there was...you. Within days, you were unwittingly filling every void, raining on every desert of my spirit. Before you claimed me, you gave me the opportunity to leave this place, to seek another life; you might as well have told a starving man to leave the only source of food for miles around. Everything I had went into coming here. I could not leave, and I could not leave you.  _

 

_ I have reflected, many times, on how it was probably the strangest series of events in the history of humankind, that united me with you. I doubt I will ever understand, why it was me. It does not really matter. From you, everything has come to me that was absent, and more. And whatever the future holds for us, nothing will ever take that away. You made me whole, gave my heart peace, and joined together what felt sundered. It is my sincerest hope, that I have brought even a shadow of this joy to your own life.  _

 

_ This seems like a good place to stop. I wish you a Merry Christmas, beloved husband. For as long as is granted to me, all the love I can give is yours, my beautiful King; nothing will ever matter more to me than your happiness, for you have given me mine. _

 

_ All my Love, _

_ Earlene _

 

An elephant could have trampled through the room and he would not have heard it. He read every word, and then read it again, before he folded the paper to return it to his robe, moisture glistening in his eyes. He rose, and silently left the room unnoticed; their backs were to him as they continued to investigate the harpsichord. Walking into their bedroom, he knelt on the center rug; the same place that witnessed his prayer thousands of years ago when he found himself bereft of his wife.  _ Please _ , he begged.  _ Please _ ...the rest of his prayer was not spoken aloud, and what was beseeched was known only to himself, and the Valar who listened.

 

**********

 

Lorna had to admit, she was nervous. This was breaking with tradition in huge, huge ways, and while the two of them were anything but traditional, this one was, to her knowledge, very rare. How many women asked their boyfriends to marry them? She was pretty sure he’d say yes, but still. Anxiety fluttered in her gut like a trapped rat.

 

When they reached their room, she poked up the fire while Ratiri lit the lamps, trying to ignore her sweaty palms. She fetched the little box, clumsily wrapped, and clambered up onto the armchair beside the fire.

 

Only now did she realize Ratiri looked distinctly nervous himself. He was almost as fidgety as she was, in fact -- and held a wrapped package of his own. “You go first,” he said.

 

Jesus, here it went. Swallowing hard, she unwrapped the little box. She’d sanded it herself, while Thanadir did the bits of Earlene’s present she couldn’t handle. He’d also by necessity had to help her with the box’s contents, since she knew fuck-all about forging in general, let alone something as intricate and delicate as jewelry-making. She’d actually managed to measure Ratiri’s finger in his sleep, so  at least she knew it would fit. Though they were the same design -- long enough to cover the first joint of the forefinger, the silver woven into intricate knotwork that actually looked vaguely Celtic -- it was easy to tell whose was whose, since hers was about a quarter the size of his.

 

“We went about everything arseways already,” she said, when he opened the box, “so I figured, why not keep on? I was hoping you’d, um--”  _ Great, Lorna. Really eloquent  _ “--will you marry me?”

 

Ratiri stared at the ring, taking it out of the box. He was such a nerd that she’d known he’d love it done elf-style. “You and I think alike,” he said sheepishly, as he slid the ring onto his right forefinger before giving her the box he held. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” When she opened it, she found a tiny platinum Claddagh ring, an emerald at the heart.

 

Lorna looked at him, and burst out laughing. “Look at the pair’v us,” she said, sliding the ring onto her ring finger. It went well with the silver on her right forefinger. “D’you think we can get away with getting married before Mairead gets back?”

 

“Oh, I have a much better idea,” Ratiri said, with a smile that promised nothing good in the best possible way. “I would love to subject Baile to a Hindu wedding. My mother’s bridal things are still in storage in Scotland.”

 

“Didn’t you say a Hindu wedding is like a week long?” Lorna asked.

 

“Exactly,” he said, with a very slight smirk. There was an element of sin in it that did all kinds of things to her hormones.

 

“That’s evil,” she said. “I love it. And I love you.” She leaned forward to kiss him, and reflected that here was one thing to tell the twins. How Thranduil had kept a straight face while knowing both their intentions, she had no idea;  _ she  _ couldn’t have managed it.

 

“Main tumase pyaar karata hoon,” he said, pulling her onto his lap. “It means ‘I love you’ in Hindi. ‘ Tha gaol agam ort’ is the definition in Scottish.”

 

“I didn’t know you spoke Scottish,” Lorna said, resting her forehead against the crook of his neck.

 

“I don’t,” Ratiri laughed, running his fingers over the length of her braid. “Not really. How do you say it in Irish?”

 

“Is breá liom tú,” she said. “So what does a Hindu wedding involve? Aside from a lot’v food, apparently.”

 

Ratiri laughed. “Well, for a start, you wear a bridal sari, and all the gold your family has -- and my mother had a  _ lot _ . Your brothers are meant to carry you down the aisle on a litter, which might be a problem, though.”

 

“Big Jamie’s like my brother,” she said. “And Mairead might be strong enough. I don’t weigh much.”

 

“No, but gold does.”

 

Lorna leaned back enough to look up at him. “How much gold are we talking here?”

 

He gave her a grin that was entirely disarming. “My mother’s family was very wealthy,” he said, “and if she was going to go off into some barbarian land, my grandmother wanted to make certain they were well-represented. With all that jewelry on, you’ll have a hard time moving.”

 

Her eyebrows climbed practically to her hairline. “Now I’m a bit scared.” And here she’d been afraid of tearing an elf-dress...she didn’t think she’d forgive herself if she somehow fucked up Ratiri’s mother’s wedding sari.

 

“You shouldn’t be,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Everyone  _ else _ , on the other hand…”

 

“I knew I loved you for a reason.”

 

He laughed. “It’s best if we do it in the summer. We’ll need a very, very large tent. Also, you need to get your nose pierced.”

 

“I  _ what _ ?”

 

“You need to get your nose pierced. For the nath. Admittedly, it’s meant to symbolize the bride’s virginity, but still,” he said, shaking his head. “Non-virgins wear it anyway -- rather like a white dress in Western culture. And it would make your sister brick herself.”

 

Okay,  _ that  _ might make it worth it. “What else have I got to do? Get tattoos?”

 

“Not permanent ones, no. Indira and I can help you with the mehndi -- it takes hours, and you have to hold very still.”

 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Lorna said. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

 

“As my lady wishes,” Ratiri said, and did.

 

**********

 

Time went by and though Earlene was engrossed, she finally had to admit, “Meldir, I do not think I can sit here any longer without a break. In fact, I have waited too long to move, I am afraid.”

 

With chagrin the old elf realized, they  _ had _ sat there for quite a long time, given Earlene’s limitations. He did not ask, but carried her toward the lavatory, where they were both more than a little surprised to see Thranduil sitting alone in the bedroom. His reverie broke when they entered, and he took Earlene with murmured thanks. Her rising desperation for the toilet must have been telepathically obvious, because he did not hesitate to place her where she needed to be. In the privacy of the little chamber, she was embarrassed to find herself panting from the relief involved at no longer having to struggle to hold it. That had been a very, very close call. _ Good grief _ , she shook her head. But no harm done. Thranduil was there to help her wash her hands, and there was something different about how he was looking at her.  _ My Lord?  _ She reached to hold onto him.  _ Is something the matter? _

 

He struggled to master himself, because he could not, would not tell her what was the matter. That was quite literally in the hands of the Valar, and it would be completely wrong to add to her burdens. What he was feeling now was a consequence of his own choices-- _ or was it? _ The King of the Valar himself had spoken plainly that their relationship had not been so random or of his own choosing as he believed...and that made a tremendous difference. Taking a deep breath, he helped her walk to where they could sit together. Weakening, he knew he could not maintain his resolve. Plus, he had vowed before Eru that they were together as one spirit now.  _ I read your letter, Earlene. It was beautiful and heartfelt but has caused feelings in me that I know you did not anticipate. _

 

With her keen insight, she took the measure of him, and lowered her eyes.  _ I think I can guess what those feelings are, for I too struggle with them, though I try not to. I tell myself that it is foolish to fret and feel sorrowful when none of us can know the future. _

 

_ I felt the same, meluieg, until the events of the past days. When a Vala informs one that a series of events was not so random or unplanned, and that he...chose you… _

 

She laid her hand over his heart.  _ Stop. You must stop, for both our sakes. I do not have your knowledge or your perspective. Only what I have read, and what I feel in my heart. Your gods, our gods, are not cruel, Thranduil. I have read some accounts that provide me with a thin thread of hope. If I am granted the opportunity, I will plead that we not be sundered from each other. I would give anything, do anything, for this mercy. In the meantime, I have been told that I am to do something that is their command, though I do not understand at all. I will obey willingly, and not only for the hope of a reward. For the happiness of your people, I would give my utmost; what greater privilege could a mortal have? Have that same hope and faith with me, and determine to do with equal courage what was asked of you. The rest lies outside our control regardless, and no amount of agonizing will make any difference. We mortals have a saying, ‘hope for the best, and prepare for the worst.’ I want the time we have to be filled with love and joy, not dread and fear. Today is our daughter’s first birthday, and it is an occasion for happiness. _ She tried to crawl around so that she could kiss him. They were alone, so it became more than one kiss. He sighed.

 

“You have powers of your own, meluieg,” he said, a smile emerging. “There is wisdom in all that you have said, and my heart knows it. I must wait in humility, as must you.”

 

“There will be times when thoughts of sorrow will come, Thranduil. And when they do, I am here. As are you; I am not immune from this either. We must give strength to the other, when the need arises. I love you with all my heart, my Lord.”

 

He laughed and half choked at the same time, shaking his head. “Do you know that many months ago, Lorna told me in a conversation that it might have been the Valar that caused you to come to the forest? She explained to me in just how many ways any other woman alive would have told me to...well, I am certain you can guess at that, actually. You speak to me with deference so easily, Earlene, as though you were one of us.”

 

“I  _ am _ one of you,” she said rather forcefully. “And you  _ are _ my Lord, and you  _ are _ my King, and you of all people had better not start having a problem with that.” Glaring eyes looked into his, until she had a moment to realize what she had said, and a generally horrified expression came over her. “Forgive me, I….” 

 

He was already laughing. “Oh by Eru, Earlene, I love you. Do not apologize, I forbid it. It is time to return you to Thanadir.” 

 

“Thank you so much, for the harpsichord,” she said, her eyes shining. “I am thrilled, and want you to know how much I appreciate it.”

 

“Your eyes told me that, sweet one. And you are most welcome. Come.”

 

******

 

Thanadir brought leftover pie and Allanah’s little cake from the kitchen, with tea. Or rather, Thanadir supervised Ortherion at this task, and helped him, since a tray of rolls, sliced meats and cheese as well as some of the leftover roasted root vegetables took up some of a second tray. Lothiriel and Ortherion both were invited to share with the family in the very informal celebration of little Allanah’s birthday. Lorna and Ratiri came in, looking immensely pleased.

 

Ratiri helped her up onto the couch, and they both burst out laughing when they looked at their hands. “So,” she said, “apparently we had the same idea in mind.” She held up both her hands, with the silver right on her right and the platinum on her left. “Felt like a bit’v an idiot, but there you are.”

 

“We’re having a Hindu ceremony,” he added. “While I’m not terribly religious, it will give every busybody in Baile something to gawk at.”

 

“And apparently I have to pierce my nose,” she added, leaning against him. “And get loaded with so much jewelry I’ll have a hard time walking. Because there’s no way  _ that  _ will end badly.”

 

“Always provided your sister doesn’t drop you first. I know she’s strong, but gold really is heavy.”

 

“I don’t have enough brothers,” she groaned. “Big Jamie’s kind’v a brother, but apparently my brothers’re meant to carry me up the aisle on a litter. _ He  _ could handle his half, but Mairead...well.” Part of her was very tempted to ask her brother-from-another-mother, but while she viewed Thranduil as such, she had no idea how he viewed  _ her _ , or if that would somehow be beneath his station. Even she had a hazy idea that just wasn’t what kings did.

 

 _NOW_ _you decide to remember that I wear a crown??_ _Kings do not throw French toast either,_ he smirked. _Besides, in the outer world, I am merely Fionn Sullivan. And, my heartfelt congratulations. I am going to hug you._ And he did just that, managing to restrain himself so that she could still breathe. He kissed her cheek, too, without warning. There were not words for how joyful this made him, though he would hardly tell her that.

 

Lorna squawked slightly, but hugged him back.  _ I’ve been in here too long,  _ she said, and even her mental voice was dry.  _ I figured there have to be a few things beneath your dignity.  _ She laughed, and said aloud, “You’ll get to see a pretty good show, I’m sure. You all will. From all Ratiri’s told me about a Hindu wedding, it’s...elaborate, to say the least.”  _ Thank you. You can read my mind, you know how much I appreciate it. _

 

“And that’s the simplified version,” he said. “If we actually had parents, it would be even worse.”

 

Hugs were given all around, and even Lothiriel and Ortherion were taught with awkwardness and much laughing how to shake hands and give hugs to mortals by way of greeting or congratulations. They both managed to say ‘congratulations’ without making a hash of it; Earlene felt this was a rather complicated word to enunciate. 

 

“Well, given that Allanah doesn’t know the difference, consider her birthday lunch hijacked except the obligatory bunch of photos with cake,” Earlene said. Honestly she thought these two would never manage to get around to this, and here they had blown her out of the water. She’d guessed two years. 

 

Lorna laughed. “She’ll be awfully mobile by then,” she said. “Might want one’v those kid leashes, unless she can be made to not just crawl off when you’re not looking.” She ran her thumb over the ring on her left hand. She’d got used to not having one there, but wearing one again just felt...right. And of course there was Ratiri’s, on his right hand, shining in the firelight...this was really happening. She tried not to grin like an idiot, and utterly failed. “Ratiri’s got to get a load’v stuff shipped from Scotland, and I’d feel a lot safer storing it here, rather than my incredibly un-secured cottage. If somebody swiped his mam’s bridal jewelry, I might just die.”

 

“She’d certainly haunt us both,” he said. “And we’ll have to get her sari altered a bit. She was a bit taller than you, and, er, rounder.”

 

“I will help you if there is anything I can do,” offered Thanadir. He did not know what a sari was, but that wasn’t about to stop him. 

 

Lothiriel brought Allanah forward, and Lorna got out her phone, while Earlene ‘helped’ her open her present from Uncle Thanadir. Her little quilt was beautiful, and she promptly began to gnaw on it until Earlene gently distracted her. Next came slicing her little cake, and offering her a tiny slice on a plate. Earlene really did not want her getting a taste for sweets until after her teeth were in; kids did not need sugar and if they didn’t have it, they didn’t know what they were missing at all. Allanah could turn into Thanadir  _ after _ she’d developed good eating habits. And Earlene also had bought her two more toy plush animals. One was a penguin and the other an unrealistically friendly looking Tyrannosaurus rex, because she had liked the other dinosaurs so much. This left Thranduil explaining dinosaurs to his subjects, while Thanadir interjected, and Earlene was simply glad that it wasn’t her because the conversation vastly exceeded her creative use of vocabulary. Though, the gestures that indicated ‘large monstrosity’ were somewhat universal. Soon everyone had plates, and was making themselves happy while Allanah got some food actually into her mouth, keeping poor Lothiriel busy chasing the stray bits that were being flung in other directions.

 

Lorna was so happy it quite honestly scared her a little. Even with the fact that she was a human blimp, things were frighteningly close to perfect just now. Little Allanah was burbling happily, there was very fantastic cake, and she had two rings on her fingers. Sooner or later she and Earlene would both be divested of babies, and could actually be humans again...she leaned against Ratiri, and wondered how Mairead and Jamie were getting on. She should try to get out to the cottage to wish them a happy Christmas through email, at least, even if she couldn’t call.

 

“Pretty soon we’ll have another four’v those between us,” she said, pointing at Allanah. “God help us all. That nath thing’s a bit ironic, give we’ll have our own kids at our wedding.”

 

“Not really,” Ratiri said. “It’s like a white wedding dress. Sure, once upon a time it signified virginity, but now it’s just...what many women wear. Tradition. And as mentioned, your sister will brick herself.”

 

“Which is the only reason I’m considering doing this,” Lorna said. “You want me to stab something through my nose.”

 

“You’ve done far worse to yourself,” he pointed out.

 

“Hush, you. Earlene, have you come up with any baby names yet?”

 

Earlene and Thranduil both had expressions of wide-eyed panic that provided an answer. After a few seconds, Earlene tried to explain. “I’m very...conflicted about wanting elven names and also wanting the girls to be able to function in the outer world without getting rude stares from everyone they meet. I know that it’s a question of one elven name, one Irish name, but which should be the primary name is causing more than a little consternation.”

 

“I had a ten-year-old patient named Unique,” Ratiri said. “Trust me, in this day and age, even an Elven name likely won’t get side-eyed by many. I would say make the first whichever is easier to spell phonetically, but given half the Irish names I’ve heard, that could be a bit of a toss-up.”

 

“Ours’ll be Shane Liam and Chandra Katherine,” Lorna said. “Neither Liam nor Katherine ever got to be parents, but they’ll have kids named for them. Shane’s named after, well,  _ Shane _ , and Chandra was a stillborn older sister’v Ratiri’s. Nice and alliterative, at least.”

 

“I love the name Chandra,” said Earlene. “The telescope, and all. It’s amazing.”

 

“It was my grandmother’s name, too,” Ratiri said. “Thranduil, I have to ask. Lorna’s only at six months and I can already tell her pelvis is too narrow to give birth to these children. Can you work with that? Because if not, we need to work out a way to get to hospital in Dublin. She’s going to need a Cesarean.” 

 

Earlene looked at Ratiri with inner pity, though she allowed no emotion to show on her face; it was not her place to comment.

 

Thranduil replied carefully. “What care you choose to seek is your decision; I will not interfere or criticize you in any way if you prefer your own manner of intervention as a couple. But if you are asking me if I can safely deliver her children, here, the answer is yes, I can. I do not mean to sound arrogant, Ratiri, but there is no medical circumstance up to the moment of death that I am incapable of resolving.”

 

It was intriguing, and relieving, and, from a sheer scientific viewpoint, frustrating. “How can that work, though?” he asked. “Removing mass is one thing --” and no, he was  _ not  _ going to mention just why he’d say that “-- but adding it? How can you add bone?” It was highly unlikely Thranduil would know any of the terminology needed to answer that question, but Ratiri had to ask it anyway.

 

“I am not going to be able to answer your question in a manner that satisfies your curiosity, and for that I am sorry. I have neither the vocabulary or...the power of my people does not work in the manner according to which you are accustomed to thinking. You are trying to resolve two completely different frames of reference. When I care for the body of another, what needs to happen is...what happens.”

 

“You have no idea how I wish there was some way I could quantifiably measure that,” Ratiri sighed. “Well, yes you do, actually.”

 

After they were done with their food, Allanah fell asleep in Lothiriel’s arms; she and her husband were besotted with the little girl and quietly conversing. “We are going to the movie room,” Earlene announced. “There is one last Christmas tradition we must experience. Lorna, do you have it ready on the computer?”

 

A wicked grin from Lorna caused Thranduil to groan, “Eru, the last time she looked like that was the sword fighting scene in the hotel room.” This caused all around laughter, even from Ratiri who had not been there but had heard enough about it. 

 

“Shhhhh!” said Earlene, pointing at the birthday baby while Lothiriel grinned.

 

They relocated, and while Lorna was setting up, Earlene turned to Thanadir, in whose lap her feet rested. “Meldir, there is a very important phrase for this movie: ‘You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.’ Now what that means is…”

 

After a while Ortherion had to depart to other duties, and wondered greatly when from within one of the mortals’ assigned quarters he heard a chorus of “Nadafingaaaaaaaa!!” He would have to ask His Excellency, on another occasion. The mortals’ language was most interesting....

  
  
  



	53. Fifty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dec 25, 2016 - February 20, 2017

That night, snug in their bed, Lorna said, “We need to talk birth control. I never, ever want to do this again.”

 

Ratiri pulled her close. “I would say tubal ligation and vasectomy, but given that Thranduil’s healing of your uterus was unintentional, I’m not certain those would keep. You’re too old to safely take hormonal birth control. That leaves us with condoms, which tend to have a high success rate -- though not as high as the package claims. And to be perfectly honest with you, I’ve never actually worn one, so I’d need to, er, practice. It’s simple enough on a banana, but quite different on yourself.”

 

Lorna looked at him. “A  _ banana _ ?”

 

“I forget you didn’t get that far in school,” he said, laughing. “In sex ed, that’s how they teach it now -- put one on a banana. I had to do it as a guest lecturer in several schools, because the teacher was too embarrassed.”

 

She burst out laughing. “Christ, allanah, I wish I could’ve seen that.”

 

“No, you don’t,” he said dryly. “Watching thirty fourteen-year-olds giggle makes it very difficult to keep a straight face yourself.”

 

She rested her head against his shoulder. “Okay, so there’s that. Some guys don’t like them, though.”

 

“I’m sure I’ll live,” he said, more dryly still. “And if all else fails, and things go...awry, there’s always England.”

 

“I know. I’m just not sure what it’d do to our relationship with the elves, though. For all I know, they’d not forgive me.” And she really, really didn’t think she could handle that. They’d become too much a part of her life now. “God, maybe we could get some morning-after pills through Niamh. That’d take care’v the issue before it became an issue.”

 

“And it’s not even abortion,” he said, “it just keeps the egg from implanting in the uterus.” Hopefully the Elves could make that distinction, though of course they couldn’t be sure.

 

Lorna yawned. “Worry about it later,” she said. “Sleep.”

 

********

 

Thanadir was completing his duty in patrolling the forest late that morning, and had taken the electronics to the cottage as had been his usual custom. His last act was to stop at the mailbox, where he saw another package addressed to both Earlene and Lorna. His countenance transformed in anger, as he hurried to retrieve the computers and other devices, and ran all the way back straight to his King, presenting the package first to him. Though the seneschal refrained from commenting, the blaze in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw were more than enough to command Thranduil’s undivided attention. He considered what to do. 

 

On one hand, the item was not addressed to him. On the other hand, it was a foregone conclusion that the contents were barbaric, and designed to upset the very pregnant women who had just enjoyed themselves more on account of the holiday than in some time. The celebration of Christmas had been lifting to their spirits, and he was loath to allow this to be opened by them. He knew that were he to simply act as he saw fit, Earlene would not object. But Lorna? Lorna did not like decisions being made for her, and he had dodged disaster with her last time she was badly upset on a mere technicality. It was never possible to entirely fathom, how her thinking would proceed on any given matter, and in this instance, that part was maddening. 

 

He looked at Thanadir. “I do not want to give it to them, meldir. And yet it is not addressed to me.”

 

“It is addressed in part to one who is under your authority. It has made its way to your Halls,” the elf said, his eyes flashing. His opinion was as obvious as his emphasis on the recurring word ‘your.’ And just to cement that, he added, “This would be a different matter had it gone to Lorna’s home in Baile. But it has not.”

 

He looked up at the ceiling, and arrived at a decision. “It is not my right to keep Lorna from knowing what is in here,” he said. “But it is my right to ask Earlene not to look, or to allow me to look instead. That is the best I can do with this.”

 

The stormy glower on his seneschal’s face was as impressive as the manner in which his lips pursed together. “I know you do not agree with me, Thanadir. But you do not know Lorna as well as I do. In this, I only have authority over Earlene and what she knows.”

 

“What Earlene knows about what?” she asked, as she walked into the room in her slow and careful manner, seating herself on the sofa.

 

“Von Ratched has sent you and Lorna another package, meluieg. And I am asking you not to open it, nor view the contents. I do not want you upset. I cannot ask the same of Lorna.”

 

“As you wish, my Lord,” she answered, not the least interested in whatever that asshole was doing this time.  _ Did he have nothing better to do with his time? _ she wondered. “I would like to go next door, and look at the harpsichord book, if there is no objection?” Thanadir helped her, and walked with her.

 

“It does not bother you, to be told that?” he was relieved, but genuinely curious.

 

The question was surprising. “I do not think it is any different for you, is it? If the King says to do something, there is nothing else to discuss, is there? Besides, in this case...whatever is in there is doubtless meant to be unpleasant, and shocking, and lacking originality. If he does not wish me to know…” she shrugged. “Though, meldir, I hope that no one else has been killed. Not that there is anything I can do but...it weighs on my heart, that such a thing still walks the Earth, preying on others. It is not...right.”

 

They sat together, on the bench, while she turned the pages of the book to where they had left off on how to play scales. “It is not right,” Thanadir echoed, hugging her to him. “D flat major, then?”

 

“Yes.”

 

*****

 

Lorna and Ratiri meandered in not long before lunch, both quite hungry. He’d relented and let her actually practice with her beautiful throwing knives, and as a result she was in quite a good mood -- once the twins were born, she might be ready to graduate to slow-moving targets. 

 

Earlene and Thanadir were absent, but that wasn’t a surprise -- there was, after all, a harpsichord. No doubt that would keep the pair of them occupied for weeks, until her twins were born.

 

The pair of them gave Lothiriel a chorus of “Mae govannen”, though Ratiri’s was rather better-pronounced. Her English was shaky as yet, so hopefully she wouldn’t be able to understand the questions Lorna had to pose to Thranduil later.

 

“They off with the harpsichord?” Lorna asked, hauling herself up onto the sofa.

 

“Yes. I do not know who is more taken with it, Earlene or Thanadir. It is for the best, in that between the two of them they are learning faster than either would on their own. Earlene did have some musical education in the notation used in your world, where as Thanadir is Thanadir,” he smiled.

 

“Someday, the pair’v them need to a duet with it and his violin,” Lorna said. Hey, it would be damn close to what she wanted...Earlene and one Elf, at least. “I’ve got an acoustic guitar I could bring, and we could all cough up something.”

 

“It might be worth hearing,” Ratiri said. He was completely ignorant of all instruments, and content to remain so. His dad had tried to get him to take piano lessons as a kid, but it had been an utter disaster -- not helped by the fact that his teacher had been a stern old battle-axe of a woman who hit his fingers every time he got a note wrong. (The day his mother found out about  _ that  _ wound up kind of legendary in the village; it wasn’t every day one saw a tiny woman screaming in a mix of English and Hindi, threatening to shove a stick somewhere very unpleasant if her son’s fingers were ever touched again. And Dad, the useless sod, had just stood there and laughed. It was  _ mortifying. _ )

 

Thranduil was temporarily distracted by the astonishing memory of Ratiri’s, before having the presence of mind to murmur an agreement. He cleared his throat. “Lorna, a package came for you and Earlene from presumably Von Ratched. You may do as you wish with the contents; Earlene will not be viewing them.”

 

“Oh, brilliant,” Lorna said, rolling her eyes, but at the same time, fear twinged in her. She was sure Mairead and Big Jamie were safe, but still. That bastard was that bastard. “She’s got more restraint than I do,” she said. “If I don’t look, I’ll always wonder. Knowledge is better than ignorance, right?” she asked, looking at Ratiri, who didn’t appear nearly so convinced.

 

“Possibly not in this instance,” he sighed, “but I know that won’t stop you.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, but he offered no comment either way, watching in morbid curiosity as she opened the package.

 

The first box, the one addressed to her, was likely the more harmless (if squicky) of the two, so she went for that one first. It was even more prosaic than the hairbrush, though no less baffling: a box of the blueberry-green tea she’d started favoring once Ratiri largely cut her off the caffeinated stuff. “Okay, help?” she said, holding it up so Thranduil could see it.

 

The King pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not want to talk about this any longer, Lorna. Could you find it within yourself to know that the man is a pervert and just let this alone?” He felt sick to death of the times he had already had to explain the assorted grotesqueries of what that one had thought or in which he had taken his wretched delight. Every time he was forced to tell her, he was forced to relive all of it again as well. The only thing he wanted now was Von Ratched, dead at his feet, with Eöl’s sword keening its disgusting delight.

 

She really didn’t  _ want  _ to let it alone -- she was confused, and didn’t like it -- but she also didn’t want to force Thranduil into something he found too icky, so she nodded. Reluctantly. “D’you think it’s safe to drink? I’m out.”

 

“I...were it me, I would not trust it, Lorna. I would not accept food from a known murderer. That strikes me as risky. We can all travel to the cottage, if you need to order more. Or if it is something that can be had in the village, Thanadir would gladly go.”

 

“Fair point,” she grumbled, tossing it back into the box. “Christ, I don’t know if we should look at Earlene’s or not. On the one hand, why in God’s name would we want to, but on the other hand, what if not looking bites us in the arse later?”

 

“ _ How? _ ” Ratiri asked.

 

“Oh, I dunno,” she waved a vague hand, “like, if he leaves us some sort’v clue, something that if we don’t do it, bad shite happens.”

 

Ratiri looked at her like she was mental, but he didn’t outright contradict her. “Thranduil, thoughts?” Thranduil would likely -- hopefully -- have somewhat better judgment here.

 

He sighed. “Whatever it is, will be dealt with at a later time. I will not have this ruining lunch.” He picked up Earlene’s portion of the package and removed it to their bedroom, where he placed it in his own wardrobe. He returned. “I presume you would like your...tea...disposed of?”

 

“Yeah,” she sighed. Great, now she really wanted some. Fucking hormones. “So, I’ve -- we’ve -- got some questions for you, that probably shouldn’t ruin lunch.”

 

Thranduil laughed. “Do not ever change, Lorna. I am happy to answer. Or, try to.” Just having the contemptible package out of his sight already cheered him considerably.

 

Lorna laughed, and looked at Ratiri. He was the doctor, he’d be better at this. “We were discussing birth control, for after the twins have been delivered,” he said. “Normally, were she to get a tubal ligation, or I to get a vasectomy, we wouldn’t need to worry, but given that your healing ability inadvertently restored her uterus, there’s no guarantee it wouldn’t undo our surgeries. My question, though we didn’t actually discuss this, is could you effectively do something like a tubal ligation yourself? It involves keeping an egg from leaving the ovary and reaching the uterus.”

 

Thranduil’s lips slackened. This was more or less exactly what he did for Earlene, but this was his wife, with whom he had constant intimate contact.  _ For another? _ And yet he could see why they asked. He already knew that Lorna did not wish for more children after these were born to her. The humans had these...surgeries, and yet their reasoning on this matter was sound. In the years to come, any illness, any accident from which he healed them, could in turn affect their childbearing. “I had not considered that while it is in some ways a blessing that I can keep you healthy, that what I offer keeps you...too healthy, in this regard. And that this has created a problem of its own, for you.” He sighed. “I cannot do for Lorna what I have done for Earlene. It is not...possible. And at the moment, I am somewhat at a loss for how to help you.”

 

Lorna looked again at Ratiri. “Well, shit. There’s other, human things we could use, but they’re not 100% foolproof, and...what I really need to know, is will you utterly hate me if I get up the yard again and...do something about it?” She didn’t want to look at Thranduil, but she did anyway, rather afraid of what she might see in his face.

 

His expression was written over with confusion until it became plain enough in her thoughts what ‘do something’ meant, exactly. His eyes flared in shock, but only briefly. The humans were not elves. A mortal woman could in theory spend her entire reproductive span of years constantly with child, unable to have any say in the matter if she welcomed the physical union with her mate. Why Eru had made them thus, he did not understand, because it was in some ways a great cruelty. Perhaps something had gone awry? He struggled to find something he could say. “I would not hate you, Lorna. I cannot imagine anything that could cause me to feel in such a manner, toward you. I will not lie to you, no elf would choose what you are considering. Children are too rare for us, and each one is cherished. You might say we have completely the opposite problem of your race. Children are given to us too rarely, and to humans too frequently, perhaps. While I do not understand everything, I have learned a little about what some women endured, before your kind learned ways to regulate your childbearing. It is not my business, Lorna, to have an opinion on this part of your life. This is between you and Ratiri. There are only two things I can say, on this subject. The first is that were you to conceive again, it would not be hidden from the sight of any elf. The second is that...I will never offer a word of criticism for your choices, but you must not ask me to interfere in this for you. I cannot use my gifts to… ‘do something’ about it. I am truly sorry that I cannot be of more help, in this way.”

 

Lorna sagged with relief, leaning against Ratiri. “I’d been afraid you’d kick us out,” she said. “The odds’v it happening are pretty bloody small, but you never know. I’d never ask you to do anything -- actually, since you lot know if someone’s up the yard right off, all I’d need to do is take a morning-after pill. It’d keep it from being a thing I’d have to do anything about.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why it’s not more even, between us and you -- why you lot have a hard time while we drown in babies whether we want them or not. Childbirth, for centuries, was the leading cause’v death for women, but there wasn’t any real way around it until fifty or so years ago. I’d thought’v getting a hysterectomy, but that seems a bit drastic.”

 

“Um, yes,” Ratiri said. “Much too drastic. You’ll hit menopause in another ten years or so, and it won’t be an issue then.”

 

“Oh, joy,” she sighed. “Anyway, two’s enough. I don’t ever want to do this again -- it’s horrible, and I’ve still got three months.” There were times, though she would never tell Ratiri this, that she wished this whole thing had never happened. She hadn’t actually told anyone just how much she  _ hated  _ this, because it wouldn’t do anybody any good, but she honestly would rather cut her uterus out herself than ever endure it again. Ninety-nine percent of it was unremittingly horrible -- the only thing she didn’t hate was when she felt one of them move.  _ That  _ was amazing, but the rest of it? In her darker moments, which were growing more frequent, she had to admit that if she could have chosen to keep this from happening, if she’d known it  _ would  _ happen, she’d have put a stop to it.

 

Thranduil simply pretended he had not heard her. He doubted that she wanted this heard. He even doubted that she really meant it, because he truly believed she had wanted these children. Her pregnancy had taken a far worse mental toll than Earlene’s and...he refused to think on this, any longer. He was exceedingly grateful that Ortherion chose exactly that moment to knock and enter, bearing their food for the next meal. “Excuse me, please,” he said. “I will go begin the process of prying Earlene and Thanadir loose from their interminable scales and arpeggios.”

 

God, that really was such a relief...Lorna actually had an appetite back, now that she knew Thranduil would hate her and kick her to the wolves if she ever got knocked up and had to do something about it. “You two had better be the cutest babies that ever lived,” she told her stomach. “You’d better not pop out looking like Winston Churchill.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing, wrapping an arm around her. In truth, he was bloody relieved as well. He would have missed this terribly, should the Elves have decided they couldn’t stomach the idea of abortion. “All babies look like Winston Churchill,” he said. “Neither race nor gender matter. It’s inevitable.”

 

*****

 

Earlene and Thanadir sat side by side, tapping out the same notes at the same time on their respective sides of the keyboard. Thranduil watched for a moment in some fascination as he realized that Thanadir was applying some of the same principles as in sword training to this keyboard. They repeated the same motions over and over, until there was fluid accuracy. And this was not a skill in which the seneschal had the clear ascendancy; the  particular dexterity required was new to both of them, and they were competing against each other. Earlene was biting her lip, her forehead knotted in concentration. It was almost mesmerizing.

 

“It is time for our meal,” he announced, trying to shake off the assorted discomforts of the time he’d just spent with Lorna. In concert, they both stopped immediately. He offered Earlene his arm. She took note of his face, and leaned up to kiss him.

 

_ I love you,  _ she smiled, hoping he understood just how encompassing that was meant to be. A far better smile spread over his face, and he found that lunch sounded far more appealing than it had a moment ago.

 

******

 

He’d had several days to ignore it, but Lorna’s words would not leave his mind, entirely. So while Earlene and Thanadir were next door, the faintest of tinkling notes coming through the stone walls, Thranduil decided to do what must be done and open whatever the balrog had sent his wife. He shook his head...that sentence should not be able to exist, but such was his life now. With a razor sharp knife, he slit the edges of the small box open and... _ what in Eru’s name?  _ This was quite possibly the lingerie she’d complained was missing, when he last lurked near here. And there was an image.

 

It was the blonde woman from Earlene’s lawyer party, the one who had been so freely lascivious in her thoughts (and would have been in her actions, possibly, were she given half a chance). In the photo she was naked save for the blood-stained bra, cowering and terrified in a corner.

 

_ Fear not,  _ was written on the back,  _ I let this one live. _

 

Revolted, he closed his eyes. No one, no one deserved to be victimized by such evil, and he said a prayer to the Valar for her well-being. While a part of him wished it could all go away, he knew what he had been asked to do. What he would be given the chance, to do. With a sense of dread, the conviction washed over him that they would not have terribly long to wait.

 

*****

 

For a treat, the women had both been carried to the cottage, under heavy if invisible guard. As the time before they gave birth waned, Thranduil became increasingly unable to tolerate even the thinnest whisper of risk. They remained out of sight, but no fewer than two dozen of his fighters formed a ring around their movements, and stood guard around the home itself. That not a whisper of a hint of Von Ratched had been seen or heard made any difference, to him. Today’s date on the human calendar was February 14, and marked nine and a half months since she conceived. ‘Keeping it together’ as Earlene liked to think of it, was becoming harder. After the nine month marker had been passed, the reality of carrying peredhel became something she could not ignore any longer. And this could be two and a half months, yet. She had tried so hard, to push thoughts such as this away, and to not have them around her husband. It was not his fault, what his half of the genetics were doing to her body, and the comparative blessings for her children certainly would make this seem worthwhile. Eventually. She’d told him about Valentine’s Day, which was not something she had ever paid much attention to, for obvious reasons. But he’d asked many questions and liked the idea, so...here they were, to enjoy watching some silly yet romantic movies...because. This wasn’t even a holiday by Irish standards, and she had told Ratiri and Lorna with some trepidation. Yet, for the chance of getting out for an afternoon, they were glad enough. It had been agreed that they would watch “Benny and Joon” and “Don Juan de Marco” which were utterly ridiculous yet...romantic. That and, she didn’t want Lorna to throw up, so they seemed like good suggestions.

 

Everything was so hard now, and she had tried to become reconciled to it. Remaining in any position for long was uncomfortable, and it was really only Thranduil’s gifts or Thanadir’s seemingly endless willingness to massage body parts that ached that had given her any sanity. Otherwise, she was certain she’d be curled up in bed, sucking her thumb while wallowing in self-pity.

 

The movies managed to distract Lorna somewhat from her misery, but only somewhat. Ratiri did his best, but she was just...miserable. She couldn’t even throw her knives now, so she’d started teaching him Irish -- studying Sindarin right now just seemed like a chore, but Irish was one of her native languages. He rubbed her shoulders now while they watched, but quite honestly, what she’d really like would be to take a very long nap, and wake up when it was time to give birth.

 

Still,  _ Benny and Joon  _ was pretty damn cute, even she had to admit. Normally she thought romantic movies were garbage, but this was a movie that had romance in it, not the other way around, and the characters were actually enjoyable. It took her mind off her discomfort, at least.

 

They took a break for something to eat (in addition to the breaks that involved stopping the movie about every half hour so each woman could get to the toilet). A picnic of sorts had been brought from the Halls, that included some bananas procured at the Lasg’len grocery. Thanadir peeled one, and then rose to get two forks. He cut about two and a half inches off of the end of each banana, speared each with a fork, and proceeded to imitate the Dancing Bread Rolls scene of Johnny Depp’s character. Earlene saw this and descended into hysterical laughter. 

[via GIPHY](http://giphy.com/gifs/1990s-johnny-depp-benny-and-joon-jVm2KiJeCJxoQ)

Thanadir looked up, puzzled. “I wanted to see if I could do it,” he confessed. “It looked fun.”

 

Earlene held onto her belly, unable to stop laughing. “You have to stop. I’ve made it through nine and a half months of this pregnancy and I am not going to wet myself because of the dancing rolls. Bananas. Whatever.”

 

Thranduil glared at his seneschal and pointedly took away one of the forks and ate the banana piece. This unfortunately made  _ everyone _ laugh, and tears were streaming down Earlene’s face as she fanned herself. Sure god, she’d give anything for a balloon right now, even though that would not help. Her second favorite thing in the whole film was the balloon music. Well, that or ironing the grilled cheese sandwiches.

 

“Perhaps the next one?” he asked, trying to stifle his irritation. As the weeks wore on, all of them had felt the strain. He was trying to understand, why he recalled none of this with Alassëa. The truth was, Thanadir had taken care of her almost full-time; he had been able to merely saunter in when his duties were cared for. And while she had had her own difficulties carrying Legolas, he was insulated from many of them. It was not like with Earlene; he did not ever know her thoughts or share in them. And he certainly had not had another human couple under his care. Two mortal females, pregnant with twins at the same time...perhaps it was best, that Lorna seemed to decisively wish for no more children. If they did this again, surely some elements would have to be easier. Surely.

 

Lorna had just about pissed herself at Thanadir’s dancing banana (and that sounded way dirtier than it actually was), and had to waddle her way to the toilet before it stopped being ‘almost’ and became ‘oh shit’.

 

_ I want this to be  _ over, she thought, grumbling to herself. Ratiri had said twins were often premature, and she devoutly hoped they would be in her case -- she didn’t need to be afraid being premature would be a danger to them, so she didn’t feel guilty in wishing it.

 

Only the greatest self-restraint kept Thranduil from grumbling something back to her in agreement that would not have been in the least helpful. Fortunately, Earlene took it upon herself to start the next film. “I have loffed thousands of wheeeeemen,” she softly imitated, while recalling that this was likely going to mildly scandalize Thanadir. Oh well. Snuggling into Thranduil’s arms, she wished that his mood would be better, but understood. They were all going half-crazy with tension and boredom, and he had feelings too. Though, she’d done her best to keep him happy in what ways remained to her.

 

_ I am sorry, meluieg. It is that I cannot shake the feelings of vulnerability that come with you and Lorna being outside the Halls. You have been more than generous with your attention to my happiness. Please do not think me unappreciative. _

 

She reached up her hand to caress his cheek, smiling when he leaned into her touch, but becoming distracted at the ridiculous introduction of Don Octavio.  _ Marlon Brando, he did not age well _ , Earlene thought. 

 

Temporarily relieved, Lorna went and laid on Ratiri like a big lump, though she tried to return his favor with a shoulder-massage, just from the front. Her hands might be tiny, but they were strong, and when she could breathe in the clean, slightly spicy  _ Ratiri  _ scent of him, it calmed her. She was doing what she could to not be miserable while at the same time not making anyone else miserable -- though Thranduil was a bit of a captive audience, but still. She was trying to think of more pleasant things...it just didn’t work that well.

 

She needed a cat. Tail didn’t really come and visit; he tended to occupy wherever Earlene was. She needed one of her own, one that could bond with the twins and they could grow up together.

 

“Ratiri, I want a kitten,” she said. “A little fuzzy one.”

 

Ratiri seriously considered mentioning toxoplasma, but realized in time that that would be an utterly terrible idea. “I can get you a kitten,” he said, “though I’m not sure if I can find one in the village. What are you going to do if it decides it hates the twins?”

 

“It won’t,” she said. “It will love them, and they will all sleep together, and it will be adorable. And fuzzy.”

 

He grinned, and kissed the top of her head. “I will look for kittens, the next time we go into the village.”

 

They enjoyed the film, with yet more interruptions for peeing, but the sad part is how ready all of them were to just return back to the Halls. The women were uncomfortable, and had long ago taken to using multiple baths per day to keep their sanity intact. In the water, they each found some relief from feeling like beached walruses, even if it was yet another issue that they could not spend all day in the water. But whereas a lazy afternoon of endless video watching once would have been a welcome treat, like everything else it was no good except in limited doses. Two movies had been pushing it, actually.

 

“Just think, Earlene,” Lorna said, trying to be positive, “in what, two months, we’ll be able to walk by ourselves. No more getting carried everywhere. We have feet we’ll be able to use  _ and  _ see.” Yes, it was pathetic, but she tried.

 

“It might not be that long,” Ratiri said, eying Earlene’s abdomen. “Earlene, you’ve dropped. That’s usually a sign they’re getting ready to exit.”

 

Confused, she looked at herself. It was true that things had felt more squished than ever down there, but she just sort of thought of herself as an ever expanding water balloon, and figured that the babies were looking for any real estate possible which they could still colonize. “Ooof,” she said, as her abdomen felt tight and uncomfortable. “I think I need to stand up. And, I guess you would know. We don’t have a full length mirror and...I can’t really see myself like you can.”

 

Thranduil took a closer look at his wife, perceiving what she felt. Ratiri was quite possibly correct. No one knew what would happen, for her.

 

“I would like to try to walk until I am tired, may I?” she asked Thranduil. 

 

“Of course, meluieg.” He offered his arm.

When they returned to Earlene and Thranduil’s rooms, they all occupied their usual places after the lavatory was used. Again. Lothiriel had been playing with Allanah, helping her to try and stand, and the happy little girl clung to the elleth’s knees, giggling with glee to see all her favorite people return. The sight warmed Earlene’s heart, and she smiled and waved at her. Thranduil saw, and did the same. Lothiriel gasped, because in a blink, Allanah reached her arms out and tottered to Earlene and Thranduil. “Oh!” was all that Earlene could say. 

 

Not skipping a beat, all of Lorna’s frustrations dissolved as she whipped her phone out with lightning speed.  _ Fuck photos _ , she thought, switching to video.  Every heart in the room melted to see the little girl take her first steps, shrieking with delight when she reached her parents and was hugged and kissed. With another squee, she turned just as quickly and tottered to Lorna and Ratiri. Ratiri smoothly took the phone from Lorna, seeing that the child was heading straight to her, and continued filming while her Auntie picked her up with the biggest smile anyone had seen from her since Christmas. Earlene hugged Thranduil, discreetly pointing at Thanadir. The old elf was beside himself with excitement, nearly overcome when Allanah was returned to the ground so she could walk to him as well. She giggled more, from kisses from Uncle Thanadir. It was a wonderful moment to share; everyone felt the joys of children. Allanah did not tire of her new game of toddling from person to person, and neither did they.

 

*****

 

It had been another day. Thanadir had been so patient with her, at the harpsichord. She would not have blamed him, if he would have begged off or asked to do something else; the frequency of needing to change positions or get up and walk around was driving her crazy. Everything, was driving her crazy. Not long after Valentine’s day, she found that her undergarments were being stained by discharges that were tinged with blood. So she’d switched to wearing only black ones, not wanting to have all of her underthings ruined. She had more or less refused to wear the ones the ellith did. They involved lacing, and there was no way she could get them done and undone in time with the present state of her bladder. There were few human things she insisted on clinging to, and well made cotton-blend bikini underpants were among them. Their evening meal had been the usual, with Lorna and Ratiri leaving soon afterward, though they always stayed long enough to play with Allanah a little bit. 

 

This time after dinner tended to be Earlene’s favorite part of each day. Allanah would fall asleep, and Lothiriel would always change her one last time before she departed for the evening. She would have Thranduil to herself, and without fail they would give each other pleasure. His actions spoke louder than any words; the ongoing changes in her body did not dampen his interest or his ardor in the least. Though, she wasn’t kidding herself. Were it not for his ability to know her mind, she wondered if it would even be possible to climax. That she never had to tell him what felt good, what felt uncomfortable, and what she could not feel at all; that advantage was not underestimated. Together they groaned in their release; Thranduil caressed her belly as he subsided from his enjoyment as he always did. Which is why he felt the contraction, even as it caused Earlene to gasp. It was not too much more than extremely uncomfortable, but it was quite definite. Involuntarily she tried to writhe away from the sensation; he swiftly left her body. Just when she was certain it would not stop, it went away.

 

“What…?” she said, feeling afraid and uncertain as to what was happening. 

 

“You are beginning labor, meluieg,” he said, holding her tenderly. “That was a contraction.” 

 

“Ohhh. Can we...I would like to be in the pool?” 

 

“Of course, Earlene.”

 

He brought her to the chamber, about to carry her into the soothing water. Her eyes widened. “Put me down please, something is…” there were not words for the sensation. It felt like she was urinating, except nothing she could do would stop the liquid. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

 

“Meluieg, your water is breaking. Do not feel ashamed, my love, this has to happen.”

 

“I tried to read what I could but…” she felt terrified, suddenly. “I don’t know what a single thing is supposed to feel like, is going to feel like,” she wailed, as what seemed like an ungodly amount of fluid continued to run out of her. 

 

“Meluieg, estelio nin,” he whispered. “I will not let you falter. I will help you, everything you could want or need will be provided for you. You will meet your daughters soon, Earlene. Try to remember that.”

 

“And I still have no names for them,” she groaned. “That does it. We are figuring out names. Surely you have some ideas?” 

 

He debated the wisdom of reminding her that she had wished to meet them first, before naming them. “Perhaps we can come up with some ideas, and finally decide when we see them?”

 

She nodded, clinging to him, and did not object when he lifted her into his arms to carry her into the water. He held her, rubbing her back and soothing her. “What about names is important to you, meluieg? Do you like flowers, the stars in the heavens...I am sure you realize by now that almost all elves’ names have a meaning?”

 

“I like heavenly bodies”, she said, frowning. Somehow that sounded vaguely obscene. “Almost all human names have meanings, too, though I could see how you would not know that.”

 

“They do? Your name means something?”

 

“Yes, it does,” she laughed. “Earlene means ‘pledge.’ Sometimes it is spelled differently than how mine is. My middle name, Rhian, means ‘queen’.”

 

“By the Valar, meluieg,” Thranduil whispered. “That is extraordinary. It is as if Manwë himself named you.”

 

A frown came over her. “Good grief, I had not thought of that at all. That is...creepy, actually. I did not believe in any manner of fate but I am beginning to wonder, more than a little.” She cleared her throat. “I like the name Ratiri and Lorna picked, Chandra. It means ‘moon’. But I also like the idea of  ‘star’, on account of the Eldar.”

 

“What of Eleniel?” that means ‘star’. 

 

“That is lovely,” she admitted. “I like that it would honor Elbereth, as well. There is a Welsh name, ‘Seren’ that means the same.”

 

“Ithilwen means ‘moon’, he also offered. 

 

“Selena does too. I...what would people think if it were Ithildin, after the...what Celebrimbor invented, the beautiful shining...stuff. Or what about just Ithil? Ithiliel?”

 

“The last one, I like.”

 

“I wish I could see the starlight,” she said.

 

“If that is your wish, I will take you outside.”

 

“After this, I would like that, but at this moment I am happy to stay here awhile longer.” They talked for some time, when another contraction came, this one just a little stronger than the first. While it lasted, she held onto him. And once past, she was taken and dried and clothed warmly. Thanadir appeared, as they were almost ready to depart, to stay with Allanah. The sight of him cheered her immensely, and brought with it a feeling that she would be alright. Perhaps she had taken this ‘security blanket’ thing entirely too far, but that did not matter to her just now. Hugging him as best her immense belly would allow, she asked him, “You will help me, meldir?”

 

He smiled. “Athon, Earlene. Ú-gosto.” (I will, Earlene. Do not be afraid.)

 

Thranduil carried her easily through the passages of the Halls to the Gates, and outside. “Meluieg, there is something I would like to ask you. Something I should have thought of much sooner.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Our friends are very nervous about the birth of their children, and it is hard to say who has more concerns, Ratiri or Lorna. What calmness they are able to feel is on the merit of the trust and faith they have in my own assurances of my abilities.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “You want to know if I would object to them watching me give birth, is that it? For their own peace of mind?”

 

“Yes,” he said, in a very small voice. He knew that this conversation was being had far, far too late. 

 

“I do not mind. I certainly understand feeling afraid of what I do not know, because I have never done this before. It would be petty, to deny someone else the chance to feel better. But who I want is you, and Thanadir. And while I respect Ratiri...there are some things I feel strongly about that might not be so usual for him, with his training. So much of the reading I did talked about what women themselves have found to be a more….natural experience, versus what the doctors in the hospitals will do if they are given free rein. Little things, like, once the baby arrives, in the hospitals they sometimes want to clamp the umbilical cord almost right away, while the body is still trying to send blood from the placenta into the baby. I do not wish to hear about what to do unless one of us asks and...forgive me, these are my prejudices and fears leaking out all over the floor. I do not mean to imply he would be like that.”

 

“You are being very generous, Earlene. I will do everything I can to keep you from being annoyed in any way. Even with all of my aid to you, some of this will be very uncomfortable, I will not lie. Unless you want me to take away all sensation of your experience, which is also an option. This will be whatever you wish it to, meluieg.”

 

She nodded her head, as she looked up through the tall trees to catch glimpses of the star and moonlight. “The moon will be full tomorrow, it seems,” she said, feeling happier about the idea of heavenly name choices before her thoughts returned to the present conversation. “I want to try. I want to experience birth at least somewhat like what human women do but...I see no merit to the abject agony that some women tell about. I do not particularly want to feel that.”

 

“Then place your trust in us. I will manage what takes place in your body, and if I know my seneschal, he will manage your thoughts and feelings.”

 

“Did he help your first wife deliver your son?”

 

“Yes, he did. And if I may say, he patiently endured quite an ordeal. My skills at healing were not what they are now, Earlene, and I also did not share her mind as I do yours. Her experience was uncomfortable, and she did not hesitate to take that out on poor Thanadir.”

 

“But not you?”

 

“It is not lawful to strike the King, regardless of circumstances.” This was said with no small amount of awkwardness.

 

“Of course...I do not know how that escaped me, I am sorry.” She laughed. “I still feel badly, about that.”

 

“Not as badly as I do, Earlene. We understood so little of each other. I think back on our first days and I…”

 

“Blame Manwë?”

 

He looked at her, eyes wide with surprise under the starlight. They both smiled in shared mirth and kissed, laughing. “Why not,” he confessed. “The only thing I am now assured of is that I will never know the degree to which this was already woven in Vairë’s tapestry.”

 

“Oh!” she said, inhaling sharply and tightening her hold on him as another contraction took hold.

 

“I think we will go back now,” he said. “This will go on for hours, Earlene, making sleep difficult if not impossible, unless I lay sleep upon you. I would guess that by breakfast, you will enter the more active stages of labor.”

 

*******

 

Lorna had been increasingly uncomfortable, and yet she was also pleased. She’d ‘dropped’ as well, as Ratiri put it, and knowing she was in the home stretch cheered her immensely. Oh, she still felt like a disgusting land whale, but the end was somewhere in sight now.

 

And Ratiri, bless him, had actually started to let her walk now -- it would, he said, make things easier when her time came. Which, she had to admit, also scared her shitless.

 

She trusted Thranduil -- he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her -- but a tiny part of her back-brain wondered,  _ what if something goes wrong?  _ Something hugely wrong, that he might not be able to deal with. He’d said he could heal anything right up until death, and she believed him, but what if she had a heart attack or something? It was an irrational fear and she knew it -- the women of her family tended to have easy childbirths -- but she couldn’t banish it. Not entirely.

 

Plus, the thought of him delivering her kids was still too fucking weird. Nobody wanted their brother, from another mother or otherwise, having to stare at their snatch for an extended period of time -- and Ratiri had said that twins often took a while. By then she’d probably be in so much pain she wouldn’t care, except Thranduil could probably take care of  _ that _ , too.

 

_ Quit worrying _ , she told herself, even as she paced the length of their lounge. She was safer now than any other pregnant woman on the planet besides Earlene; she had nothing to be afraid of. Gran had been every bit as tiny as she, and had managed to give birth to four children without the aid of an elf -- or modern medicine, really. Lorna had never met any of her aunts and uncle, who all lived abroad, but the eldest had been born in 1945 (rather sooner after Gran’s marriage than she ought to have been, but nobody ever brought that up in those days. Gran had said there was an old saying: “The first baby can come when it likes. The rest have to come nine months later.”)

 

Lorna’s own mam, born in 1950, had been a full two months premature, and had been what Gran called a “shoebox baby”: she was put in a shoebox near the stove -- basically an incubator before there were incubators -- and fed with an eye-dropper. She didn’t need to worry about any of that herself; even if she gave birth today, they were still at just below eight months, and she had a magic elf that basically precluded the need for incubators or shoeboxes or anything else. 

 

So why the fuck was she afraid? It was irrational and ridiculous, and yet it was there, and there was no getting rid of it. Hopefully it would vanish on its own when she actually went into labor, and was too busy to think about much of anything.

 

She’d woken very early, and so was already up when Maerwen arrived to poke at the fire. The elf said, in a halting mix of English and Sindarin, that Earlene had gone into labor, and that they were welcome to watch, if it would reassure them.

 

Ratiri, naturally, had no qualms about that -- he was a doctor, so seeing someone he knew with half their clothes off wouldn’t perturb him in the least. Lorna thought it sounded somewhat awkward, and yet she went anyway, figuring that if nothing else, she could be some kind of moral support -- and she could see exactly how this worked. Maybe then she wouldn’t be afraid.

 

******

 

The night had gone much as he had said, at least from the early morning onward. When they returned, he explained to Earlene that he would like her to have sleep while the contractions were mildest and furthest apart, to help conserve her strength for later. He also discussed practical matters with Thanadir. Namely, that the two of them would need to be in and out of the water for hours to assist Earlene and in the sight of those who would rather not see them unclothed. 

 

“I already have a garment for this need, Thranduil. If you recall, when I helped Alassëa, I was not nude with her. It would not have been seemly. Not to mention, I had a desire for my private anatomy to survive the birth of your son.” He could not help the smirk that was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It would take very little time for me to alter a pair of trousers for your use as well.”

 

Chuckling, the King nodded. “I think I can say that Earlene will be far gentler on you, meldir.”

 

“Perhaps. But for what a female endures to bring forth a little one, what abuse is heaped on me is small by comparison. I will return before she wakes, my King.”

 

After his sewing project was completed, he made his way to the quarters of Lothiriel and Ortherion, with apologies, to notify them that the queen had begun her labor, and that extra duty would be the inevitable result. Allanah would need continuous care as everyone else would be diverted, and Earlene would need fruit and soft foods that could be easily digested. And everyone would want tea, and food available throughout the day. Without hesitation, the couple smiled at each other eagerly, and bowed to him. Ortherion assured the seneschal that he would go to the kitchens immediately, once he was attired. As sunrise neared, word and excitement spread through the Halls; their King’s children were about to arrive. The first elflings, in more than ten thousand years.

 

Thanadir returned only minutes before Earlene began to wake from a contraction. She was clad only in a robe and one of Thanadir’s wrap-around nursing bras, because she had complained earlier of sore breasts. The constricting muscles of her abdomen were plainly visible on the outside. Both ellyn moved to gently massage her belly. “It is a miracle, is it not?” Thanadir whispered to Thranduil, at this ability of the female body.

 

“It is, though it does not feel like one, meldir. It feels like an alien has taken over my insides,” she grimaced, having woken completely. “I need the toilet,” she whispered, incredibly grateful that they could take her there so much faster than she ever could have managed. It was entirely possible that she would navigate her entire pregnancy without wetting herself, which felt like quite an achievement.  _ It’s the little things _ , she thought. Walking around was what she desired, and she now had Thanadir’s constant help. It was rare in the hour before dawn, that ten minutes would go by between the contractions, which were gaining substantially in strength and frequency. And for each one of them, Thanadir guided her face to meet his eyes. He would ask her silly things, like to conjugate a verb or to recite the notes of a scale forwards or backwards. He distracted, he guided, and he gave her a physical anchor onto which to hold. And in between, he insisted that she eat small pieces of fruit, and sip tea. Always, his strong hands kneaded at her lower back, which felt much of the time as though it was no longer able to hold her up. She shook her head, wondering how an unfit or unwell woman could possibly manage this life event, and did not want to know the answer.

 

The discomfort was becoming hard to manage, and she asked to be placed in the pool. Until their friends arrived, it made the most sense for Thranduil to do this. He held onto her, massaging her belly and back, but was not as good as Thanadir at distracting her from her contractions. The beginnings of panic were creeping over her mind, when the seneschal appeared alongside her, his long hair braided back. The sight was so improbable that she broke into laughter in spite of herself, matching his grin. “That is better,” he said, knowing exactly why she was laughing. “Now name for me all of the human months, in Sindarin.”  The stern look of expectation had exactly the desired effect. Though she was panting for air, her mind immediately switched over to trying to remember these little-used words.

 

“Narwain, Nínui, Gwae…...Gwaeron….Lothron…”

 

“Gwirith,” he patiently corrected. She sighed, and even as her voice choked with discomfort as she held onto him, “Gwaeron, Gwirith, Lothron…”

 

Thranduil marveled at Thanadir. He had never guessed that they would bond this closely, but it was making all the difference in the world now. He was saving his strength, and his power, against anything that might go truly awry later on.

 

Lorna and Ratiri headed inside as always, he calm, she somewhat nervous. She really wished she had his ability to just sort of...shut off...the personal aspect, but she didn’t have the medical training that gave him that ability. He’d explained that that was just something they taught you in school; you stay detached and clinical so that if you lose a patient, or if you have a patient in terrible pain, it doesn’t shatter you. That it lets you do your job, but doesn’t mean you don’t care.

 

Lothiriel seemed quite unperturbed, at least, tending to Allanah as though all was perfectly normal. Lorna didn’t know how she could, at a time like this -- but then, God knew how old she was. She’d probably seen far more stressful things than childbirth over the course of her years.

 

When Thranduil told her that their friends were sure to arrive soon,  she asked to change into swimwear that she’d somehow had the foresight to purchase. It was going to be some time before the lower half would need removing, and honestly the top, which was simply a glorified bikini top with a front closure, confined The Girls and made her feel much better. What couldn’t float around or move couldn’t rub against the wrong thing and be even more sore. Between that and her robe, it would scandalize Lorna a little less, she hoped. Or at least, give her a chance to break into the glories of the human body expelling two watermelons more slowly. And now she wanted back out of the tub. “The hardest part of this is….this,” she said, gesturing in exasperation at the sheer size of her abdomen. There is no way to walk around with this weight out here, no way to grab it and hold it against me...I wish there was just no gravity, for awhile.” The ellyn looked at each other helplessly, because gravity was going nowhere but neither of them wished to upset her. “I’m not that bad, am I? I know gravity has to stay.”

 

Thranduil and Thanadir both smiled. “Perhaps we have been over-concerned. You are doing very well, Earlene. I have really done nothing that you would consider magical to aid you, thus far.”

 

“Well, from what I read, I likely have not seen anything yet,” she joked, trying to remain positive even as the next contraction came. “I wondered something,” she said, her voice strained as she tried to distract herself. “How do you know, if everything is as it should be inside of me? I mean, that they are not in there upside down, or that my cervix is actually dilating or that my hips are wide enough for them to fit...any of that?”

 

“Because I can see into the body. It is difficult to explain; I am sure you realize it is what you would call a magical ability.”

 

“It is something I can at least vaguely comprehend. We have machines that do the same. I will decline to ask how on earth you know what to do with the information you see. In your own way you must understand as much as Ratiri about how we work.” With a shake to her head, she tried to move on to other things. “I am grateful to have you.”

 

“You should have some tea, Earlene,” Thanadir gently cajoled, swiftly combing her hair for her and braiding it. “And the kitchens made you some applesauce and biscuits.”

 

“Okay, I can do this.” She furrowed her brow and leaned heavily on his arm as they walked out into the dining area, and tried to convince herself that she felt remotely social. It meant a great deal to Thranduil, so, she would find a way to manage. There were times when introversion was just not helpful, and this was probably one of them. 

 

“Good morning,” she said to Ratiri and Lorna. “Welcome to the labor and delivery show.”  _ When in doubt, pretend to be cheerful _ . It had always served her well at the office, anyway.

 

“How’s it going?” Lorna asked. Earlene didn’t look  _ too  _ uncomfortable yet, but the woman had been a lawyer -- she had to be good at projecting calm. “Not that I’d understand a damn word if you told me, but still.”

 

Ratiri wanted to ask how dilated she was, but realized the Elves would have no way of knowing what that meant, so he kept it to himself.

 

“Manageable, so far. I may as well tell you that what I’ve asked for is to try to do as much without intervention as I can, but that won’t extend to the point of enduring anything beyond whatever my limits are. If the pain gets too bad, I’ll be asking Thranduil to do something about it. The contractions are uncomfortable, but not unmanageable. This started last night within an hour after you left,” she answered, gratefully drinking the tea Thranduil handed to her. He did not go far, realizing that nothing good would happen to the teacup if the next contraction came while she was holding it. 

 

“It is about six of your centimeters, Ratiri,” answered Thranduil, trying to be helpful to the man’s curiosity. Earlene was guided around to sit at a chair at the table, but not facing it. Thanadir had a mental clock running in his mind, and knew she had only about one more minute to try and eat a little food. In Sindarin that was barely audible to anyone else, he murmured for her to eat a little without further delay.

 

“You’ve been having contractions since  _ last night _ ?” Lorna asked. Ratiri had explained pre-labor, but still, the very thought was horrifying. “Have you had any sleep at all?”

 

Six centimeters...a touch over halfway there. Given this was Earlene’s first pregnancy, and given her age, she might well have hours yet -- though Ratiri doubted Thranduil would let it stretch into days. That she was still managing to eat was a very good sign -- but then, again, Thranduil. There was much he had to be taking care of right now. “How far apart are the contractions?” he asked, helping Lorna sit on the sofa.

 

“Less than three minutes,” said Thanadir, who had taken the food from her and knew the next one was imminent. “Name the Valar for me,” the seneschal asked Earlene. “All of the ladies, first.” They laced their fingers together, facing each other, with Earlene holding onto him firmly as she felt the next one beginning. “Look at me, Earlene,” he insisted, as he watched her mind shift off of the discomfort and to the question. “Varda, Vairë, Nienna…” she began, biting her lip as she furiously tried to think. “Vána, Yavanna…” the Ainur who had a less active role in the creation of Arda were frustrating, harder to remember for her. Every memory device she could think of was failing her, but it did not matter, she was still thinking when it had passed. In something of a daze, she realized she had not answered Lorna. “Sorry about that. I did sleep; Thranduil had me sleep until a little before sunrise when they were not so strong.”

 

“Just a little more food,” Thanadir cajoled, knowing that he had two clear minutes.

 

Well, she looked like it wasn’t too bad...so far. “Have you got any idea how long it’ll be?” Lorna asked, looking from Earlene to Thranduil. She had a feeling even he couldn’t know  _ that  _ with any actual accuracy, unless he induced it himself.

 

She looked rather disturbed, and Ratiri dished her up some porridge and fruit and handed it to her, along with a spoon. “You be sure you eat, too,” he said.

 

“Oh, I’ll eat when I’m hungry,” she grumbled, just in time for her stomach to growl. “Shut up.”

 

Ratiri, wisely, said not a word.

 

Earlene’s eyebrow raised and she bit the inside of her cheek while thinking  _ lavatory, please _ rather loudly to her husband. She knew that if she spoke she would laugh. Thanadir helped her rise and waddle in the correct direction.

 

Lorna ate, but slowly. Her appetite hadn’t been great the last few days; she ate in bits and pieces, nibbling like a squirrel. Privately, Ratiri thought it apt, given she was about the size of one. “How long can pre-labor last?” she asked.

 

“Several days,” he admitted. “But likely not in your case. Not give that you and Earlene have help.” He looked at Thranduil, and wondered how the ellon could look so serene. He himself was discovering that having his wife as the pregnant woman made things somewhat more unsettling.

 

Earlene returned, just in time for another contraction. “You still have not named the last two Ladies,” Thanadir chided. 

 

“Estë,” said Earlene through gritted teeth. “And I want a hint on the last one.”

 

“A well-known Scottish monster,” piped Ratiri, grinning.

 

The gears whirred. Monster...Loch Ness…”Nessa,” she said.  _ Please rub my back _ , she begged silently. This contraction was much longer and harder. Fortunately, the telepathic relay that ran from Thranduil to Thanadir was nearly instantaneous.  _ Thranduil, this is hard for me. It is beginning to hurt, but I know that you want Lorna to watch so that she does not feel so afraid for herself. This makes me feel like I have to hide what I am experiencing, and that is the last thing I need to have on my mind. Can you tell me something that will help? _

 

_ Do not pretend or be concerned about her, meluieg. While I appreciate your attempts to help our friend, this is not the time. Nor is it helpful, in the end. It is kind of you, to be welcoming our friends at all. Alassëa would not allow anyone besides myself, Thanadir, and one of the elleth Healers anywhere near these rooms. _

 

_ Is that your way of telling me she was a holy terror through her labor? _

 

_ I will not speak ill of her, in this regard. But I will say that there is merit to your observation. _

 

This was the time Earlene discovered that laughing in the middle of a contraction was not the best idea, as something like owowowowow was superimposed on top of quite a lot of giggling. 

 

“Hiril vuin, I think it would be best to return to the next room where it is warmer; the heat will help you relax more.” 

 

Once she could breathe again, she nodded. “You are both welcome to come back there, stay, do, watch, whatever. I do not mind in the least. I will only apologize now because this is becoming harder, and I am not going to be able to interact so much...would be my guess.” At this Thanadir’s throat cleared, which was somehow the same as when she was young and her parents counted to three. _ If mother could only see this _ , she thought.  _ Forget mother, if gran could see this...her favorite granddaughter being helped through labor by an eighteen thousand year old elf with Felix Unger-like tendencies. _

Aloud she said, “Lead on, Thanadir.”

 

Lorna, against her better judgment, looked at Ratiri, and the pair followed Earlene and Thanadir. Part of her was seriously disturbed by the whole thing, but most of her knew that it would be better for her to see what was coming for her than wonder until it happened. This did certainly look far more inviting than a white, sterile hospital room -- maybe having such pretty surroundings would help, when her time came.

 

The pair of them stood out of the way while Thanadir got Earlene settled into the pool -- well, Ratiri stood; Lorna couldn’t stand in one place for very long at all, so she sat, rather ungainly, on a bench. Thanadir seemed to know what he was doing -- he must have done this before, though Lorna couldn’t imagine under what circumstances. Ratiri, meanwhile, propped his phone up on the bathroom counter, ready to note the time of each birth.

 

As the next two hours wore on, Earlene discovered why it was called ‘labor’, as had so many other women before her. Thanadir had exhausted the Valar, the House of Finwë, the sundering of the elves, Sindarin past tense irregular verbs, and every other notable topic of their history that might yield lists of things to name. She was still managing to navigate the contractions without making a spectacle of herself, but only just. The time between them was not even a minute, for the most part. Lorna and Ratiri went in and out repeatedly, unnoticed by Earlene. Equally unobserved was that her husband had slipped into the pool. She felt the best when she was standing in the water much of the way up her abdomen, though there were places to sit as well. It was a very large pool, and there were many choices as to depth or...whatever. The water took away much of the sensation of being dragged toward the ground.

 

No sooner had Thranduil laid a hand on her abdomen than the next contraction came, and this one was the worst so far. The sheer intensity of it caught her unawares, and an involuntary cry of pain left her throat as she held onto Thanadir for dear life. The force her arms applied to his ribs would have bruised a human male, at least a little. “That is right, Earlene. Hold on as tightly as you can. You must breathe, meldis. Do not hold in your air; breathe, even if the breaths are quick and small.”

 

When it passed, the sinking realization dawned on her.  _ This is going to be awful _ . She was nowhere near the finish line, really, and much worse was to come. Or was it? Maybe if she could just get past one more? She felt Thranduil slipping off the bottom of her swimwear as he closed his eyes and held his hand well down on her belly. “Meluieg, soon it is going to get much worse. Your cervix is opening, and is not all the way there. The contractions may not have any space between them from now on, and will grow in strength. I wish to be honest with you; you are beginning to genuinely struggle with pain.”

 

“I did not know that I would end up feeling like it is a contest with myself,” she said, looking up with eyes that were already becoming tired. “Knowing that other women have done this, unaided. I feel like I will be some kind of a failure, if I do not try.”

 

Thanadir snapped at her, to her surprise. “Done this unaided and suffered agony, Earlene. Agony that there is no reason for you to endure. The birth of your child is going to be physically challenging for you even with the pain removed. You will still feel pressures and great discomforts; and you must be able to feel something, or else you cannot help push your children out. There is no award to be gained for suffering needlessly.”

 

Thranduil said nothing, knowing that in this case, his seneschal’s strong opinions on matters that were not strictly his business might work to an advantage. He did not want to see her go on in pain and misery, but he knew enough of females to know that this was an intensely personal choice. In this place, he was her husband, and to command her to do as he wished in this instance felt deeply wrong. 

 

She stood there, trying to process the information to a conclusion, but sufficient time was not granted to her. There was no yelling or screaming, only a high pitched keening sound as her arm wrapped around her husband’s waist and her other hand found Thanadir’s. “Breathe, Earlene. Remember to breathe,” the seneschal whispered, his words gentle and calm until it was past. Drinking in the deep breaths that the contractions denied her, she tried to think again, only to feel Thanadir insistently raising her chin. “Earlene, please. Do not make me watch you suffer.” And he was using the sad eyes. 

 

_ Goddammit. _ The worst part was knowing that he was right, at a time when she was truly struggling because she wanted to act like Lorna. Lorna, who always seemed so tough, and able to do anything, push past anything. “Help me, please,” she said to Thranduil. “Thanadir is right.”  _ Though I hate to admit it more than I can say. _

 

“I will be behind you, meluieg. You will feel my hands on you.”   _ For what it is worth, meluieg, I believe you have chosen wisely.  _ When the next one came, it still felt like her insides were being squeezed out. She still could not breathe. But instead of the nearly unbearable pain was just a feeling of...it was difficult to describe. Unpleasant. Forceful. Icky. Those were her three best adjectives, and they still caused her to hold onto Thanadir as a distraction from now not nice the sensations were. 

 

“Ratiri, could you please bring me water, or tea? Anything, to drink?” The irony, of being in a huge pool of water and feeling so thirsty…

 

“Of course,” he said, heading out into the sitting-room. The pot was still warm (of course; Elves), so he poured a cup. She was doing well so far, and he had to admit, he was fascinated by the whole process. He’d never witnessed a pool-birth, and Thranduil and Thanadir seemed to be keeping her from feeling too much pain.

 

He returned to the pool-side, handing the tea to Earlene, courteously looking away.  _ He  _ hardly cared, but he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate anything like scrutiny. He stood just in time to hear Lorna say, rather quietly, “Well...that’s unfortunate. Allanah, help.” Even as she spoke she was waddling toward the room with the toilet. “And embarra--oh, good Jesus.”

 

“Lorna?” he asked, making his way around the tub. 

 

“...Liquid,” she said, eyes squeezed shut. “Either I’ve pissed myself, or my waters’v broken. Without any fucking warning, I might add,” she said, opening her eyes and glaring at him.

 

“I  _ did  _ tell you not every woman has any,” he said, taking her hand.

 

“Same thing happened to me, Lorna,” quipped Earlene. “Standing right where you are standing, in fact. Maybe it’s a lucky spot?” Her humor was surfacing very weirdly, just now.

 

“It’s kind’v inconvenient timing,” Lorna said, and yes, there was a touch of panic, simply because Earlene was still very much in need of the pool and Thranduil.

 

“You’ll be fine, Lorna,” Ratiri soothed. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but it will be a while before you need in there. Let’s just get your bottoms off for now; nobody’ll see anything under your robe.”

 

“Thank Christ for that,” Lorna muttered. “Allanah, I need a vest top or something. I haven’t got one on under my tunic, and I don’t want to get in the water in this.”

 

“Lorna and Ratiri,” Thranduil said, “if the water would make you feel better, use the pool. We hardly need more than a tiny space. Be at home. And Lorna, you do have plenty of time. I do not believe Earlene will need more than the next few hours, much sooner than you will require my undivided attention. Your early contractions should not be that bad. If they are, you are to tell me right away. Please,” he said, smiling. “And, Earlene does not care what either of you look or stare at. We all know whence the children will exit, and the sight is strange to no one here.”

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “You’d be more comfortable there than anywhere else,” he said. “I’ll get you a top, and I’ll get my shorts so I can get in with you.” 

 

“Okay,” she said, grimacing a bit. He kissed her forehead and left her to it, while she tried to strip off her leggings without taking her knickers along with them. Of all the damn luck...she hadn’t felt anything she’d call a contraction yet; the closest was a very, very vague tightness at the base of her spine. Yes, Ratiri had told her not all women had any warning before their waters broke, but  _ still _ . She was glad it was in here, and not out in front of God and everyone.

 

When he returned, he was clad in the ungodly dorky cargo shorts she’d mercifully never seen him wear -- he was an utter dweeb who happened to look like a magazine model, and she would never understand it. He helped hold her robe while she got out of the tunic (unpleasantly wet on the bottom) and into the vest-top, which was so huge and long it might as well have been a minidress. Only now did she realize that, being white, once it got wet it wouldn’t be of any use whatsoever. Fuck it, she had hair.

 

Ratiri had to help her into the pool, and he sat behind her hand held her secure against him. It was calming, though now that she was in the water, she was much less nervous. If she had a while to wait, at least she was in a nice warm tub. If one could even call such a glorious, natural spring a ‘tub’.

 

“When am I supposed to goddamn breathe?” erupted Earlene, panting. The first five minutes of this had been...manageable. But now? “I feel like a tube of toothpaste in the hands of a demented four year old,” came out in truncated bursts. The three of them had found a way to walk in endless circles, since the walking helped her feel better. But the squeezing, the relentless squeezing, even in the absence of the terrible pain was difficult to bear. “Is this what it feels like to be killed by a constrictor snake?”

 

Thranduil glanced up worriedly at Lorna, grimacing at the comment, only to see that she was laughing about it.  _ Eru, why do I even try to understand what will upset these firith?  _ With a sigh, he returned his focus to his wife, after a hiss of pain brought him up short for his inattention.

 

“Earlene, very soon you are going to feel like you want to push. You are almost there. Remember to push when the contractions happen.”

 

“Almost there? They said that about the Bar Exam, and that didn’t end either,” she growled. This brought a chuckle from Ratiri, who was seeing something of a new side of Earlene now that she was pressed to her limits. Another one came and she felt...something. It was indescribable; a sensation of the watermelon stuck inside of her wedging itself even more firmly, stretching out a place not ever stretched before. All she could do is stare at Thanadir in disbelief as she panted for air, though his eyes held no answer to what had just happened.

 

“You felt the head of one of the girls beginning to slip past your womb, meluieg.”

 

“Oh,” she panted. It felt so strange, to feel sweaty all over her face and neck, but...in a pool. A sudden and definite desire came over her. “I want to be in shallower water. I want to sit down. The three of them moved in that direction, but Thranduil did not remain behind her any longer. He stayed to one side, Thandir took the other. And sure enough, when the next contraction came, so did the urge she was warned about. 

 

“Push, Earlene,” Thanadir said encouragingly. “Do your best.”

 

_ What does it look like I’m doing, my worst, you insufferable elf?  _

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, but if this was the extent of her temper during birth, they were lucky indeed. And she had kept it to her thoughts, which meant that they likely did not go beyond...he saw his seneschal’s eyebrows raise. So much for that hope. But Thanadir took her mental outburst with humor and no offense. A different tactic was tried.

 

“Push, Earlene. As hard as you can.”

 

An immense amount of something like growling accompanied this effort, which brought on a new and even weirder sensation. It was muted, a lot, but there was a strange burning, and the only comparison she could find was from the day her husband had taken her virginity...times at least twenty five. 

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. He didn’t need telepathy to be able to read her mind:  _ Did she just  _ growl _?  _ If poised, classy Earlene could emit such a sound, she  _ had  _ to be utterly hating life. That...really wasn’t encouraging. At all. The point of this had been to see what happened for reassurance, but it was having a bit of the opposite effect for Lorna.

 

“It’s normal,” Ratiri said quietly. “It’s nothing to be afraid of.”

 

“Says you,” she muttered. “You’re not the one shoving two watermelons out your snatch.”

 

He tried to choke back a laugh, and failed. “They’re nowhere near that big,” he said. “Cantaloupes, maybe. Not watermelons.”

 

“I should’ve known what I was in for when I found you had a langer like two Coke cans stacked together,” she grumbled. “Should’ve warned me, but nooo, and now I’m stuck with a pair’v miniature bowling balls in my gut.  _ Thanks. _ ”

 

Ratiri couldn’t help it; the sheer sourness in her tone made him utterly lose what composure he had. “Lorna, you certainly have a way with words,” he said, and winced when he received a very pointy elbow to the gut. 

 

Thranduil closed his eyes, unable to not hear Lorna and Ratiri’s exchange.  _ What has happened to my life?  _ And yet he had to focus on his wife. “Wait a moment, if you are able, Earlene. You will feel me touch you; if I do not help your body here, you will tear. It is not stretching fast enough for the baby’s head.”

 

Her eyes widened. She’d read about that happening and... _ please, not that _ . It sounded barbarically awful. 

 

“You will be fine,” soothed Thanadir, on seeing her worry. “Prepare for your next contraction, get ready to…”

 

“Push,” she growled again, her eyes squeezed shut from the effort. Perspiration was running down her face and neck, which he blotted away with a washcloth to help cool her. The pool water was warm, which was good, but this kind of effort left her beyond warm enough already. She reached down with her hand, transfixed at these strange and completely awful sensations. Her heart leaped, she could feel the edge of a little head, and there was some hair there. At this point, a primal yearning she would never understand no matter how often she thought about it overruled everything else. That baby was wanted, in her arms, and there was only one way to get it.  When the next contraction came, she grabbed onto the unfortunate Thanadir’s arms with a grip he would not have believed possible from a human woman. She pushed twice as hard as anything she could have imagined, and she could imagine a lot. This felt like trying to shove a football down one of the three inch irrigation pipes at gran’s farm. Or if she really wanted to be accurate, something like  _ trying to crap out a softball _ might be a better description. Because honestly, what tube anything was coming out of was frankly not discernible right now.  _ I am tiring, and this part is hard. Really hard _ . For the next three contractions, she gave her all, and felt unspeakably disappointed as the baby’s head seemed to advance with her pushing, only to retreat back into her. It was not stuck, but neither was it moving along very fast at all.

 

The softly whispered advice came again. “Take deep breaths when you feel the contraction building, Earlene. Work with your body as much as you can. Stop pushing in between, and take your rest. You can already see how difficult this is. That is how to make it happen fastest.”

 

As much as she wanted to say something completely rude to Thanadir, what remained of her logical mind realized he was right. Nodding, she pitched herself forward more, her tailbones barely on the bench inside the pool, her legs spread apart very wide. She did everything he said, pushed mightily, and blinking through tears of wretched discomfort, felt a head that did not slide back in. A smile crept over her face.

“I cannot let go of you, meluieg, but you may hold onto me if you need to. She is almost born. Let Thanadir go, so that he can help you catch her.”

 

Nodding again, she tried to simply breathe, as she released her hold on the seneschal. She felt irrationally jealous of Thanadir, able to see her baby’s face when she could not because of her belly eclipsing her view. But she could feel her. When the next one came, Thanadir gently angled the infant down, so that its shoulder could slip out. First one shoulder, then the other. “Push, Earlene,” he coaxed one last time. So much pressure, and then...nothing. It felt like a dam had burst, as slick baby ran past her fingers. Before she had another second to think about it, her daughter was in her arms, and her husband’s arms were around hers. There was complete silence. Earlene looked at the little girl, and she looked back. She wasn’t like Allanah at all...there was awareness, not the  _ tabula rasa _ of a human child. Tears ran from all three of their eyes. With a tiny hand reaching out toward Thranduil, the little fist grasped at his hair. When Earlene looked at her husband, she no longer had to wonder what pure joy meant for him. He was, quite literally, radiant. “She has your eyes, Thranduil,” Earlene whispered.

 

“And your hair, meluieg.” The child was beautiful, and not just because Earlene thought so.

 

Lorna looked at the baby, and at Ratiri. “You’re wrong,” she said. “Not  _ all  _ babies look like Winston Churchill.”

 

He tried not to laugh. He really did, but it just...happened. “That is a beautiful baby,” he said. “And she does not, in fact, look like Winston Churchill.”

 

_ The stars came before the moon, beloved. Eleniel Seren? _

 

_ Yes. _

 

“Meet your Uncle Thanadir, Eleniel,” said Thranduil, carefully passing the child to him.

 

In a moment of perfect happiness, Thanadir smiled down on the little elfling, while Thranduil reached over to unclasp Earlene’s swim top, freeing her breasts. She watched in morbid fascination as the umbilical cord pulsed with blood, as Eleniel was offered her nipple. The mere sight of those precious little lips was enough to cause her milk to bead up. Thanadir and Thranduil already had their preparations for cutting the cord; two short lengths of white silk ribbon. A third ribbon was looped around her tiny ankle and carefully tied by Thanadir. When the cord turned white, it was tied off firmly in two places and cut betwixt. As the infant nursed, it was easy to forget that this process would need to be repeated. With difficulty, she tried to reconcile herself to this reality. 

 

Thinking it was for the best, she held Eleniel out of the water to nurse. And here, in the pool, Lorna was able to meet the little girl. Ratiri with his long arms handed Earlene towels, and with only slight awkwardness was the baby wrapped in dry linens while Earlene nursed her poolside. It was decided to bring everyone out, for a time, so when Thranduil was out of the water, she was lifted up by both Thanadir and her husband, baby and all, dried and helped into a robe. To say that it was odd, to wander outside the bathing room with the dangling umbilical cord still between her legs was perhaps the understatement of the year. Thanadir held onto her; now that the initial elation was over, Earlene realized how weak and tired she felt. “She is beautiful, meldir,” as they sat by the fire. Fortunately whatever the fabric was of Thanadir’s pool garment, it held little enough moisture that a towel was able to manage it. “Thank you, for how much you helped me. You are an accomplished leader, for which I am very grateful.”

 

“You are welcome, Earlene. But we are not done yet,” he said, even as one of his strong hands massaged her abdomen, causing occasional cries of discomfort to escape from her. “I am sorry this hurts,” he said sympathetically, “but we must keep your womb working; its task is not yet complete.”

 

A great sigh was her only answer.

 

Thranduil spoke briefly with Lorna and Ratiri. “We will be away from the pool for perhaps twenty minutes, just long enough for the baby to nurse. This will help Earlene’s womb contract down; if her body is not already  beginning to push out the next baby in earnest by then I will have to help. Ithiliel must come out soon,” he beamed, then left to have something to eat. He too would have to keep up his strength; this day was far from over for him. When he was done, he relieved Thanadir so that he also could take food.

 

It was with extreme reluctance that Earlene handed over a relaxed and sleeping Eleniel to Thranduil; Lothiriel would care for her. The elleth was astonished at the beauty of the child, and took her from the King as though she were made of glass.

 

“You have no idea how much I wish you could wave a wand and have her out. I am trying to find the mettle to continue, though there is no other choice. I feel I have not really been very good at this,” she confessed. 

 

“You are doing well, meluieg.” In his own tiredness and preoccupation, he did not give her comment the consideration it deserved; something he would soon regret.

 

*****

 

Lorna, wrapped up in an enormous fluffy towel, was experiencing contractions at rate which alarmed the hell out of her. She couldn’t really call them painful at first -- it was merely a very odd sensation, and Ratiri assured her it was nothing to worry about.

 

“Every birth is different,” he said, massaging her shoulders. “Some take hours, like Earlene’s, and some can take days. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like you’ll be in that category.” Indeed his only worry was that one of them would decide they needed to make an appearance before Thranduil was ready to deal with her pelvis. Earlene was still very much in need of him -- though her labor was progressing well, and if worst came to absolute worst, he could tend to her long enough for Thranduil to work with Lorna. He hated the idea of leaving her while this was being done, and hoped like hell he wouldn’t need to, but with two women in labor, they’d have to do what they’d have to do.

 

“This is just  _ weird  _ \-- oh,” she gasped. “Okay,  _ that  _ hurt.” It was a little bit like period cramps, but only a little -- it seemed to grab her whole abdomen, including her back, very much like some kind of internal vice decided to take hold of everything and squeeze. While it wasn’t terribly painful, it was definitely...noticeable. Very much so.

 

Ratiri began counting in his head, still rubbing her shoulders. When the next one came not quite two minutes later, a frisson of worry curled through him. He wasn’t  _ very  _ worried -- yes, they were close, but they were also still quite mild -- but a trace of it was there. Trust Lorna to have a terribly atypical childbirth, especially while poor Earlene was still very much in the throes of hers.

 

“I know telling you to breathe seems unhelpful, but it’s not,” he said, looking down at Lorna. “Deep breaths, in and out. Keep them slow. Just remember that Thranduil can keep it from hurting too much.”

 

“Earlene didn’t look like she was having any fun, even with that,” Lorna pointed out.

 

Ratiri smoothed the hair back from her forehead. “Well, it’s never fun, but it doesn’t need to be hell. I know you don’t want to hear this, but walking a bit will help you dilate faster.” Given how close her contractions were, that was probably a very good idea. His shorts were unpleasantly chilly outside the water, but Thranduil had numerous robes, and hopefully wouldn’t begrudge the use of one -- or two, since Lorna needed one as well, her own robe being wet from the breaking of her waters. It was so enormous on her it was possibly the most adorable thing Ratiri had ever seen, but he valued his bollocks too much to say so.

 

The length of the thing made it difficult for her to walk, and no matter how many times she pushed the sleeves back, they still fell down over her hands. In the end he took her arm, helping her pace the length of the room a few times, always pausing near the warmth of the fire.

 

“I don’t feel dilated,” she grumbled, pausing to admire Eleniel. The baby really was the most beautiful she’d ever seen, with none of the squashed, red, well...Winston Churchill look you found on other newborns. “I just feel -- oh, okay.  _ Nope _ .” She stumbled a bit, her knees buckling as she grabbed the back of the sofa. It had been a brief pain, starting small and rising to a rather awful crescendo before ebbing once more.

 

Ratiri took hold of her, helping her upright again. “Keep breathing,” he said, hands rested lightly on her arms as she walked, ready to catch her if she stumbled again.

 

“I  _ am  _ breathing,” she snapped. “ _ You  _ might not be, if you keep harassing me about it.”

 

It was a good thing she couldn’t see his expression, because he was trying very, very hard to contain his laughter.

 

“ Beidh mé dúnmharú tú in éadan,” she growled, resting her hand against the back of the sofa and leaning on it. “Is cuma liom cé chomh deas is atá sé.”  _ I will murder you in the the face. I don’t care how pretty it is. _

 

“I know ‘dúnmharú’ is ‘murder’,” he said, lightly massaging her neck. “So I probably don’t want to know what the rest means.”

 

“You’d best hope you don’t find out,” she said darkly, and paused in her tracks as another roll of pain went through her. “Mac Dé diabhal de soith,” she ground out. She didn’t want to taint the ears of the little one, but if it was in Irish, nobody else knew what she said. “ _ Focáil _ seo. An féidir liom  _ suí _ síos go fóill?” Her brain switched back to English. “Can I sit  _ down _ yet?”

 

“For a minute,” Ratiri said, helping her onto the sofa.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened as he turned his attention from eating some fruit and a roll to the sensations coming to him via Lorna’s mind.  _ Oh Valar, not two at once _ ...chewing and swallowing in a manner that was distinctly un-Kingly, he shot Lothiriel a look of apology. She had bowed her head in deference to him the moment he met her eyes, but she could not completely hide the smile of amusement at the corners of her mouth. “Gely odrim, i Aran nîn,” (many blessings, my King). Which was of course a polite way to say,  _ too many blessings all at once _ !

 

Rushing to the next room, he knelt to feel Lorna’s abdomen. “She must come into the pool, right away,” he said to Ratiri, trying to adopt a tone of voice that would enable them to feel reassured. To Earlene he said, “Thanadir will continue to massage your abdomen, Earlene. Take some rest now; your womb is fatigued, but we cannot wait too long to have the second child be born. If your body does not recover soon on its own, I will intervene. If your contractions are too difficult Thanadir will bring you to me, but I must help Lorna now.”

 

As she watched him retreat, Earlene shook her head. Just having one of the children out made her feel so much better; she did not see what the hurry had to be but would not contradict him. _ All this time, and these kids have to pick the same three hours...what were the odds?  _ Then she remembered, La Luna. Some in folklore believed a full moon brought odd influences...and after every weird thing that had already transpired in her life, who was to say?  _ I don’t want the name Selena after all _ , she thought.  _ I want to call her middle name Morríghan _ . Besides, Lorna had shown her Moon-Moon memes on the internet and....even a small risk of the dual names’ meaning getting out seemed like a risk. No child of hers was going to be teased about being a demented wolf. And knowing that her daughters would be dark-haired with dazzling blue eyes...  _ I’d like to see someone pick on a kid named Morríghan. _

 

_ Whatever you wish, meluieg. Traditionally the elleth’s preference in names is given a great weight; we feel it is the right of the one who has carried and labored to bring the child into the world to choose. _

 

She did not respond, imagining that he was rather busy just now, but a smile came over her.

 

Another contraction decided to make itself known in Lorna’s abdomen, curling around to her back and down along her inner thighs. Ratiri helped her get the robe off -- which she was  _ so  _ thrilled about, given she’d taken off the wet vest-top, but whatever. Again, she had so much hair it was practically a garment in its own right, and obscured everything she actually needed obscured. “Is one’v them ready to get out?” she asked, looking at Thranduil a touch desperately while Ratiri found his shorts. He got in with her, and of course wound up tangled in her hair as well. It really was a bit like Cthulhu. “I’d thought first-timers lasted longer than this.”

 

“Not always,” Ratiri said, struggling to free a hand from the wet mass. “There was a woman in Scotland, a first-time mother who had her baby in a little over five minutes.”

 

_ Wouldn’t that be nice _ , she thought, as she felt another contraction start to gather. They weren’t short things; they’d start with tension, then climb their way up into ‘ow-fuck-no’ levels before easing back down again.

 

Thranduil came to her. “You must tell me what you want, Lorna. I can cause you to feel nothing at all, but if I do so, you will have a very detached experience; it will be difficult for you to push or to understand what your body is asking of you. What I did with Earlene was to remove the experience of pain; everything you saw her react to were other forms of discomfort and the sensations of pressure. I can also try for something in between. You are going to feel my hands at the sides of your abdomen. If we are both fortunate, I will not need to touch you anywhere else.” He hoped her sense of humor was intact. While he would willingly do what was needed, they both were in agreement as to their...preferences.

 

While feeling nothing at all sounded like a great idea, if she wasn’t going to be able to push right, it probably wasn’t. “I guess just do what you did with --  _ focáil gach rud _ \-- what you did with Earlene.” She managed to laugh a little, even though she’d ground her teeth against the contraction. “If these kids’ve got any manners, you won’t have to. One’v them seems to want out in a hurry -- you might just need a catcher’s mitt.”

 

“You may change your mind at any point in the birth, Lorna. Much of why I am asking is that from all I have read, this is an important experience for each woman and I do not want to deny you any part of it that you want.” He closed his eyes. “You are not ready to push yet, the contractions you are having are to open your cervix. Thanadir distracted Earlene and coached her to breathe through these, as you saw. Ratiri, you should try to do the same. She may feel better to have her lower back rubbed. And...there is not room enough, for the child to pass through, Lorna. I am going to have to unknit the bones of your pelvis. There will be no pain but you will not be able to walk properly until the second child is born; it is important that you not try to do so without being supported. Do you understand?”

 

Lorna stared at him, wide-eyed. “ _ Unknit? _ ” she asked. She wasn’t sure what that entailed, but she could guess easily enough, and just... _ eurgh _ . “Okay. Um...Jesus.” Her heart sped up until it was beating a tattoo within her chest, and Ratiri brushed her hair back from her forehead, his other hand reaching down to knead at her back.

 

“Trust him,” he said, though inwardly he was even more stunned. He’d wondered just what in God’s name Thranduil had actually planned to do, to widen her pelvic arch -- for all he said the body did what he wanted it to do, even he couldn’t create matter where there was none -- but this made sense. A curious, slightly horrifying sense, and yet if it wasn’t his girlfriend this was being demonstrated on, he would have been fascinated. 

 

She nodded. “I get it,” she said, now even more freaked out.

 

Thranduil felt such empathy for her. “Lorna,” he said, his thumb stroking her cheek, “I will not allow harm to come to you. There will be no pain from this, only a feeling of warmth. Do not be afraid. This is something your body already can do; I am just going to help it along quite a lot more than it wants to on its own.” She felt his hands slide down to grasp each of her hip bones and immediately the promised sensation of warmth began, even as he glowed somewhat.

 

All right, that was just... _ odd _ . Like nothing she had ever felt before, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, though it felt so unnatural that something in her mind shied away from it. She didn’t look to see what he was doing -- not that she could have anyway, given her gut full of human cantaloupe -- but she couldn’t help rather gruesome mental imagery, all of it based around chestbursters from the  _ Alien  _ movies. What if all her guts fell out? Oh, she knew they wouldn’t, because she knew Thranduil would make sure they didn’t, but still, what if they  _ did _ ?

 

“Breathe, Lorna,” Ratiri said gently, still stroking her hair with one hand and her back with the other.

 

She glared up at him. “Tá mé  _ ag  _ análú,” she snarled. “If you tell me to breathe  _ one more bloody time _ , Ratiri Duncan, I swear to Christ I’ll rip your lungs out, Viking-style.”

 

Ratiri was just pleased she could still be so bloodthirsty. If wanting to murder him took her mind off her fear, so be it.

 

“And to think I felt sorry for Thanadir,” the King teased, knowing that she probably wouldn’t lash out at him. Probably.

 

_ Ratiri, forgive this personal question but I know it will only embarrass Lorna at a time she needs to be focused on what she is doing. Is there a risk she will tear? I would deal with that now as well if I must, rather than repair it later. _

 

_ There is, unfortunately,  _ Ratiri said.  _ These are not small babies, and even with a widened  pelvis, her vaginal tract is still small.  _ It really was a good thing she couldn’t read minds, or she would probably murder all of them.

 

“ _ Thanadir  _ has Puss in Boots eyes,” Lorna said, still glaring up at Ratiri. “This one sort’v does, but not half so effective. And they’ll be even less effective if I rip his lungs out.”

 

“And what would you do with my lungs, once you had them?” he asked, genuinely curious.

 

“Cook them up and feed them to someone I don’t like,” she said, doing a somewhat passable Hannibal Lecter imitation with her tongue. With sweat-sticky strands of hair half-glued to her face, her wide eyes like green fire, she looked close to deranged.

 

Ratiri blinked. “Never change, mo chroí,” he said. “Never change.”

 

_ By Eru, there is not enough wine for this _ , Thranduil privately lamented. How to explain the next necessity was flustering even him. It felt entirely serendipitous that Thanadir and Earlene chose just that moment to return to the pool, though she had insisted at going to look at Eleniel one more time. And Allanah too. There were more contractions, and though they were not that bad, they would feel better in the pool. It bolstered him, somehow, to have his wife nearby to speak of this. “Lorna, there is another problem. If I do not help you, the baby will cause you to tear. I do not think either one of us wants that to happen, but in order to care for this I will need to touch you somewhere I would rather not. I am very sorry. Do I have your consent?”

 

Earlene felt so, so sorry for him. He was being forced to be a doctor, radically out of context. Broken finger, ineffective vagina; they should not be that different, but try telling that to two people who would just rather not deal with the latter.

 

Oh dear  _ God _ ...yeah, this was  _ so, so  _ not what she needed, but he wouldn’t say this if it wasn’t actually imperative. “Okay,” she said, grimacing, looking at the ceiling rather than anything else. This was quite easily, hands-down, the single most mortifying experience of her entire life. Good. Fucking.  _ God _ .

 

Ratiri wisely didn’t say anything -- just kept on with her hair and her lower back. “How do you say ‘I will rip your lungs out’ in Irish?” he asked, doing his best to distract her.

 

_ Well that makes two of us, just so you know,  _ Thranduil fired back. He truly did not want to do this, but he would not watch her flesh tear apart when he could prevent it. With one of the more interesting expressions Earlene had ever seen on her husband’s face (later on she decided that it looked like he had just slowly chewed on half of a lemon) he reached down and cupped her nether regions and forced himself to concentrate on creating the far greater elasticity that would be needed to safely allow the children to pass through. His fingers did not so much as twitch, and it was with great happiness that he removed his hand. The good news was, the next contraction was here, which gave both of them something else to think about. She was dilating at a great rate of speed, which justified the soundness of his choices, even as it did nothing to ease his feelings.

 

“Yeah, that’s one I’ll  _ not  _ be telling the kids,” she said, trying to cover the awkwardness a bit. “They don’t need to know Mammy’s snatch was broken so Uncle Thranduil fixed it.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing, trying to smother it in her hair. “You and your way with words, mo chroí,” he said. “No, that’s not one you should be telling.”

 

She glowered at him, but a moment later lost it herself, giggling so hard she could barely breathe. Really, what else could you do, with something so awkward?

“You have to laugh or you’ll cry,” said Earlene softly. “And yet it sure beats being sewn up like a torn shirt.”

 

“That it does,” Lorna said, still giggling. “These kids had better be the most adorable things that’ve ever lived. Yours didn’t look like Winston Churchill, maybe mine won’t either.”

 

“Ours are fully human,” Ratiri pointed out, and only realized his error too late, when she jabbed him hard in the ribs with her elbow. “Sorry. But I’m sure they’ll be adorable once they stop looking like him.”

 

“You just keep digging yourself deeper,” Lorna warned. “Go on, do it.”

 

“You twooooof!” What began as a chuckle ended in another contraction that caused her to instinctively clutch onto Thanadir. She could feel that things were moving, and that they felt different than before. The contraction did not feel so hard, nor did it last so long.  _ Was that a thing?  _ What most definitely was a thing was the sudden and intense ache in her lower back. Words were failing her as she simply took the seneschal’s hand and placed it where the pain was. All she wanted to do now was lean against him, and get a spinal transplant.

 

Lorna drew a deep breath, for once not at Ratiri’s urging, feeling another contraction start to roll. Her instinct was to push, so push she did, and -- wait,  _ what _ ? The sensation of something just sliding on out was so startling it drew a “holy  _ shit! _ ” from her, along with a wide-eyed look at Thranduil. “Did I just -- what the fuck was that?!” It certainly  _ felt  _ like something just passing right on out down south, but babies didn’t just  _ do  _ that, did they?

 

Had he not been privy to her thoughts, Thranduil might not have been ready. As it was, he had to swiftly release her abdomen to catch the child and lift it into her arms, all in the blink of an eye. “Meet your daughter, Lorna.” The sight of the precious child had just made all the mortifying feelings he’d endured worth it, for Ratiri had been right about the size of the baby. Short of his gifts, or the humans’ advanced medicine, this would have gone very differently.

 

It had all happened so fast that Lorna was severely startled at having the baby deposited in her arms. She stared at the little girl, who was already demonstrating to the world that her lungs worked just fine. She had the redness common to newborns, but even underneath it, Lorna could tell the kid was much, much paler than either her or Ratiri -- and she had a full two inches of curly, bright red hair on her tiny head.

 

“Are we sure this one’s ours?” Lorna asked, running her finger over the downy hair. To feel this little one, weighing less than a cat, seemingly so fragile...this child was  _ hers. Theirs _ . Tiny, or so she thought; she wasn’t exactly up on how big a newborn was meant to be. “Hello, Chandra. That’s some  _ very  _ red hair you’ve got.”

 

The baby actually opened her eyes -- vivid green, just like her mother’s -- and stared. Lorna stared back, wondering if this was what being God felt like.

 

“She’s beautiful,” Ratiri said, wrapping his arms around Lorna more firmly, so he could hold them both. “Nobody will ever believe she’s  _ ours _ , but she’s beautiful.”

 

“Christ, they’ll think we stole her,” Lorna groaned, unable to take her eyes off the baby. “How can she have this hair?”

 

“Your mother and my father were both redheads,” Ratiri said, “and mixed-race children can look like anything. This one’s going to need a lot of sunscreen.”

 

“You should try to feed her right away, Lorna,” Thranduil said. “Even before it is time to cut the cord. You can...help her?” he asked Ratiri. He understood the man’s level of distraction from what he might ordinarily be considering at the moment. While he was not fully certain, he did not believe Lorna had taken advantage of the chance to ask Earlene questions about breastfeeding, which was far from as simple as it looked. Especially at first.

 

“I can,” Ratiri said, still watching the baby as he shifted the tangle of Lorna’s hair off one breast, shielding her as best he could as he walked her through it, teaching her how to shift the baby against her to guide her nipple to their daughter’s mouth. Lorna had never been thrilled at having anything done to her nipples at all, and oh, this was not pleasant. Kid had to eat, but it made her twitch.

 

 _I will fix that. Without touching anything._ _Them. There._ Lorna had not been sure it was possible for a telepathic voice to grumble but she was pretty sure she was hearing it now. At the moment, he seemed fairly occupied with Earlene, and yet he broke away long enough to place a hand on her shoulder. _This should help. If it does not help enough you are to tell me. It is meant to feel relaxing, pleasurable, else you will not wish to do this and will come to resent it._

 

Lorna was so tired that ‘relaxing’ wasn’t hard to come by, once he’d done...whatever he did. It was no longer unpleasant, at any rate; the oversensitivity issue ceased to be an issue, and it let her hold the baby without tension.  _ Thank you _ , she said, watching her daughter. A little of the redness was leaving the baby’s skin -- she was going to be as pale as an elf, Lorna just knew it. Yeah, they were going to need to invest in sunscreen. Buckets of it.

 

“We can give you a little more time, meluieg,” he was overheard to say. “You must make the choice between a little more rest now, or charging on to the finish line. Either way I am going to have to help you; the strength of your body to keep pushing the baby out is waning.”

 

Earlene sighed. _ That was like a choice between a root canal or two crowns at the dentist _ , in her estimation. “Could I please have some more to drink? And then let’s get this over with. I’ll have no proper rest until she is born, unless I am misunderstanding you.” Thanadir compliantly returned to her with water. Someone had had the brains to place a pitcher on a tray with drinking bowl at the poolside. As much as she wanted more, something told her that might be a bad idea. 

 

Thranduil came behind her, holding onto her again. “This is going to be difficult for you, Earlene. Are you ready?”

 

_ Is it wrong if I tell you that I miss it when you used to only tell me part of the truth? _ She asked wistfully, recalling his assorted deceptions. She did not really mean that, it was only that this was an unpleasant reality to hear about, just now.

 

He laughed softly, reaching around to kiss her.

 

“Yes,” is what she said aloud, drawing strength from Thanadir, who she knew would find some way to talk her through this.

 

The next hour and a half was not fun. Not fun at all. Whatever her husband was magically doing to make her uterus respond reminded her of those electro-stimulating devices that caused uncontrolled muscle contractions. The discomfort was significant and she was way past counting backward in dead languages to try to take her mind off of it. Thanadir seemed to understand this, and did not interfere when she basically held onto him like a barnacle and grimaced, rolling her forehead from side to side. He did whisper to her to breathe, and never stopped rubbing her back. The rhythm of his hand as it traced circles over various places that ached gave her something on which she could focus. It became like counting sheep, except it was counting circles. 

 

When the time came to push, she gave her best, but was not apparently pushing hard enough, because after the fourth attempt she heard Thranduil.  _ I am so sorry, Earlene. I am going to have to help you with this too. You will not be able to manage otherwise. This is going to be very uncomfortable, and will involve more muscles of your body, but she must be born. _

 

This felt like a heavy blow, and she could not help that she began crying.  _ Just do it _ , she told him, past caring. Fortunately her memories of the next many minutes were muted, afterward, though she would always know that the time was spent sobbing in pain against Thanadir. There was no easy way to describe having your body be forced to expel a child when it was basically saying, ‘fuck all of you.’ But in the end it was managed, and their second daughter, who certainly appeared to be a carbon copy of the first, entered the world. There were not words for how exhausted she felt. In a complete departure from anything usual, Thanadir held Earlene in his arms in shallower water, allowing the baby to nurse someplace halfway dry. Thranduil was fairly determined to move things along a little faster than nature; the placentas needed to be delivered before she could leave the pool. Or rather, it would make for far less mess if this were cared for here. Earlene barely remembered meeting Ithiliel, nursing her, or how she was transferred to her own bed, laid on several thicknesses of soft towels, and covered with a warm blanket. At some point, Thanadir exchanged his wet clothes for dry ones. He did not leave her side, feeding her little slices of fruit or offering sips of water. And comfort, because she felt like an emotional wreck; he held her against him and murmured about assorted minutiae, more for the sound of his voice than the content. She did not know what time it was, nor did she care; only that now she could rest and did not want to move.

 

Lorna’s son seemed reluctant to enter the world, but eventually he did, kicking and squalling.  _ He  _ looked far more like his parents, his complexion darker than his sister’s even beneath the redness, with a head of wispy black hair -- though when he opened his eyes, his too were as green as his mother’s. At least they would  _ sort  _ of look like siblings. Lorna let him latch onto her other breast until Ratiri took him and passed him to Lothiriel, kneeling to help her out of the pool. Even through the delirium of exhaustion, she was pleased to see her own feet again; all the weight lifting had left her less soft around the middle than she’d expected, though she’d still be wearing very loose tunics for a while yet.

 

Ratiri got her washed and dried and bundled into her robe again, though she wasn’t much help there; she wasn’t quite dead weight, but she was so tired she could barely move. Being warm and dry helped, her hair wrapped in a towel to keep it from just soaking her again. “It’s over, mo chroí,” he said gently. 

 

“Thank. Fucking.  _ God _ ,” she said, her voice a rasp. “I mean it, allanah, we are  _ never  _ doing that again. And by ‘we’, I mean ‘me’.”

 

Ratiri wasn’t quite sure where to put her, so he carried her to the bed with Earlene. He didn’t want to take her and the twins back to their room quite yet -- they seemed healthy, but he’d still rather keep them within touching distance of Thranduil for a few hours, just in case. Unsurprisingly, Lorna fell asleep immediately, so he spent a while combing her hair and watching his children -- they’d been placed in a basket, with a pillow for a mattress, and were as unconscious as their mother. While they were obviously fully human, they were nevertheless the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

 

He had to laugh a bit about his daughter, though. While there were cases of mixed-race twins looking like two entirely different races, it was rare, and even more rare that one of them came out a flaming ginger. They were, he knew, going to need a lot of advice from Mairead, especially if little Chandra’s hair stayed curly. He had no idea how to style and care for curly hair, and Lorna’s was so dead straight he doubted she did, either. His dad would laugh himself sick if he could see this little one -- he’d lamented once that he’d be the last ginger in the family. Obviously not.

 

It was odd. He was a pediatrician -- he knew just about everything there was to know about babies, and yet he was scared shitless. He’d discovered in short order that it was very different when the kids were  _ your  _ kids.

 

Thranduil, looking the most exhausted Ratiri had ever seen him, had finally allowed himself to eat a real meal. He looked at the bed, as if the sleeping women there were some sort of Mt. Everest. Screwing himself up for one last effort, the King spoke.

“Now they have to be healed from what was done to make the birth possible. Especially Lorna, who at the moment cannot walk. I hope you will forgive me for wanting to do this now while she is asleep; the embarrassment for both of us when she was awake is not something I particularly wish to experience twice.” The expression on his face was one of query, asking permission. 

 

Ratiri tried not go grimace. “Probably the best idea,” he said. “Somehow I doubt she’ll be looking you in the eyes for a while. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so mortified.”

 

Thranduil shook his head. “While it was not my idea of enjoyment either, I wish she were less...like this. It is harder on everyone and...please forgive me, I should not have said that. I am very…” he trailed off, walking to Lorna, and gingerly placing his hands at the sides of her hips, with his thumbs over someplace she would not appreciate were she awake, and closed his eyes in concentration. Perhaps twenty seconds later, both hands moved up to her abdomen. While Ratiri could not tell precisely what was happening because of Lorna’s robe, it looked for all the world like she was...deflating. When he finally removed his hands, he spoke in barely above a whisper. “She should find herself as she was before the children. If anything is the matter please come to me...tomorrow. I am afraid I have reached my limit today.” Without another word, he walked slowly to the sofa, laid down on it, and fell asleep in seconds.

 

Ratiri looked at Thanadir with bewilderment; he was the only one in the room still left awake. “He had to expend a great deal of his power, today. I do not believe any of us anticipated that all the children could possibly arrive at once,” the old elf said.

 

“I certainly didn’t,” Ratiri said dryly. “Thanadir, can you help me get Lorna and the children back to our rooms? She’ll be happier waking in her own bed, and Maerwen can help me keep an eye on the twins, if she’s free.” He was going to need sleep himself soon, and he hadn’t even done anything strenuous. It had been as emotionally exhausting as it was physically -- and in two hours, he and Lorna would need to be up to feed the babies. “I need to get a breast pump, so we can at least take turns waking up.”

 

With reluctance, he looked down at Earlene, and told himself that she was not going anywhere, and nodded. “Earlene’s device was obtained from the chemist in the village. I do not know if it is too late now but if this is very important I can try.”

 

“We’ll be fine for one night,” Ratiri assured him. “Earlene and Thranduil need you right now. If nothing else, I’ll hold the baby while he or she nurses, and Lorna can stay asleep.”

 

“You wish me to carry her to your rooms?”

 

“I can carry her, but not the babies,” Ratiri said, feeling some obscure need to do this himself. She was so dead asleep that she didn’t so much as stir when he lifted her, but she was much easier to carry now that she was minus two babies, placentas, and assorted fluids. “We can just put them beside our bed for now, and I’ll set up the cradle tomorrow.” They had brought Lorna’s gran’s cradle, which was more than big enough for the two of them, but they hadn’t been expecting to use it quite so soon.

 

Thanadir retrieved little Chandra and Shane and followed Ratiri through the Halls, leaving once they were settled properly. “Maerwen will have her assignment change beginning tomorrow. If you find you need yet more help you are to tell us, please. And...congratulations,” he smiled. “Galu.” Turning to leave, he closed their door behind him and returned to the King’s rooms, checking that Lothiriel had what she required before he returned to Earlene. To his surprise, she was not asleep, but curled in a ball, staring blankly at nothing. And tears were leaking out of her eyes, though it was not easy to see. He hurried to her. “Meldis, what is wrong, are you in pain?”

 

She shook her head No, but would not answer him. The only response he gained was when he held her against him, she returned the gesture by wrapping her arms around his chest. “Please? Will you talk to me?” That only earned a more emphatic shaking of her head. He sighed. He too was very tired, and he was left with only one option, if he was to understand. The effort was made, but the problem was, while he now knew her thoughts, he still did not comprehend her emotions. He had never felt so frustrated with being...himself. It was worse, than when he merely did not understand his own mind. Now it was someone dear to him, that he did not know how to help, and at a time that should be marked by happiness. He held onto her, rubbing her back, until he too fell asleep from fatigue.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the animated image from "Benny and Joon" won't load here properly here is the link:
> 
> https://giphy.com/gifs/1990s-johnny-depp-benny-and-joon-jVm2KiJeCJxoQ


	54. Fifty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feb 21, 2017
> 
> A friendly note to readers: It's another holiday weekend, at least here in the States. We will be releasing two chapters...maybe three. There are those of you who comment on our story regularly and it means the world to us. From the number of hits we see, we guess that many more are reading silently. A little about that...
> 
> To write this story, we two (who live two undisclosed states apart in the same time zone) spend anywhere from two to twelve hours a day online. We have open Google Docs as well as an open chat in a separate window. When we compose this story, it's in 'real time'; each of us at our own computers, simultaneously writing the narrative and dialogue for the characters we each 'manage' as well as continually conversing about content, emotional impact, themes and plot direction...not to mention researching more weird things than you could imagine so that the details of the places, dialogue, etc. are as realistic as possible. On average it's fair to say that at least 20 hours a week go into this fic, and that would be a very conservative estimate...I'm not including the time for the multiple proof-readings each chapter gets before release. The story is written for the joy of doing it, but the motivation to keep on with a work this complex comes from the feedback of those who are enjoying what we've created. Right now we are writing chapter 84, with much more to go before the end (yes, there actually will be one!). We tend to release material in proportion to how excited we know you feel about seeing more :-) It isn't a joke, that kudos are nice and comments are nicer. It's more like, kudos are a wave from across the room but comments are hugs. We want the feels... ;-) every writer does.

 Earlene had woken to find Thanadir gone, and with him what felt like the only constant anchoring her at the moment. None of this was Thranduil’s fault. He had done something heroic, in her eyes. His gifts had saved her child’s life, and her own. That his gifts had been needed at all, that was the issue she felt uncertain she could transcend.

 

 _I ate right. I was fit. I was strong. I am not _that_ old. Mother had no problems. Gran had no problems. How could I so completely fail like this? How could my body be incapable of delivering my child? What if I had lost her? _ _Her chin quivered slightly as an unbearable sense of guilt and failure crashed over her. The memory of the terrible pain lingered, which had been nearly unendurable in spite of all that Thranduil had done for her. Her husband had been forced to commandeer her body like a...like a hacker taking over a computer (there was no suitable analogy that came readily to mind). She had prepared in every way available to her while confined to these Halls._

 

 

 

 _Confined because of that walking freakshow Von Wretched_ . Burning anger and recrimination bounced around within her, wanting to find something or someone to blame for the fact that nothing about giving birth had remotely fit into the range of her expectations. And it grew and spiraled, like a snowball tumbling down a steep hill. The fault had to lie with her. There was always a root cause to every problem and she had neglected something, not considered something, not prepared well enough. And that added up to a failure so colossal that...her own thoughts were locking up on her. There was simply no excuse in the entire world. Not for this. _You just couldn’t hack it, Earlene. You washed out of the race halfway to the finish line._

 

When the seneschal returned, she did not want to talk to him. Nor would she look at him. He would only tell her that she was being silly or that nothing was her fault or some other bullshit that she would know was...just that. And yet some deeply hurt part of her still reached for him, though she could not fathom why. Held against him, she found herself counting the circles his hand made on her back, just like earlier. In the midst of anger, despair, and exhaustion, she fell asleep again. Still fatigued himself,  Thanadir too fell victim to the peaceful surroundings and the sound of her regular breathing.

 

********

 

Lorna had been so tired that she scarcely woke when it was time to feed the twins -- Ratiri had to actually hold the babies for her each time. She was still asleep when Maerwen arrived, bearing fresh nappies and strong, hot tea.

 

“Christ, I wish I could drink,” Lorna mumbled blearily, while Ratiri saw to the twins. “I don’t know how Gran did that four times. I don’t know how she _survived_ that four times.”

 

“Stubbornness,” he said, washing his hands before he brought her the tea. “Also, she never had twins. It’s much easier when it’s just one. Usually.”

 

“You’re a saint, you are,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek as she took the cup. “I’ve read all these apparent accounts’v women given birth and then just going back to work in the field, and I call bullshit. _Such_ bullshit. And then they just had to come out right when Earlene was having hers, and Thranduil had to...yeah.” God, she was never going to be able to meet that man’s eyes again. Elf’s eyes. Whatever. “And sure God will you look at Chandra. People really will think we’ve stolen her.” Now that the baby was no longer red, she was as pale as any elf, so much so that Lorna wondered if _she’d_ glow in the dark. With that hair and those eyes -- Christ, was that really what her eyes looked like to other people? It was little wonder so many found her creepy. Well, she was definitely Irish, and Mairead could give advice on how to care for her hair and skin.

 

“Genetics are a fascinating thing,” Ratiri said, sitting beside her. “Such disparity among twins does happen in mixed-race families, but it’s rare. Million-to-one rare.”

 

“I hope they’re taller than I am,” she said. “Wouldn’t wish my height on anyone.”

 

Her height was part of what made her so damned adorable, but he knew better than to say _that_ aloud. “I brought something,” he said, rising to fetch a scarf from their wardrobe. It was light and shimmery, black shot with lines of gold. “You can use it as a cover for when you nurse, if we’re in company.” He knew that she would never be like Earlene, comfortable enough to nurse in public. She’d gained so little breast tissue that it was something of a delicate act to be able to nurse at all, but they managed just fine, and the scarf was light enough that it wouldn’t impede either baby’s breathing at all.

 

“Thank you, allanah,” she said, giving him a smile. “You know how much I appreciate it.”

 

“I do,” he said, rising, “and I know you’ll appreciate breakfast even more, but let me go make sure they’re ready to eat.”

 

*****

 

Lothiriel looked at her three sleeping charges, wondering how in Eru’s name she was going to manage all of them should they wake hungry at the same time. In fact, she was filled with hope that Ortherion would return soon, because in her estimation she needed one or two other ellith. If all three wanted feeding at the same time, well, she had only been created with two arms. When the two knocks on the door came and he entered, she smiled. Her husband was nothing if not punctual. She received a peck on the cheek in greeting. “Anírar suithlas?” (Do they want tea?)

 

Lothiriel smiled. “Pân lostar; i ‘wanûn anírathar maded. Nelui laes. Tâd caim. Alio!” (They are all sleeping; the twins will want to feed. Three babies. Two hands. Help!)

 

“Ai,” he said. “Man oh i ammos?” (What about the breast?)

 

“Ortherion, Earlene drauthant! Min hên anna tarias. Gwanûn gaul.” (Ortherion, Earlene is exhausted! One child is difficult. Twins are a great hardship.)

 

Ortherion wisely decided not to question further. “Tâd ellith togithon,” (I will bring two ellith), he said smiling. “Gin melin.” (I love you.)

 

She blushed and her eyes sparkled. “Gin melin, hervenn.” (I love you, husband). Once the door had closed behind him, she muttered “Ellyn!” as she shook her head. But she still smiled.

 

*****

 

Thanadir was the first to wake, and for a moment experienced complete disorientation. The warmth of a body against his own was not something to which he was accustomed, and his eyes flew open to see his surroundings, and recall why he was here. He had slept very deeply, Earlene still in his arms, though her deep and regular breathing told him that she now slept. Very slowly, he removed her now limp arms from their hold on him and slid her onto the pillows without waking her. He felt heartbroken for her sadness. “Galu, Earlene,” he whispered, kissing the side of her head. Exiting the room, he found Lothiriel quietly feeding Allanah her dinner of strained food, while Sanya and Melda were each feeding the twins some of Earlene’s breast milk. “Hîr vuin,” they all said softly in concert on catching sight of him, lowering their eyes out of respect.

 

He smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgement of their courtesy. “Boe safed?” (Do you need anything?)

 

“Ú, hîr vuin,” they echoed back. (No, beloved lord).

 

With a second nod, he retreated back into the bedroom, closing the door noiselessly. He was immensely pleased, to see that all was being cared for and that someone had taken the initiative to see to this. And if he were to guess, it would have been Lothiriel and Ortherion. He had chosen wisely. He turned to see Thranduil was sitting up, staring at the flames and rubbing his eyes. It was obvious that he was still tired, but not the nearly complete exhaustion of a few hours earlier. His King was an ellon of great strength, and the degree to which this had drained him spoke of just how much effort had been required. He approached respectfully, and the movement attracted Thranduil’s notice. With a half smile he patted the seat next to him. “Join me, meldir,” he said softly, even as he looked around to see that Lorna and Ratiri were now gone and Earlene slept.

Thanadir sat, and looked at the glowing embers in the hearth, uncertain how to ask. Thranduil had not known him for millennia, without being able to see right away that something was amiss. “What is it?”

 

“Something is not right with Earlene, my King. I am not able to understand what is wrong even though I looked into her thoughts. She is terribly sad, and angry. I want to help and I do not know how.”

 

Thranduil tried to bury his alarm, because anything Thanadir had been unable to manage indeed had to be significant. “Can you tell me, meldir? Or show me?”

 

The seneschal nodded, at first verbally explaining how he had returned from a brief absence to find her weeping, followed by her refusal to speak to him. And then he raised his eyes to share what he had seen inside of her mind. Though it was difficult for Thanadir to access the thoughts of others, the nearly constant communication necessary with his King across some distance had left him with an easy ability to allow Thranduil access to his own mind. Unlike almost all the other elves, who kept their mental privacy, he had thrown that door wide open to Thranduil. It was effortless for him to receive instructions or information from him this way. As the mortals were an open book to the King, he had willingly made himself just as accessible. All of them could do this at need, but to him it was second nature.

 

“Have we any wine, here?” the King asked, once he had seen.

 

Thanadir rose immediately to procure some from the sideboard, handing Thranduil the full goblet. He drained half of it in a single swallow and sighed. “I can tell you what is wrong, but how to help her...Valar.”

 

The seneschal stared at him without blinking, waiting on him.

 

“Thanadir,” he began hesitantly. “Do you remember how you felt after...Erestor? How you felt crushed by the weight of your own shortcomings, at a time that you could not have understood that those shortcomings were not within your ability to avoid under the circumstances you faced?”

 

The old elf frowned. It had never occurred to him to frame what he had done and the aftermath in exactly these terms, but he saw the truth in his King’s words. It was a very complex way to view what he had always believed was a very straightforward failure...but finally he nodded; this was something he could grasp. “Yes.”

 

“It is quite similar, what Earlene feels. Like you, meldir, she is accustomed to being the best at what she does. Her standards for herself are almost impossibly high, and yet she does not see it this way because just like you she meets those standards, consistently. It is not something easy to see in her, because her life with us is not what it was in New York. Now, it comes out only in small ways. Her cooking. How much she agonized over her gift to Ortherion at Yule. And yet it is very much there. Through no fault of her own, her body failed her today, and she is at a complete loss to understand this. She believes that she failed at the task of giving birth, completely, because if she had not, there would have been success all or largely on her own. Do you recall how bitterly you blamed yourself, only to understand so many years later that you had been missing important information that allowed you to see a fuller truth? It is not going to be enough, to tell Earlene that she should not have these feelings. It has to be proven to her that her thinking is incorrect, and that is the part I dread. I do not know how to do that. For Earlene, everything is planned in her mind, and careful preparation always ensures a certain outcome. She did all the planning but somehow missed that birth is completely unpredictable. And perhaps some of the fault lies with me; I knew that she trusted me and so it did not occur to me to speak extensively to her about all the many things that might possibly happen. But by doing so, I allowed her to develop a belief that her experience would adhere to a particular pattern.” He shook his head. “This day was very hard for me, Thanadir. But I am afraid it was harder still, for Earlene. I could not have imagined for the life of me that Lorna would be the one to have an easier time of it.”

 

“You yet need more rest, my Lord,” said Thanadir.

 

“I do. But there will be children to feed later tonight. Lothiriel watches them?”

 

“Sanya and Melda are with her. They are feeding all three. We should also take food, though...I believe Earlene will not wake.”

 

“I agree that she must sleep more, but she requires food and water. And healing. I reasoned that it was better to tend to Lorna first, though I feel guilt for that choice.”

 

“Will you please let me help you? I am not as tired.”

 

A smile and a nod gave his answer. The two of them applied themselves to restoring her body to its ordinary state of well-being, healing all the imprints pregnancy and birth had left on her. And then Thranduil carried her to the lavatory, knowing that this would be needed. She would still be very tired, and weak.

 

“Meluieg, you must wake for a short time,” he whispered. And yet when the first thoughts of self-recrimination and unhappiness rose, he could not bear it, and laid on her a powerful inability to focus on these. _Just for a few minutes, she deserved food and drink and the simple joy of her daughters._

 

The only two things she could clearly remember, later on, were that she had peed the most ungodly amount when he took her to the lavatory, and the sight of her twin daughters together, for the first time. They were both sound asleep, but she had to reach down to softly kiss their faces. Little Allanah was nodding off already, and when she was kissed her rosy lips twitched briefly in a smile. Thanadir was told what had been done to her, and helped her eat a simple meal of soup and applesauce and a little bread. After, as they were returning Earlene to bed, he spoke. “Please take rest with her, Thranduil. When the gwanûn wake, I will bring them to Earlene. I know what to do. I can rest on the sofa, if you are willing. Let me care for the children while you sleep.”

 

“You are worth your weight in mithril,” Thranduil said, helping a largely detached Earlene into bed after undressing her except for her undergarment. “She will have sleep laid on her, Thanadir, and will not wake until morning.” Gratefully, he stripped off his own clothing as the seneschal’s eyebrow raised. Thranduil laughed. “Fear not, I will be on my best behavior. My wife would not forgive me otherwise. She thinks always about your sensibilities, meldir,” he teased.

 

While Thanadir refused to respond to that comment beyond “Rest well, my King,” he laid himself down on the sofa, feeling very pleased to hear that his meldis cared enough to uphold proper seemliness. Even when His Majesty did not.

 

*****

 

Ratiri decided to hop on over to Earlene and Thranduil’s room before he got everyone else ready to go, to make sure they were even awake -- if not, he could cadge breakfast from the kitchens.

 

Thanadir was up and visible, at least, having moved the still-sleeping children to the outer room. “I can come back later,” Ratiri said softly. “Just thought I’d stop in and see if everyone was awake, before Maerwen and I got everyone else in here.”

 

The seneschal looked uncharacteristically worried. “Can you please remain here, Ratiri? I am going to risk saying that I think Thranduil might wish to speak to you before any others come.” Turning quickly, he vanished back into the bedroom, and Thranduil emerged in his place, still buttoning the last of his tunic. (He’d noted that some elven garments had buttons that made Catholic priest’s vestments seem like amateur hour, but this was none of his concern).

 

“Would you sit with me, for a moment, please?” asked Thranduil, who clearly also did not radiate happiness.

 

“Of course,” Ratiri said, taking a seat on the sofa. He could think of very few reasons Thranduil would look so, and had a feeling he knew which one was the correct one.

 

The distress emanating from the King was palpable between them. “Earlene is...not at all well, in her thoughts. The best I can sum up for you is that she blames herself for needing so much assistance to give birth to Ithiliel. What dominates her mind is the conviction that she was a complete failure at delivering her children, though nothing could be further from the truth. I think you already know that Earlene has a highly logical mind and a formidable intelligence; my difficulty is that talking to her will not be enough. Somehow I have to win an argument against the beliefs in her mind, and that is what I do not have the ability to do. I have kept her asleep, rather than have her wake to a conversation I cannot win. She is very angry and unhappy, and at the moment is not fit company for anyone. I do not know if you can understand what it means, that she refused to even speak to Thanadir. I have never seen her like this and...this is not the sort of thing I should just reach in and ‘fix’. Is there anything you can tell me that would help?”

 

“What Earlene is feeling is very, very common to new mothers,” Ratiri said. “Hell, I’d say it’s damn near universal, especially among women of her personality. She wanted the birth to go a particular way, and no doubt prepared for it to, and it didn’t -- but no birth in the history of women had gone exactly as one planned. Disappointment and depression go with the territory, but it’s not something you’ll hear talked about much. Even now, there’s this fiction that birth should be nothing but a joyous occasion.” He said the last words with no small amount of vitriol, because that myth had harmed far too many mothers, just as it seemed to have for Earlene. “A body in labor has a mind of its own, and nothing a woman can try to consciously do will change that. I should have warned both her and Lorna.” Lorna didn’t have Earlene’s personality, though; she’d be annoyed as all get out, but she wouldn’t be blaming herself...much, anyway. She’d mostly just be embarrassed that her brother-from-another-mother had to touch her snatch -- which, to be fair, he’d be, too, in her situation.

 

“I could talk to her, if you’d like. She might or might not listen, but she’d have to hear -- and I of all people do know what I’m talking about, through fifteen years of experience.”

 

Thranduil swallowed. And laughed softly, completely chagrined. “I have faced thousands of enemies on a battlefield in my life, Ratiri. And right now that seems easier than going in there and facing this kind of an argument with my wife. I would deeply appreciate it.” He ran his fingers absently through his hair. “I will go in with you and wake her but I will not speak unless it is absolutely necessary.”

 

“I don’t expect her to speak, either,” Ratiri said. “And sometimes, facing your wife is the most terrifying experience in the world,” he added dryly.

 

He followed Thranduil into the bedroom, waiting for Earlene to be roused. Even if he was wrong, and she screamed at him -- highly unlikely, but still possible -- this was hardly the first time he’d had to give this speech.

 

“Meluieg,” the King whispered softly. Thanadir stood back at a respectful distance, quite literally wringing his hands. Her eyes opened, struggling to focus on him, as she blinked. _I will take you to the lavatory._ A nod came back; he was shamelessly capitalizing on the fact that after being almost immobile for so long and not yet awake, that she likely did not recall that she was entirely capable of doing this on her own. It kept her from noticing Ratiri and Thanadir, which was for the best as her recollections gained momentum. He also had the presence of mind to grab a robe as he carried her, so that she need not emerge wearing only underpants. While she cared for her necessities, he waited, watching in morbid fascination as she so obviously tried to keep him out of her thoughts, obscuring and weaving veils around them. He said nothing; there was no purpose, until she had washed her hands. Without warning he pulled her into an embrace. She returned the gesture, but with a body that was stiff and resistant. This, more than anything else, told him that sleep had brought no change. When she exited the lavatory, it was then that she noticed that they were not alone, and dealt with that by simply walking to sit on the sofa near the fire. This way she did not look at any of them, or offer any admission that she was aware they existed.

 

Ratiri sat facing her, patient. “I’m certain you won’t talk to me,” he said, “but there are some things you should hear. What you’re feeling now is entirely normal, Earlene. You had planned for your birth to go a certain way, and it went very awry, but let me tell you something: no birth has ever gone precisely the way a woman wanted it to. As I told Thranduil, when your body is in labor, you have no control over what it does. You took excellent care of yourself during your pregnancy, but that doesn’t always influence the outcome, _especially_ with a multiple-birth pregnancy.”

 

She glowered at Ratiri, but the full force of her ire went elsewhere as her angry face turned to her husband and the words launched from her mind. _How dare you tell him. HOW DARE YOU TALK TO HIM WITHOUT EVEN SAYING A WORD TO ME._

 

Ratiri sighed, unsurprised that she would not engage with him. She wasn’t yet ready to hear this, but she had to. “I’ve seen the aftermath of many, many births, and whoever decided to perpetuate the myth that it should be a perfect, joyful occasion ought to be shot. You have always been the best at what you do, Earlene. It’s in your nature to strive for perfection, but this was not something you had any control over. You did nothing wrong. If you listen to nothing else I say, listen to this: _it was not your fault._ ” There was a forcefulness in his voice none of them had ever yet heard from him. “There was nothing you could have done differently. Absolutely nothing.”

 

He glanced from her to Thranduil, and back again, guessing what had transpired. “Don’t be too furious with him,” he said. “I know why you are, but you would never have listened to him, no matter how he tried to comfort you -- you can’t sit there and tell me you would have. You did the best you could with what you had, and it didn’t change the outcome. _It was never going to. Ever._ I know it’s hard to hear, but it’s the truth. I’ve witnessed hundreds of births in the last fifteen years, Earlene, and you did absolutely everything right. You took care of yourself, ate well, exercised, and your body went haywire on you anyway. That happens. And if you sit there and blame yourself anyway, when there was nothing whatsoever you could have done, you’re lying to yourself, and making yourself miserable for no real reason. And you deserve better than that.” Somehow, there was in his tone, in his expression, a mix of compassion and steel, because he did not want this woman to drown in needless recrimination.

 

Ratiri felt a hand on his shoulder. _It would be wisest if we left. Immediately. She is very close to having an outburst that none of us wishes to see._ There was not really time to react to what he heard, the hand was already guiding him out of the room. And once on the other side, Thranduil hugged him. _I would never have been able to say all that, and she needed to hear it. I cannot thank you enough._ He was released, and Thranduil added aloud, “I think it would be best if we plan to share dinner, much later in the day. I will see to it that Ortherion brings your meals to your room. And when I am able, I will come to see you. It does not seem wise to bring others near Earlene until this is more...resolved.”

 

The hug badly startled Ratiri, but after a moment he returned it. _Sometimes we all need to hear unpleasant truths from someone who isn’t our spouse_ , he said. “ _Much_ later would be good. She’s going to run through a whole gamut of emotions before she’s ready to see outsiders -- and her hormones really aren’t going to help.” He sighed. “I know now isn’t a good time, but at some point, I’d appreciate it if you’d talk to Lorna. I know there’s a reason she’s got such issues with touch, and with nudity, but she’s never told me just what it is. All she’s ever let slip is that it had something to do with her time in prison.” Which he could easily extrapolate from, but he didn’t actually _know_. “She’s rather ashamed, and I don’t understand the depth of it.” The sad truth, but a truth he’d come to accept, was that it was far easier for Thranduil to extract painful subjects out of her than it was for anyone else, and not just because he could read her mind. There was a kinship there he didn’t understand; she didn’t use ‘brother-from-another-mother’ lightly. Ratiri had figured out they had something in common, something in their respective histories, though he didn’t know what.

 

Right now she was probably wondering what the hell had happened to him, so he’d best get back and let her know he was still alive. Hopefully Maerwen had stayed to help her with the twins.

 

*****

 

There had been one other time she had been this angry since she had met Thranduil, and to feel this nearly blind rage once again terrified her. There was nowhere to run; she wasn’t even clothed yet, and shouting at all of them would only have given her more about which to feel mortified later on. Not to mention, it would mark a loss of her legendary self control; another intolerable concept. Her head dropped into her hands; her body shook with anger and frustration that was only abated slightly by the fact that they’d all gone and left her the fuck alone. Every thought was another car on a runaway train. Small wonder that reaching this emotional state frightened Earlene; it was impossible to think. And when she could not think she had no sense of control, and with no sense of control she was as useful to herself as a boat with no anchor. Her roiling mood was in no way enhanced by noticing that Thanadir had somehow managed to appear right next to her. _If I have to lock myself in the toilet to get away from everyone, so be it._ Even though she had no idea if the toilet even _had_ a lock. With a glare that could burn holes into paper, she began to rise but advanced no further. The seneschal sat on her, and gently but swiftly pinned her arms with his hands.

 

For the first minute, a state of being too shocked to respond allowed her to keep her silence. He was heavy, though not painfully so, and weighed enough that she clearly was going nowhere. That and, it was a fair guess that she had only a pale fraction of his strength. Yet she was not one to back down from a challenge, and locked her eyes with his immediately. _There has to be a way to regain some control_. Her mind began engaging on at least this topic, and ticked down a list of possibilities. A technique that had always served her well in the past was an opening verbal attack designed to buy time. Finally, she broke the silence in a voice that had a cold strength. “I suppose you have something you want to say?”

 

The play of emotions that passed over his face was not a sight for which she was prepared. The Sad Eyes, were what she expected to see. A resolve to match her own, and a determined love that was uncomfortable to view; those were the unforeseen substitutions.

 

His head tilted up. “You will go nowhere, until you talk to me.”

 

Her lips parted in indignation, drawing breath by which to give him the verbal dressing down of his elven existence, when she remembered. In this exact same place, she had done precisely the same thing to him. With her jaw now set in a hard line, she glared at him again for an interminable length of time as she evaluated her next move. No matter how many angles she considered, the conclusion was inescapable: he would win. She was in a physical and emotional checkmate. Right now, she despised that, just as she despised the entire situation and to an extent, herself. After several minutes, she lowered her eyes and sighed. “I see there is nothing wrong with your memory.” After a second long pause came, “I am not going to try to strike you, Thanadir.” The coldness had left her voice, and it its place were the beginnings of resignation. “I am talking,” she said reluctantly.

 

“You are talking but were you listening?” he asked. “Ratiri is right, Earlene. I too have seen many children born and while our ways are much different, birthing a child can be difficult. There was never a logic, to which ellith struggled and which did not. All of our people are fit, and strong.”

 

Her lips pursed into a thin line. Of course she had been listening; it was impossible _not_ to listen. Not being stupid, she also knew the inevitable endpoint of this discussion. But it was the comparison to why they had been in this circumstance before, that allowed her to see the real cause of her troubles. Her head dropped, and her voice grew very small. “How did it feel, when the situation was reversed, and I was the one asking you to abandon your thinking at a time when what you wanted most was to cling to your own disappointment with yourself?”

 

Thanadir released her arms, now carefully holding her face in his hands. “Very bad,” he admitted, briefly looking away. “You and I are much alike, in some respects, Earlene. It is because of you, that I have come to understand a great deal more about myself. And yet you must know that if we have a terrible flaw, it is the inability to see when we have reached erroneous conclusions because of mistaken beliefs.”

 

Everything began to crumble, with that. Her eyes began to pool with tears. “It was supposed to be different,” she said, in a voice laden with strain, even as her expression pleaded for understanding.

 

“I know it was, in your heart. But that is the problem, Earlene. It was never _supposed_ to be anything.” In a fluid motion he slid off of her.

 

“But it doesn’t feel that way,” she protested.

 

“No, it does not,” he said, pulling her against him.

 

“I am sorry, Thanadir,” she cried. “After all you did for me, look how I have treated you. And Thranduil...” her breathing now hitched from crying, as she spoke.

 

“No, Earlene. He understands, as do I. Meldis, you have done nothing wrong. We only wish to see you unburdened from this sorrow. I would like you to tell me more, when you are able. Tell me how you felt. Tell me how much it hurt. Only then will it have no more hold over you.” This all took a very long time, but she did. It felt much like a festering wound draining. She would often think she was done, only to stop for a few minutes and have a new recollection surface. And he too helped, by explaining to her what had happened during times when her memory was murky or distorted from prolonged pain. Finally, there was nothing more for her to add, yet the seneschal had one more comment to offer. “I have never seen twins birthed, before yesterday. They are very rare, among the Eldar. I thought that you showed exceptional courage, and resolve. I was proud of you. I _am_ proud of you. And you are long overdue to eat. I will bring you something.”

 

She nodded, close to emotionally exhausted. A moment later, he returned, but not with food. Her twins, both awake, were placed into her arms, and just as swiftly he left. Held close, they stared at her, and she at them. Two sets of dazzling blue eyes, that looked just like Thranduil’s. Closing her own, she remembered vividly the first day she had seen the color of his irises, from so nearby. And that made her heart wrench, because of what she’d said to him when he brought Ratiri in here.

 

“No, meluieg. Do not feel sad. I took no offense.” Thranduil seated himself next to her, kissing her. It had long since stopped being a cause for comment, that he seemed to appear from nowhere.

 

“I still have to say that I am sorry,” she whispered.

 

“I know. And you have said it. And I love you for it. But all I want is for you to share in my joy, at what you have given me. They are beautiful, Earlene, and I thank you with all of my heart for what you endured.”

 

To even attempt to argue or carry on with her sadness would have been to take away from his happiness. So while she was far from completely reconciled to her emotions, she managed a smile and nodded. “You are welcome, and please accept my thanks too, for all you did for me. I could not have asked for more love or support than what you have provided. Or care.” She handed Eleniel to him, as best she could with one arm, watching as the little white ribbon flailed at her little ankle. “Have you found a way to tell them apart? Surely there is a...freckle, a...something, besides this ribbon?”

 

He chuckled. “It is warm enough here, perhaps we should seek to find out. But meluieg, elves have no...marks of that kind.”

 

She frowned, and then realized it was true...she had never seen a fleck on the skin of either her husband or Thanadir. Their skin was creamy, and unrelentingly smooth and of even tone. “Well, these are part human, so perhaps we will have some luck.” They lifted up the little gowns and looked carefully. Nothing. Earlene then began examining body parts. “Their ears...is it me or are they not so pointed as yours? Or will they become more pointed as they grow?” The difference in the elves’ ears as compared to humans was not extremely dramatic; the points were refined though noticeable. These were more refined yet, but maddeningly identical.

 

“They are less so, than I have seen on other elflings. But in all my years, the only twins I knew were the sons of Elrond, and I did not know them when very young. They were peredhel as well, but had far more elven blood than our daughters. Meluieg, I can find nothing, I am afraid. For a time at least, we must ensure that the ribbon does not come off.”

 

“No,” she said. “At the cottage I have nail polish. And one or the other of them will have a painted toenail until we can devise something better.”

 

As this did not seem in any way objectionable, he nodded his agreement.

 

“Ithiliel,” she said, holding her up. “We did not get to have a proper greeting yesterday.” Earlene’s eyes widened as the little arms reached for her and she instinctively embraced her tiny girl. “She cannot possibly understand me?”

 

“Not the words,” Thranduil said. “But she understands that you want her, and she wants you.”

 

“You can...hear her?”

 

“Yes. I can hear her. Them. Just as I hear you.” There was silence between them. It had not occurred to her, what a burden it might prove to be, for these children to grow with their thoughts not private from their father. “Earlene, I can promise you that I will give my utmost in patience, discretion, and love to them. I will not abuse my insight nor cause their lives to be a torment.”

 

“I know you will not. You have treated me with kindness. I...I can barely think right now. I’m almost afraid to even talk.”

 

“You need food. And more rest. Try not to worry, meluieg. What you have been through was very difficult.”

 

That subject felt very avoidable. “Is Lorna well? I don’t even know what happened. Or what...are their babies…?”

 

“Everyone is fine, meluieg. Healthy and happy. But to that end, I promised to go see them. I thought perhaps that only having dinner with them, much later, would be better for you.”

 

More nods, as she reached to kiss him, trying to ignore her desire, while knowing it was not hidden from him. “Is there something wrong with me, that I want you this much? Even now?”

 

He chuckled. “If there is, it is the matter with both of us. But you need more rest, and Thanadir has almost returned with your food. He will stay with you.”

 

“What he did for me, Thranduil...I can never thank him enough.”

 

“He knows, meluieg. He knows. And he would not have willingly been anywhere else.” Learning forward, he kissed her once more, before returning Eleniel and Ithiliel to Lothiriel’s care. “I will not be too long, and then we will have the day together,” he promised.

 

A few minutes later, he knocked at the door of Lorna and Ratiri.

 

*****

 

Ratiri opened the door, so that Lorna didn’t need to get up. She’d managed a bath, and had moved out to the sitting-room, at least, though she still looked exhausted.

 

Thranduil smiled at him. _I thought you should know, that Earlene is much better. Thanadir was able to finish what you began. And knowing Earlene, she will feel very badly about her behavior toward you...but I still think it is best that she have more rest, and time alone. Inside of herself, she is still very tired._

 

Ratiri gave him a half-smile. _She doesn’t need to feel bad about it,_ he said. _I’ve had three women spit on me. A glower is nothing._

 

“You look like you actually got some sleep,” Lorna called. “God knows you needed it.”

 

“I did...may I come in?” he asked.

 

“Of course,” Ratiri said, gesturing him inside. “Maerwen and Ortherion have been keeping us supplied with tea and snacks.”

 

“Which I’ve eaten way too much’v, considering I’ve done fuck-all today,” Lorna added. “How’s Earlene and the sprogs?”

 

“They are well,” he said, staring at her for a few awkward seconds too long. “Can I have a hug?” he asked very quietly.

 

She was a touch embarrassed, but poor Thranduil had been through hell, so she hauled herself to her feet and crossed the floor to hug him. A proper hug, too, rib-squeezing and all. She could sit on her embarrassment for now. “Hell’v a day?” she asked -- as if she needed to. It had been a hell of a day and a half for all of them.

 

“Earlene dealt...very badly...with Ithiliel’s birth. It took about forty percent Ratiri and about seventy percent Thanadir to make a difference. And yes, I know that my arithmetic is lacking,” he said. “Everyone will feel very differently in a few days but…” he did not complete the sentence, but simply said, “Thank you for the hug” instead. “You are well? There is no discomfort anywhere?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

 

“I’m not surprised,” Lorna said, releasing him. “And you’re welcome. Hugs make everything better, even if only by a tiny bit.” _Now_ she was more than a touch embarrassed, and couldn’t actually meet his eyes when she said, “No, everything’s good. Slept like the dead, to the point that Ratiri had to, er, help with the twins’ feeding. Everything’s, um, good down south, though.”

 

“What she can’t actually say, because in some ways she is twelve years old, is that she’s had no complications,” Ratiri said, passing by and kissing her forehead. “She’s been resting and drinking tea.”

 

“Lots’v tea. Kind’v wish it could be wine, but I’ve got a few months yet for that,” she said dryly. She was going to go on the bender from hell once she was done nursing, just because she could.

 

Thranduil grinned and shook his head. “You did better than we did. Thanadir slept in our room on the sofa. I am certain he fed the twins more than once, but what exactly he managed, only he knows.” Only now was he realizing that he had no idea if the seneschal had used bottles or placed the children on Earlene’s breasts. “I was grateful; I do not know how I would have awakened.”

 

“I don’t think any’v us counted on us both going into labor at the same time,” Lorna said, leading him down to the armchairs near the fire. “ _I_ sure as hell didn’t. I’m surprised I didn’t have more trouble, though -- even with whatever you did to my hip joints. I wouldn’t have figured it’d be poor Earlene that’d need the real help.” _God, let’s not think about that, shall we_? she told herself. “But at least they’re all born now. We’ll be able to actually move again. You’ve no idea how nice it is to be able to see my own feet again.” She stretched her legs out and rotated said feet, both her ankles cracking as she did.

 

“I am glad,” he chuckled, smiling to see her no longer hating assorted parts of her anatomy. Glancing over at the babies, he saw them sleeping soundly. “What are their full names?”

 

“Shane Liam and Chandra Katherine,” Ratiri said, kneeling to look at his children. “Neither Liam nor Katherine survived to have children, though both wanted them. At least they have babies who bear their names.”

 

“And of course Chandra came out pale as an elf,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Genetics. She and Allanah’ll be the ones who’ll get mistaken for twins. Though they’ve both got my eyes.” She looked up at him. “Did you get names settled for yours?”

 

“But that suits her, Lorna; she is named for the moon. Last night the moon was full. And yes, we did. Eleniel Seren and Ithiliel Morríghan. Ithiliel is named for the moon as well,” he said happily. “Our only problem is that at the moment, we cannot tell them apart. We looked today, carefully, and cannot see a single physical difference. But soon we will find something, and Earlene has nail polish. Which reminds me. Thanadir will go to the cottage today. Perhaps he should also see Bridie, if there is another breast pump?”

 

“Truly identical twins?” Ratiri asked. “Well, they _are_ Peredhel. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

 

“I would really appreciate a breast pump,” Lorna said. “There’s something a bit creepy about knowing you fed your kids while you were asleep. I don’t even know _why_ , there just is.” She sat, and ran her fingers lightly over Shane’s fuzz of black hair. “This poor kid -- the only boy with all these girls. Maybe we’ll have to like, adopt a boy. I’m never going through _that_ again, but there’s plenty’v kids out there. We’re already going to get accused’v stealing Chandra -- might as well go for two.”

 

“I cannot say if we are done yet,” Thranduil smiled. “I will not presume to have that discussion either way until we are managing the three with which we are already blessed. And it is certainly not a suitable subject after yesterday; it can wait. Chandra and Allanah look much alike. And, you may find that female elflings will give Shane quite a time. I can recall a few that were holy terrors, as I believe you humans say.”

 

Lorna laughed quietly. “If either’v these two are even a fraction like I was as a child...God help us all. Pat taught me how to pick locks when I was eight. It was a nightmare for everyone who wasn’t us.”

 

“And here the worst thing I ever did was TP my sport teacher’s house,” Ratiri said, shaking his head.

 

“How will your twins age, in respect to Allanah and mine?” she asked.

 

“Very differently,” he said, with a slight grimace. “You will understand the moment you spend some more time with them. Elflings are precocious, compared to human babies. They will run and speak and sing by a year of age. They will learn and grow mentally at an accelerated rate. But elves do not reach physical maturity until they are fifty years of age, whereas Allanah will be considered an adult much sooner. We are considered fully adult at one hundred. It is difficult to explain, where the demarcations lie. It takes longer, to gain emotional maturity, for some elflings. I have seen some youth in their forties that were not as settled as human fifteen year olds. For better or worse, you will see.”

 

“Because _that’s_ not likely to get sticky,” Lorna said, while Ratiri grimaced. “Well, we’ll muddle through somehow. While I wish mine would be running and singing at one, I’m glad they’ll not be the equivalent’v teenagers when I’m ninety. Bad enough I’ll be close to sixty by the time they’d be doing their Leaving Cert in the outside world.” Her family tended to live to be damn old (her gran had been 97 when she died), but Ratiri’s did not -- though he didn’t have the alcoholism that had killed off most of his father’s family relatively young.

 

“We will all manage. If the cavern ceilings are still standing and no one has fallen from the archways, I will consider it a full success,” he said drily. “I should return, I promised Earlene I would not stay long. She asked after all of you; her memories of what happened after Eleniel’s birth are...muddled. We hoped we would see you at dinner-time?”

 

“That sounds good,” she said, after look at Ratiri. “These two might be awake by then.”

 

“They stare, when they are,” Ratiri added. “Taking it all in, even if they have no idea what any of it is yet.”

 

“Then I will enjoy seeing you later,” he said happily, before turning to leave.

 

“Be sure to tell Earlene not to feel bad,” Ratiri said, before he left. “I’m serious, I’ve had three women spit on me. Another one gave out at me in what I’m pretty sure was Cantonese, and threw a TV remote at me.”

 

“Oddly, that might make her feel better,” Thranduil said, reflecting once again that his mortal wife in so many way did not behave in a terribly mortal manner.

 

“I’d hope so,” Lorna said. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually spat on someone. I threw the remote at Mairead, but not on purpose. She just startled me.”

 

“Earlene deserves a drink, if it can be managed,” Ratiri said. “So does this one, but I know she’d just push for more.”

 

She glowered at him, but didn’t try to protest. He was right.

 

“If we can get the breast pump sorted soon, we can at least manage wine at dinner,” Thranduil said. I believe everyone would appreciate it. Wine fit for humans”, he clarified, smiling at Lorna.” _Soon_ , he said to her silently, knowing perfectly well that she wanted a very different vintage.

 

“I’d take even that,” Lorna said. “Christ, by this point I’d take paint thinner if it had alcohol in it. Being a teetotaller really sucks.”

 

“It does,” Ratiri sighed. He’d been abstaining himself, because not doing so would just be cruel.

 

“Then we shall have it,” he promised from the doorway. “I will see you soon, and if Thanadir’s mission is a success I will send him here with it.” With that, he vanish

 

“Don’t drink too much,” Ratiri said, giving Lorna a kiss to the temple. “I know you want to, but just think -- it will be all the sweeter when you can.”

 

“I know,” she said, and looked down at her feet, just because she could. She needed to start doing sit-ups soon, but she hadn’t been left with nearly as much flab as she’d feared -- softness around the waist, but nothing more, and fortunately her tits hadn’t grown much. She felt like herself again, and that was worth a hell of a lot.

 

She looked at her sleeping children. The terror hadn’t properly set in yet, but she was sure it would. Fortunately, Ratiri could be sensible for the both of them.

 

********

 

Thanadir cared for the promised errands and was back in the early afternoon, leaving Earlene with nail polish and Lorna with a breast pump. While some part of her desperately wanted to have seen the look on Bridie’s face when the seneschal came to the chemist’s for this particular item, perhaps it was best left unknown. And yet she admired him. He was the sort of male friend who would even go buy a woman tampons, without hesitation, and friends like that were priceless. At some point afterward, the children were settled again with Lothiriel, Thanadir went to take some well-deserved rest, and Earlene and Thranduil had their time alone. While he protested at first, his wife informed him that there was one sure way to help her fall asleep (and he found himself ultimately unable to refuse). They rediscovered the intense delight of being able to share love while facing each other again, and both fell asleep after. Quiet time bathing, and caring for the next round of milk supply occupied the time until dinner. They both felt much better, for having had the relaxed and intimate time together. Earlene now read to Allanah from Shakespeare, helping her to clap her little hands in time to the words read in iambic pentameter while Thranduil watched while holding his twin daughters, unsure what he thought of this. The peredhel were awake, and looked from their naneth, to each other, and back to their naneth....which is how Ratiri and Lorna found them.

 

“That’s the cutest bloody thing I’ve ever seen,” Lorna said, setting down the basket with her daughter. “Second-cutest.”

 

Ratiri set Shane beside her. “These children will be nerds,” he said. “All of them. We’ll see to it.”

 

“So long as they’re nerds that know how to play,” Lorna said firmly. “And so long as they don’t light anything on fire until they’re at least fifteen.”

 

“I don’t want to know,” he said.

 

“You really don’t.”

 

Thranduil raised his eyebrow.

 

Earlene said to Allanah, “Naneth will have you talking in couplets in no time, won’t she?” After she covered her face in little kisses, Allanah squealed with happiness and squirmed to get down, wanting to toddle to Auntie Lorna, where she balanced herself while staring at the new babies.

 

“Look at you, on the go,” Lorna said, picking her up. “You’re the big one now, aren’t you? You’ll have to show all these little ones how it’s done, when they’re your size.” Allanah grabbed her braid, thoroughly inspecting it before attempting to chew on it. “Nope, that’s not what that’s for.” Lorna took it from her, and tickled her face with the end of it.

 

“Let me see her,” Ratiri said, taking the giggling toddler. “You and Chandra are going to have to do each other’s hair,” he said to her. “And you will both need so very much sunscreen.” Being a doctor, he wasn’t willing to write off sunburns as most parents would; skin cancer was especially a problem among gingers.

 

“There are good products now that are natural, with zinc oxide instead of scary chemicals...the stuff in sunscreens in the states is cringe-worthy,” said Earlene. “I’d guess that as with everything Thranduil could help them, but I intend to not let her get sunburned in the first place.”

 

Thranduil’s puzzled expression led to a full blown exposition on the ozone layer, pale complexions, and skin cancer in humans, including the paradoxical problem that sunshine both caused skin cancer, and also was vital for the body to generate Vitamin D which...protects against cancer. Just when he thought his saturation point was being reached, Thanadir and Ortherion entered with their meal. It looked alarming, to see five children arrayed around Lothiriel.

 

“Surely Lothiriel will need some more help soon?” Earlene asked. She was so, so grateful for the elves, without whose help she would already be...she did not want to think about caring for three children this age on her own.

 

“It will be cared for, Earlene,” Thanadir reassured her, with a smile.

 

“I’m already glad we’ve got Maerwen,” Lorna said, sitting cross-legged on the sofa -- mostly because she actually could, now. She could sit however she wanted. She could sleep on her stomach. She could see her _feet_. Not being pregnant was amazing. She’d never take it for granted again. “That way Ratiri and I can each get a bit more sleep than we’d get otherwise. I’d never known anyone who had twins before.”

 

“And it’s somehow very different when the children involved are your own,” Ratiri added, sitting beside her. He too was enjoying the fact that she was no longer miserable, hauling around a gut she could barely walk with. It made it far easier for her to curl up beside him, too. “I had thought I was prepared -- God knows I’ve tended enough children in my life -- but that these two are mine...I now understand terrified first-time fathers.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. “I am not sure I ever felt as worried. But then, I had Thanadir.”

 

The seneschal said nothing, but the slight smile on his face spoke of how much he appreciated the compliment. “The Prince was a great joy to teach,” Thranduil. “As I am sure all of these children will be as well.”

 

“I never thought I would get the chance,” Ratiri said, resting his cheek on Lorna’s hair. “I never expected it -- not once thirty-five passed me by.”

 

“I didn’t think it was _possible_ ,” Lorna snorted. “They told me, when I lost Saoirse, that that was that. Never did ask for details, because it wasn’t like it was ever going to matter. Now I’ve got these two, and Christ am I glad they’re actually out in the world now. Now to just not utterly fuck this up -- I’ve seen how to Mam, thanks to Mairead. I shouldn’t make too bad a hash’v it.” No, she didn’t want to be precisely like Mairead, but at least her sister was a good template.

 

“They say ‘It takes a village,’ “ said Earlene. “And I think I can already see why.” She held out her plate to Thranduil, who offered to serve her the stew. And both women at the table could not help the gleam in their eye when Thanadir began pouring wine. Though she could have had some, after several months in it just made sense to not bother. But now….

 

“God, me too.” Lorna didn’t actually make grabby-hands, but she thought about it really, really hard. She and Ratiri dished up stew -- well, Ratiri did; her arms were too short to reach without getting up.

 

Earlene smoothed her dress. Her non-reinforced, pretty, designed with a waist dress. Thranduil looked over at his much happier wife and smiled. Now that her body was returned to an ordinary size, it made her hair seem longer. “Do you know,” she said quietly after she thanked Thandir for the wine, “I came here a year ago today? It is hard to believe. That means too that you and I met each other a year ago, a week from now, Lorna.” That was a terrible excuse for a sentence, but she did not know how else to say it.

 

“Jesus, has it been that long already?” Lorna asked, taking a sip when Ratiri handed her a glass. It was like heaven. “Doesn’t seem it. I think I’ve done and learned more in this last year than I did in the twenty before it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but up until this last year, I was just sort’v...existing. Content, but not really happy. And lonely, too, in a way.” She’d lived in a village where she’d had people who loved her, but none of them actually _understood_ her. They couldn’t have -- they were country people, with stable lives. They didn’t have the experiences.

 

“Well, I’m glad I met you. Oh, the day that gobshite delivery driver came and you yelled at him…” she dissolved into laughter at the memory. “What an adventure it’s been.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Oh Christ...did I tell you Mick and I replaced his engine with a bunch’v pressed cabbage? I’m glad I met you, too -- and I’m glad you gave me a second chance, after what my beer did.” Seriously, were she in Earlene’s shoes, she’d’ve sent herself packing for good.

 

“I never even think about that,” Earlene smiled. It was how she’d found out she was married, really, which made it part of a story of which she had extremely fond memories.

 

Ratiri  looked down at Lorna. She’d mentioned that once, but only briefly. “Only you, mo chroí,” he said. “Only you.”

 

“Oh, hush,” she said, giving him a mock glower. “Jesus, look at us all now. Babies everywhere.” And speaking of babies, one of them started crying. It was probably one of hers -- it had been about three hours now.

 

“I’ll get her,” Ratiri said, rising. “Chandra always seems to be hungry first.”

 

“At least they don’t both do it at once,” Lorna laughed. “Earlene, d’you have to feed yours as often as you would if they were human?”

 

She shot Thranduil a vague look of panic, because the truth was she had no recollection of feeding them at all, except for nursing Eleniel at her birth. Thanadir smoothly intervened. “At this age, they need milk every three to four hours. You will have to forgive Earlene, but I have conspired heavily to keep her from caring for this herself; she needed the rest very badly.”

 

“I did the same thing with Lorna, last night,” Ratiri said, returning with little Chandra and Lorna’s shawl. “That’s roughly comparable with human babies.” His daughter was staring up at him with her green, green eyes. “Look at her,” he said, moving to present her to Earlene and Thranduil. “Look at her eyes.” Yes, he was so proud he could explode. He was a new father, it was allowed.

 

“Ah!” came a little outburst from near the sofa. Ithiliel was held in Lothiriel’s arms, and she had seen Chandra, and was making grabby hands at her.

 

“She wants to see Chandra,” Thranduil said softly.

 

Ratiri looked at him like he hadn’t heard that correctly, but on seeing the little twin’s blue eyes mesmerized by his daughter, brought her closer. One little hand reached out for the other, as Ithiliel closed her tiny fingers around Chandra’s fist. “Ai!” she said again with...was that a smile?

 

“Ithiliel likes her,” the King whispered. Lothiriel looked as though she might melt, and no one else at the table was too far behind. Earlene, however, looked at Eleniel, and saw a little storm brewing in her daughter’s face. Quickly rising, she picked her up, turning her so that she could not see the other two, murmuring something in Sindarin while she distracted her with kisses. The sum of her thoughts was, _Oh my_. Because while she could not be certain, she thought she had just seen jealousy.

 

Ratiri watched, paying rapt attention, as Chandra watched Ithiliel, focused on her face as she had focused on little thus far. Were Ithiliel and Eleniel going to inherit Thranduil’s gift? Was Ithiliel somehow communicating with Chandra, in whatever ways babies could communicate? God, this could be fascinating.

 

Chandra blinked, and Ithiliel let go, blue eyes tracking as he handed the baby to Lorna, helping her arrange her shawl so she could nurse with some privacy. It wasn’t precisely easy, but he knew they would get the hang of it eventually.

 

Thranduil studiously ignored Lorna while she was thus occupied but Thanadir, who was seated next to him and opposite Lorna, stared at her with an expression of genuine puzzlement on his face. He was so very used to Earlene nursing and...in thousands of years, this had been his only sight of breastfeeding, and the only firieth he had ever seen care for this. He did not understand the shawl, but eventually looked away. Maybe he would ask Earlene, later.

 

Lorna looked up at him. “You’re staring, Thanadir,” she said gently -- she knew it wasn’t him being a creep, it was just him being _Thanadir_ , which was often inexplicable to her. “And you look a bit confused. What is it?”

 

Unthinkingly, Earlene barged in. She meant well, and felt very protective of her friend. Her friend, that she knew was very uncomfortable about being called out for things he did not understand. “It is probably my fault, Lorna. I am the only human woman he has ever seen breastfeed and I have never covered myself.” The moment the words were out she felt uncomfortable, realizing she probably should have remained silent. Her cheeks flushed faintly pink at her mistake, as she tried to not let a small thing blow up to a large thing in her mind.

 

“Ah,” Lorna said, shifting Chandra beneath her shawl, “that’d do it. Some’v us women like to cover up, Thanadir, while others don’t feel a need to. It just depends on the woman, really -- some will cover up in public but not at home, some don’t cover up at all, and others use something like this any time they’re not in private.”

 

It was obvious that Thanadir was excruciatingly uncomfortable, and nodded without meeting her eyes. And Earlene simply felt terrible and had no idea if she had just made him feel worse, or better. Or neither. She took a very large swallow of wine.

 

Had Lorna not been in the grip of nursing hormones, she might not have said what she did next. “All right, now everyone’s uncomfortable as fuck -- seriously, what is the problem? Why is this a thing?” Why did it _matter_ if she chose to wear a shawl while she breastfed? Was it somehow inferior to being willing to bare your tit for the whole world to see? One wasn’t worse than the other. They were just...things. She knew they all thought she was cracked, given her issues with nudity around other people -- and while it was true she’d never told them why, it irked her that it seemed she needed to. None of them were going to like the answer, any more than she would like giving it.

 

Earlene froze, blinking back tears. The only reason she was not running from the room was that Ratiri was between her and Lorna, giving her some chance to hide her emotions.

 

Thranduil’s lips parted. _Earlene, take my hand,_ which he reached across the table to her.

 

She complied immediately. _I am so sorry, Thranduil, I did not mean…_

 

 _No. Say nothing. Only listen. I will help you,_ she heard, as some kind of buffer descended over her emotions.

 

“Perhaps this is not the best time to talk about this, Lorna,” Thranduil said. “No one meant to offend you, and we apologize.” _It is that we do not understand. It does not mean that you owe us an explanation. Both Thanadir and Earlene feel very bad and are afraid they have angered you._

 

Lorna sighed. “I know,” she said. “I know you don’t understand, too, and I know you lot all think I’m daft because I hate anyone but Ratiri seeing me without all my clothes on. None’v you have ever been in prison, so there’s no way you _could_ know, but having someone try to rape you in a prison shower does that to a person.” She stared into the fire. “My first shower there, some shreel made a grab. I just about chewed most’v her ear off and landed myself in solitary for a week. I came out with a reputation for being mental, so nothing happened to _me_ after that, but...you see things. Things you ought to try to stop, but you just...freeze. And spend the rest’v your life regretting that you didn’t try to do _something_ .” And she never would forgive herself, either; her third week there, three of the prisoners had dragged in a fourth and raped her with a broom handle, and Lorna had just...frozen. It was one of a very few times in her life she _had_ frozen, completely paralyzed -- she’d failed that woman, whose name she never knew. She couldn’t do anything then, but she could now. Even if everyone thought she was mad for wanting to.

 

She shook her head. “Anyway. I’m not just being a weird prude, is what I’m trying to say.”

 

Ratiri...had no idea what to say to that. No idea what to _do_ with it; all he found himself able to do in that moment was wrap his arm around her shoulders, letting her lean against him.

 

Nothing Thranduil could do short of forcing Earlene to pass out was going to buffer that emotion. She stood up, complete horror etched on her face, and walked to Lorna’s chair. Leaning down, she half-whispered half-sobbed. “I am so sorry. I don’t even deserve to be your friend.” And pulling away, she ran out of the room, because the only place she could be right now was in her favorite dungeon cell. And if Lorna thought that reaction was astonishing, looking up to see tears streaming down Thanadir’s face and an expression that was not far behind on Thranduil’s completed the picture nicely.

 

Lorna went still, entirely bewildered. Yes, it was a terribly unpleasant story, but...Jesus. This was not the reaction she’d expected -- she wanted very much to go follow Earlene, but with Chandra attached to her tit, that probably wasn’t a good idea; knowing her, she’d trip on a stair and send her _and_ the baby tumbling off a precipice. “Why are you looking like that?” she asked, her eyes traveling from one elf to the other before turning to Ratiri, seeking clarity.

 

“Mo chroí, do you know how I sometimes tell you your view of the world is...different?” he asked her. “This is one of those things. Sometimes you can’t see the evils of the world as being as horrifying as they actually are.”

 

“We have no words for being forced to endure what you have experienced, Lorna,” said Thanadir quietly. “Forgive me, but it is so bad that it is granted to us to die rather than be assaulted in this manner. That you had to remain in an environment where this was commonplace, where you were helpless to help others…Please forgive me. I did not mean to be rude; it is...what Earlene said.”

 

“It...was bad, yeah,” she said slowly, “but...you adapt. You sort’v have to. I know you didn’t mean to be rude, Thanadir -- there’s nothing to forgive. It was something weird you’d never seen before, so you were curious. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t ask me shite if you’re curious, okay?” She peered at him, holding his gaze (and damn those Puss in Boots eyes; they really did make her want to give him biscuits and warm milk). “You’re not going to offend me, Thanadir. Trust me, I’m pretty hard to offend. I’d like to go give poor Earlene a hug, but this one’s not done feeding, and then I’ve got the other one.”

 

She sighed. She really, really didn’t want Earlene feeling like shite over this. She’d have to bake biscuits or something, as an ‘I’m sorry I freaked you out with stories about prison rape’ offering.

 

“That would probably make her feel worse, Lorna,” said Thranduil. “Earlene knows that she had a different life from yours. But when the differences go into areas like this...she does not have the exposure to that level of evil. No one should. She feels like she has failed you, for not being able to somehow realize what you have survived. I will talk to her. You must understand that she is still not past having given birth.” He turned to Thanadir. “Will you go to her, please, and bring her back? You know where she is.”

 

Without another word, the seneschal rose and left, and Thranduil continued. “I too am very sorry, Lorna. While I too did not understand your reticence, this is beyond anything I could have imagined as to a reason.” There was more he could say, such as, how much it grieved him that she did not have the free enjoyment of the body that Eru gave her because of this, but that would be crossing a boundary that he had no right to breach.

 

Oh, Earlene… “That she didn’t realize -- how in God’s name could she have?” Lorna asked, mystified. “She hasn’t got telepathy, and it’s not like I’ve said much about prison. There was no way she could’ve known. I really _will_ bake her biscuits, I just won’t tell her why.”

 

Ratiri kissed her temple. She had told him a little more about her time behind bars, but not much, and certainly not _that_. Occasionally, something came along that drove home just how very alien her view of the world could be. “Earlene is Earlene,” he said. “The price for being at the top of the heap in what you do is an astonishing ability for self-recrimination if something goes wrong. She’ll see sense, but I think we really should bake her biscuits, and just come up with some other excuse to give them to her. Once she’s back from -- where would she have gone?”

 

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose. “She goes to the dungeons. It is...complicated, and has something to do with a poem she likes. When she is very sad or upset, she sits in a favorite cell...I probably should not be discussing this. In fact, I would appreciate it if you did not ask her questions about it tonight. It is not that she would mind you knowing, but she has had too many things upset her already today. That and...it hurts her feelings, when others disapprove of her choices. It does not escape her that what makes her feel better would be seen as extremely peculiar by others.” He paused. “I need stronger wine. I hope you will pardon me.” He rose, and went to the sideboard, choosing a very different bottle of wine, and poured himself a very full glass.

 

“Hey, whatever does it for you,” Lorna said, downing half her own wine at one go. “That’s my philosophy, anyway. Though I’m so used to people disapproving’v _my_ choices that it’s easy to forget not everyone can just brush it off.” She stared into the ruby depths of her glass. “I wish she hadn’t said she doesn’t deserve to be my friend, though. She’s done so bloody much for me, and I don’t think she realizes how much I appreciate it. Which is my fault, really; I’m still not that great at using my words. She made me actually believe I could be more than I was -- that I’m more than just the sum’v my life experiences. I’d thought tending bar was the furthest I’d get, until I met her.”

 

She looked at Thranduil. “You made me believe I didn’t have to be a tiny anger ball for the rest’v my life. She made me believe I could make something’v myself. I owe the pair’v you more than I can ever repay.” Neither of them tiptoed around her, as Mairead and Big Jamie sometimes had.

 

Now tears were welling in Thranduil’s eyes, but he had enough composure remaining to blink them back. “She just needs some time, Lorna. Though she recognizes that she has little in common with you, she cares about you more than she knows how to let on. The truth is, she sees your reticence with others and is deliberately less demonstrative with you because she believes that is what you want. It is her way of showing you regard and respect. And in her mind her comment to you failed completely in that regard.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes a moment, and handed the sleepy Chandra back to Ratiri. “I wish I wasn’t like that,” she said quietly. “I know I put people off, being the way I am, but I don’t know how to be any other way. And to be honest -- though Christ, don’t ever tell her I said this -- I’d figured she liked me, but didn’t approve fully, because...well, a lot’v people’re like that about me. I know Thanadir is. I’m used to it. You and Ratiri here accept me as I am, but a lot’v people...don’t. Even if they don’t actually _say_ anything, I always know, and Earlene, she’s done so much in her life that I’ll never manage.”

 

Ratiri sat, and pulled Lorna close. “You don’t _have_ to be any other way,” he said. “If you were, you wouldn’t be Lorna.”

 

“I know it bothered you at first, that I was so hesitant to touch you,” she said, looking up at him. She’d felt quite bad about that, but it hadn’t been enough to change that right off. She couldn’t force herself to be different.

 

“Only because I was afraid I would cross a boundary I didn’t know existed,” he said. “Mairead and Big Jamie told me to wait until you touched me.”

 

She found herself irked at them, despite knowing they had good intentions at heart. “Bastards,” she sighed, but there was no rancour in it. “They were probably right.” She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “And here I haven’t been hugging Earlene much because I thought she wouldn’t want me to. We’re all shite at using our words, aren’t we?”

 

“No,” said Thranduil slowly. “We are shite at trusting each other enough to speak about how we really feel. I think I am only now seeing the degree to which we try to shield each other from what we believe are unpleasant truths, only to have that manage to go awry in one fashion or another. I am equally guilty. And yet it is all done out of love. I have the curse or the privilege, depending on your point of view, of seeing into the hearts of all of you, even Thanadir. In everyone’s own way, there is nothing but love and regard for all of the others, though the form our attachments take are different. But with that foundation, in time we will come to understand each other better. As elves count time, we have known you for the blink of an eye...and yet I have learned more from you in a single year than in nearly ten thousand left only in the company of my own people.” While he was speaking to both of them, his eyes rested on Lorna.

 

That actually made her laugh a little. “Mairead always said I was an education,” she said, shaking her head. “She probably didn’t ever realize anyone would find it quite so literal. If nothing else I’ve ever accomplished actually means a damn thing, I’m glad I could help you understand the modern world a bit. The three’v us humans, we’re all so different -- I’m sure that’s helped, too. And…” She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to summon the words she needed to use. “I was always the tiny anger ball. I’d thought I didn’t have a hope’v ever being anything else. Even my family, and my friends in Baile, never expected me to change that, because they didn’t think I could. _I_ didn’t think I could. And I probably couldn’t have, if you and Thanadir hadn’t gone into my brain and fixed whatever was broken. And even with your bloody telepathy, I don’t think you can understand what that means to me. It’s deeper than...than thoughts. Than the kind’v gratitude you could read. Christ, this is what happens when I try to use my words.”

 

“You’re using them just fine,” Ratiri reassured her. “We’ll all come to trust each other better, in time. Once we’ve truly accepted we’re not going to hurt each other.”

 

Just then Thanadir walked in, with Earlene, who sat down without looking at the rest of them. It was fairly obvious that she had been crying, hard. The seneschal bent down to whisper something in her ear and kiss her on the cheek before resuming his own seat. She nodded at whatever he said, took a deep breath, and said, “I’m sorry for leaving. Too much in one day.”

 

“Do not worry, meluieg,” Thranduil said gently. “Here, have some more wine.” He poured her another half glass, then offered the bottle to Ratiri since it was a foregone conclusion that Lorna would like more also.

 

She did indeed, though at least she managed not to chug it. _Can I hug her, or would that be weird right now?_ she asked.

 

_I think that you should do what your heart moves you to do, or not do. There is no Right or Wrong, at this moment._

 

Well, that was nice and cryptic. Lorna really wasn’t sure just what the right course would be, but fuck it. She hopped off the sofa, crossed to Earlene, and managed to give her a slightly awkward hug -- awkward, because she was short, the chair was elf-sized, and Earlene was a good nine inches taller than her. Fuck it -- yes, this was ridiculous, but she clambered up onto the arm of the chair, rather like a cat. “Okay, I didn’t think the chair would make this so difficult, but whatever. It’s a hug.”

 

This was unexpected, and shattered the very fragile hold Earlene had on her emotions. A deep sob came out of nowhere, as she wrapped her arms around Lorna with strength that while not crushing, was nevertheless unexpected. She did not let go, but began to cry harder. Thanadir, alarmed, began to rise from his seat until a wave and a silent command from Thranduil caused him to reluctantly remain where he was. Had someone been watching the seneschal closely, they might have understood that he was being silently informed of the conversation that transpired while he was absent from the room. Much of the reserve, frustration and sense of feeling driven back from Lorna since the day they’d met was pouring out of Earlene, who was normally demonstrative and affectionate toward those to whom she felt close. At the moment there weren’t words for how much she wished Lorna could have had a different life than the one she had been granted.

 

Lorna’s eyes widened, panic momentarily jagging through her, but she thought of what Gran had done, when she’d been so shattered after losing Liam. Unfortunately, whiskey couldn’t enter into this situation, but sometimes a hug was the best thing in the world. Sometimes it was the only thing that worked, so hug she did, letting Earlene let it all out at once. Oh, how she wished she had telepathy -- how she wished she had some way of conveying everything she wanted to, _needed_ to. But then, it probably wasn’t something Earlene would want dropped on her in company anyway.

 

Eventually Earlene’s outpouring reduced to sniffles, and she realized she should probably let the poor woman go. And she managed, but not without a parting peck on her cheek. “Excuse me,” she murmured, grateful for the first time that elven lavatories had no mirror, because she really did not want to know the appearance of her face just now.

 

For all Lorna’s ability to read people, she was having trouble with Earlene just now -- but she _could_ see a lot of relief, so she’d done something right. She returned to Ratiri, who brought her a fussy Shane in demand of his dinner. She really was grateful the twins seemed to take it in turns to want their meals, because there was no way she could have handled both at once. _Adulting is harder than I thought_ , she thought. Communicating involved far more than just speech, and she was likely going to struggle with that a little while longer. Oh well. She’d get there in the end, and hopefully make Earlene realize just how much she meant to Lorna. It had been so easy with Thranduil, because Thranduil could read her mind, and save her the trouble of those pesky words. Ratiri she’d connected with almost immediately; they were different, yeah, but they were both so socially awkward at times that that wasn’t really hard -- she didn’t worry about putting her foot in it with him. He had never daunted her as Earlene had, though Lorna wasn’t ever actually going to _say_ that, because it would probably make her feel terrible. Earlene was going to be more difficult, but she’d get there in the end -- even if she wound up sounding like a moron every now and again. That was just part of life, and it would hardly be the first time.

 

********

 

Avathar was not pleased.

 

He had taken his plane back to Ireland, but had hit alarmingly inclement weather not far offshore -- weather that did not appear to be natural. There was power in it, power of a sort he had not felt in millennia, and it had forced him down into the Atlantic, destroying the plane and everything within it.

 

 _He_ was not so easily destroyed, but he had had to make it to shore on his own, only to discover his RV had somehow been trashed. _Someone_ was moving against him, someone quite apart from the Elvenking and his tiny group of mortals. That same someone had played merry hell with his business holdings, and kept him tied up in America rather longer than he would have liked. He still ought to be there, but enough was enough.

 

Guns were difficult to procure in Ireland, but not for him -- he managed several handguns, easily concealed, and another RV under one of his separate identities. Whoever was tracking him would not be able to do so now, and thus could not warn his foes of his presence.

 

He might not yet be able to kill the Elvenking himself, but he _could_ burn the damnable elf’s world to the ground. The three mortals would be easily dealt with, and that forest...he knew exactly what to do about _that_ , though it would be neither swift nor easy, and would require a great amount of telepathic strong-arming that might well take years. It would be simpler once he had dealt with their mysterious hacker, but he had to find him or her first. Fortunately, he had patience. Once he had slaughtered the mortals, he could wait, and in the meantime lay the foundations of his next plan. It involved destabilising the Irish government, but it would not be the first time he had done so to a nation.

 

The Nazis had annoyed him, and look what happened to _them_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief names pronunciation guide has been added to the work description that can be seen preceding chapter one, if anyone is interested. Because Niamh and Saoirse are just not pronounced like you'd think.


	55. Fifty-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, another chapter. In some ways, the one you've been waiting for...;-)

 

Ratiri was not certain what he might have done to earn Thanadir’s displeasure, but he was certain that the ellon was trying to kill him.

 

“Five more lunges, Ratiri, to your left side. Then you may rest.” The seneschal’s face revealed no other emotion except a stern and dignified expectation.

 

Ratiri was sweating profusely, but it was worth it. He’d be sore later, but that was what their bathtub was for. Focusing on his balance, lunge he did, with all the precision his human self could muster -- it probably looked terribly sloppy to Thanadir, but it was the best he was capable of. Perhaps it would be better once he was a little stronger.

 

“And here I thought I was in decent shape,” he sighed, relieved to pause after the last lunge. This sword was a touch heavier than the ones he’d been training with, and though the difference was slight, he certainly noticed it after a while. If he was smart, he’d start lifting Lorna’s weights on his down time. Carrying her around had done much for his upper body, but his core muscles were another story entirely, as were his legs.

 

“You will improve with time, and you did very well. Your form and your footwork are impeccable; strength will follow,” said Thanadir, very pleased. “If you wish, the King informs me that the firith are planning to go running. I would imagine it will not be a strenuous outing, if you wish to continue your exercise. Either way, you have done well today and are excused from more work here. I must see to something in the kitchens, if you will pardon me.”

 

Ratiri smiled and shook his head as the elf withdrew. Thanadir was a formidable mix of many things, and one could not deny that in some ways he exuded more authority than the one who allegedly ran the show. He might just go for a run, or at least a brisk walk.

 

*****

 

Lorna had a different problem. “Did you want to go running with me, Lorna? I would go slow for you, and we cannot go too far.” Earlene appeared to be insufferably cheerful.

 

“You know, I think I just might,” she said, despite knowing she would probably regret it in the end. “You’ve got to know just how bloody wonderful it is to be able to _move_ . I will never take walking like a normal person for granted ever again. Just let me get some trainers, because running in Doc Martens sounds like a recipe for disaster.”   


Earlene frowned. “If your feet are not too sensitive, you might prefer trying it barefoot. There are no thorns or sharp rocks on the forest floor, and with no shoes it feels soft and yielding underfoot. I only wear footwear when I am going to run very fast, and that will not be for a little while. I have lost some of my conditioning, from being so heavy for so long.”

 

Thranduil wisely remained silent as the two firith worked out what they wished. Either way he would be going along to guard them, feeling vaguely grateful that Earlene was not in her top form. It took all his effort to win a footrace against his seneschal, and he knew that at least for short bursts, Earlene could outrun Thanadir.

 

“What the hell, I’ll give it a shot,” Lorna said. “Worst that can happen is my feet get poked, and I went about barefoot all the time even in Baile.” Fortunately she’d braided her hair that morning, so it was out of her face and less likely to get tangled on any foliage she wasn’t tall enough to dodge.

 

The three of them went into the forest via the exit at the forges, having met Ratiri in the lower passages on their way. It was yet very cool this time of year, but not freezing, and it was a glorious sunny day. Thranduil wore a cloak, and though he said nothing, Earlene guessed what was under it that he kept unseen from them. Nor did she meet her husband’s eyes; she equally knew that he did not wish to cause them worry or concern. It was his right. Which was why it surprised her when a hand on her shoulder held her back a step from her friends, and fingers raised her eyes to his as they shared a knowing glance. His thumb caressed her cheek, and she heard _gin melin_ (I love you). Bowing her head to him unnoticeably, she continued on as though she were none the wiser.

 

Once outdoors, she explained running to Lorna; that many people mistakenly ran while allowing their heels to strike the ground first, but that she needed to teach herself to run with her weight on the balls of her feet. It would force her to move her legs differently; she would expend less effort, cause less impact to her joints, and ultimately gain far more speed and stamina. And how to keep her posture, and what to do with her arms. She set off at what for her was a very slow jog, telling Lorna and Ratiri that if they wished to speed up, they could, but to focus on breathing deeply and regularly as they ran. It sounded simple, but in the beginning it could be rather a lot.

 

Lorna had quit smoking long enough ago that she wasn’t immediately winded, but what she mainly was focusing on was where she put her feet. She had to take a step and a half for every step the others took, whereas Ratiri was deliberately hobbling himself so his stride didn’t outpace her by sheer default.

 

It was _wonderful_ to be outside, and Lorna was so, so happy she wasn’t pregnant anymore. Seriously, she had hated it more than she’d hated anything else save prison, but what she’d got out of it had made it worth it. Those two beautiful children were worth anything -- but nevertheless, she was never doing that again. Even yet, being able to see her own feet was a novelty she couldn’t help but appreciate. Sunshine, and the scent of the forest...she felt like a new woman.

 

They jogged along, with Earlene leading the way to the western regions of the forest. There were no beech-nuts now, well she knew. But the huge trees still bound to their dormancy were lovely to behold, as were the new grasses springing underfoot. Her hands would brush the smooth tree trunks and as Thranduil watched her from behind with her unbound hair flowing behind her, he wondered if Lúthien could have appeared as graceful or beautiful. The love he felt for her was bottomless, and at times its intensity surprised him still. He saw that his wife would look back from time to time, and when she noticed that Lorna was showing signs of tiring, she dropped to a walk. “It will be enough, to walk back from here,” she said, smiling at the freshness of the forest. “On such a lovely day, there is no point in undoing ourselves with exercise.”

 

“Thank you,” Lorna said, somehow managing not to wheeze. The day was too beautiful to spend in wheezing. “Jesus, I’m not sure this forest has ever looked so gorgeous, even in the middle’v summer.” She hadn’t seen it in so long that it could be pouring rain and she would still consider it the loveliest thing she’d ever seen. She could go _outside_ . She could _run_ , even if she wasn’t actually that good at it. Movement was not an issue now, and she grinned as she leaned against Ratiri. Finally, after nine months, she was herself again. It made her so happy she could float.

 

_Poor Lorna clearly was not cut out for pregnancy_ , thought Thranduil to himself. He still felt some small guilt for his role in that occurrence, but also knew that she had wanted children very badly. And there was only one means by which to achieve that, and it was accomplished. Going to his wife, he pulled her into his arms with affection, before they laced their fingers together and enjoyed the walk home together. They were all so very happy.

 

“D’you know what I want?” Lorna asked, of everyone and no one. “I want a big, greasy, fatty plate’v bacon, eggs, and sausage, and tea -- _real_ tea -- with so much sugar I can stand the spoon up in it.” She gave Ratiri a pointed look; he was so used to badgering her about her diet that he tended to forget he didn’t have to anymore. “And then cake. And...and...chips loaded with salt and ketchup.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “If you have all that at once, when your system’s not used to it, you’ll just make yourself sick.”

 

“I could cook that if we went to the cottage,” said Earlene. “Though, I’d need a trip to the grocery for the cured meats. Actually, it sounds kind of good...with a salad,” she grinned.

 

Lorna couldn’t help the face she made, which only made Ratiri burst out laughing. It wasn’t that she had disliked the salads Earlene made -- they were actually quite tasty -- but it still wasn’t something she would ever voluntarily eat without an actual reason. “Lorna, you are going to die of a heart attack at age fifty, with the way you eat,” he said.

 

“You bite your tongue,” she said. “Gran ate like that, and she lived to be ninety-seven. I could just eat, I dunno, half’v Siobhan’s bakery right now.” She only wished Mairead were home; she’d managed a few emails through Orla, enough to know that their respective spouses were not pleased about being kept in the dark, but at least everyone was enjoying the sun and idleness.

 

Mairead made her think of cake, which made her think of birthdays, which made her realize she actually had no idea when the hell either Ratiri’s nor Earlene’s actually were. “Earlene, we must’ve missed your birthday while we were up the yard and miserable,” she said. “And Ratiri, when the hell is yours?”

 

Ratiri looked at Earlene, slightly panicked. “January twenty-sixth,” he said. “I didn’t feel like mentioning it, with everything going on.”

 

Lorna glowered at him, letting him know silently just what she thought of _that_ excuse. “Earlene, were you thinking something similar?” Because she might have to poke them both into submission with a spoon.

 

“Erm,” she said, appearing slightly uncomfortable. “To be honest, I forgot about it. I haven’t paid it any mind for years; having no friends will do that. That and I was a little distracted, it was the same day all the children were born. The 20th.”

 

Lorna looked from her to Ratiri, and then at Thranduil. “That’s it,” she said. “I’m going to get something tasty from Siobhan -- and no, I did not mean that to sound as dirty as it did -- and we’re celebrating a joint birthday party.” Her tone left no room for protest on the matter; while they were at the cottage, she would have to look up some things on Amazon. There would be a cake, and there would be presents, and everyone would like it, or get a tiny boot up their arse. Possibly so deep they coughed up shoelaces.

 

Thranduil’s eyebrow raised as he struggled not to laugh. Fortunately he had other things to consider. _It would seem that I owe you birthday sex, meluieg_ , he teased.

 

Earlene suppressed a smile. _Every day of our union has been birthday sex, Thranduil. I am not certain what else you feel you could possibly owe me._

 

_We did not love each other the day you gave birth, Earlene._

 

_An oversight that I am certain you will manage to correct, my Lord?_

 

His head tilted up in that manner he had when he did not wish to be contradicted. _Yes. Precisely._

 

Earlene chose not to respond, because even _her_ ability to keep a face free of expression would not survive the attempt. Aloud she said, “That would be very nice, Lorna. Do you think she can do a nice chocolate cake, with an orange custard? Lately that has sounded so good…”

 

“I can ask,” she said. “I’m sure she can. She’s not quite so good with cakes as Mairead, but nobody is -- hers are still delicious.” And the thought of going to Baile, after all this time...she’d have some explaining to do, but only if she actually chose to do it. She was quite good at telling people to shut it -- she’d just tell them she _couldn’t_ tell them now, and anyone who pushed would regret it. Of course that made her think of _well-made cream filling_ , and she choked back a laugh. Lovely. “What d’you two want for presents? And don’t say ‘Oh, I don’t know’ or anything silly like that. I want an answer.”

 

Truth be told, Ratiri had a hard time thinking of one. He had everything he wanted already. “Um...an X-Files T-shirt?” he offered.

 

“Good answer. Earlene?”

 

“Sheet music. I like Baroque music. Bach and...that time period. Stuff actually written for harpsichord. But I need things to try and play that are not so incredibly hard. There has to be sheet music out there for people that aren’t musical geniuses, or are just learning.” While she knew that the interminable exercises she did with Thanadir at the keyboard were building a solid foundation for later, she desperately wanted some ‘later’ right now.

 

Now that Lorna could do. She wasn’t up on classical music, but she could read sheet music, so she knew what was and wasn’t terribly complicated. “You know, I wonder if any’v that could be accompanied by a guitar,” she said. “I have an acoustic, and now that I have a lap again, I can actually play it.” It wouldn’t quite be Earlene and the Elves, but unless she could con one of the others into playing something, too, it was the closest she could get. “I wonder if Thanadir would teach me the violin.”

 

“You musical people,” Ratiri said. “I’ll just listen.”

 

“Those composers wrote guitar music. Guitar and harpsichord, who knows. But there has to be some stuff that was trans….transwhatevered the word is when they make it for another instrument,” Earlene said.

 

“We’ll have to teach all the kids,” Lorna said. “Once they’re old enough. They make tiny guitars.” The harpsichord would have to wait until they had big enough hands. Lorna probably couldn’t ever play it, given her stupid tiny child hands, but hopefully her kids would wind up bigger than she was.

 

“I had meant to buy Thanadir a steady stream of musical instruments, it wasn’t supposed to only be a violin. He learns everything so quickly. I should get going on that. They make tiny violins, for children to learn. Keyboards too. And...it is much easier to find a piano than a harpsichord. And recorders and...well, everything.”

 

“I was meaning to teach him guitar,” Lorna said, “except I know I’d just be depressed at how fast he’d master it. Took me years, but it’d probably take him a week.” Damn elves -- the one downside with them was that they were just automatically so good at...well, everything. It was enough to give a person a complex.

 

“You can’t think of it that way,” Earlene said. “He already plays something like a guitar, so his ability to learn anything similar is automatically a given. But the keyboard, that’s all new to him. And I think wind and brass instruments would be too. He’ll still learn faster than us because he’s a genius, but it’s not so intimidating when he hasn’t had ten thousand years of whatever to get ahead of us.”

 

Lorna laughed. “True. Guitar’s the only one I know how to play, unfortunately, but at least I’m good at it.” She’d hope so, anyway, given how long she’d been playing the damn thing. “I’m just so damn glad I’ve got a _lap_ again. Couldn’t play when I was up the yard.”

 

“True that,” said Earlene, remembering the last weeks of crushing weight on her seat bones when she tried to practice. It was very good, that the children were out. The last months had not been the most pleasant experience, but she found herself wondering how much of that was because of carrying twins. And while she was not particularly eager to repeat the experience immediately, it had not been unendurable, in her estimation. To have made Thranduil so happy...and she loved her daughters as well. The hardest part, she already realized was going to be Allanah, who she loved. But it was already apparent that it would be a different love. Her children were...like nothing else she was ever going to experience. They were not a month old yet and...they _knew_ things. _Saw_ things. It was visible in their eyes, their behavior. Allanah would need extra love, extra attention, because she would be bypassed before she was old enough to be aware it was happening. Beyond that...she blushed, a little, to herself. What would Thanadir say to find out there would be yet another child? They were already turning into the Trouble With Tribbles episode of Star Trek. It seemed wise, to push such thoughts aside for now.

 

Ratiri was almost troubled. He hadn’t realized just how badly Lorna had loathed being pregnant, because she hadn’t actually said so -- her discomfort had been obvious,  but he was only now realizing how much she had hated it. They definitely needed to make certain it never happened again -- she loved their twins fiercely, and had wanted them from the start, but another child...she’d resent it. She wouldn’t mean to, but he knew her well enough to know she would. He also knew she might or might not be able to actually go through with an abortion -- she _was_ Irish, after all -- so best make sure it just never happened. He didn’t wonder why she’d seriously considered a hysterectomy, though he still thought it way too drastic.

 

He was never, ever going to say this, because he didn’t even want to _think_ it, but he wondered why Von Ratched hadn’t killed the children while he was...there. He utterly hated the thought that he ought to be grateful to that creature, and yet he couldn’t help it, because the fucker could so easily have made her miscarry on top of everything else.

 

The thought made Ratiri pull her closer. All was well, for now, and he would think on that no further. His children were healthy, his fiancée was happy...that was what mattered.

 

*****

 

“I am not happy about the idea of you going to Baile,” Thranduil said, two days later. “I have a deep sense of foreboding, that the man will return here soon. But we have not been warned of any movement from him, and I have no authority over you.” He stared at Lorna and Ratiri, helplessly.

 

“I already called Siobhan -- the cake’ll be ready when we get there,” Lorna assured him. “And you know how I drive. I can be there and back in a little under an hour.” And quite honestly, she just wanted to see her village again, even if only for a few minutes. After having been trapped for so long, as much by her body as any external threat, she just needed to get...out. She was no longer a helpless, pathetic, useless lump; she was mobile and agile and if she didn’t get out into the world soon and do something with that, she’d lose her mind. “And if he was anywhere near Ireland, Orla would’ve said.”

 

There was little Ratiri could say in addition to that; it was pretty much all that needed to be said.

 

“Very well. Be careful, please. And Lorna...I cannot explain why I feel this way but, do not take needless risks.” He knew his words were obnoxious, and yet the feeling in his heart would not allow him to remain silent.

 

“You mean, ‘don’t drive too much like me’?” she asked, with a slight smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back before you know we’re gone, and I’ll make sure I keep it under a hundred and sixty.”

 

With an immense sigh and a weak smile, he nodded. “You will not see them, but your passage to your vehicle will be guarded. Keep alert,” he cautioned, debating whether or not to send a guard with them to Baile, and telling himself in the end that he was overreacting. That and, Thanadir would not survive Lorna’s driving. To be honest, he was not sure that he himself wished to, a second time. The first car trip alone with her was done out of pure love. To contemplate a second trip....well, he had not lost _all_ of his mental faculties, to wish that on himself. But there was at least one good thing. At least Ratiri would be with her, he would surely be a voice of reason.... “I will remain the entire time in Earlene’s cottage, at my computer. If you have any difficulties, you will message me?” he asked with all the strain of a worried parent fussing over their child about to go on a first date.

 

“We will,” they both said, somehow managing to keep straight faces. At least, until they were out the door and beyond the driveway.

 

*****

Orla had set up an algorithm to ping her if any activity came from the individual known as Raoul von Ratched -- if he tried to enter the country, in his plane or any other, she’d know about it. Ping it did, very early one morning -- but it did so to tell her his plane had crashed into the Atlantic.

 

Well. That was handy.

 

She made a note to contact Earlene, sticking it to her desk, but she was in the midst of a rather aggravating contract negotiation with a gobshite who’d hired her to build his house and then reneged on it halfway through. If the damned man was dead -- and there had been no mention of any rescue -- it wasn’t like he was going anywhere. The news wasn’t urgent, so she’d make the call this evening, once she’d got done wanting to hammer her client’s head into a tiny cube.

 

**********

 

Once in the car, out of the forest and out of thought-range of Thranduil, Lorna said, “And _that_ is why I’d never swear fealty. I love Thranduil dearly, but not enough to give up my ability to go where I damn well please.” She knew that he meant well, when he restricted Earlene’s freedom, and Earlene genuinely didn’t mind, but Lorna herself would. Very, very much. To do what Earlene had done required not just an immense level of trust, but a willingness to sacrifice. Lorna...didn’t have that. Oh, she trusted that Thranduil would never, ever ask her to do something she wasn’t willing to, but she knew already that he could be what she would consider way overprotective. (She was so, so glad he’d never tried to ask her to say ‘my lord’, and not just because the concept galled her; she knew she wouldn’t be able to say it with a straight face. It wasn’t a slight on _him_ \-- she had a great deal of respect for him -- but on the institution itself.) As she’d promised him, she’d been trying to accept that he was a king as well as her friend -- but as she’d warned, it wasn’t easy, and she quite often just...forgot. And to be fair, he made that kind of easy, since he never actually _acted_ like a king around them all.

 

“I hate to say this, but I agree with you,” Ratiri said. “Having him as my friend is wonderful. Having him as a sovereign, a sovereign who could order me around, would be another story entirely.” Scotland didn’t have anywhere near the Irish level of issues with monarchy, but that didn’t mean any Scot would want to give a monarch absolute authority over them. Britain’s was different -- the monarch was answerable to others, but Thranduil was a king in the pre-Magna Carta sense of the word, a concept that made Ratiri somewhat uneasy. Like Lorna, he trusted Thranduil implicitly, but that still didn’t mean he wanted to give the Elvenking complete authority over him. To use the religious metaphor he’d spoken of with Earlene, he wasn’t cut out for priesthood, but that didn’t mean he didn’t respect the institution.

 

Watching Lorna come to grips with it had been...fascinating, though he’d never tell her so. While she’d never come out and said it, he knew that she at first thought Earlene entirely insane for signing away her freedom so totally, but she’d slowly been wrapping her mind around it. What had started out as a willingness to accept that Earlene was a goddamn adult who had made her own decisions, despite privately disapproving, had evolved over the months they’d lived in the Halls. Perhaps it was because she saw that Earlene was genuinely happy, or that, so far as they knew, Thranduil had never actually ordered her to do anything. Being as independent as Lorna was, she was automatically going to find any power imbalance in a relationship distasteful, but with Earlene and Thranduil’s, that imbalance seemed, well, nominal. _There_ , yes, but it didn’t appear to be an active part of the relationship.

 

(She _had_ said that the occasional use of ‘my lord’ still made her twitch a bit. Ratiri had told her to think of it as just another endearment, like her calling him ‘allanah’ and him calling her ‘mo chroí’. Framed in that concept, it was much easier for her to swallow.)

 

He shook himself out of his thoughts when they left the village, and Lorna sped up a bit. She didn’t drive entirely like a complete radge on the back roads, but fast enough that he enjoyed it quite a bit. He’d never yet told her that her driving had endeared her to him immensely, but it really had.

 

He rolled down the window, desperate to feel the wind on his face, and, laughing, she did so as well. There was enough traffic on the M7 that she didn’t push it past 140; it meant it would take them a bit longer than she’d promised Thranduil, but not by much.

 

“This,” she said, “is _so damn nice_.” Not only was she not stuck pregnant anymore, she was racing down the motorway with her fiance, the Charger’s eight cylinders growling. The other lunatics seemed to be out in force, and she was having an immense amount of fun weaving through them, taking it up to 160 as she wormed her way through traffic like a snake. Thranduil might be King of the Elves, but she was the Queen of Batshit Drivers, and she defended her title with vim.

 

She felt so... _free_ . She hadn’t realized just how much of a prisoner her own damn body had made her, while she was up the yard, but oh, it had. Her body was her own now -- and not only that, what it had produced, what she’d got as a result of all that misery, had ultimately made it worth it. No, she never wanted to do it _again_ , but she was not sorry she had done it once. The sleep deprivation, the diapers, the spitting up -- it was all worth it. Every time she looked at her children, she was in awe that they had come from her. That she and Ratiri had created something wonderful -- two somethings, in fact, two babies that fussed surprisingly little, and that watched the world with eyes as green as her own. It was far too early to tell which parent they would favor when it came to features, or if, like Chandra’s coloring, they’d be a throwback to an earlier ancestor.

 

She was _not_ looking forward to having to put Siobhan off, unfortunately. She knew damn well the village was wondering just what the hell had taken Mairead and Big Jamie’s families off like thieves in the night, and until Von Fuckwit was dead, she couldn’t even give them the Witness Protection line. All she could do was tell them she’d explain later, and glower down anyone who tried to push. Her temper was still somewhat infamous; if she had to fake it a bit, it couldn’t hurt.

 

At the turnoff, she slowed down some, enjoying the sight. Never had she been away from the village for so long, and she missed it terribly -- though without Mairead and Big Jamie, it wouldn’t be quite the same.

 

Being the middle of a weekday, there really weren’t people out and about, and when they reached Siobhan’s bakery, they found themselves the only customers. Siobhan herself watched her with narrowed eyes.

 

“Don’t ask,” Lorna said, forestalling her. “I mean it, Siobhan. I’ll explain it all later, but right now, it’s dangerous.”

 

Siobhan’s sculpted eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “ _Dangerous?_ ” she asked. “Is that why your sister and Big Jamie took the families and fucked off God knows where?”

 

“It is,” Lorna said. “And Siobhan, I mean it -- I can’t tell you any more yet.”

 

Siobhan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I’m tempted to not give you your bloody cake until you _do_ tell me,” she said. “You’re up the yard, you go away for months, now you’re _not_ up the yard, Mairead and Big Jamie both took their families and scarpered with no notice and no explanation...Lorna, what in fuck is going _on_?”

 

Christ, Lorna had to give her something -- she knew Siobhan, and knew that cake really would stay put until Siobhan said otherwise. “Look, all I can tell you is that it’s got something to do with my trip to New York,” she said. “I mean it, that’s _all_ I can tell you right now. The less you know, the safer you are, and though I sometimes want to thump you, Siobhan, I want you safe. You’ll get an explanation as soon as I can give it without putting you in danger.”

 

Siobhan did not look at all happy with that answer, and Lorna hadn’t expected her to. However, she knew how stubborn Lorna was, and had to realize that was the best she was going to get, and meanwhile there was a cake that ought to not go to waste. It was carefully packed into a carton and then actually buckled into the backseat, so Lorna’s driving wouldn’t send it sliding back and forth.

 

Oh, how she wished she could stay longer, but she’d promised Thranduil she wouldn’t linger, so off they went, back along the winding roads toward the motorway. The cool air rushing in through the windows remained wonderful, and she took her time -- meaning she only went ten kilometers an hour over the speed limit, rather than twenty.

 

There was a little more traffic on the motorway, but proportionately more lunatics, so she had fun -- right up until a red, monstrously oversized pickup decided to ride her bumper before blowing by her so fast it actually shook the Charger. All around her people laid on their horns, a chorus that only served to feed her sudden, shocking rage.

 

Oh. Fuck. _That._

 

There was, on the motorways, a certain etiquette to driving like a nutter, and it included not trying to deliberately wreck anyone else. _That_ son of a bitch was going to KO someone sooner or later, but more importantly, he was threatening her title. She would not cede her monarchical traffic crown to some twat in a truck the size of a small bus. Yeah, _nope_.

 

Not for nothing had she put a V8 in this car -- she stomped the accelerator, working from fifth up to eighth, and grinned as she took off after him. Adrenaline flooded her veins, surging with a wave of wrath and an exhilaration she hadn’t felt since she and Thranduil went tearing down the motorway. The needled climbed to 160 as she slithered through traffic, bearing down on the truck like a tiny avenging angel in a muscle car.

 

Beside her, Ratiri was suddenly worried. He loved psychotic driving as much as the next Scotsman, but this was some next-level insanity -- made all the worse by the fact that whoever was in front of them was every bit as mad as Lorna, if his aggression was any indication.

 

He debated telling Lorna to give it up, and wisely decided against it -- there was no stopping her now, not with that expression on her face. Nevertheless, he gripped the dashboard, hoping like hell their children weren’t about to become orphans.

 

Whoever the driver of the truck was, Lorna was grudgingly impressed, a fact that only served to make her angrier. _Nobody_ got away from her, and yet every time she got close, he’d cross all four lanes. He had a pattern, though; a complex one, but a pattern nonetheless. She followed him across three lanes and dropped back a bit, letting him think he’d got her -- but when he merged back into the third, she dodged round the minivan in front of her and wound up not half an inch off his bumper.

 

“Yeah, póg mo thóin, coileachtarraing,” she growled. _Kiss my ass, cocksucker._ Once assured she had his attention, she laid on her horn. She’d specifically wired the car so it could handle a lorry horn without blowing the whole electrical system -- something that had actually taken an entirely separate circuit. Two short honks and then one long, incredibly obnoxious one -- just enough to get her point across before she stuck her hand out the window and flipped him off. She sent him on his way with as regal, dismissive a wave as she could muster: _be free, peasant. I have ridden your ass, and you are now my bitch._

 

He tore off, and she grinned, slowing down to something approaching a sane speed. That had felt _wonderful_.

 

“Mo chroí, I love you,” Ratiri said, ashen-faced, “but let’s never do that again.”

 

***********

 

While she loved her bicycle and trailer for trips alone to Lasg’len, Earlene had realized somewhere in the past months that it had some impracticalities, once she found herself constantly accompanied by Thanadir. As she was at exactly this moment. Lorna’s fat and carbohydrate laden dream breakfast required stocking up on a number of staples, and truthfully, she had missed cooking a great deal. It had been over four months, since she had been able to manage it with any ease. But before it had all gone by the wayside, a granny cart had been ordered. These had been easy to forget about, since in her old life in Queens, she often shopped at hours that were not conducive to noticing the habits of others...but since coming here, she’d seen a few about the village and decided that this was a definite, easy solution to the need for bringing home groceries when walking with another. So at the same time Lorna and Ratiri departed, Earlene had donned a lovely outfit of human clothes that included a striking blood-red woolen tunic and matching scarf. Her necklace dazzled in the cold late winter sunshine against the lovely color of the warm fabric.

 

As usual, Thanadir insisted on pulling the little cart, while courteously offering his arm to Earlene. He wore a cloak, and she knew what that meant.

 

“Does the sword bother you, meldir, to have to be near it? I found its voice to be disturbing, to say the least.” His eyebrows raised, until she raised her head to give him a look that amounted to, ‘ _I’m not an idiot and I know you have it, so you might as well answer my question_.’

 

He chuckled. “Aran Thranduil said that you noticed, when the others do not. And the answer is, I do not relish being near it. Its voice is not something any of Eru’s children should wish to hear. But for your safety, for why it is necessary; I have learned to not hear it. That is to say, I ignore it. I do not believe it is able to affect me, as much as you. It is part of why the King tries hard, to keep it from you and the others.”

 

She nodded. “And yet of old, a human wielded its mate, is that not so?”

 

The old elf frowned. “It is true. Túrin did have Anglachel. Though he named it anew, It remained Eöl’s blade.  And yet while no one truly understands what transpired, what is known for certain is that Anglachel tasted the blood of a mortal, and then was successfully used to kill the ellon Beleg. For the safety of all, it is an artifact best kept removed from your kind.”

 

“I understand, Hîr vuin, and have Thranduil’s command laid on me. I only wished to know more.”

 

“You have more than earned my trust, Earlene. It is well,” he said. “Let us find something more pleasant to discuss. Perhaps you would tell me what you are going to cook?”

 

She laughed, in fine spirits. “Never change, Thanadir.” It took some time, for her giggles to settle down. “Lorna wished for bacon, and sausage. But I am going to make Toad in the Hole with the sausage, it is a more refined dish. It is like sausages in Yorkshire pudding…”

 

The rest of their walk to town was filled with her discussions on the merits of different recipes, as well as her determination to float Eggs Benedict past Lorna, in addition to a kind of chocolate cake she was willing to wager had never been seen by her. It was a very happy elf, that walked alongside her on the return trip from the grocery, and the liquor store. Earlene wished badly to stop in for a pint even though it was only early afternoon; but Thranduil would be too worried at the delay if they did. She had noted his extreme reluctance to even permit this outing, though she could not fully understand its nature. And then she recalled that Von Wreckenheimer had sent her something, in the weeks before the twins were born. Perhaps whatever it was had caused him to feel more threatened? She could ask; the worst that could happen is that he would refuse to answer. It was her turn to pull the cart; she had insisted. But that did not stop her from walking hand in hand with him, enjoying the fresh air, the sunshine, and the company of her treasured friend.

 

Which is why, when a voice spoke from a short distance behind them as they walked at the north edge of the paved road, her heart leaped into her throat.

 

“I did not think to find myself so lucky,” Avathar said, and he really hadn’t -- either Thranduil was insane, or just plain stupid. He’d been quite certain he’d have to actually penetrate the forest, but this...well. He leaned against the fence, arms crossed, watching the pair of them with unveiled amusement.

 

As much as Earlene should have felt terrified, nothing of the sort was happening. _Maybe the Ice Queen is back after all_ , she thought morosely. Though, it did not take a genius to realize that this was bad. Very bad. _Goddamn vegetation all over the place,_ she thought, eyeing the copses and underbrush that dominated both sides of the road on this particular stretch. It had no doubt afforded him the perfect cover, and here they were like flushed rabbits.

 

“Gwo adel nin, meldis,” (Go behind me, meldis) Thanadir said very softly. Earlene obeyed reflexively, but her composure was intact. There was something else she could do, hidden from sight, that Thanadir could not. Once behind him, her phone was already out, tapping the icon for chat. “ _QWERTY_ ,” she entered to Thranduil. This was the code they’d all agreed on, long ago, should something like this happen. “ _Road. 0.2km east of cottage._ ” When she tapped ‘send’, her heart sank. There was barely signal here, and the spinning wheel icon was telling her that her message was not sent. _Valar, please,_ she prayed, even as she had to pocket the device before her activity could be noticed.

 

Avathar arched an eyebrow. “You think the elf will protect you?” he asked, giving him a dismissive glance. This one seemed no fit bodyguard -- soft, innocent. Almost casually, Avathar produced a gun from the holster at his back and shot the elf square in the chest.

 

The crack of it echoed off the distant trees, but he knew already it was not a fatal wound -- small-caliber firearms were notoriously finicky. Oh well. It just meant the elf would take longer to die.

 

“I need not touch you to kill you, Earlene,” he said, not bothering to point the gun at her. “The necklace you wear -- it protects you, does it not? To grab you would be unwise, but shall we test and see if it will stop a bullet?”

 

“Meldir,” she whispered in horror, as she felt him recoil back into her and heard his cry of pain.

 

Stepping out from around the elf, she stood fully in front of Thanadir, glaring coldly at...it. “I can save you the bother,” she said. “It will not. Just as we both know you will shoot me anyway. Because you are a pathetic, cowardly excuse for one of your kind that will only lash out against one who is weaker. Vulnerable. Suited to offering your particular brand of foulness some entertainment, because you are _bored_ , aren’t you? Bored for so very long, and now you’ve found a new hobby. It had to have been hard, all those years since your chemicals gassed millions for the Nazis. How did you ever manage? A rape here, a fuck and a murder there? It must have been excruciating, all that Nothing to do.” What she noticed most was the play of emotion across his face. Or perhaps emotion was not the word. _This is your proverbial conversation with Smaug, Earlene,_ she thought. _If I can only come up with enough to engage him, it buys time. And time means hope._

 

Avathar actually rolled his eyes. “I played games,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he regarded her. “Business is just a game, but I’m sure you know that. It _is_ rather dull when everyone around you is insufferably stupid -- but then, perhaps you know that as well.”

 

At his words, Earlene flashed him a dazzling smile. She had guessed that just as with her view of her former job, the word ‘game’ had much to do with everything happening, in his eyes. “It’s too bad,” she said. “You would have made an worthwhile lawyer.” She tilted her chin up, as she said it, throwing everything into an act designed to flatter him. Because flattery meant conversation, and that too bought time. What was not so easy to process were the sounds of Thanadir’s audible breathing behind her. Though every fiber of her being wanted to hold him, help him, she believed with all she was that her current efforts were helping the most.

 

“If only I had met you first,” Avathar said, and there was a touch of genuine regret in his tone. He could have had quite a lot of fun with Earlene, had the damned Elvenking not discovered her. “Perhaps, when all is over, I will become one. A lawyer. We are all meant to change.” It was such a pity he couldn’t get into her mind -- he disliked the thought of killing this woman, yet if he couldn’t invade her mind and drag her away, he had little choice. Even yet he probed, searching for some crack in whatever defense that necklace gave her, and found none. A very powerful enchantment indeed had to be laid upon it, for it to so thoroughly keep him out. “Where is your husband, Earlene?”

 

“He is at home, of course,” said Earlene, knowing that they had about three of those inside the forest, and that it was a non-answer. “And what would you have done, having met me first? What you did to Lorna? I would argue that it would rather have been a waste,” she said in tones that could almost be described as seductive. She felt and heard Thanadir behind her, demanding again in Sindarin for her to get behind him. His hands were on her shoulders moving her with strength that she was not able to resist. Though, she tried. If she could avoid it, he would not be left vulnerable again. The truth was, in this situation, she was the expendable one. He had the only means by which to bring this creature to ruin, but not if he was dead. “No,” she said, struggling against the seneschal.

 

“I wouldn’t have had to, Earlene,” Avathar said, almost indulgently. “Lorna saw me for what I am...not. You might have thought me distasteful at first, but no more than that, and I could have won you over. Eru knows I’ve done it before.” He couldn’t help but smirk at this tender little scene -- the elf had persistence, he’d give him that, but what did he think he could truly do? “Oh, do give up.” Quite without fanfare, he shot Earlene in her left shoulder and her right leg, before almost lazily taking the elf through the thigh and the knee. Earlene howled in pain. The bullets tearing into her hurt, but not as much as the thought of what was happening to Thanadir. Instinctively she turned to him as they both crumpled to the pavement together. In a strange twist, having recently given birth to twins made this particular experience pale by comparison.

 

“Meldir, no,” escaped her in a whisper. “Valar please, not him. Not him. I beg you...” She pulled Thanadir against her, heavy though he was.

 

To his distinct irritation, he heard the roar of a car approaching -- a very powerful car, by the sound of it. He reached for the driver’s mind, automatically waving them off as he took aim again at the elf -- only for two thousand pounds of metal to crash into him at a hundred and forty kilometers an hour.

 

Even with his reflexes, he couldn’t help but be thrown, though he managed to catch himself and land gracefully behind the vehicle, which skidded to a halt just before it could hit the fence.

 

Lorna was panicking. No, she was _more_ than panicking, because Thranduil was going to absolutely _murder_ her. Assuming she hadn’t just flat-out killed this poor bastard, Thranduil could heal him or her, but that she’d hit anyone at all...oy. _Shit._

 

She scrambled out of the car, somewhat horrified at the dent on the hood -- but then, she’d going so fast she _had_ to have hit someone that hard. Oh Christ, she didn’t want to go -- oh.

 

A furlong away, Thranduil had heard the sharp popping sounds in the distance, and dread washed over him. But he could not leave; there was a plan in place and if he were not here to receive information...curse that there will still too many things in the human world on which he was uncertain, lacked knowledge. Even as his insides wrenched, the message from Earlene came through on the screen in front of him. He was out the door as fast as his long legs could race, calling out in his mind to Thalion, Feren, Beothien and their patrols that were not far away.

 

It was unsettling, just how she could feel relieved and disturbed at the same time. Why the _fuck_ hadn’t Orla warned them he was here? Jesus. “Oh. It’s you,” she said, and was somewhat shocked at the sheer amount of rage that spiked through her. “YOU DENTED MY FUCKING CAR, YOU _SPOON!_ ”

 

“ _Lorna_ \--” Ratiri made a wholly fruitless grab for her. He had no idea who this pale man was, but he wasn’t stupid; how many people would Lorna say “oh, it’s you” to in such a tone? Knowing her she was likely to go after the bastard with her bare hands, but he scrabbled through her backseat for the tire-iron. It probably wouldn’t be at all effective, but he had to try something.

 

Avathar couldn’t believe his luck. He had not thought to find little Lorna outside the elves’ halls, and now here she was, tiny and infuriated and so lovely he could _eat_ her. In the fun way. “You were the one who hit me,” he pointed out, almost mildly. “Really, driving like that on a country road...what were you thinking?”

 

“Didn’t think I’d hit you, but I can’t say I’m sorry,” she snarled, before her eyes tracked her lover, who had found the two he’d already shot and grown bored of. “You -- _Jesus_.” She tried to dart to them, but he brought his gun up, pointed at her face.

 

“I think not,” he said, ignoring the other man -- a healer of some sort, no doubt about to waste his time trying to bandage the others.

 

Her eyes narrowed. “You and I both know you’re not going to shoot me,” she said. “Not yet. You wouldn’t’ve been sending me those creepy presents if it was killing me you wanted. Now out’v my bloody way.”

 

She was so assured of herself that he was tempted to shoot her just to prove her wrong, but forebore for now -- he was trying to push into her thoughts, to bend her to his will, and was finding it every bit as impossible as it had been with Earlene.

 

Why? _Why?_

 

“ _Lorna_.” The man, Ratiri, tried to grab her, to shield her -- brave, if stupid, and Avathar, now quite annoyed, shot him in the thigh.

 

Ratiri collapsed, his cry as startled as it was pained, as white-hot agony flared through his leg. The tire-iron fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers, and Lorna failed to catch it.

 

“ _Jesus--_ ” She fell to her knees, pressing her hands over the wound, but blood was already wicking its way through the denim of his jeans. Utterly ignoring Von Fuckface, she pulled off her outer flannel, trying to wrap it around Ratiri’s leg like a bandage.

 

“Not _quite_ the tone you said that in, when last we met,” Avathar said, with a slight smirk. “Though say it you did, among a great many other things. You were the only mortal to know my true name, and you cried it out so beautifully.”

 

The words disgusted Ratiri, enraged him, and yet he knew already he would be of no use. His leg hurt so badly he couldn’t actually tell just where he’d been shot, but with this amount of blood, even with a makeshift tourniquet...he was getting dizzy, fast, fingers tingling as they lost sensation. He clamped down hard on the wound anyway, knowing if he could hold it down until Thranduil arrived, he’d be fine.

 

Rather to her own surprise, Lorna...really didn’t give a shit what Von Ratched said. At all. “Will you _shut it_?” she demanded, applying pressure as she tied the sleeves into a knot. Her hands were bathed in red, her arms streaked with it, and when she heard him shift behind her, she snatched up the tire iron and rounded on him.

 

“Put down the gun,” she growled, knowing full well she was entirely insane, and not particularly capable of caring. “Fight like a real bloody man, you gobshite. I swear to Christ I will jam this so far up your arse you’ll sick up your _liver_ .” Despite knowing it would do fuck-all but make her feel better, she slammed him in the face with the thing as hard as she could. It made a satisfying _crack_ , if nothing else, until he wrenched the thing from her hand.

 

“Oh Lorna,” he sighed. “You’ll pay for that, but not yet. You’re coming with me, and I can’t have you running off.” He aimed the gun at her, sounding almost bored. Even yet, his eyes were cold, chips of pale ice, an expression that didn’t change even when he fired.

 

Lorna was confused as all _shit_ . There were flying knives and a gunshot that, at this range, ought to have killed her, and yet he’d -- missed? No, not missed. She’d felt something hit her, like a pebble: not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that it registered, followed by an odd _tink_.

 

Avathar stared at her. That had been a point-blank shot to the abdomen -- he had not missed. It should have torn through her like a knife through gauze, and yet it had scarcely struck her. “What _are_ you?” he demanded, though he was already certain he would get no answer, for she seemed as baffled as he -- baffled, and not a little panicked.

 

“I don’t _know_ ,” she said, staring up at him. “What in the shit--”

 

Thanadir briefly held onto Earlene before whispering through his pain. “Meldis, you must release me. He is distracted now, there is a chance. I do not wish to hurt you. Obey me, Earlene.”

 

Stifling the sobs that wanted to pour out of her, she did as he asked, though she was certain he was going to his death. “I love you, meldir. Always know that,” she said, as she released him, not knowing if she had the courage to watch what came next. And yet... _Yes you goddamn will, Earlene. You will not turn from him. And..._ her lips parted, as she felt her knife inside one of her boots. With a face contorted with pain and rage, she forced herself to her feet, drawing the blades as she rose. He had shot her in her off hand shoulder, meaning that she could still throw. Her leg hurt, so very badly, with each step she took, but she had to gain an angle that did not include Thanadir. That fucker was about to shoot Lorna, _oh god, no…_ She heard the crack of the pistol, and with all her might threw her knives in sequence, feeling at least some satisfaction as each of them buried themselves in his back. Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion. The seneschal silently drew the horrible glinting blade, with the eerie lines of fire running through it. Lorna was still standing and...with a gasp, Earlene saw the fire flash in Thanadir’s eyes as he drove the blade up into Von Ratched’s torso from the classic ‘ready’sword-fighting position she had learned was called ‘The Fool.’ _Well if that isn’t fitting,_ she smiled _._ With a groan, she sank back down. It was all she had to give.

 

The knives had stung, little more than an annoyance, but _this_ \-- this was _infuriating_ , and actually rather painful. True pain was a novelty, and not one he enjoyed. It burned through him now, as hot as his wrath. That delicate little elf was stronger than he looked, but let him stay strong through _this_ . Those that loved were weak in the face of those they lost, and little Lorna -- little _not-shot_ Lorna -- was oh so close. This blade would pierce her right through the throat, and she would bleed her last on the weapon meant to kill him.

 

Quicker than a snake he lashed out, seizing her by the hair and jerking her to him, and --

 

His vision went white, all sense of sight and sound and even touch abruptly stolen from him. It was as though his every muscle had seized up at once, and yet more than that; for a moment, paralysis gripped his very fëa, and for a moment, a very _long_ moment, he knew nothing.

 

As Thranduil rounded the bend in the road, his worst imaginings were confirmed, and the worst part was his inability to already know what transpired. But much as it wrenched his spirit to make this choice, his duty was clear. He saw Thanadir with Von Ratched, and he saw Anguirel had found its prey. His priority was those, and nothing else.

 

“Agar! agar!”(blood! blood!) the cold voice of Anguirel wailed in delight, as the fire-lines in the blade pulsed brighter.

 

Revolted, Thranduil stepped between Lorna and Von Ratched, firmly seizing the creature’s hands in an unbreakable hold. Every ounce of his strength was channeled into his grasp. “Lorna, if you have any means by which to bind his legs, do it, quickly,” he asked, glancing down to see that somehow, she seemed to be unhurt. As information flooded into him from Ratiri and Thanadir, though, he knew they had been shot. Ratiri’s wounds were the most critical, Thanadir’s the most serious. Thalion and the others were already ringing their position, with their bows drawn. “Ú-adlego pilin!” (Do not release arrows!), he ordered.

 

Lorna, who by now had no idea just what in the name of mother fuck was going on, scurried to her car to grab a coil of rope from her trunk -- ever since reading _The Lord of the Rings_ , she’d taken Sam Gamgee’s words about rope to heart, but she’d been... _Jesus_.

 

No time to think about it right now, though. She could barely think, period, but she _could_ drop to her knees and try to wrap the rope around Von Fuckface’s legs.

 

He wasn’t making it easy -- he was struggling far too much for a man with a sword through his chest, and she had to give up on the rope and just hold his legs herself, her teeth gritting together with the effort. He kicked her, possibly by accident, and then, yet again, he... _froze_. Light, blinding bright, seared her vision a second time, totally disorienting her.

 

Seriously, _what in the shit?_

 

For the first time in all his long, long life, Avathar tasted his own blood, hot and salty as it worked its way up his throat with every breath. This sword, he _knew_ this sword -- one of the few elven artefacts he had heard of, during the whole of the First Age, and its voice sang vicious in his ears, in his mind.

 

“Dagithon! Dagithon!” (I will slay! I will slay!) Anguirel sang.

 

He threw himself forward, or tried to; the Elvenking was stronger than he looked, his cold, cold eyes twin sparks of arctic fire. _So righteous, Elvenking_ , Avathar said, and spat blood in his face -- just in time for everything to go white yet again, the world around him blank.

 

Earlene felt a fresh wave of wrath that blinded her to her own pain, and crawled toward all of them, until she decided that this was a terrible idea. Feren was closest to her. “Atho nin,” (help me) she pleaded with the ellon. He glanced over, hearing her, and with visible reluctance reversed his draw. Common sense told him that enough other warriors were at hand, and he swiftly stepped to her side. “Aníron eriaed,” (I want to get up) she said, reaching up. He grasped her firmly around her uninjured forearm, lifting her easily to her feet, and seeing her grimace. When she stepped forward, it was obvious what she wanted. He tried to aid her, but she shook him off. “Len hannon,” she whispered, as she hobbled forward, her eyes blazing with growing, single-minded wrath. Careful to avoid the blade of Anguirel, she had one of her knives out of Von Ratched’s back before Thanadir or Thranduil had the presence of mind to notice her.

 

She stepped around to the front of him, the handle of her knife now held between her teeth, and began unfastening Von Ratched’s belt. “Meluieg, what are you doing?” Thranduil asked, alarmed. No answer came, as she next began to undo his trouser buttons. “Meluieg, _what_ are you doing?” This time there was more insistence to his question.

 

“This,” she hissed, as she plunged the knife into him, pulling upward with all her strength. When she felt the knife stop against his sternum, she twisted the angle of the blade so that it would follow the line of his lowest rib, and then she pulled in that direction.

 

“Earlene, STOP!” he demanded, growing angry but not daring to release his hold on Von Ratched’s wrists.

 

_No. I will not stop. I am sworn to accept your punishment for disobedience, and that is what I choose._ There was no penetrating her rage. For what he had done to Lorna. To her meldir. To her. That he would not have stopped until the world of the beautiful elves was in ruins all around them. She would accept whatever consequence, to carry out what she was currently doing. And now that she had that side of him open, she pushed her knife in deeply on the other side and pulled the opposite way. “I didn’t do this right, before,” she hissed into Von Ratched’s dimming eyes. “You see, when a pig is gutted, it means just that. All the insides have to come _out_ . I hope you can pardon me, for having done such a poor job the _first time_.” She threw the knife aside and plunged her hand inside of him, just under the bottom of his breast bone.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened as he perceived the depth of her intention. This disobedience, in front of his warriors...he was near to wrath, until he recalled that only Thanadir could understand English. But there was more. He mastered himself, to remind her of something she had forgotten.

 

_Earlene, please...there is a reason. Anguirel must kill him. If you go through with this, he will not be weakened enough. He could come back._

 

At this, he saw her pause, and close her eyes. Slowly, her hand came back out of him. “Tisiphone is denied,” she spat, smearing her bloody hand down Von Ratched’s cheek. Turning, she wordlessly walked away, her mind awash in unrequited fury. Before Thranduil could speak further to her, he had more distractions.

 

Fuck _this._ Lorna snatched her boot-knife out of her right boot, neatly slicing through both Von Ratched’s hamstrings before rising, barely dodging Earlene, and with a somewhat savage grin she managed to scale the fucker like a tree, admittedly having to use Thranduil and Thanadir as guides to get up his side without cutting herself on that ungodly sword. His struggles were lessening now, but he was still very much alive, those pale eyes filled with malice as well as pain.

 

“I’m certain you kissed me, didn’t you?” she asked, bracing both her feet against his side and hoping like hell Earlene didn’t stab through her boot. “Of course you did, you sick fuck. Enjoy _this._ ” She had to lean over to do it, but she sank her teeth into his nose, biting down hard. She’d bitten someone’s nose off once, many years ago now, and had never forgotten the crunch -- it was just as satisfying now, as was the copper-salty taste of his blood. She almost wasn’t aware when her fingers came up to claw at his eyes, just as she scarcely had any awareness that she was actually drinking that lovely blood, slurping at it like a cat.

 

“Lorna!” Thranduil said, horrified. “Stop, please!” This was beyond needing wine. Earlene’s behavior had been bad enough but _this_...he could not look.

 

Von Ratched thrashed, and nearly dislodged her, until warm hands closed over her waist -- warm hands that were, even through her vest-top, sticky with blood. _Ratiri_ . She bit harder -- _crunch, crunch --_ Von Ratched’s eyes like warm grapes beneath her questing fingers. _Your ears you’ll keep, and I’ll tell you why_ , she thought wildly. Was this what she would have felt, when she went blank? The heat and blood and sheer _euphoria_ , the heady power that came with rage, with pain inflicted on one who deserved it.

 

He was trying to speak, and she couldn’t be having _that_. Clambering down his arm, still braced by Ratiri, she sank her teeth into his throat, tearing like a rabid badger, chewing through flesh and muscle and all but bathing in the arterial blood.

 

Ratiri’s hold weakened, his own blood loss too severe for him to even remain standing -- the world rocked beneath him, his head light and vision blurred at the edges. Lorna came down with him, staring at Von Ratched with eyes that might or might not even see him. Eyes like green fire, in a face smeared with crimson, her white vest-top dyed with it -- she looked like she’d come from an abattoir, except that her teeth too were stained red. The knife in her left hand dripped it, and he thought, through rising delirium, that she looked like a tiny avenging Fate.

 

“Aníron agar athan agar hen” (I want more blood than this) keened Anguirel in its high-pitched voice.

 

“Stronger than I thought, Elvenking,” Avathar gasped, the words a gurgle in his ruined throat. The cold light left his eyes, as he breathed his last.

 

Releasing his hold, Thranduil stepped around the dead creature to take the sword from Thanadir’s grasp, and then released Von Ratched to crumple to the ground. In two swift motions, he cleaned the blade on what few places on the man’s clothing that were not yet soaked in gore, and sheathed it at Thanadir’s belt, before catching at the body of the elf that had no remaining strength to stand. “I will aid you soon, brother, but Ratiri is dying.” The nod he received was all the communication needed between the two of them. He swiftly turned and knelt, gathering Ratiri to him as his hand searched out the wound. His light blazed forth, and in moments the wound was closed. Thranduil gestured for three of his fighters to come forward. “Den mabo othronn anin” (Bear him to the Halls).

 

The words ‘Ratiri’ and ‘dying’ were enough to snap Lorna out of her odd haze. While part of her itched to desecrate the corpse of that _thing_ , Ratiri was more important. He would live, thanks to Thranduil, but she didn’t want him waking alone. He was alive and breathing and Von Ratched was not -- it was _over_ , and yet...and yet things had happened, things she didn’t understand, and it was all she could do not to scream. Her blood still sang with adrenaline, and --   and -- and on the ground, there was a bullet. A single bullet, right where she’d been standing when he’d shot her, or tried to shoot her, or...whatever. Without thinking she picked it up, tucking it into her pocket.

 

She had enough presence of mind to get her car to the cottage, at least, bloody hands gripping the wheel. Dimly, she noticed that the weather was clouding; there would be rain by evening. By tomorrow, there should be no evidence of what they had done.

 

A shudder wracked her, and she grabbed a flannel shirt from the back, held it over her mouth, and screamed, muffling it in the fabric. The blood on her hands was tacky, her shirt stuck to her torso, and she screamed again, until she’d let it all out. The copper-salt taste lingered in her mouth, and when she spat, it came out red.

 

Almost dreamily, she fetched the cake from the back of the car, and made her slow way to the Halls. It was over, but she had so, so many questions, because some of what had happened should not have been possible, and she couldn’t even try to comprehend it right now.

 

All she could think of was Ratiri. Ratiri, who had helped her even through his own injuries -- Ratiri, who had nearly _died_. She needed him and their children. Nothing else would do, until she had them both. They were safe now, all of them. Von Ratched was dead, for once and for all. Hopefully, once that sank in, it would be enough.

 

**********

 

Thranduil turned next to Thanadir. “i sadron nîn,” he whispered, at seeing how great his pain was.

 

Thanadir managed a smile. “I am still older than you,” he said. “I am not going to Námo today.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. “No, you are not. Lie still.” The sensation of the bullets lodged inside of him working their way out was not enjoyable, but there was no further hurt. Soon he rose, sighing with relief.

 

“Thank you, my King,” he said, finally having the wherewithal to look around. “Where is Earlene?” he asked softly, knowing that she had disobeyed Thranduil’s command. And then, with uncharacteristic boldness, he added, “Please, forgive her. She…” Thranduil held up his hand, his eyes flashing. With a bow of acquiescence, he said no more, but the worry etched across his face did not leave.

 

Where _was_ Earlene, indeed? Baffled, Thranduil looked all around. He inquired of the archers, who looked at each other blankly. “Den mabo delo nuin, ias i ‘ach.”  (Take him under the roof, where the cow is) he said, gesturing at Von Ratched’s corpse. Surely, they would catch her on the road.

 

Thanadir could not keep his silence. “My King, please. I only wish to make sure you know that Earlene too was shot. Twice.”

 

His eyes widened. No, he had not known. “Tolo,” (come) he said to Thanadir, taking only an extra moment to dismiss the others entirely; they were free to do as they pleased, once the corpse was taken away.  The two ellyn jogged along the road, certain that at any moment they would see Earlene. They did not.

 

*****

 

Earlene had walked until she was around the bend in the road, and as her mind began to clear, she weighed what she had done. That she could not have done differently, she felt certain. And yet it was a heavy price, to her own honor. Deliberate disobedience, in view of her vows...she sighed. If she were a different person, it might have been tempting to just run off and keep running. But even that was a stupid notion. _Run where, and do what?_ _Run. If I do that, I can buy myself some time. Some time to think, in my favorite place. Besides, it’s probably where I’ll be left anyway._ Part of her chuckled. _How do you punish someone who actually likes your dungeon? Guess I’ll find out,_ she thought, willing herself to run. The pain was absolutely blinding, but it was not as bad as birthing those children. And she ran and ran, until it the agony rendered it impossible to carry on. But she had by now reached the Gates, and not much more limping along took her to her cell, where the cool stone offered some small relief to her burning injuries. _Why did I just do any of that? Why couldn’t I do what I was told? It didn’t really work, to try and take matters into my own hands. Look what I have to live with, now. If I’d done what I wanted, we might never be rid of that fucker. What...happened?_ And like with Thanadir, so long ago in this very same place, she had no answers, no matter how she reframed the question.

 

*****

 

The moment they crossed into the driveway, Thranduil’s eyes widened. “She is at the Halls,” he said, looking at Thanadir, completely bewildered. “How….”

 

“By Eru,” Thanadir shook his head. “She ran.” Which is what the two of them did, not stopping until they reached the descent to the dungeon.

 

“You will come with me, meldir. I will not pretend that we are not family, or that this matter is merely one of King and subject. I have made that mistake enough times already.” They found Earlene exactly where they expected to. She smiled weakly through a haze of pain, at seeing them.

 

“I thought having time to think would help me understand why I did that. And it has not,” she said softly.

 

Thranduil went to her without saying a word, pulling her to him to heal her injuries. Her pain was staggering, and to have run here, hurt this badly? _Why? Why would she do it?_ This took longer, and he asked silently for Thanadir’s help. Forcing the bullets from her body was an additional necessity of repairing these injuries; they were buried more deeply than the ones Thanadir had taken. Releasing her, he sat down on one side of her, and Thanadir on the other.

 

Even as she whispered “Thank you, my Lord,” to Thranduil, her mind filled with relief to see that Thanadir was perfectly well. Now, nothing mattered at all; she could be left down here to rot and be fine with it. They were all alive and well, and that they were here meant that Von Ratched was dead.

 

Thranduil reached to gently turn her face to his. “Earlene, is what you mean that you ran here to try have time to understand why you disobeyed me?”

 

“Yes,” she nodded. “And...I am sorry that I disobeyed. I will always be sorry that I failed to keep my promises to you. But...I could not have done differently, no matter how I turn it in my mind. And that is the part I cannot understand,” she said, profound sadness coming over her. “Am I doomed to be a rebellious, unreliable oathbreaker, forsworn every time I become angry enough? Because that seems to be the commonality. I would ask you to forgive me, but how can I when this is not the first time? What is the matter with me?” she said, shaking her head. “I accept whatever judgement you give; it is no less than I deserve.”

 

Thanadir’s heart bled. He knew what she felt like, better than anyone. And to not understand why he had done a thing he knew to be wrong...he knew that too. Which made him think of something. “Earlene, you told me about...myself. Or rather, you told me that I am different in some ways that contributed to my behavior in certain circumstances. Might it not be the same for you?”

 

Thranduil listened, and frowned. Because now that this had been said, there _were_ similarities. But surely his wife was not in this... Asperger’s... category?

 

Earlene smiled. “I am not the same as you, Thanadir. And while I appreciate what you are trying to do, it is an attempt to give me an excuse for something that is not excusable.”

 

“No Earlene, it is not an excuse. It is a reason. I thought the same about my own actions, when I broke the King’s command. And if I had a reason, however difficult to see, then so do you.”

 

Some of her smile crumbled away, because she was forced to see the logic he was using. And she was desperately searching for a reason why he was wrong, but he would not give her the space in which to do it.

 

“You have only ever acted this way when you were pushed to extreme anger in extraordinary circumstances, Earlene. He shot both of us. He was going to kill both of us. He shot Ratiri and tried to kill Lorna. Why is it so hard to accept that when you are brought to fury, that you make choices you later do not understand, while yet realizing that you could not have behaved differently at the time?”

 

Her lips parted, and there was a long pause. “Because I do not want you to be right,” she said quietly, lowering her eyes to the floor. “I cannot ever…”

 

“Earlene, look at me,” Thranduil said. With a visible effort, she complied. “I am not going to punish you. Over this same issue I laid heavy restrictions on Thanadir, believing that my discipline would teach him not to repeat his mistake. It only caused him to suffer, and I now deeply regret my judgement. I do not believe punishing you would accomplish anything. You did obey me, when it mattered most. When you understood the reason for my command, you stopped what you were doing. I will agree that you were pushed beyond what you should have ever been required to endure, from him.”

 

Anguish spread over her visage. This felt worse, much worse, than if he had told her she could enjoy her current surroundings for a few days. And Thanadir saw this too. “No meldis, you must not think this way.”

 

She shot him a sidewise glare before turning to kneel in front of Thranduil, taking his hand. “You are more generous than I deserve. I will not be so naive as to promise you that I will never fail in this manner again. But I will make a sincere effort to understand, and do better. Please forgive me, my King.”

 

The comparative calm of her spoken words masked the sincere regret, confusion and sense of inexplicable failure inside of her. It was the last part, that Thranduil keyed on. And suddenly, everything made sense. In his wife’s mind, everything was about control. Self-control, control of external events, it mattered not. To Earlene there had only ever been her unbreakable personal restraint and command. And if that was lost, for whatever reason, her very ability to feel that she had any worth was taken along with it. Only blaming herself remained, with a bottomless capacity for self-recrimination. It was a tragic cruelty, in its own way as bad as what Thanadir had faced. And this was the key, he realized, and he intended to use it. “On one condition, I will forgive you,” he said, in a tone of voice that earned her full attention, even as her face fell further.

 

“What is it, my Lord?” she asked with humility.

 

“You will listen with an open mind and heart, to what Thanadir will teach you about abandoning beliefs that are harmful to your well-being. You will not refuse to speak to him, or otherwise ignore him.”

 

Only a slight trembling of her chin betrayed how deeply this pierced her. She had been outmaneuvered, and she knew it. Her shoulders sagged in defeat and her head bowed. “I will, my King.” She brought his hand to her lips, and kissed it.

 

“Then, I forgive you, Earlene.”

 

From nowhere, she began to cry. Deeply held convictions felt as though they were being forced to crumble. She was picked up, by whom did not matter. Sandwiched between them, she was warmly embraced, but it was Thanadir that spoke softly. “I know it hurts, Earlene. It hurts to let go of things we believe we need, in order to be who we are.”

 

_Meluieg, I love you more than you can know. We are free now, of him. The Valar fulfilled their promise. I want our happiness, and that means you too being free, of how terribly hard you are on yourself. I know why it is there, beloved. But not all of it has been good for you. Let Thanadir help you. You gave him a path to freedom; now allow him to do the same for you._

 

“I love both of you,” escaped her through her tears.

 

“And we love you, Earlene,” she heard Thanadir say. “No more tears, meldis. Would you let us have you sleep, for awhile?”

 

Once she nodded, Thranduil slowly calmed her, until she was resting in slumber. “Take her to our room and stay with her, please? I need to tend further to Ratiri,” Thranduil said, caressing her cheek as Thanadir lifted her into his arms.

 

“Thranduil,” he said as he saw the King about to leave. “She tried to defend me, from him. After he shot me the first time, she moved in front of me, to protect me with her body. She…” his eyes were filling with tears.   
  
“Meldir,” he said with sympathy. “All is well, now. I will return, to see all of your memories. We are free of him, now.”

 

Thanadir nodded, with a half smile, and followed him through the passageways until their paths diverged. He moved swiftly past an alarmed Maerwen and Lothiriel, saying only that the queen was resting. Laying her on the bed, he retrieved a damp cloth and began to gently clean the dried blood from her body.

 

******

When Lorna returned to her rooms, she took a bath and changed her clothes, and spent a good ten minutes brushing her teeth before she went to Ratiri, who lay unconscious in their bed. He was so very still, and she wondered how close she had come to losing him.

 

Sitting beside him, she ran her hand through his hair. Their children were with Lothiriel; for now it was just the pair of them, and she leaned down to kiss his forehead. He was warm and alive, the soft sound of  his breathing regular and steady.

 

“I love you, allanah,” she said quietly. “I love you more than words can tell. Even hurt as you were, you helped me -- you risked your bloody life so I could have my revenge. How can anyone like you exist? You _give_ , more than anyone else I’ve ever known in my life. I never thought I’d love anyone ever again, not like this, but you...how could anyone not love you like I do?” Part of her felt somewhat guilty, that she loved him more than she had Liam, but in a sense, it wasn’t a surprise. She’d been twenty-eight when Liam died; she had not, then, had as much in her to give. She was older now, and she’d like to think she was wiser, and she loved this man with everything she had.

 

And yet she was also deeply troubled, because things had happened out there she had no explanation for. The bullet she could could possibly dismiss; everything had happened so fast that she wasn’t actually sure what _had_ happened, but the sword...that should have skewered her right through the throat. It had _touched_ her throat, but it had just...stopped. There wasn’t even a cut, though she suspected there would be a bruise, and yet not a bruise as bad as that level of impact should have demanded. She’d been punched in the throat before -- she knew what it felt like, and it should have dropped her like a shot duck. She’d been jerked into the sword with literally inhuman force, and it had done nothing.  There had been a blinding flash of light, but then, nothing.

 

She knew this wasn’t Thranduil’s doing -- he wasn’t capable of anything like that, or he would have done it already. But if not him, who -- or what? And _why_ ? Not only did she have no answers, she couldn’t even formulate any guesses. Something had done this to her, but why _her_ , of all people? Why not Earlene? It would actually make sense, with her, being Queen and all. Good a friend as Lorna was the her and the elves, she was still just a friend-slash-some-kind-of-family-member. Not someone who, but any logic, should have been given...whatever the hell this was.

 

On a whim, she rose and took one of her knives out of her boot, and gave her hand a delicate scratch -- or tried to. The blade rested, but didn’t pierce. She hazarded a deeper scratch, and still there was nothing; heart lurching, she drove the blade down to the back of her hand, and it stopped. She could feel a very slight pressure where the tip touched her skin, but that was it.

 

Panic surged through her. Was she immortal? Could _nothing_ harm her, including herself? Oh, on the surface that was an absolutely wonderful thing, but immortality? Ratiri and the twins were very  mortal; someday they would die, and she absolutely did not want to be unable to follow them. Would Thranduil be able to tell, if there was some difference? How long had this been a thing? If it was any length of time, he obviously hadn’t noticed, or he would have told her. And if he hadn’t noticed, and didn’t know -- he was the only one who would.

 

A soft knock came at the door, followed by it tentatively being opened. He would ordinarily ask permission to enter, but as this was not entirely a social call… “Lorna?” he asked. Though he heard her thoughts, it was terribly quiet in the room.

 

_Come on in_ , she said, not wanting to risk waking Ratiri. He deserved his sleep, poor man, and he certainly didn’t need to wake to her panicking.

 

Thranduil went to Ratiri and felt the expected coldness. “Add wood to the fire, please,” he asked, and she did so. “I will cover him more. He must be kept warm.” He bent his thought on Ortherion. Warm weak tea, with milk, was wanted. “I will wake him, soon; he needs to consume liquids. And then he will need to rest. I am sorry, to have given you so little attention until now. Ratiri will recover fully, but he lost a great deal of blood. He will need a few days, to recover his strength. And yet I suspect that is only part of what troubles you?” He laid a hand gently on her shoulder.

 

“You had Earlene and Thanadir, and they’d both been shot more than once,” she said softly. “You haven’t got to apologize for that. He -- he helped me. Even injured as she was, he helped me get...revenge. He’s like a precious cinnamon roll with a dab of hot sauce.” She looked up at Thranduil. “I got -- Von Ratched shot me, except nothing happened. I could write that off -- it all happened so fast that who knows what I might’ve missed -- but then he...I think he was trying to take me with him, after he got stabbed. He grabbed me and dragged me to him, and that sword should’ve skewered me, right through the throat, but it _didn’t_. I’ve got this tiny little nothing of a mark. And…”

 

She picked up her knife again, bearing it down on her hand with all her not inconsiderable strength, and yet again -- nothing. “Thranduil, what _happened_ to me?” She couldn’t keep the anguish out of her voice.

 

He smiled, once he came past the initial shock of seeing her attempt to skewer her hand. _At least she wouldn’t be able to do_ that _any longer_. “I would say that I now know the answer to a question,” he said, looking at her wistfully. “There was an occurrence of which you were not told, Lorna. You were very pregnant, very miserable, and as I had no way of knowing myself what had been done to you, I chose to keep my silence. The short answer to your question is that Manwë, Lord of the Valar, appeared to me here in your room. He came to offer a...bargain, of sorts, and to lay a command on me. And while he was here, he took you into his arms, and blessed you. It seems obvious, now, what gift you were given. It is my belief that the Valar had quite enough of Avathar, which was Von Ratched’s true name. You were made impervious to any further assault, and beyond, so it would seem. It is unprecedented; the occasions on which the Valar have directly interacted with mortals are few indeed. Their true intentions are often difficult to discern. You are yet mortal, since I see that this concerns you,” he said gently.

 

Lorna stared at him. This was almost more than she could handle -- the Valar, so far as she had worked out, were like some kind of cross between angels and minor deities. She actually had to sit down, almost lightheaded in the face of this revelation. “Why me?” she asked, the words almost inaudible. “Why would he -- they -- give this to _me_ ’v all people?” That she was still mortal was, at least, a very vast relief, but this -- to make her mentally immune to Von Ratched out of pity, that she could see, but this...she had no idea what to do with this.

 

“Their intentions reveal themselves eventually; it has ever been thus. Do not be afraid. Our Lords and Ladies are not cruel, or in any way unkind. Though I will allow, they can definitely be mysterious.” His lips curled in a half smile.

 

Lorna had read enough mythology to realize this was going to come at some sort of price, and sooner or later, she’d have to pay up. “What was your bargain?” she asked, hoping like hell he hadn’t had to promise to do something utterly awful.

 

“The chance to kill Avathar. The price was, there will come a time in the future, when we will be...when we must leave you. We have been commanded to return home, to Aman. We were promised that it would be many, many human years distant. Before…” he was very, very close to losing his composure. “Before Earlene’s life ends,” he forced from his lips, unable to look at her as he spoke.

 

If she hadn’t been stunned before, she sure as hell was now. Thought of them leaving -- they’d been interwoven into her life now, every bit as much as Ratiri, if in different ways. She’d thought -- selfish as it was, she’d thought _she’d_ be the one leaving _them_. Thought of going back out into the normal world, never to see them or this beautiful place again -- it wasn’t to be borne. “You’ll take Earlene with you, though, right? I mean, yeah, she’s human, but you’re married. You’ve got kids.” Except...Allanah. What would happen to Allanah? Yes, if it was many years in the future, she’d be an adult, but still. When you loved your parents, you didn’t want to lose them, no matter what your age.

 

Unable to stand it, she stood and wrapped her arms around him, in a hug that might seem close to rib-crushing even for him. She didn’t waste breath or even thought on the unfairness of it, because the circumstances of her life had taught her quite young that fairness was an arbitrary concept that had no basis in reality.

 

“It is all a very long time away, Lorna. Have courage. None of us know what will happen in life, not even elves. We are free of him now, and will have the joys of friendship and family, with no fear. I do not begrudge what was asked of me. Not for knowing that he can never return, never harm another.” He sighed. “Earlene is under the same command, and must depart with us. You were...right, Lorna, about what you said in New York. It seems that Earlene coming to me was no accident at all. And...Allanah will be long grown into your adulthood, by then. My heart tells me that in some ways, she will look to you and Ratiri as much as she does to us. I do not know how to tell her of this, once she his old enough to understand, or even if I should. And Lorna...none of my people except for Thanadir and Earlene know what I have told you. You may tell Ratiri, if you choose. But I would ask that you leave how and when to tell the other elves to my discretion. Manwë said too, that when the time came to depart, that we would all understand why we were being called home. I do not know what that means, but I have learned in my long life to wait on their will.” She was held just as tightly by him. And while he too dreaded the thought of parting, experience had taught him that there were sorrows enough in life, without imagining ones that might never come to be. As he ran his fingers through her silky hair, his heart soared to know that she was free now, to love. Love her children, her mate, and her friends. Laughing, he kissed her forehead before releasing her. “Perhaps we should ensure we can both continue breathing. That would be a good start, would it not?” His eyes were merry.

 

That drew a laugh from her as well, though it took a moment for her to release him. “It’s not often I’m right about much’v anything,” she said, shaking her head. “It wouldn’t be fair, not to tell Ratiri, though I’m not yet sure how I’ll do it.” Part of her was tempted not to, except that would make her the most rank hypocrite that ever lived. No, she’d tell him, and she’d have to do it soon, but he’d be heartbroken, too. It would have to wait until he had healed. “God, this is so much to take in. I really, really wish I could have a damn drink.” That her friends would leave, that these lovely halls would be left empty...that hurt in way that surprised her. Maybe...maybe the village would have to come in, and at least keep things tidy. The elves would probably never return, but this place could not be allowed to...to die. “Well, if we’ve got many years, we may as well fill them up. We’ve seen New York, but I’ve read about Yellowstone, which is also in America. Apparently the landscape’s like nowhere else on Earth.”

 

He smiled at her, and took one of her hands in his. “Lorna, I will not try to tell you how or what to share with your mate. But I will offer this. Of all the ones I have ever known, you have a desire for information, whether or not it is to your detriment. While I respect this about you, you should realize that not everyone shares your view. Earlene is content to know that if I do not tell her something, that I have my reasons. It is, among other things, her way of trusting me. Knowledge can be a terrible burden, especially when it is knowledge of things that may never actually impact another. I would only counsel you to reflect on whether Ratiri is really like you, in this regard. We are not all the same, and not everyone wishes to know. Not everyone is made, inside of themselves, _to_ know. One of my duties as King is to carry those burdens, so that others do not have to. To me, it is given the strength to manage. To bear the weight of knowledge is not a gift that all have. You will, as time goes on, have more you will wish to ask about this, and we are here to speak with you. I am committed to us trusting each other, and learning to be more open. But Ortherion is almost here, and we have run out of time for this conversation to remain private.”

 

That was very true. She had an almost pathological need to know, whether or not it would make her happy; she always figured knowledge was better than ignorance, no matter what, but Ratiri had actually said that wasn’t always the case. She couldn’t drop this on him, not now, and possibly not ever -- she’d keep it to herself, and let him enjoy whatever time remained, and hope he’d forgive her later. _You and I really are too much alike, aren’t we?_ she asked, a little wryly. _You’d rather know than not, too, wouldn’t you? Just to be prepared?_ It wasn’t that she enjoyed knowing something was looming over her head, but she’d still rather know before it dropped.

 

“It has been a requirement for me, for so long, that I never viewed it as a preference. But now that you mention it,” he grinned. “Yes, we are too much alike. Perhaps I should deputize you”, he teased.

 

Lorna’s look of abject horror was not feigned. “Christ, I hope there never comes a day _that_ would have to happen. I’m not cut out to be a leader -- I’ll leave that to you.” Before Ortherion could come in, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You’re welcome to your job.”

 

The movement nauseated her a little, and she winced. “Um...hate to ask this, but I’m going to wind up sicker than a dog in a bit, if you don’t help. I kind’v...ate something that disagreed with me.”

 

“I could imagine. My question to you is, would you _rather_ sick it up? I will help you, if you wish.” This was not the time to discuss her shocking behavior. He was coming to learn that rage, in firith, took many forms...and Eru help who was on the receiving end of it.

 

“That...might be a good idea,” she said. “I can’t even think about...that...right now.” Or the fact that she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d tried. It wasn’t quite going blank, but it was something like it, and was a thing that had to be tucked away until she had time to actually, properly think about it. For now, she had Ratiri to watch over. He was far more important than her temporary insanity.

 

Thranduil laid a hand on her back. “You should find the lavatory,” he said. “You only have a few seconds.” He could not help smiling, when her eyes widened and she dashed away. Rising, he admitted Ortherion, thanking him. The surprised and pleased ellon bowed deeply to the King, and withdrew. Thranduil reflected. More would change, for he was seeing the value in becoming far less aloof to those under his authority. He loved all of them, and he understood now beyond question the value of showing it. Preparing the beverage as he wished and pouring it, he now sat with Ratiri, cradling him to wake him. There was confusion there, and distress at the feelings in his body. “You have lost much blood, Ratiri, but you will recover fully. We need to add fluid to your body. Drink, slowly, and I will help you.” It was hard not to shake his head and smile when the man’s mind immediately began streaming thoughts on hypovolemic shock, but somehow he kept his composure.

 

_Is he dead?_ Ratiri asked, unable to summon speech. _Is he dead? Is everyone alright?_ They’d all been shot but Lorna, and Lorna had seemingly lost her mind for he wasn’t actually sure how long.

 

“Everyone is well,” Thranduil soothed. “He is dead. I am so sorry, for what you endured, but it will never happen again. We are free, now. You were the most grievously hurt, but even you will be fine when your body has had time to rest and renew itself. I will help with that, but first you need liquid. Lorna is using the lavatory, I am sure she will be back soon.”

 

Ratiri sighed with relief. Everyone was safe, that bastard was dead...he could ask for nothing more. “I saw something,” he managed, between sips. “The sword, and her throat -- nothing happened.” He hadn’t lost _that_ much blood at that point -- he was certain it wasn’t delirium. He certainly wasn’t delirious now, either; just tired as hell, and thirsty.

 

“She was protected from him by a blessing. Something I imagine maddened him to no end.” He felt determined to say the minimum possible to satisfy his curiosity; he wanted his patient to rest.

 

“I’ll explain what I know later, allanah,” Lorna said, emerging from the bathroom. Getting all of that out of her system had helped, though she’d had to brush her teeth again. She crawled up onto the bed on his other side, taking his hand. “Gave me a bit’v a scare there, you know. Don’t do that again.”

 

Ratiri managed a smile. “I’ll try not to get shot again,” he said, and sipped again. “It’s not an experience I’m anxious to repeat myself.” The idea that Von Ratched was dead -- _dead_ , for once and for good, was almost unbelievable. They’d feared him for so long; he’d been an axe hanging over their heads, and he was gone. Gone, forever. He need not fear for his wife, his children; they need hide no longer, cut off from the outside world. Their lives could resume again.

 

Except...these Halls had become home to him. Returning to the cottage would be difficult, for though he loved it, it didn’t have the meaning to him that it did to Lorna. Admittedly, he missed windows, so maybe that would help.

 

Of course, it was something of a moot point right now. He wanted the children near Thranduil for a while yet, and they needed the cottage expanded. They wouldn’t have to leave right off.

 

Thranduil smiled. “You have a job, now, Lorna. You must help Ratiri to drink another full glass of this; do not rush. I must return to Earlene for a time, and then you will see me again.” Ensuring Ratiri was well-propped up on pillows, he departed.

 

“I was so afraid for you, allanah,” Lorna said, brushing back a lock of Ratiri’s hair. “I knew Thranduil could fix you, but I was still afraid. I suggest we don’t do a damn thing for at least the next fortnight.” That would give him plenty of time to rest, and they could do nothing but spend time with their children and their friends, free of worry, of any fear that that bastard could ever bring them harm.

 

Though how in the name of fuck had he snuck in past Orla? They’d probably never know, but Orla would be bloody pissed when she found out he’d managed it. Lorna predicted there would be much drinking involved.

 

“I think that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard in years,” he said, and sipped. What she had done -- what he’d helped her do -- was not something he could think on yet. Even dizzy as he’d been from blood loss, he’d seen what his fiancee did to Von Ratched. That had been beyond rage: it had descended into something outright feral. But then, the fae of Scottish folklore were occasionally murderous and bloodthirsty. He’d thought her like one of them all this time, and such violence was certainly consistent. It was all the thought he could spare it, when he was so tired.

 

“You know,” Lorna said, “I actually remembered to bring the cake. Once Thranduil’s cleared you to eat something, we’ll have to have some. Hell’v a birthday party, isn’t it?”

 

“Not one I’m anxious to repeat,” he said dryly.

 

 

******

 

Thranduil returned to see Thanadir gently blotting away the last of the bloodstains that were embedded around Earlene’s fingernails, his face written over with profound worry. “Meldir,” he said softly. “Be at ease, she will be well.”

 

“She was very brave, Thranduil. And what she did may have saved us all. Earlene talked to him; I believe she was trying to buy time, slow him down. To see her hurt so badly, and still only be worried about me…”

 

“Thanadir, you must stop this. I know your feelings for her are very deep, but this will not help her. Show me, but you are not to dwell on this in her hearing.”

 

The seneschal nodded in submission. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “It is only that I have never had a friend like this aside from you, but…” the rest of the words would not come.

 

“But I am also your King,” Thranduil completed his sentence.

 

The old elf nodded with downcast eyes, before looking up again.

 

“Do you realize, that it is the same for me, Thanadir? In all my long life, you are the only one I have ever truly thought of as a friend, until these mortals came to us. Alassëa was….Alassëa. Legolas was my son. There was no one else, but…”

 

“But I am also your subject,” the seneschal said, realizing for the first time that this problem ran both ways. “I did not think…”

 

“I know you did not. You were not meant to; this was not your consideration to bear. So many divisions have blurred, Thanadir. We all try to cling to what we have always known, and yet much has changed to which we can never return. I am being taught that where true-hearted ones are concerned, that love and seeking understanding accomplish much more than reproof and punishments. I have never been perfect, but I have tried always to do what I felt was best, and just. And there are many lessons that went unlearned, until Earlene came to us.” He moved to sit next to Thanadir, placing an arm over his shoulders. “Show me, please.”

 

He disgorged his memories, unable to keep his own emotions apart from them. He wished he could forget this, as tears streamed down his face.

 

“Thank you,” Thranduil said, looking on him with concern. “Give it a few days, meldir. If you find you are still troubled, you are to tell me. You are very strong, but I will not require you to keep these memories if you feel too much hurt.” The depth to which this affected his seneschal surprised him, and yet it was not really so difficult to understand. It was different, when it was one about whom you truly cared. Objectivity became fleeting, under such strain. “Help me, now.” They removed her garments, which were torn from the entry of the bullets, and placed on her the Christmas gift that Thanadir had made for her, the lovely dress in spring colors.

 

“I can try to repair them,” Thanadir said, examining them with a frown. The woolen garment would be an immense challenge.

 

“Take them and keep them out of sight, and we will ask, before you go to the trouble. I have learned that firith sometimes do not want items that remind them of terrible events. There is a chance she will no longer wish to see these.”

Thanadir nodded, folding them carefully and bearing them to the outer rooms.

 

“Meleth, it is time to wake,” Thranduil whispered, kissing her on the lips. She responded to him eagerly at first, but then she remembered. “No, meleth. You are not to dwell on this. I know it is not easy, but you must try. Nothing has changed between us, and I love you with all my heart,” he murmured to her. When she sought his lips passionately, joy and relief filled his heart. But before their desire could rise too high, he distracted her. “Our daughters want you, Earlene. We should go to them.”

 

She rose, smiling, and the smile broadened to see that her clothes had been changed. And only now did she see, this was another that was so cleverly designed; it could be unlaced easily to allow her to breastfeed. They went out together, where she gave Allanah many kisses before they picked up their daughters. Soon they were seated together, watching in delight as their twins nursed together.

 

Thanadir opened the door for Ortherion, wistfully adding, “There is cake.” Earlene and Thranduil both laughed, and even Maerwen and Lothiriel could not help giggling. Especially when Thanadir attempted to recover his dignity by ignoring them and pouring tea.

 

“I will make you a cake, soon, meldir. And then we shall see where I rate against Siobhan and Mairead.”

 

No response was forthcoming, but he could not hide his smile from her, as their eyes met across the room.

 


	56. Fifty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for this weekend. In the States it is Memorial Day, and you will be meeting a new character in our story. In honor of all those who have served in the military, and experienced a side of life we all wish wasn't necessary...enjoy :-)

 When Thranduil returned once again to Ratiri, to help his body produce new blood cells, he found him much better in appearance and health. And while he touched him to care for that restoration, he told them of Thanadir’s having noticed the cake. He had heard the humans had a saying, ‘Laughter is the best medicine.’

 

“We’ll have to have it, once everyone’s mobile again,” Lorna said. She’d been hovering by Ratiri, but she knew she ought to get her children soon, too; she’d had enough bottled milk that Maerwen didn’t need her to feed them, but still. She already missed her sprogs.

 

He nodded. It was true that Ratiri should rest, and eat healthier foods than one of Siobhan’s cakes. “I will have Ortherion bring your meal here, a little later on. You only need tell me if you would like Maerwen to bring Chandra and Shane here; I will be returning to my quarters for the evening. Tomorrow, Lorna, there is an undertaking that needs accomplishing, and for which I wished your assistance.” There was just enough cryptic intent in his voice to cause her to take notice.

 

“Will Ratiri be okay for me to leave him?” she asked, wondering what in hell Thranduil could need _her_ help for. Did he want to test her seeming indestructibility? She actually wouldn’t be opposed to that. _Is there any use in asking why you need my help?_ She probably wouldn’t get an actual answer, but what the hell, she had to try.

 

“Yes, it will be fine. If it will make you feel better, I will ensure someone remains with him,” was what he said aloud. _A body needs disposing of and so does a vehicle. I will not have his carcass polluting my forest; some other means must be found. The others need not know about this,_ she heard.

 

Ahhhh...okay. _Fortunately, I have the van_. It lived outside the barn, so she didn’t even have to drive to Baile to get it. “I’d feel better,” she said, looking at Ratiri, who rolled his eyes.

 

“I’m not going to keel over and die, mo chroí,” he said. “The time for that has passed.”

 

Lorna gave him the best sad, pathetic face she could muster, doing her best to summon the Thanadir Superpower. “You don’t want me worrying while I’m working, do you?”

 

Ratiri tried not to laugh. He really, really did, and utterly failed. “Lorna, never make that face again,” he said. “It’s disturbing. When you try to look like Thanadir, you just look like you want to kill someone. All right, I’ll have someone with me, if it will make you feel better.”

 

“It will,” she said, and tried to give him the sad-kitty eyes again. What she didn’t realize was that it truly did look disturbing; the way she tilted her head actually made her look like she wanted to stab someone in the face. “I’d love the twins back tonight, at least. It feels like I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. “They will return shortly, then. You two enjoy yourselves _resting_ , he emphasized. “And keep the room warmer, at least until it is time for sleep. Should you need me...well, you know.”

 

“Thank you, deartháir ard,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze before hopping off the bed to poke up the fire.

 

With a nod, he departed.

 

Lorna...didn’t want to think. She wasn’t going to think about Von Ratched, about what she’d done -- she had her Ratiri, and shortly her children, brought by Maerwen along with their giant bags of stuff.

 

“Len hannon, Maerwen,” Lorna said, helping her get everything unpacked. The twins were awake, but not hungry, and they looked at her with such directness. The stare of a baby wasn’t quite like anything else in the world.

 

She brought them both over to the bed, so that Ratiri could be with them without having to get up. Focusing on her daughter’s brilliant hair, she shoved it away for now. Maybe it was unhealthy, but she was _not_ going to drop it all over her fiance and their children. They could spend time with one another, and rest, and deal with it later.

 

*****

 

It was much later, the children were all asleep, and Thanadir had been ordered to return to his quarters and rest. Actually, it had gone beyond that. Earlene had marched out, walking to the seneschal’s quarters when he would not stop his fussing over her. “Inside,” she said, with her arms crossed expectantly. Confused and not wishing to upset her, he meekly did as he was asked. “You are to go into your sleeping room, change into your night clothes, and get in bed. You will tell me when you are finished.” His lips parted in shock, but one look at her face took away his desire to argue. Some moments later, she heard a reluctant and uncomfortable, “I am in bed, Earlene.”

 

Sweeping into the room, her eyes took in the neat orderliness of everything there. Which was no surprise. She sat next to him, pulling the covers up around him tightly. “Now give me your hand, meldir.” He complied, and on seeing his look of nervousness, she added gently, “I am not going to eat you, meldir. All the dinosaurs are long dead.”

 

“I am not...accustomed to this, Earlene,” he said.

 

“I know you are not. Nor do I plan to press your sensibilities in this manner often. But meldir, you have worried about me too much for one day. I will not lie to you, I am still struggling. But between you and my husband, I know the problems in my thinking cannot win out. I know that you love me, and I will listen to your counsel. It is not easy for me to admit that there are...problems. If you could do this, though, with all that you are, then so can I. You have given me a kind of hope, that I can learn to change and not see my world fall apart. I believe that I will be well, when some time has passed, and all that is because of you. So tomorrow, let us start over. It will be the first day, free of that creature. Do not worry about me, so much. Please?”

 

He sighed. “Very well. I have tried but…”

 

“I know. I felt the same for you, when it did not look as though we were going to survive what happened. To see you hurt like that...I know that you are strong, Thanadir. Immeasurably so, and I do not forget it. But…” She blinked back tears. “I will pray that the Valar spare us any such trials in our future of this kind, ever again. We must help each other to heal, and forget. The two of us are very stubborn. Surely we can manage?” she asked, trying to smile, as she raised his hand to kiss it.

 

Now he understood fully, what she was trying to tell him. It was not only that he was fussing, it was that she looked to him for strength as well. And she needed to find it. “I can do this, meldis,” he said softly.

 

“Thank you,” she said, as she tucked his hand underneath the covers. Now close your eyes, and you will go to sleep.” Again she saw the look of hesitation. “Estelio nin, Hîr vuin.” (Trust me, beloved Lord) With a final glance, he did as he was asked. She took a deep breath and in a strong yet very soft voice, began to sing to him. There was no ukelele, but she sang nevertheless of being somewhere over the rainbow, and what a wonderful world, as she gently stroked his head. Eventually his lips relaxed and curled in a smile, with deep and regular breathing. “Losto vae, meldir,”(sleep well) she whispered as she closed the door behind her and returned to her quarters.

 

On the walk back, suddenly it occurred to her; another disappointment to add to the many that had been heaped on them in these past weeks. The twenty-fourth of February...it had been the anniversary of their marriage in the eyes of the Valar, and it had been forgotten amidst new children and the threat of Von Ratched. There was nothing to be done about this oversight now, except wait until next year. When she returned, she found Thranduil watching her from the moment she returned. He was drinking his wine, reclining in an armchair, wearing one of his robes. “That was very kind, what you did for him,” he said.

 

She nodded, still feeling a touch awkward about the sum of the day, though she tried to fight it.

 

“Please undress,” he whispered. There was hunger in his eyes. “This...anniversary of marriage, it is something mortals observe?”

 

Nodding again, she began to unlace the closures of the dress, wondering why suddenly she felt shy under his gaze. Pulling it over her head, and slipping out of her underclothes, she stood before him, not knowing whether to feel flattered or amused at the visible tenting of his robe. A little of both, but much more the former. Going to him, she opened the sash on his robe as he pulled her to him.

 

“It is never too late to celebrate our marriage, meluieg. There will come another time. But now, allow me to show my love.” Over the course of the next hour, he left no doubt of his forgiveness, or his desire, as he released all of the stress and difficulty he had experienced into his lovemaking. Every bit of her was tasted and relished, soothed and loved. The pleasure he gave brought her to tears. And while she desperately wished that she could have not disobeyed him, she believed that he truly understood, and loved him all the more for his forbearance. At the end of it, she remembered only clinging to him tightly as he released into her, lost in the throes of her own climax. The next thing she knew, it was morning, and she was waking to soft kisses.

“My King,” she whispered, as she pulled him on top of her and parted her legs. _It is a wonderful way to be woken_ , she concluded some time later, as they bathed, with a smile that would not leave her face.

 

*****

 

By the midday meal, which Ratiri was well enough to attend, Thanadir’s reflexive eye movements toward the cake had become a source of private hilarity for everyone else in the room.

 

“Can this not be our birthday lunch?” Earlene asked. She less wanted the cake herself so much as she was worried Thanadir could not endure much longer, if he were yet denied. And, cake did not last forever.

 

“I vote yes,” Ratiri said, taking pity on the poor elf. He’d been shot, he deserved his sugar and carbs. Ratiri himself was still mainly tired; he’d slept a good twelve hours last night, barely rousing when Lorna got up to feed the twins. The one time he’d tried to get up himself, she’d shoved him back down and threatened to sit on him if he did it again. She definitely did not have the personality to be a nurse; her patients would be too terrified of her to function.

 

“Me too,” Lorna said. She had Shane on her lap; he’d been fussing, and was now busily inspecting her braid with complete rapture. “It’s never too early for baked goodness.”

 

Earlene excused herself, claiming a need for the toilet. Only Thranduil realized it was so that she could giggle freely at the look on the seneschal’s face on hearing that the cake was at last within reach of making it to his plate. He wisely said nothing. She returned, composed, just in time for Ortherion to appear with soup, and a tray of half-sandwiches...another corruption gladly supplied by Earlene. There were egg salad, sliced meats, and vegetable/chickpea/cheese choices. Soon everyone was happily eating.

 

Lorna had already grown adept at eating with a baby on her lap, even if it did mean switching hands every so often. She kept an eye on Ratiri, too, though he didn’t actually need it; it made her feel better, so he allowed it without comment. “You eat that whole sandwich,” she said. “Crusts, too.”

 

“Mo chroí, you’re already an overbearing mother,” he pointed out. “At least wait until the twins are old enough to understand speech.”

 

She glowered at him, but couldn’t sustain it; a grin overtook her face, and she shook her head. “You got shot,” she said. “I’m allowed to fuss. Thranduil, aren’t I allowed to fuss?” She had absolutely no doubt in the world he’d been doing the same, just in his own way.

 

Called out the moment he had taken a bite of his sandwich, the best he could manage was to chew, swallow and then with some attempt at regaining his dignity, murmur “The throne offers no comment,” while trying to keep a straight face. It really was not working terribly well.

 

Ratiri gave her a somewhat triumphant look, but Lorna burst out laughing, then promptly inhaled a sliver of pickle, hacking and covering her son’s head at the same time, until Ratiri thumped her on the back a few times and the pickle rejoined the world, fortunately spat into a napkin before it could disgust anyone with its presence.

 

“I say I’m allowed to fuss,” she said, in between coughs. Her eyes were watering, and she took a sip of tea before trying to say anything further. _So not helpful_ , she said, giving Thranduil what could only be called the hairy eyeball.

 

 _A monarch must use caution about showing favoritism, Lorna,_ he smirked, knowing she like as not would not buy any of it. But it was his privilege to make the attempt. And then to distract, he added, _are you ready for our little excursion, afterward?_

 

That only cracked her up again, leaving her giggling into her son’s hair. _Riiiight. You keep telling yourself that._ Biting the inside of her cheek, she managed to rein it in, at least. _I am, though I’ve got to give Ratiri some excuse._ There was no point in telling him this. It would only upset him.

 

 _Leave that to me,_ he said.

 

 _Should I be nervous?_ she asked.

 

He rolled his eyes. “Ratiri, Earlene, after our lunch, I would like to ask if both of you would spend at least an hour with Maerwen, Ortherion and Lothiriel, practicing speaking. It is my wish that they learn faster, and that means having to actually talk in English. I will be borrowing Thanadir and Lorna; there is a matter needing Orla’s help I wish to care for at the cottage. Can everyone manage this?” When he was done speaking, he turned his eyes to Lorna with a gleam of humor. _Well, are you nervous?_

 

Somehow, she managed not to laugh. She couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow, though, when she said, _I don’t know, that expression kind of makes me think I should be. For all you don’t look a damn thing like Pat, I’m pretty sure I remember seeing that look in his eyes just before we did something we shouldn’t have._ At least Thranduil was unlikely to set anyone’s rubbish bins on fire. So far as she knew, anyway; she’d learned not to assume things about him, because she swore he proved them wrong just to spite her.

 

Earlene nodded, and Ratiri needed no second urging. He rarely had time to spend with the other Elves, and if he had to be less than mobile for a few days, at least he could do something productive while he was at it. “I’d love to,” he said, though he’d also love to know how in the hell Von Ratched had made it past Orla. Hopefully someone would think to ask.

 

“Very good,” Thranduil said. “Lorna, perhaps you would consent to serve Siobhan’s cake? Are we supposed to sing a song?” These birthday customs were still a little fuzzy to him.

 

Looking at poor Thanadir, she knew they’d better. “Let’s do it,” she said. “There is a song, yeah -- which, hey, we should translate it into Sindarin, if that’s at all possible.”

 

“It would be a bitch, but I bet we could,” Ratiri said, and then winced. Yes, the children were too young to understand cursing, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be the one to introduce them to it.

 

Lorna caught his wince, and grinned. “All right, let’s get this thing out here. I’ll sing the first verse, Thranduil, Thanadir, so just follow after me and translate. Apparently it’s what they do in churches?” Not that she had any idea.

 

Earlene sang along in silent amusement at the grammar soup needed to manage ‘Happy Birthday To You’ in English, but such was the case with languages that were the product of vastly different cultures, one of which did not acknowledge the concept of ‘Birthday’. And Thanadir finally receiving his slice of cake was priceless. She was quite tempted to give him most of hers. While Siobhan’s cake was quite good, it could not touch Mairead’s. They were all spoiled, and she was perhaps the worst of all. It was the problem with being a food snob; once you had the best, nothing else rated by comparison.

 

Lorna didn’t realize she had a blob of frosting on the tip of her nose until Ratiri wiped it off. She let Shane have a tiny taste, but he did not seem impressed; neither did Chandra, though she did seem somewhat curious. If Lorna didn’t give them an appreciation for baked goods, Mairead would never forgive her -- Mairead, who could now come home, and be stuck facing the village over her and Big Jamie’s disappearing act. If Lorna had any class at all, she wouldn’t leave them to the wolves like that, but she was still an abysmal liar. She might wind up more hindrance than help. Still...maybe if she brought her twins along, everyone would see how cute they were and shut up.

 

“Allanah, once Mairead and Big Jamie’re home, we need to go with them to Baile,” she said. “It wouldn’t be fair if we didn’t, but I’ve got to get everything straight before we do, or I’ll just make a hash’v it.”

 

“I can help you,” he promised. “It wouldn’t be hard to tell the broad truth, anyway: you met a man in New York who decided to stalk and harass all of us, and you sent Mairead and Jamie and their families away for their own safety, given their intimate ties to you. We heard of the man’s death, and now we’re all safe.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrow arched up, silently thinking that this was an excellent strategy, on Ratiri’s part. _Less is more_ , she yet firmly believed. With her knife, she halved her piece of cake, and finished her portion, and slid her plate over to Thanadir, while patting his thigh absentmindedly.

 

“Sounds like the best idea,” Lorna said, and actually managed to finish her cake before Chandra started fussing for her own lunch. Ratiri had to help her trade babies and drape her scarf, letting Shane fall asleep in his arms. “And Mairead can be even better at shutting up nosy people than I am.”

 

“That is _terrifying_ ,” Ratiri muttered, and meant it. “What do we do, if they want to know more about this place, and the elves?” He looked at Thranduil, since it was his call.

 

“They have already been inside these Halls,” Thranduil said. “I will trust to their honor, in the same way as I did with you, and Lorna, and Earlene. “They are welcome here. But I suppose what you are really asking me is, where does it stop? What about their spouses, and children? And that is a very good question. I have judged each of you by seeing your hearts, which allowed me to understand if you could be entrusted with the knowledge of us. I have not met their spouses or children, with little exception. Perhaps it is better to say, I have not examined them with a view to this. None of those in Baile who you call friends are bad-hearted. It is whether all of them could...wrap their heads around us, is I believe the expression you use.”

 

“Orla could -- Big Jamie’s wife,” Lorna said. “My brother-in-law...him, I’m not so sure’v. He’s not like Mairead, or Orla; he can’t just roll with things, as the Americanism goes. The children could, because children are more open-minded, and I think even Shannon, my eldest niece, would manage it. What I _can’t_ promise is that none’v them would accidentally let something slip. I know Orla and Kevin’d keep it to themselves, but that’s assuming Kevin didn’t go blue-screen in his brain at all...this.”

 

“Indira would manage,” Ratiri said. “One she accepted what she was seeing was real, she would manage. She believes the evidence of her eyes, once the evidence has been proven to her, and if I can speak for no one else in the village, I can speak for her. Doctors have to keep many secrets anyway.”

 

Thranduil regarded Lorna. “This is really fairly straightforward. When Ratiri came here, we all understood that if he could not manage what he learned, that we would remove his memories of us. It was and is an uncomfortable necessity, because nothing has changed; the safety of my people in their anonymity is my first duty. So, I am leaving this in your hands, Lorna. Tell you will, bring here who you will. With the understanding that if it all goes up in proverbial flames, that I will do what I must. Are we agreed?”

 

She looked at Ratiri, who nodded. “We are,” she said. God, that was...a lot more latitude than she ever would have expected. “I think, for now, I’ll tell Mairead to keep Kevin out’v it. We’ll see how Orla does first, if Jamie’s willing to bring her out on the understanding that she might get memory wiped if it goes poorly. With that as a potential consequence, he might not want to clue her in at all. What about Indira?”

 

Ratiri sighed. “I know my cousin,” he said. “She would want this chance, even knowing she might be made to forget.” She wasn’t a Tolkien nerd on the level he was, but she’d read the books -- and even if she’d known nothing whatsoever about Elves, she would still find this all beyond fascinating. He’d probably also have to stop her asking a lot of invasive medical questions, but he could do that. “She’s been wondering where the hell I’ve been spending so much of my time anyway, and that was before Von Ratched left us unable to return to Baile for months on end.”

 

Seeing that cake consumption was finished, and that all unwanted bits had slowly stacked up in front of Thanadir, Thranduil rose. He removed a little elven wine and mixed it discreetly, waiting until Earlene and Ratiri had become engrossed in their assignment with the other elves before offering it to Lorna. _You said you wanted a drink, and this outing will be at best ridiculous. Go on. Indulge yourself. I will keep you from mischief._

 

Lorna’s eyes widened. _You’re giving me_ what _? Not that I’m complaining, but...wow._ She didn’t make grabby-hands, but her mind certainly did as she took the cup, tasting it very delicately. This was the kind of thing that required something even more restrained than sipping, and she fought an absolutely obscene moan at the taste of it. Fortunately, it was a fight she won, so that Ratiri had no reason to look at her like she was insane. Even a few tastes was enough to leave her feeling warm and mellow, quite at peace, and she only paused long enough to put a sated Chandra back into her basket, fixing her shirt with her free hand. If only the effects of this could be duplicated into something not potentially fatal to humans. It was a little like being drunk on human wine, and a little like being stoned, yet ultimately it was like neither. It was its own unique experience, and she was glad to have it, before she had to go dump Von Fuckface’s corps into a bog.

 

She laughed silently. _Last year, you laughed at me thinking Mick’d thought I’d killed someone and dropped them in a bog if I went home with my shirt wet_ , she said. _Too bad he’ll never know that I’ve_ actually _bogged a corpse._ She had been smart, and wore jeans with her boots, as well as a dark-red-and-black checkered flannel shirt: sturdy clothes, suitable for tromping into a bog, because they couldn’t just drop him at the edge and take off. They were going to have to drive well off the beaten track, then hike a bit -- fortunately, they could bring the farm-cart, and just drop him onto that to move him. Lorna didn’t want to touch that corpse any more than she had to, and she highly doubted Thranduil did, either.

 

She still hadn’t let herself think about what she’d done, and with this lovely wine, she still didn’t need to worry that she would. That was more than likely the purpose, for which she was entirely grateful.

 

He offered his arm, and motioned for Thanadir to follow as soon as he was able, with instructions to procure a discarded piece of fabric suitable for a shroud (Thranduil had no intention of looking at the thing for a second longer than necessary), and soon they had exited the Halls. As they walked, he questioned her. “I am hoping that some of your earlier talents will come into play. He must not be found. And if he is found, he must not be identifiable. How does one ensure this?”

 

“Take him deep enough into a bog and nobody’ll find him,” Lorna said. “As for making it impossible to identify him...there’s a number’v ways, and they’re all messy. Most’v them are too hard, and require things we haven’t got.” She was pretty sure the elves didn’t keep hydrochloric acid, for one thing. “Burning the body’d attract attention we don’t want, but if we cut off his head, his feet, and his hands, there would be no way at all to identify him even if he should ever be found. Burn the hands and the head, except Christ won’t that smell awful.” They’d need to burn his clothes, too, except she had zero desire to strip his corpse, because...ew. It wasn’t something she wanted to risk leaving undone, though, because her fingerprints were in the criminal database, and if by some freak occurrence somebody found him, she really didn’t want to get arrested. “Does Earlene have lye at the cottage?”

 

“I do not believe so, and, unfortunately those options are both messy and time consuming. There must be more. Are there wooded places here where he can be deeply buried? Lakes where he can be weighted to rot? I can understand if a few body bits need to go missing because of how your...science...identifies the dead. But we do not have chemicals, nor the fuel to build a great pyre. We must list our assets, and work from there. A vehicle, chains and rope, and Earlene has some power tools though I do not know the operation of them. Only that there are saws, blades, things for cutting wood and vegetation. Tools to dig. What else is there?”

 

 _Tools. Saws._ “Hmm…teeth and fingers have to go, if nothing else,” she said. “Knock the teeth out with a hammer, and I bet he’d dismember easy enough with an axe. The problem with weighting bodies to rot is that they _do_ rot, and...bits...float to the surface, but maybe if we wrapped the parts in plastic? Put them in a bin-bag along with a load’v rocks and toss it deep into a bog, but the fingers...Christ, what to do with the fingers?” They could dissolve them, sure -- hell, in theory they could dissolve _all_ of him, if they had enough lye, but that would be a really, really big undertaking that she sure as hell didn’t want to deal with.

 

How was she talking about this so matter-of-factly? They were about to dispose of a corpse they’d basically collectively killed, and here she was so blithely suggesting they chop off its hands and feet. It must have been the wine, because otherwise she’d never be this calm.

 

“The dissolving will work, Lorna, but what is the absolute minimum amount of bits that must be dissolved? That will smell, we do not want to do that with any more of him than need be.”

 

“The fingers,” she said. “The fingers’ve got to go, but how?” A lightbulb flickered on inside her head. “Battery acid. Duh. We need to stop at Mick’s for something, but that can be our return trip, provided we’re not a giant disgusting mess.” Which she very well might be, even if the elves, being elves, would still be clean as cats. “Without the teeth and the fingers, he’d be hard to identify. Ideally it’d be good to cut his head off, but I kind’ve...yeah.” He had no nose anymore. That made him a bit hard to identify on its own.

“No,” he shook his head. “Before we get our hands dirty, there is another matter. What I said earlier about Orla was the truth. I want to know if either Shane can ‘fence’ his vehicle, or if Orla can manage to do what she does to change ownership. When you communicate with her, Lorna, do not chastise her about Von Ratched. Something tells me that the answer is a simple one, perhaps an oversight. She has proven valuable to us, and I do not wish for her to become unwilling. We are first going to go to his body, and retrieve the keys to the vehicle that I suspect he would have on his person. In a perfect world, I would like it if it could somehow become the property of Mick, perhaps for the use of all the village. Surely anything he would believe fit to drive would have value for our friends, here? Once we find it, you can drive it to town and then we can return here on foot, bearing what we need.”

 

“He’s got a truck, yeah,” Lorna said. “I’m sure Shane can do something. Orla...Orla doesn’t fall asleep at the switch like that. I’m guessing he came here under a false identity, or something like that. If he was here under his own name, she’d’ve known it. I don’t think it would be wise to drive it into town just yet, though -- too many questions, since it’s not in my name. I’ll get it, come back here and park it, and then we can go into town in the van before we do anything with the corpse. I can get the battery acid from Mick, and just say the Charger’s got issues.” Which was technically true, even though the ‘issue’ was a dent in the hood rather than anything to do with the battery.

 

They waited for Thanadir, who came bearing fabric. Thranduil reached into the man’s pockets with a grimace, retrieving the hoped for keys, which he handed to Lorna. “Den tobo” (cover him), he told Thanadir, thankful that the weather was cool and that there was as yet no terribly discernable stench.

 

“Does Earlene have canning jars?” Lorna asked, taking the keys. “We need something strong enough to hold acid, and an ordinary glass won’t do it.”

 

“I believe so,” he said, seeing what they were in Lorna’s mind.

 

“All right, if you get that, I’ll get the truck.” God, that would be a time-consuming walk, she was sure. Eying him and Thanadir, her lips curved into a smile. “Which one’v you wants to learn how to drive?”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised. “Well, Thanadir will learn quicker, but I can read your mind at a small distance. You tell us.” With that quip, he turned to the cottage to retrieve the needed item.

 

Thanadir probably _would_ learn quicker, but on the other hand, he couldn’t read her mind if she failed to explain herself well (which, this being her, was entirely possible). “Maybe better if you do it,” she said, when he returned. “Telepathy might come in handy. You watch me get us down the driveway -- watch through my head, I mean -- and then you can get practice driving to the truck, so you can get back without me.”

 

He tried to synthesize aloud, for Thanadir, his impressions of what was required, as she did this, to which the seneschal listened raptly. When it was his turn, they traded places. At first he was alarmed, wondering where he was possibly supposed to fit his legs, until with laughter she showed him how to adjust the seats for their considerable difference in height. Thanadir clearly thought this was very funny but managed to contain his glee. Tentatively, the King coaxed the van into first gear, astonished at how delicate an operation this was and how much concentration this demanded. He thought, he hoped he was managing passably well, though adding in steering along with managing the gears...there would be wine tonight.

 

“You’re doing good,” Lorna said encouragingly. Nobody was perfect their first time out the gate with a manual, and she had no doubt he’d get the hang of it by the time they had to turn around. Fortunately there was no traffic on the road, so he could go as slow as he liked -- it was still faster than walking. And honestly, at least one of the elves needed to know how to drive anyway, just in case. In case of _what_ , she wasn’t sure, but it would still be good to have one that could. Thanadir could learn too, when they had the time. Once they’d got rid of Von Arsewipe’s corpse, they’d have all the time in the world.

 

They did as they had agreed, and forty-five minutes later the three of them were assembled in the barn with a corpse, a jar of acid, and three looks of equal distaste. “Unless you strongly object, Lorna, I will care for the worst of what needs doing. Of all of us, I am arguably the one who is going to be least bothered. Thanadir, I would like you to find a place in this barn, away from the animals. We are going to do much as Earlene did when she made her...cabbage in the ground. I want a similar hole dug; it is where we will keep this jar while the acid does its work. Are we agreed? If you feel you can, Lorna, you can extract the teeth after I knock them loose. You are not to agree to anything you would rather not, please?”

 

Lorna considered this. The wine gave her a certain distance, and yet...given that she hadn’t yet let herself work past the fact that she had _eaten part of his face_ , she rather wanted to knock Von Ratched’s teeth out herself. The man, if one could call him that, had raped her, shot her, and tried to murder her with the sword already stabbed through his chest… “Can I knock them out?” she asked, looking up at Thranduil. “Or at least, get one blow in?”

 

“Yes,” he said, handing her the heavy maul. “You should hit at his jaw with the blunt end, over the fabric. We do not want splatters. Aim for the lower jaw first; once the upper jaw is destroyed it is harder to shatter the lower.” He watched her face carefully as he spoke; these were not the words of polite conversation.

 

Lorna nodded, hefting the maul. The weight of it was a reassurance, and leant her a sense of power. She aimed carefully, not wanting to muck this up, and didn’t actually mean to let out the savage cry that escaped her throat when she swung the maul as hard as she could

 

The crack of shattered bone was far more satisfying than it should have been; combined with the effects of the wine, it left her almost delirious, and yet still very much in command of herself. Her second swing destroyed his upper jaw, rendering his teeth little more than splinters, and it was very, very hard to restrain herself from just bashing in the rest of his face. Heart pounding, blood singing, she handed the maul back to Thranduil before she could lose her shit and go too far to town with it. Most of her wanted, oh so much, to just bash the bastard’s corpse into a pulp, but she couldn’t leave Earlene with a mess like that.

 

“Well done,” said Thranduil. “Lorna, I have been forced to realize by recent events that I do not always explain myself, my reasons, fully. It is out of long habit of working with others who obey your every word without question. I am going to make an effort to learn to communicate better, more wholly. What I did not tell you is that had you continued, you would have made all the teeth very hard to find. Your restraint was beneficial in more ways than what you are thinking. Now, you must pull back the fabric. Somewhere here are pliers. There are usually thirty-two teeth in an adult human skull. Lay them out neatly as you extract them, to keep count.”

 

That brought her down from her adrenaline rush, and she arched an eyebrow at him. _You mean I’m not the only one who’s having to learn how to use their words?_ she asked. “Might be a good idea,” she said aloud. “Just in case I...don’t have restraint.”

 

He chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. I am trying to be more...I believe ‘transparent’ is the term. But even when I fail...you will find that I almost never ask for something to be done a certain way without reason. It is remembering to include others in my thinking, is what I am not in a habit of.”

 

“That sounds awfully familiar,” Lorna said, with a slightly wry smile.

 

She pulled back the fabric as instructed, and stared dispassionately at the ruins of Von Ratched’s -- Avathar’s -- face. The nose had been bad enough, but now his teeth were in ruins. It didn’t take long for her to hunt down a pair of pliers, and then sat by the corpse, cross-legged like a child, and one by one extracted the remnants of the bastard’s teeth.

 

It was a slow process, mainly because some were so broken it was tough to get a grip on them. _You’re dead, you bastard_ , she thought as she worked. _You can’t hurt anyone anymore. You thought you could kill my friends, you thought you could kill me, and now you’re_ dead _. And you’ll be bloody fucking worm-food by the time I’m done with you._ Her hands really were a bit too small for the pliers, but she made it work anyway, fingers aching. Eventually, she had the remnants of thirty-two teeth laid out beside her, and she smiled. It was not a nice smile. “Acid,” she said. “We need the acid in the jar.”

 

Thranduil read the warning label with his eyebrows raised. He set the jar on the ground, and slowly but deftly poured the contents until the jar was two-thirds filled. “I think you do not want this splashed on you. Perhaps it would be best if I took over; I will drop the teeth in. But first….” he picked up the maul and turned the sharp edge outward. With four decisive blows he removed the fingers and thumbs, standing on the wrist to keep his target steady. With distaste he used the pliers to carefully drop first the teeth and then the tips of the digits into the acid, watching with distaste as it began to bubble and fizz. “We will move this now to Thanadir’s hole. His forehead furrowed. The liquid is becoming warm, if I am not mistaken. Curious.” Moments later, the evidence of their activity was under a heavy piece of plywood, which in turn was scattered over with soil and straw, and weighted with a container of animal feed. “Now for the rest of the fun. I suppose the remaining pieces should not be too large?”*

 

“I think dissecting him at the joints should be enough.” She stared at the chewed-up mess that was the left side of the corpse’s throat; she had a vague memory of lapping at the blood like a cat, and for a moment, bile rose in her own throat, hot and bitter, and she drew in a deep breath through her nose. She wanted to take that hammer and turn the skull into so much powdered jelly, but this was Earlene’s barn, and that would just be goddamn inconsiderate.

 

“Come here, please,” he said to her, folding her into a hug that if nothing else stabilized her mood. “This is important to your healing. I will cover his head well with the fabric, and go ahead. It is a barn for a reason, and any mess is nothing a few shovels full of soil removed will not manage.” He handed her the maul, knelt down to arrange everything better. Rising, he gestured for her to do as she wished. Thanadir guessed where this was going, and decided it was an excellent time to pet Buttercup, who was disinterestedly watching them as she chewed her cud contentedly.

 

“Thank you,” Lorna whispered. She looked at the corpse, and thought of how Von Ratched had looked at her at the party, at how he’d tried to taunt her about what he’d done to her -- and how, strangely, the taunt hadn’t affected her in the least. But he’d done it -- what had he said? Something about her crying out his name? _Ew_. That was enough to make her raise the maul and swing it down with all the force she could muster, accompanied by some growled Irish cursing.

 

There was a crack, which she’d expected, but also a...squish. She raised the maul again, and again, her adrenaline surging once more even as her arms burned with the effort. She wasn’t even really aware of the screams that left her throat with each blow, or of the fact that eventually there was nothing left to crack: his skull was shattered, his brain a pulp.

 

_Who fucking got the last laugh, you son of a bitch? Sure, you were a creepy rapist, but look what I’m doing to what’s left of your bloody damn head. I. Fucking. Win._

 

“Mé wih, tú bastaird fociál!” she cried, dropping the maul. “ _I_ win, not you.” She looked at Thranduil. “Before we go, I’m going to wee in a jar, and when we dump him somewhere, I’m going to pour the wee on what’s left’v his head.”

 

“If it makes you feel better, my friend, then so be it.” He reached to take the maul from her, rearranging the shroud again. Thanadir had procured two tight-woven burlap feed sacks that were of no consequence. Thranduil’s powerful arms made quick work of sectioning arms and legs. The torso was somewhat more difficult to fathom, but in the end Thranduil elected to simply break the spine in a single blow. Earlene had nearly completely opened him from the front anyway, and it allowed what remained to be stuffed into a sack, with the shroud keeping the organs from spilling everywhere. In the end, the mess was contained to two bulging sacks that were tied closed and attached to cinder blocks. Nearby soil that had any fluids was added to the sacks and these in turn were all placed into the tarpaulin that Earlene used to keep the weather off her firewood. When they had all verified that the mess was managed and that none of them (except Lorna) needed to wash at the sink, their grotesque cargo was carried by the ellyn to her van and loaded while she cleaned her hands. And found a jar in which to wee.

 

Lorna watched the blood on her hands wash red, then pink, and then the water was clear. And yes, she did wee in the jar, capping it tightly before setting it in the back beside the corpse.

 

That had felt...good, she thought, as she adjusted the seat so her feet could actually reach the pedals. It had felt good, and yet it left her strangely hollow, and why? She tried to fathom it as she fired up the engine. She’d tortured him, she’d defiled his corpse, and was going to defile it yet further, but...it didn’t feel like _enough_ , somehow.

 

She drove in silence, trying to reconcile it. They had a ways to go -- the bog she knew of, the one that was actually rather isolated, would take over an hour and a half to reach. It had to be isolated, because bogs were dumping grounds for murder victims, and this one needed to rot before any of it could be found.

 

 _Thranduil, why wasn’t that enough?_ she asked, when they reached the motorway. _It was all I could do, so why wasn’t it enough? What_ will _be?_

 

_I am sorry to say it never is enough, Lorna. When I saw the faces of my dead loved ones, after every battle...ellyn and ellith I had known since they were elflings, that fought and served and died at my command...I learned the hard way that no matter how many of the enemy I slaughtered in revenge, it did not bring them back, or ease my sorrow. It left me with just that, a dead enemy; albeit a dead enemy that could do no further harm. I learned that for many things, only time brings healing. Time, and the love of those yet remaining to me. In the end, all we have are each other. While we cannot explicitly erase the sorrows of life for those we love, we are at least reminded of why those sorrows are worth enduring._

 

That...was a hard, hard thing to hear. How could she, just one tiny human, reconcile that? She didn’t have the -- well, the training that Thranduil did. Her hands weren’t quite steady on the wheel as she almost absently cut off some gobshite in a minivan. _I’m not sure I have that much time_ , she said at last. _I’m mortal. Even if I live to be as old as my Gran, that gives me fifty-seven years, and by then I’ll be feeble._ She didn’t know if she was strong enough to do that, but it wasn’t like she had a choice. She had children, and a soon-to-be husband. No longer was she a free agent, so to speak.

 

Well. She’d get this done, at least. And luckily for Thanadir, she couldn’t drive like a psychopath, because she didn’t want to risk getting pulled over with a dismembered corpse in the back of the van. That, unfortunately, would lead to questions.

 

_I do not believe you will be feeble, Lorna. While I cannot overcome your mortality even if you wished to, I gladly give you what I give Earlene. You will remain much as you are now, kept in perfect health. I would say, ‘in perfect health’ barring accident, but you seem to have been given an added gift, in this regard. But one day, you will...stop. And I am guessing that with the years already common to your family, you might last quite a lot longer indeed. You will manage and you will learn, better than you think._

 

 _That_ was something of a shock. _You can_ do _that?_ she asked, merging left. _I -- Jesus. If you can -- if you can do it for Ratiri and the twins, I --_ She actually didn’t find the idea disturbing, for all she ought to; humans lived a certain amount of time, then died. Some of them lived a very long time -- she was pretty sure the oldest woman in the world had lived to be a hundred and twenty-two -- but they generally started getting feeble by their eighties. Gran had never been _feeble_ , per se, but she’d been an old lady. But to have the chance to live longer, to _do_ things, to learn things -- to find something like peace, after this... _thisness_ …. The thought was mind-boggling.

 

 _I have my uses,_ he smiled, as he enjoyed the scenery. _And even were I not to interfere, somehow ‘feeble’ is not a word that I believe would ever describe you._

 

Lorna reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze, smiling herself in spite of it all. _I swear all the shit I went through in my life was pre-emptive karma, so that I could find you lot, and have all sorts of amazing shite happen._ She could speed up a bit now, now that they were out of the worst of the traffic, but still not too much.

 

“Where are we going?” asked Thanadir, curious.

 

“A bog, “she said. “There’s bogs all over Ireland, but this one’s out’v the way, so we can dump this...thing…without anyone seeing. Well, unless it’s somebody else dumping a body, but in that case they’d hardly be likely to tell anyone,” she added, with a wry grin. She pushed on the accelerator a little more, and cracked the window; while the body didn’t precisely stink, there was still something unpleasant in the air. Mashing up his rotting brains probably hadn’t helped. She knew from some documentary or other that soft tissue, like the brain, was the first to start to decompose, a morbid fact she’d filed away for no real reason. “We’ll be there in a bit.”

 

When they arrived, Thanadir was the first to exit, fascinated. It was verdant and green here, with grasses growing from the soil that was such an interesting palette of different green colors. Interested and wishing to see more of this ‘bog’, he began to walk and explore.

 

Lorna scrambled out of the van, inwardly cursing herself. “Thanadir, wait!” she called, scrambling to take his hand. “I should’ve told you what a bog is.” She picked up a stone and threw it, and what looked to be solid ground went _plunk_ as the rock sank beneath the surface.

 

“Oh!” he said, his eyes opening wide. “Thank you, Lorna,” he said, now looking suspiciously at all of the ground nearby.

 

“Follow me and you’ll be good,” she said, picking up the jar of wee. If she tried to actually carry one of the bags, it wouldn’t end well. “This is the outer edge -- we’ll need to go in a bit if we’re to put this where no one can find it, but I know where to step, and you’ll work it out yourselves soon enough, I’m sure.” Carefully she tested her footing, one step at a time. “You know, a while back they found a bit’v papyrus from Ancient bloody Egypt in a bog. How it got here, or why, nobody knows.”

 

Thranduil recalled how he had found out about Egypt, from the passers-by near his forest long ago that had apparently been to that land, and his eyebrow raised. _Curious..._

 

Each ellon hoisted a sack after warily surveying the landscape all around. Each of their burdens weighed a hundred pounds, so they followed Lorna very carefully, reminding her of their need for the best possible footing; neither of them were exactly weightless, elf-skills or no.

 

Lorna went slowly, knowing that hurrying might well end in at least her up to her armpits in bog-water. Very _cold_ bog-water. The sun was warm, but the air was not, and she really didn’t want to have to make the trek back soaking wet. Thanadir would probably be scandalized if she shucked her trousers and wrapped up in her car blanket like a sarong, too, so that just best be left alone.

 

“Every so often, people’ll find what’s called bog butter,” she said, testing a squishy patch of grass and finding it stable. “Back before refrigeration, people would make butter and put it in the bog to keep it cool, and I guess they sort’v...forgot about it? I read that last year, some farmer and his kid found a hundred pounds’v it that was five thousand years old.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, and he thought perhaps it would be better to not mention that her morning porridge was made from oats that were three times as old. Clearly mortals were not used to...thinking in those terms.

 

Chilly though the air was, Lorna was sweating by the time she thought they’d gone in far enough. No sane person came wading out this far; the only other people likely to come here would be others trying to dump a body. “Let’s, uh, drop him,” she said, uncapping her jar of wee. While the body wouldn’t sink right off, neither would it hang about, and it would go down covered in her piss, dammit.

 

While Thranduil would strongly have liked to turn this into a throwing contest with Thanadir, he knew how much this meant to Lorna. So after checking that she did not mind the sacks placed a short distance away, he expertly tossed his burden cinder-block-first away from him. Both items hit with a rather interesting noise, and he did not think ‘thlurb’ qualified as a word. Stepping carefully back, he gestured for Thanadir to do the same. “All yours,” he said to Lorna.

 

There was, Lorna thought, something wrong in just how lovely the sparkling arc of wee was when she flung the contents of the jar at the sack. She rinsed the jar in the water on the other side of the path, watching the bags slowly sink, sucked down to whatever resting place they’d probably occupy until the end of time.

 

It was another thing that was satisfying, and yet not, and she made her squishy way to Thranduil and wrapped her arms around him. “Can I have more wine when we get home?” she asked, not caring just how childlike she sounded.

 

“Yes,” he chuckled. “Provided you get us all out of here, that is. This is over with, and tonight we celebrate.”

 

She nodded, releasing him and sloshing her way back toward the van. “With wine. And...and...cupcakes. I want to stop at Baile and get some god damn cupcakes from Siobhan.”

 

Before exiting the car at the bakery, Thranduil tried to prepare himself for what would assuredly be an onslaught of unchaste thoughts. _Surely there has to be some humor in it_ , he thought, even as he recalled that he still had not brought out...the toy. Perhaps tonight he could remember to procure it. It was hardly his fault that his wife was so desirable that each night the device failed to come to mind. Composing himself, he held the door open courteously for both Lorna and Thanadir.

 

Siobhan had not been expecting this. To see Lorna’s boss’s  husband _and_ this other fit one -- though that one looked far too young -- would have been odd enough, but that that Lorna was soaked to her shins...what in hell?

 

“Finally dump a body, did you?” she asked, shaking her head. “You’ve got to watch for this one. She’s a danger to herself and others, when she feels a need.”

 

Lorna choked on her spit, adrenaline and panic surging through her for a moment. It was a standard joke, one she’d heard for years, but now it wasn’t funny. “Oh, shut it,” she said, coughing. “I want two -- no, three dozen cupcakes. Surprise me with the variety.” Trying desperately to get her hammering pulse under control, she leaned against one of the pastry cases, staring wide-eyed at Thranduil.

 

“You’re lucky I like you,” Siobhan said, shaking her head.

 

“Lorna’s wet clothing is not her fault,” Thranduil said. “Today we worked on cleaning up one of the messes in Earlene’s cow barn, and before the situation was managed, there was a great deal of water involved. Could we have extra of the ones with cream filling? Earlene likes those best,” he asked in what he thought was a very polite tone. Thanadir, in the meantime was bent almost double, admiring what was in the display cases.

 

Siobhan’s nose wrinkled. “My gran had a cow,” she said sympathetically. “I feel your pain.” _Of course, he just had to go and ask for cream filling, the bastard_ , she thought, taking out a box. _Why are the perfect ones always married or gay?_ “I can do that,” she said, and she just couldn’t help her smile. Just. Couldn’t. Help. It. Siobhan was no home-wrecker, but how could you _not_ ogle this one? Oh, Lorna seemed totally indifferent, but Lorna had her own piece of very fine man-candy.

 

‘Cream filling’ drew another choke from Lorna, who had to bite the inside of her cheek really, really hard, while trying desperately to think of...of bogs, or anything not related to what she and Ratiri had done with whipped cream. Nope. Not now. _What do we say to the God of Bad Thoughts? Not today._

 

Though Thranduil hid it, dismay had come over him. What had he said that was wrong? It was called ‘cream filling’, was it not? Or was every item in one of these damnable shops somehow laced with hidden sexual innuendo? He had thought about asking for a tart for Thanadir, but now he was unsure it was safe.

 

Siobhan arched an eyebrow. “You okay there, Lorna? Nothing wrong with a bit’v cream filling. I’m sure Ratiri would agree.”

 

“Shut it, you,” Lorna said, glowering. “And can we get get an apple pie and, oh, four cherry tarts? With a side’v whipped cream, obviously.” Poor Thanadir was probably so confused, but that was for the best. If he knew what was actually going on, he’d be totally scandalized. “Ratiri’s ever so fond’v it.”

 

Siobhan cackled. “Good for the pair’v you,” she said, and fought a sigh when she looked at Fionn. The things she’d love to do to that man with whipped cream...she wished there was any decent way to ask a man if he and his wife would be down for a threesome, but alas, there was not. “Here, put that box aside, will you?” She handed the first to Lorna, who happily passed it to Thanadir.

 

When they were safely motoring down the road, Lorna heard him. _I am never going to speak aloud in a bakery again. Ever. They are not shops, they are places rife with... ingredients, and unchaste innuendo. I concede defeat. It is altogether hopeless._

 

Lorna burst out laughing. _Someday I’ll take you to a bakery that isn’t Siobhan’s_ , she promised him. _I realize I’m going to regret asking this, and yet I ask anyway -- what was she thinking? If it’s not, you know, anything graphic and icky._

 

_This time it was Cream Filling. And Threesomes. Forgive me, I really do not wish to discuss it._

 

That only made Lorna laugh even harder, a stitch gathering in her side. _Okay,  you need to ask Earlene to explain just what ‘cream filling’ means as a euphemism. She’s your wife, that’s her job. She can explain threesome while she’s at it._ Poor Thranduil...and yet, apparently because she was an awful person, laughing about it lifted her spirits quite a bit.

 

 _I do_ not _need to ask her,_ he said crossly, his face in as close to a pout as she had yet seen.

 

Oh, that face...if Lorna laughed any harder, she’d run right off the motorway, so she struggled to master herself. _If it comes from her, you might just like it_ , she said, though the thought made her feel a touch ill. Still, she knew how she’d give such an explanation to Ratiri, and she knew _he’d_ like it. God, she wished she had her mobile handy to take a snap of Thranduil’s expression.

 

 _If you value your mobile device, you will leave me be,_ he glowered.

 

 _Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of adorable when you’re cranky?_ she asked, but relented. _Thank you for letting me smash Von Fuckface’s brains. And wee on his corpse. It might not have made everything better, but it made it a bit._

 

 _You are welcome,_ came through, though he was still trying to pout. _And I am_ not _cranky._

 

Lorna laughed again, though this time it was silent. _There’s a mirror on the sun-flap,_ she said. _Pull it down and take a look at your face, and tell me again you’re not cranky._ Seriously, it actually was stupidly adorable. She wished _she_ had telepathy, because she would dearly love to be able to share it with Earlene. Of all the things that could have been the bane of his existence, it was _Siobhan._ It was only a pity the woman herself would never know.

 

_I will not._

 

Thanadir looked up on account of the laughing and the silence, strangely juxtaposed. “Are you well, Thranduil?” he asked, not understanding at all when Lorna laughed even harder.

 

“Save me from all firith, yes, I am well, Thanadir.”

 

“But they make cupcakes,” Thanadir protested.

 

“Yes,” Lorna said, almost primly, “we do, Thanadir, and thank you. Siobhan’s thoughts just made Thranduil cranky, so we need to get him home and give him some cupcakes and send him to Earlene until he feels better.” She actually managed to keep her tone entirely innocent, without even a hint of sarcasm or innuendo. It was something of a feat, really. _You won’t because you don’t want to admit you’re cranky. It’s okay. It’s been a long day, but I’m sure Earlene and some cupcakes will make you feel better._ That last wasn’t even a double-entendre, either; just a statement of fact.

 

An audible groan escaped him. In one day he had become a criminal at large, brought to his knees by baked goods. Life felt deeply unfair. And it was beyond time to change the subject. “Tell me about this Yellowstone, that you wish to see. What is it?”

 

“It’s a park in America,” she said, letting her teasing drop. “A huge park, with natural features found in few other places in the world, and nowhere else in such a big concentration. There’s mudpots and hotsprings -- like your baths, only bigger, _much_ bigger -- and geysers and, well, loads’v things. I don’t know too much about it, other than stuff I’ve found online over the years, but people from all over the world go to visit it.”

 

“Geyser, I do not know this word? It is...water of some kind?”

 

“It is,” she said, merging toward the exit. “They’re big gouts of water that shoot into the air from a hole in the ground. I think pressure builds up in the chamber from the heat of hot springs, and has to vent every so often. There’s one called Old Faithful that I think goes off once an hour? Something like that.”

 

“I would like to see that,” Thanadir said wistfully. “I cannot even imagine such things. I will read about this place. We may return to spending time at the cottage again, may we not, Thranduil?”

 

“Yes, we may. We shall. Right after Ratiri feels a little better, meldir. Perhaps even tomorrow. If I am not mistaken, Earlene is planning the breakfast you wished, Lorna. You have created quite a monster.”

 

“You know what?” Lorna said thoughtfully, absently blocking the twat trying to merge ahead of her, “Von Ratched’s dead. We’re not stuck anymore. Let’s fucking go to Yellowstone.” It would require one hell of a lot of things before they could do it -- whatever other elves were to come with had to get identities and passports, they’d need at least two RV’s -- but dammit, Thanadir and his Puss in Boots eyes needed be able to sit and stare into a mudpot to his heart’s content.

 

“I would almost feel a little guilty, since Allanah and your children would not recall their experience. And yet, there are things to do and see, and it equally makes no sense to wait for years on end to do anything. We should live our lives fully. Still there is much to do...a home to finish, many elves working to learn English...it is something for all of us to discuss, together. And you must notify your sister and the others that she is free to return home?”

 

“I should, yes,” she said. “It’ll be ever so much fun, once they’re back in Baile.” The sarcasm with which she infused those words was indescribable; they all had some serious explaining to do. Oh joy. Ratiri had the right idea, though: find a way to tell the truth while leaving out all the supernatural aspects. And they _definitely_ needed a better explanation for his death than ‘we kind of communally murdered him, and by the way, I ran him over. Oops.’ “Given we’d have to get identities for whoever else was going with us, it would probably be a year at the very least before we could go to Yellowstone. And it’s not like we couldn’t go back, when the children are older; I’ve read it’s a very different experience depending on what season you go in. And we can _not_ tell Mairead we’re going until just before we do.” Her sister would, she knew, want to go herself, and drag the entire family with her -- partly to see the park, and partly to make sure Lorna didn’t do anything stupid. Mairead was much better than she’d been, but Big Jamie had told her she’d been worried sick during the whole New York trip. Her bet with him over whether or not Lorna would kill someone hadn’t entirely been a jest. _If only she knew_ , Lorna thought.

 

“So if I promise not to tell Mairead when we plan the trip, you will stop teasing me about Siobhan?” he inquired smugly, detecting an opportunity where none existed before.

 

She quirked an eyebrow. “Somewhat empty threat, though isn’t it?” she asked. “Like you’d ever want Mairead on a trip, Siobhan or no. However, I’ll be nice anyway.” To him, anyway. She had to let Earlene in on this a least a little, or she’d be a terrible friend. “Siobhan is...Siobhan. I’d imagine she has thoughts like that about more than half the people who go through that bakery. Woman desperately needs to get laid, then she’d stop doing it.” Maybe. Some people were just perverts no matter what. Although...God, she didn’t want to think about this just yet, but she really ought to. “So, I don’t know if you’ll automatically be able to read your kids’ minds, given they’re half-elf, but sooner or later Allanah and the twins will hit puberty, and really won’t want you being able to read theirs. How are we going to handle that?” Especially poor Shane.

 

“My daughter’s minds are fully clear to me, and not because they are peredhel. They are my children. Just as my mind was not hidden from my father, or Legolas’ from me. I do not know what can be done, Lorna. If I could choose somehow to not hear others, believe me, there are times I would gladly do so. Today would be a fine example, of that wish. I am afraid that as with everything else about me, they will either have to never be near me, or accept that I am there to love and guide them, not intrude or comment where I am not wanted. I hear many things I am certain might be preferred kept private. I do not and never will offer comment. I ignore. I choose to not recall. What other choice there is, I do not know. Do you think I do not know what it is like, to have had an abusive father hear my every thought? Not only hear, but punish me for any of the ones for which he did not care? I will never cause another to suffer what I did. But I cannot help what….is.”

 

“I know you know,” she said softly. Even yet, she had a difficult time comprehending the full horror of what that must have been like; being human, she might never truly get it. Her own father had been a monster, yeah, but he hadn’t been able to read her mind. He hadn’t been able to use her thoughts, her resentments, her _rage_ against her. “I think what we need to do, right from the start, is make it clear to them that you won’t judge them for their random thoughts. I mean, _I_ worried that that would happen at first, and you proved to me otherwise, so I don’t see any reason they can’t grow up knowing that.” She shook her head. “I’ve got to admit, I do still sometimes feel guilty thinking some things about Ratiri when you’re near. Yeah, I know it doesn’t bother you, but still -- _I_ find him dead sexy, and I know _you_ don’t, and inflicting thoughts about his arse on you doesn’t seem fair.”

 

“I really do not care, Lorna. And from an artistic standpoint, Ratiri’s arse is impeccable in its form, so it is hardly an opinion for which I can blame you.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing as she merged to the exit. While she could never tell Ratiri that, it did her good to hear it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, slowing to a more reasonable speed for the back roads. “God, I just -- it’s still not fully sunk in that we’re _free_ , you know? He’s gone, and he was the last one. Whatever other shite we encounter, it’ll be the ordinary, human kind, and I doubt there’s a human adversary out there you couldn’t take down inside’v five seconds.”

 

“True. The only thing I now fear is some accident that could bring thousands of them to my doorstep; that would rapidly exceed even my ability to contain the damage. But I will worry about that if and when it is ever the case. I find that I miss the villagers. This entire...debacle” he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, for emphasis, “has kept us from so much as having a pint at the pub for...how long? Too long. In fact, I am more than half tempted to stop in on our way home, just to say hello. That is, if you are no longer feeling averse to Guinness.” He looked sidewise at her, knowing she would feel guilty at not including Ratiri. “Think of it as a diplomatic foray. We are renewing ties that have long been severed. I am also interested to know what, if any, impact that creature may have had on the villagers for which I arguably owe redress.”

 

“As if I’d say no to Guinness,” Lorna said, though she did indeed feel rather guilty that Ratiri wasn’t here, too. “We’ll have to come back soon with Ratiri and Earlene, though. We’ve got babies to show off, after all.” A ‘diplomatic foray’...sounded awfully posh for stopping in at a pub, but she’d take it. It, and the Guinness. “I’ll talk to Shane about that truck, too -- it really would be a good thing for Mick to have, so the village could haul things. He’s kind’v the closest thing to a taxi service the village has, anyway.” They approached the little village, and she slowed yet further. “I wouldn’t worry that thousands’v people would ever turn up on your doorstep. I mean, the only people that even know you exist are us, Lasg’len, and Mairead and Big Jamie, and none’v them’ll go blabbing to the world. And here’s the thing: as much as many people want to believe, if it came down to it, they wouldn’t do it. If you were to tell a group of Tolkien nutters that the Elvenking lived in a forest in Ireland, probably ninety-nine percent’v them would think you were full’v shit, and even that one percent wouldn’t waste money traveling to look for you. I’m not the only person out there who didn’t believe in anything -- and if I hadn’t met you lot, I still wouldn’t.”

 

“Perhaps the Irish are special,” he mused. “I somehow had the impression that at least the Americans would not be so well-behaved, were they to learn of us. Many of them were...different.” As the minutes wore on, they reached the familiar turnoff and the roads that were becoming a well-remembered sight. Thanadir listened quietly, determined to learn what he could from these conversations that were not easy to follow. When the van rolled to a stop outside of the pub, for a moment Thanadir felt a flush of shame, remembering what had transpired the last time he was here. _It is very different now, and you have learned much,_ he told himself. He remembered that he needed to forgive himself for his own shortcomings, which was perhaps one of the harder things to accomplish. And yet he had to, if he was going to ask it also of Earlene. With a deep sigh, he forced a smile, and held the door open for Lorna and his King.

 

Lorna didn’t know what was up with that smile, but she patted his hand and thanked him as she went in. Oh, how she’d missed the scent of a pub -- alcohol, sandwiches, assorted fried foods just waiting to clog the arteries. While this wasn’t Jamie’s, all Irish pubs had their good points, and John ran a trim ship around here. _Thranduil, if they ask where we’ve been all this time, and why, what do I tell them?_

 

 _Let me answer,_ he said. _Part of the truth is that once you and Earlene grew heavy with child, coming here was not easy. But the rest...I would like to gauge how much, if anything, to say._

 

 _Sounds good to me_ , she said, relieved. Knowing her, she’d mangle the whole thing.

 

The pub was only lightly populated at this time of day, but the lot of them looked quite surprised.

 

“We were beginning to forget what you looked like,” John said, his eyes roving over the three of them. “Thought maybe we’d offended you, or something.”

 

“You’ll forgive me, right after I tell you that both Lorna and Earlene gave birth to twins on the same night, won’t you?” he asked, smiling. “We would truly love three pints of Guinness, John. Have you been well?” said Thranduil, pouring on all his not inconsiderable charm.

 

“They had them both on the same night?” John’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Christ, you _have_ been busy.” He pulled the glasses down on autopilot, tipping and filling each. “We’ve been well, mostly. Had an odd one come through awhile back -- he stayed out in the old RV park for a bit, though what he did, I don’t know. Half the time we forgot he was there, but the other half...well. Odd.”

 

“That same one might have been another part of why we have been scarce. He was a...bad sort, and he very much had something against us. Creepy looking, with pale eyes? I hope he caused no trouble here.” Thranduil calculated his words very carefully.

 

“God, that’s one way’v putting it,” Bridie said, making her way over with her pint. “Didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to, and those _eyes_ ...he didn’t cause us much trouble, but what did he have against you lot -- and _why_?”

 

“Was he even human?” her husband added, following. “I mean, he wasn’t an elf, but he wasn’t...he seemed...I don’t know. _Wrong_.”

 

“He was not human,” Thranduil admitted. “Part of why we stayed away was to keep you and ourselves out of danger, as best we could. He was watched, monitored. He was an ancient evil of the world, that somehow survived. Older even than the elves, and I believe, the last of his kind. But I am pleased to report that he is no more, and will never trouble us again. That he would leave all of you alone, was one of my greatest hopes. You do not know how...relieved I am,” said Thranduil. For emphasis, he downed his entire pint in one swallow and placed the glass back in front of John. “Please, another. I promise I will taste the next one.”

 

The three villagers looked at one another. “By ‘no more’, I hope you mean he’s dead,” Bridie said, shuddering. “The way he looked at Chloe’s sister...we sent her to Dublin to see some friends. We’d’ve run him out if we’d had even half a reason, but it sounds like it’s a good thing we didn’t try.” All of them looked rather impressed that he’d managed to down that drink so fast, and Lorna wasn’t about to tell them he could probably drink the entire contents of the pub and only wind up with a mild buzz.

 

 _Can I tell them the truth?_ she asked, and saw Thranduil’s subtle nod to the affirmative. “Yes, he’s dead. We just got back from, um, taking care’v the last’v things. He’ll not be troubling anyone else ever again, unless some bog-critter decides to eat him and gets poisoned.” She paused. “Is Nuala back yet, or is she still in Dublin?”

 

“She’s home now,” Bridie said. “Didn’t want to go, but that twat was just too creepy with how he looked at her.”

 

 _I just bet he was_ , Lorna thought darkly. Nuala bore a superficial resemblance to her -- pale, yeah, but with long dark hair, and blueish-greenish eyes. The mere thought was enough to make Lorna’s stomach turn a bit, so she settled it with more Guinness.

 

“You actually -- I mean, you know…?” Jack asked. His eyes were wide, but he looked distinctly relieved.

 

“Hadn’t got much choice,” she said, shrugging. “He never would’ve stopped, and it wasn’t like he was going to die on his own. Christ, I had to send my sister and my friend to bloody France, because I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t go after them to get to me. The people closest to us in the outside world weren’t safe, and that’s all I’m saying about that.” If Earlene wanted anyone to know about John Oehlert, that was hers to tell, not Lorna’s.

 

Thranduil picked up where Lorna left off. “These last months were...awful, for us. We had the joy of each other, and of course the arrival of our children, but...to be free of him…” The King sighed, shaking his head. “I am sorry, for the necessary departure of Nuala, but you very much did the correct thing. Some time ago, he left Ireland. That was after he tried to attack my wife, and it went...badly,for him. Matters escalated after that, and we knew he would return...we just did not know when. As it turned out, he appeared yesterday. The Powers were on our side, because he made his final mistakes. And as Lorna so elegantly described, what remains is now...buried deeply, and unrecognizable even were it found.”

 

“How did you even find him?” John asked. “Or, how did he find you?”

 

Now it was Lorna who sighed. “When we all went to New York, we went to some posh lawyer do thrown by some old colleague of Earlene’s. Bastard saw us and knew what Thranduil and Thanadir were by sight. Took him a while to track us to Ireland, but eventually did, and made our lives hell.” And no, she was never, _ever_ going to tell anyone just _how_ he’d found them. _Nope._ “He’s gone and then some now, though. If Mick ever asks why I needed battery acid...well, I won’t give him any details, but no CSI expert’ll be identifying that body.”

 

John looked downright sickened, but Bridie’s expression was rather impressed. “Hands and head?”

 

“Fingers and teeth. We didn’t take the whole head, but we -- well, didn’t have to, by the time I was done with it.” It had been so disgusting, and yet so satisfying, even if it wasn’t enough.

 

 _While your forthrightness is admirable, Lorna, perhaps we should offer a little less detail to our friends...they are not so accustomed to such topics as we unfortunately have become._ Aloud he said, “Thank Eru, it is over. We are very excited to have you meet our children. Earlene gave birth to...they each have an elven and a human name. Eleniel Seren, and Ithiliel Morríghan. I have been overjoyed,” he said softly at the thought of his beautiful girls. “And Allahan celebrated her first birthday at Yule. She is walking now,” he said proudly.

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek. _Well, she did ask_ , she said. Aloud, she added, “Mine are a boy and a girl -- Shane and Chandra. Christ, wait ’til you get a look at Chandra -- she looks more like Allanah than anyone else. Recessive genes, Ratiri says. It’s her and Allanah eveyrone’ll think are twins, once they’re a bit older.” Poor Shane might _really_ feel left out then. Maybe they needed to adopt a boy, sooner or later, so there would be at least one other to play with.

 

“How in God’s name can you take care’v that many at once?” Bridie asked, incredulous. “You’d need an army.”

 

“So far we’re at four elves to help,” Lorna said, “including Thanadir there. He’s kind’v in charge’v the rest, so everything goes smooth and nobody loses their minds. I’m just glad I can see my feet again, and walk like a normal person. I don’t know if it’d have been so bad if it was a single one and not twins, but I’d rather never find out. Ever.” She downed half her glass at one go, relishing the fact that she could _drink_. That she actually wanted Guinness, without her stomach going into revolt. She could drink, and eat real food, and walk without aid...it counted for a very, very great deal. Yes, perhaps nothing would ever be enough to find closure about the whole Von Ratched mess, but she had so many things to be thankful for anyway.

 

“We owe Thanadir a great debt of gratitude”, Thranduil said, causing the seneschal’s head to jerk up sharply from his beverage. “He had been shot three times by our adversary, and yet managed to deliver the blow that destroyed him. You deserve great honor for your courage, my friend.” Thranduil raised his glass at this, which naturally created a wholesale toast as glasses clinked all around and Thanadir received admiring nods of recognition. He clearly did not know what to do with being the center of attention, but he did manage to flush charmingly pink and smile happily.

 

As soon as she could, Lorna was going to get Mairead to make him a cake. A really, really big one, with extra frosting. She raised her glass to him, and grinned. “He’s officially more badass than anyone I’ve ever seen. Getting up once you’ve been shot even once, let alone three times...he’s the reason the rest’v us aren’t dead.”

 

“Why the hell didn’t we hear any’v this?” John wondered. “I mean, a gunshot’s not quiet.”

 

“It all happened pretty fast,” Lorna said. “You might not’ve even realized they _were_ gunshots. They don’t sound like they do on TV. I’m damn glad you didn’t -- if any’v you had come looking...I don’t even want to know what might’ve happened.”

 

“It was also the better part of three kilometers up the road,” Thranduil added. “Not so far from Earlene’s cottage.”

 

“He had a truck that we’ve got at the moment,” Lorna said. “I’m going to get a mate’v mine to get a false registration for it, and the village can use it for...I don’t know, hauling whatever. It’s a nice truck, and I’m glad I didn’t rear-end it.”

 

Jack looked at her somewhat askance. He’d heard stories of her driving from Mick. “That was an option?”

 

She held her glass out for a refill. “Okay, so I didn’t know it was _him_ ,” she said, “but he was driving like an arse on the M7, and I decided to teach him a lesson. I’m Queen of the Batshit Drivers, and I wasn’t about to give my title to some twat in a penis-extender.”

 

Thanadir’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead, and he silently asked for a refill of his Guinness while Thranduil tried not to laugh at his poor seneschal’s discomfiture. Then again, it became easier not to laugh, once he recalled how he’d felt from Siobhan’s lecherous outpouring not so very long ago.

 

“It’s a wonder you’ve not killed anyone yet,” John said, shaking his head. “He didn’t know it was you?”

 

Lorna shifted, uncomfortable as she took her refill. “Not until I hit him, I think. _Then_ he knew. Now I’ve got a bloody dent in the hood. Fucker was heavier than he looked.”

 

Bridie actually rolled her eyes. “Only you, Lorna. Is Earlene all right? Was she there?”

 

Lorna was going to let Thranduil field that one. Yeah, she’d seen more of what happened, but he’d dealt with the aftermath.

 

“Earlene was shot twice, but not in any place that risked her life. Ratiri was shot once, which ruined the artery in his leg; he was the one at greatest risk. But everyone is well now. Ratiri lost a great deal of blood, which is why he is not with us. He is resting. More of my people have expressed a desire to learn English, and are being helped with that.”

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Jack said. “Of course that gobshite came from America, if he’s that trigger-happy. _Was_ that trigger-happy.”

 

“You’re sure he’s the only thing like him?” John asked. “Really and truly?”

 

Lorna glanced at Thranduil. She’d been unconscious for his conversation with Manwë; she didn’t actually know what had been said.

 

His expression became thoughtful. “When I was young, there were hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. But they were almost all destroyed in great wars that shook the very earth, long ago. I cannot say for certain, not being all-knowing, but I have reason to believe that he was the last. I would like very much to be right about that,” he sighed.

 

“Christ, me too,” John said. “How old _are_ you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

 

Thranduil took the man’s measure, and decided that he would risk honesty.”To be honest, we have lost precise count. But Earlene uses eighteen thousand years, and it is close enough. Thanadir is a few hundred years older than I, and one of the elves among us is much older yet. And yet, so much of that time was spent alone, to ourselves…” he shook his head. “It feels in some ways as though we have only just begun truly living again.”

 

John wasn’t the only one who boggled at him. Chloe had entered with Nuala just in time to hear that, and Ian drifted over as well. “Eighteen _thousand_?” Bridie asked. “That’s -- Jesus, that’s older than bloody human civilization.”

 

“They don’t age,” Lorna said. “They don’t get sick. Ratiri says they must’ve achieved perfect homeostasis, which I guess has something to do with cells?”

 

“It does,” Jack said, “and it would make a certain amount’v sense. We only age because our cells start reproducing imperfectly. Still...eighteen thousand...we must seem like bloody mayflies.”

 

“And you’ve been in there, all this time?” Nuala asked. She’d never yet spoken to the elves -- she’d been content to linger in the background, in truth rather too intimidated to approach. “In there, and none’v us actually _knew_ it until last year.”

 

“There’s always been the legends,” Chloe added, “but they were just...legends.”

 

“Not exactly, but almost,” said Thranduil, frowning. “There is a book, called the Silmarillion. We do not know how the writer of it gained the information, but this work details with reasonable accuracy the full history of my people. I was not born here but rather in a kingdom known as Doriath. It was one of the great ancient elven realms. When I was young, it was overthrown and destroyed. My father took a remnant of that people, and traveled far to dwell in a great forest, where there were wood-elves. It was his desire and theirs that he assume kingship over the people, caring for them and guiding them. When my father fell in a great battle, this task was left to me. Eventually most of my people returned to the true home of the elves, Valinor, while we remained. And so began our long existence, alone in our beloved forest.” He paused. “It is true that to us, your lives are very short. But they are not valued less.”

 

“Silmarillion, huh?” Bridie said, and Lorna knew already she’d be ordering a copy as soon as she got home. Lasg’len was too small to support a bookstore, but she was willing to bet Amazon was going to be shipping a lot of copies out here in the next few days.

 

Lorna stared down into her glass, debating having another. Right now she was tired, and just wanted to go back to her fiance and her children. Von Ratched was taken care of, and she had so much to think about. Too much for one small person.

 

“If you wish, Bridie, I believe there are at least two copies in the Halls. We would gladly bring you one.”

 

“They’re _The Lord of the Rings_ elves, if that helps,” Lorna said, holding out her glass. When in doubt, have another. _Thranduil, have they ever seen you as you actually look?_

 

_Yes. They are seeing me as you do._

 

 _That_ seemed odd. Had none of them watched _The Hobbit?_ Because while the resemblance wasn’t a hundred percent, it was pretty damn close. “Hell, watch _The Hobbit_ movies. You’ll be surprised.” And possibly unnerved, but what the hell.

 

Thranduil frowned. “You may watch _The Hobbit,_ but I wish you to know...I was not like that. I did not behave in the manner portrayed. The book upon which the film is based, _that_ is true.” He still had not reconciled himself, to the unflattering depiction he had received in this movie. Who could blame him?

 

At the back of the pub, a stranger raised his head. He’d been staring into the cloudy contents of his glass, ignoring the pub, until he heard ‘ _Lord of the Rings’_ and ‘ _Hobbit’._ Cradling his mug in his ruined hands, his eyes scanned the pub, and he froze.

 

Thranduil raised his head, only now noticing the man he did not recognize at the rear of the pub. _Lorna, who is that?_ he asked.

 

Lorna looked. _I don’t know_ , she said. “John, who’s the new guy back there?”

 

“Him? That’s Geezer. He’s renting Sean’s old room. Doesn’t say much, but he’s American -- came here to get away from Trump the Chump, and he’s pretty sure he had family in this area once upon a time. He’s come to see if he can find them.”

 

“Geezer?” she asked.

 

“Only name he’s given us,” Bridie said quietly. “That’s about all he’s given, really. That, and he’s a Vietnam vet -- his hands’re just a mess’v scars. Don’t know how he uses them at all.”

 

 _Vietnam was a long and very unpopular war_ , Lorna explained hurriedly. _The last war to have a draft, meaning men could be called up and sent to fight whether they wanted to go or not, starting at age eighteen. Still a really touchy subject for older Americans._

 

He could not say why, but his feet were drawn toward this stranger. Or perhaps it was better to say, they had been seen and now he had decisions to make, but it was more than that. To find a mortal mind so mentally quiet, was a novelty. It was how he had gone unnoticed in the first place. Approaching the man, he asked quietly, “May I sit?”

 

Geezer looked at the man, searching. “Sure,” he said. The man certainly _looked_ like he could be an Elf, if such thing actually existed. His cynical mind couldn’t help but wonder if their credulity was being exploited, but he didn’t rush to judgments. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

 

Lorna followed, because of course she would. As soon as she saw the man’s hands, she knew exactly what Bridie had meant -- Jesus. She’d seen some burns in her life, but this poor bastard. The scar tissue was twisted, almost _melted_ in places, pink and white. She looked at Thranduil, and sat as well. She’d let Thranduil do the talking, for now, unless there was some place she could jump in that would actually help.

 

“I am...Thranduil,” was all that was said, because he had a very strong feeling that it would be enough.

 

 _Bullshit_ , Geezer thought, but he had more manners than that (if not many more), so what he said was, “Interesting name. Good to meet you, Thranduil. Who’s the tiny one?”

 

“Oi, up yours,” Lorna said cheerfully. She already had the measure of _this_ one, in at least one way. “My name’s Lorna. Sometimes I live with the elves, sometimes I don’t. Do the driving for them, usually.”

 

Geezer gave her a slightly weary smile. “Right. Nice to meet you both. Beer here’s better than back home, I’ll give you that.”

 

Thranduil held out both his hands, palms upward. He was quite possibly out of his mind, but either way he could not ignore that much pain. Pain for which he knew there was no mortal cure. “Will you give me your hands?” he asked, his blue eyes staring intently.

 

Was this dude completely nuts? It was a fucking weird request -- but at the same time, Geezer had dealt with weirder. Couldn’t hurt to humor the kid, so he did so. He’d long since got past being sensitive about them; they were what they were, and they still functioned, even if that was all that could be said for them. “If this is that game where you slap the backs of my hands, I’m gonna be pissed,” he warned, but there was an edge of amusement to his tone.

 

“No,” Thranduil said, “I promise you, it is not.” He tightened his grip enough that Geezer could not withdraw his hands, yet not enough to hurt. Within seconds, he looked up. This was unusual, and difficult. These scars, so old, and created by forces that were not usual; these injuries were not like the ones that Lorna had borne. “Thanadir,” he called. “Elio nin.” The seneschal immediately came over, placing his hands over theirs. After Thanadir nodded to his King, both ellyn closed their eyes and commenced. By now Lorna had seen this more than once, but she was not sure their light had ever been so bright. Well, maybe the time with Earlene… but eventually that light subsided, and Thanadir withdrew. Thranduil let go, looking surprisingly tired. “Do they still hurt?” he asked the man. _What in Eru’s mercy was a name like ‘Geezer’?_ he wondered.

 

Was this a trick? No, it sure as hell _felt_ real, but...but... _how_ ? Geezer closed his hands into fists, the first time he’d been able to do so since the napalm. The skin was smooth, the joints no longer swollen with misery. “What did you do?” he asked. “What -- _how_?”

 

Lorna knew that expression, for she was fairly sure she’d worn it herself. Rising, she herded everyone else away; this would go a lot better with some privacy, she was sure. Before she went, though, she said, “Trust him.”

 

“You are healed, at least of that difficulty,” said Thranduil. “As for the rest, I believe you already know. Or perhaps not. You are living in Lasg’len. Do you know why it is called that? Because it lies on the doorstep of Eryn Lasgalen, which long ago was named Eryn Galen. And during times of evil, it was named Mirkwood. We never left, my friend. I will leave you, now, to have time to think. You will see us more here, now that our troubles are past. Welcome.” With a smile, he held his hand over his heart in the elven gesture of parting, rose, and rejoined the others. It was for the best, this way.

 

Geezer stared at his hands. The cynic in him -- which was most of him, quite honestly -- wanted to call bullshit, except he couldn’t. It wasn’t just the evidence of his hands, which there was no denying, it was… _Jesus._

 

He’d read _The Lord of the Rings_ while in Vietnam -- the only true escape he had, aside from drugs. Nobody wanted to be there; the heat, the stress, the fact that they’d been sent halfway around the world to kill people for no good reason. He’d seen things there, things that had wrecked the rest of his life, and returned to an America that hated him and all the time he had served, all that he had endured. He hadn’t _asked_ to get sent there, to wreck his hands trying to save the lieutenant that burned alive before him. Eighteen. He’d been _eighteen_ years old, so yes, he’d read _The Lord of the Rings_ , and _The Hobbit_ , and let his mind wander Middle-Earth whenever he had a moment. It was the only way he’d stayed sane. He’d have given everything, up to and including a kidney, to be there rather than where he was.

 

That was nearly fifty years ago, and he’d done his damndest to put it behind him, choosing instead to crawl into the bottom of a bottle, or a mug, or whatever was at hand that held alcohol.

 

He stared at his hands, and at the two males at the bar. Could they be Elves? Could he _let_ them be Elves, to him? Even with this, he wasn’t sure he dared believe. Not yet. For all he knew, this was a dream, and he’d wake to the scars again.

 

But if it wasn’t...God, what was he going to do, if it wasn’t? If this was as real as it seemed, the world as he knew it would be completely up-ended. And what in fuck would he do then? What _could_ he do?

 

Lorna looked at Geezer out of the corner of her eye. Poor bastard -- she could guess, at least in part, what he must be thinking. _Poor man_ , she said. _Once he gets over the shock, though...something tells me he’ll be on board. God knows it_ is _a bloody shock, though._

 

Thranduil drained his last glass. “We will depart for now,” he said to the room at large. “Thank you for the drink and the company, and when next we come we will bring the children.” Amiable smiles were returned, and once in the car Thanadir asked if it was close to dinnertime.

 

 _Eru have mercy,_ he thought. “We will feed you, meldir. I confess I would like some food myself. That was...those burns, that was very difficult. Thank you for your help.”

 

Lorna managed not to laugh, but barely. Thanadir really was a bottomless pit, but he was an adorable one. “Napalm’s nasty shit,” she said, motoring out through town. “ _Really_ nasty. It sticks, and it doesn’t stop burning even after you put it underwater. Pretty sure it’s banned by the U.N. now.” She was shocked Geezer had managed to keep his hands at all, and using them must have been a torment to him.

 

“That sounds like a device of Morgoth,” Thanadir said, shuddering at the mere thought. It was with some relief that they parked, and bore the boxes of baked goods into the woods.

 

Lorna went into the cottage (munching a cupcake, of course) to contact Orla, and Mairead and Big Jamie. Orla she emailed, but she dialed the satellite phone she’d left with Mairead, to be used only in the most dire of circumstances. It would never now be needed for that, and this way she wouldn’t have to go traipsing back and forth to the cottage every few hours to check her damn email.

 

It rang and rang and _rang_ , and she was just about ready to give up when Mairead, breathless with panic, said, “Lorna? Lorna, what’s wrong?”

 

Lorna smiled, settling back on the sofa. “Nothing, you spoon. It’s over. You lot can come home now.”

 

“It’s _what_?” Panic morphed to incredulity, and a small amount of annoyance. “Since when?”

 

“Since yesterday. Look, it involved swords and ickiness and hitting him with the Charger, but he’s no longer a problem, and never will be. And if it makes you feel vindicated, I have in fact dumped a body in a bog now.”

 

“I will fetch you such a slap when I get home,” Mairead said, but her tone said she didn’t mean it. “How’s the village?”

 

“They’ve been wondering what the hell’s going on, so Ratiri and I’ll help you field questions. We’re basically going to tell the truth, just without all the elf and maia bits. Oh, and Earlene and I have babies to show you. That we had at the same time, just because apparently we’re like that.”

 

She had to hold the phone away from her ear, because Mairead’s squee had reached inhuman levels of pitch. “What do they look like? Are they healthy?”

 

“They are, and you’ll laugh yourself sick, because Chandra looks a hell’v a lot like you. Somehow, Ratiri and I had a white ginger kid. I need hair advice for her, and badly. It’s curly.”

 

“Email me pictures. I’ll start getting this lot packed up, but I’ve got to tell you, I’m not sure everyone’s that anxious to go home. This has been a wonderful holiday; I’d love to ride a nasty Irish winter out in the south of France every year.” Mairead sounded far too pleased, but Lorna couldn’t really fault her; she’d been unceremoniously ripped out of her normal life and packed off to France, lest she get vivisected by a rogue demon. She deserved to enjoy herself.

 

“I will,” Lorna said. “And if they want to stay a bit, for Christ’s sake, let them. There’s nothing says you’ve got to scarper back here tomorrow.”

 

“I want to see your twins.” And that would be the deciding factor. If Mairead wanted to see her little niece and nephew, not even Cthulhu would stand in her way. “We’ll be back in three days.”

 

God help all of them. “All right, but travel safe,” Lorna said, before they rang off. God help...everyone.

 

She grabbed another cupcake and checked her email, and found Orla had responded. Lorna hadn’t told her that Von Ratched had found them -- just asked if she’d heard where he was, and the answer was somewhat illuminating. Orla would have had every reason to believe the bastard died when his plane went down; she’d believed him to be an ordinary human. It wouldn’t have seemed a matter of urgency to tell them their enemy had snuffed it.

 

 _Good to know_ , she wrote back. _It’s a relief. We should talk more about the house soon, since the weather’s going to be half-decent for a stretch._

 

Shutting her laptop, she found a third cupcake. “Von Fuckwit’s plane went down off the coast,” she said, wandering to find the elves. “Orla thought he was dead, and she was fighting with some gobshite construction client, so she didn’t send it right off. She hadn’t got any reason to assume he’d survived.” Maybe that had been a flaw in their whole idea. They’d let Orla think this was some ordinary mortal thing, and it had almost got most of them killed. Once upon a time, she had known Orla and Shane as well as she knew herself; back then, she would have trusted both of them implicitly with the secret of the elves. Now? Now she’d have to spend a good deal more time around Orla, but the disaster with Von Shitstain told her that it was possible they couldn’t be so insular and paranoid in the future.

 

Shane she would trust, even now. Shane was much like her -- or rather, she was much like Shane. If he made a promise and didn’t keep it, it would only be because he was dead. And he could probably handle the revelation of ‘elves’ without _too_ much difficulty, just because Shane could roll with it like nobody else she had ever known.

 

While Lorna talked, she guarded the cupcake box, doling out one after another to Thanadir. Fortunately she was off of the phone with only four dead wrappers from him, but there had been a _reason_ for the extra dozen. Insurance. A slightly happier seneschal led the way back to the Halls, carrying the extra boxes.

 

“So, we wouldn’t’ve been caught off-guard with Von Assvathar if Orla hadn’t thought he was just an ordinary human,” she said. “His plane went down in the ocean and she, rather reasonably, assumed he’d died. She’d had some client she wanted to murder, so she didn’t know there was any urgency to pass that on, because hey, if he’s dead, what urgency _is_ there? What I’m wondering is, if I could get around her enough to make sure she’s still like she was when I knew her, is if you’d be okay with letting her in on...well, this.” She looked up at Thranduil, wondering where he’d go with it.

 

He considered this for a moment. “Well that explains a great deal,” he said. “Including why our plans in that regard went awry. I know that during our last discussion we mentioned widening our circle of trusted ones. While I had more your friends in Baile in mind, I will bend to your judgement in this, Lorna. My only request is...it may be wisest, to fully inform others once they are actually here, or with me somewhere nearby. While we can hope that most will manage the transition, there is always a chance it will fare badly. And yet somehow I imagine that those who are closest to you are mentally resilient, if nothing else.” The grin would not leave his face.

 

Lorna smiled. “They’re a lot’v the reason I’m the way I am,” she said. “Orla was with me, in the gang, for years -- she was in there before I was, so Shane had a big influence on us both. It’d definitely be wisest if they and you are here, because they wouldn’t believe me if they couldn’t see you. I’m not kidding when I say most in this world would think someone who said, ‘Hey, I know elves!’ was totally out’v their tree. I could take a picture of you, even with your ears exposed, and people would either cry ‘Photoshop!’ or assume you’d had surgery to make your ears like that. And yes, that is an actual thing people do.” She laughed. “I can’t even do what I did last time as a demonstration, either, so we’ll have to think’v some other way for you to prove what you are.”

 

“I am certain I can manage. There are things you have not yet seen that are far more effective than your fork,” he said dryly.

 

“Really?” she said, with unabashed delight. “Oh, go on, show me.” Yes, she sounded totally childlike, and no, she did not care in the least.

 

He rolled his eyes. “Very well, stop walking so that you do not injure yourself. Are you ready?” She nodded, only to find a second later that she was totally and utterly blind.

 

“What in the--? Okay,” she said, and her voice was not steady at all, “ _not_ a good thing to use as a demonstration. Not on Orla, or on Shane….” In all honestly, if _this_ had been how she’d discovered he was an elf, and that he had magical powers, she would have legged it and not looked back.

 

Instantly her vision was restored. He regarded her, frowning. “Is this any better?” he asked, whereupon he vanished. “And you did not tell me you wanted a warning, on the other,” his disembodied voice said petulantly.

 

Lorna nodded. “Yeah,” she said, swallowing. No, she hadn’t told him she wanted a warning, but she also hadn’t expected him to _blind her_... yet another reminder that she need to actually think about using her words. Having something like that dropped on her was not something she wanted to repeat. “This -- that’ll get them, and not freak them out.” She drew a deep breath, and grabbed a cupcake.

 

“I am sorry, Lorna,” Thranduil apologized, reappearing. “I genuinely did not realize it would affect you as it did. Please pardon me.” Sometimes their friendly and constant teasing made it a little too easy to make mistakes of this kind, and he genuinely felt badly about this.

 

“It’s okay,” she said, and wiped frosting off the end of her nose. “It can be kind’v easy for me to -- well, it’s not even forgetting, exactly, because I never much thought what powers you had, outside’v healing. I’ll admit, Thranduil, I’m glad I was your friend before I found out you could do that.”

 

He looked almost sad for a moment. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I have become so...used to you being used to me, that sometimes I forget that this is not ordinary for you. I am glad that you...remind me of these things.”

 

Oh God, not the Thranduil version of the Thanadir Eyes. Lorna hugged him, quite determinedly. “It’ll get ordinary if you show me more’v your shite...and that came out wrong. You know what I mean. Ratiri’d love to see some’v it, too. That man can fanboy like nobody else I’ve ever met, and it really shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.”

 

He snorted. “There really are not so many other things to see. I can start small fires, and I can cause you to become hopelessly lost in my forest. Come to think of it though, I am able to appear to move very quickly, for short distances. Almost faster than most eyes can follow. But as it is very tiring, I do not believe I wish to demonstrate that just now.”

 

Lorna looked up at him, though she had to swat some of his hair out of her face. “You have _pyrokinesis_ ?” she asked, letting him go just so she could stare. “Oh, please, _please_ let Ratiri see that,” she said. “You’d make his month. You’d make _my_ month. I’m kind’v glad humans can’t do that shite, but I do have to wonder what it would be like for one’v us to have telepathy.”

 

“In your case, the Earth would not survive,” he teased. “But seriously, I have had to learn the hard way that having abilities like this requires restraint. There are times it is better to just...not, even when it might be easier to do so. I try to ask myself why I am doing something, before I act. It has saved me from foolishness on a number of occasions,” he admitted ruefully. “But if it interests you that much, yes, I can oblige you. All it does is save finding a match, really.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, picking up the box of cupcakes again. “Yes, but I’m sure it looks amazing, and that’s what humans want to see, with superpowers. We’re shallow that way -- someday, I’ll have to show you the _X-Men_ movies. A load’v those powers’d suck in real life, but they _look_ so good.” She pondered. “Y’know, if you can do the fire thing with Orla and/or Shane, if we ever bring him in, that’d impress the hell out’v them. You’d have them on side before you could blink.”

 

“It really is not that showy,” he protested. “You will see. I would think I would be accused of pulling some parlor trick more with that than anything else. Besides, I really do prefer trying to reach people by other means than feeling like I am a stage performer. That I can see their minds is usually enough to tell me what will succeed and what will fail.”

 

“Of course you’d have to go and be sensible about it,” she groused. “At least there’s no urgency, like there was with Mairead and Big Jamie. Though I don’t think I’ll ever tell Orla about Von Asscrack, because she’d feel terrible, even though she had no way’v knowing better.” She laughed. “Her, Shane, Mick...nice little gang reunion. I don’t know that we’ve have any need to bring Niamh in, unless something totally unforeseen happens...then again, if we need ID’s for Ortherion, Lothiriel, and Maerwen to travel as, as nurses, or whatever...ugh, that can wait. It’s just nice to be able to think about the future now, without that metaphorical axe hanging over us.”

 

“Indeed,” he said, placing his arm around her shoulder and leaning into her as they walked. He counted himself lucky. _At least she did not think it would be a good idea to have her friends be unable to find their way out of the woods,_ he thought with some measure of relief.

 

Arriving at Thranduil’s rooms, they quietly opened the door. It was apparently Anatomy Hour. “I have two...tail,” said Lothiriel carefully.

 

“No,” Earlene gently corrected. “You have two feet.”

 

“You have two feet”.

 

 _Eru help me,_ she thought. “Ú (no). Ni, I. Len, you. You have two feet.” she gestured at the elleth, pointing. “ _I_ have two feet,” she pointed at herself. “Safin tâd tail. Safol tâd tail.(I have two feet. You have two feet)”

 

“I have two feet!” Lothiriel said, finally understanding.

 

“Yes!” Earlene said happily. Poor Ratiri was sitting quietly in an armchair, having given up somewhere after “skull.”

 

Thranduil cleared his throat.

 

 _Please, no more. I beg you. Not today. Anything but more of this. Send me to the dungeon instead. Even with the headache._ As the afternoon wore on, she began to suspect that this was his idea of a joke, a belated punishment for her misdeed that she would not comprehend until it was upon her. About an hour ago, suspicion had become certainty.

 

His eyes widened. “Earlene egor Ratiri ngoltha abarad,” (tomorrow Earlene or Ratiri will teach) he said to Lothiriel and Ortherion, who smiled happily and nodded. Earlene smiled and retreated into their bedroom for a moment, excusing herself, since running to him, kneeling and kissing his hands would have been histrionic, even though it was what she _felt_ like doing. Instead she flopped on the bed, allowing the throb in her head from facial muscles that had smiled and looked falsely happy for far too long to subside a little. A moment later, Thanadir quietly entered.

 

“You are unwell, meldis?” he asked.

 

“It is only a little headache. I am not so good, Thanadir, with people who do not learn quickly. I am less patient than I believed. I have never actually tried to teach someone. I am not like you,” she said. And then she paused. “No, that is not right. I have never tried to teach someone who is not…oh I cannot say it, it is unkind. Please pardon me, I need a few moments to clear my head.”

 

“This will not do,” he said, scooping her up as if she were a rag doll. “Now lean against the arm of the sofa, and make yourself comfortable, so I can rub your shoulders.”

 

Knowing better than to refuse, she arrived at a simple truth. There were few things better than a good backrub, and right now none of those others were wanted. With a sigh, plurals and feet and words in general were allowed to fade away.


	57. Fifty-seven

 

“So what I am hearing is that it did not go so well at the bakery in Baile?” Earlene sympathized. “I am sorry, Thranduil. But...Siobhan does not mean it in a very bad way; she has no way of knowing...what we are, or what is laid upon us. While she is what I would term ‘adventurous,’ she is not so far outside of what is fairly ordinary behavior. If nothing else, it is quite a compliment. You are attractive beyond reason, husband. Your body is a work of art. With few exceptions, any adult female with a sex drive is going to wish they could have you. And even the ones who don’t, I would think most would find themselves at least mildly bothered.”

 

He listened to this, feeling increasingly mollified. “But it is not the only thing, meluieg,” he protested. “I do not understand how nearly everything in a shop that purports to sell food can have carnal connotations.”

 

Earlene sat next to him pulling him over to her, relishing that she could simply have him rest against her breasts, admiring the fall of his flaxen hair all over the velvet cloth of her dress. “Then you need to understand something more about humans, beloved. From the earliest times in history, in poetry and in common language usage, people valued fertility and virility. Reproduction was a means by which to ensure that a mortal would live on, through children. The ancient peoples noticed how yeast could come from the air, settle into dough, and that bread would rise. One tongue has a saying, ‘Adam is the yeast, Eve is the dough’. Those are the names of those who some believe were the first humans created and placed in the world. What I am trying to tell you is that the imagery of sexuality is more expansive in our culture than you could possibly realize. I will admit that Siobhan’s thoughts are very...forward, but they are just that, her thoughts. Besides, surely it was not more about chocolate syrup?”

 

He sighed, soothed by the caresses of her hand on his scalp and forehead. “No. This time it was….cream filling. I asked for some of the cupcakes with cream filling and it all fell apart.”

 

Earlene could not help herself, and was shaking with suppressed laughter. “Oh, how I love you, Thranduil. That is more straightforward than you might imagine. She reached down to place her hand gently and briefly over his genitals. “Cream. Think about it, and I do not mean what Buttercup gives us.”

 

His sparkling blue eyes found hers, and he groaned audibly. “Oh by Eru, who would genuinely wish to have  _ that _ in a cupcake?” he fumed. “Really??”

 

“Imagery, Thranduil. It is everywhere, and our language and history is awash in it. Do you know there are people, scholars, who specialize only in the study of images, icons, symbolism? It is not your fault, that you did not know.” She leaned down to kiss him. “We have nearly an hour to enjoy before the meal. Surely I can cheer you up better than having you mope about cupcakes?” she teased.

 

His eyebrows raised, as a smirk came over his face. “I believe you can, but not in the way you think. I wish to...try something. Loosen your dress, and lie down on the bed?”

 

With rather a lot of curiosity she complied, and he wore the smirk on his face all the way over to a drawer whence he retrieved a garishly colored object with only one possible use, and took it to the bathing pool. With a satisfying “plunk” it was dropped into the water, to warm.

 

*****

 

Lorna had yet to have her conversation about possible extended life with Ratiri -- that was something that might take a while, and be better had on a full stomach. She’d fed the twins, at least; they were napping in their baskets. Maerwen had helped get them all packed up, nappies and all, to head over to Earlene and Thranduil’s for dinner.

 

“Hauling these babies is going to give us all fantastic arms,” she said, as she deposited Chandra beside the sofa. Ratiri set Shane beside her. “I shouldn’t be this hungry.”

 

“What were you doing, today?” Ratiri asked her.

 

“Hauling shite, and going to Baile.” Hey, it was true.

 

They found that Earlene was nursing the twins, while Thanadir sat on the floor, playing with Allanah -- to Lorna’s amusement, he was letting her inspect his chess pieces, which she held so very carefully, examining them and occasionally trying to put one in her mouth.

 

“Oh, she’s reached that stage,” Ratiri said. “I’m sorry in advance.”

 

Thanadir laughed. “I do not mind. Probably I need to find some things better for her indulgence than these, though. Not so much longer and there will I think be teeth? Those will not feel good,” he said. “But we will help you.”

 

“Cold, wet rags,” Ratiri said. “Though you probably already know that.”

 

“Not looking forward to when ours start doing that,” Lorna said, leaning out of the way while dinner was brought in. It was funny, how she’d ceased being weirded out by having people bring them things; at first she’d felt almost guilty, having someone else bring food and silverware and things, but that was just the way it was done here.

 

“Safim ‘laew,” (we have a salve) Thanadir said. “It works very well, and they have no discomfort.”

 

Lorna didn’t know that word, but Ratiri did. “A hundred years ago, before we knew better, people would give fussy or teething babies what were called soothing syrups,” he said, dishing up a plate, and helping Lorna do the same. “They had things like morphine and cocaine in them. It’s a miracle anyone survived.”

 

Thanadir did not know what those things were, but they did not sound good.  _ Mortals are tenacious in clinging to life _ , he decided.

 

“Are you shitting me?” Lorna asked, staring at Ratiri. “Cocaine? I knew they put it in cough syrup, but for  _ babies _ ?” Pouring herself some tea, she shook her head. “It’s a good thing you lot didn’t rediscover humanity long before now. You’d’ve thought we were all out’v our trees.”

 

“Crazy,” Ratiri clarified, not wanting to know what an elf would make of that.

 

“I am in my tree?” Thanadir asked.

 

“Very much so,” Lorna assured him, and just about died from how adorable he was. “Irish slang is a bit’v an odd thing. You’ve only scratched the surface. Though trust me, it’s not more complex than Sindarin.”

 

“Not quite,” Ratiri muttered. Even he’d found himself in a few pitfalls, completely at a loss.

 

Earlene’s face split into a grin, though she said nothing, and something like a chuckle rumbled out of her.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri, wondering if she should bring this up now, or after they’d eaten. What the hell. “So,” she said, “I had a bit’v a talk with Thranduil earlier, and I figured you might want him with us for this, because I know you’ll have a load’v questions.”

 

“Why am I suddenly nervous?” he asked, and he wasn’t wholly joking. Sometimes he wasn’t sure he wanted to know just what those two could cook up between them.

 

“It’s nothing to be nervous about, allanah,” she said, and reflected that she really needed a new endearment for him, one that wouldn’t confused the hell out of little Allanah. “It’s -- well, there’s something he can do, that’ll make us live longer. A lot longer.” She looked at the elf in question, knowing he was going to get bombarded with questions.

 

To her shock, that wasn’t what happened. All Ratiri said was, “Why?”

 

It took Lorna entirely aback. “Why not? Why get old and feeble when there’s so much to learn here -- so much to  _ do _ ? I want more than thirty or forty years with you before we start getting decrepit. I don’t want to be a doddering old woman when our children are our age.” She fell silent a moment, staring at nothing. “I want enough time to move on from all this shite, so that I don’t find peace just in time to die.”

 

Ratiri looked down at her, and pulled her close. He was not at all thrilled by the idea, but he knew nothing about it. “Thranduil...please. I don’t even know what to ask.”

 

“I explained to Lorna that I am willing to do the same for you as I do for Earlene. I cannot overcome your mortality; one day, regardless, you will simply...stop. What I can keep you from is slow decay. I can maintain your health and well-being much as it is now. Free of disease and illness, and barring unforeseen accident, your years will likely be longer than without my interference. This is not an entirely simple thing; it requires more than a little vigilance and effort on my part. And yet you are my closest human family; it seems only right to offer. The choice of course, is yours. It is basically an...extra vigilant version of the care I would take of you anyway. For obvious reasons, I cannot do this should you ever choose to dwell away from me for extended amounts of time; I can only do this when you are near. Does that...explain?”

 

“It...it does,” Ratiri said, and was shocked at the reservation he felt. He ought to be all over the idea -- more time, as Lorna said, to learn, to do things. But that part of his brain, the rational, cold part, said,  _ do you really want to see what the world will be like?  _ “How old would we reach?”

 

“Numbers are not so easy for me to give, it being that you are the first mortals with whom I have ever interacted in this manner. I can only guess, longer than you would have without me. I am sorry, not to know more.”

 

“I see.” Not knowing...there were so many things to consider, for both he and Lorna: did they really want to outlive all their human friends? If they lived  _ too  _ long, they’d have to fake their own deaths, wouldn’t they? They couldn’t go on using the same identification if they were a hundred and twenty years old. There were so, so many reasons they shouldn’t do this, and he ought to say so -- but he looked at Lorna, who sat with her head against his shoulder. Lorna, who wanted time to actually live while peaceful. He knew her -- she’d deny the chance if he did. And...she had a point. By the time the twins were their age, he and Lorna would be in their eighties, assuming he survived that long. He did not come of a long-lived family on either side; nobody had made it past seventy, and many had gone before then, though that was likely due to poor diet. Heart attacks came easy when you ate a lot of red meat. “Lorna, is this really something you want to do?”

 

“Only if you do,” she said, shutting her eyes. “I don’t want it without you.” It wasn’t fair of her, to ask that of him -- not if he really didn’t want to. She wouldn’t try to badger him into saying yes.

 

“I have so many reservations,” he sighed, “but I’ll say yes. We can work out the kinks along the way, I’m sure.” They’d have to.  _ At least _ , he thought dryly,  _ they’d have plenty of time. _

 

“I hope you know you are free to change your minds at any time,” Thranduil said. “In this, I am only here to help as you wish.”

 

“And it’s not like we’re on the verge’v being decrepit yet,” Lorna added, looking at Ratiri. “But...we ought to make up our minds sooner rather than later.”

 

He kissed her forehead. “I know. It’s just...a very big thing, to wrap my mind around.” Understatement of the millennium. He might feel more sanguine about the idea once it had had time to settle in, but he never would have thought that was an option.

 

And yet...even if they were left to their own devices, Lorna would almost certainly long outlive him. Her mother’s family lived to be ancient, but if he died in his early seventies, that would likely leave her a good twenty years without him. She’d lost Liam; he could hardly put her through that again. And his children -- he didn’t want them to lose him young, like he’d lost his dad. But...what about him? What was his personal motivation for it, for his own sake? Did he have one? Not at the moment. If he was going to do this, and not come to resent it, he had to find a motive for himself as well as his family. And while that might not happen right off, if it was there to be found, find it he would.

 

Earlene raised her eyes to their conversation, guessed what he had not been told, and a small smile curled the corner of her mouth as she adjusted Eleniel against her.

 

It occurred to Thranduil that there was something else he could be given to think about; it was time for him to understand yet one more thing. “Lorna, Ratiri, I would like you to accompany me for a moment, if you will just allow me to retrieve something.” They looked at him with expressions that seemed to indicate they would ‘roll with it’ as Lorna liked to say. He vanished briefly into their bedroom, returning with Anguirel. “It is time for something to return to its place, in the hopes that it will not ever be wanted again,” he said quietly.” He looked at Earlene as he spoke, and saw only her smile and thoughts of encouragement. And pride in the wisdom of her husband. With a sparkle in his eye, be turned from her with the two of them in tow. “How are you feeling now, Ratiri?” he inquired.

 

“Wait’ll you see where we’re going,” Lorna said, rising and taking his hand. Ratiri’s eyes would probably fall out of their sockets when they saw the vault.

 

“Much better,” Ratiri said. “I was so tired for a while, but I’m almost back to normal now.” Rest and tea, two of the best medicines in the world. He eyed the sword; he hadn’t got a good look at it yesterday, and was rather glad of that. He was fairly certain he’d heard it  _ speak _ \-- he’d wondered if that had been some sort of metaphor in  _ The Silmarillion _ , but no, the damn thing really did talk. There weren’t words for how creepy that was.

 

“It is quite something, isn’t it?” Thranduil asked. “I do not even want to know what was done to...I cannot understand how this object is possible by anything I know of our people or all of creation. But it gave us a great service at need and for that I am grateful,” he said.

 

“Yeah, at least it was useful,” Lorna said, and absently rubbed her throat. She had only the barest hint of a bruise, where that thing had her -- or where she’d hit it.  _ That  _ was something she wasn’t going to drop on Ratiri just yet; poor man had enough on his mind, and it wasn’t like he urgently needed to know. She’d tell him once he’d got his mind settled more around whether or whether not he wanted to go for the extended life. Oh, she wanted him to, wanted it so bad she could practically taste it, but she wasn’t going to pressure him. If he didn’t want to do it, she wasn’t going to make him feel like he had to...though it might break her heart. She’d find some way to live with it, if it did, but...well, there was no point thinking of it now. Ratiri was Ratiri; when it came to big things, he didn’t do anything hastily.

 

She, however, wanted to test this...whatever this was...a bit more, and not just out of morbid curiosity. She really ought to know what it did or didn’t cover, before she potentially got stuck in a situation where she’d have to find out the hard way. Obviously she couldn’t be shot or stabbed, but she really ought to test what effects heat or cold would have. This gift hadn’t come with a user’s guide, so she’d have to write her own. Carefully. With small tests. She wouldn’t be throwing herself out of a tree, as she might have tried when she was younger.

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, but for now he made no comment. Her reasoning made a degree of sense but...this was Lorna. And yet some things, she would need to learn to navigate on her own; at least she was thinking of how to be cautious.

 

They arrived at the vault door and Thranduil waved his hand, allowing the door to open and raising the lights. “Like with Lorna and Earlene, I am entrusting you with knowledge of something that many in the outer world would find most desirable, I suppose. Yet it is also why we need worry about little, with regard to our choices and activities, aside from the need for modesty and prudence,” he said. “Come.”

 

Ratiri’s reaction was everything Lorna would have hoped. Never had she seen his eyes so round; he looked rather like Allanah when she looked at the chess pieces.

 

This...good  _ God _ . Ratiri had known the Elves were rich, but this was beyond anything even he had imagined. Not just gold, but jewels of all sorts, winking in the light...and yet he thought it sad, that so much just sat here, appreciated by no one. How long had it taken them to amass so much? Probably tens of thousands of years. There was probably more in here than the value of most of Europe put together. “You could probably buy all of Ireland with an eighth of this, if even that,” he breathed.

 

“So I am told,” Thranduil said. “You are seeing much of the cumulative wealth of the elven realms. This was not only my doing, or my father’s. Some of this belonged to Elu Thingol, smuggled out of Menegroth. Some came from the hoards of Erebor; wealth so vast that all that lies here would not rate so much as a glance. This too, belonged to the realm of Doriath. Or...well, technically not, I suppose. At any rate, back you go, Anguirel.” He walked to be further reaches of the vault, and returned the blade to its place. “I agree with you, Ratiri, to an extent. If there is something you wish, you need only ask. As you can see there is more than we need. And yet, it is also some of why it is for the best we are not known. I remember what happened when it was assumed that Smaug’s hoard lay unguarded. He shook his head, smiling. “And I was equally guilty of wishing for a share.”

 

Ratiri looked at him. “What happened to Erebor?” he asked. “And Minas Tirith -- there’s no archaeological evidence of it, but there should be, a city like that.” While he needed nothing, he thought of all the children in the world who were starving, who died for lack of basic medical care...doling out gold from here would only devalue it on the world market, and yet -- and yet. The global economy being what it was, the children would still starve.

 

Thranduil looked at him with some sadness. “I have not wanted to watch others suffer when here there is so much wealth. But when your people are immortal...it was my duty to think always of the future, always of our enduring welfare. And as you already realize, how to solve the problems of others are not so simple. One of the saddest obligations of a ruler is prioritizing those to whom duty is owed; the truth is, many are beyond help. But your question...I do not know for certain. It was perhaps several centuries into the Fourth Age when we began to withdraw, to keep to ourselves. We passed into legend and rumor. In time, we were fully isolated. These realms were really rather small, in terms of their structures. Gondor was located near the sea, and Erebor inside of a lone mountain. I can only assume that things like earthquakes, and sea-risings swept them away, much as happened to Númenor of old. Much as happened to all of Beleriand. All I can tell you is that if they are no longer a part of this world, I could not know the reason.”

 

If the maps were at all accurate, where Erebor should be there was in fact a coastline. And Minas Tirith...God, that was tragic. It was the only explanation Ratiri could think of, either. He shook his head. “That’s where your oaths and mine differ,” he sighed. “I took an oath when I became a doctor, to help everyone to the best of my ability. I would make a bad ruler, I think; I would be the sort that would kill himself trying to do just that. As a doctor, you prioritize, yes, but only in terms of who needs care first. I would love to help all those children, but I know what would happen, even if we were to donate half this vault. It wouldn’t help; everything would just become that much more expensive. It’s called inflation; the more you have of something, the less it’s worth. Humanity came up with that one, I’m sure, because I can’t imagine Elves being that stupid. I’m pretty certain we came up with taxes, too,” he added dryly.

 

Thranduil smiled. “I charged tariffs,” he said. “Though I cannot take credit for inventing them. Your heart is noble, Ratiri, but helping everyone eventually means taking from those who look to you for their care. While I freely admit that perhaps I am rather over-resourced, it was not a luxury I always had. He walked back, stopping in front of two exquisite goblets, crafted of gold and gems, with the stem formed in a manner that imitated tree trunks and branches twining around the outside of the vessel. Picking them up, he presented them to the couple. “I would like you to have these, as my gift to you in celebration of the birth of your children. May many joys pass by these, both in the wine consumed and in the happiness of watching Shane and Chandra grow.”

 

For once, Lorna didn’t protest being given something so beautiful. The goblet was heavy in her hands, and she wondered just how old it was. “Thank you,” she said, and tackled him in an unexpected hug. “Once I can drink properly again, I will get ossified out’v this.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing, though his eyes were on his goblet. Such a beautiful thing, and  _ real _ , not some lovely but worthless item made in a factory along with thousands of others. Whoever had crafted it had put love into the working; no machine could have produced something so fine. “We both will,” he said. “Though this time, we will be careful not to wind up with children.”

 

“I can imagine,” he smiled, sealing the vault once again.

 

Lorna turned to Ratiri. “D’you think I could put tea in this? Real tea, with caffeine and everything?”

 

“You would probably heat the metal too much,” he said, unfortunately needing to burst her bubble. “But if there is orange juice, maybe.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh no you don’t, Mister. I spent nine months letting you badger me into healthy food. I want my tea and my bacon.”

 

Rolling his eyes as he led the way, he tried to distract the pair of them. “Perhaps if you ask Earlene nicely, she will tell you her menu for tomorrow. But...perhaps we should not do that after all. Thanadir is still with her and…” he trailed off with a sigh.

 

“What’s wrong?” Lorna asked. “I mean, aside from the bloody obvious. Or is it the bloody obvious?”

 

“You have such a way with words, Lorna,” Ratiri sighed. “They’ve undergone fairly massive trauma. That’s not something one gets over in a day.”

 

“I simply meant that even though we have eaten, discussing that much food in front of him is likely to have a deleterious effect on what remains of your bakery purchase,” said the King.

 

Lorna dissolved into laughter. “That’s why we bought so many,” she said. “If talking about breakfast makes him want to eat five or more cupcakes, let him. Poor lad deserves it.” And even now, she called him ‘lad’. She knew better, had  _ seen _ better, but it was just ingrained. Rather like calling him a cinnamon roll.

 

“True,” admitted Thranduil. “And as his bravery and resolve is the reason for our newfound freedom, I can hardly complain. I should probably tell Earlene that she can bake for him to both of their heart’s content. He has given much in his long life, and received little in return.”

 

“I should make cinnamon rolls,” Lorna said, grinning. “Though I can’t make them as good as Earlene. Maybe French toast, and I won’t even make him catch it.”

 

“Catch it?” Ratiri asked, eying her.

 

“When Mairead makes French toast, you only get to eat it if you can catch it on your plate when it’s thrown across the kitchen. Thranduil’s good at it.” Lorna gave the elf in question a smirk.

 

She’d told Ratiri that, so many months ago, but he’d entirely forgot. “Was Thanadir there at the time?” No doubt the poor Elf had been totally scandalized.

 

“He was, but I gave him some extra pieces, so I think he was okay eventually.”

 

“On this next occasion I believe that flying food might be best...saved for later,” Thranduil said, struggling to phrase it delicately. “Both Earlene and Thanadir struggle to cope with matters they perceive as being out of order. I have been forced to realize over time, they have much in common. It is not that they view such things as wrong or bad, it is just not the relationship they perceive food should have with ballistic projectiles.”

 

Lorna laughed again. “I’d figured,” she said. “Not everyone’s okay with that. I’d guess most aren’t. The pair’v them deserve calm, which I’ll try to give them, but, y’know, it’s me.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Ratiri said dryly, kissing the top of her head. “Once you’ve eaten an appallingly greasy breakfast, you’ll be a slug.”

 

“Yes, but I’ll be a  _ content  _ slug. I mean it, allanah -- I can’t think’v anything that’d induce me to eat a salad ever again.”

 

“Salad is what contains the nutrients your body needs to be healthy, Lorna; some of the most valuable ones. We must find a way to help you enjoy a range of foods; none of our people subsist only on breads and fats.” Thranduil did not wish to be preachy, but this thinking was precisely why so many in the human world had sacrificed their health, and was incomprehensible to him.

 

“It’s not that I don’t like fruit,” she said, leaning against Ratiri’s arm. “I love fruit. I just can’t stand lettuce, and...well, a lot of vegetables. Earlene makes fantastic salads, but it’s not something that’d ever be my first choice.” Plus, Gran had probably never had a salad in her life, and she was ancient by human standards. A diet heavy in salads and healthy shite also tended to make a person lose weight, especially if they were physically active, and like she needed  _ that _ . Ratiri already told her she weighed as much as a squirrel (he’d also said she was about the size of one, so she’d poked him into submission, then kissed him).

 

“They need not be the only thing you eat, but they should be part of what is on your plate. Regrettably we now all have the responsibility to model healthy habits for our children, who must be taught good choices.”

 

Lorna looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “That’s blatant manipulation,” she said, but couldn’t hold her expression. “You’ve set me a challenge now. I’ll look up ways to eat healthy that don’t involve a single salad, ever. Just you see if I don’t.”

 

Ratiri covered his face with his hand, trying to stifle his laughter and failing utterly. “Now look what you’ve done. She’s on a mission.”

 

Thranduil smirked. It was not a partial smirk, but an encompassing one, to which all of his features donated something. “You keep telling yourself that,” he threw back at her.

 

It was such an incongruously  _ human  _ thing to say that she burst out laughing. “I’ll prove it,” she said. “No lettuce will come anywhere near my children, unless they decide they want it on a burger. There’ll be fruit galore, and like...carrots, or whatever, but no salad. Their mouths will not be sullied by salad dressing.”

 

Ratiri groaned. He really, really didn’t need the pair of them setting up a challenge like this, but it was going to happen whether he liked it or not, so he might as well resign himself to it. “You really could be siblings,” he sighed, shaking his head.

 

“That is not right, to deny your children greens over a contest, Lorna. I mean it. That is close to saying you would keep them from milk, or eggs, because you do not care for them.” His voice and demeanor had changed markedly; this notion was completely appalling. “And either way, please do not mention this in front of Earlene, not even in jest.” What eruption would burst out of his wife, were she to hear such a thing… he might not have peace for a week.

 

Lorna sighed. “Have I mentioned that I hate it when you’re right?” She had actually heard of parents denying their kids milk, and not for any medical reason. Well, dammit. “And’v course I’d never say that in front’v Earlene. She loves salads. I might not be the most tactful person in the world, but even I know better than  _ that _ .” Honestly, that he would think her that dense… “Oh, well, it’ll be a while before either’v them’ll be old enough to even have food preferences, and I’d rather listen to Earlene’s advice than Mairead’s.” She loved her sister dearly, but she really didn’t need anyone that overbearing involved just yet.

 

“Oh it is much worse than that,” Thranduil said, a measure of dread entering his voice. “You have not...heard her. There have been tirades, about food and how people eat. When Earlene is unleashed on anything about which she has strong beliefs, it is like each of her words are knife points. It was not even directed at me, and I wanted to flee to the barn. Thanadir has heard the same. He now knows not to ask about the packaged foods in the grocery store, having explained to me what happened once when he inquired about ‘boxed cereal.’

 

Lorna was never, ever going to mention what her usual breakfast consisted of. Ever. “Earlene has always been able to afford good food,” she said, shaking her head. “And if you can afford it, there’s no reason not to eat it. Mairead’d be horrified by some’v what I’ve got in my pantry, but Earlene’d be horrified by some’v Mairead’s. But hell, when you’re feeding four growing children, organic milk isn’t an option when you live on a budget. Baile farmers have cows, but everyone wants milk, so everyone only gets a little.”

 

“You should have heard the rows between my parents,” Ratiri said. “Mam was Hindu, and a pretty strict vegetarian. Dad was...Scottish. He loved his meat, of all kinds. I used to go for walks when they’d really get going.”

 

Thranduil shook his head in trepidation. “Earlene’s eating is not on account of wealth. She would prove to you that you can have very little money and eat well. One time she brought in garden weeds and served them, and I confess they were delicious, when she was done with them. But this is her...focus, not mine. I simply know better than to ask for anything in a package at Aislinn’s grocery”, he grinned.

 

That only set Lorna off all over again. “I wonder if she’d murder me if I corrupted Allanah with Irish sweets, when she’s older. Christ, I hope not.” Yes, they were probably full of preservatives and God only knew what else, but they were so  _ tasty _ . She and Pat had stolen a whole crate from a corner shop one night when she was ten, and eaten themselves sick. They never had any money to actually buy sweets, so theft was their only option.

 

“I am certain she will manage. Even she ate at Holey Cream,” he said, shaking his head at the memory. “Praise Eru that her desire to eat nutrients is stronger than her desire for sweets.”

  
“Christ, allanah, we need to go to New York someday,” she said to Ratiri. “That shop was unreal. I had a bowl the size’v my head.”

 

“Save me,” he groaned. While he liked the thought of traveling, New York City was the last place in the world he wanted to visit. He’d left London to get  _ away  _ from cities.

 

“Thanadir’s a bad influence on her,” Lorna said. “But he’s got that damn superpower...you can’t  _ not  _ feed him sweets. Even after all I’ve seen him do, part’v my instinct still wants to give him biscuits and warm milk.”

 

Thranduil laughed, as they arrived back at his quarters. “Somehow I doubt he would mind, but one of these days he will manage to eat himself sick. We now know it is possible, after all.”

 

Ratiri would actually like to see that, if only because of the rarity value. “Get Mairead to make him too many cakes, if such a thing is possible. I know Siobhan has never been happy that she won’t share her grandmother’s recipe.”

 

Lorna snorted. “She won’t even give it to  _ me _ ,” she said. “I might steal it, though, and give it to Earlene. What Mairead doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

 

Privately Thranduil pondered whether or not Thanadir would do himself in, under such circumstances. His seneschal was known, after all, for his formidable self-discipline. And yet…   _ Silence is wisdom _ , he counseled himself, as he smiled and reached for Ithiliel. Eleniel was apparently interested in taking all her naneth’s breasts had to give, and was still feeding.

 

Lorna discovered Chandra was awake, though Shane slept on, so she lifted her daughter. She’d swear the baby’s hair had grown, for all that was impossible. Such red hair, too...she was going to grow up to be gorgeous, and Lorna was going to have to murder every boy who looked her way. (Girls she would trust more, should Chandra prove so inclined -- and girls couldn’t get her up the yard.) Although that begged a question -- just how difficult would it be for the pair of them to find dates, when they were old enough? They were keeping a very large secret, and one of the biggest reasons she didn’t want to send them to public school was because they’d likely have little in common with other kids, and would feel the stress of having to keep so much of their lives a secret.

 

“What do we do, when they’re old enough to want to date?” she asked. “It’s hard to have a relationship when so much’v your life has to be kept secret, and sooner or later they’ll meet someone. Though hopefully not too young.” Part of her was very tempted to be that Draconian parent who wouldn’t let her kids date until they were twenty, but she knew that would be a terrible, terrible idea. Then again, where were they going to meet other teenagers?

 

Earlene considered. “I intend for our children to be well-educated. I believe Thanadir does as well,” she grinned. “But in seriousness, I am not fond of the idea of forced interaction with other children when they are younger, as happens in a public school. And...this is many years off. Thranduil is apparently reaching out to include more outsiders in our lives, or at least make the opportunities possible. If this much has changed in one year, who is to say what the case will be by then? There are at least some children in the village. The only thing I can say with certainty is that if our children wish for a higher education, I would very much support them having one. I grew up very focused on school and learning. Too focused, I now feel. And, we do not know what they will be like. Are like. Surely their own personalities will influence some of what transpires? I certainly offer to teach any of them in the language arts, and history; academic subjects of a verbal nature. My guess is that somewhere between Ratiri and Thanadir and Thranduil, the rest will be managed as well. And Lorna, you have mechanical skills to teach. Not only books, are important. Practical knowledge is essential as well.”

 

“As long as they have it better than I did,” Lorna said, stroking her daughter’s silky hair. “I don’t know how to Parent, with a capital P.” She hadn’t exactly been  _ raised _ herself; she’d run around half-feral, answerable to no one.

 

“Nobody does, at first,” Ratiri said. “And while I do have some idea how to Parent, my own were... _ eccentric _ would be putting it kindly. You muddle through. If you actually try to plan it, it all goes awry.”

 

“Now  _ that  _ I would believe,” she said. “God help us if either’v them’re like me. The Halls might not survive.” At least they’d have Allanah and Earlene and Thranduil’s twins to balance them out...hopefully. Hopefully they wouldn’t just corrupt the other three.

 

Earlene returned Eleniel to Lothiriel and reassembled her womanly charms inside her dress while Thranduil had a vague look of disappointment. Allanah was bouncing happily on her ada’s knee, giggling as she watched Earlene. “Aníron ammos!”(I want a breast!)  she said, clear as day, while the mouth of every adult in the room opened in shock. Earlene looked completely flummoxed, as she felt fairly certain no milk was left in her at this exact moment. But the child was already reaching for her, so with a sigh she brought the Girls back out, and watched the happy face find its way.  _ Two happy faces _ , she thought. Pretending to be mildly exasperated with her husband’s obvious appreciation would accomplish nothing, so she did not bother. Besides, even she had to admit, pregnancy had done nothing to diminish her assets; there was no denying from an impartial standpoint that she was voluptuous in this regard. Though, her brow now furrowed as she thought more about that... _ Did he…?  _ The smirk, and that he was now suddenly looking elsewhere...it was all she could manage to not burst into laughter. _ Len melin, hervenn (I love you, husband) _ . Aloud, she cleared her throat. “Well, most women hope for some variation on ‘mama’ or ‘dada’ for a first word. I suppose I will never live this down,” she commented acerbically.

 

“Did she actually--?” Lorna asked, looking at Ratiri for confirmation of what she’d just said.

 

“She did,” he said, barely stifling his laughter. Oh, that would be an embarrassing story, for when she was a teenager.

 

“At least it wasn’t  _ my  _ first word,” she said, watching Chandra watch Allanah. “Nobody would’ve wanted that.” According to Pat, her first word had been ‘fuck’, followed by ‘motherfucker’. Lovely.

 

Allanah backed away for a moment, with a huge grin, her fingers still kneading at Earlene’s breast. “Ammos!”

 

“Ammos,” Earlene agreed, but now she was shaking with laughter.

 

“Ammos!” echoed Thranduil, with barely veiled enthusiasm. Thanadir, who was facing away from the King, rolled his eyes.

 

_ Ogling your wife’s tits isn’t very kingly, you know,  _ Lorna said, but she was trying so hard to rein in her laughter that she could barely get the thought out. Granted, it was pretty hard not to notice them, but could he get any more blatant?

 

_ It is extremely kingly _ , he countered, with a mental voice full of mirth. _ Kings assume certain privileges. My wife is beautiful, in my eyes, and coming from one who spends equal time admiring arses, I am surprised at your opinion.  _

 

_ Yes, but I’m not a king,  _ she countered, now all but shaking with suppressed laughter.  _ I’m a happy commoner, and we can stare at whatever we like. Doesn’t matter whether or not we’re ‘seemly’. Though I admit it’s hard not to at least look, because they’re...there.  _ She was, all things considered, rather glad her own development in that area had been minimal. She had just enough to feed the twins without having to lay them entirely on their sides, but it was still easier to bottle-feed. At least she hadn’t actually had to buy a  _ bra _ . Torture devices for the tits, was what they were. (Seriously, why were there wires?  _ Why? _ She’d gone through Mairead’s dresser one day during her first few weeks in Baile, and wondered with morbid fascination how and why someone would bother with wires and hooks and padding and the like, and that was before she actually knew what the damn things cost. And if she’d put it on her head for awhile, like some demented hat...well, Mairead never needed to know.)

 

_ Perhaps you should speak with Earlene sometime,  _ was all he would say, and with great restraint at that. Thranduil now burst into uncontrollable laughter, rising to pour himself wine. And then he recalled his promise. “Who would like wine?” he asked those present. Lothiriel refused, and Earlene looked hesitant, but consented. There was nearly universal interest, and Allanah had finished, with Earlene apologetically handing her daughter over while she wondered why she did not go topless and save herself time.

 

Lorna gave up, dissolving into laughter herself, while little Chandra stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “I’ll explain later,” she managed to a mystified Ratiri. “The short version was a bra used as a hat.”

 

“Like  _ Weird Science _ ?” he ask, the mental image all too clear.

 

“Yep. Don’t ever tell Mairead.” Would she actually ask Earlene about it? Maybe. Someday. Either way, she was glad she’d been spared that particular issue in life. She quite happily accepted some wine, sipping it slowly so as to savor and make it last. 

 

Since everyone was now relaxed and happy, no one minded engaging Lothiriel in light conversation. It was a pleasant evening, truly free of worry for the first time in a long while.

 

*****

 

Plenty of pumped milk was left for the next morning for the children, and Earlene rose with the aid of her mobile phone before dawn, dressing and leaving the Halls. On her own. For the first time in what felt like forever. Giddy with happiness, she ran through the forest at a light jog. It was  _ minuial _ , the time the elves marked as nearing dawn on account of the fading of the stars overhead, and there was enough light to find her way. And she felt happy. An encompassing kind of happy she also had not noticed inside of herself for many months. Even though she hadn’t been aware of blatant misery since the twins were born, something had to have been  going on, for the difference was noticeable. She gained in speed as she ran, a smile on her face when she heard him. 

 

“Meldis!”

 

At once she slowed, waiting. “Thanadir, how could you possibly know I had left? Or do you also have the King’s gift of somehow knowing where everyone is? If you tell me you guard my door while we sleep, I am going to be concerned for your mental well-being,” she chided. 

 

“That is not a gift of mine,” the seneschal smiled. “Though our enemy is gone, the woods are still guarded, as they ever have been; I was returning from my share of this duty. You run quietly, very quietly...but not so much that I did not hear your passing.”

 

“Come then, if your duties allow. I was going to treat myself to hot chocolate while I cook, and I know you will not reject that, will you?” she laughed. His eager face, so impossibly cute, gave the answer. “You make me feel like I am Julia Child, Thanadir. My cooking can do no wrong, in your eyes,” she chuckled. But there was no cause for complaint when he saved her the trouble of kindling the stove, when he brought a fresh pitcher of milk from Rîniel for use in their breakfast (along with yesterday’s partial collection of eggs), and willingly helped her with a number of small yet time consuming preparatory tasks, like peeling potatoes. Even by her standards, this was a complex meal, and there was a timetable. Both his company and his help were much appreciated, in the course of the four-hour production that ensued. And there was hot chocolate, after all. 

 

Earlene had even procured coffee beans, a grinder and a French press, should anyone have the desire for anything besides the fine loose leaf tea she had purchased. “Eggs Benedict, Toad in the Hole, fried bacon, chips fried in bacon grease with ketchup, and frosted cake. The only thing left to do is finish the Hollandaise sauce for the eggs, to batter the sausages, and to spread the whipped cream onto the cake. We will do the last one first and...this is a full blown nutritional nightmare,” she declared happily to the elf. “By the way, could you please fill the sugar bowl for me?”

 

He nodded, trying very hard to hide his eagerness to eat as the tormenting smells wafted through the now warm and toasty cottage. The oven was set to nearly 260C in anticipation of the Toad in the Hole. “They are coming,” he said happily, catching sight of them as he cared for setting the table. This of course was his cue for adding the boiling water from the complaining kettle to the teapot and hiding the finished cake in the pantry.

 

Lorna could smell all the deliciousness even from outside, and her mouth was actually watering. On such a sunny morning, the scent of that wonderful food mingled with that of the earth and the trees, and she could just about float, she was so happy.

 

Ratiri took one look at her expression and laughed. “At least remember to use utensils, will you?”

 

“Bite your tongue,” she said, glowering at him. “Gran thumped  _ that  _ into me, at least.” She gave the door a perfunctory rap before entering, and wondered if she’d died and gone to heaven. “Earlene, you are an absolute bloody saint. An angel. The patron saint’v Amazing Breakfast.”

 

Earlene beamed. “Everyone sit down now except Thanadir, so I don’t kill you flitting around. We have a choice of coffee or tea, and Lorna the sugar bowl can be poured into your cup, because it was just refilled.” Thranduil complied, looking with interest at the sparkling headband his wife wore. It was an inexpensive hair ornament that at the moment kept her hair out of her way, but unfortunately it had give him ideas. “Does anyone want the coffee?” she asked.

 

“I’ll try some,” Ratiri said, while Lorna made grabby-hands for the teapot. She did in fact dump far too much sugar in it, and cradled the mug rather like Gollum, with a proprietary air that made Ratiri somewhat nervous.

 

Thanadir added the water to the press as well, having been shown ahead of time what to do for this contingency, while the Toad in the Hole was placed in the scorching oven. Thanadir rushed to hold back her long hair, which was in danger of having an extremely irregular trim. “Thank you, meldir,” she said quietly. “I have never had my hair this long, and I forget to mind it.” While she proceeded to the Hollandaise sauce, he swiftly braided it for her so  _ that _ would not happen twice. Ten minutes later, in an extreme flurry of activity, all the assorted foods appeared on platters on the table, coffee appeared, and when the timer went off, a magnificent Toad in the Hole that had puffed over eight inches high was presented before it could fall. The cake was of course kept in reserve.

 

Lorna was fairly sure she actually had died and gone to culinary heaven. Bacon, fried chips, eggs, and -- was that Toad in the Hole? She’d seen it, but she’d never had it. She helped herself to a heaping, almost Thanadir-worthy portion, and looked at it with a greed that made Ratiri laugh all over again, even as he dished up his own plate. Secretly, he’d missed a bit of greasy food himself; he hadn’t wanted to eat any while Lorna was pregnant, because that would just be mean. “I’d tell you not to eat yourself sick, but I’m sure it would be pointless.”

 

“Damn right it would be,” she said, and let out a moan that was positively obscene at her first taste of bacon. “My arteries will hate me, and I don’t care at all. Earlene, right now I think I love you as much as I do Ratiri.”

 

“I can’t even be jealous,” he said, savoring his Toad in the Hole.

 

She smiled, changing her mind. “I forgot something that might help you pace yourself,” she said, returning with the cake that she plunked down in front of Lorna. “Not one word, Ratiri,” she smirked. ”And make sure you get the bowl of ketchup, I made it from scratch.”

 

Ratiri, by now, knew better than to protest -- and honestly, he hadn’t got any reason now. Lorna’s body was her own again; if she wanted to abuse it with fatty food, that was her prerogative. All he did was help himself to the ketchup, which was, predictably, fantastic.

 

Lorna stared at the cake, wide-eyed. Oh, why couldn’t she have at TARDIS stomach like Thanadir? Why was she limited to that of one small human? She was going to have the food baby from hell, but it would be so much more comfortable than the two she’d actually given birth to. “Chocolate,” she said, sounding rather like a junkie confronted with pure heroin. “Chocolate. Along with all this...okay, maybe for the moment I love you  _ more  _ than Ratiri.”

 

“Still not jealous,” he said, savoring his chips.

 

Earlene outwardly smiled in a calm manner, but inside of herself she was thrilled at how happy her friends seemed to be. Thanadir, who sat to her left, was sighing with contentment so often that it was difficult not to laugh. When she sliced into the Toad in the Hole, her eyebrow raised. The sausages she had chosen were delicate, with no overwhelming flavors, and she had sectioned them so that the presentation and flavor would be more uniform. It really was delicious.  _ Just to be living how I prefer, once again. Valar, thank you.  _ The only thing she was missing were her sweet girls, that she felt an unaccountable desire to go and nurse. Reflecting on the twins, she wondered. They were so young, and yet they had remarkable control over their heads already. When they were at her breast, she could swear there were times they wriggled a little so as to be able to look at each other, and they actually fussed if she did not hold them against each other when they latched onto her. They were adorable, and their father’s eyes sparkled blue in their lovely faces. Well, it would certainly be interesting…

 

Lorna hadn’t been this happy since she didn’t know when. She wished they could have brought the twins -- that would have made it perfect -- but that was an awfully long walk for such tiny babies. Even if she didn’t have them, she had the most delicious breakfast she could ever remember having, with her fiance and her friends, in a world free of anything but the ordinary sort of danger that came with being alive. Actually, less than that, given her gift from Manwë (which she still needed to work out how to safely test).

 

“So, mo chroí, sooner or later we have a wedding to plan, if we’d like it to be this summer.” Ratiri actually managed to cease eating long enough to speak, which was something of a miracle.

 

“Exactly how complex is this going to be?” she asked, and yes, she still had a bit of bacon in her mouth. She could feel the ghost of Gran slapping her upside the head.

 

“Not so complex as it would be if our parents were alive. The simple version’s not  _ too  _ bad.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “That does not fill me with confidence.”

 

He laughed. “Relax -- I’ve got Indira to help me with the finicky bits.  _ You  _ just need to learn some vows, and how to move in a lot of jewelry. Gold is heavy, and you are small.”

 

Thranduil fought down a smirk that kept twitching at the corners of his mouth while studiously not looking in her direction.

 

“Can we just elope?” she asked, alarmed. He’d told her she’d have a hard time moving in all his mother’s bling, and the idea disturbed her.

 

“Your sister would never forgive us, and you know she’d make both our lives hell.” That was Ratiri’s excuse, anyway; in reality, he wanted a proper wedding with his tiny Lorna, one that would scandalize all of stolidly Catholic Baile. And while Lorna might not have caught Thranduil’s subtle shift of expression,  _ Ratiri  _ did. He was not, however, going to point it out to her. He actually rather liked watching her get thrown off-balance by her Elf brother-from-another-mother, mainly because she was so adorable. “Besides, if she sees all my mother’s jewelry, she might just go mute.”

 

Now Lorna was even  _ more  _ nervous, and Ratiri carefully hid his amusement.  _ Just wait _ , he thought,  _ until she sees the bridal sari.  _ It was a beautiful thing, deep red with golden embroidery and beaded patterns worked all through it.

 

So besides Lorna’s transformation into a corner of the vault, what else happens?” Earlene asked curiously.

 

“She’d need her brothers to carry her down the aisle,” he said. “In this case meaning Big Jamie and Thranduil. The simplest one, and the only really proper form without Lorna also being Hindu, is the same I used with Katherine - the prajapatya. It’s basically like a civil ceremony, except with more food and partying. Neither of us have living parents, so that cuts out a great deal. We exchange vows, and go through the saptapadi -- ceremonial circles around a consecrated fire. After that, it’s all over but the indigestion. Four days’ worth.”

 

“And apparently I wear so much bling I can barely move,” Lorna added. “Eek.”

 

Earlene looked down.  _ Gold pregnancy? Mmmm….be quiet, Earlene.  _ “I am certain it will be wonderful, and if we can somehow help with either caring for the children or doing...something...I hope you will tell us?”

 

“We might need babysitters,” he said. “I’ve got Indira for much of it. I’m the only cousin she’s got, and her daughter doesn’t want a Hindu wedding, so I’m the only chance she has to fuss with one. Which we might regret, but probably not.”

 

“We can actually do this now,” Lorna sighed, still half unable to believe it. She downed the rest of her tea and poured a second cup -- a  _ second cup!  _ \-- and dumped just as much sugar in this time, focused on it so intently that she was just about the most adorable thing Ratiri had ever seen. She was like a doll, albeit one of those haunted ones that might murder you in your sleep. 

 

They finished their meal, and with many a groan moved to other furniture. “Do not even think of cleaning up,” Earlene ordered. “I forbid it.” With a grin, she noticed that even Thranduil seemed to have eaten too much, even though he was arguably the least overstuffed. Thanadir moved very slowly. Was that a little bulge she saw, beneath his tunic? He was her very good friend, but she would not violate his dignity by feeling his tummy. But this did not stop her from chuckling. Earlene grabbed her laptop, and leaned comfortably against her husband. “Fire away,” she said. “I’m ready to take notes.”

 

“Oh God, I don’t mean  _ now  _ now,” Lorna said, panicking a little. At least Ratiri had done this before -- her first wedding had been before a Justice of the Peace, with her best jeans serving in place of a wedding dress. Then they’d gone and got roaring drunk and spent the weekend in an actually decent hotel room. “I just meant, Von Asshat’s dead. There’s some point in looking forward. I wouldn’t...I mean, I don’t know...how does somebody plan for something like this?” She sounded a little pathetic, and didn’t care in the least.

 

Ratiri kissed her temple. “Breathe, mo chroí. We’ll want to talk to Big Jamie, Mairead, and Siobhan about the catering -- and we’ll need at least them. This is the sort of thing the whole village is invited to, if they’ll come. And a tent, just in case Ireland’s weather decides not to cooperate. I have to send for many things from Scotland, which will probably cost a small fortune, but trust me, it will be worth it.”

 

“You are not to worry about expense, Ratiri,” Thranduil said kindly. 

 

Earlene closed her laptop, understanding better now. It was just as well; being this stuffed wasn’t conducive to actual thinking, as a soft grunt escaped her. “It seems like a shame there isn’t a ferry, because that shipping will cost a whole lot more than just driving to go and get it all. Even if a truck needs to be rented. A truck…” she trailed off, thinking.

 

“There is, actually,” Ratiri said. “The toll is insane if you’ve got more than one vehicle, but better than shipping it by air. I could rent a truck in Scotland to get it here, but honestly, I think Lorna’s van would be big enough, if we took the seats out. Could we do that?”

 

“I doubt it’s legal, but we do have Von Shitstain’s truck,” Lorna said. “Thranduil, if you’re thinking’v shipping stuff, it’s not worth the expense. Trust me. Us going to get it would be a bit’v a pain, but not  _ that  _ much. And Scotland was beautiful, last time I was there.” Scotland, and Tam Lin...she’d sung that one for Liam, more than once. “I’d just be worried about someone trying to rob us. I don’t want to go to prison again.”

 

“With no disrespect to you, Lorna, you are nursing children just now and...perhaps if Orla can straighten out our ability to use the vehicle in time, myself or Thanadir should go on this expedition? If I am not mistaken it involves heavy objects? Or, at least it did when Earlene’s things arrived here.”

 

Earlene said nothing at all, privately wondering how on earth Lorna thought she was going to pack up twin newborns and go on a ten-hours-each-way trip to another country. And yet this was absolutely not her business, on which to comment.

 

It was sensible, and yet Lorna hated it. She’d been so trapped for so long...she wanted to see Scotland again. “People travel with babies, though, don’t they?” she asked. “Hell, we brought Allanah along to the seaside, didn’t we?”

 

“One baby is not two babies, Lorna,” Ratiri said. “Trust me, it’s a very large difference.” She still didn’t look convinced, so he said, “I’ll make you a bargain: if you can take care of the twins for four days on your own, you take the van and come with us.”

 

That sounded like a bloody tall order, but she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “This’ll suck, but you’re on,” she said. They were babies. Yes, it was going to be hard, but women had taken care of multiple babies since the dawn of human civilization.

 

“I’d appreciate Elven assistance either way,” Ratiri said. “If either of you will want to go. Carpets are heavier than they look, and you both know that gold is.”

 

Lorna eyed him, and sipped her tea. “Allanah, just how much gold’re you bringing?” She was picturing a large jewelry-box, not a crate.

 

“With inflation, it’s worth about three million pounds,” he said, almost sheepishly, looking down at his teacup.

 

Naturally, that just made Lorna choke on her tea, though fortunately she spat it into a napkin rather than all over the table. “ _ What? _ ”

 

“I did tell you my mother’s family was rich,” he said.

 

Earlene’s eyebrow raised. That just about equalled her net worth, before elves. “Well, at least you have unquestionably safe storage, once it arrives here. That’s a plus.”

 

“I know,” Ratiri said, with a sigh of relief. “You have to understand, it’s not actually  _ mine _ \-- it’s my mother’s, and would have gone to a daughter, if she’d had one. Since she didn’t, Lorna’s next in line -- it will be hers.”

 

Lorna’s eyes widened. “Jesus, and I’d thought having a thousand euro in my savings was extravagant,” she said, almost plaintively. She was surrounded by rich people, apparently -- though anymore, given her insane salary, she was rich enough herself. Still, there was rich, and then there was three fucking million pounds’ worth of gold. That was a responsibility she had no idea what to do with; it would get to reside in the vault, where it was safe.

 

_ Do not worry, Lorna. It is only...it is Things. You will become accustomed, in time, to having shiny things that are pretty but cannot be eaten, and do not bring love. Value, or what is deemed to be of value, can be very...strange. _

 

_ It really can be _ . She’d had no money growing up, and had always thought it a really weird thing. You couldn’t actually  _ do  _ anything with it. In and of itself, it was worthless -- just paper and metal, and yet everyone wanted to get their hands on it. She hadn’t stolen things to sell, but things she actually needed (well, and candy, but at ten that counted as a need). “Good grief. Well, Mairead’ll shit herself, so at least there’s that.”

 

“You do seem to enjoy tormenting your sister,” Ratiri observed. As an only child, he had no idea how much of that was natural or not.

 

“If you knew her better, you’d torment her, too,” Lorna said. “I love her, I really do, but she’s just so easy to torment.”

 

“Hm,” said Thranduil. A lull ensued in the conversation, during which Thanadir uncharacteristically spoke up.

 

“I have a question,” the seneschal piped.

 

“Yes?” said Thranduil.

 

“When do you wish work to resume on the house? It has remained much as we left it during the autumn and winter.”

 

“I suppose at any time, to the extent that weather and caring for the children permits. All the children are too young to be in cold for long stretches of time. But just as we are here right now, I see no reason we cannot take some hours each day to continue our project.”

 

“There are many decorative elements that need to be cared for; we have managed many of the walls. I believe it would be beneficial to meet with Orla or one of her knowledgeable ones soon, to ensure all is yet well.”

 

“That sounds like a job for Lorna,” Thranduil teased, smiling.

 

“I’ll see if I can get her out here herself.”  _ That way you’ve got a chance to take a look in her mind, and see if letting her in on everything’s a good idea,  _ she added to Thranduil. “And Christ, doing some shite sounds like a good idea. This breakfast was so amazing, and I still want cake, and then we’re all going to move before we fall into a food coma. Well, us humans. Do elves even  _ get  _ food comas?” She’d bet not, the lucky bastards.

 

Thranduil looked at his visibly uncomfortable seneschal and noted the pleading in his eyes. Airily he obfuscated. “We can become a tiny bit discomfited, but, no. I am not certain what that is, though I can see your thought on the matter.”

 

Earlene chose that moment to stretch mightily, and if a human elbow found its way to elven ribs, well…

 

_ I am saving Thanadir’s dignity, meluieg. You do not approve? _

 

_ Oh. Well, in that case. _

 

“Well, if you don’t, lucky you,” Lorna said. “Let’s be having this cake. If we’re all going to have food babies, they might as well be proper ones.”

 

Ratiri shouldn’t agree with her, and yet he couldn’t help it. He was never going to turn down cake.

 

Taking pity on Earlene and Thanadir, Thranduil served the cake onto waiting plates and brought them slices.

 

Thanadir stared at his plate. “Dagro, meldir,” (fight, my friend) Earlene encouraged, vaguely wondering if he could win an eating contest. With a deep sigh, he picked up his fork. 

 

“Eru, why must your food taste so good, Earlene?” The moist and fluffy-beyond-all-reason cake assaulted his senses.

 

“It is a new recipe, do you like it? I will make you another if you do.”

 

“Abarad” (tomorrow), he whispered, with a note of panic. 

 

Grinning, she nodded. “Abarad.”

 

Lorna savored her cake like it was manna from heaven, and even Ratiri had to admit, it was very tasty. “If only Siobhan was not...Siobhan,” he said. “She never really actively hit on me, but she looked at me like I was a piece of meat.”

 

Lorna didn’t quite choke on her cake, but it was close. At least, unlike poor Thranduil, he wasn’t privy to her pervy thoughts. Then she ate a bite with whipped cream, and gave up, laughing until tears leaked out of her eyes.

 

Thranduil looked down at the cake and stopped chewing, mid-bite. “By Eru,” he groaned, placing his plate down for a moment. “Belain, natho nin.” (Valar, save me). Earlene began laughing so hard she too had to put her plate down and run to the barn, where much to the puzzlement of Buttercup, she howled with very unrestrained laughter. She could not help it. Thanadir, alarmed, ran out after her, leaving a deeply puzzled Ratiri wondering why all his friends had suddenly transformed into lunatics.

 

“Earlene, what happened?” asked the seneschal, unable to fathom her. One look at his innocent face and the thought of discussing cream filling….no. 

 

“Forgive me, meldir,” somehow escaped. “Something happened yesterday between Thranduil and Siobhan. And it was extremely unseemly, but for a mortal is terribly funny. I am well, I merely must recover my composure.” 

 

He sighed, smirking. “Name the elven realms of Beleriand, Earlene.”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me. Right now, please.”

 

_ Sure god he can ruin hilarity _ , she thought, as she found herself rapidly able to breathe again. Because there was nothing sexy about the word ‘Nargothrond’, no matter how one parsed it.

 

When she returned, she sheepishly picked up her cake plate and kept eating, saying nothing.

 

Lorna was still giggling slightly, and yet she kept eating. Ratiri remained as baffled as ever, and she didn’t dare try to explain right now, for fear she’d just set herself off all over again. “Try not to let Siobhan ruin baked tasty things for you, Thranduil,” she said. “They’re too good to have them be destroyed.”

 

“Lorna, please explain this to me later,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “There is nothing inherently funny about whipped cream.”

 

“Don’t be so sure’v that,” she muttered. “All right, so we really ought to get started on something, once we’re done. If only so Earlene and I don’t laugh ourselves to death.”

 

“That is actually possible, you know,” Ratiri said. “You can choke.”

 

Lorna eyed him. “I didn’t need to know that, you know.”

 

“We should all return,” said Thanadir. “To find suitable clothes, for working with the cob. And to check on the children.” At the moment he was the lone voice of reason, and there were no dissenters. “I will do the dishes.” Earlene opened her mouth to protest but was given the Look of Sternness, and instead took the arm Thranduil offered. When they were gone, the seneschal permitted himself an immense grin as he ran the hot water for the sink. It was beginning to feel like bygone times were here once again, and he liked it, very much.

 

******

 

Five days later saw them working on assorted projects. Thanadir realized quickly that while Earlene had reasonable artistry, she did terrible work when paired with another. Distraction and conversation irritated her, and she made mistakes. So she was swiftly placed in charge of a wall feature on account of her stature, while Lorna was set to work with an intricate mosaic that would be on one of the bathroom floors; imitating the appearance of a stream in different hues of blue tile and glass pieces of assorted shapes. Ratiri and Thranduil were working on a stunning pattern of river rock that would form one of the many chimneys in the home; this one was for the central hearth. Earlene’s project involved the use of brown and green bottles that would admit light and form the shape of a tree. Much like the Lite-Brite toy she remembered as a small child, but with...beer bottles, that someone had blessedly rinsed to complete cleanliness. It was precise, tedious work and Thanadir came by often to make small corrections in the placement of the glass pieces. Earlene wished badly that one of these bottles was filled with Guinness, and in her hand.

 

Orla had said she’d be in the afternoon, once she was done with the client she wanted to murder -- yes, she wanted to strangle him, but she’d still signed on to build his house, and she only canceled a contract if she felt she had no other choice. Lorna would be glad enough to see her; leaning over while doing such detailed work was murder on the back, she’d discovered, but the sun was warm-ish, and she’d forgot how nice it was to focus so narrowly on something. Shutting out everything around her was not something she often did, but this took an immense amount of precision, and she bit the end of her tongue as she worked, until the distant rumble of an engine pierced her trance.

 

“That’ll be Orla,” she said, looking up. Rising, she winced, stretching her back until it let out a series of satisfying  _ pops _ as her vertebrae cracked in a line. “Everybody good for a break?”

 

Ratiri certainly was; yes, he was in better shape than he’d ever been in his life, but he was still a human working with Elves. He was inevitably going to feel a touch inferior.

Earlene was in an artistic squabble with Thanadir over whether one green bottle should be one inch over or not, and after looking at him in complete exasperation, she hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and walked the hell out of the house and into the sunshine before she strangled him. She waved at Orla, who was exiting her vehicle.

 

_ Poor Orla _ , Lorna thought. She doubted anyone but Thranduil would be able to tell, but the woman really was quite drawn to Earlene. For all she was brash, assertive person  Lorna knew, through Shane, that she was extremely shy when it came to anyone she was interested in, and consequently hadn’t dated much. Earlene was beautiful and smart, and unfortunately not just straight, but married. “Have you murdered your client yet?” she called, while Orla waved back.

 

The woman snorted. “Christ, I wish. I don’t drop people lightly, but I bid what I bid for a job. He wants a bloody swimming pool. In  _ Ireland _ . And’v course he doesn’t want to pay anything extra for it.” She paused to admire their assorted work, and appeared suitably impressed. “You’ll have to let me make drawings, so I know where you want to put more’v this.” 

 

“Trust me, there’s loads more,” Lorna said, and squawked a bit when Orla pulled her into a hug. “Oh, get away with you. You smell like...smell.”

 

“Eloquent, Lorna,” Ratiri said. At least he’d taken his shirt off, so she had a nice view.

 

“Oh, hush, you.”

 

Thanadir came forward, and invited her in; in the center of the slowly evolving structure was a large worktable, with his precisely drawn plans laid on it. Earlene’s eyebrows raised, as she saw that he had rendered all the measurements into Tengwar, not Arabic, numerals.  _ Well, this ought to be interesting _ , she reasoned. And she knew that about his plans, but had forgotten; it had just become increasingly hard to keep in mind who was ‘in’ and who was ‘out’.  _ Maybe they could say he was foreign… _ Soon Thanadir was talking and pointing at a rate that would have made any Nonna proud.

 

“You’ve made my life easier,” Orla said, silently fascinated by the precision, though she had no idea what in bloody fuck writing system he was using. “I’ll need all those measurements in regular numbers, though. Never seen that system before.”

 

Lorna had absolutely no idea how to explain it, either. “It’s an experiment,” she said. “We’ll get the plans for you when they’re...translated.” That was patent bullshit, and why, oh  _ why  _ did she try to lie? Even yet she was pants at it.

 

Orla eyed her. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Well, you’ve done the first stage for me. What are you looking for in materials? Do you have more already that you’d like to use?”

 

Ratiri drifted over, and Orla eyed him, too. Lorna hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend, but that was pretty obviously what this bloke was. Well, at least  _ one  _ of them was getting laid. “We do have some, yes,” he said. “I think there’s a list with Th- with Cian.” 

 

Just what in God’s name had Lorna got herself into? Orla hadn’t had much time to speak with the lot of them, the first time they met -- she’d set them up electronically, but that was pretty much that. And that they’d all been stalked by that Von Ratched bastard...she’d discovered more about him than she liked, through her hacking, and couldn’t say she was sorry he was dead. Much of what she’d found ought to have been impossible, but...well, there was enough of it that she’d wondered a bit.

 

Thranduil had held back for a few moments, to give himself time to examine, and was as satisfied as it was possible to be. He was behind Orla but in Lorna’s line of sight.  _ I believe all will be well, with her. To the extent one can be certain of anything, that is,  _ he said silently to Lorna. Deliberately making some noise as he approached from behind, he walked around. “I am Fionn,” he said. “I believe you have met Cian, and this is my wife Earlene, and Lorna’s fiancé Ratiri. We are grateful you could come.”  _ Here goes nothing, as I believe humans like to say. _

 

_ Oh Jesus, how do I even start?  _ Lorna wondered, watching Orla. Some habits evidently died hard, because she tensed a bit before she turned.

 

“I’m glad all’s worked out,” she said, and meant more things than the house plans. “And that I can come back. It’s a lovely place you’ve got here -- hell’v a lot nicer than the ugly boxes they want in Dublin. I’ve not had a job like this before -- I had no idea there was even a place like this left.” She gestured to the trees, and her expression was almost greedy as she took in all the green. Like Lorna, she’d spent her youth in Dublin, but she’d stayed there. There wasn’t a surfeit of real green in the city; a few parks, but nothing like this.

 

“Well...there’s a reason for that,” Lorna said.  _ Christ, ‘here goes nothing’ is right _ . “This is the last place like it. Orla, you know I’d not lie to you, right? And that I’m not and never have been completely out’v my tree?”

 

“Because  _ that  _ doesn’t sound ominous,” Orla said, regarding her with her pale blue eyes. “If you tell me you’ve run off with the fairies, I’m going to be annoyed.”

 

Lorna winced. “Er...not fairies,” she said. “Look, can you promise me one thing -- promise me you won’t go storming off until we’re through?”

 

“You’re lucky you’re my friend,” Orla said, now looking around at the little group. “Is there somebody more eloquent than Fun Size here who can tell me what she’s trying to say?”

 

“Some of us here are elves,” said Earlene. “Real ones. Not fun-sized. There’s not really an easy way to get onto the subject without sounding three-quarters mental.”  _ And where did that come from?  _ she asked herself, even as she shrugged.

 

Unlike Mairead and Big Jamie, Orla didn’t immediately call bullshit. Her eyes traveled from Earlene and Ratiri to Thanadir and Thranduil, regarding them with an interest that obviously wasn’t at all carnal. 

 

_ Elves? _ she thought.  _ Seriously?  _ But Lorna was right -- she’d never lied to anyone in the gang. They’d’ve known if she’d tried. So instead of calling bullshit, she said, “Prove it.”

 

“And how would you care for that to occur, may I ask?” Thranduil was polite yet terribly sincere.

 

That threw her a bit. “I dunno -- just do something a human can’t do, I guess.” She really hadn’t expected anyone to take her up on that, but hell, she couldn’t back out now.

 

_ Don’t send her blind _ , Lorna warned.  _ Anything but that. I wouldn’t mind seeing the fire-thingy. _

 

Thranduil ignored her for the moment. “I can give you a choice, because I am trying to decide what you will not believe is the trick of an illusionist. I can cause you to see things that are not here, and cause you not to see things that are here. Or, you can try to walk back to your vehicle, but, you will not be able to find it. Would either of those suffice?”

 

What in the shit…? “Make Fun Size here disappear,” she said, giving Lorna a friendly elbow to the ribs, willing to humor them for now. “She’s little enough.”

 

“I  _ will _ bite your kneecaps off,” Lorna said solemnly, wondering just how Orla would react to  _ that _ .

 

_ Do not make a sound when I move you,  _ Lorna heard in her head. “Very well,” said Thranduil, who not only altered Orla’s vision within a split second but also whisked her several feet over before returning to Orla’s side. “And?” asked Thranduil, with his arms crossed in front of him.

 

Earlene tried not to smile too hard, having had the fun of this experience. Well, maybe not this experience exactly, but the results had certainly been enjoyable.

 

Orla looked around, but there was no Lorna -- and tiny though Lorna was, she wasn’t easy to mislay. She hadn’t even so much as  _ blinked _ , and… “Lorna?” she called, automatically reaching out to where Lorna had been standing less than a moment before. “Where’d you stash her?”

 

“Over here.” The sound of Lorna’s disembodied voice made Orla twitch, her eyes seeking what wasn’t to be found. “Lethal, isn’t it? I just found out  _ this  _ tidbit a few days ago. I’m still here.” Making her way back to Orla as quietly as she could, she tapped her friend on the shoulder and said, “ _ Boo. _ ”

 

A combination of reflex and Shane’s training led Orla to automatically lash out, but Lorna had expected that, and ducked. “Seriously, I know how weird it is, hearing a disembodied voice, but it’s not a trick. Well, okay, it  _ is  _ a trick, but it’s a legit magical one.”

 

Orla was silent for a moment, staring at what she couldn’t see. “ Lorna, cad a fuair tú isteach? Cad é seo?”  _ Lorna, what have you got into? What is this? _

 

“ Go díreach cad a dúirt mé go bhfuil sé. Tá siad elves, Orla. Bhí Von Ratched inár ndiaidh toisc go raibh siad elves. Anois beidh tú muinín dom?” Lorna said.  _ Exactly what I’ve said it is. They’re elves, Orla. Von Ratched was after us because they are elves. Now will you trust me? _

 

Again, Orla was silent. “Don’t make me regret it,” she said, her eyes leaving the invisible Lorna and traveling to Thanadir and Thranduil. “Von Ratched -- was he what you are? Because let me tell you, I found some  _ weird  _ shit about him, that I couldn’t quite believe. I’d thought it was just a family name traveling down through generations, but it wasn’t, was it? It was the same gobshite?” Much of her mind wanted to rebel, but she’d wondered about Von Ratched for so long that it couldn’t. This was just...a logical progression. Sure, it might be some fucked-up logic, but it was logic nonetheless.

 

“Do you mind if I stop this now, so you can see Lorna again?” Thranduil asked politely.

 

“Please do,” Orla said, thoroughly weirded out. She’d done her share of drugs as a young woman, but this wasn’t like those hallucinations. To be so totally in possession of herself, and yet have Lorna vanish...yikes. Part of her couldn’t believe she was believing this; it ought to be rank nonsense to anyone who’d lived any appreciable amount of time in the real world. Who the hell believed in  _ elves _ ? Anyone with any sense knew that magicians were just con-artists, right? God knew she’d seen enough in pubs; they fooled the eye because the eye wanted to be fooled. But this...this was something different. Bone-deep instinct, instinct that didn’t bother with silly things like plausibility as she’d always known it, knew better. It told her to for once trust the evidence of her eyes. And there was something just  _ different  _ about these two, something she could never have put her finger on if she hadn’t been told. (It didn’t help that they were almost pretty enough to be women. Her mind was giving her some seriously mixed signals; with just a little work they’d make lovely ladies, and yet they’d still have the icky plumbing.)

 

“Thank you” said Thranduil, forcing himself to accept that the vast majority of mortals simply went about plagued by torrents of sexual desire. “He was not what we are. He was a weaker example of something more powerful than an elf, but either way he was a dangerous enemy and we are glad he is gone.”

 

“He’s in a bog now,” Lorna said. “He’ll not be troubling anyone again.”

 

Orla eyed her. “I always knew it was only a matter’v time before you bogged someone.” She shook her head. “Jesus, I should’ve known you’d be the one to find something so impossible.  You always did tend to just blunder into things.”

 

Lorna was absolutely never going to mention the fact that she’d given Earlene alcohol poisoning the first time she’d been to the cottage. Yeah, everyone seemed to have forgiven her for it, but she still hadn’t fully forgiven herself, because it really had been rank stupidity on her part. “Shut it, you. Anyway...now you know. I’m not sure if we’ll need any’v your cyber skill again, but you never know. I do know I’d love it if you’d take a look at my cottage once you’re done here.”

 

Orla ran a hand through her hair. It was nearly as pale as Thranduil’s, bleached by sun rather than peroxide. “I can do that. My question for now is what kind’v crew you’d want coming out here to work, how many, and what your ideal timetable is.”

 

“Well,” Earlene said slowly, thinking carefully, “In a perfect world, I think we’d like to be able to live in this dwelling by the end of next summer. As you can see my cottage down there isn’t exactly large enough for five adults and five children to do much more than eat a meal.” She was inhaling, because the next sentence was going to be something about the distance between here and the Halls, but she caught herself before she spoke. It was better to not be the one who said something of which Thranduil would not approve, and even more than that, it had nothing to do with the actual question that had been asked.

 

Smiling at his wife, Thranduil continued. “We have many who could help do building work. What we do not have is any understanding of what is required to accommodate modern living. Electricity. Computers. Running water that does not involve a stream. We need to be told what to do, and have done that which we do not know how. Anything Th…” He sighed. “Orla, my actual name is Thranduil, and this is Thanadir. We use the names Fionn and Cian in the outer world. Anything Thanadir is shown how to do, he can instruct others. Would that...work?”

 

“Good to meet you both as yourselves,” Orla said, thinking. “Well, I’m not licensed as a plumber, and I wouldn’t want to do all the wiring myself, but I’ve got people for that. I can teach classes, if you’d like, but the house’ll have to go through inspections once it’s done, to make sure it’s up to code. How many more’v you speak English?” For all she knew, the answer might be ‘none’.

 

“About that,” said Earlene. “If no one of an official nature is ever going to come here, how necessary are inspections? We wanted you because we did not wish to make errors that would result in something unsafe or...un-anything, for our families. You might say that access to this forest is rather...limited, and controlled. We built it out of sight of the road for a reason.”

 

“Technically, they’re necessary for every construction’v a new home, but given you’re out here in the back’v beyond, I’m fairly sure you can get away with out them,” Orla said. “If you were in Dublin, you’d not have a choice, but this is kind’v the middle’v nowhere, so nobody’s got real reason to care, honestly.” And she could take care of fudging any records, if need be. “Well, so long as you lot’re willing to learn to use power tools and follow safety procedures, I don’t see why I can’t teach you myself, but I’ll only be able to come out maybe once or twice a week, once I’ve got you started. Business’ll be picking up for the next few weeks, gearing up for proper spring.”

 

“We would be grateful for any oversight you could provide”, Thranduil said. “And, I did not answer your question fully. Myself and Thanadir are the only two elves that are truly fluent in English. Earlene and Ratiri speak our language very well, but would perhaps find it difficult to express complex concepts to others.”

 

“And I’d imagine you probably haven’t got words for half’v it anyway,” Orla said. The word ‘elf’ didn’t exactly lend itself to the idea of a technological society; she really, really doubted they had a word equating ‘handsaw’. “If you can get the numbers on these plans translated into something I can read, I’ll work it up. What’s your budget for this?”

 

“Don’t even bother asking that,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “They can afford it, and let’s just leave it at that.”

 

_ How?  _ Orla wondered. You couldn’t just pay for things with...gold coins, or whatever it was they probably had. “Shane?” she asked shrewdly.

 

“Yep. He’s not in on this yet, though, so you can’t say anything -- and really, I mean it, Orla, you can’t tell anyone about this,” Lorna said earnestly.

 

“Like they’d believe me,” Orla snorted. “I’ve got no wish to make everyone think I’m cracked. You don’t need to worry I’ll go blathering on to anyone about  _ this _ .” Hell, she wouldn’t believe it, if someone had told her. ‘I met elves today’ just wasn’t a sentence you ever wanted to hear anyone say. Not unless they’d been drinking paint thinner, anyway.

 

Thranduil chuckled, unable to help himself. “We are not so bad, once you get to know us,” he teased lightly. Earlene decided to hide behind Thanadir, to obscure the increasingly amused expression she was having a hard time eliminating.

 

“They’re really not,” Lorna said, and added,  _ Can I tell her about the healing thing?  _ Yes, she felt rather like a kid at Show and Tell --  _ look what my friend can do! _ \-- but so what. Sue her. (She’d been banned from _ actual  _ Show and Tell when she brought a mummified rat she’d found under the house. Hey,  _ she’d  _ thought it was worth showing.)

 

“Whatever you wish, Lorna,” he said, surprising her by answering aloud, with a twinkle in his eye. “At least I am better than a dessicated rodent.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and Orla eyed them both rather askance. “Okay, so, two things,” she said, and the expression on Orla’s face just set her off all over again. One, Thranduil can heal things. I mean, really heal them. Like, here,” she lifted the hem of her shirt up enough to show Orla where there had once been that wicked dent in her ribs. “So you don’t have to worry about handing power tools to Amateur Hour with the elves -- not only do they learn really fast, he can heal them if they do somehow screw up.” She had no idea if he could actually re-attach any appendages that might get cut off, but she’d just leave  _ that  _ one aside. “Second, he kind’v can’t help but read your mind. I was thinking about the mummified rat I’d brought to school for Show and Tell as a kid. And yes, Thranduil, you are better than a dessicated rodent.”

 

The healing sounded amazing, but it was swiftly overridden by that other little revelation. “You can actually  _ read  _ our minds?” Orla asked. It wasn’t a stretch, given he could manipulate them, but still. “You can’t  _ help  _ but read our minds? Oh Jesus, I’m sorry in advance, mate. Though if you’ve been around Lorna long enough, you’re probably good.” In truth, the thought made her really nervous, because how many times a day did she think things she wouldn’t want anyone to know about? Fifty? Five hundred? If she had to take a giant shit, she’d rather nobody know that but her.

 

“It’s okay, Orla,” Lorna assured her. “I mean, yeah, it was weird as hell at first -- I kept thinking things and immediately going ‘oh, god dammit’ -- but he doesn’t go and blab anything, and he’ll not...tease you, or whatever. And you’re gay, so he doesn’t even need to worry about you staring at his arse, like our baker in Baile.”

 

_ That  _ set Orla laughing, breaking through her tension. Nevertheless, she was glad her time among them all would be limited, at least for now; her mind was her own. She’d share it for a while, but on her own terms, on her own time. “I don’t even want to know.”

 

“You really don’t,” Lorna said. “You should meet Siobhan, actually. I bet you could shut her up just by being...you.”

 

“Thanks.” Orla shook her head. “All right, well, just have Lorna bring me the plans once you’ve got them translated. I’ll line up all the tools you’ll need, and when I come back I’ll give a tutorial.”

 

_ I am sorry, Orla,  _ she heard,  _ about the privacy issue. It is not something that I particularly enjoy either, but as was mentioned, I cannot help it. _

 

Orla twitched a little bit. She wasn’t actually surprised he could talk to people, but still, that was...startling. She tried an experimental response.  _ Going out into the world must be a bloody goddamn nightmare for you. _

 

_ I learn to ignore so many voices. It is much like ignoring television commercials, I have found. Especially the ones on Channel Four. _

 

Orla tried not to laugh, and failed miserably. It turned into a glower at Lorna’s slightly knowing look. “Get me the plans, Lorna, and I’ll get back out here.” This was possibly the oddest day of her life -- and that was really, really saying something. She’d have to work it all over in her mind, possibly after five shots of poitín.

 

_ I had eight, once. Take care of yourself,  _ the voice cautioned warmly and with humor.

 

Orla’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline.  _ That’s impressive _ , she said.  _ Trust me, I always do. _ She said her farewells, and once she’d made it down the road a ways she paused, and wondered just what in the hell she’d got herself into.

 

“She took that better than I thought she would,” Lorna said. “Not that I thought she’d freak out or anything, but still. Once you’ve got that together, I’ll take it in when I go to get my nose pierced.” She couldn’t believe she was actually getting her nose pierced at the age of forty, but whatever. She’d do it.

 

“Come, meldir,” said Earlene. “We will look at the numbers together, so that I do not accidentally make a mistake, and I will write the numerals for you.” The two of them turned to the work table, Earlene marvelling that she was actually pulling one over on Thanadir; he had forgotten about the incomplete ‘bottle tree’ cob project. And with a completely smug inner demeanor, she was not about to remind him.

 

_ Meluieg,  _ she heard reprovingly.

 

_ Please, I almost never get away with anything with him. And this is harmless. _

 

_ Very well, I will ‘stay out of it’ as you humans say. _

 

With a smile, she picked up a well-honed pencil and pointed at the first figure.

 

********

 

Two days later, plans rolled up and secured with a rubber band, Lorna decided to take the twins to Dublin. If she could prove to Ratiri she could do this, he couldn’t have any reasonable way of rejecting her going to Scotland with himself and Thranduil.

 

She’d called Orla ahead of time, and Orla had recommended a tattoo and piercing parlor owned by a friend. Quite honestly, Lorna still couldn’t believe she was doing this; she’d never even pierced her ears. She’d thought about getting a few tattoos in the past, but she could never afford it, and...hey. Heeeey.

 

She hurried to find Thanadir before they went out to the house for the day, and got him to write out the twins’ names in Tengwar. She’d get each one on each arm; Chandra would wrap around like a band, but Shane wouldn’t -- and nobody but the most epically nerdy would have any idea what they were. The tattoo artist might look at her weird for having them written on parchment, but whatever. 

 

Eying the twins, content in their carriers, she went over her list. They’d both been fed and changed, and they’d need both again when she got to Dublin -- the van was big and private, so she could feed them easily in there, and could change them on the floor. Pacifiers, blankets for spit-up, more nappies than she was likely to need (but felt it best to have anyway). Booties, hats, and little coats; it was still chilly enough that they would need to be bundled up, but she had some lighter onesies on the extreme off-chance it got warm enough for her to want them. Spare bottles, just in case of...whatever.

 

“Lorna, I really don’t know if this is a good idea,” Ratiri said, even as he helped get the children loaded into their carseats.

 

“Oh, come on,” she said. “We took Allanah to the seaside; I’m sure I can handle the twins for a few hours in bloody Dublin.”

 

Ratiri didn’t point out that Allanah was one baby, or that they’d had Thanadir. He knew when a battle would be lost before it had even begun. Well, she’d learn. “I’ve got my mobile on me -- if I have to come get you in the Charger, I will.”

 

“With the hood all dented? Not hardly. Look, if everything goes tits-up, Orla can help.” Even Lorna didn’t sound terribly convinced by that, but whatever. “I’ll be back at some point.” She knew better than to try to set herself a time limit; that would only end in tears. She also wasn’t nearly stupid enough to say, ‘It won’t be that bad’. This was not something in which she wanted to tempt Fate.

 

Ratiri still looked highly dubious, but Lorna kissed him and headed off anyway, Enya playing softly on the stereo. She could do this. Yes, she’d drive like a granny, and for once she would not at all resent it, because she had very precious cargo.

 

Fortunately, her children really didn’t seem to cry as much as other babies. She’d actually been worried about it at first, but Ratiri told her some babies were just fussier than others. She’d hoped to get to Dublin before one or the other got going, but no such luck. She was just outside the city when they both started in in stereo, and she couldn’t exactly pull over on the motorway to soothe them. The twins, not used to being left to cry unattended, both managed greater volume than she’d ever yet heard, and she felt like the world’s worst human being.

 

She pulled into a supermarket car park as soon as she could, far in the back corner where nobody would see. While it was sunny-ish in Lasg’len, it was very grey in Dublin, and she was glad she’d put them in their little coats -- though she had to take those off to get their nappies changed, because she didn’t want either somehow peeing on it.

 

“Sure now it’s all right,” she soothed Chandra, getting her cleaned and changed. The baby stopped crying, but only so she could give her mother a look that was as dubious as it was insulted. It made Lorna burst out laughing, which made Chandra laugh with her, which made Shane cry even harder.

 

“Hush now, wee man,” she said, trying some approximation of Ratiri’s accent and totally failing. “You’re next -- oh, good Jesus.”

 

Lorna had changed children’s nappies many a time before now, but  _ this  _ had never happened. Her exasperating son sent a sparkling arc of pee into the air -- fortunately missing her, but unfortunately splattering all over the floor of the van. 

 

Panicking, she laid a nappy over him before it could get any worse, which he didn’t at all appreciate, and somehow managed to reach a decibel possibly never before encountered by humans. “Come on now, it’s not so bad,” she said, sweating a little as she got him cleaned up. “I’ll tell you what, little sprog, I’ll let you eat first -- how’s that sound?”

 

Not a change. Even Chandra looked slightly exasperated. Digging out her nursing shawl -- because even if she  _ was  _ in the car, she wasn’t about to let anyone possibly see her tit -- she opened her shirt and the weird-but-comfy nursing bra Thanadir had made her, she let Shane have his lunch. She’d never nursed outside the Halls before, and it seemed really weird. It was only made harder by the fact that she had to try not to step in the puddle of her son’s wee, pooling between the grooves on the metal floor.  _ That  _ was getting cleaned before she got home; yeah, Thranduil would know this had happened, but he would be the only one.

 

“That’s better, isn’t it?” she asked, and Shane seemed to agree. She was smart enough to pull her braid out of the way and flip a cloth over her shoulder before she burped him, and a good thing, too, since of course he had to spit up a bit. Chandra, more patient, came next, and if she sicked up a bit more, well, that was what the cloths were for.

 

There. Lorna had successfully fed and changed her own sprogs, and got them situated in their carseats again, binkies and all. Yeah, there was a bit of wee on her floor, but whatever. Not the worst thing she’d ever had on the floor of a van she owned.

 

She could do this.

 

She had no idea where this shop was, but that was what GPS was for. It guided her to a place that was bigger than she’d expected, and given this was the middle of a weekday, it only took her ten minutes to find a parking space -- but then she was stuck unloading and carrying the twins and all their shite. She’d had the foresight to call the shop and make sure it would be feasible for her to actually bring two babies with her, and had been assured that it would be no problem. Hopefully they were right.

 

The sky was cloudy, but didn’t look like rain at the moment, which was a vast relief. She couldn’t exactly run with two baby carriers and a nappy bag that was nearly half as big as she was tall. None of it was heavy, but she was so small that carrying it was most definitely awkward, and having to dodge a few pedestrians didn’t help. Even opening the door was a bitch; she had to set Chandra down to do it, which the baby did not appreciate. She immediately began crying, though at least she stopped once she was safely airborne again.

 

The shop was big and bright and clean; the floor was a checkerboard of black and white tiles, the walls painted black and hung with certifications and photos of award-winning tattoos. Black leather sofas lined the walls of the waiting-room, beneath plate-glass windows that looked out onto the streets. Currently she was the only customer, and she hoped that lasted a while. Lorna had no idea what the effects of too much stimulus would have on the twins, and she’d rather not find out in this setting.

 

The woman behind the counter was big and friendly -- pushing six feet, with jet-black hair and beautiful sleeve tattoos up both her arms. “You Orla’s friend?” she asked, and her accent wasn’t Dublin at all, but very distinctly Galway.

 

“I am,” Lorna said. “So, I know I didn’t make an appointment for this bit, and I’ll understand if you can’t do it, but I’d like to get this tattooed.” She had to set the twins down to fumble through her satchel, producing the Tengwar Thanadir had written for her. Both of them started crying that time, though they stopped when she picked them up again. She hoped this wasn’t going to become a theme, because she could hardly hold them if she was getting a tattoo. Even if they had the time to do it for her today, it might have to wait anyway, if the pair of them were going to fuss every time she put them down somewhere.

 

The woman looked the parchment over. “I don’t see why not,” she said. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour. These your first tattoos?”

 

“They are,” Lorna said. “I could never afford any until now -- not if I wanted to go to a decent artist, anyway. It’s my children’s names -- I want one on each arm.”

 

“Tengwar?” the woman asked, and Lorna’s heart jerked left. “Haven’t seen a Tengwar tattoo in a while. You sure the letters’re right?”

 

Lorna tried to shove down her panic. Of course there were plenty of nerds who would want Tolkien-related tattoos, and Tengwar wasn’t exactly a secret. “A friend’v mine’s an expert,” she said, which was completely true. “My fiance, he’s even more’v a nerd than I am -- he doesn’t know I’m getting this done.”

 

“He their da?” the woman asked, peering over the counter at the twins. Her eyebrows rose at the sight of little Chandra. Pale,  _ ginger  _ little Chandra.

 

“He is,” Lorna said. “Kind’v went about things backward, but we’re getting married this summer -- he’s kind’v Hindu, so I’ve got to get my nose and my ears pierced for...something.” She couldn’t recall the names of any of the jewelry, and she really did need to memorize it all. It would just seem wrong if she didn’t.

 

“Have you ever had any piercings?”

 

Lorna winced. “I tried to do my own ears as a kid. Got a wicked infection, and I’ve never done it again. Never had any earrings to put in them anyway.”

 

“Well, they don’t hurt much, and it’s over in about five seconds. I don’t think I need to warn you tattoos’re painful, though.”

 

That just made Lorna laugh. “Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

 

The woman looked at her searchingly; no doubt she knew how to spot the people who could handle it, and the people who only thought they could. She must have been satisfied with what she found, because she nodded, and led Lorna, twins, nappy bag and all, back to a room that was mercifully not  _ too  _ small. Like the outer area, the floor was black and white, the walls back, but it was brighter in here, the warm light of bulbs rather than fluorescents. It smelled a bit like antiseptic, bitter and astringent, but it wasn’t  _ too  _ strong. At the center of the room was a table, rather like an exam table in a doctor’s office, complete with a light directly overhead. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

 

“All right, you two,” she said to the twins, “here’s the thing. Mammy’s got to put you down for a bit, so you need to not cry, all right?”

 

Both of them stared at her with their big green eyes, and both of them promptly started crying.

 

Oh, bloody hell.

 

“Oi, c’mon now, both’v you,” she said, just a touch desperately as she set them on the floor. Tickling them under their chins for once did fuck-all. “Can’t you do Mammy a favor and take a nap?”

 

Her only response was the crying notching up a decibel. Exasperated and more than a bit panicked, she unstrapped them both, holding one in each arm as she sat cross-legged on the floor. “That’s better, isn’t it?” she asked, praying it actually was.

 

Mercifully, they quieted -- but if they were only going to be calm while she held them, tattoos were right out.  _ Dammit.  _ She’d so wanted to surprise Ratiri, but you couldn’t hold a baby and get a tattoo, let alone two babies. Oh, how she wished they’d take a nap, though she understood why they didn’t; so much alien stimulus wasn’t very conducive to sleep.

 

To her alarm, several faces peered in through the doorway, all extremely curious. Lorna didn’t wonder why; it wasn’t often anyone brought their kid into a tattoo parlor, but you had to do what you had to do.

 

“This your first time out with them?” a man asked -- a huge man, well over six feet, his head shaved to reveal a dragon tattoo wrapped around the back of his skull.

 

“It is,” she groaned. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard. This was meant to be me proving to their da that could handle having them out on my own. So far this little one’s wee’d all over the inside’v the van when I changed his nappy, though at least I actually got them to spit up on the right blankets.”

 

She tried to set Chandra back into her carrier, with the result that her daughter let out a truly ear-splitting howl that made every adult in the room wince. That only set Shane off, of course, and Lorna groaned.

 

“Here, lemme see her,” the man said. “I’ve got two at home.”

 

Lorna was somewhat reluctant to hand her daughter over to a total stranger, but Chandra was kicking and screaming and showed no sign of stopping, so she let him take her. He held her with the ease of one who had much practice at this, and Chandra seemed so surprised that she stopped screaming, and instead goggled up at him.

 

“I wouldn’t think she was yours, if not for those eyes,” he said, letting her inspect his leather jacket. “How’d you get a ginger?”

 

“Genetics, according to my fiance,” Lorna said, rocking Shane a bit. His sister’s abrupt silence shut him up, too, as though he was trying to figure out why she’d stopped crying. “My mam and his da were gingers, and he says it’s a recessive gene, so if both parents’re carrying it, the kid’s got a chance’v being a ginger. What makes it weirder is that these two’re twins.”

 

Shane, evidently deciding he wasn’t getting enough attention, started fussing again, and then let out an ominous burp. Lorna just barely got a sick-up blanket over her shoulder when he made liberal use of it. Wonderful. “You, wee man, have got a bit’v a touchy stomach today, don’t you.” She set him down long enough to put the soiled blanket into a plastic shopping sack -- which of course started him crying again -- and fought an urge to pull out a chunk of her own hair. “I  _ was  _ going to get their names tattooed on today,” she sighed, “but if they’re going to fuss, I just have to come back later, without them.” At least her son stopped crying when she picked him up again, but even she realized how disgustingly dejected she sounded. They were tattoos. It was hardly the end of the damn world if she didn’t get them today. She just really didn’t want to let Ratiri get proven so right.

 

Chandra giggled, and Lorna looked up. Her daughter at least looked entirely pleased, and that made her smile.

 

“You know what,” the man said, “you’re gonna get your tattoos today. We’ll take it in turns looking after these two, and you can tell your man you did just fine today.” He did not need to add aloud,  _ and it’s totally not because we want to hold adorable babies, I promise. _

 

Lorna’s smile broadened. “If I get more ink after this, I’m coming back to you lot. I love my fiance, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to prove him wrong.”

 

Another woman took Shane -- a woman who actually wasn’t much taller than her, with bright pink hair in a cut slightly too long to be a pixie. Shane stared at it, and kept reaching until she held him high enough for his tiny fingers to explore. It meant Lorna could easily lie back for her piercings -- each of which only did take about five seconds, and only hurt for maybe two -- and listen to all the care instructions. No bloody wonder she’d got an infection when she’d tried it herself.

 

She was almost envious of how happy Chandra seemed -- the baby never giggled that much when anyone else at the Halls held her, including her parents.

 

The black-haired woman led her into another room, just as bright, with a slightly stronger aroma of antiseptic cleaner. There was another table, and another bright lamp, and enough space for both the twins’ minders to come sit with her.

 

“All right,” the woman said, “how big d’you want these? Same size as on the parchment?”

 

“A bit bigger,” Lorna said. “I want Chandra’s to wrap around my arm, as much as it can. Shane’s is too short for that, poor kid.”

 

The woman somehow made a copy of both words on some sort of extremely fine...cellophane? Whatever it was, she held it over Lorna’s arm, asking if this was where she wanted it. As observed in a mirror it looked good, so after a thorough disinfecting, onto her arm the film went, the lettering looking just like a tattoo itself. The artist explained that this was her guide, and the film would dissolve on its own after a few showers.

 

The slight whirr of the tattoo gun seemed to fascinate both babies, who stared with round eyes. Lorna had expected it to hurt, and it did, but it mostly just felt...odd. Like what would happen if you could scratch an itch deeper than was actually possible. While over her bicep it wasn’t bad at all, though once she reached the more delicate skin of her under-arm, it got a lot more annoying. The artist was both careful and methodical, and Lorna watched her working with unveiled interest. She knew how tattoos worked, naturally, but she’d never seen one done before, and she wondered just how deep below the skin it was going.

 

“They spit ink for a few days, right?” she asked. “The excess comes out?”

 

“They do,” the artist said. “Wash it carefully for the first week, with antibacterial soap. Only antibacterial lotion, and whatever you do, don’t pick the scabs when they start forming. It’s a good way to wind up with uneven shading.”

 

Scabs? Ew. She hadn’t realized  _ that  _ was part of the process, but whatever.

 

“Are you sure you want them on both arms at once?” the man with Chandra asked. “Make it hard to sleep on either side.”

 

Lorna snorted. “After giving birth to both at once, sleeping on a tattoo’ll be nothing. Told my fiance, never again. Ever. Spent most’v my last trimester hardly able to walk more than fifty feet at one go. We’ve got two for one, and that’s good enough.” She winced a bit when the needle hit a tender spot at the very inside of her arm, but all in all, this was nowhere near as bad as she’d thought it might be.

 

“Your son likes pink,” the woman with the pink hair said. Shane was indeed still inspecting said hair with avid curiosity. “You should get some streaks in.”

 

“I would, if my wedding-dress wasn’t going to be red. It’s some family heirloom’v my fiance’s, and we’re having a Hindu wedding so my family and the village’ll shit themselves.”

 

The man with Chandra burst out laughing, which made the baby laugh as well -- seriously, was he the Chandra Whisperer? How did he  _ do  _ that? “I’ve heard’v worse reasons.

 

“All right, you need a rest and orange juice,” the artist said, carefully wrapping cellophane around the tattoo and securing it with masking tape. “Then I’ll do the next.”

 

“Orange juice?” Lorna questioned.

 

“Blood sugar,” was the reply. “Pure orange juice, not the concentrate shite. We’ve got some in the fridge, if you want it.”

 

While it sounded somewhat nonsensical -- how could blood sugar affect a tattoo? -- she was the one who knew what she was talking about, so Lorna would go along. She chugged a bottle, then hopped into the toilets to change the twins’ diapers -- this time careful to put the fresh one over Shane  _ first _ . That was not a mistake she intended to make twice.

 

She eyed the tattoo in the mirror. It looked damn good, even with the tiny amount of ink that was leaking against the cellophane. She should’ve got a tattoo years ago; they really didn’t hurt much, and they could be so  _ pretty _ . And the worst of them was out of the way, too; Shane’s was nothing by comparison.

 

Out she went again, and handed each twin to their minders, who were weirdly adorable about accepting them. Apparently the cuteness of babies transcended all cultural barriers.

 

“All right, this one’ll take way less time,” the artist said, swapping to Lorna’s other side and swabbing her arm off. It was centered not quite below the edge of her shoulder, enough so it could wrap a tiny little bit; she didn’t want to make the text any bigger than Chandra’s, or it would look weird. “Then where are you off to? Home?”

 

“Not quite. I’ve got some things to take to Orla, then I can get everybody back. I’m hoping these two’ll wear themselves out eventually, and sleep on the way home.” Babies only had so much energy, no matter how much stimulation they had, although she’d need to feed them once they were back in the van. She was cautiously optimistic that this day would continue working out. Going to Orla’s would take no time at all, unless there was traffic (and this being Dublin, there would be, but still), and even then, she’d make this work. And she would go home, and rub it in to Ratiri that nothing had exploded or otherwise gone horrifically wrong -- rub it in,  _ and  _ show him her beautiful tattoos, that she managed to get even while having two babies with her.  _ Chew on that, allanah. _

 

And indeed, it all did go well -- for a while. Her second tattoo was finished, wiped, and cellophaned; she drank another bottle of orange juice, but when she went to pay, everything went to hell.

 

The twins were packed back into their carriers, but as the carriers were sitting on the counter, they didn’t appear to mind. They just goggled at all their new friends, taking in the interesting mystery of their surroundings, and all in all she was quite pleased with the day -- until some drunken twat tried to grab her arse. ‘Tried’, because there wasn’t really anything there to grab.

 

Thranduil and Thanadir had done much to curb her temper. Lorna no longer automatically lashed out every time someone startled her, but this was beyond being startled -- this was Bad Touch extraordinaire, and it was without planning or forethought that she turned and slugged him as hard as she could.

 

She’d  _ meant  _ to hit him in the face, but he was taller than she’d suspected -- a few inches over six feet, grease in his dark hair and cheap liquor on his breath, so her blow hit him in the throat rather than the face, and dropped him like a shot duck. He hit the floor with a thud that actually shook it a little beneath her feet, and naturally, both twins started crying. The bastard choked and wheezed, flailing like a dying carp, and it took every ounce of willpower Lorna had not to kick him straight in the head, and let her boots do what they would. Fury surged through her, white-hot -- it was a good thing there wasn’t anything handy that she could hit him with, or she’d probably have beaten him to a pulp with it.

 

Once upon a time, such an action would have sent her blank. Whatever reptilian  _ thing  _ had lurked in her mind would have taken over, and there would have been a mess, but she was no longer alone -- she was not longer the only one who could pay any price for it. She wanted to destroy this greedy, disgusting pig, but she had children. Children, and family, and friends. No, destroying him was not an option, but she had absolutely no qualms about kneeling, grabbing his chin, and spitting right in his face.

 

“Gobshite,” she growled, rising -- and if her boot found his ribs, well, it was easy to trip. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

 

Well, shit. And things had been going so wonderfully.

 

*********

 

Ratiri had been expecting Lorna to return a frazzled mess -- and though he doubted she’d admit he was right out loud, the implication would be there. He was therefore incredibly surprised when she pulled up the driveway and hopped out in wonderfully -- one might say disgustingly -- good spirits. There was also an air of delighted secrecy about her, which just made him nervous.

 

“How did it go?” he asked.

 

“Absolutely grand, thanks so much,” she said, a certain triumph in her eyes. “I met some lovely new people when I got my nose and my ears done, and threw something else into the bargain.”

 

Ratiri eyed her carefully. Lorna was an abysmal liar; had she been lying, he’d know, but she was not. Not that she left him much time to wonder -- she took off her flannel, leaving just her vest-top, to show him both her upper arms wrapped in cellophane. It was secured over -- “Tattoos?” he said, bending to examine them. “Tengwar tattoos?”

 

“I had Thanadir write out Chandra and Shane’s names,” she said, just about bouncing with glee. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

 

He shook his head. “You always surprise me, mo chroí,”  he said, and kissed her forehead. The doctor in him was satisfied with how clean her piercings were, even if the area around them was still slightly red. “My life will never be dull, with you around.”

 

“Damn straight it won’t. Now help me get the twins out. Poor things are sound asleep now.” They’d had to be, given all the stops she’d made. Oh, how she relished the sight of Ratiri’s face, and his almost disappointment that she hadn’t utterly failed. As an object lesson,  _ it  _ had failed. True, she’d got lucky and had help, but still. “There  _ is  _ a bit’v wee in the back I’ve got to clean out, though. Shane decided he needed to imitate a fountain when I changed his nappy the first time. Other than that, though, I didn’t have any problems with them.” Yes, the look she gave him was triumphant, and it wasn’t even a lie;  _ they  _ hadn’t given her any trouble at all. The fact that she’d throat-punched some gobshite had nothing at all to do with them -- and she had  _ tattoos _ . Tattoos, and a nose ring, and she wanted to show them all off. “C’mon -- let’s get them into the cottage so I can show everyone else.

 

Thranduil looked up from his perusal of the weekly news when the storm of Lorna’s thoughts entered the driveway. An eyebrow raised. Well, he’d know with full clarity in a few moments, he reasoned, as Earlene’s arm slid over his shoulders as she moved past. What from the rear would have appeared to be a quick hug of affection was in reality a lascivious nip to the most sensitive part of his ear, completely unexpected. He watched her slink over to the tea kettle, admiring the manner in which her bosom jiggled so very slightly as she walked. And yet now was not the time to respond to her teasing, despite the definite twitch that had occurred in his groin. With a plaintive sigh, he returned to the latest headline; something about the American President Trump and some fiasco or other. Then again, most days, at least one headline was some variation on this theme.

 

Lorna and Ratiri entered the kitchen -- or rather, Ratiri entered; Lorna practically bounced, her glee nearly palpable. “I have tattoos,” she said, carefully setting the sleeping Chandra on a chair. “Look.” She held out her arms, incredibly proud. “And a nose ring,” she added, but it was just a tiny silver bead. It would be six weeks before she could put anything else in.

 

Intrigued, Thranduil examined all of it, and did not know what to say. It was somehow very...un-elven, and yet not without a measure of attractiveness. Which was when he realized, all of it had hurt. “Take off the...meat wrap? from her other arm,” he said to Ratiri, while he did the same. A few quick touches later, he smiled. “At least this will be a few letters of the alphabet, that will be easier for you to learn.” He ran his fingers in fascination over the skin which was perfectly smooth. It seemed as though there should be something to feel, and yet there was not.

 

Thanadir wondered what all the fuss was about, and wondered why Lorna had drawn her children’s names all over her arm. Earlene was simply intrigued. She’d never had an opinion on body art either way; she was neither in favor of or opposed to it. And while she thought it looked...suitably ornamental on Lorna, she somehow could not envision having Ithiliel and Eleniel written on her arms. Besides, she doubted that it would be permitted, even were she somehow to be deeply interested in this. But Lorna was obviously very excited and happy, and so she complimented her warmly while pushing a mug of tea at her across the counter.

 

“Poor sprogs there got worn out,” Lorna said, sipping and savoring. “Big day for them, little mites.”

 

“You really didn’t have any problem with them?” Ratiri asked. 

 

“Aside from Shane’s issue, I didn’t. Ate and did their business on schedule, and didn’t fuss too much.” Which was actually true even before she’d got to the shop; so long as she was holding them, they were golden. “And I have  _ tattoos _ . Yes, I’m still excited by that. My children’ll always be in my arms. On my arms. Whatever.”

 

“Never change, mo chroí,” Ratiri said. “Never change.” And if he was a bit disappointed he didn’t get to say ‘I told you so’, he hid it very, very well. He knew far better than to ever give voice to it now.

 

Thranduil smiled at all of this, far too engrossed by the view of Earlene leaning over to push his tea toward him. It had been a happy afternoon.

 

Chandra woke and started fussing, so Lorna took her into the living room, shawl and all. Christ she’d be glad when she was done nursing, and these things on her chest went away. They weren’t even big things, but she didn’t like them anyway -- she’d always been quite happy to be so flat-chested, and she wasn’t pleased by even the bit she’d gained. She flatly refused to buy a bra; she’d kind of had the milk-absorbing thingies stuff into a second vest-top beneath the first. How long was a woman supposed to nurse? She didn’t actually know. Like a year? That was how long Earlene had nursed Allanah, anyway. Either way, these things could be gone from her chest fast enough. Fortunately, she knew Ratiri didn’t care one way or the other; he was happy no matter what she looked like, which made  _ her  _ quite happy, too -- so long as these blobs went away. Gross. She had never properly realized that tits were essentially just lumps of fat with a milk gland in them.

 

“How is she eating?” Ratiri asked, sitting on the couch beside her.

 

“Same as ever. I think they’re both going to have your height -- they’ve got to, with how much they eat. I’m shocked I can even feed them both, to be honest.” She’d read that mothers with twins could have difficulty feeding both -- hell, Ratiri had said so himself.

 

She touched her left arm, careful not to jar the baby. There was no tenderness at all, with either of her tattoos, or any soreness or discomfort from her piercings. Having a friend who could heal stuff was handy for all sorts of things.

 

“C’mon, kid, hurry it up.” She still had to get Shane fed before she could hassle with this damn milk-absorbing...thing. God, she’d be glad to get them weaned for so many reasons.

 

Ratiri hadn’t had too many opportunities to observe Lorna nursing the twins, and he frowned to notice she seemed rather annoyed. Hadn’t Thranduil said to tell him, if she disliked it? But then, she didn’t seem to actively find it distasteful, just irritating, so he could understand why she might not think to say anything. He’d talk to Thranduil later, and see what might be done.

 

The King’s eyebrow raised.  _ Is something the matter? _ he asked Ratiri.

 

_ Lorna doesn’t seem terribly thrilled to breastfeed _ , Ratiri said.  _ I think she hasn’t said anything to you because she doesn’t find it awful, just annoying. _

 

Thranduil hesitated.  _ If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it confidential? _

 

_ Of course. I’m a doctor, I’ve got practice. _

 

_ Can I confess, then, that I am sometimes worn out from having to negotiate every single thing that is to her benefit? I truly do understand and respect her wish to determine her own course, but there are times...it is very hard right now for me to want to turn this into a discussion when I can simply touch her in passing and solve what is clearly a problem, now that I am seeing it. I have been...truly enjoying the lack of conflict in our lives, lately. And this subject is about breasts, and breasts are private body parts, and private body parts are….do I really need to explain further? I asked her to tell me when she gave birth, if this was not...cared for, well enough. But I now realize, that was hardly a time to expect her to be fully cognizant of this or anything else. _

 

On the one hand, that went rather against everything Ratiri had ever trained for, medically; on the other, this was Lorna. He understood.  _ I think that would be best _ , he said.  _ She doesn’t ever need to know, and she’d probably be better off not, actually.  _ In this, he didn’t feel at all bad keeping something from her. Doing so wouldn’t harm her in any way.

 

He rose out of his seat. “May I see your tattoo again, Lorna?” he asked, not really waiting for the answer as he slipped his fingers to lift her arm. “Did this hurt to have...what is the correct word, installed?”

 

Lorna grinned. “It’s called getting a tattoo done,” she said. “It did, a bit. Chandra’s was worse, since the skin under your arm’s more sensitive.” She was still ridiculously pleased to have them; thought of taking her children with her everywhere, in a sense, was quite wonderful. They’d be with her, even when they weren’t.

 

He looked from one arm, to the other, and back again. “I have no experience with this, but, I believe the more I look at them the more I like them”, he smiled, returning to his computer screen. If it took his smirk a while to fade, well, he could blame that on the news.

 

Lorna just smiled. There weren’t many people in the world whose opinion she gave a shit about, but she liked it when Thranduil’s were positive. He was one of a small handful whose approval she actually cared about. And now nursing didn’t seem so bad after all, with her new tattoos.


	58. Fifty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter begins on March 20, 2017
> 
> Dear readers...since the beginning, we've kept track of the dates in which the chapters of the story take place. In the beginning, it was a way to organize and ensure we didn't trip ourselves up in one temporal manner or another. But we are now writing chapter 90, and a time will come in which the timeline will move forward faster than it does right now. Later, it will be truly helpful for you to see when we are in the world, so to speak. It will take us awhile to go back and put in the dates for the 57 published chapters, but it is on the to-do list.

Thanadir, Ratiri, and Lorna were outside, wrestling with the rather substantial river rocks that would form a landscape feature near the main door to their home, while Earlene was well inside, working on an elaborate mosaic that would say “ú-randirath mistar” (not all who wander are lost) for the Duncan’s bathroom. “Lorna lost” would be a joke that would live on as long as the elves, at this point, and it seemed like fun to run with it. Besides, Tengwar letters would look beautiful even if they were really saying ‘go jump in a lake’. That being said, it was an epic bit of tedious artistry that had been joked about at the dinner table one night and drawn into reality by Thanadir the following morning. He had meticulously laid out the pattern into the sub-flooring, and it was her job to first place all of the dark blue tiles that would form the letters. After this torment was over, creamy colored ones would fill in the surrounding space, with the occasional bright white one here and there for an accent.

 

But really, she could not complain. Eleniel and Ithiliel were with her, in a sort of playpen, with their stuffed animals. They both sat up now sometimes, leaning against each other. Often, her daughters held onto each other. Their Nana looked on them with both love and envy, wishing that she could have had a sibling worth having. Sadly, at least for today, Allanah was with Lothiriel, because the girls had demonstrated increasing jealousy if one or the other paid attention to Allanah. She and Thranduil were determined to find a way around this before Allanah could understand but...nothing could be accomplished when she was wrist deep in what passed for tile adhesive. This was a chance to be alone with her thoughts, and occasionally glance up and make a happy face at the gwanûn, or sing to them. When she was certain no one was around, she would occasionally sing Smiths songs. Whether or not it was a cause for concern that they both clapped and smiled at the recurring ‘hang the DJ’ lyric from “Panic” remained to be seen. Though, she  _ had _ named one of them Morríghan….

 

The day was unusually warm, so Lorna and Ratiri had Chandra and Shane out in their carriers, letting them take in all there was to see. At only a month old, that was just about all they did, but they seemed to notice a few things -- though maybe that was just proud Mammy Lorna seeing things that weren’t there yet. 

 

Lorna was glad enough to pause when she heard Orla’s truck approach. Even with the weights she’d lifted during her pregnancy, she was still in abysmally bad shape, so much so she was ashamed of herself. Rocks she should have been able to lift with little effort took just about all the strength she had, and she’d forced herself to shift down to smaller stones for now. She’d get back to where she’d been, but it was probably going to take longer than she’d like. Oh well. She was forty and she’d given birth to twins.

 

She wiped her hands on her jeans, standing. Orla beat her to the punch, however, when it came to greetings; no sooner was she out of her truck than she said, “Did you  _ really  _ throat-punch some gobshite in the tattoo parlor?”

 

Lorna groaned, bowing her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. “That was  _ supposed  _  to be a  _ secret _ ,” she growled, glowering at Orla, who looked completely unrepentant.

 

“You did  _ what _ ?” Ratiri demanded, and if it was inwardly glad he was actually right about her trip to the city being a disaster -- well, Thranduil wouldn’t tell on him.

 

Lorna’s glare got turned on him. “Son’v a bitch pinched my arse,” she said. 

 

“ _ What  _ arse?” Orla snickered.

 

“Shut it, you. He pinched my arse, I lamped him one, that was that. I didn’t actually mean to punch him in the throat, though. He was taller than I’d thought.”  _ God dammit, Orla. _ And here she’d been so sure she’d got away with it -- even Thranduil hadn’t picked up on it, being too busy staring at Earlene’s tits at the time. (It was good to know that he could be effectively distracted that way. She’d have to ask Earlene to wear low-cut things more often.)

 

“Colleen says you spat on him, too,” Orla said, and Lorna was just about ready to punch  _ her _ .

 

“Again, Orla, he grabbed my arse. A year ago and I’d’ve castrated him for it.”

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t,” Orla laughed. “Kids screaming in stereo, but your son’s got a thing for pink hair --”

 

“Orla, if you don’t shut your gob, I’ll castrate  _ you _ ,” Lorna warned, eyes narrowing.

 

Orla shrugged, unconcerned. “Most action I’d have had in six months.”

 

There were all sorts of things Ratiri ought to say to that, but he could get none of them out; instead he burst out laughing, so hard and so long that he had to sit on the ground, completely ignoring Lorna’s sour expression.

 

Thranduil leaned against a worktable, with the Smirk of all Smirks on his face as he listened to what Orla had to say. Which was indeed very, very funny. He would have to pay far more careful attention to his friend, especially after she returned from solo day trips, in the future. Orla’s rejoinder, he tried to pretend he had not heard; it was simpler that way. In seriousness though, he was very impressed. A year ago, she would have tried earnestly to kill someone for doing as much. He was very proud of her, and perhaps at a more private time he would say as much.

 

“Your day was  _ wonderful _ ,” Ratiri said, trying to mimic her accent. “Oh, it was, was it?” He managed to get himself up, but he still couldn’t stop laughing.

 

“It  _ was _ , except for that bit,” Lorna said. “It was so nice, and then some gobshite got fresh and I...dealt with it. That could’ve happened whether I had the twins or not, so...meh.” She poked him in the ribs. “And I got two tattoos, earrings, and a nose ring out’v it, so yes, it was a  _ wonderful  _ day. Though I will admit, I did seriously consider kicking his head in, but, y’know. I’m Adulting.”

 

“Is that what you call it?” Orla asked, shaking her head. “Wait a minute and I’ll get the plans.”

 

Lorna sighed, and eyed Thranduil’s smirk. “Oh, I’m sure you find this as hilarious as this one does,” she said, lightly elbowing Ratiri. “Go on, laugh. I know you want to.”

 

Without a word, he walked up to her, and gave her a big bear hug that lifted her off her feet and twirled her around. _ It so happens that I am proud of you. Which does not eliminate that all that was rather funny. _ Setting her down again, he returned to the piece of decorative wood that he was sanding.

 

Lorna shook her head. She really needed to give up trying to predict that man. Elf. Still, she grinned.  _ I’m glad you’re proud _ , she said.  _ Because I really did want to smash his langer into a pulp.  _

 

Orla returned just as Ratiri hugged her. “Do you know how I always tell you, never change?” he asked. “I mean it.”

 

“All right, you lot, I’ve got plans  _ and  _ I’ve got power tools to demonstrate,” Orla said, waving the rolled-up papers. “In here’s an estimate of how much you’ll need in raw materials, and I got one’v my mates to draw up a tentative plan for the electrical system.”

 

“Thanadir,” the King said, gesturing for him to take the lead in this aspect. The seneschal nodded, and to those who knew him very well indeed, an air of being very pleased at the acknowledgement hovered around him.

 

“All right,” Orla said, spreading out the plans on the spare end of the table. “All your circuits are listed here.” She pointed at the marks she’d made in red pen, at intervals along each of the walls. “In order to meet code, you need at least this many. Now, I’ve got estimates for just how much’v each raw material you’ll need for a house this size, and it’s a bloody lot, and I do mean a  _ lot _ . How much’v you got already, and how much are you going to need to order? Some’v this is more’v a specialty order than I’m used to, so I’d need a bit’v time.”

 

Thranduil tilted his head and looked at Orla. “We can show you our stores, Orla. But I must ask you to give me your promise that you will not speak to anyone else of what you see.”

 

Orla looked back, but then her eyes turned to Lorna, who nodded. Neither woman had telepathy, but there were other ways to communicate without speaking, and they’d perfected them long ago, in a rougher world. “I promise,” she said, and just barely managed to refrain from spitting into her palm to shake on it. She had a feeling that wasn’t something these posh people did.

 

“Thanadir, please take Earlene with you, and Lorna, and Orla. Earlene wishes to return the twins to Lothiriel, perhaps you can all do that on the way?”

 

The seneschal nodded, vaguely wondering what his King was managing this time, even as he reproached himself mildly for his presumptuousness. He sighed.  _ These mortals were going to be the ruin of the monarchy… _

 

Earlene was collected, and truthfully was glad to have a reason to do something else for awhile. “How are you, Orla? It is good to see you again,” she smiled in greeting, trying to wipe the mess away before offering to shake hands.

 

“Busy, but good,” Orla said, shaking her hand. “Finally finished with the client I wanted to shoot. I’ve put word out warning anyone else against working with him, so he’ll find himself with precious few options. As soon as somebody tries quibbling you down from the bid you made, you know you’ve made a bad choice.”

 

Lorna wrinkled her nose. “Don’t know how you can stand that,” she said. “You used to be near as bad as me when it came to lamping people out.”

 

“Had to go legit sometime,” Orla said with a shrug. “Am I going to see your sprogs?”

 

“They’re with Ratiri at the house. These two’re Earlene and Thranduil’s.” Eleniel was watching Orla from Earlene’s arms, with an awareness far beyond anything a one-month-old baby ought to be capable of.

 

“Cute little ones. Are they identical?” Orla asked.

 

“Yes,” said Earlene smiling. “This is Eleniel, and Thanadir has Ithiliel. Or if you prefer, Seren and Morríghan; they each have an elven name and one that is more...usual.”

 

Orla had so many questions, but she’d be asking them of Lorna later. Lorna was the one she knew, and the one she trusted; when they were young, the gang were all each had to trust in the world. Didn’t matter that they hadn’t seen one another for twenty years before Lorna called her up to do some hacking -- didn’t matter that they’d only even spoken a handful of times. They’d all trusted one another, that gang, and no amount of time would be able to erase it. “This lot’s been here -- this  _ forest  _ has been here -- all this time, and nobody knew. Two hours outside Dublin, and... _ Elves. _ How old are these little ones?”

 

“That’s the kicker,” Lorna said. “They were born the same day as mine. They’re half-elf kids, so their development is a bit different -- they’ll be running around and singing by the time they’re a year old, but they won’t be fully adults until they’re fifty, I think?” she asked, turning to Earlene.

 

“That’s what they tell me,” she said. “Though...there were basically so few half-elven that ever lived, for all I know no one exactly kept records but...they’ve no need to rush. College first, right my little twins?” She tickled Eleniel’s chin as the girl squealed and said something disturbingly like ‘Ja ja ja.’ Alright, let’s get going, we’ve a bit of a walk.”

 

Off they went, Orla shadowing Lorna. She’d never, ever seen forest like this -- she’d never lived outside of Dublin, so she’d rarely seen forest at all. This, by all rights she’d ever known of, shouldn’t even be in Ireland anymore; she’d seen some late-night documentary about how all of Ireland’s ancient forest had been lost to the bloody English centuries ago, but now here she was, walking among trees the size of towers. She needed the story of how Fun Size had fallen into this little world, because it had to be a good one. Lorna really did seem to just blunder into things, be they good or bad, but for once Orla was not at all sorry to get dragged in as well.

 

“Just wait’ll you see the gates,” Lorna said. “This whole place, it’s like stepping into another world.”

 

Earlene smiled to listen to Lorna’s enthusiasm. For all that she sometimes seemed to struggle with the Monarchy Thing, as Earlene fondly dubbed it in her mind, she really did appreciate what was here in her own way, and that part was nice. As was having new guests come to see it. It was like having friends come over to play; it was always nice to have your peers be where you were. She frowned. It was just that of all the humans, the others were only in up to their knees whereas she was in so deep that only her head still remained out of the water. With a shrug, she caught up to Thanadir to walk next to him. She wouldn’t want it any other way. And hopefully Thranduil was not in one of his moods and would just let Orla see the gates, she mused. Oh well, they’d find out in a minute, as they were not so far away. When they approached the stone bridge and Orla showed no response, Earlene huffed. “Thranduil,  _ please! _ ” she said aloud, only to hear him chuckle in her mind. ”Honestly,” Earlene rolled her eyes.

 

Orla’s eyes widened, and Lorna snickered. “Told you so.” Had she looked this totally rapt, the first time she’d seen these gates? Probably. It was no wonder Thranduil had been so amused. But Orla, like Lorna herself, had seen little that could be called truly beautiful, and none of it had ever been anything like this, because there  _ wasn’t  _ anything else like this. “Now when we get inside, wait a minute. Your eyes have to adjust to the light, and some’v the walkways are damn high up. Don’t want to go pitching right over the edge.” She’d come close a couple times herself, her first few trips, but not  _ too  _ close.

 

“Is that the same as what he did with my mind, when he hid  you?” Orla asked. Just how powerful  _ was  _ this Thranduil, and should she be nervous about it? Lorna wasn’t, which was probably a good sign.

 

“Similar, yeah. These are...bigger enchantments, I think? Earlene, you’ve got to know more about this than I do,” Lorna said.

 

Earlene laughed. “Thranduil can affect what humans can see. He can take away vision, or alter what someone thinks they are seeing. One of the enchantments in the forest is that unless he allows it, humans cannot see the Gates. Only a hillside and a mouldering bunch of rocks that might add up to a bridge. Well, you know; what you just saw until you no longer did. He has lived here for a very long time, and seeing others appreciate what is ordinary to him gives him enjoyment. I...do not know if you understand, Orla, that Thranduil is King to the elves that live here. He will not ask or expect any recognition of that from you; you are his guest, and he understands how badly kings are looked down on in the outer world. But, it does not change the reality of who he is to his people.”

 

Orla shot another glance at Lorna, one eyebrow arched ever so slightly -- the entire gang had, like most Irish, had a steaming contempt for all things nobility-related, and yet Lorna had made friends with this one. A slight tilt of her head and minute shrug of her shoulders indicated that  _ this  _ one was not just okay, but the good sort. Tucking her hair behind her ear indicated that he wasn’t human, so it was possible for him to  _ be  _ the good sort. At least, that was how Lorna reconciled it. Royalty still sucked, unless it was  _ elven  _ royalty. Then it was okay.

 

Orla shook her head, remembering that they were in actual company. “Good to know,” she said, with another glance at Lorna, who nodded slightly. In the absence of telepathy, the gang had learned quite young to communicate via rather minute expressions, like some form of bastardized, almost-facial-only sign language. She had to admit that Thranduil, with those eyebrows, would probably be  _ fantastic  _ at it.

 

Earlene lingered behind just a little, watching their subtle exchanges. It was interesting, and she could guess whence it originated. Orla’s heavily veiled caution held equal fascination for her, but, that was her own business. “Edro, ennyn Thranduil” she said softly to the massive portals.

 

“Remember,” Lorna said, sounding a touch like a kid over-eager to share something with her friend, “pause, when we get inside.” God, was this something like what Thranduil felt, when he got to show this off to humans? It was probably only an echo, but even that was enough to make her damn near giddy.

 

Orla obligingly did, tensing somewhat as she passed through the Gates -- which wasn’t surprising, given she was entering an alien world. Lorna knew the exact moment her vision cleared, for her eyes widened, and a whisper of, “Mother  _ fuck _ ,” left her mouth. “Are we -- are we still in Ireland? Have we stepped through something like Tir Na N’Og?”

 

Lorna blinked. That...was a really fucking good question, actually. She’d never paused to wonder about it herself, but how else could halls big enough to hold thirty thousand people stay hidden? Yeah, Thranduil had his illusions, but she doubted there was any illusion that could actually keep someone from running into a solid surface, even if they couldn’t see it. “You know, I’ve never thought to ask,” she said, turning to Earlene. “Has Thranduil ever told you if this place is still in our...in our  _ dimension _ , or whatever?”

 

“Not in those words,” said Earlene. “But...whatever his power is, however it actually operates, there are aspects that I cannot reconcile with what I understand of science. Which is admittedly not as extensive as what Ratiri would know. The magnetic field of the earth does not work normally, here. If you bring out a compass to try and find your way, it will not function. That is another thing, Orla. Unless Thranduil allows it, no one can enter these woods and find their way. I was warned in the beginning not to enter without an escort and it’s good advice to follow. I do not believe it exists in another plane so much as, it is heavily protected by more than the elves who guard it. In my mind I think of it as Obscurity; every means by which an outsider could realize something is here is somehow defeated.”

 

“I wouldn’t want to go into even an ordinary forest on my own,” Orla said, but her eyes were traveling the winding, aerial walkways, the golden glow of lamps lit by Lorna didn’t know what, even now. Pillars, both of stone and living trees, green with moss and so  _ alive _ . Not at all what Orla would have thought of as a cave. “And this has been here, all this bloody time.” She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around that, and suspected it would be some time before she managed it.

 

She looked at Lorna. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” she asked quietly.

 

“Sometimes,” Lorna said, just as softly. “But less, the more time you spend here. You never actually get  _ used  _ to beauty like this, but at the same time, you sort of do.”

 

“We just need to go off this way for a minute, Orla, our quarters are not far, and we can bring the babies to their nanny and be on our way,” said Earlene. “Lothiriel is learning English, along with her husband, and she will be very excited to meet you.” Thanadir had kept entirely silent this whole time, only observing. But she knew him well enough by now to know that nothing at all was escaping his attention. The seneschal opened the door for her, allowing her to enter first with Eleniel, after which Orla was welcomed inside. “This is where we live besides the cottage. I guess you can see why, with the twenty minute walk, we are eager to have someplace else that is closer to town. When we were pregnant, well…” she trailed off. It was a memory best forgotten. Greeting Lothiriel, she asked “Where is Ortherion?” The look of panic that came back caused her to try again. “Mas Ortherion?” she said kindly.

 

“Ah!” said the elleth. “Adh Therion. With Therion,” she slowly enunciated, remembering, as Thanadir handed over Ithiliel.

 

“Lothiriel, this is Orla. Lorna’s friend,” she gestured to the previously obscured woman.

 

Surprised and looking very pleased, Lothiriel’s face betrayed one who is thinking very, very hard about what to do and say. She carefully extended her hand, and slowly pronounced, “I am pleased to meet you,” glancing up at Thanadir. She was obviously relieved at his nod of approval. Earlene felt happy for her, she had worked  _ so _ hard on that.

 

“Grand to meet you, too,” Orla said, shaking her hand. It seemed like a foreign gesture to the woman -- elf -- whatever, and Orla wondered just how they normally greeted other people. Christ, but she was gorgeous, too; were all elves this stupidly pretty, regardless of gender? Probably. It was always nice to have eye-candy, provided the rest of them couldn’t read her mind, too. Otherwise...awkward. Not that Orla particularly  _ cared _ , but still -- awkward.

 

She eyed her surroundings.  _ So this was how Elf-kings lived, huh? _ They certainly didn’t scrimp, that was for damn sure. It was beautiful, yeah, but also discomfiting. She felt rather wrong even just standing here.

 

A glance at Lorna got her a very slight shrug, and the briefest tug of a smile. She’d felt that way too, at first, but got over it. Repeated exposure, probably.

 

Kissing her daughters good-bye and giving Allanah a peck on the cheek that would not wake her, she asked Thanadir to please lead on. He wound his way down to lower storerooms that were in an entirely different part of the hopeless labyrinth of passages...Earlene frowned, trying to decide if she had ever come here. Maybe? But as all the doors looked alike, and she hadn’t been always in a habit of trying to open doors to peek in as she wandered, there was no real way to know. “There are ten chambers for lumber,” he said. “Some of them connect to a passage near the forges, else moving these items in and out would have been difficult. There are four for stone, and another for metals.

 

They entered the first chamber...and Earlene saw, these were not small caverns. Why anything should surprise her at this point, she had no idea, but this was impressive. He kept talking to Lorna and Orla, but as she could afford to wander...there was cured and milled lumber for furniture and ornamental work. There were rough hewn boards. There were finished boards, and posts both round and square. There were polished branches and burls, rough logs and….there was every damn kind of wood she could think of that she’d ever seen in a lumber-yard, and much more besides, and all of it in quantities that were ridiculous.

 

Orla’s eyes widened, and Lorna nearly laughed at her expression, though in truth she was impressed as hell herself. She’d had no idea they had  _ this  _ much stuff, and she wondered how old it was. The elves must be able to preserve things like wood as well as they preserved food, because there was no way any of this natural stuff would have lasted more than a thousand years without crumbling, if even that.

 

“Okay,” Orla said, eying the vast room with rapt fascination. “You’re not going to need to buy anything but the wiring and plumbing.” Jesus bloody Christ...what had she got herself into? Orla prided herself on being hard to shock, but anyone who wasn’t at least a little shocked by  _ this  _ wasn’t just out of their tree, they were halfway out the damn solar system.

 

Thanadir guided them through the rooms with wood to the rooms with stone. These could be roughly classified into, smallish stones, river rock-ish stones, and what Earlene would call small ‘boulders’; ones so heavy there was no means by which three of her could lift them. Oddly enough there was even a small supply of what she recognized as firebrick (thanks, gran).  _ Perhaps that had come from trading, long ago? _ Who even knew. When he was done, he simply said that if she would provide a list of what was required, he would see that it was carried to the work site as soon as possible. Privately, she guessed that everything she was seeing was part of his organizational genius...but if she’d had eighteen thousand years, there was no doubt in her mind that she would have managed the same. Orderliness was usually only limited by time, and degrees of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

 

Jesus, how many reasonable-sized houses could someone build with all this? Shit, how many  _ neighborhoods _ ? Here it sat, doing noone any good...these elves needed to figure out something else to build, just so it wouldn’t all go to criminal waste. Maybe she could think up a decent excuse, given enough time; if there was some reason they might have for wanting more than one house, sooner or later.

 

_ Those kids are going to grow up _ , she thought.  _ And Lorna’s are humans. They’ll want a home of their own someday, right? Two homes, one for each.  _ She just wanted any reason she could find for getting her hands on such beautiful materials; construction was a job, yeah, but the  _ right  _ job could be an absolute pleasure to do. “I’ve got the list in my truck,” she said. “Though I don’t know how your lot measure things -- Earlene, you might need to translate.”

 

“If you write the list I will double-check that Thanadir understands. But, he is pretty much a quiet genius, there aren’t many things he can’t figure out on his own better than I can.” She smiled at him admiringly and gave him an affectionate half-hug, which earned her a slight smirk. He was reserved in front of most, especially new people.

 

The ‘quiet’ part was certainly obvious, but Orla hadn’t missed just how aware he seemed of everything --  _ everything  _ \-- around him. “I’ll give it to you once we’re back out, and just lump it in with the plans. Though...how are you going to get it all out to your building site in any reasonable amount’v time?” The path through the forest was just that, and didn’t look suited to any form of vehicle.

 

“There are many of us, and we are strong. And swift. It is no great trouble,” said Thanadir.

 

Orla eyed him. Even if elves were somehow much stronger than humans -- which she guessed would make as much sense as anything else, at this point -- hauling along even one of those giant timbers wouldn’t be easy. But hey, it wasn’t her problem; they’d manage it or they wouldn’t. “How many have you got that can work on this at once?”

 

“I would say one hundred, as long as there is still some time left for attention to other duties. We all have duties, but not ones that demand all of our time. We also require less sleep.”

 

Well hell, that was handy. “With a crew that size, it shouldn’t take long at all, once you’ve got it all out there -- but I’m teaching Power Tools 101, and I want you to be honest with me if you think someone’s not going to be able to do it right. These are not toys, but more than that, they’re more dangerous even than they look.” Orla spoke very seriously now. “Even if you know what you’re doing, it’s possible to really injure yourself if something goes even slightly wrong.”

 

“I understand,” he said quietly. “I will pay careful attention to all that you tell me; it will be my duty to select who I will teach in turn. But...we also have our own tools, for working with wood. But I imagine they would not allow for progress at the rate you would like.”

 

“Just looking at everything here, I’m guessing yours are tools for craftsmanship,” she said. “Which is great for finishing it up, and actually making it look like something. Mine can get the frame up, and give you lot more time to put your stamp on it with yours, so to speak. A lot easier to get the basic wall put up with an electric saw and a nail gun, and then you can do whatever you want to make it look good.”

 

With a polite bow and a smile, Thanadir asked, “Is there more you wish to see? Other materials?”

 

Given the option, she’d love to go through all of it, but unfortunately, she just didn’t have the time. “I wish,” she said, “but we’d best get back, if I’m going to show you a few tools and see those sprogs’v Lorna’s.”

 

“Very well. This way, then.” He usually would have exited out the forge access but chose otherwise for two reasons. One, he was not certain the King wished outsiders to know there was more than one way in or out. But mostly, mortals seemed to deeply admire Thranduil’s Hall, and it would give Orla one more chance to see it. He offered Earlene his arm, and with a sigh she realized she was now twenty-five minutes from returning to the mosaic. That is, if she too was not to be included in this discussion.

 

“D’you ever get used to it?” Orla asked Lorna, as they followed.

 

“Honestly? Yes and no. It’s not quite so -- so overwhelming, once you’ve been around it a while, but it’s not something you could ever take for granted,” Lorna said. “I’ve not seen probably even a quarter of what’s in here; ages ago, there were something like thirty thousand people that lived in it, so I’m sure a lot’v it’s more residential areas and the like. Hell, I’d not seen this until today.” She shook her head. “I lived in here for months, when I was up the yard and we were hiding from Von Shitstain, but for so much’v that time I couldn’t walk very far at one go. Although God, you know what? There’s a training room, like for swords and things, and I got to take up knife- throwing again.”

 

Orla snorted, and looked down at her. “You didn’t stab yourself again, did you?”

 

Lorna groaned. Was Orla just going to give away every bloody secret she had today? “ _ No _ , you gobshite,” she said. “I got good at it, and one’v the elves, Thalion, he made me my own throwing knives for Christmas.” She explained the wonderful language mix-up that had led to ‘Lorna Empty’, which made Orla laugh so hard it echoed.

 

“Are you ever going to bring Shane in on this?” she asked, when she finally quieted.

 

Lorna shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Just now, there’s no reason to, but I’d like to someday. It’s ultimately down to Thranduil, since this is his show and all. I made a good case for you -- if you knew what was going on, we wouldn’t have to try to hide a bunch’v shite from a human construction crew, or try to dodge any questions.” She switched to Irish. “ Go ceann ann fuath atá suite, in ainneoin go mbíonn siad ag ligean a bheith an duine, agus dug é féin poll mór fuilteach i Nua-Eabhrac dhiallann as an scéal gur mhaith linn a chur ar bun, ar fad mar gheall fuath aige go raibh sé ina luí. Éasca do gach duine a bhaineann más rud é nach bhfuil againn chun iarracht a dhéanamh leanbh-suí dó agus a dhéanamh cinnte nach bhfuil a macántacht mífholláin a fháil dúinn  _ fad _ i bpoll.”  _ That one there hates lying, despite the fact that they’re pretending to be human, and dug himself a bloody great hole in New York deviating from the story we’d set up, all because he hated that it was a lie. Easiest for all concerned if we don’t have to try to baby-sit him and make sure his compulsive honesty doesn’t get us  _ all  _ in a hole. _ Shaking her head, she added, “We haven’t had any need to let Shane in yet. If we ever do, we’ll go from there. Until then, Orla, you can’t breathe a word to him.”

 

“I know. Trust me.” As much as Orla wished, so very much, that she could tell Shane, a promise was a promise.

 

The walk back (which always seemed to take less time than the walk there in the first place) was uneventful, with Earlene asking Thanadir quietly about things like, where all the colored tile chips came from (years of broken earthenware vessels and broken tiles). Which was followed by how on earth it occurred to him to save or believe there was a use for broken pottery (there was a use for almost everything). That last response raised her eyebrows. “You are not secretly a hoarder, are you, meldir?” she asked with amusement.

 

“I know what ‘hoard’ is, but...I do not believe I understand your meaning,” he said, soft eyes watching her. Earlene could get up to mischief on short notice, he had learned.

 

“I will explain later. We will watch a video. It is a...well, I cannot tell you that. You will see,” she smiled. Rolling his eyes at her, he shook his head as she caught sight of Thranduil fussing with the placement of some cob.

 

Orla went to fetch the materials lists from her truck, while Lorna went to see the twins. Ratiri had got them both changed and fed, bless him, and was currently rocking a fussy Chandra. For once, Shane was the sanguine one, swatting at the string of bells that hung off the carrier’s handle above him.

 

“Big day for the pair’v you, isn’t it?” she asked, tickling him under the chin before going to Chandra, who was most decidedly not happy. “That’s enough out’v you, missy.” She lightly tickled her daughter’s cheek with the end of her braid, and the baby stopped fussing -- however, it appeared she only stopped because she wanted to give her mother a rather affronted look.

 

“They’ll sleep like the dead tonight, or so I hope,” Ratiri said. It was still too early for them to be sleeping through the night, but the fewer times they had to get up to feed the babies, the better. “It really  _ is  _ a big day. All this sunshine and fresh air, and things to see.”

 

Chandra transferred her affrontery to him, and Lorna gave up and burst out laughing. “How can a baby look so offended?” she asked, and sat beside Shane’s carrier. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

 

“Well, she  _ is  _ our daughter,” Ratiri said. “She’s bound to be a bit...different.”

 

“Shut it, you,” Lorna said fondly.

 

Orla, lists in hand, took them to Earlene and Thanadir. “This’ll be all’v it, though you can certainly add to it if need be. And if you need any other specialty items, let me know -- though I somehow doubt you will.”

  
Earlene snorted. “In this house, ‘specialty items’ seem to amount to empty bottles from the pub. Though...did we account for glass, for however we are making that greenhouse portion?” she asked. “Surely you don’t have a room full of plate glass…?” she looked at Thanadir.

 

“I’d go for polycarbonate,” Orla said. “Under these trees, you don’t want glass. Ireland can get some wicked windstorms, and a glass greenhouse in a forest would just be a disaster waiting to happen.”

 

“This is true,” Earlene murmured, but then said brightly, “and this is why we are glad to have you,” flashing her a lovely smile. Lorna’s friends might be on the odd side, but they all seemed to be exceedingly competent in their chosen endeavors.

 

“I’m glad to be here,” Orla said, and meant for more things than one.

 

“All right, Chandra, this is your Auntie Orla, and I promise she doesn’t eat little babies.” Lorna, a now-calm Chandra in her arms, approached. The baby stared, as babies were wont to do.

 

“Are you sure that one’s yours?” Orla asked. Her exposure to babies was admittedly limited, but she did know they were supposed to resemble at least one of their parents a  _ little  _ bit, right? Aside from those frankly unsettlingly green eyes, she didn’t look a bit like Lorna  _ or  _ her fiance.

 

“Genetics,” Lorna said, as though that were actually some kind of explanation. “D’you want to hold her?”

 

Orla didn’t bother to hide her slight panic at the idea. “Christ, I might break her.”

 

“No you won’t. Just do like I am.” Gently she passed the baby along, and Chandra continued to stare, even as Orla held her as though afraid she’d shatter in a breeze.

 

Orla looked from the baby to Lorna, and tilted her head slightly in a manner that asked,  _ you’re happy here? _

 

Lorna gave only the barest hint of a nod, and a smile that lasted no more than half a second. She grinned a little at Orla’s obvious relief to pass Chandra back. Before she took the baby, she tapped her forefinger on the notes, with another smile, this one slightly less brief as her eyes cut to the truck. Orla took her meaning:  _ we’ve all gone legit now. _

 

“We need a reunion,” Orla said. “Pick some night and some pub in Dublin, and you drag Mick out with you. I’ll get Shane and Niamh.”

 

Lorna laughed. “Niamh’s working for us, too, though she’s not in on the truth’v it. Look at all’v us, being Adults with a capital A. Most’v the time, anyway. I’ll drag Mick out, don’t you worry.” She liked the idea. They were the ones what had survived, who had found a way to make it in the real world. Doubtless they’d get themselves thrown out of the pub their first hour, though, because some things were never going to change, no matter how old they got, or how thick a veneer of civilization they attained.

 

“You’ve got Niamh in as well? Of blood course you do,” Orla laughed, shaking her head. “All right, so does anyone want a demonstration’v some’v these tools before I go? I didn’t bring much -- just the basics.”

 

“I would like a demonstration,” said Thanadir, who had wondered if she would depart after all. The beginnings of Sad Eyes were forming, and Earlene could not watch.

 

“Half a moment,” Orla said. “Earlene, can I borrow a plug in your cottage? The drill’s battery-operated, but the nail gun’s not.”  _ Jesus, what were those eyes? Just...what? _ Orla was not exactly a warm person with anyone who wasn’t one of her own, but those eyes made her want to pat him on the head and give him a biscuit.

 

“There’s an external outlet to the left of the French doors, Orla, help yourself.”

 

_ Thranduil, Thanadir is going to melt everyone. _

 

_ He needs his fun, meluieg. _

 

_ I will be working on my mosaic _ , she said, shaking her head and moving past him. 

 

_ Perhaps I will help you, I am almost done here. _ It occurred to him that she would be bent forward while working, and that the view would be most rewarding.

 

_ I would like that _ , she smiled, oblivious.

 

Lorna followed Orla, knowing the babies weren’t going to want to be around all the noise of power tools, and carried both Chandra and Shane into the cottage. A thought occurred to her, but she was going to check with Thranduil first -- yes, he’d said it was down to her judgment now, but she had enough respect for him that she wanted it confirmed before she actually went and did it.  _ Thranduil, what would you think about me having that reunion in Lasg’len, and just telling Shane and Niamh there? It’d get it out’v the way, and if you wanted you could come watch us be eejits -- and do anything else, if you have to.  _ She really doubted he  _ would  _ need to, but it might be best to have an actual live elf on hand anyway, just in case confirmation was needed.

 

_ While I doubtless have no idea what I am getting myself into, if you wish to do this, I would be honored. But do try not to burn down the pub; it was already hit by a car on account of us, in a manner of speaking. In fact, I thought we might go there later on, to introduce the children. Orla is welcome, if she has time. _

 

Lorna grinned.  _ You don’t, but that’s no bad thing. And I will do my very best to make sure nothing catches on fire.  _ You couldn’t smoke in pubs anymore, sadly, but at least it meant the danger of setting something alight was a lot less.

 

Orla passed her on her way in, bearing a black satchel and a long coil of orange extension cord. The latter she plugged in, unwinding it as she went. “All right, is anyone going to mind if I shoot a few nails into this table?” she asked. “I’ve got some odds and ends in the truck, but they’re just that, and not the most ideal in the world.”

 

Thanadir was not completely certain how nails were shot, but the descriptions seemed clear enough. “We do not mind,” he answered, fascinated.

 

Orla grinned, and put on her safety glasses. “Good. All right, now these come in cordless form, too, but the batteries tend to be shite after a while, so I save those for anywhere that an extension cord can’t reach -- and don’t ever plug in more than two extension cords. It’s a fire hazard.”

 

Lorna had to admit, she hadn’t known that.

 

The nail gun was only vaguely gun-shaped, and it had an odd, flat plastic slot running from the base of the handle to the end of the, er, ‘muzzle’, or whatever you wanted to call it. Orla demonstrated how you put the clip of nails into it, sliding it down and locking it into place. The top of it had once been bright yellow, but was now dinged and nicked and faded by years of use. “Okay, now this one’s got a safety feature -- you see this bit at the end? The gun won’t fire unless it’s rested flat on something.” She squeezed the trigger, and indeed nothing happened. “Now you press it firmly, just like this, and you’ll hear it turn on.”

 

Oh, Lorna heard it, all right -- the  _ whir  _ was loud even to her, so God knew what it was like to the elves.

 

“Next just squeeze the trigger, and bam.”  _ Bam  _ was just about a perfect description, too. When Orla removed the gun, the nail was flush with the wood. “That’s single-fire mode. Auto gives you this.” She flicked a black switch and the gun whirred again as she squeezed the trigger. Each time she touched the ‘muzzle’ to the board, in went a nail, regular as clockwork. “You can get a wall framed in twenty minutes, depending on the size.” She shut it off, and handed the thing to Thanadir, along with the safety glasses. “Those’ll keep you from going blind, if that thing cocks up.”

 

His eyes widened. Having been shot, he did not need a lecture on the consequence of the careless use of such a device. “What must I be most careful of, in order to operate it safely?” he asked her.

 

“The first is to know what type’v wood you’re working with,” Orla said. “This is relatively soft, so mainly just make sure the tip is perfectly even on the wood before you fire. Harder woods, like oak, are more difficult, because the nail isn’t necessarily going to do what you want it to. I have a pneumatic gun for that, because with this one, you’d run the possible risk of the nail not penetrating the wood right, and sort’ve ejecting itself. Woods that’re  _ too  _ hard you don’t use a nail on at all, usually; that’s when you drill and screw.”

 

“That’s what she said,” Lorna muttered, unable to help herself. Ratiri didn’t laugh, but it was a very, very near thing.

 

*******

 

Lothiriel’s eyes grew wide as Thanadir explained to her that all of them would be going to the pub immediately after their last meal, and that she would be going with them.

 

“Me?” she said in a small voice, having been counseled by the seneschal to use English words at every possible opportunity.

 

“Do you want Ortherion to come?” he asked. She desperately tried to remember “want” and “come.” He smiled and said kindly, “Aníron Ortherion toled?” 

 

Her meek nod gave more than sufficient answer. It was just as well; the three children seemed to need as many objects for their care, and since Maerwen had already been dismissed for the rest of the day, the extra pair of hands would be helpful. And so it was that about half past five in the afternoon, quite a procession made their way through the forest to The Spotted Dick. Thanadir was jabbering at an uncharacteristically fast pace, trying to disgorge the sum of his observations about humans, drinking establishments, customs, those he had already met...Earlene’s brain was growing tired just catching the gist of what he said. Complete understanding, at that rate of speed, was simply out of the question. Thranduil patted her arm in sympathy. 

 

Thanadir had made an elven hybrid of Boba and Moby wraps, for all five children to be carried against the body of any given adult. Thranduil had Allanah, who was far heavier now, at least for a while. Somehow, he looked elegant wearing it, which should not even have been possible.

 

Lorna, naturally, had to snap a picture of that with her mobile. She’d made a terrible hash of trying to put her wrap on, resulting in a disgruntled Chandra and a Ratiri muttering to himself that Indira could help her with the sari, when the time came. Eventually both Duncan twins were settled, having been fed and changed and given their binkies -- on strings around their necks, because they had a tendency to spit them out when they were bored, and washing them off couldn’t happen while walking through the woods.

 

Lorna was a bit too excited to show off her children, and Ratiri dropped a kiss to the crown of her head. “Breathe, mo chroí,” he said. “We will show them off to our hearts’ content.”

 

Earlene sighed. She had hoped to walk through the forest with Thranduil, but that was not happening. Ithiliel wanted Eleniel nearby, and that meant that she walked holding Thanadir’s arm. Trying to step away from him for even fifteen seconds had resulted in a very impressive vocal expression that no one really wanted to hear. In the Halls, Earlene would often hold both of them with these baby carriers, but with the distance, her bosom, and life in general, both children were too much weight. “I wanted them to want each other, meldir, but this is not what I had in mind,” she said, mildly exasperated. The girls were possessive of each other with no end in sight, though they had worked out one thing: Allanah could be placed  _ between _ them, which somehow fit in with their happiness. As long as each twin perceived that the other was getting equal time with Allanah, all went quite well. That something so inane could have seemed like such a hurdle...Earlene shook her head.

 

Lorna took Ratiri’s hand, swinging it idly as they walked. She wondered what he’d make of all her gang in one place. Though his mother had apparently had a small country’s GDP in bridal jewelry, he’d grown up solidly middle class, and while he hadn’t really partaken in violence as a teenager, he’d seen his share of it -- it  _ was  _ Glasgow, after all. He might not find them as much of a shock as Earlene probably would -- though when they were all in one place, it was possible  _ anyone  _ might find them a bit of one. She just had to make sure Shane didn’t threaten to murder him if he ever hurt her, because from Shane...it might not be an idle threat. One never knew.

 

She stroked Chandra’s fuzzy curls with her free hand. Thank God the kid had Allanah, and Allanah had her -- each had  _ someone  _ they looked like, considering neither looked like any of the rest of their family. And Auntie Mairead, the Mama Ginger, would have to teach all of them how to look after both of them.

 

Lothiriel and Ortherion walked hand in hand, which Earlene thought was very nice, when she stole backward glances at them.  _ A bazillion thousand years of being wed, and they still love each other _ , she thought, and then the notion was banished into that mental abyss known as Not a Suitable Topic. With a smile and the promise of Guinness on tap, Thranduil opened the door for all of his charges, lingering only a moment to ensure that Thanadir had told them one thing important but easily forgettable. That here, he was not to be treated as their King, nor Thanadir as his seneschal. Just the same polite manners as they would give to any of their fellow elves. They both reflexively bowed their heads to him before their eyes widened in horror at the mistake...this was not going to be easy.

 

_ I know you will do your best _ , he told them silently, to which form of communication they were not accustomed.  _ Try to think before you act. That is all I ask; if you make a mistake, so be it. You will learn, in time. _ And with their minds spinning and a great deal of nervousness, they entered the dim light of the pub.

 

John did his best not to stare -- as did everyone else, really. Thranduil had said they might come down again, possibly with the children, but this was more people than anyone had expected. So far, Thranduil and Thanadir were the only elves they’d seen outside the forest; just how many were in there, nobody knew. He wondered if this meant they’d be seeing more of them, and if so, hoped the new ones would be prepared for...well, Ireland.

 

“It’s a long walk, and I’m bloody thirsty,” Lorna said, breaking through the sudden quiet. Poor Lothiriel and Ortherion really didn’t need to be gawked at any more than was absolutely necessary. People would gawk anyway, especially considering Lothiriel was the first female elf any of them had seen, but that didn’t mean it had to be an extended event. “Can I get a pint, John? Christ, who all wants one?” she asked, looking around the little group. Ratiri was a given, but the others...well, John could handle it.

 

“Are you sure that one’s yours?” he asked, eying little Chandra, who eyed him back, binky firmly in her mouth. “Got your eyes, that one, but that’s it.”

 

Lorna fought a sigh. She knew already this was going to be a running theme. “Yes, she’s ours. Ratiri can explain recessive genes, if he likes.”

 

Bridie, seated near the fireplace with an empty plastic chip basket in front of her, eyed the two new elves with interest. And the babies...how could they be Earlene and Thranduil’s? Were they? They were much, much too big to only be a month old.

“Five pints for our group please,” said Earlene. “Sorry about the invasion but...it takes an army to move this lot anywhere,” she grinned. “We’re here to celebrate, and we’d like to get a round for everyone.” If nothing else,  _ that _ would be music to John’s ears. She gathered Lothiriel and ushered her toward Bridie, knowing her husband would follow. “Please meet Lothiriel and Ortherion,” she said, carefully indicating by gestures which was which, as they had no way to know up from down about elven names. “They are just learning English. Lothiriel, Ortherion,” she said, her voice dropping to enunciating slowly and carefully, “this is Bridie.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” they both said in stereo, extending their hands while Bridie gawked.

 

“Pleased to meet you, too,” she said, and somehow managed to shake both their hands at once. Orla, never shy, looked up from her coloring book and stared.

 

“Pretty,” she said, evidently meaning everyone in general. “Those are big babies. I thought they were just born?”

 

“Elf-kids,” Lorna said in passing. “Well, half-elf, but they seem to be taking after their da’s side physically. Bridie, when you’ve got a moment, I’ve got a question about...something she shouldn’t be hearing about just yet.” Lorna was fairly sure no four-year-old ought to know what a condom was. She was gone before the startled Bridie could reply.

 

“They are six weeks old,” clarified Earlene. “But they are moving along very quickly. This is Ithiliel Morríghan, and Thranduil has Eleniel Seren. They have each an elven and human name to...hopefully make it easier,” she smiled.

 

“Morríghan?” Bridie asked, and smiled a little. “Best hope she doesn’t live up to her name. What’s their developmental rate?” Bridie had never had a chance to go to medical school, but not for want of it; it just wasn’t an option for her income bracket, and she’d had to take care of her mam after her da died. Still, she read enough to know what it ought to be in human children, quite aside from the two she had herself.

 

“She just might. For what I went through to have her arrive, she can take over the world if she damn well wants to,” Earlene said of the unhappy memory. “At one year, she will be like a three and a half to four year old human child, physically and for some cognitive abilities. Emotionally, though, somewhere along the line there is an overlap or a shift. I’ll be honest, I’ve not really asked all the questions I should about what happens after the first year. But I’d guess Thanadir would know quite a lot. He was more or less my midwife, and I’d not have gotten through it without him.”

 

Bridie looked at Orla, who was still staring at the babies. At a year old, they’d be where she was, now? “Christ, you’re lucky,” she said. “At that rate you’ll get through the Terrible Twos in a fortnight.”

 

“Did I have Terrible Twos, Mammy?” Orla asked, looking up at her.

 

“You had terrible everything, my girl,” Bridie said, ruffling her hair.

 

Maire and Orla drifted over, both clutching pint glasses, while in the background Jack joked, “Are you sure that one’s yours?” Poor Lorna was going to brain the next person who made that ‘joke’. It stopped being funny after the first time. Actually, it hadn’t been funny even then.

 

“Recessive genes,” she said, sounding almost bored. At least reciting ‘ginger gran on one side, ginger da on the other’ was getting to be rote. When Chandra decided to spit out her binky, and then spit up a bit on Jack...well, Lorna wasn’t that unhappy. She whisked the baby over to the fireplace to get her cleaned up; fortunately, it was just a burp, and Chandra remained curious rather than upset.

 

“The next person who asks if I’m sure she’s mine is getting a boot up their arse,” she warned.

 

Earlene snickered. Some things were never going to change. Across the room, Thranduil and Thanadir were attempting to maneuver two and three pint glasses, respectively, as little hands grabbed in the general direction of the foam on top of the beer mugs. Which caused Earlene to snicker some more. Though, it did not stop her from gratefully accepting her glass from her husband. 

 

_ You know, Thranduil, why don’t you bring Bridie to the Halls sometime? If we are opening the barn door a few more cracks, it seems almost unfair that not one person from Lasg’len has been among them. _

 

Seating himself next to Thanadir and taking a deep draught,  he considered this.  _ Why haven’t I? _ And he had no good answer except...how the past many months had gone, and the distractions of life. 

 

_ Let me consider that, meluieg, but your observation has merit. Will you pardon me? I should speak with...truly, I cannot reconcile this name. Geezer.  _ He rose and made his way over to the solitary man.

 

Nodding, Earlene turned her focus to Thanadir. Eleniel was pulling on his hair, quite hard. She scooted her chair very close to his, and immediately Eleniel reached for her sister instead. “You are very patient, meldir,” she said.

 

“This is nothing, Earlene,” he smiled. “It is all part of raising young ones. You will probably never understand how grateful I am, to have this once again.”

 

A laugh erupted. “And you will never understand how grateful I am to have you  _ and this _ , at all.”

 

Geezer, in the last days, had said very little. Not that he’d ever said much to begin with, but this...every day he’d come into the pub, cradling his pint with his renewed hands, ignoring all the people who expected him to ask questions. He didn’t want answers from  _ them,  _ he wanted them from _ Thranduil _ , and so had decided to sit quiet until the man -- Elf -- himself showed up again.

 

There was not much that Geezer had bothered keeping for most of his life. Things were...things, easy come, easy go, because it wasn’t like any of it meant anything anyway, did it? But there was one thing, something his lieutenant had given him when he got caught reading  _ The Lord of the Rings  _ yet again: a battered, cheap, chipped orange button that said ‘Frodo Lives’. He took it out of his pocket and set it on the table as the Elvenking approached, and raised him a silent toast.

 

Thranduil bowed his head in acknowledgement of the gesture, and glanced down at the button, smiling. “It hardly seems fair, that we rated only a small mention in the books, does it not? And yet my son was well represented, so I cannot complain,” he said, his eyes sparkling with merriment.

 

Geezer shook his head, with a faint, wry smile. “All these people, just  _ bursting  _ for me to ask about you,” he said, taking a draw off his mug. “But I’ve read most of what Tolkien had to write about all of you. That you’re  _ real _ ...I want to say that was harder to wrap my head around than it actually was.” He was not a man who believed in...anything, really, but he had also seen so many things both wonderful and horrible that it was hard to discount  _ everything _ , and he had seen firsthand -- ha, ha -- what Thranduil could do. “Hate to say this, but you might not want to go too far outside your forest. This fuckin’ world...you’ve got it better, in there.”

 

“We do,” Thranduil concurred. “But we have been in there a very long time. We are using caution, and are at least wanting to form some ties to our neighbors. And see a little of the world as it is now. Carefully,” he smiled, looking at the man’s hands. “Are they fully well?”

 

“They are.” Geezer looked at them, still half unable to believe what he saw. He was seventeen when they’d been burned, and he’d just turned sixty-one last month. The vast majority of his life had been spent with those two ruined lumps of scar tissue, and now… “They don’t hurt anymore. I’d forgotten what that was like, a long fuckin’ time ago. Why…” Why could the Elves do this, while the humans were left stupid and suffering? There was no point in asking those questions or anything like them, he knew; the universe didn’t care. “It’s safer, where you are. And it’s only gonna get more dangerous out there, with Chump throwing his weight around like a rabid baboon.”

 

Thranduil discerned that the man meant the American President, the one that seemed to be the dismay of many, if the news articles were to be believed. “There are terrible things in the world, no question,” he agreed, taking a swallow of his Guinness. “What would you like to know?” he asked, tilting his head. “Most have questions.”

 

Geezer had many, but the most pressing, the one he couldn’t stop asking himself, was, “Why now? After all this time -- and it’s been a fuckin’  _ long  _ time, by my math -- did you decide to come out and see what we’ve done to the world?”

 

“The shortest answer I can give you is ‘Earlene’. A human moved into a home within the borders of my forest. In the course of trying to manage that incursion, I managed myself into finding a wife. All the rest is aftermath, I think you might say. I have not been sorry,” Thranduil said, gazing lovingly at Allanah. “And while I am out here, yes, I have been taking a look at what has changed.” The girl woke, and rubbed at her eyes, causing Thranduil to lift her out of the wrap that held her against him. She was turned so that she could fix her wide blue eyes on Geezer. And she held out her arms, reaching for him.

 

Geezer eyed him, and burst into quiet laughter. It was a hoarse, rusty sound, seldom heard even by himself. He knew exactly how it was Elves got married; clearly that meeting had gone a rather interesting direction. “You didn’t pick the best time, but I guess it coulda been worse.” Looking at the little girl, he went suddenly awkward. While much of his memory was admittedly patchy, he didn’t think he’d ever held a child, but this one seemed pretty insistent, and far be it from him to upset her. “I don’t know how to hold a baby,” he said, looking from her to Thranduil, “but I don’t think she cares.”

 

Allanah was taken with slight awkwardness by Geezer. “The trick is,” said Thranduil, “to only make sure their heads do not go flopping. Allanah is older, and her neck is strong enough. Lorna’s children are far too young, and you would have to support them. But Allanah is older; ordinary motions are hard to manage badly.” The baby erupted in a huge grin and giggles, as her eyes looked into Geezer’s and her tiny hand reached out to feel his cheek.

 

Geezer looked at the little girl, so totally innocent of all the shit in this weary world. Better for her to grow up among the Elves, safe away. “Whose is she?” he asked, letting the tiny fingers explore the stubble on his face. Apparently, it was cause for much fascination.

 

“Earlene is her biological aunt, and she is now our legally adopted daughter. I would be surprised if the story does not get told in your hearing, before long. If I were to sum up, it would be that her mother died giving birth to her, and her father was a complete gobshite, to use the local vernacular. He was killed in a car accident, the same one that crashed into the front of the pub. Earlene’s brother was in the process of giving her over to his sister for adoption; he did not want her. It was...not good. Have you any family here?” Thranduil asked.

 

“Jesus...yeah, that sounds like a mess,” Geezer said, letting the baby grab his nose, because why the hell not? “I don’t have any family anywhere, but supposedly part of it came from here. Grandmother, I think. There’s a lot I don’t remember.” Probably for good reason, too; he wasn’t terribly anxious to get back all he’d forgotten. He laughed a little, very quietly. “I’m renting a room from Aurinia, and y’know, nobody would tell me why they hell that Sean had gone to prison. Vehicular manslaughter’ll do it.”

 

“Indeed. The truly awful thing is, if anyone had...deserved it, it was Earlene’s brother. He was not a good man, and that is putting it kindly. But with Sean, it was not the first time he made an unwise choice that yielded consequences. But I do feel for Aurnia. Earlene visited her once, with Thanadir, I believe. Is she managing, or is she still struggling with what happened?” While it had fallen by the wayside amidst their other troubles, he was not without sympathy for the poor woman, who both Thanadir and Earlene looked on favorably.

 

“No matter how shitty a man is, there’s someone, somewhere, that loves him, apparently,” Geezer sighed. “She’s...managing. She’s Irish. Not that I’d expect her to tell me much of anything, given I’m foreign and all. I didn’t come with much, so I just keep things clean and stay outta her way.” Allanah had decided she needed to explore his bushy eyebrows now, so he let her, wondering just what a kid that young could be making of any of it. “They don’t even say a whole lot about you, in here -- just bits and pieces. Given I’m an outsider, I’m surprised they’d say anything at all.” He was damn convinced they’d only said what little they had because Thranduil had revealed himself as what he was.

 

“We have a long-standing...mutual regard. Even before we came out of the forest, we watched over the village in our own way. Kept trouble at a distance, you might say. And in return, though they have known of us, they have kept our safety in silence. I am glad Aurinia is faring as well as can be expected.” He thought for a moment. “If the village adopted us, they will adopt you too. It only takes a little time.”

 

Geezer look from Allanah to Thranduil. “Why did you heal me?” he asked -- it was something he couldn’t wrap his mind around at all. “Why expose what you are to somebody from a whole other continent? For all you knew, I coulda been a serial killer or something.” He couldn’t claim that he might have potentially been a reporter, or anything of the like, because, well, look at him.

 

Thranduil weighed his choices, and lowered the volume of his voice. “I think you deserve full honesty. Not to mention, you seem to know rather more about us than all the others. Only Ratiri knew as much as you, before...finding out. It is because I am able to see more of a person than is outwardly visible, and because you were in pain. It is not in me to see that degree of need in another and turn away, especially when you are one of the villagers, now. Though, I would sincerely appreciate you not mentioning that first part. I have no wish to frighten our friends here, and people tend to fear what they do not understand. We too are new, in many ways, and ties are still being slowly forged.”

 

Geezer managed a smile, though he winced a bit when Allanah gave his hair a brief, experimental tug. “I don’t say much,” he said. “About anything.” He paused. “There’s a lot I don’t remember about Vietnam, and I don’t want to, but I read  _ The Lord of the Rings  _ over and over, and Christ I would’ve given anything to get to Middle-Earth. You had war, but not...not like that. That button, it belonged to a friend. That friend…” That friend had burned alive in front of him, struck down by napalm -- his hands had been ruined trying desperately to put the fire out, despite knowing it was no damn good. All around them the sound of guns, of bombs...yeah, Middle-Earth had war, but it was cleaner.  _ Anything  _ was cleaner than ’Nam, and Christ was he sorry Thranduil had to see that in his head.

 

“There is no good kind of war, my friend,” the Elvenking said with sympathy. “And that such a deed caused your injury in the first place makes me even more pleased that I could help you. I am sorry, for what you endured. But, you have found Ennor, Middle-Earth. Or at least what tiny part of it remains. Once my forest was the size of this country of Ireland. For that is where you are, on the edge of what was once the great forest of Eryn Lasgalen.”

 

“Here?  _ Ireland  _ was Eryn Lasgalen?” Geezer snorted, shaking his head. “Shouldn’t be surprised. Ireland’s...Ireland.” Which said a lot more than anyone who had never been there would ever realize. “How’s this little one gonna handle it, being a human kid in with the Elves? I know you guys don’t tend to have many kids, and they don’t grow up like ours do.”

 

“Earlene is human, as are Lorna and Ratiri. What matters most is that she will be loved. All the rest, we will manage somehow, as all parents do. We have not had young children among us for what in your eyes would be an unmentionable length of time, and all of these little ones are cherished. That being said, you do not need to allow Allanah to abuse your person,” Thranduil chuckled. “Just move her a little away from you, and she should find something else fascinating instead. None of my people have facial hair, and I think this intrigues her about you.”

 

“Eh, she’s fine,” Geezer said, even as she came close to poking him in the eye. “Kid’s interested and she’s not hurting anything. Gotta be honest, I can’t remember ever even holding a kid before. You’re not scared of much, are you, kiddo?” he asked, looking at Allanah, who gave him a baby-grin. “So who  _ are  _ Lorna and Ratiri? I hear their names every now and again, but everybody shuts up as soon as they’ve figured out I’m listening.”

 

“Lorna is the first human who I befriended. Earlene met her, here, not long after we...came together. She was the first to learn of us, and helped us navigate the Irish, for lack of better words. Ratiri is her fiancé, who she met some time ago. They are both from Baile. Lorna works for us, in a manner of speaking, though the job description is undoubtedly odd. You would be welcome, to visit us sometime if you wish. Earlene’s cottage is up the road, perhaps three kilometers? It is impossible to miss; it is the only dwelling near the forest.”

 

Geezer’s eyebrows shot up. “Visit you?” he asked. Fuck yes he’d visit -- he’d love to, but he wasn’t about to say it out loud. “I’ll do that, some day when it’s nice. I don’t have a car, but that’s not a long walk. Just not one I’d be thrilled to make in the rain.” His time in Ireland had been surprisingly dry, given what he’d heard of the country’s weather, but still. There were definitely enough misty, chilly days that settled in his bones.

 

_ Then since I can be forthright with you, know that once you are at the doors to Earlene’s cottage, you are inside my forest and my Realm. I can hear you speak to me just as you hear me now. Which is all to say that if you find no one at home, that is very temporary. Only rarely, am I away.  _ Aloud he said, “I will look forward to it, then.” Just then Thanadir appeared with two more glasses of Guinness, at his King’s request. “To new friends,” Thranduil said, raising his glass to Geezer while Thanadir looked on in amusement, Eleniel asleep against him. “Sit, Thanadir. Meet Geezer.” 

 

Thanadir did as he was asked, carefully, and extended his hand. “I am pleased to meet you,” he said, with a warm smile. Clearly his King liked this human, so he would give extra effort.

 

“Good to meet you, too,” Geezer said, shaking the offered hand. There was something kind of hilarious about seeing such a proper-looking Elf with a sleeping baby in a sling. “Might be out to see you sometime.” He raised his pint in return, and managed not to belch after drinking. Hey, he had  _ some  _ manners.

 

“Allanah likes you,” the seneschal smiled. “She is a very happy child.”

 

“I can tell. Kid doesn’t seem to be fussed by much.” He’d think sticking a kid in a crowd like this would be cause for sensory overload, but Allanah just smiled and burbled. “Was telling Thranduil, she’s lucky she’ll be growing up with you, out away from the world until she’s old enough to handle it.” Geezer didn’t have any children that he knew of, but he wouldn’t have chosen to bring one into the world as he’d known it. He couldn’t be that cruel. “How’s she get along with those two?”

 

“She gets along with them very well. It is the other way around that is currently a challenge. The twins are very close to each other. And especially Ithiliel leans toward jealousy. It is getting better. We are very concerned that Allanah not be treated unkindly. The twins will learn,” he concluded. 

 

How weird must it be, to be able to read a baby’s mind? What even went on in there? “Human kids’re adaptable, I’m sure Elf -- half-Elf -- are, too. Not that I’d know shit about either.”

 

“Sthit,” Allanah said, and he fought a groan.

 

“That’s a bad word, kiddo,” he said. “Only old grouches like me use words like that. You say ‘shoot’.”

 

“Sthit,” she said again, rather pointedly.

 

“Your wife’s gonna kill me,” Geezer sighed. “I’d heard little kids were ‘monkey see, monkey do’ kinds of people, but I didn’t realize it was that easy for them -- or that kids this little did it.”

 

Thranduil laughed. “She will not. The only miracle is that it took this long, and that it was not a far worse word. Lorna’s vocabulary is at best colorful. In fact, I can safely say that you will have made Lorna a very happy woman, because she has been dreading that exactly this would end up being her doing. Do not worry. She will hear enough other words that this will soon be forgotten. And as most of my people speak no English, this is the least of my problems.”

 

That drew a third laugh from Geezer, accompanied by another, “Sthit,” from Allanah. “I need to meet this woman. And you, kiddo, need a new word. Can you say ‘Guinness’?”

 

“Sthit,” she said.

 

“Oh, learn another word. Any other word.” Though he had to admit, watching a baby curse should not be as adorable as it actually was. And it would seem she knew it, too, if her little grin was any indication. He hoped Thranduil was ready to shoot any boy who looked at her weird once she hit her teenage years.

 

“Sthiiiiit.” Allanah drew the word out, then burst into giggles.

 

“Thanadir, perhaps we should trade children,” Thranduil suggested. “Allanah is clearly having too much fun here.”

 

The seneschal’s eyebrow raised, but he obediently handed over the sleeping Ithiliel to his King’s arms and took Allanah from Geezer. With a squeal of delight she grabbed a sizable handful of his hair and stuffed it in her mouth, as one last muffled “Sthiit” came out.

 

Geezer gave up, and burst into laughter. That kid…

 

“Did I hear a baby swearing?” Lorna asked, working her way over. She had a slightly fussy Shane glowering at the world. “It wasn’t me.  _ It wasn’t me. _ Earlene knows it wasn’t me, right?” She looked at Geezer, and held out her free hand. “You must be the new bloke. Grand to meet you.”

 

“Let me guess -- Lorna?” Geezer asked, shaking her hand -- her  _ tiny  _ hand. Jesus, this woman was little. “Thranduil said I’d made your day, so to speak.”

 

“I was afraid it’d be me.” She couldn’t tell just how old this man -- Geezer, as he apparently called himself -- was, but she’d bet he was younger than he looked. He’d probably be tall, if he stood straight, and though his eyes were a faded blue, they were very sharp.

 

“Sthit,” Allanah said, and immediately went back to chewing Thanadir’s hair.

 

“Oh, Jesus…” Lorna’s words trailed off into helpless laughter, even as Shane glowered up at her as only a baby could.

 

“Jeethus,” Allanah said. “Jeethus sthit.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened just before be began shaking with laughter, which unfortunately caused Ithiliel to wake with a glare of protest at the sudden bumpy road of her Adar’s tummy. Quickly he soothed the little girl with kisses and thoughts, so that she became drowsy again, snuggling against him while his large hands rubbed her back. “I believe you both will get on famously,” he said to Lorna. “I’ve invited Geezer to visit us when he wishes. For we are nothing if not entertaining.”

 

“Isn’t that the bloody truth,” Lorna snorted, already making plans to wheedle some elf wine for their guest. “Whatever else we might be, we’re never boring.”

 

“Bwuvvy twooth,” Allanah said, and Lorna groaned. “Bwuvvy twooth Jeethus sthit.”

 

That just set Lorna off all over again. “Diabhal go léir,” she said, hoping the Irish would stymie Allanah. Sure enough, it did; confusion overtook the little girl’s face, as she tried to make sense of the syllables. Clearly she failed, for she glowered at Lorna, who just laughed harder.

 

Shane did not at all appreciate that, and made his displeasure known in no uncertain terms. Lorna tried to hush him by rocking him, but no dice. “Oh, come on now, it’s not so bad,” she said, tickling him under the chin, but he was still having none of it.

 

“Aníron ammos,” Allanah said, kneading at Thanadir’s chest, with a deep expression of puzzlement. “BWUVVY JEETHUS STHIIIT,” the little girl howled. “ANÍRON AMMOS!!”

 

Earlene immediately excused herself from her conversation with Bridie and dashed across the pub, where Thanadir had a generally helpless expression. Thranduil and Lorna were lost to helpless laughter, and a total stranger was laughing only slightly less. “Meldir, tolo lim,” she said, waving with an apologetic half-smile at Geezer while practically dragging Thanadir to the back room, where moments later a silenced Allanah was latched on while somehow the elf extricated Eleniel while passing over Allanah.

 

“From the sound of it my daughter has added some unseemly vocabulary?” she asked him. “I certainly know this is not  _ your _ doing,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Oh well. I am only glad it was not a worse word. And I am sorry, about the ‘aníron ammos’.”

 

“She is too young to understand,” Thanadir chuckled good-naturedly as he tucked the sleeping elfling into his wrap. “At that age, they only want what they want. Small details such as males not having breasts do not enter into consideration.”

 

“Who is the new man?”

 

“That is Geezer. Our King seems to have taken a great liking to him; he has never before invited someone from the village to visit us.”

 

“Really? Well, he would know best. Whoever he is, he must be very adaptable.”

 

Just then, Bridie poked her head in. “Oh, sorry!” She said, blushing.

 

“Bridie, get back here,” Earlene demanded. “I couldn’t care less, and you most certainly know what breasts look like. I’m only in here so as to not scandalize the entire pub; I do not feel any need to cover up, but I’m trying to be courteous for a change. That and, this might distract my little angel. I should have realized this is a lot of stimulation for her, going out to a new place with so many faces and voices that are different.”

 

“I was actually thinking Lorna might be back here,” Bridie said, smiling a little. “She was laughing so bloody hard she had to take Shane out. I can’t believe that woman is forty damn years old and hasn’t ever used a condom before, so I’ve got her a box.” It was in her handbag, so Lorna and Ratiri could...experiment...until they got it right. (And to be quite honest, Bridie was a touch envious, because -- well, look at Ratiri.  _ Look  _ at him. Bridie was happily married, but that man was a fine specimen and no mistake. Fancying the elves just seemed wrong, so to her knowledge nobody in the village did anything more than acknowledge they were pretty, but Ratiri was human and well fit.)

 

“Oh, sorry,” it was now Earlene’s turn to say, blushing slightly at this blithe discussion in front of Thanadir. Who probably did not understand what a condom was, but….still. “I’m afraid I’m no help. But chances are Thranduil knows, if you ask him.” With a satisfied nod, Bridie smiled and backed out of the doorway. “Sure god I’ll be glad when we all reach a point where body parts can  _ not _ be an ongoing topic of conversation,” she said to no one in particular even though Thanadir was the obvious audience. “There was a time in my life when I could go for six months without uttering the words ‘breast’ or ‘penis’. What happened?” 

 

“You wed Thranduil and bore children that need feeding, Earlene. Surely you do not need me to tell you something so obvious?”

 

Her mouth opened in vague horror but then curled in slight victory. “Ah, but you forgot something, meldir. I met Lorna, too,” she said with a hint of triumph in her voice.

 

“This is true,” he sighed, before looking at her with a surprising yet unmistakable hint of mischief in his eyes, and grinning. They both burst into laughter, which threatened to wake Eleniel, but Allanah laughed, releasing Earlene’s nipple long enough to giggle with them. Without any generally unwanted words following. Earlene kissed her, and the little hands grabbed again at her breast, and she latched on again.

 

Lorna, still giggling, finally came back inside, mostly because Shane was getting chilly. At least he’d stopped fussing, though he was still lookin at her with an expression far too offended for a baby. Just watch, in personality he’d turn out like Mairead -- God help them all.

 

Bridie passed her the box, none too subtly, and muttered something about how Ratiri’s arse was a work of art. That just set Lorna off all over again, and it just grew worse when she found the man himself.

 

“Do I want to know?” he asked, looking down at her. “That was quite a performance Allanah gave.”

 

“Babies and words they shouldn’t learn,” she said, leaning against him. “C’mon, you need to meet Geezer.”

 

“Geezer?” Ratiri asked. Such an odd nickname, especially for a man who, so far as the village had guessed, was in his sixties at most.

 

“Thranduil’s invited him over, whenever he wants to come, and you know he doesn’t do that lightly.” There were still just a tiny handful of them, after all, and Mairead and Big Jamie had been necessity, not invitation.

 

Jesus, that...wow. For a man totally unconnected to any of them, that was unprecedented; Lorna had started out as much an employee as a friend, and he’d come in because of her, as had her sister, Big Jamie, and Orla. Geezer was his own entity, and a new one, at that -- Thranduil must see something quite special in him.

 

Thranduil, who seemed to have regained possession of himself, but unfortunately Lorna could read him too well. He was a hair’s-breadth away from losing it again himself, and unfortunately those tiny, minute cues were enough to set Lorna off yet again, giggling so hard tears leaked from her eyes.  _ Sthit _ , she thought, unable to help it.

 

*****

 

Earlene and Thanadir chose that moment to reappear, and at her suggestion, Eleniel was handed over to Lothiriel, who was clearly trying to comprehend the overall atmosphere in the pub. Orla was already sitting in Ortherion’s lap happily chattering at him, and the good natured ellon was allowing her to braid one of his locks of hair while his wife looked on with barely suppressed laughter. Earlene doubted that either of them understood three words the little girl had said, but it did not appear to matter. They returned with Allanah, to sit at a table quite near Geezer and Thranduil. Earlene thought he had the look of someone who preferred solitude, and did not wish to crowd him. The little girl sat with her fingers in her mouth, gazing at everyone while Earlene dandled the baby on her knee.

 

Mick, quite pleased to be able to use both his hands again -- and far more careful now -- ambled over, a pint in one hand and a basket of chips in the other. Lorna was cackling like a lunatic, and he gave her a dig with his elbow. “You being a bad influence on that kid, Fun Size?” he asked, grinning down at her. She tried to scowl, but couldn’t maintain it; the giggles took over again all too soon.

 

“Shut it, you. For once it wasn’t me...at first.” Yes, she’d own up to adding in ‘bloody Jesus’, but still. It hadn’t started with her.

 

“All right, this one actually looks like you,” Mick said, bending a little to look at Shane, who looked back, seemingly fascinated, “but be honest with me, Lorna: did you steal the other one?”

 

Lorna groaned. That was even worse than the seemingly endless repetition of, ‘Are you sure she’s yours?’, and she’d had just about enough of it. Once Chandra was old enough to understand, it might well give her a complex, or something. “Oh, fuck off, Mick. I’ve stolen a lot, but I’ve never stolen a bloody  _ baby _ .”

 

Allanah shrieked with happiness. “FUCK!! Bluvvy babee!!” 

 

Earlene’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment as she looked at the child helplessly. Thranduil roared with laughter, and most of the rest of the pub was not far behind. Internet mother’s support groups that discussed the assorted humiliations of maternity had  _ not _ included anything about your fourteen month-old bringing down the pub with the vocabulary of a sailor. Somehow sensing that this was all very pleasing to the adults all around her, Allanah giggled and wailed in her excited happiness. Seeing that Thranduil was behaving no better than Allanah, her pleading eyes turned to Thanadir with a look that said, “What do I do?”

 

With one smooth motion, Thanadir picked up the little girl and swept her into his arms with a smile, taking her outside. The first thing was to remove the definite reward she was receiving for this undesirable choice of words, and yet it was not her fault. She was far too young to comprehend what was occurring. His King, however...a frown spread over his features at the thought of it. Though he loved his Lord, there were times…

 

Lorna gave up, covering her face with her hands as she tried and failed to rein in her laughter. A stitch was developing in her side as she sat down, uncovering her face so she could look at Thranduil.  _ I am never going to live this down, am I? _

 

_ No, you are not. I am sorry. But as I am now in trouble with both my wife and my seneschal for distinctly un-parental behavior myself, I do not intend to go down alone, as they say. _ He grinned.

 

Lorna groaned again...and when she looked up to meet Ratiri’s slightly disapproving gaze, the giggles came back with a vengeance.  _ I give up. _

 

Geezer watched the whole thing with a slightly raised eyebrow.  _ This  _ wasn’t what he’d expected of Elves, that was for damn sure. Nowhere had Tolkien’s writings suggested cussing babies and laughter would enter into...anything. Yeah, he wanted to go visit them -- wanted to see how much of what he’d read was accurate, and how much wasn’t, because obviously, some of it  _ definitely  _ wasn’t.

 

“If either of our children’s first word is ‘fuck’, I’ll know who to blame,” Ratiri said dryly. “And yet you tried so hard. You tried so hard, and in the end, it didn’t even matter.”

 

That just made it so much worse. “Did you just quote a  _ Linkin Park  _ song at me?” she asked, between giggles. “Really? My bloody niece loves them -- we’re a bit old, aren’t we?”

 

“Don’t even ask.” One of the med students had wandered around singing that in the break rooms until he’d just had to go look it up and figure out what it was.

 

Earlene was now doing her best to glare at Thranduil, but the problem was, her eyes were smiling, which was ruining the effect entirely, causing him to laugh harder. Her eyebrow went up. She rose, walked to him, and leaned over him, knowing exactly what view of her cleavage he was getting. “You, i Hîr nin, are in trouble,” she said with a frown worthy of Thanadir, tapping him lightly on the nose. If nothing else, she had gained his attention and silenced him somewhat effectively.

 

That just sent Geezer’s eyebrow up a fraction higher. Tolkien  _ also  _ hadn’t mentioned any Elves with a boob fixation, but Thranduil wasn’t even trying to hide it. Lorna looked a touch disturbed, while the tall man beside her didn’t  _ actually  _ roll his eyes, but looked a touch like he wanted to.

 

“You’ll have to take us as you find us, Geezer,” Lorna said. “Ratiri, c’mere. Geezer, this is my fiance, Ratiri -- Ratiri, this is Geezer.”

 

“Meetcha,” Geezer said, raising his pint in a toast, trying so, so hard not to laugh at the damn Elvenking all but hypnotized by his wife’s tits. Then again, maybe that was normal; Geezer had never been married, so he had no idea.

 

Earlene plunked down again. She wanted to be appalled with herself, but she couldn’t be. All those years, scrupulously fighting to be taken seriously solely on the merit of her trained mind and the force of her personality, and she was actually using her voluptuous charms against her husband because it was all too obvious that it was the greater weapon. And that she loved, absolutely loved, that her body had this power over him... _ was it okay to be okay with that? _ They were wed, and she would certainly never do this to another male but...this was a kind of new territory, for her. Then again...she snorted even as she veiled her thoughts. He hadn’t been the least shy about using sexual desire against her in their earliest days together, so apparently it was very much part of the rule-book. Or at the very least, she certainly could not be chastised for this.  _ Nope. Not even a little bit _ . “Does anyone want another Guinness?” she offered. Because  _ she  _ sure as hell did.

 

Lorna held up her empty pint, even as she soothed her son. Little Shane seemed quite taken with Mick, who looked appropriately terrified at the offer to hold him. Nevertheless, hold him he did, supervised by both Lorna and Ratiri.

 

“Okay, okay, take him back,” Mick said, panicking slightly. “He’s so small, I don’t want to break him.”

 

“You’re fine, Mick,” Lorna said, but take the baby she did. Shane was now mollified, and didn’t fuss when Lorna sat on a spare table.

 

“You’re going to flip that over,” Ratiri said, dragging over two chairs.

 

“Maybe if I jump on it a few times.” Still, she let him help her down and into a chair. Chandra seemed to find all this utterly compelling; her green eyes traveled over everything from her perch against her da’s chest. “So Mick, I was talking to Orla -- we’re going to have a reunion out here some night, and let Shane and Niamh in on this. I figured we might as well, and Thranduil’s got no problem with it.”

 

“God,” Mick sighed, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. The entire lot of them had never yet gotten together all at once before, and there was a reason for that: there were five of them now, but once there had been fourteen. They were all that was left, and it wasn’t an easy thing to think about. “I’ll come, if it’s here.”

 

“It’ll be all right,” Lorna said, reaching out and giving his hand a squeeze. “Might do us all some good, honestly.” She didn’t know about Mick, but there was a lot she had ignored, rather than tried to move on from. Probably they’d all done it, to one degree or another.

 

Earlene said nothing, but wondered if Thranduil entirely knew what he was about, with this.  _ Of course he did _ , she reasoned, as she sipped her glass.  _ Hopefully as a group they were not all so….scarred. Which really meant, hopefully they were not all so quick to want to lash out as Lorna. Then again, didn’t you try to vivisect someone, Earlene? Perhaps you’d best not throw that stone, in your glass house. Oh, good grief _ . Sometimes it was all too complicated; perhaps she should go find Thanadir. He had been gone for quite awhile. 

 

_ He is about to return, meluieg. Stay here, and enjoy your time among friends. Allanah is being lulled to sleep.  _ She smiled at him, raising her glass. That was a command she was happy to follow.

 

“And here I thought I’d come here to hide and hopefully be bored,” Geezer said dryly, shaking his head and downing the last of his glass.

 

“If there is one thing we’re not, it’s boring,” Ratiri said. “Even when some of us might wish things could be.” He had been a quiet man, before getting hooked into this odd little family, but it was difficult to remain quiet around them. They rather didn’t let him.

 

“Where in the States are you from, Geezer?” Earlene asked, unceremoniously hauling her chair over to be nearer to him. “I escaped from New York.”

 

Her choice of wording drew a chuckle from him. “All over,” he said. “Came here from Oregon, after the Chump got elected and then  _ stayed  _ elected. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. Legally, sooner or later I’ve got to go back, but like hell I will.”

 

She nodded, and then grinned. “I voted for Finwë.”

 

For the first time, Geezer truly laughed, loud and long. “I voted for Bilbo. Just because.” He actually hadn’t bothered voting at all in years -- he wasn’t the only vet who’d come  home completely disillusioned by government of all forms -- but this time, he’d had to. Just because. “Just watch -- there’ll be a huge influx of people trying to move to Europe in the next year, once Chump really starts driving things into the ground. It’s good we got in when we did, because I’m guessing it’ll get a whole lot harder.”

 

“I met him once,” she said, her expression hardening. “Trump, I mean. At a party. I was not impressed and...I do not believe most people have any real idea what they just put in the big chair. I’m with you. While it was not what made up my mind, my timing in emigrating could not have been better, from that perspective. And, we’re about as nowhere as you can get, here. Ignored. Overlooked. In my eyes, that is an asset, not a detraction. I’m waiting for it to become inadvisable to let anyone new know where I’m from.” 

 

“All we can really do is try to learn the accent,” he said, with half a grin. “Because  _ that’s  _ not hard or anything. If we’re lucky, he’ll have an aneurysm on live TV and that’ll be that. Though I gotta say, knowing there’s elves here...I’m not saying that asshole’s  _ bound  _ to get us into World War III, but I ain’t ruling it out, and at least...well. You get my meaning.”

 

“Yeeeees,” Earlene drawled out, thinking privately that the Halls had quite a lot of allure until one could not leave them. She had no wish to repeat that experience. And yet, it was a secure fortress that could and would keep them safe short of...who even knew what, for all she knew it could survive nuclear fallout. “We will hope it does not come to that.” What else to ask him, she was uncertain. He had the air of a veteran, and pressing vets about their past could be inadvisable and unkind. So many of them had their entire lives stolen by trauma, and it was entirely possible that he was one of that number.

 

Thanadir returned, leaving a sleeping Allanah with Ortherion. He had asked after the welfare of his fellow elves, who were still enjoying their first Guinness, and were content to sit quietly with the children, watching and listening. Pulling up a chair, he sat next to Earlene to whisper that all was well and the child had nodded off. With a squeeze of gratitude to his hand, she nodded and smiled at her invaluable friend.

 

“Sorry about, uh, teaching your kid bad words,” Geezer said, shaking his head at himself. “Not used to being around kids. Kinda easy to forget they’re like monkeys at that age -- hear it, repeat it.” He was probably never going to live that down, but at least he hadn’t taught her ‘fuck’. He could rest clear on  _ that  _ score, if nothing else. “Curious little thing, isn’t she? It didn’t realize babies could be so...interested by things. I thought they just kinda sat there until they were two, because I’ve never actually  _ known  _ any kids.” At least, not that he could recall.

 

“Eh,” quipped Earlene. “It’s some kind of miracle it took this long, honestly. I wouldn’t worry about it at all. They are like little sponges, gathering data. It’s just as new for me, too. I was not ever around children much either. This all sort of...happened, because my brother was a gobshite. I wasn’t about to let my niece be raised by some total stranger, which he knew perfectly well. So I went from being 38 and never having been on a date to married with three children a year later. No point being half-arsed about it, right?” She grinned with one of her most charming and cheerful smiles, having decided that she absolutely liked this….Geezer. Give or take the name.

 

“If you’re gonna do it, you might as well go whole hog,” he said, laughing silently into his glass. “You changed continents, got married to an Elf, acquired a kid, and had two more. That’s more excitement in a year than most have in their whole damn lives. And the good kind, too.” God knew there was a bad kind, and he wasn’t entirely sure that had wholly passed them by. There had been the man, the one who was evidently no more...Geezer had wished, oh so much, that he’d been able to bring his old rifle with him to Ireland. If he’d had even the tiniest chance to snipe that bastard, he’d have taken it. “Your husband, he invited me out there sometime. Thank I’ll go, if it’s good with you.” Yes, Thranduil might be the king, but even Geezer knew better than to go blundering on in without checking with the wife first.

 

“You’d be very welcome. Do you like pretzels? I haven’t made those in a while. Now that Von...that bad man that used to be in town...is gone, we can be properly sociable again. I like to cook,” she explained, beaming.

 

“I don’t think I’ve had a decent pretzel in twenty years,” he said, with a hint of a smile. “What happened to that son of a bitch? All I got off your husband is that he’s gone, which hinted at actually meaning ‘dead’.” There was much he wanted to know, and he would ask none of it.

 

Thranduil turned to him.  _ Earlene will not answer out of regard for me, so I will. He was not human, nor an elf. We killed him. Most of the credit I will give to Thanadir, for wielding the sword that took his life. Lorna and I had a part to play as well. And Earlene had to be stopped from killing him. It is not good, to anger my wife.  She was about to tear his internal organs out, somewhere in the middle of all of it. Either way, he is gone and will not be seen again. _

 

Okay, maybe he  _ would  _ ask one thing, because ‘not a human, nor an elf’ was a gap that just begged to be filled.  _ So what was he, if he was that hard to kill? _

 

_ Ainu. Balrog _ , he said, his eyes glittering.

 

Geezer’s eyebrows shot up.  _ Jesus fucking Christ...I hope he was the last.  _ A  _ balrog _ ? Elves he could handle; balrogs, not so much. Someday he’d ask the full story, but not now. Not yet. This would still be way too soon for anyone, but most definitely for an Elf.

 

Earlene perceived very easily, that her husband had answered, and what was being discussed.  _ The one time I was fully prepared to be Lorna, and it did not work out. Oh well. _ She did not ever have to mention to anyone that she would never forget the delicious feel of her hands beginning to crush the attachment of his liver, the still pulsing aorta behind it, and the hatred and rage that fueled her desire to tear every piece of the inside of him out.

 

Shane started fussing again, and wouldn’t quiet, so Lorna came over and said, “I think Ratiri and I had better head back. This one’s had about enough for the evening. I’ll give him a change in the toilet first, but then we’re heading out.”

 

“We will not be too far behind you,” said Thranduil aloud.  _ Ratiri, have you managed the password for the Gates? I do not wish to insult Lorna but I do not think she can pronounce it well enough to convince the door she is speaking Sindarin. If not, I will send Ortherion back with you. _

 

Somehow, Ratiri managed not to laugh. Somehow.  _ I have _ , he said.  _ And I’m sure she still can’t. That poor woman and her accent... _

 

A smile and a slight nod sufficed between them.

 

Geezer wondered how often Lorna and Ratiri lived with the Elves, and just where they lived when they didn’t. He’d find out sooner or later. “Good to meet you both,” he said.

 

“You too,” Lorna said, grinning at him. “And thank you for making me not be the first person to corrupt Allanah’s vocabulary.”

 

“Yes, but you managed to make it worse,” Ratiri said. “I look forward to seeing you sometime, Geezer. It’s like...well, it’s like nothing else you’ve ever seen, in there.”

 

Geezer would not be surprised. He doubted the Elves’ Halls would be like anything anyone had ever seen.

 

Lorna disappeared to change her son, and then the pair headed out into the chilly evening, walking hand in hand.

 

“What did you do for work, Geezer, if I may ask?” said Earlene, who hoped this was a safe question. 

 

“I was in Vietnam, two years,” he said, “but after that, I just kinda did whatever I could find. My hands being what they were, that wasn’t a whole hell of a lot, but I got by. Managed to save up a fair bit of money working for this old guy, about ten years ago now -- WWII vet who’d wound up in a wheelchair. Took care of his house and his yard, and just talked to him. We had...way different experiences. He’d joined up after Pearl Harbor, just a kid like I’d been, but he’d gone outta patriotism, whereas I got shoved. Had a lotta interesting talks with him about that, and all sortsa other shi -- stuff.” Hey, he could learn. “He died about five years back, left me some money and stuff. Figured I’d sit on it until I knew what to do with it, and then Chump happened, so I got everything in order and came to Ireland.”

 

_ You idiot _ ,  _ Earlene _ , she reproached herself.  _ You forgot about the hands. Or...did I know about the hands? _ She suddenly felt bewildered.  _ Am I done with hormones wrecking my brain yet?  _ And yet she felt like she had to ask…”What had happened to him, the man you cared for?” 

 

“Cancer got him,” Geezer said. “It was quick, at least. He didn’t have any family, so I stayed with him, but he had it in his pancreas -- he was three months between being diagnosed and dying, and kept giving me shit to the last, the bastard.” There was a great weight of affection in his voice, despite his words. “Made sure he had everything properly set up, after, and took care of his will. Then there wasn’t a whole lot else I could do, so I just kind did whatever little things I came across -- and then I came here, and met your husband, and he fixed this.” He curled and uncurled his fingers, still marveling that he could do it without pain. “Now...who knows?”

 

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Earlene said with empathy. “And...I did not ask my question well. I had also wished to know, what in his military service caused him to need a wheelchair?”

 

“Landmine. Road mine, I guess. His truck ran over one in...France? Anyway, mine went off, all but broke the damn truck in half, and he broke his back. Had a good attitude about it, at least.” He shook his head. “I mighta lost things, but on the other hand, I’m here now, so I guess it kinda evens out.”

 

Her lips parted and her eyes widened, but only briefly. She had asked. But,  _ Jesus _ . It kind of made witnessing 9/11 seem like going to a weenie roast. Nodding, she smiled. “Please excuse me, I need the ladies’ room.”

 

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but he didn’t believe in brushing people off. He just didn’t want her to feel bad she’d asked. Everyone had their shit, and it wasn’t like it was a contest. What hurt you, hurt you, whatever it might be.

 

_ Your answer was appreciated _ , he heard.  _ Earlene appears kind and gentle, because she is. Her heart is a caring one, but as you say, everyone has their difficulties. But there is more to her than only those things. She would appreciate your sentiment, for indeed, it is not a contest. I believe we will depart when she returns; it is getting late for the children. We will see you soon, I hope. Most days, we are near the cottage until at least noon. _

 

Geezer nodded.  _ I’ll drop by, one of these days. Weather’s getting decent enough for a walk, now. _ He didn’t consider himself an old man by any stretch of the imagination, but try telling his joints that on a cold, damp day. He’d picked a hell of a place to retire, given that issue, but it was so pretty he hadn’t cared, even before the Elves.

 

Earlene emerged, and Thranduil rose. “I think we should rescue Lothiriel and Ortherion,” he said. “We should not break them on their first outing to town,” he chuckled.

 

“True,” she agreed. “It was very nice talking to you, Geezer. Hopefully we will see you soon.” With polite nods, they soon had children gather and tucked away, and the five of them said their “good lucks” to the pub and departed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no elegant way to share written Sindarin in the fic with you; AO3 does not yet support the sharing of desktop images...but if you want to see "not all who wander are lost" in Tengwar, this link will render it for you: https://www.tecendil.com/?q=%C3%BA.randirath+mistar&mode=sindarin


	59. Fifty-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter begins on March 27, 2017. Then skips forward to March 30, Thranduil's aur en onnad. The two sets of twins are now 5 weeks old.
> 
> When we can, we'll start releasing more than one chapter a week. We're writing so far ahead of what we've published, it's making even us nervous...
> 
> Also, a word. I know that many of you dearly love our character Thanadir. As mentioned in the acknowledgements of this work, he is loosely based on an original elf character named Thaladir, from the Mirkwood Adventures created by Mary A. and Malinornë. It is with tremendous sadness that I learned in the last week that Mary A. passed on unexpectedly from a sudden illness, about two years ago...it is sobering, to find that an author I very much would like to have known left this world before I ever began my first story. But it gives me some happiness, to know we have paid homage in the form of our lovely and dear Seneschal.  
> Some of you ask me for recommendations for other good fics. While the Mirkwood Adventure themselves are an epic PWP tour de force, many truly wonderful stories written by these two ladies with far more emotional weight are on their site at www.thranduil.net under Other Adventures. Especially Scenes From A Life and The King's Vineyard, are two that are not to be missed. :-) -AER

Geezer was not a man who did anything in a hurry. He waited a week to go out to Earlene’s cottage, turning over all he had learned from these people -- from the Elves, from the other humans, and from watching both at once.

 

The day was cloudy, but dry, so his joints didn’t protest as he made the walk. This was a safe place, this little village, tucked away from the mounting dangers of the world, and the selfish part of him hoped not too many other people found it, or it wouldn’t be safe anymore. He was tired, tired to his bones of the evils of humanity, the greed and hatred that seemed to be getting ever more prevalent, and drowning out the good. Finding the Elves had been a boon, because he’d be wondering, more and more often, what the point was.

 

He heard the sounds of construction well before he reached the cottage -- somebody was busy with a drill, if nothing else. Meandering around side of the building, he paused.  _ This  _ wasn’t what he’d expected; when he’d heard they were building a new house, he’d assumed it would be pretty, but otherwise...house-like. This one already looked like it was being half grown out of the earth, more organic than construction. 

 

They were all here, too -- the Elves and the humans, as well as a few Elves he hadn’t met. He did not, at first, say anything; he was content to watch for a moment, and observe just how naturally they all worked and moved among one another. There was more to this odd little group than the casual eye might see, and he didn’t want to interrupt them right off.

 

Thranduil paused in his positioning of one of the polished small trees. This one had perished long ago in a storm, and had been lovingly brought inside, cleaned and dried. After, the bark had been removed, and its skeleton carefully oiled until it was an artwork unto itself. Once properly mounted with hidden fastenings, it was to form an architectural feature that would be the center of a small spiral staircase.  _ Welcome _ , he greeted Geezer with his mind.  _ I will be with you in a few moments _ . 

 

Thanadir moved all around him, securing supports and ties that would hold this rather heavy piece of timber in place, at last signalling that it was safe for him to release his hold. The two ellyn stepped back and smiled. What the use of half the items the seneschal had taken into storage over the long millennia would ever be, neither had spent much time considering, but both were now very pleased that their forest home would be just as much outside as inside, and in a way that could not be accomplished in their cavern of stone. They had both traveled to Lóthlorien in ancient days, visiting their Woodland kin in times of peace. This home would have far more in common with the _ telain _ of the Galadhrim than anything in Thranduil’s Halls. And, they joy of its creation was proving to be just as much as the pleasure of dwelling here would afford. “Pardon me for a time, meldir. Geezer has come to visit.” With a nod of acknowledgement, Thanadir elected to check on Earlene’s next glass bottle assignment, to ensure she was not going astray from the measurements.

 

The Elvenking appeared next to Geezer, who considered the proceedings with rapt fascination. “It is lovely, is it not?”

 

“It fits, in here,” Geezer said. “A modern house wouldn’t. This looks like it belongs here. Though how the hell many people are you gonna have living in it?” From what he could see, it looked like it would be big enough to house a small army.

 

“Lorna and Ratiri, Earlene and I. And Thanadir, and possibly on occasion some of the elves that help with the children. All five children, who in a short time will not be so little. We tried to plan for the future. I am sure you realize, this is not our main dwelling. We wanted a place that would allow us to interact more freely with the outside world. A place where human friends of our children could come to play and visit. A place wired for the Internet,” he smiled. “Some things about the modern world I confess are most enjoyable, and my Halls do not have electricity. Nor will they.”

 

That drew Geezer’s rusty laugh. “Yeah, there’s some things that’re decent about it, but precious damn few. Was just thinking that I hope too many more people don’t come turning up around here, or it won’t be safe anymore, because this right here’s about as safe as you can get, but it’s beautiful, too.” The two words were not something he’d ever heard in the same sentence in his life; safety usually meant flat and utilitarian. “Are there any more of you left, out in the world?” If there was a damn balrog, could there be another enclave of Elves, hiding somewhere? It wasn’t like he could rule it out.

 

“You know as much as we do,” answered Thranduil. “While I do not believe so, given that we know that the other elven realms chose to completely abandon their homes and go to Aman, there is always a possibility. And, there were other of our people from whom we were sundered long ago. But they did not dwell in cities or fortifications. If they still remain, I would guess that they faded long ago. And yet it is just that, a guess.”

 

Geezer wasn’t sure which he wished were true: on the one hand, thought of more Elves was always welcome, but on the other, if they had faded, that was just damn tragic. “Why’d you stay?” He couldn’t help but ask; why linger, when everyone else had gone, and in a world that so thoroughly forgot you that it thought you were nothing but stories?

 

“This is our home. I promised my people I would never leave them. They promised to follow me. And here we still are.” He shrugged, even as he thought with a twinge of sorrow,  _ For now _ .

 

“Talk about a Catch-22,” Geezer said, shaking his head. “Call me a selfish bastard, but I’m glad you did. And I’m sure all the humans you’d know would say the same.” While there  _ was  _ a certain type of person who wouldn’t have their lives made better by having Elves in it, it wasn’t the kind you were going to find in this part of the world.

 

“Thank you,” Thranduil said warmly, and he meant it. There were times when he was sorry that it had taken this long for him to ‘make contact’, so to speak. And yet he knew himself well enough; there would not have been any other way. Say what he would, the Lord of the Wind knew a thing or two about his mind, in electing to send him Earlene. Yet this did not change that it felt good, to hear this kind of appreciation. “I have forgotten my manners,” the King added. “May I offer you tea?”

 

“Couldn’t say no to that,” Geezer said. He’d gotten himself used to drinking tea in Ireland, the stronger the better. “Okay, so you’ve got Lorna, Ratiri, and the village, but does anyone else know you’re here?”

 

Thranduil led him inside the cottage and poured from the heavily steeped teapot that was yet quite warm, seeing that this was what he preferred. “There are some in Baile. Those who are attached to Lorna. She has my permission to let select others in on our secret, so to speak. You need not fear that I fail to understand the implications of the outer world becoming aware of our existence. In the first place, humans are slow to believe; most have had to receive rather dramatic proofs that we are who we claim to be. In the second place, we are not as vulnerable as appearances might indicate. I will simply say that my abilities are not limited to healing human illness and injury.” The steaming mug was handed to Geezer. “Do you wish to have sugar, or cream?”

 

Geezer could well believe that few would believe in the Elves. He’d spent much of his life watching people who thought they knew what the world was like, based on nothing but stubbornness and ‘well, it stands to reason’, as though those words actually had any bearing on...well, anything. “Black’s good, thanks,” he said, taking the mug. He could properly feel it now -- the warmth, and the texture, rather than just registering there was something in his hands. “Got a question for you, though, because of that -- what’ll you do if Chump starts World War III, and all these people are suddenly in danger? Would you even be able to take them in, even if you wanted to? I’m paranoid, see, and there’s too many that’d assume war wouldn’t  _ really  _ happen because things like that just don’t in the twenty-first century, when we’re every bit as stupid and greedy as we’ve been in hundreds of years past. Hell, people said World War I was the ‘war to end all wars’, until the sequel broke out twenty years later.”

 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Come, and bring your tea. We are going for a walk, and at the end of it you will have your answer.” He poured himself a cup as well, enjoying the fragrant beverage, before he led the way out of the cottage doors and into the woods. “War is ever a risk, and we have seen many. Earlene insisted I learn about the wars of the last century. The uniforms and the weapons change, and yet most of the rest remains the same, does it not?”

 

“It does,” Geezer said wryly, and wondered where he was to be taken. It had been a long time since he’d let himself be truly curious about anything, but he was definitely curious now. “And it’s never for any good reason, at least with humans. Take a look at any human war in the history of...well, ever...and you’ll find nothing but selfish greed at its core.” The Last Alliance,  _ that  _ had had an actual, good reason. It was about survival, not riches or power; ditto the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Life or death. Stand or fall. Ugly, yes, because war was never beautiful, but nowhere in there was there some bean counter sitting at a desk, declaring people expendable purely for profit.

 

Thranduil sighed. “That is unforgivable. War makes corpses, and there is no evading that reality. And yet none of my people were ever sent to war without a reason, or the best preparation and defenses I could give them. It is more than I could say for my father, whose foolish actions cost many of his subjects their lives. But listen to me. Long years later, it is still difficult at times to cast off the mantle of bitter memories, but I doubt I need to explain this feeling to you…..and you wondered where I am taking you. You now walk on part of what was once known as the Elf Path of Mirkwood forest, as it was called in the era of the stories you know. I never liked that name, Mirkwood. And my woods are certainly not dreary and dark any longer, for the shadow of evil has been long defeated.”

 

“It’s damn hard not to be bitter, sometimes,” Geezer said, “but this -- hell, this ain’t Mirkwood. This is beautiful.” He couldn’t imagine this forest as being what Bilbo had seen, when he traveled through it God knew how many years ago. Even overcast, it was damn gorgeous, green and alive, without a stain. He couldn’t quite fathom that this was the  _ same path _ , taken by thirteen dwarves and a hobbit with the One Ring. “The land’s shifted, hasn’t it? I don’t ever remember anyone ever saying anything about a sea between the Shire and here. Wonder what happened.” Earthquake would be his best guess, but what the hell did he know?

 

“I think the question might be, what  _ didn’t _ happen,” the King smiled. “When Earlene first showed me a map of this world as it is now...that was most disconcerting. And yet it would not be the first time that seas rose and lands changed. I was born in Beleriand, that was no more after the War of Wrath. Beautiful Menegroth, where I spent the early years of my youth, is long in ruin beneath the waves. I can only say with some assuredness that this isle known as Ireland is much the shape and size of my Realm of old. Are there forests, in the part of the world whence you came?”

 

“America’s got huge forests,” Geezer said, looking up at the canopy. “Trees as old as these, or older. Whole continent was full of them, once, but we cut most of it down a hundred and fifty years ago. At least a few people were bright enough to start preserving what was left, while it was still there. Now there’s only a few patches left, but they’ll be there until the end of time. Unless Chump decides he wants to destroy them in the name of  _ profit _ .” Yes, he really, really hated that word. “How is this still standing here? How has nobody found you before now, is what I wonder. I didn’t think there were many places in Europe that still had true old-growth forest, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have thought Ireland would. D’ you have some kinda magic protecting them?”

 

“It is easier to demonstrate than to explain, but, yes. It is still standing here because only those who live in Lasg’len or those I have brought here perceive more than a scattered copse of trees, or three. What cannot be taken notice of, cannot be coveted.”

 

How many tens of thousands of years had that magic laid here? It was probably soaked into the bones of the Earth by now. “Gotta say, I’m glad the spiders are gone. There’s not much that freaks me out, but those eight-legged bastards’re at the top of the list. They just  _ move  _ wrong.” Give him snakes, give him bees, give him all sorts of creepy-crawlies, but keep the damn arachnids. Climate must have got them, because obviously nobody had dropped a gigantic insecticide bomb on Ireland.

 

A laugh erupted from Thranduil. “We are glad as well. But I am certain you already know, those were not ordinary spiders. They were the grandchildren of Ungoliant, a great and terrible power. Just before Sauron was defeated forever, a great battle took place here. The Battle Under the Trees. The woods were set afire, in a great sorrow. And yet if one good thing came of it, it was that the flames consumed the spiders and their webs as well. When it was over with, my people sought out the last of them at every opportunity. They have not been seen here since the beginning of the Fourth Age.”

 

There was always that joke, that if you found a black widow in your house you should burn it down. In this case, in this forest, that didn’t sound funny at all. “What Age are we in now?” Geezer asked. Somewhere up above, the sun peeked through the clouds long enough to send a few golden rays piercing down through the canopy.

 

Thranduil frowned. “I….am not certain. It was during the Fourth Age that we began to go into seclusion. When the line of Kings in Gondor faded once again, by then we had little contact with the world of men. Our time was over, and we wished only for the peace of our woods. I would imagine that it was not too many lives of men later that we passed into legend. And since that time, we have kept to ourselves. What few humans we saw were primitive, barely carving out an existence. Centuries would pass, without anyone coming near. Even Lasg’len was habited starting less than four hundred years ago.”

 

“As much as I hate math, I’m tempted to sit down and try to figure it out,” Geezer said. “Always wondered this shit, but I never had anyone to talk to about it.” He didn’t usually talk much, period; already his voice was getting hoarse, because between the other night and now, that was more words than he normally spoke in a week.

 

Thranduil left him in silence for a time, not wishing to strain his sensibilities, until their destination was reached. “So the answer to your question is that these are some of our defenses. You are standing before the Gates of my Halls, but you cannot see them because I have not allowed it. Just as outsiders do not see the forest, because I do not allow it. And now I am allowing it,” he said softly, as the illusion fell from Geezer’s eyes.  _ May Eru forgive me, I will never tire of this. _

 

Geezer went very, very still. Despite knowing there was no trick, his cynical eyes searched for one, until his brain caught up with events and told him that yes, he was in fact standing in front of the goddamn Gates to the Elvenking’s Halls. He’d imagined it, as a scared seventeen-year-old kid, but his imagination hadn’t done it justice. And his thought, his first thought, because he was world-weary and so often felt so much older than he actually was, was,  _ Why would anyone step outside?  _ The sight hit him with a strange sort of grief, a dull pain deep in his chest -- right where the fear had been, so long ago, fear so intense it made him nauseous as he crept his way through a jungle on the wrong side of the world. He’d wanted something like this to be real,  _ somewhere _ \-- some place untouched by the evils of  humans. And there was, and now he stood before it.

 

“Come in,” said Thranduil, moving past him to wave at the massive portal that opened at his command. “You will feel my hand on your shoulder; once inside you will not be able to see until your eyes adjust. I will not allow you to stumble.” He guided the man inside and the door swung shut as he asked, “Do you enjoy wine?”

 

Geezer laughed a little, stirring himself. “If it’s alcoholic, I enjoy it,” he said, blinking. When his eyes adjusted, he went still again, and oh, it  _ hurt _ . Beauty could be pain, though he’d found that out all too few times in his life. This...this was beyond that. He’d stepped into another world, one away from the evils of humans -- a fortress against it, probably the last place on Earth human greed and wretchedness hadn’t poisoned in some way.

 

“Then first we stop at my cellars, to find some bottles of wine.” Down he led the man, past cleanly kept cells and turning passages, into the great cavern that held his wines. “I am afraid all the stories about my love of wine were true,” he said ruefully. “Though in my defense, I will say that for many years, having no need of food or drink caused my reserves to remain untouched. I do not make a habit of becoming ossified, as those in the outer world would call it.” He confidently navigated down rows and stacks of bottles until he found what he wished, handing two bottles to Geezer and then moving to another row to find a different kind which he kept himself.

 

Jesus Christ...this wasn’t a wine cellar, this was a damn wine warehouse.  _ Two _ warehouses, stuck together to  make one big one. “What else is true? Been wondering that all week,” Geezer said, eying the bottles. It had struck him as rather strange, that Thranduil had said Lorna was his first friend and yet he’d been married to a human woman -- wasn’t the friend thing supposed to come before the marriage thing? It had occurred to him that Tolkien, being a devout Catholic, might have twisted things a bit to fit with his value system -- though that still begged the question of how the hell Tolkien had learned of it all in the first place. Geezer’s theory, and why he’d asked about potential other Elves, was that the man must, at some point, have talked to an  _ actual  _ Elf, and got all the stories that way. Of course people would have only bought it if he’d presented it as fiction.

 

“You are most perceptive,” Thranduil laughed. “Earlene and I did not go about our relationship in a normal manner,” he said sheepishly. “At all. You might say it was a lesson in humility, for me. There is love born out of passion, and a willing heart, and there is love born from shared experience, and friendship. Earlene represents the former, and Lorna the latter. I love my wife, deeply. We are in many ways not alike, and yet we belong to each other fully. Lorna is one with whom I have much in common; I love her as one might a sibling. It is fortunate that we became friends, because we certainly were never going to become anything else,” he chuckled, as he led Geezer back to the place near the Gates. It was not the quickest way to his rooms, but it seemed unfair to deny the man the first sight of his Halls.

 

Geezer had never been married, and had rarely had anyone in his life he could call a friend. It had all sounded way too complicated, and the PTSD hadn’t exactly made things any easier. “Never really went for that, myself. I didn’t want to bad enough to take the risk, I guess.” And it wasn’t like he’d had anything to offer, for much of his life. He smoked too much, drank too much, never had any money...no sane woman would have looked at him twice, but it hadn’t bothered him. He hadn’t felt like he was missing out.

 

Thranduil smiled sympathetically. He would offer Geezer further help, but something told him, not yet. This was one for whom nothing transpired quickly, for whom every matter needed to filter, and settle. He was mentally weary, in the extreme, and that masked that he had far more to offer than he believed. How many of these mortals had had their entire lives stolen from them? Even Lorna was only beginning to live as she deserved, with happiness and purpose. The glimmers he saw in this man’s mind were far worse than anything Lorna had endured. And though he himself had seen more war, Geezer had seen  _ worse _ war. “It takes time, to learn how to move around the Halls. One helpful thing is to remember that the third path from the left is the one that will take you to the other side of the cavern the quickest. My throne is at the center, and many other paths meet at that place; an echo of how the Halls were used when many more of us dwelled here. At the very least, it is hard to miss,” he grinned as he set off. “You are not disturbed by heights?” he remembered to ask.

 

“Nah, they don’t bug me,” Geezer said. “All right, I gotta ask: can I see the throne? Because I’m betting it’s not the sissy thing you’d find in some European palace.”

 

“Of course,” Thranduil said, secretly delighted that any mortal would say this to him. “We are walking right toward it.” Happily traversing the huge archway, they found themselves in front of the object of Geezer’s interest.

 

That was in fact hellishly impressive. What in the hell kind of animal had horns like that? Something extinct, for sure. “I was right,” he said, eying it. “Not sissy at all. Did you carve it right there?” It certainly looked as though they had, rather than dragging it in from somewhere else; much of it looked fused with the native rock of the caverns.

 

“Yes,” Thranduil answered. “Not me personally of course, I could not carve a toothpick without a great deal of frustration. But our craftworkers of old, the woodworkers, yes. Those are the antlers of a Rhovanion elk; the great animals that used to live in this region long ago. Earlene showed me later on a website, that the men had skeletons of something they called Irish elk. Perhaps they were descendants of the Rhovanion beasts; but either way none now live.”

 

Something that could support antlers that big had to have been the size of a small bus. It was no wonder it had been hunted to extinction, if that was even the case; you could probably feed a whole damn village off something that huge. “Always wanted to get into woodworking, or metalworking -- can kinda do that one, but the hands kept me from getting anywhere close to expert. Maybe I can learn, now.” He still wasn’t over the lack of pain, the freedom of movement; it kept catching him by surprise.

 

“You can,” said Thranduil. “And if you are in earnest, I will see to it. Everything is here, rarely used or needed. Thanadir has great skill, but this does not interest him. The wood, I mean. He prefers the forge when he is not busy with clothing; making garments and working with fabric is what he likes best.” He walked now to the kitchens, to ask for a simple tray of rolls, cheeses, meats and fruit that he could take. Amidst many bows and curtseys, his request was assembled with blinding speed. “Now we can make a proper event of the wine,” he smiled. “Come, my rooms are not far.” With a only slightly bewildered Geezer in tow, he was soon nudging his outer door open. He genuinely admired how phlegmatic the man was; it was not how any of the others had been, even Earlene.

 

Wine and cheese. Fancy. Geezer didn’t think he’d ever had anything actually fancy before. “I am,” he said. “Serious, I mean. Spent way too long fumbling my way around -- I mean, you get used to it, and find ways around it, but it’s a hassle. Old Dan, guy I worked for, he taught me how to build radios, just to keep me busy and keep my fingers half-assed limber. At least carving something’d be prettier.”

 

“Then we will care for that,” Thranduil said, pouring Geezer wine and offering him a plate before caring for his own beverage. “I hope you will pardon my not setting out formal tableware. Thanadir would be horrified, were he here, but as he is not…” he smirked as he unceremoniously stabbed a few foodstuffs with a spork and took a roll for his own plate, and set about making a sandwich. Then, he took a moment to pour his own wine. “I should explain too, the wine the elves drink is far too strong for humans, unless anesthesia and a roaring hangover is a desired outcome. I have poured wine for you that will not send you missing for a week.” Raising his glass to Geezer, he said “To new friends,” and began enjoying his simple meal.

 

Geezer snorted, and returned the toast with a faint grin. “Gonna be honest: I’m not sure I’ve ever seen real formal tableware in person...ever. I won’t tell if you won’t.” Thanadir...admittedly Geezer had only seen him once, but he’d already gotten the impression that Thanadir might be somewhat highly-strung, at least in a few ways. His reaction to Allanah’s, uh, new words had certainly been...interesting. “Also, let me guess: at least one of the humans found that out about the wine the hard way, and I’m gonna go out on a limb when I assume Lorna was one of them.” He knew her sort: not  _ actually  _ alcoholics, but maybe two steps away. And, naturally, he wanted to try it himself, just...because. It was there. He was pretty sure he’d drunk paint-thinner once; how much worse could it be?

 

Thranduil chuckled. “I will make the same offer to you as to the others. I will provide it to you,  _ if  _ it is consumed when I can oversee that activity. It all began because I offered a taste of it, undiluted, to Lorna and Earlene one day, much to my seneschal’s chagrin. Later on they took it upon themselves to procure a bottle while watching...I believe it was  _ Monty Python and the Holy Grail _ . The point being that they both wished they were dead, the following morning. It apparently has far greater effects than human wine; they say it leaves them lighthearted and happy. Which I do not doubt, if their ensuing joviality is any indication.”

 

Oh, well now he  _ had  _ to try some of it. “I’ve taken most drugs known to man, at one point or another, but alcohol’s always the one I go back to. I’m happy to be babysat, if that’s what it takes.” He shook his head, and ate some cheese. Damn good cheese, too. “Either of them ever tell you what being a flight attendant is? Probably not, unless they’re into the harder stuff. When somebody drops acid, or eats shrooms, they’ve got a sober person with ’em, to keep an eye on ’em and make sure they don’t freak out. Acted as one myself, when I was younger and stupider. Kinda what you’d be, if what I’m hearing about this wine proves true for me.”

 

“It is a little like that,” Thranduil said, marveling at these humans and their substances. “It mostly has to do with...being a King is in some ways like being a father on an exponential scale. Everything that happens here occurs under my roof, so to speak. When human friends or family come to grief in the home of elves, I cannot help but feel some responsibility for that. I understand the desire for alcohol or similar; after all, I am the one who accumulated so much of it. If Thanadir had his way, he would not offer our wine to humans, but I disagree. To me, a compromise is fair. The enjoyment is had, but in a manner that will not send someone falling off an archway.”

 

“You must have had some fantastic parties, back in the day.” Even as human wine, this was good stuff -- not that he had much experience. He thought understood now why people ate cheese when they drank it, too; the flavors kind of offset each other. Jesus. Look at him -- drinking wine and eating cheese with the damn King of the Wood-Elves. He wasn’t sure what his life had turned into, but for the first time in his memory, he looked forward to finding out. “And not falling off an archway is always a good thing. I’m old. I don’t bounce anymore.”

 

“I am glad you can see the overall wisdom. Just because I can heal injuries does not mean I wish for it to be necessary.” They ate and drank for awhile in companionable silence, both of them obviously feeling relaxed and content as their glasses refilled. Thranduil was just about to say something about the wood carving shop when his eyes widened. “Geezer, I must return to the edge of the forest. My daughter apparently revealed a newfound skill of climbing out of her playpen, and has injured herself. It is beyond Thanadir’s skill to fully repair. I am happy to leave you here to enjoy the wine, though I cannot say how soon I can return.” Hearing her cries in his mind was enough to make him want to sprint the distance.

 

Geezer downed the rest of his wine at one go, rising. “I’ll go with you. Poor kid -- being mobile’s an interesting new thing for her, but that isn’t necessarily all good.”

 

He silently called for Thanadir, knowing that Earlene would not leave Allanah even though she was the faster runner, not that he blamed her. When he reached the Gates, he apologized again to Geezer. “Thanadir will meet you here very soon, to see you back to the work-site. I hope you can forgive that I need to run to my daughter.” With that, he sprinted off. And before Geezer had time to digest his words, Thanadir indeed appeared, not so much as breathing heavily. “I will lead you back,” the elf smiled.

 

“I hope the kid’s not too bad off,” Geezer said. “Jesus, you people can run. I’d be jealous, but it kinda wouldn’t be right.”

 

Thanadir laughed. “And yet Earlene can outrun me,” he confessed. Long since past resenting this, he was now very proud of his meldis and would brag about her ability. “Once, most men ran a great deal, but now it is rare to find a human who likes to run as much as we do.”

 

Geezer laughed. “I only ever ran if I was being chased,” he said. “We don’t really need to, anymore, so I guess it really is an ‘only if you want to’ sorta thing. Earlene looks like she actually cares about taking care of herself, which any more is kinda rare.” Christ knew he’d rarely bothered with it himself, for most of his remembered life. He’d always been strong, because he could do heavy work that didn’t involve too much fiddling with his hands, but running? No thanks.

 

Thranduil only needed to follow the sounds of a sobbing child to locate them. Earlene was doing her best to comfort Allanah. Ratiri was helping too, but she was beside herself with pain and fright. Earlene saw that her husband had a tear trickling down his cheek in sorrow for her pain, and thought her heart would melt. The sight of Allanah in his arms was something in which she had complete faith, and gave her the means to try and still her own beating heart. She was not easily rattled, but this was her little girl, and to have not been able to help her as the others could...it had been very, very hard. Poor Thanadir had tried, which was why her cuts were bleeding less than when she had first fallen...she took a deep breath even while realizing that right after this she was going to make herself Special Hot Chocolate, and would not listen to a word about it from anyone.

 

Ratiri set aside his makeshift compress -- Lorna’s outer flannel, hastily discarded -- and breathed a sigh of relief. And yet there was a type of grief to it, too. He couldn’t do what Thranduil did -- no matter how much he wanted to heal that little girl, he he could do nothing more than he had done. They needed a proper first-aid kit here, just in case someone else got hurt while Thranduil was elsewhere, but...God did he feel useless.

 

Lorna took his hand when he rose, and though she didn’t say anything, her expression said it for her: he shouldn’t beat himself up for being human. That, unfortunately, was easier said than done, especially with little Allanah’s cries still ringing in his ears. “Need to get that kid a child leash,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Poor thing, she needs some ice-cream now. Her first big spill.” That was one milestone she wouldn’t be taking a picture of.

 

Her wails were subsiding now that it no longer hurt, and Thranduil was soothing her mind while both he and his wife caressed her and gave kisses. Earlene had read not to make more fuss than necessary over occurrences like this, because it was only teaching the child to be afraid...that advice was easier read about than done. But when Allanah wished to wriggle away from her, she did not resist...just in time for Uncle Thanadir to come and pick her up. Her meldir had a look on his face that clearly said,  _ no further accidents would be happening today under his supervision _ . Earlene gratefully kissed her husband, her relief obvious.

 

Ratiri went and deposited Lorna’s shirt in the washer, not wanting to leave any potential biohazards lying around. All too soon, he felt, his children would be at that stage, and there would be  _ two  _ of them. Little Allanah was a curious, sweet-tempered child, a bit willful but not overly so, but his twins...with Lorna as a mother, and his parents as their grandparents, he dreaded just how willful  _ they’d  _ be at that age.

 

“I really do think she needs a child leash,” Lorna said, when he returned. “And not just because she’d be cute as hell with one. Poor mite doesn’t need to be doing that again.”

 

“I didn’t know she could climb out of her playpen,” Earlene said, miserable. “I will do whatever needs doing, to not have a repeat of this. A building site is no place for a small child, but I thought that confined, she would be safe.” She waved unhappily with a half-smile at Geezer, who was now among the faces looking back at her.

 

“Earlene, I am going to take her to Lothiriel, unless you object. It is almost time for her to eat and sleep.” 

 

Privately feeling like Thanadir was a far better parent than she was, Earlene nodded. “Thank you, meldir,” was what she said aloud.

 

“Earlene, of course you didn’t know Allanah could do it,” Ratiri said, “ _ she  _ didn’t know, until now. Don’t feel bad because you can’t read her mind. Which I know is very easy for me to say and very hard for you to hear, but I’m saying it anyway.”

 

“She’s learned a lesson,” Geezer said. “Just look at it that way. Now she knows not to do it again.” Not that he was remotely qualified to say a damn thing about kids or childcare, but he felt the need to say  _ something. _

 

“I suppose,” she conceded. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’d like a hot drink to settle my nerves.” A hot drink of  _ what _ , she was not mentioning, as she rose up and gave Allanah a kiss before walking to the cottage.

 

Lorna went with her, picking up Chandra as she did so. Shane was quite content to bat at the bells over his chair for the moment, but Chandra wanted to know what the hell was going on. “Orla’s going to give out at me like you won’t believe,” she sighed. “I don’t know why I didn’t get a first aid kit.” She knew Ratiri would be kicking himself over that, too. “I’m not sure what you’re putting in that hot drink, but can I have some, too?”

 

“I didn’t think of it either,” Earlene grumbled. “And I’m not in here to have tea, so, I won’t tell if you won’t. The truth is, Thranduil can’t be everywhere at once, and it’s damn stupidity not to have things on hand so that Ratiri can be Ratiri. A pediatrician without even a first aid kit...that’s like, what, a space engineer without a toolkit or duct tape?” She plunked a saucepan onto the stove and spooned in sugar and cocoa in alarming volumes, before adding milk enough to make a paste and then eventually turning on the heat once all the milk was in.

 

“I’m sure Bridie can put a good one together,” Lorna laughed. “What this town really needs is a proper surgery, because you’re right -- Thranduil really  _ can’t  _ be everywhere at once. I can understand why they’d have a hard time tempting a permanent doctor all the way out here, but they still ought to have the proper supplies.” The only reason Baile had Doc Barry was because she’d married a local, or they’d be in the same boat. From all Lorna had discovered, Lasg’len, like Baile, was the sort of place that was shrinking rather than growing, the majority of its young people striking out into the wider world.

 

But what if that changed? What if conditions out there deteriorated enough that people started moving back -- or, God forbid, new people started moving in? Geezer was different; he was as much of an odd duck as the rest of them, if not more so. Others, though...Lorna hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to the news, but she was not encouraged by what she’d seen; if the Americans didn’t find some way to get rid of Trump, things might get ugly. She didn’t think it would get so far as World War III, but there was a lot of room for nastiness without it getting to that point. Under those conditions, there was a certain sort whose instinct was to find somewhere quiet, somewhere removed from the bustle and perceived danger of the city -- and Lasg’len wasn’t  _ that  _ far from Dublin. It would still be a semi-reasonable commute for someone who worked in the city, if they were willing to pay for the petrol.

 

_ Where would they  _ live _ , though?  _ That was a comforting thought -- just like in Baile, there wasn’t a lot in the way of spare housing. No flats to rent, because for so long, there had been no one to rent them -- it was why Ratiri had been crashing on Doc Barry’s sofa. Geezer wouldn’t be able to be here if not for Aurnia.

 

Still, it was a discussion Lasg’len and Thranduil needed to have, sooner rather than later. Better to be prepared, even if they didn’t need to be, than to be caught by surprise and not know what the hell to do. She was uneasy, caught by a vague, free-floating anxiety that she was sure a good half the people on the planet shared right now.

 

She sighed. There was also something else that made her uneasy -- something she had to take care of, sooner rather than later. Thranduil had told her Ratiri didn’t necessarily need to know that the elves would someday have to depart, but her instinct told her he was wrong. As much as it would pain him to know, better to know now than have it dropped on him...whenever, but there really was no way of softening the blow. She’d tried to come up with one, and failed. Sometimes, Adulting really sucked.

 

“You look like your mind is a million miles away,” Earlene observed. It was hard to tell when Lorna actually wanted to talk about anything, but, what the heck. She could create the opening.

 

“I’ve got so much on it,” Lorna sighed. “We need to get together with the village, and figure out what we’re going to do if we get loads’v people wanting to move here to get away from the cities. And what’ll happen when...well. When you lot leave, whenever that is.” She hoped, oh so selfishly, that it wouldn’t be until she was very, very old.

 

“Oh, that.” Obviously, Thranduil had seen fit to tell Lorna about the demand laid on them,  _ had she known about that? _ In the tangled mess of the last month it was a given that she might have overlooked many things that were mentioned. Her first reaction was resistance, to these words. That there was a mounting anti-Trump hysteria, well, that much was obvious. But many before had believed one person in office would lead to this or that apocalyptic outcome, and the cynic in her was not so quick to accept that the developed world was on the brink of ending. On the other hand, many level-headed Germans had probably thought the same in the late 1930’s, until they woke up one day to find out that events had overtaken them. That was the thing about politics; a great deal could change in a hurry with the right confluence of events. Who was to say that Lorna or Geezer were entirely wrong, and what was the harm in discussing possibilities? “I will be honest, I spend a great deal of time trying not to think of the leaving part. In some ways it would have been a mercy if Manwë had gotten out his pocket calendar and chosen a day. There would be finality to that, something around which to plan. I’ve no way of knowing what will become of Allanah, who I very strongly guess must be left behind. Because  _ that’s  _ going to be fun. But then I remind myself that I just know next to nothing, and what is the use of worrying? I do not believe the Valar are cruel, and, I am essentially powerless to do anything about...anything. The only thing I can gather is that...I have a sense that this will not happen inside of twenty years. Maybe much, much longer yet. But the uncertainty will not be easy. As for the potential influx of eager new villagers...well, that might be a little simpler. Understanding the nature of local government, zoning laws...all those things exist, and can be leveraged by a community to make growth difficult if not impossible. And if you mean, would Thranduil ever open his Halls to the wider community at need...well, a great deal has changed in one year. Who knows what else he would consider?”

 

“Well, you don’t need to worry about Allanah,” Lorna said. “No matter how old she is, she’ll always have Ratiri and I, and once we’re dead and gone she’ll have the twins. She’ll never be left on her own.” Not like poor Earlene had been, or Ratiri himself. “And...God, that’s good to know, about zoning and things. One less worry on my mind, but I just can’t shake a fear’v what might happen that’d ever drive a lot’v us to even need the Halls. Not that  I’ve got even a clue what that would  _ be _ , unless somebody ever decided to push the button on a nuke -- but if that happened, we’d all starve. I doubt even Thranduil could undo the effects’v radiation on crops, and why in God’s name am I even wondering that?” She shook her head. “Anyway, don’t let Allanah worry you. If you can’t take her with you, she’s got her human family.”

 

“Well that’s...thank you. I don’t need to tell you that Allanah was not my idea. But once it became obvious that she was going to be my daughter, there isn’t an hour that goes by that I don’t worry about her. That she will feel loved enough. That she will feel like she fits in enough. Whether she will wonder if we love the twins more than her. I just...won’t have it. She had the bad luck to be born to my gobshite brother but I’ll not let that define her life. And when I was told that we would leave...it made me feel in some ways as though I’d failed her before we’d even gotten started. I don’t know if I should tell her, ever. How can anyone grow up with normal feelings, knowing that sooner or later the only parents they’ve ever known will leave them, and not in the normal way? I believe in honesty, but there can be such a thing as too much honesty.” Earlene heaved a deep sigh, as she finished stirring the cocoa and returned with a bottle of Amaretto. “When she’s an adult, I’ll have to revisit this. I don’t think I have a right to keep things from her then, but...that’s a long time away. Just, shit. And, go pick your poison, you know where all the bottles are. If you don’t want this stuff; there’s stronger.”

 

God, that just brought her back to her own worries. “Ratiri doesn’t know,” she admitted, fishing a bottle of vodka out of the cupboard. “I was going to tell him when I found out, but Thranduil told me it might be better if he didn’t have that hanging over his head. I wasn’t sure about that at the time, and I’m not at all now. I can’t just go and leave that -- it’s not my right to keep that from him. I’ve been trying to find some easier way to tell him, but I don’t think there is one.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrow raised. “The following is just my two cents. I know you don’t like hearing about the monarchy aspects of life with Thranduil, but this isn’t about your kids or your friendship with him or your relationship with your partner. What happened with Manwë is something central to his rule over his people. He bears the sole responsibility for the condition that was laid upon the elves, give or take whatever lunatic fringe I occupy in all of it. Were I you, I would talk to my husband. He left you in a difficult situation; one that isn’t entirely fair, either. He means well, Lorna, and I know that he loves you to pieces...but he isn’t human, and there are things about being human that he doesn’t really comprehend. In his world, if he commands silence, silence is what he gets; no questions, no untidy details. It might not occur to him that between human partners, silence can be a form of betrayal, and that it can cause deep hurts. I know at the very least he will listen to you.” She took an extremely generous sip of her chocolate drink, which made room for more Amaretto. “Cocoa abhors a void”, was muttered, as she tipped another shot or two into the mug.

 

She’d talk to Thranduil, though it wasn’t about to change her decision. “Oh, it’s betrayal, all right,” she sighed, following Earlene’s example until her cup was as much vodka as it was cocoa. “I promised Ratiri I wouldn’t keep big things from him. You know how shit I was -- still am, sometimes -- at using my words, and I promised him I wouldn’t keep things that actually mattered to myself, and now look what I’m doing. Look what I’ve already done. At least it’s only been a month -- and I can totally honestly say that it’s not been on my mind for most’v it.” She sighed, and took another healthy draught off her mug. “It’s easy for me to forget Thranduil’s not human, as daft as that sounds. I mean, he’s a bloody giant elf, but...well, you know what I mean. He so often acts human, at least when I see him. But in this, I’ve got to go with my own gut. I don’t want to know what’ll happen if I don’t.”

 

Earlene sipped thoughtfully, slowed down a bit by the definite and welcome buzz settling over her. “I think you’re being a tad hard on yourself. You’re sort of forgetting that your dear friend, who happens to also be an Elvenking, leaned on you in so many words to keep quiet about it. You and I don’t have tons in common,” her voice dropped and laced with a little more emotion than usual, “but I think we both understand what it is to not want to disappoint him. Plan to talk to Ratiri, by all means...but in my opinion it is more Thranduil’s news to deliver than yours. It’s not fair to place all that on you. And, I’ll say no more about it.”

 

Lorna laughed. “It kind’v feels like chickening out, but I think I’ve got to. If nothing else, Ratiri’ll have two people to be annoyed at, and not just one.” She downed the rest of her alcoholic cocoa, and barely managed to smother a burp. “Jesus, I could do with some more’v this, if nobody comes in to catch us.”

 

“There’s more cocoa in the pot, help yourself. I’d better stop, though, if I’m going to remain vaguely sober. I always make a cup more than I think is needed; haven’t gone wrong yet,” she smiled. “Which reminds me...Thranduil’s aur en onnad is coming up again. Ratiri’s birthday was sidelined and while I don’t care so much about mine, I know I’m not getting off the hook. What about a dinner here, where we can have a decent celebration for all three of us at once? The children could stay in the Halls while we have adult time. Poor Mairead’s cake didn’t have a chance of proper appreciation the day Von Wretched showed up.”

 

“Oh, I’m not letting Ratiri off the hook, either,” Lorna said, filling her mug again. “Let’s just do a big party and cake, the lot’v us. I can get Mairead to make another, I’m sure, but the price’ll be her giving everyone gifts. Which...God help us all.”

 

Earlene shook her head. “For once, let’s leave her out of it. I might not reach her heights, but I can bake and I’d like to try making a cake. I missed cooking, a lot, while I was in Beached Walrus Mode. That and...I’m kind of realizing that occasions for just the five of us to be together are eventually going to be damn near impossible. We’ll blink and the children will be older and we won’t be able to play the nanny card so easily. Might as well enjoy the remains of it while we can.”

 

“True,” Lorna said. Given how rapidly elf-kids developed, it might be even less time than she’d suspect. “Christ, what do we do for birthday presents?” She already knew what she was giving Earlene: the wedding photo she’d taken behind the cottage, complete with a chasing dinosaur Photoshopped in. Ratiri and Thranduil though...good grief.

 

“I don’t know who is harder, an elf who can read your mind and has everything he already wants anyway, or a doctor who is smarter than half the Mensa club and whose only known interest is Tolkien stuff,” Earlene groused. “They’re both impossible.”

 

“Well, anything science-related would make Ratiri happy,” Lorna said, “there’s just so much out there. I’ve actually been thinking’v this mini Tesla gun I saw on YouTube -- I’d have to build it, but the instructions were good and it didn’t look  _ too  _ hard. That still leaves Thranduil, though...I’m tempted to make him something really -- oh.  _ Oh _ , I know.” She nearly cackled. “There’s an in-joke I’m going to give physical form. He’ll either love it or he’ll murder me.”

 

“Sounds like you’re covered, then. Science, huh? Ohhhh…..I think I know what he’d like. It is scientific, nerdy, and nifty. That only leaves my husband. At least he likes to read. He liked chess, too. You two seemed to do better when you had internet chess going on. God we need a wireless signal in those Halls, but I don’t see how unless Orla wired his throne to be a signal tower, and that’s probably a terrible idea. Though, wait. You know what? I thought about this originally more for Thanadir but...they’ve never seen a movie in a theater. Something so simple. Maybe we could have an outing for that, and it could be his present? It’s that or laser tag,” she joked.

 

“Laser tag wouldn’t be fair,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Not when he’d automatically know where we all are. I say find a movie everyone will actually like and go to the cinema. I can’t remember the last time I was in a cinema myself.”

 

“Well…Oh! Oh!  _ Beauty and the Beast _ , didn’t it just come out a week or so ago? They would love that!”

 

Lorna cackled, because she was never going to be able to think about the movie without the sing-a-long she and Earlene had had in New York. “Yes,” she said. “And we’ll have to promise Thanadir not to sing with all the songs.”

 

“He’d probably improve them,” Earlene quipped. “Did you know the bloke playing Gaston was the actor for Bard the Bowman in the Hobbit movies? You can’t make that stuff up.”

 

“Are you serious?” Lorna asked, pouring herself the last of the cocoa. “Well, now I’ll not be able to take him seriously. I liked Bard, he  _ can’t  _ be Gaston.” How was she supposed to hate Gaston, when Gaston was Bard?

 

“Give the lad a chance!” teased Earlene. “Sometimes they surprise you.”

 

*****

 

March 30 arrived and Earlene rose before dawn with an eager grin on her face. How she was awake this early, plans or no, she wasn’t sure. Thranduil had been in one of his periodic ‘beyond amorous’ moods, and she was still completely incapable of doing other than soaking up what he offered, no pun intended. But a little less sleep didn’t seem to weigh against the thought of an entire day of cooking everything she wanted to. Not even wanting to try to directly compete with Mairead’s cakes, she had set off on a different tangent entirely. This was to be the classic German Torte she remembered from her time spent roaming Deutschland...no fewer than seven layers, decadent creamy icings and fillings that were not too sweet (except when they were), with real poached fruits between the layers and beautifully piped whipped cream on the outer edge. 

 

Her sponge cake layers had been baked yesterday, and were perfection ready for slicing. As if she were scaling a sort of culinary Annapurna, Earlene had the summit within her sight and nothing short of a masterpiece dessert would do for an outcome. For the actual food, there would be buttermilk roasted chickens, braised greens, twice-baked mashed potatoes, and baby beets baked in garlic oil. And of course handmade brioche rolls, because butter was a food group today. With her best sneakiness she ran through and out of the Halls, having enjoyed a hot soak in the pool and stretching before finding her stash of human clothing. At all costs, she wanted to avoid Thanadir, because if he found her, she would want to feed him, and she had an agenda. Well, one could hope…

 

Running fast and hard, in only a few minutes her goal was in sight.  _ Success! _ The first thing was to make herself an immense latté while the fire rekindled, and to drink it while poring over lists from her cookbooks and computer screen.  Having achieved a completely good mood, she found her Morrissey collection and was soon moving around the room while “Hairdresser on Fire” played at unusually high volume. Earlene was happily being Earlene.

 

About four hours later, two different fillings and an icing had been prepared. Fruit had been drained and pressed, little glasses of liquers were laid out on the countertop with pastry brushes, the Tortenschneider had been used to make a dozen thin and uniform layers, and the assembly of her creation began even as biscuit dough rested on the countertop. When it was finished, she smiled. So far, very good, and there only remained piping the light buttercream on the outside and the decorations of candied edible flowers. Beyond pleased, she moved her project to the pantry and continued on making biscuits, porridge, Swedish pancakes, cured meats, and scrambled eggs. And then, dammit, it was time to use the restroom. Turning all the burners off (because to do otherwise invited certain disaster), she dashed off even as she saw Thanadir coming across the lawn. The old elf was often first to arrive for breakfast, and she liked that very much. They had time to converse, and there was usually some treat she would offer in order to see more happiness in those brown eyes. Today, she was excited to tell him about the cake, especially now that it was as good as completed. Emerging, she walked toward him with a beaming smile. 

 

Thanadir raised his eyes to hers; he had been looking at the open weather page on her computer. His eyes widened like he had just seen Von Ratched return from the dead at the same time he sort of...gasped...and then he started forward as if he might be choking, and fainted.

 

“Meldir!” she shouted in panic.  _ How could he...were elves even able to...?? _ With no idea what to do, she patted his cheeks, while absolutely hollering for Thranduil in her mind. She felt so incredibly inept...looking around, the only thing she could think of was to bring a small pillow from the sofa, so his head would not be on the stone flooring (which thankfully he did not crack his head on, that she had seen). And that was when she spotted Lorna and Ratiri emerging from the woods, and wasted no time yelling for them to come and help.

 

Neither had ever heard Earlene sound quite like that, and Lorna had no protests when Ratiri outpaced her in about five seconds. Allanah was back at the Halls, right? She hadn’t hurt herself again?

 

“What’s wrong?” Ratiri asked, once he’d reached Earlene. “What happened?”

 

“Thanadir...if he were human, I’d say he fainted. He was fine and then he looked like he’d seen a UFO. I mean, I thought this couldn’t happen?!” she was trying to get a grip on herself, but it wasn’t easy.

 

Ratiri found Thanadir, entirely out cold, and knelt beside the Elf. His pulse was steady, thank God, and there seemed to be no wounds on his head. “I thought it couldn’t, either,” he said. “Do you have a flashlight? Not that I think Elves can get concussions, but I want to check anyway.” There went a few theories about the physiology of Elves.

 

“Jesus,” Lorna said, lingering in the doorway. “How long’s he been like that?”

 

“Not thirty seconds. Should we...move him off the floor?”

 

“Not without a stretcher,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “I know Thranduil can fix anything he might have broken, but I have no way of knowing if it’s done anything to his neck, and I’d rather not risk it.” He would have doubted  _ anything  _ could have been done to Thanadir’s neck, by a fall or otherwise, but he also hadn’t thought Elves could faint, so there he was. There they all were.

 

Earlene’s admittedly pathetic comment of, “He’s still breathing, that’s good, right?” was fortunately followed by Thranduil bursting onto the porch, and Lorna having the reflexes to get the French door open before it or the glass on it took damage.

 

He quickly knelt and pulled Thanadir to him. “Meldir!” he spoke, shaking him lightly. When that failed, he laid a hand over his head and closed his eyes; in seconds the seneschal was blinking in confusion as the humans did their best not to crowd and hover. They had at least  _ that _ much sense between them. The elf looked thoroughly baffled as to why he was on the ground. “Meldir, what is wrong? You are not ill?” This was a statement just as much a question, for Thranduil could find no reason for his temporary loss of consciousness. “What happened?” Recalling everything to mind, he answered. 

 

“Earlene. I am sorry, I was overcome.”

 

“Overcome? Overcome with wh…?” his words died on his lips as he looked at his wife. For fifteen full seconds (Lorna would later insist she had counted), his mouth formed a perfect ‘O.’  

 

It took Lorna a moment to put it together, but put it together she did. “She  _ can’t  _ be up the yard,” she said. “I thought you lot couldn’t do that by accident.”

 

_ Really?? _ Earlene’s eyes bored into her Thranduil’s.

 

_ Meluieg I… _

 

_ Honestly, it is a yes or no question, Thranduil, which you have already answered. Beloved, I welcome another child. You can explain later why I am pregnant five weeks after giving birth...though I think I know the answer.  _ Her eyes twinkled as she held out her arms. _ I love you, very much.  _ Earlene cleared her throat. “It would seem that I can be, actually,” she said with a shrug and a smile. “Wait, it’s not bloody twins again, is it?” Because that would indeed be  _ entirely _ too much.

 

Earlene was taking this one hell of a lot better than Lorna ever would have; were she in Earlene’s shoes, Thranduil would have had a sucker punch to the face, not a shrug and a smile. “No wonder Thanadir passed out,” she said. “Oh well. At least it’s a nice round number now.”

 

“Do you...know, can you possibly know if it is a girl or boy?”

 

“We will have a son,” the King said, finally reacting now that he was past his initial shock, and rising to hug her to him. “Only one,” he hurriedly added.

 

_ I am still shocked, and that won’t be over with soon, but I do not want you to believe that I am angry or upset. I am not. This was a surprise to you as well? _

 

His face looked down on hers with immense chagrin.

 

_ Enough said _ , she replied as she wrapped her arms around him and smiled. When she broke away, she looked at Lorna’s expression of horror and laughed. “You can tell me you’re glad it’s not you up to eight and a half months. After that, you just have to say nice things and find me cookies. Can we make a deal?”

 

“I will get Mairead to bake them,” Lorna said. “You know they’ll be the best.” In truth, she felt terribly sorry for Earlene, who seemed to be forgetting just how miserable she’d been only a little over a month ago. Let her enjoy it while she could, before reality set in and she castrated Thranduil. Seriously,  _ how  _ could he have let this happen?

 

Thranduil chose to ignore Lorna’s very loud thoughts because fortunately, he was not answerable to her in this regard. Fortunately. 

 

“And meldir,” said Earlene, recalling her friend who had chosen to remain on the floor. Kneeling next to him, she smoothed his hair from his face. “We have gone and made more work for you.” 

 

He did not answer, but hugged her close. “I am very happy, but, you startled me.”

 

Ratiri felt rather guilty for being fascinated that Elves could faint, given poor Thanadir really hadn’t enjoyed it much, but he couldn’t help it. At least he seemed well enough now, if understandably stunned. And hell, Shane would have a playmate who was actually a boy...but still. Poor Earlene. “I’ve learned something new about Elves, Thanadir, though I’m sorry I had to. You’re all right now?”

 

Poor Thanadir...somebody needed to give Thranduil a good one for being so careless, and Lorna knew nobody ever would. He was so lucky Earlene was...Earlene. Earlene, who was first to prod everyone into moving along.

 

“Alright everyone, let’s not burn the biscuits over this. The way I see it, Shane is the lucky one. He will no longer be alone in a sea of oestrogen, so, let’s celebrate. And….oh! Happy Birthday, Thranduil.”

 

“And Earlene, and Ratiri, and even you, Thranduil -- I’m not sure anyone else’s getting a present quite that shocking, but you’ve all got one,” Lorna said. Ratiri’s was the one she was most excited about, given how much of a pain in the ass it had been to make, but Mick had helped quite a bit. Jesus she was glad her birthday was so far removed. Otherwise this would just be too much.

 

Earlene piped up. “Lorna, aren’t you getting together with your old gang soon? That must be...well, exciting is probably not the word. Nostalgic?”

 

“Hopefully not exciting,” Lorna said, laughing a bit. “Nostalgic would be preferred. They’re all coming to the pub tomorrow evening. I told Orla to make sure she hog-tied Shane and tossed him in her van, if necessary.”

 

“Oh dear. Well,” she said, scooping scrambled eggs onto her own plate as she waved at all of them to sit and eat, “I’m sure it will add perspective.”

 

“It’ll be good to get them all together, even before...well, the big reveal,” Lorna said, pouring herself some tea. “We haven’t all been together in one place since before I went to prison.” She sighed. “There were fourteen’v us, once. Now there’s just five. I’m not sure this won’t hurt a bit, too.”

 

_ Surviving usually does,  _ Earlene thought, though she would never say something so callous aloud. There was nothing she could say. So she nodded, and smiled sympathetically, not able to help that her eyes drifted to the photo of her friends.  _ There were seven of us, once. And now there is only one.  _ She forced her thoughts away from this; today was a day for joy, not sad remembrances.

 

Ratiri was incredibly glad Lorna was letting him come in later, once the penny had been dropped, so to speak. He’d heard enough about her gang that he didn’t particularly want to meet them all at once -- not if they were going to be edgy, anyway, and he was sure Lorna’s cryptic wording would have set both of those who didn’t yet know on edge. “Does Shane know he has a son named after him?”

 

Lorna grinned. “Not yet. I’ll tell him when he’s got a mouthful’v Guinness, to see if he chokes.”

 

“Of course you will,” Ratiri said dryly. “How you all lived to adulthood, I don’t know.”

 

“We’re not  _ that  _ bad. Besides, Thranduil’ll be in there lurking, just in case we need an actual demonstration -- if Shane starts turning blue, we’re not without help.”

 

“At least I know there will be no stabbing you with cutlery this time,” he teased. “You have moved beyond that. Or at least, I hope.”

 

_ As if I had a choice _ , she said, and aloud, “Nah, I’ll stab Mick.” She wouldn’t  _ actually  _ stab Mick...probably. She’d poke him hard with a fork, though.

 

_ I may let him bleed,  _ Thranduil frowned.  _ Surely we can agree on a more civil form of demonstration? _

 

_ You could alway light something on fire,  _ she said, trying for innocence and probably failing. She just really, really wanted to see how that worked. Even if it was just once. She was even willing to try the Thanadir Eyes -- though Ratiri had told her repeatedly she looked like a serial killer when she did.

 

Thranduil rose from the table and picked up a piece of kindling. “It is my birthday, but I will give you a present, as the Hobbits did.” And as he held onto the frail stick, the end of it burst into a flame about the equivalent of four matches igniting at once. He handed it to her. “I hope this pleases you.” Thanadir rolled his eyes and bit into another biscuit, much to Earlene’s amusement.

 

Lorna was unabashedly delighted, and resolved to someday show him the movie  _ Firestarter.  _ “It burns, Doctor, get it out,” she said, and Ratiri choked on his eggs. She’d told him the story behind it once, and yet it never sounded any less  _ wrong _ .

 

“Don’t put it anywhere I won’t have to take it out of,” he said, which just made her descend into helpless laughter, still holding the stick like it was the Holy Hand Grenade. 

 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” she said. “This might not seem like much to you, but it does to me.”

 

“You are welcome, Lorna,” he said, sitting back down to his pancakes. 

 

_ So you are skilled at lighting more than one type of fire?  _ smirked Earlene mercilessly as she sipped her tea. The comment was rendered completely worthwhile as she watched him struggle not to smile. The rest of the meal was concluded in companionable silence. After, Lorna and Ratiri headed for the work site, followed closely by Thanadir, who apparently wanted assistance finishing one small project. Thranduil lingered with Earlene, wrapping his arms around her belly. 

 

“Meluieg, I do owe you an apology. The truth is, I failed to consider your fertility so soon after a birth. I was not paying attention, and never saw that your body released an egg. I would understand, if you were deeply unhappy with me.”

 

She grinned. “I will not lie, Thranduil, this was the furthest thing from my mind, so soon. I have only just had my body returned to me, and in a few more months...well…” she shrugged. “But...though part of me wants to remember what seemed so difficult, the rest of me does not. To give my King another son, to give you the joy of another child...we do not lack for the means or resources. There are so many helping us. And...I do not know for how many years I can bear children. Might as well make the most of it. I do know enough about how the human body works to accept some share of the responsibility. I knew that it was possible, though unusual, to conceive so soon and I was not giving the matter any thought. We both showed up to the party and had a good time, so to speak, and nature took its course.”

 

“Yes, but you are the one who now will have ten months’ sacrifice carrying our son and giving birth to him.”

 

“I will manage. I think, I hope, it will be easier for many reasons this time around. Though,” she said softly, “part of me really does feel sorry for Thanadir. He helped me so very much, and I almost feel guilty to do this to him again so soon.”

 

“He will not see it that way, Earlene. I believe his reaction was an abundance of joy, not regret. And yet I will speak to him and apologize for my ‘lack of family planning’, I suppose is the phrase, though I already know what his response will be.”

 

With a nod and a peck to his lips, she shooed him out, citing a need to keep cooking...not to mention, some time alone, to think. As the hours wore on, her mind swirled around.  _ I will have given my husband three children of his own blood; if the worst happens in the end and my fate does not change, a part of me will live on in them. I believe I am better prepared, and there will be no Von Wrecker to make the days long and filled with fear and boredom. I have family and friends and growing children. I am...very blessed, just not at the time I exactly meant to be... _ at the end of it, great happiness settled over her.

 

 

*******

 

Twilight had arrived, and Lorna kissed Ratiri on the cheek and told him to wait while she got the presents out of her van. “These’ll hide out in the barn until we’re ready for them,” she said, trying not to grin and failing. His gift was just. So.  _ Deadly. _ Though at least not in the literal sense. Once the second one was done, it would be even better -- though once the kids were old enough, they’d have to get locked away. These were definitely  _ not  _ toys for children.

 

Once they were stowed, she took his hand and led him to the work-site. “I promise I won’t let Shane eat you,” she said. “He couldn’t anyway, you’re taller than he is, even if not by much.”

 

They made their way inside to find the usual bouquet of Earlene’s cooking smells. She’d gotten a bit wiser, now, for these adult group dinners, and simply set up a corner of her counter as an alcoholic serve-yourself so that all of them could have what they wished (and in the proper glass, to boot). Her own glass of red wine had been operational for some hours, as she loved to take a sip from time to time as she cooked. And for once, she wasn’t bustling around with food, but was sitting back listening to music. “Come on in,” she said. “Wait until you see the cake. I might get Thanadir to faint twice in one day,” she grinned.

 

“Poor lad,” Lorna said. “Let’s not give him a concussion. Even if Thranduil  _ can  _ fix it, concussions suck.”

 

“Of course you’d know that,” Ratiri said dryly. “How many have you had?”

 

“That I know’v? Six. And if you say that explains anything, I swear I’ll kick you,” she warned.

 

Wisely, Ratiri said nothing, though his smirk said a great deal on its own.

 

“You two start drinking,” she pretended to demand, laughing. “This is supposed to be a party.”  The ellyn arrived soon, dinner was magnificent, and Thanadir’s rapturous expression on seeing the cake earned the usual smiles. Earlene really had outdone herself at least by appearances; none of them had seen a twelve layer cake before and no one knew exactly what to say. But they were also not about to get off so easily. “Okay,” Earlene asked. “Blunt honesty time. And I will ask Thranduil later if any of you were fudging to save my feelings, so don’t bother. How is it, compared to Mairead’s? Discuss.”

 

Lorna tasted, and gave due consideration. “She’d be worried,” she said. “Or rather, she’d be threatened.” It wasn’t like any cake she’d ever had before, but God was it tasty. Twelve layers? How had she even  _ done  _ that? “She might also want the recipe.”

 

Ratiri found it too good to say much of anything, which coming from him was a distinct compliment. He ate slowly, savoring it, not wanting to admit that he liked a good chocolate even more than Lorna did.

 

Earlene beamed. “That made my whole day. Well, give or take the other good news. But at least the cake was  _ planned _ . Thanadir, do you like it?” Why she was bothering to ask, even she could not say. His facial expression seemed to indicate that she could be pregnant for the next seven years, as long as he could keep eating this cake. Thranduil gave a rumbling laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.

 

Lorna managed to restrain a laugh, but barely. Yes, Mairead was going to want this recipe, if Earlene was willing to part with it -- God, the thought of them becoming baking pen-pals was a bit terrifying. Then again, adding Mairead into any situation was automatically terrifying. “All right, so I’m not sure who needs to be opening what present first, or if you ought to all go at once,” she said, not quite able to contain her glee.

 

“Oh, let’s have a free-for-all,” Earlene said happily. “You know, the very same thing we won’t want any of our children doing in two more years because we’ll want to torment them and take pictures and drag it out like the rotten parents we are. Let’s herd them all into piles and go for it.”

 

Lorna didn’t quite squee, but she came close as she dashed out to the barn, and came back in lugging a big cardboard box. A  _ big  _ box, so big she was barely managing it, and she set it down on the floor to pull out three smaller boxes. “All right, Earlene, yours is the easiest to open, so you’ll have it before these two manage.” Just to be an utter shit, she’d wrapped Thranduil’s box in two layers of duct tape. At least Ratiri’s was wrapped normally, and she tried so, so hard not to bounce on the balls of her feet when she handed it to him.

 

“I’m worried,” he said.

 

“Don’t be. You’ll love it.”

 

“Now I’m even  _ more  _ worried. Before we get started, Earlene, Thranduil, I’ve got gifts for you, too.” He hurried out to the van to get them -- two actual reasonable-sized boxes, and not wrapped in anything annoying.

 

Earlene procured her presents from her bedroom, both of which amounted to two cards addressed to Ratiri and Thranduil, respectively. Thranduil mysteriously placed one card on the table in front of them, addressed to both Earlene and Ratiri, which was made more suspicious by the fact that Lorna was wiggling and smirking in her chair.

 

“All right, open, the lot’v you,” Lorna said, trying hard to contain her glee and totally failing. Thank God she’d got a van, that was all she was going to say; Ratiri’s actual gift to Earlene had to stay hidden in there.

 

Ratiri discovered that Earlene had bought him one of those Ancestry DNA kits, to his delight. The good kind, with all sorts of tests included. He knew little of his father’s family, who had all died or moved away long before he was born, and even less of his mother’s. “Thank you, Earlene,” he said, barely resisting the urge to open it and take a cheek swab then and there. “We should do this card together, I think, and then most of yours is in Lorna’s van.”

 

Earlene slid her finger to open the glued envelope neatly, and took out a single folded sheet of nice paper. “In the barn,” she read aloud, handing it to Ratiri. “Well,” she smiled, “It would seem we are going outside.”  _ Did you get us more chickens?  _ she asked, trying to guess. 

 

_ You will have to wait and see, meluieg,  _ he answered mysteriously. Lorna was all but hopping up and down, which caused Earlene to roll her eyes. Whatever it was, it must be good.

 

Ratiri himself felt rather pleased, given what was residing in the back of Lorna’s van. While in a sense it was a gift to everyone, Earlene would get the most enjoyment out of it -- provided she could wrest control away from Thanadir. Out they went, into the thin, cloud-strained sunlight, making their way to the barn.

 

At a nod from the King, Thanadir pulled the heavy barn door open, and Earlene’s jaws parted in astonishment. It looked like a commuter van, almost big enough to be a small bus, except that it did not look bus-ish. “We could fit half the Halls in here,” she said. “You bought this for us? So we could go places?” her eyes filled with excitement. “But where would we go?” she wondered, puzzled.

 

Ratiri handed her the envelope, figuring she ought to be the one that opened it, given the present was from her husband and all. “I’m guessing we’ve got our first idea,” he said.

 

“No, you open it!” she said, grinning. It would be far more fun to watch him, she reasoned.

 

Open it he did, carefully, and discovered a map for a place he had never heard of -- Lough Gur. “It looks like we’re going on holiday,” he said, handing it to Earlene.

 

“Oh! This will be so nice, this is an archaeological site? Thank you,” she hugged her husband.

 

He lifted her into his arms. “Yes, and Lorna tells me it is also full of natural beauty with places to walk and enjoy scenery. We are all free now, and should take some occasions to enjoy ourselves. I cannot think of a finer way than to see more of Ireland.”

 

“If you’ll follow us to Lorna’s van, there’s something more we’ll all enjoy,” Ratiri said, trading looks with Lorna, who was rocking on the balls of her feet.

 

They all gathered round with anticipation, as Earlene looked with interest; Thranduil assuredly already knew what it was.

 

Lorna opened the doors, pulled down the ramp, and carefully guided a brand-new Weber barbecue onto the floor of the barn. Stainless-steel, gas burners, even a warming pan on the right side. “We’ll all be getting something out of this, but I thought you might like one,” Ratiri said. “I know a lot of Americans really enjoy barbecue, and I was lucky enough to actually have American barbecue once. Dad would call it blasphemy for me to say so, but it was the best meat dish I’ve ever had.”

 

“I can grill,” Earlene said. “In summer, this is what we did on gran’s farm more often than not. It is a different group of flavors entirely. We even grilled fruit. Thank you,” she said,  hugging Ratiri, “this is very thoughtful!” They all wheeled it to the covered porch, while Thanadir admired it and began reading the instructions. Laughing, she ushered them inside; there were more presents. Thranduil looked at his envelope suspiciously, giving Earlene a nod at the effort she had put into keeping the contents hidden. “You must hurry, my brain about wants to explode with the effort of keeping you out!” 

 

“Tickets for the five of us to see... _ Beauty and the Beast _ ? Did we not already see that?” he asked, confused.

 

“It’s the live-action adaptation,” Lorna explained. “Looks grand, too. And I promise I’ll not stand up and sing along with all the songs.” She couldn’t promise she wouldn’t hum, though. Thranduil thanked them, and was left with Lorna and Ratiri’s gifts to him.

 

“You go first,” Lorna said, and fought an urge to cackle. “This one...well.” He already knew what it was, of course, but he hadn’t actually seen the full horror of it. Lorna also pushed her small present toward Earlene. “Can’t forget this, either!”

 

Ratiri’s package proved to contain several T-shirts -- a dark blue one reading ‘Elect Baggins, for a Better Shire’; a black-sleeved one with the front a screen-grab of the Fellowship marching against a backdrop of the Misty Mountains, and a third bearing the words ‘Not all who wander are lost’ in the font used for the films. They were all very nice, and he particularly liked the first one (as did Earlene). 

 

Earlene giggled and hugged Lorna, to see the photo of their wedding with the dinosaur chasing them, happily showing the others. “It’s perfect!”

 

Lorna’s gift to Thranduil was the last of all. It was a strange looking package, oddly wrapped, and seeing what it was in her mind was of no use to him whatsoever.

 

Within it was a statuette both strange and honestly rather ugly -- lumps of metal fused into bizarre shapes, arches of wire containing random gears that would spin if flicked. There was a bit of car antenna, a number of nuts and bolts, and the tiny blades of a hand-held fan. On the base, lovingly carved, were the words ‘Ainnis Sióg Gradam’.

 

_ It’s the Bad Elf Award _ , she said, biting the inside of her cheek to avoid laughing.

 

“Oh by Eru,” he huffed, laughing even as he took a closer look at this creation. Honestly it looked like the modern art they had seen in the museum in New York, and was rather eye-pleasing, in its own way. Thanadir examined it, turning it this way and that in admiration, wanting to know how the pieces of metal had been joined. In the end, he thanked Lorna for her effort, declaring that it would have to live on their fireplace mantle now. And that was when he caught it, though he forced himself not to react. It was a very definite emotion of jealous anger coming from Ratiri, that was gone just as quickly...but especially after the moment to dwell on her gift was over and the conversation moved along. This, he would have to ponder.

 

Lorna  _ did  _ cackle when Ratiri opened his. It looked rather like a ray gun, as put together by someone stoned -- the basic shell was that of a large Nerf gun, but there were bits of metal, the muzzle coiled with bits of copper around a round, flat disk. It was heavy, too, because she’d managed to make it battery-operated -- though she knew the batteries would drain fast.

 

“What is it?” he asked, bewildered.

 

“It’s a Tesla gun,” she said. “I’ve got another one half-done in Mick’s garage. Here, you can’t use it in an enclosed area, though.” She grabbed his hand, all but dragging him out of the barn. “Just point and pull the trigger.”

 

Ratiri did so, and jumped a bit at the zap and arch of electricity, the tiny lightning crackling in the quiet morning air.

 

“We can have a duel with them, once the other one’s done,” she said, grinning, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

 

“Mo chroí, somehow I think you will never cease to surprise me,” he said, and kissed her back.

 

*********

 

Shane hadn’t known what to make of the calls he had received -- three of them. First had come Lorna, telling him to meet with Orla and come out to Mick’s village for a reunion; then came Orla, telling him he’d better not weasel out of it; lastly came Mick, who told him no, seriously, he  _ needed  _ to do it. A fourth, later, had come from an extremely baffled Niamh, who’d been told the same thing.

 

The five of them hadn’t been together in over twenty years, and he wondered what the hell they were doing now. There was only one way to find out, though, and given that it was three of them all saying the same thing, go he did -- Orla picked him up in her construction van at five in the evening, Niamh already inside.

 

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what this is about?” he asked, hauling himself into the back. He hadn’t wanted the bother of putting on a suit, though at least he’d made sure to bring a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that weren’t covered in grease stains.

 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Orla said. “I have to show you.  _ We  _ have to show you.”

 

“You’re not in any kind’v trouble, are you?” Niamh asked. This being off hours, she’d ditched the Corporate Barbie suit in favor of jeans herself, her red hair in a ponytail, just as she’d always worn it.

 

“Totally the opposite,” Orla said, navigating through traffic with a few muttered curses. “Trust me, this is like Big Rock Candy Mountain -- but you’ve got to promise you’ll hear everything out. Don’t go calling bullshit before we’re through.”

 

That made Shane rather uneasy, especially since the whole thing seemed to have started with Lorna, whose situation had already made him uneasy. That she knew people with such valuable gems -- gems they didn’t want legitimately fenced through legal brokers -- had made him wonder if she was in something over her head, but nothing bad had come of it so far.  _ We’ll see when we get there _ , he told himself, frowning.

 

It was a surprisingly warm evening, for so early in the Irish spring, and Orla rolled down the windows. Part of her couldn’t wait to see the moment the lightbulb turned on for the pair of them; she could only imagine what she’d looked like, and she wanted to watch it on someone else.

 

They drove in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, the sort that can only occur between old friends. Every so often Orla would lay on the horn, but she was a far more mellow driver than she’d been in her youth. They’d all mellowed, in their ways -- but then, they were all on the downhill slope toward middle-aged. It ought to be a depressing thought, and yet it wasn’t. With the life they’d once led, living this long was far from guaranteed, and they’d all made it all right.

 

“So just what  _ is  _ Lasg’len?” Shane asked.

 

“Bloody tiny village, about two hours away. Mick’s lived there for years,” Orla said. “Lorna came to help him when he’d broken his hand, and met...who we’re going to meet. The people she works for. That Niamh and I work for, come to that.”

 

“What’d you sign on for?” Niamh asked. This piece of information was news to her.

 

“Started off on the electronics end. Now I’m working on their house -- or helping work on it. Look, you’ll see, all right?” Orla wasn’t going to say anything else, dammit. She didn’t want to jinx this, and she knew she wouldn’t have believed a word if she hadn’t seen.

 

******

 

Lorna was not...nervous, precisely, but butterflies were doing something in her gut, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

 

She’d told John she needed a table for five, and been smart and started a tab. She’d also warned him they’d be wanting as many pub sandwiches as they could get -- she wished so, so much that John had someone like Big Jamie’s Orla, who could produce food fit for gods from a pub kitchen. Unfortunately, like the Highlander, there could only be one, and John’s food wasn’t bad.

 

At least, having seen Thranduil’s fire trick, she now knew what it looked like -- and knew it would delight Orla, at least, given Orla had been a bit of a pyro in their youth. It might be enough to convince Niamh and Shane, too, without needing to resort to telepathy right off.

 

She went and poked him, a bit annoyed that he seemed so much calmer than she felt. “Can I have a little telepathic Xanax?” she asked. “I don’t know why I’m nervous, but I am.”

 

He set his glass of Guinness down and chuckled as he reached for her arm. “Yes. But it would be interesting to understand your feelings, too. Because perhaps I will share them someday relatively soon. There are times I think about the inevitability of returning to my people and...what on earth it is going to feel like to see those I knew so long ago when absolutely everything has changed for me…” he trailed off softly. “Then again maybe I understand your feelings rather well, after all.”

 

“I just need a little’v the nerves off,” she said, taking his hand. “And I’m wondering the same thing myself. The lot’v us, we’re older now -- who knows just how much we’ve changed? I haven’t sat down and talked, properly talked, with any’v them but Mick for ages. We’re all adults now, theoretically.”

 

A chortling sound escaped him. “At least you parted on good terms. I will admit that when I ponder seeing my first wife...and Eru forbid my father, if Mandos has released him...I cannot even begin to envision what words will be said. But...you seemed to pick up with those of your friends I have already met easily. I believe you will not find bringing them all together any different.”

 

Lorna had a few words she’d dearly love to say to Thranduil’s father, and most of them contained four letters -- unless she said them in Irish, in which case it was alphabet stew. “From the sound of your father, you probably don’t have to worry about it,” she said grimly. “I just wish I’d kept in better contact with them. I got out’v prison and just...hid, in Baile. Until Mick called me.”

 

The rumble of a diesel engine stopped out front. “That’ll be them,” she said. “Fingers crossed.” Calmer now, she made her way to the door, opened it, and shouted, “Last one in’s got their thumb up their arse!” It was how Shane had got them all moving, so many years ago.

 

“Pretty sure that’s my line,” he said, grabbing her in a hug and lifting her off her feet. Lorna squawked, but didn’t protest. “Orla’s been damn tight-lipped about all’v this. You haven’t got into trouble, have you?”

 

“ _ Air _ ,” she wheezed, and he set her down. “For the last fuckin’ time, Shane, no, I’m not in trouble. And I think Mick’ll be the one with his thumb up his arse -- he should’ve been here by now.” Among her friends, all Irish-born, her accent freed itself from the constraints she’d placed on it for her friends’ sakes. By nature it was thicker, harder, and often incomprehensible even to other Irish people.

 

“I’ve been trying to tell him that the whole bloody way,” Orla said, shaking her head. “Tell me you’ve got a tab started.”

 

“Do I look like I’ve got shite between my ears?” Lorna demanded. “Course I’ve got a bloody tab going. Go and sit, before you scare the locals.” And indeed, the locals were giving the lot of them looks that were somewhat askance. Not that she could blame them; she was by far the shortest of the group, and Shane was intimidating enough on his own. It didn’t help that they were the second group of outsiders this evening, either; another had taken the wrong turn and got lost, and were lingering for a pint before trying to get un-lost. Americans, too, so they were damn loud.

 

“Oh, quit staring,” Lorna said. “They’re with me.”

 

“That’s what’s got me worried,” Jack muttered, and she glowered at him, though there wasn’t any heat in it.

 

John, having been warned about appetites beforehand, already had big plate of pub sandwiches, and brought all of them a pint. It was odd, but it was... _ good  _ odd, and became more so when Mick shuffled in, to be met by a collective greeting of, “Thumb up your arse!”

 

“Fuck you, too,” he said cheerfully, and pulled up a chair. Seeing them all now...yeah, they were older, and more worn, but they’d survived this long, where so many others of their sort hadn’t. That was more of an accomplishment than those who hadn’t lived like them would ever understand. “You actually let Shane and Niamh in on this yet?”

 

“I thought we’d at least get a drink in us first,” she said. “They’ll be wanting it.”

 

Thranduil smiled to hear this exchange, recognizing it as a long-standing ritual. However the evening turned out, he already liked these people, however rough around the edges they appeared externally. For they had been Lorna’s family, when the one she should have had failed her completely. This was reason enough, in the King’s eyes, to favor them. Friends of Lorna’s were friends of his though they knew him from Adam, as the humans would say.

 

Despite how long it had been, Lorna raised her glass. “All right, you lot, you know the rules,” she said, with a grin at Shane, who had  _ made  _ the rules: first drink went down in a hurry, so they could try to belch the first verse of the national anthem.

 

Chug they did, though she was always the last to finish, and, with a collective look at each other, there came a chorus of, “ Seo dhibh a cháirde duan Oglaigh”, rendered in a range of belches and burps of varying loudness and key. They made it to, “Cathréimeach bríomhar”  before their breath gave out, and one look at John’s horrified expression made Lorna burst out laughing. It dragged the rest along with her, with the occasional odd burp here and there, just for extra absurdity. “Christ, d’you remember the last time we did that?” she asked.

 

“We were on the roof, weren’t we?” Shane asked. “Christ, it was summer, wasn’t it? Hot bloody evening, I remember that. I think we made it halfway down the second stanza before Kevin sicked up.”

 

Kevin...Jesus. Out of all of them, Kevin had been the one with an actual brain, the one who could’ve gone on to really do something. There’d been something wrong with him, though, something he’d needed medicine for -- depression, or bipolar disorder, or something similar. He’d somehow got a gun when he was nineteen, and ate the barrel, and Shane had been the one to find him like that. He hadn’t spoken for a full three days afterward. “Shane, what happened to everyone else?” she asked. “I know you’d know, if anyone would.”

 

He sighed, and in that moment looked much older than he was. “Colin’s been in and out’v prison for drugs and robbery,” he said. “Maureen’s boyfriend murdered her; Madge OD’d; Connor was on the run last anyone heard’v him. Shelagh got arrested for prostitution, Claire’s dealing, Donal wrecked his bike and died, and Jackie’s in for life, though I don’t know why.” Shane shook his head. “We’re all that’s left.”

 

“We went legit,” Orla said. “Sort’v, anyway.”

 

Shane snorted, and raised what little was left of his pint. “To absent friends,” he said.

 

“To absent friends,” Lorna murmured. Looking back, she had no idea how she could have been so carefree.  _ Don’t look to the future, because the future might be shit.  _ Each day at a time, that was how she’d been -- each moment. No point in fearing the morning-after, not when it’d just taint your drink now. It wasn’t a healthy attitude, but as a teenager, she’d known no other way, and now look at her. Look at all of them. No, they hadn’t really left the life behind them, but they’d evolved. They’d learned to live in the mainstream world, and at least had a veneer of respectability.

 

John, looking a touch nervous, brought them all another round, and she gave him a comforting pat on the hand. “Everything’ll be in one piece by the end’v tonight, I promise,” she assured him, though he didn’t look at all convinced.

 

Lorna eyed Shane and Niamh. While she  _ could  _ try to just tell them what was going on, showing them seemed so much more fun -- except there was the tiny issue of the Americans, which meant no fire. God dammit. Oh well, there was more Thranduil could do, it just wasn’t as much fun to watch.  _ I think they’re as ready as they’ll ever be,  _ she said.

 

Thranduil rose and first went to the bar for another pint, giving John a sympathetic smile. “Exciting evening, no?” he asked with humor, chuckling and clapping him lightly on the shoulder when his refilled glass was plunked down with a dramatic eye roll from the long-suffering man. Turning, he walked toward Lorna and asked her, “May I join you?” Nods of silent greeting were given to Niamh, Mick and Orla, as he pulled up a chair after seeing Lorna’s nod of an answer. “I am called Fionn,” he said by way of introduction. “But my name is Thranduil.”

 

The name meant nothing to Niamh, but Shane fixed him with a very intent stare.  _ He  _ knew it, and a glance at Lorna asked if this was legit or insane. The tiniest nod from her assured him it was the former, but… Shane was not like Lorna. He didn’t automatically discount things just because they weren’t supposed to exist, and yet...well,  _ Jesus _ .  _ Thranduil?  _ Orla and Mick, however, echoed Lorna’s nod, and if all three of them… Unknowingly, he echoed Orla: “Prove it.”

 

 

_ And how would you like that to be demonstrated?  _ Thranduil asked him with a kind smile.  _ There are options. But perhaps this is one that you will not dismiss as a magician’s trick? _

 

Shane’s only outward reaction was a very slight twitch, but he looked at Lorna, his glance saying as effectively as any telepathy,  _ What have you got into, Fun Size? _

 

Lorna rolled her eyes, and with the barest nod sideways, replied,  _ Just go with it. _

 

“How?” he asked, and the word meant so very many things -- how was he real, how was he here, how could he speak into someone else’s mind, and probably a few more Shane just hadn’t got round to realizing yet.

 

“I am an elf,” he replied simply. “Or, more accurately, I am the Elvenking. Those abilities go with the crown.” However irreverently the words could be taken at surface meaning, the soft voice and level stare left little doubt that none of this was intended as humor. More than that, there was power behind his gaze. Immense, hidden power, and only a fool would be unable to see it.

 

Though this man -- this Elf -- was no threat to Shane, it wasn’t because he  _ couldn’t  _ be, but because he chose  _ not  _ to be, and that made Shane damn uneasy...at least, until he glanced back at Lorna. Lorna had gone legit -- had found herself a job that was mostly legal, even if there were a few shady bits. She’d made as much of herself as one of their kind could ever hope to, realistically. And if that was even partly this one’s doing...Lorna had always been the little one, the one he worried about the most, because he’d spent the entirety of her adolescence afraid she’d kill someone, and in the end, he’d been right. If this Thranduil -- and Jesus  _ Christ  _ did he want the story behind how the hell they’d met -- was looking after her…

 

Shane looked back at him.  _ That’s your doing, isn’t it?  _ he asked.  _ You got that started _ . Fun Size was happy, and surprisingly calm, and if Thranduil didn’t have  _ something  _ to do with it, Shane would be very, very surprised.

 

_ Lorna is my close friend. There is little I will not do to see her happy, and well _ , came the simple reply.

 

Shane shook his head, and a laugh rumbled out of him. “Lorna all but told me you were pirates,” he said, glowering at her a bit. “I didn’t ask about her wares, because I never do, but she dropped some heavy hints you lot were some ancient pirate family who’d just been sitting on things for the last four hundred years.”

 

“Will somebody explain just what in fuck is so significant?” Niamh demanded, eying Thranduil. To Lorna’s amusement, Orla and Mick rolled their eyes in tandem, and launched into a competing explanation of elves, magic, stories, telepathy, and God knew what else. Poor Niamh was looking quite desperate, but Lorna wasn’t about to rescue her.

 

“I am sorry, Niamh,” said Thranduil. “It did not seem like the...right time to tell you, earlier. We were and are very grateful for all you have done for us. I am sure there are questions, I will do my best to answer them.”

 

Niamh glanced around the pub. “Do the rest’v them know...this?” she asked.

 

“They do,” Mick said, taking a pull off his pint. “We’ve always known there were elves in the woods -- it’s just that they never came out until a year ago.”

 

“You say ‘we’ like you’ve lived here all your life,” Lorna snorted. “You never did tell me why  _ you  _ started believing, even before you’d actually met an elf.”

 

“I watched a lot’v  _ X-Files _ ,” he said seriously.

 

Lorna looked at Thranduil, and at Shane, and gave up, laughing so hard she had to rest her head on her arms. “Mick, God love you, you’re a gullible sort’v bastard,” she said. “Yeah, you were right, but still.”

 

“Have you got any plans, now that you’re out in the world?” Shane asked, half unable to believe he was taking this so calmly. But then, what the hell else was he to do? He’d had hard evidence. That wasn’t the kind of thing you could ignore.

 

“I have three children under the age of two and my wife just became pregnant again. I am trying to survive the joys of my life,” Thranduil answered with a smile. “But humor aside, I would like to see some of the lovely places there are to see. Lorna wishes to visit Yellowstone, in America. The few travels we have undertaken outside this forest, we have greatly enjoyed.”

 

_ Thranduil _ , Lorna said,  _ can we take them to the Halls? Only Shane and Niamh haven’t by now, and...I kind of want to have Shane meet his namesake. He doesn’t know he’s got a kid named after him. _

 

_ Of course you may. We may. Yes. _

 

Lorna grinned, and downed half her pint. “Once we’ve eaten, I want us to take a walk,” she said, glancing at Orla. “Got something bloody lethal to show you, and you’ll not believe it until you’ve seen it.”

 

“D’you mean…?” Mick asked, eyes widening. Nobody from the village had ever been into the forest -- or at least, not any further in than Earlene’s cabin.

 

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

 

Unfortunately, Lorna’s delight was interrupted by one of the Americans -- younger lad, maybe early twenties, pissed off his arse and red-faced. “So, are you a dude or a lady?” he asked, pointing at Thranduil.

 

Lorna glanced at Thranduil, but only briefly; her eyes traveled to Shane, as did the rest of the humans at the table. He’d always been the leader, the one who decided when, if at all, to weigh in on a fight. He turned in his chair, regarding the lad. “Didn’t your mam ever tell you it was rude to point?” he asked. Thranduil might not appear threatening to anybody too stupid to know better, unless he was trying, but Shane was a tattooed giant with a ponytail and a voice like a gravel-crusher.

 

“Um…”

 

“It would be wise for you to return to your friends,” Thranduil said in a voice that even a drunken moron would register as masculine. While the young man posed no particular threat, he was not a person with redeeming value, in the King’s eyes.

 

The friends, unfortunately, came to him. Six of them, all ossified -- so much so that there wasn’t a one who’d be safe driving them anywhere later. Gobshites.

 

“What is this -- Middle-Aged Washups Anonymous?” one of them asked. He was what Lorna suspected the Americans called a frat boy, complete with orange sunbed tan and bleached hair.

 

“That really the best you can do?” Orla asked. “Go home, little boy, before you get hurt. Then again, you’ll probably drive into a pole.”

 

“Who’re you calling -- oh.” He paused when Orla -- all six feet of her -- stood, pale eyes regarding him with somewhat amused contempt. “Here I thought you were a dude and he was a lady.”

 

“Are you  _ trying  _ to dig yourself deeper?” Lorna asked, only to be met with blank incomprehension.

 

Frat Boy One looked at the group in general. “Does she speak English?”

 

Shane snorted into his pint, while Lorna’s eyes narrowed. Once upon a time, she’d have brained the twat for that; now she just glowered. “I do, but evidently you’re deaf as a bloody post, or at least as thick as one,” she said, and laughed herself at his continued confusion.

 

“We could shove one up his arse,” Mick said, rising with Orla. It might have been comical, just how synchronized the rest were when they stood, but nothing could ever look terribly comical with Shane involved.

 

“While it’s on fire,” Niamh added, and she sounded so like she had as a teenager that it made Lorna grin. While she hadn’t  _ quite  _ had Lorna’s temper, she’d come close at times -- it matched her hair, Shane had always said.

 

“Come on, you lot, I’d like to be able to come back to this pub someday,” she said; after all, she’d promised John things would stay in once piece. “Get these gobshites outside and I won’t be banned for bloody life. But first, you two twats need to apologize to my brother.” She pointed at Thranduil, glaring at the pair of them as though trying to set them afire through sheer force of will.

 

“Your  _ what _ ?” That was a third, looking from her to Thranduil and back again -- who had actually understood her, at least enough. “Uh, lady, I hate to say this, but I’m pretty sure one of you’s gotta be adopted.” 

 

Okay, that was actually pretty funny. “We both were,” she said dryly. “Now tell your mates to cough up an apology and get out, before this gets ugly.”

 

Thranduil stood up with the rest of his new friends. Because he was simply not going to allow this to degenerate into anything that caused damage to John’s establishment, not after the tolerance and welcome the village had given him. He met the barkeep’s eyes with what he hoped was reassurance, even as he was vaguely amazed at these young people and that anyone could be this stupid.

 

“You’ve got the fag and the dyke,” Frat Boy One said, smirking a bit. “Nice. And the midget, apparently.”

 

Again, there was the collective glance at Shane, who nodded, ever so slightly, looking at each of them, and each of the idiot lads, picking out targets. With a grin that unsettled even Lorna, he lamped Frat Boy One square on the nose, and used the fucker’s pain and shock to drag him to the door, hurling him out into the street.

 

It was a bit of a free-for-all after that, though they all more or less went after their respective targets, driving them out with a series of punches, kicks, elbows, and one nicely-timed headbutt by Orla, which made Frat Boy Two’s nose snap and spout like a brilliant red fountain. At least little of it actually landed on the floor, though a bit got on Orla herself. 

 

Lorna was just quite pleased she had a chance to dick-punch someone again. Was this what fighting was like, when you didn’t go blank? It was so much...nicer, out here in the chilly evening air, slightly redolent of grease from the pub’s kitchen.

 

There was probably something terribly wrong with the fact that she felt quite nostalgic, even as she punched Frat Boy Four so hard in the stomach he sicked up all his beer and sandwiches -- partly on her arm,  _ ew _ . She wiped it on his shirt when he doubled over, grimacing, and thought that this was very much like old times. Yes, they were all over forty, but washed-up they most definitely were not, and she was all but giddy with it.

 

Thranduil delayed following them for a moment, to speak with John. “What, may I ask, is your preferred outcome of...this?” He waved his hand in an expansive gesture to indicate the modest carnage that had taken itself outside and was underway. 

 

“Well,” he said slowly, polishing a glass with a finely woven cotton towel, “anything that keeps my pub off the insurer’s lists and chases off the Gardaí coming and asking an hour’v questions is generally my idea’v a good thing,” John replied.  

 

“I see,” said the King, smiling. “Then in the interest of our mutual friendship, I will see what I can manage on your behalf.”

 

Adjusting his posture to stand at his full height, Thranduil strode out the door. Taking in the scene for a moment, he determined that they’d had quite enough fun. “That will be enough,” he said in a voice that while externally soft, managed to ring out in each of their heads as though a wall of amplification was behind it. And to his general happiness, all of them simply stopped, what they were doing. He addressed his comments to Shane. “That one has the car keys in his right front pocket,” he pointed. And that,” he indicated a garishly red Toyota Corolla “is their vehicle. If you would all oblige me at setting them _ in _ the vehicle, it would be much appreciated.” He paused a moment. “The manner in which they are placed in it matters not, but you may wish to leave the driver’s seat open.” Smiles and perturbingly pleased grimaces looked back at him, as they all went into action.

 

It probably ought to be disturbing just how, after all this time, they could still coordinate as they did, but a number of semi-creative blows effectively folded each member of Frat Boy Central in half, allowing them to be shoved into the car without art or grace, ignoring their groans. One of them caught Lorna by sheer accident, an elbow to the face that made her spit red and break his nose with one swift punch on sheer principle. “Now what?” she asked, giggling hysterically. Oh, she felt fifteen again, and it was  _ wonderful _ .

 

He leaned into the car and placed his hands over the jumbled heap of them, needing only a few moments before rising and looking at the young men distastefully. “Mick, please drive them a few blocks over; I am certain you would know of a suitable location to park them all. Leave no trace of your activity, and extra points if you tug one of them into the driver’s seat as you go. We will wait for you here. They will not wake anytime soon. Lorna, if you would please inform John that should anyone inquire tomorrow, to deny they were ever here with my assurances that none of them will recall any of this, I would appreciate it.”

 

Still giggling, Lorna nodded, while Mick somehow managed to get in without squishing anyone else  _ too  _ badly. Off he drove, while Shane surveyed Niamh and Orla. They hadn’t gone soft, that was for sure; yeah, they’d all be sore later, but they weren’t teenagers anymore. And Lorna...hadn’t gone blank. She hadn’t even come close, and that just wasn’t  _ possible _ . 

 

He looked at Thranduil, and had many, many questions. Lorna had been -- well, like the rest of them. Enjoying herself, sure, but it was just a game, not a wish to slaughter anyone. She’d always been the one he watched, and the one he worried over, and that was just...not there. Fun Size had changed.

 

The King waited for Lorna to take care of her errand, which took longer than anticipated. Apparently John was incredibly pleased with the outcome of the brawl, given that sales had gone up and he’d have no awkward questions to answer come morning. Not to mention, being most gratified at hearing what the, er, solution to the unwanted Americans had turned out to be. About the same time she emerged, Mick could be seen strolling toward them, a broad grin on his face. “Shall we, then?” he asked the group.

 

“I think we shall,” Lorna said, still giggling. She was downright giddy -- the reunion, the fight, and now getting to share this facet of her life with those of her friends who had not yet seen it. They’d go a hell of a lot faster if they weren’t having to accommodate her tiny stride, so she had Mick give her a boost and hung onto Shane, piggyback-style. “You remember last time I had to do this, when fucking Donal stabbed me through the foot?”

 

Shane snorted. That had been the catalyst for finding her decent boots in size tiny; a steak knife should not have pierced as deep as it had, and wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t been wearing trainers that were more duct tape than shoe. “You’re lucky you’re light, or I might’ve wound up with a bloody hunchback. Whole fight went arseways from the get-go. ’Course it wouldn’t’ve been so bad if you hadn’t decided to kick his teeth out with  _ that frigging foot _ .”

 

“Hey, it worked,” she said, a touch defensively. “I kept one, too. A tooth, I mean. Don’t know what happened to to it.”

 

“Fun Size, sometimes I really don’t know what to do with you,” Shane sighed.

 

Thranduil chose that moment to laugh uproariously before falling immediately silent. He could feel the burning glare of Lorna’s stare but chose to smile and ignore it. “This sounds almost as good as the bus theft,” Thranduil said smugly.

 

“You  _ told  _ him that?” Orla demanded, and burst out laughing herself. “That was the last time we let her talk us into anything while she was stoned. Or that we let her drive.”

 

“Thranduil drove with me once,” Lorna said, echoing his smugness as she arched an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t even twitch. Whereas Mick there screamed like a little girl.”

 

“And I’m not ashamed’v it,” Mick snorted. “You drive like you’re _ trying  _ to commit vehicular bloody manslaughter.”

 

“I haven’t yet,” she said, choosing not to mention the dent Von Ratched had left in her hood. Hey, she hadn’t actually  _ killed  _ him.

 

Shane eyed Thranduil. “You really didn’t flinch? At all?” He was, all things considered, quite impressed. Human or not, that was something of a feat.

 

“Ah, not outwardly. No. Not at all.” These mortals knew Lorna well enough to easily extrapolate, he felt.

 

“Not  _ outwardly _ ?” she asked. “You’ve got one hell’v a poker face. I’d never’ve known it bothered you at all.” Then again, she hadn’t exactly been in the right frame of mind to notice much of anything...aaand time to change the mental subject. “So, I never did tell you how I got that dent in my ribs, did I? Oh, by the way, you lot, he fixed that,” she added, craning her neck around to look at them. Yes, maybe there  _ was  _ just a hint of ‘show and tell’, but sue her. She had a friend who could heal things. Anybody would want to brag about that. “Okay, so, we’d got in a fight with a bunch’v pissed gobshites one night, a lot like those eejits, actually, and one’v them got in a good kick with a workboot. I was so stoned I didn’t even notice right off, but I found out that if you grab someone’s foot while they’re wearing a stiff boot and twist hard enough, you can break their ankle. Only figured the ribs out later, when the pain caught up.”

 

“Yeah, and she’d figured she’d just bruised them, because she was  _ still  _ stoned,” Shane said grimly. “Then I had a look and just about bricked it. Set it as best I could and wouldn’t let her get up for a month.”

 

Thranduil glanced at her and shook his head, but he was smiling. “I believe I will file that incident away,” he mused, relishing the view of their memories. And the fact that now, she did not have nearly so much proclivity for such...activities.

 

“Just don’t tell Ratiri,” Lorna said. “He’d retroactively give out at me.”

 

“Who’s Ratiri?” Shane asked, turning his head to look at her. There was a distinct ‘overprotective big brother’ intonation in his voice.

 

Her eyes narrowed. “He’s my fiance, and you’re going to be nice to him, you hear me? He’s a wonderful man and I won’t have you being... _ you _ at him.”

 

“Pretty, too, and this is  _ me  _ saying that,” Orla added. “What’s the American saying? If I had to pick a dude? Seriously, Shane, go easy on him. He’s not like us -- although I’d wager he could come close, if he was angry enough. Scottish.”

 

“Ah. Well, at least he’s not English,” Shane muttered. “Thranduil, you’d know if he was secretly a gobshite -- if he’s not, I guess I’ll go easy on him. Maybe. I don’t always trust Fun Size’s judgment -- is he a good lad?”

 

“Ratiri is a wonderful man. He is a children’s doctor, and adores Lorna. Besides, I would hardly have someone living with me, were he not.”

 

Niamh looked at him, and at Lorna. “They live with you?” she asked. “ _ Where? _ ”

 

“Where we’re going, genius,” Lorna said, pointing at the looming forest. “It’s absolutely unreal. Orla called it like stepping into Tir Na N’Og, and she’s not wrong. Trust me, you’ve never seen anything like it in your life.” She knew how much joy Thranduil derived from showing his home to humans, and now there were three who had never been there.  _ Do the trick with the door _ , she said.  _ I know you like it, and I’m starting to like watching people react as much as you do. _ If there was one good thing her miserable months of pregnancy had done, it was to truly turn the Halls into a second home -- even if she would probably get lost for the rest of her life. She needed a map.

 

“If you are nice to Thanadir he may loan you his,” Thranduil said. “Maps exist, though finding where he has placed them...ever since Erestor’s visit, and they rearranged the volumes, I have never managed to find anything I want. I ask my seneschal.”

 

“I ought to explain about Thanadir,” Lorna said to the group at large. “He  _ looks  _ like the delicate sort’v lad, maybe early twenties. He’s eighteen thousand years old and could probably hand you your actual, literal arse before you could blink, so don’t underestimate him. Even if all your instincts  _ do  _ want to make you want to feed him biscuits and milk.”

 

Orla actually missed a step. “Eighteen  _ thousand _ ?” she asked, staring at Lorna.

 

“It’s about how old Thranduil is,” she said, pointing at the elf in question. “Made me feel a lot better about turning forty, that’s for damn sure.”

 

She tried so, so hard not laugh as the entire lot of them scrutinized Thranduil closely, as though searching for some sign,  _ any  _ sign that he might be that old. “He’s not human,” she said. “Elves’re lucky bastards who never get wrinkles or grey hair.” Her own, she noted, had advanced since the mess with Von Ratched, and she was seriously considering dyeing it pink, given how Shane had loved the lady’s at the tattoo parlor.

 

“Well now that  _ that _ is out in the open,” he chuckled. “And that is not entirely true Lorna, some of us simply have hair that color. Many Sindar do.”

 

“What, you mean grey like mine?” she asked, pulling her braid over her shoulder. The elf shampoo had rendered it silver -- and she really did wonder just how much of their fabulous hair was genetics, and how much superior hair products.

 

“Yes. Elu Thingol had silver hair. It was lovely. As is yours. No elf has hair of two colors, as you do.”

 

Huh. She felt, absurdly, a tiny bit special. But they were at the treeline now, and she could feel the group hesitate. It was dark in there, and one always had to be wary of darkness, when they were young. “Oh, go on,” she said. “There’s nothing in there that’ll eat you.”  _ Anymore _ , she thought, though she wasn’t about to say that out loud.

 

“Jesus...you live in here? All this time, this forest’s been here?” Niamh asked.

 

“Pretty much what I said,” Orla muttered. “Bit hard to wrap your head around at first, but you’ll get there. Someday. I still haven’t yet, quite.”

 

“It’ll happen,” Lorna assured them. “Though, word’v advice, Thanadir’s the only other elf that’s fluent in English, and some’v their words sound like ours but mean different things. I tried to tell one’v them I was lost, but the word lost means empty in Sindarin, so he thought I was saying I was called ‘empty’, and looked at me like I was totally off my nut. Also, their word for ‘feet’ is ‘tail’, so Earlene has a cat named Tail after his feet.”

 

“Thranduil, how’d you learn English?” Shane asked. “It’s such a weird bastard’v a language, so how’d you manage it? Did you have some kind’v...tutor?”

 

“No. But it is not hard for me to learn new tongues, if I wish. I have an obvious advantage. Though, I know many more words and phrases than before I met Earlene.”

 

“I tried not to corrupt Thanadir’s vocabulary, for a while,” Lorna said. “Tried not to corrupt Thranduil’s, for that matter, but the problem with him being able to read my mind is he found them out anyway. Gave up after a while...though unfortunately, I taught Allanah -- she’s Thranduil and Earlene’s daughter -- how to say ‘fuck’.”

 

“Of course you did,” Mick said, shaking his head. He almost felt like he shouldn’t be here -- ever since he’d lived in the village, everyone knew you just didn’t go into the woods. Only Ian had even been to Earlene’s. The prohibition was so strong it was instinct now, and even though he’d been invited, it made him nervous.

 

“I am sorry, Mick,” Thranduil said. “It seemed like the wiser course of action, for so long. I did not know you would accept us, or the other way around. You are here at my invitation and Lorna’s; you are welcome.”

 

“There’s always been the stories,” Mick said. “Even now, none’v us’d go in on our own. Lorna’s said we’d get lost anyway.”

 

“You would,” she said. “You’ve got to be with an elf, or Earlene or Ratiri or I. Otherwise, you’d not know where you were.”

 

“I’ve never seen forest like this,” Niamh said. “Not in real life. I didn’t think it existed anymore.”

 

“Me either,” Orla said. “I could come sit in here for hours with a good bowl’v Panamanian Red.”

 

“I just bet you could,” Lorna snorted.

 

Shane remained quiet, simply taking in his surroundings. He’d been so worried Lorna had got herself in over her head somehow -- and though she technically had, it was in no bad way. Trust her to find Elves -- to find bloody  _ Thranduil _ , who ought to not even exist. There was a story here, and a good one, and he’d have it out of her, even if he had to get her ossified off her face first. Was this real? Shane had always been one to trust the evidence of his eyes, and yet it shouldn’t  _ be  _ real. Reality was harsh and unforgiving, and things this beautiful weren’t supposed to exist.

 

_ And yet they do, _ he heard in his mind.  _ I wish you could have seen it long ago, when it was far greater, when it covered all this land. _

 

God, but that was weird...had Lorna got used to it? Probably, or she wouldn’t be here.  _ I wish I could’ve brought them all here,  _ he said soberly.  _ Years ago, if I could’ve got them off the streets, away from -- from all of it. We’ve lost so many now, and most we’ll never get back.  _ It had hurt, every damn time something happened to one of his, but nasty things were unavoidable in the world they’d lived in.

 

Wisely, Thranduil elected to not respond; nothing could change the past. And, they were nearly at the Gates. As far as he was concerned, this one was all Lorna’s to enjoy, though he would certainly do as she asked at the correct time.

 

“So,” she said, grinning, “we’ve just about got there. What d’you think?”

 

Most of them looked rather bewildered, glancing around at forest that looked, well, like the rest of it. Shane, however, set her down and turned to her. “I think you’re messing with me,” he said, echoing her own first words exactly. It made her burst out laughing, and gave Thranduil a not-so-discreet thumbs up. “Funny, that’s exactly what I said. Turn around and look.”

 

The portico came into view in all its usual glory, though the others could see it as they approached.  _ The joke was only funny the first time _ , as the humans liked to say. Shane and Niamh were suitably impressed, as Thranduil opened the door. “I will leave you in Lorna’s capable hands, for the time being. Stop in to my rooms and you can meet the rest of our family, and there is wine,” he said affably. “And welcome, to the Halls of the Woodland Realm.” With a charming smile, he disappeared into the darkness. The Gates would close after they were all in, and he would see them soon enough. Right now it was more fun to vicariously appreciate Lorna’s joy. But there was another reason, though it was one he was loath to admit. He did not wish to be there when Lorna brought her friends to meet Ratiri. The stab of resentment he felt last time at their birthday dinner still confused and distressed him, and he had no wish to experience it twice.


	60. Sixty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter begins on April 3, then shifts to April 6, 2017.

 

“All right, Shane,” Lorna said, “I mean it. Be nice.”

 

“I  _ will  _ be,” he said, taking in the Halls with undisguised wonder. Lorna had never seen that expression on him, and she was damn glad to be able to see it now. He had always been the wary one, even when the rest of them were high on God knew what; he’d drink, but that was as far as he would ever go, too busy looking out for the rest to really let loose. Now, though, he could relax -- could enjoy this along with what was left of his crew.

 

“You’d best,” she said, leading them to her and Ratiri’s room. Sure enough, he was in there with the twins -- to her amusement, he was reading to them from the primer Vanya had given him for Christmas. The twins, naturally, didn’t look terribly interested; Shane was inspecting his own hand, while Chandra was half asleep.

 

“They all settled in?” Lorna asked.

 

“Fed and changed, and -- oh.” Ratiri looked up, and Lorna wasn’t surprised his eyes widened a touch. Not that she could blame him, either.

 

“Ratiri, this is Shane, and Niamh. You two, this is Ratiri, my fiance. Who Shane is going to be  _ nice  _ to,” she added, giving him a pointed look.

 

Ratiri stood, setting the book aside. Yes, he had a few inches on Shane, but Shane was rather broader. “She’s said a lot about you,” he said, his grey eyes searching Shane’s expression. “That you were the first of her brothers-from-another-mother.”

 

Shane glanced at Lorna. “You and that damn phrase,” he said, shaking his head.

 

“Oh, shut it, you.” Lorna lifted her son from his bassinet, trying not to laugh when his vague protest turned into a sneeze. “This little one,” she said, holding him up, “is Shane.”

 

She’d expected him to be surprised. She  _ hadn’t  _ expected him to freeze where he stood, staring at the baby, and at her, and at Ratiri. “You named your kid after me?”

 

“Lorna was somewhat insistent,” Ratiri said. “She said that you were the reason she didn’t grow up to be a sociopath.”

 

“I mean it, too,” Lorna said. “I could’ve so easily been my da, if I hadn’t found you -- all’v you.” She held baby Shane out. “Hold him.”

 

Panic flashed across his face. “Uh, Lorna…”

 

“It’s not hard,” Ratiri said, guiding the baby into his arms. “Just like that, and make sure you support his head.”

 

Big green eyes looked up from a tiny face, and an even tinier fist grabbed a lock of Shane’s hair, examining it with fascination. “Jesus,” he said, staring down at the baby. For once, he seemed incapable of saying anything more.

 

Lorna fetched Chandra, showing her off to Orla and Niamh -- Mick had already seen her, if only briefly. “Did you steal this one?” Niamh asked. “Looks like she should’ve been mine.”

 

“You are so lucky I like you,” Lorna sighed. “I swore I’d kick the next person who said something like that. My mam and Ratiri’s da were gingers, so here Chandra is.” Here Chandra was indeed, staring at Niamh as though trying to work out what she was. “C’mere, you lot -- Niamh, you’ve not met Ratiri, either.”

 

Ratiri wasn’t entirely certain what to make of this group. Lorna had told him much, but all of what they had been like when they were young; she’d changed quite a bit, so he hadn’t known what to expect. All of them, now...they’d found a way to transition into the mainstream world, but none of them seemed to be trying to hide what they’d come from. There was none of the affectation he’d seen in some people, in a few of his colleagues who had come from nothing and were determined to distance themselves from it. There was no shame in them, but neither did there seem to be exaggerated bravado; they were just people, people who had clawed their way up out of the morass without denying they’d been there in the first place. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. “All of you. Without you, I never would have known Lorna.”

 

“You’re such a sap,” she said, simple affection in her tone as she rested her head against his shoulder, and Shane decided that yeah, this one would do. The way Ratiri looked at her laid all his concerns to rest; these two loved each other so much it was honestly kind of sickening. “Should we go see the rest’v them? Remember, you lot, what I said about Thanadir. Your instincts’ll go crosswise on you just looking at him, but what he looks like is deceiving.”

 

“She’s right,” Orla said. “He really does look like a delicate sort’v lad.”

 

“Now I’ve got to meet him,” Shane said, gingerly handing little Shane to Ratiri, who got him packed into his basket. Lorna got Chandra settled into hers, and took his free hand as they walked. Not so long ago, even this short walk had been torture to her, and she couldn’t  _ believe  _ Earlene was so sanguine about doing this again so soon. Thranduil really was an incredibly lucky man -- elf -- whatever. Any other woman would’ve castrated him over it. Slowly. Possibly with something dull and rusty.

 

She released Ratiri’s hand long enough to knock on the door a couple times before letting herself in. “Good time or bad?” she asked.

 

“You are expected,” Thanadir said warmly. “Hello, friends of Lorna. I am Thanadir,” he said to Shane, who was actually the only one who did not know him. “Sometimes called Cian,” he added, smiling to see Niamh. “Come in, please.”

 

Shane saw right off what Orla meant: Thanadir really did look deceptively fragile. “Good to meet you,” he said.

 

“Under your real name, too,” Niamh added. The knot of them followed Lorna and Ratiri inside, hanging back while they got the twins settled near the fire. Both were quite sleepy now, and content to be quiet.

 

“I hope you can forgive me that,” said Thanadir, grinning at Niamh. “I had butter cookies made, and Ratiri has his beer to offer. Or perhaps you would like wine?”

 

Earlene appeared in the doorway, with Allanah on her hip, looking predictably radiant. “We’ve all been waiting to meet you,” she smiled. “You must be Shane,” she said, walking straight to him and giving him a half hug. Thranduil was seated with both twins in his arms, chuckling softly at his wife and seneschal, who had done nothing but pepper him with curious questions about what the man was like since the moment he entered his rooms. “You have already met Thanadir, and this is Lothiriel, who helps with the children.”

 

Oops, Lorna should have warned him about Earlene’s propensity for hugs, but he managed it well, only tensing for the barest fraction of a second before returning it. “I am,” he said, and gave Lothiriel a nod. “Good to meet you both. Is this the little one Lorna taught to swear?” Allanah stared at him with her big blue eyes, and Lorna wondered if that kid was going to grow up with the Thanadir Superpower.

 

“Bluvvy fuck,” Allanah cooed at him, her huge blue eyes only a foot away. 

 

Not skipping a beat, Earlene smiled. “We’ve decided that pretending it is the same as ‘Adar and Naneth’, or ‘porridge and apples’ is what we will do. Perhaps she will tire of it, if we are fortunate. Though, it isn’t looking too promising at the moment.” She shrugged and moved along. “Niamh, for all you’ve done so much of the adoption paperwork, I don’t believe you’ve met her. Would you like to hold her?”

 

Lorna covered her face, groaning, while Orla tried to choke back a laugh and utterly failed. Niamh at least rose to the occasion, and took Allanah very gingerly, because she was no more accustomed to holding babies than Shane was. Allanah stared up at her, grinned, and let out a happy “Fuck!”

 

_ Oh, for Christ’s sake _ … “Allanah, you like repeating things Auntie Lorna says, don’t you? Why don’t you try this one: rainbow.”

 

Allanah looked at her. “Fuck.”

 

In the background, Shane stood laughing in utter silence, shoulders shaking with the effort of repressing it. Of  _ course  _ that kid would learn from Lorna -- God knew what other gems she’d toss out before she knew what she was doing. He’d lay a tenner that at least one of her kids’ first words would be a swear word.

 

“Okay, how about this,” Lorna tried again, slightly desperately, “Pony.”

 

“Bluvvy Jeebus fuck,” Allanah said solemnly, and stuck her fingers in her mouth.

 

Shane gave up, laughing so hard Allanah started laughing with him, borne along by the sound. “Lorna,” he said, “you’re a bloody menace, you are. You’ll have to learn sign language until she’s old enough to know better.”

 

“Bluvvy menace,” Allanah said. “Fuck.”

 

“HA!” Lorna said, pointing at him. “It’s not just me.”

 

“Oh, do not worry,” said Thranduil. “She will learn other words, including pony and rainbow. This too shall pass. Though I am afraid, the stories will live on. But there is wine for that. Thank Eru. Please, Thanadir, would you pour wine? I know I would like some. And so would you,” he told his seneschal, who was obviously struggling valiantly with this latest round of unseemliness. “Who else?”

 

“Everyone, I’d think,” Lorna said, looking at the group; none of them had ever been known to turn down alcohol, and they hadn’t had even half enough at the pub.

 

“Is it Elf wine?” Shane asked, looking at Thranduil. “Whatsit, Dorwinion?”

 

Thanadir gasped audibly, though he tried to stifle it. “How badly do you want to be able to go home this weekend?” Earlene chortled. Even she had not dared wrap her lips around _ that _ vintage.

 

The little group glanced at one another. “Actually, Lorna told us to make sure we had the weekend off,” Niamh said. She looked about ready to die from the cuteness of Allanah snuggled against her.

 

“Shane, I didn’t know you’d read  _ The Hobbit _ ,” Ratiri said, looking at the man with renewed interest.

 

“ _ I  _ didn’t know he had,” Lorna said. “Here’s the thing, Shane: undiluted elf wine is basically poison to humans.  _ I  _ got ossified off a few drops in a glass’v water, and the morning-after was...something. I don’t even have words for it, so be warned.”

 

The King could already see where all this would end up, and smiled. “If it is your wish to have our wine, some matters need caring for, first. Lorna and Thanadir, perhaps you would consent to show our guests to suitable quarters that they can see before….ossification...sets in. Then return; and we will figure out the rest.”

 

Thanadir looked distinctly nervous, to Earlene’s practiced eye, so she went and took two of the cookies, commenting on how delicious they were. Fresh butter; it was impossible to beat.

 

“I’ll be the responsible one, for once, and stick to human wine,” Lorna said. “Plus, last time Ratiri and I both had that wine, I wound up up the yard,” she added, giving Ratiri a somewhat wry grin. 

 

“I will decline the elven wine as well, but perhaps I could have half a glass of the normal kind?” Earlene asked the seneschal politely. Like as not, elven wine was off her agenda for the better part of another year. Oh well.

 

“It’s...potent,” Ratiri agreed, which sent Orla off into a fit of laughter so strong she wound up coughing. Yeah, if she’d ever had to pick a dude…

 

“You’re getting married?” Niamh asked.

 

“This summer. Having a big Hindu wedding, so all the codgers in Baile can choke on their own spit,” Lorna said. “I want you all there, if you’d come. Ratiri, is there any kind’v equivalent’v giving away the bride, sort’v thing?” She’d always thought the concept disgustingly sexist, but in this case, she’d make an exception.

 

“There is,” he said. “In that facet, it’s not so different from a Christian wedding.”

 

“Good.” She looked up at Shane. “Guess who’s doing it, whether he likes it or not.”

 

The seneschal interrupted. “Lorna, I can make this very easy. I will have the fireplaces lit in the four rooms past those you and Ratiri use, for later. They are all similar to your own. Will that suffice?” Thanadir looked at her, making a truly great effort to mask his nervousness at the idea of four mortals from Lorna’s past drunk on elven wine. Perhaps he should order a special guard posted at the passages, for the evening? The mere idea of anyone heading insensible into the main cavern filled him with trepidation.

 

“That sounds good, Thanadir, and thank you,” she said, trying to be soothing. “I promise everything’ll still be standing tomorrow.” She knew what this lot were like when they got stoned, and that wine really did have some of the same effects as weed. “I’ll be the sober one.” Sober-ish, anyway. He didn’t look terribly reassured by that, hey, she’d tried.

 

“Just how big  _ is  _ this place?” Shane asked.

 

“Big. Thranduil said there were thirty thousand people living here, and now there’s just two hundred or so.” She glanced at Mick, who seemed to be in a slight daze -- not that she wondered why. He’d lived in Lasg’len for years, and had actually believed the stories of the elves; he had to have wondered where in the forest they lived, and what it was like, and it must be mind-boggling for him now, actually walking in their home. What must it be like, to have known about this before coming here? Ratiri had read the books, and at least had an idea what to expect, and evidently Shane had, too, whereas Lorna herself had gone in totally blind. Finding something you’d wished was real actually  _ was  _ real had to be one hell of a thing.

 

“Are you going to watch a movie?” Earlene asked. “Elven wine is almost wasted on just sitting around and talking.” 

 

Thranduil inwardly groaned.  _ Please, Valar, not another singalong… _ but he kept silent, even as he looked down at his daughters, who were becoming drowsy. He felt their love, and their happiness at being held by him. Bending down, he kissed each of them on their perfect little cheeks as their eyes, perfect mirrors of his own, gazed back at him in adoration.

 

“Oh, we’ve got to,” Lorna said. “Christ, what’s one we’ve all seen? One we can sing along to?” she added, looking at Thranduil out of the corner of her eye. Smothering a smile was not easy, but she managed it. Somehow.

 

“Willy Wonka,” Niamh said. “Haven’t seen that in ages, and sure God can you sing to it. Ear worm.”

 

“I _ love _ that movie,” Earlene sighed, as she handed the completely asleep Allanah to Lothiriel, who eagerly reached for the sweet little girl.

 

Lorna cackled. “Yes.  _ Yes _ . I think I’ve even got that on my laptop.” Of course she immediately started humming the golden ticket song under her breath, bending to check on the twins -- both were sound asleep, fortunately. Hopefully they’d stay that way a while.

 

In short order they had formed a plan. All the children would stay here; the only ones not asleep were Thranduil’s twins and in a matter of minutes, they would be. Lothiriel and Ortherion, when he could come, would mind them. Lorna and Ratiri would take everyone to their makeshift movie room, and set everything up. And Thranduil would mix the wine, and Thanadir would procure enough drinking vessels for all. And as they were then near their rooms, they would all also choose one in which to sleep.

 

Lothiriel nodded her agreement, when Earlene explained all this to her.

 

“Hiril vuin,” she asked quietly, “what is this word I keep hearing from Allanah…’fuck’?”

 

Earlene reddened and summoned her lawyerly best to explain. “It is a mortal word, never used in polite speech. It is a very common expression in unseemly casual speech, I am afraid. It means,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Huithed. Huitho.”

 

“Ai!” escaped the lips of the horrified elleth. 

 

“I am sorry,” Earlene patted her gently on the shoulder. “Allanah does not understand what she says; she heard this on accident. Mortal adults forget sometimes to mind their words around small ones. It will get better,” she reassured her friend, genuinely feeling awful for her. In some ways she seemed like a more sensitive version of Thanadir. Lothiriel must have led a very quiet and sheltered life, in long service to Thranduil. But she had her husband, her home...there was no reason to expect she would be otherwise, and a more lovely and caring elleth could hardly be found. One could not wish for a kinder and more patient person to help care for the children. Perhaps the modern world would be as hard on Lothiriel as she once feared it might be for her meldir.

 

Lorna and Ratiri led the group to the movie room, which had been set up rather better now that they’d been able to go out into the world and buy things. Lorna’s laptop would sync up with the very large flat-screen TV they’d mounted on the wall facing the bed, a speaker on either side.

 

“All right, so we’ve got to drag the sofas up,” she said. “There’s no way we’ll all fit otherwise, and that’s even if I sit on Ratiri, who claims I’m bony.”

 

“I’m sorry, mo chroí, but you are,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “Very bony.”

 

“At least I’m not a land whale anymore,” she said, shuffling out of the way while Shane and Mick hauled up a sofa as though it weighed very little, angling it so as to best face the TV. Along with the assortment of armchairs already there, nobody would have to get squished -- nobody except Ratiri, who found himself with a lapful of bony Lorna, who grinned up at him.

 

“You are so lucky I love you,” he said, tucking her head under his chin.

 

“I know,” she said, squirming out of his grasp just enough to grab her laptop. She managed to bring up the movie one-handed, pausing it until the rest of them could get in.

 

Thranduil, Thanadir and Earlene whisked into the room. She had carafes of water, Thranduil had wine, and the seneschal had trays of cups for all. Placing all of it on a little table, Thranduil carefully measured out the wine before adding it to one of the vessels of water. This would be more than an adequate experience, he felt. Two cups he set aside, for himself and Thanadir. They would not require the addition of water, he smiled to himself, as he poured out five cups of his tempered concoction.

 

“All right, you lot, here’s the thing,” Lorna said, sitting up. “You  _ sip  _ this. You  _ savor  _ it, because it’s the best goddamn liquor you will ever have in your entire life, no matter what. Plus, it’s got a kick to it that’ll knock you on your arse if you try too much at once.”

 

“She’s not kidding,” Ratiri added. “Savor it.”

 

Thanadir dutifully brought the tray around, and Earlene gave him full marks for managing to smile. She was not too worried. These were likely people who were long used to handling themselves when in altered states. Not to mention, Lorna, Thranduil, Thanadir and herself were remaining sober. Earlene settled herself in the middle of the sofa that had been left for them, shamelessly hoping she might have a foot rub out of this. Which was even better than the Oompa Loompa song. Just thinking about it, a random giggle escaped her.

 

Sip Shane did, and his eyes widened to a degree that made Lorna cackle. “Told you so,” she said.

 

The others followed suit, and their expressions only made Lorna laugh harder. Quality alcohol was not something they’d had as teenagers; even Guinness was too expensive to be more than an occasional treat. This was far and away beyond anything  _ any  _ human had ever had, no matter what their income bracket.

 

It wasn’t long before Niamh was giggling as hard as she ever had when they’d got stoned, still careful to hold her glass straight. Orla and Mick exchanged a glance, and burst out laughing themselves -- Niamh had never been what one might call a lightweight, but look at her now.

 

“Aaaand it’s movie time,” Lorna said, grinning as the warmth of the wine suffused her.

 

The ellyn sat on either side of Earlene, and with nervous glances toward the new mortals, Thanadir pulled her feet into his lap. To their credit, both Earlene and Lorna restrained themselves to mild humming during the “Candyman” song. But that was only because Earlene was saving her full chance for later. If Lorna had a similar strategy, she would find out soon enough.

 

“Tickets aside, that’s a bloody good marketing strategy,” Niamh said, and gave a defensive, “ _ What? _ ” when the rest of the crew looked at her. 

 

“I can’t believe the term ‘marketing strategy’ just came out’v your mouth,” Lorna said, shaking her head.

 

“You learn all sorts’v weird shite, studying to be a solicitor,” Niamh said, a touch more defensively.

 

“Nobody’s knocking you for turning into Corporate Barbie,” Orla said, with a quirk of an eyebrow.

 

“Shut it, both’v you,” Shane ordered. “I wonder why nobody just thought to steal a load’v those things? Wasn’t hard, back then.”

 

“Because it’s a kids’ movie,” Lorna said, sipping. “Can’t go giving them ideas.”

 

Earlene found herself in culture shock. It had been so long, since she’d seen this and...how had she never noticed it was filmed in Germany? Or seen that the man outside the Wonka factory had a cart full of cleavers for sale? Half the characters in the film would be run into the police station, on suspicion of either child endangerment or outright abuse. And the little boy wanted a Colt .45 for his twelfth birthday? Her eyes were widening.  _ Times had changed. A great deal _ ...she sighed, and not all from the marvel of Thanadir’s foot rub.

 

Thranduil followed his wife’s thoughts with interest, and saw that while some of the film detailed caricatures of what life was like some decades ago, other parts were satirical of very real problems...bad parenting being apparently foremost on the list. And watching some of the appalling parent-child relationships shown here, he could not disagree. As an elf, he had no frame of reference for this. The most difficult elven child in the history of their people could not have matched the four hellions portrayed thus far. Though, Thanadir’s huffs of annoyance and twitching eye were almost making that aspect twice as enjoyable.

 

“Ha ha!” Earlene exclaimed. The scene with the legal disclaimer on the wall was a favorite. “Can you pause it so Niamh and I can enjoy reading it?” she begged Lorna. 

 

And even Niamh laughed at “frost or frippery of any sort,” the multiple “WHEREAS”, and the text that receded into what must have been four point font.

 

“Christ, this scene scared the shite out’v me,” Lorna said, when they got on the canoe ride of doom. “Still does. Whose idea  _ was  _ this? They’ve got a shot’v an actual chicken getting decapitated. You’d never get  _ that  _ now.”

 

“You should have seen my mother, when she saw that scene,” Ratiri said, coiling her braid around his hand. “She went off on a rant of the sort she seldom bothered with.”

 

“I’m sure she did,” Lorna said dryly. “Hindu, and all that. I swear this is someone’s fever dream.”

 

“Nah, somebody coughed this up while they were on acid,” Orla said sagely. “Only excuse.”

 

Earlene watched the machine in the Secret Candy Room with growing horror.  _ How had they gotten the phallic pink...shaft...past the censors? _ She was feeling extremely grateful that in all likelihood, Thanadir was not given to considering...imagery. And the next machine was….positively farting. At regular intervals. And yet no one seemed to be remarking. Oh well, it was time for Violet to turn into a blueberry. She leaned back to ask Thranduil if she might have a small amount of human wine, that he gladly rose to retrieve. He was beginning to wonder deeply about Lorna’s taste in movies.

 

By now the entire lot of Lorna’s old crew were alternately laughing and singing, usually at the same time -- though she noticed that nobody spilled even a drop of wine. Ratiri was chuckling beneath her in a way that was giving her tremendously inappropriate thoughts, and she hurried to focus on the movie. She’d always wanted some of that fizzy lifting drink, so it wasn’t exactly hard.

 

“I wonder what’d happen if you worked up a really good fart with that stuff,” Mick said. “You’d probably blow somebody backward.”

 

“Yours could even without any help,” Lorna muttered. He’d been somewhat notorious for his noxious emissions during their teenage years.

 

Earlene stifled a giggle, but managed to get in her favorite quote. “So shines a good deed in a weary world.” It always made her feel warm and fuzzy, even though she still wanted desperately to take shears to Gene Wilder’s hair.

 

“‘Tell my most precious candy making secrets to’ sounds a bit...wrong,” Niamh said, and sipped. “Really, this entire bloody movie’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. How times’ve changed.”

 

“I’ve got to wonder a lot about this movie, watching it again,” Lorna said. “Mainly, what everyone was on, and if they’d be willing to share, because Jesus. I don’t even know.”

 

“They’d never get away with half’v it now,” Shane said, laughing at God only knew what. “Wonka himself’s more than a bit off. I mean, Christ, what the hell is that hair meant to be?”

 

“I thought I liked this movie so much,” Earlene said, half-disappointed. “I mean, I did, so what the hell happened? I guess I’m the one who changed, because clearly the film didn’t. Oh well. It’s the same as when you visit someplace you loved as a kid, and suddenly everything looks twice as small and cheesy.”

 

The crew were still giggling, but Lorna said, “That’s what happens when you grow up. It’s why I resisted it for so long.”

 

“Growing up is totally overrated,” grumbled Earlene. “Except for having children. I think that is the real reason we do it, because then we can more or less revert again.”

 

That sobered Lorna a little. She’d had a wonderfully irresponsible adolescence, but childhood? Her childhood had pretty much been something she’d survived. Oh, she and her siblings had had fun on their own, but that was nowhere near enough to make up for what passed for home. The words, “I want them to have what I didn’t” passed her lips before she could stop them.

 

“They will, mo chroí,” Ratiri said. “My own parents might have been half insane, but they did teach me how to love.”

 

“That’s what these eejits taught me,” she said, throwing a pillow at Shane, who didn’t even come close to managing to duck. “I owe you lot more than I can say -- you know that, right?”

 

Orla made a drunken grab for the pillow, and tried to throw it back -- unfortunately, she hurled it far too hard, and somehow got it stuck on top of the canopy. “Did you ever stop to think that went both ways?”

 

Lorna rolled onto her side, peering at Orla through her fringe. “Huh?” No, that had not occurred to her, and never would have.

 

“We were all wary, before you came along,” Orla said, taking another sip. “You might say we had actual sense, and were were definitely more careful, but it was...Christ, I guess ‘bleak’ is the word I want. Then you turned up, and you were this tiny little creature who wasn’t afraid’v anything, even when you bloody well should’ve been. It was more dangerous than made any sense, but it was dead brilliant, too. There’s loads who’d say it was wrong, thinking like we did -- everyone’s always saying plan, plan, plan, but it would’ve shot us all in the foot, back then. Going day to day like you did’s what kept us out’v worse trouble. Once you were gone -- once we’d started to want more than what we had -- that was the beginning’v everyone going downhill. You were mental, Fun Size, and if you hadn’t been born lucky you’d’ve been dead ten times over before you reached twenty -- but we learned what we needed, when we needed it.”

 

Lorna stared at her, rather stunned. She’d been such an irresponsible little shit that she knew it drove Shane mad at times, but never, ever would she have thought that attitude would have done anybody else any good. How could it have? She really  _ had  _ been mental, but she’d been so happy to have actual freedom for the first time in her life that she hadn’t wanted more than that. For the first time in her life, nobody was going to hit her unless she hit them first. It took a certain kind of person with a certain kind of background to realize how monumental that could be. 

 

“I’d no idea,” she said quietly. “None.” She’d taken so much away from her time with all of them, but why would she ever have thought she could have had anything to give in return? She’d been the Tiny Anger Ball, as Shane called her. Oh, she was really good at hitting people, and at patching those who were her own up after a fight, but she’d never had any reason to suspect she’d contributed anything more.

 

“I’ll tell you something, Fun Size,” Orla said, draining the last drops out of her glass, “when I started in construction, and I’d get a gobshite for a client, I’d cheer myself up imagining what you would’ve done to him.”

 

Shane burst out laughing. “Funny, me too. I’ve never seen anyone do so much damage with a half-brick as you did to Big Donal.”

 

Lorna buried her face against Ratiri’s shoulder. “I’ve moved past all that, you know,” she said, her voice slightly muffled. “Mostly. I don’t go blank anymore thanks to those two.” She sat up enough to point at Thranduil and Thanadir. “There was something actually wrong in my upstairs, something I’d got from my da. Which, shite, I found out after we went to New York that Earlene and I are second cousins once removed. Her gran and my great-granddad were brother and sister.”

 

The lot of them looked at Earlene. “It really is a small bloody world,” Niamh said.

 

“If you start on with that song, I swear I’ll kick you,” Orla warned.

 

“I won’t kick you but I  _ will _ run from the room screaming,” said Earlene. No one here knew that Aidan found out early on that she hated the song, and would sing it or play it on some device...always with their parents out of earshot...to try to bait her into acting out. Or at least, no one besides Thranduil knew that. It wasn’t a joke, she really would run screaming.

 

Thranduil remained quiet but continued to be fascinated, as he gave his wife a squeeze of reassurance and a gentle kiss to the side of her head. Just the whining refrain from this...song...they all referenced was enough to bring full enlightenment as to why anyone sane might not wish to listen. 

 

More than that, though, the exchange of Lorna with her friends caused him to wonder. Did any such similarity exist in his life? It did not seem so. One difference between them was that Lorna had gained some measure of distance from her father whereas being the lone Prince, the lone child, there had never truly been a period of his life away from Oropher. Unless one could reference the distance he bought for himself when he came into his full physical strength. Between that and his mother’s own actions, the hitting had stopped, but not the hatefully unavoidable monitoring of his thoughts. What could anyone possibly have gained from him, during that time of his young adulthood? Though he had reached his majority, who did he even interact with, except the warriors alongside which he honed his skills, his parents, and some of the household staff? For they kept up appearances, the family, though he would have preferred to isolate himself fully. He was expected to appear at meals, and he did; if only for his mother’s sake. And yet it was Thanadir’s arrival into the room with their food that gave him any kind of feeling of happiness. And he knew that Oropher knew, and did not care, though he tried to suppress his reactions lest the steward suffer any backlash. Yet none ever came. No, he could not fathom that anyone could have had any benefit of association with him until the crown was thrust onto his head, so to speak. And yet, he was happy for Lorna. Happy to hear that she had even more reason to understand that she had been special and was still special now. Because in his eyes, she most certainly was.

 

“You’re really related?” Mick asked, looking from Lorna to Earlene. “Seriously?”

 

“That’s pretty much what I said,” Lorna said. “I mean, what’re the odds?” Then again, given that she was now pretty much convinced this whole setup was some kind of divine intervention, she doubted things like odds actually mattered. “It’s always good to find family, though, especially when you hadn’t got much to begin with.” She still had no idea what had happened to her brothers or sister, but she had more family by blood now, to go along with the family she’d gained by choice. “I didn’t realize how lucky I’d been, until I went to prison -- even with everything, thanks to you lot, I was never alone. That’s more than so many can say.” She gave Thranduil a brief glance, and a mental hug, insofar as she could manage such a thing while tipsy.

 

“I had a brother, Aidan,” Earlene said. “He was the biggest gobshite, ever. He is Allanah’s biological da, and why we have her is an entertainment I’ll let Lorna tell another time. But we all went to Ellis Island, and I found out that when my Irish ancestors came to the states, their son Aidan Donovan was sent back here. Rejected. And he, it turned out, was the connection between our two branches of the family. We’re second cousins once removed, and...even figuring that out wasn’t the easiest. And now, Lorna and Allanah are the only two blood family members of that family. Well, that’s not true, is it…” she frowned. “I cannot forget my daughters. And….Jesus. My twins are Allanah’s…” Her brain froze. “I’m sorry, I can’t figure this out right now. I’m crap at this genealogy stuff even when I’ve not had a drop to drink. And then there’s Lorna’s children…” A sort of odd, strangling noise of frustration was the last thing uttered. To be fair, the next generation hadn’t been in existence for all that long, but it was still killing brain cells trying to work out these relationships.

 

“That’s what we’ve got Mairead for,” Lorna said sagely. “She’ll sit down and work it all out. Christ, I’ve still not adjusted to being a  _ parent  _ yet. The thought is still bloody terrifying.”

 

“Look at all the help we have,” Ratiri said. “And the family. They’ll come out just fine.”

 

“At least you had decent examples for parents,” Lorna said. “I’m glad  _ one’v  _ us knows what it’s meant to look like.” Her poor mam had tried, but hadn’t made it very far, and the less said of her da, the better. From all she’d gathered, Ratiri’s parents had been a bit mental, but they’d still been  _ good  _ parents -- just a bit larger-than-life. Lorna really wished she could have met them.

 

“Are you going to be a bloody hypocrite, and not let them do anything you did?” Shane asked, giving her a slightly sly look.

 

“Too fucking right I am,” she said, laughing a little. “And you lot had best not fill their heads with stories’v all the shite I did. If they don’t know about it, they won’t want to do it. And if they do...that’s why there’s Thanadir.” She gave the seneschal a grin. While his obsession with ‘seemliness’ did occasionally amuse her, she was quite certain he’d be a good, firm ally when it came to stroppy children.

 

Thanadir chuckled, realizing that his reputation had apparently taken on a life of its own. And yet he could not deny that it was exactly how he would participate in the rearing of children, left to his own devices. He sagely decided that not mentioning anything about teaching being  _ best done by example _ would be a good decision.

 

Thranduil grinned, guessing at just how much all of it would eventually hang over her head, and yet mercifully it was not for him to say. He would be busy enough managing his own brood. Four children, for one ellon. Five, if he counted Legolas. His eyes widened to realize he was one more set of twins away from as many young ones as Fëanor, and hurriedly took a very large swallow of wine before such disturbing thoughts could have a chance to settle.

 

Shane surprised the ever-loving hell out of her (and possibly everyone but Thranduil) when he said, “Don’t Elf kids age differently than humans?” When he caught the lot of his old crew staring at him, he added, rather defensively, “ _ What?  _ I can read a book every now and again.”

 

“Yes, they do,” said Earlene. “Though, our biological children are half-elven. It is already obvious that they are different. It was obvious the day they were born...they are not...the same.”

 

“Meaning they’ll be out’v nappies long before ours,” Lorna said, stretching. “Apparently they can run around and talk by the time they’re a year old. They were born the same day as our twins, but you sure as hell  _ can  _ see the difference. Of course, the problem’ll come when ours’re adults and they’re still considered children.” And yes, she’d already given that quite a bit of thought. This could get...interesting.

 

Earlene smiled. She too had reflected a great deal on those realities. Including that she would be ninety? years of age, before they were considered adults. That was, understandably, not anything she could process. Nor was what to do when the human children were wanting to date, have relationships, and perhaps marry years before Eleniel and Ithiliel and the bun in the oven could even consider such a thing. She hoped to the gods that their nature would be something like Thanadir’s; that they simply would not have any romantic interest. Should it prove otherwise, it would be ten kinds of a nightmare….their choices would be other mortals (not acceptable really, given their recall to Valinor; she would fight tooth and nail not to leave them behind. Were it to become a point of conflict,  _ that _ could become truly ugly) and the elves in the Halls of whom perhaps sixty were unwed ellyn that were all over fifteen thousand years old.  

 

Perhaps the only thing going in her favor was her hope that they would simply want the life of the Eldar; from what she understood, they could not choose otherwise at least before adulthood. Truthfully, she had not considered every facet of this in her decision to ask for children, and hoped that it all would not turn out to be a huge….. This was another one of those lines of thought that was simply unwise to pursue. There was no choice other than to hope for the best. And perhaps she was now confronting the real crux of the matter: “I guess in the end, we have to do our best and hope to hell that they trust us enough to want to avoid all the things we tell them were colossally bad ideas. Because once they can decide on their own, they’re going to do what they’re going to do. My parents didn’t set out to raise my brother to be a gobshite, but he was a gobshite nevertheless. We just have to hope that we are those lucky ones that get kids that know how to do adulting in spite of most  humans never figuring it out entirely.”

 

“The trick, insofar as I learned it from my own parents, is to be honest,” Ratiri said. “The closest mine ever came to lying to me was about Father Christmas. Otherwise, they told me the truth about everything -- whether or not I wanted to know.” He shuddered to remember his dad’s version of The Talk, which had involved much cursing and, worst of all,  _ gestures. _ He’d been all of eight. “And never forget that they’re people. Some of the kids I knew, their parents obviously thought of them like...like talking pets. There to do as they were told, and that was that. My dad used to get so infuriated whenever he’d hear some parent say, ‘Because I said so’ -- it’s a shit non-justification, and once a kid’s at a certain age, they need to know  _ why  _ you said so. ‘Because’ is never an answer.”

 

“Parents actually say that?” Orla asked. “I’d thought that was only something they did on TV.”

 

“Oh, they do,” Ratiri sighed. “I saw it often enough myself. Parents who stick their kid in a mental box marked ‘child’ and forget to add the qualifier ‘sapient being’ are the ones that have all sorts of trouble, once that ‘child’ becomes ‘adolescent’, and thinks you’re an idiot. You get what you give, with children; what so many of the parents I saw failed to realize is that respect is earned, not automatic. Children aren’t stupid -- if they’re condescended to when they’re small, the parents pay for it later.”

 

Earlene nodded, privately concluding that at least from what she could perceive, Ratiri had far more practical realism to his thinking than Lorna. To hear her talk, Lorna wanted to over-protect her children to a degree that most would feel was unhealthy. Of course it might be just that,  _ talk _ , with nervousness and a different lens on her own experiences being at the core of it. However, she’d seen it before: A reactive parenting style that automatically assumed that their little one would wish to commit the same misdeeds they themselves had, and then framing their disciplinary plan around that assumption, in spite of the probability that the child would have no such inclinations. Even though he’d pissed her off but good at least once, Ratiri had huge reserves of common sense and the courage to speak them aloud. That could not be anything but an asset to their little village, in her view.

 

“I’m glad you know what you’re doing,” Lorna said. “At least one’v us does.” She laughed. “Christ, you should’ve seen Mairead -- talk about being a bit too blunt about some things. I thought I’d die when she tried to explain tampons to Shannon, her oldest. She struggled with the technical terms until she gave up and said ‘The cardboard tube goes up your snatch, you’ll figure it out from there.’”

 

Orla burst out laughing, and nearly upended what little was left in her glass. “Mairead’s the one I sent to France?”

 

“She is. She managed four just fine, even if they  _ are  _ all as loud and, er, forceful as she is. In this world, that’s not exactly a bad thing.”

 

Ratiri, unfortunately, could not get that mental image out of his head.  _ Thank you, Lorna _ , he thought, rubbing his forehead. “Why can I imagine that all too clearly?”

 

Lorna snorted. “Hey, it was better than when she tried to explain condoms before Shannon went to uni. There was a courgette and everything.”

 

Now Ratiri was the one who laughed, so hard she had to sit up lest she drive all the breath from him. “I did not need to know that,” he said. “I really didn’t.”

 

Lorna couldn’t send him the mental image, because lack of telepathy, but she was more than happy to fire it Thranduil’s direction: Mairead, face nearly as red as her hair, chasing Shannon through the house with a courgette that had a condom halfway down it, yelling that she’d best get back to learn how to do this so she didn’t come home halfway through term with one in the oven.

 

Earlene bit her lip, and made a mental note to look up “courgette” because goddamned if she knew what this was. Logic indicated that it was something onto which a condom could be placed so...enough said. Her eyes widened slightly at the realization that she’d never so much as touched a packet containing one, and would be no better off.  _ But how hard could it be?  _ Oh, what difference did it make, it wasn’t like she was ever going to need one. Then she frowned, because she was pregnant. Again. _ Just, whatever.  _ Suddenly, a worse thought came.  _ You are the mother of a human daughter _ , she reminded herself. Her eyes widened. It would fall to her to explain many things to Allanah, and she wasn’t going to be one of those shite parents who tossed a brochure at her daughter and ran for cover. Maybe she should at least...try one, else how would she ever know?

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened at the combination of Lorna’s cucumber and condom imagery (something he would rather have missed out on) and the stream of thoughts coming from his wife. The latter occupied him rather more than the former.  _ Does she want me to…? _

 

“Then again, you taught with a banana, didn’t you?” Lorna asked, looking up at Ratiri. “Think I’ll let you handle that one. Chandra’ll be enough, once she hits puberty.” She burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Okay, so, when I was a kid, schools in Ireland didn’t do anything like sex ed, and anyway I’d left when I was fourteen. I didn’t get on the rag until I was fifteen, and then poor Orla there had to explain how to, uh, deal with it. And how to steal tampons and not get caught.”

 

“Christ, wasn’t her face a study in expressions, too,” Orla said, shaking her head. “Then I got ‘What in fuck d’you  _ mean _ , every month?’ Apparently her mam wasn’t what you’d call regular.”

 

“She wasn’t,” Lorna grumbled. “Jesus, I’d wondered what the hell I’d done to deserve that. The single, one and  _ only  _ good thing about being pregnant was that at least that wasn’t an issue. Then I had to shove two cantaloupe-sized humans out my snatch.”

 

“Thanks for that, Lorna,” Niamh said, rather glad she’d never had children herself.

 

“You are more than welcome. I’m just glad little Shane’ll have another boy around.” Yes, she still thought Thranduil had really dropped the ball, but Earlene was happy, which was what mattered. Seriously, though, did he have  _ any idea  _ how lucky he actually was? How staggeringly, monumentally, almost impossibly lucky he was? Any other -- and she did mean  _ any other  _ \-- woman would have made him wish he had never been born. Possibly with damage in a place he wouldn’t want damaged.

 

Thranduil hugged his wife a little harder, if that was possible.

 

_ Beloved, are you well? _ he heard.

 

_ This conversation is becoming difficult, meluieg. Lorna is...deeply unimpressed by your new pregnancy and blames me. Please, you must show no reaction. I should not be telling you this but… _

 

Her arms instinctively crossed over his as she closed her eyes and smiled. As much as part of her wanted to launch, she understood the need for restraint.  _ It is no matter. I am happy, and you are happy, and nothing else has any bearing on this subject. Gin melin, Thranduil. Besides, you will need your fortitude for something else. Later on, you must get Ratiri to give you some condoms. We have a mortal daughter to raise, and I will not be a complete ignoramus about important matters. And right now, I am. So are you. That must cease. _

 

_ Meluieg… _

 

_ No. This is not open to discussion. We are going to try using condoms. If you will not ask him, I will. _

 

Thranduil would now forever despise  _ Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory _ merely on principle.

 

“Y’know what we need to do sometime, out here in the middle’v nowhere?” Niamh said, to the room at large. “Paintball. Or laser tag. Both’d be grand in the forest.”

 

“If it was just us humans, Shane would win,” Lorna said. “And if the elves were involved, it’d be one’v them. Trust me. You haven’t see how fast they are.” Paintball was probably a no-go, because of the mess, but laser tag, on the other hand...she looked at Thranduil. “We should try laser tag. A huge game’v it, get everyone involved -- but elves versus elves, and humans versus humans, or else it’s not fair to us poor mortals. Not even you, Shane.”

 

“Wait a minute,” protested Ealene. “Humans should get to try for elves. Sort of like ‘extreme bonus points’ or ‘catching the Golden Snitch’. But otherwise we get a handicap. They are more than good enough to cope with us trying for them.”

 

“What is laser tag?” Thanadir asked, not liking the sound of this, while admitting that he did not know what he was not liking.

 

It occurred to Lorna that she was going to have to explain lasers, before she could get anywhere else. “Okay, so you know what guns are -- laser tag involves guns that use harmless beams of light, rather than bullets. With laser tag, you have a gun, and you also have a little…” How to explain this? Shit. “A little thing that will register if someone’s got you with their laser. Once it tells you you’ve been hit, you’re out.”

 

“Gets your heart going,” Niamh said.

 

“So it is shooting each other without shooting each other?” Thanadir asked, trying his best to keep up.

 

“Yes, meldir,” Earlene said. “No one is harmed, unless you count tripping over objects and each other. It is great fun, and is usually played in the dark or in very dim light; otherwise the lasers cannot be seen. But it feels as though one is a soldier in combat, which for the likes of us is as close as we ever come to any such activity.”

 

“And forest’s great cover,” Niamh said.

 

“Only if you’re a human,” Shane said, laughing a bit. “We probably sound like elephants to them. Even Fun Size here.”

 

Lorna had never actually tried to sneak up on an elf, because she knew there was no point. She was quiet and sneaky, but only by human standards. “Find a place and hole up, I’d think,” she said, except she was pretty sure the elves would even be able to hear them  _ breathing _ . It really wasn’t quite fair, when you thought about it, just how many advantages elves had over humans. It wasn’t just the immortality, or the fact that they never got sick; pretty much everything about them was superior in some way. If she hadn’t liked them so much, she’d be really annoyed by it. Was there  _ nothing  _ humans did better?

 

Earlene remained silent, because no one likes bragging. It  _ was _ possible to do some things as well as elves, though her running skills would not be terribly useful in this game.  _ Then again _ … she grinned in anticipation.  _ This _ could be fun.

 

Shane looked at Lorna. “Fun Size, I need you to promise me you won’t bite anyone if you lose.” The words were a bit joking, but his tone was not.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Thranduil, will you please explain to Shane that I just don’t do shite like that anymore?”

 

“What she said,” the King smiled, determined to keep a low profile. He declined to mention that she would still try to stab herself with utensils were it an option, but that entire subject seemed best avoided.

 

“I am feeling like it’s bedtime,” Earlene said, stretching and rotating her feet back to the floor.

 

“Thanadir will go with you, meluieg, I will be along in a moment.”

 

With a relaxed nod, she took the seneschal’s offered arm and waved good night to all of them. Thanadir glanced back, vaguely disappointed that all the humans had been impeccably well-behaved in spite of the wine. As they departed the room, Thranduil pretended to busy himself packing up the remnants of the wine, though something rather different was occurring.  _ Ratiri, I wondered if I might ask a favor requiring some discretion. _

 

_ Of course _ , Ratiri said, struggling to disengage himself from his affectionate and apparently boneless wife, who didn’t want to be dislodged.  _ What do you need? _

 

_ It is Earlene. I do not understand but she has demanded that I request some condoms. I believe she wishes to learn how to use them, and I would rather not ask at the chemist’s in town. Asking you feels awkward enough. Please, do not tell Lorna… _

 

It seemed a bit late for that, all things considered, but Ratiri didn’t share Lorna’s disapproval of Earlene’s pregnancy -- though only because Earlene was happy about it.  _ I can get you some, once I get this remora off me.  _ Eventually he managed to pry his noodle-wife off his chest, leaving her to yawn and tell him to wake her if she was asleep when he got back with the twins. 

 

Fortunately, he’d stashed the box in the bathroom of their own flat, and led Thranduil in to get some. “Does she know how these work?”

 

_ Let us assume so. I am not certain my dignity can endure the images that came from Lorna about Mairead and vegetables this evening. Should Earlene require education I am certain she would ask you. Earlene is more...more....  _ He trailed off and looked at Ratiri helplessly.

 

Ratiri tried not to laugh. He really, really did, but he couldn’t help it. He’d got to know Mairead a bit, living in Baile; he could all too easily picture that himself, though likely not in as vivid a detail as Thranduil had seen.  _ More clinical?  _ he offered.  _ Goes with the job, just like practicing medicine. If she needs to know, she’s free to ask, and I promise I won’t tell Lorna. She’d be horrified anyway.  _ Her utter squick at the thought of Thranduil and Earlene’s love life was rather hilarious, and Ratiri found it a bit adorable, too. She really was like a little sister who didn’t want to know what her older brother got up to, thanks so much.

 

Gratefully, the items were placed deep into a pocket of the vest he wore as he silently exited the room with Ratiri, breathing a sigh of relief that his visit had gone unobserved by Lorna. He now felt like he could speak aloud. “I liked them, her friends,” he offered. “I do not know what I expected but, I liked them.” Clearly he was not feeling terribly profound in his thoughts, this evening.

 

“I do, too,” Ratiri said. “She’s talked about them quite a bit, and I’m glad I got to meet them. They’re such a huge part of what made her what she is, and I can see why they did. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to be reminded that family means more than blood ties.”

 

“Indeed,” Thranduil said softly, smiling at the man and feeling a sense of warmth from him. This only added to his confusion, over what he’d perceived earlier. 

 

*****

 

Once back at their quarters, Earlene and Thanadir found that all babies were being changed one last time before being laid down for sleep. All of them already slumbered except for Allanah, who provided last minute coos and giggling and then….

 

“Nana!” 

 

Earlene was playing with her and said back,”Allanah!”

 

“Nana!”

 

Cuddles and kisses were bestowed without restraint as Earlene felt tears pooling in her eyes. Finally, a word she  _ wanted _ to hear. Beckoning Thranduil over, Earlene said “Ada!” while pointing at him. 

 

“Nana!”

 

The unmistakable rumbling of Thanadir’s laugh came from behind them, and even Lothiriel and Ortherion were heroically contorting their expressions to help preserve the dignity of their monarch. The little girl, who once again had an appreciative audience, giggled once more as she reached for Thranduil’s hair and declared with finality, “Nana.” This of course left Earlene wondering if the child had understood the word at all but….it  _ had _ been funny.

 

_ I know that you are Ada _ , Earlene sent reassuringly, kissing her husband on the cheek.

 

_ Thank Eru for that _ , came back acerbically, though he could not help but smile. Once the nappies were sorted, Thanadir helped as they each took a child and wished the others a pleasant rest. 

 

For the first time tonight, Earlene wondered where the children would go eventually. These chambers were not suited to their little ones permanently sleeping in their bedroom, and yet living in a stone cavern precluded the idea of baby monitors or adding extra rooms. These chambers made sense for a single male, or even a couple. Not four children. 

 

“We will have a solution when the time comes, meluieg. Thanadir has already been preparing for that need.”

 

“He has?” She regarded the efficient elf with new admiration.  _ Well I guess that’s why he is a seneschal _ , flitted through her head, closely followed by,  _ I am tired.  _ There had to be some reason for such frivolous and generally useless thoughts. Placing Allanah in her sleeping basket on the floor (where it was kept ever since her climbing ability was discovered), she was given her stegosaurus and tucked in.

 

********

 

Shane stretched his legs out and rolled his head, cracking his neck. He was pleasantly drunk, listening to the others without comprehending a word. Lorna was sound asleep, sprawled like a starfish and mostly likely drooling on her pillow.

 

It had been years since he’d thought of the warehouse, of the place he’d called home for close to a decade. It had sat condemned since long before they moved in, but it was sound enough, and there were even windows, high up close to the ceiling. It always did smell a little of damp, because it was Ireland and that was just unavoidable, but the roof was sound, and it protected them from the rain and the freezing winter winds. They even had a little propane stove that he’d nicked from someone’s garage, and in the winter they hung up blankets all around their rows of cots to keep the heat in.

 

No, it hadn’t been much at all, but for them, it had been enough. Warmth, dryness, and safety counted for a great deal, but it wasn’t until Lorna came along that many of them had understood happiness. When told she couldn’t -- or shouldn’t -- do something, her first question was,  _ why? Why can’t we?  _ She’d hurled herself through life like a tiny bowling ball, and God help whatever didn’t get out of her way. He had not, at the time, realized how tragic her mindset really was, because it wound up serving him well, too, for that moment. She automatically assumed the future was going to be shit, so she didn’t worry about what she did before it got there. There was something oddly freeing in that; it was heinously irresponsible, and it was probably a miracle nobody had got killed, but for some damn reason, when Lorna asked,  _ Why?  _ they couldn’t help but listen.  _ Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die. _ The words were practically tattooed on her soul. Once she was awake, he would tell her she needed to get  _ why?  _ in Sindarin tattooed somewhere on her.

 

And now look at them. Of course she’d gone and blundered right into a world of Elves -- _ Elves. _ No planning, no forethought, no idea what she was getting herself into -- she blundered in, and now she’d taken them with her. There weren’t enough of them, but he was grateful any had survived, had adapted to the mainstream world. They were all, at their core, the same people, but they’d learned how to move with the world, rather than expecting it to move for them. They’d grown up...mostly.

 

And he was grateful, in an odd way, that these Halls were a fortress. Should that frothing Cheeto in the States start anything...unfortunate, there was someplace safe to go, someplace they could  _ all  _ go. Shane had never married, and had never been tempted to; his family were all here. And in this place, they were safe. Someday, he was sure, they would be glad of that.

 

******

The last clink of tableware signalled the end of their mid day meal, and Ortherion gracefully and unobtrusively began to clear the dishes. Thanadir was silently pleased, only the faintest satisfied smirk betraying his approval of his protégé’s execution of his duties. Earlene inhaled happily, probably having eaten a little too much.  _ But it was chicken pot pie _ , she reasoned,  _ and the elves created their version of this comfort food with a little too much of their usual brilliance. _ Her sigh of satisfaction ran against the tension she noticed in her husband’s frame. Puzzled, since it certainly had nothing to do with the quality of the meal, her critical eye quickly discerned that Lorna seemed a bit tightly wound as well.  _ By the Valar, now what? _ she wondered.

 

Thranduil winced against the acuity of his wife’s perceptions, and shot her a hard stare, softening his expression when he saw the subtle bob of her head. Earlene understood to keep her silence, which was what he needed most. Nobody was paying particular attention to anything just now, *if* one defined ‘nobody’ as Thandir and Ratiri. The King cleared his throat. “It has come to my attention,” he spoke slowly, choosing every word as though it were the next step through a minefield, “that a decision I made to withhold information was not the wisest choice.” With that preamble, he assuredly had everyone’s full attention, though Thanadir and Earlene could guess from this what came next. Whereas Lorna outright knew. “This especially is the case with you, Ratiri. I am attempting what for me is a difficult conversation now, by way of trying to correct my wrong and make amends.”

 

Utter dread filled Lorna, because she had  _ really  _ dropped the ball on this one. She’d been meaning to tell Ratiri herself, but the gang really were a bit...distracting. Still, Jesus, this wasn’t going to be pretty.

 

“Just how big is this information?” Ratiri asked, glancing at Lorna, who said nothing, because she knew she’d only make it worse if she did.

 

“I am going to follow my wife’s general counsel in matters such as this, and simply tell the crux of it, Ratiri. But before I begin I must ask that you hear me out. This began as something that was strictly a matter of my rule over my people and...grew wings, as I believe humans say. It is not a simple tale. That you were not told is arguably very...blamable...on me.” He sighed, with a heavy heart. “A short time before Von Ratched was killed, the Vala Manwë appeared to me, taking on physical form. I probably do not need to remind you that he is Lord over all the Ainur, and one to whom even an Elvenking must bend his knee. I was offered a bargain that day. The opportunity to have the  _ raug _ delivered up to us, for his death and our freedom from him. The price to be paid was that in the distant future, all of my people must at last journey to Aman. We are commanded, to return, and I have agreed on my honor to obey. Right now, only those in this room know of this.” There was so, so much more to say, and yet it was not possible to disgorge every aspect of this at one moment. “That is the simple version. The detailed one will require more in the telling.”

 

It was...God, that was horrible. The thought of the Elves leaving, of these beautiful Halls sitting empty for the rest of time...Ratiri could scarcely conceive it. He didn’t  _ want  _ to conceive it -- and distraction came soon enough, when he reached the full meaning behind Thranduil’s words.  _ He  _ had not been told. There was no mention of Lorna in that -- had Lorna known? Had Lorna know, and  _ not told him? _

 

When he looked at her, she winced. “I knew I should’ve told you, as soon as I found out,” she sighed. “I wanted to, but Thranduil talked me out’v it. He said it’d only hurt you, if you knew, and I went with it, against my better judgment.”

 

Ratiri...had no idea where to even  _ start  _ with that. “It didn’t occur to you that that should be my decision? That whether or not it would hurt me shouldn’t factor into telling me something rather important? That I’m not a bloody  _ child _ , to be kept ignorant of the ugly truth?”

 

God, this felt like throwing Thranduil right under the bus, but it was the truth. “It did,” she said, not a little wretchedly. “I knew I hadn’t got any right to keep it from you.”

 

“And yet you did anyway. You don’t listen to  _ anyone _ , Lorna, so why in God’s name would you listen to him?” Why  _ was  _ it that Thranduil was the only one she listened to, ninety percent of the time? Why, out of everyone she knew, everyone who had ever given her advice, was it always  _ him? _

 

“You have not heard even a half of the events pertaining to the reasons you were not told, Ratiri. Will you listen, or would you rather have this discussion at another time?” His voice stayed as neutral as possible under the circumstances, but it bit at him to hear Lorna accused so harshly on a rather thin understanding of the facts. Emotions were already running away with this conversation, and he had no assets to deploy other than his words.

 

Quite honestly, Ratiri didn’t care what the reasons were -- but he also knew he was being irrational. Drawing a deep breath, he said, “It would be better to get this out of the way now.” If they didn’t, he knew he’d just stew on it, and do nobody any good at all. Lance it, like a boil, and get it out of the way.

 

“Then I will start at the beginning. The day Lorna took ill on account of regaining her memories of a certain reprehensible event, I found her insensible in your room and aided her as best I could. And with Lorna held in my arms as I tried to heal her, Manwë appeared, borne on a wind and with eyes as fiery sapphires…” He told the full story of how Lorna was taken by the Vala, returned, the demands laid upon him, and the Vala’s pronouncements concerning Earlene. “After this, I sought Thanadir. And then my wife. They are both my family and my subjects; and as Earlene has a rather prominent role assigned to her, apparently, I could hardly not inform her. You and Lorna  _ both _ were not told, as I deemed this to be a matter pertaining to my people that should not yet be revealed. If you will recall, both Earlene and Lorna were heavy with their children and among other things, I felt that this was the last information Lorna needed to weather at the end of her pregnancy. But the day Von Ratched was killed, I could no longer keep my silence. Because he shot Lorna with his gun. And he tried to impale Lorna, on Anguirel. She was impervious to his assault. The bullets dropped to the ground, harmless. The hungry blade of the sword was turned aside, unable to pierce her. Later Lorna demanded of me whether I had an explanation. Until that moment, none of us knew what, if anything, had been done to her, but we assuredly knew of the Lord’s blessing then. Lorna wanted to tell you, and it was my counsel that perhaps this knowledge would be a burden better left unspoken, as none of us know with any certainty how this will play out. She interpreted my words to mean a request for silence, and said nothing to you. Not a one of my elven people, aside from Thanadir, have yet been told. And yet as the weeks wore on, Lorna was unhappy with this decision to exclude you. Those regrets are why we are having this discussion now.  _ That _ is the full story.”

 

Some of this, Ratiri knew. Lorna had told him about her newfound, seeming invulnerability -- had been quite excited about it. She’d said it had something to do with Manwë, even, though she’d been unconscious for the actual event. She’d had ample opportunity to tell him the rest of it, and she’d chose not to -- because of Thranduil. That was the real kicker; she’d listened to Thranduil, where she normally would listen to no one. Even if Thranduil had requested it of her, Lorna did what Lorna wanted; nobody told her to do anything, and she didn’t do something unless she wanted to. She’d  _ chosen  _ not to say anything. Because of bloody  _ Thranduil _ .

 

But there was no point in arguing over it. It would go nowhere; they’d just unite against him anyway -- which was a terribly childish thought, and yet he couldn’t banish it. He knew that if he stayed in this room, things would not go well; he needed time to himself, so that he could master this...whatever this was...and act like an adult. “I need some air,” he said, stiffly but evenly, not quite stalking out of the room. And yet he couldn’t help but pause, two steps from the doorway, and turn. “God knows what else you keep from me,” he said, looking from Lorna to Thranduil and back again, and was gone before anyone could say anything more.

 

Lorna rubbed her forehead. “Christ, I knew I should’ve just told him right off,” she groaned. The worst part was that she couldn’t even get angry at him; he was justifiably pissed off at being kept in the dark for his own good -- the very thing she utterly hated anyone doing to her. Jesus, she was a hypocrite.

 

The last thing anyone expected happened. Earlene stood up, so forcefully her chair knocked over. “Like  _ hell _ ,” she was heard to mutter, and stormed out not five seconds behind Ratiri with thunderstorms in her brown eyes.

 

Thranduil sat, completely stunned, as the dual weight of Ratiri’s words fell on him. He had understood the implication fully, and Lorna had not grasped it in the slightest, for which he blessed every Ainu he could name. Nor could she ever, for any reason under Anor, be told of this. Valar, he had never meant to come between his friend and her mate. The sense of bewilderment, and having absolutely no idea how to manage were foreign to him. And yet Earlene had risen up and... _ Eru, where was this going? Wine. _ He had to have wine. If he could not calm himself he could not hope to think, and right now, he struggled with himself even as he was forced to maintain external appearances. Faithful Thanadir, taking one look at his King, had already risen and poured a full goblet.

 

Lorna’s eyes met his across the table, and he murmured at Thanadir, “Lorna. Gwîn.”(wine)

 

Thanadir looked at his diminutive friend, and felt sorry for her. Nodding, he brought over a different bottle, and filled a goblet for Lorna as well. Wordlessly, Thranduil reached for a clean spork and dropped some of his wine into her glass. Their eyes met in silent understanding and each raised a glass and knocked the contents back in two swallows, before looking expectantly at Thanadir. His brown eyes soft with worry, he sighed and kept pouring.

 

“Well, that could’ve gone worse, though I can’t imagine how,” Lorna sighed. “The worst’v it is that I can’t blame him for being pissed. Christ knows  _ I  _ would be.” The wine was sweet, and burned in the best possible way, warming her to the tips of her fingers. She’d promised him months ago that she wouldn’t keep important things from him, and then she’d gone and sat on a bloody doozy of one. “I’d say I hope Earlene can talk some sense into him, but he’s half Scottish. They’re even more pigheaded than the Irish, God help us. Are you all right, though? You look a bit...not good.” That was something of an understatement; she had never actually seen this micro-expression on his face before. It was almost...stricken, and she had no idea why. “Sorry I had to throw you under the bus, but I kind’v couldn’t help it.”

 

“You did nothing of the kind,” he said. “If you had not said it, I would have, in the next sentence. I do not like this discord among friends,” he said woodenly, though inside of himself he felt pierced to his core. He had no understanding of how to fix this, no comprehension of what he had done wrong or the reason for this strong emotion of Ratiri’s. 

 

“He’ll get over it,” Lorna said, though there was slight doubt in her tone. “Eventually. I hope.” Ratiri was a very forgiving man, but she’d gone back on one hell of a promise.

 

******

 

Earlene silently pursued Ratiri at a slight distance, until it became patently obvious that he was tracking toward the practice rooms. The man was behaving like a complete ninny, had treated both her husband and her friend abominably, and she was goddamn sure going to find out why even if it took all afternoon. As she padded after him, her clothing flowed with her, silent and without rustling. Or perhaps it was that she now moved as the elves themselves did, always with some part of her being attuned to grace and silence. Her hips swung rhythmically in her long strides that hastened; he was, after all, as tall as her husband though he could not come close to Thranduil’s catlike silence. The miserable expression etched into her husband’s face burned into her mind, fueling the cold logic that settled over her. Oh, Ratiri had had his moment lecturing her, alright, when her own behavior had been less than balanced after the arrival of her daughters. He had tugged on the mantle of Doctor, and used it against her. _Court is in session, Ratiri._ _Let’s see how you do, when Earlene is the attorney for the Plaintiff_. Her steps halted for thirty seconds outside the open door of the room; long enough to hear that he had taken up a sword and was venting his ire on one of the mannequins. With a last deep breath, she stormed inside, drawn up to her full height, next to the weapons table. In a voice that would have sent anyone sane fleeing the room, her words rang out. “What in hell were you playing at back there? You treated my husband like shit, and you didn’t give much better to Lorna.” With her ankle and a powerful leg, she hooked the door around to slam it shut. “And you’re not going _anywhere_ until you explain why.”

 

Ratiri stilled, and swung the sword out before him -- not in a manner threatening, but as a barrier. “Leave. Me.  _ Alone, _ ” he said, his voice every bit as frigid as his eyes. There was too much in him to give voice to right now; God knew what would happen if he tried, and he didn’t want to find out.

 

Her eyebrow cocked.  _ As if I haven’t been at this months longer than you? Seriously? _ In a fluid motion, her right arm arced back to the practice table to sweep the grip of another blade into her own hand, opposing him with it in the same lowered stance. “Wrong answer.” For at least fifteen seconds, she said nothing, taking the measure of him as she had done so many others. “You had out at me once, and now it’s my turn. If you think I’m going to ignore that you just plowed Thranduil’s heart into the ground with your comments, you are greatly mistaken. He may be King, but what I do not often say is that I am Queen. And I will not stand for the treatment you have just dished out to my family and my friends here in these Halls or anywhere else. What is the real reason you spoke like that, Ratiri? Because it isn’t that you were the last to know about this. You  _ aren’t  _ the last to know about this. In spite of the fact that you are not a sworn subject of my King, you now know about our departure when  _ NONE OF THE OTHER ELVES WHO SERVE HIM DO _ ,” she bellowed. “So please, tell me why you have so much right to be offended. I am listening.” Her voice was glacial, her control complete, as she waited to see his next move.

 

Ratiri really didn’t want to fight her. Infuriated though he was, he was not so far gone that he wanted to attack a woman; if there was anything his dad had drummed into his head, it was that doing so was Just Not On. “Lorna does what Lorna wants,” he said, his tone every bit as frigid. “She swore to me that she would not keep important things from me -- she promised that, and yet she conceals something  _ this huge  _ from me? Thranduil can say she interpreted it as a request all he likes --  _ she does what she wants.  _ She won’t follow a request unless she feels like it. Nobody tells Lorna what to do but Lorna, or so I’d thought. Of course, of  _ course  _ it would be  _ Thranduil  _ she’d listen to. God help anyone else who tries to get her to.”

 

“Well then you weren’t even awake the last three days. Or are you choosing to ignore that she would do the same for Shane, without question? Because I think you are,” she fired back. Though, the tone in which he said her husband’s name...there was more there.  _ Much  _ more. Her eyes drank in every feature of his face, every nuance of his posture. Analyzing, considering, waiting for more information.  _ Please let me be wrong _ , she begged no one in particular, even as her mind locked on this new possibility. Much of her self control was going into the things she was  _ not _ saying, just now.

 

“She’s known Shane since she wasn’t much more than a child,” Ratiri said. “The man half-raised her. She’s known Thranduil for just over a  _ year _ . Doesn’t it bother you, Earlene? The two of them have more in common with each other than they do with either of us, and I  _ know  _ there’s nothing...off, there, I know it, and yet…” He shook his head. “He can read her mind, Earlene. He knows her in a way I never will, and that she’s loyal to him above seemingly everyone else -- the man is powerful, and immortal, and can do  _ magic _ . He’s not a  _ man _ at all, he’s an Elf, and how in God’s name am I meant to compete with that? No bloody wonder she’s got more loyalty to him.” He hadn’t actually been aware that any of that was festering in him until...well, just now.

 

*****

 

Deep into his second bottle of wine, Thranduil’s eyes widened. Ratiri and Earlene were in his practice rooms, both had taken up blades, and both were awash in anger. And he did not know which was worse, Ratiri’s boiling feelings or Earlene’s cold and calculating wrath.  _ Thanadir _ , he sent.  _ Please, Earlene. The practice room… _ he gave no further words but shared with considerable difficulty the images he saw. The expression on his face mirrored that of a human with a headache remarkably well.

 

The older elf rose from watching them gloomily as they continued to steadily drink, prepared to do as he was asked. He spoke aloud, with enough volume to clearly be heard. “Please excuse me for a time. I hope I have earned some right to be heard by both of you. If you must find further solace, find it in conversation or in shared affection. This day is far from over, and drunk insensible neither of you are any good to anyone.” Without so much as a second glance, he turned and left, which is why he did not see the two pairs of eyes that followed his movement on faces that both looked vaguely abashed.

 

*****

 

Earlene tilted her head, tallying up what had been said. Jealousy was such an ugly emotion to navigate.  _ Where to begin _ ...and yet he had asked two questions. “Does it bother me, that he loves her? Does it bother me that he knows Lorna as well as he does me, excepting carnal matters? Is that what you are asking?” The flash in his eyes as he looked up told her her arrows were well aimed. “No, it does not. Because even I know that the notion that a person can receive all they need by way of camaraderie and friendship and shared understanding only from their mate is at best a fiction and at worst something invented for the benefit of religious zealotry. Regarding your second question, ‘how are you supposed to compete with that’, now  _ there _ is a better revelation. I would ask you a question in return: Why are you trying? Is there something about Thranduil that was unclear to you, before ever you set foot inside these Halls?” Pausing for a moment, she came quite close to him, but she dropped her mask of anger for an expression that was simple honesty. “Ratiri, you are jealous. Everything you have said and every display of your temper points to that alone. What are you going to do about it? I will help you if I can, but only if we can discuss the actual problem,” she said with as much kindness as she could muster in spite of anger that still simmered.

 

“Of course I’m jealous,” Ratiri said, not a little bitterly. “Thranduil is better than I am at...well, everything. What reason does she have, honestly, to find me…” He shook his head. “Why is Thranduil not jealous of Thanadir?” Obviously, Thranduil could read both their minds, which was something of a boon, but still. Rather like Thranduil and Lorna, Thanadir and Earlene had far more in common with one another.

 

Earlene looked at him incredulously. “Ratiri, Lorna chose  _ you _ . She wanted  _ you _ .  She is attracted to  _ you. _ Do you have an idea how many comments I have had to listen to about you, your arse, and...everything?  _ Do you _ ?” A head of steam was accumulating again, and she forced herself to stand tall and take two deep breaths before another word passed her lips. “And the answer to your question is essentially what I just said to you. I love Thanadir. I would give my life without hesitation to protect him. He has been a teacher, guard and guide to me. Yes, we have much in common, and we share affection that is not romantic. But he does not want me, and I do not want him, in the way I want my mate. We are intimate friends, and I am grateful to have him in my life. But my spirit is bound to my husband. Even were...elven marital realities...not part of this discussion, it still would be no different. Thanadir and I would not be off trysting in the barn; it is not what either of us is called to be. Do I really have to explain to you what it is to want that one other, with your entire being, and trust that the feeling is returned? Have you...had so few close friends, that you cannot see the difference?” she asked softly. “And as for the mindreading...what do you want me to say to that? Every waking minute, he must hear all of us; he has no choice. Yes, he hears everyone’s thoughts, Ratiri. And for about five magical seconds, once, I was able to hear Thranduil’s. I can never know him, as he knows me. It is not possible. I accept and love him for who he is, not who he cannot be. The emotion you are experiencing is not about logic or rational arguments. I think you know that, deep down….” and suddenly she froze. “Are you aware, why the two of them are so close? Do you understand what it is, that ties them together?” Brown eyes bored into grey ones.

 

“No,” he said. “I’ve never asked her, and she’s never told me.” Though God knew he’d wondered. 

 

Earlene took a deep breath. “I am violating a confidence to say this, and I am choosing to accept the consequences. Personally I hold the opinion that if the five of us kept fewer things from each other, life might be easier. But this is a monarchy, and it doesn’t always work out so simply.” Her eyes hardened. “When Thranduil was young, his father was King. Oropher had all the same abilities of mind and body as Thranduil, but none of the wisdom or decency. Thranduil lived every day, with every thought he had laid bare to a father that was no better than a tyrant. He was hit, constantly. And some of those times, he was beaten enough to send him near to perishing. Or, you tell me; you’re the doctor. What do you think you have to do to an elf, physically, to send one to bed hurt so badly that they are unable to rise for three days? Because that’s what happened to him, more than once. While I do not know everything either, I will flatter myself that I am skilled at filling in missing information. It is my belief that when Thranduil met Lorna, she was as broken and helpless against the abuse she suffered as he had been then. Except, now he saw someone he could help. He could give her her life back, give her a chance to be something else. Give her, what no one could give him in his youth. And he did. Their fathers are their shared experience, and under no circumstance will I try to take that away from him. But you did not know. Now you do. And, give me the goddamn sword,” she said, holding her hand out for the blade, her own now completely lowered.

 

That...Jesus fucking Christ, that explained  _ everything _ . Ratiri didn’t so much hand the sword to Earlene as drop it, and sank to the floor. He’d wondered so much why the pair were so close, but he never, ever would have guessed it was  _ that _ . And now he’d said… What the hell had he  _ done _ ? “She always said he was like her brother,” he said, toneless and quiet. “I never did quite understand why.”

 

Silently, Earlene picked up the sword and walked both of them back toward the table, where they were deposited with a noisy clatter before she turned to try to undo some of the devastation her words just caused. That was when the heavy door burst open forcefully, fetching Earlene a sickening blow to her elbow, and Thanadir stormed in. This was beyond pain this was...some kind of freakish misery of the nervous system that took her breath away.  _ Not now not now not now _ , she gritted her teeth. This was a bleeding, raw moment emotionally for Ratiri, and if things like this weren’t fixed immediately, they might not get fixed at all.  _ I want to find whoever calls this a ‘funny bone’ and kill them, slowly, _ she thought, trying to master herself.  _ This conversation has to move forward _ , and with an iron will she ignored her...whatever, the damn thing was probably broken. “Yes, Thanadir?” She did her best to speak without sounding like her underwear was on tight enough to cut off her circulation. Seconds slipped by without his answering, his eyes registered confusion, and there really was not the time for this. “Stay and help or leave, meldir. But if you choose to stay, you must read my thoughts,” she spoke at barely a whisper, hoping that only his ears would be acute enough to hear.

 

He shook his head. “Come with me, Earlene,” he said sternly, tugging at her injured elbow in his ignorance.

 

It took all she had not to do something she would regret terribly, like aim a kick at unmentionable places on his anatomy. The pain stabbed through her... _ just, fuck my life _ . Turning on him, she literally dug in her feet. “NO. I am not going anywhere, do not ask me again.”  _ Why are you doing this _ ? was what she wished he could hear. How she hated that he could not easily read her thoughts! 

 

“Earlene, you. will. come. with. me,” he said in the most threatening tone she had ever heard from him. 

 

_ This is not happening _ . Except, it was.  _ Being mortal sucks _ , she concluded, before rounding on him completely. 

 

“You are not my King, Thanadir, and I have told you No for the last time. In fact last I checked, I am  _ your _ Queen. You will do as I have asked, or leave. There is no further discussion.”

 

Two very angry faces locked eyes for several seconds. To her very great surprise, he bowed his head and left. Thranduil had to have had a hand in this, because she had fully expected to be hauled off her feet and removed.  _ Please tell him why I had to do that _ , she begged to thin air. Now she felt horrible inside  _ and _ out. Spiffy.  _ FUCK MY LIFE _ , she screamed inside of her head, even as the door closed. Returning to Ratiri, she sat next to him, injured elbow away from any more marauding, and somehow gained inspiration. “I don’t suppose you remember the colossal lecture you gave me when I was in the dumpster, about not feeling guilty about things you can’t control?” she asked.

 

“I do,” he said, though his eyes were fixed on her elbow. There had been a definitive  _ crack  _ when the door hit her; she needed that seen to. That she’d ordered Thanadir out like that...he’d never yet heard such a tone from her. Or from Thanadir, for that matter. Why in God’s name had he followed? Surely he hadn’t thought Ratiri would actually  _ hurt  _ Earlene? Ratiri had never, no matter how angry he was, ever laid hands on a woman, and he never would. Even amid everything else, part of him was vaguely insulted. But then, perhaps Thranduil had thought Earlene would try to hurt him, in which case  _ she  _ ought to be insulted. Save for the occasion she’d mauled the living hell out of Von Ratched, she did not seem the sort to just attack someone, no matter how angry she was. Defend, yes; attack, no.

 

“Good,” she said. “That saves me the trouble of having to dish it back at you, because it’s not any different. Look, I can take a few guesses at how you feel right now. We’re both resident humans here, and that means we feel human things. We act on incomplete information on occasion, make choices that perhaps aren’t the best, and have emotions that are uncomfortable because we can’t really help ourselves. I’ve screwed up royally, no pun intended, more than once and it hasn’t been for the last time. It’s what people  _ do _ , Ratiri. Straightening it out might feel awkward, but we all love each other even if we’re sometimes crap at saying it. If you’re worried about Thranduil, don’t be. He is strong, and...beautiful. On the inside. He doesn’t hold grudges and I’d guess he would prefer to have all of us back to normal. Whatever that even is,” she snorted, hoping desperately that her tentative attempts at humor would gain some kind of positive response.

 

Ratiri bowed his head, dread curling through him. “Lorna’s never going to forgive me,” he said, the words little more than a whisper. “Ever. And I wouldn’t expect her to. What I said...Thranduil might not hold grudges, but she does. She can hold them until the end of time.” She might not be able to kick him out of the Halls, but she’d surely kick him out of their room, and possibly out of her life, insofar as she could. And he’d deserve it.

 

His face was carefully studied. “Well, I’m glad you got that out. But it’s rubbish, because no such thing is going to happen.” Her arm came around his back, pulling him against her, though she mostly kept looking straight ahead. “Would you like the reasons why listed alphabetically, or numerically? Or would you prefer to just walk back and trust me that that is absolutely not going to be the case?” The intent behind her eyes held not a whisper of a hint of anything being a joke. If she had to beat someone into next week, then she would. Yes, indeedy.

 

He was very careful not to jar her, so as not to move her elbow. “You don’t know Lorna like I do,” he sighed. “Once she’s betrayed, she...freezes. The person who did it is...she builds a wall. How can you give me even one reason she wouldn’t do that to me? The fact that she loves me just makes it that much worse.”

 

“I can give you four reasons,” she said, releasing him and rising to her feet. “One. In case you hadn’t noticed, Lorna is changing. Two and Three. You have children together and there is simply no way, no way on earth, that she is going to put something this goddamn petty ahead of her children having two loving parents. And perhaps the most important of all, Four. Earlene said so.” The look on her face begged him to try to differ.

 

That actually managed to draw a smile from him. A slight smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I’m somehow not sure the fourth would hold much sway with her, but I’m trusting you,” he said, rising as well. “And I’m fairly sure you broke your elbow -- or Thanadir broke it for you. Try not to move it.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,” she smiled, wondering if she was any good at lying whatsoever. “Now come along, my list of people I have to apologize to today is already stacking up.” She offered him the grip of her right hand, to drag him up off the ground.  _ Hey, that arm works just fine _ , she reasoned.

 

Ratiri didn’t bother calling bullshit on  _ that _ , mainly because Thranduil would fix it in due course anyway. “It’s not as long as mine,” he sighed, letting her pull him to his feet. In truth, part of him dreaded facing Lorna -- she might not realize it, but she could do the sad eyes just about as well as Thanadir, so long as she wasn’t doing them on purpose. (When it  _ was  _ on purpose, she really did look like a serial killer.) It didn’t help that she was tiny and adorable. Making her sad was like kicking a kitten. A kitten with razors for fangs, but still.

 

He couldn’t help but laugh slightly. “I have to admit, I couldn’t fully believe Lorna when she said she wasn’t at all attracted to him, because I’m about as heterosexual as they come and even  _ I  _ realize he’s very pretty. But if she truly does see him as some kind of brother, that would explain it.” And he really had been baffled by her seeming total indifference to Thranduil’s appearance, mainly because, well, the man -- Elf -- was aesthetically pleasing, and Ratiri was not blind, nor was he insecure enough in  _ that  _ sense as to be unable to recognize that fact. Lorna was a heterosexual woman -- so far as he knew, anyway -- and she was so often around a very attractive man. Elf. Whatever. Simple biology ought to dictate there would be  _ something  _ in that...

 

Earlene chortled. “Well, you and I would agree, but not her. We had this conversation long before you came along, in one of those Girl Talk moments. None of the elves are attractive to her. For starters, they are too pale. And her exact assessment of Thranduil early on was that she felt he was ‘creepy’. So, you can do what you will with that.”

 

That actually made Ratiri really laugh. Trust Lorna to be possibly the one woman on Earth to find Thranduil creepy. Admittedly, his eyes  _ were  _ a touch unsettling, but still. That she felt so filled him with relief, followed by guilt that he  _ was  _ relieved. He knew he shouldn’t have doubted -- and honestly, he hadn’t, not really. Logically he’d known he had no reason at all to, but humans were not purely creatures of logic. He’d need to be a Vulcan for that. “I would hazard a guess that she’s the only straight woman on Earth who would think so.”

 

They reached her chamber door and she took another deep breath, wondering at the complete silence she’d had from Thranduil this entire time. Though, he did not always elect to speak with her at a distance. That was the hard part; the choice was always his, and unlike her husband, she did not have the (she hesitated to use the word, but in this instance it applied) luxury of knowing the emotional landscape of a room prior to entering it. In an excess of caution, she turned to Ratiri. “Just to be on the safe side, give me a moment first just in case speeches are required.” 

 

Three of them sat there. Thanadir did not look up at her. And the glassy-eyed smiles from Lorna and Thranduil and the bottles in front of them _ ….oh fucking hell. And yet… _ she took a moment to clear her throat, her expression carefully neutral. “So.” This seemed to be a time to keep it...clear and concise. “I’ve talked with Ratiri. Things are cleared up for the moment. If he comes in here, can we all be not mad and at least agree to talk about any prickly feelings until a little later?”

 

Thanadir did not look up but nodded. Thranduil smiled beatifically, and Lorna just looked relaxed and pleased.  _ He gave her goddamn elf-wine, didn’t he? _ On the other hand, that might have been the best idea ever.

 

_ Meluieg _ , came through in a rather fuzzy voice.  _ Forgive me for...this. You must be told that Lorna somehow never heard what Ratiri said. About…’what other secrets have you been keeping’. Please, she must never know… _

 

Only the slightest nod betrayed that she had heard anything. Well,  _ that _ was important information.  _ There is nothing to forgive, Thranduil.  _ Exiting again, she looked at Ratiri, who embodied the expression ‘on tenterhooks.’ “Ah, do not ask me how, but, this turned out golden. My husband heard and understood the entirety of your words but somehow, Lorna did not. The thing you are most worried about sailed over her head completely. I realize the bitter irony of what I am about to say, given that this entire upset had to do with keeping information from each other but...she cannot ever know. Or at least, not until she has had more chance to grow as a person. Can we agree to call this A Very Fortunate Thing, and keep our silence?”

 

Ratiri was unspeakably relieved. “No, she can never know,” he agreed. “It would hurt her needlessly. I don’t want her to suffer for my own idiocy, now or ever. This is all on me, and I’ll never tell her.” For all Lorna could be unfortunately perceptive, she could in some ways be quite blind, and that she was so now was a blessing beyond measure.

 

“Good. Then we will go in.” Earlene turned unexpectedly, and reached to hug him very tightly. “Thranduil will not hold anything against you. We can all learn from this, and move on now.” If he noticed that she did not reach around him with her left arm, at least he had the decency to keep silent on the matter. “I have a problem of my own, in there. I desperately need to apologize to Thanadir, which I hopefully can take into the parlor or bedroom. Oh, and I forgot to mention. Thranduil and Lorna are mostly drunk. Maybe half or three quarters off their arses, instead of completely.”

 

Ratiri hugged her back, but carefully, avoiding her elbow. He had no idea how Thranduil could manage not to hold it against him, but he would trust Earlene -- she knew him better than probably anyone else left in this world. “Of course they are,” he sighed. In that, unfortunately, the pair of them were also far too similar; when stressed, they turned to drink. Then again, given the people he himself had grown up around, that was hardly unique to them.

 

When he entered the room, Lorna held up her glass -- her nearly empty glass. Her eyes were bright and shining with wine, and he thanked any deity that might be listening that the meaning of his horrible words had sailed right over her head.

 

“Drink with me, to times gone by,” she sang, remarkably in-key for someone so heavily sloshed. “Sing with me, the songs we knew. I’m sorry, allanah. I should’ve told you.”

 

Ratiri went and knelt beside her chair, pulling her down into his arms. “Don’t ever apologize for that, Lorna,” he said, resting his cheek against her hair. “Ever. You did nothing wrong at all. I’m just an insecure moron.”  _ Thranduil, I am so, so sorry _ , he said.  _ I’m human and stupid, and I let my insecurities make me even more stupid. _

 

“You smell good,” Lorna said, pressing her forehead against the side of his neck. Ratiri shut his eyes, knowing how very easily he could have destroyed everything he had with her. No matter what Earlene said, Lorna would have frozen him out, because she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t know any other way to be. She trusted him implicitly; to know that he had, even subconsciously, not returned that trust...she’d never forgive him. She might  _ try _ , for the sake of their children -- Earlene was likely right in that -- but she wouldn’t manage it. Not really. To so thoroughly betray her trust -- yes, if not for her blindness in this matter, he would have wrecked it all. And if knowing that made him hug her a little tighter...well, she was drunk. She might not even notice.

 

_ You are not angry with me now?  _ He heard from Thranduil, whose blue eyes were fixed on him with a glassy sheen.  _ I never meant to come between you and her. I do not...understand.  _ The voice turned into something almost maudlin, were it not for the fact that it was obviously sincere.

 

_ I shouldn’t have been angry at you to begin with _ , Ratiri said wretchedly.  _ You didn’t come between us.  _ You  _ didn’t do anything -- that was all me. Humans...can be insecure, jealous idiots. You’re so much better than me at everything that I didn’t understand why she would want me, and it made me paranoid. I knew it was stupid of me, but Insecurity, thy Name is Human. _

 

_ I am not...I only wanted for all of us to be happy. Maybe later, I can try to understand and learn. For the moment, I wish to feel relieved.  _ A smile washed over his features in the form of a too-large grin.

 

Ratiri wasn’t sure he deserved how lucky he’d got. He’d been a damned idiot, but he wasn’t paying as he ought to, and for that he could only be grateful.  _ Lorna does not want to murder anyone _ , he said.  _ And by ‘anyone’, I mean ‘me’. I guess you ought to feel relieved you won’t have my guts on your floor? She’s short, she’s the perfect height to gut someone our size. _

 

Earlene looked on in fascination realizing, if nothing else, her husband’s awareness was muted or nonexistent. He would never knowingly leave her in her current state of pain, unless he could not perceive it.  _ Oh, dear. And if he is that bad off, do I even want his help? What if it is like...Harry Potter or something, and he does a Gilderoy Lockhart and removes my arm bones?  _ Well, there was one other option. “Thanadir, will you follow me please?”

 

Refusing to meet her eyes, Thanadir followed her into the bedroom, standing stiffly. As she shut the door, for the first time today there was a sense of not knowing what to say. “What does  _ my Queen _ require?” he all but hissed.

 

Squeezing her eyes shut, it had just become obvious that Thranduil’s oblivion had also encompassed her request to speak to the seneschal on her behalf.  _ Just, wonderful. _ Her voice held all the humility she could muster, as she stood in front of him and gently grasped his left hand. “That you would please listen while I explain why I felt forced to speak to you so horribly and with such disrespect, because there was a reason. I hope never to be in a similar situation again. That you would hear me, when I ask your forgiveness. And lastly, that you would somehow help me with either medicine or your abilities, because I think you broke my arm with the door when you entered the practice room. It hurts very badly. My husband is...drunk. I do not know if it is wise for me to ask his help.”

 

The old elf sighed audibly, and some of the tension left his frame. His long fingers hooked under her chin to raise her eyes to his, studying her face.

 

“I am truly sorry,” she whispered to him. “But it was the only chance to turn Ratiri’s thinking around on all this mess and you came in at exactly the wrong time. If I had gone with you, nothing would have been solved and it would have left Thranduil with a disaster he did not know how to manage. You could not hear my thoughts and I did not know what else to do. I was half out of my mind with pain. Please, meldir. I did not want to say those words to you.”

 

He still did not speak, but his features softened, and his thumb brushed her cheek as he released her face, turning his attention to her arm. The misshapen left elbow was swelling badly, and a dark purple bruise spread out from where the door had struck it. A soft gasp came, when he saw this. It was beyond his skill to heal, and yet he might be able to help with the pain. Leaning down, he placed a hand on her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “We will speak further on this after you are healed, because there is much I do not understand.”

 

Earlene was not fooled; some anger still suffused his voice, and he withheld his forgiveness. But that he would listen probably meant that she could feel hopeful of the outcome. Or, that he needed more time to move beyond how he felt just now. “Yes, my Lord.”

 

The faintest twitch of a smile appeared at a corner of his mouth, had she been looking up to see it. “Sit, please,” he gestured to the wingback chair, as he grabbed a soft cushion and helped ease her elbow onto it. His healing energy gave some relief; the stabbing pain was now more of an strong ache. It was all he could do, without Thranduil or their cordials...but she was with child now, and he did not have his King’s skill. That left only one option.

 

“Please come with me,” Thanadir asked his bleary-eyed monarch, feeling less than completely confident about whether this effort would meet with success. The King reacted slowly, but react he did, especially when the reason for the request was silently communicated.

 

Probably no one noticed the flicker in his eyes that signaled a deep sense of shame. He had taken a coward’s way out of his problems, and left himself unaware of much that had transpired. His wife now suffered for it. The realization of her circumstances did quite a lot to sober him, though it was obvious enough to at least Thanadir that he was not at his best. His empathy toward Lorna did not mean he had the right to adopt her emotional solutions. The regret he felt for his inebriation doubled at the sight of her arm, and he knelt next to her. “Meluieg, I am so sorry. You took it upon yourself to solve my problems for me and in return I neglected you.”

 

“No. I don’t want to hear it. You have a right to have feelings and bad days just like anyone else. But this does hurt, and if you could help me without...you won’t grow a third arm or anything, will you? My King,” she added deferentially, though mirth and warmth were in her expression.

 

“I do not deserve you,” he whispered, as he directed Thandir to slowly and carefully pull on her wrist to extend her limb. His hands folded over the injury and she moaned in relief, to have all the pain finally vanish.

 

She shook her head No, vigorously. “Please, Thranduil, do not speak like that. And, thank you. I do not think you understand what happened, with Ratiri. It may be that I owe you a far greater apology. I solved your problem, but I took it upon myself to break a confidence. The only way he was going to gain the needed insight was to learn about Oropher. I told him, without your permission, and I hope you can pardon me for it.”

 

Thranduil shook his fuzzed head. “It is of no consequence. I should have spoken to you, perhaps…” he trailed off. “It can be so hard, Earlene, to have to know everything about everyone, even things I cannot hope to understand. And when what I know is that someone I care for almost despises me for reasons I…” a sob of grief escaped him. “I should not have had the wine, I cannot ever be like this…”

 

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, tugging with all her might to bring him closer, her expression pleading with Thanadir to help; Thranduil was far too heavy for her to lift. The seneschal eliminated the entire problem by simply carrying him to the sofa, where the King was deposited between them. “It’s fixed, Thranduil. You’ve felt a great deal of stress and you’ve had too much to drink. I don’t know who told you that you have to be perfect every day of the year but...I’m sorry, that’s ridiculous. This whole thing was just a series of...human misunderstandings and...shite, please pardon my coarseness. You’re going to find that we have some emotions that you may not comprehend, but there is usually an explanation.” Earlene held his hand, slightly miffed at Thanadir for not saying something reassuring to her husband. But the more she considered... _ what is he supposed to say? Good job being drunk, my King? Maybe this is one of those no-win situations for him _ . 

 

Blinking at the fire led to Thranduil’s eyelids slowly drooping as he slumped more against Thanadir. Not paying attention, she habitually rubbed his hand with the pad of her thumb in a slow circle, lost in her own thoughts. Until she looked up, to see Thanadir cradling him, now that he was sound asleep. And carefully stroking his head. Every part of her wanted to melt. The seneschal could stay mad at her for the next decade and it would not matter, for the affection and kindness he was showing now. Turning her head away, she looked back into the flames, not wanting to stare or make the old elf feel self-conscious. After many more minutes, she let out a great sigh and rose. Catching Thanadir’s eye, she began to lift and turn her husband’s legs onto the sofa, so he could sleep where he was. They both moved quite slowly, but soon enough a pillow was under his flaxen hair and he rested peacefully. Only then did Earlene remember Ratiri and Lorna.  _ This day is already shot _ , she told herself.  _ No one is going to do anything useful this afternoon, after all that. _ And yet Lothiriel and company would be caring for the children for some hours yet, making it effectively free time.

 

“I would like to continue our conversation, Earlene,” Thanadir said, his face unreadable.

 

Earlene opened the bedroom door to find the next room empty. Apparently Ratiri had reached the same conclusion, or perhaps Lorna too had fallen asleep. Either way, they obviously had returned to their own rooms and, that was likely for the best just now.

 

“Perhaps out here, so we do not wake him?”

 

A curt nod preceded him closing the bedroom door, and sitting next to her on the sofa, as she made every effort not to feel unaccountably nervous. This day had already been more than enough. After what felt like a solid hour of weirdness, Ratiri, and more weirdness, her emotional reserves were wearing thin.  _ But I’d rather fall apart with Thanadir than the others. Just, dammit…  _ Without even realizing it, she was trembling from...nervousness wasn’t the word. Stress, perhaps was. 

 

“Earlene, why are you shaking?” Thanadir asked. He hesitated for a moment, and then placed his arm around her.

 

“I do not know, completely. Sometimes I become anxious, even though that is not really what I mean exactly. Maybe, overwrought. I would rather that the past hour had not happened. Though I extinguished one proverbial fire, it feels like two other problems started in its place. And you being angry with me is one of them,” she concluded, unhappily bowing her head.

 

“I was more vexed with you, before you spoke to the King. You are very compassionate. I did not expect you to...I thought you would be upset with him, for the wine.”

 

“He is angry enough with himself,” she said. “I think you realize that Thranduil and Lorna are much alike, in some respects. But one of the major differences between them is that Thranduil has had the weight of duty for longer than human civilization has existed, whereas Lorna more or less can be concerned only for herself and those near her. Just once, he wanted to put duty second. How can I possibly criticize him for that? I do not know if you elves have a similar saying, but we often say ‘I am only human.’ We are very able to make mistakes. And, was this even a mistake? He was coping with some difficult feelings for who knows how long, and wanted not to suffer from them for awhile.”

 

Thanadir listened carefully. “Is that why he felt bad about Ratiri? I am very confused. I was sent after you, Earlene, shown images of both you and he with swords drawn and very angry. I heard the clatter of metal and came in only to...Thranduil would not answer my questions. And I never could have imagined you would say what you did, to me.”

 

Earlene pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling generally miserable. “I am so sorry, Thanadir. From the first day I was told I was wed to Thranduil, I could not ever imagine saying that either. I felt desperate for you to listen to me, but I could not say a word about  _ why, _ because Ratiri was right there and it was a very fragile moment. Meldir, I never want this to happen again. What am I to do, when I must have you understand something I cannot speak aloud? How am I to tell you without words? Usually Thranduil always bridges these problems. I begged him, the moment the door closed, to explain to you why I had spoken like that. But you were not told, because he never heard me. I feel very bad, about this.” Another involuntary tremor ran through her.

 

He sighed. These observations and questions were entirely valid; there were going to be times Earlene knew something he did not, and would feel compelled to act a given way. “I do not want to plan for my King failing again in this regard,” he said with visible reluctance. “And yet now that I hear this...perhaps you and I need some manner of signal between us, that means, ‘I know something you do not, you must do as I ask.’”

 

“That would have averted a great deal of trouble,” she agreed, leaning against him, trying to regain a sense of calm. “But what, that isn’t obvious to another?”

 

“Pull on your hair. Or I will pull on my hair. You never do this as an idle habit, nor do I.”

 

Her eyebrows arched. Yes, it would draw her notice, were he to do that. “Very well, I can do this.”

 

“You are still shaking, Earlene.”

 

“I am trying not to. And I think I owe you the full story now. That is what you wish to understand, is it not?”

 

“Yes,” he said, moving to hold her tighter. “Earlene, I accept your apology. Please do not let any of your feelings be on my account. And I am sorry, that I broke your arm.”

 

This made her choke and cough, because at that point pretty much all her feelings were on account of him, and sheer frustration with the entire situation. A glass of water was gratefully drunk down.  _ Sure god, I think I need a nap too, right after I get through this.  _ He seated himself again, and watched with amusement as she tucked up her knees over his lap, trying to sort out her uncooperative windpipe. His hand began to knead at her shoulder, which he noticed seemed to help. “Alright. So, I do not know exactly why it started or how long it has been going on, but apparently Ratiri began to feel jealous of Thranduil. Do you know this word?”

 

The elf nodded. “But I cannot understand what is meant, really.”

 

“I am not certain that elves can. But in your case, because I know more of you...when you told me about Erestor. Do you remember how you felt, when you feared you would be replaced?”

 

“Yes,” he whispered, as if he could ever forget the overwhelming ugliness of that gnawing dread and uncontrollable hostility.

 

“Well, if you could imagine those same feelings, being so afraid of losing something that matters to you, and the sense that you would do or say almost anything to keep that sense of being threatened as far away as possible, that is what jealousy is for a human. Except for us, most people are jealous over relationships, not positions...though the latter can happen too.”

 

Thanadir stared ahead, as his fingers kept patiently working. “But Thranduil would never...do you mean to say that Ratiri believed he would lose Lorna to the King?” The words dripped with the incomprehension of something so unfathomable that he struggled to speak them.

 

Without realizing it, Earlene leaned back into the pressure of his fingers. “This is where it becomes very nuanced, because the answer is both Yes and No. There are times we think with what feels like two minds, that can be working at opposite purposes. Our mind that is governed by our rational thoughts, and our mind that is driven by our emotions. Perhaps you elves are the same; you would have to tell me. Ratiri’s rational mind knew that this was absurd, even as his emotions could not stop him from feeling jealous. He sees that our King can read thoughts, heal illness, and has powers. So Ratiri  felt that by comparison, he could not matter to Lorna as much as Thranduil. And so these feelings grew and maybe worsened, and then today’s conversation happened. He had all the underlying anger of his jealousy and then he learned he was excluded from knowing something, and that Thranduil’s decisions were at the root of what  _ his _ partner had chosen to do. This was when you saw his outburst.  What you did not see was me arguing with him about his words and demeanor, and finally asking him if he knew what Lorna and Thranduil had most in common. He did not know at all, and you walked into the room seconds after I finished telling Ratiri about Oropher. This missing information cast all his fears into an entirely different light. I had to stay with him, to finish guiding the conversation I had provoked.”

 

Thanadir’s lips were parted. “Turn away from me, so I can do this properly,” he asked. “I need some moments to reflect on what you have said.”

 

“I am delighted to obey you, Hîr vion,” she said, glancing at him with mischief.

 

“You are incorrigible, Earlene. Now shush.”

 

Disinclined to be cheeky any longer, she pulled a large pillow to her chest and hugged it as she melted into his soothing touch. When she was all but dozing, he spoke again. “Now what does he do? If I were Ratiri, I would feel very bad. I  _ did  _ feel very bad.”

 

“That, I cannot say exactly, but it is between him and Thranduil, who I do not believe will hold any kind of grudge. I think it made the King terribly sad, to see these feelings in one he calls a friend, while needing to disregard them and keep all this to himself on account of privacy. I cannot imagine carrying that around. No wonder he wished to drink. And there is one last thing, meldir. You perhaps heard Ratiri say aloud to Lorna the words, “God knows what else you keep from me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No mention should ever be made that that was ever spoken, above all not to Lorna.”

 

“I will do as you ask, but why? She was sitting with the rest of us.”

 

“Because the King informed me that somehow, Eru and all the Valar be praised, Lorna did not hear it. Or did not register the words. The point is, Lorna does not forgive. She does not know  _ how _ to forgive. And had she truly heard what was said and considered the accusation that was meant, we would all be having a much, much worse day.”

 

“How can anyone live with others and not forgive?” he whispered, appalled. “If my King had not forgiven me...I could not have…” he could not complete his sentence, because in truth he would have faded to the Halls of Námo from the pain of it.

 

“I know. I feel the same way. But you must understand, that part of Lorna was, is...broken. Or at least, this is my best guess, based on the totality of what I have observed. And I think I only realized today how serious a problem this could become. Because honestly, it jeopardizes all of our future. To live with another, knowing that at any moment one might do or say something that is deemed unforgivable...that is very, very bad. What if it were one of her children? What if it was any of us? I do not know for certain, but I suspect that Thranduil has navigated this with her, and somehow narrowly avoided disaster on more than one occasion. It is more of a burden than I believe I could carry. I do not take your willingness to forgive my shortcomings for granted, meldir, but if I knew you might never forgive a mistake made in innocence or frailty...could I be your close friend? It would feel terribly dangerous, and painful.” She sighed, her head bowing into her hands. “I am weary, Thanadir. It feels like it is late at night, though it is barely after noon.”

Seconds later she was being carried to her bed.

 

“This is where I should not protest and do as I am told?” she asked, smiling weakly through eyes that were twitching with fatigue. With the barest smile Thanadir shifted her in his arms and tugged at his own hair, causing something between a snort and a giggle. 

 

“Turn onto your belly, and make yourself comfortable”, he said, drawing a light blanket over her. Later she would question if he had sent her to sleep, because all she remembered were his hands rubbing the tension from her back, and then nothing at all.

 

*****

 

Michael Sandgraust eyed the Manhattan skyline, phone in hand, frowning. Tonight even his cherished view of the Chrysler building, shining like a beacon, did nothing to soothe his annoyance.

 

“Raoul von Ratched’s plane went down off the coast of Ireland weeks ago, and nobody’s heard from him since.” The voice belonged to some jumped-up peon in Von Ratched’s pharmaceutical company, far too young and smooth in a practiced sort of way. “What should we do? We’ve made enquiries of officials, hospitals and morgues, but there’s been no trace of him.”

 

While that was certainly aggravating, Michael could not help a sense of rather baffling relief. “What else  _ can  _ we do?” he asked. “The man left fairly specific instructions.” And though Von Ratched was undeniably creepy, Michael could see little point in denying him his last request. It was weird, but harmless. “Start the clock, I suppose. If he turns up alive, we’ll stop it again.” Somehow, however, Michael could not see that happening. Von Ratched was not the sort to simply disappear -- he had too much going for him here in New York. He would never just walk away from his company.

 

“Will do. I wonder why the hell he wants us to wait twenty years, though?”

 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. It’s in his damn will, and we’re getting a substantial amount of money for it, once he’s officially presumed dead. He can be as posthumously odd as he likes.” 


	61. Sixty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 5, 2017 later that day. Then April 8th. Then April 9th.

 

“You are an angel, meldir. You think of everything,” Earlene gushed, not caring how effusive it sounded. It was true. Not only had he allowed for both her and Thranduil to have some badly needed extra sleep, the foresight to arrange for child care much later into the day had gone along with it. He had sat quietly with them afterward, watching over his family. And when both rose, he perceived his King wished some time alone with his thoughts, and gently suggested to Earlene that they might practice music together. She sensed what the seneschal did, regarding her husband, and stopped only to lightly embrace him and meaningfully tell him that he was loved. A soft kiss and a weak smile returned the sentiment, but his tired eyes were grateful. 

 

In a rare acknowledgement that today had not gone well, he poured himself water, questioning even as the liquid flowed into the vessel whether he had ever chosen other than wine before. With a heavy sigh he settled into his armchair, stretching his long legs. His dull thoughts drifted in disorganized patterns through the events of the day, occasionally stopping on the bright spots of his children, wife, and Thanadir. His reflections on Lorna and Ratiri were somewhat darker. He still could not understand how this had gone all wrong, and that meant there was no guarantee that it could not go all wrong again. Perhaps he had lived too long, been too worn down by time. The much younger version of himself would hardly have given passing thought to something as trivial as the vagaries of two mortal friends. He would not have * _ had _ * two mortal friends. The more he tried, the less his reflections refused to settle into anything resembling a picture. He felt tired, and he felt his thousands of years of life. Perhaps when the time came, the recall to Aman would be a blessing, an end to all of this. His gaze fell on the Bad Elf Award. It made him smile, and at the same time, it was painful to look upon. The ‘plink, plink’ of the harpsichord keys could barely be heard, through the stone walls.

 

Ratiri didn’t think he had felt this wretched in his entire life -- somehow, he felt worse than he had even when he lost both of his parents, because this was his fault, and his alone. He had to talk to Thranduil, painful as that would be; he knew the Elves likely didn’t understand the concept of jealousy, at least in this sense, and he really didn’t want Thranduil thinking this was in any way his fault. He paused at the door, and forced himself to knock.

 

_ Oh Eru, have I not had enough this day? _ Yet he knew the reason for the visit, and that it was best accomplished while his diminutive friend slept on.  _ Come in please, Ratiri. _

 

Despite the fact that he matched Thranduil in height, Ratiri felt very small, and he shut the door quietly behind him.  _ I’ve hurt you _ , he said, not trusting himself to speak aloud,  _ and I’m sorry. I’m an idiot, and you’ve suffered for it, and because I’m not certain you can even understand the emotions I was feeling, I need to tell you that none of it was anything you did. It was all on me. Every single bloody bit of it, was all me. _

 

Thranduil blinked. _ I have tried to understand, but I have not been able to. While I thank you for what you have said, my confusion is not lessened.  _ The brilliant blue eyes seemed quite dull just now, like the sea on a cold and overcast day. And they looked away.  _ I do not want you to think that I am angry. Your apology is accepted. I am not...Lorna, nothing will be held against you. But I feel...tired. Earlene said she told you, about my father. I did not understand how little you knew and by long habit, I do not speak of this others. My first wife did not know. Only Thanadir, for a countless span of years, and then Earlene. And Lorna. _

 

Ratiri sat facing Thranduil, feeling more wretched than ever. “You’ve known very few humans,” he said, “so you probably weren’t aware, until now, of one of our greatest failings. Sometimes, we can’t listen to our logical minds, the part of us that sees reality for what it is -- not if what some of us call the lizard-brain is active. It’s more primal, irrational, and sometimes very hard to ignore. I didn’t understand why Lorna was so close to you -- she’s rather like you, and doesn’t say much, and certainly not about anything that isn’t hers to reveal. She loves you like a brother, and respects you, and...God, this was easier when I was angry, honestly.” He ran his hands through his hair. The raw emotion with which he’d spoken to Earlene had somehow made the words easier to spit out. “Thranduil, you are powerful, and magical, and better at literally everything than I am. That lizard-brain in me wondered what in God’s name Lorna could ever see in  _ me _ , when she knew you. There is no objective way I could ever measure up, and I...honestly, I wasn’t even properly aware of it until earlier.”

 

Some curiosity flickered across his face. “But...she does not even find me to be physically attractive. I have heard myself called a ‘zombie’, ‘creepy’...there might have even been something unkind about ‘glowing’,” he mused with a half-smile. “And perhaps something about ‘being dangerous, and having killed,’” he frowned, following this with a shrug.

 

Ratiri’s eyebrows climbed. No, he had not heard ‘zombie’ in reference to Thranduil. “At the risk of making this conversation even more awkward than it already is, I never quite believed her when she said that, because I’m not blind. You are a very attractive person, and Lorna is, so far as I know, a straight woman, who spends a great deal of time around you. Simple biology should dictate there’d be  _ some  _ attraction, however idle, but according to you, her,  _ and _ Earlene, there just isn’t.”

 

Now he began to shake slightly with repressed laughter, some sparkle returning to his eyes. “If you wish her to run down the hall screaming, mention anything about me in a sexual capacity. Anything at all. Did she never tell you, what she did to Earlene and I in New York? The caterwauling?” The look of bafflement on Ratiri’s face indicated that this was news. “I do not know that it is that important, though it was funny,” Thranduil mused. “If it helps at all, I do not know that I could be a close friend to Lorna were she other than...herself. A wed elf is not capable of turning to another partner, Ratiri, and were she attracted to me in this way, seeing her unavoidable thoughts would be a constant source of discomfort for me. A burden. I do not particularly relish encountering the blatant sexual yearning of others, even when it remains unspoken; I only desire my wife. No, while I appreciate your admiring observations, which do something to restore my self-esteem in this matter, it has ever been as you have been told. It is much the same for Earlene and Thanadir. She loves him, so very much. But not...that way.”

 

Ratiri made a mental note to someday find a way to ask about this caterwauling, because he could picture it all too clearly. “I’m normally so rational, I don’t know why I let myself get so insecure,” he said. “The more time you spend with humans, though, the more you might come to realize that it can be easy for us to feel inadequate, when we find ourselves faced with...well, Elves. You’re better than us at just about everything, and the only things at which we have you beat are things you don’t yet know how to do. I’ve never been afraid Lorna thought of you like  _ that _ , but just as with Elves, there are many ways for humans to love others, and some of them can be stronger than romantic love. And somehow, I got my mind twisted around until I let that insecurity take root.”

 

“What you say is true, from a certain point of view,” Thranduil acknowledged. “But perhaps you do not consider the price we pay for this. We never go to our rest, as your kind do. Have you ever wondered why if we are killed, we do not simply reappear immediately in a new body again, or why the Vala Námo has his duty? What we are is not all it appears to be. Given the choice, a few would ask for it, and many would not,” he said softly, not truly wishing to dwell on this. “Our races are what they are, and I do not regret that I have found friendship with humans.”

 

“I had always thought it was because you sometimes needed time, in the Halls of Mandos,” Ratiri said. “For whatever reason. Grief, or Námo sticking someone in the proverbial corner until they learned how to play well with others before releasing them to Aman.” He shook his head, feeling slightly lighter. “I’m glad the fact that I’m a moron hasn’t made you regret making friends with humans,” he said. “I’m glad Lorna was for once blind. I’m getting off far easier than I deserve, for what I said.”

 

Something about this statement settled poorly, but he was too distracted, too exhausted, to decide what it was precisely. But, it was near the word ‘deserve.’ “We all make mistakes, in relationships. Being an elf grants no immunity from that, believe me,” he smiled kindly. At any other time, he would have pursued something here, but at this moment he could not.

 

“I’m not sure any sapient being would be immune to it,” Ratiri said, a touch dryly. “I just...I wanted you to know that this was all me being stupid. Nothing you did had any bearing on me being totally insecure; you can’t help the fact that you’re pretty, and magical, and can read my wife’s mind while I can’t. And that really was the crux of it,” he added softly. “Even now, try though she does, Lorna isn’t so great at using her words. You know her in a way I never will, and that...I can’t precisely say I’m  _ jealous  _ of that, but saddened. I know that being forced to hear us whether you want to or not can be a source of grief to you, and I don’t envy it at all, but...I love Lorna, and I know there are many things she struggles to give voice to. Things that she tells only you, because you’re the only one who can know without her needing to say them aloud.” 

 

He sighed. “I say that not in excuse, but in explanation. From a purely objective standpoint, you can give her more than I can, and I was foolish enough to let my doubts overtake me. I’m over that. It never should have been there to begin with, and if I’d known it was, I would have done something about it, but it’s over.” Having context had helped immensely; knowing of Lorna and Thranduil’s shared past explained...pretty much everything, really. “And I should let you rest. I’m sure Lorna will wake with a raging morning-after sooner or later, and won’t know to not come poke you about it.”

 

Ratiri rose to leave but heard, “Wait. Would you...stay just a moment longer, please?”

 

Thranduil watched as the man took his seat again.  _ Should I even be trying to come to decisions, right now? _ The King asked himself.  _ This matters, a great deal. _ His eyes wide, he stared ahead. “Ratiri…” he spoke as if in slow motion (which was not far from the truth). “I am not fully myself just now, and I hesitate to say something I may later regret. I need to consider this more, carefully, when all of my wits are about me. Yet all I can think on hearing your words is how I would feel in your place. Unable to know my wife more than another.” The thought alone caused a sense of being struck down, laid low, and profound sadness. “I still cannot ever reveal anything which Lorna herself would not want known to you, or another. But you are right, Lorna is not Earlene, who has such a command of words. I believe I can see my way to a compromise, on this matter. If I see something that I can speak of, something that would help you to understand her better, or care for her better, I will tell you when I can. All I ever wanted was her happiness. To help her to heal even as Thanadir helped me, with what skills he possessed. For perhaps that is the part of the tale you do not know; that my seneschal supported and guided me from being a young ellon all but broken down under the weight of my father’s cruelty to someone fit to rule as a King.” He sighed, feeling if possible more exhausted. “If she is ill when she wakes, tell me. I will help her. And thank you, for showing the courage to come and speak with me. It has helped me, more than you can realize.” They both rose together and Thranduil pulled him into a hug. For the first time since all this began, it seemed as though all might be truly well again.

 

“I was hoping it would,” Ratiri said, “and I’m sorry I made you feel so wretched in the first place. I didn’t know that; Earlene said very little about...your past. Just enough to make me understand.” This explained even more, and he would have to sort through it, when he had the mental energy. He was too raw right now -- something he suspected Thranduil shared. They would all do well for some rest.

 

*****

 

Three days later, on a gloriously sunny morning, their group of five breakfasted before beginning work on the house. For the newfound harmony and happiness that moved between them, the turmoil of their five-way argument had almost seemed worth it; in small ways more closeness had been established. Arguably one of the bigger achievements was that much of Earlene’s reticence toward Ratiri felt absent now. While still being a far cry from how she felt about Thanadir, she was more demonstrative toward him now. Even toward Lorna, in some ways. All were relaxed, and their spirits lifted with the streaming daylight filtering through the forest.

 

Lorna and Earlene had been at another mosaic for the last two hours, and were making tremendous progress at bringing Thanadir’s vision to life. Regardless, at one random moment their eyes met each other in a shared moment of ‘Fuck This’ and by silent agreement they decided to have tea at the cottage.

 

“Maybe it’s the near forty thing. Or the at forty thing. Somehow, kneeling on a hard floor just isn’t the fun it used to be,” Earlene noted. Or maybe it was the tiny pieces, or the concentration needed to make sure that each time, the correct shade of blue was chosen. Or that mortal eyes tired more easily. Doubtless, this stunning artwork meant to make the bathing room floor of Thranduil and Earlene’s living space appear as a flowing stream in diminutive chips of blue ceramic would be lovely and appreciated for decades to come. Right after they didn’t go half-mad from this runaway craft project…

 

“I’ve got the kettle,” murmured Lorna, who kept trying to bend in a backward direction by way of stretching. 

 

Earlene shrugged, and figured she might as well check her computer. A name that seemed familiar and yet not sat in her Inbox. Scanning the screen, a groan escaped her. “Fuck. Me.” Some time ago, pretending that close living with Lorna was not altering the scope of her vocabulary became an exercise in futility. Though, she was very careful to segregate her colorful words to adult-only (preferably human-only, actually) company. Thanadir did not approve of coarse speech and she tried hard to respect his wishes when he was near. Her interest piqued, Lorna meandered toward her and Earlene gently shoved the computer across the counter. “Clearly I did wrong in a past life, and am now being punished. Just...fuck.”

 

Lorna scrolled through the email, and groaned. “Seriously? Christ in a bloody sidecar,  _ that’s  _ inconvenient. Well... _ shit. _ ” The email had been sent from one of Madison’s friends, informing Earlene they’d be in Ireland in a week and would  _ love  _ to drop by to see Allanah. “Okay, now what?”

 

“I don’t see a way out of it. What could I possibly say? ‘You came all the way to Ireland but no, you can’t see your dead best friend’s daughter.’ ‘Oh sorry, it’s a bad time with the house and all for visiting and, don’t trip over the elves?’ Though that’s hardly the real truth. I was told that the lot of them are alternative health nuts and...I really don’t want the visit to degenerate into arguing about that kind of stuff. I’ve met that type, and they’re worse than a Jehovah’s Witness with a quota of magazines to offload. Why me?” Some internal debate was raging about alcohol in her tea but….no. Not without Thranduil right here.

 

“Alternative health nuts?” Lorna asked, hurrying to deal with the shrieking kettle. “I need to keep Ratiri far,  _ far  _ away, or it won’t be an argument so much as him verbally flaying them alive. We need to find out what time they mean to drop by, so I can get him out’v here.”

 

“Are you sure we should?” came the pointed question. “I mean, maybe it would get them out of here faster, honestly. I’ll not be rude to a guest for any reason, I wasn’t raised that way. But if they start in and have no manners themselves, well, I also don’t have to be held hostage in our home.  _ Our _ home, not _ their _ home,” she waxed, lingering for a moment on that delicious grammatical concept of Sindarin pronouns that came with an exclusionary meaning. “But, I also need to remember that these women gave Allanah the only real love she probably had in her early months. It sure as hell didn’t come from Aidan, the gobshite. Besides, it isn’t like they can stay forever, there’s no place for kilometers to rent lodging, right?” 

 

“Baile’s got a tiny inn, but they’re not likely to know that,” Lorna said. “Like as not they’ll be staying in Dublin. Ratiri ought to be fine unless some eejit brings up being anti-vaccination. Then he’s like a bloody rabid hound. It’d be entertaining if it wasn’t so disturbing.” She’d only seen that once, at Big Jamie’s in Baile -- there had been something on the news about anti-vaxxers in America and he’d gone off the chain. Granted, he was also pretty sloshed by then.

 

With a snort that narrowly avoided spraying hot tea at Lorna, Earlene rolled her eyes. “Well, their friend  _ died _ on account of not wanting any ‘Western medicine’ during pregnancy. You’d like to think that would be one hell of a wake-up call about getting their heads out of their arses. So being against vaccination wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Though…” she frowned. “Do our children...need those? With Thranduil? I wouldn’t think so but...here I am going on about all this and I’ve not had my own children vaccinated. Well there’s some fine hypocrisy, though, it isn’t the same. I don’t think.” Lapsing into a brooding silence, she tried to work that one out in her mind while rubbing at her stiff muscles. Ordinarily she’d like the mosaic, if it were on a wall. It was the floor aspect that felt like all the bother; after a while her head felt like it was a bowling ball held up by a popsicle stick. Her neck wasn’t used to hours of that position.

 

“Human vaccines might be bad for them, being half elf and all,” Lorna said. “And aren’t elves immune to...everything?” Earlene might be forgoing alcohol in her tea, but Lorna had no such compunction, and poured a healthy dollop of whiskey into hers.

 

“I don’t actually know,” Earlene said. “I’d guess Thranduil is on account of being Thranduil but...I guess I’d have to ask Thanadir, or one of the others.”

 

“Ask me what?” she heard behind her. 

 

With a noise that was something like a reverse shriek, Earlene dropped her mug of tea which shattered on the floor, sending the drink and bits of ceramic into an impressive arc. For a moment, there was surprised silence as she tried to find words, her heart thundering from having been so thoroughly startled out of her wits. With a dumbfounded look, the presence of mind finally came to ask Lorna if she’d been burned or….anything, before she numbly began picking up the broken pieces. Thanadir immediately began helping her. 

 

“Meldis?” he asked, worried. “What happened?”

 

“Thanadir, you need a bell,” Lorna said, wiping a bit of tea off her face -- fortunately, it had gone from hot to merely warm. Her own heart was hammering, though she hadn’t been quite so startled as Earlene. Setting her tea aside, she knelt to help Earlene with the bits of china. “A really big, loud one, on a string around your ankle. Sooner or later you elves are going to see what heart failure looks like in a human, if you keep being so silent when you move.”

 

Earlene tried, too, returning to her senses and touching him reassuringly. “Most humans have a reaction to being surprised. Some believe we are made this way to avoid danger. Our bodies react to the unexpected presence of another with extreme fright, or anger. It is called ‘fight or flight.’ On some level beyond our reasoning, we either wish to flee, or defend ourselves. It is an unpleasant feeling, but, you did not know. Whereas I am afraid that my husband occasionally feels that provoking this response this is amusing.”

 

Thanadir swiftly adopted an expression of great remorse. “I am sorry,” he said.

 

“Meldir, not the eyes. It is more than I can manage right now. Just, throw me a towel from the counter to mop up the liquid, and I will make more tea.” Rising on her toes, she kissed him on the cheek. Unfortunately, the eyes worked. Unfailingly.

 

“And here I’d wondered for ages if you actually knew what you were doing, when you looked like that,” Lorna said, grinning up at him. “Someday I need to show you the Shrek movies -- you need to see Puss in Boots.” Seriously, they were the sad kitty eyes. How the hell did he do that? She didn’t know, but she wanted to find out. Given Ratiri insisted she looked like a serial killer when she tried them, obviously she was doing something wrong.

 

“I...cannot help it, it is how I look if I feel certain...ways,” he said. “My eyes are the same as my mother’s.”

 

Earlene regarded him, mopping up the last of the mess before expertly throwing the sodden towel across the room in the general direction of the laundry machines. “You have not spoken much of your parents, Thanadir. I do not even know their names.”

 

“Belassiel,” he said softly. “That is my mother’s name.” He had not uttered it in so very long a span of years. “My father is Feredîr.”

 

“Those are lovely names,” she said, suddenly feeling as though the proverbial ground beneath her was unsteady. Sometimes when people did not speak much of their families, there was a reason. Perhaps this was best left alone. “Thank you. Did you want some tea?”

 

“No,” he said. “I came to see if anything was the matter, when I saw that you had left your task. Apparently there was not, until I caused there to be. Lately I am not managing so well, in this regard,” he said, still regretful for having broken Earlene’s arm. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lorna said, giving his arm a squeeze as she passed. “Happens all the time, with us humans. I’ve scared the life out’v Ratiri a few times myself, though he says it’s because I’m so tiny I don’t always register on his radar. That man is so lucky I love him.” She washed her face at the sink, which she could by now use  _ without  _ falling in. “As for how you look when you feel a certain way -- you might not appreciate this, but you’re adorable. You just are, but that’s a good thing. Being adorable is never bad.”

 

Thanadir appeared suitably disturbed. 

 

“You are lovely, meldir,” Earlene added. “It is a compliment. And what she says is true. It is a little like...Tail. We enjoy that he is handsome, soft and fluffy, and yet we do not forget that he has claws and fangs too. Something like that. And, I suppose our break is over. I will reply to these women at lunch, just in case some evasion occurs to me in the next hour or so.” It never hurt, to allow time for epiphanies.

 

“God, there’s a perfect analogy,” Lorna said. “Cats are beautiful and adorable, but they can also maul the shite out’v you if they feel the need.” She doubted Thanadir would appreciate being called a fluffy little murderbot, as she’d seen cats described as online, but the principle was the same. “As for evasions...I’ll give it some thought myself, though I doubt I’ll come up with anything useful.” Privately, she thought telling them everyone at the cottage had the flu was a good idea, but she wasn’t going to say so in front of Thanadir, since he so hated lying.

 

The heavy thrum of an engine could be heard pulling into the drive. “Sounds like Ian’s lorry,” Earlene commented. “Maybe he found the brass fasteners we wanted.”

 

“Mick must’ve been working on his truck,” Lorna said. “Sound a lot better.” There had been a kind of wheezing rattle that was now entirely absent. Wiping the bits of grout on her hands off onto her shirt, she headed out into the sunshine. “What’ve you got for us today?” 

 

She wasn’t certain what was in the boxes, but she  _ was  _ quite sure he had a kitten among them -- a crying kitten, no less. Ratiri had promised her one, but what with one thing and another, he hadn’t had the chance to make good on it. “Is there something tiny and fuzzy in there?”

 

“Aye,” Ian said. “I’m off to the pound with that one. If Mary gets wind of it there’ll be another fuzzball taking over the house. Some arse up the road is keeping a female and can’t be bloody bothered to get ‘er fixed. So every few months a new one or two’v these shows up,” he grumped in annoyance. “John says Earlene her took one herself, that was hanging by the pub.”

 

“There are more’v them?” Lorna asked, even as she was already climbing into the back of the truck. “I want them. All’v them. A big box’v kittens.” The single one already in the box was a tiny little thing, barely old enough to be away from its mother -- a fluffy little tortoiseshell with big, big blue eyes. “Hi you,” she said, kneeling down. “D’you want a new mam?”

 

The kitten looked at her. “Mew?”

 

Aaand her heart had officially melted. She scooped the tiny creature up, wrapping it up in the hem of her shirt. “I’ll save you the trouble, Ian, and if I’ve got to go steal the rest at midnight, I’ll do it.”

 

His eyebrow gave the slightest twitch. “You want ‘em, they’re yours,” he said. “Hell take the mam too, and put a stop to the damn problem. Tell you what. If I get them, I’ll run ‘em out here to you. Takes but two minutes and you’re doing all of us a favor. But no telling Mary?” He truly, truly did not want to have to eat John’s pub food for a month were she to find out.

 

“My lips’re sealed,” she promised, grinning. Mary so spoiled the cats she already had that she really didn’t need to even know more were an option. “Kids should have cats, and if there’s a whole litter, more’s the better.” A very loud rumble was issuing from her shirt -- far too loud for such a tiny kitten. It was going to need feeding, and she hoped Earlene still had a few of Tail’s things at the cottage, or she’d have to make the trek back to the Halls with this little one stuffed in her shirt.

 

Ian was not terribly emotive on the best of days, so it was no surprise that a crooked half-smile and a nod concluded the conversation, give or take the small box of requested hardware being also handed to Lorna. “Good luck,” he said, before moving off to the next errand.

 

“Oh, Earlene, look at that little face.” The kitten had longer hair than most torties, but wasn’t quite a longhair. Its little face was indeed terribly adorable, and its eyes -- Jesus, they reminded her of nothing so much as Thanadir’s. She already knew this kitten was going to get away with everything up to and including actual murder.

 

“Miaolin,” cooed Thanadir, stroking her little chin. 

 

Earlene cocked an eyebrow. Well, it wasn’t orange, but she’d manage. “Better get on the computer right now and start ordering,” she suggested. “Aislinn is finally carrying the decent cat food, but god it took enough pestering. There’s still a litterbox here for Tail and litter too, in the extra room. But there’s not food here anymore, I don’t think. Just at the Halls. Probably someone should pop in to the grocery, she’ll need kitten food and Tail’s on the adult stuff now. We’ll go back for lunch soon enough, might as well have all her things ready to take with us. You can shut her in with the litterbox if you want, and there’s bowls for water.”

 

Quite honestly, Lorna didn’t want to put her down. Not when she was purring like a chainsaw. “God, she’s so _ cute _ . I’ve never really had a pet cat before -- Mairead’s got a few, but they’re sort of everyone’s, and one’v them’s never been quite right since my youngest nephew decided to shave him. D’you want me to put you down, little one?” she asked, even as she made her way to the spare room. Naturally, as soon as she tried to put the kitten down, she started crying. Pitifully. “Oh, sod this.” Back into her shirt the kitten went, where she immediately began purring again. “I guess she gets to hang out with me while I work.”

 

“Pffffft,” Earlene said, laughing. “Let’s not kid ourselves. Have fun with the kitten, you’ll not get any work done with her and she’s just as likely to fall in the grout bucket. Maybe Thanadir or I can run to town for the kitten food, it won’t take but ten minutes with the bicycle. Meldir, can you manage if my break is a little longer? I am happy to do it.”

 

“I want to go with you,” he said plaintively, with an expression exactly mirroring that of the kitten. 

 

_ We’re screwed _ .  _ Now there are two of them, looking like that _ . Aloud she said, “We’ll run, then. It’ll be good exercise. Let me put on different shoes, and we’ll go. Lorna, that gives you a minute to think of what else anyone wants from the grocery,” as she disappeared into her bedroom. Maybe she deserved a chocolate bar. Maybe.

 

What else could they want, aside from cat stuff? It had been absolute ages since she’d had a big bag of nice, greasy crisps, though she wasn’t sure what Earlene would make of such a request, given her views on processed food. Maybe she’d ask for some, like, orange juice or something, to balance it out.

 

The kitten, being an adorable little monster, curled herself up against Lorna’s arm, purring all the while. God, what was she to name the little thing? Something would present itself sooner or later.

 

Earlene came out with loose fitting pants and trainers, somehow managing to still look elegant.

 

“Dandolatham, miaulin dithen,”(we will return, little cat [female]) the seneschal cooed.

 

The two women exchanged a look that clearly meant ‘we’ve lost him,’ before Earlene coughed gently. “Are you ready, meldir?”

 

Thanadir’s reverie broke as he nodded, happily besotted with the little creature.

 

“I’m getting a chocolate bar, do you want something?”

 

“A bag’v crisps,” Lorna said, cradling the kitten. “As salty and as greasy as they come. I’m still not over my enforced rabbit-food diet, but I wouldn’t say no to some orange juice, either. Just to, y’know, balance it out.”

 

With a grin at the overall logic, she stuffed her bank card and some euros into her back pocket. Thanadir followed her out the door, feeling hopeful about chocolate bars and snack foods, as they broke into a light jog. Because many things turned into a good-natured competition between them, they traveled on foot quite as fast as if they both had bicycles. Earlene remembered the comment about kittens, plural, and decided that it would be wise to buy the entire case that sat on the shelf. Aislinn actually had a cheap if poorly made litterbox for sale, which couldn’t hurt, so that went in the cart too. Already there was a large amount of litter, stored in bulk in the barn. That left snack foods. Oh.  _ Oh _ .  _ There are Milka bars _ … Earlene’s love affair with the Purple Cow went back quite a ways. “Thanadir, you will thank me for this, and probably forgive me every transgression for a few years’ hence once you try these.”

 

The old elf now felt very curious,  _ surely nothing could be that good? _ Humans did have a tendency to exaggerate, he had seen. Their return was only a little slower; he insisted on carrying the heavier case of cat food whereas she was equally adamant about running slower in view of the awkwardness of the orange juice and crisps in her bag. At any rate, Lorna soon had salty snacks in her hand, with Ratiri none the wiser. “Just don’t spoil your lunch, rumor says it’s cream of chicken soup today, with beet salad and cheese biscuits,” Earlene grinned. That was another thing about being best friends with Thanadir; he tended to always have foreknowledge of the daily menu. This did not stop her from opening one chocolate bar, and breaking off a large piece for him to try. The simplest one was chosen, just plain milk chocolate. With rapt attention, she watched his every facial expression while Lorna munched her crisps and the kitten batted at the bag.

 

He did not disappoint, his visage becoming reliably beatific when he bit into it and reflected as the creamy flavors passed over his tongue. “This is very good,” he whispered in almost a trance. “Very good.”

 

After enjoying a few glasses of water, leaving time for Lorna to enjoy her snack in peace, she glanced at the clock. “What do you say we just walk back now? We would usually leave in a half hour anyway, and you’ll want time to set up the kitty.”

 

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Lorna said, licking the salt off her fingers. It tasted like secret crime, and she loved it. The kitten, now seated in the pocket of her sweatshirt with her tiny head poking out, purred on, staring at the lot of them with her big Thanadir-eyes.  _ Seriously, this damn cat _ , she thought. Between the kitten and the twins, this might be cuteness overload.

 

The rest of the chocolate bars were hidden, as were the extra crisps, in what they decided would be their Secret Pantry Location, safe from overzealous eyes. Thanadir obligingly insisted on carrying everything but the kitten, with the understanding that all these items were going to Lorna and Ratiri’s rooms.

 

They meandered into the woods, watching Thanadir’s enthusiastic pace increase the distance between them. Earlene bided her time, until the seneschal was well out of what should be even his earshot, and spoke. “So...without wanting to be a Nosy Nellie, has everything been...okay, with Ratiri, since he got upset about the thing with not being told about us leaving?”

 

“That poor bloody  man...yes, they have,” Lorna said. “He got over being pissed at me surprisingly fast, all things considered. Faster than I’d expected.”

 

“Well that’s a relief,” Earlene quipped, trying to decide how, exactly, to phrase the next bit. Which was of course the real reason she was bringing this up in the first place. 

 

“When I was talking to him,” she said tentatively, choosing her words with great caution in the knowledge that there were some gaping omissions necessary to her presentation, “trying to get him to settle down, there was one point where he kind of turned the corner. But he said something, and I can’t get it out of my head. He was terrified, and I mean, really terrified, that you’d be so mad at him for his outburst that...he figured you and he were finished. That you’d kick him out, not want him around ever again. I think I only got him back to the room on a combination of promises I hoped I could keep and reassurances I hoped I was right about. But, it’s bothered me, a lot, to see that he felt that way. People shouldn’t be afraid of their partners. Not like that.” She hesitated again. “I thought maybe you should know. I won’t say any more, and you don’t have to talk about it. But I did want to tell you.” What bothered Earlene was how much tension was now in her own body, just from having said this.  _ How had Lorna gotten to feel like a minefield, exactly? _ Not that it was across the board, because it wasn’t. But it was there, alright. Very much there. Well, she’d said what she meant to say and...unless more was asked, there would be no more on this subject from her.

 

Lorna blinked, stunned. For a long moment, she could say nothing; when she finally managed to speak, she said, “I had no idea he thought I was that unreasonable. Jesus, I hadn’t got any right at all to be pissed at him, no matter his outburst -- I was the one that’d held information back when I’d promised I wouldn’t. I would’ve thought him daft if he  _ hadn’t  _ got angry. Why….why would he  _ think  _ that? I mean, we’ve only ever had a single fight, and I was a hormonal mess and he was at the end’v his rope.” Seriously, what in God’s bloody name would ever have given him that impression? Sure, she might have got a bit snappish while she was pregnant, but no worse than that. “Jesus, what have I ever bloody done that would make him be afraid’v that?” She was actually somewhat insulted, though mostly she was just baffled. Turning over all their interactions in her mind gave her no clarity.

 

Earlene chose to interpret her response as rhetorical, and did not answer. They walked on until they were inside the Gates, and Earlene excused herself on what was a bogus and vague errand. If pressed and followed, she would have gone to the wine cellar and grabbed bottles, but mostly it was a desire to have a few minutes out from under what had become Lorna’s obvious….well, she seemed miffed at Ratiri, now. Her feet took her on a different path home that was just as swift, one Lorna likely did not know.  _ I hoped to provoke some reflection in Lorna, and it appears more that I have managed the polar opposite. Maybe you shouldn’t meddle in what you don’t fully understand, Earlene _ , she told herself as she pushed open the door to their rooms. 

 

“Indeed, maybe you should not,” glowered Thranduil, who stood in their parlor with his arms crossed.

 

With a glance up at him, Earlene kept walking, because she wanted two things. To determine if they were alone, and an extra moment to think. Though she felt mildly insulted by the comment, to an extent, there was no compulsion in her to react strongly. Once in the bedroom, she sat, knowing he would follow. “You are upset with me.”

 

He nodded, his expression unchanged. “I told you of what consequence it was, that she never find out what Ratiri actually said to her, and yet you elect to bring a matter to her attention that rests right on top of it? What am I to say, to this? I trusted your discretion, Earlene, and at the moment I am regretting it.”

 

She accepted the rebuke that was his right to give, but without agreement. “With respect, Thranduil, what you have just said is exactly  _ why _ someone needs to address this with her. I do not pretend to know her as well as you do, but neither am I blind. Yes, the real reason Ratiri was terrified was because he feared that his having accused her of some kind of...emotional impropriety or...I don’t even know what, with you, in a moment of anger, was what would cause the world to crash around his ears. Well, newsflash: Normal people in a healthy relationship are able to and inclined to forgive that, and much more besides. That is what loving partners  _ do _ , they realize that mistakes can be made in ignorance, out of stupidity, because of stress, whatever. And they show love and seek to forgive. But not her. She’s ‘one and done.’ Cross her in the wrong way, say the wrong thing just once, and you’re dead to her, or if not that, she will never view you the same way again. Which in a way is almost worse. There, your punishment hangs eternally, right in front of you. That is not only completely sick, it is a danger to her, her family, and frankly each one of us. There is something deeply, deeply broken with her ability to forgive. I do not see that she takes into account motive, external factors, or anything except some labyrinthine code of honor that frankly I’d guess only she truly understands. Am I so wrong, Thranduil? Because if I am, I will apologize, ask your forgiveness, and never say another word about this.” Her tone of voice had never risen, no anger lurked in her expression. 

 

The King stood frozen. He wanted to argue, command her silence, tell her to mind her own business. But one thing she’d said had to be questioned. “What do you mean, it is a danger?” His voice was not soft, but neither was it quite so...critical. In his own way, he was telling her he would listen.

 

“It is a question of extrapolation. Take this...tendency of hers, and consider it to its logical conclusion. The five of us are building a home together. We already live here. We will have six children, between us. This is a young family; we have made bonds of friendship though no vows or signatures on paper hold us to each other. What will it do, when Ratiri finally does the wrong thing and she casts him out? Imagine her remaining here with us, her children lacking their father. Or, perhaps he lives on within these Halls, in a room of his own. Sad and miserable all the time, on account of the loss of his mate. Who do we have at dinner that night, Lorna or Ratiri, since she will want nothing to do with him? How does that feel for all of us, as the weeks become months and the months become years, and nothing changes because she cannot forgive him? Or, let’s imagine something different. What if it is you, that makes the Great Mistake? Let’s say it’s seven years in the future, when all our children have become fast friends. She will leave here, and insist her family return to Baile. Ratiri will not want to leave us but he will have to. And he will resent her for it in spite of his love, and it will pain him to no end to see his children torn from their friends and the other adults they have come to love. Do you wish me to continue to pose scenarios? When you have one who simply refuses to fully repair a relationship when the hurt was done in innocence or weakness...Thranduil, that is a risk to the happiness and well being of everyone around that person. You know that I love Thanadir. But if he had this in him, I would force myself to turn away. I could not bear it, I could not stand the pain of knowing that he would leave me to suffer in guilt and misery and longing for mercy he would not grant out of sheer stubbornness.” Her head shook, sadly. “I like Lorna, and I care about her. But I have also become afraid of her. Because she seems to me very much like a bomb, and no one knows when it might detonate.”

 

Thranduil listened, sifting all the while the things that had already happened between him and his friend. As much as he wished Earlene were completely mistaken, the truth was, quite the opposite was the case. But...Lorna did not mean to be this way, he knew it in his heart. And yet, she very much was, whether or not she could see it.  

 

Sighing, he sat next to his wife and took her hand. “You are not wrong, though I want you to be.” Absentmindedly, he caressed her fingers. “Meluieg, you see many things. Though I know her better, you have observed with greater accuracy. But what I am not sure you...she is not malicious, Earlene. It is that there are things in her that never had a chance to grow. I will do what I can, since I can see that this falls to me. Perhaps, if I have need of your insight, I could talk to you about this at another time?”

 

“Any time, my Lord. I do not want you to believe I do not care about her. I truly do. But I want our happiness, too. It will be a heavy blow, to invest so much in our friends that are our chosen family, only to have all of it shatter for reasons I will not be able to accept. It is that I am…”

 

“Afraid.”

 

“Yes.” Inhaling deeply, she leaned against him. “Thank you, for being willing to listen to me. I love you, very much.”

 

His lips pressed against her forehead, and for many long minutes, they held each other in silence, seeking reassurance.

 

***********

 

Two days later, Lorna was still deeply troubled.

 

They now had a box containing a mama cat and four kittens, all of whom liked to swarm the twins, then sleep in a pile on hers and Ratiri’s bed at night -- which also meant they occasionally got rolled onto, whereupon they would squeak like mad until the person woke enough to move out of the way. It was cuteness overload.

 

But there was Ratiri -- always Ratiri. The more she watched him, the more she failed to understand how he could have ever thought she’d do such a thing. They really only ever had the one fight, brief as it had been, and she’d very obviously been a walking ball of hormones at the time. Why would he so fear her, over such a small thing -- a thing that was her fault, no less?

 

She wasn’t sure, and when he decided to take the twins to the village, she begged off, citing kittens. The little furballs were content to eat and sleep, however, so she took her knives to the training halls, still wondering just where she’d gone wrong.

 

After she had been at it awhile, Thranduil silently appeared near the doorway, watching unseen. Her throws would be perfection *if* she were fully concentrating on her technique, which she was not. The reason for her lack of focus was obvious to him, and on account of the opportunity and his own obligation, his steps brought him here. “Your left foot is in a different place each time, and affects your release point,” he commented. “Otherwise your abilities have become quite impressive.” With arms crossed, he smiled at her for making a face at him.

 

“Yeah, with a stationary target,” she said. “God help me if I ever had to hit something moving.” Not that she could ever imagine a situation where that would be needed, now that Von Ratched was dead, but still. She hesitated, and had no idea why, since he’d know anyway. “Earlene said something, the other day -- she’d said Ratiri was terrified I wouldn’t forgive him for going off when it was my fault he was pissed to begin with, and I’ve got no fucking clue why he’d think that. I’m actually a bit insulted, but mostly I’m just baffled, because what’ve I ever done, that’d make him think so?” Thranduil would know, if anyone would.

 

His lips parted as he so clearly struggled with how to answer, even though this was the very thing he thought he was prepared to discuss. Finally he managed, “I will try to talk about this, but it is not easy.” It was a weak answer even by his own admission, but it bought a little more time. Because he felt afraid, very afraid, to say too much or to say too little, and to say any of it badly.

 

Well, that was...disturbing. Lorna set her remaining knives down, wondering just what would cause such an ominous reaction from him. “Okay,” she said, a touch warily. “Why not?”

 

“Lorna, I love you. Dearly. But I know what it is to feel the fear of having done something you believe is unforgivable. Something that causes you to lose trust. Because when you decide you do not trust someone else, you cast them out. It is over; like as not that person now has no place in your life any longer. It can very much feel like it does not require much provocation to fall from grace, with you. And it does not take very long, being around you, to realize that your boundaries are not the same as those of most others. Even now, I feel some measure of fear, saying these words. I am afraid to say the wrong thing.”

 

Lorna...really had no idea he’d felt this -- that  _ they  _ had, apparently. She and he had had a fight, yes...one. She and Ratiri had also had a fight...one. She had no history of shouting at her friends, or Ratiri, so what the hell? “Okay,  _ you  _ I can understand,” she said, “given you’ve seen my past and all, but...why would the others think that? I’m serious, I’ve sat and thought and I don’t know what I’m missing, but I’m obviously missing something.”

 

“Lorna, Ratiri has seen the same things I have, though perhaps not in as much depth. Do you not recall that when I caused you to sleep without your permission and he took you home to Baile, it is he whom you spoke with when you woke? Your feelings at the time were not hidden from him.”

 

Lorna grimaced. Right.  _ That _ . “I was pissed, sure, but I didn’t, y’know, threaten to kill you or anything,” she said, and paused. “Is -- I didn’t shout or anything. I didn’t think my anger was that...scary, to others.” Not anymore, at least; yes, the gang had feared her when she went blank, but that was something else entirely. That was alien rage, not old-fashioned human anger. She hadn’t known, and it disturbed her now.

 

“Lorna,” he said softly, “it is not about whether you demonstrate anger or threaten. It is what comes after. It is that you...you do not forgive, Lorna. If you are provoked in a certain way, it does not matter what the motivation of the person was, or whether they express remorse. It is that this or that was done to you, and that’s the end of it. You now do not trust them, and, that’s it. If their reasons were very good, or if they are someone you regard very highly, perhaps it is somewhat harder to be written off. But no one is immune. Most people do not...they do not do this to each other, Lorna. They invest in relationships, and if they are damaged, they look for reasons to forgive, and heal, and grow. But you make it somewhat plain that you are content to stand alone, and will happily enough close yourself off behind a wall and continue on alone, should that other person violate your standards. I will be honest, it is a hard thing with which to live. As if a blade always hovers, ready to drop with finality should the hand that holds it decide it is time.”

 

There were so many things she could say to that that she could give voice to none of them; instead she crossed the floor, beckoning him to follow, and hopped up to sit on a table. People who hurt you badly enough could never be trusted again, right? If they’d done it once, they’d do it again. If you forgave them, it proved to them that you were weak, that they could just walk all over you again -- could, and would. “I...you can read my mind, Thranduil,” she said, looking up at him. “You know how hard it is to get to that point, with me -- I mean, you’ve got to  _ really  _ fuck up. How can...I mean…” Her thoughts were such a tangled snarl. “Doesn’t everybody do this? Doesn’t everyone have their line in the sand?”

 

He shook his head, sadly. “Not like you. Lorna, what you just thought but did not put into words...that if people hurt you, it means they cannot be trusted because they will simply do it again, and that it is weak to forgive...that is the crux of the problem...it is a recipe for how to destroy others. How to kill love. That is a reasoning that belongs to a world where only evil exists all around you. I can understand why you have this belief; you adopted this thinking to survive.” He paused. “Whether to forgive another or not...there are indeed times when someone no longer deserves forgiveness. But it is not a simple line that someone crosses, or an exact formula. And that is the thing, Lorna, it is really  _ not _ that hard, to get to that point with you. It can be managed with words alone, if they are the right words.”

 

“When has anything someone said made me cut them off?” she asked. “I mean, other than people I didn’t give a shit about.” She was...terribly off-balance. She’d fought with Mairead countless times, and even with Big Jamie, but they were still in her life, and to her knowledge, they didn’t fear her… She looked up at Thranduil. “But how can you trust someone again, once they’ve betrayed it? I mean...I seriously don’t know how.” She couldn’t even imagine it. Obviously you had to  _ want  _ to, but she wasn’t sure how even that would be enough. How could you do it? Was it something you could force?

 

“ ‘Other than people you didn’t give a shit about…’ ” Thranduil echoed. “I do not know if you can understand that to those around you, the only difference in your behavior, according to your own words, is whether you give a shit about them? And then one is left to wonder, if you give enough of a shit? You humans have a saying, ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ Meaning, what happens to that person over there could just as easily happen to me because the only difference between what befalls me and them is luck. Or maybe in this case, the grace of Lorna. And dear one, it is simply...forgiveness. This is what forgiveness is. The willingness to overlook, for the sake of love, those who have hurt you in the face of a request for such mercy.” He reached to hold her, heartbroken at the tattered confusion over something that anyone else could understand.

 

Lorna hugged him back, wishing this made as much sense to her as it obviously did to him. “Thranduil, you’re going to have to show me what it feels like, to forgive somebody,” she said, her words half-muffled by his shoulder. Spitting out some of his hair, she added, “I’ve never felt it before. I don’t know what it is.”

 

_ Could this get worse? _ He squeezed his eyes shut. “I cannot, Lorna, because it does not feel like anything. It is...letting go. Letting go of being angry, or blaming. It is choosing to carry on, in your heart, as though a wrong was never done. But it is not the same as condoning a wrong. Neither is it pretending the wrong did not happen, or leaving oneself open to being taken repeated advantage of. Forgiveness is not given for no reason; it is given because it is asked for. I am at a loss how else to explain this.”

 

“I feel...really bloody deficient,” Lorna said, blinking her dry, burning eyes. This seemed obvious to everyone but her… “I’ve fought with Mairead loads’v times, but Mairead’s...Mairead, and in Ireland, if you don’t fight with your family at least once a fortnight, they take your license away. I don’t…” Just what inside her had to be broken, for her to have this problem?  _ Why  _ did it make no sense? Oh, there had been plenty of people in her life she hadn’t forgiven, but none of them had deserved it. They’d fucked her over for their own gain, so she’d had no desire nor reason to forgive them. There was no precedent, in all her forty years, for a situation that would ever be otherwise. “Thranduil, you might -- you might need to do what you did, when you fixed how I went blank, because I’m not sure this is something I can do on my own. I don’t know how. I don’t even have any  _ idea  _ how.” And she didn’t want to find out, too late, that she couldn’t.

 

What the hell had precipitated this? There had to be something she was missing, because the only time any of them had seen her  _ real  _ temper had been Sean, and then just before Thranduil and Thanadir stopped her going blank. Aside from her fight with Ratiri she had not, so far as she could recall, gone off on him or anyone else. Could Thranduil see something in her that she couldn’t? Almost certainly. The others, though… It was always possible Ratiri had talked to Mairead and Big Jamie, but even  _ they  _ had never seen her at her worst. She’d got in some shouting matches with the pair of them, and she’d had to act as what the Americans called a bouncer a few times, when she was first in Baile, but that had just involved hitting unruly patrons with something and chucking them out into the street. Not even proper hits, either; just enough to let them know she was serious, and it didn’t take long for people to stop making her need to. That was just -- well, ordinary life in an Irish village. With Mairead, there had been stretches where they wouldn’t speak, but Lorna had never cut her sister out of her life.

 

If Thranduil saw it, it was there;  _ his _ reaction, she could understand. The others, though -- she honestly felt a touch insulted, that they should so fear her temper on such little evidence. She’d been doing her best to be, well, normal, or as close to normal as she could be. She’d tried to be kind, and reasonable, and she was still getting it wrong, apparently. But Thranduil could help her. She knew that he could, if she let him.

 

“You must understand, my friend, to them it is not ‘little evidence’. You think that each person responds to you only on the basis of what you have ever shown that individual, how you have spoken to or treated just that one. But neither elves or mortals are like this, Lorna. They see the totality of how you interact with everyone; how you are regarded by all. Your ability to express rage and anger is very great, and you access those emotions easily and quickly compared to the others. And it is necessary to step back further. You cannot know what fears or doubts or secrets of their own they have, that affects their view of this. And, you may understand how you feel toward all of them but they do not. Only I am blessed or cursed, with that insight. I am in a difficult place here, because I am not at liberty to simply divulge what the others think and feel. But there is a common thread, and one I can speak about because it is with me too. That I have a dear friend who has become a part of my heart, but carries a great difficulty with forgiveness...I fear being abandoned, Lorna. When people make mistakes, and by people I mean all of us that think and feel, they want to know more than anything that there is a guaranteed chance to earn redemption. A chance to have things return to how they were before. The assurance that no matter what difficult circumstances arise, that their loved one will at least listen with an open heart, actively seeking reconciliation as well.  And that last part is what very much feels like it is missing. 

 

“Though I cannot tell you their stories, Earlene and Thanadir both have much experience forgiving and being forgiven. Ratiri understands much about overlooking fault in others and not taking offense. As do I.” He held her very tightly, rocking her against him. There was a happiness, and a hopefulness growing in his heart, for her. Somehow there had been an expectation of far more anger, and resistance. “This may not all resolve for you in a week or a month, Lorna. But that you are speaking with me, that you want to understand, it means a great deal. I will help you in any way I can. The others will too, if you let them. This is not your fault, and it takes a courageous heart to be willing to see that perhaps all is not as it should be.”

 

“I know they think there’s something broken about me,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Compared to them, I kind’v am. I just...I know Ratiri’s parents were a bit mad, but they loved him, and his life was as close to normal as you could get, where and when he lived. And Earlene -- yeah, her brother was a gobshite and a half, but I know her parents were good. How -- how did you learn it?” She couldn’t look at him as she asked, for she knew it was a terribly personal question, but his background she could understand. It wasn’t a mystery to her, like Earlene’s and Ratiri’s were. Yes, in many respects it was vastly different, but in one in particular it was much the same, only worse, and he’d figured this out, somehow. She couldn’t help but laugh a little, though. “If they think my anger’s bad  _ now _ , I don’t want to know what they’d’ve made’v me before I met you.”

 

“By making mistakes. And by showing love. Even when I have been terribly angry with others, there was never a question that I wanted to show them what love I could, try to guide them toward making better decisions. I have not been perfect, but I have never stopped trying to understand how I might be better. I have tried to be open to seeing it, when choices I made or beliefs I have held obviously were wrong. It is all any of us can do. The others know you come from a place of great difficulty, Lorna. Do not underestimate how much all of us care about you.”

 

“I can’t say I’ve ever guided anyone toward making a better decision,” Lorna said, grinning against the front of his robe. “Terrible influence, I am. I...I mean, I’ve been in loads’v fights with Mairead.  _ Loads _ ’v them, but I’ve never been tempted to just tell her to piss off, so…” Quite honestly, she didn’t know what the fuck they were all worried about -- but then again, they knew next to nothing about her relationship with her sister. They had no way to know that the pair of them could scream at each other, call one another the worst names under the bloody sun, and be fine two days later. “And, I mean, all I’ve bloody been doing since I met you lot is trying to see where I’ve gone wrong in my choices, or what I believed...am I really  _ that _ broken?” To be perfectly honest, she had no idea why the hell they were so afraid she’d just kick them to the curb for no reason, which meant she was missing something big -- something that was broken, and had been broken all her life, or else she’d be able to see it. 

 

She sighed. “I mean, there’s not much I wouldn’t forgive any’v you lot. Unjustified murder, maybe. If Ratiri cheated on me, that’d be the end’v it, but I know that’d never happen. He’s as loyal as I am. If you...I don’t know, ate one’v the kittens, sure,  _ that  _ I’d never forgive or...tortured someone. If you decided to support the English at football, well, that’d be a bit much, but not enough to make me march. Oh, and if you ever tried to cut my hair, but again, not likely.” She tilted her head back to look up at him. “I don’t know why everyone’s afraid I’ll snap their neck off if they sneeze wrong, but...I’m not that faithless. I’d like to think I’m not, anyway.”

 

His hand absently rubbed her back, because on several levels she seemed so much like a soothing, animate doll. Not that he would ever mention any such thing. “It is not that, Lorna. Nobody thinks you are faithless. But...I do not believe you understand your own emotional connection to what you consider to be wrongs. There are things I have done that I can never tell you, because you would never see me the same way again. Even though most would not feel the same, even though those against whom I acted would tell you that I had done nothing wrong. You do not see this in yourself. Others do. And they are afraid, on account of it. You are quicker than you think, to turn away from those who wrong you, no matter who they are.  And even if you did not fully ‘walk’ as you say, you would distance yourself emotionally to the point that the other would feel punished without hope of redemption. You do not see it, but it is risky to love you.”

 

Had any other person said that to her, they would have got a very hard kick to a very unpleasant place, but this was Thranduil, who in some ways possibly knew her better than she knew herself. “That...Thranduil, you realize how sticky that is, right? Everyone has their value system -- what we consider to be right and what we believe is wrong. I mean...you can’t just fundamentally alter that. I would never ask you, because we all have our secrets; there’s plenty I’d never tell Earlene or even Ratiri, because they would never look at me the same way again. Humans are like that, especially women -- Gran said that women might forgive, but we can never forget.” She shook her head. “Hell, I wouldn’t even let  _ you _ know, except for the bit where you can read my mind. You’re probably right, though -- I probably don’t understand it. I think that’s a thing that’s less broken in me than it’s one that never had a chance to grow to begin with. I mean...would it help if I, y’know, made a list’v the things I think are wrong? There’s not a whole lot.” Mairead was big on lists. Lists, according to her, were what made the world go round. 

 

And there really weren’t a whole lot of things that would be on it. Abuse, be it spousal, child, or animal. Premeditated homicide. Cannibalism. Rape. Prisons and everything to do with them. (Rapists, in her personal opinion, didn’t need prison, they needed to be executed. Slowly.) Abusers needed to go away, sure -- much as she hated to agree with anything England had done, they’d had the right idea in just deporting their criminals. They were out of the way, but they weren’t trapped in cages like animals. They had a chance to go do something different with their lives, and from all she’d read about Australia’s history, many had. (Granted, they’d also committed genocide on the native population, but so had a lot of so-called “civilized” white people in various colonies. Couldn’t blame _ that  _ on them being criminals.) 

 

Surely those were things most people found wrong, right? At least, people who didn’t fall into any of those categories. If Thranduil had done something she would find so objectionable...she didn’t want to know. Ever. Just like she would never tell Earlene, or Ratiri, or Thanadir the darker things she’d done as as teenager -- because she knew they’d never look at her the same again, either. The Glasgow Smile she’d given the smackhead at sixteen came to mind, and the thing with the lighters and the broken glass --  and that was just the beginning of the shite she’d done when she’d gone blank. She wasn’t sure an elf could understand how something could fundamentally alter the way you perceive a person, no matter how much you liked them. The lighters, and the glass...Thranduil only  _ thought  _ they were afraid of her now. If they knew what she’d once been capable of, what she’d once done, they’d never sleep near her again.  _ Some things need to stay in the past _ . Could she call some of what she had done as a teenager wrong? Under the circumstances, no, she couldn’t -- but she knew others would. And so she would never say anything.

 

“So you do understand, dear one. But. the thing is, I  _ can _ look at you the same, because I know that you have changed. You have grown. I believe you will continue to grow. And…..sticky. I am afraid I do not agree with you, on this. People can fundamentally change. Elves can as well. There is only time, and willingness, and not being locked into an assuredness that we are absolutely correct. Even I have been forced to learn, we are not always right, in what we think.  But it is easy to talk about change, and much harder to do.”

 

“Really hard,” she sighed. “Thranduil, tell me, if I start fucking something like that up, okay? Obviously I’m not going to work it out on my own, and apparently you’re the only one who’s not afraid’v me.” Honestly, she hadn’t been aware of that at all, and she was usually so good at reading people. Was this a new thing?

 

“I will do what I can, Lorna. Please realize, everyone…” he sighed. “You are loved. The others do not feel they have the right or the wisdom to try to speak to you about this. They only wish for all of us, and the children, to have an emotionally secure future. I am probably not making the best job of saying this. And yet I will feel very bad, if I leave you with the impression that there is hostility or...I no longer even know what I am trying to say, directed toward you. Because there is none.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes. This was childish and stupid and she felt ashamed of herself for even thinking it, but just now it seemed like no matter what she did, no matter how far she came, she simply wasn’t good enough.  _ Got your temper under control? Good, now don’t try to keep your shit to yourself to spare anyone else -- dump it right on them even though they don’t need it right now. Use your words, even when you don’t want to, and by the way, if you’re pants at it, too bad, you’ve got to do it anyway. Next, let’s re-write the fundamental way you view the world... _  Maybe everyone felt like that, and she was just late to the party. It would hardly be the first thing she’d experienced much later in life than most; maybe this was the sort of thing everyone else had got out of the way when they were teenagers, while she was busy stealing buses. Even if that was the case, it left her feeling rather bleak. “You mean they’re afraid I’d go off on them,” she said. “Sad thing is, they’d be right. You’re different -- you can read my mind. You’re not just guessing.” Still her eyes burned, and she forced herself to calm. “Christ, I need a drink. A drink, and a kitten. But mostly a drink.”

 

“I understand. I cannot keep you here for days and hug you. You cannot see into my mind like I can yours. So I will tell you that I am sad, to be the one who talks to you about these things. Please know that I love you.” He genuinely felt awful. Completely awful.  _ I have sent thousands to war, and seen my people die. And yet this feels just as bad if not worse. _ How that could be the case, exactly, he would need to work out for himself. But not having that comprehension changed nothing about this moment. He released her, and before he could say or do more that would reduce him to a state that would benefit neither of them, he kissed her on the forehead and moved to the doorway. And Valar, what he would not give to go to his wine cellar and not emerge for three days, but that was no option. He owed others in his life just as much, if not more, of his whole self, and he had already  indulged in that escape all he could allow for the time being. With what he hoped was one last encouraging smile, he met her eyes from the doorway, and forced his feet to walk on.

 

Lorna sighed. She needed to think about this, and she needed to do it where Thranduil couldn’t hear her...she’d take a drive to Baile, and spend a little time alone in her cottage. That, at least, was hers, and had been for years; maybe she could center herself better there.

 

She hopped off the table, picking up her knives and carefully cleaning them before putting them away. Dusting her hands off, she looked around the silent room. “Is there going to be any’v  _ me  _ left, once this lot’s done with me?” she whispered. Shaking herself, she headed toward her flat, determined to fudge some excuse to go out to Baile. She had to light a fire in the cottage anyway, to keep it from getting damp; that was as good a reason as any, and she could sit in her home and think undisturbed.

 

Liam had loved her as she was, and Gran. Mairead did, too, and Big Jamie; none of them had put...had put  _ conditions _ on things. Oh, nobody had here, either, but it was pretty much implied:  _ you’re not enough as you are. _ God, she had to pull herself out of  _ that  _ pity-party, at least until she was home, and could get it out of her system in private. Well, in private but for a bottle of Jameson’s.

 

She made sure the kitties were fed and had clean litter, and changed into some of the older clothes she’d left in the back of the wardrobe: worn jeans, a man’s vest-top, and a flannel shirt that came down to her knees. Her old boots, not her Docs, and a black sweatshirt-coat with a rip on one cuff. She scribbled a note about the cottage that said she’d be back once the fire burned down enough to leave, and snatched her keys. Part of her wished she could make a few days of it, but that just wasn’t possible, unless she took Ratiri and the twins, which would defeat the whole purpose. She’d have to make the most of an afternoon and an evening, and hope it was enough.

 

************

 

Once out of the forest and into the Charger (which still had a dented hood, god dammit), Lorna let herself get mad. Really,  _ really  _ mad, a rage she took out on the accelerator and the asphalt.

 

When was this going to end? Seriously,  _ when _ ? When was she going to be fucking good enough for these people? Would there be anything of  _ her  _ left, by the time they were through with her? No matter what she did, how far she came, they just wanted more. More, more,  _ more _ .

 

The Charger roared down the M7, the sound of the engine a little soothing, though not much. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, flooring the accelerator and ignoring the chorus of honks all around her.

 

To change, and to grow, was always a good thing. She’d grown quite a lot in the last year, but dammit,  _ why  _ was it never enough? Why the  _ fuck  _ were they afraid she’d go off like some kind of landmine? She had never, ever cut someone she actually cared about out of her life.  _ Ever _ . Just what the hell had happened with Ratiri -- what had she missed? Because there was no damn way he’d been so petrified just because he thought she’d be pissed he’d stormed out. Just...no way. Ratiri knew her better than that. When she fucked up, she owned it -- she  _ had  _ fucked up, and she  _ had  _ owned it. She’d deserved his anger; he’d had every right in the world to be pissed at her, so there was no way he’d been terrified she’d give him his marching papers over it. There was something else there, something she wasn’t being told, and that just made her even angrier.  _ You need to change, but you won’t be told how the hell this came up to begin with, so don’t ask. _

 

She stewed the whole way to Baile, at least slowing as she drove through the village. Evening was falling, but most were still at work, so she wasn’t accosted as she made it out past the edge of town, parking in the little driveway beside the cottage.

 

It was in fact a little musty, when she opened the door, so she gathered some wood and opened all the windows before she lit a fire in the stove. Once it was crackling away, she put a kettle on, sat on the sofa, and sighed.

 

This cottage was  _ hers _ . It was her home, and she was not spending nearly enough time here. It wasn’t practical just now, with the twins, but she’d get Orla out here soon enough, to put on a second storey. Nobody here was afraid of her -- nobody here tried to change her, over and over, again and again. Maybe they needed to spend some more time here, once the renovations were done.

 

“Gran, just what the fuck do they want?” she asked, staring up at the ceiling. “You were never afraid’v me, even when I was at my worst, which I sure as fuck aren’t now. Is it because they’re not Irish? Ratiri’s Scottish, and from what I’ve heard’v his mam, he shouldn’t find me extreme at all.” She really, really wished she could have met Ratiri’s mother. The woman had sounded like she’d be grand to get drunk with -- and apparently she  _ had  _ drunk, even if she’d kept meat well away.

 

The kettle shrieked, and she hauled herself to her feet to fetch it, fishing a box of tea out of the sadly empty cupboards. No milk, but at least there was sugar. “And the worst part is, I’ve got no idea what to do. I don’t actually want to just walk away, for all I’d like to slap the entire bloody lot’v them into next Wednesday just now.” She added a healthy dollop of whiskey to the tea, then knocked back a belt for good measure. “This has to be new. I’d’ve seen it if it’d been here before now. Something happened, but what the fuck was it? Why won’t anyone just bloody tell me? They’re not cowards, none’v them are,  _ so why the fuck are they acting like it?! _ ”  Yes, she was screaming at the woodstove. It was hardly the first time she’d done it, though a second belt of whiskey helped a bit. And behind the sugar jar in the cupboard she found her last, unopened pack of cigarettes, hidden from Gran years ago. Would they still be any good? The packet was sealed, so hopefully so.

 

She peeled off the plastic and fished out her Zippo, which even now she carried everywhere. Yes, the cigarette tasted like shit when she lit it, but at least it wasn’t stale.

 

“You were never afraid’v me, Liam,” she said, looking at the lighter. The steel glittered in the firelight. “I was so much worse when you knew me, but  _ you  _ were never afraid.” Oh, the smoke was lovely, even if it did taste a bit foul. The strength of the whiskey overpowered it. “We were young, and Christ were we stupid, but there wasn’t all this complicated... _ bullshit _ .” And she was angry enough that that was the only word she could assign it.

 

She wondered if she could take the twins here, but she could hardly tell Ratiri he couldn’t come, and if he was here, the point would be moot. Because apparently he was  _ afraid  _ of her. Earlene had to be overreacting when she said that, because Ratiri wasn’t afraid of her. She’d bloody well know if he was.

 

Christ, what was she going to do? She didn’t have a great deal of choice in the matter. Thanadir might be the one with the Puss in Boots eyes, but Thranduil’s could be almost as bad, in a different way. She was stuck doing whatever it was they wanted of her,  _ again _ , and she needed to find a way to not resent the shit out of it before she went back, because Thranduil would know if she did, and she’d get the sad eyes...since when had she got so easy to manipulate? Jesus. At least Ratiri didn’t give her sad eyes -- yet. Watch him get in on the action, too; she’d  _ really  _ be screwed.

 

Even as angry as she was, she knew Thranduil hadn’t actually been trying to make her feel guilty, but good God had he succeeded anyway. She threw her cigarette end into the stove and immediately lit another, pacing the short length of the lounge. No doubt she’d get bitched at, if she went home smelling like smoke, but she was beyond bloody caring. She’d give them a god damn reason to be afraid of her.

 

“Seriously, Gran, is there anything going to be left’v  _ me _ by they time they’re done?  _ Anything? _ ” She was tipsy, but nowhere near drunk, though she took a pull at the bottle between sips of tea. “I am fed bloody up’v trying to live up to other people’s god damn expectations. If only for the twins, I’d take a nice, long bloody vacation, and give them all time to get over being so  _ terrified _ ’v me.” Alas, because there  _ were  _ the twins, that just wasn’t an option. This night was it.

 

And because she was on her own, because Thranduil couldn’t hear her and give her the sad eyes, she said, “Fuck these bloody cowards.  _ Afraid _ ’v me?  _ Afraid _ ’v me?” she growled, still pacing, cigarette in one hand and bottle in the other. Night was falling, the sweet smell of sun-warmed grass still lingering in the cooling air. The scent of must was driven out by it, the cottage again smelling as it ought to. The warmth of the stove was soon welcome, for Irish spring evenings were not overly warm. They wanted to...to  _ neuter  _ her, didn’t they? Water her down? Make her  _ weak _ ?

 

Setting aside the whiskey, she picked up a sofa cushion and screamed into it, venting her wrath, her frustration, and yes, her hurt, too. That they would think so poorly of her...even Ratiri, apparently, though she would much rather hear that from his own lips, if in fact it was true.

 

God, she didn’t want to go back tonight. If she went late enough, at least everyone ought to be asleep -- though she’d have to convince the Gates to let her through, and thus far, she had yet to. Her accent with Sindarin must be even worse than she thought.

 

And the worst of this was that it wasn’t just enough that she learn how to pretend -- she had to learn how to fool someone who could read her damn mind. There were times she was quite grateful for Thranduil’s gifts, but this was not one of them. He’d know she was just pretending, and she would get the sad eyes, and seriously, how the hell could such pale zombie-eyes manage to look like those of a kicked puppy? It shouldn’t be possible. He wouldn’t let her just pretend. He’d try to make her actually change... _ again. _ Did she even have the energy to do that? Did she actually  _ want  _ to, for any reason other than to avoid the sad eyes?

 

Lorna was tired of changing for other people. She was tired of fearing the judgment of her friends if she fucked something up, if she got one little thing wrong. She was just...tired of it. And she wasn’t going to goddamn take it anymore. If they couldn’t handle her as she was, if they were so  _ afraid  _ of her…

 

Again she screamed into the pillow, stopping only when her voice went hoarse, and sat on the floor, head in her hands. “Fuck everything,” she grumbled. “Just...everything. What the hell was it Ally Sheedy said, in  _ The Breakfast Club _ ? ‘When you grow up, your heart dies’? Kid was a bit melodramatic, but I’m not sure she’s that far off. If it wasn’t for the twins, I’d say this whole Adulting business could go fuck itself.”

 

By the time the fire had burnt down enough for her to put it out, she’d killed almost the entire fifth of whiskey, and probably shouldn’t have been driving. That did not, however, stop her -- nor did it stop her going to the petrol station and getting more cigarettes before she left the village, and chain-smoking the whole way home, the subwoofer in the back turning her Black Sabbath playlist into an interesting driving experience. She’d go back to her damn responsibilities, and some of them she’d actually even enjoy. Being a mother was wonderful; it was just everything else she rather hated at the moment.

 

She did not, however, drive back to Lasg’len nearly as fast as she’d driven to Baile, and she chose not think about that.

 

Full dark had long since fallen once she reached the cottage, and she had to use the flashlight app on her phone to find her way to the Gates. In the dark, she couldn’t help visions of zombies lurching out of the trees. It didn’t help that she kept tripping, or that she was still chain-smoking. Her chest hurt, but in a good way -- not that that would likely make sense to anyone who wasn’t her.

 

“All right, Gates,” she said, weaving a little where she stood. “Let’s do this. Eyedero ennyn Tanduil.”

 

Nothing. What a surprise. She tried again, enunciating more clearly this time, but still, no dice. “You’re a damn slag,” she said, glowering at them as she lit another cigarette. “Seriously, fuck you. Not even good enough for  _ you _ , am I? Well piss off.” She needed the toilet badly enough that she busted out that little device Earlene had given her, and the ground before the Gates found itself pissed  _ on _ .

 

“Bitch,” she said, flipping them off after she’d zipped up her jeans.

 

Abruptly, the massive door swung silently open, and before enough seconds had elapsed for any words to be spoken, Lorna found herself caught up into two very strong arms. Was it even dimmer than usual, in this place? Because there should be no time needed for eyes to adjust in the night-time, and yet it seemed as though the entire place filled only with shadows and dim outlines. Not a word was said, as she was carried through what felt like a bad amusement park ride. 

 

Thranduil placed her carefully on her feet, outside her own door, and kissed her on the forehead.  _ I love you _ , he said, not trusting his actual voice to speak the words. And then he was simply gone. Every step that took him back to his own rooms felt like a weight on his heart, as he tried to sift her feelings and his own. When he reached his bed and his robe fell from his body, a decision had been arrived at. “Earlene. Meluieg. I am sorry to wake you, but I must talk to someone.”

 

Her eyes fluttered and flew awaked in the dark, working out whether or not she had really heard him speak. Turning, and perceiving his form leaning over hers, her hands reached for him. “Where do you wish to speak, my Lord?” Her sensitive nose wrinkled and recoiled under an unexpected assault, the acrid odor of cigarettes now quite noticeable on his skin. The potential subject matter had just become somewhat obvious.

 

The reply of formal respect, so unnecessary and so different than everything he had recently encountered, soothed and reassured. There were times Thranduil needed to believe that the entirety of his world was not turning up on end. “By the fire,” he whispered, mindful of the sleeping children. Earlene rose up, and then he changed his mind. “No. Come into the pool with me. We would both prefer it, if I bathe.” He caused the lights to be dimmer than usual, and in moments she was attending to him. Why, she could not say exactly, but a perception that it was needed and a desire to serve him in what way she could came over her. With a cloth and soaps she knew pleased him, she began to wash his body, and carefully wet down his hair. Each movement was slow,  unobtrusive, so as not to disturb her husband more than he already seemed to be.

 

No time was wasted in preamble. “Yesterday, in the afternoon, the opportunity arose to speak with Lorna. About the forgiveness issue. And to distill all that transpired, she has almost no concept of the magnitude of the problem within her. It is far worse than any kind of refusal or choice to indulge in this manner of thinking; Lorna grew in such a way as to have no understanding, ever, of any of it. In the world of her youth, surrounded by proverbial wolves, to forgive or to pardon was to show weakness and give enemies further opportunity to cause harm. I do not believe I have ever seen another human quite this disconnected from their own emotional realities. And yet she wanted help. She wanted to understand. I tried, with all that I knew, to assure her that she is loved, that others wanted the best for her. That was how things stood, when I left her. It was her choice to leave, and return to Baile; this you know because Ratiri read the note she left. There was no pressing need to return to her cottage; she wanted time to think, away from me. And to drink, and apparently to smoke. I do not believe she thought about anything, except to fuel a false belief that we all obviously feel she is not good enough for us. Lorna is filled with hurt, and anger. Earlene, I am weary of this. I love her, dearly, but feel only sadness. Am….am I wasting my time? Is this hopeless?” Tears were pooling in his blue eyes, and misery was written across his face.

 

He did not need to tell her that he was breaking every confidence, or that the heavy responsibility to never divulge what she had just learned was now laid upon her. His words were heard with deep humility, and honor for the trust he showed. Yet those things were mere tangents. What he wanted was counsel, and she tried to filter his statements as best she could. “I do not pretend to know Lorna fully, my Lord. But I have seen this behavior before, from others. And in myself. When I was...damaged, before you healed me, there were times when my failures, my inability to be other than I was, became very painful to bear. It was not possible, in those moments, to do other than….wallow. It is not sound thinking, but it goes something like this: ‘If I cannot ever be what I need to be, then fuck it all, I will just be extra broken, and do everything I can to make it worse’. Of course, I did not have any social pressure on me; only myself. There were no friends or family trying to help me through or encourage me; I made certain enough of that. But I do understand from it, the powerful compulsion to simply give into it all. To hurt more, not less. To act unwisely and give free rein to all the feelings of failure. It is what some people do, in a place of deep pain. You are not wasting your time, Thranduil. You only need look at how far Lorna has come, to know that. But in her hurt, she cannot hear that part, or acknowledge the positive things or the praise you tried to impart. It is another form of fear. When the struggle to change is as great as what Lorna has faced, the thought of more can simply be too much, at first. I believe that she needs some time, to settle. She is the kind that flares up in great anger in the beginning, and perhaps some days need to go by before more can be said or any objectivity can be gained. Lorna told me once that she is not a good person. I have never believed that. Lorna is a very damaged person, and that is not at all the same thing. You gave your love to someone...difficult. In a manner of speaking, you set out to repair what was broken. And you have, and yet you are now finding new layers. She needs your love, and your strength, my Lord. Lorna is very perceptive in her own way, and you must find it in yourself not to show your feelings; it is a burden she cannot carry right now. Give her room, and what to do next will become apparent in time. Did you….say anything to her, when you found her that way?”

 

“Only that I loved her,” he replied. “I did not trust myself to say more.”

 

“Then you did very well, because that is what she most needs to know. You began this with her, beloved. And while there can be times when such efforts must be abandoned for the sake of all, you are a very long way from that place. Rest your own mind and heart, so that you can be there for your friend. No one can drink from an empty vessel.”

 

A long silence ensued, in which the only sounds were of her fingers lathering his hair, or the trickle of water as she used bowls of water to rinse. 

 

“Earlene, she asked me more than once, how I learned to forgive. What it feels like, to forgive. I had no answers, because...even with how my father treated me, I still understood this. It was always within me. I learned more, over time. I would no longer do things like imprison Thanadir. Or you. In my old world, this was simply how transgression was managed; a few hours or days of being placed somewhere that signalled a fall from favor. I never ordered anyone made to feel pain, or worse; but it was believed that some action had to be taken to reinforce that a transgression had occurred. Maybe I grew to understand that forgiveness does not require punishment, or that I needed to read that person’s heart and understand far better why the wrong was done in the first place. I did not know how to answer her.”

 

Well,  _ that _ was a pickle. “I am not certain I can add to this,” she said slowly. “I think you already know that discussions of prison and transgression and punishment are not ever something Lorna will be able to hear. The only thing that comes to mind is, there are films about this. And writing. It is a subject that more than one person has felt some need to explore, especially in view of some of the terrible atrocities that have taken place in the last century on earth. I will help in what ways I can, understanding that you and I have never spoken of any of this. Give me time to reflect and consider, perhaps I will recall something of use?”

 

His arms wrapped around his precious wife. “Valar, I love you, meluieg. I did not know if I would regret choosing to speak with you. This was more valuable to me than you can realize.” 

 

Raising up her body, she pulled his head against her breast, sighing with contentment when she felt his mouth gently draw her in.

 

 

*******

 

Lorna took a bath and washed her hair, so she wouldn’t go to bed smelling of cigarettes, and spent a while sitting by the fire. Her fit of rage had done her good; she’d bled it off somewhere it could harm no one -- ‘no one’ meaning Thranduil, who would have been captive audience to all of it if she’d remained.

 

Ratiri wasn’t afraid of her. She knew that with certainty; had he been, it would have shown, somehow. Perhaps Earlene was right, and he  _ had  _ been, at one point -- though the why of it still baffled her -- but he wasn’t now. He was...Ratiri, strong and sweet and wonderful, and there was no hesitation in his eyes, no wariness in the way he acted around her. If he’d been at all afraid of her, he’d got over it.

 

But if he had been, she needed to know why.

 

Oh, she wasn’t ready to actually hear it yet. She needed greater equilibrium than she currently had, because she had none at all just now. She was tired, and hollowed-out, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Lorna had always been that way; her rage burned hot, hot as magma, but it also burnt itself out in relatively little time, and left her mind...cleansed, more or less. Liam had said it was like she’d drained a wound, and then sterilised it with fire, like people had before actual medicine was invented.

 

No doubt she’d still feel wrong in the morning, but at least for now, alone in the dark, the low fire crackling, she was somewhere close to at peace. Admittedly she was also still rather drunk, but even so. In some ways, she was always going to be her -- there would be times she had to go off and get it out of her system. To drain the wound. She had someplace she could do that, a place where her fury could spend itself without hurting anyone. And  _ that  _ anger had nothing to do with her background, and everything to do with being Irish. A certain level of temper was written into their genetic code, and quite frankly, she thought it rather more constructive than alcoholism -- though God knew there was enough of that to go around, as well. (Mercifully, at least she’d been spared  _ that  _ problem; she could walk away from booze without feeling anything more pressing than annoyance.)

 

It would be okay. Somehow. Once she found out why Earlene would say that, it might  _ not  _ be okay, but she was certain it would get there again in the end. But she needed to have a talk with all of them, sooner or later; while this particular thing actually was a real issue, they needed to understand that she wasn’t going to let them try to re-write everything she was. Not that she would ever think they’d do that on  _ purpose _ , but she could all too easily see it becoming a problem. Somehow she needed to learn how to forgive -- and God, she wasn’t sure how she was to do that -- but she wasn’t going to be made to feel she shouldn’t dare get angry for fear of scaring anyone else. There were limits. This in particular was something vital, but if they thought they were going to tell her she had to just swallow it every time she was angry...no. Just no.

 

But then, she doubted they’d actually do that. She trusted them not to, anyway. Her fears were likely unfounded, and she had to keep telling herself that. There was no point ascribing motives before she knew what they actually were, so she was going to force herself not to do it. These people were her family. They were only trying to help, though that didn’t mean their manner of help was necessarily going to be what she needed. Half of them were human, and humans made mistakes; the other half were elves, whose understanding of humanity was still far from complete. Yeah, they might fuck up, but she couldn’t lose sight of the fact that they were trying for a reason.

 

She sighed. She had no idea how to ask them when this was going to be over, when they were going to be satisfied, without it coming off as awful and confrontational and rude -- but it was a question she needed answered. How much more would they demand of her? Just how much of  _ her  _ would truly be left? Even calm as she currently was, those wonderings would not go away. There had to be some tactful way to phrase that, but she was too drunk and sleepy to come up with it right now.  _ Tomorrow. Deal with it tomorrow. _

 

Once her hair was semi-dry, she crawled into bed next to Ratiri, and hoped her sleep would be dreamless.

 

*****************

 

Thanadir had deposited yesterday’s mail on the side table in their dining room, as was his habit. A large, official-looking envelope caught Earlene’s eye, addressed to both her and Fionn.  _ Good grief, not more about Allanah _ , was her first thought. Yet it contained no such thing. Instead, two birth certificates, or rather, Deimhniú Breithe, since everything formal in this nation was first listed in Irish. Not that she could really blame them, however much of a letter soup it looked to the rest of the world. Earlene chuckled. Though there had been no intention of this whatsoever, her extended peredhel pregnancy had ended over eight months from the date of their formal wedding. No one could ever know, as an outsider, that she’d been pregnant before the civil ceremony; she was easily within the confines of a wedding-night conception. And she had no idea why she was even thinking about this, but it was still a conservative country, and she could still claim the veneer of ancestral respectability. Give or take that her personal circumstances had been a hopeless jumble.  _ Oh, forget it Earlene. It’s 2017, who even cares. _ Her eyes roved over the fields, most of which had been completed in Ratiri’s surprisingly neat script; he either slowed down to carefully complete these forms or had better cursive than she would have expected from a physician. When she saw “Rank and Profession of Father” she thought she might die. He’d actually written “Aran”.  _ Oh. my. god. _ Her chest shook with laughter. Apparently no one had questioned it. What did they think was meant, that Thranduil had nameless occupation on the islands? Of course, she frowned and it rankled, to see that no occupation of the mother was wanted.  _ Chauvinists, _ she muttered. Each of her twins had been seven pounds, two ounces. That seemed very large? And each was 46.5 centimeters long. Funny, she had not even thought to ask about any of this. “How did he weigh them?” she muttered aloud, confused. A careful touch on her shoulder revealed that Thanadir stood behind her. He was learning. “I went to the cottage and brought your kitchen scale,” he informed. “I found a measuring tape there, as well. Ratiri said that your children were large, for twins.” 

 

“Huh,” she said, digesting this news. “To think they will be two months old, tomorrow. A compulsion came over her to nurse, and she laid the papers aside to retrieve Eleniel, with Thanadir lifting the other girl. They were already alert, and eager to see their Naneth. Soon both were contentedly suckling, and Earlene sighed with enjoyment. She doubted she wanted to admit this even to herself, but now with another on the way, this activity she had come to enjoy so much would stretch on for the next year, and beyond. Sure god, if she could ever have known when she was in her fourth year of law school, struggling for top marks, that she would give it all up happily for having her nipples sucked on by babies. It was comical and slightly tragic, all at once.  _ Whatever. _ The girls’ hair was already growing, and more quickly than what she would have thought was normal. They had her dark brown hair, about three inches’ worth. Assuredly, she was biased, but her daughters seemed very beautiful. Thanadir had been reading more of her human library, and soon they were in a discussion about Charles Dickens. He wanted to know more about why everyone was so depressed, and why their world seemed so bleak.  _ Hard Times _ , was what he had chosen to read, and she was working to explain Mr. Gradgrind when Ortherion and Lothiriel entered their rooms. And apparently they were not alone.

 

Lorna and Ratiri, each carrying a twin, followed. Both babies were rather more alert now, though they still spent a good deal of time sleeping, regarding the world with their green, green eyes. Ratiri was convinced they were both going to be geniuses -- and while it was entirely possible he was just a father and biased, Lorna wouldn’t be surprised if they were. He was a very, very smart man, rather smarter than he seemed comfortable letting on; with him to guide them and whatever they might have innately inherited, God knew what they might go on to do...but only if they wanted to. She wouldn’t push them, and neither would Ratiri, who had chosen to go into medicine of his own volition, with no pressure from his father. Mairead, God love her, had tried pushing Shannon into going into teaching, with the result that the young woman was now studying something to do with computers, where she would not be working with anyone, and certainly not with children. Lorna would be damned if she’d make that mistake; she’d encourage the twins to have a wide range of interests, but she was absolutely not going to try to nudge them in one direction or another. They would discover their own likes and aptitudes, in their own way, and their own time.

 

“What’ve you got there?” she asked, managing to hop up onto the sofa without jarring Chandra. “The birth certificates?” She didn’t miss Ratiri’s subtle, slightly evil smile, either. What exactly had he done to them?

 

“You have yours too, I think,” said Earlene happily, with a rumbling laugh. “The birth certificates came for our children. Nice touch, Ratiri. I am sure Thranduil will find that most amusing. I certainly did.” Her slightly impish grin spoke volumes. “Aran,” came out as a humorous mutter, as she shook her head. “You can look at ours too, if you want,” Earlene offered.

 

Look Lorna did, and burst out laughing. “You,” she said, looking at Ratiri, “are a closeted little shit, aren’t you?” His slight grin did nothing at all to deny her assessment, and she handed the certificate back to Earlene before picking up the envelope. “Though why do they not want to know the mam’s occupation? Bit sexist, that.”

 

“I thought the exact same thing,” Earlene huffed. I mean…” 

 

She made it no further, because Allanah piped up in her best squeaky voice, “clovveted wittle shtit!” 

 

Lothiriel’s expression became vaguely horrified, and Earlene laughed so hard that her ample bosom was now moving up and down, with each twin developing a look of disgust as little hands reached out to grab the breasts and steady their supply of breakfast. Tears were welling out of her eyes. “Lorna, don’t ever change. Just, don’t,” she said, howling with appreciation. Her children were not going to daycare, what the hell did she care? Eventually Allanah would be old enough to understand not to repeat everything Auntie Lorna spoke aloud. Even Thanadir had obviously given up, for his face was buried in his hands, but he could not hide that he was laughing.

 

Lorna groaned. “I think that kid is an evil genius,” she sighed. “Otherwise it wouldn’t always only be the shi- the things she doesn’t need to be saying. I swear she knows what she’s doing, and that she can get away with it because she’s cute. Bit like a kitten, actually.”

 

Ratiri, his shoulders shaking with suppressed, silent laughter, opened their own envelope. God, the twins had been bloody tiny -- Shane just five pounds, and Chandra a touch under. She was tempted to frame these, and hang them on their walls...somehow. The problem with living in a flat made of stone was that you couldn’t exactly just drive in a nail and have done with it.

 

Thranduil came from the bedroom, smiling warmly at his daughter’s latest expansion in vocabulary, brushing his wife’s lips with a kiss before retrieving Allanah from Lothiriel, tossing her lightly into the air to hear squeals of laughter from that and kisses. The table was almost laid. He had slept late, and woken with a much lighter heart. He carried the little girl to go admire the birth certificates, and chuckled as well at the ‘Aran’. “For once we have filled out civil paperwork truthfully, I see?” he said with humor.

 

“I couldn’t resist,” Ratiri said. “Anymore, they don’t actually ask what any given profession actually is, given some of the terribly odd ones that are out there now. Someone in Australia listed the father’s profession as Jedi Knight.”

 

“Hey, it’s an official religion there,” Lorna said. “Why not?”

 

“You mean I could have been a Starship Captain?” Thranduil said wistfully, teasing.

 

Ratiri laughed. “ _ That  _ might have got you a visit from social services,” he said. “They do want to make sure new parents haven’t lost their minds.”

 

“It’s too bad you couldn’t put something odd, allanah,” Lorna said. “Not sure what, but...something.”

 

“I will admit I was seriously tempted,” he said, “but given that I delivered everyone’s children, I had no choice but to list myself as physician. Practical, if dull.”

 

“I somehow doubt it was ever dull,” Lorna said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Nothing ever is, with kids. Sometimes frustrating and sometimes scary, sure, but never dull.” By now their own were sleeping through the night, at least, but she somewhat dreaded when they would start getting mobile, just because there were so many things they could fall off of if they were outside either their flat, or Earlene and Thranduil’s.  _ Don’t borrow trouble _ , she told herself, the thought sounding so like Gran it was a bit disturbing. They had months yet before that would be an issue, and then she’d simply need to make sure there wasn’t anything on the floor they could stick in their mouths. Her brother Mick had damn near choked to death on a coin when he was six months old; she didn’t want to see  _ that  _ twice. (That had actually been the one and only time she’d seen her da truly scared, though she suspected it was more because he wouldn’t want to get in trouble if one of his kids died in his care.)

 

Fortunately the twins seemed to have had enough for the moment, and all nappies were still dry, so soon Lothiriel was surrounded by baskets of children and Allanah was kept busy playing with wooden blocks she liked to stack and knock down, leaving the adults to breakfast. The peredhel could already crawl somewhat, but after eating they tended to be content to rest and engage with each other. As long as their baskets were side by side, all was well. There was something like an applesauce or banana bread this morning, and the makings of breakfast sandwiches with fresh cheddar, fried bacon and eggs. Earlene had taught the kitchens how to cure pork bellies, and life had not been the same. Apparently the first morning bacon was offered to the entire Dining Hall, the aroma had driven the entire realm half mad with hunger, and now all of the elves wanted bacon. It was nice to hear that civilization brought them some happiness, however odd.

 

Lorna savored her tea -- seriously, she was never going to take caffeine for granted ever again -- and her nice, slightly greasy bacon. Fried food...manna from Heaven, that. Granted, she was kind of jonesing for a cigarette, but she’d get over it. “I’ve been spoiled, eating here,” she said. “I’ll never be able to cook for myself again. Eating something that’s actually  _ good _ , and not just, well,  _ serviceable _ ...you can’t go back from that.”

 

“I’m just glad to not need to cook at all,” Ratiri said. He did enjoy it, on occasion, but it wasn’t something he’d want to do all the time. He’d eaten a lot of frozen meals, or out at pubs, before he came to Ireland, and only made something really nice when he got the urge. There wasn’t any real point in investing energy when you were cooking for one, especially since it meant you’d be eating the same meal three days in a row.

 

Earlene felt no need to comment. It would be incredibly redundant bordering on inane, to mention that she liked to cook. Besides, right now, she was too busy stuffing the combined bliss of bacon, biscuit, egg and cheese into her face. If only Thranduil could hear the soft moans of delight, that was probably for the best. He glanced up at her with his eyes sparkling contentedly while he daintily ate his meal. Seriously, did he ever eat in anything less than a perfectly refined manner?  Either way, today seemed like a better day.

 

“Are we back out at the cottage today?” Lorna asked. She had no idea what the weather was doing outside, but it had been clear when she’d got home last night -- not that that necessarily meant anything, in Ireland. The one and only downside to living underground was that she couldn’t see the sky until she went outside, but it wasn’t like it was hard to  _ go  _ outside (even if the Gates didn’t like to let her back in. Seriously, she was starting to think they just didn’t like her, period. The fact that she’d wee’d on the ground in front of them probably hadn’t helped. Though at least she hadn’t pissed  _ on  _ them.)

 

Thranduil involuntarily choked, for perhaps the first time in his life, wheezing for air to the extent that Thanadir immediately rose to lay a hand on him while he turned his head and coughed. Earlene looked up in sympathy, but did not feel too concerned. Of all people, she knew the seneschal could help him, and unconcernedly kept eating. When it was better, he looked straight into his teacup, sipping slowly. He was not about to meet Lorna’s gaze lest all his composure be lost.

 

Both Lorna and Ratiri stared at him, for neither had thought an elf  _ could  _ choke. “You okay there?” Lorna asked, quite certain she knew why he’d done it. Damn. This telepathy thing really  _ could  _ be inconvenient at times.

 

“Yes. So that is what that feels like,” he poked fun at himself lightly. “That is...unpleasant. Thank you, meldir.” Thanadir received a look of gratitude. “And yes, I believe we can work more today, the weather is quite nice.”

 

“How can you know?” Ratiri asked, curious. “Is it just something you sense?” All Elves seemed to have an innate sense of time, too, given that he had yet to see a clock here that wasn’t one he and Lorna had brought themselves.

 

The King laughed. “Thanadir is outside of the Halls each day at dawn, give or take. Though Von Ratched is gone, there are still those who guard and patrol, and they report to Thanadir. I am afraid it is not very mysterious; he tells me the weather.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing. “And the mystery is gone,” he said. “Well, it’s always best to make use of what decent weather we’ve got. Ireland has more of it than Scotland, though that’s not saying much. Earlene, isn’t ‘make hay while the sun shines’ an American expression? Dad was fond of it, though I had no idea why. He was a doctor, he’d never been near a field unless he got lost after a night at the pub.”

 

Lorna just smiled. Things were calm. They needed to stay that way, for as long as they could.

 


	62. Sixty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers...you might want to save this one for when you truly have time to read all of it, without interruptions. Getting into our character's heads to create this one was an unforgettable experience; it is quite possibly the most emotionally complicated and volatile chapter in the entire story. We warned you :-)
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> Chapter begins: May 1, 2017

Earlene knocked on Ratiri and Lorna’s door, wanting to drop off a magazine she thought Ratiri might enjoy. On a whim she had signed up for National Geographic and the first issue had come; in two days she and the ellyn had already devoured it. There was a large portion of the content dedicated to issues of the Indian subcontinent, so, why not? A vaguely harassed-sounding Lorna was heard to holler “C’m on in,” which caused a smile. Even with Maerwen’s help, two fully human kids had to still be a challenge. But when she opened the door, she was quick to realize children were not the problem. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she whispered under her breath. There were kittens hanging off of every conceivable piece of fabric in sight. Two in the curtains. One running amok on the bed canopy (how had it even gotten  _ up _ there?). And a fourth appeared to be clambering down a large decorative tassel as well as chasing its own tail, all at once. The one adult feline sat placidly, like a statue, on top of a round polished table, serenely ignoring the chaos going on all around it. Clearing her throat and pretending nothing was out of the ordinary, she smiled and waved. “I brought the National Geographic, if you want to read it?”

 

“I would love to,” Ratiri said, prying one of the kittens off the curtain. The little thing -- a fluffy ginger -- squeaked like mad, and immediately went to climb the back of the sofa. He grabbed a feathery cat toy and placated the little thing...for the moment. “We need to start taking this lot for walks. I always wanted a whole litter, but Dad would never let me have one, and now I know  _ why _ .”

 

“We need to have another movie night, just so they can have a change of scenery,” Lorna said, picking up the tassel and kitten all at once. “They’re big enough that they’re getting bored, I think.” She held the little one up for Earlene to inspect. It was the very first she’d got, the fluffy little tortie, that sniffed at Earlene and said, “Mew?”

 

“If only this place had a rat problem, it’d be golden,” said Earlene. “Sadly, I doubt there is anything for them to do except explore outside this door. Then again, there is a  _ lot _ of ground to cover, so to speak...what are their sexes? Did you name them all?”

 

“Actually, there’s an echo’v our children here,” Lorna laughed. “Four girls, including Mama, and a boy. They haven’t all got names yet, but I’ve been fighting really, really hard not to call this one some female version of Thanadir. I mean, just look at these eyes.” And indeed they were big and adorable, the kitten’s little whiskers twitching.

 

“I’ve named the mother Bast,” Ratiri said, “because, well, look at her.” She was a sleek black creature, and sat so regally, content to witness the destruction her children wrought. “The fat little orange fluffball is Pumpkin.”

 

“There is a word, ‘thannas,’ that means ‘truth’. I’ve wondered sometimes, if the word that is close to that is why his mother chose his name. One day I will have to work up the nerve to ask him more about his family. You could call her Miaolin, like he did. Not very original, but it’s kind of cute nevertheless.”

 

“Fírinne,” Lorna said. “It means ‘truth’ in Irish. We’ll know what it signifies, and nobody else needs to. Well, Thranduil will, but he’s not going to rat us out.” Because seriously, look at those eyes. Look at them. That kitten was going to get away with murder, and already knew it.

 

“I’ll see if I can keep a straight face whenever the two of them are in the same room,” Ratiri said dryly, depositing the third kitten onto the sofa. That just left the one on top of the canopy, but fortunately, he was tall. “If they’re anywhere near one another, with those eyes of theirs, I might just die.”

 

Earlene laughed, and then told of the reason for her visit, handing the colorful, glossy magazine over to him. “I cannot stay; I am in a baking mood and I have three hours unspoken for. I am taking cookie requests,” she smirked, looking at both of them expectantly. “Any sinful cravings?”

 

The pair of them looked at one another. “Anything to do with cherries,” Lorna said. “Failing that, cinnamon rolls.”

 

“Anything resembling that wonderful thing you made for the joint birthday,” Ratiri said. “I know that particular thing must have been a nightmare, but if there’s something simpler but still like it.”

 

“Just no chocolate syrup,” Lorna said, slightly pained. It really had been ruined for her forever -- dammit, Siobhan.

 

Earlene dissembled immediately, as she pondered how most of that could have anything to do with cookies, or who ever baked with chocolate syrup, which solidly belonged to ice cream, in her view.  _ Think of it as a challenge _ , she told herself. _ You’ve come up with weirder _ .  _ And, there was that double chocolate dried cherry recipe in that one cookbook...and rugelach, though, was that really a cookie? Hm _ . “I will see what I can manage”, she said aloud, smiling. “I might make soup, too. Not sure yet. It’s Mayday; I feel like throwing caution to the wind. Until later….!” With a smile, she breezed out of the room, on her way out of the Halls to the cottage, where her fingers already itched to get hold of her cookbooks and her bookmarked recipes.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “I can’t be the only one who wants to follow just so we can sit outside and sniff the baking, can I?” she asked.

 

“Not at all,” he said. “Let’s get these fluffballs settled, pack the twins up, and take a little walk. It’ll be good to get them out in the fresh air.” He’d been trying to do that as much as possible, though now that it was sunnier, he was having a difficult time with Chandra. He’d looked up various sunscreens online, both commercial and home-made, and none of them were safe for infants. He’d fashioned a little portable shade to go over her carrier, but it meant she couldn’t see the sky.

 

Pumpkin had decided she needed to go sit on Chandra, purring right into the baby’s face. Fortunately, Chandra was delighted by the tickle of the whiskers, and giggled happily. The tabby, who as yet had no name, was now busy giving Shane’s head a bath.

 

“Never a dull moment,” Lorna said, scooping both kittens up and setting them in front of Bast. “You’re the Mam. Deal with this,” she ordered, gathering baby things. She was rather practiced at it now, especially since the two of them and Maerwen had devised a system of sorts. There was the bag of nappies, the bag with bottles and pump (they didn’t always want to nurse from her, so the bottles were essential), spare clothes, tiny hats and boots...it was a production and a half, but they were used to it by now.

 

The twins themselves were still very small, but sturdy; already each could grip her thumb with surprising strength. Even now, she laughed a bit when she looked at them, because if not for their eyes, you would never, ever guess they were related. Fortunately, they were both rather good-tempered children; yes, they cried, but not very much, and usually only when they needed to be changed.

 

And they definitely didn’t mind being in their carriers, so long as they were close to Mam and Da. They gurgled happily to themselves as Lorna and Ratiri made their way through the forest, enjoying the cool breeze and sunshine. Lorna was...calm, just now. Yes, she was probably sitting on the whole thing, but she wasn’t about to piss in everyone else’s Cheerios. Not now. Maybe they could just forget the whole thing.

 

And she might have been able to, if it wasn’t for the fact that she did occasionally sneak off for a cigarette. Ratiri hadn’t asked her about it, thank God, but she was sure he would, eventually. Let that wait -- for now, the house was coming along nicely. All their hard, sometimes tedious work was paying off, and Orla would be pleased, next time she came out. Once the twins were settled, she kissed Ratiri’s cheek and darted off around the cottage, intent on having a least half of a smoke.

 

Thranduil raised his head, from the heavy stone he was positioning with Thanadir; the foundations of another fireplace. He closed his eyes. He had not said anything to Lorna about her resumption of her smoking habit, out of not wanting to...rock the boat, as the humans said. He definitely was not looking forward to the moment Earlene’s sensitive nose finally detected it on Lorna’s clothing, because then he  _ would _ hear about it; there was simply no question. That she did not care for the smell was the understatement of the year, and, she would have very strong opinions about the harm to the children. It was a minor miracle he had not yet heard some manner of speech or other but...it had been peaceful, for some weeks. And although he knew it was a false peace, an unresolved peace, it felt nice in spite of having watched his friend descend into a return to habits that did not serve her well. And the words still burned in his mind, ‘not good enough.’ How did you bring another to understand that it was  _ not about _ ‘good enough’? That it was about wanting your loved one to find a greater measure of happiness and contentment, one that did not rely on tendencies and habits that were self-destructive? He had thought about Earlene’s previous explanations daily, and felt that somehow, he still did not understand enough, still lacked perspective. Eru knew, sooner or later, something would happen. Maybe he did not have to spend time thinking on this at all.

 

Lorna quite enjoyed her cigarette, careful to crush it out entirely before she threw it into the bin. The first one of the morning always did give her a minor buzz, and she smiled as she returned to her fiance and her children, and then into the house. It was good to have a  _ nice  _ Mayday, since they could so often be howling, soggy disasters. “We’ll be done by fall, won’t we?” she asked, rolling back her sleeves. She was glad Thranduil hadn’t pushed her on this -- glad he’d given her some time. She needed it. She didn’t want to piss in anyone else’s Cheerios, but she wasn’t ready to have anyone piss in her own, either.

 

“I believe so,” said Thanadir. “What is left to do is largely non-structural work. And adding cob; this takes a great deal of earth. And tires,” he frowned. But if you walk around, you will see that the polycarbonate (he pronounced the word slowly, getting the syllables a little off in his struggle with the strange term) was installed yesterday. I will tell Earlene later that whatever vegetation she wishes to install, she can begin considering it. Especially her...he searched for the word...citrus trees.”

 

“It’ll be the snuggest house in Ireland,” Lorna said, and went to look at the greenhouse. It really was pretty damn impressive, too; a professional would be glad to have it. To have whole trees -- fresh fruit in winter -- her mouth almost watered at the mere thought. There was an orchardist in Baile, but Ireland was not at all ideal for growing apples: much too cold and damp for them to enjoy it, and the yields were often small. Still, they were better than anything you’d get at a supermarket.

 

And this was where her children would grow up. They’d have nature, and fresh, wholesome food, without have to worry about anyone trying to take it from them. They would only have the ordinary, childhood fears -- darkness, something under the bed -- and not the sort that made them hide under the front steps so their da couldn’t find them. She could give them all that she’d never had, and they’d have an education that was actually  _ interesting _ , which was far more than could be said for public schools. They would have every opportunity they could be given...so long as they didn’t turn out like her, and start stealing cars at fourteen. She and Ratiri would have to make certain the never wanted to, because a juvenile offender’s list was not a good thing to have.

 

She wandered back to the cottage, blatantly scenting the air outside the kitchen window. Ratiri, seeing her laughed. “I’ve been trying to be subtle about that,” he said. “I know we just ate, but that smells delicious.”

 

“Earlene and Mairead ought to get together and bake sometime,” she said, “except I’m afraid the world might implode from that many tasty sweet things in one place.” That sounded vaguely dirty, somehow. Oh well. She was not above sticking her head in the kitchen door, inhaling deeply.

 

Earlene had gone off in six different directions, quite literally. Chocolate chip cookies were already cooling, as were spiced chai tea cookies. The dough was almost ready for pressed mint cookies, which was part one of sandwich cookies, since those would have a chocolate buttercream filling. And because it was May, she felt like using her flower cookie die on the press. They made dainty little butter cookies that hardly seemed worth the bother, but that was no matter. That dough had been part of a double batch, with half diverted into cinnamon pinwheel cookies, that were now in a roll in the freezer, and then there were the chocolate cherry ones, and lastly orange biscotti, just because she felt like it. Over the years she had vacillated between huge cookies and tiny cookies and everything in between, and was now somewhat more in favor of “medium small” these days. They made for more even results with no burned edges or raw centers. Not to mention, when one ate a bunch of them the overall damage seemed to be lessened. And somewhere back in the zen of her mind, she began to ponder soup, and if she was really in the mood for that too.  _ Hm _ . The only idea dismissed out of hand was the mention of the many-layered birthday cake, since that was hopelessly incongruent with today’s aspirations, and could no more be accomplished in a few hours than a passage to the moon.

 

“Would it be horribly childish’v me if I snuck in and stole one for Ratiri and I?” Lorna asked. Yes, she’d just eaten, but...biscuits.  _ Biscuits.  _ So far as snacks went, she was going to be the worst influence on her children, she just knew it.

 

 

Earlene sighed to herself. There was something about food interlopers that drove her nuts, and yet, _ You’re a mother now, for chrissakes, are you going to give your kids the evil eye for wanting cookies when they smell them? Because if you think that’s going to happen, you need therapy, Earlene _ .  _ Get used to it. It’s like, practice _ . “Help yourself,” she chuckled, looking up from the instructions for the buttercream, and idly pondering if she wanted mint in the filling too.  _ No, too much mint _ , she counseled herself.  _ Do not come off like a bad Girl Scout Cookie _ . _ I wonder... _ “Girl Scout Cookies, is that a thing here?” she asked with curiosity. It never hurt to know if the population was already ruined on Thin Mints.

 

“We’ve got the Girl Guards, but I’ve got no idea of they sell biscuits or not,” Lorna said, deftly snatching a chai biscuit for her, and one for Ratiri. “I know in American Girl Scout biscuits are a big deal, but I’ve never seen them here.”

 

“No loss,” Earlene said, horrified at the subject ever since she’d seen the ingredients list one day, and dubbed it in her mind as ‘chemical shit storm’. “The only good that ever came from them was the joke about being made from real Girl Scouts. Just don’t let Thanadir catch a whiff, or the roof might fall in over there, or something,” she chuckled. The seneschal adored chocolate chips, and she was stunned on some level that he wasn’t already lurking.

 

“I’ll keep them out in the fresh air,” Lorna laughed, and headed out to give Ratiri his biscuit. He still gave no sign he was in any way afraid of her, and she really, really wondered what Earlene had seen -- or thought she’d seen -- to give her that impression.

 

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Lorna said, handing him a biscuit. “Earlene’s on a roll in there. We’ll all get fat, the way she feeds us -- well,  _ we  _ will. The elves won’t. Though Christ, you should’ve seen poor Thanadir the morning after Nonna got to him. He looked confused by the fact that he was full.” Which had been adorable, but also kind of sad, in light of what she now knew of his past.

 

“I can imagine,” Ratiri said, and he really could; Thanadir, unfortunately for him, was terribly expressive, whether he’d want to be or not. He could go from drill sergeant to kitten without, so far as Ratiri could tell, any actual effort.

 

The hours wore on and the trays stacked up, with Earlene neatly dividing them into three equal sections, with some more being shuttered aside for storage in the pantry. Coincidentally, work wound down on the new home right at the time she was piping the buttercream onto the sandwich cookies, assembling them.  _ This part is so fun _ , she smiled to herself. _ Pipe. Squish. Pipe. Squish. Pipe. Squish. _ It was mesmerizing, and sugary. No one could care, if she piped all the broken ones in a separate pile, popping them into her mouth, all the while reminding herself not to ruin dinner. 

 

They would have to eat in the Halls, because the soup never happened. Her kitchen trash had become rather filled with random containers and boxes, some of which were not suitable for burning in the wood stove, so she hurried to the rubbish bin outside and lifted the lid. Her nose was immediately assaulted by an odor of cigarettes, which caused her to stop breathing from sheer unpleasantness. Immediately her mood soured.  _ Must be one of Orla’s workers _ , she frowned.  _ Though at least they are taking care and not leaving the damn things on the ground as litter like so many do. But I’d think they’d know better, than to be doing that on a job site. _ She slammed the lid shut.  _ Get over it, Earlene, people smoke in the world, and just because you think it’s vile doesn’t mean everyone else does. Then again, it’s not their home _ , she argued with herself.  _ Jesus can’t you stop being a lawyer, ever? Hmpf, apparently not. _

 

Returning inside, a glance out the window informed that all of them plus the Duncan twins were headed her way, so she set the kettle on.  _ Everyone would have cookies for their rooms, and Thanadir’s might last for two days _ , she smiled to herself. Bustling around, she laid out small plates for her family, and soon enjoyed the sight of everyone munching piles of cookies. Even Thranduil, intrigued by the spiced ones and the biscotti, selected one of each to at least try. Thanadir meandered over and kissed her on the cheek, smiling. “You made chocolate chip,” he said, eyes filled with happiness. She nodded. “Will you follow me, please?” she asked very, very softly, beckoning him into the pantry. Curiosity and politeness combined, and he did as he was asked.

 

“What is it, meldis?” he asked, charmingly munching another cookie.

 

Earlene laughed, and allowed her voice to increase in volume only a little. “I wondered... I smelled cigarettes in the rubbish bin and about keeled over. Have you seen if any of Orla’s workers have been smoking, when they have been at work here?”

 

He thought for a moment. “No, I have not seen any such thing. I do not like the habit either, I would have noticed.”

 

“Huh,” she said. “Oh well, it probably isn’t worth wondering about. Here, let me show you the rest of what I baked; there are more for a later day. So you do not have to ration yours too carefully,” she teased. They fell to chattering about something having to do with frosting, before drifting back outside.

 

Lorna, quite content, was munching a biscuit and tickling Shane beneath the chin. He giggled, happily flailing his arms, and was just about the cutest damn thing she’d ever seen. Chandra squalled a bit, so she ate the rest of her biscuit and tickled her daughter, too. Having two of them, it was an interesting balancing act; Ratiri had said twins needed to do a certain amount of things together, and a certain amount one-on-one with each parent, to bond properly.

 

Thanadir decided he liked all of these cookies, both new and old. The cinnamon pinwheels were definitely quite nice. But these biscotti...he was not so certain about them, until he watched Earlene dunking hers into her tea and imitated. His eyes widened. “Valar,” he whispered….

 

Thranduil chuckled, having been watching this unobserved. “Earlene is dangerous, isn’t she?”

 

Thanadir’s innocent eyes nodded. “Thousands of years, and I never had a cookie. It makes me wonder what else is out there.”

 

“Truffles, meldir,” Earlene said, smiling. “I am not through with you. Not even close.”

 

“You will ruin him,” said Thranduil, his eyes merry. 

 

“That is my privilege. Surely you will not try to intervene,” she teased. “Oh, if I ever get Thanadir to Germany, there will be trouble.”

 

“You can’t ruin Thanadir,” Lorna said, trying a cinnamon wheel. “It’s not possible. Though I think Nonna might’ve come close. The Irish and the Italians, we’ve got a bit more in common than we let on.”

 

“This from the woman who ate a bowl of ice cream the size of her head,” Ratiri said dryly. “Everything really  _ is  _ bigger in America, apparently.”

 

“The desserts were the one thing that didn’t seem overly big. The buildings, Jesus...I felt the size’v a mouse, sometimes.”

 

“It’s an island,” Earlene shrugged. “The only place to go is up. Though, they do rather seem to have considered that aspect a challenge of some kind.”

 

“Just a bit,” Lorna said, and twitched a little at the memory of being high up in the One World Trade Center. The Statue of Liberty had been scarier, but also briefer. “Did you ever read  _ The Stand _ , and what happened to Manhattan when the superflu hit? Christ, that bit in the Lincoln Tunnel gave me nightmares for  _ weeks _ .”

 

“I have to admit, I thought of that, when you went,” Ratiri said. “I wasn’t going to say anything, though. That would be a nightmare of a place to ride out a serious epidemic of any kind, even with a relatively minor mortality rate.” Yes, he’d given thoughts to these kinds of things. He was a doctor. Sue him.

 

Thranduil watched Earlene with slight nervousness, knowing that some practical aspect of her did not really want to listen to this. Enough happened in that city that was entirely real, without imagining more. However, she seemed not to even really be listening. That or, she was choosing to ignore it; her thoughts were only on refilling her tea mug, for which she rose to care.

 

Ratiri didn’t want to mention that they were overdue for the next great pandemic; even he had more tact than that. What he said instead was, “Someday, we should go to Seattle. Dad went there as a young man, during the World’s Fair in nineteen sixty-two.”

 

Lorna eyed him. “You just want to go up into that building that looks like a spaceship on a stick, don’t you?” she asked.

 

“There’s a restaurant at the top,” he said seriously. “It spins. Yes, I want to go in the building that looks like a spaceship on a stick.”

 

“They are supposed to have good clam chowder there,” Earlene piped up. “And marvelous scenery. On the grand scheme of things, I suppose it is not so far from Yellowstone.”

 

“And a haunted underground tour,” Ratiri said. “That city has some odd geography. They removed an entire hill basically because they could, and dumped it into the harbor. The new city is built on top of the old, so there are whole houses below street-level.”

 

_ So little appeals to me about the States now _ , thought Earlene.  _ Even though I’ve not seen much of it. I just feel kind of...done. Besides, after you’ve lived in New York, what else is there, city-wise? I’d probably be hard to impress, and no one likes a snob. _

 

“Like Ankh-Morpork,” Lorna said. “Apparently part’v it was based on Seattle.” She might have a disdain for most things English, but Terry Pratchett and his books were not among them. Now that she’d had enough biscuits, she got up and scooted her way toward the door.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened, as he realized what Lorna was intending to do. This was  _ much _ too close to the house. He was doomed if he said anything to Lorna, and only possibly doomed if he kept silent. Earlene fiddled with her tea, adding some sugar, and then it came. “I smell smoke. Cigarettes. What in hell? Gross.” Her voice was none too soft. Looking up, she looked around the room, noticing who was absent. “You’re kidding me. I thought that was just a one-time thing. Tell me she isn’t  _ smoking _ smoking. Really?” her voice fell in both annoyance and worry, as she looked at both Thranduil and Ratiri. Her husband was visibly cringing, and she understood quickly that her comments were unwelcome. Ratiri appeared equally uncomfortable. “I won’t say anything, since you obviously don’t want trouble.” She fell silent, wrinkling her nose against the acrid scent that assaulted her from some air current or draft that moved through the cottage. The best she could do is move, so she went across the room to sit next to Thanadir, now tense and unhappy.

 

Lorna, overhearing that, rolled her eyes and grit her teeth -- though she also moved further away from the door, so none of the smoke would get inside. Once done, she stubbed it out, tossed it in the bin, and drew a deep, calming breath -- or at least, as calming as she could make it. That was like a splash of petrol on what she had thought were the mere embers of her temper. Still, she managed not to utterly stalk back inside -- though when she sat, she simply couldn’t keep silent. Not anymore. “Yes, I’m fucking smoking again. Why? Because none’v you will tell me what is  _ actually  _ fucking going on! You say Ratiri was shaking in his boots that I’d give him his marching orders because he got angry over something  _ I _ did wrong -- that’s bullshit. Ratiri’s not stupid. This whole ‘oh God, Lorna might shove us all off a cliff if we sneeze wrong’ came out’v bloody nowhere, except it didn’t, did it?  _ What. Happened? _ What are you all so carefully not bloody  _ telling me? _ ”

 

Earlene’s lips parted, and her face looked stricken. Her words had caused this, and yet out of the four of them, she was third in line to have any right to speak about this. Her eyes closed, even as she found Thanadir’s hand and took it as though it were a life-preserver. And yet, the words made her angry.  _ It wasn’t bullshit, and how dare she be spoken to as if she were some sort of drama troll, who made up lies just to upset people? And perhaps maybe, if she didn’t get told things, *this* was fucking *why*? Because no one wanted to get dragged into this kind of emotional vortex when a regular conversation might do instead? Just, just…. _ she was drawing breath to fire back with some words of her own, when she heard her husband’s voice.

 

“Earlene!”

 

The fire dropped out of her eyes, and she inhaled deeply. “Díheno nin,” Earlene said softly, her remorse restored.”Ú-pedithon.” (Forgive me. I will not speak.) The return of pressure from the seneschal’s hand steadied her, because otherwise, her ability to not run out of the room was in grave jeopardy.

 

Utter and complete dread filled Ratiri. He’d thought he’d dodged this -- he thought he’d been safe, that his idiocy would remain unknown to her. God, why would Earlene say that? No doubt she’d been trying to help, but Lorna was Lorna. She knew him better than that -- it was no wonder he’d caught her giving him a slightly puzzled look at times. “I made a mistake,” he sighed. “And I was afraid of you finding out.”

 

She looked at him, not liking the sound of  _ that  _ at all. There were very few things she’d find unforgivable, and he had to know that. “I can’t believe I’m bloody asking this, but did you cheat on me? You can’t have. That’s not you.”

 

He shut his eyes, half fancying he could  _ feel  _ the axe hanging over his neck. “No,” he said. “Of course not. I…” He couldn’t speak the words. God help him, he couldn’t do it.

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. “You.  _ What _ . Ratiri?” she demanded. “All’v you, thinking I’m so unforgiving, that whatever this is, it’s so horrible -- it’s going to be a fucking self-fulfilling-bloody-prophecy if I don’t get an  _ answer. RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW. _ ”

 

“Lorna,” interjected Thranduil. “I am sorry to have to say this now, but you were the one who told me ‘I didn’t think my anger was that scary to others.’ Well, look around the room, and see how you are doing. It is time to face the effect you have on others when this is how you choose to communicate. Earlene is so angry at your words that since I have asked for her silence, she wants to run from the room but will not. Thanadir is appalled, and Ratiri is terrified. I am merely deeply unhappy. You can have your answer, but not when this is the manner in which you ask.”

 

Jesus fucking Christ… “May I  _ please  _ have my damn answer?” she asked, her voice measured and even, if also frigid. “Since Ratiri here doesn’t seem capable’v producing actual human speech, so whatever it is, it  _ must’v  _ been bad -- but if it wasn’t him cheating, which I know he’d never do, what  _ is  _ it?” She was three seconds away from washing her hands of the entire damn thing, but she’d just have to deal with it later if she did, so there was no point. “Whatever it is, if I’d been told it to begin with, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

 

“You are correct,” fired back Thranduil. “Because you would have written him off, and therefore we would not be here right now. You may be able to fool yourself, but you do not fool me. And you do not get to have it both ways. Ratiri? May I tell her?”

 

Ratiri sighed, rubbing his forehead. “God help me, you may.”

 

“It was during the conversation in which he was angry at us for not telling him about our recall to Valinor. Just before he left the room, he looked at you, and then me. And he said very clearly, ‘God knows what else you keep from me.’ Nobody knew how this sailed over your head, but we were all grateful that it did. Ratiri later apologized to me. Twice. We discussed many things, and I forgave him for his remark, which was said out of jealousy, upset and a lack of understanding. There. Now you know.”

 

Thranduil saw in his peripheral vision that his wife was now shaking with agitation with which Thanadir was attempting to help her.  _ Please try to be calm, meluieg. I can do this, but I need to know that you are well. Leave this to me. Whether it succeeds or fails, this is not on you. You are not to blame, for this. _

 

Only one word replied,  _ athon _ , but he knew it meant she was trying her best.

 

“He what?” The words were deceptively calm, even as Lorna rose and stalked away -- because if she didn’t, she was going to hit him. There would be no stopping it. Rage of a sort she’d never before known surged through her, literally washing her vision red, but hot on its heels was pain, the two emotions churning within her before being joined by some odd combination of disappointment and something close to loathing. Oh yes, she would in fact have kicked him to the fucking curb for that -- how dare he?  _ How fucking dare he? How fucking STUPID was he?  _ “Thranduil, I need some telepathic Xanax, or I am going to rip that son’v a bitch’s head off and shit down the hole.” She held her hand out, not taking her eyes off Ratiri. “You’re disgusting. And stupid. And  _ Christ _ are you a disappointment.”

 

Thranduil stood up, enraged, and bellowed: “ENOUGH.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her straight out the door with him, and into the woods. Even as she was pulled along behind him, tugged forward by an unstoppable force, he gave what she asked for. The emotion leached out of her even as he struggled with all he had to do something with his own sudden rage. He had no similar power, to use on himself, only discipline and self-restraint. Because just now, he wanted to say to her everything she had just said to Ratiri. Her behavior was disgusting, stupid, and right now his friend was a complete disappointment. Deep down he knew that voicing these things would achieve nothing, but  _ Eru, how much is any thinking or feeling being supposed to take? _ He found a fallen tree, not knowing or caring where they were in that moment. And he sat, with his head buried in his free hand, and he did not speak, or move. The only thing that mattered was regaining his self-control.  _ Regaining self-control. _ He began to pray to Nienna, for guidance and wisdom, because at the moment he had neither.

 

*****

 

Ratiri put his head in his hands, unable to move, or speak -- though he knew going after Lorna would only end horribly.

 

Thanadir and Earlene moved to either side of him, and enveloped him in a hug between them. “I am so sorry,” she said. “Would you feel better, if we just returned to the Halls? Whatever is going to happen is not going to happen quickly. I have seen that look on Thranduil’s face before and...I am afraid that this is going to be When Worlds Collide.”

 

“You can stay with me, if there is...a need, Ratiri. If this does not resolve quickly,” said Thanadir. He of all people understood needing...someone.

 

Ratiri nodded, and the three of them rose. Thanadir carried both children, and Earlene slung their bag over her shoulder. Wrapping her arm around his waist to give what support she could, the three of them moved through the forest in silence.

 

Earlene tried, but could not govern her thoughts. Her anger burned. She understood that Lorna had been damaged. Hurt. Denied. Deprived. But what on fucking earth justified the things she could and would say to people? Her words had been poison. So, so much worse than what Ratiri had said, and for so many reasons. All she could do is hope that somehow, Thranduil had wisdom and understanding that she did not. There were actions that had their origin in fear, and actions that had their origin in...was it hate? If it was the latter, she did not know what to do with it on any level.

 

 

*****

 

It was weird, but the telepathic Xanax only sort of worked. The rage itself was muted, but because the cause was still there, it was like some sort of...of ice pack. Which, it was better than nothing, but...Jesus. Her fiance had thought she was a whore. The man she loved, who she’d trusted, and who she’d  _ thought  _ trusted her, thought she was some slag who’d have it off behind his back. What...what did a person  _ do  _ with that? He’d thought she was so faithless, so false, and based on what? On  _ what _ ?

 

She’d trusted him, and the breaking of that hit her with all the agony of a cinderblock to the chest. She’d thought he’d trusted her -- she’d...Christ, she’d  _ tried  _ to be a good girlfriend. She’d communicated, as best she knew how. Why would he think that of her? How  _ dare  _ he think that of her? But...but mostly, why? What had she ever done, to make him think she was so...so…

 

_ He thought I was a whore. He genuinely thought I was a whore. _ Oh  _ God  _ that  _ hurt _ . It hurt so much that she wanted to knock herself out, and not feel it anymore.   _ He thought I was going behind his back with Thranduil, and doing...God knows what. He thought…  _ She’d been many things in life, but she’d never been faithless. She’d never even  _ thought  _ of being faithless. When she was with someone, she was with them, and sure God she thought he’d  _ known  _ that...

 

Lorna had wanted to try to deal with...whatever it was she hadn’t been told...but God, she could hardly breathe. She needed out, she needed away, she needed anything but here.

 

“This is what you wanted, and this is what you are going to deal with,” he said coldly. “And once again, you are not correct; lacking information because you have chosen to shout insults instead of ask questions.”

 

“Oh, he  _ didn’t  _ think I was a whore? What did he think we were doing, then, that had to stay so secret?” 

 

“I will tell you, though I wonder if you are capable of understanding anything but your own anger. He did not think we were doing anything. He knew we were not. He was speaking from a place of hurt, foolish jealousy, and feeling excluded. He never meant any of his actual words; they were simply what passed his lips in an excess of heated emotion. And once he understood, he saw his own stupidity and could not apologize enough because it was all a misunderstanding. Except the part where he expected you to behave exactly as you have just done; he understood that part with perfect clarity.”

 

“If he felt jealous, if he felt excluded, why in fuck didn’t he talk to me?” she asked. “I always listened to him.  _ Always _ . If he’d just bloody said something,  _ anything _ …” Ratiri wasn’t one to keep silent, not about important things. Not unless he really had thought the worst of her, somewhere deep down.

 

“Because he did not realize this  himself. I saw it in him, perhaps once or twice. Fleeting emotions that rose and vanished a time or two, never anything in his conscious mind. Until that day, when his general state of being angry allowed that deeply buried emotion to surface. There was nothing to talk about. Aside from that, he knows that you are a private person. He has always been afraid to pry, to try to ask you things about yourself you are not ready to discuss. And was therefore perfectly groomed to not look more closely at his own feelings.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Lorna said. “He doesn’t want to pry into my feelings, so he won’t look at his own? That doesn’t -- I know I’m emotionally bloody stunted, but that makes no sense. I just….” Why the hell was Thranduil defending him? Maybe she  _ was  _ too angry to see it right now, too hurt, but Jesus, Ratiri knew her better than that, he  _ did _ , and he’d thought she was….well, that she was  _ whatever _ . “What the hell did he think he had to be jealous’v? I love the son’v a bitch. I love him more than anyone but my kids, and he knows that, or I thought he did, so...I don’t  _ understand. _ ” She didn’t. It was as bewildering as algebra.

 

“I could choose to keep answering this line of questioning,” Thranduil replied, barely regaining some command over himself. “But what bothers me is that you have already been told all you truly need to know. Which is that everyone can agree, including Ratiri, that his emotions made no sense. That they were distorted and irrational and impulsive, and that they are purged now. And yet my guess is, that you will insist on worrying this to shreds. You will still want to dissect it, take it to pieces, spend hours trying to understand that which is senseless, because it is easier to do that than to dwell on the far worse injustice you have just heaped on that poor man.”

 

Anger flared through her again at that, but it was brief. She hadn’t heaped  _ shit  _ on him that he hadn’t asked for, even in a moment of weakness. She’d expect the same damn thing from him, if it had been her mistake. “None’v this makes any damn sense,” she said. “I’m not surprised you were all so suddenly afraid I’d boot you out for no reason. This is  _ not  _ no reason, but I’m not going to boot him out, no matter what you arseholes seem to think’v me. I told you, I’ve never cut off someone who actually matters to me.  _ Ever. _ And I’ll tell you one more bloody thing,” she added, glaring up at him, “if we’d all just sat down, if you lot hadn’t tried to keep this from me and then dangle weird hints, I would’ve been angry, sure. I would’ve been  _ really  _ angry, but not like this. If you’d just bloody…” She blinked, hard, and pulled away. If they’d just trusted her, even a little. If they could have just  _ talked _ ...yeah, it still might have ended badly, but not like this.

 

“Are you listening to yourself?” He demanded. “Are you truly hearing the words you are speaking, both aloud and to yourself? Lorna, when you behave as you do, you lose the right to have from others what you say you want. You cannot be in a room full of your friends, talk about tearing off your fiance’s head and shitting down the hole, tell him to his face that he is disgusting, stupid and a disappointment and think that anyone there will ever expect anything different from you, ever. WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO TALK TO YOU, when they can look forward to nothing but a heap of verbal abuse and hateful words no one could ever possibly forget? This might be some kind of normal in an orc den, but it is not how people that love each other speak.”

 

“Mairead and I insult each other all the time,” Lorna shot back. “This is bloody  _ Ireland.  _ We’ve called each other far worse than disgusting, and _ when the fuck have I ever --  _ EVER -- _ done this before? When have I ever fucking shouted at someone like this? WHEN?!   _ You all seem to think I’ll go off like a fucking landmine every time somebody looks at me funny, but how often have I  _ actually  _ done it before?  _ Never.  _ Ratiri and I have had  _ one  _ fight, and neither of us so much as raised our voices. I was a hormonal mess and he was at the end’v his bloody rope from looking after me. It’s not like either’v us picked a fight for the hell’v it.”

 

“Do you want to start with Sean in the bar? Or would you rather move on to what you wanted to do to the ones who attacked Earlene and Thanadir in Central Park. Or perhaps we could skip around to what you wanted to do to Aidan? And then of course there  _ was _ Aidan, but, he was not going to live anyway, was he? We can leave Von Ratched out of the discussion. If you are looking for reasons to justify why others worry about the nature of your emotional responses, I am afraid it isn’t working.”

 

“‘Wanted’, Thranduil,” she said flatly. “The operative word is ‘wanted’. ‘Wanted’, not ‘did’. Yes, I  _ wanted  _ to go hunt those bastards down, but did I? No. Are you fuckers honestly going to hold what I  _ think _ against me? We all want shite. That doesn’t mean we get to do it, and we know it.  _ I  _ know it.”

 

“No,” he said flatly. “There is a difference with you, though it is one you seem to forget easily. “You  _ threaten _ to do these things. You _ tell _ those around you, ‘I need to not see/hear that or I will do such and such’. You talk in the strongest possible terms, both aloud and in your mind, about these desires. And the difference between you and the others is that you have  _ actually done _ all these things already, Lorna. They are not hollow promises, things you rant on about while never having touched on them in reality. You like to fight. You like to hurt others. You like to take revenge. And every one of us knows it. Again, you cannot have it both ways, and this is exactly what you are trying to do.”

 

“ _ Liked  _ to hurt others,” she said, now really wounded. “ _ Liked  _ to take revenge. Yes, I’ve done this shite -- over twenty years ago. That’s more than half my lifetime. Sean happened when I was still...broken. When I still went blank -- and you know as bloody well as I do that I’d had no say in the matter, when I went blank. Yes, I wanted to hurt those men. Yes, I wanted to hurt Aidan. I  _ did  _ neither.” She’d thought he knew the distinction -- that he, of all people, understood that that was past tense. Yes, she still liked a good pub fight; she was Irish. But she didn’t want to hurt someone for the sake of hurting them -- she wasn’t who she’d been. She thought, she wanted, but she no longer acted. And that he couldn’t or wouldn’t see that...well, he was angry, and she could not fucking handle this right now. “I’m going for a walk.”

 

There was no reply.

 

“Good luck, Thranduil,” she said, and at least managed to disappear into the trees before the burn in her eyes produced actual tears. Apparently she was even more of a failure at Adulting than she’d thought, but right now she was too tired, too confused, and she needed to just...move. Move, and not think, and get out of this forest, since Thranduil seemed to find her so horrible. The keys to the Charger were in the Halls, but the van keys were kept in the cottage. She’d go to Baile for a bit, until she could work things out in her head. Just now she was fit company for no one.

 

His voice filled her mind, and just as quickly vanished.  _ I cannot always control all of my anger, and this encounter pushed me beyond what I could manage. For that I am sorry. I suppose as much as I wish it to be otherwise, I yet carry around my father, as do you. Perhaps we will speak again. I love you. _

 

_ As do you…  _ Oh Christ. She pressed her fist against her mouth, muffling the wounded sound that tried to pass through it. Jesus, she was still Da, wasn’t she? Everything she’d tried to do, all the things she’d thought she’d managed...even now, she was Da. She was  _ worse  _ than Da, because she actually loved the people she hurt… She couldn’t swallow the broken sob that welled in her chest, the utter  _ hopelessness _ …  _ You aren’t actually any better now, are you? You’re just what you always were. And no matter how hard you try, how far you think you’ve come, that’s all you ever will be. You’ve lied to yourself and everyone else, let them think there was something in you worth saving. You’re as worthless as Da ever was, and you’ve pretended otherwise long enough.  _ What right had she to judge him? Oh, she wasn’t  _ quite  _ the same -- she didn’t hit, but she flayed with words, and that wasn’t any better. If anything, it was worse. Bruises faded; what was said could never be taken back.

 

Out of nowhere, he appeared and caught her into his arms.  _ No. No more of this, right now. Please, will you let me give you sleep? _

 

God, her chest hurt...crying really was terrible. Everything hurt, and she looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes. She couldn’t actually say anything, but she nodded.

 

He did not simply snatch her from wakefulness, but held her as he walked. Telling her she was loved, that this was  _ not _ all she would ever be, and that they would find a way through this together. And he carried her back toward the Halls, where he sent Earlene a strange request. For her or Thanadir to meet him at the entrance to the forges, with two blankets, and a basket of food from the kitchens, human and elven wine, and water. And that they might not be back for awhile. 

 

Earlene spoke softly to Thanadir, and they agreed to split the assignments. All of the children were taken to the King’s rooms. Earlene felt confident that if need be, she could manage to feed all four children for a time, if they ran out of milk. God knows, she produced as much as Buttercup (or that was what it seemed like at times). The seneschal met the King as requested, handing over the basket. Their eyes met with shared sadness.

 

“Penin estel, i sadron nîn,” Thranduil confessed, hovering near despair. (I do not have hope, my faithful one)

 

Thanadir shook his head emphatically. “Avon samed han. Estel anhen.” (I refuse to believe that. There is hope, for this.)

 

Wordlessly, the two ellyn touched their foreheads together, and Thanadir grasped his King’s shoulder. The strength of his faith was evident, and imparted courage. With a nod, he departed, bearing the sleeping Lorna to the ancient oak in whose limbs many had found solace. Thranduil knew that even Earlene had been drawn to this place, once, and that she revered it in her heart. Dusk was approaching, and he covered his charge carefully, holding her while nestling his own limbs into the tree, leaning his flaxen head against the heavy branches that he hoped held some resolution he could not yet perceive.

 

 

*******

 

When Lorna woke, she had no idea where she was. Outside, somewhere, but where? Why? Not that she particularly cared.

 

All the things she’d done, all the ground she’d thought she’d made -- it was a veneer, wasn’t it? A veneer, and a bloody thin one at that, so easily broken. Beneath it she was still vicious little Lorna Donovan, half the time unfit for civilized company, and the other half damned close to it.

 

She should move. At the very least, she should open her eyes, but... _ why _ ? She’d just proven, to herself and everyone else, that she was no better off than when she’d started, just over a year ago. Oh, she could try again, but it hadn’t done any good the first time around, so why should a second be any different? Lorna had genuinely thought she had changed. She hadn’t been secretly half-assing it; she’d put all she had into it, and look at the result. Look at how pointless it had all been, how easily something small and stupid had shattered it so completely. Something so small and stupid, said by her  _ fiance _ , and she’d gone off like goddamn Krakatoa. Christ, what was she going to do the first time she got angry at one of her kids? Would she just go and do the same to them, automatically, without even a second of forethought? Even after all she’d tried, all she’d done, she still did...that.  _ That _ , that horrifying, hurtful  _ disaster _ , still instinctive reflex even after everything. 

 

She’d been so afraid, all her life, that that rage was an intrinsic part of her being, locked deep in the bedrock of whatever passed for her soul, and she was right. And here, she thought bitterly, she’d been so afraid there would be nothing left of  _ her _ by the time everyone was done with her, not realizing how good a thing that would have actually been. The dark thing lurking within her lurked there still, and it took so little to draw it out, to inflict it on those she loved.

 

No, she couldn’t open her eyes. She was tired, and she hurt all over, like her da had had a go at her. He’d liked blows to the back of the head, the shoulders, the small of the back -- places where bruises didn’t show. He’d only ever hit any of them in the face when he was too angry to think, which admittedly was quite often. He’d left her with the legacy from hell, internal and intangible and impossible, she now knew, to get rid of. But she was so, so tired. Lorna couldn’t think of anything right now, of what to do, or where to go. She couldn’t just abandon her children, but it wasn’t like any sane person would let her near them again, and she couldn’t blame them. She was Da. She might not hit like he did, but she was still Da: poison to everyone around her. At least he hadn’t actually loved any of them.

 

She realized, abruptly, that she wasn’t alone. Somebody was with her, in this...tree? Not Ratiri, God help the poor man...if there was any mercy, he’d be drunk as a lord right now, happy and high on elf wine. “Who are you?” she asked, still unable to open her eyes. Who the hell would want to be anywhere near her right now? Even  _ she  _ didn’t want to be near her.

 

“Who else?” he smiled, for Thanadir had been right. There  _ was _ hope here, in abundance, but it could not be seen through the flush of her anger. He held her a little tighter, for joy now suffused his own heart. It was the first positive thing he’d had since this began; so sue him, as the humans would say.

 

“Why?” she asked, bewildered. Why was he near her? Why in God’s name would he  _ want  _ to be? He’d seen her for what she still was. What she’d always be, if this colossal failure was any indication.

 

“Because, I love you. I believe I already mentioned that a time or two. And, no. You are not correct. The colossal failure was everything that came before. And the greatest success is everything you have just realized. You could not see it, Lorna, and now you do. That is the key to everything. It is all that you could not perceive, beforehand. You cannot possibly understand, the joy I feel right now. For you. For all of us. I think you need some wine. Would you like some?”

 

Now, finally, she opened her eyes, and discovered she must have been out for hours, because night had fallen. “Christ, yes,” she said, “but...Thranduil, why in God’s bloody name is me realizing everything I’d thought I’d accomplished was bullshit a good thing? It was...it was like a glass jar. A shitty old one, that shatters if you pick it up wrong. Everything I did, everything I thought I’d learned, and I’m just what I’ve bloody always been. Even now.”

 

“No, you are not” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “But before I go on at length, you should be aware that you are in my arms, and that we are both high up in a tree. So do not go rocketing off. Hold onto me, so that I can pour wine.” Something of an exasperated glower looked back at him, but hold on she did, while he fiddled with wine. He added just enough of his own to take away some of her hurt, but not enough to prevent her from thinking clearly, before handing her the cup and filling his own. “Cheers,” he said, determined to sip his wine instead of toss it back with one swallow. There would not be a repeat of some weeks ago. 

 

He cleared his throat. “For starters, your analogy is terrible. You had nothing in common with a shitty glass jar, because you are imagining that somehow the process of growing, of escaping what an angry and abusive parent does to a person, is some kind of ‘one time deal.’ It is not, at all. It is a gradual process. I have not been open enough in encouraging you to talk to the one other person who can help you to see this;  Thanadir. He has my full permission to tell you anything, about my past. You see me now, millennia after enduring my own abuse. After endless stretches of time to heal, and listen to counsel, make mistakes, try again, over and over, always trying again...and I still do not have full mastery of my anger. I showed that to you earlier, when I could not control myself. It is never completely over with, Lorna. But it does get better. 

 

Ask Thanadir, what I was like in the beginning. Ask him, about the rages and the words I spoke, and the hurt I caused him and others around me. But like you, a day came when I could finally understand what I was doing, and why. It did not feel like it at the time, but that moment of similar realization was when I could finally begin to heal. Finally begin to understand how I could change for the better, and find success that increased with time. And practice. But back to your glass jar. You are really a piece of steel. You have only begun to be heated, and be shaped by the smith’s hammer. But you imagined that you were already a sword, and that is your problem. You want to believe that it is all over, that nothing can change, that none of your efforts have mattered. They have. Those efforts brought you to this place. It is not an end, Lorna, it is a beginning.”

 

Lorna had no such compunction, and knocked half her wine back in one swallow, dribbling a little down her chin as she did. Trying to wipe her face with her sleeve while still holding her glass was an interesting experience, but she managed it. “At the risk’v sounding bloody melodramatic, it feels like the end,” she sighed, even as the wine warmed her. “It’s been twenty-six years since I left my da. I know that’s not much time to you, but that’s over half my life at the moment. Will I -- you’d know this, if anyone would: will I ever get this out’v me? Will I ever be rid’v it?” She was, for once, not remotely ashamed of the fact that the burn in her eyes was turning to liquid. She was too tired. Thought of asking Thanadir -- thought of _ seeing  _ Thanadir, or any of them -- was almost too much. Look what she’d proved herself to be. She wasn’t Thranduil; she was neither elf nor king. She was just one tiny human, without the wisdom or sense God gave a bloody oyster. He’d had God knew how many thousands of years to become what he was -- she had, she thought, to take that ‘extended lifespan’ deal, if only because otherwise she only had fifty-odd years to get her shite straightened out, if she was lucky.

 

“You will not ever be as though it did not happen, unless you were to have me erase your memories so thoroughly that you became someone else, which I am not certain I could consent to do. But you will learn to be in far better control. You will learn to keep silent and leave, when you must, before your anger can get the better of you. You will learn to calm yourself faster and come out the other side in possession of what you want to communicate, not like... what happened. There will come a time when this does not rule you any longer. Those things, I can promise you. ”

 

Lorna knocked back the rest of her wine, and oh, the alcohol helped. It was calming, and warming, and left her somewhat less depressed. “Funny,” she said, returning her glass to him and resting her head on his shoulder, “I was thinking it’d be good if someone just went in and re-wrote...me. I started off so bloody damaged, and I’m not...Christ, I don’t know how to put it. You’re...you’re  _ you _ . You’re an elf. You’re strong and brilliant and...not me. Compared to everyone in our little group, I’m not even that bright.” And that was kind of another thing, something that really didn’t help: she was surrounded by people who were either extremely smart or outright geniuses. It was pretty easy to feel inferior, in a group like that, and that probably hadn’t been helping.

 

“Yes, you are too bright, Lorna. But you are a different kind of strong and bright than the others. I could choose to be friends with anyone and yet I chose you. I like to believe I have better taste than you seem to wish to give me any credit for, in your eagerness to run yourself down. I understand your feelings, my friend. I have had them so very many times, and I have had to learn to let go. You must learn to forgive yourself, and accept that there will be mistakes. Set aside these impossible standards and realize that all of us have our own frailties that find their way to the surface time and again. I am an elf and so is Thanadir and neither of us are in any way perfect. We have made terrible mistakes and have learned and promised to do better. Sometimes we even succeed. It is all any of us can do, with the time we are given.”

 

“What happens if I fuck up again, though?” she asked. “I can’t promise that I won’t. I can’t promise I won’t go off on someone else, and...Christ, Thranduil, what if it’s my kids? I don’t want to be my da. I don’t want to be anything  _ like  _ my da. Children shouldn’t be afraid’v their parents…” She sighed. Christ, she was tired, but the wine had left her calmer. “I don’t know what it feels like, to let go. How will I know if I’ve done it? How did you know?”

 

“You will...fuck up again. Almost assuredly. And you will do what you need to do next, which is to say you are sorry and ask their forgiveness. Tell them you have asked for help and are working to do better. Every one of them will understand and forgive, because every one of them has stood in your shoes at one time or another. Many times, come to think of it. That is the other side to this, Lorna. It is humbling, to feel the forgiveness of others. It is love. Especially when it is those who are close to you, and they want you to succeed. Yes, there is hurt, but it is hurt they will be willing to forget. It will not be easy for you but you must come to understand that your views on how you relate to others and how others relate to you have been very rigid, and not really based in...reality. You did not set out to react this way, just as Ratiri did not set out to become jealous. In a flare of runaway emotion, our worst nature can take hold and cause us to say or do things we swiftly regret. I have seen you spend a great deal of effort trying to understand why others have done something that hurts you when the simple answer is, they fucked up. And I cannot believe I just said that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “They made a mistake, and now they greatly desire their chance to do better. But that cannot happen if there is no willingness to forgive. That healing cannot happen, without the assuredness that we are still loved. Cast your doubts aside, and for once allow yourself to have this experience.”

 

Lorna laughed -- quietly at first, the wine turning it into a full-blown fit of giggles. “There is something so wrong in hearing  _ you  _ say something like ‘they fucked up’,” she said. His accent was far too posh for something like that, and the juxtaposition of it just made her laugh harder. Eventually, she added, “You need to help me understand that. I mean, maybe go into my head and show me, because it’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever known.” She had to wonder -- and this, she knew, was just residue of her childhood, of her father and the words she knew were a load of shit, even though she couldn’t deny their effect -- why anyone would  _ want  _ to love her. She was prickly, and she just...didn’t have a whole lot to offer in any particular way. She knew that was a load of shit, she  _ knew  _ it, and yet knowing didn’t always help. Ratiri was a genius, and so much more educated than she was...what did he even see in her? She’d once pried out of him that he had an IQ of 182, which...Jesus. If anyone ought to have been insecure in their bloody relationship, it was her. No, she wasn’t stupid, but just -- 182. There weren’t many who could compete with that.

 

“Then I will start. Earlier today, I was very angry with you. I said many things I wished I had said better, or not at all. We will not discuss the things I wanted to say but somehow managed to avoid. I feel like I failed you as a friend, when you needed me most. I almost let you simply walk away even though I knew it would solve nothing. Please forgive me.” He looked into her eyes as he said the words, and it became suddenly obvious that this was not Thranduil’s attempt at humor.

 

Part of Lorna was morbidly curious as to what he  _ didn’t  _ say, but asking would do no one any good. “Of course you let me walk away,” she said. “We’re too much alike, you and I. It would’ve ended badly if you hadn’t. Sooner or later one’v us would’ve said something that  _ really  _ couldn’t have been taken back. The kind’v thing you don’t get over.”

 

“I would have gotten over it,” he said softly. “But Lorna, what I just said to you asks for an answer.”

 

“Of course I forgive you, you blond giant,” she said. “All you lot, you think I’m so unforgiving, but I’ve forgiven you before, haven’t I?”

 

“Thank you,” he said with sincerity. “No one claimed that you don’t ever forgive, Lorna. It is more that...reactions like what happened today are too painful for many to see. The others did not live as you were forced to. When someone can say words like that, with the thoughts behind them...you would have said much, much more to Ratiri had you been left there. You would have thrown him out, or at least told him that this was the case. Even when you calm down and change your mind later, a kind of damage is done that is far more difficult to heal. Most others, in your situation of earlier, would already have had a disposition toward forgiveness. They would...bypass, the emotions you or I go through when we are too sorely provoked. Anger like this is very hard on others, Lorna. I blew up at Earlene once, and walked out on her. She was hurt, very badly. I knew it and yet I could do nothing, until I had restored my composure. But she understood, somehow, and went out of her way to show love even when I was the one who was at fault. That affected me very deeply, and I have done everything in my power to remember her actions at other times I have felt myself become wrathful. So far, I have not made further mistakes. So far.”

 

“Earlene,” Lorna said, entirely seriously, “is a bloody saint. I’m not being sarcastic -- she seriously is. Way more’v one than I could ever be.” She had not thought that her anger might be hard on others, because nobody in Baile had given her any indication it would be -- but everyone in Baile was Irish. Mairead had called her a disgusting little troll, and she’d called Mairead a giant ginger bell-end, among many other things. They’d both threatened bodily harm upon one another, while knowing neither would ever actually  _ do  _ it (though Lorna had come perilously close to ripping Mairead’s eyebrows off with duct tape, the first year they lived together, but Mairead had tried to cut her hair. Some things were just a no-go.) She sighed. “You’re right, though. I would’ve said more.” So much more, that could never be unsaid. “If I get that way, how do I stop it? Aside from leaving, I mean, or is that the only thing I can do?”

 

“I have learned, in my head...this is hard to explain but I will try. When something happens, and I feel the anger coming on, before I am completely lost to it I try to remember something. That I know what the rage will feel like, and that eventually I will calm down. It is as if I take myself to the other side of it, before it can even start. Or maybe it is better to say, I accept that it is occurring, and let it wash past me. It reminds me of when we watch videos, and someone presses fast-forward. It is not the same as trying to resist it, or stuff it in a box. I accept that it is within me, as it has been within me for so very long, and I move on. I don’t know if that can make any sense. If I cannot manage that, it is better to leave. Anything is better, than speaking many words hurtful to others. Earlene is not quite as much of a saint as you imagine her to be, Lorna. She does have a great deal of self-discipline; perhaps more than even I do. But there are times she too loses herself to anger. Driven to that place, she is every bit as awful as you and I can be. It is just that it takes far more to unleash that kind of response. My wife has endured her share of hurtful words in her life, and is more sensitive than most to their cruelty. I would argue that her temperament is far more like Ratiri’s. They are both very forgiving and loving people.”

 

_ Aidan.  _ You’d have iron self-control to live with someone like Aidan; it was that or murder them and bury their body under the garden shed (which, quite honestly, she might have done. Gobshite. At least he’d given them Allanah.) “That sounds...odd, to me, but I’ll try it,” Lorna said. It sounded  _ very  _ odd, actually, and she wasn’t sure how she’d make it work, but she’d figure it out when the time came. “You know, I didn’t realize this, but I think, in a way, I was luckier than you and Earlene. Nobody in my family tried to pretend it was anything other than awful. There was no...no face to put up, no appearances to keep. We were trash, and we didn’t have to try to pretend we weren’t, and there was a kind’v...freedom, in that. Nothing got kept behind closed doors, and not only because there sometimes  _ weren’t  _ any doors.” Which was probably why she’d always been so free with her rage -- why not? There was no point in hiding it. Nobody else did.

 

“You were raised to believe many things that I would argue are not true. But they became true to you. And for you to go on, never having to question those assumptions...it is not easy, Lorna. It breaks my heart, to know you were treated like this. It breaks Thanadir’s heart to know how I was treated. We cannot do anything about what was, but we can work toward better. And so you know...I had help, but I never once fell to anger when I raised my son. It can be done.”

 

“You know what I wish?” she asked, beckoning for her glass in a silent request for a refill. “I wish we could bring both our das back and just...I don’t know, tie them up and beat them to death with spoons. Really, really slowly.” The idea held such appeal that she laughed again -- she didn’t know what Oropher looked like, but she imagined him as an unpleasant version of Thranduil, just like her own da had looked much like her. They could use spoons, and, like...ladles. It would be glorious. “Though...I’m glad to know, you never took it out on your kid. It’s bad enough I’ve done it to Ratiri, but I could never forgive myself if I went off on one’v them. I know how scary that is, when you’re small.” Her own da had not been a large man by any stretch, but he’d seemed a giant when she was four years of age. As had his belt. She’d had scars from that thing for years, until Mairead introduced her to this weird salve that faded them.

 

He sighed. “There was a time I might have relished such a thought, but no longer. What I am left with most is sadness, and the sense of not understanding. Looking back with the perspective of a grown ellon...something happened to my father. I may never understand what; for all I know, Námo yet has him. It is not...normal, for one of our people to go so far wrong in this manner. My mother was loving. He had some kind of love for her. Yet something about me…” He looked up into the bare canopy silhouetted against the starlight, at the buds that would soon bring forth the glossy leaves. “If it is granted to me to see him again, I will ask why. I feel the comprehension is something I owe myself. Perhaps he has been healed, purged of whatever dwelled within him. And if that is the case, I must find it in myself to forgive. Even now, it hurts in a way, to have hated him. It should have been so different, and yet it was not.” Tears pooled in his eyes, that he wiped away. “Soon I will have another son. My best revenge is that I will be the father to my child that Oropher was not.”

 

Lorna hugged him tighter. She hadn’t seen what a parent-child relationship ought to be until she was an adult, but Thranduil had to have been surrounded by them -- he had to have wondered why his was so different, and maybe envied other kids. But if elves could have some odd variant of Asperger’s, maybe they could have other things, too -- rare things, but still….things. If Thranduil should see him again, Lorna hoped he had an actual answer. Not having that closure...that would be awful. She knew exactly what had been wrong with her own da; he was a worthless drunk, like countless others on the south side of Dublin. There was no mystery; nothing had gone  _ wrong  _ with him, because nothing had been  _ right  _ to begin with. Oropher, though...there had to be something there, because she just couldn’t imagine that kind of elf being at all close to common. “You lot’ll go home, eventually,” she said, though she didn’t even  _ remotely  _ want to think about that. “Might be you’ll get the chance.”

 

“As they say, ‘I will find out’” he laughed. “I have never been to Aman, though I have met those who have. I try not to think about it, though I find myself wondering, is there a beautiful cavern we can call home? Where did the rest of my people go, that left already? Do they live in a forest? Do they call another their King? It will be...so different. Oh, what is the difference. What happens happens, and I must accept it. I was at least promised that it is long years away. Too many years, to mope about an unknowable future. The Valar are not cruel, surely the have their reasons.” He chuckled. “Perhaps it will be nice, to see old friends. We used to not live in isolation. Other elves would visit from Imladris, from Lórien. At times I too would be a guest in the Hidden Valley, or the great forest of the mellyrn. I wish you could have seen them, Lorna. Trees so great in girth that the one we now sit in would appear to be a...toothpick, by comparison. The soft music of elven song by night and day, their voices always raised in some kind of music that always shifted but never ceased. To look up among them, one saw only grey, for the leaves of the mellyrn were that color beneath, but green on top. The wood-elves that lived there liked to clothe themselves in garments of the same color. Such a rare beauty, now lost and only a memory. And yet there are still trees, and still forests.”

 

“This is selfish as bloody hell, but I hope Ratiri and I are dead before you go. It’s why we’ve got to train our twins, and Allanah, to live out in the human world, but the thought’v losing you lot, of these beautiful Halls standing empty...Christ does it hurt.” And it did, terribly, a pain in her chest that squeezed at her heart. “I wish...I wish we’d all been born then, all us humans, except then we wouldn’t be the same. I wish we hadn’t bolloxed-up this world so badly. I won’t know what to do with it, once you all leave.” She could picture, all too clearly, the silence in the Halls, the emptiness, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to at all. There would be no more trees of that size; humanity had ravaged the earth to such an extent that they would only be losing ground now, never gaining it.

 

Thranduil gazed down at her, his eyes glinting dully in the low light. “None of us can say what the future holds, my friend. Look at me...thousands of years in this place, and then last year I met you. There is much else to worry about, besides that which we cannot know. At the rate we are going, who even  knows what will come to pass. We are fortunate. The necessities of life we have in abundance, and love and friends and young ones. We will travel and see things of beauty and interest. Surely compared to many outside of this forest, we have riches beyond measure, and I do not mean the kind that sit in the vault. Another thing I had to learn was to focus on what is good, positive. My father taught me nothing except how to expect the next beating. It took time and patience, to begin to look for beauty, to appreciate what was good. Every day of my life I have given thanks for Thanadir. If nothing else, that one is as the waves against the seashore. He kept on teaching, until I could finally see. You will have the same, from us. We may argue from time to time or have flarings of temper. I suppose it is slightly inevitable, given that this is...us. But we will not fail you, and perhaps someday you too will see this world a little differently. You already do.”

 

“When I was younger, I didn’t worry about the future at all,” she said, with a small, slightly wry smile. “I didn’t expect anything, I didn’t think about it -- I just...acted. Which is why I wound up stealing a bus at one in the morning. I have to admit, looking forward, now -- having things to plan for -- it scares me, a bit. It’s new. But you’re right -- we’ve got so much more than almost anyone outside this forest. More than they’ll ever have,  just because they can’t -- because this is the last forest like it, maybe in the whole world. That I was somehow in the right place, at the right time, to find you lot...I’d suspect divine intervention even if I didn’t know about Manwë. Which, speaking’v, what d’you think would happen if I jumped out this tree, eventually?” They seemed to be awfully bloody high up, so she wouldn’t jump from  _ here _ , but still. It was tempting. This tree -- she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen it before, because she’d probably remember it if she had. She already knew what answer she’d get, so she went on, “If you lot’ll be patient with me. I’m sure I’ll test the hell out’v it, at times, until I get a handle on...this.” It was so daunting that part of her wanted to hide, because how could she handle something so monumentally huge? One step at a time was the only way, but it seemed like she had Mount Everest to climb.

 

“You will manage. You are stubborn. I have great faith, in this,” Thranduil teased, seeing she was feeling better. He ignored the elbow to his ribs. “When I was young…” he trailed off, for that was a very long time ago. “I am not sure I thought about the future either, except to feel sure it would be miserable. Just as miserable as life was each day. Maybe all of it was not bad. I was being trained,  _ as befitted my station _ ,” he spat. “I was good at skills with weapons, and learned quickly. Though of course it went without saying that I was never good enough for my father. But my instructors were pleased enough. And that included Thanadir, who has not changed in the least, in that regard. When I could practice at fighting, I could feel like someone else for awhile. And when we at last moved out of Beleriand, in the long migration south to Amon Lanc in the southern part of this great...the great forest that was once here, there were things to fight.

 

Orcs, always more orcs, give or take, and fouler things besides on occasion. And then at last we joined with the small forces of Amdír of Lórien to Mordor and…” he shook his head at the memory. “I was no longer young, by then. Fighting bands of orcs in the forests of the north cannot prepare anyone for the sight of a battle plain filled with them. My father was a fool; nothing I said mattered. Our people were not equipped well enough, they lacked the proper armor. All of them, outfitted as though it were a skirmish in the woods. It was not. And then then at the outset Oropher ignored Gil-galad, in his pride and prejudice. He rid my people of his stupidity, early on, but the cost was too great. For close to seven years we fought on, and when it was all over with, two thirds of my people were slain. Whatever shreds remained of my youth died that day along with my father. I do not wish such an initiation on anyone.”

 

Jesus bloody Christ...Lorna had never been anywhere near anything remotely resembling a war. She’d seen things on TV, and that was it. “Two-thirds?” she asked, staring. She had some idea, now, just how slowly elves reproduced; that must have been a blow that had taken thousands of years to recover from, if they ever had at all. “It’s funny -- I’d thought you lot were meant to be better than us, and then there was your da. He really was as stupid as mine, wasn’t he?” She hugged him a bit tighter, enough so that a human would have felt their ribs creak a bit. “I can’t imagine what that would be like, in real life. I’m not sure any human alive can, now.”

 

His arms tightened around her as well; these were not pleasant memories. “You know, he was a gobshite, come to think of it,” Thranduil said. “Elves had prejudices too. You have your English, and we had the Noldor. I should not say ‘we’, because I have long ago set aside any such thoughts when it comes to individual elves. If you recall there were…Fëanor’s lot, I suppose you would say. The Noldor. They had their Silmarils and their Oaths and their troublemaking and yes, they kept Morgoth busy. But there were also the Teleri, those who never had anything to do with this nonsense. And the great King Thingol, the King under whose rule I was born, was Teleri. We were forbidden to speak the language of the Noldor. We were made to understand how superior we all were. So when it all went up in proverbial flames and the land became a ruin, we all had to go somewhere, and that somewhere was Lindon. It is very near to what became the Shire, since that is someplace you would know. But the High King at Lindon was Gil-galad, a Noldor. So naturally my father could not tolerate that, and we moved on. He was accepted as King among the Silvan elves. And when it came time for that great battle, why could he not listen to Gil-galad, far wiser and more experienced? Pigheadedness and prejudice. He would not listen to one of the Noldor, he knew better.” Thranduil paused before concluding with disgust: “Gobshite.”

 

In spite of the grim subject matter, Lorna couldn’t help but laugh again. Hearing  _ Thranduil  _ of all people call someone a gobshite...her life was complete. “Ratiri’s talked about the Noldor,” she said, “but I’ve only got partway through  _ The Silmarillion _ . Shite keeps getting in the way.” Not being allowed to speak a certain language...that reminded her of unpleasant human things, and how the English had tried so hard to stamp out the Irish language. “Seven years, though. Maybe he went a bit crazy, too. I know seven years isn’t any time at all to elves, but it might be if you were camped in one place the whole time, having to dig new holes to shit in while not stepping in the old ones.” She was pretty sure that was how human war worked, anyway, and elves pooped, too. “It seems weird to me, that elves would have...racism, I guess you’d call it, and then I realize that I know so few’v you. If your da, at however the hell old he was, didn’t have the sense God gave a sheep...I don’t feel quite so bad for fucking up. You people -- you’re brilliant and talented and can do things us humans could never dream’v, and it’s easy to forget you’re fallible, too. After a battle like that...I mean,  _ seven years _ .” She didn’t even want to think of how horrible it must have been, to dig graves for so many fallen.

 

“Oh, I have to give him more credit than a sheep. Reluctantly,” Thranduil said, pouring them more wine and offering the food he’d brought. “He was a smart enough ruler to assimilate, and to build his fortress in a defensible position. I am not certain you realize...the Dol Guldur of the Hobbit films? That was Amon Lanc. That was once my father’s palace. We had to leave it, as the pressure from Sauron became more than we had the ability to repel. And once he moved in, I suppose you could say he redecorated. It was lovely, once.” He sighed. “My father gave everything to those he ruled that he could not give his own son. Impartiality. Fairness. An eye for promoting growth, and safety. Good relations with our neighbors in Lothlórien to the south. Three thousand, five hundred years and then some of life as Prince of the Greenwood. I spent most of it anywhere but at home,” he said, unable to resist tossing back just one swallow. “And Dagorlad...you do find the humor in everything, Lorna,” he chuckled. “Yes, we had to dig holes for...that. But graves...do you understand that the Dead Marshes talked about in the Lord of the Rings story...those are the dead from this battle? The marshes were part of the battle plain. Almost all that fell...remained. And later, I am told that the marshes spread over time, reaching out like some diseased hand, growing and...it was not a very enjoyable experience. So many brave men, and elves...but at least I had Thanadir.”

 

“I’d always thought the Marshes came later,” she said, surprised. “I didn’t realize you’d fought in a bloody swamp.” She was, however, quite stunned. Lorna had thought of Oropher as basically a more posh version of her own da. To hear that in the rest of his life he’d seemed like a good person...that just didn’t compute. She’d grown up among the wrong sort of people for it; abusive assholes tended to still be assholes outside the house as well. She had to mimic Thranduil’s gesture, the wine burning the whole way down, because how could someone -- how could somebody who was capable of being good still be such a shit to the people they were meant to love the most? Her da had been a walking bag of worthlessness. Nobody would ever have looked at him and thought him good, or even smart. How could someone  _ be  _ like that? How could someone be relatively smart, and fair, and otherwise…  _ Your da was worse than mine _ , she said, not trusting herself to speak aloud.  _ Your da should’ve known better. Mine was nothing but a gobshite, but yours --  _ yours  _ \-- should’ve been smarter, and I’m so fucking sorry. _

 

_ Thank you.  _ He placed a kiss on her forehead.  _ How much simpler it would have been, had you been born long ago. I would have simply run your father through with my sword, and you would have called mine every name, though he would have understood none of it. And perhaps we would have even killed orcs together. I saw many men who fought with less skill than what you possess.  _ He laughed.  _ Listen to me. Perhaps it is the wine talking, at this point. Though, I do not wish to become drunk. I think I have had enough of that, for now.  _ An eerie noise came overhead, and as they both looked up, a very impressive meteor streaked overhead, blazing a fiery green trail in the sky.  _ By Eru, I do not see that every day. Night. Whatever. _

 

Lorna laughed.  _ Your da would’ve tossed me out on my ear after five seconds,  _ she said.  _ I’d’ve been living in a tree like this, and you’d’ve had to come get me before we could go kill orcs.  _ She actually kind of liked the thought: she’d have had a little treehouse, though she would have had to find some way to keep the spiders from getting at her. Ew. “Humans’v got a tradition,” she said, watching the after-effect of the meteor. “If you see a shooting star, you’re meant to make a wish on it.” Hers was very obvious: she wanted to not be what she was. She wanted to be able to to be something -- someone -- else. Someone better. Though she was pretty sure she was always going to want to jam a boot up Oropher’s arse. If he coughed out her shoelaces, so much the better.  _ Also, I really am a bad influence on your vocabulary when you’ve been drinking, and I’m not at all sorry. _

 

“I am certain the monarchy will survive, though I will deny it all to Thanadir. The day you hear  _ him _ calling someone a gobshite, you can assume your influence is complete,” he chuckled. “We will see what you can do to eighteen thousand years of seemliness.” Now he was outright laughing, unable to help himself. “Oh, I am terrible,” he confessed, before his tone returned to one of seriousness. “I will wish for the same thing, for you. It will be well, Lorna, though it may not always be easy.”

 

“That just gives me a goal,” Lorna said, munching some cheese. “Get Thanadir to call someone a gobshite. Too bad he doesn’t drink much.” That would have made it too easy, though. “And...I hope so. I’m glad you’ve got faith in me, because I don’t right now.” She laughed a little. “At least I didn’t tell Ratiri I hoped his uterus would fall out and spontaneously combust,” she said. “Threw that one at Mairead once, and she started laughing so hard she forgot she was angry. I also told Big Jamie I was going to rip out one’v his kidneys and serve it up with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.” She did her best approximation of Hannibal Lecter’s weird slurping sound, totally forgetting that Thranduil had no context for that whatsoever.

 

“This is another movie, isn’t it? I probably should be disturbed, but for some reason it almost sounds interesting. Only you, Lorna. Only you.”

 

*****

 

Earlene was trying to do her level best to keep the circus moving, as she thought of it. At least she didn’t have Thranduil’s job. Truly, she did not want to know. She and Thanadir had dragged Ratiri back with them and all five children were here. Having marshalled all three of the elves that helped with child care, Earlene marched Ratiri back to their bedroom and parked him in the nicest armchair, in the hopes that being somewhere not associated with his usual life in this place could be helpful.

 

“You know she will realize that she did not mean all of that, awful though it was,” said Earlene. There was no point tiptoeing around what had been said, not when they had all heard it in living stereo. “This will straighten out. You have to believe that.” A prayer went to any Vala that might be inclined to listen, that her words sounded half as convincing as they needed to be.

 

“Maybe,” he said, staring into the fire. “If Thranduil can convince her it wasn’t what it sounded like.” He knew what it sounded like, even if it wasn’t what he’d meant. And Lorna being Lorna, her reaction did not surprise him. There were times he loved that volatility, for lack of a better term. This was not one of them.

 

“He needs to get through about a lot more than what it sounded like,” Earlene said, her mood darkening for a moment. “Seriously, this cannot go on. I will accept some of the blame for catalyzing this present mess. But if it wasn’t this, it would have been something else, eventually.  I have faith in him. And I have faith in her, too. She just...has to be able to see it. She has to.” Thanadir walked in at that moment. 

 

“I met the King,” the seneschal said. “I believe he means to take Lorna somewhere in the forest.” His eyes radiated worry. “I do not feel comfortable giving you the elven wine, but would you like some of the other, Ratiri? Or perhaps some tea? All the children are quiet just now, it would not take long.”

 

“Wine,” Ratiri said immediately. “Please.” Would Lorna see it?  _ Could  _ she? He hoped so. When she was angry, she couldn’t see anything, but once Thranduil got her calmed down...maybe. “Irish society hasn’t helped her. If Thranduil does talk her around...well, we’ll have to do something. You have no idea how casually families insult one another. It’s not odd, here.” It wasn’t in Scotland, either, and not just his parents. He blamed the excessive number of gingers in both countries, despite the fact that there was no scientific evidence for it whatsoever. “She once threatened to rip Mairead’s eyebrows off with duct tape and leave her looking like a giant ginger Q-tip. This was after Mairead threatened to hold her down and shave her head.”

 

“Those insults, I could live with,” sighed Earlene as Thanadir hurried to pour wine. “Meldir, could I possibly bother you for some water, while you are there?” she asked momentarily distracted. “But these other words...what she said...it is something for which a fear has been growing within me. We are investing heavily, in each other. In friendship, and love, and the bonds of our shared children. There is a part of me that has been seeing, like a runaway train coming down the tracks, that something like this would happen...somewhere down the road, and that it would destroy what we have built together. I do not wish to see our children torn from each other. Or...us torn from each other, either. Love can heal over many things, but not until the problem is seen for what it is. I think she just needs...help, to perceive what is happening. Lorna has come such a long way, from the person I first met.”

 

Certainly the words Lorna  _ did  _ use were going to stay burned in his mind for a while. Possibly a long while. And yet it was less her words than her expression -- the rage Mairead had warned him about, but there was hurt, and disappointment, and that last was what hurt  _ him  _ the most. Yes, she’d been wrong, but what he’d said sounded bad enough that he wasn’t surprised that was the conclusion she’d jumped to. “If anybody can do that, it’s Thranduil,” he said, knocking back half his wine at one go. “And to think I was jealous of that. Now it’s my only real hope.”

 

“I believe he can manage because...I think he has figured out a way to conquer the same thing, in himself,” she said. “There was one time, he was so angry at me. He stormed off after blaming me for something I never intended. But later he just looked...sad, like he had failed at something he had mostly conquered. I could be wrong, but I think the same anger lives in him. What does anyone expect, from a father like that? Then again, I do not know for certain.”

 

Thanadir sighed, offering her water. “You are not wrong,” the old elf said unhappily. “Your love has made a great difference to him, Earlene. Not only...the physical,” he said with a touch of awkwardness. “You have allowed him to believe in himself in a way that I am not sure he could before. You have given him the ability to believe he is lovable. I am not certain that ever truly existed before. I love you as my friend, meldis, but for the gift you have given him, you have my undying gratitude.”

 

Earlene looked at him, very surprised. “But he is lovable,” she said, almost puzzled. “He is beautiful, wonderful. His heart is...how could anyone not…” she was almost starting to cry.

 

“No, Earlene,” Thanadir said, rushing to her. “Do not feel sorrowful. All that is in the past, and it is because of you. You need think only on that.”

 

She nodded. “I am sorry. I think it is that today has been a bit much.” A corner of her skirt was used to dab at her eyes.

 

Ratiri sighed, and knocked back the rest of his wine. The heat of it was welcome, driving away the chill in his heart. “He’s the one who’s going to have to convince Lorna,” he sighed. “I resented the fact that they were so alike. I was jealous that they were so close. Now, that’s the only hope I’ve got.” Lorna was not the most self-aware of beings. He highly doubted she could work her way out of this on her own, but at least Thranduil could read minds. If nothing else, he could pull her out of it himself. He snorted. “Look at us. All of us. And here we’re all adults. Technically. So why do I feel so…” He trailed off, and stared into his empty glass.

 

“I put my share of the cookies into the basket with Shane,” Thanadir confessed. “Maybe we should eat cookies and have wine.”

 

Something like a snort evolved into an outright laugh, as Earlene’s sides shook from the ridiculousness of it all. “I think you have the right idea, meldir. It was very sensible of you to think of the cookies. You can have all the cookies, for being wonderful enough to remember to bring them. Surely that is an adult decision?” she teased Ratiri, walking to him and kneeling down next to the armchair, taking his hand. “You have more hope than that. You have all of us. And while I will grant that she is stubborn, so are we. Sooner or later, one of us will get through. It is just that...it is so damaging, to live in a world where that kind of anger is normalized. I don’t have to tell you, you’re the doctor. She suffers, even though she does not know it. But she has a good heart. I know she does. It will come out right in the end.” She kissed his forehead, rising. “It will.” 

 

“I’ve never told her this, but I think of her as a hedgehog,” he admitted, giving Earlene’s hand a squeeze. “Small, prickly, but soft on the inside. I should look the word up in Scottish, and use it as a new nickname.” He shut his eyes. “I wish I knew what was going on in her head right now. I don’t dare have real hope until then. I know it will work out, but just now...Earlene, you’re an American. Would you say this sucks?”

 

“Oh definitely,” she nodded. “Worse than a bad day in night court.”

 

“What is...hedgehog?” asked Thanadir.

 

Earlene bit her lip. “Do you know toothpicks?”

 

He nodded. 

 

“Imagine a little animal, covered in broken off  toothpicks, that can curl up in a ball and leave only the pointy parts sticking out. I will find a photo on the computer, when we return to the cottage tomorrow.”

 

He tried hard to imagine such a creature and found he could not.  _ Alas. _ He bit into a cookie, instead.

 

*****

 

Thranduil’s cup was empty. As was the bottle. “Well, I suppose that is the last of it, then,” he sighed. “All the rest is in the cellar. And Ithil moves through the heavens.” The moon was brilliant and close to full overhead, who even knew what time it was, though like as not it was yet well before midnight. “What do you wish to do, Lorna?”

 

Part of her very much wanted to stay out here all night, but the rest of her, the bit comprised of forty-year-old joints, knew better. “I suppose we’d best get back,” she sighed. “It’s so lovely out here, though. I’m sure I’ve never seen this tree before.”

 

“It is a very special one. Earlene found her way here once, alone. It calls to us. It is Eldest, or that is how we call it. No other tree in the forest is older, as you might have inferred. May I offer to carry you down?” He was sincerely hoping she did not wish to test out her superpowers just now.

 

“It’s a beautiful thing,” she said, giving a branch a pat. “And I was hoping I could jump, but I’m guessing you won’t let me, will you?”

 

He paled, if that was possible. “I...do not know how what you were given works, Lorna, and it is dark. If you are going to insist, at least let me descend first. Your death would not improve this day, for me.”

 

“Good point,” she said. “Okay, you go first, and I’ll crawl down after you until I’m less high off the ground -- how’s that sound?”

 

“It will have to do,” he said with forced humor. She was doing so well, right now, and the last thing he wanted was to create a setback when there were more difficult hurdles ahead. Very swiftly, he descended, so he could at least ensure she chose a location without limbs or stones beneath. 

 

Even tipsy, Lorna manage to descend more or less decently -- for about five feet or so. Then she managed to lose both hand  _ and  _ footing (the limbs were huge, and her hands were small), and down she went, with a panicked, “ _ Shiiiiiit!” _ until she landed flat on the ground. She discovered in short order that while she might be impervious to gunshots or stab wounds, hard, solid impact still drove the breath from her. She wheezed, grimacing, and tried to tell herself that at least she’d learned something.

 

“Are you hurt?” he rushed to her in as complete of a panic as had yet been seen. He should have known that nothing could possibly go according to plan, with Lorna. Heaving a sigh of relief even before she could properly answered, he saw that nothing appeared to be too far amiss, thank Eru.

 

“Fine,” she managed, still wheezing, and burst out laughing. “Now I know what happens when I do that.” She levered herself upright onto her elbows, fighting to breathe normally, before hauling herself to her feet. “So I guess I won’t be jumping off any buildings. Good to know.” It also meant she’d better not get hit by a bus, but that had never actually been likely to begin with.

 

“Let me help, your nervous system is...displeased,” he said, placing his hand on her back so that she could draw air once again, so relieved that nothing worse had occurred. In a moment she was back to normal. He smiled. Did one ever use that word,  _ normal _ , with Lorna? With mirth contained to himself, he picked up the basket and offered his arm. To him it was a warm evening, and the sleeves of his tunic were rolled partly up his forearm. The starlight blazed overhead, and he sent a brief prayer of thanks that thus far, all seemed to be well.

 

Lorna looked at his arm, and up at his face. They were passing through a shadowed area of the trees, and she burst out laughing, so hard it all but dragged her to a stop. “Oh my God, you really  _ do  _ glow in the dark!” He was actually so white he glowed in the dark. If only she’d had her mobile to record it, her life would have been complete.

 

“I am an elf,” he blustered. “Of course I do. And I already told you that. It is not my fault if you are inattentive. Hmph.”

 

That only made her laugh harder. “I know you did, but actually  _ seeing  _ it…” She trailed off into giggles. “Sorry. Don’t mind me. There’s just loads’v human jokes -- Irish jokes, particularly -- about people being so pale they glow in the dark, and you actually do. You’ve not seen enough Irish people -- a load’re a bunch’v alabaster bastards, as we say.”

 

“Oh by Eru,” he groaned, before pausing. “Tell me one. Tell me one of these jokes.”

 

“What use is an Irish boyfriend? If you shine a torch at him, he glows so bright you can direct small aircraft,” she said. “What use is an Irish boyfriend? If there’s a power cut, shove him ahead’v you in the dark. Among many, many others.” So very many. Poor Chandra was going to glow in the dark herself, insofar as pale humans actually did.

 

“Oh dear, perhaps we should not have named her Ithiliel,” he frowned. “This will not please Earlene...perhaps you might not make mention of that around her just yet? She is adamant about the children not being teased and…” a choking sort of noise emitted from him.

 

“She need never know,” Lorna said, and poke him in the side. “But you will. Will they glow in the dark, though, given they’re half human? Because if they do, it might make sleepovers a bit weird.”

 

“I suppose I need to look at them in complete darkness,” he said, privately suspecting that they did indeed. There was not much reason to expect that his children would be markedly different from full blooded elves. They were at the entrance to the forges, though it was difficult to see. “Be careful, or take my hand. It is not easy to see where to step even in daylight, here. We are at the back door, so to speak.”

 

“Rather not break my neck,” she said, taking his hand. Falling out of the tree was enough for one day. Except….she looked at his hand. His rather  _ luminescent  _ hand. Great, here came the giggles again. She’d blame the wine, if anyone asked.

 

He rolled his eyes, but could not be happier, give or take the outcome of the next fifteen minutes. At least he had the presence of mind to signal Thanadir to dismiss those caring for the children, since their assistance should not be needed any longer. That and, the necessity to not wake the children should contribute to no one yelling. In theory. For what seemed like the hundredth time since Earlene’s arrival in their lives, he shamelessly availed himself of the ability to communicate silently with his seneschal at a distance. To learn that those attached to him had done their best to comfort and reassure Ratiri, who was holding up with a demeanor of cautious optimism, gratified him immensely. They wound their way upward side by side, and soon were not far from Thranduil’s rooms.

 

Lorna tensed as they went, slowing. “Thranduil, what do I even say? How the hell can I apologize for that in any way that actually  _ means  _ something?” This was rather a new experience for her; when she’d fought with Mairead, their apologies consisted of ice cream and Bailey’s and ‘I guess I don’t hate you’.

 

“Do you remember the words of my apology to you?” he asked gently. “There is no need to go on and on. You need only say that you are sorry for your words and anger, and that you wish to work on doing better. You can ask for their forgiveness if it is something you feel you can say. I am sure Ratiri and you will end up speaking more, later. Mostly they want assurance of your love, and the chance to show their own for you. No one is waiting in there to tear you apart, Lorna. I think you can guess at how Ratiri probably feels.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, in a show of solidarity.

 

This was...way more terrifying than it ought to be. Now that she had to face them all, after what she’d said...Jesus, she felt like she was going to be sick. She hoped like hell she’d be able to actually say anything at all -- and that if she could, it didn’t come out as word vomit.

 

_ I will help you,  _ she heard, feeling a blanket descend over her feelings, as his hand remained on her shoulder.  _ Come. I will not let you falter.  _ His long arms pushed the door open, and gestured for her to enter.

 

Her dread eased; between the wine and whatever Thranduil was doing, she actually felt a tiny bit stoned. She was not going to complain about this at all. Still, the guilt in her heart was like a burrowing worm, working its way ever deeper.

 

It might have hurt worse, had she not tripped over the rug and pitched drunkenly forward, barely catching herself on the edge of an end table. The rug half-slithered out from beneath her, leaving her staggering, and pretty much killed whatever serious attempt at contrition she wanted to make.

 

Shit.

 

“Since I must now eat my words, we will try again,” Thranduil said with humor, gently righting her and setting her firmly on her feet. “I am sorry for not being more attentive.” He left her to stand on her own, but remained near.

 

Lorna was so embarrassed she forgot to be nervous. Jesus fucking Christ, everything was a damn farce with her, wasn’t it? 

 

_ It is no matter, Lorna. Try to focus on what you wish to say. All is still well,  _ he encouraged.

 

“At the risk’v making a fucking hash’v this, I’m sorry,” she said, glancing around the room. “I’m  _ really  _ bloody sorry. Thranduil here, he seems to think I can do better, so I’m going to see if he’s right, and... _ Jesus _ . I hope you can forgive me, even if I’m a complete shit.” And, as if she wasn’t disgusting enough, she burst into tears. Fucking brilliant.

 

Earlene’s face melted, and she looked down with a frown to see that Ratiri was paralyzed with fear.  _ LIKE HELL _ , she thought, and with astonishing strength grabbed him by an arm and all but pitched him forward in Lorna’s direction. Thranduil saw what was happening and decided that if he had interfered this much a little more would do no harm.

 

_ Hug Lorna, Ratiri, or Earlene’s head may explode.  _  He hoped that something like humor was coming across, with that.

 

So long as Lorna was not about to be a hedgehog, that was not a difficult request to humor. He’d never actually seen Lorna really, properly cry before, and it was...wrong. He pulled her close, knowing her well enough to realize it wasn’t his voice she needed yet, running his hands through her tangled hair -- tangled with  _ leaves _ , for some reason. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging like a limpet, shivering and nearly silent. Only the wet heat of her tears as they wicked through his shirt told him she was crying at all.

 

As much as she felt compelled to dive in and start a group hug, Earlene saw the wisdom of needing to contain herself, to give Ratiri some time with her. But there remained something else, she could do. Her arms wrapped around her husband.  _ I am so proud of you. So grateful for your compassion and your love. So fortunate to be yours. I love you, with all my heart, Thranduil.  _ The sun rose and set on him, as far as she was concerned, more than usual.With great effort she tried to suppress her thoughts of how she wished to show him her happiness, for this outcome. It was hardly appropriate to the moment. And yet if a stray image or two made it past her attempts, well, he surely knew she was only mortal.

 

Lorna couldn’t let go, nor would her silent weeping cease. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying -- hell, she was only half aware of it. How would this not get held against her in future? It wasn’t like a person could help doing that. How were they not going to forever look at her weird? Ratiri would hesitate around her, she knew it -- and she couldn’t blame him, either. It only made sense. Every time they looked at her, they’d remember what she was capable of (well, no, not what she was capable of. They hadn’t seen  _ that  _ at all, and she’d do her damndest to make sure they never would. That Ratiri and Earlene had not registered what she’d done to Von Ratched was practically divine mercy.)

 

_ No, Lorna. That is the point of forgiveness. Saying that you forgive someone and then holding their deed against them is not forgiving. It is...saying the words, but then holding a grudge instead.   _

 

Thanadir came up to Lorna and placed his hand on her back, leaning down to kiss the back of her head and say very softly, “I forgive you. Do not cry. It was a mistake made in anger.” Eru knew he had seen this manner of outburst from Thranduil, long ago. It had taken a great deal of patience, and counsel, to help bring the one who would become his King past the worst of these tendencies. 

 

Earlene did the same, though her words were different, and she hoped they weren’t smothering Lorna. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I forgive you and you can’t possibly know how proud I am of you.” A brief half-hug was added, before she backed away, looking up at Thanadir with a smile and an expression full of relief and calm.

 

“Don’t ever be afraid I won’t forgive you, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, chin rested atop her head. “I know you, Lorna, and I love you, no matter what. Even if you call me a giant bell-end.”

 

Lorna looked up at him. “Mairead told you that, did she?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

 

“Among a great many other things,” he said dryly, brushing the tangled hair from her face. “Did you really tell her you hoped her uterus would fall out and spontaneously combust?”

 

In spite of everything, Lorna burst out laughing. “I might’ve done,” she said, before looking at Earlene, and at Thanadir. “I can’t -- I can’t promise you lot I won’t do something like that again. I know myself, and Thranduil’s said this is a long process, but...I’ll try.” Her real fear was that she and her issues would prove tiresome for them, and they’d regret even knowing her. She knew full well how aggravating someone who was...high-maintenance...could be, after a while.

 

“I’m sure we will manage,” Earlene said. “I love you, Lorna. We all love you. We’re family, and family helps family solve their issues. I don’t know how I can help exactly, but anyone here has my permission to say anything they need to about me. Even the ugly bits. You can ask me whatever you want, if it can somehow do any good.”

 

“Me too,” added Thanadir, even though that thought made him feel nervous, a little. But he knew he had been helped himself, and it was only right to help in turn. His pride was not more important than this.

 

Thranduil arched his eyebrows in surprise, because he knew what each of them were offering, about which Lorna and Ratiri were clueless. It was their way of saying to him that he could speak of anything that pertained to them, even their most private failures. Of course he would have to edit certain things...he understood that his small friend could not understand all of the realities of their lives together, but that they would willingly give this...humbled him. If he had ever wondered about the degree to which Earlene or Thanadir actually cared about Lorna instead of merely tolerating her, they had just dispelled any lingering question.

 

“I don’t deserve you lot,” Lorna said, wiping her eyes. To be willing to break privacy like that...to her, it was almost inconceivable. She had never pried into their pasts -- not even Ratiri’s, really -- because she was so private herself she often assumed everyone else was, too.  (Well, except Thranduil, but she knew damn well she only knew like what, two facets of him? One or two aspects of his life prior to now? He had shared a very great deal, but at his age, there was much that was his and his alone, too.) “I...I’ll give the same. If I didn’t sit on shite so much, if I communicated better about the past like I do the present, that might...help.” Earlene had said they kept too many secrets from one another, and Earlene was a very smart woman who was also entirely right.

 

“In my experience, no one ever really deserves anything,” Earlene said. “But you...neither did you deserve a fraction of the shit you had to deal with. Compared to you I had everything, and I don’t forget it. Mostly I just want you to be happy, because I know you can be happier not carrying all that around.”

 

Surprisingly, Thanadir spoke. “When I was very young, we had nothing. It seemed like my parents barely had food, or clothes. But they loved me. And each other. I know they wanted to give me more, but could not. And even being so poor...it harmed me. It caused me problems. But you had the same, and without love. That you are even here at all...do not underestimate your own courage, to have come so far. It is not easy.”

 

“You also had a shite brother,” Lorna pointed out, looking at Earlene. “My siblings, we might’ve all been a bit mental, but we loved each other.” If she’d had a brother like Aidan...she didn’t want to know what she might have done, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. At the very least, there would have been a broken nose. “We all came from...from what we came from,” she added, looking at Thanadir, and Thranduil, and finally at Ratiri. While his family had been loving (if weird), he’d had all the ‘fun’ of growing up a mixed-race teenager in 80’s Glasgow. “Our kids, they’ll have it better. All’v them.” Allanah might one day learn of Aidan, but she’d never be burdened with actually  _ knowing  _ him. “And I don’t...I’m not sure most’v you can understand just how much that means to me. They’ll have everything I didn’t, but more importantly, they won’t have the shite that I  _ did _ .”

 

A lull in conversation fell over the room. There was more to say, but there was also weariness, and emotions that had been stretched thin. “I think it would be best if we all took our rest, now,” Thranduil said kindly. “There will be more conversations, in time. Difficult look matters appear simpler, after sleep.” Having come thus far, it made sense to him, especially after the phrase ‘quit while you are ahead’ flitted through his wife’s mind. And his cause was aided when Earlene involuntarily stifled a cavernous yawn.

 

Lorna couldn’t help but agree: all wine and cheese had made her quite sleepy herself, and the emotional strain really hadn’t helped. If she and Ratiri each took a twin, they could get everything settled without needing to drag poor Maerwen into it. Shaking her head, she had to say,  _ Tell Earlene that joke about Irish boyfriends and power cuts. It’s one she really ought to hear. _

 

Thranduil smiled and winked, while privately thinking that this would be a terrible idea just now. Earlene’s swiftly moving mind would find it a short hop from his own skin to that of her children. He did not particularly relish the idea of her rising in the middle of the night to take one of their daughters to a pitch black chamber somewhere to look at glowing skin, and then begin to simmer about possible future slights from others.  _ Good night, my friend. Losto vae.  _

 

_ Goodnight,  _ she said.  _ And..thank you. For everything.  _ She fetched the sleeping Chandra, while Ratiri took Shane. She didn’t know about him, but she was so beyond exhausted that all she wanted to do was sleep, and hopefully dream of some way of making it up to him. Thranduil might say she had no need to, but she  _ wanted  _ to. She’d hurt Ratiri, badly, and sooner or later she would come up with something to give him. He deserved all the good things in the world, and she’d think of some way to give him at least one. She had to cough up some way to thank Thranduil, too, though he’d tell her she didn’t need to do  _ that _ , either. She might fight with those she loved, and she might be shit at apologizing, but she didn’t ever want them to think she didn’t appreciate them. There would be something, sooner or later; once she knew what it was, it would happen.

 


	63. Sixty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 22-25, 2017
> 
> Henry Purcell’s Ground in c minor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tu8-y8JO77Y

 

Earlene was accomplishing precious little on her mosaic, which was something of a torment. She and Lorna had been at this monster for weeks, and while it was looking so, so, pretty, the construction gods were clearly finding some obscene humor in ensuring that it could not reach completion. “Nana! Nana!” she heard for the twelfth time in what seemed like the last hour, as Ithiliel and Eleniel caught sight of her through a doorway. And every time, guilt coursed through her that she was not spending enough time with her daughters, so she stopped to give kisses and play with them for a moment. And that meant Allanah too, though she was kept watchfully on a little harness. After her fall, it was agreed all around that someone would have a hold on her, and that someone was Lothiriel. Ortherion had the (for the moment) far easier job of caring for her twins, because they were not yet fully ambulatory. That meant that their playpen allowed them to crawl and play, without walking or climbing to other places as Allanah now could. And even this would not last long; they all knew it was a matter of weeks before the gwanûn joined their older sister in gaining full mobility. It seemed terrifying, actually, with their construction nowhere near completion.

 

“Nana is here”, she said, reaching to scoop all three of them into her arms to hear delighted squeals. No one could have explained to her that it would be possible to love this much. Earlene loved many in her life, but these children...it was different. They were precious, and new, and nothing had ever happened to them to cause them to believe that life was anything less than perfect and wonderful. There was something about this, that brought up every irrational compulsion buried in her psyche so that it would stay that way, for them. And however stupid, unrealistic and even unwise this feeling was, she had no power to fight it, yet. Which was why she could not bear to disappoint them, or turn aside when her daughters wanted her attention. “Nana loves Eleniel, and Ithiliel, and Allanah. And Nana loves Ithiliel, and Allanah, and Eleniel. Nana loves Allanah, and Eleniel, and Ithiliel.” This silly repetition had gone far toward ensuring no one had bad feelings because then no child came first in the naming. Perhaps they no longer needed to do it; the girls now seemed to find it funny more than anything else. More hugs and kisses were given, before she tore herself away to return to work, earning patient grins from the elven couple that had become a satellite of their family. “Len hannon,” she told the pair of them once again, departing to her tiles and grout. Which was perhaps why waves of irritation flowed over her when the sound of a vehicle, and a rather noisy one at that, was heard slowing out at the road. “Fucking Christ no,” she whispered, careful to keep her words contained  _ only _ to Lorna’s hearing. “Why do the Valar hate me today? All I want is to finish this bloody mosaic before my time on Earth is gone.”  _ Okay, so I'm being totally melodramatic, but I’m pregnant, and I want this particular job to be over with _ .  _ Sue me. _

 

“You and me both,” Lorna muttered, hoping Ratiri was well out of the way. It was his turn to take a break, and play with the twins a bit. They weren’t  moving a whole lot yet, but they were definitely taking in the world around them, and he’d said they needed as much stimulation as possible, especially from their parents. Lucky him, just now. She dusted the grout off her hands, unaware of the smear across the bridge of her nose. “Let’s get this over with. Hopefully they won’t want to stay long.” What was there for them to do, really, other than see that Allanah was happy and healthy? They didn’t actually know Earlene, let alone any of the rest of them. There wasn’t  _ that  _ much to talk about.

 

“Nana has to take Allanah to see friends,” she explained, ignoring the stormy frowns on the faces of the twins. “Can you show Ortherion who can stack blocks the fastest?” The words were spoken with cheer she hoped she conveyed, as she removed Allanah’s harness and lifted her daughter. Some didn’t approve of these restraining devices, and that this visit be swift and free of drama made up her immediate list of priorities.  _ Never mind that harnesses are a small price to pay for avoiding broken bones. _ Lothiriel rose to follow them, because it was ultimately her exclusive task to ensure Allanah avoided mischief. Blocks waited in the cottage that she could play with, and a rocking horse that Thanadir had carved for her. Hopefully between the two, they would manage. Fruit was there, and cookies to offer the guests though she was leery of this; she worried a little, about Allanah gaining a taste for refined sugar at this age. So only the relatively bland biscotti would be offered with tea to the adults. “Remember, Earlene, they looked out for her when she was with your...hm hm hm brother,” she muttered aloud, reminding herself about why she needed to have a better attitude about this enforced social gathering.

 

“Hm hm hm!” Allanah cheerfully copied.

 

“Wow, she mimicked something that wasn’t a swear word,” Lorna said, secretly hoping she wouldn’t trot out any of her other, um,  _ vocabulary  _ while Madison’s friends were here. She also hoped like hell Ratiri wouldn’t turn up too soon -- or at all, really. He had no use whatsoever for alternative health nuts who refused to use the more vital aspects of modern medicine. As he put it, you couldn’t cure cancer with herbs, and after what had happened to poor Madison...he’d said he understood why a woman would want to give birth in her home, as opposed to some bland hospital, but that was no excuse for not having a qualified medical professional on hand -- and no, a doula or midwife alone did not count.

 

Whoever had rented that lot their car ought to be shot, too; there was a faint rattle that didn’t sound at all promising. Lorna had never actually asked their names, but she’d bet one or all of them had a Y where none was needed. At least, if she got lucky, none of them would be able to understand her, and wouldn’t talk to her much.

 

“You know, the bad part of that observation is that in this case, ‘hm hm hm’ was standing in for something of a more colorful nature” Earlene frowned.

 

“Coworfuw najjer!” 

 

“Oh, by Eru”, breathed Earlene, rolling her eyes.

 

“EWU!! EWU!!”

 

Given that they had reached the cottage, Allanah was set down while Earlene broke down in giggles. “So help me, if she says d-a-d-d-y is an e-l-f I may just run for the barn.” Glancing helplessly at Lorna, she moved to the sink to wash her hands, hoping their guests took their time getting out of the car. A final strange mechanical squealing noise from the driveway that caused both women to twitch seemed to indicate that yes, this was indeed the case. Allanah had toddled to her rocking horse, and was carefully climbing aboard, primly smoothing the pretty blue skirt that Thanadir had made her. Earlene set on some soft Irish music, knowing that the child would be occupied longer with this if she had something with a cadence to which she could listen.

 

The sounds that car were making made Lorna wince; she was tempted to pop the hood while they were inside and fix whatever it was herself, if only so she wouldn’t hear it while they were driving off. “So what’re their names?” she asked, for all she knew she wouldn’t remember a damn one.

 

“Um, Rainbow, Kaitlynn, and Snowdrop. There’s still time to dodge into the pantry and have a nip. You know, fortification.” Earlene was only sorry she could not do the same. Why was her husband never around, when she felt like having a drink? Hopefully he’d show by the time this was over, because god only knew this seemed like a recipe for a headache.

 

Lorna stared at her. “Rainbow. Kaitlynn. And  _ Snowdrop _ . Jesus bloody Christ, I’m not having a nip, I’m having a belt. Otherwise I’ll not be able to do this with a straight face.” Into the pantry she went, taking several long pulls off a bottle of whiskey, then fishing a peppermint out of a bag at the back, so she wouldn’t smell like a wino. Just... _ Snowdrop?!  _ Kaitlynn at least was an actual name, and Rainbow sounded like something a hippie would call their kid, but bloody  _ Snowdrop _ ...no. Just...no. The trouble was, she’d been spoiled by elf wine; human alcohol had a harder time than ever when it came to actually doing anything to her. Oh well.

 

Back out she went, shaking her head. “ _ Snowdrop _ ,” she muttered. “Christ.”

 

The knock came on the door, but not before Earlene had a chance to slam the kettle on the burner. “Here goes,” she whispered, trying to summon something resembling her old self and the commanding presence she had allowed to go entirely by the wayside. Plastering a smile on her face, she pulled open the door, and there they were, looking like...well, that was hard to say, exactly. They were lovely and bright-eyed, all of them. A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, all with shoulder length hair and blue eyes. “Welcome,” she announced. “I am Earlene. Aidan’s sister. But you knew that.” The door was held open wider. “Please come in, you’ve come a very long way.”

 

It was hard to ignore the manner in which they seemed to move as a unit, but, strange place and all that. They smiled and spoke words of greeting, but it all seemed a bit...devoid of emotion. Still, they’d made the effort to come here. They seemed to be studying her, a bit. Lorna had come around. “This is my good friend and cousin Lorna Donovan, and of course here is little Allanah. Please excuse our appearance; we are building a new home for our families and the work is messy. I hope you like tea. And...I’m sorry, I know your names but I don’t know who is who?”

 

This seemed to bring them to reality. “Rainbow,” said the blonde. “Kaitlynn,” added the brunette. 

 

“Then you must be Snowdrop,” she smiled at the redhead, who shared much of Allanah’s coloring. “Please, sit down.” The invitation was probably lost, as all three of them moved toward Allanah as a magnetized unit and began chattering with each other and admiring the little girl. 

 

A sort of word jumble ensued, that felt like it ran to the effect of “oh my god she is even prettier than the photos she has Madison’s eyes isn’t she bigger than you thought she would be oh yes well she certainly looks healthy I bet she is eating organic food isn’t that dress the prettiest little thing isn’t she a little young to be on something like this rocking horse oh it would be terrible if she fell off…”

 

Earlene looked at Lorna with an expression that so clearly said,  _ What in Fuck? _ And yet they seemed harmless and rather occupied...the shrieking of the tea kettle silenced all dialogue, as Lorna rolled her eyes and took her time removing the offending item from the stove. It was five seconds in which they didn’t have to hear that blather.

 

In any sensible universe, the blonde would have been Snowdrop, and Rainbow the ginger, because Rainbow the Redhead sounded like something Viking dashed in glitter. What was  _ with  _ Americans and those terrifyingly white teeth? Lorna had seen them on some of the people in New York, and they looked like pensioner’s dentures. Still, this lot seemed...benign, if loud, and perhaps a bit ditzy. Still, she didn’t hurry over preparing the pot, putting it on a tray with a sugar-bowl and cream pot.

 

“There’s tea, if anyone wants any,” she said, and didn’t bother muting her accent at all while she set the tray down. She was somewhat morbidly curious as to how they’d react to it.

 

“Thanks, we’d all like some please,” said Snowdrop, not batting an eyelid except to smile at Lorna. “You’re Irish.” Which was stating the obvious, but something in her own accent made Earlene wonder.

 

“I am,” Lorna said, rather pleasantly surprised, though she eyed the woman shrewdly. “And if you’re not by birth, you were raised around someone who is. You’ve got just that bit in your accent.”

 

“Wexford,” Snowdrop answered. “Went to live with my aunt and uncle in the States. My parents split up when I was little, and later mam died, the cancer got her. Mam ate the worst food, and smoked like a chimney,” she said, her voice both sad and angry at the same time. “Didn’t want to be with da.”

 

That was an even more pleasant surprise. And here Lorna had been dreading this whole thing. “It’s glad I am you can understand me,” Lorna said. “Most Americans have a hard time, but you’re a bit’v both by now, I’d think, if you’ve spent enough time in both countries. I’m sorry about your mam,” she added. “And that your da was...whatever he was. I feel your pain.”

 

“Funny how that works,” Earlene said. “I know you all must’ve heard that Aidan...had an accident here in town. He was going to leave this little one behind regardless, but he ended up doing it in a rather permanent fashion. As bad and horrid as it all was, I suppose in some ways it was for the best. Just so you know, she calls me Nana. It’s our word for ‘mother’. But when the time comes and she is a little older, she will be told the truth. I’ll not keep her from knowing about her real circumstances, but I am fairly determined that she also not feel like an outcast in our family. You see, Lorna and I are very distant cousins. Allanah’s da was named for her….what did we figure it is? Great-great-grandda Aidan? With maybe another ‘great’ on your side of it?”

 

Lorna nodded.

 

“And there are other children. Lorna and I each gave birth to twins, this last February. I’m expecting again. So she already has a very large family, and will have many other playmates as she grows.”

 

The women seemed to try to absorb all of this. “You  _ have _ been busy,” Rainbow said, looking her up and down, seeming to notice her more now. 

 

“Yes,” Earlene laughed. “We all have. Oh, and this is Lothiriel,” she gestured to the elleth slightly hidden by the large armchair in which she sat. “She helps watch the children, and is still learning English.” At the sound of her name, the lovely elleth politely waved as she had learned to do, and dipped her head.

 

“So is this some kind of...farm, or something?” Kaitlynn asked, with overtones of having some sort of agenda. “What does our little girl eat?”

 

Earlene laughed, with only the barest hint of irritation. “Well, for quite some time, milk,” she pointed to her own bosom. “All of the children are breast-fed. And while this is not a farm in any proper sense of the word, we grow vegetables here, as well as buy them. We have a milk-cow, soon to be two milk cows, and chickens. I would say we eat very well here, with almost no store-bought food, unless it is the occasional snack for the adults.”

 

“You’re not vegans?” said Rainbow, with a vague look of horror on her face. 

 

“Not even on a good day,” Earlene said firmly. “I don’t believe in that. Every animal here is cared for very well. We eat more vegetables and grains than meat, but we most certainly eat meat.”

 

“We have to agree to disagree on that, Rainbow”, said Snowdrop icily. “We’re in Ireland, next to nobody is going to be a bloody vegan. What matters is that Allanah is obviously very healthy and happy.”

 

“Aníron ammos!” Allanah shrieked. “Ammos, Nana, ammos!” Earlene sighed and began to loosen the ties on her garment. 

 

“I certainly hope your views include being used to the sight of breastfeeding. If not, you have about fifteen seconds to say otherwise, because Allanah wants milk, and I don’t mean from the cow.” Not a word was said as Earlene lovingly invited her daughter to come over, and watched her unabashedly climb onto her lap to take her offered breast.

 

“What...was she saying?” asked Rainbow.

 

“That she wants my breast,” Earlene explained. “My husband and his people have sort of a village, here. They speak an old language, not many know it.”

 

“If you tried to be vegan in Ireland, outside’v Dublin anyway, you’d starve to death,” Lorna said. “It’s not like in America, where shops carry all sorts’v specialty things. Once you’re out’v the city, it’s pretty basic.” She was absolutely not going to admit that she hadn’t even known what a vegan  _ was  _ until a couple years ago. To her mind, it sounded like way too much effort, and that was aside from the fact that she liked a good roast beef sandwich as much as the next Irish person. “And as for that language...Christ it’s hard, and I say this as an Irish speaker. I can just about slaughter a sentence, and that’s after studying it a year.  _ Russian  _ is easier than theirs.”

 

“Where is her father?” asked Kaitlynn hesitantly. “We’d hoped to know what he was like. I guess you heard we didn’t think much of version 1.0. What Madison saw in him, except security...no offense, he being your brother and all…”

 

“None taken,” said Earlene. “We all thought the same, not meaning to disrespect the...departed. I have to be careful how I speak, a tiny person is at that age where she learns new words far too quickly.” She lovingly glanced down to stroke the red head, with the blue eyes that looked all over the place even as they kneaded at her breast. “I am sure my husband will be along in a bit.” 

 

Just then, Thanadir stepped up to the deck, and entered. “Hello,” he said shyly, only now seeing the three strange firith. “I did not mean to interrupt. I wondered why you had left.”

 

“Have some tea, Cian,” Earlene said. “The water is still quite hot. These are friends of Allanah’s birth mother, from America, come to visit her. Everyone, this is Cian, brother to my husband.”

 

“Thanadir!” Allanah said, abandoning her nipple and climbing down to run to him.

 

Flushing faintly pink, Earlene said diplomatically, “well, I suppose she is finished, then.” Maybe everyone would like some biscotti? They are in the pantry, if I could bother you, Lorna?”

 

“What is a thanadir?” asked Snowdrop. “I don’t remember that word.”

 

Lorna grabbed some biscotti, and even arranged it on a plate. “It’s what Allanah calls Cian,” she said, and hey, it was true. “It’s a word from their language. It means...truth, I think?” She was pretty sure that was what Earlene had told her. She set the plate on the table, knowing Thanadir would probably have half of it eaten in under five minutes, and delicately at that. The elf could put away an astonishing amount of food, and never be anything but dainty about it in the process.

 

Ratiri, bearing a fussy Chandra, came in behind Thanadir. “This one wants her Mam -- oh,” he said, pausing on sight of the three newcomers. “Hi. I didn’t realize we had guests.”

 

“You didn’t hear their car?” Lorna asked. “Seriously, you three, let me have a look at that thing before you go. That banging sound’s probably something off with your exhaust system -- whoever rented you that car needs to give you a better one, and your money back. They should never’ve let you out with something making  _ that  _ noise.”

 

“I think we’d like that,” said Snowdrop. “It’s been doing that since Dublin, and honestly we were hoping it would just make it here without some kind of disaster on the M7. This is...Allanah’s da?” she asked, with obvious appreciation.

 

“No,” said Earlene quickly, before anything like Lorna’s temper could have a chance to work itself into a lather. “This is Ratiri, Lorna’s fiance. He…” she made it no further, because Thranduil entered bearing the twins, with Ortherion in tow. “This is Allanah’s da, my husband. Fionn.”

 

“Adar!” Allanah shrieked, as Thanadir suddenly fell from favor. “Adar!!” 

 

Thranduil walked to Thanadir and kissed the child, who now cried to be held by him.

 

“Oh good grief,” muttered Earlene. Clearly,  _ someone _ was overstimulated by the company and not doing so well. She rose to take her daughter from Thanadir. “Adar only has two arms, Allanah. He will hold you when Eleniel and Ithiliel have had their turn.” The twins openly glared at their sister.

 

“Rainbow, Kaitlynn, Snowdrop, this is my husband Fionn,” she said. Thranduil looked down at his wife, who very much seemed to be thinking that if a nuclear explosion came to end it all, that it would not bother her in the least. 

 

Chuckling, he moved smoothly away from his disgruntled daughter, after handing Eleniel to Thanadir. “I am pleased to meet you,” he greeted the guest. “It is you, to whom we owe our thanks that our little girl was watched over before she came to us?”

 

Shy smiles, nods, and blushes came from the three women, obviously bowled over by the sheer physical appeal of the male before them.

 

“Eru,” Earlene mumbled, audible only to Thanadir.

 

“Andreth, meldis,” the old elf counseled, moving to rub her back unseen. “Andreth.” (patience)

 

He was right, which did not change the fact that this visit could not end soon enough. 

 

“They’re not vaccinated, right?” blurted out Rainbow. “The babies, I mean?” Her eyes were wide with naive concern.

 

“Oh Christ in a bloody sidecar,” breathed Earlene, borrowing one of Lorna’s best.

 

“Of course they are,” Ratiri said, neglecting to mention that Eleniel and Ithiliel didn’t actually need vaccines, given what they were. He passed Chandra to Lorna, who tried not to cringe. She knew where this was going, if Rainbow pushed it, and it wasn’t anywhere good.

 

“How about I take a look at their car real fast,” she said, handing Chandra back. They might want to get out in a hurry, after all.

 

Thranduil added up all of what was happening, and tried to pull the train back onto the tracks. “How are you finding Ireland?” he asked genuinely curious. 

 

“It’s been really hard to find organic food,” said Kaitlynn. 

 

“People here drink and swear a lot,” added Rainbow. 

 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” fumed Snowdrop. “It isn’t like I didn’t tell all of you that this wasn’t New York before we bought the tickets. You can’t just go visiting, and give nothing but complaints and nosy questions when your hosts are trying to make polite conversation. Quit acting like a pair of gobshites and find something nice to say?” Her voice was becoming frustrated, and shrill.

 

“Govshites! Govshites!” shrieked Allanah, giggling, as everyone in the room looked at the little girl in disbelief.

 

“There is nothing wrong with wanting organic food,” exploded Kaitlynn. “What are you now, going to buy stock in Monsanto next? Or Bayer, or whatever they call themselves this week?”

 

Thranduil tried to intervene. “Ladies, surely we need not be angry with each other? I am quite sure this is all a misunderstanding. And, it would be best if we did not raise our voices in front of the children. It is nothing they need to hear. Perhaps you would like to go see the animals in the barn?”

 

“The animals you’ve enslaved?” hissed Rainbow. “The animals you keep against their will and use for your selfish purposes?” 

 

Thranduil simply stared at her, having no idea what to do with this. The firieth’s mind was a tangle of utter nonsense.

 

Lorna, all oblivious, came stalking back in, muttering about shitty mechanics and how she needed a wire coathanger. “Whoever loaned you that ought to be shot,” she said. “Your bloody muffler’s half fallen off -- no wonder it was banging like that. Bloody eejits couldn’t find their arse with both hands.”

 

“Arse!” Allanah yelled, and Lorna groaned, fishing a hanger out of the coat closet.

 

“You, little miss, really do pick up on the worst things,” she said, pausing long enough to tickle the little girl under the chin. “Have you got the name’v that rental place? A card, or something? If they go on like this, they’ll do someone an actual injury.”

 

“Here,” said Snowdrop. Earlene was rapidly deducing that of the three of them, she was the only one with any gray matter between her ears. And she was trying very hard to say nothing, as the card was handed to Lorna.

 

“Thank you.” Lorna pulled out her mobile, fuming, and stepped just enough away so she wouldn’t be smack in the middle of the conversation.

 

“Bluvvy eejits! Bluvvvy bluvvy eejits!” Allanah was in her element now, and she was not going to stop. Thanadir, unable to take any more, asked for her back from Earlene. If nothing else, he could remove her from this influence for a time. The old elf whisked the girl out the door, closing it carefully behind him.

 

Ratiri tried not to groan. He knew where this was going, but at least it was better than crazy vegans.

 

“Yeah, I’d like to speak to whoever rented the Toyota Corolla to a woman named Snowdrop,” Lorna said. She definitely didn’t need a second name, with a first like that. “Yes, I’ll hold.” She tapped her foot, quite impatient. “Oh, it’s you? Good.  _ WHAT IN BLOODY FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU GOBSHITE?! THEIR BLOODY MUFFLER’S HUNG ON BY A THREAD!” _

 

Ratiri shut his eyes. _ Ohhhh dear _ .

 

From outside, came the thin, childish voice: “BLUVVY FUCK!” Thranduil’s eyes widened in horror, as he looked pleadingly at Lothiriel and Ortherion, both of whom leaped to their feet to take the twins and flee the room.

 

“No, you listen to me, you maggot, if that thing’d fallen off on the bloody M7, you’d’ve caused at least one accident. I’m not kidding, it’s a bloody  _ thread!  _ I’m pretty sure I saw  _ duct-tape  _ residue in there. I’m scared to know what I’d find if I looked under the bloody hood.” She really was not kidding. Very, very bad things could have happened, if that had gone in the middle of the motorway, especially if there had been enough traffic. “No, you know what -- I’m going to pop that hood and take pictures’v every single cheap-arse corner-cutting bullshit job you’ve done, and if these three decide to sue your arse, they’ll have ammunition. You give them their bloody money back or it’s me you’ll deal with.” She hung up, and looked up. “You’d best go with another rental agency,” she said, in a much calmer tone. “These lads’ve got their heads so far up their own arses they’re eating their food all over again. You’ve got two lawyers who’d help, if you wanted to sue.”

 

Snowdrop smiled appreciatively. “I thought something was wrong with it. Bunch’v foreign women, that lot probably thought…”

 

“Excuse me, I need some fresh air,” said Rainbow, whose sensibilities had clearly been exceeded. 

 

“Me too,” echoed Kaitlynn, as they all but fled out the front door.

 

“Sure god….” Snowdrop shook her head. “I’m sorry, about my friends. They wanted to come on this trip just as much as I did. But they’ve never traveled outside the States, and...they’ve led a ‘sheltered existence’, is how I’ll say it. Not much time spent understanding that the rest of the world doesn’t think like them. We all believe a lot of the same things, but I’m the only one of us that ever seemed to understand that others might have their reasons for feeling otherwise. Forgive us, for upsetting your day.”

 

Seeing that this was indeed the sane one, Earlene took her opportunity. “It’s...ok. Before anything else can happen, there is something we wanted to give you. Pictures, of Allanah. We really are grateful, for all you did for her.” She handed over the  5”x7” size album that mostly was Lorna’s effort.

 

“We think alike,” said Snowdrop, reaching for her purse. “This is for Allanah, when she is old enough to understand. It’s all the pictures we had of Madison. So she can know.” Looking up, she handed it to Thranduil, who was nearest.

 

“I am sorry, about your friend,” he said with sincere sympathy, as he began to leaf through the pages.

 

Snowdrop shrugged. “I’ve changed my thinking on some things, since we lost her. I was so sure about this….alternative stuff. I still mostly think it’s safer but...if she’d seen a doctor, Madison wouldn’t be dead,” she pronounced flatly. “It was a hard lesson to learn, and…” she trailed off. “It won’t bring her back.”

 

“Home births are not a bad thing,” Ratiri said, “so long as there’s a qualified medical professional there, too. Midwives just don’t have all the training to spot things like pre-eclampsia until it’s too late. Both Earlene and Lorna had their twins at home.”

 

“And it was a bit less unpleasant than a hospital,” Lorna said. “Though only a bit. I’m never doing  _ that  _ again. At least Allanah’s got another ginger.” She took Chandra from Ratiri, stroking the riot of red curls that made her daughter look a bit like a red-haired dandelion puff.

 

At that moment a scream of feminine pain was heard in the distance, and every adult lurched to their feet and instinctively went outside. “The barn,” said Thranduil, gaining information from his seneschal. Everyone scurried in that direction, following now the bellows of an upset cow. Thanadir was already there, uncertain what to do, and not about to put Allanah down. Rainbow was in Buttercup’s stall, crying on the ground some small distance behind the animal, whose eyes were rolling with white edges in agitation, and clutching at her knee. Thranduil leaped over, and carried her swiftly out, trying to murmur reassurances, looking imploringly at Ratiri. He did not wish to reveal himself, not to these persons. 

 

Kaitlynn babbled, “I told her not to go in there, and she kept saying all this stuff about animal abuse,” the woman said miserably.

 

“That’s because she hasn’t got the sense god gave a turnip,” said Earlene sharply. “Lucky for her, there happens to be a qualified doctor standing right here who can help her.”

 

Snowdrop’s eyes widened, as she saw Ratiri bend down to examine the leg, and suddenly recognized the sum of his comments for what they were. No one paid any mind, that she groaned with embarrassment.

 

“Try not to move,” he said, gently rolling up Rainbow’s trouser leg. The knee was already swelling, and the kneecap was visibly dislocated.  _ Thranduil, I’m going to reorient this,  _ he said. “Deep breath, Rainbow.”  _ Three...two...one _ . He deftly shifted the kneecap back into place, trusting Thranduil to do the rest. With any luck, Rainbow had never done this before, and so wouldn’t realize the injury was meant to hurt even after it was set.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes and took Chandra over to see Buttercup, who was far more pleased by their presence -- meaning she gave them one disinterested sniff to see if they had treats, and ignored them when it became obvious they did not. With a sigh, she went and fetched the coathanger, letting Chandra lay on her chest while she wired up the muffler into something like stability.

 

Thranduil picked up the woman as though she were weightless to carry her to the cottage, while Earlene thought what to do. Consulting with her husband, it was decided that she would be offered some paracetamol, which hopefully she would accept, and could then in her idiocy find a reason to believe that the pills were why her knee no longer hurt. That and some ice cubes were really all she could offer. 

 

Fortunately, with sufficient glowering from Snowdrop, resistance to the poison of Western Medicine vanished, and she swallowed the tablets. Because they’d bought a first aid kit, Ratiri had an elastic bandage he could place on the joint. Thranduil pretended to help him, while in reality making sure that the injury was mostly healed. He left it a little sore, so that his interference would not become obvious. All three seemed most eager to depart, after that incident.

 

“We will be in touch.  _ I _ will be in touch,” Snowdrop said with a hint of disgust. “Thank you for having us, and for all your help.”

 

Thranduil carried a visibly disturbed Rainbow to the rear seat of the car, politely offering words of parting to the three women. He stood with Earlene, and waved with her as the car puttered out the driveway.

 

“I need a drink, my Lord,” she said, her face expressionless.

 

“I think that is only fair, meluieg. By all the Valar…”

 

“Exactly. What was that, Lorna said some weeks ago? ‘That could’ve gone worse, but I don’t see exactly how?’ ”

 

“Could do with another myself,” Lorna said. “Christ, I didn’t think people like that actually existed. I thought they were some joke started in America, but not actual, real  _ people _ .” 

 

“Natural selection will get the worst of them, sooner or later,” Ratiri said, though there was no humor in his voice. “Rainbow was obviously suffering from vitamin deficiency. While it’s entirely possible to be healthy and vegan at the same time, you have to know what you’re doing, and be willing to put in the effort to make sure your nutritional needs are actually met. I can’t tell you how many malnourished vegans my friends saw at Great Ormond Street. One of them wanted to know why her hair was falling out. By the time she’d already lost most of it.”

 

“Lorna, could I beg you for some heavily spiked tea? All I want to do is sit here and pretend that some wingnut did not just try to liberate my cow.” Filled with appreciation to see her friend bounce up, she sighed. “Well that had to happen, I’m sorry, and with any luck they’ll not be back. Though honestly, the redhead was fine. I don’t envy her the conversation that will happen all the way home, though. I hope their friendship survives their vacation.” She nudged not-subtly-at-all under Thranduil’s arm, silently pleading for him to rub her back.

 

Lorna passed Chandra back to Ratiri, and went to fix some tea -- she herself just had another belt off the bottle. “Well, I hope they actually push that rental agency into giving them a refund,” she said, sticking the kettle back on the stove to warm. “That seriously could’ve been dangerous. I’m tempted to report the bastards.”

 

“Don’t give Niamh ideas,” Ratiri said. “I’m sure she’d be after them like a bloodhound, just...because.”

 

“You’re probably right,” she said, and hunted down some of the biscuits she’d brought. “Though I really want to know what bloody Irish parent would ever name their kid ‘Snowdrop’. I mean, really?”

 

“It’s possible they changed them, legally,” said Earlene. “There was quite a fad for that, for awhile. If you hire a lawyer, it doesn’t even cost that much to run it by a judge. Once it’s signed, it’s done. My guess is that Kaitlynn was the only one of them with the name her parents gave her. Though, one never knows. I just hope they learn to manage in the real world. Those attitudes are more common to twenty-somethings that have little life experience. They are a little old, really, to buy into half of that nonsense. And yet, Snowdrop seemed like she realized that it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Open to change. It goes to show, you never know, and people don’t stay the same, necessarily. I’m just sorry that their friend dying had to be the wake-up call. And where are our children, and Thanadir?”

 

“He took them to the Halls, Earlene. It was at my suggestion. Allanah was already over-stimulated and…” 

 

Her hand waved at him, that he need not continue. “Perhaps after the tea, we could finish the bloody mosaic. It would be worth it, just to finally complete it and have it be done.”

 

He leaned down to kiss his wife, as he kneaded her shoulders. “Whatever you wish, Earlene.”

 

She chuckled. “I  _ have _ what I wish. That lot gone down the road, and the rest of you here with me.”

 

Now that they were gone, Lorna burst out laughing. “Well, there’s one to tell Allanah, when she’s older,” she said, and took another belt of whiskey.

 

“I devoutly hope those two never reproduce,” Ratiri said. “They’ll wind up with malnourished children who might well die of whooping cough.” There was a surprising amount of venom in his voice -- but then, it wasn’t so surprising, given he’d probably seen such children with such parents.

 

Thranduil smiled. “Well, I think that woman will at least think twice before she attempts to liberate someone’s milk cow from slavery ever again,” he chuckled. “Buttercup was most definitely in no mood for shaking off the bonds of oppression today.”

 

“Oh, Thanadir is not here to say his favorite line,” Earlene recalled, disappointed. “No one can speak on behalf of the repressed bovines.”

 

Ratiri gamely did his best attempt an an English accent when he said, “Help, help, I’m being repressed!” though the result was mixed at best. Very mixed. 

 

“So, Earlene, it occurs to me,” Lorna said, handing her some wonderfully alcoholic tea, “with that gobshite’v a President you’ve got, it might be smart if you started learning an Irish accent. I know there’s been some blather over a sea wall or something, and there might come a time being an American wouldn’t be popular. Your name’s about as Irish as it gets, and I’ve already noticed you picking up some inflections. We should just actually make that a conscious lesson.”

 

Earlene peered carefully over the rim of her mug of tea. _Diction lessons, coming from the person I love, but who cannot convince the Gates to open._ A sigh escaped her. “Let me wrap my mind around that idea,” she replied. “That is basically code for, I probably agree, but my pregnant moods need a day or two to catch up. You bring up another thing that has been on my mind; language. Humans and elves are interacting at an increasing rate, in my observation. I think an effort needs to be made to get materials that will help us all speak with each other into the hands of not only the elves but the humans too. Leave a Sindarin dictionary at the pub in town. How about I purchase extra materials, and Thanadir helps me write things out in Tengwar? Like what I did for Ortherion, but…more. I have this feeling everyone at least knowing how to say some things, both ways...surely that can’t be a bad thought? It would also perhaps help ordinary elves wish to interact a little more. They are allowed to do that, aren’t they?”

 

The King gazed at nothing in particular. It was a very good thought, and after over a year of being in some kind of interaction with mortals, it was overdue, really. “They are allowed,” he answered carefully. “But as you have just observed, there is little motivation because of the communication issue. Aside from the ‘lost and empty’ joke that will now never die, I would guess most of my people at best have learned ‘Hello’ and little else. And yet, should they become a more familiar sight, especially at the pub...why not? Perhaps it makes some kind of sense, to be more open with the villagers, especially those best known to us.”

 

“I still can’t believe ‘lost’ means ‘empty’,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “There’s some I’m sure’d like the idea. John, and Bridie, and’v course Geezer. Could probably get more in, if they could all learn it together. I know most’v the elves won’t ever go anywhere into the world further than the village, but it’d still be good if they could actually talk to people there. Maybe even introduce a few to the internet, if their sensibilities could handle it.” Thranduil did seem rather unique in his ability to tolerate -- hell, to be amused by -- the ‘unseemliness’ of the human world. Thanadir could deal with it, but she knew he was also often appalled, or at least exasperated.

 

Earlene chuckled. “There are lots more doozies than ‘lost and empty’. You should read the whole dictionary sometime. ‘Path, pant, nail..’ they all mean something quite different in Sindarin. There are times I wonder if a faded elf did not whisper into a human ear, just for fun, somewhere back in the lost reaches of time. But listen to me. I am going back to that hm hm hm mosaic, and I am going to finish it, so that when I return to the halls blue ceramic chips will no longer haunt my dreams.”

 

“Hm hm hm?” asked Thranduil.

 

“Don’t ask,” said Lorna. “Trust me. It’s better that way.”

 

He shrugged, and finished his tea.

 

*****

 

“It is always exciting when new humans come, is it not?” Lothiriel asked softly as she carried Ithiliel through the woods.

 

“I certainly learn new words in English,” grinned Ortherion, “but not the kind I imagine Hîr Thanadir hopes for. At this point, I need never leave our Realm again to learn the colorful words of mortals; I need only listen to Allanah.”

 

“Poor Earlene. Do you recall our beautiful Merilwen, and her first words? They were not about my breast. It was ‘Ada’, that she said. What a new parent hopes to hear.”

 

“Perhaps it is because Allanah is mortal, my love? They are not the same, as our children. Did not both peredhel say ‘Nana’ first?”

 

“Yes,” nodded his wife. “At least the queen had that. But between you and I, I believe Aran Thranduil finds the mortal child to be the most humorous. I would not have believed it of one who has kept so close to Hîr Thanadir, but they are very different, I think.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I think sometimes our King is a bit naughty,” she confided. 

 

“I do not mind”, Ortherion smiled down at his wife with good humor, though she was not much shorter in height. “He has given up much, to keep his promises to his people. While I do not understand all his likes and dislikes, I for one am glad that he has reached out to the humans. Though,” his voice too now dropped to barely a whisper, “I find myself wondering if he fully intended to reach out quite so much as he did, to Earlene. It was a great surprise, that he took a mortal to wife. He would not be the first ellon to find himself...tempted beyond the best sense?”

 

“Shh!” Lothiriel reprimanded. “Surely that is not for us to wonder. Besides, even after all this time, we still appreciate having each other, do we not? Aran Thranduil endured long years of loneliness. It is one thing, to have made the choice never to marry. But to have had a mate and...well it is not as though we all do not know what happened there.”

 

“Then maybe that is part of the answer,” the ellon answered contemplatively. “The King’s firieth loves him, with her entire being. Even someone blind can see that much.”

 

“He seems happier, with Earlene. Much happier. I will be honest, Ortherion. I did not care so much, for Queen Alassëa. Earlene is far kinder, more loving. And while she seems to understand less about how to rear the children, hers is a good heart. And she wishes to add to our King’s joy, granting him still more children. While I fear for the sorrow of their eventual parting, at the very least she gives herself fully to our King.”

 

“I should like to give myself fully to you,” he purred softly, nipping quickly at her ear.

 

“Ai! Shush, you! Were Hîr Thanadir to hear such a thing, we would lose our places! I for one very much enjoy caring for children over cleaning fireplaces and taking ash to the launderers. Or do you miss guard duty so very much?” 

 

“Then I am suitably chastened,” he said, by way of appeasement. “But it is not my fault, that your beauty still overcomes me, as the light of Ithil outshines the stars overhead.”

 

“Ortherion, you are incorrigible. But I love you, with all my heart.”

 

With Eleniel nestled in his arm, he wrapped his arm across his wife’s shoulders, admiring her. “And I you, melethril. As well as these beautiful children. It is a blessing of the Valar, that we find ourselves so fortunate as to care for such precious gifts.”

 

The pair walked on in silence, admiring the buds swelling on the trees.

 

*****

Lorna spent the next few days pouring over travel plans for Lough Gur, and decided in short order that it was going to either have to be day trips or her actually buying a schoolbus. The Aran Islands had worked fine when it was five adults and a baby, but now this would be eight adults and  _ five  _ babies, and there just wasn’t lodging. They could rent multiple caravans, but even the largest were on the small side, and there were only two drivers. Seriously, either Earlene or Thranduil needed to get an Irish driver’s license, with this crowd. If they took day trips, they wouldn’t need all four of their elven nannies -- Thanadir wouldn’t need assistance, or so she hoped. The real question was, did they have enough room for all that baby shite? Because there was an astonishing amount of shite. It was going to have to get packed into the back like a game of Tetris, but Thanadir and Ratiri were good with that sort of thing.

 

It was just a pity they couldn’t get one of the really big caravans like they had in America, the ones that were literally the size of a bus. They’d be a bitch to drive, sure, but to travel in one...knocking about in a van with Liam when she was twenty-five had been grand, but she wasn’t twenty-five anymore. She liked a real bed, thanks so much, and a proper shower.

 

She took this conclusion to Thranduil when she and Ratiri went for breakfast, bearing the twins. They were rather more active now, and she dreaded the day they started crawling. Maerwen had already helped them baby-proof their flat, at least.

 

“Lodging…” Thranduil sighed, after hearing only the litany of what Lorna classified as ‘baby shite’. “I had not considered this aspect. I miss the days when we could build a flet in a tree and be done with it. But obviously this will not do, especially for human children. We could leave behind those who help us with their care, but then the ‘vacation’ would transform into one long moment of different scenery while we change their nappies. Perhaps this trip...Lough Gur is not so far away, is it? Maybe it would be best to come and go each day. And if a day of rest here is wanted in between, that is no matter. I had thought to have most of a week, to see what there is to see. Do you agree?”

 

“That’s what I was thinking,” she said. “So long as we get up early, we can hopefully miss the worst’v it on the M7, though we’ll have to stop a time or two for nappies and stuff. And if the weather’s shite, we can just go another day.” Even in May, that was always a distinct possibility in Ireland.

 

“And we will need food,” he mused. “Or at least, the adults will. Which means dining somewhere, or bringing our own. And a means to carry the young ones. I have seen the...strollers, are they called? But if we use those then we truly will need a second vehicle for their...shite. With four strong males among us and two extra ellith, I believe we can plan to carry the children? I can take Allanah when she tires. Still that leaves an extra person to carry a bag with necessary items as well. Eru, we are blessed a little too much, and with more on the way,” he smiled, and shook his head, but his eyes were shining with happiness.

 

“I’m just glad we’ve got all this help,” she said, shaking her head. “This’d be impossible otherwise. We’ll be needing two more car seats, too, for Eleniel and Ithiliel. Does Allanah’s still fit hers?”

 

“I am not certain,” he frowned. “But we are almost to the cottage, and will find out then. Earlene cares for so many small things about which she does not tell me. I am greatly looking forward to seeing the whole area. Limerick, too. It seems there are many points of interest, if the computer is to be believed. Especially the grounds at Lough Gur; there are beautiful places to walk, and watch birds.”

 

“Ireland’s beautiful, even when it’s soggy,” Lorna said. “We call it the Emerald Isle, and there’s even a song about the forty shades’v green. And here it was only a century last year since it was ours again -- don’t even get me started about the North. We’re lucky, in these days.”

 

“Green,” he smiled. “Elves have ever cherished this color. I wonder how many people in the village know that half of its name means ‘green’. ‘Calen’, or ‘galen,’ as it is in ‘Lasgalen’. If nothing else, this land is a beautiful one and remains thus, in spite of the damage heaped upon it. Ai! Perhaps I smell biscuits? And bacon...Is Ratiri already inside?”

 

“He is. He brought the twins out early. Sometimes I think he likes to just sneak them off to have them to himself,” Lorna said, smiling fondly. “Berk. And I’ll bet you none’v them do. I have to admit, I was pretty confused when I first heard the name’v this village, because it definitely wasn’t Irish.”

 

Thranduil shrugged. “They could have named it something else. I wonder why they did...it would have been very long ago by your years...or if I somehow had something to do with it, without even realizing. That would make sense,” he said ruefully. “Otherwise how else could they have a name from our language? And yet, how could I have had any influence? Certainly one of my people did not wander through and give the name…” he trailed off, now thoroughly intrigued by something that had been under his proverbial nose for a very long time, and made no sense.

 

“When was the last time your lot had any contact with humans, before you met Earlene?” she asked.

 

“You are asking about an ordinary conversation, as opposed to someone who did not belong entering my forest never to return?” Clarification seemed in order, before he answered.

 

“Conversation. If they came out not remembering anything, it wouldn’t explain anything, unless somehow something stuck.”

 

“Not since the middle of the Fourth Age. Which would be the better part of ten thousand years, to you. Our secrecy was part of our safety, and it remained absolute. You must remember, too, we were faded. We would have seemed as disembodied voices, a source of fear to any who came near. And in all this long time, only I ever paid mind to the language of those who lived outside.”

 

“That  _ is  _ weird,” she said. “You say ‘faded’ -- that meant you were spirits without bodies? Do I have that right?” She wondered what she would have done, if she’d gone near a forest and heard a disembodied voice. Having dropped as much acid as she had as a teenager, the thought was not as terrifying as it might have been to someone without her history of substance abuse. Knowing her, she’d have got in an argument with it.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened, to hear these thoughts. Perhaps Earlene was not as different from Lorna as he had imagined, since arguing was exactly what she had done, in her own way. “Mostly, yes. What little remained of our bodies was transparent and in bright sunlight your eyes would have seen nothing of us. In dimmer light it would have been possible to see...outlines. You may ask Earlene; she saw Thanadir and the others before they were restored.”

 

“How’d you get un-faded?” Lorna just now realized she didn’t know that, and wondered why she’d never asked -- why Ratiri hadn’t either, come to that.

 

With a certain amount of trepidation and hesitation, he weighed how to answer this question before arriving at a decision. “Earlene,” he said. “Contact with Earlene.” And if he knew his friend at all, she would wish for no further elaboration on the exact workings of the transformation.

 

“Contact….? Oh, eurgh. Sorry.” Though she rather wondered about the mechanics of that -- how could something insubstantial actually touch someone? -- she  _ really  _ did not want to ask. “God, what would you have done if somebody else’d moved into that cottage?”

 

He laughed. “Persist in being completely obnoxious, I suppose. But fortunately Manwë knew what he was about, and sent a gift unlooked for. It is still hard to reconcile, sometimes,” he said, frowning.

 

“No kidding,” Lorna said. “Earlene told me once she hates the idea’v things happening for a reason, but...oops. This was a hell’v a reason.”

 

“Earlene and I have both had to revise several beliefs we held as true since meeting each other. It is proof that one can never be too old to experience humility,” he quipped with self-deprecating humor.

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. She had a feeling Thranduil might have been a bit of a tosser when he first met Earlene, just because he’d never been around humans before. “It was a good bloody thing you met her first,” she said. “I told you she’s one’v a kind, didn’t I? Me, if I’d heard you as a disembodied voice, I’d probably’ve told you to get stuffed. Especially if I’d paid good money for that cottage -- something that old can’t’ve been cheap.”

 

“I will admit to it,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I did not mean to be. I understood so little, then. But yes, my treatment of Earlene was initially more arrogant than anyone would find acceptable. If it makes you feel any better, she did tell me to ‘get stuffed’ at first, in her own manner. The difference is, had it been you, you would never have ceased telling me to ‘get stuffed’, and then where would we all be?”

 

“And yet she loved you anyway,” she said. “Like I said, one’v a kind. And God, if it’d been me, you lot would still be ghosts and I’d be perpetually pissed off. A lose-lose all around.” She wouldn’t ask either Thranduil or Earlene about that whole early...thing, because she had strong suspicions she didn’t want to know. Some things were best left undiscovered, especially since the end result was good. Lorna knew well that sometimes bad things spawned good ones, and perhaps someday she’d be ready to hear of it, but that wouldn’t be any time soon. There was much she didn’t trust herself with yet. She had, after all, learned the hard way that her emotional control was nowhere near as strong as she’d initially thought.

 

With a sidewise glance, Thranduil subtly nodded his head. Or perhaps it was simply the natural motion from his walking. She could choose to interpret that as silent agreement, or nothing at all...and either way this would need to be One of Those Things. He held the door open for her as the smells of breakfast assaulted them with full force.

 

“Blueberry and banana pancakes,” Earlene announced proudly. Thranduil walked to his wife and embraced her, adding a suggestive caress to her bottom where none of the others could observe it.  _ Behave _ , she admonished him, but not without a smile. “And I made warm berry syrup, too.”

 

“I’m going to have a hell’v a time moving back to my cottage, given how spoiled I’ve got eating with you lot,” Lorna said, kissing Ratiri’s temple as she sat beside him. “I’ve got to get Orla out there soon, to see about our second floor, and maybe a second guest bedroom, if it can be done. I’d love it if you all came out and spent the night with us sometime, even if we can’t make breakfast this tasty.”

 

“You’ll have to teach me someday, Earlene,” Ratiri said. “I can make decent pancakes, but not like this.” His dad hadn’t been much of a cook, but he’d known a few dishes very well, and made sure Ratiri did, too. They could not, however, quite compare to Earlene’s. (He’d discovered the hard way that Lorna couldn’t make them at all -- at least, not without some patches being burnt and other soggy. She’d confided that Mairead had tried to teach her, but eventually gave up and called it a waste of ingredients.)

 

“It’s sourdough,” she responded, pointing to a very large glass jar on the countertop full of a beige, bubbling slurry. “I can give you some, if you wish; what I have is from a colleague who went to San Francisco. I know that it changes over time, the microorganism. That it is dependent on where in the world it is kept. I’m sure you’d know more about the science of it than I do. But all I do is keep it fed with fresh flour and water, and add salt, bicarbonate of soda and sugar or any flavorings when it is time to make the pancakes. The batter foams up on its own, and you don’t disturb it except to ladle it to a griddle. It is actually important to use it somehow every few days, before the sugars in the flour are completely consumed. That’s not difficult, with our current complement of mouths to feed. And in the refrigerator, it can be made to grow more slowly. I have always liked the tangy flavor.”

 

“I thought this tasted familiar,” Lorna said. “Gran made sourdough. Said she liked it better than regular bread, since it was what she’d grown up on.” She slathered more syrup on hers, relishing the sweetness. Yes, even now she was grateful to be able to eat real food, even though the twins were three and a half months old now. She really would never stop being grateful she was off the annoyingly restricted diet. If she hadn’t had Earlene, and Earlene’s ability to make healthy food that was actually interesting, she might have died of boredom. Either that or hog-tied Ratiri and gone to the pub for the greasiest bacon sandwich ever made.

 

Shane started crying, at a rather impressive volume. Lorna made to rise, but Ratiri put a hand on her shoulder. “Thranduil, I was meaning to ask you, is there anything you can do for this little one?” he asked, fetching the baby out of his carrier. “It’s early, but I noticed today he’s got a tooth coming in. No wonder he’s been so fussy.”

 

Lorna winced. She’d thought she’d felt something sharp when her son nursed, and no wonder. “Isn’t it  _ really  _ early? I’d thought it was five months or so.”

 

“Between four and six, normally, but I got my first at around three months, and it tends to genetic.” He laughed. “I got the first two, and then the rest came two or three at a time for the next three months. About drove Mam mad.”

 

“Jesus, I’d bet,” Lorna said. She remembered how her youngest brother had been, when he’d first started teething. Da, being Da, had decided rubbing whiskey on his gums was a good idea. Lorna had to grudgingly admit that however horrible it was, it did seem to have worked.

 

Earlene, however was not done with the idea of bread. “I think long ago ‘sourdough’ was called ‘barm’. Like an old saying was, ‘He’s barmy’. It had to do with the fact that while the microorganisms do their thing, they secrete alcohol. So liquid ends up at the top. It looks gray and gross, but that’s the ‘hooch’, and it’s slightly alcoholic.’ Long ago no one thought anything of it, everyone had a jar of barm bubbling in some corner of the kitchen; it’s just how people baked bread. It’s only since modern commercial baking got in the way and everyone had to be in such a hm hm hurry, convinced that home baking took too much time or trouble. I can see how it wouldn’t work if you have to be away at a job all day...but as often as I am here, I have no excuse. And the ellith and ellyn in the kitchens use similar; I’ve watched them make breads. Of course they have some kind of elven fairy dust, because everything they do tastes better,” she teased.

 

“At least when I am not in the kitchen,” said Thanadir, as he lifted little Shane to give him to Thranduil, who eased his discomfort.

 

“This will happen repeatedly until the teeth come in,” the King explained sadly. “Thanadir, do we not have a salve, something that used to be applied with a cloth? It is long since Legolas was young but he too had some trouble with this, if memory serves.”

 

The seneschal frowned. “I will check in the healer’s rooms. We have needed so little of what is there, for so long. But the recipe is there, and we still have Neuriel. Long ago she was apprenticed to the Healers. Likely she can make more of anything we lack.”

 

“Allanah was lucky,” Lorna said, taking her rather happier son. “Mick had a hell’v a time with it, so I’m assuming the rest’v us did, too.” Now Shane grinned at her, quite at one with the world. She really was rather fascinated by how easily a baby’s mood could turn -- but then, when you were that young, every bad thing you experienced was literally the worst thing that had ever happened to you. “I just hope Chandra holds off a bit, or this really won’t be fun for anyone.” She smoothed the black hair back from her son’s forehead, unable to ask this out loud. She didn’t want to ask it  _ at all _ .  _ Okay, so how is a woman supposed to nurse when her kid has teeth? Because, um, ow.  _ Obviously Earlene had managed it somehow, but Allanah was the world’s most mellow baby.

 

_ Ratiri should have something to say about this, but Earlene taught Allanah not to. She tried. Earlene read to push her breast into Allanah’s face, and she could not bite if she was to keep breathing,  _ he chuckled with humor.  _ Also the child was told No Biting, and set down immediately when she did this. Very quickly she learned that biting meant, no more breast. But you are correct, she is a very accommodating child and had not meant any harm. I will confess that I used my ability to reach her mind as well, to explain with images. Allanah is older now, and can understand many more things than at Shane’s age...which you hardly need me to tell you,  _ he smiled.  _ If he bites you, I can try to explain the same, if you wish. _

 

_ Hopefully he won’t get started, but if he does, and the, uh, suffocation doesn’t do it, I may need help _ , Lorna said. That seemed a bit weird, but what the hell did she know? If it kept her tit from getting gnawed on, she’d try pretty much anything. “Okay, so, I was talking to Thranduil on the way here about how our week-long holiday would be better off as a series’v day trips, just because lodging’d be impossible for all’v us. Any thoughts?”

 

“That sounds really...sane,” said Earlene. “Maybe we can make a list of things to see, and as a group choose which are the most important to all of us? Besides Lough Gur, I mean, that one is sort of obvious. But there are many places in and around Limerick...and it just can’t be the same as when it was only Allanah, as much as I’d like to pretend. I would like to see King John’s castle, and some of the museums. But let’s face it, with all these children, it will be a miracle if our day trip can be even six hours on site.”

 

“Yeah, sooner or later at least one will get overstimulated and cranky,” Ratiri said, “and that sort of thing tends to spread, like yawns. If we time it right, it should be fine.” Thank God they’d had Allanah as practice, to to speak; they knew what to expect with a single baby, so multiply that by five. Then again, Allanah was also a little ginger ray of sunshine, good-natured and easily entertained. While he didn’t know too much yet about Eleniel and Ithiliel’s personalities, they did seem, from what he’d seen, to be fiercely jealous and proprietary. That had the potential to get...interesting.

 

“The good news is, we can...cheat, a little, thanks to sleeping spells...but I do not wish to have to render five children insensible for each day of the outing. Hopefully it will not be that difficult,” Thranduil said.

 

“Will there be food?” Thanadir asked, with an air of hopefulness that still tried to sound casual.

 

Earlene stared at him. “You know,” she said quietly. “If it isn’t sacrilegious to suggest this, maybe one of the days should be adults only. We do have child care here, and maybe we are not doing ourselves or them any favors by insisting on bringing them out of their routines every one of the days. They are still so very young…and yes, Thanadir, there are places that I too would like to see, that have food. And it will be with added difficulty, with all five little ones.”

 

“You’ve got a point,” Lorna said. “Especially our two, they’d not get anything out’v it other than dragged around some strange place they can’t possibly appreciate yet, getting everything out’v whack in the process.” Allanah was old enough to investigate and interact with the world, and Elenil and Ithiliel were closer to that mentally than they were to Shane and Chandra, but even they would only find it so interesting.

 

“Well, maybe it would make sense to take all of them to Lough Gur, and if we go to see the Ballyhoura mountains, those are both basically walking around in nature. That would be nice for the children, to see grass and bodies of water and...not-forest things. Even though they are very young, that kind of exposure must be good for them?”

 

“Most definitely,” Ratiri said. “Even as young as all the twins are, it’s never too early to get them started with a varied environment. They might not be able to speak yet, but a child’s brain is like a sponge. They soak everything around them, even if they won’t remember it when they’re older.”

 

“Then those will be two of our excursions,” Thranduil declared. “And Lorna, you should set a realistic schedule, for yourself. I do not like to presume on your driving every day; the distance there and back may feel tiresome in short order. And yet you and Ratiri are our only options. Thank Eru, Limerick is far closer than Dublin.”

 

“One’v you lot really needs an Irish license,” Lorna said, “even if only so we have a backup, in case’v emergencies. I can’t blame any’v you if you don’t want to make a habit’v driving among all these bloody lunatics, but at least the option’d be there, if we needed it.” The only thing that would feel at all tiresome for her would be the necessity to drive like a reasonable human; Lorna loved driving, but not when she had to do it like her gran.

 

“Maybe if the process of getting a license here wasn’t complete and utter horse...feces,” Earlene said. After Allanah, she was vaguely terrified of using cuss words in front of the children, however young. “I’ve lived here a year now, so I could go through the whole charade if you think it’s important. Unlike Thranduil, I do know how to drive a car. Both standard and automatic transmissions. And tractors. But hey, I’m not good enough to have a license conversion, because apparently in America we don’t know hm hm about driving  _ NEVER MIND WE INVENTED THE BLOODY AUTOMOBILE _ ,” she fumed.

 

“Meluieg,” Thranduil said, reaching to her. “This emotion is not good for our son...do not be upset, about this, sweet one.” He reached to rub her back. “It is not important, Earlene. We will manage.” His words dripped with attempts to calm her.

 

The stormy look on her face did not fade easily. “I am...sorry. It is just that this has been and still is a very sore point with me. It is beyond stupid, and feels arbitrary and unfair, like it is more about politics than anything rooted in reality. Really, I have been foolish. Had I known how my life would end up, I could have made use of my first year here to accustom myself to driving on the off side of the road. Instead, it all rather was pushed aside and forgotten.” She dabbed at her lips with her napkin, smiling in spite of herself to see that Thanadir was still eating pancakes. “Oh well,” the brief tempest concluded.

 

“You still  _ can  _ practice, you know,” Lorna said. “You just can’t get caught. Do it in the country where there’s no police. But you’re right, the conversion thing’s a load’v shite, especially since most’v you lot drive like sane people compared to most’v us.” The hormones were obviously kicking in, so there was no point in pursuing the matter right now.  It wasn’t urgent, but she genuinely did think it was important. To only have two licensed drivers, out of all their group...it was just irresponsible.

 

“Honestly what does the most good is just being in a car, driving. It’s a visual habit, where to go and what to do. It sounds worse on paper than it is. Though, if you think it’s important to tackle this, I’ll try to use more of my time when we go places asking about what I don’t know. And I’ll start reading the Rules of the Road, so I don’t waste your time. I guess the good news is, Ratiri being a doctor, maybe the Medical Report Form nonsense will be a little easier. Or something.”

 

“Much easier,” Ratiri said. “And at least now that Lorna has to drive like something other than a complete lunatic, it’s safe to speak to her without wanting to flee in terror.”

 

“You love the way I drive,” she said accusingly.

 

“Well, yes,  _ I  _ do,” he said, kissing her forehead. “But I suspect I’m the only one.”

 

Silence fell around the table, as everyone else blinked evasively. Except Thanadir, who like as not had never heard the comment, because there was one pancake remaining. He seemed fairly determined to obliterate it, as he elegantly skewered the delicate quickbread with his fork. Which also provided a badly needed evasion. “You liked the pancakes, meldir?” Earlene said, hoping that no one would notice how not-subtly she was changing the subject.

 

“Especially the syrup,” he said, smiling. “It was very tasty.”

 

Thranduil might usually have rolled his eyes at this latest homage to sugary foods, but at the moment he too preferred not to discuss Lorna’s driving. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, we are making excellent progress on the house. After today I believe the fireplaces will be complete. And most of the living spaces on the lower floor.”

 

“Another large window of colored glass needs to go in, on the second floor,” Thanadir reminded. “The ellyn will create a scaffold so that this can be managed, with the cob. There will be much to do, just with bringing in the materials.”

 

“Then we should consider beginning our workday,” said Thranduil, who finished his tea. “Have we any more to discuss, just now?”

 

Lorna mostly managed to smother a burp, and also managed to act like an adult and not actually lick the leftover syrup off her plate. “I’m good,” she said.

 

“Me too,” Ratiri added, trying not to laugh. He didn’t need telepathy to know exactly what it was she’d wanted to do.

 

“Off to the wars, then,” Thranduil said with humor, helping Earlene begin clearing the dishes to soak. His wife had long since relaxed about this particular aspect of her home, blessedly. It looked to be a fine day, and he patted her back with affection as they prepared to be covered in mud.

 

*****

 

It was night in Lasg’len, when Sharley finally found the place.

 

No buses ran to the village itself; she’d had to take one to a gas station off the M7, then a taxi, which cost too damn much money. Still, she’d made it, which was enough, for now.

 

Ireland. She’d never been here. It was beautiful, and reminded her very much of parts of the Pacific Northwest. Even in May, the evenings were chilly, and the nights a bit more so, but she hardly minded. Her coat, a vintage, olive-drab military trench coat, might be old and worn, but it did the job. Duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she passed through the little town like a pale, blue-haired ghost.

 

_ “I’m still not sure this is a good idea,”  _ Jimmy said, circling her unseen.  _ “Why would they believe you? You’re insane. Even  _ we  _ know you’re insane.” _

 

_ “She’s also not wrong,”  _ Sinsemilla scolded, from somewhere behind Sharley.

 

_ “When has that ever convinced anyone?”  _ Jimmy retorted.

 

“Hush,” Sharley said. “Thranduil can read my mind. He’ll know.” Of course, she couldn’t be certain he’d believe, that he wouldn’t decide the whole thing was too odd and dig his heels in, but she was hazarding a guess he wouldn’t. People who were in charge couldn’t afford to ignore shit, even if it  _ did  _ seem weird as hell.

 

If only she’d found them sooner, so much could have been avoided -- but then, if she’d warned them, the Avathar-thing would still be making people’s lives miserable by proxy. Of course, one might easily prefer that to what was to come. What she had to warn these people of, whether or not they heeded her.

 

If only she could control what she saw, but of course not. That would make things far too easy. The future showed itself as it wished, and all she could do was hang on for the ride. It did mean she actually had some money, though; every so often she’d buy herself a lottery ticket, and come away with a little something. It was the only reason she’d been able to afford air fare to Ireland, since she was more or less an itinerant laborer otherwise.

 

The forest loomed ahead of her, dark and ancient, and she paused. She’d worked in some of the oldest forests in the United States, but they couldn’t rival this. The trees stood like dark towers against the starry sky, leaves faintly silvered in the light of the half-moon. The weight of their history pressed on her until she shook herself, unwilling to focus on their past. It was beautiful; she didn’t want to know what misery might have befallen it.

 

Kurt, somewhere to her left, snorted.  _ “And how do you know one of them won’t just shoot you? Most don’t speak English, do they?” _

 

“I’m no threat to them,” Sharley said. “They’ll know that.” She was a tall woman, and strong, but not in the least violent. The Elves had nothing at all to fear from her.

 

When she stepped into the trees, she would swear she felt some form of...of heartbeat, almost. With something this old, time had very little meaning, and it certainly felt unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

 

_ “Now what?”  _ Jimmy demanded.

 

“We walk,” she said, “and wait for someone to find us.”

 

The wait was not long. Which was just as well, it was dark as hell inside, and hard to find anything resembling a path. 

 

“Daro,” a soft, masculine voice said in a commanding tone. “Stop.” The pronunciation was a little strange, stranger than being in Ireland accounted for of itself. A hand took an arm on either side of her; a hand that seemed to have a faint luminescence of its own. Nothing could be made out of them, except that they were tall. As tall as she herself was. “Tolo. Come,” were the only other words spoken, as the hands guided her away on paths indiscernible. A third set of hands, unseen, wrapped a cloth around her eyes. After that was only one step in front of another, and silence.

 

_ “That was too easy,”  _ Kurt said, blatantly suspicious.  _ “Where’s the catch?” _

 

“There  _ is _ no catch, Kurt,” Sharley said softly. “They’re Elves. Now hush, I’m pretty sure their king can hear you.”

 

_ “Oh shit, can he?”  _ Layla asked. She sounded the youngest of the whole group, more like a little girl than anything else.  _ “Wow. Sucks to be him.” _

 

_ “Layla, you’re not helping,”  _ Sinsemilla sighed.

 

_ “Who made you Team Mom?”  _ Kurt demanded witheringly.

 

“ _ I  _ did,” Sharley said firmly. “Shut up, all of you.”

 

Thalion glanced down at his captive and rolled his eyes. Hundreds of years of peace and quiet, and now ever more of these strange modern humans. And now, one that apparently spoke to the air.  _ By Eru, what next?  _ He sighed. Fortunately, it was not for him to say. The third ellon of their patrol was sent on a short distance ahead, so that the password would not be spoken in the hearing of this mortal. Minutes later the cloth was removed, and she found herself the object of scrutiny of an Elvenking who had not been terribly far from retiring for the evening.

 

“Who are you?” Thranduil asked. “Better yet, what are you?” There were many, many things about the firieth before him that made no sense at all. Or at the very least, lay outside the borders of his experience.

 

“My name is Sharley,” she said, peering up at him. He looked rather like she’d expected, though she’d caught few enough actual glimpses of  _ him  _ until now. “I see things. Lotsa things. I didn’t see  _ you  _ until last March, and that confused the hell outta me. Someone like you couldn’t just hide, but you had.” She shook her head, brushing the blue tangle of her bangs back off her face. “You were entirely off my radar, until one day you weren’t. Took me way too long to actually find you, unfortunately.”

 

_ “Because that’s not cryptic and weird,”  _ Kurt snorted.  _ “Are you trying to get yourself kicked out on your ass?” _

 

Sinsemilla sighed.  _ “Kurt, stop helping.” _

 

_ “I wasn’t trying to help.” _

 

Sharley ignored them both, but watched Thranduil’s face for any indication he might have heard them, too. “If I’d gotten here sooner, I coulda warned you about Avathar. I didn’t, and I couldn’t, but I  _ can  _ warn you about what’ll happen now that he’s dead.”

 

Thranduil and Thanadir’s expressions remained unreadable; they at least had the practice of long years of rule, however great a span of time had intervened since anything quite like this had occurred. Earlene, however, could not help that an eyebrow subtly twitched at the sum of information from this...woman. No one could have known about Von Ratched in the outer world, especially not by that name.  _ Was this somehow another of the Maiar? Or an individual touched by the Valar? Conclusion: not nearly enough information available. _ That she was even present was a grace of her King; without explicit permission to speak, she was a bystander here. So Earlene watched in silence, and listened.

 

The King had seen mental...differences, in the mortals he’d encountered in the outer world, but not like this. More than Sharley alone lived in there, to hear it. Her experience of these other dialogues was as evident to him as it was to the woman herself. And yet only one fae dwelled within her body, plain and discernible as her outlandish blue hair. What worried him far more was the origin of her knowledge. He detected no deception, no attempt at manipulation. Beyond that, she knew where she was and had understood the risk she had taken in electing to cross his borders. Others had stood here, destined never to leave alive or to be expelled with any memory of this place erased, but never one such as this. 

 

“How is it that you know any of this? You seem to have a great deal of awareness of us, but you are no elf. I require more explanation. Much more.”

 

Sharley looked at him, and finally blinked. Her eyes did not match; the left was so dark it was nearly black, with a segment of a brown so light it was nearly amber, while the right was an uneven pinwheel of blue and green. “I saw you,” she said. “I felt you, halfway around the world. This world, there’s only humans in it, humans and Avathar, and then all of a sudden there was you.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I see things. I always have. You have human friends, and a human child, and another baby on the way. He’s a boy, and he’ll be blond. I…” She paused, wondering if he would dare try this. She was human; it wasn’t like she could hurt him even if she wanted to, but that didn’t mean he’d be willing to go digging deeper into her mind.

 

Her gaze flicked from him to Thanadir to Earlene, and back again. “The world dies in twenty years, because of Avathar. He has some kinda...doomsday device, but I don’t know what it is. It makes a plague, and kills almost everyone, and you need to be ready for it -- for Lasg’len, and Baile. They’ll have nowhere else to go. And if you need evidence that I’m not just crazy, read my mind. See what I saw.”

 

“You see things,” Thranduil reiterated, staring fixedly at her. Technically this was no more peculiar than Galadriel’s mirror, or Elrond’s foresight, except for the package in which it was contained.  _ Oh, the irony. _ This was no different than what he was required to offer each new human, by way of proof that he was not lying or indulging in warped humor. The woman was not untruthful, and had knowledge of things impossible to otherwise know. If he was to be brutally honest with himself, even  _ he _ did not know the color of his unborn child’s hair. “Yet you hear things, too. What are these voices, to whom you speak in your mind?” With a flick of his hand, he commanded Thalion and the other guard to relinquish their hold on her arms. “Den leithio.” (Release her).

 

That brought out a dry, slightly bitter smile. “I said I’d give you evidence that I’m not  _ just  _ crazy,” she sighed. “They’re hallucinations. They’re not real, though they’ll try like hell to tell you otherwise. Humans...aren’t supposed to see like I do. Something broke, in here.” She tapped her temple. Sharley knew she wasn’t anywhere close to whole, and that was just that. There wasn’t anything she could do about it. When you were tapped into the future, something had to give, and, as Sinsemilla had said once, her mind fragmented in self-defense.

 

“Very well,” he sighed. “Though, I am not accustomed to random acts of altruism any more than strangers appearing in my forest bearing such news.” He regarded her carefully. There was no expectation of a reward, of….anything, really. “You came all this way, only to warn me of what lies twenty years in the future?”

 

Sharley eyed him, curious. “‘ _ Only  _ to warn you’?” she said, feeling it an odd choice of words. “That’s such a huge thing, I doubt ‘only’ could ever describe it. You have the only place that’ll be safe. You’re the only one who’ll be able to heal the sick, and at least two villages of people you -- or some of you -- really care about. Of course I came to warn you. What kinda asshole would I be, if I didn’t?”

 

Thanadir cleared his throat volubly. “It is customary to choose more polite words, when addressing a King,” he reminded her, though with an even tone that was not harsh. 

 

Earlene glanced over to see that in comparison to what he was capable of, Thanadir’s expression was shockingly mild in the face of such a breach of protocol.  _ Perhaps Lorna is wearing off on him _ , she reasoned.

 

Thranduil simply stared, not seeming to acknowledge his seneschal’s correction. “And is there more?” he asked. “More to tell?”

 

“There’s...something,” Sharley said, finally hesitating. “I’ve seen it, in bits and pieces, but I don’t know what it is, or when. Battle. War. I’m not sure how well I could even show it to you, though I could try. There’s not enough of it to make any real sense.”

 

The King regarded her in silence for a time. “Am I correct in that you have no place of lodging? No shelter?”

 

“Not at the moment. I camp a lot.” She’d always moved, ever since she was a child, unable to settle for long, so she’d gotten quite good at camping.

 

“I find myself in the awkward position of never having had precisely this experience,” Thranduil said quietly. “In a gesture of goodwill, I offer you a room here. And food, if you wish it. My seneschal, Thanadir, will see to your comfort. I would like to speak more of this, tomorrow. Is this acceptable to you?”

 

“It is,” Sharley said, “and thank you.” It had been a while since she’d had a real bed, and not some pancake-thin mattress in a cheap hotel.  _ I know this his hard _ , she said,  _ trust me. But I’m not kidding -- I’d be the world’s biggest asshole if I knew this and didn’t tell you, and the more chance you’ve got to get used to the idea, the better. _

 

“We will speak again,” he said. “I invite you to break your fast with us, in the morning. Someone will come for you. Rest well.”

 

_ “Wow, free breakfast,”  _ Layla said.  _ “Sweet.” _

 

_ “Layla? Also not helping.”  _ Sinsemilla sounded downright weary.

 

“I will, for once,” Sharley said. “And -- don’t worry too much, just yet. Things will work.”

 

Thanadir courteously indicated for Sharley to accompany him, trying not to stare at her blue hair. That she was as tall as he also felt vaguely unsettling; he was used to Earlene, who was comfortably somewhat shorter than himself. “The King honors you greatly,” he commented. “Not in countless stretches of time, has anyone come here unbidden and been treated as a guest.” He left her to infer just what sort of treatment they did receive, by omission. “Are you hungry or thirsty? Do you need refreshment?”

 

“Your king is a smart man,” Sharley said. “Smart Elf. He doesn’t like this and I don’t blame him, but he’s listening. Many, many others haven’t. I gave up, after a while, but you need to know what I’ve seen. I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing.” She eyed him curiously. She’d seen much of him, but knew he wouldn’t appreciate how much she’d discovered. “I could do with a sandwich and some water, if it’s not too much trouble. Haven’t eaten since I got off the damn plane, ten hours ago.”

 

Thanadir nodded, still trying to comprehend just what to make of all this. She was very….strange. And yet, there was no feeling of unwholesomeness, about her. He found one of the nicer quarters formerly occupied by a single elleth, and admitted her. “This room has a pool for bathing. I believe you will find the clothes of our people in the wardrobe, should you require fresh garments. Everything one might require is here. I will light a fire for you, and then will return very soon with food and drink.” Approving of the condition in which the room had been left, it was the work of just a few seconds to strike the flint into a small amount of fatwood splinters that flamed quickly to life. “Please excuse me for a few moments,” he said as he withdrew.

 

*****

 

The guards were dismissed, and Thranduil offered his arm to his wife. “What in Eru’s name am I to do with this, meluieg? Is such a kind of person known, to your world?” he asked.

 

“No, and...yes.” The necessity to choose words very carefully swirled around her. “My Lord, much of this can go back to the earliest conversations between us. My inability to believe you were real, and my difficulty accepting you and your world. There are humans who claim to have unusual abilities, or sense unusual things. Or that they have had unusual experiences. Some of it is lies, others...well, that is the problem. One who hears voices is usually deemed afflicted, and yet who can say, exactly? For her to know what she knows, and after the sum of my experiences with things I did not formerly believe possible...as difficult as it is for me to say this, I would listen to her. And...there is another reason, though it is not a good one. It does not hold up to logic but rather….intuition.”

 

“And that reason is...?” 

 

“When you told me of the words Manwë spoke to you. And that he said, ‘in time, you will understand with finality why the Valar have asked for your recall to Aman.’ I cannot help but wonder if what was meant by that is, there will be nothing left for you here, to an extent that is currently incomprehensible. If what Sharley foretells indeed comes to pass, the outer world will grind to a halt, and most of those living on the planet will perish. And with them, what justification you had for wishing to remain. Right now, there is yet a world to see, and the means to see it. But in this future? There is only survival, and assisting whoever yet lives to form the seeds of...whatever is to come next. That is a staggering responsibility,” she murmured.

 

They retired to bed without much in the way of further discussion. The topic was simply too big to fully consider, much less discuss. And long after Thranduil’s regular breathing signalled that her husband was at rest, Earlene’s mind refused to stop.  _ Screw it _ , she thought, donning a robe and warm slippers. Slipping to the next room, the harpsichord waited, and a piece by Henry Purcell. If she had been told how much progress she would have achieved at this instrument, she would not have believed it. Perhaps it was Thanadir’s skilled tutelage. Or that she liked repetitive tasks. Whatever the reason, she found that she had taken well to it, and could now play some songs that were not so complex. This one was called simply “Ground.” She liked to play it very slowly, and allow the droning harmony to take her mind elsewhere. 

 

Who knew how many minutes later, Thanadir entered the room, courteously making enough noise to alert her to his presence. She smiled and scooted over, and continued playing the left hand part. He wordlessly reached around her waist to pull her against him, while playing the notes for the right hand. On and on, page after page. When the last note died away, she spoke. “You could not sleep either, meldir?”

 

He shook his head. “Not like you mean it. I often do not take rest until what you would think of as very late, Earlene. But I suspect you are here for the same reason as me, in that my thoughts cannot let go of what we were told.”

 

Rising from the bench, she moved to the sofa, and patted the cushion next to her in invitation, tucking her feet underneath her warm robes. “Yes. It...overwhelms. I find that whether or not it is fully rational, my heart has already accepted her words as true. Which is strange enough. But beyond that...the weight of this responsibility is staggering. To be left alone to prepare for the loss of civilization. The death of billions of people. The necessity to try to preserve the knowledge of all of humanity.  Creating a plan for those who survive to continue surviving. What is anyone supposed to do with so much duty, so much obligation?”

 

“I cannot say,” he opined. “But I can tell you this much. Our King is skilled in ways you have not seen, and cannot understand. Trust him, and his judgement. My faith in his intuition has never been made to suffer. Yes, we will help, somehow. But this is not all on your shoulders, or mine, or his. A means will be found, meldis. Now turn a little more, and I will rub your back. Try to calm your thoughts, you need your rest.”

 

His words apparently helped more than she realized, because afterward there was only a fleeting memory of finding Thranduil’s warmth, and a soft kiss to her cheek.

 

*****

 

On waking, Lorna heard an unusual request.  _ Please leave your children with Maerwen. We have a guest at our meal and the discussion will be one that can afford no distractions. _

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri, instantly wary. Thus far they’d never had a guest that wasn’t brought in, directly or indirectly, by one of the humans. Was it someone from the village? Geezer? Bridie? She doubted it -- if so, Thranduil would have actually used their name.

 

“I guess we’re going solo this morning,” she said, rising and heading to grab her toothbrush. “Thranduil wants us to leave the kids and come on our own. Because  _ that’s  _ not unsettling or anything.” Her hair was a nightmare, as usual, but she could deal with it after they’d eaten.

 

“Why do I have a feeling this means nothing good?” Ratiri asked, stretching. He dealt with Shane and Chandra’s diapers before going to deal with his own morning ablutions. At least he was dressed and halfway respectable by the time Maerwen arrived, and Lorna had enough milk bottled that the twins could still eat on schedule.

 

The pair of them headed for Earlene and Thranduil’s rooms, hand in hand. They’d long since ceased knocking, though Lorna did tend to call, “Oi, it us!” before they went in anyway, just...because.

 

Thranduil sat already at the table, looking pensive, and Earlene did not seem too far from the same emotional state. Thanadir was the only one who seemed halfway relaxed. Or was  _ resigned _ the better word? Ortherion was already bustling around the table, and apparently Allanah and the girls were being kept in the bedroom or otherwise out of sight, since Lothiriel and her charges did not occupy their usual corner at this hour. 

 

Earlene glanced at Thranduil, who obviously had no intention of speaking, and cleared her throat. “Well, we’re going to have company. She came last night, very late, and the whole thing will be repeated for your benefit. Hear her out, and be kind to her; she hauled herself from the west coast of the States to say what she has to say. It’s a, um, doozy.”

 

“You’re scaring me, Earlene,” Ratiri said, taking a seat. It felt  _ wrong _ , not having the twins here. Any of the children here.

 

Lorna watched the lot of them, and wondered just how much she was going to hate this. Probably a hell of a lot.

 

Sharley chose this as her cue, entering quietly. She didn’t think she’d ever had a better night’s sleep, and a bath was always welcome. The clothes in the closet had been...interesting, and it had taken her some digging to just find a plain black tunic and what felt like wool leggings.

 

She had seen both Lorna and Ratiri already, and now regarded the former with open curiosity. She knew what Lorna would become, if given the chance, and it was somewhat strange, seeing her as she was now.

 

The pair of them looked back, just as curiously, and Lorna instantly had dozens of questions. How had this human found them? She wasn’t from Lasg’len or Baile.  _ Why  _ had she found them? What could have drawn her halfway around the world? Somewhat irreverently, that blue hair made Lorna want to dye all her greys pink even more pronounced. Her eyes, though, made her look a touch...unbalanced.

 

_ Sectoral heterochromia _ , Ratiri thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

 

“I’m glad you brought them both in,” Sharley said, padding to the empty chair. She hadn’t seen such a breakfast in months, nor smelled one, either. “Not sure where you want me to start.”

 

“If you would please help yourself to the food, and when you have eaten enough, start at the very beginning. This would be appreciated, for the benefit of our friends. I wish to be civilized. Perhaps first, too, you might explain yourself somewhat; none here have your familiarity. And Lorna, Ratiri, this is Sharley. Sharley….is there more, to your name?” Thranduil asked. He had a vague air of one who has a headache, even though that was not supposed to be possible.

 

“I’m Sharley Corwin,” Sharley said, dishing herself up some oatmeal. “I came here to warn you about Avathar’s last gift that’ll keep on giving. I don’t know the particulars, but he’s got some kinda failsafe/doomsday thing set up so that once he was dead, in twenty years, the world would die. Plague.” She poured some tea while she was at it. “I see things. Things in the future. I saw the Elves, when they...un-faded, or whatever it was they did, last year. Took me too long to find you, or I’d’ve warned you not to go to that damn party, but good luck hunting down Elves in a world that thinks they’re just a story. If this village wasn’t named Lasg’len, I probably never woulda.”

 

Lorna’s immediate instinct was to call bullshit, but it was overridden after only a few moments. She lived with  _ elves _ , for fuck’s sake. She’d eaten a Balrog’s nose off. The idea of a psychic should not seem so odd, and yet...just... _ what? _

 

“Why do I get the feeling there is so much you aren’t saying?” Ratiri asked. “Why -- why come here? Why risk it?” His mind just could not process that -- not without tea, anyway. As soon as she’d set the pot down, he picked it up.

 

Sharley eyed him, head tilted slightly to one side. “Thranduil asked me the same thing,” she said. “It’s because I’m not an asshole. If you were me, would  _ you  _ be able to just...sit on that? You need to start planning. Now.”

 

“Let’s try this again,” said Earlene, though not unkindly. “Forgive my bluntness, but you have a manner of speaking that resembles being dropped into the middle of a movie that you’ve seen a hundred times already, but is our first viewing, and you expect that somehow we have your same perspective on these matters. It would go quite a long way, however boring or redundant it might be for you, if you would explain a little about yourself to them. Your background. However it is, that your insight functions.Then perhaps after some better introduction, the stuff about the end of humanity as we know it will seem a little more in context? Please?”

 

Sharley smiled, a fleeting ghost of an expression, with a touch of wryness. “I’m not used to being around...people,” she said. “I see things. Things that’re going to happen -- I always have. I knew about Avathar, because he was, er, kinda unique, but I couldn’t do anything about him, because I  _ didn’t  _ want him knowing about me. Last March, I felt these guys--” she gestured at Thranduil and Thanadir, “which confused the ever-loving shit outta me, because I couldn’t understand how I hadn’t seen them before. Eventually I figured out they hadn’t been here  _ to  _ see.”

 

With a sigh, she added some cream to her oatmeal. “I started looking, as soon as I found them. I knew you’d got to New York, and I knew if you did, you’d meet Avathar, and all...that...would happen, but I didn’t manage it in time. I can’t control this, y’see -- it shows me what it wants, when it wants, and it didn’t exactly come with a user’s guide. That, and good luck getting a passport when you look like me.”

 

“What do you mean, you see things?” Ratiri asked, in spite of himself. “Do you dream them?”

 

Sharley shook her head, her eyes darkening. “I wish it was that benign,” she said. “I’ll be walking along, doing whatever, and then it’s like I just sorta...step into the future. I can’t interact with it, and nobody in it ever notices me. I never do know how long I’ll be stuck, either; one time I spent almost a week wandering around winter of two thousand fifteen, and when I woke up I was in the hospital because somebody found me on the street and thought I’d gone into a coma.”

 

“That...sounds really bloody awful,” Lorna said, wincing.

 

“It is what it is,” Sharley said, with a shrug. “I saw all you meeting Avathar, and….” She fell silent a moment. “I saw some of what he did, in New York. What he did to your friend, Earlene. I couldn’t get there in time, not from the other end of the country, and if Avathar had found me….” It wasn’t to be thought of.

 

“What...else...did you see?” Lorna asked, cold horror seizing her. If this odd woman had seen... _ that _ ...she couldn’t bear it.

 

“Not that,” Sharley assured her. “I mean, I knew it would happen, but I didn’t see it or anything. I watched you all, when he died, and I followed you to the bog. He hasn’t been confirmed dead yet, but whatever it is, the clock’s started now. In twenty years, the plague hits, and that’s pretty much it. Some people will be immune, of course, but for a lotta the world...it won’t be pretty. This’ll be the only safe place on Earth, and I want you to be ready for it.”

 

She’d seen them kill Von Arseface? Thought of some invisible observer there, of an invisible companion when Lorna and the elves had gone to dispose of his body...that was just too creepy for words. If Sharley had no control over this, what was to stop her from accidentally walking into the future while someone was on the toilet? Or if she and Ratiri were having happy fun times? God, there was paranoia fuel.

 

“Do you know any others like you?” Ratiri asked, intrigued in spite of it all.

 

Sharley shook her head. “I’ve never even heard of anyone else who does what I do, and I’ve looked. You always hear of people dreaming about the future, and God don’t I wish it was that simple. I offered to show Thranduil what I’ve, but it occurred to me that it might be a bit...much. Too weird. There’s a difference between reading someone’s mind and -- well. What I do. So I won’t push, if you really don’t want to.” This last was said directly to Thranduil himself.

 

“I will accept what you offer,” he said, his blue eyes glittering as he filled his plate with fruit, porridge and an egg. “But I was not eager to do so without having first rested. At this point, it seems that to do otherwise would be a dereliction of my duty.”

 

A brief glance at Lorna was followed by a barely perceptible smile. Perhaps part of why he loved his diminutive friend was her amazing ability to focus on matters of personal embarrassment while all but ignoring cataclysmic revelations given at the same time. It was simply...Lorna, and it lightened his heart to hear her thoughts. 

 

A silence settled over the meal, for a few minutes. Thanadir allowed this much, for some actual eating to occur, before speaking to Sharley. “You stated that we must start planning now, as though you had guidance to offer in this regard. Is that true, or have I misread you?” The seneschal’s gaze was steady, level; a projection of strength.

 

“When you’re ready,” Sharley said. “I don’t have anywhere to be. And I do have some advice, yeah, for whatever it’s worth.”  _ And a lot of it has to do with her _ , she added to Thranduil.  _ I know what she ought to be, and what she won’t be, if we push her weird. Eventually, all you guys will leave, and everyone who lives here will need a human to look after them. It would be better for everyone if it was her.  _ “It’ll be tempting, to take in everyone you can fit, but don’t do it. Lasg’len, and Baile, but...be choosy, otherwise. You need people who can handle living alongside another civilization, who aren’t going to whine because they don’t have an Xbox, or just be wastes of resources. I know it sounds brutal, but you’re going to be building a whole  _ new  _ civilization, one the Elves will eventually leave, and it has to be able to stand on its own.”

 

“I don’t suppose your visions include things like whether the infrastructure of the outer world will remain standing, or whether roving bands of other survivors will try to come here and use seized military surplus weaponry to assault us?” asked Earlene, mopping up the last of her egg with a biscuit. Privately, Sharley’s opinions did not seem in the least unreasonable.  _ It was like what gran’s community in upstate was like long ago; you pulled your weight or you were more or less told to take a long walk off a short dock. They worked, they bartered, and somehow the locale fared well enough. Was it really building anything new, or was it learning to make do with what was old? Living in a pre-industrial environment shouldn’t have to be the end of the world _ , she sighed to herself. Though, she would miss the movies. And the computer. All that knowledge, all that information….considering  _ that _ loss created a sinking feeling.

 

“Everything goes down,” Sharley said. “All of it. And you’d have way more to worry about with people and weapons if you were in America, but I know there will be at least one group, in about thirty-five years. And I’ll -- I’ll come back, then. I can help, when it hits. At the very least, no other survivors’ll have someone who can see the future on their side.” There was a certain tinge of bitterness to her words, but it was old, and faint, and well-worn. “Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody  _ will  _ know, unless you choose to tell them. When everyone dies, you’ll be safe. And if you prepare enough, you’ll have food, you’ll have power, you’ll have everything you’d want to still keep some semblance of the modern world.”

 

“Well that’s cheerful,” muttered Earlene. And then it struck her. “Our children…” Or more specifically, for her, Allanah.  _ This poor child is going to be shat on up one side and down the other _ , she thought, even as shame came with it. Her daughter would  _ live _ , when billions of daughters that belonged to someone else would not. And as the emotional weight fell on her, she knew her contribution to this conversation had just ended. What mother could feel differently?

 

Lorna and Ratiri were every bit as stricken, but Sharley said, “Your children will be adults, but the time this happens. You’ve got twenty years to show them the world, so they can see the best of what it is right now. This won’t happen to them before they’re old enough to understand, or to appreciate everything that came before.” She hesitated a moment, because she understood, at least in part, what Earlene meant. One of her daughters was going to be left behind, when she sailed with the Elves, and now she’d just been told that kid would be left in a world that had gone to hell. “Don’t worry about Allanah, Earlene. She’ll be loved, always.” 

 

“She will,” Lorna said. “Assuming Ratiri and I don’t snuff it, she’ll always have us, and our twins.”

 

Sharley eyed her. “You won’t kick the bucket. Just stay here, when everything goes to shit. You -- both of  you -- have work to do. Because when the Elves leave, somebody’s gonna have to keep everything together, and you two know the most about this place, and how it works.”

 

Lorna paled. “No,” she said flatly. This...she couldn’t process this. To be told that they only had two decades before it was literally the end of the world as they knew it...how was she to tell Baile, and when? They’d need to let the village in on the whole ‘elves’ thing first, but the when of that wasn’t her decision -- not that she could have made one even if it had been. Should she at least warn Mairead and Big Jamie ahead of time? If so,  _ how  _ ahead?

 

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose, because an unholy smile was spreading across his face, as he stifled what amounted to giggles.  _ Queen Lorna. By Eru the Valar do have a sense of humor…  _ he did not dare look at her.

 

“Do you have any understanding of how this begins? Or where?” Thanadir asked quietly, ignoring his King. “There was a great plague long ago. Many mortals died, all across what was our world. It was thought to have begun in Gondor, whence it spread, eventually reaching our own region of Rhovanion.”

 

“It starts in America,” Sharley said, and sipped her tea. “I do know that. It’s got a long incubation period -- like, two weeks long -- so it’ll have spread around the world before most even know they’re sick. Kinda like bird flu on steroids.”

 

Ratiri winced. Scientists had been theorizing for years that it was only a matter of time before some strain of bird flu made the jump to humans without needing swine as an intermediary. “And the mortality rate?”

 

“I don’t know the exact percentage or anything, but I know it’s over ninety. Maybe more. What I saw….” She fell silent. This future she had walked into more than once, in different parts of the globe. Spending four days in Manhattan, surrounded by corpses, had not been her idea of a good time. Neither had London, in the throes of the infection, or Mexico City, at its very start. “I’m not sure how many more times I’ll step into it, before then. If I learn more, I’ll find you, and tell you.”

 

“He did it,” Earlene hissed, somehow finding more words after all. “He made it.  _ Engineered _ it. Pharmaceutical company, my ass. He was a Nazi and this is his final genocide.” God, she wanted a way to stop him. It….sickened. Were this a game, she would have to admire him; a means to wrest victory out of defeat. But it wasn’t a game. What had all those people ever done, to deserve this? This...was unfathomable. All of what Sharley had said...could the future be changed? Should it? Her eyes burned in anger. And helplessness.

 

“Sharley, if you see what’s caused it, at some point -- if you know just who does it, and how, and where, we can stop it, right?” Lorna asked.

 

“I’d like to tell you the future isn’t set,” Sharley said, “but I’ve never been wrong. I’ll look, though. And if I see anything, anything at all, I’ll come back. I’ll tell you.”

 

“Why do you need to leave in the first place?” Ratiri asked. “Do you have a job, or a family? Because it would make far more sense if you just stayed.” The woman and her strange,  mismatched eyes unsettled him, but if she was their only line to the future, he didn’t want her wandering off.

 

“I…” Sharley started, but couldn’t finish. No, she had no family, but Marty rested in Washington, a tiny grave in a misty land, and Sharley had never left her for long. That she would someday have to do it forever was bad enough.

 

Earlene felt a desperate need to be elsewhere. “Please excuse me,” she said softly, placing her napkin down. Thranduil noticed that she left their rooms, as opposed to going into their bedroom. Only a glance at Thanadir was needed. With a nod, the seneschal rose to follow; it was obvious that Earlene was upset. 

 

Lorna and Ratiri rose as well, both disturbed beyond words, but Lorna was already planning: who to tell, and when, and how, and who else they might bring in. Whoever was to come needed at least a little forewarning, and time to accustom themselves to the idea that elves were real, but by the same token, they couldn’t risk their secret getting out. They had to know who they couldn’t and couldn’t trust, and unless they could somehow get Thranduil to telepathically vet  _ everyone _ , that was going to be a crapshoot.

 

“Dunno about you, allanah, but I could use a drink,” she said, taking Ratiri’s hand. “I don’t care that it’s eight in the morning.”

 

For once, he wasn’t about to chide her on it. He wanted one, too.

 

“Come,” Thranduil invited Sharley. “Walk with me, and show me what you have to show.”


	64. Sixty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Begins where last chapter ended; May 28, 2017 just after breakfast.

“So,” Sharley said, when the others had left, “I know you’ve seen some nasty, nasty shit in your life, but this...might top it. All of it. New York was the first place I saw, and it’s what I’ll show you. It was...bad.”

 

_ “Was it ever,”  _ Kurt said, and for once was rather subdued. Normally he delighted in mocking the suffering of others, to the exasperation and disgust of Sharley and the rest of the voices, but this had shaken even him.

 

Thranduil steeled himself; he could guess. Especially in such a populous city. “When you are ready,” he nodded to her.

 

Sharley shut her eyes, and they stepped.

 

The first thing one noticed was the silence. The second, half a moment later, was the smell.

 

They stood in Times Square, bleak and empty. The huge screens were dark, forever silenced now, monuments to a dead world. It was midday, but the sky above boiled with purple-black thunderheads, straining the light until it looked to be almost evening. It would happen in springtime -- this much she knew, for in her walks around the city, she had seen the ornamental trees in bloom in the arboretum. They would grow and spread, with none to prune them, their roots heaving and buckling the pavement.

 

But the  _ smell _ ...many had fled, while they still could, but the plague moved -- and killed -- so very fast. The apartments were filled with those who had been too ill to leave, and who had breathed their last within their homes, the city dying all around them. The stench was thick, cloying, and she pulled the collar of her shirt up over her mouth and nose. It didn’t do much, but it was better than nothing. Not for the first time did she curse just how vivid these walks into the future could be.

 

“It takes America two weeks to go,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the fabric. “Rest of the world takes a bit longer, but not by much. By the time it’s made its presence known, it’s too late -- it’s already spread beyond control. I think Avathar musta read  _ The Stand _ , except his flu’s different. At least the governments aren’t nearly as stupid as they were in that book; nobody tries covering it up, just because there’s no time.” 

 

None of this was surprising to him. What attracted his attention, was the totality of the silence. No bird flew overhead, no dogs roamed the lifeless streets.  _ Was this a coincidence of the moment, or did this illness kill everything?  _

 

She led him through the city, the streets choked with cars -- some abandoned, some with their occupants slumped dead. She’d gathered that this had only very recently ended, because most of the corpses she’d seen were still pretty fresh. A thin layer of dust and sea-salt had frosted the windows already, filming them like thin cataracts. For the first time in four hundred years, the city’s heart had stopped, and it would never start again. By the time the world’s population had recovered enough, it would have crumbled into ruin. Sharley had never had much use for people, but this had struck her to the heart. Nobody deserved this. If only she could have found the Elves earlier, this whole mess would have been averted, but her ability, her curse, didn’t work that way. She knew that they existed, and that was it. She knew that they knew a woman named Earlene, and one named Lorna, but no surnames had come attached to the first. That she’d found them at all came down to pure chance: when she turned her search to Ireland, her eyes had landed on the name Lasg’len. Lasg’len. Las Galen. She’d read  _ The Lord of the Rings  _ \-- she knew that name, and unless it was a town of Tolkien fanatics who had renamed their village within the last sixty years, it had to be her target.

 

Unfortunately, she had a hell of a time getting approved for a passport. She did technically have a permanent residence, she just seldom stayed there, and there always seemed to be one extra thing that stymied her, each time something nobody bothered telling her about the  _ last  _ time she had to deal with some other little thing. She’d swear Fate was holding her up, making certain she couldn’t get there in time. Her week in future London had put her in the hospital for nearly a month, and then some jackass decided she needed to be committed to psychiatric care -- as if that had ever done any good. She was not a danger to herself or others, so they couldn’t hold her for long, but it was long enough. One thing after another, as though making certain the world would die. That there would be nothing that she or anyone else could do to stop it.

 

But she would try, goddammit. Avathar was dead -- she didn’t need to be afraid he’d find her, didn’t need to hide and evade. Never yet had she been able to avert the future, but she would do her damndest now. It was something he had made, something that had to be stored within one of his companies. Lorna had a friend, Sharley knew, who was good with computers; maybe she could figure this out. They had to try. Even if they were likely doomed to failure, they had to try. 

 

Thranduil looked at her with sympathy, deciding to keep silent, regarding her last thoughts. In his heart, he sensed that this was somehow...meant to happen, for all its horror. Earlene’s words would not leave his mind, and privately, he agreed with her. But there was one thing he needed to ask. “There were no birds, no animals anywhere, in your vision. Can you tell me if it is because this illness will take them as well? That matters a great deal, to the nature of our planning.”

 

Sharley shook her head. “It doesn’t get the animals. There were plenty in the other places I walked into, in this future. You’ll still be able to have chickens and cows and stuff.”

 

A sigh of relief came. That helped matters considerably. “Thank you,” he said. “It helps, in some way, to know that there is some small aspect to this that will not be a complete disaster.” A sigh escaped him. “I need time to reflect on what I have seen. I am certain that you understand.”

 

“I do,” she said. “After this, I need some damn fresh air. I’ll go for a walk, you do what you need to do.”

 

Thranduil smiled wanly, and inclined his head to her. This had not been anticipated. Not at all.  _ Then again, what had been? _ Massaging his forehead, he sat in his comfortable chair, trying to sift and sort the unsortable, while in the end nothing fascinated more than the pattern of the carpet. It was likely going to be a very long day.

  
  


********

 

Even while gloriously tipsy, Lorna couldn’t stop thinking.

 

Dependent on Thranduil’s say-so, she’d warn Mairead and Big Jamie as soon as she could, as well as all her old gang members. He had said he trusted her discretion in the matter of who knew what, but the fact remained that these were his Halls, and she didn’t want to just bring people on board without consulting him first. Theirs was a secret that had to be kept, no matter what was coming in twenty years. When it came to telling people, they had to hash out a timeline.

 

And they needed to talk about Allanah. She didn’t want Earlene worrying about what would happen, when the elves left and Allanah had to remain behind. The girl would always have Lorna and Ratiri, no matter what; she would be loved and cared for after the elves departed. Lorna really couldn’t blame Earlene for worrying, though; she couldn’t imagine what it would be like, knowing you would have to leave one of your children behind, and that it might be millions of years until you saw them again -- because weren’t elves and humans going to be separated until the world ended? That might well be millions or even billions of years. 

 

It would be horrible, but Allanah would never be without family. She’d have the Duncans, as long as any of them were alive. Lorna didn’t want Earlene to be afraid that Allanah would ever be alone or lonely -- and even though she’d be twenty when the plague hit, the elves might well stick around for years afterward. She could be in her thirties by the time they left, at which point she’d be better-equipped for it -- though there was no possible way to handle that with total equanimity. But she would always have Auntie Lorna and Uncle Ratiri, who, if they were smart, would start involving themselves in her life just as much as Earlene and Thranduil were. She’d need that bond eventually.

 

How were they to govern themselves, once the elves left? Most that she knew did vote, but there was a big difference between some distant, impersonal government, and one whose representatives you ate lunch with every day. Had the population just been Lasg’len and Baile, that would have been easy, but to bring in outsiders might well be a clusterfuck. It was why they’d have to do it well in advance, but that still left the question of who and when and how. It would tell her if they needed a mayor, and a town council, or...whatever. Because she would be  _ damned  _ if they set up anything even remotely resembling a monarchy.

 

The elves had earned exemption from her monarchy-scorn, but that was because they were, well,  _ elves _ . Unlike human monarchs, Thranduil genuinely had the best interests of his people at heart, and didn’t abuse his position. He made sure they were all cared for, and she was assuming he’d always been fair. In other words, everything human kings and queens just weren’t, and never had been. Humanity was made up of a bunch of selfish fuckers, honestly, and the more power you gave a single one, the worse they got. Oh, Elizabeth the First had been great for England, and genuinely cared about keeping her people happy and safe, but look at what she’d done to Ireland. Humans, when you handed them supreme executive power (a term she was never not going to associate with Monty Python) inevitably turned into assholes. And she was not going to let that happen. Once she’d figured out how to make elections work with a smaller populace, that was what they were going to have. Presidents, not kings or queens. Someone answerable to those they led. There was no human out there who would manage to be Thranduil, who could hold that level of power without it going to their head. He’d had tens of thousands of years to learn how to do his job right, and obviously no human would have even a fraction of that.

 

“I want to start downloading things,” Ratiri said. He was seated next to her on the sofa beside the fire, long legs stretched out, a mostly-empty glass of wine in his hand. “All the medical knowledge I can get my hands on, for one thing, but history, languages, the arts. All things that should be preserved, even if we’re the only ones left to appreciate them. And we need to start hoarding medical supplies. We can’t hoard medicine, it doesn’t have an indefinite shelf-life, but things like syringes and surgical tools. While the Elves remain, we have Thranduil, but once they leave, we’ll be reliant on human medicine again. We need to know how to derive it from plants, and make sure we have those plants in our greenhouses.”

 

“Solar panels,” Lorna said. “More than we’ve got. How to make things like soap and shampoo -- and Christ, I wish it didn’t take elf voodoo to make theirs as good as they are. We’ll have to stock up on that in huge vats, before they go.” God, she still didn’t want to think of that, not at all, and especially not now that they knew what was to happen to the world. To lose half their family, on top of the end of the world as they knew it….

 

She wondered why she could think of this so calmly. It couldn’t just be the wine -- it had to be shock, too. Once that wore off, she’d panic, so best get the practical shite thought of now, while she could. She drained the last of her glass and immediately poured herself another. Yes, they needed solar panels, and some kind of biofuel that could run their vehicles, if it could at all be made. They needed to learn from the elves, learn how to live without the modern world to fall back on. They needed to perfect their Sindarin, which in her case might not actually be possible, because they needed to be able to teach it to future generations.

 

Lorna laughed, though there was a touch of hysteria to it. “And here I’d been grieving the thought’v these Halls standing empty, once the elves go,” she said. “Now it looks like we’ll be the last bloody bastion’v civilization.”

 

“Why are we just...planning this?” Ratiri wondered aloud. “We’ve just heard the world’s going to end, and we’re just sitting here, plotting.”

 

“I don’t know about you,” she said, the answer just now occurring to her, “but if I don’t -- if I don’t think’v  _ something  _ \-- I’ll go mental. If I just thought’v what’s coming, and not what’ll come after, I might just give up. I’d crawl into a hole and not come out. If we really are going to be the last, we’ve got to make sure we do it right.”

 

He looked at her, and wondered if she yet realized what part she was going to have to play. The two of them knew the most of how this place worked; even if they brought in others and trained them, she’d been here the longest. He could -- and would -- aid her, but Ratiri knew he didn’t have the force of personality needed to wrangle a large amount of people. And, like it or not, he wasn’t Irish. They would want one of their own at the helm, and those of Baile knew her. Those of Lasg’len were beginning to. She was the bridge between the two villages; she might think she’d get things set up and that would be that, but he already knew better. She’d be stuck with the job, even if only because nobody else had her qualifications. Out of all of them, she was the only one who knew what it was like, living without the trappings of civilization. She’d done without any kind of luxury for over half of her life, sleeping rough, never knowing where her next meal would come from. In that, her old gang would be of invaluable help, for they had shared that life with her. They had grown up unspoiled by the benefits of the modern world.

 

And even aside from all of that, there was one thing that set her apart from everyone else, the thing unique entirely to her: unless somebody poisoned her, she couldn’t be assassinated. She couldn’t be shot, or stabbed; she’d literally been touched by a deity. Even if someone else did want the job, how could anyone compete with that? If some enemy assholes found them, they couldn’t so much as hurt her. That would be one hell of a symbol, whether she liked it or not. And he knew she wouldn’t.

 

“But who else do we bring in?” she went on. “How do we decide? I know logic’d say we look for the best and brightest, but what good is some genius scientist if they can’t hack it once the grid goes down? Who’s to say what the ‘best’ will be, once that happens?”

 

“That,” he said, “we have to leave, for now. It’s much too early to plan that with any finality. For now, I think we just need to see all of the world that we can, and take all the pictures of it we’re able, so that memory of the beautiful things doesn’t die.” He snorted. “It’s a damn good thing you started that scrapbook.”

 

Lorna looked at him, and burst out laughing. It was such a... _ Ratiri  _ thing to say, so dry and pragmatic and entirely right. “I’m going to need more than one book. I’ll have to make a dozen, at least. And...Christ am I glad it’s such a ways off. I want our children to see as much’v the world as they can. The beauty, not the shit. They’ll be the last generation to come’v age before everything changes, and we’ve got to make sure they’re ready. But I don’t want them to feel they’ve got any weight or expectations on their shoulders. I want them to be...kids. Just kids.”

 

“We’ll manage,” he said. “We’ll give them the best childhood anyone ever had. And meanwhile, I will start collecting books. Books on anything and everything.”

 

“The cottage,” Lorna said, shutting her eyes. “I’m going to call Orla, and see about getting that started as soon as possible. I want our kids to know what it’s like to have a home in the human world as well as here. I want them to know what it’s like, so they can tell  _ their  _ kids.” The thought that Baile, that Gran’s cottage, would one day stand empty, probably forever...that hurt. The cottage had stood through history both beautiful and terrible, and in twenty years, all the work she’d put into it would be for naught. She wouldn’t be able to justify wasting fuel to go tend to it, and it was that, out of everything, that made her cry. Her first true home, the first and only that had belonged to  _ her _ , and one day it would be abandoned…

 

Her tears were silent, but of course Ratiri noticed anyway. “Don’t mourn the world yet,” he said, pulling her close. “It’s still there, just now.”

 

“I wish there was some way to warn it,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Some way anyone would actually believe. I hope -- Christ, I hope Sharley finds some way to stop it.” And yet she knew, in her heart, that no such way existed.

 

What she wanted,  _ really  _ wanted, was a joint. For that she would need to call Orla, or Shane, and she had no energy to even walk to the cottage. Maybe Thranduil would let them into the elf wine, which had pretty much the same properties. If ever there was cause for day-drinking, this was bloody it.

 

Ratiri stroked Lorna’s hair, making a mental list. It wasn’t just that they needed certain things -- solar panels, various electronics -- they needed a vast surplus of them, because once the world ended, that would be it. Petrol, too, though it would be a nightmare to store. If kept in airtight containers, it would last practically forever, but the containers did have to be entirely airtight, or it would spoil. And they needed to learn how to preserve food, because once the Elves left, their magical preservation would end. Canning, smoking, pickling...things the older generations of humans were more likely to know. If they bottled milk, they could probably keep it cold enough if put in the pool below that waterfall, though he had no idea how to pasteurize it.

 

And somehow, he had to figure out how to train future doctors without the aid of medical school. He and Indira would both be in their sixties by the time this happened; the community would need younger doctors, which meant he had to get his hands on every medical textbook available. How many would have the aptitude, or the stomach for it? Hell, how could he himself perform surgery without a store of plasma, or saline? He was going to have to group people by blood type, so that he could get donors for fresh blood if it was needed.

 

Once the Elves left, realistically, he was going to lose patients -- patients a proper hospital might have saved. And what about those who got cancer, or suffered organ failure and needed transplants? He could do nothing about either. Modern medicine had come a very long way, but like it or not, it was going to get knocked back quite a bit. At the very least he wanted an X-ray machine and an ultrasound. Ten of each, just in case, but how in God’s name was he to get either? They weren’t just available for home purchase. Hopefully Lorna knew of someone who could procure them.

 

********

 

Thranduil returned, in his mind, to their present, deeply unhappy with what he had seen on so many levels. The most immediate matter in his thoughts was Sharley herself. He stopped walking, regarding her. “Your mind is…..forgive me, I do not wish to be insulting... it is unwell. I can see that you have suffered many consequences from this, that you cannot live as other humans do. You came here, and have asked for nothing in return, and yet you are aware that I could try to heal you of your affliction. I feel a certain obligation, to offer this. In my eyes you are deserving of some reward.”

 

“Honestly, I’m liking having a nice bed and that bathtub,” Sharley said, not at all offended. She knew she wasn’t anywhere close to well, and never had been. “A vacation’s enough. I’m not sure you could heal it, even if you tried, because I think it’s tied to whatever it is that I actually do. And even if you could…” She shrugged. “If I wasn’t me, I’d have to learn how to be someone else -- and as much as I sometimes hate these assholes, I’d miss ’em if they were gone.”

 

_ “I love you, too,”  _ Jimmy snorted.

 

She looked at Thranduil. “I might stop back, from time to time, if that’s okay. I have to learn how to live in one place, for once the plague hits. When the world changes, I won’t be able to do what I do anymore, just like everyone else, but I can’t stay still yet. Part of me’s scared to. I’m afraid something’ll catch up to me if I do, though I’ve got no idea what. See, that’s the thing, when you’re crazy -- you  _ know  _ you’re crazy, but it doesn’t help. You still think and feel what you think and feel, and knowing that it’s not real doesn’t change anything.”

 

“You are courageous, and selfless, in a way I have not seen in many others,” the King observed, half in disbelief. No one had ever refused this offer, and especially not for this reason. “You are always welcome here. I confess, your arrival has brought a heavy burden to us. All of us, not only the other humans. As long as we live here, this is still our world, and now that we have caused this outcome, in a manner of speaking…” he trailed off.  _ Had they? _ He’d been all but told that Earlene had been sent to him at the will of the Valar. Was  _ this _ their will? It could not be, they had never acted as agents of destruction...but it did not mean that they lacked foreknowledge. Not when Vairë herself held the threads of her tapestry. This guidance, however bizarre, was quite possibly something offered to help them navigate the inevitable. And whether Sharley had been touched by the Powers of the World as well, or whether she was something inexplicable...did it matter or make a difference? No, it did not. He sighed. “We will do what we can to help, though in the face of such destruction, it will be little enough.”

 

“Helluva lot better than it’d be without you,” Sharley said. “It’s not courage, Thranduil. I needed to do it. So often, I see these things and I can’t do shit about it, so when there’s finally a time I  _ can _ , I have to. I might...there won’t be anything left for me in America, in about five years. I might come back then.” Once she had let go of Marty -- once she no longer needed to be near her little daughter’s resting place. Marty was gone, safe away from what was to come. And as horrible as it had been, losing her, it was better than losing her to this plague.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. “I am so...sorry, for your child…” Perhaps only then did it truly strike him, what an emotional nightmare this was going to be. A nightmare to rival every great battle in which he’d ever fought. In the most unique circumstance in all the world, he would consciously turn his back on millions. Countless numbers of humans that loved their families and friends. Humans who individually he could help, but collectively could not. And the sorrow he would hear from those who survived here...many if not most would lose someone in the outer world as well; that seemed inevitable. The emotion he felt now from Sharley as a flicker of buried grief would rain down on him; the only one here who could not help but hear such thoughts. Was this some kind of punishment, a payment being exacted for his disobedience in not returning when summoned, so long ago? Or...just another inevitability, a consequence of having remained?  _ Every choice has an outcome _ , he reminded himself.  _ And not all outcomes are desirable. _

 

“We’re humans,” Sharley said gently. “Dying is what we do, sooner or later. It hurts those of us that’re left behind, but it’s something we all know will happen someday. The trick, I’ve found, is not trying to ignore the pain, but work it into yourself, so you can heal around it. I know it’s going to be hard on you, hearing this,” she tapped her temple, “but you have family. You won’t be alone. That’s not going to make it easy, but it’ll make it bearable.”

 

A wan smile was given. “It has always been bearable, because I have been granted the strength for it to be thus. Yet you are correct in that it does not mean I relish the thoughts of all these things. I have made mistakes, but I have never knowingly tried to be derelict in my duties to others. If this is to be one of those obligations, then, so be it. I will find a way. And I am not alone, as you point out. There will be support, which is not a luxury I have always had.”

 

“You have time,” she said. “Time before you leave, though I don’t think I should tell you how much. I’m not  _ entirely  _ sure myself, but...pretty sure. You won’t be leaving your human family to just flail for themselves right after everything ends.” A smile crossed her face, brief as lightning. “Lorna doesn’t know, yet. She doesn’t know what she’s gonna do. If you badger her along, it’ll be less of a chance for you to worry -- because you’re gonna have to. She doesn’t understand yet.” What Sharley had seen  _ there _ ...she pitied the tiny woman, but she couldn’t help but laugh, too. This would certainly be an...interesting...place to live, once poor Lorna had been shoved in charge of the humans. “When she says she doesn’t want it, tell her that’s why she has to have it. Nobody abuses power they don’t want to be given in the first place.” But then, she suspected Thranduil might understand that from personal experience; he hadn’t  _ asked  _ to be born a prince, and couldn’t have said no to being king, even if he’d wanted to.

 

“That part may be the one priceless irony in all this mess that will allow me to cling to sanity,” Thranduil smirked. “I have already...begun, this. You are not the only one to arrive here and speak to me of what is to come. I already knew we would be given at least the next twenty years here, and had intended to place Lorna or her descendants with considerable oversight as to how this place and its resources might be used after our departure. It is welcome, to see that there is yet some more time after. You are correct, she does not understand. Lorna yet believes that I rule as King because of my birth, and one day she will have to hear that it was far from being the full reason. But not now. There is still much for her to learn, and overcome.”

 

Sharley eyed him. “I  _ knew  _ somebody else had been here, but I still don’t know who, or why. I never see everything -- of course not, it’d actually be useful if I did.” She shook her head. “Don’t let the future hang over you like an axe. I know that’s easier said than done, but right now, you’ve still got the world. All of you do. Your children’ll grow, and Lorna will learn, even if you have to poke her with a stick a lot. The sun still shines, for now. You’ve got family, and children who’ll know the world as it is, before it goes to hell. They won’t have that ripped from them too young. Though I’m gonna warn you, you’ll have all kinds of trouble once they all hit eighteen or so, and the human kids start getting treated like adults and the peredhel kids don’t.”

 

“I am certain that I do not wish to know specifics,” he smiled, trying to hide that on some level he quailed at the thought.  _ How by all the Valar did anyone know what peredhel might be like? _ “I have created my own adventure, by fathering these children. We will find a means,” he smiled, hoping he appeared more outwardly confident than he felt. He turned their steps back toward his rooms, sensing that their dialogue was largely concluded, for now.

 

“You’ll manage,” Sharley said. “All of you will.” Again, there was a fleeting smile. “I see the future. Trust me.”

 

*****

 

Earlene fought the urge to sprint away, because in the end, it would be rude. She was not certain she would ever be fully used to having a Thanadir. There were times when she missed her life before there was a Thanadir. Because Thanadir mitigated the very human impulse to stew and brood and have self-indulgent emotional episodes, and that felt like a loss, on some level. Though, what he gave could not be ignored or denied, and therefore had to be accepted. Especially when it was always, always for the best, however much she hated that part too. At times.  _ What would this be like, if I were more similar to Lorna? _ she wondered.  _ Would it be a race to the wine cellar to see how much Dorwinion I could swallow before I was forcibly rescued? Oh, stop being ridiculous, Earlene. _ Massaging her forehead, she sighed and held out her left hand. And when it was enclosed in a warm and soft grasp moments later, she walked on in silence. All elves were good this way, and he was apparently no exception. They did not simply start babbling, vomiting unwanted words and emotions out into the space surrounding them. An elf could simply  _ be _ , content to share the same place in silence and reflection. They walked on together into the woods, until Earlene found a tree she wished to climb with some attractive branches that seemed to offer decent seating. The seneschal settled himself next to her as she knew he would, and for a very long time she leaned against him, thinking. It was the time needed to yield to the unwanted and unwelcome sense that nothing they had been told could be avoided.

 

Finally, after the better part of an hour had elapsed, Earlene spoke. “What was it like, meldir, when you all knew that the One Ring had been found, and that Sauron would make war on you once again? How did you manage the understanding that everything you valued would come to ruin, when it was your desire to live peacefully in your woods?”

 

His eyebrows raised at the question, because he knew she could not possibly see into his thoughts, yet this was the very thing he had been considering during their time of silence. “For me, it was...resignation. That one word has defined much of my life. To be the seneschal of a great King is to spend one’s existence serving another, often without warning or understanding regarding what is being asked. It is not that I lack thoughts or feelings of my own but...I have learned to subordinate them. The vows I spoke to our King made this a necessity. So when I found out about all those things coming to pass, it was not for me to spend my time bemoaning it, outside of moments to myself in the privacy of my rooms. My duty was to carry out the King’s decisions, so I did.”

 

The lesson contained in his reply was glaringly obvious.  _ Less moaning, more action _ , might sum it up. But the knowledge did not erase being human. “Then I am fortunate, to have your fine example.” Earlene spoke with humility. “It is harder for me, to set how I feel aside. Especially when this is so new in my thoughts. And shocking,” she added quietly. In a quest for some diversion, she settled on something she had not known before. “If it is not too personal of me to ask, what did you promise to Thranduil? I have never really considered it, but you are the only one besides me I have ever heard speak of this action, of speaking vows to him.”

 

Thanadir laughed softly. “It is because we are the only two, though you would not know this. All the other elves were already sworn to Oropher. It was not necessary, for them to speak their allegiance anew. But when Thranduil’s father died, he could have chosen to refuse to assume the throne. I was deeply afraid of this, for we needed him, desperately. At the time, I am not certain he realized his own worth. In fact, I would guess that he did not; he certainly was not prepared for what was thrust upon him.” He shook his head at the memory. “Our vows were the same, Earlene. They were my heartfelt and unrehearsed words to one who I prayed would accept the inherent obligation, were he to consent to receive what I offered. And since then, only you have come from the outside and sworn yourself to serve him as well.”

 

Well  _ this _ was unexpected. Why did hearing his answer feel so surprising? Many elements of it were rather obvious. Which left remaining, that which had not been obvious at all. “You sacrificed your entire future to secure a King for your people?” she whispered.

 

His soft brown eyes met hers. “I did not think of it that way at the time. I am not certain I ever thought of it that way, before just now. But yes, it is true, though I would not choose to use these words, Earlene. They imply that I would have wanted something different or would rather have remained free to make other choices, and that is not how I have ever felt. Could I go back in time, I would have done the same.”

 

She shook her head. “I understand. But it does not alter the generosity of what you did. Does he know, about this?”

 

Thanadir laughed. “He does now. I did not mean to hide my thinking from him. It is just that this has never been a subject for discussion. Few things were, prior to your arrival. Our roles were clear, and our relationship to each other went on as it had always been. That meant a certain division, a certain distance between us.”

 

“Good grief, Thanadir. While I did not mean to cause a disruption in the monarchy, I cannot feel regret about this aspect. You love each other. You have loved each other for a very long time. What was to be gained, by ignoring your closeness to each other? It is hard for me to understand.”

 

He pulled her more tightly against him. “I cannot answer your question because what you ask...that is simply not how things were, Earlene. He is King. I am his subject, albeit ranking just below him in authority. We had our roles, our duties. There was no need, to give consideration to more. For the most part, I felt assured of his regard for me, and I hope the reverse held true as well.”

 

“I do not have to fully understand to accept it. Your relationship served you both well enough, it would seem. And...duty. It would appear we will all have our share of it. Though….it is for the best, that so many children have come so quickly. I do not know, Thanadir, if I would have desired them had I known. Or what I mean is, I had wanted to give them the same opportunities I had. And now I cannot; that is all taken away. I would have desired them, but I wonder if I would have felt that I could have them, in good conscience.”

 

A look of deep shock came over her friend’s face. “You cannot mean what you have just said.”

 

Surprised at his response and sensing she had just stepped out onto some kind of thin ice, she thought carefully before replying. “It may be that I have chosen my words badly. I am only trying to convey that life in a world in which humanity is all but destroyed is not one any human parent would willingly choose for the future of their child. It is our nature to want to find a way for our children to have better than we have had ourselves. To spare them trials, and sorrows. Am I that different, than how an elf would feel?” 

 

He stared out into the distance for what seemed like a long while, then sighed. “No. There were many, who did not marry or bear children, or who bore few children, on account of the state of the world. Please pardon my reaction. It was...selfish. I do not often say such things but the truth is, your children are the closest I will ever have to having any of my own. I never felt the need for a wife, but I have always loved little ones. Always desired little ones. That is not a very good combination,” he admitted, “when one is required for the other. Though I know your decisions had nothing to do with me, they have been a priceless gift, nonetheless. It is hard for me to hear in any way, that you might have wished for a different outcome.”

 

Earlene’s eyes widened. “Then I am sorry; I did not realize. Though perhaps I should have been able to. Thranduil knows you very well, and there was something he said once...but I did not fully understand what he meant until now. And I should tell you too, that you have made everything about my having children...different. I was afraid of many things, meldir, and you have been there as a support and as a guide to simply remove those fears. I will not pretend; you know more of how to rear a child than I do. I lack your confidence and your skill. But I love them, all of them, and I have hope that in time you will teach me this too. I am grateful, to you. Though they are not your natural children, to me you are just as much their parent as myself and Thranduil.”

 

She found herself unexpectedly folded into a hug that squeezed the air out of her. Perhaps only then could she fully perceive, he had meant every word, to the depths of his heart.  _ How...I could never have known...all this time I have lamented not ever being able to do anything for him...and yet, I did. _ A smile spread over her face, because she now understood her friend far better than before. Even if she did have to tap him on the arm so it would be possible to breathe...

 

*****

 

Earlene signed and nudged the door to their rooms open, not knowing what or who would be found there. To her happiness, there was only Thranduil, who smiled on seeing the two of them. “I sent our helpers off to stroll in the woods with the children,” he said, sipping at a glass of wine. 

 

Her eyes surreptitiously roved around to search out how many bottles might have already been imbibed, an action that her husband did not miss.

 

“There is something I need to say to both of you,” he said softly. “It is something of an overdue apology. The last time I drank rather too much, you were injured, Earlene. And because I did not realize this in my...state...you suffered longer than was necessary. I cannot accept this behavior in myself. I do not have the right to be incapable of caring for others, not when it is my sworn duty to have this responsibility. I am sorry, for my lack of self-regulation, and I wish to say that I will not intentionally be over-imbibing again in such a manner.”

 

Earlene’s cheeks reddened, as she looked down. “I do not know how to say this exactly...on one hand, thank you. I am appreciative because now I feel I do not have to fear for your well-being. And yet a part of me feels ashamed, because you have feelings too, and it seems as though you of all people deserve to have some manner of relief from emotions that are difficult to bear. As you can see, my thinking is muddled on this issue. I do not have it sorted out, what I feel is appropriate. Or why. I did not mind, about the arm. But the times you drank enough to fall deeply asleep, I felt afraid for you.”

 

Thanadir helped Earlene to the sofa, though she did not need any help. “I feel the same as Earlene, my King,” he said. “And I share with her that I do not fully understand my own thoughts.”

 

The King smiled. “Thank you, for your honesty. I can guess at one thing. Neither of you seek drink, to manage bad news or difficulty. Earlene, you run off, to one place or another. Thanadir, you withdraw into your thoughts. There was a time, Earlene, when you were ill and used your human medication to help manage your feelings, but what was occurring in you was extraordinary. Not usual. You were very damaged. Whereas it is very much my tendency to seek solace in wine. And yet...ultimately I feel this has become unwise, for the reasons I already stated. I will continue to enjoy wine, but no longer to the point of becoming unaware of what occurs around me.”

 

“Why is that, I wonder?” his wife asked philosophically. “I do not inherently think it is wrong, to want to indulge in such a manner at times. I would be a hypocrite if I did; look at me, with your elven wine. But I do not seek to use it as a first resort, and certainly not on every occasion I find myself disturbed for some reason.”

 

Thranduil shrugged. “It sounds good at the time,” he opined. “I cannot fully answer your question, except to say that it is a chance not to be so aware of keenly felt problems, for a time. And I enjoy feeling so relaxed, and carefree.”

 

It was hard to argue, was this not anyone’s reasoning? And yet, like him, when she had had a function to perform in the outer world, she never indulged in such a manner. The concept of duty, and always making decisions based on being able to carry on with duty, that was how she had lived through her working life and career. The problem was, she had been able to retire from that, whereas Thranduil...oh well. This was not likely to change, especially not now. “And how did it go with Sharley? That is, if you are willing to discuss it.”

 

“Much as I expected,” he said. “There were some items of interest I do not believe Sharley wishes Lorna to know of, just now. How wonderful, just when we all reach a conclusion that we need to have more openness among each other, yet another thing arises that seems to call for more secrecy.”

 

Neither Thanadir nor Earlene said a word, but their expressions mirrored each other’s as they glanced at each other, waiting on whether or not he would continue speaking.

 

Thranduil burst out laughing. “How I love both of you,” he chuckled. “You are so much alike, in many ways. Ever loyal, and patient with your King. It would seem,” he said as he twirled the deep red liquid in his glass, “that after our time here has concluded, that the surviving humans will need a leader, and that this leader, the ruler of these Halls, will be Lorna.”

 

He watched with great amusement as at first, his wife and seneschal attempted to suppress their smiles. Which then gave way to open smirks until both finally broke out in laughter. The best of all was when they simultaneously blurted out “Queen Lorna!” amidst peals of hilarity and a great deal of residual sniggering. And Thranduil was not about to criticize, when he himself had had the exact same reaction. Earlene fanned herself.

 

“Oh, the irony.” She dabbed at her eyes with her outer skirt. “Well, you have your work cut out for you, and that part is not entirely funny.”

 

“What else was not entirely funny was that Sharley has had some manner of vision concerning our children. And that there will be some manner of strife or difficulty with our peredhel, when their human siblings come of age in less than twenty years while they will be viewed as being barely beyond adolescence. If that.”

 

That took the wind out of Earlene’s proverbial sails. “Well,” she said slowly, “this was something that we mentioned as a possible worry.”

 

“They will need the same discipline as other elflings, in this,” said Thanadir. “I for one will not allow them to grow believing that there are no differences. They will like it well enough, when they are so much more advanced than Allanah, Shane and Chandra. They must be taught that with the privilege of their lifespan there must also be patience and responsibility. I cannot promise it will be easy, but you will not be left to manage this alone. Not even if I have to sit on both of them, for a week.”

 

Thranduil groaned and massaged his forehead. “I had managed to forget about that, meldir. Let us hope that our daughters are easier in this regard.”

 

“Do either of you mind telling me what is being referenced, here?” Because this sounded like *quite* the story.

 

“Legolas was in a...rebellious phase, when he was in his mid-thirties. He believed he was more than old enough to do as he wished, and decided that he would neglect a scholastic requirement assigned to him by Thanadir. And when this was discovered, there was an argument, and Legolas attempted to walk out of the room rather than speak to his teacher with respect. Thanadir sat on him. From time to time, he rose, to see if my son was in a more receptive frame of mind. When it turned out he was not, he was sat on again. Once or twice, Legolas attempted to thrown him off. I do not know if I have ever mentioned that Thanadir is very strong, for an ellon. Really, he is second only to me in this regard. I think I can speed up the tale considerably by simply saying that it was quite a battle of wills, and my son lost. The punishment assigned for his insolence took the better part of a month to complete, and to no one’s surprise, that attitude was never presented again, to anyone.”

 

“Oh, my,” said Earlene, speechless. “I would not have the strength, or the endurance to…”

 

Thanadir held up his hand. “You have me, meldis. That is all you need consider.”

 

She looked down at her belly, now feeling doubtful. “You had better behave yourself,” she admonished with a frown whilst waggling her finger at her abdomen. “Says the thirty-nine year old woman regarding her child that will not be considered grown until age fifty,” she sighed. “I should not even think of these things.”

 

“Do not, meluieg. There are many gifts and teachings you will give our children. Yet if these kinds of difficulties do arise, have faith that the assistance you need will be at hand. I will not expect or desire you to manage such occurrences alone.”

 

With a nod, she changed the subject. “Otherwise, it sounds as though we now must prepare for the preparation.”

 

“What do you mean?” asked Thanadir.

 

“Well, the continuation of human civilization is hardly going to be launched in a day, or a week. Surely you have some large chamber or chambers that can be dedicated to organizing the planning. There will be so many matters to consider and to discuss, before we can even begin considering and discussing. We could disgorge ideas for a month, only on what things to plan for or how to proceed or how this all might unfold. Who should be informed, and when. The scope is vast. Is it not?” her eyes shifted back and forth from Thranduil to Thanadir.

 

“Indeed,” the King said, now staring at Thanadir. “We will eat our mid day meal, and then perhaps continue our discussion.”

  
  


*****

  
  


Conversation wore on, with Earlene offering a little insight as to how truly large corporate cases were planned. The binders, the folders, the cross-referencing and documentation. The itemization, the delegation, the communication. It was much as she had mentioned initially; the organizing of the organizing. And then it was Thanadir’s turn, to explain the organization of warfare. The supply lists and assignments, the records and the excruciating attention to detail. Many questions were asked both ways, for neither Earlene or Thanadir had known of this aspect of the other one’s life; and Thranduil listened carefully to all of it. That these things had been done he of course knew; and yet by the nature of his duty, he was insulated from the sheer tedium of the minutiae that Thanadir now referenced. Which brought the discussion around to another curiosity. “My Lord,” Earlene asked. “Of old, did you rule absolutely alone? Were there advisors and counselors? If so how were they chosen, and how much weight did you give to their advice?”

 

“As you already know, I held and still hold absolute power,” the King answered. “But yes, there were those who advised. The easiest way to explain it is that these were ellyn and ellith that acted as extensions of Thanadir. Most all of them reported to Thanadir, and yet I found it valuable to hear them express their thoughts and opinions; there would be meetings. Some of these individuals oversaw...armor, for example, or the acquisition of food. Others were strictly military; fighters of renown. Sometimes we would meet in assembly, and at other times I found them privately. It was my way of ensuring some objectivity from my seneschal; for all that I relied on him so heavily, it is never the course of wisdom for a ruler to give only one other a listening ear.”

Thanadir’s eyebrows raised in surprise, at this, and Earlene saw that this was not something that had been known before.

 

“Forgive me, dear friend, that you were not told. It felt important to me, to ensure I maintained some impartiality, and I did not wish you to perceive any slight. If it is any consolation, nothing I ever heard or learned altered a single thing in which you advised me. Yet I felt it was my duty to listen more widely.”

 

Thanadir bowed his head. “You owe me no explanations now, nor did you then, Thranduil. Though I would not have liked to hear of it, it would have changed nothing for me. And yet for this small courtesy, you have my gratitude. We both know of my...flaws. Though I would have denied it had you asked me, I would have felt fearful, and threatened, though I do not believe I would have acted out in any way over this. That you spared my feelings….I thank you.” The warm brown eyes reflected his honest words, and Thranduil acknowledged the response. 

 

“Hm,” said Earlene. “We would call that, not putting all your eggs in one basket. In the human world, what became fashionable for this sort of structuring was to determine who the ‘stakeholders’ are. That is a fancy word for, anyone who is to be affected by the outcome of what is achieved. Whether you choose to involve others sooner or later, it would be wise to at least identify the stakeholders in this instance, with the understanding that some of them will not be born until after our departure. We are tasked with creating a means of survival, but also for the nurturing of all future generations. The immediate crisis, and the provision of some kind of assistance far into the future when elves will no longer be here to aid and guide.”

 

Lorna and Ratiri entered, both more or less sobered up thanks to several large glasses of water, unhappy but too hungry to care. “So,” Lorna said, “ _ that  _ happened. Thoughts?”

 

Thranduil smiled, relaxed and more or less content. “A great many of them, I suppose. And thoughts about the thoughts. We have been discussing concepts for planning the planning, such as it is. It has been most educational.”

 

“Planning the planning?” Ratiri asked, and looked at Earlene.  _ Lawyer _ , he thought. Plenty of use for those skills in this.

 

“We’ve got a lot’v things on lists,” Lorna said, “though I haven’t got the lists themselves. Who do we tell first, and when, and how? We need to hoard shite...Christ, this was actually easier to think about when I was drunk.”

 

“No one, not for some time,” said Earlene. “It isn’t possible to know who to inform, when the possibilities have not yet been identified. There is a particular order, to tackling something this large in a manner that does anybody any good. It is quite literally necessary to organize for the organizing, else we will all end up with wasted time, frustration, and working at cross-purposes. Or at least, that’s my two cents on it. Thanadir and Thranduil indicate that there is a room or rooms, that can be dedicated to the task ahead. That is an excellent start, because this particular one won’t do at all.”

 

No one? That went against all Lorna’s instincts, but what the hell did she know? That kind of organization sounded like the most boring thing ever conceived by man, especially if they had to do it all on paper. She fought the urge to groan, but didn’t quite manage to avoid rubbing her temples.  _ Great. Paperwork.  _ And here she’d thought she’d done so well in avoiding it all her life.

 

“There are some things we need to start getting our hands on soon, if not now,” Ratiri said, “simply because they’re hard to obtain, and it will take time to get enough of them. Certain medical equipment, for one thing. X-rays and ultrasound machines aren’t available for home purchase; we’ll need to get them through some third-party buyer, and you can’t exactly buy four of those at once.”

 

“This is only me playing devil’s advocate, Ratiri; my next question is not to try to discount the importance of what you are saying or your professional opinion: How useful would a twenty year old X-ray machine or ultrasound machine be to you, at this time? How much has the technology involved changed, in that span of time?”

 

“If I had nothing else, it would be very useful,” he said. “The technology is continually refined, but there haven’t been any radical changes to either in decades. We’re going to have to collect them slowly, just because we have no choice: no buyer or broker can get their hands on multiples of either at any one time. It’s just a question of availability. Though what we really need is somewhere to store them.” There was little in the way of damp in the Halls, and even less in the way of dust, but still. Such sensitive machinery couldn’t just be shoved in a cupboard.

 

“Solar panels,” Lorna said, “but we don’t have to start hoarding those right now. They’re so much easier to get your hands on. Various technological shite, but later, much later, so it’s not broken and/or outdated by then.” God,  _ paperwork _ ...why? Lists. She was good with lists. Anything more complex was something she looked forward to about as much as a root canal. Which reminded her -- they’d need to stock up on toothbrushes and toothpaste and all that. Another thing they might want to begin years in advance, considering how much toothpaste even one person could go through. Was it possible to make it?

 

“Another aspect is to seriously consider what the next world even can be like,” Thranduil said, deciding that it might be heard better coming from him than Earlene. He could already see that Lorna’s and Ratiri’s minds were spun far ahead of themselves, focused largely on their own areas of interest or expertise. Which was understandable, but not necessarily helpful. “How wise is it, to try to continue the life of this century when ultimately the things that define it cannot be sustained? For example, plastics. They are ubiquitous, in your modern world, and yet they rely on petroleum and advanced abilities with chemistry, if I am not mistaken? Does it make sense to hoard items made of plastic, or to find out what was done before there was plastic, and return to it? Things like...that,” he offered.

 

“There was nothing before X-rays and ultrasounds,” Ratiri pointed out, “aside from an inability to do much more than guess what was going on. With many things, we could return to things that were done before the advent of twentieth century technology, but not everything.” He did not, unless they had no choice, want to have to resort to cutting someone open to see what was wrong with them. Especially not outside of a proper hospital setting. And that was aside from the fact that he had, as yet, no idea what they were going to use for anesthesia. The agents used in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were now known to be toxic, addictive, or both.

 

“And I don’t know anyone who’d give up toothbrushes,” Lorna added. “I think toothpaste might be one’v those things you can make at home, though. I’d have to do some research, but I think charcoal is involved somehow?” It probably tasted vile, but whatever. If the teeth were clean, that was what mattered.

 

“Um, baking soda,” said Earlene. “All you actually need is baking soda.” She did not require telepathy to see that Lorna and Ratiri were in sort of a focused, shark-like frenzy of conviction about what to do...which was exactly the state of mind  _ not  _ wanted at the outset of any sort of successful endeavor. They would need calm, and their unity, before anything of value could be achieved. Which was why she elected to withdraw from this conversation as carefully as possible. Obviously, time in which to calm down was going to be a necessity.

 

“I wish Gran was alive,” Lorna sighed. “She knew how to do all’v that -- she could make anything. Knew how to can and smoke and pickle, and probably how to make toothpaste.” She shook her head. “So, how much’v this organizing can be done on a computer? Does it all  _ have  _ to be on paper?” Yes, she sounded a little plaintive, and she didn’t care. Then again, it wasn’t like she could be of that much use anyway, given how abysmal her handwriting was even on a good day. Filling something out neatly took so long somebody else could probably get it done in a quarter of the time.

 

“I would think both,” Thanadir said. “Our Halls have no electricity, nor will they, beyond what can supply a few small needs. And yet at some point, communication will be required with those outside this place.” 

 

“I would agree,” Thranduil said. “There is only so much of the outside world I am willing to allow in here, in the sense of altering our home to accommodate modernity. Honestly, that we can watch movies here, for me...it is the most of what I feel I can accept. The outside world in its current form is now a sand-glass, with the grains pouring out. Better to keep life here as it has ever been than to see extension cords running out the cavern roof.”

 

“Could that someday come to bite us, though -- not now, but years down the road?” Lorna asked. “Unless Sharley can give us an exact date for when this thing will hit Ireland, we might not know it happened unless someone from the village came and got us. Everything works at the cottage, but if we were all at the Halls? I doubt anything’s actually workable, but still. I think it means that once we’ve hit that mark, somebody should always be at the cottage or the new house, just in case, so they can sort’v telepathically throw it across the forest.”

 

“Hopefully, she’ll someday be able to give us a date,” Ratiri said. “That poor woman. I don’t want to imagine the things she’s seen.” The thought of her just going back out into the world alone, while they were warm and safe and well-fed here -- and yes, he’d seen just how she’d attacked her breakfast -- just seemed wrong. Obviously she wanted to, but he hoped she’d come back before too long.

 

“I no longer have to imagine,” Thranduil said quietly, “for she showed me. There is something all of you should understand about her. She has an illness of the mind, a profound one. Because of it, she has no ability to live a normal life. To have a home, and comforts. And yet it is quite possible that her affliction is also the source of her gift of foresight; I cannot be certain. I offered to try to heal her and she refused, believing that she has a higher duty to use what she has been given to help others, to the extent possible. I have rarely encountered such a spirit of courage, or self-sacrifice. In my opinion, she is heroic.”

 

“Jesus,” Lorna muttered. She’d known others with mental illnesses -- in prison, and a few on the street. They so often fell through the cracks, ostracized by society, with nobody to care about or to care about them. Thought of that poor woman going back to America -- bloody  _ Trump’s  _ America -- by herself was actively painful.

 

“What kind of mental illness?” Earlene pressed him.  _ If he had been willing to say this much… _

 

Thranduil frowned. “I do not know your words for such things. But there are voices, that speak to her. Four different ones, with names and particular personalities, to be precise. She hears them just as I hear you speaking to me. You must understand, she is highly intelligent, but there is...I have seen enough human minds to know that what is there is not ordinary. Not to mention these visions, that are as vivid as waking reality.”

 

“Schizophrenia,” Ratiri said, “probably.” There were a number of illnesses that could cause auditory hallucinations, but schizophrenia was the most likely of them, in this case.

 

Oh, Lorna wanted to try to talk her into staying. That poor woman. “Even if we can’t get her to stay with us, we should...take care’v her, somehow,” she said. “She came all this way, when she didn’t have to… I don’t like the thought’v her leaving with nothing tangible.”

 

“What about arranging so she can have some money, and the means to ride in an airplane to return, if she has need? What about asking Niamh if there are...legal things, that can be done to ensure an easy return? Can she not work for us, in some capacity? Something?” That all this came from Thanadir astonished the room, if only because all of them felt they should have thought of it first.

 

“That,” Lorna said, “is a phenomenal idea, Thanadir. If she won’t stay, at least she’ll have a lifeline to us, if she needs one.” She knew how insanely vulnerable the homeless mentally ill were. If Sharley had something, even this, it might help Lorna actually sleep at night. “I’ll get in touch with Niamh.”

 

“Not money, not as cash,” said Earlene. “If we give her that, we make her a target for thieves. A bank card, like the one we originally used for Lorna’s salary. Or, find out if she has any manner of bank account; one never knows. There is this thing called PayPal and many services like it; it would be simple that way, to send her money. And does she have a mobile phone? Because if she doesn’t, getting her a smartphone in whatever location she will spend most of her time is also a link to us.”

 

“I’m sure she’s got some kind of account,” Ratiri said, “or else she wouldn’t have been able to afford to come here. That would make things easier, to start out. If she doesn’t have a mobile, I don’t think they’re difficult to get in the States.”

 

A peculiar expression suddenly washed over Thranduil’s face. “Geezer has come to the forest and wishes to see us. He needs to be escorted here. I would like to go meet him, if you will excuse me? Thanadir, perhaps you can have two more places added for dinner?”

 

“Of course, my Lord,” the seneschal said softly, wondering privately just how interesting this meal would be. 

 

While the others kept on with their conversation, Ortherion, Thanadir, Sharley and Geezer eventually were somehow all standing around the room or fussing with place settings, rendering normal dialogue impossible. Earlene did and did not want to see how Geezer would respond to their news; presumably if Thranduil was bringing him into proximity to Sharley, he did not intend to keep her warning a secret. Rising, she greeted their guests with a slow half-hug, once she determined that they would not run screaming from the gesture. Thranduil appeared last, catching her eye with a warm smile that melted her heart as it always did. 

 

Something had nudged Geezer to head out to see the Elves tonight -- a wild hair, he called it. He hadn’t realized they had more company, and he eyed this woman curiously. As tall as he was, and about as scruffy, though he doubted she was more than thirty, and she somehow managed to seem twitchy and still all at once. She eyed him right back, with an expression that was weirdly...knowing. Her mismatched eyes were just a touch too piercing.

 

“Couldn’t handle another pub sandwich,” he said, with a wry grin. “And don’t tell John I said this, Ratiri, but your beer’s better than his.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Definitely never tell him. There’s nothing worse than a barman in a snit.”

 

“Geezer, this is Sharley,” Thranduil introduced. “And Sharley, Geezer. Sharley has come from America, perhaps from somewhere near to where you once lived? And she brought most interesting...news.” Even he struggled for the correct noun to use, in this instance.  _ Valar, what a day _ .

 

“Good to meet you,” Sharley said, and Geezer thought he heard traces of Alabama in her accent. Faint traces, though; she probably hadn’t lived there in some time.

 

“You too,” he said, and then, because he was blunt and rather out-of-practice at dealing with people, he added, “You’re looking at me weird. Why?”

 

A slow smile, a  _ real  _ smile crossed Sharley’s face. “I know about you. You’ll be old, when this happens, but you’re tougher’n shoe leather.” She glanced at the others, and at Thranduil, who for some reason seemed to want her to share this. “I came to warn these guys of something, and I guess they want you in on it, too: in twenty years, there’ll be a plague. It’ll wipe out most of the planet, but you’ll be here, safe. It’ll be the only safe place left, so I wanted everyone to start getting ready.”

 

Geezer stared at her. Thranduil actually bought this -- but then, Thranduil could read her mind. If she were lying, or just crazy, he’d know, but... _ what _ ? He looked at Thranduil a little helplessly, but found no help there: the Elvenking really did believe this. “I need a drink,” he said. 

 

“They’re gonna need you, Anthony O’Carroll,” she said. “You’re the only human soldier they’ll have, at first -- and even when they get more, you’re the only one who’s seen any actual action.”

 

That made him freeze. “You know my  _ name _ ?”

 

Those unsettling eyes held him in place. “I know a lotta things. Things I wish I didn’t. And I could use a drink myself.”

 

“Wouldn’t say no to another,” Lorna said, watching the pair with open fascination.

 

Thanadir looked helplessly at Thranduil, who gave silent instructions. Earlene was rather enjoying herself, because she found that the more she paid close attention, the more she could discern without needing superpowers. The faint twitch of resignation on her meldir’s face informed her that he had been told to offer them human wine laced with what she guessed would be just a little elven wine. Less than what she would consider a completely fun dose, but it would give far more relief from shock and dismay than without. Frankly, she was having more fun remaining sober, just now, especially after she caught her husband’s attempt at a mock glare in her direction. She stifled a giggle. Everyone was served, while Thranduil spoke. “Sharley came to us unannounced, Geezer, very late last night.. We were just as...taken aback as you are now. You might say that just now, we are all digesting her news. Or trying to. I think you can see for yourself that even without my abilities to confirm or deny, she is rather convincing.”

 

Geezer sat, and Sharley watched him. “There’s not really any better way to say any of that,” she said. “Sorry. A very nasty man died, and because he did, in twenty years some of the men from his company will open a box without knowing what’s in it. It’ll make the 1918 influenza look like the common cold, and it’ll wipe out most of the world.”

 

Geezer stared at his hands, then at her, then at Thranduil. “Well... _ shit _ ,” he said, his mind struggling to rebel. Sharley was human, or she sure as hell looked it, and humans couldn’t see the future. Not really. All those TV psychics were full of shit.

 

Ratiri perked up a bit at the mention of the 1918 flu, and Lorna poked him in the side. “ _ No _ ,” she whispered, and ignored the puppy eyes he tried to send her. Barely.

 

Earlene noticed the Spanish Flu Near Miss and decided that it would be a lovely time to invite everyone to the table. That and, from her vantage point on the sofa, she had the first view of Ortherion entering, laboring under what looked like one truly well-filled soup tureen. If nothing else, his strength and coordination were enviable. She ensured that the ellon saw her nod of thanks for his effort, which was returned with a grateful smile. Seeing him made her feel vaguely guilty that she’d not laid eyes on her children since early this morning...but today of all days, and with Sharley here...they were better off around the cheery ellith that were caring for them. Where even  _ were _ they? Thranduil had hinted that Thanadir had been making other plans for where they were eventually to sleep...she felt all of a sudden like not knowing was a source of distress.

 

_ Meluieg, there are indeed rooms being prepared for them. With a safe place to play as well, under the supervision of those caring for our girls, and with room for Shane and Chandra when the need arises. I am sorry for not having included you more in this; be assured they are safe and well. _

 

Glancing up at her husband with gratitude, she nodded as he ladled soup into her bowl. Some days were just going to be...like this.

 

Sharley sat, watching Geezer. He didn’t believe her, but he would, in time. He, like everyone else, would have no choice. “I’m sorry I had to drag this to you,” she said. “All of you. Your lives’d be easier for now, if you didn’t know, but...I couldn’t do that. I’d be shooting you in the foot and you wouldn’t even know it.”

 

“Sharley,” Lorna asked, “d’you have a job? I mean, obviously you had money to get here, but if you don’t have a job, would you like one?” Hey, it was how she’d got hired, more or less.

 

“Sometimes,” Sharley said, eying the soup tureen with barely-concealed greed. “Build trails in the summer. Go up as a smokejumper, if there’s fires. Winters I just kinda do what I can find.”

 

“What in God’s name is a smoke jumper?” Lorna asked. 

 

“We go up in airplanes and jump down into forest fires, to fight them from the inside,” Sharley said, taking the ladle when Thranduil handed it to her. “They’re not supposed to be as tall as me, but I’m good at getting where I want to go.”

 

_ “That sounded so wrong,”  _ Jimmy snickered.

 

_ “Actually, it kinda did,”  _ Layla added, grudgingly. Nobody ever liked agreeing with Jimmy, but occasionally he was right.

 

“Is this something you do because you choose it, or because you have to have a means to earn your way?” Earlene asked, trying to hide the concern she felt. While she would be the first to admit she knew nothing about this, it sounded beyond dangerous.

 

“A little of both, honestly,” Sharley said. “No normal job’d hire someone like me. If I’m out in the middle of nowhere, nobody’s gonna look at me funny if I talk to things they can’t hear. You get a shitload of hazard pay as a smokejumper. And the voices aren’t  _ totally  _ useless -- they’ll tell me if something’s coming.”

 

_ “Duh,”  _ Layla said, and if she’d been corporeal, Sharley was sure she would have rolled her eyes.  _ “If you die, we do. No thanks.” _

 

“You actually live anywhere?” Geezer asked. He’d known more than a few vets whose minds had gone south on them, and they often had issues finding any kind of housing.

 

“Sorta. There’s a bunkhouse the trail crew sleep in during the summer -- I worked it out with the superintendent so I can stay there in the winter, too. It’s warm, and it’s dry, and if I’ve gotta go anywhere else, I have a van.”

 

“You can live grand in a van, though I’d not want to do it for long,” Lorna said sagely.

 

Thranduil continued to ladle out soup until all bowls were filled, and biscuits were passed around. Right about the time this was managed, Ortherion returned with a large bowl of salad greens, plus bread that was more like dinner rolls, and the butter. Earlene pitied him; it may have only been two extra people but it had the effect of doubling the burden on him. She noted too that Thanadir did not seem attentive to his plight...and determined to speak with him later on. The King raised his eyebrow at his wife’s thought but said nothing...it was wiser, to stay out of their friendship except at times of far more pressing need than this.

 

“You want to work for us?” Lorna asked, after a moment. “We’d kind’v like to be able to get ahold’v you, and one’v my mates is a lawyer -- she could set it up so you could get to Ireland whenever, just in case.” How old was this woman? She couldn’t even be thirty yet; Lorna would peg her at twenty-five,  _ maybe _ . “You came along way to give us something and get nothing, and we’d like to take you on. And before you say anything, I got hired because I know a lot’v criminals. The fact that you can see the future’s loads better than that.”

 

Sharley’s mismatched eyes met hers, and another of those brief smiles crossed the woman’s face. “You want to give me a job?”

 

_ “Um, that  _ is  _ what she said,”  _ Kurt said.

 

“I realize that, Kurt, but it’s not exactly something I’m used to hearing,” Sharley sighed, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t say no. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, so long as I won’t need to go to Ireland on no notice unless I feel the need.”

 

Lorna looked at Earlene, who was the one who actually knew how to do all that shite. “I don’t know how long it takes to set that up, but you ought to stay until it’s done.”

 

Earlene paused with her soup spork halfway to her mouth, having shot Thranduil a helpless look of confusion. She was at a loss as to what Sharley was supposed to do or who was hiring whom, but the answer was simple enough. “I am not sure there is anything to set up. Anyone can work as an independent contractor. The only thing to manage is that the salary is done in such a way that the relevant government entities get their taxes paid...which is the responsibility of the employee. The bigger thing is getting Niamh to help doing...whatever help needs doing...if she is to stay here longer than twelve months. At that point I believe her visa would expire and...I’m not sure what was done on my behalf for me coming here as a resident verus a visitor. How ironic,” she quipped, that she would be so unaware of something having to do with law.

 

“I think, meluieg, that Lorna does not mean for Sharley to stay here the entire time. She will come and go as she pleases, but will be able to keep in touch with us.” He was doing his best to remind her of what had been discussed earlier, seeing her state of distraction and that she could not follow Lorna’s thinking as he was able.

 

“Of course,” Earlene answered, mildly embarrassed and wondering if this day was ever going to end.

 

“What he said,” Lorna said. “I’ll get Niamh to look into it. You’ve got a bank account, right?”

 

Sharley nodded. “I do. I don’t use it for much, but I do.”

 

“And a mobile? A cell phone?”

 

“Don’t have one of those. Never had anyone to call.”

 

_ That _ , Lorna thought,  _ is fucking tragic.  _ She mean to remedy that one, if at all she could. She did not want this poor, broken woman to feel she was unappreciated, or alone.

 

Geezer eyed her. “Sharley,” he said slowly, “are you a vet?”

 

The woman looked up, startled. “Why?”

 

“Just wondering. You remind me of some guys I knew.” Honestly, he couldn’t actually explain it; vets just tended to all have the same air about them. They could spot one another, sometimes, without asking. Kind of like gaydar, he supposed, just with more bullets.

 

“I am...sorta. Not officially, but I’ve been...somewhere. You aren’t the first people who hired me, except the first time I didn’t volunteer. And that is all I’m gonna say about it right now.” There was a finality to her tone that could have rivaled anything Thranduil was capable of.

 

Thranduil’s eyes remained locked on his soup, as he tried to ignore what he’d just seen. There were times it was a complete burden when a cryptic statement was made aloud, and everyone in the room knew that he would have a deeper understanding. One he was obligated to keep to himself.  _ What would it be like _ , he wondered,  _ if they all had his gift? _ That elicited a wan smile, if only to himself.  _ Like as not they’d all be at each other’s throats, appalled or insulted at one thing or another in short order.  _ Though, that was not entirely true. Some of them could manage what they learned better than others...but none of them would fare well with the burden of the knowledge.

 

“I want you to do something else for me,” she went on, her eyes traveling over them all. “You need to plan, but don’t kill yourselves doing it. Don’t mourn the world before it’s dead. I know that’s easy for me to say, but I mean it. Enjoy it all. There are so many beautiful places still. Don’t think about the future, while you’re there. Just while you’re here.”

 

That...really was far easier said than done. Maybe the Elves could manage it, but could the humans? Ratiri had no idea how  _ he  _ could, and he doubted Lorna would be able to, either. Earlene  _ might  _ have that ability, but she was also much like him: once she was pointed at a goal, she was pointed at it.

 

“Kid,” Geezer said, “if you can manage that yourself, you’re probably the only one.”

 

Earlene looked at Sharley placidly. The nature of her...advice, made sense enough. And, she honestly didn’t think she would find that very difficult to do, much of the time. Hell, hadn’t compartmentalizing trauma been how she’d survived 9/11 while maintaining a facade of outward normalcy? She had rather a lot of practice, at this. It was self-preservation, to be able to place all this stuff into a box and put it on the shelf, at need. Even right now...all she really wanted was to curl up in bed with her husband, and lose herself in a completely different set of thoughts. Dealing with this long interim period would be its own trial, but twenty years was a very, very long time for humans. She had just been preparing to start her freshman year as an undergrad, twenty years ago. It was a lifetime, for a mortal. They would manage. If she could do nothing else, she could organize; this seemed no more intimidating to her than laying the groundwork for a billion dollar lawsuit. Everything, everything in this world, was a matter of degrees of complexity.

 

Lorna desperately wanted more wine, but she knew it was a terrible idea. She was going to have to figure out some way of coping with this shite without pickling herself until she was Keith Richards, but she did not remotely have the energy to figure out how. (If Ratiri told her she needed to do more yoga one more time, she’d kick him. Not hard, but she’d still kick him.) “I wish I knew how to do that,” she said. “It’ll be a bit’v a learning curve.” Her ability to compartmentalize was pretty abysmal, and had actually got worse with age, since she no longer really had to.

 

“How’re you guys organizing for this?” Geezer asked. “I mean, where do you even  _ start _ ?”

 

“By organizing the organizing,” Earlene answered. “A large...war room, if you like, will be assigned. The first preparations will be to create a logistical framework. Categories and subcategories. I have organizational software I already use, but might also confer with Orla once we are prepared to begin telling others about this. Records will need to be kept both manually and by computer, because we will reach a time when reliance on modern technology may prove inadvisable. Who to tell and when, that is its own separate logistical category. Sharley seems to indicate that those who live in Lasg’len and Baile will make up most of the complement of our future...society, here. Perhaps there are other details we might yet glean. It is much to plan, but not insurmountable. They managed to run entire wars; and in some ways this is not so dissimilar.”

 

“Christ,” Lorna muttered. “Who to tell, and when...that really is a logistical nightmare. In what order? I mean, I sort’v have an idea, but that all hinges upon the ‘when’, and who knows. The problem with having something that’s twenty years away. Well, one’v about eight billion problems.” She didn’t even want to  _ think  _ about the paperwork; unless she could type it up, she’d be useless. Her handwriting really was so atrocious that it would take her at least three times longer than anyone else to write anything, at least if she wanted it to actually be legible.

 

“I might be able to help you, there,” Sharley said. “In knowing when it’s time, I mean.”

 

“How?” asked Thanadir, interested in this particular statement.

 

“If I see it -- anything -- I’ll call. The closer the future I’ve seen gets, the more bits and pieces show up. It’s like a puzzle, except half the pieces are lost under some big psychic couch.” It was really the only metaphor she had. “By the time it happens, I’ll probably know everything.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrow arched. “That is indeed handy,” she opined. “If depressing. I am sorry, that what is so helpful for others to have by way of warning must be so awful for you.”

 

“It’s not as bad as it was,” Sharley said, and it was true. She was free. Granted, she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d actually managed it; there had been blood, and it wasn’t hers. Blood and rain and a headache so intense she’d thought her skull might split apart, but she was free. “And honestly, I’d rather know than not.” She glanced, very briefly, at Lorna; from what she’d seen of the woman in her walks, Lorna was the same way.

 

Geezer watched Sharley over his spoon. He had a feeling there was one hell of a lot she wasn’t telling them, but that was her prerogative. Still, he felt sorry for her, because how could he not? Talk about a curse.

 

Thranduil wondered what the totality was of Sharley’s experiences; there were glimpses of things that should not be there. Tonight, he found he did not care. There would be more learned in time. Unlike his diminutive friend, he felt no need to have all the burdens rain down on his head all at once. He would have to find a way to talk to Lorna, reassure her. The others could, but she was not voicing many of her trepidations, and the fears she was expressing were odd, to his way of thinking...but he recognized this as stress, and trying to cope with the newness of what had been learned. He found himself debating whether or not to ask Geezer for his impressions of...all this...but, no. Not this soon. Patience and waiting to speak had served him well for a very long time; he was not about to change this.

 

_ Thranduil, in the interest of not drinking myself into a coma in order to sleep tonight, is there some kind of...of potion you could give me, or something?  _ Lorna asked. She knew she was not going to sleep otherwise, and she was fairly sure Ratiri wouldn’t, either. Aloud, she said, “You can always stay, y’know. Whenever you feel like you want to, you can come back, Sharley.”

 

“I know,” Sharley said, “and I thank you. It’s not time for me to stay yet, but that time’ll come.”

 

_ There is something, we can manage. Since I know you will kick me if I suggest yoga.  _ Sparkling eyes and a smirk teased her from across the table. He had finished his soup and rolls, and saw with interest that Ortherion was now bearing what appeared to be an immense bowl of pudding topped with whipped cream.

 

“Is that custard?” Earlene asked hopefully. “Sure god that looks amazing.”

 

The sight of it lifted Lorna’s spirits immensely, and even Geezer sat back, impressed. Irish food was so much better than English, that was for damn sure.

 

_ We have custard _ , Lorna said.  _ Right now I wouldn’t kick anyone or anything. Not even for suggesting yoga. _

 

Lorna could not hear Layla, of course, but Thranduil could. The little voice said,  _ “You talk to people in your head a lot, don’t you?” _

 

The King looked up, alarmed.  _ And to whom am I speaking?  _ He did not entirely recognize this voice, and yet it belonged to this room.

 

_ “I’m Layla. I came with Sharley. There’s four of us, just in case you were wondering. We’ve never seen anybody with telepathy before. Sharley didn’t actually know what you were, like  _ really  _ were, until a couple months before we came here. She figured out you were an Elf, but not everything you could do.” _

 

_ “She still can’t know all of it,”  _ Sinsemilla added. She sounded rather older than Layla, though not at all elderly.  _ “She never does know all of everything, but Layla’s right. We didn’t know telepathy was possible for someone who wasn’t Avathar.” _

 

Thranduil felt baffled.  _ You...live inside of Sharley, but you are not Sharley? Please forgive me, but you are not the only one encountering something completely new. And yes, I speak to others with my mind. Sometimes. Some more than others. _

 

Sharley wondered if she needed to tell the pair of them to stop harassing Thranduil. She couldn’t tell if he was confused, distressed, or a little of each.  _ They’ll try to convince you they’re real,  _ she said.  _ Don’t let them. _

 

_ “Says you,”  _ Jimmy grumbled.  _ “Ignore her. She’s just stubborn. We live with her. We can’t leave.” _

 

_ “Even if we want to,”  _ Kurt put in. 

 

“They’ll try to confuse you,” Sharley said aloud. “It’s what they do. There has to be some way for you to block against them.”

 

“I can manage,” Thranduil said kindly, at this point more fascinated than anything else. He was going to have to read more about this...condition. Because what he was experiencing was completely fascinating; these voices were not discernible from those of real people..and yet he was essentially being told that they were not real at all. “Do not feel too concerned.”

 

“Let me know if they get annoying,” she said. “Knowing them, they’ll ask you a thousand and one questions, whether you want to answer or not. Fortunately, I don’t think they can go very far from me.” Not that she had any real way of knowing yet, but at times they were fainter than others, and she’d tried to guess distances based on how close or far a human would have to be, for her to hear them at the same volume. 

 

“How long have you heard them?” Ratiri asked. Schizophrenia, he knew, usually manifested somewhere between twenty and thirty, though sometimes later in women, but there were also plenty of cases where it developed in adolescence.

 

“All my life,” she said, looking at him. “They’ve always been with me. And as irritating as they can be -- as much as I sometimes wish I could punch a few of them --”

 

_ “Kurt,”  _ Layla and Jimmy said at once.

 

“-- at least I’m never lonely.”

 

That...actually didn’t sound so bad, to Geezer. He’d been an isolated man, set apart due to his hands and all that they could not do. At times he had been very lonely, and would have loved some company, irritating or not. Though an inability to ever be truly alone would have grated after a while. The flipside to never being alone enough to be lonely was a total lack of privacy.

 

Something occurred to Sharley.  _ I think I know how you need to put this to Lorna _ , she said.  _ Don’t tell her she’s gonna be in charge of anything yet -- tell her you’ll need her help. That’ll wrap her mind around it, to begin with.  _ Sharley would help, insofar as she could, but with her being...her, she wouldn’t be much use as anything remotely approaching leader material. Ratiri had more than enough brains -- she’d seen, in bits and pieces, just how much he accomplished, once things went to shit -- but he didn’t have the temperament, or the force of personality. He was the Thanadir to Lorna’s Thranduil. But at this point, Lorna would be justifiably terrified of the thought of being handed any type of actual leadership, because just now  _ she _ didn’t have the temperament, either. And if she tried to push herself too hard to change, it would just make things worse. She had twenty years to get a handle on it.  _ If she asks you why her, just say she’s the one half their new human society will look to, since she’s from Baile. It’s even true. _

 

One half...the one half...suddenly it struck him. His wife was right about organizing the organizing. But to that end...it was necessary for him to leave behind something that would serve the humans, not merely impose the ways of the elves on them. Though, there would have to be a balance there as well. He was being asked to save them. All of them. And that meant a human population under his roof that exceeded the numbers of his own people. A human population disdainful of monarchy, however favorable an impression he’d managed to make for himself thus far. First and foremost, they required a system of government that would keep all of them able to function.  He knew that many existed all around their modern world, and that all of them flailed in inefficiency. The truth was, rule by a king was the solution to many of those problems, not the problem itself. The institution was not the problem. Who held power, and whether that one was pure of heart,  _ that _ was what could be the problem.

Thranduil glanced up at Sharley with the briefest of nods, suddenly distracted by the insight of how to proceed.

 

“I wish you’d stay,” Lorna said, “but I understand, if you can’t. I just want to get you a mobile, so we can get in touch. A mobile with a really good international plan.”

 

Geezer snorted, and dissolved into quiet, rusty laughter. “Lass, you’ve got some odd priorities, but you’re not wrong.”

 

“I’ll get one,” Sharley promised. “Hell, I’ll get a satellite phone.”

 

Thranduil rose and stood back where he could be seen by all. “With regard to your statements, Earlene, I have reached some conclusions, sitting here and listening to the sum of what has been said. I am being asked to in effect save a human population from disaster. And yet I am an Elvenking, this is not my duty or purpose.” At the shocked looks that flitted around the faces at the table, he held up his hand to avert comment. “I will be making it my purpose. But I will not undertake this alone. These are my Halls and my people to rule and serve until such time as we reach the shores of Aman, and yet that will not aid your future society. The time has come to speak to my own people, and arrangements must be made to present this information in both Baile, and Lasg’len. A council is to be formed, of sixteen persons. Four of my Realm, four of Lasg’len, four of Baile, and four outsiders. I am leveraging my position as King to request that Geezer and Ratiri be two of those four outsiders, unless they wish to decline the invitation. Of my own people, there will be myself, Earlene, Thanadir, and one elf yet to be chosen. Lorna, you must approach Baile, soon, to speak of this. Needless to say it is also my expectation that Lorna be among those chosen from Baile. We will go with you to explain and ‘back you up’ as the humans say, but this will not be our discussion to have. And I am hoping that I can prevail on you and Ratiri to do the same when the time comes to speak to Lasg’len. Those who serve on this council should be chosen by whatever political process is favored by your people, and without being under compulsion; I do not think I need to say that this service will require a significant investment of time and effort. The organizing does need organizing, but the input for that must come from a fair representation of diverse interests.” He remained standing, observing their reactions to his words.

 

Earlene parsed her husband’s words very carefully, and could find no fault with the reasoning. What an incredible irony, that she had actually brought her copy of Robert’s Rules of Order with her from America. She even recalled looking at the thin volume, wondering what on earth purpose it could ever have and why it justified a place in her book collection.  _ I need a t-shirt _ , she frowned to herself.  _ It should read: Blame Manwë. _

 

Lorna and Ratiri looked at each other, and at Geezer, and finally at Sharley, who gave them a very slight nod. “I’ll ask Shane and Orla if they’ll be the other two outsiders,” Lorna said, “unless you want in, Sharley.”

 

Sharley shook her head. “No. That’s not what I’m supposed to do -- I’ve gotta do something else. You get those two in.”

 

“Christ, from Baile...Doc Barry, for one. Everybody knows her. Big Jamie, too -- the pub man in any village has a lot’v respect, so I’m guessing Lasg’len’ll nominate John. Dunno about a fourth yet.” One thing was for damn sure -- it would  _ not  _ be Donal at the magistrate’s office. Unfortunately, Baile was so tiny it didn’t actually have a dedicated magistrate, or solicitor, or even a proper mayor. There was a small town council that only ever met if a road needed repairing.

 

“If that is how it works out, very well,” Thranduil said. “I know you understand, but I cannot emphasize enough that these individuals be the free choice of all those who will be eventually affected by our shared creation.”

 

“Oh, I know,” she said. “Just like I know it’ll be the Doc and Big Jamie that actually get two’v the nominations. In a tiny Irish village, the surgery and the pub’re some’v the few places everyone uses, sooner or later. It’s the fourth I’m not certain’v. It could be anybody, though I hope to sweet Christ it’s not Siobhan.”

 

Ratiri choked a bit. “No,” he said flatly. “Just... _ no _ .”

 

Thranduil went a shade paler at that thought, though he said nothing. He was a King, and this was not a circumstance for which the pettier concerns of life could be allowed consideration.

 

“I am rather in earnest about this,” the King said. “To the point that I will be going to town today to ask for a meeting to be convened at the pub in two or three days. Thanadir, you are to send out the command for all our people to assemble at aduial (sunset) before my throne; all patrols and staffing will be suspended, for this. Every elf in our Realm is to be present, no exceptions. I suggest Baile be notified with similar timeliness. They will be the most difficult, for unlike in Lasg’len, we are not known to all. Sharley, as much as I dislike to ask this of you...would you come with us? We will need much, merely to persuade that this is not a horrible joke of some kind.”

 

That was approximately the last thing Sharley wanted to do, but she’d been expecting it. “I will,” she said. “Though I don’t know how many’ll believe me right off. I’ll do what I can.”

 

Lorna sighed. “I know this sounds horrible, but I’m glad I had to send Mairead and Big Jamie to France,” she said. “That they already know about you’ll go a long way toward me getting this done a bit faster. Me they’d dismiss as a lunatic, but those two? Not hardly. That’s not something I can just say over the phone, though. I’ve got to go out to Baile tomorrow, and Ratiri, I’d love it if you came with me.”

 

“Of course I will,” he said. “We can bring Indira in while we’re at it. If she’s with us, when we talk to the rest of the village, that will help even more.” There were several in the village that he knew would be trouble -- Donal, for one -- and the more they had on their side, the better. “I think, perhaps, we should postpone our wedding for now.” He did not want to, but this was a huge and quite unforeseen complication.

 

“I know,” she said unhappily. “Fucking Von Fuckwad.”

 

Sharley actually  _ laughed  _ a little. “Von Fuckwad. I like it. Don’t postpone your wedding. Not for this. It’ll all be okay.”

 

“No,” echoed Thranduil. “No postponements.” The gleam in his eye was one they had never seen before. “You will come to find, sooner than you wish, that when such times descend, you must recall before anything else what it is you are living for. And that nothing is more important than the bonds of family, and friendship.”

 

“This’ll all end in a nervous breakdown,” Lorna said, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually protest. She  _ wanted  _ to get married, dammit -- and she still wanted to go to fucking Scotland, for all she knew it wasn’t going to happen. 

 

“Yes, but at least it won’t be ours,” Ratiri said, almost serenely. “That will fall to Indira. And Mairead, since she’s your only available sister.”

 

Thought of Mairead and Doc Barry having to deal with wedding shite was enough to make Lorna burst out laughing, because she could picture it all too clearly. “I wish we could hide a camera, just to see what happens.”

 

“Wait until Mairead sees the sari she’s meant to wear,” he said, with the slightest quirk of an eyebrow. “It’ll need to be altered, but it matches her hair.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “I require to meet privately with my seneschal; there is much for me to do in a short time.”

 

“My Lord, if you wish, I would be happy to inform the pub on your behalf. Perhaps us known local humans could...care for that, for you,” offered Earlene quietly. It wasn’t the same as the actual meeting, after all. Geezer alone could probably bring the message, though she could understand why he would not wish to, alone. “I promise, we would be back before sunset.”

 

The King held his wife’s eyes for a time, then nodded. “Go. And return. Do not tarry, Earlene.”

 

With a bow of her head and a meaningful glance at Lorna, she murmured needing to excuse herself to change clothes.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri and Geezer. “If we take the van from the cottage, it’ll cut our travel time in half,” she said. Jesus, this was not going to be fun, just because she knew they would be asked all sorts of questions she couldn’t yet answer. She didn’t intend to stick around, and she hoped the others didn’t, either.

 

“In that case, just go to the cottage, and on to Baile” said Earlene. “Geezer and I will take the other forest path, and I have limited time if I am to return. I cannot be late. Only remind Thanadir, as you exit, that the children will need care until you return. I will do what I can. Everyone is summoned to the throne, including the babies. Good luck.” This time the double meaning was so fitting. Because they would need it, far more than she. Disappearing, she returned with leggings and boots underneath her skirts instead of the dainty slippers, and gestured to Geezer. “Shall we? Unless you wish to stay, of course, which you are welcome to do.”

 

Lorna shook her head. “No, we’re not going to Baile tonight. I can’t drop this on them so late and then just say, ‘Sleep tight!’. I’ll call them tomorrow morning, and set up a meeting. If we don’t need the van, we don’t need the cottage path.”

 

“I’ll go, too,” Geezer said. “Gonna want a drink, though I might actually come back here tonight, if just so I don’t get pestered to death with questions.”

 

*****

 

The four emerged from the woods, clearly slightly winded from keeping up with Earlene, who was doing her honest best to slow down for all of them. And failing abysmally. Her friends did not understand the pressure on her, she knew. Thranduil had a way of speaking of events within the Realm that left his non-subject friends not fully grasping the significance of what was to occur, whereas she was well aware of the rarity of any kind of full assembly of their people. Not to mention, what he had not spelled out was that over two hundred feeling and thinking people were going to learn that they must soon leave their ancestral home, the only home some of them had ever known. Perhaps she was projecting human emotion onto the elves, but it was not possible, to her, that it would not be a heavy, heavy blow for some. And that before that occurred, their peaceful lives would be upended by the need to care for the collapse of the human world. If worse came to worse, she could leave them to have a Guinness; it wasn’t like she could stay to drink anyway.

 

Her eye was fixed on the sun in the sky, which was well along but still the better part of an hour from meeting the horizon.  _ Do I hope this place is empty, or full? _ she wondered. Either way, this task seemed slightly more intimidating than it had at the time of her offer, but there could be no backing out now. With a huge sigh, she tugged open the door and smiled wanly at her cohorts, diving into the dim interior and thankfully seeing the pub all but deserted. Like a fixture, John stood, polishing glasses and smiled to see them. “Story, you lot?” he asked, obviously in good humor.

 

“You’ll not thank me for the answer, John. We’re here to cause trouble,” she smiled, hoping it softened the blow. “I’m here on behalf of my husband, and I’ll just have out with it, because it’s going to sound daft no matter what. The elves have learned about something that’s to happen in the future. Something very bad. Thranduil will work to save everyone in this village, when that happens...but we have to tell about it now. We have to start planning for it, now. He wants a meeting, with everyone here, two nights from now, May 30th. Just after the sun goes down. All the village. And as much as I’d like to be able to tell you this is a huge joke, it isn’t. It’s dead serious. I need you to spread the word.”

 

“She means it,” Lorna said, her voice overriding the concerned murmurs of the few patrons. “You’ve all got to be here. I wish this wasn’t real, but it is, and we can’t just stuff our thumbs up our arses and hope it’ll go away, because it won’t.”

 

“Helpful,” Ratiri said.

 

“Shut it, you.”

 

“Can you give us anything else?” Chloe asked. “I mean, that’s pretty blood vague.”

 

“We can say it won’t happen for a long while yet, so don’t be afraid to sleep,” Geezer said. “Other than that, you’ll have to hear it from the person who warned us. She’ll be there, too.” And he hoped like hell she pulled through. That poor woman...if she gave in and talked to any of those voices in front of all these people, it wouldn’t help. At all.

 

Earlene nodded. “I’m sorry to drop this bomb and run, but the elves are having their huge meeting about this tonight, within the hour. I have to return. All I can add is, being a resident of this village is the equivalent of winning the Lottery. Everyone here will be cared for. Safe. Saved, while all the rest of the world goes to shite. I promise that everything will be discussed and answered in two nights. Just...make sure everyone comes to hear him that can. That way everyone hears it straight, no rumors or misunderstandings. Until then, good luck.” With an apologetic look at her friends, she said, “I’ve got to go, no offense taken if you want to stay for a pint, but I don’t dare, not to mention the baby.” Her hand crept down to her still-flat abdomen. Seeing Geezer’s quizzical expression, “ she elected to clarify. “I’m expecting again. It just isn’t obvious yet.”

 

Geezer arched an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing. Obviously someone had been asleep at the switch when it came to birth control -- someone, or both someones.

 

Lorna looked at the confused faces of John and the pub-goers, and knew that if she stayed, all she’d get was an endless amount of pestering while she tried to enjoy her pint. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m going with you -- you coming, allanah?” she asked Ratiri.

 

“I am,” he said, having no more desire to deal with the third degree than his wife did.

 

“Fuck it, I’ll go, too,” Geezer sighed.

 


	65. Sixty-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter begins May 28, 2017 at sunset; the elves' assembly is about to commence.
> 
> Also, graphic content warning for medically gory descriptions.

 

Earlene found on her return that the gathering of assembly was already underway near Thranduil’s throne. Halfway across the large archway she heard him. _You are to stand at Thanadir’s left side, meluieg. Please go there now._

 

 _Yes, my Lord_ , was the meek reply. This felt so different, than the ceremony he had led when Von Ratched endangered them. To her surprise, the seneschal offered his arm, which she gratefully took. They stood together, at the base of his throne, facing the gathered elves. Thanadir had never done this before, in a formal setting, and it did a great deal to help her feel some sense of security in the midst of an event that felt extremely unsettling to her. It was simply easier, when no one had known. Everything would be laid bare, now.

 

Without warning, Thanadir spoke in a clear and sonorous voice. “Dîn, an i Aran ‘wîn!” (Silence, for our King!). What few soft murmurs echoed through Thranduil’s Hall ceased, until nothing but the faint trickle of flowing water could be heard.

 

The crowned King rose from his throne, and while all the rest bowed their heads, Earlene followed Thanadir’s example in her peripheral vision, and remained still. Where her human friends had gone, she could not see, but was not at liberty to look around for them.

 

“Manwë aun siniath veleg angwen…” (Manwë gave a great news to us…) the King began, as Earlene watched the faces before her. Her husband spoke to his people with directness, she noted. How different his words were, from those of what she would call ‘a typical politician.’ There was no preamble, no waffling or evasion. He related all the events that transpired in a clear, linear fashion, leaving out nothing. Her cheeks reddened slightly, when it became apparent that ‘leaving out nothing’ also included telling of her foretold role and what was known of her fate. When it was time, Sharley received the same mention for her place in this story.  It did not escape her notice either, that he offered no apology for their stated future. Only his command, and his clear determination to lead them to their destiny. She recognized that were it her, she would be apologizing to all of them, out of a sense of guilt for what was to happen...but at the same time she saw it was not what they needed. Some faces looked shocked, or sad, but on most visages there was simply acceptance, obedience. There was an advantageous power to monarchy, Earlene had to admit. This ability to have a trusting populace simply obey, without resistance...it sure solved a lot of headaches. But it was this way because Thranduil had earned it. And then she heard her name again.

“Earlene onnant i ion nîn,” (Earlene has conceived my son) he said, gesturing to her with a beaming smile. “Natha ernil (he will be a prince).”

 

Approving murmurs rose, and smiles. As much as she personally wished to crawl into a hole of some kind, she forced herself to stand, and smile. It meant a great deal to Thranduil, and from their expressions, all of them as well. Elves loved children in a way that seemed to exceed how humans felt, by several orders of magnitude. Even Thanadir sighed in happiness, at her side, patting her hand in approval. The moment felt bittersweet, to her. Under different circumstances, who knows how many children she would have been willing to bear her husband. But with all that was about to happen...could she continue this, and in any way justify it? _It isn’t only your decision_ , she reminded herself. Except, it was. It being her decision was how all this got started in the first place. _Just, not now_ , she told herself. _Stop thinking._

 

Geezer watched the entire proceeding with open fascination. He hadn’t been here, for the first gathering; to see all these Elves, even though they were so few now, compared to what they’d been… He didn’t have words for it. Even Lorna and Ratiri looked suitably impressed, though Sharley...Sharley was watching them with an intensity that was downright unnerving, and he wondered what she’d seen of them, of their future.

 

 _So it starts_ , Lorna thought, and wondered why she wasn’t terrified. This was the first pebble in a landslide, and they were all going to have to try to ride it out without getting crushed along the way. She had no idea in hell how she was to tell Mairead and Big Jamie about...this, but she was hoping Sharley would go with them.

 

Her hand found Ratiri’s. She couldn’t help but think that if she’d never met Earlene, the elves would never have gone to New York, and never met Von Asscrack, and none of this would be happening...but there was nothing to be done about it now. Nothing but move forward. They’d do what they had to do, and hope like hell it actually worked.

 

And at least the twins would be adults. She felt ashamed for even thinking it, but at least they would grow up in the world as it was, and not face its destruction while they were still too young to understand. They’d know it as she had known it, though to their own children it would be nothing but pictures, words, the memories of their parents and grandparents.

 

 _Fuck that son of a bitch._ Wherever he was now, she hoped he rotted. He wasn’t going to take the world out entirely. She wouldn’t let him. _They_ wouldn’t let him.

 

The event was over, and the elves dispersed. Thranduil descended, and placed his hands on each of their shoulders. “Well done,” he praised them, though Earlene had no idea why. All she’d done is stand there. “Mabo Earlene na i haim vîn,” (take Earlene to our rooms) he spoke softly to Thanadir, while he caressed her cheek with a brush of his thumb. No protest was heard from her, as feelings of introversion were cresting, just now. What it said about her, that she would rather curl up on a sofa without even seeing her children, was probably nothing good. Unwittingly, she leaned on Thanadir’s arm, as he led her away.

 

“Now what?” Lorna asked, leaning against Ratiri. It was too early to sleep, for all she’d like to.

 

“I could use a beer,” he said.

 

“Amen to that,” Geezer muttered. “Dunno how I’m not gonna turn into an alcoholic before this is over. I need a better vice.”

 

“Weed,” Lorna said sagely. “Not habit-forming. Physically, anyway.”

 

Thranduil stepped over to the group, with the intention of saying good-night to them. He certainly was not about to join in on their inclination to drink the next many hours away, for he was beginning to feel much like his wife. He wanted the solitude of his immediate family, just now.

 

“This’ll work,” Sharley said. “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but it will. And Ratiri, I might take you up on that beer, too.” She took a step, and then another, and just...dropped.

 

With reflexes like lightning, Thranduil’s arms shot out to catch her before she could strike the stone floor, his eyes widening at what was coming from her mind. “She...I will care for her,” he told them, distracted. “I wish you all a good evening. We will be in our rooms…” Hardly the elegant exit he had intended to speak, but it mattered more to have this woman somewhere else. He rushed through the passageways with her, fighting the very strong pull of her intensely vivid vision.

 

The entire group of them stared after him, but if anyone could take care of Sharley and...whatever the hell was going on, it was Thranduil.

 

“Jesus, that poor woman,” Geezer said, shaking his head. “Every time I think I’ve got it bad, I meet someone who makes me feel like the luckiest damn man in the world.”

 

“Christ, no kidding,” Lorna said softly. She wanted that beer more than ever, now. “Let’s go.”

 

Go they did, and meantime, Sharley wandered the streets of Dublin.

 

_This too was during the plague -- the height of it, it would seem, given the chaos around her._

 

_There was a thunderstorm here as well, as there had been in New York, in London, in Mexico City, and she wondered how that could be. Not that it likely mattered. She’d know if it did._

 

_She stood now outside Trinity College, surrounded by the dying. The streets were gridlocked, a chorus of horns ringing all through her head, and heavy with litter that scudded over the pavement in the breeze. People were trying to get out of the city, their cars jammed with luggage, hacking and coughing. The passenger window of the car nearest her was streaked with blood on the inside -- dark blood, something coughed up. It obscured the passenger, who was visible only as a form slumped against the dashboard. Whoever was behind the wheel must have not yet noticed, for their horn blared on._

 

“Jesus,” _Kurt muttered, but Sharley ignored him, for she realized she was not alone._

 

_“Thranduil?” she asked, looking around. “Thranduil, are you here somewhere?”_

 

Baffled and a little distressed, Thranduil tried to orient himself against the shockingly...convincing...nature of what he was forced to assume were Sharley’s visions of the future. _Yes, I am here. I kept you from falling. Your body, I mean. I will care for you...though I do not know how to aid you here. What is happening to you lies outside my experience._

 

_Something very like dread curled through her. “Can you get out?” She had no idea what walking in the future would do to a mind not hers,  and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. Even the strongest of minds would wind up against something they couldn’t handle sooner or later._

 

 _I could leave you outside the borders of my forest so as to lose the ability to hear you, but I am afraid that is not going to occur. You are under my care, Sharley. I am stronger than you can know; I will manage. You are unusual, but you are yet human._ Having reached his rooms, he opened the door and entered with her, placing her on the couch in the same room used for dining. Carefully, he closed her eyelids, which had remained open, and unblinking. Earlene and Thanadir were in the bedroom, sitting with each other, and he did not wish to add to his wife’s sense of stress.

 

_“You see what I see, and hear, and smell...I’m sorry about this,” Sharley said, “but we have to go to the hospital. I need to see what’s going on there.” The fun part was finding anything in cities she wasn’t familiar with, but she usually had time, unfortunately. And while no one could see her or hear her, there were times she could interact with objects -- not that that was of any use to her just at the moment._

 

_She wove her way through the crowded sidewalks, many people having abandoned their cars in favor of walking, though most were so sick she didn’t know just how far they thought they’d get. Sometimes, she thought, humans just had to...move. To be somewhere other than where they were, as though in doing so they could take back some measure of the power that was no longer theirs._

 

_There was a phone on the pavement, the screen cracked, but she tried to pick it up anyway. Mercifully, it worked, though her fingers were clumsier with it than they ought to have been. She managed to get directions to the nearest hospital._

 

“What good do you think looking in the hospital’s gonna do?” _Kurt asked._ “You know everyone’s gonna die.”

 

_“The more I -- we -- know about this plague, the better,” she said. “Thranduil, you’ll be able to heal it, I’m sure, but I’m sure it’d help to know what it looks like before you’re hit with it, right?”_

 

 _It would not go amiss,_ she heard. Only now did he realize, even her visions were not normal. This was not merely watching a movie that unfolded, so to speak. He had never conceived of anything like this, and moreover, could not explain any facet of how this could be possible. And yet here they both were; and even now she was trying to turn this into an opportunity, an advantage.

 

_“Good. I wanna see if I can find somebody who’s in the early stages. Haven’t seen that yet, because I never found a hospital in any future that wasn’t already almost over.” Mexico City had been of no use, given that she didn’t speak Spanish; all she’d been able to do was wander around and watch people die under a blistering sun._

 

_It was a long walk, and all the while the horns blared on, thunder rumbling overhead. Sharley was a ghost, unnoticed even when she wove through what seemed like half a school class, coughing and spitting dark, sticky blood. It ran from their noses, from their eyes, their faces grey but cheeks and noses stained with an angry red flush. They should be in bed, all of them, and yet they moved, driven by the instinct to flee._

 

_“I don’t know how long you’re going to be trapped here with me,” Sharley said, once they’d reached the hospital. Its parking lot was so jammed with cars it was a bit like horizontal Tetris, and rather than try to weave through them, she just walked over them. Nobody yelled; those that weren’t empty contained only the dead or dying. “I never know how long I’ll be in any one place myself. New York was four days, but London was a week. Mexico City was only about twelve hours.”_

 

_You must understand, Sharley, I am only ‘stuck’ with you in the sense that I must share your thoughts. I am functioning as well in what I would call the ‘real world’ as well, no offense intended. I hear others beside yourself as I always do. Am I to understand that you may be like this for a week of real time? Not taking food or water for your body?_

 

_That was a mammoth relief, though she couldn’t help but wonder how he could be inhabiting this and still function in the outer world. “I could be, yeah,” she said. “I have before. People find me and put me in hospitals, because they think I’m sick or in a coma or something. Dunno what’ll happen if I do this when I’m out in the middle of nowhere.”_

 

“Thanks for that,” _Jimmy muttered._ “Because I so needed to be thinking about it right now.”

 

 _“Shut up, Jimmy.” She reached the hospital doors, squeezing her way through, but, as always happened on the rare occasions she actually ran smack into someone, there was no ‘running into’ at all; the woman passed right through her, and good_ God _was that a strange sensation. It was a bit like getting lightly poked with thousands of blunt pins, not painful so much as utterly wrong._

 

_The ER was full, but all the patients she could see were advanced cases. It stank in here -- sweat and blood and death, underlain by the harshness of chemical disinfectants. All around her people babbled and yelled and wept, and everywhere, everywhere there was coughing. Deep, wet, ragged, and so intense her own chest hurt in sympathy._

 

_She peered around curtains until she found a young woman, unattended. A very Irish woman, her hair a shade too auburn to be properly called red, with blue, blue eyes currently glazed with fever. Her pallid face had the same flush as the schoolchildren’s, but no bleeding, not yet. There was an ugly rash on her chest, creeping up her neck, and Sharley let her hand hover above the girl’s forehead -- she couldn’t directly touch her, but she could feel the heat of the fever as though she was holding her hand over an open fire._

 

_“I wish I could talk to you,” she said, as she fumbled for the chart clipped to the end of the bed._

 

“I’m pretty sure she’d wish you couldn’t, if you could,” _Layla said._ “And that made a lot more sense before I said it.”

 

 _Sharley ignored her, scanning the papers. What the hell was hemorrhagic fever? Hemorrhages were where something bled, she knew...Jesus, did the body burn so hot it actually_ bled _? “Onset of symptoms_ two hours ago _?” She looked at the girl again, and even as she watched, a trail of dark blood trickled from her nose. Her wide eyes stared upward, but didn’t seem to be actually seeing anything._

 

_“Two hours. What the fuck.” Shaking her head, Sharley replaced the clipboard, and went in search of better records. The corridors were as crowded as the ER, but she managed to wind her way through until she came face-to-face with a doctor -- white-haired, haggard -- who looked at her as though he almost saw her. But no -- his wide eyes were followed immediately by a great, hacking cough that sprayed her with dark blood so hot it almost burned her, before he collapsed to the floor._

 

“Oh _ew_ , _” Layla said, even as Sharley staggered backward. Oh, sometimes she_ hated _that she actually interacted here. If she had to witness the future, why couldn’t she just_ witness _it, rather than_ experience _it?_

 

Thranduil wanted to vomit. Or go to the pub; either seemed like an excellent solution to having this unwished-for ringside seat. And yet that felt like a poor way to acknowledge the plight of Sharley, who had no choice but to be immersed in this ongoing disaster. There was much information here...information that had only veiled meaning to him. This was no ordinary illness, and given its origin, that hardly came as a surprise. He sighed. Though he knew that Ratiri was not in optimal circumstances, he needed to share this with the one person here who could actually obtain information from what he was witnessing. Closing his eyes, he focused his thought. _Ratiri, I am sorry to intrude. I need your knowledge, your insight. Can you come to my rooms? If you are able let yourself in. If not, it can technically wait..._

 

Fortunately, Ratiri was still largely sober. He’d nursed his beer, content to savor rather than chug. _I can_ , he said, rising. “Thranduil wants my help,” he said, kissing Lorna’s forehead. “I’ll be back.  You just keep on with that, if you feel like it.”

 

“Take care’v that poor woman, if you can,” Lorna said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

 

“I’ll do my best,” he said, tipping Geezer a salute with his beer bottle before draining the last of it.

 

He made his way to Earlene and Thranduil’s rooms, letting himself in. Sharley remained unconscious, or seemingly so. _What do you need?_

 

“Sharley is having a vision of the future. Of the plague. I cannot help but experience what she herself is. In her mind, she is in a hospital, trying to gain information that will help us. I have to warn you that these are not merely abstract visions; she has some ability to interact with the events she witnesses. It is very graphic and very disturbing, but you are a doctor. Too much of what she is seeing I cannot understand in the way that you would be able to.” He sighed, deeply. “I have the ability to allow you to see into my mind just as I see into yours, Ratiri. It is an immense strain for me to do this, and I do not know how long I can sustain it. But I deem it worth the effort to try, for the information you could gain that I cannot. Are you willing to see?”

 

Well, _that_ was horrifying. She actually interacted? That poor woman. The thought nearly made him quail, but if she could handle this, how could he say no? “Before you strain yourself doing this, tell her to find a chart and a patient to look at. That way I don’t have to drain your energy while she does so.”

 

“She is already doing this, but I will communicate that to her. I have to warn you too...this is a complete experience. Sight. Sounds. Smells. Even I want to become sick, and that is nearly impossible for an elf. I will not think less of you, if you do not wish to do this; I could try to share what I have seen by describing. But I suspect that you will go ahead anyway. If that is the case, tell me, when you are ready.”

 

“It’s better if I see it,” Ratiri said, though quite frankly he would rather chop his own foot off. “There’s too much I’d be afraid you wouldn’t understand, given that it’s human medicine.” If he was going to possibly face it in twenty years -- and who knew, he just might -- at least he would be forewarned. Drawing a deep breath, he added, “Let’s get this over with.”

 

“Place your hand against my face, the same as I will do to you,” Thranduil asked. When he felt Ratiri’s touch, he closed his eyes and focused all his might on opening a doorway into his own mind. And having done this, there only remained the struggle to keep it open. The only sensation he could ever compare this to was the need to continue holding one’s breath when the time had long passed for needing more air. It was nightmarishly difficult, and he was left in a constant battle to maintain the connection.

 

_Ratiri didn’t waste a moment, though the stench the assaulted him nearly made him gag. Had he had time to get used to it, it might not have been so foul, but he understood why even Thranduil felt sick._

 

_Sharley handed him a clipboard, standing silent and patient against a wall. None noticed them, and he tried to block out the coughs and cries._

 

_He scanned the paperwork, and felt the blood drain from his face. This had all the hallmarks of some monstrous combination of avian flu and hemorrhagic fever -- ebola, or marburg. He’d always known that if either of those viruses ever became aerosolized, they could cut swathes through the population, and it seemed like he was right. The only aberration was the incubation period, which appeared to be upward of two weeks._

 

_He wrinkled his nose, pressing his hand over his face to try to block the smell. Above him, the fluorescent lights flickered, buzzing erratically._

 

_“Show me a patient,” he said, looking at Sharley -- Sharley, who had blood all over her face and her throat, droplets on the worn white of her vest-top. Somebody had to have coughed directly in her face, and yet she seemed...not calm, but resigned. How often had she done this already? Were the things she saw always this terrible?_

 

_“Follow me,” she said, drawing him into a room. There were six patients jammed in here, all on cots, amid a steel forest of IV stands hung with bags of saline and God knew what else. She stood back so he could kneel beside the cots, a silent presence that he was nevertheless always aware of._

 

_The first was a man of perhaps his own age, and Ratiri discovered, to his frustration, that he couldn’t actually touch the poor blighter. Not that he needed to, in order to know that the man was running an incredibly high fever -- so high there were blisters all along his hairline, and beneath his eyes. Petechial hemorrhage in both eyes, so badly that the whites were almost completely rendered blackish-red. He bled from the eyes, from the nose...Jesus, what sort of hell-disease had Von Ratched created?_

 

 _Ratiri checked the next patient, and the next, and found the same with each: this was not a disease someone was going to survive. If anyone was to recover from this, he would be very,_ very _surprised -- and even if they did, they’d be too weak to care for themselves, and surrounded by the dead. This --_ this _was what awaited the world, in twenty years?_

 

_“Sharley,” he said, “Thranduil can’t maintain this for long, but I want you to do something for me, if you can. I want you to find a lab, to see if there are specimens under any microscopes, and tell Thranduil when you’re ready.”_

 

_She nodded, and went to rifle through the cabinets, while Ratiri tried not to retch._

 

_“All right, Thranduil, we can go back now. Rest, and drink some water.” He was a doctor. He was always going to tell people to drink water._

 

With a great sense of relief, Thranduil broke the connection instantly, looking several shades paler if that was even possible. “Speaking of drinking water,” he said, gesturing to Sharley, “she told me that these episodes of hers can last for days. Even a week. In all this time she will be unable to eat or drink. If this lasts more than a day, I am going to ask you to help her using whatever you do in human medicine. What is happening to her should not be possible, and my healing is not the best suited to her needs.”

 

“Saline,” Ratiri said. “And a catheter. Which means we’re going to have to let Indira in at least on your existence, because she’s not going to just give either to me without asking for explanation.”

 

“Well, that eventuality is days away regardless,” Thranduil said. “Do what you must.”

 

 _Finding a lab was a disgusting, arduous process, though Sharley was getting used to the smell by now. She’d learned to block things out, over the years -- a terrible thing, but a necessary one, and never more so than right now. The problem, however, was not in finding a lab, but in finding a way_ in _. The door had one of those key-card locks, and this being twenty years in the future, she doubted that gum-wrapper trick would have worked, even if she’d had any on her._

 

“Well,” _Jimmy sighed,_ “this is gonna suck.”

 

_Yes, yes it was. Her inability to touch people meant she couldn’t just pick someone’s pocket, so she had to go searching for someone who might have taken off their coat; once it was no longer touching an actual human, she could pick it up herself. It meant weaving through the sick, the dying, the doctors and nurses who stayed at their posts in spite of it all. Yes, there was a lot of shit in humanity, but there was also a great deal of nobility, and it was dying all around her, in this last gasp of civilization._

 

_What she found, rather horrifyingly, was a doctor slumped over a table in a break room crowded with patients, seemingly asleep. The woman was not, however, breathing, and the skin of her hands and the side of her face had gone grey and waxy. A tiny trickle of blood had dripped from her nose, leaving a few scattered droplets on the white Formica._

 

“Wherever Avathar is, I hope he rots,” _Sinsemilla said, harsh and filled with rage._

 

_“Christ, me too.” The thing -- the useful, important, yet terrible thing -- was that this woman had draped her white coat over the back of her chair. Sharley rifled through it until she came up with a card of green plastic, so warm from the doctor’s body that it felt as though it had been put in a microwave._

 

_She made her way back to the lab, which was the first empty room she’d seen in here; it seemed like they’d given up, at least for the moment, which made no sense. Why would they give up? That wasn’t what doctors did...oh._

 

 _There was a sign taped to the window, one that made her hesitate. No, nothing could hurt her in the future, but she hesitated now. It was just a sheet of printer paper, but it said, in blocky letters formed by a blunt Sharpie,_ Biohazard. Do Not Enter _. Below it, in slightly shakier handwriting,_ Containment Breach.

 

“What the hell does that mean?” _Jimmy demanded._

 

_“It means it’s not safe to go in there,” Sharley said. Under any sane circumstances, if this was what she thought it was, they ought to have evacuated the damn hospital, but now? They were jammed far past capacity. There was nowhere to go. Even the medical staff were dying. “They shouldn’t have had something that contagious in that lab, but if it was already here in the patients…”_

 

_She shook herself, and keyed open the door. The smell was less intense in here, and she breathed a little easier. The counters were littered with notes, sample tubes, pipets, pens, boxes of Kim-wipes, and everywhere there were slides and petri dishes filled with death._

 

_There was a little door at the back of the room marked ‘EM’, and it was there she went, hunting the electron microscope. That was, she thought, kind of a misnomer, since there was way more to it than just the actual microscope; it was like something out of the damn Starship Enterprise, complete with a large digital monitor that showed something she assumed was a virus. Peering into the scope, she saw a blob of pink on the slide, which meant nothing to her. “Okay, Thranduil, I need Ratiri again.”_

 

With another great sigh, Thranduil beckoned the man back again, though he was touched at having had a glass of water crammed into his hand and being glared at until he drank it. “Again, Ratiri,” he said. “She has a...I do not know what it is called, but some manner of image. I do not think I can last as long as last time.” He held his hand up in invitation, preparing for another great effort.

 

“I’ll be as fast as I can,” Ratiri promised. “I just need a look at that virus.”

 

 _When Thranduil let him back in, he went immediately to the microscope, but paused before he even got there, arrested by the image on the monitor. It was an enveloped helical virus, but it sure as hell wasn’t anything_ he’d _ever seen. It was a Frankenstein’s monster of a virus; he could see features of both Marburg and H5N1 -- avian flu. The son of a bitch had adapted it to human-to-human transmission, and grafted on some strain of Marburg -- which shouldn’t be_ possible _. You just couldn’t_ do _that._

 

_Rage spiked through him, hot and sharp and nearly blinding. “Thranduil, bring me out,” he said. He couldn’t look at that monitor a second longer. He knew now what Von Ratched had done, how elegant his revenge was -- and how impossible to defeat. “Bring me out.”_

 

“Not a problem,” the Elvenking gasped, beginning to tremble. _Thanadir_ …. he called in his mind now for his friend, wondering why it did not occur to him to ask for help sooner. It would have been far easier. _Has everything about these humans addled my wits?_ He wondered, even as he struggled to breathe evenly.

 

Thanadir all but flew through the door to hold onto Thranduil, not minding Ratiri’s look of bafflement. “He will be well,” the seneschal explained, frowning. “What he did was a great strain. Too much.” He looked from Sharley, to Ratiri, back to Sharley. “He must rest, now. I insist on it. Will she be...alright?”

 

Ratiri mastered his rage, and checked Sharley’s pulse. It and her respiration were steady and even; whatever was going on within her head, it was not affecting her physically. “She will,” he said, “but if she stays under longer than two days, I’ll need to get some things. Given where she’s trapped, I devoutly hope she comes out of it soon.”

 

He sighed, and suddenly felt very drained. “I know what Von Ratched did, Thanadir. I know what he made. And I know why Sharley says there’s no avoiding it. What he’s created...there’s no treatment for it but palliative care, and with how widespread it will be, there won’t be anywhere near enough of that go to around. It’s going to be a nightmare. There’s no surviving it, Thanadir. Whoever catches it will die.”

 

“Well that’s cheerful,” Thranduil whispered, still reeling from not only what he had done, but what he had seen. “All those people…”

 

Thanadir looked down at him in concern. “I am hoping that we can all discuss this further tomorrow. I am sorry, Ratiri, but for him to be this drained…” he shook his head in evident disapproval. “He is going to sleep.” Thanadir spoke with an air of finality, emphasized further by Thanadir lifting Thranduil into his arms, and carrying him toward the bedroom. “I do not suppose I can trouble you to open the door?” the old elf asked, polite even when he was being rude.

 

“He needs rest, and fluids when he wakes -- and for God’s sake, keep the wine away from him until he’s eaten and had at least one glass of water,” Ratiri said, slipping into Doctor Mode automatically as he rose to open the door. “I’m quite certain he’s a terrible patient, but I’m equally certain you know how to work with him.”

 

“Yes,” grinned Thanadir. “Good night.”

 

“Goodnight,” Ratiri said, and when Thanadir had gone, he knelt on the floor beside the sofa, studying Sharley. He and Thranduil had family, loved ones who could help them through this, but who did Sharley have? Did she have anyone? He could take this to Lorna, and she would comfort him, just as Thanadir and Earlene would do for Thranduil. They had support, but he strongly suspected Sharley had no one. And yet she intended to leave, at some point. Why did that thought hurt so much?

 

He suspected she was older than she looked, though likely not by _too_ much. She had to be so young, and had spent who knew how much of her life wandering into the future with none to care for her in the present. Did she have parents? He suspected not. He knew what it was to be alone; he knew, in some measure, what such isolation would be like for her. And if she would not stay, he wanted her to have the phone, the money...Ratiri doubted she was quite young enough to be a child of his, but he felt oddly paternal. Perhaps it was just his still-new fatherhood spilling over, but this poor kid had come all this way, had witnessed _that_ in more than one place, and would go back to living alone…

 

“Sleep well, phàiste,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. He draped a blanket over her, and situated a pillow more comfortably under her head, pulling her boots off and tucking them beneath the edge of the sofa. He wondered if Lorna would be averse to adoption. This kid, if kid she was, needed someone. As many Someones as she could get.

 

*********

 

Earlene’s eyes widened in alarm when Thanadir entered the room carrying her husband. “What….?” was the only word past her lips as she flew off of the sofa to go to them.

 

 

“Meluieg, I am fine.”

 

“With respect, my Lord, ‘fine’ and being carried by Thanadir have no place in the same sentence.”

 

“Earlene, I….”

 

 _“_ HUSH _.”_ Her eyes were half ablaze and he barely had the energy to challenge her.

 

“Meldis, save your ire. He will be fine, but he does need rest.”

 

“Apparently,” she replied icily, only somewhat mollified, holding Thranduil’s hand. “Then help me with his clothes, so that he can have proper sleep.”

 

“Meluieg, I…” he said in an alarmingly feeble tone of voice.

 

“HUSH,” she ordered, placing her finger over his lips as he’d done to her so many times before. Silently, she added _I love you. Whatever the reason for this is, it will wait until you are better._

 

With a hopeful glance up at her he drew breath to speak again, only to be silenced by the most terrifying stare he had ever seen. Or rather, the last time he had seen the same expression was when she was...and there was Von Ratched and...he decided that wisdom and silence were brethren, tonight. Only then, did she smile, a little, as her nimble fingers unlaced his clothing. He soon was undressed, and placed in the warmth of his bed against soft pillows.

 

“Will you send him to sleep, or do I beat him over the head?” she asked Thanadir innocently with a sweet smile on her face.

 

With a mild frown at her impertinence, he turned to his King with a barely concealed smile and caused sleep to come over him. “Posto vae,” he said softly, kissing his forehead, before standing to frown at Earlene more fully.

 

“What?” she asked him, crossing her arms. “When you are wed, and your mate is brought to you thus, then you can criticize me. I love you, meldir, but there are some things about being a mortal female you cannot understand.” The set of her jaw and the tilt of her head begged him to argue with her.

 

Thanadir shook his head, smiling in defeat. “Very well. I will manage to disregard the present unseemliness,” he said, poking fun at himself.

 

“Good,” she answered, laughing. “But in seriousness, do you know what happened to him?”

 

“No,” confessed the seneschal. “Only that it had something to do with Sharley, and Ratiri, and that it was very important. He would not have done this without a reason, Earlene. I do not clearly understand what he _could_ have done, to drain himself this badly in so short a time.”

 

“I know,” she whispered. “But it does not make seeing him like that easier to bear. This day, Thanadir...it feels like a sea creature, with tentacles.” She sat again, rubbing at her temples. Her head was beginning to ache, without question.

 

He sighed. “Turn away from me.” Strong hands kneaded at her neck and shoulders. “In a while, Earlene, we will go and see your daughters. They are in their new nursery, and if I may suggest it, tonight is as good of a time as any to have them sleep there.”

 

“But what if…” she protested, even as she fell helplessly under the spell of his fingers battling the pounding in her head.

 

“There is no ‘what if;’ I will watch over them myself. You need your rest as much as your husband does; you are with child.”

 

“And I would be better off not to argue with my meldir, is that what you are telling me?”

 

“That sums it up nicely, Earlene.”

 

With a soft laugh, she leaned her head against the top of the sofa cushion. “As you wish, Thanadir.”

 

*****

 

Earlene woke the following morning feeling reasonably refreshed. As she snuggled against the warmth of her husband, though, it dawned on her that several things were not quite right. For starters, Thranduil had not moved in the night, and the recollection came to her, that he’d had sleep laid on him. Frowning, she could not recall going to bed herself, and felt that she was...dressed. With a mild _harrumph_ of exasperation, the inescapable conclusion was reached that Thanadir had done the same to her. Her last memory was of an aching head and his massage and….oh, _elves_ . Rising, already fully dressed, she looked down in annoyance at the rumpled dress…. _that would need all of what, thirty seconds to look freshly pressed? Whatever._ Stretching quietly so as not to disturb her still sleeping mate, she had thoughts of perhaps a hot bath, but first decided to check the outer rooms. Ortherion could be very quiet, and for all she knew the rest of the world waited on her for breakfast. Opening the door silently, she saw no one else but….Sharley on her sofa? Someone had covered her in a blanket and...what difference did it make, that she had no idea who was even sleeping in their rooms? And….was Sharley okay? Something about her did not look quite right…

 

 _Ugh_ … when Sharley woke, she tried not to. Waking from a future-walk left her with the mother of all hangovers, and she didn’t dare yet open her eyes. When she rubbed her nose, she wasn’t surprised to feel the dried crust of a minor bloody nose, which was just so awesome on top of it all. At least, in this place, she didn’t need to worry about getting a face full of sunshine.

 

She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket up over her head to shield her eyes. If she could ease her vision into light gradually, it wouldn’t be so bad.

 

 _“Be glad you don’t have a mirror handy,”_ Kurt said. _“You look like shit.”_

 

 _“Helpful, Kurt,”_ Sinsemilla sighed. _“Just rest, Sharley. You don’t have to be anywhere.”_

 

It was a damn good thing, too; she probably couldn’t stand right now. At least it had only been overnight, because God, the things she’d seen...there was no escaping it. It wasn’t just the hospital, it was _everywhere_. She didn’t know how many more times she’d be forced to walk into that future before it actually happened, but she hoped like hell it wouldn’t be many.

 

Eventually she lowered the blanket, and blinked at Earlene, who looked quite confused. “Hi,” she said, her voice a little more than a rasp. “I think my brain mighta broken your husband a little. So, uh, sorry about that.”

 

“Nonsense,” said Earlene. “He is fine. Please forgive me, but you do _not_ appear to be fine. Stay, do not move. I am going to get Ratiri.” It was the only solution to be had, in her estimation. Thanadir was...she did not know where, because he had apparently sent her to sleep rather than have her go see her children. As her feet took her out of their room, she had to smile. It was certainly favorable that Thanadir loved children so much, because he seemed to have rather a lot of them, including adult ones that were little better than their offspring. Some minutes later, her news was delivered and she returned. “I am going to bring you water, because it is all I am good for. I do not know what you need, but if you tell me I will try to help you,” she said to Sharley in what she hoped was a kind tone of voice. _I really do need to be less of a medical nitwit, but it won’t be happening today_.

 

“Thank you,” Sharley managed, and struggled to sit up. It was a failed effort until Ratiri and Lorna, both bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, arrived and helped her, and she found herself entirely bewildered. Lorna had automatically gathered her tangled hair and started picking at it with a comb, while Ratiri shined a light in both her eyes and took her pulse.

 

“I need a thermometer,” he sighed, resting the inside of his wrist against her forehead. “You’re running a fever, and a fairly high one, unless I’m very mistaken.”

 

“That’s normal,” Sharley said. “It’s usually worse the longer I’ve been under.”

 

“There has got to be some way’v controlling that,” Lorna said, yawning as she picked with the comb. She had tea in her and Ratiri’s room; once she’d dealt with this mess of hair, she was going to go get it and make some. “I mean, I’ve never yet seen Thranduil fail at anything.”

 

“Poor Thranduil’s too drained to be doing much for a while,” Ratiri said. “And yes, that is my medical opinion. I’ve never seen him look like that, no matter how tired he is.”

 

“He couldn’t do anything,” Sharley said, rubbing her eyes and wincing. Her throat hurt, her head hurt -- hell, all her joints ached. It really was a bit like a nasty case of the flu. “Not for this. Which I’m sure he wouldn’t wanna hear, but facts are just facts.” He was not, she was certain, the kind of person who took well to the idea that there was something they couldn’t do, but in this she couldn’t dare let him meddle. He might well just make it worse.

 

“Earlene, how is he?” Ratiri asked, wrapping Sharley’s blanket more firmly around her. It left her looking something like a very long, blue-haired burrito.

 

“He’s still asleep,” she answered. “ Thanadir says he will be fine. Um, I have a thermometer app on my phone. I don’t think it needs signal to work, would that help?” Just once, it would make her feel so happy if she could offer something medically useful beyond sit there with her proverbial thumb up her arse, as Lorna would say.

 

“That would be very helpful,” Ratiri said, surprised there was an app for that. It would seem there really was an app for _everything_.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Sharlely said, though she made no effort to actually move. “I always am.”

 

The look he leveled at her was thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m the doctor here, and no, you are not fine.” It was something his dad had always said to cranky patients -- which, given that it was Scotland, was most of them.

 

Thanadir chose that moment to enter, with Lothiriel in tow. Lothiriel had Allanah, and he the twins. “What is giving her the fever, it...the children cannot catch it? I am sorry for how little I know, I just want to make sure they are safe.” With kisses galore, she took the twins from Thanadir, as both Ithiliel and Eleniel said “Nana” in their high pitched little voices. Little hands that clambered at her breasts left little doubt, what they wanted. “If you will excuse me, I will take them into the other room, for this.” Earlene met Thanadir’s eyes with a look that clearly begged, _Please check on him?_ Thanadir followed Earlene, while Lothiriel settled into her usual spot and began playing with Allanah, who giggled in happiness to see her stuffed dinosaur collection.

 

“Stegoforuss!!” she squeaked happily, as she waved the toy in front of Sharley.

 

“It’s not contagious,” Sharley said, her voice still dry and raspy. “It’s just my body readjusting to me being back in it. Usually I have to be under longer for it to do this, though.”

 

“That’s a relief,” Ratiri said, fetching the phone and holding Sharley’s thumb against the screen. When it beeped, he winced. “Forty degrees. Good grief.”

 

“What’s that in American?” she asked, but she didn’t seem to be paying attention: she had eyes only for Allanah, and Allanah’s little toy. “It is,” she said seriously. “It’s a very pretty stegosaurus, too.”

 

Lorna watched her, and figured out two things inside of thirty seconds: Sharley had a child, and that child was no longer with her -- dead or taken, it was gone. Just how much abuse could the universe heap on one person?

 

“It’s a hundred and four,” Ratiri said. Because of Thranduil, he had no paracetamol, no fever-reducers of any kind. “Lorna, will you get a cloth wet with some cold water? Sharley, I need you to lay down again. I don’t care if you say you’re fine, you’re blatantly not. Does this happen every time you...future-walk?”

 

Sharley nodded, even as Lorna rose. “It’s worse the longer I’m under, usually. A day shouldn’t have hit me this hard, but what with where I was, and when...can’t say I’m surprised.” She reached out to stroke Allanah’s ginger hair even as she curled up on her side.

 

Lorna brought the cloth back, and Ratiri carefully draped it around the back of Sharley’s neck. It was all he could do, for now; if Thranduil didn’t wake, someone was going to have to go to the village for some supplies.

 

Thanadir checked his King, and found him still deep in sleep. “He needs more time, Earlene. This is no longer my doing, but the need of his body. When he wakes, he will be very thirsty.”

 

“I will stay with him. Or at least, I will stay in these rooms. There is yet much to do on our language project, and I can certainly occupy myself with that once the girls have eaten. Perhaps you should see if they need help, out there? With Thranduil unavailable, we are all a little at a loss right now.”

 

The seneschal considered her words and nodded, leaving her to hold her beautiful children and wonder how the world had gotten so weird, so quickly.

 

Lorna, still yawning, gathered the tea things from her and Ratiri’s room, where Maerwen was feeding the twins. “Let’s bring them, once they’re done,” she said, in a careful mix of English and Sindarin. “Thranduil is asleep, but they are quiet.”

 

“The King sleeps?” Maerwen asked, surprised.

 

God, Lorna wasn’t sure just how much Thranduil would want known of the truth, so she said, “Sharley, the woman with the blue hair, was very ill last night. Taking care of her tired him.” Which was broadly true. It probably wasn’t a good thing, just how adept she was becoming at twisting the truth to suit her own needs. No, it wasn’t lying, but it was close.

 

Maerwen gave her a look that said, quite clearly, _if you say so_ , and started packing up the twins’ things. Lorna left her to it, taking tea and kettle with her.

 

Poor Sharley...that was a bloody high fever, and without Thranduil to lower it, it could be dangerous. They needed to get some basic, human medical supplies in here, just in case something like this happened again -- well, not necessarily _this_ this, but something that took Thranduil temporarily out of commission.

 

When she returned to the room, she found Sharley huddled up under her blanket again, whispering to a giggling Allanah, and her heart just about broke. Did one of the Valar really hate this poor woman? Hell, was one of the Valar _responsible_ for this poor woman? Lorna was pretty sure she was entirely unique -- Thranduil had said she ought to be impossible, and at eighteen thousand years old, he should know. If one of them had given Sharley a poke, as Manwë had given her...it didn’t seem fair, that she should be so blessed while Sharley was so badly cursed. Because no matter what she said, she _was_ cursed; what use was a gift like hers when it took such a toll? How could anyone count that a good thing?

 

 _It can’t be the Valar_ , Lorna thought. She just couldn’t see it. But then, what the hell did she even _know_ about them? Not much. _Something_ had made Sharley this way, had saddled her with this strange ability, and Lorna couldn’t imagine there was any magic in this world not connected to everything Tolkien had written.

 

“Thanadir, is there anything you can give Sharley for her fever?” Lorna asked, though she highly doubted it. Elves didn’t get fevers. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

 

“There are herbs, for a tea,” he nodded. “You wish me to make this?”

 

“Please do,” Ratiri said, wishing he’d thought to ask himself. “Her fever is very high, for a human.”

 

“It’s only a hundred and four,” Sharley said. “I’ve had it a hundred and six before.”

 

“You can’t have,” Ratiri said, adjusting the cloth behind her neck. “That would have killed you.”

 

She managed a smile, though her eyes were fever-glazed. “Trust me. I’m impossible.”

 

Thanadir hurried off to prepare the tea, placing the water here on the candle warmer to heat. He knew the page in the book by which to double check, but he recalled this of old. Mortals often had fevers. Yarrow, feverfew, elderberry...he had learned some of the English names for these plants. As Sharley seemed to be not very well off, Thanadir blended more than he believed was needed. Placing half of what he brought into the enameled metal vessel to simmer, he waited, and made happy faces at giggling Allanah.

 

Lorna drifted over to him. “How’s Thranduil?” she asked quietly. “I mean, how is he really? I know there’s fuck-all any’v us can do for him right now, but I’ve got to ask.” Ratiri had told her just how much of a strain he’d put himself under, and even elves weren’t invulnerable. The fact that he was still asleep was very telling, and...well, damn it all, she’d looked after Pat, when he was sick. Some things were just ingrained. There might be nothing she could do, but she at least wanted to know.

 

Thanadir managed to not wince at the unseemly language. “Earlene is feeding the twins. You may go see him if you wish, only talk softly.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, and crept across the sitting-room. A peek through the door showed her Earlene was indeed nursing, and it was odd, how thoroughly Lorna had got over seeing somebody else’s tits. They were just sort of...there, being used by what they were meant to be used for.

 

Thranduil was also just there, and quite honestly, he looked like shit. He was always pale, but just now there was an almost greyish tinge to his skin; he looked, in fact, unnervingly corpse-like.

 

“If he’s gone and done himself a real injury, we might have to keep him drugged,” she whispered. “Otherwise he’ll be on his feet and doing shite he shouldn’t.”

 

“He’s not going anywhere until he feels better,” Earlene announced emphatically if in a very soft voice. “No where. No place, No nada. Do you know, I’m not only good at cutting things up, but I can tie knots, too? Loads of them.” A very peculiar gleam was in her usually serene eyes as she gazed fondly at the many decorative ropes that hung near the walls and bed frame.

 

Lorna barely  managed to smother a fit of laughter in her elbow. “With him, it might be that or forcible sedation,” she said, and absolutely refused wonder if that had actually already happened, just in a more fun way, because ew. No. (She and Ratiri might have gone there, but that did _not_ mean she wanted to think about anyone _else_ doing so, thanks so much, and especially not her pallid brother-from-another-mother. Ick.) “And that’d go against Ratiri’s oath, I think.”

 

“Hm,” said Earlene brightly. “Well, there is Thanadir, so I do not believe Ratiri need be bothered. Besides. There is also this thing called, ‘I have to live with my wife.’” Ithiliel chose that moment to begin fussing and losing interest in her meal. Earlene bit her lip. “I don’t suppose I can bother you to ferry her out to Lothiriel? I thought Thanadir would be back by now but he’s like as not busy. Is Sharley OK? Honestly I don’t know bleep-all about what’s even going on around here.”

 

“Nana bleep!” Ithiliel said, her wide blue eyes prepared to turn to stormy disapproval at the imminent parting from her twin that she somehow sensed.

 

“Um, actually, maybe if you could just hold her for a minute while this one finishes up?” Earlene was doing her level best to stuff an uncooperative boob back into her garment while Eleniel glared at her. “Life can’t always go your way, Nana’s precious angel. I am pretty sure that uncle Thanadir will make sure of it, so no glaring at your Naneth while she tries to arrange herself. Or I shall tell your friends about this when you are twenty, and they will laugh at you. Nana has a very good memory,” she smiled, gently tickling the little girl’s chin until she giggled.

 

“She’s got a bloody high fever,” Lorna said, taking Ithiliel. “Thanadir’s making something for her. And you, little one, are already stubborn, aren’t you?” She arched an eyebrow as she looked down at the baby, and couldn’t help but smirk a little at the kid’s highly indignant expression. “Don’t you go trying that on Auntie Lorna, because it won’t work.” Ithiliel responded to this by making a grab for her braid, and promptly chewing on it. Children and cats, for the kittens had decided it was a good climbing-rope. “I can’t help but wonder what Sharley _is_. I’d been thinking anything actually supernatural had to be connected to the elves, you know? She doesn’t fit. Even Thranduil thinks she doesn’t fit.”

 

“I wish I could help you there. There are times I think of what I read in the books and...remember Tom Bombadil? He made no sense either. And yet he apparently existed. I’ve never seen a decent explanation for him. Not one. Maybe the truth is that there are people or living beings we will never understand really. Sometimes you have to realize there is only so much any of us can actually know. Otherwise you just go….” Earlene really did not feel comfortable saying “nuts,” like she usually would have. When someone with a true illness of the mind appeared, suddenly all those casual sayings used to refer to...that sort of thing...seemed wildly inappropriate. And then came the existential questions, and the forced realization of too many things. “Otherwise your head will explode.” There, that seemed safer and inoffensive. Because, who didn’t like the imagery of exploding heads?

 

Tom Bombadil really had seemed odd and out-of-place, which had led Lorna to believe Tolkien must not have heard much about him. Just enough to confuse millions of readers. “Him, and Goldberry. I mean, river-daughter? That sounds like something out’v a Greek myth.” Ithiliel blew a wet raspberry, looking at her mother, then her sister, as though silently saying, _Are you_ done _yet?_ It took all of Lorna’s willpower not to laugh. “Ratiri told me what he saw, when Thranduil let him into Sharley’s vision. I’d been hoping there was something to be done, but there’s not. There’s no fighting this.”

 

“That’s cheerful,” Earlene said morosely. “C’mon. Let’s get these two to Lothiriel, because today the most important thing is that Adar sleeps. We can keep talking out there, once I get myself contained. Thranduil and his beloved boobs,” she grumbled, now trying to wrestle the second uncooperative breast back where it belonged.

 

“Ooobs,” said Eleniel, through the three fingers she had stuffed into her mouth. Earlene shook with laughter but somehow suppressed it, as she opened the door. In a moment all children were with their saint-like nanny, and she was able to look at Sharley in sympathy. They had her drinking something, and it didn’t smell like hot cocoa. Unseen by any of them, Thranduil half-opened an eye, smiling, before sleep took him again.

 

Lorna had to choke back another laugh at ‘oobs’, because all three of those kids had a fixation with their mother’s boobs. She wondered if her own would develop such a thing, once they were old enough to speak. She could only thank whatever deity was listening that she didn’t wind up with Earlene’s issue; if her tits were that big, she’d fall over.

 

“How’re you feeling?” she asked Sharley. The woman looked a tiny bit better, though still wan and far from healthy.

 

“Better,” Sharley said, cradling the mug in her hands. “Elf medicine’s good shit. Normally I feel terrible a lot longer than this.”

 

“I wish your vitals had made any sense,” Ratiri said, bringing a freshly-soaked cold cloth. “Your temperature was through the ceiling, but your pulse was lower than I’ve ever felt from a living human.”

 

“Nothing about me makes any sense,” she said. “I accepted that ages ago.” She let Allanah clamber up onto her lap, where the girl eyed her blue hair with rapt curiosity.

 

“Boo,” Allanah pointed, smiling. “Who you wif boo?”

 

“That is Sharley, Allanah,” Earlene said, figuring translation might be necessary. “Sharley has blue hair. Can you say ‘blue hair’?”

 

“Boo ‘air,” the child tried.

 

“Blue hair,” Earlene repeated patiently.

 

“Boo ‘air.”

 

“Almost, sweetheart. Nana likes blue hair. Do you like blue hair?”

 

Giggles and more giggles.

 

“I think you do!”

 

“Want Fanadir boo ‘air!”

 

Earlene lost it, in a hopeless fit of snickering. “Valar help me,” she muttered, grinning up at Thanadir.

 

Sharley smiled, even as she sipped. “Blue was my daughter’s favorite color,” she said, giving Allanah a kiss on the forehead. “I don’t think I could have it any other, now. Not even this pretty red -- you’re gonna wanna buy stock in sunscreen, though. Trust me. Marty was fair like her, and even if I slathered her in it, she’d still burn a bit at first.”

 

“Murty,” Allanah said, turning the word over.

 

“Marty,” Sharley corrected. “You’re gonna be just as cute as her, aren’t you?”

 

“She knows she’s adorable,” Lorna said, sitting beside Sharley. The woman did feel quite warm still. “It’s why she gets away with trotting out only the worst’v the things she hears adults say.”

 

Allanah looked up at her and said, quite gravely, “Shtit.”

 

That drew an honest-to-God laugh from Sharley -- it was a rusty sound, hoarse as her voice, but there was genuine delight in it. “Oh, I remember that phase. They look at you with those big innocent eyes and _know_ you can’t stay angry at them.”

 

“I am not making my hair blue,” said Thanadir pointedly.

 

“I could not have guessed,” Earlene teased him. “Though, it would look very nice, with your eyes.”

 

The seneschal glared at her, and fortunately all of them were rescued by the arrival of breakfast.

 

Lorna managed to avoid laughing, but just barely. What she did not manage to do was avoid meddling in sorting out Sharley’s plate, which included making certain the poor woman ate at least two eggs.

 

“Protein,” she said sagely, and ignored Ratiri’s raised eyebrow. Yes, he was the doctor, but whatever. She could hover if she damn well wanted to. And she could have a second cup of tea, which was something she still didn’t take for granted. “I’m thinking’v doing my greys pink,” she added. “One’v the ladies at the tattoo parlor had pink hair, and Shane loved it. It ought to take decently over the grey, right?”

 

“As long as you didn’t mind it fading fast,” Sharley said. Fortunately, she hadn’t made any protest over the size of her breakfast, though she ate slowly. “And with hair that long, you’d need a lot of it.” Her own hair hung just past the middle of her back, and touching it up was a three-hour chore.

 

“It won’t match your sari,” Ratiri warned. “If it isn’t faded out by then, you know your sister will say...something.”

 

Lorna winced. Yes, yes she would. “She’ll shi-- crap a brick over it anyway,” she said, with a little too much relish. Yes, even after having been told the world was going to end in twenty years, thought of winding up Mairead still pleased her far more than it ought to. “Earlene, what’ve you got on for the day?”

 

“I’m not leaving these rooms, on account of Thranduil. Someone needs to be here when he wakes, and that someone is me. But I will be working on the...we discussed awhile ago that a document needs to be created not just for those in the Halls but everyone to help learn Sindarin. That just got a lot more important. Not to learn it like I had to learn it but...useful phrases and sentences, and the like. How to ask for beer or if you have a sister, that sort of thing. It should be in the pub along with a dictionary, it should be given out in all the village. More elves will be going to town more often, even if only for a drink. Best start all that now. And if an outsider finds it, well, they can make some silly excuse. We might have twenty years, but the sooner some realities become more embraced probably the better.”

 

“Here’s to hoping you don’t have to sit on him to keep him still,” Lorna said. “If an outsider finds it, we can just say there’s a lot’v Tolkien nuts here. I mean, plenty of humans do study the language, who know nothing about any elves still lingering on Earth.”

 

“If you have anything I can actually write with, I’ll write you down what else I’ve seen,” Sharley said. “It’s not just the plague -- there’s bits of other stuff, too, that might be useful, but if all you’ve got is a quill, then nevermind.”

 

“I’ve got some ballpoints and a spiral notebook,” Lorna said. “And I want you to keep drinking tea and resting.” The thought that Sharley would eventually leave them left her feeling entirely too overprotective. Besides, if she was going to go to Baile with the in the next couple of days, she needed to be rested, so that it wouldn’t tire her out too badly.

 

“I thought I was the doctor,” Ratiri said, even as he pushed some toast toward Sharley.

 

“Would you tell her anything I didn’t just?” Lorna asked, with the barest hint of a smile.

 

“Well...no. But still.”

 

Earlene thanked Ortherion for bringing their food and explained that if possible, she would like some fruit here that she could slice later. It went without saying that whenever Thranduil woke it would be nowhere near a mealtime. The affable ellon promised to care for this, even as he gazed over at his wife happily. Earlene had seen their obvious affection and basically thought it was the cutest thing ever. To her they were living beacons of hope that one could go on and on, and keep love kindled. With a sigh, she sat down and spooned up some porridge. Obviously the hallmark of today’s meal would be ‘informality’.

 

Allanah clambered back up onto the sofa, but made no move to get in anyone’s way. She just carefully grabbed a lock of Sharley’s hair and inspected it, mumbling, “Boo” to herself, every so often actually managing a proper “Blue”. Sharley didn’t bother smothering a smile. “It’s a good thing you got her,” she said to Earlene, “though what happened to her dad was...unfortunate.” Convenient, yes, but unfortunate nonetheless.

 

Earlene’s eyes narrowed at the nearly instantaneous realization. Those were not facts she should have been aware of unless... _Sharley did not only see the future. Sharley saw everything._ And she was fairly certain that this must be an unimaginable burden to carry. _Silence is golden._ Grousing about what this woman did or did not know was like complaining about what the Valar saw. They just _did_ , and so did Sharley. It seemed the course of prudence, not to blurt out this particular observation; the poor woman had enough problems. “Yes,” was her only reply, along with what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Changing the subject entirely, she wanted to tell Sharley…”I know you need rest, but my cottage has a regular television, and computers and...stuff. It is a nice place to rest and relax, if you think you would enjoy that. Though I can understand just needing to sleep, too. You are welcome to be wherever you feel you’d be the most comfortable. And if you like milk, we have a cow. Not everyone loves it, but I think it’s a food group.” _OK shut up, Earlene. That’s enough gushing._ _Shit, I’d rather bake cookies today._

 

“Real milk? Not the shi-- crap you find in stores? I haven’t had that in ages,” Sharley said, genuine pleasure in her odd eyes.

 

“If you think you’re walking out there under your own power, think again,” Ratiri said. “Earlene, we’ll need at least one Elf to help her get that far, if you can spare someone. As much as I’d like to keep you right here, Sharley, somehow I can already tell that won’t work.” She had a certain air of stubbornness about her that was very like Lorna’s, for all they were otherwise so different.

 

“You’re right,” she said, shaking her head, “it won’t. I can make it, though.”

 

“Um, no,” Lorna said, “no, you can’t, and if you try to make that walk, I swear I’ll hog-tie you and let an elf carry you like a giant pork roast.”

 

That just made Sharley burst out laughing all over again, which brought Allanah along for the ride. “Now there’s a mental image I’ll never get outta my head.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. “I was not suggesting that she even walk down the hall passageway, you lot. If you don’t remember, I spent the better part of two months having to be carried everywhere by Thanadir. If he could manage that when I was a land whale, I think he can do that for Sharley. You would not mind, meldir, would you?”

 

Thanadir glanced up from his porridge and…. _was that a_ scone _on his plate? It sure as hell was._.. to charmingly shake his head No.

 

“Well then. This all depends on what Sharley is in the mood to do. There is a private bedroom there too, if you get tired. With clean linens, because we haven’t slept there in forever,” she said with a twinge of annoyance. “And by the way, only Thanadir has managed to notice that there are scones, jam, and clotted cream on the table this morning. Just saying.”

 

Sharley looked somewhat alarmed, so Lorna said, “Don’t worry, the elves really are strong. I had to get hauled around like a cat in a sack myself. If you want to go, it’s no trouble.”

 

“I do,” Sharley said, even as she deftly nabbed a scone and some jam. “It’s beautiful in here, but I’d kinda like to see some open sky. I’m not used to being away from it for long.”

 

Lorna could sympathize there. It had about driven her spare, when she was up the yard. “We’ll look after you,” she said, grabbing a scone herself, though she opted for cream rather than jam. If Sharley was eventually to leave them, at least they could take care of her while she was here.

 

Ratiri took Earlene’s phone and pressed Sharley’s thumb on the screen, noting with relief that her fever had already gone down two degrees. With any luck, it would at least be closer to normal when they reached the cottage. “I can’t believe there’s an app for that,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.” He took the scone Lorna all but shoved at him, wiping jam-sticky fingers on his napkin. “Earlene, is this your recipe?”

 

“Well, I will confess to having brought one of my cookbooks here and discussing the concept, but these are better than any I’ve made. I think they already knew about the clotted cream, though, I can probably also be blamed on it having been sweetened...but compared to the hm hm hm in the stores, this is marvelous.”

 

“Hm hm hm, Nana!” Allanah piped, her voice becoming very shrill.

 

“Shhhhh, sweetheart, we need to be quiet today for Adar.”

 

An earsplitting shriek came out of the little girl, and Earlene did not think. She dropped her scone on the plate, and faster than you’d scoop up a sprinting piglet, Earlene had her hand over Allanah’s mouth and was running out the door into the hallway.

 

Set down, Allanah giggled at the frown on Earlene’s face. “Quiet means quiet, Allanah. That was noise. Adar is not feeling well.”

 

More giggles.

 

 _Aaaaaaand I am sooooo out of my depth right now,_ Earlene thought. _One of the top litigators in the United States is being beaten by an 18 month old. What happened to my life?? Oh yeah, I remember. The defense used to have a vocabulary larger than thirty words._

 

“We will go back inside when you can be quiet, Allanah. Or maybe you have too much energy? Do you want to dance with Nana?”

 

Earlene did a few jumping jacks, and Allanah giggled, and bounced in place, shrieking in happiness. _Parenting fail. Just, fail._

 

Fortunately, Thanadir emerged as well, smiling at them and scooping up Allanah. “Go inside, Earlene, and ask Lothiriel to bring the twins.”

 

The message was relayed, and Earlene tried not to look as annoyed as she felt. Her need to have everyone out of here was becoming palpable. _When in doubt, play the restroom card._ “I need the restroom, excuse me,” she murmured, slipping away.

 

 _Poor Earlene_ , Lorna thought. “Thanadir, could we take some’v these scones with us to the cottage? If we go soon, we can get everything set up before lunchtime.” Which she was going to let Ratiri handle, and just act as auxiliary, unless everyone was good with sandwiches.

 

Earlene could not justify a prolonged absence, though she took a truly excessive amount of time washing her hands before returning. She gave her level best to not look anything more than mildly sorrowful that they were all leaving. Then a thought occurred. “Not  knowing how late Thranduil might go on, hadn’t we better make a time for you to come back, so Thandir knows when to get you? Maybe at five, a little before dinner?” _God they needed a way to communicate without Thranduil. This was no different than having the computer server down at the office. But how? No idea._

 

Lorna, Ratiri, and Sharley all looked at each other. “Sounds good,” Lorna said. “Even if he’s still asleep, we can just eat dinner and go relax. Thank bloody God Sharley here’s built like an elf. She’s not hard to dress.”

 

“Not something I can usually say about human clothes,” Sharley said dryly. “You try finding women’s pants when you’re six feet tall.” She finished up her scone, and Lorna scooped up a few more, tying them in a clean napkin. She was less certain how to handle the jam, but Earlene probably had some at the cottage.

 

“Try finding them when you’re one hundred and fifty centimeters,” Lorna countered, rising. “Ratiri, we’ve got to get the twins’ shite together if we’re to make them at all happy.” Maerwen was an utter blessing in that department; she had the speed and organizational skills of a minor deity.

 

“We’ll get it done,” he said, rising as well. “Sharley, you stay here and rest until it’s time to go. Doctor’s orders.”

 

The look Sharley gave him was somewhat bemused, but she stayed put while he and Lorna took the twins and bustled out of the room. “Are they always like that?” she asked.

 

“Depends,” smiled Earlene. “In our own way, we’re quite the bunch. So different from each other, and kind of thrown together in a way that seems more than a bit random at times. You’ll see we’ve plenty of rough edges between us, but we are a family that chose each other. There is plenty of love to go around, even if now and again we have to be reminded of that...individually or collectively. Actually, if you wanted to see something, you should’ve been here the week before we all had our babies. Because _that_ wasn’t a bad comedy….But yes, they are both totally overprotective and when they get rolling, well….yeah. Like that.”

 

Sharley laughed. “I can imagine,” she said, though she didn’t actually need to. _Twins_ ...Marty had been bad enough on her own. “Overprotective isn’t so bad. It can be annoying, but it’s not so bad. The voices...look, I know I sound crazy. I _am_ crazy, kinda, just because the human brain wasn’t meant to handle what I do. But as nuts as it sounds, they’ve all got my best interests at heart. Even Kurt, the son of a bitch.”

 

 _“Gee, thanks,”_ he muttered.

 

Layla giggled. _“Well, it’s not like you can_ deny _it.”_

 

_“Oh, fuck off.”_

 

Shaking her head, Sharley added, “I’m afraid your husband’s weirded out by them, but I can’t exactly blame him. Poor dude’s run across so many new things in a little over a year.” He was not, she knew, going to take the revelation that she saw the past well. It was not something she ever told anyone, because it wasn’t like she did it on purpose, and the past was, well, the _past_. Whatever people had been then, it might or might not be who they were now, and they didn’t need to know what she’d seen. But like her, there were things Thranduil couldn’t help but see. How was he not as crazy as she was?

 

“He’ll manage, right after he returns to consciousness. He isn’t like the rest of us. Or even the rest of the elves, really. He is stronger than you know. And Sharley….I’m never going to understand your experience, exactly. But I had a mental illness at one time too, for many years before I came to Thranduil. I know what it’s like to have your, um, core processor turn on you. You do what you need to and survive somehow. I’m the last person that is going to think less of you for the cards you were dealt. In fact, I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. Not trying to blow smoke up your arse but...thought you should know.”

 

Sharley regarded her closely, and heard nothing but truth in her words. It drew another fleeting smile. “He offered to fix it for me,” she said. “I don’t think he _could_ , not since it’s tied to everything else, but that he offered...means a lot.” She was cursed to see everything; she could see what Thranduil had been, and what he had become, in so short a time. And she could see Earlene, who had so much less history -- what she’d endured, and how much pain she’d survived until she found him and was healed. “I can’t call it bravery, though. Not really. It’s not bravery when it’s the only thing you can do.”

 

“Not true,” said Earlene. “There is always another choice. You can do _nothing_ , sit there with your thumb up your arse. And some do. But you’re probably about as comfortable as I am with that sort of self-aggrandizing observation so...yeah. We can drop that one like a hot rock,” she grinned.

 

Lorna, Ratiri, and Maerwen chose that moment to arrive, bearing twins and assorted baby things. Thrown over Lorna’s shoulder were a tunic and leggings of very dark green. “You go on and get into something clean,” she said. “There’s knickers in there too, somewhere.”

 

Sharley eyed her, bemused, but took the clothes into the bathroom. Seeing that lovely tub, she took a moment to sluice off last night’s fever-sweat before dressing again. The tunic and leggings were very soft, some material she didn’t recognize, and kept her nice and warm even through the chills of her fever. A glance in the mirror told her they clashed terribly with her hair, a sight that made her laugh silently.

 

“All right, you,” Lorna said, eying her up and down. “You’ll do. We’ll get you settled in at the cottage and then you’ll stay there and _rest_ , you hear me?” There was a gleam in her eye that was somewhat disturbing; maternal, with an edge.

 

“I’m sure she did,” Ratiri said, rolling his eyes slightly. “Thanadir, if you wouldn’t mind?” While he knew it was Thanadir’s job to do as he was told, basically, not saying ‘please’ would just feel wrong.

 

The seneschal scooped Sharley carefully into his arms. She was quite tall, but very lean in her musculature compared to solidly built Earlene. This meant she was actually lighter, to carry. Her body felt...frail, to him, and he felt sorry for her. “Hold onto my neck or shoulders if it feels more comfortable to you,” he invited. “We will be walking for a little while.” Glancing around at the others, he saw no reason not to move along, after giving Earlene a nod of acknowledgement. Waving as her friends exited the room, she rose to find her laptop and paper. Like as not, it was going to be a long afternoon.

 

Sharley couldn’t actually remember that last time she’d been carried anywhere. _Dragged_ , sure, and she had a few vague, unpleasant memories of stretchers and syringes, but not just being carried. “Let me know if I get too heavy,” she said.

 

“You won’t,” Lorna assured her. “Elves’re a lot stronger than we are, even when they look like they shouldn’t be. Thanadir could probably carry you to Dublin, if he ever had reason to need to.”

 

“She’s not joking,” Ratiri added. “Earlene, relax and enjoy your tea. We’ll come back sometime around dinner, I think.”

 

“The irregular past tense a-stem verb list thanks you,” she said drily, shaking her head at the vagaries of her adopted language. _Because everyone will want to remember that Annog turns to Onenog. I’ll bet the future on it._ The godawful part was that the future kind of _would_ depend on that, and a bunch of other details. Like it or not, they all had to be able to communicate with each other, and the elves’ language had under ten thousand words versus the one hundred and seventy thousand word vocabulary of English. Sindarin, for all its quirks, had numbers on its side. _Dammit._ With a deep sigh, she began to think, and organize the outline for the jumbled mess in her mind.

 

“It’s quite welcome,” Ratiri said, and led the little group out. By now he could reliably find pretty much anything in this area that was actually still inhabited, and he -- they -- were going to have to explore far more before the end came. While there was no way they could have thirty thousand humans in here -- it just wouldn’t work -- in time he hoped they’d pick up more than just the seven hundred from Baile and Lasg’len.

 

Sharley stared up at the canopy as they walked. The Pacific Northwest was largely a land of conifers; deciduous forests did exist, but she’d rarely been among them, and even the oldest of the old growth wasn’t _this_ old. “You guys -- you Elves -- oughtta figure out a way to keep some kinda magic here, even after you’re gone,” she said. “It’d be hard to live in the Halls, without it. Even keeping them lit would be a nightmare -- I dunno how you do it, but I do know we couldn’t.”

 

Thanadir looked at her blankly because...they always just were. Something his King did, like the Gates, and doors and...he was not the elf to ask. “There has always been oil. And tallow. And beeswax. There are many ways to manage things that do not involve elves. Else humans would not have lived in the world.” He tried to say this in a voice he hoped was kind. There were many things the humans in this world no longer seemed to know. He suspected that of all of them, Earlene was the one most likely to have a store of forgotten knowledge. And Lorna also, to an extent. They might be firieth, but they had older spirits, in a manner of speaking.

 

It occurred to Sharley that Thanadir had never been in any caverns lit only by ordinary torches, and so didn’t know what she meant. “Thanadir, I’m not sure how to explain this, but there’s more going on in your caverns to light them than just firelight. Until you wind up in an ordinary cavern with nothing but torches, you’re not gonna be able to spot the difference, but trust me: when it’s just lamps and candles, the result’s a lot dimmer.”

 

“She’s right,” Lorna put in. “I’d been wondering about that myself, especially when Earlene and I went on our midnight raid’v the wine cellars. There’s always this handy glow down there that you’d need dozens’v ordinary torches to produce.”

 

“It is something that lives,” Thanadir explained. “Grows. On the stone. I do not have the words, how to say it. I can only tell you that it is delicate, and easily harmed. It is another reason why the King does not wish too many of your...modern world things...in his caverns. There is a fragile balance there we have cared for and promoted for centuries. You can ask him later.”

 

“Bioluminescent organisms?” Ratiri asked, delighted. “I’ve seen photos of bioluminescent caves, but none of them looked like the Halls. Whatever lives in there probably lives nowhere else, now.”

 

“We’ll definitely have to ask him,” Lorna said. “I don’t want to risk fucking _that_ up. At least, with the solar panels, we don’t need any kind’v fuel you’re not already using. No petrol, or anything like that.” It wouldn’t be safe in caverns anyway, given the fumes, and it wasn’t something she would have wanted to bring in unless there was no other choice. They had twenty years to stock up on solar panels, and Earlene at least seemed to have some idea how to organize it all -- her and Thanadir, since Thanadir had probably been doing that sort of thing since well before the dawn of human civilization. “Is it wrong, that I’m not scared just now?”

 

Sharley’s mismatched eyes found hers. “No,” she said. “You’re gonna learn, in time, that even when you know the future’ll be awful, you can still enjoy the present. Sometimes you can enjoy it all the more for knowing it won’t last. You kinda get...perspective.” She looked at Thanadir. “I know twenty years doesn’t seem like much time at all, to you,” she added, “so just do what I do: take it a day at a time. Focus on it. Time’ll seem to pass slower, that way.”

 

He tilted his head. “I am an elf,” he said quietly. “What is time? Time is all we have.” He did not understand this strange woman. That she meant well, he was certain. But she seemed to try to hold too many things in her mind. For thousands of years, he learned the value of what to consider. And what to ignore completely. He was not Eru, or a Vala. No one being could serve in all roles. Which is why he tried to care for what was given him very well, and disregard the rest. Even _he_ liked to look forward to bedtime.

 

The briefest hint of a smile crossed Sharley’s face. She ought to know better than to try to give him advice he wasn’t going to grasp, but Lorna wasn’t the only one with maternal instincts, and they were, bizarrely, focusing on this ancient Elf. What the hell was it about him? She saw him, saw his past -- saw that he was far more than the rather delicate guy he appeared to be, and yet some base, bone-deep instinct was telling her he needed cookies and milk. _Just...what?_

 

“Time, what is time?” Lorna hummed to herself. Great, now she had Blind Guardian in her head. They were almost at the cottage now, and she paused at the woodpile to gather some kindling, holding it slightly awkwardly under one arm. Ratiri opened the door, and Sharley looked around with great interest. She’d seen next to nothing of this place, and what glimpses she’d actually had hadn’t done it justice.

 

“Thanadir, if you would please put Sharley on the sofa,” Ratiri said. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

 

He did as he was asked, next taking the liberty of bringing two of the pillows from Earlene’s bed for her, so she could lie down in better comfort. He spread the blanket to cover her, also. “If you become cold, there are more blankets folded on Earlene’s bed. But soon the stove will make the room much warmer; I do not wish to smother you.” Turning to Lorna and Ratiri, he politely asked, “Can I do anything else for you? Otherwise I will return at five o’clock.”

 

“I think we’re good,” Lorna said. “Thank you, Thanadir.” In the interest of actually being a semi-open human being, she gave him a quick hug. “Make sure Thranduil doesn’t get in too much trouble.”

 

“That will not be difficult,” he said with an air of determination and a grin that seemed unusually devious, at least where Thanadir was concerned.

 

“I don’t even know what you’re going to do, and I’d still pay to see it,” she said. “Good luck.” With a last grin, she headed to the kitchen to make tea.

 

Sharley, from her position on the couch, watched them. How far they had all come, and in so short a time… Thranduil had been a manipulative, arrogant asshole; Lorna had been a tiny murder-ball with a hair-trigger temper that would slice someone’s face open for grabbing her friend’s tit; Thanadir and Ratiri had been walled-up inside of themselves, hiding behind a need for perfection; Earlene had been slowly dying in spirit, unable to break free from the horrors of her past, and look at them all now. Sharley knew well how few people were capable of truly changing, yet somehow all of them had, and they just kept evolving. None of them were who they had been last March.

 

She shivered, wrapping her blanket tighter around her. She’d only been under a day; she should not be this sick. But then, that had been a very _draining_ trip, moreso even than the others she’d taken into the plague-ridden future. What she had seen...there were no words, and she hoped there never would be. The main reason she had to leave again, at least for the next few years, was because Thranduil didn’t need her trips inflicted on him any more than they already had been. Mentally he was very strong, stronger than anyone else she’d ever met, but he had much to think about, and didn’t need her walks into the future distracting him.

 

And there was not, so far as Sharley had ever seen, any way for him to _not_ be a captive audience to the thoughts of whatever humans crossed his path. When it came to mortal minds, there was no off switch, and she thought that had to be more terrible than her own ability. At least her trips into the future were sporadic, and she always came back to the present eventually; it wasn’t a constant problem. Hopefully some solution would present itself, but she wasn’t holding her breath. Poor dude was stuck.

 

Lorna came bustling in with a cup of tea, a bowl of sugar, and a pot of cream. “You just fix that how you like it,” she said. “I know Americans’re usually more partial to coffee, but I’ll be honest with you: I don’t actually know how to make it.” It didn’t actually look hard, but she didn’t want to risk breaking Earlene’s machine.

 

Sharley smiled. “If it’s hot, I’ll drink it,” she said. Poor Lorna...she had no idea yet what she was to become, or how hard it would be for her to get there. If Thranduil played his cards right, it wouldn’t be _as_ bad, but it still wouldn’t be easy. The very temperament that would make her a good leader would make it difficult to believe she _could_ be one.

 

And Ratiri...oh, Ratiri. He needed help of a sort she didn’t know how to give, but Geezer would. There would come a time he would need to kill, would need to go against everything he ever stood for, and he wouldn’t be able to do it without a certain mental conditioning. Among all the humans, Geezer was the only one who could do that -- who could help most of them, in fact. The trick, as Sharley was pretty sure she knew from experience, was not in killing someone, but in living with yourself afterward.

 

She fixed her tea, cradling the mug in her hands. To her amusement and bemusement, Lorna and Ratiri came and sat on either side of her, each with their own mug. “All right, you,” Lorna said, “we’re looking after you until your fever’s gone, so you just curl up with that mug and don’t move unless you’ve got to wee. Have you ever seen Shaun the Sheep?”

 

“I can’t say that I have,” Sharley said -- which was possibly a mistake, considering she very shortly found herself confronted with a Youtube video of claymation sheep playing soccer with what looked like a head of cabbage. Marty would have loved it.

 

Lorna made certain Sharley stayed hydrated with tea, and forced a few sandwiches on her, but by now the recrimination, inescapable, had set in.

 

 _If not for you Thranduil and Thanadir wouldn’t have had legal identities when they did, and so could not have gone with Earlene to New York,_ she thought. _They wouldn’t have met Von Ratched._

 

 _No,_ she countered, _but Earlene still might have. She would’ve had to go to the city sooner or later anyway, because of Allanah._

 

 _Yeah,_ she _would have, but if the elves weren’t there, Von Arsewipe wouldn’t have seen them. If the trip hadn’t been set for the day it was, and partly thanks to_ you _, she wouldn’t have been at that party._

 

 _Oh, shut up._ She might have been there anyway, and if she had been, wearing all that bling, _she’d_ be the one Von Shitcicle had spotted. And she wouldn’t have had any elf protection if he had.

 

 _Timelines, Lorna_ , that nasty little voice said. _You were Earlene’s P.A. You took care of a lot of that shite for her._

 

_She could’ve done it just easily on her own, and probably faster than I did. It was a perfect storm of shit, but it’s not my fault._

 

_You keep telling yourself that._

 

 _I_ will _,_ she all but growled to herself.

 

 _Of course, if you’d stayed in the Halls that night, you wouldn’t’ve been home for Von Asswart to find. You wouldn’t have been there for him to mind rape, and just_ rape _rape. You were tired. You could have stayed. You_ should _have stayed._

 

Lorna squeezed her eyes shut. _Shut. UP._ Yeah, if she’d stayed, he wouldn’t have found her _that night_ , but she would have gone home eventually. _Just stop it. It is what it is, and there’s no turning back bloody time._

 

 _You go ahead and keep telling yourself_ that _, too._

 

Fuck it -- she stood, picked up her teacup, and went to the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards until she came up with a bottle of whiskey. Her second cup was more whiskey than tea. If that annoying voice wouldn’t shut up, she’d just drink it into oblivion. Before she went back to the lounge, she took three long pulls off the bottle. _Oh yeah, you little rectal wart? I can get drunk, and you can’t. So, neener._

 

_And here you call yourself an adult._

 

She sipped her tea, watching the sheep, and hid a slightly vicious smile behind her cup. _No, I don’t_ , she thought. _Others do, but I’m not there yet. I will get drunk and tell you to piss off back up whoever’s armpit you crawled out of, before I knuckle-fuck you up the arse with all my rings on._

 

There was a pause, and then a somewhat horrified, _Damn, woman, you are fucked-up._

 

Lorna sipped more tea. _And don’t you forget it, bitch. I’ve got way more experience than you at being a complete shit. Now shut the fuck up so I can watch these sheep._

 

Onscreen, the especially fat sheep went _baaaaah,_ and Chandra, in her playpen, echoed it disturbingly well. She looked so startled by it that Lorna burst out laughing, even as Shane got in on the act, rolling over and belting out “ _BAAAAAAH!_ ” at the top of his voice. Jesus, did this count as their first words? It was far too early for them to be anywhere near actual speech, so hopefully she could pass this off.

 

Beside her, Sharley was shaking with silent laughter, even as the twins looked at one another and let out an impressively synchronized “ **_BAAAAAAAAAH_ ** _!”_ at a volume far too high for such tiny creatures.

 

“Oh, good Jesus,” Lorna gasped, between giggles. Pulling out her mobile, she managed to capture several minutes of them _baaaa’_ ing at each other and everything else, trying desperately not to laugh the whole time. “This doesn’t count as their first words, right? Please, allanah, tell me it’s too early for this to be actual words.”

 

“It _is_ too early,” Ratiri assured her. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s not an attempt at speech.”

 

As if to prove him wrong, Shane glowered right at him, blew a raspberry, and yelled, _“Baaaaa!_ ” until his voice gave out.

 

“Jesus bloody Christ,” Lorna managed, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. If her children turned out to be creepy super-geniuses thanks to their da, she was going to be very annoyed. And amused.

 

“Oh, just wait,” Sharley said. “Just wait until they learn the word ‘no’.”

 

“Maybe they’ll say it like sheep,” Ratiri said, “though I hope not. I’ll never stop laughing if they do.”

 

********

Every twenty minutes or so, Earlene stood up and peeked in the bedroom door. Sometimes, she would just peek. Other times she would stand next to the bed, walking as quietly as she could. So quietly that she was not capable of hearing her own movements, for whatever that was worth. Thanadir, after the tenth time she did this, merely ignored her and rolled his eyes. And now it was almost four o’clock, and something like her sixteenth trip to stand there to watch him breathe, worry about him, and think about how much she loved him and how selfless she believed him to be.  Which is why a sharp intake of air accompanied his opening his eyes, without warning, to look at her. Her heart was pounding in her chest from being startled, but she couldn’t even goddamn be slightly cross with him. Not after how much she’d worried. Tenderly she bent down to kiss his cheek, unable to resist caressing his face. As much as she wanted to, she did not speak aloud. It was bad enough, that she could not stop thinking. He struggled to sit up, obviously still weak, and she pushed him back down.

 

_Please, Earlene. Even I must relieve myself, and I would rather it not be in our bed._

 

Her eyes widened, as she blushed. _I am sorry._ “Thanadir!!”

 

Thranduil groaned. _I was hoping to avoid that._

 

_Too bad._

 

The seneschal appeared quickly even for him, digesting the appearance of his King and frowning.

 

“He needs the lavatory, Thandir.”

 

With frightening efficiency the senechal knelt down, which seemed frankly bizarre to Earlene. But what she did not know is that... _was that an honest to god chamber pot??_...was kept under the bed. It was thrust into her hands even as Thanadir helped Thranduil to sit at the edge of the bed. With a second groan that Earlene could only surmise was humiliation, Thranduil saw his fate and there was nothing he could do about it.

 

“Remove the lid and hold it between his spread legs, Earlene. Or rather, the legs he is about to spread.” Thanadir glared at him.

 

Earlene would feel mortified for him, were it not for the months she was required to be carried for nearly every bodily function, expected to attend to her business while someone waited only feet away. Because _that_ had been fun, and likely would be fun again. “It is not your fault, Thranduil, and I do not mind,” she tried to reassure him.

Seeing no choice, he took his member in hand and directed it where it needed to be. And by the time the stream of his urine ceased, she wondered how he had not exploded. Since it was obvious what to do, she replaced the lid and carefully carried it off to be emptied and rinsed. At least, she hoped that that was what one did, given that she had never actually seen one of these outside of a museum. By the time she returned to replace it, he was already back in bed, propped up on more pillows.

 

“You need water, my King. A great deal of it.”

 

“Eru, I want wine,” he muttered.

 

“No,” came the chorus from the two of them, as Earlene moved to pour him a glass. Thanadir propped him up yet further, to ease his ability to drink. The first glass went down readily enough. The second was met with visible reluctance, and the third with open refusal.

 

“I am no longer thirsty,” he said, glaring at them.

 

“Yes you are,” bounced back in stereo.

 

“Last I checked, I was King?” he pointed out none too politely.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Will you two _stop_ that?”

 

Earlene and Thanadir looked at each other, grinning. “Nope.”

 

She sat next to him carefully, combing his hair back from his face with her fingers. “But I will do what I can to bring you milk, tea, cocoa or something with another flavor that does not include alcohol,” she offered, “if you will tell me what might be better.”

 

“I could have hot cocoa?” he asked, hopefully. “Here?”

 

“I brought a supply to the kitchen. You can even have it with cinnamon if you wish, for they have that now as well.”

 

Thanadir smiled, and excused himself. Even if Rílas was busy, he had helped Earlene make this enough times that he knew he could manage on his own.

 

“Is there anything I can do for you to which I will actually agree?” she asked, not being a lawyer for nothing.

 

Even he had to laugh weakly at that. “Yes,” he acknowledged in defeat. “Let me hold you.” Moving closer, she embraced him. “There is one other thing I would enjoy drinking,” he hinted. “But I was not going to ask in front of Thanadir.”

 

It took her the better part of half a minute to work out what on Earth he was talking about. She pulled away from him.“You really are incorrigible. You know that, don’t you?”

 

He smiled and shrugged, and a boyish sort of innocence that she had rarely seen played over his features.

 

“Well, it is not as if I have ever been able to resist you. But by all there is, please warn me before Thanadir returns.” With a deft tug of her hand on her bodice, she offered him her breast. For several minutes he indulged himself, before releasing her. The odd part was, though she could not see how it could be true, he looked better, somehow.  Quickly, she restored her clothing to proper order, and not many seconds later Thanadir returned.

 

“You look better already,” he murmured, pouring the warm beverage. He’d even talked the kitchen ellith out of some whipped cream, which he added generously to the top. “I did not make it too sweet,”  he said proudly. “I must go back to carry Sharley now. When I return you will tell me if you can take any food. And then you will sleep again,” he declared.

 

When he left the room, Thranduil stared at his retreating form. “My seneschal has become most assertive,” he frowned.

 

“Good,” Earlene said. “It saves me the trouble of sitting on you. Or tying you up.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened when he realized that it was not an idle jest. It seemed prudent, just now, to drink his cocoa.

 

*****

 

The three of them had watched Shaun the Sheep until Sharley feel asleep, whereupon Ratiri carried her into Earlene’s room. Lorna got her boots off before tucking her in, making sure she had plenty of blankets.

 

“Her fever’s gone down,” Ratiri said softly. “I imagine she’ll be well by day after tomorrow.”

 

“And then she’ll go Christ knows where,” Lorna sighed, making sure the pillows were nice and fluffed. “How often does the poor woman have a real bed?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ratiri said, as they headed back out into the lounge, “but she can enjoy one while she’s here, at least.”

 

They made more tea, and Lorna downloaded all the Shaun the Sheep episodes off YouTube, for posterity. There was a hell of a lot she wanted to download, so she did just that, collecting all the movies she could think of and trusting Orla’s wifi to keep her from getting caught.

 

Chandra and Shane had baaaa’d themselves to sleep, and she let them snooze, figuring they’d wake when they were hungry. No matter what was to come in the outside world, this place was this place, and they’d do their damnedest to make sure it _stayed_ this place even when it all went to hell.

 

“We need the wedding shite,” she said, “and we need our holiday. I won’t let this wreck what time we’ve got left,” she said, leaning against Ratiri. She wondered if she should try to find the rest of her siblings. What would happen if Pat and Thranduil met? It would either be hilarious or terrifying.

 

“Neither will I,” Ratiri said. “Once we’ve had our holiday, I’ll see which Elf will be willing to go with me to Scotland, and then you can practice walking about three million pounds’ worth of gold jewelry.”

 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she said, pressing her face against his shoulder. “The thought’s terrifying.”

 

Thanadir arrived precisely on time to convey Sharley back. The impressive bit was that he actually managed to pick her up without waking her, though morbid curiosity existed as to how long that could possibly last. Having learned that dinner was once again soup, salad and bread, (albeit a different soup, salad and bread than yesterday) Thanadir elected to bring Sharley to the King’s rooms. Probably she too should eat, then return to sleep.

 

Sharley did eventually wake, groggy and disoriented, but she had already memorized what each of them smelled like: this was Thanadir. She was safe. “Christ, how long have I been asleep?” she asked.

 

“About five hours,” Ratiri replied. “You needed it, so we thought it best to let you.”

 

“I had dreams about clay sheep,” she said, and yawned. “And bees. And then your children.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Thanadir, once we’ve got there, I have to show you something,” she said. “I’m glad I managed to catch it on video. Apparently my kids’re going to turn out to be damned good mimics.”

 

Thanadir smiled, and privately wondered how likely this video was to be seemly. Then he recalled that both children were too young to speak words, so there was some reassurance in that. “I shall look forward to it,” he said aloud before adding, “it is almost dinner-time. Thranduil woke. He is yet very weak. You may see him, but please do not fuss. Already he has consumed a vast amount of liquids about which he was not happy, as none of it was allowed to be alcoholic. Which is all to say, he is grumpy. I hope I may ask your cooperation, in this.” He ignored the fact that Lorna and Ratiri were giving each other meaningful glances in his peripheral vision.

 

“We won’t fuss,” Lorna said, and was entirely sure she meant it. With Thanadir and Earlene looking after him, he had enough fussing going on. “He’s really okay? Aside from cranky, I mean?”

 

Sharley sighed. He wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for her -- she just had to remind herself that if he hadn’t been dragged along for the ride, they wouldn’t know what they did now. Ratiri would never have seen just what sort of virus they’d be dealing with.

 

“Yes. He is very strong. By morning I expect no one will notice that anything had ever been the matter.”

 

“I didn’t think anything could strain him so much,” Ratiri said quietly. “He’s literally superhuman, and irrational though it is, he’s always seemed invulnerable.”

 

Lorna knew what he meant. It was easy to forget that the elves were, no matter what they said, still mortal in a certain way. They would live forever if nothing violent happened to them, never aging, but they could still be killed by outside influences. Could over-use of Thranduil’s gift actually kill him? God, there was a thought she didn’t even want to consider. Probably not, but she’d rather he not be in a position to potentially find out otherwise the hard way. It was going to be very, very hard for her to not fuss, but she’d just transfer that to Sharley if she needed to. _Sharley_ was very mortal, and her gift, if one could call it a gift, took a dreadful toll on her.

 

When they reached Earlene and Thranduil’s rooms, Lorna marched right on into the bedroom, fully intent to smother Thranduil if he tried to get up (it was smothering, not fussing. Loopholes, they were a great thing.) He did not, however, look like he was going to immediately spring up and make a run for the border, so she settled for jumping up to sit on the edge of the bed -- and she did have to jump, too; Jesus, this bed was so much higher off the ground than her own. “I don’t know if my children are precocious, or insane,” she said, fishing out her mobile. “You decide.” Tapping ‘play’, she let the sounds of her baaaa’ing children fill the room.

 

A genuine smile spread over his tired features as he chuckled, to see what had happened. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “This easily passes as one of the nicest things that has happened today.” He carefully handed her back the phone. “You do not need to worry, you know. I cannot kill myself by using what gifts I have. But you can see why I will do just about anything to not exercise that particular ability. There are some things I am not truly meant to do, and that is one of them.”

 

“How d’you know you can’t?” she asked. “Christ, I don’t know that I want the answer to that, nevermind. Let’s try not to test it in the future, unless there’s absolutely no choice. I don’t like having to worry about you -- and I _will_ worry, no matter what Thanadir says. He’s just lucky I’m not fussing.” Her tone suggested that fussing might still be an option, if it became necessary.

 

“This,” he said with a weak smile, “I can actually explain. Now, what I am going to say does not include falling in water, or having someone else interfere. Can you kill yourself by holding your breath? Because that is a great deal of what this feels like, what I did for Ratiri. The struggle not to take a breath when you feel you must.”

 

That was a very vast relief. “Then I’m glad you’ve got big metaphorical lungs,” she said. “I just hope you won’t have to do that again. I think you scared everyone -- maybe even Thanadir, if that’s actually possible. Though when we told him to take care’v you, he gave us the most _evil_ little smile. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

 

“That is not a surprise. I might as well toss my crown on his head; he is having entirely too much fun with my present circumstances. And of course my wife is in full collusion. Oh well. At least I got hot cocoa.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Hot cocoa makes many things better, and Thanadir says you’ll be right as rain tomorrow, so you can just make up for all the wine you couldn’t drink today.” Bright sides. They were always to be found. “Sharley’s doing better now. I think she’ll be close to right by tomorrow, too. I think she liked Shaun the Sheep, before she fell asleep, though I don’t know how in God’s bloody name the twins didn’t wake her. Ratiri insists they’re too young for that to be their first word, and I’m choosing to believe him, just...because.”

 

Thanadir chose that moment to enter the room, checking on Thranduil. He walked to the bedside, bearing a certain resemblance to a disgruntled hen. “Do you feel you will want food? Tonight is soup again, with bread and salad.”

 

“I think a small bowl of soup, please,” he answered. “And thank you, Thanadir, for all you have done for me. Just because I am disagreeable, it does not mean that I am not grateful.”

 

A warm smile spread over the seneschal’s face in spite of himself, and he nodded, leaving to see to the meal.

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek, and somehow managed not to laugh. “I knew you’d be an awful patient,” she said. “I know that sort. I _am_ that sort.” She didn’t get a chance to say more, however; one of the twins must have woken, for a very strident, “ _baaaaaaah!_ ” filtered through from the other room. Now she _did_ laugh, utterly helpless, and didn’t even bother trying to suppress it. “Oh good Jesus, what’ve I done?” And yet some part of her was oddly proud of just how precise an impersonation it was.

 

“Well, we all know it can be far worse than Sean the Sheep,” he teased. “And there are worse animal noises to imitate. Trust me.” A fond memory long forgotten arose of Legolas’ “animal” phase. It seemed charming now, buffered by the passing of thousands of years, but was a complete nightmare at the time. “I should rest a little more, Lorna. Sadly even a little talking is hard for me. Never let it be said that I am completely uncooperative,” he smiled.

 

“Not _completely_ ,” she said, failing to hide a grin. Even to her own surprise, she leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Sleep. Well, eat, then sleep.” Somehow she managed to hop off the bed without landing on her face -- seriously, just how high _was_ that thing? She was tempted to get a tape measure, just to satisfy her own curiosity. For now, however, she had to go satisfy the hunger of a child who thought it was a sheep. What the hell even was her life anymore.

 

“I don’t know either, but I like it,” she heard faintly as she closed the door behind her.

 

Lorna took her baaaa’ing daughter, and distracted her with dinner -- or rather, made certain there was a tit available and let Chandra do the rest herself. Perhaps the world was going to end, but it hadn’t done it yet.

 

 

 


	66. Sixty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 30-31, 2017

Earlene held onto Thanadir’s arm tightly, made more comfortable by the fact that this was their first ride in the admirably luxurious new van... _ that was supposed to be taking us on vacations, not town meetings from a Rod Serling episode,  _ she grumbled in her own mind.  _ While it is always possible to be wrong _ , she mused as her hand traced for the third time over the smooth dark vinyl of her armrest,  _ there is an excellent chance of this being one of the most surreal evenings of my adult life _ . And when your list included losing your virginity to an elf king, she mused, that was a hard list to surpass. A huge sigh escaped.  _ Oh well, at least I’m not Lorna. I do not envy her this one _ .

 

They were exactly 2 kilometers from the Baile exit, and in less time than it took to recite a reverent rendition of  _ A Elbereth Gilthoniel _ , they’d be at Big Jamie’s. Thanadir, for his part, was relaxed and happy, looking forward to fish and chips  _ and _ the French dip. “Thanadir, what are you thinking about?” Earlene leaned over and whispered to him.

 

His eyebrows arched. “Food, what else?”

 

With a noise of exasperation, Earlene turned and looked out the window at the greying sky.

 

Lorna was not looking forward to this. Not at all. At least she had Mairead and Big Jamie to back her up when it came to the whole ‘oh by the ways, elves are real and you’re looking at two of them’ conversation. As for the rest...Jesus.

 

“Get ’em good and drunk first,” Geezer said sagely. “Just not  _ too  _ drunk.”

 

“Not a great idea,” Sharley said. “Get them drunk  _ afterward _ .” She was entirely recovered now, though Ratiri thought she still looked a touch too pale. She’d laundered and put on her human clothes again, which was just as well; she looked unsettling enough even without Elf garments.

 

Someone was getting drunk sooner or later, and Lorna had a feeling it was going to be her, once they’d got home -- and that she probably wouldn’t be alone in it. She was trusting Sharley, though, to hammer the point home. Yeah, the poor woman came across as rather touched in the head, but there was also something compelling there, something that made her difficult to disbelieve, no matter how outlandish her words.

 

“Breathe, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, though in truth, his own pulse was fluttering in his gut. Indira was the one he was going to have to convince, and that would be hell even on its own. She was as hard-headed a skeptic as ever existed.

 

“So, I called Mairead,” Lorna said, as she pulled off at the exit. “She’ll have everyone that matters gathered at the pub, and everyone else who just happens to be lurking about. Christ did I have a hell’v a time even getting the whole ‘witness protection scheme’ idea down everyone’s throats.”

 

“And now we get to tell them that was a semi-colossal fib, but who can blame us?” Earlene opined. “Just out of curiousity, have you a game plan for this or is it the ‘make stuff up along the way’ version? I can honestly say I’ve never been to a town hall meeting.”

 

“It’s not like they would’ve believed us, and that’s my only real defense,” Lorna said. “The closest I’ve got to a game plan is let them in on the elves, and then, once they’ve wrapped their heads around  _ that _ , drop the ‘end of the world as we know it’ bomb.”

 

“I would call that ‘tactically sound’,” Earlene said. “I’d laugh, except none of this is funny,” she sighed. “Who’s likely to be resistant, if anyone? That man who married us won’t be there, will he? He was a right piece of work.”

 

Lorna snorted. “Donal? No. He doesn’t understand that he’s the village joke, but he is. Molly, she runs the Market, she might be a problem, and I  _ know  _ Anne will be -- she’s in halvesies on the beauty parlor with Mairead.”

 

“Indira,” Ratiri said. “She’ll be the biggest hurdle. Trust me.”

 

“Just be glad Siobhan won’t be there,” Lorna said, and smiled in spite of herself. “She’s Molly’s sister, but the baker’s not considered essential to the village, and I sort’v gently told Mairead to keep her away with a pitchfork if necessary. I didn’t even have to explain why.” There were no flies on Mairead; telepath plus Siobhan equaled ‘oh God, no’.

 

They took the back roads more slowly than was Lorna’s wont, mainly because she wasn’t in any hurry to get there for once. Oh, how she wished one of the elves was capable of driving, because it would mean she could get drunk here, rather than having to wait until they got back to the Halls.

 

“Don’t worry about Siobhan,” Sharley said, and that was  _ all  _ she said, but something in her tone made Lorna wonder what the hell she’d seen of Baile’s resident blonde pervert in the future. “She might not be essential now, but she will be in the future. She’s the only human baker between the two villages.”

 

“What’s Baile like?” Mick asked. He’d never actually been to Lorna’s home village, though he’d heard a few stories.

 

“Lasg’len, with more profanity and better pub food,” Lorna said. “I think living next to the forest mellowed Lasg’len over the centuries, because they’re a lot...calmer...than Baile.” She paused. “So Thranduil, if they demand a party trick, for the love’v God don’t do the blindness thing. If Mairead and Big Jamie have their way, you won’t need to, but just in case…” And she couldn’t even stab her hand this time.

 

Thranduil desperately wanted to reply with something snarky, but unfortunately he was very much required to behave in a...if not a formal capacity, he needed to at least represent the dignity of his station. “I will, Lorna. Or rather, I won’t.” His friend was already becoming nervous enough. Though secretly, he was not unhappy to know she couldn’t get drunk, here. The more he stepped away from wanting alcohol, the better he felt about many things.

 

“And no telling John about the pub food, you lot,” joked Earlene. “We have to look after our own and John’s already had enough go on for one year. Probably one lifetime, actually…”

 

“Christ, what’ll those two do when they’re sharing the Halls?” Lorna muttered, and did not want the answer. Not at all. Her palms were sweating by the time she found a parking space -- in an alley, because the van was too big to park on the street. The summer evening was warm, and when she hopped out of the car, she could smell the pub food even across the street.

 

“Kid, you need to eat about five pub sandwiches,” Geezer said to Sharley. “You look like a strong wind’d blow you away.”

 

“I’m heavier than I look,” she said, giving him a look of very faint amusement. The woman was so reserved she could be almost as hard to read as an elf, but Lorna thought she half had her measure by now.

 

The bright golden light of the pub spilled out the windows and onto the street, and Lorna drew a deep breath as she led them across it. She couldn’t afford to be sick right now; that would have to wait until later. Then she’d have some poitín, just to settle everything.

 

Ratiri wrapped his arm around her shoulders, saying nothing but pulling her close. It was precisely what she needed in that moment.

 

The pub was crowded, but not unduly so; all those she’d wanted were there, as well as assorted hangers-on. Mairead and Big Jamie both had their families; Doc Barry and her husband, as well as Nuala, the nurse, Molly and her husband, Anne and both her sisters, and...oh, shit. Siobhan.

 

Lorna glared daggers at Mairead, who shrugged and pointed at Molly. Fucking brilliant.  _ Sorry _ , she said.  _ I’ll fix you a make-up drink once we’ve got back. _

 

Earlene dove to the bar and secured Thanadir’s food and a salad. She too was filled with nerves and figured he would begrudge her a bite of each of his dishes, because that felt about like all she could consider.

 

“I could do with a pint, Jamie,” Lorna said, leaning against the bar. Unsurprisingly, he was pale, and looked far more worn than she’d ever seen him. She’d told him and Mairead the bare minimum, figuring they’d hear the rest once she dumped it on everyone else

 

Geezer and Mick each ordered one for themselves, taking in the pub. It was as old as Lasg’len’s, but it had seen a few more improvements over the years, mainly because Baile had enough of a larger population for Big Jamie to afford it. Geezer wondered if, when the time came, the whole thing could be dismantled and moved. Weirder things had been tried and succeeded.

 

Jamie poured their pints on auto-pilot, his eyes straying to Sharley, who stood back, eying the crowd. Many of them were already familiar to her, thanks to her various walks into the future, and it was somewhat odd, seeing them all so young.

 

Lorna took a long pull off her pint, and wiped off the foam mustache. She had no idea how to say this tactfully, so she just...said it. “All right, you lot, that one’s got some bad news, but before she spills it, I work for elves. Like, Tolkien elves. Thranduil, Thanadir, do your thing, and do it quick, before some eejit opens their mouth and stuffs their foot in it.”

 

Thanadir stood frozen, carrying his fish and chips back to his table, while only the last ten thousand years of leadership skills allowed him to keep his features neutral. He would most definitely need to discuss Lorna’s introductory techniques with her, but now was not the time. Earlene smoothly countered at least part of that difficulty by nudging Thanadir to hand over his food. With the barest grin that asked her to leave some for him, he went to stand at the side of his King. He too had more than enough practice. 

 

Much to Earlene’s surprise, it was not her husband that spoke but Thanadir. In well modulated yet strong tones, he took a step forward. “Many of you have met me as Cian, but that is not my given name; I am called Thanadir. You will not find what we say easy to believe, but it is yet the truth. With me is one you know as Fionn; his proper name is Thranduil, King of the Realm of the Woods of Lasg’len. I am his seneschal. We are elves, and have lived in this world for more than ten thousand of your years. You are being told this because it is necessary for you to learn of something far more important, but we can make no progress on that matter until you are able to believe us. Some of you here already know us for what we are, and I believe it is time for you to step forward, so that your fellow citizens may understand sooner.” He gazed at Jamie and Mairead, though he did not call their names. As Earlene listened, she analyzed what he was attempting. It was matter-of-fact to the point of absurdity, and yet there was no correct means to do anything, here. Earlene herself moved forward and stood near Thanadir, generally thankful she had set down the sandwiches. To Ratiri, she raised her eyebrow.

 

“The first person who calls bollocks’ll get such a slap,” Mairead warned, rising. “I’m serious, you lot. I thought it was a load’v shite when I met them, but it’s not. We got sent to France because they’d run into some other gobshite who’d spotted the elves at a party and had come hunting for them.”

 

“Lorna didn’t want him getting us,” Big Jamie added, rising as well, “so we met with them, and they had to convince us what they were before we’d go anywhere.”

 

Silence followed this -- for about thirty seconds. Then half of them started talking at cross-purposes, and yes, Molly did try to call bullshit, only for Mairead to make good on her threat and belt her upside the head. It might well have destabilised further, had Lorna not hopped up onto the bar. 

 

“ _ Oi!  _ Shut it, all’v you. Thranduil, Thanadir, if you’d be kind enough to show them your ears, or...something. Stab someone.”

 

“ _ Stab  _ someone?” Doc Barry demanded, her eyes narrowing. They were the same grey as her cousin’s, though just now they were rather icy. The two empty pint glasses next to her probably weren’t helping.

 

“He can heal things, Indira,” Ratiri said. “I’ve seen him do it. I’ve  _ felt  _ him do it -- I got shot in the leg, femoral artery. I should have bled to death, but I didn’t.”

 

“You  _ what _ ? Ratiri bloody Duncan, what’ve you been up to?” The doc looked ready to struggle forward and smack him senseless, but Lorna threw a napkin holder at her. She barely fended it off, and sent it flying onto the floor with a dull thud.

 

“ _ Shut. It, _ ” Lorna said, totally ignoring Doc Barry’s highly offended expression. “All’v you. I bloody well mean it. Now, if one’v you two would give them some evidence, I’d be much obliged.”

 

Geezer, lurking in the background, was shaking with suppressed, silent laughter. Oh, he was glad he’d come to Ireland. So very, very glad.

 

At the next moment, every human and elf in the room heard, but only in their minds:  _ We cannot hope to speak with each other if you will not stop this noise and arguing. _

 

Thanadir and Earlene glanced at each other and barely suppressed smiles lingered at the corners of their mouths. She could not see her husband behind her, but she could feel him, somehow. It was a suitably unique solution, but whether it would work, that was another story.

 

It got through to a good half of them, at least, and Lorna didn’t need the ability to read minds herself to know that they were thinking something along the lines of,  _ What in the shit?  _ Their arguments faltered, which in turn faltered the rest, leaving them all terribly confused.

 

“Telepathy,” Lorna said. “Which, yeah, he can read your minds, by the way.”

 

At the back of the room, Siobhan burst out laughing, so hard and so long she had to rest her head on the table. “Oh dear bloody God,” she managed. “No wonder he looked so disturbed. Sorry, mate, but you’re pretty and I’m not dead.”

 

Lorna groaned, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Thanks for that, Siobhan. You wrecked chocolate syrup for me, you bint. I made the mistake’v asking.”

 

That only made Siobhan laugh even harder, tears streaming from her eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re a prude.”

 

“I’m not a prude, I just don’t like yeast infections,” Lorna shot back. “How many loave’s’v bread’ve you baked in  _ your  _ snatch?”

 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Mairead said. “Yes, he can read your minds. He hasn’t got a choice, really, and I don’t know how he’s managed to stand knowing my sister for a year. Don’t ask how it works.”

 

“But...how  _ does  _ it work?” Shannon asked, fascinated. She was rather like a not-so-miniature of her mother: tall, carrot-haired and freckle-faced, with Mairead’s deep blue eyes. “I mean... _ what _ ?”

 

“It’s magic,” Lorna said. “I know, as an answer it seems like shite, but it’s the only one there is half the time, so you get used to it.”  _ Not sure how much else you want said, Thranduil, so I’ll let you do it. _

 

The King stepped forward, not looking anything other than...kingly. Regal, was perhaps the better word. Not arrogant, but with a clear air of having no intention to speak until he was shown respect and they all quieted. Which, surprisingly they did in a hurry, as his eyes fell on each of them in turn that were still yammering on about something or other. 

 

“Still there are some of you who will not believe, so, let us make this as simple as possible. Raise your hand. I will tell you what you are thinking. Which is why I advise you to ensure it is a thought you wish spoken aloud. Assuming, that is, that you can accept the notion that no human is capable of this. Who shall it be?” he asked pleasantly.

 

The lot of them glanced at one another, until finally Doc Barry raised her hand. 

 

Thranduil smiled at her. “You are remembering a time you visited Ratiri as a child. You and he began a fire in the woods and blamed in on another child you disliked. And he was sent...I do not know what a reform school is, but it does not sound pleasant. You were rather mischievous, were you not?” he teased.

 

The doc stared at him, color draining from her face, while Ratiri groaned. “Jesus, Indira, you had to pick  _ that _ ?” he asked, even while Lorna said, “Why have I never heard this story?”

 

Indira said nothing, too stunned to summon actual speech at first, so Siobhan waved her hand. “Ooh, pick me!”

 

“Oh, good Jesus,” Lorna muttered.

 

Thranduil lifted his head, regarding his nemesis, and sighing. “A song. It speaks of fighting. And is not very happy. You are thinking it is called the Foggy Dew.” _ And I deeply appreciate that that is all you are thinking _ , he could not resist adding. Valar knew, he had put up with rather a lot already, though he recognized she could not have known. Though, he did smile in a way that indicated, ‘no hard feelings’ while still making it clear he was not open to advances.

 

_ Still not sorry _ , she said, taking to telepathic conversation disturbingly easily.  _ I’ll try to think about other things, but if you didn’t want people staring, you should wear a sack over your head.  _ “All right, I believe you. I don’t understand  _ how _ , but I bloody believe you.”

 

“Like I said,” Lorna said, and nearly sagged with relief, “it’s magic. I know it’s a shite non-answer, except it  _ is  _ an answer, and it’s the only one any’v us are likely to get.”

 

“Why -- why are you  _ here _ ?” Indira asked. She still looked rather grey, staring at Thranduil with deep worry in her eyes. “You wouldn’t just turn up and drop this on us for no reason.”

 

Lorna looked at Thranduil, and at Sharley, and wondered just how the hell they were to begin this.  _ Should we wait on that?  _ she asked.  _ Let them at least get another drink in first? _

 

_ No, _ she heard.  _ This is too serious of a matter to be considered through a haze of alcohol. Any who wish, can do that after this discussion is well under way. There are times when giving a matter its proper due means having to face it as well as its inherent discomfort.  _

 

Lorna sighed.  _ Bloody wonderful. _ “You lot, this is Sharley,” she said, pointing. “She turned up day before yesterday with some nasty news.”

 

The entire group looked at her, taking measure, and Lorna tried not to wince. Sharley certainly was an odd figure, with her blue hair and her worn army jacket, her mismatched eyes searching them all.

 

Thranduil spoke. “Sharley does not create a very credible figure, perhaps some of you are thinking. But you should be aware that of everyone in this room, I am the only one who cannot be deceived by another, and I believe her fully. Do not let her appearance distract you. At considerable personal risk, she traveled here to bring us news. There is no pleasant way to say this, because it is a thing no feeling person can accept easily. Twenty years in the future, a sickness will be released. Not a natural one, but one devised. One which will kill most of those who live on your earth. Life in this world as you know it will cease to exist, in a matter of a few weeks. Sharley came to us in warning, because among the gifts granted to me is to heal illness and injury. My people and I live in what you would likely call a ‘hidden underground fortress of great size’. It is my offer to those who live here in Baile, and those who live here in Lasg’len and who are of the willingness to shelter with us, I will protect you. Keep you alive, while all others fall. But this is no small undertaking, and cannot be done by the elves alone. We have come to you to begin the long planning that will allow for your survival.” Each word was measured, each phrase chosen for emphasis. There was no humor whatsoever in his eyes, how could there be?

 

_ That’s as elegant of a way to explain the end of bloody civilization as anyone could manage,   _ Earlene thought. 

 

_ Thank you, meluieg, your support is appreciated. _

 

This time there was some humor in his tone. She did not answer him, but the corner of her mouth twitched ever so briefly. It was not a time to be seen smiling.

 

“Are you -- are you bloody serious?” Molly asked, her voice uncertain, and it wasn’t Thranduil she looked at, or Sharley, but Lorna. “Lorna, is this for real?”

 

“It is,” Lorna sighed, sitting down on the bar. “Sharley there, she’s got this thing where her mind sort’v...walks into the future, and leaves her body to just go  _ thud _ wherever she is. Thranduil, he got stuck following her, and he brought Ratiri in, too, to see what we’d be dealing with.”

 

“It was Dublin,” Ratiri said, and barely fought a shudder. “In the middle of the plague...it’s a virus that shouldn’t be possible. A Frankenstein’s monster, if you will, and it ties back to the reason Mairead and Jamie had to go to France.”

 

“The twat we found in New York -- or that found us -- is the one that’s done this,” Lorna added. “He had a lot’v money and influence, and one’v his companies dealt with medicinal shite. He knocked up this virus and gave orders that if he was ever presumed dead, in twenty years somebody was meant to open a box. Nobody but him’d know what was in it.”

 

“Well, shit, twenty years -- can it be stopped?” Kevin demanded. He’d stuck near Mairead, though for her comfort or his, Lorna wasn’t sure.

 

Sharley shook her head, and finally spoke. “I doubt it,” she said. “I’ve never been able to avert what I see. I’ll look for a way, but the future...from everything I’ve ever seen, the future’s often set.”

 

Indira watched her closely, though she herself was still ashen-faced. “How can you know?” she asked. “How can you know that what you see is real? I don’t mean to offend you, but many people think they see the future, when in fact there’s something imbalanced within their own brain chemistry.”

 

“Because I’ve seen things like this all my life,” Sharley said. “And what I see has always come true. Every single time. I’ve never been able to stop it, either, no matter how I’ve tried. And...Thranduil’s seen how it works. If you don’t trust me, trust him.”

 

“How did you do it?” Orla asked. “How does it work?”

 

“It does itself,” Sharley said, with a slight shrug. “I can’t make it stop.” It was odd, because even though she was obviously human, there was something about her that seemed...other, something that made those of Baile unconsciously draw away.

 

_ We shrink from those who have had too close a contact with God or the devil _ , Lorna thought, though she couldn’t remember where she’d heard the saying. Poor Sharley. Was her life always like this?

 

“I did try to warn you,” Thranduil said. “Please return your attention to me. There is one last matter that must be spoken, and then I will step aside in favor of others.” He waited until the room was still and quiet once again. “I am a King of elves. Not humans. Though I invite you to live and shelter in my Realm, it does not mean that I intend to rule you. You can already ask Lorna and Ratiri, that dwell much of the time in our midst. They are my guests, not my subjects. There is one human in this room who lives as my subject; it is my wife, Earlene. You may ask her whatever you wish. I understand you will have many concerns. So do we. Aside from informing you, we have one other purpose here, tonight. I am forming a council. It is to have four representatives of my Realm, four from Baile, four from Lasg’len, and four from among those not born to a local community. This council of sixteen individuals will be the ones tasked with planning for the future. Everything from agreeing on a system of governance and codes of conduct to who is to help secure horses and livestock, supplies, and what future roles we all are to have. This is a great undertaking, and I require that your community choose these four from among yourselves. Though I hope you will appreciate that I am now stating a strong expectation that Lorna will be one of the four chosen from Baile. Ratiri will be one of the four to represent those born outside your communities. I would also like to point out that we have two here tonight from Lasg’len: Mick and Geezer, would you give a wave?” he asked, gesturing to them. “Thank you, for listening. Lorna?” With that, he returned the discussion to the humans.

 

Lorna was quite surprised at the utter silence that greeted that -- but then, perhaps it was not so surprising. They’d just had one hell of a bomb dropped on their collective heads, been told the giant telepathic elf was actually a king (God, don’t let that go over like a lead balloon) and then informed they’d have to cook up their own government. If any of them had retained a damn thing from studying government at school, she’d be bloody surprised; she’d also be surprised if every single one of them didn’t go home and Google Ireland’s system of government. It was the last thing in the world she wanted to deal with, but fortunately she had a lot of very smart people around her.

 

“Big Jamie,” half of them said, pointing. “Him,” Molly added. “I nominate him.”

 

“Christ, I was afraid’v that,” he sighed. “There’s only one person I’ll absolutely veto, and that’s Donal. I don’t want him anywhere near this.”

 

“Put the other two to a vote,” Lorna said. “We haven’t got to work it out by tomorrow night or anything. Give it some thought. It’s going to be a shit job, so anyone who signs on had best be prepared for it.”

 

“You fill me with such confidence,” Big Jamie said dryly.

 

“It’s not that odd,” Mick said. “Lasg’len’s known the elves were there for years. Decades. It’s just that they didn’t show themselves until last year, when Earlene moved into the cottage at the edge’v the forest. We always just sort’v left one another alone, but now they come out to the pub. Mairead, your cakes’ve gone over a treat, I might add.”

 

“Always happy to help,” Mairead said, almost automatically. Despite knowing this was coming, she was still pale under her freckles.

 

Lorna could practically  _ see _ the gears turning in half the heads in the room, and knew that none of them were going to ask any questions about royalty aloud with an actual elf king still in the room. She was going to have to try to explain this in terms a monarchy-hating human would understand: yeah, he was a king, but he wasn’t a  _ human  _ king, so that was all right. It wasn’t the same thing, not really. The problem was that she had all the eloquence of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and might make a hash of it so very easily.

 

Molly eyed Lorna closely. Like Siobhan, she was a pale blonde, though rather curvier than her sister. “Lorna,” she said, “why did you trust them? You met a king’v the elves and obviously didn’t tell him to get fucked as soon as you heard his title -- why? Because I know you. You don’t go trusting just anybody.”

 

_ Straight to the point, Molly _ , Lorna thought. “All right, this is a thing I don’t like thinking’v, but I accidentally gave Earlene alcohol poisoning,” she said, fighting a grimace. “Thranduil healed her. It’s how I found out what he was -- everyone in the village had tried to tell me, and I thought they were full’v shite, because….well, _ because _ . Anyway, I saw him heal Earlene, and it just...went from there -- even if the first thing I said was asking if the fact that he’s an elf is why his hair and his eyebrows don’t match.” 

 

Ratiri choked slightly on his pint;  _ that  _ he hadn’t heard.

 

She hook her head. “He...I don’t go blank anymore,” she added, not looking at anyone now. “He and Thanadir, they fixed that -- whatever it was that was broken in my head. The lot’v them, they’ve helped me be more than I ever thought I could, and there wasn’t anything in it for them, so yeah, I trust them. I’ve already literally trusted them with my life. What more is there?”

 

Earlene decided to be the Voice of the Outsider, because what the hell. “There isn’t anything you can possibly ask that we have not already talked about, between Lorna, Ratiri and I. I came here from America; most of you know that. My family’s Irish. I have sworn myself to live with the elves. We all understand why the English kings were hated along with the very idea. America has a slightly dim view of all that as well, just not to the same degree. A monarchy is only as good as its monarch. You’ve never seen what a king can do that isn’t a gobshite, but you will if you give him a chance. For starters, find me a king that would offer you what he has. The elves have only ever wanted to live in peace by themselves, but they are offering you this even though they don’t owe anyone anything. Thranduil, is offering you this. Don’t take my word for it. You’ve got twenty years to see the difference. Just realize that we accept your feelings, and understand them. No offense taken. All we ask is that you manage to accept our world as well, and if you’ve got to cringe or make a face, please make some effort to be half-polite about it. It isn’t hard, we’ve all managed.”

 

“ _ Lorna’s  _ managed that?” Anne asked, highly dubious. “Really?”

 

“I’ll admit it took me a while, but yes,” Lorna said, and just barely managed to avoid rolling her eyes. “Just...watch the way it works. You’ll see it’s not like what we’ve always thought’v it, what it was like when England kept shitting on us like it was a sport. It won’t be too hard to live alongside it, if you actually come and see it in action, so to speak. Not that there’s a whole lot’v action; everyone’s got their jobs, and they just sort’v...do them. Bit like here, just without property taxes.”

 

Now it was Big Jamie who snorted. He’d been complaining about the taxes on the pub for as long as it had been his.

 

Lorna could tell they were going to need the opportunity to digest this, and she couldn’t blame them. Look at how long it had taken her to reconcile the whole thing. They would, she was sure, get there in the end.

 

“So we’ll what, have a President or something, that’d work with the elves like a...I don’t know, a tandem government?” Kevin asked.

 

“That’s what this council’s got to work out, once it’s formed,” Lorna said. “Figure out how it’ll work, write it down, go from there.”

 

“I nominate Big Jamie for president,” Siobhan said, and she wasn’t kidding. Yeah, technically Baile had a mayor, but it was a nominal title, used only when they needed to deal with government outside the village. The pub man in any small village was a very important figure, so it was no surprise he’d get the nom.

 

“Not fuckin’ hardly,” he said at once. “I know you eejits. I nominate Lorna.”

 

“You bite your bloody tongue. We’ll elect who we elect, and that’ll be that,” she said, glowering at him, and she would never admit that even that was enough to make her itch slightly.

 

“It will be like an autonomous collective,” Thanadir said. “So no one will be repressed.” 

 

Earlene’s head whipped around. Had she just  _ heard _ that? His face was composed but oh, she knew her meldir.  _ The corners of his lips, ever so slightly... _ Shaking with silent laughter, she did her best not to lose all composure.

 

“Oh by the Valar,” said Thranduil, rolling his eyes, sighing. “Jamie, can I order a pint, please?” he asked. “Wait. Forget that, a round for the whole pub, please.” It was Ireland, and he might as well send this thing off to a proper start.

 

Ratiri choked on his Guinness, foam shooting right out of his nose, and half the rest of them burst out laughing. Indira got up long enough to slam him on the back a few times, but he was still wheezing when Big Jamie got a round started.

 

Niamh, who had been hovering in a corner, looked at Mairead. “Does this mean I don’t have to go to university?” she asked. She’d hated the idea, but everyone and their dog had been telling her she had to go, despite the fact that she had no idea what she wanted to study. “If everything’ll go to shite in twenty years, what’s the bloody point? I don’t want to go anyway.”

 

“Oh, don’t make her,” Lorna said, before her sister could respond. “Let her learn something practical, not something stupid like algebra. Let me teach her mechanics.” Dai, Lasg’len’s only mechanic, was good, but he wasn’t reliable, preferring to spend his days at the bottom of a pint mug.

 

Indira slammed half her pint back at one go, and she and her husband drifted over to Ratiri. “What’ll we be looking at?” she asked quietly.

 

He sighed. “It’s some cross of Marburg and H5N1,” he said, holding out his pint for a refill. “Which yes, I know that shouldn’t be possible, but somehow, that bastard managed it. What I saw, when Thranduil took me to Sharley’s mind…” He shook his head. “I don’t have any words for it. It was every epidemiologist’s worst nightmare come true. And it’s not the first time she’s walked into that future -- she’s said that, so far as she’s aware, it has a one hundred percent mortality rate. Once you’ve caught it, you’re dead.”

 

“What happened to him?” John asked, hovering beside his wife. “This gobshite -- where is he now?”

 

“He’s dead,” Lorna said flatly, “and that is all anyone needs to know.”

 

Mick, with a fresh pint, came up beside her, looking at her shrewdly. “You bogged him, didn’t you?” he asked. Her only answer was a glower, and he laughed. “I fucking knew you’d bog someone someday. I  _ knew  _ it.”

 

“I know, right?” Siobhan called. “Mairead, you owe me a tenner.”

 

“Get fucked, Blondie,” Mairead retorted, and made her way to Thranduil and Earlene. “You lot’ll need a load’v organizing done, I’m thinking. I’ve got four kids -- I can organize with the bloody best’v them.”

 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” said Earlene. “You, I, and Thanadir will become deeply unpopular, but shite’ll get done,” she smiled. “If you think you’re bad, wait’ll you get a load of him,” she said, patting his arm proudly as he grinned down at her.

 

“I had to force four children to all do their bloody homework,” Mairead said. “Trust me, I can handle unpopular. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard four primary school kids whining in tandem about how their evil teachers make it so  _ haaaard _ .”

 

“I heard that!” Niamh called. “Some help you were. I asked you to help me multiply a fraction and it was like your brain went into vapor-lock.”

 

“Oh, shut it, you. I hadn’t had to do it in twenty bloody years, of course I couldn’t remember!”

 

“And that,” Lorna said, approaching with another pint, “is what makes me glad I dropped out’v school. Mairead, are you getting dragged in on this already?”

 

“I volunteered,” Mairead said, raising her mug.

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. “Of bloody course you did.”

 

“Math’s important,” said Earlene quietly. “It isn’t my strong suit but I’d never tell someone not to try...some of it’s useful and some not, it kind of depends on why you need it. And we’re all going to need...I mean, we’re going to be  _ IT _ . We should all try to soak up while we can before it becomes much, much harder. Whatever each of us is already good at and not so good at. Because this is going to be fun,” she said morosely. “Excuse me, I need a lemonade. Or something.”

 

That just made Lorna sigh. “Great. I know how to make alcohol and fix cars. Because there’ll be  _ so much  _ call for the latter after the end’v the world.” What else could she learn? No, she was no longer dyslexic, but she wasn’t Earlene, or Thanadir, or Ratiri. Thranduil already had three incredibly smart people around him; what could she do that they couldn’t, that would actually be of any use once it all went to shit? Nothing. 

 

Well, that was nice and depressing. She knocked back almost her entire pint in three long swallows. “Need to figure out how to brew Guinness. Need to figure out...Jesus, Mairead, this is bloody daunting. We’ve got twenty years to back up all’v human knowledge before it gets lost.”

 

“We’ll make it, Fun Size,” Mairead said. “We’ll all still have each other.” Lorna could tell that it hadn’t properly sunk in with her sister yet, and she’d bet it hadn’t with any of them. Hell, even  _ she  _ was still having a problem wrapping her head around it.

 

_ You might be surprised at how important knowing something about mechanics and alcohol will become, Lorna. While there will not be cars, there will yet be machines. And there will most assuredly be drinking,  _ she heard with humor.

 

Earlene looked back to see that Thanadir had spotted his food that was becoming unfortunately cold, in all likelihood, but this did not seem to dampen his enthusiasm. When she reached the bar, she changed her mind and asked for soda and lime juice….lemonade wouldn’t be  _ real _ lemonade, and was therefore not going to pass muster.  _ Lemons,  _ she thought.  _ They would need not just the greenhouse at their home, they would need greenhouses, plural. Working this out was going to be monumental. And yet... _ she glanced back to see Mairead’s curly hair bobbing and smiled. The humans had their seneschal.

 

Lorna managed a smile.  _ True. Someone has to be able to make authentic poitín.  _ She and Big Jamie and John...Christ, having those two meet might get interesting. Two pub men in one village...it was a good thing the Halls were enormous.

 

Sharley watched them all -- people she knew she would know, in time. “Geezer, you’re gonna have to teach them to be soldiers,” she said quietly, sipping her drink -- rum and Coke, rather than Guinness. “They don’t know. They have no idea.”

 

“I know,” he said, just as quietly. “Thing nobody tells you, not even when they brainwash you in the Army, is that the problem isn’t killing a man, it’s living with yourself once you’ve done it. Though that’s a lesson I never did quite learn myself.” He had had no reason to kill those who were supposedly his enemies, except for the fact that his government told him he should. It wasn’t like what would surely happen here, where it was kill or be killed; Vietnam had been one of the most pointless wars in human history, its death tolls inexcusable. Anything that happened after the end would literally be fighting for their own lives.

 

“You will,” Sharley promised. “And you’ll teach it well. If someone deserves to die, it’s not hard to live with killing them.”

 

He eyed her slightly askance, and decided he wasn’t going to ask. Something in her tone told him that would be an awful idea. Really awful.

 

Earlene approached Mick, who she noticed quietly off by himself a bit. “Well, if Lasg’len’s meeting goes half as well, I’ll count it an unqualified success,” she said. “What did you think?”

 

“I think it hasn’t sunk in yet,” he said honestly. “I think they’ll all be back here at two in the morning ’cause they can’t sleep, after reality’s landed on them like so many bricks. It’ll be fine, until they sober up, and then I’m betting you anything one’v you lot’ll start getting phone calls in the small’v the morning.”

 

“And the beauty of that, my friend, is that we have no telephones,” Earlene grinned mischievously. “But...yeah. We didn’t fare much better. All anyone could do was have a day in a funk, because there has to be space in which to react to it. Twenty years is a long time, at least for us humans. As much as it’d be great in some ways to have just said nothing for awhile, it wouldn’t’ve been right. There’s too much to do, and I’m afraid the time will go by faster than we can imagine.”

 

“And nobody out there has any idea,” Mick said, shaking his head. “Not that there’d be any point trying to warn them. It’s a good thing there’s so much space in the Halls, though, just in case the villages have friction. Need to have everyone start getting to know each other now.”

 

She nodded. “There’s so much I think about. How it will all be arranged. Whether we take even more outsiders and if so, which? Who? What about gobshites? How will we hammer something out that is truly fair? What if someone’s a lazy arse and won’t pull their weight, or can’t cope with not having the tube to watch or electric everything? In some ways I worry younger ones will have a worse time of it than people our age. Ha! See, I’m no different. It’s why we’ll need so much time to work out what to do. When you think on it, it’s impossible to just not have your mind go down the tracks.”

 

“It’s people our age I’m more worried about, to be honest,” he said. “These young ones, they can adapt. They’ll complain, sure, but they’ll get over it. Now I don’t know about Baile, but in Lasg’len I can tell you just who’s too comfortable with things as they are. Though I’m coming from the same place Lorna is -- when you didn’t have much’v anything when you were young, it’s easy to see others who did as spoiled. Our sense’v...normal…is a bit skewed, but I think us and Shane and all them can poke people, if we need to.” He drained his mug. “Y’know, we really didn’t have much’v anything, but I think we were happier that way.  _ I  _ was. I had the people that mattered, and that beat having...things. It’s something everyone’ll have to learn, but I was young when I learned it. How many can do it now? Christ, listen to me. It’s too early for that.”

 

“It is,” Sharley said, sneaking up almost as silently as an elf. “I told them, don’t mourn the world yet. It’s still here.” Her strange, mismatched eyes held his with a ferocity that made him somewhat uneasy. Who was this woman, really?  _ What  _ was she? Obviously she was no Elf, but there was something...off...about her. Something he couldn’t have hoped to explain, but he suspected even the Elves couldn’t explain her. It was possible no one could.

 

Earlene caught Lorna’s eye to see they were both thinking the same thing.  _ It had gone not half-bad, time to move along and let matters digest. _ She sidled near her friend and whispered words of suggestion. “Before we go, tell them to have questions sent through Mairead only. Not to email you themselves. Otherwise, you’ll regret what you see in the morning on your laptop. She’s good at crowd control; make it work for you.” Then she drifted to her husband and wrapped her arm around his waist while she sipped the last of her soda water.

 

“This is going to be terrifying,” Lorna said, but went to flag down her sister. 

 

“You’ve got that look on your face,” Mairead said. Her face was nearly as red as her hair; yes, she was on the tipsy end of things, and no bloody wonder.

 

“I’m not even going to ask which look,” Lorna said. “Mairead, I know everyone’ll have loads’v questions later, and I can’t blame them. I want to have them ask you, and you can just put them all in one email and send it to me. Nobody dares give out at you, which is more than can be said for almost anyone else in this village.” Many of them had known Mairead all their lives, and this was the thing about her: she was not a violent woman, or at least no more so than any other Irish person of a given age. No, she got you back in sneaky, underhanded ways that were far worse than any blow. She had gone to school with many of what passed for the movers and shakers of Baile, and they knew to fear her. In a sense, she was almost like a profane version of Thanadir: endlessly competent, but cross her at your own peril.

 

“I can do that,” Mairead said. “Though if I get too many’v these eejits hammering on my door or ringing me up at three in the morning, I might just murder them all and save you the effort.”

 

“Leave the manslaughter to me.” Lorna gave her sister a hug, squeezing a little too tight. They would be safe. They would all be safe, no matter what she had to do.

 

Mairead hugged her back, but when she drew away, she quirked one red eyebrow. “Did you actually bog that bastard? Do I really owe Siobhan a tenner?”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Yes, and yes, but don’t give it to her. Or if you do, blow your nose on it first. Seriously, you do not even know how much she disturbed poor Thranduil. I think he’s been put off most baked goods that aren’t your cakes. Which, I might add, we need to make work like Gran would’ve done, because if the world ends and Thanadir can’t get any more’v your cakes, I think the Sad Eyes of Doom might just kill us all. Seriously, it’s like a bloody superpower. He’s like the elf version of Puss in Boots.”

 

“Oh dear God,” Mairead groaned. “We’ll work something out. You drive safe, Fun Size, and talk to me soon.”

 

“I will,” Lorna promised, and went off to find the others.

 

Motoring away back to the Halls, Thranduil broke the silence. “That went well. Or at least, I thought so. Everyone knows, no one threw anything at me for being a King, and nothing caught on fire. Is that a fair assessment, Lorna?”

 

Lorna managed a smile. “It did,” she said, “for now. We’ll see what happens once it’s had time to sink in for all’v them. Still, I’m hoping Lasg’len goes something like that. At least they already know about you lot...which has me thinking. Sooner or later, the two villages need to start meeting. If we can get everyone knowing one another before they’ve all got to get uprooted, it’ll help.”

 

“It must be more than that”, said Thanadir. “I think just as they had to have tonight to experience this idea, they must have a time to experience us. I would arrange a feast in our Halls. Do you humans not have a tradition in which you all bring prepared food to share with others? Why do we not do something like this? I believe it could do much to begin to forge connections.”

 

Earlene reflected. “As long as no one gets ossified and goes flying off an archway, I endorse the idea,” she said.

 

Thranduil frowned. His wife had made a definitely valid observation. “I agree, Thanadir. Surely we can manage...something, by way of safety features.”

 

_ Safety features? _ thought Earlene, suddenly imagining nets strung haphazardly below all the stone arches. _ Probably stranger things had happened…  _ Aloud she said, “Perhaps, Thanadir, instead of one very large group, we should have series of...we also have a custom called an Open House. Something a little less elaborate than a full-blown event. I am trying to envision herding hundreds through the forest and I am afraid I cannot.”

 

“We don’t want any broken legs,” Lorna agreed. “If we did it, oh, a dozen or so at a time, every so many days, that’d work, too. Just alternate it with the Lasg’len people, and then we cook up some kind’v thing where they can all meet each other and drink too much.” There had to be too much drinking. Because, Ireland.

  
  


*****

 

Once at the Halls the lot of them stretched, and tried to digest.

 

“You know,” Ratiri said, thoughtful, “the weather in Ireland really is terribly unpredictable, and tents are a hassle. Why don’t we just have the wedding in the Halls? Certainly nicer than any tent.”

 

Lorna blinked. “Could we do that?”

 

Thranduil looked up, his elegant face unreadable beyond the barest hint of a frown. “That would...solve a number of problems upon which I am reflecting,  from the standpoint of bringing the villages together. Not to mention, it would be more pleasant for you. With the caveat that I do not wish the borders of the forest to become a parking lot, yes, you would be most welcome. If nothing else, all my people will have a chance to...glimpse the future, as they say.”

 

“Eru help them,” muttered Thanadir.

 

“Meldir!” Earlene teased. “Did you just say something cynical?” It was the most animated her face had been in days.

 

Taken aback, the seneschal blinked. “I prefer to think of it as probably factual,” he countered.

 

Earlene’s smile now ran from ear to ear. “Thanadir, a probably factual negative statement is the definition of cynicism. You are gaining a human sense of humor, my friend.”

 

Thranduil glanced at the expression of horror creeping over the old elf’s features and burst out in laughter. “Do not worry, meldir,” he said with a clap to his shoulder. “The monarchy is gradually crumbling, anyway. You might as well enjoy it.”

 

“What has happened to my life?” the seneschal asked, helplessly.

 

“You met us,” Lorna said dryly. “And kept meeting more’v us. And speaking’v monarchy, I think I know how I can get Baile reconciled to the whole idea, more or less. They know me, and that I’m the most distrustful, anti-elitist arsehole out there, and I like you lot. Hopefully that’ll count for something.” It had with Mairead and Big Jamie, so theoretically it would work from there. She certainly hoped so, anyway. Shaking her head, she laughed a little. “And having their first experience’v the Halls be Ratiri’s and my circus’v a wedding...it’d be a good thing, I think. Have them introduced by something human.”  _ And it helps that you treat us like equals,  _ she added.  _ Even if nobody else thinks you ought to, to us you’re Thranduil, first and foremost. That will mean more than I think either of us yet realizes. _

 

“And I won’t have to be worried, hauling all Mam’s jewelry to and from Baile,” Ratiri added. “If anything happened to it along the way, I think she’d come back from the dead just to give me a clip round the ear.”

 

“I’m just wondering who else’ll get nominated, for the Baile side’v government. Big Jamie was a given, and I’d be very shocked if he didn’t manage to dragoon Mairead even more than she’s signed on for, but the fourth...I’ve got no idea. It could be any number’v them.” One thing was for certain -- it would  _ not  _ be Donal, and no doubt he would complain to any who would listen, and even those who wouldn’t. Maureen Dooley was the mayor; she’d held the post for thirty years, mainly because nobody else wanted it, but she was on holiday just now, and apparently she wouldn’t be back until the end of June. Given that her title pretty much a formality anyway, nobody cared if she took an extended holiday to Canada each spring to visit her daughter. Her daughter, who she was going to want to bring in. Shit, Lorna hadn’t taken the sheer number of expatriates into consideration; Lasg’len likely had at least as many as Baile.  _ That’s what we have the next twenty years to hash out _ , she told herself.  _ Don’t go worrying about the details just yet. _

 

“I can think of one subject our new...what do we call it, ‘transitional council?’ is going to want to address,” Earlene opined. “People in Lasg’len and Baile are going to have family. Those they want to bring in. And those people will have people. And quite honestly, on and on. Deciding who and why and how many, that is going to be the discussion of the decade, if I’m not mistaken. Thranduil, Thanadir, you might be wise to consider ahead of this inevitable  subject just how many you are willing to take, if there is an upper limit to what can be managed with the resources in question, if that is not something you already have in mind.”

 

Thranduil suddenly became rather contemplative. “It is not something I already have in mind,” he answered softly. “And thank you for pointing this out. I had not considered this, but of course anyone with bonds of family would feel this way. Eru,” he sighed.

 

“That’s why you’ve got twenty years,” Sharley said. “But a lotta those people don’t have as many other people as you might think.” That was all she would say, for now, and not just because she still knew little there.

 

“I still need to notify Shane and them, too,” Lorna sighed. She was looking forward to that about as much as an appendectomy without anesthesia. “Once we’ve talked to Lasg’len, Mick, you and I’ll have to handle that. At least I’m pretty sure none’v  _ them  _ have got anyone to drag in from the outside.” Which was a bit tragic, honestly, at their age, but in this it was a good thing. “No doubt they can help us get...whatever the hell we’ll need to, over the years. Orla can probably set us up something in the way’v computers, to store shite.”

 

Thanadir frowned, at the mention of the computers, envisioning a time when they simply would no longer be functional devices due to breakage or age. The machines were so complex, so specialized. “We need books, too. All that we can manage. The library in our Halls is large and well-organized with much more room to add volumes. A part of me doubts very much that the information left behind by elves will serve a great deal of purpose to you, once we have departed. We should make what effort we can to acquire volumes of practical wisdom. Your sciences, history, and the cultural works of your race. But it will be left to you to decide whether you wish to try to repeat the advantages and disadvantages of your existing technology. Much achievement of humans has been magnificent, but also destructive.” He shrugged, deciding that the topic threatened to become suffocatingly large.

 

“If it has a medicinal application, and can’t be used for something...unfortunate...I think we should preserve it,” Ratiri said. “Once you’ve gone, we’ll have only ourselves to rely on, and I would rather we continue going forward with that, not sliding backward. I don’t actually know how to  _ do  _ that,” he added, shaking his head, “but we’ve got time. Surely we can figure something out.” He didn’t sound as though he believed it, but he said it anyway.

 

“I know one thing for bloody sure,” Lorna said, “there won’t be any quote-unquote-art like that bloody damned OOF painting. That’s not art, it’s garbage some crook’s managed to convince people is art. Honestly, if we all start now, we could have most’v what actually matters by the time things...go south.” Amazon was their friend.

 

“I’ll bring what I can, as I can,” Sharley said. “Things from America, if I can get my hands on them and actually drag them through airport customs. The sad thing is that if it weren’t for those airports, Avathar’s bullshit wouldn’t work. It’d just destroy North America.”

 

“You will find that there is no choice but to slide backward,” said Thanadir sadly. “Accepting this ahead of time will allow you to make wiser decisions. I do not underestimate the difficulty nor am I trying to ignore your heartfelt wishes. We have seen what happens when plague comes. Even when it did not kill the elves, it still affected our lives. We had to learn to do without, because those we traded with no longer existed, or were so reduced in numbers that they could not ply their former crafts and had to go elsewhere to seek other means of survival. There is no question in the value of preserving knowledge for its own sake. But to expect to retain your current technology…” He shook his head with disturbing conviction.

 

“There is a difference between learning to do without, and having to die of cancer,” Ratiri said. “No, not all of our machines can be saved, but there are some treatments that can’t be allowed to die. We need to be able to perform surgery, if nothing else, but there are so many treatments for so many diseases, and I don’t know how many of them can be adapted, but we need to try. You lot, you’ve got no way to properly understand. You don’t get sick. You won’t just die of something treatable, for want of a nail, so to speak.”

 

Thanadir looked down, sadness in his eyes. He could see that he was not being understood, but that it would not be helpful at this juncture to create the appearance of arguing. Ratiri did not understand that immortal did not equal indestructible, and that they very much could and did die. And had. By the tens of thousands. Yes, they were granted to live again according to the gifts of Eru given to their kind, but he very much did  _ properly understand _ . Earlene saw, and was fairly certain she had the measure of her meldir’s shift in demeanor, but she too had already encountered this wall of stubbornness. It was quite possible that Ratiri would have to have it his own way, only to learn that the medical advancements of specialized research and production would be out of the question in a cave populated by exactly two medical doctors, no advanced equipment, and no electricity. While she was not a physician and did not pretend to be, her firm had prosecuted lawsuits on behalf of pharmaceutical and biotechnology corporations, and she had more than an average understanding of the level of science, training, expense, and equipment involved. And there was simply not going to be any possibility of maintaining and operating the -70F freezers, the ultracentrifuges, the precisely calibrated pipettes, the sterilization, or the mass production of specialized plastics that were part and parcel of this kind of work.

 

“We’ve got time, allanah,” Lorna said gently. She knew there would be no curbing him, not yet; he was desperate. “Worry about it later. Let’s just focus on books and things right now.” She knew, though, why he’d mentioned cancer specifically: it had taken not just his first wife, but both his parents, all of them rather young. The twins would likely be somewhere in their thirties or forties by the time the elves left -- should one of them come down with it, without Thranduil there, they would have to watch their child die. And it didn’t help that her own mother had succumbed to it, either. No, Lorna didn’t wonder why he was so desperate, but she’d have to give him time before she talked to him about it.

 

Sharley said nothing, because she had no certainties, but she suspected it might not be an issue. No doubt she’d learn more, the next time she went tripping into the future -- though she hoped like hell it would be some point  _ after  _ the plague. She’d seen enough of that for ten lifetimes.

 

“It is nearing sundown,” Thranduil said. “And therefore, our meeting. We should begin the walk to the village.” With sighs all around, Earlene thought that she would really like to have a beer tonight. Looking hopefully at her husband, she received a laugh for her efforts.  _ Yes. I do not mind, and you would feel better,”  _ he smiled, walking to kiss her forehead while she hugged him loosely around his waist.

 

Everyone was already...ready. As a group, they departed Thranduil and Earlene’s rooms and in single file, walked to the Gates.

 

*****

 

“A pint please, John. All Guinness, and no foam,” Earlene teased while the barkeep laughed. It felt so much  _ easier _ , to be doing this in Lasg’len than Baile. Home court advantage, and all that. “And how’s the shepherd’s pie tonight? I think I’d like one.” She was pregnant, and hungry again. Sue her. With her Guinness, she sidled over to Mick. “As the lone official native villager of our happy Council of Sixteen that no one knows about yet, can we lean on you a bit tonight, to help grease the rails a little?”

 

Mick nodded, and took a long draw off his own pint. “Not looking forward to it, but you can,” he said. “To be honest with you, I’m not sure who else’ll get nominated, but just like Baile, I’m guess John’ll be one’v them. Pub man, and all that.”

 

“I’ve no objection. He is a central point of communication for the village already and...bringing people’s input to the rest of us, that’s important. He’s level-headed and...really, what more is needed?”

 

“The ability to adapt,” Geezer said, coming up beside her. “And being level-headed doesn’t necessarily mean you have it. I’d recommend Bridie, if I was asked. Anybody with kids, really.”

 

“You’ve definitely got to adapt when you’re a parent,” Lorna said dryly, thinking of Mairead. She herself hadn’t had to adapt a great deal at all, which she found obscurely wrong. What with all their elven helpers, finding someone to mind the babies was never difficult.

 

“That is insightful, Geezer, and a good call. I can’t vote or comment on that, but you who live here certainly can.”

 

Bridie appeared as if on cue, and greeted Earlene. “Your man there, he looks like he’s about ready to start talking,” she observed.

 

“So he does,” Earlene agreed. “Alright, I guess I’d best stand near him and look supportive. Or something.” She threaded her way through the impressively crowded pub to stand at Thanadir’s side, guessing that her husband could more than manage and that she would be better off near the seneschal. Which did not stop her from taking an immense swallow of the beer, by way of fortification

 

Lorna and Ratiri drifted over off to the side, also having some vague notion of being supportive. Sharley lurked behind them, like a blue-haired, lurking thing, while Geezer just sat back and watched.

 

Thranduil took stock of the room. Everyone had a glass in their hand except little Orla, nervous murmurs were being exchanged, and all in all conversation ran on with furtive glances being directed at him more often than not. It was time. He found a chair and stepped up on it, as though he were not already tall enough, and raised his hand with his arm bent at the elbow in a gesture of request for silence. It took less than ten seconds for even the most oblivious (or garrulous) villagers to notice and fall silent. He began: “Thank you for coming tonight, it is appreciated. The easiest way to preface this is that we have become aware of some very bad news. Yet to temper this, we bring hope as well. Last night we spoke to the villagers of Baile, Lorna’s home. We had to spend the first part of the discussion convincing everyone that elves exist.”

 

Predictably, soft smiles and snorts of amusement made it around the room, but it was far from what one could call boisterous. He continued.

 

“There is no nice or comfortable way to share this or the things you must realize in order to understand, so I will ‘out with it’, as humans say. We have become aware that twenty years hence, a great sickness will be unleashed. This came through the young American lady who stands near me. She came here at great personal risk, to bring me this news. What only three of those living in Lasg’len know about me, I must now share with all of you. No human thought is hidden from me. Anything that passes through a mortal mind is as transparent to me as if it were being said aloud. I do not do this deliberately; it is more that I cannot help it anymore than you can help hearing what is spoken next to you. I have always kept private anything I chance to hear, as it is the decent thing to do. But you must understand this, to realize why it is impossible to lie to me or deceive me. When Sharley came, with her fantastic story of the future, I too was skeptical, until confronted by the incontrovertible evidence of what she is gifted and cursed to see. I believe her. All of it. In twenty years, a plague will destroy human civilization. But not for you, because I can ensure your survival. I am offering to shelter and protect you in our forest home, where you will be kept safe from what will befall the rest of the world.” And with that, he had to stop speaking for now. The first bitter dose of the news had to be swallowed.

 

The entire lot of them looked at one another. The revelation that Thranduil could read minds was shock enough in its own right, to everyone but Bridie, and there was a great deal of murmuring as people frantically searched their memories for anything that might have embarrassed them. The smarter -- or at least, more sensible -- among them actually managed to halfway get to the point. “Why?” Bridie asked. “And how?”

 

“The arsehole that came through town a while back,” Lorna said. “It’s his doing, or will be. And no, before anyone asks, there’s no stopping it.” She turned and gave Sharley a glance and a small nod, noting the younger woman’s slight flicker of a smile.

 

Bridie wanted to protest that -- she really, really did -- but a look at Thranduil, and Lorna, and that very odd woman told her there would be no point. She wanted more information, and yet she also didn’t. This...how could this be real?

 

_ You’re asking that question, while you stand in a room with bloody elves,  _ she thought, not a little sourly. This should not seem so fantastical, but...but dammit, it was. Her hand found her husband’s, squeezing it.

 

Before anyone else could speak, however, Orla piped up. “What’s a plague?” she asked, looking around. All the grown-ups were looking really weird, and it made her uneasy.

 

Thranduil stepped down off the chair, and went down on one knee so that he was at the child’s eye level and not towering over her. “A plague is a very bad sickness, Orla. It makes people so sick that they cannot get better, and doctors cannot help.”

 

She stared at him, round-eyed. “You mean they die?” She knew what death was; when her goldfish died, Mammy had explained that when things died they went to Heaven, and they didn’t come back. You didn’t see them again until  _ you  _ died, too, but in her young mind, death just didn’t happen to people. Not real, actual  _ people _ ; it was just what you saw in movies. It was what happened to goldfish.

 

He nodded solemnly, rising, and continuing to speak.  _ Might as well press the advantage of the resounding silence in the room,  _ he reasoned. “There is another fairly critical thing I am not sure all of you know about me. I can heal sickness. And injury. I cannot defeat your mortality, but if there is any life remaining in someone, I can help them. But only so many at a time, and only so difficult a problem. I am not without limits. I cannot have….twenty people at death’s door brought to me, and expect to succeed. It does not work like that. This is why it will be necessary to shelter in my Halls. I have seen, in Sharley’s mind, what this sickness does. It is like nothing that has ever happened before. It was made, to do what it will. We have ever been connected, however thin the thread, the elves and this village. I will not abandon you to this fate when I can help you.”

 

“You’d have us in your home?” Chloe asked. It was not something anyone from Lasg’len could easily wrap their minds around; the prohibition against entering the woods had been ingrained for generations. You just didn’t do it. If you had to go down the road, you walked on the far side. Nobody had ever actually come out and  _ said  _ ‘don’t do this’; they didn’t have to. Thought of entering them, even by invitation, was vaguely alarming.

 

“It’s brilliant in there,” Mick said. “I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it. One’v Lorna’s and my friends wondered if it was like Tir Na N’Og, and even though it’s not, it seems like it should be, if you take my meaning.”

 

General attention shifted to him. He’d gone in, and come out no stranger than he already was. It was different, when Lorna and Ratiri went in -- they were friends of Earlene, and for some reason, nobody in Lasg’len had found the idea of them traipsing in and out of the woods to be unduly odd.

 

“So the world will end, basically,” Jack said slowly, as though speaking the words would make him actually believe them. “How many people die?”

 

“Almost everyone,” Sharley sighed. “At least ninety percent, but I’m thinking it’s somewhere like ninety-eight. This thing, this virus, it was designed to be an extinction-level thing. There’s always some that’re immune to anything, but so few -- and a lotta them won’t make it past the first winter, because they can’t hack it without technology.”

 

“Which, that’s another thing,” Lorna added. “I didn’t even drop this on Baile, but I ought to’ve. We’re all going to have to learn how to live without all this modern shite, before we haven’t got a choice. We’ll have solar panels, but there won’t be any videogames or the like.”

 

“Our home does not have electricity, as you might have guessed,” said Thranduil. “While we can probably manage to use some...system to keep the use of some things, it will not be as it was, as it is now. I am afraid that for many, surviving will mean stepping backward in time.”

 

“Does -- do things ever recover?” Maire asked, her green eyes roving from one to the other before settling on Sharley. “In the outside, I mean. Does civilization ever rebuild?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sharley said slowly. “You’ve gotta understand, I can’t control this. I see what I see, and when, and there’s nothing I can do about any of it. I’ve seen some things past the end, but only a few. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t, but I’m guessing if anybody did manage it, it’d take around five hundred years at least.”

 

“Cheerful,” Lorna muttered.

 

“Well, she  _ did  _ ask,” Sharley said, which only made Geezer snort into his pint. He liked this weird kid, even if she did seem more than half-cracked.

 

“We’ve got families out there,” Ian said, moving forward. “Most’v us, anyway. Mary and I, our daughter’s in Dublin with her children. Can we bring them, too?” Because if not, he wasn’t going, and neither, he was sure, was Mary.

 

“Basically, yes,” answered Thranduil, ignoring his wife’s lightly smug thoughts of being right about this. “But this brings me to the next thing. The planning, how all of this is going to work...I am asking to form a council. When the time comes, I will yet be the Elvenking. Not the human king. We must work out a very great deal, ranging from how we will govern ourselves and coexist to how many cows to get into our stables. I took the liberty of envisioning a council of sixteen. Four from among the elves, four from Baile, four from Lasg’len, and four that represent the interests of those not strictly belonging to any of the first three. Thirteen humans and three elves, since Earlene will for these purposes counted among the elves. We have a long time to plan, but there is also much work to do. I do have one request, which is that I would like to see Mick included among those representing you. I would recommend Bridie as well. But ultimately, it is for the village to choose. Being part of this council will require a considerable investment of time and effort; there is much to do.”

 

“John,” half of them said, to the surprise of probably no one -- including the man in question, who also looked rather sour.

 

“You’d best find me someone who can take over while I’m busy,” he warned. “I’ll not work myself into the ground trying to support this place  _ and  _ this...council.” The word was mostly unfamiliar; ‘town councils’ were largely a thing of the past by now, unless someone had something to complain about.

 

_ Which, just like in Baile, leaves the fourth person a wild card _ , Lorna thought. She didn’t know half the residents of Lasg’len, and of those she did know, she couldn’t make any really educated guesses.

 

Bridie and Doc Barry would get along grand, she was sure, and she was fairly certain Big Jamie and John would, too...so long as there weren’t any pub conflicts. They were going to have to be very careful about divvying up the potential catering between the two, because of course neither would be willing to let the elves hoof all of it. And Jamie’s pub food, unfortunately, really was quite superior -- though it wasn’t John’s fault he didn’t have an Orla, who was the real brains behind that operation. Was he married? Lorna hadn’t seen a ring, though she’d also never looked.

 

Hopefully, the fact that Lasg’len was more...mellow...would work to everyone’s advantage. Thranduil had accused her of being too ready and willing to resort to violence, but within a certain sect in Baile (that being the sect that spent the most time in the pub, where she herself had spent most of  _ her  _ time) she was hardly unique. A fortnight without a pub fight was an insipid fortnight, and anyone who backed down from one, unless they had some mitigating issue like a pre-existing injury, was called a sheevra and often ridiculed. There was a level of innate belligerence there that she suspected would translate well into defensive fighting, whenever it might be necessary. They were also bloody protective of their own, so the trick would be to get them to absorb Lasg’len as an extension of them. Hopefully, the seeds of that could get started with her and Ratiri’s wedding. They’d all be seeing the place for the first time, and sharing that experience with one another -- as well as being baffled  by a Hindu wedding, since she was entirely sure that out of all of them, only Doc Barry knew what to expect -- might be a damn good thing.

 

She looked at Ian, and thought about his words. She had two aunts and an uncle she’d never met, out in the wide world -- an aunt and uncle in Australia, and the other aunt in the States. She knew Big Jamie had three brothers, and Orla a sister, and that was just to start with -- just about everyone had  _ someone _ . Should they somehow manage to get all of them home before things went to shit, that could well come close to doubling Baile’s population, for she assumed many of them had families of their own. She had no doubt it would be the same with Lasg’len, but they could put dealing with that off for at least the next decade. After that, though, the real trick wouldn’t just be letting them all in on this, but in helping them prepare for a drastically altered life.

 

Lorna and Mick knew what it was like to live without electricity -- without most modern amenities, come to that -- but none save the oldest of the codgers could say the same. Even the poorest in Baile had power and televisions, and if they didn’t have the internet themselves, they knew someone who did. They were used to cars, and refrigerators, and, oh, blenders and the like. If they weren’t slowly weaned off them, they were going to be in for a nasty shock, even if they thought they were prepared. The Baile farmers had to learn how to deal without modern farming equipment, since once the petrol was gone, it was gone.

 

And they were going to have to adjust to a new home. Out of all who lived in Baile now, she and Doc Barry were the only ones who hadn’t spent their entire lives there. The rest had family roots that stretched back generations, and those would not be lightly transplanted.

 

Sharley looked at Lorna, at the intense concentration on her face, and somehow managed not to smile. No, she couldn’t read minds, but she didn’t need to -- she knew Lorna’s future, and she could see the seeds of it now. They would elect their government, but if she thought she was getting out of her role as leader, she was destined for a surprise, and not one she would welcome. Oh, she’d do it, because she was a pragmatic little thing, but they had to find some way of making her not hate it.  _ Queen Lorna. Oh, the irony. _

 

The King swept his eyes around the room, and felt a rather impulsive decision coming on. He raised his hand again for silence. “It is time that you all be able to understand far more about us, and that begins tonight. All of you here. Fill your glasses with John, and then we are all going for a walk, Guinness in hand. Long have you wondered about our home, and it is time you saw it. No harm will come to you, and there is nothing hopelessly strange about it. I insist. Please.” He clasped his hands behind his back, looking remarkably like a schoolboy who has just made his debate team speech and desperately hopes that what was said is convincing. Thranduil also shot a pleading look in the direction of Geezer.

 

“Do it,” Geezer said. “Trust me, you won’t regret it. I never seen anything like it, and I don’t think anyone else has, either.”

 

“You get over feeling like you shouldn’t be in there,” Mick added. “I know we’ve all spent all our lives staying away from the forest on instinct, but we haven’t got to. Not anymore.”

 

“Although don’t go wandering in on your own,” Lorna added. “It’s bloody easy to get lost.” She wasn’t going to mention the enchantments, or whatever it was that  _ made  _ everyone get lost; some things were best left, for now.

 

The entire group looked at one another, some silent conference passing through them. It really  _ was  _ a tall order, given how deeply the prohibition ran, but so many of them were too curious to say no.

 

“D’you live in a castle?” Orla asked, wide-eyed. The woods were big -- there could be a castle in there. There could be  _ anything _ in there. She had a kind of hazy idea that there were monsters, but with so many grown-ups around, no monster would dare...right?

 

“Not exactly, though it is very large,” Thranduil said to Orla, smiling. “Fortress, might be a better word.”

 

“I’m in,” Bridie said, and her husband echoed her sentiments. They roped in John, and Ian and Mary, and Aurnia and Mallaidh. Chloe, Maire, Nuala; Martin and Rory, and Aislinn...this was going to be a hell of a group, even before they picked up any stragglers outside the pub.

 

Sharley, still lurking like a lurking thing, watched the lot of them with an almost-invisible smile. How Thranduil had changed...so few people in the world ever managed true change, and yet he and those around him had done so massively in so short an amount of time. They had all grown as people, but he and Lorna were roughly tied so far as just how far they’d had to come. It gave her hope. The world was to end, but what was left of it would be in good hands.

 

They were led through the forest, and from a distance watchful Thalion’s eyes widened. Aran Thranduil apparently had been beyond earnest, in his words. The ancient elf sighed at the strange sight. Centuries, of watching for humans entering the woods in order to apprehend them immediately, and now...this. A  _ parade _ of humans. And yet it was not for him to say. Much was changing, and so quickly. He caught sight of his King, holding a mortal child in his arms he had not yet seen, obviously one of the villagers, and felt a tug on his heart.  _ Children _ ...perhaps this would not be all aggravation and difficulties. He watched the procession for a moment, before continuing his silent path through the trees.

 

The King’s little games would be done away with, this time. These people were experiencing enough, emotionally, without needing their senses further assaulted by the sight of his Gates appearing before their eyes. When they turned along the pathway and approached them, the enchantments were suspended, though neither Lorna or Earlene or any of the others who frequented would notice; for them the enchantments were always suspended. The lack of the massive portals shimmering into view, however, did little to abate the shock of seeing them.

 

Lorna watched their reactions with silent glee. She had, in a way, become a touch proprietary about the Halls herself -- they were her home away from home, even if she was familiar with only a small fraction of them. Seeing them reminded her of her own wonder, and she thought she perhaps had some idea what it was like for Thranduil.

 

“This is way better than a castle,” Orla said, staring around with eyes the size of dinner plates.

 

“And we’ve lived next to it for generations,” Bridie said, stunned. She was not the only one who had occasionally wondered just what was actually in the forest, but she would never, ever have thought it could be anything like  _ this _ . She too wondered if it might be behind the legend of Tir Na N’Og -- the land of peace and beauty, where no one ever got old or died.

 

Could they live  _ here _ , in the future? Bridie wasn’t the only one who wondered. It was vast and gorgeous and daunting, and she was not the only one who still felt a lingering unease. So strong was the warning against entering the forest that it wasn’t going to be easily dispelled.

 

“There’s flats here,” Lorna said. “Loads’v them. They don’t have individual kitchens, but they’ve got everything else, or at least I think they do.” Thranduil had said that there was a lot of communal bathing, which suggested that a number of the flats didn’t have their own hot springs.  _ That  _ was going to have to take some finagling, possibly involving screens.

 

“Have you got one?” Maire asked.

 

“I do.  _ We  _ do,” Lorna added, slipping her arm through Ratiri’s. “So far the twins’re living in our bedroom, though once they get older we’ll have to do something else.”

 

“Part of this process over time will be all of you having your own quarters, years ahead of when you need them. You can...come and go, as you wish, to bring your things or otherwise prepare your dwellings. Hopefully it will help make the inevitable easier.”

It was nearly full dark, outside, though somehow no one questioned why it had seemed light enough to easily see. At least it would help with the usual issue of being unable to see for the first minute of being inside. “There are a few things about our home that operate by what you would consider magic,” he explained. “These Gates are one of those. They open and close at my will; do not be alarmed.” The preamble did not entirely help the eerie feeling some felt when the massive portal swung noiselessly open, as though pushed by an unseen hand. “Once inside, you will see that it is not….childproof, is I believe how you call it. Please watch where you walk, carefully. You are safe but do not run on the archways or otherwise use carelessness.” He determined to keep Orla where she was, just to be certain of that. And then he stepped inside. “Follow me.”

 

Follow they did, keeping the elders in the middle of the group, just in case. Even Mary, critical as she so often could be, could only stare in silence, for once legitimately awed...though the walkways worried her, because surely they would be dangerous for cats? She wouldn’t be able to live without a cat or two, and while they were agile creatures, this was stone. They couldn’t exactly grab onto it.

 

“Is it easy to get lost in here?” Maire asked.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Only if you go off on your own,” she said. “Apparently, their word for ‘empty’ is the English word lost, so when I actually  _ did  _ get lost, the elf who found me thought I was calling myself Lorna Empty. It was no wonder he looked like he thought I was cracked.”

 

“Word…” said Bridie. It only now dawned on her that when they’d first met Thanadir, he was only just learning English. “What all...does anyone know their language? What even  _ is _ it?”

 

“Yes,” Earlene answered. “It is one of the languages of the elves, it is called ‘Sindarin’. Thranduil and some of the others are what are known as ‘Sindar’, or, ‘Grey elves.’ The history of the elves and their languages are a story unto itself. I won’t lie to you, Sindarin is not the easiest, but it is also not impossible. We are working on a...manual, to give out to all of you. The elves here are trying to learn English, but it’s going to take awhile. The more all of us know of each other’s language the better.”

 

“What’s it even sound like?” asked Bridie, still feeling fixated.

 

“If you’ve seen the Lord of the Rings films, you’ve heard it,” Earlene smiled. “Though you might not have realized it at the time. ‘I amar prestar aen, han mathon ne nen. Han mathon ne chae….’ “ (The world changes, I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth….)

 

“Sure god…” Bridie trailed off, somehow only now making  _ that _ connection.

 

Thranduil reached his throne and stopped, leaving all of them to stand on the immense platform, gazing out into the great cavern of his Hall in awe and disbelief. “Welcome to our home.”

 

It did not escape Lorna, that none of the villagers actually looked at the throne -- that was something that was going to get dealt with in their own homes, where they could wrestle with it in private. The sheer enormity and beauty of this place was more than enough to be getting on with in and of itself.

 

“How many people used to live here?” Chloe asked, turning a full 360 degrees to take it all in. Surely far,  _ far  _ more than lived in Lasg’len, or ever had. And now so many were gone, though where to, she wasn’t sure. She was definitely going to get her hands on those  _ Lord of the Rings  _ books, because they sounded like a very handy guide.

 

And to think, nobody had thought to tell Earlene why her cottage had stood empty for so long. It was like the stars had aligned to keep her from discovering the place was...not haunted, but not somewhere humans ought to be living. Nobody had managed to tell her not to go into the forest. And to get an American, somebody who didn’t hate monarchy on sheer principle...if Thranduil had met an Irish person, the results would be very, very different, and disastrous. Somehow, Earlene was the one who had found him, even if she hadn’t known she’d do it. Chloe was not at all superstitious, but instinct told her that was no accident.

 

Bridie, meanwhile, wondered how in God’s name they could childproof it. Orla was not the only small child in town; there were plenty of kids of various ages, not all of whom she would trust on such high walkways. She was certain Lorna’s village could say the same...railings would be hard to put up, and in any event would somewhat destroy the aesthetic. Nets, possibly. Ziplines.

 

“Lorna, perhaps you would like to show our guests some of the quarters?” Thranduil asked. “Perhaps Geezer or Mick would not mind letting the others see their rooms, so that there is some idea of how we live? And then we can stop by our kitchens and a few other places before we return to the village.” His smile made it apparent that she was under no obligation to let them into her own rooms, unless she wished it.”

 

“Sure,” Lorna said. She was rather curious herself, as she’d seen few flats so far; the layouts were similar, but not identical in every case. “C’mon, you lot, I’ll show you mine, mostly because I’ve got babies and kittens to show off.”

 

“Kittens?” Mary asked, perking up. Behind her, Ian shut his eyes. At least he’d managed to fob them off on Lorna before his wife could get her claws in.

 

“Five’v the little monstrosities,” Lorna said gleefully. “They get everywhere.”

 

“That they do,” Ian muttered, a touch sourly. He did not share his wife’s enthusiasm for felines. Not at all.

 

Maerwen was not in their room, sadly -- she was probably off spending time with Lothiriel and Ortherion, keeping all the babies in one place. There were, however, still kittens, that came trotting toward the door, mewing like mad. Naturally, each had to try to climb someone’s legs.

 

“They’re just at that age where they can’t be let out yet,” Mary gushed, picking up a fluffy ginger.

 

“And yet old enough to be destructive,” Lorna said, prying the tortie off her leg. Perhaps it was because that little one had met her first, but she was the most attached. “Go on and poke about, you lot. Ratiri and I’ve lived her for months, so this is what they’re like when someone’s settled in.”

 

Poke they did, though there were so many that it was a bit crowded; these flats weren’t designed for large parties. “Does it not get cold at night?” Nuala asked, eying the fireplace.

 

“Not really,” Ratiri said. “The Elves have some way of covering the fire with ash, so it doesn’t go out, and then it just gets stirred up in the morning.”

 

“What about toilets?” Jack asked, picturing chamber pots or something equally gross.

 

“About the same as ours, really,” Lorna said. “Though I’d not go into our loo right now, given the catbox is in there.” She really didn’t want them seeing that she and Ratiri had their own hot springs. “Problem is, communal bathing. It’s all done through hot springs, like in ancient Rome. We’ll have to work up some sort’v system -- screens, or something -- but we’ve got plenty’v time to think.”

 

Earlene had lingered, to remain with Thranduil. “So far so good, at least to mortal eyes,” she said, trying to encourage him. “You are very kind, to bring them all here. And I think it was a brilliant move on your part.”

 

His hand wove around her waist as he looked down on her warmly, and kissed her forehead. “The thoughts I hear...already I see how many things will be...different. Some are worried how the children will not fall off the archways. Others wonder about the bathing pools that are shared here. Yet another is relieved because she can keep her cats. Yet another is annoyed because there  _ can _ be cats.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

 

“I will refrain from guessing,” she said drily. “For some matters, telepathy is not required. All that remains, I think, is to send them on to choose their representatives, and understand to bring their ideas and concerns to those individuals.”

 

He nodded, resting his chin on top of her head. “Yes. It has begun.”

 

“If I can ask, you too have yet to choose a fourth representative. Will your people select this one, or will you?”

 

“I will choose, but in part because I already know who would be selected. While I feel I must formally gain Thanadir’s approval, it would be Thalion.” He looked up at his seneschal, smiling.

 

“The guard and fighter?” While Earlene was fairly certain she knew who he was, it never hurt to be sure.

 

“Yes.”

 

_ Well, I know little of him, but I suspect that will change very soon,  _ she reflected more to herself than anyone else.

 

“I do not object, my King,” Thanadir said. “He would have been my choice as well.”

 

“Then I suppose that settles it.”

 

*****

 

Lorna was highly amused at the sheer number of people who had to lay on her bed, then immediately decide they’d been missing out all their lives. She wondered if that alone might be enough to tempt some of them into spending their weekends here, though she suspected that dealing with days on end without television or the internet might prove a shock. It was one best got out of the way now, so that it wouldn’t be an issue when things went to shit. People weren’t used, anymore, to entertaining themselves, but in a place this lovely, that ought to not be much of an issue.

 

“All right, who wants to see the training rooms?” she asked, quite certain  _ that  _ would be incredibly popular with some of them.

 

Bridie and Jack looked at each other, and at John. They were quite certain this wasn’t going to end well, but on they went.

 

The ‘training room’ was less of a room and more of a hall, and the sheer number of sharp, pointy things made every single parent and grandparent wince. The fact that  _ knife throwing  _ was apparently a real thing just made it worse, and watching the ease with which Lorna threw them was equally disturbing. Mick, surprisingly, at least knew the theory, though his aim left something to be desired.

 

And yet Bridie at least was wise enough to realize they might need to know these things, in the future. She had, after all, seen all the  _ Mad Max  _ movies; she had a pretty good idea what happened, when society destabilized. Ireland was not a nation of guns; farmers and hunters had them, but that was about it. Bows, arrows, swords and knives -- she didn’t even want to think about it, and yet she had to.  _ Someone  _ had to, and she’d already gone there. She just wondered how long it would take the others to catch up.

 

Thranduil smiled and spoke, having appeared from somewhere undetermined at Bridie’s side. “This would not have been my first choice of sights to see,” he said quietly and for her hearing only, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And yet, as you observe….” he sighed. “Next we will briefly see the wood and metal working chambers, then pass through the kitchens…”

 

The rest of their time there was uneventful, and everyone seemed interested enough in the surroundings, albeit a tad overwhelmed. Though by the time they had seen the sparkling clean kitchens and the four cooks preparing volumes of dry ingredients for tomorrow morning’s work (complete with smiling bows and curtseys to the King), it was clearly time to conclude the initial tour. The villagers were accompanied all the way back to the Spotted Dick. Thranduil bade them welcome to visit via the cottage, to return with Geezer or Mick if they wished, and mentioned more elves might be coming to enjoy a drink in town. In two weeks, he hoped to convene the council for the first time...and that questions, thoughts and concerns could and should be given to the councilors. Those who were returning to the Halls thought it best to depart, to leave the others alone to speak or reflect. As the heavy door was closing behind them, Orla’s high pitched voice rang out, bringing a smile to their faces. “I want to move there now! Can we??”

 

Somehow, Lorna managed not to laugh. Somehow. With any luck, Orla would be a friend to all these babies, once they were old enough that a gap of four years wouldn’t matter so much. That had gone as well as she could have hoped, but she also knew that, just as with Baile, it hadn’t sunk in yet, and wouldn’t -- not for some days to come. Hopefully, in that time, the rest of them could have a break.

 

*****

 

Earlene walked into the massive greenhouse that Orla’s workers had now fully finished assembling, not really able to believe her eyes. Though Thanadir had said the plexiglass was up about a week prior, she had waited just a little longer for things like ventilating panels to be finessed. And she had been in and out repeatedly, checking thermometers she had left all over the structure, both night and day...while she was no expert at greenhouses, quite a lot of reading had yielded an understanding of what to figure out before a single plant was brought inside. One writer had said it best...something like, each greenhouse is a living organism, depending on climate, soil and location. It will have cool and hot zones, it will gain and lose heat differently with each day and season...have some bloody idea how that went, before going out and putting €100 orchids inside. Which made sense enough.

 

With surprisingly limited hassle (albeit relatively limited selection) her citrus trees had arrived and were ready for planting. It had been an eye-opener, what these cost in this part of the world...little dwarf trees in two gallon pots were sold at only a limited number of nurseries, and never for under €50 each. A few, she would not be willing to admit aloud what she’d paid, but goddammit they were wanted for cooking, and that was that. These would each be treated like the living diamonds that they were...and also they were an investment for the future. She could close her eyes, and see this place in five, ten, fifteen years. The elves would have fruits they’d never imagined, and long after they were gone to Aman these trees would be hopefully prized and cherished. 

 

With a completely happy smile, she grabbed her pots and began wandering around, setting them down in their proposed places; all of it would need hookup to drip irrigation lines before anything else happened, though for so few trees that was hardly a difficulty.

 

Thanadir appeared, right about the time she was quite close to calling one of the plastic compression fittings ‘a fucking cunt’, and called out before approaching. Valar be praised, he was now very careful about not startling her, and came over to immediately push the pieces together. Earlene laughed, and blushed a little. “You just managed to avert my speaking Words of Extreme Unseemliness,” she confessed, looking up at him much like an errant child would.

 

The beautiful face merely grinned in response. “Then I am glad I came. I wanted to help you, if you would allow it? I just finished my duties in the Halls and wished to see the trees,” he said, looking curiously at the strange leaf shapes so completely new to him. They were dark green, and very glossy.

 

“Well, here they are, and I would like your help very much. All of these are grafted onto dwarf, semi-dwarf or standard rootstocks. Which is a way of saying, the will naturally stay small, sort of medium sized, or want to get very large. The five in the center are the ones that can get quite tall; they are there because the roof in the middle is almost thirty feet above us. All the smaller trees can be planted nearer the sides, where ten or fifteen feet will match the walls as they curve upward. Or, at least that is the idea. We will dig holes, and place them where the pots are.”

 

He nodded, having brought another shovel, and bent over to look at the first tag. “Cala….calamond…? How in Eru’s name do you say this?”

 

“Calamondin. One of those, five kinds of orange tree, three kinds of lemon, a grapefruit, lime, blood orange, kumquats, tangerine, a mandarin, and because I could not stand it, a Buddha’s Hand citron. Seventeen trees, in all.”

 

Thanadir smiled, having faith that Earlene knew what she was doing. “Tell me how deeply to dig; together this will go fastest.” Side by side, their shovels delved the rich soil, and within an hour, the water was burbling out of the emitters. After a kiss of thanks to his cheek and a big hug, she brought him to the cottage and fed him cookies. All that was left to do was care for their new acquisitions, and watch them grow.

 


	67. Sixty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 6, 2017. Lorna's 41st birthday.
> 
> We're going to be making an effort to get more material released, give or take the time required to do final proofreadings. We are currently almost finished writing chapter 100 (yay, us!) and find ourselves mildly disturbed at the widening gap between composition and publication. What can we say, it's triple digit heat in our corner of the planet, and writing is way more fun than pulling weeds in this kind of weather.

 

Earlene had been up since before dawn, and was not sorry that Thanadir had managed to intercept her path as she ran to her cottage. She’d not said a word about it to anyone but Thranduil and Thanadir, but she was planning the nicest birthday breakfast possible, for Lorna. Admittedly, it hadn’t involved knocking off a bacon truck, but Swedish pancakes, with offerings of Nutella, fresh berries and Devonshire cream, or powdered sugar and lemon custard sauce, _plus_ bacon, ham and cheddar omelettes couldn’t be too much to complain about. Not to mention, caffe lattes, just like they had enjoyed in New York City, complete with special bowl-sized coffee mugs that she had ordered and hidden to make it authentic. And hot cocoa, because. Thanadir had proven extremely adept at the Swedish pancakes, and once he was provided with the massive measuring bowl of batter, was deftly able to pour out, spread and flip the thin cakes with ease.

 

It was already no secret that they had a birthday excursion planned to Limerick for her that would include a stop at a pub for a late lunch/early dinner (so she could drink herself to happiness). And as the pancakes stacked up in the keeper, Earlene had a freshly baked large batch of chai tea cookies stacking up in a tin that they could take with them; these she could munch them in the car. Lorna’s present from her was already wrapped and at her place at the table, and generally things were humming along. Earlene stopped long enough to give Thanadir a hug and kiss on his cheek. This was the happiest she had felt since every sort of weirdness had come into their lives in the form of Sharley’s news, not that it was her fault, the poor dear. And, she was only 9 weeks pregnant. That meant, she still had time, some months of time, before the things she enjoyed doing so much would be made difficult once again.

 

It crept into her mind to wonder, what this time around would be like. Ratiri had told her that it could be the same but probably would be another unique experience, and not to set store by what had happened during her first pregnancy. Would she carry her son longer, or the same amount of time? Would she become a land whale again, or would this be more manageable? A sigh escaped her. Only time would tell.

 

“They are coming!” Thanadir said happily, on his second to last-pancake.

 

“Perfect,” Earlene beamed, just shutting down the heat on the piping saucepan of cocoa to transfer it into a warmed ceramic pitcher.

 

Lorna had rather wanted to ignore the fact that it was her birthday, but as if anyone was going to let her. Ratiri had kissed her and said that once you were past forty, you weren’t meant to look at it as being another year older so much as a day you get free cake. Put in that light, she was much happier.

 

Sharley walked behind them, nearly as silent as an elf, her blue hair lit up in the sunlight. She looked far healthier now, and oh, Lorna wished she wasn’t going back to America, but she was fairly insistent upon it. She said she’d be back in five years, which forced Lorna and Ratiri to just accept it, for all neither of them wanted to. If they’d had their way, they would have just got her drunk and kept her too drunk to want to leave, so it was probably a good thing they _didn’t_ have their way.

 

“I wonder what Earlene’s made,” Lorna said, sniffing the air. Whatever it was, it was bound to be delicious -- seriously, she and Mairead needed to get together and swap recipes. (No Siobhan, though. Never. Lorna had so loved chocolate syrup, once upon a time. Once upon a time, but no longer. Dammit.)

 

“I smell bacon,” Ratiri said -- the only scent he _could_ recognize, given the myriad assortment. When they reached the cottage door, he gave the usual customary rap before heading right on in. “If all of this tastes as good as it smells, we might wind up in food comas before we even go to town.”

 

Earlene grinned evilly. “Well, as Lorna can’t be asked to drive on her birthday, that leaves you to be the designated sane eater, Ratiri. Can’t have you falling asleep on those curving Route roads,” she teased. Though, she hoped that the one they’d be taking today wouldn’t be too dodgy. Their usual path to Dublin was paved well enough, but they’d be taking a different one to head south to Limerick.

 

“Of course she can’t,” he said, with a somewhat theatrical sigh, before leaning down to kiss the crown of Lorna’s head. “At least she knows where we’re going.” He’d still seen so little of Ireland; their trip to the Aran Islands and Dublin were about it.

 

Sharley eyed all that food with a certain amount of greed. While she hardly starved, neither did she eat well; there was no kitchen at the bunkhouse, so she did most of her cooking on a Coleman stove, and her menu was by necessity limited. Some of this she was pretty sure she hadn’t actually seen before.

 

 _“Can you at least try not to drool?”_ Jimmy asked. She utterly ignored him, too intent on trying work out just what she was looking at.

 

Something in Sharley’s expression jarred Earlene to realize that the poor woman was not used to Life With Earlene. With a happy smile, she spoke as if to everyone at the table, though the description was meant for Sharley’s benefit, mostly. All the items and what they were for were pointed at in turn and described, and the pitchers brimming with the hot beverages were being manned by the ellyn, who waited to hear who would like what; it was simply easier for them to wield the heavy items. Or at least, they were the least likely to spill it everywhere.

 

Lorna pounced on the idea of coffee, which she hadn’t had since they’d got home from New York. Sharley, rather unsurprisingly, did too, though Ratiri stuck with cocoa. America had not corrupted his palate (yet). All three of them loaded down their plates, though Ratiri looked in slight disbelief at the amount Sharley dished up. He was used to his wife’s surprisingly large appetite for such a tiny person, but Sharley was so rawboned that he wasn’t sure where she’d put it. He wondered just how often she found herself faced with such a meal, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

 

“Earlene, you’ve spoiled me,” Lorna said. “Even worse than Mairead did, and I didn’t think that was possible.” And even now, she was so glad she could eat a proper breakfast, that she could have bacon and caffeine and these wonderful pancake-type things. Food, _real_ food. She really would never take it for granted again.

 

“It’s your birthday,” she beamed. “And I baked your favorite cookies to have in the car. We can get away with that, at least until we’ve got children with us that we have to set an example for. Then again, I suppose I should ask you...I had friends in the States, that let their kids eat in the car. In no time, their vehicles became these horrifying waste can liners on wheels that I thought needed a hazmat team. The time I almost sat on a third of an uneaten hamburger that looked to be two weeks old, I told myself that unless it was for some kind of emergency, eating could happen _not_ in a car. But if you feel strongly about letting them do it, I guess there are cleaning supplies.”

 

“You know, I’ve never really thought about that,” Lorna said. “Mairead never let hers in the car unless it was a long road trip. Probably a decent habit to adopt, since all’v hers turned out okay, even if Niamh’s a bit’v a twit right now.”

 

“She’s seventeen,” Sharley said, slathering her pancakes with cream. “Goes with the territory.”

 

“You’re right enough there, though I was an eejit’v a different sort.” She laughed. “My seventeenth birthday, Shane somehow stole a huge boquet’v balloons. We spent all afternoon sucking the helium out’v them and singing songs in chipmunk voices.”

 

Ratiri looked at her. “Is there anything you _didn’t_ do as a teenager?”

 

“I never went ice skating. Or...or played golf,” she offered.

 

“Golf was invented by tormented people wishing to share their brand of madness,” Earlene opined. “No loss there.” A colleague had invited her once, assuring her that it would be fun. It was many things, but fun was not one of them.

 

Thranduil looked up at his wife, smiling, as he caught the memories of her throwing her nine-iron in anger, and Earlene sulked (but only mildly) to realize she’d given away her secret.

 

“Helium…” said Thanadir, trying to remember this word.

 

“It’s a gas,” Ratiri said. “You’ve see party balloons -- it’s what makes them float. When inhaled, it temporarily alters the vocal cords.”

 

“You sound kind of like this, but worse,” Lorna said, doing her best to mimic it. It wasn’t a great job; her voice was too naturally low for a woman for her to pull it off.

 

Sharley laughed silently, hiding it behind the rim of her mug. She and Marty had done that; her daughter had loved being sung to in chipmunk tones.

 

 _“We don’t need helium for that,”_ Layla said, in a rather dead-on impression of someone who’d just inhaled some. Sometimes the things the voices could do unnerved even her.

 

“Supposedly, Scotland ought to be proud of having invented golf,” Ratiri said, almost meditatively. “We also invented a sport that involves throwing a tree trunk as far as you can. Clearly we are not masters of creativity.”

 

“I want to try the helium,” Thanadir said plaintively, as Earlene and Thranduil simply stared at him. She looked over at Ratiri, helplessly. It seemed like a bad idea, but...was it actually harmful, or just odd?

 

“So long as it’s just one balloon, it ought to be fine,” Ratiri said. “What Lorna did was, unfortunately, rather dangerous, but helium is only harmful in large doses.”

 

“Why was it dangerous?” she asked.

 

“Helium is an asphyxiant,” he explained, wondering if he was about to completely ruin a fun memory for her. “Inhale too much at once and you’ll suffocate. Just how big was this bouquet of balloons?”

 

Lorna shifted slightly in her seat. “Big,” she hedged. “Not quite enough to lift a small dog, but close.”

 

“I will find you a balloon, meldir. I have heard it, and I admit it is funny.” The old elf seemed happy now, though he now wondered, not for the last time, how Lorna had lived this long.

 

 _“All these people that actually_ breathe _,”_ Kurt said, just a bit witheringly. _“We don’t need no stinking gasses.”_ The fact that he could render his voice that high was nearly enough to make Sharley choke on her pancake.

 

Sinsemilla sighed. _“Kurt, as ever, you’re really not helping.”_

 

 _“Does he ever?”_ Jimmy snickered.

 

Sharley just rolled her eyes, unwilling to respond, and not just because she had food in her mouth. _Sorry_ , she sent Thranduil. _I’d say you get used to them, but...you really don’t._

 

 _Do not apologize, not when you cannot help it. They do not bother me, Sharley. I would far rather listen to odd things that are not real than lamentable things that are. Such is life, these days._ He smiled kindly at her. They’d all had a few days to process the future, and for at least today, all of them seem to have found the wherewithal to enjoy it.

 

“Alright,” announced Earlene. “Everyone is approaching a food coma. That means it is time to open your presents, Lorna.” Even if it was purely selfish, because she wanted to see if Lorna liked the set of wooden cat and kitten themed hair combs she’d found on an online handmade craft store.

 

 _Uh-oh_ … Yes, anymore presents made her nervous, and it was because of a certain giant blond in fancy clothes. So sue her.

 

Ratiri brought out the small box he’d carefully wrapped, setting it before her. “I don’t know if you want to open this first or last, but I’m requesting last, if you don’t mind.”

 

All right, now _he_ was making her nervous. “Okay,” she said. “Why not?”

 

To her great surprise, Sharley laid a small box on the table as well, and very slightly arched an eyebrow when Lorna cast her a startled look. “Of course I knew it was your birthday. _Duh._ ” There was just a touch of Surfer Dude in her accent to make Lorna burst out laughing.

 

“My present could not be wrapped, Lorna. It goes with Thranduil’s,” Thanadir said by way of apology.

 

“Aren’t you two mysterious,” quipped Earlene. _This_ ought to be good. It was already solidly un-Thanadir like.

 

Now Lorna was _really_ nervous -- except no, she didn’t need to be. Thanadir would never let Thranduil get away with something that would be too embarrassing. “Okay,” she said, a touch uncertainly. When she unwrapped the brown paper that covered Sharley’s box, she discovered a chunk of what looked very like wood, but felt like stone.

 

“It’s a fossil,” Sharley said. “Marty and I used to go hunt for them. You’re not supposed to take one if you do find it, but like anyone listens to that.”

 

Lorna cradled it in her palm. It was cool, and smooth, and she wondered how old it was. “I’ve never seen a fossil, except in the museums in New York,” she said, “and they sure as hell didn’t let us touch any’v them.” She leaned over, flailing a little, and drew the rather startled Sharley into a hug. “Thank you, allanah.”

 

Earlene’s present came next, and Lorna grinned with utter delight. She’d been practicing various braids from the book Earlene had given her for Christmas, but now that it was getting warmer, she’d be wanting to pin the braid up, and these combs were perfect: all wood, of different shades and finishes, and shaped like cats in various poses. “Jesus, Earlene, these’re grand,” she said, taking one -- it looked like teak, with very long tines -- and winding the braid around into a bun, securing it in place with the comb. They were tough wood, too; her hair wasn’t going to break them inside of a week.

 

“Oh good!” Earlene smiled. “It’s so hard to know from the pictures if they’ll be quite right.” Her day already felt complete, and they hadn’t left yet. “Now to see what you two did, since you never tell me the fun stuff,” she pouted.

 

“You had enough to think about, meluieg,” Thranduil smiled. “But, your present is outside, Lorna. “It is meant to go with your other present.”

 

They walked outside as a group, where an...object was covered by a black cloth. “Go on,” Thranduil said. “Uncover it.”

 

Lorna, with eyes full of suspicion, tugged off the heavy...was this felt? piece of fabric to reveal a green pedestal of some kind with... _what the…?_

 

The thing immediately sprang to life, with what looked like immense black flower petals spreading out to form into a flower and it... _just, whaaaaaaat?_

 

“Is that -- wait, are those solar panels?” she asked, trying to stand on her tiptoes to inspect it. They _looked_ like it, at any rate; this thing, whatever it, was, seemed to be the unholy spawn of a wind turbine and a solar panel...herd. That probably wasn’t what a group of them were called, but it was now. “What is it?”

 

“It is a Smartflower,” said Thranduil. “The rest of our present is a little...strange. Lorna, I know you want your cottage, in Baile. The Smartflower is to power your dwelling, once it is in the woods. I am offering to move your home into the forest, to a location where it will stand on its own and you can have privacy. When you wish for this to occur, Thanadir will take charge of making that happen.”

 

Lorna stared at him, wide-eyed, almost unable to believe what she’d just heard. Thought of Gran’s cottage standing abandoned forever had plagued her ever since Sharley first came with her dreadful news. Words utterly failed her, for once internal as well as verbal; all she managed to do was launch herself forward and wrap him in a hug -- a proper, rib-squeezing hug. He would have known just how she’d grieved the idea; she didn’t need to try to summon speech of any sort. To have both her homes so near one another...her children could live in it as well, in a human environment as well as an elven. _Thank you_ , she managed, eventually. _You know exactly how much this means to me._

 

“You are welcome. This ensures your children will retain something of their heritage, and you and Ratiri will have a private place to...get away from it all, I believe is the term I am looking for,” he smiled.

 

Earlene looked at Ratiri sidewise. “Well, my combs just got scooped.” Her expression was one of mock-deflation, but she sincerely was thrilled for her friend. It was a generous and thoughtful thing that her husband was doing, and she felt very proud of him.

 

“I think everyone’s gifts did for the next decade,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “I knew this was preying on her. That she could have it moved...I think she’s gone into vapor-lock.” He knew how much that cottage meant to her, that it was more than just a thing. It was the first home she could call her own, one into which she’d poured work and love. He had, too, for that matter; a large part of their courtship, if one could call it that, had occurred while they were restoring it. Once upon a time, that Thranduil could give Lorna so much more than he could would have made him jealous, but no longer. Now he was simply happy that she was happy.

 

 _“The great thing about being a mind-reader is always knowing what the perfect present is,”_ Jimmy said. _“I mean, I guess. I’d use it for other shit, but, y’know.”_

 

 _“Quit ruining the moment,”_ Sinsemilla snapped.

 

While part of Earlene very much wanted to read the specs on this ArtFlower or whatever the thing was called (seriously, whoever came up with this was an engineering genius who had an equally enviable eye for marketability), she was now curious about Ratiri’s gift. Sadly, interesting as the solar device was, it was not something she could wear to town; it would have to be stored until her home could be moved. And she did not envy Orla, who she guessed would be the unfortunate soul hired to make this a reality. But such a nice thing required time to Oooh and Aaaah. _Besides, they were all overstuffed on Swedish pancakes, and what was the rush?_

 

“I’m afraid mine is much smaller,” Ratiri said, a bit ruefully. In his hand was a small wooden box, beautifully finished. Lorna took it, fumbling with the latch a bit, and discovered a silver nose-stud set with an emerald.

 

“It’s for the wedding,” he said. “And as sappy as this sounds, silver for your hair, and emerald for your eyes.”

 

It _was_ sappy, and yet so damn perfect. Lorna rose on her tiptoes to kiss him, careful not to crush the box between them. “Can I wear it _before_ the wedding?” she asked. It had been long enough since the piercing that she could take out the original.

 

“Of course you can,” he said, and with a grin she dashed off to the toilet to make the swap.

 

 _I feel defective in the adornments category_ , Earlene thought, feeling genuinely envious. Though, with her luck the same would look ridiculous on her; Lorna just had a “look” for such things. Like, she was tiny and cute. Then again, fortunately she had stopped herself saying that aloud, because it would not be a gracious statement at all coming from someone who had a display case worth of diamonds around her neck. Oh well.

 

Thranduil raised his eyebrows; this was new kind of thought, coming from Earlene. He would have to investigate this...later. With a word to Thanadir, they carefully wrestled the solar flower into the barn, where it promptly began to fold up of its own accord. He stood next to Thanadir, watching it. While it was still not natural, there was an elven air about it. They smiled at each other, and their mutual fascination with the device, before returning to the cottage and their plans for the rest of the day.

 

Lorna, new stud in her nose, finished up the last of her coffee. The emerald glinted in the light, and she was happy to have such a beautiful thing -- and something that couldn’t be used to strangle her, which had been one of the major reasons she’d never worn the necklace Thranduil had given her outside the Halls. While nobody could choke her _now_ , nobody in her circle had ever worn necklaces, precisely because they could so easily be used as a garrote. She’d wondered more than once how Earlene could stand having her necklace on 24/7, but Earlene hadn’t grown up in the same environment. She wasn’t going to have that hangup -- though it must have more than one kind of elf magic, if it wasn’t uncomfortable to sleep in. _Elves_.

 

“We should probably think about getting going,” Earlene said, lingering and bobbing up and down in front of Lorna to suitably admire the pretty gem. “We didn’t ever quite decide what we’re doing, but there are a lot of choices and it’s at least an hour in the van to decide. Except, I thought maybe we should save Lough Gur or the hikes in the mountains for when we have the children; nature and the outdoors and all that.”

 

“I think you’re right,” Ratiri said. “I’m open to ideas, birthday girl,” he added, poking Lorna lightly.

 

“Oh, hell, I don’t know,” she said, stealing a last piece of bacon. “Thranduil, this trip is your brain child. You pick.”

 

“Then I vote for the castle, and a museum. The one called the Hunt Museum sounded the most interesting to me, but only because I do not know enough of the others. I do not know who Frank McCourt was and the Treaty Stone sounds...less than completely fascinating.”

 

“Frank McCourt?” Earlene asked. “The man who wrote that godawful book about his childhood? I didn’t remember he was from Limerick. Because _that_ wasn’t depressing...Christ I can’t forget half the things I read in there.”

 

“That’s what happens when the Irish Virus gets your da,” Lorna said. “Especially back then. His childhood made mine look like fluffy clouds and roses.”

 

“Did you ever see the movie?” Ratiri asked. “Robert Carlyle was terrifying. Everyone’s worst nightmare of a father. He played it so well it brought McCourt to tears.”

 

“I did,” said Earlene. “And it was so bad I think I have shoved it all out of my head because...no one should ever have to go through…” and suddenly her words felt too close to home for both Lorna and Thranduil on what was supposed to be a day to be happy and enjoyable. Reflections on a horrifying childhood seemed like the last thing anyone needed brought to mind today. Shaking her head, she refused to complete her sentence and changed the subject. “The castle sounds very nice. And I read there is another one in a nearby town not so far away, Askeaton. It’s very old, at least as humans think of such things.”

 

Thranduil saw all this in Earlene’s mind and a small shadow of guilt fell over him. He had arguably spent more time confiding his memories of his younger life to Lorna than he had his own wife. He had simply talked about these things often not in his active thoughts, when Lorna’s troubles had created a need for the reassurance of shared experience. Earlene never complained, showed any resentment, or sought to ask questions that she would view as prying...and her reward for that patient support was that this part of him remained hidden when he had vowed to be as one with her.

 

“I liked the castle in New York City,” said Thanadir, thinking the stone architecture he had seen most interesting.

 

The King smiled at his seneschal, who still carried at times a air of such innocence. But his attention remained on his wife, as she gathered her things in preparation to leave. _Meluieg, I would like to sit next to you on our drive. I am suddenly aware that I have been unfair to you, and I would like to try to correct my mistake. Or at least, begin to._

 

Only a subtle bow of her head and a smile met his eyes, for she was in the process of disappearing into her room to change clothing. When she emerged, her mood was brighter, as was her dress. Her elven clothing had been exchanged for a pretty printed tunic and soft grey leggings that went into dark brown boots he could not recall seeing; these were human-made. Her top, while modest, was patterned with an impression of orchid flowers in shades of lilac... and fitted her form well enough to leave no doubt as to the magnitude of her charms, and an equally lovely light gray scarf largely obscured her necklace. Lastly she wore her purple hooded wrap from the Aran Islands; one never could say if the weather would hold. It was Ireland, after all. Earlene had also used her cosmetics and woven her hair into a very loose French braid. Thranduil felt a stab of desire. His wife appeared radiant, lovely, tempting, and beyond his reach in that sense for the next several hours. This did not stop him from walking to her, kissing her as deeply as he felt might still be tasteful and complimenting her appearance.

 

Blushing lightly at his attentions, she slipped her hand into his. Over a year later, and he could still set her heart to pounding with only one glance of desire. There were still so many times when just looking at him threatened to overwhelm her senses on account of his beauty. _And this is why you don’t dwell on these things, Earlene, because you are no longer in high school and it might be nice if this day at least got started without you soaking your own undergarments from dwelling on what you’d rather do just now._

 

This thought did nothing to help Thranduil, who tugged his t-shirt a little lower to hopefully mask the swelling in his jeans it was now necessary to master. He sighed deeply, and forced his mind elsewhere, such as recalling to bring Lorna’s tin of cookies for her. “Are we ready?” he asked the group.

 

Lorna wrinkled her nose at the kiss, but said nothing, and it was all Ratiri could do not to laugh. She really was rather childlike in some ways, but he found it entirely endearing. Her green coat, he noticed, matched her nose ring well, and if not for the silver in her hair, she might have passed for a woman fifteen years younger. She was just so... _cute_. And he knew he could never, ever say so, lest she get some kind of creative and underhanded revenge on him. Still, he doubted there was anyone out there who wouldn’t find her at least vaguely adorable, in a slightly scary way. She was certainly capable of looking like she wanted to rip someone’s face off if she was angry enough, and somehow the fact that she was so tiny just made it even more unnerving.

 

“Almost,” she said, rifling through her messenger bag. It really had been an ingenious gift, considering all the shite she liked carrying with her; why she’d avoided having a handbag for so much of her life, she didn’t know. This one had wallet, spare keys, spare hair brush, a scarf, an extra T-shirt (something she’d learned to carry after Shane missed his towel and spit up all over her shirt once, and now just did by habit) and unfortunately tampons, since naturally the Communists had finally come a-knocking a couple days ago.

 

At least the worst of it was over, including the cramps -- though she’d initially been rather freaked out, because it had started off heavier than she’d ever had it, so heavy she’d been afraid she was hemorrhaging until Ratire explained that her body was probably going to be out of whack for a while yet. Given that she’d gone over three months without one, it kind of made sense that it would be a disaster, but she was far enough into it that it was no longer like a crimson waterfall. And while she might have issues with anybody seeing her with few clothes on, she had zero embarrassment about menstrual matters (hence why she was able to just stick a tampon in behind a trash can at the zoo) so she didn’t bother hiding her supplies. Had Earlene managed to have one, in between giving birth and getting up the yard again? Supposedly Thranduil had some way of dealing with that, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was. She could only think of a few things, and they all sounded squicky.

 

“Okay,” she said, once she’d finished up in the toilet, “ _now_ I’m good to go.”

 

What felt like a major disruption in the Force ensued when Thanadir sat behind Lorna, who was riding shotgun, but Thranduil nudged Earlene to the last row. She was not certain which part felt the most odd, not sitting with Thanadir or that her husband wanted to sit with her; usually he enjoyed bantering with Lorna and Ratiri on these car rides and after so long, it had simply become what they all did, leaving her and Thanadir to whatever sort of being quiet or silly games they devised between them.

 

Soon they were motoring down the winding Route Road, threading their way from the more sparsely inhabited portions of the Emerald Isle toward the city. Earlene took Thranduil’s hand in hers. _Well, this is different, not that I am complaining. May I ask, what brought this on?_

 

Her humor was very good and her tone teasing, but the words stung, to a degree. _That it is different, I think is part of the problem, meluieg. What you were thinking of, back in the cottage, when you did not wish to visit a place that had to do with a very bad childhood. It caused me to think on many things, and realize something._

 

Earlene’s body stiffened, a little. _Thranduil, I am sorry, I have never wanted to be intrusive or fail to allow you your privacy. I did not think about that to…._

 

_Meluieg, please, stop. Listen to me. You have not done anything wrong. Neither have I, or, at least I do not believe I have. But your words caused me to realize that there is something I could be doing better. Which is to say, it is not right that I have freely told my friend more about my life long ago than my wife._

 

It was very difficult for Earlene to school her thoughts to some kind of silence, but she was trying. If listening was what was wanted, she would attempt to not fill the void with her uncontrolled musings. Though, it was impossible not to frown and wonder, _isn’t that the point, of privacy, and friends? That the relationship you have with them is different than with your mate, because no two people are alike and no person can truly have all their social and intellectual needs met by just one other?_

 

Thranduil paused, and smiled. _I will allow that this is a very nuanced topic, meluieg. I do not disagree with your perceptions. It is only that...there are things I do not tell you, have not told you, that are not necessarily that private. It is that they belong to long ago, and I think on them very little. And yet they are part of me. Perhaps what I am trying to say is, it does not feel right to fail to be as open with you as possible. You see, had you heard more about my path in life, you would be able to realize that while I have grieved for the more painful aspects of my past and the damage they caused, that it does not mean that I cannot consider the bad experiences of others without crumbling to pieces or becoming immersed in sorrow. I love you, for your regard of my feelings. But I can also see that I have not allowed you to understand me, and I would like to try to correct that._

 

 _Oh._ It was hard not to smile. _Part of this is my overdeveloped sense of courtesy toward others, and part of it is...well, I am unsure that the foundations laid at the beginning of our relationship are something I can ever leave behind. It is not always easy for me to know, beloved, where the King leaves off and where my husband begins. Sometimes they overlap. Sometimes they do not. I have seen times already in which it was fairly important, that how I relate to the King remains as it is. Just as for Thanadir. It might have not gone so well, for example, had we stood around and had a dialogue about Von Ratched at the party in New York. Things like...that.  Whatever, I accepted all of that long ago and I do not feel that you owe me more than you have already given. But...of course I would like to know more about you. Of course I would like to know those things that Thanadir takes for granted because he was there with you to see them. It is only that I am in the awkward position of never really knowing...what I may know. So I have schooled myself never to ask. I think you can see the difficulty, readily enough. It is not so different, than my career. Lawyers are entrusted with the knowledge of many things that must remain confidential. A colleague may know something that I cannot, and vice versa. It lends to a very compartmentalized manner of thinking and behaving. This is all to say, I would enjoy very much to learn more about you. Though, I hope you are good at summarizing; I might not last long enough to hear an eighteen thousand year backlog, or whenever it was that dinosaurs ruled the earth._ The corners of her lips turned up

 

 _Then I will be sure to begin with my first mount,_ he countered acerbically _. It was a fine triceratops, named Rochir._

 

The next moment Earlene was coughing from the outburst of laughter that unfortunately coincided with a swallow. Thanadir turned in his seat, mildly alarmed, and looking at Thranduil with an air of vague reproach. He quickly laid a hand on her back, and the wretched sensation of something dancing inside of her bronchial passages vanished. “Excuse me,” she said aloud, recovering. _That was a very good rejoinder,_ she admitted. _Very good. I am duly chastened._

 

He chuckled, placing his arm over her shoulder, while his free hand slid down to her womb. It was yet early, and while she could feel nothing, like as not he could...whatever it was that he did, knowing about these things. With a peck to her cheek, he thought, _soon._

 

Lorna quite shamelessly broke into the biscuits, happy that for once she could munch in the car, since she never ate while driving. She could even have a drink or three with lunch, since she didn’t have to drive home, and wasn’t _that_ a wonderful idea. Seriously, this birthday business wasn’t so bad after all -- she’d been gifted lovely things, had had a bang-up breakfast, and now a day in the fresh air with these amazing biscuits. She was, at the moment, entirely content -- yes, even while surfing the crimson tide.

 

Very lightly, she touched her nose ring. Having something there had been very odd at first, especially when she was trying to sleep, but she’d got used to it in fairly short order. That had merely been a silver bead, however; this tiny emerald was far prettier, glittering in the sunlight. Jewelry wasn’t actually so bad, really, so long as it wasn’t something that would make someone think she’d stolen it. She was not Earlene, who could carry off something as opulent as that necklace and look totally natural in it; that thing looked like it belonged on her, but on someone like Lorna? People would think she’d mugged some posh person coming out of an evening party and made off with it.

 

She glanced in the rear-view mirror to look at Sharley, who also seemed quite content. How a human woman could sit so _still_ , Lorna had no idea, but when not occupied she was very like a statue -- an impression helped along by the fact that she seemed to blink far less than an ordinary person.

 

What _was_ Sharley? If Tolkien’s entire canon was in fact reality, she didn’t fit. Humans in his legendarium might have some kind of vague foresight, but none of them, so far as Lorna had ever read, just mentally walked right into the future -- and she was entirely sure that _nobody_ , not elf nor dwarf nor human nor hobbit, could see the past. Had Eru poked her brain with a stick, just for shits and giggles? She was pretty sure he wasn’t that cruel, nor were any of the Valar. The form Sharley’s ability took was a curse to her.

 

 _Could Von Ratched have had something to do with her?_ Lorna wouldn’t put it past him to have fucked around with some human baby’s brain, just to see what would happen. Maybe Sharley was wrong, and he’d known about her the whole time. Lorna could see him just standing back and watching with a metaphorical bucket of popcorn. Except if it had been a Maia tweaking Sharley’s head, Thranduil would probably be able to tell.

 

Whatever she was, they had her for now, and they would spoil her before she went back to the barbarian lands. Maybe it would be enough to draw her back to Ireland sooner rather than later.

 

“Did anyone think to make sure of the weather?” Earlene murmured aloud. “It might influence whether we try the castle first or the museum? If that’s what we’ve actually decided on? We should clear that part up before we get to Limerick.” Truly, she was becoming lax in her new life. Then again, the only thing notable about the planning for this trip was that no one person had ever officially been in charge of it, so, it wasn’t like she should feel _too_ responsible for the free-form shape the plans had taken.

 

“It ought to be sunny, but it’s Ireland, so you never know,” Lorna said. “Especially on the coast, it can turn in a heartbeat. It’s why I’ve got the coat, and it’s a good thing you’ve got the hood.” In Ireland, layers were the best course of action, though admittedly the coat would be a pain in the arse to lug around if she had to take it off.

 

Once on the motorway, Ratiri went as fast as reason allowed -- he could get away with speeding better than Lorna, simply because he wasn’t as aggressive. He didn’t go weaving around the motorway like it was a game of pinball.

 

Earelen’s eyebrow arched as she began to suspect that the speedometer was in an unfavorable location on the numerical scale, and began to subtly lean over to catch a view of the dashboard display. They were on a regional road, where the limit was 80km/h. Earlene mentally juggled that…50mph, in English measure. And Ratiri was going 95 km/h. With a little more mental juggling, she worked that out to somewhere in the 60’s….barely falling still within the framework of acceptable speed. She would remain silent, for now, but was already growing uncomfortable. _Why is everyone always in such a fucking hurry?_ There never was a good enough answer.

 

Thranduil glanced sidewise at his wife, frowning. She was deliberately not thinking about something, and the something was not nice, and had to do with...driving. Abruptly, she changed course. “Does it seem strange to you ellyn, to be going to see places that to us seem so old, but to you are not very old at all? These places today, one of them was built I think seven hundred years ago...there are not many things so old, in our world.”

 

Thanadir turned his head, with a nearly instant response. “Strange is not the right word. Enlightening, is what I would call it. It is interesting to see what survived, and why. It says something about humans, that your very old buildings all seem to have been fortifications, places of worship, or places to honor your dead.”

 

“They are, aren’t they? I never thought of it quite like that,” she said, trailing off. _Sounds like we make one hell of a poor use of resources, put that way…_

 

“It makes sense,” Sharley said, startling the hell out of Ratiri, who had almost forgot she was there. “Fortifications to keep you safe, churches to make you think about what’d happen if they _didn’t_ keep you safe, and tombs to honor the people you hope are putting in a good word for you on the other side.”

 

 _“Wow, Sharley, that actually kinda made sense,”_ Jimmy said.

 

“It’s been known to happen,” she muttered, so quietly only the Elves might have heard her.

 

“That’s a more positive assessment than what I had,” admitted Earlene. “It seems like we’ve put more into those buildings than in treating each other decently, but as usual I suppose nothing is ever exactly simple. I can just imagine what it took, in the year twelve hundred and whatever, to build a castle. When the most sophisticated tool was what, a block and tackle?”

 

“A tribute to human stubbornness and ingenuity,” Ratiri said, glowering at the twat in front of them. He couldn’t reasonably get around them, but neither could he safely ride their bumper, so eventually he managed to merge without driving like, well, Lorna. “If enough of us truly want to get something done, it will get done. And some of it will stand for thousands of years -- though it’s theorized that many of the ancient structures were more or less the result of something like Roosevelt’s WPA in the nineteen-thirties: something for the populace to do. The pyramids were built during the season that all the fields were flooded, and the people had no other work.”

 

Earlene turned and took Thranduil’s right hand and grasped it in preparation for Thumb Wars. He recognized this as the silly game she often played with Thanadir; admittedly, he had never tried it. How hard could this be? They began, and he immediately captured her thumb under his.

 

 _No, that’s cheating,_ she protested. _You cannot lift your wrist off the armrest, that is against the rules._

 

 _This game has rules?_ he asked in disbelief.

 

_Every game has rules, does it not?_

 

With a sigh from him, they began again, and suddenly it was not so simple after all. He was terribly tempted to cheat properly and cause her to see something that was not there, but that would be beneath his dignity. Probably. A few more minutes went by after which Earlene was the victor. She narrowed her eyes, looking at him. _I think you let me win._

 

_Perhaps. Forgive me meluieg, I am not very good at remaining focused on such as this._

 

 _Well, it is not chess, I will grant you that._ She reflected for a time. _It occurs to me...what do you and I have in common? We love solving problems and functioning in complex systems. This, and that we desire each other almost constantly are somehow all I can think of._

 

Startled, he searched for a response. It was true, he did not have many pastimes, per se. He did not like to cook or eat sugary foods. _We both love the woods,_ he noted.

 

_True. And though I cannot explain why, I enjoy being in your company. We have few overlapping interests in the direct sense of the word, and yet when you are absent, it feels empty for me._

 

_It is the same for me and….now that you point this out, it seems strange indeed._

 

 _Well, I have never known a King before. You have not been left with the...space, the freedom, to have...hobbies. Your life has been given over to duty,_ she reflected. _It is amusing, though, in a way. And yet I love you, more than I can say._ Turning, she reached to kiss his chin before snuggling against him yet more. They continued on until they branched off to the R445 that would take them near to King’s Island, and King John’s Castle. Earlene was definitely suffering from American influences at this point, because while she was fairly sure this had nothing to do with Robin Hood, the name would not leave her head. Then again probably the Shakespeare play was a likelier connection… “I’m hoping you’ve got the navigation worked out, up there, if not let me know,” she piped up. It would be bad, if they found themselves halfway to Dublin on accident.

 

“Thank God for smartphones,” Lorna said, holding hers up. “You’ve got no idea how easily I got lost, when Liam and I traveled. We just took it as an excuse to go see something we wouldn’t’ve know about otherwise, but that wouldn’t be very handy now.” The slightly robotic voice of the app told Ratiri where to turn, and when, until they finally landed. “And now I’ve got to wee. Anyone else?”

 

“Me,” Sharley said at once.

 

“And no one even really needs to ask a pregnant woman,” Earlene smirked.

 

The car park was only half full, fortunately, so Ratiri managed to get a space decently close to the castle itself. He would never, ever say so, but going on a long walk with Lorna was something of an ordeal, simply because she was so short, and he had to consciously hobble himself so he didn’t leave her behind, or make her have a heart attack trying to keep up. Watching her hop out and make a beeline for the building was more amusing than it ought to be, which was another thing he’d never say aloud. It was not at all his fault his fiancée was adorable. It really wasn’t.

 

Earlene dawdled enough to allow Lorna to get a head start, since she shared Ratiri’s problem. If she ran, she could be at the restroom yesterday, and yet that would be making a spectacle of herself. And might not make Lorna too happy; this was her birthday. Business was attended to soon enough, and in the meantime she was immersed with Wiki articles about King John, wondering why she hadn’t read these before showing up here. It really _was_ that King John, Robin Hood and all. Who knew?

 

Thranduil leaned over toward Ratiri. “At the risk of asking a question to which I will regret hearing the answer, what is this ‘Robin Hood’ about which Earlene keeps thinking? It has something to do with the King whose castle this was?”

 

“It does,” Ratiri said. “Robin Hood is an old English tale of an outlaw who stole from rich nobles and gave their money and jewels to the poor, because the corrupt king was letting them starve. The tale is fiction, but the King was real. King John Softsword, he was called, and he was such a terrible king that he’s the reason Britain no longer has an absolute monarchy: his people drafted the Magna Carta and essentially forced him to sign it. It led to the creation of Parliament, which existed to keep the monarch in check, mainly by controlling his or her finances -- if the king wanted to go to war, he’d damn well better convince Parliament it was a good idea first, or he wasn’t getting any money. Given that everyone and their dog spent the better part of a hundred and fifty years waging wars over differences in religion, you can imagine how grateful the average person was for it.” He laughed. “He also shat himself to death, so there’s that. Dysentery’s a hell of a way to go.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. For all he’d heard by way of general vitriol about monarchy, he apparently was about to be confronted with a rather specific example of why it was deserved. With relief, he saw Earlene returning to him, and took momentary solace in enjoying the sight of his wife’s beauty and her radiant smile at seeing him waiting. “Off to the twelfth century,” she quipped happily. Tickets were purchased, and they entered. “They put millions into restoring and improving this, not so long ago”, Earlene said, glancing over the brochure they were issued with their tickets. “This looks amazing.”

  
  


“Only sound investment they could make, really,” Lorna said, staring. “I can only imagine the tourism it brings in. People from all over’d want to come to see something connected to Robin Hood.” And it really did seem to be in better shape than a lot of the forts she and Liam had seen when they knocked about Britain. “Even if King John was apparently some kind’v rogue pervert -- which is a bit rich to say, really, given how all those blighters got around. Half’v Britain’s probably got royal blood by now.”

 

Earlene was now simultaneously on her phone and reading the museum walls. “Christ, it says this place was shot up in 1922; you had a Civil War here and people actually used the castle as a defensive position? And here I thought only the Troubles had been an issue,” she shook her head. “But even that goes back to the English having sat on this place until that time.” It was so sad. _I remember hearing about them shooting at the Parthenon back in the day, and wondering how anyone could be so stupid as to try to wreck a world heritage site. And yet they’re still doing it today, so why would any of this surprise you?_ She had no answer for herself. Thranduil stayed close to her, with his arm around her waist, realizing that if he stayed here he would get twice the education from both his own reading and his wife’s learning.

 

Lorna smiled, but there was no humor in it. “The Civil War,” she sighed. “We don’t like talking about it. You’ll hear the Rising praised to the skies, but not the years afterward. My gran was a child during all that, and Christ, she said each side was as bad as the other.” Such dramatic lighting this place had, she noticed. The floor were some kind of dark tile, the walls filled with pictures and text and the occasional artifact, but all the lights were either recessed in the floor or the ceiling, making it look vaguely like the interior of a spaceship. “I still blame the English. If it wasn’t for them, there wouldn’t’ve needed to be a Civil War.”

 

“I get the impression that putting someone with serious personality defects in charge of an entire country at the age of twelve was not such a good idea,” said Earlene quietly. “From what it says on Wiki, he literally boffed everything that caught his eye. He couldn’t even keep it in his pants well enough to choose mistresses that those of his time would find acceptable; he went out and took married noblewomen instead. He married one wife possibly when she was nine years old and had as many illegitimate children as I’ve got fingers. Whatever he did right, it sounds like he was little better than a pig as to character.”

 

“And yet his mother was quite decent, so far as the English went,” Ratiri said. “Then again, she barely counted as English. But now we have a Parliament, and a quite nice old Queen who reigns rather than rules, and apparently sneaks out to drive around and anonymously survey London in her Range Rover.”

 

Lorna stared at him. “Are you bloody serious?”

 

“I am. Someone tried to take her sister hostage, and the sister slugged him and said, ‘Like hell!’. The modern ones are just fine.” Granted, the modern ones had no actual _power_ , really, save that of veto.

 

“I read something like that too,” Earlene said. “It was something about, she drove out to her hunting reserve wearing muck boots and tweed in a Range Rover. I don’t know up from down about it, but you have to hand it to the woman, she’s not tried to retire. Talk about the job you never quit. Er, present company acknowledged properly, of course.” Somehow, in the context of the modern monarch, the fact that a different kind of King was holding her waist and smiling in amusement was easy to overlook. They moved through the rooms slowly, meandering, sometimes together and sometimes individually, until they came to the room with historical costumes. Earlene stopped in her tracks to see that Thanadir had donned both a chainmail coif and a tricorn hat, and was gazing at himself in the mirror, next holding up an eighteenth century coat while ostensibly admiring the stitching. Making sure her phone was on silent, she snapped a photo, because this was priceless.

 

Lorna didn’t even bother trying to be covert about snapping a couple of pictures. She was making scrapbooks, and by now they all knew she was going to do it whether they liked it or not. Ratiri somehow managed to keep a straight face, but Sharley’s mouth twitched into the barest hint of a half-smile. Even she found Thanadir totally adorable, mainly because how could you not? He was the perfect combination of curiosity, earnestness, and a touch too much propriety.

 

“I’d imagine she’d die of boredom if she did,” Ratiri said. “That, and nobody wants her son on the throne. Poor Charles. It’s not that he’s a _bad_ person, he just has no charisma, and while he’s apparently quite intelligent intellectually, his personal life has always been a disaster...all over the tabloids.”

 

“We are speaking about a Queen...this is Elizabeth, in England? Forgive me, I read but not in the detail that I think is needed to understand everything,” Thranduil asked quietly.

 

“Elizabeth the Second,” Ratiri said. “The First was five hundred years ago. Technically she’s Queen of the United Kingdom, but she’s most commonly associated with England, because Scotland and Wales also have their own governments, as does Northern Ireland. Because _that’s_ not confusing to try to explain. She’s the longest-reigning monarch England has ever had; she was crowned before most of the recent Prime Ministers were even born. You have to understand, the function of a modern monarch is to not take sides, and to keep the factions of the government balanced, and she’s one of the few that’s actually managed to do that. Though I can only imagine what she thought of Brexit,” he added, shaking his head. “I’m guessing she was either infuriated or very sad. Though I note that that still hasn’t gone through, and I doubt it actually will. Not after the buyer’s remorse that happened the day after the election.” His disgust was a palpable thing; the only reason he hadn’t been utterly ashamed to be British was because Scotland had voted to remain.

 

“Don’t even ask about Brexit,” Lorna warned. “Not yet. Get him going over it and he’ll be at it all night. I’m not sure I could properly explain it myself, anyway.”

 

“What caught my eye most was one single statistic,” Earlene said. “That after the Brexit vote, Google reported that the second top UK question being searched was ‘What is the European Union’.” What she did not speak aloud was, _and this is why I would rather serve under a worthy King than have a bunch of idiots directing the course of my economic future. Democracy, *fail*._

 

Lorna snorted. “Haven’t the Americans got that movie, _Idiocracy_ ? Jesus bloody Christ, I was about as uneducated as they came as a teenager, but even _I_ knew what the EU was. I just...ugh. Though I did read that it made a load’v people want to ban everyone over the age of sixty-five from voting, since it wasn’t their future they were ruining.” It had overwhelmingly been the over-65’s that had voted to leave, sadly. “Also, hate crimes went up four hundred percent.”

 

She took Ratiri’s hand as she said that. The both of them had experiences none of the others were going to understand, the kind that came with being vaguely brown amid a sea of white people. At least she’d had siblings to weigh in every time someone went after one of them, but Ratiri had been an only child. Admittedly, he had been a very _tall_ only child, so nobody really tried to get physical, but it had left him very isolated for much of his life. He’d confided in her that, Katherine aside, he hadn’t had any real friends until he came to Baile. It was no wonder he’d seemed so awkward.

 

Thranduil listened silently and frowned. He had read about this word and... _Meluieg, does that phrase mean what I think it means? Hate crime?_

 

_It is when someone is victimized solely because of the belief they belong to a particular religion, race, gender, sexuality….very simply, the person is attacked because of the hatred of the attacker, and for no other reason._

 

_Thank you._

 

A squeeze to his waist was her only answer, after which she released him, because someone had made a full miniature scale model of the castle and the old town…. _what a fabulous thing! It looked just like something Thanadir would love to make. Did Thanadir know what Legos were?_ Earlene wondered. Turning again to wrap her arm around her husband, a new question came to mind. “How would you try to attack this place, if it were your job to do so?”

 

Thranduil frowned. “Sieges are not easy, meluieg. They are best not begun in the first place.” The memory of Dagorlad was not a lesson easily forgotten.

 

“I do not mean it that way,” she teased, exasperated. “I mean, I know you have a mind for strategy. Disregard the moral question or the necessity. What if you had to defeat a fortification such as this?”

 

“Am I allowed to see its construction, or do you wish your answer based on this depiction?” he asked, amused. For a reply, he was tugged out of doors.

 

The sun was warm, but the wind was not, and Lorna was glad she’d worn her coat -- and equally glad she’d had the comb to put her hair up with, or her braid would probably be trying to strangle her right about now. It occurred to her that this castle would stand long, long after the plague, far longer than just about anything in a modern city. The thought made her shiver, and she leaned against Ratiri, banishing it by unrepentantly sniffing him. Hey, he smelled good. Really good, like sandalwood and spice and _man_. Sue her.

 

Earlene watched Lorna and smiled, as she strolled with Thranduil around the ramparts, completely enjoying following his beautiful blue eyes as they roved to and fro, taking the measure of the defenses. “You are staring at me,” he teased. “It is distracting.”

 

“You are a King, and are trained to ignore such things,” she countered with a smirk.

 

“Your beauty is able to defeat my training,” he said, catching her in his arms. Good grief, he wanted to kiss her.

 

_Flattery will get you everywhere, but we must regrettably wait until the privacy of our bed, if we ever want our friends to speak to us again._

 

_King John got away with licentious behavior._

 

Earlene burst into laughter once again. _That is hardly the standard to which you wish to aspire, Thranduil. Trust me._

 

 _I suppose,_ he grumbled, though his eyes were merry.

 

“Do I have my answer yet?” pressed Earlene, smiling.

 

“Patience, meluieg. In reality I would hardly make this decision without consulting my seneschal.

 

Thanadir was busy pacing the walls, looking out, and then down, and then into the distance and...what was he doing, exactly?

 

“Meldir, what are you up to?” asked Earlene.

 

“I am imagining being repressed,” he said happily. “Or repressing. I have not exactly worked it out yet. I believe I would enjoy defending this castle. But then I would not be part of an autonomous collective,” he said sadly.

 

“We are already not part of an autonomous collective,” she pointed out. “It is really more of a benevolent dictatorship that merely feels like an autonomous collective.”

 

“True…”

 

Thranduil was shaking with laughter. Oropher was far, far away, and here he was with his loved ones, poking fun at monarchy in the abandoned castle of a long-dead mortal king. The Valar had given him many blessings. “Very well, Thanadir. I had been about to ask your advice on how you would _attack_ this castle, since that is the question my wife has charged me to answer. However,” he frowned, “she has not told me what manner of weapons I have?”

 

“The same as what you have now in your armory,” Earlene smiled in answer.

 

“You have also not told me what I know of my enemy’s numbers and composition.”

 

“You are stalling for time, “ she accused with a smile. “For the sake of argument, you know nothing. I only wish to know,” her lips met his cheek, “how you would choose to initiate such a conflict, were it necessary. I know that there are too many unknown variables for you to give a detailed analysis.”

 

He laughed, and grinned at Thanadir. “Then….”

 

“Flaming arrows,” they both answered.

 

“To begin with,” said Thanadir. “They can surprise, injure, set resources aflame, provoke an ill-considered response. All those things, while leaving the attacker in relative safety. Depending on what happened next, further decisions would be made.”

 

“What would you do if they flung something back, though?” Lorna asked. “With a trebuchet, or whatever they’re called?”

 

“They used to fling whatever they could, up to and including dead animals, or at least those that were too putrid to eat,” Ratiri added. “The cow-flinging in _Monty Python_ wasn’t entirely made up. Although part of what kick-started the plague in Europe was besieging armies flinging corpses that had died of it over the ramparts and into the fortress or castle. Possibly the earliest examples of germ warfare, and it would have been effective, if the plague hadn’t killed just as many of them. Not a great long-term strategy.”

 

“People in the Middle Ages must’v not been all that bright, if they couldn’t figure _that_ one out,” Lorna said, shaking her head.

 

Thanadir regarded Lorna quizzically. “If they flung something back, I would then know that my enemy possessed a ranged weapon capable of hurling heavy payloads to great distances” he replied, making some effort not to sound as though this were painfully obvious. “An elven longbow can fire two hundred of your meters, which would enable my forces to attack from well across the river. What I have read of the device you mention is that it can send a little over 100 kilograms a distance of perhaps thirty-six meters. My forces would remain at six times that distance. I would not credit humans of the era belonging to this castle with having equipment remotely approaching that of Sauron’s trolls. Those were massive engines, having a much greater range. Part of what is wanted in a first offensive move is to entice the enemy into revealing their resources,” he emphasized again. The seneschal gazed afar, calculating, and Earlene had to confess that she was impressed. These two did not merely play at this; they knew of what they spoke. Why this seemed surprising was simple enough; she herself had no exposure to such realities and had never taken such information under consideration. Why would she? It was no more expected than that the ellyn would know how to file a legal brief. And yet this interested her, far more than chess. Chess only ever had pawns and bishops, knights and rooks. This, a real war...now that had _variables_.

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, to see his wife’s thought. Whatever he and Earlene did not have in common, he loved her intellect. It was a weapon in its own right, and he still never knew on what it would alight and find interesting. That she would have a mind for warfare possibly rivaling Thanadir’s, if properly educated...he found that oddly to be powerfully enticing. _Eru, why did she have to wear such attractive clothing today?_ He once again had to briefly turn away to adjust himself within these accursed jeans.

 

“Well, those longbows alone’d do half the work,” Lorna said, minorly irritated by his tone. She’d heard it all too often when she’d tried to go to school. “We couldn’t match that until last century.” Though given they’d matched it with machine guns, that kind of made up for it in terms of sheer destructive power. Which led her to wonder, though it was not something she would ask aloud _here_ , what they hell they would do after the plague, should someone get their hands on military weaponry and somehow find the forest. It was highly unlikely -- Ireland’s army didn’t exactly amount to much -- but there was always a possibility, however remote. And after the end of the world, one could never been paranoid enough. Being entrenched in the forest, they could probably hold off anyone with guns, but suppose someone got their hands on a tank, or some equally obnoxious vehicle? If they could shell the forest at a distance, everyone who lived within it would have a pretty major problem.

 

She glanced at Sharley, who seemed to be content to watch the horizon. Would the woman know of any attack in advance? Her “gift”, if one could even call it such, was pretty unreliable, as well as horrific to her.

 

Thranduil caught Lorna’s annoyance, and unfortunately this was no place to discuss their differences that were at the root of clashing feelings. Or rather, Lorna’s clashing feelings; he knew that Thanadir was simply excited by the concept of attacking the castle and was oblivious to the commandeering tone of his reply. He sighed. It was one of the problems, with asking Thanadir a question. One had to be prepared for the answer, and there had been a time or two even he had wished his seneschal would stop talking. Thanadir meant well, but when something truly interested him….he was rather like Ratiri. He tended not to ‘let it go.’

  
“Come,” Thranduil suggested. “There is a blacksmith down below. I should like to watch the work. _Thanadir, you must realize they will not have your skill. It would be better for us to keep our silence on whatever mistakes we witness._

 

He smiled to see his meldir’s head bob in happy agreement. Sometimes, avoidance was far better than redressing hurt feelings.

 

Earlene stood back at a safe distance, not wishing to get any soot on her pretty clothing, accidentally. There were souvenir...things, the smith was making, but she doubted that there was anything Thanadir could not make better. And then the man began discussing some of the practices that occurred during Medieval times. That sometimes the poorer people would want to take the coinage in circulation and portion it out into smaller bits of silver or...whatever it was made of. But this was illegal, and if a woman was caught doing this, her arm would be cut off. And that for the men, they cut of something entirely different. The smith hefted a pair of tongs that reminded her of a cattle castrator. Blanching, she felt suddenly ill, and immediately began walking across the courtyard with both ellyn dashing after her. Thanadir felt concerned, she had turned pale. “Meluieg?” Thranduil asked, immediately understanding what was wrong and placing his arm around her. The nausea abated.

 

“I am sorry,” she said. “I usually am not bothered by such things, but…”

 

“But you are pregnant, and it would have been nicer had such things not been mentioned,” he finished, glaring back at the re-enactor, who appeared confused. Probably every other visitor actually enjoyed the story.

 

“And people wonder why we have the Magna Carta,” Ratiri muttered. There was always a sort of person who idealized the Middle Ages, who ignored the starvation, the violence, the casual belief that some people were better than others purely by dint of whose sperm created them. Britain hadn’t left behind that class-oriented mindset until the end of the last century, really. He’d always been morbidly fascinated by the society-wide delusion that some people were inherently superior not because of intelligence or accomplishments, but because of a simple accident of birth.

 

“Do they?” Lorna asked. “Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised, if such a huge number of eejits didn’t know what the bloody EU was.”

 

Thranduil ignored that Lorna did not seem to understand the nature of the rhetorical question, but steered them back inside. There were still some interactive displays they had not yet seen, and after awhile more of reading, lingering, and viewing all of the video demonstrations, they concluded they had seen their fill. He did remember one thing, though. Lorna liked photos. “Sharley, could I ask you to take a photo of all of us for Lorna? Maybe all of us at the entrance to the castle?”

 

“Sure,” Sharley said, and took the phone Lorna handed her. Somehow the lot of them managed to get posed, and then Sharley got several photos. They certainly made an odd little group, and yet she found them endearing already. Which was fortunate as hell, since someday she’d be living with them. Staying in one place. Possibly forever. The thought was daunting to a natural nomad like her.

 

They meandered back to the car, which finally gave Thranduil a moment near Lorna that was not contrived. _I wanted to tell you, I am sorry about Thanadir. He did not mean to sound dismissive toward you, about the trebuchet. He becomes too excited in his mind, for subjects for which he has an affinity. He cannot help it; in his own way he too is a...nerd. I did not want you to feel angered._

 

 _I know_ , she said. _It’s okay, I know it’s just Thanadir being Thanadir. He just poked at a nerve a bit, but it’s not his fault, and one of the things Ratiri’s told me about humans who have Aspergers is they can’t always read social cues that great. Can’t hold that against Thanadir, poor guy._

 

“You know, what that blacksmith said made me think,” Ratiri said. “For all humanity remains filled with monsters, we’ve come rather a long way. Barbaric punishments like that are outlawed in almost every society, and yet for centuries torture was considered an acceptable -- or even necessary -- means of extracting a confession. Now we just sit a person down in a room and let some detective have a go at them with words and tea that tastes like boiled copper coins, until they either snap out of guilt or just plain old annoyance.”

 

Earlene nodded, realizing they had never one hundred percent concurred on where they were going next. Once they were loaded into the van, this was pointed out. They’d lingered not quite three house at John’s Castle, leaving them plenty of time to see the next sight of their choosing and they could still eat before most were done with their workday and the pubs began filling in earnest. At least, it would get them served food, before all the places were jammed with people.

 

“All right, you lot, I vote Hunt Museum,” Lorna said, letting Ratiri drive again. He was so much more patient than her...usually.

 

Chorused murmurs of “Good, I would like that,” and “Best choice” echoed from the back. And as their second destination was all of a five minutes’ drive, they were soon taking in the impressively built gray stone edifice. “It was a customs house, I think I read?” said Earlene. “Funny how whenever the point is collecting money, the construction is always top-notch.”

 

“While everything else but that castle fell down,” Lorna said dryly. “Back in the day, you could always tell what’d been built by the English, because they were the only ones with decent materials and tools.” When they passed through the doors, she added, “This museum’s got all sorts’ve weird shite -- basically whatever the owners collected over the years.”

 

“Pap boat. What in hell is a pap boat?” Earlene asked, at a loss for words. “Used to feed semi-solid food to an infant or an invalid,” she read. “You know, there are times when it seems like we’ve gone backwards. That actually makes some sense, to keep the child from flinging food everywhere. I’ve actually known people who hand children a spoon and a can of Spaghetti-O’s and step away.” A grimace accompanied _that_ particular memory; she had never eaten lunch with that colleague again.

 

“If by ‘semi-solid food’ they mean a mix of flour, water, and sugar,” Ratiri said, his tone indicating exactly what he thought about _that_. “Sure, we can call that food. In the loosest definition of the term. Though to be fair, it could also be things like applesauce, or oatmeal, but only if you could afford either.”

 

“Didn’t you say infant formula in Victorian England was basically flour and water?” Lorna asked.

 

“For the most part, yes. It’s a wonder any babies ever survived.” He shook his head. “The easiest way to keep a baby from flinging food is watch them like a hawk. They’ll learn in short order what they shouldn’t and shouldn’t be doing. People don’t give small children enough credit for intelligence.”

 

They walked on a little further. “Rosewater dish. What?” Earlene was finding this place to be rather frustrating; she thought her museum awareness was rather high but was learning quickly that a variety of objects were here that defeated her understanding. Out came her phone, and she began to read. “Wow,” came the comment. “So they didn’t use forks back in the day, apparently, and the English had some custom about pouring rosewater over the hands in between courses of food. Which eventually fell out of favor, and then these things became status symbols. But...I thought the Romans had forks. Maybe the English forgot that part. Wait, no forks for the Romans. Just, dammit,” she grumbled.

 

“And here I was going to say the English were so stupid they forgot forks,” Lorna said, somewhat sad at the lost opportunity. “Some’v the things they’ve got labeled...I don’t know, I just love that seals and inkwells’re labeled ‘communication equipment’. It’s technically true, but it’s something we’d more normally associate with something modern.”

 

“I think someone got a kick outta this,” Sharley said. “Probably somebody who’d been really bored, too.”

 

“Drug jar,” murmured Earlene. “What in hell is Thamarin, on there? I feel like I’ve stepped into the bloody fourth dimension. I declare this to be the Museum of Things Earlene Has Never Heard Of. Ratiri? Did Thamarin get covered in your med school curriculum?” She felt vaguely determined that someone had to know something. Thiamine? No, they probably didn’t know about vitamins. Or did they. Thallium? That was poisonous; if it was a drug, it wasn’t a drug for long.

 

Ratiri shook his head. “I have no idea. Possibly something proven to be toxic. It’s also possible it was the surname of either the doctor or the patient, but that would have been a fair bit of trouble and expense. Which isn’t to say somebody didn’t go to it anyway. Rich people were just as weird in the past.”

 

“Back to Google, I guess.” Out came the phone, again. “Oh, you have to be kidding me. Tamarind. It’s tamarind. Ha ha! They used it for morning-sickness, among other things. Now I want one of those jars. But seriously, this feels like being in an alien land, not knowing what stuff was used for. I didn’t think everything had changed...that much.”

 

“I know how you feel, meluieg. It is not so different than when I encountered your wine opener,” Thranduil teased.

 

“I’d forgotten about that,” she smiled. “I suppose you are right. Many things must have seemed strange to you.” What she did not say aloud was, _How lost will I be, in Valinor? I will get the same experience, in the end. I probably won’t even know what spoons are, if they even use those._

 

Lorna, meanwhile, was wondered what the hell they were going to do when Google was no longer an option. How reliant they were on it, now… a few keystrokes and the knowledge of all of human history was at your fingertips. She didn’t think either Earlene or Ratiri had quite the same experience with that as she did: she hadn’t known what a search engine was until she went to prison. The idea that you could type in a question and get hundreds of answers, instantly, had floored her -- it had probably been more like Thanadir’s first exposure to it, though at least she’d known what computers and the internet were beforehand.

 

They were going to have to get serious about downloading, and she would have Orla knock them up some sort of internal search engine of their own, and just hope like hell they could keep the electronics going long enough for future generations to learn.

 

And her and the gang...they, and possibly Geezer and Sharley, knew what it was to live without, but they hadn’t done so in so long that just how good would they actually be at it? They’d got spoiled, too.

 

 _Stop it, Lorna_ , she told herself. This was her birthday, and she wasn’t going to spoil it by thoughts of the future.

 

“Toilet implement?” Thranduil was vaguely afraid to ask. “Well, Lorna? I am expecting your vast knowledge of trivia to come to the rescue. That is, if it is not in hopelessly bad taste; perhaps I do not wish to know.” Somehow, as with all things human and elven, the word “toilet” mobilized all of them out of morbid curiosity. There were two of the things, and they looked like….

 

“That looks like a spoon, gone badly wrong,” opined Earlene.

 

“No,” countered Thanadir. “It looks like a tool for working with clay and earthenware.” Earlene looked at her meldir, finding _that_ to be even more disturbing than the demented spoon hypothesis.

 

Lorna eyed it, and them, and decided to at least try for delicacy. “For a very, very long time, toilet paper was not a thing,” she said carefully. “Some cultures used their hands, and others had...trowels. Make of that what you will.” She was not going to mention that probably a whole lot of constipated people had made use of that in _different_ ways, and wound up with torn-up arseholes in the process.

 

“Ugh,” summed up Earlene’s thought. She hoped Lorna was joking; her humor could be very dry. And no, she was not going to ask, because the only thing worse than joking was if she was telling something she actually knew.

 

They had seen most everything, and mostly group interest seemed to be in whether the gift shop held anything worth purchasing. Lorna and Earlene might have little in common, but oddly enough they both adored museum gift shops. Earlene debated...the coffee mugs were not compelling enough. There was no necessity for buying gloves, and certainly not jars of mustard. _Whatever. Time to go._

 

Thranduil took his wife’s waist. _You are feeling tired, meluieg?_ he asked, and felt as much as heard the response.

 

_My feet are beginning to hurt. I am not even very far along, Thranduil. I feel un-ready to lose my body again so quickly, but there is not much to be done about it._

 

 _Yes, there is. It is my duty to care for you above all others._ It was necessary to stifle a moan of enjoyment, as a warm, restful sensation pushed aside her soreness and sense of fatigue.

 

 _Thank you. I am very fortunate._ With a brilliant smile, she leaned up to kiss his jaw. _Though, I wish I were a little taller._

 

“I think this pub, the Curragower, sounds good,” Ratiri said. “Decent reviews, and not far away at all from where we are now. With the added bonus of views of the Shannon, and it’s away from most of the other pubs in town.”

 

“That sounds very nice,” agreed Thranduil. He almost suggested walking there, but...no. Lorna wished to drink, and it seemed wiser to have their vehicle near at hand. One never knew.

 

Lorna wondered, as she got into the van, how she’d gone her entire life without seeing this place. She and Liam had knocked about Ireland a bit, before they headed to Britain, but not nearly enough. After Liam, once she was entrenched in Baile, she’d gone pretty much nowhere -- Kildare, if she needed something Molly didn’t carry, or Dublin, if she fancied a ride on her motorcycle. Mairead’s family went on holiday each year, somewhere in Ireland, and they always invited her, but she’d used the time to herself. Traveling had been a Thing With Liam, one that for years she’d limited after his death, but it felt...right...now.

 

When they arrived, they found that the Curragower was a large building of pale stone, with a false front somewhat like what you’d find in an old American town. Unsurprisingly for this time of day, it was fairly busy, but when you had a group that included three men over six feet tall, things tended to get taken care of for you. They wound up with a table in the beer garden, which was rather prettier than the name suggested: it had a short, wrought-iron fence, and numerous clay pots of multicolored petunias and bacopa. As promised, there was a good view of the Shannon, and a fantastic view of the castle beyond it. It smelled quite nice, too -- there was an undercurrent of fried food that was carefully cooked, rather than scorched like so many places produced, and of course alcohol. Alcohol that she could _drink_ , instead of stare at mournfully.

 

When handed the menus, she happily skipped entirely over the salads (the only salad she was ever going to eat was one Earlene made, because Earlene was a culinary goddess), but she also passed over the fried foods, tasty though they looked. The Open Ham sounded intriguing -- clove-baked ham, whatever the hell that even was, and honey mustard. Not something likely to clog her arteries, after all that lovely bacon she’d had for breakfast.

 

Earlene happily chose the grilled ham and cheese sandwich with a prawn and avocado salad, her mouth painfully watering at the thought of the latter. And a Guinness, since Thranduil was here. Arguably, by the time their table ordered, the only thing not present on someone’s plate was the chorizo and goat’s cheese salad, and the chicken wings. Thanadir ordered three items that Earlene did not, leaving her content that she could at least stab her fork into “feta puff parcels”, because whatever they were, they sounded worthy of duplication.”Sure god, I want to eat the whole menu,” she murmured.

 

“I know, right?” Lorna asked. “I bet you could copy some’v this, though.”

 

“If not all of it,” Ratiri said, ordering the fish and chips along with a pint. “I have never, ever managed to cook chips right. Fish I can do in half a dozen ways, but I’ve always either burnt chips, or left them soggy.”

 

Lorna laughed. “When I was a kid, we’d somehow got hold’v a bag of frozen chips, and my brother Pat decided to cook them in oil. What none’v us knew was that dropping frozen things in oil tends to make them sort’v...explode, and the whole thing blew up right in his face. Singed off his eyebrows and all the hair on the front’v his head, though at least it didn’t burn him.”

 

“The more stories you tell of your childhood, the more surprised I am that you survived your adolescence,” Ratiri said, shaking his head.

 

“Honestly, me too. I think in some ways I must’v been born lucky.”

 

Lorna was full and sated and a touch tipsy, quite at one with the world -- so, of course, some twat had to come and ruin it.

 

Said twat was a big, blond, florid man, clearly well on his way to soused himself, who ambled over and regarded Ratiri with open distaste. “Since when’re they letting the Pakis in?” he demanded, his speech ever so slightly slurred.

 

Beside her, Ratiri froze, and Lorna’s eyes narrowed. She knew he’d endured that and worse, growing up in Glasgow, and a shocking amount of rage flowed through her. “Get fucked, you gowl,” she snapped. “Since when’re they letting in slobs with more teeth than brain cells?” She wouldn’t hit him, she _wouldn’t_ , because Thranduil’s accusation in the forest still stung, and she’d be damned if she’d give them the ammunition, if she’d prove the lot of them right -- but this was something none of them, not even Earlene, could possibly understand. Garden variety insults were one thing, but when they turned into blatant racial slurs...that was different. You couldn’t let these gobshites get away with that shite -- if you did, they thought they had you cowed, that they could do it with impunity.

 

His slightly bloodshot eyes traveled to her. “Shut it, gyppo. Let the grown-ups talk.”

 

What passed through Lorna’s mind now did so in perhaps half a second: yes, she wanted to hit him. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to make him bawl like the dickless baby he was -- and the fact that doing so would earn her friends’ disdain only made her more angry, so she settled for a compromise, reaching for her pint. There was still enough in it that flinging it in his face would be highly unpleasant, while at the same time not actually _harming_ him. She wouldn’t even be touching him. _Thranduil, before you get pissed, this is something you can’t understand. You just can’t. Get judgey on me later if you have to, but these aren’t insults. These are attacks on who and what we are._ This wasn’t about plain old anger, plain old revenge -- this was something uglier, something that could not be allowed to stand. Something with roots far, far older than she was, and it washed her vision red. Were it not for her friends, for their judgment of her, she might well have stabbed this bastard with a fork by now.

 

“Watch yourself, maggot,” she growled, by way of distraction. “I’ll knuckle-fuck you up the arse with all my rings on.” It was such a ridiculous threat that surely the four of them had to realize she didn’t actually _mean_ it.

 

It was enough to make the man pause, momentarily thrown, and even Ratiri said, “ _Jesus_ , Lorna. Points for creativity, I suppose, but can we not?” She wore now the expression that truly unsettled him -- the expression that said, entirely without words, _I will rip your fucking face off if you say one more word._

 

Thanadir, to Earlene’s surprise, rose and approached the man in what was clearly the demeanor of someone prepared to do more than merely talk. “You will turn around and leave, now. If you do not, you will have only yourself to blame.” His voice was soft in volume, but with that edge to it that Earlene had learned to respect, and even fear. Though it was not needed, she could not help but back him up.

 

“What he said,” Earlene fired in a clear and even voice. “Take your hate somewhere else. We’ve no use for it here. Go.”

 

“What’re you doing, slumming it with these two?” he asked, clearly surprised by her accent. Evidently alcohol had addled his self-preservation instincts, for Thanadir’s blatant threat did not sway him. It gave him pause, yes, but it wasn’t enough to shut him up.

 

“Did you not hear the woman?” Lorna growled. “ _Get. Out._ ” Promises aside, good intentions aside, she was about two breaths away from utterly losing her shit, because she’d heard words like that half her life, and nothing, _nothing_ made her want to skin someone quite so much. This wasn’t just rage, this was loathing, born of scores of such insults -- insults she had never once let stand.

 

 _Thranduil, help her,_ Ratiri said. _Please. This isn’t what it’s always been before, and I know you don’t understand it, but I’ll try to explain it later._ Even he, mild though he normally was, had a very strong urge to rise and smash that bastard’s face in. It was an anger like no other, because nothing else could induce it. And until a person had experienced it, and knew why, they simply _couldn’t_ understand.

 

“I see that you are not about to do as you were asked,” said Thanadir, still speaking softly. “So be it.” No one, ever after, could entirely figure out how it had been done. No one saw Thanadir’s hands move. There was nothing, really, except a forward motion of his upper body. But the next moment, the man was on his back at least three feet away from where he had stood, with an expression of deep shock on his face. And, to Earlene’s considerable amusement, a spreading dark, wet, stain pooling through the unfortunately light color of his trousers.

 

“The toilet is that way,” Earlene pointed. “I suggest you hurry.” Thanadir had not moved an inch, though his face transformed in revulsion at the sight. Really, the antics of his King could be a bit much sometimes, but in this instance he was not sure he would offer criticism.

 

 _I know it is not as satisfying as striking him, Lorna, but I hope you find this to be at least a somewhat mollifying alternative. I can loosen his bowels as well, but then we would have to smell it._ Thranduil looked across the table at his friend with a gleam in his eye and hints of a smile at the corners of his lips. It was her birthday, after all. Even this incident should end on a note of better humor.

 

The sight of that spreading stain knocked the ire right out of Lorna, because there was little funnier than watching a grown man piss his pants. When she looked at Thranduil, at that tiny hint of a smile and the expression in his eyes, it was all she could do not to burst out laughing. _We’re outside,_ she said, a touch too viciously, _I say make him drop his cargo. Pissing himself’s bad, but he’ll never dare show his face again if he bricks it._ It was, in a sense, _more_ satisfying, and she wasn’t even the one doing it; hitting bastards like that might leave a mark that lasted a week or so, but gaining a reputation as the man who’d shat his pants in full view of a crowded pub...that was the gift that kept on giving, and would linger long after they’d gone.

 

Ratiri, for his part, did not manage to hold his laughter nearly so well, and his snort of derision was quite loud over the shocked silence of the terrace. He was entirely certain that was Thranduil’s doing, and he sent a silent, grateful thanks.

 

Thranduil now spoke to the man, who was working his uncoordinated way off the floor. “Remember this, the next time you decide to treat another so rudely, based only on their appearance. Now get away from here.” He began staggering past their table, doing what he could to hide the un-hideable with his hands. When he was just beyond their area of their seating, an unmistakable and deeply unnerving noise came from his...nether regions, and a stain of another sort began to appear.

 

“Be dog wide!” said Earlene loudly in horror as the...problem...continued and expanded while he staggered away. “Blessings, that he is downwind. That is not my idea of dessert.”

 

“Dog wide?” Thranduil asked, looking at her quizzically.

 

“I’m trying to learn more Irishisms,” she admitted. “It means, you don’t exactly want to be near something. I thought it qualified.”

 

“They have dessert?” inquired Thanadir hopefully.

 

Lorna was by now laughing so hard she could barely breathe, having utterly given up any and all attempts to keep a straight face. _I am hugging you so hard in my mind right now_ , she said, leaning against Ratiri and wiping her streaming eyes. A stitch was already developing in her side, but she couldn’t help it: the combination of the twat’s face, the horrified expressions of the other patrons… Jesus, if only she’d been able to do that herself, she wouldn’t have had to smash so many faces in over the years. Mick -- her brother Mick -- had always been so sensitive to things like that as a child, and it had been up to the other three Donovans to make whoever had said it very, very sorry. But this...oh, this gobshite was sorry, all right, sorrier than her fists could ever have made him, and tales of it would be told whether he stayed or not. A story of someone shitting _and_ pissing himself in a pub was too good to ever let die.

 

She could only hope Thranduil wouldn’t hold that utterly savage instinct against her. She’d have to try to explain, but she wasn’t sure he was ever really going to understand. Nobody who hadn’t experienced it firsthand possibly could. Witnessing it was one thing; having it flung at you was quite another. It was one of the most dehumanizing things she’d ever known in her life, and never got easier with age; it had been so long since she’d encountered it, given that she’d rarely left Baile for years, that it was a shock now.

 

Earlene rose, first asking if anyone else wanted dessert. Hunting down their server, she ordered two sticky toffee puddings and two slices of triple chocolate cake to be sent to their table; Lorna and Ratiri both wanted what Thanadir was having. She was very proud of what her meldir had done, though her curiosity about why and especially _how_ would need to wait. It was also an opportunity for her and Lorna to use the ladies’ room. Smoothing her hand over her abdomen once she was alone, Earlene guessed that while nothing could yet be felt, that her bladder was already losing the space wars inside of her body. Lorna wound up lingering rather longer, trying desperately to get her giggling under control. She was forty-one years old, for Christ’s sake; she should not find a man pissing and shitting himself to be as funny as she did, but dear God, did she ever.

 

Returning just in time, Earlene directed the server to place one of each dessert in front of the seneschal, whose face lit up with happiness. Ratiri had been determined to wait for Lorna, but the pudding looked far too delicious to remain untouched, so he at least did his best to not destroy the presentation of it before Lorna could have a look.

 

“Oi, did someone seriously shit himself out here?” someone asked -- a man with a mop in one hand and bucket in the other. Not an unusual sight in a pub, but this one made Ratiri freeze, utterly baffled.

 

He was rather a short man, perhaps a full foot shorter than Ratiri himself, and wiry, olive-toned, black-haired -- and just about as close a physical double to Lorna as a man could be. He had her facial features rendered masculine, though his eyes were a bright hazel rather than her alarming green -- hell, even their _eyebrows_ were rather similar.

 

What.

 

Earlene saw as well, and was far less shy about asking. “Excuse me, sir,” she said very clearly. “Sir?” it was necessary to repeat herself, she guessed, because probably people who used mops were not often called ‘sir’ but she was American and had manners when speaking to a stranger, sue her.

 

The man did a slight double-take, but rallied. Even his momentary _confusion_ looked rather like Lorna’s. “Can I help you?”

 

“Yes,” Earlene smiled. “Please excuse my being so forward, but...is there any chance you are related to a Lorna Donovan? You look so much like her, and...actually, she is my second cousin once removed.”

 

His eyes widened -- while they weren’t the same color as Lorna’s, the shape of them was identical. He didn’t actually drop his implements, but neither was he graceful in setting them down. “You know Lorna?” he asked. “Seriously? I’ve been looking for that woman for twenty bloody years. And you’re -- you’re saying you’re related to us?”

 

“We are Lorna’s friends and family, minus Mairead. I’m Earlene Sullivan. My grandmother’s brother was Aidan Donovan, and so our great-grandparents Eíthne and Padraig are our common ancestor. My gran went to the States; as you can guess I’m not from here, but I live here now. We all do, and not so far away. But you are Lorna’s…?”

 

“Brother,” he said, and Ratiri could tell his brain was about to go into vapor-lock at all that information. “My name’s Pat.”

 

Lorna must have been taking silent lessons from the Elves, Ratiri thought, because somehow she was right behind this Pat before he’d noticed a thing. Grabbing her brother’s semi-bony shoulder, she spun the man around without preamble. “...You are bloody shitting me,” she breathed -- and then poked him. Hard. “D’you have _any bloody idea_ how impossible you were to find?” she demanded. “Patrick bloody Donovan, I searched every bloody database I could find, and you were _nowhere_. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive or abducted by bleeding aliens.”

 

Before he could actually say anything, she pulled him into a hug that made him wheeze, knocking over his mop. “Can kind’v say the same thing about you,” he managed. “ _Air_.” Once Lorna loosened her hold, he added, “I know you went to gaol, but then it was like you’d fallen off the grid entirely. And now you’ve -- we’ve -- got a cousin? What’re the bloody odds’v that?”

 

“That’s pretty much what I said,” Lorna said dryly. “Small world, and all that.”

 

“Pat, are you actually going to clean that up, or what?” someone demanded from inside.

 

“Oi, touching reunion going on here!” Lorna fired back, quite witheringly. The barman took one look at him, and at her, and actually crossed himself.

 

“Jesus bloody Christ, there’s _two_ of them,” he muttered.

The table could not help but fall to a certain amount of snickering, except for Thanadir, who was still too enraptured with his cake. “Well, then this is quite the day,” Earlene said happily. “It’s your sister’s birthday, that’s why we came to town. What’re the odds?” It was a matter of debate, whether to introduce the table or...leave that be, for a moment. Perhaps the latter, as she now needed to digest that this man was a _relative_ . _And wasn’t he going to find his family interesting…_

 

“You lot come in and someone bricks _and_ pisses himself,” Pat said, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was your doing, Fun Size.”

 

Lorna glowered at him. “You’ve got no business at all calling me Fun Size,” she said. How odd was it -- she hadn’t seen Pat in twenty-seven years, yet in some ways it was as though it were only yesterday. They’d always snarked like this, no matter what the situation, good or bad or just annoying. “Especially not among this lot. Pat, this is Ratiri -- Ratiri, this is Pat, my oldest brother. Ratiri’s my fiance, so don’t go getting all pissy at him.”

 

For all Pat was a small man, his eyes were every bit as sharp as Lorna’s, and he regarded Ratiri closely. “He treating you right?” he asked, with the not-so-subtle implication that Ratiri’s day would go much worse if the answer was ‘no’.

 

“ _Yes_ , you eejit,” she said. “Would I be with anyone who didn’t? I’ve got more brains than Mam.”

 

Despite the fact that Pat and Thranduil looked absolutely nothing alike, there was in the former’s expression a hint of something she knew well from the latter: fondness, protectiveness, and a touch of exasperation. Basically, what she was used to in brothers and brother-like figures. She wasn’t the only one who noticed it, either; Ratiri looked between the pair of them, blinking, but half-convinced himself he was merely seeing things.

 

 _Thranduil, can I bring Pat to the cottage? Just the cottage, not the Halls -- not yet, anyway._ They could have a better chance of sounding out how well he’d take the whole ‘elves’ revelation. The brother she’d grown up with, she’d trust with anything, but it was too early for her to tell yet who and what he was now.

 

How was he _here_ , after all this time? Did he have a family? He’d had plenty of, um, _girlfriends_ when he was a teenager, and it was probably only a matter of time before he’d knocked one of them up. He could well have some grown-up child somewhere.

 

_You do not have to ask, Lorna. You are family. But, thank you._

 

Lorna was always going to ask, just because anyone she brought in would affect all of them, and not just her. It warmed her heart to hear him say she didn’t need to, but she was going to do it anyway, just because. “Pat,” she said slowly, “I want you to come out to the village this lot lives in. Ratiri and I, we divvy up our time between it and the one I came from, but Lasg’len’s a pretty little place, and there’s people I’d like you to meet. Including our other sister.” They could get Mairead to come and visit -- she’d probably be glad to get away from Baile, to be honest.

 

“We’ve got another sister?” he asked. “Since when?”

 

“Since before you were born. Mam had a daughter before she met Da, and our grandparents raised her. She looks just like Mam -- it’s a bit spooky, honestly.”

 

Given the resemblance between Lorna and her brother, Ratiri found it rather amusing that she could call anything of the sort ‘spooky’. It went beyond potential twin territory and into some kind of opposite-sex clones. And yet their actual twins were as different as night and day. Go figure.

 

“I’ll come,” Pat said. “I’ve got to bring the sprog, though. You’ll love her -- her name’s Saoirse. Eight years old last month, and somehow she’s _not_ a holy terror. Not unless she’s pissed off, anyway. Her mam up and walked out when she was three, so it’s just her and I. Looks just like the four’v us, too. Kind’v unsettling in itself.” She actually was not his only child -- he had another daughter. She was eighteen, and Pat had no idea where she’d gone. Like Lorna, she’d disappeared into the morass.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “I’ve got twins myself,” she said. “Ratiri and I do. You bring her, Pat, and we’ll show you...what we’ve got to show you.” Her eyes traveled from Thranduil to Thanadir to Sharley, lurking silent in the background like a lurking thing. “You’ve got more family than you ever bargained for. More than I ever did, either.”

 

Earlene pulled a pen from her purse, and nudged it toward Lorna. Napkins already abounded. ‘Phone number’ was mouthed by way of a silent hint.

 

Lorna scrawled it down, though she tried to be careful to make it legible. “This is my number,” she said. “I might not always be somewhere with reception, but if not, I’ll call you back when I can.” She paused. “D’you know where Siobhan and Mick are?”

 

He shook his head, taking the napkin. “No,” he sighed. “Siobhan might well’v got married, and Michael Donovan’s too common’v a name for me to do much good. We can keep trying, though.”

 

“I’d like that.” If they could find the other two, before the world went to shit...the four of them should survive. They’d survived their da, after all, even if none of them had come out of it unscathed -- literally, in Pat’s case; he’d been the one Da had always gone after with the buckle-end of the belt. Lorna had cleaned his back up more than once, in their dingy little bathroom, under conditions that probably would have horrified Ratiri. She wondered if he still had the scars. She also wondered if he knew she’d killed the bastard, but now was _not_ the time for that conversation.

 

“I’d best get back to work, before that bastard in there shitcans me,” Pat sighed. “I’m glad I found you, Lorna. I was afraid I was the only one left.”

 

“Me too,” she said, “on both counts.” She gave him a bear hug before he rose, and followed the trail of wee back into the pub.

 

“Jesus,” she said, shaking her head. “What a small fucking world.” They were both alive, and they both had families...they’d done better than their parents ever had. She really had thought she was the last one...look at how much family she had now, by birth and by choice. She felt absolutely rich.

 

“Lorna, I hate to say this, but your brother looks so much like you it’s downright disturbing,” Ratiri said, pulling her close and kissing the crown of her head.

 

“You should’ve seen the four’v us together,” she said, laughing a little. “When we were kids, the only way you could’ve told him and Siobhan apart was hair length. Drove Da mad, and I think it creeped him out a bit. One’v the TA’s at school said we were like some bastard version’v _Village of the Damned._ ”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing. If they did indeed all resemble one another so closely, he could easily imagine it.

 

Lorna smiled, staring off into the middle distance. Her rage at that racist fuckwit was entirely erased -- thanks to Thranduil, and thanks to Pat. God, once the two’v them got to know one another...she was doomed. Totally doomed. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to mind.

 

They finished their dessert, left a nice tip (which is what happy diners everywhere tend to do) and meandered back to their car. Thranduil and Earlene smiled, looking at Lorna and each other, so happy for their friend. On her birthday, too. Only Lorna could have an ugly racist incident turn into a family reunion. Throughout all of this, Sharley had been so very, very quiet. “I hope the day wasn’t too much of an introduction to Ireland, Sharley,” Earlene offered by way of trying to draw her out a little. There was quiet, and then there was _silent_.

 

Sharley smiled a little. “Not at all,” she said. “I spend too much time alone. It’s nice to be reminded that humanity can be as crazy as I am. It’s not every day you get to see someone shit their pants in public.” She gave Thranduil a rather pointed looked and the slightest arch of an eyebrow -- just enough to let him know she knew damn well that was his doing. “I like watching. Watching’s easier than joining in.”

 

Christ, that was tragic. Lorna wanted to take this poor girl to Jamie’s every evening, until she got used to being around people, and maybe even learned to enjoy it.

 

Thranduil and Earlene both found themselves moved with pity, at hearing this. And yet, it was said with such a raw honesty. This was not someone who wanted to be pitied.

 

“I feel like that too, sometimes,” quipped Thanadir. “I like to watch. But I also like to do things on my own. And I have learned that it is very nice to have friends. Friends that understand. Do you have...hobbies?” he asked Sharley, his brown eyes soft and curious.

 

Sharley gave him a slightly gentle smile. There was no one on this Earth that could truly understand her and what she was, but his heart was in the right place. “I carve things,” she said. “And I draw, when I have the supplies. Mostly I just like to walk in the forest, when I’m not at work. It’s peaceful there. It makes sense. I’ll go out for days, especially once fall’s hit and work has to stop.”

 

The elf smiled but said nothing more, he liked the sound of that and was glad there was something. Though, he had hoped that maybe she liked to sew. And now his mind turned to giving her drawing supplies, before she left. He would have to ask Earlene...the parchment and quills to which he was accustomed would not serve her very well, he guessed.

 

 _I get to sit with you both ways,_ Earlene teased Thranduil. _And it isn’t even my birthday. I meant to applaud what you did, at the pub. I can guess that you averted a pub fight at the very least and gave Lorna a lasting, happy memory at the most. However strange, it was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen you do.”_

 

 _Thank you, I think,_ he smirked, kissing her forehead. _I noticed something interesting about you today also. You were very engaged in the conversation about how to attack a castle. Military strategy interests you?_

 

 _It doesn’t_ not _interest me,_ she clarified. _I just like to analyze...things. And if the thing is too simple, it does not hold my interest. But what Thanadir spoke of...ranges and armaments and weights...I believe I am trying to say that the complexity is what appeals. It almost does not matter, the topic. This is why I liked my position, so much. One case could be about financial securities, and the next could be about someone suing for an infringement on intellectual property that might be about...medicines, or an engineering innovation in an automobile. It was always something full of variables to consider. Perhaps it is also why I like cooking. While not quite as complex, there are still many things to know. Something like that.”_

 

 _“I see…”_ his arm came around her, as he crossed his legs. Thank Eru, they would be home soon, and bedtime was now closer than it had been when the day had begun.

 

Lorna was so happy that for quite a while she forgot that she’d told Thranduil she had to actually explain just what she’d been so furious, lest he just take it as more evidence of her apparent instability (it had to be there, even if she couldn’t understand the scope of it; he wouldn’t have thought it otherwise. Thranduil was no dummy, and she suspected that in some ways he knew her better than she knew herself.)

 

The question was, how did you explain human racism to an elf? He’d said it existed among elves, especially against the Noldor, but she’d lay money it wasn’t the same thing. While she knew asshole elves could and had existed (hello, Oropher, how nice to meet you), she really doubted they considered anyone inferior thanks to nothing but skin tone -- and not just because all elves seemed to be as lily-white as they came. How did one explain that special brand of rage, the sort that came from nothing else she had ever known? How could he, not being human, ever really understand just how dehumanizing words like that were? She doubted there was anyone on this Earth who’d heard them that _hadn’t_ wanted to make the speaker pay in some fashion or another. She had no idea how to get that across, but Ratiri had experienced the same damn thing all his life, and Ratiri was far more eloquent than her. To have something so base, so demeaning leveled at you...the Romani had, for centuries, literally been considered subhuman. The English had thought much the same of the Indians, when they colonized India. And even now there were all too many people who still thought so...no, she couldn’t explain it, but perhaps she could let him feel it, through her. It might be the only way to truly communicate it. To have him feel not just today, but the lifetime’s worth she’d endured. It was cumulative, like multiple doses of poison, and until he had heard it thrown at him, until he had felt the rage, the violation...maybe then he could actually understand.

 

And if it took more than that, he could see it through Ratiri, through Pat -- it was a toxin, and all the worse if you let it pass unpunished. For far, far too long they’d had to just shut up and take it, but no more. To retaliate against that sort of trash wasn’t revenge, it was justice. They deserved what they got, but she’d made promises. She’d made promises, and she was grateful as hell that Thranduil had helped her keep them. (Although quite frankly, even if she hadn’t lamped that bastard, Ratiri likely would have. Some things could push even the mildest of people over the edge, and perhaps that too would help Thranduil understand -- if it was bad enough to enrage _Ratiri_ , you knew it was really, really awful.)

 

Thranduil, for his part, decided he was not going to engage in that discussion. Not after their outing had ended on a joyous note; such a potentially volatile discussion was not going to occur if he could help it. Discrimination based on race...how he would like to say that his own people had been above such things. But there had been Sindar who took one look at the brown hair and eyes of an elf like Thanadir and turned up their figurative noses, and that did not even discuss the attitudes toward elves with a connection to the Noldor, however distant. And the Avari, those far to the east who had passed out of time and knowledge...that really was not to be discussed. They all had pale skin, but not pale hair. Hair, eyes, height...what difference did it make? When one elf judged another based on nothing than some physical manifestation, it was no different. He did not need to understand such ugliness in the way that she imagined. All he needed to know was the damage that was done to a heart, from constant assault. To say that the form it took mattered was to assert that a sword made an enemy more dead than a mace. Both harmed, both killed. Evil took many forms.

 

The drive home was pleasant and relaxed, and it amused Thranduil to hear the thoughts of his human friends. Most everyone wanted to see their children. Though sadly he realized, so did Sharley but that was not possible. While he could not explain this young woman’s tragic existence, he hoped that some pity would be shown her, at some point. Valar knew, no one of good heart deserved what had been heaped on her. When they parked and walked to the Halls, everyone was quiet, lost in their own reflections.

 

Lorna and Ratiri each took a twin, rocking them gently. They seemed to be growing far too fast, though Lorna would be quite thankful once they were out of diapers. Mairead had said that the best way to potty-train a kid, once they were old enough, was let them run around with no pants on. It would only take one or two times of them wee’ing on themselves for them to figure it out. It had worked with her four, so she was probably on to something.

 

Earlene fed the twins, who were becoming completely entertaining with their new habit of latching on and then looking all over the place. Up, down, at their adar, at each other, at her, all the while tugging a breast to and fro as though vaguely resentful of them not being detachable.

 

“What are they thinking, when they do that?” she asked Thranduil, baffled. “I have never seen a child do such a thing.”

 

“Legolas did that often,” he grinned, recalling the memory. “They are curious, they want to see...well, everything. But they do not wish to release your breast, because they are hungry. So why not do both at once?”

 

“So peredhil are practical, is what you are telling me?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“When they are done at your breasts there are strained vegetables for them to try,” Thanadir said, clearly enraptured with the antics of the girls and eagerly awaiting his turn to feed them something.

 

Allanah, free to move about the room, spotted Sharley and her face lit up with excitement. She began to half-run toward her, only to trip on who knows what and fall face-first, but fortunately on the very soft rugs. Thranduil quickly returned her to her feet before she had time to consider what had occurred, and with another giggle she kept on toward Sharley, much to everyone’s delight.

 

Sharley knelt, catching the little girl and lifting her. Allanah giggled, grabbing at Sharley’s blue bangs, her tiny fingers gentle and curious. “You’re going to be into _everything_ in about a year, aren’t you? Once you’ve figured out things are things.”

 

Allanah just kept giggling, heedless of Sharley’s actual words, focused far more on her voice. “She’ll be safe, you know,” Sharley said. “Always. She’ll be the one to unite both sets of twins, since she’s the one everyone will actually want to play with.” Such a bright ray of sunshine, it was no wonder she’d be the one the rest would fight over -- but she’d also be the one they’d protect. No matter where this little girl went, _someone_ would look out for her.

 

“That’s nice to hear,” Earlene chimed. “My brother was worthless in every way, except somehow, he made this wonderful little child that he couldn’t love, because he didn’t have the brains god gave a basket of rocks.” From time to time, it really was a topic to defy rational belief, that something so good could come from...that. Genetics and environment...time would tell, on the former, and for the latter….well, life had taken care of that need.

 

“Some people are just born with something missing,” Sharley said. “Allanah got born with twice what he didn’t have. She’ll always be a little bit of ginger sunshine.” And she reminded her so much of Marty at that age, for all the two looked nothing alike. The same disposition, the same bright eyes and ready laughter, curiosity over everything...but this girl would live. She’d live long and happily, she’d love and be loved. And even when Earlene and the elves had to leave, she’d have the Duncans, and she’d have Sharley. This little one might be what reconciled her to eventually staying in one place.

 

“I love that she has so many who love her,” Earlene said, even as she felt the emotion let down more of her milk. “I cannot think of a more deserving little girl. I worry sometimes, that she will suffer somehow, for her time with Aidan. But so far, it does not seem to be the case.”

 

“She was so young,” Sharley said, “and he wasn’t exactly around much anyway. She’ll be more like your gran, I think.”

 

“And everyone’ll think she’s Chandra’s twin, because gingers,” Lorna said, shaking her head as she looked at her daughter. If Pat accused her of stealing Chandra, she would poke him with a stick.

 

“I’m not so sure they will look alike, except for coloring,” Earlene said. “Their faces have different angles, different...just, different. But it is always harder to tell when they are so young. And, they are some kind of cousin some kind of removed,” she grinned. “I confess I am very curious to see your brother’s children.”

 

Lorna laughed. “Me too. Seems weird, thinking’v Pat with kids, but he’s older than I am. I just wonder if they look as much like us four as little Shane does.” The Donovan genetics were evidently very, very strong, given that she and her siblings really did look like clones. Chandra, even with her fair coloring, might well wind up with the Donovan facial features, though Lorna really, really hoped they both got a dose of Ratiri’s height. Seriously, nobody here understood just how much the world sucked when you weren’t even a full five feet tall.

 

Suddenly Allanah shrieked with an abundance of happiness and began running in circles around Thranduil’s chair. “Bwuvvy Jeebus! Bwuvvy Jeebus! Bwuvvvvvvvvvvyyyyyyy Jeeeeeeeeeeeebus!!”

 

Thranduil shook with silent laughter as his daughter gleefully discoursed these things, if only because of the expression of horror on Thanadir’s face.

 

“Oh Apples and bananas, there just _has_ to be something else,” Earlene said, exasperated.

 

Allanah froze. “Appehs an’ bananas.”

 

Now it was Earlene’s turn to begin howling with laughter. Eleniel and Ithiliel dropped her breasts with expressions of complete disgust, which set Thranduil off even worse. The laughter was no longer silent. Thanadir quickly whisked the twins into his lap, dabbing a little of the sweet strained beets onto their tongues. Their distraction at this new delicacy was just as well, because with the goading of the adults’ laughter, Allanah was convinced that she had the Next Words. “Appehs an’ banaaaaaaaaaanaaaaas!”

 

Thranduil caught her in his arms and held her high above his head, smothering her in kisses when she came back down, while Earlene fixed her clothing. Even Lothiriel was laughing. Apples and bananas, indeed.

  



	68. Sixty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter begins June 7, 2017, late in the evening, and extends through all of June 8th.  
> *****  
> So as learning Sindarin plugs along, I have become aware of something that is a bit of a doozy. It's our beloved elvish for Thank You, or, 'len hannon'. Probably the most recognizable two words in all of fanfic, besides maybe "meleth", "aran", "adar" or "nana". It turns out, 'len hannon' just isn't really correct. If anyone wants to know more, here is the article that enlightened me: http://lymrandir.tumblr.com/post/158625914077/how-to-thank-in-sindarin  
> So when you start seeing "annon allen" as Thank You, that'll be why. I'll be working to edit out the other when I have time. Though it feels a little like waving good-bye to a friend, education can be like that! Live and learn.

 

“I know you have to go, but I don’t want you to,” murmured Earlene in the warmth of their covers, wrapping every limb around her husband. “My feet will get cold.” Her foot seductively and with remarkable coordination for a firieth traced over his groin, while her breasts magically managed to brush against his chest, as she leaned over him for emphasis.

 

“Meluieg, have  _ some  _ pity on me,” he begged, even as he could feel his desire rising. “It is for our friends’ wedding. They are running out of time, to have these things. I promised to help; it is this or Lorna will try to drag those twins to Scotland and back and probably... assault a border guard or...something.” 

 

A rumble of mirth came from her, as she edged herself on top of his warmth. “I remember when you would not allow me to touch you,” she teased, tracing her fingers lightly all over his tempting flesh. “I am making up for lost time. I cannot help it, if you created a monster.”

 

Thranduil groaned, cringing at the memory. “Why must you remember _ everything _ ? Valar, I was such an...arse.”

 

“Mmmm, I did not mind too much. It was terribly sexy, actually.”

 

He sat up a little. “I am grateful, to have found you. From what I am told, every other female in this country would have been seeking to neuter me, in consequence for my behavior.”

 

“Well, Manwë has good taste, it would seem. But, I fell in love with that arse.” Earlene was full of giggles. Tonight, there was no winning; that much was clear to Thranduil. “You could command me to do something,” she hinted, giggling yet more as she tickled his ribs with her delicate fingers.

 

“Eru, I am going to spend this entire trip to Scotland remembering this encounter. I suppose that is the p….” His words made it no further, as he found his mouth filled with a shapely nipple.

 

“Mmmm hmmm,” she agreed. “I like to know that I will be missed. Because if you find this enjoyable, well, there will be so much more on your return.”

 

“Mrrre?” he managed to murmur. On one hand, he did not see what stone she could have possibly left unturned, but, this  _ was _ Earlene.

 

“Yes. Most definitely. And surely you wish to leave me with a pleasant memory of my own?”

 

This was definitely not the time to protest that he and Ratiri had agreed to depart at four in the morning, and that it was well after midnight. Nothing good could come of it. With something between a sigh and a smile, he began to focus his efforts to better effect. He was, after all, an elf; he needed less sleep.

 

*****

 

It was dark in the sky outside the Halls, when they met as agreed upon at the Gates. “Did you sleep well?” Thranduil asked politely, not about to comment on the extended nap that was all he’d managed for himself.

 

“Aside from the fact that Lorna drooled on me, yes,” Ratiri said, laughing a little. “She has an issue, I think. Rather like one of the kittens.” The kittens, who had a tendency to try to make a nest in her hair, then get rolled over onto when she shifted. Somehow, they never learned. “It’s roughly a nine-hour drive, so I made some tea and sandwiches, though I at least am going to have to hit a few toilets along the way.” He had no idea just how efficient Elf bladders were, and it seemed somewhat indelicate to ask. He’d find out today anyway.

 

Thranduil laughed. “We are not shy about our bodies. I can avoid the inevitable for longer than most humans, but eventually toilets will be a necessity.” He was not, however, going to mention that his seneschal had made him use a chamber pot. That tidbit could remain unknown indefinitely, in his estimation. “I am curious to see your country, though I imagine it does not look too different from this Ireland?”

 

“Not really, no,” Ratiri said. “Still very green and very damp, though a touch colder. It made moving to Ireland rather easy, honestly, though here there are fewer sheep.” It had been like coming home, after living in London, albeit home with different accents and slightly more pub fights. He’d thought them a national pastime in Scotland, but Scotland couldn’t quite compete.

 

“And this being summer, I doubt I will notice the ‘cold’ part. We will take your car, or Lorna’s van?”

 

“My car ought to be fine, and since it’s registered in my name, that should make it easier,” Ratiri said. “I hope so, anyway. I still have citizenship in Scotland, which in theory won’t make crossing the border  _ too  _ hard, but after Brexit, who knows. I can stuff everything I actually need into the back of the Bronco, assuming we can figure out how to properly Tetris it.” He shook his head, and laughed a little. “I really hope Lorna can handle all that weight, because I know she’ll try, just to prove that she can.”

 

“I will confess that many human customs are strange, to us, but this one definitely intrigues me. I am trying to imagine having asked Earlene to somehow wear our vault, and find I cannot. But we are much looking forward to your marriage. Long ago we celebrated many things, but only since contacting humans have we begun to revive that somewhat.”

 

“Well, the contents of your vault are rather more than what my mother has saddled Lorna with,” Ratiri said. “In Indian culture, it’s customary to dress the bride in all the finery the family can afford, so as to show off their wealth. Not so terribly different from Western weddings, in a sense -- the finery is just different. Lorna’s tiny, but so was my mother.” He winced a bit. “You can never, ever tell Lorna this, but we’ve got all that jewelry because a few hundred years ago, my family was technically minor royalty. Mughal Empire, to be precise. She can never know.” He could only imagine her horrified reaction, and didn’t particularly want to.

 

“Ha ha!” Thranduil exclaimed. “Oh, do not worry, my friend. Before all things come to pass I have a feeling Lorna will be confronted by a host of uncomfortable realities that will tug at her sensibilities.” From time to time as they walked, he erupted into chuckles that had come to sound a little  _ too _ gleeful.

 

Ratiri groaned. He really, really wished he hadn’t said that, but he probably couldn’t have stopped himself thinking it. Damn telepathy. “That poor woman. For someone who so hates the concept of royalty, she’s certainly blundered across a fair amount of it.”

 

More chuckles. Finally, the King seemed to recover himself a little. “Earlene told me of a quote. ‘What one resists, persists.’ I am enjoying that sentiment a great deal, just now. Poor Lorna. In some ways, she makes it too easy to poke fun at her. I hope you can forgive me my juvenile enjoyments; I am not often able to indulge myself in this manner. You see, I missed out on all of this when I was at the usual age for such things, and find that they seem to erupt without notice.” He really could not recall the last time he was in such a fine humor, but forced himself to admit that he owed a certain amount of it to his wife’s insistence on such a pleasant parting.

 

“She really does,” Ratiri said, “though for God’s sake, don’t tell her I said that. I can’t read her mind, so I have no idea of knowing just what kind of underhanded revenge she’d get. It would probably involve my pants.” He glanced at Thranduil. “You’re on holiday, technically. Laugh all you like. This is time to drive, eat greasy takeaway food, and see the sights. Though fortunately for you, I don’t drive quite as insanely as Lorna.”

 

“Eru be praised. And, fortunately for you, I am not Earlene. She has a great deal of difficulty, being driven. I need to ask her, so that I can understand better. But what I have seen in her thoughts...I think something happened, that she has not spoken of to me.”

 

“I had noticed that,” Ratiri said. “There might well be some past trauma there. That she’s had no interest in learning to drive in Ireland, despite living in a fairly off-track village, is also somewhat telling. The fact that she lived in one of the few cities with reliable public transit probably didn’t do anything to foster a desire for a car of her own.” New York, so he’d heard, was on par with London so far as that went. 

 

“No, it is not that. Earlene did drive, in America, and was capable at it. And I believe she is even now making plans to acquire a license here, having realized that the current arrangement is unfair to you and Lorna. It is more...there are images in her mind of someone I do not know. With terrible injuries. Very graphic memories. I could guess, but it would be just that, a guess. I should ask. And speaking of ‘please don’t tell her I said that…’” The two males looked at each other, and smiled in camaraderie.

 

They’d reached the Bronco, but the sun was still a good hour away from even thinking about making an appearance. The air was entirely still, which was somewhat unusual for Ireland, but Ratiri would take it. “If she lost someone, that could explain it, too. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” There was, he knew, such a thing as too much  honesty, and a confidence was a confidence.

 

They tossed the small bags containing their few necessities on the rear seat, and soon enough were at the M7, just at the time the light was creeping into the sky. There had not been much further discussion; each reflected on this or that, and Thranduil found that he could easily enough ignore Ratiri’s mind in favor of his own ruminations. Until, that is, something worthy of discussion alighted. “What happened at the pub, the other day. You encountered such crassness a great deal, on account of your skin color?” Thranduil asked, wanting to ensure he grasped the thinking of those who behaved in such a manner.

 

Ratiri frowned. “I did,” he said. “It’s a problem. It’s always been one, and it may keep being one until the world dies. ‘Paki’ was a mild one. I’ve also been called tinker and gyppo, because to racist troglodytes, all us brown people are interchangeable.” There was a current of savagery in his tone that was quite unlike him. “The one and only fight I got in as a teenager was with a boy who wouldn’t stop calling me Paki. I was fourteen, as tall as I am now, and I came close to putting him in hospital. I still heard it, but never as blatantly after that. Unfortunately, there’s only one language such people understand -- just like any bully, they only respect a fist.”

 

“Forgive me...Paki? I do not understand the slurs, though I can gather that they are not pleasant or meant to be a compliment. And...I do not want to ask you that which makes you uncomfortable. But this is a conversation I have hesitated to have with Lorna. I thought perhaps you could explain to me with less...overt emotion.”

 

With a sigh, Ratiri said, “I can try. This is something that’s a very sore point with anyone who’s ever experienced it. ‘Paki’ is a derogatory term for anyone from the nation of Pakistan, which was once a part of my mother’s homeland, India. We’re stereotyped as lazy, greedy, and dirty -- rather like the Romani, that Lorna is descended from. The native people of the British Isles and Ireland are all white, and a lot of them see us as...interlopers. Strangers. People who don’t belong. What any of us might be like as individual people doesn’t matter. We’re the wrong color, and thus are Other.” 

 

He shook his head. “In this one thing, I can’t fault Lorna her reaction. Not when it’s one I’ve had myself. I’m not proud of it, and yet...it felt good. Making that bastard eat his words along with my fist...it felt so good it scared me, so I never did it again. I’m not like Lorna, though. If I choose, I can be rather intimidating. She doesn’t have that option...even if she does have that ‘I want to rip your face off’ expression.”

 

“Then this is simple, hateful bias? About nothing other than your physical features, skin color, to be exact?”

 

“It’s not always quite so simple. A person’s culture and religion can be targets in and of themselves. Muslims, at the moment, are a very widespread target, simply because a few people who happen to be Muslim have committed acts of terrorism. Many people who follow Islam wear certain clothes that identify them as Muslim, and find themselves victims of everything from street harassment to murder.” He sighed. “After the Brexit vote, the number of hate crimes in Britain went up four hundred percent, and much of it has been against Muslims. My mother was Hindu, but even then...she’d brought much of her culture with her, and because it was Other, it was held against her, and me. The food she cooked, the things that decorated our home...if a racist, a bigot, wants a reason to be cruel, they’ll find one. They’ll always find one.” The sheer number of times someone had sneered  _ go home, Paki  _ at him...it was little wonder he’d eventually snapped. “I was born in Scotland. It was the only home I’d ever known, but I had so many people telling me I didn’t belong, with varying degrees of profanity.”

 

Thranduil sighed. This was somewhat worse, and more entrenched, than he had understood.  _ What if the Eldar were dark-skinned, like the Haradrim of old? _ He mused.  _ Would they have been received with awe and respect, or would something very different have occurred? _ Surely he and the elves were as out of place as it was possible to be, in the word of men. And yet they were pale, and thought by most to be surpassingly beautiful. “I did not realize it was that bad,” the King said. “It is painful to hear that this is...what it is.”

 

“The sad thing is, I had thought it was better, for a while,” Ratiri said. “There was a time that one used racial slurs at their own peril -- the bigots still existed, but they weren’t blatant about it. Somehow, we’ve slid backward. I didn’t see much of it in London, but I was shielded by my job. Baile, and Lasg’len, they’ve been...nice. Refreshing. I don’t look like the rest of them, but nobody has ever looked at me like I don’t belong, and I know Lorna can say the same. And yet being so insulated is something of a double-edged sword, because when you do run into it again, it’s all the more shocking. And it’s...I don’t even have words for what it feels like, the rage and misery and  _ hate  _ it can bring. To be so casually demeaned, for no good reason -- well, nobody would ever dare do it to you, even if they didn’t know what you were. While the length of your hair is somewhat unusual for the twenty-first century, you tick all the boxes so far as what Western society finds attractive in men.” Ratiri had actually had his own share of female admirers, but he’d been so awkward, and so hung up on Katherine, that he’d almost wished they  _ didn’t  _ find him so attractive.

 

“I was just pondering what might have transpired, had elves been given the coloring of the Haradrim. Yet...it seems even more ridiculous when...is your skin color not a function of your generations, from living somewhere the sun shines more fiercely than in these northern lands?”

 

Ratiri smiled, though there was a tinge of bitterness to it. “Exactly. The people of northern Europe lost melanin over the course of several millennia, because there wasn’t enough sunlight to justify it. The differences in races all come down to genetic mutations anyway, and yet so many act as though it actually meant something. Even within India, people with fairer skin are considered more attractive than people with my complexion. There are actually products that will bleach the skin, if you can believe that. Most of them don’t work, and those that do are incredibly dangerous.”

 

“But you are very beautiful,” Thranduil said, genuinely puzzled. It was true; were it not for his facial hair and his skin color, Ratiri could pass for an ellon.

 

“What different cultures find attractive can be extremely arbitrary,” Ratiri said, a touch awkwardly. He wasn’t used to frank compliments from anyone but Lorna.. “More so for women, but also for men. You may have noticed this in New York, but many who are naturally pale either use sunbeds, or spray tans, because for some, being too pale is also undesirable. Humanity is both vain and very judgmental, honestly. The women in London, the ones who were attracted to me...there’s a certain kind of person that...I don’t know how to explain this. They want to collect the exotic, and I found myself repelled. And then I met Lorna, whose interest I actually  _ wanted _ . Most of the other women I met just wanted into my pants because I’m one of the Other. In its own way, it’s just a separate form of bigotry, if that makes any sense at all.”

 

He sped up a little, passing a dawdling lorry. “It’s the same with Lorna --  _ I  _ find her extremely attractive and desirable, but most men wouldn’t. Earlene is pretty much the epitome of the Western standard of beauty; most Western men would find Lorna too small and too slight. She doesn’t have, er,  _ attributes  _ considered sexy by many men.” He didn’t say ‘boobs’, but he didn’t need to. A blind man couldn’t miss how occasionally blatantly Thranduil stared at Earlene’s, which was actually kind of hilarious, but also understandable -- the woman had a nice rack. Even he’d noticed, though he trusted neither of them to be offended, simply because it was impossible  _ not  _ to, any more than one could ignore the Elves’ height.

 

To Ratiri, though, Lorna’s wiry frame was beautiful, and her eyes...as sappy as it sounded, he was entirely sure he’d fallen in love with her eyes even before the rest of her. But he knew that most men would see her lack of both height and tits and look elsewhere. Most men  _ had _ , up until he met her. There had been him, and Liam, and, unfortunately, Von Ratched. Sick though it made Ratiri, he thought knew exactly what had drawn that bastard to her. The first thing one noticed about Lorna was her unusually diminutive size; the second was her eyes, so green they didn’t look real, didn’t look  _ human _ . No doubt it was that which had appealed to that sick fuck, who’d probably slept his way through half the magazine-model-worthy socialites of New York. Lorna was not traditionally beautiful, but there was something compelling about her, something that wouldn’t be there if she’d been Western-standard gorgeous rather than, well, cute. It was in her expression, her eyes, her strangely elfin features, the way her entire face lit up when she laughed, how generally  _ adorable  _ she was...and Thranduil really didn’t need to be subjected to all the reasons he found his fiancee lovely. He turned his thoughts instead to the little blue Honda futzing along in the fast lane, no doubt driven by some pensioner who couldn’t read speed limit signs. Fortunately the motorway was still all but empty, so he passed the car easily.

 

“Ohhhhh…..” Thranduil grinned. “Is it not interesting, what we find attractive? I will admit, the ‘attributes’ of my first wife were not so different. Earlene does not think she has the same beauty as Alassëa...but she has more. There were many things I did not understand, when I first was married. I thought that physical beauty and a more or less kind disposition were enough, in a partner. I did love her. But Earlene...I love her so much more. I cannot help that I enjoy and desire her as I do. There are times I have wondered, what it would be like, how you humans navigate so many choices and partners. All elves are….pretty, as you would say. I have more than learned that what a wife has on the inside, her disposition, is worth a great deal more than her physical appearance. In the end, when there is joy and love, I do not believe the physical trappings matter so much.”

 

“And that’s another good question...just how much does a personality contribute to someone’s physical attractiveness? I don’t just mean in mates, I mean people in general,” Ratiri said. “I knew some women in London who were physically stunning, but I knew them too well as people to find them actually  _ attractive _ , if that makes any sense at all.” He shook his head. “I have a feeling Earlene must have been either very oblivious to male attention, or so daunting nobody dared approach her. Possibly both. Whereas Lorna...I’m rather glad nobody else appreciates her as I do. That no one else sees what I see in her.” Oh, Liam had as well, and what amused him immensely was that from all Lorna had said, he and Liam were very different people. Then again, she and Katherine were not at all alike, either. “Though I do wonder at times how they can’t. Why nobody else can see past the fact that yes, she’s adorable, and regard her with my eyes.” There were probably millions of spouses and partners who wondered the same, he was sure.

 

“Earlene was...I learned some things, in New York. When she worked, her career consumed her. And the aftermath of what happened to all her friends...she was not open to having a lover. Of that I am sure. But it was...when we went to visit her law office, there was a man who worked in the building. His thoughts were very painful to hear. That man worshipped Earlene. Thought about her, believed he loved her. Wanted so badly to ask her for an outing, but never found the courage. And Earlene was oblivious. She did not know and I did not tell her, because what would it have done that was positive? For her entire life, there was no openness to a relationship of this nature, but there was yet more to it, on account of her brother. I should not say more, not without her consent. Whatever the reasons, Earlene has only ever been treasured by me, and it is not something I forget. It is a very special feeling, one I cherish. If it had gone otherwise, I would not have minded. But that my wife has been for me alone… my feelings probably offend some modern sentiment, and I do recognize the hypocrisy in that this is not my first marriage...but they are still my feelings.”

 

Neither Lorna nor Ratiri were one another’s firsts, but he thought that perhaps they loved one another more deeply because of it. They were older now; neither had had, in their past relationships, as much in them to give. “I’m not surprised she’d have at least one such admirer,” Ratiri said. “Sometimes, that which we can’t have is the safest to want, precisely  _ because  _ we’ll never have it. Never have to deal with the terror of uncertain reality. I didn’t...after Katherine, I was rather like Earlene. I just wasn’t open to it. The very thought just wasn’t to be borne. She died, and I froze, and fifteen years later I came to Ireland, and ran into a tiny woman and a realm full of Elves. I do have to wonder a bit if there was some divine hand, because what are the odds, otherwise?”

 

“Whereas I do not have to wonder, because the divine hand said as much,” Thranduil said, shaking his head. “Elves are at least in theory accustomed to the idea of the Valar and their will. The actions they may take. But the idea that a human female was...delivered into my arms? I can find no other way to say it...even now I have moments of disbelief. Perhaps we are all caught up in things greater than what we know. This is both reassuring and terrifying, depending on my state of mind.”

 

“I try not to think about it, to be honest,” Ratiri said, and laughed a little. “It’s beyond any of us humans, so I just leave it. I have my little family, my children and…” He paused, wondering if asking this would be asking Thranduil to break some confidence. “I know that Lorna’s past is not a happy one, and that it’s damaged her in more ways than even she realizes, but watching her with her brother -- would she give you permission to speak to me of it? She tries, but you know how she is with words, and I don’t like to push her because it just frustrates her that she can’t communicate as she’d like to.” He’d accepted ages ago that using her words was just never going to be Lorna’s strong point, no matter how much she tried, or how good her intentions. She was many things, but eloquent was not among them.

 

“ ‘Not happy’ I think is something of an understatement,” Thranduil grimaced. “There are some things I really do not know either. Of the two of us, I am more...able to describe my inner world. I have told her of what my father did to me but...my father beat me and hit me too often, but my mother did not. And Thanadir gave me what comfort and encouragement he could, at the time. But Lorna’s father…” He shook his head. “I was fed, and clothed. I had education and a soft bed. Training. Lorna had the worst of what I did, and none of any of it that was good. Her father was a monstrosity, and was all she knew, as well as the abject poverty of her household. Any child who is abused in this way comes to have lasting problems with trust and anger. But the difference between her and I is that I have been helped to understand those demarcations. I saw what had been done to me, and however painful, started down the road to repairing the harm long ago. I am afraid you are correct when you say, ‘more damaged than she realizes.’ I have come to understand that there is a...perspective, a frame of reference. Most of us have it, and yet she struggles to understand anything about such a matter. I search for ways to help her to understand, to see what others see, but it is not easy.”

 

“Mairead and Jamie love her, but they didn’t do her any favors, there,” Ratiri sighed. “They only encouraged self-reflection up to a point, choosing to shield her rather than help her grow. I can somewhat understand it, given all they had to work within the confines of such a small village, but...this sounds terrible, and I know they would never, ever see it this way, but  _ I  _ certainly spotted it. They thought Lorna, the Lorna you first met, was as good as she was ever going to get. I’m not surprised she has no frame of reference. Until this past year, I don’t think anyone’s told her there even  _ was  _ such a thing that would fit her own situation.” He understood why Mairead and Jamie had done what they did, but it also...devalued her, in a sense. And he was incredibly bloody grateful that she would surely never see it that way, because she loved them both to bits.

 

“For all that she has so little in common with Lorna, it is Earlene, who is owed a great deal for this. I remember, early on. Well before Earlene really knew very much about Lorna...but that is the thing, with Earlene. She has a mind like no other that I have ever seen, for drawing conclusions. She saw that Lorna thought little of herself and Earlene...launched, is the term I suppose I would use. Not for a moment, would she tolerate Lorna’s view of herself. And she was not tactful about it in the least. I think that you have seen, when my wife feels strongly about something she has a propensity to erupt, more or less. Earlene believes that if the bar is raised well over Lorna’s head, that she will find her way to it in the end. And I cannot argue with her because so far, it has more or less been proven correct. My wife understands what Lorna has been denied, but does not accept that as an excuse or a reason to let matters stand. I understand the desire to shield Lorna, when she has already endured so much. And yet as you pointed out, it is not always helpful.”

 

“Something tells me arguing with Earlene is a terrible idea in general,” Ratiri said dryly. “She must have made a fiendishly effective lawyer. It’s funny, because Lorna was rather daunted by her at first, and so afraid of offending her somehow, when from all I’d heard of her she didn’t normally care  _ who  _ she offended.”

 

He merged around another lorry. “None of that would be possible, though, if you hadn’t fixed whatever was...broken...in her mind. From all Mairead and Big Jamie said, she’d very rarely gone blank, as she called it, but it terrified them. They said it was like she wasn’t human, that whatever made her  _ Lorna  _ went on holiday and left something monstrous and alien in her place. And perhaps that’s why I can’t blame Mairead and Jamie  _ too  _ much -- they did they best they could with what they had. When you have to work around that kind of terrifying instability, there’s only so much you can do. You do -- you do realize how grateful she is for that, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, and no,” the King confessed. “When I did that, when I healed the...no that is not right. There were two occasions needed to repair the worst of the damage, and I did not work alone; Thanadir’s help was needed. I did not do all I could have, because I believed it was important for her to manage some of this on her own. What I know most acutely is that she does not believe she is good enough, that we still judge and think ill of her. But what she does not see, and I do not believe I should tell her, is that her victories over these problems will mean little to her if I simply fix them. It will not bring her empathy. Or understanding of forgiveness. Or growth. In the only way I know how, I am trying to help her claim what was taken from her. Quite simply, mastery over herself.”

 

“She’ll get there,” Ratiri said. “She’s come a long way already. Of course she thinks we still judge her -- those of us that feel the most acutely judged are seeing a reflection of how harshly we judge ourselves. She doesn’t actually think that she believes she should be able to do it all at once, but I don’t need to be able to read her mind to know that she does. And it’s difficult, because while my parents were somewhat harmlessly insane, they loved one another, and me. I know there’s a great deal I’m simply missing because I don’t have comparable life experience. There are times I feel guilty that I was so fortunate, and whenever she figures that out, she sits on me and pokes me until I relent. The last time she set a kitten on my face and wouldn’t remove it until I stopped ‘looking like that’, as she put it. Why is it that you get hugs and I get kittens on my face? It’s not fair.” Granted, he got far more than hugs on a regular basis, so they didn’t have quite the same meaning...not going there right now. He’d think of the kittens instead.

 

“As much as I would like to believe it is something about respect for the monarchy, I think we can both safely agree that it has to do with a lack of proximity to kittens at any given time,” grumbled Thranduil drily. “Though, it is a relentless source of amusement to me, that she believes this is some sort of deterrent,” he chuckled. 

 

“Has she never thought about why, when she’s near you?” Ratiri asked, fighting a grin and losing. “She persists in thinking you’ll object to smelling like her shampoo. It’s part of why she always rests her head on your arm or your shoulder. She’s trying to transfer her scent, like a cat, because she’s convinced you wouldn’t like smelling like lavender.” He shook his head. “The serious reason you don’t get kitten or anything else is that she trusts you completely and actually likes hugging you, but she doesn’t want to leave you  _ too  _ undignified -- largely because she doesn’t want to needlessly stretch poor Thanadir’s sensibilities.” They’d actually had several discussions about that, as she tried to work the Kingy Thingy into her view of Thranduil. It had taken her a while, but she’d got there in the end -- reconciling that yes, he was a king, and yes, it was a rather important part of his life, but to her he would always be first and foremost  _ Thranduil _ , her friend and brother-from-another-mother. The Kingy Thingy was there, but it didn’t factor much into their personal relationship, because she was outside of it, which made the things she’d had problems with something of a non-issue. No, she didn’t fully agree with everything that went along with that monarchy, but nobody ever fully agreed with absolutely  _ everything _ about someone else’s views. If you loved them enough, you worked around it, and resolved that you didn’t have to personally concur with a view to care about the person who held it. (Though supporting the English at football might definitely be a strain on any relationship. He wasn’t even joking.)

 

Thranduil burst into laughter. “But...I love lavender. All elves do.” He shook his head. “Do not tell her I said that; for once I would like a slight advantage. And…” what he wanted to say was,  _ and after Von Ratched he was simply glad that the plant had not been demonized straight out of the botanical compendium, in her eyes _ , but thought better of it, because surely this was not a nice recollection for Ratiri either. Quickly, the words shifted: “It interests me, though...that she pokes you. I have noted that Lorna is quick to experience volatile emotions of anger, hurt, or self-blame. And yet she is more sensitive to those feelings in others than in herself. It is fine, in her eyes, for her to stew and nourish such thoughts, but she will move heaven and earth to keep another from displaying them openly. There is a disconnect present there that I do not fully understand. You must realize, that what I understand of Lorna is because of her surface thoughts. I would never go mining through the full span of her memories without her permission; it is bad enough that all of you have to endure my unavoidable abilities in this regard. So I wait, and hope that in time I will understand more by which to help her succeed. If anyone deserves some measure of peace, and happiness, it is her. And now there is a brother, of whom I only had glimpses and first impressions. I hope, so very much, that he can accept us. She wants her family back. The idea of it means a great deal, and who can blame her?”

 

“I can’t know for certain, but I might have a guess,” Ratiri said, a touch grimly. “I’ve seen it in abused children, and if it is in fact the case, I’m entirely sure she’s unaware of it: children with abusive parents are often struck if they display any negative emotion. I would be very surprised if she hadn’t tried to take care of one or all of her siblings because of that, but she wouldn’t likely have cared herself, given her temper. If I’m right, it’s instinct, completely subconscious.” He shook his head. “Pat, though...Pat’s the one she’s spoken of the most, insofar as she’s said much of her siblings at all. She said he’s rather like you in his need to keep the ones he considers his safe, but that he overstretched himself and tried to take on too much.” He glanced at Thranduil, very briefly. “That it hurt him terribly, whenever he perceived himself as failing, even though he’d done all he could.”

 

“Ouch, I believe is what you humans say.” His voice had softened in both tone and volume. “Do not feel as though you cannot point out such observations, to me. Like with Lorna, when I am at a height of some emotion, that may not be the best time. But I can hear criticism. Or at least, I hope I can. Some of this, in me, is the product of a long obligation of duty. Being a King is something like being a parent, and no parent wishes to fail their children. I will admit freely, if I have one trepidation about the future and this arrangement to help so many others...much of how one ensures success is to understand limitations. That not everyone can be helped, and that duty is first owed to those to whom that duty has been promised, with others coming second if at all. So if that is the case with Lorna’s brother, then, I will see well enough in time.”

 

“The pair of you do have that in common, among other things, but that’s not a bad thing,” Ratiri said. “And I think, Kingy Thingy aside, she understands that, in a way. First there was Pat, trying as hard as he could to protect his siblings against something that really couldn’t be defended against, and then Shane, who...well, you’ve seen how the entire lot of them react around Shane. He’s like a combination of older brother and modern major general. Now there’s you, who she at times sees as taking on too much. She doesn’t really understand the difference between what you do and what they did, though she thinks she does. She’s wrapped her brain around the technical aspects of the Kingy Thingy, but I don’t think she’s gone much deeper. I’m not sure she yet knows how. I’m also not sure she will ever call it anything other than ‘Kingy Thingy’, but she’s dragged me into the term as well. At least it’s not a derisive name.”

 

“Oh good Eru,” Thranduil laughed, the early morning sunshine reflecting off his glossy, pale hair. “Taking on too much? There was a time when all this was next to nothing. There were thirty thousand of us, once. Now there are two hundred. My days used to be fully occupied with making decisions, seeing that all was managed with Thanadir’s aid and the willing efficiency of those underneath him. Really, in so many ways life is no longer real, from a certain perspective. Meals, time for travel and conversation, learning...these are new developments, for me. Were humans elves, this would be no difficulty at all, because it would simply be understood that newcomers would do as they were told to and all would be well in a preconceived spirit of cooperation and hierarchy. The challenge lies in that...I do not believe this could be acceptable, to those outside. So it is left for me to guide the forging of a different kind of community in which I am not seen as ruling over you. I am doing everything I know how, to find something that will work for all concerned. This will be the new thing, and therefore at least for me, a headache. I already know how to care for a thousand people...but not when eight hundred of them do not know how to be cared for by a King. I mean no offense; I have tried in every way I know how to be considerate of your views and feelings as humans. But I too have a perspective, one that I am trying to keep as being of secondary importance. There are more of you, than we elves.”

 

Ratiri couldn’t help but laugh as well. “What she’s seeing now is how you’ve been taking on the modern world,” he said. “It’s what all of us have been seeing, really. You’ve plunged yourself into something that all your eighteen thousand years as prince and king could not have prepared you for. Technology, modern human society...it was all entirely new to you and Thanadir. You had to do a very great deal of adapting in what even to us is a very short amount of time. I’m not sure you realize how impressive that actually is. And she finds it all the more so because there were many aspects of normal modern society  _ she  _ had to adapt to just before she turned thirty, and at least she’d had some idea of them beforehand. You and Thanadir were just thrown off the diving board and into the deep end, as we say. That you managed to go from such a sleepy village to one of the busiest cities in the world, with little practical experience in between...yes, you’re Elves, but that’s still quite a feat, and we all know it.”

 

He wove between a delivery van and a clearly sleepy driver in a Prius, who wove gently in his lane. “And to be perfectly honest, her usual dim view of kings has made her all the more impressed. She’s told me she wouldn’t have believed somebody used to always getting their own way could handle letting that go to such an extent. I haven’t yet convinced her that being a king doesn’t mean you always get your own way. Thanks to humanity’s quite frankly shitty monarchies, she’s still got a bit of a warped idea of what they’re  _ supposed  _ to be like. What they’re meant to be in theory is not something they’ve ever been in practice, among humans. I’d tell you to look up Henry the Eighth, except I think you’d be so disgusted you’d want to write us off. He went through six wives just to get a male heir, who died young and is little more than a footnote in English history, while the daughter he didn’t want went on to be the closest thing to a great monarch that humanity has ever produced. And yet she didn’t dare get married, because then she’d be in the awkward position of being queen yet subordinate to her husband, because misogyny was the order of the day back then. Noble ladies of any level existed to procreate, look decorative, and shut up. Remaining single was the only way she preserved her power.”

 

He did have to wonder just how much a shock to the system Lorna must have been. Earlene, he was sure, he’d been deferential from the start, but Lorna hadn’t known Thranduil was anything other than human, and had assuredly treated him accordingly -- not that there would have been any deference if she  _ had  _ known, because, well, she was Irish. At the very least, she must have been something of a surprise, but also good preparation for humanity outside the forest. She was certainly about as human as you could get.

 

“Getting their own way…” he echoed. “I think I tried to explain this, once. It is true that if I issue a command, those under me are compelled to obey or accept the consequences for refusing. But what I think is not understood is that I gave up a great deal, in return. I could not go where I wished; my time was spoken for. I could not have what friends I wished; my station required that I maintain a careful impartiality and not create an appearance of favoritism. It would seem, perhaps, that I had all the choices in the world but in reality no one had fewer options. My role was and still is defined by a number of expectations. You may have seen that I no longer consume wine as I used to. I learned that I do not have the luxury of becoming drunk to ease difficult feelings; for once when I did, my wife went for hours with a broken arm that I was not in a fit state to notice. No one stands over me to require these things, but...my people give me their willing obedience, and deserve my best in exchange. Nothing less than this can or should be acceptable. Your Kings were content to take the power and the luxuries of their title, but failed to live up to their half of the implied contract, I am afraid. Perhaps Lorna will see this in time. I cannot say. And, she was not so much a shock to the system as...I assumed she was simply very human, as your thoughts indicate. I realized quickly that Earlene was unusual. And yes, she deferred to me from the start. But that made a different impression than you might think. What I saw was someone who from a loving heart gave me everything she had in this world. It left a deep impression, and an example to follow.”

 

“I think she does realize it has the capacity for making one very lonely,” Ratiri said. “We both realize there’s an inherent power imbalance between you and any subject you tried to have as a friend, which she  finds a bit tragic. And I’ll be perfectly honest with you: the idea that a person should be compelled to obey anyone, whether they wish to or not, makes me very uneasy, but I’m a twenty-first century human. I know that my views of society are not always going to be the same as yours, because my society has been very different. As Lorna puts it, it’s cultural differences, and that’s something most reasonable people try to come to terms with when meeting a new civilization. Not every society is the same, and anyone with any sense accepts that there might well be huge variations. So even though it’s something the pair of us don’t agree with, we accept that it’s your thing, and that more importantly, you’ve all agreed that it  _ should  _ be your thing. You didn’t force anyone to be your subject; if someone didn’t like it, it’s not like they can’t leave, and I think that’s the crucial thing for her. It’s voluntary obedience, not...not the essential slavery that those under human monarchs suffered.” Yes, technically a human who disliked their sovereign could move to another country...which probably had a king or queen that was just as bad, if not worse. Not the same thing at all.

 

“And unfortunately, you’re very right about our monarchs,” he added. “If you hand a human, any human, that much power, it inevitably goes to their heads to some degree. It can happen even with our elected officials, who are technically answerable to the people who elect them. We came up with republics and democracies because humanity seems to be just too fundamentally flawed to ever hand a huge amount of authority to one single person. Even Elizabeth the First, who was so good for England, was horrible to the Irish. And even she executed a few people for horrendously stupid reasons.” Admittedly, far fewer of them than her contemporaries, but still. In Ratiri’s opinion, any and all violent conflicts over religion were automatically idiotic, and while she’d abstained from that to a remarkable degree for the time period, even she hadn’t been immune. 

 

He laughed a little, as he managed to speed up. “And Earlene...I’m sure you’ve realized by now that she’s quite extraordinary, but perhaps not just  _ how  _ extraordinary. Normally there is only a very specific type of person who would give everything to another so totally, and it’s a type entirely different from her.” Thought of what Thranduil would have done if faced with some spineless little mouse...no. It wasn’t even funny. Ratiri was not at all surprised that her coming to that cottage was literally divine intervention, because with absolutely any other woman that would have gone  _ so  _ badly wrong. It wasn’t just that most would have told him to get stuffed -- it was that any who  _ wouldn’t  _ would be weak, empty-headed twits who wanted to be abused. An Anastasia Steele, if you would. Any other woman willing to give up her freedom so totally would be the kind who didn’t want the bother of having it -- or her own opinion -- to begin with. It wouldn’t be any sort of sacrifice at all, but an abdication of personal responsibility.

 

_ This _ was all very interesting, to Thranduil. “I am not sure if you realize that my father and then later me...we did not place ourselves as King over the people because we wanted to rule the elves. It was rather more the other way around; the elves begged us to rule. We were recognized for our knowledge, our cultural heritage. Our ability to unite, to provide more to our people than they could provide to themselves. They were scattered, as was anything resembling leadership among them. Many survived in a manner that barely allowed for food, shelter and clothing. Our rule and the obedience that was required...I fear this will sound arrogant but...you in this world argue and debate and allow the majority opinion to determine your destiny by direct vote or the choice of those who will represent you. This strikes you as equitable, fair. And yet it is not inherently based in better knowledge, or selfless interest. It simply…*is*, and forgive me, I see a great deal of inefficiency and utter nonsense that result from this system of governance. Under a good ruler, much good can be accomplished for a group of those who are subjects. There is security, a standard of care and protection. Even your freedom is somewhat illusory; you are compelled to pay taxes, obey laws. In some lands I understand that citizens are required to serve as soldiers at arms, should there be warfare. You are imprisoned or punished by other means, for certain kinds of violation. You have a measure of autonomy, but my people do as well. I do not force them to perform certain kinds of work, or dictate their choice in clothing or leisure pursuits. I admit that I make comparisons between my rule and your governments, given what I have learned about you, and am often at a loss to see what is truly so different, except as a perception as to what constitutes ‘compulsion’. Even in my earliest interactions with Earlene, when I was more than a little stuck on myself compared to now, I do not believe she found compliance with our ways burdensome.  I am trying to think of what I ever commanded her to do, aside from learn our language, keep our secrets, and dress like us when living inside the Halls.” He frowned. “Though, I suppose the language was bad enough,” he chuckled.

 

“But...isn’t commanding her to dress like you in the Halls dictating her clothing?” Ratiri asked. “The problem with monarchy in the human world is that it depends very much on the quality of the monarch. With republics and democracies, the leader is answerable to the people and can have their power removed if they violate their office. There were never any truly good rulers among humans. Some were better than others, granted, but they were all, in their own ways, terrible. We overthrew them for a reason -- or, in the case of Britain, put balances on their power. You don’t abuse your position, or the fact that -- I’m assuming -- you’re rather above the law. Not a single human monarch in history can say the same. Democracies especially are not without their flaws -- just look at the Cheeto they elected president in America -- but at least they can find a way to boot the Cheeto, as soon as he inevitably violates the terms of his office. Can you imagine him as an absolute monarch?” The thought literally made Ratiri shudder. “And yet only a few hundred years ago, if he’d been born a king, his people would be stuck with him, or at least until someone assassinated him. Honestly, in one sense, monarchy among us wasn’t necessarily so different than a democracy, except that if we disliked our leader so much, we just killed them rather than kick them out of office. Among humanity, especially in the Western world...in theory, the best person for the job is supposed to win. Yes, in practice that often doesn’t happen, but at least they have to try to convince the voters they’re qualified for the job. Whereas monarchy -- and please don’t be offended, I’m not counting Elves in this -- they might be a good king or queen, or they might be a bad one, but either way, they didn’t  _ earn  _ it. It’s why we had so many awful rulers -- they thought that being the product of their parents made them inherently superior, and that they could do as they wished, period. Most had no actual care for their people, or at least, not beyond the point they could be used. And that’s the only frame of reference any of us have ever had for monarchy, until now. Lorna and I -- Lorna especially -- come from lands that suffered for centuries under monarchies that were inept at best, and malicious at worst. I should get you some books on the history of the English monarchy. You’ll think humanity was collectively insane until the past fifty years, but it might explain a bit.”

 

“I have read some,” he countered. “Enough to understand why I am at an automatic disadvantage, in this. And for the record, Earlene now wears anything she wishes. When I learned that these choices were important to human women, and why, I relented quickly enough. I promised to care for Earlene’s well being, not just physically but emotionally. But it has taken some time to understand what that requires. Cultural differences, as you say. Though, I believe much of the time she still dresses as we do because she knows I prefer it. Used to prefer it. Honestly, Earlene would look good in a grain sack. I no longer know what I prefer.” He sighed, suffering the memory of what she wore to Limerick with undisguised yearning.

 

Ratiri laughed before he could help it. “You’ve been cursed with a gorgeous wife,” he said. “It is a double-edged sword. I love Lorna in anything she chooses to wear, but I know others don’t see her that way. Earlene is...rather impossible to miss,” he added, as delicately as he could. With Lorna, one had to look twice, and he was one of a very few who had done so. Earlene belonged on the cover of a magazine, whereas Lorna belonged in a forest, like any self-respecting wood sprite. And sprite she was, in spirit if not in flesh.

 

“It is a curse I will accept,” the King answered quietly. “Do you know that Earlene does not consider herself anything but average, as to her appearance? I showed her a portrait of my first wife once, and she felt inferior by comparison. She does not...care, does not dwell on appearance beyond what she understands is necessary to gain the respect of others. I love that, about her. Lorna is beautiful too, though...I cannot think of her as you do. I have never told her, her eyes are the same as my first wife’s. Like jewels. Fortunately for me, Lorna has proven to be a far better friend.”

 

“If there’s one thing I really hate about Western society, it’s how it destroys the self-esteem of women,” Ratiri grumbled. “By setting impossible standards, so many women don’t realize how lovely they actually are. They’re force-fed this very narrow ideal, and told they’re plain at best, and ugly at worst if they don’t conform to it in every detail.” He wasn’t surprised Earlene should feel inferior to a portrait of an Elf, considering Elves were about as close to that impossible standard as it was to be -- and she likely hadn’t had anyone in her life to tell her she was pretty, until she met Thranduil. Certainly not that spoon of a brother. “Lorna’s convinced she’s not attractive, though she really doesn’t care enough to want to do anything to make herself more of a Western ideal. I think she’s beautiful as she is, even if she’ll never see it herself.” He had wondered quite a bit about Thranduil’s first wife, thanks to various odds and ends he’d heard, but he was hardly about to ask. Some things were just personal. “I know she wishes she were taller, and I suppose I can’t blame her, but she’s a sprite. Sprites are meant to be tiny -- and I don’t know about you, but I find that sometimes holding her is like holding a doll. Not that I would ever in a million years tell her so. I value my anatomy too much.”

 

“I thought the same thing,” Thranduil confessed with chagrin, “and also would never tell her that. But rather than fearing for my anatomy, I had more a sense of, valuing if I ever wished to be spoken to by Lorna again. And, I do not mind if you are curious about Alassëa. If I wanted my relationship with her to be private, I would not speak of it. The truth is, before I met Earlene I thought I had a good marriage that went into an indefinite suspension because my wife departed to Valinor. I now realize that I was an equal partner in a disastrous failure, and that I knew nothing about anything because I was too preoccupied with my own viewpoint. However, Alassëa behaved no better. I made mistakes I am determined not to repeat. It is deeply unusual, for an elf to ever take a second spouse. In just about every way imaginable, I have walked far into uncharted territory.”

 

‘Deeply unusual’ was right. Ratiri knew of only one such instance, though he would imagine there had been others not documented. “And you married a human, into the bargain,” he said. “Human women can be uncharted territory even for  _ human _ men, let alone Elves. Why -- why did your wife choose to leave you?” Even though Elves lived forever, he had never been able to fathom how they could separate for God knew how long -- not unless it was a case like Celebrian, so traumatized she needed Aman. (And good God, what had  _ happened  _ to that elleth? He knew that Elves died when raped, and obviously she hadn’t died, so that left all manner of other horrible possibilities.)

 

“She wanted to go to Valinor. If I were to guess at being more precise, she was tired of my attention being diverted more to duty and less to her. You see, we did not take care of each other in any meaningful sense of the word. Not like husband and wife are meant to. We took each other for granted. She loved the luxuries and riches that marriage to me afforded her. I enjoyed her company and her beauty. But she never truly accepted the depth of my obligations to my people, and I never understood the mounting level of her unhappiness until it was far too late. The only thing I believe we could both agree on having done right, if you wish to call it that, was the raising of our son. We both loved Legolas dearly, even at a time when matters between us were already in decay. My physical attentions were no longer wanted or welcome, after my son was conceived, and fool that I was I did not understand this was a sign of far greater problems. But...she did not try to meaningfully talk with me. She became unkind, difficult. Angry. I will not sit here and cast blame and accusations on her because I too was at fault; I will only say that I was not alone in causing our marriage to fail. I was not told she was leaving; one day there was only a letter informing me of her departure and that if I cared, I could follow her. That was among the worst days of my life. For a very long time I believed she had abandoned me, though were she here to ask, I would guess she would claim I had done the same. I now understand it is utterly beyond repair; I can only hope to have learned and do better.”

 

“The idea of duty versus family can break many a doctor’s marriage,” Ratiri said. “The non-medical spouse can come to resent the disruption it brings to the family, especially if there are children involved. My own mother, though...when she felt neglected, she let my father know in no uncertain terms, and they worked it out. It eventually led to him simply scaling back his hours, once I was older.” Leaving a letter...ouch. That was like the Elf variation of breaking up with someone over a text message. “Something tells me that Earlene is rather better at communicating,” he added, a touch dryly -- certainly she’d never left him in any doubt, on the occasions she’d said some quite blunt things to him. She was, after all, a lawyer -- and he suspected that lawyers, like doctors, never  _ truly  _ left their profession behind.

 

To his irritation, red and blue lights flashed against the mirrors, and he groaned. He hadn’t actually been speeding, or at least no more so than any other car on the motorway.  _ This cop must be bored _ , he thought, sighing as he pulled over. “Just let me talk,” he said. “If we’re lucky, he’ll just warn me about...something.” He hoped he didn’t have a tail light out.

 

_ As you wish,  _ replied Thranduil. He would keep his silence, but he was not about to allow this to become a...difficulty, for Ratiri.

 

Ratiri fished out his wallet, and found the registration in the glove compartment. He had it and his license ready when the cop approached, rolling down his window. The sooner they could get this over with, the better; he hadn’t factored in getting pulled over by a bloody Guarda. Lovely. Lorna had taught him everything you were meant to do if you were stopped by one, at least.

 

The man in question was both portly and somewhat florid, his hat a touch too small. Like all police everywhere Ratiri had ever seen, his eyes were flinty and unfriendly.

 

“Can I ask why you’ve stopped me, officer?” he said, his tone polite and easy. If the bloke said ‘speeding’, well, he’d just have to eat it. It was annoying, but he probably had been.

 

To his surprise, the man answered his question with a question, even as he took the proffered documents. “This your car?”

 

“It is,” Ratiri said, and his irritation mounted even as he fought a sigh. He knew  _ this  _ routine.

 

“You sound Scottish. You here on holiday?” All his paperwork was scrutinized quite closely -- so closely it would have been amusing, if Ratiri hadn’t been so annoyed.

 

“I moved here last year.”  _ Don’t offer extra information unless you’re directly asked _ , Lorna had warned him, though it seemed a bit silly not to.

 

“Who’s your...friend?” Oh, brilliant. Ratiri knew  _ that  _ tone, too, though he couldn’t say he’d ever had it directed at him.

 

“His name is Fionn. He’s my fiancee’s brother. May I please ask why you’ve stopped me?” he persisted.

 

“This is a nice car,” the officer said. “Just wanted to make sure it was yours.”

 

A stab of incredibly shocking rage jagged through Ratiri, and it was all he could do not to grab the fat bastard’s collar and repeatedly slam his head against the door. “Well, it is,” he ground out. “If that’s all, I’ll be on my way.”

 

Thranduil had a very dim view of this obvious misuse of authority, and could see that he intended to be further trouble to Ratiri on account of his blatant prejudices. And yet, what they needed most was to be on their way. There were still a few moments left to ponder… “Sir,” Thranduil said politely, “is something the matter with your vehicle?”

 

Ratiri looked completely bewildered as his papers were returned to him and the man murmured almost incoherently, “Be on your way, then,” while his eyes widened in a panic and he raced off to his vehicle. “Bloody fekkin’ hell, how did  _ THAT _ happen?” Ratiri thought he heard him say as he ran.

 

“Drive off, Ratiri, in a manner that does not attract undue attention.” Thranduil directed, never removing his gaze from the Garda. Moments later, in the rear-view mirror, the man could be seen emptying the contents of his fire extinguisher into the passenger compartment of his vehicle, white foam spewing everywhere. After they were quite out of sight of the officer, the King smiled. “Well, I do not know everything about such matters, but I would think he will have at least something of a time explaining why he extinguished a non-existent fire in his car. Many people simply are not nice and are very small minded, apparently. This is a shame.” What he wanted to say, and did not, is that if a significant percentage of people in their world were like this, perhaps the plague was not the worst after all. These were miserable, twisted individuals, and the world would be better off without them.

 

Watching the idiot and his fire extinguisher took some of the heat out of Ratiri’s ire. “Too many people,” he sighed. “Though I admit, the thought of him having to explain that makes me feel rather warm and fuzzy inside, as Lorna might say. I can guarantee you that if you’d been the one driving, we wouldn’t have been pulled over.” Racial profiling was a bitch everywhere, but there was not, at the moment, any getting around it. He’d run across it even in London, though to a lesser degree. “Be grateful you look like you. You’ll have far fewer problems, out in the world, than you would if you looked like me, or like Lorna.”

 

“Is this...does this problem happen in all places? If I visited the place in the world where your mother was born, or a land where everyone has darker features, would I be treated badly for being different than others who live there?” Ratiri had already somewhat touched on this, but when dealing with something arguably at the edge of sanity, he felt as though he could not ask too many questions.

 

“Not in quite the same way. If you’re a white person in India, it’s assumed you have money, so the police aren’t likely to harass you. However, people would try to overcharge you for everything, and while nobody would try to mug you personally, it’s a risk white travelers take in some areas.” Somebody had made the mistake of trying to mug his dad, and learned the hard way why stereotypes about redheads existed.

 

“Ha ha! I think I would have liked your father. He has been...gone for a long while?” It occurred to him, Ratiri was not really that old by mortal standards...young, to be bereaved of both parents.

 

“I lost him when I was twenty-six,” Ratiri sighed. “Mam when I was thirty. Cancer, both of them. I admit, it’s why I’m so insistent we retain some way of treating it after the end of the world. It tends to run in families, and once you lot leave...I watched my parents die of it. I can’t watch the same happen to my children. I’m only grateful it’s not prevalent in Lorna’s family.” He managed a smile. “If her grandmother is any indication, the only way death gets that family is by patience.”

 

His lips parted. “I am sorry, I did not realize…”  _ Though it still will not do any good, _ he thought regretfully. “I cannot promise you when I do not understand fully enough myself but, if you can explain to me what went wrong, exactly, I can...look. Carefully. I would do what I can, to protect your family.” It seemed unwise, to say more. The truth was, what he did know of the illness Ratiri feared was that it was not one sickness but many. One which even now their medical technology could barely manage. It was hardly possible to force him to understand the level at which they would be forced to exist, in a very short period of time. He did not want to be the one to cram that realization down his proverbial throat.

 

How could one explain cancer to someone who did not know what cells were? It would be far, far easier if he could actually show Thranduil a cancer patient, because he was entirely sure Thranduil’s healing ability would be able to tell just what was wrong. “Something mutates within the body,” he said. “Cells begin to grow out of control, which can lead to any number of cancers. Some are easier to treat than others, especially if they’re caught early. Dad, he had pancreatic cancer, and that’s almost always fatal, unless you catch it  _ very  _ early. He was diagnosed and dead within six months. We treat it with chemotherapy and radiation, and remove the tumor if we can -- but once it’s metastasized, prognosis goes downhill very fast. If we’re ever unlucky enough to have a cancer patient in Lasg’len or Baile, you can see for yourself.” God, they’d need to find some natural way of deriving insulin, too, for any diabetics they might wind up with, but that at least was not, to his knowledge,  _ too  _ hard. He had a lot of research to do in the next twenty years, so that he would know which plants they had to cultivate for maximum benefit.

 

Thranduil said nothing, because there was nothing to say, to this. It was a pleasant morning, and they had many kilometers yet to go.

 

*****

 

“Earlene? Meldis?” A hand on top of the covers gently shook her and a soft groan escaped her lips. 

 

_ I must be in hell, _ Earlene thought, sure that she was being woken up before dawn as some parting joke by her husband. A profound exhaustion like nothing she could ever recall permeated every part of her body.  _ And that smell...that horrid smell of porridge… it cannot be Thranduil.  _ “Thanadir...Please, I am so tired. Just let me sleep.”

 

“It is almost time for breakfast, there is porridge and eggs…”

 

_ Oh god no, not eggs too....  _ “I can’t…I will be sick if I even think about that...Please, I only want to sleep. Let me sleep, meldir…”

 

“Very well,” he said, puzzled. This had never happened, before, but she seemed very adamant. Swiftly, he left to intercept both Lorna and Ortherion, apologetically offering to have Lorna served in her own rooms, before rushing back to the nursery to inform Lothiriel that the girls would not be visiting their naneth this morning.

 

When Thanadir left, a great sigh escaped Earlene as she bunched the covers under her chin and slithered down further into the warmth of the bedclothes, seeking to return to sleep. But sleep would not come, in spite of the resounding fatigue. What did come were occasional whiffs of fireplace smells, and the creeping sensation that her stomach was upset, which morphed into the fear that it was worsening, only to blossom into the certainty that she was absolutely going to vomit.  _ Just, goddammit all…  _ she half wanted to cry.  _ I am never sick. Never. And the one time I feel this way Thranduil is gone…  _ There was nothing else for it. Waiting would only ensure vomiting in their bed, a thought that was not something to be entertained. Heaving herself out of the covers toward the lavatory, a grabbing hand snatched up the warm robe that thankfully had been left draped over a nearby armchair.  _ Breathe, Earlene, breathe…  _ in a fluid motion her arms dove through the sleeves even as the first retch was stifled, forced back down her throat with a swallow of disgust and revulsion. Before the second heaving of her stomach, just enough time and foresight existed to grab at her long hair. This was twisted out of the way, before what little was in her belly forcefully expelled into the channel of flowing water that carried away bodily wastes. This did not leave her feeling better, but instead triggered more of the same. Her body retched and retched, until she thought her ribs might crack and it had become hard to breathe. Finally, it seemed to abate a little, and all she could do was sink to the floor in her fatigue and misery.

 

“Earlene!” The seneschal had returned to check on her, leaving her feeling deeply embarrassed at being found in this condition. “What is wrong? Please talk to me…”

 

She shook her head. “I do not know. I have been vomiting. Thanadir, I feel awful. And I am so tired…”

 

He felt completely at a loss. Thranduil was always the one who knew what to do…but that this was possibly from her pregnancy, and not a mortal sickness...that seemed to be the only rational conclusion. “I will do my best to help you. But you cannot stay on the floor. I will take you back to bed.”

 

“I will be sick again,” Earlene protested. “The only thing worse than being sick will be being sick in the bed.”

 

“Then I will bring a basin. Do not worry, about that.” His strong arms lifted her, somehow further emphasizing how miserably incapable she was at the moment. 

 

_ An entire pregnancy with twins, and not a hint of this. Is this what morning sickness is? Because it is completely awful. _ He laid her back in bed and covered her, bringing also a basin and a lightly damp cloth.

 

“I will return, Earlene. There is medicine for this. If it is not what ails you, no harm will be done, but if this is because of the child you carry, it will help you.”

 

Nodding, she did her best to stifle a sense of panic when he departed the room. In spite of herself, a smile formed on her lips. A simple faith had developed, that when Thanadir was near, somehow everything would be made well. Her eyes closed, and fitful dozing ensued until once more Earlene became aware of him. “Meldir.” Her voice was a whisper, because that seemed less likely to cause her to feel sick again.

 

“I am here. Do you think you could drink tea? At least a little?”

 

Her head nodded slowly. “Little.”

 

“Then we will try. The tea will have medicine in it, but it will not help if you cannot keep it in you. So I am going to give it very slowly, just a spoonful at a time.”

 

It felt unknowable, how long he spent at this, holding her against him. From time to time, what felt like half a teaspoonful of tea was placed at her lips. In between, he gently but purposefully rubbed her back and shoulders. Eventually, the sense of godawful nausea lifted, but not the tiredness. “I am so grateful to you....”

 

“You are welcome, meldis. Sleep now. I would like it if you ate something, when next you wake. Can you tell me what you would prefer?” 

 

Hours later, waking brought a sense of relief if not rest. Still, there was so much tiredness, but at least the horrible sense of being about to vomit was gone. And it dawned on her, a warm hand held hers. “Thanadir?” Her eyes did not wish to open, and it seemed doubtful that Thranduil had returned.

 

“I am here,” answered the comforting voice. “Do you still feel ill?”

 

“No. I do not think so. Only tired. Very tired.”

 

He pulled her to him, holding her. “I am sorry, meldis. You can rest more, but you must eat. And have more of the tea. When the King returns he will know better what to do.”

 

“Okay.” Right now, he could have told her she was having her left leg removed, and like as not the same response would have been forthcoming.  _ It should be unsettling to feel this helpless. Except, I am too tired to care. _

 

In the course of the next hour, he brought a simple meal of soup and bread, and steamed vegetables, ensuring that Earlene ate slowly. Afterward, it was the best she had felt all day. “Meldir, I hesitate to ask, but…”

 

His soft eyes looked at her expectantly, smiling. “You would like to see your daughters?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

*****

 

Everything had been  going so well. Eleniel and Ithiliel were nursing on her, and Allanah was happily chattering a stream of more or less nonsense, with Thanadir keeping her amused with one of his quiet games. Between the suckling at her breasts and her ongoing tiredness, Earlene was relaxing into a near catatonic stupor. Both girls finished, and she held them gently against her, admiring their father’s blue eyes. Without warning, an ominous burp escaped Ithiliel, followed seconds later by everything the child had just eaten erupting onto her mother’s chest. Wide-eyed, Earlene could barely control the first reflexive heaving of her stomach. Always, if she had seen even the family dog being sick, it made her respond just the same. The only salvation, if it could be called that, was that the basin Thanadir had brought was still in arm’s reach. In seconds, her own meal was lost as well, even as Ithiliel began wailing and Eleniel followed suit ostensibly because of her sister’s upset. It was too much. Tears of humiliation streaked down her face, and she had absolutely no idea where to even begin. Thanadir’s expression of disbelief did not help, not that she could blame him in the slightest. 

 

“Wait,” he said. Reappearing with a towel, he covered her chest so as to soak up Ithiliel’s spit-up. “I will return,” he said reassuringly, scooping up the children and bearing them away as though this sort of thing happened every day. 

 

_ I am grateful for two reasons. The girls will be cared for, and, I do not have to have another adult clean up my own stomach contents.  _ Tired as she was, no way in hell was someone else carting off her vomit. With the towel still plastered against her chest, she stopped at the lavatory to wash the mess away and rinse the basin, before marching into the bathing pool. Something had to be done, because the smell of the baby’s dinner was about to trigger a fresh round of vomiting on her part if it were not eliminated immediately. Making liberal use of the peppermint soap, her skin was soon scrubbed clean. Her robe, which had not emerged unscathed, was left at the side of the pool. _ Please, do not let any of the mess be on the bedclothes. Please... _ with a towel wrapped around her, she rooted around in her wardrobe for something she could wear and settled on a tunic and leggings before plunking down in front of the fire, rubbing at her hair. That was wet, too, because some of the spit-up had gotten on it as well.  _ I am useless at this. I cannot even care for myself or my own children.  _ At the moment, Earlene was a roiling mass of hormones and self-pity. Tears splashed down her cheeks as the embarrassment of it all washed over her.  _ Thank god they were all gone _ . She could barely tolerate that Thanadir had seen what he did, and was fairly certain that she would rather die than have Lorna or Ratiri find her in such a state.

 

A warm hand alighted on her shoulder. The expected lecture did not come. Instead, he sat next to her and held her close, not speaking for a long time, until her crying had stopped and she was close to sleeping again. “We will try the tea, again.” Kissing her forehead, he rose to make more. He absolutely insisted on bringing a second meal, and made it obvious that he would not budge until it was eaten. The day had long since spun into an indecipherable mess of confusion. 

 

When she was at last made to understand that it was late, and time again for rest, feelings of panic arose. “Please, Thanadir, would you stay with me? I do not want to be alone.” He frowned. Lothiriel was minding the children still but was patiently waiting to return to Ortherion; Thanadir had abandoned sleeping in his own rooms in order to stay with the little ones in the nursery. Still, there was an obvious solution…

 

“I will not stay with you, but you will stay with me. Come.” Earlene was scooped up in his arms, wrapped in a blanket for good measure. Minutes later, he had placed her in his own bed, covering her warmly. A couch nearby was quickly moved so that he could be near her. The children were all close, slumbering in their beds and baskets. “It is time for sleep now, Earlene. I will not leave you, and will be here should you wake feeling unwell. I will always care for you.”

 

This brought a fresh round of tears, even through her fatigue. The only thing that had made this godawful day remotely bearable was her faithful and generous friend. She would be made to sleep, that was no secret, and she took his hand. “With all my heart, thank you, Thanadir.” 

 

A smile played over his lips as he felt her body relax into needed rest. “Valar bless you, meldis,” he murmured as he tucked in the blankets around her, and arranged his own pillow and blanket on the couch. With a smile, he drifted off amidst happy thoughts of love and cherished family.

 

*****

 

It was late morning when Ratiri finally had to stop for a wee, pulling into a motorway services that didn’t look  _ too _ grotty. He was still practically giddy from watching that twat of a cop empty his fire extinguisher into the inside of his car for no reason; oh, how he wished he had that ability himself. It would have saved him so much grief over the years.

 

He had a feeling that Thranduil wasn’t going to want any of the crap they served in places like this, but he felt compelled to ask anyway, stretched once he was out of the car. He himself could do with some tea, even if it did always taste a bit odd in these places. “You want anything?” he asked. “Earlene would deride every single thing in here and I couldn’t blame her, but food’s food when you’re on a road trip.”

 

Thranduil’s head bobbed up with interest. “I am here in part to experience more of this world. I confess, though I may regret it, I do have some curiosity about these foods about which I have heard such extensive complaint. It is not as though one or two days of eating such things will cause lasting harm.” So in they went. It did not seem completely strange at all; Thranduil saw the large ‘SUBWAY’ sign and recognized this as an establishment that had also been in New York City. Leaning in to ask Ratiri out of the hearing of others what exactly avocadoes and some of the other fare was, he felt vaguely proud of himself for managing to order a sandwich despite the dizzying array of choices. Minutes later with his food in hand, he stood in front of rows of brightly colored packages. Some were clearly sweets, and with an eye-roll he recognized M&Ms. All of these would not be enjoyable, for him. And then, his eyes fell on the selection of crisps and biscuits. Throwing caution to the wind, he chose Ginger Nuts, Custard Creams and chocolate digestives, before adding two flavors of Tayto Crisps. And at Ratiri’s suggestion, Jelly Babies.

 

Ratiri eyed his haul, and reflected that it was a really good thing Elves didn’t get indigestion. He also had to admit that standing in this line was even more awkward than normal; he was used to being the only one who towered over absolutely everybody, but Thranduil was as tall as he was, which resulted in people scurrying out of their way. It was all he could do not to laugh when a small child of indeterminate gender whispered, none too quietly, “ _ Mammy, lookit the giants.” _

 

The plastic tables in the courtyard were rather too small for them, but Ratiri wasn’t going to try to eat a sandwich and drive at the same time. The sun shone down on them, though clouds in the west threatened rain later. Hopefully they’d be well onto the ferry by then. “This isn’t bad, so far as motorway services go.”

 

“I agree. I quite like this turkey, avocado and bacon. Though, I am certain Earlene would find a way to refine it by several degrees. And now to try these crisps, that Lorna seems to like so much.” He opened the package with a general air of wondering if it would bite him back, examining the item carefully.

 

Ratiri laughed. “In theory, it is a thin slice of potato, cooked by frying in hot oil. In theory.”

 

Amused, Thranduil popped it into his mouth and chewed. “Oh, my.” The salt and vinegar flavor assaulted his taste buds, causing his eyes to water just a bit. But once he was past that sensation and had some moments to think about it, he took another. “This is most interesting,” he said, fascinated. “It repels and attracts, all at the same time. The flavor is much too strong, but I find I want more of them.”

 

That made Ratiri laugh again, and harder. “You’ve just described them perfectly. Lorna smoked for so long that her taste buds are rather dulled, so she likes stronger flavors. I’ve got to agree with you, though. I have to be in a particular mood to want crisps.” At least that packet didn’t look unduly greasy, like the ones she preferred. Those only gave him a terrible case of indigestion, along with...other stomach issues, that were best not thought of while eating.

 

The package was held at eye level in his elegant hands. “What is mono...monosodium glut...glutamate?” It came out rather like mon OH SO dye umm GLUT ah mate. Thranduil took one look at Ratiri’s repressed laughter and smiled. “I did not do so well, pronouncing that, did I?”

 

“...Well, you don’t have a chemistry background,” Ratiri said, as diplomatically as he could. “MSG is a flavoring agent used in many, many foods. In small amounts it’s not bad for you, but neither is it good, and larger amounts can make you ill. You’d need a very large amount, though. It would take consuming Thanadir-quantities of food before you began to feel ill.”

 

He became aware, out of the corner of his eye, that several teenage girls were staring at them. It made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask why.

 

“It would seem we have admirers,” the King smiled and said quietly. “Though, I will admit that I find such contemplations shocking in such young females. From Siobhan, I could expect it. If this is ordinary, I am afraid Allanah will grow up very fast indeed.” He sighed, frowning internally at the idea of his sweet, cherubic daughter walking about pondering gay sex. It did not offend him that they thought this of he and Ratiri, only that they seemed far too young for such preoccupations.

 

“I think it depends on the girl,” Ratiri said, fighting an embarrassed flush. “Can you imagine either Lorna or Earlene having been that way that young?  _ I  _ can’t.” He was a forty-three-year-old man, for Christ’s sake. The mere thought of girls that young thinking...indecent...thoughts about him made him feel obscurely like a pedophile. Weren’t young girls meant to moon over other teenagers, if they mooned over anyone at all? Did anyone even use the word ‘mooned’ anymore? Probably not. “I’m just glad Allanah and Chandra won’t be around any boys they’re not related to, or at least not very often.” He rather hoped at least one turned out to be gay, because at the very least, she wasn’t going to wind up accidentally pregnant.

 

By mutual agreement, it was time to leave. Once safely out of the earshot of subadult females, Thranduil continued his thought. “It will be very difficult, for my family. Allanah will just be of marriageable age, for a human, when the world will change. And perhaps she will not wish to marry. I cannot hold her to the standards of elves when she is not one of us, and has not made Earlene’s choices. We will certainly give her all knowledge possible, to care for her own body and avoid unwanted outcomes. Believe me, I have learned how easy it is for mortal women to conceive; however, from my standpoint there is no such thing as too many children. But not all feel this way, and it is now obvious to me, how much humans struggle with being too fertile for anyone’s good. But our twins, and our son...they will not even be close to the age at which considering a union with another would be permitted. I pray that their nature in this will be elven, and not human. The mere idea of Eleniel or Ithiliel at age twenty, desiring to mate…I cannot even bring myself to imagine how to cope with that.”

 

“It’s easy for us men to say there’s no such thing as too many children,” Ratiri said ruefully. “We don’t have to suffer carrying them, then endure childbirth. Not to mention, if we didn’t have all the help we do, even the five we have might well feel too much. Lorna will not be the only woman who absolutely will not want more, if she’s got some already, or at all, if she doesn’t. The problem is that eventually the condom supply will run out, and we’re going to have to cultivate natural abortifacients, since there’s no such thing as natural birth control. Not anymore, anyway.” He sighed as they pulled out onto the motorway again. “And even for those who do want children...prenatal care in modern society is very good, and childbirth rather safe, even if there’s complications. After the end, though...there’s only so much we’ll be able to do, once you’ve left. Keep a woman well-fed with nutritious food, and I really need a way to perform a cesarean if I have to but otherwise...otherwise, we’ll be losing a lot. Childbirth was, for millennia, the leading cause of death among women. A woman could marry, give birth, and die within the space of a year.

 

“But Allanah...we’ll help take care of her, too. Twenty might  _ technically  _ be marriageable age, but nobody who actually wants a successful marriage gets married that young. She’ll probably want to date, though, so we can all have that discussion with her. Chandra will need it, too, and Shane will have to get one from the other end of things, so he doesn’t get some girl pregnant out of nowhere.” All things considered, he was rather glad Lorna would probably be well into menopause by then, or so he hoped; if Thranduil’s age-slowing thing kept  _ that  _ at bay, too, they’d have to get...creative...as well.

 

“What I believe you must consider is forming a society that abandons these senseless beliefs of shame about the workings of your bodies. I do not believe anything has appalled me so much as learning that you preach morality and enforce it by failing to educate yourselves about sexual truths, while saturating your culture with imagery and entertainment designed to entice yourselves into just the sort of behavior that will lead to conception. And when I say ‘you’ I of course do not mean you personally. I mean your species. For whatever reason, it is granted to you to experience lust without it binding you to only one mate. And yet most of you are taught to feel shame for the desires of your bodies. It baffles me; this is all at cross-purposes. I believe that if young and not so young are taught clearly what measures they can take to avoid an unwanted child, and understand that they have the support of those around them in this, much in the way of heartache might be avoided.”

 

“Humanity is nothing if not hypocritical, when it comes to sex and shame,” Ratiri said, flipping down his sun visor. “I honestly believe that some of the people who drafted these idiotic ideas were actually feeding some sort of fetish of their own. The shaming, it’s worse for women than for men: you need the perfect body, but if you have it, don’t you dare show it off -- if you do you’re a slut, and being a slut is bad. They literally can’t win, no matter what they do. It hits us men as well, though not to the same extent. We too are supposed to have perfect bodies, but we’re supposed to  _ want  _ to show them off.” He had had more than one acquaintance insisted he ought to dress more to show off his own physique, which just made him very uncomfortable. “If we’re to accomplish anything, we need to destroy everything society has ever taught us about sex, desire, and morality, and ground it into the dust. Sex shouldn’t be shameful, but it also shouldn’t be glorified as the be-all, end-all that it’s currently touted as. If we just sit people down and say ‘this is how you avoid this, go and be responsible’ -- if we take the, the  _ mystique  _ away from sex -- we can take away the shame, but it won’t be easy. What we currently have has been hammered into our heads all our lives. As a doctor, I can look at it clinically, and Lorna just thinks it’s entirely stupid unless I’m involved, but I would say most people out there can’t.” Earlene struck him as a woman who might well have been close to asexual before she met Thranduil, or at least completely disinterested. Otherwise, busy or not, she would have found  _ someone _ , even if just a friend-with-benefits.

 

“Earlene was not like that,” said Thranduil quietly. “She would not wish this known, but her brother repeatedly said many vicious things that humiliated her and convinced her she was not desirable. There was no single cause for her feelings, but underlying all the reasons that existed, she believed no one could possibly ever want her. Earlene’s hatred of Aidan ran far deeper than anything having to do with Allanah. I cannot say why exactly, but I think she would not wish Lorna to know this. Lorna’s expressions of anger toward Aidan were difficult for Earlene to endure...it is complicated. Earlene suffered more from him that Lorna can know, and has chosen to deal with those memories somewhat privately.”

 

Ratiri winced. Lorna had said Aidan was a gobshite and a half, but that was as far as she’d gone. “I wish I knew why people like him existed,” he sighed. “I think some people are just born with something fundamental missing. Most people can be convinced of anything, if told so often enough, and especially by someone who ought to love them. And don’t worry -- I won’t tell Lorna. You’re right -- it would just made her even angrier at him retroactively. Lorna...she’s protective of hers, and that’s not always a good or an easy thing.”

 

“Earlene knows that Lorna means well. But she chose long ago to bury her feelings on this matter. She would not give her brother the satisfaction of seeing the hurt he had caused. But then to watch Lorna erupt in anger over what little she did know of him...I believe it felt to Earlene as though a provenance that was rightfully hers was being taken away. I do not think this will ever cease to be something that is very raw for my wife. Her desire for children was driven by the knowledge that she could not bear to raise her brother’s daughter without having a child to call her own as well. I do not share these things to cause you to feel ill toward her, but to explain the depth of what affected Earlene. My wife loves Allanah, but she needed Eleniel and Ithiliel, to find peace in her heart. That man was truly horrible.”   
  


“Lorna certainly had nothing good to say about him,” Ratiri sighed. “It’s not something I personally can understand, since I’m an only child, but I’ve seen enough people with terrible siblings to have some academic idea, at least. Lorna...her brand of protectiveness does not always help. There are times a person needs to keep something to themselves, and dole it out only as they see fit.” He was quite disturbed by the idea that Earlene needed one of her own to stomach raising Allanah...but he was a man, and an only child, and did not personally know jack about any of it. He couldn’t say what he would have done or thought, in the same situation, and not only because he knew so little of Aidan. “Sean certainly did us a favor, terrible though it was. Of course he’d only be able to do something good by accident, but I’ll take it anyway.” There had been plenty of times, growing up, that he’d longed for a sibling, but he’d rather be an only child than have been saddled with one like Aidan. From the sound of it, Earlene had come from a good, loving family; he must have just been one of those people who were born without a bit of whatever made humans human.

 

Thranduil sighed, wondering if he should have shared so much. Though, most of it were things Earlene had already let slip to the others at one time or another in the past. He did not wish for Ratiri to think badly of her, but then he thought of a comparison. “I too do not have siblings, and do not pretend to understand fully. The best analogy I can offer for her reasoning is...Earlene’s peace of mind was violated by Aidan, all their lives. She found herself being asked to raise Allanah. It may not make sense to you or I, but it was the emotional equivalent of asking Lorna to do Von Ratched a favor. Earlene knew that she had to be able to find a way to embrace the little girl fully, apart from any connection to Aidan. I do not claim that it was good or healthy thinking, but it was what my wife needed. I was not about to add to her difficulties by begrudging her what I had already promised.”

 

Ratiri...was not certain that analogy was in entirely good taste, but he took it in the spirit in which it was meant. “Sometimes, we need to do what we need to do, to get by,” he said. “Odd as it may seem to outsiders. In  _ that  _ I can relate quite well.” After he’d lost Katherine, he’d done all manner of things that would have been deemed terribly unhealthy, but they’d been what he’d had to do, to get through it. 

 

They were approaching the ferry now, and the rather long line of cars waiting at the dock. The spray of the sea frosted the windscreen with a fine layer of salt, the ocean-scent powerful as it mixed with exhaust. He fished out his passport, ready to hand it over once they’d crept forward.

 

He had to wonder, though God knew he didn’t want to, why Von Ratched hadn’t killed the twins in-utero. He very easily could have, through a number of means, and he hadn’t --  _ why _ ? It was almost a bizarre form of...mercy, for lack of a better term, and it galled Ratiri immensely, to think he might have to be grateful to that man. _ Creature _ .

 

A glance was sent sideways at Ratiri. As long as he was earning another Bad Elf Award today for dubious sharing of confidences, what was a little more? “Yes. That was his thinking. He...was attracted to her.”

 

Ratiri shuddered, and was glad anew that the bastard was dead and bogged. He wasn’t sure which idea was worse: that Lorna was only a thing, or that she was something deserving of such twisted ‘mercy’. He was only grateful that such a thought did not seem to have occurred to Lorna, who had put the incident behind her with somewhat remarkable ease. Better than Ratiri himself had, in point of fact; there had been a few brief moments he’d wished he could gut Von Ratched from hip to throat. They were very few, though, and very brief -- the little family was moving on. And he was not going to ever let himself think just what Von Ratched might have done, should he have somehow got his hands on her again. The horror of it made him twitch again,and he distracted himself by rolling down the window the rest of the way, letting the bracing air in. “I’m glad he’s dead and rotted, and we’ve got our lives again. That’s what truly matters.”

 

“Agreed.” All else was best left unsaid. “How long will this ferry ride be? This vessel is so much larger, than what took us to the Aran Islands.”

 

“It’s about two hours, give or take,” Ratiri said, handing his and Thranduil’s passports over to the guard. “It depends on the weather, but it’s a good day. Once we’re parked, we can go up top and have some tea and biscuits.” The guard gave Ratiri a rather suspicious look, and it was all he could do not to roll his eyes. Fortunately, Thranduil’s presence seemed to be enough to get them waved through without incident. Driving onto the ferry was a touch nerve-wracking for him -- yes, the likelihood of falling was very small, but still. Driving over any surface not completely stable was not his best friend.

 

Thranduil again pondered the ingenuity of mortal society. The closest thing he knew to this was a small wooden raft, moved from one side of a quiet section of river by pole. The better ones could ferry a horse, but most could convey only a few persons. The two of them moved inside, to the luxurious interior compartments that reminded the King more of a shopping plaza in America than a seagoing vessel. Finding a secluded place to enjoy their snack presented no difficulty. The tea was welcome, and he found that the chocolate digestives were a pleasant addition to the beverage. He held up this package as well. “Palm oil, emulsifiers, glucose-fructose syrup…these must not be as bad, there are only three ingredients I have never heard of before?” Somehow he guessed his wife would still not approve.

 

Ratiri grinned. “Not  _ quite  _ as bad, but still not good for you. It’s the additions that make it taste so good, though. People want to eat more and more, then put on weight, because our society is more sedentary than it’s ever been in history. Doctors complain, but if you ever try anything that’s sugar-free, low-fat, or non-fat, you’ll understand why next to nobody wants to eat it. I bought fat-free salad dressing by mistake once and just about gagged when I actually tried it.”

 

Not all of this made sense, though he could see in Ratiri’s thoughts that it tasted ghastly. “Well, I am blessed to have a wife who thinks so highly of preparing food. Probably if I asked she would make these for me, and there would be no unpronounceable ingredients. I have always liked the food our talented cooks have prepared, but after Earlene…” he trailed off. He would never tell his faithful kitchen staff any such thing, but his wife was as skilled as any of them. It was a mercy of Eru that she had her cottage, and still was content to keep out of their labors beyond occasionally discussing a new recipe. Even then, it had been done with tact and skill and the popularity of the meals had soared. “Do you know, before it all...happens, I really would like to hoard this...tea. I have grown fond of it, it is so different than the simple herbs we brewed before I met Earlene.”

 

“You know you’re Irish when you want to hoard tea,” Ratiri said, staring out the window at the choppy, grey-blue water. “We ought to start doing that now. With a big enough greenhouse we could attempt to grow some ourselves, though I don’t know if it would actually work. Tea needs some rather specific circumstances to be happy, and they can’t be met in most of Europe.” Still, if they could spare the greenhouse space, it was worth a shot. No matter how much tea they hoarded, they’d run out eventually, and this was Ireland. Lacking tea, there would be riots.

 

It turned out to have been worth it, to seek out the express ferry, because it was still well on this side of daylight when they drove onto Scottish soil. Thranduil was just about to ask, “now what” when Earlene’s mobile phone jangled in his coat pocket. He was surprised to see a text message from...Thanadir? Times had changed, indeed. “Oh dear,” he said quietly, and with more than a little guilt. “Thanadir tells me that Earlene has been vomiting or sleeping all day. Eru, the timing could not be worse. He is working to get the cordial into her but says she is terribly tired.”   
  
“Tell him to bring her lavender,” Ratiri said. “Hopefully, the scent will calm her stomach. Cool water on her forehead and/or the back of her head might also do her some good.” They were all possibilities, though of course there was no guarantee any of them would work. “Rest might be the best thing for her right now, so long as she can keep the vomiting at bay.” Morning sickness was not at all unusual, but unfortunately Earlene’s last pregnancy had been so complication-free right up until closer to the end of it that she wasn’t prepared. “A little of this is normal in human pregnancies. It’s miserable, but generally it goes away. While there are conditions that are more severe than morning sickness, they’re rare, and even one of them would not do her lasting harm were she only stuck with it for two days. She’d be very, very unhappy, but we’ll be home before it can turn anything more than terribly uncomfortable.”

 

Sighing, he began the tedious process of tapping in a reply. He had more faith in their elven cordial than lavender, but it was true that the scent might soothe her. Mostly, what his wife needed was...him, and there was nothing to be done about that...and this seemed like such a misfortune for Earlene, after their considerable enjoyment of each other before he left her.. He wished it were possible, somehow, to do more for Thanadir even as he knew nothing more was wanted. His wife could not be in better hands, of that he was assured. Having talked already about a great many things, quiet settled over their conversation. He was content to watch the countryside go by, though he rather hoped that some part of this excursion would include time for a meaningful meal. However nice a diversion, crisps and biscuits did not feel like enough.

 

The sun was well on its way down by the time they reached Glasgow. The city had numerous restaurants, including one very tasty Indian place, but it might be best not to inflict something so very foreign on Thranduil while they were away from home. The Pot Still was good, reasonably priced, and looked not terribly dissimilar from an Irish pub.

 

Fortunately, the car park wasn’t overly crowded. A fine, misty rain had begun, and Ratiri hoped like hell it would beg off by morning, or this wasn’t going to be any fun at all. He led Thranduil inside, into a building whose walls were largely taken up by shelves of dark wood, laden with bottles of  various colors that shone like jewels in the light. Never, ever had Ratiri seen so much alcohol on such blatant display all at once, which was why he loved coming in here -- it reminded him very much of his dad, who had started out his pub crawl here the night of his sixteenth birthday.

 

Finding a table that would fit the both of them took some doing, and the waitress’s eyes widened a bit -- understandably, given that the poor thing wasn’t a great deal taller than Lorna. “Let’s start with some cheese toasties,” he said soothingly. “They’re not something I’ve really found in Ireland,” he added to Thranduil, when she hurried off.

 

“I love the names of food in the outer world,” he grinned. “I wish we were half so inventive.”

 

“Just wait until I introduce you to Indian food,” Ratiri said. Pints and toasties were brought, and he added, “How do you feel about smoked fish? There’s a very good dish with a very odd name that goes well with toasties.”

 

“Please, order for me,” Thranduil asked. “I know little about food and less about the drink.” No one could help but notice the staggering array of whisky on display, which apparently was the true focus of this establishment.

 

“All right, don’t laugh, but it’s called the Cullen Skink,” Ratiri said. “It’s a soup with smoked haddock, baked potatoes, and onions. Goes wonderfully with these.” He held up a toastie. When the waitress returned, he placed an order for that and Scotch eggs, a dish so high in fat he could feel his arteries protesting already, but he ought to celebrate his brief return to the Motherland, so to speak. It occurred to him that he ought to start preserving all these recipes; after the end, he might well be the only Scottish person left in the world. At least Indira could also cook Indian food, but when he came to this...he’d be it. The thought was depressing in the extreme, and he tried to push it aside.

 

“I am not laughing,” he laughed. “Or rather….oh, never mind. To a successful road trip.” It was hard not to feel almost giddy, as he raised his glass. When had he ever done something like this? He was off on his own, a lone elf and his human friend, in another mortal land. Away from all his responsibilities, all oversight. Undersight? What did you even call it, when your whereabouts were always known by those in your service? When was the last time he was more than a few hundred yards distant from Thanadir? It was indeed the simplest thing, but not for him. This was the moment of a lifetime, an unprecedented experience of being an ordinary person, out in the world.

 

“And may it stay successful,” Ratiri added, raising his own glass. “We should bring everyone here, someday. Scotland has a fair bit in common with Ireland, but also a lot that’s different, once you’re out of the cities.” He shook his head. “I  _ hated  _ it in Glasgow, yet somehow it’s like coming home for a visit. Strange, what difference twenty years makes.” He could look at the good things now that the sting of the bad had faded. “Although the rest might need you or I to translate. Accents outside the cities can be...thick. I can just see Lorna getting into some mutually-unintelligible argument with someone. Which would be extremely amusing to watch, but ultimately counterproductive.” He didn’t want to admit just how much guessing he’d done, at the outset of their acquaintance. He was only surprised she hadn’t had more trouble in New York. “I have to admit, I’m impressed Earlene didn’t have any issues with her accent. It’s heavy even by Irish standards, but to my knowledge, Earlene had no trouble at all.”

 

“Earlene has an unusually sensitive ear for sounds,” he murmured, appreciating his ale. “Variations in sounds. After she observes, it goes into the data bank. It does not mean she would understand everyone, but she learns rapidly.”

 

“She’ll do fine in Scotland, then,” Ratiri said, while their food arrived. He laughed a little. “All our children are going to have such a random mix of accents, especially if we don’t take them out into the world until they’re a little older.” Between American, Irish, Scottish, and the indefinable cadence of the Elves...yes, it would be a bit odd.

 

“Sindarin accents. Why not? Though honestly I think Thanadir has more of that than I do, at this point. Earlene loves to listen to him. She calls it ‘the charming monotone’. And, I quite like this Scotch egg.’” Thranduil chewed appreciatively.

 

“Good luck keeping the Irish out,” Ratiri said, laughing again. “Lorna’s accent is infectious. I’ve spotted tinges of it in Earlene.” He’d actually detected a note or two in Thranduil’s, too, and his own was already a muddle. His Dad would be horrified, but oh well. You had to move with the times, especially if you had a wife with an accent so thick you could float rocks on it. It bludgeoned at you until your own started shifting in self-defense. So far only Thanadir seemed truly immune. Lorna’s brother’s was just as bad, though; if he started coming around often, it would just corrupt everyone that much more.

 

“Earlene is...folding, at Lorna’s suggestion. To be able to blend in better, easier, should the need become apparent. I do not expect her to ever completely lose her native speech pattern but for now, there is no need.” He laughed. “When Earlene and I...came together, I knew so little. I did not understand that she was not Irish until she told me; her accent was meaningless to me. That was the degree of my ignorance of the realities of the outer world.”

 

“It’s a good idea,” Ratiri said. As a New Yorker, she was probably never going to fully lose it even if she tried, but the average person might not know better. “You’ve certainly had a crash-course in modern Earth, haven’t you? I can’t even imagine the enormity of what that would be like.” It wasn’t just a wholly different society, but a different species...because anyone spoken to ten thousand years ago was not quite the same as a modern human, really. As one of his American colleagues had once said, “Evolution, baby.” To run headlong into, well,  _ this _ , with no preparation...and of course it would have to be Ireland.

 

“It will be no different for you, eventually, I am sad to say. When change happens, you will largely be forced into the world we have known. I have found that change can be positive in the end. The hard part is to know what not to resist. Something I am still trying to work out, for myself.”

 

“I’m not sure it will be quite the same,” Ratiri said, finishing the last of his pint. “Once upon a time, we lived more like you, albeit far more unhealthy and rather filthy. Adapting to a lack of technology probably won’t be as hard as having so much shoved in your face was for you. It won’t be any  _ fun _ , but it’s not like stepping into the complete unknown. We used to know how to smith, and cook with fires, and exist without all the gadgets that are so ubiquitous in our lives now. Hell, my gran, my dad’s mam, cooked over a fire when he was a kid. But knowing what not to resist...that  _ will  _ be the tough part. The very tough part.”

 

“There are always challenges,” the King agreed. “But we will have each other, and that is much.” He dabbed at his lips with his napkin, trying to decide if he wished more food or not. Clearly, salads were not to be had here. “I find I am still hungry, but not for an entire other serving. Is there anything we might share? Is this mince and tatties pie something I might like?”

 

“We do, and it is. And yeah, you’ll probably enjoy that one. Scottish food gets a bad rap in the rest of the world, and it’s not fair. Much of it’s quite good.” Even haggis, for all it sounded like it ought to be revolting, was actually very tasty. “And I’m going to see if Allanah isn’t the key to getting Sharley to come back, sooner rather than later. That poor woman...it’s not right, that she should be so alone. She must prefer it, but still. I can only imagine what it must be like, to be her.”

 

He caught the attention of one of the food servers, and politely ordered the dish and more ale for them, weighing his reply to Ratiri. “I do not believe you will find she can be swayed, much. There are deep convictions in her mind and...for all that her existence is suffused with tragedy, in many ways she is at peace inside of herself. That she will do as she believes she must, I am convinced. Your kindness, all our kindness, has left an impression. At least be assured that she has had some rest, with us, and enjoyed herself in a feeling of safety. I would put up more of a fuss, so to speak, if I thought it could make a difference. It cannot. Eventually she will join us, but not now. Later.”

 

Ratiri sighed. “I know. And I know she’s survived this far on her own, though she’s said a few things that make me wonder, a bit. Something happened to her, though I doubt she’ll ever say what.” That poor kid...he was pretty sure she wasn’t actually a kid -- she had to at least be on the downhill slope to thirty -- but something in her seemed both very young and very, very old. “Do you have any idea what she even is? I’ve read quite about what Tolkien wrote as Ennor’s mythos, which I’m still a little disturbed to find is actually  _ real _ , but so far as I know, there’s nothing in it like her.”

 

“I do not know. I have never seen the like. She is human, and for the rest, I cannot account for any of it. But I have lived long enough to know that even mighty Elflords are not meant to know all things; there are many things in creation beyond my understanding. Ah! Pie. That was very quick,” he thanked the server. “Sharley knows...everything. I think I carry a burden of knowledge; for her it is far worse. And yet she has a certain equilibrium and manages. I will confess it feels strange to know that the private matters of my life are laid bare to her, and yet it is no different than what all of you must tolerate from me. It is what it is. And...she told me that my son will have the same hair, as I do. Though it is a small detail, I cannot say I have minded when I learn of things precious to me.”

 

“I hope that some of the futures she steps into are beautiful,” Ratiri said, finishing off the last few bites of his own food. He was pleasantly full, in a way that suggested possible indigestion later, but he was too content to care. “They can’t all be like...that.” Once it was over, once she could see beyond it...he hoped at least a few of them were lovely. And he hoped that, whenever it was she did return to them, she could be happy. The few times she’d smiled, it was like watching the sun rise. “I’m glad she warned us, even though part of me is not. It’s far better that we know than be caught off-guard, but on the other hand, we spend the next twenty years knowing -- well,  _ that _ .”

 

Finishing their drinks amidst assorted reflections, they agreed that finding an accommodation and not sleeping rough somewhere was sensible. Thranduil rolled his eyes at the inevitable and judgmentally lascivious thoughts he encountered. This was what, the fifth person that presumed he and Ratiri were lovers out trysting for the day? But annoyance aside, they soon had a shared room with their own beds, Eru be praised. Ratiri went to shower, and Thranduil flopped on the bed, thinking now about his children, and poor Earlene.  _ I miss you, meluieg _ , he thought.  _ Thanadir too _ . He pulled out Earlene’s phone, to amuse himself, and found that many photos of the children and their lives in general were stored there. It was as good a way as any to wait for his turn to deplete the hot water.

 

Ratiri, clean, full, and sleepy, flopped onto his bed and shot a text to Lorna, so that she’d see it whenever she made it out to a reception zone. He hoped Thanadir had managed to get poor Earlene’s morning sickness under control -- though if anyone could do it, it would be that Elf and his cordials. “Is it sad that I wonder how Lorna is coping, despite the fact that she has help and kittens? Poor Earlene actually has a real issue, and yet I worry that Lorna will...I don’t know, light something on fire by accident.” Which was really rather unfair; the woman had, after all, functioned for forty-one years.

 

“Well, that is another advantage to a cavern,” Thranduil quipped while finding his sleeping clothes. “It is impossible to burn down. At least, without advanced weaponry.” With that parting reassurance, he strolled off to the shower.


	69. Sixty-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 9-10, 2017

 

They rose early, and while all was still quite dark in the sky, they found themselves seated in a cafe that in Thranduil’s estimation, had American concepts of a capuccino. Tea he enjoyed very much, except on mornings like this, when something richer and more bracing seemed in order. Both had ordered a breakfast, when Earlene’s phone chimed another text message. “Oh by the Valar…” he trailed off as he read Thanadir’s update. “I will never make this up to her,” Thranduil said miserably, pocketing the phone. “Apparently after much patience, Earlene was feeling better, and asked to see the girls. She nursed them, and afterward Ithiliel vomited up all her milk onto Earlene, who in turn sicked up her entire dinner. And Thanadir had to start all over again.” He shook his head. “It is funny, except, it is not funny at all. I wish there was some small thing I could bring her but...there is nothing she would want that I can fathom.”

 

Ratiri had an idea, at least, because Lorna was past the point that she’d ever want it, and his mother would rather it go to  _ some  _ female family member. “Never a dull moment, with babies,” he said. “Rather like Lorna, I wonder why any woman would voluntarily undergo pregnancy twice. I know myself well enough to know I’d likely make a hash of it even once, were that an option for men.”

 

“With the exception of this last day, Earlene seems disposed to liking bearing children, more than not. Or if I am to be blatantly honest, she loves the idea of giving me children. Which is perhaps a dangerous combination, since elves enjoy little ones far too much. I can say that her experience with the twins did not deter her. Somehow, her difficult labor has been pushed out of her thoughts and into a place where it did not actually happen. What I am realizing from this is, I would do best in the future to not be too far from my wife when she is expecting.”

 

“It really is rotten luck that the one time she gets true morning sickness is the one morning you’re away,” Ratiri sighed. “Well, I have a little trinket that might cheer her up, if nothing else. It’s called a harmony ball -- expectant mothers wear them in many places, including India. Lorna doesn’t need my mother’s, and I think it’s safe to say by this point that Indira won’t, either, nor will Mairead. Earlene is the last woman in the family who’s likely to have a use for it for many years to come.”

 

“That would be very thoughtful, and she would appreciate such a personal treasure very much,” Thranduil confessed. “That only leaves me needing to stop off at a chocolate shop to find a suitable thank-you for my long-suffering seneschal who fortunately has a sweet tooth.”

 

“Thanadir is easy to bribe,” Ratiri said dryly, drinking the last of his tea. “We’ll have to bring him some Scottish pastry. So long as it’s not a scent that will make Earlene ill again.” He paid the tab, and led Thranduil outside. Fortunately, the rain of last night had indeed let off; the sky was heavy and grey, but dry for now. It could rain all it liked, once they’d got the carpets in. They were the only thing that absolutely couldn’t get wet.

 

They drove up to the nondescript building that looked like a series of roll up doors, and Ratiri parked in front of the correct unit. Never having seen this, Thranduil waited with vague fascination.

 

“I packed it all in carefully, so hopefully the damp hasn’t got to it.” When he opened the door and flicked on the light switch, the bulb illuminated four large carpets, rolled up and wrapped in clear plastic, as well as a number of green rubber totes. “I guess we put the totes in first, and the carpets can get bent around them. Somehow. These three are the jewelry.” Each piece was carefully packed up in tissue paper in its own box, or it wouldn’t have taken up nearly so much space. Still, they’d be heavy enough as it was, and indeed when he went to lift one he felt several of his vertebrae pop. Still, he managed to manhandle it out to the Bronco and get it loaded, more or less.

 

“Perhaps you should let me care for the heaviest items,” Thranduil suggested gently. “After all, that was the point of bringing a laborer,” he teased. “I do not wish to have you incur some painful damage to your back. Just point and tell me what to do.”

 

“Trust me, the rugs will actually be worse,” Ratiri said, wincing a little. “Though I would appreciate it very much if you got the next jewelry tote, and left me with the clothes. I know my grandmother meant well, sending my mam to Scotland with all of this, but I think she overdid it. Just a bit.” When he’d been a kid, their house had largely been furnished with things his mam had brought from India. They’d have to hang some of the draperies and things in the flat in the Halls.

 

Thranduil lifted the tote easily, and maneuvered it to where it was wanted, helping with the other items as well. The rugs were as rugs have always been, heavy and awkward. With Ratiri guiding each of them in, they were soon placed. It was a great asset, that none of these items were particularly heavy at all, for a strong ellon. While he looked at Ratiri’s possessions, and then at this tiny space, it seemed so terribly odd to have left them here all this time.

 

Ratiri shut the tailgate. “Now let’s just hope it stays put,” he said, turning to close the door of the storage unit. He’d canceled his lease on it, no longer needing it, and there had been something oddly...freeing, in doing so. Freeing, yet somewhat sad, because it was his last tie to Scotland. Now everything that meant anything to him would be in Ireland.

 

“I am glad that I came,” Thranduil said as he climbed back into the passenger seat. “Lorna would have tried but...for a mortal these items would have been very heavy...and that would not have stopped her.”

 

“No,” Ratiri said dryly, “it wouldn’t have. She would have thrown her back out and tried not to say anything. She is a tiny person who desperately wants to be bigger, but since that can’t happen, she just sails on in anyway and hopes for the best.” The galling thing was that it seemed to have mostly worked thus far, when in any sensible world she would have got seriously hurt at least once.

 

“Well, she did get seriously hurt more than once, though not from moving possessions,” said Thranduil. “And while I can repair injury, I so much prefer not to need to.” He craned his head up at the sky. “I believe we will make good time, it is yet very early,” he observed optimistically.

 

“She crashed a bus off a bridge and didn’t so much as break a finger,” Ratiri said, firing up the engine. “Something up there is keeping an eye on her. By all logic, she shouldn’t have reached the age of forty-one.” He was incredibly glad she had, of course, but still, it somewhat beggared belief. “And I hope you’re right.”

 

Traffic was relatively light, at this hour -- not that that meant a great deal, in a city like Glasgow -- and they’d reached the open road by the time dawn was well up. “If we’re lucky, we’ll hit home after rush hour’s over. We can just leave the things in the Bronco overnight, since it’s not like anyone’s going to try to steal them.”

 

“While this is the case, it is also just as easy to carry your most valuable items inside the Halls...I would rather disturb a few of the ellyn than take even a slight risk of losing irreplaceable items.” Thranduil pondered in silence for many miles, enjoying the sight of the lush countryside. And once again, a thought occurred. “You know, our first council meeting is in less than a week. Five more days, to be exact. I am taking some heart that my wife has much experience organizing complex systems. Sometimes I ponder the sheer variety of what will need consideration and...even with twenty years, it seems like the greatest challenge we will attempt. Even the plans needed to gain victory in a great battle are simplistic, by comparison.”

 

“True,” Ratiri said. “They could probably get it there in half the time I could, even if I could carry it on my own.” And God, there was a thought he didn’t want. “Fortunately, Earlene will have Thanadir and Mairead, who both have plenty of experience there themselves. You wouldn’t think it of Mairead, until you remember she has four children  _ and  _ looked after Lorna before Lorna knew how to be a proper human being.” Lorna would probably be of no help at all with the organizing, unless it was carrying things, and even he himself might do more harm than good. Yes, he was a doctor, but doctors could be notoriously disorganized without the aid of other staff.

 

“I would think it of Mairead, actually. Her mind is...it has a tendency toward order, is how I believe I would say it. And do not underestimate that organizing is not only organizing. It is also brainstorming, considering what is known of others, thoughts on leadership, instinct, the ability to offer ideas. That is why this must be a council. For all the assorted forms of intelligence each individual will bring to the table, no one of us can succeed as well as if we work cooperatively. Add to that the need to gather yet more ideas and thoughts from those not chosen for the Council...and I am glad we will have the twenty years,” he concluded ruefully.

 

“I think it might be wise to give everyone on the Council a topic,” Ratiri said, slowing as they reached the queue for the ferry. “Something to take to the others not on it. Hand Lorna and Mick everything to do with mechanics, so that they can collect ideas and work out how feasible they would actually be. Indira and I can handle medicine between us, whereas Geezer knows the most about war and weapons. If we make a list, and pass out one or two to each person, it would be far easier than having each person trying to do the same thing at cross-purposes, and just winding up with far too many lists.” Every person on their Council could specialize in  _ something _ ; many of them already did.

 

“I believe that will happen...eventually. While I do not wish to put words in her mouth, I have seen something of the scope of what Earlene envisions. Just as a building is first achieved by creating a frame and then adding detail afterward, she means to have a vast skeleton of matters to address. An outline. And she means it to be visual. When we return, we will be focusing on this more, but a large room exists in the Halls. It was a council chamber of old. There are very large pieces of wood onto which items, parchment, can be pinned. My wife saw this and was very pleased; it seems that she is accustomed to working with something similar.”

 

“Lawyers,” Ratiri said, shaking his head a little. “The job does require a somewhat unique set of skills -- if you’re to be successful at it, anyway. Well, Niamh and presumably Thanadir would be the best helpers she could have. Otherwise I’m afraid the rest of us will be support staff.” Even Mairead might not be able to do it on the necessary scope at first, though he’d bet she’d learn fast. Very fast. “Just don’t give Lorna too much writing to do. I know you took care of her dyslexia for her, but her handwriting is still so abysmal that it takes her ages to write something anyone but herself can read. It’s not something she wants generally known, so she’d never tell you on her own.” She could be ashamed of the strangest things, and yet Ratiri understood why, possibly better than she did.

 

“Thank you for telling me that,” Thranduil said with a sense of having just evaded disaster. “I would not have realized in time.” He sighed deeply. “I wish so very much that she would not judge herself so harshly for things that are no fault of her own. No one can do everything well...and she has many abilities, though she is quick to forget them.”

 

“In this case, she had too many teachers tell her she was stupid as a child,” Ratiri sighed, as they inched forward. “That leaves a mark that can last a lifetime. When she and I were young, dyslexia and things associated with it were not yet well-understood, so dyslexics were often written off as stupid. And...because Earlene and I are so much better-educated than her, she takes it to mean that we’re also smarter. There’s too much intellectual elitism in the human world, where your worth can be decided by how many degrees you have, and she’s far from the only person to have bought into it.”

 

“Better…” he murmured, recalling this as the topic of another series of unfortunately enlightening  conversations. So different than what his seneschal had overcome, and yet eerily similar...and all of it under the umbrella of damaging comparisons.

 

Ratiri glanced at him. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

 

Thranduil rolled his head lazily to look at his friend. “This is another one of those things that should not to go any further, but in your profession you must get a great deal of that.” He sighed. “You must recall speaking to me about your impressions of Thanadir. And the Asperger’s. That led to a series of events that transformed a great many things. Earlene spoke to Thanadir on her own, having made the same observations but having no awareness that I believed they should not be said to him. There is...an entire history of problems Thanadir had, that were on occasion serious breaches in the behavior expected of him. And as it turns out, you were completely correct in all of it; even he felt this was the case, but it unearthed something far...sadder. Thanadir escaped long ago from extreme poverty, on account of his intellect. Simply stated, he gained awareness of his own intelligence, and that leveraging this could help ensure he would never go hungry or be cold in threadbare clothing again. But more happened than that. Unbeknownst to me, he lived in abject terror of someone better yet coming along, and that such a one could cause him to lose everything. Displace him. In time it became, as you say, a deeply damaging belief that he accepted as truth. All of this came to light only months ago, and Thanadir has since worked tirelessly to adopt new thinking. So I could not help but realize that in his own way, Thanadir’s obsession with comparing himself to others, while different from what Lorna does, is actually not so different after all. And just as damaging to his ability to love himself and others.

 

“It really is rather the same,” Ratiri said, “just from the other direction, as it were. Someday, maybe we can convince them to talk to each other about it.” Someday. Likely very far in the future.

 

The ferry pulled away in a timely manner, and after the crossing it vaguely surprised Thranduil that somehow the time spent returning seemed lessened, though logically it was more or less the same. The afternoon had turned to drizzle and light rain, but that was hardly unusual.

 

Once they were well on the way back down the motorway, Ratiri laughed. “She’s going to have to practice wearing all this jewelry,” he said. “Otherwise she’ll die of exhaustion by the time the wedding’s over. I’m just picturing her traipsing around the Halls in all of it. She may well need Thanadir to alter the sari itself, though -- my mother wasn’t quite that short, and she was a good deal, er, curvier.”

 

Privately Thranduil thought that this sounded more like a ritual torment of the bride than anything resembling joyful celebration, but he was not about to mention that aloud. He just hoped Lorna would have the good sense to not go tottering off the archways, thus weighted down. “I am certain that if it involves fabric, you will have an enthusiastic helper,” Thranduil chuckled. “Oh dear,” he exclaimed. “Though I would guess many clothes could be stored against future needs, perhaps it would be wisdom to obtain more of the sewing machines that Lorna gave Thanadir.”

 

“They can certainly be found,” Ratiri said. “They’d be expensive, but like that’s an issue. And Thanadir can teach others how to use them, since I’ve no doubt he’s an expert at it by now.” The Elves likely had thread in plenty, but they ought to stock up on bobbins, too. “Is it wrong, how calmly we can talk about the end of the world? It’s so surreal that part of me still can’t believe it’s coming. Maybe that’s why it’s easier to speak of -- it still seems more like an academic exercise than reality.” He wondered how long it would stay that way.

 

“Me too. I am afraid reality will intrude at its own time regardless of what we wish. I have seen enough death and destruction to know that the calm before any storm is something to be cherished.”

 

“I’m just glad we’ll have the time to show our children the world as it is,” Ratiri said. “They’ll be the last generation to grow up in it, and they’ll have stories to tell their own children. And maybe, in a thousand years, whatever other survivors are out there will have re-populated, and we’ll have a global society again.” They were going to have to meet others sooner or later, even if only so they’d have a diverse enough gene pool, but that could wait a hundred years or so.

 

The miles wore on, until at last the cheerful sight of the M7 greeted them. That meant, being almost home. Pure good fortune had caused them to pass a chocolate seller that needed only parking and walking fifteen feet in order to obtain a treat for Thanadir. And because he was not an idiot, Ratiri found something for Lorna, and Thranduil for Earlene. “I am looking forward to dinner and a glass of wine. And seeing my daughters. So soon, there will be no peace whatsoever,” he smiled.

 

“I hope the children haven’t driven Thanadir to distraction, since he’s taking care of Earlene,” Ratiri said, as they pulled back out onto the road. He had Ortherion, Lothiriel, and Maerwen for help, at least, though  Maerwen might well be with Lorna and their own twins, depending on how fussy Shane and/or Chandra decided to be. Poor Chandra was now also cutting teeth, and no happier about it than any baby ever was.

  
  


*****

 

Blinking was not helping. In that moment when wakefulness begins to intrude on sleep, when reality is blurred and uncertain; that was where Earlene found herself. The scent of the bedclothes, the sense of the space surrounding her, the sound of breathing that was familiar yet not. Then it all came flooding back.  _ I am in Thanadir’s bed _ , she smiled. The smile stretched a little wider, at the fact that her life had arrived at a place such that a statement of that sort was not somehow scandalous. A frown arrived to do battle with the smile.  _ Nothing but sleep, and I still feel as though I have wrestled a herd of cattle _ , came the lament. Stretching in place, she turned onto her back, content enough for the warm and safe surroundings. Her slight stirring was enough to attract Thanadir’s attention.

 

“You are awake, Earlene?” came the whispered question.

 

“Yes, meldir. Though, I still feel so tired. I do not understand, but at least at the moment I no longer feel sick. If I woke, you, I am sorry.” In the dark, she felt her hand taken in his.

 

“You did not. I do not always sleep. Sometimes I rest, and think. And I think I should bring you more of the tea. Yesterday was very hard, for you, and I would like to be sure you will not have such a day happen twice.”

 

He left, or at least she guessed he had done so based on the change in sounds. Listening very carefully, she heard the almost imperceptible sounds of tiny bodies breathing, and her heart swelled with contentment. Her beautiful daughters...the hand still under the cover moved across her belly. With a soft gasp, she realize, there was something to feel there, now. It was subtle, but oh-so-definitely not her imagination.  _ My son _ , she thought, blinking back tears of joy. With a sudden realization, Earlene realized how much she wished to name this child to honor her meldir...but would Thranduil be content with that?  _ I would call you Thaladir, little one, in the hope that you would be as steady and stalwart as my beloved friend...but we will have to talk to your adar about this. _ Dozing off in the stillness of the dark, it seemed like only a second later, that her hand was touched again.

 

“I will help you sit up,” he related, as she found herself moved and lifted. “If you feel no illness at all, drink this however you please. But if it is even a tiny bit otherwise, take it very slowly.” The tea was consumed, with thanks. “Rest again, now,” he suggested, smoothing her hair. 

 

When next she woke, the lights in the room were turned up, and wide-eyed Allanah grinned to see her there, squealing to notice her. “Nana! Nana!” It was impossible to be the recipient of such enthusiasm without smiling, and in spite of how weak she felt, she sat up to greet her daughter with kisses. Eleniel and Ithiliel were brought to her to nurse, and this time Thanadir had a cloth ready. Precautions…  Today was off to a far better start.

 

*****

 

A hand gently shook her awake. “We will return to your rooms now, Earlene. Ortherion will bring a meal soon. Lorna will come, I hope this meets with your approval.”

“Yes,” she said with chagrin. “I need to apologize for being a bad friend.”

 

“Why would you think that?”

 

“Because I didn’t want to see anyone. Being sick, vomiting...it is very embarrassing for most people. I did not want you to see that. It is not nice and is something that most like to keep private. Sometimes our bodies do unpleasant things.”

 

“I think you know, I did not mind. If anything, I felt so sorry for you.”

 

“Which is why you were the only other except for Thranduil that I could remotely bear having near me. Sometimes we humans make no sense, even to ourselves.”

 

Thanadir laughed, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders before offering his arm. On their return, he helped her into one of her knit sweaters, to keep warmer. She had hardly sat down on the sofa, when Lorna followed by Ortherion arrived.

 

“Good morning,” Earlene said, trying to appear more energetic than she felt.

 

“How are you feeling?” Lorna asked. Privately she thought Earlene looked bloody awful, but she was hardly tactless enough to actually  _ say  _ so.

 

“Not great.” There was no point blatantly lying. “But loads better than yesterday. The whole morning sickness thing kind of saved itself up for one huge wallop, I think. But Thranduil will be back soon, it’s not the end of the world.”

 

“As long as it’s not going to last, it doesn’t seem quite so bad, but it’s still bad enough,” Lorna said dryly. “Have you tried anything cool on the back’v your neck?”

 

“Not so far, but the sick part is gone now. Thanadir gave me the same thing that you used. It’s just that I’m dead tired. I’ve done nothing but be in bed, mostly sleeping, but I still feel like I just got down from climbing Mt. Everest. I read that this can happen,” she shrugged. “I’ve gotten off so easy until just now, it’s OK.”

 

“The tiredness that just feeds the tiredness,” Lorna said, with a sympathetic wince. “I remember that one.” It was a good thing Thranduil wasn’t around to hear how even less impressed she was by his failure in the birth control department. “Well, just rest until they get home. We can take care’v the sprogs for you.”

 

“I will. They seem in good hands.” She sighed, smiling, her hand moving down her abdomen. “I can feel him, today. For the first time.” Her face softened into pure happiness. “Sometimes I cannot wait, to meet them. They stay inside of you for what feels like so long, while you wonder what they will look like. Be like. And to think that two years ago I had never even given a thought to this…and now we get to have a son, too...” Trailing off happily, she rose and found a seat at the table. “After yesterday, I’m starving. I hope there are biscuits.”

 

Oooookay, Earlene was well away with the fairies right now. “We’ll have our own football team, if you keep on at this rate,” Lorna said, giving her some happy nonsense. “Proper football, not like whatever it is you’ve got in America, where the players look like they’re groping each other’s arses. And if we’ve got biscuits, eat them slowly. Ratiri’s not here, so I’ve got to be the Mom Friend.”

 

Thanadir served Earlene’s food and sat across from her, all the better to monitor her eating with while not being too obvious. “American football is a….don’t get me started. All I can say about that is, it’s not my fault.” She stabbed her sliced fruit with her fork, trying to remember to eat slowly. “Can you believe our first meeting is in five days? I wonder what kind of...how that will go. And...has anyone heard from Ratiri and Thranduil?”

 

Thanadir glanced up, stalling. He was not sure how Earlene would view his reports to the King.

 

“Ratiri shot me a text this morning when they left. Barring traffic or anything, they ought to be back by dark.” Whatever else Thanadir had done with her phone was his own business.

 

“Oh good,” she said. “Something to look forward to. I hope everything went well for them. Foo. I hate not feeling well enough to cook.”

 

Lorna looked at Thanadir, wondering if he’d given her something more than anti-nausea cordial. “At least it’s not as bad now,” she said. “That’s what you’ve got us for.” Though Thanadir was a far better cook that she was, fortunately; probably the only thing worse for Earlene than not being able to cook was being unable to cook and forced to eat someone else’s mediocre efforts.

 

With great effort, Earlene did not stuff herself, though it was completely tempting. “Thanadir, could some of the fruit be kept here, in case I want more a little later? I do not wish to eat too much right now but I already want more.” 

 

“Yes. Of course. Do you wish to rest again?” 

 

Nodding, she excused herself. “I will find a book, though, I do not think I will be reading it too long.” Picking up a copy of some history book or other, she disappeared into the bedroom.

 

Thanadir sighed. “At least one of the babies cannot spit up on her today. That is something.”

 

“She seems a bit, er,  _ off _ ,” Lorna said quietly. “I mean, it’s better than sicking up everywhere, but still.”

 

“Off?” Thanadir felt confused. She was indeed tired, but seemed quite ordinary to him, at least as to her demeanor.

 

“Didn’t her speech seem a bit...scattered? Hoping that everything went well for Ratiri and Thranduil, then grizzling about not being able to cook in the same breath. I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem quite like her, to me,” Lorna said. “Pregnancy’s doing her head in.” And somehow, even now she managed not to say anything snarky about Thranduil and his epic fail. Look at her, having restraint and all.

 

“I will pay closer attention,” the elf promised, having to concede that Lorna might have noticed something he did not. “I wondered, if you are going to the cottage today? I had planned to keep an eye on Earlene and help Lothiriel, but everyone’s devices could use charging as well. I would only prevail on you if this was in your plans. Otherwise Thalion can.”

 

“It wasn’t, but I’d love an excuse to get outside,” she said. “It’ll give me a chance to text Ratiri again. It’s kind’v disgusting how much I miss him when he’s only been gone a day.” Maerwen could help her take the twins out, so they’d get some fresh air themselves.

 

“Thank you,” he said with a smile, placing their laptops in a single case for her. “If Earlene is well enough, I plan to take her to the Dining Hall for the next meal; this will spare Ortherion some work. Hopefully we will all be together again to eat here in the evening. Can I do anything for you or the children, to help?”

 

“If you and Maerwen’d help me get all the twins’ shite together, I’d appreciate it,” she said. “It still surprises me how much you’ve got to cart around to take two babies anywhere.” It could make the walk somewhat laborious, given she was so short. Hauling a nappy bag that was a quarter your height was not fun.

 

“I will send Ortherion to your rooms next. He will go to the cottage with you and Maerwen and carry whatever you wish. You only need tell him when or if you desire someone to return; myself or another will come. This way Lothiriel and Ortherion might have a few extra hours to themselves today. And perhaps tomorrow, Maerwen can be given the same. I am thinking about introducing perhaps two more helpers, so that we have...backup,” he laughed.

 

“Probably a good idea,” Lorna said. “Thank you, Thanadir. Keep an eye on her.”

 

With a grin and nod, the seneschal packed up their breakfast tray and headed to the kitchens.

 

*****

 

Once the twins were set up, Lorna made everyone tea and plugged in the various devices. The morning was overcast, but still warm by Irish standards, with no wind to chill it.

 

Shane and Chandra babbled in their playpen while she sat on the sofa and took out her phone. _ Ratiri  _ at least could be safely vented to about this whole pregnancy nonsense, so vent she did.  _ Poor Earlene is a mess _ , she typed.  _ Sick, woozy, and I am even less impressed than ever with Thranduil’s total fail here. I know she’s fine with having another kid but Jesus christ the timing’s what I’d expect from a teenage idiot who didn’t understand how the removal method works.  _ Even typing it made her feel better, and she smiled as she sent it off, firing up her laptop.

 

There were, naturally, eight thousand emails from Mairead, none of which she wanted to see, but there was also a notice from Orla about Von Fuckwit’s truck, which was finally in their legal posession. The village could do as it wished with it, and Earlene could take her classes, if she felt like handling that beast. If not, she could learn in the Charger, if she could handle what to her would be an arse-backwards H-pattern. Otherwise, it wasn’t like they couldn’t buy an automatic. Even now, Lorna wasn’t used to having actual money, but have it they did.

 

*****

 

Ratiri’s mobile jangled, at the same time Thranduil mentioned a desire for a sandwich. He decided that digestive biscuits were a new favorite, and that a nagging curiosity about chewing gum would not leave him.

 

When Ratiri opened the text, he choked on a biscuit, wheezing and trying so very hard not to laugh. He managed it, but barely.  _ Thank you for that mental image _ , he shot back, somehow managing to hack up the crumbs that had gone down the wrong way. She did, unfortunately, have something of a way with words. “I need more tea,” he said, still fighting laughter.

 

Thranduil sighed. “I would give a great deal for Earlene’s condition to have not been discovered in front of Lorna. Nothing in the world will convince her that my wife is perfectly happy and wanted this baby. Oh well. Better me than you,” he teased with mirth in his eyes.”

 

“Very much better you than me,” Ratiri said, still wheezing a bit. “She’ll get used to the idea.” Though what she had confided to him was not whether or not the kid was wanted, but because she saw Thranduil as having fallen asleep at the switch, so to speak. She needed some other thing to distract her.

 

“Oh, I am aware of the nature of her disapproval. Though I could argue that this is what Earlene would call ‘splitting hairs.’ I suppose if there is yet another child, Earlene can announce it to Lorna in advance,” he chuckled. “Then her head could dissolve for a different set of reasons.” He happily ordered an Italian sandwich, feeling adventurous, but decided to forego the crisps.

 

Ratiri fetched himself some more tea. “Nobody can split hairs quite like Lorna. In another life, a life where she didn’t cuss like a sailor and punch like a longshoreman, she would have been a lawyer. The kind of lawyer that browbeats the defense until someone cries. She’d pick apart the minutiae until she got what she wanted, just so people could make her go away.” Picturing her in a tiny suit did not help, and he had to set his tea down lest he choke on it while laughing. If she tried to put all that hair in a French twist, it would wind up like a horn growing out the back of her head.

 

“Oh dear,” the King chuckled. “Poor Lorna.”

 

*****

 

When Ratiri pulled into the driveway, parked, and the engine was silenced at last, a very un-elven fist bump was exchanged. Laughing, they tumbled out of the car. How fun it had been, and how glad they were it was over.

 

Lorna, barefoot, came zooming out of the house and launched herself at Ratiri. Yes, it was disgusting how much she’d missed him, but miss him she had, and she latched into him like a remora before she gave him a kiss. “I don’t like it when you’re gone,” she said, grinning up at him. “So never go anywhere again, okay?”

 

“If only I could promise that. Thranduil and I somehow managed to fit it all in the Bronco, though getting it out again might take some doing.”

 

“If you two will forgive me, I feel obligated to help my wife immediately. Thanadir is already on his way with three other ellyn to help carry more. Totes. Carpets. Babies. Please excuse….” Thranduil yanked the heaviest container of jewelry as though it contained nothing more than tissue paper, and scuttled off at an impressive rate of speed into the forest, but not without a backward smirk at Lorna.

 

“Poor Earlene,” Lorna said, as Ratiri set her down. “I could knock Thranduil down and poke him into oblivion for this.”

 

“You do realize Earlene actually wants this kid, right?” Ratiri asked. “It’s not like this was a bad surprise.”

 

“Oh, she might want it  _ now _ , but she didn’t  _ ask  _ for it,” Lorna said, with a slightly crooked smile.

 

“Neither did we,” he pointed out, leading her back into the cottage. 

 

“Yeah, but neither’v us is a magical elf who can supposedly control conception,” she countered. “We were just drunk and stupid. Though seriously, I was a bit concerned earlier,” she added. “Earlene sounded a bit away with the fairies, so I told Thanadir to keep an eye on her -- as if I’d actually needed to say anything at all. He’s like the asexual third partner in that marriage.”

 

“And probably the most level-headed, if such could be said about any particular one of them.” Shane threw up his arms and shrieked when he saw his da, demanding to be picked up. Chandra, half-asleep, glowered at him. Lorna was pretty sure she knew already how their sibling dynamic was going to go.

 

It needed about ten minutes, for Thanadir and three other elves to appear, welcoming Ratiri home and asking how they could help.

 

“The carpets can stay for tonight,” he said. “They’ll be annoying to carry. These totes are jewelry, and this one’s clothing -- it’s not terribly heavy, but I couldn’t haul it all that way myself.” It would all have to air out, too, since he’d packed it away in cedar to keep any moths away.

 

Thanadir lifted easily the one for jewelry, directing another to clothing, and after some pondering, assigned the remaining two ellyn to carefully remove two of the carpets and carry them together. “You can manage the children and their things?” he wanted to confirm.

 

Well, if they wanted to take the carpets, they could take the carpets. Oh well. “We can, yeah,” Ratiri said. “These two are getting so big, though not as fast as Eleniel and Ithiliel.” Sadly, it would be some months yet before either Shane or Chandra took even a tentative step. While he wouldn’t want them to grow up too fast, he would bless the day they no longer needed nappies.

 

*****

 

While Thranduil would admit it to no one, by the time his burden was deposited in Lorna and Ratiri’s quarters after he more or less ran much of the distance, his arms were burning. Yet this was a small price to pay for hurrying to his wife. He quietly opened the bedroom door to find her curled in bed, awake but staring dully off into space. “Meluieg?” A smile came over her face and she tried to disentangle herself from the covers, but he stopped this quickly. “I am so sorry,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “So sorry. If I would have known…”

 

“You could not have, silly. This is not your fault, only unfortunate timing.”

 

“Show me what happened?”

 

So happy to be held by him, it was no effort at all to remember. Though, she resisted the worst part of it. “That felt humiliating, I will admit. But Thanadir tried so hard, and took such care of me. Why am I so tired? This too, is the baby?”

 

He nodded against her. “Now be still. You have had enough of this.” Sighing with the peaceful expectation of everything being well again, his wife nestled against him and did not move, having awareness only of the warmth that suffused her and the weight of the fatigue lifting. “Better?”

 

“Yes, much. Thank you, so much.” Her cheeks already had more color, and she made to rise but remembered something. She pulled his hand to her belly. “Feel.” Their eyes met, and a moment after, so did their lips. “So you see,” she murmured, “not everything about the last two days was difficult. And I wanted to ask you something…”

 

“Thaladir?” he said softly, looking at her with wondering eyes. “I think it is a very good choice. But will you not want a human name as well?”

 

“You do?” On some level it seemed genuinely surprising. “Part of me thought you might not like it.”

 

“Not like honoring an ellon who has supported everything I have ever done of worth? No, meluieg. I could not be happier with this. Will you tell him? Thanadir, I mean.”

 

“Eventually. But for now...can we let it settle, awhile? On this, I should be very certain; once Thanadir knows, the choice cannot be undone.”

 

“No, it cannot. And… perhaps I do not need to tell you, but I believe he will react very strongly to this.”

 

“I can guess. I think you know, what he said to me about his desire for children and how I replied.”

 

“I do. It was a generous sentiment and one I fully support. I did not tell him I consider him to be my family as idle words. I meant them. He has given his whole life to me; and he deserves all this and more.”

 

“Then we agree.”

 

“Yes. Come, the meal is soon, and the others will be here in a few more minutes.”

 

Stretching happily. She looked for a dress and to comb her hair. “I did not take your help for my pregnancy for granted before, and I really will not now. It’s the little things,” she grinned.

 

Lorna, Ratiri, and twins turned up just in time for dinner, along with gum-numbing agent and teething rings frozen in the cottage freezer. Poor Shane in particular was so miserable that she wished there were some way to just get it over with all at one go. At least she’d trained him out of trying to gnaw on her nipple when he was feeding, because  _ ow _ . She’d sat him on her lap and given him a very stern talking-to, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he’d be stuck exclusively with bottles if he kept that up. The worrisome thing was that he’d apparently understood her. Both of them could give some pretty direct stares for babies not yet six months old, and she wondered just how much of Ratiri’s intellect had filtered down to them.

 

They all seated themselves, and Earlene felt like it was an entirely new day, because of no longer feeling like aliens had stolen all her energy. She saw Lothiriel with the girls, and rose again to give all of them kisses, which were met with giggles and smiles. Allanah had her own little selection of steamed fruits and vegetables, for which she could point at to ask Lothiriel. The elves apparently did not abide the idea of children placing their hands into semi-solid foods and making a colossal mess everywhere. Thanadir said that for all that the peredhel were developing rapidly compared to the human children, that they too should not have food besides their mother’s milk for the first six months. So while Eleniel and Ithiliel watched Allanah be fed these items with interest, their pointing and frowning was ignored.  _ A taste of things to come _ , Earlene thought wryly, returning to her seat.

 

“Did you eat anyplace nice?” she asked Thranduil and Ratiri as what looked a great deal like a chicken cacciatore with mashed turnips and roasted polenta was served.  _ Valar, I am hungry. _ The food appeared and smelled amazing.

 

“This pub called the Pot Still in Glasgow,” Ratiri said, electing to omit any mention of motorway services food. “Thranduil tried out a Scottish dish with the rather peculiar name of Cullen Skink. It’s a soup, basically, but it goes great with cheese toasties.”

 

“Christ, we’ve never fed you lot proper toasties, have we?” Lorna asked. “I’ll make Jamie’s recipe someday. At least  _ that  _ I can do well.”

 

“Toasties….” Earlene was having a memory. While they were hardly what she would call nutritional powerhouses, those were a rainy day treat and gran’s and they had been delicious. Give or take the heavily processed  white bread made with refined flour, but now and again that had to be overlooked.

 

“I liked them,” Thranduil ventured, hopefully, already realizing Toasties had a strike against them in Earlene’s mind.

 

“Did you introduce Thranduil to the joys of road trip food?” Lorna asked, dishing up her plate with visible relish. “Some’v the motorway services are better than others.”

 

“We tried to keep it on the upper end of things,” Ratiri said, trying for vagueness.

 

“Motorway food?” Earlene asked, her eyes narrowing as they studied her husband. “Let me guess,” she grinned. “Crisps and...hmmm.” Her mind churned the offerings at such places. “Digestive biscuits. And a sandwich. How’d I do?”

 

Thranduil stared at her, pink creeping onto his cheeks. “I am sure that those at the table have no interest in hearing about what we ate on the trip, meluieg.”

 

Pure triumph was in Earlene’s smile. “Of course, Thranduil. Did anything else of interest happen?”

 

Ratiri rather felt the need to come to his rescue. “We got pulled over by some racist garda who thought I’d stolen my car, and Thranduil made him believe his cruiser was on fire,” he said. “As Lorna would say, that gave me the warm fuzzies.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Bloody Garda,” she muttered. “I’d like to taze the lot’v them. They’re getting worse about that, too. The browner you are, the shittier  _ they  _ are.”

 

Taking the ball and running with it, as the humans might say, Thranduil added, “It was not only racist. I am fairly certain the man believed we were having...relations.”

 

The clatter of a fork dropping attracted everyone’s attention, as poor Thanadir sought to pretend he was not disconcerted by this news. Earlene felt sorry for his sensibilities, and tried to divert the conversation. “Well, that was unfortunate. But what do you mean, he ‘believed his cruiser was on fire’? ”

 

At the end of the table, Sharlely grinned, but said nothing of it. She could see what Thranduil had done, even if Ratiri couldn’t, and it was all she could do to keep silent.

 

Ratiri looked at Thranduil, trying to ignore Lorna wheezing beside him. He thumped her on the back a few times for good measure. “I think you made him see flames, didn’t you?” he asked. “Bastard wound up emptying his entire fire extinguisher into the back seat. He’ll have a job explaining  _ that  _ one.”

 

“That was very elegant,” Earlene approved. “Creative and poetic. He got his fire lit, alright,” she grinned with satisfaction. With enthusiasm, her fork hefted a particularly large scoop of turnip. “Well, I am just glad you are back safe. It had to have been a tiring drive.”

 

“It was long, but it was fun,” Ratiri said. “I haven’t taken a trip like with company for years. It beats driving by yourself, trying not to sing along to whatever’s on the radio.”

 

“How’d you like the ferry?” Lorna asked Thranduil. She’d been deeply impressed, when she and Liam had taken it, and that was years ago.

 

“That was astonishing,” he said, excitement in his eyes at the memory. “It was much like a hotel, except it was afloat. I had expected something like the one to the Aran Islands, and could not have been more surprised. And that it even held larger lorries…”

 

Lorna eyed him speculatively. “You know what? We need to take a cruise somewhere. Not one’v the disgusting tourist-y- ones, but one’v the kind where it’s just really rich people. It’s not like we can’t afford it, and I think a cruise ship’d blow your mind. They’re basically like floating towns.”

 

“I’ve heard that even if all you do is eat and stare out the window, they’re good that way. And the big detraction is that sometimes those viruses hit the ships and everyone gets sick...but we’d have insurance against that.” In truth, Earlene felt half-afraid of sumptuous dessert bars and a week of chef-prepared meals. Babies might not be the only things to swell her belly, were she to end up on one of those. “Thanadir would quite possibly eat himself to death. Could you survive, meldir, a place where good desserts were laid out every minute of every day?”

 

The seneschal put down his fork to consider. “Perhaps it would be like Nonna,” he thought aloud. “Maybe I would overdo it once, and not eat for awhile?”

 

“Eru,” Thranduil said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That lady...that was very funny.”

 

“I so wish you lot could’ve met my gran,” Lorna sighed. “She was a bit like that Nonna, just Irish, and she swore more than I do. She’d’ve stuffed you, Thanadir.” That sounded a touch wrong, not that she was about to say so. She was just glad  _ Thanadir  _ couldn’t read her mind, because that thought just went all sorts of unfortunate places before she replaced it with wine.

 

Thranduil stifled a smirk and turned his attention to his chicken, which admittedly tasted very good. Certainly better than crisps and Subway sandwiches. He turned to Lorna and Ratiri. “So now you will have to place your carpets, and whatnot. I have been thinking...perhaps you wish to consider investigating other quarters in the Halls, to see if those might suit you? Not all have private baths, but some do. Some are larger. Some are larger, next to ones that are smaller. I thought you might want to have first choice...I have a feeling that soon, others will begin seeking out preferred homes. You are also welcome to remain where you are, but when those were offered, you were each single persons. And now with children, and kittens…” He had been fairly astonished, at his entrance to their rooms to find felines seemingly everywhere, and one staring down at him serenely from the top of the canopy bed. He felt vaguely glad that Earlene had been content with Tail.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “It’s probably a good idea,” she said, for all she was rather attached to her little flat. But Thranduil was right -- it had been given to her when she was single, and now it was her, Ratiri, two babies, and a herd of kittens. “We’d definitely want one with a bath, though.” Given her...issues...public bathing just was not going to be thought of, ever, and stealing someone else’s would get awkward for everyone involved after a while. By the time everything went to shit, maybe one of her nieces or nephews would want her old flat. It would be nice to keep it in the family, sort of a thing. Hell, maybe Chandra would want it, and Shane could take the one that had been turned into the movie room.

 

“It probably is. I’ve brought more than just the carpets -- all my mother’s old things. I think they’d go well with the Elven and the Irish.”

 

“Thanadir could help you; I would guess that he and the ellith that manage the fireplaces would know the nicest ones.”

 

“Maerwen would know more than I. Even Lothiriel,” pointed out Thanadir. “I am happy to help you, but they have paid far more attention to such things. Our people now are scattered all through the Halls without rhyme or reason. No one saw fit to move to new quarters, and so it remains.”

 

“We’ll have her take us on a tour tomorrow,” Ratiri said. “It won’t be long at all before these two might be wanting their own rooms. If they’re this willful as babies, God knows what they’ll be like as children.”

 

Shane glowered at his father, and Chandra soon joined in. They could look remarkably judgey for such young children.

 

“Oh, knock it off, you two,” Lorna said. “You’ve got to learn to dole the glares out, not use them all the time.” The fact that they both looked directly at her when she spoke kind of creeped her out a little. Was that normal? She couldn’t remember much what Mick had been like as a baby.

 

“Your children display a high level of intelligence, from what I can tell,” said Thranduil. “Their awareness is a great deal like Allanah’s was when she came to us, though she was some months older.” He wondered if Lorna had considered the implications of keeping up with children that might prove to be extraordinary, and decided that silence was best, on that matter.

 

“Well, thank god their da’s a genius,” she said, and wondered how long it would take her own children to outdistance her intellectually. Now  _ there  _ was a depressing thought.

 

Thranduil felt sorry for his friend, because that was an extremely high possibility. But she could still do things they could not. But again, this was no time to say anything. Seeing that they had all finished, Thanadir cleared his throat. “Tonight the kitchens made dessert for everyone, because Earlene taught them about butterscotch pudding.” Thranduil suspected that his seneschal was trying to disguise his own happiness. “And biscuits. Cookies. His meldis was not going to stop referring to these treats by the custom of her native country. Just as she would not stop using the word ‘biscuits’ for the quickbreads made at breakfast.”

 

“I haven’t had butterscotch pudding in  _ ages _ ,” Lorna said, brightening. Gran had made it wonderfully, but she’d never mastered it herself. Not even close.

 

“They had a backlog of surplus milk,” Thanadir said happily. “The guard rotation has not been this excited since the introduction of bacon.”

 

Lorna absolutely loved that the elves could be so excited by simple foods. They were much like the Irish, in that.

 

“I’m going to forget how to cook, at this rate,” Ratiri said, and didn’t care in the least. 

 

When everyone was suitably stuffed and had dragged themselves to the sofas and the armchairs, Earlene gave in to the insistent sad eyes from her twin girls, and let them have their dinner, fervently hoping that the spit-up incident was an isolated one. Thranduil felt so badly that he sat next to her, holding Eleniel in a position of comfort to nurse. When all was settled, he turned his attention to another curiosity. “You are still decided on returning to the States, Sharley?” he asked with a note of sadness in his voice.

 

“I am,” she said. Allanah had decided to crawl up onto her lap, and she stroked the little girl’s hair. “I’ll come back, though. There’s a few things I have to do over there first, and things I need to bring with me, when I leave for good.”  _ Would you mind if I shipped my daughter’s headstone? I know it’s morbid, but after the end, I won’t be able to go where she sleeps anymore. _

 

It took all of Thranduil’s self-control, not to react to that question, sent so matter-of-factly.  _ I would not mind at all. Anything you wish. However I can help you, consider it done.  _ While his mastery was generally good, he gave himself even odds that he would go somewhere and allow himself to cry about what he had just been asked...that would be a display Sharley neither needed nor wanted.

 

She smiled a little.  _ Thank you. Before I come here to stay, I need to finish making peace with things over there, and there are other things I’ll bring with me. Seeds. Any little thing I can think of. None of these children’s children will ever know the world I lived and worked in, but I can take some of it here with me. Sooner or later it will be time for me to have a home.  _ She’d been a nomad all her remembered life, but if she could settle anywhere, it would be here. In this place, among these people, there was no need to hide what she was. And that was a greater boon than she suspected most of them could ever realize.

 

But she needed, for a time, her mountains. Ireland had no comparison for the Cascades -- not even close. Once she left them, it would be forever, and she needed to do what Lorna was doing, and make scrapbooks. Lots of them.

 

The twins finished their nursing, and Lothiriel departed with them for the nursery. Allanah could stay a little longer, to have a chance to play with her parents and, well, everyone. “Ada” she said, abruptly no longer fascinated with Sharley and now wanting Thranduil. Practically wiggling in place, she reached up to him excitedly, snuggling against him when he held her close. “Ada boo eyes. Sharwee boo ‘air,” the little girl intoned solemnly. 

 

“Nana has brown hair,” the King said patiently. “Thanadir has brown hair.”

 

Allanah considered this for a moment. “Want Thanadir boo ‘air.”

 

Earlene hoped that naming her son for her meldir would be enough, after the trouble her children were likely to be.  _ Not trouble _ , she corrected herself.  _ For him, it is joy _ . Even now, she looked at Thanadir apologetically, to see only a warm smile on his face and a slight shaking of his head. Allanah could wish all she wanted, his hair was not going to be dyed ‘boo.’ After many more minutes, it was bedtime for her. For once, Earlene determined she would participate in this, and excused herself from the group to see her daughter to sleep in the nursery.

 

Ratiri yawned. “Long drive and good food equals food coma,” he said. “Let’s get these two settled, mo chroí. I don’t sleep as well without you sprawled on me.” She really was like snuggling with a living doll, and he was never, ever going to say so. Ever.

 

“Sounds good,” she said. “I didn’t sleep too well without you, either. We’re sickeningly co-dependent, but I don’t care.” It was nice to have someone to be co-dependent  _ with _ , honestly. 

 

“I’m going to enjoy that beautiful tub again,” Sharley said. “Trust me, if anything’ll get me back here in a hurry, it’s that.” She paused. “D’you have any musical instruments here?” She didn’t get much chance to play at home.

 

Thanadir looked up, surprised. He had been about to follow Earlene. “Yes, we do. Earlene’s harpsichord is in the next room; that is where we play. Practice. However you wish to call it. My violin is there and my...I do not know how to call it; it is an elven instrument but it is something like a guitar. Follow me, if you wish to see them.”

 

“You have a violin?” she asked, her brief, sun-ray smile crossing her face. “It’s the only one I can really play.”

 

“I’ve got a guitar, too,” Lorna said. “If you’re curious.”

 

“Maybe someday,” Sharley said. “Violin’s enough for now.”

 

“You may take it with you,” said Thanadir. “I will be busy with the children and I believe Earlene will not be wishing to take time for music tonight. Come,” he invited, moving to leave the room.

 

Sharley followed him, immensely pleased. She’d never seen a harpsichord, but she wouldn’t dare touch that even if she had. She was quite happy to take the instrument with her, to play in her rooms, and emerged back into the sitting room with it in its case.

 

Thranduil laughed. “Good night to you all.” If he mentioned being tired, Lorna would not believe him. If he mentioned the tub, probably the others would look at him oddly...and fortunately there was no need for excuses; they all had enough on their minds. While he would like to see Thanadir again, it could wait. At least he could give Earlene her chocolate. Left alone, he decided he would at least change into night-clothes; his current garments smelled of city and he was not truly fond of these jeans, though even he had to admit that they were a necessity for entering the modern world.

 

To his surprise, both Earlene and Thanadir returned. “I bought a little something for each of you. I feel badly for what you both experienced, though I know it was only unfortunate timing.” He brought out the boxes of chocolates. “Meluieg, I did not think you would begrudge Thanadir having the larger share.”

 

“Not at all,” she laughed. “In truth, though I feel better, I am still having...I do not know how to explain it. I will think of a food, even a food I like, but if it is at the wrong moment, an ominous feeling comes over my stomach. And then even the thought is not to be endured, only for it all to change in a few hours. Yesterday even the faint smell of porridge on Thanadir’s clothing was almost disastrous and today...nothing. And meldir, even though I know you will tell me you did not mind, I still have to say that I am sorry for what happened. The mess, the trouble...I only mean it in the sense that I would rather it not have happened for both our sakes.”

 

Thanadir reached to pat her arm. “Since you understand, I will not lecture you on how much I did not mind, Earlene. It would not be right of me to enjoy your children so much, but not want to participate in caring for how they must arrive into the world.”

 

Earlene nodded. “For a woman, what I have is unheard of. This much help and care, I mean. What I experienced for only two days...there are women who endure that and more for weeks. Months. There are times I still feel as though I do not know what I am doing being a mother, but you both do not seem to hold it against me.” She smiled. “And thank you for the chocolate, though I think I will wait to have some. But do not let me stop you, Thanadir.”

 

Much like a child at Christmas, the seneschal eagerly opened his box with quick precision. His lips parted to see the little treats, they were glossy and perfect, each one a little different from the other, and hinting that they might be unusually special. He bit into one carefully. “Eru,” he whispered, his eyes widening. “Thank you, Thranduil. It is very good…”

 

“Fancy chocolates, meldir. I am afraid we have lost you,” Earlene teased.

 

“I do not mind,” came the entranced reply. “But I must return, Lothiriel will not feel she can return to her own quarters until I do.”

  
Thranduil frowned. “Thanadir, there is no need for someone to be with the children every minute, after they have been laid down. I can hear them, and would know right away if something were the matter. From now on, you and Lothiriel can both be assured that you can enjoy your early evening hours as you choose; with us or in some other pursuit. Only when I am absent, obviously, would this be different.”

 

“Thank you,” the seneschal replied. “I did not consider...that.”

 

“Meldir, I wondered if I could have your help in the next few days. The first council meeting is coming and...I need time to prepare. I have ideas, how to create an organizational structure, but I need to see this room and what is in it.”

 

“Yes. And...I will say goodnight, for now. I like to read to the children, even though they sleep.”

 

“Then we will not stop you,” smiled the King, who felt chagrin about just how badly he would rather be alone with his wife tonight. And not just on account of...that. The two day journey had been interesting but was its own kind of tiring, as well.

 

“Good night,” said Earlene, rising to kiss his cheek. They both watched him leave, and suppressed laughter at the fact that he was not about to forget his box of chocolates.

 

A luxurious kiss followed. “I would like to be in the pool, would you join me?” Earlene asked. “Bring your wine,” she suggested.

 

This would very much be better than..well, many things. By the time he procured his bottle, Earlene was already enjoying her soak and rooting through the bottles of elven made products, smelling them. “Do you know, they are different to me, now? I never even noticed. I think the baby has done something to my sensory...senses. This mint one...it is lovely.” He watched with amusement as she inhaled deeply, experiencing it as well through her thoughts.

 

“Even when you are occupied with mint, you are very alluring, Earlene.” A clear expression of hunger was in his eyes.

 

“I am afraid my original intentions were waylaid when I became so ill,” she said sheepishly. “But I can see well enough that you are not so interested in mint.” Her tone was teasing, but caring, as he watched her swim over to him, straddling his body.

 

Taken aback a little, he studied her. “You are not feeling desire just now, but you still offer yourself to me?” he asked, touched.

 

“Is that so strange?” she asked, kissing him with affection. “How is it any different than the ways in which you care for my needs and wants?”

 

No answer existed for this, exactly, but it still seemed...different. So he thought more, enjoying her caresses and how her hands kneaded at his shoulders and neck. “I think it is that for me to feel good about desiring you, I want to know also that you desire me. Otherwise, how am I not simply using you?”

 

“But I do desire you. In my mind, anyway. Sometimes...this is hard to explain. My body feels no want for sex, at this moment. But it would, if you loved me. I know that I would respond to you, and because I love you, I am glad to allow for that to happen. I have read that why females feel desire is complicated, and that sometimes our bodies...have a mind of their own. I do not have to understand all of how it works to know that you are my husband, and that I am honored to see to your happiness. If I did not want to, I know that you would not try to force me. Nor am I trying to force myself. And I sincerely hope this is making some sense to you because my words sound peculiar even to me,” she laughed. “I will blame little Thaladir.”

 

Thranduil found himself touched even further by his wife’s explanation, and hugged her close. “You make sense,” he replied. “And I am humbled by your love for me. I thought that perhaps after the last two days you might be thinking more ill of me for failing to prevent your pregnancy.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. “You have been listening to Lorna again,” she said drily. “Poor Lorna...I am afraid that this pregnancy is straining her powers of belief. She had such a hard experience with the babies. And I think she still struggles with the nursing and...things. I understand, but I am also trying very hard not to let it affect my own happiness. I would have wanted this child, Thranduil. Now, three months from now, a few more months, whatever. I wanted him, I only did not sit down and think out when I wanted him on the calendar.  And...I may want more still. How you feel about that of course matters…”

 

Her eyes studied his face very carefully. “You would...keep on giving me children?” His face did not even try to hide the hopeful astonishment that was what she so hoped to hear.

 

“I am currently of no mind to stop, is how I would best say it. You have kept me healthy, made this so easy. You and Thanadir are so happy, with them. I enjoy them too, though I feel like something of a bumbling novice. I know that bearing children cannot go on forever but if you would welcome more, and nothing happens to cause me to feel differently...should we not enjoy this blessing while it lasts?”

 

For an answer, he kissed his wife deeply. When they broke apart, in tandem they said to each other, “Let’s not tell Lorna.” They both howled with laughter at this for at least five minutes, until Earlene’s sides were aching. Poor Lorna. It was not her fault, but between them there was little doubt they would wreck her sensibilities.

 

Finally they left the pool and went to their room. To even Thranduil’s surprise, their evening was spent in conversation about many topics. Some silly, some important, and all of it interspersed with affection and caresses. When the evening led to the inevitable activity he’d hoped for, the King realized something deeper. He had always loved Earlene, and enjoyed greatly that she encouraged his physical desires. But he was now experiencing what it was to have that lust directed toward a wife with whom love was growing, deepening. This marriage was so far removed from his previous one, in which he now realized they had never even begun to explore each other as thinking, feeling people. He honestly could not recall if he had ever before had a conversation  _ about _ sex, as a subject, as opposed to an exercise in seduction. Had there even been anything  _ to _ explore, between them? Were he and Alassëa both too...young, somehow? Had it been a lack of empathy, a lack of life experiences in spite of their lives as elves? He might never know, for certain. But as he moved within his wife’s body, he recognized that a passion far deeper than physical desire was at work, and he blessed all of the Valar for their gifts to him. His life had not been an easy one but for this cherished bond, he would live all the difficult parts over again without hesitation. After, when they cuddled against each other, both drifted into sleep, so happy.

 

*****

 

Ratiri had all the carpets arranged in out-of-the-way places, so they could air out undisturbed. The boxes, however, they broke into after breakfast.

 

It felt a little like Christmas. Earlene, Thanadir and Thranduil sat in a row, each with a child on their laps, staring at The Tote, which Earlene earlier could not resist trying to gently nudge with her toe. It was going nowhere, and felt like it was filled with stone. Ithiliel fidgeted on her lap, since Eleniel was held by Thranduil, and the girls were out of sight of each other unless they leaned to look around Allanah. Their oldest was paying no attention to the twins’ frustrations, but instead was babbling “boo ‘air” while tugging at Thanadir. He tolerated this patiently for awhile, before sweeping his long locks behind his shoulders and redirecting her attention to the kittens.

 

“All right, so some of this is very old,” Ratiri said, prying the lid off the tote. “Mam was a bit of an organizational freak, but at least it’s all labeled.” Within the tote was not a jumble, but a multitude of cardboard cartons of various sizes, all neatly stacked. The largest one was almost totally flat, laid against the side of the tote, and it was that which he took out first. “This came from my great-great-grandmother, and I don’t think it will need to be re-sized.”

 

He opened to box to reveal a necklace, though not one like anything Lorna had ever seen in person. The chain was sturdy, and it had to be, because it held what looked to be strings of small golden coins, tied together to form a descending V. It tinkled like a wind chime when he held it up, glinting in the light, and she fet daunted just looking at it. “Mam was pretty sure it was at least two hundred years old, though there’s no documentation.”

 

“You go ahead and pass that one to someone else first,” Lorna said, vaguely terrified of the thought of even touching it. He handed it to Thanadir instead. 

 

The seneschal admired the unusual object, and whispered “ú-maetho!” (don’t touch) to Allanah, who was allowed to look at it only with her eyes. At one point she reached for it anyway, and her hand was gently but firmly moved away. “Baw!” (no, don’t!) repeated Thanadir quietly.

 

“And the bangles...good God, the bangles. When I was a kid, she sat me down in the lounge and told me the story of every single damn one of them, which of course I don’t remember now. At least she helpfully grouped them together by importance.” He took out a dozen smaller boxes, each of which held two or three bangles -- some plain gold, some set with small rubies or emeralds, and others dipped in some kind of china glaze. They were all very thin and delicate, but he knew how heavy they’d be once they were all on Lorna. 

 

“You want me to wear that thing?” Lorna asked, unsure if she should be appalled or not.

 

Ratiri shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, there’s another one, if you’re willing to wear it, too.”

 

“God help me,” she muttered. “The things I do for you.” Lorna was one of a very few who would resent being decked out like a princess.

 

Thranduil and Earlene were both trying very hard to keep the laughter that wanted to surface suppressed. Earlene even cringed a bit, at the ‘that thing’ appellation, and bit the inside of her cheeks. Lorna was Lorna. Earlene was just about to ask Ratiri if his ancestors were nobility, when she heard Thranduil’s stern admonition to say nothing. 

 

_ Only if you tell me later _ , she countered.

 

_ I am tolerating far too much insubordination these days, meluieg. _

 

_ It is very true, my King. But are you not enjoying yourself more? _

 

_ That is not the point. _

 

Earlene felt it was the perfect moment to cover her daughter’s cheeks in kisses, because it was the only way she was not going to burst into giggles.

 

On a whim, Lorna tried on some of the bangles, but insisted Ratiri pass most of them on. She needed a little time to work up to the idea of having what looked like the net worth of a small country actually put on her body. Where the hell did Ratiri’s family get all of this?

 

The next tote held at its top the gauzy bridal dupatta, and he rose, holding it up with a smile. It was very dark red, edged with an inch and a half of embroidered gold and beads. There was actually a design to it, though one could only see it up close: it was an interlocking chain of leaves, the beadwork creating the flowers. Scattered throughout the delicate fabric were tiny, paper-thin gold coins, each painstakingly embroidered into place. It was huge, too, so long that it would have a bit of a train when Lorna wore it.

 

Her eyes widened. “Holy shit, how old is that? Exactly how much am I going to be wrecking if I trip over it?”

 

“It’s...old,” Ratiri hedged, and absolutely was not going to mention that it had been made in the 1890’s. Nope. “Come on, stand up. Try it on.”

 

Stand she did, quite warily, and held very still when he draped it over her head, rather like the statues of the Virgin Mary at mass. It carried a very faint air of incense. “How is it meant to stay on my head?” she asked.

 

_ Ratiri, I was not going to mention this until much later but...there was a present I was going to give to Lorna for your wedding. One she will not like at all. It is a crown, one that I now see would match these fabrics exquisitely. In fact, the only way she may accept it is if she believes it is part of this collection. Say that you left it with me for safekeeping, if you wish. _

 

Oh dear...Ratiri was entirely okay with letting Lorna get gifted an Elven crown without her knowing it. “There’s a headpiece,” he said, wise enough  _ not  _ to say ‘crown’. “I left it with Thranduil for safekeeping. It will keep it in place, and otherwise...just move carefully. I’m going to have to as well.”

 

He took out the rest of the garment, which was every bit as lovely. Technically it was called a lehenga, but few people outside of India and Pakistan actually knew what that was, and the term was now often synonymous with sari. It was very heavy silk, embroidered with so much gold thread that in places the red was merely a background element -- a two-inch trim of flowers and tiny glass beads formed a practically solid border. Scattered throughout it were embroidered suns and stars, each with small pieces of garnet and amber stitched among them.

 

Lorna stared at it. “You are fucking kidding me,” she said. “I -- Ratiri,  _ I  _ can’t wear that. I’d never forgive myself if I tore it.” Not that she had any idea what a thing like that would fetch on the open market, but she’d bet at the very least it was worth more than her car.

 

“It’s sturdier than it looks,” he said, trying not to be amused by her reaction. To her, it wasn’t funny -- she was faced with something lovely, something that was to be on  _ her _ , and not someone she would just look at. Watching the Elves in beautiful clothes was one thing; walking around in them herself was entirely another.

 

She gave him a look that was entirely helpless, and reached out to gingerly touch it. The embroidery did indeed feel quite sturdy, the trim reassuringly stiff beneath her fingers. Should she trip, she wouldn’t automatically rip out a seam. And...it would make Ratiri happy. She could swallow her own apprehension for that, even if she’d still never forgive herself if anything happened while she was wearing it. “What else’v you got in there? A great white shark?”

 

He didn’t actually squirm, but he came close. “There’s another one,” he said. “For the reception.” Carefully laying the red lehenga on the back of the sofa, he took out another dupatta and lehenga, these in a very dark green. The embroidery was not so elaborate, with more beadwork than thread, but all around the lehenga was embroidered golden  leaves and vines. “Whenever  Mam wanted to emphasize that she was Foreign with a capital F, she’d wear one of these, even though technically a bridal sari is meant to  _ only  _ be a bridal sari. She figured nobody in Scotland would know the difference, and she was right.”

 

“Allanah, have you got a picture’v your parents?” Lorna asked. She’d been picturing them a certain way, but she’d never seen a photo.

 

Rising, he fetched his wallet, and took out an old, slightly dog-eared photo. It was the three of them on some wind-swept moor, young Ratiri already taller than both his parents. His da was a short, stout ginger with a cheerful red face; his mam was even shorter, pleasantly curvy, and Lorna could see echoes of her features in Ratiri. His da was dressed in a thick coat that was a rather garish version of the Duncan tartan, while his mam’s was a vibrant red. Young Ratiri, true to form of what Lorna knew of him, also had the Duncan tartan, but in far less eye-searing shades.

 

“That was one of the few times we tried to go camping,” he said wryly. “Dad had bought a stove that ran on bottled gas, and hadn’t bothered testing it before we went out. You can imagine how  _ that  _ ended.”

 

“I hope nobody got burned too badly,” she said, handing the photo back.

 

“Oh,  _ we  _ were fine,” he snorted. “The tent, on the other hand, was a total loss.”

 

“You will be such a beautiful bride,” Earlene said softly, feeling just the mildest twinge of envy. It had been her choice, to forego something this fancy and elaborate, and while in the end what mattered was her marriage, who didn’t want to look this gorgeous just once?  _ Lorna _ , she reminded herself wryly.  _ Poor Lorna. One of what, five women on earth that would rather wed in jeans and a flannel shirt? _ Earlene loved her friend. If they were all alike, Valar only knew how boring life would be.

 

Thranduil was supporting Eleniel to ‘stand’ on his legs, and she was very pleased with this new perspective of the room. A tiny fist held onto her adar’s hair, as she now caught sight of Ithiliel. “Muinnnnthlll” came out.

 

“Yes, muin-thel,” Thranduil agreed, surprised and pleased. “Sis-ter.” Eleniel turned her blue eyes to him and giggled. The King felt his heart melting, and could not resist covering his daughter’s cheeks in kisses. Eru, he loved these children! 

 

Lorna ducked her head a little, still unsure just how to take compliments even at her age. She took the lehenga when Ratiri handed it to her, half afraid to drop it.

 

“Go on, go in the bedroom and put it on. I’ll help you.”

 

“You’d best,” she said; she wouldn’t dare try it herself.

 

“Excuse us for a moment,” he said, leading her off into the bedroom. It only took thirty seconds for her to ditch her tunic and jeans, and he carefully pulled the garment over her head, buttoning it up the back -- such tiny buttons, covered in satin. As he’d predicted, it was too large in the chest, and just a touch too long, but otherwise… He draped the dupatta back over her head. “I wish you knew how beautiful you really are,” he said. The red and gold only made her eyes stand out that much more. “Let’s go show you off.”

 

She felt almost unbearably awkward, not helped by the fact that she hardly dared breathe, let alone move. Still, out she went, feeling terribly alien, though not necessarily in a bad way.

 

“I’m very shamelessly showing off my fiancee,” Ratiri said, sounding a touch too gleeful. “Though Thanadir, I think we’re going to need to alter it just a bit. The other one too, since it’s the same size and design.” There was always something vaguely doll-like about Lorna, but it had never been more pronounced. He valued his spleen too much to actually tell her so, however. Or at the very least, his eyebrows.

 

Thanadir’s lips parted at the sight of the beautiful fabrics. “I believe there is a way to carefully pin the garment for your ceremony,” he said. “I would be very reluctant to sew new seams into such exquisite cloth. But yes, I can cause it to fit better.” He knew better than to suggest that Lorna wear the shoes that caused a woman to stand taller, some of which he had seen Earlene use. The poor firieth struggled enough, feeling so awkward in finer clothing. Though if she would wear such garments more often, the problem might solve itself...but this was not for him to say.

 

Thranduil was simply glad that he had his own doll in his lap, because the urge to hug Lorna and carry her off on a walk somewhere was nearly overwhelming.  It was for the best, that his tiny friend had no idea of the effect she had on others.  _ He _ certainly was not about to mention it.

 

“I’d be reluctant for you to, too,” Lorna said. “Assuming Chandra actually wants to wear it when she gets married, and assuming she can actually half-arse  _ fit  _ in it, it’d be best to have as few alterations as possible.” 

 

Ratiri fastened the coin necklace around her neck -- Christ, it had to weigh at least three pounds -- and added a second, a wide gold band that rested at the base of her throat. It too was carved with leaves and flowers, and probably weighed another two pounds. She had to practice wearing this, or she’d get a headache in a heartbeat.

 

On went the bangles, on both arms up to her elbows, Ratiri grinning the entire time. “I am not a doll, Ratiri Duncan,” she said, mostly sternly, giving him a blatant hairy eyeball. For such thin things, they were surprisingly heavy, too -- probably because there were so many of them.

 

“You keep telling yourself that,” he said, and kissed her on the forehead before turning her to face the others again.

 

“You’ll pay for that,” she warned.

 

“Worth it.”

 

“Isn’t there more jewelry?” Earlene honestly wanted to know. “I mean, if you’re going to have a test drive show and tell here, might as well go for the whole hog, as gran used to say. And what is it that Thranduil has? This is so pretty, I want to see all of it.”

 

_ Meluieg! _ she heard from her husband, and happily ignored him. It had already been said.

 

Ratiri eyed Lorna. “Would you try on the nath?” he asked, so hopeful she couldn’t say no. She just couldn’t. In his own way, he really did have Thanadir eyes. 

 

“Fine,” she said. “Please don’t tell me I have bangles on my ankles.”

 

“Er...you will. And there are more bracelets for your upper arms, but they’re a good deal more solid.”

 

She eyeballed him. There seemed to be a great deal more jewelry than that in that tote, and there was a whole other unopened one, plus whatever was in the one that had held the clothing. “Am I going to have to change out of all’v this and into something else between the ceremony and reception?” she asked, deeply suspicious.

 

“...Yes,” he admitted. “But you’ll have Indira to help you. She actually knows what she’s doing.” He knelt to find the nath, carefully sorting through the boxes. Before he found it, though, he came up with what looked like a long string of hair brooches, gold and garnet. “If you braid your hair, this attaches to it,” he said, holding it out to her.

 

This thing weighed at least five pounds, if not more. How did Hindu brides  _ move _ ? She had at least five pounds on both her arms alone, and that was before whatever heavier bracelets were for her upper arms. Christ knew what was going to go on her ankles. If you tossed her in a pool, she’d sink like a stone. The dress itself, with all that embroidery, probably weighed another four or five on its own.

 

Ratiri helped her take out her earrings and nose ring so she could put in the nath, and then, out of sheer impishness, said, “Thranduil, if you have it handy, would you mind getting Lorna’s headpiece?” She would have no idea she wore an Elven crown, and he would never, ever tell her. Considering she’d never know she was about to marry into a family whose ancestry would technically make her a princess, it was fitting.

 

Wide-eyed, Thranduil did his best to dissemble. “Certainly,” he said, electing to simply take Eleniel with him. Once out their door, he made a mad dash for his vault, with his giggling daughter relishing this special bouncy ride with her adar. For the first time in her new life, she did not care where Ithiliel was. Thranduil observed this in her mind, wondering if this was good, or ill. At the door, he whispered to her. “We will see pretty things, Eleniel, but we are in a hurry.” Walking in, he proceeded straight to the object in question, resting on a velvet cushion. With a great sigh, he lifted the precious thing in his hands. Much like Anguirel, that this had survived, and eventually become the possession of Oropher was something of a miracle...and yet, what good was it doing locked in this vault? It was here because what was old gave way to unwanted change, and she who wore it once would not be wanting it back. The King held it over his daughter’s head, smiling. “I am afraid that you will never have the need of this, little one. Your life will not have to be defined by the obligation and the weight of duty. It is for the best, and when you are older, adar will have something just as beautiful made for you and your sister to wear. Just because.” He kissed the delighted girl, who reached out with her eyes wide to touch the mithril and yellow gold, set with dozens of garnets and rubies. Hurrying back, he resumed his seat.

 

Earlene said nothing, showed no outward reaction, but at the sight of what her husband had in his hand, the breath left her lungs.  _ If that is a headdress, my law degree came out of a Cracker Jack box _ , she thought, even as she tried to muddle her thoughts.  _ That is a crown, an elven crown _ … and with the understanding that it was to be given to Lorna, it was all she could do to stuff feelings of full blown jealousy somewhere beyond reach. She was now deeply sorry that she had asked to see more, and distracted herself by petting Ithiliel’s silky dark hair. It would not be the first time in her life it was required to appear devoid of emotion.

 

“Here,” Thranduil said, handing the item to Ratiri. “I believe it will suit?”

 

Ratiri had to fight very, very hard not to stare at it. Mithril and gold, a delicate filigree like almost all the Elven crowns he had seen, set with rubies and garnets. It was made so that a garnet would rest just in the center of Lorna’s forehead, and it would go absolutely  _ perfectly  _ with the dupatta. Carefully he took it off her hair and set the crown on her head, making certain it was properly seated before bringing the dupatta back up and settling it much further back on the top of her head, so that it wouldn’t obscure the crown.

 

“I’m sorry, Lorna, but for once you are a doll. You just need to accept it.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him, but she wasn’t displeased. As awkward as she felt this getup, there was no denying it was beautiful, and she carefully ran her fingers over the embroidery. This must have taken someone  _ weeks _ , if not months. “Ratiri, allanah, this is lovely,” she said. “All’v it. And I’ll admit, I’m still scared shitless to wear it, but I’m kind’v honored to, too. Especially since I might be the last woman in the family it’d fit.” If Chandra had any luck in the world, she’d wind up taller than her mam. Hopefully considerably taller. This...Lorna’s family didn’t have this. The closest thing was Gran’s wedding dress, which had be made of silk stolen from England. They didn’t have history this rich, that was for damn sure.

 

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Legend has it that my grandmother tripped and landed right in the middle of some unknown dish at her reception. Took months to get the stain out, but they did it. It’s partially why there’s the second outfit now.”

 

“I’ll do my best to stay away from food and flames. Except isn’t there a bit where we have to walk around a ceremonial fire?” Oh,  _ that  _ was a terrifying thought.

 

“There is, but we can just stay quite  _ far  _ from the fire.”

Marshalling her thoughts into compartments with locked doors, Earlene smiled. Lorna was lovely. Beautiful beyond words. There should be a photo. “Someone snap a picture of this,” she murmured. “It belongs in a scrapbook. You might want to send it along to Mairead, too. I can’t be the only one in your family that will be proud as hell to see you like this.” It was Earlene’s way. She felt hurt and miserable on some level, and that was being managed the only way she knew how; to try and cause someone else to feel as good as she herself did not. Why this was even bothering her, was what could not be pinned down exactly. Thranduil had offered her his riches, and she had refused those things. So what was the difference, here? This could not be thought of right now, because keeping this from her husband was taking too much effort. God there were times, only every now and then, she hated the lack of mental privacy, and this was one of them.

 

Thranduil was not oblivious, and had caught the strong emotion from Earlene that was quickly shuttered away. A tiny bit of him was a little annoyed; his hand had been forced on this sooner than he had anticipated. And yet his wife had done nothing wrong; she did not know anything about...this. She hid her mind from him, which was a sure sign that she was upset, but this was not the time or place to find what had gone wrong.  _ Firith _ . He loved them both, but had no recollection of ellith being so...complicated. 

 

Ratiri didn’t need much urging; he took his phone and snapped several pictures, though it was impossible for Lorna to look anything but rather awkward. That was less the fault of the clothes she wore than the fact that she was always a touch awkward when someone took her picture, unless she wasn’t expecting it. 

 

“Okay, now can I take this off before I rip something?” she asked, almost plaintively. “I’ll practice wearing some’v the jewelry, but the less opportunity I have to wreck the fabric, the better.”

 

“You’re hopeless,” Ratiri said, though he helped her out of the necklaces while she carefully took off the bangles. Once back in the bedroom, he helped her out of the lehenga so she could put on her own clothes again, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She could already tell that wearing that would be nerve-wracking.

 

She rubbed her neck as she went back into the lounge. Either she was going to have to take a muscle relaxer before she put all that on for real, or Thranduil was going to have to stick nearby, because all that was going to give her a headache in a hurry. “I’ll be a body-builder, by the time I’m through with this. I’d guess the whole lot’v it weighs a good thirty pounds all together -- and that’s apart from whatever I’d be wearing at the reception.”

 

“Close to that,” Ratiri admitted. “Hindu brides tend to be very strong.”

 

“They’d have to be, to move around in all that.” She paused, and looked at Earlene. “Do Hindu brides have bridesmaids?”

 

“Not traditionally, but the custom has been imported,” Ratiri said, already seeing where this was going. “We would need to start sewing and ordering now, however.” How many was she going to want? Earlene and Mairead were the obvious choices, but would she also want Orla, or Niamh?

 

“Hmm. Earlene, would you want to be a bridesmaid? We can dress you up in pretty things and you can have, I dunno, extra cake in place of extra wine? I really need to brush up on this whole ceremony.” And of course this had nothing to do with wanting to dress Earlene up like a doll. Of course not. With her coloring, she’d look beautiful in a deep blue.

 

Earlene’s mouth opened. “Really? I would love that,” she said, now feeling even more rotten about her emotional state and her reactions. “If it’s ok that...I will start to show soon, but it shouldn’t be too bad until July is over with....it would be an honor.” The words were sincere; she had never been asked to be in a wedding  _ anything _ , in her entire life.

 

“Pfff, you’re preggers -- why hide it?” Lorna said. “Next time we’re out at the cottage, we’ll have to Google some ideas for dresses, or saris, or...well, you know. There’s a load’v terminology I need to memorize...and then there’s Mairead.” Her grin at the idea of informing her sister was a touch too pleased, but her expression went serious again. “I won’t be so afraid to be up there in front’v all those people if I’m not alone. I’ll be bloody glad to have you with me.”

 

“Speaking of that, Earlene, I have something for you,” Ratiri said, rooting through the tote until he found a small box. “This was my mother’s. It’s called a harmony ball -- women in many southern Asian countries wear them while they’re pregnant. Supposedly the sound is good for a fetus. I have no idea how medically sound that is, but I highly doubt it hurts.” Within the box was an orb made out of delicate silver filigree, on a long silver chain. Captured inside the orb was both a smooth moonstone and a small chime that rang softly each time it was moved. He handed it to Earlene.

 

Thranduil could see that his wife was speechless, so he took it from Ratiri with thanks and placed it around her neck. “Thank you,” she finally spit out.  _ Something for her? For the baby? _ Her fingers grasped onto it, the gesture simply refusing to register.

 

With smiles they stood up to leave so they could feed their children at their own rooms. Thranduil felt he had to say one thing to Ratiri in parting. Two things, actually.   _ Earlene is overwhelmed, and deeply appreciates your gift. Please excuse her inability to express that just now. And, I do not need to tell you that my gift to Lorna is valuable. On some distant day, there is a conversation that we should have. But I wish you to know something. Please prepare yourself, so that you do not choke. That is the crown of Melian, of Menegroth. You of all persons would appreciate this understanding. We will speak more at another time.  _ With that, Thranduil saw his family out the door and closed it behind him, having too thoroughly enjoyed the expression on Ratiri’s face. So he could not resist some things. He shrugged, grinning.

 

Ratiri didn’t actually choke, but it was a very, very near thing. That... _ Jesus _ . No, he could never, ever tell Lorna, or she would never dare wear it. Why  _ that  _ one? He was entirely certain Thranduil had his reasons, and equally certain the ellon would say nothing of them, at least not yet.

 

“Let’s get these two fed,” he said. What the hell had his life become? No, seriously. He wasn’t sure, but he also wasn’t complaining.

 

*****

 

Earlene’s awkwardness increased on the walk back to their rooms; she could practically feel her husband’s eyes on her. Once they were inside, and Thanadir had helped settle the twins to nurse, she folded. “I am sorry for my reaction, Thranduil. It does no good to try to hide from you, but it is very frustrating sometimes, that my thoughts are never private.”

 

The King regarded his wife, whereas Thanadir simply listened, having no idea what was the matter but feeling rather assured he was about to find out.

 

“Meluieg, you do not have to apologize. I told you long ago that I determined not to be my father. I do not wish to know your thoughts to censure you. But I would like to understand. Even so, I am not going to force or require you to discuss this if you would prefer not.” He stood up to come near her and kiss her in reassurance.

 

She sighed. “Thank you. I am...embarrassed, for how I felt. I do not mind talking about it, though, I do not understand why I reacted that way. I was jealous, of seeing what you were giving Lorna, though I do not understand my own feelings. It is not as though you have not offered me the jewels in your vault. I refused them. Usually I am the first one to be sincerely happy, when something nice is done for Lorna. She has had so little, and sure god she was beautiful, in all those lovely clothes and ornaments. But…” Earlene floundered, trying to comprehend what had transpired. “That was no ordinary item, and for some reason, I felt...disregarded, though nothing could be further from the truth. And that is why I am sorry; I have no right to feel this way when you have given me so much. You have given me everything, Thranduil. That is the best I can do, for now. Perhaps more insight will come later.”

 

“It is I, who am sorry, Earlene. There were things Sharley has told me that I have not shared with you fully. You are right, that was not an ordinary object. That was Melian’s crown.”

 

“Valar,” said Earlene, her eyes widening as she now felt jealous all over again. “Is my heart so frail?” she asked, becoming even more disturbed than before at her reactions.

 

Thanadir frowned at the King, equally not understanding or caring, except to see how much this was upsetting Earlene while she was nursing, and was on the verge of speaking up about it.

 

“No, it is not...please, both of you, hear me out? What I have not told you is that Sharley has shown me Lorna’s future. When we have departed as the Valar require, Lorna will be the one to rule the people we will leave behind. There will be a committee of some kind to help her, certainly, but for all practical purposes she will be a Queen where I have been a King. I am tasked with…” he cast his eyes down in frustration at the sheer difficulty, “...guiding her to an acceptance of her role and why it is necessary. Lorna does not know what that crown is, nor will she for a very long time. It is necessary for now, that she believe it is part of the riches belonging to Ratiri’s family. But a time will come when she must step into my shoes, so to speak, whether she wishes it or not. I thought it fitting. There were few elven queens, through our history. That she will rule over these Halls, once we have departed...I wish for something of us to remain with her. With them. I hope you can understand. That and, I too have my sense of humor. Earlene, if you wish to be acknowledged more as my Queen, I am only too glad to do so…”

 

Earlene waved her hand in even more embarrassment. “Please, no. We all know that nothing could be more ridiculous. I am not about to take on airs over your people when they are in every way...just please, no. There are times when we mortals have emotions that are not in line with wisdom or even common sense. I am not immune to this, as much as I would like to be, so…”

 

“Meldis, I understand,” Thanadir said soothingly, massaging at her shoulders. “Perhaps too much fuss is being made about nothing.”

 

“I hope so,” she answered, leaning back into his touch.”Thank you for telling me this, Thranduil, though it was not...you did not have to. Honestly, perhaps it is better if I just stop talking. This is the problem with human thoughts. Not all of them are worth having. And yet, it is not as if some button exists, by which to rid oneself of the ones with which we would most like to dispense.”

 

This last set of statements interested Thranduil. Though the words were different, it seemed very similar to what Ratiri had struggled with, when the fell victim to emotions that he had considered to be very undesirable. Rather than be irritated, these admissions increased his admiration for his mortal friends. The good-hearted ones among their race struggled with each other, and with their very selves, in a manner few elves could comprehend. Thanadir was perhaps an exception to this; more given to experiencing these unusual emotions than any other elf he knew. Maybe this accounted for his seneschal’s compassion, in this regard.  “Even from this, I am learning, Earlene,” he said, sitting next to her to softly stroke her arm. “Thank you, for your openness, and your willingness to share even that which is difficult.”

 

“Always happy to help,” she snorted, her hand again wrapping around Ratiri’s gift.  _ For little Thaladir _ , she thought.

 

“Meluieg, I think we should tell Thanadir. You are not going to change your mind. This much, I can see.”

 

“Tell me what?” the seneschal asked.

 

“Come here, Thanadir. Sit next to Earlene.”

 

With extreme confusion, he did as he was asked. Thranduil reached over Earlene’s lap to take Thanadir’s hand, and laid it on her belly, so that he could feel the unmistakable swelling that would grow into a baby. “We have named our son, meldir. He will be called Thaladir. To honor you.”

 

Thanadir froze, even as his heart leaped to feel the growing child inside his meldis. He did not move, or speak, but very soon tears were streaming down his face.

 

“I listened to your words, Thanadir,” Earlene said carefully. “They affected my heart. There is little I can do for you that you cannot manage better on your own, except this. Our children are yours as well, and we mean that very sincerely. Beside my husband, there is no one in this world I treasure more, which is why this name will bring me great joy. You are loved, meldir.” She could not lean over to hug him on account of the twins, but did cup his cheek with her hand.

 

“Thank you,” he wept, inconsolably happy. “With all my heart, thank you.”

 

“No, Thanadir,” said Thranduil in all sincerity. “Thank  _ you _ .”

 


	70. Seventy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 13-14, 2017

 

Yes, she was probably going overboard. But Lorna was meeting her brother’s child for the first time, ever, and what kid didn’t like frosted cookies? She’d baked them the day before, with her cookie cutters for different shapes of leaves. Oak, maple, and stars thrown in for good measure. Earlene made the icing in seven different colors and brought out toothpicks. With a fascinated Thanadir watching, she carefully piped the colors out of her decorating bottles and used the toothpicks to create ‘veins’ in the leaves with a different color of green. For the maple, she used autumn colors to imitate the turning of the season. “Can I do that?” he asked, with pleading in his voice.

 

 _Perfect. Exactly the hoped-for result,_ Earlene smiled. “Yes. I am sure you will be far better at it. The trick is that if you wish to blend the colors, do so before the icing can harden. You have perhaps thirty seconds.”

 

The seneschal eagerly traded places with her. In an instant, his focus was absolute as he distributed the icing from the diminutive plastic bottles.

 

“If you make a mistake, just eat the cookie,” Earlene encouraged, patting him on the back.

 

Lorna, remembering Pat quite well, had been smart and bought a jar of poitín -- the forty percent, not ninety percent, because he did have to drive later. It wasn’t elf wine, but it was familiar, and reminded her very much of the first time she’d ever had any -- she’d been twelve, he sixteen, and he’d stolen some from a shop. The pair of them plus Siobhan had got drunk as lords, and of course very sick the morning after. That had been her hard lesson in why a morning-after was called such. It was a miracle she’d ever drank the stuff again.

 

By now she was not surprised that Earlene would go above and beyond on something like this; seriously, one of these days Lorna needed to get her and Mairead together, and turn them loose with baking supplies. “Those’re so pretty it’s almost a shame to eat them.” Not that that was likely to stop anyone, so she pulled out her mobile and snapped some pictures. At least they could be preserved for posterity.

 

“I don’t make these too often,” she mused. “Usually at holidays, because they can be a nice time to do...well let’s face it, they are an excuse to have Art Therapy. To me the entire point of it is to enjoy coloring the cookies, and then later people scarf them down. Maybe it’s even ephemeral art, who even knows. But my guess is, these will be the prettiest ones ever seen, and Pinterest is about to get burned.”

 

“Ephemeral art...bit like the Tibetan sand thingies,” Lorna said, and had to try so very hard not to steal one of those lovely cookies for herself. “Mandalas, or whatever they’re called.”

 

“Exactly. So...are you going to drop the elf bomb on him today?” She poured tea for both of them, and Thanadir. They were well past the trivial question of whether or not the tea was wanted.

 

“I might as well,” Lorna said. “You lot’re so much a part’v my life, and I won’t edit it. He can handle it. I think. Thrandiul’ll know if he can’t.” She shook her head. “At first, I found Thranduil’s telepathy a horrifying concept, but now it’s just so bloody useful.”

 

Earlene chuckled. “You’ve no idea how terrified I was about you finding out about that. I was sure it’d be a deal-breaker for you. Hell I remember when _I_ found out. How things change...but I knew we’d no right to lie about it, however awkward all that was at first. Anyway. I guess the timetable’s short anyway. I mean, you’re going to invite him to the wedding, right? Can’t exactly have him come to the Halls without...knowing.”

 

“It actually might’ve been a deal-breaker, if he and I hadn’t had the conversation we did,” Lorna said. “As it is, now I get a bit annoyed when I go back to Baile and have to actually use my words again.” She finally just backed away from the cookies. “And exactly. Best get blowing his mind over with before then. Him _and_ my niece. I have a _niece_. Another one.” That fact pleased her immensely. “All right, d’you need a hand with anything?”

 

Shrugging, she looked around. “I didn’t really do much, because of him saying he’d not be able to stay long. Cookies, booze, and...there’s some frozen pretzels I could pop in the oven for nibbles, but those seem weird somehow. And the cookies were because I heard the word ‘child’. Is that...enough?”

 

Lorna laughed. “I think so,” she said, even as her mobile pinged. She fished it out of her pocket. “Pat’s reached the village, he ought to be here soon. Christ, I’ve never showed you a picture’v the four’v us, have I?” Setting the mobile on the counter, she fished her wallet out of her other pocket. There was only one existing photograph of the lot of them, to her knowledge; the one she took out of her wallet was worn and dog-eared. The film had been cheap to begin with even before it went for a swim with her in the Shannon, so the colors were rather faded, but it showed the four of them lined up out front of the primary school: Pat had been twelve, Siobhan ten, her eight, and Mick just four. Their clothes were clean, even if that was all that could be said of them, and the four did look so alike that even she had to admit it was a bit creepy. If they’d all been the same gender, one might have mistaken them for clones, save for her eyes; and even as it was, they were all short and scrawny. “People used to ask if we were aliens, and that was why we looked so much alike,” she said, handing the picture to Earlene. “Keep in mind, our mam looked like Mairead.”

 

“Oh, wow...you know, I’d give a lot to know what Aidan Donovan looked like. Makes me wonder...your da’s genes must’ve run very strong. Or even to know what my gran’s parents looked like. You...I look at you sometimes and think I see a bit of gran, and then I’m not so sure. I guess that was the problem with being dirt poor, when photos cost probably a lot by comparison.” The rumble of an engine outside could be heard. “Well, that’s either Pat, or Ian got a new lorry.”

 

“At least it sounds like it’s kept up,” Lorna said, listening. She tucked the photo back into her wallet and headed outside. The day didn’t seem like it could be able to pick sunshine or clouds, so it had been trying both on for size, but now it was sunny. An old, dull red Dodge pulled up the drive, a truck far too big for someone as short as Pat, and yet it was Pat driving. In the passenger seat was a girl so tiny Lorna could only see the crown of her head over the dashboard.

 

He pulled up behind her van and parked, and had to actually jump to get out of the truck. The little girl did the same, shrieking laughter as her da caught her.

 

“Christ, isn’t this beautiful,” he said. “Getting out’v the city was good, wasn’t it?”

 

“I sure as hell don’t miss it,” Lorna said. “And who’s this one?”

 

“This is Saoirse,” he said, setting the little girl down. She looked rather disturbingly like Lorna at that age, right down to the long hair and vivid green eyes, and the fact that she was little bigger than a child maybe half her age. “Named her after Mam, but she came out looking like you.”

 

“Hi,” Saoirse said, a little shyly. “You’re my aunt?”

 

“I am. You’ve got another aunt, too, but she’s not here, and I won’t inflict her on you yet. C’mon, you two, there’s food. Including biscuits so pretty I had to take a picture’v them.”

 

In she led them, setting tiny Saoirse up onto a kitchen chair so she could actually see everyone. “You lot, this is Saoirse. She’s Pat’s girl.”

 

Thanadir stood up, enchanted at the sight of the beautiful child. Earlene was behind the counter, and came around, kneeling down to the Saoirse’s eye level. “I am Earlene. I’m related to you too, but very distantly. Lorna and I share great-grandda’s. Maybe even great-great-grandda’s, I still get confused. And this is Thanadir. He is my husband’s brother. The rest of our family is nearby, because we are building a new house. Would you like to have tea and cookies?”

 

“So we’re...what’s it, cousins?” Saoirse asked, brow furrowing.

 

“What is it, second once removed?” Lorna said. “You’ve got five more out at the building site, but let’s have some biscuits first at least.”

 

Saoirse’s eyes widened -- Jesus, the more of them she saw in someone else’s face, the more Lorna realized why they unsettled people. “More cousins? Holy shit.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, while Pat groaned. “Saoirse, allanah, I’ve told you you can’t say ‘shit’ like that in front’v -- oh, bloody hell.”

 

That only made Lorna laugh even harder, having to lean against the counter to support herself. “Oh, she’s one’v us,” she managed, between giggles. “Poor Earlene here, I’ve already corrupted her eldest’s vocabulary, try though I have not to.”

 

“Sorry,” Saoirse said. “I mean holy, um...something.” Evidently this kid was every bit as eloquent as the previous generation of Donovans, too.

 

Earlene was shaking with laughter. “So, I should explain. A long time ago, Aidan Donovan, that was the name of the man who is our common ancestor. But I had a brother Aidan, named after him, and he had a daughter, Allanah. She is my daughter now, because her da passed on. While I’d like it if we don’t add to the bad words Allanah already has on her list, I half don’t know what difference it would make. She’s only a year and a half, and cusses like a sailor.”

 

“She’s definitely a Donovan, too,” Pat said, shaking his head. “This one’s first word was ‘motherfucker’,” he added, poking Lorna.

 

“Because they needed to know that,” Lorna said, only now realizing that there were all kinds of horrible stories he could tell about the crap they’d got up to as kids. “Eat a biscuit.” He didn’t stuff one in his mouth, but it was a near thing.

 

“Oooh, pretty.” At least he paused and admired it before he ate it. “How’d you find out you were related?”

 

“New York,” she said. “We went through Ellis Island while we were there, and I did a bit’v digging once we’d got home. Just wait’ll you meet Mairead. She looks like Mam, but she’s a bit’v a battle-axe.”

 

Saoirse took a biscuit examining it thoroughly. “How did you do that?” she asked Earlene. “They look like paintings.”

 

Seeing that Thanadir had not done every cookie, she answered, “Do you want Thanadir to teach you? He will show you how he does one, and you can try. They turn out like that when you use toothpicks to move the colors of icing around while it is still liquid. Thanadir is very nice, and patient.”

 

The little girl’s eyes widened. “Can I? I love baking shite, but we don’t usually have the right stuff, and I just know off of YouTube.”

 

“Saoirse, allanah, will you not think before you talk?” Pat groaned.

 

“Da, you never do,” she said, completely guileless; she truly didn’t know what that sounded like. “...Do you?” Her tone indicated that if he did, it was hard to tell.

 

Thanadir knelt down too to the girl’s eye level, and extended his hand in greeting. “It is nice to meet you. Would you like to sit at the table with me? All the bottles are there with the icing.” Earlene noted that his ears were, well, rather incredibly visible just now. _Whatever._

 

“Nice to meet you, too,” she said, shaking his hand. Hers was absolutely dwarfed by his. “I would.” She stared at those ears, hard, frowning slightly, but said nothing. Yet.

 

“C’mon, Pat, there’s something to show you,” Lorna said. “Earlene, d’you want to come to the new house? Some things might be easier explained there.”

 

“You’re very mysterious,” Pat said, eying her. “D’you grow drugs or something?”

 

“Nothing that illegal,” she said, poking him. “Nothing illegal at all, really.”

 

“Sure, I’ll come. I need to check that the girls are half-cooperating with Lothiriel anyway. Saoirse can stay here, she’s as safe as houses right where she is.”

 

“Don’t make a mess, allanah,” Pat said, ruffling her hair. Lorna caught him glancing at Thanadir’s ears, too, and his subtle frown was rather like his daughter’s. Not being a child, however, she could watch his brain shrug it off. “Lothiriel. That’s a pretty name -- where’s it from?”

 

Lorna looked at Earlene. “Long story,” she said. “C’mon, go.” She poked him in the back, all but shoving him toward the back door. “Out with you.”

 

Thanadir patiently showed Saoirse how he colored a maple leaf, and used a toothpick to sweep the colors into each other. “You try, now,” he said, smiling encouragingly. Her eyes were so pretty, just like Lorna’s.

 

Saoirse watched intently, tongue between her teeth, and very carefully copied his directions. The problem -- well, the biggest problem -- was that she was left-handed, so she had to copy from the opposite side. The result was nowhere near as good as Thanadir’s, but it wasn’t actually bad, either. “That’s a lot harder than it looks.”

 

“She’s got a friend for life,” Lorna whispered, and actually bodily shoved her brother out the back door. “Go, you.”

 

Go he did, grumbling a bit, but he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his daughter and that extremely serene man. With very odd ears. He’d heard of people getting surgery like that, though he’d never met anyone who’d had it done.

 

“Today’s your day off?” Earlene asked Pat by way of small talk. “Part day off?” Not original, but sometimes making conversation was like that. Were she to guess, Lorna meant to herd her brother toward Thranduil. _Quite the clan we are, taking the outsider to the Village Chief._ Part of it was just...funny, all the things that were now so normal to the bunch of them. He seemed amiable enough; he’d probably not be horrified.

 

“Part day. I’ve got the night shift -- I’m in after closing to do inventory.” He said the word with such moroseness that it was all Lorna could do not to laugh.

 

“Where does Saoirse stay, when you work all night?” she asked.

 

“My neighbor and I swap babysitting -- I take her daughter if she’s got night work. None’v us have got anything a consistent schedule, of bloody course. Tourists.” _That_ made Lorna quite grateful the schedules at Jamie’s had always been regular. “What is it you do, Earlene? Would’ve thought my sister here was a bloody odd choice’v a PA.”

 

“Shut it, you,” Lorna said, giving him yet another poke.

 

“Oh, I like to call myself the Queen of Everything and Nothing, these days,” she joked without joking. “Mostly, I’m a mother. I’m from the States, as you can guess. I used to be a solicitor in New York, and I wanted to move here. That happened over a year ago. I always keep busy. Our house, that you’re going to see, we’ve all put in quite a lot of work on it.” Today Earlene wore human clothes, and while they were rather plain, the jewelry store that glittered at her throat was not. “And, your sister is a woman of many talents. She wasn’t odd at all; she’s perfect. Do you know that when we went to New York, she had two job offers from those in my former circle? That doesn’t happen to just anyone. I’m just glad she didn’t want to leave us.”

 

Lorna choked a bit at ‘Queen of Everything and Nothing’; Earlene was going to have fun with this, it seemed. “I insulted a drunk woman in Irish and led her off back to her husband like a toddler,” she said, by way of explanation.

 

Pat burst out laughing. “Of bloody course you did.” He was trying not to eye Earlene’s necklace, because even he had better manners than that, but it did seem kind of out-of-place with the rest of her clothes. Massive bling, some lad who’d had cosmetic surgery, all in a tiny, lovely cottage in the middle of nowhere...Lorna had certainly found herself something interesting, even if he didn’t understand half of it yet. “At least you didn’t make her cry.”

 

“Wrong venue,” she said. “Believe it or not, I _can_ be…” She almost said ‘subtle’, except there was no way to say that with a straight face. “...not loud.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrows raised. Her determination to boost her friend wasn’t nearly exhausted yet. Fishing out her mobile, she quietly opened her photo app and scrolled until she found the one of Lorna, the night of the party in New York City. Never mind that they’d managed to turn up a balrog; that was beside the point.

 

“Did you go and grow up on me, Fun Size?” he asked, something rather like pride in his voice.

 

“Only in the last year. Earlene hired me, and it’s just kind’v been...happening.” She couldn’t mention all the other things that had been done for her. Not yet.

 

“Here is your sister when she’s all cleaned up”, Earlene said with unabashed pride in her voice, as she handed Pat her mobile.

 

Pat looked at it, and at Lorna, who now looked rather embarrassed. “You got out, Lorna,” he said, glancing back down at the picture. “You’re the one’v us that did.”

 

“You hardly turned out like Da,” she pointed out.

 

“I mop up sick in a pub. You’ve actually...Christ, you know what I mean. Done something. Something real. Wasn’t sure any’v us would’ve managed that, way back when.”

 

“She’s the reason,” Lorna said, pointing at Earlene. “Earlene gave me the chance, and all but poked me every time I thought I couldn’t do it.” She poked Pat, yet again, and took the phone away. “I’d forgot you took pictures’v that. Ratiri said you sent him one with a smiley face.”

 

“Guilty,” smiled Earlene. “And, this will be all of our new home, if we can ever finish the thing. You already met my husband, Thranduil. Sort of. He’ll be in here somewhere, with Ratiri and the others.” Ushering Pat inside, they followed a series of thunking noises to find Ratiri and Thranduil wrangling what appeared to be a tree trunk so heavy that both of their muscles were straining and well-defined with the effort. Both were wearing t-shirts, leveraging the object into position where other elves waited to switch out this piece for a far less attractive timber that was currently serving the job of being a load-bearing beam. It was another one of the many truly beautiful accents in this home that had needed precise measuring and trimming, in order to fit into its intended destination. “So that’s why we spent so much time rubbing oil into that thing,” Earlene murmured in amazement. And, damn.” The last comment really needed no explanation. However much Earlene was capable of only having desire for Thranduil, she was not blind. Ratiri looked...just... _damn._

 

“And yet I can’t grab his arse right now,” Lorna sighed. At least she could _look_. Ratiri hadn’t exactly been unfit to begin with, but all this work on the house had left him more ripped than one might realize. If only she could get him to take his shirt off.

 

“Have to say, you picked a good one,” Pat said, but he had eyes only for the house. He’d never seen such a dwelling, even from the outside. “How did you design this place? Have you been building it yourselves? It’s -- Christ, Lorna, d’you remember when we were kids, and Mam read us _The Hobbit_ , and we wanted to live in a hobbit hole? This isn’t a hole, but it’s a bit like what we designed.”

 

Lorna barely, _barely_ managed to avoid bursting out laughing, because oh was Pat in for a surprise. “I do,” she said. “The house has been kind’v a communal design, and we’ve been working on a lot’v it, but a friend’v mine had her construction crews out to do the things we can’t.” Why the hell was her fiance so attractive? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair_ . They were supposed to be bringing her brother in, and yet all she could think about was how much she’d really like to lick Ratiri... _Sorry, Thranduil._

 

“We all told him what we wanted, and Thanadir drew out the plans for it,” Earlene added. “And you’re closer than you know. It’s not a hobbit-hole. It’s an elven treehouse.” Even Earlene was finding Ratiri distracting, which seemed vaguely disturbing. It made her feel better, that Thranduil was far _more_ distracting, but this was hardly the time to go into heat. _Get a grip, Earlene._

 

“An elven treehouse?” Pat repeated. It wasn’t in a tree, which was the only definition of a treehouse he’d ever heard of -- but then, there were elements of trees _in_ it. And...elves? (He had to admit, even he was slightly distracted by Lorna’s fiance, though, and he was about as straight as they came. He was secure enough in his own masculinity to be able to admire another bloke every now and again.)

 

“Yes.” Earlene was in a particularly serene mood. “The wood elves have a building technique called _galadhremmin_ . It means, ‘woven with trees’. This home is designed to reflect that merging of beloved trees into the space for living, without being quite so dramatic as living up in a _talan._ We sort’v didn’t want the kids all having broken arms, either. As it is I’m sure they’ll find enough to climb on around here; my oldest already took a tumble here once and hurt her wrist.”

 

Pat looked at Lorna for clarification, wondering just what in mother fuck was actually going on here. Lorna figured she’d take her cue from Earlene, and just be blunt. “Turns out _The Hobbit_ and all Tolkien’s other shite was based off real things,” she said. “These’re the Wood-Elves from _The Hobbit_ , and this is what’s left’v their woods. No giant spiders, thank bloody God. That one, Thranduil, he’s in charge’v the lot’v them.” She wasn’t going to say ‘king’ until Pat had more of a chance to actually _talk_ to Thranduil; a few minutes’ chatting at a pub didn’t quite count. And while she had to stop herself staring at Ratiri, she was somewhat horrified by the realization that Thranduil actually did, in fact, have a nice arse. It actually made her twitch, because _no_ , _wrong_ , _abort, need brain bleach_ . The fact that she caught him grin when she thought it made her want to crawl into a hole and die of both squick and embarrassment. Because that was _so_ helpful.

 

“Thranduil -- wasn’t he their king?” Pat asked, mercifully saving her from her sudden mental disturbance.

 

“He is, but it’s not like that,” she said. Seriously, though, that was _wrong._ Given that Thranduil had Pat-status...ugh, she didn’t need to be thinking about her _other_ brother’s arse, either. “It’s -- well, a long story, and best told with some food and booze, but see the house first.”

 

Pat turned this over -- all of it. Lorna wouldn’t lie; one of these men had pointy ears; and all of them that he could see were rather improbably attractive, including Lorna’s obviously human fiance. “Prove it,” he said, echoing so many before him. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Fun Size, but...well, Christ, you’ve told me elves are real. I need to see...something. Anything.”

 

Lorna looked at Earlene. “How do we want to do this?”

 

“Hm. So many options. The Halls of the elven realm are about twenty minutes’ walk into the forest. That’s where we all actually live right now. Or, my husband can read your mind and tell you what you are thinking. There are also things like causing you to see what isn’t there, but that one tends to offend people. And he can heal injuries too, but then that means having an injury to heal. Personally I’d opt for seeing the Halls, but it’s your choice. Oh, and I think he can light things on fire without matches too, but if it were me I’d think that might somehow be a parlor trick. You are our guest...what sounds best?”

 

Lorna sobered a bit. “Show him your back, Pat. What he can do...you can’t fake it. He’s healed things on me, but nothing I had when you knew me. You’ve still got the scars, haven’t you?”

 

“As if those’d ever fade,” he said bitterly, staring at nothing. “Are you serious, Lorna? You really, honestly mean this?”

 

She touched his hand. “Pat, would I lie about that?”

 

Shaking his head, he looked back at her. “I know you wouldn’t lie about anything, but….”

 

“Trust me, Pat. Trust him. Mine all faded years ago, but yours...you shouldn’t have them anymore. You don’t _need_ to have them anymore. Will you let him fix it?”

 

His hesitation just about broke her heart, because she understood it well. There was a vulnerability in revealing some types of scars, and they were not of the stock that easily allowed vulnerability. In this moment he was the boy she’d known, who’d tried so hard to protect his little sisters and brother, no matter how futile his efforts, or what abuse he received in doing so. The boy she’d patched up, even in the face of his insistence he didn’t need any help. “I will.”

 

_Thranduil, will you help him? I’ll warn you, it was bad, years ago. Really bad. It could well still be._

 

_Of course I will. Right after the ellyn above us tell me I may stop what I am doing without our roof falling on our heads...and Lorna, if it would help him, you may tell him of what my own father did. I can see his difficulty._

 

“If it makes it any easier, Thranduil’s da did the same thing to him,” she said, and watched him blink at this revelation. She too had been surprised by the idea of elven child abuse. “He’s done a lot for me too, Pat. The things on the inside.”

 

“Not all elves are good, Pat. All the ones here are, but in their history some have gone...very wrong. Lost their moral centers, somehow. Thranduil’s father was one of them,” Earlene quietly explained. The poor man looked so, so adrift.

 

“You’ll not get what we all dread,” Lorna said. “He won’t pity you. That’s not how he works. He just...helps. You, you’ve got your scars, but you remember how broken I was in the mind though, right? What I used to do, when I got angry?”

 

“You mean, like smashing out Donal Murphy’s teeth for calling Mick a pikey? Yeah, I remember that,” he said, pulled a little out of his thoughts. “I never did know where you found that half-brick.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, I don’t do that anymore. Thranduil and Thanadir fixed whatever was wrong in my upper storey. They can do all sorts’v shite, and Thranduil...he gets it. He’s lived it. You’re not going to get pity from him.”

 

“You really don’t -- you really don’t do that...thing...anymore?” Pat asked, looking from her to Thranduil, and back again. “You used to even give Da a turn, when that’d happen. It was like somebody’d switched you off and left a monster in your place. _I_ was afraid’v you.”

 

“Because I needed to hear that,” she sighed. “Just...let him do his thing.”

 

“Please forgive the peculiar introduction,” Thranduil said when he approached, looking from Pat to the firith and back again. “There is never a good way to tell an outsider that elves exist, though I am becoming increasingly amused at the creativity you two are bringing to the effort.” Earlene and Lorna grinned happily in a manner that was too similar for comfort, actually. He rolled his eyes but his face was merry. “Give us a moment,” he said. Only then did his eyes turn fully toward Pat. _Perhaps you would be more comfortable somewhere without an immediate audience?_ He asked kindly. _This will not hurt in any manner, but I well remember not wishing others to look on what had happened to me._

 

Hearing Thranduil’s voice in his head made him jump, wide-eyed, and Lorna winced.

 

“Yeah, by the way, telepathy goes both ways,” she said. “Sorry. Should’ve mentioned that bit.”

 

“Would’ve helped,” he muttered, glowering at her. “If -- yeah, if there’s somewhere more private. Saoirse, she doesn’t know any’v that. I’d rather she never. Once we go, nobody’ll remember that bastard.”

 

“I pissed on his grave, if that makes you feel any better,” Lorna said blandly.

 

Pat blinked. “It does, actually. It really does.”

 

“Over here,” Thranduil gestured, indicating for Pat to follow him; there were many places in the relatively finished lower story where no one else was at work.

 

As she watched them walk off, Earlene frowned. “Y’know, I guess I’ve got to refine that bit. I assumed that if you tell someone that their thoughts can be heard, that they’d also figure it can go the other way ‘round. Apparently that’s not a given. Oops.”

 

Lorna looked back at her, unruffled. Both of them shrugged at the same time, unable to help being a little curious about what they were not seeing. Oh well, Pat was not a sideshow. “C’mon,” said Earlene. “Let’s at least have the decency to admire that bloody tree they just shoved into place.”

 

Thranduil stopped where there was a place to sit, though he did not know if it was required. “This is easiest, if I can see the damage. But if you would prefer not to remove your shirt, I will manage. I will need to touch your injured skin, though.” His voice was soft, confident.

 

“If you need to touch it, shirt’s got to go,” Pat said, trying not to be tense and totally failing. He’d lost relationships over the fact that he didn’t want anyone seeing his back. Pulling his T-shirt off was one of the harder things he’d ever done, because what was underneath them was something he preferred to forget. They were all at least thirty years old, but it was more scar than skin, long, deep strips, pale and ropey and ragged. Some were divots, long healed, running like valleys down or across, while others remained raised even now, light and grey with age, all the way from his shoulders to the small of his back. Da hadn’t just been fond of the belt, he’d been fond of the buckle end of it. Pat had goaded him, had taken the damage so the rest wouldn’t get it. It had worked, but the results…

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. He’d caught blurred images from the thoughts of both Lorna and her brother, but this… _Varda_. This was worse than what Oropher had doled out to him. Had he been mortal, he would have borne scars from the beatings he was dealt. But he did not believe they would have been this bad. “You will feel my hands. There will be warmth, and perhaps tingling. If you keep your eyes open, you may see light that grows very bright. Remain still, and do not speak.” Part of him wanted to cry, for what this family had endured. There might never be an end to the monsters that would do this to the children they should have cherished, but he thanked the Valar that it was given to him to help at least some of them. There was a deep satisfaction, in knowing that he was erasing a painful legacy, the physical reminder of which about to be banished for good. When he viewed his finished work, he smiled. Pat would do well enough here among them, though he would need the same time Lorna had required to...absorb it all. “It is done, Pat. What you did for your brothers and sisters...it was brave. And commendable.”

 

There had indeed been warmth, and light, and quite  honestly it had been a touch freaky -- but then Pat touched his shoulder, then the small of his back, and found only smooth, unbroken skin. Da had started with the belt so young that he couldn’t remember a time without scars. Turning, stunned, he looked at Thranduil. “It was the only thing I could’ve done,” he said quietly. He was almost stricken, but in a positive way, if such a thing could even be possible. “Mick, Siobhan, they never saw this. I never wanted anyone to, but Lorna’s -- I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s pushy. She’d knock me on my front and sit on me if she had to, to clean this mess up. She only knew what she saw, though. All’v them only knew. Da, he liked to punch in the kidneys. Hurts like a bastard for days. I don’t know what went wrong with him, or if he was born like that, but...I hope yours and mine’re burning in whatever passes for hell. That you’ve done this for me...I can’t thank you enough. I can never repay you enough.”

 

That it was even possible...it shouldn’t be. Shite like that wasn’t actually real, and yet he could feel the evidence for himself. He’d had scars, and now he did not. To be faced with something one could not argue with, something that couldn’t be explained away by the world as he knew it… Neither Pat nor his siblings had been terribly imaginative as children. Their life didn’t allow for it. Nevertheless, when Mam read them _The Hobbit_ , they’d played. They’d wished, so much, that it was real -- and to find out, thirty years later, that it actually _was_...it would have beggared belief, if he didn’t have the proof beneath his fingertips.

 

“You are welcome,” Thranduil said in a voice carefully modulated to not seem as though it were laced with pity or sympathy. Which was not the easiest, because he felt both of those things. “You owe me nothing. I am aware of how...unusual this is, in human experience. This is simply what was given to me as an ability; to the extent that I am able to help others, it would be wrong not to do what I can. I cannot help the entire world, but you are not that. You are the brother of my dear friend, and you did for her what family ought to do. Yet we both know that does not always occur. If the others were any indication, it will take you time to...absorb, that all this is real.” He smiled as he gestured in a manner that meant to include everything about his world. “No offense is taken. I am mostly just glad to see your family reuniting. Lorna has deserved far more happiness than she has had and finding you means a great deal to her.”

 

Pat most certainly did need more time to absorb this. What was a person even supposed to do with this? In all his life, very few people had done something good for him purely because they could. His siblings were pretty much it -- Mam had tried, but Da hadn’t let her do much. “All we really had was each other,” he said quietly. “No, this isn’t usual, in the human world. Not at all.” He shook his head, with a somewhat wry smile. “I’m older and wiser, I don’t need anyone to knock me down and sit on me to give me help. She was surprisingly heavy for such a tiny thing. A bowling ball with hair. I always thought’v her as a doll with fangs.” He paused. “Can -- can I tell Saoirse what you are, or should she not know yet? Then again, kid might work it out for herself. Too smart for her own good, that one.”

 

“It is in everyone’s best interest that the outer world not...know about us,” Thranduil replied. “Those who do know of us understand the value of maintaining that secrecy against those who do not. Saoirse is young, but I believe she can realize and accept the importance of this. Not to mention, it is likely she would be mocked were she to tell others. There is much more, that Lorna needs to explain to you about her life here, but I will leave that to her. It is safer that way. She may be tiny but even I fear to raise her ire.” Thranduil smiled, because it wasn’t strictly humor to say so.

 

“I think she can, too,” Pat said. “Though she takes after her aunt too much, when it comes to dealing with bullies. The amount’v times I’ve got called to the school about that one….” He shook his head, and laughed a little. “It’s the little ones you’ve got to watch out for. Lorna used to threaten to rip out people’s livers, since she was the right height for it on most. Some gobshite a few grades ahead mocked her about it, so she knocked him down and actually tried.”

 

He paused. “Did you -- did you really manage to fix whatever was wrong with her? Because when she’d go like that...I’ve never seen that in anyone else in my life, ever. Half the time she didn’t even remember what she’d done later. It was like there was Lorna, and then there was some...some _demon_ that lived in her head. And what worries me is I’ve seen Saoirse go like that a time or two. I had to switch her out’v one school because she about bit a boy’s ear off, and there was once, a friend’v mine was over -- former friend, really, from back when I was an idiot -- he was looking at her weird and it was like she...switched off...and went after him with a fork. It was just like watching Lorna with Da.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows pitched up sharply. “It is not easy for me to explain my gifts of healing, for they are too easily labeled as ‘magic’ because they cannot be examined or studied in a way that is usual. But yes, that much in Lorna is healed. What was present in her, should not have been. I did not know why the damage existed. With difficulties of the mind, I try to interfere as little as possible; there is risk. Usually, only when I can see that there is a clear danger to that one’s ability to function normally do I intervene. But I also recognize that what was in Lorna was...very bad. Bad enough to require more than one intervention, which is very unusual. If you wish me to, I can...look. But she is a child, and this requires the ability for Saoirse to give me her informed consent. Perhaps you should discuss this with Lorna? Know that I am here for you, and willing to help.”

 

“If you’d look, I’d appreciate it,” Pat said. “Lorna...was always like that. I’d thought it was Da’s fault, but Saoirse’s never been abused, and she’s the same way.” He shook his head. “I should rescue your other elf from her. She’ll chatter his ear off if she’s let, and I’ve got work in not too long.”

 

“You do not understand,” the King smiled. “Thanadir loves children. This is the most he will enjoy himself all day. But duty is duty. Come, we will find Lorna and Earlene. I am glad you came here, and hope you return soon.”

 

“I will,” Pat said. “We will. And...someday, I’ll figure out something I can do for you lot.” They headed back to the cottage, where they discovered Saoirse had indeed been chattering Thanadir’s ear off while working intently on biscuits.

 

“Da, we can come back, right?” she asked. There was a blob of frosting on her nose, and he wiped it off with her own sleeve. “ _Eeeew,_ Da!”

 

“Better yours than mine -- I’ve got work,” he said, ruffling her hair. “Yes, we can come back. You say thank-you and let’s get going.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, stealing one last biscuit. He didn’t want to know how many she’d already eaten.

 

Thanadir rose, realizing with an increasingly mournful expression that he was about to lose his new friend.

 

“She will come back, meldir. Both of them will. It will not be the last visit.” Earlene glanced at the table. “You did a good job, Saoirse. The cookies are very pretty.” With a shameless grin at how many cookies were no longer there, she realized she was sending this poor man’s daughter off home on a sugar high.

 

“Thank you,” Saoirse said, jumping a little. “Race you to the car, Da.” Off she went, zooming like a tiny hummingbird made of hair.

 

“Maureen’s going to hate me,” Pat sighed. “I’ll...we’ll come back, in a bit. I’ve got things to think’v. It was grand meeting you all.”

 

“You’d best come back,” Lorna said, squeezing through the door and ambushing him with a hug. If she had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t be working that crap job for much longer; there had to be some job they could invent for him. It had to be a real one, though, so he didn’t think it was charity.

 

“I _will_ , Fun Size.”

 

*****

 

“We need more push pins, Earlene.” Thanadir reached out at what she felt was a precarious angle from his ladder. A few days ago, he had begun assisting her to set up this room. ‘The Planning Room’, was what they were calling it at the moment. Earlene knew that they would need a vast space in which to contain all the initial ideas that might be launched...there were so many things, just to prepare for this first meeting. The room, enough chairs, paper and pens for each chosen person, a charged laptop or three, and an entire case of Post-It notes. Sharpie pens everywhere, and….a website, though that would become Orla’s problem. Earlene would insist, from the beginning, that their...planning, their progress, follow an acknowledged set of rules. That meant, Robert’s Rules of Order. Which in turn meant note-taking at meetings. Earlene frowned at this. In a perfect world, this task would fall to someone less involved in the proceedings, someone who could type at warp speed. She needed...two of her. The reason being, this process had to be transparent. No one would be excluded; every person who was to be a member of their future community would have the right and indeed the obligation to read the meeting minutes, comment to their representatives, and otherwise participate in a meaningful manner. Not being a councillor was not going to excuse anyone from being oblivious, for the next twenty years. Hopefully one of the others could take notes or type as well; this would be one of many matters cared for initially. And then there was poor Thalion, who was still learning English...what could possibly go wrong?

 

Suddenly she sat back in a chair, falling victim to what she had told herself she must ignore: Hugeness Syndrome. Simply looking up at the rows of Post-Its that Thanadir had placed to represent some of the possible categories that would need attention...there was a little dizziness. Or perhaps it was the baby; it was so hard to tell, these days.

 

“Meldis?” the seneschal was at her side immediately.

 

“I am well enough, Thanadir. I only need some moments to...recover myself.”

 

“No. You have been working and thinking about nothing but this for two days, do not imagine that I have not observed you. I can see that you are tiring, and it is nearly time for the midday meal. That means, we are done for now.”

 

“As you wish, meldir. But if we are not organized enough tomorrow evening, I may blame you,” Earlene teased.

 

For an answer, she was swept into Thanadir’s arms, and carried away.

 

“You are so eager to haul me around, when you will like as not have two months of it anyway, toward the end of my pregnancy?”

 

The seneschal looked at her archly. “I would have thought you would know better than to resist what is best for you, by now.”

 

“I was not resisting,” Earlene objected. “I was clarifying. There is a vast difference.”

 

A noise of annoyance from him caused her to giggle, feeling as though her work was accomplished after all.  Soon enough, she was on her own sofa, with tea in her hand. He was right, as usual. It was more than time to think about something else, even if only for a little while.

 

Sharley, meanwhile, was realizing just how much she’d missed playing the violin. She’d spent a while limbering up her fingers last night, but the acoustics in the music room were far better, so she snuck in while everyone was busy. They’d probably forgive her.

 

While she knew a number of classical pieces, she had far more fun re-scoring other songs. It took more work, but it was more rewarding than playing something someone else had already perfected centuries ago. She took the violin to stand at the very center of the room, giving the harpsichord a curious look as she passed. “All right, guys, what first?”

 

 _“Nothing Else Matters,”_ Jimmy said at once. It was his favorite, and honestly, it was one of hers, too. It was one a player had to throw themselves into; there was nothing subtle or delicate about it. Smiling, she shut her eyes, touched the bow to the strings, and launched into the first, haunting notes.

 

Though she didn’t remember learning to play the violin, there was something soothing about it, something she could get from nothing else. All the tension left her as her fingertips sent music into the world. She swayed as she played, not quite dancing as the song soared.

 

Earlene heard the strains of music immediately, and listened, rapidly deducing that this must be Sharley, for not only did Thanadir play no such songs with modern cadences, he was sitting next to her, massaging her shoulders.

“She plays well, meldir.”

 

“Yes, she does.” Thanadir was not selfishly attached to his instruments, but it gave him some sense of relief to realize that this firieth actually did play the violin. The tune was lilting, pleasing.

 

“Do you think she would mind if we went next door to listen?” Earlene murmured, feeling quite lulled by the touch of his hands melting away her assorted aggravations.

 

“I know she would not,” said Thranduil, entering from the bedroom. “In fact, I believe she would appreciate it a great deal.”

 

“Well then.”

 

All three of them moved as one, to quietly enter the music room and seat themselves on the sofa. Thanadir, being more stubborn than was likely good for him, simply resumed his kneading of her shoulders. There was a certain simplicity, in knowing when it was a waste of time to protest, so Earlene turned her back toward him and closed her eyes to enjoy the melody.

 

Sharley wasn’t aware of her audience until she opened her eyes, and she smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d played for anyone but Marty, or the eight thousand squirrels in the Cascade Mountains. She’d about reached the end of the song, so she segued it right into one Earlene ought to recognize, even if the Elves probably wouldn’t: _I Love Rock and Roll._ Because scoring Joan Jett to a violin had been way, way too much fun.

 

The sound drew Lorna and Ratiri, who had gone in search of Earlene, and Lorna paused. Where in God’s name had Sharley learned to play like that? Who, in her nomadic life, could have possibly pegged her in one place long enough to? This kind of skill wasn’t taught overnight. This was the result of years of training and practice.

 

Continuing to listen, Earlene thought she might perhaps have heard this tune, somewhere? _You are such rubbish at anything that had to do with modern living, Earlene,_ she admonished herself. _You know more goddamn...Scarlatti...than anything almost all the rest of the world recognizes. And this is why you live with elves, and have a...harpsichord._ Oh well. She was herself, no doubt about it. At least Thanadir did not seem to mind the endless diet of Baroque music that she plinked away at...though one of these days, she might have to branch out a little. _I hope my children wish to learn music. I like recorders, too. Maybe Thanadir and I should learn those, and can teach the children when they are older…_

 

Thranduil overheard all this and smiled, wondering what in Eru ‘recorders’ were. In the meantime, Sharley’s music was lovely, and he was enjoying it very much. Though, Lorna did have a point…

 

With an outright grin, Sharley shifted to something very Irish, a combination of reels she’d coughed up after a few nights in an Irish pub in Seattle. This one soared and dipped and soared again, and she wasn’t even consciously aware when she started to dance with it, stepping in time with the tune. This bow wasn’t going to have any hair left by the time she was through with it, but she doubted they’d mind. That was what it was there for.

 

Lorna tried not to tap her feet, she really did, but she recognized elements of this. She wished so very much that she had something that would relax and free her as much as the violin seemed to do for Sharley.

 

Seriously, _where_ had she learned this? Not that it mattered right now; what mattered was that Lorna’s feet had a will of their own, and she couldn’t help but dance to the tune, however ineptly.

 

Earlene stood up, glancing apologetically at Thanadir, and slipped off her shoes. On the soft carpet, there would be no noise. Her feet absolutely wanted to dance the reel her ears were hearing, and as she started in on the steps, she extended her hand to Lorna. This was just like their marriage reception in Lasg’len, without any possibility whatsoever of Sean.

 

Lorna took her hand, hoping that at the very least, she wouldn’t trip and pull poor Earlene down with her. She followed Earlene’s lead halfway, at least, to a violin played with more energy and emotion than she’d ever heard. That Sharley could experience such simple, uncomplicated joy, and share it so readily...if she didn’t have a violin at home, they were sending her back with one. A nice one.

 

Sharley managed to dance around the pair of them, not missing a note, the reel ratcheting up in intensity as her fingers flew on the strings. There was a surprising grace to her, a fluidity of movement not evident under other circumstances.

 

Thanadir and Thranduil rose next, recalling the dance step also and managing well enough after seeing Earlene repeat the pattern a few times. Perhaps it was more than a little odd, to see everyone dancing around a harpsichord as though a festival to Bacchus had somehow exited the M7 and taken a wrong turn, but it was great fun, and smiles were on every face. Finally Earlene had to stop; without an infusion of...whatever it was...from Thranduil, her pregnant body was not going to cooperate with this past a certain point. Breathing heavily, she flopped on the sofa while continuing to enjoy watching the others. And she made a mental note to actually teach Ratiri the reel one of these days, though bless his heart, not knowing was not slowing him down one bit.

 

Sharley played until the strings bit too deep into her fingers, and she had to concede defeat. Slightly out-of-breath, she set both bow and violin on the harpsichord, pushing a tangle of blue bangs out of her face. “Thank you,” she said, “for letting me play that.”

 

“Where’d you learn to play?” Lorna asked. She was somewhat out-of-breath herself. “You’re brilliant. You must’ve been doing that for years.”

 

Sharley shrugged. “Don’t remember,” she said. “I’ve just...there’s a lot that’s missing, up here--” she tapped her temple “--but I don’t let it worry me. Not when something like this came outta whatever’s lost.”

 

Thranduil frowned at hearing this, deeply, since he had the luxury of being behind her and therefore unseen. He did not like it, this reference to ‘missing memories’ but...she was leaving so soon. To ask to search her deeply, when she hardly knew him...no. It would not be right. But there were questions to which he most definitely would like answers. Eventually. Because...no. Surely that was impossible….no. “Ortherion is preparing our table,” he said quietly. “We are going to return. Sharley, the music was lovely; thank you.” He gave the best warm smile he could, to mask the trepidation he wished he did not now feel.

 

“You’re very welcome,” Sharley said. “Thank you for letting me use the violin.”

 

Lorna eyed Thranduil, and wondered just what the hell was going on in his head. Nothing good, obviously, but she was hardly going to say anything, aloud or in her head. “You’ve got a gift, allanah,” she said, looking up at Sharley. “A real gift.”

 

“I’d love to learn more instruments, someday. Might be more impetus for me to come back and stay put in a bit.” She was needing to give herself little things like this, because in many ways, the idea of settling down just did not appeal to her. She was going to have to do it sooner or later, so she needed to find reasons to want to. So far, this was a good one.

 

“We will have more, in time. Thanadir learns them very quickly. And I hope to teach the children. Most instruments are very affordable,” Earlene said ruefully, truly not even wanting to know what they had paid for the harpsichord. Never mind that she loved it and had enjoyed every minute of her learning, she could just guess at the financial travesty it represented.

 

 _Meluieg, we are not poor_ , Thranduil reminded her.

 

_That is not the point, my King. I am frugal. I cannot help it._

 

 _I suppose_ , he replied, amused. _Come, or our food will be cold._

 

Without further comment, Earlene walked next door.

 

*****

 

The meal was over with, and at Thanadir’s insistence, Earlene was remaining to rest longer after eating. And as it had been beef pot pie, delicious, and she had stuffed herself on that and the custard the kitchens made for dessert, she was hardly in a position to argue. So while he continued to knead at her shoulders ( _is he_ trying _to make certain I will fall asleep?_...), the time was spent thinking of more items for their upcoming meeting. Short of sending her to sleep he could not control her thoughts, thank Eru.

 

Sharley had headed off to explore the forest again, which meant Lorna could look at Thranduil and freely ask, “Are you afraid’v what _I’m_ afraid’v?”

 

“Yes,” he said miserably, “though I tell myself that it surely has to be impossible. Because...I want it to be. All this was already enough, for one lifetime of an elf…” he shook his head. “Part of me does not want to know, though in the end I know I must ask her if I may...look.”

 

“It might _not_ be that,” Lorna said, trying to be encouraging. “I mean, Sharley’s both alive and free. If Von Assclown had had her, she never would’ve escaped, and he sure as hell wouldn’t’ve let her go.”

 

“Unless he’d learned all he thought he could from her,” Ratiri said, “though that still begs the question of why he wouldn’t just kill her.”

 

Earlene was certainly no longer thinking about the meeting. But she said nothing, only listening. Her stomach was almost turning, at the sudden realization of what they meant. Almost.

 

“We never knew the full extent of his activities or his...proclivities,” Thranduil asserted. “And that is the part that concerns me. I will make no assumptions regarding that creature. Not after what I do know of the sum of his deeds.”

 

Lorna shook her head. “Can you -- you can look, without her seeing, right? You did with me, after...yeah. Because if that actually is what happened...she should never know. At this point, it would do her no good whatsoever.” Poor Sharley would have no revenge. If Von Pukestain had done to her what he’d done to Lorna, there was no reason at all to burden her with even the knowledge that it had happened.

 

“No, Lorna. You of all people taught me that I do not have the right to make those kinds of decisions for another. And neither do you. This is why I will not ask now, or anytime soon. He is dead; there is nothing he can do to her that has not already been done. The only reason I would ask to look is to determine if somehow she could be...helped. Healed, in some way that will not fundamentally affect who and what she is. For all the rest...it is what it is. And she has the right to deny me, as well. A right I would unquestionably respect.”

 

Lorna really didn’t like having her own words used against her, but he was right, dammit. It was Sharley’s decision, no matter how much Lorna wanted to protect her from it…and shit, now she was pretty sure she knew what Thranduil had felt like, when it was her. Part of her hoped, very much, that Sharley would say no. If she said yes, there was every chance she could be healed, but also plenty of chances that things might get worse. Thranduil was gifted when it came to tweaking the mortal mind, but Sharley’s was a bit...unusual. Okay, more than a bit. “Well, I’m glad she’s planning to come back,” she said, in lieu of anything else. “And it sounds like in only a few years, not twenty. Christ, I want to wrap that woman up in a fuzzy blanket, put her beside the fire, and feed her biscuits and milk until she’s less bony.”

 

“The twins can make certain she eats her biscuits,” Ratiri said. “Provided they don’t steal any for themselves.”

 

“I want cookies,” murmured Earlene, half-insensibly. Dammit, Thanadir was going to be the ruin of her.

 

Thranduil chuckled at his wife, glad to be surrounded by such family. “I will say one thing. All these assorted trials...they are more bearable because of all of you. There is strength, in having our loved ones near us. That is something that...thing...could never have, or comprehend.”

 

“That’s very, very true,” Ratiri said. “What kind of existence would that be -- not just not having it, but not comprehending it? I spent a long while on my own, but I’d still experienced a lot of love in my life even before now. I knew what it felt like. To so thoroughly lack that...I can’t even imagine it.”

 

“I don’t _want_ to imagine it,” Lorna sighed. “All’v us, we’ve had our loneliness and pain, but we’ve also had love. We _have_ love. And that’s worth everything.” Yes, even what that _thing_ had done to her. She had her family, by blood and by choice. And she hoped, oh she hoped, that Sharley would choose to join it, when she came back. It was probably a good thing that poor woman had no idea how tragic she really was. How she could be at peace, and seemingly happy enough, Lorna didn’t know, but it was a mercy. The circumstances of her life, even without whatever might or might not have happened to her because of Von Douchecanoe, might have broke anyone else, and yet she seemed...well, content. There was a measure of sorrow about her, but it was like she’d simply worked it into the fabric of herself, and found a way to live around it.

 

But Lorna also hoped that they were all wrong, and that the poor woman’s memory loss had nothing to do with that creature. There really wasn’t any way in hell he’d have let her go, and escaping him probably would have been impossible. And yet here she was, alive and free, and had been at least long enough to have and lose a child -- and presumably the kid’s father, too. If, as Ratiri said, he actually had decided he’d learned all he was going to, surely he would have just killed her. Right? _Right?_ That fucker didn’t have an altruistic bone in his body. He couldn’t have had Sharley, or Sharley wouldn’t be here.

 

Amidst the haze of endorphins Thanadir’s hands were creating, Earlene mulled over something rather different. As power and influence went, what Von Ratched had done...well, for all its horrible-ness, it was also deeply impressive. Here she was, taking a break from planning for the planning of the planning against _his_ creation, _his_ attack against humanity, listening to her family discuss whether or not this monster might possibly have been a causation for the state of a random woman from the opposite coast of the United States, that none of them had known existed prior to a few weeks earlier? That even her husband considered it to be a significant probability...well, that was not simply something just anyone could manage. When a foe could be utterly defeated and yet still retained the means to keep on waging war...well, she would give credit where it was due. Small wonder they had needed the aid of the Valar, on some level, to have a tactical advantage. Then again to be fair, elves were not Ainur. It spoke a great deal too, for Thranduil and Thanadir, to have succeeded against such a foe, help or no help.

 

_It spoke a great deal for you also, meluieg. You seem to forget your own contributions to his downfall. I believe that Glorfindel and Ecthelion themselves would honor your deeds._

 

_You’re joking. I am nothing, in comparison to such ones. Cutting open a paralyzed man hardly rates as much of an achievement._

 

_If you believe that so much, say it aloud to Thanadir. Let him decide._

 

Earlene’s thoughts were arrested at once, because that would be inviting quite an amount of stern correction to descend on her currently pleasant circumstances.

 

_You win, my Lord._

 

 _I thought as much,_ Thranduil said smugly. But not too smugly. He understood Earlene’s heart, and that such comparisons would be difficult for any mortal to hear. “Well, I believe we all still have our projects at hand. I am returning to the house to work on one of the earthen floors. Earlene, Thanadir, surely you have some tasks there as well? I believe it would be to your benefit to stop thinking quite so much about our upcoming meeting. There will be many of them, and it is not your sole task to work this hard.”

 

Earlene was about to protest, when Thranduil raised his hand. “Meluieg, your diligence is commendable...but you no longer work at your law firm. I am asking you to step back, only a little. While your skills at organizing are welcome, allow this to happen with insight from the others, as well.”

 

Thanadir smiled happily at this admonishment behind her back, his face noticeably brightening. “There is a small part of a mosaic yet to finish, as well as oiling the tree trunks used in the interior, meldis,” he hinted none-too-subtly.

 

“As you wish,” Earlene mumbled, seeing the hopelessness of her wish to return to her push pins and Post-It notes.

 

“You know,” Lorna said, “we should just buy out Niamh. She’s a lawyer, she’s got the same training -- she could probably follow your system better than any’v the rest’v us.” Lorna’s organizational skills extended only to helping Big Jamie with the bookkeeping at the pub, and taking inventory. Ratiri, she knew, could be exacting in some ways but utterly disastrous in others. She was quite certain Thanadir would take to it like a junkie to a big haul of meth, but possibly not right off. His own system was likely vastly different. Niamh, though...she knew what Earlene knew. They’d learned the same thing, more or less, though that knowledge would have branched right the hell off once they’d chosen different specialties. (Come to think of it, she didn’t know what Niamh’s specialty actually _was_ ; possibly anything it needed to be.)

 

“I would suggest Mairead as well, though not at the same time as Niamh,” Ratiri said, twinging Lorna’s braid around his fingers. “Two gingers working in one room, even a large one, likely would not end well.”

 

“Ohhhhh,” said Earlene. “Do you think she’d be willing to be in on this...council thing, to be like a secretary? We will need minutes taken, good ones, and I would very much like to not be that person...but I also recognize that not everyone can write or type at warp speed. Thanadir is already spoken for; he will be taking notes in the language and script of the elves.”

 

“If we can buy out Niamh’s client base, I’m sure she would,” Lorna said.

 

“Just...yes, offer to do that either fully or in part; we can speak more with her tomorrow. There will be a lot of things to research and study and...retaining her for her insight alone would not go amiss.”

 

“It really wouldn’t. God, I need to answer Mairead’s emails. Again,” Lorna sighed. Her sister had been firing off one every few hours for days now, with increasing levels of exasperation, each containing a number of questions from the villagers. Half of them Lorna couldn’t answer, or wouldn’t, until after the first meeting. Much would be explained then, and all the representatives would be in one place to hear it. “At least I can take a video of the twins, to send to her. That’ll soften it a bit.”

 

The twins. What Thranduil had said about them -- about their intellectual development -- had preyed on her mind. She knew that gifted children could get bored very easily, so she and Ratiri were going to have to come up with a plan of attack as soon as they were old enough to talk, lest they get into the more dangerous sort of mischief. If it was going to involve explosions, she’d rather it at least wait until their teenage years.

 

And...there was something rather depressing in knowing that her children would probably outdistance her intellectually by the time they were ten, if that. To be the one ordinary person in a sea of the exceptional -- well, it was enough to give someone a complex. Yeah, Thranduil would no doubt remind her that there were things she could do that they couldn’t, but that was only because they hadn’t tried. Should Thanadir turn his interest to mechanics, he’d be able to master it in a fortnight. Likely Thranduil, too. Earlene and Ratiri probably wouldn’t enjoy it, but they could still _do_ it. And if she taught her children, and they were as smart as she suspected, they’d soon leave her behind, too. God. It really was depressing, but it was what it was, and no amount of hating that was going to change it. She’d do what she could, because everyone had to -- but knowing that no matter what she did, _someone_ could do it better, stung a bit. Lorna wasn’t stupid by any measure, except by that of the people she’d come to call family.

 

But this wasn’t time to dwell. She had emails to answer. Yay. It was going to be about as much fun as an anesthesia-free root canal.

 

_Lorna, while it might be true that we could exceed your skills, you are missing the point. I would like to learn about mechanics as much as have one of your root canals. Or learn Irish, take your pick. In fact, why do you not plan to expand on that at which you already excel? Learn more about mechanical functions. Electrical, too. Is there not something called ‘engineering?’ One of your scientific disciplines? We will all need to learn more, before the twenty years’ time is elapsed. There is no need to attend one of your human ‘colleges’; needed information is available in textbooks and...frankly if you encounter something you do not understand and need to, we could hire someone to instruct you personally. There is no shortage of financial resources, as you know. And, you might wish to consider forwarding questions to Earlene. It would give her something to organize at home later, and make Thanadir happy by keeping her out of the Planning Room. Like as not she will wish to see what is being asked._

 

Thranduil now rose, in his usual manner of communicating with someone while not remotely letting on that he had done so, and went to change his tunic to one in which he preferred to work.

 

That...was a very good question. Why _shouldn’t_ she? They really did have the money, and she no longer had dyslexia. She’d taken to auto mechanics quite naturally, so who was to say that wouldn’t help her out some with more complex things? Admittedly, she was going to need some help with the book aspect of it, because even without the dyslexia, it would be slow going. _You know what, why not? Worst that could happen is I’d suck at it, but maybe I wouldn’t._ If nothing else, it was worth a shot. Starting just _now_ might not be a great idea -- there was too damn much going on -- but maybe in late summer, or early autumn. _And I would very, very happily pass some of these to Earlene. Good grief._

 

“I am leaving for the house now, and I hope I am not going alone?” He smiled at his wife, offering his hand while also looking around the room. With assorted degrees of enthusiasm, he managed to marshal all of them in the direction of work. Their home was truly beginning to take shape, and in spite of the new distractions, Thranduil felt fairly determined that it would be habitable long before Earlene grew heavy with little Thaladir. Smiling, he led the way to the Gates, and into the brilliant sunshine.

 

*****

 

 _The meeting was in an hour, Jesus Christ._ Thanadir had left for the cottage some minutes ago, to meet the sizable contingent of persons who would need escort through the woods. Though Geezer and (well, quite a few of them, to be honest) were capable of making their way to the Gates, it seemed only polite for at least one elf to greet them. Especially since some of their number had only been to the Halls on one other occasion. Thranduil was seated in the Planning Room, half-watching and half-monitoring his wife, who was rapidly taking on the air of a Master Sergeant about to conduct a battle simulation. She stood in front of the massive wooden board that had been erected at one end of the room, hands in fists at each of her hips, glaring at the skeleton of her organizational chart. Across the top ran headers on larger pieces of paper with words like Governance, Food, Housing, Labor, Education, Materials, Technology, Defense, Health, and others. Beneath those, for example the one for Food, were Post-Its with words such as Planning, Production, Processing, Storage, Preparation. And then beneath ‘Production’ were yet more Post Its; ‘Meat, Dairy, Vegetable, Fruit, Grains, Pulses, Vines’. Post-Its were simply everywhere, already, though there were still vast amounts of empty space on this board, and Thranduil had no doubt his wife would see them filled.

 

He sighed. He could not blame Earlene; while these necessities were much the same as what had occupied he and Thanadir for millennia, there was no question that for the mortals, these were organizational realities that their modern world eliminated any need to truly consider. But all of it would be needed, in the end. And it was equally true that before planning could begin in any meaningful regard, this massive chart needed to be largely complete. That it would grow and expand over time was a given, but their efforts had to be directed in a manner that avoided waste and repetition, else they would be at each other’s throats in five years if not sooner. “You know they are going to bring food, and drink,” he pointed out to Earlene, if only to nudge her mind off of where it was stuck ruminating on concepts of Government.

 

“I do,” she said irritably, not wishing to admit the degree to which this would not be anything resembling a professional atmosphere, before turning to look at him. His eyes were kind, his demeanor calmness itself. More or less the opposite of the Ice Queen. Her shoulders sagged. “I do not suppose your elven medicines have some magical formula by which to make me less of myself, for a time?” Though it was difficult, even she could realize that she was bringing too much intensity to this occasion. It would not serve her well; this was not to be a room full of lawyers.

 

“Yes and no,” he replied softly, opening his arms to her. “I do not think our wine would be wise, just now, but you do have me.”

 

“I think that would be most welcome.” Sitting on his lap and dissolving into his embrace, she experienced what Lorna had so often asked for, at times. As she felt an eerie calm and detachment settle over her, Earlene wondered not for the last time how he could do so many of the things he could, not that she really wanted an answer. “Thank you.” Probably she should get up, but found that she quite liked it here, and that her board looked better viewed from his lap.

 

“You have done very well, meluieg. This was an important effort. Give them time to adjust to this and many other ideas, and I believe this will be a decent beginning.”

 

With a happy kiss to his cheek, she pulled up a chair so she could sit next to him for a moment, and for the first time all day felt content to simply wait for the others to arrive.

 

*****

 

Lorna had taken one look at that board and decided to go with the elves to pick up the group. Even looking at it made her a little itchy, because the last thing in the absolute world she wanted to do was pore over minutiae, and yet that was probably exactly what she was going to have to do. Although maybe not -- most of those coming wouldn’t be half so obsessive. They’d need Niamh for that.

 

“So what’re we doing?” Mairead asked, walking beside her through the trees. She had a big box of cream puffs that Lorna really wanted to break into now.

 

“I’m not wholly sure, but it involves a big board full’v Post-Its that makes my head hurt just looking at it. You’ll be fine with it, at least.” Mairead could organize like a champ; if anyone was likely to be able to properly follow whatever the hell Earlene had cooked up, it was her. As for the rest of them...well, they’d see. Lorna just hoped poor Earlene wouldn’t wind up too disappointed by the potential reaction to all her careful planning. These were Irish people of various trades, not lawyers. Most of them had a distinct aversion to lawyers that was only in abeyance with Earlene because they liked her.

 

Mairead and Big Jamie had been here before, but Doc Barry had not, and Ratiri stuck close to her. People who first came here tended to fall into one of three categories: awe, nerdgasm, or both. Doc Barry seemed to be so deeply into the second that the scope of it wasn’t yet registering. Lorna managed to keep her laughter in, but Geezer seemed to be having a much harder time of it. His face was so red she hoped he wasn’t going to have a coronary. At least Thranduil was on hand, if he did.

 

The little group were far louder than a comparably-sized knot of elves would be, the sounds of their footfalls and voices echoing through the vastness of the Halls. Even the room she took them to was gigantic, more like a small cavern than a proper office. It was bright with fire and lamplight, and warm, with a large, oval table of some kind of dark, shiny wood at the center. On it were trays of sandwiches, biscuits, pots of tea -- the cooks had experimented with whipped cream, and had come up with these little cream puffs that Lorna had already eaten three of. Given there was a whole pile of the tasty things, she didn’t feel too bad.

 

“All right, you lot, pick a seat,” she said, watching them carefully. Sure enough, most of them looked at that board, then each other, and tried, with varying levels of success, not to wince. This level of detail was not what they had signed on for this meeting, and Lorna hoped that all of that was just there for Earlene to get them used to the idea.

 

Mairead at least didn’t look unduly disturbed, but that was no real surprise. Lorna fought an urge to poke her, because she was pretty much the only one who was regarding that thing with actual equanimity. She ate another cream puff instead, and quite shamelessly licked her fingers.

 

“Classy,” Shane said, snickering as he took a seat.

 

Lorna glowered at him. “Oi, shut it, you. Or have you forgot you used to eat jam with your fingers when we didn’t have any spoons?”

 

He groaned. “No, but I’ve _tried_ to.” He was looking at that board of Post-Its like he was regretting coming out here, and the grim determination of one stuck with a burden that had to be endured, no matter how much it sucked. With great deliberation, he ate a cream puff, then started inspecting a sandwich. If this was going to be awful, at least there was really good food, and the pub had good booze.

 

“Are we tackling that whole thing tonight?” Orla asked Lorna, low.

 

“I don’t think so.” _I hope not._ “Earlene knows what she’s doing. Let her do her thing.”

 

Thranduil had made it plain that Earlene was to lead at least this initial meeting, so she rose. “Welcome, everyone, to Thranduil’s Halls and our Planning Room. There is no way to render this process completely painless, but, I tried. Niamh, while not part of our Council officially, has agreed to take minutes. So I am calling this meeting to order at...6pm on  June 14, 2017.  You can see the board, and the categories. Those and more like them are in the end, our jobs. What is already there is to help us to start the conversation; we will have many of them. We are here to represent all of those who will one day be in our community. The questions the townspeople asked you about have, in part, made their way here. For now we can just know that this task exists; we have twenty years to make that board happen. If you see a category or subcategory that’s missing, make a note for yourself to mention it later; everyone has paper and pen.

 

“But first, we need to talk about how our meetings will take place. As you can see, minutes, detailed notes, are being taken. Eventually these will be posted in a private, secure place online that I am hoping Orla will create. It is important that there be transparency, so that everyone can understand what is being discussed and have the chance to comment. Our meetings will have a format; mostly it will involve old business and new business. Old business will be topics we have chosen ahead of time to discuss; new business will be concerns that were thought of  that did not make it onto the agenda beforehand. And it might be best of all if first we introduce ourselves, because not everyone here knows all of the others. Please state your full name when it is your turn, because this will also act as our roll call for the meeting. I will begin. I am Earlene Sullivan, wife to Thranduil. Though I am human, I represent the elven realm because I am one of its sworn subjects. In my former life I worked as a solicitor. I can speak and write the elven language, Sindarin, though not as well as the elves themselves. Next?”

 

Thanadir stood. “I am Thanadir, though the name I use in the human world is Cian. I am the seneschal to Aran Thranduil; King Thranduil. I am told that ‘seneschal’ is not a common word. It means, I am responsible for the organization and oversight of all the diverse aspects and needs of our people. Whether it is the acquisition of food or the scheduling of guards and patrols, that all such matters occur in an orderly manner is my responsibility.”

 

Next Thalion rose, and asked to speak through Thanadir as an interpreter. “I am Thalion, a warrior of the Woodland Realm. My assignment is the vigilance and defense of our woods against all intruders according to the laws of my King.”

 

Lastly, Thranduil spoke. “Welcome to my Halls. I am Thranduil, and use the name Fionn in the outer world. I believe all of you know by now, that I am King of a greatly diminished number of my elven people; we are just over two hundred. We are meeting here to assure that you are cared for into an uncertain future, and will do all we can to help this to...work. I have asked for this council to be formed because I have no intention of ruling over humans as I do my own people. We will work to form a structure, a government, that is of your choosing and your approval. Something lasting, that can endure beyond the time we will remain here with you. It is a great work, that lies ahead. All of you are here, in part, because you have what is required at heart to succeed on behalf of those you represent. This will be a long and difficult task, but I have full faith we will manage.”

 

His gaze fell next on Lorna, who sat next to him.

 

 _Oh, bloody hell._ “I’m Lorna Donovan. I do a lot’v the dealing with the outside world for this lot, or at least that’s how I started. I still do, but it’s not just me doing that anymore.” _Do I need to say anything else?_

 

_No, if that is all you wish to say, it is enough._

 

Well, that was a relief. She didn’t know what else _to_ say.

 

Ratiri went next, rather more eloquently if also a touch dryly; he managed, “Ratiri Duncan. I’m a pediatrician currently out of a job. I speak and read Sindarin, though not so well as the Elves.”

 

Shane, naturally, was somewhat laconic: “I’m Shane Monaghan. I fix motorcycles and sell shit to shady people who don’t care where there things come from.” Likewise, Orla: “I’m Orla Ahern. I build houses and hack computers for shady people who don’t care what I charge.”

 

Thanadir frowned, desperately trying to decide how to translate unseemly speech into Sindarin, before deciding that omission was acceptable in this instance. They at least had a word for ‘thing,’ and he intended to make liberal use of it.

 

Mairead rolled her eyes. “I’m Mairead O’Reilly, that one’s older sister. Mother and organizer’v four children and my baby sister, who was just about as bad when I met her.”

 

Lorna glowered, but just barely managed to restrain herself from actually saying anything. She’d get Mairead for it later.

 

“I’m Jamie Donnelly -- they call me Big Jamie. I run Baile’s pub, and brew some’v it’s beer.” What on Earth else was there for him to say? He had no idea, yet.

 

“I’m Bridie Dooley, chemist in Lasg’len. Lived here all my life, except for my time at University.”

 

John looked especially nervous, and like he would much rather be tending bar. “John Sheehan. Barkeep, and I own the Spotted Dick in Lasg’len.”

 

Earlene was doing a remarkable job, Thranduil thought, of smiling encouragingly even though most of these responses had been pitifully short and uninspiring. His wife had the grace to realize that they were trying, and that this was all very new to them.

 

On and around it went, until they reached Sharley, who stood in the background, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She looked up when Lorna looked at her, her mismatched eyes taking them all in. “I’m Sharley,” she said. “I’m the one that warned these guys. I see the future, sometimes.”

 

Most of them had met her, but out of Lorna’s old gang, only Mick had. She found herself the object of scrutiny, and knew there would be far too many questions later. Hopefully she wouldn’t be the one who would have to answer them.

 

“Look, before we get going,” Mairead said, unable to resist herself, “you come to Baile, allanah, and I’ll touch up that hair before you go back to the States.”

 

Lorna utterly failed to choke back her laughter, though she tried so very, very hard. Sharley just smiled, and said, “I will. Anyway. Y’all know what I saw. I’ll let you know if I see anything more.”

 

“Thank you,” Earlene said, rising again. Now it was time to explain procedure. _Because this will be fun…_ “I know this is going to be boring as hell, but please try to bear with me. So, there is this thing in the world called Robert’s Rules of Order. They are the rules of parliamentary procedure. Which is a fancy way of saying, they are how to conduct business in a way that is considerate to rights; the rights of a majority of people, while not ignoring the minority. I’m just going to read these few sentences, because they say it best: ‘The application of parliamentary law is the best method yet devised to enable assemblies of any size, with due regard for every member’s opinion, to arrive at the general will on the maximum number of questions of varying complexity in a minimum amount of time and under all kinds of internal climate ranging from total harmony to hardened or impassioned division of opinion.’

 

“I hope everyone understands why this matters. A lot of effort is going into making it so that whatever happens will not be the lone decision of King Thranduil. Does everyone understand why these rules are being used for what we do in this Council, and does anyone have any comments about this before we continue?” Smiling, she gave 50-50 odds that half of what she’d just said had actually registered, but, one had to be optimistic.

 

There were general nods of agreement, though Lorna knew damn well at least a few of them might understand that it was _needed_ without actually knowing what it _was_. She also knew Google would get a lot of hits that night, but she couldn’t fault any of them; for most, it had been a long, long time since they’d taken Government at school.

 

“Basically, we’re just keeping things fair,” Big Jamie said. “With some fiddly rules we’ll be learning as we go along, if we don’t yet know them.”

 

 _Well, that’s one way to put it, Jamie_ , Lorna thought, rolling her eyes.

 

Mairead sighed. “What he _means_ is that yes, we understand. And anyone that doesn’t can just follow along until they do.”

 

“That works,” Earlene said gratefully. If this were an ordinary group, we would elect a president and vice-president, treasurer, secretary, and other functions. Anything we do is supposed to be by making a motion and someone else needing to second the motion. Because this is supposed to be an extremely equitable Council, I move that we do not create any such officers, making everyone at this table equal as to the value of their input. With your permission, I will volunteer to act as a chairperson for the first three meetings, until all of you are used to these Rules of Order. After that, I propose that each of us will take turns being the chairperson, with the understanding that Thanadir and Niamh will be permanently assigned to the secretarial functions of taking minutes. Does anyone second the motion?” Her eyes fell on Lorna.

 

Thranduil saw this, and while it was technically interference, this once he would not hold back. _If you wish to support what Earlene has just said, Lorna, simply say aloud, ‘I second the motion.’_

 

 _Thank you,_ she sent him; she’d been about to just say _sure, let’s do it._ “I second the motion.”

 

“I’ll third it,” Mairead said. “Or however it is you’re meant to say that.”

 

“Thank you,” Earlene said gratefully. “All in favor, raise your hands and keep them there  for a moment. Usually we would say ‘aye’ or ‘nay’ but the point of it is to count whether or not a majority votes to approve. Or not. And the outcome is recorded by those taking minutes.” She looked around the room. “The motion is approved by a majority. Congratulations, we have all just decided the first of many Somethings.” For a moment she paused, before moving on. “This first meeting has no agenda, but all following ones will. We will be creating that agenda tonight. While I do not recommend we do this each meeting, what makes the most sense to me is that each of us has time to talk about our concerns for this...future. I know that it is nerve-wracking to speak when you are not used to doing this. Try to...relax. Jot things down that have already been said to you or that have been on your minds about this process. We will go around the table. If a new category or sub-category comes up it will be placed on the board, but the point of tonight is not to raise every single thing each one of us feels we specifically want to see happen. We are trying to think in terms of generalities just now. We will do our best, knowing that tonight won’t be perfect. Would anyone besides me like to begin?

 

Again, a communal glance. Orla, however, was not shy. “What’v we got lined up for power, once the electricity goes off? Solar panels?”

 

Earlene quickly wrote ‘Power’ on a Post-It and handed it to Thranduil, who was the only elf fluent in English without a current assignment. “I believe this will go under ‘Technology’” she said to her husband, who headed toward the board and the nearby ladder. “Orla raises a good question. One of the choices you face is determining how much effort to invest in trying to keep on living as we do now in modern Ireland. According to Sharley, all the infrastructure of the outer world will go down, the grid included. Who here have know-how, when it comes to generating power? And do you know of others in your communities that have this knowledge?”

 

“We’ll want at least a basic infrastructure,” Orla said. “Even if it’s primitive, it’s better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. I know plenty about generating power, given the right equipment.”

 

“I kind’v do, but it’s just theoretical,” Shane said. “I’d have to confab with Orla here and make sure what I think I know doesn’t turn out to be a load’v dogshite.”

 

“Always a possibility,” Mick muttered.

 

“We need enough for a basic lab, somewhere in the village,” Ratiri said. “1920’s level, nothing modern or fancy.”

 

“That’s probably about all we could support,” Indira said. “Though how in God’s name we’re to construct a proper autoclave, I don’t know.”

 

“You let me figure that out,” Orla said. “If it can be done, I’ll manage it.”

 

 _Good grief_ , Lorna thought, _I don’t want to know what the three of them will cough up between them._ If it looked like Frankenstein’s laboratory, she wasn’t going anywhere near it.

 

Earlene jotted down ‘Steam Generation’ and passed it down. Wisely, Thranduil did not move from the board. “That too will go under ‘Technology’, she said.

 

To her surprise, Thalion spoke next, through Thanadir. “When all of this occurs, there will only be so much time to train all of you defensively. There are thousands of pieces of armor, bows, swords, knives, and similar weapons here but they are useless if only the elves have the mastery of them. Who else here has any skill at fighting or exposure to military training?” Though Earlene wanted to smile indulgently at first, the seriousness of Thalion’s expression quickly banished any such impulse. The ellon was obviously...beyond, in earnest. “It goes without saying that Thandir and Thranduil do, but I believe he means, among us humans,” Earlene clarified, while another Post-It came out. ‘Weapons training’ _Which will go under Defense, if that is not stunningly obvious._

 

 _It_ is _stunningly obvious, meluieg,_ he teased.

 

Lorna, Shane, Mick, Orla, Niamh, and Geezer all raised their hands. “He’s the only one that’s got actual combat experience,” Lorna said, pointing at Geezer, “but the rest’v us, we’ve done our shite in our time.”

 

“Not with a bow, but with half a brick,” Shane muttered, eying her.

 

“Hush, you.” He’d be getting it, too, along with Mairead. “Honestly, we’re Irish. I’m not sure there’s a single one among us that hasn’t been in at least one pub fight.”

 

Thalion listened to Thanadir’s translation, and was favorably surprised. “Maer,” (good) he muttered.

 

“This’ll sound stupid to anyone who isn’t female, but we need to start stocking up on tampons, now,” Bridie said. “It might take a giant store room to put them all in, but trust me, we’ll want it. Well, most’v us’ll have hit menopause by then, but the younger women’ll be wanting them.”

 

“Good point,” Indira said. “I would suggest menstrual cups too, though, and hydrogen peroxide. They’re not meant to be re-used, but you can, if you sterilize them.” Her mother was a rather traditional woman, and had insisted she use cloth pads at first. The result was so disgusting, so nauseating to Indira that she wouldn’t ever wish it on another woman. The stains, the leakage, the _smell_ , the feeling that you were constantly walking around in a dirty diaper...no.

 

‘Feminine Hygiene’, read the next Post-It. _Under Health,_ she smirked. “Indira and Bridie, can we add your names to that subcategory?” Earlene indicated.  “Not having disposable personal products...the sanitation system in these Halls, as I understand it, is not designed to process anything other than body wastes, which is another matter to consider when we consider what products to  stockpile.” She studiously ignored the looks of discomfort on the face of almost every male human in the room. And then just to really add to it, Earlene clarified. “For those who do not know, human women have their menstruation once each month. Elven females experience this only once each four months.” Thalion and Thanadir’s eyebrows, amusingly enough, arched.

 

The entire group of human women looked at one another. “That,” Orla said, speaking for all of them, “is not bloody fair. At all.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Indira said, clearly envious. “Put my name down.”

 

“And mine,” Bridie added.

 

Mick, unable to look at anything but the ceiling, asked, “How do the toilets work in here? Couldn’t figure that out, but I’m guessing  gravity-fed, like the Romans had? Also, what do elves, uh, wipe with?”

 

Lorna would have facepalmed, except it was a valid question.

 

Earlene’s lips parted. As the resident “elf”, this would fall to her to clarify. “Well...the answer will need to be blunt, so please excuse the plainness in advance. For that necessity, there are what look a great deal like ladles, private to each individual. You are meant to use these to rinse the necessary body parts clean. Each toilet has a place that allows for one to sit in a squatting position for eliminating solid waste from the body, because the truth is, how we use toilets in the Western world is not how our bodies are meant to work. When all this is done, there is no...mess. Elves eat properly too, which eliminates...problems of that kind. When all business is cared for, there are small soft cloths that are for drying off. It is expected that they will be laundered, and it is the obligation of the person using them to see that they are not sent to the laundry with...mess...on them. And sure god I hope that all made sense because I don’t want to say it twice.” _I have talked about many things in my life but never_ that _._ She ignored the fact that her husband was smirking mightily, near the wooden board, and wondered how pink her cheeks were right now.

 

Poor Earlene… “What she means is that you wash your arse before you wipe it, so you don’t send cloths covered in shit to the laundry,” Lorna clarified. “It’s like that French word I can’t spell, bidet. Basically the only thing you’ve got to worry about is a cold toilet seat at three in the morning.”

 

Shane managed not to laugh, but barely; he sat wheezing, red-faced. Geezer didn’t even bother trying; he burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Lass, you’ve got a way with words,” he said dryly.

 

“Eh, I try.”

 

“Next time I’m letting you answer,” Earlene smiled. “Alright now that we’ve managed sanitation...I have had something on my mind, and I’ve no idea where to put it. Most, many, in Lasg’len and Baile are going to have family that are outsiders. The reason four people on this Council represent humans from outside the two towns is that...there will be more than the four of you, when the time comes. So, here’s the question: Where will we draw the line? Who gets in, and is there an upper limit of how many people the elves can take into the Halls? _Why_ does someone get in? Because they are family? Friends? Because they have special skills or learning? Where does it start, and where does it stop so that it is fair all the way around? This is a heavy, difficult subject and will be an immensely emotional issue for everyone. I’ve no answers, but it needs to be raised as a topic for long-term consideration.”

 

The question none of them wanted to hear, but which they all had to answer. “I think,” Mairead said, “what we need to do first is talk to everyone we’ve got in the outside, and find out who they have in their lives, and how many. If we can get a rough list, that’s a start, at least. Though I’ll tell you right now, ‘special skills or learning’ won’t be worth a tin shit if the person who has them can’t handle living in a low-tech society.”

 

Sharley smiled. “That’s what I said.”

 

Lorna sighed. There was, she knew, a very subtle anti-intellectual streak among many of the villagers, mainly because few of them had been to university and hadn’t missed out because of it. She and Ratiri would have some talks with them...well, no, she would. She was even more technically uneducated than they were. They had a measure of scorn for what they termed ‘city people’, something Earlene had managed to dodge by dint of being Irish, smart, and accommodating.

 

Thranduil stepped closer to the table. “I have discussed this concept of population at length with Thanadir. Currently there are two hundred and eleven elven residents of these Halls; I am not counting my wife or my children in this number. My understanding is that the current numbers of your two villages hover at around seven hundred. I can offer to roughly double this amount of people but...beyond that I have deep concerns about our ability to keep our community stable. Even that number would mean sixteen hundred persons; truthfully, I would like to see far less than that. There will already be great difficulties, even for those who have fully prepared themselves to transition into living here. If our population is too great…” he shook his head, with an unhappy expression. “It hurts me, to know that I cannot help everyone. But this does not change that...I cannot.”

 

Yet again, a shared glance. “I don’t know about the Lasg’len people,” Big Jamie said slowly, “but...we have to think about this. Before we do anything else, we need that list. And I hate to say this, but we really do need to let the expats in on this, because in twenty years their number might be doubled if we don’t. I’m just not sure how to _get_ them here.”

 

“Death in the family,”  Mairead said, shamelessly manipulative. “Family reunion they’d ignore, but if a sibling or aunt or uncle died, they’d come for that. They’re Irish.” Her tone suggested it explained everything -- which, to the Irish, it did. “We’d get some idea, too, of just how they’d react to this place, and how we’d be living after the end. A dry run, if you will.”

 

“They’ll see that it’s real, with the added benefit that nobody outside would believe them,” Lorna said. “But, and nobody wants to hear it any more than I want to say it, there are probably going to be some that can’t be allowed to remember coming here. Realistically, not everyone’s going to be able to handle that knowledge.” She’d lay odds a good half of them couldn’t, unfortunately -- but they had to try. As her gran had always said, as she was fond of saying herself, the only thing they couldn’t do was nothing.

 

“You know,” Sharley said, “this won’t be the only place that survives. Isolated communities’ll do it to -- the Aran Islands, for one thing. The bad thing about this is how fast it’ll spread. The _good_ thing is that it’ll burn itself out within a couple months.” She looked at Ratiri. “A flu virus can live on a surface for what, a day?”

 

“Around that, yes,” he said, already seeing where she was going with this. “Marburg’s trickier -- it can be anywhere from five to fourteen, but we have to assume that Von Ratched altered both to last longer than they ordinarily would. Possibly a lot longer, though there would be an upper limit to what even he could do.”

 

“So if some community isolates itself -- _really_ isolates itself -- for a year or so, they could well escape,” Indira said, even while Lorna and her entire old gang snorted laughter at his wonderfully mature nickname. “They’d have a chance, anyway.”

 

Earlene glanced at Thanadir with pity written on her face. Anything resembling seemliness was deplorably out the window.

 

“I’d suggest, if the population out there’s too big for here, that the expats use this next twenty years to turn into survivalist weirdoes and build big retreats in the middle of nowhere,” Sharley said. “They could theoretically do it.”

 

“Do they _really_ do it?” Lorna asked. It almost sounded too good to be true, but if there was one thing she’d learned since meeting the elves, it was that just because a thing _seemed_ too good to be true didn’t mean it actually was.

 

Sharley shrugged. “Dunno. All I’ve seen of the plague and what it does are cities. If I get anything more, I’ll let you know.”

 

Lorna knew that she was lucky. Unless they found the other two Donovan siblings, the only people she had on the outside were Pat and his daughter. Everyone else she cared about was already here. None of her old gang mates were married, and so far as she knew, none of them had any children, either. Ratiri’s biological family consisted of Doc Barry, though it sounded like his aunt, the doc’s mother, was still alive. They weren’t like Big Jamie, who had four siblings out in the world -- four siblings and God knew how many nieces and nephews, though mercifully everyone had smaller families these days, so probably not _too_ many of them. _He_ would have to toss his hat into the ring of People With Hard Decisions...although maybe, just maybe, they’d be lucky. Maybe neither village had as many expats as she feared.

 

And...this sounded utterly horrible, but in twenty years, many of the elders of both villages might well be dead. Ian, and the ladies from the Quilting Club -- even the youngest of them would be in their eighties by then. Likewise the pensioners of Baile, of which there were a considerable number. This being Ireland, all of them drank, and many had smoked for decades. She felt like a terrible person for even thinking it, but it was a fact nonetheless. A fact she couldn’t bring up to anybody but Thranduil without them looking at her funny for even thinking it.

 

“We’ve got to start training the kids, too,” she said. “And the teenagers, and twenty-somethings. Most’v us’ll be in our sixties or seventies by then. Better that they know what they’re doing, while they’re young and capable.” Sure, she and Ratiri would still seem somewhere around forty, thanks to Thranduil, but the rest of them wouldn’t. (Christ, had she ever actually asked Thranduil about that life-extension thing? She and Ratiri had agreed on it with each other, but she didn’t think she’d ever brought it up to Thranduil. She’d ask, once this was over.) Country Irish lived hard and drank harder; even if they stopped all of that right now -- and there was no way they would, not entirely -- the effects would still catch up to them. But there were plenty of young people still in the village, who hadn’t gone off to uni for one reason or another. Dai, though he was a bit worthless thanks to the drink. All three of Big Jamie’s children were still in town, and three out of Mairead’s four -- Shannon could come home once she’d finished uni. Molly had two that were still half-grown...the list went on.

 

She couldn’t have any more herself. She just couldn’t do it, no matter how useful it would be to have as many younger people as they could in the future. Pregnancy had been such a misery to her -- she wasn’t Earlene. She wasn’t built for having kids. The two she’d contributed would have to be enough.

 

Thanadir spoke again. “It seems to me you will be asked many questions, once back in your communities. Unavoidably, some of those will be about what it is like in these Halls, to live here. I would suggest that those of you who are not already routine residents consider choosing living quarters. All of our people are trying to learn your language but it is very different. We hoped that you also would try to learn our speech, so that somewhere between the two we can communicate better. Earlene is almost finished with a...manual, of sorts, to help you learn and if nothing else, a reference for how to say many things to an elf. Then you will see for yourselves what we do. There are also specialized skills that will be needed in the future. Use of weapons, crafting with wood and metals. We are prepared to teach you but this cannot happen without beginning somewhere.”

 

“Bloody good idea,” Mairead said. “I’m not sure how good most’v us’ll be at learning your language, but we can try. Kids might have an easier time’v it, though.”

 

“And I want to take a look around, to see where tech hubs might be able to go,” Orla said. “I think we all need a better idea’v this place, so staying here sometimes’d be grand.”

 

Thranduil arched his eyebrows at this mention of ‘tech hubs.’ But he did not wish to interrupt the flow of the discussion just yet.

 

“Metals’d be a natural thing for Mick and I to learn,” Shane said. “Lorna, are you already in on that?”

 

She shook her head. “Not yet. Babies, and all that. I ought to learn with you, though.”

 

“I need to teach you Elves about modern weapons,” Geezer said, looking at Thanadir. “Dunno how many’re in Ireland, but you won’t have faced anything even close to like ’em before. Gotta know what we might have to defend against.”

 

“At least it’s not bloody America,” Indira muttered. “We won’t have bands of...of biker gangs attacking us with machine guns every week.”

 

Ratiri choked on a laugh, but once again, Geezer didn’t bother. “Wouldn’t be quite that bad, but it wouldn’t be good, either,” he said. “In here, we’ve got the advantage, but if somebody _does_ show up with some military assault rifle, I don’t want anyone getting killed because they don’t know what they’re dealing with.”

 

Thranduil’s lips parted, taken aback on some level at the...overly enthusiastic response. Formerly he had banned devices that would emit signals from his Halls, out of fear that they could somehow be detected. Perhaps this would no longer be the case in that future but...this was still his home, and he had obligations to ensure the safety of the elves until the day they passed through those Gates for the last time. Perhaps he would speak about this privately, later. There was no point overreacting; it was hardly going to happen tonight.

 

“Geezer, I can probably get you one, if you think it’d be good to demonstrate with,” Shane said. The power of a gun, any gun, was an abstract concept to the elves; they wouldn’t properly get it until they’d seen it in action. They also needed to do a physical test of Elf armor, to see whether or not it could withstand something like that. There was a big difference between a longbow and an AK47.

 

“You be careful,” Lorna warned. “I mean it, I don’t want you getting caught for that.”

 

Shane rolled his eyes. “Give me a little credit, Fun Size.”

 

Lorna was about two seconds away from throwing a cream puff at him; she only restrained herself by promising herself wine later. “Tá tú fear marbh, Shane. Ach tú ag fanacht. Tá sé agat eyebrows bhí, agus tá a fhios agam i gcás ina gcoinníonn Mairead an céir te.” _You’re a dead man, Shane. Just you wait. You’ve got eyebrows, and I know where Mairead keeps the hot wax._

 

Mairead eyed her. “Kinky, but unproductive.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised and he stifled a smile, while catching Earlene’s eye. This would be an excellent time to consider winding down this meeting, and ending it on a positive note. And she seemed to understand his expression, without him directly saying so.  “Does anyone wish to raise any more subjects for consideration, or would you like to let matters rest for tonight?”

 

“Might as well let them rest,” Mick said. “Don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve got a date with Google later.”

 

“Mick,” Lorna said carefully, “I know you didn’t mean that to sound as wrong as it actually did.”

 

“I--oh. Yeah. You know what I mean.” His face was positively flaming, and Lorna fought an urge to rub her temples.

 

“Anyway,” Mairead said, “the human tomato over there is right. We can come up with ideas between now and the next meeting, and organize it all through Orla’s website. We can just give you our contact info,” she added, to Orla directly.

 

“Oh, I already have it.” Too late, Orla must have realized what that implied. “Er...I swear I didn’t hack your bank accounts or anything. I just wanted email addresses and stuff.”

 

Now Lorna _did_ rub her temples. They had a long, long way to go in the next twenty years.

 

“Well then,” Earlene said breezily, “our next meetings are scheduled every two weeks hereafter, until we decide otherwise. Niamh will send the minutes to Orla when they are ready. Unfortunately, you are all expected to review them for accuracy, because one of the things that happens according to the Rules at the next meeting is, we have to approve the minutes. Dreaming up what else to add to that board, and obtaining the aforementioned list of expats from the villages are the two main assignments between now and then. We will call this meeting concluded at…” she fished her mobile out of her pocket, “7:14pm.” _Let the drinking begin,_ she thought drily, returning to her seat after fetching six of the cream puffs and placing half of them in front of Thanadir. Which made her feel completely rude, so she offered her three to Thalion. “Anírol hin?” (Would you like these?)

 

“Ú, Hiril vuin. Len hannon.” (No, beloved lady. Thank you.) the ellon smiled, nudging the plate back toward her.

 

 _More for me,_ Earlene could not help thinking as she smiled at Thalion. They were Mairead’s, after all. Some things just weren’t parted with lightly.

 

A palpable aura of relief filled the room, aided when Ratiri broke out some of his home-brewed beer. _This_ was something they could all get behind.

 

Sharley tried to lurk in the background, but Lorna wasn’t having any of it: she brought over a sandwich and two cream puffs, along with an order of, “Eat this, you’re too skinny.”

 

Amusement rose in the woman’s odd eyes. “And you’re not?” she asked, taking the sandwich.

 

“I’m wiry. There’s a difference.”

 

Sharley didn’t actually utter, _If you say so_ , but it was implied.

 

“Have you got anyone out there, allanah? Anyone you’d be wanting to bring?” Lorna asked. “Is -- is Marty’s father in the picture?” From the sound of everything so far, that would be a no, but she had to ask anyway.

 

“I don’t remember Marty’s father,” Sharley said, sounding weirdly unconcerned. “You’ve gotta understand, there’s a lot I don’t remember. Kinda don’t care, though, because what good would it do if I did?”

 

“That’s...a rather enviable mindset,” Lorna said, though dread squeezed her heart. Oh, she hoped she was wrong -- hoped, so very, _very_ much that she was wrong. _Thranduil, did you get that?_

 

 _Yes.  And I still believe this is not the time._ The sadness in his mental voice was not hidden. _That tidbit does nothing to make me feel better. Nothing. At. All._

 

Smiling, Earlene brought him some of Ratiri’s beer, thinking he would enjoy it, only to see the expression on his face. Her eyes swept around the room to see Lorna speaking with Sharley. Her heart sank a little, because she could...guess. But for Thranduil, she tried. “Here, husband. Something to distract you a little bit, from the meeting. Thank you, for what you did for me.” Bending down, she kissed his cheek, knowing full well that most of the time the sight of her cleavage did him some good. One could hope, anyway.

 

Thranduil took the cup from her, murmuring his thanks. As he sipped it, he smiled. However much he would prefer to mope about Sharley at this exact moment, he appreciated Earlene’s efforts. While at the moment he truly did not feel interested in becoming aroused, he did feel loved.

 

Mairead meandered over to Lorna and Sharley, and inspected the latter’s blue hair with a professional eye. “You need to start hoarding hair color,” she said. “I can start getting it now, but I’ll want to get you into the salon and color-match it first. You could do with a good conditioner as well.”

 

“Oi, don’t badger her,” Lorna warned.

 

“It’s fine,” Sharley said. “I haven’t had anyone do my hair since...actually, I don’t remember ever having _anyone_ do my hair. I’ve always bleached it and dyed it myself.”

 

“Oh good Jesus, you’re lucky you didn’t burn it all off,” Mairead said, appalled. “How long’ve you been doing it?”

 

“Since Marty was three, so about five years. Blue was her favorite color.”

 

“Ba é sin a hiníon, a fuair bás,” Lorna explained. _That was her daughter, who died._

 

“Well, we’ll get it all sorted before you go back -- are you sure you’ve got to _go_ back?” Mairead asked, and Lorna knew this odd, blue-haired woman had ensnared another would-be family member.

 

“I do,” Sharley said gently. “I’m glad I’ll have everyone here to come back to, when I come, but there’s things I have to do first.”

 

“Sharley plays the violin,” Lorna said. “Bloody well, too. God, you know, there’s the other thing we ought to do -- get a load’v instruments, and learn to play them. That way we won’t want for music even if all the technology we’ve got does go tits up.”

 

“I’m going to be starting in on that right away,” Earlene said, joining the conversation. Though nothing technically stopped them from knocking off a museum or music store once the shite hit the fan, lawfully purchasing items instead of planning on looting seemed more dignified, somehow. “Not to mention, having sheet music. Jesus, to think of all the music compositions and songs that will be lost if we don’t somehow keep a library of them. Dammit. ‘Arts’ needs to be a category. What in hell was I thinking?”

 

“Well, we’ve got twenty years,” Lorna said. “Twenty years, Amazon, and a lot’v space. Nothing says we can’t do it. There’s loads’v shite we ought to save. Books. Pictures. At least we’ve got the space to put it all, and then some.”

 

“True,” Earlene agreed. “I need to spend some time in this library here. I’ve seen it, but I’ve not really gotten to know it. But I can guess who does know it and he can explain to me how it’s organized.”

 

“Is he going to want us shoving stuff in there?” Lorna asked. “I couldn’t at all blame him if he wouldn’t. We could set up our own library, so it’s not all jammed together.” They would be asking an awful lot of poor Thanadir as it was; no need to stomp on his toes more than necessary.

 

“One way to find out,” Earlene shrugged. “I will ask. Though...it ultimately will all be left behind, unless they know something I do not. While I do not want to overrun their home in the time remaining, it makes a certain sense that if the point of a library is to store knowledge, well…” she reached for another cream puff. “Sure god Mairead, these things are fantastic. I don’t need to ask what you’ll end up doing here one day. The elven bakers are already good, but I have a feeling they’ll be better yet by the time you all become acquainted. The kitchens will need to add staff, to feed all those people.” Maybe that would be the first thing the humans would learn...they were all spoiled rotten here, with dedicated cooks that lifted the need to prepare and serve individual meals from all of them.

 

Mairead burst out laughing. “We all need to work out how to cook like this lot,” she said. “Gran taught me to cook some things on a woodstove, but that was a long time ago. I’d have to re-learn it and then some. And I’ll have to bludgeon Siobhan into being less...her...before she works with any elves.”

 

“Poor Siobhan,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “We need to find her somebody. Maybe she’d be less’v a pervert if she was getting laid regularly.”

 

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Mairead said dryly. “But there’s already willing cooks among us, and the younger ones’ll be able to learn. They’ll have an easier time’v it with Sindarin, too, I’m betting. Lorna’s said it’s a beast’v a language.”

 

“That it is,” Lorna sighed. “ _Russian_ is easier.”

 

“That I have to see, except, I don’t want to,” Earlene smiled. “It’s got some quirks to be sure but...there has to be worse out there. It’s not hard to say simpler things, but when the sentences get really involved...well...they are mostly very nice about speaking slowly. And trust me, they’ve got the worst end of it. Sindarin only has so many words...not like English, where there’s twenty ways to say everything. And, this is a bit off topic but...how did Baile take all this? Which is to say, what happened after we left, that day?”

 

“Oh, Christ,” Mairead groaned. “Don’t even ask. I was on the verge’v calling Lorna to drag you lot back out there. The only thing that won them all over -- eventually -- was the fact that we were all saying the same thing, and most’v us aren’t the most imaginative people in the world. Then I wound up having to fire emails with eight million questions at Lorna every day -- which she was shite at answering, I might add,” she said, glowering at her sister.

 

“Better you get any answers here, all at once,” Lorna retorted. “Christ, you know what we should do, and what I wish I’d thought to do tonight? We should record these meetings on someone’s mobile. Granted, once that lot’s been here for Ratiri’s and my wedding, that ought to shut them up and then some.” It was pretty impossible to disbelieve in elves once you’d seen this place.

 

“And then they’ll want to know how many people they can drag in from the outside world,” Mairead sighed. “Just looking at the size’v this place, I can see why they would. They wouldn’t be thinking about sustainability.”

 

“Yeah, well, something nasty but unfortunately useful occurred to me,” Lorna said. “Both Lasg’len and Baile’ve got a load’v pensioners. In twenty years, how many’v them’ll still be alive? We’ll have more room for the expats then.” It was a sad fact, and had been one for years, that the young people of villages like Baile and Lasg’len left for the wider world more often than not. Such villages were shrinking, not growing, but in this case that was a boon. That people were having children later, and fewer of them, was also a blessing. When she’d been a kid, families of four, five, even six kids had been common, but not anymore. Mairead was the only person she knew with four; the average now was two, assuming a person chose to have any at all. Doc Barry and Siobhan were not the only childless women by choice, and a lot of younger women these days had other things they wanted to focus on. There should not, in twenty years, be an exponentially huge number of expats to bring home. Lorna sure as hell hoped not, anyway.

 

“Depressing, but ruthless practicality often has to be that way,” quipped Earlene. “The harsh reality is, the ideal citizens for this are the kids who are ten years old now. Or even the ones being newly born. They are the ones who will truly inherit this future...it’s more like, it’s our job to make sure they have a future _to_ inherit. Because that’s cheerful.” Her shoulders shrugged. Poor Allanah...all the rest of her family would go waltzing out on her. Part of her really wished Manwë might have mentioned her future obligations before she adopted her daughter. Though, would it honestly have made a difference? Where else was she going to go, to some random family that would take her in and then she’d die in the plague? _Forget it, Earlene_ , she admonished herself. _You know why you don’t do ‘what-ifs’._

 

“It’s the ones who’re ten, really,” Lorna said. “Ten or teenagers. They’ll’ve had some time to properly be adults before the world goes to shit.” Their own children would be twenty, or little more than. Shannon, Mairead’s eldest, would be forty-four by then -- it was a better age to rebuild a society, people in their thirties and forties simply had more experience being part of one. Allanah and them would be coming of age just as the world fell apart. They’d be the ones who adapted the easiest, but they’d still need older people to take care of the shite they had no experience with yet.

 

“I hate to even bring up population realities,” Earlene said quietly, knowing this topic would be as popular as a lead balloon. “Once it’s happened, I hope enough of the women will be willing to have lots of children. But...not even going there, anytime soon. This is one instance where in order to survive and form stronger communities to branch out, people are going to need to do better than replace themselves. But I think I’ll be long past childbearing by then, Thranduil or no Thranduil. Besides, it isn’t like it’s something that can be legislated, and it kills me to think of needing to go back to a mentality that turns women into nothing but babymaking machines...it’s too awful to even consider.”

 

“Lots? Probably not,” Lorna said. “Multiples, sure, especially so long as Thranduil’s here to make certain nothing goes wrong, but after that...there’ll be no prenatal care, and probably no diagnostic equipment beyond a basic ultrasound, for however long the machines last. It’ll go back to being dangerous.” She wasn’t going to say that it didn’t matter how many children Earlene did or didn’t have, because they’d all be going with her and Thranduil when the elves left. (Though, more? Why would she _want_ more?) “Then again, the number’v kids this group has won’t matter at all if we don’t find more survivors. Otherwise we’ll just inbreed ourselves to death in a few generations. Ratiri said it takes at minimum ten _thousand_ people to support...what did he call it? Genetic diversity? A viable population? Something like that.”

 

“Radios. Communication….that’s another category under Technology,” Earlene murmured. “We’ve got to be able to locate others, when it’s safe to do that. And it sure wouldn’t be the worst to be able to speak to other pockets of survivors. However that can work.” Earlene sighed. “I need to get back to the children, I hope you’ll excuse me. They need their dinnertime,” she smiled, waving goodbye to Mairead and generally slipping away. It was _half_ true...but getting to where she could be introverted was sounding better and better just now.

 

“Ham radios,” Sharley said. “Get some.” She was eying the cream puffs, however, and Lorna, laughing, dragged her over to eat more.

 

*********

 

Thranduil looked up after a detailed conversation with Geezer, Thanadir and Thalion about his war experiences, using his abilities to essentially allow Thalion to understand the mortal man’s explanations. They were most illuminating for Thalion, who had a soldier’s mind and interests. Thanadir also had explained the computer, and the things to be learned on it, and the decision was made that soon, the ellon would be spending some of his time at the cottage to gain more exposure to modern human armaments. While the discussion had proved worthwhile, he frowned to realize that Earlene must have made her exit some time ago. It was time for him to do the same, and he excused himself from further discussion. _Lorna, I will be retiring for the evening, but should something catch fire, you know the way to our rooms_ , he teased. The mock-sour glower he received from across the room by way of response brought a beautiful smile from him. Turning, he worked his way out of the large room with smiles and cheerful nods.

 

Sharley watched him go, but it was not Sharley that followed. She was content to not know, to accept that there was shit she didn’t remember; she didn’t always pay a great deal of attention to the nuances of people, or understand them when she did.

 

The Stranger, on the other hand, paid a very great deal of attention. It had seen Thranduil’s expressions, and Lorna’s, and decided that it needed to put any speculations -- or intended actions -- to rest before they could get started.

 

“Thranduil,” it said, when they were well away from the planning room, “I need to talk to you.”

 

 _“Oh,”_ Jimmy said, _“shit. Um, you don’t want to talk to this, Thranduil. Go. Go now.”_

 

 _“He means it,”_ Layla added, not quite steady.

 

 _Pardon me?_ The King asked, slightly more baffled than usual at Sharley’s mental...extras.

 

“I need to talk to you,” the Stranger said, regarding him with odd detachment. “You wonder things. I will tell you, but you can never speak of them to Sharley. _Ever._ ”

 

 _“It’s the Stranger,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“It’s...it’s Sharley, but it’s not, and I don’t know what in hell it wants to do to you, but it’s best not to find out.”_

 

“I want to talk, Sinsemilla. You know why, even if Sharlely doesn’t.” It watched Thranduil closely, taking measure of him.

 

 _The Stranger?_ Eru, there was not enough wine for this, sometimes. _I do not understand, but if your condition is that I keep my silence with Sharley, I will agree._

 

The Stranger looked around, but saw no one save them. “You wonder about Avathar, don’t you? Sharley’s missing memories?”

 

“You are...not Sharley? And yes, I do wonder. Worry, would be a better term.”

 

“I am part of her,” the Stranger said, watching him with head slightly tilted to one side. Its tone was quite unlike Sharley’s; her natural accent was lacking, as was anything like normal human intonation. “The part that protects. You aren’t wrong. Avathar had us for six years, in a lab. He taught her to play the violin -- he was too curious about what she is to cause her true harm. He would wipe her mind of things, of tests, but I woke, and I remembered, and eventually I got us out.” Sharley did still remember the blood, if not how or why it came to be all over her. The rest, though, she did not, and she never would. She’d be horrified if she knew just how brutal the Stranger was in dealing with those who worked in that lab.

 

“Valar, no…” With all his might, he tried to compose himself, because the last thing even this....fragment of Sharley? needed was the weight of his grief. “I wanted to be wrong.” He was precipitously close to failing at controlling his emotions. What were these humans doing to him? And yet he could not be sorry. This was compassion, and yet a King could not always afford to show feelings.

 

“She does not remember, Thranduil,” the Stranger said. “She does not know. She is _happy_ not knowing. He is dead, and she is beyond his reach. The burden of those memories is what I bear. Taking them from her was...not easy. Making her not care that she did not know Marty’s father was even harder. Guarding her mind is not a simple job, Elvenking, but it is mine.”

 

“I will not interfere,” Thranduil replied. “You have my word. May I...the others will ask me. May I tell them what I have learned?”

 

“If it will set their minds at rest on this issue, yes. I know that Lorna wonders as well,” the Stranger said. “Sharley is well, or as well as she can be. I watch over her, as do the voices. She will come to live with you in time, and you will see that even with her sorrows, she is at peace. She is not, after all, ever really alone.”

 

“She has more peace than I will. And for that I am grateful. You will have to pardon me...this is difficult, even for one used to difficulties.”

 

“That thing has never made anything easy,” the Stranger said, “but it is dead now. It can never harm anyone or anything again.”

 

“And...Sharley’s child? I suppose I do not even need to ask.” His eyes held pain, as he prepared himself for the inevitable answer.

 

“Was Avathar’s,” the Stranger confirmed. “There was nothing wrong with Marty, however. She was just a sweet little girl, though never healthy. I think he was never meant to breed; even had she not died of appendicitis, I am not certain Marty was meant for this world. Sharley misses her, but has worked the pain of that loss into her being. I will, if possible, have Marty’s remains cremated, so they can be sent here. Sharley likes to sit beside her grave -- she calls it visiting Marty where she sleeps. Once Marty sleeps here, Sharley will stay.”

 

Thranduil nodded, now definitely unable to speak until he could master himself. He slowed his steps through the passages deliberately, trying to sort his tangled thoughts. “Why did they not want me to talk to you, the other voices?”

 

“They don’t trust me,” the Stranger said. “They think I’m dangerous.”

 

“I am dangerous also,” Thranduil said. “It does not mean I cannot be trusted. Is there more?”

 

“She remembers, in small amounts, what I did to get us out of the facility,” the Stranger said. “I would take that from her, if I could, but I cannot. There is no more than that worth knowing.”

 

 _“It’s not telling you that it killed fourteen people,”_ Layla said witheringly. _And that was just getting out of the wing. It killed nine more before we got outside.”_

 

 _“Layla?”_ Sinsemilla said, sounding pained, _“not helping.”_

 

“These were twenty-three who were carrying out Avathar’s orders to keep Sharley held against her free will as though she were of no more worth than a lump of clay?” Thranduil pressed.

 

 _“They were,”_ Kurt said. _“I don’t think the Stranger did anything wrong_ there _. Still don’t trust it, but, y’know. They had it coming.”_

 

 _“Kurt, you think_ everyone _had it coming,”_ Jimmy said. _“He’s right, though. They were the guards and the doctors that were supposed to_ test _her.”_ The word ‘test’ was infused with such vitriol it was almost indescribable.

 

 _“Yeah, well, there’s killing and then there’s what it did along the way,”_ Layla said. _“That was just unnecessary.”_

 

 _“Was not,”_ Kurt countered. _“It’s not like there were a whole lot of actual weapons.”_

 

_“Kurt, the damn thing impaled a guard with an IV stand.”_

 

_“That’s just creativity in action.”_

 

 _“Will you shut up? All of you. Jesus. The Stranger did what it had to do to get Sharley_ and us _away from Avathar. It happened just after...uh, after how Marty got made. That was what woke the Stranger up. I’m not surprised it was so pissed off.”_ What it had done had been an absolute bloodbath, but it was the part which remembered what that bastard had done to Sharley.

 

“I can find no fault by any law of elves or men that these individuals were killed. What are any of you thinking, to deride the right of anyone to free themselves from such an assault by any means necessary?” Thranduil pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead. _Eru, I am reproving auditory hallucinations. What has happened to my life?_

 

 _“It’s not what it did, it’s how it did it,”_ Layla said. _“It…”_

 

 _“Layla was a bit traumatized,”_ Sinsemilla explained. _“Yes, it was disgusting, but we’re all free now, so everyone is just going to shut up and not talk about it anymore, right?”_

 

Silence.

 

_“Right? Don’t make me say it again.”_

 

 _“Oh, fine,”_ Layla muttered. _“But_ you _ride along with someone while they stab somebody in the eye with a pen.”_

 

_“I did. I was there too, you know.”_

 

_“Yeah, well, I wish I hadn’t been.”_

 

 _“At least we learned how much force it takes to break a human neck,”_ Kurt said, a little too enthusiastically. _“It’s why we say the Stranger’s dangerous, though. It wouldn’t hurt you, you’re on Sharley’s side, but the assholes in the lab aren’t the only ones it’s dealt with. There was some douche in Seattle that tried to get a little too grabby in a dark alley. He got left in a Dumpster.”_

 

“Rather like Sharley, I must ask you to ignore them,” the Stranger said, and for the first time there was actual inflection in its tone -- it sounded distinctly annoyed. “I am no danger to you, or any of yours. You care for Sharley like none save Marty ever have. That means a great deal to me.”

 

“I believe we are in agreement as to our view of matters,” Thranduil said respectfully. “You will...see Sharley to her rooms?” The truth was, he wanted his pool and a glass of wine rather badly, just now.

 

“I will,” the Stranger said steadily. “Thank you, for being so kind to her. It will make it far easier for her to stay in one place, once she must.”

 

“She is the one who has been kind to us. She has saved the lives of those I call family, and beyond. I am in her debt considerably. Rest well,” he said, giving a slight nod of his head before parting ways to head toward his own rooms.

 

“Goodnight,” the Stranger said. He knew what he needed to know; it would put Sharley to bed, where she could sleep and never know it had stirred.

 

*****

 

Thranduil entered his rooms and saw that Earlene sat with Lothiriel and the children, playing with them. He nodded to both of them and moved past, through to the bedroom. Earlene took one look at her husband and rose, giving Eleniel into Lothiriel’s keeping.   
“Boe i Aran nîn…” (The King needs…)

 

Lothiriel raised her hand. “Henion. Tíron eithro…” (I understand. I too see…)

 

“Annon allen,” Earlene smiled, following Thranduil.

 

He sat, slumped in his chair.

 

“Stand up,” she insisted quietly, first retrieving a robe of his. Much as a valet might have done for a gentleman in bygone times, Earlene unbuttoned his clothing, helping him out of the garments and enrobing him. Taking him by the hand, she led him into the pool, and held the robe while he stepped into the pool, disturbing the glassy surface. Disappearing, she returned with both wine and water for him in separate goblets. And then she left Thranduil alone, lingering for a good ten minutes, while she undressed herself and pinned her ever-lengthening hair up and out of the way. When joining him at last, she entered the water, and sat near to him, but did not touch or otherwise disturb him. For a long time, he appeared lost in thought, but eventually tears pooled in his eyes, and he reached for her as his voice broke with a choking sound. “Earlene.”

  



	71. Seventy-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 15-June 21, 2017
> 
> Note: We are currently writing chapter 105. The extra content release is because I desperately want to not be sitting on quite so much unpublished material! And yet no matter how hard I try, we keep exceeding being 30 chapters ahead. That and, it's hot, and maybe it's a holiday somewhere? :-) Thank you all for reading, and for the lovely comments! <3

Thranduil stood outside, a large quiver bulging with dozens of arrows at his side. The longbow he held was less than half a foot shorter than he was. His elegant draw came in a single fluid motion, before his arrow released toward a straw target at a very impressive distance. The set of his jaw and the hard expression on his face did not change from one arrow to the next.

 

Lorna, in need of fresh air, had wandered out in search of the sun -- and like an idiot, she’d decided to practice wearing all Ratiri’s bling while she was at it, so she just kind of jingle-jangled her way along, extremely glad she’d quit smoking or she’d be entirely out of breath right now. She hadn’t anticipated finding anyone else outside, but when she stumbled across Thranduil, she paused. That was one gigantic fucking bow, and he did not look remotely happy. Uh-oh.

 

She was not about to sneak up on someone with any kind of projectile weapon, so she settled for standing at the edge of the clearing and asking, “What’s wrong?”

 

The King paused, reversed his draw and lowered the bow. “It is that obvious?” he asked plaintively.

 

“It is to me,” she said, crossing the ground and wrapping him in a hug. “What happened?” She had to release him just long enough to swat some of his hair out of her face -- why did elves not use braids?

 

“I just usually do not,” he said. “Some of us wear braids. Should I? And let me put this blasted thing down. I could use the hug more, for all the good this is doing,” he muttered, lowering the weapon to balance the string across the quiver propped up against the ground, before returning her embrace and scooping her up to sit on a rock with a generally forlorn expression. Though, for a moment, he smiled as if the sun broke through a particularly dark band of clouds. “Just so you know, wearing all that, I can hear you coming before you are even out the doors of the Halls. And you are now much too heavy. I like you better without a corner of my vault attached to you.”

 

Lorna glowered at him. “Trust me, I’m not thrilled to be wearing it all,” she said. “It’s something I’d much rather look at on someone else.”

 

The next moment his face fell back into sadness, the reflection of why he was shooting arrows in the first place. “This is not easy to discuss,” he said, looking down at the ground. “Something...inside of Sharley...spoke to me. It calls itself  The Stranger. I have not explained to you that there are four...Valar, how does one even describe this?...voices, that live in Sharley’s mind. They are not real, but they seem to be. They sound like people, but are generations of some facet of her mind. But last night I met yet another...voice, and that was the one the other voices call The Stranger. When The Stranger comes, Sharley as you and I know her is pushed aside. Protected. The Stranger told me everything about what happened to her. It is all that we feared, and worse. And I am having a great difficulty.”

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Lorna sighed, and tightened her hold, only to once again have to get rid of a face full of hair before she hugged him again. Some of it tried to tangle itself in the coin necklace, which really didn’t help. “It sounds like what we call dissociative identity disorder -- a personality can fragment, usually because’v some kind’v trauma. I wish...I wish I could be surprised, but…” She shut her eyes. She couldn’t be surprised, not after all she knew of that bastard. “She doesn’t remember any’v it, does she?”

 

“No, and we are never to tell her. Her mind is more at peace than yours or mine will ever be over what happened. The only thing that made me feel in anyway less pained was to understand that her daughter would not have lived regardless. The child was doomed because of being...wrong. Unable to survive. Knowing that he did not kill the little girl...it was something.”

 

“How sad is it, when knowing some sick fuck didn’t murder his own kid is ‘something’?” Lorna asked. “I mean, I was pretty sure...once I’d started to suspect, I couldn’t imagine it was anything else. That poor woman...I’m glad she doesn’t know. I’m glad she seems to be okay with not knowing.” She sighed. “Christ, I want her to stay. I know she feels she’s got shite to do, but...I want to spoil that poor woman. I want to set her up with a nice little flat in here, and clothes and things and...and...hair dye. I want to make her safe forever.”

 

“It gets more tragic,” Thranduil said, resting his forehead carefully on her shoulder that always seemed so frail, even though he knew it was not. “Part of why she will return is to bring her daughter’s remains here, to the forest. The Stranger said that where Marty is, she will remain.” He had to blink back more tears. “No parent should endure such a thing,” he said in a voice that tried so hard not to break.

 

That...Lorna couldn’t think of anything she’d ever heard of that was more tragic. She’d lost her own daughter before the baby was even born; there had been no chance to love her as Sharley had loved Marty. That little girl, it sounded like, had been all Sharley had had in the world…. “Okay,” Lorna said, and her own voice was not steady. “Okay, so I don’t know if you’ve heard’v this, but sometimes, when we humans die, we have our ashes planted with a tree. I think we should talk to Sharley, and help her find a beautiful place to put Marty. Someplace a little girl would like to play. Somewhere good for her to sleep.” Oh, fuck it. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, not terribly surprised she’d actually managed to cry, because that really was the saddest fucking thing. Did Fate just really have it in for that poor woman?

 

“I would like that very much, to do that. Any of us would. It would give her child a place of honor among what we most revere.” He too raised his head and wiped at his eyes, shaking his head. “My people are used to sorrow. But that so much should come upon one of such good heart...I believe you humans say, ‘no fair.’ When Sharley comes here at last, she will be treated well. I will do all I can, to make up for her losses.”

 

“I don’t know how old she is exactly, but too young for that shit,” Lorna said, wiping her eyes again. She got another face full of blond hair again, of course, which just stuck to her tears. “Okay, fuck this. Thranduil, I need to braid your hair. I promise I won’t make you look like a girl.” She had to spit out a few strands to even say that much. “And Sharley...I want to adopt her. I know she’s too old to be my kid and all, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to adopt her. The woman needs all the family she can get.”

 

“I will not stop you. In either regard. Do as you wish.”

 

She had to pull the elastic off the end of her own braid before she managed to scramble around to other side of the rock, jingling again, dammit, and sitting behind him. Naturally, she didn’t even need a hairbrush; all she had to do was use her fingers as a comb -- though keeping it from getting snagged in all the bangles was an interesting proposition. “Never, ever let Mairead near your hair,” she said solemnly. “She would never want to let go.” Her work was slow, since she had to wipe her eyes a few more times, but she left him with a tidy, simple, functional braid, that would not in fact make him look like a girl (although she would bet Mairead could come up with some _fantastic_ hairst--no. Bad Lorna.) That done, she crawled back around the rock and wrapped her arms around him again.

 

“Thank you, Lorna,” he whispered.

 

“You’re welcome,” she said, hugging him a little tighter. Thranduil wasn’t like her -- he didn’t have the luxury of just letting shit out whenever he felt like it. Being a king had to royally suck in some ways, pun fully intended, so if she could give him any comfort, she’d do it. Something, however, occurred to her. “I’m like a doll, aren’t I?” she asked. “Is that why you like to hold me when you’re upset? I don’t mind, if it is. Me being so tiny might as well be good for _something_.” She really was doll-sized to someone his height, and she was always good for a hug if needed. Which was not something she had ever thought she’d be able to say about herself. This knowledge...this would hurt anyone, to know what had happened to poor Sharley, even if the woman herself mercifully had no idea; comfort was definitely needed. Once she came to stay, they were going to spoil the shit out of her. She was never, ever going to be left ignorant of how much she was valued, never going to go uncared for. They would give her everything she hadn’t had in her life, with interest.

 

Thranduil broke away from her to meet her eyes. A playful reservation passed over his features as the corners of his lips turned up slightly. “I valued my standing with you too much, to ever be willing to speak that aloud.” It was as closest admission she would hear, of an open confession of that truth. He was not about to inform her that he was hardly alone in his thinking, for he was too busy hugging her again, and realizing more needed to be said. Somehow. “Thank you for understanding,” he added. “It is true, that it is an unfortunate reality of my position. When others look to you for strength… Sometimes the greatest gift a ruler gives to his or her people is the ability to believe that we are individually and collectively stronger than we really are. And it must begin with the perceived invulnerability of the one who leads. Of course it is an absolute fiction, but it is a fiction that has saved our lives on more than one occasion. One day I will tell you of the battle that was the closest we ever came to being defeated. But not today.” He hoped his words would be remembered, because they would be the first of many things he would speak to her that were not merely idle conversation, but active teaching.

 

“I don’t envy your job,” Lorna said. “I sort’v saw that, with Shane. Difference is, he didn’t hide it so well, but he was only twenty. He didn’t have any training for it.” Not that Thranduil probably had, either, given the arsehole that had been his da. He’d likely had to learn it the hard way, _because_ of his da. How hard would it be, to keep everything on the inside, and only show people what you wanted them to see? She’d done it to an extent when she’d been younger, because to show weakness was beyond idiotic, but at least she’d always had the luxury of being able to let her anger out. She hadn’t had to seem...well, superhuman. Resting her head on his shoulder, she added, “Well, if you need a Lorna-doll, you kind’ve can’t help but know where I am.” A pause, and then, “And I did not mean for that to sound as vaguely skeevy as it did. You know what I mean.”

 

“Of course I do,” he laughed. “I am not, and never will be, Siobhan. Eru, what I will do once she lives among us? Oh well. I suppose she cannot help her proclivities.”

 

“We’ll just have to make sure she goes outside the forest a lot, once the plague’s burned itself out,” Lorna said, grinning. “At least she’s the only one in town like her.” Granted, that was likely part of her problem. If there was another one, they could just be skeevy to one another, rather than letting it free-float to...well, everyone. Laughing, she added, “To you I’m a doll, to Ratiri I’m a sprite, and to half my family I’m Fun Size. Genetics were not kind to me.” At least Ratiri was so tall that neither twin was likely to be as short as her, even if they didn’t wind up tall.

 

“And yet your gran lived to be how old?” he smirked.

 

“...Hush, you,” she said, when she could come up with no actual argument. “Although speaking’v, Ratiri and I talked about the extended lifespan thingy, and decided we’d like to do it. It’ll be a lot easier to wrangle things after the plague if we still feel forty, not sixty.”

 

He did not answer, but smiled and kissed her forehead, lifting her up as he rose. “I do not suppose you would help me retrieve my arrows? I apparently can still aim, and there is no further point to this activity.” He paused, and frowned. “Has Thanadir taught you to shoot at all?” Of course, what he equally wondered was, did the armory contain a bow that could possibly fit her, until he recalled that even the training bows for elflings should yet rest there.

 

“He hasn’t, but I’ve also not asked,” Lorna said, ignoring how all her jewelry jingled as she hunted arrows. Jesus, the damn things shot deep, didn’t they? Trying to wrench them out of the targets took some doing, though that wasn’t help but the thirty pounds of Indian bling weighing her down. “I’m so little I’m not sure I’d be that good at it anyway. I mean, how small’v a bow would I need?” Thranduil’s was quite a bit taller than she was -- shit, it was close to as tall as _him_. What was it like, being able to constantly see the world from such a vantage point? If only that telepathy worked both ways. “You know what would make these even better? If they exploded on impact.”

 

Laughing, he showed her how to have an easier time of it by bracing the target around the arrow shaft before pulling on them. “I am afraid that exceeds our knowledge. The exploding arrows, that is. A bow for you is simply a function of measurements. Both bows and arrows are measured to the body of the one using them. And this is a longbow, not a normal weapon. It takes a great deal of practice and slowly gaining strength to use one; even were you built like Shane or Ratiri you would find this to be the case. But few things exceed the capability of a bow for stealth in the hands of one with some skill. Longbows allow us to attack at a significant distance, especially for poorly armored opponents.”

 

Lorna held one of the arrows lengthwise, point rested on the ground. It was so tall the end of it almost touched her shoulder. “Would a bow sized for me even have anywhere close to the impact yours does?” she asked, doubting it. She did have some hazy idea of how force and energy worked, even if it was theoretical at best. “I wish I wasn’t so fucking _small_.” Her fiance and her brother-from-another-mother were both a foot and a half taller than her. Having your head barely reach someone’s ribcage...damn genetics. Yeah, Gran lived to be ancient, but she was tiny the whole time.

 

“Of course not, silly. And it is like this.” He repositioned the arrow so that the point was held against her breast and showed her how to hold her arms straight out in front of her to hold the shaft between her flattened hands. “This, where your fingertips end on the arrow shaft, indicates the length of arrow you would fire. And even an elfling can use a bow capable of bringing down a deer. Flesh is flesh, and it takes less force than you might imagine for an arrow to penetrate a body. You see, a longbow is not usually aimed in quite the same manner as I am playing at here. There is a range...ordinarily because of the desired distance the arrows arc high into the air; the best outcome is when they are fired en masse into grouped opponents. But that is in a battle. As you can see, at shorter distances they can still be aimed with significant accuracy.” He sighed. “I do not mean to dismiss that you would prefer to be taller. I too would find it difficult to be of your stature. And yet, I am certain there are times you can do things because of your size that others cannot.”

 

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I can squeeze into small spaces really well. One time I hitched a ride in the boot’v somebody’s car and he didn’t notice.” She eyed him. “Exactly how tall are elf children, usually?” She knew that a few of the dresses Thanadir had forced into her closet were actually children’s clothes, which was as hilarious as it was mildly depressing. She would like to learn archery, though, even if she did have to use a child’s bow. Knife-throwing had become second nature, so long as she had a stationary target; maybe it was time for a new weapon. “Y’know, being so little’s part’v why I’ve always had such a temper. Nobody takes you seriously when you’re my size. They always peg you as the easiest target. Gran, she told me that short people aren’t actually any more belligerent than tall ones, it’s just that with us, it’s concentrated.” As an experiment, she reached as high over her head as she could, and barely managed to touch the tip of his nose. For her children’s sakes, she hoped, oh so much, that they at least made it into the five foot range. Even if they only wound up as tall as Pat, it was still better than what she had.

 

“It depends on the age of the elfling, but it is usual for them to grow physically at a similar rate to mortal children. Their stature increases along the same lines, but they are quicker to display certain kinds of physical dexterity and ability, as you have already seen in Eleniel and Ithiliel. What is not quicker is the full development of our intellect and our….moral center, if you will. They will appear grown at the same age as your children and Allanah, but will have much further to go in the gaining of wisdom, as it is viewed among our people. That is why our Coming of Age is at fifty. This milestone is the same as humans view reaching the eighteenth year. But I have observed that often your young people are not...taken seriously, shall we say, even though they are technically adults? It is the same with us, until one hundred years of age is attained. At that point an elf is settled, fully stable. It may be that they have already wedded before that time; that is an individual decision. Many factors, namely times of strife, have influenced the choices of elves during our history. But I also have to give a caveat; my children are peredhel. What exact influence their mother’s...genes, I suppose you would say, will have on their development remains to be seen. Thandir and I are prepared to encounter differences; perhaps they will require extra teaching.” He shrugged. “What will happen, will happen. There have been so few peredhel ever born, and little if anything was recorded of the time of their youth.”

 

“Because that won’t get weird, between them and the human kids,” Lorna said. “You’re right, nobody takes and eighteen-year-old seriously. You’ve got to wait until you’re in your early twenties for that. Christ, I hope the lot’v them decide to unite against the world, rather than fight like cats and dogs.” Somehow, even if it was the latter, she had a feeling Allanah would be the middle ground. That kid was so sunny and so sweet that she’d have to be. At least there would be three peredhel and three humans to balance each other out, no matter how unimpressed she remained. “Although honestly, them uniting against the world could get a bit terrifying, too.”

 

The King chuckled. “If they fight like cats and dogs, they will also be fighting Thanadir. You have really not seen more of him than facets, of his complete personality. But if only through the raising of our children, I believe you will in time.”

 

“He could handle it if five out’v the six turned into hellions?” She couldn’t imagine Allanah ever being a hellion, but who knew with the others. Hers were, well, _hers_ ; she could only hope they’d take more after Ratiri, personality-wise. If not, though...well, it would get interesting. Not necessarily _fun_ , but interesting.

 

“For all his amusing quirks and endearing qualities, he is more extraordinary than you know. Much of what I am, I owe to him.” His expression took on a faraway gaze, as if many memories lost to time now surfaced. “He is steadfast, and relentless in his simple pursuit of seeking order matters as he believes they should be. While at times he can run slightly in excess of what is needed, I have learned to consider carefully before rejecting his wishes. He is a compass, and an anchor. It is why he is entrusted with everything dearest to me.”

 

“It sounds like he was your Shane,” Lorna said softly. Given what a gobshite Thranduil’s da had been, Thanadir was probably the closest thing to a paternal figure he’d had growing up. Not that Thanadir and Shane were even remotely alike in most ways, but in what counted, she suspected they were very similar.

 

“Yes and no. Because of the realities of our long lives, there is a great deal more history and complexity between us. And I will confess that I am still learning to understand him. He did not so much try to step into the role my father should have had, as guide me to understand how to succeed. Both against my own demons and with the burdens I was asked to carry. And given that he managed all of this while still always showing me deference...I honestly do not know how he achieved it, in retrospect. Everything makes more sense through the lens of greater experience, and yet some things never quite seem to be…” he trailed off, searching for the correct word. “Fully known.”

 

“There’s a saying we humans’v got: ‘still waters run deep’,” Lorna said. “People like Thanadir -- people that don’t say _too_ much, but watch everything -- are the ones that’re hardest to fathom. I think there’s a lot about Thanadir that only Thanadir knows.” She paused. “Okay, this is just my happy human pleb status showing, but doesn’t people giving you deference all the time seem _weird_? I’d think it’d make for a bloody lonely life, sometimes, not having anybody who was your ‘equal’.” Perhaps it wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, given he’d literally lived all his life with the whole royalty-status, but she personally thought it would utterly suck to be unable to have any real friends because everyone you knew was your subordinate. Holy power imbalances, Batman.

 

“Nothing is weird when it is all you have ever known,” he responded. “If anything, ‘weird’ are the changes that have come to us out of the need to be more...palatable, to you in the outer world. Looking back, I was lonely, though...I did not let myself see it. There are some aspects to ruling or leading that...it would be unavoidable even in your world. You humans have a saying I have read, ‘It’s lonely at the top.’ I have Earlene now, whereas I was alone for a very long time. And new human friends. And I have learned more about Thanadir in this last year than in the past many thousands. We like our ways, and to some extent still cling to our traditions. But now that we are so diminished, abandoning some of the formality between us in favor of being family...it has brought nothing but good. It is true that there is a power imbalance, Lorna. But part of why you have such issue with it is that you have never known a proper family. In so many ways, our kingdom mirrors that of a father, and children. None of us here think of it in the same way you do. It is difficult, not to bring our histories to our understanding of a given situation.”

 

He really was sadly right in his words about ‘proper family’; oh, she’d _had_ family, and plenty of it over the years, but not in any conventional sense. The word ‘father’ even yet meant nothing good to her, though it was losing its distaste now that Ratiri was a father himself. It was a slow process, but that wasn’t terribly surprising; their children weren’t yet old enough for him to be a proper da. Babies could neither mind nor act out; they just ate, slept, pooped, and as of late, rolled over and sat up. (God help both of them, but Chandra was already trying to inchworm, which Ratiri said was _way_ ahead of schedule.) Lorna devoutly prayed she’d give that up, and that Shane wouldn’t decide to follow her example before she did. Damn it all, she really was going to have prodigy kids, wasn’t she? Why the hell did Ratiri have to be so smart?

 

“I guess we never do find what we’ve always known as weird,” she said, wrenching another arrow out. “Christ knows I didn’t think my childhood was odd. Shitty, sure, but not odd. Adjusting to the normal world once I got out’v prison, now _that_ was odd.” She understood, to a degree, what kind of a shock to the system modern Earth must have been to the elves, because she’d gone through a much milder version of it herself. Computers? Mobile phones? These things had always been abstracts. She’d never even heard of YouTube, but discovering it had been a joy. Hell, even things like bank accounts -- she hadn’t had her first one until she was twenty-eight. She still had her first debit card tucked away in a file cabinet, because it meant more to her than anyone probably understood, or ever would understand.

 

This was one more thing to tuck away in her mental file labeled ‘elves’. Learning about their culture had made her feel a bit like an anthropologist, seeing into it in bits and pieces. There was still a very, very great deal she didn’t know, and one bit she was never, ever going to approve of, but she couldn’t deny it was fascinating. It wasn’t better or worse, it was just...different. _Very_ different, in some ways, but that just made it all the more interesting. One thing was for damn sure: never yet had she found a single, tiny aspect of it that could be called boring. Frustrating as hell (looking at you, Sindarin), but not boring. And there was beauty in it of a type shes’d seen nowhere in the human world, the kind that could only come from being ancient. More than ancient. Just how old _was_ elf civilization? Thranduil was eighteen thousand years old, and he’d had a da and presumably a grandda and...hell, she’d bet they’d been around as a people for a hundred thousand years, if not longer. Possibly much longer.

 

And now most of them were gone...why? By any and all logic, they should have stayed the dominant species, and yet most of them had left and let humans rise to the fore. That was not a question to ask just now, though, because she was certain the answer would be long and complicated.

 

“Not really,” he said, amused, understanding that she either did not recall her reading or had not understood the span of years it described. “Earlene tells me the answer to that one is on the Internet. We are not nearly so old as that. Of old we called this world Arda. The first of my people woke less than a thousand years before my birth. Thanadir and I are very old, even as elves go. And on Yule night, you saw Ruscion give the vision of the Trees of Valinor. He is older still, born before the sun rose on the lands of our dwelling. And we are mostly gone because of the same reason we must leave you. Our Lords and Ladies called us to Valinor, and we are among the very, very few who did not answer that summons. A decision that in the end, will be rectified according to the will of the Valar.” His smile was crooked, that of an errant child that knows comeuppance is due for having had his hand in the cookie jar.

 

“Ugh, I don’t even want to think about you lot leaving,” she said, wrapping her free arm around him. “I hope you stay until long after I’m dead and buried.”

 

 _I do not,_ he thought to himself sadly, but kept this hidden. “If I have learned one thing, it is that the future is not something easily seen, unless one is Sharley. And even then...do not worry about that. I believe it will turn out well enough in the end.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder as the last arrow went into his quiver. They returned to the Halls thus, with her golden bangles clinking and tinkling and occasionally even clattering, while the birds sang high in the trees overhead.

 

*****

 

The morning of June 21st dawned bright and sunny, and after the breakfast meal Earlene eagerly changed into her pretty _human_ clothing. There were not very many weeks left, before she would start to show. Even now, she felt the tiny firmness beneath her still-flat belly becoming a little more solid every day. Or maybe she was imagining it, sometimes these things were hard to tell.  Capri pants and sandals, a summery top that flattered her figure while still being tasteful, her usual small amount of makeup, and a gauzy scarf to play down her necklace a little. Though, she frowned. There was no need to hide what she was, any longer. Everyone...knew. _Screw it_ , she thought, undoing the scarf and tossing it aside in favor of pretty twists in her hair, and earrings. She and Lorna would leave shortly after lunch for Baile, and the bridal shower she was co-hosting with Mairead at her home. _I should not be this excited, but...only now do I realize how much I do not ever do...human things. Not to mention, human_ girl _things._

 

Her reverie was interrupted by the seneschal coming in just as she was tying the last strand of her hair. “When are we going?” he asked politely.

 

“We?” Earlene’s lips parted.

 

“Earlene, I am to guard you. Surely this is not unusual?”

 

 _Oh, isn’t this suddenly the ninth circle of Hell..._ “Meldir, you cannot be serious. This is a kind of event only females attend, usually. And I can assure you that there will be...profound unseemliness. Very _overt_ unseemliness. Valar, Siobhan will be there. That alone is grounds for trepidation. Can you not be content with Lorna and I traveling to Baile on our own?” Earlene had long known this moment would arise. It already had risen, just not in the context of a bridal shower in a town full of uninhibited Irish women, a good portion of whom would head to the bottom of the spiked punch bowl first, and ask questions later.

 

For an answer, Thanadir crossed his arms and simply looked at her. Unblinking. Expressionless. For a time, Earlene looked back, equally unblinking, but she did not require telepathy to see know his answer. Her case was not helped in the least by the fact that he had saved her life, twice, from situations in which she should have been perfectly safe. It was therefore necessary to turn her focus to some manner of compromise. She sighed, deeply. Breaking his gaze, she offered her hand to him. “Then we will do as you wish. But can we please discuss some means by which this can be...not a complete embarrassment for both of us? Please?”

 

The arms uncrossed, and he took her hand, his face still unreadable. “I will listen to your concerns.” Waving him to sit next to her, her mind buzzed on ahead to choose the best words. “While I do not wish to be rude to you, much of the problem in this instance is that you are not female. If I am correct, it is not that you wish to be at this event so much as you do not want me...unprotected. Is that right?”

 

His head nodded, and now the eyes were starting to become sad.

 

 _Oh Eru, here we go,_ Earlene thought as she determined to soldier on.

 

“Would you be willing to consider...I have no way to say this, Thanadir. I do not wish you to feel as though you are not wanted, but good grief this will make the Hedwig movie look like unicorns and daisies by comparison. Is there a way that we can both still do what we must and not have it feel hopelessly awkward? I understand why you must come, but I am trying to spare your sensibilities. Everything about this will have to do with...sex. That is what bridal showers end up as, at least in this part of the world. I can all but guarantee it.” There was no choice, really. Complete bluntness was in order; if nothing else she was not going to be accused of withholding information.

 

At the mention of these salient facts his eyebrows raised. “I see. Or rather, I see that I do not wish to see.” He now scrutinized her and smiled. “I would guess that you already have a solution. Or three. But that you do not wish to tell me lest I be offended.”

That her cheeks began to flush deep pink gave his answer. “Will you tell me what you are thinking, and save me the bother?” His expression was no longer doe-eyed but sharp and cunning.

 

 _Great. Now the weapons master has arrived on the scene. Some days, meldir…._ “You will not like this, because it involves a slight untruthfulness. I think you should plan to bring a book, and wait nearby. Perhaps the car, or ...I don’t know, I’m sure Lorna would know someplace. You would be close enough should a meteor fall from the sky, or should a...I don’t know what. Should something go amiss. If we are asked why you are there, we could say that you have an errand to run nearby, and that you are taking advantage of us making this trip to care for your personal matter but that you do not wish to attend this party.” The expression on his face did not change, and Earlene massaged her forehead with her hand. “I am trying to save both of us, and Lorna, from a level of awkwardness that is difficult to put into words.”

 

He gazed at her in silence for a time. “I would be willing to do this.”

 

“You would?” Her head raised a little, unsure she had just heard him actually say that.

 

“Yes.”

 

Her mouth opened because many more notions wished to undergo verbal projectile vomiting, but she somehow thought better of it. _Shut up, Earlene. Do not provoke an opponent that has provided a chance at a victory, however minor._ “Thank you, Thanadir.” Turning toward him, she released his hand to hug him. _I cannot recall the last time I was this irritated and this placated all at the same time._ Now and again, the realities of her position came crashing over her head, it was just a damn shame that this...being guarded thing...had utterly escaped her mind until right now. _Jesus, Lorna is not going to be happy._ Inner cringing was well underway. Thanadir returned her embrace, then rose to care for matters pertaining to their next meal.

 

*****

 

“Earlene, save room for tea,” Lorna said, as she and Ratiri entered the room. “There’ll be food and booze in spades.” Christ, she was looking forward to...to _girl time_ . She hadn’t had any of that in ages -- even if Siobhan _was_ going to be there. This was one occasion Baile’s resident pervert could be herself and still be entirely appropriate. “Love the top.” She herself had opted for her usual leggings and tunic combo -- black leggings and a dark patchwork tunic with elbow-length bell sleeves. It was a special occasion, she could live a little.

 

“I won’t,” she smiled, her insides more than a little twisted up with nervousness. Thanadir had not returned yet with Ortherion; there would only be a little time to just get it out in the open. “Lorna, I’ve something to say and I’m afraid you’re going to be very pissed, but there’s….I have no choice. I forgot about something. Specifically, that I don’t go out of Lasg’len without...protection. Thanadir has to come with us, but I...negotiated, that he won’t actually be at the party. He is willing to let me make up a slightly untruthful reason for his presence so that he can be….god, somewhere. Does Mairead have a yard, a place he can just sit and read? And Christ this is completely embarrassing for me. I should have realized this sooner than an hour ago, but I didn’t. Please don’t hate me. Or the elves.” _Now that I feel like complete...something or other…._

 

Truth be told, Lorna was pissed. She was _extremely_ pissed, not that she was going to let on, because this wasn’t Earlene’s fault. She’d known from the start that this would be an issue sooner or later, and it was part of that one thing she was never going to be okay with about this whole setup. Earlene should be able to go places _by her damn self...pack it in, Lorna. Not going to help._ “You’ve got me, why would you need more protection?” she asked, unable to help it. It really didn’t help that she was slightly offended by the implication she couldn’t handle it by herself. Though she asked the question of Earlene, she looked at Thanadir.

 

 _So this is what knowing you have to walk to the other side of a minefield feels like,_ thought Earlene. “Well, she said quietly, “three reasons come to mind. Thranduil wants this. I agreed to this, and more. And I have already been in two very random situations that seemed very ordinary at the time, in which life went sideways and Thanadir saved my life. Thanadir is doing what he feels he must, as well as what he has been asked to do. I know how this must cause you to feel and I am sorry, but this is what goes with the choices I made.” _Incredibly inelegant, but the truth. Not that it makes me feel any better just now. I am not incapable of defending myself, either; but that does not matter here. Though, why does that seem to be so easily forgotten? Jesus. Not now, Earlene. Not helping._

 

It would appear that today was going to go from something Lorna had looked forward to to an exercise in keeping her temper. Out of those three reasons, only one was remotely valid, that being that Earlene had made a promise. As Thranduil’s wife, what _he_ wanted ought to count for fuck-all. _Thranduil, this is fucking bullshit and you and I both know it._ His conspicuous absence was not lost on her. “Okay, but we need to come up with an excuse,” she said, rather proud of how calm she sounded when in fact she wanted to murder both ellyn with a spoon. A rusty one at that. “In fact, it’s best if they not know he’s in town, but that might not be an option. The one thing we can’t do is tell the truth.”

 

“That is already done. Though, I was hoping that Mairead might have a backyard, or a pleasant place to sit so that he can escape being seen. I don’t want him sniffed out like a morsel by a pack of….um, you know as well as I do there is a reason men don’t go to these things. If anyone asks, he has personal business on the way home and took advantage of the car ride.”

 

Lorna didn’t like it, but it was what they were stuck with, and she wasn’t going to wreck Earlene’s day. “That’ll work,” she said. “It’s a nice day, and Mairead’s side-garden’s got a sun shade, if need be. There’s a deck-chair too, I think, provided my brother-in-law didn’t try ‘improving’ it and instead make it fall apart. He has a bit’v a history with that.”

 

Only now did Ratiri dare breathe. He was stunned -- and rather proud -- that she hadn’t gone off like a Claymore mine. Quite frankly, even _he_ thought having to drag Thanadir to Baile was ridiculous, but it was what it was.

 

“Then he just needs a book. And...thank you.” _Thank you for what, exactly, she was not going to mention. Was the other shoe going to drop? That seemed too easy. Way too easy._ Truthfully, she had expected something that would rate as seismic. Volcanic. One of those.

 

Thranduil swept into the room, followed closely by Ortherion. As it was a fine day, the children were all out with a group of ellith that were walking them in the woods to enjoy the sunshine and the sights among the trees. Greeting everyone politely as usual, his eyes fell on Lorna, but all expression was kept from his face. He simply was not going to respond to anything about this trip to Baile, not if he could avoid it. In his eyes, this had already been discussed at the beginning of their relationship, and nothing had changed.

 

“You’re welcome,” Lorna said, and she could already feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. _Thranduil, when we get back, I want to talk to you about what it would take for you to let me be Earlene’s bodyguard sometimes, so this crap doesn’t happen again. If we want a girls’ day, nobody wants a Thanadir-shaped third wheel, so I’d like to know what I’d need to learn to be able to do it myself if needed. Keep in mind, unlike him,_ I _can’t get stabbed or shot, and I’m as strong or stronger than most human men. I also blend better._ “He might want to bring more than one, though, depending on how long this goes on.”

 

The subtlest of frowns passed over Thranduil’s face. This idea could not be dismissed out-of-hand, but it was not as straightforward as his friend imagined it to be. And yet, there was a certain truth to her words. _Very well. Later. But perhaps you would like something done about your headache long before then?_

 

 _Yes please, and thank you._ As long as he was willing to talk later, she was...well, not happy, but no longer furious. This might well be the first time she’d successfully subsumed this level of anger without actually taking it out on anyone. She hesitated to call it personal growth, though -- not until she saw how much wine she did or did not consume later.

 

*****

 

“I just need to get the trays of food I made to bring from the cottage, and my special ingredients.” A mysterious little gift bag was there as well, but she declined to mention that part. They were almost out of the forest, having managed to walk from the Halls with Thanadir without feeling too many more magnitudes of awkward.

 

“Will they be safe in the back, or should we secure them?” Lorna asked. She had a very large cooler, though at the moment it had no ice in it.

 

“They should be fine in back. Two trays will go on the floor where Thanadir is not sitting. That is, if he does not wish to sit in front.”

 

“I do not,” he answered swiftly.

 

“Oh, the van. In that case, it is no matter. I found long ago these things ride best on the floor, as long as off-roading is not in our future.” Each of them took a tray and other items as needed when they passed through the cottage, and Earlene grabbed her frilly gift bag, laughing when Lorna looked askance at it. “Don’t worry. No, er, devices of any sort are contained herein.” Though to be fair, the frilly bow-thing did have an eerie semblance to Siobhan’s unfortunate and unforgettable gift.

 

“I hope like hell nobody else decided to get any,” Lorna said. She didn’t need one, thanks so much; when one had a soon-to-be husband with hands as talented as his, no outside...equipment...was required.

 

They got everything settled, and she wished vaguely for a smoke. Stress still did that to her. Maybe Molly had some weed she could score; that would be something nice to come home with, and weed wasn’t tobacco.

 

“All right, if everyone’s done a wee, let’s go,” she said, clambering into the driver’s seat and firing up the engine.

 

“I’m good.” Earlene shot a glance back at Thanadir, which is when it occurred to her. This was the first car ride she would take in Ireland without sitting next to him. While that felt vaguely painful, every instinct she had told her to not even think about asking to ride in back with him. _He and I will have to talk, later on, with the King. There has to be a better way, I just do not know what it is._

 

Off they went, Lorna driving as carefully as she could. She rather dreaded whatever Siobhan had in store, but quite honestly, the only person she could count on _not_ to get her something skeevy was Mairead. She knew the women of Baile quite well, and how filthy-minded they could get when in a group and drunk.

 

Traffic wasn’t too bad -- they were going the wrong way for rush hour to hit them hard. “So I’ve got no real idea what to expect here,” she said. “Aside from Siobhan being...Siobhan. If she’s made the cake, God help us.”

 

To her great surprise, Thanadir spoke. “I have been...thinking. May I ask you questions, about this occasion you are attending?”

 

Earlene blinked a few times, but what could she say? With a nervously quick glance at Lorna as she turned her body to face him better, the reply tumbled out.“Yes, of course you may.”

 

“What is the exact purpose of this celebration?”

 

“Well, it is called a bridal shower. It is a custom in many places that before a woman marries, her female friends gather to ‘shower’ her with gifts. The gifts are often of a personal and intimate nature, though there is no rule about what one gives by way of presents.  Maybe you could even say it is a rite of passage, though there is no obligation. Not everyone has one. But it is a traditional celebration. Lorna has asked Mairead and me to participate in her wedding ceremony, and it is usual that the women asked to be in the ceremony take the initiative to host a party for this. A similar custom exists for men. In America we call it a stag party.”

 

He seemed to be digesting this, and it was a few minutes before he spoke again.

 

“Why….why is there unseemliness?”

 

“Ummm….” _why indeed?_ “Give me a moment to consider that, please?” Half to herself, she muttered….”How _did_ they get to be so much about sex, in an era where just about nobody is waiting until the wedding night?”

 

“Tradition,” Lorna said, “mainly. Once you’re married, in theory you’re faithful to your partner -- if you were the kind’v person who played the field, so to speak, you can’t do it anymore. Alternately, and kind’v depressingly, it could signify that your sex life’ll be crap once you’re married, so you’d best enjoy your last freedom. Which isn’t going to be a problem for me, I’m sure.” Seriously, the things Ratiri could do with those hands… _Bad Lorna. Focus on the road._

 

“Maybe too that...not so long ago, it was a cultural expectation, especially for religious persons, that sex waited until after the wedding vows were spoken. And that this was a celebration of crossing into a new time of life, because until very recently for humans having relations with your spouse meant pregnancy would follow very soon. It is not like for elves, where the act of joining _is_ the marriage. Among us it is what you witnessed...the spoken vows in front of someone the government authorizes to sanction the marriage. Or...something like that. You will find, Thanadir, that sometimes we have traditions but how they started exactly becomes lost. I could probably find a better explanation for you, but only after I read for an hour on the computer.”

 

“But this does not tell me why it is unseemly. Sex in its proper place is not unseemly in my eyes, though that may surprise you to hear. And yet I very much gain the impression that you both feel the nature of the celebrating will go beyond what has to do with...what you have already told me. I am asking because one day the elves will live with many of you, and I would like to understand more than I do.”

 

Earlene’s lips parted because...she knew what he was asking. Lingerie and products to celebrate physical intimacy with one’s new mate was one thing, whereas shrieking, drunken women howling over a male stripper was quite another...she’d been to a few of these things in her life and the first one had been a very rude awakening that caused her to dissemble, so as to not reveal her extreme naiveté. “I think it comes down to being an excuse to...cut loose, as we would say. To be...wow, why is this so hard to explain, even when I have seen it before?”

 

“It’s the kind’v thing we take so much for granted that it almost can’t be explained,” Lorna said. “Traditions are a weird thing. We might not remember how they started, we might not remember _why_ they started, but we follow them because...that’s what you do. The fun ones, at least. A lot’v humans’re obsessed with sex, too, and find it hilarious. Which, if you really think about it, it sort’v is.”

 

“Huh. I somehow thought more that everyone was so obsessed with sex because all our lives, we are told that it is something we shouldn’t do except within this rigid framework at the same time it is dangled in front of us constantly in every kind of movie and magazine. That and that many have a biological drive to satisfy that urge that is considerable. Maybe that’s part of it too. It’s so often considered taboo that when a chance finally comes along to legitimately celebrate that we have sexual desire, it all sort of ends up like a snowball rolling down a hill, and in a hurry.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “I can’t say I’d’ve ever thought’v that, but I know I’m a bit weird, too. There’s been Liam, and Ratiri, and otherwise I’m just not interested, and never have been. I’ll admire the occasional arse, but that’s it. I don’t understand the whole...the whole _cult_ behind it. Why everyone’s so obsessed with it. I lived without it just fine for many years.”

 

“As did I. There was just never….time, motivation, or opportunity.” Earlene decided it would be more tactful to not mention that now that she had it, she would rather lose her left leg below the knee than give it up.

 

“So not all humans feel the same about this...desire?” Thanadir wished to make certain he had heard correctly.

 

“No, not at all. Though, some that have the desire never have the opportunity. People can be very different.”

 

“Some are like Siobhan, and others aren’t interested at all,” Lorna added. “I know a lot’v people think it’s something that’s an important part’v life, but I personally don’t agree. At least, it’s only been important to me when I’ve had some _one_ important to me. I wanted Liam, and I want Ratiri, but otherwise, it’s just a nope. No matter how pretty a bloke might be, if they’re not one’v those two, the loins sleep tonight.” Yes, she’d actually just said that. Whatever.

 

“Come to think of it, what she said,” Earlene added. “I have only ever known my husband intimately, and...I am more than happy with this being how my life turned out.”

 

Thanadir’s eyebrows raised. He had not known this about Earlene, specifically. Or Lorna. Such matters were not his business or his concern. But that they had been more as the elves in this regard...it pleased him, on some level. “Thank you for your answers,” he said quietly, now falling into silence to mull all this over in that unfathomable mind of his.

 

Lorna somehow managed to not run an idiot in a Prius off the motorway, no matter how much she wanted to, and they reached the offramp to Baile in relatively short order. “Okay, so where and how do we want to drop you off, Thanadir?”

 

“If you will please go to Mairead’s. Then I can know where I am. I will walk away with my books for awhile, then return to sit in this place you describe behind her home when I will not be observed.”

 

“Sounds good,” she said, though she was still struggling not to be irritated that they’d had to bring him along at all. No matter how annoyed she was, however, she was hardly going to let him know -- poor bloke hadn’t got any more say in this than Earlene did, probably. No, this was Thranduil’s fault, but she couldn’t try to do anything about it yet. She knew him well enough to know there was no way through him, but there could be a way _around_ him. Maybe. If she could be persuasive enough. Yes, she still thought the fact that he could put any restrictions at all on Earlene was rank bullshit, but the pair of them seemed okay with it, for some unfathomable reason, so she had to try to just somehow work within it. She was probably going to need a good argument, though, before _that_ conversation happened. Which she also thought ought to be entirely unnecessary in any civilized relationship, but whatever. As Ratiri was so fond of saying, it was what it was. Even thinking about it was driving her blood pressure up, however, so she shoved the thought aside. If she had to spend some time at the pub in Lasg’len later, to wrestle with it...well, nothing wrong with that. She hadn’t had any Guinness in a while, which for an Irish person was unforgivable. Best to rectify it in short order.

 

It needed two trips to the car, but Earlene’s pretty little tiered trays with tempting hors d'oeuvres marched into Mairead’s kitchen and were positioned. Earlene smiled; unsurprisingly, Mairead had done a lovely job of the place. Cheerful and tasteful decorations and groupings of wildflowers with lavender abounded. After all the greetings and niceties, Earlene decided to just get it over with. “Mairead, just so you aren’t caught off guard, Thanadir wanted to take care of some errand here in person and hitched a ride with us. He wanted to wait out the party, and he’s parked in your yard in that nice little spot tucked away, reading his books.”

 

“What on Earth business could he have in Baile on his own?” Mairead asked, mystified.

 

Lorna thought fast. “He’s going to take a look at my garden walls,” she said. “He said he would ages ago, and we’ve never got round to it. Ratiri and I mean to spend more time here, once we’ve got it renovated -- I’ve been planning that since last year, and never got round to _it_ , either. With a second floor, this lot can come visit.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Between you and me, I think he just wanted a break from all those kids.” _That_ would make total sense to Mairead.

 

“Poor lad, I can’t blame him,” her sister said. “That’s a lot’v children, and especially when they’re all so close in age.”

 

 _Good one,_ Earlene thought, though she wasn’t about to say it aloud.

“Tell me about it,” Lorna said. She’d successfully lied, more or less, and she wasn’t happy about it. She wasn’t happy that she’d had to do it. And what she needed right now was a bloody drink, if such a thing could be had, but she didn’t want Earlene thinking she was stress-drinking and thus feel bad.

 

Mercifully, Mairead beat her to it. “I know it’s not even tea time, but it’s booze o’clock somewhere in the world, so would either’v you like a drink?”

 

“Wouldn’t say no to some’v that beer Ratiri and I gave you,” she said, sending silent, unheard thanks to her sister. “Earlene, you really ought to say yes, too. We’ll be wanting it, once Siobhan’s here.” The poor woman was pretty tense herself, and no wonder, given she’d been stuck between a rock and a hard place by her damn husband, and the fact that she was unwilling to say no to her damn husband -- because if she did say no, what the hell was he going to do about it? Shout at her? Make her sleep on the sofa? Earlene was too nice, and too eager to please, at the expense of things she might enjoy. Woman things, _human_ things.

 

When was the last time she’d been truly alone with just another human? They’d had movie nights and girl-time at her cottage, but that didn’t really count, because Thranduil could hear them the whole time. She never had _any_ privacy, and while she didn’t seem to mind...not minding something didn’t make it right. Lorna had to find out why Thranduil was so paranoid -- for once, she needed to ask a deeply personal question, and hope like hell that he answered. To her knowledge, he’d never failed to answer anything she asked, but there was a first time for everything. She needed to convey to him, somehow, that this constant surveillance was not healthy. He and Earlene had only known one another a year and a half -- he had no way of knowing what the long-term psychological effects of his basically treating her like an incompetent child would be, but Lorna could guess, and her guesses weren’t pleasant. A child or, ironically, a china doll.

 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Mairead said, pulling a bottle out of the fridge. It was nice and big, the brown glass all but opaque, and strong enough to leave her with a pleasant buzz without being ossified.

 

“I’ll have a tiny glass, Mairead,” Earlene answered. “You might as well know, I’m expecting another baby, though I’d like that not announced to the room if it’s all the same.”

 

Earlene could absolutely feel the weight of the thoughts she sensed Lorna was having right now. Why in fuck-all couldn’t she have managed to think this through ahead of time? As if she needed the answer. _Pregnant brain, I remember it well enough_. There was going to have to be a resolution to this, somehow, that much she knew. Just as she knew that when she was back home, her immediate family was going to sit down and discuss this. No amount of senatorial filibusters from her was ever going to convince Lorna that she liked her life as it was and that things like this, to her...really weren’t issues. There wasn’t a single thing she had ever asked for that Thranduil hadn’t given her once a means was worked out that suited both of them. There was so much that Lorna was never going to understand about how they had chosen to frame their relationship. And telling her that she didn’t try to interfere in Lorna’s choices would go nowhere...frankly right now she wasn’t going to waste the brain space on this line of reasoning.

 

Mairead’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline. “What, already? You poor thing. At least you’ve already got a load’v baby clothes, and they’ll all be close enough to the same age that nobody’ll feel left out. Let me know if you need anything, you hear?” She couldn’t imagine what Earlene _could_ need, but family was family. She poured a small glass of beer, rolling her eyes when Lorna took several long swallows off her own bottle. At least she managed to smother her belch, rather than release it to the world. That was a first.

 

“He is wanted, but came along a little earlier than I’d thought. It’s no matter, it was going to happen within the year anyway. I’m not twenty, and I mean to take advantage of being able to do this while I can. And thanks for the drink,” which she now gratefully sipped, fighting to keep her face neutral as yet _another_ thing Lorna didn’t approve of about her life came into the conversation.

 

“My last two weren’t planned,” Mairead said. “Christ, I was thirty-six when I had Kevin. You just take care’v yourself, and I don’t mean physically. You know already how much’v a bitch hormones can be.”

 

“It’ll hopefully help that it’s just one this time,” Lorna said, hoping she sounded supportive. Earlene really didn’t need her thoughts on _that_ dropped on her right now. The poor woman had enough on her plate at the moment. “And Shane’ll have a boy to play with.” Silver linings. She could find them.

 

 _It’s almost going to be priceless, when Lorna realizes that I have no intention of this being the last child,_ Earlene mused, still not succeeding altogether at disciplining her inner dialogue. _No. Shut it, Earlene. Not helpful. Don’t create more antagonism inside of yourself._ “Thranduil helps. I don’t put up with what others do, physically. Not by a mile. I honestly don’t know how anyone manages this the regular way. I had one day of morning sickness when he was gone to Scotland and….my hat is off to you and every other woman in the world. Jesus.”

 

Mairead laughed, taking a platter of biscuits out of the pantry. “Christ, mine was so bad with Shannon they gave me some kind’v medicine for it. I have to honestly say, I was so miserable with that pregnancy that I hadn’t planned on having any more. Then John came along, and he wasn’t nearly so awful in-utero.” She snorted. “Made up for it once he was _out’v_ the womb, though. That one’s the worst hellion’v the lot. Second pregnancies often aren’t as bad as the first.”

 

“I’ll take your word for that,” Lorna said. “The two I’ve got’re enough for me. Glad I got two-for-one, so to speak.”

 

“You’re the size’v a child yourself, it’s no wonder you had such a time’v it,” Mairead said. “Earlene here’s built a bit better for that sort’v thing.”

 

“That’s me,” Earlene joked. “Gran would’ve so laughed to see all these babies. Though, she’d also have hunted Aidan with her pitchfork over what he did with Allanah, so perhaps it’s all for the best she didn’t live to see this. That gobshite…” Straightening up, she changed course. “Nope, not a topic for the day. So tell me, how many’re coming? Or is it one of those things where there’s no point asking because the entire village will come?

 

“We’ve got the core group’v us who’re mostly the same age, but there ought to be some more in and out,” Mairead said. “Us, Molly, Siobhan, Orla, Doc Barry, Nuala, and probably her sister Shelagh, if Shelagh’s in town. She travels between here and Dublin a lot.”

 

“Just wait until this lot gets drunk,” Lorna said. “It’s a bit...well, it’s interesting, whatever else might be said’v it.”

 

“I would like to point out that none of _us_ ever tried to belch the national anthem,” Mairead said, with exaggerated primness.

 

“Only because you didn’t think’v it first,” Lorna retorted. “Granted, at least you _can_ belch ours. Earlene, why in fuck did America make a song half the population can’t sing right as its national anthem? I saw a load’v people trying to sing it at some sport game on YouTube, and all the blokes trying to hit the high notes about made my ears bleed.”

 

Earlene grinned, relaxing a little for the first time since they’d left on this outing. “Well, the man wrote it while they were all in the middle of a fight that decided whether or not we would fly the British flag again when it was all over. We almost didn’t win. So if he was feeling his balls up around his throat, who’m I to say?”

 

Both Lorna and  Mairead burst out laughing. “Not something I’d want to let the world know about, but fair play to him, I suppose. Still, I don’t wonder why most’v the time you’ve got some soprano singing it while everyone else shuts up.” Unfortunately, she apparently hadn’t smothered that belch as effectively as she’d thought, because it made a belated, if slightly quieter, entrance. “Oops. Eh, I tried.”

 

“I’ll agree it might not have been the best choice. Just ask any baseball fan. It’s always an opera singer or someone who has to turn it into a country-western song. Heck if I know.” Earlene glanced around. “I’m guessing the cake got farmed out to Siobhan?” she asked, with some amount of trepidation.

 

“Sort’v,” Mairead said. “I helped her with the cake itself, and she insisted on frosting it. God bloody help us all.”

 

The woman in question rapped on the open kitchen door, grinning in a manner that made Lorna somewhat nervous. She had a very large cake box in her arms, as well as a gift bag half-buried in curly ribbon on her elbow. “Oh good, I got here first,” she said, letting herself in. “You just hold off on opening that until the rest’v arrived.”

 

“Why does that not fill me with confidence?” Lorna asked, even as Molly followed her sister. Nuala wasn’t long behind -- how she and Doc Barry had both made the time off at once, Lorna didn’t know. Nuala was some years younger than the rest of them, in her early thirties, with a shoe-polish-black pixie cut and a sapphire nose ring. She came bearing a worryingly large box.

 

“Because you know me,” Siobhan said, kicking off her shoes. The entire lot of them did, in a long line, having known Mairead so long it was second nature by now.

 

Orla and Doc Barry scooted in as well, followed by, surprisingly, Shelagh. She and Orla looked nothing alike; Orla had the fair skin and dark hair of the Celts, but Shelagh was a ruddy-faced blonde who spent much of her time hauling things in a truck. What things, and where, nobody knew, but there was a rumor she was connected to someone who was connected to the mafia.

 

“Shelagh, this is Earlene, my cousin slash friend slash boss. Earlene, this is Shelagh, Orla’s sister.”

 

“Grand to meet you,” Shelagh said. “Orla’s said a bit, but not much.”

 

“Nice to meet you also.” Earlene smiled and offered her hand, while waving at Orla and Indira. Part of her wondered a little, what Indira thought of these...occasions. Different cultural background, and likely the most educated woman in Baile, if she were to guess. But that discussion would happen...not today.

 

“All right, you lot, there’s nibbles in the lounge,” Mairead said -- and it was a concession that this was such a special occasion, that they were in the lounge, since normally no food was allowed anywhere near its cream carpeting. “There’s also beer and wine, and I had champagne, but my bloody husband got in and drank half’v it.” Kevin had all but got locked in the garage over _that_.

 

“Oh, lovely,” Molly said, setting her gift bag on the counter. “Doesn’t learn, does he?”

 

“He’s a man,” Siobhan pointed out. “They never do. It’s why I’ve never tried to keep one.” Siobhan did, Lorna knew, see people -- on her days off, away from Baile. Nobody wanted to know what she got up to with them.

 

Earlene fought desperately to keep her expression pleasantly neutral, because otherwise she would simply burst out laughing. _If only Siobhan knew, the knots into which she’s tied the King of the Elves, but she’ll not be learning it from me._ “That reminds me, I almost forgot the punch.” Mairead’s bowl stood with the fruity recipe they’d agreed on ahead of time, and Earlene had neglected to add the magic ingredient. Returning briefly to the van, she retrieved the impressively large bottle of vodka purchased earlier in Lasg’len, and emptied the entire contents into the lovely looking creation. There was even an ice ring into which edible flower petals and bright berries had been frozen into an attractive pattern. Earlene stirred it carefully, murmuring “bombs away” to herself. She was half sorry not to be drinking any of it herself, after she fished up a tablespoon and coughed lightly. _Now that’s an Irish punch,_ she congratulated herself.

 

“Jesus, isn’t that lovely,” Lorna said. She’d never seen such a thing, and snapped a picture of it with her mobile. This...all this loveliness...nobody had ever done anything like it for her before. It was wonderful, and yet Thanadir sat outside. Thanadir the Unwelcome, who she couldn’t be angry at, even if she was so irritated he was here.

 

 _Leave it, Lorna_. There was nothing to be done about it right now, and this really was so pretty. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit scared by this cake,” she said conspiratorially. “I mean, I can imagine way too many things, and none’v them are good.”

 

“Me either,” said Earlene, weighing her next statement and deciding that unspoken matters between them could hardly get much worse right now. “Look. While I don’t think either of us wants to talk about it just now, I know this day didn’t go as you wanted. I know you’d like to drink. I can bloody drive the van home; I’m more than capable, and I’m even willing to break however many laws that involves so you can enjoy this thing the way you ought to be able to. All I ask is, don’t get so bad that you’re passed out and I can’t ask a question if I need to. I’ve been reading all the road rules because I’m going to get the goddamn license as soon as there’s time to schedule the driving lessons to teach me what I already fucking *know* how to do. I know you’ve not seen me drive, but I’m safe and more than decent; I’ve been driving since I was eleven on gran’s farm.” There, she’d said it.

 

That lifted Lorna immensely, even though she was sad it had to be offered. “Thank you, Earlene,” she said, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing it. “Trust me, I don’t get _that_ bad off anything but poitín or elf wine.” It lifted a great weight from her shoulders, even though she recognized it probably didn’t do the same for Earlene. Earlene, who was stuck under conditions no reasonable person ought to have to deal with. Terrible as it sounded, Lorna was so very glad it wasn’t her.

 

“Drink up, then. Pretty sure Mairead had to go halfway to Dublin to get some of the ingredients for this thing. It’s a recipe from one of the ladies at my old office. She knew her way around a bottle of vodka.”

 

“Oh dear.” Lorna did as bidden, and the burn of the liquor -- the surprisingly _strong_ burn of the liquor -- relaxed her immediately.

 

“Oi, get over here and see this cake!” Siobhan called. “Mairead and I made it together, and I frosted it.”

 

Lorna looked at her sister. “ _You_ helped with this?”

 

“I know you’re partial to my cakes,” Mairead said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “If it had to be...what it is...at least I’d know it was your favorite.”

 

“You sap,” Lorna said, but hugged. “All right, Earlene, c’mon -- let’s get this over with.”

 

Into the lounge they went, where most of the women had mobile phones at the ready. “Oh, good Jesus, you lot’re _filming_ this?” Lorna groaned.

 

“Like we’d do anything else,” Molly said. “G’wan, Siobhan, do the honors.”

 

With a flourish, her sister whipped the top off the box, and revealed a cake baked in the shape of a foot-long langer, bollocks and all. The shape was no surprise, but the frosting job was disturbingly realistic. Down-to-faint-veins realistic. Lorna could only be glad it wasn’t brown, or she’d never have been able to eat cake again.

 

No, the shape was no surprise, but what made her burst out laughing were the tiny bits of liquorice on the bollocks. Tasteful, Siobhan. Really tasteful. “All right, I’ve got to ask, she said, glancing at Earlene, “is there well-made cream filling?” Nobody else would get the joke, but nobody else needed to.

 

“What other kind would I make?” Mairead asked, half indignant, and that only made Lorna laugh harder.

 

Earlene was no prude, but even she blinked at this...creation. In the end, she managed “Nice fondant. Very….lifelike.” Or at least, she was guessing. One thing she deeply appreciated about elves was their lack of body hair, having seen some untoward photos of men that were rather hirsute. _No. Just...NO_ . _Not mentioning *that*, either…_

 

“What can I say, I’ve seen a number,” Siobhan said blithely. “All right, Lorna, spill: what’s Ratiri got below the belt?”

 

“I didn’t need to hear that question,” Doc Barry said from the corner. “I _really_ don’t need to hear the answer.”

 

“Oh, then go in the kitchen, you prude,” Siobhan said, rolling her eyes.

 

“Siobhan, Ratiri’s her cousin,” Lorna pointed out. “That’s not being a prude, that’s just not being gross.”

 

“Oh...hush,” Siobhan said, and leaned in. “Okay, fine, let’s just whisper it.”

 

What was this, secondary school? Now it was Lorna who rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’ve ever _measured_ , but enough that I had a hard time’v it until some things down under got used to, er, being invaded.”

 

Siobhan laughed so hard she snorted punch out her nose, and immediately cringed at the burn, flailing a bit. Her streaming eyes sent rivulets of mascara down her face. “Owwwwww.”

 

“Serves you right,” Lorna said. “Go clean yourself up before you drip on the carpet. Mairead’ll skin you.”

 

Siobhan swore in Irish as she made her way back out to the kitchen, and Lorna looked at Earlene. “I wish that was the worst question she’ll probably ask before the afternoon’s over, but I’m sure it’s not.” She tossed back another long gulp of punch.

 

“Don’t worry,” Earlene deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “I’m half-waiting to get asked for measurements and descriptions on Thranduil. I give it fifty-fifty odds, once she’s drunk enough. I knew how this’d end up. And I’m going to eat some of those lovely tidbits now, even if the rest of the room is enjoying the punch more. I think I’m hitting the hungry phase….”

 

“Well, you can’t do better than here, so far as nibbles go. I think Big Jamie and Orla made some’v them, so you know it’ll all be good. And you are probably right about Siobhan, though I’d give it more like seventy-to-thirty that she’ll ask it or something like it.” Lorna couldn’t help a slight grimace, because seriously, she didn’t even want to be thinking about that, any more than Doc Barry would want to ponder Ratiri’s equipment.

 

“Well you know me, always trying to be conservatively hopeful even when I actually know better. D’you know that Thranduil once had a complete meltdown over her? He’s moved on and put it in its place somehow, but at the time I recall it being a two-bottles-of-Dorwinion episode. Not, mind you, that I’m ever going to let her know that.”

 

“Wait, _seriously_?” Lorna asked. “Jesus bloody Christ, what could she’ve thought that’d prompt that?” This was a man -- elf -- who had managed to mentally re-live her rape with something like equanimity. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what could drive him to two bottles of Dorwinion, but she had to ask anyway.

 

“Well, honestly it was the ‘cream filling’ episode. It just sort of sent him over the edge. He’s not a prude but he has a sense of propriety; he would never disrespect someone else by thinking such things even if he weren’t an elf, I really feel. He wants to be respected and he gives respect in return to others, and he wasn’t used to the concept of someone like her who just can’t remotely keep her thoughts in check. Who doesn’t _want_ to keep her thoughts in check. Like I said, he’s over it. But at the time…” she shook her head at the memory of the tirade.

 

Cream filling...that was after they’d bogged Von Rectalwart. She’d thought he’d looked traumatized, among other things. “No wonder he was pouting on the way home. It was hilarious.”

 

Earlene couldn’t help but snicker at the memory. “Yeah, and it got worse. I’m pretty sure the only one who really enjoyed those baked goods was Thanadir. Oh well. If he’s going to live closely with humans, maybe it’s better he be educated over time than have it all land on his head at once.”

 

Lorna didn’t even want to think about Thanadir right now, but whatever. “No shit. Siobhan might be the worst, but she’s not the only. I’m sure most’v the women in Baile who’ve seen the elves’ve at least had a second look.”

 

“Of course we have,” Nuala said, appearing beside her with such speed and silence she just about choked. “They’re all off-limits, sure, but none’v us are blind or dead. I don’t know how you can handle it, Lorna.”

 

Lorna shrugged. “White guys don’t do it for me. Ratiri’s pretty much perfect, in my eyes.” She really didn’t understand why people would think she was odd for not finding the elves appealing in _that_ way. Yeah, they were all pretty, but so was Earlene, and it wasn’t like Lorna was attracted to women, either.

 

“Something wrong with this one,” Nuala said, elbowing her in the ribs. “Badly wrong. Earlene, I hope you don’t get offended that we stare, because, well, it’s kind’v impossible _not_ to. Almost any straight woman with a pulse’d just be...compelled.”

 

Earlene’s face smiled, but the rest of her tensed up the tiniest amount. “I’m not offended, and there is a level on which I understand. But for me it’s a bit like...they are ancient, and morally pure. Above us, who can’t help but think about such things no matter who it might be. I’ve come to respect them too much, and, while I see their beauty, it isn’t...that way.” There was not really going to be a good way to try to get this point across, but she owed it to herself and to her people to at least make _some_ attempt. She certainly could not encourage such a mindset, not openly, no matter how ‘girls only’ this shower was.

 

“You sound a bit like Lorna, honestly,” Nuala said, nudging her again. “She’s the only one most’v us’d ever known who wasn’t interested even in looking half the time, let alone wanting to touch. Then again, you’ve got your husband, so there’s one you do see like that.”

 

“Ugh, can you not remind me?” Lorna asked, grimacing and knocking back another big swallow of her drink. “The blasted man -- elf -- reminds me so much’v my brother that I can’t even.” Not to mention she was still annoyed with him, and didn’t want to think about him any more than she wanted to think about Thanadir.

 

“You’re such a prude,” Siobhan said, returning to the lounge. She’d washed the mascara streaks off her face, though her eyes were still slightly runny.

 

“Siobhan, to you _everyone_ is a prude,” Lorna, said, glowering. “Now are we going to eat this cake or what?” Best get off the subject of elves and everything to do with them. “And I’m not putting a picture of that in my scrapbook. Sorry. I’d like my kids to be able to look at it someday.”

 

Out of regard for Lorna, Earlene simply did not answer. Besides, she hardly needed to be supplying mind porn of Thranduil to Siobhan for her next personal session. Yes, she _did_ see one of them like that, which was why only she knew that her sex life beat any of theirs ten ways to Sunday. _Let them wonder._ Aloud was spoken the agreement with Lorna. “Yes, let’s have the cake. What flavor’s the cream filling?” she asked, with a completely straight face. Hey, it was a party. Sue her.

 

Now it was Lorna who choked on her drink, though at least it didn’t go out her nose. Nuala thumped her on the back a few times.

 

“It’s orange cream in chocolate cake,” Mairead called. “I know Lorna’s partial to it.”

 

“Mairead, you are spoiling me,” Lorna said, wheezing a little, as she wiped her mouth. “Jesus, this burns.”

 

Mairead, carrying a stack of paper plates, passed one to each woman while Siobhan did the honors. She gave Lorna an especially big piece, which Lorna was entirely determined to eat in one sitting, no matter how much she regretted it later. The fact that the interior of the thing was brown...she wasn’t going there. She just wasn’t. “Oh Jesus, this is grand,” she said, when she took a bite. “Mairead, you’ve bloody outdone yourself.” And if either Thranduil or Thanadir got any, it wouldn’t be from her. She could hardly stop Earlene giving them some, if she wanted to, but so far as Lorna was concerned, they were both out in the cold. She might well leave the cake here, actually, just to make sure Thranduil didn’t get any. The thought pained her, but...priorities. Then again, with this group, there probably wouldn’t be any left anyway.

 

“Oi, what about me?” Siobhan asked, dishing up Earlene a slice.

 

“You and your icing skills are without equal,” Lorna said. “Happy?”

 

“Ecstatic.”

 

Earlene quietly saw to it that an extra slice with no...revealing distinctive decoration...discreetly made it onto a plate and into an out of the way corner of the kitchen. When there was a safe moment, it and her were going to the restroom, and she would detour to first bring it to Thanadir. This day was not his fault.

 

Probably fortunately, Lorna didn’t notice that; she was too busy trying to ignore Nuala’s attempt at coaching her about sex. “Nuala, the man and I have two children,” she finally said, exasperated. “I think we’ve got it figured out.”

 

“Yeah, but how does it work?” Molly asked. “I mean, you’re bloody tiny and he’s the size’v a tree.”

 

Lorna eyed her, deadpan. “Creatively. Very creatively.” The fact that she could actually see the lot of them trying to work that out made it so, so hard for her keep a straight face, because honestly, she’d wonder, too, if she wasn’t one of the, um, participants.

 

Earlene saw that Nuala was not the least dissuaded by this non-answer of Lorna’s and took her chance while it lasted. It was very easy, to hold the little plate on the other side of her body and head to the restroom, which so conveniently took her by French doors that were mostly out of view of the majority of the party goers. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she swiftly exited, leaving the door ajar only the tiniest crack to assure her re-entry. Because stupid as it was, little would be more awkward just now that any necessity to return through the front door. And there was Thanadir, quietly reading his books. “I cannot stay, meldir, but I wanted you to have a piece of cake.” For a moment, her mask dropped and she forgot to keep the sadness from her eyes.

 

“Thank you,” he replied, not missing her expression. “Is everything well, meldis?” Concern layered his voice.

 

“I will not lie to you. No, it is not well for me, at all. But it is not something I can discuss here or now.”

 

He frowned at her, but decided he should respect her wishes. With a kiss to his cheek, she turned and left him. The restroom was easy to find, with lovely flowers there too. _Scrupulously clean_ , Earlene noted with approval, and even a lovely scented candle was burning. _Probably Mairead had loved the chance to feminize her house a bit; have it be extra-nice._ Though Thranduil was an exception simply on account of his race, she had enough women friends and coworkers to realize that few males were fastidious enough to allow for this sort of thing on an ongoing basis. _Even the hand soap is lovely; violets_. Washing up, she rejoined the others, reappearing to see that everyone was having a second go at cake or nibbles.

 

“All right, I’m saying we go for presents,” Siobhan said, to Lorna’s utter dread. She wasn’t nearly tipsy enough for this shit.

 

“If you’ve got me another one’v what you got me for my birthday, I’ll shove it in an orifice you won’t enjoy,” Lorna warned.

 

Siobhan winked at her. “I haven’t got one’v those.”

 

“Even you wouldn’t appreciate being nostril-raped by a glittery vibrator,” Lorna said blandly, which just made Nuala, Molly, _and_ Doc Barry choke. Smiling serenely, she ate another bite of cake.

 

Siobhan blinked, thrown for a moment, before she rallied. “Rape by engraved invitation,” she said, with faux primness.

 

“Not sure an invitation would make getting something shoved up your nose any more pleasant,” Molly said. “Somebody hand her a damn gift already.”

 

The little group migrated to the kitchen, where all the gifts were lined up on the wraparound counter. “I suppose we’d best get Siobhan’s out’v the way,” Lorna said dryly. She had to bust out her switchblade to cut through all that curly ribbon, but the box proved to contain a very silky, very _tasteful_ nightgown, deep green trimmed with black lace. It had a matching bathrobe, and both actually looked like they would fit her, which was something of a miracle.

 

“Thank you, Siobhan,” she said, holding them up. She was so stunned she had a hard time believing this wasn’t a joke, that the real, utterly perverted gift wasn’t lurking somewhere, waiting to attack.

 

“I figure if you’re going to keep one forever, you might as well have something decent to wear to bed,” Siobhan said. “Mairead told me all about your ratty T-shirts and men’s boxers.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrow raised, while she declined to say a word about flannel men’s shirts and panties that were her nightwear of choice as a single woman. Her own present was nudged at Lorna, because that would make two not-obscene gifts in a row, and might set a record of some kind in Baile. Who knew?

 

Lorna still had her knife out, conveniently enough, and cut the equally imposing frilly ribbons off the second gift bag. Confusion washed her face, as she pulled out the tissue-wrapped items. There was a stack of embroidery hoops of different sizes, each holding a carefully ironed piece of fine linen that had been cross-stitched. The two large ones had her name and Ratiri’s, respectively, in Tengwar. Pretty patterns of trees surrounded the words, all done in a variety of colors. Two more were for the children, and then a bevy of smaller ones were for each cat and kittens.

 

“I figured you’d get enough sleepwear,” Earlene said quietly. “I wanted to make something for your whole family, and your home.” Absolutely she would decline to mention the hours Thanadir had spent helping and correcting her, since she had no personal skill at this. Though, she’d enjoyed making them greatly, and had learned to do something new and useful under his tutelage.

 

“Jesus, thank you,” Lorna said, giving her a one-armed hug. “These’ll go on the walls all over the flat.” She was almost misty-eyed, which she partially blamed on all the vodka.

 

“Mine’s not nearly so sweet, unfortunately,” Orla said, handing hers over. It too had far too much curly ribbon -- was this some woman thing Lorna had been left out on? -- and when she got it cut and the box open, she stared, unsure if she wanted to laugh or sick up. Within it was contained two sturdy leather cuffs, complete with chains to tie to a bed -- but they were man-sized. The implication was pretty clear.

 

“Orla, I really don’t want to know where you got these,” she said, because the only place her brain could go was _oh God, do she and Big Jamie use these?_ Talk about another person whose potential sex life squicked her to high heaven… Nevertheless, she wondered if Ratiri would be down with using them. That wasn’t an area they’d yet explored, but why the hell not?

 

“If you ever do, I’ll email you a link to the website,” Orla said serenely.

 

Even Mairead arched an eyebrow at that, but just passed over her own gift. It proved to contain a set of beautiful candlesticks, so heavy Lorna suspected they were sterling silver. They’d been mirror-polished, shining in the light. “Gran gave me those when Kevin and I got married,” she said. “About time someone else got a use out of them.”

 

Okay, now Lorna actually _was_ misty-eyed, and she ooched through the group so she could hug her sister. This would be so perfect -- it was so close to perfect -- but it wasn’t going to be her and Earlene driving home, talking about it, laughing. It was her and Earlene and Thanadir -- Thanadir, the Unwelcome, who probably wouldn’t approve of any of the unseemliness. Part of Lorna, a dark and nasty part, was tempted to leave him here when they left, except no way could she actually do that, no matter how angry she was. It wasn’t his fault. He probably didn’t want to be here, either. Christ, she needed another drink.

 

Earlene gave huge private approval to that gift. _Family heirlooms, always tasteful_ , she thought. “I’ll refill your cup,” Earlene offered, taking the hint at Lorna’s glance over to the punch bowl. A sigh escaped her, as she ladled the reddish concoction. Part of her really could not believe that upright and law abiding Earlene had seriously volunteered to drive home. She still had her New York license on her, and it was still valid. If she did get pulled over for some improbable reason, it was already her plan to lie like there was no tomorrow and claim that she believed she could drive as a visitor to the country. They _might_ buy it and _might_ not run her name to find she was a permanent resident who had been here well over twelve months. _Might_. Probably there would be no issues, but, for her even considering something like this was going out on a limb. Very far out. Returning, she handed Lorna the punch with an encouraging smile she did not feel.

 

“Thanks, “Lorna said, with an equally encouraging smile that she equally did not feel. She at least sipped, not gulped; to all appearances she was savoring her punch. Earlene wouldn’t look at her and think she was stress-drinking, and quite fortunately, Earlene at least had no telepathy.

 

The rest of the gifts were, for the most part, surprisingly lacking in perversion: only Molly’s hit very high on the pervert scale. She’d got a book about how to have sex with a massive height difference, to which Lorna arched an eyebrow and wondered aloud if it would even  have anything new for her and Ratiri to try. Otherwise, there was more food, little nibbles and biscuits and tea, and Lorna slowly but steadily drank her way through it. She was nowhere near drunk, but the buzz was enough to keep the sadness at bay.

 

Eventually, when the sun was westering, she said, “All right, you lot, we’ve got to go take a look at my garden walls and then be off home.”

 

“You’re not driving, are you?” Shelagh asked.

 

“No, Earlene’s got that.” Maybe she was a bit more drunk than she thought, or at least _looked_ it.

 

Smiling, Earlene joined Mairead in helping wash up a bit, and gathered her trays. Certainly, she was not going to be so boorish as to abandon her co-hostess to all of the post-party work. Though, it had been well planned. Aside from a few bits of wrapping, the odd ribbon and a paper plate left here and there, the group had been well-behaved and relatively tidy. In short order Mairead was shooing her away from attempts to wash the punch cups, insisting on doing that later. “Very well.” Earlene carried her trays out to the van, figuring on policing on the next trip for all Lorna’s presents. While still very conscious, she looked suitably disconnected.

 

Lorna followed after them on tidying duty, more for form’s sake than because she thought there would be anything for her to find. She hugged everyone, to their surprise, and smiled, and managed to maintain it until they were all to the van, where she let it slip for a moment. She was...tired. This should have been a wonderful day, and she’d spent it keeping up appearances. It was soured for her, and she just wanted to go for a walk somewhere outside the forest.

 

But Earlene and Thanadir were coming, so she drew a deep breath, for all the good it did, and adjusted the driver’s seat for Earlene before hopping into the passenger’s. She really was incredibly grateful that Earlene would do this, despite not having an Irish license; when she was more eloquent, she’d thank her properly.

 

Meanwhile, they’d both been too stressed to really enjoy themselves... _thanks, Thranduil._ She did have to admit that part of the annoyance that had morphed to sadness was from the fact that he didn’t trust _her_ to keep Earlene safe. Her, who was in her native land, dealing with humans, not balrogs. The bottom line was that they did not need Thanadir. He was superfluous, and not welcome on things like this. These things had to be presented to Thranduil in a way that wasn’t combative, and right now she was just so tired. Tired and disappointed, and she couldn’t take it out on poor Thanadir, no matter how annoyed she was that he was with them. It was not, she kept having to remind herself, his fault. That did little to help.

 

Thanadir somehow had wind of the event being concluded, and appeared right about the time they were ready to depart, appearing characteristically unruffled. _At least someone does._ Neither Lorna nor she were fooling the other. And Earlene knew it, but...there was no willingness to risk a deeper conversation from either side. They both knew that, too; even if they wanted to take a chance on having more upheaval between them, what could it solve? When Earlene smilingly made grabby-hands for the car keys, Thanadir witnessed the exchange with a fairly emphatic furrowing of his brow. Blessedly, Lorna’s back was to the seneschal. _Well, I’m about to find out if elves have good memories._ Taking a sizable chunk of her hair into her hand in the agreed-upon gesture, Earlene idly began tugging at it while simply stating, “I’ll be driving us home. Designated driver, and all that.” And elves apparently remembered plenty, because his expression swiftly transformed from growing disapproval to complete neutrality as he gave the barest nod of his head. She had to remind herself to continue fiddling with that piece of hair for a time….because.

 

“Of course,” Thanadir replied, climbing in.

 

 _You don’t know it, meldir, but you may have just done the nicest thing anyone has for me, today. He trusts me,_ she told herself. _Whatever else in this mess, he trusts me enough to keep our agreements._ Maybe it took one to know one, but for people like her and Thanadir...there was no doubt, their similarities outweighed their differences...it meant a great deal to take another on blind faith. Earelene depressed the clutch, amused that her foot still did ‘that strange thing’ out of habit...when she was a younger girl, gran taught her the habit of using only the ball of her foot to start vehicles and tractors. Because she was shorter back then, it was otherwise too hard to fully compress the lever. _Nothing’s changed_ , she thought, noting that the shift column was standard and smoothly putting the car in reverse. Lorna received instant mental kudos. “I see you have the clutch engaging at the absolute perfect spot. I can already tell this will be something to enjoy,” she smiled, fairly certain of the roads leading out of town. “Next stop, Lasg’len.”

 

Lorna managed a smile of her own. “Nothing more annoying on a car than a fiddly clutch,” she said. “Was one’v the first things I fixed, when I bought it.”

 

For someone who hadn’t driven in a while, Earlene certainly made a good job of it, and far more sanely than she ever did. They really did need to get her a license, as much of a pain the arse though it was in Ireland. Only having two licensed drivers out of the five of them -- and the two that didn’t live in the Halls full-time, at that-- just wasn’t smart.

 

The drive home was blessedly uneventful, and when Earlene shut down the engine in her driveway and handed Lorna back the keys, she tried to recall if ever there had been a silent a trip anywhere as this one had been. Literally, not a word was exchanged between Mairead’s road and opening the doors. “I’ll just be taking everything inside; Thanadir will help me. I’ll corral your gifts into a box, I’ve a clean one in the barn.” _I want to be alone. I need to be alone. And sure god I’m out of here for awhile if I have to use Peruvian Vanishing Powder or whatever that stuff was in Harry Potter._

 

“If you don’t want any help, I...I think I need a walk,” Lorna said. No, she _knew_ she needed a walk. She was tired, and she was sad, but she wasn’t ready to give up her mental privacy yet. Maybe she and Ratiri really _did_ need to start spending more time at her cottage, because she just...couldn’t, right now. They’d manage without their elven childcare help. Having her mind to herself for a while would be worth it.

 

All items were placed inside, with Thanadir’s help. He continued to watch her silently. While it was difficult, still, to understand all expressions on human faces, he became more concerned as Earlene seemed to fold up into herself much like a flower closing in the rays of a fading sun at dusk. Only one thing was said. “I am going to get the mail, Thanadir, and I may be awhile. It would be best if I met you back at the Halls.” Turning, she left the speechless elf rooted to where he stood. Earlene wasn’t fooled, there were really very poor odds that he would not follow her, because this was Thanadir. And yet to her surprise, if he did follow, he was more silent than usual. _Whatever_. The post box held only a few uninteresting looking adverts and the electric bill, which she did not bother opening.

 

Crossing the road, she kept on to the opposite field as a heavy sadness washed over her. A good cry was well on its way. _I remember the last time I came here,_ she thought _, blinking back tears. It was just after I’d given myself to an Elvenking without any clear idea why, and I was trying to make sense of my decisions._ A nearby tree seemed suitably climbable, so she did just that. Another rambling oak, though not one so impressive or beautiful as the grand one inside the forest. This time she did not climb so high as before. _If I’ve learned one thing, it would be that I’ve developed a propensity for strange accidents. Today I’d really rather not leave Thanadir a crisis situation to manage._ A backward glance before ascending had told her that if the seneschal had followed, he had done so unobserved. Which encouraged her to believe that he had not followed at all. It would be beyond unusual for him to surveil her.

 

“So, this day,” she muttered softly, talking aloud to herself as she preferred at such times, “was a right _clusterfuck_. I really can’t think of when I’ve felt this humiliated in front of another person. I know that to Lorna, I’m in an arrangement that’s wrong. _I’ve given up my rights, no one should be able to order me around,_ _blah blah wah_. _Thranduil this, Thanadir that_. I’m so tired of feeling judged, for all she actually kept it together. Maybe you need to just face it Earlene; you’ve left the human race, and maybe pretending otherwise is the problem. Maybe there’s going to be a level on which you’re not really ever to have human friends any longer.

 

“To think I came here to be alone in Ireland, and...just look at all of this. It’s not what I wanted. I didn’t ask for any of this situation to happen.” Tears and sniffling commenced before disgust followed close at its heels. “And when did this line of whining ever get anyone anywhere? Has everything about your mind just gone to mush? What in hell are you going to do about it, Earlene? Sit here and cry because you’ll never have a mortal friend who understands your choices? Move to another part of the Halls and have your meals slid to you under the door?” _The degree to which that last one sounds appealing should probably really disturb me deeply. And it does not. Not oooooooooone bit._

 

“Maybe I just wanted to have a day to myself and pretend I….” Her face contorted in misery as she began to sob. And the very bad part of this is that she found herself incapable of completing her own sentence. _Pretend what? Why is this so hard? You wanted WHAT, Earlene?_ Tears splashed onto her arms in very large drops. For her to be unable to analyze something…”I wanted to have an outing with a female friend. But I have been commanded to always be guarded because...the sky will fall down over Baile?

 

“I do not believe Thranduil meant for this outcome to happen, in ignorance. Maybe. I’ve no choice, I cannot force him to alter his decision. But it does not change that what should have been a really lovely day was ruined. And if it was ruined for me, what in hell does Lorna feel like?” Her chin was quivering. “This was it. Her one bridal shower in her entire life. There is statistically no chance she will marry again and this day was a Complete. Train. Wreck. Nothing can ever get that back for her, and all because I couldn’t even think enough ahead  to see this coming down the tracks.  Just, fuck it all.” The sobbing started all over again, when her last round of whispered self-recriminations concluded.

 

Bitter frustration seemed to pour out of her, and kept on. This was more than just today, fragments of every difficulty in probably the last  year were all crammed into this particular Pity Party. _I’m going to have to name this the Tree of Elven Doubt. Because that seems to be the underlying force behind every trip here. Wonderful….You’ve really got to think about getting it back together, unless staying here through dinner is somehow on the agenda._ A heaving sigh came out, as she started wiping her eyes dry with the back of her hand. _Gotta love waterproof mascara. Jesus, what has my life even turned into. Then again, I liked it well enough prior to today. Maybe part of what feels so rotten is that...no, you have to stop this, Earlene. You’ve done everything but try to have an honest conversation with the person capable of making a change. But what if the answer is that there won’t be any change…?_

 

“Meluieg,” she heard.

  


******

 

Lorna walked along the edge of the forest, just outside the border. Taking her mobile out of her pocket, she looked at the few pictures she’d snapped, and deleted each. This was not a day she wanted to look back on.

 

She was unusually quiet as she walked, not even muttering under her breath. She was just...drained. How was she ever to get closer to Earlene, at least sort of close like she was with Thranduil, if they could never just do shit alone together? If there was always one guy or another around, it just wasn’t the same. She and Thranduil did things just the two of them, but how the hell were she and Earlene to ever get the chance, if they always had to have a Thanadir-shaped shadow breathing down their necks?

 

They couldn’t. It wouldn’t happen.

 

Tomorrow, she would talk to Thranduil, and hope that he wouldn’t just dismiss her words, and her and Earlene’s unhappiness, as irrelevant. She wanted to believe he wouldn’t, but after this...she couldn’t be sure.

 

But at least there was no more need to put a good face on, to pretend this didn’t suck. Much as she wanted to walk longer, she was so tired; if she didn’t get back to the Halls, she’d fall asleep somewhere.

 

 _I just want to be_ girl _friends,_ she thought, as she found the second path. _I was looking forward to this day so much. It was going to just be Earlene and I and my family and friends in Baile. So much for that._ She should think, should plan, should put together an argument, but she was exhausted, and her eyes burned. Dry-crying, her gran had called it, since she was all but physiologically incapable of tears. Ratiri was going to ask how it went, and she wasn’t going to be able to tell him. Not tonight. She didn’t have the energy.

 

Of course, when she got to the Gates, she couldn’t get the damn things to open, no matter how carefully she pronounced the phrase. Fucking beautiful. Sitting on the ground, she rested her head against her knees, and wished for tears that wouldn’t come.

 

The Gates swung inward, because the King was leaving his Halls in quite a hurry, but could not exactly ignore Lorna. The morass of her thoughts had been quite perceptible for many minutes now, and that was before his seneschal reported that for the past majority of an hour that his wife had been crying alone in a tree outside the woods. It was apparent that he was the root cause of all of this, and that he did not clearly understand was equally obvious. He knelt down, hoping to choose the right words as he offered his hand. “Please give me the chance to listen and make this better.” He held out his hand to her, to help her up. _I cannot talk now._

 

She looked up at him, her gaze as weary and heartsore as she was. Words just weren’t to be found; all she did was nod, and let him help her up, though she didn’t particularly want to. She had a date with a jar of poitín, and that was all she cared to think about right now. Ratiri would let her be. Nothing was going to make up for this disaster of a day, though; she was going to do her best to forget it happened. If only memories were as easily deleted as pictures.

 

*****

 

Earlene looked at her husband through burning eyes that probably could have starred in a Visine commercial stateside, not precisely comprehending how he knew where to find her.

 

“Thranduil.” It did not speak well either, that his name alone was the best she was going to manage. Tired of crying, she wanted the waterworks off, not the tap turned back toward full open. Talking right now was not going to be possible. Her insides were too hollowed out emotionally, too raw.

 

He came into the tree easily enough, and Earlene saw that her husband was not alone. _Well this branch is going to be crowded,_ she thought dully. He sat next to his wife, taking her in his arms and lap, though how anyone could be coordinated enough to manage that in a tree was beyond her. Her lower legs were lifted off the rough bark, and it registered on some level that this must be Thanadir. What all of this was even about, she had no idea. _I wonder if this is what HAL 9000 went through when the modules were being pulled out._ This inability to even form coherent thoughts should have been worrisome, except she could not bring herself to care.

 

“Earlene, will you let me look at you?”

 

“You are looking at me,” she frowned.

 

Thranduil felt deeply alarmed and afraid at what had happened to the two women in such a short space of time. While he understood that Thanadir had not actually been present inside Mairead’s home, he reported that they seemed ordinary enough going to Baile, but that even he could see something was very amiss afterward. And yet no disturbances had been noted of any kind, none of the other women departing had seemed in any way...off. He did not need to search her thoughts deeply to see that his wife was profoundly miserable, and he did not understand.

 

“Something is the matter,” he tried again kindly, “and I can see that you cannot speak to me right now. But I would like to understand.”

 

“If you figure it out, please tell me,” she whispered.

 

He smiled, hiding his growing degree of concern. Who he held in his arms was simply not Earlene. “Look in my eyes,” he asked. “Try to blink as little as you can.”

 

That was not really very easy just now, given how much her eyes still watered and burned, but he could see that she did her best. His hand supported her head, as he pressed much deeper into her unresisting mind. A greater sense of calm crept up slowly, which gave a welcome relief.

 

The King encountered the most complex emotional morass he had yet seen, understanding too late why his restriction on Earlene was the source of these feelings. It ran far deeper than the nuances that had already been discussed. He kissed his wife’s forehead, holding her to him. “Thank you,” he said. His eyes were squeezed shut as he silently shared what he had learned with Thanadir. It was not easy to describe. Or explain. It was so many things, all interconnected, and now he had a second question to answer. _Had I understood, would I have judged differently?_ His answer came back quickly enough. _Yes, because there was no real reason for this particular outcome. This was a grave misunderstanding with an irreversible result. Lorna tried to tell me, but it was said in a manner to which I could not listen. Earlene did not resist, did not try to press me, and I simply accepted her obedience. And I am not certain...there is no means I can see by which to repair the damage._ The logical part of him understood that things of this nature were nearly inevitable from time to time with their differences in understanding each other. And that did nothing to assuage that his decisions had ruined what should have been a special and memorable day...and yet Earlene’s thoughts held no reproach. Only a paralyzing amount of sadness that stole her very self away from her.

 

********

 

When Lorna reached her flat, all she said to Ratiri was, “Allanah, please, for the love’v God, don’t ask.” She hugged him, hard, and he hugged her back. He’d been afraid this would happen. Hell, he’d _known_ this would happen.

 

He was rather alarmed to see her go for the drinks cabinet and select not beer or wine, but Big Jamie’s 90% poitín. He was even more alarmed when she poured not a shot, but a full glass.

 

“Lorna--”

 

“Ratiri, allanah, please, just -- don’t,” she said, and the misery in her eyes was enough to stop him. Even so, he twitched when she downed half the glass in two swallows.

 

The burn was beautiful, stinging in her sinuses, but it didn’t do anything to ease the ache in her heart. She’d been so looking forward to this day -- she hadn’t had a bridal shower when she’d married Liam, because they’d been broke and living in a van. This was what civilized people did, and look how it had turned out. She’d wake with a hell of a morning-after tomorrow, but maybe it would black out the past four hours.

 

Downing the rest of the glass, she poured herself another -- she knew how much she could handle before actual alcohol poisoning set in. Sighing, she slumped onto the floor, back against the cool stone wall.

 

Ratiri came and sat beside her, eying her with blatant worry. Bless him, though, he said nothing; he did exactly what she needed him to do, and just wrapped his arm around her and drew her close. She sipped this glass, eyes still dry and burning, while he gently rubbed at her arm, cheek rested against her hair.

 

“What is it you want, mo chroí?” he asked at last, once she’d finished her second glass. Her vision was beautifully blurry.

 

“To forget this entire fucking day,” she said softly. “I’m so tired, allanah. Putting up a face...I’d forgot how draining it is.”

 

“Will you at least drink some water?” he asked. “Please?”

 

She probably ought to, but...God, this would be so much easier if she could just cry, and get it out like a normal person. “I will,” she sighed. “I just--” She couldn’t find words. Not the right ones, anyway -- and while she might seldom be good at _using_ her words, she was never usually short of them. Shutting her eyes, she took the glass Ratiri handed her, though she drank little.

 

“I want to go home,” she said at last, “except we can’t, because then we’d be around everyone from the party, and I’d have to keep the bloody face up, and…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Lorna wasn’t used to this level of weariness, of plain, hazy, blue sadness.

 

“Drink that, mo chroí, and sleep,” Ratiri said gently. “Just sleep. Don’t worry about anything else.”

 

She drank the water, eventually, staring into the fire. _I’m glad I deleted those pictures_ , she thought dully. Part of her didn’t want her bridal gifts, even, because they too were a reminder of that debacle. They could get packed away somewhere, and maybe in the future, someday, she’d want to look at them.

 

“All right, mo chroí, let’s get your teeth brushed, and I’m sure you’ve got to wee by now,” Ratiri said, helping her up. Once the necessities were taken care of, he got her into her Black Sabbath T-shirt and boxers and into bed. _Dammit, Thranduil_ , he thought, pulling close. _Thank you for ruining my fiancée’s bridal shower._

 

He stayed awake until he heard her breathing even out, and wondered if they needed a holiday. They didn’t have time for much, not with the wedding so close, but they could take the twins and go to some seaside cottage or...something.

 

But there was no point planning anything until tomorrow. Though if Lorna still looked this miserable, he’d be very tempted to hit someone.

 

********

 

“Earlene, I am sorry,” Thranduil said. “This was more complex than I could have imagined. I did not understand, and now it is too late to correct what has happened.”

Her head nodded in agreement against him, but there was only emptiness in the stead of her usually active thoughts. This was not the obfuscating she would manage from time to time, to try to keep him out. Hers was truly a mind at a standstill, and he knew enough of mortals to know that this was not normal or desirable. Lifting his head, he silently told his concerns to Thanadir, whose face was immeasurably sad. “Come, Earlene. We will take you home.”

 

Thanadir was asked to let her climb down alone, helping her only if the need arose. Mechanically, Earlene descended; it was not as if she was terribly far up. Not even ten feet. They each offered her an arm, which she liked. The part of her that did not wish to see anyone besides either of them felt rather in charge, just now. While Thranduil might have understood this, that it even included their children was beyond worrisome. At a steady pace, they silently walked home until reaching their rooms. Then Earlene became animated once again. Her clothes were stripped off almost immediately, and exchanged for the plainest dress Thanadir had ever sewn for her. Then she sat near the fire, and stared at it. All this had been managed with no apparent awareness on her part of the two ellyn even being in the room.

 

Thranduil and Thanadir spoke once again in silent exchange, and came to an agreement.

 

Moments later, Thanadir carefully put his arm around Earlene, taking the unusual step of drawing her into his lap. Her blank stare as her head rested against his shoulder slowly gave way to puzzlement, and then an outright frown, as if a hypnotic state was gradually being lifted for her. “You never do this,” she said to the seneschal.

 

“Neither do you,” came the soft reply.

 

*****

 

Thranduil knocked softly at Lorna and Ratiri’s door. _Please, may I come in?_

 

Fortunately, while Ratiri was still awake enough to hear him, Lorna was not. Carefully, Ratiri disentangled himself from her and her hair, moving through the bedroom and lounge as quietly as he could. He was not particularly pleased that Thranduil would be paying them a visit, but he was hardly going to leave the elf on the other side of the door.

 

“Lorna’s asleep,” he said, once he’d opened it. “Passed out, more like.” He couldn’t keep the disapproval from his voice, but Lorna was not its target.

 

“I have made a mistake that I cannot repair,” Thranduil said, meeting his eyes with honest sorrow. “I know what she has done, and one of the few things I can offer is that she will not wake sick from the alcohol. I did not...fully understand...until it was much too late.”

 

 _Evidently not_ , Ratiri thought sourly, but the fact that Thranduil realized he’d made a mistake softened his annoyance a great deal. It wasn’t going to soften _Lorna’s_ one bit, but it went quite a bit toward mitigating Ratiri’s thoughts. “I know she would appreciate it,” he said, standing aside to let Thranduil in. “Eventually.” He shook his head. “You’re learning what all human men have to learn at some point or another, which is that sometimes we can be idiots to the women we care about. And you were already at a cultural disadvantage, in a sense.” That made it no less awful, but still, there was a mitigating factor in there. It just wasn’t one Lorna would have any respect for.

 

“Then I will do what I am able, for now. I know that hearing this does no good, but I am sorry.”  Breaking away from Ratiri’s gaze, he went to Lorna, and some moments later left her in a state of deep sleep that would not involve physiological ruin. After, he simply said, “Thank you for letting me in.”

 

“I’m not the one who needs to hear that,” Ratiri said, but he said it oddly gently. “You’re going to have to talk to her tomorrow, Thranduil. She won’t want to, but I don’t want her shutting down. She loves you to bits, but you ruined her bridal shower. That can’t get left to turn into a stone of silence.” Which sounded rather like a D&D term, actually. Was it? Why was he wondering this? He wasn’t even the one who’d been drinking.

 

Thranduil nodded. “I...do not think there will be a morning meal. Lorna will not come, and...Earlene is not much better off, just now. I will return in the morning, but I will ask you first whether she has woken.”

 

“Good luck,” Ratiri said. “If you haven’t noticed before now, human women can be...complex. I think possibly in ways ellith aren’t. If either one of them gets furious at you...well, if Lorna gets there, I’ll take her to the seaside or something. Holiday might do her some good anyway.”

 

With a weak smile, Thranduil held his hand over his heart before extending his palm outward, in the elven gesture of parting.

 

*****

 

 _As you wish, meldir._ Earlene had nothing left, including most of her wits.

 

_What I wish, is that you would tell me aloud what you are feeling._

 

 _Thanadir?!_ What of her wits did remain registered that this was the second time he had ever spoken to her telepathically; usually he only listened .

 

 _Yes. There is no one else here, Earlene._ He kissed the side of her head.

 

“I will try.” Her voice was very insubstantial, like fragile tissue paper. “I feel very drained, like there is very little left inside of me. Today was a disaster, for both Lorna and I. Sometimes…” here she broke off for many moments, trying to frame her thoughts. “Sometimes humans develop expectations around an event. There is great anticipation, and many thoughts form concerning the enjoyment we hope to have from the experience. Too many thoughts. It is not logical; this is something centered in emotions. And the emotions can become very strong, especially if the thing anticipated has wider connections to other parts of life that are troubled. If the expectations are not met, it feels unbearably sad, and painful. The sense of loss is profound, out of proportion to the external reality. That was what happened today. I cannot say for certain that I know all of what Lorna thought and felt, but her bridal shower was ruined for her. And it was because of me. And by extension, you.

 

“Lorna will never understand the fealty I have given our King, Thanadir. Never. She believes it is a form of abuse, that I do what Thranduil asks of me even when I do not agree; this is how most modern humans view ceding that kind of control to another person. Humans outside these walls have a concept of individual freedoms that cannot ever fully integrate with a King in a position of absolute authority. I am alienated from my own kind; probably the only human in the western world that would choose to live in this manner. It is a division, a gap between us, and I deeply wonder if it is one I should keep trying to bridge. I chose to be with the elves, meldir. And while I am not an elf, I have given up much of what most feel it means to be human.”

 

The seneschal carefully rubbed at her back and shoulder. Part of him could only imagine, the emotional chaos that would result from filling these Halls with mortals. Could twenty years of meetings begin to suffice, for trying to blend their two cultures? The differences between them were in some ways profound and not easily perceived. Not once had Earlene spoken against Thranduil, even as he could hear her heartbreak for what had been lost. “Lorna believes you are being repressed?” he asked.

 

This brought a choking sort of laugh. What felt like effervescent bubbles popping in among her addled thoughts struggled to free themselves, to make way for words and sentences. Earlene knew that Thanadir had not meant to invoke absurdity; he was using the one reference in his awareness to try to understand.

 

“Yes. That is part of it. But the other part, I believe is much simpler. Human women sometimes wish to do things only with other women. Perhaps ellith have no such custom; I do not know any of them here well enough to say. There are matters women will speak of only when no males are present; this is a long-standing cultural custom, and it is the same for human males wishing to have time without females present. This is in no way your fault, but your required presence at an event for only females…”

 

“I think I see a little more clearly, now. Though I confess, I am not happy when I cannot see to your safety, Earlene.”

 

“I know. I will be honest, I am not particularly happy unless you are near, either. Part of why today was so painful for me is that I always want you near, meldir. I love you dearly. And yet today the awkwardness of having you along on account of Lorna’s feelings and the overall circumstances were too great. I know too, that you were under the same obligation as I. You were only carrying out…”

 

“The command of your King,” said Thranduil softly. He had returned, and had listened to some of their conversation. “There will be changes, meluieg. We will talk more. I would rather know now, what I can do for you. I have never seen you like this, and it is...this is frightening.”

 

“Please stay with me.” With a sigh that threatened too easily to turn into more tears, she continued to blink at the flames among the coals, while the ellyn exchanged worried glances.

 

“We are here, Earlene.”

 


	72. Seventy-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 22-24, 2017

Lorna woke predictably unhappy, though at least she wasn’t dead of a morning-after. All things considered, though, that almost might have been preferable. As it was, she was still just...sad. It seemed stupid, to be so upset by just one thing, one relatively trivial thing, except to her it wasn’t trivial. She couldn’t remember the last time all her age-contemporary women friends in Baile had all got together with no men, and this was supposed to be bringing Earlene into the group. Earlene didn’t really know that many human women in Ireland yet, and she’d wanted to fix that. This was supposed to be her day, as she’d wanted it, and she’d been forced to have it ruined. She’d been left with no choice, thanks to  _ King  _ Thranduil. He’d wrecked her day without a second thought, because he just had to have his way, didn’t he, even though there was no logical  _ reason _ for it.

 

What ought to have worried her, though, was that there was no real vitriol in the thought. She was too sad to be mad. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep again; even the thought of taking the twins and Ratiri elsewhere was too much effort. They really ought to take a holiday...somewhere...but she didn’t even have the energy to think of a destination.

 

God dammit, this was meant to have been her and Earlene. They had been meant to spend time together, no males present. They’d never yet been able to do that outside of the forest, in actual, true privacy. This was meant to be what she’d hoped would be the first of many girls’ outings, but apparently girls’ outings weren’t going to be a thing. Outside of that one movie night and their one evening at the cottage (where Thranduil couldn’t help but hear them the whole time), apparently it wasn’t meant to be. And that...hurt. A lot.

 

She still hadn’t yet opened her eyes, but she desperately needed to wee. The space beside her was cold; Ratiri had to already be up with the twins, so she went to the toilet and then crawled back into bed, leaving no one any the wiser.

 

Honestly, she wanted to go  _ home _ , but not enough to move. She -- they -- couldn’t anyway, because she wasn’t going to be willing to deal with all her friends again without that sour taste in her mouth, the bitterness that had tainted yesterday. So Lorna shut her eyes again, determined to go back to sleep.

 

*****

 

Earlene did not remember going to bed. Or falling asleep. And yet it took all too little time to remember why a sense of misery permeated her, as the events of yesterday cruelly came flooding back.  _ What in god’s name was wrong with her? _ Even though she knew the answer, that a bridal shower gone south could be having this kind of impact was nearly unfathomable.  _ Train Wreck, indeed _ . And yet today, more of her cognition seemed to be functioning. Thranduil’s breathing was regular, and his pale arm was draped over her. Even that single limb was so beautiful to look upon...and as she stared at it and little else, conclusions clicked into place. The root cause of yesterday was at last laid bare to her.  _ This isn’t about anything other than you, and Lorna. You have no real relationship with her. Yesterday was the first real opportunity to do something to change that, and it was blown to bits.  This was a destroyed bridal shower, but this is also me wondering whether...I should. I care about Lorna, but the strain of this...the strain of expectations I can never meet. Do not want to meet. Do you really want to be friends with someone who will always view your circumstances as a bad joke?  _

 

The immediacy with which her thoughts darkened told her that if her arrow had not hit the bulls-eye, it was very close to it.  _ Maybe this is all part of the grand plan into which my life seems to be woven. I didn’t used to believe in Fate, but how else do I view what has happened to me? Am I nothing more than a thread in Vairë’s hand, being woven into my place in her tapestry? A tapestry in which humans are numbered on one hand? Am I being told on some level, to keep apart? My entire life was...that. Kept apart, apparently for their reasons. My friends were taken from me. I never made new ones. And the one human friend I have tried to have...well, she is my husband’s friend, but not really mine. And this...disaster...feels insurmountable.  _ Her eyes closed again. The last thing she wished to do was leave this bed, or this room.

 

Thranduil had not moved, but had very much woken. This was...very bad. The Earlene he knew had only once ever engaged in such incorrect and frankly bizarre thinking; after the birth of the twins. He could see clearly enough, that the events of yesterday had been an extreme strain on her mind. And he was uncertain how to help her, even as Ratiri’s words rang around in his head.  _ “...I don’t want her shutting down…”   _ Was this also what his wife was doing? Very carefully, he slowly moved his arm so that his hand could caress her side. Most mornings, they loved each other. He would touch her in this way, and usually within seconds she would turn toward him or at least begin to respond in some manner. He kept on gently and slowly, but there was...nothing, but an increasing sense of sadness from her.

 

“Meluieg,” he whispered. “I love you, and I cannot allow this to take hold in you.”

 

That brought no coherent thought, only more sadness. He turned her toward him until he could hold her against his body. In his embrace, warmth slowly coursed through her, and a blanket of cold fog felt like it was slowly lifting from her mind. She still did not feel good, but some of the sense of abject misery left her. 

 

_ What are you doing to me, my Lord? _

 

Thranduil kissed her forehead.  _ Your mind is not working correctly. This profound sadness...you are drawing conclusions that are not based in sound reasoning; this is not like you at all. I am trying to bring you to a place in which healing can take occur. I could reach in and try to ‘fix’ everything but...minds are not a box of crayons to rearrange, meluieg. They are best interfered with only in great need, and as infrequently as possible. _

 

He tenderly kissed her again.

 

_ I am sorry that...I do not understand...this all happened so fast. _

 

_ Earlene, this is my responsibility. I caused this, in my ignorance. Much like another time I caused you great pain because of that same ignorance. I must learn to listen better, more carefully, when you try to warn me. I am not certain how to say this. You have worked very hard to keep your promises to me as a King. You have become so much like an elf that it has become too easy to forget that you are not an elf. Even when you have expressed an unhappiness with my decision, you obey me as do the others, and I do not question further. From now on, when I command you to do a thing and you find it difficult to obey, or unfair, we are going to communicate a great deal more. I will give all I have, not to make such a mistake as this again. I do not believe you would ever abuse this, simply to try to have something your own way. _

 

_ Thank you, for the concession,  _ she said humbly.  _ I hope you understand, that when I am among elves none of this is a problem _ , came the mournful voice.

 

_ I see the problem with considerably more clarity, and I will not be so arrogant as to assume I understand it perfectly. There may be more to learn. I promised to care for you, meluieg; I am so sorry. And, there is more. I believe you know in your heart that the Valar would never maneuver you to forsake a loving friendship with another human. The Powers do not behave in such a manner. You...understand this, do you not?  _ The question was asked with no accusation, only gentleness.

 

_ I...think so. There is much of which I am unsure, Thranduil. I was not born to your...realities. _

 

_ Do not become distressed. We will speak of this at another time. I am doubly grieved, to realize the division I have helped foster between you and Lorna. I know that I cannot ever repair that this occasion was ruined, but I will make what amends I can. _

 

‘Speaking of this at another time’ seemed like the wisest possible course of action. Her arm reached around to hold him. He was strength, and comfort. Strong hands rubbed at her back, and this time his slow attentions were reciprocated in a manner that seemed much more familiar. His heart soared, to feel that the wife he knew was yet here. This was still a problematic mess, but one from which Earlene would emerge with time. He felt he owed it to both her and himself, to focus solely on the two of them. Just for a short while.

 

*****

 

When Lorna woke again, she felt no better, but at least she was surrounded by kittens. Fuzzy, sleepy kittens, one of whom was draped around the top of her head like a hat, purring.

 

She needed to get up, to see to her children and make sure her husband wasn’t being hassled to death by them, but she was still just. so.  _ Tired.  _ Part of her couldn’t shake an irrational but persistent fear that something was going to turn her wedding into a disaster, too. It was incredibly unlikely, but it wasn’t like she’d seen  _ this  _ coming, either. It would probably be easier and safer to have the wedding somewhere else, if only so Thranduil couldn’t force any last-minute changes for whatever unfathomable reason. He’d already demonstrated it could well be possible, given he hadn’t cared if he wrecked her bridal shower just because having his way was more important. There had to be something there, something behind his pathological need to have someone always breathing down Earlene’s neck, but Lorna had no idea what, and right now she didn’t care. Yesterday -- not just the bridal shower, but her girls’ day, her time to bring Earlene into the circle of women in Baile, had been ruined because what Thranduil wanted was more important than what she did, on a day that should have been special. A day that would only happen once. And that...hurt. It hurt a lot. She’d honestly thought better of him, but maybe she shouldn’t have, given that he still had Earlene as the inferior in their relationship. Maybe she should have seen this coming.

 

Eventually she opened her eyes. Ratiri, bless him, had drawn the curtains almost fully closed around the bed, leaving her in a little cave with her tiny kitten horde. Within it, hopefully her thoughts could be badgered into enough order that she could at least come up with a destination for a holiday.

 

_ Pat _ , she thought. They could go get a cottage in Lough Gur for a few days, and visit her brother -- the brother who, while they had fought as kids, had never made her this damn miserable. Shit, he would’ve lamped anyone who did, assuming she’d left him anything to lamp. She and Ratiri could take the twins to the seaside, and do human things. Right now she was sick to death of elves and everything to do with them. She’d see if Earlene wanted to go, too, except she had zero desire to get stuck with Thanadir the Third Wheel again. That would totally defeat the purpose. She was going to have to be careful not to start utterly resenting his existence, because yesterday really had not been his fault. He’d had no more say in the matter than Earlene did. Granted, it probably would have been easier if he hadn’t looked so content to be there, ruining things, even through no fault of his own. But then, Thanadir really did have difficulty reading humans, which also wasn’t his fault. She needed to remember these things.

 

If only she could cry, like a god damn normal person, she could get this out of her system and be done with it. She knew firsthand how cathartic tears could be; they drained the emotional poison, and left the wound clean. But she was almost incapable, and the last thing she wanted to do was ask Thranduil for help. She couldn’t talk to him, not on top of everything else. She was too depressed to even be properly angry with him, which even she knew was a bad sign.

 

Whatever. They’d go see Pat, just as soon as she could drag herself out of this damn bed and have a bath. Whenever she’d manage  _ that _ . And she would quietly give her presents to some charity shop, though she couldn’t in good conscience give away Gran’s candlesticks. Those would go at the back of some cupboard, never to be seen unless Mairead asked. Lorna wanted no reminders of yesterday; hell, even the clothes she’d worn could go to the shop. She wasn’t going to look at that tunic with fondness ever again.

 

_ You need to get up _ , she told herself.  _ You need to get your family out of here before any damned elves come your way. Pack some things, take the van, and go. Because you know damn well Thranduil is going to try to make you talk sooner or later, and do you really want to do that? _

 

Yeah, that was a resounding  _ no _ , and it was enough to make her sit up, disentangling the kitten from her hair. She hoped to high hell that he would be with Earlene until at least evening, if not until tomorrow -- the poor woman probably needed it, assuming she actually wanted anything to do with him. If he was, Lorna and Ratiri could be packed and gone within two hours.

 

A curl of determination displaced a little of her sadness, but not by much. She was never this sluggish, this indecisive, but she could hardly bring herself to care.

 

_ Go see Pat _ , she ordered herself.  _ Go see your _ real  _ brother. Get off your pathetic arse and  _ go _. This isn’t you, Lorna Donovan. Quit sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Yeah, your bridal shower got ruined, but there’s no changing it now. Get rid of all your shite, and go visit Pat. Go be human, where the only one who controls your life is you. This really, really isn’t you. _

 

Perhaps not, but she still couldn’t make herself move. Sitting up seemed to have taken all her energy. Still her eyes burned, dry; still the dull ache in her chest squeezed, like a fist. Yes, she was pathetic, but she was too sad and weary to give a shit.

 

She had a half-empty bottle of Ratiri’s brew in here, from a few days ago, when she and Ratiri had shared it and watched a movie. It was flat now, but that didn’t matter; she managed to haul her arse off the bed long enough to grab it, and sat sipping with kittens all around her. On an empty stomach, it didn’t take quite so much to give her a buzz, but though it made her even more maudlin, it still didn’t make her cry. The sadness, the disappointment, still curdled in her mind, blocked by whatever intangible dam held back any tears she wished to shed.

 

They needed to move their wedding.  _ Where _ , she didn’t know, but she couldn’t bear to risk this kind of thing happening again.

 

The door opened, and Ratiri’s soft footfalls made the way to the bed. When he opened the curtains, he sighed. “Oh Lorna.”

 

She didn’t resist when he took the bottle from her, and when he sat, displacing a few kittens, she let him take her in his arms without protest. He said nothing more -- just held her. He always did seem to know when words were not what she needed.

 

“I should’ve just called it off,” she said eventually, her voice soft and dull as she stared at her bare feet. “Better no bridal shower than... _ that _ . I just...I didn’t get to have one, with Liam. This was the only one I was ever going to get, and I wish it had never happened. I wish I could forget the whole thing.” It would have been so, so much fun, too, if not for the Thanadir-shaped millstone out reading on the lawn. That, for her, was the worst of it: she knew how much she would have enjoyed it.

 

“What do you want to do?” Ratiri asked gently, carding his fingers through her tangled hair.

 

“I want to get out’v here,” she whispered, shutting her eyes. “I want to get away from this place, from these bloody elves, but -- there’s Earlene. It wouldn’t be fair to leave her, not when she’s as miserable as I am -- not when taking her with us would also mean taking the unwanted guest who ruined things in the first place. I wanted...I wanted to spend time with her, just us girls, and I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.” Even so short a conversation was enough to drain her all over again. There were so many things she ought to be doing, but she was so exhausted. And, fortunately, somewhat buzzed. It dulled her melancholy a little, though only a very little.

 

Ratiri wished, so much, that he knew what to do for her -- but at the same time, he knew there was nothing he  _ could  _ do. Some things just had to be weathered. This depression was being caused by too many disparate things to be easily banished.

 

When it came to women, men screwed up. God knew he’d done it himself. The problem here was that Thranduil had, unfortunately, the means by which to screw up on a truly colossal level.

 

Fortunately, Lorna really did love him to bits; she’d get over it eventually, but Ratiri wasn’t sure just when ‘eventually’ would be. He’d only ever seen her temper, which flared like a brushfire, bright and searing and over as fast as it came. This depression...he’d thought she was depressed when she was pregnant, but this was worse. There was so much contributing to it that even he, who had actually studied psychology, might not be able to fully figure it out. In some ways, women were just so fundamentally different that no man was going to understand absolutely everything.

 

_ Not even one with telepathy _ , he thought, and sighed. It had been very obvious yesterday that neither woman had wanted Thanadir along for the ride; Lorna had been infuriated, though she’d contained it to a degree he wouldn’t have thought possible. The signs were all there, but Thranduil hadn’t read them right, and Ratiri was pretty sure that had been one of those cultural differences that were going to trip them up sooner or later. Still, the fact that it was inevitable made it no less unpleasant to deal with. The tiny, miserable woman in his arms was testament enough to that fact.

 

The depth of that misery, that depression, worried him. He almost wished she’d get angry, because her anger he understood. Her rage could be disturbing, but he never feared it; he could predict, fairly easily, what she’d do. This, though...when she spoke of her disappointment, and the ruin of her day, there was no resentment in her tone. She was just...sad. And that was so, so,  _ so  _ wrong. If she couldn’t even summon up the energy to be irritated, things were even more wrong than he’d thought.

 

“I want to move the wedding,” she whispered at last, unable to summon anything louder. “I won’t let this shit happen again. Nobody’s going to tell me what I can and can’t do ever again.”

 

Ratiri shut his eyes. He’d been afraid of this, and could only hope she’d change her mind once she was over the worst of this...mess. Once she was no longer in the depths of it, and she could think more clearly. “You need your hair brushed, mo chroí,” he said, gently depositing her back on the bed (and almost onto a kitten) as he went to fetch her brush. She shut her own eyes while he worked, elbows rested on her knees, and he wondered if he could get her to eat something.

 

*****

 

Dressing in clothing that was utterly plain somehow felt like what was right, at the moment. Thanadir had been tasked with bringing the children to their mother, and about that he did not feel quite so worried. Thranduil had gently encouraged Earlene to leave off the drab elven dress, and wear human clothing that was pretty and colorful. This was another thing that had been explained to him before, but not in a way he understood. Earlene already had enough respect and affinity for their elven customs; he only now saw that it was almost vital to encourage her to dress as a woman at times, not an elleth. And today was one of those times. The only thing that mattered for this entire day was that she be kept quiet and encouraged to talk. Thanadir was in many ways more suited to this than him. Last night had given proof that the old elf could probably bring Earlene back from nearly any state of mind, however bad. Right now, he had another problem, one whose magnitude was becoming more apparent with each passing thought he overheard from across his Halls. 

 

There were times when Lorna’s ‘all or nothing’ reactivity felt exceedingly tiresome, but this was not an occasion in which that particular problem could be mentioned. The damage here was all on account of him, and he would not shirk that acknowledgement. As he joined the last button of his  rough-spun tunic to the fabric, he shook his head to himself. Perhaps the Valar were yet teaching him; he had been required to show more humility to these firith than….well, anyone he could manage to recall. Though it saddened him deeply, to hear that his friend believed he would have done this to her deliberately. He did not know what to do with that very painful realization, except force himself to behave as though he were not aware of it. That her thoughts were not private was not her fault.

 

His silent steps through the passageways gave him time to wonder just how many headaches and pitfalls the future held. This would not be the first disastrous misunderstanding between elves and humans; of that, he was fairly certain. Would the humans all be this difficult, in the end? Earlene had told him of a mortal saying, ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’ Would the help of his people, their attempts to ensure the survival of these humans, only end up being a similar disaster?  _ You cannot afford to entertain those notions _ , he told himself.  _ Because as always, this is now a duty you have promised to uphold. And for better or worse, it is not a duty that will endure terribly long, in your eyes.  _ Just now, that felt sad as well. Sooner than he wished, he stood before Lorna and Ratiri’s door once again.  _ I have returned _ , he said to Ratiri. That seemed easier than knocking. On a door in his own Halls.  _ Eru, what has my life become…? _

 

Ratiri had known this was coming, but it actually might prove a good thing. He hoped.  _ Come on into the lounge _ , he said.  _ I have Lorna in our room, and I need a moment more with her. There should still be tea on the sideboard. _

 

“Mo chroí, Thranduil is here, and I think you should talk to him,” he said quietly, running the brush through her hair one last time.

 

“Why?” she asked quietly, still not opening her eyes.

 

“That you two might understand each other. I know you’re very similar in some ways, Lorna, but in others you’re also very different. He understands that this was a mistake, and that understanding it doesn’t change the fact that it  _ was  _ a mistake. Will you please at least try to talk to him?” Ratiri might not have the Thanadir Superpower, but he had a certain tone of voice that made it really hard not to do what he asked.

 

“I don’t have much to say, really,” she sighed. “But fine.”

 

He got her onto her feet, at least, though she was still wearing her T-shirt-and-boxers excuse for pyjamas. Oh well. It wasn’t like Thranduil was going to care. The kittens followed them, squeaking, though they were old enough now that some had proper meows. It was like being followed by a tiny herd of fluff and feet, although he was fairly certain a group of cats was called a clowder...and yet more irrelevance. Oh well. He was human.

 

He got Lorna settled on the sofa, sitting next to her and placing a kitten on her lap.  _ I think she’ll listen,  _ he said.

 

With a heavy sigh, Thranduil smiled weakly in thanks to Ratiri. This felt like...something, though again he could not recall what. He entered and knelt in front of where she sat, because it was simply the only way he could speak to her without somehow managing to tower over her and...that was not wanted, just now. “Lorna,” he said in very soft tones. “Yesterday was my fault, because I did not understand more than one thing until it was far too late. I am so sorry for what I have done, even as I realize that an apology cannot repair the damage. I never wanted this to happen. You may be finding it difficult to believe that, but at least I have never lied to you. There will be….changes. I hope that you can forgive me for the harm I have done. If there is something I am able to do to help, even if it is leave you alone, you need only tell me.”

 

It...was something of a relief, even through her depression, to know that his actions had been the result of ignorance, rather than him simply not caring.  _ How did you not know, though?  _  she asked, and there was no actual recrimination in her mental tone.  _ I was furious. You had to have seen that neither Earlene nor I wanted Thanadir with us. He was completely unwelcome, but you made us take him anyway. I don’t….I don’t understand, because I’m not you. Is it because you’re an elf? Because you’re a guy? I mean...I can’t read your mind. I’m never going to know you like you know me. _

 

“I will answer your questions honestly, even though they involve my private life in my marriage,” he said slowly, trying to choose his words. “You have often, been furious. And that has taught me to assign much less weight to words you speak in anger. I do not say this as a justification for my mistake, but you are asking me to explain a complex misunderstanding. The other problem is, you do not understand the relationship between Earlene and Thanadir. The only reason she did not wish my seneschal to come was because of understanding how you would view it. It is simply not accurate to say that ‘Earlene did not want Thanadir.’ I did not know, because I did not understand that I should have spoken with my wife at far greater length about this subject in the first place. It had already been discussed once, and I believed that she and I had covered every aspect of it. This was not the case, and I take responsibility for having failed to recognize that there was much more to say. I also did not comprehend how important of an occasion this would be, for you, because of ignorance about your customs. I realized, far too late, that firith have needs in this particular way.”

 

She wasn’t going to touch the ‘often furious’ thing, since anymore it wasn’t true. She had a reputation, and she was probably never going to live it down. Such was usually the case with well-earned reputations.  _ Even if Earlene didn’t mind having Thanadir there,  _ I  _ didn’t want him,  _ she said, so miserable she could barely pet the kitten. It purred like a chainsaw anyway.  _ Earlene gave you fealty. I haven’t. I didn’t give you any right to dictate my life, but yesterday, you forced me to let you anyway. My only other options were ditch Earlene, which I would never do, or call the shower off, and I’d have no excuse for it, because it’s not like either of us could fake we were sick. You put me in a corner, and I know you didn’t mean to do it on purpose, I do know that, but...that’s still what happened. And what I want, what I really want, is to just forget yesterday. All of it. Pretending it didn’t happen...won’t work.  _ Even still, there was no actual recrimination; just sad weariness. He hadn’t understood what he was doing; he hadn’t forced that on her on purpose, but the fact remained that it had been forced on her, even if nobody else realized it but her. Well, her and probably Ratiri, because Ratiri knew her too well.  _ I just wanted a girls’ day. I never get to spend time with just Earlene. _

 

“I see that now, and I am so sorry. I did not intend this outcome, and I know I do not have the right to dictate your life. I have unwittingly caused a gulf between you and my wife that…” There was no palatable means by which to say, _has nearly_ _driven her into a wish for total isolation_. “I did not mean to create this outcome. I did not understand...women. Yes, it is in part because I am a male elf. Though I am not certain being an elleth would have entirely provided me with insight, either. You are both free to...you will find me much less eager to interfere with the two of you wishing to do things on your own. And….Lorna, while I do have the ability to erase memories, I am very reluctant. This is a very...dangerous thing in which to interfere, in the mind of another. In evidence of my willingness to try to right my wrongs, I will do whatever you wish in this regard. But it cannot be undone, and, I would plead with you to please carefully consider for a time. Your feelings are very raw, just now. I can help you to feel less pain, but…” he trailed off, finally raising his eyes to look at her.

 

“Earlene has a really warped idea’v how she thinks I view her,” Lorna sighed. “Yeah, there’s things about your relationship I don’t and never will approve -- what happened yesterday being a prime example -- but she thinks I judge  _ her  _ when I don’t. People do all sorts’v weird shite for those they love, and it’s not like you ask her to go around wearing...I don’t know, nipple clamps or something. And I’m not sure how to get it across that I  _ don’t  _ judge her. Honestly, I’m so used to everybody judging me that I forget other people actually do mind it, and...that’s not what I want Earlene to get from me. I want to just -- just be able to go to Baile, or Dublin, or...wherever, by ourselves. Two human women. Even human men don’t really understand that need in women, so I’m not surprised you don’t, either.” Shaking her head, helpless, she added, “I mean, we’re never going to really understand one another if we don’t spend time with  _ just  _ each other.”

 

She sighed again. Her voice was hoarse, for all she hadn’t spoken much. “I don’t want yesterday. Any’v it. Not the drive, the party, the presents...I already deleted the pictures.”

 

“Mo chroí, you should still wait,” Ratiri said gently. “He’s right, you  _ are  _ very raw. You should try to eat something, and pet some kittens, and maybe later we can go for a walk. One step at a time, literally.”

 

“That is the most trite thing I have ever heard,” she said, eying him. “I’ll...fine, but I don’t know what good waiting will do. I’m never going to want any reminders’v yesterday.” Her stupid dry, burning eyes...she didn’t want food. The thought of trying to eat something was actually vaguely nauseating.

 

Thranduil deeply wanted to point out that a sentence that contained ‘not judging someone’ and ‘things I’ll never approve of about your relationship’ held some heavily irreconcilable statements, but now was not the time for this. “I can help you to feel better if you will allow it? Please? Do not require me to do something to you I fear we will both regret.” There was pleading in his voice, and misery.

 

She eyed him, still tired and sad, and yet what she said was, “How in the hell can your zombie eyes be as Sad Panda as Thanadir’s? If you can...as long as yesterday isn’t yesterday anymore, I don’t care what you do. I just need to not….”  _ Not feel this. I can’t even be angry, and that’s...worrisome. _

 

_ I am afraid I agree, _ he said, gathering her in his arms. It seemed both advisable and necessary to do the same for Lorna as he had done for Earlene; perhaps even to a greater degree.  _ Feel better,  _ she heard, as some emotions left and others arrived. Held tightly, she burst into sobs and tears. This was proving to be another moment in which Thranduil felt his span of years. His own eyes pooled up and overflowed. Nothing was to be gained, by pretending he did not feel the sorrow he had caused those dearest to him. He held her until she seemed quieter, and spoke to Ratiri.  _ I believe she will feel better now. I...heard, what she spoke of before I arrived. Though I hope in my heart she will change her mind, I will tell you now that I will take no offense should she not. I also think that I should go, now.  _

 

Ratiri nodded, and sat next to Lorna to hold her against him. Thranduil rose swiftly, and left. As the door closed, Ratiri heard in parting.  _ I am available should you need me, but Earlene will not come out to eat today, at the least. I do not wish to worsen...anything else. _

 

_ She’ll change it, I’m sure,  _ Ratiri said.  _ She was miserable and confused, and I think she’s neither now -- just tired. I’ll ask Maerwen to bring food, if Earlene needs more time, though I think Lorna will want to talk to her eventually, if she’s willing. _

 

_ Thank you, Thranduil, _ Lorna said, but her eyes were shut. She was no longer a ball of hair and sad, but she was still exhausted. Crying, she had discovered, did that to a person, but it really was so cathartic.

 

_ You are welcome,  _ she heard, though it was as if a volume fade was occurring with the words.  _ I am so sorry…  _ He did not respond to Ratiri, because he did not dare say anything that would commit his wife to any obligations.  _ I have no idea under Anor how to help, between Lorna and Earlene. _ The awareness was slowly sinking in, that for a very long time now, the two of them had...it went beyond merely tolerating each other, but they both feared and loathed criticism, in their own way. Lorna was likely never going to move beyond her opinions of their marriage, and that, to his wife, was as good as a knife to the heart. 

 

Both women had been making a great effort to overlook the things they found difficult about each other. They had built a bridge, of sorts, but the events of yesterday had snapped the trusses. How could Lorna ever understand what Earlene had done, in embracing the life of the Eldar? He was not at liberty to divulge the degree to which Earlene desperately wished to have yet more. She could hide it from everyone else, but not him. His wife did not wish to remain mortal, and she was willing to forsake everything on account of it. Whether or not this was ever granted was immaterial; for Earlene this was a paradigm, a consuming frame of reference that Lorna would never understand. He returned to their quarters to see Lothiriel playing with Allanah, who ran and squealed in happiness to see him. “Ada! Wan’ boo ‘air!” she chattered happily.

 

“Ada wants  _ red _ hair,” he answered, smiling as he lifted the little girl over his head before zooming her to the ground. “See Lothiriel. I will return.” When he spoke to Allanah, he tended to also picture what he meant for her, a form of doubled communication that helped her to understand what he asked. His little girl wanted family time, but he first needed to check on Earlene. Opening the door, he saw that she was nursing, with her head leaning against Thanadir’s shoulder. The seneschal was quietly reading aloud to all of them.  _ Well enough,  _ he thought, before returning his attention to Allanah.

 

The twins were almost finished, if their habit of playing with her nipples and each other more than actively feeding was any indication. There was probably some child behavior rule she was breaking, but part of her found it completely endearing to see the look on an angelic little face when one of them giggled at the other, and then the tiny hand grabbed at her breast as if to say, ‘hang on a minute, I need another drink’. Even Thanadir had stopped his reading, enchanted with their antics. “What does it feel like?” he asked. 

 

“You mean, their nursing?”

 

He nodded, entranced with the manner in which Ithiliel was manhandling Earlene’s breast.

 

“It…”  _ I can honestly say I have never before had to stop myself from asking an elf if he knows what it is like for someone to suck on his nipples. No, not going there, Earlene. Try again.  _ “Well, if you were to put your fingertip in your own mouth and try to suck on it, you would find that your tongue slides back and forth over your finger. Because that motion, that suction, is what draws out the milk, and it feels the same on my breast as it does your finger. Mostly it is a pleasant feeling; that part of my body fits their mouths. What is not pleasant is if a child closes its teeth on me. There are other assorted sensations too that happen, a sort of reflex that allows my milk to flow. It is hard to explain, Thanadir. Even though I am female, as you know, having the body did not mean I knew at all what to do, the first time.”

 

“Thank you, that you share these things with me.” 

 

Earlene did not need to ask, to realize that he very much would like to do this himself, but simply could not. Then she thought of something. “Meldir, would you like to feel little Thaladir?”

 

Confusion and eagerness mixed in his eyes, which was enough of an answer. “I do not believe this is something you would find...unseemly, that I would place your hand over where the baby can be felt?”

 

He considered for a moment. “That is acceptable.”

 

“Then help me first, to have the girls be in fit condition to return to Lothiriel.” A nappy change and an adjustment of clothing later, she laughed as she reclined over his lap, feeling vaguely grateful for the years of yoga. “Give me your hand….there. Can you feel that it is firmer there, than my belly is above it? That is the baby. Or more accurately, that is my womb with the baby inside of it growing larger; probably the baby is all the size of a walnut still. I have only been able to perceive this for a few days now, but it still feels exciting.”

 

From her odd, flopped backward position, Earlene was able to watch Thanadir’s face. With effort, she kept her own features carefully neutral, in order not to distract him.  _ I think this is the most poignant thing I may ever witness.  _ The childlike wonder and happiness that passed over his features….just,  _ joy _ , there was no other word for what unfolded. That something this simple could give another so much. Give  _ him _ , so much. He helped push her back upright, and said nothing, but he hugged her. Nothing else needed to be said, the depths of his appreciation were understood. “You may feel the baby when you wish, Thanadir. Soon enough it will be no effort to locate, anyway.”

 

Nodding, he brushed a tear away, even as he recalled a previous conversation. “Did you always wish to have many children?” he asked quietly.

 

“No,” she answered, nestling against his shoulder. “I had no reason to even consider being a mother before I came to Thranduil. And even then, it was Allanah that caused a decision, so to speak.”

 

“You wished for the twins?”

 

“Yes.” Only now was it occurring to her, that he would not have known about this aspect of her life. “Thranduil promised me that if I wished for a child, that he would give one to me. And then somehow one turned into four in a great hurry and accident of biology,” she joked. “And then I heard your words, and how you felt about little ones. It caused me to...reconsider.”

 

“Reconsider? I do not...understand.”

 

“I had thought with the future we now understand is approaching, that perhaps it was unwise to continue bringing more children into the world. I no longer feel that way.”

 

Thanadir reflected on what he was being told very carefully. “You will have...even more?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but could not entirely hide the hope from his voice.

 

“I cannot promise that, but as of this moment, I do not believe that this will be our last child, no.”

 

A pleased smile played across his features, until he considered something else. “Earlene, is there...another reason, you wish for more children? I would be the first one to be pleased that Aran Thranduil would be second only to Fëanor for having offspring among our people, but I feel as though I am missing something.”

 

She gazed into the fire.  _ Uh-oh. _ The reply was awhile in coming. “Meldir, I would not admit this, I do not think, to any but you or my husband. I cannot...say, what my future holds. If I am to be parted from Thranduil by my mortality, which I must accept as my current fate, it would give my heart some peace to know that a part of me will remain with him, in the form of our children. They are assured of a gift that...well, I do not need to explain these realities to you, do I?”

 

A great many things fell into place in Thanadir’s mind, from that answer, and he held her shoulders to face him. “Meldis, is it your wish to...were it granted?”

 

“Yes, Thanadir. That is the deepest wish of my heart, and one over which I have no say except to plead my case when the time comes. I would never...presume.” Her eyes pooled with tears. “I do not wish to be parted from my husband, meldir. I would give anything.”

 

The full extent of the burden she carried was now revealed to him. He asked the next question, very carefully. “Do you...know...meldis, that the gifts of our people can be very difficult to bear? I do not say this out of criticism, but out of love. Our races are very different. Even among the Eldar, there are those who were unable to shoulder the burden of our immortality, and faded to the Halls of Mandos. The Gift of Men, that Eru gave, can also be a mercy. Springtime can seem beautiful, Earlene, but it can also take on another hue when winter can never come.” He reached up to cup her cheek, and wipe away her tears with his thumb. 

 

“I have considered those realities as much as is possible for one born mortal,” she replied softly. “And it has not dissuaded me. There is one thing of which I am certain, Thanadir. I no longer truly even belong among my own kind. I have chosen your people over my own, and my heart has followed with completeness.”

 

“I will pray for you, meldis.” He pulled her close. “Do not cry. Many things seem difficult, right now. Is what you have just told me part of...what went wrong for you, yesterday?”

 

“Yes. I...do not want the others to know, Thanadir. It is too private, and apparently no other human sees matters as I do.”

 

“I understand.” He sighed. “We are so similar, in some ways. So different in others. I am not sorry, to have had the chance to learn more about humans. I never imagined I would have a friend such as you, Earlene. Maybe now I understand better why it was possible.” For whatever reason, whether it was too much intensity or just...all of it rolled together, she broke out in sobs, holding onto him tightly. Nothing more was said, unless it was his occasional murmurs of something soothing in her ear while she cried herself into silence. 

 

Thranduil entered well into this catharsis, meeting his seneschal’s eyes. His wife had revealed something he had suspected but of which he had not been entirely certain. He sat with them. “Have faith, meluieg. Have faith that in the end, we will be shown mercy and that whatever the Valar judge will be what they understand is best.”

 

“I do try,” she whispered. “I am...there has been too much…”

 

“Do not explain, meldis. We understand. No more tears. You need to be able to eat, it is almost time for our meal.”

 

“I do not want to see anyone,” she said in flat refusal. “Please, do not make me.” Of course by ‘anyone’, she meant ‘anyone human.’

 

“We will eat alone, today. Only the three of us,” Thranduil soothed.

 

“Thank you,” she said, with great sincerity. “Thank you.”

 

********

 

Lorna cried for a very long time, but she was grateful for it. It drained the poison in her, leaving her clean and hollow. She still sat like a lump in Ratiri’s arms, but she was no longer a ball of sad and hair -- just a ball of hair. And a lot of snot, because apparently that always went along with crying. Gross. Fortunately, they had plenty of tissues.

 

She couldn’t actually do much thinking at the moment, but that was okay, too. Even when he set her gently on the sofa, when Maerwen returned with the twins and departed with a request for food, Lorna sat, tired but closer to something approximating peace. Yesterday had been a disaster and a half, but the immediacy of it was far removed, now.

 

The kittens clambered all over her, and she curled into a little ball, letting them scale her like tiny mountain climbers, meowing all the while. The tortie perched on her shoulder to give the tip of her nose a kitty kiss.

 

“That tickles, you little monster,” she said, her voice soft and hoarse. The kitten gave her one last lick and hopped down, and she managed to rise to heat some milk to feed the twins. She didn’t feel like breastfeeding right now; she wanted to be able to see her children while they ate, and with tits as small as hers, that wasn’t exactly possible. Neither twin ever seemed to prefer one over the other; all they seemed to care about was the fact that they got to eat. Certainly, when she sat down with a bottle, Chandra didn’t object in the least.

 

Part of her still wanted to just go stay with Pat a few days, but another part warned her against it. She’d have to drag him out  _ here  _ again, and soon -- or if not here, to Baile. He ought to meet Mairead anyway, since she was his half-sister, too. Either way, though, she knew, somehow, that to leave now, with things so unsettled, would be courting another disaster. This had to get dealt with, now, while it was still raw.

 

Not  _ right  _ now, though. She and Earlene were both a mess, and needed some time to recover. She planned on staying in her flat today, with her husband and her children, and just...resting. Thoughts of anything outside these rooms could stay there.

 

“You know,” she said, when Ratiri joined her with Shane, “I think, at this point, we need to just sit down and have Honesty Hour. If we understood each other better, shite like this wouldn’t happen.” But then, would Thranduil have actually learned, if it hadn’t? No way to know now, but she wasn’t certain he would have. With no evidence that his weird restrictions -- and she really wanted to know why they  _ were  _ so weird -- could cause harm, why  _ would  _ he learn? He’d have no way nor reason to. “And I do mean Honesty Hour. Only hold back on something if you absolutely can’t bring yourself to speak’v it.”

 

“Not yet,” Ratiri said, “but you may well be right.”

 

“Oh, I know not yet. That’ll have to wait until we’re all calm again.” Calm, and stable, or as stable as any of them ever were. Right now, Ratiri was the only one who could claim that with any truth. Thank God for him.

 

How many more times were they going to keep hurting each other? And Christ, how much worse would it be in twenty years, if they didn’t work this out? It would be a nightmare. They had to do it now. Somehow.

 

Meanwhile...she still didn’t want her bridal gifts. They were going to have to go in a storage closet, and maybe, at some point after the end of civilization, she’d want to look at them again.

 

“You do know that Thranduil meant it, right?” Ratiri asked. “That it was just an unfortunately large stupid mistake?”

 

Lorna leaned against his shoulder, while Chandra still chowed down her breakfast. “Even when we’ve been at odds, he’s never lied to me,” she said. “If he says something, he means it, so I believe it. Which...is a relief, because part’v me really had been afraid he’d known what he was doing.” She hadn’t wanted that thought, but given how miserable she’d been, it was a fairly natural extrapolation of the events that had unfolded. She had not taken into account the simple fact that he was male, and males of any race could just be...stupid, when it came to women and women things. And unfortunately, Earlene had given him the right to order her around, which had in this instance spilled over onto Lorna herself, who most definitely had  _ not _ given that right...it had been a perfect storm of...of  _ bad.  _ And yet maybe it was, ultimately, a good thing. Eyes had been opened. Wounds had been dealt in all directions, but sometimes that was the price.

 

Chandra finished eating and immediately belched, and Lorna hurried to get the spit-up cloth. No spit-up was forthcoming, however, and she eyed her daughter suspiciously. “If you sick up in my hair again, allanah, I will not be happy with you.” Chandra just giggled, flailing her tiny, pale hands.

 

“You know,” Ratiri said, trying to shoo a kitten away from Shane, “that’s probably the only time in the history of ever a king has got on his knees and asked someone for forgiveness.” 

 

Lorna snorted softly. “If he hadn’t already done it for Earlene, he’s doing it now,” she said. “I think part’v this...it’s easy to forget he’s king, unless he’s dealing with other elves. To me he’s just...Thranduil, who yeah,  _ is  _ a king, but it’s -- it’s a thing that doesn’t affect us, if that makes any sense. I’ve never seen him order Earlene or Thanadir about until now. He always asks, and sure, maybe a request is as good as an order, but it’s not what it looks like. And maybe it’s stupid’v me, but that’s made it easy for me to forget.”

 

“It’s not stupid,” Ratiri said, “and I wouldn’t be so quick not to realize the enormity of Thranduil’s apology. Has it yet occurred to you that you’re the only one who speaks to him like you do? He’s let you in to a degree I think very few have attained. Have you ever stopped to wonder why that is?”

 

She had, a bit, especially at first. She’d been entirely mystified, in fact, until she’d realized how much, in some very specific ways, they had a lot in common. And then, as time had gone on, it had become obvious that in a few ways they thought rather alike, too, and he had attained Pat-status -- which explained why she let  _ him  _ in as she did, but not why he had let  _ her  _ in. Never yet had she asked, but maybe she had to, because now she wondered quite a lot. 

 

But...that was a very  _ personal  _ question, and she’d always avoided those. Was this going to have to be the thing that broke her silent resolve? If they were ever actually going to have Honesty Hour, it would be a good dry-run, at least. It was so hard, though, to entertain the idea that not everyone might be as private as she was. So often, she refused to ask because she knew she wouldn’t want to be asked, but...not everyone was her. If he didn’t want to answer, he’d just say no. Why was that so hard for her to grasp? She wasn’t sure, but hard it was.

 

“I don’t know,” she said, realizing the question needed an actual answer, or at least acknowledgement that it had been asked.

 

“Think about it,” Ratiri said. “And ask, when you get the nerve.”

 

Lorna elbowed him lightly, and Chandra glowered at her. “Oh, stop it, you. A little jostling’s good for you.”

 

The baby’s scowl only deepened, and for the first time that day, Lorna laughed.

 

*********

 

By the next day, Earlene was not having to be coaxed out of the bedroom. She sat for a long time with the ellyn and Lothiriel in their outer rooms, and the four of them played with the children for so long that by early afternoon the little ones were all passed out, asleep. It was decided that they would nap in the nursery, so Earlene remained behind while the rest of them cared for that. A nearly obsessive desire to not see her human friends still had a strong grip on her, to the point that she obviously resisted leaving their rooms because of not even wanting to accidentally encounter one of them in the passageways.

 

While they were gone, the proofreading of her and Thanadir’s language document continued. Or rather, the third proofreading; she was fairly determined to not discover mistakes after this came back from the printer. And really, it was quite thorough. Even a translation for ‘get ossified’ was accounted for, though, serious deliberation had yielded the decision not to include curse words. The elves had none of them, and it went without saying that their absence would force the humans to perhaps make at least a vague attempt to sanitize their speech. Ever so slightly. Elves being the generally bright folk that they were, Earlene had little doubt that the word would spread as to the many incarnations of ‘fuck’ before too long. That and, Thanadir could not possibly be party to publishing that degree of unseemliness.

 

“Looks...perfect,” she muttered to herself, knowing that there would still be some...thing, out of place even if she checked this ten times. Manuals were just like that.

 

“Is it finally approved?” Thranduil asked with amusement, knowing the effort that had gone into this.

 

“I think so,” she smiled.”If I were not so paranoid, I’d send the original with Thalion and tell him to go have a drink at the pub in town. You know, a test drive.”

 

This gave Thranduil an idea. “Meluieg, would you like to go to the pub, for a drink? Just the three of us?”

 

The rapidity with which her head shook No was not encouraging. Thranduil glanced up at Thanadir. They had agreed on this, ahead of time. “Come sit with us,” he invited her. “Please?”

 

Her eyes narrowed, but with more dullness than usual. There was still such a sense of exhaustion and wanting to...she wasn’t even sure what. “Why do I feel like you two are about to conduct an intervention?” 

 

“Because we are,” said Thanadir cheerfully, sweeping her into his arms when she did not make fast enough progress toward the sofa.

 

“I was afraid of that.” Though she teased with some sense of genuine resistance, inside of herself she knew that they could not allow her this behavior forever. “I know that I can’t shut myself up in here permanently. I just...there aren’t words for how tired I am of this subtle conflict. It is like the sea against the cliffs. Eroding. Relentless. I am sick of having to defend my choices, my Lord.”

 

“I understand and respect your feelings, meluieg. To an extent, I even share them. But if you will trust me...you are overreacting, in the face of what happened. I do not mean to minimize the pain of what you experienced. It is not that. It is...you have drawn many conclusions about Lorna which were true at one time, but are no longer really the case. Earlene, do you understand that when you informed Lorna that Thanadir was to come, that it was the first time in her adult life that she had ever successfully held her temper? She did that for  _ you _ , Earlene. Because of how much she cares about  _ you _ . There was not another reason.”

 

There was silence for a full two minutes. “I did not know that. I did not...think about that,” she admitted. “I realized, I do not know her like you do, Thranduil. But for the longest time, most of what we have done is just...hide from each other. Sure, a few times we’ve tried to be more open, but no permanent change seems to ever come from it.”

 

“Something might have changed during Lorna’s bridal shower, Earlene. But I took that possibility away. I know that you do not want to hear or acknowledge this, but it does not change the fact that you are loyal to a fault to me and will do just about anything to justify overlooking my mistakes.”

 

Her lips parted in confusion. “You are my King. And my husband, and I love you. Of course I overlook your mistakes.” She looked to her meldir, surely he would agree with her? 

 

Probably the greatest shock of her new life came when Thanadir shook his head.

“No, Earlene. Listen to what Thranduil is telling you, carefully. Just as he did not understand a nuance of your culture, there is something you now in turn must understand that is also complex.”

 

“Meluieg,” he began even as a particular comparison flared into his mind. “This is a great deal like something you have already been asked to do. An...adjustment, if you will. You recall when you and Thanadir were asked to stop addressing me formally outside of these Halls?”

 

“Of course,” she said, still not seeing what that had to do with anything.

 

“It is the same here, Earlene. It has become too clear to me that your heart is a compass of which I have not taken advantage. I imagined, early on, that it would be left to me to...govern you, along the same lines decisions were made since time immemorial. You took so easily to our ways. I could not see, how rare and unusual you are. And...all this is to say that...while I am not telling you to disobey me, Earlene, I need you to have greater willingness to...challenge me. You have one of the most gifted minds I have ever encountered, elven or mortal. And I have been wasting the full potential of that mind, not trusting to your ability to assess risk. And show discernment.”

 

Earlene shook her head in disagreement. “But I _ have _ failed to assess risk. I did not think I would have difficulty in Central Park. I also did not believe I would almost die by climbing a tree in the forest.”

 

Thranduil sighed. “I felt this way too, Earlene. I feared to lose you. More than you can even comprehend. I know you are capable of defending yourself. You always have been. I used my fears for your safety and my own views of my duty to help create the justification for your always being guarded. That you and Thanadir have formed a close bond and desire each other’s companionship exceeded my greatest hopes. But more has happened since then, Earlene. A Vala appeared to me to tell me that it is you who will lead our people to Aman. If I have faith in nothing else, I have faith in that declaration. I realized too late that I had been told, in effect, that I will not lose you. Or if I do, that it will not be prior to whatever part you are destined to play in the return of our people to Valinor. Do you understand what I am telling you? I am not saying that I wish you to drive alone into the worst part of Dublin. But I have been foolish, to maintain these restrictions on you, for this and other reasons. From now on, if you and Lorna wish to do some...I believe ‘girl things’ is what she calls it? I will not insist Thanadir go with you.”

 

Earlene blinked. And blinked some more. “Well that was an analytical failure on my part, wasn’t it?” Her words were quiet. 

 

“No, it was not. It was that you are too successful at keeping your vows to me. I do not have to explain what I am asking of you, do I, Earlene? You are too intelligent, to need this elaborated. I yet wish for your obedience. But not your  _ unquestioning _ obedience. Can you do this? Even Thanadir understands and has long practiced this art form, though I have not always made it easy on him. Just as with you. I am a King, Earlene, not a Vala. I am not infallible.”

 

“I understand,” she said, rubbing at her forehead. “But....”

 

“No ‘buts’, meldis. I know it can be difficult, just as I know that you can manage this.”

 

“Well, I’m sure Lorna will be  _ thrilled _ ,” she said moodily.

 

The pitch of Thranduil’s voice rose in exasperation. “Earlene, I am pleading with you...do not keep holding this against her. None of this would have happened were it not for my requirements. And if you will force me to be blunt, of all the people in this room, only I can truly know what she thinks. You are wrong, about this. You have latched onto something that felt hurtful to you since the earliest days of your knowing her, and what happened two days ago fanned those embers into a fire.”

 

He was right, and she knew it. “I apologize. The truth is, my feelings were too hurt. They still feel hurt. I can get over that, but not right away.”

 

“Do you think you could try, tomorrow, Earlene? It would mean a great deal to me.” Thranduil did not even have Thanadir eyes, but he was somehow coming close to managing the same effect.

 

“Even were you not my King, you know I cannot resist that. This is...unfair.”

 

“I will confess to shamelessly capitalizing on your love for me. But it is not only for my benefit, Earlene. It is for all of us. This must...heal. And it cannot do that, if we cannot even lay eyes on or be in the same room with each other. You know as well as I that the longer this goes on, the worse and more difficult it will be to resolve.”

 

“I know. I just….do not wish to admit it.”

 

“Meldis, would you like to run in the woods? With me?” The sad eyes of Thanadir 

were fully employed. Set at maximum power.

 

“This is outright bribery, meldir. In fact it is worse than bribery, it is coercion.”

 

“Is it working?”

 

“Yes,” she groaned. “Yes, I will run with you.”

 

“Good.”

 

*****

 

_ Ratiri. By the power of the Valar and Thanadir’s doe-eyes, Earlene has agreed to make a breakfast tomorrow at the cottage. For all of us. Would you and Lorna come? Please say yes. Eru, you do not know what this took. No children, might be best. _

 

_ I’m sure I can get her out.  _ Fortunately, Ratiri had nothing in his mouth when  _ that  _ one came through.  _ She’s going a touch stir-crazy.  _ Lorna hadn’t left the flat since Disaster Day, and it was past time to shove her back out into the world. God knew she’d slept enough; that first day that was practically all she did. Which, given how wrung-out she’d been, wasn’t that surprising.

 

*****

 

The following morning, Thranduil had Earlene and Thanadir out of the Halls at dawn; and it occurred to the King that perhaps someone besides Lothiriel needed to be retained so that the poor elleth had more flexibility. Lately they had been making significant, bordering on unfair, demands on her time. Though, she insisted repeatedly that she did not mind.

 

The day before, after their run, Earlene had gone with Thanadir to town for some extra groceries. The first tip off should probably have been the shopping cart filled with bakers’ flour, three kinds of sugar, and the eight liter container of cooking oil. Earlene already knew there was cream in abundance from Buttercup (who had delivered Butterball, the beautiful heifer calf,  just two weeks’ prior) Butterbean, now 13 months old, had just been bred at the same time the vet had been out to check on the new calf, and before much longer their milk production would be doubling. Butter and eggs, they had in abundance. A few domestic cheeses went into the cart, and a disturbing quantity of imported cocoa and fine baking chocolate. It amused Earlene to no end that Aislinn’s selection had refined itself rather a lot in the last year, thanks to Earlene’s regular patronage and constant hints in the form of empty tins and boxes of products she preferred for baking. With a critical eye, she verified when the hazelnuts had arrived (just last week) and elected that the peeled whole chestnuts seemed suitably packaged. Strawberries and blueberries and blackberries found their way to the cart as well, and it was to Thanadir’s considerable relief that she had insisted on bringing her folding shopping cart.

 

They had promised her they would both help her prepare the food, and soon the kitchen was humming. Thranduil’s eyes widened at the apparent menu but he dared say nothing.  _ Not a word _ . Soon delicate yeast doughnuts were being filled with her hazelnut and chestnut creams and being glazed, while Thanadir was set on making a stack of perfect crepes. A mixed berry filling in a creme anglaise (with a powerful kick from the Grand Marnier liqueur) stood ready to give those crepes a purpose. Though, half of the stack was destined to be diverted into cheese blintzes. Chocolate buttermilk bars meant for  a chocolate glaze followed the doughnuts out of the deep-frying oil, and almost as an afterthought, two large omelets with wilted greens were made and each cut in half, as a concession to anyone mad enough to not want to eat sugar and deep-fried carbohydrates at this meal. Mostly, it was a demonstration of love for her husband;  _ she _ certainly would not be wasting her time on eggs this morning. Everything was ready and the table was set with steaming tea steeping in the pot a full fifteen minutes before eating time.

 

“Well done, everyone,” she smiled, pleased. “A new record.”

 

Thanadir looked as enraptured as Thranduil did mildly appalled, but he still did not say a word of criticism. Not. One. Word. “Everything looks very nice, meluieg. I am sure it will be enjoyed. Thanadir certainly looks encouraged.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, kissing him.  _ You are fooling no one. But for your tolerance, I love you. I...needed this, Thranduil. More than you can perhaps understand. _

_ I know, beloved. I am trying. _

 

No answer was given, except for a kiss that under any other circumstances would land them in the bedroom stripped naked in under thirty seconds. A polite throat-clearing from Thanadir brought them back to reality. “I am still in the room,” he teased. 

 

“Forgive me, meldir,” Earlene smiled, blushing a little. “I will contain myself.”

 

Thranduil simply laughed, figuring that they probably would all still be speaking to each other later this morning. Probably.

 

Lorna was quite glad to be back outside again. She’d needed the rest of the last few days, and a chance to process...everything. She was still a bit tired, but not enough to stop her, and maybe moving would rouse her a bit.

 

She walked hand-in-hand with Ratiri, who was still a tiny bit worried. Most of him was certain she’d just been done in by emotion, but it was still entirely unlike her to just...sleep. Yesterday was the first day he’d felt actual relief, because yesterday she stayed awake and played with the twins and the kittens. The kittens, that really needed to be allowed to roam sooner or later, or their flat was going to get destroyed. The damn furballs really loved to get up the curtains and onto the canopy.

 

“Are you alright, mo chroí?” he asked, for perhaps the eight thousandth time.

 

Lorna gave him a mock glower. “Allanah, if you ask me that one more time, I swear I’ll spit in your ear when you’re asleep tonight.”

 

Yes, she was fine.

 

When they reached the cottage, the assortment of smells made her mouth water, literally. She’d never thought that was an actual thing that happened to people until she’d met Earlene. Even Mairead hadn’t managed it, though she’d come close with some of the cakes.

 

And yet she hesitated, for just a moment, which led Ratiri to wrap his arm around her back and halfway pick her up to get her to the door. “Eat sugar and run around like a hummingbird,” he said. “Doctor’s order’s.”

 

“Hummingbirds don’t run, they fly,” she pointed out.

 

“Yes, well, I still mean to get you wings, you little sprite.” He shoo’d her through the back door. “I think I smell diabetes, and for once I don’t mind.”

 

At the last second, Earlene panicked. Or maybe her bladder panicked for her. “Bathroom,” she muttered, vanishing in an instant. About a minute. If there was such a thing as weeing slowly. Very slowly.  _ You have to face them, Earlene. This isn’t like you. _

A voice intruded in her stolen moments on the toilet seat.

 

_ Meluieg, I love you. They love you too. All I ask is that you do your best. _

 

_ I will, Thranduil. _ That he would get her best, there was no doubt. It was anything on her own behalf, that concerned her a little more. Washing up, she exited, and greeted her friends warmly as though nothing were the matter. Her only hope was that it was not completely obvious that it was Earlene the dissembling lawyer, and not actual Earlene, who was there at the moment. One persona had more ability to cope than the other, and right now, she needed that. With Thanadir’s help, the platters and plates of their creations began to emerge from countertop, oven and range and join their fellows on the table.

 

“In another life, no doubt you owned a restaurant,” Ratiri said. As much as he might disapprove of too much sugar under normal circumstances, it certainly all smelled heavenly, and God knew Lorna had a sweet tooth, even if he himself wasn’t quite that bad.

 

Lorna eyed all that food, and much of her nerves eased. “How long’v you been cooking, to make all that?”

 

“Same as the other breakfasts, since dawn. But I had an extra volunteer this time, so I could do more,” she smiled, beginning to relax just a little. “Thank you, Thranduil and Thanadir. And Aislinn sold all her chestnuts and hazelnuts, so it’s helping the local economy, too.” For good measure, she rattled off what the things were, listing the omelet last and with an obviously dismissive tone.

 

That very blatant lack of enthusiasm made Lorna burst out laughing. “Poor omelet,” she said. “I love the idea’v getting drunk off breakfast, though. God love the French.” She was trying not to watch Earlene too closely, because it wasn’t fair if she did. Thranduil might not be able to help but read minds, but she didn’t need to read people if she didn’t actually watch their expressions.

 

“I love my husband,” Earlene said quietly. “I cannot convince him that fats, refined carbohydrates, and alcohol constitute a meal. So he had to have something to eat,” she teased. 

 

Thanadir already had an impressive stack of doughnuts and bars on his plate, and was halfway through one of his own crepes. “What are ‘refined carbohydrates’, meldis?” He was genuinely curious.

 

“Most of this meal, meldir. I will show you a book about nutrition and you can learn more if you wish. It means, a food that has less nutritional value in a form too easily used by the body for energy, and one that should not be eaten in excess if one wants to remain in good health. Sugar, processed flour, and chocolate would all be among those.”

 

“But they taste so good,” the seneschal said mournfully.

 

Earlene laughed. “Yes, they do, and that is why we are eating them.”

 

Lorna wasn’t about to say that most of the things that tasted the best were often not very good for you, because she happened to like them all too much. “It’s okay, Thanadir,” she said instead. “You’re elves, it’s not like it’ll get to you. And us humans’ll be fine for one morning. Won’t we,” she added, with a pointed look at Ratiri.

 

“Of course we will,” he said, returning her look with an expression of innocence she bought not at all.

 

“You can’t pull off the eyes, allanah,” she said. “Not a bit.”

 

“At least I don’t look like a serial killer.” 

 

To that, Lorna said nothing, but she did poke him in the side rather hard. It drew a rather high-pitched...noise…from him. Not giggle, quite; it was rather like the sound a very large rodent might make if stepped on.

 

Earlene snickered at their antics, which were genuinely funny. She was trying to relax, honestly. In a way, it made her sad. How one event could cause this much sense of...displacement, was still hard to fathom. But matters of the psyche were not her field, what the hell did she know? Nibbling at her creations, she decided that she liked the hazelnut creams the best, but all of them were good. The upside was, if she ever washed out with the elves, she could probably put the village bakery out of business.

 

Lorna loaded up on alcoholic crepes, rather needing it. This was harder than she’d anticipated; how could being away from other people for so short an amount of time make it so difficult to re-engage with them? There had to be some psychobabble reason, and she’d ask Ratiri about it later. For once in her life she was glad she was so small, because it made disappearing next to him rather easy.

 

All too soon the meal was finished, and Earlene rose to be able to hide behind clearing away plates and washing up, but Thanadir came up behind her. “No, meldis. We are going to sit down.” Gently but insistently, he guided her to the sofa.

 

_ This is fucking ridiculous _ , Earlene thought, beginning to feel tremendous anxiety.  _ What the hell has even happened to me?  For two cents I’d bolt to the other side of the forest right now. _

 

_ No, meluieg, you will not. _ Thranduil sat next to her, and laid his hand on her arm, in a gesture of affection that in reality was doing something rather different.  _ I will not leave you to endure this alone.  _ The awful feelings abated, were swept aside. Some of her fear was still there, but it seemed manageable.

 

Only then did his words register. _ Endure this? What ‘this’ is that? Thranduil, you are not...this is more than breakfast, isn’t it? and you two have trapped me. _

 

_ This has to happen, Earlene. I would rather ask you, than command you. Please, meluieg. For me? _

 

_ You already know the answer. _

 

Thanadir’s arm came over her shoulder, and she unabashedly leaned into him, trying to stifle some accusatory thoughts and not entirely succeeding.

 

“I think it is time we had a discussion,” Thranduil said quietly. “The damage I have caused is better but far from mended. Lorna, and Earlene, it has gone along for many months that I have known each of you far better than either of you knows the other. And when the first real opportunity came along by which that might improve on its own, my ignorance ruined it. Not only ruined it, but set it backwards. You are both now filled with assumptions and fears about the other that are not true but easily believed, under the circumstances. We are a family, and family work out their problems. This has already festered long enough, but I did not have the heart to force this sooner, given the hurt you both felt. Still feel. All of this is my doing, and this is the only way I know to try to help. Earlene has agreed to...discuss. Is this something you wish to do, Lorna?”

 

The thought was more than slightly terrifying, but she nodded, and couldn’t help but lean against Ratiri. Why in God’s name she was so afraid of this, she didn’t know; maybe her emotions were still more raw than she thought. Ratiri, who would be hearing about this later, because she hadn’t known this was coming, either.

 

Thranduil looked down. “As the resident mind reader, it is my...circumstance to see that much of the problem is that we only think we understand each other. We don’t ask questions out of fears of intruding on privacy. I would suggest that it is long overdue that we start asking some of those things. I am giving permission. Whether it is my marriage to Earlene...whatever, I am telling you that if I can answer a question honestly, I will. This goes beyond just the five of us. If we cannot solve this divide, it does not bode well for the future of hundreds of humans coming to live with hundreds of elves. I have no right to demand anything of Lorna or Ratiri. I too am...worried, and fearful. If some of my words are poorly chosen, I ask your forgiveness. I am trying in every way I know how, but as has been abundantly demonstrated, I am not perfect. Lorna, I do not wish to put you on the spot, but I am hoping you will allow it. What do you want to know, that might help to make any of this better?”

 

_ You wanted Honesty Hour, Lorna _ , she thought, but...some of these questions she really didn’t want to ask in front of other people, because she was shit at controlling her reactions, and if she reacted poorly to some answer she got, Earlene would see, and Earlene would do...whatever it was she did with negative Lorna-reactions. The mere thought was almost enough to make her brain seize up. “Earlene, what is it you really think’v me?” she asked, and didn’t quite manage to stop herself curling up against the arm of the chair. At least she didn’t glare at Ratiri; for all she knew, maybe he hadn’t known this was coming, either, but she meant to find out, if they all survived this.

 

Earlene’s lips parted and some of the color must have drained from her face. Years of eloquence and self-assuredness, and all of it was gone right now. But some shard of her training kicked in, the part that knew to say something positive before anything else was mentioned. Her face simply crumbled, though, against the force of reaction that surprised even Earlene. Tears came quickly, and rolled down her cheeks, causing Thanadir to hold her tighter. “I like you, a great deal,” she struggled to choke out. “You can do all kinds of things I can’t, and from the first I ever met you, all I ever really wanted was for you to believe more in yourself, because I felt like you didn’t. But for a long time now, there has been a struggle. Thranduil tells me I am reacting to things you said when we first met. Maybe that’s true. All I know is that since the party, I can’t get past that I believe you think my relationship with my husband is shite, my choices with the elves are shite. I probably seem so put-together to you, on the outside, but what you don’t know about me is that all my life Aidan told me I was shite, too. Everything I wanted to do with myself, everything I achieved that mattered to me. I don’t believe you really even understand what I have agreed to, with Thranduil. How it works. I think you only  _ think _ you understand. But that perceived disapproval has eaten away at me until I can think of nothing else. It wasn’t like this, before two days ago. I don’t understand what happened exactly. I only know that it hurts, and that I’m tired of it hurting.”

 

That...was worse than Lorna had thought. It was very, very nearly enough to send her right out the door; she actually tensed to rise, but  _ somehow  _ managed not to. What could she and her shitty lack of words say to that? It seemed she either had word vomit or none at all, and just now she had none. She pressed her forehead against her knees while a worried Ratiri wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. She didn’t just have no words; even her voice wasn’t to be found.

 

_ Thranduil, help _ , he said, a little desperately.

 

The King rose, moving to sit in the second large wingback chair next to the one Ratiri and Lorna occupied, pulling it close and placing his hand on Lorna’s shoulder. “Will you take my hand, Lorna?” he asked softly, gently touching the back of what fingers he could see. She did not raise her head, but the diminutive fingers clasped onto his own. Thranduil no longer felt that restraint was wise. He gave enough of himself to dampen down five airline trips, to Lorna’s way of viewing matters, hoping that somehow it could help long enough to keep her here, and listening. 

 

“Earlene, I believe another way to say what you are feeling is that you do not think Lorna understands how our marriage works. That you believe she has ideas of how we relate to each other that are not true, and that it makes you feel doubly bad. Meluieg, when first we met, after you had made your vows to me, I did not like that you wore trousers. Do you remember?”

 

“Yes, I do. You wanted me to wear one of Thanadir’s dresses.”

 

“And what did you do?” 

 

“I wore the dresses Thanadir made to the Halls, but when we were here, I wore what I wanted.”

 

“What happened later on, when we stayed in the Halls more?”

 

Earlene frowned. “I was pregnant, and little of my clothing fit, so I wore what Thanadir made for me, because it fit?” This was starting to be a bizarre line of questioning. 

 

“And later on, when the girls were born?” 

 

“You learned that human women like to wear more variety of clothing, and told me more or less to choose what I wanted to wear?”

 

“Thank you. With the exception of this issue of you being guarded, how do you decide what to do each day?”

 

“If we have not all agreed to some task or occupation in advance, I do what I want?”  _ Why does this feel like a bad quiz show? _

 

“What about if you want to go away from town, Earlene?”

 

“I don’t want to go away from town. I came here to go nowhere, and going nowhere is what I prefer. Except when I wanted to go to New York or to the coast, and then we did that instead.”

 

“What are the rules between us, if you wish to have something, meluieg?”

 

Earlene looked at him like he was descending from orbit in a UFO. “Thranduil, there are no rules. What rules? I do not understand.”

 

“How do you feel when you are required to do something you do not wish to?” 

 

Earlene’s lips parted again. She didn’t know if this was okay to say but….whatever. “There was only one time you forced me to do something. When I...tried to...hurt...Von Ratched while he was still alive, and you ordered me to stop.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“I did not stop, because I no longer cared what you wanted.”

 

“Then what happened?”

 

“You explained to me why it mattered that I did as you asked, and once I understood I left.”

 

“What happened to you, because you disobeyed me?”

 

“Nothing. We talked about what went wrong, and why.”  _ Because this isn’t becoming totally humiliating... _ and yet though Earlene knew he heard her, he pressed on, aloud.

 

“Is being bound to the rules of the elves difficult for you, Earlene?”

 

“No. I don’t really even think about it. To me it’s just living. I wanted to live like this. I’m happy.” She stopped herself short of saying ‘I’m happy except when messes like this happen.’ Because while she still did not understand the reason for these questions, that probably wouldn’t be helpful.

 

Thranduil sat back in the chair. “I could keep going, but I am not certain it would serve a purpose. I hope this lets you see a little more of how Earlene and I share our lives.”

 

Lorna was, unfortunately for everyone, rather frozen in silent dry-cry mode, which Ratiri recognized even if nobody else was likely to (well, nobody but Thranduil). “If Earlene wants to go out for a girls’-only day, can she now, unaccompanied?” He was pretty sure the answer was yes, but Lorna needed to hear it for herself.

 

_ Why would she want to, with me?  _ Lorna wondered, and probably fortunately couldn’t actually verbalize it.

 

“Yes,” Earlene said, without hesitation, but quietly. “Assuming we are not going to, I don’t know, a war zone, in which case I doubt I want to go. And assuming Lorna ever wants to go anywhere with me ever again, after all the shite we’re talking about this morning.” Earlene’s face and eyes were still blotchy from having cried so much on the front end of this conversation.

 

Only now did Lorna, burning-eyed, look up. “Kind’v wondering the same thing,” she whispered. “Just, y’know, in reverse. I mean--”  _ I didn’t know you thought I thought that badly of you. I didn’t know you thought…  _ Earlene had no reason to want to spend time with her. And again, Lorna’s words dried up.

 

Thranduil’s voice intruded into her mind.  _ Lorna, Earlene is afraid. You asked her a question and she gave you perhaps the most honest, unedited answer I have ever heard from her without reading her mind in order to learn it. Look past the words that were said to the fact that she actually answered your question and told you personal, private things that even I had to drag out of her to learn. _

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to go anywhere with me again,” she managed. There was more she wanted to say, but she had no idea if it would even help at this point, or just make things worse. Earlene already felt bad enough about the wreck of the bridal shower; she didn’t need to know how much Lorna had been looking forward to it being just a girls’ day. “I…” Why the hell couldn’t she just cry? Earlene was doing it. Earlene could actually use her words. Lorna just failed at both.

 

Thranduil held out his hand to her again. “This is important, Lorna. I will give you all the help you need.”  _ You are not failing, Lorna. This is very difficult. It would be for anyone. _

 

“I thought you’d be sick of me,” Earlene said quietly. “And me and elves. And of trying to have a friend with a weird life that isn’t exactly your favorite thing.”

 

Lorna took Thranduil’s hand, and was not at all unhappy when her dry eyes finally welled. Her tears were silent, though, for now, her shoulders trembling slightly. “Earlene, if I was sick’v you, sick’v the elves, d’you think I’d be here? You lot’re my family. I admit, there’s days I want to get away from all these lads, but that’s because they’re  _ lads _ .” Though that in itself touched on another insecurity, one she knew was bullshit but could nevertheless not banish:  _ how faithless do you think I am?  _ It wasn’t a logical question, so she wasn’t going to ask it, but...it was there. She hadn’t got over the sting of everyone assuming she’d just drop Ratiri like a hot potato the first time he made her really angry, so it was no wonder this resurged now.

 

“I’m sorry for how I felt. Thranduil told me I was wrong, but unlike him I can’t know what others are thinking. And, I didn’t think about your motivations. It’s easier to think about my own insecurities. I didn’t mean to be...as insulting as I probably was.”

 

“It’s not like I went out’v my way to make sure you didn’t feel it,” Lorna said. “I tried, but...not enough. I didn’t…”  _ Didn’t think Earlene could be insecure. I mean...she’s Earlene.  _ “I’m bad at this. Just...words. I’m sorry, Earlene. I’m sorry I didn’t... _ Christ _ , why can’t I just talk like a god damn  _ normal person?! _ ”

 

_ I could help you, but you would have to give me permission to tell her what you feel, within reason. Sort of like the Bad Elf service, except without me being a Bad Elf. _

 

Lorna nodded, wiping her eyes on the backs of her hands, and her nose on the knee of her leggings.

 

“Lorna is giving me permission to help her speak to you, Earlene. She did not believe you ever became insecure.”

 

Generalized astonishment appeared on Earlene’s face. “Of course I am insecure. Everyone is. It’s part of being human. But...I am very able to hide what I think and feel, if I wish.”

 

With a very faint, wry smile, Lorna shook her head. “So much for my ability to read people,” she said softly. “I guess...you’re so much...you’re everything I’m not. Even when you’re upset, the only time I’ve known you to  _ really  _ lose your shit was when you had a go at Von Shitelanger. Both goes. You get annoyed, and you get unhappy, but you’ve always seemed...I don’t know how to put it. Ultimately...in command’v yourself. Able to take on the world, no matter what you were feeling like.” She sighed. “Pretty much everything but insecure. Even -- even when I could see you were vulnerable, I thought it was just...just passing, if that makes any sense.”

 

She rested her head against Ratiri’s shoulder, a very tiny bit of her tension easing. “I was so daunted by you, at first. I so...normally I don’t give half a shit if I offend someone, but I so didn’t want to offend you, and here I went and did it anyway, and you’ve been offended all this time. You’re not like me, or anyone else I know. I didn’t know how to be your friend, but I wanted to be. I still want to be. Knowing I made you feel like that -- that you’ve felt like that all this time -- Christ am I sorry, Earlene.” She’d been so busy feeling inferior that she hadn’t spotted the truth, and that, for someone like her, someone who normally  _ did  _ read people so well, was unforgivable. If she hadn’t been focused inward over that, maybe she would have seen it. But then, Earlene was a lawyer, good at projecting only what she wanted; she probably also made it harder. It was a bad combination, and look at the result. She’d been hurting Earlene for a year and a half, and hadn’t even known it.

 

But...the other thing, the thing she didn’t know how to explain, was that no, she didn’t understand why Earlene would want to get in so deep with the elves. She also didn’t understand why Mairead actually enjoyed being on her feet all day, working with stinky bleach and stinkier perm solution, or why Siobhan was such an unrepentant pervert, or why her brother-in-law persisted in building lawn furniture despite the fact that he was crap at it. She didn’t  _ need  _ to understand in order to care about them, because nobody understood absolutely everything about everyone. Hell, she was quite sure there was plenty Earlene didn’t understand about her. But she had no idea how to put words around it; she’d let Thranduil do that later, if he chose to. If Earlene was still so sensitive to any idea Lorna disapproved of her relationship, that kind of thing was better off coming from someone else. A very particular someone else, but he might judge it something that shouldn’t be said at all -- and given that he could read Earlene’s mind, he’d know.

 

She caught Thranduil’s nod in her peripheral vision.  _ I will tell her. There is an answer, but not one I have a right to share without Earlene’s full consent...and not one that should be dragged into the open here. In time, perhaps. _

 

Earlene listened to Lorna’s words, her spirits sinking more with each passing moment at how badly she’d misinterpreted their relationship. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’ve never really known anyone like you and...I could only go off of how you seemed. So tough, so aggressive, so able to get in people’s faces and make them do what you want them to with an immediacy I can’t even fathom. I knew you liked me a little, or you wouldn’t’ve wanted to come around. Though, when you became close friends with Thranduil it was also easy to tell myself that  _ he _ was your actual friend, and I was just how you two had met. I don’t mean that in any way that is inappropriate; I can honestly say I have never resented your relationship with him. But as time went on I came to have this impression that you could stand alone and not care. Especially after you and Ratiri got together, because then you had him as a real partner. That if other people became too much hassle or annoyance or bother, that you could just say ‘I’m out’v here’ and do just that, because you were strong and gave no fucks and didn’t need to put up with shite you didn’t want to from others.”

 

There was hesitation now, and Thranduil knew she had more to say. “Go on, meluieg,” he encouraged. That she seemed reluctant was probably reason enough to have out with it.

 

With a slow nod, she continued. “I know this is wrong now, but the day we met in the pub over a year ago and I told you that I had learned Thranduil and I were married...I didn’t need my powers of perception to see that you were doing all you could just to be polite about it. I was so excited that day, and I just wanted a woman friend to be excited with me. You couldn’t feel that way about my news, and it wasn’t your fault. But something about that...it left a mark that never really went away, and whatever changes happened since then...you and I never really talked enough for me to see that anything had changed. This is what Aidan did to me. He taught me to build a wall around myself, to keep out anyone who seemed to disapprove. There was a Christmas dinner one year, with my whole family there. Aidan was drunk and called me out in front of everyone for being a spinster virgin that no one would want to even date, much less go to bed with. That no one in their right mind would ever want me.” Her face was contorting once again as tears came from the bitter memory that had left such a deep scar. “So when after my entire life, I finally had a man that I loved, when the first person I told about it disapproved…” Earlene choked through her words, unable to continue as her voice pitched higher and higher into a thin wail. “I’m so sorry. It was never about you, it was about me, and it wasn’t fair to you.”

 

Both ellyn’s faces washed over with dismay. Thanadir had not really ever known about this beyond the vaguest generalities, and even Thranduil, who had known, had never made the connection between these two seemingly unrelated events. He had not been there, for this conversation to which his wife was referring, and if he had ever even seen the memory of it, it had long been dismissed as a matter of complete insignificance.

 

Thanadir turned Earlene to pull her toward him, enfolding her in his arms as she sobbed against him. “Do not cry, meldis. He is gone. He cannot hurt you any longer, and none of those things were ever true. You are with your family now and you are loved.” He worried, for the strain she had been under these past days. This was not good, for the child she carried, and his eyes met Thranduil’s as he rose.

 

The King was already moving to sit next to his wife, rubbing her back and neck. It had been a foregone conclusion, that this conversation might not be easy, but this was turning into more than even he had prepared or bargained for. His eyes closed in sadness, as he realized much of why he had failed to piece together the roots of his wife’s difficulties. Earlene had told him another one of their human idioms, ‘the squeaky wheel gets the grease.’ Lorna’s needs and problems were usually raw, obvious, vividly noticeable when they manifested themselves. Earlene was entirely different. Many of her personal problems were more than half-managed. Compartmentalized. Placed somewhere that allowed her to function quite well, but still capable of working their slow damage almost unseen. How grateful he’d been, that his wife’s level demeanor had allowed him to give so much extra help and attention to Lorna. The furthest thing from his mind had been to in any way neglect his wife; he’d had no means by which to understand these things about firith. With deep chagrin, another memory came of when he first met Lorna. Something about a ‘manual for being married to a human woman’; at the time, he had dismissed this as well-meaning, misguided nonsense.

 

“Meluieg,” he whispered, as both of his hands found her bare skin and he brought calm over her.  _ I love you, Earlene. You are honest and filled with courage.  _ He leaned to kiss her cheek, though it was buried under her own hair that had fallen over her face. Turning to face Lorna and Ratiri, who even without the input of his telepathy appeared speechless, he smiled weakly. “I wonder if there is anything I might answer about myself?”

 

To Thranduil’s surprise, Thanadir spoke as well. “I do not know that I have much that anyone would wish to learn, but I too am willing to answer questions.” He did not see how he had anything all to offer, but after witnessing Earlene’s bravery, there was little that he could possibly have to hide.

 

Oh dear  _ God _ ...oh, Earlene. What did Lorna even say to that? It was true, she’d been very far from excited, because she’d had her suspicions about just how that relationship had even come about. She’d been a terribly suspicious person; hell, she still was, when it came to anyone she didn’t know, and that point she hadn’t even met Thranduil. And that that had left such a mark...but she was a shit liar, and even if she hadn’t been, a lie was a poor foundation for a relationship. Yes, she  _ was  _ tough, she  _ was  _ aggressive, but it was the only way she knew how to be. She’d been conditioned the first twenty-eight years of her life to be like that, and before she’d come to Lasg’len, before Thranduil and Thanadir had managed to fix whatever it was that made her go blank, she hadn’t had a hope of ever being otherwise. She hadn’t  _ wanted  _ to be otherwise, because to her, aggression and anger were strength. And she had no idea how to say any of that. 

 

And yet...something occurred to her. Something she’d never yet thought of, triggered by Earlene’s words about her lack of excitement: she’d known exactly  _ why _ , but not, until now, realized  _ why _ . Her instinct was to keep it to herself, but that was  _ always  _ her instinct, and it would explain a lot to Earlene -- that she’d had some reason to disapprove of the whole thing other than ‘ew, kings’. If she was going to break her habit of keeping shit to herself, she needed to really  _ do  _ it.

 

“You said my lack’v excitement stuck with you,” she said slowly, choosing her words with what care she could. “There was something that I think stuck with  _ me, _ I just wasn’t aware’v how long:  _ why  _ I wasn’t excited. I didn’t know either you or Thranduil then. All I knew was that you’d got together with him in a tearing hurry, and he was a man -- elf -- who had a load to gain from keeping you right where you were. I was also pretty sure he could mind-whammy you, and that he had to have, because corporate lawyers just don’t take up with someone that bloody fast without...help. You’ve got to admit, to a total outsider who knows little to nothing’v either’v you, that looks  _ terrible.  _ I learned otherwise fast, but...later Thranduil did admit he actually had mucked about in your head at the very beginning. He said he’d stopped by then, and I believed him, but that early suspicion -- lingered, I guess, deep down where I wasn’t aware’v it. It had to’ve, and just faded by degrees over time.” 

 

She felt utterly wretched admitting it, but she had to. Keeping things to themselves was one of the root causes of this whole mess. What they’d hoped were comforting lies by omission had only damaged everything; better to face the truth, however ugly. But with what she’d suspected at that point, what she’d been told, was it any real wonder that had become an issue? What the hell else had she been meant to think, at the very first? On paper, knowing next to nothing about either participant, it did indeed look awful. It looked like someone getting their will stolen and bent to someone else’s in order to keep them compliant and in one place, possibly without that other person even being aware of it. Earlene had said that at first, that necklace had seemed like a beautiful dog collar, but at the back of her suspicious, somewhat warped mind Lorna had continued viewing it as that for far longer; it had been a symbol of every issue she’d had with that relationship. Pretty, sparkly, and something Earlene was not allowed to remove -- a thing that had been forced on her, even if she’d later come to enjoy it. A mark of ownership. And that impression must have hung around far longer than she’d thought, deep at the bottom of her mind, even once she’d known better. Which was horrifically unfair to both of them, but nobody ever said the human mind was fair. 

 

For the first twenty-eight years of her life, paranoia had been a matter of survival, and she’d never actively tried to change that, even living in Baile. It spilled over into things without her even being aware of it half the time, and look at the damage it had caused. Consciously she’d been trying so hard to keep an open mind, but with this lurking at the base of her psyche, it was no wonder she’d failed for so long. Even when she  _ wanted  _ to change her mind, it would seem there was no forcing it until it was ready to change itself. Was it any wonder she’d managed to cause Earlene so much pain? Her friend was not stupid, nor blind; it was entirely possible she’d seen this in Lorna the whole time, even when Lorna herself wasn’t aware of it. If that was the case, it was a miracle Earlene wanted anything to do with her at all. It must have been fucking awful at times.  _ Jesus, I tried so hard, and she must have felt like shit anyway, because I failed for so long _ . “If I’d known then what I know now, I would’ve been happy for you, Earlene. But I didn’t know, and I was paranoid, and I’m bloody sorry.”

 

Earlene did not answer in words but Thranduil could see that his wife was now thinking rather busily, trying to factor what she was hearing into the many small things that had caused her relationship with Lorna to get off to a less than perfect start. She especially remembered her wretched embarrassment at trying to sidestep the exact issue of which Lorna spoke. Because even at the time, there was no way to reconcile that people like her just did not meet men and wed in the space of time it took most couples to have their second date. And yet her back had been against the wall; there was only so much to which she could admit that day. Short of having attempted some exotic and contorted lie about having known Thranduil for far longer, that old conversation could never have had a chance to go better than it had. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “There was nothing you could have done differently, that day. The only thing I could have changed was to just not tell you. Nothing gets around the fact that while I wanted desperately to have a normal human moment just then, I couldn’t tell you that it all happened so fast because I made choices that I knew were questionable. I knew what you or any other reasonable person would have thought and I was embarrassed about that. Embarrassed to have to explain what had no explanation except for ‘I wanted to, so I went ahead and did it.’”

 

Lorna managed a watery smile. “So that conversation was fucked six ways from Sunday no matter what. Oddly, that makes me feel a little better.”

 

She shut her eyes again, though. “I was afraid to get too close to you, because if I fucked it up between us, I wouldn’t know how to fix it. Thranduil, he can read my mind -- even if I go and put my foot in it, which I still do way too often, he’d know what I meant. If I bolloxed it with you, though...I know you’d never tell me. You’d just be hurt, and I wouldn’t even be aware’v it, let alone know how to fix it. I don’t...I’ve got a hard time, knowing how to be friends. It took almost eight years for me to really let anyone but Mairead and Big Jamie in, when I moved to Baile. I know I’m shite at using my words, even now, and I’m always afraid that’ll...I didn’t want to upset you, and I was so stuck on that that I just sat and let you wonder instead.

 

“And that gobshite’v a brother’v yours...I should’ve realized the scars that’d leave, and I’m bloody sorry I didn’t. I wish…” She wished she’d  _ asked _ , that she’d let go of her own damn hangups for five fucking minutes, but no, of course not.

 

Shaking her head, she somehow managed a smile. “Thranduil, one’v the things I really do most wonder is why your hair and your eyebrows are such different colors. I’m sorry, but I can’t help it.”  _ I do...I’ve got other questions, but not for here. Not for now. _

 

In spite of everything, Ratiri had to choke back a laugh -- and not only because he’d wondered the same thing himself.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes but he smiled. “That will be a disappointing answer. But...I think Earlene has more to say. Do you want to, Earlene?” A great deal of tenderness was in his voice. He was not about to force her to go on, but he saw that she nodded.

 

Peeling herself off of Thanadir, reluctantly, was more of an effort than it should have been. Or maybe there was something wrong with her, that shutting out the world to hear the elf’s heartbeat and the murmurs of his voice seemed like the most appealing things just now, but even she knew that this was an opportunity. Once straightened up, she blinked. Thranduil had obviously ‘fixed’ her, otherwise it would be doubtful she could have even seen out of eyes that should have been swollen and puffy from this much crying. “Please would you pour me more tea?” she asked Thranduil, before taking a deep breath.

 

“Lorna, none of it is your fault,” she began in a voice that was a little rougher than usual. “We are just about from different universes; I’ve always known this. But you’re right about one thing. By not talking to me, you left me to do what most people do...imagine stuff. That’s not your fault either; you’re not alone in that. It actually takes a lot to set me off or offend me, and it’s just incredible bad luck that your hangups and my hangups left us where they did. It wasn’t your place to guess at everything that had happened. How could you possibly have known any of that?”

 

Thranduil brought her the tea, and took advantage of the pause. “Lorna, even I did not understand some of these things until just now. And if I could not know, Earlene is right. Do not beat yourself up for not being one of the Valar.”

 

Earlene smiled at her husband but continued. “I don’t want to go on and on. This has been hard on both of us. But just so you know...I’m not really very private at all. I don’t always volunteer things, especially if I think the person asking might...disapprove. I did see that  _ you  _ were private, though. And you had Thranduil. I didn’t think you wanted me to ask, so I didn’t. I certainly never was going to ask Thranduil. I thought you wanted your privacy respected, because it seemed like you went out of your way to just...not want to know things about me. I had no idea you wanted to be my friend beyond what we already were. And now I see how much worse for you this bridal shower must have been than even I could sense. Christ, I’m so sorry. I am glad we are finally saying all this but I’d’ve been be a lot gladder if this somehow could’ve happened before everything was ruined for you.”

 

To probably everyone’s general astonishment, the teacup was put down and in a fluid motion Earlene walked and plunked onto the one free area of real estate still open on Ratiri’s knee, hauling Lorna into her arms as if she were a sack of flour and stifling her in a hug. “I do love you, Lorna, even though I don’t understand the half of you.” Which of course led to a fresh round of tears, though minus the sobs.

 

In spite of it all, Lorna couldn’t help but laugh a little, even as she hugged Earlene back. “I didn’t ask because I was afraid you’d think I was disapproving if I did. Christ, Earlene, I know you thought I judged you, and I didn’t know any way to fix that, because me and useful words aren’t well acquainted.” She shut her eyes against fresh tears. “There’s loads I don’t understand about all the people I love, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love them. I’ve got a sister who actually  _ likes  _ playing with bleach and perm solution, a brother-in-law who knows he’s crap at building garden furniture and does it anyway, and a friend slash former boss who refuses to let anyone but his wife cut his hair because apparently it feels weird.”  _ And whose wife is apparently into bondage _ , she thought, but didn’t say aloud. She was never, ever looking at Big Jamie the same way again. Ew.

 

Lorna wished the same thing, but she didn’t think it could have. Without this disaster, Thranduil would never have understood, because she wasn’t eloquent enough, in speech or in thought, to explain it, and Earlene very likely wouldn’t have tried. She and Thanadir were so tight that she wouldn’t have had any reason to, before this. “We need a girls’ day. Fuck that bridal shower -- let’s go to Dublin, go shopping, and hit a pub. I suck at shopping, you’ll have to teach me how.” She shook her head against Earlene’s shoulder. “Jesus, you should’ve seen Ratiri and I, the one time we went before New York. Oh, the  _ stares.  _ I’ve rarely felt so unwelcome anywhere in my life.”

 

_ You are certain I may, Thranduil? If I say Yes and you change your mind, I feel fairly certain I will not survive the outcome. _

 

_ I will not change my mind, Earlene. Though I love you, for thinking to ask me even now. _

 

“Then we should do that,” smiled Earlene, letting her go. Lorna wasn’t touchy-feely, and she didn’t want to ruin all the good that had just happened. Though she hoped this was not going to be tomorrow. Or even the day after. Just...this all still had to settle, and not feeling like the hollowed-out shell of a bomb crater would do a great deal to improve her ability to enjoy an outing.

 

“I’m pretty sure we won’t find sari fabric in Dublin, but if we take your measurements and look online, you can pick something,” Lorna said, wiping her eyes, and unrepentantly wiping her nose on her sleeve. It was that or her hair, and with the latter...no. “And let me play with your hair, not Mairead. I’ve learned plenty from her, and if she does it, you’ll be stuck all day while she tries out different things. Trust me, not fun.”

 

_ Sari?  _ The light bulbs went on.  _ Think Earlene, this is an Eastern wedding. What did you think you’d be wearing, clan cable knits?  _ “Then I guess we ought not to delay too long,” she said, gathering herself to the realities of a wedding that was coming up very soon. She owed it to Lorna to do anything in her power to feel better and reclaim this...horrendous mess...into something happier. “The 28th is our next Council meeting; we probably should not go on the same day. That gives us three days before, or after. And no one is going to stare at you in any shop with me around, if they don’t want to have an online review that will lose them half their business.” The mere thought of the verbal tirade she could unleash against a rude shopkeeper was enough to make her feel half-interested. She might not be the sort to crave a bar fight, but it didn’t mean she’d put up with anyone abusing her family.  _ Tossers. _

 

Lorna shook her head, unable to help smiling. “See,  _ you  _ people will take seriously. You think anyone looks at me and takes me seriously? I’m pretty sure they thought I was going to steal something. And...Christ, we’ll probably want a breather after the meeting. Let’s go then.” 

 

For the first time since this disaster unfolded, Thranduil’s heart felt lighter, with the assurance that all was not lost. “I have eyebrows that do not match my hair because Oropher had the same, to answer your question. I did not ever know my father’s sire, though, I am told that he was no different.”

 

Eying Thranduil, she added, “See, that’s so frustrating, because it’s just not how melanin  _ works _ . Mairead’s given me all sorts’v talks about hair and melanin, once I really started to get greys. You’ve got none in your hair and loads in your eyebrows...I’m blaming it on you being an elf.” The sad thing was, that had actually bothered her a bit. It was all Mairead’s fault.

 

Poor Ratiri, meanwhile was just sitting very still and trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt, because this was Progress with a capital P. 

 

Earlene smiled, suddenly noticing she was still seated on Ratiri’s knee. “Oh...sorry,” she apologized, standing up. “I’m not all here right now.” Her cheeks flushed a little with embarrassment, but after everything that had just transpired... _ so fucking what _ .

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ratiri said, and his somewhat deer-in-the-headlights expression made it almost impossible for Lorna not to laugh.

 

Thanadir was staring at her very strangely, and her stomach knotted a little at what emotional bomb would be dropped on her next. “What is it, meldir?”

 

“Can I please have another doughnut?” he asked plaintively.

 

Biting the insides of her cheeks to control the smile that was threatening to erupt, Earlene filled a plate with all three kinds of the treats, and brought them, returning to her seat. “You have all the doughnuts you want.” 

 

Thanadir primly ignored the smiles and knowing looks that were exchanged around the room, and bit into a chocolate buttermilk bar.


	73. Seventy-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 27, 2017

“Bluvvy appehs n bananas”, Allanah said with great seriousness, as Lorna set her into her new carseat. “Wan Lowna boo ‘air.” Her finger was shoved into her mouth while she talked, which was hardly helping her enunciation.

 

Earlene looked at her daughter, trying not to worry. The odds of her learning words that could worsen her vocabulary further were reasonably slim, and, she might come back thinking something like “sofa” was a cuss word and go for that instead. “Well, have fun. I’ve no idea what use I’ll be, but I’ll stick around the cottage. Just in case you need to get a hold of anyone here, I’ll have my mobile. Someone has to be the switchboard relay, I guess.” How they lived was decidedly odd, but hey, it worked. Besides, she could bake something. Or watch a show she wanted to. Or sing, or just be alone... _imagine that_.

 

“It’s just this little one, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Lorna said. She was never going to forget that trip to the tattoo shop, or try taking two babies somewhere by herself ever again. “And I’ll try to see she doesn’t come home with any new vocabulary words, but it’s Pat and I can’t promise. And you, little one,” she added, tickling Allanah under the chin, “have a fixation with blue hair. Your Auntie Sharley’s turned you into a monster.” Straightening, she looked at Earlene. “You just enjoy having a break, and I promise I’ll tell you if anyone asks me if I stole her.”

 

“More like, kick them in the shins,” Earlene grinned. “But seriously, there is one tiny thing you could do for me, if you remember. I’ve been looking at driving instructors in Limerick. Really, they’re the closest, bad as that is. Can you ask Pat if any of them are less’v a tosser than some of the others? I have a shit attitude about this entire requirement and it’ll be better in the end if I don’t get one who’s an arse. That might not go well. But only if you remember, I don’t want you wasting more than two minutes of your visit on this, if that. Seriously. Just maybe he can ask around at the pub for a name. And, naneth loves you, little one. Be good for Lorna.” Allanah giggled wildly at all the kisses to her cheek, and Earlene wondered for the thousandth time how she’d been lucky enough to have this sunny child come into her life.

 

“I won’t forget, I promise,” Lorna said. “I’m sure that even if he doesn’t know, he’ll find out. He always was one for digging up shite, even if he shouldn’t. And this little one’s always good,” she added, ruffling Allanah’s hair before climbing into the car. Since it was just the two of them, she was taking the Charger for once; she and Mick had managed to take the dent out of the hood, at least.

 

“Ok I lied, one other last thing,” Earlene said, leaning into the driver’s side window. “I think you know that your brother mopping floors in a pub is a no-go. I like him. More importantly Thranduil really liked him. Were I to guess he’s a hardworking, proud man who doesn’t want charity. Find out what else he can do, for skills. But I’ve been considering a little...even what Pat already does...it’s time we started having a human who just is willing to work, at the Halls. I have learned from Thanadir about the hours put in by the cooks, the ones who help them prep food, Rîniel milking and making the butter. The ellith who launder and who care for all the fireplaces in the rooms. Soon others will be coming to live with us part time, and I just keep making more babies that need child care. That pulls people off of things like housekeeping and bringing wood everywhere. It’s not glamorous, but it’s just as honest of work as what he’s got now. I’ll leave the rest to you. While I don’t want to promise him quite the income you are earning, I’d wager we could double what he is getting now. Maybe more. A man working in that way...it’d set an example for others too. If you think it could be a….thing.”

 

“You’re very likely guessing right,” Lorna said. “I was hoping you’d say that -- single man with a kid, he’s got to be struggling with what he’s making. I know he used to be able to cook when we were kids, sort’v, just because half the time he was the only one who’d do it. Aside from that, he’s built like me: tiny, but strong. I’ll see what he’s good at, and what he’d be willing to do. Given little Saoirse, that list is probably long.” God knew Lorna would do just about anything, if she were a single parent. And if she could get them to the Halls...their childhood had been hell, but their da was long since worm-food. They could actually have fun now.

 

“It’d be nice for him, too. His income would be just for them. When rent and food are taken away, suddenly income actually is income. Though it makes me sad...I’m guessing there wasn’t at all time to tell him about the Sharley Bomb. Sure god he’ll think we’re loons at the end of it, but at least he had a good first experience here. Anyway, I’ll shut it, or you’ll not get out of here. Say hello for the rest’v us.” Stepping back deliberately, she kept waving at Allanah as she made herself return to the cottage. Going back in, she smiled as the door shut behind her. It took all of twenty seconds to open her laptop and start up her sound system. Hopefully no one was around. With a huge grin, she sang and danced her way over to her cookies recipes. “ _Panic on the streets of London, panic in the streets of Birmingham, I wonder to myself...could life ever be sane again?...The Leeds side streets that you slip down...I wonder to myself...”_ And there it was, the page for Espresso Chocolate Chip. It was going to be a good afternoon.

 

Lorna pondered as she drove through Lasg’len. There was no reason she and Ratiri shouldn’t take shifts dealing with the fireplaces, at least a day or two a week. Yeah, they were studying Sindarin and doing some useful shite, but not of that sort. At the very, very least, they needed to learn how to do it so they could be called upon in an emergency, but it would probably be good for them _and_ the morale of the other elves if they pitched in some.

 

Ratiri already had a little experience cooking over a fire, but she suspected the cooks might be a bit proprietary about the kitchens, just based on her own experience with that sort (meaning Mairead). She wasn’t even going to try, because she knew it would just be a waste of ingredients if she did.

 

And it really would be a positive example, too, though at first she’d want him to ease into it. Mopping floors was a great deal easier than hauling wood, for someone on the small end of the height range, and strength did not necessarily equal a huge amount of endurance. She’d want to watch him first, because she knew damn well he wouldn’t say anything if something was too hard for him. Even she knew people like them could be too proud for their own safety, simply because for so much of their lives, their pride was all they had. That, however, was not going to fly with her. Nope. While she hadn’t _entirely_ overcome that herself, she was better than she’d been -- enough so that she’d call it if she spotted it in others.

 

And quite honestly, she wanted to teach him, too -- or rather, have someone who knew what they were doing teach him. If he did that stuff part-time to start with, he could work on his education, both human and elven. Like her, she suspected he didn’t have a whole lot in the way of school behind him; he might as well spend some time learning along with Saoirse. Earlene and the Elves ( _still_ needed to be a band, dammit; they had to con Thranduil into learning an instrument) had done her such good in more ways than one, and she wanted him to have that, too. She’d been given opportunities she never would have had otherwise, and Pat was going to at least be offered them, too, whether he wanted to or not.

 

Plus, she just wanted to spend _time_ with him. The four of them had been thick as thieves as kids, as her gran might have said, but she’d been closest to Pat -- partly because she was the one who’d taken care of him after Da had had a go at him. Siobhan he’d chased off, and Mick was too little, but Lorna refused to be put off. More than once, she’d knocked him down and sat on him to take care of his back, until he gave in and quit protesting.

 

“Bluvvy Jeezus sthit.”

 

Lorna glanced at Allanah, who was giving her a look that was almost conspiratorial. “You haven’t learned a bloody thing, have you, little one? You’re just fooling everyone with your ‘apples and bananas’ nonsense.”

 

Allanah just grinned at her. That kid might grow up to be more devious than expected.

 

“I hope at least one’v mine’s like you, allanah. At the very least, I hope they’re not like _I_ was as a kid.” Fortunately, half their makeup was Ratiri, who’d been calm and sensible. Hopefully, that would balance her genetics out.

 

Saoirse worried her. She’d always figured her temper was the result of Da; the thought that it could be genetic was a whole other ball of wax. If Saoirse had it, it was quite possible at least one of hers would, too. Lorna knew well how much of a nightmare _that_ could be, to a person and to the people around them.

 

The day didn’t seem willing to decide between clouds or sun, though it looked as though it would burn off later. To be out in the Charger, without a load of people chronically around her...she loved the lot of them, she really did, but she’d lived alone for years. There were times she missed solitude, because it certainly wasn’t to be found at the Halls. It was just her and Allanah now, the motor purring as the tires ate up the motorway. Driving sensibly was not a strain, when she had a baby in the car, though Allanah was too old now to be called a baby anymore.

 

Christ, something in the way Earlene she ‘kept making babies’ made Lorna wonder, was she planning on even _more_ after this one? It was an appalling thought, but on the other hand, this pregnancy did seem to be going much smoother for her than the first -- for now, anyway. Lorna was still highly unimpressed that Thranduil fell asleep at the switch when it came to birth control, but at least Earlene was happy about it, which was all that really mattered. Still, Lorna hoped she actually waited a while between this one and any potential next. Their assorted childcare staff should only be dealing with so many babies at one time, because she was sure even Thanadir had limits. He probably wouldn’t _admit_ to them, but she was sure they were there.

 

Poor Saoirse, so much older than the others...they’d have to find her some friends in the village, because kids needed at least one friend around their own age. Pat needed to come meet Mairead anyway, so maybe Saoirse could meet some kids in Baile, too. And it would be nice to have a _normal_ kid around; if her own turned out to be as gifted as she and Ratiri suspected, there wasn’t much she was going to be able to teach them but Irish and Russian. No matter what anyone said to her, being the normal one amid a group of exceptional people really could make a person insecure, and she hoped she actually had some aptitude for electrical engineering. Her teachers had called her stupid so many times as a child that the sting of it had never really left her, even at forty-one. Some things stuck with you, whether you wanted them to or not.

 

Motoring through Limerick was easy enough, but she did _not_ like where she was going. Pat had council housing in an area that, while pretty enough, was not precisely safe. Moyross had a notoriously high crime rate, up to and including petrol bombings, though those had tapered off in the last few years. When she finally reached the property, she found that the exterior of the flats looked decent, at least: red brick with cream trim, a combination that was odd, but not unpleasant. The lawn was a bit long, but looked well-kept, and there was no refuse that she could see. All in all, not terrible, if not for the level of crime. She wasn’t thrilled by the idea of parking the Charger in the car park, but in the middle of the day, it was at least less likely someone would break in. If they tried...well, nobody back home could think badly of her if she pummeled the shite out of a would-be car thief. There were still a _few_ times when violence was the best answer.

 

By now she was old hand at dealing with babies and assorted baby shite, so she got Allanah and her nappy bag handled in short order, tickling the little girl on the way to the door. Pat’s was around back, and the paint on the wood was peeling a bit, though not so much as to be too unsightly.

 

When he opened it, she found he had a mug of tea in his hand, and the scent of it wafted through the house -- Oolong, she was pretty sure. Fancy. “Now this one can’t be yours,” he said, eying Allanah.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “She’s not -- this one’s Earlene’s eldest, although one’v mine did actually turn out ginger, too. Our mam and Ratiri’s da were both gingers, and apparently that turn up even in mixed-race kids if it’s on both sides.”

 

Allanah eyed him back and said, very solemnly, “Fuck.” Had she not been in Lorna’s arms, Lorna might have facepalmed.

 

“Christ, Earlene had one and then twins right off?” Pat asked, taking the baby. “How’d _that_ happen?”

 

“Allanah’s adopted,” Lorna said, following him inside. “She was Earlene’s brother’s kid, but both her parents died -- her mam after birth, and her da in a car accident.” That was the sanitized story, and the one she’d be telling around Allanah from now on; poor kid didn’t need to know the truth until she was an adult, if ever. “Though Earlene’s actually up the yard again, too. Thranduil sort’v fell asleep at the switch when it came to birth control, since apparently elves can actually control that if they feel like it. She’s happy, though, and at least this one’s a boy, so my son won’t be struggling to swim in a sea of estrogen.”

 

Pat burst out laughing, which made Allanah laugh, too, and Lorna used the excuse to look around the flat. It was tiny: kitchen and lounge together were about the size of her bedroom at the Halls. The carpet was worn, the nicotine-brown linoleum on the kitchen floor probably as old as she was, though both were clean. The walls needed a coat of paint, the counters were scratched and the cupboards dinged, and the ceramic sink was streaked with rust below the tap. It looked as though Pat had done what he could, though: there was a tall lamp with a tie-dye shade in a corner, the walls lined with drawings and family photographs in frames that were cheap, but still looked nice enough. No TV, but a big laptop with speakers attached, and though the sofa looked old and saggy, there was a pretty knit blanket thrown over it. All in all, surprisingly well-kept for the flat of a single man, parent or no.

 

“Is that Aunt Lorna?” Saoirse’s voice floated from a bedroom that, when Lorna looked in, proved to be about the size of a large closet. This room was a mess, but Saoirse _was_ an eight-year-old girl. Currently she was seated on her bed, sketching something.

 

“It is,” she said. “And I’ve brought one’v your cousins.”

 

“I’ll come out in like five minutes. I’m almost done.”

 

“Don’t you hurry on my account, I’ll be here for a while.”

 

Pat had sat on his sofa with Allanah, and Lorna went to sit beside him.

 

“Pat, you need to move,” she said bluntly. “Earlene told me to ask you if you’d come move into the Halls with us. We need the help -- and before you get going on some nonsense about charity, we _really_ need the help,” she added, forestalling his protests. “You haven’t seen the Halls yet, but they’re huge. Back in the day, there were thirty thousand people in it, but there’s only about two hundred now. We’re going to have more people coming in to live their part-time, and if they see us working about the place, it’ll be easier for them to learn, too. Especially since you’re a man; we can stop any gender role bullshit before it starts. Which means you and Saoirse need to come and see.”

 

“Bullsthit,” Allanah said happily.

 

Lorna groaned. “Your mam’s not going to be happy with me, but it’s not like we can stop you, at this point,” she sighed. “Anyway, you can’t deny it’s a better environment for Saoirse. D’you even dare let her play outside here?”

 

Pat frowned, staring at nothing. “I don’t,” he said. “But Lorna --”

 

“Don’t you give me any ‘but Lornas’. It looks like you’ve done as well as you can by Saoirse, but you can do better if you come live with us. She’ll have trees to play in, and get a better education from Ratiri and Earlene than she’d ever get in a public school. And...you’re my brother,” she added quietly. “You took care’v us as best you could when we were kids. I’m in a position to help repay you for it, so let me. You deserve better than what we had.”

 

“Thranduil said as much, in not so many words,” he said, a touch wryly.

 

“He’s a smart elf, even if he can be a bit’v a gobshite,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve got close to him, since I met him, because in some ways he reminds me a lot’v you. He takes care’v people, no matter what, even when it hurts him. _He’d_ tell you it was because he’s a king, but I think he’d be that way no matter what. He’s just a good person.”

 

Pat eyed her. “How’d you handle it, him being a king and all? I mean...a _king._ We’re not exactly fond’v those here.”

 

Lorna sighed, leaning back against the couch. “It wasn’t easy, at first,” she admitted, “but...he doesn’t act like a king, around us humans. He’s just...Thranduil.” She was not going to mention the complexities of his relationship with Earlene. Pat hadn’t been there for Honesty Hour; it was something that could wait, until she could put better words around it. Given that it was far less straightforward than she’d thought, it was little wonder she couldn’t explain it yet, and Pat didn’t know them. He’d be starting off practically where she’d been, when it came to that. He needed to be able to do more than just take her word for it; he had to see it for himself. “He knows we’re not going to swear fealty, as he puts it. All he asks is that we not be gobshites, and don’t tell anyone outside. Not that that’s hard, since it’s not like anyone’d believe you anyway.”

 

Pat snorted. “You’re right enough there. I spent all my shift that night trying to sort through all I’d seen. And what he’d done for me. He took...I’ve not got the scars anymore. They’re gone, all’v them. He said he can’t explain how he does it -- it’s just magic.”

 

“As an explanation, you’d best get used to it,” she said dryly. “I had a hell’v a time with that at first, too, but after a while it’s not that hard to swallow. Once you see it enough, it’s a lot easier to accept.” She picked at the hem of her sleeve. “They’ve helped me be...more. More than I thought I ever could be. When Earlene hired me as a PA, I thought it was just something that would look good on paper. I hadn’t realized that she _meant_ it, that I’d be doing more than dealing with gobshites for her. I’d got so used to thinking I’d never be more than what I was, and she wouldn’t let me do that. She made me see I was worth more than that, whether I wanted to see it or not.”

 

Allanah made a grab for her braid, and gave it due inspection before trying to stuff the end in her mouth. Lorna gently took it away, and replaced it with a pacifier from the nappy bag. The little girl promptly spat it out and let out a gleeful, very loud, “ _Fuck!”_

 

Lorna rubbed her forehead, and returned the pacifier, which this time was accepted. “It wouldn’t’ve worked, though, if Thranduil and Thanadir hadn’t fixed what was wrong up here, though,” she added, tapping her temple. “So long as I’d had that, I really _couldn’t_ have been more than I was. Whatever it was...after I’d run away, I took up with a gang, and Shane, the leader, called it ‘going blank’. Wasn’t anything I could do about it, no matter how much I wanted to.”

 

“Oh, I remember that well enough,” Pat sighed. “And nothing we could do’d snap you out’v it.” He lowered his voice. “I can’t with Saoirse, either. When she goes there, she looks just like you. _Just_ like you. It’s like everything that makes her _her_ goes on holiday, and leaves...something else...in her place. Something not human.” He paused. “What’s -- what’s it like, when that happens?”

 

Allanah looked from him to Lorna, and back again. “Bluvvy Jeeshtus sthit?” she said, her tone so questioning Lorna couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“If you say so, little one,” she said, ruffling Allanah’s hair. “It’s...I never properly remembered it, but sometimes more than others. It’s like -- like everything in the world stops existing, except wanting to hurt someone. I couldn’t even feel it at the time, if _I_ got hurt in the process. All I wanted, all I could think’v, was inflicting as much pain and damage as I could. Any other thoughts just...didn’t exist.”

 

“How did you not kill anyone?” he asked softly.

 

Lorna ducked her head. “You’re not going to like the answer,” she warned. “I never killed anyone because the dead don’t suffer.”

 

Pat stared at her, some of the color leaching from his face. “Is that what’s happening to Saoirse?”

 

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but Thranduil would, if he ever saw her go blank. One more reason for you to move in with us, I might add. But if she’s straight-up attacking people, I’d say that’s exactly what she feels. She doesn’t remember it later, does she?”

 

He shook his head. “It’s only been the two times, but no, she’s not remembered it later. After she’d stabbed Connor with a fork, she looked surprised she had blood on her.”

 

“Why in bloody hell did she do that, anyway?” Lorna asked.

 

“Bluvvy hell,” Allanah said cheerily, the words understandable even around the pacifier.

 

“She said he was looking at her weird,” Pat sighed. “It was Connor Dooley, who’d known us as kids. He was creeped out by how much she looks like you, and she didn’t like it. We were all sitting on the floor eating dinner, and he’s looking at her, and she’s staring at him, and then _bam_ , fork right through the hand. Wouldn’t go to A&E, either, the twat. He’d smoke a lot’v weed, apparently.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes, even as Allanah yelped, “ _Twat!_ Bluvvy Jeesthus twat.”

 

“This kid knows more curse words than real words, at this point,” she sighed. “And believe it or not, it didn’t start out my fault. I just...expanded on it.”

 

Saoirse chose that moment to bound out of her room, sketchbook in hand. To Lorna’s great surprise, the picture was extremely well-done: a graphite rendering of the cottage, far too detailed for a kid who’d only seen it once. “Can you give this to Earlene?” she asked. There were graphite smudges on her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

 

“I can,” Lorna said, taking the paper very carefully. “Where’d you learn to draw like this, allanah?”

 

Saoirse shrugged. “Here and there. My art teacher’s the only one at school that likes me. The rest think I’m a Menace.” She said the word in such a way that the capital M was obvious, and with a certain level of pride.

 

“Well, if nothing else, you’re carrying on family tradition _there_ ,” Lorna said, with a wry smile. “Not sure where you got the talent, though. I don’t know’v anyone in our family who could draw.”

 

“Fuck?” Allanah offered.

 

Saoirse burst out laughing. “See, Da, even babies swear. The teachers’re always after me for it. _I_ don’t see why it’s a big deal.”

 

“Between you and me, I don’t, either,” Lorna said, and glanced at Pat. Saoirse had a real gift; she needed a better school, and a better home. And Pat, no matter what his reservations, would surely do what it took to get her one. “Before I forget, d’you know’v any good driving instructors out here? Earlene needs her license.”

 

“Not off the top’v my head, but I can find out,” he said. “The easier you lot can travel, the better.”

 

“You’ll come to the Halls, won’t you?” Lorna asked. If he said no, she was damn well going to truss him up with duct tape and drag him anyway.

 

Pat sighed. “Of course I will, Fun Size.”

 

********

 

With a sigh, Thranduil found his ability to focus on this accursed decorative rock pattern was all but nonexistent. While Thanadir happily laid the colored river stones in their places, he was bombarded by his wife’s happiness as she baked and sang something about “Vicar in a Tutu.” Which made no sense to him, but neither had “Hairdresser on Fire” or something about a window cleaner named Roy. “Meldir, I would like some time alone with my wife. Can you manage?”

 

With a knowing smile, Thanadir nodded. “As long as I get cookies.”

 

“Fair enough,” he grinned. Even to him the baking smelled good, and he was not nearly as interested in sweets. Sauntering off, he lingered awhile outside where he could see Earlene through the windows. So happy, and radiant. _I need to make sure she has time alone more often,_ he pondered. _Eru._ Her breasts bobbed enticingly as she lost herself in her favorite (if incomprehensible) music, and he could feel himself swelling to attention.

 

He let himself into the cottage quietly, and passed by her with only a facial expression of unmistakable invitation before disappearing into the bedroom.

 

 _Dammit._ Earlene saw there was three minutes left on the oven timer, and she had to wait it out. But the moment the cookies were on the cooling rack and the next batch was placed in the oven, well, that meant she had another twelve minutes. Entering and closing the door behind her with some semblance of dignity took effort. There had not been an occasion to enjoy themselves here in far too long and….the sight of him, laid out and quite obviously aroused was too much. A tangle of discarded fabric and greedy kisses and limbs that so quickly became heated with perspiration and raw carnal desire ensued. With a stifled shout she was sent over the edge, her vision gone white and black and perhaps a few colors in between as her body seemed lost to her control for several seconds.

 

“What did you _do_ to me?” she gasped, still struggling to breathe normally. “I’m not supposed to be running hotter than the oven.”

 

He rumbled with humor as he kissed her all over, lingering of course at her breasts. “It seemed fine to me, meluieg. And if I am not mistaken, you still have time to dress before your timer goes off.”

 

Shaking her head in disbelief, Earlene grabbed at her clothes and went to the restroom. _Clearly, they needed to use this bed a little more often._ Adjusting her tunic in the mirror, a red flush still lingered at her chest. _Well, it is a little warm in the cottage,_ she reasoned, smoothing her tousled hair.

 

********

 

Lorna, full of tea, had to wee like a mad bastard by the time she and Allanah got back. As soon as she’d pried the little girl out of her car seat, the kid let out a triumphant, “BLUVVY JESTHUS TWAT!” at the top of her lungs, waving her tiny fists in the air.

 

“Your mam is going to skin me,” Lorna said, glowering at her. Allanah just giggled, and zoomed into the cottage once Lorna opened the door.

 

“I hope nobody’s in the toilet, because I’m about to wee myself,” she announced, charging into the bathroom. She ought to know better than to drink that much tea before a long drive, but nooo, she had to go and have three cups. She felt much, much better in very short order, at least.

 

“This one learned a new word,” she said, picking Allanah up again when she returned to the lounge. “I swear, her ‘apples and bananas’ thing is just her fooling you. First thing she said to me was ‘bloody Jesus shit’. First thing she said to _Pat_ was ‘fuck’.” Allanah glowered at her, as though annoyed Auntie Lorna had given her away.

 

“I can see my little firieth is going to have a time of it with Uncle Thanadir,” Thranduil said, sweeping a shrieking Allanah into his arms and kissing her cheeks as he alternately talked to her and held her high over his head. “Sooner or later, dear one, you will find that you cannot say those words everywhere.” He lowered her down, still smiling. In fact, the level of personal happiness he seemed to be exuding was rather out of proportion to the moment. Carefully, he set his daugher back on her feet and chuckled as she began to bounce on the sofa. “Well she seems unaffected otherwise, unless she was given a bushel of cookies.”

 

“No, just a load’v attention,” Lorna said. “Saoirse’s surprisingly good with little kids. Usually children at her age just find them annoying.” Thranduil really did seem a little too happy, and given that it was him plus Earlene plus empty cottage, it led to one of very few conclusions. _Ew._ As her nephew would say, all aboard the Nope train to Fuckthaville.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. _You think too much. Go have some cookies, it will distract you better. They are quite delicious._ The smirk on his face was answer enough, though he hardly appeared fazed by Lorna’s entirely correct assumption. Not that he was going to confirm or deny; either way, who cared? “And how was Pat?” he inquired politely.

 

 _It’s your fault for looking so pleased with yourself,_ Lorna retorted, but eat a biscuit she did. “He’s good, I think. Said he did some wrestling with this whole thing that night at work, but he’s pretty much wrapped his head around it. I told him we want him to move in, and I think he’ll do it.” She sighed, reaching for another cookie. “You should’ve seen his flat. He’s done what he can with the place, but it’s on a council estate, and the whole’v it’s smaller than your bedroom. I convinced him we actually did need his help, and that it’d make a much better home for Saoirse. He’s not said where her mam is, and I’m not about to ask, but I’m assuming she’s out’v the picture entirely. Oh, I also asked him about driving instructors, Earlene, and he said he’d ask around.”

 

 _Being pleased is the_ point _of the activity, else why bother?_ He shot back, not to be outdone. “I am glad, to hear all of that. And I agree that he could provide us with needed assistance.” He sighed. “This all becomes so blurry. I have no objection to paying him, none at all. It is just that...it is so strange to think we face a time when money and wealth will have no meaning. Can you imagine it? Even in my world of old, there was always commerce, a focus on having the means to provide. The amassing of wealth. The idea that it will vanish in the face of what is to come...even to me, the idea is odd.”

 

Lorna didn’t make a face at him, but it was a near thing. She was a grown-up, dammit, and that meant she wasn’t _actually_ going to stick her tongue out at him. She just thought about it really hard. “It really is,” she said. “Even in the human world, in the Middle Ages when bartering was the most common way people exchanged shite, there was always money. It was just so rare and valuable not many actually had it. Now...well, I’ll tell you, I’ve been tempted to go on more than one Amazon spree. Why save it? It’s occurred to me that if we’re smart, we ought to start stocking up on human clothes’v various sizes and styles, so that after things go to shit and no more are getting made, future humans can still have human clothes. It’s worth a thought, anyway.”

 

 _But I like it when you are not a grown-up._ Now she was getting his approximation of Thanadir eyes, except he could not manage to keep it up for more than a few seconds and burst into laughter. “Would you like a drink?” he asked. “I was going to pour more tea, yet tea with something a little more interesting in it sounds quite nice just now.”

 

 _You did ask for it._ She made the most dreadful face she could -- one she’d concocted when she was a kid, and she and her siblings had sat around trying to figure out who could make the worst. It ended with a very quiet raspberry, which just made Allanah giggle. “I’d love one. Seeing Pat’s flat...that poor man. And yet he seems happy. Oh, Saoirse sent me home with this.” She took the drawing, which had been carefully packed against the side of the nappy bag so it wouldn’t get crushed. “Saoirse drew this. I’m not sure where she got the talent, but that’s pretty damn advanced, especially for an eight-year-old with no training.”

 

Thranduil stepped around, bending to kiss the top of her head. _I did indeed._ Taking the drawing, he held it carefully. “This is very good. Even to our over-particular eyes. Wait until Thanadir sees this.”

 

“Sees what?” Lured in by the smell of cookies cooling, the seneschal decided he deserved a break today and had allowed his steps to go to the cottage. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal sinewy forearms liberally dabbed in mud, which brought him to the sink to wash his hands and arms, smiling enthusiastically at the cooling trays of sweets.

 

“This,” said the King, holding the drawing carefully so Thanadir could see it without needing to touch it.

 

“That is very good. Very accurate. I did not know you could draw, Lorna!” Drying his hands on a towel, he reached for a cookie and bit into it with clear appreciation.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes but grinned, pouring tea and then ducking into the pantry for whisky.

 

“Don’t I wish,” Lorna said. “Saoirse did this, and asked me to take it back with me. Nobody’s really taught her, I think; she’s worked out most’v this for herself.” And she’d only seen the cottage _once_.

 

“Saoirse?” Thanadir carefully wiped his hands so as to take a second look, paying much more attention. “What is her age?” he asked.

 

“Eight.”

 

He studied the drawing yet longer. “That is remarkable. I have not met an elfling of that age that could do so well.”

 

Earlene returned just then, bearing an armful of flowers from the garden and pointing hopefully at a vase that was on the tallest shelf of her cabinets. Thranduil hastened to retrieve it for her. “There are still cookies left, meldir. Are you feeling well?”

 

He tried to glare at her without success, handing her the drawing. “I am feeling quite well,” he said as he placed a stack of five cookies in his hand. “I was admiring Saoirse’s drawing. See?”

 

Earlene laughed at the effect her teasing had, but quieted when she saw the paper. “Really?” _This is exceptional_ , she thought. _Even for an adult._ “They really need to come here. I hope they do…”

 

“I think I’ve talked him into it,” Lorna said. “I was telling Thranduil, you should’ve seen their flat. Pat’s done everything a person could, but a council flat’s a council flat. They’ll be so much better off here. They’re going to come out and visit, whenever we can coordinate it.

 

“Bluvvy  hell,” Allanah said, toddling over to admire the drawing herself. Earlene broke down in laughter. _Bad mother. Bad, bad, mother._ “Oh, good,” she said, recovering herself.  There were refrigerator magnets, and Earlene used them to proudly display the drawing on the refrigerator, frowning. “Honestly, this deserves to be framed. Do you know how to do that kind of thing? It should end up _in_ the cottage, don’t you think?”

 

“I don’t know how, but my brother-in-law ought to. He might be crap with garden furniture, but he’s good with other carpentry things. And I’m pretty sure she meant for it to go in here,” Lorna said, and liberally spiked her tea with whiskey. “That one learned a new word, by the way, and it wasn’t my fault.”

 

As if on cue, Allanah looked at her. “Twat,” she said, and grinned.

 

Lorna just about snorted tea out her nose. “That would be the one.”

 

“Eru,” Thanadir whispered, having witnessed the entire exchange and the child’s apparent understanding of her word choice. Thranduil and Earlene looked at each other guiltily, for the both knew that they had been far too indulgent of their daughter’s vocabulary words.

 

Thranduil intervened. “Meldir, we will discuss _that_ in private later. For now, we will let it be. But your concerns are noted. And it is perhaps time to...consider some teaching.”

 

Nodding, Thanadir bit into another cookie and poured whisky in his own tea, to fortify himself against the mounting unseemliness.

 

 _Some unsolicited advice?_ Lorna said. _Don’t make a production out of it and say ‘no, don’t do it, bad’. That’ll just make her want to do it even more. If we ignore it and act like it’s no big deal, the shine’ll wear off in a hurry._ She’d watched Mairead do that with her two youngest. The allure was in the fact that it _was_ bad; if it gained no reaction, the kid got bored and gave up.

 

 _We will not. She will be taught, over however long a time it takes, the reasons speech like this can be both good and bad. If she is to use it, she must understand it has implications. Allanah is too young to grasp all of this, which is why we will take however long is needed. However. I can see her mind, and I can assure you the shine is decidedly_ not _wearing off. She is very taken with the reactions of laughter, surprise, (or in Thanadir’s case, shock) from us and this is not going to stop anytime soon. All the more reason to begin teaching her why she must learn that there is a time and a place for such things. I am afraid the usual rules will not apply here, just as the supply of colorful words is going nowhere._ He came near and offered to tip more whisky into her tea.

 

 _God, and how can you not laugh at a cursing baby?_ I _can’t. And Christ, this is more than half my fault, too._ She was more than happy to have a little extra, because with her around, no matter how careful she tried to be, all these kids might wind up cursing like sailors.

 

_There is no fault. Earlene uses these words too, albeit perhaps with more restraint. I only wish Allanah to understand that there are circumstances in which the use of language such as this will prove a detriment. I personally feel that one should do as they wish, as long as the habit is not so ingrained that it can no longer be controlled. Thanadir has his own views. Neither is right or wrong really; it depends on circumstances. But she is a child, so teach her we must._

 

Lorna took a healthy swig of tea. _It’s a good thing you didn’t know me when I was a child_ , she said, and tried not to laugh. _Every other word out of my mouth was ‘fuck’. Pat’s not kidding -- my first word really was ‘motherfucker’. Here’s to hoping we can get all our lot brought up better than that._ She raised her teacup in a mock toast. _And I really hope none of them get creative, like the lot of us did when we were kids. Used to call one of my teachers Cuntzilla, which will make next to no sense to you, but we thought it was hilarious. Someday we need to show you_ Godzilla _. Much will be explained._

 

She looked at Allanah, and at the cookies, and stole one to dip in her beautifully alcoholic tea. _There’s some things I’ve been wondering, but they’re not urgent._

 

_I am listening, unless you feel this is not the time or place. We can go for a walk, if you wish?_

 

_That might be good. Ratiri’s said some things that have got me wondering, and they’re not vital or anything, but I’m curious._

 

 _Then let us fix that._ “Lorna and I will be taking a walk. As there are cookies, I am certain you three will be fine for a time?”

 

“Ooooooh Sean the Sheep,” Earlene smiled. “Come on Allanah, it is time to learn some new words. Can you say Sean the Sheep?”

 

“Faun vuh Veep,” the little girl echoed, confused.

 

“Hmmm. Come with Naneth and Thanadir, we will see what you can learn at Mossy Bottom Farm.” Grinning, she waved off Thranduil until he had safely cleared the porch, to keep Allanah focused inside.

 

“Kid might cuss like a longshoreman, but at least she doesn’t baaa like a sheep,” Lorna said, shaking her head. Hers had yet to break themselves of that habit, which never failed to startle the kittens.

 

The day had turned sunny, and was actually warm as they stepped outside. She could smell the scent of lumber and earth, of trees and moss and _green._ This was where Saoirse should live, not a council estate where it wasn’t safe for her to go outside. Pat was smart; he’d realize that.

 

 _Ratiri said something the other day, something that set me wondering about a thing I’d not really wondered about much, after the first,_ she said, looking up at Thranduil. _Why do you let me be...me...around you? Because I’m pretty sure you don’t let other people be like I am, and you’ve told me all sorts of things I’m betting not many other people know._ I _started telling_ you _things because you reminded me so much of Pat, but you’re an only child, so I can’t be reminding you of a sister._

 

He puzzled his way through her question and found that he wanted to be certain. “Are you asking me why I do not require you to treat me as a King? I am a little confused at the question. How….else would I have you be? You are very much....you.”

 

Lorna thought, trying to clarify it even in her own mind. “Sort’v that,” she said. “But you’ve also told me a lot’v things I doubt many other people know. I never much thought about it until Ratiri pointed it out. I mean, how many others’v you ever let treat and think’v you as just...a person? A friend?”

 

“Well, until very recently, no one really. There has always been Thanadir, but our relationship was...he was not a friend, he was beyond that. We maintained a division between us by unspoken, long agreement. You and Earlene came into my life at nearly the same time. And my connection to Thanadir has deepened, become less formal. Mostly it is the three of you, if I am to be honest.”

 

Lorna wondered if that division had sucked, or if neither had ever even thought of it. Probably the latter. Thanadir and Earlene made sense, though; Thanadir had known him all his life, and Earlene was his wife. Lorna was...Lorna. Earlene and Thanadir also still treated him like he was king, because, well, to them he was. She wasn’t sure where she fit in there. He didn’t let them talk to him like she did, so far as she knew. Or did he, and she just wasn’t aware? Ratiri certainly seemed to think there was some difference there.

 

Thranduil laughed. “No, it did not...suck. Part of what you have to understand is that...you see us now, in this snapshot of our lives. In times gone by we were so...busy. All day, every day, there were decisions and meetings and negotiations and judgements and…” he shook his head at the memory. “We lived in service to our people for centuries, until there were so, so few of us. Two hundred elves hardly need a King. Or a seneschal. And when we fell into the long years of our fading, what was the point? What was there to say, that had not already been said? To think, that had not already been thought? We existed with our reflections and our imaginations and our love of our woods but really...life was at a standstill, for us. We remained, while everything changed around us.

 

“And then your outer world began to change, but it did not affect us in this sleepy part of the land. Until Earlene came. And… ‘let them talk to me as you do…’ Here I admit I am a little confused. Perhaps you do not realize that both Earlene and Thanadir have had plenty to say to me that is pointed and direct, when they felt moved to speak? It is true that they have never cursed at me, called me a gobshite, or any of your more creative titles. But if you feel that they do not speak their minds to me, nothing could be further from the truth. I suppose the difference is, they do not resist my final decisions on a given matter. The most recent...episode...required that I especially ask Earlene to work with me to communicate more carefully about matters pertaining to humans. Matters I may not fully understand.

“But you and I...yes, there is some small difference on account of you not being sworn to me. And yet that difference is not anything I really notice, honestly. Only rarely. The others here...the other elves, they see me yet in a certain role. I am still their King, though I think you would find they view me more as a father than what my title implies. They would not wish to be...friends. At least, I do not think so. In their minds I am strength, order, security. They do not want or need to know that I too experience doubt and difficulty. That truth Thanadir alone has carried on his shoulders, until you and Earlene came. Does that answer your question?”

 

“The gobshite bit’s most’v what I meant,” she said, a little wryly.

 

He gazed down at her, amused, perhaps now understanding better. “You want to know why I was drawn to you in spite of having no...control over you? No ability to require that you speak to me with a certain respect or deference? That is not hard to answer. I had decided that we needed to stop our isolation. You were the first means that came along, by which to do that. Circumstances required that I ‘get over myself,’ as you would say, or forging those ties with the outer would not otherwise be possible. Could you seriously imagine, me walking into the pub in town to demand that everyone call me ‘my Lord’? That would have gone poorly indeed. What I did not expect was to find someone so very compatible. It is true, Lorna, that there would have been a time in ages gone by when everything about the demands on me would have required that I not give you a second consideration. Fortunately, those days are gone. I am happier now, though I did not think of myself as unhappy, then.”

 

She couldn’t help but laugh, because she knew exactly how _that_ visit would have gone. ‘Poorly’ was a vast understatement. “It’s funny,” she said, “I didn’t think’v myself as unhappy, either, before I met you lot, but I’m loads happier now. It makes the thought’v the end’v the world easier, as terrible as that sounds. I’ve never had this much family before.” The demands of a king -- a proper king, not the gobshites humanity had coughed up over millennia -- sounded awful. To have little to no time to yourself, or so it sounded...ugh. No. No thank you. She’d actually always wondered why humans centuries ago had fought to become monarchs -- if you were going to do it properly, it was just a lot of _work_. Sure, you got better food than everyone else, and your home was probably less cold and smelly, but that was about all could recommend it.

 

Thranduil stopped and sat on a log, laughing more. “How I love the things you think!” His smile blazed with a happy brilliance. “It is done out of love, Lorna. I too do not know why your human Kings bothered. But...I am not a scholar, or artist or skilled cook. I do have an ability to fight, and strategize, and juggle details. And when it was required, I managed to get my way.” He looked at her sideways. “Not everyone has that ability. It is a skill in its own right and I have come to realize that it is innate on some level. I am not certain it can be taught. Call it what you wish; elves have always given of themselves for the sake of others. This was my role to play, and I did the best I could.”

 

Lorna sat beside him. “Eh, I try. Or rather, I don’t, and that just kind’v comes out anyway. I think I can count on one hand, with fingers leftover, just how many human monarchs did what they did out’v love for their people -- and even they fucked over everyone who _weren’t_ their people.” Ireland was the big, big stain on Elizabeth the First’s reign, and hoo boy was it a _big_ one.

 

She shook her head, stretching her legs out and cracking her ankles. “I usually got my way in life, but that was just because I hit people until they gave it to me. Nothing like what I’m sure you had to do. Though I’m guessing the kind’v...of court intrigue...humans had wasn’t much’v an issue for elves.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened before he caught himself. _Did Erestor and Thanadir count as ‘court intrigue’? Best not go there_ , he felt fairly certain. Though he could not help but muse if hitting people worked better than imprisoning them. _Best not go there, either._ “Probably not,” he smiled kindly. “Well, is your curiosity exhausted? Part of me wonders if there will be an evening meal tonight, or whether the main course just became later afternoon cookies.”

 

“It is, thank you,” she said. “And I’d be willing to eat biscuits for dinner, but they’re not the most filling things in the world. Just so, so tasty.” Poor Thanadir had been thoroughly corrupted by human sweets. Somehow, Lorna couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad, because he was so adorable when handed a cookie that it was ridiculous. “Is it sad that all’v us -- well, all but Earlene, that I know’v -- try the Thanadir Eyes when we want something? Nobody can do them like he does. It really is a superpower.” She was bound and determined to figure out how to at least not look like a serial killer when she tried it. Ratiri teased her every time she did, and it was only made worse by the fact that he really was kind of right. He was so lucky he was pretty.

 

Chuckling, he ruffled her hair. “Come. Let us see if Allanah has mastered something besides ‘Twat’ today. Perhaps too we can head back, and find quarters with which to tempt your brother when he visits us.”

 

“And art supplies, if we’ve got any,” Lorna said, figuring they probably had scores of everything. Give Saoirse fancy pens or whatever and how could Pat say no? He couldn’t. He’d be here, too. Their little family would keep growing.

 

*****

 

Lorna and Pat had worked it out so that he took his next trip to Lasg’len on his day off, so he and Saoirse could spend the night at the Halls. It was difficult to finagle, because of course the poor man couldn’t possibly have two days off in a row. That would be asking far too much, because the service industry was an absolute bitch. He’d have to be back to Limerick by next evening, unless she could convince him to straight-up quit and move in right off. She doubted that he would; unlike her, Pat never had just plowed right into things that actually mattered.

 

The morning was grey, but the clouds were light enough that there wasn’t any real threat of rain, and here and there a sun patch would pass through. Lorna was waiting at the cottage, for now alone; they’d meet up with Ratiri and the twins once they’d all got to the Halls. She’d have an easier time wheedling Pat if it was just the two of them; if there were too many around him, he’d clam up.

 

Saoirse’s drawing was framed, and hanging on a wall in the kitchen, right where she’d be able to see it. That kid really did have a gift -- she ought to work with Thanadir. One more thing to poke Pat about.

 

Part of Lorna felt absolutely greedy at the idea of having so much of her family in one place. And to give Pat and Saoirse the opportunities she’d been given… What she’d do if they said no, she wasn’t sure. She could hardly force him, but she _could_ be very annoying. They had a history, after all.

 

The rumble of a truck came up the drive, and Lorna drained the last of her tea before she went out to meet it. Saoirse came bounding out the door almost before it had stopped, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Did Earlene like my picture?”

 

Lorna laughed. “She’s got it framed in the kitchen. Go on and have a look.”

 

Saoirse was gone in a flash, and Pat shook his head as he climbed out of the truck. He had a worn backpack on his back. “Spare clothes,” he said. “And Christ, there’s times I get tired just watching her. Did we ever have that much energy?”

 

“I’m sure we did, and I dread once mine get properly mobile,” Lorna said. “Twice the exhaustion for Ratiri and I.”

 

“Da, it really is framed! Da, come look!”

 

“I’m coming, you hummingbird. A run through the forest’ll do her some good, to wear off all that energy.”

 

“It’s a couple miles -- that’ll probably do it.” They went in to admire Saoirse’s picture again, and Lorna locked up the cottage when they left -- why, she wasn’t sure, since nobody was about to break into it. Habit, she supposed.

 

Sure enough, Saoirse zoomed on ahead, though Lorna warned her not to go too far. “The forest’s enchanted,” she explained. “Unless you’re with someone who’s got clearance, you’ll get lost.”

 

“Wait, seriously?” the girl asked, wide-eyed. “Deadly, that is.”

 

“Is it _literally_ deadly?” Pat asked.

 

“No, you’d get found by one’v the guards. They’re all over in here, you just can’t see them.”

 

As if on instinct, he looked up, and all around, but even Lorna didn’t know where they all were. A wood-elf that could be spotted would be a wood-elf falling down on the job, and more than once they’d scared the bloody life out of her, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. No human could ever be that sneaky.

 

“Have you ever got lost?” Pat asked, watching with concern as Saoirse tested the range of ‘okay’ versus ‘not okay’.

 

Lorna shook her head. “No, somebody always met me, before I got let in on the spell, or however it actually works. Once you’re past the edge’v the forest, Thranduil can hear you. If you get here and nobody’s at the cottage, just give him a mental shout, and he’ll send someone to get you. Most’v the elves don’t speak much English yet, but they’re all nice, and they’re getting used to humans. I’ve been learning their language, Sindarin, but my accent’s so heavy I know they don’t understand me half the time.”

 

She laughed. “Jesus, you should’ve seen it when we all went to New York. Half the time I had to write everything down because nobody could bloody understand me. Well, nobody who hadn’t had an Irish gran -- there were a surprising number who had.”

 

“Not surprised, in New York,” Pat said. She watched him carefully as they walked -- watched him take in the forest, the ancient, towering trees, so unlike anything they could have imagined being left in Ireland. “How has nobody else found this place?”

 

“The explanation you’ll have to get used to,” she said, “magic. Thranduil’s somehow got it fixed up so that even satellites don’t know it’s here. Don’t ask me _how_ , because I’ve never asked.”

 

Pat eyed her. “Doesn’t it ever get odd, always having him be able to read your mind?”

 

“I _wish_ it was just ‘able to’,” she said. “I’m sure he does, too. He hasn’t got a choice, when it comes to humans -- he hears us whether he wants to or not. And it was weird at first, mainly because you know me -- I was always thinking weird, stupid shite, but fortunately he thought it was funny rather than annoying. I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s not going to tell anyone anything you don’t give him permission to.” She wouldn’t mention the Bad Elf Award, or the times he’d broken his own rule to earn it. Times that doing so had been a good decision.

 

Pat winced. “That sounds awful. Really awful.”

 

“He gets by, somehow.” Lorna didn’t want to know what it would be like for him in twenty years, when his home would have a thousand-odd humans in it. No fun at all, she was sure, unless he could somehow learn to block between now and then.

 

Saoirse chattered the whole way to the Gates: to them, to herself, and to whatever elves might be lurking unseen in the trees. The sun had peered out from behind a cloud, shafts of gold spearing down through the canopy.

 

“Now isn’t this a good place to raise a kid?” Lorna asked pointedly. “Isn’t this better than a council estate where you can’t even let her go outside? I know you, Pat -- I know you think this is some sort’v charity, even though it’s bloody not, but could you get over it for her sake?”

 

He sighed. “I need to think, Lorna.”

 

“You really don’t, but whatever. We’re here.” _Hey Thranduil, d’you want to play with the Gates?_

 

 _I knew I loved you._ The mischief was simply dripping from Thranduil’s voice. _This is what happens when one is denied a childhood. Elflinghood. Whatever._

 

 _I am more than happy to help you have a belated one_ , she said. “What d’you think?”

 

Father and daughter stared around, obviously puzzled. “Think’v what?” Saoirse asked, actually picking up a rock and peering under it.

 

_Oh, this is too precious. Let’s hit them with it._

 

“ _This_ is why no one’s found this place.” She knew the moment the illusion dropped, because both of their eyes widened, staring with the awe she’d felt herself when she first truly saw them.

 

“Bloody shite,” Saoirse breathed.

 

“If you’ve got bloody shite, you need a doctor,” Lorna said solemnly. Now to see if they would actually open for her. “Edro ennyn Thranduil,” she said, as carefully as she could.

 

Nope. Dammit.

 

“Edro ennyn Thranduil,” she tried again, glowering. She’d swear they stayed shut just to spite her.

 

“Password doesn’t work?” Pat asked, even as he drifted forward to touch the smooth metal.

 

“Oh, it works,” Lorna growled, “just not for me. Because apparently the damn things can’t understand an Irish accent.”

 

“Edro ennyn Thranduil,” Pat tried, stumbling a little. Naturally, they wouldn’t open for him, either. Stupid Gates. She’d just bet they were possessed by the dead of some English gobshites.

 

“Edro ennyn bloody _Thranduil._ ” Of course not. She was not going to mention she had actually peed on the ground in front of the Gates, one of the earlier times they hadn’t let her in. Maybe if she’d actually had a wee _on_ them, they’d listen to her now. It was not her fault she couldn’t actually pronounce ‘th’ right.

 

Earlene came meandering through the forest paths, out for a walk with Eleniel. She and Thranduil had decided that the girls would benefit from time out of the sight of each other, and so this lovely day under the dappled leaves was not to be wasted. Seeing Lorna and her family in the near distance, it was two guesses what they might be up to. Walking with silence, gliding from tree to tree, she approached in a way that was not easily noticed. Now easily close enough to listen, she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at her poor friend. _Oh dear. I’d no idea that the Gates cannot understand her._ Clearing her throat loudly, she stepped out onto the main pathway, whispering in her daughter’s ear.

 

Eleniel, in her arms, said quite clearly, “Edro ennyn Thranduil,” and the massive portal swung silently open.

 

“Sorry,” Earlene apologized. “Don’t let us disturb you, we’re just coming back from our walk.” Eleniel immediately fussed at the sight of Saoirse, and leaned far over, reaching for her. “We will see our friends later, Eleniel. For now we must let them have their time to talk,” she said serenely, appreciating that Saoirse took the little girl’s hand. “This is Eleniel. You will meet her twin, Ithiliel, later on. Welcome, and enjoy your visit.” With an encouraging smile she glided into the Halls and disappeared down the path to the wine cellars; she meant to find two bottles for dinner.

 

“Thanks,” Lorna said, and sighed. Of course they understood Eleniel, who as yet could barely speak, but her, of course not. “All right, you two, Thranduil and I did some poking about last night to find a good flat for you to stay in. There’s all different sorts in here, but a lot’v them don’t have their own bathtubs. The elves used to just do communal bathing, like the Romans, but some’v these flats do have tubs’v a sort. It’s all heated through geothermal springs, so basically it’s luck’v the draw so far as who’s got one and who doesn’t. This one’s close enough to mine that the spring bubbles up under it, too.” She was pretty sure the only reason hers had a tub was because it was all connected to whatever huge hot spring fueled Thranduil’s.

 

“Why’s it so dark?” Saoirse asked.

 

“It’s not, allanah, your eyes just aren’t used to it yet. Give it a moment.”

 

“Holy shit,” father and daughter said at once, and Lorna burst out laughing. Rather more straightforward than _her_ first words, which she believed had been something along the lines of _holy chicken tits, Batman._ Thranduil had told her she was the first person who’d ever come here without being sworn to the elf monarchy, and now look how many had come through, in just over a year since then. There would be even bloody more at her wedding, too --  her wedding, which she really needed to talk to Mairead about, and see about having the human cooks work with the elves, if necessary.

 

 _Later_ , she told herself firmly. For now, she had to convince her pigheaded brother to ditch his dead-end job and move into the Halls.

 

She glanced at Pat again, and had to smother a smile. _This_ had shifted everything for him, though one who didn’t know him might have missed the change in his expression. Telling him she lived in elf Halls was one thing -- it was an abstract concept, one for which he had no frame of reference. This, however, was very real, and unlike anything either of them had ever seen or conceived of in their lives. The contrast between this and their council estate was ludicrous, and Lorna desperately hoped that Pat’s cursed pride wouldn’t lead him to spend one more night there to ‘think about it’. He didn’t _need_ to think about it. There was only one logical choice here...but she couldn’t push him. He wouldn’t appreciate that any more than she’d have.

 

Nevertheless, despite the fact that he couldn’t hear her, she sent him, _Isn’t this a better place for Saoirse? Isn’t this a better place for_ you _? Beautiful and safe and like something out of a dream. Stay with us, Pat. Let the rest of my family adopt you. We’re all weird and really different, but we love each other, and the rest of them’d come to love you, too, if you just gave them the chance._

 

“What would I be doing here, for a job?” he asked, as she led him along the high walkways. Saoirse, she was relieved to see, actually took care on them. “I don’t know how to cook on a wood stove, or anything.”

 

“You could learn, if you wanted to,” Lorna said, relieved. If he was asking, he had to be seriously considering. “Mostly, we just need help with practical shite. Cleaning out the fireplaces is a big one, and hauling wood. And we’d love to teach you, too -- Sindarin, if you’re interested, but just...I don’t know if you finished school or not, but I didn’t, and I’ve learned so much here. You and Saoirse’d be a big help with all these kids, too, if you wanted. Right now we’ve got eight people on kid duty between us. Just try a bit’v everything, and see what sticks.”

 

She laughed. “You and I’d be better with the fireplaces than Ratiri. He’d just crack his head every time he tried. Most’v the elves are on the tall side, but not _that_ tall. Maerwen, she was on fireplace duty before she signed on with Ratiri and I -- she speaks some English, so she can help. Ratiri and I’ll be all but useless until these twins’re a bit older, but we’ll get there ourselves. We’ll need to be an example, once more humans move in -- everyone’ll have to pull their weight. It’s not fair on the elves, making them do it for us. I’d be learning with you; the whole time I’ve lived here, I’ve either been pregnant or dealing with babies. I know how to clean a wood stove, but not a fireplace, and these ones’re huge.”

 

He was quiet a moment. “What about Saoirse?”

 

“She’d get a better bloody education here than she would out there,” Lorna said. “Earlene’s a lawyer, Ratiri’s a doctor, Thanadir’s a genius’s genius, and he loves children. All elves do. The rest’v this brood’ll be learning here, rather than going to public school. And there’s kids around her age in the village -- kids who know about the elves, so she wouldn’t have to keep this big secret all the time. But even if she’d rather play on her  own...Christ, Pat, look at that forest out there. There’s nothing that could hurt her, and she’d be watched over, even if she couldn’t see it.” _Now compare that with your crime-ridden council estate_ , she thought, but saying it aloud would be laying it on too thick. It might be the only sane, logical choice, but he still had to make it on his own.

 

“What about leaving here? Going out on our own?”

 

She blinked. “What about it? You mean, are you allowed to?” His expression told her that was exactly what he meant. “Christ, Pat, you can go wherever you like, whenever you like. This isn’t some sort’v...of weird cult that shuts out the outside world. The five’v us’d gone to Lough Gur, hadn’t we?”

 

“I just...I’ve got to ask,” he said. “I can’t go into anything without knowing all’v what it is.”

 

Lorna wrapped her arm around his shoulders. Oh, did she have one hell of a bomb to drop on him, but she was not going to drop it alone. Fuck no. “If you’ve got questions, ask them tonight at dinner,” she said. “They’ll answer you honestly. They want you here too, Pat. Thranduil knows more about you than I think you’d probably like, because I’ve talked about our childhood. He went through a lot’v what we did. He’s not going to look at you weird, and neither will anyone else. I mean, Jesus, they’ve known me for a year and a half -- if I’ve not driven them around the bend, you sure as hell won’t. And you and he...you’re like he and I. Really different in some ways, but very much alike in others.” She shook her head. “God, I call him my brother-from-another-mother. Maybe you will, too, eventually.”

 

He looked so disturbed by that that she had to laugh. He’d learn. _She_ had.

 

They were approaching the flat now, and she added, “It’s very...elven...in there right now, but we can bring in whatever human shite you want. Ratiri and I decorated ours with things from both our human homes -- which, by the way, you still need to come out to Baile and meet Mairead, and see my cottage.” Her poor neglected cottage...if she had any sense, she’d get Orla to move it sooner rather than later, and get it out of the way. She just needed to find a suitable spot for it. Any second storey was pointless if she was just going to dismantle it and ship it all to the forest anyway.

 

“We don’t have to wear _dresses_ here, do we?” Saoirse asked, her nose wrinkling in disdain.

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “Am _I_ wearing a dress?”  she asked, glancing down at her usual combo of jeans, vest top, and flannel. “We just wear what we like. You’ll see Earlene wandering about in elf dresses a lot, but she likes them. _She_ can actually carry them off.”

 

“I can’t picture you in any kind’v medieval-looking thing,” Pat said, and she elbowed him in the ribs.

 

“I did sort’v wear one once, for a feast,” she said. “Christ was I uncomfortable. I was glad the one I had for New York was a bit more modern, but I felt like a stranger even in it.” And the sad thing was that, beautiful though it was, she could never bring herself to wear it again. It was what she’d had on the night they’d found Von Bitchface; the association was impossible to shed. Maybe Saoirse would like it someday, provided Chandra proved too tall.

 

(The velvet tunic she’d worn to her disaster of a bridal shower was likewise ruined for her; it had quietly gone in a bag of things meant to go to a Dublin charity shop, so she need not see anyone else wearing it. Most of her gifts had as well -- the only things she kept were Gran’s candlesticks and the embroidery Earlene had made her, and even they currently resided at the back of the closet, there to remain for the foreseeable future. And if she’d dry-cried a little when she packed it all up...nobody needed to know but her and the kittens.) Things might have worked out because of that mess, but that didn’t mean she was ever going to want any reminders. The immediacy of the memory had been dulled, but it still made her sad to think about, so she put away anything that might make her think of it. In time, she’d forget it, or so she hoped. A girls’ day in Dublin would partly make up for it, at least; it wasn’t a shower, but it was the next best thing. She’d far rather focus on that, so she made herself.

 

Shaking herself, she said, “Come on, you two -- come see your flat.”

 

It really was a lovely flat, and someone had made certain that a fire and lamps were lit before they arrived. The lounge alone was bigger than the entirety of Pat’s flat and then some, the sofa a deep green brocade threaded with silver. The armchairs were a dark, rich brown, embroidered with forest scenes, facing a fireplace taller than Saoirse. Soft rugs in various hues of autumn warmed the stone floor, and hanging from the ceiling was a big lantern of amber glass, the shade of which was dotted with spots of metal that allowed the light to play over the walls like stars.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Saoirse said, darting around. “This is a _flat_?”

 

“There’s more,” Lorna said, shoo’ing her onward. Past the lounge was the same kind of dining area the other flats had, with a polished oak table that was probably older than the human civilization of Ireland. It had an assortment of chairs, cushioned with different colors, but the lamps in here were ranged about the room on shelves. _Lots_ of shelves, perfect for books, pictures, art supplies...anything they could think of. Branching off from it were two bedrooms, each also bigger than Pat’s current flat. Both held large, four-poster beds, possibly the size of Saoirse’s current bedroom; one was done up in paler shades of green and silver, like a forest under moonlight, while the other blazed like a summer sunset.

 

Saoirse, being eight, immediately ran into the green room and started bouncing on the bed, giggling, and it was all Lorna could do not to laugh.

 

“Move in here, Pat,” she said. “Tomorrow. Quit that bloody job that can’t possibly appreciate you for what you really are, and  bring your daughter into this real-life fairytale. Don’t sit there and tell yourself this is some kind’v charity, because it’s _not._ ”

 

He looked away, and she knew she had him dead to rights there.

 

“You’re my brother, Pat,” she said, more gently. “You’re the one, even more than the others, who made that hell we called a childhood bearable. And you can’t tell me that if our positions were reversed, if you were the one who’d found all’v this, you wouldn’t be doing the same thing I am. Don’t you dare try.”

 

That drew a laugh from him, and some of his tension eased. “You’re right,” he said. “It does feel a bit like charity, but I would be doing the same bloody thing, if I was in your shoes.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “If you stick around long enough, you’ll see that it’s really not,” she said. “I’m serious, this is hard work, and if we get you and Ratiri going now, nobody else who might come to live here will start separating into any bullshit gender roles.”

 

“Why would more be coming?”

 

 _God dammit, Pat._ “That’s something we’ll talk about at dinner,” she said. “You know how shite I am at explaining things.”

 

He eyed her closely, and she tried not to swear. _This_ expression was one she’d seen on Thranduil, except unlike Thranduil, Pat couldn’t actually pick her brain apart. He just looked like he was trying really hard.

 

“C’mon,” she said. “Let me show you the training hall. Thanadir taught me how to throw knives.”

 

 _That_ caught his interest. He’d been as into sharp, pointy things as she had as a kid, and some things you just didn’t lose, no matter how old you became.

 

******

 

“Meldir, soon we will need to eat elsewhere. We were three, and then we were five, and now we are eight. And I expect that will only continue.”

 

A frown chased across Thanadir’s brow as he considered the dining table in the King’s quarters. Eight places. They had reached the limit of the table, it was true. And even if tonight proved to be an exception, it still did not account for children that would join them at their meals sooner than later. “I will add it to my list,” he reluctantly agreed. “The truth is, Earlene, at the rate we are going we should consider appropriating a suite of quarters here. Only so many of the larger rooms are near to these, and while I welcome those who will come, I do not wish to see your family…” he hesitated, catching himself as her eyebrow shot up at his choice of words,”... _our_ family left without convenient resources.”

 

“That’s better,” she smiled, taking his hand. “You _are_ our family, Thanadir.”

 

“It is not always easy, meldis. To remember, I mean. Matters were different for a very long time, and there are well-formed habits.” His hand squeezed hers in return before he reached for the plates and eating ware.

 

“I know. It is only that I never want you to believe for a minute that you are not loved and included here. I know your life was not always easy. In this way especially, I am determined it will never go back to what it was before.”

 

Thanadir did not respond, but she knew him well enough to see the reserved joy that others might not perceive. After fussing for a while, he frowned again. “It needs…”

 

“Flowers.”

 

“Yes.” His head lifted up to reveal a beautiful smile, one not often seen on his face but that she had come to realize could only be elicited by herself or her husband.

 

“Then come. I will race you to the flower garden. I am sure I have not been exercising enough.”

 

“Good, then I will win.”

 

“Not if I can help it.”

 

*****

 

Dinner was crowded indeed, but in a good way. Because Pat and Saoirse still had not met all the children, it was deemed easiest to have all five of them with Lothiriel in the same room, fed and otherwise hopefully tipped toward sleepiness or at the very least, non-fussiness. Plus, no one was going to deny Sharley a chance to play with Allanah.

 

Fortunately, Saoirse actually liked younger children, though she burst out laughing when Allanah waved her arms in the air and cried, “ _Twat!_ ”

 

Lorna barely managed not to. _Barely_. Allanah gave Saoirse a vague, run-by grabbing before toddling over to Sharley, who picked her up and tickled her.

 

“Pat, this is Sharley. Sharley, Pat. She’s the one who’ll be explaining what I can’t, but that’ll be after dinner.” _Hey Thranduil, if he needs it, can I introduce him to elf wine? Because...well, he might need it. We’re telling him the world’s going to end._

 

Sharley eyed Pat with piercing scrutiny. “Good to meet you,” she said. “You’re Lorna’s brother.”

 

“I am,” he said, and Lorna could detect the unease in his tone, even if nobody else but Thranduil was likely to. “You’re American.”

 

“Genius, you are,” Lorna muttered. He elbowed her, and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to stick her tongue out at him. Sure, they were mature adults. Really.

 

“For now I am.” Allanah happily grabbed the end of Sharley’ ponytail and gave it a very gentle tug, before stuffing the hair into her mouth.

 

“ _You_ , little one, are too old to be sticking everything in your mouth,” Sharley said, retrieving her hair. “You’re supposed to be setting an example for these younger kids.”

 

Allanah blinked her big blue eyes, and said, “Boo hair.”

 

Saoirse approached Shane and Chandra, staring at them with utter fascination. Two kids who had her eyes, but one of them was as pale and ginger as Allanah over there. They stared back, both with pacifiers firmly in their mouths. “How are they twins?” she asked. “I mean, I know twins that’re boys and girls aren’t identical, but this one looks white.” She reached out to Chandra, who grabbed her finger and gave it due inspection.

 

“Your gran -- your da and mine’s mam -- she was a ginger,” Lorna explained. “So was your uncle Ratiri’s mam. You have another aunt, Mairead, she’s ginger too. Someday I’ve got to get you and your da out there, but Mairead...she’s a bit’v a handful, to put it charitably.”

 

She had no plans to go out there in the next week or so, though; yes, she had to talk to Mairead and Siobhan about the catering, but she could do that after the meeting. She didn’t want to go out to Baile until everyone had had other things to do, and nobody need bring up that failure of a bridal shower. After a fortnight or so, plenty else would have happened in the village to give them something else to gossip about. At least they’d be too busy at the meeting to rehash it. (She’d had a word with Ratiri, who had agreed to wear his snuggest jeans and a T-shirt, so that he could be distractingly sexy if he needed to be. Predictably, he’d blushed like a brick when she asked, but it was his own fault for being so damn pretty. She may or may not also have wheedled him into putting on said jeans, just so she could grab his arse.)

 

Ortherion brought in the trays with Thanadir’s assistance; not even a strong ellon was going to manage the amount of food for eight person in a single trip. Milk was provided for Saoirse, as it was that, or water. Drinking ages had been explained to the ellyn; at least Earlene recalled that much. Dinner was simple but beyond marvelous. It was a mixed stew with what could have been chicken or rabbit; it was not easy to tell and either way who cared? Roasted new potatoes were on the side swimming in herbed butter, and of course dinner rolls. Earlene was beginning to suspect they might be having baking powder wars down in the kitchen; the quickbreads were incrementally higher and fluffier with each passing meal. She would have to get Glân aside, and see if a confession might be forthcoming. Of the modern cooking ingredients Earlene had introduced, few things had been more popular than the new leavenings. And for dessert, a trifle with fresh berries and cookies sat waiting.

 

“Well, clearly Pat and Saoirse need to come more often, because the meal looks to be the best all week. I think the kitchens got wind of your visit,” Earlene quipped with a smile.

 

Saoirse had certainly put away an astonishing amount of it for so small a person -- she was definitely a Donovan there, too. All four of them had managed to consume far more than anyone their size ought to have been able. She looked expectantly at Pat, who looked at Lorna, who tried not to groan.

 

“Ar mhaithe le Críost, ba mhaith le gach duine tú anseo. Is mian léi leat a bheith anseo. An mbeidh tú ag bogadh isteach díreach agus go bhfuil tú déanta agat?" _Christ’s sake, everyone wants you here. She wants you to be here. Will you not just move in and have done with it?_

 

Pat sighed. “Tá tú a leithéid de gobshite, Lorna. Ní fhágfaidh tú go dtí go dtugaim, an mbeidh tú?" _You’re such a gobshite, Lorna. You won’t leave off until I say yes, will you?_

 

With a grin, Lorna said, “Not a chance in hell. That’s his way’v saying he’s moving in.”

 

Saoirse’s squeal of excitement made her wince, but watching the little girl launch herself at her father nearly hard enough to knock his chair backward was possibly the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.

 

Earlene smiled happily, and then it occurred to her.. “What do you like learning most in school, Saoirse? If you are to live with us we will have to work out all that. I like learning new things a great deal.”

 

Saoirse shrugged. “I don’t know. My teachers don’t like me much. I like drawing, though, and Da and I read books sometimes that’re a lot more interesting than anything we have in school.”

 

“She gets in too many fights,” Pat said, ruffling her hair. “The other kids pick on her because she’s little, and she makes them very sorry. Kind’v like someone else I know,” he added, with a pointed look at Lorna, who snorted.

 

“As if you weren’t just as bad. Saoirse, remind me someday to tell you a few stories about your da as a kid.” The fact that he paled a bit made her grin, though she had no intention of ever telling Saoirse the _bad_ stories. Just those of their own youthful stupidity.

 

“What else am I supposed to do?” Saoirse asked, looking at her father, and Lorna had a feeling this was an old, old argument. “Donal Nolan called me puny, I _had_ to kick him in the bollocks.”

 

 _Yes, she did_ , Lorna thought. _Good girl._

 

“You didn’t have to kick him so hard,” Pat said, tweaking the end of her nose. “We talked about that. Don’t kick, insult.”

 

“It won’t be an issue either way, here,” Ratiri put in. “You’ll have private tutors, and we actually _do_ like you.”

 

“And no gobshite kids to call you names,” Lorna added.

 

“Now now,” said Earlene with humor. “Let’s not press Thanadir’s sensibilities too hard during our meal. I want him maintained in fine humor before next week’s meeting.” _Never mind they’d had to postpone their second Council meeting by a week because five of the members reported conflicts….pull up Earlene, not helpful._ She sighed. “Anyway, I think you’ll find us a far better bunch than what you have experienced thus far.”

 

“What’s this meeting about?” Pat asked. “Lorna said there was something I’d need to know, but that she’s crap at explaining things and I’d have to hear about it here.”

 

As Pat was looking directly at her, Earlene saw no reason not to respond, though she did not require her husband’s telepathy to understand she should tread carefully. “Well, that is a long story in full, but the shorter version is...you can already see that we live with extraordinary circumstances, among elves. Our reality has proven to be different than what goes on in the outside world. The meeting is for a Council that has been formed, tasked with planning over the next twenty years to prepare for...well, survival. You will have to be patient enough to learn a great deal of background information in order for the reason to make sense, but we have been warned that we have that amount of time to prepare against an event that will cause a complete social collapse. A plague, that will kill most people on Earth. I know it sounds barking mad, to hear it said this way, but if you give us a chance to explain the very long version, you will be just as convinced as everyone else in this room.”

 

Every instinct in Pat wanted to call bullshit, but one look at Lorna told him that no, it was not, in fact, bullshit. His first thoughts were of nothing save his two elder children; the eldest, born when he was just seventeen, had eventually been put up for adoption, but the second...he’d been a drunken shit, then, not remotely equipped to be a da. That girl he’d named Lorna -- she’d close to twenty now, but he hadn’t spoken to her in years. Her mother, rather understandably at the time, hadn’t wanted them to keep in contact. “I have another child,” was the first thing that left his mouth. “She’s not a child anymore, she’s nineteen, and her mam didn’t want her to have much to do with me once we’d split up, but -- Jesus, can...I can’t just leave her. Her or her mam, because it was mostly my fault we split.”

 

As much as Lorna wanted to say _of course, do it_ , it wasn’t solely her decision to make. Nobody had any sole decisions now; Thranduil did technically, but in practice it was rather different.

 

“Probably,” said Earlene kindly. “And by that I mean, no one at this table has the right to grant that permission except perhaps Thranduil, since these are his Halls...and in the interest of setting an example, I would guess he would be very reluctant to play the King Card at this point in time. You see, the council is formed of sixteen persons and we have only had our first meeting. Many, many things will need to be discussed, including how our community will govern itself and who will be admitted. But we have already concluded that family of our core villages, Lasg’len and Baile...we are trying to gather data on how many persons that will be. We will have to have a limit, at some point, to ensure we can still function together. But I can safely say that if you are here with us now, you would have the same rights as any of the others to have that be the case if that is what the Council decides in the end.”

 

“Meaning let’s go get your shite tomorrow,” Lorna said, dead seriously. “I’m not kidding, Pat, I want you two in here ASAP. I won’t rest easy until you are.”

 

“Wait, you mean -- everyone’s going to _die_?” Saoirse asked. “Da, is that -- is it like that thing we watched on YouTube about the Black Death?”

 

“Not quite,” Sharley said unexpectedly. “Most people will die, Saoirse, but it won’t be the Black Death. It will be much faster, and over soon.”

 

The poor girl hesitated. Yeah, there were a lot of kids at school that she didn’t like, but she had a few friends. Were they going to…? Twenty years seemed like _forever_ , but it wasn’t like twenty-eight was _old_ or anything. “Can we stop it?”

 

Sharley set Allanah down, moving around the table to Saoirse. “I wish we could, honey,” she said. “I really wish we could, but when I see the future, it’s usually set in stone. I know some of what led up to this, and it’s not that easy.”

 

Saoirse looked at her, at her mismatched eyes and faded blue hair. She wanted to say that nobody could see the future, except she was sitting at a table with elves. “You saw that?” she asked. “Was it -- was it _bad_ , seeing that?”

 

“Yes,” Sharley said simply, “but the good thing about that, for me, is that no matter how bad the future is, I get to come back to the present. And the present is called the _present_ because it’s a gift. We can do whatever we want with it.”

 

Saoirse looked at Pat. “Da, can we travel? Can we go do things? I mean, while the things are still there?”

 

“You leave that to us grown-ups,” Lorna said. “We’ll do plenty before then.” Poor Saoirse -- she’d be pushing thirty by the time everything went to hell, maybe wanting kids of her own, but what a shit time to be doing that. She wouldn’t even have that many dating options in her own age-range, lads or girls.

 

“Would everyone like to sit where it is more comfortable?” Thranduil invited, guessing that the poor man had many questions.

 

“I sure as hell would,” Lorna said, taking Saoirse from Pat. Granted, for her somewhere more comfortable meant Ratiri’s lap, given the shortage of seating.

 

“I could use a little more wine first,” Pat said, grimacing a little. “Hope you don’t mind me taking the glass.”

 

“Not at all,” said Thranduil, smiling. “There is no shortage of wine here.” _I do not believe this discussion will benefit from our wine, Lorna. Not to mention, the effect is not something Saoirse probably needs to see anytime soon._

 

While Earlene did not sit in her husband’s lap, she did keep herself sandwiched between the ellyn to a degree that allowed for one extra person on their sofa; Sharley could be close to Allanah this way.

 

He had a very good point, especially with Saoirse around. Saoirse herself sat in front of the fire, watching it, and Lorna wondered if she’d actually seen fire in person before. Pat ruffled her hair before he sat himself, looking very much wanted to down his glass at one go. “So in twenty years, there’s a plague,” he said, looking at Sharley. “Why?”

 

The entire lot of them looked at each other, as though uncertain who ought to start. “Thranduil, you wanna take that one?” Sharley asked. “It’s your story. I just watched it.”

 

Thranduil’s lips parted. “How much do you know of our old world? Do you know the stories of this man Tolkien at all?”

 

Pat looked at Lorna. “Our mam read us _The Hobbit_ when we were kids,” he said, “and Saoirse and I’ve watched the _Lord of the Rings_ movies, but that’s about it.”

 

“That helps. There is much more you should know about us, the elves; but that will take time. I will give you a very brief history. We have a...we do not like to call it religion, because it is not like anything practiced here. Eru created the Ainur. They are beings that think and feel, immortal and taking spirit form. After, Eru created Arda. The world. Fourteen of the Ainur were special; the most powerful ones and having unusual gifts and roles. These are the Valar, the Powers of the World. If I were to make a very long story short, one of those fourteen went very bad. Whatever good the others created, he tried to destroy. Later, the elves awakened.” At this point, Thranduil looked carefully at Pat, to see that he was still focused on what was being said, before continuing.

 

“We elves are called the Firstborn; Eru created us immortal and our spirits are bound to the plane of this world. A great many things happened, and the Secondborn also awakened; men. Men were not immortal, but their spirits are not bound to the world; this is the gift given to them. Eventually the Valar decided that they wished all the elves to be in Eldamar; the elvenhome created in Valinor and where the elves could dwell in harmony with the Valar.” He paused, to give a moment for his words to sink in. _Varda, it is not easy to condense so much into a few minutes’ explanation._

 

He continued, with Earlene more than a little curious as to how he was going to manage this epic chapter of Cliff’s Notes. With a slight glare at her amusement, he continued: “The Valar who went bad had many names, but in the end he was known mostly as Morgoth. It is he who was the Lord of Sauron, that figured in the movies you saw. He was immeasurably powerful, and he had many followers. Sauron himself was one of the Ainur; Ainur that were not Valar were called Maiar. They had lesser powers, some greater than others. Sauron was especially powerful. Now do you remember the scene where Mithrandir fought the creature of shadow and flame, the balrog?”

 

“Gandalf”, Earlene whispered, trying to be helpful.

 

“I do,” Pat said. “Christ, you can’t tell me one’v _those_ was here, was there?”

 

“There was,” Lorna said, “but they weren’t all stuck like that. This one looked like a human.” She figured she’d let the experts keep on from there, because she still knew little more than what she’d read in _The Silmarillion_ , which she’d lost her taste for after... _after_.

 

“Things were very bad here, for a time. We had the resources to fight him but...when you are not the bad guy and have everything to lose, including women dear to you and carrying unborn children, nothing is as simple as it seems. Partway through this time, I was…” he laughed. “Even I realize what lunacy this sounds like, but it is the truth nevertheless. One of the Valar appeared to me, and a bargain was struck. You may notice that we are yet here in this place, while all the other elves are not. We are called home, to Valinor, at some point in the future. We do not know how long exactly, but it stands to reason that this will occur well inside of the next sixty years. I really cannot say; a time will come when we are summoned and we have agreed to abide by this. Anyway. This man, the balrog, was eventually delivered into our hands. He is dead, never to return.

 

“However. This...thing was very old. Much older even than me. What he did in all the long ages of the world we do not know, but by the time your World War Two occurred, he was a force behind Nazi Germany. He became involved in chemicals, and…” he looked at Saoirse, choosing his words carefully. “He committed many atrocities. What we discovered after his death was that he had left a plan in place. That if he died or disappeared, twenty years’ after, his personnel would unwittingly unleash his creation; a disease created by him in a laboratory. Guaranteed to be the perfect blend of attributes to ensure that it would all but eradicate humanity. And thanks to Sharley’s gift, we have been given a chance to prepare.”

 

Pat stared at him, and then looked into the fire for awhile in silence, digesting that. “How in bloody fuck did you find him, or did he find you?”

 

Lorna grimaced. “We ran into him in New York, of all places. At a party. He recognized Thranduil and Thanadir as elves right off.” She chose her next words with very great care, because there was part of this story Pat was never, ever allowed to know. “He could read minds, too, so he heard me talk to Thranduil, but I can’t pronounce his name right, so it took the bastard months to follow us to Ireland. A load’v shite happened, but eventually he fucked up and Thanadir killed him. I actually got to bog a body, which is something I never thought I’d be able to say, so at least that was something.” _Thranduil, you can’t tell him what happened when that gobshite first came to Ireland. Not ever._

 

“Jesus, talk about shite luck...the one balrog left, and you run into him in New bloody York.” This was all one hell of a lot to take in -- it sounded like lunacy, but there really wasn’t any choice but to believe it.

 

Twenty years. They only had twenty years left of the world as it was. That might seem like forever to Saoirse, but to Pat, it wasn’t much time at all. He hoped like hell Lorna had some poitín, because he was going to want some after Saoirse had gone to bed.

 

Thranduil glanced up at Lorna. _It is not my story to tell, but I believe you are making a mistake in your choice. A choice I will respect, you have my word._

 

“Jeebus bluvvy shtite fuck,” intoned Allanah, who held onto Thranduil’s knee. He lifted his daughter tenderly, kissed her, and began to murmur in her ear. Somehow, no one in the room burst into laughter and Earlene felt the necessity to save the room from an awkward silence while the King began what she guessed was the first of his...guidance in this matter. Ignoring her daughter, she pressed on.

 

“Sadly, Von Ratched--that was his name--ran around controlling financial circles at the height of social power and influence in the States. We met him because of...me. I do not mean this to sound like bragging; I have left my old life behind. But in New York, I was employed by a very prestigious law firm. The kind that went out and did what billionaires asked to have done. I can’t emphasize enough that this man had his fingers in every pie that interested him, and he had wealth and power on a scale that is difficult to comprehend. And he lost it all because he couldn’t leave well enough alone that a few elves still lingered in this world. He was a horrible, horrible creature and...no one here is happy about having found him. But like my husband said, he is gone now. Except...he lingers on, the rotten carcass that somehow never stops stinking.”

 

“The gift that keeps on giving,” Lorna murmured, genuinely nonplussed at the idea that not telling her brother she got raped by a balrog was somehow the wrong choice. It hadn’t affected anything in the present, after all, and yet she wanted to ask Thranduil about his logic later. He always did have logic, even if it baffled her at times. “If it makes you feel any better, I did manage to shoot him. Not that it did any good, mind you, but hell, I tried.”

 

Pat eyed her. “You would,” he said. “Well... _shit_. Once things’re -- once everything’s more settled, and this council’s kicked it over, I need to find Lorna. My daughter, that’s her name, Lorna. I owe her mam, too, so much better than I gave her then. I was a shite da and a shite boyfriend then, but if I can save them, or even just Lorna...I’ll’ve made up for it, if nothing else.”

 

“It will all sort out in time,” said Thanadir, chiming in. “We will be very glad to have you.”

 

“I’ll be glad to be here,” Pat said. “Me and this little one, even if she’s a Menace with a capital M.”

 

“Carrying on the family tradition, she is,” Lorna said, poking him in the side. “Though Christ do I hope mine don’t. Two at once is too much.”

 

Earlene smiled, and leaned into Thanadir. _Valar, give us strength._

 

*****

 

Thranduil stood near the center of the greenhouse, enjoying the fragrance from some of the citrus that had opened their blossoms. He strolled around, fascinated that he now saw the strange and tiny dark green fruit beginning to grow; some were the size of marbles and….what in Eru’s name? With a deep frown furrowing his brow, he saw that one had an appallingly misshapen fruit on it. And another. And another. “Buddha’s Hand Citron?” he murmured aloud, looking at the tag. This bizarre shape was no accident, but what it was supposed to look like. He blinked uncomprehendingly at the photograph, hoping Earlene had not lost her mind. Rising, he continued to pace around, gazing upward with his hands held together behind his back. _There needs to be more of these greenhouses,_ it dawned on him. _Perhaps many more._ Their usefulness against the cold of Irish winters would reveal itself soon enough, and if this did what he suspected it might to assure adjusting the seasons...they would be foolish not to invest further in this idea. He would make mention of it, sooner or later. With a smile, he departed to play with his daughters.


	74. Seventy-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 5-10, 2017

“You’ll ask about Lorna the Second, right?” Pat asked, for what was likely the fortieth time. He’d been trailing her the whole morning, right into the meeting room.

“I will, Pat. It’ll come up again in general at this meeting,” Lorna promised, exasperated. She was a bit useless when it came to helping Earlene at the organizing; all she could do was stay out of the way, but she at least made sure the room itself was set up, and put together some sandwiches. The kitchen elves were taking care of most of that, but she felt a need to contribute something, and that was about all she could do. At least Mairead was bringing more cream puffs. The human cuisine would be well-represented.

Ratiri felt a need to bring up medicine post-elves, and she had an idea about education. Other than that, she’d leave it up to Earlene, though part of her felt like she ought to be doing more, somehow. She couldn’t do more, however; she lacked the education or experience for that sort of thing, to her mild annoyance. Then again, while Ratiri had the education, the particulars of this were entirely outside his ken, as her gran would have said. The elves had had plenty of councils over the millennia, and Earlene could translate them into human terms. Lorna would just have to be content with that.

“D’you think she’ll even be willing to be called Lorna the Second?” she added. “I mean, I’m not sure I would, but it’s not like there’s many nicknames that could be made off’v it.” Not like Patrick, she thought dryly. That could either spawn Pat or Paddy, but Lorna? Not so much. While she was genuinely touched he’d named his kid after her, it might well make for problems later. Granted, Orla would have it even worse: Lasg’len had little Orla, while Baile had Old Orla and Young Orla, the younger being Big Jamie’s wife. Between the two villages they also had eight Micks, a good twenty Mikes, a dozen Kevins, and Christ knew how many Johns. The women had it a touch easier, though there was still a surplus of Marys and all their various variations. All things told, she and her niece would have it easy.

“We’ll find out sooner or later,” Pat said, and sighed. “If I can convince her and her mam to come. They’ve got no reason to want to go anywhere with me. Back then...I had no right to call myself a boyfriend or a da. I drank too much, I was using...I didn’t know what I was throwing away until I’d lost it. I swore, when Saoirse was born, I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. It was too late for poor Lorna, but I’ve tried to do as right by Saoirse as I can.”

“Where’s her mam?” Lorna asked, as gently as she could. She’d been wondering that since they met him.

He sighed again. “I don’t know. Saoirse, she wasn’t planned, and her mam never wanted kids, but we didn’t have the money to go to London, and...I wanted this one. I wasn’t sorry we couldn’t go, but Madie...I can’t blame this on her, though. Not really. She had something wrong with her, something that drove her to the drugs, though she managed to cut those off while she was up the yard. I don’t know if it was depression or bipolar disorder or what, but she wouldn’t get it treated.” Shaking his head, he added, “Basically, it wasn’t so straightforward as her just walking out.”

Jesus. Lorna hugged him, because what else could she do? She knew what it was, to change -- to go from being a loser to building something real. Unfortunately, she could express none of that. All she could do was hug.

“I’ll find Lorna,” he said, “but I’ll need one’v those respectable types to go with me to talk to her. She won’t listen to me, but she might listen to one’v them.”

“We’ll handle it, Pat,” Lorna assured him. “Don’t worry.”

But Earlene was coming now; the rest of this conversation would have to wait.

Earlene cast a glance at Pat that hid mild concern. While he was welcome here, part of her fretted, just a bit. Unlike Lorna, who’d had well over a year to learn about the history of the elves, their language, and in general immerse herself completely in her surroundings, she was acutely aware that Pat had none of that essential background knowledge. He was quite literally dropped, as of this moment, into an alien culture he’d only heard about not two weeks ago for the very first time. And even the five of them, their original core group...well, just look at the upheavals they were still capable of having because of still struggling to understand each other’s perspectives on a deeper level.

Sure, humans and elves seemed similar enough when you were viewing only surface realities...but to go deeper was to perceive the sometimes profound differences that only time and experience could reveal. Still...his demeanor seemed far more modulated that Lorna’s had been in the beginning; and he did have his sister to translate, so to speak. Perhaps that was the part that caused the concern. While she loved Lorna, recent events had shown just how easily Things Elven could be perceived in some other manner than what she or one of the elves would derive. Oh well. It was just a meeting, and would be the first of many. “They should all be here soon,” Earlene smiled. “Everyone got the agenda days ago by email and...we’ll see how it goes. At least the food will be a hit, even if the agenda isn’t.”

Lorna laughed. “Bribe them with food. Not the first time I’ve seen that done, and probably not the last, either. All right, Pat, that means you scram,” she added. “You can meet Mairead after everything’s over, so everybody’s got some entertainment.” If he met her beforehand, they’d both be completely distracted, as would everyone who knew her and Lorna. “Lurk outside a doorway or something, if you want to see how this works, but there will always be more meetings if you don’t feel like it this go-round.”

“Think I’ll just lurk,” he said. “Even if I only get some idea, it’s better than none.”

Earlene’s brows arched a little to realize that Pat would not, after all, be in visible attendance but she knew Lorna well enough to realize to shut it and move along. All the arses were in their seats more or less on time, and at five after the agreed-upon hour Earlene rose. “The Council meeting is called to order at 6:05 on July 5th, 2017,” she announced. The tedium of roll call and the approval of the previous minutes went smoothly, as little enough by way of agenda had even existed for that. Which allowed them to move quickly on to their first agenda items. “As you can see, every additional item for the organizational chart has already been added. Please take a moment to look for and locate what each of you personally mentioned; there is always a possibility I missed an email or...something.”

All eyes turned reluctantly to the mass of Post-Its, to see everything from Lorna’s suggestions about adding foreign language preservation...to their eventual academic curriculum...to Thalion’s insistence on a program of physical fitness and training that he felt would by necessity precede any attempts to train the humans in a military capacity. Apparently he and a few other ellyn had made three or four visits to the village pub, and had been unimpressed by that aspect of human civilization. When no one spoke a word after a suitable length of time, she continued. “First agenda item, from Ratiri. Provisions for medical care after the plague begins, with a view to the time the elves depart from here. Ratiri, please elaborate so that you don’t have to fix everything I will manage to state incorrectly.” With a smile of humor, Earlene took her seat.

Ratiri rose. “Obviously, we won’t be able to have the level of care we do in current society,” he said, “but we need to maintain our ability to do simpler things, like setting broken bones and suturing wounds. While it’s unfair to ask anyone to suffer an injury for long when Thranduil is here, we ought to practice on any wound before he heals it. Unless some of our diaspora have also studied medicine, Indira and I are it for doctors, and Nuala is our only nurse. We’ll need the ability to make natural pain killers, which means somehow procuring opium poppies to grow in the greenhouses. Either others need to attend medical school in the intervening years, or many will need an unofficial course in first aid.”

“I strongly suggest a few of our younger people go to med school, too,” Indira said. “If any of them have the drive and the constitution for it, we can use all the personnel we can get. We also ought to start hoarding medical textbooks, and those supplies that will keep well prior to the plague. Once formal schooling is no longer available, they’ll have to train at home, so to speak.”

Bridie raised her hand. “Jack and I are both licensed chemists, so we have some basic knowledge already. Medical school just isn’t an option for both of us, not with two children, and at my age I’m not sure I could succeed at it anyway.”

“So long as you can know what you’re doing, I don’t know that a full MD course is necessary,” Ratiri said, “but we’re going to need surgeons, and we’re going to need to be able to train new ones.”

Mairead looked at Big Jamie. “Most’v ours’re old enough to finish med school before the plague hits, but that’s no guarantee they’ll have the aptitude or the stomach for it. There’s plenty’v other young people in Baile, though, who’d be about the right age. We’ll have to have a meeting there, and see what can be done about it. It’s not everyone who can handle being a surgeon.”

“Indeed it’s not,” Ratiri said. “I saw people wash out of medical school when it came to surgery classes. Some couldn’t even manage autopsies.” He almost didn’t. Autopsies were taught in groups, using cadavers that had been donated to the school, and some sadistic bastard had given his group a seven-year-old girl. They’d managed it, but he was not the only one who had cried, nor who had gone home and got very, very drunk. And yet in the end it had led to his specialty: he’d wanted to keep more children from winding up on a med student’s slab. There had been many he couldn’t save, but so many had survived, too. It had made it all worth it, for a while. Eventually, the loss of those he couldn’t save had worn him to the bone.

“What about things like C-sections?” Lorna asked. “If I’d been in the human world and not had one, I’d’ve died.”

“Cesarean sections are a very old surgery,” he said. “We would need plasma and the right equipment, but so long as the incision is cleaned and cared for, they’re actually not that difficult.” He was not going to mention that if someone hemorrhaged, even modern hospitals could lose them. Here, without Thranduil, ‘could’ would be ‘would’.

“That brings up something else,” Bridie said. “Once the elves’ve left, we’re not going to have anything like the prenatal care we have now. Sooner or later, even if we’ve got ultrasound machines, they’ll break. We’ll go back to being unable to diagnose a whole host of complications we can now. Childbirth will go back to being risky, and we need to prepare for a lot of women not being willing to risk it. And with a population as small as ours’ll be, we need to figure out some way around that. Even if it means eventually hunting for more survivors.”

“Even if every woman was willing to have five kids, we’d still have an issue,” Ratiri sighed. “A thousand-odd isn’t anywhere near enough to sustain any given species. Five thousand is an extremely conservative estimate; ten would be much better.”

“And that would be even without so many in Baile already being related. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was also the case in Lasg’len,” Indira added.

Bridie groaned. “It is,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“But that’s not something worth worrying about now,” Ratiri said. “We have more immediate concerns on our hands.” Though it was something they were going to need to consider before it could become a major problem. There was also the dark, disturbing possibility that any survivors of the plague would still be carriers, who could infect those not immune. That was a thought he didn’t even want to contemplate, so he wasn’t going to. Not yet.

“I think you might be overlooking an opportunity,” Earlene chimed in. “My guess is Baile alone has dozens of people who work with livestock. They do surgery already, to a one. When your cow needs sutures or castration, when a farm dog breaks a bone...they're not going to A&E. Every farmer I ever knew treats their own stock, scraping and wheedling medicines and supplies where they can. Take the time to train some of them. Trust me, they already have the dexterity and they're not going to be squeamish.”

“Good point,” Ratiri said. He’d lived in the city for so long that he’d pretty much forgot farmers and their relationship with their livestock.

“You’re right,” Indira said. “It’s a dying art, though, so we’ll have to have them train up more.” The young just weren’t going into farming anymore; most of the farmers in Baile were in their forties or older. It was hard work, and the market had been shite for years, until the organic movement really started to take hold.

“There is another aspect,” said Thanadir as he busily kept note-taking. “We have healing ability that does not involve magic. We will pass on our knowledge and methods to you, while there is time.”

Ratiri honestly hadn’t known just how much there would be of that; he’d been under the impression that with Thranduil, they hadn’t needed much more. There had been the cordial Lorna took while pregnant, but beyond that...well, if there was more, he’d be grateful. “Anything you can teach us would be appreciated,” he said.

Earlene looked around for any more comments, and saw only silence. “This will cross-reference under both Education and Health on the board,” she explained politely to Thranduil, who for some reason seemed to have become King of the Post-Its. “Are there any more comments on this subject?.......Then, we will move on to the second item. What progress has been made on gathering numbers for relatives of Baile, Lasg’len, and any that fall under Outsiders? That was...Mairead and…” she frowned. “Bridie.” Sitting again, she waved her hand in invitation at Mairead.

Mairead sighed. “We’re looking at at least another four hundred people...as things stand. Now, I doubt anyone wants to hear this, but the population’v both villages isn’t going to stay static. The old will die off. It’s harsh, but it’s the truth. The big problem with those outside is that a lot are married, and have in-laws. Those numbers I don’t yet know, but unless we’re really lucky, somewhere along the line we have to decide just who gets in from that angle.”

“It’s about the same with us,” Bridie said. “And the same problem: in-laws. If there are enough’v them, that could potentially get ugly. Really ugly.”

Lorna eyed them both, and figured she might as well drop this bomb. “I found my older brother,” she said. “He and his daughter are here now, but he’s going to try to find his older daughter and her mother, if they’ll come. If there’s any objections to that, they’d best get raised now.” There was no actual threat to her tone, but there didn’t need to be. Anyone who knew her knew that requesting objections was merely a formality.

Mairead stared at her. “You what?”

“It’s a long story, and you can meet him when it’s over,” Lorna said. “Point is, that’s the start’v it.”

Ratiri looked at the others, the other Outsiders. He had nobody outside of Baile, and he knew Geezer was alone, but was pretty sure the others were as well.

“Family’s all well and good,” Geezer said, “but what about people who can’t hack it? Who can’t or won’t contribute?”

“The hell does that mean?” Bjg Jamie demanded. “If you think I’m going to boot out my bipolar sister, you’d better bloody think again.”

“Pretty sure that’s not what he means,” Lorna said, trying to mediate. “Anyway, Thranduil can fix that.” She hoped, anyway. His abilities had yet to fail, at least.

Geezer sighed. He knew this was not going to go over well. “Living here is gonna be a lotta work nobody’s used to anymore. No washers or dryers, no vacuums, nothing like that. Sheer law of averages is that somebody won’t be able to deal with it. How many of us have actually tried to keep a house clean with no vacuum? Who the hell, besides me, has done laundry by hand?”

Sharley raised her hand, but said nothing. Every single one of Lorna’s old gang, including her, did too.

“We need to figure out what we’re going to do about people who wind up dead weight,” he added bluntly. “Some we can help, but others might just have attitude problems, and then what? What do we do if someone steals?”

“Kick them out,” Shane offered, staring at the ceiling and frowning. “This -- you might well think’v it as another kind’v gang, really. I had to throw a few people out over the years, but getting banished in a world where almost everyone else is dead is no bloody joke. Stealing, make them work it off or something, but if someone’s a chronic troublemaker, they shouldn’t be here.”

Lorna winced. It was harsh, but it made sense -- and when you were living in a small community with no outside government, it was pretty much their only option. “Well, whatever system we come up with, it has to be something we all understand. It can’t be anything as complex as Ireland’s laws are now; we’ve only got two solicitors between us. And I’m sorry, but even if Donal is still alive by then, I will do everything in my power to keep him from having any himself. He’s a mean-spirited little bastard who’d make trouble for the sake’v it.”

_Lorna, this is only friendly advice. Please do not be angry with me. Though I of all, after seeing Donal’s behavior at my wedding, understand what you mean, you must be very careful about statements of this kind. It is important to ensure the appearance of impartiality, whatever your personal feelings. Yes, this is ‘splitting hairs’ as you would say, but it is still an important distinction._

Earlene added on. “This is tangential to what I was going to raise as New Business for consideration. Rules and principles of community will be very important, and we cannot begin thinking about them soon enough. I agree with Geezer. There is an...attitude, a disposition, that will be necessary to being able to function in a community like this. There will be stress and irritation and unpleasant realities no matter how well we do our job here in trying to mitigate those things. Like it or not, much of our time will be spent feeding ourselves...and that means some manner of agricultural occupation as well as the processing of those products into usable form. We are blessed enough to have comfortable shelter and clothing not be an issue for us anytime soon. And yet even with that respite, there will be those that balk at the need to work so hard, do so much. Have dirty hands, at the end of each day. Coupled with the loss of all modern entertainments and conveniences, it will be a transition to which some simply will not want to adjust.”

Thranduil’s advice puzzled Lorna, but she’d learned by now that it was usually worth taking, so she went with it. Donal was a gobshite and all of Baile knew it, but oh well. Thranduil was the one who actually knew what he was doing. “I’ve got a suggestion there,” she said. “We all need some idea’v what we’re getting ourselves into in twenty years. Now I doubt any’v us even knows how to clean a fireplace, but we need to learn. The elves can’t be teaching huge numbers at once, but if two or three people come by every now and again, we could learn and help them at the same time. If we’re used to it by then, it won’t be a big shock to the system.” She already knew how to chop wood, as did plenty in Baile, but not everyone could. They needed to learn to do it properly, so nobody hacked their own foot off.

Thalion’s eyebrows raised. “I want to say something,” he said, slowly and brokenly, with a heavy accent (that muted his pronunciation of letters like the final ‘t’ in ‘want’), finally turning in mild frustration to Thanadir for help in translating. “This would be a good idea. Though we seem similar to humans in how we live, we are not the same. There are differences in how we do many things, and the more familiar you are with us, and us with you, the more it will help us to create bonds before we find ourselves forced together here out of necessity. For example, all here who are able bodied will need to learn to defend themselves. To fight, to use our weapons. This is not something even an elf learns quickly. We must start interacting as soon as possible, if we want the greatest chance at success.”

“Ratiri’s and my wedding’s as good a time as any, for all’v us to be in a big group,” Lorna said. “Us humans need to talk with the elven cooks, too. None’v us knows how to cook over an open fire anymore, though Mairead and I sort’v know how to do it on a wood stove. I know cooks can be a bit proprietary’v their kitchens, but the more people we get, the less fair it’ll be on them unless they let in some help.”

“Our four cooks are aware that they will, in time, need help,” said Thranduil. “Though they have ruled the kitchens for a very long while...you saw how many ovens and cooking areas were going unused, Lorna.” He absolutely declined to say how personally she had become acquainted with their elven ovens, not that it stopped him from smirking mightily. “There will come a day when much more of the kitchen space will once again be dedicated to food preparation. Already, we are grateful for your brother Pat; the first thing that was requested was help with food preparation; washing, peeling, chopping. When there are hundreds to feed, these are no longer simple tasks.”

Lorna quirked an eyebrow at that smirk, but said nothing of it. Yet. “Christ, even I can do that,” she said. “I wouldn’t dare try to actually cook anything, but I can chop carrots and shite.”

“Hopefully not actual shite,” Shane muttered, and winced when Orla kicked him under the table.

“Our gran did teach me how to cook on a woodstove, and over a fire, but it’s been thirty years since I’ve done it,” Mairead said. “I could probably learn again, but I can’t promise I wouldn’t fuck it up the first time or two.”

“And I would say all of us need to learn how to do laundry as the Elves do it,” Ratiri added. “How we wash clothes by hand probably isn’t quite the same.”

“I do mine in a stream,” Sharley said, “when I don’t want to go all the way to Monroe for a laundromat. That’s over an hour away, so I only do it in the winter.”

“You will find it easier here,” said Thanadir. “One of the principles we apply to living in these Halls is efficiency. It makes no sense to have each individual spending their time at tasks that a few skilled individuals can do far better for all. This is why laundry, caring for the fireplaces, cooking, guarding...we specialize and centralize for everyone’s benefit, while ensuring that others still understand how the work is performed just in case.”

Lorna hesitated, wondering if she should bring this up now or later. When in doubt, ask Thranduil. _Thranduil, I know humanity, and I know that we can’t be allowed to work it quite like that, or in a hundred years we’ll be back where we were. We saw some jobs as more...prestigious...than others, and the people with the better ones looked down on the people with crappier ones. We’ll need to swap people around on a rotation or something, so that attitude doesn’t get a chance to take root. The problem with trying to adapt humans to the elven way of doing things was that in some ways, humans really sucked. The elves seemed to be a pretty chill society, as her nephew might say; they didn’t have the same hangups that seemed almost ubiquitous in the human race._

_This is a very valid concern. I think you should begin to make notes, just for yourself, of concerns of this nature. Sooner or later the time will arrive to raise these issues, especially once these many topics are refined and polished. It is excellent thinking; one cannot govern well without a realistic assessment of those being governed._

Lorna just hoped like hell they’d cough up a mayorial system, or whatever that was called. Mayoral? Something like that. Anyway, human government. She wasn’t cut out for this shit. _I’ll do my best._

“You know what we need to bring?” Orla asked, looking at Mairead. “All our grans had ration-approved cookbooks in World War II. They still made tasty things even when there wasn’t any sugar, and most’v them had recipes meant for cooking without electricity, since a lot’v rural Ireland didn’t have back then.”

“I even know where mine is,” Mairead said.

“I think I inherited my Gran’s.” Bridie looked at Jack. “We’ve got that somewhere, right?”

“Probably, but I’ve got no idea where. Some box in the garage.”

“Boy, there’s another thing,” Lorna said. “Spices. They won’t last forever. Salt and pepper might go back to being worth more than gold.”

“Hickory,” Sharley said, picking at her cuticles. “Boil it dry and you get this kinda salty...goo. Won’t work for cooking, but it still flavors good.”

“Aran Thranduil allows us to tap the birch trees for syrup,” Thanadir commented. “Though it is not the same as the sugar Earlene has introduced us to, it is a sweetener. We also know how to keep bees for honey.”

“You’d think salt could be had from the coast,” Earlene said. “In the states it’s made from places they let seawater into big ponds to evaporate. Though, I’ve no actual idea. But those would be sensible items to stock for the long haul. Someday they’ll be depleted, but having them will make the transition easier, I’d think.”

“That does bring up something I really didn’t want to think about, though,” Ratiri said. “The plague ought to burn itself out in relatively short order, and leave the few naturally immune alive. What is entirely possible, however, is that they will not be truly immune at all, but be asymptomatic carriers. And if that’s the case, should we run into any, we need to be prepared for the possibility that they could infect us.”

Most people around the table looked at each other blankly. Even Indira, and she was another doctor. No one said a word, because no one was certain what to say. What did that even mean? Earlene wondered. Was he saying they had to shut themselves off from outsiders permanently, on account of this risk? If that was the case, their eventual die-off seemed almost assured. Hadn’t he just said, we need to find outsiders in order to have a way to increase not only their numbers but their diversity? Baffled, the only thing she knew for sure was that this was not her profession and lay far outside her scope of knowledge.

Thranduil, however, was more practical. “What would one do, against such a possibility?” he asked.

 _Figures,_ Earlene smiled to herself. _All the males on Earth, and I get the one that would actually stop at the gas station and ask directions. No wonder I like elves better._

“The only way we’re going to find out is to go and find a survivor or two,” Ratiri sighed, “and we’d need you with us, just in case. Maybe we meet them and nothing happens -- maybe immune really will mean immune, and we don’t have anything to worry about there. But if not, and one of us gets sick, you’re on hand to heal it. If that does happen, though, we’re going to need a vaccine, before we can mingle with outsiders. Which we would find ourselves trying to make in the equivalent of a BSL1 lab. Because that won’t be dangerous.” Impossible, more like.

Indira rolled her eyes. “It would be easier to just remain isolated.”

“Except for the bit where we would inbreed ourselves into extinction in four or five generations. Can’t forget that,” Ratiri retorted.

Thranduil hesitated before deciding to speak. “I do not fully understand your...terminology,” he said. “But...how many persons from outside our community would you feel you would need to see are incapable of transmitting this illness before you would feel satisfied that there is no danger? It would be possible to quarantine newcomers here. Unpleasant though it may sound, we do have isolated cells. While they are not luxurious, neither are they uncomfortable. If another volunteered to be exposed, I would be able to determine if the illness was beginning long before that one became sick.”

“Ratiri, don’t you bloody dare,” Lorna said immediately. “If you try to volunteer for that, I will truss you up like a bloody pork roast and lock you in the toilet.”

“Yes, thank you, Lorna,” he said, feeling somewhat guilty, since he’d been about to offer that himself. “If we could find five unrelated individuals from both villages who would be willing to be exposed, it would be, I think, the minimum needed.” The very minimum, but he wasn’t sure they’d even find that many. “As for outsiders...quite honestly, I’m not sure. This is all assuming the disease doesn’t mutate, but I suspect it won’t get a chance. It will kill everyone outside too quickly.”

“I will volunteer, when the time comes,” Earlene said. “I am not concerned about my safety, for a number of reasons. But this raises something that might be worth proposing as a Rule of Community. When the plague has passed, any outsiders coming to our community, regardless of the reason or the length of intended stay, must submit to a quarantine of this nature. Perhaps when twenty of them come, and nothing happens, we can feel more secure. But until something...like that, we would be foolish to risk it. And I believe ‘Quarantine’ will be a Post-It under ‘Health.’”

“You’re entirely right,” Ratiri said, though he really didn’t like the idea of her volunteering as a guinea pig. Still, it was her choice. He rubbed the back of his neck, not even wanting to consider this further. It was depressing in the extreme.

Lorna sighed. “So, this is something we all need to sit on and think about until the next meeting, so we can brainstorm ideas, but us humans’ll have to set up a government to work with the elves. Do we want to keep doing what and have now, and have a council? We could hold elections in the future, so nobody feels like they don’t have a chance at being on it, and just have a...a mayor, or something, at the head.”

“That’ll take some thinking,” Big Jamie sighed, “And we’ll have to talk it over with everyone back home. Though Thranduil, you’ve got to have some say in that, too, given you’ll be working with us.”

“I will not comment on anything about how you wish to govern yourselves or channel input to this process, but some things do come to mind. When we all begin to live together...how to say this. I do not wish to make rules and laws in abundance. But I do wish for courtesy to be exercised toward my people, in what has been their home for countless years. We are moderate, by nature. Quiet, reflective, though also joyous and merry at times. We do celebrate and enjoy ourselves, but not in the manner I have sometimes seen in the outer world. Things such as public drunkenness or brawling...not only would my people find such displays disturbing, such activities would be dangerous here.

“You have seen the archways and the places from which it would be possible to fall, in such a state. For the future, perhaps there should be a basic agreement on house rules of decorum that all can find reasonable and acceptable. Regarding the Council...the four from my realm will continue to be those who participate for the duration. While there may be a necessity for one of you to abdicate your position, we would lose a measure of continuity by doing so. I believe we would achieve the most, if we kept our commitments to this effort.”

“We’ll get ossified when we’re at the pub,” Lorna assured him. “Definitely is safer that way.” The humans...they’d still be humans, but they didn’t need to do it in the elves’ faces. Easiest for all concerned if some things were just kept separate.

Bridie sighed. “We can try to keep things as they are, for the sake’v continuity, but I can’t promise everyone else’ll be happy with that forever. We like to know we all have an equal voice, so in a few years, we might have an issue. I’d rather wait until then, though, and hope it doesn’t happen too soon.”

Earlene frowned. “That’s just it, though. Everyone does have an equal voice, and their voices can be heard by responding and commenting on the minutes they can and should be reading. If we haven’t already, we need to make sure that everyone in our communities is on the email list for Niamh’s records; if someone doesn’t use a computer somehow, then those persons need to have someone who can take initiative to ensure that information is shared. This Council is structured precisely so that no one person or group of people can have undue influence. Sitting at this table means nothing other than that a commitment has been made to work on behalf of others in the community. I believe too that these meetings should be open. If someone from...wherever, wants to come here and listen or speak personally, there is no reason that should not be possible. Or am I missing something, about what it is some might be worrying?”

“That ought to keep people happier,” Jack said. “If they know they can come in, that’ll do a lot’v good. So long as people don’t start getting the idea that anything’s secret, that should stave off a lot’v problems. We’re suspicious bastards, us humans. Best to not give us anything that looks like it could be worth getting suspicious’v.”

Earlene shook her head. “This is...my take, as an outsider with roots to Ireland, but who is not born Irish, looking in. For centuries, you’ve all had your circumstances dictated to you. Who ruled, who dragged you through the mire and oppressed you. It shaped who you are, as a culture and a people. It drove more than the half of you elsewhere. Even now, with this being its own country...do any of you personally, in these small rural towns, really have a say in how you are governed? Can you do something about it, if you feel the Gardai are a bunch’v...are abusive of their positions?

“If you don’t like a law or tax that is passed, or the absence of a law that should perhaps be there, what can you do about it? Nothing, really. Well, this is going to be our future. The future that everyone in our community has the ability to help shape. I know it’s easy to be passive about politics when you feel nothing you can do will make a difference. Christ, that sums up life in America...but I can’t emphasize enough that such thinking has to stop, with this. Twenty years from now, if someone is unhappy with some aspect of life in our society, and they sat on their arses and said nothing all this time while everyone else made the effort, I for one am going to have little sympathy.”

Big Jamie grimaced. “Yes, and no. When it comes to things like taxes and the Gardai, we’re as fucked as everyone else. It’s only at small, village-level things that we’ve got any control. Who wants to build what where, paving the streets, that sort’v thing. We kind’v understand the principle, even if there’s not much we can do except complain.”

“Which we do,” Orla added. “At great length. Especially the pensioners, but I suspect they just want something to do.”

“So long as we make sure everyone knows their concerns’re valid, I think they’ll be okay,” Bridie said. “If they know what they want to ask will get heard and addressed, sooner or later, that’s what’ll matter.”

“I have to admit,” Shane said, shaking his head, “the idea’v living totally inside the law’s a weird one. The thought’v having laws fair enough to live in is just as weird. You’re right, Earlene -- we’re what history’s made us. Hatred’v the law’s practically bred into us. Even once we had the vote, it was so often worth fuck-all. I haven’t bothered for years, and not just because I don’t like leaving too much’v a paper-trail.”

“Well, everyone’ll have to now, if they want to get anything done,” Lorna said. “So we need to get the idea that they ought to do it put into their heads as soon as possible. If this can be up and running by the time everything goes to shit, it’ll make things so much easier.”

Thanadir looked up, and smiled at Lorna. However unseemly the choice of words, her summary was very well-expressed. The seneschal imperceptibly shook his head, to himself. Lorna had an eloquence of her own, though she did not believe so. And what perhaps was most important, her words were ones to which the majority of those at this table could listen.

Earlene kept her face neutral, though inside of herself she was relieved and pleased to see their minds engaging on this very critical point of political self-determination. “Any other topics to mention?” she asked the council.

“I was going to mention languages, but that can wait until next time,” Lorna said. “It’s not exactly urgent, but we need to have a few people learn French, German, and Spanish. Someday we’ll meet explorers from one’v those countries, I’m sure, even if it takes like two hundred years, and we need to be able to communicate with them.”

“Then we will mark that as an agenda item for next time. ‘Education’ will need a subcategory entitled ‘Curriculum’, and a Post-It for ‘languages.’ We will all have to think about that as a possible subject for learning, over time. At the very least, retaining foreign language textbooks and written materials will be desirable.” More requests for New Business were met with blank stares, which seemed indicative of needing to conclude the meeting. A few more administrative details were mentioned, including a suggestion that responsibility for chairing the meetings simply travel in a circle around the room, a circle that would end with Thalion. This would give him, in theory, the better part of half a year to improve his understanding of English. And suddenly, hands were reaching for cream puffs.

“Oi,” Mairead said, “I’ve got footage’v your bridal shower, if you want me to email it to you.”

Lorna froze. She could never, _ever_ let Mairead know just how terrible that shower had been for her; even if explaining why had been an option, it would be needlessly cruel of her. Thank God her sister was behind her, and thus couldn’t see her face. “Sure,” she said lightly. “I’ll get it next time I go out to the cottage. Meanwhile, you’ve got a brother to meet.” Thank bloody God she had a distraction, because if Mairead had wanted to talk about the damn shower, she didn’t know what she’d do. As it was, this was the first time she’d outright lied to her sister, and she didn’t know what it said about her, that she seemed to get away with it.

“I,” Mairead said, and actually hesitated. Lorna was certain she had her expression mastered, so she turned. Mairead was not one for hesitation. “Is it the older, or the younger?”

“The older,” Lorna said. “We found him by pure accident, when we went to Limerick. He’s a lot like me, just less rough around the edges. He’s got a little girl here, too -- he named her Saoirse, after Mam. Kid looks so much like me it’s downright creepy.”

Her sister blinked, and Lorna realized she probably wouldn’t have factored a kid in. “Where are they?”

“Somewhere lurking outside the door, probably,” Lorna said, snorting. “C’mon. I’ve warned him you look like Mam, so hopefully that won’t throw him too much.

Mairead followed her, cream puff in hand, seemingly forgotten. Never one to waste food, Lorna took it from her, and ate it with undisguised relish. How much better would they be, with truly fresh cream? They were delicious already, but with fresh cream they’d probably be bloody amazing.

She could put herself in Mairead’s shoes far more easily than Mairead could put herself in hers, because she hadn’t even known Mairead existed until after she’d lost Liam. Mam had never said anything about another child, or Gran, or...anything of her former life. There had been times Lorna had silently cursed their mother, even as she felt terrible for it -- the four of them hadn’t had any choice but to stay with Da when they were children, but Mam could have left, and taken them with her. Should have left. To this day, Lorna didn’t understand why she hadn’t. There were situations where an abuser could be abusive some of the time and nice enough the rest, but her da had been an unremitting gobshite. There had been no times Mam could have said to herself, ‘Oh, he’s changed, he won’t do it again’ because he never changed. The only time he was ever anything but a bastard to her was when she was pregnant with Mick. Otherwise, it was constant. He hadn’t even tried to pretend he cared, and yet Mam had been convinced that he did, and all of her children had paid for it.

But that was all long in the past. When it came to Lorna and Pat, at least, Thranduil had healed their scars, the physical and the mental. The pair of them had survived, and come out stronger for it -- but they shouldn’t have had to survive it at all.

Pat was not, in fact, lurking outside the council chamber, and Lorna suspected he’d retreated to his flat. He hadn’t had much to move, but what little he’d possessed had been worked into the place, to make it more personal to him and Saoirse. Lorna had seen the sort of things that they liked, and was determined to get them more things when she and Earlene went to town -- and if he got shirty with her over it, she’d call it twenty years of missed birthday presents. One of these days she’d take the pair of them to Dublin for clothes, and he would pick some things out, and he would damn well accept them when she bought them. If she could allow herself to drop money on a new wardrobe, he could allow her to do the same thing, and just call it an advance on his paycheck if he absolutely had to. It had only been within the last year and a half that she herself had realized just how much her damn pride had cost her over the years, and he needed to learn it, too.

She rapped on his door and Saoirse answered, and Mairead stared. “Jesus that’s...unsettling,” she murmured. Mairead had never seen Lorna as a child, but the resemblance was too uncanny even so.

“Pat’s not quite as bad, but we all looked like clones,” Lorna said. “Saoirse, this is your other aunt, your da’s and my older sister. Her name is Mairead.”

Saoirse eyed Mairead with the kind of direct curiosity only children seemed to posses. “Hi,” she said. “You don’t look like the rest’v us.”

“Well spotted,” Lorna said. “G’wan, get your da.”

Off she scampered, and Mairead shook her head. “That’s not half creepy,” she said. “She looks more like you than your kids do.”

“I’m not used to it myself, yet,” Lorna said, and shooed her sister closer to the fire. Pat, she noticed, was too frugal with his lamps, and she busied herself lighting them with her old Zippo. Even though she didn’t smoke anymore, it was the only thing she had from Liam that hadn’t wound up at the bottom of the Shannon, so it stayed with her.

The man himself appeared from his bedroom, his gently shabby clothes quite at odds with the rest of their surroundings -- just as hers had been, when first she came here. “Get on out here,” she said, waving him closer.

“All right, that’s bloody creepy, too,” Mairead said, looking from one to the other. “You look like bloody twins, except for the eyes.”

“All four’v us did,” Lorna said. “Come on Pat. Mairead doesn’t bite, though she might hit you with a wooden spoon if you try getting into the kitchen while she’s baking.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Mairead groused, some of her tension easing as she glowered her sister.

“You broke the bloody spoon,” Lorna said blandly.

Mairead’s glower grew blacker. “It was an ancient spoon. I think it was Great-Gran’s.”

Lorna gave her a dig with her toe. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“Sorry,” Pat said, approaching cautiously. “It’s just -- bloody Jesus d’you look like Mam. You could well be her double. Do our genetics just keep coughing up the same few molds, because they’re...I don’t know, lazy?”

Lorna snorted, trying to contain her laughter and failing. “We’d have to ask Ratiri that one.”

“Lorna’s talked about you,” Mairead said, ignoring her. “You’re really the only one she has talked about. She’s said you’re the only reason all the rest survived.”

Pat quite suddenly was looking anywhere but at them, hopping up onto one of the oversized armchairs (Lorna was obscurely grateful she was no longer the only adult who had to do that). “That’s a load’v it,” he said.

“No, it’s really not,” Lorna said. “Don’t you go thinking I don’t know how much worse you had it than the rest’v us. I don’t want to know what would’ve happened to us, without you. Earlene’s forced me to acknowledge that the things I do have actual merit, and you’re bloody well going to learn it, too.” She knew that part of his issue was a deep-seated, lifelong aversion to any kind of heavy emotional conversation, but if she could overcome that (even if it was still a work in progress for her), he could, too.

“I wanted to get you lot,” Mairead sighed, “after Mam died. I wanted to adopt the four’v you, but I was so young, and Gran was so old, and you’d all disappeared into the bloody ether by the time I even half got my ducks in a row. I didn’t even find Lorna -- when she’d lost her husband, our gran was the only next’v kin they could actually find.”

“Did you ever -- did you ever get to see Mam?” Pat asked, eying her closely.

Mairead sighed again. “Once,” she said. “I don’t think your da knew, or he wouldn’t’ve let her. I do know she never came back. I was eight, and we played in the garden, and then I listened to her row with Gran over your da. She wouldn’t leave him -- not for you, not for her, and not for me. I didn’t...I didn’t know her,” she added, staring into the fire. “Not like you did, and there were times I bloody hated her. She chose that waste’v oxygen that was your da over Gran and I. She kept you in that situation until you all ran away. I knew there were four’v you -- Gran kept track -- and I had some hazy idea’v the life she forced you to endure, all because she wouldn’t leave that...thing.”

Lorna stared at her. This was not something she’d ever heard before, in all the twelve years she’d known Mairead. She rather wished she had, because she wouldn’t have felt alone or as bad when she thought the same thing. “It really is a bit awful that one’v the few things we’ve all got in common is our mam’s shite decision-making,” she said, so morosely that Pat burst out laughing.

“When you put it that way...I suppose it’s all water long under the bridge, and there’s no changing it.”

“But that doesn’t mean we don’t want to,” Lorna said, half to herself. She knew there was no point in dwelling on what-if’s, but she couldn’t help but wonder what their lives might have been like, if Mam had kicked Da to the curb and gone to live with Gran and Mairead. How different would they all be?

_Knock it off, Lorna. There’s enough to focus on in the here and now._

That aspect of the conversation had to get abandoned when Saoirse came zooming out, and clambered up onto the back of her da’s armchair, rather like a cat. “What’d I miss?” she asked.

“Grown-up shite,” Pat said. “Enough’v that. Did Lorna ever tell you about that time we robbed all the candy out’v a corner shop when we were ten?”

Lorna groaned. No. Just...no. At least she had as many embarrassing stories about Pat as he did about her.

Pat changed the subject neatly. “Oi, about Earlene wanting a driving instructor who’s not a gobshite? At the bar, friend’v mine knows a bloke….”

***************

“So, do you want to shop in Dublin, or do you want to _shop_ in Dublin? Give me some idea so I know what to wear,” said Earlene, staring at the clothes she had in her wardrobe in the Halls and wondering if she didn’t need what was in her dresser at the cottage instead.

“I’m not sure what the difference is,” Lorna admitted. “You mean, do we want to make a giant production’v it? Because I’ve never actually done that. I’m not sure how it works.” Jesus, she sucked at...woman-ing.

“I meant more like, if you want to go into the kinds of shops where people acted like gobshites to you, there is a way to stop that from happening. But it involves looking the part. Or rather, looking like you can afford what they’re selling. It’s shite and shallow and it shouldn’t matter if you’re wearing cutoffs or a designer dress, but it’s amazing how differently a few little things suddenly get you treated much better. Which is all to ask, if we’re shopping for nicer stuff or just kicking around? It’s all the same to me.”

Lorna grinned. “Let’s go where the gobshites were. It’ll be a novel experience, going in there and not getting glowered at. Nobody’s ever treated me nice in a proper shop before.” The question was, what did she have to wear? Her clothing, even her nicer clothing, tended more toward the functional. There was always the velvet tunic she’d bought for New York, the one with all the silver roses. That was probably her best bet, honestly. And although she wasn’t actually going to say this, she wanted to see how Earlene dealt with people closer to her own social strata.

“If you’re worried, you can get by with more ordinary clothing. The one thing that will solve your problem is wearing that necklace Thranduil gave you. People who know better things can recognize the real deal from imitations in a heartbeat. All it takes is a scarf, if you’d rather not have it seen on the street. Actually, the clothes I need are at the cottage, though I don’t need long to change. Do you want to meet at the Gates? I just need a few minutes to turn my hair into something that doesn’t look like Elfland.”

Lorna laughed. “That sounds good, although I can’t promise nobody’ll think I just stole the thing,” she said. She hadn’t worn it in ages, but she might as well; Earlene knew what she was on about. Off she went, hunting down some leggings, a dark red, button-down tunic, and her boots, because comfortable footwear was an absolute must. The necklace didn’t look too odd when paired with the tunic, and it was a lot subtler than Earlene’s bling, which would attract attention and then some. Earlene could actually pull that off, however; Lorna was just too small. She threw her hair into a tidier braid, grabbed her satchel, and headed back for the Gates. When was the last time she was this excited over something so simple? Quite honestly, she couldn’t remember.

Earlene kept it simple; a flowing tunic that did a more than decent job hiding her very small baby bump, leggings, and a very nice pair of leather boots. An airy scarf in case she didn’t want the world seeing her necklace, and a light wrap just in case weather happened. Because, Ireland. A little backback purse later, and they were in Lorna’s Charger. Neither one of them were about to mention that this was the Day They Should Have Had, Take Two. Thranduil and Thanadir had been mysteriously absent when they left, though she did hear his ‘Have a nice time, meluieg.’ She grinned. He was probably somewhere sitting on poor Thanadir. Poor Thanadir, Earlene mused. Though she was not about to mention this to Lorna, she had talked at length with the old elf and agreed on one thing. He had carefully adjusted her boots, sewing in hidden leather sheaths. They had long ago determined that for whatever reason, mithril did not trigger modern metal detectors. Why, she had no idea, but after all the places they had passed through traveling to and from the States without her necklace setting the equipment off, it was obvious enough. Two flat mithril throwing knives were hidden, one at the instep of each boot. “I know you are protected by the King’s necklace, meldis,” he had told her. “But I would feel more at ease knowing you carried these as well.” They weren’t legal here in Ireland, to have, but that wasn’t going to stop her. Given how well hidden and slender they were, it would take unimaginable circumstances for them ever to be discovered. Or used.

“So, I need honeymoon ideas,” Lorna said, once they were on the road. “I was thinking the seaside, but Ratiri’s already seen the Irish seaside. What constitutes a romantic getaway? Because if it’s left up to the pair’v us, we’d wind up in some crap motel in Buttfuck, Nowhere, with a leaky roof and no cable.” Which had been just fine when it was her and Liam, but she wasn’t twenty-five anymore.

“Well...this is outrageous, but this is your honeymoon, for Christ’s sake...and I thought you might not have found a place. I reserved a spot at Ashford Castle for you both; I just hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to mention it yet. It would be our present to you both...and honestly after the last clusterfuck, I’d really feel a lot better about life if something associated with Thranduil and I actually went right for you instead of... erm, yeah.”

Lorna didn’t actually run off the road, but she swerved a bit. She knew little about Ashford, save that it was a sought-after honeymoon destination and probably obscenely expensive. It was a thing whose existence she registered, but she hadn’t actually given it a whole lot of consideration, because...castle. They were loads of fun when gone to with Earlene and the Elves, but it wouldn’t have occurred to her to go to one with just Ratiri. “That sounds swanky as hell,” she said, and tried not to be automatically daunted by the idea. “And like a lot’v fun. I probably need to buy a couple more fancy tunics though, I’m thinking, so I don’t stand out too much. And I should get some shite for Ratiri, too, since I know his measurements.” The clusterfuck...it had been a clusterfuck and she never wanted to think about it again, but at least it had accomplished a few good things. After all, here were her and Earlene, on their own.

“He...surely as a doctor he owns a decent suit, right? If not, that really needs to get fixed. Dammit, why is Gino still in New York? He’d have something whipped out in a day. This place does ask that you dress for meals, a tie for men and at least no jeans for women. Come to think on it, we should maybe find some nice slacks for you. Cute ones that will look...cute, and not like you got lost at a business conference.”

Lorna burst out laughing. “He does,” she said, “but it’s ten years old and I’m not so sure it’d fit him anymore. He’s, er, gained some muscle, working on the house.” And yes, she quite enjoyed licking him. He was her fiance. Sue her. “And do they even make slacks in size short-arse? I always have a hell’v a time finding pants that aren’t leggings, unless I shop in the kid’s section.”

“You’re not the only petite woman in this world,” Earlene said drily. “There’re places to find the right things….and I’m going to start looking on my mobile right now. And ten years?...that’s a big Nope. He needs a new suit. Better yet, he needs two. It’s for a special occasion, he’s gorgeous, and I’m not having him drive off looking like he shopped in a Thrift Outlet.” She couldn’t help the memory of Thranduil and yes, even Thanadir, in their tuxedos in New York. Bad, Earlene. Delete. My poor meldir… “By the way, I’ve heard and seen loads about what you are wearing at this wedding...what about him?”

Lorna sighed happily. “Isn’t he, though? He’s the most gorgeous dweeb ever to walk the Earth. As for what he’s wearing, fuck if I can remember what any’v it’s called, but it’s close to as fancy as what I’ve got. A long black shirt and red trousers made out’v velvet, with the same kind’v embroidery overload my outift’s got.” She laughed. “Christ, I’ve been practicing walking around with all that jewelry on me, and I already know I’m going to have to sneak over to Thranduil every so often and get some telepathic headache remedy. Good grief. Indian brides must be pretty hardcore.”

“Well...don’t you get to ditch that stuff at least part way through whatever passes for a reception? I mean, tradition is great and all, but otherwise how on Earth are you supposed to enjoy any of it?”

“I do, thank bloody God,” Lorna said. “Still some jewelry, but not all’v it. At least Ratiri’s put his foot down with Doc Barry and insisted we do the vows in English, so everybody -- including me -- actually understand what the fuck we’re saying. Oh, god dammit.” She was used enough, by now, to not driving like a lunatic, but there were still times people on the motorway pissed her right off. She’d learned, however, to be passive-aggressive, rather than trying to ride someone’s arse straight up their tailpipe. Gathering speed very gradually, she merged over, passed, and merged back, going just slow enough to irritate the sod.

Earlene’s eyes flared briefly as she worried that some aggressive maneuver was about to take place, and exhaled with relief when it did not. Though, it took some seconds for her to remember to loosen her grip on the armrest. Old habits died hard. Trying to recover, she laughed. “Ha! I hear that. Reminds me of the fiasco of when I first went to the Halls. Thanadir was being Thanadir, and it wasn’t enough that I’d made my promises to Thranduil. Thanadir wanted to witness them, in bloody Sindarin, when I’d not learned three words of it yet. Like that went well,” she chuckled. “Stick with English.”

“I really don’t understand how that man -- elf -- can be so stern sometimes, and a total cinnamon roll the rest,” Lorna said. “I mean, when he’s drilling me at weapons, it’s like he’s a totally different person, and then you hand him a biscuit and he goes all Doe Eyes. Though Thranduil told me he can do that on purpose, if he feels like it. Though Christ, have you ever seen Thranduil try to copy them? It’s...no. It doesn’t work when he does it. Like, at all.”

Earlene chuckled. “The thing to realize about Thanadir is that he hyper-focuses; that’s how he is wired. Whatever he is doing at the moment, the other things that exist in life are elsewhere for the time being. It’s why he is so good at so many things, and also why probably our children and most of the human population here will be in for an eventual rude awakening. I learned from day one not to underestimate him. He’s complicated, but as honest as they come. The thing with the eyes...I’d say more than ninety-five percent of the time that is his actual expression. He only ever does it on purpose when he’s joking or teasing...I’ve never seen him do that to try to manipulate someone. It just wouldn’t be...him. And yeah, Thranduil...he’s the damn King, what does he even need doe eyes for?” Laughter at the thought of it escaped her, as she shook her head.

“That’s what twigged Ratiri to the idea that Thanadir might be an aspie,” Lorna said. “That level’v hyper-focus looked awfully familiar to him. I keep meaning to get him books on Da Vinci -- there’s a theory that he had Asperger’s, too, and I’m sure Thanadir would find his life and his work pretty interesting.” Da Vinci had been so, so bloody ahead of his time with some things, enough so that she wasn’t surprised a few crackpots had theories about time travel. “And yeah, Thranduil...needs to never try that again. Even he couldn’t keep a straight face at it -- though at least he doesn’t look like a serial killer when he tries. Ratiri insist that I do, and the sad thing is that when I tested it in front’v a mirror...well, he’s kind’v right.”

They’d hit Dublin by now, but the traffic was congesting, as it always did at the edges of the city. Too many people, and she didn’t even want to think about the fact that in twenty years, most of them would be dead.

“Okay there are supposed to be around five places near Bloom’s Lane that cater to petites,” Earlene quipped. “At least, if Yelp! doesn’t have its head up its arse. May as well try that first; the worst that can happen is some walking.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lorna said. The weather looked decent enough for now, though given that this was Ireland, there was no guarantee there. “And if the sky starts pissing later, well, that’s what pubs are for.” That seriously was what pubs were for, too; the Irish had to do something on a long, wet winter evening, and they liked to do it in company. While drunk.

Parking was a bit of a bitch, but that was no surprise. “I realize this is probably an unnecessary question, but are you going to be all right on your feet for a long while, with that sprog?”

“Not a problem at all,” Earlene smiled. “I can run for miles. A little walking won’t bother me at all. Thanks for asking, though. Jesus, you get used to the countryside, don’t you? I haven’t smelled this much car exhaust since New York.”

“Me neither,” Lorna said, somehow squeezing into a parallel spot. “It’s funny, because when I was a kid, I never thought twice about it -- and it was actually worse then, what with leaded petrol and not so many regulations on engines. Now I’ve got so used to fresh air that I don’t think I could ever live in a city again.”

“True that.”

Their first destination was in sight, and like so many things about shopping, Earlene wondered if she shouldn’t have put her effort into locating a good tailor...but that would defeat the purpose. There was no harm in just...shopping around, for awhile. Maybe something nice would come to light. “Skunkfunk,” Earlene mused. “With a store name like that, what could possibly go wrong?”

Lorna leaned over. “Ten to one it’s run by hipsters,” she stage-whispered, even as they headed through the door. With a font like that...hoo boy.

The interior proved to have hardwood floors, blinding white walls, and somewhat dramatic track lighting on the ceiling. Its wares suggested that it was not, in fact, run by hipsters; there were actually a lot of fun tunics, though she felt she might be too old to pull some of them off. They definitely belonged on someone Shannon’s age or younger. “I wish Ratiri and I had found this place,” she said, inspecting rows of jeans. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know what things cost in here, but if she found anything worth buying, she’d find out sooner or later anyway. “Are there any such things as slacks that don’t look like they got stolen from a business meeting?”

Earlene assessed the racks with a critical eye, and found the only one likely to have the aforementioned slacks. “What size are you? 0? 2?”?

“A zero,” Lorna said, grimacing a bit. Watching Earlene was actually a bit fascinating; she so obviously knew what she was doing. It was like she was on a legit mission. “Unfortunately, women’s pants can’t be sized by bloody inseam, so that’s all I can say.”

Earlene procured three pairs that appeared like they would actually fit Lorna. The pieces were astonishingly well made and….completely outrageous. She clamped her hand over her mouth. The first had completely ordinary cut and design, and was two colors of vivid green, with the dye changing somewhere near the knees. The next was festooned with zippers, giving rather an air of Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas. The last was simply deep emerald, out of what she could swear was velvet. “The thing is, I think you could carry off all of these, odd though they are. Finding a tunic that would actually work, well….”

Lorna eyed them. Why the hell not...couldn’t hurt to try them on. “That green pair, you’d need a plain black one, I’d think,” she said, eying the dye job with fascination. “That pair...hell, maybe black with rhinestones or something?” She’d never worn a rhinestone in her life, but anything black and sort of silvery would match her hair. That last pair she might be able to get more creative with, top-wise...if she could find the right things. “Am I too old to be wearing this stuff?” Lorna knew she looked young for her age, or would have, if not for her hair. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she eyed it. “Should I dye this? It ought to be all one color, I’d think, for something like this.”

“That’s up to you,” Earlene said. “I won’t lie, it will take years off; we have cultural associations about any gray hairs...but you’d best talk to your sister about what to use. There is stuff that will wash out, or henna, maybe those’d be better choices. I’ve been lucky and just haven’t needed to think about all that yet. Huh. I wonder if he can...eh, never mind that. Anyway, I was going to say that if you went with that two-toned green and a black dress...have you see the dress-over-pants trend? You’ve got just the build for it. Though, you might need to switch to something that is not Doc Martens, for shoes.”

Lorna looked at the pants, and her boots. The pants really were too fun to pass up, but… “Only if I can find other shoes that’re actually comfortable,” she said. “If it’s got a heel or a pointy toe...nope. Not willing to endure actual pain just to have shoes that look good.”

Earlene shook her head No. “You need jeweled sandals. A pair with real white crystals that you could wear not only for your wedding, but could pair with outfits of any color. I mean, there can’t possibly be footwear from Ratiri’s mam, right? And if there was, it wouldn’t fit you, would it?”

“There’s sandals, but the straps are pretty much worn through, and his mam had wider feet than I do.” Now sandals, sandals she could handle. Nice and comfy, and apparently you could bling them. Who knew. She eyed the trousers, picturing them with a black dress and glittery sandals. Sure, she was probably technically too old for that, but who cared? Not her. Either way, she still wasn’t ever going to go to a disco. Not happening.

Earlene tapped at her phone. “Go and try the two green ones on, and I’ll find some photos of the kinds of sandals I mean. I guess we can both agree that the zipperfest here is a no-go.” Her eyebrows furrowed, on seeing trousers festooned with at least fourteen zippers sewn in at random locations. If Earlene cared that the shopkeeper was listening and debating whether to come and offer assistance, she certainly wasn’t letting on. Once Lorna had disappeared into the dressing room, the woman came over….I’d guess about early thirties. The lady was dressed in clothing that was really too trendy for the many fine lines on her face, not that I want to be totally shallow, Earlene thought. Lorna probably has a decade on this one, but the point is she doesn’t look it.

In an incredibly simpering tone of voice, the saleslady wrung her hands together. “Can I help you at all?”

“You might,” Earlene replied, wondering how it was that Uriah Heep had changed gender, gone through time, and was now somehow in downtown Dublin. “Do you have a long black tunic or short black dress in a size 0 we might look at?”

Confusion washed over the woman’s face, but she nonetheless scuttled over to a different rack, procuring a hideosity that had several cut-out panels that would reveal both back and midriff. Not a word was spoken; Earlene simply shook her head No. Scuttling back, the dress was returned with apologies. “I’m really sorry, ‘tis the only one of that sort.”

“Quite alright,” Earlene smiled, not having expected success, and hoping that one of those pairs of slacks at least fit.

The green velvet trousers fit all right, but felt way too weird -- they didn’t have the give of leggings, when they looked like they ought to have. The other pair, though...they were not something Lorna would ever have tried on, had she been out by herself, but she was glad Earlene had handed them to her. They...well, they worked. Unfortunately, they didn’t at all match her tunic, but she had a black vest-top underneath, so she just wore that out to show Earlene. “I like these ones,” she said, a touch self-consciously.

“Bluvvy Jeebus, those work,” Earlene grinned, knowing Lorna would get the joke. “I’m not worried we’ll find a good tunic...but you really do have to keep those. They look fabulous on you.”

The phrase was enough to make her burst out laughing, much to the confusion of the employee. “I think I will,” she said, looking down at them. She’d just have to find somewhere to wear them, once she owned them. They’d get broken in during her honeymoon, at the very least. Scurrying back into the dressing-room, she swapped back to her normal clothes and went back out with the trousers folded over her arm. “See, I need to go shopping with you. You find stuff I’d pass right over.”

“Too many years of those damn parties like the one you got dragged to,” Earlene rolled her eyes. “I don’t miss that charade...but shopping for them taught me to think outside the box, I guess. And mom, she wasn’t one for being a clothes horse, but she drilled buying quality into me. I guess somehow it all did some good.” Earlene already knew she probably didn’t want to know the price, having eyed a few of the tags in here. So be it...that was what clothes cost, in places like this.

“These ones feel a bit weird,” Lorna said, brandishing the solid green trousers, “but these are definitely a keeper.” See, this was the kind of thing that only worked when it was just two women out together; she didn’t even want to imagine what it would be like otherwise. “If you’re ever bored, you should be a...what the fuck is the term...fashion buyer?” Of course, with all their children, none of them were going to be able to have jobs outside the forest any time soon. Lorna almost wanted to, though; the world wasn’t going to be around forever. They ought to enjoy it while they could.

Her friend smiled, never having thought of this. Though, it was an old joke around the office that Earlene was the final word on whether or not clothing ‘worked’ or not...she was known for her good taste, though it leaned toward the conservative. “What do you mean by ‘feel weird’? When you’re shopping for quality clothes that cost, don’t accept anything less than being convinced you’d want to sleep in them for a week. Possibly even request to be buried in them. It’s not like going thrifting, where it’s ok to get something meh because you know you paid only a few Euros for it and can make it work or can talk Thanadir into altering it. They should fit like a dream, feel wonderful. Anything else, and later on you’ll find a reason why they won’t ever leave your closet. You won’t want to put up with whatever bothers you about them, in favor of something you think is more comfortable. Not to mention, you’ll roll your eyes and wonder why you paid the money. Just my two cents.” Though she did like the emerald color of the second pair with Lorna’s eyes, a lot, that they cost over €250 ensured that Earlene was going to help Lorna be very picky indeed.

“They feel like they ought to be soft, like leggings, but they’re not,” Lorna said. “Which is a shame, but I try not to wear anything that isn’t comfortable. Life’s too short. Maybe I can find something else that shade somewhere else.” Even if she found nothing but these trousers, however, she’d count herself lucky. “When we hit up somewhere else, you should look into some higher-end maternity clothes. I know come the finish, you had to’ve been as sick’v wearing the same few things as I was. Hopefully with just one you won’t get the baby bump from hell, but better safe than sorry.”

Hm. Mulling that...well, it was true. The last pregnancy had been a Fail in the wardrobe department. “That’s not a bad idea. I mean, I blame a lot of that on Von Wreckage, because had we not been stuck in the Halls the entire goddamn time, I would’ve been able to be at the cottage and ordering clothes I wanted. The whole thing was not how it was supposed to be. All the movies I couldn’t watch, all the….oh what the fuck’s the difference? It happened and it’s over now, and I’m at least hoping I’ll be able to enjoy the later months with Thal...this baby, a lot more. Oh, and why not. You might as well know, his name is Thaladir. But yeah, a pretty item or three that Thanadir can copy with other fabrics, I’d like that. And there are going to be maternity leggings. Lots and lots of those…”

The shopkeeper was having a minor snit behind the counter, which Earlene was enjoying a little too much. She’d heated up some food for her lunch that smelled remarkably of Italian, but couldn’t start eating it with the two of them obviously getting ready to purchase the trousers. Totally unprofessional, and you can bloody well wait all hour for all I care. Who even smells up a clothes shop with...Jesus, is that Parmesan? “Let’s pay for this and move along to someplace that’s not serving Italian,” she commented drily. Even Nonna would think that’s bullshit.

“Thala -- you’re naming him after Thanadir?” Lorna asked. Jesus, that was sweet. “I’m betting his reaction was...cinnamon roll. Too precious for this world.” She took the trousers up to the counter, and tried not to laugh at the employee’s expression. It was not Lorna’s fault she’d chosen to bust out her lunch at exactly the wrong time. Sadly, sickly sweet smiles were just not in Lorna’s arsenal, but whatever. She passed over her card with a certain amount of generalized amusement, and a moment later had her trousers in a glossy green shopping bag.

“Yes. I don’t know if he’d want this known but...he confided in me that he always wanted children but didn’t want to be married. I think that about killed me. I felt so, so sorry for him...and then I realized, I didn’t have to. He’s as much a parent to our kids as Thranduil is...the least I could do is acknowledge him in our family, that way. Plus, I liked the name.”

Their path took them to three more trendy shops, one of which yielded the perfect black short dress to go with Lorna’s new trousers, and the last coughed up a pair of red leather sandals set with Swarovski crystals that caused even Earlene to feel some envy. They were really, really pretty. And while Earlene had decided not to go out of her way, when a swanky maternity shop presented itself...some long sleeved cotton shirts in solid colors went into the basket, as did a few tunics with fun patterns and irregular hemlines. If one lacy item meant for private time also was tossed in when Lorna was busy looking at baby carrying wraps across the shop, who was to know? Thranduil deserved a treat or two, not that any such garment was expected to stay on for long. When all was paid for, Earlene commented, “You know, it only recently dawned on me that if I didn’t have a half-elf in the oven, this kid might show up on Christmas Day? Sure god, I’m glad to avoid that. It’s bad enough Allanah is stuck with being a Christmas baby.”

“God, no kidding,” Lorna said, wrestling with her bags. “One’v the kids in my grade was a Christmas baby, and spent her whole life hearing, ‘oh, this is for your birthday and Christmas’. And did she ever get a birthday party? No. At least we can afford to give Allanah both.” In such an economically depressed area, there just hadn’t been enough money in most families to buy double the present, but that didn’t mean it sucked any less for the kid.

“Yeah. In a way, I like it almost better with the elves...they are not really so focused on Christmas, and I like the idea that if they keep their celebrating to Yule Eve, it makes Christmas day more for Allanah. I just want her to know she’s special, poor kid. It kills me to know her da thought so little of her...even though in the end it was quite literally his loss. Jerk.”

“Knowing he was related to my da...explains a lot about him, honestly,” Lorna said. “I really have to wonder about the original Aidan Donovan. Was there actually something wrong with him? I know that my da’s da was a piece’v work himself -- he had the eyes, too, and he did what I used to.” Sunny little Allanah’s were such a bright blue, lucky girl. “I think Sharley’s really latched onto her. Allanah must remind her of Marty.” Marty, whose father should not be named.

“I’ve wondered the same myself,” Earlene said. “As much as I want to believe that it was all a bunch of shite and prejudice against the working poor, what if there really was something wrong with the boy? Or if a small Something Wrong became a huge Something Wrong, after the trauma of being shipped back to Ireland like a sack of grain in the cargo hold? We’re not likely to ever know, but that the family seems to have this...Gobshite Gene…” she shook her head. “D’you know’v a decent pub around here?”

“The Gobshite Gene...I like that,” Lorna said. “And pubs...Grogan’s has the best toasties, and you’ve not yet had a proper Irish toastie. Hopefully not too many tourists, but it’s Dublin, so you never know.”

“Ha ha! Even Thranduil liked those, or at least, whatever he had in Scotland; he said it was the same name. Toasties. And, I read this article about drinking and pregnancy that was very illuminating. I’m definitely having a Guinness. It was basically saying that all this stuff about not drinking at all in pregnancy, the studies that were done looked at people that drank, well, way too much. When it was all broken down, there was absolutely no correlation between problems for a baby, and having something like one beer or wine a week. It was people who were binge drinking or otherwise consuming a lot more...I mean Jesus, is that really a surprise? Don’t have eight beers running, if you’re pregnant?”

“Christ, I wish I’d known that when I was up the yard,” Lorna grumbled. “Couldn’t’ve been Guinness, I’d’ve been sick, but still. Guinness is a drink and a meal all at once -- you know, years ago they tried to say Guinness was good for you? That ad campaign didn’t last long.”

Earlene laughed. “Well, there are some who say beer is liquid bread...and they’re not half wrong. But...not exactly a stand-alone diet.”

“Not at all,” Lorna laughed. Once they reached the Charger, she loaded all their bags in the back, as tidily as she actually could. “Not even when you’re not up the yard. Though Christ, when I was younger, there were times it was close to a stand-alone. I look back now and wonder how I ever did it.”

“I missed all that, for better or worse. I’ve only even been drunk once...that was all it took. It wasn’t something I wanted to repeat.” Grimacing, she remembered her one early college experience in over-imbibing at a party. “No, thank you.”

“This might sound terrible,” Lorna said, climbing into the car, “but the first time I got drunk I think I was...ten? Eleven? Pat nicked something that tasted like paint thinner from some corner shop, and the three’v us -- him, Siobhan, and I -- got ossified off our faces. The morning-after was so bad I didn’t drink again until I was fifteen. Though honestly,” she added, considering, “it’s not actually that terrible. It’s not like America, where teenagers aren’t allowed to drink.”

“I just can’t handle being that sick, just for being drunk. It is completely not worth it to me. There are times I’ve wondered if I’m affected more, for all other people seem to not mind the hangover so much. More power to them, but once was enough.” She thought a bit more. “We drank at home, y’know, at family meals. It wasn’t this big mystery to me, having alcohol. I never really cared, because it was always around. When I finally overdid it, it was in college, at a party. I got reminded in a hurry why I didn’t care too much for parties, either. I was just always...different, that way. Not really liking to be around others much. I guess it did well enough when it came to making good grades. I got teased sometimes, but I learned to ignore that early on. And….Aidan, it wasn’t like he and I were about to go have fun together. Not in a million years...”

“Some people get worse morning-afters than others,” Lorna said, pulling out into traffic. “I’m sure Ratiri could tell us why.” She snorted. “That anyone’d tease you for not wanting to be around people all the time...Jesus. I always had people around, and I loved most’v them, but what was the first thing I did after Gran died? Moved into her cottage, where I could be alone. It was the first time in my life I’d ever lived alone. And between you, me, and the engine, there’s times I do miss having a bit’v solitude. Pretty impossible when you’ve got kids, unfortunately.” At least they had all that elven child care. She’d probably have lost her mind without Maerwen.

“You know, Thanadir says he’s always wanted children,” Lorna added, merging, “but pretty soon he’ll have more than I think even he can deal with. And yet I somehow think he won’t mind.”

“He won’t. That’s how he is. This is the happiest he has been in most of his long life, which is endearing and tragic, all at the same time. I think that’s true for both of them. They’ve both spent so very long just...fulfilling their functions. Now it’s all a little less complicated, and they can have some personal happiness. I’m glad for it.”

“I told Thranduil the other day that I don’t know why humans kept fighting over thrones so much, centuries ago,” Lorna said. “Being a monarch is a shit job that’s a lot’v work and not much else, aside from better food and a comfier bed -- except it’s not even that in the Halls, because all the food’s good, and all the beds I’ve sat on are soft.”

Earlene’s head tossed back as she laughed. “We owe that to how good of a monarch he was. Is. He provided generously for his people, then and now. My understanding is that while none of the elven realms suffered, those in the Woodland Realm enjoyed a particularly high standard of living. Way beyond just food, clothing and shelter. I appreciate that about him. He didn’t have to do all that, but he did.”

“Of course he did,” Lorna said, resisting the urge to honk at the gobshite in front of them. “He got fuck-all in the way’v support from his parents -- because when he’s talked about his da, there’s a suspicious absence'v mention of his mam -- so he tried to give what he didn’t get. People with abusive parents either turn out just like them, or do their best to be any other way.” She had to admit, she was inclined to be somewhat prejudiced against Thranduil’s mother, even though she knew nothing about the elleth; her own mother had stood by while her da was...her da, and it sounded very much like his mam had done the same.

“He’s talked to me about his mother,” Earlene said, doubting there was much (if anything) she could tell Lorna about her husband to which he would object. “I think she was terrified of Oropher. It took her...far too long...to decide to show a pair of tits and stand up to him. While I wasn’t there to see it...I blame her. If he killed me for it, I’d stand up to Thranduil if I thought he was an abuser. I’d go down fighting to keep that from happening to any of my children. That a mother could stand by and watch that...it isn’t something I can accept or condone, though I’m not so stupid as to not realize that it happens that way.”

“Sounds way too much like my mam,” Lorna sighed. “Except my da smacked her around, too. I just...without being able to read the mind’v someone like that, I’ll never understand it. This is probably bloodthirsty and unhealthy, but if I was married to someone who abused our kids, I’d kill him and bog him with maybe half a second thought. Somewhere...something went wrong with my mam, somewhere, and I’ll never know what it is now. She grew up in such a normal, loving home, and then she took up with my da...well, it’s all history now. Still, if Oropher’s grave actually existed anymore, I’d go have a wee on it. I pissed on my da’s, and Christ was it cathartic.”

With a profound sigh, Earlene shook her head. “Something else had to be wrong, there. And I don’t know what it is. I mean...you realize, I have to face the possibility that some day I will meet him? I don’t really want to. And I know how I’ll feel, no matter what. But if there is one thing my career taught me...I’d listen first. There is always another side, god knows. But I can’t even imagine Oropher’d be released from the Halls of Mandos unless he had...reformed. I can’t imagine half the things I’m going to have to...you know, fuck this. There has to be something more cheerful to talk about. Like toasties. I must be hitting the hungry phase.”

“This isn’t cheerful, precisely, but it wound up hilarious,” Lorna said, hunting for parking. “So, Mairead gave me Photoshop, and I took this picture I’d taken’v Thranduil and made his eyebrows the same color as his hair. It looks so freaking weird.” She was strongly tempted to turn it into a birthday card, or...something. It really was odd, how having his hair and eyebrows match somehow looked more unnatural. “Also, I never really noticed, but he has better eyelashes than I do. Not fair.”

“Oh, I have to see that,” she grinned. “Then again, he’d look good in a sack, as far as I was concerned, but still it’s got to be interesting. It’d be hilarious to print it out and leave it lying about until he notices it.”

“I did not realize just how much the eyebrows keep him from looking like a ghost. He looks more like a...like a Kabuki mask, but not in a bad way -- all right, you bastard, get out’v my parking spot,” Lorna growled, lurking like a lurking thing until the Volkswagen in her coveted slot drove off. “You’ve got to understand, I do register him as pretty, it’s just...that’s all. I realized a while back that I’ve only ever been truly attracted to two people in my entire life. Everyone else is just...art, basically.”

Not sure what to comment on this observation, Earlene decided it was best mulled over food. Though, there was one thing she could manage with humor: “Art is good. As is this parking spot,” she said enthusiastically. “God I could eat a side of beef. Funny how quickly I managed to forget all these little phases.” Once inside Grogan’s, she plunked herself down. “D’you mind if I hog the spot that has a backrest?” The decor was charming, and minimalist, with small tables and plush navy patterned barstools and benches. Guinness and menus were requested without a second’s hesitation. The place was very small inside, cozy, and they were obviously here before anything resembling the after-work crowd could arrive. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to have a cider, because I’ve not had a decent one in over a year.”

“Be so, so glad you didn’t -- don’t -- have Ratiri breathing down the back’v your neck,” Lorna said, eying the menu. “I was about ready to lamp him out with his own arm come the finish. I know he meant well and all, but Jesus bloody Christ...for a while there I was tempted to get a hysterectomy after the twins, just to make bloody sure it’d never happen again. Ratiri and Th-- Fionn told me it was a bit extreme.” Dammit, had to remember their human names...then again, out here, in a Dublin pub, she doubted anyone would notice even if she did fully slip up. “What kills me is my gran was my size, and she went through that four times, although none’v hers were ever twins. They all lived, too, though Mam was a shoebox baby.”

Earlene laughed. “Wouldn’t’ve worked. I probably eat better than he does. And not that it’s any of my business, but even I wanted to thwack him a time or two. I could understand wanting to do the best for the babies but...we had...Fionn. It wasn’t like anything was going to go off on account of a basket of chips and ketchup. And, these ham and cheese toasties sound amazing.”

“I think he felt a bit guilty for getting me up the yard to begin with, honestly,” Lorna said, and had to agree. You couldn’t go wrong with cheese in a toastie. “See, I’d been told I was sterile, years ago, so I didn’t figure we’d need any birth control. He didn’t know that, though; he just wasn’t thinking, but we were drunker than lords. Of course he wasn’t thinking. We just wanted each other’s trousers off, and that was that.” When the waiter arrived, she ordered the toasties and a pint, grinning and cracking her ankles. Pub food. Dublin pub food. Not as good as Big Jamie’s, but nothing was.

“Well that’s silly,” Earlene frowned. “There’s no way you could’ve known. Either’v you. And trust me, I’m plenty acquainted with not thinking. I won’t even tell you how long it took me to consider whether or not Th-- dammit, Fionn, could get me pregnant, and I had no excuse of being under the influence. Oh well. Doesn’t matter. But...I guess I understand a little better why you went white as a sheet when Thanadir...noticed your condition. I felt so sorry for you, though I was confused. At least when I had my first go around, I knew it was coming.” While they conversed, another woman, not much greater in stature than Lorna, entered the pub to sit alone at the bar. No particular mind was paid to her, except that Earlene was seated where she could notice her….and that she was unusually attractive.

Lorna snorted. “I have to admit, part’v me was just stunned Thanadir decided to hug me for what I thought was no reason. And yeah, that...I love them, and I’m glad I’ve got them, but they weren’t planned. I was terrified’v what it’d do to Ratiri’s and my relationship, since it barely qualified the word at that point. I mean, I knew he’d never leave, but I wasn’t so sure -- oh, hell, I don’t know how to put it. It’s all worked out for the best is what mattered, and we’ll have six kids roughly the same age. Though part’v me’s afraid for when both sets’v twins’re old enough to resent sharing a birthday.”

“Jesus. I didn’t even think about that...some mother I am. Well, they’ll get the best of cakes and cookies, and I’m sure decent presents too. Somehow I doubt they’ll suffer; I didn’t share my birthday with anyone else but it wasn’t like I had fifteen thousand gifts; my family wasn’t like that. They didn’t try to buy us off, for lack of better words. I swore when I got Allanah that she’d not be a spoiled brat for all her da left her money. I want my kids to grow up with a sense of gratitude and not feeling entitled. Especially with what we know...it wouldn’t serve them well in future.” Their food arrived too, and as Earlene bit into the magnificent grilled sandwich, she frowned to see that two men had come into the pub and had seated themselves on either side of the attractive woman at the bar. And to all appearances, their presence was not at all welcome. Very quietly, Earlene spoke. “Check out what’s going on behind you, if you can do it without being obvious.”

Lorna peeked over her shoulder as subtly as she could, and frowned. “Gobshites,” she muttered. “You think we ought to pull a rescue?

“Yeah. She’s our good friend Molly. Be right back.” In a fluid motion, Earlene marched up to the woman and put a friendly hand on her shoulder. “Christ, I’m sorry we didn’t notice you come in, we’d so gotten to talking! We’ve just got the table over there. Not to mention, we found the book you were asking for the other day, Lorna’s got it with her. You ready?” Only then did she appear to notice either of them men. “Oh, sorry to interrupt and all but, you know, girl’s time.” Thankfully, the woman had the brains to go along with this ruse, and allowed herself to be gratefully led over to the chair next to Lorna and plunked down. Without skipping a beat, Earlene ignored the glares of the men as she returned to the bar to grab the woman’s drink and return it to her.

“Well,” she said, seating herself. “I’d say give it a minute, and us girls can have a grand time.” Raising their glasses, they all clinked them in celebration of nothing in particular.

It took every ounce of willpower Lorna had to keep her laughter to herself. “That,” she said, low, “was brilliant. And so much better than I’d’ve managed it.” She looked at the woman -- perhaps ten years younger than Earlene, pale and auburn-haired, with eyes as blue as Allanah’s. “I’m Lorna, and if those gobshites ask, I’ve been your best friend since we were twelve.”

“I’m Maire,” the woman said. Her accent suggested Cork, not Dublin. “And thank you. Wasn’t sure what I was going to do about that pair.” Maybe she was even younger than Lorna thought.

“I know what I’d like to do about them, but I probably won’t have to. Have you ordered anything yet?”

Maire shook her head, uncertain, and Lorna waved a hand.

“Don’t worry about it -- your food’s on us. If you stay as long as we do, we can leave together, and keep those cretins away.”

“Earlene,” she introduced herself quietly. “And, we ladies need to stick together. What mothers’r thinking, to raise sons that behave like a pair of cave trolls. It’s beyond me.”

“Seems like you find that sort in every pub,” Maire said, “but I swear it’s worse now. Normally I don’t go for a drink on my own in the city, because’v that.”

She looked at Lorna. “Now, I know you’ve got to be from here, but Earlene, did you move, or are you on holiday?”

Lorna smiled approvingly. The more naturally they talked, the more the gobshites would buy it, or so she hoped.

“Moved here; we both live over in County Clare. I’m from New York but my gran came from here, Belfast, about a hundred years ago when she was a little girl.” She was about to ask where Maire lived, when the aforementioned cave trolls, after several backward glances to their table, actually had the gall to approach them. One on the side of Lorna, the other between her and Maire. Maybe it was the hormones, maybe it was the day, but she was having none of it. Rising from her seat, both were looked in the eye but at this point Earlene kept her silence.

It was probably wrong, just how much Lorna hoped she’d have a chance to lamp one or both of these twats. “Don’t worry about it,” she said to Maire. “We’ve got this.” Well, at the moment she was content to let Earlene have this; Dublin pubs weren’t quite the same as those in more rural areas. Fights were not encouraged so much, and she had zero desire to get booted out when she hadn’t finished her toastie. Earlene was far better with her words, so Lorna settled for a glower. Should that not prove enough, she was at just the right height to slug at least one of them in the langer. Poor Maire did not look terribly encouraged, but she’d learn.

Still nothing was being said, though the two lads were doing their best to intimidate with stares and body language. Enough’s enough, Earlene thought. My toastie is going to get cold, and that’s completely unacceptable. “Lads, I’ll say this plain as day. If you both are ever going to have thoughts of fathering children, you’d best stop this nonsense right now, and march off to mind your own business. You’re not welcome around us, and you’ve not got the faintest idea just how easily I can bust a pair of bollocks. Don’t think I haven’t done it before.”

Perhaps it was the complete seriousness in her voice, or the over-eager gleam one of them caught in Lorna’s eye, or Earlene’s glance drifting down to take a guess at the arrangement of their wares inside of their trousers. Looking at each other, they both scowled and made for the door, with the barkeep shouting about the money for their drinks. “We’ll pay for them,” Earlene announced quite audibly. “Small price to get that garbage out’v here.” Plunking back down, she bit into her sandwich again. “Well, that worked out well. I really didn’t want to scuff these boots, they were a gift from my da.”

Lorna managed to hold in her laughter until the pair were out the door, and then she dissolved into snickers. Part of her was almost disappointed it hadn’t escalated, but watching Earlene handle those eejits with a few words and a look was an utter joy. And none of it would have been possible if they’d had a third wheel, which just made her even more pleased. “I wish I’d had my mobile out,” she said. “I’d’ve filmed that in a heartbeat. Maire, where’re you parked?”

“Out back,” the poor woman said, looking entirely bewildered. No doubt she’d been expecting a fight herself.

“Then we’re all leaving together, just in case those gobshites get it into their heads to wait for you.” There was a particular sort that would do just that, thinking the element of surprise would be of any help to them. “Unfortunately, you’ll find at least a few like that in any city pub.” She said the word city like it was an epithet -- which, to her, it was. Dublin was no longer her home.

“I’m sorry for having had to speak like that,” Earlene said quietly. “With no real laws that make it easier to prosecute for assault, life here is just rougher than in the States in that way. The sad truth is, the only thing that sort’v man understands is either a boot up their arse or the threat of a boot up their arse. Lorna and I’ve both been groped or otherwise bothered by similar types. And neither’v us will put up with any’v it. But on the upside, this fabulous toastie didn’t have time to get cold.” Taking another bite, she sipped appreciatively at her hard cider.

Lorna was rather amused to a further hint of Irish creep into Earlene’s accent, but she wasn’t about to say anything. Instead she hid her smile in her Guinness, while Maire laughed a little.

“I shouldn’t be surprised to find it here,” she said, “but I’d think it’d be less likely, in such a popular place. It’s got worse, too, in the last year.” She didn’t sound as though she understood why, either; it was very likely this poor woman didn’t realize how attractive she really was. Shite like that was why Lorna was glad that she herself was not that kind of beautiful; there was no dodging the attention when you were, whether you liked it or not.

“That sort think it’s safe to be more open about that shite now,” Lorna said. “All’v it.” She thought about the cop who had pulled Ratiri over for no good reason -- there was a certain type of person who, if they thought they could get away with it, would do it in a heartbeat. Part of her almost hoped those two were as stupid as she suspected, because she really, really did want to lamp at least one of them. The rest of her, the sane, rational, adult part, hoped they were long in the wind.

They paid up and escorted their new friend to her car. Earlene and Lorna discovered Maire was single, and of all the goofy things in the world, made her living as selling handmade fabrics; an artisanal weaver and apparently a good one, if a few pictures on her mobile were any indication. Her pieces were sold at high-end shops throughout the country, and while she was not wealthy, that and a few housekeeping jobs on the side kept her comfortable enough. When they heard this, Lorna glanced meaningfully at Earlene and vice versa; Maire was directly invited to come see them in Lasg’len and to bring some of her pieces. Once shawls and baby blankets were mentioned, quite a conversation was had about textiles. They lingered at the pub a bit longer than they’d meant to, and if another round of toasties was involved, oh well. But in the end, good-lucks were said and the pair were back on the M7. “A weaver,” mused Earlene. “Who’d’ve thought? I’m guessing not a one in Baile or Lasg’len knows their way around a loom; add that to the list of things someone’s going to have to know how to do.”

“I can’t think’v anyone in Baile who does, that’s for sure,” Lorna said. She was beginning to wonder just how much Manwë was helping them out, because seriously, what were the odds? She also wondered just how many others they might stumble across.

“And here we are having meetings about who can get in, and who can’t. In the end it’s going to be such an emotional nightmare. I mean, when someone’s got a relation that’s a useless gobshite, it’s not going to change a thing in that person’s mind. And however practical I am, I understand. There is just no way to be told, ‘sorry, someone you love doesn’t pass muster.’ It’s the most intimidating thing, at least for me.”

 

Lorna sighed. “Honestly, at this point, I’m not sure that we can do it. The discord it would cause...Jesus. But we’ve got twenty years to get everyone on board; it’s not like we’re catching them by surprise. People’ll know by then that they can’t be a useless gobshite, or so I hope.” She still thought Mairead’s idea about fake funerals had quite a bit of merit: even if nothing else would drag an expat home, the Irish were all about funerals. They just definitely had to stagger it, because dragging that many people in all at once, and dumping the end of the world on them...no. Just...no.

“Yeah. I guess it’s going to have to sort itself out in the end, but I would hate to be the one that actually has to enforce a banishment or something like that. I guess that’s why the likes of Thalion are on board. He strikes me as someone who is capable of caring for unpleasant realities. Frankly, so does Thanadir. I think those elves survived a time when if you didn’t stamp out certain kinds of problems, you got to watch while the problems stamped you out instead. It’s a circumstance almost all of us haven’t lived with. Just….ugh.”

Lorna pondered that, even as she scowled at the lorry in front of her. There was no way yet to get around him without driving like, well, her, so she was stuck waiting. “Shane had to kick people out, before I found him,” she said, “but it wasn’t nearly the same thing. I mean, hell, how many families’ve had to give some loser relative the boot? But tossing someone out’v a home isn’t the same thing as throwing them out into a world they’ll almost certainly die in, even after the plague.”

“Yeah. I wish….I mean, does Sharley know for sure if any of it even works, in the end? What if it’s like Ratiri says, not enough population, and after all the effort the humans just sort of tank out in a few generations? Hell if I know how any of it works, and either way, it doesn’t change anything. I’ll not be around to worry about it. It’s poor Allanah’s generation, and Shane and Chandra. And their kids. There are times it still seems so surreal…”

Seeing an opening, Lorna managed to ooch her way around beside the lorry, and manfully resisted the urge to flip the driver off. “I think, if that was the case, Sharley would’ve said. Or at least, she wouldn’t’ve come all this way to tell us if she was sure it didn’t work. She’s not cruel.”

She gave in and gave the driver the finger just before not quite cutting him off. “Our kids...well, they’ll see as much’v the world as they can, while it’s still there to see. But Christ, it really does seem so surreal. The lot’v us -- us in the Halls, but also in Baile, in Lasg’len -- really shouldn’t be taking this as well as we have. I mean...why haven’t any’v us flipped out yet?”

No, really, why hadn’t they? The world as they knew it had an expiration date. No more travel, no more movies, no new books but what any of them might write -- no more internet, which would really suck. Humanity was doomed, and here they’d been having quite sensible council meetings about what to do once the metaphorical axe fell. Which was a good thing, but it was still weird that nobody, to her knowledge, had yet had a meltdown.

Earlene made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chortle. “I can guess why I haven’t. I signed my life away to elves. After doing that, how much weirder can the world ending possibly be? Just because I’m happy with it doesn’t mean I can’t see that the whole thing has an overtone of lunacy.”

“I wish I knew why I haven’t,” Lorna said. “Maybe it’s just building, and sooner or later I’ll have the mother’v all meltdowns. Christ, I hope not.” The lorry was not quite tailgating her, and it gave her a small pleasure to annoy him.

“Or not. You strike me as a practical sort. And at the end of the day, what good does having a meltdown do? What does it accomplish? The Big Zero, unfortunately. I figure if we’re all to get through this, one of our favorite words had better become ‘phlegmatic’.”

“Which is kind’v a disgusting-sounding word, honestly. The first time I heard it, I didn’t know what it meant, but I thought it sounded like a disease.” That was one Big Jamie had tossed out, the first week she’d worked for him. “And I don’t know, meltdowns must be good for something, since people like to have them. Maybe it’s like crying, and it just...gets shite out.”

This sounded terribly funny to Earlene, who could not help breaking out in giggles. “I never thought of it that way, I sort of ignored the whole four humors thing. I like ‘bilious’ better. And ‘sanguine’ is good too. ‘Choleric’ and ‘melancholy’...what a goofy language we’ve got.” She stared out the window for a bit. “I can’t talk. I’ve had a few meltdowns of my own and it’s true, they must do some good...though I guess I’ve tried to avoid them.” Watching the traffic, a question came to mind. “Is there supposed to be a fast lane and a slow lane on the M7? Are they being gobshites, or is it just that you can drive however you want in either lane?” Lorna seemed to have to pass far too many cars, for all she was even driving at the posted limit.

“And yet Thranduil says Irish is outlandish,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “As for the motorway, it’s pretty much anything goes. It’s a bit like pinball, just with cars. Oh, I wish you’d come out properly driving with me someday, but I’m sure you’d murder me if I tried. Even he had a few...issues...with it, apparently, though he didn’t let on at the time. Don’t tell Thanadir or he’d never forgive either’v us, but we broke one ninety.”

It took all of five seconds for Earlene to visibly pale. “I...can’t. It’s fine you can, but...no. I can’t even think of it. Thranduil is...he can handle himself.” Her voice dropped off in a manner that she wished hadn’t, this was catching her...off guard.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Lorna assured her. “Just Ratiri, but he drives like I do, or near enough. I do…” She hesitated, because this was one of those things she wasn’t fond of talking about, but she knew Thranduil would poke her about it. “I do kind’v sometimes feel a bit...inferior, around you lot. You’re all better-educated than I am, and I don’t care how nice Thranduil tries to be about it, the sad truth is that you’re all smarter than me, too. Being able to drive like a sociopath...it’s a skill that’s just kind’v...mine. There aren’t many’v those.”

A faint smile was at the edge of Earlene’s lips while she tried to stuff her anxiety back from whatever hole it had crawled out of, at the mention of 190 kph. She might or might not attempt to throttle her husband for being party to that, later on. Though, it would be better to just forget it was ever mentioned. “I’m not going to sit and pretend I don’t have intellectual ability. I was good at what I did. But the education part...I had parents that paid for me to do nothing but go to school. I didn’t have to work or earn my way in the world, and I certainly didn’t have an abusive family. You know more than you think you do. You know, an education really only means, a person learned some shite. The real value is in knowing how to learn what you don’t already know. Learning how to learn, and being open-minded enough to think about new information when it comes your way. I don’t view you as uneducated but yeah, I could see why you’d think that. I can honestly tell you, it doesn’t occur to me very often that you didn’t go to college. I’ve seen idiots with degrees, and very clever people without them...I guess take from that what you will.”

For some reason Lorna couldn’t hope to define, that sounded more...real...coming from Earlene. It wasn’t that she thought Thranduil would ever lie to her, but she had a hazy idea that in a few ways, he went easy on her. “Watch all our kids outstrip us by miles, though,” she said, shaking her head. “Thanadir’ll have his hands full, that’s for bloody sure.”

She paused, slowly merging toward the exit. “So, you don’t have to answer this, but you seem to have a little bit’v a thing about driving -- did something, uh, happen, at some point?” Eloquent, Lorna. Really eloquent. That was what she got for trying to actually ask a personal question. Lovely.

It took awhile, to answer. “Yeah. And while me not having been able to get over it isn’t anyone’s fault, I...oh, fuck it all. We were undergrads, my roommate Mary and I. It was our junior year, not long before my parents helped me buy a home of my own. Mary liked to drive...like that. I grew up around gran’s farm enough to not really think much of it, though I didn’t go in for being on the reckless side on my own. One day she was weaving in and out of traffic, going well over the speed limit, and there was an accident. I never really knew exactly what happened, it all seemed to take place in some kind of slow motion. I got out with a bruise and a scratch, but we hit an oncoming car.” Earlene looked away, blinking back the tears that threatened to surface and dampening the tremors in her voice that still wanted to emerge.

“Mary’s head was split open in three places. A little like what happened to Sean in the pub but much, much worse. I had to hold the pieces of her scalp together while she screamed and screamed for how bad it hurt. They used so many staples to put her back together, her head looked like train tracks. The rest of that year at school was over, for her. I think it’s part of why mom and dad wanted me to move. I was alone after that in our apartment; Mary needed more than a year to recover from all the injuries and she wasn’t ever right again. Not completely. I won’t ever drive like that, and I can’t be in a car with someone else doing it either. I learned that the consequences are…” she shook her head. “I don’t mean to tell you what to do or how to drive. I just...can’t.”

“Jesus bloody Christ… thank God she survived.” Lorna glanced at her, ever so fractionally. “I promise I won’t drive like a lunatic when I’ve got you in the car. If it makes you feel any better, I so rarely get to do it anyway, given I almost always have a passenger and/or at least one kid.” Pausing a moment, she added, “Don’t get too annoyed with Thranduil over that -- me driving like that, I mean. That was the day he went with me to the cottage to get my shite before I moved into the Halls, and he knew I...needed to.” That explained quite a bit she’d wondered about -- she’d figured there had to have been a wreck somewhere in Earlene’s background. Having that confirmed made driving like a reasonable person rather easier, and she managed to reach over and give Earlene’s shoulder a pat. Hey, she was still learning this whole ‘tactile’ thing.

“I’m not annoyed with him. Mildly perturbed, maybe. He has survived far more than anything that could be done in a car, I’m pretty sure. We’ve not ever talked about this, actually. I just assume he knows stuff. I really don’t know all of how his mind reading works.” She shrugged. “It makes a person lazy, what he can do. I forget to say things aloud, figuring he already knows. Usually he does, but not always. Eh, anyway.”

Lorna laughed. “I kind’v do, too. I’m so used to him knowing what I mean even when I mangle my words like a blender that I have to stop with other people and go ‘no, wait, that’s not what you want to sound like’. As if that works half the time.”

She eased off onto the off-ramp, pondering. Earlene might help her gain a little clarification in one thing, before she asked Thranduil -- or keep her from asking him at all, maybe. “So, this is apropos’v nothing, but I told Thranduil he can’t ever tell Pat what Von Shite-for-brains did to me, and he says that’s the wrong choice. How in the name’v motherfucking hell is not telling my brother -- or anyone else, really -- that I got raped by a balrog a bad choice? I mean, it’s not something I want to think about, let alone talk about.”

In a mildly charming expression of puzzlement, Earlene bit at her upper lip with her lower jaw completely jutted forward, thinking. “This being my husband, and me being a bit of an outsider to your friendship--and I don’t mean that as a negative, I’m trying to think out loud here--well, I can try to guess. He loves you, and I think almost desperately wants you to be as happy as possible. If there is a central theme from what little I’ve gleaned of how he views you, that’d be it. So if he’s making a comment like that, there has to be some angle that causes him to believe you’re better off talking about it than not. But I don’t think he meant that you should just make a public announcement; this is your brother Pat, obviously someone that occupies a place on your top shelf, so to speak. And...please realize I’m really reaching farther than I’d like with my assumptions here...I wonder if it is just as simple as, including those closest to you in the realities of your life. I’m not exactly one to talk, after the outcome of that discussion we all had. Not just...being more open about the things that have happened for us, and how it affected what we think or do...what did it help, exactly? It didn’t. I mean, I still wouldn’t go around telling those personal things by way of chatting at the pub, but if someone is supposed to actually know a person, be family….Shit, I’m not being very eloquent here. Probably that was a useless answer. But it’s all I’ve got...really, you should ask him. I’ve not ever known Thranduil to say or do a thing for no reason, and it might be very different from anything I just said.”

Lorna pondered this. “Usually I think his advice’d be good, but not with this,” she said at last. “He’s not a woman. He doesn’t understand...exactly what this kind’v thing means, when you’re a woman. I’ll ask him, but in this instance...there’s no way he can understand. You know what I mean, don’t you? Nobody who isn’t a woman is going to really get it, because...well, hell, you’re way more eloquent than I am, even now. I mean -- what d’you think about that, particularly? About me keeping this to myself, because...just because?”

A heavy frown came over Earlene’s brow. “There is almost no way to answer your question, because at the end of the day it’s a personal decision you’ve got every right to decide however you wish. But if you’re asking me if I’d do the same, had it happened to me?...no, I wouldn’t. I’d not keep silent about it, because I believe very strongly that it’d be a form of letting Von Ratched win in a way. Still hold power over me, in a way. But that’s me, with my personality and experiences and you’re your own person. Different. Maybe the better question to clearly answer is what, exactly, do you feel are the potential negative outcomes, if you were to speak up? Knowing that might help you see your feelings and your reasoning with more clarity. And I really do not want what I just said to feel like I’m not sympathetic or supportive, but anything else wouldn’t be the truth for me.”

This, too, was given due consideration. “There’s a couple things,” Lorna said at last. “For one, I haven’t seen Pat since we were kids. The Pat I knew thirty years ago wouldn’t look at me like I was a victim, but I don’t know him well enough now. But the other…”

She sighed, flicking on the head lamps. “For the other, it’s in the past. It’s something I’ve tried to put behind me -- tried and succeeded at, to a surprising degree. I don’t remember it -- it’s not like there’s anything I’d need to work through there. It’s got no bearing on the present, and I don’t see anything wrong with leaving that bit out, if Pat asks questions. It’s not relevant to anything, and it really wasn’t even then. I can’t see how making myself talk about it, how answering questions he has about it, would actually help me.” If it had had some horrible physical consequence, something that couldn’t so easily be dropped from the narrative, that would be different, but it hadn’t. It was just...a thing that happened, and while it had left her with no lasting trauma, talking about it might give her some. Why dredge it up?

Why, indeed? thought Earlene. Some decisions were just personal, and, it felt like an uncomfortable topic anyway. They’d had a fun day that had managed to be drama-free, and making sure it ended on that same note seemed like the preferable choice. And, the last thing she really wanted was to get dragged into shite between Thranduil and Lorna. “I had a lot of fun,” she said aloud. “We should do it again soon.”

“Absolutely,” Lorna said. “Hopefully without pub gobshites next time.”

“Ha ha,” Earlene smiled. “Yeah. Though...d’you get the feeling it’s like Maire said, it’s getting worse out there? I like Ireland for having fewer stupid laws, but I also can’t help but wonder if it makes the bad types a little bolder, here. When I first arrived, I couldn’t really imagine this...pub stuff. It’s almost like it’s a huge game, whoever can make the other think they have the most to lose for starting something physical. Not really anything I consider ideal, and it makes me think about a thing or two for the future. Assaulting people because you want a woman or because you’re vaguely pissed about something...not sure that should ever be okay, at all. I’d hoped we left the Rule of the Fist behind in the twenty-first century, but….obviously not.”

“She’s probably right,” Lorna sighed. “The Irish...drinking and fighting’re part’v the culture, but there comes a point when it’s just ugly, and it seems to be happening more and more often. There’s a difference between two drunk mates having it out in the car park and...well, gobshites like that. We think -- all right, I’m hesitating to say this, but in Ireland, we think Americans’re litigation-happy eejits who’ll sue if you poke them in the shoulder. Which...how the hell can I even word this? You’re safer, you’ve got more recourse -- a hell’v a lot more than we do -- but here, the mentality’s always been ‘do it yourself, don’t get the law involved’. It’s leftover from back when the cops were all under England’s payroll, before the Rising. Some things die hard, and the Gardaí can just make the situation worse half the time. I mean, shit, look what happened when Ratiri and Thranduil drove to Scotland. I swear, being brown in this country’s got harder, not easier.”

“I’m beginning to get a much clearer picture of that,” Earlene said with some level of personal regret. “Talking like that today...that’s not me. But it goddamn well is me when that’s what the situation calls for. That’s literally the first time in my life I’ve threatened someone with violence over their behavior, and it’s not really how I want to live. But the flip side is, you’re dead on, about the States. We’ve become a bunch’ve whining babies who literally can’t wipe our arses unless someone makes a law saying it’s OK. And you’ve no idea how much it went from bad to worse after 9/11...it was like that event was the excuse to take everything away. Personal responsibility, or whatever was left of it, got flushed. I feel a little hypocritical, being a lawyer and all, because my profession did the most to help turn it into what it is now. And then I think about our future, and while I don’t feel I have an answer, I do know that no woman in our society should ever put up with what Maire did today. unless the bloke doing it wants to be out in the cold. Hell and I can’t even say ‘bloke’, I’ve heard crazy stuff about abusive lesbians. Oh, hell, you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean, unfortunately. Is it horribly morbid to say that at least the end’v the world’ll take care’v that? It probably is, but I’m not sure I care.”

 _Does it, though? Does it take care of any of it, really? Or does it just put it in a closet, until there are enough people and someone who really isn’t on board with what we’ve created decides to do as they damn well please, because that’s what they did beforehand? I’ll not have to live with the aftermath, but they will. And I’d like to think that people might take a look at their attitudes toward violence and consider that this doesn’t have to be the normal state of affairs it so obviously is...and I’m also thinking this topic can be shelved for another time._ With a sigh, Earlene saw the sign for their exit. This philosophical dilemma, like so many other things, could wait for another day.


	75. Seventy-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter begins with a retrospective of July 11-31, 2017. Then, July 31 and August 1st, 2017.
> 
> Much of this chapter concerns a Hindu wedding...a lot of time went into learning both the terminology and customs of this beautiful ceremony which is not so familiar to many western readers. This link http://thebigfatindianwedding.com/2014/the-essential-guide-to-hindu-weddings-wedding-traditions will provide verbal and visual explanations of what is done, for those interested in understanding more!

Shortly after their Dublin excursion, Earlene threw herself dutifully into her role of preparing to be Lorna’s bridesmaid. With of course, one exception: The Fucking Driving Lessons. The bitterness and anger Earlene felt toward the Irish government was difficult for her to suppress, which surprised even her. It really wasn’t like her, to resist bureaucracy as was happening here. Hell, she owed her career to pinheaded and detailed laws and rules. But this grated, as nothing else had. She’d attained the Driver Theory Test Certificate with ease. The learner’s permit was in hand. And now, she had to waste both her time and Ratiri’s going into Limerick for mandatory “Essential Driving Training” so that some arse could ‘teach’ her what she already knew backwards and forwards. No, it wasn’t allowed to have the twelve, one-hour required sessions all at once so she could get it over with in one long day of stress hormones and sheer annoyance. To top it off; she couldn’t take the test until six months from now; and that would leave her deep into her pregnancy...which really meant, she couldn’t take the final driving exam until after the baby was born. Just, fuck.

 

Which is why it was fortunate, on some level, that she had the wedding to distract her from this particular peevishness. Mairead was on speed-dial by day two, and Indira by day three, as the three women embraced the necessity of ‘making it happen,’ so to speak. The garments had been ordered, and the many specifics required to fulfill the ceremony were itemized...it was a very long list. Fortunately, Thanadir helped. Huddled with her in the cottage, he watched while she scrolled through images and videos, whimpering when she learned that for tradition’s sake, she and Mairead should perform a processional dance at the start of the ceremony. “Oh meldir, I may not survive this. But...perhaps this can be disposed of? We have no musician and...just, good grief.”

 

“What is that?” he asked. “That instrument?”

 

“The sitar? That is a...it is an Indian stringed instrument with a very distinctive sound.” A few videos later, the seneschal seemed enthralled. “If I had one, I believe I could play it.”

 

Earlene regarded him. Were it anyone else, she would laugh in generalized mockery but this was Thanadir. Five minutes later, they were looking online. “Why am I not surprised that you can buy a sitar on Amazon”, she murmured. “Well, we said we wished to have many musical instruments for the future. While I am guessing that this is perhaps not the finest of its kind, it seems like it will suffice. And if not, the wedding will be past before our time to return it has elapsed.”

 

Thanadir met her eyes as a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “One-click ordering!”

 

She burst into laughter. “I can take a hint. Very well. One click, indeed.” Once the order was confirmed the realization struck once again. “But then we must find a way to dance…”

 

“I will help you,” he said. “What those women are doing, that is not complicated.”

 

 _Says you,_ she thought, taking a deep breath. “For Lorna and Ratiri, we will manage. But I am glad Mairead is in Baile. I won’t hear the scream, that way.”

 

*****

 

The day before the wedding, Lorna woke to discover the Communists had invaded overnight. God fucking dammit.

 

Shit, what was she going to do? Earlene had told her the elves had some kind of...of period cure, and she’d never wanted to ask, but she kind of had to now. This was probably the only time she was going to be able to shag her husband in an actual castle, and she was not going to waste the opportunity by being stuck surfing the crimson tide the entire time. This was going to be humiliating, but whatever. Ratiri could just thank her extra nicely later.

 

Grumbling, she gave Ratiri a kiss to the cheek and headed out early, determined to catch Earlene alone.

 

Breakfast as a group had been cancelled since three days before the ceremony, on account of the sheer amount of preparations that needed attention. Earlene had her lists of lists, and was sitting at the table poring over them, checking carefully for any item, thing, foodstuff, _whatever,_ that could possibly have escaped their attention. Though it was only mid-morning, her eyes already felt bleary from all of this. Pushing back from the table, she rose to stretch before her muscles could knot up...Thanadir was too busy to play masseuse today.

 

Lorna tiptoed in, and was relieved to find Earlene alone. She wasn’t sure what the best way to ask this was, so she just went for it. “Er, Aunt Flo came for a visit this morning, and I’d really rather not spend my honeymoon riding the cotton pony instead’v my husband. You said there’s something the elves can do about periods…?”

 

“Oh yes,” she replied blithely. “Takes about ten or so minutes, and it’s gone. It’s a huge improvement on...the usual.” The pause was not on account of not lacking a suitable word, but suddenly Earlene realized this is _Lorna._ The same person who half-ran screaming from the room if a whisper of a hint of her sex life with Thranduil was mentioned. _Fucking Jeebus, how am I supposed to tell someone this, um, reserved, to drink up a bottle and go have an orgasm over a towel? Nope. Just...no...but Thranduil said I could also massage over my womb, but who in hell wants to do that instead of the other?_ She frowned. “You know what? I have to go get the stuff you drink, and talk to a few of the kitchen ellith and make the rounds in the Dining Hall. Why not go back to your quarters, and I’ll have it there within the hour? That’d be easiest. You’ll want to be… at home for this, anyway, it’s not something to do here.” _Please do not ask questions. Please just DO NOT ASK questions,_ Earlene thought while smiling happily at her friend.

 

“Thank you,” was what Lorna said. “I’m sure I’ll thank you again later.” She hoped, anyway. It couldn’t be worse than being stuck on the rag while on her bloody honeymoon. Back to her flat she went, wincing at the cramps. Hopefully they went away when...everything else did.

 

Earlene waited for her to leave and then raced off via the lower caverns to find Thanadir. While she knew where the Healer’s Halls were, the location of the elixir in question would not be something she could find easily. Fortunately her instincts on where to locate the seneschal did not require telepathy. There he stood, mesmerized, as he watched the ellith, Mairead and Siobhan continue the construction of the most unimaginable cake ever seen in this world.

 

“Meldir!” she whispered urgently, breaking through his sugar trance. Quickly, she explained to him what was wanted, though not why. If he thought it peculiar that a pregnant firieth needed this particular medicine, he was polite enough not to say so. Besides, enough mortal women were currently under this roof that it was obviously not for her personal use. Several minutes later, the dosage was in her hands, and she saw that the supply of this...stuff...was extensive indeed. _Canath ellith,_ Earlene realized was written on the label. _Quarter?_ Then she recalled, they had menstruation four times in the year. Quarterly. Or at least, she presumed that this was the nature of the description. _Not that it matters in the least._

 

Thanking Thanadir profusely, Earlene left. Truthfully, she had zero errands to do, and the blatant deception had everything to do with not wishing Lorna to accompany her. As she navigated the passages to her door, she yelled with considerable mental force, _Thranduil, for the love of all there is, can you have Ratiri meet me in the passageway outside their home without him telling Lorna that I am…._

 

_Meluieg, I am...aware. And I am not deaf._

 

_Well, I don’t know how it works, really, and I wanted to make certain you heard me. You can’t blame me for wanting to take the coward’s way out of this._

 

 _I suppose I cannot._ How it was she could tell he was laughing when there was no actual sound between them, well, add it to the list of things she would never understand. Probably. _I will do as you wish._

 

 _Long live the King_ , she thought to no one in particular. And she hid around the corner of the passageway, and was not going to budge until Ratiri appeared.

 

Poor Ratiri was both bewildered and somewhat sleepy when he made his way out into the passageway, wondering why Lorna looked so incredibly embarrassed. She didn’t question him when he left, at least, which meant he could meet Earlene in peace. “Obviously I’m missing something,” he said, running a hand through his mussed hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” breathed a relieved Earlene. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I love Lorna, but today of all days I need to be able to have an adult conversation. It’s like this: She started her period, obviously unwanted. The elves have a medicine that will make the entire period be over in about ten minutes. I’ve used it, it’s wonderful. You drink all that’s in the bottle,” she grabbed his hand and firmly pressed said stoppered vial into it. “Somehow, it causes the uterine lining to completely shed in a huge hurry. But there’s a catch; all that stuff has to exit the body. And there are two choices. You either massage the womb like you’re kneading at a blob of bread dough, or you have an orgasm. I’ve had too many conversations with her about sex that devolved into adolescent squeamishness, and I just can’t explain this to her. Not today, especially. It doesn’t matter how the, uh, pleasant event happens, just that it does. The contractions cause all that mess to flow out, so either she needs to be on a towel or in the bath, somewhere that all the blood can go. I’m not ashamed to say that the one occasion I used with it with Thranduil, I had a rather wonderful time, but I’m not about to mention that to her. You got all that?”

 

Ratiri eyed Earlene, and the bottle, and scrubbed his free hand over his face. He tried, oh so desperately, to keep his laughter in, but failed completely: his chuckling was quiet but relentless, devolving into full-blown laughter before he knew what was happening. “I do,” he said. “While I doubt this will be pleasant, at least it ought to be...interesting. Once I can actually keep a straight face, that is.” Poor Lorna. Oh well, she’d thank...someone...later, though he wasn’t entirely sure who.

 

Earlene covered her ears with her hands as she began to walk away. “I know nossssing! I see nosssssing! I hear nossssing!” in fair imitation of Sergeant Schultz.

 

That only made Ratiri laugh harder as he went back into his flat, and discovered his incredibly embarrassed fiancée. “Bad timing, I know,” she said. “What’s it we’ve got, though? Earlene said the elves have something they use to just get it over with.”

 

“You’re not going to like this,” Ratiri said, figuring there was no point in beating around it. “You drink this, then you either sit on a towel or in the bath, and I get you off. It’ll all come out at once, apparently.”

 

Lorna’s expression must have been as appalled as she felt, because he started laughing helplessly, even as his expression went apologetic. She glowered at him, and looked at the little bottle. Normally it was not at all hard for Ratiri to get her off, but when the Communists were in force, sex and everything to do with it had about as much appeal as a root canal. All her lady bits were so sensitized that any touch was painful, not pleasant; what would get her off when she wasn’t on the cotton pony would only make her hurt. How in the hell was this supposed to work?

 

“Let’s take a bath first,” he said. “Get you nice and relaxed, and then we can just deal with it all in the tub.”

 

The look she gave him was so pathetic he had to choke back laughter again. Nevertheless, he was presented with something of a problem: how on Earth _was_ he to manage this, when any touch to her intimate areas was a discomfort?  There was only one real way he could think of, though it would leave her with an unfortunate hickey that she was going to have to have Thranduil deal with before the ceremony. Still better than the alternative, however. Lorna’s biggest secondary erogenous zone was her neck; yes, she’d have the hickey from hell, but no period.

 

“I hate everything,” she sighed, but took the bottle. “And we will never, ever speak’v this again, or I swear you’ll never get any ever again.”

 

“Duly noted,” he said, and somehow managed not to smirk.

  


*****

 

The next day, Lorna was so nervous she thought she might vomit.

 

Doc Barry had spent much of yesterday afternoon and evening painting beautiful henna designs on her hands and feet, which meant she’d had to sit very, very still while it dried. The patterns were so lovely she was almost tempted to get the ones on her feet permanently tattooed. Add in beautiful red lehenga and all the jewelry and she felt entirely unlike herself. Once she was dressed, the doc also put a red bindi between her eyebrows, which had made her a touch uneasy at first.

 

“I’m not Hindu,” she said. “Should I actually be wearing that?”

 

“You’re marrying into a Hindu family,” the doc said firmly. “You wear it if we want you to. Just try not to get it on the lehenga.”

 

“Because I needed one more thing to stress over,” she sighed. All in all, she was glad she’d practiced wearing all this jewelry first -- it at least didn’t feel totally alien. _Heavy_ , yes; alien, not so much. Start at her reflection...she knew that most people thought she was vaguely adorable, but this was one of the few times in her life she actually felt _beautiful._ This wasn’t like sticking her in something that was obviously designed for someone taller; this had been tailored to a small woman, and didn’t make her look like a child playing dress-up.

 

And then there was Ratiri, who couldn’t have hoped to fit in his father’s clothes. He’d had to have his tailored by Thanadir, and he looked so damn good in them Lorna kind of wanted to eat him, in the fun way. There was a sort of knee-length coat that he called an ackhan, made out of a slightly deeper red than her lehenga and embroidered with gold. His trousers and boots were black, which only set off the hue of the ackhan even more, and he was so tall and handsome and… _get it together, Lorna. You’ve got the honeymoon for that._ While their height difference might be ludicrous, in this getup, it probably didn’t look so silly.

 

Still, she was utterly terrified, and was determined to hunt down Thranduil for some telepathic Xanax (and possibly a preemptive headache painkiller, if that was even possible). What made her burst out laughing, however, was the fact that on her way to his and Thranduil’s rooms, she ran into Ratiri, who sheepishly said he’d come for the same thing.

 

“Katherine’s and my wedding wasn’t nearly this big,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was nerve-wracking, but not like this. Assuming everyone shows up, there will be nine hundred people watching this.” And he was quite certain they _would_ show up, if only for the prospect of a good meal and an opportunity to explore the caverns if allowed.

 

Lorna shivered. Normally she had no problems being in front of a crowd -- she’d been a panhandler, for Christ’s sake -- but this was different. There was ceremony involved in this, and though the pair of them had run through a kind of practice drill, the full meaning of it was lost on her. The only thing that made her feel slightly better on _that_ score was that some of it was lost on Ratiri, too. “I got married in a courthouse, so I haven’t got anything to draw off’v. Let’s...well, let’s do it.” She took his hand and squeezed it lightly, resisting the urge to draw him closer and climb him like a tree. They stepped into Earlene and Thranduil’s flat, drawing a deep breath in perfect stereo, which only made her laugh all over again.

 

“We’re ridiculous, aren’t we?” Ratiri asked, grinning down at her. He always thought Lorna was lovely, but today, in all her finery, he thought perhaps others might see her as he did.

 

“Pretty much. But then, I’d say most’re nervous on their wedding day.”

 

Earlene flashed a grin at her husband. _You had the best solution of all, Thranduil. I did not know it was my wedding day, and therefore had a marvelous time. All of the joy and none of the nervousness._

 

The King’s cheeks colored lightly. _I think I need not point out that much about our union was a barely forgivable oversight on my part,_ he smiled _. But I too remember it with pleasure. Pleasure I hope I may look forward to again, when I unwrap that beautiful sari once it is time to retire._ It was impossible for him to ignore the sight of Earlene’s beauty. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back and tumbled over her shoulders like satin strands. The choli, while modest in its coverage, hugged her firm, full breasts while revealing her sculpted abdomen that was still flat at the midriff. And her sari itself, sapphire blue colored silk woven such that it veiled but did not hide her figure underneath it.

 

_Anything, for my Lord...however I do not believe Lorna and Ratiri came to watch you admire your wife, however flattered she is by your appreciation._

 

With a chuckle Thranduil accepted the mild rebuke with good graces, turning his attention to Lorna...only to stop in his tracks. His lips parted, at the sight of her, as he was confronted with a mental non sequitur. This was his flannel-wearing, leather- booted, scrappy friend? Earlene watched her husband, thoroughly enjoying the sight of his mind derailing. “Your appearance is beautiful, Lorna,” she said, sparing Thranduil the awkwardness of saying what he was so obviously thinking. “Stunning.”

 

The King nodded helplessly, while recovering his senses and realizing why they were being visited. “Yes,” he agreed, trying not to stammer. He reached to embrace her as though she were made of spun glass. “Please accept my blessing, for your happiness.” Carefully he kissed her cheeks in turn, imparting calm to her. “And you also, Ratiri.” He did the same for his much taller friend.

 

“You too look very handsome,” Earlene complimented him. Thranduil would not begrudge her the thought that Ratiri was drop-dead gorgeous.“I too wish you all happiness. Try to relax, and enjoy the day. You have only friends, here, both of you.”

 

Mairead now emerged from their bedchamber, which had served as dressing room. Thanadir had just finished adjusting the yards of Mairead’s fabric and placing the King’s borrowed diamond necklace on her.  With a critical eye he circled everyone, looking for anything amiss with their clothing while there was still time to make adjustment. Thanadir was dressed in an embroidered blue salwar kameez, in a shade similar to Earlene’s sari but leaning a little more toward deeper, less brilliant hue. His glossy hair was pulled back and braided formally at the front, with the length of it flowing loose.

 

Earlene looked at all of them, with her eyes falling on Lorna. Taking her hand, she brought her back into the bedroom. “I know you don’t usually wear cosmetics, but I’d like to try something. I can take it off in a heartbeat if you dislike it. It’s lip stain. It will give you the same color in your lips as all of our daughters have by nature, without looking fake like lipstick does. I’ll dab it on, and tell me what you think.” Earlene carefully brushed on the pigment, which went on a great deal like berry juice. Once the tint was applied, she stepped back and pointed to where the mirror was on the wall. _I think it looks damn amazing, but I’ll keep my big mouth shut._ In her eyes, her tiny friend looked simply otherworldly, and in the best possible way.

 

Ratiri might have blushed, if not for the telepathic Xanax. He had eyes only for his tiny doll of a bride, despite registering that both Earlene and Mairead looked fantastic. The fact that Thanadir matched them in color scheme was a very nice touch, and not one _he_ would have thought of.

 

“I’m me, but I’m not,” Lorna said, staring at her own reflection. “I’m still a bit terrified to be wearing all’v this, but...I’m glad I am.” Red and gold and silk, the embroidered dupatta draped over the long fall of her braid, though she had to be careful not to turn her head too fast, let she yank on the nath. Ripping _that_ out would be painful and embarrassing in equal measure, as well as probably really messy. She wasn’t used to looking...pretty, not like this, and while it was awkward, it was nice, too. While she disapproved of crowns in principle, she actually liked wearing this one -- and really, it wasn’t _actually_ a crown, so that made it okay.

 

Mairead, being Mairead, had to fuss with her fringe a little. “You’re lovely, Fun Size,” she said. “Absolutely lovely. Now go stand by that fireplace and try not to look too stiff while I take your picture. I’m making you a wedding scrapbook whether you want one or not, so you’d better want one.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, leaning against Ratiri, and Mairead took a snapshot. “There, that’s what I meant. Now what ’til you get a load’v Big Jamie -- you’d not recognize him if not for all the hair.” His getup was the darkest blue of the lot, cut quite like Thanadir’s, though there were subtle differences between them all -- probably Thanadir’s way of getting creative, but it worked. The man was a minor deity with a sewing machine, and it was a crying shame Gran had never had a chance to meet him.

 

“I’m so happy I’m almost afraid,” Lorna said, looking up at Ratiri. This was not something she had ever thought she would have; she’d thought her capacity to love like this had been buried with Liam, never to be resurrected. But now here she was, with her fiance and her family, by blood and by choice, and not even the thought of nine hundred bloody people could make her freeze up. (Though she was relatively certain this would not be the only time she would need some telepathic calming agent, because this was in fact a very large affair.)

 

“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” Ratiri said, leaning down to kiss her forehead, carefully avoiding the bindi. “I’m sure we’ll manage. Even if we somehow set something on fire, at least it will be a thing everyone will remember.”

 

That only made her laugh again, as she looked from him to the rest of her family. “This is happening, isn’t it? This is actually happening?”

 

“It’s happening,” Earlene said soothingly. “And you just enjoy it. Think of it like the best party ever, but with better clothes and a more worthwhile outcome.”

 

Mairead murmured similar sentiments and smiled, but also checked her mobile since elven dwellings and clocks were somewhat at odds with each other. “We start in five minutes. Are we still on schedule?”

 

“Yes,” replied Thanadir. “It is time to begin the music; Orla is already waiting with the tabla.” Of course, with three weeks, they’d managed to twist the arm of someone who could play on the bodhran and switch it out for a tabla. With only two actual Hindus in their number, even if it was the worst mashup since the dawn of time no one would really notice. That they had managed to pull this ceremony off at all was a miracle.

 

Earlene and Mairead stared at each other and exchanged nods. They’d not told Lorna and Ratiri about the processional dance, they thought the two women were only walking in. Candles that they would bear upright in protective glass vessels were ready; the gods only knew how many tealights they’d burned through learning not to tip the things sideways as they moved their arms. For the tenth time, Earlene verified that she had a lighter on her that they’d use to light the wicks.

 

Slowly, the bridesmaids (who were technically ‘matrons of honor’, but they weren’t going to let that get in the way either) led the way to the staging area at the Gates. After what had seemed like a full evening of debate some weeks prior, it had been agreed that the actual ceremony would take place in Thranduil’s Hall. The King had graciously given permission over the huffing protestations of his seneschal to drape his throne in red fabric, so as to diminish its existence and provide a visual backdrop for their marriage rites. The great elk antlers also held swaths of cascading fabric in reds and golds, making for a magnificently rich effect. The chairs in which the bride and groom would be seated were arranged at the base of the steps leading to the throne and decorated by Thanadir, who (once required to move past this affront to the monarchy) proved very enthusiastic and talented as a decorator.

 

Earlene and Mairead checked to see that Lorna was seated on the piri, the low platform-like stool on which she would be carried by those acting as her brothers. With one last smouldering glance at her husband, whose appearance was exotically regal in his own royal blue salwar, they heard the music shift. Thanadir had found a wedding processional song by Mendelssohn that someone had transposed for sitar (thank you, Internet). But prior to this, the tabla beat out an extended loud roll that was designed to silence all in attendance. Earlene swiftly lit the candles, and all the shyness she and Mairead might have had in the world was thrown out the window. The two women burst into a high pitched and very loud ululating trill that brought all eyes onto them as they held their candles high in their staggered arms while they strode out onto the archways.

 

The quavering melody echoed from the sitar through the silence of the Halls, and the women carefully began the dance steps repeatedly rehearsed. Every motion was fluid and graceful, as the lights in their hands bobbed and weaved in intricate patterns. Sometimes their steps matched, at other times they moved in juxtaposition, but either way the effect was lovely; color and light,  flowing fabric and feminine beauty.

 

Lorna couldn’t help but stare, while Ratiri grinned in surprised delight. He would never have thought the pair of them would do that, though he was not at all surprised Thanadir had wanted a sitar as soon as she knew what one was.

 

“I didn’t know Mairead could dance like that,” Lorna whispered. She wasn’t surprised Earlene could, but she’d only ever seen Mairead go through a few drunken reels at Christmas. She watched them, two Irish women in saris, doing an Indian dance in an elven Hall...their little society was already blending, it would seem.

 

“Everyone is full of surprises today,” Ratiri murmured back. Drawing a deep breath, he smoothed his achkan. Once Earlene and Mairead had reached the end of the aisle, he gave the crowd an opportunity to admire them before stepping out onto the aisle himself. Somehow, he managed to keep his pace slow and measured, rather than running that gauntlet of curious eyes.

 

Lorna watched him go, and tried not to sigh light a teenage girl. He was just so _gorgeous_ , she half wanted to do something stupid, like swoon. That would utterly ruin her outfit, though, so she just watched him, her beautiful, sweet, utter nerd of a fiance -- very shortly to made the transition to husband. At least she, following, had no actual way to trip.

 

“Okay,” she said, glancing nervously from Thranduil to Big Jamie (who did, indeed, look half unrecognizable, save for his hair). This bit they hadn’t practiced, because Big Jamie hadn’t been able to get away from the pub, but it wasn’t like it was hard. Thanadir had hand-crafted the piri, of course -- it was like an oversized stool, almost more of a table, with twelve-inch legs so it could be carried more easily.

 

“Relax, Fun Size,” Shane said, giving her a hug that was very careful, so as not to disarray her dupatta. “All you have to do until you get up there is sit. C’mon, Pat -- let’s get moving, and after this we can swap embarrassing stories about her.”

 

Lorna winced even as they went -- those two, she could already tell, were going to be far too good of friends with each other. Watching them go, looking out at that crowd, anxiety twisted in her gut. “Thranduil, can you hit me with another dose of that telepathic whastit?” she whispered, even as she tried to figure out how to sit on the piri without screwing up anything on her outfit.

 

 _Hike up your skirts a few inches, this will give you the room to sit with your legs crossed under your skirts. Go ahead and sit; I will help arrange the fabric. Shane and Big Jamie are not going to have an eye for that sort of thing._ His hands guided her arms and waist so that she could manage this gracefully. _Think calm thoughts, Lorna. Kittens, and elven wine._ With a smile his thumb brushed across her cheek, as he gave what help he could. Though, a little worry came with it. Somehow, someday, he was going to have to help teach her to master her emotions better. Give her useful tools, though what those would be eluded him. He would not always be here, and her future would not be one that would easily allow for constant solace in alcohol or similar substances. Not to mention, that was an ultimately unhealthy solution for a mortal to seek on an ongoing basis. But now was not the time for such considerations. Today was about happiness.

 

 _Kittens_ drinking _elven wine,_ she said, smiling as peace overtook her. The mental image was so absurd that it was all she could do not to laugh, but she managed to keep herself serene as Thranduil and Big Jamie picked up the piri. At least she need not worry they would drop her; Thranduil was an elf, obviously, but Big Jamie was used to hauling things around without tipping them over.

 

Even so, she tried not to look _too_ much at the crowd as they passed, though some faces stood out quite well to her. Doc Barry and Ratiri had encouraged them all to wear whatever really colorful clothes they had, since in the absence of traditional garb, color was what mattered. The result was more than a few people having pried some 80’s leftover out of the back of their closet, and some neon dots stood out among more ordinarily brilliant hues. Michael, the lad that tended bar at Jamie’s, had a screamingly green-and-yellow ski coat that he’d probably had since 1993, and she was fairly sure Siobhan had some neon-pink tights on under her skirt.

 

But she mostly kept her eyes on Ratiri, on Shane and Mairead and Earlene -- she tried desperately _not_ to look at Pat, who had been somewhat irked that he was just too short to fulfill his brotherly duties in this area. She felt his pain, she really did, but his expression of utter chagrin was almost more than she could handle. _Sorry, Pat_.

 

Thranduil gave Lorna a last reassuring warm smile as he directed the lowering of the piri at the mandap, the place where the bride and groom would be initially seated. Shane and Thranduil each offered a hand to Lorna, and piloted her by supporting her arms into an upright posture and into her seat, then removing the piri to the side. With grace, the King then fluidly retreated, his duty complete.

 

Now came Shane’s turn. He kind of got screwed, because Lorna had no maternal figure to help him out here, but he knew his bit. He had a little bowl of water that he poured over Ratiri’s hands and onto Lorna’s, though she could see him sweating a bit as he struggled to remember his lines. “Today, the bride is Laxmi and the groom is Vishnu,” he said, his accent slightly mangling to Indian names, but whatever. It was good. “By joining their hands together, we will repay the debt to our forefathers by continuing into the next life.”

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. They’d practiced saying this in stereo so often it was second nature by now. “While pursuing Dharma, Artha and Kama, I will always remain faithful to you.”

 

Now came the fun part. When she had found out that she and Ratiri were actually supposed to throw rice at each other, she’d been delighted. She was careful, though, very careful, because she didn’t want to risk anything happening to her lehenga. Also, movements that were too sweeping and sudden tended to pull on the nath, which...no. That could end so horribly.

 

She’d been told she needed to communicate what she expected out of married life, which had left her somewhat nonplussed, since she already had what she wanted. Eventually, she’d just decided to list what they already had. “I ask that you stay with me, and our children, and that you love us both,” she said. “I ask that you be you, because to me, you are perfect.” Under any other circumstances, that might have sounded too sickening to be sweet, bu there and now, it was just what was needed.

 

Ratiri looked down at her. “I ask that you be all that you are,” he said. “That you love our children, and me, as I love you.”

 

Carefully, very carefully, they tied the sutrabandhanam, the sacred thread, around each other’s wrists -- now they just had to remember it was there, and not try to walk apart and break it. Now came another bit they’d had to practice saying in stereo.

 

“I take thy hand  in mine, yearning for happiness,” they chorused. “I ask thee, to live with me, till both of us, with age, grow old. Know this, as I declare, that the Gods have bestowed thy person, upon me, that I may fulfill my Dharma of the householder, with thee.”

 

Ratiri carefully fastened the mangalsutra around her neck -- it was a gold, teardrop-shaped pendant that had also once been his mother’s, that symbolized good luck, love, and friendship. She could not for the life of her recall the name for the spot of red powder he applied to her forehead, nor what it was called when she did the same thing for him, and hoped like hell Doc Barry didn’t decide to quiz her later.

 

Ratiri could not help but grin when she placed the ring on his right forefinger, because he knew a lot of the villagers were confused as to why he wore it that way. Yes, he was a nerd. An ultra nerd. He did not care in the slightest. Lorna’s tiny, warm, strong fingers seated the ring firmly, and gave his a squeeze.

 

They had been going to borrow someone’s barbecue for the agni, the sacred fire. Thanadir had seemed perilously close to actually making a face at that, and rigged up what looked very much like an upturned shield rested upon bricks. They were smart, and kept the fire small, but Lorna could nevertheless see Mairead hovering anxiously out of the corner of her eye.

 

Somehow they managed to both rise without tripping over the fire or breaking the sutrabandhanam, and now Pat finally got to do something. He took both their hands and led them in a slow circle around the fire, while Ratiri recited, “I am the sky, you are the earth. I am the thought, you are the speech.  I am the fire and you are the fuel. I am the song, you are the verse; I am the ocean, you are the shore. I am the strength but you are the beauty. I am the Purush, and you are my Prakriti.” The rich depth of his voice rendered it all the more poetic, and so distracting that it was all she could do to avoid stumbling over Pat. “Let us live together lovingly and bring up our progeny. Let us lead a  joyful life of a hundred years. Please ascend this stone and be as firm throughout our married life.”

 

Here Pat abandoned them, looking so pleased to have actually been able to take part. Now, though, there was more fire-circling, which Lorna watched anxiously, because she really would never forgive herself if she lit this lehenga on fire.

 

“With the first step, we  will provide  for and support each other,” they recited, and Ratiri entirely forgot their onlookers. He just saw Lorna, dressed up like a princess among his mother’s people, looking at him with so much love it almost hurt.

 

She had to brush the lehenga out of the way and slow down a bit for the second circle, though. “With the second step, we will develop mental, physical, and spiritual strength.” They’d both developed so much of that already, and much thanks to one another. Oh, she wished she had telepathy -- wished she could communicate even a tenth of what she truly thought and felt.

 

“With the third step, we will share the worldly possessions.”  They actually had plenty of worldly possessions to share, which was something of a first for both of them. Ratiri had not grown up destitute like Lorna had, but neither had he had a surfeit of things.

 

“With the fourth step, we will acquire knowledge, happiness and  peace.”  They’d both been doing plenty of that already, albeit with some missteps.

 

The next verse made it hard for her not to laugh, though. “With the fifth step, we  will raise strong and virtuous children.” Strong, sure, but she doubted any child of hers was ever going to truly be virtuous, no matter what her best intentions.

 

“With the sixth step, we will enjoy the fruits of all seasons.” _Especially once Earlene’s greenhouse is up and running,_ Ratiri thought. His mother had had one, before they moved to Glasgow, though she had mostly grown flowers.

 

“With the seventh step, we will always remain friends and cherish each other.” Kissing the bride was not actually traditional at this point, but Ratiri did it anyway, lifting Lorna off her feet to do it. They hadn’t planned that, either; her squawk of surprise was very real. One of her sandals dangled precariously off her toes, but mercifully didn’t actually fall off.

 

“I’ll get you for that later,” she murmured, arching an eyebrow when he set her down.

 

“I’m counting on it.” He did hope that retribution would be of the sexy variety, as opposed to, say, toothpaste in his shoes. He looked at her, in his mother’s finery and _Melian’s bloody crown_ , and resolved to never, ever tell her that she was now technically sort of a princess. Technically. Sort of.

 

At first there was uncertainty among both elves and Irishfolk, but when Thranduil caught from Ratiri that it was allowed to applaud, he took the initiative to do so, which of course caused the cavern to erupt in polite clapping (from those with somewhat restrained manners) to every sort of vocalization and whistling (from everyone else). The happy couple slowly made their exit off of the great platform, allowing plenty of time for any who had not had a suitable view to appreciate the spectacle. Earlene and Mairead had elected to follow at a dignified distance, still bearing their lit candles in front of them. Thanadir played what Earlene could swear was a version of _A Elbereth Gilthoniel_ , and suppressed a smile. _When worlds collide_. Once out of sight, the women grinned broadly at each other. “Well, I didn’t screw up. Now I can enjoy this wedding. D’you think they were surprised?” she asked Mairead. Surely this had been just as strange, if not stranger, for her.

 

Mairead laughed, relieved. “I’m sure they were,” she said. “Christ, I’m surprised I managed it. Didn’t they look lovely, though.” She was quite happily married, but Ratiri...Lorna had done good, there. “And nothing caught on fire...yet.” This might have been a Hindu wedding, but it was an Irish reception, and those usually ended in flames of some sort.

 

“God, you’d like to think that fires are more or less contained here. I mean, they’ve lived for how many zillions of years with fire here? I never heard any story from Thanadir about there ever being a fire that wasn’t in a hearth or a wood stove. Then again...what you said. Maybe we’d best not tempt fate. Alright, so next we’ve got to help her out’v her current clothes into other pretty stuff. My brain doesn’t want to remember these names for things, there are just too many new words. I’m lucky I managed ‘sitar’ and ‘sari’.”

 

Now able to walk much faster, they arrived at Lorna and Ratiri’s rooms just after the bride and groom. Earlene peeked in and silently closed the door, grinning at Mairead. ‘They’re kissing,’ she mouthed to her friend, knocking loudly this time and waiting to hear the ‘come in’ before entering and offering hugs of congratulations. Earlene noticed that there were no felines in sight...a wise decision, in view of all the precious fabrics that would have screamed ‘cat toy’. “Alright, you, just stand still and let’s get you changed. Ratiri, you’re welcome to admire as long as it includes taking the fabrics once we’ve folded them and storing them properly right off,” Earlene teased. She and Mairead carefully removed the dupatta and expertly folded it as though it were a silken sheet, handing it to Ratiri to be layered in tissue paper once again. Next came the lehenga, which Lorna was helped to step out of with no possibility of tripping; this too was folded into tissues with care. None of the red powder had gotten anywhere, Valar be praised, so nothing required cleaning.

 

Now resplendent in her green lehenga, Earlene adjusted the fit as best she was able, knowing Thanadir would be along at some point to fine-tune anything he felt was amiss. Her red-themed jewels were removed one at a time and switched out for ones bearing emeralds and green beryls. And because Earlene had a sense of humor, the necklace Thranduil had given Lorna as well as her shamrock brooch (they were Irish, sue her) also found its way onto her diminutive form. While Mairead attached the last of the new earrings and the emerald-encrusted jadangam hair ornament, Earlene placed the last of the heavy bracelets  and arm ornaments on her. And finally, they draped the emerald and gold dupatta over her head and carefully fixed it to her hair with golden pins. “That’s it, then,” Mairead murmured, steering her sister to see herself in the mirror.

 

“The last stop will be back at my rooms; we’ll touch up your lip stain and let Thanadir give final approval to the fit of your clothes,” Earlene added, smiling at Lorna’s stunning beauty and the disbelief that still lingered in her expression. _Maybe this will help her start believing that she_ is _beautiful, and not just cute-beautiful. Anyone can carry off a very attractive appearance with the right clothes and accessories...but it’s a learned skill. You don’t have to spend all your time in boots and flannels if you don’t want to…_

 

“God, I still almost don’t recognize myself,” Lorna said. Strangely, she didn’t feel awkward in all this finery -- possibly because it was so alien to her. “Though Christ am I glad I got to shed some’v that jewelry. Even as it is, I think I need to hunt down Thranduil for some anti-headache mojo.” She paused, and touched the dupatta. “I’m actually pretty in this.”

 

“You were always pretty, you twit,” Mairead said. “You’ve just been so busy dressing like a lad you never noticed.” She looked at Earlene and rolled her eyes a touch, conveying without words that this was a rather old argument with them.

 

“But I _like_ dressing like a lad,” Lorna protested. “Besides, you know as bloody well as I do that it’s hard to find nice clothes that don’t make me look like a kid playing dress-up.”

 

“No, it _was_ hard. You’ve got actual money now, and Earlene has actual taste. You’ve already started making use’v it, so keep on.”

 

Earlene bit her cheeks so as to keep from smirking. Mairead had all the finesse of a bull in a China shop, but if she could get away with it, good for her. A short walk later, Thanadir was circling Lorna with a critical eye while Thranduil relaxed with a glass of elven wine. _Would you like a sip?_ he asked, offering her his glass while Thanadir rolled his eyes. “Relax, meldir,” Thranduil smiled. “I do not believe Lorna wishes to add being incoherent to her celebration. One sip will do no harm.”

 

Thanadir struggled very hard to not point out that he had heard this logic on previous occasions that ended poorly, and in the end smiled and bowed his head in acquiescence. “I see nothing that needs adjusting,” he declared with approval, now turning his attention to Earlene and Mairead, who still both appeared as perfection. “On any of you.”

 

Lorna didn’t squee, but she couldn’t help but make grabby hands. “D’you think you could please do something about this headache?” she asked. “All that gold...ow. So glad I get to leave it off now.” She took a very small sip, just enough to wet her tongue, but even that was enough to send warmth all through her as she handed the goblet back. Someday, they seriously needed to see if a drop or two in some brownie batter would survive the baking process.

 

His hand reached to cup her jawline and banish the offending headache. “Will you wear these garments for the rest of the day?” he asked Ratiri. His guess was, the strain of wearing such foreign garb was its own form of difficulty for Lorna. If she could wear more ordinary items at some point, that would certainly help.

 

“Until the end of the reception,” Ratir said. In all honesty, he too felt a touch uncomfortable, but he was quite sure it wouldn’t last. Once the food and booze got going, he wasn’t going to be discomfited by _anything._

 

“Please tell me I can take at least a few’v these things off at some point,” Lorna said, touching the dupatta. “If I trip over this and rip it, I’ll never forgive myself.”

 

“And I’d never forgive myself if I stepped on it,” Mairead added.

 

“Take it off once we start moving around,” Ratiri said. “That way you don’t have to worry about it falling off your head or anything.”

 

“Once you’ve shown yourselves off, Mairead and I will fold it and I will personally return it to your rooms,” Earlene offered. “I saw which container it came out of.”

 

That was a relief. The wine was _definitely_ a relief. “Well, nothing’s caught on fire yet,” she said. “ _Yet_. Even if the reception gets banjaxed to hell and back, the ceremony was perfect, so...thank you. All’v you. It was everything any bride could’ve wanted.”

 

Earlene leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I was honored to participate, and I know Mairead feels the same. We all were. Now get out there and do some more Looking Beautiful,” she nudged, walking to open the door. “Not to mention, the food is that way.” Apparently food was an idea that suddenly interested everyone, because even Thranduil set down his wine and rose with that thought in mind. Unsurprisingly, Thanadir was the first one out of the room. Earlene lingered until the others were gone, and was not displeased when Thranduil’s hand came up to close the door, just for a moment. His hand roved down her face and over the contours of her breast, coming to rest on her belly as he claimed her in a deep kiss that made her loins ache. “Now, you,” she breathed, lust already awakening. “I’ll not thank you if my breasts start leaking milk onto these beautiful clothes.”

 

“I happen to know that you are wearing a garment to protect against that,” he murmured into her ear as his tongue teased the edge of it. “And the thought of your milk flowing is not exactly a discouragement to my behavior.”

 

Earlene groaned, knowing they were within a hair’s breadth of ending up in bed. “Then please have pity on me. We both know this is not an appropriate time, and yet I only have so much self-control.”

 

With a deep sigh and one last caress of her belly, he relented. “I will savor it that much more, for the waiting.” With a chaste peck on her cheek, he smiled and offered his arm, glad for the strange garments that at least had the advantage of hiding the beginnings of his arousal. With a flourish, he opened the door and they exited their rooms.

 

Lorna, quite fortunately unaware of what was going on behind her, leaned her head against Ratiri’s arm. She was still so happy it almost frightened her, and now that her  head didn’t hurt, she could properly enjoy it. That tiny taste of elf wine had been enough to set what lingering nerves she had at rest; now she was just hungry.

 

 _I wish I could tell her she’s like a living doll,_ Ratiri thought, looking down at her, _but I’m pretty certain she’d turn that into a dirty joke of some kind. Either that or kick me._ But she was so very like a doll. He wanted to pick her up and carry her -- and for once, given this was his wedding day and he could probably be forgiven, he did just that.

 

Lorna made a rather startled, extremely undignified sound that was somewhere between a squawk and a squeak, one of her sandals flying off into the ether over the high end of the walkway. His expression, however, made her burst out laughing. “All right, Mister, just this once,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But if someone rips on this getup, I’m blaming you. But more importantly, Thanadir probably will, too, and he’s a far greater threat than I am.”

 

Eying her remaining sandal, she added, “We need to go find that thing later, because I really like these.” With a sigh, she took it off, though as she had no pockets, she was stuck holding it.

 

Mairead rolled her eyes and made a mental note to tell the elf seneschal what had happened. She’d no idea where in the depths below the sandal would be, but _he_ certainly would know where to look. “You’ve got servants for a day, Fun Size; may as well make use’v it.” Extending her hand, she made grasping motions for the remaining sandal, only now noticing that Earlene was not right behind her. _Oh, there she is,_ waving down the other woman and lingering to tell her what had happened. Grinning, Thranduil assured that he would care for this. If nothing else, it gave him the chance to capitalize on being alone with his wife for a few more minutes, as he led Earlene off on an entirely new path that was the shortest route to this part of the lower cavern. With humans coming to live here, this would assuredly not be the last object to sail off the archways.

 

“It’s like _Downton Abbey_ goes Hindu,” Lorna laughed, even as she resisted the urge to tickle Ratiri under the chin, just to see what would happen. Given that what would happen would probably be him dropping her, she forbore with great effort.

 

“I’m afraid we don’t have a Carson, though Thanadir is likely the closest elven equivalent we’re ever likely to find,” Ratiri said.

 

“And much prettier,” Mairead added.

 

When they reached the Dining Hall, they found that their guests, as per Irish tradition, were already well at it with the food. Between the elven cooks and the assorted chefs and bakers of Baile, they’d more than outdone themselves: the long tables held both traditional Irish fare and some elven delicacies Lorna had never even seen before. At the center of each table lay a long garland of ferns and flowers, dotted with candles in metal holders that had holes cut into the sides, to allow the light to fall in a pattern. Mairead, wise woman, had brought a big, big pot of Swedish meatballs, because there was scarcely a person who didn’t like meatballs, but were also buns (chocolate buns, oh dear), small cakes, assorted salads, sloppy joe mix with fresh-baked bread, cream puffs, apples drizzled with caramel sauce, and a huge bowl of assorted fruits, including pears, mangos, and plums, all of which she loved.

 

“Everyone is going to have diabetes by the end of this,” Ratiri said. “The food coma will be rather epic.”

 

“Eh, there’s plenty’v rooms for those who can’t make it out’v the woods without a wheelbarrow,” Lorna said, as he finally set her down. The stone floor was chilly beneath her bare feet, but it was welcome, because she could already tell she was going to overheat if she moved too much. She’d had no idea silk could be so warm; how could something this thin trap the heat as it did? Science, probably.

 

She came very, very close to actually blushing when the entire lot of them applauded on sight of her and Ratiri. He _did_ blush, quite fetchingly so, if she did say so herself. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him on the cheek, which just drove the applause louder.

 

“All right, all right, let’s eat,” she said, waving them off. She’d been too nervous to eat much for breakfast, so she was bloody starving now.

 

About fifteen minutes later Thranduil and Earlene reappeared. He did exact a penalty of several luxurious kisses, once they found themselves alone and surrounded by the beauty of ferns and the rare orchids that lived amidst the moisture and constant coolness of that part of the caverns. While Earlene enjoyed the attentions, she also felt astonished at the sight of so much natural beauty, and extracted a promise to return here sometime when there was not a major social function occurring in their home. The King offered Lorna her sandals with a happy smile, then steered his wife toward the impressive displays of food. Soon, with filled plates, they found themselves at the elaborately decorated table reserved (as Earlene thought of it) for anyone wearing authentic Hindu clothing. Unsurprisingly, Thanadir was just getting up to find seconds.

 

Little Orla, half-eaten bun in one hand, came zooming through the forest of legs, dodging away from a pursuing Saoirse. She decided ooching her way in front of Thranduil and Earlene was a perfect hiding-spot, and indeed it seemed to be, for Saoirse wandered past, searching. She had a blob of cream from a cream puff on the end of her nose.

 

“Shhhh,” Orla said, looking up at the two of them. “Saoirse said the littlest person gets used like a dancing monkey, and I’m littler than she is.”

 

Earlene’s eyes narrowed. “Saoirse may say a great many things, not all of which are true,” Earlene smiled, hopefully leaving something for Orla to consider.

 

“I _knew_ it,” Orla whispered. “Is anyone gonna get mad if I go under the table?”

 

“It would be best not to, since this is a very fancy party,” Earlene said truthfully. “But you may explore the caverns if you wish to, as long as you promise me you will be careful around the archways. No running or playing, there.”

 

Orla grinned. “Okay,” she said, and off she zoomed.

 

Shane, looking rather uncomfortable in his finery, knocked back a pint rather faster than he ordinarily would have done, and watching him do his level best to swallow a belch was almost more than Lorna could handle. His face went a very interesting shade of red that didn’t at all match his outfit, and something very like a quietly dying frog managed to escape.

 

That was enough for Lorna, who burst out laughing, ignoring his glower -- at least, right up until he said, “Isn’t the father’v the bride meant to dance with her at her wedding?”

 

“Since when can _you_ dance?” Orla demanded. To Lorna’s immense amusement, rather than attempt to don a dress, she’d come in an actual tuxedo.

 

“As’v last Saturday,” he retorted. “Learned off YouTube. I knew I’d be meant to do da things, so I’m ready to do a da thing.”

 

“Well, if you can dance, it’s more than I can say,” Lorna said, already dreading that. She’d thought having to dance with Ratiri would be a disaster; trying it with more than one person was just asking for it.

 

Ratiri, seized by an urge he knew he would regret later, added, “You’re meant to dance with your brothers, too. Though before you throw something at me, I ought to dance with your sisters.”

 

“I’m sorry in advance, Earlene,” Lorna said, openly glaring at him. “This one’s as bad as I am when it comes to that.” She knew that Big Jamie actually could dance, but Pat? She highly, _highly_ doubted it.

 

“Now come on, you lot,” Earlene commanded. “Anyone can manage a two step. _Anyone_ .” Hiking up her sari a little, she demonstrated. “Step...together. Step….together. Find a way to turn ‘round a little bit while you do it, and, done. I defy _any’v_ you, drunk or not, to banjax that.” As if in mysterious accord, Bridie, Sharley and others with random musical skills began tuning their instruments in an alcove of the Dining Hall. Earlene squeezed her eyes shut when she recognized the opening tune as a markedly slowed down (not to mention, toned-down) version of ‘Stairway to Heaven’.   _Just, whatever. At least it’s music._ “So how does this work? Do the bride and groom go first?”

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. Part of the difficulty with dancing with him was their sheer height difference; she had to take a step and a half for every one of his, unless he consciously slowed down, and then everything just went sideways. “We can give it a go,”  she said. Yeah, maybe they were going to make fools of themselves, but whatever. Taking his hand, they went out into the center of the floor, and she tried to ignore the fact that they were surrounded by nine hundred bloody people. It was easier to do than she’d thought, actually; her clumsy steps were less embarrassing when she had Ratiri to focus on -- Ratiri, who looked like someone had handed him the entire world on a platter. Christ did she love him, and loved that he could be so happy -- that she could make him so happy. God knew he deserved it.

 

Ratiri, for his part, was lost in his green-eyed fae of a bride, his wild little sprite now bound to him. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to bring her down to earth with him, but she was here now, and Lorna Duncan really did have quite a nice ring to it. Unfortunately, kissing her in front of God and everybody was probably a bad idea, because he thought he’d die if too many people wolf-whistled at them. And this being Ireland, he knew that was exactly what would happen.

 

Thranduil whispered to Mairead the suggestion that she invite (which was code for, coerce) Pat onto the dance floor, before leading Earlene to do the same. Shane had a similar thought, and co-opted Niamh, who unfortunately had not paid enough attention to dodge him out of being distracted by the sheer deliciousness of some of the elven nibbles. The twang of the sitar told Earlene that Thanadir had joined the musicians, diverting the Led Zeppelin into something with a 4/4 rhythm; the first had been abominable for dancing. Clearly they’d worked out some tunes ahead of time; this one had far more of a lilting Irish flavor to it. Thranduil held Earlene close in an electric embrace; if any among the humans had wondered about the level of the elf King’s interest in his mortal wife, they weren’t wondering any longer. Though not a touch or a glance was inappropriate in any manner, their love blazed visibly between them.

 

At the buffet table, Siobhan sighed. Oh, if only...too bad they probably weren’t the sort that wanted an audience in their bedroom. She really needed to get out of town for a weekend again soon, and dust her whips off. Nobody in Baile knew just what she did, when she went out of town, and she hoped like hell Thranduil never told them. She did _not_ want to deal with that line of questioning. (Though it had been all she could do not to give Lorna one at her bridal shower. It had been so, so tempting.)

 

Poor Lorna was soon lost amid the crowd, everyone so much taller than her, until Ratiri picked her up, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself. Yes, she was clinging to him like a limpet, laughing so hard she feared she’d be sick, but it was perfect anyway. She could actually see over everyone’s heads, and she leaned in to give him a brief kiss.

 

Pat eyed the dance floor, and looked at Mairead, his expression clearly saying, _Are you shitting me?_ Everyone on that floor was a good deal taller than he was; add in the fact that he couldn’t dance to save his life and you had a fairly large issue.

 

“Oh, get out there,” his sister said, and practically dragged him. “If I can, you can. Now shut up and try not to run into anyone.”

 

“You might look like Mam, but Lorna was right,” he groused. “You are a bit’v a battle-axe.”

 

Mairead looked incredibly proud.

 

This dance ended and another began, in which Earlene partnered with Ratiri, and Pat with Lorna. Thranduil invited a baffled Saoirse to dance, and ended up taking her in his arms to better manage the nearly two-foot difference in their height. “Are you enjoying the wedding?” he asked the young girl.

 

“I’ve never been to a wedding before, but this is a lot more fun than what I’ve seen on TV,” she said. “Those looked stupid and boring, but this one has fire and really good food and dancing, and I don’t even mind that Da made me wear a _dress_.” It wasn’t really a dress, more like a long tunic, bright red. “Are all weddings like this, and TV is just fake? Because maybe I’ll get married someday, if I can have something like this.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. “All weddings are like this in other parts of the world,” Thranduil offered. “In India, where Ratiri’s family is from. Here in Ireland, I am afraid they are like what is on...TV. When I married Earlene it was very different, but it is the love between husband and wife that is important, not so much the ceremony.” He declined to try to explain a civil wedding or...Donal. No point putting the child off completely.

 

“If I ever get married, I want one like this,” Saoirse said thoughtfully. “But not for like twenty years. Boys are gross.” She paused, it occurring to her too late that she was in fact talking to a guy. “No offense. You’re not a boy. I mean -- oh, hell. Da always says I stuff my foot down my throat so far I’ll digest my own shoelaces one day.”

 

“Much like someone else I know, and love,” Thranduil said with a smile. “I already like you very much. And yes, I am sure boys can be gross. Though as I am going to have one of my own soon, I hope you can manage to overlook that part.”

 

“Da says Aunt Lorna can’t string two words together without losing one along the way, but I’m never supposed to tell that to her,” Saoirse said solemnly. “And baby boys aren’t gross. Except when they shit themselves, but all babies do that, so it’s…” she struggled to remember the term “...gender equality.”

 

Lorna, passing, caught the last of that, and burst out laughing. Pat just groaned, and hoped to God Saoirse wouldn’t offend absolutely everyone by being...her. She didn’t _mean_ any harm, she just tended not to think before she spoke, nor know what half the things she said sounded like until after the fact. Rather like her aunt.

 

Thranduil tilted his head, amused and fascinated at what this young mind dished his way. However coarse, none of her observations were incorrect. “True enough,” he agreed. “Have you chosen a weapon yet, to learn with Thanadir? He told me what he felt you would be best at, but I am curious what you prefer.”

 

“Dunno yet,” she said, trying not to accidentally kick anyone in the head. “Aunt Lorna says I should try throwing knives first, because I’m so small, but that Thanadir would know best. I kind’v like the idea’v throwing sharp things, though, except Da’s afraid I’ll cut my finger off if I sneeze.” Her scowl said everything she thought about _that_ idea.

 

“No one will cut anything off around Thanadir; he will not permit it. Lorna learned and so will you. Soon she will begin with bows, too. There will be many things to learn, for all of us. We will all return to studies of one kind or another, soon.”

 

“Aunt Lorna said it’s so much better than normal school,” Saoirse said, which made her actually look forward to it. “My teachers always looked at me weird. Not like they looked at the other kids. I asked Da why and he wouldn’t say -- he just got mad, but not at me. Then a kid called me gyppo and I smashed his teeth out.” Da had looked actually scared when he’d found that out, and she still didn’t know why. He’d muttered something about the thing that lived behind her eyes, whatever that even meant, but she’d gathered through shameless eavesdropping that her aunt Lorna did the same thing.

 

“I could tell you, if you wish,” Thranduil said carefully. “Though maybe, not here. You...understand, Saoirse, that your thoughts are not hidden from me? I cannot help but hear what humans think. I have helped your aunt, with...getting mad. And I can help you too, if you think that would be a good thing.”

 

“Da told me,” she said seriously. “He also said that if you could handle Aunt Lorna’s thoughts, mine probably wouldn’t be a big deal. And...I don’t see anything wrong with getting mad, except it scares Da. Like, really scares him, and not just like ‘Oh shit, I left the oven on’ kind’v scared. And I don’t get it, because I’m tiny, but Da’s normally not scared’v anything, so...maybe I do need help.”

 

“You are not like many other children, Saoirse,” he said truthfully. “You are more intelligent, more insightful about the things you see others think and feel. But no matter how old or young we are, sometimes we need others to help us understand things about ourselves. I am...very old, and this is true for me as well. It is not that you get mad; we can all get mad. But you and Lorna both can get mad in a way that is beyond anything that is usual. When most people experience anger, it is a strong emotion. But your aunt, and apparently you as well, you become someone else. This is what frightens your father, because it is not supposed to happen. But this is a happy celebration, and not a time to talk about such serious things. Do you want to show me where the cream puffs are? I feel hungry.”

 

Saoirse filed all that away, to be examined later. “Aunt Mairead made them,” she said, pointing over his head at a platter further down the buffet table. “You’re really tall. Can you make me grow tall, like with...magic? Because I don’t want to be tiny like Aunt Lorna. Da says life’s a bitch when you’re short.” Her aunt certainly did seem to be having a hell of a time of it, too, lost in a forest of big people.

 

Thranduil took this living doll who was so very much like Lorna from the dance floor, to find the cream puffs. Not that he wanted one, so much as he knew she did. He sighed. “I could. But this is something that should be discussed with your family; it is not my decision to make. I can at least tell you that I would be willing. Though, such choices must be made very carefully, because they are changes to how you were meant to be and cannot be undone later.”

 

Saoirse very happily snagged a cream puff. “Okay,” she said. “But I already know that even if I don’t want to be like, six feet tall, I do want to be taller that Aunt Lorna. She’s tiny. Da says she’s doll-sized, which is kind’v funny, since he’s pretty short himself. Aunt Mairead hogged all the height, I think.”

 

“I suppose she did,” he said, trying a cream puff himself and being pleasantly surprised that it was not as sweet as he anticipated. “My, these are good, aren’t they?” He took a moment to appreciate the treat. “Thank you for the dance, Saoirse. I believe I am expected to dance now with your aunt, so please excuse me. Perhaps you would like to dance with your Da?”

 

Saoirse managed to remember to say “You’re welcome” before weaving her way through the sea of legs to find her father. She liked Uncle Thranduil, she decided. He was super tall and kind of creepy-looking, but that wasn’t his fault, and he didn’t talk to her like she was a little kid. None of her new family did. It was a strange thing, but a good one.

 

Thranduil took the next dance with Lorna, smiling to now be with the much larger incarnation of Saoirse. The two were so alike it really was breathtaking. “It does my heart good, to see you so happy,” he said reaching almost the full length of his arms to take her tiny waist.”

 

“I really am so happy it’s a bit scary,” she said. Rather like with Ratiri, she didn’t even bother trying to dance with her arms around his neck; like a small child, she had to settle for a bastard version of a hug, and disregard the fact that it not doubt looked ridiculous. “Though if one more person steps on me, they’ll get my shiny sandal up their arse.”

 

“I heard that,” Mairead called. She’d been snagged by poor Mick, with his two left feet. “Don’t you dare. Those’re way too pretty to get caked in somebody’s shite.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Well, I suppose this is a bit’v a taste’v what life’ll be like, when we’re all living here for real. Just with less awesome food and hopefully fewer ossified people.”

 

“Speak for your bloody self there,” Siobhan said, dancing past with Shane, who looked a little too pleased by this turn of events. No. _No. Bad. No me gusta. Do not want._

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “Eru help me,” he smiled. “And, you should have more faith in our cooking staff.” Part of him could not help but overhear Siobhan, as much as he wished to ignore her. All things being equal, by mortal standards, Shane was set to have a most memorable evening, apparently.

 

Earlene’s sharp ears caught the sudden discontinuation of the sitar as the rest of the musicians played on, and wondered greatly at the rapidity with which Thanadir was seen exiting the Dining Hall. _Hîr vuin, is everything alright?_

 

Thranduil looked up suddenly from his conversation with Lorna. “Well, it seems tradition has been fulfilled,” he said drily. Before adding silently, _I am told that the fabrics covering the mandap have caught fire, though the manner in which this has occurred is unclear. To think, Lorna,_ he teased, _if your wedding has burnt down my throne, surely that will offer some lasting amusement?_ For his friend, even this indignity could not dampen his spirits, though a part of him would be sad if it were damaged beyond repair.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, even as part of her felt bad for it. _Look at it this way_ , she managed, even as she laughed so hard tears leaked out of her eyes, _it’s now officially an Irish reception. Though if one’v the reasons for that fire isn’t Nuala’s youngest, I’ll be very, very surprised._ She had to go see this. She just...had to, because it really was officially an Irish reception.

 

Thanadir arrived to see that quick-thinking Thalion had managed to quickly ascend to the throne, using his sword to slice through the swaths of fabric and drop them onto the stone where the flames could do no harm. This of course left some very strange looking tatters of silk yardage dangling from the elk antlers. “My fabric,” the seneschal said mournfully, before looking at the cause. Another one of the elven guard had two children gently but firmly restrained; apparently their horseplay around the makeshift brazier had managed to tumble coals onto the flammable yardage. And one of these was Orla, who was known to him. He approached the children and knelt down to their level. “Were you playing near the fire?” he asked them.

 

Orla was so terrified she was near tears, but the other little girl put an arm around her. It was in fact Maureen, Nuala’s youngest, age six. “Not _near_ it,” she said. “We were on that rug there, and I tripped, and it pulled, and everything kind’v went _whoosh_ , and then there was fire.”

 

Lorna was actually a touch disappointed it had been put out by the time they got there, and immediately felt terrible for thinking so. Nevertheless, she snapped a covert picture.

 

“Earlene did tell me not to run,” Orla admitted, almost inaudibly.

 

“Well, nobody told _me_ not to, and I chased her, so she kind’v had to run,” Maureen said. “Wasn’t her fault.”

 

“Come with me,” Thanadir said. “Each of you, take my hand.” Looking even more terrified, both children did as he asked, and he walked them to the edge of the great platform, gripping them firmly. “Can either of you tell me why Earlene would have said not to run?” His voice was gentle, though his words were pointed.

 

“I thought it was because she didn’t want me to run off the edge’v something,” Orla said. “Maureen started tag and I just kind’v...forgot.”

 

“I really did start it,” Maureen put in staunchly. “Nobody told me not to run, and my mam says I haven’t got the sense God gave a goat.”

 

“I believe you,” said Thanadir, smiling, now taking them far away from the edge and releasing their hands. “But you must remember, the Halls of the elves are not like the outside world. There are no handrails, and it is expected that those who come here understand that this is not a place for carelessness. There are many passages through which you can run to your heart’s content, but anywhere near this area, which is called Thranduil’s Hall or The Archways, you must never do so. No one is angry with you; what matters is that you were not hurt. You will try, to remember?”

 

Both girls nodded at him solemnly. “Good. Now follow me, and I will show you where you can play like this safely. If you become lost, make noise; an elf will find you.” Swiftly he guided them down to the lower Halls, and turned them loose. “Have fun,” he said, before returning to help clean up the mess.

 

Lorna looked at Thranduil. _That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,_ she said, stuffing her phone back down the front of her shirt. “We’d best get to that cake, before Mairead dies’v anticipation. I don’t even want to know how she and Siobhan managed to work with the cooks, but apparently they managed it.”

 

“Thanadir translated, at times, but mostly the document Earlene created was surprisingly helpful in allowing them to have some manner of communication. That and, they are all skilled bakers. I would imagine that for them, a kitchen is a kitchen and some things likely do not require an interpreter.” He handed Lorna off gracefully to her husband, and found Earlene. It was always too much fun, to hear his wife’s thoughts where cake was concerned.

 

“I smell smoke,” Ratiri said, as Lorna looped her arm through his.

 

“Fire, naturally,” she said, grinning up at him. “I didn’t get a picture’v the flames themselves, but at least the aftermath.”

 

“C’mon, the pair’v you,” Mairead said. “We’re getting the cake out.” Even as she spoke, two of the kitchen elves came in, bearing on a wheeled cart something that looked less like a cake than like a forest on a field of green. Lorna stared at it, wondering how in the hell they’d _done_ it -- what were the trees made out of? Each had its own carved _leaves_ , for Christ’s sake. Was it fondant? Without thinking, she immediately whipped out her camera, taking not pictures, but a video.

 

“Jesus bloody Christ, you’ve outdone yourselves,” she said. “All’v you.” It was gigantic, easily large enough to look like an actual forest, and quite big enough to feed nine hundred people a fairly substantial slice.

 

“We certainly tried,” Mairead said, helping the elves park the cart.

 

Siobhan appeared seemingly out of nowhere, bearing a low stool. “All right, Fun Size, you stand on this behind the cake. Ratiri, you too. I want pictures, and I want a lot’v them.”

 

Ratiri was so busy staring at the cake he scarcely heard her, but let Lorna lead him. How -- just _how_ ? And how bloody long had it taken them? Mad, it was. It was so beautiful he almost didn’t want to eat it. _Almost._

 

“Sure god,”....that was all Earlene managed. Thranduil placed his hand at the small of Earlene’s back, enjoying her enjoyment. She stood nearby Mairead, knowing that they’d have cake-cutting and distribution duty after the happy couple had their moment. But in the meantime, she could ogle this creation and hold her husband’s hand. “I’ve never seen the like, and I’ve seen a great many things,” she whispered. “Please tell me that everyone is photographing this, from every angle.” _That and, I wish my daughters were old enough to see this. I doubt there will ever be the likes of such a cake seen again._

 

“Oh, it is,” Mairead said. “I’ve got a whole folder on my laptop devoted to the damn thing. We figured, if we were going to be feeding so many people, it was a case of ‘go big or go home’. And since this’ll be home eventually, we went extra big.”

 

“I am not smashing any’v this in Ratiri’s face,” Lorna said, circling the cake with her mobile still filming. “Sorry, not doing it.”

 

“Me neither,” Ratiri said. “How can we even cut this, without destroying it?”

 

“Am I or am I not a baker?” Siobhan asked. “We actually sat down and measured how we’d need to do it. First time I’ve used anything more than basic maths since I took my Leaving Cert.” She pulled an honest-to-god sword off the bottom of the cart, handing it to Mairead.

 

“All right, you lot, come ogle this creation before we demolish it,” Mairead called. People were already drifting over, admiring; the ladies from the Quilting Club in particular enjoyed the detailing on the trees. “You two might not want to smash cake in each other’s faces, but you’re going to share eating a tree, and you’re bloody well going to like it.”

 

Ratiri looked at Lorna, and dissolved into completely helpless laughter. This woman was now officially his sister-in-law, and that thought was vaguely terrifying. Still, he dutifully accepted one of the trees, which was surprisingly light; he suspected it was made out of sugar, and tried not to wince at the thought of what it would do to his teeth.

 

Mairead maneuvered them around so everyone could watch, and Lorna blinked against the strobe of camera flashes. She took a bite out of the tree when Ratiri held it out to her, and blinked again in surprise; she’d been expecting something sickeningly sweet, but this was richer, and oddly creamy. She grabbed his hand before he could eat any himself, taking another bite and ignoring the laughter of all assembled.

 

“That’s far too tasty to be healthy,” was Ratiri’s comment. No sooner had he finished the tree than Mairead all but elbowed him out of the way, cutting the cake in rows and then crossing each. It was a damn good thing she had a sword, because no smaller blade would have reached.

 

Pieces were passed out to all and sundry; when combined with all the free-flowing alcohol, the volume definitely rose a notch or two. For better or worse, the dancing started up again, and some of the more sober guests did their best to keep the now rather inebriated dancers from crashing into a table and setting something else on fire.

 

Lorna could do nothing but stand and savor her cake. Good _grief_ \-- this wasn’t cake, it was manna from heaven. She wanted to inhale it, but she also wanted to savor it for the next year. If that lot got together to cook more often, they could take over the world.

 

Saoirse, frosting on the end of her nose, darted by. “Da, whatever’s in this cake is better than crack!” she called, which only make Lorna choke on hers, wheezing.

 

“She’s definitely related to you,” Ratiri said, thumping her on the back a few times. “It’s like somebody cloned you and gave her to Pat.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. Even he had to admit, the cake was magnificent. Silently giving his request to Earlene, he placed an immense helping of it onto a plate and walked it to his dear brother, which instantly silenced the sitar once again. Earlene watched this from across the Dining Hall and doubled over in laughter at the sight of Thanadir and that cake. If he were somehow Catholic he would be up for beatification, with that expression. How she loved her meldir! Then again, she finally was able to eat her own damn slice of the stuff, and the expression of the seneschal was not overdone in the least. The elves had somehow expanded on Mairead and Siobhan, and the result would be the stuff of legend. “I’ve got news for you both,” Earlene said to Lorna and Ratiri. “The tradition of saving part of the cake for your first anniversary might be in deep trouble. I’m pretty sure this cake is too delicious for its own good.”

 

“I’ll rescue some,” Mairead assured. “Even if I do have to pry it out’v someone’s hands before they can eat it.”

 

“The terrifying thing is that I’m sure she means it,” Ratiri said, watching her bustle off.

 

“Oh, she does,” Lorna said. “I’d pay to see it, actually.”

 

“And ruin that beautiful sari? Not hardly,” Siobhan said. She actually wasn’t leering at Ratiri...much. A certain amount of it was just innate. “Lorna, you are so lucky I didn’t get you what I almost got you. Even I have _some_ tact.”

 

Lorna eyed her, and really, really did not want to know. At all. Ever. If it involved a corset and/or hooker heels...nuh-uh.

 

“Which is a bloody miracle,” Big Jamie said. His face was near as red as his hair; he’d been at the booze more than once already. Orla -- gang Orla, not Baile Orla -- was hot on his heels, and actually sniffed at the cake that was handed to her.

 

“Don’t drool on it,” Lorna warned. “Or get any’v it on your tux. Did you rent that?”

 

“I did. And good Christ, I’ll never be able to eat another cake again.”

 

Having shovelled her second piece into her mouth and now vaguely groaning with the discomfort in her stomach, Earlene leaned back in a chair, holding both her growing baby and her bulging stomach. Which, to be clear, were two entirely separate things competing for space in her abdomen. In theory, the tablecloths hid all that from view. Thranduil came to her, with a mile-wide smirk on his face.

 

“Please don’t say it,” she pleaded. “It was not a normal cake. No one has ever had anything like it, as you can see from the behavior of three-quarters of the people here, many of whom don’t particularly like cake. Today was a milestone in the history of baking.” If she was going to go down with the bellyache of a lifetime, there could not possibly have been a worthier reason.

 

“I remain silent on the matter,” the King said, smiling at his wife. “But I thought you might wish to rise and perform your last official function; the bride and groom are about to depart the reception.”

 

“Valar save me,” she moaned, struggling to her feet. “I hope Mairead ate at least as much of this as I did.”

 

“Actually….” Thranduil observed Mairead in fact chasing down someone who had attempted to make off with a slice intended to be frozen for the newlyweds. “Well, we had best not count on her. Come, I will ensure you make it to their quarters to assist Lorna in changing.”

 

“Changing,” Earlene echoed weakly, wondering if stomach ruptures were possible. _This must be how Thanadir felt, after Nonna…._ Leaning heavily on her husband’s arm, they made their way slowly out of the Dining Hall.

 

Lorna, full of cake and booze, wound up having to be carried out by Ratiri, who wasn’t much better. Mairead had agreed to drive them to Ashford Castle, so he hadn’t felt any qualms about imbibing to an  excessive degree, either. The real trick was going to be keeping his hands off his tiny bride until they were in their room, because something about the sight of her in that lehenga did things to him. Things that didn’t need to make themselves known in public. He’d let Earlene help her change in private, so that he didn’t wind up with a problem he couldn’t disguise.

 

“I’ll meet you back here,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead when he deposited her at their door. Fortunately he still kept some clothes in the movie room, so he needn’t hide.

 

“’Kay,” she said, and manfully resisted the urge to grab his arse as he left. She didn’t need to be groping him with an audience.

 

Thranduil and Earlene appeared on cue. Once his wife was inside the door, he contemplated whether he should...assist... Ratiri. The man was obviously not entirely sober, and someone had to ensure these two made it out of his Halls in once piece...the cars were all parked up and down Old Lasg’len Road, though Mairead’s had a coveted spot in the driveway. He appeared in the movie room after knocking, to find Ratiri staring at his shirt buttons with minor befuddlement. “Perhaps I can assist you?” he asked kindly.

 

“Might be a good idea,” Ratiri said. “I didn’t think I’d had this much to drink. Sneaks up on you.” He was fairly certain someone had given him something mixed with poitín at one point, which was a bit much even for his Scottish constitution.

 

Meanwhile, Earlene helped Lorna out of her lehenga. The bride had strict orders not to move a muscle until told to, because it would be all too easy to see her tripping and having a face-plant stepping out of the delicate dress. “You’ve got your take-away all packed, with everything you need?”

 

“Mairead made sure I did it right,” Lorna said, sighing with relief as she put on her much more familiar combination of leggings, flannel tunic, and boots. It was much, much more comfortable, and yet she looked at the lehenga, carefully folded. “I was pretty in that,” she said. “There’s no way in hell I’d want to wear anything like it very often, but...damn.” Maybe she’d looked like what Ratiri always saw her as.

 

“Lorna…” Earlene paused, not sure how to say this. “It’s your honeymoon, and I won’t override you. But if I could give you some advice, you don’t want to show up to a place that costs what this place costs wearing flannel and Doc Martens. If I can find you something still comfortable in your wardrobe, would you consider a change? I know how places like this are, and you’ll be judged the wrong way the second you set foot inside the door.”

 

Lorna looked down at her outfit. “If you can find me something,” she said, sounding a touch dubious; most of her really nice clothes were pretty obviously elf dresses, many of which she’d never worn, because, well, dress. Her green trousers and black dress were already packed. Her velvet tunic had been her nice one, but she’d given that away, since the bridal shower had forever tainted it.

 

Earlene opened the wardrobe, with a vague prayer to whatever deity might be tuned in at the moment that she could scare up something. Of the two most objectionable parts of this outfit, the tunic was the worst. The Doc Martens were only a bit scuffed; that could be fixed with polish. But the flannel... _just, NO_ . Rooting and rooting, she finally saw the hoped-for garment. It was a tunic easily mistaken for a dress, for all it had an unusual cut by elven standards. It was in mixed shades of green with teals and emeralds being predominant, and had some embroidery of tiny stars. It also had the look of something from a pricey designer boutique. “This,” she held up, “for the tunic.” And with her mind she screamed, _I’ve got a black leather shoe polish crisis in Lorna’s rooms, and will sell half my soul to anyone who can bring that and a polishing rag to these rooms in under five minutes._ The vague echo of her husband’s laughter told her that if she was fortunate, Thanadir would be on his way to work some sort of miracle. “Do you like it?” Earlene held her breath.

 

“I do,” Lorna said, shedding her flannel. It was a pretty thing, and more importantly, it as a _comfortable_ thing that she didn’t need to worry about ripping if she sneezed. She shrugged into it, smoothing it down and adjusting the shoulders. “See, the trouble I’ve always had is that nothing I like that’s actually nicer ever fits me. Not until I met elves, anyway.”

 

“We’re going to be fixing that, once you’re back.” Earlene eyed her critically, already much happier with what she saw. And when a soft knock came at the door a moment later, and Thanadir entered to shine Lorna’s boots, her world was complete. In short order, what looked like scruffy stompers passed for a fashion statement, as the leather gleamed anew under the elf’s swift attentions. “Now _that’s_ perfect,” Earlene smiled. “You’re officially ready to go.” What she did not mention was that she had slipped a small bottle of her favorite personal lubricant into Lorna’s overnight case. It had done wonders for her already above-average love life, and she knew that if Lorna knew who had given it, the ‘squick factor’ would kick in and she’d never try it. At least this way, not knowing, there was a chance she’d assume it was Mairead’s doing and not question it.

 

Lorna met up with Ratiri outside the door -- he’d been badgered into slacks and one of his nicer button-down shirts. The grey of it did fantastic things to his eyes, and she had to resist the urge to climb him like a tree. The suitcase in her hand helped with that; she’d probably concuss him if she tried.

 

Thranduil smiled and took Ratiri’s luggage in hand, determined to see his friends safely to their vehicle. Mairead had already changed from her sari, so as not to be a spectacle on the M7. “Meluieg, have Thanadir accompany you to our rooms,” he suggested kindly, knowing that she was painfully overstuffed.

 

Thanadir offered his arm, and they walked on in silence. Finally the seneschal spoke. “My King tells me you have sold half your fae to me in exchange for the shoe polish? That is better than One-Click Ordering, Earlene.”

 

Her lips parted in a weary smile as her words haunted her. “I did say that, didn’t I?” she chuckled, looking into his eyes as her demeanor softened. “But then again, I believe I cannot sell you what you already possess, shoe polish or not.”

 

Thanadir laughed with affection, supporting her by the waist when she leaned more heavily on his arm. “I know.”

 

*****

 

“All right, you two, one’v you’s sitting up front,” Mairead said firmly. “I don’t want you snogging in the back’v my car.”

 

Lorna couldn’t protest, because, well, she probably would’ve done just that. “Can do,” she said. “Allanah, I’ll give you the front seat, it’s got more legroom.” God, she wanted to just scale him and kiss him. It really was a good thing she had a bag in her hand.

 

“Drive safely, and enjoy yourselves. We will keep an eye on Earlene’s mobile. Good luck,” he said to the couple for their happiness, and to Mairead because like as not she would need it.

 

“Oh, we will,” Lorna said, glancing at Ratiri. And they’d even be good and save the ‘enjoying themselves’ until they were in their room, because they were adults, dammit.

 

Nevertheless, once they were out in the forest and behind Mairead, Lorna gave his arse a covert grab. She just couldn’t help it. It was there, and so was her hand, and she simply couldn’t pass that opportunity up.

 

“Behave back there, you two,” Mairead warned. “Otherwise I’ll stuff one’v you in the back. Possibly hog-tied.”

 

Lorna said nothing, because she wasn’t sure Mairead wouldn’t actually do it. Instead she sighed with relief at being in normal clothes again, even if her tunic was a bit fancy. The lehengas were gorgeous, but she’d spent the entire time worried something was going to happen to one of them. Boots and trousers were far more her style, though she wondered what Mairead had packed for her to wear to dinner. As much fun as her green trousers and dress were, they weren’t precisely evening wear. Whatever it was, it was actually in a garment bag slung over her sister’s arm. She knew that asking would do her no good at all, however, so she kept it to herself.

 

The walk was uneventful, and the car ride too, more or less; it really was nice to for once drive with with someone who didn’t drive like a granny (though now that she knew why Earlene had such issues, she’d never be annoyed by having to temper her own ever again).

 

“Now, you two need to go _dinner_ , _”_ Mairead said sternly. “I want pictures, though for Christ’s sake don’t be obvious about it. Flashes off.”

 

“That’s what she said,” Lorna snickered, unable to help herself. They’d make it to dinner -- there ought to be enough time for her and Ratiri to get at least one tumble in before they had to go be respectable.

 

She peered into the back, and saw that there was another, much longer garment bag laid out -- Ratiri’s suit, presumably. Earlene hadn’t let her see him wearing it yet, so if Lorna wound up wanting to rip all his clothes off once she did, it wasn’t _her_ fault. Still, Mairead probably would murder her if they didn’t go to dinner, she’d just have to exercise some self-restraint for once.

 

When Mairead dropped them off out front of the castle, she left them with a parting, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Since Lorna wasn’t quite sure _what_ she wouldn’t do, that was fairly useless advice. Jesus, this was...this was a bloody _castle_ . King John’s had a lot of areas that looked like they’d fallen into disrepair over the centuries and never been replaced, likely because that was the look the tourists wanted, but Ashford was gorgeous. Once inside, though, she was extremely grateful Earlene had got her to change her tunic, because flipping _hell…_

 

The walls were paneled with some sort of dark wood, illuminated by electric lanterns of beautiful cut glass. On the floor was a rather intriguing carpet: large squares of deep red, like tile, bordered by wide lines of sage green. Within each square was what looked like an Irish-ized mandala, graduating circles of gold and green and purple. Above were the open-sided hallways that no doubt led to the rooms, the spindles of the railings polished to a mirror-finish; the tall windows beneath them curtained by what looked like heavy gold tapestry. It was all she could do not to gulp, or gawk like some idiot tourist. Instead she looked at Ratiri, who appeared as gobsmacked as she felt.

 

A concierge in a crisp grey uniform, including an actual hat, came and took their suitcases and garment bags, and yes, Lorna was _very_ glad she and Ratiri had on rather fancier clothing than was the norm, because he gave them a subtle once-over and was evidently satisfied with what he found. She had no doubt they would not at all have passed muster in her flannel tunic, but what she had on wasn’t just quality, it had obviously been tailored to fit her. Ratiri would look fantastic in a sack, but no doubt the slacks helped. She was slightly boggled, however, that the guy didn’t so much as blink at their skin tones.

 

 _With a place this expensive, they probably can’t afford to hire anyone who would,_ she thought, as they followed him. She had a harder time than ever not gawking, because they passed large paintings that looked, to her uneducated eye at least, real: landscapes, portraits of people throughout history in fantastic costumes. The damn place even _smelled_ expensive, though she couldn’t actually identify the scent: it was very faint, but almost musky, rich and soft.

 

She glanced at Ratiri, wondering if he was noticing the same thing. It would seem he was, if the barely-restrained smile on his face was any indication. Lorna was fighting one herself, though for slightly different reasons: dinner was at 6:30. It was currently a little after four. That gave them plenty of time to break it what was no doubt a very lovely bed, and she intended to make use of every minute. She’d read that after the first year of a relationship, sex could get rather dull, but she certainly hadn’t found that to be the case. It wasn’t just that Ratiri was drop-dead gorgeous; he was also very creative, and though the pair of them had started out relatively inexperienced, they’d had a great deal of fun with experimenting. (Though she at least had consulted a few women’s magazines on the sly, so she had some idea of just _how_ to experiment.)

 

But that thought was derailed when the concierge let them into their room, and it was all she could do to keep an exclamation of _holy shit_ to herself.

 

The bed was massive, possibly bigger than a king size, if she wasn’t mistaken -- a four-poster piece of art that actually had _curtains._ Said curtains matched the pillows and duvet, which were  banded with a rather interesting succession of red stripes that somehow faded into more of a deep gold, stenciled with lines of some kind of flower rendered in lighter gold. The wallpaper was a lighter gold, with that same pattern rendered on it in something like the palest sunshine. A tall, dark armoire stood in one corner, beside bay windows that looked in on two fat armchairs that she was going to have to resist the urge to jump on; on the low, round table before them stood a vase of fresh flowers whose fragrance filled the air.

 

God _damn_ . However much Earlene was paying for this -- and Lorna really didn’t want to _know_ how much -- it was worth every bloody penny.

 

“Shall I help you unpack?” the concierge asked, setting their bags on the table.

 

“No, thank you,” Ratiri said. He’d been smart and got tip money in advance, though calculating just how high a tip this would be here had been a headache and a half.

 

“All gratuities have been taken care of, sir,” the concierge said, holding up a hand. “Should you need anything, using the phone on the desk will give assistance at once, day or night. Enjoy your stay.” And with that he disappeared, nearly as silently as an Elf.

 

Ratiri looked at Lorna, who looked at him. Now that they were alone, they both burst into laughter, because this was just unreal. Completely and utterly unreal.

 

Though they were only staying two nights, they’d packed multiple changes of clothing, because there were all sorts of fun activities. Lorna had chosen tree-climbing and zip-lining, because if anything was ever going to get her over her fear of heights, it was going up a tree. (Admittedly, she might just pee herself zip-lining; she’d just make sure she hit a toilet before they did.) Ratiri, half against his better judgment, had chosen horseback riding -- he hadn’t been on a horse in thirty years, but he did know how to ride, and apparently Lorna did, too. Both activities required clothing they were actually comfortable in, so that was a plus.

 

He took his suit out of the bag, giving it a critical once-over. The jacket could use a bit of ironing, but of course this room had an extremely high-quality iron and ironing board. Having lived alone for so long, he was quite used to fending for himself there, so he hunted both down and set up.

 

“I’m a bit scared to know what Mairead’s sent me with,” Lorna said, unzipping her own bag. When she saw what it contained, her eyes widened.

 

It was an evening dress and no mistake, but even to Ratiri’s uneducated eye, it looked like something from the 1920’s. It looked like it would be about shin-length on Lorna, sleeveless, with a simple silver...under-dress?...overlaid with what looked like some kind of black, incredibly fine beaded lace, or chiffon, or...something. The hemline was cut in points rather than straight across, and he was pretty sure he could see tiny silver sequins interspersed through it. At the front, on either side of the waist, were two extremely Art Deco-looking triangles formed of a band of some kind of sheer material. It was gorgeous, it looked like it would fit her perfectly, and even he was pretty sure it was actually vintage. Where the _hell_ had Mairead got that?

 

A note fluttered to the floor, and when Lorna picked it up, she burst out laughing. “‘This was our great-gran’s,” she read. “Her brother worked in England and was a bit’v a kleptomaniac. This got stuck in some warehouse closet because they didn’t think it’d fit anyone, so he snagged it and sent it home. He’s also the reason Gran managed to have a silk wedding dress. I’m pretty sure this came from nineteen twenty-three.’ Well, it’s nice to know theft runs in the family, though I’m almost afraid to wear this.”

 

Very carefully, she hung the dress in the wardrobe, extremely glad she’d brought her sandals, because they’d actually match. Within her bag she also found a smooth wooden box, obviously elf-made by the pattern carved onto it. Within it were the diamond combs Thanadir had given her, along with a note. “‘The combs Ratiri gave you won’t match, and Thanadir will be happy to know you wore these. Tell Ratiri not to take offense. You were given these first anyway, so it’s not a competition.’” She looked up at him. “Note’s right,” she said, holding up one of the combs. “Nobody’s given me such fancy hair jewelry since.” Earlene’s gifts to her had be beautiful but simple, not enough to set Ratiri on the defense, but these were probably worth more than both her cars put together.

 

“I don’t mind if other people give you pretty hair things,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I know the ones I gave you won’t go with a number of things. I don’t want people thinking they can’t give you hair jewelry on my account.” As much as he loved seeing his mother’s combs in her hair, he really did realize there was a great deal they wouldn’t match.

 

“Good,” she said, rising on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. “Now get that coat ironed and hung up. There’s a bloody big bed there, and it’d be a crying shame not to use it. I’ve been wanting to jump your bones since this morning.”

 

Ratiri dissolved into helpless laughter when she went to hang up her dress, and finished ironing in record time. At least he had the wherewithal to shut the curtains before he stood her up onto one of those handy armchairs and kissed her.

 

“We really need to get you a stool,” he said, when he let her up for air. “There isn’t always a handy chair to put you on.”

 

“Yeah, you’d be carrying it,” she said, carding her fingers through his hair. “I’m not lugging around a footstool. It’s your own fault for being so bloody tall.”

 

“I’m relatively certain this would not be such an issue were you not, in fact, Fun Sized,” he said, and darted backward when she lunged for him. He didn’t mind at all when she knocked him back onto the bed, though the same could not be said for her tiny, tickling fingers. He cursed the day she’d discovered he was ticklish, because it was her ultimate weapon. Then again, turnabout was fair play; soon they were both giggling helplessly, and he hoped, vaguely, that the walls were well-insulated, or their neighbors were going to wonder what the hell was happening in here.

 

Somehow, he managed to roll away from her, hair and shirt now incurably mussed. “You, Madam, are a menace,” he said. “And you look far too pleased about it.”

 

“Well _duh_ ,” she said, still giggling. “For the love’v Christ, tell me you remembered the johnnies.”

 

“The what?”

 

“Condoms, you Scottish sod. We really need to get you up to speed on Irish slang.”

 

Ratiri rolled his eyes. “Given that everyone and their dog reminded me, of course I did.” It really had been _everyone_ , too -- well, everyone but Thanadir, who rather understandably wouldn’t have thought of such a thing.

 

“Good. I’d be really annoyed if we had to get creative like we did when I was up the yard,” Lorna said, already busy with the buttons of his shirt. “Pretty sure you got hand cramps after a while.”

 

“I did, actually,” he said dryly, pulling her hands away long enough to tug her tunic over her head. Naturally, it caught her braid, and she had to pause to disentangle herself. All she succeeded in doing was wrapping it around her own neck, her fringe falling into her eyes. She blew it away with a slight huff, unwrapping the braid.

 

“Did I ever tell you I once choked someone unconscious with this?” she asked, tickling his chest with the end of it.

 

“No, but I am not surprised in the least,” he said, squirming a little before grabbing her hand. “And before you ask, no, you cannot do that to me. I’m not into _that_ kind of kinkiness.”

 

She burst out laughing, lowering her head to kiss him. Never, ever would this man cease to amuse her. “Have you got any idea how much I love you?” she asked, brushing her lips over his cheek.

 

“Possibly as much as I love you. Possibly. I also know that you’re talking entirely too much.”

 

“Then you’d best find some way to shut me up, hadn’t you?”

 

With a cavern-deep laugh, he did just that.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter is set at Ashford Castle, in the western part of Ireland (County Mayo). Without giving spoilers, you may find it worthwhile to gain some understanding of this fabulous setting; we've spent so much time researching it we feel like we've visited a time or two ourselves. https://www.ashfordcastle.com/ There are also many, many pictures and videos that can be see with ordinary Googling :-)


	76. Seventy-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 1-3, 2017.

Thanadir obviously knew his Lord’s proclivities well, because after seeing Earlene to her quarters he departed with a kiss to her cheek. However, there was still a Hall full of hundreds of random Irish people, so possibly his need to be elsewhere had nothing to do with wanting to avoid exposure to Thranduil’s lust. _God why did I eat all that cake? Because it was worth it, that’s why…_ Standing in front of the mirror, she took some time to ogle her own appearance, not something in which she usually indulged. Soon her belly would swell yet again, and her breasts would increase a size. Or not; as she had never stopped nursing perhaps they would behave themselves. Though, if they became much larger, she would insist something be done. However much her husband loved her bust, there was a limit on what was tolerable. And he was not the one that had to walk around carrying their weight. Her hands smoothed over the silk, while she pivoted this way and that. How fortunate she was, that her appearance could likely be preserved like this. The inevitable signs of aging were something that absolutely no one she knew looked forward to, and yet the word ‘inevitable’ was in the phrase for a reason. _No, not going to think about anything having to do with mortality. This sari is too pretty for such realities._ Wriggling her hips caused her underpants to fall away; that would be her concession to surprising her husband. The jewelry was left on, and she touched up her lip stain the tiniest bit, smiling.

 

Part of her pondered if there was some suitable manner in which to tease Thranduil, but that always ran into the difficult blockade of the Telepathy Problem. _Oh well_. Arching her back to relieve some of the strain of having stood around so much (not to mention, having been nervous so much) felt glorious. Reaching for a comb, she ran it through her hair though there were few enough tangles, and then sought a book. It had been a long day, and she was halfway through one of the Star Trek books that had been floating around since Thanadir’s birthday. Positioning pillows on the bed, a hop and a happy sigh later she was immersed in Commander Data and his evil twin.

 

Thranduil’s silent entry went unobserved. Leaning back against the door, he savored the sight of his oblivious wife. Rosy lips were parted in concentration as she read her book, and her silken hair flowed over beautiful fabric. The blue of her sari made an unintentional yet startlingly appealing accent against the varied greens of their bedcover. Smiling wickedly, he intended to claim his kisses now, without interruption of restraint. “I thought you would have donned more comfortable clothes, meluieg,” he said softly, announcing himself.

 

Glancing up from her book briefly, she continued reading while delivering the teasing reply. “And deny you your treat? I do recall something about ‘unwrapping.’ Would that not have been churlish of me?”

 

Finding himself momentarily uncertain how to respond to this, he decided he could not go wrong with agreement. Joining her on the bed, a soft kiss to her forehead and cheek still did not interrupt her reading. “Meluieg?” he murmured.

 

“I am waiting for you to be more distracting than the book,” she quipped, having at last seen a way to torment him just a little. “Right now Lor has just stolen Commander Data’s Advanced Emotions Chip, and Data cannot recall why he likes his cat.”

 

“Oh Eru,” he breathed in good humored exasperation, as he cupped her breast and felt its contours, slowly sliding his hand to find the bare skin of her abdomen. “I believe I approve of these Indian garments. They are most...tempting.”

 

“Still not distracted,” she teased, though it was becoming very hard to keep a straight face.

 

In a fluid motion, he grabbed the book and with a flick of his wrist sent it sailing elegantly into the armchair across the bedroom, while his mouth claimed hers in a full kiss. His tongue sought entrance as it teased around her lips; with her book gone there was little point to continuing her charade. Her arms embraced him, and appreciative hands relished the smoothness of the silk garment he too wore. Until nimble fingers found buttons, anyway.

 

“I knew you would manage the difficulty,” Earlene murmured, not protesting when he scooped her up to set her on her feet. Guessing at what he wanted, she stood perfectly still with her arms held a little away from her side as he began the slow unraveling of the wraps of silk that covered her. To his credit, he did not simply bunch up the costly fabric, but teased her in return by the slowness with which he carefully pleated each two feet into place until she stood almost bare before him; only her choli and her jewels remained. Having paid careful attention to how Thanadir had helped Earlene into this top, he knew that it had hooks in back that would easily yield to him. Returning her to the bed, he paid her back in turn for her impishness when she had to bear the feel of his silken clothing against her bare skin; clothing that allowed his arousal to slide against her tauntingly.

 

Now far more victimized by her own desire, she still could not help but observe, “To think these clothes have more than one use.”

 

“Mmmm,” he smiled. “And yet they must come off if you are to advance your case, no?”

 

The legal reference caused her to burst into laughter. “How I love you,” she smiled, kissing him soundly even as he was divested of his exotic trousers. Firm caresses left her aching, while they continued to have an odd sort of pillow talk.

 

“I want to thank you, meluieg, though I know you need no thanks. For the effort you went to, for Lorna. Ever since...the bridal shower, I have felt that an experience was marred for her that would prove unrecoverable. Though this is private, I will tell you that for a time afterward, she wished to move the ceremony out of here. Away from where I could ruin that, too.”

 

Earlene’s hand came up in sympathy. _That must have hurt deeply. You do not know how much I pity you, sometimes, that you must bear the burden of all of our thoughts._

 

He shook his head. “While I appreciate your compassion, that is not why I am telling you this. It is so that you can understand just how sweepingly your generous spirit succeeded in washing over what occurred. Washing over my mistake. While nothing will ever fix the shower, today the thoughts of my friend were of nothing but the greatest happiness I have ever seen in her. Happiness I have wished so badly for her to have, and yet have sometimes been at cross-purposes with by my own actions. And ignorance.” His hands moved now, to push the fabric panels together behind her back that would free her breasts from the choli. “What you gave to Lorna and Ratiri, you gave to me as well. And for this you have my extreme gratitude.”

 

She pushed Thranduil’s unbuttoned shirt off of his broad shoulders, moving the remainder of his garments to safety with an expert toss. Watching as he pressed kisses onto her bosom, her hands gently guided him to what she knew was wanted. With a smile her eyes followed him as he gently latched onto her while exploring hands continued to rove. With a sigh her body relaxed into these attentions while her mind reflected on his words. Something was beginning to shift in Lorna, and maybe today was the culmination of assorted facets. _If I had to guess, this might have been the first time in her life she was ever able to see how beautiful she is. See herself as others see her...or at least, the_ potential _that others see in her. Lorna might never know that the most impressive thing she did today in my eyes was take off a flannel tunic and exchange it for something that sends a different message. There is nothing wrong with how Lorna is...except that it can be limiting. Now she can begin to have the same freedom that I have long taken for granted; the ability to move between worlds. To blend just as well with the richest of the rich as the poorest of the poor. And though that might sound stupid, it requires a sense of self-confidence that I feel is of fairly recent origin._

 

Thranduil left her breast with a tender kiss, to respond to her thoughts. “I had not considered that, and I would say you are not far from the mark. And yet I find I am increasingly unable to keep my mind on anything having to do with Lorna,” he mused.

 

“And so am I to be forgiven for forcing you to compete with Star Trek?” Earlene smirked.

 

For an answer he entered her body slowly, deliciously. By the feel of his hands on her hips, she knew that if she tried to push against him to speed this up, he would hold her still. So she endured this blissful, punitively teasing snail’s pace of a penetration that he loved to do to her at times. “Perhaps after you are suitably disciplined.”

 

Earlene had to admit, her husband had a better face for smirking. _He just did, dammit._ “I repent,” she giggled.

 

“I have heard that before,” he dished back, surprising her by giving the deep satisfaction of filling her completely.

 

“And yet the King is merciful.”

 

With a groan, he shook his head and laughed. Thank the Valar, his seneschal was hearing not a word of this.  “I see that I must also silence you, if we are ever to devote ourselves to the task at hand.”

 

No words came in reply, only arms that held him to her in complete happiness. There was nowhere else she would rather be, as her heart blazed with love. Love she hoped her friends now had too, that would endure. Abruptly she found herself pushed up, more seated than reclined against the masses of pillows. His creativity now included a position that allowed him to do all the things he liked at one time, she grinned. Lying back, every part of her receiving some form of pleasure from either his languid thrusts or his suckling at her breasts. One thought prevailed... _Cake is good, but this is better._

 

He gave a terribly sexy rumbling laugh that vibrated through her breast, amused yet determined that this session would last as long as he could manage...and that would be a very long time indeed.

 

*****

 

Lorna eyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She didn’t have a hickey yet, but she’d bet she would by tomorrow. Oh well. It was a honeymoon destination. No doubt she wouldn’t be the only one.

 

Her great-gran must have been built exactly like her, because this dress fit like a bloody dream. She tried out her hair in one of the braids from the book Earlene had got her for Christmas -- a kind of rope made of two long strands of hair coiled around one another, wrapped around her head like a crown and secured in place with the diamond combs. She felt like an extra off the set of _Downton Abbey_ , but that wasn’t a bad thing. Fashion from the 1920’s was practically made for people of her build, and somehow, the henna designs on her hands and wrists actually worked with it.

 

“Let’s see,” Ratiri said, knocking on the bathroom door. She hadn’t wanted him to see it until it was all put together, and now she figured all she was missing was a cigarette holder. There were times she wished she hadn’t quit, though they were few and far between.

 

Lorna opened the door, and let out a low whistle. Ratiri was always gorgeous, but put him in a well-tailored suit...she might well have to beat other women away with a stick. It was as black as his hair, which he had combed back as best he could -- he’d let it grow longer, since they’d met, but there was a slightly unruly wave to it that kept it from being tidy like the elves’. It meant she constantly wanted to ruffle it, and thought that restraining herself was probably some kind of personal growth. So, she was sure, was the fact that she did not actually knock him down and lick him, however much she wanted to. And oh, did she want to.

 

“Your pupils are incredibly dilated,” he pointed out. “I promise, after dinner we will make use of that lovely bathtub.”

 

Lorna stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed. Good God, that dress...she was beautiful. She looked like she’d stepped out of history, a wanderer who’d got lost through a door leading to almost a century in the future. A sprite disguised as human.

 

“Hold still,” he ordered, grabbing his mobile. Mairead would never forgive him if he didn’t get some pictures of her flapper baby sister.

 

“You are so lucky I love you,” she said, while he snapped away. “Now let’s go eat, I’m starving. Though I don’t want to know what the food here costs.” Thank bloody God Gran had bludgeoned some table manners into her, even if they _were_ rather basic.

 

“Honestly, me neither,” Ratiri said, looping his arm through hers. “I’m trying to forget about the fact that this entire honeymoon probably costs what I used to make in a month.”

 

“It really is a bit terrifying,” she said, as he led her out into the hallway and locked the door behind them. No plastic key cards _here_. She really was glad she had sandals, too, rather than shoes that might have been more appropriate for the dress, because she was already afraid to move -- footwear she was uncertain of just would have made it that much worse. This dress, she was sure, was silk, so she’d better not spill anything on it, and she really, really didn’t want to risk running a ladder in this fine beadwork.

 

 _Think Downton Abbey_ , she told herself. Those women wore clothes just like this, and they’d all moved in a certain way -- more languidly, almost. None of them were in any hurry. The problem was that Lorna’s natural stride was both fast and rather masculine; it had to be fast, if she ever wanted to actually keep up with anyone. Poor Ratiri was rather obviously slowing himself down for her half the time, and she was pretty sure there had been a few occasions he’d wanted to just pick her up and carry her. Someday, she was sure, he’d give over and actually do it.

 

Not right now, however, for they had reached the dining room, and for once Lorna freely gawked. It was huge, the walls the rich wood paneling as the halls and foyer, but that stopped about halfway up -- the rest was taken up by what looked like white metal lace. Chandeliers of what she was sure was crystal cast warm light over dozens of tables both round and square, the chairs upholstered in a velvet that was the same deep blue as the carpet. She was pretty sure the net worth of the china and crystal on each table was probably equal to a whole month’s salary, which made her afraid to even look at it, let alone touch it.

 

“Are there any seating arrangements?” she murmured to Ratiri, letting him guide her forward so that at least they weren’t blocking traffic. And there was a lot of traffic; while there weren’t many people in the dining room itself yet, the line behind them was getting long.

 

“I don’t think so. Let’s just find a table and see what happens.”

 

A very serene, middle-aged maître d'hôtel directed a waiter to escort them to a spot they both preferred -- they took one of the square tables, figuring anyone who wanted to brave the odd couple with the obscene height difference was welcome to it. When Lorna saw the prices of even the wine, she quailed. _You know Earlene would tell you to just go for it,_ she told herself, _so go for it._ At least it looked like she could actually pronounce most of it.

 

Another waiter seated a couple at the next table. While the appointments were luxurious, the seating had definitely been arranged with a view to maximizing the number of available tables. They were a mixed race couple, surprisingly, newlyweds themselves from the look of them. Once they were settled, it was difficult not to cast furtive glances in their direction; it was unusual enough to see, well, _themselves_ here. The man, obviously affable, made a point of speaking the next time Ratiri glanced his way. “Hello, I’m Rushmi. This is my wife Sabrina. Newlyweds?” Their faces had that same happy eagerness so easily recognized, and their accent gave them away as west-coast Americans, to any who had the ear to catch it.

 

Lorna and Ratiri looked at each other, and couldn’t fight matching grins. “As of this morning,” he said. “I’m Ratiri -- this is Lorna.”

 

“Hi,” Lorna said. These two were Americans, which meant she was going to have to work like hell to mute her damn accent. Thank God Ratiri was always intelligible. “Isn’t this place grand?” There, thought ought to be easy enough to understand.

 

A brief frown flitted over Sabrina’s face, as the sounds sorted in her mind to realize what Lorna had said. “Yes, it is,” she beamed. “For us it’s a dream....a real Irish castle. Your country is very beautiful. At least, what I’ve seen of it is.”

 

“You picked a good time’v year,” Lorna said, just as carefully. “About the only time it’s actually dry.”

 

“Where are you from? I mean, America, but where in America?” Ratiri added, trying not to kick himself for sounding so awkward.

 

“Seattle. We both work for Microsoft,” Rushmi grinned. “Coffee, computers, and atrocious weather. Dry is not something we are used to,” he added good-naturedly.

 

“You’ve got that building that looks like a spaceship on a stick,” Lorna said, delighted. “What’s it called, the Space Needle?” Apt name, if you asked her, though it was about all she knew about Seattle. Oh, that and the fact that apparently the fish in the sound were caffeinated, because of course she had to know that.

 

Ratiri eyed her, and Rushmi and Sabrina. “If you need me to translate for my wife, let me know. Her accent can be a bit much.”

 

“He’s not even kidding,” Lorna said. “I went to New York on business last summer and actually had someone ask me if I spoke English.”

 

“I can understand you,” said Sabrina brightly. “It is only that there are phrases here we don’t know so well. Like when you said ‘grand’...in America, I mean, of course we have that word but it’s not usually used to describe places except…ah ignore me, my tongue is tying up in knots. I hope you liked New York? It’s lovely there in the spring or fall, when it’s not too hot or cold.” While she did not take personal offense, commenting on the ‘spaceship on a stick’ was not going to happen...Seattleites were proud of their monument, thank you very much.

 

A waiter came and took their wine order; Lorna let Ratiri handle that one, since he knew human wines better than she did. “It was a bit hot, for me -- we went in June -- but I had so much fun. We have a friend visiting who lives in Washington State, so I hope we can go visit her, too. I’ve heard the climate’s a lot like ours, but you’ve got actual mountains. The only proper mountain I’ve ever seen is Ben Nevis in Wales, and it’s not the same thing.” She didn’t want to mention Mount St. Helens, in case that was some kind of sore point for people from Washington. It really had been a pretty big disaster.

 

It took Ratiri a moment to realize she meant Sharley. Could they visit Sharley someday, before she moved back to the Halls? Maybe they could convince her to come earlier.

 

“If you’re ever in Seattle you can enjoy Mt. Rainier,” Rushmi said enthusiastically. “At least, if it ever isn’t overcast, you can.” Just then, the waiter came to the other couple’s table, requiring them to listen to the recitation of the dinner specials and actually pay some mind to their menus.

 

Ratiri realized he was about to face the same issue, and opened his to revisit his choices. He’d just ordered a decent red that cost four times what it ought to in this place, but as this was likely to be his last wedding night, so fucking what. Surely it was hard to go wrong with a traditional roast beef. Though, a twinge of nervousness sparked through him. _What if it wasn’t as good as Earlene’s?_

 

Lorna had never actually had venison, so she picked the “clare”, which was evidently loin and sausage (oh, the places her brain went with that... _bad Lorna._ )

 

“I think I’ve seen pictures of that,” she said. “It’s one’v the biggest mountains in America, isn’t it? My brother-in-law told me once it’s tall enough that some people climb it with oxygen gear because the air’s so thin at the top.”

 

Ratiri hadn’t known _that_ at all. Lorna was a fountain of somewhat useless trivia, which she’d eventually admitted she’d picked up in prison.

 

A few tables down, a somewhat obnoxious peal of female laughter made itself known, the pitch enough to make Lorna wince a bit. Not bothered by anything silly like manners, she leaned back and tried to spot its source. “Oh dear,” she sighed, quite proud of herself for swapping ‘dear’ in place of ‘shit’ at the last moment. _If that’s not a Uni girl, I’ll eat someone else’s foot_ , she thought. The girl in question was in her early twenties at most, the foil job on her hair one Lorna recognized as being rather expensive, and by the sheer whiteness of her teeth, she was probably American, too. She sat at a table with three friends, equally young, all of them in clothing a touch too tight and trendy for this kind of place.

 

She looked at Ratiri, and then at Rushmi and Sabrina. “I dread what’ll happen once that lot’s had enough wine in them.”

 

Sabrina looked on with distaste. “The legal age is lower here, so it’s all too common that it’s an Irish Drinking Vacation, and little else. Clearly they’ve no need to attend summer classes.”

 

It was time to order, and once that was managed, it was all Ratiri could do to go easy on the warm, soft bread and fancy whipped butter that had been brought to them along with their wine. Though he wasn’t so much of a connoisseur, he knew enough to fake it with the ‘look, sniff, swirl, sip’ routine that he’d seen older colleagues do on a number of upscale luncheons. At least, the sommelier seemed to buy it, as he poured for them and went off with a satisfied smile that all was well in the world of vintages.

 

“I actually saw something similar in Glasgow,” he said. “The difference being that a drunken Uni tourist was likely to wind up in A&E if they annoyed the wrong person in a pub. I know we have a reputation for being violent psychopaths, but it’s not _entirely_ undeserved. I’m not sure how many stitches I put in the skulls of many a...frat boy? Is that the term?”

 

“Their parents must be bloody loaded, to send them to a place like this,” Lorna said, shaking her head. One of the other girls giggled, tossing back her wine in a way even Lorna realized was pretty rude. At least she didn’t belch.

 

Ratiri vaguely wondered how establishments such as this handled the Irish being Irish. As his gaze drifted around the room, he saw mostly Anglo couples and a few singles, but also people who were clearly from elsewhere...perhaps the mideast? A smattering of Asians...really, it was a rather diverse place by regular standards. And yet he simply could not envision an all-out brawl here. He just could not. And hoped he _would_ not. Though, another uncouth shriek from _that_ table was doing nothing to reassure him.

 

Lorna leaned back again, watching them massacre their hors d'oeuvres in a way that would have made her gran slap them all upside the head. She could only imagine what the staff was making of it -- though at least, on the bright side, they made _her_ look positively posh by comparison. And then one of them caught sight of Ratiri, who they blatantly stared at.

 

“Classy,” Lorna muttered, and prayed he hadn’t noticed. She wondered what that little twit would do if she realized the man she was ogling was probably twice her age.

 

Fortunately the service was incredibly prompt, and the arrival of their meal served as a suitable distraction from the travesty occurring nearby. Ratiri raised his glass; he wasn’t usually any good at toasts, so all he said was, “To honeymoons, and new beginnings, and the best hotel in the world.” No, seriously, it had actually been voted the best hotel in the world. He’d looked it up and everything.

 

Lorna burst into restrained laughter as her glass clinked _carefully_ against his. With relish, he set his glass down to slice into the heavenly looking slab of beef in front of him, cooked to a perfect medium-rare. It was all he could do not to let his eyes roll back in his head. “Lorna,” he whispered. “It’s better than what Earlene made. We can never tell her.” He cut a small piece of the beef, and unobtrusively slid it onto the edge of his wife’s plate.

 

Lorna tasted it, and just about melted. “Oh God, we really can’t,” she whispered back. At least Thranduil wouldn’t let on, should he see in in their minds. This was downright heavenly… she could see why the restaurant charged what they did. Good grief.

 

When she tested her own, she found it equally delicious. She’d never had venison before, but somehow it managed to be gamey in a _good_ way, the flavor strong and rich, but not _too_ strong. It was all she could do not let out a moan like Meg Ryan in _When Harry Met Sally_. She transferred a touch of it to Ratiri, and shut her eyes a moment in sheer culinary bliss.

 

They opened again, naturally, when one of the Uni girls poked at something on her plate. “What is this?” she asked one of her friends, in a whisper so loud it carried throughout the room.

 

“I don’t know -- eat it and find out. You’re the one that ordered it.”

 

“It’s _caviar_ , dipshit.”

 

Lorna fought an urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. Oh, what a dining experience this would be, if not for those gobshites -- one of who was still bloody staring at Ratiri, who was beginning to look a bit uncomfortable. Would they kick her out if she dragged the bint across the room by her hair? Probably. At least she was far from the only one looking at that table with open annoyance.

 

“At least we’ll have stories to tell our children,” Ratiri said, smiling. He wasn’t even going to let these mannerless gits ruin this meal. Though, it would be assuredly nicer without them. He took some satisfaction in noting that their new American acquaintances appeared equally annoyed at the goings-on.

 

“This is really unacceptable,” Rushmi said quietly but with a great deal of conviction. “And yet at least in the States, there’s little enough they can do to stop it.”

 

Lorna drummed her fingers on the table, pensive, and Ratiri eyed her very askance. “Lorna…” he said.

 

“I’m not going to do anything _awful_ ,” she said, though she didn’t quite mean it; this _would_ be awful, just with class.

 

Channeling Earlene as best she could, she flagged down a waiter. “May I please have a glass’v water?” she asked, doing her level best not to look at the quartet of gobshites. Her request was fulfilled with a speed that was honestly a little alarming, and once she had it in her hand, she said, “Thank you. Would you mind telling me where the restroom is?”

 

The waiter, clearly bewildered, pointed, and she thanked him with her best Earlene smile. Once he’d gone, she rose, and did her best ‘Mary from _Downton Abbey_ ’ walk toward Team Gobshite. She’d intended to “trip” and splash one of them, except her attempt actually _did_ make her trip, and she somehow got three out of the four _and_ their plates.

 

“Jesus, sorry,” she said blandly, righting herself, though her apology was lost in a cacophony of shrieking so high-pitched it sounded like someone was torturing a group of dolphins. “I’m sure they can get you a towel.” As much as she really, really wanted to stick around and see if any of the little sods decided to start something, she decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and returned to her seat even as the lot of them stormed out in a huff.

 

“I think I might’ve splashed myself,” she sighed, eying her dress. Oh well. It was only water.

 

Ratiri looked down at her in mild disbelief, then leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Mo chroí, I love you dearly.”

 

Apparently, so did the other patrons, because a smattering of applause broke out. Lorna hid her grin behind her wine glass.

 

*****

 

“The last of them have gone home or gone into rooms, my King,” reported a weary Thanadir.

 

Thranduil and Earlene sat quietly in the dining room, reading. At least in the case of the former, full contentment and satisfaction had been achieved, and he was in a fine humor. If his wife appeared tired, surely it was explained by the demands of the ceremony and reception. Truthfully, Earlene was even a little sore, but was relishing the memory of their encounter so much that she had rather forcefully requested for him not to heal her...just yet.

 

“You will sit down, meldir. You are never tired, and yet you are.” Reaching for his hand, Earlene caused the puzzled elf to plop onto the sofa while she positioned him to suit her. Strong hands were soon kneading at his shoulders. Thranduil chuckled at the pleasantly befuddled expression on his seneschal’s face. In millennia, no one had ever done this for Thanadir, and he had not realized how nice this could feel. Then again, he was rarely fatigued enough that it would be needed or appreciated.

 

“Earlene, there is no need for this, you too are tired. And carrying a child,” he protested.

 

A strange rasping noise issued from her throat. “After the thousands of times you have done this for me, you will sit there and enjoy this,” she ordered, which caused both ellyn to raise their eyebrows.

 

“I believe you are exaggerating, meldis, I…” a soft hand firmly clamped itself over his mouth for a moment, muffling all further words, before releasing him.

 

“When you are feeling ambitious, look up ‘hyperbole’, meldir. Much will be revealed,” she said in a tone that brooked no opposition.

 

Thanadir meekly hung his head, to better allow her hands access to the muscles of his neck, and Thranduil grinned even more expansively. He would have bet his life that he would never see this day, yet it warmed his heart. Proud Thanadir, taking orders from a firieth. When Earlene discovered a knot behind his left shoulder blade, she expertly guided her elbow over it, causing a gasp of enjoyment as the tension melted from his overused arm and shoulder. He was not used to the demands of the sitar, and the weeks of relentless practice and playing had taken their toll.

 

“I want to compliment you on your playing and hard work, Thanadir. The music was beautiful, and it added a great deal to the wedding celebration. You have a talent like no other I have ever met, a special gift. I am so very proud of you.” Pausing, Earlene kissed the crown of his head before resuming her ministrations.

 

“I too thank you,” the King added. “Our Lorna was the happiest woman in Ireland today, and your assistance enhanced everything from the clothing to the cake. I do not tell you often enough how fortunate I am to have an ellon of your sheer ability at my side.” Thranduil rose and bent down to kiss his forehead.

 

A sincere smile spread over the seneschal’s face, as he heard these words of love and approval. What he had in this room was all the reward he ever wished, save one thing.

 

“I miss the children,” he said mournfully. “Can we please spend some time with them here?”

 

“Of course we can,” Thranduil and Earlene echoed in stereo. Thranduil had just been thinking of the faces of his daughters, and Earlene reasoned that her body had made more milk. Laughing, the three of them went happily to collect the girls plus Shane and Chandra, and soon were back having simple conversations with the daughters, taking turns reading to them out of their illustrated books while Earlene nursed. Lorna and Ratiri’s twins were held securely in Thranduil’s lap while he spoke and played with them. The passage of time was not really noticed until all of the children simply fell asleep, one by one. They brought the children to the nursery, where after changes and kisses good-night, Thanadir was left to at last seek rest and the comfort of his bed.

 

*****

 

By the time they’d got to dessert, Lorna and Ratiri had made a load of new friends. Those at the tables nearest them had broken fine-dining etiquette to quietly thank her, which made her realize her ploy hadn’t been nearly as secretive as she’d thought. Oops. Oh well, as long as nobody minded. In short order they’d met Amir and Safiya, on honeymoon from Dubai (and the fact that they’d heard of this Irish hotel made Lorna obscurely proud); Santiago and Valeria, also on honeymoon, from Spain; Freyja and Katrin, yet another pair of honeymooners from Iceland, and Astrid, Stella, and Nora, a trio of Uni students from Sweden who were mercifully more mature than their American counterparts. Given that disparate, Ratiri had had to translate for her more than once, but they had such an accent mishmash going on that it wasn’t precisely a big deal. The general consensus was that the Uni quartet were in fact a bunch of gobshites, and they all hoped none of them would be out at any of the activities the next day.

 

Lorna had just about eaten herself sick; combine that with a few too many glasses of that fantastic wine (their server eying her with increasing disbelief the longer the evening went on) and she was in no condition for bedroom shenanigans of any sort right off. Indeed, the food coma was creeping its way in even before they’d reached their room -- but they still had that lovely tub to christen in the morning, so she couldn’t feel _too_ bad. At least she managed to hang her dress up and crawl into her pajamas before clambering into that beautifully soft bed -- this being a fancy place, she’d brought the nightgown Thanadir made her, rather than her usual T-shirt and boxers combo. She sat up long enough for Ratiri to brush her hair; he looked as over-stuffed as she felt, and didn’t seem to mind at all that this time, going to bed meant just going to _bed_.

 

“I really do feel like I’m in _Downton Abbey_ ,” she said sleepily, head rested against his chest.

 

“I know what you mean,” he said. “The Halls are lovely, but it’s Elven loveliness. This is very human.” He wouldn’t let himself think about the fact that in twenty years, it would stand empty, never to be inhabited again.

 

 _Not necessarily ‘never’,_ he thought. _Humanity will recover, even if it’s long after we’re gone. If castles are anything, they’re built to last._ For now, they would enjoy it.

 

*****

 

The following morning, Earlene woke yet feeling fatigued; if it was permitted, she intended to do little today. Of course, that her husband’s desire made a renewed appearance when they returned to bed perhaps had something to do with her circumstances. She could not recall feeling so happily well-used since they had conceived the twins, but it was not possible to wonder if ellith could...keep up with their husbands better, in this regard. Though actually, the thought of anyone having more sex than the two of them did was vaguely disturbing even to her. Surely there were limits.

 

A rumbling chuckle notified her that Thranduil found her ruminations deeply amusing, as he rolled over to kiss her cheek. A hand came to her intimate places. _This time you must allow me to redress what I have done to your body, meluieg. I will not have everything about today at a disadvantage on account of my lack of self-control._

 

 _I suppose,_ she sighed as the spreading warmth of his repair immediately began. _And yet you are not the only one lacking this fabled quality. I am grateful you have duties, else we might spend our days filled with mating behaviors._

 

His eyebrows raised as he happily pondered this possibility.

 

 _Well, we_ are _going to Aman one day, where there is a chance I might at last remove my crown. I must at least consider that once my people are on those shores, my obligations may be fulfilled._

 

 _Is that something you hope for?_ Genuine curiosity filled her. What would it be like, to have a function, a position for so immeasurably long a span of time, and then have it no longer be needed?

 

_I….am not certain. A little of both, if I am to be honest. Your coming to me has revealed such things as leisure time, companionship, new experiences. New learning. I have been very happy in my life with you Earlene, and I feel somewhat determined to enjoy it as best I may, in spite of the difficulties that I know will come. At the very least, we have these twenty years._

 

What he was leaving unspoken did not need to be said. By silent agreement, they rose, bathed each other and dressed, mostly avoiding seeking bodily pleasures. Mostly. Today, the children and Maerwen would join those usually here for meals, as would Pat and Saoirse. Thranduil found that he looked forward to seeing his new little friend again. Or rather, his new _littler_ little friend. With a sigh, he remembered the girl’s wish for a taller stature and wondered not for the last time about the ethical use of his gifts. This was no different of a request than Ratiri’s unusual one. He had learned from talking with Earlene that humans could and did pay surgeons to alter the physical attributes of the body routinely. So perhaps what was being asked was reasonable. And it was not for a reason of vanity; he legitimately understood the layers of difficulty Lorna faced daily in a world seemingly designed for people much closer to Earlene’s height. It seemed there were few, if any, detractions to tallness. Yet pages could be filled, with the complaints of those who were short. Oh well, it was not as if anything needed deciding today. The child was only eight years of age; a great deal of time remained for this consideration.

 

Their arrival some minutes before Ortherion was welcomed, with an obviously tired Earlene asking Pat how he had fared after the reception. Thanadir looked carefully at his meldis and decided that inquiring further about her condition might be unwise; he had not been blind to the expressions of lust on his King’s face throughout the day when his eyes fell on his wife. Shaking his head to himself, he thought perhaps he could help ensure she spent a quieter day. He should suggest they take a walk in the forest; Earlene always enjoyed that. They rearranged their usual seating; Thranduil thought Saoirse might enjoy it to sit between him and her father, so Earlene and Thanadir took the opposite side of the table compared to usual.

 

Thranduil appeared amused; Pat at least looked to have seen the party to its end, from the mildly pained demeanor with which he seated himself.

 

“I’m too old to be doing that,” Pat sighed. “I think I keep making myself forget that I’m forty-bloody-six, not sixteen. Lorna could tell you stories.”

 

“You never tell _me_ stories,” Saoirse said. “Well, not many. I know you and her accidently set your garden on fire when you were kids.”

 

“Siobhan more than contributed to that,” he said dryly. “It wasn’t _my_ idea to add lighter fluid, and for once it wasn’t Lorna’s, either.”

 

“Parents never admit to their foolishness around their children, Saoirse. Though, it seems somehow alright to tell certain things to other people’s children,” Thranduil admitted. “The truth is, all parents want their children to remain safe and happy. We fear that if we speak of the unwise choices we made, that it will be seen as a reason to duplicate them. For instance, if you decided to play with fire on account of knowing what your da did and seeing that he survived unhurt. It is maybe not fair, but it is done out of great love. Most all of us did things we thought better of afterward, when we were much younger.”

 

Thanadir stared at Earlene, who returned his gaze. They both blinked at each other helplessly, unable to think of a single youthful adventure that matched what Thranduil was saying, and shrugged at the same time. Thranduil laughed, catching both their silent exchange and his wife’s thoughts. “I did say most of us, you two,” he grinned. “Though I am not surprised to hear that both of you were too impeccable to engage in questionable activities.”

 

“I almost feel cheated,” quipped Earlene.

 

“I just want this one here to be smarter than I was,” Pat said, ruffling Saoirse’s hair. “There’s a difference between being an eejit and being a complete mentaller, because the second one usually winds up in A&E.”

 

“It’s not my fault school was so boring,” Saoirse protested. Well over half the mischief she’d got into hadn’t been done on purpose; she’d just been curious and bored, and her curiosity often hadn’t ended well. “I’m so glad we live here now.” And she mostly meant it, too; it had been grand, until the bloody reception. “Hey Da, Uncle Thranduil said he can make me taller, so I won’t wind up short like Aunt Lorna.” That blasted girl Maureen had thought she was Orla’s age, just because she was so little -- it was a problem she’d run into for as far back as she could remember. People always talked down to her, because they thought she was half her age. And it seemed like she could be lucky, and make that stop.

 

Pat gave her a startled look, and glanced at Thranduil. “That’s -- that’s something you can do?”

 

“Yes. But as I told Saoirse, I am not her father,  and it is something to be discussed and considered carefully.  Though I can interfere with bodies in many ways, changes like this cannot be reversed,  once done. And yet in this case deciding cannot wait until she is grown without it becoming a much more difficult endeavor. And if considering this at another time is preferable,  I understand.  I did not mean to turn breakfast into this. ..topic.” He had not expected Saoirse to launch into this with such immediacy,  and was concerned about her father's possible feelings of being blindsided. Then again, he had been warned that mortal children could be impulsive.

 

Pat hesitated. He knew full well how hard it was to be even his height, and Lorna...poor Lorna had always had a hell of a time of it. Saoirse was so like her aunt physically that there was every chance she’d be just as little. He couldn’t wish that on anyone. “She’s only eight,” he said. “There’s time…”

 

He trailed off, because Saoirse went very, very still. She’d never been a bratty child -- he’d never known her to throw a tantrum, but quite honestly, he’d rather _that_ than this dreadful stillness, than watching everything that made her _Saoirse_ switch off, leaving only the thing that lived behind her eyes. The same thing that lived behind his sister’s, seemingly tied to that vivid green.

 

“Saoirse,” he said carefully, because he had seen full well what she was capable of in this state, and he had no desire at all to get stabbed with a fork. “Calm down now, allanah. Come back to me.”

 

She just stared at him, the thing stirring yet further. He had no idea what was going on in her head, what she meant to do -- he never had with Lorna, either. When she did move she was fast, very fast, the fork in her hand and tines actually pressing his skin before Thranduil snatched her.

 

Poor Saoirse tried to squirm out of his grasp, and almost sub-audible growl at the back of her throat, but failed utterly. Pat, completely shocked, rubbed at his hand -- the fork would have gone straight through if Thranduil hadn’t grabbed her. The lights were on within her head, but she was definitely not the one at home.

 

“Saoirse,” he said, as calmly as he could. “Saoirse.” It was of no more use than it had been when Lorna would get thrown into this state; she wasn’t there. She was trying to kick, but Thranduil had hold of her legs as well -- not a difficult proposition, given her size. The way she thrashed almost looked like a seizure, and there was absolutely nothing Pat could do about it. As with Lorna, the episode had to pass on its own.

 

Thranduil had now seen enough, filled with dismay to see this in such a young one...and yet this was not her fault. “Thanadir, elio nin,” he said as he swept the child into his arms, immobilizing her against his body. The fight in her was beyond anything one of her size should be capable, and he would be surprised had he not already encountered this before. He walked a few short steps away from the table, just enough so that food and earthenware would be safe from any error in restraint on his part. “I still have your permission, to help her?” he asked, looking directly at the girl’s father.

 

The seneschal immediately rose, awaiting further instruction. When the King silently told him that this was the same as with Lorna, he felt hurt in his heart. This one was much, much too young to be thus afflicted.

 

“Christ, anything you can do,” Pat said, looking at his daughter with undisguised anguish. She was like a creature possessed, trying so hard to free herself she’d do herself an injury if Thranduil let her. Lorna had always been completely unaware of any injury she sustained while in that state; pain wasn’t a consideration, and it wasn’t for Saoirse, either. “I can’t -- I can’t watch her go through this. Not when I saw what it did to Lorna.”

 

Earlene kept silent, leaving her chair to sit near the ellith watching the children. While she did not believe her proximity could be harmful in anyway, it seemed more...respectful, to move away. Every effort was made to still her thoughts, and not be a distraction. And, there was curiosity. Though she had been healed herself, it had never been her privilege to witness...this.

 

Thanadir placed one arm around Thranduil’s shoulder, and the other on the child’s back, as the inner light of the Firstborn flared to life. Their bodies were bathed in light, until the bright intensity she remembered seeing behind her closed eyes made looking on very difficult. What she now was able to understand as a prayer to the Valar was spoken aloud by both of them, especially beseeching Varda and Nienna. Earlene found herself unable to still all that passed through her mind, because Eru, it was beautiful to behold.

 

At last the light dimmed and diminished, until it disappeared entirely, and an unconscious child was left limp in the King’s arms, her head slumped behind her mass of hair against his shoulder. “She will sleep, possibly for a long time, and perhaps feel yet tired when she wakes. Saoirse is unharmed, Pat. You need have no fear for her well-being. It is my hope that like with Lorna, this impulse that should never have existed has been banished. Saoirse, I hope, did not have the years of reinforcement of this behavior and the anger that was like a pathway to kindling it. But only time will tell; she is not Lorna.” He laid her carefully on the sofa and covered her with a soft and light blanket, gesturing to the others to please sit. He placed a reassuring arm around Pat’s shoulder. “I am so sorry...I know the fear, and the worry. I will care for her in every way I can. Help to teach her. I know that Lorna will, too.”

 

Earlene could not help the urge to hug Thanadir before she resumed her seat. There was something about seeing a child suffer this...she felt very much like she wanted a reassuring touch, and assumed he did as well. The tightness with which his arms came around her led her to believe that she was not wrong in her guesses.

 

Pat knelt beside the sofa, stroking his daughter’s hair. “I’ve been so afraid for her,” he said. “When we were kids, Lorna and I, all’v us in the neighborhood could get away with fighting, but parents’re different now. I’ve been afraid she’d hurt someone so much they’d send her to a juvenile home. If she...Christ, if she has a chance now…” He’d never wanted poor Saoirse to be like the aunt she so resembled. It wasn’t only Lorna who had been at the mercy of the thing that lived behind her eyes. No one near her could be sure they were safe -- no one but him and their siblings, at any rate. Everyone else was fair game to that thing.

 

“In a way, this was the best that could have happened, for her. Though you spoke to me about her difficulty, the safest time for me to try to heal such as thing is while it is happening, when what is going wrong is so clear. She was safe here, close enough for me to catch it from the first moment. I was not so fortunate with Lorna. Not the first time, anyway. I was forced to deliberately provoke this in her, and I would have preferred otherwise.” He grasped Pat’s shoulder a second time, realizing that if he did not help, there was not going to be any possibility of the poor man eating his meal. “Be at ease. Saoirse is safe, here. As are you.”

 

Part of Pat had a difficult time accept that could possibly be real, just because it was such an immense relief. It was more than he could have hoped for. “I’ve done my best,” he said, rising, “to give her as good a life as I could. So that she had better than what I did, than what Lorna or any’v us did. It hasn’t always been great, no, but it was never enough to give her... _that_ ...unless she’d inherited it. Unless there was something _to_ inherit.”

 

After that bit of drama, Ortherion arrived, none the wiser to what had transpired. Earlene had to give plenty of credit to Lothiriel. _If I were her, I think I’d be bursting at the seams to tell my husband. And yet she looks as serene as a cat with a tummy full of fish. Maybe it’s an elven thing._ Thranduil smiled at her across the table but made no further comment.

 

Just then a mildly frazzled Sharley entered the room after two soft knocks on the door. “I am sorry, for being late. I hope I didn’t miss breakfast?” She wasn’t much of a drinker, and last night had been enough and then some. Now she nursed a headache, and even after brushing her teeth, her mouth tasted like something had died in it.

 

Pat looked at Thranduil, and at his daughter, and burst out laughing. Sharley too looked at Saoirse, and then at Pat. “Oh,” she said. “That’s...probably more fortunate than unfortunate, but still. Poor kid.”

 

A pause ensued, as they all took to the business of eating once Sharley’s headache was banished. “How d’you suppose Lorna and Ratiri are getting on?” Earlene wondered.

 

_**********_

 

Ratiri woke the next morning mercifully free of indigestion, though as usual, he was wrapped up in Lorna’s hair. It did have a tendency to cling like a remora; at one point he’d likened it to Cthulhu, and in some ways he wasn’t far wrong.

 

She was still well out, so he disentangled himself and went to open the curtains. The world smiled on them; he’d woken surprisingly early, it would seem, because it was little past sunrise. After yesterday, he’d expected to be more tired -- but then, they hadn’t had to do much work at all. Their friends and family had taken care of so much for them, and he wondered just what he could possibly do, to thank them as much as they deserved.

 

It was something to ponder as he brushed his teeth and washed his face, giving it a critical once-over before breaking out his razor. This was not the place to have a five o’clock shadow, and he likely had time to kill before Lorna rose, given how dead to the world she was. After spending hours in all that jewelry, he couldn’t exactly blame her, either.

 

Though the George V Dining Room served breakfast, he had no desire to put his suit on again, and he didn’t think Lorna had packed other nice clothes. But the hotel had a very comprehensive room service menu full of things he’d never tried, and a few he’d never heard of; they could order a medley, and probably put a very healthy dent in it all. His appetite was proportional to his height, but Lorna could put away as surprising amount of food for someone so tiny.

 

He heard her stir, yawn, and sneeze, something she very often did in the morning if she woke up with a face full of hair. When she zombie-staggered her way into the loo, it was all Ratiri could do not to laugh -- she looked like an extremely posh version of Samara from _The Ring_ , her hair a wild tangle that surrounded her like a shroud. To say she was not at her best in the morning was a vast understatement; she brushed her teeth half in a daze, though she seemed far more alert by the time she went to wash her face. Out of habit, he gathered her hair together and started running a comb through it -- it was something he could do for hours, just because of how soft and smooth it was. They’d brought elf shampoo and bath wash with them, just because nothing even this hotel could have would compare.

 

Lorna glanced at the shower. She had to use it to wash her hair, at least, but there was that lovely -- and _large_ \-- claw-footed bath tub that suggested some interesting possibilities. She and Ratiri had found out the hard way that trying to have it off in a shower was a terrible idea; the one time the’d tried, he’d lost his footing and they’d both landed hard on the floor. They could only be grateful that hadn’t caused any damage that would require Thranduil’s intervention, because the once had been embarrassing enough. Tubs, however, were another story entirely, provided they were big enough.

 

Ratiri looked at her looking at the tub, and grinned. “Food first,” he said. “We really don’t need either of us dropping from low blood sugar, and after that we’ve got until nine before the zip lining starts.”

 

“What time is now?” she asked, her disappointment so blatant he laughed, even as he disappeared out the door to check the clock.

 

“Fifteen until seven. You get your shower so you can get your hair dry, and I’ll try to work this menu out.” They had discovered the hard way that trying anything bedroom-related was not so much fun when she had wet, chilly hair, but whatever was in that elf shampoo helped it dry in a hurry. Dry, it was like being surrounded by threads of silk, a sensation that was extremely erotic so long as it didn’t turn into a tangle.

 

He had had a disturbing number of nosy people in Baile ask him just how his intimate life with Lorna could possibly work, given their height disparity, and on more than one occasion he’d been tempted to outright tell them. Lorna, however, would not have been pleased by that, so he left it at what even he knew was a maddeningly vague non-explanation of “creatively.” Even after Thranduil’s...help...certain positions were still simply a no-go, but they still had plenty of options. And, as she said, there was far more to sex than just inserting Tab A into Slot B, even if that was also incredibly nice. They’d managed to get around her unfortunately sensitive gag reflex by judicious use of assorted vibrators, that were quite honestly better than anything else could have been.

 

Yes, “creative” was really the only word that could accurately describe their sex life, but he really doubted many other couples out there had as much _fun_ as they did. When one had to think before one acted, it involved concentration and care, and was not something that was going to wind up a dull, mindless routine. And he knew that that could very often become the case in a long-term relationship; once the novelty wore off, it could easily turn into a chore, especially for women (and he could go on about the hormonal reasons behind that, if anyone ever let him). A partner taking them for granted usually didn’t help.

 

But he didn’t take Lorna for granted -- his tiny fae of a wife, who admittedly did look rather like a certain well-dwelling ghost at the moment. He knew she didn’t take him for granted, either; he’d seen the way she looked at him, when she thought he wasn’t looking.

 

The woman herself emerged from the loo, hair wrapped in a towel-turban. She joined him at the window, hopping up onto one of the fat armchairs while he handed her the breakfast menu. “You,” she said, lifting her hair off her neck, “have left me with one mother’v a hickey.”

 

Ratiri took one look and burst out laughing, because indeed he very much had -- quite a dark hickey, taking up a good quarter of the left side of her throat. “Oops,” he said, not sorry in the least. “Look at it this way: this is a honeymoon destination. I’m sure you won’t be the only one.”

 

Lorna glowered at him, and opened the menu. “Jesus, I don’t know where to start.”

 

“I say we pick two each,” he said. “And a big pot of tea. Something we’ve never tried before.”

 

The menu was almost daunting to her She knew what Quiche Lorraine was, but one of the options here was with shrimp rather than bacon, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to venture into seafood territory with breakfast. Yeast-raised waffles sounded intriguing, but on the other hand, she could get something like that at home. Ooooh, this one… “All right, I’ve got one’v mine,” she said. “Cajun Benedict. Says it’s like Eggs Benedict, but boudin and gumbo.” She wasn’t sure just how authentic any cajun food made in Ireland would be, but it wasn’t like she’d know the difference.

 

“Coquito French Toast,” Ratiri offered. “It’s spiked with rum.” He was not at all surprised when she made grabby-hands, her face lighting up with delight. They managed to settle on sweet orange rolls and some kind of sausage quiche, with an order of something with the interesting name of ‘honey hot chocolate’ in addition to tea. This was probably the one and only time they were ever going to be able to  spoil themselves like this, so they might as well make it count. And if they had to put the leftovers in the mini-fridge for later, so be it.

 

When he placed their order, the rather apologetic employee said it would likely be a half an hour wait. Ratiri assured him that was more than fine, and gave Lorna a look that was downright predatory once he’d hung up.

 

“We’ve got half an hour,” he said. “I’m sure we can figure out something to do.” They usually lingered at it rather longer than that, but there was a certain thrill in having a time limit.

 

Her answering grin was downright feral. “You get the curtains, I’ll get the johnnies,” she said, hopping down onto the floor and hurrying to their suitcases.

 

Neither of them had been the most adept kissers when they started out, but they’d had more than enough practice by now, and knew exactly what the other liked. A nip at Ratiri’s lower lip was enough to make him groan, while Lorna liked them hard and urgent -- much as she often enjoyed other things. She was also extremely good at getting him out of his shirt in record time, though he preferred to draw out disrobing her until she refused to let him and dealt with it all herself. There was a certain level of impatience to her that he occasionally delighted in testing, but now was not the time -- that could wait until the evening, provided they weren’t too exhausted after the day’s activities. If he hadn’t given that hickey a twin before they went home, he’d have done something wrong. (Though he would quite honestly prefer not to have any more scratches on his back; for a woman with such blunt nails, she could mark him up like a rabid badger.) And yet she was strangely quiet -- half the time he only knew how he was doing by her physical reactions, because she made very, very little noise. The nails might sting, but at least they told him he was doing _something_ right.

 

Despite Thranduil’s…assistance...he still made certain she was as ready as she conceivably could be, but that made her pause. “There’s a thing in the luggage,” she said. “Something Mairead left us with. Let’s give it a shot and see what happens.” She waggled her eyebrows with a leer that was entirely unsexy, and Ratiri burst out laughing before he went to dig through the bag.

 

“You just wanted an excuse to look at my arse, didn’t you?” he accused, fishing out a small plastic bottle. _Ah, now I understand._

 

“It’s a nice arse. Can you blame me?”

 

“I can’t blame you for anything, you little monster,” he said, returning to the bed and kissing her soundly. “You have me wrapped around your tiny little pinky, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

 

“Is it wrong to admit I’ve got the same problem?” she asked, running her hands up his chest before sitting up and latching onto his neck. He tasted like nothing else she’d ever known, spice and sweet and simple clean male, and she had spent more than a little while just licking him until he squirmed.

 

“It makes me feel a bit better, actually,” he said, and then his mouth was rather too busy for him to speak, and Lorna was entirely fine with that. He’d proven a while ago that he could tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue, and she really wasn’t surprised. For once in his life he wasn’t bloody teasing her, either; he and those lovely long fingers got straight to the point. Fortunately he didn’t seem to mind her tugging at his hair, which was a damn good thing, because she was hardly able to stop just now.

 

“You’re a bit too good at that,” she managed, when he crept up the admittedly short length of her body. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

 

“I would certainly hope not. Now go on and get that thing open while I deal with my bloody trousers.”

 

She’d got the johnnie packet halfway open, and Ratiri had got his trousers halfway down, when a knock sounded at the door. There was no way that was breakfast, was it? That had taken all of ten minutes.

 

Ratiri was not in any fit state to be seen by other people -- or at least, nobody who didn’t mind seeing a rather impressive boner -- so he hurried into the loo while Lorna scrambled back into her nightgown, hoping her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.

 

When she opened the door, she discovered that _somehow_ , it was in fact breakfast -- or part of it. Neither one of them had counted on it coming in courses, but this was the sweet orange rolls and honey hot chocolate. Their server didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at her rather dishevelled appearance or blatant hickey, but she was sure he saw worse every day. Lorna thanked him profusely, and then went to rescue her poor husband.

 

“We’ve got food,” she said, creeping into the bathroom. “The start’v it, anyway, but I’m sure I can take care’v your problem here before it can get cold.” Poor Ratiri. Even if they didn’t have time to properly have it off before they went out for the day, she didn’t need to leave him frustrated.

 

“They said half an hour,” he grumbled, and she had to try so very, very hard not to laugh at how deeply he was blushing.

 

“I’m sure it will be, for the rest. Now go lay down so I can warm up some’v this.” While she was not exactly unfamiliar with lube, this stuff was vastly superior to the kind she and Ratiri normally used. The other stuff seemed a touch oily, though not precisely in a _bad_ way, but this was so light you really only felt it when you, well, _wanted_ to.

 

He let her shove him back onto the bed, her clever musician’s fingers working their magic while she kissed him. That necessitated a few awkward angles, though, because he was so bloody tall, so she sat up to watch him, fascinated as ever. He was so very _responsive_ , lips parted, hands gripping her waist, and she was entirely determined to make him do this again _after_ breakfast, when she had a chance to participate more fully.

 

“How,” he gasped at last, “can your tiny little fingers be so good at that?”

 

“Guitar,” she said, almost primly. “Now get your trousers on while I wash my hands. Otherwise I’m sure we’ll give the server a shock and a half.” Then again, whoever it was would probably enjoy the free show. Yes, even if they were a straight guy. Ratiri was just that attractive. Hell, she’d caught _Pat_ admiring him.

 

When she’d got her hands washed and dried, she rejoined Ratiri, who at least had opened the curtains again. Feeling ever more like a _Downton Abbey_ extra, she nibbled orange rolls, which were so good she needed to get Mairead to make them, and sipped honey hot chocolate, which was beyond description. She’d just bet the recipe was a pain in the arse, too.

 

“Isn’t it weird, living like a posh human being?” she asked, once she’d demolished three of the things. They still had three more dishes on the way. “I mean, the elves’re beyond posh, but they’re _elves._ It’s like posh in a fantasy setting, not actual, y’know, Earth.”

 

“I do know, and it is,” he said. “I’m glad we got to have this experience, since I don’t think I would ever fork out what this must be costing. Stay there.” He set down his empty cup and retrieved his mobile, which just made her roll her eyes.

 

“You are not actually filming me eating breakfast, are you?” she asked, trying to scowl. It didn’t work; she fell to laughter a few moments later. “What’re you doing?”

 

“Preserving this breakfast for posterity,” he said solemnly, which only made her laugh harder. “This is our absolutely beautiful room, with our absolutely beautiful view, and sweet orange rolls, which I’d never even heard of. We’ve got more on the way, but meanwhile here is my lovely wife, in all of her vaguely Samara-like glory.”

 

“You watch it, Mister,” she said, between snickers. “I’ll shove _you_ down a well.”

 

She did not, Ratiri was sure, have any idea how lovely she was in this moment; yes, there was in fact something vaguely Samara-esque about her, in her white gown and all that long black hair, but her eyes danced with merriment, bright as green stars.

 

“Now now, if you shove me down a well I can’t go zip lining with you, and keep you from wee’ing yourself,” he said, and did not manage to dodge the crust of orange roll she threw at him. “We’ll want this recording later. We can show it to everyone when we get home.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “In that case, I’ll keep my next threat to myself, and just visit it on you later.”

 

A knock at the door rescued him, and he stopped filming until the rest of their food was arranged. _(Arranged_ . They actually did that.) Once they’d been left alone, he recommenced with his mobile, until Lorna threatened to knock him down and stick an egg in his ear if he didn’t eat up so they could get going. Since he was only _fairly_ certain she wouldn’t do it, he put the mobile away and actually ate his breakfast.

 

What they both discovered in short order was that the French toast was spiked with _actual_ rum, rum that had not actually had the alcohol content baked out of it. It wasn’t near enough to make either of them tipsy, but it gave a certain oneness with the world that it might otherwise have lacked.

 

They were both far too full by the time they set about actually getting dressed, but they’d live. Lorna was rather relieved to be able to just put on jeans and a flannel, since their activities weren’t exactly ones that called for anything fancy. She actually felt like _herself_ , finally; the lehengas and her great-gran’s dress were beautiful, but she felt like a stranger in them, and really didn’t like wearing something she was afraid to move in. These were the kinds of sturdy clothes she preferred, especially because if she somehow landed on her face and ripped something, it wouldn’t matter.

 

Ratiri took her hand, and out they went into the sunshine. Somehow it was still a lovely day; this spring and summer had been unusually warm and dry, by Irish standards, but neither were about to complain. They crossed the velvet lawn, following the directions to the forest -- yes, the castle somehow still had a forest, though obviously it wasn’t anywhere near as old or grand as the elves’.

 

There were a number of people already there, though fortunately none of the Uni girls. Astrid, Stella, and Nora were all braving it, and looking at them made Lorna feel almost old. They were all twenty-three, their skin smooth and clear, eyes bright, with an energy she could only envy. They chattered together in Swedish once the instructor had laid everything out, and it occurred to her that they would probably all be dead in twenty years. That was the hard part, the _really_ hard part; yes, she’d accepted that the world as she knew it was going to end, and that most people were going to die, but to have that in mind when meeting so many nice people...it was hard.

 

That thought was driven out of her head, however, when it became her turn to climb the tree. _Why_ had she thought this was a good idea? She hated heights. Oh, this was theoretically supposed to cure her of that fear, but why in God’s name had she thought it would actually work?

 

“Go on, mo chroí,” Ratiri said. “I’ll be right behind you -- if you fall, you can just squish me, and you’ll be fine.”

 

She turned, and tried to glower at him. “I don’t want to squish you, allanah. I like you much better in one piece.” It was enough to get her going, though, and so long as she didn’t look down, she was fine. Once they reached the platform midway up the tree, however, she kind of couldn’t help it. Ohhh, this was a bad idea.

 

 _Think about how much Pat, Siobhan, and Mick would laugh at you, if they saw you about ready to piss yourself over a bloody zip line_ , she told herself, but even that wasn’t quite enough when Stella, wearing a white helmet, was hooked into a harness and sent zooming down along the line, shrieking in delight and rather a bit of terror as she went. Her blonde hair flapped like a banner, bright in the sunshine. If that kid could do this, so could she, god dammit.

 

“Breathe, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, lightly rubbing her back. “You’ll be fine.”

 

“I’m sure I will,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I’m not scared shitless anyway.”

 

“Are you trying to get over a fear of heights?” Nora asked, compassion in her dark eyes. “I did that by doing this, in Sweden. It’s terrifying, but it’s like flying. Did you ever read _Peter Pan_ as a child?”

 

“My mam read it to us,” Lorna said. “Is it like that?”

 

“Not quite, but if it helps, imagine yourself as Peter Pan. Or a fairy.” She didn’t need to explain why she’d think that comparison apt, but Lorna couldn’t blame her. There was nothing derogatory in it, and, well, she was a shortarse.

 

“I’ll tell you what, Lorna,” Ratiri said, “I’ll go down first. That way you have to go as well, if you want to follow me, and I’ll be there to catch you if I have to.”

 

The man with the harnesses eyed him rather dubiously, and Lorna hoped like hell he wasn’t going to say Ratiri was too tall. She’d be back down this tree and onto solid ground in a heartbeat, if he couldn’t go with her.

 

Fortunately, once Nora had gone, he got waved through. The harness looked somewhat comical on him, but he took it in good stride, and a moment later was whizzing away down the line.

 

Lorna watched him, heart practically in her throat, though she didn’t know what she thought might happen. The line was hardly going to break, and no place as upscale as this would have a faulty harness. He was safe. She was safe. She could just pretend she was Irish Tinkerbell.

 

Even so, she had to keep drawing deep, calming breaths while she was fitted into her harness, which at least felt reassuringly solid. Bracing her feet momentarily against the edge of the platform, she leaned forward and just...let go.

 

Her stomach jerked left, vertigo sending her head swimming, but after that initial spike of utter terror, she realized...this really was like flying. Down she went, the ride smooth and so very fast, and she couldn’t help it. She flung out her arms, threw back her head, and yelled, “ _BOOOOOOYAAAAAAAA!_ ”

 

The line raced her through the trees, wind whipping at her braid (and slapping it in her face a few times). Jesus, this was actually _fun_ \-- this was really bloody fun, even if part of her was still half ready to make her piss herself. That was, she thought, part of what _made_ it so fun. There was a freedom in this -- in just letting go and and hanging on for the ride at the same time, and although her insides felt like they were turning to liquid, she couldn’t really say she minded.

 

The line curved through the trees, some how making it feel like she was going even faster, though the branches were so well-trimmed she didn’t come close to hitting any. Lorna forced herself to just lean back and look at the sky, and her _booya_ turned into an equally loud, “ _WHEEEEEEEE!”_

 

She seemed to zoom forever, and yet not long enough. When she arrived at the end of the line, breathless, she found Ratiri waiting for her with a touch of anxiety in his eyes. Once she was unclipped from the harness, though, she threw herself at him, all but tackling him in a hug. “That,” she said, half squeezing the life out of him, “was _deadly._ Let’s do it again.”

 

*******

 

Ratiri quite enjoyed the tree-climbing, though Lorna had rather a more difficult time of it. His long arms and long legs made it easy, but she struggled with the hand holds, though she gamely pushed forward.  Still, he could tell she was glad when it was time to break for lunch.

They paused at their room long enough to swap out their leaf-covered and somewhat dirty clothes for clean ones, and he tried not to grin like a complete nutter. It had been _ages_ since he’d climbed a tree, well over thirty years, and it was as fun as he’d remembered. Indeed, it was perhaps even more so now, because there were more adult cares to leave behind. One thing was for certain: when the went home, he wanted to climb some trees in the forest.

 

They took lunch in a place with the slightly whimsical name of Cullen’s at the Cottage, which, as the name implied, was far less formal than the dining room of the night before. The floor was flagged stone that might well have been part of the original castle, but the walls were a warm cream banded with wide, vertical stripes of pale blue, the lamps somewhat more modern. Each table, made of some sort of dark wood he suspected might be mahogany, held at its center a candle in a glass holder and a small potted plant he was pretty sure was basil. The afternoon sunlight lit the room pale gold, and although it was crowded, it wasn’t so much so that they wouldn’t be able to hear themselves speak.

 

Freyja and Katrin were also there -- they’d gone shooting, and were all smiles. Freyja was every bit as much of a tall, pale, flaming ginger as Mairead, while Katrin was shorter, her hair somewhere between sandy blonde and brown. They were not quite so young as the others he and Lorna had met last night; he’d pegged them as late twenties or early thirties, and they’d figured that any place as exclusive as Ashford couldn’t afford to employ homophobes.

 

“Have either of you ever shot a bow?” Katrin asked, eying the menu.

 

“Not yet, though one’v our neighbors wants me to try,” Lorna said, looking at her own menu. The organic smoked salmon sandwich sounded interesting. She’d rarely had salmon, and only once had anyone she knew tried to smoke it -- ‘tried’, because that person had been her brother-in-law, who hadn’t actually know what the hell he was doing. “I’m so short that I can’t imagine I’d be that good at it.” Yes, she knew that plenty of children did archery, but she wasn’t quite built like a child.

 

“Fionn?” Ratiri asked, just barely remembering to use Thranduil’s human name.

 

“That would be the one. I fired my granddad’s shotgun once, but it just about knocked me on my arse.” She was not going to mention that she’d only fired it because she was trying to murder a balrog. Nope.

 

“The gun was stronger than I thought,” Freyja said ruefully, rubbing her shoulder. Ratiri was fairly certain most guns were as illegal in Iceland as they were in Ireland, so she’d probably never had a chance before. “I think I will have a bruise later.”

 

“Ice,” he said. “When you go back to your room for the evening, have them send you an ice pack, and leave it on for twenty minutes. Then take a nice hot bath to relax it.”

 

“He’s a doctor,” Lorna said. “He knows what he’s on about. What’v you two got next?”

 

“It was going to be horseback riding, but I don’t think that would be so much fun, like this,” Freyja said. “I think maybe we will explore the gardens. We saw pictures on the website -- it’s very pretty.”

 

A waiter came and took their orders, and when he’d gone, Lorna said, “We’re off to the horses ourselves, though neither’v us has been on one in years. Ought to just make it more interesting.”

 

Slight, polite incomprehension greeted that one, so Ratiri translated. “Will you do the hour or the half-day?” Katrin asked.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “I was thinking just the hour. I don’t want to spend the rest’v our stay saddle-sore.” Even she had more class than to say aloud ‘I’d rather spend time riding my husband’, because some things were too crass even for her.

 

Freyja laughed. “Will you be at dinner again tonight? I think everyone was grateful for your ‘accident’.”

 

“I was thinking about the Dungeon, but I’m afraid our quartet of sorority girls might relocate there this evening,” Ratiri said dryly. “At any rate, if they’re smart, they won’t go back to the George V.”

 

“They didn’t strike me as the kind with much in the way’v smarts. Isn’t there a bar here, though?” Lorna asked. “Sounds like it’d be more their speed. That, and I just really want to eat in a place called the Dungeon.” It sounded vaguely kinky, though she doubted it was, in a posh place like this.

 

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into wearing your great-gran’s dress again, could I?” She was so lovely in it, and how often would she have an excuse to wear it at home?

 

“That dress is vintage?” Katrin’s eyes lit up with delight. “It must be very old.”

 

“Nineteen twenty-three, or so my sister thinks. And all right, allanah, if it does it for you.” Lorna knew just why he’d ask, or thought she did. If it floated his boat, she’d doll herself up one more time.

 

“You’re braver than I am,” Freyja said. “I wouldn’t dare wear it.”

 

“I barely did,” Lorna said, leaning back a little as the wine arrived. “Only really nice thing I have, though, unless I wanted to show up in my wedding lehenga, which was even more nerve-wracking to wear.”

 

They talked the entire way through lunch -- Ratiri had lobster, while Lorna tested out the smoked salmon sandwich -- and agreed to meet up for dinner in the Dungeon. Then it was out into the sunshine again, to the horses. Privately, Ratiri wondered just how Lorna would even manage on a proper-sized horse; when he’d been a child, he’d been pushing six feet tall even then, but he could only imagine what she’d do if they tried to offer her a pony. But no, they had to have plenty of children come through -- they’d manage, somehow. Riding a horse was rather like riding a bike: you never really did actually forget it, and in any event the horses here were probably so well-trained that you’d have to be complete moron to manage to get yourself in trouble.

 

The Master of the Horse (for so Ratiri had to think of him) took stock of them both, and sent them to get fitted with hard hats and boots. Once outfitted, they were turned loose into a barn, where rows of horses stood in stalls so large he had to approve. They were instructed to go visit each animal, and see which one would be the best fit -- something of which he also approved.

 

“You have riding experience?” one of the assistants asked, looking from him to Lorna, and nothing in the man’s expression gave anything away.

 

“As a child,” Ratiri said. “It’s been thirty years.” And yet the scent of hay and horse and even a tinge of manure took him right back to his moorland childhood, when he’d pretended he was a Rider of Rohan.

 

“I’m a bit more recent,” Lorna put in. She was stroking the nose of a little brown Morgan, who seemed to appreciate her attentions. “I live in a little farming village, and I got lessons out’v some’v the farmers in exchange for helping them get their crops in.”

 

Ratiri was fairly certain he detected the very faintest expression of relief in the man’s eyes. He was a relatively little man, perhaps in his middle-forties, with snow-white hair and a ruddy face. No doubt he often had to deal with “experts” who had in fact ridden a pony at the fair once when they were ten. While neither Ratiri nor Lorna qualified as experts or anywhere near, they did at least know what they were doing.

 

Nevertheless, the contrast of their horses was pretty damn hilarious. The little Morgan liked her so much that she was matched with him, but Ratiri wound up with a beast he was told was a cross between an Appaloosa and a bloody Clydesdale -- the animal stood a good sixteen hands high, far more horse than even his height actually needed. He wondered why in God’s name this place would even have a horse this gigantic, because it wasn’t like people his size came a dime a dozen.

 

“She’s very gentle,” the assistant said. “And kids love her. They like being able to ride a giant horse.”

 

Ratiri gave her a pat on the side. Unlike a full-blooded Clydesdale, she had some white Appaloosa markings scattered through out her brown hair. “Here’s to hoping I remember how to saddle a horse.”

 

“I’ll set you to rights, if you get it wrong.” He was pretty sure that watching him was another way for the assistant to gauge how competent he actually was. Oh dear.

 

Well, the biggest thing was don’t walk behind the bloody horse. He touched her sides as he passed, always letting her know where exactly he was as he put on and adjusted the saddle blanket. He was honestly surprised at the extent muscle memory took over -- though assistance was needed at actually getting the saddle onto her back, because she seriously was bloody enormous, and he didn’t want to spook her by trying to basically get it over his head and failing to put it into place the first go. It took a couple of assistants to help him, but adjusting the buckles and the stirrups was almost second nature. He checked them again on auto-pilot.

 

Getting _on_ a horse that size was a tricky operation, but he managed it, and discovered Lorna was just about done. Jesus she was adorable, and he pulled out his mobile to snap a few pictures before she could know what he was doing. She seated herself as automatically as he did, and gave him a grin.

 

There were several other riders on this excursion, including Santiago and Valeria and, oh God, two of the sorority girls. While it was blatantly obvious one had no idea what the hell she was doing, the other actually wasn’t sitting like a sack of potatoes, at least. Both of them glared at Lorna, who he could tell was trying so very, very hard not to laugh. The look she gave them was so innocent that he had to turn away before _he_ could laugh.

 

Their guide, a smiling, dark-haired woman of maybe twenty-five, gave a refresher on how to sit, how to hold the reins and spur or slow the horse. It was a ‘refresher’, at least, for everyone but the second of the sorority girls, who looked so out of her depth Ratiri felt a bit sorry for her. What the hell was she even doing out here? Surely this had not been her idea. So long as she didn’t start whining, it wasn’t his problem.

 

He realized that he had been quite spoiled by the forest back home, for while the one they rode into was lovely, it wasn’t at patch on his. Still, the sun was shining, the breeze was only light, and the scent of earth and oak and moss was extremely sooth--

 

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, Courtney.”

 

God. Dammit.

 

“Oh, shut up, Kaylynn, it’s good for you.”

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri, her expression pained. She couldn’t in good conscience just spook the little bint’s horse -- that might actually get her hurt, and while Lorna wouldn’t particularly mind, she knew Thranduil would be peeved if he caught it in her head later. The problem with being friends with a telepath.

 

Ratiri caught Santiago’s glance at Valeria, and though he didn’t speak Spanish, he was pretty sure ‘perra’ didn’t mean anything complimentary. Maybe, if they were lucky, the idiot girl would fall off her horse and save them all the trouble.

 

He tried to tune the grumbling little shit’s complaining out as he rode, and it actually worked to an extent -- helped by the fact that he and Lorna slowly made their way ahead, leaving Whiney McWhine with her unfortunate friend. Santiago and Valeria followed, and when they were far enough ahead, Valeria burst into giggles.

 

“Whose idea was it to send them to this place?” she asked. “Who thought they would appreciate it?”

 

“Some parent with more money than brain cells, probably,” Lorna said dryly. “Bet you a glass’v wine that one falls off and lands on her arse.”

 

“I think English speakers call that a sucker’s bet,” Santiago said. “Or something like that. Anyway, I wouldn’t take it.”

 

“I will bet you one she falls off in the next fifteen minutes,” Valeria countered. “I mean, look at her.”

 

The four of them glanced back to see that she was still sitting like a sack of potatoes, the reins limp in her hands, scowling. At least her friend was trying; though she looked like she had little experience, Ratiri could see that she was attempting the right posture, and her hold on the reins was awkward but sincere. Her horse looked rather happier than her friend’s did, too, no doubt because she wasn’t just dead weight.

 

“If those with experience want to take it a little faster, follow Colleen,” their guide said, pointing to a woman at the head of the group. Ratiri was quite glad to, though he’d forgot just how jarring a canter could be. Lorna joined him, the end of her braid coiled on the saddle behind her, her face red with suppressed laughter. Oh, did he wish he could read her mind, but alas, he’d have to ask later.

 

The trail opened up, and he was able to urge the horse into a gallop, grinning at how smooth the animal’s stride was. Of course it meant he left everyone else in the dust, because a horse this big was naturally going to outpace anything else, but the fresh air, the wind on his skin -- he couldn’t help it. In short order he had to pause and wait for the others, but it was worth it. They needed to get some horses back home -- he didn’t think anyone in Lasg’len kept any, but they’d want them later. Clydesdales, too, or some equally large draft horse, if they actually wanted to farm anything.

 

“I’m sure Moose is happy to have someone who knows his stuff,” Colleen said, trotting up. “She usually only sees children.”

 

“Moose?” Ratiri asked, looking down at his mount. The long ears twitched; the horse knew damn well they were talking about her. “I’ve never heard a more fitting name.” Because honestly, what _else_ would one call a horse this size?

 

Behind them, at quite some distance now, there came a shriek, and Santiago and Valeria were both openly laughing when they rode up. They were both very well-tanned, but he could tell that it was real, not the result of sunbed over-exposure, and he had to resist the urge to bring up skin cancer rates. This was not the moment to be a killjoy.

 

“I take I owe you a glass’v wine?” Lorna asked, while Valeria giggled helplessly. The younger woman only nodded, red-faced.

 

“I hope she’s not hurt,” Ratiri said, wondering if he ought to go and find out. The Hippocratic Oath was occasionally a bitch.

 

“I don’t think so,” Santiago said, wiping away tears of mirth. “Just covered in leaves and stupid. It is her friend I feel sorry for.”

 

Ratiri sighed. He really ought to go make certain she wasn’t hurt, however much he didn’t particularly want to. “I may need that wine later, too,” he said. “Mo chroí, I will catch up with you. If that idiot girl’s broken her leg or something and I don’t help her, I won’t be able to call myself a doctor.”

 

Lorna leaned over and patted his leg. “I’ll make it up to you later,” she promised, quirking a very suggestive eyebrow at him.

 

“I certainly hope so,” he said, flashing her a grin as he turned his horse. _Moose_ , he thought. _A horse named Moose._

 

Moose did not seem to be in any particular hurry, and refused to _be_ hurried. He couldn’t get her to go any faster than a trot, and he wondered if she sensed his singular lack of enthusiasm for this chore.

 

When he finally reached the girl -- Kaylynn, her friend had called her -- he discovered she had in fact landed on her arse. She didn’t appear to have broken anything, though; she was just pissed off and cursing up a storm.

 

“Don’t move,” he said, hopping off his gigantic horse. “What did you land on?”

 

“Nothing, really,” she said, her tirade stopping on sight of him. “Except my shoulder’s all weird and fucked-up.” She flopped her arm, which was useless as a dead fish, and he wondered how in the hell she’d managed that.

 

“You’ve dislocated your shoulder,” he said, feeling around the joint. “I could reset it, but it would hurt -- you really need to go A&E for that.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Hell, what did the Americans call it? “The emergency room,” he clarified. “It’s going to hurt, and they can give you something for the pain.”

 

“Would you take me?” she asked. Her mascara had streaked from tears, but there was nevertheless a calculating look in her blue eyes that he didn’t like at all. How could she be surveying him like he was a piece of meat when her arm was dislocated?

 

“I wouldn’t know where the nearest hospital is, and in any event I’m sure the hotel has staff that deals with these sort of things,” he said firmly. Their second guide, mercifully, came over, saving him having to put her off any further.

 

“We have first aid on the way,” the woman said soothingly. “Try not to move too much.”

 

“Are you a doctor?” Kaylynn asked, looking up at him.

 

“I am, but I’m on holiday,” Ratiri said, and felt like a shit for saying it. That shouldn’t matter, but...he really didn’t want to deal with this girl. This was his honeymoon, dammit, and he did not want to spend the rest of this afternoon dealing with some uni-aged moron who tried to go horseback riding even when she was blatantly incapable.

 

“We’ll take care of it, sir,” the guide said, to his relief. “Go on and enjoy your ride.”

 

“But…” the girl started, even as he mounted his horse and took off again. Moose, suspiciously, was much more willing to gallop now that they were going _away_ from that leering girl.

 

“Was it her arse?” Lorna asked, as soon as he’d caught up with them.

 

“No, somehow she’d landed on her shoulder,” he said, trying not to twitch under the memory of her stare. “They’ll take her to hospital, and she won’t be our problem.”

 

Lorna looked at Valeria. “I guess we owe each other wine,” she said. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m sure between the lot’v us we could kill a bottle or three.”

 

“She thinks we could drink a few bottles together,” Ratiri translated. He was getting good at spotting the incomprehension most were too polite to admit to.

 

“With company like those, we need to,” Santiago said with a snort.

 

***********

 

That evening, after dinner, Lorna lit a number of candles to set the mood before she jumped on her husband. (She was still getting used to _thinking_ of him as her husband, and quite enjoyed it.) As per usual, she was out of most of her clothes in a hurry, and had him down to his pants in record time.

 

“You are always so impatient,” Ratiri said, rolling onto her and pinning her by sheer dint of size. “Enjoy the atmosphere, mo chroí.”

 

“I’d enjoy it a whole lot more if you got the rest’v your clothes off,” she said, smirking up at him. “These pants’re just annoying.” And just because she could, because even at forty-bloody-one she was still quite flexible, she ran her foot up his leg, hooked her toes in the waistband of his pants, and yanked them off. Admittedly, they just got tangled around his knees, but still. It was the thought that counted.

 

He burst out laughing, trying to smother it in her hair and completely failing. It wasn’t the first time she’d pulled that little trick, but it never ceased to amuse and confuse him, because seriously, how did she _do_ that? She almost had monkey-toes, she was so good at using them for things.

 

“You’re welcome,” she said, and pulled him down for a kiss. For all he might tell her to be patient, part of _him_ certainly wasn’t. They had johnnies in plenty, and that little bottle of Mairead’s present, and she was damn determined to make use of both until they were too tired to move.

 

She’d just managed to squirm out of her own knickers when a shrieking, eardrum-destroying alarm screamed through the air, so sudden and so _loud_ that she just about swallowed her own tongue. The sound of a fire alarm was universal, but there was a second one as well, a relentless beeping she was not familiar with.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Ratiri growled, fumbling for his trousers. “Carbon monoxide alert. We need to get out.”

 

“Oh, you are _shitting_ me,” Lorna groaned, even as her heart lurched into her throat. The nearest thing she had to hand was her nightgown, so she struggled into that, trying not to breathe. A fire alarm would have been just an annoyance, but carbon monoxide was serious enough to make her willing to take a run for it. _But all our candles…_

 

Ratiri grabbed her hand before she could even get shoes on, pulling her out into the corridor. It was jammed, and yet the line moved bloody fast as the staff got everyone out through the fire exits...and out into a cold, misty rain.

 

Beautiful.

 

The entire lot of them -- and it looked to be several hundred people -- wound up herded onto the lawn, just in time to watch the last light of dusk disappear beneath the western horizon. Overhead, the clouds were rapidly thickening, leaving neither stars nor moon, but the hotel had brought out some kind of floodlights that cast swaths of light through the darkness.

 

“Fucking brilliant,” Lorna sighed, leaning against Ratiri. They were both shivering, the grass so cold it numbed her bare feet. “How long d’you suppose we’ll be out here?”

 

“Until they find the leak, maybe,” Ratiri said grimly. “If this goes on too long, we’re going to the barn.”

 

Rushmi and Sabrina found them, equally in disbelief at events. “Well, we’re used to being out in nature, but not exactly in our night clothes,” Rushmi quipped. _They_ at least both wore satin pyjamas that appeared to be reasonably warm, and yet it was not keeping them from huddling against the chill.

 

“This has to be really unusual,” said Sabrina. “I’d bet this is the only time something like this has gone off in years. Do you even think it’s real? At home, these things can go off all the time just because some idiot pulls an alarm or equipment malfunctions. Though, I’d rather have it be a big mistake than people dying in a fire.”

 

“Still,” said Rushmi. “At a place like this...if they are what I expect them to be, at the very least all of us will be comped a night’s stay, whether this turns out to be a real emergency or otherwise. This place can’t have its reputation, for mismanaging extreme inconveniences to its guests.”

 

“I hope it’s not real,” Lorna said, all but plastered against Ratiri’s side. She really did have the better end of it, since she was a bit too small to be a terribly effective heater herself. At least the cold air and colder water had taken care of the poor man’s, er, _issue_ , and spared him much embarrassment. “I’d rather it all be a mistake we can laugh about later, rather than something that actually hurts someone. You always hear stories about carbon monoxide.”

 

“I could certainly deal with a comp day,” Ratiri said, and though his teeth weren’t chattering, it wouldn’t be long. “I’d stay in my room and not come out.”

 

Santiago and Valeria, both bundled in thick terry robes (but unfortunately barefoot), made their way over, looking quite miserable. “Of course this country’s climate decides to be itself the night we all have to go outside,” he said.

 

“I was telling Lorna that if this goes on for too long, we needed to go to the barn,” Ratiri said. “Nobody needs hypothermia.”

 

“WHO IS RESPONSIBLE HERE” came the obnoxious shriek of a female voice. “I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON.”

 

“Christo,” Santiago murmured from not far away. “One guess who _that_ is.”

 

“Three guesses, and two don’t count,” added Valeria, giggling. She seemed to almost welcome the diversion; at least it was a bad sort of entertainment to distract from the deepening chill.

 

“You’d think the painkillers would have dulled that,” Ratiri said, wincing. “She sounds like somebody’s tortured a dolphin.”

 

“Like anybody’s going to know what’s going on here.” He had no idea which one that was, but it sounded like the one who’d been loudest at dinner last night. “This place is _so_ getting a shitty review on Yelp.”

 

Lorna covered her face with her hand, laughing silently. She felt genuinely sorry for the parents of that lot. She really, really did.

 

“Are all American students like that?” Nora asked, appearing as if from out of nowhere. It was so sudden that Lorna almost screamed; she certainly jumped.

 

“I don’t think so. I -- oh, flipping hell.” The fine, misty rain strengthened into something much more relentless, miserable, and _cold_. It plastered her hair against her face, weighing down her nightgown -- though at least, so far as she could tell in the uneven light, the fabric hadn’t actually gone see-through.

 

Astrid and Stella came running across the lawn, but the latter slipped and landed half on her arse and half on her side. She burst out laughing, however, shoving her sodden hair out of her face. All three girls had on various band T-shirts and flannel pajama pants, though Astrid was the only one with anything on her feet.

 

“Should we try Flogsta?” Astrid asked, helping her hapless friend to her feet.

 

Lorna shivered, trying to get her own hair out of her face. “What’s Flogsta?”

 

“In Sweden, if you open up your window at night at a university and scream, everyone else will lean out their window to scream as well. It’s how we blow off school anxiety.”

 

Rushmi’s eyes widened and he made no reply. This was, after all, a five-star hotel. And while he could not control what others chose to do, he had _some_ standards left. Besides, Americans had enough of a reputation, thanks to bozos like the spoiled brats not so far away. Speaking of which…

 

“God fucking DAMMIT, who is in charge of this dump?” Kaylynn screamed. “Wait until my father hears about this! Best Hotel in the World, my unwiped ASS,” she bellowed, to the increasing horror of those around her. Finally her friend Courtney could take no more, and laid into her.

 

“Would you shut UP? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re all out here. Do you think they tossed us into the cold because it’s an episode of Punk’d? You’re being a stupid American asshole, worse than usual. How fucking much did you have to drink on top of all that Vicodin? ”

 

“ _I’M_ being a stupid asshole? Well if I’m one, you’re one too!” The words were a little drunken; however much she had combined of the two substances, it was probably too much.

 

“Am not!!”

 

“Are too!!”

 

“Oh Jesus bloody Christ,” Katrin said. Though it wasn’t exactly an Icelandic expression, it would have to do. No one would understand, otherwise.

 

In spite of herself, Lorna laughed, and picked her way around Ratiri with her icy feet. “Try this one: ‘Christ in a bloody sidecar,” she said. “Very Irish, that.”

 

Katrin giggled, and not only did she try it, she did her best to mimic Lorna’s accent. Of course the result was abysmal, which just sent the pair of them plus Freyja, Astrid, Stella and Nora laughing. It was wet, and it was bloody cold, but somehow that just made it funnier.

 

Ratiri rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help a smile himself. He was too busy watching his wife, who really did look more Samara-like than ever, to notice Kaylynn creeping up on him -- not until she had her hand halfway down the front of his trousers, anyway.

 

He was so startled he couldn’t actually speak, though he did his best to shove her away, too stunned by the staggering level of impropriety to even properly react with anything but silent shock. She slurred something almost incoherent, but there was something about height in there.

 

 _Lorna_ , however, reacted and then some. Before even she could think, she’d aimed a kick at the bloody slag, catching her right in the snatch. The woman’s sudden, bug-eyed expression of surprise quickly turned to pain as she staggered backward, trying to pinwheel her good arm. Unfortunately for her, not only did that fail, she fell to her knees and sicked up all over the grass.

 

“Touch my husband one more time and I’ll rip your foot off and jam it up your own arse,” Lorna snarled, glaring through the tangle of her hair. She might have gone on, might have done worse, had not the trio of Swedes plus Astrid and Katrin not all burst out laughing.

 

At that moment, a clipboard-bearing duo from the hotel staff finally made their appearance (of course, _they_ had Macs on, how wonderful for them),  and began ushering the now bedraggled and freezing guests back inside. Everyone’s name and room number was taken down and….glancing back, Ratiri wasn’t sure what had become of Kaylynn. And he could not exactly bring himself to care.

 

*****

Both Ratiri and Lorna were still shivering once they got into their room, and there was nothing at all sexy about the speed with which they shucked their wet clothes. Poor Ratiri was visibly disturbed, too, so once Lorna wrapped the freezing mass of her hair in a towel, she brought one out to dry him off, rubbing briskly to get some warmth back in his limbs.

 

“You,” she ordered, “warm up while I try to dry this mess.” The bathroom did have a hair dryer, and she just needed to get it to a point that wasn’t completely chilly. Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed the edge of his jaw before heading into the bathroom. This was a story to tell and then some, but fortunately she didn’t think Ratiri had actually understood what that slag had said, or he’d be a good deal more disturbed. Ever since she’d met him, she’d realized that being extremely attractive definitely had its drawbacks: he received far too much attention that he didn’t actually want. She’d always thought sexual harassment was something only women dealt with, but even before this he’d faced blatant leering and crude comments -- the kind that, if leveled at a woman, would rightfully be seen as horrible. When used against a man, though, all too often people just thought it was funny. It was one of the very few ways a double standard actually worked _against_ men, and there wasn’t exactly anything poor Ratiri could do about it. He couldn’t even have defended himself against that stupid bint without it having looked terrible.

 

But that was why he had Lorna. Irish society at large wouldn’t see anything wrong with _her_ lamping or kicking some twat who tried to move in on her husband; a woman hitting another woman was unlikely to invite much in the way of comment, except possibly to take bets as to who would win.

 

*****

 

Thranduil, Earlene and Thanadir decided to take advantage of their absent friends to have an “old-time’s sake” breakfast at the cottage, only the three of them. With the knowledge that Saoirse had woken tired and disoriented but otherwise well, later in the day, Pat agreed it was best to give her some time to digest what her father explained to her had happened. Not to mention, for them as a family to discuss the topic of her ‘growing’ by themselves.

 

For Earlene especially, it was a very pleasant chance to reminisce on the earliest days of their lives together; the initial craziness when she and Thanadir could barely communicate beyond gestures and the ten words each knew of the other’s language. Now the gentle elf hugged her to his side as he helped her quietly make fruit crepes and scrambled eggs, and a special treat of very good coffees. “Do you remember the first time you came here to eat, meldir? I felt very nervous around you...anxious that you enjoy yourself, and feel welcome.”

 

“I do,” he smiled. “I did not know what to think. What my King had done was very...unusual, but it was not my place to say so. But your food...it was very good, Earlene, and though I knew little about you I saw that you were trying your best to honor me. I had not ever known many humans, and felt surprised. And pleased. I do not know what I expected, but you were not...it.”

 

That brought a grin. “I was a little afraid of you, too. Thranduil warned me you were stern, and very proper. I so worried I would offend you without meaning to; your manners and customs were almost unknown to me.”

 

He shook his head. “Your love for my King was visible to me right away. I was grateful to you, for I saw that he was happy. Happy in a way I had not seen in countless years. That you were able to spoil me unceasingly with your fine cooking was only an added benefit.”

 

They both shook their heads, a little lost in their mutual nostalgia. Earlene had already provided mugs of steaming tea, as the breakfast would take awhile to fully prepare and it seemed counterproductive to wait so long for a beverage. Thranduil was managing to ignore their mutual admiration session, pleasantly amused at them somewhere in the back of his mind but more interested in the daily news on his laptop. “This American president of yours,” he commented, “certainly has a way with words. Do they not have persons such as Thanadir, to advise on matters that might be best not spoken in public?”

 

“Valar, Thranduil. Do not call him ‘mine’, even in jest, lest I fall into despair. But to answer your question, yes, he has advisors. Whether he chooses to listen to any of them, or whether they are all a pack of jesters, that is what I cannot tell you. I do not believe any thinking person understands...it.”

 

“Hmpf,” he grunted, moving along to the online edition of The Irish Times. He had just taken a luxurious sip of perfectly steeped tea, when the headline photo that caught his attention caused him to spray a fine mist of tea in an impressive arc. Some might have even gotten into the scrambled eggs, not that his germs (did elves even have any?) mattered to her.

 

“What on _Earth,_ Thranduil?” Earlene exclaimed, hurrying over with a clean tea towel to at least blot liquid away from his electronics, she did what was possible under the circumstances, returning for some paper towels as well. Thanadir was far more alert to the extremely unusual expression of...well, in over fifteen thousand years he had never seen that exact mien on his ruler, so he honestly could not place the emotion conveyed.

 

“My Lord?” he asked, temporarily forgetting their newer customs of speech. “Are you...well?”

 

Earlene now had enough of the tea blotted from among the keys to actually look at what had caused this outburst.  She gasped in horror. “It _cannot_ be.”

 

“Oh yes, it _can_ ,” Thranduil said, his fingers reaching up to massage his temples. “Eru.”

 

“HANDS OFF MY BLOKE!!,” the caption screamed. “The photo taking Ireland by storm was the result of an unfortunate emergency exit late last night at upscale Ashford Castle. Eyewitnesses report that a spirited bride defended her man against a drunken American tourist who made an ill-considered grab at the attractive newlywed groom. A faulty carbon monoxide detector somehow triggered the hotel’s fire alarms, causing staff and guests alike to hurriedly exit into the evening’s fierce downpour.”

 

Thanadir finished a crepe and joined them in staring at the screen. “That is Lorna, kicking another firieth in the…?” The unseemliness could not be spoken aloud, and his sentence died in midstream.

 

“In the crotch,” finished Earlene, who felt no such timidity.

 

“Their clothes are in a most unseemly state,” frowned Thanadir. “And Ratiri’s…”

 

“And Ratiri’s bare chest is on full display but thank the Valar, his face is cropped out of the photo by some good fortune. They are all sopping wet.” Earlene completed with brutal honesty. “At least he had on trousers...is that not the nightgown you first gave Lorna when she came here?”

 

“Yes. And the woman being kicked, how is it she looks as though she has wings?”

 

“That is a statue on the castle grounds, meldir,” Thranduil said miserably. “I have seen it in photos that Earlene showed me. Do you think they know about...this?”

 

“If they do, I fear their honeymoon is ruined,” said Earlene, equally disappointed. “Whether or not they are ever identified, they will be unhappy, to know of this. I thought they would be...safe, there. I thought nothing could happen to cause a...a…”

 

“Fiasco. I cannot look at this any longer,” Thranduil said, half-angry.

 

“Husband, try to remember...we do not know what actually happened. Do not form an opinion only on...this. All of it may be entirely not their fault in any way.”

 

Thranduil remained silent. While he knew Earlene was right, _why was it always Lorna??_

 

Thanadir returned to his crepes, and had the wisdom to shut off the heat on the eggs and stir them, having seen them made enough times.

 

“Beloved,” Earlene whispered soothingly, “remember too, probably only we and a few close friends might realize who they are. You cannot see their faces; it is only because of our familiarity, and the awareness of their whereabouts that we know. Please, do not let your day be ruined on account of this. I...it will come right in the end. Things like this usually do. Nothing stays interesting for long, out in the wider world.” Or so she hoped.

 

Responding to her insistent nuzzling, some of Thranduil’s black cloud lifted, and he smiled. A little. Which was followed by a chaste kiss. Which in turn was followed by Thanadir clearing his throat and a great deal of laughter. Earlene broke away and finished with the eggs, blushing. “When my daughters are older, you may chaperone, meldir. You have proven your effectiveness,” she teased.

 

“Good,” smiled Thanadir, preparing the fruit filling.

 

Breakfast was marvelous, and the coffee left them collectively wondering why they did not have it a little more often. Earlene realized soberly, this was another luxury they would be required to hoard if they were to enjoy it after the plague came. After washing up, the three of them decided to finish some very limited tasks at the house. The house that was nearing completion; at this point all major structural necessities were long cared for, as were all the truly detailed projects. Now everything was a long checklist that Thanadir had created by which to finish attending to myriad details that encompassed everything from slightly incomplete mosaics to finish plasters to furnishings and decorations. They worked individually, then met back one last time at the cottage before returning to the Halls for their midday meal.

 

Later, Earlene’s email pinged its _Star Trek_ notification. The new message was from Lorna, in all its mildly misspelled and slightly punctuationally-challenged glory.

 

_Ratiri hasnt seen this and I don’t want him too but I was stupid and had to check my email. Before you all go ‘vilent Lorna, boo’, the stupid slag tried to shove her hand down Ratiris pants to “see if his dick matched his height’. Fortunatley I don’t think he heard that but I HAD to kick her. Nobody sexually assalts my husband,, sorry. Except I meant to kick her in the stomach but Im short and her snatch was right there, so it just kind of happened._

 ps. _the memes are going already God bloody help us_

_psps. dont worry, I made it up to Ratiri later_

 

“Thranduil, Thanadir, Lorna has sent a message. It is unseemly, but it explains a great deal.”

 

The two ellyn came over, and Earlene was able to witness something she would have bet her investment portfolio would never be seen. Thanadir not only read the email, he dissolved into helpless laughter. Earlene placed a reassuring arm around his shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. “Meldir?”

 

“You cannot ever tell her,” the seneschal pleaded, even as he could not stop laughing. “My reputation…”

 

“Is safe with me.”

 

Thranduil had no such compunctions, and laughed uproariously, before coming to kiss his wife on the cheek. “You were right, meluieg. There was a reason. But still…”

 

The three of them echoed in stereo: “It’s always _Lorna_.”

 


	77. Seventy-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 4th-25th, 2017
> 
> Cultural reference: 'Samara/Sadako' refers to Samara Morgan, fictional character in The Ring franchise of horror movies. A Google image search of the above name will more than give an idea :-)

When Mairead picked Lorna and Ratiri up at the hotel the next evening, she looked like she was trying so, so hard not to laugh. She refused to say anything of it, however, until they were all in the car, and then she broke down.

 

Lorna groaned. “You saw the news, didn’t you?”

 

“What news?” Ratiri asked. He had steadfastly refused to look at his phone or anything else electronic while they were on honeymoon, and Lorna had hoped he wouldn’t find this out right off, but evidently Mairead just couldn’t keep it to herself.

 

“Irish Samara,” she managed, and that was _all_ she managed. “The memes, Lorna. The _memes_. Niamh’s been collecting and printing the best’v them for your scrapbook.”

 

Now it was Lorna who cracked up, resting her forehead against the back of the passenger’s seat. “Oh _no_...I haven’t kept up with them. Are there a lot?”

 

“I’m proud’v you, Fun Size,” Mairead said, still giggling. “You’ve gone viral.”

 

“Can somebody let me in on this?” Ratiri asked, turning to look at his wife.

 

Lorna wiped her eyes. Christ, her sides hurt. “Somebody got a picture’v me kicking that slag right in the snatch,” she said. “It wound up in the _newspaper_ , allanah. I had to email Earlene and tell her I hadn’t just done it for no reason.”

 

Mairead fished out her mobile and passed it back. “Just...look in my saved photos,” she said. “You’re Irish Samara, or Sadako, depending on which film’s being referenced.”

 

Oh dear… Lorna found the gallery and tapped the first one, and immediately started laughing so hard she just about choked.

 

“Which one is it?” Mairead asked, pulling out onto the road.

 

“The first one.” It was, in fact, a demotivational poster. Whoever had taken the photo had somehow timed it perfectly: her foot was squarely connected with the bint’s snatch, while the bint herself had been captured in that moment between bug-eyed shock and the special kind of agony that can come only with a blow to the crotch, her feet all but lifted right off the ground as the force of the blow knocked her backward. She could see where the Samara/Sadako association came in -- in that white nightgown, her long hair soaked and obscuring her face, the resemblance was indeed both apt and creepy. The caption had the title of _Days_ , while beneath it read, _You know yours sucks when Sadako breaks your crotch._

 

The next was in standard meme format, captioned with white, black-rimmed text. It was a bit more to the point: _What happens when you grope Samara’s man._ A second demotivator said, _What did you do on your vacation? Sadako smashed my vag._

 

There. Were. _Dozens_ of the damn things, and Lorna couldn’t stop laughing. She passed the mobile up to an increasingly bewildered Ratiri, who took one look at the screen and burst out laughing himself. This one said simply _I believe I can flyyyy!_

 

“Mo chroí, you’re famous,” he said, shaking his head.

 

“They’re all over my Facebook,” Mairead grumbled. “Which, by the way, half the bloody village knows it was you, Fun Size. They know where you went on your honeymoon, and you’re a bit, er, distinctive.”

 

That only made Lorna laugh even harder. _Oh, brilliant_...and yet she wasn’t sorry. Not in the least. The picture really was the result of timing so utterly perfect it could never have been managed on purpose.

 

“I wonder who even managed that,” Ratiri said, when he finally could.

 

“Well, it wasn’t anyone we knew, I’m sure,” Lorna snickered. “Oh God, I wish I could’ve seen Thanadir’s face when he saw this. It’s probably the most unseemly thing he’s ever seen in his life, poor guy. At least he’d be happy to know that the seams on my nightgown held up perfectly.”

 

“I would be annoyed, but it’s so ridiculous that I can’t be,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “I mean...that picture. That _picture._ It almost makes getting groped worth it.”

 

“I hoped _I_ made getting groped worth it,” she said, poking him.

 

“Ugh, don’t talk like that,” Mairead said, grimacing as she flicked on the windscreen wipers. “You’re my baby sister, for Christ’s sake.”

 

Lorna poked her as well. “Oi, you’re the one that gave us lube.”

 

“I bloody did not.” Mairead sounded downright offended, which made Lorna realize there was only one other possible donor of that wonderful little bottle. _Ewwww…_ one day she would get over her squick at the idea of Thranduil actually having a sex life, but it was not this day. At least Pat didn’t have anybody he could squick her out with, though she rather hoped he’d find someone among either village, if that was what he wanted. He wouldn’t be dealing with the same prejudices he’d faced in the outside world. (As long as it wasn’t Siobhan. No. Nope. _Never_. Bad enough she’d probably got her very well-manicured nails into Shane -- possibly literally. There was another .) Honestly, the problem was that she had too damn many fraternal figures with intimate lives she wanted to know nothing at all about. At least the same could be said of three out of the four of them, and Thranduil just didn’t care. She rather envied that ability, because she was too old to be as squicked as she was, but squicked she was indeed. Surely she’d get over it someday.

 

Meanwhile, she’d had a very lovely time -- yes, even with the slag -- and apparently she’d be Internet famous for the next week or so. She reached up and around and squeezed Ratiri’s hand. “We got to _Downton Abbey_ it up,” she said. “Met some grand people, at some amazing food...I know it’s stupidly, insanely expensive, but the whole lot’v us ought to just rent out the whole damn castle for a weekend, sooner or later. I mean, money’s only going to be worth anything for the next twenty years, so we might as well spend some.” The elves ought to appreciate old splendor in human form, even if to them the thirteenth century was the equivalent of last Tuesday.

 

She leaned back in the seat, rubbing her shoulder a bit. They’d done falconry this morning, which had been both amazing and a touch terrifying, because falcons were even bigger up close than they looked, and then meandered through the castle gardens. There hadn’t been time for the spa, but she had a pretty good idea of what to do the next time she and Earlene managed a girls’ day. She’d never been to a spa, but they sounded brilliant.

 

“There was a rather obnoxious quartet in the dining room the first night,” Ratiri said dryly. “One of whom was the one that tried to grope me. Lorna quote-unquote accidentally tripped and spilled water on them.”

 

“Actually, I wound up tripping for real,” Lorna admitted. “Same result, though.”

 

That just made Mairead laugh all over again. “Of bloody course you did. I hope you didn’t rip great-Gran’s dress.”

 

“No, but I was afraid I was going to. Christ, I barely dared breathe in it.” In truth, she could use another good night’s rest, given she hadn’t got as much sleep as she’d like last night. Oh, it had been worth it, but still.

 

“Well, Pat’s waiting to tease you over the memes,” Mairead said dryly. “I told him you’d just think it was hilarious.”

 

“Oh, I do,” Lorna said. “I really, really do.”

 

******

 

Thranduil, Earlene and Thanadir knew that the time for Sharley’s departure had come, when she announced arrangements to leave with Mairead at the time she brought Lorna and Ratiri back to the forest. Knowing her enjoyment of Allanah, the little girl was brought with them. Thanadir carried her one bag of possessions while Earlene and Sharley held Allanah’s hand, swinging her with laughter to help her toddle through the forest. Thranduil appeared suitably ornamental, Earlene felt, as he led their half-baked procession from the Halls. Earlene had woven him a crown of forest greenery by way of humor, but it looked so nice that he was asked by all to keep it on. Indeed, the green leaves were beautiful against his skin; in a little over six weeks, autumn would arrive and summer would be gone.

 

“They are back,” he said softly as they wandered the dappled path.

 

“Aunt Lorna and Ratiri are at the cottage now, Allanah,” Earlene explained to the little girl. Only a few minutes’ later, they emerged to the view of the cottage, and Allanah ran forward with childish excitement, bringing smiles to all.  

 

“Loooooooooooooooowwwwwnaaaaaaaaaaaa” or something very like it was shrieked at the top of her little lungs, until the inevitable happened and she tripped and fell in the grass.

 

“Oh, Allanah, you’ll get your legs under control sooner or later,” Lorna said, kneeling and gathering the crying child close. “Shh now, it’s all right.” She wiped the bits of grass off Allanah’s face with her sleeve, tickling the girl under the chin. Sure enough, soon enough the kid was laughing again. “Were you good for your Auntie Sharley?”

 

“She was,” Sharley said, looking Allanah with such wistfulness that Lorna was certain there was another little girl on her mind. “I have to go home now, to get some things together, but...I want you all to come visit me, once all your kids’re old enough. I want to show you… there’s so many things I want to show you.” She looked from Lorna and Allanah to Earlene and Thranduil. “Come see where I live, in a year or two.”

 

Lorna had been afraid of this. She’d known it was coming, and yet knowing didn’t help much. “You’ve got your phone, right?” she asked, rising with Allanah in her arms. “And all the bank shite we set up?” Though of this poor solitary woman going back out into the world again, alone...it hurt. She wanted, very much, to go to Washington, to see the mountains and walk the paths where Sharley lived.

 

“I do,” Sharley assured her. “I’ve got it all.” She had a little color on her face now, thanks to all her time in the sun, but her hair was more faded than ever.

 

Thranduil knew better than to make long-winded speeches. “Until we next meet,” he said simply, affording her their traditional gesture of parting, which Thanadir also mirrored.

 

Earlene rolled her eyes and pulled Sharley into a hug. “You know where we are, should you need us,” she smiled.

 

Allanah only now seemed to be understanding what was happening, as she frowned with her finger in her mouth. Earlene felt terrible for the little girl. “Sharley is going now, but she will come back one day, Allanah.”

 

“Sharwee….go? No wan’ Sharwee go….” a storm was brewing in the little face, that her father was quick to see. Picking her up immediately, he walked away with her for a moment, murmuring to her as he held her close.

 

“Sorry,” said Earlene apologetically. “It’s so hard on them, at that age.”

 

“I know,” Sharley said, hugging back. When she drew away, she reached for Allanah.

 

“You, kiddo, just need to wait a bit,” she said, looking down into those big blue eyes. “I’ll send you things, so you don’t forget me, and I’ll come back. And maybe when I do, you’ll have conned your Auntie Lorna into dyeing her hair blue.”

 

“Now _that_ would be a challenge,” Mairead said, eying her sister’s mop. “I’m getting this one’s re-done before she goes home,” she added, nodding to Sharley. “She can get back home looking proper.”

 

Mairead, a practical sort, seemed to know better than to let the good-byes linger on, especially when Allanah was holding it together like as not on the virtue of what her da was able to say inside of her head. “Let’s be off, then,” she said, gesturing for Thanadir to bring her bag. “Besides, can’t say as I’ll complain to be out’v the car once we’re to Baile.”

 

That much, Earlene could understand, personally feeling as though Mairead must have done a horrifying amount of driving today. It was probably a bad time to point out the next council meeting was in less than a week. “We’ll see you next time,” she waved encouragingly, before returning inside, where tea and no doubt stories awaited.

 

Lorna and Ratiri each gave Sharley a rib-squeezing hug before she left with Mairead, and watched her go with sorrow. “I knew she’d leave,” Lorna said, leaning against him, “but part’v me hoped she wouldn’t. We do need to go see her, once the kids’re a little older. If we know what she’ll be leaving behind when she comes here for good, maybe we can help her with it.”

 

Thranduil shook his head sadly, as he watched Sharley depart. There would be no ‘helping her with it.’ For he had seen in her mind, that to which Sharley returned. He had looked on the computer, to learn about the forests of her place in the world, and there was nothing here like them. There had _never_ been trees like that, here. Just as the forests of Beleriand had not been the forests of Eryn Lasgalen, no two were truly alike. And of all, he understood what it was to feel a special affiliation to one kind of forest, and eventually she would leave hers behind. And it would not be the same; yet it would have to suffice.

 

Thanadir was already pouring boiling water for the teapot. “How I love you, meldir,” Earlene teased.”

 

“I know. Do I get cookies?”

 

Earlene burst into laughter. He knew perfectly well she kept a stash of them frozen, and a supply were now removed to share. Might as well; from the look of some of those memes, there was a bit of a tale to tell. When Lorna and Ratiri re-entered the cottage, Earlene said the only thing possible. “Well, let’s hear it,” she grinned.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and Ratiri groaned. “It’s a _meme_ ,” she said, giggling helplessly. “Mairead’s been _saving_ them. Apparently Niamh’s printed out the best and put them in a bloody scrapbook. See, what that picture doesn’t show is that she actually sicked up before she hit the ground.”

 

“Her friend had said something about her combining alcohol and opiates,” Ratiri added, shaking his head. “I’m not surprised. It would explain why she would...well, why she’d try _that_ in the middle of a crowd.”

 

“You poor man,” Lorna said, hugging him. “I never really thought about what would happen to people who are just as bloody good-looking as you, but there’s a drawback and a half, isn’t there?”

 

He said nothing, but he flushed the color of a brick.

 

Thranduil was not about to comment. Not one word. Earlene saw her husband’s face and it was all she could do to not burst out laughing, but she did go to hug him. _Well,_ I _happen to think you are the most desirable creature on this planet. And I can also tell you that I am not alone. I don’t have to be a mind reader to see the way most people stare at you._

 

With a smile he kissed the crown of her head, dissembling. “What kind of cookies are those?” he asked, to change the subject.

 

“Cinnamon pinwheels,” Thanadir answered happily.

 

“Eru. What will you do in Aman, meldir? There may not be cookies.”

 

This thought sobered Thanadir so much that Earlene tsk’d at Thranduil. “Do not tell him such things. If your people could invent...Silmarils, they can certainly manage cookies, for crying out loud. Fear not Thanadir, if it is the last thing I do, I will find a way to bake you cookies.”

 

He brightened once again, sipping his tea.

 

“If anybody can invent biscuits in a biscuit-less land, it’s Earlene,” Lorna said, stealing one. “And none’v us will never make them the same here, though I’ve no doubt Siobhan would try until she’d used up all’v our ingredients.”

 

“That _cake_ , though,” Ratiri said, nabbing his own biscuit. “That cake was, I think, a once-in-a-lifetime achievement. I don’t even want to think about how expensive it must have been.”

 

“I don’t think it was expensive,” Earlene said. “Sugar is cheap, and that and some food coloring were the only things we purchased that I can recall. I mean sure, if we’d paid for the labor on it, but that was a work of love. Or a bunch of baking nerds trying to outdo each other. I’m still not sure which.”

 

“With a result like that, it was probably both,” Lorna said, stealing another biscuit. “Did we miss anything spectacular, while we were away? How’re the twins?”

 

“They’re good, we did a lot of playing with the children while you were gone. It was so much easier to keep everyone together. There was a...wee bout, with Saoirse though. I imagine Pat will be wanting to have a chat with you,” Earlene said with sympathy.

 

Lorna looked at Thranduil, wondering what he’d made of seeing such a thing in more than one person -- and in a child, at that. No matter how sanguine he was about it, it couldn’t have been fun. “Is she well now?” It was likely a question she didn’t even need to ask -- this was Thranduil after all; she knew full well he’d do what he could -- but nevertheless, she needed the reassurance.

 

“I did what I could,” he answered carefully. “When Pat first explained this to me, I sincerely wanted him to somehow be wrong about what he had seen. He was not. I equally wanted to believe that this was something resulting from negative life experience...and it was not.” He sighed, not certain at all how much of this topic was safe for discussion. Though she was asking about Saoirse, it was hardly permission to have a compare-and-contrast with Ratiri, Earlene and Thanadir present. What went unsaid was that...while the part of the mind responsible for this soulless rage was indeed made well, there were still issues of behavior. Learned behavior, that would have to be...un-learned, just as Lorna herself struggled with. “We will see what happens from here, and do whatever is needed should she require further help.”

 

“She’s got people that love her,” Lorna said. “It’s more than I had, aside from my siblings. She’s got a stable life in a good place. She won’t ever be...bad, like I was, I hope.” It sounded as though Saoirse had a history of schoolyard violence, but so did many kids, and she was away from it now. Christ, how worried must Pat have been, all these years...he probably never would have dreamt she’d get this kind of help.

 

Thranduil smiled and took note of her wedding ring. “It is very funny to me, that you have chosen to wear your marriage bands as elves do, while Earlene and I...meluieg, what exactly did we do?” Human wedding customs were now yet worse of a jumble in his mind, after what he had just seen of late.

 

“Well we....I thought we did what most Irish do, the ring fingers of our right hands? Honestly I would wear them anywhere that fit; I never gave this much consideration. We did not actually discuss it, I suppose we….” she burst into laughter at the memory of that happy moment. Nobody cared what finger anything was on; there was only great love and appreciation for being wed. “Heck if I know,” Earlene answered accurately but with an uncharacteristic lack of elegance. “More importantly, did you two have fun? How was the castle?” The word ‘castle’ was pronounced with perfect tribute to the line in ‘Princess Bride’ about ‘storming the castle’.

 

Lorna and Ratiri looked at one another, and burst out laughing. “Christ, we had so much fun,” he said, pulling her close. “Falcons are even bigger up close that you’d think. I thought one was going to pick Lorna up and carry her away.”

 

She poked him in the side. “We went zip lining,” she said. “It was the scariest bloody thing, because you know me and heights, but it was grand, too. Can we set up a zip line somewhere there’s actually a slope?” She was pretty sure that doing so didn’t really involve damaging the trees in any way, and she would love, love, _love_ for her children to have that opportunity.

 

“Lorna also accidentally-on-purpose spilled water all over the four sorority morons in the dining room. It was the classiest act of sabotage I’ve ever seen.” Ratiri was perfectly happy to give her away on that one, and kissed the crown of her head.

 

Thranduil was deeply impressed with any solution that did not involve slugging someone, though he was too polite to say so.

 

“What is this zip lining?” asked Thanadir. “This cannot be with zippers.”

 

Earlene giggled and shook her head. “Here, I will show you.” Very quickly she found a YouTube video of the zip line at Ashford Castle, which conveniently was followed by a three minute video explaining a little of the castle itself.

 

“You stayed...at this place?” he asked, wanting to be sure he understood.

 

“Lorna and Ratiri did, yes. Do you like it?”

 

“I am sure it is very nice,” he said, with a smile that both Earlene and Thanadir knew to puzzle at.

 

Earlene frowned but only to herself. _What on Earth is bothering him?_ She would have to find out later. “I imagine a zip line here would be...interesting. Just to find someplace not to crash into a tree might take a year.” To Earlene, the idea did not appeal, though she was trying to sound enthusiastic by at least not sounding contrary. That the forest was completely, utterly untouched and wild...that was its appeal. Introduce even one ‘human thing’ and...well, she was not sure what, but _something_.

 

“It was bloody gorgeous,” Lorna said. “I see gorgeous everything in the Halls, but this was beauty on a...a human level, I guess you’d say. And yeah, I’m not even sure how to make a zip line safe, but it’d be brilliant if we could. This one kind’v...kind’v wove through the trees, is the only way I can describe it.”

 

“The castle was built in the thirteenth century,” Ratiri added. “To us, that’s very old. And that dining room...good grief. The four twits would have ruined the atmosphere if not for their impromptu bath.”

 

“It was very _Downton Abbey_ ,” Lorna added. “Which you really ought to watch next, whenever the hell we have the time. And Jesus, I’ll have to show you the dress Mairead sent me with -- it was my great-grandmother’s, she thinks from nineteen twenty-three or so. Apparently her brother, my great-great uncle, stole it when he was working in England and sent it home. It’s so nice to know petty thievery runs in the family.”

 

“It’s in the bag,” Ratiri said. “Go get it.”

 

Go she did, and returned with it, in all its very Art Deco glory. “That beadwork must’v taken absolute ages.”

 

The sight of this garment brought Thanadir out of what Earlene recognized as the beginnings of brooding; with delight in his features he carefully examined it. The seams, the ornamentation, all of it. “You liked to wear this?” he asked.

 

“I was a bit afraid to move in it, to be honest, but I have to admit it was comfortable,” Lorna said. “The clothes in the twenties were pretty much designed for people with my figure, or lack’v one. My gran and great-gran were both tiny like me, so it actually fit.”

“I hope there are some photos,” the elf said. With that pleading look. The Thanadir Eyes were being brought to bear.

 

 _Why do those always work?_ Lorna wondered, even as Ratiri took out his mobile and pulled them up.

 

“She was lovely,” he said, handing the mobile over even as she covered her face with her hands. For whatever reason, she still couldn’t handle the whole idea of dressing up and looking pretty and...that. She wasn’t supposed to be pretty. She was Lorna, one of the lads in all but name.

 

Thanadir kept looking from the photo, to Lorna, to the photo, and to Lorna…

 

 _Uh-oh,_ thought Earlene. _Here comes a dress. Maybe I’d better get him into Downton Abbey before he stays up for a month not sleeping, beading a garment. Actually, it’d make a nice way to spend the time, when everything else becomes too hard to manage. Anyway. Must distract._ “Well, I’m sure you’re anxious to see the little ones. Right after I finish my tea, I’m headed back. I think a little one could use some extra attention right now, and some play time with her sisters.”

 

Thranduil apparently agreed, because he lifted Allanah into his arms. “We will meet you when you begin to leave, meluieg. Adar wants to take her to see the Butterball and the chickens.”

 

“Lowna nod go bye-bye?” Allanah asked worriedly, so many fingers crammed into her mouth it was a miracle anything intelligible made it out.

 

“No, Allanah. Lorna is staying here. We will all walk to the Halls very soon.” Thranduil kissed the little girl’s cheeks and held her close. When she buried her flaming red head into his flaxen hair that fell around his neck, Earlene thought she might die from Cute Overload. If there was anything sexier than a man not afraid to be a good father, she’d like to know what it was.

 

“Tell you what, you little monkey, when we get home, I’ll bring the kittens to you,” Lorna promised. They were quite big now, big enough that they were meowing rather than squeaking, but still adorable, and she had no doubt that she and Ratiri would get swarmed when they got back. She couldn’t really find it in her to mind, because kitties.

 

“Kiffeez.” Thranduil hurriedly left with the little girl before he could laugh, which he knew would not help his daughter’s state of mind one bit. In all his long years, time around a mortal young one was brand new to him. They were very different than elflings but he found he loved them just the same. They still wanted love, and attention, and guidance; that was common to all.

 

“Gach,” Allanah pointed and smiled. Thranduil indulgently took her into the stall, and sat her on Butterscotch’s back while she shrieked in delight. Thranduil found himself in the odd circumstance of owing the cow a favor, as the animal turned to look at him with mild disgust but infinite tolerance while she chewed her cud. And yet this was now the happiest child, who was no longer thinking of Sharley. It was for the best. Some minutes later, he picked her up in a big swinging toss that garnered more delighted yells, and caught her securely before meeting the others. Her little cheeks were eminently kissable. With a grin, he realized that Lorna might be a doll, but nothing could eclipse a small child.

 

Lorna tucked the dress away again, and stole another biscuit before sitting with her head against Ratiri’s shoulder. This man was her _husband._ She was actually going to change her name this time, so she’d be Lorna Duncan from now on. At least the initials would stay the same. “Should we go see our sprogs?” she asked.

 

“I think we should. And we will bring Allanah kittens.”

 

**********

 

Lorna, beer in hand, hunted Pat down at his flat the next day. Saoirse was out playing in the woods, making up for lost time; she’d spent most of her life indoors while at home, unless Pat had taken her somewhere, given it was too unsafe for her to play on the council estate. Now she had a whole forest to wander, watched over by elves who would make certain she didn’t land herself in hot water. And her father actually had some grown-up time...not that he knew what to do with it. It was not something he was used to, and he couldn’t just spend much of it on the internet, unless he went out to the cottage, and that would defeat the purpose of getting to know his new home.

 

But here was Lorna, bearing beer and an impressive hickey that made him grimace. Not a thought he needed. Still, he’d seen the memes, and was oddly proud of her; if you had to kick somebody in the snatch, you might as well get Internet famous for doing it. He knew that she would ask about Saoirse, but he really was not sure what to say. Where to start.

 

“Hi there, Samara,” he said. “Or Sadako. Whichever you want.”

 

“Shut it, you,” she said, glowering even as she shooe’d him into his sitting room. “Can’t say I’m displeased by it, but still. Thranduil said something happened with Saoirse.”

 

Pat poked up the fire, adding a piece of wood even though it didn’t need it, mostly to buy himself time. Eventually, he had to sit on the sofa, taking one of the heavy brown bottles. “She did it again,” he said, staring at it without actually opening it. “What you did. At breakfast, the day after the wedding. I don’t know what Thranduil did, but he...put her under, somehow. He said he’d done what he did to you, but I’m really not sure just what that means. When she woke up, she didn’t remember any’v it, but she never has, just like you never did.”

 

Lorna took the bottle from his hands, cracked it open, and handed it back. “How is she now? Does she seem any different?”

 

“No,” he said, taking a long swig of the beer. Damn good stuff. “But it’s only been a couple days. You really haven’t gone like that again, since he did...whatever he did?”

 

Lorna paused, considering this. She _might_ have gone blank with Von Ratched, but she wasn’t sure. “No,” she said. “I still get angry, sure -- Christ, I kicked a woman in the snatch on my honeymoon -- but not like that. I’m always still _me_ when it happens. And while I might punch or kick someone, I don’t try to bite off noses anymore, or...anything.” That one really had been gross, but at least it had worked.

 

She gave Pat a poke with her toe. “She’s not me, Pat, and she’s not growing up like we did. You made that estate the best home that you could -- you’ve always been there _for_ her, not _against_ her, and look where you are now. With that thing in her head gone, she doesn’t have any reason for it to come back. Yeah, she’ll still get mad sometimes, because she’s Irish, but I really don’t think she’ll ever go like _that_ again. I mean, I was way bloody worse, and it’s been over a year since Thranduil and Thanadir did...whatever the fuck they did.”

 

His eyebrows rose. “It took _both_ ’v them with you?”

 

With a wince, she cracked her own beer. “Is that any surprise? I’m a lot older than her, and I was a lot worse even as a kid. Saoirse, she’s got people that love her, and a bloody amazing place to live. She won’t have stupid teachers who don’t understand her, or kids that bully her. This is the best place to raise a kid anyone could imagine.” How different would she herself have been, if she had, at eight years old, been taken to live here? She would have been at far more of a disadvantage than Saoirse, since her da and Pat were nothing at all alike, but she liked to think it would have made a difference. That she wouldn’t have turned out as she’d been, for so long.

 

Pat only nodded, staring into the fire, and she didn’t need telepathy to know he was afraid this was too good to be true. She really couldn’t blame him, since it had seemed that way to her at first, too. _He might not be thinking that when we start work on the fireplaces_ , she thought dryly. Lorna had never been opposed to hard work, and she doubted Pat was, either, but when it was something so new, so alien, and possibly so messy, it could get aggravating at first. “What was wrong with her mam, Pat? D’you know, at all?” He’d said it was _something_ , but not what.

 

“I don’t know,” he said. “We weren’t together long before she got up the yard, and she left not long after Saoirse was born. Like I said, she’d never wanted kids, and she went through that depression thing, post-partum or whatever, but I think there was something wrong with her before that. She had this...this crippling anxiety, sort’v thing, and there’d be days on end she couldn’t even open the curtains, but she wouldn’t go to a doctor for it. Didn’t want anyone thinking she was crazy. Couldn’t keep a job because’v it, either.”

 

He sighed, and took a long sip of his beer. “One day I came home from work and found she’d left Saoirse with a neighbor, and just...disappeared. I checked with the police, and with hospitals, but I never did find her. For all I know, she’s dead. But as bloody furious as I was with her, I can’t just blame her and have done with it. She needed help, even if she didn’t want it, or want to admit it -- it wasn’t just that she didn’t want the bother’v having a family. Saoirse thinks she’s dead, and it’s better that way.”

 

Jesus Christ...Lorna rose from her armchair, sat beside Pat, and hugged him. “And let me guess, you kick yourself for somehow not being able to magically fix her, don’t you? You can’t do everything, Patrick Michael Donovan, even though you’ve tried your entire bloody life. You’re not a doctor, and you couldn’t’ve actually forced her to go see one. You’ve done what you could by Saoirse, and that ought to be enough. I know it _won’t_ be, not for you, but it should be.”

 

She laughed a little, even as he hugged her back. “You know, that’s what first made me think Thranduil was like you: you’ll both half kill yourselves trying to take care’v other people, whether they can be taken care’v or not. Well, that and you can both be little shits.” Leaning away, she dug her elbow into his side. “You can still be a little shit, right? You haven’t gone and grown up on me entirely, have you?”

 

Pat glowered at her, the tension gone from him. “D’you really want to find that out, Fun Size? I’m not sure the elves’d appreciate us resuming the prank war, and sure wouldn’t it be a terrible example for Saoirse.”

 

“Saoirse,” Lorna fired back, “would see that her da is a human being. And I’m sure the elves would live, though there needs to be a few ground rules: nothing that might get one’v us seriously injured, and no destruction’v property that isn’t ours. And if we’ve got to make a mess, we either have to do it outside or clean it up ourselves, because anything else’d be unfair to the elves.”

 

The grin he gave her was very much the Pat she’d grown up with, and she belatedly wondered if this was such a good idea after all. As kids, they’d kept the same prank war running for _years_ , though they’d also often teamed up and turned it on other targets. They hadn’t had any such rules back then, but even with them, she had a feeling things could get disastrous and/or hilarious.

 

But even if they _were_ a mess for her, it would be worth it, because her poor brother had been careworn for too long. “You, Fun Size,” he said, “are going to regret this.”

 

“Probably,” she agreed easily. “But that’s what’ll make it so fun.”

 

******

 

The wedding, the honeymoon...all of it was in the rearview mirror now, and as Earlene saw it, she had three priorities. Her exercise routines had fallen to the wayside in the weeks ahead of the ceremony; that needed to change. Only so much time remained before her body would begin to swell, and hell if she wouldn’t be in the best shape possible before _that_ happened. The subtle signs of transformation had already begun. Kale, purslane and berry smoothies were being consumed when Earlene thought no one was looking. Some meals were leaning into Lorna’s red zone, like the sashimi and seaweed-kimchi salads that appeared one day. She even made green tea ice-cream, instead of her usual chocolate (though to be fair, that got made as well, a rich obscenity made with the highest quality Swiss dark). Meals had become suspiciously healthy, with far less rampant processed sugar; even Thanadir seemed vaguely depressed at the number of caprese salads and lack of cookies.

 

 _None of that matters_ , Earlene grinned, now focusing on the other topics. Lorna had guided Pat through the steps necessary to remove Saoirse from the ordinary school system, and make it known that she would be home-schooled henceforth. Naturally, days had been spent researching this phenomenon, taking notes, creating files, ordering materials, and setting up a means by which to track progress. Confident in her own education, Earlene mostly knew what this was not going to be; a rigid, structured imprisonment that would require six hours’ sitting at a desk each day.

 

Saoirse would work harder than most schoolchildren, but she’d not know it. As a guess, Earlene simply assumed it would need the better part of six months just to firmly evaluate the child’s existing knowledge and aptitudes, and continually customize her learning accordingly. Earlene had many opinions on the failings of modern education, the worst being that current teaching methods left kids hating school. And since ‘school’ amounted to ‘learning’ in the eyes of most children, could anything be more defeatist than a program that actively brought someone’s curiosity and desire to gain more knowledge to a screeching halt? _Yeah, nope. That won’t be happening._

 

Their divisions would be fairly obvious. Lorna would be in charge of teaching Irish language and culture, and anything having to do with mechanics, photography, and the other knowledge best left in her capable hands. Goddammit if _this_ kid was going to hit her ninth birthday without knowing a crescent wrench from a carriage bolt, if Earlene could help it. Thanadir would care for art, music, physical training, weapons training, and many of the ‘applied learning’ subcategories...drafting, architecture, metallurgy, woodworking, and all the other focused skills of which he was a master. Ratiri of course would take on the physical and biological sciences to the extent possible, with Earlene perhaps helping to construct interdisciplinary lessons that would extend their tentacles into many subject areas. The majority of foundational learning, though, whether it was basic maths, English and writing, world history, reading, et cetera would likely fall to Earlene, though it was expected that when there was time, perhaps more than one adult would be on hand to assist and add variety and perspective to the curriculum. And of course there would be cooking, animal husbandry, gardening, and the other practical things it was almost more important to know. _Like Sindarin...poor kid._

 

 _But, a few days remain before that has to happen_ . Right now, the absolute goal was for beginning with Saoirse’s education the last full week in August. It had been agreed, August 21st would be their first day; like as not much of the remainder of that month would be a long, slow evaluation of testing Saoirse, hopefully without her realizing this was what was occurring. A variety of ideas existed for making this less painful; sure as hell this wasn’t going to be some sit-down test booklet. It was far more important to build confidence in the girl’s ability to learn; what little Earlene had heard about her existing attitudes concerning school made her aware there would be challenges ahead. And beyond that... _I want more time alone. For a year and a half I’ve been here and loved my life and I’m still almost never alone. ‘Thanadir alone’ is fine and probably unavoidable, it’s ‘people that keep talking alone’...that’s not alone._ While she truly did enjoy her fellow humans, they tended to _talk_.

 

Shutting down her laptop and closing her notebooks, Earlene soon dropped those off at their new home. It had a name now, Eldamar. _Elvenhome_. As their next dwelling would actually be in the real Eldamar, it seemed fitting. Thranduil was there, applying a green-colored wash to their bedroom. Today had dawned rather warmer than usual, and his tunic was almost completely unbuttoned, with sleeves rolled up. The sight of him was almost too much...they were days away from bringing in furnishings, linens, personal items. Later today, in fact, Orla herself was due to appear; she would verify both the electrical wiring as well as the home’s extensive internet connectivity.

 

They’d gone rather above and beyond with what had been done, with an eye to their unfortunate future….and yet from the outside it appeared so very rustic in spite of the many state-of-the-art features. The home was the oddest combination of the completely primitive (wood-fired baking oven, and outhouses) with the highly advanced (high speed data connections integrated with a multi-use room designed to convert seamlessly into a full blown theater with high quality surround-sound. Not to mention, a commercial-quality kitchen).

 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” she said aloud, though he had to know she was near.

 

“For what, Earlene?” he put down his brush, amused, stopping to visit with her.

 

“For how hard you have worked, to make this home a reality,” she answered, gratefully dissolving into his embrace.

 

“You have worked hard to make other things a reality, meluieg.” His hand slipped down to rub delightedly at little Thaladir, who clearly knew that Lorna and Ratiri’s wedding was over. It was alarming to her, how a barely noticeable firmness had swollen to an outright bulge in a matter of weeks. At least he was proving to be a considerate lad.

 

Earlene laughed. “I suppose it is true that your direct role in this was minimal, and yet...look at all you do to care for us. It is so beautiful, here. I am excited to know that our new home is almost finished.”

 

“Me too,” he said. “I cannot explain exactly, but I am looking forward to this autumn and winter greatly. Our son will arrive, our daughters continue to grow, Saoirse is with us now, and Pat...more continue to choose dwellings in our Halls and slowly move themselves in...we are very rich, are we not?”

 

“Yes. Rich, and blessed.” She sighed, knowing that if she did not break away from him now, some manner of sexual escapade would assuredly occur.

 

Thranduil grumbled in disappointment.

 

“We can do that later,” Earlene teased. “I need to exercise, and you should finish your task.”

 

“It _is_ exercise, if you are on top,” he pointed out mischievously, earning him a growl of mock frustration.

 

“If you could please take these things back to the Halls for me when you return,” she rolled her eyes, setting down her computer case. “I will see my beautiful husband at our rooms.” With a peck to his cheek, a hasty retreat was managed before further enticement was possible.

 

“Damn,” Thranduil murmured, grinning as Earlene flitted off. “Almost had her.” With a smile of anticipation, he picked up his brush, shrugged, and continued his work.

 

*****

 

The forest was glorious. No, better than glorious. Earlene had on her favorite barefoot running shoes, and had long ago lost track of how many miles she had already passed. Green met her eyes everywhere, both in the vibrant undergrowth and the canopy overhead, but eventually she slowed to a walk, having ventured far into some northeast quadrant of these woods. Lately she’d been listening to a lot of film music, and had found something buried in the Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack that had never been noticed before; the gorgeous Sindarin hymn based on ‘A Elbereth Gilthoniel’. Too shy to sing it around actual elves, she nevertheless found it compelling and lovely. Reasonably sure no one was around, it was something she could now enjoy.

 

_Fanuilos, heryn aglar, Rîn athar annún-aearath. Calad ammen i reniar, mi ‘aladrhemmin ennorath!_

 

As she intoned the wrenchingly beautiful chant, her eyes widened to see the air around her seem to shimmer, as if the trees themselves wished to add to her praise of Varda. And out of nowhere, Thanadir appeared at her side. Earlene blinked at him. “How do you _do_ that, meldir?”

 

Not for the last time came the simple response: “I am an elf, Earlene. Surely we have established this by now, meldis? Besides, I would more like to know how you did _that_.”

 

“That...what?”

 

“The shimmering in the air. You could see it, could you not?”

 

“Yes,” she admitted. “I thought...I don’t know what I thought. Perhaps the trees liked my song?”

 

He shook his head No. “It is more than that,” he said with great seriousness. “That is a magic only the King possesses.”

 

“I have no explanation, Thanadir. Only that I thought the song beautiful, and wanted to sing it somewhere I thought I was alone.”

 

“It is _very_ beautiful,” he agreed. “Teach it to me?”

 

“You wish to learn a human song for Elbereth?”

 

“A song to praise the Queen of the Valar need not come from elves, Earlene. I heard you. It was heartfelt, and filled with loveliness to honor our Star-Queen.”

 

“Very well,” she smiled, capitulating. It was rare indeed, for Thanadir to not get his way. “If you learn the main chant, I can add in the harmony. It is higher. Like this….”

 

*****

 

Many hours later, Earlene soaked in the heated pool. Her afternoon singing and walking through the woods with the seneschal had been unforgettable. Magical. She understood none of it, but the shimmering of the air had continued while they sang, and why or how did not matter. Only that it had been so lovely it had almost hurt to watch. It had left a...they had followed it, the disturbance in their sight, until it led to the edge of the Realm, a place at the northwest border. After, they turned back to run the distance home to the Halls. But the music still had the most fantastic grasp on her mind, and was a complete earworm at this point. Smiling, she relaxed as the melody filled her mind and heart and brought a great sense of peace.

 

“You are going to melt in here, meluieg,” Thranduil murmured, sidling next to her and covering her neck in kisses. “You have soaked for almost an hour now.”

 

“But it feels so good, and I am happy,” she protested.

 

“I saw that your afternoon was very special. Did you understand?” he asked softly, almost certain that she did not.

 

“I understood that something was happening not ordinary,” she replied. “It felt...sacred.”

 

“It was, and...more.” A commotion of people arriving could be heard in the outer rooms. “I think it is best discussed later, in private.”

 

Earlene nodded. She did not need to be told that this was something not for public discussion; the feeling in her heart alone said that much. “Then I will leave, and dress. It is apparently almost time for our meal.”

 

“Yes,” he said simply, kissing her luxuriously, before carrying her out of the pool and into a wrap of warm towels.

 

*****

 

The house hadn’t been built with an eye to too many extra occupants, but it did have numerous guest rooms, so Saoirse and Pat each got one, and were customizing them accordingly. Lorna had taken the pair shopping in Dublin; when Pat inevitably protested, she’d fixed him with a stern eye and told him she was making up for thirty years’ worth of missed birthday presents, so he was going to shut up, get his gifts, and like it, or she’d knock him down and give him an Indian burn until he gave up. She was quite serious, too. These rooms were far more human than their flat in the Halls, a distinction she was sure they needed, even if they weren’t aware of it.

 

Pat, despite her best urgings, had gone for something largely utilitarian, though she conned him into a number of posters for their old favorite bands and a very nice desk for his computer -- she bought him a brand-new desktop, and when he’d looked at her askance, she’d sighed. “Pat, you took care’v me as bloody best you could when we were kids,” she said. “I’m in a position now to take care’v you _and_ your kid, so for Christ’s sake, will you just let me? I want you to have what you _want_ , not just what you think you can get _by_ with. Besides, we’ve both had a taste’v what we’ll be doing in a bit.” Fireplaces were not on the list yet, but they’d hauled quite a bit of wood, and she’d discovered in short order that she was in nowhere near as good as shape as she’d thought. The fact that the wheelbarrows were elf-sized had not helped in the least; when something was designed for someone a foot taller than you, it could be pretty unwieldy.

 

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” he asked.

 

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “I can take care’v you, and I’m bloody going to, so deal with it.”

 

Deal with it he did, though it helped to see Saoirse so happy. _She_ had gone to town; her bed had a big, tie-dyed bedspread, and one whole wall was taken up by bookshelves and a large oak desk with drawers for charcoal, pencils, watercolors, you name it. Thanadir had contributed a dozen pens with nibs of various sizes, and all along the back of the desk was a raised block with a line of holes for ink pots of various colors. Two of the walls were pale blue, but the one behind her bed would eventually be taken over by a floor-to-ceiling mural of a picture Sharley had texted to them: a scene of a forest of towering fir trees, facing a very tall waterfall that surged down into a churning, misty pool. The only difference was that the photo had been taken during the day, but Saoirse painted it with the night sky.

 

It was only a quarter completed, but the rest was sketched out, more or less. That kid had a real gift -- an astonishing gift, for what she had done of it was practically photorealistic. When she worked, nothing could disturb her; sometimes even a tap on the shoulder wasn’t enough. Pat would have to take the brush out of her hand and bodily pick her up, and only then would she come back to herself.

 

Lorna watched her now, so intent on her work, paint on her clothes, her fingers, the bridge of her nose, the tip of her tongue between her teeth. “Where in God’s bloody name did she learn how to do that?” she asked.

 

“She watched Dave Willis reruns, but that’s about it,” Pat said, just about bursting with pride as he watched his daughter. “She started doing that as soon as she could hold a pencil. Just sees something once and that’s all she needs.”

 

“I saw that, with her picture’v the cottage. Earlene’s still got it hanging in the kitchen.” She shook her head, rather ruefully. “It can get a touch demoralizing, being surrounded by all these exceptional people. Now that the wedding’s over, I’m going see what I can make’v mechanical engineering. Mechanics is one’v the only things I’ve ever been really good at, so I’ll see if I can’t do something more with it. We’ve just got to find you your thing.”

 

“That might be a while,” he said, a little grim. “Never was much use at school.”

 

“You were better than I was,” Lorna retorted, digging her elbow into his side. Earlene had done all she could, to drag her tiny friend out of this mindset; now it was Lorna’s turn to do it to Pat. “When we start Saoirse studying, you follow along with her, and see what jumps out at you. It’s not that you or I are stupid, Pat -- we just never had any bloody chances. And at least you can spell.”

 

“Yeah, I just never know where to put commas or apostrophes,” he retorted. “Never did work that one out.”

 

“You’ll live, and you’ll learn,” Lorna said, and even she wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a threat. If the pair of them learned that together, she’d be far less inclined to feel like an idiot herself.

 

*****

 

Earlene had simply disappeared, that morning. Today was to be the start of Saoirse’s schooling. The classroom space was as ready as it was going to be, such as it was, and they were to meet at nine o’clock, well after breakfast...breakfast for which Earlene wanted no company. As she had her travel mug of coffee, biscuits, butter and honey, it was with great happiness that she sat on a rock in no particular location in the woods to eat by herself. It had been like this before big trials, too. The rest of them would be having coffee and donuts in the conference room, babbling like infants about the case. Not Earlene. No one had ever succeeded in figuring out where she hid herself, in order to have the precious mental time being an introvert and organizing herself upstairs, so to speak.

 

“This is hardly the litigation of the century, Earlene. This is teaching an eight year old. Surely you are overreacting a little, this time?” Thoughtfully she chewed her butter-dripping biscuit before answering herself. “I can fucking overreact if I want to. I’m retired. And pregnant. Not to mention, I’ve never done this before, and it matters that I don’t fuck it up.”

 

“You will not, meldis.”

 

Earlene groaned in frustration. “Thanadir, you are going to make a game of this until I take a shovel and dig a burrow for myself in order to hide from you. And now I am embarrassed; I would not speak with such language, had I known you were here.”

 

He plunked down next to her good naturedly. “It does not matter so much, not that I will admit that to the others,” he smiled. “And I confess I do enjoy looking for you. Too much, perhaps.”

 

“Did you eat?” she asked him. Though she had not brought food for two, hers could be shared.

 

“Yes. I did not come to covet your breakfast,” he teased. “But I did want to speak with you. Earlene, everything will be fine, with Saoirse. Not everything depends on today, or tomorrow, or even next year. That is how it is, with children. A long, slow process. Usually, miracles do not happen all at once. I think you know this, but I can also see you are worried. Thinking. Or you would not be here alone. We will all help, me especially. There is much I do not know of your world or your learning. I too would like to listen. Perhaps I will hear that which I have not yet come to understand.”

 

Earlene laughed. “More like, you will catch me making mistakes. I am not stupid, but you are brilliant, meldir. In so many more ways. I am very good at just a few things, while you excel at a great many.”

 

Thanadir put his arm around her shoulders. “And yet we both enjoy learning, and as you told me once, it is not a competition. We love each other, meldis. I will not ever make fun of you, just as you would do the same for me. Each of us will learn new things, as will the child. You must realize too, this is just the first one. Six other children will require the same instruction, very soon. I am very glad of the opportunity.”

 

She smiled more genuinely, her nervousness quelled. He was right, as usual. They sat in silence as she finished her meal and sipped at her coffee. “Well, you will like the math lesson.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“We are making cookies.”

 

“Cookies are math?” he asked, confused.

 

“You betcha.”

 

*****

 

At five minutes before nine o’clock, Earlene appeared in their spacious home classroom with Thanadir, who looked around with interest at the many materials. Quite a collection was there; everything from many works of fiction and poetry to a simple microscope. There were long worktables made of solid, polished wood with heavy glass covers; anything messy or literate could easily be spread out. Another much more rugged but smaller stone-faced table was there was well, for activities that might require...who even knew what. Earlene sat, watching the seneschal with interest, wondering at the workings of that impressive mind.

 

Saoirse, still with a blob of paint on her nose, tiptoed in, followed by her father. Vivid eyes took everything in, and left her somewhat confused. It looked something like a classroom, yeah, but there were no fluorescent lights, no boring posters from the 1980’s on the walls or forty-year-old carpet the color of puke on the floor. “Is this actually supposed to be _school_ ?” she asked, mystified. “It actually looks _good_ , not like...like...Da, what is it you say? Not like mass-produced shite with no bloody soul?”

 

Pat rolled his eyes. “You really need to stop remembering everything I say, allanah.”

 

“Sorry,” she said, and wasn’t in the least. “Aunt Earlene, what is all this?”

 

Earlene smiled, even as she winced slightly at the cursing. “This is part of where we will learn, a space set up for the different kinds of subjects we will study. And, while I know it isn’t easy, we are going to work on trying to watch our words when it is our school time. I am not going to make a fuss or pitch a fit, but there are times in life when using curse words will not serve you well...and that goes for anyone, no matter what their age. So we will try to have times where we find other ways to say things. Thanadir, especially, will appreciate this. He does not use coarse language, and prefers not to hear it. You will find that all our elven friends will feel this way, so, we try as best we can.”

 

“I can try,” Saoirse said, though she sounded clearly dubious. “Dunno how I’ll _do_ , though, ’cause it just kind’v...happens, without me trying to. Da calls it word vomit.”

 

“It runs in the family,” Pat said grimly, though he underscored it by ruffling his daughter’s hair. “You don’t have to be perfect at it, allanah -- just try. You’ll get there eventually.”

 

Saoirse looked up at him, bewildered. “But, Da, _you_ never did. I heard you call the toilet a cunt-faced bastard this morning.”

 

Pat groaned, covering his face with his free hand. “That’s the toilet. At home. In _private_ . What your Aunt Earlene is saying is that there’s times you do that, and times you _don’t._ You think I got to talk like that when I was at work? Or at least, where anyone could hear me?”

 

Saoirse gave this due consideration. She didn’t think she’d ever heard an adult curse like that at work -- not even her first-grade teacher, Mrs. Dooley, who she’d somehow made cry, though she still wasn’t sure how. She hadn’t been trying to. “So I can call the home toilet a cunt, but not the one here?”

 

“Yes,” Pat said, feeling that was as good as he was going to get for now. “Look, allanah, if you’ve absolutely _got_ to swear, do it in Irish. At least nobody else’ll know what you’re saying but me or your Aunt.”

 

She looked at him, and at Earlene and Thanadir. “I can do that,” she said. “I’ll try, anyway.”

 

Feeling that it was perhaps best not to linger on this, Earlene smiled, wondering at the child’s seemingly profound lack of social awareness. _All things in time, and I’m not going to get hung up on this. Moving right along…._ “So this is not going to be like anything you have been used to, Saoirse. We’re going to take quite some time to understand what you do and don’t know. Many of the things we do will be integrated. That means, you will learn in more than one subject at once. And as there really is no perfect place to begin, we are just going to learn to do something, and see how that goes.

 

“In time we will understand you better. There are no other children competing for our attention, so we want you to tell us, nicely, if something isn’t working for you. I can’t say that you will love everything you need to learn, but we will do our best. The sad truth is, some of the things we need to know in life are less interesting to us than others, but hopefully those will be...less. Our first lesson is going to be in math and science. We are going to make cookies. I just need a minute; the first part will be in this room.” Earlene opened the computer that hooked into a large monitor; next to it was a dry-erase board on a swivel. In minutes, a recipe appeared on the monitor:

 

**Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookies**

Makes 15

 

**120g salted butter, at room temperature**

**75g light brown sugar**

**75g granulated sugar**

**½ tsp vanilla extract**

**1 egg**

**240g plain flour**

**½ tsp bicarbonate of soda**

**170g dark chocolate, roughly chopped**

**Sea salt flakes (optional)**

 

Saoirse took it all in. “Biscuits are math and science? That sounds way too good to be true.” Math as she’d always known it had been _so boring_ , but she could kind of see how this could be math, though, since you were measuring stuff. Science, though...how was it science? Most importantly, could they eat it when they were done? Thanadir loved biscuits so much that she hoped he’d be on her side there.

 

“All food is math and science, though you may not have ever thought of it this way. First, I’d like you to read the full recipe aloud to us, please.”

 

Saoirse didn’t have any trouble reading to herself, but reading aloud was another story. She pronounced everything perfectly, but her words were slow and halting, because she paused to make _sure_ she could pronounce it before she actually said it out loud.

 

“That was very good,” Ealene praised. “Now, fifteen cookies, that’s no good at all. Not when our family is so large and Thanadir will need at least ten of them.” The old elf blushed faintly but kept his good-natured smile. “We need to make _forty-five_ cookies. This is what is called a ‘single batch’, what you have just read. If a person makes twice as much, that is a ‘double batch’. Can you tell me how many cookies we would make if we were making a double batch? There are pencils, and paper right near you if you would like to use those.”

 

Saoirse eyed the board. “Well...shit,” she said, and immediately winced. “Sorry, sorry.” She took the pencil and laboriously wrote out her calculations, as painstakingly neatly as she could. It took her a bit, but Da had always told her tidiness ought to beat speed. There was never time for that at school, so she was always getting dinged on her handwriting, but she didn’t think they’d rush her now. “Okay,” she said, and handed her paper to Earlene.

 

“Thirty is correct.” Earlene glanced down to see that she had added 15 + 15 to arrive at the sum; which was entirely valid. “Have you had multiplication and division in your classes?” Those were taught when she herself was perhaps ten, so it didn’t hurt to ask.

 

“We just started multiplication,” Saoirse said. “Division was supposed to come next year.”

 

“They were at the basics,” Pat offered. “Single digits yet.” This was one hell of a lot more interesting than any class he’d taken, and with the added bonus that they got to eat their final answers.

 

“And so I’d guess fractions and percentages have not yet been taught?” Earlene asked.

 

Saoirse shook head head, and Pat was not yet ready to admit that he didn’t know how to do either, and had never learned. Unless it was something basic, like one half or one quarter...well, that was why his phone had a calculator. It wasn’t something he wanted Saoirse to have to resort to herself.

 

“No matter. Here is one of Earlene’s favorite quotes: ‘ _The point of an education is to learn how to learn_.’ Nothing else matters, but that we want to do something. And if we don’t know how, we will understand what else we need to so that we can manage it. So back to our recipe...you worked out that when we double a recipe for 15 cookies, we get a recipe for thirty cookies. And yet, we are going to make 45 cookies...do you know the word for when something is multiplied not twice, but three times?” Earlene wrote out on the white-board:

 

Single = 15

Double = 30

?             = 45

 

Saoirse looked at Pat. “Is it triple?” That sounded like it ought to be right, except that triple would be sixty, right? Or not? Best go with triple, just in case.

 

“Yes,” smiled Earlene, who now added:

 

Triple = 45

Quadruple = 60 = BAD IDEA

 

Grinning, she added, “There are more words for the sequence but we will remember we are talking about cooking. It is almost always a bad idea to more than triple a recipe….so we will rarely do more than triple one. Now that we know what we want to do to the recipe, all the amounts of the ingredients need to be converted. There are three ways to do this. First we will do whichever you already know how, and then at another time I will teach you the ones you don’t. What we want most, though, is our answer; we just want to keep in mind that perhaps there are faster ways to get that answer, and that is where those other ways might come in handy; to save us time later on.”

 

The next hour was spent allowing Saoirse to add the numbers together to come out with the new measures in grams, and once that was complete, the lesson shifted. “Now, I told you that this would also be science, so there is one concept we will introduce. Most of cooking is chemistry. Things happen to food when we cook that change them. The process of gooey dough transforming into a cookie we can eat is an amazing thing, and we will take a moment to look at one aspect of that.” Earlene placed two small glasses in front of Saoirse, and filled one a quarter full from their drinking water pitcher, and the other a quarter full from a bottle labeled “Distilled White Vinegar”. In front of Saoirse was placed a box labeled ‘Bicarbonate of Soda.’

 

And on the computer monitor, something called the Periodic Table of the Elements flared to life. “Everything in the world is chemistry,” Earlene explained. “Ratiri will teach you far more about this, but since chemistry is everything, like most science, it leaks over into every possible corner of our lives. We will not spend much time on this, I only want you to see that this tiny thing having to do with our cookies is part of a much greater branch of learning. As you can guess, chemistry studies chemicals. Bicarbonate of soda is a chemical. All chemicals have unique formulas, telling how they are made up on the smallest level. The molecular level. This table lists the elements, and the elements are what combine to make up molecules.”

 

Earlene wrote NaCO3 on the board. “There are three elements that make up bicarbonate of soda,” she explained. “Na, C, and O.” She pointed to each of them, and Saoirse leaned in to read that these were Sodium, Carbon, and Oxygen. “Did you know that we breathe in Oxygen from the air, but we exhale Carbon Dioxide each time we breathe out?”

 

Saoirse peered at the bicarbonate of soda. “That’s a chemical?” she asked. The only reference she had for chemicals was the fact that the news was always talking about how they were in food and that was terrible. “I heard the thing with oxygen and carbon dioxide in a movie once. Can’t just breathing too much carbon dioxide kill you?”

 

“ _Apollo 13,_ ” Pat clarified. He wasn’t going to mention that it had actually scared the shit out of her, and given her nightmares for weeks. That had been a misguided and rather disastrous attempt at something educational.

 

“Yes, it is a chemical. Water is a chemical also, as is the vinegar in the other glass. And carbon dioxide can kill a person, but not a tree. Trees breathe carbon dioxide just as we breathe oxygen...but that is for another day. This, is what I want to show you.” With a teaspoon, she stirred a tiny bit of the bicarbonate of soda into the glass of water. “Taste the water now, and tell me what it is like...keeping in mind that you are never to randomly taste chemicals unless an adult tells you it is safe. A little bicarbonate of soda is safe to taste. A great deal of it is not.”

 

“Tastes salty,” said Saoirse, wrinkling her nose slightly.

 

“That’s right, said Earlene. Now, when I put some in the vinegar, it will not be like the water, because vinegar is a very different chemical; it is what is called an acid. ‘Acetic acid’, is the proper word for vinegar. When we put the bicarbonate of sodium into the water, there was a chemical reaction. One thing reacted and changed into another. If that sounds funny, think about the fact that you can no longer see the baking soda. Now here is another chemical reaction, one that is more noticeable.” She added the white powder to the vinegar, admittedly enjoying the look on the girl’s face when the stuff immediately fizzed and foamed right out of the glass and all over her paperwork.

 

Saoirse stared at it, wide-eyed. “Holy shit,” she said, and then winced. “Dammit. Oh -- _gah._ ” Her wordless sound of frustration was half muffled by her hands. “Sorry,” she said. “Sorry. But that really is awesome.”

 

Behind her, Pat fought the urge to rub his temples. That kid…

 

“I am glad you enjoyed that. When you learn more, Uncle Ratiri can show you things that explode, because chemistry is _very_ interesting. Now, I am just going to tell you that what happened is, the fizzing was caused because the reaction made carbon dioxide gas, that was released very rapidly and violently, as you can see. But what I wish you to remember is a word: leavening.” This was written on the dry-erase board. “Leavening means, something that is added to a dough to cause it to rise. To puff up. To not become an inedible brick. Keep in mind that the bicarbonate of soda is one of the leavenings in our cookies. And that is quite enough talking. Now let’s make our triple batch of cookies. Think on what you saw here. If you are very clever, you may be able to think carefully and guess what the other leavening is, in the cookies. Most any adult will not get the answer.”

 

Saoirse had never actually heard the word ‘leavening’ before now, so she had no idea. What else got put in bread? She was pretty sure it wasn’t the flour. Either way, she’d never really paid much attention to how biscuits were made -- she and Da had tried a few times, but they’d only turned out once. The oven in the estate flat had been kind of a bitch, and could get way hotter than it was supposed to at random times. They’d had more than one dinner burned to a crisp, and they couldn’t afford to go wasting too many ingredients. This, though...this was fun. There was space to cook, and there was a small stool for her to stand on when it came to actually rolling dough and stuff. (Though she really, really hoped Uncle Thranduil would actually make her taller. He had no idea how much being short utterly sucked.)

 

She had flour all over her by the time they were done, but getting to eat the result of all that math just made it even tastier. “I didn’t realize school could actually be interesting,” she said, after she’d eaten her fourth. “It’s not like school at all.” Would it not count with the government or whoever, because it wasn’t boring? No, Aunt Earlene and Da would’ve made sure it was all good.

 

This was so much better than Limerick. So, _so_ much better.

 

******

 

Later that week Orla had indeed confirmed the electrical, and piece by piece over the course of many days, furniture was arriving. Thanadir and Thranduil took Earlene to see the vast storehouse of extra furnishings available in the Halls that they could choose from, but Thranduil was careful to reassure his wife that if nothing pleased her here, purchases in the mortal world were still an option. She shook her head vigorously. “My Lord, the home is named Eldamar. For my part, I really only wish to have items made by your people...aside from a few personal items of course. If I want otherwise, well, that is why the cottage yet stands.”

 

The ellyn smiled behind her back, unseen by her as she admired the assorted chests, tables and couches. There was not a need for some features, as they had been built in. Bookshelves, for example, were all built into the walls of the home. As were some bench and window seats; many such things would require only cushions. While their bed would require a mattress, the platform itself already existed, complete with clever storage cubbies underneath, and the vertical columns that would support the fabric to hang over their bed were already in place; carven from young trees that had not survived for whatever reason. Thranduil had been secretly pleased when his wife asked for a gauzy fabric to be their bed canopy; reminiscent of the leaves of trees. One heavier panel that was not transparent would face the doorway; this was a concession to the inevitability of young children deciding to burst into a room that an adult forgot to lock.

 

Everything about their home was beautiful, and unique. No matter where one was indoors, it felt like being outdoors, and yet was inviting and luxurious. Not in the ‘we spent a great deal of money’ kind of way, but rather the ‘every comfort actually needed’ kind of way.

 

“Hard to believe it’s finally going to happen,” Earlene said to Lorna one day as they discussed fabrics for the kitchen and dining area. What each of them did with their individual rooms was a personal decision, but common areas had been furnished and decorated by consensus. This was for all of them, and from Thanadir to Saoirse, opinions were sought and considered. “I’m so excited I hardly know what to do. A place to barbecue no matter what the weather, a frippin’ pizza oven...I mean, how can it possibly get better?”

 

“I don’t even know,” Lorna said. “I couldn’t’ve come up with this place if I’d tried. It’s an _actual_ dream home, not the fancy, soulless shite you see on TV. And sure God, hasn’t Saoirse been bloody adorable about it.” The little girl had had so much fun coming up with ideas, when they could tear her away from her mural. The fact that she could sit and stare so intently at it, and completely shut the world away...it was very Thanadir, and it made Lorna wonder. She hadn’t asked Ratiri about it yet, but she planned to.

 

Her own children were beginning to freak her out. They were both crawling now, even though it was pretty early for that, and she’d had to baby-proof their flat, because Shane in particular had a habit of putting every new thing he found in his mouth. It was a good thing they had Thranduil around, or she’d live in daily fear that he’d give himself some horrible disease in doing it.

 

“I’d guess her life has gone from one extreme to another, pretty fast. I’m so glad this all worked out. That girl does not belong in regular school. It would have just wrecked her in not too much longer. I’m no educational expert but...she is different than most kids. In some ways she is incredibly gifted but in others…” she lowered her voice to a near whisper. “She reminds me of Thanadir. And I tell myself I might be imagining that; she is so young after all.”

 

“Oh good, it’s not just me,” Lorna said. “I keep meaning to ask Ratiri; he’d know, if any’v us would. The way she can fixate on something, and nothing else seems to exist. That, and the fact that she so often has to have Pat explain social shite to her. There’s blunt, like I always was, but this is different. She doesn’t seem to get it.”

 

“I noticed something like that, too. I honestly believe she tries, but that bafflement...the very first day we told her we were going to work on language during school time. I don’t need to tell you that Thanadir has a poor tolerance for foul language, but even that aside, everyone has to learn that there is a time and a place for rougher words. It was presented to her very nicely, but even though she was trying it was like...like a filter was just completely missing. I would very much like to hear Ratiri’s opinion. But the biggest thing is to understand her needs, just like for Thanadir. There are some situations that are guaranteed to push him beyond what he can manage. I know what those are, and I’ll do anything I can to protect him from what he can’t help. It should be the same for Saoirse. Everyone should have the opportunity to learn about themselves in a safe environment, and be taught to work around any limitations with love.”

 

“We need to talk to Pat, along with Ratiri,” Lorna said. “He’d know better than anyone. Christ, what that poor kid might’ve gone through, with a different sort’v da...she knows she’s loved, at least, and that’s what matters. So far what Thranduil and Thanadir did seems to’ve worked for her like it did for me, too, which is another bloody blessing. There’s...there’s nothing really like coming to out’v nowhere and realizing you’ve got somebody’s blood on you, with no idea how it got there or what you did. I’m glad she didn’t have to do that as many times as I did.”

 

Earlene searched for something to say. “I...never quite know what to say, to realize some of the things you’ve been through. I wish you hadn’t had such a time of it. And yet, here we all are, now. I guess it’s proof that life can change.” Smiling, she said. “So, do we even want any kind of curtains in here? I like fabric, and yet part of me says, ‘why bother?’

 

Lorna laughed. “I’m not sure there’s much _to_ say. It happened, and it’s over, and I’m hoping it’s over for Saoirse, too. As for curtains, I’m not sure we need them, but if you want them, go for it. To actually be able to say that -- say ‘go for it’ and just do it, because hey, there’s money...still not used to that, either. I always had to save for shite.”

 

A laugh erupted. “For me it’s a different problem. I’ve always had money, but I had it because I didn’t spend it. You’ve no idea what it took, to break me out of my frugal ways. And I’m still not sure I’m there yet...but I tell myself might as well, in twenty years none of it will matter anyway. I guess we can leave it be, and if some compulsion arises later, we can deal with it then.” She looked out the window. “Christ if it isn’t going to rain, I think. I hope Ratiri and Thranduil finish what they’re doing before they get soaked out there.”

 

“Shit, speaking’v tossing money, next time we manage a girls’ day, we should go to a spa,” Lorna said, peering out the window at the leaden sky. “I didn’t get a chance to go to the one at Ashford, but the brochure made it look amazing. And anyway it’s better to do with a woman friend, I’d think.”

 

Eyebrows raised. Her experience with spas had been that they were not the most...modest experiences. Not to say that they were tasteless; not at all. But they involved strangers having their hands in many places that didn’t seem like something Lorna would find comfortable. Maybe it was better not to assume… “You mean like a facial? Or a massage, or..? There are lots of spa things, what did you have in mind?”

 

“Part’v me wants a massage, if they let you at least keep your knickers on. I mean...it’s safe there. Nothing’s going to...oh, hell, I can’t explain it. It sounds great, but maybe I’d freeze up when we went. Though I wouldn’t say no to a foot rub and pedicure.”

 

Earlene laughed. “Neither would I, though Thanadir has me hopelessly spoiled. And...they will do anything you want, but the ones I’ve had it’s more usual to strip down. No place worth going to would ever...grab your lady bits or any such thing, but they do work on your arse and hips, and near your breasts. And sometimes it’s a male, unless you ask not to have one. You just have to be very clear on what you do or don’t want ahead of time. Anyplace like Ashford, no one who’s not a complete professional is ever going to get hired. But if you think you’d not be comfortable, there are certainly...choices.”

 

Okay, _that_ sounded a little terrifying. Nope. “God, I’d stick with hand and foot massages, then. Maybe shoulders. Nothing I actually had to take too much off for. I just...I know I’ve got problems. There’s shite I need to work through, and I thought it might be easiest around another woman, y’know? Even I know I’m unreasonable about some things.”

 

“You’ve had reason, from the sound of it,” she said with sympathy. “And we can start with a mani/pedi. Why not? They’re nice and all your clothes stay on except shoes. We can both live with that. Besides, feet getting sore are already starting to be a thing. Just a little. Which is all to say, there is no such thing as enough foot rubs.”

 

“I am glad to hear you think so, Earlene,” a smirking Thanadir said. “I was about to tell you, I think you have done a great deal today. I have just poured us all tea, and think you should sit with me so I can rub your feet. What is this ‘pedicure’?” he asked, intrigued. He had not known anything about chemistry and now was fascinated at the world that had opened to him. (Ratiri was probably becoming vaguely alarmed at the random questions he was being asked. Two days ago at dinner, ‘what are carbon bonds?’ came out of the clear blue sky.)

 

The hearth was lit, and the sofa in front of it looked fabulously tempting. “You win, Thanadir, just let me get my tea mug.”

 

“I will bring it to you. Please sit.”

 

With a crooked smile and a shrug at Lorna, she smiled and went to sit on the sofa. In five days’ more she would reach the five month mark. Halfway there, if her first pregnancy had been any indication. And the second half was never as nice as the first…

 

A very large, very fat raindrop splatted against the kitchen window -- the first of many, and Lorna saw Pat and Saoirse go scurrying into the house. They were smart enough to already keep spare clothes, though they really needed some way to do laundry, rather than haul it all back to the Halls. There were too many of them for Earlene’s washer and dryer. “Aaaand it’s officially pissing,” she said, shaking her head as she collected her own mug of tea.

 

“That’s not near strong enough of a word,” Earlene murmured. “Downright deluge, that is.” She frowned. “I know I looked at the weather this morning, and don’t recall this in the forecast. What on earth are those two doing?” she fretted. “They are going to be waterlogged.” Just then Thranduil and Ratiri burst through the door, to be greeted by the ever-efficient Thanadir who somehow had two towels at the ready.

 

“Bring me your wet garments when you have changed,” the seneschal requested. “I will hang them to dry.”

 

“Thank you, Thanadir,” Ratiri said, before disappearing. His shoes squelched when he walked, and Lorna reflected that she really shouldn’t find that as adorable as she did. She meandered off after him, the poor sodden lad.

 

Thranduil darted a longing glance at Earlene, but realized immediately as Thanadir sat to pull her feet into his lap that this would not be the day they christened their new bathing pool together. With a sigh, he rubbed halfheartedly at his soaking wet hair, and walked to their rooms to find dry clothing. A few minutes later, he was comfortably clad in black breeches and something Earlene had bought him. She called it a ‘hoodie’, and it was remarkably comfortable, surrounding him in fleecy warmth while allowing him to cover his head against the chill until his hair dried thoroughly. Picking up his soggy clothes distastefully, he laid them at the hearth where he stood facing the fire, soaking up the blissful warmth. After, of course, giving his wife a kiss on her cheek. He smiled to see her swelling belly, and her happiness at the attention to her feet.

 

Lorna still hadn’t found Ratiri, but she passed Pat and Saoirse. Three of the kittens were hot on their heels, meowing away, and Lorna paused to scritch a few fuzzy chins. “Go get some tea,” she said. “I know Thranduil can fix a cold, but still. Don’t go catching one anyway.”

 

“Christ, you’re a mam,” Pat said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Well, _duh_. Go on. I think there’s still biscuits, since Thanadir’s busy giving Earlene a foot rub.”

 

Off they went, and she shook her head. Pat really needed a girlfriend, so long as it wasn’t Siobhan. Maybe he’d meet somebody through one of the villages, so he didn’t have to be Da _and_ Mam. Once Saoirse got a little older, he really wouldn’t want to be Mam. Then again, when it came to certain things, she and Earlene could probably muddle through, though she wasn’t certain she couldn’t make having a period sound like anything other than a dire annoyance. Earlene was far better with words; she could deal with that. It would be awhile before Saoirse would need to worry about things like deodorant and razors -- if she kept taking so very much after her aunt physically, bras might never be a concern. Even if Pat never did find anyone else, she would have Mam figures in her life -- but Christ, for his own sake, if that was what he wanted, Lorna hoped he took up with _someone_.

 

“Oof,” Earlene exclaimed, half sitting up. “Your son is not going to let me off easy,” Earlene accused. “He is already kicking.”

 

Thranduil turned his head to her and gave a mischievous smirk, before returning his attention to the heat of the fire. Thanadir, however, immediately had yearning wash across his face. “Meldir, do not tell me you are becoming shy.” Leaning forward, she grabbed his hand to place it on her belly just in time for the baby to kick again. The seneschal’s eyes widened in pure delight.

 

“What does it feel like?” he asked softly.

 

“I wish I could romanticize it for you,” Earlene frowned. “But the truth is it ranges from slightly uncomfortable to very painful. It is just what it means, ‘kicking,’ and does not feel any better than if it were happening from the outside.”

 

He kept his hand there for a few more minutes, feeling the contours of her swollen abdomen with rapt attention.

 

 _Probably he has memorized the names of all the abdominal muscles by now_ , she sighed. His newfound interest in science was not showing signs of abating, and any day now she expected to hear him discussing….who knew what, cellular biochemistry or something, with Ratiri.

 

Thranduil smiled, perfectly relaxed near the warmth of the fire. All those he loved most were under this roof that they’d worked so hard on, and he could not begrudge even being soaked through as they worked on the finishing touches. And this one had been just in time; Ratiri had helped him position some very heavy stones that were designed to channel and divert rainwater from their rooftops (there was more than one!) and into a small cistern that had been a clever idea both Thanadir and Orla had wrestled with until an elegant installation solution had been found. Anything that helped make their house more resource-efficient was a worthwhile enhancement, in his eyes. As he listened to the sound of the pouring rain, he could feel content that all the extra water would now directly benefit his family under this roof.

 

Lorna couldn’t find Ratiri in their room, though there was a small puddle on the floor, so obviously he’d been and gone. It was not her fault that she liked running her fingers through his hair when it was wet; he’d been letting it grow longer, like the elves’, but his had a wave to it that was perfect for finger-combing. And she didn’t even mean that in any kind of pervy way.

 

Giving up, she headed back to the lounge, draining the last of her tea as she did. This was definitely Irish weather; the summer had been shockingly nice, by this little island’s standards. Earlene was still getting a foot rub, Pat and Saoirse were nowhere to be seen -- if they’d gone and skipped the tea, she’d be very annoyed. “You two had better not just’ve gone for the bloody biscuits!” she called, though she eyed her sweatshirt-clad husband by the fire. If his hair dried under that hood, she’d be annoyed. “Jesus, allanah, you disappear like a blasted ghost. You and your damn trousers.” She was by now known for her drive-by arse-grabbings, but she at least try to give Ratiri a little warning before she did it.

 

Thranduil’s eyes flew open as he froze...Lorna had just... _if I say one word, she will be mortified_ , he thought in panic. He need not have bothered with his concerns. Behind him, the most amazing choking snort erupted from Earlene, who began laughing so hard that she was coughing. Alarmed, Thanadir reached to pat her on the back, but even the rasping coughs did nothing to quell her laughter as she pointed helplessly at Lorna.

 

“What?” Lorna asked, utterly bewildered. Earlene had seen her grab Ratiri’s arse before -- she was hardly shy about it.

 

“I _told_ you he had a good arse,” Earlene said triumphantly between giggles. “You’ve made it official.”

 

It actually took Lorna a moment to work that out, and her eyes widened in abject horror. “ _HolyshitI’msosorryIthoughtyouwereRatiri_ ,” she managed, all in a rush, and zoomed out of the lounge, bashing her shin against the stones comprising the seating around the hearth. The rest of the room was treated to a very loud, “ _Ow, FUCK!_ ” as she limped off, utterly mortified. The heat in her face told her this was probably the first time in her entire life she’d actually blushed, but good _grief_...poor Thranduil. She’d apologize once she was done wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

 

 _LORNA SAOIRSE DUNCAN, YOU COME IN OUT OF THIS RAIN RIGHT NOW! IF YOU REQUIRE ME TO HUNT YOU DOWN AND GET SOAKING WET AGAIN, I WILL BE MOST...PUT OUT._  With a glare at his wife, and Thanadir too just because he existed, Thranduil went tearing around to the back door, astonished at how quickly she had moved. He did not see her. In softer tones he tried again. _Please? I know it was an accident. Please, do not be upset…_

 

Lorna winced. God dammit, she really, _reeeeaally_ didn’t want to have to face him right now, but that was like the fucking auditory (telepathic?) version of the damn Thanadir Eyes. She was handily hidden under an eve, but managed, _somehow_ , to drag herself out, wincing again at the pain in her foot. Genius. And yes, she looked like a drowned rat -- or rather, like a sodden Cousin It -- but whatever. How in the hell was going to face Thranduil -- or Earlene and Thanadir, for that matter, given they’d witnessed...that? _Sorry. SorrysorryIdidnotmeantodothatIthoughtyouwereRatiri._ She knew how _she_ would feel, if somebody randomly wandered by and grabbed her arse -- even if it was somebody she knew. Why the hell did he and Ratiri have to be the same height and build? It never would have occurred to her that Thranduil would wear a damn hoodie.

 

 _Just come back inside, Lorna. No one cares, including me. Though I would rather you did not manage a repeat._ His mental tone was teasing. _Certainly no one believes other than that it was a mistake on your part._ Finally she emerged from her hidey-hole, and he quickly ran out to sweep her up, his hand immediately clamping down on her hurt foot. _Thank you,_ he said, the relief in his mental voice obvious even as the healing warmth spread through her injury. _And yes, I have a hoodie. Earlene bought it for me. I find it rather comfortable. I will not, however, ask you if you like it._

 

Lorna covered her face with both her hands. She knew she was never, ever going to live this down, ever; they’d tease her about it until the end of bloody time, Ratiri included. _Sorry_ , she managed, which was pretty much all she _could_ manage. Jesus this was humiliating, but at least he didn’t hold it against her.

 

He brought her inside and set her on a chair, handing her the extra towel that somehow (he would owe Thanadir an apology) was folded and waiting on the table. Fortunately the vast majority of Earlene’s alcohol selection had already been moved over. He poured her tea (a little) and added whiskey (rather a lot) and handed it to her as he took over rubbing her sopping hair dry with it. _Drink,_ he suggested. _And, you do not have to be sorry. It was a mistake, Lorna. That is what mistakes are. Besides, my wife is laughing so hard she has forgotten her discomfort. For that alone, I suppose I owe you something._

 

Lorna took a sip, and pinched the bridge of her nose. _Ratiri’s going to laugh at me, too_ , she said. _And not just because I’ve caught him giving your arse perusal._ She took another, larger sip, the warmth of the tea and burn of the liquor easing a bit of her embarrassment. _You two are just built too similarly. Now I’m going to have to ask who it is next time I want to grab my husband’s arse, which just ruins the element of surprise._

 

 _I doubt it will come to that,_ said Thranduil soothingly. _I very rarely cover my hair, and then it will be obvious. This was just...bad luck, as I believe you humans say. And yes, they will laugh, because it was funny. I know it is not easy, but try not to feel embarrassed. It was an honest mistake._ He decided it would be better not to mention that she could have done far worse by kissing him, or...Eru even knew what.

 

The absurdity of it all made her burst out laughing herself, because _honestly_ ...she’d probably given him a shock and a half, poor guy. _I’ll probably be embarrassed for a while,_ she said, trying to stop giggling long enough to actually drink her tea. _I’m just glad Pat wasn’t around for that, or I’d_ really _never live it down._ She was pretty sure the pair of them had absconded with most of the biscuits, the bastards, but it worked in her favor right now. She only giggled harder as a thought occurred to her. _I’m lucky you’re not me. Last time a guy grabbed my arse, I punched him in the throat._

 

Thranduil worked out that at her stature, where the blow would land would assuredly not be his throat, and counted his fortune even as he could not help but cross his legs. A little. “Probably,” he said aloud. “I will see if Earlene is in a mood to make more cookies,” he grinned. “Have your sensibilities recovered enough to join us?”

 

Lorna rubbed her forehead. “I suppose,” she said, though she was quite certain her face was still red. “Biscuits and spiked tea cure many thing, so I’m hoping embarrassment is among them.” She could not resist adding, “I wouldn’t’ve known the difference if Earlene hadn’t laughed. Take that as a compliment, no matter how disturbed I am at having to give it.”

 

“I shall,” he grinned. Privately, he thought it was more than about time she admitted this, not that the words would ever leave his lips. He strode into the other room. “Meluieg, I am afraid your cookie stash is depleted.”

 

“Already?” Earlene grumbled. “If this keeps up I will put kale in them, and then we’ll see how long the batch lasts.”

 

Thanadir was at a loss. “Earlene, I do not understand. They are made to be eaten, are they not? It is wrong, to eat them?”

 

She sighed. How to explain this? “No, it is not wrong. But...they are supposed to last a little while. Three days, is about right. If they are eaten too soon, it is annoying because I feel I must make more sooner than I wished to. It is...oh, do not worry about it, meldir. I am pregnant. That means, disregard most of what I say.”

 

Lorna was smart, and took a hit off that fifth of whiskey, pouring more into her tea before creeping back out into the lounge. “I don’t want one word out’v any’v you,” she said, her face still flaming as she crawled into an armchair and hugged her knees. She dunked a biscuit in her tea for good measure, because the only thing better than alcoholic tea was alcoholic biscuits.

 

“Right there, Thanadir,” Earlene gasped, finding it very easy to ignore Lorna. Her position had altered entirely, and now she was clutching at an overstuffed pillow while expert thumbs dug into her shoulders.

 

“Are you still practicing your yoga, Earlene?”

 

“Not for a month, now. It is too difficult, with the baby in the way.”

 

“Then tomorrow we will begin a routine of stretches. Your back is very...not relaxed,” he said, failing to come up with a more elegant word.

 

“Whatever you think best,” she murmured. “But I thought you were going to begin teaching Saoirse archery.”

 

The old elf rolled his eyes and shook his head, until he recalled that she really did not have her usual faculties. “There will still be time,” he said kindly.

 

“It almost seems too good to be true,” Thranduil reflected. “Here we are in autumn, and there is nothing really to do in the next many months except enjoy living. I could get used to that.”

 

“I want to put together a care package for Sharley,” Lorna said. “Just little treats and shite. Let her know we’re thinking about her.” She was thinking of knitting a scarf, because she could actually handle scarves, out of some of the yarn she’d bought in the Aran Islands. She still had plenty left. “If we all put something in, it might be nice for her.”

 

“That _would_ be nice,” Thranduil mused, sipping his tea, vaguely wondering what someone like Sharley would want. With deep sadness, he knew that the one thing Sharley truly wanted was beyond his power to give. Then he thought of *it*. “Thanadir, there is something we could give her as a gift, but it would require a sacrifice of dignity on your part.” No question was asked, but his seneschal’s eyes took on a distinct deer-in-the-headlights expression. “It would be a photograph. One we would take right after Allanah sees you with Boo ‘Air.”

 

“Eru,” Thanadir whispered. “You cannot mean...not my hair...please?”

 

“It would be a wig, meldir,” Earlene murmured. “Something you would wear over your hair. I am certain that is what Thranduil means. No one would ask you to color your hair permanently. It would only be to photograph the look on our daughter’s face.”

 

Privately, Lorna thought Thanadir might be able to actually rock blue hair, but even a wig would be good. They’d just have to have something sweet on hand, to temper Allanah’s disappointment that it _was_ a wig. “Sharley’ll love it,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

 

“Speaking of children, we should probably return to the Halls; it must be nearing time for the meal. Though, I don’t relish taking the path in this rain. Which reminds me, we need a supply of umbrellas at either end. At least, for us mortals.” Earlene tried to imagine a vast umbrella stand inside the great Gates and found that she could not.

 

“I will check the weather on the computer,” offered Thranduil. “Perhaps this will not last long.” Sure enough, before he even had time to return, the sound of the rain diminished. “It will be minimal or gone for perhaps the next half-hour, and then it will worsen.”

 

They all looked at each other, knowing that they needed to take the opportunity while it lasted. Quite soon, there would be no need to relocate for a meal, unless they truly wished to; a happy thought indeed.


	78. Seventy-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 2, 2017

Earlene appeared out of nowhere, cornering Thalion before he could reach the Planning Room. “You are difficult to find, Thalion, and that is precisely why I wish a moment of your time.”

 

“Hiril vuin?” Thalion’s face was a mask of confusion. The ellon was tall, as tall as Thranduil, and powerfully built. Compared to him, she seemed like a slender twig, give or take that her now-visible pregnancy did not truly allow for the word ‘slender’ to apply to her.  

 

“I would like to ask you for your help, in confidence,” she admitted. “I want to learn. I want to understand how it is that no matter where I go in the woods, no matter how hard I try to be silent and leave no sign of my passing, that Thanadir can find me. Your woodcraft is praised by both the King and his seneschal. So if there is anyone to ask to teach me, it is you. But...I do not wish Thanadir to know of this.”

 

Thalion’s eyebrows raised. “But Hiril vuin, is it not His Excellency’s assignment, to watch over you and your welfare?”

 

“Yes, of course it is,” Earlene answered, shaking her head. “Please forgive that I am not doing the best in explaining myself. I consider Thanadir to be my closest friend in this world, next to my husband. We have a….friendly rivalry, one might say, concerning many things. I am not asking your help because I wish to keep Thanadir from his duties. I want to learn, Thalion. I want to understand better the skills of your people. I realize I may not be physically able to do as you do, because I am not an elf. But surely I could be taught to improve? I ask for a chance to compete. I cannot require anything of you,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I only wish to do better; to understand some of the wood craft by which my meldir finds me so easily. I did not mean to cause you discomfort or offense; and I ask your pardon if I have done so.”

 

Thalion regarded at Earlene, sifting her words. All the ellyn that patrolled had heard of (if not seen by direct observation) this firieth’s skills in the woods. The speed at which she could run, and the impressive silence she displayed for a mortal. That she loved the forest was obvious, too, for she was so often to be seen there, walking, running, or exploring the trees with a heart that reflected their own. “Allow me to consider your request,” he said finally.

 

“Thank you, Thalion,” Earlene answered with sincerity, backing away and happily making her way toward the Planning Room.

 

********

 

Ratiri, when he heard about Lorna’s little ‘mistake’, just about laughed himself sick, much to her annoyance. He then asked her if Thranduil’s arse felt as good as it looked, at which point she threw a cushion at him.

 

“I’m bloody disturbed that you’d check out Thranduil’s arse,” she said, glowering.

 

“How could anyone _not_?” he asked. “He’s a living work of art. A painting given human -- Elven -- form. You can admire someone in ways other than sexual, you know. It’s called aesthetic appreciation.”

 

Lorna pondered this, uncertain if she should toss another cushion. Having only ever been _attracted_ to two people in her entire life, she didn’t tend to notice anyone else’s appearance after the first. The elves _were_ like living works of art, which was why, after a while, it had just sort of...stopped making an impression. They were too inhuman, too unrealistically pretty -- and as terrible as it sounded, that was pretty much why she didn’t register them as actual beautiful people.

 

Which, now that she thought about it, might well have been a blow to Thranduil’s ego, because he probably didn’t run into anyone, or at least anyone both female and straight, who wasn’t -- despite the fact that it was rather better this way. He had, after all, once thanked her for not being attracted to him, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been something of a double-edged sword, something perhaps most truly pretty people ran into: they might not _want_ someone attracted to them, yet finding someone who genuinely wasn’t could well prove a touch insulting. How many females, elf or human, had ever looked at him with true indifference to his appearance? Probably not many, but even Lorna knew she was weird that way. Her male friends were...friends. She didn’t look at any of them and go, ‘Wow, he’s pretty.’ She had an aesthetic appreciation for Ratiri, too, something aside from the sexual, but Ratiri was the only one. Part of her wanted to take a poll of the people she knew, and see if anyone else was like her, except she somehow doubted it.

 

“Yeah, well, enough’v arses,” she said. “We’ve got a council meeting tonight. I think it’s about government, so it might well get...heated. It’s kind’v a hot-button issue for all’v us, given how shite most’v ours’ve been for...well, ever.” At least the bulk of them were Irish. They shared a culture, and a history, and a broad mindset. No, Ratiri and Geezer weren’t, but they both seemed like reasonable people -- Earlene was pretty much in the elf camp, so she was her own entity.

 

Democracy _seemed_ all well and good, but look at what it had saddled the States with. If that happened in the Halls, it would be a disaster. Granted, this population was much smaller, but still. And yet, what was the alternative? Monarchy? No. Not only would absolutely nobody go for it, good luck finding anyone who would act as monarch. Communism was an ugly word that would sit very ill with the older crowd, but maybe a Commonwealth was the answer. They’d have a Constitution, and with only fifteen hundred people or so, it would be easier for everyone to have their voice heard, for everyone to feel like their votes and ideas actually meant something. They were all working for the greater good anyway, and if everything worth a damn went to vote, and no one person had a huge amount of power...it might be the only one everyone would agree on.

 

Problem was, that would only work while their society was relatively small. What would happen in a generation, when there were kids who’d grown up knowing nothing else? They’d need to study history, and see just why so many forms of government were total shite. In this little micro-society they had a chance to do it over, to do it _right_ , and she didn’t want that to fall apart in two hundred years.

 

Geezer called the meeting to order in a manner that suitably impressed Earlene. She’d not expected Thranduil or Thanadir to have any troubles, but as the weeks went by it was inevitable that the chairperson would have to be someone not from the elven Realm. And since poor Thalion was still working on his English, pretty much everyone agreed he would get to be last in their rotation.

 

The topic that was still on the front burner was this pressing issue of government structure...but it was also the least popular agenda item, so Geezer had wisely listed it as last on the topics under consideration for Old Business. Big Jamie had introduced a different item at the end of last meeting, which was Housing After The Plague. “We’ll be wanting to spread out into the countryside,” he opined. “Farmers from Baile can’t be living in the Halls and tending crops a mile away. But we’ve got this entire forest, so we’ll not lack for lumber.”

 

“Plenty’v places to expand the fields, too,” Mairead said. “I know none’v the farmers’ll want to be giving up their tractors and the like, but we’d also best practice farming the old-fashioned way, so we already know what we’re doing when we have to.”

 

Thranduil spoke in a voice that had an immensely hard edge to it. “Not one living limb of any tree in this forest is to be cut. Ever. It is my most absolute law. Whatever housing will need to be constructed, there will have to be another means.”

 

Earlene suddenly felt very tense. Though it had morphed into a funny memory for her over time, she knew that her husband was deadly serious about this. In the beginning, all his actions toward her hadn’t been about _her_ in the least, or him. It was those bloody trees, and there had apparently been nothing he wouldn’t do to safeguard them.

 

Mairead and Big Jamie traded a glance, startled. “Hang up, where the hell d’you get all that firewood, if you don’t cut down any trees?” she asked. “You’re not firing those ovens off whatever branches choose to drop. Whatever supply you’ve got’ll run out _someday_ , and then what?”

 

Geezer sighed. “Douglas firs,” he said. “Plant a bunch now and you’ll have a fuckload of lumber in twenty years. They grow like weeds.”

 

“What the hell’re Douglas firs?” Lorna asked. She was pretty sure she was already getting a headache.

 

“Tree you find in the Pacific Northwest in America. They grow like a foot a year, or something. Get Sharley to send you some seeds.”

 

“All right, so here’s a question,” Big Jamie said, “what’s the boundary between this forest and whatever’s beyond it? Because there’s a lot’v trees, and not all’v them are big. Where’s the line?”

 

Thranduil looked at Jamie stonily. “Where there are trees, there is forest. Size does not matter. And to answer Mairead’s question, in thirteen thousand years, it is possible to collect and dry a great deal of wood. Trees live and die. When the trees die, they are salvaged. And stored. I am the King of what is left of Eryn Lasgalen. At one time, Eryn Lasgalen was the entirety of this place you call Ireland. My trees were taken ruinously, wastefully, and it will not happen again.”

 

Earlene interjected. “There is something that needs to be understood, here. For the elves, the idea of cutting the trees of this forest sits about right where telling a pub full of Irish to kneel before the King would. You don’t understand why Thranduil is so touchy about cutting lumber; I can see that. It seems silly, when there are so many trees. And yet not all issues are what they appear to be on the surface. He is bending very far, to help humans survive this; please realize that whether or not it makes sense, there are things that are not going to work for the elves. This is one of them.”

 

The entire lot of them looked at one another, and Lorna said, “Díreach déileáil leis. Feicfidh mé é a mhíniú níos déanaí, de réir mar is fearr is féidir liom, ach ní bheidh sé ag dul budge ar seo, agus ní iarrfaidh orm é." _Just deal with it. I’ll explain it later, as best I can, but he’s not going to budge on this, and don’t ask him to_. It was possibly her expression, even more than her words, that shut them all up.

 

“I’m telling you,” Geezer said, with infinite patience, “Douglas fucking firs. Thranduil, you tell us where it would be okay to plant some, and keep in mind they get big. If we do it now, there won’t be any need to touch any trees in your forest, dead or alive. I’m not kidding, they grow like mad bastards. We’d have more lumber than we knew what to do with.”

 

“I will make it my assignment to research these trees and report back next meeting,” Earlene said. “Thranduil, Geezer, I hope this will satisfy?” A curt nod from her husband and a far more relaxed and amused one from Geezer caused her to make a note of it. Along with a mental note to thank Lorna for whatever in fuck she’d told them all. Sure god, this was shaping up to be one headache of a meeting.

 

“Next up’s our government structure,” Geezer smiled. “You know, everyone’s favorite subject? Now, we’ve tossed this one around for parts of the last three meetings. There’s a saying back home, shit or get off the pot. I’ve heard everything batted around about councils and leadership but in my opinion none of you are taking on the hard questions. What are you gonna put in place when one of our own goes and steals something? What happens to the first outsider that tries to force his way in here or threatens violence against one of us...or worse?  What about when an armed gang drives up here making demands? What about someone with a chip on their shoulder, that thinks they’re too good to work like the rest of us? That’s what I want to know about. That’s what this council is supposed to figure out.”

 

A pin drop would ring like a gong, so quiet was the room. Earlene had plenty of ideas on all those things, but doubted anyone would like what she had to say. And as a member of the faction that would eventually be leaving, it seemed right to keep her silence. For now.

 

“If an armed gang shows up, kill them,” Orla said. “I mean, what else can we do?”

 

“ _Orla!_ ” Lorna looked at her, appalled. They’d got in fights with other gangs, sure, but they’d never _killed_ anyone -- how could she just so blithely say they ought to straight-up murder somebody?

 

Orla, unfortunately, had never been known for her tact. She gave Lorna a genuinely puzzled, and also somewhat defensive, look. “ _What?_ ” she demanded. “You’ve already killed someone. It’s harsh, but sometimes it’s necessary.”

 

Lorna went very, very still, and so did Shane, because _oh, SHIT_ , he could see it, could see it rising in her eyes, and he was poised to launch himself across the table and grab her if he had to. He’d thought the thing in her mind was gone -- she’d _said_ it was gone -- but he knew the blank, and he knew it well, and --

 

She blinked, and it was gone. “Fuck you, Orla,” she snarled, but all she did was hurl a plate at the woman before stalking off.

 

“Oh well done, Orla,” Shane said, slapping her upside the head, though he was shaken and not a little surprised, because Lorna had never fought off the blank, ever. “Have you got anything at all between your ears?”

 

“Well...shit.” Orla rubbed her temples. That had sounded a lot better in her head than it did aloud, dammit.

 

“I have to comment, here,” Earlene said. “While I am sure it wasn’t intentional, citing what others present have or have not done, when the point is to make an accusation...this is considered to be uncivil discourse. Things that ought not to be said. It’s a personal attack.” She rubbed at her forehead. “I don’t want to sound like a schoolmarm over here, but...we have to show each other more respect in the things we say, or nothing productive will come of it. If we go the other route, we’ll just end up with American politics.”

 

Orla winced. “I’ll apologize to her once I’m sure she won’t strangle me.” She’d seen the blank, too -- and that Lorna had fought it off, and what was she to make of _that_ ? She didn’t know, but she _did_ know that she owed her friend a hell of an apology.

 

“Yeah, and then you’ll not say anything else,” Shane said, glowering at her. It was very much his ‘Shane-the-Leader’ voice, leftover from their youth.  “ _Jesus_ , Orla.”

 

Even Geezer could see that the mood at the table was on the verge of going to hell in a handbasket, and sighed. _Fuck_ . Here the fourteen of them were charged with the creation of government, and they couldn’t get past the first opening touchy point without someone getting pissed and storming out. “Alright, now I’ve got something to say and probably no one here’s going to like it. Here comes the American outsider with his big mouth. How in hell are you all going to invent a government, when we can’t start the beginning of the discussion without one of you leaving the room in a piss fit?  I read about ‘Irish temper’ before I moved here but...Christ, seriously?” He looked around the room. The Elf King was still half-sulking about his trees, and from the looks of it, a percentage of the rest of them were reliving their teen years. _Fuck._

 

“Well, if _some_ people didn’t feel the need to bring up other people’s manslaughter convictions, it’d be a lot easier,” Shane snapped, still glaring at Orla.

 

“Wait, Lorna killed somebody?” Bridie asked, leaning around her husband to talk to Mairead.

 

“We are dropping that whole subject,” Shane said flatly, giving the table a general glare that promised retribution if anyone pushed the issue. “Right bloody now. Geezer, you’ve got a fucking good question, and I for one don’t know how to answer it right now. Maybe we all need to learn how to meditate before we come to these meetings.” Maybe it would keep his blood pressure down, at least.

 

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Ratiri said, fighting an urge to rub his temples. “We need to approach these meetings as calmly as we can, especially when dealing with subjects like this.”

 

“I would like to make a suggestion,” said Thanadir. The elf seemed surprised, when all eyes turned to him very quickly. “I think all of us should devise what system of government we believe would be best, on our own. And write it out. Some of us are not skilled at writing, others are. If any here do not write well, they can speak their idea to another who can. Or...I have seen that the mobile phones contain ways to record speech; someone who does not wish to write could speak their ideas. Then before we next meet, everyone’s response is shared on our website. We hear what everyone else says. Note what ideas we do and do not care for. And then go from there.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrows raised. It was a good idea, albeit one most of them would probably declare ‘a pain in the arsehole’. At the very least, it might keep them off each other’s throats and actually provided a basis for discussion.

 

The lot of them exchanged glances. “It’s worth a shot,” John said. “And I’m with Shane -- maybe we all need to learn to meditate, or something.” He couldn’t imagine himself meditating, but _that_ was worth a shot, too, if they could find someone who could actually teach them how.

 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d be willing to teach classes, if necessary,” Ratiri said, though the idea of teaching over a dozen rural Irish people how to meditate was not one he relished -- especially since he wasn’t actually that great at it himself.

 

“Where?” Big Jamie asked. “Pub?”

 

“God no. I can’t think of a less restful atmosphere. Thranduil, is there some room we could borrow for the purpose? If this is going to work, it needs calm and quiet,” Ratiri said.

 

“There are many rooms,” Thranduil said in a voice that was too neutral, clearly struggling still to regain some equilibrium. “If you would tell Thanadir your requirements, he can see to it that such a place is prepared.”

 

Earlene searched her mind for something to say that might help calm her husband. At least, until Thanadir’s eyes caught hers and she saw the subtle shake of his head No. While she was unsure how exactly to interpret that, her instinct was that she was being warned to keep her silence. _Even when my thoughts are not hidden_ , she reflected, confused. _Please know that I love you, husband, and would help if I knew how._ Beyond this, she sunk into silence, deeply annoyed at much of what had transpired. _These people, and their fucking tempers. How many times have I heard it, ‘we’re Irish’. Like that is some kind of cosmic excuse for erupting into incivility for most any reason? But in Lorna’s case...I do not blame her for leaving. Sadly, that is great progress on her part, in face of a verbal kick to the gut. Does this entire country truly subscribe to this as cultural? Because to me it’s just bad behavior. Lack of self-regulation. I remember gran as...okay, feisty. But I do not remember her having a hair-trigger temper, or speaking thoughtlessly. I...oh, screw it._ With some effort, she willed her thoughts to stillness. Except, perhaps to reflect a little on her own answer to Thanadir’s proposition.

 

“It won’t need much,” Ratiri said, striving for serenity. “Just some place big, quiet, and peaceful. We can get cushions to sit on.” He cast a slightly helplessly look at Indira, mainly because she was much better at this than he was, and yet she had a practice to maintain.

 

“Oh, I’ll help you, too,” she said, in answer to his unasked question. “Let’s do what Thanadir says, and you all can try to learn with us, and when we reconvene, let’s try to not be complete morons about it. I’m not sure we’re going to get anything else done this evening.” It had been rather a wash, but not _totally_ non-productive; at least they knew to get Douglas firs, and plant them wherever they could. (Though since when the hell had Lorna killed anyone? Mairead was getting grilled later, because that was somewhat vital information when trying to form a government.)

 

“Thank you,” he said, with audible relief. “I need you lot to take this seriously, if it’s going to work. No showing up and rolling your eyes or anything.”

 

“Oh, we will,” Mairead said, glowering at Orla. “All’v us.”

 

Geezer stood and looked around the table. “Anyone got anything else?”

 

 _Yes, but even I’m not so stupid as to bring it up now,_ Earlene thought. This culture of anger...it needed discussion. But not right now, as no one was in a frame of mind for it.

 

“Then I call this meeting closed at...6:19pm.” _Well isn’t this a new record_ , Geezer thought with disgust. _Took them longer to drive here than the meeting was able to last. Whatever, I’m not the one that has to travel for this shit._ “Shane, I believe you’re next to be chairperson. That’s the last thing, probably shoulda said that before I ended the meeting.” _I’m ex-infantry, not a goddamn company clerk. Sue me, if I fuck it up a time or two._

 

“Brilliant,” Shane said flatly. “All right, you lot: Ideas, and somehow we’ll bloody learn to meditate. _Somehow_ ,” he added, with a blatantly threatening look at Orla, who scowled back.

 

 _Oh dear bloody God…_ Ratiri rubbed his temples. “Go on, all of you. I need to go find my wife and hope she hasn’t drank herself into a coma. Orla, you’re lucky this wasn’t her six months ago, or she might have tried to strangle you.”

 

“Look, I _know_ , all right?” Orla groused. “It was a shite thing to say, and I’m sorry, and I’ll tell her so, once she’s in any condition to hear it. Now will you all just _SHUT THE FUCK UP_ about it?!”

 

“That’s it.” Shane grabbed her, though not ungently, and led her out of the room. There was no sense in pushing her too hard, not when she was already sorry; it was just going to piss her off if they did. “Look, it’ll pass and nobody’ll bring it up again. Let’s go for a walk.”

 

“Ireland,” Ratiri sighed. “You’re as bad as we are in Scotland. Must be all the gingers influencing everyone else.”

 

“Thanks for that,” Mairead said blandly, but a smile hovered at the corner of her mouth at the sheer absurdity of the situation. “We’ll handle this,” she added, looking at Thranduil and Earlene. “We’re the only ones that can manage each other, but Big Jamie and I’ll do it. Don’t you worry about next meeting -- it’ll be fine.”

 

Thanadir had stopped writing, having few resources for describing what had just transpired with the humans. Hopefully no one would ask him why these minutes reflected a meeting that had not lasted a third of one hour on the mortal clock. Thranduil rose from his chair and left without a word while Thanadir watched the pained look on his wife’s face. Earlene left as well, but turned the opposite direction once out the door. Only a long walk in the forest was likely going to help how she felt right now. When she reached the forge exit, the mechanism on the door earned a hefty glare; it often froze up on her or proved to be difficult to budge. Not the least sorry to have an excuse to bash something with a hammer, she turned to find one but it was not needed. Here was Thanadir, like always, opening the heavy door for her.

 

Not a word was spoken, but the elf offered his arm. With a sigh and a hard set to her jaw, she snaked her hand to hold onto him, and headed off. They did not return for a very long time, until the stars shone overhead and the beginnings of a chill were to be found in the evening air.

 

Ratiri went to hunt down his infuriated wife, but she wasn’t where he expected her to be: he’d been sure she’d go to their flat and drink herself half sick. There was no Lorna there, however; just a lot of kittens chewing on the sofa. _Shit_ . Where else would she go? The Halls were huge, but there were only a few places she knew of -- then again, it was entirely possible she’d gone outside. Well... _dammit_. He’d find Pat, and maybe the two of them could deal with whatever was going on in her head.

 

********

 

Lorna was in fact infuriated, but she was also terrified. She’d felt...she wasn’t sure what she’d felt, when Orla opened her fat mouth, but it wasn’t...like her. It was like she was something else, looking out through eyes not her own, and the urge to claw, to bite, to _gouge…_ it had been all she could do, to do nothing more than throw a plate. She’d had to get out of there, right away, so get she did, and fled to the training halls. There was no one there; nobody was going to get hurt by...by...she didn’t know what.

 

Her own knives were in her flat, but there were others, and she flung them each with hands that trembled slightly. What was _wrong_ with her? This was something new, something alien, something…

 

She dropped the last of her knives, fisting her hands in her tangled hair, and screamed. It was a sound of primal rage, but also of bewildered dread, because _what was this? What was it?_ Fortunately her nails were blunt, because she found herself clawing at her own skin.

 

It was at this juncture that Pat found her -- a Pat blissfully unaware of anything that had transpired at the meeting. He’d been intending to take Saoirse to the training hall to practice, but he knew that scream, knew the fathomless ire behind it, and he sent Saoirse scurrying back to their flat. _Jesus_...he’d thought Lorna was past this, but evidently fucking not.

 

Or...maybe. When he crept into the hall, she wasn’t throwing anything, wasn’t smashing or breaking -- she sat on the floor, head in her hands, shuddering. What in the hell?

 

“Lorna,” he said carefully -- very carefully, because if the thing behind her eyes really had taken over, even he wasn’t safe. “Lorna, what in bloody fuck is going on?”

 

She looked up at him, and he froze, though his fear was very shortly joined by confusion. Most people, people who didn’t know her well, wouldn’t understand the shift between _her_ and _it_ ; there was not, after all, anything actually tangible about it. It was all the expression, in the eyes, their blank, icy, reptilian depths, void of anything that made her human. To any who knew her it was impossible to miss but now...now it was like she was shifting between the two, humanity fighting with _other_ inside her head.

 

“Jesus Christ, Lorna, aren’t you a mess,” he said, crossing the floor and sitting beside her. He wrapped his arms around her as he had when they were children, gently prying her hands away from her face. “Talk to me, Lorna. Anything. Use your words, even if they’re bloody out’v order.”

 

Lorna swallowed, but she didn’t know how -- her thoughts were a jumble, too much of one to hope to give voice to. “Wrong,” she managed eventually, curling into as tiny a ball as she could. “Wrong, it’s wrong, and I can’t…” Words failed, so Pat sat with her, just as he had when she was six, the first time she’d gone after their da with nothing but her teeth and an anger as hot as the core of the Earth. She’d come back to herself with his blood between her teeth, beaten black and blue, with no idea what she’d done or what had been done to her. It was always like this, once the thing went away, back into the depths of her mind -- and while Ratiri loved her, and Thranduil could read her mind, none of them had as much experience with this as he did.

 

“You just stay here with me, allanah. You remember when we were kids, and we’d hide in the attic, with all the spiders? And Mick would cry, but he wouldn’t want down? You hated them, too, but you never wanted to let on. You screamed bloody murder the one time you walked through a web, and d’you remember what you did then?”

 

Silence. Silence and shudders.

 

“You’d take the broom up with us, and wave the handle around to make sure there weren’t any webs. That was the same one you went after the Donnelly twins with, d’you remember that?”

 

Still silence, and he felt her close her hand into a fist within her hair again. Christ, he needed to get a drink or ten in her.

 

“You lit it on fire, remember? You chased them down the street yelling _‘I’m gonna broom you!’_ ” He did his best to mimic ten-year-old Lorna’s incredibly high voice. “Declan, he ran away, just about pissed himself, and yelled ‘ _I don’t wanna be broomed, I need an adult!’_ ”

 

That drew some kind of noise, though he had no idea of what actual sort.

 

“You and me,” he said, rocking her gently. “You and me need to find Siobhan and Mick, if we can. The four’v us, away from Da. It’s not the same, Fun Size. Whatever this is, it’s not what it was. That thing in your head, it’s an echo, you hear me?” He had absolutely no idea if that was actually the case, but it sounded as good as anything else. “Thranduil and Thanadir, they got the real thing out. It’s gone. You know it has to be. And whatever it is, they’ll get rid’v this, too. You trust me, don’t you, Fun Size?”

 

To his immense relief, he felt her nod.

 

“Well thank fuck, because I don’t know what I’d do otherwise. Now I’m just going to keep you here, away from people for a bit, and then we’ll get you falling-down ossified and this’ll all go away.” _Thranduil, I don’t know if you’re busy or not, but if you could have somebody take some elf wine to Lorna’s flat, I’d really appreciate it._ He had this, he _did_ , but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use a little help. Bless Ratiri and all, but Ratiri didn’t really know what this was.

 

 _I will come,_ was the cryptic reply. Thranduil sighed, as he held his children closer like living teddy bears. “Adar has to help Lorna,” he whispered to them while silent and unnerved Lothiriel averted her gaze. This appearance of a visibly upset King alone to the nursery was...disconcerting.

 

“Want Ada stay,” said Eleniel and Ithiliel in eerie stereo, their large blue eyes that were mirrors of his own looking back at him pleadingly while little hands reached out.

 

“Ada has responsibilities,” he said, while not entirely keeping the resentment from his voice. “I promise, I will return.” Allanah said nothing in all this time, but instead looked at him pitifully with her fingers in her mouth. Closing his eyes, he turned and left the room in time to hear his daughters burst into tears. Outside, he stopped and leaned back against the cool stone walls. This meeting had been deeply upsetting, for reasons he did not fully understand. A part of him could easily have given way to tears, but instead he steeled himself and walked to the cellars for a bottle of wine.

 

Breezing down aisles in his wine cellar that he knew so well, it was only a moment’s work to make a selection and find his way briefly back to his own rooms. In rapid sequence, he poured and drained three glasses, before the volume remaining was one he felt would be safe in Lorna’s possession. With a downcast heart, he made his way slowly toward Pat and Lorna, wondering what possible solace he could offer in his current mental state. Though, he did knock before entering.

 

 _Come on in,_ Pat said, wondering more than ever what the hell was going on. Lorna had stopped shuddering, but only because she had to crawl away and sick up -- lovely. “Fun Size, you really need to use your words. Even a few. Just one. Just give me one word.”

 

Lorna, eyes squeezed shut, more a ball of hair than anything else, said, “Fuck.”

 

“Well, that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

 

Thranduil entered to see Lorna, and Pat. Just briefly, he closed his eyes against the sight that greeted him. _You cannot ever expect her to assume the burdens of leadership if you cannot set an example,_ a hated inner voice told him. Because that inner voice was always Duty. _Duty, duty, duty_ , until sometimes he felt like he might choke on it. _Yes, duty,_ the voice spoke again. _This is why you have been given more than all the rest…_ the words in his head faded away. He wondered sometimes, on the infrequent occasions in which one part of him seemed to speak to another, what exactly he was hearing. A conscience? An echo of the Valar? Some long-forgotten platitude of his accursed father? It mattered not.

 

The bottle of wine, which he had carefully diluted, he set aside. “Lorna,” he spoke softly, picking her up and lifting her into his arms as though she were weightless. No further word was spoken aloud, as he sat himself down on the weapons table and cradled her. _You did so very well, and you may never know how proud I am of you._ With a sigh, his hand reflexively rubbed at her back. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Truthfully, he had forgotten Pat was even in the room. The only awareness that really registered was that between the two of them, they were a heaping pile of unhappiness.

 

 _What’s wrong with me?_ she asked, shivering. _What is this? It feels like nothing but it’s_ wrong _, like something in my head is… what is this?_ She didn’t know what it was, but she knew what it had felt like in the council room, and it had her scared shitless, still curled in on herself.

 

Pat debated letting Thranduil in on what he’d seen, and decided to abstain for now. Something was bugging the shit out of him, too; whatever had set Lorna off hadn’t been isolated to her. In this case, silence was the better course of valor.

 

 _This is struggle, dear one. For the longest time, an ungoverned rage lived inside of you. And now it is gone, and yet when you are angered enough, something still seeks to fill that void of terrible, unconscious emotion that ran amok. Your mind wants to replace what is banished with something similar; it is what is familiar. Expected. And yet you did not give into that, but left the room. No one besides me may ever understand how difficult this choice was for you. In time, it will not feel as strong as this does. It will become easier. But it may never be fully_ easy _._ He could not help soothing her mind along with her body that visibly frayed with barely managed feelings. _This will pass,_ he reassured.

 

Lorna shut her eyes. How was she to be of any actual bloody use, if that...that echo-blank tried to show up when she got pissed enough? She couldn’t just go storming off every time somebody got her really pissed...but that didn’t matter right now. _Did it go to hell in a handbasket once I’d gone?_ she asked, wrapping her arms around him. _I wish I could say that would never happen again. Maybe it won’t. Maybe Mairead and Shane will take them all back behind the woodshed and beat them with a stick. I mean, they’d have to_ find _a woodshed, but, you know. There’s got to be one somewhere in Lasg’len._

 

_Maybe. Your friend recognized her mistake. Her words were inappropriate to the meeting and ill-spoken. And assuredly not the last such outburst we will hear. If it is any consolation, you are not the only one to have been angered. It is long, since I have participated in this kind of discussion. I have forgotten, how difficult it can be. Mostly, I do not care that it all went to the void twenty minutes after it started. There will be another occasion._

 

 _Orla’s never had any tact. She tries, but shite like that comes out sooner or later. I really don’t want...I didn’t want anyone to know that who didn’t already know it. Only Mairead and Big Jamie did in Baile, and...God, I don’t want to have to deal with it. Even thinking about it makes me tired._ She wondered if she ought to broom Orla. Orla was taller, though; she could run faster. The broom would burn out long before Lorna could catch her.

 

_It may be inevitable, Lorna, and not only on account of Orla. While her comment may have held a spark of interest, unfortunately Shane added the most damaging information. I would advise you not to resist this, and yet right now I am less interested in giving you counsel than in helping you to feel better. Your brother asked me to bring wine, and I have done so.  Whatever I can do for you, please tell me._

 

 _Oh, wonderful...thanks, Shane._ Lorna could tell Thranduil had already been at the wine -- he wasn’t anywhere close to happy himself -- so it didn’t feel right, asking him to drink more. What she could, do, _did_ do, entirely without context or preamble, was sit up enough to look him dead in the eye and say, in her best high-pitched, child-voice, “I don’t wanna be broomed, I need an adult!”

 

Behind her, Pat burst out laughing, his frayed nerves past their breaking point. “Jesus, Lorna…”

 

It was only a minute before Lorna was giggling herself, resting her forehead against Thranduil’s shoulder. She couldn’t say anything more; even an attempt at summoning speech, an explanation, just led her to giggling even harder. _I probably shouldn’t say this, but have a drink with me? Just one? I know you’re upset, too._

 

He smiled. He was well within his personal, newfound two-bottle absolute limit. Never mind that what remained was as water, to him. “Very well,” he said. “But I brought no glasses.” He uncorked the bottle and handed it to her, with a gleam in his eye. “Pat, you may as well join us, depending on your personal level of irresponsibility this evening. If worse comes to worse I will ask Ratiri to care for Saoirse.”

 

“We never had glasses, when I was in the gang,” Lorna said, taking the bottle and sipping it before passing it to Pat.

 

“We didn’t when we were kids, either. You remember the first time you, me, and Siobhan got ossified together, right? And the bloody headache we had later?” Pat took a sip, and blinked in surprise. “Okay, wasn’t expecting _that_ …” He passed the bottle back to Thranduil before he could be totally irresponsible with it.

 

“Yes, I remember it,” she said, giving him a poke with her toe. “You didn’t warn us about it.”

 

“I’d never had poitín before,” Pat said. “I didn’t know myself.”

 

Lorna looked up at Thranduil. “Don’t believe a word he says,” she said. “Slander and lies, all’v it.”

 

“Assuredly,” he said drily. “But as a school bus was not involved, I will allow it to pass.”

 

Pat looked at her. “There a story there, Fun Size?”

 

“Yes, and you don’t need to hear it,” Lorna said, glowering at him as she stole the bottle from Thranduil again. She was much calmer now, the haze of the elf wine leaving her nice and warm. “Thranduil, you realize we adopted you, right? You’re like, the fifth Donovan. The giant blond one that got left by the milkman or something.”

 

Pat tried to imagine that, and unfortunately succeeded all too well. It made him burst out laughing, only for Lorna to poke him with her toe again.

 

Probably only this level of absurdity could have broken his dim mood. _A Donovan?_ _Milkman?_ “Why not?” he smiled happily. _You cannot choose your family, except, you can,_ he realized. “To the Donovans,” he said softly, raising the bottle with a lighter heart.

 

“To the Donovans,” Lorna and Pat chorused. In the human world he might be Fionn Sullivan, but in here he was Thranduil Donovan, so far as they were concerned. Lorna knew that elves had sort of patronymic names, and being a Donovan might sit a little easier than being...what was it, Oropherion? _Fuck Oropher_ . Thranduil had just sort of...acquired siblings. Human siblings. Very small, profane, arguably alcoholic siblings. “Your eyebrows match ours, at least,” Lorna added, and dissolved into giggles. No, she was not going to get over the fact that his hair and his eyebrows were so different, because god dammit, that was not how melanin _worked_ . And yet, with elves, it evidently did. “Oh God, that reminds me -- I did this thing ages ago, because your eyebrows’ve always bothered me in a weird way, right, so I Photoshopped a picture I took’v you so you’d have blonde eyebrows, and it looked _so wrong._ Your normal ones will never bother me again, ever.”

 

He laughed until he nearly had difficulty breathing. “Oh Eru…well, then there is something for which I can be thankful,” finally came out. “Lorna, I think you will be well enough. But to come here, I had to leave behind three little girls that cried when I told them I had to help Lorna. I promised to return, and I must keep my word. I am certain I need not explain…”

 

“Go play with your kids, and tell them Auntie Lorna’s sorry she dragged you away,” she said, giving him a somewhat drunken hug. “And don’t let me forget to show you that picture sometime. Seriously, it’s _wrong. Soooo wrong._ ” She stole the bottle again, though all she needed was one tiny sip. “Meanwhile, Pat and I should find Ratiri, since I’m sure he’s worried half sick.”

 

“Do you want to keep the bottle?” he asked, curious. Not so very much was left, and yet with its potency...

 

“Ratiri might want some,” she said. “He won’t want to be the only sober person. Though neither you nor I should have any more, Pat, because Saoirse.”

 

“Good idea. Sometimes being a responsible adult is a pain the arse,” her brother said, rising. He staggered a little, blinking. “Jesus that’s some potent shite.”

 

“Isn’t it though?” Lorna knew she should get up, too, except...movement. God she was a slug...a slug who really wanted munchies. God dammit, the elf wine really was too much like weed in that. “Thranduil, help me up. I think I might fall over if I tried it on my own.”

 

The King lifted her to her feet. “You will be careful walking back?”

 

“We will,” she said, and tipped him a vaguely British-style salute before attacking him with one final hug. “See if you can get Allanah to draw something for her Auntie Sharley. I want to send her another care package.” The first one had been mainly things like sweets and warm socks, along with photos, but if Allanah could draw something, that would be even better.

 

“She is very young, but we will try,” he promised. “You two enjoy your evening.” He retraced his steps to the nursery, where shrieks of delight greeted him as three less than entirely coordinated children ran to his arms. Scooping all of the girls up with many kisses, he sat with them, not so far from Lothiriel. “I am very sorry, that I had to leave so soon and that you had to calm them. Thank you, for your care of my family.” The words were said with great sincerity.

 

“My King,” the elleth answered with a bowed head in halting English. He had spoken to her in the tongue of the mortals, and she assumed he wished her to as well. “It is not necessary to thank me. To serve you is my….my privil...privileg-ge,” was how it came out. There was no “j” sound in Sindarin, and it was one with which she and many of the others struggled.

 

“Pri-vi-lege”, he corrected kindly. He sighed. “Lothiriel, perhaps it _was_ not necessary, long ages ago. But much changes, for our people. You and Ortherion are deeply honored, for your caring help. And if I am King, then it is still my right to tell you this.”

His actual words were betrayed by the merry twinkle in his eyes, which she perceived. No answer was given, but her hand was held over her heart in acknowledgement of his praise, along with a smile. For who did not feel happiness, at learning they were appreciated?

 

The girls were interested in none of this, as they jockeyed for position on his lap. This was when he noticed something unusual. Allanah had the last vestiges of drying tears on her cheeks, while Ithiliel and Eleniel had her sandwiched between them. Both twins kissed the cheeks of the little red-haired one, who teetered silently on his lap. It was only from studying their thoughts carefully that he learned….Allanah had not believed he would return to them, and was the hardest to quiet. And the twins had comforted her, in what ways were open to them, by hugging and kissing their sister. His arms tightened around them, and he whispered, “Adar will always keep his promises to you. Do not be afraid.”

 

Within seconds, he was tugged down to the floor by little hands that wanted to play with wooden blocks.

 

*****

 

They had walked in silence for perhaps an hour and a half. In all that time Earlene did not so much as look at Thanadir. Only the changing pressure of her finger pads on his arm betrayed any possibility that she was even aware of his existence. Until, that is, she prepared to cross a wide but shallow stream and her foot began to leave the bank. Immediately his other arm came around her waist to pull her back. When she met his eyes in surprise mixed with a touch of anger, he only shook his head No. His expression told of infinite patience, and a little sadness as well. Only then did she remember Thranduil’s earliest admonitions to her. “This is the Enchanted River, isn’t it? Or rather, what remains of it. I am so sorry.” The weight of her own stupidity settled heavily over her already unhappy mood. She had just been saved from a rather undesirable outcome. Again. “Is there a way to safely cross it, meldir?”

 

Thanadir glanced down at her swollen belly which to be fair, was not yet interfering in her normal locomotion. “There is, but I do not believe you have this skill, Earlene. We walk on a line, tied across the stream.”

 

 _Of bloody course you do,_ she thought, finding sad irony in her earlier request to Thalion. _What were you even thinking, to ask Thalion that? He will take one look at your pathetic skills and laugh his elven arse off._ Her face fell in disappointment, though she tried to hide it. “I want you to teach me how to do that. Not here. Somewhere you will be content that I am safe.” _There are tightrope walkers and slack rope walkers and if other people can do that, goddammit so can I._

 

“As you wish, Earlene,” he said softly. _That_ got her attention. She would ask him what he had just said, except there was nothing wrong with her ears. And he had an mind for film quotes, at this point in his life. So instead, she stared at him. “Will you not talk to me?” he said plaintively. “I respect your wish for silence, meldis. But this is not a peaceful silence. It is one of turmoil. Maybe even anger.”

 

Earlene looked across the expanse of the water that glittered in the fading sunlight. The days were growing shorter, and soon night would come earlier. Taking Thanadir’s hand, she walked elsewhere for a time until someplace that seemed comfortable to sit caught her eye. A mossy log, not too rotten, but neither too firm. “I am very disappointed, Thanadir. In my fellow humans. And at the moment, I am somewhat despairing of this process. You see, (... _how was she going to explain this?..._ ) this will not be easy for me to describe but I will try.

 

“As you know, the world in which I worked was that of law. My profession has a respect for tradition. For propriety, and protocol. In a court of law no foul language is ever used. There is an order to who may speak, and when. All of it is about words, Thanadir. Court is a battle of wits, a battle of trying to win favor by the cleverness and legal foundations of an argument; it can be very elaborate. There is order and...a great deal of formality and seemliness, compared to the outer world of society. It is part of why in comparison to many others of my kind, I was able to transition easily into the service of the King. Calling Thranduil ‘my Lord’ or ‘my King’; that is not so different to me really than saying ‘your Honor’ to a judge. Or ‘your Excellency’ to you; it is very familiar, to me.” Adjusting herself, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

 

“But the Irish…” she shook her head. “Our friends for the most part are those with less education. Less exposure to what many would call higher standards of decorum. I do not say this to mean I am better, that is not what I think. But...the anger you saw tonight. The inability to understand what is appropriate, and to have that knowledge temper what a person says...these are learned skills that many ordinary Irish simply do not have. I worry, Thanadir, about the tendency to try to exert control with displays of verbal aggression. Or worse, physical aggression. They will argue that this is cultural, part of the accepted fabric of their society. I do not want to believe this is really true. To me it seems like an excuse to remain mired in unenlightened behavior. To use threats and fists to bully others, not logic and sound reasoning.” The strain of emotion in her voice was very obvious, which the elf did not like.

 

“Meldis, you can choose to remember that though you are working to help create this for their future, your own lies elsewhere. Past a certain point, you cannot control what choices they make. It is they who will live with the consequences. Not you, or I. At least, not for long.”

 

“You are forgetting something, my friend. Allanah will live with the consequences. My daughter, who will not leave these shores with us, will live with what happens. And I do not want my daughter to inherit a world where who is right is dictated by who can hit the hardest, or who can yell ‘fuck’ the loudest. I cannot accept this, for her. And yet a fear grows inside of me that this will happen in the end, somehow.”

 

Dismay spread over Thanadir’s elegant features. He had not considered this, at all. It was easy to forget, that Allanah was fully human and not Earlene’s biological daughter. “Forgive me. You are correct, and my words must have seemed very hurtful. I am sorry.”

 

Earlene shook her head. “It would be a rare occasion indeed, Thanadir, for me to assume you were trying to cause me grief. There is no need to apologize to me. But…” She wanted to ask him so badly, if he could help her make sense of her husband. No. That wasn’t right, somehow.

 

“But what? Earlene?”

 

“I did not fully understand the King’s reactions, at the meeting,” she admitted. “But I should ask him about that, and not you.”

 

Worry filled Thanadir’s eyes, but he nodded. “We should continue walking, to return before too long.”

 

“Then lead on, I am certain you know the fastest way back to the Halls.”

 

*****

 

By the time they returned to the royal rooms Earlene  could admit, at least to herself, that she had walked for too long. But she must be doing something right, because the seneschal had been fooled into not carrying her. Her aching feet declared it to be a Pyrrhic victory, at least of sorts. Thranduil was there, with their daughters, but no Lothiriel. He was telling them the story of creation, the Ainulindalë, though to all appearances they were practically out cold, as sleepy eyes blinked open from time to time, closing again just as quickly. She herself liked to think on the works of the Valar, incredible though it somehow still seemed, and this caused her to smile. A whispered offer of tea was gratefully accepted, as she sank into a chair and wearily regarded her husband. Her husband, who had not once looked up at her or otherwise acknowledged her existence. A chill settled over her heart. Thanadir returned soon enough with tea, and handed it to Earlene.

 

“Thanadir, elio nin adh in hen.” (help me with the children) Before she could put her cup down or even have time to think, the two ellyn and her daughters were whisked out the door to return to the nursery.

 

Earlene could not recall the last time she felt so hurt, but it was still her instinct to hide it. _And none of this is working, anyway_. In a fluid motion she left her chair to retrieve her warm cloak. With all her efforts focused on keeping her mind as blank as possible, she ran. Out of the rooms, out of the Halls, and into the forest. At the cottage a brief moment was taken to find her phone, and a little money. Then she left the woods altogether, only reflecting on what she was doing once outside the boundary of the trees. If her company was not wanted, there were plenty of other ways to spend her evening.

 

The only one for whom she felt sorry was Thanadir, and he would survive. Or hunt her down here; his skills probably extended to tracking on asphalt roads, too. Injured feelings, confusion, tiredness and sheer aggravation were coalescing rapidly. In less than five minutes of running and brooding later, she was pulling open the door to the Spotted Dick. Under her breath she muttered: “ _I am waiting for you, Vizzini. You told me to go back to the beginning. So I have. This is where I am, and this is where I'll stay. I will no be moved_.”

 

A quizzical John took one look at her expression and began drawing a pint of Guinness. “Coupl’v yer lads had the same idea,” he said in his usual understated manner, gesturing with his head into the far corner. Thalion and Feren were deep in conversation of some kind with Geezer, of all things. _Whatever._ It was crowded enough in here that there was a chance she hadn’t been seen. She hoped so, because what she really wanted was to think and bleed off some of her incredibly shitty mood before she had to inevitably face her husband and whatever in hell was wrong with him now. Which really wasn’t fair, but again, _whatever_.

 

In the interest of keeping her presence here less obvious, she chose an empty table close to the bar that was almost never occupied _because_ of its undesirable proximity to too much activity, and sat with her back to the rest of the world, glass of stout in hand. Out came her phone, which was a ruse to look as though she was busy with something. Though even checking her notifications made her wince; Niamh had already posted the minutes for the meeting. They took up exactly one half of a page. _Just, shit._

 

 _Enough of this, Earlene,_ she told herself. _Let’s get to the crux of it. Thranduil is running cold on you, your feelings are hurt, and you don’t know what’s going on. The last time he acted like this was when I read i ‘west Fëanor. Seriously, what did I do? What_ could _I have done? I supported him about the trees. I expressed my love. I didn’t even say much, when it all went to hell. Heck, Geezer said it for me. I’ve not seen Thranduil like this too many times and...does this even have anything to do with me?_ She took a slow, delicious pull at the Guinness, savoring the taste. This was a treat, and would need to be consumed slowly.

 

_Sorry little Thaladir, naneth really wants one drink tonight, because your adar is being a bit of an ass. Or not; I would actually have to know what the problem was, to determine that. But I can’t know that, can I? Because he shuts me out. Thanadir probably knows. Heck even Lorna probably knows. Maybe this is something abused people do, only want to be around those with whom they feel shared history. Surmises, guesses, deductions...just wonderful, Earlene. Maybe you should’ve taken those psych classes, because you know fuck-all about people who were abused. Do something you actually are good at. Research governments._

 

The depths of her brown drink called for repeated tiny sips as she stared at the salt shaker, lost in thought until her eyebrows raised and “Evita” lyrics flooded in. ‘ _There is evil, ever around fundamental systems of government. Quite incidental…_ ’ she muttered. _Of course. Forget the searches on what is the_ best _government. Go back to the beginning. Theories of Government…_ moments later she was deeply engrossed in academic articles that examined the concept from many angles. Soon her head was brimming with notions of decentralization, representative versus direct democracy, theories of the origin of government (which was fascinating...Ireland had been dominated by Force and belief in the Divine Right of Kings, whereas Lorna had been in a gang (an Evolutionary theory) and she herself had come out of a Social Contract theory; this was what had formed the United States.

 

Reading and reading, though, still did not nail down the needed thing...a vision of the future. Her glass was nearly empty, and most of the patrons had long gone home. “Time, everyone,” called out John. Earlene looked up from her phone (the battery was now under 20%) to see that it was damn near 11:30. _Jesus, when did that happen?_ Finishing her last swallow, she said “good luck” to John, and without even a glance around, exited. It was much chillier now, and she was grateful for the warm cloak. _Well, now what?_ Indeed, which path? _Fuck it. I know where I’m staying tonight. Back to the beginning._ A brisk walk swiftly became a run, as her strong legs pushed her toward the cottage and bed. With a heavy sigh, she hesitated at the edge of her driveway before crossing the border and entering her front door. Except, this was all wrong. It was warm inside, and a lamp was lit. The source was not hard to find; Thranduil sat quietly on the sofa, hands folded on his lap, brilliant blue eyes watching her. For what seemed like a minute, no one said a word until Earlene broke the silence. “I am going to clean up.”

 

Lost in the abundant hot water that ran down her sore back and legs, she sighed in relief. The scent of her soaps and body products that she had left here were a comfort as well...something that seemed grounding at a time when other matters felt very unsettled. When she finally turned off the tap, dried off and climbed into clean night clothes, all of it almost ceased to matter. Her feelings were stuffed in a box. If he did not wish to talk, that was his right. _Then why is he here?_ She rolled her eyes at herself. _Well Earlene, if you someday become a mind reader, then you’ll know, won’t you?_

 

A muffled sob came from her bedroom; the bathroom door was quickly pulled open to reveal Thranduil’s beautiful face, contorted with sorrow.

 

Her steps froze, for she was torn between sympathy and complete exasperation. The words flowed out in a torrent. “Thranduil, I love you but I cannot….there is nothing I can do, when you build these walls around yourself. If I have failed you or earned your anger, I ask your pardon. But for the life of me, I do not understand what I could have done to deserve the treatment I have received tonight. Will you tell me?”

 

He shook his head, crying. “I am sorry, Earlene. I have been so unfair to you.”

 

She sat down to hold him. “Don’t. Don’t do this to yourself. I know you, well enough to be sure you would not act this way for no reason. Now, undress yourself. I am very tired, too many things hurt, and I am not going to stand here to finish this conversation.”

 

Thranduil blinked at her as if only now noticing her circumstances, and felt doubly guilty. Pulling her onto his lap, he held her and healed aching legs, feet and back. It would be so easy, to simply dissolve into that wonderful touch, but there were greater problems to be addressed. “Thank you, I appreciate it,” she said evenly, with a kiss to his cheek, but moved off of him to crawl into the bed. It stood to reason he would sleep here with her. Numbly, he did as he had been asked, and disrobed to join her in bed. At least one lifelong habit of Earlene’s was a nod to luxury; she liked to read in bed a great deal when she was single, so there was a ridiculous abundance of pillows available, much like their bed in the Halls. Sitting up to talk was no discomfort whatsoever.

 

Minutes passed, while Earlene gradually realized that this was some form of Lorna All Over Again. For whatever reason, her usually commanding spouse could not seem to find words with which to speak. That left it up to her, and she had plenty of them. She pivoted a little, to face him.

 

“Thranduil, for once all of this King and subject stuff...that has to be set aside during this conversation. We are husband and wife, and today officially marks that there is a pattern of behavior that we have to solve, or eventually it will damage our marriage. Forgive that some of my words will be blunt; if I did not love you I would not be trying to speak about this. Today, for the second time since I came here, you became upset at something I couldn’t even understand, and shut me out. I understood why you left after the meeting: everyone there felt like doing the same. And I am no better in some ways; when I am disturbed I seek solitude to try to sort my thoughts. But when I returned to you later, only to have you ignore me and snatch up our children like I was not even in the room? You can hear my thoughts probably even when I don’t want you to, can’t you understand how hurtful that was to me?”

 

He stared at the bedcovers some more, lips parted.

 

“Goddammit, Thranduil, say something! Anything?”

 

Still no words came, only the occasional movement of lips that seemed about to speak but did not.

 

Earlene threw her head back against the pillows. _How many times did you do this to Alassëa, Thranduil?_

 

With wide eyes, his face contorted in grief and anger as he sat bolt upright to stare at Earlene. Earlene, who was fully in command of her emotions when he was not. Earlene, who was bringing all of her skill at controlling and provoking an opponent to this discussion. He threw back the covers, and strode toward the door.

 

“Cross that doorway, and this problem will become about a hundred times worse,” he heard her say. “If this marriage actually does mean something to you, find it in yourself to stay. Whatever you might have to say to me will not matter, compared to your walking out. And if you do leave, keep going. Don’t think you are going to come back in an hour and be welcome.” Her voice trembled at the end, but say it she did. Nothing would change that she would keep her promises to him, but she was not going to spend the rest of her life playing at this. While she understood why Lorna behaved as she did, he’d had thousands on thousands of years to manage to learn a better way, and if he wanted to sideline her every time he himself was angered, well, there would be consequences to that.

 

He stared back at her, one hand on the doorjamb. Fully nude, a work of living artistry that lived and breathed. And yet at the end of it, he was still flesh and blood and imperfections. As they all were. The more time passed, the more she wondered at the nature of elves versus humans. Earlene was coming to believe that they were not really so different at all; that only the gift or curse of their immortality allowed the struggle of each elf with themselves to be basically eternal. Though it was hard to be certain, given that the representative sample of elves she could claim to know well was exactly two.

 

“I will stay,” he said softly, bowing his head. “I have already made a miserable failure of this, and cannot make it worse.”

 

“Then can you please simply tell me why you were angry? With me? This all started with Mairead wanting to use your timber and I did my best to defend you to them. What in god’s name did I say to offend you?”

 

“Nothing,” he admitted, returning to sit at the side of the bed. “It was...you defended me but you did not agree with me. You think I am...excessive, with my demands. And that hurt me deeply.”

 

“So you are angry at me because of what I thought, my opinion?”

 

“I realize now, how it sounds. And I told you once, I would never hold your thoughts against you. In this alone I have done very badly. But at the time, yes.”

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright, thank you for your honesty.” _This has no basis in logic, only emotion. And I am not so good with the latter as the former. And yet…_ before she could say more, he spoke again.

 

“Too many times to count.”

 

“What?” she asked, confused. “Too many times to count what?”

 

“How many times I did this to Alassëa. I did admit that the failure of our marriage did not rest with her alone. But she never tried to talk to me. She certainly never said half of the things you just did. When I would become angry, she would become angry at my anger. We did not discuss it; there would be some days of not speaking much to the other. And then one day we would both tire of it, I suppose, and pick up as though nothing had happened. Until the next time.”

 

Earlene sighed. “There’s a saying, I think it’s from the Bible. The holy book, for the prevailing religion here in the western world. It basically advises married persons, don’t let the day end with one or both of you being angry with the other. Sit and find a way to work it out, because if you don’t...it’s like rot at the heart of a tree, Thranduil. Can you not see that? Every time something like this happens, it erodes one or both partners’ ability to believe that the other is truly invested in the relationship. It destroys any desire for intimacy, and I don’t mean sex. I mean the connection of hearts, the thing that is supposed to be the glue that keeps two people bound together. I want to understand and help you. But I can’t do that if you...I’m sorry, ‘do a Lorna’ on me. Or is it that I am too much unlike you, so you are not drawn to me at all when you are upset?”

 

His lips parted, as he considered this question. “Maybe that is part of it,” he confessed. “But it is also that...this all began with my father, I think. When I was beaten I would seethe with anger and pain, afterward. And while there was Thanadir at times, whispering what consolation and comfort he could into my ears when no one was there to know of it...I had no one, Earlene. I had to work out my emotions on my own. Or rather, not work them out. I suppose they would fade a little, while adding to the sum of rage that gathered inside of me. Maybe you are forcing me to see that more of it still remains than I believed. But all of this is just words. I have caused you grief yet again, and I am so sorry.”

 

“Well, thanks for that, but what are you, we, I going to do about it? How does it stop happening? I can see that this is a problem. I think I am a patient person. But I need to be able to believe that you care. That you want to include me, and that you’re not just going to walk off on me like I don’t matter or don’t exist. I am human. Past a certain point, I will simply mirror your own behavior. You walk off? I’ll walk off. Maybe I could have done better tonight, had I not...oh what difference does it make?  Maybe love is a far more fragile thing than any of us really wants to admit.”

 

“I care,” he whispered. “It is so hard for me, when I become angry in this way. It feels like a veil over my reasoning. I knew it was wrong, but I did not wish to speak to you so I did not. It was only after I realized that you had left, and that I had no right to follow. I do not know what to do, Earlene. When I am angry it is like I am someone else. Later, at some point, it wears off. And then I have to pretend nothing happened, or pick up the pieces of what I have broken. The only thing I can say for myself is that I rarely become so agitated, any longer.”

 

“So you have managed most things that trigger your feelings, but once they arrive, nothing has really changed since the time you were very young?” It mattered, that she was hearing this correctly.

 

“I think that is a good description, yes.”

 

“Well then, I can offer at least one idea. A time limit. If this happens again, when this happens again, we both have until sunset to do our thinking or to try to disperse our emotions. If the quarrel happens in the evening, then, three hours. There is some wisdom to not trying to talk when feelings are running high, but it is equally necessary to resolve them within a set time. Had you been able to talk to me when I returned to our rooms, I would have felt much different. I will promise to do this, if you will.”

 

He turned to her fully. “I promise. It will not be easy for me, but I promise. I promised you I would not fail our marriage, and the one requires the other.”

 

“There is more,” Earlene added. “I would like us to continue this discussion in front of Thanadir. Tomorrow. Only the three of us. It is my strong guess that he could offer some insight, or advice, but he will not volunteer it.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes dropped. “He is why I am here, Earlene. When he saw that you had left and I told him that you were gone from the entire forest…” he shook his head. “I had forgotten what he can be like, when he is vexed.”

 

“Really?” she asked, feeling deflated. “You are really sitting here telling me that you didn’t come of your own accord, but got booted here by Thanadir? Just for reference, ninety-nine point nine percent of other women on this planet would tell you to take a long walk of a short cliff, for that admission. Fortunately for you, I am among some brain-addled minority that will not. But now I almost have to ask another question. Do you love me, Thranduil? Or has this relationship more or less always been based on sex and you’d really have done far better with someone else?”

 

“You are my wife, Earlene, before Eru. Yes, I love you,” he answered, visibly stricken.

“Why would you ask me that?”

 

“Honestly, it is because in my heart I do not believe you would leave Lorna suffering for two seconds with the ill feelings that you have left me to endure for hours, on more than one occasion. I know that you love her, that you have a connection based on shared experience. I do not mean that I fault you for this. It is no secret that I love Thanadir, very much. But I can honestly say that I have never failed to place you before him, in my heart. You are my husband, and that means you come first, both on account of the vows I have spoken and the place you occupy in my spirit.

 

“I am starting to doubt if the same holds true. You say that you love me, and yet when placed under strain you still manage to find it within yourself to help _her_ . To reach out to _her_ , emotionally, whereas I am pushed away. Maybe my words are completely unfair. You are a King and I am not; you have obligations to other people whereas I do not. You have gifts that no one else has, and they are often needed. Yet just because I have fewer needs than Lorna does not mean I do not have them. Valar, it kills me to say these things, and if a whisper of a hint of this conversation ever reaches Lorna’s ears, I will not forgive you for it.” There was hardness in her voice, but only sadness in her eyes.

 

For many minutes they sat, not speaking, while Thranduil attempted to process what had just been said to him. As much as he wanted to rail against her assertions, they were true. Her observations were entirely accurate. “I ask myself why that is,” he said slowly, at last breaking the silence. “I did not want you to be right, but you are. Your observations are correct, though please believe me, I was not aware of doing this. The answer is, I believe in my heart that if I fail to help Lorna enough, I will lose her to her own self-destructive proclivities, and it is a failure I will not be able bear. Whereas I equally believe that you will still be there for me, once I have returned to my senses. Viewed in this way, I have often taken you for granted, taken advantage of your love for me. All I have done since first I laid eyes on you is take advantage of you, who somehow had the grace to love me instead of hate me for my misdeeds.”

 

Earlene flopped back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Maybe it was a relief, somehow, that they were finally admitting all of these things instead of airbrushing the many facets of their relationship that had flirted with disaster. “I don’t entirely know where my head was, in the beginning. In the real world, no one finds themselves confronted with...magical Elvenkings. And yet here you were, everything Aidan had nine-tenths convinced me to believe I was never going to have, and I responded like a teenager in heat. An advantage I handed you on a plate, because a part of me that should have cared very much about the nature of what was happening between us did not. We are paying a price for how we began, Thranduil. I think we both knew that aspects of it were not healthy in the least, and yet we both had our wants and our justifications. The fact that we could not and still cannot tell our human friends the unvarnished truth about the early days of our relationship says something.”

 

Thranduil sighed, now moving to adopt the same posture on the bed. “Well, there is one thing I can say to you.”

 

“What?”

 

“I have often asked myself, ‘what if?’ What if we had waited to undertake the physical act of union? What if I had somehow come to you as I actually was, and treated you with respect and regard, and simply allowed us to know each other as people first instead of seducing you? Would I still have been attracted to you, still desired a union with you? And while it is impossible to know for certain, I believe that in the end I would have courted you.”

 

“Why?” she asked, turning to face him with her head propped up on her elbow, amused. “Because of a pair of breasts you couldn’t resist?”

 

He laughed, a little chagrined. “No, though I am certain that your charms would not have gone unnoticed. Because of _you_ , Earlene. You are brilliant in a way no other I have encountered is. It is a little like you are your own version of Thanadir, with a far better figure for my tastes. Like him, you are kind and generous. You are right, I do love Lorna. She is excitement and a strange kind of humor and camaraderie. But you are what is missing from my spirit. However you and I did come together, it did not surprise me deep inside, to be told by Manwë that you were sent to me.”

 

“I still do not exactly understand all...that. Does it somehow mean that my entire life was maneuvered, to be in this place?”

 

“No. Vairë weaves her tapestry. She somehow...knows. Only Eru himself knows _how_ she knows; some things are beyond our comprehension as well. Even those of the Eldar who have had the gift of foresight have struggled to know what to make of their ability. I will not pretend to have a grasp of it.” He held out his hand, to her. “It does not change how grateful I am to have you as my wife. Or how stupid I have been, or how sorry I am. Please forgive me, Earlene.”

 

Her delicate fingers reached to be enfolded by his much larger ones. “What choice do I have?” There was still a hint of sadness.

 

That was when the sum of her circumstances fully dawned on him. “Meluieg...I did not mean for this to…”

 

“To be the case? I know you did not. And yet there it is, husband. Monarchy meets the modern world,” she smiled.

 

“Now I am even sorrier,” he whispered, drawing her to him. Whatever else their problems were, his arms were still a comfortable place to be. “All this talk of government. Monarchy was, is, so simple, but there is a problem. I am in a position to make colossal mistakes, and the weight of that responsibility...no wonder mortal kings made a mess of it, for the most part.”

 

“Well, you could always try calling yourself a benevolent dictator. Maybe the change in title would help. But I’m pretty sure you’d need to ditch the crown. And maybe the throne,” she teased.

 

“And in the meantime, you are still being repressed,” he said acerbically.

 

“I chose this,” Earlene shrugged. “And mostly, I am happy.”

 

“I cannot promise you that I will always succeed, Earlene. But I do promise you that I will try to do better in all the ways in which you have rebuked me. Please, you will talk to me if I still fall short? I cannot bear to know that I have left you doubting my commitment to….us.”

 

“Yes. But…”

 

“What is it you want?”

 

“We once had so much time alone. I know it cannot be as it was before there were so many changes. If I could get my license, we could go places. Alone. Maybe just for a day, or overnight.”

 

“Since you can drive quite well, we could go places with or without a license,” he smirked. “I think I have proven what I can do to a recalcitrant Garda.”

 

“Scofflaw.”

 

“I will try to ensure we have more time like this, Earlene. I know it is not so much that you wish to travel away from here, than that you want more of my attention. I too would like the time with you. And...you are not tired now and want to watch movies?” he asked incredulously.

 

Her head nodded.

 

“Eru. Well, it is the least I can do to begin making amends. What do you wish to view?”

 

“Star Trek.”

 

“But meluieg, have we not seen all those?”

 

“No, these are the newer movies. You’ll see. They are very good.”

 

Not ten minutes later, there were tea, blankets and pillows, and Earlene blissfully held against her husband while a very young James T. Kirk wrecked a perfectly good antique automobile. “I love you, Earlene. Very much.” Their lips met in a chaste kiss.

 

“And I you, my Elvenking.”

 

*******

 

Pat and Lorna somehow made it back to her flat without breaking into that bottle again, only to find a slightly frantic Ratiri, who had searched pretty much everywhere but where they had actually been.

 

“Drink this,” she said, shoving the bottle into his hands before he could speak. “It’s all good now. Or at least, it will be.” Maybe not _all_ good, not ever _all_ , but good enough.

 

Ratiri took the bottle, but pulled her close before he did anything else with it. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

 

“How sad is it,” she asked, squeezing half the breath out of him, “that me doing nothing more than cursing and throwing a plate is worth being proud over?”

 

“It’s not sad, Fun Size,” Pat said, poking her in the back of the head. “I saw what you were as a kid. I know just how big a deal it is -- you beat that thing in your head. I watched you do it. You never managed that before.”

 

“Managed what?” Saoirse, a pencil stuck behind her ear, wandered out of the bathroom. “Aunt Lorna, Uncle Ratiri just about lost his shit. Where were you?”

 

“Wrestling with my own brain,” Lorna said, even as Pat went and hugged his daughter. “I used to do what you did, Saoirse, when your mind went...somewhere else, when you got angry. Tonight I got very, very angry, and something like it was trying to happen again. Your da, he was used to seeing me like that, from when we were kids, so he talked me down out’v it, and your uncle Thranduil brought us this --” she pointed at the bottle “--and it’s better now.”

 

“Where did you go?” Ratiri asked. “I looked everywhere for you. Well, apparently not _everywhere_ , but still. You know what I mean.”

 

“The training hall,” she said. “I went and threw some knives. Thought it might help, but...it really didn’t. Saoirse, allanah, there’s something I need to talk to your da and your uncle about. It’s something they already know about, but I’m not ready for you to. Not yet. Can you understand that?”

 

Saoirse didn’t look remotely happy, but she nodded, and disappeared into the bedroom. Whether or not she would listen at the door was another thing entirely.

 

Ratiri sat on the sofa, and pulled her with him. “I think I can guess,” he sighed.

 

“Almost nobody knew about it,” she said quietly. “In all’v Baile, only Mairead and Big Jamie did. In Lasg’len, only Mick did. I don’t -- I don’t want to think about it, or talk about it, and sure Christ I’ll have to do both, I _know_ it. Unless Thranduil’s willing to make them all forget, which I doubt he is.” He’d told her how dangerous that could be; there was likely no way in hell he’d be willing to do that on a large group of people.

 

“You’ve got us, Fun Size,” Pat said, taking the armchair. “Ratiri and me, and our sister, and Shane. We’ll run interference -- and that’s assuming Thranduil doesn’t just squish it himself.”

 

“He won’t,” Lorna said. Of _that_ she was sure. “This is a human thing -- he’s not going to get involved unless it gets out’v hand, and I can’t blame him. This is history he’s not a part’v, and it’d look like favoritism if he did.”

 

“Well, we’ll still do it,” Pat promised her. “Lorna, what...what happened, there? With Da?”

 

She sighed, taking the bottle from Ratiri. After another sip, she rested her head against his shoulder. “I was high as the stars,” she said, staring into the fire. “I went back...I went back because I wanted to make him pay, but I never meant to kill him. I wasn’t even blank then, because I do remember it, mostly: we got into it, hitting, smashing things. He tried to get out the front door and I lamped him one, too hard -- he staggered back and down the front steps, and cracked his head open on the front walk. I watched his brains leak out, and oh bloody hell did I _enjoy_ it.”

 

Shutting her eyes, she paused. When she finally spoke again, she said, “All I could think was that he’d never hurt anyone again, but that he hadn’t suffered. That splitting his head open like a melon was too good for him. All that he’d done -- to Mam, to all’v us -- and he just got to...die, just like that. No pain, no suffering, just...bam. Dead before he literally knew what hit him. And all I could think, when I went to prison, was how unfair that was. He caused us all so much misery, and then he got to go out like a light, no muss, no fuss.” She snorted. “Well, okay, plenty’v muss. I didn’t realize how much fluid the human head has. And _I_ got the fuss. Sure God, did I ever.

 

“And...nobody knew about it. Mairead does, and Gran did, and I told Big Jamie before I went to work for him, but nobody else needed to know. I don’t want to be the source’v bloody gossip, and I just _know_ I will be. I think we need to just...just move the cottage, because thought’v going back to Baile right now is just...no, but I miss my bloody cottage. Orla can make it up to me by moving the damn thing. It’ll suck enough for her.”

 

“Nobody is going to bother you, Lorna,” Ratiri said. He was not an angry man, and he certainly was not a violent one, but nobody was going to hurt his wife over this. _Nobody_. He could make certain Indira didn’t push it, at least, because he knew far too many things about her that she would never want to become public knowledge, starting with the time she got a carrot stuck up her nose as a five-year-old and ending with the fact that she’d pierced her own nipples when she was sixteen (which he had _not_ wanted to know about, but her mam called his and was rather loud over the phone. He likewise hadn’t wanted to know that this only got discovered because one of them got infected.)

 

It was kind of him to say, but Lorna knew he couldn’t actually promise that. Even if they didn’t ask her directly, they’d talk behind her back...it was a thing she had wanted to leave behind her, a chapter of her life very firmly closed. It was only a matter of time before someone who’d known her then blabbed by mistake, but she’d honestly thought it would be Mick, who had even less of a filter than Orla.

 

 _Oh well._ Yeah, she’d killed a man, and yeah, he’d deserved it. No, she had not done it on purpose, nor would she have, though not for altruistic reasons. Had it been up to her, she simply would have made him suffer. In an ideal world, that fall would have left him quadriplegic, not dead. Then he could have been banished away in some government hospital, deprived of all his favorite vices and utterly alone save for the staff that dealt with him, able to do nothing but move his eyes. _That_ would have been justice. And while she probably would have gone to prison for that, too, at least it might not have been for five fucking years. But it was what it was; cat was out of the bag, and she would not be shy about lamping anyone  -- _anyone_ \-- who got too nosy. For that, she thought -- hoped -- she could be forgiven. Because sometimes, the only thing that would shut a person up for real was a fist to the face, and after one or two, the others would get the hint. And if Thranduil gave her the sad eyes over it...well, for once, he’d have to deal with it. This was not something about which he had any understanding at all, except for what he might see within her head. His culture was too different, and as happy as he was that his father had died, he hadn’t been the one to kill the fucker.

 

She frowned, and so did Pat, and Ratiri had to admit, he was kind of unnerved. It was weird enough that they looked like they could be twins, but their facial expressions, they way they _moved_ , could mirror one another to a degree that was disturbing. Pat was much calmer than Lorna had ever been in all the time he’d known her, but sometimes it was like they were opposite-sex clones. She’d shown him a picture once of the four of them as children, and he had never seen a group of siblings resemble one another to that degree without being actually identical. He wondered if anyone else was unsettled by it, because it was impossible to ignore; it wasn’t just him being extra attuned to his wife. Christ, even their _voices_ were similar, and he didn’t just mean the accent -- Lorna had a relatively deep voice for a woman, and always vaguely hoarse, and Pat’s was just like a deeper version of hers. His features were more masculine, but the shape of them was identical, right down to their unusually almond-shaped eyes. It was _creepy_. And that was before you got to Saoirse, who really was physically like a miniature copy of Lorna. It was probably a miracle her own children didn’t come out looking exactly like her, though the shape and color of their eyes were the same.

 

“It will be well, mo chroí. You won’t be alone in this.” Ratiri gave her shoulders a slight squeeze, and sipped the bottle. Maybe tomorrow, if the dust had sufficiently settled after this disaster, they should go to Dublin.

 

As if she’d read his mind, she took the bottle, sipped, and said, “I need to go to Dublin. I need to go back.”

 

“Back to what?” he asked, looking down at her. The firelight played over the silver in her hair, staining it red.

 

“To the prison. Dóchas Center. I haven’t seen it since the day I got released. I’ve tried so hard to ignore it all these years, but...maybe I shouldn’t.”

 

That alarmed Ratiri immensely, but to his surprise, Pat said, “That’s not a bad idea. I did time in Wheatfield in my twenties, and going back helped a lot. I went when Saoirse was born, to try to put it all to rest.”

 

“Did they let you in?” she asked, handing the bottle back to Ratiri before she could drink any more.

 

Pat shook his head. “No, I didn’t have anyone I was visiting, so I couldn’t go in. Even just seeing the place, though...knowing that it was there, and I wasn’t inside it, and never would be again. Nothing tells you you’ve changed quite like being on the outside looking in.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes, and Ratiri fought his misgivings. In this, he had no experience, no firsthand knowledge; he couldn’t say anything with any actual authority. He also didn’t have enough of of a background in psychology to know if this was healthy or not, nor did he know anyone who did; Indira, like him, had only taken courses in medical school, but had never specialized. If it had helped Pat, though, it might well help Lorna.

And God knew _something_ needed to, because she was right: people were going to talk behind her back whether she liked it or not, even if none were stupid enough to ask her about it directly. She’d know it was going on, even if she never heard it herself. And if this was what it took, who was he to protest? There was much about his wife, about her life and history, that he simply couldn’t understand, and never would. All he could do was love her, and be there. He’d known going into this that her history was not a pleasant one, and that it had damaged her in ways she wasn’t fully aware of -- it was so very alien to him, who had been so much more fortunate. His parents had been mildly insane, yes, but they’d loved each other, and had loved him. Never had he wanted for affection, for reassurance; he’d known that they would always support him, no matter what. The polar opposite of Lorna’s parents, if one could even assign them the name -- because Lorna’s mam had made the decision to stay with her da, in spite of what he did to all of them.

 

He knew there were many, many victims of domestic violence who were too afraid to leave, but there came a point -- say, when your four children were being beaten along with you -- that that ceased to be a viable excuse. Lorna’s mother had had somewhere to go -- she could have taken those kids to Baile, to live with her own mother. She had not, like so many, been without resources, been left with a choice of either abuse or homelessness. From what little he’d gathered, it sounded like the woman was too stubborn to go home and admit she’d picked a loser, and her children had all suffered for it. The whole of it was likely more complex than that, but in the end, what it boiled down to was the fact that she’d chosen to stay and allow that to happen to her children. It was little wonder they both pitied and resented her.

 

“If you need to go, mo chroí, I will go with you,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “And we will hit a pub afterward, and you can have all the poitín and toasties you like.”

 

She shut her eyes. “I love you, allanah.”

 

“Can I come _out_ yet? This kitten won’t stop trying to climb in my hair.” Saoirse sounded thoroughly put out, and when she emerged from the bedroom, the little tortoiseshell was indeed clinging to the end of her braid, chewing away. Saoirse herself was scowling. “Jesus you guys gab for ever. I hope you’re done, because I’m not going to be a walking cat tree anymore.” She jumped up onto the arm of Pat’s chair, shaking the kitten loose onto his lap. “Are we going to see Aunt Lorna’s prison tomorrow?”

 

“Were you listening at the door?” Pat demanded, eyes narrowing.

 

Saoirse rolled her own. “I didn’t need to. You guys’re halfway to ossified, and you’re not exactly quiet. Now are we or aren’t we?” Her expression was so expectant, so adult, so _Lorna_ that Ratiri burst out laughing.

 

“ _We_ are,” Pat said. “ _You_ aren’t.”

 

She eyed him. “Why the hell not?”

 

“Actually, I don’t see any reason why she shouldn’t,” Lorna said. “I mean, why hide it? Isn’t that kind’v the point’v this? Saoirse, I accidentally killed your grandda. He was a horrible man and I’m not at all sorry it happened, but I’ve hidden it for the last sixteen years. I can’t hide it anymore because one’v my idiot friends blabbed it before God and everyone at the meeting, so I’m going to try to just get over it.” She knew there would never be any _really_ getting over it, but she could do better than she had been. It wasn’t, she thought sourly, as though she’d been given much choice.

 

God _damn_ Orla. She’d rather have done it on her own terms, but nooo, _that_ got blabbed, and now her hand was forced. If it wasn’t for the wine, she’d be very, very annoyed, and she had no doubt she would be, tomorrow. Hitting the pub after things was probably a good idea, and if Orla actually wanted to make things up to her, she’d score some weed. Lorna doubted Thranduil could object to that, since it wasn’t habit-forming; it just made you lazy, and giggly, and want to eat absolutely everything. After tomorrow, she might want it.


	79. Seventy-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 3, 2017

A bleary-eyed Earlene was shaken gently awake. “If we do not return to the Halls, we will miss breakfast, meluieg. I am content to let you sleep, but today the others have plans to leave the forest and will inevitably tromp through here soon enough.”

 

“I’ll geddup,” she murmured. “Much as I love ‘Star Trek: Into Darkness’, I forget I’m almost forty and this staying up all night stuff doesn’t cut it.” The elven dress she had worn last night was still fresh and clean ( _how did they even do that?_ Garments that were run in should not smell like lavender the following morning, and yet these did.)

 

“You were right, the films were very good,” he said, his eyes sparkling as he helped with the ties and then combed at her hair while she pulled on her boots. Very quickly, she was ready.

 

“You really do love me,” she smiled, embracing him around his waist.

 

“What has brought about this great and sudden insight?” Genuine curiosity laced through the teasing question.

 

“I would have bet my bank account that you would have wanted sex, last night. But you never even hinted at it.”

 

“Meluieg...I do not desire you only for your body. Though I cannot lie; yes, I would have liked that. But your desires were rather more important to me. It was not what you needed or wished for at the time.”

 

“I love you. Race you to the Halls?”

 

“No, no race. But I will run with you.”

 

“Close enough.”

 

*****

 

They arrived back to find they had beaten the others to their rooms...which was just as well. That might spare inquiries and speculations she was in no mood to field. There was, however, a Thanadir, who received a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek, before she disappeared to manage something better with her hair.

 

The seneschal stared at the King with an arched eyebrow. The question did not need to be spoken aloud.

 

“Thank you, meldir, for everything,” he said quietly. “She has asked to talk more, with you present as well. But privately, not with the others.”

 

Thanadir’s face softened, and he nodded as he arranged the place settings.

 

Lorna, Ratiri, and Pat, all mildly hung over, came shuffling into the room, while Saoirse followed them with exaggerated patience, rolling her eyes. “Uncle Thranduil, you can fix morning-afters, right?” she asked, glowering at her father. “They don’t look so good.”

 

“Not so loud, Saoirse,” Lorna said, rubbing her temples.

 

Only Uncle Thranduil was ever going to know just how hard it was for Saoirse not to jump up and down and yell, _BOO!_ at the top of her voice, and yet somehow, she did not. She was vaguely proud of herself.

 

With a flicker of mild disappointment in his eyes that he doubted anyone saw, Thranduil walked around the table, ‘fixing.’ There was going to have to come a time when not indulging in behaviors that led to avoidable consequences would need to be discussed, but this was probably not the ideal moment. He held the chair for Earlene, before seating himself. There were griddle-cakes, scrambled eggs, biscuits, spreads, cheeses, sliced meats _and_ hot cocoa...quite a treat from the usual porridge.

 

The cocoa was like a blessing, the griddle-cakes even more so, and Lorna sighed, savoring. “The four’v us are going to Dublin today,” she said. “Visit my old prison. As much as I want to bludgeon Orla for forcing my hand on this, I might as well get it over with.” And she really did want to murder her so-called friend, because it was one thing to do something because you wanted to, and another to do it because some asshole had left you with no other choice. Orla didn’t _mean_ to be an asshole, but that didn’t change the outcome in this case.

 

“I told her I’d take her to a pub later. One with good toasties,” Ratiri added. “We’ll probably be back around dinner or so.”

 

_Thranduil, I was also going to see about scoring some weed, but I figured I’d ask you first. Your house, to to speak; if you don’t want it in here, I won’t bring it. It’s something you smoke, but it’s not habit-forming like cigarettes. It just makes you want to lay around and giggle and eat every single thing ever._

 

_I am assuming Ratiri feels this is...safe?_

 

_He does. It’s pretty much impossible to OD on weed, and in any event I don’t want much. Just enough to make me giggle._

 

_With the reservation that at some point we need to establish...house rules?...for all those living here, yes, you may. I will trust that no one will fall off archways or...all that._

 

 _We’ll be careful_ , she promised. _Weed just makes you lazy anyway. Anything harder than weed, though, I can automatically tell you should be a no-go. Trust me on this. You name it, I’ve probably taken it, except heroin. Meth wasn’t yet a thing in Ireland, but it’s a baddie, too. Ratiri, Pat and I ought to sit down and give you a lesson in recreational drugs, so you know what they do and why most of them shouldn’t be allowed._ She took a scone and slathered it in jam, so very happy for the variety. Foooood.

 

 _Perhaps a conversation we can all have once Saoirse goes to bed, some night,_ he smiled. _Lorna….will you be...well, today?_ There was worry in his voice.

 

 _I should be,_ she said. _I won’t be alone. Pat, he’s already done what I’m doing. I do need to come up with a plan for what to do the next time that happens, because I have no idea, but it doesn’t have to be right now._ With a wry smile, she added, _Ratiri’s tall, he can sit on me if he has to._

 

 _Well. As long as there is a plan._ He smiled, vaguely reassured.

 

Earlene did not miss the slightly vacant expression that tended to accompany telepathic communications--at least in humans. The elves were completely seamless about it. Well, Lorna was in for quite a day. This was the same woman who could hardly hear the word ‘dungeon’. She felt proud of her friend. It wasn’t easy, to realize that there was a problem that needed confronting and do something about it. _You’ve sort of got enough of those of your own, don’t you now?_ There was a subtle sigh, as she piled more egg and cheese into a buttered biscuit.

 

To her surprise, Thranduil’s arm came around her shoulders, in affection. Her outward expression did not change, but inside of herself, that small gesture brought a great deal of happiness to her.

 

Pat laughed, and without thinking, slipped back into broad Dublin. It was something they both tried to mute around others, but sometimes they’d lose it. “Lorna, y’mind t’ firs’ time we go nicked?”

 

She snorted into her cocoa. “Bloody do I’ver,” she said. “T’is one an’ our sister Siobhan t’ought I was small enou’ to get in t’rough a duct in a convenient shop. ’Course I bloody got stuck wit’ all t’ bloody _spiders._ ” Glowering at Pat, it was all she could do not to throw a scone at him. _He_ had thought it was hilarious, but she hadn’t, especially not when the  bloody cops came and pried her out. The Gardaí weren’t terribly considerate of juvenile delinquents, no matter how young they were.

 

Ratiri looked at her, and Pat, and then at Earlene and Thanadir. Normally he had little to no trouble understanding Lorna, but he had no idea what the fuck they’d just said. He was fairly sure it was something about robbing a shop, but that was as far as he could go.

 

Saoirse kicked Pat under the table. “Da, you’re doing that thing where nobody can understand you again,” she said.

 

Earlene’s eyebrow went up. It was an interesting accent, which might be fully comprehensible were it spoken a little slower. As it was, there were only dragged out and clipped vowels in a phonetic soup that would make a linguist cringe and run for cover. _Well, I’ve never shoplifted either_ , she mused, biting into her third egg and cheese biscuit.

 

“What language was that?” Thanadir asked, his perpetually doe-like eyes staring at them intently.

 

Lorna looked at Pat, and they both burst out laughing. “English,” she said, giggling into her cocoa. “You lot, you’ve got no idea just how much I temper my accent around you all. That’s what I sound like when I’m not trying.”

 

Pat, also snickering, added, “We’re pretty bad even by Dublin standards. It was the time and the place.”

 

“There’s a reason the Gates won’t open for me,” Lorna said. “I mean, you think I can’t pronounce a ‘th’ right _now_ , but this is after twenty years’v practice. I couldn’t even come close when I was younger.”

 

“Thh?” asked Thanadir, staring at her intently.

 

Her attempt to mimic him, as ever, came out more like ‘truh’, though that wasn’t always what she got. Thranduil was always T’randuil, which was probably why it had taken Von Asslicker as long to find them as it had. Thanadir got _slightly_ closer to an actual ‘thh’, but only as close as she was actually capable of.

 

“You cannot possibly make the correct sound with your tongue behind your teeth like that, Lorna. The sound is made with the tongue protruding between the teeth, then retracting behind them to form the next sound.”

 

Earlene sensed disaster, and hurriedly intervened. “Meldir, perhaps we should practice phonation elsewhere besides the table. It can be very hard for some persons, and there can end up being...accidental spitting. Though, you make an excellent observation about how the sound is formed. I had never quite thought about that.” The platter of eggs in front of Lorna’s plate would thank her later.

 

Lorna tried to picture exactly what he meant, and couldn’t do it. She had, in the past, tried to make a sound with the tip of her tongue between her teeth, but what had come out was more like a very faint hiss, like a snake. Mairead had threatened to send her to speech therapy, until she threatened to have a go at the fridge with a load of silly string and glue. Gran had taught her to mute it as best she actually could, but even then, most who didn’t know her couldn’t understand her half the time.

 

“Yeah, we don’t need accidental spitting,” Ratiri said. He himself had had a terrible time learning to not roll his r’s on half the words he said, whereas he’d discovered Lorna couldn’t roll them at all -- another part of why she couldn’t get the Gates to open. Trying to teach her that had been an exercise in frustration for her, though amusement for him. “The food is far too good.”

 

“Yeah it is,” Saoirse said. “I never had cocoa like this until we came here. It’s not watery.”

 

“It’s got real chocolate and fresh milk in it,” Lorna said. “We just need to make marshmallows….ohhh, I know what we should get in town,” she said, looking at Ratiri. “S’mores are an American thing, right? Pat, how the hell old were we when we tried to make s’mores in the back garden?”

 

He burst out laughing. “Oh, Jesus, I think you were maybe seven? None’v us had known what s’mores were, but I heard about them...somewhere, and we decided we’d try to make some. Well, problem was, we didn’t have a fire pit, or any firewood, so we stole bits off fences from half the houses on our street, dug this shallow hole in the grass, doused the whole thing in lighter fluid, and twenty minutes later there’s a fire truck and we’re all hiding behind the neighbor’s back shed.”

 

Oh God, _that..._ Da had hided the lot of them for it, but eventually they’d tried again, this time sneaking to use the gas on the oven. It had left the marshmallows tasting utterly vile, and made them all sick. It wasn’t until she’d traveled with Liam that she’d had a proper s’more.

 

Saoirse looked at her father. “Da, why’ve I never heard any’v this?”

 

“Because I mistakenly thought that everything would be better if you assumed I’d always been respectable,” he said, ruffling her hair.

 

Her brow furrowed. “But...Da, when’ve you _ever_ been respectable?” Her confusion was genuine, and Lorna glanced at Ratiri, only to find him already looking at Saoirse. It was the same look he gave Thanadir -- she’d wager her next meal he’d seen what she and Earlene had.

 

“Oi, you monkey, I’m plenty respectable,” he said, feigning injury. “Being a da means you’ve got to be, if you actually want to be any good at it.”

 

Earlene cleared her throat. “I can make marshmallows for you later today, if you want some. They’re better than the ones in the stores, and you can cut them into ridiculous huge chunks. If you’re going to get sick on sugar, best do it properly. Besides, maybe Saoirse wants another chemistry lesson,” she grinned.

 

Saoirse stared at her. “ _Marshmallows_ are chemistry? Really?”

 

“Yes, though soon uncle Ratiri is going to have to rescue me from all of it that I don’t properly know. Like organic chemistry,” she smiled. “Saccharides, oh my.” Earlene almost dropped her fork, grasping pleadingly at her husband’s leg under the table. The eggs that she had been starving for a moment ago seemed suddenly revolting. _Oh not here, not here, not here…_ her eyes widened in panic.

 

“Meluieg,” he said quietly, placing his hand on her back, as the nausea abated.

 

“Eru, thank you. I mean, thank _you_ ,” Earlene said to Thranduil, still a little horrified by the close call. She’d not needed the cordial in weeks, where had that even come from?

 

“What’s wrong?” Saoirse asked, blatant worry in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

 

“I am now,” Earlene smiled. “Sorry about that. It is because I am pregnant, Saoirse. Sometimes pregnant women feel sick to their stomachs, very suddenly. But Thranduil helped me, it’s fine now.”

 

The girl’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, people can _die_ when they have kids. My mam died when I was born, or somewhere close.” She was tempted to like, try to duct-tape Aunt Earlene to Uncle Thranduil’s side.

 

Lorna looked at Pat, arching an eyebrow slightly. He’d said Saoirse thought her mother was dead, but she hadn’t thought he’d spun the childbirth story.

 

Something told her to choose her words carefully. “Yes, it is possible, but rare. And with Thranduil, it is more than rare. I am completely safe, and I am sorry about your mother. I had meant to ask...Pat, I would like to include human biology in Saoirse’s schooling. It so happens that I constitute an opportunity to teach her many things about health in a respectful manner she’ll not get in other places. But I also won’t dream of it, without your consent.” Earlene hoped she did not need to spell out what exactly she meant; it was the dining table and plus, she did not want Saoirse to know too much of what was meant in the event he disapproved.

 

 _Better you than me_ , he thought. “I would appreciate it, actually. I was always worried what she’d pick up at school.”

 

Saoirse looked at him. “What, y’mean like, what a langer looks like? I know that. There was this kid, Andy McGrath, he didn’t like to use the toilets so he’d go piss behind the building at recess. A bunch’v us would hide in the shrubbery and throw stuff at him.”

 

Lorna choked on her cocoa, and Pat stared at her, utterly aghast. “Saoirse, allanah, why did you never tell me that?”

 

She blinked at him. “Should I have?”

 

“Christ am I glad you’re away from that school. Is there anything else I should know about?”

 

“I dunno, is there?”

 

Thanadir was trying to recover from the fact that “langer” had just been said aloud at the table, and looked across helplessly at Earlene. She shook her head No so very slightly, meeting his eyes, only to continue sipping her cocoa. These outbursts were becoming far too...informative. Thranduil had finished his meal and was also listening to this conversation with a mild frown on his face, since he was privy to the concerns of the other adults in the room. It occurred to him, it was perhaps not the worst idea for all of them to meet and discuss Saoirse. This intelligent girl needed...coordinated guidance...but she was not his daughter. However, he was not about to say this in her hearing.

 

“Why don’t you tell us more about your school in the car?” Lorna said. “Then we’ll know if there is or not.” _Thranduil, I have very strong suspicions about this kid. I haven’t asked Ratiri yet, but I think she might be like Thanadir._

 

“Okay,” Saoirse said. “But there’s not a whole lot to tell. Some kids tried smoking catnip once.”

 

Both Lorna and Pat rubbed their foreheads with a synchronization that was downright creepy. “Please tell me you didn’t,” he said.

 

“Of course not. Gross.” Saoirse’s nose wrinkled in distaste.

 

“Smart girl.”

 

 _I would like for all of us to talk, adults only. Later, obviously._ Thranduil sighed, sipping his cocoa.

 

 _I’m sure we’ll have her worn out and ready to nap by the time we get back,_ Lorna said. Her niece had approximately three modes: intent staring (while working on something), zooming (and tripping surprisingly infrequently), and sleep. Lorna would make sure she had a nice toastie before they came back, the kind that would put a person in a food coma. “All right, you lot, finish up. We’ve got a bit’v a drive ahead’v us.”

 

Eat they did, until they were pushing the point of indigestion. She stood, stretching, her vertebrae cracking like a line of firecrackers. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do while we’re gone,” she said, giving Earlene and the Elves (and yes, that _still_ needed to be a damn band name) a grin.

 

Pat snorted. “What does that even leave?”

 

“Golf,” she said, fighting a smirk. “And...I don’t know, eating Jell-O.”

 

“Are you _still_ on about that?” Pat cast a general look at all of them. “She won’t eat Jell-O because she claims it doesn’t cast a shadow, and that’s just not natural.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing, wrapping his arm around his wife and guiding her toward the door. “And on that note, we will see you later.”

 

The three of the waved with smiles as their friends vanished, and Thanadir rose to begin stacking dishes.

 

“Meldir, would you mind leaving the dishes for later, and joining us? That is, if you are feeling patient. And willing.”

 

His shoulders sagged, guessing what was coming, and he left off to join them. They retired to the bedroom; in the event Ortherion came to clear the dishes, Earlene did not want this private discussion being overheard or interrupted.

 

The old elf stared awkwardly at the carpet, holding his hands in his lap.

 

“Thanadir, this is a little...strange for me also. I asked you here because I am told that last night you sent my husband to the cottage. We talked about many things. Problems, in our marriage. It is my belief that if you are both willing to speak to me and perhaps to each other openly, I might be able to learn. Thanadir, you were there for all of my husband’s life. I should not need to tell you that this allows you an understanding I am struggling to attain but...look at me. My years do not allow it, and yet this does not change that I love him and wish to help him.”

 

“What can I possibly tell you that my King cannot, Earlene?”

 

“What you saw. What you thought and felt, about what you saw. I am not willing to accept that you stood by and witnessed how Thranduil was raised and formed no opinions of your own. Or witnessed Thranduil’s first marriage, and formed no opinions on why it failed. Not one as intelligent as you, Thanadir. You may not understand every social nuance that passed before your eyes but I know you understood enough. Else you could not have helped him as I have been told was the case. Else you would not have known to insist he speak with me last night. We have each openly declared our love for you, meldir, and you for us. However peculiar it is, we are all in this together, in many ways. Please, will you help us?”

 

Thranduil smiled and shook his head at the seneschal’s parted lips. “You have my permission to speak your mind, old friend. In this conversation I am not your King, and there is nothing I would hide from Earlene. And I will answer your question myself, though you did not ask it of me. I have taken terrible advantage of Earlene’s goodness, Thanadir, and was made to see it when we spoke last night, though she never used those words. Though I do not wish to, I am making the same mistakes in this relationship and last night was one of them. I could not find the words by which to try to explain my behavior. It felt like someone else was trying to speak. And yet my wife had no such problems. Perhaps for the first time in my life I was respectfully called to account for my behavior in this regard by the one to whom I am wed. Do you know, Thanadir, what it is to be doing wrong and yet no one will ever tell you, ever correct you, because you are King? Please help me. Help us.”

 

Thanadir sank further into his chair, and massaged his forehead. “Very well. Ask what you will.”

 

“Thank you, meldir. Would you...could I ask you to rub my feet? Please?” Earlene hoped she could be forgiven the slight deviousness being used. Her feet needed attention less than that a nervous Thanadir needed a means by which to focus on something that would help him to relax; he was visibly tense and she could not honestly blame him.

 

Thranduil’s bright eyes followed the movements, as Thanadir carefully lifted his wife’s feet into his lap. Eru, he would not have wished to oppose Earlene in one of her courtrooms.

 

“Thanadir, when we were at the meeting yesterday, something happened about which I was not certain. Thranduil seemed very upset, and I did not understand why. I was trying to think of what I might say to him, and something in your expression seemed to warn me off. Was that what you actually meant? Will you tell me what was happening?”

 

With a guilty look at Thranduil, Thanadir answered. “Yes. Because I know that look, and it means that he is too angry to hear anything you might have to say. I was...I did not wish you to be hurt, Earlene.”

 

“Later, in the forest, when I told you that I did not understand Thranduil’s mood but that I knew I needed to ask him about it, you had a worried expression on your face. Why?”

 

“The same reason. It has been my experience that when Thranduil becomes very upset, he cannot...he cannot respond until something within him breaks down and relents. To try to speak with him sooner than that is...nothing of a productive nature will happen.”

 

Earlene pushed deeper. “What did you say to him, when you found me gone from these rooms last night?”

 

The seneschal’s cheeks flushed. “Something I am not proud to have said. Please, Earlene, do not…”

 

“Thanadir,” Thranduil pleaded. “I understand why she is asking, and why she wishes to hear it in your own words.”

 

“I told him that this was how he destroyed his first marriage, and that he was trampling a gift of the Valar underfoot. And that…” Earlene watched him with rapt attention. This must have been quite a pronouncement, indeed, for him to be this unwilling to repeat it. “...and that I was ashamed of him, for treating Lorna better than he does you.” Thanadir now would not look up from whatever it was he was doing to her toes, and obviously was deeply uncomfortable.

 

“Had he not said that earlier,” Earlene asked Thranduil, “would you have acknowledged what I said to you, when in so many words I stated the same thing?”

 

There was a pause before the King answered. “It would have been harder. Much harder. You see, that you had left the forest, Earlene...I knew, beyond any doubt, that you and he had not spoken of this matter before you and I conversed. And in whatever ways I may be in denial of my circumstances, all I have ever known from either of you is that you speak the truth in your hearts. That both of you reproved me over the exact same thing without conferring with each other beforehand...as much as I wanted you to be wrong, it was too much to ignore.”

 

Earlene wiggled her toes in the elf’s hands. “Thanadir, I wish you to understand, I do not resent Lorna. In fact, were she ever to hear a word of this discussion I believe that the damage it would do to her would be incalculable. I do not want that. I have no wish to affect the friendship between my husband and Lorna; I only want this gulf between he and I to be healed.”

 

“I understand, Earlene. No one will hear of this from me. I bear no ill will toward Lorna.”

 

“Thank you. But I am afraid I have more questions.”

 

“Valar, save me,” Thanadir whispered.

 

The King interrupted. “No. You have done more good than you know, meldir. I am aware that were this years ago, back in time, we could not have had this discussion. I have needed to hear these things; you are not the only one who has carried long burdens. The freedom of understanding your struggles was granted to you. You cannot think I am proud of what comes over me? That so many years after my father’s tyranny was removed, that I am still like this?”

 

Thanadir swallowed, managed a nod, and looked to Earlene with reluctant expectation.

 

“Why do you think this happens to Thranduil? This strong emotion, during which he cannot seem to communicate with anyone connected to the perceived reason for that emotion? Where did it come from?”

 

Thanadir’s face paled, and the struggle to answer was apparent. Even Thranduil was very interested in this. He lowered his eyes. “When I served Oropher and these...occasions would happen, of the King’s violence toward his son, Thranduil was left alone.” His eyes welled with tears. “You have to understand, I too was terrified of the King’s anger, though he was never seen to raise a hand against any but Thranduil. All of us in the Palace were, and I have never forgiven myself for my cowardice. When I say that Thranduil was left alone, I am not exaggerating. Oropher would beat him as though he was trying to kill him. We dared not help Thranduil until we were certain the King was elsewhere. He would have to crawl, slowly, from wherever this happened, to seek his rooms until someone could aid him. If he was hurt badly enough he could not even do that, though even as a young one his was a very strong spirit. There would be a time, after these assaults, where the Thranduil I knew simply would not...be there. I can hardly imagine what he must have felt. I think this is something that happened in his mind, to allow him to endure the pain of such injustice and betrayal.”

 

“Betrayal? Who do you see as having betrayed him?”

 

“His own family, Earlene!” he all but shouted. “What father does such as that to a son? And what kind of mother stands by and watches it happen to one she should cherish the most? The child of her own womb? Our history is rife with the deeds of mothers that gave everything to save their children, but not her! Not until it was much, much too late...Valar forgive me, I should have done so much more…” his chest heaved with his sobs. “I was afraid, and I am so sorry.”

 

Earlene felt completely ill, and Thranduil sat, stunned. He did not, could not have known about Thanadir’s realities. He had long been accustomed to only considering his own terrible experience. Both husband and wife changed their seats to embrace their beloved gwador. “Thanadir, it is I who am sorry. Please, do not berate yourself. Even I believe my father might have injured you, or worse. He was a powerful ellon. Few among our people could ever have mastered him physically, once he was provoked. You did what you needed to survive. I never thought ill of you, in this. I only remember your kindness to me. We were all victims, of what went on behind those stone walls.”

 

Her mind churned as she listened, sifting for the denominator. _Unsupported._ In all of the instances she had seen or been told of, he was left abandoned and unsupported by those who, in his heart, he believed owed him that support in loyalty. Yesterday he had been set off when she did not agree with his deeply held admonition about his forest. That she had verbally backed him paled against the understanding that she did not view matters as he did. But even if this was an accurate assessment, there was still something missing. This was not a clear picture.

 

“What would allow these...moods, emotions, to depart?” Earlene pressed, in spite of her heartbreak. These opportunities did not often come along and she felt desperate to learn as much as she could.

 

“I can probably answer that, meluieg,” Thranduil said quietly. “Duty. Since becoming King, I have not usually had the luxury of indulging my emotions. Sooner or later something happens that demands my attention in a manner I am sworn to uphold. Or, long ago, the mood would break in time. Disperse. I am not certain it was ever only one thing.”

 

Earlene turned to Thanadir. “From the depths of my heart, thank you, meldir. Though this has caused you great pain to speak of your memories, I am learning things I very much need to know if I am ever to understand my husband more deeply. There is only one last thing. Thranduil, would you accept Thanadir and I speaking more about this at another time, with or without you present? I think I need not tell you that my intention in asking is not to keep anything hidden from you.” Thranduil smiled, his eyes lowered such that his lashes seemed to flow toward the lines of his lovely nose. _Art_ , thought Earlene. _Just, art_.

 

“You both have my permission to discuss my past amongst yourselves. You already did, anyway. And this is another area in which I have been negligent, for without meaning this to be the case I have told Lorna far more about my younger years by way of idle conversation than you, Earlene. I would see that corrected, and...I am sorry.”

 

Thanadir and Earlene both shook their heads. “No, my Lord,” she said. “Without your explicit consent it would have been…” her mind searched for the right word.

 

“Disrespectful,” said Thanadir, still very affected by their conversation.

 

“Yes,” Earlene agreed.

 

“You two,” Thranduil said softly. “How I love you both, and how fortunate I am to have you.” There was a raw sincerity to his voice not often heard, and the three of them embraced in a circle of arms.

 

Finally breaking apart, Earlene sighed. “Well, it seems I have marshmallows to make.”

  


*******

 

They didn’t need the monster-van today; they took the Mystery Machine. (And oh, how Lorna wished she could actually get away with painting that on the side. So, so much.) Various layers of clothing, to deal with the vagaries of late Irish summer; phones; good shoes, in case they had to walk far, but Lorna already wished she’d asked Thranduil for a hit of telepathic Xanax. Now that they were on the way, that they were really going to do it, she was beginning to freak out. Just a teeny, tiny little. It was irrational, and stupid, but it was nevertheless there. Part of her was suddenly wishing she’d done this alone, though she wasn’t sure why.

 

 _This is a terrible idea_ , she thought, but it was too late to back out of it now. Why had she wanted to do this? Why had she _thought_ she could do this?

 

 _You’re forty-one-fucking-years-old, and this is just...seeing a place. Some place that’s behind you. You don’t have to be freaked out by it. It’s only got any power over you because you let it._ Great, now she was even thinking in stale, trite phrases. That might sound good on paper, but it wasn’t nearly so simple in real life. It had held power over her for this long for a reason -- many reasons. Reasons that weren’t so easily banished.

 

She let Ratiri drive, just so she didn’t have to try to focus on the road and deal with all this shit at the same time. Telling herself she didn’t need to be freaked out was about as much use as trying to hold a bowling ball with wet tissue paper. It was stupid, and irrational, and inescapable.

 

“You two need to see my cottage,” she said, in an attempt at distraction. “It was our gran’s, but I got it when she died. It’ll get moved into the forest sooner or later, so I won’t have to abandon it once everything goes to shit, but I want you to see it where it’s always been first. I’ve got my own little woods out back.” Thought that one day Baile would stand empty -- that Jamie’s wouldn’t pass down to a fourth generation -- was a bit of a painful one. Lasg’len at least would continue, even if without the amenities it had now, but Baile would moulder away.

 

 _Yeah, not helpful right now. Thing of something happy, like the kittens._ Unfortunately, this just led to her thinking about zombie kittens, for some damn reason. Her brain was just all over the place this morning, wasn’t it?

 

“Why didn’t our gran ever find us?” Pat asked. “Why were we stuck with Da?”

 

“She didn’t know where we were,” Lorna sighed. “Mam hid us from her, and then once we’d all gone our separate ways, she _really_ didn’t know how to find us. The hospital found Mairead, after Liam died; I’d had no idea she’d even existed.”

 

“Me either,” Pat said, and honestly, it made him resent their mother more than ever. He knew that she’d loved them; she’d always been affectionate, and done what she could...except she _hadn’t_ done what she could, not really. She had, at the end of the day, stayed with Da. They’d had a Gran and a Mairead to go to, easily, and she hadn’t gone. She’d chosen to stay, but they’d had no choice.

 

If Pat had known about their gran, about their sister, he would have taken the four of them to Baile and refused to leave, and then Mam could have either followed, or stayed with that miserable sack of shit because.. _.because_ . _Why_ had she stayed? He never gave her any false hope, was never kind in between violent episodes. He was a monster. He had absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Pat didn’t know, and by this point, he didn’t care. The damage was done, but it was all in the past now.

 

That Lorna killed the fucker, though...he’d deserved it, and Pat was sorry she’d had to face prison over it, when she should have been given a medal. That hadn’t been manslaughter, it had been exterminating a piece of vermin, and yet their legal system tried to tell her she’d done something wrong. It was too fucking unfair, but that was life.

 

“So Saoirse,” she said, “what else went on in that school’v yours, besides some kid pissing out back’v the building?”

 

“Madie Doyle once made watercolors in the toilet sink with wine gummies,” Saoirse said. “Then they all kind’v fused into a lump and clogged up the drain, and she said she was going to blame me so I knocked her down and gave her an Indian burn until she blamed Shannon Monaghan instead.”

 

Lorna couldn’t help it -- she burst out laughing, because that was exactly what she would have done, at that age. “Why that girl in particular?”

 

“Shannon’s a twat,” Saoirse said blithely. “But she’s a big strong twat, so not many people want to fight her -- she just kind’v hits people when she feels like it, and laughs. Thinks she’s better than everyone else just because she’s just about grown-up sized. I told her she had a benjy cunt and her face was like a cat’s arsehole, and that nobodoy’d miss her if she went and played in traffic.” There had actually been quite a bit more than that, but Da didn’t need to be hearing it. Shannon was one of those horrible people who thought the world ought to bow before them, just because, and Saoirse had been in more than one fight with her.

 

“ _Saoirse!_ ” Pat said, and groaned, but Lorna had to sit, so very hard, on any further impulse to laugh. That, too, was something she might well have done at age eight. “Why didn’t I ever hear about that?”

 

“Because she went behind the school and cried like a little bitch,” Saoirse said seriously. “I told her if she didn’t stop acting like a worthless piece’v shite, I’d break into her house one night and rip her throat out. This was after Nolan, so I think she believed me.”

 

“Who was Nolan?” Ratiri asked.

 

“The kid whose nose she about bit off,” Pat sighed. “Jesus I’m glad we’re well away.” He would not have known what to do for his daughter, without the help of the elves. There probably wasn’t much he _could_ have done, because the thing behind Lorna’s eyes hadn’t gone away until Thranduil and Thanadir dealt with it…though honestly, after last night, he wasn’t so sure it was really gone. Not all the way. At the very least, he was glad Saoirse wasn’t around other children of her age; she wasn’t a nasty kid unless someone was nasty to her first, and she was so...different...in some ways that other kids _did_ pick on her.

 

“Like niece, like aunt,” Lorna said. “Though I was a bit older than that. It’s not good to do shite like that, Saoirse. Not in the long run. The more you hurt people, the more it...twists who you are. I wish I could explain it better than that. It’s like...the more you do, the more you want to -- you start looking for excuses, and sooner or later you wind up where we’re going today.” Hell, maybe this would be good for the kid, too; preventative measures, and all that.

 

Saoirse seemed to be giving this due consideration as they approached Dublin, and Lorna’s nerves fluttered again. She never used to get this freaked out by things -- before she met Earlene and the Elves, she was only really ruffled when she got angry. Was this a good thing, or a bad thing? And why had it changed? Sooner or later, they really needed to add a psychologist to their little community. Hopefully one of the village kids would choose to study it, because this was beyond her, and even Ratiri and Doc Barry had just taken basic courses at school.

 

Traffic, as usual, was a bastard, but all too soon they were faced with Dóchas Centre. Ratiri parked on the street, but Lorna hesitated a moment before she got out.

 

It was an unassuming building of red brick -- nothing like a stereotypical prison. The cells, as she remembered the, had not been terrible; they had proper doors, not bars, with a narrow bed and a desk, and nobody shared because the government was so afraid of the potential of gay sex. Perhaps they were better now. But looking at the place, the smell of it came back to her with shocking clarity: floor wax, harsh disinfectant, and a strange, sickly, chemical odor that she had never smelled anywhere else, before or since. It always tickled the sinuses, made the back of her throat taste funny

 

She was irrationally afraid to approach that wrought-iron fence, as though by doing so she would somehow wind up...sucked back inside, or something. It was probably a good thing they couldn’t actually go in, or she might flip her shit. This...Jesus, this was harder than she’d thought, and _why_? It was just a building. She’d left it twenty-six years ago. It probably looked all different on the inside anyway. It was in the past, and yet looking at it made her shudder, skin crawling in waves along her back. This was a mistake. This was...she wasn’t ready for this, she should have listened to her instincts.

 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Nope. Not today. Ratiri, let’s go.” Jesus, why had she thought this was anywhere close to a good idea? Oh, right. She hadn’t had much choice. Fucking thanks, _Orla_.

 

“Lorna,” Ratiri said, and for whatever reason, something in the compassion in his voice grated on her.

 

“ _Let’s. Fucking. Go_ ,” she growled, climbing back into the van. If this was ever to properly happen, it wouldn’t be now. God no. Just...she looked at that building and she thought about the woman in the shower, that nameless woman she’d failed so very badly. She didn’t think solitary confinement was actually legal in Ireland anymore, but the time she’d spent in it then...This place was poison to her. This had been a terrible idea. She needed a whole jar of poitín and some toasties, and then needed her children and her kittens. “I’m sorry, allanah,” she added, more calmly. “I just...this was a shit idea. I can’t be here right now.”

 

“All right,” Ratiri said, and when they’d got back in the van, he squeezed her hand. “All right, mo chroí. We’ll get some food.”

 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she said, squeezing back. “Just...not right now. I should’ve waited.” But honestly, would waiting have actually done any good? Next time she came out here -- because she was going to have to do this again, someday -- she really was going to ask Thranduil for a hit of telepathic Xanax before they left. This was something she really did _somehow_ need to manage, sooner or later, but definitely not now.

 

Fishing her mobile out of her bag, she pulled up her GPS app and typed in _The Brazen Head._ It was the oldest pub in Ireland, big and loud and popular with tourists -- in other words, nice and distracting. “So, Saoirse,” she said, “this place we’re going, it was built in eleven ninety-eight.”

 

“Damn, seriously?” Saoirse asked. She had not expected Aunt Lorna to react as she had, and it made her a touch uneasy, but things seemed a little better now. “That’s what, a little over nine hundred years old?”

 

“It really is a bit weird, finding that old when we live with people who are eighteen times it,” Ratiri said, casting a careful sideways glance at Lorna. Now that the prison was nowhere in sight, she already seemed much calmer. “I thought the same when we were at Ashford.”

 

“Just seems...I don’t know, it’s different, with the elves,” Pat said. “They -- and their stuff -- don’t seem that old. Not like our things.”

 

The pub was a very medieval place, all stone and dark wood and, naturally, extremely crowded, even though it was only lunch. It was too bad they only did live music in the evenings, but oh well. Given the venue, they actually had a proper lunch, not just toasties and booze; she and Saoirse split a big bowl of spicy chicken wings, while Ratiri went for mussels and Pat tried out the big house burger.

 

“How can this place be that old?” Saoirse asked, wiping sauce off her upper lip. “Is it like, the whole building?”

 

“Probably not,” Lorna said, knocking back a shot of poitín -- her third in half an hour. She was trying to pace herself at least a little, and actually have food in her at the same time. “It’s like...have you ever heard’v the Grandfather’s Axe?”

 

Saoirse shook her head.

 

“It’s a kind’v paradox,” Lorna explained. “If you have your grandfather’s axe, but the blade and the handle’ve both been replaced, it’s still considered your grandfather’s axe by most people. A lot’v this building’s probably been rebuilt over the centuries, but it’s _been_ here that long.”

 

“You got that reading Terry Pratchett, didn’t you?” Ratiri asked, and she barely resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

 

“Of course I did. He’s been a better education than anything I ever learned at actual school.” This next shot she sipped, in between chicken wings. The bowl came with twenty, and ten was a lot for somebody her size. Saoirse wasn’t going to be able to finish her half, but at least chicken wings kept well overnight.

 

Ratiri just laughed quietly, shaking his head. He loved his wife, no matter how odd she was -- and in this, she wasn’t really wrong. Terry Pratchett’s books were just interesting, no matter how you stacked it.

 

“Aunt Lorna, I need to use the toilet,” Saoirse said, and immediately slurped down the last of her fizzy drink. She was polite enough to belch into a napkin, at least.

 

“All right, you,” Lorna said, biting the inside of her cheek to quell her own laughter, “let’s go.” When she rose, she realized the poitín was definitely doing its job; she was nice and floaty now. She thought she had it terrible in crowds now, but she remember what was like to be Saoirse-sized, when punching kneecaps was a viable option. She led the kid through the pub until they found the toilets, and then of course there was a bloody line.

 

“Why are there always lines for girl’s rooms?” Saoirse asked, wrinkling her nose.

 

“It’s because we always have to go to the toilet in a group,” Lorna said. “And don’t ask me why that is, because I don’t know. We all just...do.” She’d never really paused to think about it before.

 

A woman leaving the toilets took a look at her, and at Saoirse, and turned to one of her friends. “I’m not sure if that’s cute or creepy as fuck,” she said, so quietly Lorna almost didn’t hear. Her accent was American, or maybe Canadian; it was hard for the Irish ear to discern.

 

“What?” the friend asked, squeezing out of the way of a huge lad on his way to the gent’s.

 

“That woman and her daughter. It’s like the mom has Mini-Me.”

 

The friend must have looked, because she responded with, “Holy shit, you’re right. It’s cute _and_ creepy.” They were gone before any more could be discerned, lost in the babble of the pub.

 

Mercifully, Saoirse didn’t seem to have heard this, because once again it was all Lorna could do to keep a straight face. There was a kind of hilarious irony that Saoirse looked more like her kid than her own did.

 

“Aunt Lorna, why was it so hard for you to go...there...today?” the girl asked, looking up at her.

 

She sighed. “Because sometimes, when something very bad’s happened to you in a place, going back can just drag it all up again. Other times it can be a good thing, and help you heal, and I was hoping that’d be the case today, but it sure as hell wasn’t.”

 

“Did you ever shank somebody?”

 

The woman in front of them, middle-aged, with a lime-green windbreaker and a big straw hat, turned to look at them, incredulity in her eyes. Lorna gave her a bland smile.

 

“No, I never shanked anybody. Jesus.” It was true, too; solitary confinement was a bitch. She wasn’t about to pick fights. “It’s hard for me to explain, but I’ll try it, once I’m a bit more sober. I’ll come back here sometime, once I’m a bit better-prepared, and we’ll try that again. Sooner or later, it actually will be healing.”

 

“I still don’t understand why going somewhere that was bad for you would ever be good,” her niece said, running her fingers along the wood paneling of the wall.

 

“It...that’s the other thing that’s hard to explain,” Lorna said, wishing like hell she was better with words. “What you want to be able to do, eventually, is go to somewhere that was terrible for you, but have it not affect you anymore. It’s a thing that’s in your past, and doesn’t have any power over you. Problem is, that place does still have some power over me.” Maybe...shit, maybe what she _really_ needed was to go see her and Pat’s childhood home. The horror of that was much longer ago than prison, and doing so might be good for him, too...but not today. That might be a trip they had to take alone.

 

Eventually they actually reached the toilets, and Lorna went through utter deja vu when she had to pick Saoirse up so she could actually wash her hands. The kid really was the size of a five-year-old, just like she’d been at that age. Christ, she hoped her own kids took after Ratiri.

 

Once back at their table, the lot of them managed between them managed to put away two bowls of warm apple slices and cream, and she chased another shot of poitín with an Irish coffee -- heavy on the Bailey’s, light on the coffee, which was a nice change after, Jesus, had she really had eight shots in the last half hour? Oops. It was a wonder Ratiri hadn’t tried to stop her, though he probably hadn’t want to make a scene.

 

She was full and at peace when they paid their tab and headed off home, though she couldn’t help but sigh when she actually let herself think of how badly she’d handled this whole thing. Maybe -- probably -- she should have waited, and thought about it a few days before she actually came out here. If she’d been smart, and actually given herself a little time to wrap her head around the idea, this might have worked. In a week, or a fortnight, they’d have to try it again, except ‘they’ ought to just be ‘her’. It might be easier that way, if she didn’t need to worry about anyone else worrying about her.

 

Lorna was content to sit quiet, staring out the window while Pat and Saoirse played I Spy in the backseat. No, this hadn’t worked, but that didn’t mean a second try wouldn’t. Meanwhile, she was headed toward food-and-booze coma, and she couldn’t really say she minded.

 

Ratiri was disappointed, but not surprised. He’d thought this was a bad idea, but he hadn’t been entirely sure it would be. After all, Pat had done it, and it had helped Pat, and Pat and Lorna were in many ways rather alike, but they’d been in prison for very different reasons. Drugs possession and robbery were not manslaughter. The crimes were not equal, and neither had the sentences been.

 

He let Lorna be quiet as they drive, weaving his way through traffic on the M7. Seeing their children and their kittens would help both of them. Poor Maerwen had her hands full with them now -- the twins were mobile-ish, some bastard combination of crawling and inchworming, and the kittens just had to be all over and into everything, shedding all the while.

 

“Which kitten do you think will be on top of the canopy this time?” he asked, as they eased off onto the exit toward Lasg’len. His bet was on the little ginger with the chainsaw purr -- the one Lorna had christened Poofball, because he was exceptionally fluffy even by the standards of his siblings.

 

Lorna said nothing, and he glanced at her. She stared listlessly out the window, her eyes half-lidded, her skin ashen-pale...oh shit. He reached out to touch her forehead, and swore: it was clammy, and chilly, and God _dammit_ …. They were much, much too far away from Dublin to take her to hospital, but they were further from Lasg’len than he’d like, too. He stomped on the accelerator, taking the back roads at motorway speed.

 

“Jesus, Ratiri, what’re you doing?” Pat demanded, gripping the edge of his seat.

 

“Lorna’s ill,” he said, and that was _all_ he said, because they didn’t need to be scaring the shit out of poor Saoirse. “We just need to get her home. Fast.”

 

They tore through Lasg’len, when they finally reached it, and he ignored the glares and shouts of those on the pavements. They could fucking sue him, once he got over wanting to murder his wife. She’d always told him she knew her own limits -- and if he was being fair, until now, she had, but still. Jesus. He took the corner at the outside of the forest so fast he’d swear he felt the outer tires lift a little, the inertia enough to make a fortunately-oblivious Saoirse go “Wheeeee!” until they pulled into Earlene’s driveway with a screech of rubber.

 

 _Thranduil, I could really use some help here,_ he said, jumping out of the van and hurrying to pull Lorna out of the passenger’s seat. _This didn’t go well, and Lorna drank too much, and now she’s got alcohol poisoning._

 

*****

 

Earlene’s perfect marshmallows had been setting up since late morning, and having no idea what was going on, she brought extra of the cornstarch/powdered sugar mix and her dough scraper, because that seemed like the most elegant solution for when the pan of them needed to be turned out and cut. Though she was sorry Saoirse had missed the manufacture, it wasn’t like it couldn’t be done again; it was a whopping seven ingredients if you didn’t count the water. Besides, the time alone to think had probably done her good. When she returned, having walked the distance because running with a food that required air pockets for texture seemed like a terrible idea, she practiced her best elven gliding through the forest paths.

 

Though these conversations involving Oropher were never pleasant, the more she heard the more Earlene felt convinced that the key to her husband’s difficulties were buried in the vault of his younger years...if you could call his first 3.5 millennia of life “youth”. And it made her wonder too...she knew so little of Thanadir. He was poor, he’d tole her the names of his parents, and beyond that he was a veil of mists. Finding out that all this time he had carried a burden of guilt for not intervening in an impossible situation, though...that felt tragic. _As did everything having to do with child abuse and child abusers._

 

On her return, her pan was placed on the dining room table in time for their noon meal; the three of them ate the much simpler fare together mostly in peaceful silence. This was the least she owed both of them, after this morning. Thanadir cited a need to care for several errands, leaving them oddly alone. When Thranduil placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her close, she was fairly convinced what would follow...but that was not the case. They embraced, and kissed, but the kissing was not the kind that led straight to the bed. It was a dispersal of sorrow, of apology, of caring regard. And they simply...talked.

 

Thranduil tried to paint a clearer picture of his early years, aside from everything involving abuse and beatings. Telling of what a day might be like for him with his tutors, in the years when Oropher was gaining support and favor among a faction of the Teleri in Doriath, or some of the ways he occupied his time many years after he had come of age but still very much was under the rule of his crowned father. Slowly, so slowly, this led to a yearning to join together. Their lovemaking was sinuous, and Earlene felt more deeply connected to her husband than she had in some time as they moved against each other, the fingers on their hands laced together. If there was such a thing as drowning in relief and pleasure, Earlene was managing it. Until Thranduil gasped and pulled out of her without warning, his face contorted in some emotion she could not recognize.

 

“Ratiri says Lorna has alcohol poisoning,” came out in a rush.

 

Equally quickly Earlene’s eyes widened. “Go,” she said, feeling panicked. “Hurry, and go.” Bare naked, she tried to help him into his trousers and boots while he yanked the tunic over his head. _How in god’s name are you supposed to get these things laced when the man’s erection is…??_

 

 _“_ Trust me, it will not survive long,” he said, taking over for her and with rather greater skill arranging his private parts. “Earlene, I am so….”

 

“WILL YOU JUST GO?!?” She all but shoved him through the dining area, only realizing afterward that she had never even thought to check if anyone else was here... _whatever, it was a goddamn emergency_ . He ran, slamming the door accidentally on his way out, and suddenly she was alone. There was something of a desire to scream her frustration at the top of her lungs, but that would solve nothing except cause Thranduil to feel terrible. This was just shit luck. _Except, it wasn’t anything to do with luck, really, was it?_ Her diffuse rage had to go somewhere, and she dressed and went to the practice rooms, and pitied the first mannequin to catch her eye.

 

Four minutes later found her, longsword in hand, hollering at the top of her lungs behind the heavy closed door. “ _MOTHERFUCKING IRISH_ , and their getting drunk off their asses at the blink of a hat!! Eye! Whatever! What fucking even _is_ the blink of a hat??” This time, she really did hack at the innocent stuffed burlap. “ _DRINK, DRINK, DRINK_ , don’t figure out how to, you know, manage things without going out of your head on booze, _JUST KEEP DRINKING_ .” Every utterance of the word ‘drink’ was accompanied by a reasonable impressive downward attack position, as straw flew every which way while she stabbed at the hapless dummy. “I do not want my daughters thinking this is normal behavior. Do you _HEAR ME_?” she shouted at the straw man, now red-faced, before attacking it again with still impeccable footwork.

 

Thanadir had entered silently, and froze. This, he had never seen before in Earlene.

 

“ _AND THIS IS WHAT I THINK OF YOUR TIMING_ ,” she shouted, backing away for more. When Thanadir saw that she intended to decapitate the mannequin, enough was enough. In a flash, he moved to restrain her arms. In surprise and fear, she tried to twist away until he spoke.

 

“Earlene! It is me. It is Thanadir. Meldis, you must stop this. This is not...healthy.”

 

“ _WHY?_ Why do _I_ have to stop it?! She gets to do it. _She_ gets to do anything she wants, especially if it involves destroying something.” Earlene burst into tears, no longer resisting his hold; the sword clattered to the floor. The moment the words left her mouth she felt terrible, but this was the culmination of...everything. Everything that had somehow been kept from her and given elsewhere...and she was only human. “I am sorry,” she wailed, wishing she could crawl under one of the flagstones in the floor. “I don’t know why I said those things. I don’t mean what I said…”

 

“I am here. All will be well,” he said soothingly. And the familiar hand slowly began to rub at her back, in small circles. Thanadir sometimes felt a little like a determined but endearing octopus, as he folded her into his embrace.

 

“Valar, what am I going to say to Thranduil?” she wept miserably. “This is the last thing he needed. I am so sorry…”

 

_Meluieg, I am not angry. Or upset. I love you very much and it is I who am sorry. Stay with Thanadir and please...feel better._

 

“Okay.” _Eight years of higher education and that’s all you can manage, Earlene? ‘Okay?’_  She sniffled, having reached a new level of  disgust with herself.

 

“Earlene?”

 

“What?”

 

“I am very proud of you. Your footwork and technique were excellent.”

Something between a sob and a laugh escaped her as she held onto him.  “I love you, meldir.”

 

“I know,” the elf smiled.

 

“Have you been watching Star Wars?” she asked accusingly.

 

“Maybe.”

 

*****

 

Thranduil could honestly say that he was not at all enjoying the sensation of running with a penis that moments ago had been engaged in a far different activity. In fact, if this was a fraction of what his wife endured with her bust...they would really have to discuss this. As he cleared the Gates, he tried to search for balance. He had been wanting to say something for a while now, to Lorna about her apparent dependence on alcohol or him, to regulate disturbances to her equilibrium that most people managed, or could at least choose to manage, without turning to substances. He was not about to condemn consuming alcohol; there was no platform to stand on for that, nor was it necessary. But this drinking to the edge of poisoning...and in this case apparently beyond...there was a grotesque irresponsibility inherent in this. While she did not have his duties, she did have obligations of her own. She was mother to two infant children. An example for a niece with frankly an alarming amount of...issues. A founding member of a new community, and this did not even _touch_ on what Sharley had seen in her future.

 

He muttered under his breath as he ran. “What will you do when I am not here any longer, to maintain your health or save you from these accidents that are entirely avoidable, my friend? I do not want to be the one to tell you what the others will probably say in abundance but...this has to stop, Lorna. I would do anything for you, but not at the cost of my marriage. Something has to give, and I hope you can see why. Because the other, Earlene, _that_ you can never know about…Valar, there had better be a good reason for this. The chance that there might be some extenuating circumstance is the only thing keeping me from being very angry indeed.” And he pushed himself to run as fast as he possibly could, which was very fast indeed.

 

Saoirse, mercifully, did not know just how ill Lorna actually was; she’d wandered off to see Buttercup, while Ratiri held Lorna on her side, two fingers on her pulse. Her breathing was very slow, but at least it was even, and he wondered what had possessed her to drink that much at one go. She hadn’t even done that after her disaster of a bridal shower -- had seeing that prison been worse than he’d thought? It had to have been. And now he was kicking himself for not watching how much she drank, because she had an issue and he was well aware of it. At least this actually gave him an excuse to talk to her about it -- one she’d be inclined to listen to. He hadn’t tried before because nobody liked to be lectured, and with Lorna, all it would do would be to make her dig her heels in. After this, though…

 

Thranduil was a minute from bursting out of the forest. _Ratiri, is she in immediate danger, or is there time to have Pat remove Saoirse to the Halls? What is about to happen is, in my opinion, not something for one of her years to witness._

 

 _Pat can take Saoirse. Lorna’s ill, but she won’t die on us in the next five minutes._ “Pat, why don’t  you take Saoirse to the Halls? We’ll catch up once Lorna feels better.”

 

Pat looked a bit hesitant, but nodded, and collected Saoirse. “Come on now, allanah, they’ll catch up,” he said. “It’s not like your uncle Ratiri and uncle Thranduil aren’t giant beanpoles who could run us down in five minutes.”

 

Saoirse giggled at that, but cast a worried glance at Lorna, until her father hurried her off.

 

Thranduil deliberately tracked off the path in order to remain unseen in passing them. In fact, he ensured he could not be seen; the rustling of the leaves overhead made more noise than his silent feet. He was not even sure why, but he had a strong wish to isolate Pat and Saoirse from...this. Perhaps it was that they were still new to him, not yet truly assimilated into their original family of five. Mostly, he suspected it was that he himself did not want the distraction of Saorise’s inevitable and unedited outbursts. In a flash he was there, scooping Lorna up so that he and Ratiri could take her inside. “First we fix this”, he said with a very hard edge to his voice. “And then, you and I are going to have a discussion.”

 

He healed Lorna as he always did. Though, this was bad. Worse, than when Earlene had inadvertently suffered the same fate. And with a frown, he now noticed the condition of her liver. Scarring had begun, and this too needed repair; the discovery did nothing to improve his mood. When at last he was finished, she rested peacefully on the sofa, her skin a healthy color and everything else about her seemingly fine.

 

Thranduil rose up and plunked into one of the wingback chairs with a clear air of irritation. He could already pick several thoughts from Ratiri’s mind, but wanted to hear this in an orderly manner. “She is asleep at my doing. Because. I am trying to contain my increasingly foul temper in the hopes that you can tell me that there was a very good extenuating circumstance for this. I do not think I need to tell you that this behavior cannot continue, Ratiri.”

 

Ratiri pinched the bridge of his nose. “No,” he said, “it can’t, and now I finally have an excuse to actually talk to her in a way she’ll listen to, some way that isn’t just me lecturing her. She should not have gone to that prison. I mean, I can’t read her mind, but I saw her face. We should never have tried this, and I should have just brought her home, but we all wanted lunch, and I wasn’t paying attention to how much she drank. Honestly, I’m not sure _she_ was, either.” Thranduil could read her mind, and thus know with actual clarity just why the sight of that building had driven her to do as she had.

 

“I was afraid of that. I am going to tell you now what I could not tell Lorna earlier. Partly it was because I felt I did not have a right to speak, partly it was because lecturing accomplishes little _especially_ with her, but mostly it was on account of how sensitive I know she is to being told that she still needs fixing, to heavily paraphrase. How much she views any criticism of her behavior as being told that she is not good enough. I of all people know how much she has changed. How much she has accomplished, and perhaps I do not praise her enough for that. But really, it is not so much about her but...me.”

 

Ratiri’s face had a look of curiosity and surprise, but he continued to listen.

 

“I am certain you remember the time when your sensibilities were pressed too hard regarding...jealousy...and my wife pursued you to the practice rooms. After you left, Lorna and I continued to drink together. While I was not falling down drunk, I clearly had had too much, because two things happened. My wife walked around far longer than necessary with a broken arm, and very important information that she relied on me to relay to my seneschal never went anywhere, because I was in too much of an alcoholic haze to notice her words. Maybe I was even asleep, I have not kept the recollection. Either way, I failed in my duty to those I love, and my wife especially paid the price for my wish to indulge myself in drinking. I swore that night that this would never happen again, and to that I have held. Yes, you see that I still drink, but I have pledged to never drink to the point of any incapacity again. There was no excuse for my choices; I have obligations. And so does she,” he said with that hard edge returning to his voice.

 

“Jesus.” That day had been all-around worse than Ratiri had thought. “This can be used, at least. So long as she never paid any price for drinking as she did, why would she listen to someone lecturing? Or even if she did listen, I don’t think she would have taken it seriously, because her own experience had always told her she was fine. Now...well, she gave herself alcohol poisoning. That’s a fairly tangible thing. I just have to figure out how to approach her in a way that won’t sound hostile, because that would accomplish...well, fuck-all.” Lorna’s vocabulary had already been rubbing off on him, but the addition of Pat and Saoirse had just accelerated the process.

 

“There is more, but I require your word that it remain between us.”

 

Ratiri agonized over that one for a moment. He was a doctor; he was good at keeping secrets, but he had a difficult time directly lying to his wife. “You have it,” he said, hoping this wasn’t going to be something that would leave him visibly disturbed when Lorna woke.

 

“I will say this broadly...I am not free to explain exactly what I mean.” He sighed. “It is no secret that I love Lorna, that she is my close friend. But this, now...this could not have come at a worse time. That is what she must never know, because I could not live with myself were she to believe she could not look to me for help. I will always help her, Ratiri, but Lorna is not the only one I love, and to whom I owe my time. Lorna has suffered many problems, and I am committed to helping her reach her full potential. I do not mean that I am unaware of the depth of her struggles. But this was avoidable. _Fully avoidable._ And that means it was irresponsible. I have worried for some time now about her need to manage every difficult emotion with some kind of substance. Sometimes *I* am the substance,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I honestly do not know if my ability to tamper with human emotions has been a blessing or a curse. The help I can give should be for extraordinary circumstances…” he looked at Ratiri pleadingly. “Do you understand what I am trying to say, and making such a poor job of?”

 

Unfortunately, Ratiri did. On several levels. No, Lorna could never know, because she would feel far too guilty to ever ask for help again. “I don’t know how to deal with it,” he said. “It’s what she’s done all her life -- and, from what I’ve gathered from her stories with Pat, I do mean _all_ her life. For Christ’s sake, she’s been drinking since she was _ten_. I’m not a psychiatrist. What could we even replace that with? How can you try to alter something that’s all the person has ever known? She has no other coping mechanisms, and I have no idea what to even try to teach her. Yoga was an abysmal failure. I mean...shit. If we take her to the training rooms every time she gets too upset, at least she can throw knives at things, but even that’s not perfect.”

 

“It is worse yet”, Thranduil said, massaging his forehead. “Long ago, before great battles, there would be a last time of quiet, in which the forces of the enemy could be seen marching in from afar. There was a...sinking feeling, I would get, inside of my body. And I have it now, but not because orcs and trolls are marching on my forest. I have been aware for some time that Earlene’s level of ire is rising with regard to two issues: The abuse of alcohol, and the tendency to solve social problems with threats and anger. She is determined that her own children will not see the drinking and the interactions common to the culture here as being normal or acceptable,” he said miserably. “And to this, I do not know what to say. My wife has a valid point; to her eyes it is simply rank lack of civility, and my people do not exactly subscribe to these behaviors either. I see conflict over these two perceptions, oddly enough, as one of the greatest threats to our future success. I too do not know how to...deal with it.”

 

Ratiri groaned. There was a history lesson there that was not going to make him _or_ Earlene happy. “If she’s determined to keep them away from all exposure to that, she’s going to have to isolate them from human society,” he said. “This is Ireland, Thranduil. If she sits there and lectures them over their culture...she’ll sound just like the English. They’re the way they are for a reason. Now, we can probably get them to tone it _down_ in the Halls -- in the Halls, mind you, not outside -- but you can’t just...re-write the way they are. This is their culture. It’s a lot like the one I come from. They were both shat on by the English for centuries, and became very angry and rebellious because of it.” The fact that Earlene was foreign had not, until now, been an issue, but talk about culture clash. In Ireland, it wasn’t incivility, it was normal. This could turn into a disaster and a half, because he knew, _knew_ what would happen if someone tried to chew the Irish out over their behavior, and nobody wanted to see it. “I might have to talk to her about that, if she’ll listen. Because if she says anything -- _anything_ \-- about it, she’ll come off as some pissy foreigner who thinks they know better. I mean...oh God, no. Just... _no_. That needs to never happen. Ever.” Yes, he was having Lorna-style word-vomit. The prospect was in fact that bad.

 

“Perhaps you could try, though perhaps not for awhile. Please realize, this was not so pronounced before Earlene gave birth. I believe that much of what is driving this now is a fear...my wife does not wish to see Allanah follow in Lorna’s footsteps, suffer Lorna’s problems. Earlene loves Lorna, but at the same time, the worst of Lorna’s behavior is emblematic of the opposite of what Earlene has spent her life upholding.”

 

“I can’t blame her there at all, but I know exactly how she needs to _not_ do this, so once you say she’s ready, I’ll talk to her,” Ratiri sighed. “I don’t want the twins, or Saoirse...I think having Saoirse might be a help, actually. She’s an older child without a maternal figure. Having someone to actively take under her wing might be good for both of them. I just...I don’t know what alternative to give her, when she gets stressed to the point that she wants to get herself blackout drunk. I mean, what else, besides hacking something to bits, is there, for someone like her?”

 

“I would genuinely prefer her to destroy objects than herself,” Thranduil said quietly. “The other thing I should mention is that when I healed her...her liver was scarred, Ratiri. I have promised to maintain her health, to ensure that she will enjoy a long life. But I do not appreciate the sense that my gifts are used so that she can work at cross purposes to them.”

 

“Given how long she’s been drinking, I’m not surprised,” Ratiri sighed. “This...all right, this might sound a bit insulting, but I think you need to talk to her after I do, because, and I’m sorry, but if you were a human, you’d be labeled an alcoholic. I don’t drink much; the only authority I speak from is not personal. I don’t….” God, how to put this without it sounding offensive, really weird, or both? “The two of you are alike in a way that she and I are not. That you have done so much to help Lorna with her temper makes me suspect yours was once bad, too. She needs to just keep learning what you did, how you dealt -- deal -- with it. I can’t...I don’t have those tools. I’ve never felt that level of -- well, no, I did once, but it wasn’t the same thing.” How in the hell had he ever once resented that Thranduil could help her in ways he couldn’t?  That was a damned blessing now.

 

The King stretched his head back. “Oh, the irony. Yes, I have a temper; rage lives within me. I am still struggling with it, Ratiri. I deal with it by never being willing to stop trying to understand and overcome it. Everything in between has been greater or lesser measures of success. And occasionally, abject failure. I will speak to her, if that is your wish, but not now. Honestly, I should return. It would be best, at least for me, not to interact with her just now. I am not past being angry with her choices and…” he shook his head. “I do not wish to place that anger on her. If you are ready, I will leave her so that she can be easily wakened, and then I will depart.”

 

Ratiri nodded. “I’ll see if she’ll say anything of...anything...to me, when she wakes. If we’re lucky, she’ll tell me exactly why this drove her to that. It would be a good place to start.”

 

Thranduil nodded, briefly held Lorna’s hand, and departed with only a nod to Ratiri.

 

Lorna did eventually wake, with a hazy idea of what had happened to her. She knew the symptoms, at least, and the fact that she wasn’t dead meant Thranduil had probably happened somewhere along the way. Christ, how had she let herself get that bad? For someone who knew their limits as well as she did, that was goddamn disgraceful. It was...God, she was so tired.

 

“Lorna,” Ratiri asked, sitting on the floor beside the couch, “why did you do that? Why did you drink that much? I’ve never seen you do this to yourself, or anything close to it.”

 

At first, she had no actual answer. All she could do was take his hand and squeeze it. “It was the prison,” she said. “I mean, obviously. It was...I looked at it, and I saw the thing that happened in the shower. The thing I froze on, the thing I didn’t try to _fucking stop_ ….” Her grip tightened on his, until it was outright painful. “I never knew her name, allanah. I never knew. I don’t know what happened to her, but what they _did_ , and how she _screamed_ , and I just fucking _stood there_ …Jesus, Ratiri, they bloody tore her up with...and I didn’t do anything. I didn’t try to intervene, I didn’t try to run and get someone, I just...stood there. I froze, Ratiri, and I’ve never frozen, I _don’t_ freeze, but that poor fucking woman. That probably haunts her one hell’v a lot worse than it haunts me, if she’s still alive.”

 

“I don’t think you should go back,” Ratiri said, trying not to wince at the mental images that conjured. “It worked for Pat, but you’re not Pat. I don’t think you should try it again.”

 

She looked up at him. “What, ever? Because...I thought about it. Going back, later. Just because it didn’t work this time doesn’t mean it won’t another.”

 

“I would call that sound reasoning in other cases, but not in this one,” he said gently. “With something that traumatic...I don’t think it’s a good idea. You suffered a kind of trauma in prison that I’m presuming Pat did not, and I don’t think visiting the building is going to put it behind you.”

 

Lorna sighed. “I’m not sure what else will,” she said, loosening her death grip. “I was thinking...the prison didn’t work, but I’m going to ask Pat if he wants to go back and see if our house is still there, in Dublin. That’s so much longer ago, and I never saw anything as traumatizing as _that_ there.” Maybe it was gone. Maybe it had burned to the ground, sand some new, bland, unsullied thing stood in its place.

 

Oddly, Ratiri didn’t think that was a horrible idea...so long as she didn’t go alone. Pat needed to go with her. “Would you want me to take you?” he asked, though he suspected that in this, the answer would be no. He lacked the background; he couldn’t understand just what her life must have been, as a child.

 

“I love you, allanah, but I think this needs to just be me and Pat,” she said, sitting up to hug him. “I wouldn’t want you to see the place.”

 

He kissed her forehead. “You can’t come home and drink yourself into oblivion again, mo chroí. Thranduil said you had scarring in your liver. We have to find you some other way of dealing with...things.”

 

She shut her eyes. “That,” she said, “sounds exhausting.” And like an exercise in futility, but she wasn’t going to say that aloud. Maybe there actually was something out there, but if there was, she had never found it. Ratiri could take his yoga and square breathing and shove them somewhere very unpleasant, because to her they were worthless.

 

A laugh erupted from her. “Isn’t there something called scream therapy?” she asked. “You get pissed or stressed and you just go scream like a banshee?”

 

“Actually, there is. And God knows the Halls are large enough, though some of the Elves might look at you weird.”

 

“I’m pretty sure they do that already,” she said dryly. “I just...god dammit, I like my poitín.”

 

“Nobody’s saying give it up,” Ratiri said, who in truth would have fought anyone who tried to tell him he could never have Guinness ever again. “Just...drink it recreationally, not as some kind of medicine. I know what I’ve tried to teach you hasn’t been of any real use, but if you think scream therapy might work, then let’s look into it.” In constantly trying to get her to slow down and calm down when she was angry, maybe he’d been on the wrong track entirely. Maybe she needed to be loud, to move around and bleed away her aggression, rather than trying to pack it up and let it out in controlled degrees. She was just probably never going to be a serene person, but not everyone could be.

 

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Can you imagine it, if the elves hear me just shrieking my fool head off? Except...well, if it works, it works.”

 

Ratiri stroked her hair. “Mo chroí, I’d like to put you on a limit,” he said. “Only so many drinks within a day, or a meal, or...well, you know.”

 

Her initial thought was _fuck no_ , except he was Ratiri. He was probably right. Hell, he _had_ to be right -- doctor, and all that. The idea was little more appealing than licking the sole of a boot, but she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I can do that.” The fact that she’d actually left herself with liver damage -- she wasn’t surprised, she’d suspected as much, but actually having it confirmed was another thing entirely. She didn’t actually know where the liver was, but she touched the general area of her abdomen. The dark part of her, the part that insisted _see, nothing you do will ever be good enough?_ tried to rear its ugly head, and she gave it a very firm kick in the metaphorical teeth. That wasn’t what this was about at all, and she wished she knew how to stop that little thought, that voice, because knowing that it was bullshit didn’t always help.

 

Ratiri blinked. She’d assented to that one hell of a lot easier than he’d expected her to. All things considered, he was glad he wasn’t like her; life had to be so much harder if you were so...volatile. She had to try so much harder to handle basic emotions, and so easily failed -- it sounded exhausting. But then, his parents had been much the same, though they didn’t have the depth and kind of rage she’d once had. Both had been hot-tempered, and yes, his dad had drank like a fish -- and had died young on account of it. Dad had only been fifty-four when he died, though in his case it was kidney failure rather than cirrhosis of the liver.

 

Lorna needed some other displacement activity, something besides scream therapy. The problem was that the alcohol _itself_ was a displacement activity -- she drank more heavily to avoid getting violent with anyone. Throwing her knives was likely a good idea, especially since that had been what she did after the meeting, rather than hit a bottle (right off, anyway), but there had to be something more than that. Something that did not involve sitting still, but at the same time took more brainpower than simply going for a walk.

 

“You,” he said, hitting on what he hoped was a very good idea, “need to learn to climb trees. You had fun doing that at Ashford, right?”

 

She looked at him. “Well, kind’v. I was awfully high up.”

 

“So if you climb them here, don’t go higher than you feel comfortable with. I’m serious, Lorna, this might be good for you. It’s physical activity that requires concentration, but doesn’t involve violence. These trees are gigantic -- if we get you some harnesses and ropes and...whatever, I think it might be perfect.” He was not about to mention that she was already effectively squirrel-sized compared to these trees, or that it was exactly what a sprite ought to be doing.

 

Lorna turned this over in her mind. It did not actually sound like a terrible idea, except that her fear of heights would likely make it a very short climb. “Who would teach me, though? I mean, I can’t do what the elves would be able to do. They can use a single rope as a bridge, for fuck’s sake.” No, she wasn’t jealous. Not at all.

 

That...was a good question, and not one Ratiri could answer right off. “I’ve heard of indoor rock-climbing classes,” he said. “The principle is likely somewhat the same, and it would teach you about the different types of harness and how they work. I say ‘you’, because I suspect I’m too tall, but if I’m not, I’ll go, too.”

 

It could well be a very good idea, and yet at the same time it depressed her. _You really_ aren’t _good enough_ , she thought. _You can’t think up anything like that on your own.  You never come up with constructive shite -- all you do is drink and hit things._

 

_Fuck off -- I came up with scream therapy, didn’t I?_

 

 _Because that takes any actual skill_ , her mind said witheringly. _It takes somebody with an actual brain to think up something fucking constructive._

 

She squeezed her eyes shut. Shit like this made her want to drink, of course. Sooner or later she really did need to score herself some weed, though right now, even if she’d had any, it would be a bad idea.

 

 _Quit trying to pretend you’re anything other than a lump of uselessness that’s nothing but a burden on your friends,_ her mind sneered.

 

Lorna rose, awash in formless fury. “Allanah,” she said, “I’m going to go try something.” The home cinema was fairly well-sound-proofed, so it was there she went, shut the door, drew a deep breath, and let fly.

 

 _“YOU FUCKING WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT,_ **_SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP_ ** _!”_ Oh wow, that actually _did_ feel kind of better. _“FUCK YOU AND THE HORSE THAT FUCKED YOUR SLUT MOTHER!”_ She was pretty sure Ratiri was laughing at that, but whatever. She screamed, wordless, all her frustration, her rage, her self-recrimination venting itself as she did her best banshee impersonation.

 

There was, however, a problem. This felt lovely, and yet she wanted to smash things, so much so that she dared not stand still. She paced and she screamed, and somehow managed to not actually break anything, but oh, she _wanted_ to, so much so that she finally went outside, hoping like hell she wasn’t going to scare the living shit out of whatever elves were lurking unseen around the house.

 

Eventually she stopped, but only because her throat had grown too hoarse. Shockingly, she did actually feel...better. Tired, and drained, but that _was_ better. Her mind was quieter, which was a mercy.

 

There was shit she had to do, once she got back to the Halls, which included apologizing to Thranduil for making him have to save her damn ass yet again. However, she was tired, and she desperately needed a nap before she could even think of doing anything else. She pulled Ratiri into their room, and fell asleep with her head on his chest.

 

*******

 

Thranduil ran. He wanted to be far away from...all that. There were no limits to his annoyance, that this had happened when it did. Earlene was trying, trying harder than anyone should have to try, to be accommodating to everyone’s needs. And even he now could see that the cost for doing so was that her own wants needs were too often placed on the shelf. Usurped, returned to wait in the line. The more he turned it around, the greater his frustration, because he could not understand how any other outcome could have been possible, just now. Except the outcome in which Lorna had not chosen to drink herself to an early death after having such a trauma be torn open. It was difficult to recall, when he had last felt so...perturbed and yet still so sympathetic, and it disturbed him to think that the answer might reach all the way back to Thanadir after the events with Erestor. It was true that he and Lorna had many commonalities...but commonalities did not mean being the same person, and he had to acknowledge that she had lived for a little over forty years against his thousands. He could hear her words as she spoke to Ratiri, of course. And at least for right now, what she had done had left less of an impression that he would have liked to see, but she did consider something of how to make changes. And... all these considerations would need to be set aside until later. He forced himself to block out their voices to a sort of background noise, to give his full attention to his wife.

 

He met Thanadir and Earlene halfway back to their rooms, where with silent and profuse thanks he enabled his seneschal to resume whatever he too had been interrupted from doing earlier. Though his wife took his arm, he could feel her mortification and trepidation still; she did not look up at him. He waited until they reached the privacy of their rooms before pulling her tightly against him. “I would give a great deal, for you to stop berating yourself for your words. You have given so much, Earlene. Were I in your position I would have...not remained nearly so calm. It was a violation, that I was taken from you and yet I do not know what else any of us could have done differently.”

 

“I….I am supposed to have better self-discipline than that, and I am ashamed,” she whispered. “That was not...me. But...it was. And I….” she shook her head, looking into his eyes while feeling a depth of failure.

 

“No, Earlene. We have discussed this before. You have emotional limits, as do we all. What happened would have pushed anyone past them. To have disturbed our love…” he shook his head. “I would like, so much….do I really need to tell you, what I would like? I desire you.” He looked down. “I desire how close I felt to you, before we were so rudely interrupted.”

 

Her fingers laced in his. They walked through to their bedroom together, and closed the door. And locked it.

 

*****

 

Lorna only slept for a little over an hour, and when she woke, she was determined to bake.

 

“I need to make biscuits,” she said, stretching, and burst out laughing at the hoarseness of her voice.

 

“Why biscuits?” Ratiri asked, fighting a smile himself.

 

“Because apologies are always better when you’ve got food,” she said, sitting up and shoving her fringe out of her face. “I mean, I know Thanadir will probably eat most’v them, but still. Thranduil and Earlene might get a few, at least.” A glance out the window told her it was evening; they’d be walking home in the twilight, but she had a big torch for just that eventuality.

 

Chocolate chip biscuits were the only ones she was really any good at, but fortunately they had all the ingredients. (Of course they did; Earlene was something of a baking goddess.) She sipped tea and honey while she worked, knowing already that there was one downside to scream therapy, but oh well. The benefits, it would seem, outweighed that.

 

Ratiri took the opportunity to sit at his table with his laptop, and Google urban climbing classes in Dublin. He was not terribly surprised to find three.

 

“I’ve found one that’s every Monday at six in the evening,” he said, listening to the sound of the rolling pin. “It’s two hours, so we’d be getting home late, but I doubt that would be an issue for one night a week.”

 

“How does it work?” she asked. Jesus, she sounded like she’d been chain-smoking five packs a day for thirty years.

 

“Come look. It’s actually pretty interesting.”

 

Wiping her floury hands on her apron (it was one of Earlene’s, so it was comically huge on her), she padded over to the kitchen table. Ratiri showed her a gallery of photos; most were of people scaling what looked like a large concrete wall with large, pastel...blobs interspersed on its surface. A few people were climbing up them like Spiderman, each safe in a harness. To her, it looked slightly terrifying. More than slightly. Still, she was willing to give it a shot. “Do they have height requirements?”

 

Ratiri grimaced. “Unfortunately, they do. _You’re_ within the range -- they have children, too -- but I would need specialized equipment. Not that I’m surprised.”

 

Lorna wasn’t, either. She’d come to realize, over the last year and a half, that being unusually tall could be almost as much of a pain in the ass as being unusually short. Ratiri had spent all his adult life having to special order clothes, and shoes, and even a mattress, since on a normal one his feet and ankles stuck out over the edge -- and that was quite aside from how easy it was to bash your head on a door frame. It was a good thing he’d been a doctor, because it was all expensive as hell.

 

Eventually she got the biscuits in the oven, and of course wanted a drink. It occurred to her, though, as she sat at the table and drummed her fingers on the surface, that it wasn’t even necessarily the substance itself that she wanted -- it was doing something with her hands. Knitting wasn’t enough, unfortunately, and carrying a guitar everywhere was too impractical. Jesus, what else was there?

 

What was _really_ going to make this hard was that she was surrounded by drinkers. They had wine with every meal but breakfast; tea with whiskey was very much a thing. How in the hell could she limit herself to one glass of wine if everyone else but Earlene didn’t? It wouldn’t be fair to ask them to limit themselves, but it didn’t feel fair to her that she had to, either...ugh.

 

Lorna rose, pacing, rather agitated. What could she do with her hands? What would actually be of any use? She had no idea, and it was damned frustrating. She wouldn’t even know what to look for.

 

“You need worry beads, mo chroí,” Ratiri said. “They’re a bit like a rosary, just with no prayers.” He pulled up an example on Amazon: about twenty turquoise beads on a long string, very much like a rosary.

 

“What d’you do with them, exactly? Just run them through your fingers like a rosary?”

 

“That’s one way. You can twist them, swing them, twirl them...the whole point is to give your hands something to do. Smokers use them when they want to quit.”

 

Huh. She kind of wanted to make her own, if the elves actually had anything like beads instead of gems.

 

Into the oven the biscuits went, while she took her own computer and looked up various ways to make worry beads. They didn’t seem hard at all. That led her to YouTube videos of how to use them (was there anything you _couldn’t_ find on YouTube, except maybe like, the proper way to sodomize a ferret? Was there such a thing? She didn’t know, and she didn’t want to. Ew.)

 

“These actually look brilliant,” she said. “Simple, but brilliant. Go Greece.”

 

“Worry beads and yogurt,” Ratiri said. “They’ve contributed more than some other countries.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “That they have.” Add those to scream-therapy and tree-climbing...she wondered what an actual psychiatrist would make of this. An actual psychiatrist might take one look at her and quit.

 

The cookies baked away while she prowled Amazon for beads, mainly so she’d know what to look for when she asked the elves. She wasn’t into jewelry-making, so she wouldn’t even know what to look for. Thanadir might be the best one to ask there, though she wasn’t sure if he was into that, or just sewing things. Knowing him, he was probably into everything.

 

She managed to pry herself away long enough to tidy up, washing the dishes and scrubbing down the counter -- even using wax paper, she still made a damn mess. Oh well. The biscuits smelled amazing, and actually looked pretty good, too, though she made Ratiri taste-test one before she was willing to hunt down a container for them.

 

“You’ve done well, mo chroí,” he said, reaching for another one. Lorna let him have it, and ate one herself -- Jesus, these actually _were_ good.

 

Boxing them up in a big Tupperware container, she double-checked that the oven was off, grabbed her torch, and shut off all the lights. They’d probably missed dinner, so they’d have to cadge something from the kitchens and then try not to eat all the biscuits before tomorrow. The damn things were going to have to go into the movie room, where they couldn’t tempt anyone.

 

Off they went, into the shadows beneath the trees, hand in hand. Tomorrow would be what it would be, but at least it would have biscuits.


	80. Eighty

Earlene and Thranduil were awake just after dawn. Thanadir had excused himself early last night, causing Earlene to wonder if he knew, somehow, that they needed time alone. For someone with seemingly zero interest in or awareness of the marital side of life, he seemed to have an uncanny understanding of when to disappear without being asked. And, she was fairly convinced that this was not Thranduil’s doing. Then again...it was not really so surprising. Their marriage likely had no greater champion than the gentle elf who had given his entire life doing what he could to ensure his King’s welfare.

 

“Do you ever wish you could do more for Thanadir?” Earlene asked as they cuddled in their pool, soaking in the glorious warmth. “I feel like all he does is give, to us. And that there is no adequate way to show my gratitude.”

 

“You already are giving him what he most wants in this world, Earlene. A loving family, and children. I think we both know that in some ways, little Thaladir is going to be the son Thanadir never had, not that we somehow will cease to be his parents. The degree to which you have allowed him to share in this experience...you do not know how grateful I am for your openness and generosity in this regard. I know that you and he have your own relationship, and yet there are still few females, ellith or firith,  that would welcome another male in this regard. This is his joy, beyond any material gift you could ever provide.”

 

“Do you know,” she frowned, “I do not think of Thanadir as male? Or female? He is somehow without gender, in my mind, in a way that I find hard to describe. Thanadir is simply...Thanadir. It is not just that he is single; others in the Halls are as well and yet they do not strike me in this manner. I...for once, I am at a loss for words.”

 

“Strangely enough, I understand. Though he is powerful and capable, he is not...like Thalion. He has such a perfect blend of the characteristics of those of either gender that…” He too trailed off, not finding a better description. “It matters not.”

 

“I agree. Maybe I even love him more because of it.” She shrugged.

 

Progress toward dressing was haphazard at best, as they saw no need to forego the opportunity to enjoy each other. “Thank you, for how hard you are trying, Thranduil. It has meant a great deal to me. I feel very happy.”

 

“You should not be thanking me. Not for this,” he shook his head. “And yet I know that it is your way.”

 

It _was_ her way, and what she felt from him now; this was all she ever wanted. If there was more, it was not within her frame of reference to imagine it. They enjoyed their time alone, greatly.

 

“We should dress,” he said drily, as time had moved along. “My magical powers tell me that they will be here sooner than later. Will you be...well, with seeing Lorna?” he asked carefully.

 

Earlene nodded and smiled. “Last night was...I want to hope it was a pregnancy fueled tantrum.” Suddenly she turned to meet his eyes with a very intent expression. “There is nothing I cannot do, if I believe with my whole heart that I have your love.”

 

Thranduil smiled and lifted his wife high up into his arms. “You do, meluieg. You do.”

 

*****

 

Two very pleased looking people greeted Lothiriel, Thanadir and their daughters, that arrived before the Duncan/Donovan clan. At this point in time, Ithiliel and Eleniel had already passed Allanah’s abilities in locomotion. And yet when they walked in, there was something different. The peredhel could already manage something like running with surprising coordination, and so today the twins each held one of Allanah’s hands, to help her toddle to their parents faster without falling. Allanah’s face lit up with joy, and Earlene thought she might burst into tears all over again for the sweetness of it. Even Thranduil, who was usually far more phlegmatic than even his wife, had a little moisture around his long eyelashes as he watched this, stunned. Lothiriel and Thanadir simply beamed.

 

“They began doing this last night,” he explained. “Valar, it is precious.” The happiness on his face was like the sun coming from behind clouds. Thanadir would often smile, but not like this, not with all of his lovely oval teeth showing. This was his version of ‘ecstatic’. The twins clearly wanted their naneth, and were not subtle about why, as they tugged at her top.

 

“No, Ith, like dis,” Eleniel demonstrated, beginning to unbutton Earlene’s top with far too much skill as their mother watched while both girls basically undressed her breasts with alacrity and helped themselves. Wide-eyed, she looked helplessly at Thanadir, who dissolved into laughter. Eru, she had never seen him like this...maybe Thranduil was right, in what he had said. Lothiriel politely took her seat in the corner, more or less suppressing her own smirk while the two girls eagerly nursed.

 

“Well I am glad to see that you both have it managed,” she smiled, shaking her head. Clearly, this was not going to be like any experience of children she had ever seen. Anywhere. Ever.

 

Lorna, Ratiri, Maerwen, and the twins came in after their usual perfunctory knock, Lorna bearing the big box of biscuits that they’d been remarkably good about not getting into. Chandra was fussy; she hadn’t wanted either baby food nor milk for breakfast, and seemed far more interested in crawling around than anything else. At least she wasn’t she wasn’t her brother, and had no interest in putting things in her mouth that didn’t actually belong there. At least the pair of them had left off baaaa’ing like sheep.

 

“I come bearing apology cookies,” she said, and her voice sounded even worse than it had yesterday -- it barely qualified for the word. “I decided scream therapy was a great idea, but it has its drawbacks.”

 

Allanah burst into tears. “Aunt Lowna ate da fwoggy! Fwoggy was my fwiend,” she wailed.

 

Thranduil hurried to pick up his daughter. “No, Allanah. The frog is still under the bridge, right where we left it. Adar promises. Aunt Lorna did not eat it,” he assured, kissing her and wondering at the human mind. Then again, there was a certain logic to the child’s observation...

 

Allanah still looked doubtful, though she reduced her outburst to just sniffling. “Look at Aunt Lorna. Aunt Lorna, did you eat a frog?” He glared mildly at Lorna, not to joke at a time like this. Ratiri had already turned away in order to keep his composure.

 

Lorna ruffled Allanah’s hair. “I’ve never eaten any frogs, allanah, no matter what I sound like. Cross my heart.”

 

Thranduil reached to hold Lorna’s shoulder, vaguely horrified at the state of her vocal cords, but this was hardly the time for that discussion. “You may feel like you are swallowing a fizzy drink for a few seconds, Lorna. I am...fixing this.”

 

Allanah, pacified, now wriggled off Thranduil’s lap, deciding that Thanadir’s tunic was more interesting. Lothiriel could see plainly that the twins were also losing interest in Earlene’s breasts; the children had all eaten already, and it was clearly time to distract them. The elleth noisily dumped their favorite blocks on the floor of their corner, which immediately attracted all three girls like moths to a flame. Earlene shook with laughter at being abandoned in an immense state of dishabille. “Why do I even put clothes _on_?” she murmured to no one in particular as she reassembled herself.

 

“At least mine’ll take to bottles now,” Lorna said, now sounding like an actual human. “Shane, no matter what I do, bites. No, that’s putting it too charitably: he _chews_. Nothing I’ve tried works, but he seems content with a bottle.” She only fed them milk in the morning; the rest of the day they tried out assorted baby foods. Ratiri had told her she could stop nursing after six months if she felt like it, but that a year was ideal, so she kind of compromised. To her happiness, it meant her tits went back to normal, meaning nonexistent. The last straw on that one had been the day her son actually made her nipple bleed, and she was waaaaay too embarrassed to get Thranduil for it. It was such a minor wound that she slapped a plaster on it and tried to forget it happened. The fact that he continually gnawed the ends off the bottle nipples meant she was doubly not sorry.

 

Chandra glowered at her. Lately, _that_ one didn’t like anything they tried to feed her, milk or food. All she really wanted was orange juice, but of course you couldn’t give too much of that -- or anything else, really -- to a baby, so she was often cross. Not that Lorna could blame her; poor kid was still cutting teeth, and no matter how comfortable you tried to make that, it was still going to suck. Cold cloths, the frozen rings, and the elf ointment were pretty much all they could do until she was past it.

 

Thranduil frowned, on catching Chandra’s extremely sour thoughts, and went to her. The little eyes glared back at him, until his mind touched hers, to be replaced by a far more unfathomable expression. His fingers swept over her little gums. “Earlene, that...concoction you make for yourself to drink. Do you still have some here?”

 

“Yes,” she answered, nodding to the double-walled drink tumbler with straw that was sitting on the sideboard, its vividly weird green contents plain to see.

 

“May I see if Chandra will drink it?”

 

“Of course.” She offered it to him, wondering if he had any idea what was in it. Then again, he probably had _every_ idea what was in it. Thranduil used the straw to dab a little of it on her lips, and the child’s eyes developed a look of instinctive greed that was...something to behold. Little lips grabbed onto the straw and began to suck on it for all she was worth.

 

“I would not have guessed that, but what do I know?” said Earlene, shrugging. Oh well, she could make more, though she’d need to go to the new house or cottage to do it.

 

Lorna watched her daughter. “...Huh,” she said, shaking her head. “Is she bored’v her food? Is that it? Because we can try to experiment at the house and see what else she’d like.” Of course, the one who _didn’t_ chew nipples off would be the one who didn’t want milk.

 

“She was in a great deal of discomfort,” Thranduil frowned. “And she likes sweet flavors. This is sweet on account of carrot juice, but has a vast amount of nutrients because my wife runs every leafy green and root vegetable in the garden through the machine she has. While it is unorthodox even by elven standards, you could not ask for a more valuable food. If she does this again, does not wish to eat but one or two things, or makes that face, bring her to me. Her pain was greater than her behavior let on; she is like you, Lorna. Stoic. I think we can all eat now, at least if we can ask Lothiriel to help Chandra hold the container until she has had enough.”

 

Well, now Lorna felt utterly terrible. Hypocritical though it was, she didn’t want her little ones being like her, in that regard. “You poor little monkey,” she sighed, stroking her daughter’s ginger hair. “Don’t be like your mam.” Christ did she wish she had telepathy, too. Thought that her daughter had been going on like this hurt.

 

“Unfortunately, her teething is turning out to be a protracted event,” Ratiri said, holding up Shane so he could watch his sister. “Shane’s been done for a month and a half now, but poor Chandra’s taking longer.”

 

 _You had no way to know, Lorna. It is not your fault, and all will be better, now. Besides, when you see what Earlene puts into that drink, you may not thank me._ Thranduil grinned.

 

That was somewhat alarming, but Chandra seemed happy, which was what mattered just now.

 

“Saoirse got all’v hers in inside’v two months,” Pat said. “Never been so sleep-deprived in my life, before or since. And then she wanted to chew on everything, up to and including my boots, if I let her out’v my sight.

 

Breakfast was another elaborate affair today, much the same as before except Scottish bannocks took the place of biscuits, and to Earlene’s great happiness there was a heaping platter of steamed greens next to the one of scrambled eggs. A pitcher of cinnamon steamed milk stood in lieu of yesterday’s cocoa.

 

“Why is breakfast so extra nice these past days?” Earlene asked Thanadir, figuring he would have the most insight.

 

He looked slightly guilty. “Glân has made very good progress at learning English, and some days ago I showed her how to use my laptop and told her there were recipes on the internet. I am afraid I am to blame.”

 

“Blame? Meldir, this is wonderful. At it makes me think, we probably could use a...like universities, have, public computers for all to use. There is no reason the cottage could not be turned into a sort of...internet cafe. It would be wrong, to hog all the resources for just us. Especially if this is a sample of the possible benefits.”

 

“That sounds like a great idea,” Lorna said. “If anybody needs help with anything, they’ve got somebody nearby to ask.” All right, this cinnamon milk was officially _amazing_ , and it would appear Saoirse thought so, too, given that she seemed to be trying very hard to make herself not just chug it.

 

“I haven’t had bannocks since I left Scotland,” Ratiri said appreciatively. “And certainly not ones like this. Mam tried, on account of dad, but...well the results were often mixed.”

 

Earlene was too busy gobbling greens and eggs to comment much. To herself she was smiling happily, because she must have worked up an appetite with all the...exercise.

 

“So what’s the agenda for the day?” Lorna asked. “Are we moving, or has that got a bit yet?” She and Pat would be chopping wood again at some point in the near future.

 

“I think so...meluieg?” Thranduil asked Earlene. “Would you like that?”

 

Earlene nodded, pulling up from her forkful of baby beets. “I have no excuse. I took delivery of the last of the new kitchen appliances I ordered yesterday while I made those marshmallows. They are in the spare room at the cottage. I forgot to tell you, I guess I got...distracted. I don’t know why but I am resisting abandoning the old kitchen, for all the new one is ten times better. Maybe what I am resisting is moving all the mountains of stuff I’ve got hoarded, but...it has to be done.”

 

Lorna looked at Pat. “That’s why you have small people who can crawl into the back of cupboards.”

 

“And tall people who don’t need ladders,” Ratiri added, ignoring Lorna’s glower. “Between all of us, that shouldn’t take long.”

 

“Famous last words,” Pat snorted. “Don’t jinx us, Ratiri.”

 

Earlene sighed. “I really will try not to be a pain in the arse about this but...please realize I can be on the uptight side even when I’m not pregnant. All I ask is that you don’t juggle my gran’s crystal or...stuff like that. Not that much of it is breakable, but some of that is all I have left of my family that’s gone. Sorry for the speech.”

 

Lorna didn’t roll her eyes, but only because she remembered what it was like to be pregnant and worried. “Nobody’ll go breaking anything,” she promised. “You just rest your feet, drink some tea, and point us in the right direction.” So long as no children or kittens got underfoot, they ought to be fine, so the kittens would stay home today.

 

“Well, do you want to reconvene at the cottage in an hour? Those marshmallows are still here, someone might as well bring them. S’mores will sound pretty good by lunchtime. Though, heck, I suppose we’ve got to come back here for lunch...why is this forest so big?” she asked no one in particular. Yeah, it was getting bad when where to eat food next seemed like a total mental roadblock. _Shit._

 

“Do not worry, Earlene,” Thanadir said kindly. “I will ask to have food sent to us at the new house. This is only for today; everyone understands.”

 

Smiling, she nodded, deciding that shutting up might be the best course of action.

 

“I’m trying to figure out just how much of our personal shite we want here, and how much at the house,” Lorna said. “Allanah, at least we’ve got all your mam’s things to put in our part’v the house. Otherwise, we just don’t have that much stuff, even between us.”

 

“I finished my wall,” Saoirse said. “I took a picture to send to Aunt Sharley with our next care package. Kind’v want to frame it or something, and wrap it up like a real present.”

 

“Between that and the picture of Allanah and Thanadir with ‘boo ‘air’ it should be a complete success,” Earlene teased.

 

“Eru,” Thanadir mumbled, still not entirely able to believe he’d gone along with that. Though even he begrudgingly admitted that the expression on Allanah’s face was one he would not ever forget.

 

“One’v us is going to have to bite the bullet and just get real blue hair,” Lorna said. “Allanah would be on cloud nine.”

 

“Can I, Da?” Saoirse asked, looking up at Pat, who winced. The girl’s hair was down to her waist, and as thick as her aunt’s.

 

“Why don’t you get a blue streak first,” he said. “I’m pretty sure you’d have to bleach your hair before you dyed it all blue, and I don’t want bleach on your scalp. Not at your age.”

 

Saoirse gave this due consideration. “How big of a streak?”

 

Lorna smothered a smile. “Why don’t you and your da talk to your Aunt Mairead?” she asked. “She’s a hairdresser, she knows what she’s doing.” She couldn’t help but picture Saoirse running around looking like a blue-haired Cousin It.

 

Earlene rose from the table and sat down with the children, watching them play with their blocks. She did not have to look at Thranduil to know that blue hair was out of the question, even if she did admit privately that it would be fun to try.

 

_No._

 

Earlene chuckled, shaking her head. Like _that_ wasn’t predictable? She asked Lothiriel quietly what she would prefer to do. The girls’ room was already prepared; they could stay there and play or remain here, there was no difference. Though, it was going to be most interesting in the beginning; the stairs and assorted conveyances in the new home were not designed with a human toddler in mind. But, they would manage. “I will stay here,” Lothiriel said carefully.

 

“That was very good,” Earlene praised her English. “And probably a good thing. To stay here.” Lothiriel and Earlene watched Allanah darting around the room, tripping and falling on the carpet as much as she ran. _Well, this was going to be interesting. Anyway_.

 

A change of clothes later, they headed out in assorted groups to the cottage.

 

Lorna and Ratiri left the twins with Maerwen, and stashed the biscuits where Allanah wouldn’t see them. It was a cool morning, a bit of autumn already in the air, though mostly clear, and Saoirse hopped from one patch of sunshine to the next, running and flailing as she tried to jump from stone to stone along the way.

 

“I’m not sure where she gets that energy,” Pat said, shaking his head. “It’s not natural. I mean, I could see it if I kept her jumped-up on sugar all the time, but she’s not. She’s just a little hummingbird.”

 

“I’m pretty sure we were all like that when we were her age,” Earlene said. “I think we just selectively forget it.”

 

“Have you given more...thought, to the subject of her, Pat?” Thranduil asked, deliberately speaking in very quiet tones to avoid being overheard.

 

“You mean, making her grow?” Pat said, just as quietly. “I have. Part’v me wanted to say it wasn’t natural, but I see how Lorna struggles, and Saoirse’s the size Lorna was at that age. I wouldn’t wish that on her.” He was pretty short for a man, but at least he wasn’t freakishly so. He didn’t need to shop in the children’s department.

 

“Were you all small, when grown? Or did you lose each other before that time?” asked Thranduil. “Now my difficulty is to know what to do by way of change.”

 

Pat snorted. “Unless Mick hit one hell of a growth spurt after we were separated, I’m the tallest one,” he said. “Which is weird, because neither Mam nor Da were unusually short. I mean, Da was on the little side for a man, but he was taller than I am now. I blame bad nutrition.”

 

“And yet Mairead is taller than Earlene...can you tell me how tall each of your parents were? How tall your mother was?”

 

“Mairead has a different da,” Pat said. “Our da...well, I’m five four, so I’d say he was maybe five six or five seven? Mam was maybe just a little shorter. Though Lorna says our gran was tiny, too, so maybe our genetics just got mixed and matched.”

 

“Thank you, that helps. For the rest, I will consult with Ratiri. This is, after all, his specialty. If you are content with it, I will abide by his recommendation as to how best to go about this.”

 

“I am,” Pat said. “If Saoirse doesn’t need to drag a stool with her everywhere, it would be cruel’v me to deny her that chance. I know Ratiri thinks Lorna’s adorable, but he also doesn’t have to climb onto counters to reach the top shelf’v a cupboard.” He laughed a little. “The lower cabinets in our house all had dents in them, because we all had to do that to get at anything high up, and’v course when you lift yourself up onto the edge with your hands, you bash your knees against the doors. Every. Bloody. Time. Now multiply that by four.”

 

“I will make certain our new home has a step-stool,” Thanadir said. He was not going to be happy about dented cabinets, not after all the work and effort that went into building this house. Earlene chuckled and wrapped her arm around his waist. Truthfully, she felt a little tired today.

 

Thranduil smiled. He would have to keep an eye on her so that she was not asleep by lunch. Just as they were near to exiting the Halls, Thalion appeared near the gates. “Hiril vuin?” he asked politely.

 

Earlene turned aside from the others to go to him, guessing what this might be about. Fortunately, she had no expectations except for rejection, and was fully prepared to hear that her request was denied.

 

“Mae g’ovannen, Thalion,” she said politely, smiling up at him. He was a very imposing figure. Which only caused her to think for a second time, _what on earth had she been thinking, to ask him to teach her anything?_

 

“I will teach you,” he said simply. “When my duties allow, I will seek you out.”

 

For a moment, Earlene simply stared at him, before recovering her equilibrium. “Thank you. You honor me,” she said with sincerity, bowing her head to him. It was much as it had been with Thanadir, in the beginning; he owed her nothing. With a bow of his own, he turned to depart. Unseen by his wife or the others, Thranduil smiled. The fighter had brought her request to the King, rather than go behind Thanadir’s back on his own accord. When it was heard, Thranduil was thoroughly amused and gave his ready assent...along with instruction that in the future, her wishes were to be regarded as his own. Truthfully, he was pleased and proud that Earlene would ask to learn these skills. Though mortal, she was more and more... one of them.

 

By the time they reached the house, Saoirse seemed to have burned off a little of her excess energy, though not by much. Jumping up and down, she said, “Come see my wall! C’mon, it’s done, come see it.” She zoomed off without waiting for a response, tripping a little over her shoelaces before righting herself.

 

“She’s like a pixie,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “A pixie who can’t tie her shoes worth a damn, but a pixie nonetheless.”

 

“Either they come undone within five minutes, or she knots them so tight we can’t untie them later,” Pat said. “Didn’t you try to choke some kid with a shoelace when you were her age?”

 

“How about we not bring up my past schoolyard...shite?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “I’ve got enough to live down as it is. Don’t you go fueling that.”

 

Earlene was beginning to wonder what Lorna hadn’t done. _No, don’t go there_ , she told herself. _It will be a nice day, and there will be marshmallows._ Once they arrived, she realized a tremendous flaw in her plans. They had no boxes. _Jesus, Earlene. Way to plan moving breakables. Alright, plan B._ “First we will take the appliances in boxes in the office. Microwave oven, portable burners, new extra stand mixer, commercial blender. Anyone with free hands, please take other appliances in this cabinet here”, she indicated. “Heavy mixers and...heavy things in general are in the pantry. Basically if it has an electrical plug, we are going to move it to the long empty counter next to the window in the kitchen. Then I will figure out where to put all of it, while everyone else gets more stuff to pile on counters.” Hey, she was trying to have a sense of humor.

 

Lorna eyed the pantry, and grabbed what looked like an industrial-grade MixMaster. “I’ll get this over there, but then I’ve got to go see that kid’s room or she’ll give me the sad eyes. She’s learning,” she added, grinning at Thanadir.

 

Thanadir shook his head, grinning. “You have to be born with it.” He quickly grabbed Earlene’s commercial-sized food processor and dashed off.

 

“Did he just say what I think he said?” Earlene asked, stupefied.

 

“I am afraid so, meluieg. He is gaining a sense of humor. Valar help us.”

 

Earlene took up her hand operated pasta machine and dies. “We’re ruining his seemliness,” she lamented, before following.

 

Lorna wasn’t really certain that was a bad thing. Thanadir rarely grinned outright; the more chances they could have to get him to, the better. “He might just take over the world that way,” she said, lugging her MixMaster outside. Jesus, this thing was half as tall as she was, but she managed to get it into the house kitchen and up on the counter without losing any of the bits along the way. Ratiri, bearing a blender the size of a small child, followed, while Pat had a toastie machine -- it was something Lorna had brought, donated to the cause, and forgot about.

 

“Saoirse hasn’t let me see it yet,” Pat said. “Not the whole, completed thing. I think she wanted to make a production’v it.”

 

“So basically we’d all best just go and be parental-type adults before we get in trouble?” Earlene asked.

 

“Sadly, yes,” Pat said. “I never thought it worked that way, but sometimes it does.”

 

“Well, we all know where the Grand Staircase is,” she said, holding onto her belly. Thaladir was playing kickball today, apparently.

 

“Can I just say that I love that we have something we can actually use such a term to describe?” Ratiri asked, of the room in general. He’d grown up in little, comfy, middle-class houses; grandeur was not a thing that had ever figured into his life, until he came to the Halls, but this was a much more human sort.

 

“I’m just glad the steps aren’t too tall for us short people,” Lorna said, letting Pat lead them. She didn’t actually hop up the stairs, because she wasn’t five, but she came close.

 

Saoirse was bouncing on the balls of her feet outside her door, and when she let them in, they found she’d turned her lights on to somehow augment the sunlight pouring in through the window.

 

 _Jesus bloody Christ_ ...Lorna had thought what she’d seen of it had been beautiful, but complete, it looked like you could just step right into it. The _detail_ of it -- each needle of each tree was rendered, the craters of the moon done with what she suspected was accuracy. How the hell had she managed to paint the spray off a waterfall? How could you even _do_ that? Lorna was no artist, but she would wager many a professional would wonder how the hell Saoirse had done it. And the kid was _eight._

 

“That,” she said, “is fucking gorgeous. And yes, it deserves to be called _fucking_ gorgeous.”

 

“Saoirse, how do you do that?” Ratiri asked, looking from the wall to the tiny girl, who shrugged.

 

“Dunno,” she said. “I just know what needs to go where. It’s not hard.”

 

“Not hard, she says,” Pat said, pulling her into a hug. “It’s beautiful, allanah. I think it’s the best thing you’ve ever done.”

 

Thanadir moved past them. He stared, and stared. And stared some more, his eyes sweeping over every detail. Sometimes he moved in close to examine something, and then moved further away, before finally turning to her. “Few elves could do so well. It is the finest work of its kind I have ever seen, Saoirse. You have a rare gift.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrows shot up. She doubted the little girl had any understanding that someone who was half a Leonardo Da Vinci himself had just named her a Michelangelo. Which was perhaps for the best. Thanadir did not give out compliments for their own sake. They were earned, or not heard at all.

 

Saoirse beamed. “Thank you,” she said. “I hope Aunt Sharley’ll like it.”

 

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Lorna said. “Now the rest’v us have got to go help your Aunt Earlene move the rest’v her kitchen stuff, so you do do your thing and we’ll yell if we need you to crawl into a cupboard.”

 

“’Kay,” Saoirse said, pulling a sketchbook out of one of her desk drawers. Within moments, she was engrossed in a new drawing, oblivious to the world.

 

Once the lot of them were back out into the hallway, Lorna asked, “Pat, has she ever seen anyone? A doctor, I mean? Because she’s a bit different.”

 

He sighed. “I know she is, and I’ve never been able to take her. Specialists with actual open appointments’re kind’v hard to come by, and her idiot school didn’t think it was a priority. They just wrote her off as a troublemaker, and gave me no help at all.”

 

“Ratiri?” Thranduil said. “Is this not your...realm?”

 

“It is,” Ratiri said. “Though it’s a discussion best saved for when we have the time.” He didn’t actually look at Thanadir, but he didn’t need to. “I’ll want to ask you a lot of questions, before I can feel comfortable trying to make a definitive diagnosis.”

 

“Is she...like me?” asked Thanadir, looking full-on at Ratiri.

 

Ratiri blinked, extremely thrown. _That_ was not a question he ever would have expected. _Thranduil, before I open my mouth and stuff my foot down my throat, how much does he know about my hypothetical diagnosis?_

 

_Everything. Though not from you. It was Earlene. If he is asking, he wants an answer._

 

“I think that she might be,” Ratiri said. “Based on my observations, she has several classic signs of Asperger’s Syndrome. Rather like you, she hyper-focuses on a task, to the extent that no outside distractions matter. You create beautiful things because of it, and so does she.” He was not going to mention the more negative aspects, since that would just be insulting. “I need to spend more time around her to be certain, but I believe it’s a fairly strong hypothesis.”

 

Thanadir looked like he might wish to ask more, but thought better of it for the time, and only nodded. Earlene lagged behind a little more. She was being kicked, hard, and it hurt. And the last thing she wanted was everyone in the damn house fussing over her. Thranduil let the others filter by him in the hallway to stay with her. “I am sorry, that I cannot help so much with this. Do you wish me to mute how you feel it?”

 

“Let’s give it five more minutes”, she said. “If it hasn’t stopped by then, yes.” Earlene eyed the ‘fireman’s pole’ as she called it. “I’m not taking the bloody stairs,” she said. “That just means more steps.” They had installed a few of these throughout the home to address some of the issue of a rapid conveyance from the upper floor bedrooms to the lower living areas.

 

“As you wish,” he chuckled, amused. “But let me go first. Just in case.” In a flash he was down.

 

 _Did he even need the damn pole?_ She followed with no difficulty, and was already staring at the toaster and the Kitchen-Aid by the time the others made it down the spiral stairs.

 

“Someday, when I’m sure no child will see me being such an irresponsible failure’v an adult, I’m going to slide down that bannister,” Lorna said. “I’ve always wanted to slide down a bannister, and never lived in any place where I could actually do it. And even I had more class than to try it at Ashford.”

 

“Thank God,” Ratiri said under his breath, though it probably would have been hilarious, right up until security came. “You know, I think there are a few cardboard boxes in the big van. Not enough to pack everything and haul it all at one go, but better than carrying things a piece at a time.”

 

“I’ll go check,” Lorna said, and darted out the front door. Ratiri reflected that Saoirse was not the only pixie in the household.

 

They came bearing more appliances. Blender, rice steamer, hand mixer, immersion blender, pressure cooker...Earlene felt vaguely chagrined but all those gizmos saved a great deal of time and difficulty. And those were just the ones that were electric; the amount of other objects was far more extensive. Before their third trip, she indicated where plates and glasses and the like would go...and weren’t they going to need an extra set, with this many persons? Though, the Halls had earthenware and some could be brought here to supplement.

 

When they all left to make their third trip, Earlene flopped on the sofa, just for a moment. This kid was determined to kill her, she thought, as the occasional “oof” escaped her lips.

 

There had indeed been a few boxes, so between the three of them, Lorna, Ratiri, and Pat managed to get everything that would fit packed in as carefully and neatly as they could. That just meant it had to get _un_ packed onto the counter in the house, so that they could take the boxes back for further trips.

 

“Earlene, we need more dishes,” Lorna called. “I’ve got Gran’s old china, I’m bringing it here. Somebody might as well get some use out’v it already.” Mairead had used it at family dinners until Gran died, and then she hadn’t been able to bear to look at it, so Lorna had it now -- much good though she’d done with it.

 

“I worry about using it with so many children,” she confessed, having hauled herself back upright just before the lot of them came back through the door. “But if we’re willing to risk the potential for disaster, it would help. And it would look prettier. What the elves have is lovely in its own way, but it is a bit of a clash against what I already have.” Gritting her teeth, a bit, she forced herself to keep organizing which ones would stay out all the time and which would go in cabinets, and where. Thankfully, Orla had listened carefully to her explanation of how she used a kitchen and there were outlets absolutely everywhere. That part was fabulous.

 

“Earlene, would you come with me for a moment?” Thranduil asked, beckoning her in the direction of their room. Once they were alone, he pointed out with a smile, “It has been more than five minutes and then some, meluieg. You are very uncomfortable.”

 

“I know. I can’t help it, I’m stubborn.”

 

“So you are,” he chuckled, laying his hands on her tender belly that now tingled with warmth. It was not possible for her to contain the moan of relief. “Surely that is better?”

 

“Yes, it is. Thank you. Now I can get something done without…”

 

“Cussing in your mind every few seconds?”

 

“Something like that,” she laughed. “But I won’t admit it to anyone else.”

 

Lorna had no idea where Earlene wanted to put any of this, so once it was all shifted, she made tea, and wished she’d left the biscuits here last night. Oh well. Her fingers drummed in the counter, and she reflected that she needed to get a guitar she could keep here, too, since she didn’t want to lug the one she already had back and forth through the forest.

 

Her mind tried to drift back to the prison, to the woman in the shower, so she distracted herself with an equally unpleasant but less traumatizing subject. “Pat, the prison was a disaster,” she said, dumping sugar into her mug, “but I want to go back to the old house, and see if it’s still there. It’s long enough ago now that I think I could handle that, and I was wondering if you’d want to, too.”

 

Pat looked at her, stricken, and scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d gone outright grey. “I can’t go back there, Fun Size,” he said. “Prison was worse for you, but that house was worse for me. I’m sorry.”

 

She moved across the floor to give him a hug. “Don’t be,” she said. “If you can’t, you can’t. I don’t want to ask you to do anything that’d hurt you.” This was a trip she could undertake solo. This was something she was doing for herself, on her own terms, not because anybody had found out about it and she felt she had to. Maybe the house wasn’t even there anymore. Maybe the area had been gentrified, and nothing would remain of what once was. She liked the idea of that quite a bit.

 

 _Is that truly a wise idea, Lorna?_ she heard in her mind. _What will you do if you are wrong about your own resources, and find yourself far more deeply affected than you anticipate?_

 

Lorna bit her lip. _I’m pretty sure it is_ , she said, after a moment. _I’m not doing this because I just feel like I have to, just because it will affect other people if I don’t. But that’s a damn good question._ She was not dragging Ratiri out there. Nope. It might well affect him far worse than it would her, if things were still the same, and...he wasn’t going to understand. He didn’t come from that background. He’d just be horrified, and wonder why she would ever want to go back, and she wouldn’t begin to know how to explain it.

 

_I will not pressure you in this nor argue with your choices. But know that if you wish it, I would be willing to go with you. I do not believe you should go alone, yet the decision is yours._

 

She considered this, very carefully. _I know that you don’t like it when I worry about your well-being_ , she said at last, _and I know I don’t really need to, but you went through what I did, and I can’t help but worry about what seeing it might make you feel. If you’re willing to go, I would appreciate it, but you’re going to get slammed with a lot of memory you haven’t seen so far, and I don’t want it hurting you._

 

_You need not concern yourself. The only hurt for me is sympathy over what you have suffered. And yet it is all in the past; what is done is done. It holds no real power over the present. I should have said, Lorna, that I am proud of you for what you are trying to do, and I am sorry I was not in a frame of mind to say so earlier. You have come such a long way, and achieved so much._

 

She ducked her head to hide her smile. _I’m sorry you had to save my arse yet again,_ she said. _Try not to let Thanadir eat all the biscuits I made. They’re apology biscuits._ Fighting a laugh, she shook her head. _Ratiri and I came up with potential...I don’t know that I’d call them solutions, but something that might help: tree-climbing and scream therapy. I found out last night that scream therapy actually kind of works._ Even if poor Allanah did think she’d eaten the forest frog.

 

 _Were I not here, I would warn you that the screaming might eventually render you mute with chronic laryngitis, but as I am here...if you feel it will work, try it._ He hesitated. _You do not perhaps explicitly know this because I have been afraid to tell you, but I too have been on a self-imposed limit regarding alcohol for some time now. There have been consequences to my past drunkenness that are not acceptable, and I have had to commit to a change in my habits. Though we do not share the same physiology, I think I understand more of your struggle than the others might. And I will support you._

 

Lorna had in fact not known that, and she blinked in surprise. Knowing that she wasn’t alone in that...really helped, actually. _Ratiri and I haven’t actually sat down and laid out a plan yet, but I’m sure he’ll come up with one based on my height and weight or...I don’t know. Even the thought of having a limit freaks me out, though I get why I need one. The two of us will just have to figure out what to do instead of drinking, though I have to admit that nothing could possibly be as appealing as that elf wine. It really is like booze and weed put together, and tasting like heaven while it does it._ And he could drink so much more of it than she could...it must have been a nightmare for him, at times.

 

 _Yes and no. My body does not require it, but I allowed myself to come to believe that my mind did. There are many things to turn to besides drink for managing difficult emotions, and I am making use of them. I would happily forego it altogether, if it would help you. I have paid more notice to the habits of my wife and...there is much there for me to consider. Earlene does not only cook food, she knows how to make many beverages as well. I was going to encourage this, and not only because of you or I. There is Saoirse to consider, and what example we are setting for her that will shape her attitudes and beliefs.  But perhaps this is all a conversation for another time._ He smiled, reaching to ruffle her hair. Hair that would probably soon contain an abominable blue streak. Alas.

 

The appliances were at last in their proper places, followed by the tableware, about a hundred smaller specialty kitchen utensils, cutlery, and...things. One of the more brilliant contributions of Earlene and Orla together was the insistence on multiple magnetic bars that lined many of the vertical surfaces, as well as the custom made iron cookware hangers designed by Thanadir. Gone were the counter space hogs such as knife blocks; everything from cast iron pans to cleavers were in easy reach (well, for everyone but Lorna, but no one really anticipated her to be doing much cooking). And after every manner of item was transferred came the last of it; the pantry foods, ranging from the earthenware containers of milk and cream to Earlene’s growing collection of spirits and liqueurs. Somewhere in there, each of them grabbed some of the food that was sent from the Halls, but they did not sit down to eat a proper meal together. At the end of a long afternoon, it was done.

 

The cottage kitchen was basically gutted to the point where she would need to now shop for simple items to outfit it for guest use. Or, not really...there was an accumulating box or three of things that Earlene found were not really wanted here. Those could go back, and she could deal with them later, and supplant them...later. When she explained, Ratiri, Thranduil and Thanadir wisely did not roll their eyes until after they were halfway back to the cottage with their burdens. Thanadir walked alongside Ratiri, and stared at the man for a few moments before speaking. “I would like to talk with you. About...me. If you are willing,” he said, with the faintest hint of nervousness in his quiet voice.

 

“Of course,” Ratiri said, and he had a feeling he knew what this was about. “I’m sure we can find somewhere private to talk.” Thranduil arched an eyebrow and suppressed a smile, but said nothing.

 

Thanadir led him into the forest, though not terribly far, where a downed tree provided comfortable enough seating. Earlene liked to sit on fallen logs, which felt reassuring just now. Thanadir glanced shyly at Ratiri. “I might owe you something of an apology,” he said softly. “I am not like Thranduil. It is very difficult for me, by comparison, to listen to the thoughts of humans. But difficult does not mean impossible,” he confessed, a faint flush coming into his cheeks. “It was in this same way that I learned about...my differences.” The hesitation in his slowly spoken words were almost painful to hear, but there was nothing else possible other than to let him continue uninterrupted. “One day Earlene and I walked together, and we spoke of why she was visiting one of the townswomen, to comfort her. The mother of the man who killed Earlene’s brother. I have given more effort to listening to Earlene’s thoughts than any other. Mostly to help her, but sometimes to try to...understand. She is very intelligent in ways that I am not. Earlene understands other’s feelings very easily.”

 

It seemed to occur to him that he was drifting off topic, for he frowned and shook his head slightly. “This is all to say that when the conversation turned to Saoirse and how she is unusual, I understood from you that there is more than being able to have skills that exceed what most others have. Negatives. Earlene tries to protect me from being hurt, though she thinks I do not realize. I needed time, to come to terms with what I learned from reading about Asperger’s. There must be things about me that are difficult, for others.” He frowned. “Even I can see that Saoirse is...difficult. There is a great deal of unseemliness. What is in her mind quickly moves out of her mouth. But she is very young, and here with us now. I would like to help her yet I do not know…” he shook his head again, the wide expressive eyes filled with confusion.

 

Wait, _Thanadir_ could read minds, too? All right, that was terrifying, and also totally not the matter at hand. “It’s instinct to protect those we care about,” Ratiri said. “And perhaps you weren’t yet ready to deal with it -- it’s a lot to take in, for someone who had no idea such a thing existed. Saoirse...she’ll need our help, but we need to watch her for a while yet. I will, specifically. No two people are alike, and that includes people with Asperger’s; it’s not the same in everyone. I’ve seen both of you hyperfocus when you’re making something, but that even when you perhaps don’t fully understand a social cue, you at least realize it exists. Saoirse is far behind you there. She seems to often need to look to her father to have basic social things explained to her, but you’re right, she is very young. I think we can help her, and I think you most of all, in time. My knowledge of what you two go through is purely academic; I have no personal experience to draw on. For now, I think we need to help her establish a pattern of ‘normal’. She hasn’t lived here long, but once we have what doctors call a baseline, we’ll know what is or isn’t odd for her. Having your patterns, your routines, helped you, didn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” the elf nodded. “For a long time, my life was very ordered in Thranduil’s service. At least, in times of peace. I do not mind so much now, when my time is put to varied uses. Most always, after the others go to their rest, that is when I do what I wish. Make things, sew, draw. As long as I have my own time, the rest does not matter so much.” He watched Ratiri intently for a moment. “I like you,” he smiled brightly. “You are very kind. I like Lorna too,” he hastened to add, as if realizing how that might have sounded, “but she is very hard for me to understand.” Another pause came. “In the world of elves, what happened to Thranduil when he was young was shocking. Rare. Such behavior on the part of a parent is an aberration, among our people. But I am learning that it is not so unusual, among humans. This makes me very sad. The father of Lorna and Pat seems to have been very bad. I do not want you to think that I do not care about Lorna. It is just…” he shook his head yet again, smiling. “I do not do so well, trying to say what I mean,” he sighed. “Thank you, for talking with me.”

 

Ratiri managed not to laugh. This was quite serious to Thanadir. “So long as you have time to care for yourself, and do what you want, that’s what matters,” he said. “What you need to do, and I know this might prove hard, given the history of your position, is tell Earlene or Thranduil if there ever does come a point where you need more time for yourself. They love you very much, and they wouldn’t want to see you suffer when they could so easily help.”

 

Now he _did_ laugh. “You and Lorna are about as different as two people can be,” he said. “I think maybe the only things you have in common are a love of music and of your family. It’s going to make it harder for you to relate to one another, but I know she cares about you, too.” He devoutly hoped Thanadir had never been looking at her mind when she was thinking about him as a precious cinnamon roll; she needed to never, ever know that was even a possibility. “And if you do have some difficulty expressing what you mean, just keep in mind that it’s not a problem for us. You’re our friend, Thanadir, and you’re family to Earlene and Thranduil. Nobody is going to think badly of you if it takes you a while to work out how to say exactly what you want to.”

 

Thanadir shook his head. “That is not the difficulty. The difficulty is...me. With myself. My struggle is to stop trying so hard to be the best and most perfect at everything. I know now that it sounds foolish, but in the world I was born into, it was my freedom from poverty. Something that ran away from me, you might say. I am learning, and trying. But it is still...it causes difficult feelings, to be seen struggling with anything. You are the first person I have ever said this to that was not dragging it out of me, so to speak.” He smiled weakly.

 

Ratiri smiled back. “One of my professors told me that we never stop learning until the day we die,” he said, “which is never going to happen, in your case. It can be especially difficult not to push yourself for perfection when you actually are so good at many things, and if you escaped poverty by your merits, well, that just makes it even harder. And…” He hesitated. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard yet about humanity’s problems with racism, but I can relate to not wanting to let on that you’re struggling. I grew up in an area mainly populated by white people, like Earlene and most of the Irish you’ve met. I was bullied -- people were cruel to me -- because my skin is a different color. That instinct, to keep everything to yourself and not let anyone know that you’re struggling or suffering, is a very hard thing to break. It can take years even for a human. The longer you try, the easier it will become, although it may never be truly easy.

 

“And...you know, you can talk to Lorna about that, too. She doesn’t like to be seen to be having any kind of difficulties, to the extent that it’s harmed her in the past. Honestly, I would think Earlene can relate as well, though I’ve never spoken to her about it. She’s another who was the best at what she did, and that comes at a price. The toll it took on me is partly why I quit working at the hospital in London and moved here.”

 

“I did not know that, about Lorna,” Thanadir said, surprised. “But Earlene...no. Part of how this all began to come to light was…” he shook his head. “Maybe I am still not ready to talk about that yet. But I have seen Earlene’s mind. She has no pride, does not see herself as better than others. And that was very, very hard for me to comprehend. In some ways it still is. Her example made me realize that I had to find a way to change my thinking.” He thought for a moment, wishing to make certain he understood. “You are telling me that if Lorna knows I struggle with this, it will...help her?”

 

“In the environment Lorna grew up in, to admit that you struggled, that you needed help of any kind, was tantamount to weakness,” Ratiri sighed. “Honestly, if not for the fact that Thranduil can read minds, I don’t know if he would ever have been able to help her. She wouldn’t have been able to ask.”

 

He shook his head. “And Earlene...can be very hard on herself. When she had such trouble giving birth to her twins, she blamed herself, even though there was nothing at all she could have done about it. To her, she was at fault, never mind that there are things about the human body that we just don’t have any control over. Unfortunately, I’ve seen that in many, many women, too.” He laughed a little. “At least she didn’t try to spit on me. I’ve actually had new mothers do that.

 

“And with Lorna, I think knowing that will help her. The two of you come at almost the same problem, just from different angles: you feel like you have to be the best, whereas she persists in thinking of herself as inferior because she isn’t as well-educated as Earlene and I, no matter how much she tries not to. She fights a constant tendency to believe she’s not good enough.” He suspected, very strongly, that Thanadir might struggle to make certain that he was _more_ than good enough.

 

“I would not have thought…everyone is so different and yet the same. Especially I would not have guessed that about Lorna. She seems so...sure of herself. I have never tried to hear her. Thranduil helps her, and I am usually occupied with Earlene, or the children.” Suddenly it felt like a veil had lifted, an obscurity over all those he saw every day but who had difficulties hidden from him.

 

Ratiri laughed. “I love Lorna immensely, but she would be the first to admit she’s a mess. But like you she strives, and makes progress. And I would imagine what goes on in her head would be a bit more unseemly than you might appreciate,” he added, shaking his head. “What we’ve had to do with her is, I suspect, perhaps something that you’re learning, too: you have a value apart from your actions and accomplishments -- or lack of them, as she will point out in her case, with a bit too much vehemence. What matters to others isn’t just what you do, but who you are. Until she met Earlene, nobody had ever told her she could be more than what she already was. I don’t think anyone ever told her she _couldn’t_ be, but neither did she have any encouragement to try. And she was afraid to try, because she was afraid to fail.”

 

“That is terrible,” said the seneschal, who most definitely was developing Sad Eyes, but it was very temporary. “Nobody accomplishes anything, with that. When I instruct others, I demand a great deal. It is not always achievable, but when a teacher believes that it is possible, it can be amazing how a student will respond. They surprise themselves. Being convinced something is possible matters a great deal. But everyone fails when learning new things. Failure is important too, in its own way. It is its own form of schooling.”

 

“She’s risen to Earlene’s expectations, more or less,” Ratiri said. “Earlene assumes she can do something, and Lorna does her best to do it. What we need to do, or keep doing, is try to break this idea that she’s inferior to us. I know she isn’t rid of it yet. She told me once that it’s a terrible thing, being the sole ordinary person in a sea of the exceptional. She refuses to believe, or can’t believe, that she’s not an ordinary person herself.”

 

Thanadir furrowed his brow. “I thought we were all ordinary. We are not of the Ainur. It is true that I know how to do many things but...look at my years; I have had nothing but time. Lorna can learn things, I have seen her learn. Now I do not understand again.”

 

Ratiri considered how to phrase this. “I’m not sure you realize how incredibly intelligent you are, Thanadir,” he said. “You create things of great intricacy and beauty, things that  many people could never hope to equal. You’re possibly the only person I’ve ever met that I struggled to keep up with. None of us -- not me, or Lorna, or Earlene -- could ever do what you do, even if we had eternity to learn. You have gifts, Thanadir, and one of the things about having a gift is that not everyone else has one. Earlene was a brilliant lawyer -- you don’t earn the position she had by the age she was without being the best. I was a top-rated pediatrician at one of the most prestigious hospitals in England who made it out of medical school at the age of twenty-five. None of us are ordinary, though Lorna believes that she is because she lacks an education of the same sort Earlene and I have. She actually _knows_ quite a bit, but she doesn’t have a degree to show for it, and among humans, there’s a certain kind of snobbery that says knowledge is only worthwhile if it comes with a degree.” He sighed. “The woman speaks four languages -- five, if you count the progress she’s made with Sindarin -- but thinks she’s an idiot because she doesn’t understand fractions, and because her spelling and punctuation are rather shaky. What too many humans don’t realize is that there’s more than one kind of intelligence.”

 

Thanadir frowned. “I do not have a degree. Forgive me, but what I have seen of your human educational system...it has many shortcomings and seems to favor only certain types of learning styles. You and Earlene, you specialized. I can understand why you needed far more learning; your work demanded detailed, specialized knowledge. Did not Lorna care for mechanical devices? Vehicles? Surely that too is a specialized knowledge?” This description of Lorna’s view of herself baffled him.

 

“Indeed you don’t, but you’re also over eighteen thousand years old,” Ratiri said. “That rather outweighs one. And you’re very right -- our school system is abysmal, and it’s only got worse over the last decade.” Grinning, he added, “I’m going to tell her you said that. She persists in believing mechanics is somehow lesser than medicine especially, despite the skill it takes. _I_ couldn’t do it, and not just because my hands are so large. Unfortunately, when she was a child, many of her teachers told her she was stupid, and the effects of that have never really left her. I’m glad we got Saoirse out, before that could happen to her.”

 

The elf rolled his eyes. “Who on earth tells a young one such a thing?” The more he thought about this, his eyes flashed with anger. “I do not have words for that. Stupid?” He shook his head. “She needs it proven that she is not stupid?” Suddenly a disturbing gleam came into his eyes. “Well. We shall see about that.” He now smiled at Ratiri with an expression of perfect innocence. “Perhaps we should rejoin the others?”

 

Ratiri found himself suddenly nervous, but if anyone could get that through to Lorna, it would be Thanadir. “Just keep one thing in mind: she reads very slowly, and she’s extremely sensitive about it. Before Thranduil healed it, she had a condition called dyslexia, where the brain can have difficulty making sense out of letters and numbers. When we were children, it wasn’t well-understood at all; kids with it just got called stupid. She doesn’t have the problem anymore, but it still takes her a while to read things -- so if you give her homework, give her enough time to properly read it all.” That innocence… Thanadir knew exactly what he was doing, didn’t he? That was slightly terrifying.

 

*****

 

They reappeared at the house, to find everyone grouped near the kitchen. “There you two are, I thought perhaps you were lost in the forest?” Earlene teased. There was a box in front of her, around which she had hovered mysteriously. Thranduil of course knew what it was, but she wasn’t about to let that ruin the surprise for everyone. “I helped Thanadir make something, which of course means, I stood around and watched and asked twenty questions while he did all the actual work. It’s for our house.” She opened it, and lifted out a fairly substantial work of two-dimensional art in wrought iron:

  


“Eldamar,” Ratiri whispered, entranced. “Elvenhome.”

 

“Yes. This will be my last home before the real Eldamar becomes my home, like that won’t be weird...but I think it fits what we will share here for obvious reasons. I hoped that you and Lorna would like the idea as much as I did. Lorna, if you’d do the honors, Thanadir knows where the mounting screws are supposed to go on the door.” A screwdriver, hammer, and two specially forged screws were held out to her.

 

Lorna took both, and kept the screws in the palm of her right hand. “Show me where,” she said, looking up at Thanadir. He produced a small knife and carefully made divots where each screw needed to go, and stood back. The iron would look very nice, against the ash-grey wood of the door itself.

 

Putting the sign up just felt right -- like the last piece of a puzzle. Once it was in place, she pulled her mobile out of her pocket. “All right, you lot, everyone get around that thing and pose.”

 

Saoirse came out first, looking hard at the sign/doorplate/whatever the hell they wanted to call it. Art was the only word Lorna had. “Is that elf writing? I didn’t know elves had their own writing. Is there an alphabet list somewhere?”

 

Lorna, barely smothering a smile, looked at Earlene. “We can get you one,” she promised.

 

Earlene had an idea. “Everyone sit down in front of the door, in a row. Tallest in back, shortest in front. Give a little room so the person in front of you isn’t sitting on your, er, where you’d rather they not sit.” They arranged themselves, and Thranduil saw they mostly thought Earlene had lost her reason. “Now every other person starting with whoever is in back lean to the right, and the rest lean to the left. Make sure you can see Lorna’s camera, or it can’t see you.” The result appeared like something that would be done at a demented cheerleading tryout, but it did allow everyone to be seen along with the sign on the door. Lorna fought very, very hard not to erupt into laughter.

 

She took several pictures, just to make sure she could pick the best to put in the scrapbooks. “That’s good. It’ll be nice and confusing for future generations, too,” she said, stowing the mobile. “Everything’s all where it needs to be?”

 

“Except for the s’mores I have heard about for two days now,” said Thanadir with shameless innocence. He even batted his eyes to good effect, causing Earlene to burst into laughter.

 

Saoirse’s eyes widened, her mind yanked entirely away from elf-letters. “We have s’mores?” she asked.

 

“Yes, you monkey,” Lorna said. “Go wash your hands. Christ knows what you’ve been working with.”

 

Earlene’s marshmallows had been kept covered lightly with a cloth, and she turned the entire pan of them out onto a cutting board, and with liberal dustings of the sugar/starch mix, began cutting them into what she thought amounted to two- marshmallow-chunk equivalents. Thanadir watched her intently, not ever having seen...these. “Open your mouth,” she told him.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Open your mouth, meldir. I know your hearing is fine. You will thank me when your fingertips are not glued together from handling these; as they will be soon enough. Unless, that is, you wish to wait to try one.” She smirked while Thranduil stood behind his seneschal, rolling his eyes.

 

With a look that indicated she might be paid back for this later, somehow, Thanadir complied, but did not complain once he began chewing on the sweet treat of generally indescribable texture. “Veev arr good,” came out, as he tried to work his tongue around it.

 

“Wait until you have them melted,” she said. “It gets better.” The sky outside darkened suddenly, and rain threatened. “Thanadir, it seems we need to use the wood oven for this. We will need a medium-sized fire in there. If you build it, I will start making pizzas for dinner. We might as well eat here, and that way the fire will not be only for s’mores. I guess this will be dessert-before-dinner. Why not.” It was safer to let him do the first major fire; she had no intention of confusing herself on the draft mechanism and filling their home with smoke.

 

Saoirse bounced on the balls of her feet, though Pat kept her out of the way. Until they’d come to the Halls, she’d never actually seen fire in person, and she was so fascinated by it that it worried him a bit.

 

Lorna looked at Pat, remembering their first disastrous attempt at making s’mores. When she’d lived with the gang, they’d got a tiny barbecue from God knew where, and would make s’mores over it in the summer. Granted, one time they tried to use briquets, which didn’t exactly end well, but small wood fires were usually good.

 

Seeing that they had the chocolate and graham crackers, Earlene provided lined cookie sheets for assembly, explaining that if needed, these could be placed near the fire to help melt the chocolate a little. This was an immense pizza oven, with two chambers, capable of being used rather flexibly. The fire was always meant to be lit somewhat rear of the center of it, meaning that a decent amount of space was available for taking advantage of the temperature gradients inside the oven. And then she gleefully started in on pizza for seven. New microwave, new stand mixer with bread hook...it was practically orgasmic.

 

Watching Saoirse was the cutest fucking thing Lorna had ever seen: as with everything she did, when she concentrated hard she had the tip of her tongue between her teeth, carefully roasting the marshmallow to an even golden-brown. Lorna, by contrast, lit hers right on fire, let it burn for a minute, blew it out, then stuck it in her mouth and ate the blackened outer layer. Ratiri looked at her like she was utterly insane.

 

“What?” she asked, once she’d swallowed. “Cooks faster that way.”

 

“Mo chroí, never change,” he said.

 

Thanadir watched her intently. “That tastes good?” he wanted to know. Lorna had not done it at all like Saoirse had.

 

“Depends on the person,” Lorna said, carefully squishing the marshmallow between the two pieces of Graham cracker. “I think it tastes good, but a lot of other people think it’s gross. Everyone toasts a marshmallow a little differently.”

 

“Yes, and some of us don’t like eating things that taste like charcoal,” Ratiri said dryly.

 

“Hush, you. _I_ like it.”

 

“Try to do it the first time like Saoirse did, meldir,” Earlene quipped. “Then you can see what it tastes like melted, then try the next like Lorna did. Not everyone likes the carbon though, like she said. It is a matter of preference.”

 

Thanadir frowned, and brought his usual elegance to the endeavor. Thranduil watched in disbelief as the elf roasted the treat as though it were on a rotisserie. This was proving far more entertaining than he anticipated

 

Ratiri joined him, with almost equal care, while Lorna contentedly ate her first s’more. They could argue the merits of golden-brown all they liked, but she was eating and they weren’t yet, so on balance, she thought she had the better end of it. The slight bitterness of the carbon just made the sweetness of the rest all the stronger. And she was entirely willing to let it remain at that, until Pat lit his own marshmallow in fire in exactly the same way.

 

“Oh wonderful, both of you,” Ratiri said, shaking his head.

 

“You think this is bad?” she asked, looking at Pat. “How old were we, Pat, the second time we tried this outside? I think I was seven or eight, so you would’ve been eleven or twelve. We made ourselves sick off roasting marshmallows on the gas, so one night in the summer we went and lit a fire behind the school to make more -- on the blacktop, where it wasn’t going to light anything else on fire. And it didn’t.”

 

Her brother laughed. “Yeah, until we started flinging the flaming marshmallows at each other. Thank God Ireland’s too damp to really burn, but didn’t we have to cut the end’v your braid off?”

 

She grimaced. “Yes, yes we did. Which is why I never threw flaming marshmallows again, and why you shouldn’t either, Saoirse. Marshmallow doesn’t come out’v hair.”

 

Earlene frowned, thinking that was ridiculous; surely anything oily would bring it out. However, she was not about to aid and abet anything resembling flying incendiary bombs, so she kept her silence. That and, she was not positive she was correct because somehow her younger years had also been devoid of this, too. Not that she had any fond memories of Aidan at all, but the two of them rather seemed to have lacked in the mischief department. Perhaps it was for the best. Her attention shifted back to her rapid rising technique for the dough, that would use microwaving and resting it alternately on just a fraction of the unit’s power. A jar of sun-dried tomatoes had been on her pantry shelf for awhile, awaiting exactly this occasion. Basil from the summer garden would be nice; it was not all dead yet, but if she herself wasn’t about to go out in the weather neither was she asking any of them to. Canned olives, artichoke hearts, fresh peppers, caramelized onions and mushrooms would make for a nice enough pizza, along with the cheese from the cow.

 

Thranduil tapped her on the shoulder. _Look,_ he said. Thanadir had assembled his first s’more, and was just nibbling on it. His expression dissolved into rapture and she had to turn her face into her husband’s chest to hide her own reaction. _Absofreakinglutely adorable._ Thranduil’s rumble of humor could be felt through his clothing more than heard, as he bent down to kiss her head.

 

“These are very good,” Thanadir said to Lorna approvingly.

 

“Aren’t they? There’s nothing quite like them.” She had a dab of marshmallow on her upper lip, and Ratiri wiped it off with a napkin, ignoring the halfhearted swat she sent his way. A glance at Saoirse told her the girl was entirely absorbed in her roasting. “We need to figure out how to make some kind’v chocolate substitute, for when there isn’t any anymore.”

 

Earlene stood bolt upright. _The end of chocolate?_ Forget medicines, that was indeed a terrible fate. And yet in the Halls, ingredients preserved indefinitely. _They probably lacked chocolate in Aman_ , she guessed with a sigh. Oh well, no one said obeying the Valar came without sacrifice. _Do not think about it, Earlene. Just enjoy your home, and your foods, while you can. Though…_ “Better add that to the list of things to look into,” she murmured.

 

Dinner was marvelous, and Ratiri and Thanadir both went into nerd mode as Earlene explained the principle of this kind of baking and handed Ratiri the infrared thermometer, explaining that they were aiming for a cooking temperature of about 340C, which would allow the crust to ‘flash bake’. She also made certain to let Saoirse watch, as the pizza literally cooked from raw to bubbling completion in less than four minutes. The look of astonishment on her face made the effort worth it, especially when Earlene reminded her that these were similar processes to what she had learned about in the cookies. Everyone was suitably impressed, and Earlene was able to break in her new pizza peels. Later, they were stuffed and dragged themselves from the cavernous dining room to the huge two-sided sofa near their central hearth, bloated beyond reason. Earlene didn’t even bother with the sofa, and simply flopped on the cushions surrounding the raised clay hearth, softly moaning with her hand over her belly. _I knew not to eat that much but, it was_ pizza.

 

“Other nights we will have the children here,” Thanadir said, “but I presume you mean to stay here tonight, and return there in the morning? Or do you wish me to retrieve them?”

 

 _Brain lock._ Earlene very much wished to spend the night here, but the thought of the round trip to retrieve their daughters...but if they did not, Thanadir would not be able to stay here. It was not fair to hold up Lothiriel for much longer. Thranduil solved the problem. “Thanadir and I will collect them. We can each carry two easily, and bring Maerwen and the Duncan twins as well. Unless you had planned to stay in the Halls, Lorna and Ratiri?”

 

They looked at one another. “I’d like to stay here tonight,” Lorna said. “After we got everything moved, it feels right. Please have Maerwen feed the cats, though, before she comes.”

 

“Very well. Thanadir?” The two ellyn found their cloaks, and headed out into the early evening.

 

Earlene murmured a wish to go lie down, which was not entirely an untruth. For days, she’d had eyes on the heated pool in their room, and, who could blame her if that seemed more tempting right now?

 

“You go on,” Lorna said. “Put your feet up. We’ll get the rest’v this cleared up.” She might be shit at cooking, but at least she could wash dishes like a champ...if only the sink was not so tall. Why hadn’t she said anything, during the design phase?

 

“You leave the dishes to me,” Ratiri said, taking pity on her. “Why don’t you and Saoirse go explore? I know you haven’t seen the whole house.”

 

She took the escape, gratefully, and led her niece off. Christ, now she was kicking herself; no, she wasn’t much of a cook, but in saying nothing before the place got built, she’d assured herself that she would never be one. That...was kind of depressing. She wondered if Thranduil could do for her what he was going to do for Saoirse, but she doubted it. While her medical knowledge was hazy, she did know there was a certain age people just stopped growing; unlike Saoirse, her own growth plates were long since fused. Dammit.

 

Pat shook his head, while Ratiri filled the sink. “Creepy, that is. It’s not natural.”

 

“It really is a rather amusing irony, that Saoirse looks more like her child than her own children do. I’m still not over the fact that my daughter is a ginger,” he added, shaking his head. “At least Allanah has a companion.”

 

“I hope nobody tells either’v them they don’t have souls while Saoirse’s around, or it’ll end badly,” Pat snorted, wiping down the counters with a brand-new sponge.

 

“I’m sure it will. It’s the tiny ones you’ve got to watch out for, my Dad always said.”

 

They had the kitchen  tidied and even swept by the time everyone got back from the Halls, bearing all the children. Shane and Chandra were large enough now that holding both at the same time was something of an ordeal, but watching them giggle was worth it.

 

*****

 

Earlene drifted into their bedroom and closed the door behind her. It seemed unreal, that they were finally to stay here, a year and who even know how many elf and human hours of labor later. And who was she kidding? Elves of the Realm, some of whose names she did not even know, had been the ones responsible for so much of the hard work involved. Yes, she had given many hours to the artistic details in this home, especially the mosaics that now added wonder and beauty. But that did not change that it felt like being in a hotel, and she had to try to remember where anything and everything was. _Well, best start with a bathrobe_.

 

The pool was of course far smaller than what they had in the Halls, but in its own way, far prettier. In a concession to her, the greens of their bedroom gave way to a mix of blues and turquoises here, reminiscent of water and flowers. Everything from seashells to tiles to tinted concrete came together near a stained-glass window that described blue delphinium flowers. This had been one of her indulgences; it had been commissioned from an artist in Dublin and carefully set into place by Thanadir. As she dipped her toe in the water, a smile spread across her face. The seneschal’s own room was on the other side of the wall from this pool. It felt oddly comforting, to know that he would dwell nearer to them. From inside the home, his room was buried behind a second room that was ostensibly also for his use; for craft and sewing projects. And yet both their rooms had doors that opened onto the wooden decking that ran in an unbroken loop all around the huge home. Only the three of them had residence on the lower floor of this entire wing of the home; that had been by deliberate design.

 

A dip of her toe proved the water was a perfect temperature, and she did not even wish to consider the general wizardry Orla had employed to make this pool a reality. It functioned something like a hot tub, with a heater and a filtration system. They had a beautiful shower adjacent, that supported mosses and other greenery. The elven soaps were all made of things not harmful to plants, and like with everything else water from here served some secondary purpose around the home to make careful use of resources. She showered off quickly first, reasoning that it might be wise to keep the pool water cleaner. Settling into the steaming water, though, that felt heavenly. With a groan of happiness, she settled in up to her neck. All the many, many things that had gone on the last few days tried to roost in her thoughts like crows in a tree at dusk, and one by one she shooed them off. Soon, only one remained; that she was looking forward to their first night sleeping here, and the warmth of Thranduil lying next to her.

 

*****

 

Maerwen had brought all the cats and things with her ( _how_ , Lorna had no idea), so once they’d got the twins to sleep, she and Ratiri just wanted to enjoy their room. With a rum and Coke, since, as he said, they’d earned it.

 

Their room was more human than their flat in the Halls: still with a giant bed (the mattress stolen from an unused flat, because there was nothing more comfortable than an elf mattress), but no canopy. Instead, the headboard was carved like a tree, painted with silver veins, the bedspread, sheets, and pillowcases all part of a set Lorna had found on Amazon. She’d had no idea there were any such things as as nebula-print bedding, but the duvet especially looked like the night sky, dotted with thousands of stars around a greenish-blue nebula that she was pretty sure actually existed.

 

Having electric lamps was great, too; it would make reading at night a lot more pleasant, though Lorna had no intention of doing so _this_ night. She just wanted to relax, full of pizza and s’mores and a good mixed drink. Swapping her day clothes out for fuzzy pyjama trousers, a huge, black Pantera shirt, and the dressing-gown Ratiri had given her for Christmas, she hopped onto the bed and sighed happily. Her hair, unbraided and brushed, fell around her like a shawl.

 

“You’re content as a cat,” Ratiri said, sitting next to her. He leaned back against the pillows, and let out his own sigh. “I wasn’t sure this would ever be done. I love our flat in the Halls, but we have _windows_ here.”

 

Indeed they did -- more than windows, they had big French doors that faced the northeast, leading out onto the terrace that wrapped all around the upper storey. They’d be able to see the dawn without having to traipse out into the forest.

 

“I am,” she said. “Part’v me wants to jump your bones, but the rest is too lazy. I shouldn’t’ve eaten all that pizza.”

 

“Me neither,” he said. “Homemade pizza...I don’t know how I lived all those years, without properly cooking.”

 

“We need to never let my brother-in-law know just how much better Earlene is at some dishes,” Lorna said. “He’s a chef, his pride would never recover.”

 

Something clanged rather loudly against the hardwood, startling her into sloshing part of her drink down her front. Fucking lovely. When she sat up properly, she saw that it was one of the goblets Thranduil had given them, and that in its place was the fluffy ginger kitten. It mewed at her, of course, as if to say ‘What, me? But I’m adorable’.

 

Rolling her eyes, she set her drink aside. “How did you even knock this over, you little monster?” she asked, grabbing the kitten and replacing it with the goblet. “That thing probably weighs twice what you do.”

 

Her only response was another ‘mew,’ and big round kitty eyes. “You’re not Thanadir,” she told the kitten. “Don’t even try.” She put him down, and he scampered off, just in time for a thunderous series of _clunks_ to issue from the bathroom.

 

“I don’t even want to know,” Ratiri said, rising himself. They had their own very lovely tub, and a shower, the wall over their dual sinks lined with shelves for soaps and shampoos and whatever else they could think of. When he turned on the light, there were _two_ kittens, one on the bottom shelf and one two above it. Both of them froze, staring at him -- but even as he watched, the tuxedo, who was slightly bigger than the other one, swatted his razor right off the shelf. It landed in the sink with a clatter, and of course the end broke off.

 

In spite of everything, he couldn’t help but laugh, scooping them up and bringing them back out into the bedroom. “Cats in a new environment,” he said, shaking his head.

 

Lorna was busy trying to coax the tortie down from the top of the bookshelf. The poor thing was meowing pitifully, but of course she was far, far too short to get the little monster down. Ratiri had to do that, and set the kitten with her siblings.

 

“Should’ve seen this coming,” Lorna muttered, and pinched the bridge of her nose when one of the kittens ran by dragging a sock with its mouth. Where had it got the sock? And _how_ ? _Probably best not to ask,_ she thought, and went to rescue her footwear. The floors here weren’t as chilly as they were at the Halls, but they were chilly enough on bare feet.

 

A tearing sound at the foot of the bed made her groan -- sure enough, another one of the little monsters was trying to claw the bed. It hung halfway up the mattress, stuck by one claw, looking at her with utter panic on its fluffy little face.

 

“All right, you little bastards,” she said. “I want my bloody drink. Mama, you’re useless -- the lot’v you can go spend some time on the deck.” They weren’t going to be able to get down and hurt themselves on anything, and maybe they’d wear each other out by chasing. It would certainly be better than _this_. “Allanah, why don’t we just go and look at the night sky, once we’ve got these little shites out there?” It had been so long since she’d seen it in more than passing.

 

She breathed in the night air when she opened the doors, tossing two of the kittens out. Another one followed voluntarily, and she strode across the smooth clay, leaning against the railing -- on this part of the house, things had actually be sized with her in mind, so this part of the railing was something she could comfortably rest her elbows on. There were still crickets in the evening, though there was already a bite to the faint breeze, and she shivered a little. Still, it was lovely, the scent of earth and forest, of falling dew--

 

Something slammed against the left side of her head -- something small, but solid, and disturbingly warm. Lorna screeched like a banshee when it clawed at her scalp, struggling and squeaking.

 

“Lorna, what the hell?” Ratiri, wide-eyed,  burst out onto the deck and nearly trod on a kitten.

 

“Jesus, get it _off_ !” She flailed, trying to untangle whatever the hell it was, and getting her fingers bitten in the process. “ _Fuck_ , ow! Stop clawing me, you piece’v shit!”

 

Ratiri hauled her back inside, and his eyes widened yet further. “Oh... _shit._ Lorna, hold still.”

 

“What the hell is it?!” she demanded, still picking fruitlessly at her hair. Whatever it was kept biting her in the process -- sharp little nips that were surprisingly painful, given how little they seemed to be.

 

“It’s a bat. And I don’t know how the hell to get it out of your hair.” There was no way she’d let him cut her hair -- was he going to have to somehow kill the bat? How could he even _do_ that, short of crushing it? The very thought made him ill.

 

“ _There’s a fucking bat in my hair?!_ ” Oh Jesus, that meant rabies, didn’t it? She could feel her scalp bleeding, and her throbbing fingers, and yet she couldn’t help but flail, even though Ratiri tried to pick the strand away to let the poor terrified creature free. _I just bet it’s taking a shit, too_ , she thought, skin crawling in waves up her back.

  


*****

 

Silently the door to their bedroom opened; Thanadir and Thranduil had just put all of the girls into their little beds, low to the ground. The seneschal beamed at their sleeping faces. “I will watch them, Thranduil. In the morning they will begin exploring, Eru help us.”

 

The King beamed. The upstairs rooms on this side of the wing had been designed with the growing children in mind. The door latch was, for now, out of the reach of his daughters, and a variety of safe and quiet amusements was laid out near their beds. One toy that looked like a stuffed bear was really a monitor, that sat high on a shelf and allowed both video and sound to transmit to Thanadir, Earlene and Thranduil, or both. It was a concession to the safety of their growing family and the difficulty their home design presented; very young children sleeping upstairs while all adults were down below. “Thank you, meldir.” But still he lingered a little, entranced by the sleeping faces of his beautiful daughters.

 

“If only this time could last forever,” Thanadir sighed. “I know they must grow. But it was so long, between Legolas, and now,” he whispered. “How fortunate for me, to have this again.”

 

“Legolas,” Thranduil breathed. It had been so very, very long since he had made his partings with his handsome son. The son that with Eru’s mercy he would see again so soon. He felt so torn...gaining those he loved and now wished to see would mean partings from those he also loved. And yet there was little to be done except allow the passage of time to resolve all things. With a gentle clasp to Thanadir’s shoulder, Thranduil turned and departed, eager to have fun descending the pole to the first floor. For him, it could just as easily be used to ascend, not that he would allow his wife to witness this just now.

 

He found Earlene in the pool, looking absolutely tempting. Perhaps made more so by the fact that she appeared to be playing with her own breasts, which seemed very appealing to his view of things. Until he saw that she frowned. Catching sight of him, she shook said breasts at him with a general air of accusation. “I have been sitting here, pondering what my body was like before Allanah. And Eleniel and Ithiliel. And Thaladir. While I do not like to ask, and I know that you enjoy my breasts…” he was watched, as he disrobed and joined her.

 

“You are becoming tired of them growing a little larger all the time,” he concluded, sympathetically. “I had meant to speak with you about this, after I had the experience of running from the Halls with an erection, the other night. It caused me to realize a fraction of what you must be tolerating.”

 

Happily she slipped onto his lap and into his arms. “I enjoy that you find my body attractive. And I do not mind having curves; I still had clothing that allowed me to run unencumbered. But just in the last month especially, I believe they are becoming too much of a good thing. Would you…?”

 

“Yes. I owe you that much, at least. Gradually, or all at once?”

 

Earlene laughed. “I have choices? Truly you are amazing, my Lord,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “How about gradually, and only after you thoroughly indulge yourself with what is in front of you? I think I would like it better if it were not a sudden and obvious topic of conversation.”

 

“I hoped you would say that,” he murmured, trailing kisses in that general direction. Soon his arousal was vastly increased, as his mouth and hands wandered according to his interest, when a bloodcurdling shriek split the air.

 

“What in the names of all the Valar?” Earlene asked, involuntarily lurching forward at the same time Thranduil stood upright in shock.

 

“This is not happening,” Thranduil groaned, face in his hands. “I am being punished for my past wrongs; surely this is some penance of Námo.” His manhood was a beautiful shade of pulsing hardness.

 

Earlene pinched her forehead. “It is Lorna, and you have to help.” Earlene burst into laughter.

 

“She is being bitten by a bat,” Thranduil growled, groping for his clothes.

 

Still laughing, she brought a towel and quickly tried to blot at him while he climbed into his breeches.  “I am sorry. Even I know that is very serious. But the timing…”

 

“What do you mean, serious? A bat is a tiny thing, hardly capable of bothering anything larger than a moth.”

 

“But bats carry rabies, everyone knows that.”  


“Meluieg, please make sense quickly, I have to run out of here the moment parts of me Lorna does not wish to see are covered.”

 

“Rabies. It is a very serious disease carried in animals’ saliva. There is no cure from it and that is part of why people are terrified of animals known to harbor it.”

 

“Eru. Very well, I feel slightly less annoyed,” he said as he lurched out the French Doors.

 

 _I will make it up to you, on your return._ Her best smouldering voice went into the thought, even as she guessed that it would do nothing to reduce the size of his problem.

 

He almost crashed into Thanadir, who was responding in the exact same manner, and silently informed him of the circumstances. Nothing was said, but the elf shook his head to himself. Lorna was certainly not ordinary. Perhaps the Valar had meant her to give tales to tell to others. Because in eighteen thousand years he could not recall knowing an elf with a bat in their hair.

 

“God dammit, I just wanted to enjoy the stars,” Lorna said, sounding utterly pathetic and not caring in the least. Ratiri’s gentle attempts to free the bat had only resulted in it panicking even further, biting him as well as her. Now they were both bleeding, and Lorna was pretty sure those tiny little claws were somehow doing a number on her scalp. At least, she had blood dripping down the side of her head and onto her ear, trickling in tiny beads. “Thranduil, please tell me you can just put this thing to sleep or something, so we can get it out? I don’t want to hurt it, but it’s sure as fuck hurting _me_. Also, rabies. No rabies. Please.”

 

Thanadir gently cupped the little creature in his hands and it stopped flailing. It was not so hard, now, to hold it by its little body. Most of the problem were its feet and wing-claws, or however they were properly called. And with his nimble fingers, he was soon able to extricate it. He held it close to his face and seemed to whisper to it as it roused and flew away.

 

“Thank you,” Lorna said fervently, rubbing at her head. Her hair was a knotted mess now, her scalp in that general area scratched to shit and sticky with blood. It didn't feel like any of the scratches were at all deep, there were just so _many_ of them, though it almost felt like oozing rather than proper bleeding, which...ew. Gross.

 

“Come here, now that your little admirer is gone,” Thranduil said, desperately wishing he could adjust his crotch but not daring to, even in the dim light. Quite soon everything was restored to order, and Ratiri too freed of scratches. Honestly he mostly felt sorry for the bat; it had the least ability to understand the encounter. “Are you needing anything else?” he asked, trying with all his might to keep hopefulness out of his voice.

 

“I’m good, thanks,” Lorna said. “Poor thing, but I think it pooped in my hair, so I can’t feel _that_ bad for it. You two go on and rest, and I’ll stay inside for the evening and take a shower. No more bats. I won’t get rabies, right?”

 

“That animal was healthy,” said the King, frowning. “Your small injuries were healed. I cannot imagine how there can be a problem, but I will ask Thanadir to learn more about this sickness. Earlene too seems to fear it, so we can discuss this more in the morning. Posto vae, Lorna.” Thanadir murmured the same, as they both departed. The seneschal’s interest perked up. He was to learn about bats and rabies, apparently, and how he had a computer and an internet connection in his own private quarters. Surely this was science? Happily, he returned to his room.

 

Thranduil tried not to walk faster than normal, as he pulled the doors to his bedroom shut behind him. A glance at the pool told him Earlene had left the bath, and a glance at the bed stopped him in his tracks. His eyes widened as they took in the sight of his wife. “What in Eru’s name?” he asked, approaching her. Their bed was draped with a large piece of rose colored satin, and his wife was fully bedecked in delicate, ivory colored garments whose sole purpose seemed to be intended to provoke lust.

 

“I told you I would make it worth your while. I ordered these as a surprise for you. It is called lingerie. It is utterly and completely useless, except for the visual temptation it provides to one’s partner. I believe your task is to discover how to remove it gracefully, on your way to greater enjoyments. Think of it as nice wrapping paper on a present, except the paper is meant to be used again,” she grinned.

 

A painfully hard throb drew attention to the fact that his clothing was still not arranged well, at all. Watching him tug and yank his own clothes off in desperation was a sight Earlene would never forget; far more worthwhile than what would follow.

 

Had he ever burned for Earlene quite like this? Perhaps something had just been learned. Each occurrence that delayed his gratification seemed to heighten his desire. _This is a new feeling_ , he reflected, as his hand traveled delicately over the sheer fabrics and laces that barely hid his wife’s body. He forced himself to slow down, reveling in the anticipation created. She seemed to sense every means by which to press this advantage, too, distracting and teasing until he could tolerate no more.

 

The strange, shuddering sound that rumbled through his chest when he entered her felt like a personal victory (so a few of those magazine articles knew what they were about, after all). His passion was raw, and fully savored; when he did not last long at all and climaxed in a frenzy left her feeling good in such an atypical and feminine way. That her body was what could do this to him; it felt like a form of power. She was desired, wanted...and happy. After a few moments’ rest, long and talented fingers turned their attention to her not yet having been satisfied.

 

_What is that they say? Worth the wait? Yes, that is very much the case…_

 

Sometime later, a very content Thranduil drifted off to sleep, with Earlene in his arms and a smile on his face. Lorna could keep getting bats in her hair. He had found that even interruptions were...not so bad after all.


	81. Eighty-one

When little murmurs came through the baby monitor, two ellyn and a firieth rose and dressed hurriedly, exiting their rooms and filing in a line up the spiral stairs to the second floor. The girls had woken to the wonderland of their new bedroom, and when the door cracked open, the adults lined up their heads in a vertical stack, to all peer in. Allanah was tottering over to her sleeping sisters. “Elen-el,” the squeaky little voice said, poking at the blankets. “We got toys, El!” Eleniel sat bolt upright, as she was presented with the solid evidence of a new stuffed Brontosaurus waggling in front of her vision. Seriousness washed over the little face, as Eleniel clapped her hands over her little mouth. 

 

“Ithiliel” hissed Eleniel. “Thêl!” (sister).

 

“Man?” (What?) came the disgruntled murmur.

 

“Gots toys, Ith,” said Allanah again, seemingly desperate for all of them to understand the gravity of the situation.

 

“Wanna sleep.”

 

Rolling her eyes at her recalcitrant twin, Eleniel shrugged and then gasped. Thanadir had chosen to demonstrate their new set of stacking blocks by building something  out of them that Earlene thought looked remarkably like the pyramid at Chichen Itza, albeit a rather garishly colored version of it. The construct was as tall as the girls, who looked at each other with wide eyes, and with a shrill shriek of delight ran toward it. Ithiliel, now fully unable to sleep, rolled over in bed to witness what the fuss was about, and her little face betrayed shock as well. “Daro! Aníron toys!!”

 

Lurching out of her blankets, she raced to join her sisters in front of the blocks. “Want dat,” she asserted.

 

“But is pwetty,” Allanah said. “Gots boo bocks.”

 

“Gots blue blocks,” Eleniel corrected.

 

“Boo bocks.”

 

“Blue. Blooooooooo. Like ‘dis, ‘lanah. LLlllllllllllllll blooooooooo.” Eleniel pointed at her tongue, while she made the sounds.

 

“Blooooo,” mimicked Allanah, giggling. “Blooooo blooocks. Blooo blocks.”

 

Ithiliel joined in, and in moments the three of them were hopping up and down, chanting about “blue blocks.”

 

Earlene couldn’t stand it any longer; the cuteness was painful to behold. “Good morning, ill,” (daughters) she smiled. Who wants blue  _ berries _ ? Those are for breakfast, in pancakes. Who will be first to see our new kitchen?” 

 

*****

 

Somehow the joyful assembly of children were diverted downstairs, probably only by the skill of Thanadir, while Earlene prepared batter. But not before the girls watched her use the toilet. While this seemed vaguely humiliating, she had read that it was part of how children began to learn that their future did not lie with nappies. Thranduil’s own use of the facilities brought considerably more fascination, as they pondered the far more interesting manner in which their father urinated. To Earlene’s astonishment, Thanadir contributed as well. Quickly she erased any trace of surprise from her features.  _ I am not about to be….no, won’t say it. _ It was only that she had never seen, well, that part of her meldir. Why this seemed peculiar, she did not know; elves were not ashamed of their bodies. This would require some thought, but she could manage that later;  _ like as not it had to do with there generally not having been a reason to see his body? _ Soon the griddle-cakes were piling up in the oven, while Thanadir went to retrieve more milk for porridge.

 

Lorna, Ratiri, Maerwen, and the twins all somehow made it down the stairs; Lorna had given them both breakfast after they were changed, so they were content to crawl about, investigating, binkies firmly in mouths. They were followed shortly thereafter by Pat and Saoirse, the latter of whom had on bright red rain boots.

 

“She insists on seeing the cows later,” Pat said, by way of explanation, “and thinks she needs big rubber boots, even though she’s never thought so before. I love that girl, but she’s an odd one at times.”

 

Saoirse had gone to corral the twins, sitting on the floor with one at each side of her. They inspected her boots with solemn fascination.

 

“It’s no more than we were at that age,” Lorna said, though she wasn’t sure how strictly true that was. Saoirse was indeed rather peculiar.

 

On auto-pilot, she put a second kettle on, using one of the back burners.  _ So Thranduil _ , she asked,  _ I was thinking...when would you be okay with going to visit my old house? _

 

Thranduil considered carefully. Truthfully, it could be today, and yet he worried that this was too soon after the disastrous attempt at the prison.  _ Would a week from today be too long? _

 

_ No, that sounds good _ , Lorna said. It would give her a bit of time to...whatever. She didn't even know what. Unwind, and hopefully not get any more bats in her hair. Of all the damn odds...

 

_ I wondered if you would be willing to take me shopping; at least if the trip feels successful to you? It is not very important. I would like to surprise my wife with some gifts, if it works out. _

 

Lorna managed to smother a smile.  _ Sure _ , she said.  _ Day in Dublin’s never a bad thing, so long as prison’s not involved. _

 

Soon steaming pancakes were at the table along with creamy porridge and milk. The peredhel and Allanah were joining them today for the first time, in high chairs that were like what humans used, except these were made of wood and far prettier. Because, elves. Earlene, Thanadir and Thranduil each cut pancakes and provided a spork, and allowed the girls to watch the adults eating. Once again, Allanah observed her sisters, who could grasp the utensil with far more skill. Earlene was realizing very quickly that by some miracle, her twins would patiently help their sister much of the time, if the task was within all of their abilities. However, she was in favor of sippy cups; there was no point completely stretching their efforts to the breaking point.

 

Thanadir happily ate his porridge. “Last night I learned all about rabies,” he said excitedly. “And bats. Did you know that rabies does not exist in Ireland? And that we have nine kinds of bat here? I did not get a good look because it was dark, but I believe a lesser horseshoe bat flew into your hair, Lorna. That or it was a brown long-eared bat. I found a bat house that Saoirse and I can make together. And the rabies. That is very bad.” Sadness was in his voice.

 

Pat eyed Lorna. “You had a  _ bat  _ in your hair? Just... _ how _ ?”

 

“Don’t even ask,” she said. “I didn’t know that, Thanadir, but I’m glad you told me. It’s a relief.” She added more syrup to her griddle cakes, twitching a bit. The feeling of something struggling in her hair was not one she would forget any time soon. “If you two make a bat house, please do me a favor and put it far away from Ratiri’s and my part’v the deck.”

 

“Is a bat house like a bird house?” Saoirse asked. “I never made a birdhouse before. What’s rabies?”

 

“It’s a very nasty disease,” Ratiri said, “and we’re very lucky it doesn’t exist here. I’ll tell you about it later -- it’s not the kind of thing you want to talk about at breakfast.”

 

“How come?” Damn this kid was fast; she asked questions within half a second of the end of someone else’s sentence.

 

“Because it can be disgusting, and most people don’t like to hear about disgusting things while they’re eating.”

 

Saoirse considered this. “Oh,” she said, “’Kay.” And with that she was absorbed with her food.

 

“I am sorry,” Thanadir said, his face changing in an instant. “I did not realize.” He felt baffled.  _ Science was disgusting? _ With downcast eyes, he fell silent.

 

Earlene looked at him, wishing to all hell that she could send her thoughts to him. It was not his fault, and if it were her, she would not think this. ‘Disgusting’, sadly, was a matter of perception. What he needed to realize more was that if he was less certain of knowing other people, that certain topics were broadly controversial in this regard. 

 

_ I will explain to him, meluieg. Do not be distressed.  _

 

Well, now Ratiri felt like shit. “Don’t apologize, Thanadir. I think it’s fascinating, but I know not everyone does. And it’s possible we would all need more tea first anyway, or at least us humans would.” Hopefully that would work.

 

Having no idea whatsoever what tea had to do with anything, Thanadir did not respond. He already felt bad enough, and maybe if he did nothing, it would all go away. Earlene groaned inside of herself. Ratiri did not mean to have taken a verbal misstep, but he’d managed it. Fortunately this morning Thanadir was scheduled to exercise with Saoirse, and she had been informed that there was instruction for her as well, though he was very mysterious about what. Perhaps she would have some chance to speak with him.

 

“Only you would get a  _ bat  _ stuck in your hair, Fun Size,” Pat said, shaking his head. “Then again, I remember that mop trying to eat a few things. When we were kids, the four’v us were jammed in one bedroom, and we only had two beds and a kind’v trundle-thing, so Lorna and Siobhan had one’v them. Siobhan’d complain every bloody day that Lorna’s hair almost strangled her in her in her sleep.”

 

“She called it Cthulhu,” Lorna said, weirdly proud. “It sometimes does that to Ratiri, too. And I’ve woken up with a kitten or three in it too many times to count by now.

 

Earlene saw that Lothiriel had arrived, and relinquished her spot so that she could help Allanah with the last of her food while she began to clean up.  _ What a pack they were _ , she mused. _ Such an array of different personalities and needs and...assorted vulnerabilities. _ And then she realized, the next damn council meeting was not so far away. In addition to teaching, she had some learning and reflecting to do.  _ Well, it is always something.  _ She ran hot water into one of the sinks and added the soap, and in the other began to rinse the pans and bowls before putting them in to soak.

 

Lorna hopped down off her chair, eying the sink, and realized with an odd sense of sadness that she couldn’t even help with the dishes without dragging around a god damned stool.  _ Why  _ had she not said anything, when they were actually planning the house? Had she just subconsciously wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be able to do anything in the kitchen? Okay, that was always possible, but she doubted it. Oh well.  _ Thranduil, is there any way you can make me taller, like Saoirse? Because I’m not kidding, being this tiny fucking sucks.  _ She was pretty sure he couldn’t do it, just because there had to be some upper limit to his ability, and making somebody grow once they were an adult...yeah. Still, she had to ask.

 

The blue eyes turned to find her, and the expression on his face was not encouraging.  _ The honest answer is, I am not sure. Saoirse is different; her body is still actively growing. If you are truly serious, we could discuss it. What I worry the most is that...Lorna, you watched Earlene give birth to Ithiliel. That was an example of what happens when my power is used not to heal, but to force a living body to behave a certain way. It was necessary, to save my wife and my daughter, but Thanadir and I together were not able to control much of the pain she suffered. I would fear the same outcome in this case. I can say that I would not be willing to even consider attempting it without consulting first with Ratiri as well. What you are asking is not a small thing, but I am would to discuss what may be possible. _

 

She’d been afraid of that. Why the hell was she so short? She wouldn’t have minded quite so much if she hadn’t been surrounded by tall people -- some of them very tall. The only alternative, probably, was to buy some actual Lorna-sized furniture, and resign herself to never doing anything in the kitchen. Or the forges, since her few attempts there had been more of a pain in the ass than anything else, because again, she’d had to drag around a fucking stool.  _ He’d probably say it’s a bad idea _ , she said, and sighed.  _ Easy for him to say.  _ Easy for any of them, save perhaps for Pat, though he was still within the broad height requirement for people the world catered to. At least Saoirse wouldn’t have to endure the same shit her aunt had. If nothing else, there was that.

 

Thranduil frowned.  _ Have you spoken to Earlene, about the kitchen? I thought something was...done, for you. With Orla. I do not mean this as criticism, but it may be easier to ask those around you if they know another way, instead of assuming that your height excludes you. _

 

_ Was there?  _ Nobody had said anything to her, just like she’d never asked. Nice. Communication was still a work in progress, but she supposed it always would be; she’d ask Earlene later. Nevertheless, she glowered at Thranduil.  _ Of course they’re not going to know another way. They’re tall. They don’t  _ need  _ another way.  _ Platform shoes were a terrible idea; she’d probably trip and break her neck the first time she stepped on an uneven patch of ground, or else she would have tried them years ago. Stilts would make her a hazard to herself and everyone around her. 

 

_ It’s 2017 _ , she thought.  _ Somebody needs to hurry the hell up and invent a hoverboard.  _ Back to the Future  _ has let me down. _

 

With a weak smile in Lorna’s direction, Thranduil was grateful for Eleniel’s moment of fussing and the distraction it provided. He knew better than to argue with her once her mood turned like this. “Ada, blueberry,” the little girl said, covetously eyeing the one unfinished fruit sitting on his plate. Indulgently, he handed it to her. At least he could make  _ someone _ happy this morning, he sighed. Poor Lorna could be so...complicated.

 

Chandra crawled by, and Lorna picked her up. “What am I going to do with you, once you two start walking?” she asked. 

 

Her daughter spat out her binkie, looked her dead in the eye, and said, very quietly, “Baaaa.”

 

“Oh dear bloody God,” Ratiri said, and dissolved into laughter. Lorna was right behind him.

 

“I don’t even want to know,” Pat said.

 

With the washing up soon done, it was time to return to the Halls. It was decided that today, Lothiriel would remain here to watch the children and return with them for lunch. This would allow them to play with their new toys, and then some hours later a long walk through the forest should have them hungry and prepared for a food coma nap afterward. Earlene and Saoirse left with Thanadir. And when they were far enough along the path by themselves, she spoke, not caring if Saoirse overheard. “Meldir, you understand that Ratiri did not mean to shut you down by his comments about the rabies? He was not yet awake and not thinking carefully. I could see by the expression on his face that he felt very badly about his words.”

 

Thanadir reflected. “It was a small thing, but at first my feelings were hurt. I was excited because I am enjoying learning about science and I thought the others would be too.”

 

With a sigh, Earlene tried to explain further. “One of the things I love most about you is that you still have a sense of wonder. Of curiosity, of the emotions that accompany discovery. For many humans, this is something we have as children but as we grow, somehow this excitement is lost. Some of that is because of how we are taught, in schools. Learning becomes a chore instead of the marvel it is meant to be. It is a complicated thing, made worse by the fact that sometimes, we cannot bring our minds to focus fully on what is being said to us. I understand your joy, Thanadir. Ratiri does too, actually, more probably than most. It was just that your comment caught him at a bad time.”

 

Now the elf felt even more baffled. “But Ratiri said that it was because of rabies being disgusting. What does being disgusting have to do with enjoying learning?”

 

_ Oh, damn. _ “Well, the easiest answer is that if Ratiri had placed your happiness in having learned these things as being of higher importance than the less savory symptoms of rabies infections, he would not have said what he did.”

 

Now this too was weighed, as they walked on. “I will think on what you have said, Earlene, but sometimes I despair of ever understanding what others mean.”

 

“Don’t feel bad, Uncle Thanadir,” Saoirse said. “I never know what the hell anybody  means half the time. It’s why I always have to ask Da. He said I shouldn’t talk about gross things when other people’re eating, because some people will sick up if they think about or talk about something nasty while they eat. Which I don’t get, but Da’s usually right.”

 

_ That _ made sense. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely grateful. “I did not know this, about humans. Or maybe I did. Perhaps the problem is that elves cannot have rabies, and I did not make such a connection.” This simple edict, that he could grasp. Rules, protocols...those stood out like simple lines that said ‘Do Not Cross.’ If there was one thing at which Thanadir excelled, it was following instructions. Their path took them to the armory, where he swiftly chose a small bow and properly sized arrows for Saoirse. Earlene did not say that they were adorably cute; these surely were for teaching the youngest of elflings. But no bow was procured for her; she was simply asked to follow. They arrived at a clearing with targets for the arrows, but Thanadir directed her attention to four trees, and what was between them. A tight rope, and a slack rope. Each would have her only a foot above the soft, mossy ground. 

 

“I think you know what this is for,” he smiled. “I will be instructing Saoirse for a time, and then will return to you. Explore. Do what you can on your own to find balance. Begin with the tightrope, realizing that the lower your center of gravity is, the easier it will be. And also that the rope itself can rotate underneath your foot.”

 

Earlene blinked at him.  _ You asked for this, genius. _ Nodding, she took a deep breath and began to practice slowly having the rope take the weight of her body on one foot.

 

*****

 

It was nice to be able to take the Charger out, since it seemed like Lorna so rarely got to do it; last time she’d gone anywhere other than the village in it was when she and Earlene had gone to Dublin. Out of respect for Thranduil’s sensibilities, she wouldn’t subject him to another ride such as the one they’d taken to Baile that nasty day.

 

Since they were going to Dublin, she’d donned, for the first time, the outfit she’d bought while out with Earlene, though she almost had to spoil it with a jacket. She tossed a jumper into the backseat just in case, but the black dress went so well with the green trousers that it was a garment of last resort.

 

“Your appearance is very pleasing,” Thranduil complimented, at catching sight of her. Earlene had not-so-subtly suggested a choice of clothing for him, insisting that he leave off his tunic and breeches in favor of jeans, a form-fitting black tee and the blazer that Thanadir had given him for Christmas. That she deeply wanted to have sex with him on the spot told her that she had chosen well, though she hoped she wasn’t creating an attractive nuisance for him in the city. Lastly she placed a simple black hair elastic in his pocket. “If you get stared at too much, have Lorna tie your hair back for you. It might help.” 

 

He chuckled and pecked her chastely on the lips, for once able to keep his mind off of...that. With a sigh, he looked down at her cleavage. It was oh, so subtly reducing as each day wore on. They had agreed to take it back to what had been around the time he first enabled her breasts to produce milk, with the understanding that when children and nursing ceased, she would return to close to the figure she had at the time they met. Which was still more than ample, but he could not help it if he enjoyed ‘ample and then some.’

 

Musing on all these things, a faint smile chased over his face as he squared himself away in Lorna’s car and they wound their way through the village streets. “So, tell me your memories of your old home. Not so much as they pertained to your father, but the building itself.” He realized human memory could distort over time, and that this probably had much to do with why she wanted this outing.

 

“Well, it was tiny,” she said. “Really tiny. It probably would’ve been nice, though, if it’d been taken care’v. Cozy. Mam, she tried, but there wasn’t much to work with.” The garden had been tiny, too, mostly dead grass and not much else, but she’d imagined it with flowers and things when she was a kid. (Hadn’t tried to  _ grow _ any, though; the one time Mam had flowering pots, Da smashed them all just to be a bastard. Lorna had salvaged what was left and planted them on the other side of the back fence, where he couldn’t see them.) “It always smelled like cigarettes and booze. And...sour. I’ve never run into anything like it anywhere else. It wasn’t mildew, it was just...sour.”

 

Dismay washed through Thranduil. He’d known that it had not been good. Perhaps he had turned his mind away from just how much of it had been bad. While he’d been beaten to a pulp with probably just as much regularity, it had been done amidst relatively opulent surroundings. When he had lain in bed on his belly, too bruised to move for a day or two, it was on a soft mattress, with those who tried to help him stealing in to apply medicines and cover him with whisper soft linens. He had best prepare himself for the fact that Lorna had had nothing.  _ Nothing. _

 

“Maybe it is not avoidable that your parents are part of the description,” he admitted. “Did your father work at all, Lorna, at an occupation? Surely your family received some income, somehow? Else how were you not without a home?”

 

“He did sometimes,” she said. “Construction, odd things like that. We’ve got this thing called the dole, Ireland does -- it’s meant to help support the poor, but there’s always gobshites like my da that abuse it. He had four kids, so he’d get it and then piss it away at the pub. Every time he got a proper job, he’d lose it because he’d be drinking on the clock.” She shook her head. “Mam sometimes had money. She’d clean people’s houses or things like that, and she had to hide it, because if Da knew she had it he’d just take it and piss it away, too.”

 

Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I just...I don’t know what to think’v my mam. She loved us, and she did her best, but...she didn’t  _ leave _ . She stayed, and kept us there, when by all bloody rights we should’ve gone to Gran. We were trapped with  _ him  _ because...Christ, I don’t know. Because for whatever damned reason, she wouldn’t leave him. And because she wouldn’t, we couldn’t, and look what happened to all’v us. He did it, but she let him.”

 

Discomfort began to increase, in him. He had not forgotten, the bitter words of Thanadir when he had been cornered into speaking his mind, and what had been said about his own mother. He decided to risk a rare moment of pure honesty. “Something...came up, a few weeks ago, and I am not free to discuss all of it. Between Earlene, Thanadir and I. Thanadir was...I guess you might say ‘hard pressed’ to give his unvarnished opinion about certain aspects of my youth. I always had fond memories of my mother. Of loving her, and being loved in return. I remember her as a very beautiful elleth, and kind. But apparently not Thanadir. What he said...it was much as what you are saying. There was an anger, a rage at Lothamîr for which I was unprepared. I have tried to think about it, a little, but I find that I have not wanted to. And this makes me ask myself, if I am trying to cling to a lie that somehow makes what happened to me easier to accept. Why  _ did _ my mother wait so long to act? By the time she spoke out, all the damage was done, and then some.”

 

“It can be easy,” Lorna said, after a moment, “to...to cling to those memories, you know? To just look at what was between you two, away from...everything else. All the broader shite. It never occurred to me to think’v it that way until I was thirty-five -- to see not just what was between her and us, but to realize that she’d made a conscious choice not to leave. What goes through the mind’v someone like that? I wish I knew. I mean, I know if I’d somehow taken up with the sort’v shite arsehole my da was, I’d never stay. The first time he hit me or one’v my kids, I’d probably murder him. I -- Christ, I can’t fathom your mam.  _ Mine  _ was probably afraid’v what he’d do if she did leave, but you said your da never hit your mam.” That he knew of, anyway; maybe shit had gone on behind closed doors that Thranduil hadn’t been aware of. Lorna didn’t care what Oropher might have done for his kingdom and his people -- the fact that he could treat his own son that badly made him every bit as much of a worthless piece of trash as her own father, and she hoped, oh so much, that he’d suffered before he died. Her own father hadn’t, unfortunately. “It’s hard, having someone we love knocked off the pedestal we put them on when we were kids.”

 

“He did not hit her that I  _ knew _ of,” Thranduil frowned. “But she was afraid of him, or at least that much was visible when he was off on one of his rages. Everyone was. Except for me. No, that isn’t quite right either. I was afraid of my father, but apparently not afraid enough, because my desire to not back down from him ran stronger. Maybe that is part of why it escalated so badly. Maybe if I would have cried and screamed and been suitably terrified, he would have stopped sooner. But I think I turned it into a challenge. I would not let him have the satisfaction of seeing me break, and in turn I made myself into a contest he felt he had to win.” He shook his head. “Marriage among elves is a very strong bond. There are few instances indeed, of it being broken, and I am not proud to have been one of those statistics. I do not think I considered with any real understanding, how my father’s treatment of me contributed to the failure of my bond to my first wife. There were problems between her and I, but without the problems I brought to that marriage...maybe much might have been different.”

 

Lorna laughed a little, dodging around a Prius, but there was no humor in it. “You and I really are too much alike,” she said. “Well, you and I and Pat. None’v us could back down, even when it would’ve been safer. Pat, he tried to take it all on himself, like an eejit. As if that was somehow going to get the rest’v us spared. And I...well, I did what I did. That thing.”

 

A slow rain started, fat drops splatting on the windscreen,  and she flicked on the windscreen wipers. “Pat’s told me he’s lost relationships, because’v that,” she said, figuring her brother wouldn’t mind her saying so. “Because’v Da, but also because’v Mam. He had no idea how to relate to women, because our main example growing up...wasn’t so great, even if we didn’t want to admit it until a lot later.” It was probably a good thing she hadn’t really been interested in in 99 percent of the male population, or she might have made some shit choices, too.

 

Thranduil considered her words. “You know, the worst thing about this, in some ways is that...what our fathers did, it is like a mushroom in the forest. You see one growing, and believe it stands there on its own, and that you understand it. But the reality is, it has roots, and runs under the ground unseen, to be able to grow in new places where one least expects. I thought I understood the totality of what my father created in me, by way of difficulties. And yet I now realize I did not, and may never.” He shook his head. “In all this, I have truly only done one thing right. I have left myself open to listening to counsel from the likes of Thanadir, and to the idea that this will always be an area in which I may fail, and have to try again. Well, that and, I believed I had raised Legolas in a way that left him untouched by what happened to me. He never knew a thing about his grandfather, aside from his name. And yet the more I reflect, I wonder if I really shielded him as much as I believed.”

 

“I wish you weren’t so right,” she sighed, while the patter of rain on the roof grew louder. “I kind’v resigned myself ages ago to the fact that I was never totally going to get over it, because...who could? No matter how much you grow, how much you try, you can’t erase history. You’ve just got to...live around it. I wish I could put it better than that.” But maybe there was no better way. When something was part of you, something too woven into the fabric of your being to ever hope to extricate, what else could you do? It was live around it, or turn into an addict. “Our kids...even if Legolas wasn’t as shielded as you thought, he had it better than you did. Saoirse’s got it better than Pat, mine’ll have it better than me...in the end, isn’t that the best thing we can do? Give our kids happier lives?”

 

She smiled, a little grimly, not quite cutting off a minivan. “My Gran, she told me that living is the best revenge you can have. We’re alive. They’re dead. We’ve got this world, we’ve got our families, and unlike either’v those worthless fuckers, we can love people, and we’re worth loving ourselves.” Oh great, the minivan was trying to merge to the exit, too. Yeah, nope. That wasn’t going to happen.

 

Thranduil shook his head at her driving antics. “At risk of not wishing to quarrel, why...why do you do that, to the other driver?”

 

“She’s on her mobile,” Lorna said, knowing it was petty and not caring. “I  _ hate  _ people that do that. It’s actually illegal, but so many people do it anyway. If she’s got to actually concentrate on what she’s doing, she’ll put down the bloody phone. That or she’ll get ran off the road.”

 

“Do what you want with it, but I am close enough to hear her. Her child is in the hospital, ill, and it is why she both accepted the call and is driving poorly.”

 

Lorna winced. Ouch. She slowed, letting the minivan do as it would. That was bloody harsh, but at the same time, speaker phone existed for a reason. Then again, if she was panicked, that might not occur to her.  _ Neither did pulling over, apparently.  _ “She’s still a danger to other people,” she grumbled. “Can’t say I  _ blame  _ her, mind you, and yes, I know exactly how hypocritical this sounds. I’m human. It’s a thing.”

 

“I do not condone what she is doing wrong,” he said. “Hearing the minds of others has been both good and bad in so many ways. Sobering, I suppose is the word I would use.” There was little else to say to that, and they drove on, lost in both their individual reflections as well as the ridiculous downpour that seemed determine to grace their time on the M7.

 

The sad thing was that Lorna, after all these years, still knew how to get to her old house. The area leading up to her neighborhood had changed greatly, but it and the streets around it really had not. And that was a touch depressing. More than a touch, if she was honest.

 

“You know, I’d been hoping this whole street would’ve been demolished and turned into overpriced yuppie housing,” she said. The rain had slackened, now little more than Ireland’s usual drizzle, which somehow just served to offset the drabness of their surroundings.

 

The road had more potholes than she remembered, and she navigated around them carefully. She would not have taken this car here if she didn’t have Thranduil, who could hear any would-be car thieves before they could become a problem.  _ But what was this…?  _ All the houses had ‘Condemned’ signs on the, windows boarded over with plywood, walls festooned with graffiti. Maybe gentrification was on the way after all.

 

Her old house was among them, and she parked against the pavement, looking at the crazed, fifty-year-old remnants of a fence, the peeling, faded yellow paint. Jesus fucking Christ, had  _ nobody  _ painted it since she’d run off? Or had they, and just used the same color? The lawn was as brown as she remembered, the only patches of green bits of moss that had sprouted, and the front porch sagged. “Thranduil, is anyone actually in there?”

 

“No,” he said, trying to absorb the reality of….this. “There is nothing alive.”

 

“In that case,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and turning off the car, “I’m going in.”

 

When she stepped out of the car, the drizzle was chilly on her face, but the air was bracing, and calming. There were hinges for a gate, but no gate itself, so she passed them by with nary a second glance.

 

Nobody had re-done the front walk since she’d left; the big crack was still there, and she knelt on the dead grass, running her fingers over it. It had been here since she was very little, and there was something morbid in the fact that when her da had split his head open, it had been the crack he’d hit -- as though he was so dense his head could break concrete. Even now, after all these years, after all the drugs she’d been on that night, she could trace where the blood had run. The concrete was slightly rough beneath her fingertips, not smooth-poured; there were grooves that had always made her wonder if someone had gone over it with a broom when it was poured.

 

And kneeling here, touching this, just led to...dispassion. No rage, nor triumph, nor grief, just...nothing. She wasn’t sure if that was good or not, so she she’d take it that it was.

 

When Lorna rose, she could feel the porch sag a bit further as she approached the door. “Careful,” she said. “That might well give under you, if you step wrong.” Then again, elves could walk on top of snow, so maybe not.

 

He said nothing, but laid a hand on her shoulder. In his world of old, orcs had been housed better. A shadow passed over his face, and he briefly excused himself. Walking past the detritus of old lives gone by, he carefully determined for several dwellings in each direction that all were devoid of occupants, before rejoining her. All that time, she had stared at the doorknob as if weighing a decision. She briefly laid her hand over his, giving it a squeeze before opening the door. The hinges were every bit as squeaky as she remembered.

 

The house was every bit as tiny, too; it was barely bigger than Thranduil and Earlene’s bedroom. It did look as though someone had redone the carpet at some point in the last thirty years -- the dull grey she’d known had been given over to what had probably once been cream, but was now as stained and nearly as threadbare as what she’d had. Whoever had left the house hadn’t bothered to vacuum before they did; there were bits of plaster and just... _ things _ ...scattered across it, things she really didn’t want to look at too closely.

 

The smell of the place, though, was what hit her hard.  _ Really  _ hard. Stale cigarettes, yes, and booze, and that odd sourness, the odor she’d never encountered anywhere since. Her nose wrinkled; it wasn’t overpowering, but it was there, and even that was too much.

 

The kitchen and lounge weren’t really separated from one another; the corner to the right of the door had held what had passed for their dining-table, a small, wobbly thing of peeling pink Formica that was probably older than her parents. There was nothing there now, but her Da had sat at it, smoking and staring out the window, and they all knew to tiptoe around him. The longer he stayed that way, the better. “He had scars on his hand,” she said, almost without thinking. “His left hand, because he was a leftie, like me. I think I was...six? Seven? He’d hit Pat again while he was sitting at the table, and I must’ve gone blank, because I came to with blood in my teeth, and Da had a plaster on his hand. I’m not sure the scars ever did go away.”

 

She’d all but forgot that -- she’d tried to forget so much, and yet, as terrible as this place was, there was something almost...not cathartic, not quite, but close...in being here.

 

Thranduil wandered further, for surely there were sleeping rooms and a toilet. “Do you think anyone lived here, after your father died?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure someone had to’ve,” she said. “Some things’v changed. The fridge is different, and the carpet.” She hesitated to say ‘newer’, because it looked as ancient as the old one. When she approached the stove, she grinned. “This is where the four’v us made s’mores and made ourselves so sick,” she said, running her fingers over the metal. It was rusted in places, and the burners were a nightmare. “Pat, he also decided one day he was going to fry French fries, because for some bloody reason we had frozen French fries. He’d got the oil all heated, and he was about to just drop one in when Siobhan came out’v nowhere and tackled him like a bloody rugby player. How  _ she  _ knew not to fry frozen things, I have no idea, but she kept Pat from blowing up the kitchen.” 

 

They had to go through the kitchen, with its peeling floors and dented, forty-year-old cupboards, to reach the bedrooms. The so-called master bedroom wasn’t even the size of his and Earlene’s bathroom, while the one she’d shared with her siblings was maybe a little bigger than a closet. “Like Pat said, we’d only had the two beds,” Lorna said, running her hand along the wall beside where hers and Siobhan’s had been. The plaster flaked off beneath her fingers. “I was always so annoyed that Pat got his own, because Mick had the trundle. One’v the neighbors had bunk beds, so we tried to get enough shite together to build our own, but never managed it. Which is probably just as well, since I’m sure we’d’ve done it wrong, and whoever was on the bottom bunk would’ve got squished.” 

 

There was only one window, but it was a big one, even if it was grimy as hell. “We put oil on the hinges here, so we could sneak out whenever we felt like it. Mam and Da’s didn’t face where ours’d be seen, so we could just come and go. It’s how Pat and I especially got up to so much shite.” When she opened it, it certainly squeaked now, and she pulled it shut with a grimace.

 

“Let me see…” Kneeling, she took hold of a corner of the carpet, tugging very carefully. To her pleasure, it pulled easily, and she peeled it back enough to reveal a piece of irregular plywood. “Jesus, it’s still here. All right, Thranduil, if I scream and run like a little girl, will you promise not to laugh at me?”

 

“Maybe,” he laughed. “What in Eru’s name are you doing?”

 

“This is where we alway used to hide shit we didn’t want Da find out about,” she said, prying the plywood away. “We’d put it in bags or pillowcases on strings, so we could get at it without having to go under the house to get it.”

 

She was stunned to find that there was still, after all these years, a very faded red string wrapped around a tiny framing nail. Carefully -- because she really didn’t want to run into any surprise spiders, which had always been a terrifying possibility -- she unhooked the string and pulled it up.

 

It was attached to a plastic shopping sack, the contents of which she dumped on to the floor. A spider scurried out with them -- big bastard, too -- and she did in fact shriek as it scurried off, flailing a little. But once it was gone, she found herself confronted with an assortment of string, an empty book of matches, and myriad cheap plastic toys, all dusty. Mick had liked to collect marbles, and there was a small plastic jar of them laying on its side.

 

“Pat and I nicked most’v this,” she said, picking it up. “These were Mick’s birthday present when he turned...oh, maybe six? He could only play with them at night, because Da would’ve just smashed them all.” Setting it aside, she picked up a Wonder Woman action figure, the paint of her costume faded. “This one was mine. Siobhan had a She-Ra doll that she kept losing and blaming on me, so she’d try to steal Wonder Woman.” And of course, She-Ra was in fact not in the bag. Nice.

 

“It’s funny...this house was a nightmare. There was so bloody much misery, but what I’m remembering now -- I’m remembering the better things. Us as kids, not Mam and Da and their shite. The four’v us...it was the four’v us against the world, but especially Pat and me.”

 

Gathering everything back into the plastic bag, she put the plywood back and re-settled the carpet. The toilet was not a place she wanted to visit, but it needed to be done.

 

The single bare bulb in the ceiling naturally didn’t turn on, but that was okay. She could tell even by the light that went in through the door that none of the fixtures had ever been replaced. It was so small that there was no bathtub at all -- just a shower with an old-fashioned sunflower head, now rusted over. The lid of the toilet was cracked, the back cover missing...Pat had had to sit there, so many times, with his back to her, and she’d pretend she didn’t hear him sniffling while she patched up his back. Looking back, it had been a miracle none of the wounds had ever gone septic; she hadn’t had anything like antibiotic ointment, just plain soap and water, and more than once she’d had to use a pillowcase and duct-tape for an attempt at one big bandage. And that….

 

Lorna turned and hugged Thranduil. “I know why Pat couldn’t come back,” she said, her voice muffled slightly by his coat. “Jesus, I know now. Out’v all’v us, Da made him the most powerless. And fuck if I know why. Because he was the oldest? Because he was a boy? He beat on Siobhan almost as bad, but not quite.” What would Thranduil’s father have been like, if there had been more children? None of them would have been spared, she was sure. None of the Donovan kids had been.

 

He was not consciously aware of lifting her into his arms, so as to hug her properly. Though it lacked decorum, the phrase ‘miserable shithole’ could not seem to escape his mind. He left the squalid excuse for a bedroom, and placed her down, only then happening to catch sight of a heavy iron pipe. Who even knew what it was doing there, but suddenly rage he felt for both of them, rage he was never allowed to give into elsewhere, erupted. “Would you mind very much holding this for me?” he asked softly, as he wriggled out of his blazer and handed it to her. As an afterthought, off came the t shirt too. “Black gets dirty so easily,” he explained, reaching for the pipe as he tossed the shirt at her as well. “You might want to stand back a little”, he explained all too quietly.

 

At first, Lorna was entirely bewildered, and had to pull the shirt off the top of her head when it landed, but she cottoned on pretty fast. If he wanted to destroy the shit out of this place, she would happily let him. “Do whatever you want,” she said, backing up to give him room. Once he’d done, if there was anything at all left, she wanted a go -- though she wasn’t so sure he’d leave her much. That expression...looked too familiar. She’d seen it in her own mirror. And if he wanted to vent his anger on this hellhole, he was more than welcome to.

 

A lifetime of repression for the sake of duty erupted out of him, as the pipe first made contact with the ceiling overhead. But it did not stop there. The pipe felt much like a sword in his hand, and soon his well-trained feet and legs took over. Easily tall enough to manage, each swing systematically destroyed the bindings of the roof trusses, already weakened with age, neglect, and shoddiness of construction. Bearing walls came next, though he did have the presence of mind to work his way slowly back to the front door. That Lorna felt just as happy about what he was doing as he did egged him on further. 

 

_ I could not help you then, but I can do this now,  _ she heard. After only five minutes of incessant bashing that ought to have woken the dead, untold piles of split and ruined lumber littered the floor, as an ominous creaking came from above. He stood on the porch with her, contemplating the ruination. It had stopped raining, which gave him an idea. Taking Lorna to the ‘lawn’, he returned to smash out one of the porch supports, which provided a second reasonably heavy piece of wood with which to continue his entertainment. He handed her the pipe. It would be heavy for her, but not too heavy. Not for this. She needed to have some participation as well. “Windows?” he suggested.

 

She grinned, a downright feral grin. “Fuck yes,” she said. He had to be somehow keeping anyone from hearing this, so she didn’t bother trying to keep the volume down as she smashed at the windows for all she was bloody worth. The sound... _ did  _ something, loosened some knot within her that she hadn’t even been aware was there. Eventually she realized she was actually letting out some kind of half-baked battle-cry with each swing, the pipe heavy and solid in her hands.  _ Fuck you, Da. You’re dead and I’m not. I’ve got Pat and Saoirse and they’re safe, they’re happy, and YOU’RE DEAD.  _ “You’re worm-food,” she snarled, the kitchen windows crashing so beautifully, broken and cracked and shattered beneath the force of her swings. “You’re gone, and this  _ bloody. Fukcing. House  _ can damn well go with you!” The lounge windows were next, the chilly port air, faintly redolent of salt and petrol, sweeping in and driving out the stench of smoke and liquor. 

 

When she’d done them all, she stood panting, brushing her tangled fringe out of her face. That was...Jesus, she almost felt delirious. There was a strange euphoria in breaking this house that she’d never encountered before, and it was the sort of thing she wished she could bottle and sell.

 

Thranduil appeared equally...feral, just then. His usually immaculate hair was disheveled, creating the impression of a blond demigod out of some lost mythology, driven to wrath. “Come here,” he asked. “If my lack of having on a shirt does not offend you, may I pick you up again? There is one last thing I want us to do.”

 

In spite of it all, Lorna burst out laughing, still caught in her euphoria. “You know what? Why not. Not like this chance’ll ever come along again -- I’ve only got the one house to ruin.” He carefully lifted her up, seating her in the crook of his left arm.

 

“Place your hand on my right arm,” he said, as he reached his out in front of him, looking for all the world like one of the grim Argonath out of the Fellowship of the Ring movie. Once she did so, he closed his eyes. It was mildly alarming to her, to  _ feel _ his body thrumming next to hers. Suddenly he opened his eyes, and a goddamn  _ fireball _ erupted in the center of the house. As rolling orange flame shot up through the roof, his frame relaxed, and his other arm now came around her. “Well I think that looks just about right, don’t you?”

 

Lorna stared, wide-eyed. “You told me you could only do matches,” she said, a kind of savage delight warming her every bit as much as the fire. Without even pausing to think what she was doing, she snatched her mobile out of her pocket and took a picture, because she didn’t have an elven memory, and she never wanted to forget this moment. Ever. A lifetime’s worth of resentment of that place was getting cleansed by fire, the heat searing away the tainted remembrance of God only know how many blows, how many kicks, how many times one or all of the Donovan kids had hidden anywhere they could, no matter what time of year, to get away from the miserable excuse for a human that was their father. “You were already my best friend, but now you will be forever.”

 

He kissed her cheek before setting her down tiredly. “I don’t suppose you have a comb?” he asked, smiling. 

 

“Of course I do,” she said, still basking in the heat of that beautiful fire. 

 

Thranduil continued. “Usually, I can only do matches. That was an unusual effort that I will probably pay for by falling asleep on the way home. Honestly, I have never tried that before, and was not certain what would happen. It was utterly, completely,  _ worth it _ .”

 

“I don’t suppose you’d like a drink, would you? Because that is a bloody lovely house fire you’ve created, and I’m sure something alcoholic might give you back some energy.” With a grin, she went to the Charger and fished her comb out of her bag. Handing it to him, she once again took out her mobile and this time hit video mode.

 

“Pat, this is Thranduil’s present. That shithole’v a house won’t be much’v anything in about twenty minutes.” Oh, how she hoped the crackle of the flames would carry over the phone’s microphone. And it was all the more beautiful against the dull grey of the sky, the leaden clouds lending it a backdrop dark enough to make the dancing orange even brighter.

 

He cared for his appearance and after brushing himself off, restored his clothing, vaguely wondering what Thanadir and Earlene would say. He believed they would understand, though he could not imagine Thanadir himself behaving as he just had. It was as unbefitting a King as he could probably manage. Oh well, Lorna could just weld another ornament onto his Bad Elf Award, not that he would suggest it. “Not only a drink,” he said. “A meal. Find us someplace fancy. I do not care what it costs. We are going to enjoy ourselves someplace the complete opposite of this, and celebrate that the past is no more. Literally,” he smirked.

 

“In cinders,” she said, and couldn’t help but laugh. “All right, I haven’t got any idea where something like that might be, so Google to the rescue. Though, half a moment.” The flames weren’t so hot yet that she couldn’t get close enough to the crack in the front walk to spit on it. She’d pissed on her da’s grave and spat on the site of his death, and her nightmare of a childhood was literally going up in smoke...possibly the only day she’d ever had better than this was her wedding day.

 

Before she brought up the Google app, though, she hugged Thranduil again. “Thank you,” she said. “I...didn’t know how much I needed that.”

 

“Neither did I.” His arm came around her, as they stood side by side for a last few seconds, one improbable sight watching another. When the engine of the Charger roared to life and they drove off as though nothing had happened, he laughed, feeling a certain kind of elation he had never known before.

 

“Alright, so I don’t go and be a bloody hypocrite on my phone while I’m driving, check my mobile,” she said. “The restaurant at the top, the Chapter One, has got the best rating for fine dining in Dublin, but I’m pretty sure you can’t just walk in.” Or at least, unless you could mind-whammy people. Her nerves were still thrumming, the best kind of adrenaline singing through her veins. The house was gone, and yet she had taken the plastic bag with all the assorted bits of the Donovans’ childhoods in it. It represented what little good there had been. Perhaps Saoirse would like Wonder Woman, once Lorna could get her re-painted.

 

Thranduil happily tapped through the menu items, not caring that only Earlene would have had any chance of knowing what half of them even were. There were ways around everything. “It might be best to have enough cash on hand,” he murmured. “Have you a fifty Euro note on you?”

 

“I might,” she said, and when she paused at a stop sign, she admired the huge column of black smoke in the rear-view mirror. “My wallet’s in my bag.” She hoped so, anyway, or this could get awkward fast. “That is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, and I say that as someone who lives in the halls’v elves.”

 

He rooted through, finding what he wished. While he might not know a pickled herring from a malted milk crumb, he assuredly knew that a hefty gratuity and a simple request of what was wanted would manage to cover those deficiencies over. 

 

Lorna found the place easily enough. Before they entered, Thranduil handed her back her own comb, and helped her smooth over any remaining indications of having just destroyed a house. Wisely, she muted the ringer on her mobile and on his, since she was pretty sure that was frowned on in a restaurant this posh. Crisp bills in hand, he guided Lorna to the maitre d’, finding that the man was in good humor and that the establishment was not overbooked for lunch. “Have you a reservation?” the maitre d’ asked politely. 

 

“No,” smiled Thranduil. “But the two of us wish to dine here.”

 

The man made a practiced show of frowning over this departure from the norm, and scanning his seating chart. A fifty Euro note appeared as Thranduil spoke in his beautifully modulated voice. “I apologize for our spontaneity; we had hoped for any seating at all you could grant to us, having heard such good reviews of your restaurant.”

 

The man’s eyebrows arched. “One moment, sir. I will see what might be available.” The bill discreetly vanished into the man’s jacket, as he disappeared momentarily. Thranduil smiled at Lorna.  _ It will not be elf wine, but we will enjoy ourselves. _

 

_ Can I just say how hilarious it is, that even the rich people grease each other’s palms like my old gang did? I mean, that was a posher version of some exchanges I saw as a teenager.  _ Her eyes danced with mirth, but she somehow kept a straight face.

 

_ I could have mind whammied him, as you like to say, but we hardly need the money and this way everyone is happy. I would hate to be a negative, for the next persons who are in our circumstances. _

 

“This way, please,” he said, smiling as they followed him through the interesting and attractive contemporary decor.

 

_ I wonder why posh restaurants always have white tablecloths.  _ The chairs looked comfy, at least, if of course too tall: padded, and a deep brownish-greyish-fabric she couldn’t recognize. The carpet was a lovely shade of green, and had a very faint pattern of vines and leaves picked out in a lighter green, giving it texture. Tasteful recessed lighting in the ceiling, big lantern windows to let in what daylight the clouds allowed...yep. Posh. She was glad she’d worn her expensive clothes today, even if they were probably a bit different from that of the normal clientele.

 

“Your waiter will be with you momentarily,” the man smiled, waiting politely until they had seated themselves before handing them menus. Thranduil did not open his, having read all the pomposity when they were in the car. 

 

“Are you feeling adventurous?” he asked Lorna, with a twinkle in his eye. “I have an idea. After all, if I were to guess, neither one of us knows what a tenth of the things here taste like, and Earlene is at home.”

 

“I’ve probably got less than a tenth,” she said, scanning the menu. It was ‘scanning’, too, since she really didn’t want anybody knowing just how long it would take her to actually read it. Thranduil did, obviously, but nobody else needed to. “You know what? Why not. This has been a day’v adventurous things already.” A thought occurred to her, and it was all she could do not to burst out laughing.  _ Earlene once told me that she didn’t care what was in my background unless it was arson or organ trafficking. I think we’ve got the ‘arson’ portion taken care of now. _

 

It was all Thranduil could do not to chuckle himself (though he supposed bogging Von Ratched did not actually count as organ trafficking), but just then the waiter arrived. He was a handsome sort, with dark hair and green eyes, though not so green as Lorna’s. “Would you like to hear today’s specials?” he beamed, clearly ready to launch into a prepared sermon.

 

“No, we would not,” Thranduil said directly but kindly. “I want to prevail on you for a different request. The lady and I wish to have a four course lunch. Two appetizers, a main course, and a dessert. We would like to have what  _ you _ most prefer from among the choices available here, along with a glass of the chef’s recommended wine pairings for each of the courses. Can I entrust you with this?”

 

The young man’s eyes flared in surprise. Few did this; yet those who did were never disappointed, and it did not escape his attention that no inquiries regarding pricing were anywhere in the conversation. Better yet, they always tipped well. “I would be honored, sir, he said, bowing lightly as he removed the menus from their table. “Our fresh bread selection will be brought right away. Would the lady or gentleman prefer bottled water or a cocktail, before your appetizers?”

 

“Not for me, thank you,” the King said. “Lorna?”

 

As much as she kind of wanted a cocktail, she’d behave. “No thank you.”

 

With a nod he disappeared. Thranduil felt like turning the conversation away from their misdeeds of the day, but recognized Lorna likely wished to indulge in it for a few more minutes. “Well, your record remains unblemished,” he quipped, “seeing as how you did not cause the fire. Honestly, though I know it was technically unlawful, surely we have done someone a favor? There is that much less they will have to cart away; it was not as if that excuse for a dwelling was ever going to be inhabitable by anything besides vermin. And one of the luxuries of my life is that neither Earlene or Thanadir will criticize me too harshly, if at all.”

 

Lorna quirked an eyebrow. She was pretty sure that neither Earlene nor Thanadir had to actually vocalize, or even pointedly think, any criticism to nevertheless make their displeasure known, but that wasn’t her problem. Pat was going to blame her anyway, though, because he was Pat. “Thank you, for that,” she said. “I mean it. I didn’t know how much I needed that.”  _ I should add something to the Bad Elf Award. Something nobody else would understand if they looked at it.  _ A fire hydrant would be too obvious. Maybe a pipe.

 

“I was rather hoping you would not think of that, since I already did,” he smiled ruefully, thanking the waiter for the aromatically warm and rather tempting looking breads and seasoned whipped butter that had just appeared in front of each of them. “Do you want me to speak to Pat? While I would like to be able to say that all my actions were on your behalf, the truth is, it was something for me too. The remnants of my old life are long gone….but this was not. I am afraid I somewhat hogged your revenge. It was there and...I have never wanted to destroy something as much as I wanted to destroy that home. It felt….” he searched for a word.

 

“Freeing?” she offered, investigating some of that bread. “Nah, let me deal with Pat. I’m sure he’ll live.” Spreading some butter on a piece of what looked like a roll of some kind, she added, “I wouldn’t say you hogged it. You never got to do that, or anything like it, I’d assume.” The Halls were too pretty to bust apart, plus, you know, being made of stone, and thus impossible to burn down. “That place has haunted my nightmares for the last thirty years, and…I don’t think it will, anymore. It’s over now.” She only wished she’d had her mobile out when that fireball came whooshing out of the center of the house.  _ That  _ was a memory she would treasure, and one she wished she could have shared with Pat. It was gone. It was gone, and they were free. All of them.

 

The wine and first appetizer came. The waiter made a pretty speech about the wine and the name of the dish, which may as well have been all in French instead of partially. They smiled and nodded as if they understood or cared, each reaching for their glass of wine. “To us being here, Lorna,” Thranduil said as he raised his glass. “To us being here enjoying friendship and food they could not have dreamed of, when they are not.”

 

“Best toast I ever heard,” she said, carefully clinking her glass with his -- she didn’t want to know how much these wine glasses cost, and certainly didn’t want to have to pay for one if she chipped it.  _ Dunno if your da ever told you you were worthless, but mine did, and look at us now. With this fancy...I really wish I knew what this was. _ The waiter had said something about mutton, but that was about all she’d caught. It smelled really good, at least.

 

Thranduil tasted his food, and in seconds was feeling very appreciative. “I think we shall have to come here at another time, with the rest of our adult family. I will feel a little guilty for enjoying this, when Earlene is not. Then again she probably already knows how to make it,” he acknowledged, not really understanding that this was roughly two orders of magnitude above her level of culinary education or capability.

 

_ Jesus, do they cook this with crack in it?  _ Lorna wondered, because God  _ damn _ , this was somehow rich and smokey and practically melted in the mouth. “I’m sure if she doesn’t, she could probably work it out just by eating it,” she said. “Part’v me thinks her and Mairead need to get together and cook things, but the other part’s afraid the world wouldn’t survive. Though at least it’d piss Siobhan off.” Siobhan, who had apparently kept in touch with Shane, and Lorna absolutely did  _ not  _ want to know about it.

 

Lunch was wonderful, especially for the waiter who found himself praying they might return soon based on the size of his gratuity, and they both exited having sampled some very fine fare. Though the wines were not strong by Thranduil’s standards, they excelled in flavor and he had never tried the like before. Mortal wines had merit after all, just perhaps not in their ability to have alcohol affect an elf. “Are you in any kind of mood to go shopping?” he asked Lorna carefully.

 

Lorna did not respond with words, but flashed a smile of pure enjoyment. She was apparently having a  _ very _ good day.

 

*****

 

Earlene returned to Eldamar after their lunch at the Dining Hall; it seemed silly to require Ortherion to come and serve just a few of them. Thanadir sat with her at the King’s table, the use of which struck her as rather silly given the population of the Halls, but what did she know. The food was good, and they ate and enjoyed it. Saoirse ate with them, and while her social skills may not usually have been the best, she listened to Thanadir narrate on enthusiastically about rope walking technique until Earlene was almost sorry she had asked to learn. And after Ratiri’s verbal blunder this morning, she did not dare to do other than smile as if this were the most interesting subject on the planet. The horrible part was, she even had to try to pretend she  _ was _ interested, inside of herself, because what if he was listening to her thoughts and found out she was acting? That, she would never live down. So it was with considerable happiness that she found herself in the quiet room of their new home with her laptop and some notebook paper, saving articles and noting bullet points. She finally had some time to compose her thoughts for the next council meeting, and was certainly composing away.

 

Ratiri had spent much of the morning with his children and the kittens, but once the twins were down for naps and the kittens had fallen asleep in a pile on the bed, he went to hunt down Earlene. Unsurprisingly, he found her exactly where he’d expected. “Do you have a moment?”

 

“Depends,” she teased. “If it isn’t about systems of government, you might wish you’d run away.”

 

He laughed, and sat beside her. “No, rather less complicated,” he said. “It’s about the kitchen. What are we going to do if Lorna ever wants to cook? It’s not high on her list of hobbies, but she does enjoy making cookies and things sometimes, and neither she nor I thought of saying anything during the design phase, so now I don’t know what to do.”

 

“But there are built in steps-stools for her. Didn’t Orla tell her?” Earlene frowned.

 

“There are?” Ratiri asked, surprised. “No, and she didn’t tell me, either.” Another black mark against Orla, who he still wasn’t too pleased with at the moment.

 

“Here.” Earlene closed her laptop and left her materials, and walked him to the kitchen and stove islands, that were designed to be fully usable from either side. “On one side of each work space, there are these,” she said, reaching down to what looked like a decorative panel. “This flips down, it all slides out on rails Orla insists will last forever if not abused, and the stairs come up like this.” The mechanism clicked into place, and she showed him how to reverse it for storage. “It was her solution so that children and adults alike could participate in cooking and cleanup.” She bit her lip. “Er, don’t tell her I said that, you know what I meant. Poor Lorna, it’s not her fault, but this should help all the same. Oh, and for cabinets, there is another folding stepladder here. I will personally vivisect anyone who removes this from the kitchen area,” she said with a completely innocent and cheerful expression.

 

“These are ingenious,” Ratiri said, delighted. “All right, Orla is out of my doghouse, at least, if not Lorna’s. And I promise I won’t relay that, nor steal your stepladder, though I can’t promise you Lorna won’t borrow it for something if you don’t warn her first.” He ought to get one or two for the upstairs flat, just to be safe. “Poor Lorna. I know she wishes she wasn’t so tiny, but she’s just so... _ adorable. _ ”

 

Earlene suppressed raising her eyebrow, because while yes her friend was cute, she had to absolutely hate her size. She towered over Lorna, and still often wished she was taller. For whatever reason, ‘being adorable’ just grated, because Earlene guessed strongly that Lorna didn’t think so. Not. One. Bit. “I was going to order more,” she said. “In fact, maybe tomorrow or whenever we all can eat together again, we should have a brainstorming session for things the house still needs. This week was like a shakedown cruise; we needed to live in it a little to see what’s missing.”

 

“I can’t say I ever imagined I’d live somewhere like this,” Ratiri said, his eyes traveling the room. “You have to understand, even though my mam’s family had money,  _ we  _ didn’t. We were about as middle-class as they came. Houses like this...weren’t an option. And I know that Lorna certainly wouldn’t have, either -- but then, I’m not sure there is another house like this anywhere, or ever will be.”

 

“You and me both. While I guess I could have afforded it, I wouldn’t have. I was about as cheap as they came, though in a semi-sensible way. If I bought it, it was good quality. I just bent over backwards not to buy it in the first place,” she grinned.

 

“That sounds familiar,” he said. “I could’ve afforded a much better flat than I had, in London, but I didn’t want the bother or the expense. When you live alone, you don’t need much, though at least I never descended to a bed-sit. Not sure what I thought I was saving my money for, really, but I’m glad I did, before I moved to Ireland.”

 

She laughed. “I think the same thing, but only because the money I had helped the elves get off to a good start in the modern world. About six months ago, it all became hopeless. The elves were reimbursing me but...sure god it was a nightmare to keep up with all that. It isn’t easy when your currency is...rubies.”

 

“I’m surprised it didn’t become hopeless long before that,” he said, laughing as he brought down the medium-sized ceramic teapot. This was Ireland, and they were in the kitchen, therefore tea had to happen. “And you know what we need to stock up on, now that I’m thinking about it? Tea. Tea, and coffee, and pepper.”

 

“Add it to the lists,” she said drily. “That would be under Food, Items To Hoard,” wishing she were joking. “That’s what I’m doing now, working on stuff for the next meeting. Did you do your ‘Thanadir homework’, the government proposal?”

 

“I did,” he said. “Lorna and I looked up multiple things, and we think a Commonwealth might be the way to go. Our population will be small enough that it will be workable, and we can evolve and perfect it as time goes on.”

 

“I looked at that too. And probably in the end, that will be where it ends up. I found a provocative little slide collection about the origins of government that was worth noting too. No one will like it, but I want to find a way to talk about something else. The last meeting was a disaster, and illustrated at least somewhat that...this entire country suffers from PTSD. And I worry about the future of what we’re doing, on account of it. Whether anyone at all will be able to listen, though…” she shrugged her head. “That’s doubtful.”

 

“They won’t listen to your or I,” Ratiri said. “Trust me. We’re going to have to get this to them through Lorna, or they’ll clam up. You and I they’d write off as preachy foreigners, but Lorna’s Irish.”

 

“With the preamble that you and I  _ are _ both foreigners, and I’m pregnant...I really hate this shit, Ratiri. Sometimes, anyway. I love being in this country, and I care deeply about the people I’ve met. But this arse-backwards rejection of education, this insular worldview, and the cultural love affair with both anger and alcohol….yeah, I’m venting, but it drives me up a tree. I’ll do my best, but there are times I’m glad I’m not even trying to represent the human faction.” She flopped back down on the nearby sofa cushions, not caring if she talked loud enough to be heard in the kitchen. No one else was about, as far as she knew. “It’s frustrating.”

 

“Scotland has something of the same problem,” he said, rifling through the shelves of tea leaves, “just not to this extent. I know why, and I might have some glimmering idea of what to do about it, but when it comes to the ‘love affair of anger and alcohol’...we might be able to get them all to vent their anger in some more constructive way, but if we take away the alcohol, they’ll go into open revolt. There has to be a way to work with this that doesn’t clash with their sense of identity.”

 

“Do you know, I read this amazing academic article on cultural trauma and recovery? It was a comparison that...so you know that there are many tribes of Native Americans in the States, who got treated by the white descendants of Europeans pretty much like the English treated the Irish. Maybe even worse. They have a similar issue with multigenerational trauma, alcoholism, child abuse, on and on. They explored psychology techniques that included immersion in their own cultural traditions as a substitute for negative behaviors, and got amazing results when they got some Irish therapists to try it. Valar, we need one or ten of them. Psychologists, I mean.”

 

“Email it to me, would you?” he asked, picking a cannister of some brand of green tea he hadn’t tried yet. “That sounds fascinating, and I really wish we did have a psychologist. Indira and I took courses in medical school, but it was only basic.” Grinning he turned to her. “We need to have Lorna study psychology. She can’t through a school, but perhaps some kind of online courses…” She would  _ hate  _ it, but she’d understand the need. “Do you know that Sigmund Freud once said it was impossible to psychoanalyze the Irish? I think he said something about it being of no use to them whatsoever.”

 

“Pretty sure I came across that one. There isn’t much in the way of search terms I missed, trying to look at this. It was actually incredibly useful for me to read about this idea that in many ways, the English never left. But dammit, that’s the thing. These people have a chance to forge whatever they want, for their future. The mere thought that they will take this opportunity and allow  _ their baggage _ to forge the future, because they can’t see the hold it has on them….well that’s what scares me. Then again I also have to admit, I really can’t wrap my head around some concepts that seem to predate the English even. I think I was always too...elven, on some level.”

 

“Many of the Irish are descended from Viking invaders,” Ratiri said. “It’s where the gingers come from. In a sense, it’s in their blood, reinforced by society, but I’m sure there’s some way to work around it. They don’t see it as baggage. It’s the same in Glasgow -- it’s a mark of pride. And we’re going to have to find some way to have them see that on their own terms, or this will stall before it gets off the ground.”

 

“There’s something I’d like to say to you,” she said slowly, “in the hopes that it can somehow be translated into something Lorna can hear. Because I don’t know how to express this, when it has to sound like I’m...I don’t even know what. So at that last meeting. Lorna blew her stack and  _ only _ threw something at someone. Orla blurted stuff she’d no business blurting, seemingly with no filter. And Shane managed his side of it by verbal bullying that carried a promise of worse to any who didn’t go along with him. Ratiri, where I come from we call that ‘might makes right’. We teach our kids not to hit to solve problems, that they should learn to use words and find more elevated solutions. There is a part of me that cringes to think that social decisions will get made by whoever has the most convincing fist, when all of us have brains we could be using instead. Systems based on power as an authority tend to really be crap for women and children. Any, who are physically weaker. I mean, do you understand me at all, or am I on some Planet America and genuinely no one here thinks like that?”

 

Ratiri pondered this as the kettle shrieked. “What you have to keep in mind is that that was not the exchange of one average Irish person to another. That was two members of a gang who have known one another for thirty years or more. When they were young, one of them speaking incautiously in a wider group might have brought violence nobody wanted -- Shane was the eldest, the leader, and he’s probably had to do that in situations a lot more dire than that one. I’d imagine it was instinct.”

 

He snorted, and collected two mugs. “And I will wager you anything that he was half doing it for Orla’s protection. Lorna as he knew her might well have tried to take Orla’s head off for that.” Filling the strainer, he put it in the teapot and added the boiling water. “Anyway, that’s not the kind of thing you’re going to find from normal people, for lack of a better word, and Lorna can talk to Shane. The Irish are a bit like the Scottish in several ways, one of them being that for the most part they yell, but that’s all they do, and it cools down fast enough. We can work with that, given time and patience.”

 

Earlene stared, her thoughts clearly busy. “Maybe my speeches need to wait. I just...no one needs another meeting like that again. Ever. And yet somehow I’m not that optimistic.”

 

“No, we really don’t,” Ratiri sighed, and silently hoped like hell she’d never make any speeches about Ireland and the less than savory aspects of its culture. He’d need a word with Thranduil, so he could have a word with her. There was simply no way that would end well, ever. “They might surprise you, though. I mean, I doubt  it’ll be anywhere near perfect, but if Mairead didn’t shame the lot of them within an inch of their lives, I’d be shocked. She’s a mam, she’s used to dealing with unruly children.”

 

“True. She is a formidable that way, and someone I’m convinced will be a tremendous asset.” Earlene mulled for a moment. “I’ve got to plan more lessons for Saoirse, too. I’m backing myself into a chemistry corner with her. I was hoping you might come up with some introductions. I don’t agree so much that science should amount to busy-work learning projects and that it shouldn’t really be taught until secondary school. I think that’s why math and science go awry for so many...it’s compartmentalized into irrelevance, when really the uses of it are all around us.”

 

“I can do that,” he said, hunting down the sugar bowl. “Saoirse is one of those children, I think, that can do anything so long as you don’t tell them they shouldn’t be able to. And probably cuss like a sailor while she’s at it, though I’ve noticed she’s been trying not to so much.” He laughed as he poured two cups. “I have to admit, I have such a hard time keeping a straight face when she curses, then sort of squinches her face in embarrassment and says, ‘Oh, god dammit’.”

 

“That’s constant. Don’t tell him I said this, but I think even Thanadir is becoming slowly immune. He can see it is not easy for her, and even my dear Seemly Seneschal is having to relent. A little. As long as the bad words aren’t ever directed at him, I think he’ll keep level enough. Saoirse has so many astonishing aptitudes while struggling with other kinds of learning. I want her to realize how good she is, and believe it.”

 

“Yes, well, don’t tell him  _ I  _ said this, but I’m just waiting for the day he curses himself,” Ratiri laughed. “It’s only a matter of time before he lets out a ‘damn’ or a ‘shit’. He’s surrounded by it every time he’s not solely in your and Thranduil’s company. And actually, he sort of is even then, because of Allanah.”

 

“Oh dear,” Earlene said, horrified for her meldir. “I’m not so sure that would be good. I honestly believe he might implode if that happened…I mean, this is his cherished identity you are talking about. If Thanadir fails to uphold seemliness, the planet might go off its axis. Besides, since Thranduil started in with Allanah, I’ve not heard a single such word. But...that does lead me to a question. Are you going to bring up your kids letting them speak that way openly? I’d like to encourage better, at least in adult company, but I also understand the concept of a lost cause. I don’t mean that I’m a prude about it, you can see I use those words too. But I want them to be able to know there is a time and a place, which is what we are trying to teach Saoirse during lessons.”

 

“So long as they’re around the house and not around Thanadir, Lorna and I would be terrible hypocrites to deny them,” Ratiri said. “I don’t personally see any problem with cursing -- I just usually do mine in Hindi. But I know it affects Thanadir quite a bit.”

 

“I have a really hard time, with knowing what to do. I do not want them to be in such a habit of using those words that if they meet an outsider they are guaranteed to slip up because they cannot keep what is polite apart from coarser speech. Though..there’s twenty years left, and then none of it matters. Am I worrying about nothing, all things considered? I struggle to remember, they are not going to have the adult life I had. None of them are,” she said quietly, feeling suddenly very sad.

 

He pushed her tea toward her. “They’re not, but that isn’t wholly a bad thing,” he said. “They won’t get to travel as we have done, no, but they also won’t live in a world of terror attacks, and taxes, and...and Trump. There’s much that they’ll lose, but there’s as great deal to be gained. And as sick and morbid as it is, I cling to it. My Shane won’t suffer what Lorna and I did. Nobody’s going to give him shit because his skin’s darker. It’s a trade-off.”

 

“So you believe that social collapse will allow the eradication of prejudice? I...did not consider that. It would be wonderful, if that could be the case.” Call her cynical, but she did not have this much faith in people. It was perhaps one consequence of her past that might never be eradicated. When you saw firsthand, the damage just a few hate-filled persons could manage…

 

“I certainly hope so,” he said. “I mean, it’s all learned behavior. No child is born prejudiced, and we’re starting out in a society where everyone already knows everyone else, or will soon enough. As Agent Mulder says, I want to believe.”

 

Earlene laughed. “Good one. Clearly you and I do not talk enough.” She paused. “So...question, since you know so much more about kid things. What are your thoughts on Saoirse learning about pregnancy and birth? As in, is a child of her age, is it suitable for her to witness a birth, if she wishes to?”

 

“At eight years old? I’d almost certainly say no, but Saoirse also isn’t an ordinary child. From what I’ve seen of her so far, though, I would counsel against it. I’m afraid she’d believe you were dying, and even if not, I can’t imagine her handling watching someone she cares about in pain.”

 

“I’d thought about it being a valuable experience for her, but...you’re right. And after how it went with Ithiliel...it’s impossible to count on what might happen. Or not happen. Well, there’s always YouTube.” She shrugged.

 

“I’ve wondered before now if there’s anything you  _ can’t  _ find on YouTube,” he said dryly. “Given that she went to public school, I think it’s safe to say she probably already knows the, shall we say, mechanics of sex, but God only knows how accurate it might have been. We’ll have to ask her, without Pat present, just what she’s been told, and by whom.” He sipped his tea, and laughed. “I was eight when my parents tried to give me the Talk. Fortunately I already knew most of it, or they might have put me off sex for life. Dad tried to go the clinical route, while Mam got out a tampon and told me what they did -- even made me unwrap it so she could explain how it worked. They then got into an argument about birth control, and whether I yet needed to know methods and what they did. I got quite an education that day, and not entirely in the way they wanted.”

 

Earlene stared back at him, trying not to appear appalled. “Apparently I had a balanced family, that way. Mom just...talked about stuff, all my life. If I asked questions, she’d answer; they never made it into a big event. I just knew I could ask if I wanted to know, and that I’d get an honest answer. Gran was a little more forthright about female bodily functions,” Earlene laughed. “She had a lot to say about menopause, and maybe her comments are best left alone.” She kept on laughing, because this was a fond memory that had not been called to mind in a very long time. “Oh, gran,” she shook her head. “If only you could see me now.”

 

“I think you might be the only one of us that  _ did  _ have a balanced family,” Ratiri said, a little dryly. He’d never wanted to ask about Thanadir’s family, figuring the Elf would volunteer whatever he wished, but evidently he’d grown up very poor. “At least somebody did. God, I have to admit...I wasn’t thrilled by the idea of Lorna going to that house. Not after the prison. Thranduil will keep her from getting into  _ too  _ much trouble, but I’m rather afraid there will be some manner of property damage if the house stands empty.”

 

Earlene raised both eyebrows at this, as she appreciatively sipped her tea. Well, Thranduil was powerful, more powerful than he often revealed. Somehow, he’d manage. Then again, maybe checking the Dublin online news feed wasn’t the worst idea. “It doesn’t bother you, does it, that she can...get that way? I struggle with it, a little. There are times that I don’t even know what to make about the disparity between her life and mine. It isn’t even so much that I have judgemental thoughts about the actions as...I just know she has it in her to rise above all that stuff. When she puts her mind to it, her wit has a razor’s edge, though she might not see it.” Her head shook. “I think I’ve lived too long feeling under compulsion to be on only one side of the law, and it’s not easy to do otherwise out of long habit.”

 

“I was raised by two hotheads,” Ratiri said, “and spent my adolescence in Glasgow. No, it doesn’t bother me. It’s part of who she is. Am I grateful it’s a lesser part, now? Of course I am. But one of the things I love about her is that she’s...raw. Half-wild. She just knows how to contain it now -- more or less. She’s getting there.” He poured himself more tea. “She’s never going to be serene. Lorna was not built to be calm and poised.” She was never going to be anything like Earlene; not unless someone forcibly re-wrote her entire personality.

 

“Not built to be calm and poised…” Earlene echoed. This, was something. Something that had never occurred to her. She stared at him very intently. “That is really...I don’t have a way to ask this without it sounding awful, but you’ve just said something outside what I’ve previously considered or encountered. Are you saying that there is a personality with those characteristics that is not the product of psychological dysfunction?” 

 

“Of course there is,” he said, surprised. Had Earlene really not known that? But then, if she’d lived her entire life among a certain economic set, and a certain social strata, why  _ would  _ she know it? “Had Lorna been born into a functional family, she might not have had the rage, but she is fundamentally...she would call herself ‘common’, though I don’t think that’s an entirely apt word. Some people prefer the less refined things in life -- they’d rather have beer than wine, would rather have more...more earthy things than something of finer quality. There’s a certain type that’s deeply uncomfortable with that sort of thing, and I think Lorna would be that way no matter what.” 

 

Laughing, he added. “God, my mother was a prime example. Raised in a very wealthy Indian family, and chose to go to Scotland with a poor young doctor in his tiny house with a leaky roof. She told me she was happier in that little house than she ever was in India, with all her fancy clothes and gourmet food. And yes, she and Dad fought like demons sometimes, but I swear it was halfway their form of flirting.”

 

What Earlene did not miss was the note of surprise. “I am sorry, that I asked. That I had to ask. You must wonder how I could possibly not know that,” she shook her head, more than a little embarrassed. “I too am a product of my environment. And the Lornas of the world are outside of my experience.” Her voice took on a downcast tone, worthy of Thanadir.

 

“And why should you?” Ratiri asked gently. “You said yourself, you’ve never met anyone like Lorna before. Trust me, were you to ask her questions about your own upbringing and worldview, she would be entirely at sea, because she’s never met anyone like you before, either. And…”

 

He paused, not certain how to say this. Perhaps it too would be best put through Thranduil -- no.  _ No, we can’t start that up again.  _ They couldn’t just cease communicating simply because some things were awkward. “You have to understand, to many of these Irish people -- Lorna included -- the idea of being ‘classy’ is something of an anathema. They associated it with the English, even now. So do the Scottish -- believe me, I should know. They’re not going to appreciate being told they need to change, which is why your speeches don’t need to wait, they need to never happen. These people -- it’s not even entirely pride that drives them, but it’s something close. If you give them any speech about needing to ‘better’ themselves, they will turn on you like wolves. You and I, they won’t listen to us. Lorna knows how to talk to them at their own level, in literally their own language. There’s no way they could call her a snob, and it’s what we’d both get, if we tried it. To them, we’d be preachy foreign snobs who think we’re better than they are.”

 

For the tiniest moment, anger flared, but Earlene chalked that up to her hormones and swiftly forced it elsewhere. She sifted what he’d said as if it was a list of variables in an equation. And the conclusion very quickly became that if his assessment was accurate, her ideas would be a complete disaster. Producing the exact opposite of the desired outcome… “So I’d be about as useful as water in a gas tank, is what you are telling me,” she said slowly. “As it makes no sense to provoke an undesirable outcome, so much for that idea. But you leave me feeling like I have to convince Lorna, and that seems almost thornier.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is a place where information cannot stand on its own merit; the source of it matters more?” Earlene so very much wanted to believe she had misunderstood, though his words had been perfectly clear.

 

“We both would be, if  we tried anything directly,” he said. “Everyone’s going to have to compromise all around. You and I need to talk about what exactly it is you want to do, before we go to to Lorna, because I’m sort of the...cultural bridge, I guess. And...sort of. It depends on the information. Were it something about medicine, or law, or education, it could come from any one of us. With other things, though -- things like what we’re talking about -- the source very much does matter more. I don’t know that any of you really realize that Lorna is not actually abnormal. The level of her temper was, yes -- oh God, yes -- but she’s not an atypical Irish specimen.

 

“Bluntly, you and I can’t criticize them to their faces. It would blow up in ours, in a big hurry. The Irish are proud and stubborn, because right up until the last forty years or so, that was pretty much all they had. Even after the country was granted independence, much of it was poverty-stricken for decades. I mean, Lorna’s grandmother lived in a cottage that didn’t get electricity or running water until the nineteen-eighties. There’s a certain kind...oh, hell, how do I put this?” He ran his hands through his hair, hunting for words. “You and I have never known hardship, and because of that, anything we might say about behavior will be dismissed, whether they realize they’re dismissing it or not. To them, with this, we’re a bit like Jon Snow: we know nothing.”

 

Earlene’s shoulders sagged visibly, and her face washed over in sheer...annoyance wasn’t the right word, neither was bafflement. Logic clashed with reality, in her mind, and there was simply nowhere to go with it. Which is why she did not see Thanadir, who had entered through the back door and saw only her; the view of Ratiri was obscured by the hearth and chimney. He hastened over. “Are you well, Earlene?” Worry spread over his face. 

 

“I am. Mostly.” She offered her hand to him which he took while sitting next to her, a little like a fretting vulture, if there was such a thing. “Ratiri and I are talking about...political realities among the Irish, and I have just been informed that what I thought was logic, does not apply. I am trying to understand how I can possibly…” Trailing off, she sipped her tea while shaking her head sadly. 

 

Thanadir, only now seeing Ratiri, simply said, “Hello.” He was far more interested in what she could not express. “What is it about?”

 

“Meldir, it is the same as what I told you about, when we walked in the woods after the last council meeting that went so badly. But I can elaborate a little more. I like living here very much. Ireland, I mean, not only Thranduil’s realm. But there are things, aspects of Irish culture that I do not like; the tendency to want to settle disagreements with aggression and violence. Ordinarily, I would tell myself that I am a foreigner here, and I would accept that I am the one who needs to adjust my thinking; I am the outsider. Elves do not brawl in the dining hall that I have ever seen; they speak with each other. No elf has ever tried to dictate my behavior with threats of physical harm, though all of you could; you are far stronger than any of us. And yet you are gentle toward others. Ratiri is telling me that as an outsider, my opinion will have no merit, because they will believe I have not known the struggles they have had. As in, I have never lived in poverty, and therefore my words have no merit.”

 

Thanadir blinked at this, frowning. “I have lived in poverty. But I do not see that this experience has any connection to creating a government. Except of course a wish to avoid mismanaging resources so as to not return to poverty. It is not necessary to have wealth or luxuries to be happy. But being poor and lacking food and warm clothes...happiness is harder to find, when such is the case.”

 

An idea struck Ratiri, though in this case he really did think he ought to talk to Thranduil about it first, since Thranduil was the one who actually knew Thanadir. To the humans, the Elves were effectively alien; yes, they liked them, but there was no commonality there. If Thanadir should ever prove willing to talk about his youth -- that they could understand. But Ratiri was not going to just blurt out and ask him about it right now. “The Irish are almost...anti-nobility,” he said. “Hell, there’s no  _ almost  _ about it. You lot, you’re not human, so that’s different -- and the important thing is that you’re not asking them to try to be like you in any way. I was telling Earlene that what we need to do is have our ideas run to them through Lorna, because they  _ will  _ listen to her -- if only because she’ll make them. Everyone is going to have to wind up compromising, and perhaps none of us will get exactly what we want, but such is human nature. Unfortunately.” He laughed. “It will be good practice for government, if nothing else.”

 

“I’m just going to say this here, because I can,” Earlene murmured, reflexively running her thumb back and forth over Thanadir’s, unaware of her movements. “I don’t think I need to spell out that rejecting a thing solely because it exists is a poor way to make decisions. In the States, certain ethnicities reject taking advantage of education because ‘it’s acting white.’ In other parts of the world, health workers kill themselves trying to vaccinate against polio, only to be run off because of suspicions and prejudices that are based on falsehoods and a desire to believe that outsiders are bad. I could go on and on but...I hope for the sake of the future that someone can wake up and see that rejecting things connected to nobility, just because, well that’s not the most productive manner of thinking. Yes, I understand that the English left scars on the psyche of everyone here, but it’s still a choice. I do not hate Muslims on principle, because 9/11 happened. I could have; I’ve met those who do. Doesn’t make it right,” she said flatly.

 

“It’s going to take time,” Ratiri said, uncertain what else he could say. “Everyone has only known of this -- of the Elves -- for what, four months? Mairead and Big Jamie did earlier, but barely. No, of course you don’t hate Muslims on principle, but Muslims didn’t spend a thousand years actively repressing and murdering your people.” 

 

He sighed. “This is not something they’re going to get over in a month, or another few meetings. It’s something that’s been ground into them over countless generations, and it could well take a decade to fix it. I know saying that we’ve got to be patient is no help, but it’s the truth. And we need Lorna, because the brutal fact is that she really is the only one they’re going to listen to, at least to start off with.”

 

Earlene stared down at her hand and Thanadir’s. “I just wanted someone to tell me that they understand what I’m trying to say. Even if it never flies with the majority. From what you’ve said, there’s nothing else for it. Maybe it’s best I just stay out of it. After all, I don’t represent the human faction.” Something like a snort escaped her. “At this point I am not sure how much I even think like one, anyway.”

 

“Do not be downhearted, Earlene,” Thanadir encouraged. “Last time did not go well but it is as Ratiri said...we have a very long time to prepare. Things meant to endure are not created swiftly. I think it is important, that you raise these issues. But when others see a better way to present them...meldis, I have been told more times than I can count, not to speak or to stop speaking on account of my not understanding the emotions of others involved in a given circumstance. I long ago accepted that my King had greater insight than I. Perhaps this is the same. Ratiri has always lived closer to these people than you or I. I think you should listen to his advice.”

 

“You win, both of you. It is only...logical.” 

 

“But  _ I _ am the one with pointed ears,” Thanadir protested.

 

Ratiri just laughed. He was so, so ordering Thanadir a Spock t-shirt for his birthday.

 

*****

 

Thranduil was oblivious to the dichotomy of a very tall blond man entering a maternity store with a tiny woman who was not visibly pregnant. Though, not for long, as the thoughts of the sales clerk drifted his way. He chuckled, ignoring her in favor of Lorna. “Last time Earlene had few clothes to wear in her later months, and was unhappy on account of it. You have seen what she prefers. I thought many tunics, and the leggings she seems to like?” He might be efficient at exercising Kingly authority, but even to him the sea of clothing racks seemed baffling.

 

“Tunics, leggings, and slippers,” Lorna said firmly. “You can never have too many slippers when you live somewhere with stone or hardwood floors, and if her feet haven’t started swelling yet, they will do soon.” She went over what Earlene already had in her head, even as she scanned the racks. There were floral tops, but most of them were fairly icky -- patterns of huge flowers, that on a pregnant woman would make her look like a lump, and too bright into the bargain. “Oooh, what about this one.”

 

She didn’t actually drag Thranduil into the racks, but she came close. What she’d found was some kind of soft fleece, a tunic in almost the same shade of blue as the bridesmaid sari had been. “This’ll be good for when it gets cold, and I  _ think  _ it’ll be long enough on her.” When Lorna held the garment up to her own body, the hem hit her shins, so it would probably be good for Earlene. “She’s already got a nice warm robe, and the shawl from the Aran Islands...was she much prone to cold, the first time around? God knows I was, but I don’t remember her saying anything’v it.”

 

Thranduil frowned. He could not recall complaints, but she had also spent vast stretches of time near the fire with Thanadir. “I think it is safe to assume that she prefers to be warmer. Sadly, our Halls are never exactly toasty. Plus she has many lighter garments; ones like these I like very much.” He was then assaulted with the understanding that the sales clerk was circling them slowly, pondering how the two of them managed intimacy.  _ Eru, are they all like this? _ He could not help but wonder.

 

“No, they’re definitely not,” Lorna said, handing him the blue tunic. “I’ve not really seen her in red, but it’d look good, and it’d be good at Christmas. I know I was so bloody depressed at the end that bright colors were a help, but she’d need a certain shade. It can’t just be fire-engine red.” The word  _ fire  _ made her choke on a giggle, and she had to suppress it into her sleeve as best she could, trying to distract herself with the racks.

 

“The party, in New York. The gown Thanadir made was a red like that of wine. That looked very nice. But I believe she could wear lighter shades. Rubies and garnets look very pretty against her skin,” he recalled. “What about this?” He held up a solid colored tunic in an absolutely primary red, with a flattering irregular hemline. “Thanadir likes to embroider, too. He could make any of these...fancier, if given some time.”

 

Lorna looked at it, and pondered. Earlene’s skin was fair enough that such a bright color wouldn’t make her look ruddy, and it would look beautiful with some gold or black embroidery. “I say go for it,” she said.

 

Thranduil happily kept adding more tops in assorted color choices while Lorna picked out slippers. He was deeply impressed, that Lorna had Earlene’s human measurements in her phone, for he did not know them (though, he did now). This was fun, for him, the flicking through the racks and imagining the garment on his wife. What he really now wished to do was shop for this...lingerie, but he knew better than to even suggest it around Lorna. He sighed, a smile spreading over his face at the memory of her in such a tantalizing presentation. That would have to happen by other means. 

 

For someone who had rarely shopped in her life, Lorna was discovering she was at least good at hunting down maternity clothes that ought to suit Earlene’s taste. Unfortunately, as they went, a semi-disturbing number of women in various stages of pregnancy were slowly but not-so-subtly closing in. God damn hormones, she remembered how bad they were, and to most women Thranduil was like a piece of meat over a shark tank. Maybe they’d better wrap this up.  _ I think we ought to head for the register _ , she said, unwilling to make eye contact with any of the women.  _ Like, now. _

 

Only then did the King look up from his reverie to find himself the object of intense...appreciation. Perhaps Lorna was right, although he could not but help feel a little flattered. A slight smile spread over his face.  _ Very well. I assume we have to give some form of payment for these? _

 

_ We do _ , Lorna said.  _ Just like at the restaurants, really -- stick your card in the chip reader, enter your PIN number, and we’ll be good to go.  _ All right, that ginger at Thranduil’s six really needed to get her eyes off his arse. It was blatant, and it was  _ creepy _ . Who did that? She never ogled Ratiri like that in public, and he was her husband, not some stranger who, given that he was in the bloody maternity department and lugging around  _ maternity clothes _ , probably wasn’t single. Ew.

 

Ginger did her best attempt at a saunter, to Lorna’s dread and irritation, and fetched up beside Thranduil, tapping him on the back. “Are those Guess jeans?” she asked, in a voice that made Lorna’s skin crawl. Oh God, really?  _ Really?  _ She knew that pick-up line, and it was a groaner even as far as those went.

 

Thranduil turned to look down on the woman, stunned. That this one had a Siobhan-like mind was obvious. He gave his best answer. “You would have to ask my wife,” he replied, in a voice that was none-too-friendly. 

 

That seemed to throw the woman, mercifully, and Lorna’s eyes narrowed. “Are you really trying that awful’v a pick-up line on a man in a  _ maternity section _ , while you’re obviously up the bloody yard yourself? Jesus Christ, even I’ve got better manners than that. Get your eyes off my brother’s arse before I jam my foot up yours.” She grabbed Thranduil’s hand and all but dragged him off, with a mutter of, “You need to not let Earlene send you out in those trousers if she’s not here to defend your honor. Or your arse.”

 

The woman blinked, but said not at word, and in spite of her annoyance, Lorna smirked. Ginger’s eyes traveled from her to Thranduil, no doubt wondering how in the hell they could possibly be related.

 

“Did we pay for the clothing?” Thranduil asked, still dazed at the sheer audacity. “Eru, she asked the question because she wanted to say, ‘guess who wants to get into them?’ Have these people no morals?”

 

“Not yet, and apparently she doesn’t,” Lorna said grimly, marching him up to the register. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen that before, either. I mean.... _ Jesus _ . Of all the places you’d never expect to hear any pick-up line, let alone one that awful…” There were a few other women around, and they all looked at her a tiny bit askance, standing rather further away than was strictly necessary in the line. “I’m serious about those trousers. They need to stay at home unless she’s here to deal with the, uh, fallout.” Great, now she was equating Thranduil’s arse to a nuclear weapon. Could this day get any stranger?

 

He now stood apart, a rather harsh glare on his face directed at any who had the audacity to still look his way.  _ Earlene said I looked very nice,  _ he thought to himself.  _ Though even she seemed to have carnal thoughts. Eru, next time maybe I should just wear my ordinary clothes, if these are some manner of spectacle. _

 

They managed to get everything paid for without further incident, though it was probably a good thing Lorna wasn’t aware just what the clerk persisted in wondering. Once they’d made it outside, she burst out laughing. She just couldn’t help it. Poor Thranduil...he had the same problem Ratiri did. Earlene needed to dress him like some kind of obnoxious hipster, except even that might not work. At the very least, he needed a longer shirt. Ginger hadn’t been the only one who’d zeroed in on his arse (and really, this was the  _ maternity section _ . What the hell had they thought they were doing? Yeah, her own hormones had played merry hell with her, but she had not, to her knowledge, stared at anyone who wasn’t her husband as though they were a piece of meat.)

 

“We need to get you some really unflattering clothes,” she said, between giggles. “Otherwise this might keep happening.” She didn’t dare look at him, lest she laugh even harder; instead she led him to the Charger, parked on a street now quite busy. As much as she disliked being tiny and vaguely childlike in some ways, at least she never had to put up with  _ that _ . There was the gobshite who had tried to grab her arse in the tattoo parlor, but he was the sort that would have done it to any female in front of him.

 

While she stowed the shopping, there was a faint (but noticeable) very distant  _ boom _ , distinctly audible over the sounds of the traffic. If she’d heard it, Thranduil had to have, and now she did look at him. “What d’you suppose that was?”

 

Thranduil considered. “Do they not have aircraft in your world, that can break the sound barrier and make such a noise? I have read about them, but never heard one.” He shrugged. “Perhaps some military...thing.”

 

“I’ve never heard one, either,” Lorna said, and hoped, rather uneasily, that it wasn’t terrorists of some sort. If it was, she wanted the hell out of Dublin, now. “Whatever it is, I’d rather be home when we find out about it.”

 

She pulled into a traffic perhaps a little more aggressively than she needed to, but not by much; if you weren’t at least assertive in Dublin traffic, you weren’t going anywhere. This was just the very beginning of rush hour, so hopefully it wouldn’t be  _ too  _ bad.

 

_ Jinxed it _ , she thought, as they crawled to the M7. At least there were close enough to the head of the rush that it wasn’t awful once they were actually on the motorway. “Thank you, for today,” she said. “I didn’t know how much I needed that. Knowing that place is gone...it’s worth more than I’d imagined.”

 

“You are welcome,” he said, staring into the distance ahead. “I do not think I too ever realized the value of...how do you say it, ‘letting it all out’? While my behavior was probably appalling in view of my station, nothing worthwhile was harmed and no one is the wiser. Though…” he trailed off for several seconds before speaking again. “Lorna, did you ever think that maybe what we felt today, that that is why our fathers beat us? Were they seeking this same feeling, not caring who they harmed?”

 

Lorna immediately shook her head. “No,” she said. “You’ve not -- you haven’t got quite the same personal experience I do, that way. There’s been times I’ve...well, that I’ve been like that myself. You told me, a while back, that I liked to hurt people, and I did. You’re chasing a different kind’v feeling, when you beat someone. What we did today, that was about power, and taking back what was taken from us. To hit someone, to hurt them like that...that’s not about power, that’s about domination. What we did didn’t actually hurt anyone. We didn’t make anyone suffer.”

 

She paused, and felt slightly sick at what she said next. “Making someone suffer, it does give you a bit’v a high, but it’s different. This was -- this was clean, if you take my meaning. What you get off hurting someone is dark and ugly, and Christ can it be addictive. If it wasn’t for Shane, I might’ve wound up just like my da.”

 

He sighed, looking over at her and smiling while briefly placing his hand on top of hers as she worked the transmission gearshift. “I am glad that you know that. Somehow. Strange as it may be, for all that I have killed countless hundreds, no emotion ever went along with it; it was some sort of a...job to do. I have never hurt someone in anger, or tried to. It would have ended up badly, and...I wanted to be different than my father. At least I managed that much.”

 

“That’s...so much more than I can say,” she sighed. “Honestly, I think Shane was the best thing that could’ve happened to me, when I was younger. He taught me that there was a difference between fighting and beating -- sometimes you have to do the first one, in the world we come from, but the second one...it took me a while to get it through my head, because my idiot brain didn’t understand the difference at first. I couldn’t even see that there  _ was  _ one. There was a while in there...Jesus, nobody but him knows this...but at first, that first year and a half, I needed him to tell me when it was okay and when it wasn’t. I wouldn’t’ve known myself, but if it was time to hit someone, he’d let me know -- and he told me when to stop. It was the first concept’v self-discipline I’d ever heard’v, and it made me want to be like him. I wanted to be a Shane, not a Da.”

 

Thranduil’s mind drifted back to his earliest encounters with the exacting and morally upright figure of Thanadir. There were often not words spoken, just his shining example. A tiny part of him shuddered to think, what he might have become without the elf’s persistent guidance. Someone who kept his feet to a straighter path, when many instincts inside of him wished to go off on his own. What did he ever do, to deserve Thanadir? There might never be an answer, but that did not erase his thankfulness.

 

Traffic smoothed out after a while, and she was able to get them back to Lasg’len without speeding  _ too  _ much. It was with relief that she pulled into the driveway, parking in her usual spot beside the cottage. They never had worked out other parking, but it was just as well the road outside the forest was little-used. It was entirely safe to park on the edge.

 

When she got out, she gathered one of the bags of clothes, but she also took the plastic sack she’d rescued from the house. Maybe Pat would want to see it, or maybe not, but she thought that she needed to spend some time with its contents. There  _ had  _ been some good -- it had just been wrapped up in her siblings. They’d all had each other, even if at times they’d wanted to murder one another. That just went with having siblings.

 

When they entered the home, Thranduil took advantage of his knowledge that everyone in the home was in the A/V room, school room, movie room, learning room (what to call it seemed to be yet undecided) to tuck his purchases away out of sight for the time being. Lorna immediately used the washroom nearest the door, which had the result that the two of them entered together to find all of the others in their household mesmerized by a news program that was being broadcast live. Earlene was the first to notice them, and rose to adhere herself to her husband. “I’ve been worried,” she said. “We’ve been worried, when you weren’t answering your mobiles. But I can see that you are fine,” she smiled at them both, before kissing him appreciatively. And very much hoping that she could have a go at him in those clothes, in a awhile.

 

“Oops,” Lorna said. “We went and got food, and I muted them. Forgot to turn the ringers back on. We got you stuff,” she added, holding her bag aloft. “Except there were a bunch’v creepy pregnant ladies who surrounded Thranduil like it was Shark Week and he was a wounded dolphin. You need to not send him out into the world in those trousers if you’re not there to deal with that.”

 

Pat, she noted, was behind the others, glowering a bit. What the hell crawled up his arse and died? She didn’t want to ask.

 

“What is so interesting?” Thranduil asked innocently, while he controlled his reaction to Pat’s extremely voluble thoughts. The man was standing behind all the others, leaning up against his chair rather than sitting in it. Arms crossed, and glaring at them with rather a knowing look, as thoughts about ‘fire’ and ‘explosion’ were quite prominent. Thranduil gave him a hopeful half-smile.

 

“Just wondering how your trip went,” Pat said. He had suspicions,  _ many  _ suspicions, but he wasn’t certain yet -- and until he knew, he wouldn’t go ratting them out to anyone else.

 

Lorna looked at Thranduil. “It went good,” she said. “Christ, the board was still there -- all the houses were condemned, so we could just go on in -- anyway, the board was there, and so was one’v the bags.” She set the plastic sack on the counter. “It’s got Mick’s marbles, and my old Wonder Woman, and all sorts’v things.”

 

Thanadir, realizing that no one had answered his King’s question, pointed eagerly to the screen and began mimicking the news information he’d heard: “In Dublin a home caught fire, but no one reported it. The authorities say it burned for a time, but that the old gas pipelines under the neighborhood were leaking. It exploded, and now look at it all,” he said excitedly. “I never saw a fire-drake, Thranduil. Were they much like this?”

 

Stunned, Thranduil turned his full attention to the footage, as plumes of orange flame rose and blackened the sky. “There are similarities,” he said, in disbelief. It could not be. Could it? More importantly,  _ was it _ ?

 

Lorna stared, and looked at Thranduil. Dublin was big -- there had to be a dozen structure fires a week. “Did it say where it was?” she asked, and didn’t dare look at Pat. If it had specified the area, she and Thranduil were screwed.

 

“Oak Street,” Pat said, with the barest quirk of an eyebrow. “You want to tell us what you did on your field trip, Fun Size?”

 

Oh, Jesus. “It looked fine when we got there,” she said, pinching her thigh, hard, in an attempt to keep a straight face. Had they  _ actually… _ ? Really?

 

Thranduil asked what he felt was the far more important question. “Was anyone injured?” he asked, sincerely hoping that his indulgence had not harmed or killed anyone. There had been no one nearby, of that he was certain…

 

“No,” said Thanadir happily. “They are discussing the cost to repair the pipes and blaming the utility company for not inspecting properly in a...disadvantaged neighborhood,” he pronounced carefully. Clearly, this was the most interesting thing to have caught his attention all week. 

 

Relief washed over him, and he met Pat’s eyes. “It was not Lorna, it was me. This was my doing, though I did not intend this outcome.” The room fell silent, and Thanadir’s face transformed into utter astonishment.

 

Lorna, on sheer principle, hugged him. “Nobody get pissed,” she said, glowering at the room in general. “That just kind’v...happened, and if anyone gives him shit, I’ll drag him out and stuff him back in my car.”

 

“You had to burn it down,” Pat said, but there wasn’t really any actual censure in his voice. “Why?”

 

She looked up at Thranduil. She didn’t know his motivation precisely, but she knew why she’d appreciated it. “Fire cleanses,” she said. “All the bad shite, everything that happened there...it’s gone. And I have to admit, I just wanted to watch that motherfucker go up like a torch. I filmed a bit’v it on my mobile.”

 

“And you’re...well, now?” Ratiri asked, his eyes searching her face. “You don’t want to go and drink yourself into a coma?”

 

Lorna looked at him and, being the mature adult that she was, stuck out her tongue and gave him a loud, wet raspberry. “That answer your question?” She was not going to mention the four glasses of wine she and Thranduil had had with lunch. Nope.

 

“Quite handily,” he said dryly, and burst out laughing, covering his face with his hand. “Somehow, I knew this was not going to end in peace. I’m only thankful it wasn’t worse.”

 

The seneschal’s expression had not changed one bit, and Thranduil knew that he had his own explaining to do. But not in front of everyone here. “Meldir, I have a task for you, if you would come with me for a moment?”    
  


A curt nod gave his answer amidst scowling features that he knew were reeling from the indignity of what he had done. “If you will wait for me a moment in your craft room,” he asked softly, returning swiftly with his purchases, and closing the door behind him. The old elf stood there, filled with indignation, and Thranduil’s own mask dropped. “Will you please hear why, meldir?” Thousands of years had gone by and he still found that falling short of Thanadir’s expectations was not easy to bear. 

 

“I am listening,” came the too-even reply.

 

“I never had a way to feel like I could lash out, for what was done to me so long ago. Surely you realize that much of my friendship with Lorna is based on the commonality of what we endured from our fathers. When I saw her today...Thanadir, you cannot imagine the home she lived in. They lived in. An elf would not keep a dog, in such an environment. I saw that there was a chance to make something right for both her, and me. I could not protect Lorna from what happened to her all those years ago, but I could help her reclaim a sense of power for what was done to her. We destroyed the house for what it represented, and I burnt it. I did make certain no one was near, and that we were not seen.” He looked down. “It would mean a great deal to me, to have your pardon. I know that my actions were not ones befitting your King.”

 

Now, the sour expression was departing. In all their long years together, this had never happened between them, exactly. And yet what right did he have, to criticise this reason? None. Thanadir looked down. “I did not realize. I am sorry. Of course I pardon you, my King.” Something occurred to him. “We have not openly spoken of this, except in scattered references and cryptic words,  for a very long time. Perhaps it is time for me to hear your thoughts and feelings again. Maybe with Earlene?” he asked, hopefully.

 

“That might be wise,” Thranduil said, gripping him on the shoulder. “And thank you,” he whispered.

 

Thanadir smiled. “What is in the bag?”

 

“I bought these for Earlene to wear in the weeks to come. But I felt that you could make them nicer, if you wished to. Decoration or...something. Anything  _ you _ do will cause her to like these more, of that I am certain.”

 

“I will do as you ask,” Thanadir said. They stared at each other, before hugging each other close. When they broke apart, Thanadir held him by the shoulders for a moment, tilting his head slightly. “Perhaps next time, no fires.”

 

“No fires,” Thranduil agreed, chuckling, as he left the room.

 

Lorna, being Lorna, had hooked up her mobile so that what little footage she had taken could be viewed on the big screen, and discovered that the crackle of the flames had indeed been caught quite nicely on the phone’s speakers. It was Pat she hugged now, while he watched their childhood nightmare reduced to cinders.

 

“I’m glad,” he managed, and that was _ all _ he managed -- his voice was suspiciously hoarse, and when he picked up the little jar of marbles, Lorna knew she needed to leave him alone for a little while.

 

“You come back, you hear me?” she said, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “You do what you’ve got to do, and you come back, Patrick Michael Donovan, or so help me I’ll hunt you down, drag you back and, and duct-tape you to a chair.”

 

All he could do was nod, and she had to stop Saoirse following him out of the room. “Your da needs a bit to himself,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”

 

“Why’d you burn it down?” the girl asked, wide-eyed. “That’s bad.”

 

Lorna sighed. She wasn’t sure just how much Pat had told this kid, or how much he’d want her to know. “When your da and I were little, our da was...he was bad to us. Very bad. Your Uncle Thranduil and I went back there to see the house, the place your da and I lived as kids, and...well, allanah, sometimes, when you hurt, when you’ve been hurt enough, sometimes you can’t help but...Jesus, I don’t know how to put this. You can’t understand this, and I’m glad that you never will.” Her inability to use her words really wasn’t helping right now. At all.

 

“You’re right -- I  _ don’t  _ get it,” Saoirse said. If she lit something on fire, she’d get in huge trouble, so why weren’t Aunt Lorna and Uncle Thranduil? Fucking grown-ups. They made no sense, and neither did their rules. “Is Da going to be okay?”

 

“He will be,” Lorna promised, and fetched the little bag of...things. “Here, Saoirse. You look through these, and see if you like anything. Wonder Woman needs a new paint job, but this lot’s what your da and I and our brother and sister played with when we were little.” No, she was not going to mention that almost all of it was stolen. Nope. “We didn’t have a whole lot, but we loved what we did have.”

 

She picked up Wonder Woman, leaving Saoirse to distract herself with toys far older than she was, and went to curl up in one of the fat armchairs nearest a corner. Half the doll’s costume was chipped, much of the black worn off her solid plastic hair, but her eyes were still bright blue. The figure had been why Lorna had stolen some Wonder Woman comics -- not many, since there weren’t a great deal of American comics about in those days -- and oh, she’d wanted to be Wonder Woman. She’d wanted to be able to strangle her father with the golden lasso of...what was it, truth? Something like that.

 

Her fingers brushed over the figure’s features, slightly worn by time and use. Wonder Woman couldn’t properly fly in the comics, but Lorna had thought that was bullshit, so she’d tied a string around the figurine’s waist and would spin it in circles over her head. There was actually still a loose loop of half-rotted string wrapped around it, that disintegrated when she picked at it. She’d had Wonder Woman, and Siobhan had the damn She-Ra doll that, no matter what she insisted, Lorna had never actually stolen. Mick had his marbles, and Pat all sorts of weird shite...when it was just the four of them, they were almost happy. The Donovans against the world, because God knew it was against them.

 

_ The four of them… _ Christ knew where the other two were. That she and Pat had both got their heads on straight was something of a miracle; the odds of all of them having done so were astronomically low. Did she want to know? If something horrible had happened to Mick or Siobhan, did she want to know?

 

_ No.  _ No, she most definitely did not. If she ran across them, as she’d run across Pat, then she’d call it Fate. But if not...she wasn’t going to go looking. Not right now, anyway.

 

She wasn’t actually aware of the tears on her face until she tasted them, bitter-salty on her lips. What the hell? It was so, so rare that she cried without outside aid, and like hell was she going to let anyone see her. Ratiri could, but not here, not now -- not with other witnesses. If there was any luck, he’d follow her once she left. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she hopped briskly to her feet. “Think I need some fresh air,” she said, her voice remarkably steady as she scurried to freedom.

 

Thranduil returned, to sit with the rest of them, having most definitely heard Saoirse’s thoughts. He was more concerned about this, than the rest, and seated himself nearest her.  Though there was a close second.  _ Ratiri, it would be best if you seek out Lorna. She has gone to the barn.   _ That cared for, he returned his focus to the child. “You do not understand, why we did something we would not wish you to do?” he asked bluntly, his full attention directed at her.

 

Off Ratiri went, trusting Saoirse to Thranduil’s care.

 

Saoirse nodded. “Everybody always says setting things on fire is bad, and Aunt Lorna couldn’t really explain it. She’s kind’v shite with her words.” As ever, since winced a bit when she caught herself cursing. “Oh, God dammit. Sorry.”

 

“You are trying, and your efforts are appreciated,” he said honestly, prior to addressing the matter at hand. “Almost always, yes, it is bad,” he said. “What I did was against the laws of this land, dangerous, and in spite of my efforts to have the fire be contained...well, you saw how that worked out. I am very fortunate that no one was hurt or killed, because I would have been responsible for what happened. But there was a reason why I did it, and I was as careful as I could be. I made sure no one was in the entire neighborhood, first, so no one else would be hurt.”

 

“Why, though?” Saoirse asked. “Aunt Lorna said sometimes when you’ve been hurt enough, you can’t help it, but...what did her and Da’s da  _ do  _ to them? How hurt d’you have to be, before you do that? Is there some kind’v...chart, or something?” Uncle Thanadir had taught her all about weights and measures, and Aunt Earlene had showed different charts...was there any kind of rule about it?

 

_ Pat,  _ the man heard in his mind,  _ your daughter requires an explanation for what happened today, and as I have done this, I am speaking to her. I am content to keep my answers to my own experiences, but would like to be able to tell her the truth about what your father did to you both. Appropriately, of course. _

 

_ I think it might be better if you do it _ , Pat said.  _ I don’t...I wouldn’t know what to say. Where to start. _

 

 _Thank you,_ Thranduil replied. “Saoirse, today was not only about your aunt Lorna and your grandfather. When I was young, my father routinely hit me and beat me. Very badly. I am very old, much older than I appear to be, and what my father did still affects me. Just as what your grandfather did affects your aunt. And your father. When a parent mistreats a child so much, things go wrong inside that are very difficult to heal. It does not mean that because this happened to me, I was entitled to light the house on fire. What I did was still wrong, but as an adult I made the choice because I am able to bear the consequences for my actions. When I can learn what the cost was, the money spent to repair the explosion, I will find a way to send it to the proper place. I imagine it will be very expensive, but that is my problem because they were my actions. That is the right thing to do.”

  
  


Saoirse was trying to process all of that. She knew that the elves were all really old, but they shouldn’t have abusive parents, right? How could anyone who had people like Uncle Thanadir also have abusive parents? Uncle Thranduil must have been a lot,  _ lot  _ smaller, because she couldn’t imagine anyone hitting him more than once, if they even managed that. “What happened to you? I mean, all of you? Why did your da and Da’s da do that?” She kind of wanted to hug him, but he was too tall.

 

The King smiled, and picked her up to sit on his lap. She was an even better doll than Lorna, not that he would ever utter any such thing aloud. “We do not know. Which is why we spend our lives wondering why anyone would do such a thing. And we became angry, and had to learn to cope with that anger in order to try to grow up without our anger spilling over to those around us. Especially those we love. There are people, and elves too, that go bad. Choose wrongly. Behave in a manner that is not what Eru intended. The most some of us will ever have is to know that...this just  _ is _ .”

 

Saoirse was quiet, absorbing this. “Is that why Da yells in his sleep? He doesn’t know I know he does it, but our flat in Limerick was tiny and I kind’v couldn’t help it. I think...God. Why didn’t he go with you and Aunt Lorna today? Was it going to be too hard? No,” she said, shaking her head. “Wrong question. Why did you two go? Why go somewhere that was bad?”

 

“Because sometimes when we confront the memory of something that is very bad, and see that it is just that, only a memory, we are able to feel that we can regain some of what was taken from us. Your aunt Lorna went to a place where terrible things happened. Her father is gone, the house was ruined even before we made it worse. But your aunt Lorna is alive, and well, happy and living with elves. Who really won, Lorna and Pat, or your grandfather? Today helped Lorna to understand that she won. Not her father.” He would have to speak to Pat later, about his nightmares, though this was a difficult thing to help.

 

It was a difficult thing for Saoirse to grasp, simply because nothing really awful had ever happened in her life. There were bullies at school, but that was it -- there was nothing really  _ bad _ . She tried to imagine what it would be like, having a da that hit you all the time, and couldn’t properly manage it. Not that she wanted to anyway. “And it made you feel better, too?” She really couldn’t understand that, since Uncle Thranduil’s da obviously wasn’t a human asshole. The mere thought of elf assholes just didn’t compute, and yet it was apparently a thing.

 

“There were very few bad elves, but they existed. Sadly my father was one of them, at least to me. Very few people know this, and only Thanadir from among the elves. I am telling you because I want you to be able to understand that this problem exists. I am glad that you cannot imagine what it is like, you are not meant to. Ruining the old house and lighting it on fire felt both like doing something against my own father and doing something against your grandfather, because I could. I was not tall and strong then, but I am now. It still was wrong, but I needed to do it.” He held her tightly, resting his chin lightly on her head.  _ Eru, she is small..which reminds me.  _ “Saoirse, do you want to start your growing? I want you to realize, there will be times you will hurt. Growing pains; aches, in your body. I will help you when this happens, if you tell me. This will happen over the next many years, but in the beginning you will be caught up to something more like most children your age.”

 

“Your da’s dead, right?” Saoirse asked -- given that he was a king, that kind of meant his da  _ had  _ to be. Too bad. There were some things Saoirse would love to do to him, and most of them involved thumbtacks. Her grandda could join in, except it probably wouldn’t be as fun with some old guy, if people stayed old after they were dead. “And hell yeah I’d like to start growing. I love Aunt Lorna, but I want to be taller than her. I don’t want Da to call me Fun Size, too. He said when she was my age, everyone thought she was like a doll that bit if you tried to pick her up.”

 

Thranduil laughed, who could blame him? “My father was killed but...elves do not die. He lives somewhere else right now, though exactly where, I cannot say. And thank you for not biting me, that would be unpleasant.”

 

“He...huh?” She shook her head, not sure she even wanted to go down that rabbit hole, as Da would say, right now. “Well, I actually like you. If someone I didn’t like tried to pick me up, I’d bite their nose off.” Lowering her voice, she added, “D’you know, if you bite a nose, it crunches? It’s gross, but kind’v cool. Except, boogers.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Sadly, yes, I do know that, though I am disinclined to discuss why. Hold still. You will feel warmth, in your body. Tingling too, maybe. It will not hurt. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” she said, unsure if she was excited, worried, or both.

 

“Estelio nin,” he whispered to her. 

 

“What?”

 

“Trust me. That means ‘trust me,’ in our language. You will need to learn it too, over time.”

 

“Really? Shit. I mean, sorry!”

 

Thranduil sighed, and went about his task.


	82. Eighty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October 27-31, 2017.

The weeks had gone by in an established routine after what had seemed like a spring and summer of considerable upheaval. They were busy with Saoirse’s education, not to mention that of their peredhel twins who grew more curious and energetic by the day. The rate at which they were advancing against Allanah’s far more ordinary progress was, to Earlene and the other humans, nothing short of mind-boggling. Shane and Chandra often played with the other children, and of all things they found that when Saoirse would read aloud to them from their children’s stories, she would have an instant rapt audience of five little faces listening to her. Thanadir had suggested it one day, as a means by which to improve her skills in this area without placing her under the social pressure of reading to adults, and it had been a spectacular success. Even Lothiriel and Maerwen liked to listen. It had been agreed on by Ortherion and Lothiriel that they would occupy one of the guest rooms at Eldamar for their private quarters, drifting back to the Halls with the family so as to keep the childcare more seamless. Ortherion continued to help with children, food preparation in the kitchen, or wherever he was able to assist.

 

Even the council meetings had gone well, with the friction of late August giving way to something resembling harmony. Mairead had in fact shamed the lot of them until even Shane felt about four years old, and Lorna had given them another chewing for good measure. Orla got forgiven purely for all the ingenious goodies the kitchen held, though the fact that she brought high-end poitín had certainly didn’t hurt. Lorna had shared it with Pat, and they’d both actually been responsible about it. Nutty as it sounded, life felt truly stable, for the first time since all of them had formed their strange family inside the borders of the Woodland realm. And all the adults in question seemed fairly determined to keep it that way, to the extent possible. Especially when tomorrow was the beloved seneschal’s birthday, and Earlene had formed a scheme by which to do her best for him in the culinary department, in spite of her swelling body. Careful advance planning and Ortherion’ s extra set of hands had greatly simplified the work involved for her, and Thanadir’s protests that Earlene was already doing enough for him fell on deaf ears.

 

However, Thanadir was Thanadir, and the glowering had already begun yesterday when the first batches of meats and vegetables were undergoing initial preparation and the cake layers had baked in the oven. Today was proving somewhat worse. She had just reached around, unawares, to rub once at her lower back and his watchful eyes saw it. “Earlene, you will sit down now for awhile and put your feet up so I can rub them, else I will not eat your dinner.”

 

“You what?” she said, certain that she had misheard him.

 

“You heard me, you will take care of yourself or I will not eat your dinner. Are you truly unaware of how stubborn I can be? I do not wish to thwart you but I will not stand and watch while you are in pain and your feet are swelling. It is not a discussion,” he said tempestuously. Earlene looked helplessly at Ortherion, who was helping her prep vegetables, to see that he would be no help at all. He looked straight ahead and pretended he was hearing none of this exchange.

 

“If you would please mince the carrots and celery when you finish the onions,” she asked Ortherion. The  ellon smiled and nodded while she meekly walked to the sofa and did as he asked. “I cannot believe you said that, Thanadir.” Where this was coming from, did not quite make sense to her.

 

“Sometimes you do not listen, Earlene. Especially not to your own body. Look at your feet,” he said accusingly, lifting them higher for her. They did look red and puffy.

 

“But meldir, I cannot see my feet. I did not know, and they did not feel uncomfortable.”

 

The seneschal sighed, exasperated, and shook his head. “Lean back against the cushions”, he advised, clearly not wishing to discuss it further.

 

Earlene did that too, only to feel tears pooling in her eyes. _Oh god, not this too. Why does pregnancy have to take every shred of human dignity from a woman and flush it down the...not helping, Earlene._ She stood up abruptly. “I need the lavatory,” came the explanation, which was nothing other than an excuse to cry in private. She was gone before he could say a word, leaving him to mutter things no one else could hear while he sat there.

 

Lorna, her clothes still rumpled and slightly dirty from what seemed an endless amount of leaf-raking, passed through and spotted Thanadir. She’d been wanting to get him aside to talk to him, and had just never yet managed it. Hurrying up to her flat, she grabbed both Wonder Woman and a printed photograph of the woman, for costume reference. Now barefoot, she padded her way back down to the kitchen, wondering why she felt so stupid.

 

“So, Thanadir,” she said, sitting beside him, “I...had a question. You paint, right? I mean, along with all the other amazing shite you can do?”

 

“Yes,” he said, trying to force kindness into his voice. That his meldis was being difficult was not Lorna’s fault. “You would like me to paint something?” he asked, ignoring that he did not describe his skills as ‘amazing shite’ even on a good day.

 

Lorna held up Wonder Woman. “This was mine, when I was a child,” she said. “I found it, when Thranduil and I went to the house. Pat and me and the others, we had to hide anything we didn’t want Da finding and breaking, and that bag’v things I’d brought back had been sitting there for a good thirty years. She’s supposed to look like this.” She held up the picture. “I got plastic paints, but I don’t trust myself to do it right. I...shit, this sounds stupid, but this little thing’s one’v the few good things from when I was a kid, and she ought to look like she was meant to.”

 

Thanadir’s face further softened immediately, as he took the little treasure and the picture from her. “I would be honored. Bring me the paints, when you have a moment.” Smiling encouragingly at her, he walked away to take the items to the craft room that was really more like an anteroom to his living quarters; no one seriously believed that it was meant for anyone’s use but his. And he wondered, _what is Wonder Woman?_ Later, he would look. He did not mind the request at all, because it so conveniently brought him to where he could go through to his own quarters, exit out to the deck, and enter Thranduil and Earlene’s room. He heard exactly what he expected to, the sound of muffled crying. He looked to the ceiling, and his shoulders dropped. Perhaps he had not managed this well at all.

 

“Meldis, I am sorry,” he said, reaching for her. She had curled up in a ball on their bed. “I did not want to cause you to feel this way, but I did not know how to be heard by you.”

 

“I only wanted to do something nice for you. You do everything for me. _Everything._ Do you have any idea how hard it is, to find anything to do for you in return that you actually like? Your words hurt my feelings,” came the muffled response from the crook of her arm in between sniffles.

 

In imitation of some sort of octopus, he slowly drew her toward him with strength she was unable to resist. _Like tentacles_ , she thought, annoyed that he would not leave her alone for a proper moment of sulking. But this did not stop her from wrapping her arms around his chest.

 

“It hurts my feelings too, when you ignore me, Earlene. I know you want to do nice things for me. And I am grateful. But the welfare of you, and your children, and Thranduil are all that matter to me in the world.” In emphasis, he carefully placed his hand over the baby, with nearly religious reverence in his voice and touch. “I tried to tell you, I did not want you to go to all this fuss because it is hard for you right now.”

 

“But meldir, you are ignoring _me_ in return. I am not an elfling, I am a grown woman, though I will never have your years. I take good care of myself, and pregnancy is not an...illness. Yes, some things hurt a little more or my feet can swell, but I know how much is too much. I even planned extra time to make all these things, so I would not have to do so much in one day. When have you ever seen me prepare for a meal the day before? In most everything, I unquestioningly do as you ask because I love you. I wish you would show me a little of the same regard, and believe that I am not trying to somehow harm myself. Thanadir, do you not understand that many human women work at their jobs, standing up, for eight hours each day right up to the day they deliver? There is nothing wrong with keeping active, and while I know you do not approve, a little discomfort is not….it does not matter. If you do not believe me, ask Mairead what she did when she carried her babies.”

 

Thanadir held her close and tried to think on her words. Though he wished to, he could not fault what she said and he had not truly realized these things. “Then I am in error, and I am sorry” he said sadly. “I worry about you. Perhaps too much. I meant it out of love,” he explained, the Sad Eyes set on maximum power.

 

“You cannot do that,” she said, turning her face into his tunic. “Look like that. You know it tears my heart, when you are sad. Please, can we not work together? I will rest with you awhile if you still wish it, but I want very much to prepare this meal for you. I will be very unhappy, if you do not allow it. I promise I will tell you if I am tiring too much, or if I hurt.”

 

“Very well,” he relented. “Forgive me, for upsetting you, and making you cry.”

 

Earlene nodded, wiping at her face with her sleeve. “I am pregnant. Last I checked, stable emotions left the forest about a month ago.”

 

He grinned, and retrieved a moist washcloth for her face. With kisses to her cheeks and silly expressions, he coaxed her finally to laugh, before they returned back to the sofa in far better humor.

 

Lorna had fetched her plastic paints, probably happier than she should have been by the thought of Wonder Woman being as she should be once more. She’d thought of giving the toy to Saoirse, but...she couldn't. Not yet, anyway. It really did represent what little had been good about her childhood. She’d put them on the arm of the sofa, and then wisely stayed out of Ortherion’s way -- while she was quite good at chopping things, she wasn’t sure she wanted to interfere with elf cooking. Instead she went to the window, staring out at the trees -- they were a riot of fall color now, red and orange and yellow, standing like massive torches all around the house. Honestly, she wasn’t sure why she even bothered raking, since there would just be a new carpet of leaves by morning, but it seemed like the thing to do. She had a rake that was actually her size, too; Ratiri had ordered it for her off Amazon. Add in her tiny work gloves and she was pretty set, even if it did take her almost twice as long to do anything as it would have an elf.

 

When she heard Thanadir and Earlene -- well, just Earlene, and even she was difficult to hear -- she returned to the sofa. “I got the paints, Thanadir,” she said. “Thank you, for doing that. It means more to me than would probably make sense to anyone else.” Yeah, it was just a small plastic toy, but it wasn’t. Not to her. Earlene’s eyes were suspiciously red, but she wasn’t about to offer comment; pregnancy did that. She did, however, lean down and offer a brief surprise hug.

 

“Thanks,” Earlene smiled, realizing she was not fooling Lorna. Which was inevitable, since crying without Thranduil nearby meant, red eyes. “Doubt it’ll be the last time, before the week is out. Have you heard anything from Mairead, about the big party?”

 

Earlene did not mean Thanadir’s birthday party. Now that things were more sorted in their lives, there had been talk of having a proper Halloween. Last year had been hijacked by everything from pregnancy with twins and dealing with the uncertainties of Von Creeper, which is all to say that the holiday had not even been given a passing thought. Not so, this time around, and with young children old enough to walk and talk. Lorna had explained it to Maerwen, it made the rounds of the elf grapevine, and now all of them wanted in on it. Much like with the wedding, the decision had been made to throw the Halls open to the village of Lasg’len and any from Baile who wanted to come. The children would trick-or-treat, and the food promised to be over the top. Not to mention, it would be an Open House for any wishing to see their new home. They didn’t want to begrudge Orla possibly getting some new work orders, since the place was in part a showcase of her talents.

 

Colcannon and barnbrack, two traditional foods, would join a game of snap apple (the same ellyn that had so artfully done the paper snowflakes at Yule were humorously charged with finding a means to suspend the apples from the dining hall ceiling). What maybe the humans living there had forgotten was, wood elves enjoyed a party more than most, even if they were less rowdy than their mortal friends might be. When all had been said and done, it was decided that for the adults there would be a masquerade party complete with Irish dancing. John in town was not displeased at the least with the size of the liquor order he was charged with procuring, not that the licensing authorities ever needed to know where exactly all of it was going. He had been pressed into tending bar for it along with Big Jamie and Lorna, so in theory it would be half under control. In theory. Mairead and Siobhan, of course, were to be in charge of hordes of cupcakes whereas the elves would manage a sheet cake; no one expected them to transport that many decorated cupcakes, no matter what the size of Lorna’s van.

 

“Oh yes,” Lorna said. “She’s been at Google again, working out how Americans do Halloween. All the kids in Baile will have costumes, if she has anything to say about it, and she and Siobhan are planning something they won’t tell me about. Which, given that it’s Siobhan, worries me quite a bit.” It wouldn’t be anything pervy, not with Mairead supervising, but Siobhan had a wicked sense of humor that wasn’t limited to perversion.

 

Lorna herself had been unsure what to do, though she’d thrown a slipper at Pat when he suggested she go as Cousin It. Ratiri got the other one when he said that that would defeat the point, since a costume was meant to be something you _weren’t_ every day. Logic would dictate something elven, so of course she had to throw logic to the wind; she couldn’t, after all, have people thinking she was predictable. Ratiri had conned her into taking a leaf from Scottish folklore -- he would go as Tam Lin, borrowing whatever bits of armor he might need from the huge stock in the Halls, while she went as Queen of Faerie.

 

“I’m not going to try to sell you to hell,” she’d said flatly. She disliked the idea of wearing a dress _again_ , but what they (and Thanadir) had coughed up between the lot of them made the idea rather more appealing: a sleeveless concoction of various asymmetrical layers of fabric in assorted shades of green and brown, light and floaty, though she’d have a warmer thing underneath it. It was wild, and, well, fae, rather than the kind of pixie-thing one would expect of someone dressing up as a fairy. She’d even agreed to wear Ratiri’s mother’s headpiece, with autumn leaves woven through it -- the things she did for that man (but he did all kinds of things for her, often of the sexy variety, so fair was fair).

 

Chandra was getting dressed up as a tiny ladybug, while Shane would be a bee. Pat was very mysterious about his costume, but Saoirse had declared her wish to be Rey from _Star Wars_ , which meant Lorna had spent quite a while figuring out how to duplicate the woman’s hairstyle. With hair as long as Saoirse’s, it was harder than she’d expected.

 

Earlene, Thranduil and Thanadir were being very secretive about their costumes, which was usually Thranduil’s provenance but seemed to be spreading through the three of them. No fun, there. “I have ordered bags of every hideous thing from Planet Candy,” Earlene noted. “Hopefully between that and the sweets that are already going to be at the party, the kids will all run out of here in a worthwhile sugar buzz so that all their parents will hate us,” she smiled. Thoughtful arrangements had already been made for child care for the few very little ones that would be in attendance; a few elves would be dedicated to ferrying very young children who conked out to the nursery, which was going to add basket-beds for the occasion. Parents and those planning to celebrate with vigor had been encouraged to select quarters within the Halls if they had not already done so, guaranteeing somewhere safe and comfortable to sleep that did not involve a rather long walk at night through the forest.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “I’m sure half’v them’ll be tipsy enough they won’t mind,” she said. “The Irish’ll take any excuse to get drunk, though if there’s kids involved it might not be _too_ bad. Thanadir, will you help me do my hair? And Ratiri’ll need to be borrowing any bits’v armor nobody’s got a use for.” Looking at Earlene, she added, “God help me, he’s talked me into going with him as a pair: Tam Lin and the Queen’v Faerie. Except in the ballad the Queen was trying to give him to hell as a tithe, so I’m not sure what that says. I figure I can stick leaves in that headpiece he thinks I need to wear.”

 

“There’s no shortage of those,” Earlene said wryly. “And Ratiri really ought to just go to the armory. It’s a little beyond ‘bits of armor’ down there. There’s enough for an army. No joke.” Thanadir nodded sagely, now realizing he needed to read about Tam Lin. Without comment, he went to retrieve his laptop. “Well, I’m hoping the kitchens have got this one, because after Thanadir’s birthday dinner that’s going to be about the end of my efforts, past dressing up. I have to call it a week or I really will have balloons for feet.”

 

“It’s a good thing elves are so tall,” Lorna said, laughing a little. “Otherwise he’d be a bit screwed. And I wouldn’t worry about the food -- not when every half-decent cook in either village has got plans. Molly’s even got a load’v dry ice, for the punch bowl.”

 

“Sure god I hope she knows not to put too much in,” Earlene said, her face lighting up with memory. “We had an office party once where someone dumped in too much, trying for dramatic effect. Oh it was drama alright, and it made the damn punch almost weirdly undrinkable. Blech.” The memory of all that good vodka, more or less wrecked….just, no.

 

“How much is too much?” Lorna asked, alarmed. They didn’t need to be wrecking the punch. “God, that’s what Google’s for. What’re you two going as, or is that still a secret?”

 

Thanadir returned just in time to glare. Before Earlene could consider whether she wanted to spill the beans, he announced, “Still a secret,” with _that_ look on his face. Earlene shrugged. She was not about to be at cross purposes with him twice in an afternoon, it wasn’t worth it in her eyes.

 

“Pat won’t tell us what is is, either,” Lorna said. “Which I’ve got to say worries me a bit. If he turns up dressed as Boba Fett, I might just kill him -- if only because I know Ratiri will go into a nerdgasm and not come back out’v it until morning. Has anybody got the post yet? If he’s got anything else, I’m going to shake it and see if I can figure out what it is.”

 

“I’ve not been out of here since my lesson,” Earlene said. “Sorry.”

 

“I’ll go check,” Lorna said, hauling herself off the sofa. They’d actually had to get a larger mailbox, thanks to all the post that came through now -- one of the really big ones you usually only saw in farmland.

 

There was the usual assortment of bills, and something for Ratiri (small package, a bit squishy, felt like fabric and yes, she was intrigued) and also a big box, so big it had been left at the base of the box, wrapped in brown paper. It had a customs stamp on it, and when she picked it up, she grinned in surprise.

 

“Oi,” she said, heading back into the house, “we’ve got something from Sharley. Where’s Allanah? I’m sure there’s something in it for her.”

 

“They are upstairs with Lothiriel,” Thanadir said. “It seemed cruel to let them see they had new toys and then require them to be elsewhere all day,” he smiled.

 

“Actually, maybe we should open this just grown-ups,” Lorna said. “You never know what Sharley might’ve sent. I don’t know where the hell Ratiri and Pat are, so they’re missing out, I guess.”

 

“Might be wise.” Earlene realized that Sharley had taken a shine to Allanah, and when she left the twins were not really communicating yet. And now such a short time later, they had passed Allanah by...there was a chance Sharley might have sent something only for Allanah and she did not want hurt feelings if it was avoidable.

 

Lorna fished her pocket knife out of her trousers and made short -- if messy -- work of all the paper and packing tape. When she opened the box, the contents were just sort of stuffed in, without much in the way of order. On the top was a letter. “‘This is the first’,” she read carefully. “‘Everything is labeled.’”

 

She fished out a beautifully carved wooden box, the front etched with a stylized imprint of a whale -- she’d suspect it was some kind of tribal art. Opening it revealed an assortment of marbles, multi-colored, veined with darker stone. “‘The marbles are for Allanah. They’re made of Washington agates.’”

 

Lorna passed the box to Earlene, and took out the next thing -- another box, long and flat. It proved contain all manner of stones -- everything from flat river-rocks to sea glass to polished quartz. “‘These all came from my favorite beaches and streams. Please hang onto them.’ I think she’s sending over bits’v home,” she said, handing the box of stones to Thanadir.

 

The seneschal took them carefully, and began to pick each one up, inspecting each carefully one at a time. Mostly he was pleased to see that the marbles were of suitable size for an infant...there was no possibility of the girls or the Duncan twins choking on them, though all of Thranduil’s girls were well past the age where placing things in their mouths should be of any interest.

 

The next item was a book...sort of. The covers were made of wood, but the spine was bound with strips of leather. A smaller note was attached. “‘These are all flowers from Washington,’” she read. “‘They’re labeled.’ Huh, she must press flowers. I haven’t seen anyone do that since Gran.” Behind the book were packets of seeds -- lavender, petunias, and half a dozen others. “‘Some of these you don’t have in Ireland. Please plant them where Marty sleeps’. What the hell does that mean?”

 

Setting the book aside, she discovered the last thing in the package was yet another wooden box, this one with a lock on it. When Lorna read the note on it, her eyes widened, and she felt the blood drain from her face. “This is Marty,” she whispered. “Please find her somewhere nice to sleep, until I come back’. Oh, _Jesus_ …”

 

“Marty?” Thanadir asked, frowning. “Her child who died? How can she be…” Earlene placed her hand over his.

 

“Sharley misses her daughter so much that she feels she cannot live somewhere without being near her, Thanadir. The container has her daughter’s mortal remains. Her ashes, what remains of the child’s body after it was burned in a very hot fire.”

 

Thanadir looked down at it now, his eyes wide with sadness. He did not say anything, but his eyes pooled with tears and a single large drop splashed from his face to his hands.

 

Lorna shut her eyes, but her fingers traced over the lid of the box. There was an oval of brass atop it, with the name _Marty Arlene Corwin_ engraved into it, and _Jesus_ , did the universe just hate that poor woman? How had losing her daughter not destroyed her? If Lorna ever lost her kids, that would be the end of her, yet Sharley….

 

“She should stay somewhere nice,” she said, her voice not quite steady. “If having her down here’s too morbid, she can stay with Ratiri and I over the winter. Next time Sharley comes, we’ll find her a good place to...to...sleep.” Why was it she could cry for Sharley unaided, but so rarely for herself? That woman...it wasn’t fair, what life had done to her.

 

“I would like to keep her,” Thanadir said unexpectedly. “I have a nice place for her.”

 

“Are you sure, meldir?” Earlene asked very softly.

 

He nodded, and Earlene knew not to press further. She nodded to Lorna to give him the box, and they both watched as he stood and walked it to his rooms, closing the door behind him. Well, she might never fully understand him, but there was little doubt as to his compassion.

 

Lorna wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “Drink?” she asked, feeling for once she could be forgiven.

 

“I’ll make tea,” said Earlene, not feeling like having anything harder herself. “You know where the cabinet is,” she smiled. It probably didn’t matter, but for anything too stiff she really did not want to drink it without Thranduil around. She spoke apologies softly to Ortherion in Sindarin. To her surprise, he replied in English, slowly.   


“I could not help hearing. The loss of a child…” he shook his head. “You should rest, and comfort Lorna, Hiril vuin.” Eyes full of sincerity looked back at her, and she nodded gratefully. Lothiriel clearly had found a shining gem, in this ellon. In moments, the tea was spooned into the large ceramic pot.

 

Lorna sat back on the sofa, the book of pressed flowers in her hands. It smelled like grass and sunshine, and she wondered if Sharley had taken Marty with her, when she found and pressed some of these. That woman… “I wish she’d come back,” she said softly, “but at the same time, I know why she can’t. Not yet. Thranduil says she’s at peace, but how can she be? How can someone even carry on, let alone know anything like peace?”

 

“I did not pry, about Sharley. Just like I don’t pry about anyone. But...I trust him. And Sharley is not like us, Lorna. Our realities are different; even I could figure out that much from my husband. He would not lie to us, not about something like this. It is not his way. I am only glad to know that somehow, she has a coping mechanism that has allowed it to be the case, even if I do not understand it myself.

 

“Christ, me too,” Lorna sighed. “That she can somehow do it is a bloody blessing, but that she has to -- that’s she’s alone, even if she doesn’t mind it -- Ratiri and I want to adopt her, even though she’s got to be on the downhill slope to thirty. Bit old for that, but still. Sometimes she seems so young, but others it’s like she’s ancient. Which, if she sees everything, kind’v makes sense.” It was a wonder she wasn’t completely insane, as opposed to just slightly cracked. “I hope that Allanah remembers her, the next time she comes back.”

 

“She may not, but she will be reminded very quickly. I don’t know how well children keep memories at her, age, not even two years old. I’ve no memories of anything earlier than three and a half, but what do I know,” Earlene said, pouring the tea. The decision to have an on-demand device that dispensed boiling hot water had been another one of Orla’s kitchen contributions that everyone declared a complete success. Who wanted to wait for tea?

 

Lorna opened the box of marbles. “How’re we going to give these to her, when we haven’t got anything for her sisters? Doesn’t seem fair, but it’s also not right to keep them from her.”

 

“We will wait until Thranduil can be here. He can explain things to the children in a way that allows them to understand better. They do need to learn that they each have the right to have their own things. It’s bloody pathetic, but...he and Thanadir are a thousand times more knowledgeable about the children than I am. I feel like I get parenting lessons to learn what even to do. While it feels humiliating, it’s the best for them to not be the victim of my attempts to blunder on through. Sooner or later I’m sure I’ll have to manage on my own as it is.”

 

“I can kind’v relate,” Lorna said wryly. “Ratiri’s never had any kids, but he’s a pediatrician. Every time I freak out over something the twins do, he’s there telling me not to worry about it, and for Christ’s sake, I’m a mam. It’s my job to worry, isn’t it?”

 

Earlene laughed. “Maybe? God, am I defective because I don’t? Well, give it time. I haven’t forgotten losing it when Allanah fell and hurt herself that once. Maybe I save it up for the bigger stuff. Or something. But...I have a ridiculously unfair advantage, and I don’t forget it. Having a husband who can read their thoughts…” she shrugged. “I’m married to him, and I still don’t know what to do with that one.”

 

“God, don’t I wish I could do that,” Lorna said. “I wouldn’t feel defective, if I was you. I just worry, but I’ve also got two kids who’re into absolutely everything they can get their little hands on. And honestly, I don’t know what to do with that one, either, even now. Telepathy’s the kind’v thing that’s only great if you can shut it off.” Quote honestly, she wasn't sure how Thranduil hadn’t gone irrevocably insane in New York. Yeah, his range outside the forest was only  about fifteen feet, but there were often a shitload of people within fifteen feet of him every single time they left their hotel room.

 

“He seems to manage, and I think he is still sane.” That just made her laugh into her tea. Hey, she couldn’t read his mind; one never knew.

 

“We _did_ burn my old house down,” Lorna said meditatively. “I think I’ve been a bad influence.”

 

“You two _do_ recall that I can hear your thoughts inside this forest, don’t you?” Thranduil teased, appearing out of nowhere. “My reputation is being impugned, I see. Fortunately my duties are done for today, so I can remain here and defend my honor.” His voice held all the kingly seriousness of which he was capable, but his eyes were too merry for his words to be believable. Thanadir, finding himself at a disadvantage, nonetheless now frowned and paid careful attention, determined to discover any unseemliness he had overlooked. “Meldir, I am teasing,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder and chuckling.

 

“One can never be too careful,” Thanadir deadpanned, not to be outdone. After all, Lorna was right. And while the house incident was forgiven, it would not soon be forgotten. Earlene was now lost to helpless laughter, and had started coughing, threatening to spill her tea. With a sigh, Thanadir quickly came to the rescue of both the mug and his friend.

 

Lorna had given over to giggling herself. “Nothing wrong with a little reputation-smearing,” she said. “Keeps a person on their toes.”

 

A noise of exasperation erupted from His Highness, before he sat down to kiss his wife properly. “The kitchen still pleases you, meluieg?” He could not but help observe her distracted thoughts that turned to Ortherion doing all the work by himself.

 

“It’s lovely,” she smiled, wishing he would ask about something else.

 

 _So, Thranduil_ , Lorna said, not wanting to ask this aloud yet, _we ought to work out what we’re going to do if someone acts like too much of a gobshite. Depending on how many from Baile come, add in alcohol and it’ll happen sooner or later. That lot’s my responsibility, so we ought to figure it out before it actually happens._

 

His eyebrows raised. _Your responsibility, yet inside our Halls...that does rather have some potential for interest._ He sighed. _There was a time, when the decorum of being a guest in someone else’s home was more than sufficient, but I recognize that we are moving beyond that view by eventual necessity. I suppose I should start by asking, what precisely you have in mind? I do not think I need to tell you that assault on innocent persons, be they elf or human, or wanton destruction of our home will not be tolerated._

 

 _No, it won’t_ , she said, and sighed. _You’ll find most’v them’ve got some kind of decorum, but there’s a few I don’t trust. They’re in our Halls, but I brought them there, sort of thing. That kind of makes them my responsibility, doesn’t it? I’d think the best thing to do for now would be if someone turns into an arse, kick them out, and don’t let them back in until they can behave themselves. And this is a worst-case scenario, but yeah, I might have to lamp someone. I hope not, but you never know._ It was better to get it said and out of the way now, before it potentially became a reality with no warning. _Though actually...you can just whammy someone unconscious. In that case, no need to hit anyone. Just put them to sleep and we’ll haul them out to the edge of the forest and dump them in their car._

 

_It is perhaps more than time that we have a discussion about some realities. You are fully aware that the Halls have prison cells, though they are never discussed around you out of regard for your feelings on the subject. They were used to restrain, and sometimes to provide a place for wrongdoers to have a brief time to reflect on their actions. We have never physically harmed anyone, and those housed in there were treated with kindness and never kept for long. I have no intention of taking any of your fellow mortals captive for any reason. But I can tell you now that none of my people will willingly abide watching you lash out with physical violence toward others. They would find it shocking, to say the least. If I am present, yes, I can remove consciousness from another though I would argue that according to all you have told me, it is far more of an assault that striking or imprisonment. I would say that you need to find a way to restrain any who are...out of line. If it cannot be done by humans, then it will be done by elves rather than watch a melee ensue._

 

Lorna choked on her tea. Wait, the elves put _other elves_ in those cells?! _Why?_ Elves didn’t kill each other, and she doubted they stole, or...or...anything that ought to get someone put in a cage. The thought horrified her in a way she knew it wouldn’t any of the others, since they lacked her experience, and it actually made her skin crawl even as she tried to hack up the liquid she’d inhaled. All she could do was shake her head, trying to summon thought. _No_ , she managed. _No prison. We can dogpile whoever it is to keep them from being a bigger asshole, but...when somebody misbehaves in a human house, we boot them out. We don’t lock them in the toilet until they can behave._

 

Thranduil elected not to pounce on her choice of words. Not when he knew how volatile her thoughts on anything to do with incarceration were for her. Though, it made discussion of the realities of his people’s history somewhat difficult to manage, it was not worth the trauma to her. Mostly, that all belonged in the past; the lessons of recent months were such that he was less inclined than ever to punish in this manner. Or punish at all; none of those who served him now were truly even capable of committing a serious fault. Though he wondered very much, when their human society foundered, whether his cells might once again become a necessary means of detainment and defense against those who would wish to collectively harm them. _That is acceptable. I presume you will have a certain number of individuals….prepared….to manage such an event, if the need arises._

 

Lorna, wheezing, nodded. _I can make you a list_ , she said. _It’s hard for me to separate my own experiences from...this, but I think I can safely tell you that if you put anyone from Baile in a cage, once you let them out, they’ll be gone forever._ It really was very difficult for her, but she could actually sort of do it. It could open up a whole host of resentments even she couldn’t forecast. _Trust me, you get enough people dog-piling someone, that someone isn’t going anywhere, and it doesn’t hurt. Well, not unless some big fat person lands on you._

 

 _I would not put anyone anywhere; I am aware of the...volatility of a King, even an elven one, taking such an action. I only wish to point out that it exists as a place of detention._ Thanadir and Earlene exchanged meaningful glances, realizing that a conversation was occurring without them and shrugging lightly. Thanadir had returned her tea mug to her, and they playfully began a game of thumb wars, to give Thranduil and Lorna their privacy.

 

 _It’s something we’ll have to think about once we all live there,_ Lorna said, wiping her nose. Her eyes were running, too, dammit. _If anyone starts anything before then, they’ll just get squished and dragged out._

 

Amused, he reached over and stilled her coughing. Choking. All of it. And handed her a kerchief, which oddly enough he had in his tunic pocket today. He had been thinking more about Bilbo; the little Halfling often talked about pocket-kerchiefs. So, he was nostalgic on occasion. Everyone had their foibles.

 

 _Thank you_ , she said, wiping her nose. _Tea’s not nearly as good when it comes out your nose. And you know, this might be a conversation we should have with the whole council -- what to do when anyone’s a gobshite. It can’t just be my decision, when it comes to them -- they need to be able to all agree. Which, I’m sure they will, but they should have the chance to. Oh, and before I forget, Ratiri needs armor for Halloween, but I think he needs an actual elf to help him get what he needs._

 

 _I believe Geezer tried to raise this subject at the one meeting that...imploded. And yes, it should be revisited. You should send a note to whoever is chairing the next one, to add it to the agenda._ Aloud he added, “Thanadir, can you help Ratiri procure items from the armory? Or would it be easier if Thalion managed?”

 

“I would be happy to,” the seneschal said, grinning as he successfully pinned Earlene’s thumb under his own. Earlene flushed slightly pink, at the mention of the other ellon’s name. For six weeks in a row, she had seen rather a lot of Thalion, and if she had thought Thanadir was a demanding teacher…good grief. Thalion’s lessons in tracking had been fascinating beyond description. And exacting. They spent hours on how prints were made in the soil, among plants, and how to spot the smallest disturbances by changing the angle of one’s observation to be near to the ground. One entire afternoon had been spent merely studying how different kinds of plants responded to being stepped on, once, after five minutes….fifteen minutes...an hour...three hours…it would have been impossible to guess at the many nuances she filed away in her mind. When he felt he could teach her little more on account of her swelling abdomen and how it affected her posture, it was agreed that they would pursue this again when her son was born. Thalion, for his part, had been favorably impressed by her seriousness and her careful attention to his instruction. And Thranduil, for his part, chuckled at the occasional updates he received, thinking the entire thing would prove vastly amusing sooner or later.

 

“Thank you, Thanadir,” Lorna said. “I’ll be honest, the only real reason I agreed to this costume is because I really want to see what he looks like in armor. Which, I suppose there are worse reasons.” Her husband was stupidly attractive, and would probably be even more stupidly attractive in armor. If dressing up like an evil fairy was what it took, hey, small price. She’d put aside some leaves, so they’d be dry enough to stuck in her headpiece, though hopefully not so dry they crumbled into bits.

 

*****

 

After an early morning tumble with her husband that left her feeling entirely pleased with existence in general, Earlene quickly bathed, dressed and prepared to cook Thanadir’s birthday breakfast, knowing that the element of surprise would be swiftly ruined. _Tough cookies_ , she thought, as she prepared batter for chocolate banana pancakes to be served with Nutella. Blueberry muffins, cinnamon French toast with vanilla cream sauce, and granola would also make an appearance. As would scrambled eggs with a special addition...expensive sliced avocadoes and a Hollandaise sauce. The granola was something she was especially proud of, since she had baked it herself days prior and hidden it away in sealed canning jars where he would not think to look; it was rife with dried fruits, pumpkin seeds and other treats. Hot chocolate, _not hot cocoa_ , but real chocolate melted into the milk with her own handmade marshmallows completed this breakfast spread that was designed to hopefully give her favorite friend quite a treat.

 

Thranduil came into the kitchen alone, smiling at the preparations as he came up behind her, kissing the side of her neck. _I do not think you went to this much trouble for my aur en onnad, meluieg,_ he teased.

 

 _That is because you have an appalling lack of interest in sweets, husband,_ she fired back, though she did kiss him luxuriously. _And stop dragging my mind back into the bedroom; I am fortunate enough as it is that Thanadir has not already come out of his rooms._ She smiled at that last part; a little extra late night help from Ortherion (who could be nominated for sainthood, in her estimation) had made more preparations into bowls and pans that eliminated the need for almost all the clattering that usually accompanied making a meal of this diversity.

 

Once Lorna had got the twins fed, she dragged Ratiri into the shower for a change; generally they made use of the tub, but the shower had some intriguing possibilities. Fortunately, nobody pulled a muscle. This time, anyway.

 

Once they were dry, decent, and she had her hair halfway brushed, they met up with Pat and Saoirse in the common room. Saoirse, naturally, had her sketchbook with her, though she wouldn’t show anyone what she was working on.

 

“So what do you think Earlene will have made Thanadir?” Ratiri asked, sitting Lorna on the sofa so he could finish up with her hair.

 

“Something sweet,” Lorna said. “He’s got a bigger sweet tooth than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m guessing there’ll be something with cinnamon in it. Christ, did I ever tell you about the time I made French toast? This was ages ago, when I hadn’t known him or Thranduil very long.”

 

“I don’t think you ever have,” Ratiri said.

 

“Okay, so, I did it Mairead-style, where you only get to eat it if you can catch it once it’s flung across the room,” she said, ignoring Pat’s laughter. “It’s already plenty sweet the way I make it, but Thanadir went and spread sugar all over the top of it anyway. It’s a damn good thing elves can’t get diabetes, the lucky bastards.”

 

“You know, that brings up something I’ve been wondering about, though it’s apropos of practically nothing,” Ratiri said. “In _The Silmarillion_ , it says that Elves are resistant to disease, not immune to it, but thus far they seem immune to everything.”

 

“And let’s not jinx that by wondering over it,” Lorna said firmly. “Anyway, he’s got a bit’v a thing for cinnamon, so I’m betting there’ll be something like that. And hot chocolate. And maybe an omelette, for Thranduil’s sensibilities.”

 

“He not into sweet things?” Pat asked, leaning back in his armchair and cracking his neck a bit. There were five of the damn things in the room, most up against walls, in case they ever wanted to entertain in their own space. One of them, along with the sofa, had come with her cottage; Lorna had given up trying to pretend she lived there. The coffee-table sat before it, and yeah, all that furniture was somewhat incongruous with the surroundings, but what the hell. It was their space. Someday, when her cottage was moved, it could go back where it belonged.

 

“Not so much. I think he laughs at us a little, honestly, because he just can’t appreciate sugar.” She laughed again, letting Ratiri tilt her head forward so he could keep combing. “Christ, you should’ve seen Thanadir in New York. We’d go to the same cafe each morning, and I swear he’d eat through half the bloody pastry case. It got to where whoever was on shift would drift over and stare every chance they got. Man -- elf -- has got the metabolism’v a hummingbird on meth.”

 

“Will there be bacon?” Saoirse asked, not looking up from her sketchbook. Now that the mornings were chillier, she liked to sit beside the stove, feet sticking out.

 

“Probably,” Lorna said. “And some’v that fresh butter. Christ, d’you know what I need to do next year? I need to make some bloody jam.” She needed to learn how to make it without pectin, too, since after the world ended, there wouldn’t be any more. Gran had made jam without sugar or pectin, or so Lorna thought. She’d have to look into recipes.

 

“Tea,” Ratiri said. “I hope, anyway. I love hot chocolate, but I need tea, too.”

 

Lorna reached back to poke him. “I’m sure there will be,” she said. “And if there’s not, it’s not like we can’t make some.”

 

“When can we go down?” Saoirse asked. “I’m hungry.”

 

That one had the metabolism of a hummingbird on meth, too, but in her case, it was accelerated growth. There wasn’t a hugely noticeable difference, but Pat said that Thranduil said she’d wind up closer to normal height for a girl of her age in six months or so. That would put her at not that much shorter than Lorna. _I’m doomed to be the shortarse_ , she thought. Maybe, if the elves could teach her to be a little (a lot) more graceful, she could try big platform shoes. “Once your uncle’s done with my hair,” she said.

 

“And I just about am,” he added. “There. Hopefully it will be dry by the time breakfast is done.”

 

She wrapped her robe around her as she rose. “All right, Saoirse, sketchbook away. You go on -- we’ll get the twins and catch up with you.”

 

Down they went, Saoirse taking the steps two at a time. Whatever Aunt Earlene was making, it smelled wonderful, and Saoirse skidded into the kitchen on her stocking feet. When she saw the variety of food, her eyes widened.

 

“Uncle Thanadir’s going to swell up like a balloon and explode,” she said.

 

“Hasn’t happened yet,” Earlene said, not skipping a beat as she grinned at the girl. “Thanadir has superpowers.”

 

“You mean the Puss in Boots eyes?” Saoirse asked. “Aunt Lorna says they’re a weapon. She’s tried to do them herself, but Da and Uncle Ratiri say she just looks like a serial killer. She says Uncle Thanadir has it down to a science, whatever that means.”

 

Chuckling, Earlene glanced up to see the old elf taking in the meal he had not known about. Dinner, he was expecting, but not this. She stopped her stirring of the chocolate long enough to kiss his cheek. “Happy aur en onnad, meldir. Saoirse is wondering about your superpowers,” she teased, affectionately brushing his cheek with her thumb before returning to her whisk.

 

Thanadir looked from Earlene, to Saoirse (who by now had a completely expectant look on her face) and to the kitchen island that was heaped with food. Stacks of cooling muffins, platters of chocolate pancakes, gravy boats full of sauces and a henhouse full of scrambled eggs. His lips parted but no sound came out, as his eyes transformed into pools of poignant wonder that anyone would do such nice things for him. Thranduil, who had lingered near the hearth, came up and embraced him as well. “Do not fight it, meldir. She insisted, and I have to live with her.” He saw the expression, and guessed at its origin. He understood better than most that when something lacked in childhood, emotional attachments to that thing did not fade with maturity. For one who had ever suffered hunger to see so much abundance...either way, the eyes were set to maximum, and the King kept his hand on his seneschal’s shoulder. For support.

 

Saoirse, cheerfully oblivious to the emotional nuances, scurried across the floor to give Thanadir a hug. “I made you something, but it’s still upstairs. Da says presents are later.”

 

“Presents?” Thanadir said, still in shock. Just at that moment, little shrieks of delight could be heard coming from upstairs, as the girls tottered their way down the spiral stairs with more or less grace (Lothiriel carried Allanah, to avoid hurt feelings) and all three of the little ones mobbed their uncle Thanadir.

 

“Thanadir, Thanadir,” the little voices yelled, as the twins hugged each of his legs and pulled at his arms while Thranduil chuckled at the sight. His gwador was over the moon, as the humans would say, and soon all three of the children would not relent until they were picked up. Thranduil helped with Allanah, to make it possible according to the laws of physics, and soon Thanadir’s cheeks were being covered in kisses. It was all he could do not to cry from happiness.

 

Lorna and Ratiri, each bearing a twin, followed shortly thereafter by Pat, who carried a large paper bag. “I see the kids’v already found you,” Lorna laughed, setting Chandra down. When her brother joined her, the two started up some odd bastardization of patty-cake and just smacking one another in the face. So long as it wasn’t hard, she let them, especially since they tended to cry if she made them stop.

 

“Ok everyone that can manage it, grab a platter or a pitcher of something.” Though Earlene had a little trolley that she used to take food to the dining room most times, it was already maxed out with the huge container of hot chocolate and the smaller one of milk. And the platter of eggs, since she deemed that ‘most susceptible to disaster’. Once they were all seated (with Thanadir in Thranduil’s usual seat at the head of the table, because everyone insisted) Earlene explained the food, and the adults began dishing up to first little ones and then to themselves. Except for Thanadir, who was ordered to grab food and eat. Earlene gave special acknowledgement to Ortherion for his help, and Lothiriel gazed at her husband adoringly.

 

Lorna honestly wasn’t sure where to even begin, so she started with cocoa and watched everyone else dish up. She was rather excited to give Thanadir his gift -- she hadn’t known what the hell to give him until she was working on her scrapbook, and the metaphorical light bulb dinged. It had taken her a few days of working-flat out printing a shitload of photographs, but it was all put together and neatly wrapped. “So Thanadir, what’re you wanting to do today, given it’s your day?”

“I get the whole day?” he asked incredulously, looking at Thranduil, who nodded solemnly. “I can watch movies?” he asked, with a note of excitement creeping into his voice.

 

“Guess that answers that question,” Earlene smiled. “What do you want to see?” she asked, curious. He’d seen smatterings of various films, though once they’d finished the Star Trek franchises their viewing had backed off a little.

 

“Can I watch the Harry Potter movies?”

 

“Can I watch them with you if you do?” Saoirse asked, though Pat knew full well she wouldn’t be able to sit still for that long.

 

“Might be a good day to be inside anyway,” Lorna said. Outside the window, the sky was a deep, leaden grey above the canopy. Though she no longer needed the pin in her leg, at times it ached when rain was coming, and it did now, though very faintly. “Haven’t checked the weather, but it doesn’t look like it’ll be good.” She helped herself to some French toast, and the curious creamy sauce that went with it.

 

Earlene vaguely wondered if the later films were suitable for Saoirse, but as it was not her child it was not her business. It actually sounded like fun, and because they were far enough ahead on the cooking, she had less to do today. She would have to pick a film or two to not watch, but should be able to take in most of them with him, if she lasted that long. How many were there? _Oh well, it wasn’t like he needed sleep._ The meal was pronounced a resounding success, even if Pat did have to stop Saoirse after her third cup of hot chocolate. Thanadir ate his way through thirds, and Lorna and Ratiri were charged with setting up the movies for him.

 

Earlene moved to do the washing up, when she encountered Thranduil, with an afghan in his crossed arms, a quirked eyebrow, and a head that was shaking No. _I will do the washing up, and Ratiri will help me. You have more cooking to do later, on top of this, and I insist you cuddle up with Thanadir and watch movies._

 

The sheer absurdity of the sentence caused her to burst into laughter, but as there was nothing that sounded nicer (well, okay, a few things, but those were hardly to be done in front of a room full of their family) she quickly relented, thanking him. Their viewing room had the advantage of comfortable, modular furniture that could be arranged in any configuration, so soon enough everyone moved sofa sections around to suit themselves and Earlene found herself blissfully arranged against soft pillows with her feet on Thanadir’s lap and fuzzy blankets everywhere. It was glorious, and right as the music began the sounds of heavy raindrops began spattering against the heavy outer wall with its ‘tree’ of glass bottles embedded in the cob.

 

Lorna had darted upstairs to rummage through her wardrobe, and at the back of it discovered what she wanted. Since there was no one around to see her, she slid down the bannister, staggering backward when her feet hit the floor. Fortunately, even with her socks on, she didn’t manage to slip and land on her face.

 

When she made it into the movie room, she draped the item around Thanadir’s neck. “This was one’v my first knitting projects, when Gran taught me to knit,” she said. “Gryffindor scarf, of course, though I’m sure you’d’ve been a Ravenclaw.” Hell, maybe she should make him a Ravenclaw scarf for Christmas. God knew she was a lot better at knitting now.

 

This reminded Earlene that Thanadir could play online on Pottermore but...getting him addicted to time-wasting online games might not be the wisest course of action. Scrap that idea...though it would be hilarious to see what house he would sort into. It was hard to know who was having more fun, Thanadir with his borrowed scarf, or her feet, that he seemed to rub endlessly without even being aware of it. Eru, he was cute. Cuuuuuuuute. Earlene’s reverie was broken by the sound of her husband’s chuckling coming from the kitchen, which caused her to sulk. But only a little.

 

The morning wore toward noon, which was much simpler fare. A beef barley soup had been simmering slowly since last night on about three matches’ worth of heat, and Ortherion braved the weather to journey to the Halls for the procurement of fresh bread. Breakfast had been eaten early, and it was decided to take a ‘lunch and gifts’ break after The Prisoner of Azkaban.

 

“All right, Thanadir, it’s present time,” Lorna said. “Saoirse, go get yours.”

 

The girl scurried off upstairs, for some reason making very quite sheep noises (she must have discovered Shaun the Sheep recently), while Lorna unpacked the paper bag. There was the big one from her and Ratiri, and Pat had got something he refused to tell anyone else about yet. “Pick one, any one.”

 

Eyes bright with curiosity, he chose the big one, his face all smiles. “I should open it?” he double-checked.

 

“Half a moment,” Lorna said, pulling her mobile out of her jumper pocket. Pulling up the video app, she said, “Okay, _now_ open it.”

 

He carefully tore the wrapper off the top, and teased out a leather-bound volume that was very fancy, embossed with trees. Taking a moment to admire this, he opened it and his eyes widened in happiness. It was a scrapbook, photos Lorna had taken of him with the others in their time together. At parties, at the cottage, in the Halls, even in New York and in Limerick. Everyplace they had all been or done things, including him holding the newborn twin girls...Lorna’s wedding and his fancy outfit….everything. There were decorations around the photos, and handwritten descriptions….it was a work of art. Moreover, he had never seen anything like it, and thought it very beautiful. He stared, and stared, finally looking up. “I knew you were teasing me,” he said in all sincerity. “Telling me you are not good at anything. This is the loveliest gift anyone has ever made for me. Now you have to put down your phone because I am going to give you a proper hug.” Lorna didn’t have much reaction time, and neither did Earlene (who moved her feet with record speed) as Thanadir bundled Lorna into a bear hug. “Thank you so much,” he said, trying not to squeeze her too tightly before letting her go again.

 

If he noticed that Ratiri was trying to keep a straight face, nothing was said to that effect.

 

 _I told you he would like it,_ Lorna heard in Thranduil’s smug tones.

 

Lorna squawked slightly in surprise, but hugged Thanadir back. “Wasn’t just me,” she said. “Ratiri helped a lot, too. Couldn’t’ve done it without him.” _One of these days you will be wrong about something, but I’m glad it wasn’t this._

 

Saoirse came skidding in again, an inexpertly wrapped package in her hands. “I made this,” she said, setting it on the table. “I framed it already.”

 

Clearly he was opening this next, so he took it from her and smiled graciously, thanking her. It was easy enough to carefully part the wrappings. His eyes widened to see another drawing, this time of him playing with all of Earlene and Thranduil’s children and the blocks. “This is wonderful,” he said. “Saoirse, you are extremely talented, and I will always cherish this.” He held it this way and that, so as to better admire it. And while he did not say it aloud, he already knew that when the time came, this would travel with him to Aman. “Thank you,” was heard one more time.

  
  


“You’re welcome,” Saoirse said, half-shy.

 

Pat’s gift was next, in a very small box. It too was opened with great care, to reveal a Star Trek uniform pin. His face lit up with delight and he adorably even bounced in his seat once or twice in excitement. “Oooh! Star Trek!” he blurted out, grinning when Earlene affixed the pin to his tunic.

 

Earlene suddenly felt very awkward, but reasoned it could not be worse than when they all bought her the harpsichord. “This is from both of us, meldir.” Thranduil brought the wrapped box, that tearing away the paper revealed to be an instrument case. Now, Thanadir was wondering mightily, and slowly unlatched the closures of the case. He gasped, and frankly so did everyone else. Gleaming, dazzling in the low light was a flute, that shone with a golden lustre. “It is a professional’s instrument, Thanadir,” she said softly. “I know that in a very short time, you will be its equal.”

 

He looked from Earlene, to Thranduil. “This is made of…?”

 

“Gold, gwador. Much like yourself.” Thranduil clapped his hand on Thanadir’s shoulder in affirmation, as the flummoxed elf continued to stare in disbelief.

 

“Eru,” was all he could manage for a few moments. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you all, so much.”

 

“You’re welcome, Thanadir,” Lorna said, a sentiment that was echoed all around. “Now let’s eat, and more _Harry Potter_.” She picked up Chandra, who was grabbing at her sock, cradling the baby on her lap. “No doubt these two’ll start making some kind’v new noise, after all this.”

 

Chandra looked up at her, giggled, and said, quite distinctly, “Fuck.”

 

“Oh, _Jesus_ ,” Lorna groaned, while Ratiri and Pat both burst out laughing, and even Saoirse giggled. “Which one’v you’s been swearing around them? Because it hasn’t been me. Lately, anyway.”

 

Thranduil could not help himself. He shook with laughter, to the point of a few tears streaming down his cheeks. Even Earlene could not help giggling, though she was pinching to bridge of her nose to try and stop it. Even Thanadir, though blessedly he hid himself behind Earlene, cracked a smile. Not that he would admit it. Only Lorna.

 

“It had to be one’v them,” Pat said, chortling. “Could be worse.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. She didn’t quite see _how._ “Well, let’s see if she’ll pick up a spell or something instead,” she said, booping the tip of her daughter’s nose. “And hope her brother’s first word is something a little more proper.”

 

Thanadir looked at Chandra. It was probably too much to hope that she could say _Expelliarmus._ He rose and took his cherished presents to his room, while the others lined up for soup and bread. To a one, everyone looked up when the first clear note of a perfectly blown flute reached their ears through the walls. “I’ll bet a round at the pub he’s able to play regular songs before the week is out,” said Earlene, smiling.

 

“I’m not sure anyone who knows him would actually take that bet,” Ratiri said. “I wonder if he knows how gifted he really is.”

 

“I don’t think he does,” Lorna said. “I don’t see how he could.”

 

“That’s why he’s amazing,” Earlene said. There were nods of general agreement, and shrugs. At least they would all very much enjoy the music.

 

*****

 

Lorna was so excited it was ridiculous, and yet she couldn’t help it. She’d never done this before, after all; Halloween proper was an entirely new thing for her.

 

Saoirse, naturally, had wanted to put her costume on as early as she could, so Lorna helped her with her trio of hair buns (and seriously, there was no way anyone could manage this so tidily on their own, unless it was Rey’s Jedi powers). Lorna’s own was pretty simple to get on, but she was glad there was a warmer garment underneath it. The fact that it was sleeveless meant she wandered about with her bathrobe on over the top, and would keep it there until they were actually at the Halls.

 

At least the weather was cooperating -- it was grey, properly spooky, but no rain (yet, anyway). It meant they could transport the eight thousand cupcakes without need to cover the boxes in plastic.

 

And there were, in fact, eight thousand. Mairead and Siobhan had made use of the commuter van, and had stacked in so many that they actually had to tie them together with bungee cords. They said there was little point in unloading them until they were ready to go to the Halls, and Lorna mused that they really did need a better way to transport things. (Zip lines. They needed zip lines.)

 

Mairead had, somewhat appropriately, come dressed as Boudicca, the famous Celtic warrior woman whose tribe had basically wiped Roman London off the map: she had a knee-length, rust-colored dress under a heavy, dark blue mantle with a silver brooch holding it in place, with brown leggings and boots. What made the effect so striking were the blue lines of woad on her face, painted in intricate patterns -- so intricate that Lorna suspected Siobhan’s involvement.

 

Siobhan herself had, naturally, dressed up as a sexy devil, but the neckline on her gown was surprisingly modest, by her standards anyway; yeah, there was cleavage, but not a whole lot, and the slit that went up the side of the sparkly red dress only hit the middle of her thigh, as opposed to practically up to her arse. The hooker heels, however, were no surprise at all, though for now she had trainers on her feet. They didn’t match the costume in the least, which was funnier than it should have been.

 

“I’ve got all the nibbles in coolers,” Big Jamie said, dragging two of them into the house. “Everything that needs to be heated up can do that in the kitchens at the Halls, though I’m pretty sure the elves’ve already got that covered.” Rather like Mairead, he’d gone the Celtic warrior route, woad and all, and Lorna wondered just how many people had got in on it. The brief sight of her brother-in-law revealed that he had, too -- some store had probably sold out of plaid wool in a hurry.

 

“They got the cake done, right?” Siobhan asked, tucking an errant strand of hair back up. She’d done it in some kind of beehive, with so much hair spray it was probably completely waterproof.

 

“ _Yes_ , Siobhan,” Lorna said, exasperated. This was a question she’d answered possibly fifteen times in the last two days. “And the main meal itself. Stop worrying.”

 

“If it’s done, Fun Size, we’re off to do your makeup,” Mairead said firmly, and all but dragged her upstairs to her bathroom. Lorna hadn’t wanted to try to do it herself (especially not since Mairead had Ideas with a capital I, which was honestly unsettling).

 

Thanadir had already done her hair for her -- the top was pulled back and worked into an intricate braid, with her fringe for once smoothed away and somehow kept in place even without hairspray, the lower half left free. The headpiece would rest on it nicely, though she hadn’t actually put the thing on yet -- that would come last, and the leaves woven through it.

 

“Do I want to know what you’re doing?” she asked, as Mairead tilted her head back and bade her shut her eyes.

 

Her sister laughed. “Oh, you do, but you don’t get to yet. Christ do I wish we’d had this holiday like this when we were kids. Can you imagine?”

 

Oh, Lorna could, all right. She knew full well that she and her siblings would have been out doing a lot of tricking, and very little treating, so it was just as well it hadn’t. Obviously what she was feeling now was eye shadow, followed by what had to be winged eyeliner, and then mascara. When she opened her eyes and tried to look in the mirror, Mairead flicked her between them.

 

“Nope,” she said, and brought out a small pot of...something. Lorna couldn’t tell if it was black or a really dark brown, but once again she had to shut her eyes while Mairead drew intricate lines down her temples and just a touch out into her cheekbones, and then up to perhaps a quarter of a the length of her eyebrows. Some kind of lip stain came later, and eventually she was allowed to rise and see her sister’s handiwork.

 

When she looked into the mirror, she stared. The eyeshadow was a dark, subtle, shimmery gold, the lip stain a deep shade of rust, but it was the lines that were really creepy, because they weren’t just lines -- Mairead had drawn a delicate tracery of thorny vines, emphasizing her brow and cheekbones. Even Lorna had to admit it was kind of terrifying, and it was her face. “ _Damn_ ,” she said. No, she was most definitely not the kind of pixie someone her size might be expected to dress up as.

 

“Get your crown,” Mairead ordered.

 

“Headpiece,” Lorna corrected, turning her head this way and that, to inspect the vines.

 

Mairead rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Go get it. If any’v the leaves come out along the way, we can just put more in. It’s not like there aren’t a billion and one in the forest.”

 

“Bossy,” Lorna said, but fetch the headpiece she did. It was very light, made of delicate loops of silver and gold in various widths, with which she was pretty sure was a garnet at the center, resting at the center of her forehead. It fit disturbingly well, but Ratiri’s mam had been a tiny little person, too.

 

“I almost don’t want to ruin this by putting leaves in it,” her sister said, inspecting it. “But you really do need leaves for the costume, so hang up a minute.” She disappeared downstairs, leaving Lorna to shake her head. She went to check on Maerwen and the twins; both babies were already in their costumes, though Chandra seemed to want to eat the antennae on her headband. She’d already pulled off one pompom.

 

Maerwen’s costume utterly delighted Lorna; the elleth had been fascinated by all the pictures from New York, and had chosen to go as the Statue of Liberty, torch and all. It had taken one hell of a lot of greenish facepaint, but they’d managed it in the end, and the twins found her very intriguing. (Allanah had taken one look at her and run away, until Lorna brought the little girl over to see that yes, this was still Maerwen under all that makeup.)

 

The elleth took one look at her and blinked, clearly startled. “Scary,” she said. “Pretty, but scary.” Her eyes traveled to the headpiece, brow wrinkling in confusion.

 

“Oh good,” Mairead said, breezing in and grabbing her sister’s hand. “That was the whole point.” She dragged Lorna out again, back into the bathroom, and wove leaves into the headpiece. The whole effect was so wonderfully creepy, and Lorna loved it.

 

A slight clanking could be heard coming up the stairs, and she scooted out to see Ratiri. He’d evidently needed help with all that armor, so she hadn’t yet seen the whole thing -- and as soon as she laid eyes on him, she wanted to rip it all off and drag him into their bedroom.

 

Her husband was always a very pretty man, but the sight of him in elven armor _did_ things to her. It was some kind of steel, and relatively simple, but the breastplate had a simple tracery of lines over it, enough to draw the eye. It leant him an air of power not normally evident, and she fished her mobile out of her pocket (pockets had been necessary) and snapped a picture. “Okay, this costume was worth it,” she said, and somehow managed not to actually drool.

 

“Jesus, yes it was,” Mairead said admiringly. “Leave it on, Fun Size. In fact, just come back downstairs, so you’re not tempted to take it off.” She glanced at the shelves as they passed. “Where’d you put Gran’s candlesticks?”

 

Lorna fought a sigh. Even now, she couldn’t bear to look at them, or the gifts Earlene had made; they remained in a closet, ignored. She’d done her level best to shove that entire day out of her mind -- something that wouldn’t work if she was faced with reminders of it. “They’re for special occasions,” she said. “Right now they’re at the Halls.”

 

“They’re too pretty to leave packed away,” Mairead protested. “You could put them there, and there.” She pointed to the ends of one of the shelves.

 

“Yeah, well, later,” Lorna said, since saying _absolutely fucking not_ was not an option. “Come on, you wanted me downstairs, so let’s go.” She all but shoved her sister out of the room.

 

To her absolute horror, Mairead said, “I made you an album’v it, though I keep forgetting to bring it with me. I’ll remember one’v these days. The one for your wedding’s not done yet.”

 

“No rush,” Lorna said, and fought another sigh. Whenever she did get it, it was getting burned, and she’d just say she’d spilled something on it. Dammit, this was not what she wanted to think about right now. “Why Boudicca?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

 

Mairead snorted. “It was Big Jamie’s idea,” she said. “I was griping that nothing’d go well with my hair, so he said I might as well look like what I actually am.”

 

“A bloodthirsty woman who’d level a city?”

 

“Exactly. Though I’m not sure I’d level a _whole_ city. Maybe just part’v one. The business district, or whatever.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. If her sister had enough of a reason, all of Ireland might not survive. “What’s Niamh?”

 

“Sally, from _The Nightmare Before Christmas._ Took her ages to put all her makeup on, and she had to borrow Siobhan’s flat-iron. Took her the better part’v half an hour to get her hair straightened.”

 

“I’m sure it did,” Lorna said, as they entered the kitchen. “Girl’s got too much hair.”

 

*****

 

When asked, Eleniel and Ithiliel wanted to be butterflies. Which naturally led to Allanah wanting to also be a butterfly, and careful negotiations had occurred. It had to be determined whether it was acceptable for all three girls to dress the same (Earlene was more than a little relieved when the twins kindly agreed to let Allanah share in their idea). In the end, after two hours on the computer with Thanadir, an idea was arrived at. It was pure living vicariously, for Earlene. Her Halloweens as a child had not been extravagant. Neither mom nor gran really had sewing skills, so the wonderful costumes that were the envy of the class never belonged to her. Money just wasn’t spent on such frivolities, understandably. But now...beautiful diaphanous dresses were ordered for all the girls, in shades of blue. While Allanah’s eyes could not match the stunning beauty of what Thranduil had given their daughters, neither were they lacking in loveliness of their own.

 

And the best part was the wings. Real outlined wings that were made with some kind of wire that glowed in the dark like neon, that would attach to their little shoulders, run off a tiny battery pack that was easily concealed. It was a shameless expenditure of money and she was absolutely going to buy them, to give her girls the thrill of wearing a truly stunning costume. And in the early evening when they were helped into their dresses by Lothiriel, there was one tiny surprise for Allanah alone...a child’s blue wig. “Blue hair! Blue hair!” she squealed, beside herself with excitement. Ithiliel and Eleniel merely stared at each other, not in the least wanting this, and shrugging. If it made their muinthel (dear sister) happy, that was most of what mattered.

 

Lothiriel and Ortherion, much to everyone’s amusement, dressed as each other. Lothiriel abandoned her usual modest but pretty dress in favor of the same leather armor and leggings the ellyn usually wore, and Ortherion wore one of the abandoned dresses from an elleth that had been taller than his wife. As elves tended to appear somewhat androgynous anyway, the joke was further enhanced after some discussion with Earlene. A brassiere was loaned to him, and suitable beanbags were created for his use whereas Lothiriel wrapped her breasts in elastic bandage to hide them. The effect was startling and very funny; everyone applauded their cleverness.

 

Meanwhile, in Thranduil and Earlene’s bedroom, costumes were being donned. Thanadir had already arranged Earlene’s hair according to the pictures he was shown of Roman matrons of the highest status. Days ago Thanadir and Thranduil both had conspired to make her costume exactly what she wished, though Thanadir had some hesitation as to its seemliness (which was quickly overruled by Thranduil). She was to be the goddess Hera, the patroness of marriage. Thrilled for once that his wife actually wished to be seen wearing his riches, little effort was spared on a costume that flaunted her shapely figure shamelessly. This included a large square of silken white fabric which would be tied and pinned into a sort of peplos. While it was not translucent, little was left to the imagination regarding her full and firm breasts, leaving Thranduil to conclude he would have a very nice evening indeed. In a rare indulgence (justified because it could afterward be used to decorate a wall of their home) Earlene ordered a large and beautiful fan made of peacock feathers as a necessary accessory, since this was the favored bird of the deity. A golden crown, and other rich ornaments were to be donned. But at the moment, she was leaning this way and that in front of the vanity mirror that had been brought from the cottage and into their room here.

 

Thranduil had never seen her apply cosmetics, and found that between the tempting outlines of her body and the fascinating, subtle alterations of these products effected on her skin, all sorts of internal difficulties were being created. Her already pretty, even-toned face and neck were being rendered into flawless creamy porcelain, a blank canvas for subtle color and shadows. The effects were all in beiges; there were no garish rouges or screaming pinks. Yet when she was finished, his wife appeared as a living statue. Polished, flawless, and the reason he now had an erection straining at his clothing. Turning to him, she smiled, knowing the effect her appearance was having. And it was sweet revenge.

 

He had donned _his_ costume first, having chosen the mighty fair-haired Celtic warrior and his own namesake, Fionn Mac Cumhail. Thanadir had provided rich fabrics to form something like a kilt, held on with a wide belt of polished leather and brass. A second piece of fabric went over his body on a diagonal, leaving him half bare-chested. The rippling muscles of his sculpted body were plain to see; heavy masculine ornaments at his neck, arms and wrists plus a thin circlet of gold at his brow completed his ensemble from the waist up. Leather boots he had aplenty, which only left Earlene to quirk her eyebrow when he applied some of her body oil to his arms and chest to further add to the luster of his skin. “If any of the women at this party turn up pregnant from needing to have a go at someone after looking at you all night, it won’t be my fault,” she quipped at him, her eyebrow raised.

 

Thranduil stopped, not having considered this, and grinned. He had brought a spear from the armory, and caressed it in a way that was meant to be entirely suggestive. Earlene elected not to comment further, since he was after all the one she would enjoy later on. It was probably terrible of her, but the knowledge that his beautiful form was for her alone...well, it was not possible to help that she already desired him. He stared at her, grinning, since her thoughts were not hidden. “Admit you want me just as badly and I’ll see what we can do,” she teased, brushing her hands lightly down the clinging fabric of her costume.

 

Laughing, he lifted the fabric of what amounted to his kilt. “Does that suffice?” he asked, dishing the same back at her as he revealed the evidence of his own thoughts.

 

“Well, we can’t afford to muss either costume, or my makeup,” she mused. “What does that leave us with?”

 

He grinned. “It leaves us with a bathroom counter that I had designed at just the right height.”

 

“This I have to see.”

 

The two of them disappeared, closing the door behind them. A few moments later, Thanadir tapped the door softly before entering their rooms, confused at their absence, until very soft noises reached his ears from their...lavatory? “Eru, I knew those outfits were a bad idea,” he muttered as he rolled his eyes. Yet he was grinning when he left their room, knowing to return in about five minutes. He paused for a moment, to admire himself in the mirror. After a great deal of thought, he wanted to be the Holy Grail character who said, “I’m being repressed!” He adjusted his rags and went to finish his mug of tea, while waiting for his incurably amorous family.

 

Lorna cackled with delight when she saw him, and whipped out her mobile again. “Are you being repressed?” she asked. “C’mon, you’ve got to say it.” Behind her, Mairead was choking on her tea a bit.

 

Flawlessly, the seneschal obliged her, smiling. He might say those three words a hundred times tonight, and it would be worth it. The only sad thing was that Thranduil was not going as himself. Still, Fionn MacCool was a ruler...of sorts…

 

“Thanadir, never change,” Lorna said, even as Saoirse came skidding into the room. Lorna had made her a semi-accurate replica of Rey’s staff, and she hoped the kid wasn’t going to spend the whole evening whacking people with it.

 

Her eyes widened when she saw both her aunts, flicking from one to the other. “Creepy,” she said. “Super creepy. Uncle Thanadir, who are you?”

 

“Have you ever seen _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_?” Lorna asked; when the girl nodded, she pointed at Thanadir. “I hope you’re going to be okay with saying that line over and over, because you’re going to have to.”

 

“I think I will be disappointed if I cannot,” he said with full sincerity. “After all, it is my decision to promote an autonomous collective.” He stared at Lorna, who now deeply wondered if he was joking, or not. It was Thanadir, and sometimes it was really, _really_ hard to tell.

 

It took Saoirse a moment. “Are you being repressed?” she asked, solemn as you please.

 

That only set Mairead off laughing again, though it ceased when Ratiri descended the stairs. One eyebrow arched, and she let out a low, appreciative whistle.

 

“Oi, what’d Kevin think?” Lorna asked, glowering at her.

 

“He’d think that while I’m married, I’m not blind, or dead,” Mairead retorted. “If you want to sell him to hell, sell him to me instead.”

 

“ _Ew_ ,” Saoirse said, scurrying off, while Ratiri blushed a deep shade of crimson.

 

“Where are Thranduil and Earlene?” Lorna asked, wrapping her arm around him.

 

“They are finishing adjusting their costumes,” Thanadir said without skipping a beat, while he continued to stare at Ratiri. _It was technically the truth_. “Ratiri you look very….lordly,” was the best he could come up with to describe his tall and elegant form. “I have not seen the like of this since the Battle of the Last Alliance.” He meant it, too. Thanadir had actually laid eyes on the descendants of the men of Númenor, and while they did not have Ratiri’s dark skin, they did have the same beautiful grey eyes and majesty of bearing. Perhaps they should all dress up more often.

 

That only made the poor man blush even deeper, and Lorna grinned. “Isn’t he pretty?” she asked. “He wears that armor a bit too well.” It was nevertheless all she could do not to facepalm, because her husband was so pretty even other guys noticed. Of course.

 

Pat chose that moment to enter the kitchen -- to Lorna’s endless amusement, he was dressed as a _Jawa_ , raggy red cloak and all. “I see you decided to match your daughter,” she said, and again raised her mobile.

 

“Yeah, well, might as well go with a theme,” he said. “Just hope I don’t sweat to death.”

 

“At least you won’t freeze,” she said, shedding her bathrobe. Moving through the woods would keep her warm enough, even with her bare arms. The bodice of the dress, such as it was, was a deep gold, mottled with green and brown, and the irregular layers of the skirt neatly hid her boots.

 

“Jesus, you’re terrifying,” Pat said, eying her slightly askance. “What are you?”

 

“The Faerie Queen,” she said, “and he’s Tam Lin. He seems to want to ignore the fact that the actual Queen tried to sell Tam Lin to hell on Halloween.”

 

Ratiri had not yet seen her in the entire combination, and he had to agree with Pat’s assessment. She was terrifying, and yet she was beautiful, and he hoped, so much, that he would not be the only one who would think so.

 

“Careful, mate,” Pat said. “You get her drunk enough and she might do it anyway.”

 

At that moment, Thranduil and Earlene emerged, only for Earlene to stop in her tracks. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful,” she said to Lorna, eyes wide as she admired the ensemble. Ratiri looked quite nice too, but she could tell him that later. Thranduil was still feeling overly pleased with himself, and smiled.

 

Lorna couldn’t help but grin, though she looked away, too. “Thanks,” she said, glancing at Ratiri before her eyes were drawn back to Earlene. “You look...Jesus, who are going as?” Someone goddess-y, but she actually looked the part, very much like an animate statue -- just about as flawless as you could get.

 

Ratiri conscientiously looked away at first, because staring really would be incredibly creepy, but how could he _not_? Earlene really was a beautiful woman, and in a costume like that, it was pretty impossible to ignore. And he did not want to be creepy -- especially since Thranduil could read his mind. That just made it that much more awkward.

 

“Hera, Greek goddess of marriage and women,” she said proudly. “My only disappointment is not having a real peacock to follow me around all night, but, some things can’t be helped.” She waved her fan instead.

 

“You are very beautiful, just with the feathers, Earlene,” Thranduil said, caressing her arm. “As is everyone...you are all so...interesting. I confess I am looking forward to seeing all the costumes. Even the repressed,” he said, with a sideways glance at Thanadir. He shifted from one leg to the other. His wife had pointed out that though he was on the side of authenticity, there would be children present at this party and that small ones looking up his kilt in curiosity might not be the best outcome. A pair of shorts had been donned underneath. While he enjoyed his own sexuality, he certainly did not need little Orla sharing in it. In any way, shape or form.

 

Lorna eyed him, and his costume...or lack of it, in places. “You, sir, are a troll extraordinaire,” she said, “and I really hope you’re prepared for what you’re going to get, in that outfit.” Hell, it was almost enough to distract _her_ \-- almost, because of course what her brain chose to cough up was the fact that it was rapidly getting dark out, and elves glowed in the dark, which meant he was basically a giant walking flashlight. It was all she could do to choke back a laugh, but she managed it, somehow. Poor Thranduil. She really must be awful for his ego, but she just couldn’t help it. He was a very pretty man...elf...and yet she just couldn’t see him that way. It was almost like her brain wouldn’t let her.

 

“Stay away from Siobhan,” Mairead said, giving him rather blatant appraisal. “Seriously, are you ready for what’s going to go on in people’s heads?” She herself was merely appreciative; others would be speculating about things he might rather not know about.

 

“They’ll all just have to manage,” Earlene said archly, holding his arm possessively. “I think he looks magnificent, and he’s gone as Fionn Mac Cumhain. It doesn’t get more Irish than that. Besides, it’s a night for staring, that’s what costumes are for. In America, if you don’t want people looking, you shouldn’t’ve worn it.”

 

“Oh, you’ll get no arguments from me there,” Mairead said. “I worry about the pheromones this’ll set off. Though Earlene, I’ll be brutally honest: you’ve got amazing tits, and I don’t think I’ll be the only straight woman who won’t be able to keep my eyes up.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, resting her forehead against Ratiri’s arm. Mairead wasn’t exactly wrong, and she could already tell poor Ratiri was having a hard time of it, given he seemed to be looking at everyone and everything that wasn’t Earlene. Pat seemed to have gone one better, though, and just straight-up done a runner.

 

“Oh for Pete’s sake. The lot of you have seen them from every conceivable angle in the last year. And, I’ll have you know that right now, I am six months and one day pregnant. That means that I’m about to turn into a giant bloated bag of baby, and I am damn well going to enjoy the fact that tonight, I can still see my feet. Mostly. Stare away. They’re not going anywhere, and in a few more months they’ll be out in all their glory with another baby attached,” she said with a self-deprecating flourish. “I can’t help it if gran had good genes to pass on.”

 

That only made Lorna laugh harder, while poor Ratiri blushed even deeper. “I apologize in advance, if I stare too long,” he said. “I’m human.” _Thranduil, just so you know, the base of that leafy thing on Lorna’s head is Melian’s crown. I had to. I just did._ What a contrast they all were -- _Star Wars_ , Celtic warriors, a Scottish folk ballad, and a man with some of the best quotes in _Monty Python and the Holy Grail._

 

“Come here, Fun Size, I forgot something,” Mairead said, pulling a spray-bottle out of her handbag. “Shut your eyes.” With no further warning, she sprayed Lorna full in the face with it, ignoring her squawk. “Don’t want those thorns coming off if you rub your face. Look, you lot, and see my handiwork. I had to practice on Niamh for a week.” She spun her sister around, and nearly got an elbow to the gut for her trouble.

 

“Lorna looks lovely,” offered Thranduil. “I think she should wear this every day.” He felt it was more than time she was teased in return, a little.

 

Lorna opened her eyes, laughing. “You want me to dress up as an evil fairy every day? Boy, that’d be a pain in the arse.” _Seriously, are you actually ready for Siobhan? She won’t be the only one, I’m sure, though she’ll probably be the only one with food-based sex metaphors._ Or so they could hope. And actually, Earlene might well get leered at just as much, God help her. Oh well. If they were prepared. Still, if the women in the maternity department were any indication...oh. That was totally where this costume had come from, wasn’t it? Good grief. Yes, all those women had been appreciative, but one had also tried to throw one of the worst pick-up lines in the known world at him.

 

Thranduil grinned at her. _You told me that if I had Earlene to defend my honor, I would manage better.  Here she is._

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes. There were cupcakes waiting. “Are we ready to walk to the Halls?” he asked hopefully.

 

“Yes, meldir. At least, I believe we are?” Earlene looked around the room, while taking Thanadir’s arm. Thranduil laughed at the ridiculous contrast between his wife and seneschal, shaking his head. They were quite a motley crowd. Still, he liked that he could now walk a few feet apart from her; those breasts bobbed exquisitely with every step she took. Thanadir, the only breathing being who was completely oblivious to Earlene’s charms, led her courteously out the door, taking care to allow enough room for the peacock fan.

 

Saoirse skipped along once they were all out the door, suddenly recalling the song from Harry Potter. “Double double toil and trouble, cauldron burn and fire bubble…” The girls were after her immediately, their glowing butterfly wings bobbing eerily on the forest paths ahead. The adults carried lanterns with lit candles. Because, Halloween.

 

Thanadir and Earlene enthusiastically joined in the Double Trouble song. _So they mangled Macbeth, who cared?_ Thanadir actually knew all the middle verses, instead of just the refrain, and of course they couldn’t just sing it once. Soon the entire bunch of them had worked into a respectable chorus, heading through the forest paths as the light dimmed to nighttime. It felt so Halloween-ish, with just the right amount of chill in the air. Earlene looked around for Thranduil, wanting to hold his arm, too. Her costume was not exactly designed for the cooler evenings, and he decided that this new visual of what his wife’s nipples did when chilled was equally enjoyable. And her mind was only on her daughters, and their beautiful, beautiful costumes. They really did look like butterfly faeries, though she left out the “fairy” part because she didn’t want to horn in on Lorna’s theme.

 

Lorna was probably the only one who noticed, because she was actively looking for it, but Thranduil was in fact slightly glowing in the dimness. How she managed to keep a straight face, she never did know, but manage it she did -- though she couldn’t help but take a picture. Because it was her, and of course she couldn’t.

 

Arriving at the party, they realized that once again, all had outdone themselves. A few of the Baile farmers had raised supremely large squashes that littered the dining hall in decorative piles; they would be transformed into soups and pies in the weeks to come. Lit Jack O’lanterns of extraordinary beauty were everywhere. From the looks of it, half the elven population was told of this custom, and they all tried to outdo each other as to skill. There were forest scenes, trees, animals, symbols of their people from bygone ages, and even one that was an extremely impressive rendition of the King himself. And this did not even address the tables of food, or the other decorations of cornstalks and sheaves of grain, or the apples that had indeed been hung from one corner of the ceiling for games later on. Someone had even donated a cider press, and three of the ellyn who had been shown its use were enthusiastically creating vast amounts of pomace to be crushed into rich juice.

 

“I don’t know how or why any of this can still surprise me,” said Earlene. “But it does. This is extraordinary.” It also made her feel like there was reason to feel positive about their future, as well. When they all worked together, humans and elves, the results were nothing short of astonishing. But tonight was not the time for those thoughts. This was a party, and that meant having fun.

 

Lorna and her mobile were at the ready, as she hit video mode and panned over it all. “This is the first annual human-elf Halloween,” she said. “And it’s a bloody gorgeous thing. Everyone, hold still so I can get you in the shot.” Fortunately, they obliged her, and she managed not to stare at Earlene’s boobs while she was at it. Which was weird, because Earlene was right -- it wasn’t like she hadn’t publicly nursed a few hundred times already. Maybe it was because of the packaging. Either way, it was weirding Lorna out a little. Though not so much as poor Ratiri.

 

“Alannah, if you want to look at Earlene, look at Earlene,” she said. “Jesus, she’s eye-candy. Just do it.” Though she nearly lost her shit when she caught sight of Siobhan catching sight of them -- never had holding in her laughter been so difficult. Siobhan was never shy about appraising someone, but this went beyond appraisal, and Lorna didn’t even want to _know_ what was going on in her head right now...except she had to ask anyway. _Thranduil, is Siobhan living up to her reputation? Because I think her eyes are about to fall out of her head._

 

 _Completely,_ he replied. He declined to say what, of course, because Lorna really did not need to know that what Siobhan was currently thinking was something he was already imagining with Earlene. He figured, if you can’t beat them, join them. Within the bonds of his marriage, of course.

 

Somehow, Lorna kept it together...until she saw Shane, whereupon she laughed so hard she nearly cried. Her six-foot-three biker brother-from-another-mother had come as a _drag queen_ , dressed in a sparkly green lamé monstrosity that looked straight out of 1985. Where the hell had he found something that would fit him, and _why_? He had on some spectacularly Ru Paul makeup, too, and a huge blonde wig, though his riding boots kind of undid the whole thing.

 

“Just... _what_ ,” she managed, but when Orla entered view, it just set her off all over again. The woman had spray-painted an old set of riding leathers metallic pink, and teased her blonde hair into a massive corona that looked rather like a dandelion puff. There was a story behind that, and she needed it, as soon as she stopped laughing long enough to actually speak. Well, there were two Siobhan _wouldn’t_ be fantasizing about, at least.

 

“Someone lost a bet, I think,” Ratiri said, turning away, but there was nothing for it; he burst out laughing, too. “The question is, which one?”

 

Thranduil smiled and headed off with his arm around Earlene’s waist for the table with the nibbles and John’s makeshift bar. He was going to ensure that his wife could enjoy more than just one drink if she wished, tonight. But not before he gave one parting shot. _Lorna, Siobhan fantasizes about_ everyone.

 

It took a moment for that to sink in, and when it had, Lorna twitched, so far beyond skeeved. Grabbing Ratiri’s hand, she followed, now in desperate need of a drink. Glowering at the back of Thranduil’s head, she said, _I really didn’t need that, thanks so much._ Moments later, there was a mug in her hands, and Shane and Orla ambled over.

 

 _What did I say?_ came the too carefully innocent reply.

 

“All right,” Ratiri said, “which one of you lost the bet, and what was it over?”

 

Orla laughed. “He did, and it was over a payment from one’v his customers. The legit ones.”

 

“What’s he supposed to be?” Lorna asked, not sure she wanted to know. While she didn’t actually say anything to Thranduil, she blew him a mental raspberry.

 

“Drag Queen Barbie,” Shane said, glaring at Orla. “Though at least she’s Biker Barbie, so I’m not alone.”

 

Lorna, unfortunately, had just taken a sip of Guinness, and Shane’s words immediately made her choke on it, foam shooting out of her nose. _Drag Queen Barbie?_ Drag Queen Barbie? Thranduil was Drag Queen Barbie, dammit. Shane was stealing his title, or trying to; it didn’t work half so well on him...though that just led her to picturing Thranduil in that dress, and then she was done, laughing and coughing even while Ratiri thumped her on the back, looking at her like she’d lost her mind.

 

“Don’t you go sicking up in front’v my bar,” John said, shaking his head, though he was too busy looking at Shane and Orla to notice the finger Lorna gave him.

 

“Your costume is very impressive, Shane,” Thranduil said, as he and Earlene appeared out of the nearby press of bodies, drinks in hand. “I am certain it has no equal.” Earlene was not sure she had ever seen him smile quite so broadly, which doubtless meant he was enjoying some private joke. A light squeeze to her waist confirmed her suspicions, but it wasn’t like she was about to give anything away.

 

“You too, Orla,” Earlene chimed in. “I don’t know how you managed the hair, but...wow.” It truly was impressive. “At least it wasn’t Swan Lake Barbie,” she offered.

 

“A full can’v Aqua Net,” Orla said, and yes, she was staring. She figured there was no point in trying not to, with a costume like Earlene’s, but at least she tried not to be disgusting about it. “And a rat-tail comb. Christ only knows what’ll happen when I take a shower and try to wash it all out.”

 

“Wash it, condition, and a wide-toothed comb while you’re still in the shower,” Siobhan advised. Now that she had the hooker heels on, she was close to six feet tall, and when she leaned in to whisper something in Shane’s ear, he suddenly looked much happier. _Ew_.

 

“Nice heels,” Lorna said, and if she unconsciously leaned in closer to Ratiri...after a revelation like the one Thranduil had just given her, she probably couldn’t be blamed. She thought a number of rude words in his direction, even as she took another cautious sip of Guinness, hoping nothing would make her choke on this one.

 

“I’ll have blisters later, but I don’t care,” Siobhan said. “Where’s Mairead? I need to talk to her about cupcakes.”

 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Lorna said, looking out into the sea of people. Saoirse had found Maureen and little Orla -- the former dressed as a zombie, while the latter was the cutest little witch Lorna had ever seen. All three of them scooted over, staring wide-eyed at the adults.

“Aren’t you two scary!” Earlene beamed. “I like your costumes. Did you try the cupcakes?” She was now exceedingly glad of her demand that Thranduil don some manner of underclothing, given that the children’s eye level and the hem of his kilt were precariously close to being equal. The last thing they needed was for word of _that_ much authenticity to spread. Though, dammit if he wasn’t tempting beyond belief. It was true her husband was ‘pretty’, but that did nothing to dampen his virility. Not one bit.

 

“Not yet,” Saoirse said. “We going to get some, but Bridie said there was fizzy drinks over here.”

 

“That there are,” Big Jamie said. “All sorts. What d’you want?”

 

“Orange,” Orla said, staring at Shane with slightly horrified fascination. Obviously she was trying to work out what the hell he was, and just as obviously she was failing.

 

“Grape,” Maureen added.

 

“And whatever kind’v cola you’ve got,” Saoirse finished. “Okay, who lost the bet?” she added, looking from Shane to Orla the Elder.

 

Ratiri dissolved into helpless laughter, as did Lorna. Kid was too perceptive. Shaking her head, Lorna drank more Guinness, surveying the crowd. She spotted Niamh -- her niece, Niamh, not friend -- with a cupcake, too busy looking up at the lights to avoid running headlong into Bridie, who was doing the same thing. Bridie had come as an angel, and it knocked her halo off.

 

 _Someone’s going to get hurt, doing that,_ she said to Thranduil. _I hope you’re ready to handle some nosebleeds._

 

_I am. And so is Thanadir. He can heal small injuries, it is the complex ones that are very difficult for him. Wherever he is…_

 

At that moment “I’m being repressed!” floated over the conversation.

 

 _Hm. It would appear he has found the cupcakes,_ Thranduil remarked, sipping his ale in a sultry manner. Which should not have been possible, but he was managing it. Siobhan was not so subtly maneuvering herself to a better angle by which to see Thranduil’s muscled abdomen, when Earlene changed the angle at which she was standing, and obliviously brought her peacock fan around to cover him.

“Thranduil, did you see that one of the Jack O’Lanterns looks like you?” she exclaimed, tugging him by the hand to go and see it.

 

Lorna didn’t roll her eyes, but it was close -- and she had a hell of a time not laughing at Siobhan’s momentarily put-out expression. Only momentarily, though, because once she caught sight of Earlene’s arse, she perked right up again. _Good fucking God_.

 

Doc Barry, dressed like something out of a Stevie Nicks video (lots of layers of purple net _and_ a purple wig) meandered over, along with her husband, who appeared to be dressed as a hobo. “You say Thranduil reads minds, yes? Why on _Earth_ would he wear that to a party? He will think we are all disgusting perverts.”

 

“He probably knows that by now,” Ratiri said. “Nice wig.”

 

“Thank you. I -- oh dear.” She pointed, and they turned to find that Jack had come as Ziggy Stardust-era _David bloody Bowie_ , mullet, make-up and all.

 

“I need to give up trying to eat or drink anything,” Lorna said, beyond grateful she hadn’t actually had anything in her mouth to choke on. Setting her mug down, she again whipped out her mobile. “This is going to need a whole scrapbook on its own.”

 

Earlene told Thranduil, after they had suitably admired his visage rendered in squash, that they needed to ensure their daughters ate a decent meal. They would play the games for the youngest children early on, because the little ones would not be staying up remotely as late as the older children and adults. Lothiriel and Ortherion had made it abundantly clear that they did not mind leaving the party early to mind the children, and volunteered to take them back to the cottage to mind them. While no one was entirely certain who would end up where at the end of it, it wasn’t as if the possibilities were unlimited; they would all manage to regroup at some point tomorrow. If absolute worse came to worse, the two elves assuredly knew how to make porridge and pour milk; they now lived in Eldamar as well. No one was going to starve.

 

They found their flitting butterflies with ease. Privately, Thranduil felt it was a form of genius that Earlene had chosen these wings that glowed so brightly. He thought of the times little Legolas had made a game of successfully eluding him, Alassëa and Thanadir together. No such shenanigans would be happening tonight, not with the girls so delighted to be wearing their pretty costumes. Soon they were fed, and it was time to announce the games. A wolf-whistle silenced everyone, and Thanadir announced to the crowd that he was being repressed. Something in the delivery was particularly hilarious, and many glasses were raised in appreciation to the old elf, who was glorying in this unusual degree of being at the center of attention. Thankfully, he did not overdo it, but simply invited the little ones to come forward to play snap apple. After much discussion, bobbing for apples was overruled because of the chance to have children end up soaking wet. Besides, they had something better in store.

 

Lorna and Ratiri’s costumes had given Thanadir an idea, one he’d taken to her and Rîniel. The ballad of Tam Lin was set on Halloween night, and they’d decided that Lorna would sing it in English while Rîniel sang it in Sindarin, so everyone would be able to understand. They couldn’t both sing at once, though, lest _nobody_ understand; Lorna would take first verse in English, then Rîniel in Sindarin, and go on like that. They hadn’t told anybody else, though obviously Thranduil couldn’t help knowing.

 

In truth, Lorna was a touch nervous. While she had quite a good voice, it was good for a human; she didn’t match Rîniel in skill. Naturally, the elleth sounded positively ethereal, her voice like liquid moonlight, and Lorna only hoped the contrast wouldn’t be too ludicrous. Thanadir didn’t seem to think so, and she knew he’d tell her the truth if he did. What she had learned, during her years of panhandling, was that technical skill was only half of it; the performance, the energy infused into it, was every bit as important, and _that_ she was very good at. One didn’t need a voice that was exceptionally beautiful to hold an audience if you really put yourself into it. She’d seen many a panhandler every bit as good as her take in only half of what she did, because they just sat and sang. They were easy to pass, but she wouldn’t be ignored, and she’d pulled in the crowds (and their spare change).

 

But for better or worse, there was still the better part of an hour to work on her stage fright; it was agreed that the better part of good judgement would be to have the entertainments for older children and adults be after the littlest ones were safely asleep. So after the Cute Overload that snap apple proved to be (Earlene thought her heart would melt, watching her girls trying to bite into the apples with their tiny baby teeth. They hopped up and down, trying, which made their wings flutter with disturbing realism. If someone there did not have a mobile out filming it, that was only because they didn’t own one). Finally all the fun was had, and assorted parents helped herd Lothiriel to the pleasant and quiet nursery where costumes were exchanged for sleepwear, any other needed care was ministered to, and they were read a bedtime story.

 

At some point all was settled, and Thanadir indicated that the next entertainment could begin. He felt a little sorry for Lorna, seeing her emotion on her face, but did not know how to help except to whisper, “Do not worry. You sing very well, and this will be greatly enjoyed. Your appearance is stunning, and anyone who is not drunk or deaf will be most appreciative.” Well, no one could sum things up quite like Thanadir. Earlene, her arm around Thranduil’s waist (occasionally inside of his costume, just because) looked up at her husband questioningly when she saw a violin appear in the seneschal’s hand. He gave a mysterious smile, but would not say more.

 

 _You are maddening, my Lord,_ she rebuked silently.

 

_I try._

 

With a grunt of frustration, Earlene moved away from him to find another cupcake.

 

Lorna gave Thanadir a grateful smile -- that was pretty much exactly what she needed to hear. She joined Rinîel at roughly center stage, insofar as they _had_ a stage; someone had thoughtfully provided her with a box to stand on, so she didn’t seem ludicrously short next to the tall, willowy Rinîel. “In honor of Halloween and of our resident Scottish doctor, we’ve decided to give you all the ballad of Tam Lin,” she said. “So do me a favor and nobody sick up until it’s over.”

 

That brought general laughter from the Baile crew, and she waited for Thanadir to start with his violin. How he could play so beautifully, when he’d only taken up the instrument a year ago, she had no idea -- that was just Thanadir for you. Drawing a deep breath, she gave her husband a smirk.

 

“ _Oh I forbid you, maidens all,_

_who wear gold in your hair_

_to come or go by Carterhaugh,_

_for young Tam Lin is there_ ,”

 

Her voice was clear and strong, and the hall provided some interesting acoustics she had not anticipated, which turned it into something beautifully spooky.

 

Rîniel took it up in Sindarin, and her achingly lovely voice flowed over the crowd like water. Naturally, Sindarin could make anything sound beautiful, even if it likely didn’t rhyme well when translated.

 

Earlene licked the frosting off her fingers and hurried back to her husband. It might be unlawful to strike the King for any reason but surely a well-aimed pinch might not count? It was totally unfair, that he didn’t tell her they were going to do this.

 

_I heard that, meluieg. It would be a shame to leave the performance to have to discipline you down in the dungeon._

 

The silky, sexy voice left little doubt of what kind of ‘discipline’ he meant. Not to be outdone, she simply smoothed the fabric over her breasts enticingly, and looked innocently at Lorna and Rîniel while she chastely held his hand. That he chuckled, very softy, caused her to grin widely. Hopefully no one was watching them. Hopefully.

 

Thanadir’s playing was haunting, beautiful. Whatever he had chosen as a sort of...what did you call this? It wasn’t an accompaniment in any strict sense of the word, but rather a moody minor key that seemed to accent the meter of the verses in both languages. It lilted, it flowed, and it added to the haunting quality of the tale. Long ago, she knew she had heard this story, but to have it resurrected tonight...it was magical.

 

Lorna had decided truncating the song was in order, or between her and Rîniel they’d be there all night. Her eyes swept the crowd, her old panhandling tactics returning with a vengeance.

 

“ _Janet has kilted her green kirtle,_

_a little above her knee_

_and she has braided her yellow hair_

_a little above her bree_

_and she’s away to Carterhaugh_

_as fast as she can hie”_

 

For her it was strength, not technique, that did the work, and she gave Ratiri another smirk. Rîniel took it to Sindarin, though there probably wasn’t any direct translation for ‘hie’ in Sindarin. It was one of the few things they hadn’t been able to edit into something an Irish person would understand.

 

“ _When she came to Carterhaugh,_

_Tam Lin was at the well_

_and there she found his standing steed_

_but he was away himsel’”_

 

Mairead smiled, leaning against her husband. It was rarely that they’d managed to con Lorna into singing at the pub, but she was a veteran shower-singer, and Mairead was glad she’d show off for once.

 

“ _She had not pulled a double rose_

_a rose but only two_

_till upon there started young Tam Lin_

_says ‘Lady, pull no more.”_

 

Earlene glanced around. The elves, to a one, were mesmerized. As she thought about it...they probably had been insulated with things like the Lays of Beleriand and other traditional verse of their people for a very long time now. When was the last time someone composed a new poem, or song, amongst them? This must be a huge treat...and that this hailed from a very old myth even by human terms, maybe that made it seem a little more magical. People believed in what was magical when this was written...and who even knew if some of it was rooted in a grain of truth. _Queen of Faerie? Why not._

 

Thranduil could not help but note Earlene’s observations as well. Frowning, he realized he had somewhat failed his fellow elves, in this. There was a time they engaged in such pursuits far more. Had they not talked at some point about having a place within these caverns for fellowship and creativity? Something reminiscent of the Hall of Fire, in Imladris of old? They had all become set in their ways and for elves, bordering on...unimaginative. The rapt interest toward this mortal tale spoke loudly enough of their enjoyment. He would have to do better, in this. He would confer with Thandir, when the opportunity presented itself. In the meantime, he put his own arm around Earlene’s waist, drawing her against him. Though her costume hid it well, he felt the firmness of her swelling belly underneath and could feel only excitement and anticipation. He smiled. Everything was going so well, for once. Forcing himself to behave, he refocused his attention on the ballad.

 

Lorna hopped off her box and zeroed in on Molly.

 

“ _Why pull’s thou the rose, Janet?_

_And why breaks though the wand?_

_Or why thou comes to Carterhaugh_

_Withouten my command?”_

 

With the next verse, it was all she could do not to laugh, because it was basically ‘it’s my dad’s land, I’ll do what I want’

 

“ _Carterhaugh, it is my own_

_My daddy gave it me_

_I’ll come and go by Carterhaugh_

_and ask no leav’v thee_ ”

 

Ratiri _did_ laugh, even as she took Molly’s hand and led her through Rîniel’s verse. He wondered how Thanadir had managed to translate some of this, and how accurate he’d managed to make it -- though when Lorna got to the verse where the old knight in her father’s household accused her of being knocked up, Janet’s response of “ _hold your tongue, you old-faced night, some ill death may ye die_ ” the laughter that rippled through the elves told him Thanadir had done it quite well.

 

Lorna, he thought, really should have gone into musical theater. She made her way around the circle of spectators, infusing the song with energy and more than a few funny gestures. When she reached Tam Lin’s description of Faerie, her expression was a combination of earnestness and amusement.

 

_“And pleasant is the Faerie land,_

_but an eerie tale to tell,_

_for at the end of seven years_

_we pay a tithe to hell_

_I am so fair and full’v flesh_

_I fear t’will be mysel’”_

 

Her eyes found Siobhan, who bowed with a flourish. Lorna had no doubt she’d love it if Ratiri got sold to her.

 

_“But the night is Halloween, lady_

_the morn is Hallowday_

_then win me, win me, and you will_

_for will I what you may”_

 

_Just at the mirk and midnight hour_

_the fairy folk will ride_

_and they that want their true-love win_

_at Miles Cross must bide”_

 

They were not terribly far from the ending, as far as Earlene recalled, but just then Thanadir stepped forward onto Lorna’s box to perform what essentially amounted to variations on the melodic theme he had been playing. He had cast off the silly peasant’s cap of his costume for a time, and his unbound hair partially tumbled over the varnished wood of his violin. Not a sound could be heard anywhere in the Halls, as the speed and intricacy of his playing mounted. Heads slowly shook, and Earlene did not require Thranduil’s gift to know that to a one they were all wondering... _how? How could he do that?_ His beautiful face looked especially appealing, and Earlene vaguely pitied the assorted mortals there that doubtless would find him...desirable. And yet that was not, and never would be Thanadir. What was inside of him was what he now shared, without artifice or pretense. It was wildly beautiful, and not for the last time she felt the weight of her good fortune. She and her family held his heart in a way none of the others ever would. It felt...sobering. Her husband’s hand reached up to caress the back of her neck. He too understood, and was equally affected.

 

Lorna was so lost in watching Thanadir that she almost missed her cue. When he stepped back, she took up the song again, through Janet’s midnight rescue of Tam Lin. Only when she reached the last verses did she return to her box.

 

“ _Out then spoke the Faerie Queen_

_An angry woman was she_

_Shame betide her ill-fared face_

_An ill death may she die,_

_For she’s taken away the fairest knight_

_In all my companie_ ”

 

Ratiri almost -- _almost_ \-- laughed, because he was one of a very few who recognized the murderous expression on her face as her attempt at Thanadir Eyes. At least it was useful for something, considering it failed epically at what it intended.

 

Her voice rose and strengthened at the last, most morbid verse. Many of the leaves had fallen from her crown; the result made her look almost unhinged. Indeed, he thought, she looked downright inhuman -- every bit a vengeful Queen of the Fae, her eyes alight.

 

“ _But had I known, Tam Lin, she said_

_What now this night I see_

_I would’ve taken out thy two green eyes_

_And put in two’v a tree._ ”

 

Beside Ratiri, Pat actually shuddered a little. That was not his sister on that box, not in that moment. “ _Jesus_ ,” he muttered.

 

“I know,” Ratiri said, and was almost relieved when the song ceased and she laughed, the moment breaking.

 

Thunderous applause echoed through the Halls, and Thanadir graciously took the hands of both Lorna and Rîniel so that they might bow together. Whether it had been a rehearsed action or not, it looked very polished. The clapping and whistling went on long enough to be almost embarrassing. Lorna held up her hands for silence. “All right, you lot, get your booze and nibbles and then Thranduil’ll tell us a story,” she said.

 

The crowd, as one, made for the bar, and she scurried behind it to help. Christ, why had she been nervous? That had been so, so much fun.

 

“You been holding out on us,” Geezer said. He’d come dressed as a pirate, of all things, right down to a fake eye patch that was currently up on his forehead. “You’re fuckin’ terrifying.”

 

“Queen’v the Supernatural Serial Killers,” Big Jamie said, elbowing her. “What can I do you for, Geezer?”

 

“Guinness, of course. Doubt you’ll have any left by the end of the night.”

 

Once everyone had what they needed, a number of them did as they would have when they were children, and sat on the floor so they could better listen to the story. The effect was so surreal that it took Lorna a moment to reconcile it.

 

Poor Earlene had reached complete disbelief... _they planned all these fun things, and did not tell me!_

 

Thranduil glanced down at her and gently squeezed her hand. _Please trust that there was a reason, meluieg. You have done nothing but work, these last days, on Thanadir’s celebration as well as your dishes you made for this party. We wanted to give something back to you. Had you known, can you honestly tell me you would not have tried to help with this, too?_

 

 _Well, shit,_ she thought, knowing that he was absolutely right while heaving a big sigh. Her eyes roved the room, absorbing what a success it had been so far. _You win, my Lord, as usual. But it had better be a really good story._

 

Thranduil smirked.


	83. Eighty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October 31, 2017. The Party, continued.

Thranduil kissed Earlene’s hand chivalrously before offering her a seat in an actual chair (which earned him more than one nod of approval for his manners, with her being noticeably pregnant once seated. Her belly was not hidden by the fabric then, at all). Standing proudly tall, he walked to the same box as the others had used; in spite of his height it made him far easier to see. Back in a far corner, Thanadir very softly began to play again; long, tuneless notes that were….eerie. Earlene had to admit she was fascinated, because the two ellyn were about to attempt a very human kind of entertainment.

 

“We were taught about your tradition of telling frightening stories on this night,” he intoned solemnly, “so I will be telling a tale called….Sticky Notes 1 .”

 

He held up a pad of Post-its, garnering the expected laughs and guffaws. Last everyone checked, it was difficult to even get a paper cut off of the things. How scary could this story possibly be? Knowing smiles of indulgence were exchanged (the poor elf probably didn’t know how to give a good yarn that could frighten anyone), while Thranduil waited for silence, smiling secretively. His presence was commanding.  _ If nothing else, he knows how to emotionally set up those listening _ , his wife thought..

 

He stepped down now, to walk around the room, his sonorous voice easily projecting into every corner of the dining hall. “One evening, a teenage girl came home from school and found the house empty. Her mother had left a sticky note on the refrigerator for her. It said her father was working late, her mother was out shopping and her younger brothers were at football practice. She was alone in the house.

 

“The girl locked the front door, just in case. Then, she put her mobile on the hall table, hung her keys on a hook and went upstairs to her bedroom to change clothes. As she was getting undressed, she saw a sticky note on her bed. She picked it up and looked at the message.

 

It read: ‘There is someone in the house.’”

 

Thranduil made eye contact with multiple people, his expression one of perfect insouciance with an edge of danger. Of threat. Already, his audience was feeling far less smug and far more unsettled. He continued: “She assumed it was her younger brothers playing a trick on her, so she crumpled the note.

 

‘OK, very funny guys,’ she said. ‘What happened? Did you two miss football practice?’

 

No one answered.

 

‘Hey, I know you’re here,’ she yelled. ‘If I find out you two went through my stuff again, you’re dead.’” 

 

Somehow, his voice pitched high, into a convincing impression of a young girl….how in hell could he  _ do _ that? 

 

“The girl went downstairs to the kitchen to fix herself a snack. When she opened the refrigerator, she discovered another sticky note.

 

It read: ‘There’s nobody here but you and me.’

 

She dropped the note and said ‘Hey lads, this is not funny anymore. Stop it.’

 

There was no answer.

 

The girl went to the front door and tried the knob, but it was locked. She turned around to get her keys, but the hook on which she had hung them was empty. Then, the girl glanced down at the hall table and saw that her mobile had disappeared as well. On the table, there was another sticky note.

 

It read: ‘You’re not going anywhere!’

 

She screamed and picked up the phone to call the police….” at that point, by prearranged signal when Thranduil mimicked holding up a telephone, Lorna let out a bloodcurdling scream that caused everyone to jump. And by ‘everyone,’ it was meant, all the humans and a hefty percentage of the elves. In the meantime, Thandir’s playing had become somewhat more intense and dramatic, though it was still soft. The ellon was a walking soundtrack, it seemed.

 

“...There was no dial tone. She grabbed the phone line and to her horror, she realized it had been cut. There was another note lying by the phone.

 

It read: ‘No phone, no police, no way out!’

 

Trembling with fear, the girl ran to the back door. When she tried to turn the handle, she found it was also locked. Just then, she spotted another note stuck to the back door.

 

It simply read: ‘Look Up!’

 

So she looked up, and saw her pet cat speared through the heart and pinned to the ceiling with a kitchen knife. She screamed in terror and ran to the nearest window. She tried punching and kicking it, but she couldn’t smash the glass. It wouldn’t even crack. There was a sticky note on the window.

 

It read: ‘You can’t catch a break, can you?’

 

The frightened girl desperately tried to think of what she should do. She needed a knife to defend herself. She ran to the kitchen, but when she pulled out the drawer, it was empty. All of the knives were gone, and in their place was another sticky note.

 

It read: ‘Children shouldn’t play with sharp things!’

 

She ran upstairs to her bedroom and locked the door. She checked inside the closet and under the bed. There was nobody there. She breathed a sigh of relief. Then all of a sudden, her television turned on by itself. It was loud and static. On the screen, she found another note.

 

It read: ‘Now I have you where I want you!’

 

The girl flew into a panic and started yelling and screaming, ‘Help! Help! Somebody help me!’

 

Just then, she remembered her laptop computer. She flipped open the lid and quickly sent an email to her best friend:

 

‘HELP! THIS IS NOT A JOKE! CALL THE GARDAI! THERE’S SOMEONE IN MY HOUSE!”

 

Minutes later, she heard the sound of sirens outside. The police arrived and broked down her front door. Two gardai burst into her bedroom and found her cowering in the corner, shaking and quivering with fear.

 

The gardai searched the entire house from top to bottom, examining every nook and cranny, but they found no one. As the officers were interviewing her, one of them spotted a sticky note attached to her back. He pulled it off and handed it to her.”

 

Thranduil paused, looking all around the room for dramatic effect. Not a sound could be heard; even Thanadir had stopped playing.

 

“It read: ‘I was this close…”  The King held up his thumb and forefinger with a slight gap between them as he whispered his disturbing conclusion, before smiling. Earlene applauded, realizing this was the end. And wondering how on earth he had found such a tasteful story...one that was still more than a little frightening.

 

Saoirse, wide-eyed, huddled close to her father, and even Lorna shivered a little. If the whole king thing ever got boring, Thranduil would make a great actor (and it didn’t help that, in telling such a story, he reminded her that she’d once thought he looked so much like a zombie).

 

“That,” Mairead called, after a pause, “was bloody brilliant.”

 

“I’ll be looking under my damned bed and in my closets for the next month,” Niamh said, shaking her head. 

 

“And just think,” Shane added, “we work in a room full’v the damn things. Never look at them the same way again. I mean,  _ Jesus _ .”

 

“That’s one hell of a story. And told by a hell of a storyteller.”

 

Lorna knew that voice -- most of them knew that voice. She had to stand up to see over everyone else, but at some point they had acquired a  _ Sharley _ . Sharley, in a glittery black flapper dress, her blue hair somehow tucked up until it resembled a bob with finger-waves. Her normal air of vague sorrow was quite gone; her odd eyes were filled with humor.

 

“You little shit, why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Lorna asked, scrambling to her feet and trying to dodge other sitters as she made a beeline for the girl, wrapping her in a rib-squeezing hug. “Jesus, you look fabulous.”

 

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Sharley said, hugging her back. “Not that’s possible to surprise him, but at least I could the rest of you.”

 

Earlene glared at Thranduil mightily, and this time even he had to look a bit sheepish. He had not truly considered the degree to which he was keeping secrets from his wife concerning aspects of this party.  However, he noted that once he looked apologetic, her expression softened quite a lot. Thanadir came up, excited to see her. “You missed Allanah!” he lamented. “She had blue hair! She had blue everything, come to think of it. But at least there are pictures,” he beamed.

 

“I saw her, though she didn’t see me,” Sharley said. “Christ she’s cute. And her sisters are...a lot bigger than they were the last time I saw them. I know elf kids grow faster, but damn.”

 

Ratiri followed Thanadir, and also drew her into a hug. “How long are you staying?” he asked. “Hopefully long enough to make that flight worth it.”

 

“I was figuring two weeks,” she said. “It’s grey and gross at home. Probably gonna be grey and gross here, too, but at least here there’s people.”

 

“The children are sleeping in the Halls tonight, on account of the party,” Thranduil said. “But I hope you will come stay with us in our new home. We moved in while you were away. I know a certain little girl would be beside herself to have you, and so would we.” Nods from Earlene and Thanadir seconded what he had said.

 

“I have a flute now, Sharley,” Thandir said hopefully. “Maybe we could play some songs together?”

 

“I’d love to,” Sharley said. “To stay with you, and to play with you, Thanadir. I haven’t been around anyone who could play a flute in ages.” Not that she remembered, anyway. “I have a violin, at home. I actually rented a little house in Skykomish, so I’m not in the bunkhouse anymore.”

 

“I hope you’ve got pictures,” Lorna said. “Sometime when you’re here, I’d love to take you to Dublin. We can go shopping for something to put in your little house.”

 

Sharley smiled. “I think I’d like that,” she said, and sounded surprised by her own words. “But I’m fairly sure there’s supposed to be dancing, sooner or later, isn’t there? While everyone’s sober enough?”

 

“Would you like to play?” Thanadir proffered his violin. He would be just as happy to eat; he had not had nearly enough of the delicious food by his estimation.

 

“I would absolutely love to,” she said, knocking back a drink she’d evidently fixed herself, since all the bartenders had been listening to the story. “Just let me get these damn shoes off.” They were vaguely period-appropriate heels, and walking through the woods in them had been a vast mistake: both her heels  _ and  _ her toes had blisters, and the cool stone floor felt wonderful.

 

“Let me heal your feet, Sharley,” Thranduil offered.  “No need to put the shoes back on, but at least you will be more comfortable.” After she nodded her assent, a moment’s touch to her feet fixed that problem. He could not help but feel amused that her toenails were painted with a blue polish.

 

“Thank you,” she said, mildly disturbed by his costume. She had not actually registered much about him physically before, since she’d been a bit too occupied with his brain, and now it was weirding her out. Earlene, she was no surprise; it was kind of impossible not to see that she was a beautiful woman, and her costume just put it more...front and center...but Thranduil came as a bit of a shock. Then again, at least he wasn’t Lorna, who looked downright terrifying. “All right, guys, what kinda song do you want to start with?”

 

Earlene and the ellyn looked at each other, not actually knowing the names of any, and turned expectantly to Lorna. “Something to dance to?” Earlene asked cautiously, not certain if there was some sort of...party protocol.

 

That just made Sharley laugh. “Vague, but I’ll take it. And that,” she added, as Thanadir handed her the violin. Of course it was perfectly tuned, because Elves, and with a grin, she launched into one of the first she’d played here -- her arrangement of  _ I Love Rock and Roll. _

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and pulled Ratiri out onto the floor. They’d both had enough to drink that they didn’t care that they couldn’t actually dance, and they were soon joined by damn near everyone else. The small squad of Celtic warriors had all congregated together, which was rather hilarious, seeing as they were all just tipsy enough to be utterly dreadful, but not so drunk that they actually tripped.

 

Earlene took Thanadir to get more cupcakes, with the promise of a dance from her husband after. Thranduil found himself face to face with little Orla, who had grown rather a lot in the last year. “Would you like to dance, Orla?” he asked.  _ Eru, why not, it could not possibly be more ridiculous than anything else happening at that moment.  _ Besides, she was one of the few females present who would not have untoward thoughts at the invitation.

 

“’Kay,” she said, delighted by the thought of being that high up in the air. Nobody else she knew was that tall, and even though she knew she’d never be able to touch the clouds, it was pretty cool to get a lot closer to it than she’d ever get on her own. She held up her hands, grinning; one of her front teeth had fallen out the week before, which she was quite proud of.  “D’you still have my present?”

 

“I do,” he smiled, as he lifted her up against his chest and gave his crooked arm for her to sit on while he held her little hand with the other. “We have a special shelf in our room for keepsakes, and your gift to me is on it.”

 

The child looked at him with a bit of skepticism in her eyes.

 

“Honest,” he said solemnly. “You can even ask Earlene, or Thanadir.”

 

Orla decided she might just do that, once she was done not-so-sneakily trying to see his ear. Yep, still pointed. “Why are your ears pointy and ours aren’t?”

 

“Because I am an elf,” he answered. “If you look at the other elves, they have them too. We were made this way. My daughters have ears that are a little in-between, though. There are points, but a little less noticeable. Or at least I think so; it is hard to say because they are even younger than you are.”

 

“Mam says they were born the same day as Lorna and Ratiri’s twins, but they look a lot older,” Orla said, wondering if he’d noticed. “Is it because they’re half-elf, too? Will they be like, fifteen-looking when they’re my age?” Because she really didn’t know what to do with that thought.

 

“No,” Thranduil frowned. “Not quite so much. Our children grow physically faster than you will, early on. But they are not adults until they are fifty. So you can take some consolation because you will be considered grown long, long before they will.” He sincerely hoped he was not damaging the poor child’s sensibilities, but, they were legitimate questions and he could understand her curiosity.

 

Orla’s eyes widened. “ _ Fifty? _ ” she asked. “That’s old. Or, y’know, middle-aged, which Mam said is kind’v the same thing.” Orla kind of thought so, too. Everyone over twenty was so  _ boring _ , and confusing. Well, except the elves; they weren’t boring, though they were even more confusing than she’d thought. Because really,  _ fifty _ ? Wow.

 

“It is even worse than that,” Thranduil said with great sincerity. “Though they are adult at fifty, they are not taken  _ seriously _ as adults until they reach one hundred. It is very similar to how humans feel an eighteen year old is barely an adult, but no one questions that a thirty-five year old is one.”

 

“A hundred? We’ll all be dead by then, probably.” That was a scary thought. But then, maybe some of them could come back as zombies or ghosts or something, so they could still hang out and play. That wouldn’t be so bad.

 

He laughed and twirled her around as much as this odd tune of Sharley’s would allow, placing her down and thanking her for the dance afterward. She ran off squeeing in happiness toward the cupcakes, and it delighted him. The girl was a precious child who would be an adult all too soon. He shrugged. Children did that, human and elven alike.

 

Despite the relatively tipsiness of many of the dancers, Sharley wove among them with ease, never so much as bumping into anyone. Lorna, out-of-breath and in need of a drink, snared one and sat atop the bar to watch the crowd, and she watched Sharley move through it with such ease. When she played the violin, all her strange sorrow vanished, her odd sense of stillness giving way to a fluidity of movement that was nearly perfect. It was as though she threw everything she had into her playing, and yet remained aware of the world around her. Her hair was coming loose from its false bob, the glittery fringe on her dress twirling

 

“Wish I knew what she was,” Geezer said, leaning against the bar.

 

“I’m not sure even  _ she _ knows what she is,” Lorna said. “I’m not sure it really matters. She’ll come and stay with us eventually, and she’ll have an odd sort’v family. Thranduil says she’s at peace, but I hope we can make her happy.” ‘At peace’ and ‘happy’ were not the same thing, and Sharley deserved all the happiness they could give her.

 

Thranduil danced with his wife, knowing that her condition would cause her feet to be too uncomfortable from it before too long. But he wanted her to enjoy herself as much as possible. While Earlene was not an expert dancer, she did know several kinds of steps that he learned from her mind. Her beautiful form and smile as she enjoyed his attention were unforgettable. Finally she was almost too tired. 

 

Thanadir approached her now, finally having eaten enough, and politely asked for the last dance with her. This was a slower tune, and he watched her carefully. “You are tiring,” he said as a matter of fact.

 

“Yes,” came the honest answer, “but that is not an uncommon consequence of dancing even when not pregnant.” 

 

“Then maybe I can convince you to sit with me, after? Thranduil said to remind you to enjoy stronger drink, if you wish.”

 

Earlene laughed outright. “I was not born last week, meldir. You are trying to lull me into doing nothing for the rest of the evening.”

 

“Something like that,” he confessed with a grin. “Am I succeeding?” 

 

“You are too much, but you will have your way,” she sighed, smiling at his delicately  handsome face. He knew her weaknesses, from her favorite drink to her favorite cupcake. For a few moments, Earlene wondered just how many rumors would come to exist over time, about her relationship with the seneschal. Even though she had not dated or had paramours prior to Thranduil, it did not require a social genius to understand how she and Thanadir would be viewed under any kind of human circumstance. They would be thought some tantalizing facet of a bizarre threesome on which the lid was barely kept. On one hand, she could choose to pretend, and keep him at a distance when they were in places such as this with many other humans, but...no. No amount of scheming to head off the thoughts of others would make any difference, in the end. And while she would not...sit in his lap, or glue herself to him as she might do in the privacy of their home, that too would not matter in the end.

 

A soft snort washed through her, as Thanadir brought her to a chair and courteously helped her seat herself before leaving to bring them refreshment. If she had not experienced it for herself, would she have been able to believe the sexual realities of elves and those who wed them?  _ Probably not _ . At the very least, it would have seemed to stretch credulity. Then she frowned. Not that it would ever happen, but if an elleth married a mortal man, did the same principle hold true; would the human experience what she had by way of a spiritual binding with their mates? Her head shook, at this puzzling idea. Thranduil had explained it to her as almost a...something that came from the male. And of the few that had ever paired in such a way, all were gone to Eru. What did it matter? This was just more senseless mental meandering, and idle questions that like as not would never have an answer. 

 

He returned. “Thranduil said you would like this,” as he offered her the glass. It appeared to be her club soda with a lime that she often enjoyed, yet a cautious taste revealed something else in it. Vodka, maybe? It was not too strong, and tasted very nice.

 

“Then I thank both of you,” she said. “I do like it.” Her eyes followed around the room now, as he left momentarily once again. When he sat again, after bearing plates of assorted nibbles to place on the nearby small table, she placed a hand on his arm. “Thanadir, what are those ellyn doing?”

 

Very discreetly, something was being assembled. What looked for all the world like a large bronze pan of some sort was set on the floor. It had clearly seen much use, over time, and had a heavy patina. And now, firewood was being piled on it. Surely they were not going to….?

 

“You have a custom of a bonfire on this night, do you not?”

 

“Yes. I just did not think…” she trailed off.

 

“Fear not, meldis. Lorna helped with all the planning.”

 

“Oh, good…”

 

And sure enough, Lorna was calling for silence on her box, the crown of Melian perched authoritatively on her head ( _ is anyone ever going to tell her about that?--well, it won’t be me) _ . Thranduil joined her, and she seemed about to say a few words.

 

“All right, you lot,” she said, “here’s the thing: if you’re too drunk to walk straight, you don’t get to jump this thing. If you’ve got anything flammable on your costume, take it off before you go. Thranduil can heal burns, but that doesn’t mean he should have to. Everybody’s off work for tonight.”

 

“I’m not!” Big Jamie called. 

 

Lorna just glowered at him. “Yeah, well, don’t catch your kilt on fire.”

 

“Oh dear,” murmured Earlene.  _ Maybe I don’t want to watch this. I’ll spend the whole time worrying someone will fall into that thing end up a wreck.  _ With chagrin she remembered how much her heart had been in her throat last Christmas, just watching Thranduil and Thanadir walk up and down that log hanging paper snowflakes. Telling herself that she was being stupid because of hormones did not equal the capacity to change her feelings. Maybe she should go for a walk, check on the girls...right after her drink.

 

A brief moment later, or as she liked to think of it, just enough time for the Thranduil-Thanadir telepathic grapevine to be operational, the seneschal turned to her. “You do not wish to see the fire?” he asked softly.

 

She sighed, mildly exasperated. “The fire is fine. Some idiot misjudging everything and getting hurt trying to jump over it is another story. If I sit here and see that, I will not enjoy myself.”

 

“The kitchen made marshmallows,” he offered, hopefully.

 

“Maybe later. Thanadir, you are the one who keeps stuffing me with food,” she pointed out.  He looked mildly crestfallen at her words, so she tried again. “Meldir, you are fussing over me. I do not wish to detract from your evening. I would like it if you would tell me what you most wish to do, and then we can do that together. We seem to be a little at cross-purposes just now.”

 

Now he looked even sadder. “I want to see you happier,” he said quietly.

 

She stood up, and set her drink down. “Give me your arm, then. And walk with me to the nursery. I think I would like some time away from here. I never was much good at parties...not for more than about two hours anyway.”

 

Thranduil watched sympathetically as the two of them left. Perhaps he had not made the wisest choice, in not telling Earlene so many of their plans. He sighed. Either way, it was too late to change that now, and there was a fire to light. One of the ellyn brought a small brand from the kitchen hearth that had been prepared, and offered it to the King. He took it amidst an atmosphere of general cheering and enthusiasm, and plunged it into the center of the fuel, where plenty of dry tinder had been piled. In moments, a merry blaze was gaining momentum. It would not be a ridiculously huge fire; in a space like this, too large a blaze would only chase them all out of the Dining Hall. As it was, many broad smiles were to be seen and a new round of glasses were held out for both beer and the deliciously sweet fresh-pressed cider.

 

Humans and elves alike gathered in a circle around the fire, and somebody -- Bridie, Lorna thought -- broke out a bodhran. The drum thundered like a heartbeat, racing through the crowd, uniting the humans’ pulses. Lorna, grinning, took a clip from her pocket and twisted up her hair, because she had every intention of jumping that fire. 

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ratiri asked, even as Big Jamie’s eldest, a lad of nineteen (dressed as presumably Tarzan), squared up to jump the fire.

 

“What he’s doing,” she said. Ronan stood well back before he made a run for it, and in a flying leap cleared the flames nicely. Of course he landed on his arse, but he didn't seem to mind at all -- especially not with all the applause he drew.

 

Ratiri pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lorna. You are tiny. You can’t jump that high.”

 

“Yeah, well, if I fall in, that’s what Thranduil’s for,” she said, even as Niamh took her mark. Her niece’s face was set in fierce concentration, the firelight making her hair glow. Off she went, ignoring Mairead’s startled protest, straight and up and over. She landed a touch more gracefully, in that she only staggered, rather than landing on her arse. 

 

“Thranduil can’t fix your hair if you burn it all off,” he pointed out. “Lorna, I’m serious.”

 

“You’re always serious,” she said, handing him her drink. “Fine, I’ve got a better idea.” 

 

She made her way to Thranduil, an increasingly alarmed Ratiri in tow. “This one thinks I can’t jump the fire, so can you toss me across it?” she asked.

 

Very narrowly, Thranduil managed not to spray any of the Guinness he had just taken a huge swig of, and glared at Lorna for laughing at him on account of it. “I’m not going to cut a very good figure as ruler of the Celtic tribes, if you keep doing that,” he said archly. “Throw you over the fire?...Then again, you are somewhat more resistant to destruction than most.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping he did not end up regretting this. “Very well.” Probably he should count himself grateful; they  _ could _ have asked for either a springboard or a swinging rope. “What do you mean by ‘throw’? Is there to be hope of you landing on your feet again, are you to imitate an airplane…?” What he was most worried about was his own strength. He had to throw her hard enough or the result would be unthinkable, but he was also very strong and had never tried this with anyone, human or elven.

 

“Sorry,” Lorna said, entirely unconvincingly. “Hey Jamie, if Thranduil tosses me over the fire, you’ll catch me, right?”

 

“What?!” he demanded.

 

“I’m taking that as a yes. Get ready.”

 

Grumbling, Big Jamie did just that, smart enough to know there would be no talking her out of it.

 

“You still did not answer my question,” Thranduil scowled.

 

“Nobody else has landed on their feet yet, so I probably won’t, either. Just toss me like a cannon ball,” she said. “It’ll be like being on the zip line, except with no line. And flames underneath.”

 

“Lorna…”

 

“Allanah, if the next words out’v your mouth aren’t ‘have fun, Lorna’, you’re going to be sorry,” she said.

 

Big Jamie, rather wiser than his erstwhile employee, gathered Mairead, Shane, and Orla, to form something like a vague human net. Ratiri, giving up, went and joined them; at least if she knocked him over, he already had armor on.

 

_ I thought she feared heights,  _ Ratiri heard in his voice from a clearly irritated Thranduil.

 

_ I think it’s a combination of the zip lining, alcohol, and fire _ , Ratiri said, his thoughts as dry as ever a voice could be.  _ Ever since she went zooming through the forest at Ashford, heights haven’t been quite the same. _

 

What came back to his mind was less a verbalization than a mental impression of extreme grumbling followed by,  _ I suppose it could be worse. How in Eru’s name to I do this?  _ he asked himself. There had to be something to grab, and he was not about to take her buttocks in hand. Not today, not ever. He could pitch her forward by the hips or waist, but that was at best an awkward handhold. The best alternative was…. _ the Valar surely are laughing at me.  _ Rationalizing that if he was being forced into this, that the execution of the maneuver should be up to him, he without warning dipped down to grab her by both ankle and wrist.

 

Alarmed, the crowd stepped back hurriedly, and a few drinks assuredly sloshed a little onto the floor as he swung her around into a slow arc to gain momentum. Those who had been paying attention would later describe it as the elegance of a discus thrower, except, it was Lorna. After two full turns he planted his foot solidly and released her to fly rather high over the flames. And he genuinely hoped those on the other side were not too drunk to catch her. He stormed off to get himself another drink and regain his easygoing comportment.

 

Lorna’s heart and stomach lurched as she found herself airborne, passing well over the heat of the flames, and she found herself yelling, “ _ Wheeeeee! _ ” until she slammed into the human wall beyond. It knocked the lot of them over, Ratiri’s armor crashing when he hit the stone floor.

 

There was quite a bit of cursing, until Saoirse’s voice floated over it: “Can I try?”

 

“ _ NO. _ ” That was all of them  _ and  _ Pat, who managed to stop laughing just long enough to say it. There was absolutely no way he was going to try to jump the thing himself, either.

 

“Well...boo,” Saoirse grumbled.  _ Next year _ , she thought.

 

Lorna’s crown fell off her head, rolling, and she burst into laughter she had no hope at all of controlling.  _ Thank you, Thranduil _ , she said, giggling like a loon.  _ That was brilliant.  _ Looking up at Ratiri, she added, “See? Nothing caught on fire.”

 

His eyes narrowed, and she was entirely certain he was planning retribution. There was a fifty-fifty chance it would be the fun kind or not, so she’d try to get a few more drinks in him first.

 

Ruscion, the ancient elf that had made their Yuletide celebration so exquisite with his memories of Valinor, rushed forward to pick up the precious crown. “You should care for this better,” he scolded, though his voice did not hold ire so much as surprise. “It is not everyday, that Aran Thranduil bestows the treasures of our people as a gift. Especially not one such as this.” His clear grey eyes were set in a face that still appeared youthful, framed by dark hair, though they carried the weight of deep memory as he held out the crown to her.

 

“Thanks for the save,” she said, wiping at the crown with her skirt, “but Thranduil didn’t give me this, Ratiri did. It was his mam’s.” Taking her hair out of the clasp, she set the crown on her head again. “I wouldn’t’ve even worn it for this if he wasn’t bizarrely insistent that I do. Does it look like something you lot have?” Now that she looked at it, it did indeed kind of look elven.

 

Ruscion shook his head in mild disbelief. “Young firieth, I know the crown of Melian of Doriath when I see it. All our people do. She was surpassing in both beauty and wisdom, and the likes of her are now gone from this earth. You have been blessed with a treasure beyond price. May the grace of she who wore it guide your days.” With a deep bow, he made to turn away but then stopped. “Melian’s majesty was not only in that she was of the blessed Ainur, or in her power to protect her people,” he said, gazing down on her appraisingly, as though his vision could pierce both body and spirit. “Her greatest gift was in her ability to see truly the hearts of others, and to judge in wisdom and fairness.” With an air of amusement, he turned and departed, slipping away in an instant.

 

Lorna felt the blood drain from her face, and she scooted out of the way so she could sit on the floor. Melian? Thranduil had given her the bloody  _ crown  _ of bloody  _ Melian  _ and  _ not bloody told her?!  _ And Ratiri had gone along with it? She was tempted to murder the pair of them, but instead she took the crown off, staring at it. The garnets glittered in the firelight, the gold shimmering and silver burning red. Admittedly, Thranduil did have something of a history of giving her jewelry of a sort and value to nearly make her head explode, but he’d never, to her knowledge, done it sneakily before. This... _ why? _

 

_ He did say the things in his vault don’t do anybody any good by just sitting there,  _ she thought,  _ but good fucking grief.  _ It was entirely possible he expected her to freak out and run away from the thing like it was a spider, and sod that. Instead she settled it back on her head, admittedly far more gingerly, because  _ Jesus fuck it’s Melian’s crown _ , and made her way to the bar.  _ You think you are so clever, don’t you?  _ she asked him. A little shit was what he was, but she wasn’t going to let him get her on this.  _ Is there a reason you gave me this and had Ratiri lie about what it was? Aside from the fact that you’re kind of a shit?  _ Had Pat possessed something like that, he might well have done the same damn thing.

 

Thranduil walked the passages to the nursery, having concluded that his wife had taken the better course in electing to spend some time away from the celebration. Though he was in part going to hopefully bring her back, he too wished for a few moments’ peace.

 

_ You do not understand,  _ came back the answer in very strange tones, if mental voices could have things like that.  _  But you will.  _

 

His feet carried him the rest of the way to where his wife and seneschal cradled and softly kissed the peredhel. With longing, he carefully lifted Allanah from her cradle to do the same. From time to time their eyes met, in love and happiness.  _ Some things are better than bonfires,  _ he heard from Earlene, who appeared vastly more relaxed. 

 

“I love you all,” Thranduil whispered softly. He could not agree more.

 

Lorna, still quite shaken, grabbed a drink and sidled up to Ratiri. “So, according to Ruscion, you and Thranduil told me a bit’v a  _ fib  _ about this thing,” she said, touching the crown. “Thranduil, of course, won’t tell me why.”

 

She nearly laughed at the look of utter panic that crossed her husband’s face. “I don’t really know myself,” he said, and really, the man was an abysmal liar. Utter pants at it. Still, she wasn’t going to press him -- right now, anyway. If it was for any other reason than that Thranduil was a little shit, she’d be very surprised.

 

“Riiiiight,” she said, poking Ratiri in the ribs. The armor made the gesture kind of pointless. “You just keep telling yourself that. That’s why you wanted me to wear it, isn’t it? So you could have a nerdgasm?”

 

His expression of guilt was all the answer she needed. “You are so lucky I love you,” she sighed, shaking her head, and rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Still, you owe me, after the shock I got. Ruscion looked at me like I was totally daft.” 

 

“You  _ are  _ totally daft,” Shane said, meandering over and slinging his arm around her shoulders. He smelled very strongly of Guinness, and a little like perfume. Expensive perfume. “Thranduil gave you something valuable and didn't tell you what it was?”

 

“Thranduil didn’t even tell me  _ he  _ was the one who gave it,” Lorna said, glowering at Ratiri. “I got told it was this one’s mam’s. Some kind’v Indian bling.”

 

Shane burst out laughing, while Geezer, passing, paused to examine it. “Whose was it?” he asked.

 

“ _ Melian _ , apparently,” Lorna said, still slightly appalled -- though the sight of Geezer shooting foam out his nose rather made up for it. “That was kind’v my reaction, but without the Guinness.”

 

Sharley hid her smile in a glass of rum and cola. She hadn’t foreseen the Elves spilling the beans on that thing, but hey, if it got Lorna used to the idea...she didn’t have to know why she had it yet, but  _ knowing  _ that she had it might well prove to be a good thing.

 

After a time, Thranduil returned his daughter to bed. “The fire has died down, and they are roasting marshmallows now,” he observed hopefully.

 

“I will go if Earlene will,” Thanadir said. There was a pause, and all three of them laughed silently. Yes, it was shamelessly blatant manipulation, and it was working brilliantly. They soon rejoined the others, to find the slabs of marshmallows and a long skewer for roasting before sitting down with Lorna and the others. Thoughtfully, the kitchen had also baked chocolate chip cookies, as a means by which to scoop up the melted masses of goo on their plates. Earlene felt vaguely glad that she could not develop gestational diabetes.

 

The trouble with armor, Lorna decided, was that leaning against it was kind of uncomfortable, so no snuggling with Ratiri. Oh well. She was still annoyed with him anyway -- though fortunately not enough so to stick marshmallow anywhere on him. She could see, a little ways away, Shane and Siobhan sitting rather too close, and it made her twitch, because  _ eeeeew _ . A glance at Orla told her she was not the only one who found it disturbing as hell, so at least there was that.

 

Things had gone so well this evening that she was almost afraid. Nobody had sicked up, or got in a fight; nothing had caught on fire or smashed. It was just humans and elves, partying together. In this way at least, they really weren’t so different, and Lorna was glad they’d got a chance to figure that out so soon. If they could just keep on with things like this, maybe things might not be so traumatic in twenty years.

 

Just then Thalion paused near their table, with a stunning elleth on his arm. “Hiril vuin, I do not believe you have met my wife. This is Melda.”

 

Earlene had just taken a bite of marshmallow and cookie, and her eyes widened at her now total inability to respond to the courtesy. All she could do is chew as quickly as possible while her cheeks flamed red with embarrassment. Thalion chuckled. “I apologize for the poor timing of my words. Please forgive me.” 

 

With a graceful smile she took her head and was at last able to swallow. “Ú-gosto,” (do not worry) she managed to get out. “Mae govannen, Melda.” Rising, she extended their traditional gesture of greeting, and marveled that she had never seen such perfectly silky hair in all her years on earth. It was to the point where she tactlessly wished Mairead were nearby, just to ogle it. Models in hair treatment commercials did not have hair this nice. It was astonishing.  _ And I must be out of my mind, to be thinking about this now.  _ “Would you care to sit with us?” At least she remembered her manners.

 

“No, Hiril vuin,” Melda said slowly. “But thank you. We must now…” she paused, struggling to remember the word. “Rest.” 

 

“Then I hope to see you again,” Earlene said, her hand held over her heart as they bowed and turned away.

 

Thranduil smiled. “Do not feel bad, meluieg. Melda’s hair is something of a legend, even amongst elves.” Thanadir said nothing, but nodded in agreement. The night had gone on for some time, and she was beginning to feel fatigued in earnest. “Where do you wish to rest, tonight?” Thranduil asked. 

 

“Here,” came the too-ready answer.  

 

Lorna was more than content to do that herself, because the thought of walking home in the dark with the twins was just not to be borne. It had been a while since they’d stayed in their flat here anyway, and they’d left plenty of chow for the kittens in the house. The kittens, who were so big they barely qualified for the word anymore.

 

She’d warned the entire Baile contingent that tomorrow they were going to learn how to clean their own fireplaces, since anyone with a morning-after could just go to Thranduil. Nobody expected them to be any  _ good  _ at it right off, but she wanted to set a precedent: you stay here, you handle things pertaining to your room. Geezer had told the Lasg’leners much the same, because they didn’t need to be making that kind of work for the elves. The pensioners got a pass, because they couldn’t physically do it, but everybody else was going to help an elf, and learn by doing. It was how she, Ratiri, and Pat had learned. The real difference between how they did it and how the elves did was time of day; the elves did it first off, but the three of them often waited until after breakfast.

 

“You know,” Sharley said, meandering over and squeezing onto the edge of a bench, “I bought myself a pretty good mattress back home, but it’s still nowhere near as comfortable as the beds here.”

 

“Nothing is,” Lorna said. “I swear they’ve got some kind’v magic about them.”

 

“I have presents for all of you, from home. You and the kids. How’d Allanah like her marbles? She’s kinda young to be doing what you’re supposed to do with them, but she won’t be for long.” Marty, at that age, had been a fountain of endless curiosity, learning something new each day; Sharley had taught her to play marbles when she wasn’t quite three. She still had Marty’s set, chipped and dinged though they were. And Marty was here now, safe and sound and not alone, even if Sharley herself couldn’t be with her yet. She had company on this alien shore -- people who knew her name. She wasn’t forgotten.

 

“She liked them a great deal,” said Thranduil. “I had some small concerns...my twins have grown beyond what I am told is believable, since you left. They have surpassed Allanah physically. I worried that Ithiliel and Eleniel might begrudge Allanah having her own gift, but it has not proven to be the case. They look out for her, help her, to a degree that is unusual even for elven children. If we are very lucky, this will endure. I hope…” he smiled.

 

“It ought to,” Sharley said. “I didn’t know you’d find Pat, and by extension Saoirse. She’ll be good for all of them.” She spared a brief glance at Lorna’s crown, and hid her smile in a sip of her drink. “All those kids, though...God help the outside world, once they’re old enough to go out there. I pity the first outsider that tries to pick a fight.”

 

Earlene said nothing, not really wishing to contemplate a future reality that was probably unavoidable.  __ After her discussion with Ratiri, she felt very uncertain about what had been some deeply held beliefs, which did little to bolster her confidence as a mother. But with being tired, she was not about to toss anything resembling that discussion out there. Not when her own thoughts were still so unsettled. Thranduil glanced at his wife sympathetically. This was not the time or place for that topic, either.

 

“Perhaps we should care for the door prizes?” he suggested to Lorna and Thanadir. “From the looks of it, Earlene is not the only one beginning to tire.” They had two contests lined up. One was a simple raffle, for a gorgeous king-sized quilt with an autumn leaves motif purchased with a generous donation to the Lasg’len Ladies’ Quilting Club. Even now, Mary and Aurnia were standing somewhat eagerly near their displayed creations, sniffing out that surely the time was near. A smaller, less elaborate double-sized quilt was to be had by winner of a contest...guessing how many candy corns were in the large jar that stood on the table nearest the quilts? “Lorna, do you wish to manage the raffle? Perhaps you should choose one of the ellith, to draw a name?”

 

“Can do,” she said, draining the last of her mug. As she was still uncertain just how many of the elf ladies spoke enough English for them to manage a mishmash of it and Sindarin, she found Maerwen, in all her Statue of Liberty glory. Lorna led her toward the table that had been given over to the proceedings: both quilts were on full display, with a big jar full of scraps of paper beside the candy jar. 

 

“All right, you lot!” she called. “C’mon, it’s door prize time. Maerwen, would you like to draw a name?” She held the jar up with a flourish, not caring that she looked rather like a doll holding a human-sized dish.

 

Setting aside her torch, Maerwen did just that. She smiled in delight at the scrap of paper she drew. “Feren,” she said.

 

Feren, a handsome ellon who had his wife Indilwen in tow (not even recognizable to Earlene or Lorna, who at best could lay claim to having seen both of them) came forward with smiles and were awarded the beautiful prize. They definitely gained favor with the quilting ladies when they stared for several minutes at the gorgeous colors and patterns, pointing and excitedly whispering to each other while amused and indulgent humans and elves looked on. “Thank you,” Feren said carefully, before both of them carried away their gift.

 

“Well, Thanadir, it is time to reveal the candy number.” Grinning at Earlene, he stood up. She was the one who had suggested hanging a vast piece of paper with a sort of graph. There was a place to write one’s name on a line, and then off to the right were marked increments ranging from 500 to 50,000. All each person had to do was legibly write their name and their guess; Niamh of legal fame had offered to babysit the chart and basically graph via a dot where that person’s guess fell. To avoid temptation, only Thanadir and Earlene knew the amount of sweets in the jar. The seneschal now walked to the chart and scanned it for which entrants were nearest the correct number. “The correct number was six thousand, five hundred and forty-three,” Thanadir announced. “And the winner is Saoirse Donovan, with a guess of six thousand, five hundred and fifty.”

 

Everyone applauded, as Saoirse looked up in surprise. “I win?” she asked. “Holy shit, I won!” As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced. “Fuck, sorry, I -- oh, god dammit.” She hung her head, grimacing.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and she was far from the only one. Even Sharley cracked up, laughing into her hand, eyes dancing with mirth. “Got get your prize, kid,” she said, shaking her head. “Jesus, this place is way more entertaining than TV.”

 

_ You could always just move in _ , Lorna thought, but kept it to herself. Sharley needed to do what Sharley needed to do, in her own time, in her own way, and she didn't need anyone pressuring her. No matter how much Lorna and Ratiri wanted to.

 

Saoire hopped out of her seat and zoomed up to the table, bouncing on the balls of her feet. There were chuckles all around as the girl had the folded quilt placed in her arms. Tiny as she was, it looked more like a blanket with legs, but no one was going to say as much. Mary Walsh particularly beamed, because this quilt had patchwork kitties all over it, and rumor had it that the new Sullivan/Duncan/Donovan home already had a formidable complement of felines. Pat proudly guided his daughter and her new prize in the direction of their flat, saying their “good-nights.” 

 

Many people were drifting away from the party; at least, the sensible ones. It went without saying that ellyn with more stamina and humans alike began to reconvene around the bar and began cautiously mingling with each other. This was the group most likely to greet the dawn with ale still in hand, though everyone was polite enough not to mention it. Decks of cards began appearing around curious elves, who scattered themselves along the benches to watch and learn. Earlene cocked an eyebrow and had a feeling that poker, or something like it, was about to enter elven awareness. She debated warning the seneschal about human gambling proclivities but decided not to, until tomorrow. They had no money; they couldn’t possibly get into too much grief in one evening.  A laugh was suppressed as she noticed Shane and Siobhan looking right and left before making off with the jar of candy corn...three guesses as to what would be the “currency,” and two didn’t count.

 

By silent agreement their table was more than ready for sleep. Thanadir helped his meldis, who by now was leaning heavily on his arm, wondering what exactly was keeping her eyelids open at this point. Unfocused, she almost wasn’t paying attention when suddenly Ratiri let out a sharp gasp and Thranduil moved with lightning speed to catch Sharley, who was saved from crashing to the stone floor. A quick glance revealed that no one else had seen; with silent communication Thranduil and Ratiri each took one of her arms around their necks and supported her by the waist. Lorna, Earlene and Thanadir followed in such a way as to obscure that she was being more dragged than helped out of sight with nervous glances at each other. They were all quite awake, now. Once into the passages, Thranduil outright carried her in his arms. Mostly, they were grateful for Sharley’s sake that her collapse had gone unobserved. 

 

_ This was one hell of a lot more pleasant than the last places Sharley had been. She stood now in a forest -- a massive forest, both conifers and deciduous trees the size of towers. Some of them were close to as large as those in the elves’ forest, giants that had to be ancient. She must have gone very,  _ very  _ far this time, much farther than she’d ever traveled. _

 

_ It felt like a warm summer afternoon, shafts of golden sunlight piercing the canopy, so far above her. It smelled of moss, of earth, of green, living things, without a trace of smog or pollution; even in her mountains, she’d never known air this pure. _

 

“How far d’you think we’ve gone?”  _ Layla asked.  _

 

“And where?” _ Sinsemilla added. Sharley never actually knew where she was, unless she spotted landmarks, and there were nothing of the sort here. _

 

_ “I have no fucking clue,” she said, turning. “Trees this size, I’d say a few hundred years at least.” There were few truly ancient forests left; those in America were largely conifers, like the redwoods in California. “Thranduil, are you here?” Not that she expected him to know, but she could use another opinion. _

 

_ This is my forest,  _ the King said.  _ Was, my forest. The one now lost to me, except the small remnant you already know.  _ He did not know whether to rejoice at this vision of what had passed away, or weep. Perhaps both.

 

Thanadir, realizing that Thranduil might be struggling with divided focus, came alongside him and guided his King by the waist through the winding passages, concerned. Earlene could manage on her own for the short duration of the walk to their rooms; he had little doubt this is where Sharley would be taken.

 

_ “That’s not possible,” Sharley said. “I can see the history of things, but I don’t walk in the past. This is sometime in the future, just...way in the future.” Damn, it was beautiful; her home was lovely, but this, these mammoth trees, almost seemed like something from a dream. _

 

_ Future?  _ Very little of his mind was engaged with Sharley just now, because it was lost to the wrenching beauty in front of him. This was the glory of the forest that had grown after the destruction of his woods at the end of the Third Age. Though he would not argue with her, she must somehow be mistaken…

 

_ “It has to be,” she said, turning. “I’ve never walked in the past before, ever -- oh.” _

 

_ In the middle distance, in a sunny clearing, stood the biggest elk she had ever seen. Snowy-white, its horns looked rather like those of the ancient Irish deer, long extinct, but that wasn’t even the most interesting thing -- on the animal sat Thranduil. _

 

_ He didn’t look any different than he did now, but that was no surprise. He didn’t see her, of course; nobody ever did, but... _ how?  _ How could...this didn't happen. That wasn’t how her ability  _ worked _...why should she be thrown into the past? Was there something she was meant to see? This wasn’t how things worked, and even amid this staggering beauty, she was completely baffled. _

 

It was very difficult to control what wanted to be a sharp intake of air. A sense of vertigo came, and it was with gratitude that some part of his conscious mind had the awareness of Thanadir’s steadying grasp on him. It was not an graceful placement but rather a near tumble that saw Sharley’s body collapsing heavily to the sofa, while strong and persistent arms kept him too from falling. His eyes were open, but he was unseeing save for what was in the woman’s mind. 

 

“It would be best for you to return to your quarters,” the seneschal told Ratiri and Lorna kindly but firmly. “The last time this happened neither were...available...until many hours after. I will watch over them.” It was most fortunate that as an extra favor, Lothiriel and Ortherion had agreed to sleep in the nursery, given how many children besides their own were resting there. The couple looked at each other, and nodded in reluctant agreement. If nothing else, they largely understood the futility of arguing with Thanadir, especially when this particular expression habited the elf’s face.

 

“We’ll be at breakfast,” Lorna said. It was not a question so much as an implied truce. “We’re going back to the party, so on the incredibly off chance you should need us, for God’s sake come and get us.”

 

“Close Sharley’s eyes, if you can,” Ratiri added. “She’ll be far more comfortable when she wakes up if you do.”

 

Thanadir nodded and watched the couple retreat, before his eyes found Earlene’s. “You should go to bed, meldis,” he said with some measure of sternness.

 

While Earlene’s exact thoughts were somewhere between ‘ _ fat chance _ ’ and ‘ _ maybe when I know what in hell is going on _ ’ but she decided to accord him the immediate appearance of her complying. It would take a few minutes to change out of the costume, wash her face, and otherwise prepare for rest. The elaborate jewels and ornaments were removed, and the thin fabric allowed free of its clasps so that it could slip to the floor. So much attention had been focused on her breasts, she wondered if anyone had managed to put together that they were not the only portion of her anatomy free from undergarments. With cloth so delicate, nothing could have been tackier than panty lines. She surveyed her appearance in the mirror, counting her good fortune. Many months into a second pregnancy, and still in possession of a figure many envied. Well, it was not as if she were not paying for it in other ways. Her life had great rewards, and great sacrifices.

 

With a sigh, she scrubbed her skin and brushed her teeth, a habit that she still refused to abandon. Smacking her lips at the minty taste of the dental paste, she completed the last step of freeing her hair from its elaborate braids before finding sleeping pants and a tunic, and donning a warm robe. A last glide of her fingers through her silky hair (why did she have to find out about Melda’s?) and she summoned her mood to return to the outer room, silently opening the door. Thanadir sat, and stared at Thranduil unblinkingly.

 

_ Sharley wandered closer to this other Thranduil, still totally confused. The sheer loveliness of this place, however, meant she wasn’t yet worried about this aberration; she walked barefoot along the forest floor, grateful that she habitually did so at home, or this might be kind of uncomfortable. A faint breeze rustled through the leaves, the dappled spots of sunlight dancing over moss and ferns and too many types of wildflowers for her to name.  _

 

_ Perhaps this meant something. Perhaps it didn’t. Either way, it was gorgeous. _

 

“I think maybe you’ve lost it, Sharley,”  _ Kurt said, though he sounded worried rather than snide; her mind should not be capable of producing something like this if it wasn’t related to her gift. _

 

_ Sharley ignored him, running her hand along the moss-covered bark of a gigantic fir. It smelled like home, only even better. _

 

_ “Mama, can I have a treehouse?” _

 

_ She froze, and a razor-sharp pain lanced through her heart. When she turned, she found Marty a little ways behind her, dressed in little jeans with holes in the knees and a T-shirt three sizes too big. Tiny Marty, her soft, white-blonde hair slightly tangled, with more than a few fir needles and twigs stuck in it -- she’d always loved climbing trees, every time Sharley’s back was turned. Her eyes were mismatched, just like her mother’s, and they practically danced as she grinned. _

 

_ Sharley knelt. “Sweetie, you can have anything you want,” she said, no longer caring that this made no sense, that her ability seemed to be going haywire on her. This couldn’t be real, but to see her daughter one more time… “Come here.” _

 

_ Marty did as bidden, crashing through the ferns and throwing her arms around her mother’s neck. “Mama, you’re weird,” she said, even as Sharley hugged her back with a desperation she’d never before felt in her life. She’d never forgotten Marty’s scent -- child and cotton and sunshine, her sturdy little body warm and so strong, so strong, right up until she wasn’t. _

 

Thranduil wanted this to end. Was he in some sort of purgatory, created by Sharley’s mind? His heart lurched to see the magnificent animals on which he used to ride but...and then the woman’s child. He felt very much trapped in the churnings of what must be Sharley’s wishful desires, though that explanation did not entirely satisfy. The only thing he did know was that all of it, every bit, was painful to behold and he did not wish to see this any longer. He shook his head, forcing himself to tear away, to create some separation between their two minds. That was when he saw Thanadir, even as tears pooled in his eyes. “Help me,” he pleaded, not even sure what or why he was asking.

 

Thanadir did not hesitate, but immediately reached forward and laid a powerful sleep on him. Earlene’s eyes widened. “What just happened?” She moved forward and came around the chair, to see her husband now lost to oblivion.

 

“I thought you were going to bed,” the seneschal said pointedly. 

 

It took all of her self control to not simply slap her best friend. “I do not fully understand why you are speaking to me this way, meldir, but I would like it if you would stop it. He is my husband and the father of my children. I have as much right as you, to be concerned for his welfare. Now we are going to start this discussion over without either of us saying anything unkind or condescending to the other. I am tired and I am pregnant, but I will not be dismissed as though I am a small child. He is my husband,” she repeated, “whom I love.”

 

An undefinable expression came over his face. “Please hold open the door for me, and draw back the covers on the bed,” he said.

 

It was not the response she wished for, but it was civil, so Earlene did as he asked. Thanadir lowered him to the bed, holding the King’s heavy body upright while asking if she could remove the fabrics bound around his upper body. Fortunately she had seen how he had assembled his costume, and simply removing the broad leather belt he wore allowed for basically everything except the ludicrous cargo shorts he wore underneath his kilt to be removed. They were loose-fitting, and could stay where they were. After he was tucked in, Thanadir gestured to the sofa near the fire.

 

“I am sorry, for my manner,” he said, shamefacedly. “I had no right to speak to you that way. This...thing, whatever it is he sees when Sharley has... _ that _ ...happen. It frightens me. I am not very good at allowing others to see that I am afraid. It is not an excuse, but it is a…”

 

“A reason,” she finished for him. “I will confess, I am not thrilled with what happens either. But he feels it is important, apparently.” She reached her arms to him in a gesture of reconciliation, and felt the knot in her stomach ease a little when he drew her to him. 

 

“Tonight was different, Earlene,” he said, holding her much as if she were an overstuffed toy. “He has never looked like that, never asked for help like that. I do not know why he did; I only acted because of his request.”

 

“Making him unconscious is helping him?” she asked, not entirely following his logic. 

 

“It is the only thing I  _ can _ do,” the seneschal explained. “He knows this. Therefore if he is asking, it can only mean that he wishes me to take such an action.”

 

While she could ponder their style of communication later, it was at least established that this was a...thing...between them. Fair enough. “What do I do if he wakes later, and is troubled? Or if something is wrong?”

 

“I will stay here on the sofa, Earlene, unless you wish to throw me out,” he said.

 

Her eyes rolled. “No. There is no reason for that. You will move him for me into the center of the bed; there is enough room for seven persons on that thing. I will sleep on one side of him, you on the other. You know where his sleeping clothes are; make yourself comfortable and rest when you wish. But I cannot last much longer; I am barely awake.”

 

“What of Sharley?” he asked. 

 

“There are two sofas in this room. Bring her in here, cover her. Blankets and pillows are everywhere. I am sorry I cannot help you move people but…” she broke away from him, rising. “Go on. Get her now, I will help you cover her.”

 

The seneschal returned with her limp body, and Earlene immediately removed her necklace and earrings, feeling the fabric of the dress and frowning. “That dress is coming off,” she announced, going to her wardrobe for a loose sleeping gown that ought to fit. “Keep her from falling over.”

 

With a deftness that impressed even Thanadir, Earlene popped the night-gown over Sharley’s blue hair, unzipping her dress and pulling each arm free before stuffing it into the gown, which fell down to Sharley’s lap before the costume itself came away. Her modesty preserved, the rest of the gown was tugged further down before better placement on the sofa allowed Earlene to carefully tug the dress off past her hips. She tried to be careful; for all she knew it was a real vintage dress.

 

“That was very efficient,” he admired. “How did you learn to do that?”

 

Earlene laughed as she covered Sharley with warm blankets and arranged her in what she hoped was comfort. “Thanadir, I am a woman. Being able to change clothing without exposing body parts most firieth wish to keep hidden is sort of a requirement for...being a firieth.”

 

“Your mortal habits are very strange, to us,” he shook his head, smiling.

 

“Why do I have the feeling that you are recalling the first day you measured me for clothing, not knowing that I was completely mortified by the experience?” she asked, her eyebrow quirked.

 

He laughed. “I truly did not know. I am sorry. I never meant to….”

 

Her finger came up to his lips. “I have gotten several nice dresses out of it, and all that is in the past. Now move my husband, and I am going to bed.”

 

The last Earlene remembered was curling up in the crook of Thranduil’s slumbering arm, her hand resting on his chest. Maybe she felt a hand cover her own, as she drifted off to sleep. She was too tired to know, or care.

 

*****

 

_ “Marty, you know your mama loves you,” Sharley said, the words whispered into her daughter’s hair. “I love you.” _

 

_ “I love you too, Mama. I’m not going anywhere, you know.” _

 

Before Sharley could say anything more, she snapped back to the present, sucking in a pained breath. Oh, that had felt so  _ real _ ...she could still feel her daughter in her arms, still smell the clean sunshine scent of her hair, and to be here, to be in the reality where Marty was little more than a memory to anyone but her...oh, it hurt, it  _ hurt _ . It hurt so much, and it tore a sob from her chest before she was even aware of it.

 

_ “Sharley…”  _ Sinsemilla said, but nothing more than that, because what else was there  _ to  _ say? It had been a blessing and a curse at the same time.

 

Thanadir had never had a chance to fall asleep, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Sharley’s distress. He sat bolt upright, from having laid his hand over Earlene’s, what seemed like thirty seconds ago. “Meldis,” he shook her as he whispered. “Sharley is not well.”

 

Her sleep had been so deep, so quickly that being roused was completely painful. Gripping his hand, she groaned softly and began to wiggle out from under the perfect comfort of the covers.  _ This poor woman. Couldn’t Irmo give her a break? Couldn’t someone? _ She did not have to ask why Thanadir had not put Sharley under a sleeping spell as well...her “satellites,” as Earlene had come to think of them, seemed scary enough. They probably  _ wanted _ her to wake up, especially after how long and how ill she’d seemed after the last one. Climbing carefully over Thranduil’s legs, she almost faceplanted into the mattress as her knees tangled in her over-long tunic. Thanadir caught her, and easily lifted her off the bed. “I am sorry,” he whispered, “but I do not know how much comfort I will be to her.’

 

“It’s OK,” Earlene reassured. “You did the right thing.” She walked to the sofa by the glow of the dwindling embers, and laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder, which was instantly gripped as another sob wracked her slender frame. “Come here,” Earlene whispered, pulling Sharley upright into her arms. “Meldir, go to Lorna,” she said, indicating for him to use her fortunately gender-neutral robe to better cover himself. “Lim” (Quickly). It was Earlene’s gut feeling that past a certain point, she herself would not be too useful, and she knew that Lorna was far more….connected, to Sharley. 

 

For awhile, she only rocked and held her, but then later ventured to whisper, “I am glad to listen if you want to talk. Lorna is coming. And if you don’t want to, that’s fine too. We will not leave you alone,” she soothed as best as she knew how. This was...hard...for her. While she hoped she was a friendly and welcoming person, she did not form easy connections to others. There were times it still surprised her that she had let Thranduil and Thanadir in, to the extent that had happened.  _ Well, not as if you entirely had a choice, on that first one,  _ she frowned to herself. Yes, she hid it well, but she was just not easily emotionally intimate with others. And she hoped to all the Valar that she was hiding it well right now. Sharley deserved more than someone who simply felt sorry for her but could not offer much more. Earlene did not have to ask why Thanadir had woken her; they were too much alike. He was in the same proverbial boat.

 

Sharley gripped her like a life preserver. “This one wasn’t real,” she whispered. “I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t real, and there was  _ Marty _ . I saw her. I held her. She was so real, even if it wasn’t….” She couldn’t manage any more than that. The pain in her heart was too great for words.

 

_ Oh Eru, no….  _ Earlene thought.  _ What is anyone supposed to say to that?? Is that why Thranduil…?  _ Her eyes squeezed shut and she said the only thing anyone could, hollow and shitty though it seemed to her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and just held her tighter and let her cry. And she rubbed her back; that was what Thanadir always did for her. And desperately hoped that her chest being jammed up against Sharley’s wasn’t somehow offensive, but there wasn’t much she could do about it just now. Worse, all she could really think of is what it would be like to suffer this experience if she lost one of her own children. It was horrible, unfathomable, and seemed deeply, deeply cruel.

Suddenly a brightness filled her vision. A resonant feminine voice, filled with sympathy, spoke only four words: “ **All will be well.** ” Earlene felt...panic.

 

“Sharley,” she whispered reluctantly. “Did you just….hear anything? A woman speaking?”  _ Was this some sort of contagious madness?  _ Earlene felt afraid, and were it not for the level of that fear, she never would have asked.  _ Just, what the hell... _

 

Sharley only nodded; she could do nothing more. She was weary down to her very soul, pain deep in her heart. But as she looked down, she felt something warm splash on her hands and instinctively tasted the drops. Salt water. Tears. The light faded and extinguished.

 

“I wish I could believe that,” Sharley whispered, staring at her hand. “I wish it would be well. I wish I knew what I was, why this happens to me.” Her voice broke when she said, “I want my daughter.

 

Earlene tightened her hold on Sharley, feeling at a total loss against the raw and unedited emotion of her responses. Sharley’s daughter was in a container in Thanadir’s room at Eldamar, and there was not a thing any of them could do about it.  _ Sure god, let Lorna get here soon... _

  
  


*****

 

The elves were quite possibly going to become card junkies. Shane’s group watched with quiet amusement as the ellyn that had gathered around them asked many questions in their halting but effective English. The Sindarin to English translation pamphlets were out in full force. It had needed perhaps twenty minutes for the elves to understand the numerical values assigned to the cards. Which wasn’t bad, considering these people had a base six numerical system, but none of the Irish knew that. Very soon a group of four of them asked to be dealt in a single hand of 5 card stud, deuces wild. They would sort of play as a group, and could use the advantage of jabbering faster than anyone could possibly understand in Sindarin to communicate amongst themselves. Orla raised an eyebrow, but they were playing for candy corn, for Chrissakes. It wasn’t like they would lose their literal tunics.

 

Lorna and Ratiri had returned to the party, figuring they shouldn’t all disappear without warning -- the two of them could say that Earlene was tired and Thranduil and Thanadir liked to hover. Neither were certain how much Sharley would want them to say, so they’d leave it for tomorrow. It wasn’t  _ entirely  _ a lie, either, so Thanadir couldn’t get too annoyed later.

 

Seeing as how she was the most sober of the bartenders, Lorna made the rounds, making sure everyone had drinks and whatever nibbles they still had room for. It reminded her very much of her former life, when she’d done the exact same thing at Jamie’s, and it grounded her a bit, because she was worried fucking sick about Sharley and Thranduil. Dealing with this (surprisingly not overly rowdy) bunch took her full attention, as well as all the Sindarin she’d managed to learn. If the elves had a hard time with her accent, they were too polite to say so, and in any event things seemed to be working out just fine.

 

“Where’d the rest’v them go?” Shane asked, when she shoved a bowl of crisps at him.

 

“Earlene was tired, and Sharley wasn’t feeling any too great, so they went to lay down.”

 

“And’v course Thranduil and Thanadir couldn’t just leave them to it,” Shane said, shaking his head. “One’v these days she’ll lamp one’v them for hovering.”

 

“She’ll do no such thing,” Lorna said, stealing a crisp. “You ought to know her better than that by now.”

 

“She’s up the yard,” he pointed out. “That can bring out all sorts.”

 

“And how the hell would you know that?” Mick demanded.

 

Shane downed the last of his pint. “Mate’v mine had a girlfriend,” he said. “Normally the was the nicest woman in the world, but once she got up the yard she turned into a hellbeast. Hit him upside the head with a ladle when he forgot to put his plate in the sink one too many times.”

 

Lorna might well have done the same herself, in that situation, but Earlene wasn’t her. “Earlene’s not like that. She’ll grouse at them, sure, but that’s it. She was actually raised with manners, unlike the rest’v us.” Stealing Shane’s empty pint, she headed back for the bar.

 

Siobhan was already there, mixing herself a mimosa. She’d finally been forced to ditch her hooker heels, but at least they’d got a good run in. There wasn’t anybody near enough to hear them, so when Lorna headed for the barrel, Siobhan pulled her aside.

 

“Okay,” she said, “you said Thranduil and Earlene aren’t pervy, but it sure as hell looks like they’ve got  _ something  _ going on with Thanadir, so what the hell gives? Because if there’s going to be a third party involved, I’d really rather it be me. I don’t care how old elves are, I bet I could teach them a few things.”

 

Lorna was very, very glad she wasn’t eating anything, because Thranduil wasn’t around to make certain she didn't choke to death. “Okay, I really didn’t need to hear that last bit,” she said, grimacing. “And no, they haven’t got anything going on with Thanadir. Not like that, I mean. Thanadir’s even older than Thranduil, who’s practically older than dirt. Thranduil’s known him all his life.” She was not going to go into details about Thranduil’s childhood; those were not hers to share. “He’s always been kind’v like a teacher, and then a seneschal -- and I’m still not even clear what the fuck that is, other than ‘Thranduil’s right-hand man’ -- and from what I gather, kind’v glommed onto Earlene when she came along. There’s nothing icky going on there -- there couldn’t be.”

 

“Why not?” Siobhan asked, visibly dubious as she sipped her drink.

 

“Because -- and don’t ask me how this works, because I don’t know -- but once elves’re married, they’re literally not capable’v being attracted to anyone else like that. Earlene’s not an elf, no, but she’s kind’v...spiritually bound? I don’t quite remember everything she said, because we were both kind’v ossified, but anyway.”

 

Siobhan appeared suitably disturbed, as Lorna had been quite sure she would. “Okay, so what about Thanadir? He’s not married, is he?”

 

“No,” Lorna said, and took a long pull off the pint, because this was not a conversation she had anticipated having. “But elves...elves’re kind’v like me. You know how I just wasn’t attracted anyone you tried to throw at me? It’s because I’m not  _ really  _ attracted to someone unless I care about them first, and that’s the way it works with elves. Unless they’re in love with someone, the spark’s not there.” Which was a bald-faced lie, obviously, because that was most certainly not how it had worked with Thranduil and Earlene, but for the sake of this argument, she wasn’t going to mention that. “And I’m pretty sure Thanadir’d be called asexual if he was human. You haven’t been around him long enough to see that that’s just...not there. It’s not even a consideration with him. So if you’ve got any threesome fantasies about them, for Christ’s sake think’v something else.” The very thought made her so ill she had to down half the rest of the pint. Shane could sue her.

 

Siobhan rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe you can hang around those two so often and not feel  _ anything _ ,” she said. “You really are weird. I mean, they’re both beautiful, and Thranduil was practically tailor-made--”

 

“ _ Nope _ ,” Lorna said. “Stop that right there. I don’t want to sick up my drink, thanks so much.”

 

That just made Siobhan laugh, and fortunately drop the subject.

 

Thanadir appeared just then, approaching Lorna with as much dignity as possible given that he was being seen publicly in sleeping clothes for the first time in thousands of years. This was not the privacy of their home, but what choice did he have? “Sharley woke. Something is wrong, she is crying. Earlene told me to come for you. Please?”

 

“Of course I will,” she said, shoving her pint at Siobhan. “Give that to Shane, and tell Ratiri I’ve gone to see to Sharley -- and that he needs to stay here. I’ll come get him if I need to.”  _ Somebody  _ had to keep an eye on this group, and she had a hazy idea it ought to be one of the the core five.

 

“Good luck,” Siobhan said, trying not to splash alcohol on herself and failing rather badly. Lovely.

 

Thanadir led the way, trying not to walk too fast out of courtesy to Lorna. He did not know what to say.

 

“What did she see?” Lorna asked. “Do you know?” Anything that could make Sharley cry had to be utterly horrific, and it sent dread curling through her.

 

“I do not,” he said, his voice filled with sadness. “I had just laid down to rest when I heard her crying. I woke Earlene, who sent me to you. That is all I know. I am sorry.”

 

Well... _ shit.  _ “How’s Thranduil?”

 

“I….I made him fall asleep,” Thanadir said carefully, worried how it might sound to Lorna. “Something went...wrong, with what he was seeing. I think. When he asks me to do something, there are times I cannot take the time to ask why.” For the first time he could recall, explaining these things seemed very awkward.

 

“That...really doesn’t fill me with confidence,” Lorna said, her dread strengthening. She tried to pick up the pace, but her height and her costume really weren’t helping her there.

 

Thanadir saw. “Forgive me for walking too quickly,” he apologized. “It is rude of me.”

 

“No problem,” Lorna said, trying to hike her skirt up a bit. “Can’t say I blame you. Jesus, what am I going to find, when we get there? Sharley was crying, but was there anything else?”

 

“It is only Earlene and Sharley. Thranduil will not wake. Not without great effort, anyway.”

 

“That’s probably a mercy, all things considered,” Lorna said, and hoped like hell they wouldn’t need to wake him up to knock Sharley out. From the sound of it, unconsciousness was not what that poor woman needed at all. “All right, you go first,” she added, feeling some obscure need to not just go barge into Earlene and Thranduil’s bedroom while it was actually occupied.

 

Thanadir controlled the urge to roll his eyes, acknowledging the impulse as a sign of his own unsettled demeanor. He opened the door silently, noting that as far as he could determine, they had not moved. Thranduil still slept in the dimly illuminated room, and Thanadir decided he could be most useful by rekindling the fire.

 

_ Jesus Christ _ , Lorna thought, kneeling beside Sharley and Earlene. “Sharley, allanah, what did you see?” she asked.

 

Earlene silently reached down with one arm in a slow, stealthy motion, to bring Lorna’s own arm higher. It would be for the best if their positions were reversed. She was not fully sure Sharley was entirely  _ here _ , any more, in the sense of awareness. “She had a vision. A very real, vivid one, in which her daughter was alive and in her arms.” Earlene wished, so badly, that she too had telepathy. But the best she could do is to whisper it into Lorna’s ear, and hope that her words were fully intelligible. The two women locked eyes in a moment of shared horror, in the dim light. Her words were not hidden from Thanadir’s sensitive ears, and it was all he could do not to drop the poker he was using to stir the fire. Tears pooled in his expressive eyes and splashed on the hearth.  _ Valar… _

 

Oh,  _ hell _ . Lorna wrapped her arms around Sharley, pulling her close. Out of all of them, she could come the nearest to understanding, but only near -- she’d lost her daughter before she’d had a chance to know her. There had been no childhood, no joy of watching a baby learn and grow. She knew now what that was like, and what it must have been for Sharley, and to lose it... _ I want to find out what made her like this, and hit it until it stops moving.  _ Von Shitstain might have studied her, but he hadn’t made her what she was. Something had cursed her at birth. And while it might be saving one hell of a lot of people, look at the price she’d paid.

 

“You’re not alone, allanah,” she said; if Sharley could hear her, it might help. “You know that, right? You’re not alone. So long as you want us, you’ll have us. It hurts like hell, but we’re here.” She carefully pulled the rest of the pins out of the poor girl’s hair, carding her fingers through it. “You stay with us as long as you need, and I promise you we’ll look after you. You’re family to us, Sharley, and you haven’t got do this alone.”

 

Some of that must have got through, for Sharley returned the hug, and Lorna felt the hot wetness of tears against the side of her neck. That was probably a good thing, however awful it seemed right now. “She was there,” she whispered, her voice so hoarse it was barely intelligible. “Wherever I went, she was there, and Lorna, I’ve never had that happen. When I walk, I go to the future. I go somewhere  _ real _ . This can’t be real, but it felt like it was, and God, what the hell is my brain doing to me?”

 

“I don’t know, allanah,” Lorna said, rubbing her back. “I wish I had an answer to give you, but I don’t. The world’s been cruel to you beyond what anyone ought to have to endure, but it won’t be forever, you hear me? I won’t let it.” She bloody well meant it, too. At this point, she was half ready to uproot her family and go to America, if it would help this poor girl.

 

Earlene sat on her ankles, on the soft carpet, and shot a look of pure misery at Thanadir. He could not ignore her, and went to sit next to Earlene, silently. 

 

_ “Sharley, it’ll be okay,”  _ Sinsemilla said gently.  _ “It always is, though I know it doesn’t help right now.” _

 

No, it very much didn’t. Sharley knew that one day she would see Marty again, that they would go wherever it was humans went when they died, but that was no comfort to her at all.

 

But also...if that wasn’t real, how could she trust anything else she’d seen? Was she entirely wrong, and there would be no plague? Oh, every other future she’d ever walked in had come to pass, but that this could happen cast doubt on everything, and she wondered if she was truly losing her mind. To walk into something so vivid, and yet totally unreal...she didn’t know what had cursed her with this ability, but the thought that it was somehow faulty was terrifying. “How can you stop it?” she asked. “How can you not let it?”

 

Lorna’s fingers still carded through her hair. “Because I’m the most stubborn bastard of the face’v the planet,” she said, entirely seriously. “If I have to hunt down Fate and bludgeon it with a shovel, I’ll do it. I want you to stay with us, allanah. Keep your little house, but stay with us, and in time, when my twins’re older, Ratiri and I will go to America with you. You can show us your home, your mountains, so that when everything goes to shit, you won’t be the only one to remember it. You’re stuck with us now, Sharley. We won’t leave you to deal with this shit alone.”

 

There was a firmness bordering on ferocity in her tone, and Sharley believed her. Lorna was only human -- she had no magic, no immortality, nothing like the Elves -- and yet Sharley believed her. She thought, perhaps, that one might break the world on the strength of this tiny woman’s determination. Sharley had very few memories of her mother, but Lorna was not unlike her in that, and it was a comfort. The only comfort to be had right now. “Thank you,” she whispered. Ever since she’d lost Marty, she’d been alone, and she’d been at peace with that, but there were times when peace was not enough.

 

“Let me tell you something, allanah,” Lorna said, her grip tightening a little. “I know what pain is. You know that I do, but one thing I’ve learned through all of it is that if you hurt, if something’s tearing at the very heart’v you, it tells you you’re alive. I’ve found that a consolation, at times. The dead don’t feel, they don’t hurt, but the living -- we can feel pain, and we can heal from it. We’ve all’v us suffered and lost, and finding each other has helped us all so, so much. Trust me, allanah. Trust  _ us _ . We won’t lead you wrong.”

 

There was a fresh heat of tears against her neck, but she felt Sharley nod.

 

Earlene was trying her level best to control her racing thoughts. Lorna was admired so much, right now, for doing what she herself absolutely could not. At least, not for Sharley. Would she fight like that for Thranduil, or Thanadir? Even Lorna herself?  _ Yes. _ But for someone she barely knew? That was difficult to the point of being impossible, and at the moment she hated herself for it. She turned to hide her face against Thanadir, determined the others would not see the tears that were forming. Maybe she usually wouldn’t cry if it weren’t for the pregnancy. Maybe. What was being discussed was deeply upsetting, and she equally hated feeling as though these emotions were beyond her ability to manage just how.  _ Shit. _

 

_ You are not alone, meldis. It hurts me too, to hear.  _ His words were brief as always, but exactly what she needed to hear.

 

_ Thanadir, something happened to me, before you came back. I know you cannot do this for long but...I need to speak about it. But not in front of Lorna. _

 

His answer was to place his arms around her and bring her close, where the faint nodding of his head could be felt as it rested lightly on top of her own.

 

“Come on now, allanah,” Lorna said, lifting Sharley to her feet. “You come with me, and Ratiri and I’ll look after you. We’ve got kittens...that aren’t here. Well, shit. You’ll see them tomorrow, at least, but right now you need some rest. We’ll stay with you.”

 

Sharley nodded again, and Lorna half-supported her as they made their way out, leaving Earlene and the Elves to rest in peace.

 

Thanadir moved Earlene up to the sofa recently vacated, having also shared a sense of awkwardness as Lorna and Sharley left without a word from them. Without a word, because neither new what to say. “What happened?” he whispered, holding her tightly.

 

With her face buried in the crook of his neck, she related what had been seen. And heard. 

 

“Can you think on the figure you saw, concentrate? I can try to look,” he said, now concerned as well. With a nod she did as he asked, and a few moments later felt his gasp of surprise. Very gently, he pushed her away from him. “I could be mistaken, Earlene, but I believe you have been told this by the Lady Nienna.”

 

“What?” came out with far more volume than she intended. “A Vala, speak to me?? Why me? I am just…” Words failed.

 

“You are ‘just’ someone that for whatever reason Manwë himself has chosen, meldis,” he said quietly, smoothing his thumb over her furrowed brow as if doing so would erase the lines that formed there. “In this alone, you can hardly view yourself as ordinary. But as I said...I may be wrong. Nienna is ever known to appear clad in gray, offering comfort and mercy to those in distress. But what her words mean…” he shook his head. “Perhaps the King will understand better than I.” 

 

“I think I want to go to bed,” Earlene said, more confused and troubled than ever. “Could you help me, to go to sleep?” came the plea. Her mind was a tattered mess of thinking on a dead little girl; peace would not be easily attained.

 

“I will try,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Let us return to bed.”

 

What it said about her life that nothing about this statement held the least whisper of untowardness in her mind…. _ it says my life is beyond smut, is what it says,  _ she told herself.  _ Leave that shit outside these walls, where it belongs, Earlene.  _ It was the only thing she could tell herself that had a prayer of succeeding, tonight. Arranging herself carefully against her husband once again, her hand returned to its resting place on Thranduil’s lower sternum. Thanadir’s hand was felt once more, and her mind lapsed into blissful nothingness. The old elf smiled to hear her regular breathing, but that smile soon faded into thoughts that would not easily be dismissed, of Marty’s remains in his keeping, and the terrible nature of her loss. He wondered, did Irmo send such visions to Sharley? He could not reconcile the apparent cruelty of what he had been told with the Powers of their world. And yet what Earlene was told...lost in these puzzles, and lulled by the sound of Thranduil’s regular breathing, he too eventually faded into sleep.

 

******

 

The King woke suddenly, confused to find not only his wife but also his seneschal resting against him. While highly….irregular, he had known his friend long enough to realize that there was a reason. And as the memories of his captive encounter with Sharley’s mind rushed to the surface, he was glad enough for the comfort of his family quite literally bunched up against him. He did not move, but tried to think. His forest, his forest of old. It filled his heart with an aching yearning, to have seen it once again. But with it came the weight of failures and regrets that few others could comprehend. He did not understand. Why would she see this? Was it intended somehow for him? But then the woman’s daughter, so cruelly lost...the images waxed and waned, in endless motion. He turned it every which way, considered it from every point of understanding available to him, and there was no clarity. He came back, over and over, to one thing only:  _ In Eryn Galen of old, I never had a white elk. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story “Sticky Notes” was copied and slightly modified for an Irish audience at the following website: http://www.scaryforkids.com/sticky-notes/ We had no part whatsoever in the creation of that story, and wish to credit whoever contributed the material; it wasn’t us. However an author was not named so...yeah. This is the best we can do by way of citation.


	84. Eighty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 20, 2017

 

The morning of Winter Solstice dawned cool and clear, and Earlene found herself woken in a familiar manner. Inside of herself, she smiled, and reached an arm to sleepily caress her husband’s warm hand. Most mornings, he took his pleasure but gave her plenty in return, and especially now, starting the day off with those few seconds of intense enjoyment...well, when you were carrying your son and he had taken over all of your abdominal organs...that was a good thing. And yet it was a little harder to focus on her enjoyment today. She had a beautiful baby growing inside of her, kicking and moving every day, and in a few hours they would all step into the winter chill of the forest to bury Marty. The contrast seemed so achingly wrong…

 

There was no further time to think on this, as their mutual release unfolded. Breathing heavily, the warmth of Thranduil’s body against her back feeling suddenly like far too much heat, she felt herself being lifted. He was kind enough to know she would need the facilities without too much delay, and could get her there faster than possible under her own locomotion. Though, it was not like with the twins. She could still move. Walk passably well. It was only that her back would ache a little sooner than she’d like. Ditto with the feet. As her overfull bladder blissfully drained, a grin spread across her face. _I’ll bet you your favorite dinner that I do not get to go to and from this ceremony without Thanadir trying to carry me._

 

 _And if I should lose?_ He stood nude in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, twisting his long hair around prior to pinning two small carven sticks into it, to keep it in place. Months ago Earlene had convinced him of the senselessness of wetting his hair every single time he bathed.

 

 _Aren’t_ you _supposed to tell_ me _what the forfeit would be?_ she teased back.

 

_I will bake you your favorite cookies._

 

_You know how to bake cookies?_

 

 _Meluieg, I can read your mind._ He laughed openly at how easily that could be forgotten,  and bundled her over to their bathing pool. After more relaxing conversation and considerably more attention to each other, the smells of breakfast could no longer be ignored. Thranduil walked ahead, to bring his wife a mug of tea while Thanadir and Ortherion prepared porridge. Earlene stopped in her tracks, to find Ortherion wearing her frilly apron. It had been a gag gift from her friends lost in 9/11, so consequently she kept it in spite of its utter ridiculousness. Accepting the steaming mug of tea with thanks, she did her best to bury her amusement but that was a losing battle, just now. She began to giggle, and quickly left the kitchen.

 

Sharley was already awake, sitting in the quiet area with a mug of tea. It was a clear, icy day, frost sparkling on the trees outside -- a relative rarity in Ireland, where the temperature seldom dipped below freezing except at the very depths of winter. It was a good day to find someplace for Marty.

 

Thanadir saw that the porridge was completed and that Ortherion had the eggs well under control. He issued a reminder to the younger elf to be sure to turn off the heat before they were done cooking. “Athon, i Hîr vuin,” he managed to say without an ounce of sarcasm in his voice, but Earlene saw the swift roll of his eyes at being told this for the hundredth time and that started her giggling all over again. She picked up her mug. While it was lovely that her hormones were in such a good mood today, it felt wildly inappropriate around Sharley. Especially today. Returning to their bedroom, she attempted to get a grip on herself while Thranduil shook his head and smiled.

 

Laughing into a towel for half a minute seemed to help, which is how Thanadir found her. “Meldis...why are you laughing at….what are you laughing at?”

 

She dabbed at her watering eyes. “It is something humans do,” she attempted to explain. “Sometimes things are funny. Funnier than makes any sense, even to us. And then sometimes, we cannot stop laughing about whatever it was...it almost has to work its way out.” Occasional giggles erupted in the telling before she sobered. “But I feel terrible that I am like this now. Laughing, when Sharley is…” she could not finish.

 

“Did you consider that maybe you are cheering her? I do not think you have to be so concerned. But...you have not told me what provoked this.”

 

More giggles. “You dressed poor Ortherion in a ladies’ apron. No mortal male would ever be seen in such a thing, and it is very funny. But you did not know, and neither did he, and I also do not wish to cause him to feel embarrassed.”

 

Thanadir’s lips spread in a slow smile. “Oops?”

 

“Oops,” Earlene concurred, now trying to hold her shaking abdomen. It would have been sore without the baby, who also chose that moment to land a good kick. “Ooof. Well, it is becoming less funny,” she acknowledged though her eyes still held mirth.

 

“Come to breakfast now, and I will help you...behave yourself,” he grinned. “Besides, I have something to return to Lorna.”

 

“Do I get to see?” she wheedled.

 

“In a minute,” came the reply with an air of mystery.

 

“Elves,” Earlene muttered under her breath, as she took his proffered arm with one hand and held her tea with the other.

 

Lorna and Ratiri, lured by the scent of breakfast, zombied their way down the stairs and into the kitchen, an equally sleepy Pat in tow. Saoirse, naturally, zoomed like a hummingbird, though she was no longer quite the size of one; she’d been growing, slowly but steadily, all autumn. “Whatever that is, it smells heavenly,” Lorna said, and yes, she quite shamelessly paused to inhale. As soon as she caught sight of Ortherion’s apron, however, she burst out laughing, and had to beat a rather hasty retreat. Whose idea had that been? Obviously the elves didn’t equate frills with femininity -- well, that or they just didn’t care. Either way, the sight of a tall, beautiful, dignified elf in that monstrosity was just more than she could bear.

 

Ratiri kept it together, but just barely. “I think she thought of a joke,” he said, by way of incredibly lame explanation.

 

Thranduil now at last gleaned from so many human minds what the source of the amusement was, and rose. Rooting through the drawer where such things were kept, he found an apron in classic black. Ordering a baffled Ortherion to hold still, the offendingly feminine garment was removed quickly and replaced with something far less evocative. He neatly folded the original one and returned it to the drawer. “I will explain later,” he said kindly. “Maybe.” Thranduil poured himself more tea, and returned to his seat.

 

Ortherion had seen far stranger whims from his King, and merely smiled and went about transferring the eggs to a serving platter. Earlene and Thanadir reappeared, and the former did not miss the change of outfit, breathing something of a sigh of relief. Now, she was able to sip her tea instead of making a spectacle.

 

 _I like your spectacles, meluieg,_ the King smiled, drawing her against him. He loved to watch her cheeks blush, just a little.

 

“Lorna, I have something for you,” Thanadir said, carefully reaching into his tunic pocket. He handed her Wonder Woman.

 

Lorna took the little figurine, running her fingers over it. Naturally, Thanadir had done an absolutely fantastic job in repairing the little thing’s paint job -- hell, he’d gone above and beyond, and put what looked like gold leaf on the edge of the top and the W, and all over her bracelets. Her hair was glossy black again, far shinier than it had ever been even when she had been new. Such a little thing, and yet it meant so much to her -- and Thanadir knew it. He knew it, and he’d gone at this with his customary precision. “Thank you, Thanadir,” she said, enfolding him in a surprise hug. If his ribs creaked...well, that happened, when Lorna properly hugged someone.

 

Thanadir was not quite certain how to respond. He had seen the King pick her up and hold her close, much like he would sometimes do with Earlene. Was that what she wished? _No harm in being nice,_ he reasoned, and swept her up to sit on his arm so he could hug her in return. Though he was careful not to hug her harder than he did Earlene. “You are very welcome,” he said, with a pat to her back before returning her to the ground. A little anxiety crossed his face when he saw Earlene’s expression of being clearly intrigued by his action.

 

Lorna let out a slight _eep_ of surprise, but figured out in fairly short order that he was mimicking Thranduil, which meant he probably didn’t know what else to do, so she’d just go with it. “There’s a place for her on one’v my shelves,” she said. “Where the kittens won’t get at her.” The little monsters didn’t even qualify as kittens anymore, though several of them looked like they were going to be runts. They’d been into everything, inside her flat and out of it; indeed, one came scampering through the kitchen, chasing a dust bunny.

 

“Oooooh!” exclaimed Earlene excitedly, remembering what she had in her sweater pocket. Out came the laser pointer, aimed squarely where the cat could not miss seeing the Red Dot. More giggles erupted as its eyes widened and its little hind end wriggled with uncontainable excitement, making its preparations. Seconds later, the kitten pounced, chasing the expertly guided dot in wide circles as Earlene’s eyes pooled with tears of mirth while Thranduil watched in morbid fascination. Ortherion was serenely stacking the baking powder biscuits he had made onto yet another serving platter, just about ready to carry them to the dining room. The others had already stood up, amused by the antics, but more interested in the food that was obviously about to be served.

 

Earlene could not remember having this much silly fun. The kitten was now in a frenzy of motion, and she tried to keep it from Ortherion, who was now walking to the other room with his burden. It almost seemed to happen in slow motion. Out of the corner of her eye, Tail was making his bombing run. He liked to lurk on the steps of the spiral staircase, which provided a reasonably commanding view of what his humans were doing at any given time. Nearly twenty pounds of solid orange cat was hurtling for the Red Dot, not to be outdone by some upstart mewling that had not even reached its first year. Her lips parted as her own beloved furball aimed straight toward Ortherion’s legs...and he let out a gasp of surprise and...the biscuits seemed to hover in the air for a moment, much like the scene in Harry Potter just before Dobby dropped the trifle onto Aunt Marge. Elf, tray, and biscuits came crashing to the floor.

 

The Red Dot gone, Tail now looked disgusted, and sat down to stare malevolently at Ortherion, who had obviously caused his prize to disappear. With something between a low growl and a hacking noise, Tail lunged for a biscuit and trotted off with it in the direction of the stairs while the poor elf simply stared at the carnage.

 

“I am so sorry,” Earlene said, rushing in. “Ortherion, it was all my fault.” Pregnant belly or not, she was swiftly kneeling down to pick up biscuits and deposit them back on the tray….wait, would anyone still want to eat these? _She_ would but…. _just, fuck._ “I am so sorry,” she repeated, not knowing what else to say. Behind her, she heard laughter, and turned red-faced to see Sharley. A biscuit had rolled to the tip of her boot before falling into its bottom, as if pleading to be eaten.

 

Sharley picked the biscuit up, but was laughing too hard to actually do anything with it. It was rusty laughter, and hoarse, because she so seldom did it, and certainly not like this. Cats...just... _cats_. She’d never had one, because she’d never had a permanent enough residence to until very recently, but they were cute little monstrosities. “Never a dull moment with those things, is there?” she managed eventually.

 

Lorna did not feel at all bad for laughing, because if this could draw it from Sharley...it was worth it, in her mind. Even a waste of good biscuits was worth it, because she would wager this was the first time in a very long time Sharley had found something so amusing. “Not at all,” she said. “Though that one’s the biggest menace -- literally. He was such a tiny little thing, and now look at him.” That poor girl looked as young as she actually was, when she laughed; normally she somehow managed to seem quite young and ancient at the same time, but in that moment she was just a human laughing at a feline-caused disaster.

 

“I’m eating mine”, Earlene says. “Though I understand if no one else will. I’ve dropped food in worse places, eaten it and lived,” she murmured, feeling horrible.

 

“Hiril vuin,” Ortherion said, recovering himself. “Let me do that. It was an accident,” he said kindly, calmly picking up the biscuits.

 

She shook her head No. _I am down here and I’m bloody well going to help clean up my own mess._ “Please do not throw any of these away, if they are not wanted. I have a use for them.” _Which is, in freezer bags, reheated, for me to eat until they are all gone or until I can explode and get it over with._

 

Thranduil appeared, trying so very hard to stifle a grin. Without a word he helped pick up the rest of them, before lifting her gently to her feet and kissing her on the top of her head.  Which was exactly what was needed. Clutching the tray stubbornly, she addressed the table: “I caused the biscuits to fall. They hit the clean floor that is swept constantly. Eat them or do not, as you see fit.” That she placed four of them on her own plate told all anyone needed to hear about that opinion. Thanadir started to ask what had happened, but a quick shake of Thranduil’s head warned him off. With a shrug, he too reached for four of the biscuits and immediately rose to saint-like status in Earlene’s estimation. Well, he was probably already there, actually. Maybe it was that he now had a halo. Something like that.

 

“I’ve eaten things off way worse surfaces,” Sharley said, and ate her biscuit. Floor or no floor, it was very good.

 

Jimmy snickered. _“That’s what she said._ ”

 

“Hush, you.”

 

 _“Technically it_ is _what she said,”_ Layla pointed out.

 

“You hush, too. I could eat the whole batch of these.”

 

“You ought to,” Lorna said, stealing two off the tray and taking them to Sharley. “You’re too damn skinny.”

 

“And you aren’t?” Sharley asked, bemused.

 

“I’m wiry. There’s a difference. Now eat your biscuits. Though I’d be way more inclined to call these scones.”

 

After the meal, during which Earlene was considerably bolstered by noting that everyone was eating biscuits, they retrieved coats and cloaks and warmer clothing. Everyone waited in the foyer, silent, until Thanadir took Lorna aside. He gave her the box containing Marty. “Wait a moment, and I will come around to the front of the house, outside. Then you can hand it to Sharley?”

 

Lorna nodded, running her fingers over the little brass plate with Marty’s name on it. She hoped it would do Sharley some good, knowing that her daughter slept somewhere beautiful -- somewhere near people who knew her name.

 

Thanadir came around to the front, bearing a heavy sapling and its rootball wrapped in tied burlap, dormant of course. Earlene raised her eyebrows. She’d helped with trees on gran’s farm, and if that wasn’t heavier than hell, she didn’t know what was. Sometimes she wondered just how strong they were…. Thranduil caressed the back of her neck with a kind smile, and offered his arm. Nodding to Thanadir, he walked with his wife to lead the group of them into the forest.

 

Winter made everything different...from being pregnant at this time of year two years running, her explorations of the forest in the cold months had never really happened. _Next year_ , she promised herself, vaguely wondering where her husband had chosen. In a rare display of openness, his answering thought came.

 

_If this was your choice, for something dearest to you in all the world, where would you select? I know that by now, you have seen every glade in my forest, though I realize you will spend years and still not know it as we do._

 

There was no need to think. _If I could be selfish, I would chose a place near the great oak not so far from your Halls. I have never asked you about it, but it is special to me and I would guess I am not alone. It feels like a….mother tree. With arms that open wide, beckoning and offering solace._

 

 _Then you know my choice._ His heart blazed with love for his wife, to see the unity of their spirits in matters most precious to the essence of their people. Her grip on his arm tightened, and he rearranged their contact so he could now walk with his arm around her waist as well. It needed about a half-hour, at this solemn pace, to reach the grove and ascend into the little hollow. Six ellyn stood silently waiting, with tools to dig at the earth in their hands. They were curious spades; wooden, and yet the elves always seemed to know what they were about.

 

The magnificent oak loomed nearby, the sight of it welcome to Earlene’s eyes. With a pat to her hand, Thranduil separated from her and approached Sharley. “Is this pleasing to you?” he asked softly, even if Earlene wondered if the others had any concept of the honor her husband was according Sharley. She did not need to be told that this place was so sacred to them that were the King to lose one of his own children, they would still be laid to rest elsewhere. And yet she found that she did not mind.

 

Sharley stared at the tree. She had seen many, many lovely trees of all kinds at home, but none were like this. She’d never seen anything quite like this. “Marty would take one look at this and try to figure out how to climb it,” she said softly. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”

 

Lorna handed her Marty’s box, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze as she did. This had to hurt, and horribly, but Sharley needed to know that they cared.

 

With a nod to the ellyn from the King, they began to dig where he indicated, making swift work of excavating a hole much larger than the root ball.

 

“It is your choice,” he told Sharley, “whether you wish to place her remains directly into the earth or leave her in this container. Either way the tree that is being planted will take Marty up into it for as long as it lives.”

 

Did she want to keep Marty in the box, or not? The box was her bed; it was where she slept, but maybe she’d be happier if she could become part of this wonderful tree.

 

 _“Let her go, Sharley,”_ Sinsemilla said gently. _“Let her be. You know she’d want to be able to touch this tree.”_

 

All Sharley could do was nodd. “Let’s put her in the earth,” she said. “She’ll be free here, not in a box.”

 

Sensing her struggle, Thranduil knelt with her at the edge of the planting hole and silently beckoned Lorna to come forward. The three of them together slowly moved as one to unfasten the clasps of the box and carefully pour the ashes into the bottom of the hole. Ashes. It was a funny word, since so little of it was ash. Crushed pieces of bleached white bone, blackened ash, even the occasional very obvious tooth fell in with a clattering, gravelly sound. Unthinkingly, Sharley stared at what was there while Thranduil silently watched, rising. With another gesture he and the other ellyn all stepped back, to give the grieving mother some time.

 

“You be happy here, sweetie,” Sharley said. “I know it’s not quite like home, but it’s just as pretty, and soon enough it’ll be home to both of us. You sleep, and you dream, and you grow with this tree. Mama loves you, and she always will.” She shut her eyes, her silent tears hot on her cheeks. And yet there was a catharsis in this, too; she’d never been happy to have Marty in some cemetery, one among hundreds of graves. Here she was special, just as she’d been in life, and Sharley couldn’t think of a better place to sleep. The tree would keep her safe and sound, and she could dream as this one grew from her.

 

Lorna helped her friend to her feet. Thanadir was beckoned forward, and three of the ellyn backfilled the hole, somewhat, until the soil was at the right height for the root ball. The old elf gently took Sharley’s hand, and laid it on the trunk of the tree. “Hold it just where it is,” he told her quietly, stepping back once she had a secure grasp on it. In seconds it was done; the hold filled, the soil tamped, and the sapling birch that would spring to life the following spring. A mist was forming, and the air grew noticeably colder. No one would move, until Sharley did, though the ellyn that did the real work were dismissed by a nod and seemed to vanish from their places.

 

When the final shovel of earth was in place, an odd sense of peace washed over Sharley -- one she hadn’t yet felt. Marty was home. Her mother could rest easy now, knowing that she was safe, that she was loved, for of course these trees would have to love Marty, who would have adored them.

 

Lorna watched her, watched the tension drain from her, and wondered how on Earth that could be. When the poor woman finally came away, Lorna took her hand. “Birch trees’ve always been used to make cradles in Ireland,” she said. “It’s a tree’v protection. Best possible thing for a little girl.”

 

“It’s...I can’t say why, exactly, but having her here...it’s a relief I didn’t know I needed. I didn’t know just how unhappy I was, having her in a graveyard, but this is right in a way it never was. She has a home now. She has a cradle, though she was much too big for one when I lost her. And because she’s here...I’ll be able to move here forever, someday. She’ll be where I am, and until I do, I know she’s got all of you.”

 

“She does,” Lorna said. “And if you want, when you’re not here, I’ll come out here and talk to her. She won’t be lonely.”

 

“Thank you,” Sharley whispered. “Thank you so much.”

 

They turned to depart, when Thranduil became aware of a subtle vibration beneath his feet. A creaking sound followed. A single great branch of the massive oak slowly angled itself, seeking  exact alignment toward the newly planted birch. A smile of peaceful contentment played over his lips, as he bowed to the ancient oak, and continued on his way. He had chosen well.

 

It drew a smile from Sharley, too, though naturally Jimmy had to go and ruin the moment by saying, _“Oh, holy shit. The tree moved. On its own.”_

 

 _“Yes, we saw, Jimmy,”_ Sinsemilla said, exasperated. _“Quit wrecking things and shut up.”_

 

Uncharacteristically, he did so. It meant Sharley was free to say, “Please take care of her. She means the world to me.”

 

The tree gave no reply, but Thranduil laid a hand reassuringly on her shoulder, before rejoining his wife. Though it was cold, they were all warmly dressed and no one was in a hurry.

 

 _“I think everybody needs more cookies,”_ Layla said, quite shaken. That was like nothing Sharley, and consequently they, had ever thought possible. That Marty should sleep somewhere magical was only fitting, considering...what she’d been. Sharley had no idea where Marty had come from, but she _had_ known the little girl was special -- was the only good thing Avathar had ever created, even if it was by accident. She was too pure to live, her body unable to contain the strength of her soul.

 

“Cookies and tea,” Sharley said, wiping her eyes. “I never saw much point in tea, until I came here. Now I always buy Irish Breakfast when I go grocery shopping in Monroe.”

 

 _“Kinda makes me wish we could actually taste things,”_ Jimmy said, a touch morosely.

“I would like cookies,” Thanadir said wistfully. Earlene immediately began thinking which he might want the most, she probably had enough energy to make two batches…

 

Sharley looked at him, and at the silver pin he wore. She knew what it was, and what it meant, and she was very grateful. It meant what they’d done for her was doubly touching, because Thranduil was giving her daughter a home with the seal of his own House. _Thank you, for that._ “Thranduil, can I bring some seeds, from home?” she asked aloud. “I read there’s been some introduced to Ireland, and they do pretty well -- Doug firs, hemlocks, ones like that. Ireland’s a lot like Western Washington, climate-wise, and I kinda want to bring some seeds from trees at home.”

 

This was new. He frowned slightly, not knowing what these were, exactly. Did it matter? He would have time, to learn… “Bring whatever you wish,” he said kindly. “In the meantime I will learn about them. As long as they can cause no harm to what is here, I have no objection.” He paused, smiling at her. “It is one of the few times someone has wanted to add a tree, not remove one.”

 

She couldn’t help but return the smile. “I don’t think that they will,” she said. “They’re not invasive species, and they live just fine along with deciduous trees. I might not be able to have my mountains, but at least there will be trees...you really need to come see me. My home. Ireland’s beautiful, but it doesn’t have mountains. Not even close.” She had a hazy idea that the Cascades might well resemble the Misty Mountains, now long since lost. God knew they were often misty enough, and far taller than anything you were going to find in most of western Europe. Only Scandinavia could compare (and, in the case of the Alps, outright beat).

 

Eventually they returned to Eldamar in time for swirling mists to be replaced by fog so dense even the elves found it surprising. Earlene shook her head as she gazed out the window, and appreciated the warmth of her lovely kitchen. The smell of cookies were soon wafting through the house. Thranduil, Sharley, and Ratiri were quietly reading, Thanadir helped Earlene, the children were all playing in the peredhel twins’ nursery/playroom, Saoirse was busy with her drawings, while Pat played a computer game on his laptop.

 

Many minutes later, Earlene rang the iron triangle she had asked Thanadir to make for her; it was a call to meals or special treats that avoided the need to shout loudly and obnoxiously. Soon happy faces large and small were filing to the kitchen, to take warm handfuls of cookie. Laughing, Earlene dabbed at Thanadir’s face with a clean towel...the chocolate at the edge of his lips was a sign that the children were not the first to be served.

 

*****

 

Mechanical engineering, Lorna decided, was absolutely fascinating.

 

The uni books were all but useless -- they required background knowledge that was entirely beyond her -- but she’d found some that were far more accessible for the average person online. Some of it, like the properties of currents, she’d already known thanks to her mechanical training.

 

If only she didn’t read so _slowly_. It remained a quiet source of embarrassment for her, though she knew it shouldn’t. Nobody was going to judge her over it, and yet she still, even now, couldn’t help but judge herself. Some of the stings left by her teachers lingered even now, and the only way she could think of to heal them was to, in this case, do just what she didn’t want to, and read in front of other people. She sat now at the coffee-table beside Pat, quite content to ignore the sounds of his game -- not hard, since he had headphones plugged in, and just kept the right one out of his ear. No doubt that was something he’d developed as a parent, since keeping at least one ear out was pretty much necessary.

 

When he switched to kitten videos, however, she gave up. There was no fighting some things, and that was one of them; with a sigh, she nudged her book away and took the other headphone. Watching someone get swarmed by a herd of hungry kittens was just not something one could ignore.

 

Earlene and Thanadir were in the kitchen, a now common sight. Though the old elf still did not fully trust himself around his nemesis of yeast breads (or, for that matter, quick-breads;  but he had gained some basic competence with the latter based on carefully following her instructions and much practice). The last of the beets had been brought in prior to the frosts of winter, and together they were working on multiple projects. Much had gone to the Halls for use and storage there, but the counter at Eldamar was nonetheless piled with a selection. The tender greens were to be shredded and lacto-fermented. The smaller stalks and medium to baby beets would be pickled in two different brines, and the larger beets would be shredded and fermented into something very close to sauerruben (fermented turnips) except, with beets. Glancing at the pile that had already been carefully washed, she sighed. Her favorite Chioggia variety beets, with the “target” concentric white and red stripes, would be tidy and elegant. The dark red varieties would leave their hands looking like they had come fresh off of a battlefield...which would not be so far from the truth.

 

“You are certain you are not tiring, meldis?” The brown eyes flickered with concern when he witnessed her pause and sigh.

 

“I promised you I would say if I was,” Earlene said kindly. “It is the prospect of the mess, shredding all the beets; that is the reason for my expression.”

 

He frowned. “Do you not have a machine? A food...processor?” Sometimes he struggled to recall the words for the many mortal devices Earlene possessed.

 

She returned his stare blankly. “I do…” Her head hung down. “At least one of us can think today.” Muttering to herself, she went to the cabinet where it was stored. There would still be mess, but not like if they grated by hand.

 

Thranduil chose that moment to wander in, catching the thoughts of his dismayed wife, and coming to embrace her from behind. He held her, but looked at Thanadir while he spoke. “You two are doing commendable work, and I know we will all enjoy the eating of it later. After, I wish you both to walk in the forest. You are to go wherever you like, Earlene, without concern of tiring, and you are not to object if Thanadir needs to carry you home. You both need more fresh air and time out of this kitchen.”

 

Earlene looked down, knowing he was right. Canning and preserving could (and in this case had) go on for days. Without a second thought, the words came reflexively from both Earlene and Thanadir in concert. “Yes, my Lord.” Thranduil smiled and gave a nod, stifling a frown that came right after...those in the next room had heard. Pat, specifically, it seems had never been told about certain...realities.

 

 _Not my problem._ Thranduil shook it off, having other business at the Halls; Thalion wished his attention for a proposed fitness/weapons training program for the mortals. All of them. The thought was enough to cause vague pains to form in his head, but he owed his warrior a hearing. Though, he felt vaguely sorry for Lorna, into whose proverbial lap this was likely to fall. Grinning, he remembered her in the crown of Melian, turned, and departed out the back door without another word.

 

Oh _no_...that form of address wasn’t something Lorna even thought about anymore, so it had never occurred to her to warn Pat. Before her brother could say a word, she pulled the ear bud out of her ear, closed his laptop, and all but dragged him to his feet. “Let’s go for a walk, Pat,” she said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

 

Naturally, being a Donovan, he resisted anyway. “That --”

 

“ _Walk,_ Pat,” she insisted, and pulled him toward the door. “Somewhere outside the forest, so you and I can have this conversation in actual privacy.” Jesus fucking Christ...she did her best to think of something else until she’d hauled him past the end of the driveway, out of the border of the trees. Hopefully Thranduil didn’t mind thoughts of kitten-mobs. She grabbed coats and both their boots, pausing to put hers on before tossing his at him.

 

“Lorna, what the actual _fuck_ was that?” Pat demanded, as soon as they were on the road. His boot laces didn’t want to cooperate, but he got them eventually.

 

“Them being cultural weirdos,” Lorna said. “It’s a thing. It’s what they do.” God, how  was she to handle this? Pat was very much like her; he was going to have the exact same hangups she’d had, and no wonder. Ireland was Ireland.

 

“Doesn’t it _bother_ you?” he demanded, so visibly appalled she fought a wince.

 

“Walk,” she insisted, shoving him forward. “It did. Oh Christ did it ever, and for longer than I’d realized. I thought it was utterly horrible, but I tried to just ignore it for their sake, because even in there it’s a free bloody country, so to speak; if they didn’t like it, and wanted to leave, they could. But they don't want to.” She was going to do some creative editing here, for the sake of not living with a migraine until the end of time; much of what she had so strongly objected to wasn’t a consideration anymore, so Pat didn’t need to know about it. The Thanadir thing was a non-issue; there was nothing stopping Earlene from going out and doing what she wanted anymore. Did it still gall her that Thranduil could change that, if he wanted? Yes, actually, it did, but she knew that he wasn’t going to. He still had this power over her, but it seemed to be...nominal. Not something he actually used, anymore. He’d learned, from the fiasco of the bridal shower, to listen.

 

“Why _wouldn’t_ they?” Pat asked, mystified. “Or at least, why wouldn’t Earlene? She didn’t grow up under that shite.”

 

Now Lorna _did_ wince. “It took me a really long time to properly figure that one out,” she admitted. “I mean, a _really_ long time. I thought she was touched in the head at first, but Pat, she’s not Irish. She’s not like us. It’s not just Thranduil she loves, it’s the elves in general. It’s not like she’s under any kind’v restrictions.” _Not anymore._ Seriously, Pat was never going to know that. Ever. He didn’t know them well enough, and she really didn’t want to deal with that headache.

 

Pat was quiet for quite a while, as they walked through the chilly sunshine. “It’s not right,” he said at last.

 

“Not for us, no,” she said. “But we’re not them. And I know it hurts Earlene to think people think she’s made shit choices, but for her...she hasn't. She’s happy. She does what she wants. And honestly, between you, me, and...I don’t know, the squirrels...I think that in her case, it’s partly kinky. Not sure how _big_ a part, but some people are into that.” The mere thought made her feel a touch ill, but hey, whatever did it for them.

 

Her brother’s expression turned thoughtful, and she whacked him on the arm. “Don’t even go there,” she said. “I mean it. Ew.”

 

“It’s not my fault they’d make fantastic porn,” he said. “You know how hard it is to not think shite like that sometimes? Christ, it’s not my fault you haven’t got a libido.”

 

“Okay, first off, mine works just fine -- it just has a single target,” she said. “Second off, I really don’t need to be having this conversation with my brother, thanks so much.”

 

“You’re surrounded by beautiful people,” he said. “How can you seriously _only_ have a single target? Jesus, Fun Size, I always figured I was straight, but some’v these elves’ve made me question that.”

 

“Oh my _God_ ,” she groaned. It was a change of subject, but not one she wanted. “Too much information, Pat. Just...too much. _Anyway_ , the ‘my Lords’ might grate at first, but try not to let them, okay? There’s no reason they should, because it’s not actually what it sounds like it should be to us. Just...watch them, and you’ll see that.”

 

He looked at her curiously. “How did you get over it?”

 

“Time, partly,” she said, kicking a rock. “And they clarified some misconceptions I’d had. It was never something I want to ask about, because I didn’t want to be rude, and I didn’t want Earlene thinking I judged her. Turns out she thought I did anyway, but _she_ was never the one I’d been judging, and all our miscommunication just made all that shite worse. Eventually we just sat down and had Honesty Hour, and all shared a bunch’v shite we’d kept to ourselves.”

 

“So how _does_ it work?” The fact that he was curious, rather than just disgusted, was hopefully a good sign.

 

Time for some creative editing. “She swore fealty to him,” Lorna said. “I’m still not a hundred percent on what exactly that is. _Technically_ he could tell her what to do, but he doesn’t actually do it. I’m not kidding, Pat -- Earlene does what Earlene wants. She does take what _he_ wants into consideration, but doesn’t every spouse? If that doesn’t gel, she just goes and does it anyway. The ‘my Lords’ are...oh, hell, I don’t know how to explain it. They sound horrible to us, but they don't mean the same thing with the elves that they did with us. Thranduil...he’s king, yeah, but not like ours were. He doesn’t think he’s better than we are just because he sometimes has a crown on his head. He sees it as his duty to take care’v us, and the ‘my Lords’ are...it’s a cultural thing. I wish I could put it better than that, but you know me and words.”

 

“Yeah,” Pat snorted, “you and useful ones aren’t very well acquainted.”

 

She whacked him on the arm. “Not helping.” Christ, she wished she’d brought gloves. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, trying to keep her fingers from freezing.

 

“So why doesn’t he ever ask us to do that?”

 

“Because we didn’t swear fealty. We’re friends, family, but there’s no monarch-subject relationship there. He understands why none’v us ever would. All he asks’v us is that we don’t go blabbing to the outside world, and we don’t fuck with his trees.”

 

There was much, very much, that she was never going to tell any of the Irish. The fact that there had been mind-whammying at first, the fact that Earlene wasn’t allowed to take off her necklace, that her own bridal shower had been utterly ruined by Thranduil’s insistence Earlene not go anywhere without Thanadir...these were things nobody needed to know. Not knowing didn’t affect them, but if Lorna did tell -- well, then she’d have a permanent migraine. Had she not known any of that herself, she would have had a much easier time reconciling the whole thing, and she really doubted anyone was going to become quite as familiar with Earlene and Thranduil as she and Ratiri were. On paper, without proper context, all of that really did look fucking horrific to the Irish, and perhaps none of them would ever have that context. Sometimes, ignorance really was bliss. She’d tell them what was relevant. Earlene no longer had travel restrictions, so that wasn’t a consideration that should ever come up. (Personally, Lorna still thought the fact that Earlene wasn’t allowed to take off that bling was bullshit, but that was only because she had a personal lingering issue with the idea of wearing something someone could easily strangle you with. She’d accepted that that was her own problem, and moved on. That and, unless that thing was even more magical than she thought, there was just no way in hell it wasn’t uncomfortable to sleep in. God knew she’d woken up with her own hair wrapped around her throat enough times that the thought of something _solid_ there just made her twitch.)

 

Pat, she knew, was going to have to consider this. He never took anyone purely at their word on anything -- not even her. He’d watch, and he’d draw his own conclusions, and she knew better than to push him on it. If he had questions, he’d ask her. Meantime, she needed to just let him do his thing, let the wheels of his mind turn. He could ask her what he liked, in time, and she could only hope she’d actually have answers. Lorna was pretty sure she knew exactly what his problems would be, because she and her brother were very much alike in some ways, but if they lingered, she honestly didn’t know what she’d do.

 

She pondered using Ratiri’s clergy analogy, but none of the Donovans had ever had any use for the church or its people, so that really wouldn’t work with Pat. It hadn’t, she later realized, worked with her for that very reason -- Ratiri might respect the office, even if he didn’t believe in the faith, but neither she nor Pat even respected that. Unfortunately, she had no other analogy; there wasn’t any office of any kind, religious or secular, that people of their type didn’t view with disdain. The clergy thing might work with the people of Baile, but not with Pat.

 

Thranduil would probably just tell him to get over it, which would be of no use whatsoever, and might well make things worse. He simply wasn't ever going to understand the contempt her kind naturally had for authority of any sort, or how hard it was to overcome; there was just no way that he could. Even people like Mairead weren’t going to get it, so how the hell could Thranduil? It was a lack of comprehension as fundamental as...as her inability to grasp what it would be like to be a monarch. Lorna didn’t want it to take her brother as long as it had taken her to come to terms with it, because in the meantime Earlene would be dealing with that all over again.

 

The unfortunate reality of life in Ireland was that, so long as people only knew half the story, they were all going to think Earlene had made terrible choices. They were going to think she was mental, and that Thranduil was a creep. And that was why Lorna had to frame this very, very carefully when she spoke of it, because she did not want to put her friends, especially Earlene, through that again -- and certainly not times four hundred. Nobody needed the strife that would cause. But how she was to do that, she had no idea. A few beers would be necessary first, and something for her burgeoning headache.

 

Though actually...perhaps she did have an idea. It hinged on Thranduil’s cooperation, but she didn’t see why he wouldn’t give it, since it cost him pretty much nothing. There might just be a way to get them over the whole thing, but it was going to take some time. Fortunately, they had twenty years.

 

******

 

Christmas morning dawned cold and clear, after another moving Yule Eve spent in the Halls and another small gift exchange. After the household at Eldamar discussed it in a sort of ‘family meeting,’ it had been agreed that gifts this year would be much smaller. No harpsichords or things that were fabulously costly. The theme was generally, gifts were to be chosen carefully, and not cost much more than €20, if that. It was also made clear that Allanah’s birthday would be considered a separate celebration, and that it was unfair to her to “combine” gifts.

 

None of that was going to stop Earlene from rising early. Today would be eggnog from scratch at breakfast, cinnamon French toast with maple syrup she’d ordered ahead of time from Canada, and scrambled eggs. Thranduil and Thanadir both had cornered her about not cooking too elaborate of a meal, and she reluctantly agreed. Though, she still felt fine; if she tired, some time with Thanadir’s hands at her feet or back always seemed to do the trick. This just wasn’t like last time, with the twins, where she was already uncomfortable beyond words long before Christmas Day arrived. Frankly, she thought she was doing very well. Her pregnancy wasn’t worth complaining about; she doubted Lorna wanted to hear it. Thranduil couldn’t not hear her little issues when they arose, and Thanadir was simply...there. Always. And now she was tremendously grateful for that fact. Dinner, it was already agreed would be a joint effort amongst those with kitchen skills--Earlene was banned from being the sole cook. Thanadir, Ratiri and Ortherion would all contribute dishes, as would she.

 

Every effort was made to bring out the pots and pans silently, but the sound of the whisk on the pot must have awoken Thanadir. Sometimes Earlene wondered if he ever really slept...but either way with a yawn he emerged from his rooms, still wearing his sleeping clothes (which was humorously adorable; he often did not allow himself to be seen unless fully dressed).

 

“Happy Christmas, meldir,” she whispered, giving him a half-hug and a peck on the cheek. “Do you want to try this? This is before I divide it in half and add shameless amounts of alcohol to what the adults will have.”

 

With a cautious sniff, he sampled it and began happily drinking, eliciting a laugh. The seneschal always did wonders for her food-skills ego. It was not too much later that the simple breakfast was under control. He insisted on cooking the toast and eggs once she had begun them, so she pulled up a stool and enjoyed her beverage while she watched him absentmindedly. Somewhere in there he had lit the fire, and the LED lights on their little tree twinkled cheerfully in their Hearth Room, as they called it. Which was very cute, since Pat and Lorna basically couldn’t pronounce the word, and it ended up being the ‘Heart Room’. Which somehow seemed even more accurate.

 

Saoirse, of course, came bounding down the stairs long before any of the other adults had stirred above. This was the first ‘big’ Christmas she’d ever had; at the estate, there hadn’t been room for a proper tree, just a little one on the kitchen counter. This was a _real_ tree, in a house with a fireplace, and there was actually, for the first time in her life, a little skiff of snow on the ground. It was wet, and it would probably be melted by noon, but still. _Snow._ She had on a pair of rainbow wool slippers Aunt Lorna had made her, and it made skating on the hardwood floors extra easy -- until she crashed into the sofa, anyway. Ow.

 

“Aunt Earlene, how much longer are you gonna have to carry that kid?” she asked, rubbing her hip. “I mean, shouldn’t you have had it by now? I thought pregnancy was nine months.” She couldn’t help but cast a glance at the stockings as she spoke. At least now they had an actual chimney for Father Christmas to come down -- when they’d lived in the estate, Da said he’d come up through the plumbing. When asked how in the hell that could possibly work, Da said he had a tiny TARDIS that could go wherever it wanted to, which sounded even more complicated.

 

“Well, I’m not exactly sure,” she smiled at Saoirse, offering her a mug of the eggnog. “I became pregnant on March 30, so, I’m just short of nine months. I carried Ithiliel and Eleniel ten months. But they may have been early, on account of being twins. Ellith are pregnant for a year, you see, and my children are half-elven. Peredhel. So...we still aren’t quite sure, but a good guess is that I have another two months to go.”  

 

Saoirse wrinkled her nose. “A _year_ ? And you wanted to do that more than once? Aunt Lorna won’t talk about hers because she says she doesn’t want to prejudice me against it, whatever the hell that means. God, a _year_ …” A slightly crafty expression crossed her face. “You know, Aunt Lorna says Uncle Thranduil thinks Irish is a barbarian language, but ‘dh’ is pronounced the same in Sindarin as it is in Irish. Not that Da or Aunt Lorna can say it right in either.”

 

Earlene laughed. “Well fortunately that is about all the two languages have in common, Valar be praised. And to clarify, your Aunt doesn’t like to talk about it because pregnancy was very difficult for her. She had twins and is a very small person...twins are not easy for anyone but they were terribly miserable for her. I am fortunate to have a body somewhat better made to cope with children. Twins were hard for me too, but this pregnancy really has not been. Compared to last time, there has been very little struggle, and I certainly like the end result.” She smoothed her hand over her belly, smiling happily. Thanadir, who listened, could not help the soft smile that spread over his own face.

 

Saoirse clambered up onto the back of the couch. It was still habit to sit there, just to be easier to actually look people in the eye, though she had actually grown a couple inches. That just meant she was closer to the height of an average eight-year-old, though, so she was still pretty short. “Is there any way to get pregnant without having to have sex? Because it sounds really gross. Ever since I heard how it works it just sounds...gross. I mean, I only ever saw the langer’v the kid who pissed behind the school, but it was really ugly. I want a kid someday when I’m grown up, but maybe I’ll have to steal one.”

 

Poor Thanadir looked completely startled at this unexpected turn of the conversation, but, the child’s questions were welcome and legitimate. Earlene did not acknowledge his expression, since ‘completely startled’ on Thanadir’s face meant ‘same as usual’ to the average observer. “Yes, there are ways. It still requires genetic material from a male; there is no way around that. Some couples rely on other methods because of fertility problems; they need a doctor to help them become pregnant. Some women love only other women, and do not want intercourse with a man. But you may find that when you have reached physical maturity, that you feel differently. I had no interest in that, when I was your age; that is how it is supposed to be. Later on, your body will make hormones that cause those feelings of desire. Or not; some people never do wish for sex. There is nothing wrong with either way; people can be very different.”

 

Saoirse gave this due consideration. She couldn’t imagine ever wanting to do _that_ , so it was good to know she wouldn’t have to if she wanted a baby. She’d still need a guy to donate some...stuff...but as long as she didn't have to touch him, that wasn’t so bad. “So when I’m like thirty, then I’ll have a kid,” she decided. Thirty was good and old, or old-ish. Da had been thirty-eight when she was born. “Even if I don’t want to do anything icky by then.” That was decided, then. Good.

 

Lorna, swathed in her Duncan tartan robe, made her sleepy way into the room, followed by a clowder of kittens. One of them was hanging onto the hem, being dragged across the floor like a dust mop. “Is that eggnog?” she asked.

 

“It sure is,” Earlene answered. “But you want _that_ pot, over there,” she grinned. Having dumped an entire fifth of high quality brandy into it, it ought to be decent.

 

Lorna grinned. “Excellent,” she said. “It really is a happy Christmas.” She ladled herself a healthy cupful, savoring it. Just for once, it would be okay to have a morning drink. It wasn’t alcoholism if you did it at Christmas.

 

“Aunt Lorna, Aunt Earlene says someday I can have a baby without having to touch a langer,” Saoirse said, happy to show off her new knowledge.

 

It was not exactly what Lorna needed to hear so early in the morning. She choked on her eggnog, inhaling what felt like half of it, while the other half seemed to come out through her nose.

 

“Should I not’ve said that?” Saoirse asked, staring at her poor aunt. What would Uncle Ratiri do? Oh, right. Hopping off the sofa, she crossed the room and gave Aunt Lorna a few hearty whacks on her back.

 

Grateful for her extremely phlegmatic frame of mind this morning, Earlene decided that damage control was in order. “Saoirse, your questions are very welcome. But you need to realize, sex is not a subject usually talked about in casual conversation unless everyone involved is sure they want to discuss that. And, we need to be courteous. Someone in this room has a penis, and we would not want to make them feel bad about themselves just as we would not want to hear anyone saying that they found parts of women’s bodies unattractive. I know you didn’t understand that, it’s okay, but we want to consider other’s feelings that are nearby when we ask those questions.”

 

“...Oh,” Saoirse said. “Okay. Sorry, Uncle Thanadir, I won’t talk about ugly langers anymore.” Fortunately, she did not mention that it was kind of easy to forget Uncle Thanadir was actually a guy. That would just be too much. “Except, I kind’v think Aunt Lorna’s dying here.”

 

Thranduil swept into the room, and headed straight for Lorna. “Happy Christmas, everyone. Another uneventful morning?” he smile as he laid his hand on her back, helping clear her air passages. When she was better, he ruffled her hair before going to greet his wife properly with a chaste kiss and an embrace. Much to everyone’s amusement, Thanadir got the same. The seneschal smiled, then went for the eggnog with brandy. It was all Earlene could do not to dissolve into laughter.

 

“Sure, let’s say that’s a thing that’s happened,” Lorna said, wiping her mouth. The front of her dressing-gown was now a disaster; she had to go change her clothes before she got eggnog all over the floor. “Be right back.”

 

She passed Ratiri and Pat on her way out, and shook her head. “That kid’v yours, Pat. She’s a joy and a nightmare all at once. I don’t know how you dare eat food around her, with some’v the stuff she says.”

 

“Do I want to know?” he asked.

 

“Probably not, but I’m sure you’ll find out. There’s the fun kind’v eggnog, and you might want it.”

 

Ratiri, swathed in a fuzzy black dressing-gown, rolled his eyes, and Pat reflected that maybe he wasn’t quite as straight as he thought. His sister had bagged herself a good one, that was for sure. _Somehow_ she’d bagged herself a good one; Pat loved her dearly, but she was kind of a handful, and that she’d found someone who could not just deal with it, but loved her for it...he was glad. If only he’d been smart enough not to utterly fuck up even one of his own relationships.

 

“What’s in the eggnog I don’t get?” Saoirse asked.

 

“Poison,” Ratiri said immediately. “All adults drink it in small doses, so that we’re immune.”

 

She eyed him. To Pat’s surprise, he had a fairly wicked sense of humor, and seemed to enjoy tying Saoirse’s brain in knots with things like that. “Are you shitting me?” she asked, and immediately winced. “Sorry. But are you?”

 

Earlene crossed her arms and glared at Ratiri.

 

“You’ll find out when you’re an adult,” Ratiri said. “Meanwhile, enjoy your eggnog.”

 

“Ratiri Duncan, I’ll not have scientific falsehoods said about my eggnog,” Earlene huffed, her expression unchanged. “It isn’t the bloody Draught of Living Death.”

 

Ratiri burst ought laughing. “Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t help it. Saoirse, from the taste of this, the ingredient you aren’t allowed to have is simply alcohol.”

 

“Can I try some?”

 

“You won’t like it,” Pat said, “but here, tiny sip. _Tiny_ sip.”

 

Tiny was her sip, and she wrinkled her nose. “Ew. You keep it. That tastes like smashed --” this time she actually managed to catch herself before she finished the sentence. She’d been going to say that it tasted like smashed ass, and she was kind of proud of herself for at least keeping the swearword out of it.

 

“That was very good,” Thranduil praised. “I know it is not easy.”

 

“Breakfast is ready to eat,” announced Thanadir.

 

“That means, top off your eggnogs,” added Earlene. Right on cue, Lothiriel and Ortherion were bringing down the children, who squealed with delight as they ran to Thanadir, Earlene and Thranduil. Though the children of course knew who their Adar was, a few times Thanadir had been bestowed the same title. Earlene teased Thranduil privately that there was Adar One and Adar Two. It earned her a glare, but they both knew it was true. Sippy cups were quickly filled with eggnog.

 

“One, two, three, everybody,” Earlene said, pointing behind her daughter’s back at Allanah.

 

“Happy Birthday, Allanah!” chorused the room. The sweet little girl giggled and then turned her face against Thranduil, suddenly shy.

 

Lorna made it back down just in time to echo the sentiment, having swapped her eggnog-splashed robe for a Black Sabbath T-shirt that was practically a dress on her, accompanied by Maerwen -- the elleth held Shane, while she had Chandra. Sharley, in a dressing-gown of black and blue check (about the same shade as her hair) followed. _She_ looked like she’d been awake for ages, and Lorna wondered just how often the poor woman actually slept.

 

Breakfast was pronounced delicious and Earlene squeezed Thranduil’s hand in gratitude, that he had more or less ordered her to reel it in. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the food just the same, and besides...next year she very much intended to not be pregnant on Christmas Day.

 

Presents followed, simple yet appreciated. Just about everyone purchased art supplies for Saoirse, unsurprisingly. Earlene received useful items for the kitchen or the baby, while Thranduil had a strange assortment of oddments. The humorous winner of all his gifts was a Star Trek t shirt that this time said, “Get Out of My Chair.” Thanadir received everything from sheet music to quilting squares, and as a gag gift someone got Lorna an incredibly realistic statue of a cat. The children received books and suitable toys; the twins were given yo-yos and were mesmerized...they were the kind that had LED lights that worked when used. Their elven helpers all received thoughtful gifts to help them learn English or stay warmer. Earlene had said nothing, but secret presents were in the rooms for them in addition to the little gifts received publicly; she had ordered woolen wraps from Inismor for them; something even elves could appreciate in the cold of winter.

 

Sharley had brought books about the Pacific Northwest, and a photo album. She’d made scarves for everyone out of soft cashmere in various colors, and had given Eleniel and Ithiliel their own sets of marbles, so that everything was fair. Allanah, however, got something slightly different.

 

“This is a bit big for you yet, kiddo,” Sharley said, unwrapping a small patchwork coat of various rainbow fabrics, “but that just means it’ll still fit you next winter, and since this is Ireland, you might need it any time.” She managed to get the little girl to hold still long enough to get the coat on; the sleeves came down past her hands, the hem hit her knees, and she was all but lost in the hood, but it suited her hair nicely. It brought one of Sharley’s fleeting smiles, and she pulled out her cell phone to take a picture.

 

Earlene’s face wanted to fall in sadness, but she refused to let it. Two guesses where the coat had come from, and one didn’t count. She asked her husband the silent question, and received a barely perceptible nod in return. _Thank you for dissembling, meluieg. I know it is hard for you, but it means the world to her._

 

_Oddly enough, I understand. I’d want to do the same in her place. It is just so...sad._

 

Without warning he turned to kiss her, and not quite chastely. Nor did he linger awkwardly long, though. _No sadness. Not today._

 

Nodding her own agreement, she thanked Sharley. They were basically done with the gifts, which gave Earlene a convenient excuse to leave the room for a lavatory break. The children were already occupied with all their new playthings; Lothiriel and Ortherion had hogged a quiet corner and were holding hands while speaking quietly to each other. In short, everyone was dispersing to do what they wished to.

 

 _Thranduil, would you mind coming to the Quiet Room with me? I have an idea, but it’s not one I want to bandy about in front of God and everyone,_ Lorna said.

 

His answer came in the form of walking to the requested area. A few steps down, even on a winter morning the room glowed with the many colors of its elaborate window. He wondered, a little, why he did not spend more time in here; it was quite beautiful if a little colder. But even that was no matter; throw blankets were in abundance for just that reason. He took a seat, and indulged himself in placing a blanket over his lap, smiling at his friend merrily.

 

Lorna grabbed a blanket of her own. “So, I had a thought, the other day,” she said, curling up in a ball. “I don’t want to have the same bloody talk I had with Pat four hundred fucking times. I’d never get over the headache. The best thing we can do to get the Irish over being...Irish...about the whole monarchy thing is let them get to know you, a few at a time. The party was grand, don’t get me wrong, but they need to spend some closer time with you, and just see that you’re...you. That when they think’v the word king, you’re not what comes to mind. And that sounded better in my head, but you know what I mean.”

 

Thranduil sighed. “What I would like, someday, is that when they think the word ‘King’ that I _do_ come to mind. I am paying, as are all of my people, for what others did in your history. I have bent as far as I know how, without crossing lines of obligation that I am not free to cross even if I wished to. I am willing to try whatever you wish, if it might help. I am sorry, a little, that I did not stay to try to help with Pat but I think it was for the best. Though Earlene and Thanadir are not supposed to used those titles outside the Halls...I am not going to berate them for one heartfelt mistake of this nature. We have done rather a lot to hide our realities, that you find unpleasant. I wonder at times if this was not a mistake, but...I do not know how else to show we are trying.”

 

“The rest’v them need to get used to the idea that they might hear shite like that,” Lorna said. “It’s not fair to you lot, having to tiptoe like that. I think we can work around that, even if it takes a while, but we’ve got to knock down that ingrained perception’v kings first. And I think that’s going to take doing what I did: getting to know you as a person, Kingy Thingy aside at first. They won’t just take my word for it. They can’t. It’s not in their nature, but I figure if we maybe, a few at a time, slowly have them around for some small-group time, that’d help. You’ve already got Mairead and Big Jamie, but they don't actually _know_ you that well. Nobody does, and I want them to.” She snorted. “And as much as I wish I didn’t have to say this, we ought to have Siobhan over sometime. It’s the people that own businesses in Baile that’ve got the most influence, which means Mairead, Big Jamie, Molly, and her. Don’t worry, I already disabused her’v the idea’v you and Earlene having threesomes with Thanadir.”

 

“Oh Eru….really? No. Do not answer that. I genuinely do not wish to know.” He massaged his forehead. “Yes. Fine. Anything that might help. What are you asking me to do, invite them here, go to Baile…?”

 

Lorna cackled. “No, you don’t. _I_ didn’t want to. And I’d say have them here. We can bring them out for, I don’t know, a barbecue or something. Let them see how we live. If they’re ever going to reconcile you as a king, they need to see you as a person first. You’re a good egg, Thranduil, and they’ll see that. They won’t have much choice.” She grinned. “And I’m sure you can stomach Siobhan for one day. She has a fairly large amount’v influence over the rumor-mill in Baile, though I’m fucked if I know _why_.”

 

“I can manage,” he said, with a swipe of his hand. “To be honest, I think my costume on Halloween was some sort of internal sign that I’ve given up fighting it. It is awkward, for me, but...as you humans say, ‘get over it.’ I’ve gotten over it,” he intoned dryly. “But while I am willing to begin right away, I have to have some regard for Earlene. Cooking will be harder for her, from here until the baby comes. Hopefully they do not mind simpler fare.”

 

“You do realize Ratiri can cook, right? Like, proper food, and not what I do? Trust me, he’s got her covered.” Lorna laughed again. “You know, for all being friends with me is terrible for your ego, aren’t you glad I’m terrible for your ego? I’ve had no end’v people -- including my _bloody brother_ \-- ask how I can just be friends with you, without thinking anything pervy ever. Apparently I am more’v a rarity than I thought, especially since I’m pretty sure I’ve caught _Ratiri_ checking you out.”

 

He shook his head and laughed. “There is a fine line between art appreciation and active attempts at seduction. Most truly does not bother me until it reaches the level of...the lady at the maternity store. That sort of thing. Even Siobhan, now that she understands I hear her...it is not as it used to be. Mostly, I felt vindicated when you could not tell my posterior from that of your husband. It was all my ego needed, “ he smirked. “And if Ratiri would be willing to help do such a thing it would keep Earlene...she still wants to cook, I am just being overprotective. You know how she gets. First it is a meal, and then next…”

 

“The meal’s got seven courses. Don’t worry, we can gang up on her; all Ratiri’s got to do is take over and say he’s cooking Indian food and he’ll overrule her by dint’v experience,” Lorna said, and grimaced. She was semi-horrified to feel her face heat, but that really had been one of the most utterly mortifying moments of her life. “And did you have to bloody remind me? Ratiri teased me about that for _months_ . It wasn’t just teasing, either. There were... _questions_.”

 

She actually shuddered a little. Ratiri had had far, far too much fun winding her up over that, until she threatened to never grab his arse ever again. At least that shut him up, because for all he might complain about it, he liked it, and they both knew it. (It probably helped that she’d finally told him to go grab Thranduil’s arse himself, if he was that curious.)  “And look at it this way: at least none’v the ladies at the maternity store actually tried to stick their hand down your trousers. That might’ve been one’v the worst pickup lines I’ve ever heard, but it wasn’t _that_. Poor Ratiri -- I’m glad I kicked that slag on our honeymoon.”

 

“That might have gone...very badly,” he said softly, shaking his head. “While I have no wish to harm anyone, I am not past a forceful expression of physicality, should such a thing ever occur. I would genuinely hope it does not ever come to that. Alright then. Make your invitations. As soon as you may, if that is acceptable. Then we will see what transpires.”

 

Lorna gave him a crooked smile. “Ah, but that’s why you have me. I know it’s a bloody double-standard, but it’d look bad if you defended yourself -- I, on the other hand, could’ve kicked her in the snatch and nobody’d blink twice. If, God forbid, it ever should somehow come to that, you just let me deal with it. But I doubt it’ll ever prove a problem. This is Ireland, not America.” She shook her head. “And I can’t help it, I love the total confusion that comes with tell people you’re my brother.”

 

“Eru,” he whispered, shaking his head. But he smiled.

 

Allanah’s little party, such as it was, was incorporated into their midday meal. To keep it simple, they had sandwiches and a simple salad of roasted seasoned broccoli and cauliflower with Berbere seasoning. Even Lorna had to raise an eyebrow approvingly at the flavor, though she clearly struggled to admit it. The girl was presented with a cupcake with two candles in it, and blew them out on her own. Ithiliel nudged her. “What’d you wish for, Alla?”

 

She grew quiet, because the adults at the table had taken notice of the question and were smiling at her in curiosity. “Go on, sweetheart, you can answer your sister,” Earlene encouraged quietly.

 

“I want it be El and Ithil’s birfday,” she said very seriously. “Den dey gets presents too.”

 

Earlene looked at her daughter, stunned. _Is that even normal? For a child her age to be that unselfish? I thought they were supposed to be holy terrors and not want to do anything nice at this age?_ She smiled at kissed her, recovering quickly and serving the cupcakes to the others before any further distraction could happen. And to take away from the general bafflement of the human adults at the table.

 

_Do not worry, meluieg. I tell her many things that no one else hears. It is helping to shape her._

 

Somehow she wanted to blink back tears. Gifts were given, thankfully ones she could share with the others. Large sized LEGOs, Lincoln Logs, and  toy train set. After lunch, Ortherion and Lothiriel were thoroughly enjoying the guilty pleasures of playing with the children’s toys themselves. The sight of Allanah earnestly instructing the ellon as to how the train should properly move on the tracks was…priceless. Earlene snapped a few pictures silently on her mobile before telling Lorna to go look at it.

 

Their dinner was delicious; two geese with trimmings. Earlene’s contribution was a traditional steamed Christmas pudding, complete with flaming alcohol sauce ladled on half of the dessert. Adults and children alike entertained themselves with quiet pursuits in the Heart Room, and Earlene and Ratiri smiled at each other across the room to see that Lorna and Thranduil were team playing computer chess against Thanadir. Oh well, it was Christmas. Earlene smiled and continued softly reading a history of Beleriand aloud that she was struggling through, to keep up her Tengwar, while Thanadir whispered corrections in her ear from time to time. That he was still winning in spite of his divided attention was...Thanadir.

 

*****

 

The weather had grown colder and colder, as New Year’s Day came and went. A good week into January, the weather was seemingly unable to make up its mind about anything except keeping the thermometer hovering at a slew of truly unacceptable numbers. Earlene sighed and stared out the window of their bedroom, rubbing at her abdomen. She had been banned from her own kitchen, and at the moment felt like being alone. There were books she had been given, and an attempt was made to read near the French doors that admitted plenty of light. Thanadir played his flute in his room, which of course came through the walls and gave her great happiness. From time to time she would glance up, in expectation of something happening, though she could not say what. And then she saw it, unsure that she actually _had_ seen it. But then came another, and another. _Snowflakes._ For a time she watched, mesmerized. There had not been snow for her since leaving New York City, and in some bizarre manner it had been missed.

 

Mesmerized, the fall became heavier and heavier, and therefore irresistible. Covering herself more warmly, she walked out onto their deck, heading around to the southeast corner of their home which offered an relatively unimpeded view of the meadow-like area closest to her original cottage. There were few things she loved more than the silence of falling snow. Some uppity colleague of hers had once sermonized for fifteen minutes on the physics of why snow dampened the transmission of sound through the air, and to this day she rolled her eyes at the memory and shook her head. The man had been a grade A twat, even if he was a competent enough attorney when he stuck to matters of law. Her eyes closed, and she stood, there, soaking up the moment, yet was not terribly surprised when an arm and a cloak came around her shoulders to shield her from the snow that was already an inch deep on her hat and shoulders.

 

“I did not mean to disturb you, meldir. I was enjoying your music very much,” she murmured, as she wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned into his warmth. It was very cold, which was why the snow was more than a little surprising somehow. He continued to try to brush snow off her hat (a futile endeavor, ultimately) which caused her to laugh at him. “It is well, Thanadir. If a person stands in the snow, they can expect this to happen.”

 

He considered this. “I never liked snow.”

 

“Why?” He did not often offer personal details, and as a general rule she tried not to pry.

 

“Because it reminds me of being young. And poor. And cold and hungry,” he admitted. “Winters in Eryn Galen were difficult. Game was scarce, and wild food hard to find.”

 

“Oropher changed many things for your people, didn’t he?” she mused.

 

He nodded. “It took some years, but the King organized to keep families like mine from...happening. Means were created to work for grain by which to have bread. He taught us to store dry wood during the summer times, to have it for winter. It was not that my people were incapable, Earlene. They were not taught to do things...properly. They lacked education. Many could not read or write. There was no central organization.”

 

She nodded appreciatively. “I am sorry, that you experienced those things. Even if it was longer ago than I am able to imagine. I did not have those hardships and for me, the memories are of visiting my gran’s farm in winters. I would do just as I am doing now. Stand outside, and listen to how silent the woods were. It is like no other time, to have such a quiet.”

 

Many minutes went by, while the seneschal thought about this. “I never considered that. But it is true; that is what happens. Maybe I should learn to think about it differently.”

 

Earlene smiled. For many minutes more they stood there, until her feet could not stand being so cold. He insisted they return, to which she assented. She watched the inches pile up as she read, and listened to the lovely golden flute.

 

From somewhere upstairs, there came a happy shriek of, _“HOLY SHIT THERE’S SNOW!_ ” followed by the thunder of tiny feet across the floor. Saoirse used the fire-pole to make it down to the ground floor. “UncleRatirilookthere’ssnow!” she said, the words all running together as she zoomed for the front door.

 

“There’s snow, and I believe I’ve gone partially deaf,” he said dryly, not daring to pause.

 

“Kid’s lungs work, at least,” Lorna said, following her niece. It had been a few years since she’d seen any snow, and she could already tell this was probably going be pretty impressive, if it actually kept it up: the flakes were so thick she could scarcely see the trees across the yard. “Put some shoes and a coat on, for Christ’s sake, will you?”

 

Saoirse, her hair already frosted white, grinning as she scrambled back up the steps. Lorna followed, intent on putting on something warmer and helping Maerwen bundle the twins up. This first sight of snow ought to make for some good pictures. Her Doc Martens and the wool coat Gran had made her, the scarf that had been Sharley’s gift wrapped around her neck, with wool gloves to be put on once they were outside.

 

Maerwen, holding Chandra, stuck her head out of the nursery door. “Snow?” she asked, and Lorna realized she’d probably never heard the English word. Pointing out the window, she said, “Snow. That.”

 

Maerwen’s face lit up with a joy that was downright adorable. “Loss!” (Snow!) and she helped Lorna get the twins dressed in turdy trousers and shoes, with the little coats Thanadir had made, and stocking caps with a pompom on the top. Equally tiny mittens, once Saoirse’s, went on their hands, while Maerwen fetched her cloak.

 

“And poor Ratiri’s stuck inside,” Lorna sighed. Hopefully he’d be able to get out sooner or later; she had no idea what he was cooking, but it seemed to be pretty elaborate, and she knew it was designed to keep Earlene out of the kitchen as long as possible. Maybe the snow would help with that, too.

 

Pat, in his warmest coat (which couldn’t be _that_ warm, not like Lorna’s, which was a fact that would have to be remedied) joined them on the ground floor. At least he had gloves, or she would have had to force some of Ratiri’s on him. Unfortunately, Pat couldn’t exactly borrow a coat from anyone else, given that he was almost a foot shorter than Thanadir, who was the shortest out of all the elves in the house -- not that that was saying a whole lot, given they were all giants.

 

“Where’s Saoirse?” she asked.

 

“Out there,” he said. “Where else would she be?”

 

Lorna looked out the window to see Saoirse trying to catch a snowflake on her tongue. Given how many were landing on her face, she had to be managing at least a few. “Oh, good Jesus.”

 

“Kid’s got her priorities straight. I need to find Allanah.” Sharley, swathed in a rather nice black wool trench coat, passed by on her way up the stairs.

 

Earlene heard the stirrings in the outer rooms and had just managed to get completely warm again. She also head her husband’s voice among them, which meant he had returned from the Halls. Setting down her book at the same time the flute music stopped, it was time to see what the fuss was about. Poking her head out their bedroom door, she realized that they were all now just noticing what she had already stood in for awhile. Almost she begged off, except Thranduil spotted her and grinned. _Oh no you don’t. We are going to enjoy being outside a little with the children._

Earlene bit her lip. _Cornered like a rat,_ she thought. He was playing the Good Parent card. Inclining her head in defeat, she went to find her elven cloak. This time she wasn’t messing around with regular wool...in a moment, she was in the foyer with him, waiting as the children were brought down the stairs.

 

Thranduil was offering Pat an elven cloak as well; a suspiciously small one. Perhaps it had belonged to an older elfling sometime long ago? Who cared, it would be warmer than what he had on.

 

“Thank you,” Pat said, wrapping it over his coat. “It didn’t snow much when we were kids -- Dublin doesn’t get a whole lot -- but when it did, all’v us’d wrap up in our blankets, like cloaks, and go run around. One time we tied our younger brother up into a burrito and left him like that for a while.” Poor Mick, but he’d been something of a pest when he was about five. Granted, Da had belted all three of them for it, but still. It had been damn funny while it lasted.

 

Sharley had got Allanah into her little coat, hood perched at the crown of her head and tiny gloves on her hands, and led the girl out into the snow. Allanah goggled at it with wide blue eyes, staring like it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen.

 

“ _Cold!_ ” she yelped, when a flake landed on the tip of her nose.

 

“It’s snow,” Sharley said. “And once there’s enough of it, you and I are going to build a snowman, my girl.”

 

“Snowman?” Allanah’s tone was distinctly dubious.

 

Sharley grinned at her, and for once the expression was not fleeting. “Just you wait.” She still recalled, quite vividly, Marty’s first experience of snow -- it was very much like Allanah’s.

 

Earlene came out with the ellyn, who carried the twins. She had tried to acquire a child for her arms, but been soundly vetoed. Which irritated her to no end (she was hardly fainting from weakness and could goddamn well carry one of her daughters) but she did not wish to make a scene. The next best thing she could do was wrap her arm around her husband’s waist, and enjoy the look on Eleniel’s face as she frowned at the whitened world and tried to understand what had happened. _Loss_ (snow), Thanadir explained to Ithiliel, picking up some of the debatable substance for her to examine. He demonstrated eating some, and smiled at the elfling’s stunned reaction. (Maybe she was not technically an elfling, but he was not going to run around calling her ‘peredhel’ every moment. They were his King’s children, and that made them elven enough.)

 

Lorna, holding Chandra, eyed him. “Okay, wait,” she said. “Lost means ‘empty’ in Sindarin, but _loss_ means ‘snow’? And here Thranduil calls _Irish_ a barbarian language.”

Her tone was so withering that Pat burst out laughing, following his daughter out into the snow.

 

“It is not my fault that some random human stole two perfectly good words from our language and mistranslated them,” Thranduil defended archly. “After all, our tongue is thousands of years older than your Irish. And I can call it a barbarian language, because ‘barbarian’ means ‘foreign’ and it is foreign to we elves.” He felt extremely smug about his reply, and did what he did best. He smirked.

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “By that logic, Sindarin’s also a barbarian language,” she pointed out. “It’s foreign to us humans.” Two could play the smirking came, and Ratiri wasn't here to stop her.

 

His eyes narrowed, annoyed. Earlene simply looked off at a tree branch that she found suddenly fascinating (she had seen that one coming from a mile away). “Oh, not you, too,” he snapped at his wife.

 

“I didn’t say anything!” Earlene protested with an expression of pure innocence while Lorna howled. “Besides, you need to set a better example for our daughter, you are worrying her!” And it was true, Eleniel was looking at her Adar with wide eyes and a finger in her mouth.

 

His proud head drooped. “Fine. They are _all_ barbarian languages,” he said, before kissing his daughter on the cheek.

 

Shane, from the security of Maerwen’s arms, looked at Thranduil, and at Eleniel. “Barbarian,” he said solemnly.

 

That just set Lorna off all over again, because thank _God_ one of her kids had had a first word she could actually tell people about. “Good lad,” she said, kissing his forehead. “Thank you for that.”

 

Chandra looked at her brother, and at her mother. Not to be outdone, she too managed, “Barbarian” except she just _had_ to go and tag “fuck” on at the end of it.

 

“Oh, _Jesus_...well, Shane, you tried. Can’t say you didn’t try.”

 

Thranduil could still be seen muttering a little. Earlene tried her best to give him something else to think on, so she kissed him. It appeared normal enough, but no one else saw her tongue dart into his mouth. His eyebrows raised and his expression shifted to one of hunger as she pecked him a second time on the chin. _Mischief managed._

 

The snow was barely sticking, but at the rate it was coming down, it wouldn’t be long before there would be snowballs. Allanah shrieked with laughter as Sharley lifted the girl over her head, surprisingly strong for such a bony person -- but then, Lorna reflected, if she worked trail crew, she had to be.

 

Earlene rubbed at her abdominal twinges, which came and went all the time, but felt content. Her eyes alighted on Sharley and Allanah. And she wondered how hard it would be on the little girl when Sharley left yet again. A deep sigh escaped her. It wasn’t like she had a choice. To keep her daughter from the woman would be abject cruelty; it would just have to be managed when the time came.

 

Saoirse eyed Thranduil, and the snow-dusted trees, so heavily obscured. “Uncle Thranduil, stay there,” she said, and zoomed into the house, boots thundering as she ran up the stairs. When she came back, she was bearing a white sheet. “Okay, can you wrap this like a cloak, please, and go stand in the snow? In front of that rock?” Said rock was already coated in white.

 

Extremely baffled, Thranduil decided that rewarding the use of the word ‘please’ was more important than interrogating the child, and did as she asked. Honestly it did not matter that he heard her thoughts; what she was thinking was still incomprehensible. They moved so fast, and were still incredibly difficult to understand. His impression was that this was something art related. Or so he hoped.

 

Saoirse blinked, wide-eyed. “Aunt Lorna, you see it too, right?” she asked.

 

Lorna choked a little. That was...a bit terrifying, and she managed to whip out her mobile and take a picture. “Thranduil...if it wasn’t for your eyebrows, you’d blend in so perfectly it’s a bit scary.” Hair, skin, and snow were all in shades of white little different from one another, his eyes at the moment looking far paler than blue, and it just made the eyebrows all the more obvious. (She never had showed him the picture she’d Photoshopped. She needed to do that, sooner or later.)

 

“And I can totally paint it,” Saoirse added. “It’ll be cool. And probably kind’v creepy. But _cool_ creepy.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Are you two done yet?” he asked with strained politeness.

 

“Yes,” Saoirse said, collecting the sheet. “Thank you.”

 

“Barbarian,” Shane intoned.

 

“Fuck,” Chandra said stubbornly, glowering at him.

 

Lorna tried so, so hard not to laugh, and failed utterly. She set her daughter down, helping her to walk through the snow, which was by now sticking quite beautifully. Chandra squealed with delight, her red hair all the brighter against the white.

 

The King unfurled the sheet, wondering what other indignities he might be subject to today. He saw Earlene watching him. Her thoughts were of amusement, but mostly of love and admiration at his forbearance. That made him feel a little better, as he folded the fabric with some semblance of grace. He’d had to put down Eleniel to do it, and Earlene now had the chance to encourage her daughter to run to her. And run at her she did, colliding into her crotch, squealing with happiness, while Earlene had the wind knocked half out of her as she stumbled backwards, somehow managing to fall mostly on her knees and hands. _How can she be this strong?_ She did her best to dissemble; it was not Eleniel’s fault, but Thanadir had seen and ran to her, worry in his face.

 

“I am fine,” she lied. She could have three broken ribs, but there was no way her daughter was going to be made to feel bad. It had been an accident. Already she was standing there looking fearful and confused. “Come here, Eleniel. Nana is fine. You’ve become such a big strong girl! I am proud of you,” she said, opening her arms while she tried to get her legs under her and was failing. Thranduil came for his daughter at once, distracting her, while Thanadir handed him his other twin as well, so he could raise Earlene up. “Nana needs the lavatory,” she lied again. “Be good to your Adar!” Earlene blew them kisses as Thanadir led her away.

 

“Where were you struck, Earlene?” he asked softly. “I do not think you were being truthful.”

 

“I was not,” she admitted. “She ran right into the baby, and it hurts, meldir.” It always amazed her, how fast the Elven Telegraph worked. Or maybe she should call it the Elven Wireless, that was perhaps more accurate? In seconds, Lothiriel and Ortherion were emerging from the home to go to the children, while Thranduil ran to meet them. By the time they came inside, Earlene found herself carried quickly to the bedroom. The rate at which they were removing her clothing to see her belly might have been funny if it did not hurt so much. There were cramping sensations, and they were frightening her. “Tell me he is okay,” she pleaded, beginning to lose her composure.

 

“All will be well, meluieg, I promise. Look at Thanadir. Nothing else.”

 

Probably only her supreme faith in him kept her from losing her shite, as Lorna would put it, but this was not a good feeling. She felt the warmth of his healing, which in a sense frightened her more; that meant that there was something that needed it.

 

“Only Thanadir,” he reminded, even as she saw his light.

 

It was all  better soon, but she was ordered to stay and rest with the seneschal. “What was wrong?” she asked meekly.

 

“He did not tell me,” Thanadir answered, as he helped return her clothing to how it was meant to be before taking her hand. “But there was a very bad bruise.”

 

“I did not know she would be that strong,” Earlene fretted. “I expect that from a much older child.”

 

He sighed. “We will talk to her. Kindly. It was no one’s fault, but there are things perhaps we have failed to explain to you. She is quite normal. Normal, and not understanding that you have a baby inside of you. I am not certain anyone has spoken to them?”

 

“Well, of course I have,” Earlene protested. “They know their brother is coming soon.”

 

“But do they understand that the swelling of your belly is where their brother _is_?” he questioned.

 

Come to think of it, she had never mentioned that part, and they didn’t ever ask about Nana’s tummy. “Wonderful.” Her face was buried in her hands, now. “Some mother I am.”

 

“No, Earlene. I did not ask to make you feel bad. Stop it.” Thanadir knew he was taking a calculated risk, with his words. Either what he said would work, or he would cause her to cry. Fortune was with him. He coaxed her to lie on her side, rubbing her back until she dozed off. When he returned outside, Thranduil was walking apart from the others, holding both girls. Fingers were in their mouths, and from time to time he would see a little head nod. Smiling, he left to see if he could help Ratiri in the kitchen.

 

Shane and Chandra were now running around in the half-inch of snow that had accumulated, occasionally falling and not caring a bit. Sharley had taught Allanah how to make snowballs, something that drew intense fascination from the little girl. Lorna looked at her, in that little patchwork coat that had belonged to a dead girl, and hoped, oh so very much, that they could use Allanah to induce Sharley to stay. They’d already worked out between them that the woman would keep her little house in Skykomish, but stay in Ireland until Shane and Chandra were old enough to travel -- Niamh and Orla could take care of the legal garbage between them. But after that...well, if Sharley meant to go back to Washington, Lorna and her family were going, too. They’d have to tie her up in a sack to stop her.

 

Ratiri listened to the commotion outside and shook his head. Out of respect for the nasal passages of the house’s inhabitants, he’d foregone anything with curry in it; it was, he knew, a smell one had to grow up with to appreciate. The big wood-fired oven was as close to a tandoor as he was likely to get, and was big enough to actually get the job done, so the main dish was to be chicken tikka -- a not overly spicy variation. Wild rice as a side dish, and a Tamarind chutney, and the Irish and Elves could hopefully all handle it. What was going to be trickier was the damn kulfi -- he had no idea what the hell he’d thought it was a good idea, except for the fact that it was a dessert they’d probably all enjoy. There was a reason, however, his mother had only made it once, and he was remembering, all too late, why.

 

“Can I help you?” Thanadir asked, nervously noticing elements of untidiness that did not quite conform to Earlene’s standards. Yet it was not his place to say, so he kept that observation to himself...though he was glad Earlene slept.

 

Ratiri, who had been constantly running back and forth between the stove and the counter to stir the kulfi, breathed a sigh of relief. “God, yes, please,” he said. “Can you stir this? It needs to be almost constant, but I’ve only got two hands.” In the pan on the stove was sweetened, evaporated milk, on its way to caramelizing, and he was afraid to turn his back on it lest ‘caramelize’ turn to ‘scorch’.

 

“I am not Earlene, but I can follow directions,” the elf smiled, taking over the whisk immediately.

 

“In theory, it ought to be delicious,” Ratiri said, taking the rice off the stove. “My mother made it once, and it was so good, but I only now remembered that it was _only_ once -- and that there was evidently a reason. I’m trying for foods that won’t seem too strange to anyone who hasn’t actually had Indian food before.” Earlene had when she lived in America, and he’d made Lorna a few things, but Big Jamie, Mairead, all the Elves? Nope. Elven fare, in all his experience, was not remotely spicy -- not that it was bland by any means, but it didn’t hold a candle to most Indian foods. Contrary to popular belief, not _all_ of them would scald the mouths of foreigners, but most had a kick of a type few people at this dinner would be used to.

 

Thanadir smiled politely, and kept stirring at a great rate.

 

“Oh, you don’t have to go quite that fast,” Ratiri said. “It just has to keep from sticking to the bottom of the pan and burning.” Bless Earlene, she had several very large serving platters; one of them was of beautiful blue glaze, and he arranged the rice along it in a wide line. The chicken went atop that line, so that the juice and seasoning would flavor it. “I didn’t realize I missed cooking. I did it so rarely when I lived alone, but I haven’t been in front of a stove in...you know, I think it might have been since Earlene and Thranduil’s human wedding.” God, that was downright appalling.

 

“Earlene likes to cook a great deal. That does not help,” the seneschal smiled.

 

“Indeed it does not, and if she wasn’t so good at it, I’d actually complain,” Ratiri said. “Though once she’s had that baby, it will be a good reason for me to just start feeding everyone dishes from all over India. If she can’t get in the kitchen, she can just rest and spend time with her children -- and she can’t exactly argue with an Indian over Indian food.” Other specialties, yes; Indian food, not so much.

 

He peered into the pan. “All right, I think that’s just about good.”  Carefully, he took the pot to the sink, where he’d lined up fourteen kulfi jars (bought off Amazon, of course, because God forbid Dublin have such a thing). The pot filled five of them, which meant they needed another two batches of this, God help him. “I hope your elbow doesn’t get tired,” he sighed. “If we each take another pot, this stuff might just be frozen by nightfall.”

 

Thanadir was more than willing to help, and the cooking eventually was managed to the extent possible. Earlene eventually wandered out, sleepy. The kitchen met with her approval (which is to say, Thanadir had already cleaned any elements that might meet with her _dis_ approval, thinking it best not to further upset her emotions today) she was greeted with a mug of tea and a promise of a footrub _and_ a movie, which hurriedly moved Earlene as far from the kitchen as possible without arousing suspicion. She chose the new Star Trek movie with Chris Pine, even though she’d watched it not so long ago with Thranduil. There were some films, for which there was no such thing as too many viewings. Thanadir excitedly sliced an apple for them to share, and brought blankets. Earlene thought it was beyond adorable, that most days Thanadir wore on his outer clothing both the mithril insignia of Thranduil’s house, as well as the Star Trek pin Pat gave him on his aur en onnad. Never had €5 probably ever been so well spent. Soon they were cuddled together, both munching apples as a young Spock beat the shit out of the little Vulcan snot-nose that had tormented him one time too many.

 

Eventually, Shane and Chandra had to come in for a nap; Maerwen stayed with them, so that Lorna could remain outside with Sharley and Allanah. They’d concocted an actual snowman -- a very tall snowman, thanks to Thranduil’s aid -- and though there wasn’t coal for eyes, there were small stones in plenty. Rather than give it arms, Lorna had found two downed boughs of curly willow and stuck them into the thing’s head like horns -- and as an added bonus, they’d festooned the thing in multicolored Christmas lights.

 

Allanah giggled, clapping her hands in delight, and still Sharley smiled. It was a good thing, Lorna reflected, that the woman wasn’t the sort to steal children, or they might have a problem.

 

The film ended, and Thranduil returned. The children were carried upstairs for simple ‘washcloth bathing’ and for clothes fit for company. Earlene too decided that perhaps she should look a little nicer; Ratiri had gone to a lot of trouble for this meal, so she put on prettier human clothes. Honestly she was starting to prefer the dresses again; they made needing to wee in a great hurry something that could happen without disaster, but she also knew ‘elf clothes’ could make some others uncomfortable. After her change of garments, she re-bundled herself under her Aran sweater. _That_ was going _nowhere_.

 

Lorna rousted out one of her tunic-and-leggings combos, feet encased in fuzzy socks, and got the twins presentable. Saoirse ran and hid when she heard the word ‘presentable’, until Lorna gave her a flannel tunic and pronounced her Mini-Me.

 

Darkness was already falling -- along with the huge amount of snow -- when she heard two cars in the drive. Honestly, she was surprised they hadn’t begged off, but maybe the snow hadn’t been as bad in Baile when they left. It was dumping out there now, and there was no way in hell she was letting them drive home in it. They had guest rooms for a reason.

 

Throwing on her coat again, she stuffed her feet in boots and plunged out into the storm, because she just _knew_ they would have brought biscuits or something. And sure enough, Mairead held a big Tupperware box in her gloved hands, shivering as she made her way across the driveway. Her boots were nice and sturdy, but her coat wasn’t at all made for this weather, and Lorna shooe’d her into the house.

 

“Is there anything else?” she asked her brother-in-law. Kevin looked a touch nervous; unlike Mairead, he hadn’t spent a great deal of time around the elves.

 

“No, although it was absolute hell to keep her down to just the biscuits,” he said dryly.

 

“I can well imagine. Go on in -- there’s drinks already, I’m sure.” She went to Big Jamie’s Dodge Ram, and discovered the man himself was bundled up like a bear in a big coat of brown wool. He even had a cap with ear flaps, though she had no idea where the hell he would have got it, or _why_. “Shoo, both’v you. I mean it, Orla, you try any foolery with cooking and I’ll brain you with a ladle, since Ratiri’d be too nice to do it himself.”

 

“You are not helping,” Orla said, but go she did, while Lorna took the bottles of beer Big Jamie himself hadn’t managed to take. They almost fell out of her tiny hands, but whatever.

 

The warmth of the house was a blessing, and as soon as she’d kicked the front door shut, she called, “All right, you lot, company’s here! If you’re not decent yet, it’s too late now.”

 

“If only you actually meant that, Lorna,” said Thranduil, with a grin on his face. “Welcome,” he beamed, “it is good to see you all again!” Earlene too walked forward to hug everyone and give Mairead a knowing smile and eye roll when her girth was duly noted. Other introductions were made. To her great pleasure, Earlene noted Thanadir still wore his Star Trek pin.

 

“ _Hush_ , you,” Lorna said, sticking her tongue out at Thranduil while she collected coats and scarves.

 

“Jesus, it’s lovely in here,” Mairead said. “This one wouldn’t show any pictures’v the finished product. Said we had to see it for ourselves.”

 

“How far along are you?” Orla asked Earlene. “You look ready to go any day now.” Big Jamie didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. Orla and pregnant ladies...well, it was her thing, and he knew better than to comment. You’d think it _wouldn't_ be a thing, given she’d had three of her own, but he didn't pretend to understand. He just went with it.

 

“I brought beer,” he said to Thranduil. “Lorna says it’s not much more that water to you lot, proof-wise, but that it still tastes good enough.”

 

“Well, I…” Earlene stammered to Orla. “I don’t know if you know that elves carry their children for a year? I’m a little over nine months. The twins went ten months. So really it’s anyone’s guess, but for the most part I feel fine,” she smiled, trying to sound convincing though she knew no one would buy it. Thanadir smiled and asked who would like beer, or something stronger? With a little coaching from Lorna, he felt he could likely manage serving basic drinks. As in, things that could be poured from a bottle.

 

“Depends on what’ll go well with dinner,” Orla said. “And Jesus, ten months? Well, at least the end result’s worth it, which I guess is what really matters. You look at them once it’s over and realize you’d do it all again.”

 

“It’s beer you’ll be wanting,” Lorna said, sliding by on her socks. She almost crashed into Saoirse, who was doing the same thing, and Mairead tried and utterly failed to choke back a laugh.

 

“Jesus, it’s Doctor Evil and Mini-Me,” she said, leaning against her husband. Kevin just rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his mouth.

 

“How long did it take you to build this place?” Big Jamie asked, of no one in particular. He’d heard of earth houses, but never actually seen one, and the place was so huge...but then, if they had God knew how many -- two hundred? -- elves to help them, that probably made it go a lot faster.

 

“Fourteen of your months, about,” Thanadir answered. “At least, from when we started planning to when we could move in. Maybe a little more?” he said, slightly unsure of the time reckoning. “We had a great deal of help; many of the elves in the Halls and even some of the villagers came when they could. It was very...muddy,” he said, recalling more than one fiasco with a fond expression. “And I think when it was over, Earlene did not wish to hear the word ‘mosaic’ again.”

 

Lorna looked at Earlene behind his back, and gave her a wry grin. Earlene was not the only one who was pretty much done with that word for the rest of ever. “C’mon into the Heart Room,” she said. “It’s warmest in there, and there’s plenty’v space to sit. I just need to get my laptop and things out’v the way.”

 

“Who won this time, Aunt Lorna?” Saoirse asked. “Aunt Lorna and Uncle Thranduil play chess on the computer, so they’re far enough apart that he can’t read her mind and know what she’s going to do, but it mostly just means she swears a lot.”

 

“That’s because we tend to play into a stalemate,” Lorna said, and tried not to smirk at Kevin’s look of surprise; no doubt he hadn’t expected elves to play chess, computerized or otherwise.

 

“Wait,” said Earlene. “How do you do that here, inside the forest? Where he can hear you regardless?” Her eyebrow raised in query.

 

“I introduced him to Judas Priest,” Lorna said. “Well, metal in general, but I’ve got a soft spot for them. If he’s got music going loud enough, it drowns out our thoughts, so now he’s got an iPod with playlists’v all my favorites.”

 

“So _that’s_ what you were doing. She spent four bloody days hogging the laptop,” Ratiri complained, bearing a tray of drinks.

 

“Hey, I’m the only one who’d appreciate it if he blared it over actual speakers,” she pointed out.

 

Thought of the Elvenking listening to heavy metal just...did not compute. For any of the four. The glance they exchanged was downright helpless.

 

Earlene’s eyes flared, and there were not depths to how appalled she was, as she looked at her husband. _Judas Priest? And I am carrying this ellon’s child?_ She pinched the bridge of her nose. This was a serious blow. Thanadir did not fully understand, but his instinct to keep Earlene calm at all costs was on overdrive. The slightly hangdog expression on Thranduil’s face told him all he needed to know. Smoothly, he changed the subject. “Meldis, I learned a short flute piece from the music you gave me. I wondered if everyone might like to hear it? It is not long?” he asked hopefully.

 

It was complete success. Her eyes were filled with eagerness, and she certainly nodded. With a smile, the seneschal left to retrieve the instrument and returned in the blink of an eye. “Which one is it?” she asked softly, wondering how he could be serious. Because what she had thrown his way were the _Twelve Fantasies for Solo Flute_ by Telemann...notoriously difficult.

 

“Number one,” he smiled. “It was the shortest. And I have only learned the first minute or so.” Without any further thought, he began to play, and suddenly Judas Priest did not matter at all. She looked at her husband, who stepped forward to put his arm around her shoulder. Even he was astonished at what followed. When Thanadir stopped about a minute later, a pin could be heard to drop. “Was it okay?” he asked, feeling a little anxious.

 

Earlene hugged him and tried not to sob, Thranduil owed him at least a good bottle of wine, and the rest of them clapped, their minds boggled.

 

“How long did it take you to learn that, Thanadir?” Mairead asked. Lorna had mentioned what a prodigy the elf was, and that he tended to master things in what would be an impossibly short amount of time for a human.

 

“The flute was a gift for my aur en onnad. Like your birthdays,” he explained shyly. “Your 28th of October. It was very hard to find time to practice where Earlene would not hear this; I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said happily.

 

“Best surprise I’ve had all week, Thanadir,” Earlene said with complete sincerity.

 

“You’ve managed to play something that well in such a short amount’v time?” Mairead asked, her eyebrows climbing. “Lorna’s right, you are a genius. I’m not sure you understand how impressive that is to us humans. Most’v us’d have to practice for years before we could manage that.”

 

He bowed his head in appreciation of the compliment and excused himself to put the flute away. Thranduil decided that pushing the distribution of beverages would work in his favor, and repeated his seneschal’s inquiry. “What can I get for everyone?”

 

“I think we’ve just about got it,” Ratiri said, bearing a second tray of beer. “Go on, everyone, sit.”

 

Lorna whisked away her electronics and added some wood to the fire. “I hope you lot realize I’m not letting you drive home in that,” she said. “We’ve got spare rooms, and spare pajamas, and you can see how tubs work in a house like this.”

 

The lot of them looked at one another, and none seemed surprised. She had on doubt they’d all be curious about spending the night here anyway, just to see what it was like. “As long as I don’t go home to find Niamh and Kevin’ve burned the house down,” Mairead said. “It wasn’t nearly this bad when we left home.”

 

“You’ll just have to see the snowman,” Sharley said, emerging from God knew where. She’d changed into jeans and a long black sweater with a cowl collar, that somehow made her look even bonier.

 

 _That poor woman needs about eight thousand sandwiches_ , Lorna thought. “You really ought to, actually, once we’ve eaten. It has horns.”

 

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Mairead said, sipping her beer as she took a seat on the sofa.

 

“I kind’v do,” her husband muttered, sitting beside her.

 

“Is that what Allanah helped you make?” Earlene asked, trying to forget the worse aspects of her afternoon in the snow.

 

“It is,” Lorna said. “It’s a pretty magnificent thing, too. Thranduil held Allanah up so she could put the horns in.”

 

“Why in God’s name did you make a snowman with horns?” Big Jamie asked, inspecting the fireplace.

 

“We couldn’t find sticks that’d make proper arms, and horns are more fun anyway,” Lorna said. “Allanah thought so, anyway. Where is she?”

 

“Asleep,” Sharley said. “Poor kid wore herself out. She’s with her sisters right now.”

 

“This place is making me want to build a new house,” Orla said. “Would Ratiri murder me if I went to see the kitchen?”

 

“Oh, go on,” Lorna said, knowing there was no point trying to put her off. “Food’s probably about done anyway. C’mon, you lot, the snowman’s out back.”

 

Earlene wasn’t about to return outside, but followed Orla into the kitchen, of which she was very proud. But she didn’t wish to do a bunch of horn-tooting; the others did not know really which of them put the most into the design of the place. As far as she was concerned, the home was the brainchild of Thanadir, with heavy input from Orla...but she had been responsible for much of the kitchen design, and would be curious what another thought.

 

“Jesus, now I really want a new house,” Orla said. “I don’t even want to know what this cost.” She ran her hand along the counter, smooth beneath her fingertips. “We’re all’v us -- all’v us who cook -- going to need to have to do some practice on the ovens in the Halls, if the cooks’ll let us. I think everyone’s got their gran’s old World War II cookbook, but hardly anyone can cook on a fire anymore. Even I’m having trouble with it.”

 

“You won’t have to learn alone,” Earlene said. “There are skilled cooks there that will teach us. Mairead’s already had some time in that kitchen, for the parties and whatnot.” She paused. “This house hardly cost what you’d think. Much of what you see was free; either materials that were donated or the elves had in storage. What cost were things like the appliances, the on-demand hot water heaters, wiring it for high speed internet connection. What would have cost a fortune is if we’d needed to pay for labor. That, I don’t even want to consider.”

 

“Is it nice having some place that’s more human, in addition to the Halls?” Orla asked, curious. “The Halls, they’re bloody beautiful, but...well, I’ve talked to some’v the others, and it’s like...we don’t feel like we belong there. Lorna says we just need to spend more time, and that she felt a touch the same at first, until she got used to it. Though let me tell you, cleaning one’v those huge fireplaces...I thought the one at the pub was big, but I watched Lorna practically crawl into hers, when she was showing us how. Felt a bit’v an idiot the first time.”

 

“To be honest, for me it’s the electricity. Here I can cook as I am accustomed. And have use of computers. But I liked it there equally; I always felt at home because I can do without those things if I have to; I’d just rather not. And our rooms in the Halls...wonderful for Thranduil and I, but with four children? Not so good. Still, we stay there at times, but this is easier until they are older. Though,” she laughed, “this house is an odd combination of ultra modern and downright primitive. It’s meant to be energy efficient and...we’ll see how it goes. But the Halls...they don’t need any of that to function. It really is very nice, if you give it a chance. You see, the elves are learning more and more English. Many locals are working hard to learn a little of their language too. The more we all do that...I mean, how are you supposed to feel comfortable around people if you can’t talk to them?”

 

“We’ve been trying to learn Sindarin,” Orla said, “but it’s a bloody hard language. It helps a bit that we all learned Irish at school, but that was a long time ago, and a lot’v us didn’t keep on with it. The kids’re better at it.” She shook her head. “And we’ve been trying to work out how we’re going to handle it, once there’s no more electricity or internet. We don’t want it to be a giant shock to the system in twenty years, but at the same time, we’re trying to make the most’v it while it’s still here. The print shop in Kildare’s been seeing a lot’v business -- every time one’v us runs across something we’d want to save online, we print it out and stick it in a notebook. Jamie’s thinking’v ordering a big set of encyclopedia, closer to when the time comes, but dear Christ are those expensive. We’re talking thousands’v euros, but he thinks it’ll be worth it, since he wants all the kids that’re born around or after to know about the society they came from.”

 

She paused. “I know it sounds a bit terrible, but I’m glad mine got to grow up in it as it is now. We’re going to have a big job, when it comes to making sure too many things don’t get lost for future generations. There’s a lot’v shite it’d be best to leave behind, but there’s a lot of good, too. And we don’t want them to know just the history’v Ireland, or even just’v Europe. It might surprise you, but Siobhan’s a bit’v a history buff -- she’s got books’v all sorts, and novels. I know she’s a total pervert, but she’s not just that. And as much as it squicks Lorna, I think she might actually have something real going with Shane. Not that that stops the comments, mind you. She’s still Siobhan.”

 

Running her hand over the counter again, she added, “I don’t know how well Sharley’d handle this, seeing as she’s a bit...different...but they’d like to talk to her, sometime. Know more about her. It’s her word this is all hinging on, and they only really trust her because they trust you -- or specifically, because Lorna trusts you, and they trust Lorna. I don’t think she realizes just how much weight her word holds in this -- and I hope she doesn’t, because it’d scare her to death.”

 

Most of them knew poor Lorna fairly well, given how long she’d worked at the pub; sure, they thought she was half cracked sometimes, but they knew she wasn’t stupid. “She doesn’t trust easily. It took two full years for her to tell us much at all about herself, and look how far and how fast she’s let you lot in. If she trusts you, it’s because you’ve earned it, and the rest’v us know that. She’s normally such a paranoid little bastard that it’d take someone -- _someones_ \-- special to get through that as you have.”

 

Earlene’s head tilted, considering what she has been told, and she tried to choose her next words carefully. “At some point, any books anyone has worth preserving...they should make their way here. If there are titles you want...titles someone has vetted to make sure they’re worth a damn...don’t be buying those yourself. I don’t like to talk about it but, the elves are able to afford it. You should be submitting those lists, or rather Big Jamie should, to the Planning Council. Then we will find a way to acquire, print...whatever it takes, to have them. We’ve got twenty years to find books that are used or less expensive.  There is already a library in the Halls; we are going to expand it considerably.”

 

After a momentary pause, she added, “Sharley isn’t like anyone you’ll ever meet. I feel protective of her, and what she’s been through. Problem is, she isn’t like the rest of us, mentally. But that doesn’t mean for a minute that what she says isn’t true. I believe her. More importantly, Thranduil believes her. I’ll not be happy if people try to make her into something she’s not, then use that as a reason to try and discredit her. I don’t mean to sound like a mother hen but...when you’ve been through what she has…” Earlene shook her head. “No one should have to have such things happen to them.”

 

“Lorna said she’d lost her daughter,” Orla said, “and that that wasn’t even all’v it. We won’t go exposing her to any arseholes -- Lorna’d murder anyone who gave her shite, and I’m not so sure I’m even joking on that. I’m not sure you realize how...potent...her reputation is in Baile; nobody’d dare make Sharley unhappy. Not everyone there knows Lorna doesn’t go blank anymore, and I think we can use that, for now. I don't know if you ever saw her do that, but...it’s like she’s not even human. And if the gobshites’re still afraid’v her, they’ll shut up.

 

“And books...I’ll get a list. I’m sure everyone’ll have something, once we run it through Google and figure out if it’s actually worth getting. God knows we’ll probably wind up with enough even once we’ve decided it _is_ worth it,” she snorted.

 

“All right, you lot,” Ratiri called from the dining room. “Dinner’s on.”

 

The littlest children, worn out from playing, had eaten much earlier on and were already sound asleep, making Saoirse the youngest at the table. Thanadir, to Earlene’s trained eye, was apparently starving. Really, the food smelled delicious. Though, she prepared herself for it not being very spicy( as she might prefer). Not screaming spicy, but robust spicy…but their guests were Irish, which meant they were used to no spicy at all. Soon plates were filled; Earlene was the first to compliment Ratiri. “This is amazing. I wish you’d cook more often; I could eat a great deal more of this gladly.”

 

“I’d be happy to,” he said, beyond pleased. “My mother taught me all sorts of dishes. Dad did, too, but that was more meat-and-potatoes type of a thing. I tried to tone the spice down but still leave a little kick.”

 

“Yeah, best not burn the taste buds off the Irish and the elves,” Lorna laughed. “I’ve got a bit more used to it -- Ratiri cooked a lot, when we lived in the cottage -- but at first...yikes. I thought I’d die.”

 

“I’ve certainly never seen your face turn that shade of red, before or since,” he said dryly, and she glowered at him. “I just hope the kulfi froze. It’s like ice cream, but better.”

 

Saoirse eyed him. “Nothing’s better than ice cream,” she said solemnly. “Impress me.”

 

Big Jamie choked on a mouthful of chicken, trying not to laugh but unable to help wheezing. That kid...she was more entertaining than anything on TV these days.

 

“Can I have the recipe for this?” Orla asked. “Always good to put something new on the menu every now and again. Keeps the eejits on their toes.”

 

“Of course you can, though you might not have the right oven. I hope it’s not too much for the pair of you, is it?” he asked Thranduil and Thanadir. Not that either were likely to ever tell him if it was, but still.

 

“This is delicious,” they answered in concert, grinning at each other when it happened. “I like this very much,” added Thanadir. “I have never tasted anything like this before but if all your food is this good…” he trailed off, temporarily suspended in a rapture of thinking about more food.

 

Earlene laughed at her friend. _Eru, he is precious._

 

“Thanadir’s got the metabolism’v a hummingbird,” Lorna said. “If there was some way to bottle it and sell it, we’d make a fortune. He’s one’v the lucky few that can eat all he likes and never need to worry about his waistline.”

 

“I stopped worrying years ago,” Big Jamie said, patting his stomach. He didn't really have much of a gut, but neither was he precisely svelte. “Thanadir, I’m sure you’d agree that good food’s worth more than anything.”

 

The seneschal nodded happily. “I can think of only one thing better,” he smiled, not seeing the raised eyebrows and confusion that accompanied his comment. He of course was thinking of _family_ , which was not what some of the mortals had in mind. Thranduil resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

 

“Earlene’s usually the one that cooks,” Ratiri said, oblivious. “We don’t let Lorna in the kitchen unless she’s chopping vegetables or something. I still haven’t forgot what happened when she tried to make rice at the cottage.”

 

“I thought we agreed we were never going to talk about that again,” Lorna said, pointing her fork at him.

 

“Can’t be worse than the first time she tried to make pancakes,” Mairead said, having no mercy. “I didn’t think it was possible to set them on fire.”

 

“I hate you all,” Lorna groaned.

 

Earlene smiled. “Well, she happens to make very good French toast, and she’s the only one here that can repair a car. Different skills for different people,” she said calmly but firmly. It still annoyed the piss out of her when Lorna’s friends and family tried to run her down, even when it was in jest. For anyone else, it didn’t bother her, but this…. _nope_.

 

 _Tell Earlene I said thank you_ , Lorna sent Thranduil. “And’v course I did it how you taught me,” she said aloud. “I didn’t make Earlene catch it, but Thranduil and Thanadir managed it nicely. Granted, they’re elves. I’ve never so much as seen one even stumble.”

 

“No, the rest’v us make up for that,” Pat laughed. “Granted, if it wasn’t for those bloody fuzzballs, it wouldn’t be quite so dangerous. I can’t even count the number’v times I’ve tripped over a kitten.”

 

“Tail’s the biggest menace,” Lorna said. “Literally. You remember Earlene’s little ginger kitten? Now he’s twenty pounds’v fluff and muscle, but he’s cute and he knows it, so he gets away with everything short’v murder.”

 

“Cats,” Mairead said sagely, taking out her mobile. “I’m going to film a bit’v this, so everyone at home can know what dinner looked like. My younger son once decided to shave our big fluffy cat -- said she had to be too hot, since it was summer. I caught him before he was done, so the poor thing went around half-shaved until her fur grew back.”

 

Saoirse looked quite thoughtful, and Pat said, “Don’t even. Not gonna happen.” She didn’t even bother trying to hide her pout.

 

Sharley smiled. “Years and years ago, there was a woman in Washington State who would, if you brought her two garbage bags of cat hair, spin it into yarn and knit you a sweater out of it,” she said. “She must’ve had a helluva lotta time on her hands.”

 

Now it was Lorna who looked thoughtful. “Y’know, Gran _did_ teach me how to spin yarn. Now there’s something to do on a winter evening.”

 

The meal wound itself down, and Saoirse’s energy wound itself up. Later, Thranduil would jokingly blame it on Ratiri’s frozen dessert, which was delicious. At first, it was merely random dartings back and forth; something for the child to do while the adults conversed. On the periphery of her vision, Earlene thought a cat or two might have been involved, at some point. Then Lothiriel appeared, shortly after leaving the table to check on the children, whispering in Earlene’s ear. Both left; apparently Allanah had woken unhappy and asking for her Nana. In a hurry, Earlene paid no mind to the glass door she failed to close completely as she entered the kitchen.  

 

Tail, nothing if not an opportunist, darted unseen into the Dining Room to plot his next move. Unbeknownst to many of them, he had honed his skills of table stealing to a fine art, and lurked quietly on an empty bookshelf; two yellow eyes gleaming in the shadows (were anyone to have noticed).

 

A quarter hour and many kisses and hummed songs later, Allanah fell back to sleep, her little lips curled into a smile, as Earlene and the elleth grinned at beautiful Allanah, and each other. They re-entered the Dining Room to see unfolding what could have been scripted as a scene to a bad comedy movie. Everyone had risen from the table, and Thanadir was proudly explaining the features of the large eating and recreation area to their guests while Mairead filmed. They had moved away from the table, and Tail saw his moment. A generous amount of chicken tikka remained on the large platter, and twenty pounds of orange feline grace sailed through the air to land right in front of it. While Earlene watched in horror, the cat immediately snatched the largest piece and galloped off toward the tree trunks that comprised the support beams for the roof over this portion of the house and began scaling one like a lumberjack on methamphetamine.

 

Lorna’s cat Bast seemed to communicate this fabulous feline feast telepathically to her clowder of offspring, whereby they all launched at the platter in succession. Breaking from her reverie, Earlene clapped at the cats, which attracted Saoirse’s attention. Thinking she had a good idea, the child grabbed the tail of the nearest animal and pulled in an attempt to remove it. Claws sank into the polished tabletop, a yowl that would raise the dead erupted from the cat, and then it all became so much weirder.

 

“Saoirse, no!” Lorna cried, splashing her drink all over her shirt as she scrambled to her feet. “No grabbing the tails!”

 

Saoirse let go, but only so she could flail at the cats with a cloth napkin, which accomplished approximately nothing.

 

“Saoirse Donovan, you stop it or I swear I’ll broom you!” Lorna cried, completely ignoring the fact that the broom was in the kitchen.

 

 _That_ made the little girl stop, her green eyes round as coins. “I don’t wanna be broomed! _I need an adult!_ Uncle Thranduil, you’re an adult, help me!” She scurried around the table, all but launching herself at him.

 

Eye wide, Thranduil reflexively caught the child sailing at him and spun around to diminish her momentum, because what else could he do? And as Lorna was launching at both of them with a generally murderous gleam in her eye, he felt somewhat obligated to raise Saoirse out of harm’s way by the hold he had on her waist, which resulted in something that looked a great deal like a scene from the Firebird ballet, in Earlene’s opinion (In fact, maybe she ought to suggest it to Saoirse for next Halloween?--With a red headdress and theatrical makeup, she could look quite stunning).

 

Mortified, Earlene pinched the bridge of her nose before looking up to see Tail happily trotting across the bridge that spanned their upper storeys, doubtless to enjoy his prize in an undisclosed location. “Should’ve named that orange menace Dick Cheney,” she muttered darkly. “To think I saved his fluffy life.” Mostly, she glared a little at her husband. _And this is why you don’t feed pet cats at the table, my Lord._

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. “Thranduil, give me that kid,” she said. “I’ll only murder her a little.” Pat, she could tell, would be of no use whatsoever; he was laughing too hard.

 

Mairead, hardly able to believe what she was seeing, didn’t know where to point the camera: the fluffy cat, the herd on the table, or Thranduil, who looked rather startled to have acquired a Saoirse. Lorna looked about ready to slaughter everyone.

 

“Now Lorna,” he said, darting a guilty look at Earlene in response to her unspoken observation about feline behavior, “surely we should all calm down a little, first?”

 

 _Fuck this,_ thought Earlene, reaching to grab the heavy platter off the table with a jerking motion. _Those leftovers are MINE_ . Never mind that while most of the cats fled, Boo, the tortoise-shell, clung to the edge of the platter in desperation, swinging to and fro while Earlene marched it back into the kitchen. Compared to _this_ fiasco, dropping the tray of biscuits some weeks before was nothing. Thanadir, not liking the idea of Earlene carrying something so heavy, dashed after her while deftly jumping a dispersing cat or two.

 

Saoirse, held so high over her Uncle Thranduil’s head, giggled uncontrollably even though her aunt looked like she was plotting cannibalism. “You can’t get me, Aunt Lorna,” she said, though at least she didn’t actually stick her tongue out.

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “Oh, can’t I? Thranduil, hold still.” (Thranduil did _not_ hold still, not that it mattered). Darting forward, she managed to halfway scale his side like a mountain climber, reaching for her wayward niece, who now flailed in alarm.

 

“I really think we should discuss this calmly,” Thranduil said, becoming alarmed. There was one avenue left, to keep Saoirse away from her incensed aunt, and he took it. Before the child could be grabbed, he set her halfway up the fireman’s pole that allowed a quick descent from the second floor; either the child could climb, or not. The moment the girl scrambled up, Thranduil sidestepped from the pole, both arms now free to manage Lorna. It seemed like a sound plan, until one of the infernal cats (he was close to cursing the day he allowed these creatures into the forest) stepped right in front of his foot. Trying not to hurt it, he and Lorna both came crashing down. Forgetting that little could harm her, he twisted desperately so that she would fall on top of him, and not the floor.

 

Fortunately for Saoirse’s continued existence, it knocked the breath out of Lorna anyway, leaving her wheezing with the highly irrelevant thought of _I guess elves can trip after all_.

 

Mairead, by now, was laughing helplessly, even as she handed her mobile to Big Jamie and ran to help Earlene. Well, this was certainly going to disabuse Baile of the notion that Thranduil was some manner of distant, remote royalty. His royal self was a climbing frame who had to rescue his adopted niece from her rather bloodthirsty aunt, and the fact that it wound up with a crash to the floor and a herd of meowing kittens...well. It would do some good, even if Thranduil might not be pleased by it.

 

“Was that _completely necessary_ ?” Thranduil bickered at Lorna, a pale purple bruise visible on his cheek. “She is _only eight years old_.”

 

“I’ve told her and told her not to pull the cats’ tails,” Lorna wheezed. She tried to sit up, and only managed to fall onto her side on the floor, which just made her wheeze harder. “It was _totally necessary_.” The Lump Ness Monster, lumbering by, decided her hair needed a bath, and set about grooming assiduously.

 

Thranduil crossed his arms and frowned. “Was _not_ ,” he retorted.

 

“Was _too_ ,” Lorna glared, flailing at the Lump, who just burrowed into her hair.

 

“Was NOT,” the King said louder.

 

“Was _TOO_ ,” she said, louder still. “Cat, will you get out’v my bloody hair?” The Lump did not seem inclined to do any such thing, unfortunately.

 

Poor Ratiri was laughing so hard tears leaked out of his eyes, while the three from Baile stared utter disbelief. Big Jamie, of course, just kept filming, because this was absolute gold.

 

“Lorna?” said Thranduil, waiting until she looked at him before sticking his tongue out at her, just in time for Earlene to walk back in with Thanadir.

 

“Sure god _WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE_??” Earlene bellowed, fists on her hips, belly jutting forward, pregnancy hormones pushed past the red zone.

 

Lorna made an utterly dreadful face back at him, but couldn’t sustain it; she dissolved into helpless laughter even as the cat chewed on her hair. “He started it,” she managed, giving up and flopping onto the floor again. The Lump let out an indignant squawk.

 

“Look at it this way,” Pat said, trying to be soothing, “at least they didn’t go and blow up part’v Dublin. _Again._ ”

 

“Blow up -- _what?_ ” Mairead demanded, having returned just in time to hear that.

 

“Don’t even ask,” Lorna said. “Seriously. Just don’t.”

 

“Wine. I need wine,” Earlene said softly, spinning on her heel and heading back into the kitchen while Thanadir hovered in concern.   
  
“Eru,” muttered Thranduil, rising quickly to follow his wife and seneschal into the kitchen.

 

“Earlene, is that really such a good idea?” Thanadir said quietly. “You are upset?”

 

“Meluieg, I am sorry,” Thranduil said, though arguably none of it had been his actual fault. “Thanadir is right. Please, come sit with us in the Quiet Room for a few moments? If you still want wine in a little while, I will give it to you,” she heard in soothing tones as he took her hand. They both did. If she had to guess, her blood pressure was soaring just now. Sitting in the cool, dark room, her thoughts became more disconnected and she could guess at why.

 

“Please stop that,” Earlene asked him. “I promise, I will sit here with Thanadir until I feel better. Please go back in there with them; it would be less embarrassing to me if all of us were not away from our guests.”

 

“I am only trying to help,” Thranduil told her. “It is not good for you or the baby, to be so agitated. I am sorry, for not listening to you about the cats. I did not mean for this to happen.”

 

Mollified considerably, she sighed. “I know. I just wanted people to see us as a normal family and...this had to happen. But, it is what it is. I just need a few more minutes. Please?”

 

Thranduil nodded, and returned to their guests while Thanadir recited a poem she had not heard before. It was lovely, and gave her something else to think about. Perhaps the greatest blessing, at the moment, was that Earlene had no idea it was being filmed.

 

“Saoirse, you get your arse down here and apologize!” Pat bellowed up the stairs. “Come on, now.”

 

Mairead, however, was glowering at Lorna. “No, seriously, what’s this about Dublin and explosions? What’re you not telling me?”

 

“Absolutely nothing,” Lorna said, finally dragging the cat out of her hair, which was now a snarled mess. “Ignore Pat. He’s senile.”

 

“Oi, fuck you,” her brother said. “Saoirse!”

 

“I’m _coming_ ,” floated down the stairs, though it was not immediately followed by an actual child.

 

Mairead turned to Thranduil. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me about Dublin, will you? This one’s a horrible influence on everyone. Even Elf kings, apparently.”

 

Thranduil looked terribly uncomfortable and spoke rather softly. “If I tell you the truth, can you promise me that first, you will tell no others, and second, that my wife will not find out that what just took place here was being recorded? I am afraid her sensibilities were just pushed too far. It is not good for the baby.” There was a rather strong air of pleading coming from him.

 

“Of course I will,” Mairead said, slightly more gently. “This can’t have been her ideal dinner party, but if it’ll make her feel any better, this’s been hilarious. And might do more good for our, er, purposes than any normal dinner could’ve done.”

 

“You and I both know that, but neither of us are heavy with child,” Thranduil smiled, ignoring Lorna’s glower. “Oh, leave off of it, Lorna, she is your _sister_ ,” he said, slightly exasperated. “She will keep her word. The truth is, we went to see the home where Lorna and Pat were raised. What few know about me, and I would prefer it stayed private, is that my own father beat me continually when I was young. When I saw the home, her memories...I…’lost it’, I think is what you humans say. I destroyed what was left of the home with a metal pipe before setting it on fire. What I did not know is that there was a natural gas line somewhere under those abandoned homes that was leaking. Some hours after we left, the entire neighborhood exploded, and I am not proud of my actions.” He lowered his gaze. “Now you know.”

 

Mairead stared at him, her expression softening. “Jesus,” she said, and wrapped him in a surprise hug. “Lorna never said anything’v it,” she said, with a squeeze. “I’m not surprised, since she doesn’t blab things she doesn’t think are hers to tell. That you went through that...I wouldn’t’ve thought elves were like that.” She knew what Lorna’s childhood had done to her, and she could only imagine what his had done to him.

 

Lorna managed to glom on into a group hug. “Pat and I decided Thranduil’s an honorary Donovan, which means you’re an honorary half-sister. God help you both.”

 

Thranduil chuckled, in time to see Earlene returning with Thanadir, her expression more composed. She walked to him. “I am sorry for blaming you for what the cat did. I wanted something to...blame. And I would still very much enjoy a glass of wine.”  


“Then I will get you one, meluieg,” he said, kissing her chastely on the lips, and returning momentarily with her request.

 

She leaned into him happily, and sipped her wine, before asking, “What is so funny over there?” Pat, Ratiri, Kevin, Orla and Big Jamie seemed to be huddled around a mobile, enjoying themselves immensely.

 

“Cat video,” Mairead said smoothly. “I shot one’v our fluffball being a fluffball. Give that here, you lot,” she added sternly, stalking across the room. Lorna overheard her threatening the lot of them in Irish, ordering them to never say a word of that to Earlene, ever.

 

Saoirse _finally_ made it down the stairs, and the reason for her tardiness was in her hands: she’d filled one of the pages in her sketchbook with a sketch of the kittens attacking the platter, horrified adults in the background, with her aunt Lorna lunging at something off-screen. For such a quick sketch, it was beautifully rendered, and one look at it set Lorna laughing so hard she had to sit down.

 

Earlene looked at it unblinkingly. “She could make top salary, right now, as a court sketch artist,” Earlene said. “Damn shame that career option will dry up too soon.”

 

“I’ll do a real picture later,” Saoirse said. “I’m sorry, Aunt Lorna, Uncle Thranduil. And I’m sorry to whatever cat’s tail I pulled.”

 

Thranduil decided then and there that he liked Mairead. Very much. All negative first impressions had just been permanently erased. They talked for a bit longer, and then Earlene apologized and excused herself; she needed rest. Or at the very least, quiet time. Though she at least checked with Lorna concerning if anything were needed for their guests spending the night.

 

“I’ll take care’v it,” Lorna said. “You go on and rest. It’s been...a bit’v a day. I’ll look after this lot.”

 

“Go and put your feet up,” Mairead added. “You can never do that too often, especially near the home stretch, as I think the Americans say.” She did not at all envy Earlene; nine months was more than long enough for any pregnancy, but ten? Eleven? No. Just...no.

 

High above them, Tail swished his tail back and forth, surveying the scene below with disdain; the platter of food was now gone. He burped, and licked his lips several times before settling in to groom his luxurious orange fur. It had been a good day. Afterward, trotting down the spiral main staircase, he held his tail high in the air to seek his comfort on the bedroom cushions near his mistress, who was reading.

 

“You,” she glared, “are a bloody menace, ruining our party like that.”

 

He sat, and blinked sagaciously, before turning around several times and flopping on his side.

 


	85. Eighty-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 13-20, 2018

 

Mairead had been hounding Lorna for the past week to come out for a dinner party, and Lorna had finally caved. There would be a business aspect to it, too; Orla was coming out to look at the cottage, so they could figure out how to move the damn thing. Hopefully it wouldn’t require entirely dismantling it stone by stone, but Lorna had an ominous feeling that it would.

 

According to Mairead, that video she’d shot had made the rounds of the village, and raised more than a few eyebrows. In spite of everything -- the councils, the party, Lorna’s wedding -- Thranduil had still seemed something of an abstract concept; they’d had no idea just how much of what they had seen of him was a royal persona, and how much just  _ him _ . Watching him hold a tiny child over his head while an almost equally tiny woman scaled him like a tree had knocked back some of his mystique; watching him trip over a kitten, crash to the floor, and get in a very childish argument with Lorna just cemented that.

 

“I told them that my working hypothesis is that basically, Thranduil’s king when he’s at work,” she’d said, “and... _ that _ ...when he’s at home. I’ve framed it as his relationship with the elves as being part family, part boss/employee.”

 

That wasn’t quite accurate, of course, but it was as good a start as any. They had twenty years to refine, clarify, and build on it, and meanwhile anyone who heard a stray ‘my Lord’ could just recall that while he might be King of the Elves, he could also bicker and actually stick his tongue out at people -- though according to Mairead, the entire bloody village had decided that Lorna was just a terrible influence on  _ everyone _ , even ancient, immortal Elvenkings. Which, when they really thought about it, was disturbing as hell, but Lorna would take it. If it humanized him, for lack of a better term, it was worth it. Yes, he was a king, but he was not what they had always thought of when they heard the word ‘king’, so that was okay. Someday, she’d reconcile the two.

 

She’d actually baked biscuits herself, though with Earlene to supervise so they came out without half of them burning, and packed them away in a Tupperware container. (Tail had watched the whole time, and she’d threatened to shave him if he ever pulled a stunt like that again. He’d just serenely blinked his eyes, utterly unconcerned.)

 

She, Ratiri, Pat, Saoirse, Sharley, Thranduil, and Earlene had all been invited, but Earlene had unsurprisingly begged off; the closer it got to her time, the more inclined she was to rest, and no wonder. Thanadir would take care of her, and they had everybody’s mobile numbers, just in case something happened.

 

“All right, you lot, into the van,” she said, securing the biscuits in the back. Christ was she glad they’d bought the commuter van; this lot wouldn’t have fight in the Mystery Machine, unless she felt like breaking about six laws. They really were a motley little assemblage, too; anyone who did pull them over for some reason would probably wind up very confused.

 

In they went, and seatbelts were donned; fortunately it was big enough that all their six-foot-and-over passengers could sit comfortably. “You two take care now,” she instructed Earlene. “Rest. Stay out’v the bloody kitchen.”

 

Earlene waved as her husband, Lorna and Ratiri left for Baile before darkness could set in, having sent along greetings to the O’Reilly’s, and wishes to have a nice time. Predictably, her parting words were ‘drive safely’ and she even gave a peck to Lorna’s cheek as the green eyes smiled back at her. Earlene’s ‘car issues’ were now a bit of a joke between them, one which both parties now accepted with humor. Though she walked slowly now, with Thanadir never leaving her side, her remaining home seemed for the best. Even with all her woolen wraps it was still chilly, and while her physical and mental outlook remained sturdy, the tendency to tire suddenly could cause her to be poor company for socializing. Especially when the socializing was nearly an hour away.

 

They returned to the warmth inside, and Thanadir helped as she made them both hot chocolate. Pat and Saoirse were holed up in their own part of the house, and it seemed needless to disturb them. Besides, Saoirse likely didn’t need sugar this close to bedtime, if her ordinary tendency to buzz around like a hive of bees was any indication. They had both nearly reached the bottom of their mugs when what was unmistakably a Braxton Hicks contraction rippled across her abdomen. With a slight frown, she rubbed at her belly. “Meldir, I think I would like to walk to the Halls. Would you please inform Lothiriel and Ortherion, and come with me?”

 

“Is everything well?” was his first, suspicious reaction. 

 

“Yes,” she said authoritatively, though for reasons she did not understand, illogical thoughts that she almost felt were close to premonitions were coming over her. Earlene still didn’t subscribe to such things, yet something told her that she wanted to be near their large heated pool. Just in case. It was assuredly nothing.

 

Looking at her searchingly, he finally nodded and did as she asked. They stepped out into the twilight, with her warmly wrapped in the cloak he had made her. A strange calm settled over her thoughts, and she began to sing the hymn to Varda. They walked in measured paces as both their song filled the woods, while the first stars became visible overhead through the bare canopy of the trees. Earlene pointed quickly in astonishment as a beautiful meteorite tore overhead, the sound of it reaching their ears. A further sense of serenity and wonder filled her heart, as her logical mind battled with the perceptions of her spirit. Unseen by her and perhaps even the seneschal, those warriors on patrol heard their combined song, and stopped to place their hands over their hearts. The few that heard were greatly moved. Earlene did not know it, but she had gained the respect of all elves in the realm, who revered her as an extraordinary firieth who brought gifts of children and happiness to their beloved King

 

When they reached the royal rooms they found them cool; little point there was, in keeping the fires lit when they stayed there with relative infrequency. Immediately Thanadir cared for this, while Earlene continued to ponder the sensations in her body, and announced that she wished to be in the pool. Disrobing in her bedroom, she donned the robe given her by Lorna as a gift, and made her way toward the bathing room door when something that was most definitely not a Braxton Hicks contraction overcame her. The strength of her womb crushing down astonished her.  With a soft cry she held onto the doorway, before Thanadir appeared.

 

“Meldis,” he said with a great deal of sternness. “I cannot shake the perception that you seem to be keeping information from me. Please, what is happening?”

 

“I do not mean to,” she said, panting. “This is not like last time, Thanadir. I cannot explain to you because it makes no sense even to me, but it is the instinct of my body and mind that I am in labor. As of twenty seconds ago.” Though in pain, her face remained calm.

 

“I will return to the cottage and text Thranduil,” he said, turning from her.

 

“NO,” she said emphatically. The last many weeks had been spent reading about hundreds of birth experiences on the part of other women. The advice she had been given after the birth of the twins was taken to heart; birth could be  _ anything _ . This time she had no expectations, only a mind open to the understanding that all possibilities were fair game. And if this was the precipitous labor she had become somewhat convinced might be the case, story after story had emphasized, not to let your partner or the one assisting you go  _ anywhere _ . “Meldir I do not think there will be time,” she explained through gritted teeth. “Lorna will drive like a maniac of you do that, endangering all of them. What I need is you. Please do not be upset with me, I truly did not know I was in labor until just now. It was only a...hunch, a feeling, that caused me to wish to come here.”

 

He listened to her words, and saw the genuine desperation in her eyes that he not leave her alone. Feeling anguish, he wavered.

 

“Please trust me. I can do this, as long as I have you,” came out in short gasps.

 

He relented, his eyes downcast, with prayers to the Valar that this was the right course of action. “What do you wish me to do?” he finally asked.

 

“Help me get into the water,” she spoke through the considerable discomfort. 

 

He looked down at his clothing, not relishing spending the time in the water with them soaked, and nodded. Swiftly he stripped off his tunic, and grimaced at the idea of wet breeches.

 

“Your body does not offend me, Thanadir,” Earlene said, guessing at the source of his facial expression. 

 

“It is not...seemly,” he told her.

 

“For Eru’s sake, Thanadir, I am having a baby. Do you really believe anyone is going to accuse us of lovemaking in the water while I give birth? Please, meldir. I am not Lorna and Ratiri, and I need you, as comfortable as possible, helping me.  _ I do. not. care. _ ”

 

His cheeks flushed, but he knew she was correct, and quickly stripped of the rest of his clothes. She cast her own robe aside and reached for him to balance, only to feel warm liquid running down her legs. It made an audible noise.  _ Of course it did, because it felt like a geyser at Yellowstone just went off. _

 

“What is that?” he asked, alarmed.

 

“My water just broke,” she said, breathing as deeply as she could while speaking haltingly. “Don’t feel bad, last time around I was just as surprised as you are. I supposed this might be the first opportunity you have had, to witness the entire show,” she tried to joke, even as the sensation of the baby being forced downward by the powerful contractions caused her eyes to widen. “I can feel him moving. Please, I need to be in the water!”

 

This plea seemed to break the elf from his shock, as he gently lifted and carried her into the pool where her sense of relief seemed immediate. “Earlene, you must try to talk to me, though I know it is not easy. How do you know the child will come so quickly?”

 

“I don’t. It is a….feeling. Thanadir while there is still time, could you bring water for us and towels? I do not think much else will be required. If there is no water on the sideboard, forget it. I’ll drink what is in the pool before I’ll let you be away from here.”

 

“I am not exactly in a suitable condition to be seen in the passageways,” he grumbled, though his voice still held affection.

 

“The contractions seem like they barely stop,” she told him through labored breathing, after he returned with the desired items. There had been a pitcher of water and drinking bowls, and while he was out there, he brought two other items that would be needed if she was correct: a knife and silk ribbon.

 

Mostly, they walked slowly together in the pool. Once his mind fully resigned to their circumstances, he helped her as he had done before. He rubbed at her back, her abdomen, and used what power he had to try to reduce her pain. And he reminded her patiently to breathe, over and over. At one point she stopped walking, to hold his hands while facing him, struggling to say all the words through her discomfort.

 

“Thanadir, there is something I have perhaps not said to you, but that my husband and I have spoken of.” It was difficult to phrase this as she wanted, so distracted, but she had to try. “When you told me of your wishes once, that you wanted children but had no desire for a wife...that touched my heart in ways that are very hard for me to put into words, however eloquent I am supposed to be. Since early on in this pregnancy, I have felt in my spirit... this child is for you, Thanadir. That is why he is named for you. We want this to be the son you will not otherwise have. You are already a second father to our children. I want you to know how much you are loved, and to give you this because I can. There are times this makes no sense even to me, but I wanted you to know.”

 

She was not expecting the sob that burst from him as his arms tightened around her, drawing her against him. At first her eyes widened at the awkwardness of feeling her hip pressed against him while they both were nude. Yet if she needed any further elaboration on his demeanor, it was the total lack of stirring from his...anatomy. There truly was no need to feel uncomfortable, or strange. However it was the case, Thanadir seemed immune to this kind of arousal. Which left her in the equally bizarre position of needing to comfort an overwhelmed elf in the middle of her own labor. Something about this was incredibly surreal to her, even funny, but she forced herself not to laugh out of regard for his feelings.

 

“Meldis...I cannot ever…” came out amidst his tears.

 

“Yes, you can. You have paid me back, Thanadir, a thousand times over. This is for you.”

 

Her cheeks were kissed with happiness, as she moved his hands to feel what her body was doing to push the baby out. It was painful, but not unbearably so. This time, she felt in charge, as though her womb was something to which she was attuned, instead of taken over by aliens. This went on for what seemed like a few hours. She perspired heavily, and he kept dabbing at her face with a wet cloth to cool her, in addition to finding a way to knot up their long hair to remove it from drifting in the water. Earlene’s lush and shining tresses were to her waist now, making it very difficult to tell her apart physically from an elleth, at any distance.

 

Two things happened at the same time. A sudden and undeniable urge to push overwhelmed her, at the same time a panicked  _ Meluieg?  _ was heard in her thoughts.

 

_ Run, Hîr vuin. Your son is not born yet, but I fear he is in a great hurry.  _ His wife’s mental tone was focused, confident.

 

Thranduil took one look at Ratiri and Lorna and mumbled something about needing to get to the Halls immediately before taking off at a great rate of speed.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “I hope nothing’s gone too wrong,” she said.

 

“He’ll fix it, if it has,” he said. “It must be hard, at times, being the only one who can.”

 

Behind them, unseen, Sharley just smiled.

 

********

 

Thranduil burst into the bathing room in time to see Earlene, seated with a furrowed brow as intense concentration covered her face. Both of Thanadir’s hands massaged her shoulders, while one of her hands grasped onto the seneschal’s knee. The other felt at her vaginal opening, where the King realized the baby’s head was crowning. Wordlessly he too stripped his clothes off to join them, kissing her gently. With a nod and a beaming smile to Thanadir, whose own face was radiant with joy, he moved behind Earlene carefully. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began to lessen the sensation of her pain, though she had been managing quite well enough without him. She sat in relatively shallow water that came halfway up her breasts, and the shifting position of limbs caused her to open her eyes and pull Thanadir down to kneel in front of her. He was so tall, that it had the effect of bringing him to her eye level.

 

Very decisively, she placed his hands on her abdomen, where she could hold both ellyn’s hands for a brief moment. The next contraction came with wrenching force, and she pushed with all her might. There was no sound from her except the barest noise of her straining. Her hands shifted to grip onto Thanadir’s upper arms with all of her strength, while from time to time one would come down to feel the baby. After the second such push, with Thranduil constantly touching and soothing her, she could feel the baby’s head born,  and brought the seneschal’s hand down to feel him.

 

The old elf’s eyes widened in wonder. His hand cupped the child’s head, as the still water allowed him to see the miracle of this little one entering the world. Earlene only had a few seconds to pant for air when she whispered hoarsely to him, “Be ready.” Her eyes were full of love, and as the next seizing of her womb began, her fingers mingled with his to feel the child forcefully expelled. Overwhelmed for a moment, Earlene leaned back to turn her head to Thranduil, desiring and receiving a kiss of joy and thanks. Thanadir now held up the little boy, squirming and wriggling, tears streaming down his cheeks as he beheld the child’s eyes. He gasped, for out of the little head with Thranduil’s pale blonde hair, eyes as emerald green as Lorna’s stared back, and the child reached for him.

 

“Thaladir dithen,” (little Thaladir) said Thanadir with reverence, holding the child tenderly against him; the umbilical cord that still connected him to his mother pulsing vividly. Both his hands practically covered the tiny body.

 

Earlene wondered what was the matter with her, because she felt tired but not exhausted. This could not have been more different, but it had been an extremely  _ good _ different. If she bore more children in the future, wonderful, but she closed her eyes in thanks to the Valar for an experience of birth that exceeded anything for which she could have hoped. 

 

_ I love you, meluieg. I know what you said to Thanadir, and I love you even more for that. It is the kindest thing I have ever seen or heard of anyone doing. _

 

_ I love him, Thranduil,  _ she said silently as they both watched the pure joy of the ellon that occupied such a high place in both their regard.

 

_ As do I.  _ They gazed at one another adoringly for a moment, before she also heard,  _ But I do wish to see my son,  _ he teased gently.

 

“We are going to move a little, Thanadir,” she said. “Just over there, so I can sit with my breasts out of the water.

 

Dumbstruck but nodding,  he followed her, carefully minding the cord. Thanadir carefully laid the child against his mother’s breast, where he seemingly knew what to do, and with vigor. 

 

Earlene let out a gasp at the strength with which Thaladir latched onto her nipple.  _ I see the apple does not fall far from the tree, husband. _

 

With humor, Thranduil chuckled. He deserved that, and then some. Perhaps someday he should tell her, why he enjoyed her charms so much...but knowing Earlene, she had already guessed. He saw that the cord was done pulsing, and gestured to Thanadir. “Cut the cord, meldir,” he smiled. 

 

Drying his tears, which was somewhat ineffective since more kept coming, Thanadir made two ties with the silk ribbon, and cut carefully between. Another slight gasp from Earlene told that the baby was not the only thing in a hurry to be born; seconds later Thranduil brought up the placenta and removed it to the poolside.

 

“I think we should bring you out of here, meluieg,” he murmured. Earlene nodded, only half-aware of her surroundings. Whether it was endorphins, the gift of some Lady of the Vala, or...whatever, she had never felt so good. As a precaution, Thanadir exited the pool first and wrapped himself in a towel, before receiving Earlene from Thranduil into another expanse of soft cloth. Soon she was bundled in towels and being carefully dried, to sit by the fire in the now-warmed bedroom.

 

“Did anyone think to get the time?” she asked, beginning to realize that she was hungry. And thirsty. 

 

“It is just eleven o’clock now,” Thranduil said, looking at his mobile. “I think ten forty-five would be a reasonably accurate time of birth. “However, the means to weigh him…”

 

“...is back at Eldamar,” she finished. “I must be out of my mind, but I am hungry for the soup and biscuits there and...Thanadir, I never chose a human name for Thaladir, like what the girls have. Do you have a preference?”

 

Thanadir looked up from where his eyes were riveted on the nursing boy. He shook his head, out of his depth. “However generous you have been to me, he is your son,” he smiled, looking at both of them. “You should choose something; I lack enough understanding of mortal names to be useful.”

 

“Meluieg?” Thranduil said. “I wondered if you would wish to use John. For your friend, that is lost.”

 

She shook her head. “It was my father’s name, also...but I am afraid that after what happened it will be a reminder of sadness. My father’s middle name was Conor. If it would please you both, I like that name well enough.”

 

“Does it mean something?” the seneschal asked.

 

Earlene frowned. “One who loves hounds.” She bit her lip. “Dare we risk it?” I can just see that choice, fating us to having a pack of hunting dogs roaming the forest.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised because that was not a bad idea at all; of old their people had made use of the skills unique to canines. 

 

“I like it,” came in stereo, as they all laughed.

 

“Thaladir Conor Sullivan. You have three parents that love you very much.” The baby finished nursing, and was handed back to Thanadir, who guiltily handed him to Thranduil, realizing the King had not yet held his son.

 

“Do not worry, meldir,” the King smiled. “I am not feeling robbed, but I thank you for your courtesy.” His son opened his eyes to look at him and he gasped. “Eru...how is that possible?” His son had Lorna’s eyes, but there was more. His son had Alassëa’s eyes, for they were the same intense emerald green that his first wife had possessed. This child looked for all the world like a carbon copy of Legolas, at the moment of his birth. Oh, how he had treasured the first sight of those bejeweled eyes looking up at him, so long ago...

 

“How is what possible?” Earlene wanted to know. Thranduil sat next to her so she could see her child’s eyes. “Oh, my. I can already hear Ratiri, discussing genetics,” she quipped. “Well, Lorna and I  _ are _ related, however distantly. It looks to me like a chunk of the Donovans just decided to pay a visit, Valar help us. At least he has your hair.” She smiled, before frowning. “I certainly hope his first word is not something unseemly.” Her son was lovely, precious, and she had to kiss his little cheeks as he fell asleep. The boy was returned again to Thanadir, who had made use of the last few moments to prepare a nappy for him. If Earlene and Thranduil noticed the seneschal kissing the little boy just as much as diapering him, nothing was said.

 

Earlene stood up, and a slight grimace crossed her face. “Ow.”

 

“Meldir, would you give us a private moment? I suspect a thing or two needs healing on my wife’s body. Then we can return home.” Nodding in a haze of bliss, Thanadir exited the room with the baby, besotted.

 

“Lean back, meluieg,” Thranduil said, removing what towels he deemed necessary. Carefully, he began to examine her intimate areas, where he saw a small tear. “There is a slight injury, that is what is causing your pain. How much would you like to enjoy the repair?” he asked mischievously.

 

She laughed softly. “You are still incorrigible. Do not forget, you have to keep me from being impregnated by you, at least for a time. I would like longer than 6 weeks before conceiving again.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. “You still wish for more children?” he asked hopefully, but did not want to assume. 

 

“Yes, and I think you know why,” she said, her voice becoming more serious, as doubt flickered over her face.

 

“I do,” he answered softly. “And the gifts you give willingly humble me. But I agree...I think it would be wise to have a year, before more come. You are very strong, and healthy, but we have hardly been together without you being pregnant. It is unfair, for all you are going out of your way to have me tie Fëanor’s record for siring little ones.”

 

She grinned at the reference. In spite of Fëanor being a touchy subject, even she could see the humor in it. “For the most part, I am happy carrying your children. A part of you is inside of me, always with me,” she said in a very loving voice. “For a wife who cherishes her husband...well, maybe not all would agree. Maybe most would not. But I will be sad, when this time of my life is past. And like as not I will look forward greatly to conceiving again.” She smiled. “Much about me seems strange, compared to other women. I’ve tried to get used to it.”

 

“I know,” he said softly. “Close your eyes, and enjoy this.” Just as before, he restored and healed her body to how it was before the baby. That he could do this, was nothing short of miraculous; she knew what most women went through. When a series of indescribable sensations built into the powerful climax that tore through her under his touch, she reeled for several minutes in the aftermath before sitting up to kiss him. It was not possible to tire of such ministrations...

 

“Eru. Do you have any idea how strange it is, to come here with a huge distended bellyful of baby and leave looking like I just trained for a marathon? And feeling like I just had the best sexual encounter of my existence?” It was impossible not to shake her head while she kissed him passionately in gratitude.

 

“We can do that later,” he demurred lovingly, distracting her while very gently restraining her advances. Though she did not feel like it now, his wife needed rest and it was apparently up to him to maintain self-control. “Now let us return home. Thaladir will want to nurse again, soon enough.” They dressed fully, a sleeping basket was procured; all the rest they would need was at Eldamar. Thanadir carried the infant, who was carefully held inside of his garments and cloak to keep the chill of the night air away, while Thranduil carried his protesting wife. In the end he had to relent and put her down halfway home, because she sincerely wished to walk so badly. He understood; she was still riding on hormones of elation. Fatigue would come later. Their first stop was the kitchen in the silent house; it was now close to midnight. “Eight pounds, exactly,” Thanadir whispered happily from the kitchen scale. A few moment’s discussion and a bowl of soup later, Thanadir left to change into his sleeping clothes, only to reappear in their bedroom. 

 

It was Thranduil’s devious method of ensuring his wife would defer sex in favor of rest; this was the only means by which he could guarantee the outcome. They equally agreed that no one else in the household need know about their decision to all sleep together for the first few nights with the baby. This would allow Earlene better rest; one of the ellyn would bring the child to her when it woke with hunger. And, it would give Thanadir extra time to bond with the infant.

 

Finally tiring, they all climbed into the very large bed. Earlene curled up against her husband, but cold feet found their way to the seneschal’s waist. With a smile, he took her feet into his hands, listening to the sigh of happiness as she drifted off. Irmo sent dreams of the wonderful birth to all of them; blessings and happiness lay on the peculiar family they had formed. At least, until 2am, when a little cry of hunger caused Ada Thanadir to quickly bring the tiny ellon to a sleeping Earlene’s breast. She did not wake as the child fed, except an occasional grunt of contentment. Thanadir watched him nurse by the soft rays of moonlight, rubbing his tiny back as one small fist clutched his finger, and wondered if it was possible to for an elf to die from too much happiness. He had seen many blessings, but was certain that this would be the best day of his entire existence under the stars of Varda.

 

All his long years, living in relative solitude, not truly even understanding himself or that he might ever have a life that included more than the service of his King’s Realm. And yet his love of that King had brought him this gift beyond price. Everything he had ever wanted, somehow, had become his in spite of the impossibility of his desires. More tears rolled down his cheeks at the generosity of his family, as he wondered why he deserved so many blessings. When Thaladir finished, he still did not need changing, and was held carefully against the seneschal’s chest,  covered with a little blanket to keep away the chill. For a time Thanadir felt as though he could not do anything other than listen to this perfect wonder breathe, until he saw Earlene’s hand resting outside the covers. After he laced his fingers with  hers, tranquility descended and soon the ancient elf relaxed into a restful half-sleep; the love of this new life and his family filling his spirit.

 

*****

 

When the risen sun woke Earlene, she blinked in confusion. Not once had she been disturbed in the night but...the baby? Reflexively she felt her own abdomen, wondering if she had dreamed all of that. Turning onto her back informed her that the ellyn were awake, silently taking turns holding their son, drinking in the sight of him. It was impossible not to resist joining them. And when his first whimpers of hunger began, room service was there immediately. 

 

“I did not know a child could suckle this hard,” she whispered, astonished. “He makes the girls look like rank amateurs.”

 

Thranduil grinned, feeling quite proud of that, while admiring the tiny little points on his son’s ears. While the three of them talked softly, their conversation turned to how they might have a little fun. It was decided that Earlene would dress, and go help Ortherion as was her custom, with Thranduil. Thanadir would stay with the baby, and they would see how long it took anyone to notice that Earlene was no longer pregnant. Just to add mischief, she donned one her Aran Island sweaters; bulky and cozy. They exited their respective rooms at about the same time, after hearing the clinking of pans. Ortherion was perpetually in charge of porridge, more or less, and Earlene offered to make sourdough crumpets. Some with chocolate chips, some with summer’s frozen blueberries. It was after all a momentous morning, even if no one knew it yet.

 

Ortherion gave his customary “Good morning, Hîr vuin, Hiril vuin” without really looking up. She smirked at the ellon and her husband, as she pondered what else she wished to eat.  _ First fail; poor Ortherion. Spiced cinnamon milk too, I think…  _ Thranduil chuckled in his thoughts. He too was enjoying this vicarious amusement.

 

Sharley had said nothing of what she had seen last night, figuring it would be best to leave it a surprise. That kid’s eyes were going to give Ratiri and the Donovans a turn, and she wanted to watch. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of going in first, and getting slammed with...childbirth. The whole gritty history of it, from Earlene’s perspective and  _ eurgh _ ...she’d been high as the stars on painkillers when Marty was born, and had very little memory, and to witness it in Earlene and Thanadir’s history...there were times she really, really wished her ability came with an off switch. It was bad enough she so often had to avoid Earlene and Thranduil in the morning, so as to not see what they’d been doing the night before...Lorna and Ratiri weren’t  _ quite  _ as bad, but it was close. There was a  _ reason  _ she’d isolated herself and Marty for so long.

 

“I hope nothing burned down last night,” Ratiri said, following her in. “We were worried, but we figured if it was that dire, someone would come get us.

 

“Nothing burned down,” smiled Thranduil. “All is well.”

 

“You all right there, Sharley?” Lorna asked; the poor girl was visibly disturbed.

 

_ I need wine _ , Sharley said to Thranduil. “I’m good,” she said aloud, not looking at Earlene. Last night had been so hard on its own, because  _ people _ ; childbirth on top of that made her want to go hide in the woods, and not have to look at anyone.

 

“You sit down and have some tea,” Lorna ordered.

 

“What’re we eating?” Saoirse asked, cheerfully oblivious. “It smells really good, whatever it is.”

 

“You go and wash your hands first,” Pat ordered. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you digging through the moss.”

 

“I saw a ladybug,” she protested. “I  _ had  _ to dig.”

 

Her father only rolled her eyes, and off she went. Ratiri, however, was eying Earlene rather closely, though he said nothing just yet. The cardigan made it rather difficult to tell…

 

Thranduil came behind Sharley and laid a hand on her shoulder in passing, easing her emotions.  _ I will bring wine if you wish, or is this more of what you need? Never hesitate to ask; I will help you if I can.  _ He really could not fathom wanting alcohol at this hour; even Lorna waited until mid-morning. He looked up at Ratiri, smiling.

 

_ That’ll work, for now _ , Sharley said.  _ Thank you. Everybody wants me to stay, but you’re the only one who realizes just how hard a thing that is, and I don’t dare tell the others. They’d be terrified of me.  _ Well, maybe not terrified, but...it would change things, in ways she didn't want changed.

 

“I notice a conspicuous lack of pregnancy bump,” Ratiri said, taking a seat at the table. “Thranduil, is that why you took off last night?”

 

“Yes,” he confessed. “Thanadir will bring our son in a moment. And there is something all of you should know, though it is not my place to air my seneschal’s private thoughts. It is the wish of Earlene and I that this child be as much Thanadir’s as our own. It is our way of providing him something he otherwise will not have, that is desperately wanted. I know this is unusual, but I hope you can be...accepting of this.” The King looked around for a moment, to see that at least no one appeared completely appalled; he knew that this was...a strange thing to hear.

 

A few moments later, a Thanadir so radiant he might have been glowing a little (it was hard to tell, what with the morning sunlight streaming in from the east) entered the kitchen, carefully cradling a small bundle. “This is Thaladir Conor,” he told them, in tones of awe.

 

“Jesus, isn’t he lovely,” Lorna said, to cover her surprise at Thranduil’s rather odd pronouncement. It wasn’t something she had any frame of reference for whatsoever, but Thanadir looked over the moon; she’d find some way to reconcile it, once she worked out whatever the hell it actually even meant. “At least one’v them turned out blond, so it won’t look like he’s been stolen.”

 

“That’s a decent-sized baby,” Ratiri said. “I hope there weren’t any complications this time around?” It was half a question.

 

Earlene shook her head. “It was the birth any woman would sell her soul for. He came in less than three hours, from start to finish. I won’t say it was painless, but it was nothing I couldn’t manage on my own. Let’s just say if they were all like that, the population rate would soar. Thranduil arrived just when he was crowning. Another half hour, and he would have missed it.”

 

“I suppose your body wasn’t willing to give you a shite once again,” Lorna said. “It had enough last time around.” She moved to get a better look at the baby, who opened his eyes and looked up at her. “...Holy shit.” No, seriously,  _ holy shit _ ...that kid had Donovan eyes. Brilliant, deep, almost inhuman green... _ how _ ? “Thranduil, I promise you I didn’t somehow actually sire this kid through...through osmosis, or something.”

 

Earlene laughed. “We  _ are  _ related, Lorna. I’d guess that came through me. Or rather, our common ancestors. And,” she looked at Ratiri hopefully, “we recorded a time of birth and weighed him last night….I hope the law allows you to make out the certificate?” Dr. Duncan nodded, grinning.

 

“Do not be completely sure, meluieg,” Thranduil said sheepishly. “I did not tell you last night but...Legolas’ eyes are the same color. I thought that it was because of his mother, who had the same...but now I am not so certain,” he mused. “You must realize, I do not know the appearance of any of my own ancestors aside from my father. Do you remember seeing Legolas, Thanadir?”

 

The seneschal nodded, only half present as if he were in a waking dream. “He was beautiful, with his green eyes. Just like Thaladir. I felt like I had been taken back in time, to look on him.”

 

Ratiri suddenly felt as though his own eyes were rather dull, among this green-eyed, blue-eyed, and, in Sharley’s case, heterochromatic crowd. Oh well, at least he and Pat could bond. “It would almost have to have come from both of you,” he said. “Eyes like that are rather rare. I suspect Lorna and Saoirse have them purely because the Donovan genes are incredibly strong, and I’m not certain just what all lies in my own father’s family.”

 

“I don’t think it’s got a damn thing to do with genetics,” Pat said. “I think the eyes just find whoever’s going to be a little hellion, if Lorna and Saoirse are anything to go by.”

 

Ratiri didn’t want to believe that, except he kind of had to. His own twins couldn’t even walk properly yet, but he could already tell they were going to be a handful. “For your sakes’, I hope he takes after Earlene. The Donovan curse has most certainly skipped her.” He privately suspected all the reasonable aspects of that family had gone to her, and left the rest of them as...the rest of them.

 

“I wish I could know what Eíthne and Padraig looked like,” she said to Lorna. “Whether they had eyes like this. Or whether the bygone Aidan did. Gran had eyes like Allanah, and I never thought to ask her more carefully what the others looked like, her brother or parents. Then again, we didn’t know she  _ had _ a brother, until Ellis Island. Dammit all.”

 

Lorna hoped, for all their sakes, that the eyes were actually linked to the Blank. Otherwise, all of them were in for a nasty surprise, once the kids got older. “Wherever they originally came from, he’s lovely. They go so well with his hair, too; he’ll be a striking lad, that’s for sure.”

 

Saoirse finally emerged from the bathroom, and her eyes widened. “Holy shit, Aunt Earlene, you had your baby?” She immediately winced. “Fuck, sorry. I mean...oh, damn it all.” She hung her head, sighing.

 

“Oh, come over here, you,” Lorna said. “Sooner or later you’ll get a lid on that. Come on and see this baby.”

 

Go she did, and peered at little Thaladir in fascination. “He doesn’t look like Winston Churchill. He’s...pretty. Really pretty.”

 

Thaladir smiled at her, and cooed, reaching for her. “Do you want to hold him, Saoirse?” Thanadir asked softly.

 

Saoirse’s eyes widened in panic, but Lorna said, “You can do it, Saoirse. Here, come and sit down, and holding him just like Thanadir -- you’ve got to keep his head supported.”

 

“Okay,” she said, nodding.

 

The little boy stared and stared at her eyes, and the tiny finger pointed at Saoirse’s face, before his expression shifted dramatically into one of far less contentment.

 

“He just became hungry,” Thranduil hurried to explain, gently handing the child to his mother.

 

“Well, his breakfast is ready, and so is ours,” Earlene said, looking at the food enthusiastically as a breast appeared without warning, though her eyes still widened at how hard this kid latched on and nursed. For the first time, she wondered if she would be able to fully breast feed this child and still have a nipple left. Clearing her throat she added, “I’m hungry.”

 

“Me too,” Saoirse said, rather relieved. She really, really didn’t want to somehow break her newest cousin. She also wasn’t about to look at Aunt Earlene’s boob, but fortunately there was plenty else to look at -- Da seemed to find the fireplace very interesting. Aunt Lorna and Uncle Ratiri didn’t seem to care, though, even though there was a tit right there. Didn’t they realize that was rude? You weren’t supposed to look at boobs. Well, except in really icky circumstances; otherwise, that was a no-go.

 

Thranduil silently communicated with his wife, as some of the others brought food to the table. A half smile came over her face. “Pat, Saoirse,” she began. “I did not think to talk to you, sooner than this. You see, everyone else has lived with me since Allanah came. You should both know that you will see so much of my breasts that before long they will like as not be as common a sight as my face is. I do not mean to startle you or be shocking, but we all know breasts are there to feed babies. I’ve never seen the point of feeling shy about my body though I respect that others do and for good reasons. I do not care if you look, or don’t look. It’s new, it’s different, and not something one sees every day in the outer world. I just want you to know that you do not need to pretend there isn’t a naked breast in the room for my sake. It won’t be long before you also are bored of the sight. I apologize, for not realizing before he was born that I should have said something to you both.”

 

“I’ve always tried to be a bit more’v a gentleman than that,” Pat said, carefully looking at her face. “Da, he leered at every tit he saw even half uncovered. I never wanted to be like him, so...I’ll probably not look. Just...because.”

 

“I thought the same thing, at first,” Lorna said. “You’ll get used to it. I did. Doctor Duncan here didn’t blink twice.” She elbowed her husband, though lightly.

 

“Earlene is hardly the first woman I have ever seen breastfeed,” he said serenely. “They’re there for a purpose.”

 

Saoirse continued examining the fire, mostly because she’d never actually seen a boob before, and it was something she was going to have to file away for later. No wonder Aunt Earlene needed a bra, though. (Aunt Lorna didn’t, but that was no surprise.)

 

“Do what you wish, Pat, but I don’t mind either way. Besides,” she laughed, “in this house we have an artistic appreciation of others. No one is ever rude or….lewd, but when something looks nice, nothing wrong with considerate admiration. Just ask my husband.”

 

“I heard that, meluieg,” came from across the kitchen. 

 

“Though try not to grab anyone’s arse unless you know who it belongs to,” Ratiri added, and let out an  _ oof  _ when Lorna elbowed him for real.

 

“I thought we agreed to never speak’v that again,” she growled, glowering up at him.

 

“No,  _ you  _ did,” he said, backing away before she could do it again.

 

Pat stared at her, but seemed to think better of asking. “You know what, I don’t want to know. I just...don’t. I can’t say I understand artistic appreciations, but maybe I will someday.”

 

“Nothing artistic in the way Thranduil ogles Earlene’s tits,” Lorna said, eyeballing the kitchen doorway. “It’s beyond blatant. Which, to be fair, she’s got a great rack, but  _ still _ . Time and a place, and that time is not ‘always’.”

 

“I am sitting right here,” Earlene said sweetly, with a huge smirk plastered across her face.

 

Sharley, leaning against the wall, dissolved into nearly silent laughter, shoulders shaking with it. “You people,” she said. “You people and sex. Just...why?” She’d never been interested in it, in her memory, though obviously she’d done it at  _ some  _ point or there wouldn’t have been a Marty.

 

Earlene became unusually contemplative, amidst the banter. “There are many kinds of closeness to those we love,” came the reflection. “If you are blessed to find a partner you love wholly, you want to. Very much. It’s a little like, we all eat. We will all live if we eat porridge and vegetables, but then there is chocolate. Chocolate is wonderful, now and again, but it is not all I’d live on.” She shrugged. “Everyone is different, but I am not sorry to have a husband I love and want in that way.” 

 

Thranduil sidled over to bring his arm around his wife and enjoy the view. If he was guilty, he might as well commit the crime, he reasoned. Though for the sake of appearances, he also gently stroked his son’s head.

 

Thanadir looked up. “I like chocolate. But I have no need of intimacy,” he said. “Yet it does not bother me that others do. I am happy, as I am.” 

 

It was said with such raw honesty, Earlene kissed his cheek. “I love you, meldir,” she smiled.

 

“I’m glad there’s someone else out there like me, Thanadir,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “Most people don’t get it.”

 

“Wait a minute, Aunt Sharley,” Saoirse said. “You had a kid. Did you use like, a turkey baster or something?”

 

The woman shrugged. “I don’t remember. Doesn’t matter. I got Marty out’v it, after all.” She sounded so very unconcerned that Lorna winced, because Thranduil had told her why: the Stranger, that facet of Sharley that somehow guarded her.

 

“I hope I’m like you and Uncle Thanadir,” Saoirse said, twitching a bit at the thought of  _ artistic appreciation _ , which she didn’t trust for a moment, and boobs, and...yeah. “Though Aunt Lorna, you usually hate touching people -- is that why you can hug everyone in the house? The whole...food...thing?”

 

“It is,” Lorna said. “I might not always be too great about it, but I like to think I’m good with a hug when I need to be. You’ll learn, as you get older, that there’s many ways to love someone. There’s loving someone like you love your da, or like my children love me, but you might also someday meet someone you love like I love your Uncle Ratiri. Or maybe you’ll find an Earlene, who’s like family -- though in this case, we actually  _ are  _ family. Or you’ll adopt a brother-from-another-mother, like I sort’v did with your Uncle Thranduil without actually realizing that was what I was doing. Or a Thanadir, who is entirely his own entity, and has no comparison.”

 

“I am like the Crystalline Entity?” the old elf asked with the beginnings of enthusiasm. “A massive spaceborne cosmozoan that can be found in the Teneebia Sector?” His memorization of dialogue was nothing short of disturbing, sometimes.

 

“Oh Eru,” groaned Thranduil. “Why did you have to show him _ Star Trek _ ? Why is there so much _ Star Trek _ ? He was bad enough when it was Kirk and Spock, and then came the other  _ oof _ ...”

 

Earlene elbowed him hard enough to jostle the baby, who hiccupped. “Now you are upsetting Thaladir,” she hissed at him, before her voice returned to silky sweetness. “You are far lovelier, meldir, to me.” She glared at Thranduil, daring him to contradict her, and ignoring that Ratiri was shaking with laughter.

 

“And you are in fact entirely unique,” Lorna said, backing up Earlene’s glare with one of her own. “I doubt there’s anyone else on Earth quite like you.”

 

Sharley bit the inside of her cheek. It could be terribly difficult at times, being around so many people -- especially elves, who had so very much history she couldn’t help but see -- and yet there were upsides. Now matter how lovely her trees were at home, they didn’t speak; they didn’t tease, or laugh. They only listened. This was not...this wasn’t what she’d feared, when she started to go among people.

 

With a sidewise glance and smile at his King, Thanadir used the fabric at the wrist of his tunic to polish his Star Trek pin.

 

Much later that day, rationalizing that elbowing the King might have been perilously close to striking the King, Earlene did what she could to express her remorse. Thranduil was not buying a word of it, but enjoyed himself enough not to comment further.

 

*****

 

Earlene and Thranduil often had whispered conversations, when they made love in the early morning. It had only been a week since her very large belly had disappeared, and she was still relishing having her husband once again on top of her. Yes, she liked the missionary position best, sue her, not that she wasn’t open to other kinds of fun. They took their time, teased each other, laughed. Long ago they agreed that no controversial topics of any kind were allowed during this activity; it guaranteed that whatever might occur later, they began each day with love for each other in their hearts.

 

As he pushed into her slowly, giving a languid sort of pleasure, her fingers wrapped loosely around his neck. “I cannot believe it has been a year,” came the whispered observation. “An entire year, since our beautiful girls were born. I do not know if I have told you enough, how grateful I am that you would have children with me, when I am not an elf.”

 

“I wanted them more than you did, meluieg. As badly as Thanadir. Maybe worse. I only could not tell you; I could not have you feel pressured to become a mother only for my sake.”

 

Earlene considered this, which brought her mind around to Allanah, and Aidan, which had admittedly been a catalyst for her choices. A catalyst, but without them would she have elected to become pregnant? The fact that she honestly did not know, and therefore might have missed out on this...she sighed. ‘Aidan’ alone would be a banned topic for the moment, so she would have to find another topic on which to speak. 

 

“I hope Lorna and Ratiri’s children will also like the party. It is harder than I thought it would be, to plan when a year later they are so different from our twins. I could not understand how great it would be, but I do now.”

 

“Mmm,” he nodded in agreement, inching his face down toward her breast. Earlene smiled. It was hardly a secret, where this was going. She caressed his blond head, as he latched onto her and distracted her thoughts with far more sensation than little Thaladir could ever provide, thank the Valar. Otherwise they would rewrite the definition of Unseemly in front of god and everyone.

 

Lorna had decided to stow the rented helium tank in the pantry, but had not been able to resist taking a small hit of it when no one was around to see her. Laughing silently, she turned to the empty kitchen and said, “I’m Rick James, bitch” in her best American accent. The chipmunk tones that resulted made her burst out laughing, and the sound of  _ that  _ just made her laugh even harder. She was an adult. Honest.

 

Saoirse, yawning a bit, made it down just in time to hear her aunt cackling like a loon, though rather higher-pitched. Staring at her, Saoirse shook her head. “Aunt Lorna...I can’t even.”

 

The girl sounded so much like her father that it just set Lorna off all over again. She took another tiny hit off the tank, then actually filled a shiny green mylar balloon so she could justify doing it. “Come on, Saoirse, try this,” she said, still giggling at the squeak in her voice.

 

“I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?” Saoirse asked, eying the tank with blatant wariness.

 

“Only if we get caught. C’mon.” Adult. Seriously. Somewhere she had a driver’s license to prove it.

 

Saoirse shook her head. “If Da yells at me, I’m blaming you,” she said, dragging over the kitchen stool so she could actually reach the nozzle.

 

“I can live with that,” Lorna said. Already the squeak was wearing off, but Ratiri had warned her against inhaling too much helium too fast. Apparently you could actually suffocate that way, which, no thanks. Saoirse could take her hit and then they’d fill some more balloons, like responsible people. 

 

“I sure hope you can,” her niece said, her voice as high as the meowing of a kitten. The sound of it cracked them both up, until they were sitting on the floor, giggling helplessly.

 

Thanadir woke up slightly groggy. The first five days, they had all co-slept with Thaladir, but then agreed that it would be best to not have this constantly be the case. The baby would sleep with the seneschal; when he needed to nurse, it was a simple enough matter to quietly ask Thranduil telepathically. If the King was asleep, he could not be interrupting anything between Thranduil and Earlene, and could bring the child to his mother. Thus far, the arrangement had gone quite smoothly, but this was now day seven since the birth. The fussing, doting, and nights spent caressing the little one were beginning to take their toll. Compared to a mortal, Thanadir did not sleep much but he did require some rest.

 

Bringing him next door, the seneschal found them sitting in their pool, quietly conversing. Earlene happily took her son, who like his father wasted no time finding a breast. She chuckled, before she saw Thanadir’s face. “Meldir, would you like to join us? You look very tired.” Privately, Thranduil agreed, and worried a little. He had not seen Thanadir quite so weary since the Battle of Dagorlad, to be honest, but then...he turned his head, suddenly aware of goings-on in the kitchen. His eyes narrowed. 

 

“Join Earlene,” the King insisted, as he began leaving the pool. “Apparently an adult is required in the kitchen.”

 

_ Should I ask? _ Earlene inquired silently.

 

_ No, you should not _ , he said, glaring mildly at her. 

 

She felt a little surprised, but inclined her head to him. 

 

That was when Thanadir was seen to be ankle deep in the pool, his sleeping pants still on. “Meldir,” she said quickly. “Should you not...remove your clothing, first?”

 

Thanadir looked down, only now seeing the obvious. “Oops.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrow shot up. ‘ _ Oops?’ He never says ‘oops’. _ Lorna _ says oops. What in Eru’s name…?  _ Watching as he slid out of his clothes, his face was carefully studied. He seated himself next to her, leaning his head lightly on her shoulder so as to watch Thaladir. 

 

“He is so beautiful, Earlene,” came out on a soft voice. “I have never been as happy in my life as I have been this last week.”

 

“I am glad, meldir,” was the careful answer. “But...how many hours did you sleep last night?”

 

There was a very long pause. “I did not sleep. All I wish to do is watch him, listen to him. You cannot know how precious this is to me.”

 

“And the night before?”

 

An even longer pause. “The same,” he answered meekly.

 

“Meldir, have you slept since he was born?” Earlene asked gently.

 

He sighed. “The first night, in here. For awhile.” 

 

Nothing was said, while she reflected for a time as the little tongue worked away, getting his breakfast.

 

“What does that feel like?” he murmured absentmindedly.

 

Now Earlene frowned. Surely he had asked this before? With one of the other children? “Well, the most direct answer would be, try it. He might not be happy that you cannot give him anything, but unless I am mistaken, you will most assuredly know what it feels like.” Knowing that he had already had a certain amount of milk,  she gently withdrew her own anatomy and returned the infant to him. “Hold him to your breast, just as you see me do,” she encouraged. “I should warn you, though, he sucks very hard. I would not have believed it possible.”

 

Perhaps her warning was spoken a little too late, because Thaladir had no qualms about what was in front of him. An octopus probably could not have applied more suction, as the poor seneschal gasped at the sensation. 

 

How Earlene did not laugh, she would never know. “Try to relax,” she encouraged. “He cannot hurt you, not without teeth.”

 

“But it feels like...like…” His expression seemed vaguely horrified.

 

“I know, it feels strange. But he does not know the difference, and babies like to suck. It comforts them. Give it a moment. There are places in the world where men do this often, to soothe children when the mother is not available.” 

 

This information seemed to help him sort out his feelings on the matter. “ ‘Strange’ is not the right word, meldis,” he said, looking at her with a half-smile.

 

“I am certain there is a better word to use,” Earlene smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief. “But you did ask. Here, you have endured enough and he is probably still hungry.” It took little effort to transfer Thaladir back to the Real Deal, and once he was settled, she realized that rather a lot of weight was on her shoulder. Her friend had fallen fast asleep, and was slumping against her. “Oh dear,” she murmured. There were worse predicaments in life, but she already knew that  _ someone _ was going to be ordered to go to bed after breakfast, and remain that way until lunch. “Everyone says Auntie Lorna is the terrible influence, little one. You are only a week old and you have stolen Ada Thanadir’s heart. What are we going to do with you?”

 

The little green eyes gleamed up at her, and she would swear to the end of her days that the child had giggled.

 

*****

 

In the meantime, Thranduil had dressed hurriedly in loose pants and a robe, and gone out to the kitchen. Arms crossed, hair mildly dishevelled from his morning’s pleasure, he walked in to see Lorna and Saoirse inflating mylar balloons for the party. “And how are you ladies this morning?” he asked, with a hint of an accusatory edge to his voice. 

 

Lorna looked at Saoirse, and they both gave him the best innocent expressions they were capable of.  _ We’re good _ , Lorna said, trying so, so hard not to laugh at Thranduil’s hair -- it wasn’t even that messy, but seeing messy at  _ all  _ was funnier than it should have been. She tied off a balloon, wrapped some ribbon around it, and added it to the bouquet.

 

“Nice try, Lorna,” he said softly, tapping his fingers on his arm, eyebrow quirked halfway to his hairline. “I think you should speak  _ aloud.” _

 

Aunt and niece looked at one another again, and both burst into very high-pitched laughter. “Dammit, Thranduil, you blew our cover,” Lorna said, sounding even more like one of the Chipmunks. “And you need to brush your hair. It looks wrong like that.”

 

He massaged his forehead with his long, elegant fingers. “I so wanted to believe that you were not giving foreign substances to an eight year old,” he said. “What kind of example is that?” he asked, exasperated. “Is this...harmful, in any way?” There was an overtone of worry, too. Just because Lorna thought in her mind this was fine...well, Lorna thought a great many things were fine, and that was the frightening part.

 

“It’s not a foreign substance, Uncle Thranduil,” Saoirse said, her voice even squeakier. “It’s helium. We know what it is.”

 

“And no, it’s not,” Lorna said, her voice already returning more toward normal. “Remember? We had balloons ages ago, and Thanadir inhaled some. Ratiri said it’s only dangerous if you sit and suck down an entire bouquet, and I only let her have two little breaths. Come on, I’m not  _ that  _ stupid.” She was honestly a touch wounded that he’d think she was.

 

“Alright,” he said, heaving a huge sigh. “I am sorry, Lorna. New baby. I am worrying too much. Please forgive me. Valar, I want coffee.” He stumbled over towards Earlene’s French press, and began fiddling with it for himself. While he had taken more rest than his seneschal apparently had (another matter to rectify), there had been many wakings, to reach out to the mind of his son and...be certain, he was well. He could not help it, even though he trusted Thanadir with his life.

 

“Okay then,” Lorna said, “but you owe me this.” She gave him a drive-by rib-poking before hurrying up the stairs, leaving Saoirse to calmly fill another balloon.

 

“She’s gonna make you pay for that somehow, you know,” she said, carefully tying off the end. “I don’t know how, but it’ll probably be annoying.”

 

“I am not the one misbehaving with the helium tanks,” he said crossly. “If Eru meant us to be breathing it, he would have filled the air with it, so that we all could speak like distressed rodents all day long.” A sweeping gesture accompanied his words, as Ortherion entered the kitchen and bowed his head to his King. He sighed. “I am sorry, Saoirse. I do not mean to snap at you. I am...tired. And cranky. And you are not to repeat that to your Aunt, young lady,” he said, with enough authority that poor Ortherion felt a need to stand at attention. Thranduil filled the French press with the hot water and left it to steep. “Eru. Please excuse me, Earlene needs my help.”

 

Ortherion and Saoirse looked at each other as Thranduil stormed out of the kitchen, smiled at each other, and shrugged. Earlene had said today was to be scrambled eggs and berry pancakes; the batter had been left to soak overnight on the counter and only needed flavoring added, for which she had left instructions. The girl returned to her balloons, and the ellon began heating the griddle and the oven.

 

When her husband returned, she was holding her son against her, playing and cuddling, letting his little legs splash in the water. It would serve as a bath well enough, though she rather hoped he would not do anything unsanitary in the water. Her real problem was slumbering Thanadir, who she did not have the heart to wake. “Did you hear?” she asked softly.

 

“Yes,” he answered. “I should have realized, but he can be very good at hiding it. Here, give me Thaladir first,” he asked, holding out his arms. Earlene transferred the child to his hands, watching in disbelief as the little one chose that moment to urinate on his father in a stream that was nothing if not impressive.

 

“Oh dear,” Earlene said, blushing, unsure what to say. “Thranduil, I am sorry.”

 

A tense half-smile was directed at her. “It has been too long, since I have had a son. And

you could not have known. But this is why we keep infant boy’s penises covered at all times. Quite a fountain, is it not? On the other hand, at least he will not do that again for some minutes. Probably.”

 

Earlene now at least had two hands by which to wrangle Thanadir into a slightly better position before her shoulder went to sleep. Which is when she looked up to see that Thaladir was indeed not doing what he just did, but something else. And the something else was sort of oozing down her husband’s sleeping pants.

 

“Eru,” she whispered, speechless. 

 

Thranduil stood for a moment, frozen. He then cleared his throat. “I am afraid,” he said in words of carefully measured cadence, “it will be necessary to wake Thanadir.”

 

There was no hesitation, as she gently patted his cheek and spoke his name until he roused groggily. “Meldir I am sorry, but I cannot carry you out of here or leave you to drown. You must wake up now. Things are….happening.”

 

“What? What things?” He rubbed at his eyes with his fists, and when his vision resolved he saw _ exactly _ what things. “Oh, no.” Profusely apologizing, he was out of the pool very quickly, offering to take the little one.

 

“No meldir,” Earlene insisted. “I will clean him and give him a nappy. You are to dry yourself properly and dress; soon we will eat. And after we eat, you are to return to bed and you will sleep until lunch. Do I make myself clear?” Her voice was kind with that sweet razor’s edge of, ‘don’t fuck with me.’ Thranduil’s eyebrows raised as he handed over his son. 

 

“Go into the shower, clothes and all,” she suggested to her husband. “All that will rinse away then I will launder it for you. Step out of them once they are...you know.” Both of them stared at her and neither of them resisted. Once the baby was dry, nappied and clothed, she returned to Thranduil, who she found leaning against the inlaid river rocks in their shower, eyes closed. Picking up the soap cake, she washed and rubbed at his back with a cleaning cloth. “How much have you been resting, my Lord?” she asked.

 

He thought for a moment, searching for an evasion. “More than Thanadir.”

 

“My degree was not in mathematics,” she murmured, kneading at his muscles, “but even I know that zero plus one equals one. I cannot tell you what to do, but I would like it very much if you also would take sleep after breakfast and before lunch. Please?”

 

He nodded, knowing she was right. “You will watch the baby?” he asked.

 

Her heart melted. So that was what was going on. “Athon.” (I will). With a kiss to his chin she left him to the hot water and went to dress herself.

 

Breakfast was wonderful, the girls were very excited, and each gave Shane and Chandra kisses. Their Nana made all the children one small pancake with a chocolate chip smiley face, before Lothiriel, Maerwen and Ortherion dressed all five children warmly in their rain boots to take them for a winter walk in the woods. Saoirse accompanied them, both to help with the little ones and to burn off some of her own energy. This left the remaining adults to prepare for the party. But first....Thanadir was taken by the hand and led to his own bed, at which Earlene pointed. Thranduil was firmly in tow. “But…” the seneschal tried for one last protest. Earlene folded her arms and raised her eyebrow.

“Damn,” said Thanadir, before clapping his hand to his mouth in shock and horror.

 

“That settles it,” Earlene said. “Rest well, meldir.” With a kiss to his cheek, and a touch from the King, Thanadir was sound asleep. They both left, after Earlene covered him snugly with a warm blanket. “Your turn now,” she said to Thranduil. “Except, I cannot do for you what you did for Thanadir.”

 

“No,” he shook his head tiredly, but with a glint in his eye. “But there is one thing, and it would not take long.” With a wicked grin she looked back at him. “Lie down,” she ordered. “And make yourself comfortable.”  _ He was right _ , she mused later, as she washed her hands before preparing to make food.  _ It did not take long at all.  _ And he was sound asleep.

 

*****

 

Lorna might have gone overboard on the balloons. Just a tiny bit. There were enough of them in the dining room, tied in bunches, that they could probably lift a small house, like that movie  _ Up _ . The ceiling was all but full of them when the (rather sleepy) ellyn came back, though at least Thranduil looked rather less like he wanted to rip someone’s head off and shit down the hole.

 

“Balloons,” Saoirse said. Now that she’d run around like a fiend, some of her energy had burned off, and she sat at the table with a sketchbook, drawing the balloon forest. Pat, naturally, was filming the whole thing, because when you hand a father a high-quality digital camera, that was what he did.

 

Lorna approached Thranduil, who admittedly felt like a new elf and not a sourpuss after his long nap. She crooked her finger at him “C’mon. You’re trying this now, and don’t give me any more shite, Mister.” Her slightly arched eyebrow dared him to protest.

 

“Do it, Uncle Thranduil! Come on, do it!” Saoirse cried.

 

“Don’t disappoint the kid.” She held the hose out expectantly.

 

“Eru,” he said, looking askance. “Oh, I suppose. But if I do this, we are even? You won’t plot further against me for this morning?”

 

The two of them looked at one another. Their mildly evil expressions were so identical it actually made Pat twitch. “We promise...for this morning,” Lorna said.

 

“Why do I feel like I am being fed deceptions?” he asked, but he was now in a good enough humor to roll with it. Earlene was watching, and he ignored that the general thought of his wife seemed to be,  _ Seriously? _ With a nod to Lorna, he inhaled some of it. There was no taste, no detectable odor. He would forever regret that what came out of his mouth was, “Fascinating”, but in a chipmunk voice. Thanadir froze, before turning around. It was quite possibly the only thing that could get him to take his eyes off Thaladir. Earlene shook with laughter, doing her best to keep her jiggling and uncooperative breast still for her son. She was failing miserably.

 

Lorna and Saoirse utterly lost it, laughing so hard the latter actually fell off her chair. Lorna took the hose and tried to inhale some herself, but of course the damned canister was empty. “Go on, say something else,” she said, giggling as she looked up at him.

 

“I wish my father could’ve heard this!” he said brightly.  _ If you canno beat them, join them. Did not the mortals say that, too?  _ “Hellooooo, Adar!” Then followed a long string of something in Sindarin that even Thanadir could not understand, which still did not stop him from laughing. Little Thaladir simply looked disgusted, and waited for his meal to hold still.

 

Even reserved Thanadir was openly giggling. “I  _ knew _ he liked Mr. Spock,” he whispered to Earlene.

 

Lorna laughed so hard she nearly choked, while it was all Pat could do to hold the camera up.  _ Somehow  _ she managed to drag the second tank out of the pantry, fitting the hose. She put a balloon over it to test it, but nothing happened. She turned the nozzle off, then on, but still, nothing. If they’d got shafted on this… Pulling the balloon off, she tried to take a hit; there was some kind of gas in there, at least. “Okay, I think this one’s defective,” she grumbled, in her normal voice. A second hit proved no better. “Dammit, we paid for two canisters, and this one’s defective.” She sniffed at the nozzle, as if that was actually going to accomplish anything.

 

“Can you get back what was paid for it?” Thranduil asked, beginning to appreciate his new voice. “Maybe we should keep this here. I think I like it.” 

 

Earlene was regaining some control of herself, and contritely offered her breast again to her son. Shaking her head, it was impossible not to recall Thranduil as she had first met him. This same, stern and demanding elf that had required the utmost in deference from her was now inhaling helium and narrating a monologue worthy of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Then she frowned.  _ Was Aman ready for them? _ At the moment, she could not bring herself to care.

 

“Oh, they’ll give me my money back, don’t you worry,” Lorna said. She was very...tingly, all of a sudden, the sensation traveling from her hands and up her arms. “I’m nothing if not...insistent.” God, she was downright lightheaded; she had to lean against the wall, pleasant warmth seeping through her. The word  _ insistent  _ just reminded her of something she and Ratiri had got up to last night, and she burst into helpless giggles, sliding to the floor as her laughter built on itself until her sides ached.

 

“Lorna?” squeaked Thranduil. “What is so funny? And how come I don’t feel like that? Are you holding out on me?” he teased. Perhaps this helium was better than she had admitted to him. Though, Lorna tended not to be too good at hiding her thoughts. “I will try some more.” He too lined up at the tank, sniffing at it once he turned the valve. Once again there was no scent. He looked at Saoirse and smiled. “Do you think it works the same if you just leave the valve on and breathe near it?” he squeaked, entertained when the girl giggled at him. “Give me a balloon, I will try.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Maybe Aunt Lorna didn’t do it right,” he said confidentially.

 

The sound of his voice just made Lorna laugh even harder, so hard she could scarcely breathe, while Saoirse hopped up and went to join Uncle Thranduil. Handing him a balloon, she said, “This is more fun than any party. I mean...damn.” She sniffed at the air, but couldn’t smell anything at all; if there was something going on in the tank, she had no idea.

 

Thranduil sniffed one more time before shrugging and filling the balloon with it. He shut down the valve, and twisted the neck shut, but...obviously it would not float. This time he inhaled deeply from the balloon in annoyance. Nothing. With a shrug, he passed it to Saoirse. “No idea.” Lorna thought that was funny too, and continued to laugh helplessly. Thranduil frowned. He could feel what she felt, and...he was baffled.

 

It wasn’t long before Saoirse was giggling as well, letting the gas free-float as she waved around the hose. She only let go of it when she couldn’t stand any longer, and flopped to the floor beside her giggling aunt. “I feel super weird,” she whispered.

 

“Me too,” Lorna whispered back. This seemed like the funniest thing she’d ever heard, and the stitch in her side was now quite annoying, and yet she didn’t care.

 

Ratiri, having showered and actually dressed himself like a human, came into the kitchen and paused. While he couldn’t say he found the idea of his wife and his niece giggling on the floor  _ surprising _ , it was still rather new. “Do I even want to know?” he asked.

 

“Ratiri, something is not right,” said the Chipmunk King.  _ And I do not mean my voice. They had me try this...helium. There were two containers. With this second one, the balloons do not float. My voice does not change as much. I have breathed it and feel nothing, but they feel strange. Are they well? _

 

The sound of Thranduil’s voice brought Ratiri up short, because  _ what _ ? He supposed he shouldn’t be terribly surprised Lorna conned Thranduil into trying helium, because she was disturbingly good at conning people into doing things against their better judgment.

 

“There’s plenty right,” Lorna managed. “Listen to his voice. Listen to it. It’s brilliant.” She managed to stand up, more or less, but tripped over her own feet, and Ratiri caught her before she could fall. Her eyes were unfocused, hazy, and she gave him a happy grin.

 

“Why don’t you sit down, mo chroí,” he said, lowering her back down to sit beside Saoirse. When he checked the metal tank, it was labeled very clearly as helium, but the corner of the label wasn’t stuck down all the way, and ripped off quite easily. When he saw what lay beneath it, he felt his blood pressure spike.

 

“Nobody breathe any more of this,” he said, shutting off the nozzle. “Thranduil, if you would help those two, I would very much appreciate it.” His tone was measured, and far too even, but when he took the cordless out of the cradle, he gripped it so hard the plastic creaked beneath his fingers. Dialing the number on the label, he fetched the receipt from the front of the fridge.

 

He felt the storm in Ratiri’s mind, second only to...or perhaps even worse than...that awful day...he gathered Saoirse and Lorna and moved them toward Earlene and Thanadir, wondering where they could go to avoid hearing the tirade that he knew was brewing. Something about the wrong gas. “Meluieg,” he squeaked. “What is nitrous oxide?” 

 

Earlene smiled at him. “Dentists use it. For anesthesia. It takes away pain and makes you very happy. I had some once, when I had a cavity. I was very young. Wonderful stuff. Why?” 

 

Lorna giggled stupidly, which set off Saoirse. 

 

“Oh, dear,” Earlene said, putting it all together before handing Thaladir hurriedly to Thanadir, who was only too glad to have him back. “Ratiri is going to blow, isn’t he.” It was not a question. Earlene took a giggling Saoirse onto her lap, preparing for the storm to strike.

 

Ratiri tried to be patient. He really, really did, but sitting on hold for five minutes did not improve his disposition in the slightest. The fact that the rather young, rather bored-sounding representative he talked to didn’t  seem to find anything serious in the matter helped even less. “You put me through to your manager, you little shit, or I will have you fired myself,” he snarled. “You rented me a deliberately mislabeled tank. Do you have  _ any idea  _ just how much I could sue you for? Shut your glib little mouth and pass me up to a fucking adult.”

 

“...Okay. Uh, sorry.”

 

_ You’re bloody going to be _ , Ratiri thought.  _ Your entire bloody company is going to be. I know lawyers. _

 

“Sean says that there was some mix-up with the tanks.” At least this man sounded like an adult, and somewhat more appropriately nervous.

 

“You might call it that,” Ratiri said, pacing the length of the kitchen. “Someone deliberately mislabeled a canister of nitrous oxide as helium. My guess is some little shit wanted to take it home with him, and mislaid it until my wife picked it up. She couldn’t understand why it wasn’t filling any balloons, and left it running, and now both she and my niece are incapacitated. I have no way of knowing if they have an allergy or not; it doesn’t appear so, but the fact remains that you sent me home with a canister of a mislabeled, controlled substance that has come into contact with an eight-year-old child. I want whoever was working the day of my receipt fired, and possibly prosecuted.”

 

“Sir, I’m not sure --”

 

“You’re not?  _ I am, _ ” he growled. “I will sue your arse out through the other end of the Earth. It’ll be like bloody  _ China Syndrome. _ ”

 

“Nitrous oxide’s harmless --”

 

“Not to everyone, it’s not, and that is  _ not  _ the fucking point, you little weasel. I’m a doctor. I know exactly what can go wrong if it’s administered improperly -- say, if it’s being released uncontrolled into the air in a semi-confined space.  _ DO NOT FUCK WITH ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT. I WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU AND YOUR WORTHLESS COMPANY. _ ”

 

“Not bad,”  whispered Earlene. “Could’ve used him in court, minus the language. Cover your ears, Saoirse,” she teased. “Uncle Ratiri is a little upset at the chemistry.” She smoothed her hands over the girl’s silky hair.  _ Do not worry, Hîr vuin. It wears off quickly. I believe Ratiri is overreacting. _

 

“No, I want your name -- your full name -- and your assurance that this will be investigated. And  _ yes _ , I will check. And if I find out that whoever did this was not caught and fired, you will wish you were never born,” Ratiri snapped. Finally the man -- James O’Connor -- sounded like he was taking this seriously, and assured Ratiri that this matter would be looked into, that measures would be taken, blah blah blah.

 

“ _ Good _ .” He hung up the phone, resolving to report the shop to the police anyway, once the day was over. “ _ Idiots _ . They’re lucky they didn’t poison anyone.”

 

“You’re sexy when you’re pissed off,” Lorna said dreamily. “Why’re you so angry? It’s just laughing gas.”

 

“It’s not,” he said, calming a little. “Supposed you’d had an allergy, and there had not been Thranduil to heal you? Allergies to nitrous oxide are rare, but they do exist. Use it in too confined a space and you won’t get enough oxygen. Somebody who didn’t know any better could’ve killed themselves.”

 

Lorna blinked at him. “Oh. Ooookay, did not know that. Are you really going to sue them if they don’t do what you want?”

 

“I’m sure Niamh would enjoy the challenge,” he said, giving her a faint smirk. His blood pressure was still through the ceiling, but he felt marginally calmer. “Between her and Orla, we could metaphorically raze it to the ground.” And yes, he was entirely willing to do so over something that, while highly unlikely to harm his wife, _ could  _ have. Lorna, and Saoirse...Christ, Thaladir was in the room, too. Not something an infant needed to be exposed to.

 

Earlene smiled, giving Thranduil a kiss of reassurance. “Well, glad that’s settled. I’m going to pull the cupcakes out of the refrigerator, Thranduil is going to pour the fruit juice into a bowl, you two” (she motioned to Pat and Ratiri) “are going to get all the balls out of those bags and into the ball pit, Saoirse and Lorna are going to try to arrange those blocks into something appealing to Shane and Chandra, and everyone is to make sure the children’s gifts are on the table with the cupcakes so I can tie a balloon to each one.” She frowned. “And hope whatever it is does not float away. Then we can start the party.”

 

“What am I to do?” asked Thanadir, who was not mentioned.

 

“You are already doing it, meldir. But you can feel free to tell us what we could be doing better,” she teased.

 

With a broad smile of thanks, he returned his attention to Thaladir.

 

The giggly euphoria was already wearing off, but Lorna was still in an obscenely good mood as she and Saoirse crafted block-pyramids inside of a circle; the twins would adore demolishing it in very careful ways. One of the things that mildly disturbed her about her children was how carefully they did absolutely everything; they ran around like toddlers everywhere, but set something in front of them and they were highly deliberate when it came to dismantling it, without any of the throwing or banging she would have expected from small children.

 

Ratiri, being Ratiri, hosed each ball down with Dettol before tossing it into the pit. He knew full well just what kind of bacteria-laden nightmares ball pits could be, and he didn’t trust that the company would have adequately disinfected them before sending them out on their way.

 

“You seem a bit tense,” Pat said blandly, following his example. “There’s no harm done, you know. Call Niamh if you don’t get what you want out’v that company, but for Christ’s sake will you calm down? It’s your children’s birthday.” He had never seen Ratiri so much as raise his voice; the man was one of the most calm people Pat had ever met, patient and level-headed, and watching him lose his shit like that was just... _ wrong _ . The natural order of things had been upset.

 

“It’s entirely possible someone could have got hurt,” Ratiri said, wiping ball after ball. “Nitrous oxide is delivered in measured doses for a reason. A small population is allergic to it, and had that been in continuous use in a small space -- oh, say, like the pantry -- it could well have left whoever was using it without enough oxygen. Not to mention, there was a baby in the room. While it’s safe for children of Saoirse’s age, I would not trust it with a week-old infant. The fact that it harmed none in our household is beside the point -- it could very well have hurt someone who didn’t know any better.”

 

“...Oh,” Pat said. Maybe Ratiri hadn’t been overreacting after all. Pissing off doctors when it came to anything medicine-related was not, in his admittedly limited experience, a good idea.

 

Sharley returned from her walk, but when she reached the dining room, she paused, her eyes traveling the crowd. Her mouth quirked in the barest hint of a smile; her right eyebrow raised by just a fraction, and her mismatched eyes tracked to Thranduil, who would be the only one to realize just how hard a time she was having of keeping her laughter to herself, and why. “I think you have enough balloons,” was what she said aloud. “Tie them all to one of the twins and they’d go floating away.”

 

“Eh, I got a bit carried away,” Lorna said. “The elves can use them for target practice later. Or I could just be an utter bastard and let them loose, to descend on anyone.”

 

“Oh, let them loose,” Saoirse said. “Shooting them would be like killing them. They should be free to find their own lives.” She was in deadly earnest, too, eying her aunt with solemn green eyes. “Don’t kill the balloons.”

 

Lorna ruffled her hair. “All right, I won’t kill the balloons. They can find new homes.” And the first person who mentioned the word ‘litter’ in front of this kid was going to regret it. Saoirse had a tendency to personify everything, and while that could probably prove a detriment someday, Lorna was not about to disabuse her of it right now. Kid was only eight -- though she’d be nine in March, God help them. March twenty-fifth, the elves’ New Year. Made it easy to remember, anyway. She’d be nine, and she was already shoulder-height on her aunt, and Lorna was curious as to how tall she’d actually get. Thranduil wouldn’t take it to extremes, and none of the core Donovans were tall people, but if she made it to her da’s height, that wouldn’t be so bad for a woman. That would just put her at a touch below average. 

 

It would still be pretty short in this household, but this one had a disproportionately  large number of very tall people; out of seven adults, five were six feet or over, and at five foot nine Earlene was on the tall side for a woman. Certainly she towered over Lorna; had Lorna been the sort to admire tits, she was at the right height to admire Earlene’s. Tits, however did nothing for her (though even she had to admit Earlene had a rather nice arse, and she trusted Thranduil to never, ever tell anyone. Ever.) Jesus, even their elven child care staff seemed like giants compared to Lorna, Pat, and Saoirse.  _ Someday _ , Lorna thought,  _ I will get half-arsed graceful, and I will just get really tall platform shoes. _ Wearing them out in the forest wouldn’t be an option (at least, not if she didn’t want to break an ankle), but she could wear them around the house. It would be far better than nothing at all.

 

“I think we are ready?” asked Earlene. When all the adults nodded, including Ratiri (who still appeared to be developing a case of lockjaw) she left the room.  _ For pity’s sake, get some alcohol into Ratiri _ , she said to her husband,  _ or something. _ Climbing the spiral stairs, excitedly she opened the door to the nursery, to see Lothiriel carefully reading to them from Grimm’s Fairy Tales.  _ Oh, the irony.  _ Fortunately, they were just at the end of a story. Her daughters squealed with happiness when she plunked down on the floor with them. After suitable hugs and kisses were given, she looked at them very solemnly. “I happen to know that there is a birthday party waiting downstairs for four very special children,” she told with an air of secrecy. 

 

The twins’ eyes sparkling blue eyes bulged as they looked at each other. “ ‘lannah, c’mon! Noro lim!” Earlene and Lothiriel chuckled at the hopeless mishmash of English and Sindarin that they now spoke. Ithiliel and Eleniel each grabbed one of their sister’s hands, and helped propel (perhaps ‘drag’ was a better word) the little redheaded girl toward the staircase.

 

“No running down the stairs!” Earlene reminded, as they reluctantly moved into more of a hopping motion. “Hold the handrail!” Thanadir stood below, to ensure compliance. Earlene gestured for Lothiriel to proceed before taking the fireman’s pole. Dammit, she had been too pregnant to do this earlier (not to mention, she was being safe because of the baby) so she was damn well going to do it now, and as much as she liked. Little squeeing voices ran through the kitchen and into the Dining Room, where they stopped at the sight of the bounce house, in silent rapture. Saoirse was already flailing in the middle of the ball pit, and with happy shrieks, the three other girls ran to join them. It warmed Earlene’s heart, that in spite of their excitement, her twins took care to see Allanah into the structure safely before they dove in themselves.

 

“Well, I guess that rates above the cupcakes,” Earlene grinned to Thranduil, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Are you still a Chipmunk?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

 

“No,” he replied, his usual sonorous baritone restored. “What do you mean, anyway, Chipmunk? Rodents do not speak, they only chirp,” he said archly.

 

“Oh, I see,” said Earlene, smiling happily. She was going to let it go, content to leave him to his ignorance, but then saw the gleam in Lorna’s eyes. Uh-oh.

 

“Oh, just wait,” the tiny woman said. “You’ll find out, in time.” Yes, there was a rather blatant threat in her voice, but it wasn’t every day a chance like this came along.

 

Fortunately for Thranduil, she was distracted by the arrival of her children, toddling their way across the dining room. When they walked, they both had the most hilariously intent expressions, as though all their mental energy was being expended on the task -- but, given they rarely fell, it probably was. They slammed into her legs, looking up at her.

 

“Barbarian,” Shane enunciated carefully.

 

“Fuck,” Chandra added. “Fuck barbarian.”

 

Lorna groaned. How the hell she was going to take these two out into society before they were old enough to understand there was a time and a place, she didn’t know...then again, it hadn’t stopped them taking Allanah all over.

 

“How about you two learn a new word,” she said. “Birthday. Can you say birthday?”

 

They actually looked at one another, and, to her total amusement, chorused, “Birt’day,” mangling the ‘th’ as badly as she and Pat ever had. They were surrounded by adults with far better diction, and yet they sounded just like her. 

 

“Apparently they aren’t going to be able to open the Gates, either,” she sighed. She could fake the ‘th’ rather better than she used to, but she was still faking it, as was Pat. Just...how the hell could you make that sound? How did it work? Hopefully her children could learn it easier than she had. Saoirse wasn’t trapped by the Dublin accent; she actually sounded like she’d grown up in Limerick.

 

“I think they need to spend more time around Uncle Thanadir,” Ratiri said, his mood softening somewhat. “He can teach them to properly speak.” 

 

Lorna stuck her tongue out at him, but it wasn’t a bad idea. They really didn’t need to be as incomprehensible as she was to most people. “You two are a year old today. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but for me it’s gone by too fast.”

 

Sharley watched her, but said nothing. She could hardly tell Lorna that it  _ all _ went by too fast; you blinked, and they were older. She suspected that never changed, either, even if your kid actually lived to adulthood. They grew and changed so very fast, soaking up new experiences like sponges… Marty’s birthday was May fourth, and for the first time since she’d died, Sharley could visit her grave without people thinking she was crazy. Every year, she took a little cake, and at it while talking to her sleeping daughter, and left a bouquet of lilacs, for lilacs had been Marty’s favorite. Did they grow in Ireland? If not, she needed to import some seeds.

 

According to her mobile, it took exactly forty-three minutes of Ball Pit to wear the girls (Saoirse included) down enough to consider cupcakes, punch and presents. It almost went without saying that toys for one were toys for all, so they had not worried about duplication….and so far, the children had been surprisingly unselfish with each other. Earlene had insisted on k’nex, because, Engineering. Ithiliel and Eleniel received art paper and supplies, hula hoops, nerf foam balls safe for indoor use, skipping ropes, and dinosaur skeleton puzzles. Plus, each had a tee shirt; one had a lovely image of the moon, the other of stars. Chandra and Shane were given playing balls appropriate to their development, their own large size Legos and blocks (so that the loaned blocks from the Sullivan girls would not be a tease), and stuffed dinosaur toys, because apparently that’s what this household did, dammit. The elves (Maerwen had clearly leaned on friends in the woodworking room) made the Duncan twins each a real wooden rocking saddle horse of astonishing beauty. Thanadir had secretly sewn costumes for all five young children, each depicting an insect. Ithiliel was a preying mantis (something she seemed to enjoy far too much), Eleniel a butterfly, Allanah a honeybee, Chandra a ladybug, and Shane a firefly. 

 

Earlene could privately not remember ever seeing this many gifts at once when she was a child, but...she now understood the temptation to spoil them. When money was no object and you loved your children...but all the adults in the house had met some time ago to discuss this; the decision had been reached that while of course each parent had the final say, toys and gifts were to be heavily slanted toward encouraging creativity, physical development, and imaginative play….and that most garishly colored plastic things seen in the outer world would be a Nope.

 

The older children were reminded to thank everyone for their gifts, heard Happy Birthday, and soon were right back in the bounce house burning off the cupcakes. No sooner had Earlene sat down after enjoying the show, Thaladir was hungry. She excused herself to the Quiet room so that the baby could feed without so much shrieking in his little ears, and Thanadir followed. He hated to be separated from the little one, even for a minute. “I think you are in love, meldir,” Earlene teased him gently. The old elf blinked, uncertain what to think.

 

“Is that what it feels like?” he asked, hesitantly, confused. “Like I feel toward him?” 

 

She thought carefully before answering. “There are some differences, in how it feels to fall in love with a partner; there are more...complexities? when the object of your love is another adult. But the emotion of love?...I think that is the same. The love I feel for Thranduil, my son, you...it is love. From here,” she held her hand over her heart.

 

He nodded, then reached to carefully rub his son’s back. “Then you are right,” he smiled. “I am in love.”

 

“I will not tell anyone,” she teased again. “But then again I do not think I would have to.”

 

Meanwhile, as the party wound down, Lorna was sitting happily with a tall glass of carefully fortified punch (hey, it was a party), with odd, high pitched humming sounds coming from her distinctly though quietly while she watched her children play. Thranduil could live with that, but for the occasional glances of pure mischief she occasionally darted in his direction.  _ You promised you would be nice to me if I tried the helium,  _ he reminded her.

 

_ Yeah,  _ she said,  _ this morning _ .  _ It’s not morning anymore _ . Trying not to cackle, she fetched her laptop, tapping into the wireless household speakers.

 

“So, Thranduil,” she said, unable to hide her rather evil little grin, “you know how Earlene thought you sounded like a  _ talking  _ chipmunk? Yeah, there’s a reason for that, and here it is.” She went to YouTube and pulled up the Alvin and the Chipmunks rendition of ‘On Top of Old Smokey’, volume at full bore. In an instant, a trio of squeaky voices filled the air, and set Pat laughing so hard he nearly choked.

 

Earlene came dashing into the room while stuffing herself back into her clothing, sliding across the floor in stocking feet to add her voice to the shrill chorus.  Thanadir chased after her, baby huddled to his chest. Lorna, delighted to see she had company, grabbed onto her waist, as they swayed back and forth channeling their inner five-year olds, singing at the top of their lungs. Thranduil sat there, unable to process what he was seeing. It ended all too soon.

 

“Oooh, do you have the one with, you know, the other lyrics?” Earlene asked eagerly. “And what about ‘On Top of Spaghetti?’” 

 

“What’s ‘On Top of Spaghetti’?” asked Saoirse.

 

Earlene put her hands on her hips. “Pat! Have you taught this child NOTHING?”

 

“That one never occurred to me,” Pat said, somehow managing to speak through his laughter. Earlene and Lorna, and Thranduil’s expression...he was about ready to piss himself.

 

“Well, it should have,” Lorna said, with mock disapproval. “Listen, Saoirse.” Resuming their odd swaying dance, she and Earlene chorused, 

 

“ _ On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese _

_ I lost my poor meatball, when somebody sneezed. _

_ It rolled off the table, it rolled out on the floor _

_ And then my poor meatball rolled out of the door, _ ”

 

_ Marty always felt sorry for the meatball _ , Sharley thought, but dissolved into silent laughter. Thranduil’s  _ expression _ ...this was not at all what he had signed on for, when he’d decided to make contact with humanity; had he known this would be the result, she wondered if he would have done it in the first place. 

 

Saoirse seemed to have taken note of it, too, and Sharley had a feeling there would be another drawing out of this. It was going to be absolutely priceless, that was for damn sure -- though perhaps not as priceless as the video Pat was shooting. If they were aiming to humanize Thranduil to the people of Baile...well, this was going to do whatever the footage from the dinner party didn’t manage. He might be the great King among the elves, but among his household...not quite so much. At all. He was, at the end of the day, a person, just like the rest of them. Helium affected him, even if laughing gas didn’t; he could be every bit as appalled by Alvin and the Chipmunks as any human.

 

“ _ It rolled in the garden, and under a bush, _

_ And then my poor meatball,was nothing but mush. _

_ The mush was as tasty, as tasty could be, _

_ And then the next summer, it grew into a tree, _ ”

 

Unexpectedly, Sharley joined in on the last verse:

 

“ _ The tree was all covered, all covered with moss, _

_ And on it grew meatballs, and tomato sauce. _

_ So if you eat spaghetti, all covered with cheese, _

_ Hold on to your meatball, whenever you sneeze. _ ”

 

Both sets of twins were clapping and giggling, as was Allanah. Thranduil seemed eternally grateful that it was over, as Earlene slid playfully onto his lap, kissing his cheeks while Thanadir shook with silent laughter. A faint smile twitched at the corners of the King’s mouth.  _ Too much humanity?  _ she asked silently, tilting her head.

 

_ Eru. At least it is over with. _

 

_ Over with? My Lord, that song shall lead us to Valinor.  _

 

_ You cannot be serious, meluieg. The Valar will send us back, that much would be assured. _

 

Behind them, Eleniel raised her arms to her siblings, with great seriousness. “ ‘Kay. Minler, tâd, neledh (one, two, three)….. _ On top of pasghetti, all covered wid cheeeez… _ ” The others quickly joined in, and what Allanah could not recall at all she made up for in tunefulness. Thranduil let out an audible groan with a pained expression.

 

“Are you  _ sure _ about that?” Earlene smirked as the room erupted in adult laughter.

  
  



	86. Eighty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 15-19, 2018

It was early afternoon, and Earlene burst into the Spotted Dick with Ratiri in tow, triumph written on her face. Marching straight up to John, she plunked €200 on the counter. “I’d like two pints of Guinness, a shot of poitín, and the change is for a round for whoever comes in after me, on one condition. I get a toast, because I claim victory over the bloody Road Safety Authority. I have proven to Ireland that I can drive, and have passed my Category B license exam. You will note, I did not drive  _ through _ the front of the pub to arrive here, which is proof of my competence.” All of it was said to the amused barman with a flourish. “And I’m walking home, so my license will remain untarnished of penalty points.”

 

The scattered applause from the rest of the patrons was not feigned; there was a reason many chose not to drive in Ireland -- or, in the case of small, rural villages, skipped licensing altogether, and just hoped they didn’t get caught. “Pain the arse, isn’t it?” John asked, drawing her a pint. “Don’t ask me why they make such a production out’v it.”

 

“No shit,” Geezer said, hailing her from the end of the bar. “Lemme guess: guy assumed you’d never been behind the wheel before?”

 

Earlene grimaced at the painful memory. “Oh, so you want to hear  _ that _ story?” The poitín appeared and was knocked back, Lorna style. She ignored John’s subtle shake of the head that all but said,  _ that Lorna’s wearing off on our Earlene, and not in a good way.  _ “Sure, why not. Had to go to a bloke in Limerick, Ian, because of course that’s the closest place for an instructor. Lorna’s brother Pat had word he wasn’t too big of a gobshite.” She sighed at the memory. “ ‘Too big’ were the operative words, there, at least in the beginning. My guess is, he took one look at the girls” (pointing to her chest) “and decided that any brain cells I might have were living in my bra.”

 

“I’m sorry on behalf’v men,” John said sincerely. Whoever the gobshite was, he’d been lucky Earlene had more self-restraint than most Irish women.

 

“Oh, he wound up sorry in the end,” Ratiri said, still trying so very hard not to laugh. Earlene had chewed that twat up and spit him out, and all without so much as raising her voice. It was an art form one simply did not see in Ireland or Scotland; it brought back memories of Great Ormond Street, and female colleagues who could shred someone with a few judicious words. “She’d memorized page upon page of the Rules of the Road handbook, and kept quoting them back at him, because she knew them better than he did.” And he had dutifully relayed all of this to Lorna over text message, because he’d had to share it with  _ someone _ . “After a while he started looking like he’d had a lemon shoved somewhere unpleasant.”

 

Laughter filled the pub, and once their glasses were empty they strolled happily back to Eldamar to continue celebrating with food. Bless his heart, John’s cook couldn’t hope to match Earlene, not even on a good day.

  
  


*****

 

Saoirse’s birthday was the twenty-fifth of March, but Lorna wanted to get started on it early. It was going to be the first really big birthday the kid had ever had; Pat had always done his best, but there wasn’t much money to go around. Saoirse was going to get one every bit as amazing as all the others so far, and Pat was going to shut up and let her have it.

 

It had been a while since Lorna had gone to Dublin, and she was happy for an excuse. She took Chandra with her, just for the hell of it; Shane was fussy, and Ratiri thought it best he stay home. If there was time, they’d stop in and see adult Shane, though that might prove too much for Chandra. The kid was pretty sanguine, but she was also just a year old.

 

The clouds were gathering as she buckled her daughter’s car seat in the back -- Ratiri had given her quite a lecture when he discovered she’d driven to see Pat with Allanah in the front, but how the hell was she to have known? When she was a kid, nobody she knew even used seat belts.

 

“You have everything?” he asked her. “Nappy bag?”

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” she said, exasperated. “Nappy bag, change of clothes, baby food, toys, binky, spare binky for when she inevitably spits out the first...I have been doing this a while, you know. It’s not like the first time I went to Dublin with them.” She was never, ever going to get over Shane pissing a fountain on the floor of the van. At least he hadn’t wee’d on  _ her _ . 

 

“I know,” Ratiri said. “I worry. I can’t help it.”

 

“You’re a da,” she said, rising on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Of course you do. I’d be doing the same thing, if you were the one going, but enough’s enough. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll call you once I’ve reached the shopping center, so you can know we’re not dead. Unless I somehow turn into a zombie along the way, but in that case I’d still tell you I wasn’t dead, because I’d want to eat your tasty genius brains.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing. “Never change, mo chroí. Never change.”

 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she said, grinning.  _ Thranduil, will you please keep him distracted for me? I’m not going to answer if he calls while I’m on the motorway, and if he rings me non-stop while I’m out, I might just choke him later. And not in the fun way. _

 

_ Of course I will,  _ he said kindly, glad for once that he was not the one doing the aggravating. That tended to come with some manner of retribution, however subtle, he had learned.

 

“Drive safe,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “I know, I know.”

 

“I always do, when I’ve actually got passengers,” she said. By now she’d had so many children and nervous passengers that it was easier for her to drive like a reasonable person; she just got the lunacy out of her system when she was alone. “Stop  _ worrying _ . Go and pester Saoirse.”

 

“Worrying is what I do,” he said. “I’m a professional at it.” Nevertheless, he kissed her good-bye, and if there was a little tongue involved, nobody needed to know but them.

 

The clouds gathered as she drove off toward Lasg’len, the sky darkening to leaden hues, and a few fat raindrops splatted on the windscreen. Given that she for once had no adult passengers, she quite happily plugged in her iPod and started up some Judas Priest -- softly, because she didn’t want to be hurting Chandra’s ears. Her daughter made a face, so she switched to the Ramones, which the little girl appreciated far more.

 

“I don’t wanna be buried, in a Pet Sematary,” Lorna sang, as they headed through the back roads. “I don’t wanna live my life again.” Chandra giggled, evidently quite pleased with a song based off possibly the scariest book Stephen King ever wrote. When Saoirse was a little older, Lorna would have her read it, just so she too could have the shit scared out of her. Lorna herself had had nightmares for  _ months _ , and she’d been thirty-two.

 

The rain picked up by the time they’d reached the motorway, but her windscreen wipers were new, and she didn’t have any problem navigating traffic. Not that there was a great deal anyway, in the middle of a weekday, but it was funny how much she was willing to let slide, now. Once upon a time, the eejit in the purple Kia would have sent her blood pressure soaring, but now she just rolled her eyes. Maybe she was finally turning into a mature adult...at the age of forty-one. Oh well. Better late than never.

 

“Can you say ‘I wanna be sedated’?” she asked Chandra.

 

“Fuck,” her daughter said stubbornly. Apparently she was going to take after her cousin in that -- it must be the hair.

 

By now the rain pounded on the roof so hard she almost couldn’t hear the music, but she wasn’t going to turn it up because baby. Toddler. Child. Sensitive ears. It actually grew even  _ worse _ once she’d hit the off-ramp to Dublin; the wipers were on full-bore, and she was glad she’d installed a more modern system, so they had more than two speeds.

 

Afterward, she never was entirely certain what happened. The light turned green, she pulled out to take a right, and then there was only deafening noise, a brief, stomach-lurching spin, even briefer pain, and then nothing.

 

Witnesses would describe it as chaos: a massive black pickup ran the red light and plowed first into the side of a little red classic, sending it spinning like a toy. The driver of the truck didn’t touch his brakes once; it just kept going, ramming a smaller pickup which crumpled like tinfoil and crashed backward into the sedan behind it. The truck didn’t stop until it crashed into the stoplight pole, destroying the front end. Over the pouring of the rain, someone could hear a baby crying, but didn’t dare approach any of the wrecks. Dozens of mobiles dialed 999, flooding the emergency system to all report the same thing: massive pileup at the exit of the M7.

 

*****

 

Thranduil was enjoying a relaxing rainy morning, reading news articles as was still his wont. Trump was still being an arse in America. He’d stopped reading the news on the American president, in favor of just viewing last night’s highlights from a TV host called Stephen Colbert. It tended to sum up the political disaster of the day with much more accuracy and eloquence anyway, and made him laugh more often than not. Shaking his head at the clip, he smiled and moved on to the Irish news. There was an aerial photo of an accident on the M7 at Dublin. He was about to dismiss it when he saw a red car. No. It could not be. It was not possible…. _ Meluieg _ , he called out in his mind with sheer desperation.  _ Tolo annin _ . 

 

Even were she not prone to obey him, the tone of his mind would have had her rushing to him regardless. Hurrying from their bedroom into the Heart Room, she went to him. “My Lord?” she asked.

 

“This photo, Earlene,” he beckoned. “There has been an accident and…” he kept his voice low, as she moved around to see the image.

 

“Jesus fucking christ that’s Lorna’s Charger,” she whispered….but was she 100% sure. “I think what you do but...what if I am wrong? I can’t say anything until….” her words were cut short by the sound of a mobile ringing in the other room.

 

Ratiri was quite relieved, until he saw that it was Saint James’s. His heart lurched as he answered. “Hello?”

 

“I need to speak to Ratiri. Is this him?” The male voice on the phone was measured, professional, no-nonsense. 

 

“It is,” he said. “What’s happened?”

 

“There’s been an accident in Dublin -- a multiple-car pile-up at the off-ramp. We have your wife and your daughter in A&E now. Your daughter is fine, but your wife is in critical condition. It’s best if you get here immediately.”

 

Ratiri felt all the blood drain from his face, so swiftly it left him light-headed. He couldn’t be hearing this. She’d -- they’d just gone to  _ Dublin  _ \--

 

His own training snapped in. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said. “Can you give me anything about her condition?”

 

“We’ll tell you when you arrive. But you need to hurry.”

 

Well, that was  _ helpful.  _ Ratiri hung up, and dashed to the Heart Room. Lorna might be critical, but they had Thranduil; so long as they could get there before she, God forbid, died, she’d be fine. He had to hold onto that thread. “Thranduil,” he said, sounding far calmer than he actually felt. “Thranduil, we need to go to Dublin. There was a wreck, Lorna’s in hospital and she’s critical, and we need to get there  _ now _ .” At least, if there was the chaos that usually came with a multiple-car wreck, the Elvenking’s healing abilities should go unnoticed. Or so Ratiri devoutly hoped.

 

“Go,” Earlene said, forcing her legendary composure to show itself. “Do whatever you need to do. But Ratiri, both of you, don’t become the next statistic driving like maniacs. Promise me.” The look on her face was one in deadly earnest. “Fast is okay. Maniac is not. It’s no good if you kill him getting you both there. He is not invulnerable.” She was not going to budge.

 

“Meluieg…”

 

“Thranduil, shut it. You are not leaving until you promise me, or you’ll have to break every bone I have to get out of here. And for the love of Eru, you get Pat down here right now. It’s his sister.” 

 

Ratiri drew a deep breath. This was not something he wanted to promise, not at all. “Fine,” he said. “I won’t drive like a maniac.” Then again, ‘maniac’ was something of a relative term.  _ Lorna  _ use to drive like a maniac, but he had never been that bad. He was merely aggressive, where she had been actively insane. How horribly ironic was it -- she’d been fine all those years of driving like a psychopath, but only once she started being reasonable did she get in a wreck. Like a bat out of hell, Pat came dropping down the fire pole and bursting through the kitchen door, boots in his hand.

 

“I’m not sure just what in fuck happened,” he said, stuffing his feet into his boots, “but if somebody’s hit my baby sister, they’re going to wish they were dead.”

 

“We don’t know what happened yet,” Ratiri said. “Come on, you can tie those in the van.” If whoever had caused that wreck survived it, they might not by the time these three were through with them.

 

******

 

Dublin Fire Brigade was responding in force, as was the Gardaí. A large area was cordoned off immediately; units were arriving on scene within forty-five seconds of the incident. Paramedics and emergency medical technicians alike performed triage as rapidly as possible. “Christ, woman and a baby, here!” Michael Dooley hollered to his partner. The little one was awake, crying to rip her lungs out, the poor mite. “She looks bad,” he whispered to himself, cussing the arse driver that did this. He’d have to try to go in the passenger side; driver’s door was a complete mangled fuck up. He dove in, thankful he wasn’t the world’s largest bloke, placing the cervical collar around her neck as best he could manage. They worried about fire; petrol was everywhere and there would be no time for textbook extrications today; the chief’s orders were to get them out as best as they could while still maintaining spinal integrity. “C’mon love, you’re coming with me.” He pulled her after him as gently as possible, to the waiting backboard.  _ How in fuck is she not bleeding?  _ The right side of her face was a ruination, and he cringed, wondering if she’d have the use of that eye when it was all over. “You’re alive still, lass. Stay that way,” he whispered, helping strap her with the D-rings to the board. They got her to the waiting ambulance; she was high priority because of being unconscious. Her purse was tossed between her legs, hopefully containing her ID. “Fuck this,” he muttered in disgust at the waste of it all, turning to look for his next patient.

 

Shelagh Reilly looked over the little girl while the woman was secured; the child was naturally terrified, but Shelagh could find no broken bones upon cursory assessment. There did not appear to be any trauma to her head; whatever car seat she’d been in had done its job, thank God. What the poor kid seemed to want most was her mother, but there was no way anyone in that ambulance was going to let her see just what had happened to the woman.

 

There was a mobile in her handbag, and Shelagh scrolled through the contacts. Mercifully, this woman -- Lorna Donovan, according to her driver’s license -- was smart, and had several ICE numbers listed. They wouldn’t call, however, until they had her in A&E, and had something like an accurate assessment of her condition.

 

On the other side of the stretcher, her partner Malcolm swore in confusion. That there was no blood at all was not necessarily a mercy; it could simply mean that it was all internal, improbable thought that sounded. A blow to the head like that and she should have been bleeding like a stuck pig, and yet there was nothing -- no, that wasn’t quite right. Her right eye had a fairly large conjunctival hemorrhage, and already a bruise was forming, but that was it.

 

It  _ was  _ a mercy that she was unconscious, but he wanted her to have a nice big dose of dilaudid before she woke. He had an IV at the ready, but the damn needle wouldn’t pierce her skin. She didn’t appear to have a plate in her arm; the veins were clearly visible.  _ Bloody needles. Useless.  _ Exasperated, he pulled it off and popped on a new one,  but encountered the same damn result, every single place he tried to inject. “What the actual fuck,” he said, staring at her as the ambulance screamed into the hospital car park.

 

“What?” Shelagh asked. She’d managed to get the little girl sedated, so the poor kid stopped crying.

 

“I can’t get a line in,” Malcolm said. “ _ Anywhere. _ ”

 

“So change the needle.”

 

“I  _ did _ . Watch.” He carefully palpated the woman’s arm; her skin was quite yielding, the veins nice and prominent, but when he tried to insert the needle it just...stopped. It touched her skin, but stopped, as though it had run into a barrier of stone.

 

“What in the shit…?” Shelagh could only stare, because this made no sense whatsoever. Oh, there were certain conditions that could thicken the skin, but this was none of them. “It does that everywhere?”

 

“Everywhere,” Malcolm said, and tried a spot on the woman’s wrist. “Shelagh, what the hell is this?”

 

“Fuck if I know. Get her in and let the doctors deal with her. The kid doesn’t look like her, but since she was with her, it’s best to keep them together. Thank God she’s got ICE numbers.”

 

Anjika Narayanan was the nurse who took over the poor woman -- Lorna Donovan -- and the small girl. Mercifully, the child seemed to have nothing more severe than whiplash, which was far more than could be said for her mother. On went an oxygen mask, set to standard 12L/minute O 2 ; Anjika was carefully not to jostle the poor woman’s head, unconscious though she was. But...what? 

 

“Damned EMT’s,” she muttered, somewhat aghast that nobody had given this woman a drip of any kind. Were she to somehow wake now, she’d been in bloody agony.

 

It was chaos in A&E right now, but  _ organized _ chaos; emergency staff were trained with every bit as much a precision as ballet dancers. Anjika nabbed an orderly, who immediately fetched her both saline and dilaudid. “All right, poor lady, let’s make sure you don’t wake up wishing you were dead.”

 

Lorna Donovan’s veins were like fire hoses, nice and easy, but the needle...wouldn’t go in. Anywhere. Anjika’s brow wrinkled in confusion, because this wasn’t  _ possible. _ There was no calcification; this was living, pliant skin. Living, pliant,  _ impenetrable  _ skin. Just... _ how _ ?

 

She didn't have time to wonder over it -- there were more in behind Ms. Donovan. This could get passed on to someone rather higher up the food chain, and meantime they could all hope the poor woman didn’t wake.

 

*****

 

Thanadir had retreated to his room with Thaladir, sitting in his chair, talking softly to his son.  _ His son _ ...each time he thought the words, a thrill of happiness ran through him. This beautiful child. It had been over a month, and he still hardly knew what do with himself or his feelings. He had noticed, the child was happier against his bare skin; this became obvious from when he watched him on his mother’s breast. And quite often, without prompting, the little lips found his nipple, time and again. He allowed it, as often as the boy wanted, and had come to find that he enjoyed this sensation of closeness in a way he could not have imagined.

 

The first time he mentioned to Earlene what the boy was doing in just his second week of life, she nodded, unconcerned, but not long after her computer came out. What she found was deeply surprising. Apparently not only were there cultures in the world in which males offering to let infants suckle on their nipples for comfort when the mother was absent was common, but there were males who actually successfully breastfed. Unbeknownst to her, a man had both a nipple, a milk gland, and some amount of the necessary hormones, just nowhere near what a mother who had given birth could manage. And she learned too that even a woman who had not given birth could lactate; if the equipment was stimulated regularly enough, without exception or regard to gender, it would produce milk. “The things you learn,” she whispered to herself.

 

It took some days to decide, and there was discussion with Thranduil as well, but after very little reflection, the decision was made to tell Thanadir what she had discovered. The desire he had to parent this child, to experience everything he could with the little ellon, was palpable. She was not about to judge him or deny him anything he might want that could be in the baby’s best interest; in eighteen thousand years this was his chance at the greatest happiness he would ever have, and the preconceived notions of others were not about to influence her. Maybe it went even more so for Earlene; having suffered the fear of judgment and disapproval for wedding an elf, she just….didn’t like the idea of people’s prejudices from any perspective.

 

She told the seneschal what she had learned, and that she would not think ill of him for anything he might wish to do. Or not. And left it at that. So when the day came that he could...feel something happening, when Thaladir suckled...a tear of happiness splashed onto his cheek. He had no intention other than to continue. Of course, Earlene could and did produce more milk than he would ever manage, but just to have this experience, usually reserved only for females...like everything else about Thaladir, he would embrace it, and gladly.

 

A soft knock came on his door, and it opened a crack. “May I come in, meldir? It is Earlene.”

 

“Of course,” he said, not concerned that Earlene would see him nursing.

 

In spite of what she was here to say, she could not help but smile, and go to him. “How is it going, with that? Well enough, I see.”

 

He grinned up at her. “I know it would seem strange to others, but...I am very happy, Earlene. Only, I know I will never have as much food for him as you do. In fact…would you?”

 

She nodded, bringing one of her breasts out. “Thanadir, I came to tell you something,” she said, her voice breaking under the growing strain, the tears she could not control any longer pooling in her eyes.

 

“Meldis?” His arms came around her and the baby, as Thaladir hurriedly latched onto his mother. 

 

“Lorna was in an accident, in her car, with Chandra. Thranduil, Pat and Ratiri just left. I really don’t know much for certain, but...it sounded bad and it looked worse.”

 

“What do you mean, looked worse?” A huge knot was settling into his stomach. 

 

“Come to the computer with me.” She showed him the photo. “That is Lorna’s car,” she whispered, trying to control her tears and not succeeding.

 

“Eru,” the tender-hearted elf said, beginning to cry from worry himself .

 

Sharley appeared in the doorway like a blue-haired wraith -- the woman could be almost as quiet as an elf when she chose. “Don’t cry,” she said gently. “Lorna doesn’t die yet.”

 

Thanadir and Earlene looked at each other and frowned, considering. Nutty as this was, it was a kind of comfort because...Thranduil believed her visions without question, and it was enough for both of them. They nodded and rubbed their eyes on their sleeves. “However strange it is that you can know that, thank you,” said Earlene. “I almost wonder if I should text that to Thranduil, to remind him. I don’t want them to...worry so much.”

 

“You ought to,” Sharley said, with one of her fleeting smiles. “Lorna is gonna live for a long, long time. I haven’t seen what’s gonna directly come of this, but it’s not gonna kill her.” She paused. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, and you can’t tell her I did, but someday she actually has to wear that crown Thranduil gave her. And she’ll  _ hate  _ it. It’ll be hilarious.”

 

“Ha ha!” exclaimed Thanadir, immediately clapping his hand over his mouth to contain his transgression, eyes wide in horror. Which of course made Earlene burst into laughter.

 

“With my luck we’ll be gone and I’ll miss it,” Earlene muttered. She would give a great deal, to see that. And chuckle. “Thanadir could I bother you to bring my mobile? It’s on the kitchen counter, next to the stove burners.” He complied at once, and she sent her message. He obligingly held her son to keep at her nipple while she did so. Which was ridiculous, but so were a lot of things around here. Nimble fingers took care of sending the message, with hopes that it would offer some comfort.

 

“You won’t be,” Sharley promised, and was gone as swiftly and silently as she came.

  
  


******

 

While Ratiri did not  _ quite  _ drive like a bat out of hell, he came dangerously close. It took longer than he liked, too, because they had to take an exit further down the motorway; he was pretty sure the nearest one was closed, and would be for some time.

 

The rain lashed down, running in shallow rivers over the pavement -- everyone had slowed down a touch, as was only sensible in the rain, but it wasn’t what he needed, or what he heeded. Should somebody dip too far below acceptable motorway speed, he just went around them -- but true to his promise to Earlene, he wasn’t insane about it. Thranduil watched carefully, but held himself quiet. For now.

 

Pat was scrolling furiously on his phone. “News says it was a drunk driver,” he said. “As far as they know, anyway. Aren’t releasing the identity of him or any’v the victims.”

 

Ratiri was afraid, very afraid, that if he knew the man’s name -- and with a truck like that, it was almost certainly a man -- he would actually commit cold-blooded murder. Regardless of Lorna’s fate, if he knew that idiot’s name, he’d be a dead man.

 

He said nothing of it, however, and they reached the hospital without incident. Triage, he knew, was going to be very busy, but this hospital was alien to him; he had no idea where to find the staff-only offices.

 

“Jesus,” Pat muttered, as they made it through the door. His experience with hospitals was largely limited to TV dramas, and this was and yet wasn’t like what he’d seen. It looked like chaos, yeah, but the staff seemed so calm. There was nothing like the low-key panic you saw with a lot of TV medical staff -- the lack of drama almost made it worse, somehow. It made such a horrific thing seem...everyday. Which, he supposed, it was, for these people.

 

To his surprise, Mairead was already at the triage desk -- a Mairead who looked ready to, as Lorna might say, rip someone’s head off and shit down the hole. She was positively livid, her blue eyes like twin lasers as they glowered at the orderly behind the desk.

 

“Lorna Duncan,” she snapped. “She’s my  _ sister _ . I’m her bloody emergency contact, so  _ where the fuck is she? How is she? _ If I don’t get some answers in the next five fucking seconds, I’m gonna rip your foot off and  _ jam it up your god damn arse. _ ”

  
  


The poor man’s eyes widened, but Ratiri, in spite of everything, was rather impressed that he held his ground. You weren’t immediately supposed to send people back to visit patients, even if they claimed to be relatives -- and in Mairead’s case, they certainly looked nothing alike. “We don’t  _ have  _ a Lorna Duncan,” he said, a touch desperately.

 

“Mairead is her sister,” Ratiri said, fetching up beside her. It just figured that Lorna hadn’t changed her name on her driver’s license yet. Because they so needed that right now. He sounded far, far calmer than he actually felt. “I’m her husband.” He had his driver’s license out immediately.

 

The orderly (the nametag on on his pale blue scrubs identified him as ‘Donal’) eyed it, and him, and looked far too nervous for the situation at hand. He was too old for this to be his first rodeo, as the Americans might put it, and Ratiri had a sinking feeling people were already wondering about Lorna. They’d probably been wondering since they couldn’t get an IV in in the ambulance. “The doctors are with her now,” Donal stammered. “I can’t allow non-medical staff back there.”

 

“I’m a doctor,” Ratiri said, eyes narrowing. “Now where. Is. She?”

 

One didn’t need telepathy to be able to read the man’s thoughts:  _ I don’t get paid enough for this shit.  _ Here he was faced with a tall ginger who looked ready to murder him any moment; a giant strange, pale, creepy, thus far silent man, and an equally massive apparent husband of the victim who looked, in his own subtle way, just as bloodthirsty as the ginger.

 

“Look, mate,” Pat said, shoving his way forward, “you can tell us where she is, or I can bite your nose off. They crunch, you know, when you do that.” Yes, he only knew that through Lorna, but still.

 

Donal eyed him. All right,  _ this  _ was one very obviously a relative, but there was something going on back there, something the doctors wanted to keep in-house, and they would not be pleased if he just sent this odd lot back. On the other hand, if he detained them, he was pretty sure at least one of them would actually try to kill him. “Room seventeen,” he said, pointing.  _ Now please go away. I really  _ don’t _ get paid enough to deal with this shit. _

 

“Donal, what in bloody hell are you doing?” another orderly hissed. “You’re seriously going to cave because one man threatens you? Grow a damn spine -- sir, you can’t go back there.”

 

“Like fucking hell I can’t,” Pat snarled. “She’s the only baby sister I’ve got left, and if you don’t get out’v my bloody way I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”

 

“Pat,” Mairead said, though it was half-hearted, because she was still a step away from murder herself.

 

“Sir, don’t make me call security,” the poor orderly said, rather belatedly nervous. This man might be small, but they had enough bantam-weight pub brawlers in, and anyone who’d worked A&E for more than a week knew to be wary of them.

 

“You do that and it’ll be the last thing you ever do,” the little man growled, and Donal was rather glad he was behind the desk. One saw a lot of empty threats in A&E, but one need only look at this man to see that this was a threat that was far from empty. Anger was a common sight here, but this level of rage...there was something cold in it, something reptilian, and it made both Donal and that idiot Daniel recoil.

 

“None of that will be necessary, will it?” said Thranduil in a voice that was both soft yet penetrating. Both orderlies immediately had looks of calm oblivion come over their faces.  _  All of you, hear me now.  _ This rang audibly inside the minds of Pat, Ratiri, and Mairead.  _ We are going to go to Lorna. No other human will see anyone besides Ratiri, who is the only one lawfully qualified to be present. Ensure you do not touch the staff, if you do not wish panic to ensue. Now, go. _

 

There weren’t many times Ratiri was glad to be as tall as he was, but now was certainly one of them; the hurrying staff parted before him like the bloody Red Sea, and the entire group stalked, mostly unseen, through the hallway until they found room 17. Like all critical care rooms, it was pale and bland, the walls stark white and the tile floor little darker. Fluorescent lights cast everything in a harsh glow -- everything and everyone, which included a few too many doctors for his taste. That the accident had been so large was probably a mercy, since it meant most were too busy to come see this medical aberration of a woman.

 

He shoved them all out of the way, but when he caught sight of Lorna, his knees all but gave out from under him.

 

He was a doctor. He’d seen trauma before -- sometimes very bad trauma, when he was working A&E at Glasgow during medical school. There had been car wrecks every bit as bad as this, patients whose bodies were every bit as destroyed, and he’d worked them all with an equanimity his fellow students had envied. This, though...this was his  _ wife _ . His wife, with a breathing tube down her neck, with an EKG lead on her chest and EEG wires on her brow -- EEG wires that led to a screen that held nothing but flat lines. If there was anything, anything at all going on in her mind, it was so subtle the monitors couldn’t read it.

 

Then entire right side of her face was one massive bruise, and he knew that beneath her hair there had to be terrible swelling. She may well have fractured her skull; a hit like that to the side of a car would render a seatbelt semi-useless. It was a mercy she’d been in such an old, sturdy car -- a modern vehicle would have crumpled like a tin can, and killed her right then and there.

 

Yes, he nearly fell, but the small, wounded sound in Mairead’s throat roused him. Out of all of them, he was the only one who actually knew what he was talking about in proper medical terms; he knew what to ask, though he really, really didn’t want to.

 

Chandra -- where was Chandra? They’d said his daughter was fine, but he’d only believe that once he saw it. If it truly was only whiplash, she might not be in the ICU -- not when there were so many other patients. Thranduil could find that out. They were going to need to get Lorna out of here before too many questions could be asked, and they would need to get Chandra at the same time, or there might not be any getting her out at all.

 

“What are her injuries?” Ratiri asked, and was surprised at how calm, how professional he sounded.

 

One of the doctors -- a tall, balding man of indeterminate age -- looked at him. “Who are you?”

 

“I’m her husband,” Ratiri said, “and I’m a doctor. What are her injuries?”

 

A flicker of pity passed through the doctor’s eyes before it could be squelched. “Skull fracture,” he said. “Every rib on her right side broken. Massive trauma to liver and right lung...she’s bleeding internally, doctor, and for whatever damned reason, we can’t even get a needle into her. Her skin is...is  _ impervious _ .” Disbelief was thick in his tone, and Ratiri knew that the natural skepticism of scientists was a blessing. They would search for every rational explanation before they even considered something supernatural; at this early stage, anyone who even voiced such a suspicion would find themselves out the door so fast their head would spin.

 

He tried not to groan. That Manwë’s gift would have a downside was not one that he had considered. They had, rather understandably, chosen not to test it to its theoretical limits; Lorna knew she could still get the wind knocked out of her, but that was as far as it had gone. Were it not for Thranduil, this same gift would have killed her...and through no fault of her own. The one time she ever got in a wreck when she was behind the wheel, somebody else hit her.

 

Mairead sagged against Ratiri. She had first met Lorna in a hospital room, after a wreck, but her sister hadn’t been anywhere  _ near  _ so bad off. A concussion and a broken leg had been all she had to show for the wreck that killed Liam; unlike him, she’d had her seatbelt on. No doubt she’d had it on this time, too, but how much good could it have done with her car T-boned like that?

 

“Where is my daughter?” Ratiri asked. “Her name is Chandra. She’s a year old, green eyes, ginger hair -- and before you ask,  _ yes _ , she’s mine. I was told she suffered whiplash, but was otherwise uninjured.

 

One of the other doctors -- a small, dark-haired woman somewhere in her thirties -- blinked, but hell, adoption was a thing. “She’s in the children’s ward,” she said. “It’s something of a miracle, but she really is largely unharmed.”

 

He wanted to go to her -- oh, he wanted to go to her -- but he feared leaving this group alone with these doctors. None of them would understand the terminology, not even Thranduil, and he didn’t want to risk...anything. “Can she be released to me?” If nothing else, she could be brought home safe to Eldamar; Ratiri need not worry about her as well. Earlene, Thanadir, and Sharley would look after her, and she could be with her brother. He needed her safe, needed to  _ know  _ she was safe -- know that whatever these doctors or anyone else tried to do with Lorna, their daughter would be well out of it.

 

“Legally, yes,” the small doctor said, “but we’d like to hold her for twenty-four hours’ observation.”

 

That was standard practice, but it wasn’t going to happen now. “I’d like to take her home,” he said. “I can keep her under observation, and it might well be good for her to be in her own home.”

 

The doctor’s dubiousness was written plainly on her face, but there wasn’t technically anything she could do about it; Chandra Donovan (or Duncan) was uninjured, and her father was a doctor. And given that he was almost certainly going to lose his wife...having his daughter with him might help. “Doctor Duncan,” she said gently, “does your wife have a will?”

 

The poor man shut his eyes. “She’s not dead yet,” he said softly, and all the staff in the room somehow managed not to wince. Even doctors could be delusional when it came to their loved ones; if this one needed to cling for a few days, until reality set in, who were they to deny him? It would give them more time to figure out just why the hell nothing pierced this unfortunate woman’s skin anyway.

 

_ Ratiri. I do not care what you have to do. Tell them family wants a moment of privacy, keep them out of here. I need time. I am pulling this curtain shut. How much light is noticed outside this room depends on your skill to keep the door shut. _

 

Ratiri swallowed. “I need a moment with her,” he said. “Please. I need some...I need to see her alone.”

 

The pity was more blatant now, but the staff left him be, and he quietly shut the door behind them, drawing the curtain.

 

No longer able to stifle his grief, Thranduil picked Lorna up and held her to him, and gave way to tears, a deep sob of grief escaping his throat. That he could yet save her did not alter what it felt like, to see her thus. What he could not allow himself to acknowledge was the immediate understanding that while she could be saved, there was terrible damage and… he forcefully shook his own head against his own thoughts. He had lost awareness of the others in the room entirely. Struggling for a moment to regain his composure, he raised his unseeing eyes to look up as he rocked her body much like one might soothe an infant, and began to chant aloud in a metered rhythm: “Menno athen i-eliad annin a leitho o gurth.” His light flared as it had not been seen before; he had never attempted to heal anything this disastrous. In the great battles of old; damage this severe would have killed even a strong ellon; there would not have been anything remaining for him to attempt to heal. The gift of Manwë had allowed for her survival but at a price to  _ him _ ; he now faced an extraordinary challenge.

 

And Thanadir was far away...he cursed on some level that he had not thought to bring his seneschal, but could not afford to spare the concentration on such matters. It galled him, that he was required to go about this in anything resembling an order, but there was no choice. Broken bones came behind cerebral tissue that was damaged and organs that were broken and bleeding. Bones and bruises would have to wait until later, including her shattered face. No matter what he did now, she could not be permitted to wake to the pain she would surely find. And her eye, what in Eru’s name would he do for it?...it took the lifetime of his self-discipline to do what he must. The truth was, no one he loved this much had ever taken such harm. Even when Thanadir had been shot...he knew that however much his brother had been in pain, he was never near to death. Not like this.

 

How much time had elapsed, he did not know, but he had to stop. Her brain was sound. Her organs were whole, and for now, it would have to be enough, though he would need to use the greatest care when moving her; sharp shards of ribs were still a risk and a threat to her newly healed lungs. Strength was yet needed, to take her out of this place unseen, and he could not afford to deplete himself fully. He needed her at home, and he needed Thanadir. He opened his eyes at last, his pale skin beaded with perspiration.  _ I have done all I can for now, he said to Ratiri. You must get your daughter, and we must leave as soon as can be managed. _

 

For a moment, just a moment, Ratiri could only stare. He’d witnessed Thranduil’s healing abilities before, but not to this level; the sight of it nearly struck him dumb, but his training kicked in, overriding both awe and distress. He hoped, very much, that Thranduil still had the energy to keep the other doctors out, because there was no excuse he could feed them that would do so once he had left.

 

He didn’t even bother trying; he just breezed right past them, grabbing a passing orderly and demanding directions to the children’s ward. They were getting out of here. They were going home.

 

Pat and Mairead had never seen this at all; they wound up gripping hands, staring. Oh, Lorna had told them Thranduil had healing abilities, but it had been an abstract thing. It certainly wasn’t abstract now -- Mairead noticed that the flat lines of the EEG monitor flickered into rises and falls, which she was pretty sure meant there was actual brain activity now. And to see Thranduil like that...both had known he liked Lorna quite a bit, that she was some manner of family/living doll, but this was about as raw as emotion got. She always jokingly called him her brother-from-another-mother, but perhaps it wasn’t a joke. Even Pat, who had spent more time around Thranduil, would not have thought he could react like...like  _ this _ . The elf had always seemed too in control, in some ways; oh, he’d laugh, he’d be with his family like any other person, but this was...Jesus. Neither sibling even had a word for what this was. It was pain so deep it was soul-scarring; Pat knew what that felt like, even if Mairead didn’t.

 

Ratiri wove his way through the corridors, until the thickest activity was behind him. His daughter was in a tiny bed in a room with twenty others, sound asleep, and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when he checked her chart. There wasn’t a mark on her, not a single bruise; her car seat must have been on the left side of the car. She could go back to her brother none the wiser, and he need not know there had been any risk to her at all.

 

Christ, what was he going to do when they got Lorna home? He could hardly let the twins see her like that, but they’d want their mam. Poor Thranduil would have to do something about that, if he had the energy. Ratiri owed him...there wasn’t anything big enough to describe just what he owed that man. Elf.

 

Very carefully, he lifted Chandra, who didn’t so much as twitch; she was very well-sedated. While he did earn some odd looks as he returned to the ICU -- it wasn’t every day one saw six and a half feet of East Indian carrying a tiny ginger child -- everyone was too busy to spare him more than that.

 

“She’s really all right?” Mairead whispered, not wanting to disturb Thranduil. The other doctors that had hovered outside the door were conspicuously absent now, so he hadn’t had to come up with some excuse to blow right by them.

 

“She is,” he said. “She’s well out, too. Hopefully she won’t wake until she’s in her own room, and she need not know this ever happened.” Chandra was simply too young to understand -- all she would know right now was that she was in a big scary place with almost nobody she knew, and she couldn’t have her mam. Though of putting her in her crib, safe and sound, was one of the few things that kept him going right now. He had no idea how the hell they were to get Lorna out, because even though Thranduil could keep people from seeing him carry her out, there was still going to be a mess when it was discovered she was missing.

 

Ratiri had to wonder if  _ Pat  _ had telepathy, for he said, “Don’t you worry. If there needs to be a scene so you lot can get out...well, I’m a Donovan. We’re good at those.”

 

“Oh, no you bloody don’t,” Mairead retorted. “You’ve got a record. I don’t. If anybody’ll be making a scene, it’s me.” So far as the law was concerned,  _ she  _ was perfectly respectable.

 

Thranduil, sounding more drained than any of them had ever heard him, spoke up. In a sense.  _ The three of you must take Chandra to the car _ , he said.  _ You must be seen leaving, so that no one might blame Lorna’s disappearance on you. I will wait ten minutes, then meet you in the car. But Ratiri, I need you to deal with...this...first. _ He gestured to the EKG and EEG electrodes. “Estelio nin, Ratiri,” he said aloud, seeing the man’s visible distress at his request --  _ trust me. _

 

_ I’ll park out front _ , Ratiri promised, grateful Thranduil had thought of that, because  _ he  _ wouldn’t have. This was almost certainly going to turn into a legal mess sooner or later, because impervious skin aside, Lorna was a critically injured patient who would essentially disappear from a crowded hospital. Such things tended to raise questions. Lots of them. 

 

Handing Chandra to Mairead, he disconnected Lorna’s leads, and shut off the monitors as soon as they started blaring. Mairead and Pat exchanged a startled glance, but Pat knew the Sindarin, even if Mairead didn’t: it was one of the phrases Saoirse had taught him. He snatched up Lorna’s handbag, so that nobody could get anything more than they’d already got out of it.

 

“What did he say?” Mairead asked, him, low.

 

“It means ‘trust me’,” he said, just as quietly. He himself certainly did, and Pat rarely trusted anyone.

 

Ratiri let Mairead keep Chandra, since a ginger woman walking with a ginger baby would draw much less interest than he would. He felt strangely...numb. This had yet to sink in fully, or else it had sunken in so deep he was in shock. He could fall apart once they were in the safety of Eldamar -- once Lorna rested as comfortably as she could, away from anyone who might try to poke or prod her further. Chandra would be with her brother, whole and healthy and unaware of what had transpired; Lorna would be in the softness of her own bed, surrounded by kittens, where no harm could touch her.

 

But one icy, ugly thought coiled within his mind, even once they’d reached the car, as he carefully put Chandra in her little car seat: if the son of a bitch who had caused this survived, he was a dead man. Ratiri would hunt him down, and Ratiri would snap his worthless neck, because it was very obvious to any doctor that Manwë’s gift was the only reason Lorna hadn’t been crushed a pulp. Literal divine intervention was the only thing that had saved his wife’s life -- and Christ knew how many might have died, or might later die, all because of one idiot.

 

And if Ratiri had his way...no. No, he wouldn’t kill the bastard; that would be too easy. As Lorna would say, the dead don’t suffer. He would hunt this little shit down and snap his neck -- it was impossible to cause another wreck when one was a quadriplegic. 

 

“Ratiri,” Mairead said, “you wait, and you think, before you go and do anything. Wait until Lorna’s better. Because let me tell you what she  _ won’t  _ need right now: her husband getting sent down for murder.”

 

He glared at her, and she glared right back, indomitable as Boudicca. 

 

“She needs you, Ratiri Duncan,” she said firmly. “And you’re god damn well going to be there.”

 

“You’re also not going to get in on any revenge without us,” Pat added. “She’s your wife, but she’s our sister. We’ve got every much bloody right as you do.”

 

God damn it, they did. There was no denying that. “Fine,” he said, feeling suddenly drained. Now was not yet the time to allow himself to cry; his medical training was still enough to hold that at bay.

 

Evening was fast falling, and the streetlamps came on even as he drove up to the A&E door. Had this really gone on so long? It seemed like eternity, and yet no time at all. One thing was for certain: he was going to drive very, very carefully, more carefully than he ever had in his life. As much as he wanted to get them home as fast as possible, he wasn’t going to risk so much as a fender-bender.

 

Thranduil’s long and elegant fingers massaged at his forehead. This...this had been too close. There was the...Sharley matter, and the future, and so many disparate details to manage...but it had never before occurred to him, truly, how frail they were. What if this had been Earlene? He would be bereaved right now, that was what. He slowly shook his head at the unfairness of it all. Gift of Men, their Iladar (all Father) called it. He failed to see it. All his long years, he had not suffered from the inevitability of his continued existence. Suffering had been the sundering from those who died, and left these shores. His kind often did not befriend mortals in the long ages past, and maybe he had come within a hair’s breadth of understanding the reason. He tried to keep a grip on himself. “ _ Mostly dead is slightly alive! _ ” he heard his friend’s voice say in his memories. That stupid, accursed movie that Lorna and Earlene liked so much, and their silly antics in New York. Something between a laugh and another sob escaped him, and the sound was probably closest to a whimper.  He picked her up against him, like the little doll she was, and again gave way to tears of misery. Suddenly his eyes widened, because she was having...thoughts.  _ That should be impossible...  _

 

Lorna had no idea where she was.  _ This had to be a dream _ , but it was far more vivid than any other dream she’d ever had.

 

_ She stood in a pale forest, beneath a solid black sky. The bare limbs of the trees seemed to shine with their own faint radiance, as did the grass about her ankles, which rustled softly as she walked. It was very warm, but a dry heat, quite unlike Ireland, and so very, very silent. It should have been creepy, and yet somehow it was not -- not even when she realized she was being watched. _

 

_ “Who’s out there?” she asked, turning. All around her was nothing but trees, nothing but the dusty-bitter scent of lightning. _

 

_ “Lorna.” _

 

_ She whirled again, heart lurching, because that voice -- she  _ knew  _ that voice. She hadn’t heard it in twelve years, but she knew it so very well. “Liam?” _

 

_ Liam it was, standing perhaps ten feet from her. He’d been an adorable, scruffy man in life, and he was an adorable, scruffy man in death, his soft grey eyes warm as they looked at her. “It’s not time yet, Lorna,” he said, stepping toward her. “You’ve still got plenty’v shite to do. I’m just going to sit right here with you, because you’ve got so many people who want you back there, and like fuck am I letting you cross over. Thranduil’s got you now. You just hold on.” _

 

_ “To what?” she asked, having very little idea what he was talking about. _

 

_ “Me,” he said, and drew her close. “You hold onto me, and you wake up when it’s time.” _

 

Thranduil wanted so, so badly to crush her against him, hold her tighter, but he could not. Right now she was as pieces of china, barely still aligned together, so frail. “I do have you, my dear one. I have you and you do not need to hold anything, for I will do it for you,” he whispered, carefully kissing her broken face. Looking down, he summoned all his determination, and then it was time to leave.

 

It was just as well that no one could see the tall, blonde figure that wove his way with unusual grace down the halls, the stairwell, more halls, and out the door. His anger and sadness were quite focused, including what needed to happen to ensure that the video cameras mounted at the exit to the outside world would register nothing but static, at the time of his passing. The car was waiting, and he took her with him into the back seat, cradled in his arms. Pat had the presence of mind to open the door for him. He was not about to let her out of his arms, and frankly heaven help anyone who tried, just now. The only one who might have had a chance would have been Ratiri, and he needed to drive.

 

“I’ll drive carefully,” Ratiri said. In truth, his training was wearing; he’d make sure it held until they got home, and then he was going to allow himself to completely fall apart, because...he had to. He could only do this for so long.

 

Pat could scarcely stand to look at Lorna as they drove off, and yet he also couldn’t look away. He’d spent her entire childhood looking after her, and he wasn’t here for this. It was a nonsensical thing to think -- they were both adults, for fuck’s sake, and he could hardly go everywhere with her -- and yet he felt, somehow, like he’d failed. Her  _ face _ ...he didn’t want to imagine what would have happened to her, if not for whatever weird gift she’d been given.

 

Mairead grabbed his hand and squeezed. They might have only found one another in adulthood, but they were siblings, and they needed each other.

 

Somehow, Ratiri made it back to Lasg’len almost on auto-pilot, silent as he drove, though he could feel the burn of tears at the back of his eyes. There wasn’t time yet -- his job wasn’t done. He couldn’t let go until his task was complete.

 

******

 

Earlene and Thanadir sat in a way that was long familiar to both of them. She curled up and leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder. His arm was loosely draped across her back, a thumb lazily describing a slow circle where he had found a small knot. Mostly she stared off at the fire in the hearth. As much as she wanted to admire Thaladir as he nursed, too many times that mistake had been made with the twins. That constant staring downward was a recipe for a sore and tired neck, so she contented herself only with occasional glances of admiration as the baby suckled for all he was worth. A slight giggle took her, when she considered that even the child’s father nursed more gently than this, and he had teeth. Not that she would be mentioning that aloud, even to Thanadir. Some things were just too...personal...even for the relationship she had with the seneschal. If he ever barged in on them, well, that would be dealt with at the time. He’d probably laugh, especially after his current experiences. Yes, Thanadir was very pro-nursing just now, Earlene mused with a smile. The relaxed reverie left her rather unprepared for the silent appearance of Saoirse, almost in front of them. Startled, Earlene flinched.  _ Dammit. _

 

She did not know how much Saoirse...did or did not understand, about her relationship with Thanadir. Usually, they kept most of their physical affection...not hidden, but more on the discreet side, for lack of better words. Even Thanadir would agree that it was more seemly. And yet here they were. To tell the truth, she had forgotten Saoirse was in the house, so consumed had she been by the news of the accident and the waiting for any shred of news.

 

“Where is everybody?” the girl asked. “Da, Uncle Ratiri, Uncle Thranduil...where did they go? Aunt Lorna was supposed to be home ages ago.”

 

While on some level it might have seemed more personally comfortable, Earlene was ultimately glad that Thanadir did not remove his hand. She was having her first lesson in the temptation to lie to spare a child’s feelings, and the touch of one so unerringly truthful...no. 

 

“Uncle Thanadir and I will make a spot so you can sit between us, Saoirse,” she answered carefully. “Something has happened that you need to know about.” The ellon instantly understood, and made room, patting the cushion between them invitingly.

 

Saoirse eyed them both warily, already on her guard, but there was nothing...nothing baby-ing...in Aunt Earlene’s tone, so she hopped up onto the sofa. “Is Aunt Lorna hurt?”

 

“Yes,” Earlene answered truthfully. “I will tell you what I know.” She was not about to show her the image on the computer of the wreck, because there was probably a fine line between truth and fueling emotions with which the child might not be able to cope. “Someone, we don’t know why, was driving a big truck and hit many cars and people. Lorna’s car was one of them. The hospital called, to tell Ratiri to come right away. Your da and Thranduil went with them. Lorna was probably hurt very badly, but you need to understand that Thranduil can fix her. Make her better, no matter what happened. And Sharley has told us that...your Aunt is not going to die today. We are waiting to hear from them in Dublin; it is all we can do. This is very upsetting, but Lorna will live. I am sorry that it is such bad news,” she said with sincerity. “You can ask us whatever you want, we will not leave you alone or lie to you.”

 

Thanadir had taken the child’s hand in compassion as Earlene spoke, feeling terribly sorry for her.

 

Saoirse’s eyes widened, and she struggled to take all of that in. She knew that people died in car accidents all the time -- one of the kids at school’s da had died in one -- but wasn’t something you ever thought about happening to someone you knew. “Is Chandra okay?” she whispered -- Chandra had gone with Aunt Lorna, hadn’t she? Yeah, she had. And Chandra was a baby...if Aunt Lorna was so fucked up…

 

“The hospital said she was not injured. Or injured very little. You must understand, we only know what we could overhear when Ratiri was on the telephone; there was no time to ask lots of questions. Chandra had her car seat, no doubt it gave her good protection,” Earlene said. Maybe she was erring on the side of cheerfulness, but those things had been said. Sue her, if she was trying to be reassuring.

 

Okay...Chandra was okay...Saoirse didn’t need to be scared for her. But Aunt Lorna… “How can Sharley know? I mean, how does she know shit?” she asked, anguish in her voice.

 

“Because of what I see.” Sharley had yet again appeared like a blue-haired ghost, and she moved to kneel before Saoirse. “I see the future, Saoirse,” she said, taking the girl’s free hand. “And what I see always happens.  _ Always _ . Your aunt is gonna live for a very long time, and do some things she’ll love and some she’ll hate, and she’ll have so many more kittens...I need you to trust me, Saoirse.”

 

Saoirse looked at her, at her weird, mismatched eyes. Sharley was odd, and sometimes she seemed a little crazy, but Saoirse  _ did  _ trust her. Why, she had no real idea, but something in her tone, something in those weird eyes, was almost like hypnosis. “Aunt Earlene, d’you trust Sharley?”

 

“Without hesitation,” Earlene answered immediately. “The reason why is, my husband trusts her implicitly, and of anyone else on this planet, he can know the minds of others when the rest of us cannot. If it is good enough for Thranduil it is certainly good enough for me.” 

 

Next to her, Thanadir nodded sagely in agreement. “My King is not perfect, Saoirse, but I have never gone wrong trusting his wisdom. I feel the same as Earlene does.”

 

Saoirse looked from her, and to him, and finally to Sharley. “You...saw her future?” she asked, a little hesitantly.

 

“She’ll have another Charger,” Sharley said, squeezing her hand a little. “And her hair will go silver eventually. She’ll learn how to shoot a bow with you. Saoirse, I’m going to tell you, sometimes this ability of mine utterly sucks, but sometimes it’s a comfort. It sure as hell is right now, for me, and it should be for you, too. Your Aunt Lorna isn’t going anywhere yet.”

 

“...I’ll make her something,” Saoirse said, though there was an edge of panic in her voice. “Paper cranes. They’re a thing.” They’d read a book at school about a Japanese girl and a thousand paper cranes, except the girl had died before they were made….

 

“Saoirse,” Sharley said, brushing the hair back from the girl’s forehead. “Breathe, kid. In and out. You need your aunt and uncle right now, and they need you. Don’t go running off and freaking out. The rest’ll be home any minute.”

 

_ Meluieg. Thanadir. Ready yourselves to come outside; we leave for the Halls in minutes.  _

 

Earlene looked up at Sharley. “Wow, you’re good. They’re back, and, I am being asked to go with them to the Halls.” She looked at Sharley in vague desperation. “Can you please care for Thaladir?” Valar be praised, the infant was done nursing. “Or I can take him to Lothiriel, if you would rather…”

 

Sharley looked at her, and at the baby. “I can take him to Lothiriel,” she said. “I want to go to the Halls with you.”

 

“What should I do?” Saoirse asked, and Sharley paused. She couldn’t leave this poor kid, but the last thing the girl needed was to see Lorna as fucked up as Sharley was sure she was.

 

“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll take Thaladir, and we’ll stay with Saoirse.”

 

The little girl nodded, but said nothing more.

 

“Sharley, I have to get on boots and a cloak. You have until I return from that to change your mind...I don’t want my baby to be your responsibility...and dammit I have no time to discuss this further,” she said in frustration while she tried to stuff her breast back into her elven dress. It was comical to witness, especially when she whispered “dammit all” when her undergarment was not cooperating. Thanadir rose to find his own cloak.

 

“Saoirse,” Earlene said when she returned, “I promise I will return here as soon as I can. Please listen to what Sharley has told you. I want you to watch a movie, or...whatever you think might help you to worry less. Okay?”

 

“Earlene, don’t worry -- I know what to do with babies, and I don’t mind,” Sharley said, with one of her brief smiles. “You two do what you need to do. Things will be just fine here, once you come back.”

 

Saoirse looked from Sharley to Earlene. “Okay,” she said, though she wasn’t sure how okay it actually was. It felt better when Sharley sat beside her and pulled her close, somehow managing to hold onto the now-sleeping Thaladir at the same time.

 

“How about I tell you one of the more fun trips I took into the future a few years ago?” she asked. “It was weird, but I liked it.”

 

“How does that work?” Saoirse asked, curling up against her side.

 

“That is a wonderfully long story, and it might even be done by the time everyone else gets back.”

 

Earlene smiled, and offered Thandir her hand. He looked anxiously at Thaladir, but Earlene gave him a firm pull toward the door. Once outside, she spoke. “He will be fine, meldir. She has more experience as a mother than I do, and he has just eaten. He will not be hungry for some hours, and she certainly knows how to change a nappy.”

 

He looked down, sorrowful. “I know,” he whispered. “It is just….”

 

“You love him to pieces and do not wish to miss a minute of him. I know, I can see it. And I love you for it.” She smiled, and paused, unable to keep out the quaver in her voice. “Thanadir, Saoirse is not the only one who still feels scared. There are things I have never told you but...what has happened to Lorna will be very hard for me. I…” the chance to complete her words did not come, as they both heard Thranduil’s silent command to join them as they moved toward the Halls. 

 

Thanadir frowned, worried. “I will be with you as much as I can, Earlene,” he promised. They both knew that this might be...different. He offered his arm, and they moved forward into the night. She walked on his arm blindly; it would take at least three minutes for her vision to fully resolve but he would not allow her to stumble. At the silhouetted outline of her husband carrying an obviously unconscious Lorna, Earlene’s stomach roiled. And she tried as hard as she could, to mask her thoughts. To silence them. She did not need to know how bad this was, when the obvious answer was, ‘bad enough.’ Unaware of how much her grip on the seneschal’s arm had tightened, she tried to focus only on the starlight filtering through the trees, and prayed for some peace from Varda to find its way to her heart.

 

Ratiri, by this point, was hanging on by a thread. Even his training could only take him so far, and he was very nearly at his limit; it was only having Pat at his side that kept him going at all. Mairead hurried in to drop Chandra off with Maerwen before running to catch up with them, panting slightly from exertion. She took her place on his other side, and they let him lean on them as they walked. Pat only hoped the poor man wouldn’t collapse before they reached the Halls -- though he wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t himself.

 

Thranduil was unaware of the plight of his friends; his mind was fully focused elsewhere. First to Thanadir; and then together they summoned. The eldest, the strongest, those known to have the most skill with the healing of their people. He estimated he would need roughly twenty of them. A few more would do no harm. He spoke no password to the Gates, but merely waved his hand at them. Both portals opened; a sight Earlene at least had never before seen. If it meant something, she did not know what. Looking ahead over the archways, her keen eyes saw the small assembly before his throne, and that one or two more were moving swiftly to the same place. She swallowed hard. 

 

Thanadir leaned down to murmur in her ear, in the barest whisper. “I believe the King means to use a special ceremony to heal her. I will have to let you go for a time. It will be…” He could say no more, for at that moment, Thranduil raised his voice as he walked across the archway. “Man eliatha i Aran dîn?” (Who will help their King?). The words rang out through the space of the cavern, bouncing back in a cascade of echoes.

 

Thanadir was the first to answer, in a firm and clear voice. “Athon!” And he was not alone. Wherever the respondents stood, one by one (somehow never managing to answer over each other, which Earlene never would understand). She equally realized that by some miracle, her clothing was appropriate to being here. When they reached the platform, for the first time Thranduil turned to her. This took her completely by surprise; she was used to being...ignored, during anything having to do with their ceremonies. And she did not know how or from whom, but her husband’s crown was suddenly in her hands.

 

_ Meluieg. I greatly desire your help, too. I wish you to ascend to my throne with me. You will see that there is a small place to stand, to my left. For Eru’s sake be careful, do not fall. Once I sit, you are to place the crown on my head. Then I wish you to lay your hand on my neck. Under my hair, so I can feel your touch. Do not let go until everything is done. Can you do this? _

 

_ Athon.  _ She was still too stunned to think of anything else, but had seen the gratitude in his eyes. And sure god, if she knew no other word in all this language of theirs, she knew that one.

 

It was as he said; he ascended and she followed, doing exactly as he had asked. But she was not alone. Thanadir was behind her, waiting as well. Behind him stood the majestic figure of Ruscion, eldest among them and of surpassing beauty. Next came Thalion, and two dozen others; some of whose names she knew and others she was uncertain if she had ever laid eyes on. Thranduil’s left arm and hand both cradled and held Lorna against him. With all her willpower, Earlene did not allow herself to look down, knowing that if she saw, she would ever after suffer the memory of it, at the same time cursing her own weakness and fears.

 

Then Thranduil held out his right hand to Thanadir, who took it and went down on one knee before him. His other hand reached behind him to be taken by Ruscion, who adopted the same posture. They all did. And when all of them were joined, heads bowed, Thranduil began. The words were the same as those spoken in the hospital, but this time the words were not a repeated mutter so difficult to hear. This time the chant was music. Each ellon or elleth that took up the song added their own variation, until it was almost as a round. It was beautiful, and each became illuminated with light. Earlene closed her eyes, against both the nearly blinding brightness and the beauty, and concentrated on doing only what had been asked of her. She could not add her power; there was none to add. But she could add her prayers, which she did in earnest.

 

It went on for long enough to be worrisome, in her mind. Earlene still did not glance down, knowing that she would now see only searing light if she did. And then she felt and heard Thranduil stop his prayer. Each elf completed the words; they did not all grind to a halt at once but rather the music faded out swiftly. Only now did she open her eyes. And allow herself to look. Lorna appeared to be only...asleep. Nothing looked the matter. With the release of a deep sigh, she became aware of her own profound weariness where none had been before. Not knowing if ‘everything was done’, she kept her hand where it was. One by one the elves bowed their heads once, before rising and leaving as silently as they had come. Only Thalion and Ruscion gave any evidence they were aware of her, which seemed a great honor, honestly. At last Thranduil silently indicated she should descend. He insisted, apparently, that she do so with Thanadir’s hands on her, just in case. And since she now felt exhausted, no objection would come from her. 

 

Thranduil was weary. They all were. Ratiri would hardly manage the walk back to their rooms here, much less Eldamar. And yet Eldamar was where they would need to be; an infant son required care and a young child was very worried. He sighed. “We return to our house now. Then I will allow her to wake. All of you need rest. And so do I.”  He silently directed Thanadir to help with Ratiri. Pat and Mairead walked arm in arm.  _ Earlene, would you walk with me?  _ He pleaded.  _ Hold me, by the waist?  _

 

Without hesitation, she did as he asked. Her surprise and pleasure that he would ask for this pushed aside immediate thought as to why she felt as she did. And yet once again under the starlight, it seemed perhaps obvious.  _ You...let me help you, back there? _

 

_ I needed you, Earlene.  _ The voice was weary but sincere.

 

_ Gin melin, Thranduil. Na pân i ‘ûr nîn.  _ (I love you, Thrandruil. With all my heart)

 

He did not answer her with words. There was a sensation, what she wished to believe was their spirits mingling together in a moment of intense love. It was rare and beautiful and could not have lasted for more than a second. But she felt it, and would never forget. A tear coursed down her cheek, as they made their way back. And all the way, she slowly twisted the mass of Lorna’s hair into something they would not both trip on. 

 

Ratiri was leaning heavily on Thanadir, and Mairead and Pat leaned heavily on each other, so wrung out that it was all they could do to put one foot in front of the other. That Lorna looked so much better, outwardly...that helped. That helped a great deal. Her face had been such a ruin, but now she just looked like she slept. One would never know, looking at her, that she’d been in such a horrific wreck so short a time before.

 

None of them were yet in any condition to process what they had seen in the Halls -- what the elves had done. It was entirely unlike anything they had ever seen, so alien they had no frame of reference for it, and they were all too exhausted. Ratiri had, somehow, still not broken down; perhaps he was past that, and had headed straight into numbness.

 

Thranduil did not need to ask where to take her; he ascended through the lesser-used back stairs to the upper storey rather than try to navigate the spiral stairs. He vaguely wondered why on earth they had not moved into the downstairs rooms, but that was not for him to comment on. All of the Duncan cats scattered to the edges of the room on his entrance; he was not about to add falling over a feline to the sum of this day and had silently commanded them out of his path. He elected to keep the discussion minimal. “I will wake her now. Briefly. Only long enough to use the lavatory and take some fluids. You should all realize she is still not fully healed, but no more can be done tonight. After, she will be returned to sleep. If there are questions, please ask me now,” he said softly.

 

Pat had detoured to get Sharley and Saoirse, knowing his daughter would want to see with her own eyes that her aunt was all right. The girl’s relief was palpable, and she sagged against her father, looking as drained as he felt.

 

“What will we need to do, to care for her?” Ratiri asked. “If I know Lorna, she’ll want to get up even when she shouldn’t -- how insistent do I need to be that she stay put?”

 

“She will not wake until tomorrow. And she can do as she wishes then, but no alcohol,” he said vehemently. “Another reason she must be woken is to tell her what is still the matter. While there is a chance I am wrong, I expect her to have little to no vision in her right eye at this time. I believe, I hope, it can yet be healed but this has all been like nothing we have ever done before.” His words faded in volume as he spoke, his fatigue obvious.

 

“I think she’ll be happy she has any vision at all,” Ratiri said. “We’ll make sure she doesn’t do too much tomorrow.” He managed a brief smile. “There’s three of us, we’re good at that.” If she managed to come away from something that terrible with nothing worse than a nonfunctional eye...it was a miracle. Such things just didn’t happen in real life, but the elves had performed one this evening. They had done what should not have been possible, and he had no idea in bloody hell how he could ever, ever thank them enough.

 

Thranduil smiled wanly and laid a hand on his shoulder before turning to his sleeping friend. Taking her hand, he placed his other over her forehead.  _ Lorna? Lorna, you are going to wake for awhile. Do not be afraid, you are well and will live to curse at many more things. One of your eyes may not see properly or at all, but I am not done with you yet. I hope it still may be restored but you were hurt very badly. We had to heal the rest of you first. All those who love you are here. Come now, dear friend. Wake for me… _

 

With a sharp intake of air, Lorna’s eyelids fluttered, as she blinked against the low light. “Fuck,” she muttered, but the squeeze to his hand was reassuring. 

 

A broad smile crept over Thranduil’s face. He looked up at Thanadir and Earlene, to see his seneschal the happiest he had looked since the birth of Thaladir. 

 

Lorna’s right eye was indeed...not right, somehow. Part of her was too muzzy-headed to work out what was wrong with it right off, but it was not dark so much as faint, blurred light. She was tired, but comfortable, and realized after a moment she was in her own bed. Her good eye looked at Thranduil, and roved until she found Ratiri, who looked so drained he was absolutely grey, poor man. Part of her, some dreamy part, sought for some comfort. What came out was, “What do we say to the God of Death? Not today.”

 

Ratiri stared at her, and burst into slightly hysterical laughter as he dropped to his knees beside the bed. It was so... _ Lorna. _ She was awake. She was  _ alive _ . She was...she was  _ her. _ At some point, his laughter turned into tears, and her free hand sought this.

 

“How’s Chandra?” she asked, and yet there was no fear in her voice, as if she already knew.

 

“She’s fine,” he said. “A little whiplash, but she was totally fine. One less thing for me to worry about,” he added, his tone mock scolding.

 

“Keeps you on your toes,” she grinned, her imperfect vision tracking back to Thranduil. “Liam said I had to hold on to him, because you were holding onto me,” she said. “I knew I’d be okay, once I knew you were there. You always make sure I’m okay.” 

 

_ That is because I love you, even if you are an accident magnet,  _ he teased, before his mental tone turned to one of much greater seriousness and honesty.  _ I will always make sure you are okay, if I have any power to do so.  _ His eyes turned away from hers. There had been far too much raw emotion for today. Aloud he said, “You must manage to drink some tea, and care for any necessities. And then it will be time to rest again, my friend. Time for all of us, to rest.” With a squeeze to her hand, he stood, so that her family could have a moment nearer to her, and help her as he knew they wished to do.

 

_ Someday _ , she said,  _ I might be able to return the favor.  _ “If by ‘necessities’ you mean ‘piss like a racehorse’, then yeah,” she said, abruptly realizing that her bladder was about to commit mutiny right in her own bed. “Mairead, give us a hand, would you?” She sounded pathetic even to her own ears, but maybe that would help her sister laugh. Lorna had never seen her look so stricken.

 

Mairead shook her head, and gave her a smile of exasperation through her tears. Bless this little monster of a woman… “Saoirse, help me,” she said, knowing the poor girl needed her mind put to rest on the whole thing -- to see that her aunt truly was okay.

 

The pair of them got Lorna upright, and she staggered a bit, woozy again. “Ratiri, get her some pajamas or something, will you?” Mairead called over her shoulder. Thank God their bathroom was nice and large, so there wouldn’t be a traffic jam at the toilet.

 

“You’re not going to...watch, are you?” Lorna asked, looking slightly askance at her sister.

 

“Now I  _ know  _ you’re you,” Mairead said, her relief so great she thought she might float away, like one of Saoirse’s eight thousand balloons.

 

Lorna herself was feeling a great deal of relief in short order; she even managed to make Saoirse giggle by saying she felt like Austin Powers after he got out of cryofreeze. Ratiri passed in a giant Iron Maiden T-shirt and some plaid boxers, and once she was dressed in her own clothes they led her back out to the bed. It was so nice to be here, on this cloud softness, with kittens curiously surrounding her.

 

“Sharley,” she asked, when she saw the blue-haired woman lurking like a lurking thing, “was what I saw real or not?”

 

In answer, Sharley just pressed her finger to her lips, and said, “ _ Shhhh.  _ If there’s anything good about being me, it’s that some things can stay a mystery. You might work it out for yourself someday.”

 

“That,” Lorna said, “is maddeningly unhelpful.” Ratiri helped her sit up, and Pat brought her some tea -- Oolong, her current favorite.

 

“Don’t scare me like that again, Fun Size,” he said, his voice not quite steady in spite of his efforts. “Just...don’t.”

 

She reached out and squeezed his head. “I’ll try not to. What happened, exactly? Other than an accident?”

 

The rest of the humans looked at Thranduil, uncertain just what they should or shouldn’t say -- how much she needed to know, at this point.

 

“Do not look at me,” he said, amused. “I know better than to keep information from her. However…” he gestured with his eyes to Saoirse, and then looked at Pat expectantly.

 

“Saoirse, allanah,” Pat said, drawing his daughter close, “would you feel better if you knew, or would you rather not know? If we do tell you, you just keep it in your mind that your aunt is just fine now.”

 

Saoirse looked up at him, and then at Uncle Thranduil. “Tell us,” she said, with no hesitation in her voice. Though she could have no idea, in that moment she sounded just like her aunt. “I’d rather know than wonder.”

 

“Were I to guess, Lorna, you were hit at full speed on the driver’s side of your car by a large pickup truck. Much of the right side of your body came under crushing force. Your brain, face, ribs, lungs, liver and other organs were severely damaged. You were for all practical purposes dead when I came to you, except that enough of your brain still was intact to keep you breathing, your heart beating. Only the gift of Manwë saved you; your body would have burst like a balloon otherwise. It was very bad.”

 

Lorna wrinkled her nose. Well, that was... _ disturbing _ , and she was almost -- almost, but not quite -- sorry she’d asked. “Knew I hated those fucking things for a reason,” was what she said, though she didn’t consciously will it. First Von Titstain, now this. “That’s two I owe Manwë...and you. One’v these days I’ll find some way to make good on my debts.” If that was even possible. One thing was for certain, however: she wasn’t going to ask what was up with her eye. That could wait.

 

That they all looked so drained, so elated, so... _ so _ ...it was almost more than she could handle. This level of...she didn’t even know what this was. She had no words. Thanadir seemed on the verge of tears, and poor Earlene looked about as grey as Ratiri...what had they all done? Was she in any condition to find out, yet?

 

Her glance flicked to Sharley, who again pressed a finger to her lips. Typical. Oh well, if she had to enjoy tweaking people with her abilities, at least she could take joy in something.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, you lot,” she said, searching for some way to comfort them. “You won’t get rid’v me that easy. Bit like a cockroach, me.”

 

“We will speak more, tomorrow, if you wish it. But for now you should rest again. May I?” He reached his hand toward her face, but waited for her consent in the event she needed to say more.

 

Lorna set her teacup aside, and snuggled down into her bed. “I promise you all I’ll wake up and complain in the morning.”

 

“For once, I’ll let you,” Mairead said, not-so-discreetly wiping her eyes. With a thought and a touch from Thranduil, she lapsed back into deep slumber.

 

Ratiri, even to his own surprise, grabbed Thranduil and hugged him, hard. “Thank you,” he whispered. Had he lost Lorna, it would have destroyed him, and he knew it.

 

“What he said,” Pat added, moving to get in on the action.

 

“Oh, fuck it,” Mairead said. “Group hug.” Thranduil rose. The King smiled from their appreciation, understanding what it was like, for them. For all of them. He embraced them tightly.

 

“I wish you all good rest. She will be fully well. Try to find comfort, in that. And if not, I do not believe the location of the alcohol cabinet is a secret. But I must rest.” Tiredly he left, followed by Thanadir and Earlene (who gave Ratiri a hug and a peck on the cheek, and whispered to him to please get some sleep). The seneschal went to bring Thaladir from the care of Lothiriel; it was time for him to feed. Once downstairs again with the baby, he paused, looking longingly at them both. “Please, tonight might I….?”

 

Thranduil nodded. “There will certainly be no unseemliness tonight, meldir,” he teased. “And I would feel comforted, to know you are near.” Very soon they were all in bed. Thranduil was lost to sleep in an instant, his arm draped loosely over the waist of his wife. Earlene watched, delighted and somewhat in awe, as the baby nursed at his father’s breasts before being given to her so that he could have more. Were Thanadir to allow himself to be seen bare-chested, he would have little more than Lorna did, for tissue; but what what was there was enough. They fell asleep,  the baby placed into his basket and protected between their two bodies, as they fell into an exhausted rest.

 

Sharley, who really was surprisingly strong for such a bony person, helped Mairead and Pat wrestle some mattresses up the back stairs so that that they could spend the night in their sister’s room, too. Once done, she ruffled Saoirse’s hair.

 

“Told you it would be okay,” she said. “You all sleep. You need it.”

 

Ratiri was halfway to slumber before she’d even finished her sentence, arm around his wife’s waist. Sharley left them to it, and went to brew tea.

 

Mairead dropped off almost as fast as Ratiri did, but Pat lay awake a while longer, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. Whoever had done that had been drunk. They’d got behind the wheel of a truck while intoxicated, had made the decision to drive off like that, and God knew how many people had died, or been permanently injured, because of it. If not for Manwë, for Thranduil, Lorna would have been the first of the fatalities.

 

Pat was not proud of some of the things he had done in his life. As a young man he’d stolen, he’d fought, he’d beaten more than one person to a bloody pulp...he might not go blank like Lorna did, but part of Da had lived on in him, no matter how he tried to subsume it. He’d always fought it, and he’d liked to think he’d mostly won, because out of all the things he’d done, he’d never killed anyone.

 

Yet. If they released the name of that driver, the bastard was a dead man. Pat would cut his throat without a single qualm. As much as Ratiri wanted revenge, Pat knew the man would not be able to live with himself later, were he actually to murder someone. He was a doctor, a healer; his respect for life was ultimately too great. Pat, however, had no such compunction; he could watch that bastard bleed out and still sleep like a baby that night. And if the fucker had survived that wreck, he was damn well going to.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original inspiration for the chant Thranduil speaks in hospital came from this blog offering: http://k-she-rambles.tumblr.com/post/73844941094/tauriels-healing-chant-the-more-accurate  
> However, the author's proposed translation had...issues. In recent weeks I have been learning from an individual far more learned in the Elvish languages, and he has been kind enough to provide the corrections for the form used in our story. Annon allen, Elaran. Studying Sindarin (or trying to) has turned into the most immense can of worms I could never have imagined...while what I have learned to date has provided a foundation of sorts, I have gained much new information that has caused me to step back and realize that in some ways I need to start over completely. I have just finished reading this interesting essay, "Elvish As She Is Spoke" which captures some of the difficulties I have encountered in trying to learn this "poorly attested dead language." *sigh* And the struggle continues. http://www.elvish.org/articles/EASIS.pdf


	87. Eighty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 26-27, 2018

 

When Lorna woke the next morning, pale dawn was just streaking the sky. She wanted to lay and enjoy the warmth of her husband and all these kittens, but her bladder was insisting otherwise. It was what she got for drinking tea before going to sleep, but that was probably better than dehydration.

 

Her right eye was still...off. The sight wasn’t black, as she would expect from someone half-blind; she could differentiate shadows and faint lights, which somehow made it even more disorienting. A faint but insistent headache had gathered behind it, too, but if Thranduil wasn’t awake yet, like hell was she going to bother him. It was hardly going to kill her. She was going to have to do a lot of feeling around with her right hand, if she wanted to avoid running into things.

 

The fact that it was still banjaxed, after all Thranduil had presumably done...it told her just how fucked-up her innards must have been. He’d looked so drained -- they all had. Knowing that, but for the grace of a literal god and the aid of Thranduil, she would have been dead -- it was sobering, and she had no idea what to do with it, so she’d settle for having a wee first.

 

She was wobbly on her feet at first, and it was a good thing she’d held out her right hand, or else she might have slammed straight into the doorway. The hardwood was smooth and chilly beneath her bare feet, the tile of the bathroom even more so, but when she looked in the mirror over the sink, she paused.

 

There wasn’t so much as a hint of a bruise on her face, but her right eye was another story. The white of it wasn’t white at all, but red, as though every vein in it had burst. Jesus, no wonder she couldn’t see out of it. How hard did you have to hit your head, for that to happen? 

 

_ My guts must have been bloody paste _ , she thought, staring at it with morbid fascination as she brushed her teeth. It made her think of a photo she’d seen years ago, a photo taken in the State in the 1940’s -- a woman had jumped off the Empire State Building and landed on the roof of a car, crushing it like a tin can. She’d landed so artistically it looked staged -- ankles crossed, one hand still clutching a pearl necklace, the other rested beside her head as if she were asleep.  _ Life  _ Magazine had called her ‘the most beautiful suicide’, but what the article  _ hadn’t  _ mentioned was that when police came to remove the body, it fell apart, the internal organs pretty much liquefied by the impact. Were it not for Manwë’s gift, it sounded like that would have been her, minus the artistic quality.

 

It was...sobering. Lorna had always thought that if she were ever to get in an accident while she was driving, it would be her fault -- that she’d just somehow fuck up and that would be that. With this, though, she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. She’d been doing what any sensible person would have done, and she’d very, very nearly died anyway. It was another thing that could get tucked away at the back of her mind, to be dealt with later.

 

_ I hope this isn’t going to be like  _ Final Destination _ ,  _ she thought, as she carefully washed her face. If she’d somehow cheated death just to die in some other awful way...nope. Not thinking about that, either. All she was going to think about was checking on her children, and then getting some tea. How in God’s name Chandra could have come out of that all but fine, after what had happened to her, she didn’t know, but she’d thank any potential deity that might be listening.

 

Tiptoeing very quietly back into the bedroom, she swapped her boxers for soft flannel pajama pants and slippers, and pulled her dressing-gown on as she headed out to look in on the twins. Even Maerwen was asleep, and Lorna wasn’t about to wake any of them. Her daughter was indeed entirely unharmed, without so much as a bruise, snoozing on her stomach with her mouth slightly open.

 

She carefully felt her way down the spiral stairs, poured herself some hot water from the on-demand tap, and dunked in a tea bag. This monovision was weird, and she knew she’d have a worse headache later, but oh bloody well. Everybody but her was exhausted, so she’d make breakfast, and hope she didn’t make too much of a mess in the process.

 

Thanks to all Orla’s ingenious little kitchen devices, it wasn’t hard to get to the frying pans, though Lorna stumbled a little over one of the stools. She got the pan onto the stove and mixed a very large bowl of French toast batter while she was at it, though of course she kept missing things that she tried to grab -- dealing with one functional eye was a lot harder than she’d anticipated. Still, she didn’t need two eyes to stir, or to dunk bread, and she even got the first slice transferred to the pan at just the right time. The second one, unfortunately, missed entirely, and landed on the floor with a squish.

 

“Oh, fuck everything,” she sighed, and just dunked another one. Soon four were sizzling merrily away, the scent permeating the kitchen. She managed to fetch plates without incident, but she ran ribs-first into the side of the cutlery drawer. _ Owwww _ .

 

“I should get an eye patch,” she muttered, shaking her head and rubbing her side. She’d be like Nick Fury, except tiny, mixed-race, and female. Maybe not such a great comparison. At least she could say ‘motherfucker’ like a champ.

 

By some minor miracle, she actually got the first eight pieces perfect, and put them on a tray in the oven, set at low heat to keep them warm. Piece nine went flying when she stepped on the soggy slice she’d dropped, somehow managing to stick to the ceiling as she pivoted, flailing, and caught the handle of the refrigerator for support. Lorna looked at the floor, and at the ceiling, and burst out laughing. Jesus.

 

Thranduil and Earlene woke together, realizing that Thanadir must have taken their son to his rooms. They were both still very tired, which did not prevent what happened next. In moments, a caress from Earlene led to her tugging him on top of her, and within seconds raw need and lust left them straining against each other. Almost before he had slipped out of her body, they were yanked back into a deep sleep and lost again to the world.

 

When Earlene woke the second time, she lay there blinking. A part of her tried to order the jumble of thoughts and images that flooded in. From last night, from a few hours ago. Had she dreamt, the sex? A shifting of her position in the bed revealed a slight soreness down below; apparently not. Passing her hand over her face, she sighed. Oh well, hopefully she also had not dreamed that Thanadir was out of the room, though her muddled recollections of what they’d done meant that it had been over before even the seneschal could possibly have cleared the room. With a groan of disorientation, a sense that she needed to wake and care for...things egged her to rise from the comforting warmth of the mattress. Groggily she made her way to the toilet before realizing…. _ are you here, beloved? _

 

_ In the pool. You did not notice me, not that I blame you.  _ His tone was one of weariness, still. Not so much physical, but emotional. Shuffling around the corner, she joined him in the water and gratefully slipped into his waiting embrace. 

 

_ I do not want to weary you further,  _ she tried to find how to begin,  _ but… _

 

_ But you too have questions and thoughts about yesterday that remain in your mind. _

_ Yes, though I would willingly delay the asking if you need me too. I can only guess at what you gave, yesterday. My curiosity does not usurp your well being. Or what is left of it. _

 

_ You above all are owed an explanation, Earlene. You are my wife, the other half of my spirit. _

 

His words were weighed, considered, because...that she had been made to feel like that was the case...there was still some newness to it. What happened last night had shocked her deeply, most of all because she had been drawn in when the opposite was what had been anticipated. Though much was better between them, she still expected on some level to be pushed away.  _ You...took from me, as you took from me in the very beginning, when even you were still faded? _

 

_ Yes. You are connected to me. And while you do not possess the gifts of our people, you were incorrect. You are a whole and strong woman. It is true that while you could not offer the strength of Ruscion or Thanadir, you very much had something to offer. I never told you, so long ago, that had you been other than you are; fit and healthy, it would have taken me much longer. Lorna is your friend and I guessed that you would want to help. And even were that not the case, I needed you. I needed to feel your love and comfort, because the difficulty was more than anything I have faced. You must understand Earlene, she should have been dead. An elf could not have survived those injuries; I have never had to try so hard because there should not have been anything left for the attempt. _

 

_ Eru. Then that was not just for show, last night. It needed all of you just to try to shift her back. _

 

He nodded, holding her tightly.  _ I am not feeling so kindly disposed toward the world outside these Halls, just now,  _ he admitted.  _ I was forced to realize what can happen. I was forced to think about if it had been you.  _ His breath hitched, even as he struggled not to cry.

 

_ Try to listen to me. Your feelings are common. Maybe these thoughts are new to you but...not to us. It is the fear that hangs over all our heads, every day. It is the reality of our mortality. None of us knows when, or how, our lives might be claimed. This is what we would name ‘a close call’. It happens, and it is its own form of trauma to our minds. You are not alone in how you feel. Do you think I will want to get back into a car, after this? And yet I will force myself to do it, because it is part of the business of going about life. We have so little time, compared to your people. We are tasked with the obligation to use it living, not lingering in the shadows out of fear. Sometimes we even succeed,  _ she said with humor.

 

He sat quietly against her, reflecting on her words. Eventually, she kissed his lips chastely, and rose to dress. He lingered awhile, and did the same.

 

Thanadir, dressed and carrying Thaladir against his body in a baby wrap carrier was the first to emerge. He shuffled into the kitchen somewhat tiredly only to stop and notice Lorna staring at the toast, seemingly unsteady. He quickly moved forward to help stabilize her. “Lorna, are you well?” he asked softly, deeply wondering about how the food made it to the ceiling. Then again, this  _ was _ Lorna.

 

“Good morning, Thanadir,” she said, still giggling a little as she looked at the toast. “I’m a bit unsteady because my eye’s banjaxed, but it’ll work out. D’you want some French toast?” He could probably eat half a loaf and not break a sweat, but four pieces ought to be a good start. When she looked at him, she saw Thaladir asleep in a sling, and wondered why the sight did not seem odd. “Someone’s still sleepy, I see.”

 

Little feet could now be heard clattering down the stairs, as Ithiliel and Eleniel made an appearance, rubbing their eyes. It was obvious from the state of their tangled hair that they had escaped Lothiriel, who was probably still busy with Allanah. The twins had blown through toilet training some weeks back, while Allanah still was learning. She still slept in a nappy, though it was more common for her to wake dry than not. They both marched to Thanadir, looking up at him expectantly. He knelt down so that each of them could kiss their sleeping brother in turn. “When can Thaladir play?” Ithiliel asked, seemingly amazed at the tiny but growing body. 

 

“It will be a few months,” the old elf said kindly. “He has to learn to walk, before he can keep up with you two. Breakfast will be a little while, do you wish to play with your toys in the dining room?” The girls looked at each other, as if silently communing, and only then did they notice Lorna. 

 

“Aur vaer (good day), Auntie Lorna,” they said solemnly in stereo, hugging each one of her legs, before skipping off to the next room.

 

Thanadir shook his head, smiling happily at their retreating forms. Their mess of tangled hair was down past their shoulders now, and would require some taming. After breakfast. “Does your eye hurt?” he asked, returning his attention to Lorna.

 

“I would guess it does,” intoned Thranduil, who emerged now with Earlene, walking to his friend. He debated chiding her for making the food while she was still in such...condition...but thought better of it. “Good morning,” he said, kissing Lorna’s forehead while he bent down to look at her eye.

 

“Good morning,” she returned. “And I’ve got a bit’v a headache, yeah. Surprisingly not bad, though, considering...whatever the hell happened to my head. I figured everyone’d want breakfast, but trying to cook like this is a little harder than I was expecting. You all had to be so tired, and I can make French toast, if nothing else.”

 

As if to prove her utterly wrong, the piece of bread on the ceiling fell off, landing on the counter with a splat. She tried to keep a straight face -- she really, really did, but it was no good; she dissolved into laughter so hard she nearly cried.

 

Thanadir looked worriedly at Earlene when the toast fell, knowing her kitchen...proclivities, and was surprised to see nothing more than a calm smile on her face. Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, she moved past them to see her girls.

 

“Well. Things seem normal enough,” Thranduil said, his eyes merry.

 

“And it’s the one thing I can make,” Lorna cried, in mock despair.

 

“You can make it,” Mairead said, stumbling slightly down the stairs, “but you’re not going to right now. For Christ’s sake, did you get it on the ceiling again? I don’t know how you did it the first time, let alone bloody twice.” She still looked tired, and she’d borrowed a dressing-gown from Earlene, which didn’t quite fit her right; they were the same height, but Mairead was somewhat more strongly built. “You go sit.”

 

“Did you have to say that?” Lorna groaned. “Don’t ask. Seriously, don’t. And here I was trying to do something nice for you lot.”

 

“Do something nice once you’re all the way better,” Mairead said firmly, and shoo’ed her away from the stove. “Go. And take your tea.”

 

Allanah tottered down, with Lothiriel and Ortherion close on her heels. Both elves did not hesitate to seek Lorna out and carefully sandwich her in a hug between them. And then they looked at her, as if having to prove to themselves that she really was in one piece. Apparently, news traveled the elven grapevine fast. Very fast. “We are sorry,” they both said. “And glad you are well.” Obviously they were ignoring the state of her eye. “Hîr vuin,” they said, bowing to Thranduil, then Thanadir, before Lothiriel moved off in the direction of the twins with Allanah in tow, and Ortherion began his duties with porridge and hot cocoa.

 

“Thank you,” Lorna said, somehow managing to hug them both without actually dislocating anything. “I am, too.” It was still a little difficult for her to reconcile just how severe her injuries must actually have been; mercifully, she didn't remember anything after the crash and the spin.

 

She went to move around the counter again, feeling her way, only to slam into Mairead, who gave an exasperated sigh. “You,” her sister said, “are a menace.” Mairead actually picked her up by the armpits and set her in front of Thranduil. “Make sure she doesn’t move, will you?”

 

Without waiting for an answer, she went to fetch one of the bar stools, setting it down on the far side of the counter. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing with the spatula.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. It was a very strange sensation, when she could only see out of one. “Help me,” she stage-whispered.

 

“You’ve fallen and you cannot get up?” asked Thanadir hopefully. Thranduil frowned; he must pay more attention to his seneschal’s late night habits, apparently. Infomercials out of the United States surely were not good for him.

 

“Worse,” she said, still in that stage-whisper. “I have a Mairead.”

 

“You’re being repressed?” Thanadir tried again. Thranduil groaned.

 

“Yes!” Lorna said, seizing on that. “Yes, I absolutely am. She’s repressing me.”

 

“I’m sure you think you’re so clever,” her sister said, flipping toast, but she grinned as she did it. “Thranduil, please make her sit, and make her stay there. Otherwise I need to find the duct tape.”

 

Lorna took that as an excuse not to sit, but to hide behind the Thranduil in question. “See?” she said. “Repressed.”

 

“Come, you,” Thranduil said, unceremoniously removing her to the Heart Room. “Since I am not holding my son, you will have to do,” he teased, as he plunked her down. Carefully. Before he retreated, he glanced at Ortherion, and then the ceiling. “Abpuigo hen?” (Clean this later?). 

 

The ellon dipped his head and smiled in acknowledgement of the request. “Athon, i Aran nîn.” Thranduil had to give Ortherion a great deal of credit for...discretion. Thanadir obviously felt uneasy at Thranduil’s comment, for by the time they had seated themselves, he was offering the child to Thranduil. Only then did the King realize how his words might have been interpreted. As this was hardly the time or place for reassurances, he simply smiled and took little Thaladir. The infant fussed for a moment, before settling down against his chest and resuming his slumbers. The seneschal forced his feet to the next room, to see if he might help or perhaps join Earlene and the girls, drifting away a bit like a lost puppy.

 

“He’s certainly attached to that little one,” Lorna said. “Of course a peredhel baby’d already be sleeping through the night.” She pronounced it ‘peret’el’, because yes, ‘dh’ might sound like ‘th’ in Irish and in Sindarin, but she couldn’t say it right in either.

 

“He is,” Thranduil admitted, not sure how much he should comment. He did spend time with Thaladir and loved him dearly...but he had also stepped aside considerably, in favor of his sworn brother. He was not sure if it should disturb him, the joy he derived from what he had given to Thanadir, in deferring much of what he could easily have claimed for himself; yet he had already been blessed so much and he knew this would not be their last child. Perhaps it was all best left unsaid; surely Lorna had her own problems on her mind. He tried to change the subject. “Later on, we will work on your eye, as best we can. It may take many days, to fully repair it, but I have hope that we can.”

 

“I hope you can too, but even if you can’t...I’m just bloody glad I’m alive,” she said. “And one eye’s better than none.” She could handle having just one -- though that didn’t mean she didn’t want both of them at something close to full capacity. “Thank you,” she added, resting her head on his shoulder. “I mean it. I haven’t got any way in the bloody world’v repaying you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

 

“You are welcome,” he said, placing his free arm over her shoulder and drawing her close. “But you must know it was not me alone. This was beyond me. Many helped.”

 

She sat up, and stared at him. “Many?” she asked. “I...didn’t know you could do that. I mean, I thought you were the only one who could...y’know, heal on a big scale.” Thanadir, she knew could do some healing, but nowhere near Thranduil’s level, and she wondered just how close to dead she’d really been, if it took not just more than Thranduil, but many more.

 

He shook his head. “That is true, but my power is not unlimited. We have the ability to join our strength. A little like what you saw us do when we invoked the protection of the forest. Perhaps twenty-five of us did this. Even Earlene gave what she could. Do not feel as though you have to repay us, Lorna. It is not about anything like that. We are family.” A crash and a shriek from the other room was enough motivation to cause him to rise and investigate. “Now stay there, or your sister might throw food at me,” he teased. “I will return in a moment.”

 

Lorna felt her jaw drop. Twenty-five...she was beyond stunned, so far beyond that she didn’t even try to get up and follow. Family...there was family, and then there was... _ Jesus _ , she really didn’t know what to do with that, because probably not many people in the world had that much effort poured into saving them from something. That was -- it went beyond humbling. She wasn’t even sure there was a word for what it was. That they would go to such effort, such strain, on her behalf...yes, she needed to do  _ something  _ for them, even if she could never actually repay them.

 

Breakfast was lovely, with the same crash that had distracted Thranduil causing those in the other wing to emerge as well. The twins had tried to show Allanah how to use the hula hoop and suffice to say it had not gone as planned, but such things were to be expected. After, Thranduil and Thanadir worked to mend Lorna’s eye, explaining that they would be doing this each day. Progress might be slow, and these sessions would be brief; less than a minute. They could not afford to exhaust themselves, day in and out. But hopefully, over time… Thranduil did not explain to Lorna that basically the structures of her eye were needing to be literally re-created, from the cellular remnants of what had remained. From her rods and cones to her delicate optic nerve, there had been rampant destruction. He might tell Ratiri if specifically asked, but wisdom told him to otherwise keep his silence.

 

“Thank you,” she said. There wasn’t any visible difference yet, but that was okay. They’d get there, she was sure.

 

*****

 

Later on, Lorna was oddly restless, and Mairead, watching her, suggested they take a walk to the pub. She herself had had a little time to turn over all she’d seen last night, but not enough, and she wanted a chance to talk about it with Ratiri and Pat -- talk about it in private.

 

“You think my eye’ll freak them out?” Lorna asked, a little dubiously.

 

“Anyone who so much as looks at you sideways’ll feel the back’v my bloody hand,” Mairead said, with a vehemence that made all three stare at her. Mairead was not at all a violent woman; she hadn’t even spanked her kids more than a few times. For all she could yell like a champion, that was all she ever did. “What?” she demanded. “Nobody fucks with my baby sister.”

 

“I knew we were family for a reason,” Pat said. “Seriously though, Fun Size, you’ll be fine.”

 

“If you say so,” Lorna said, stuffing her feet into her boots. Saoirse was out with Sharley, so they didn’t need to worry about her; the girl suddenly seemed quite taken with the woman. “I just wish my good eye would focus.” She would, she knew, have a hell of a time with headaches, if not for Thranduil and his magic, because her left eye strained to make up for the loss of vision in the right. The right one was...super creepy, honestly. The bright red of the sclera had darkened since Thranduil and Thanadir had worked on it, the blood doing...something...so that now it was a very dark rust rather than bright red. It made the green of her iris even brighter, though once she took a second look, she realized the pupil was all wrong in it: the circle was no longer a circle, but some kind of uneven oval. She didn’t even want to _ know  _ what had to happen to cause something like that, because an uneasy part of her suspected it involved the word ‘bursting’, and just...no. Nope. Some words should not be associated with eyeballs.

 

“We do,” Mairead and Pat said at once, and looked at one another. Yeah, they were siblings, all right.

 

Yesterday had been rainy, but at some point last night it had cleared off and very lightly frozen; when they went outside, grass and leaves crunched beneath their feet. The air was fresh and clear and bitter cold, but as they made it down the driveway, Lorna paused, and sighed.

 

“My  _ car _ ,” she said, only now realizing that the Charger was probably mangled beyond repair. Yes, it was just a car, just a thing, but she’d put so much love and work into it, and it had been the first nice, expensive thing she’d ever bought herself. She could always get another, of course, but that had been the first.

 

“Yeah, it was kind’v...no,” Pat said. He didn't even want to think about the picture he’d seen on his mobile.

 

“Man, I ran Von Fuckstic over with that thing,” she said, and didn't care that it was blatant whining. She was fairly sure that was allowed right now. “I wish I could’ve at least salvaged the hood.”

 

Ratiri rolled his eyes. It was such a Lorna thing to say, and he was never going to be over being grateful she was here to say it. “Never change, mo chroí,” he said, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “Never change.”

 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist. A morbid part of her wanted to ask how bad it had really been, but she hesitated to make them relive that just yet. She knew well how traumatized she’d be, if one of them had been in her place, and she in theirs. 

 

“So, I’ve been thinking,” she added, once they’d pass the borders of the forest, and Thranduil could not longer listen in. “Thranduil says I haven’t got to repay any’v them, but that’s bullshit. I want to do  _ something _ , but I have no idea what, yet. That’s the problem with having friends who’re better than you at  _ everything _ .” 

 

“I was pondering that myself,” Mairead said, “and I want to try to duplicate your wedding cake, just on a smaller scale. It might take Siobhan and Big Jamie to pull it off, but I know how much that lot loved it.”

 

“It’s worth a shot,” Lorna said. “I just...want to do something. I’m shite with words, but I can do...things.”

 

“Yeah, you really  _ are  _ shite with words,” Pat said, poking her in the shoulder.

 

“Shut it. What...what happened last night?” The question was hesitant, because she wasn’t sure she was yet ready to know. 

 

Nobody answered right off. “We’ve still been trying to work that out ourselves,” Pat said after a moment. “It was...I think I’d be as crap as you, if I tried to describe it to you.”

 

Lorna turned and glowered at him. “I don’t care if I’ve only gone one eye, I can still kick your arse, Patrick Donovan,” she said. “My feet work just fine.”

 

“I don’t know how well even I can put words around it,” Ratiri said, pulling her closer. “There’s what we saw, and then there’s what we felt, which was something...quite apart, or at least it was for me. It was something like what we witnessed, when Thranduil gathered the aid of the Elves to strengthen the forest when Von Ratched arrived, but it was on a scale somehow both smaller and larger. Smaller, in that there were fewer Elves, but it seemed to me there was more energy expelled.”

 

Pat searched for anything he could add to that, but no adequate words were to be found.

 

“It’s easy,” Mairead said, “sometimes, to forget that they’re not human. In so many ways, they’re just like us, but then there was...there was that. I think it was the most powerful, and the most beautiful thing I’ve ever bloody seen.” What she couldn’t give voice to was her gratitude that they would go to such lengths for a human -- someone who, by their reckoning, would be dead so soon even if she lived to be Gran’s age. She had yet to reconcile how  _ broken  _ Thranduil had seemed at the hospital, either; that had been a level of raw emotion so intense it had hurt to look at. The elves, she thought, must feel more deeply than they ever let on -- and it could well be terrible for them, if something wounded them too much.

 

“Now that I can understand,” Lorna said, for she so often forgot it herself. They seemed so human, right up until they weren’t...and then they went right back to what they’d been to her. “That it took so many’v them, and they still couldn’t do my eye...I’m probably going to regret asking this, but how bad was it? Was it like that picture of the lady in New York -- Ratiri, you know the one I mean? Where she looked fine on the outside but her insides were mush?”

 

He shuddered, and debated how much to tell her. “I don’t fully know,” he said, “because I’m not certain Thranduil told me the worst of it. From all he did say, though, I’m not surprised it took so many Elves -- I’m surprised it worked at all.” He was never, ever going to tell her about her face, about the ruination...she didn’t need to know. He wished  _ he  _ didn’t know, because that sight was going to haunt his nightmares, possibly for the rest of his life.

 

“There was...light,” Mairead supplied, as they turned up the road to the village. “Bright light, so bright I couldn’t look after a while. It was like trying to stare into the sun, and it was just as warm, too. I don’t know why what they do glows, but I thought it might blind me if I looked too close. I didn’t know how it couldn’t’ve been burning you up -- it was like the heart’v a bloody star.”

 

That was unusually poetic for her, and Lorna looked back at her, only to stumble over a rock and curse. She had, of course, seen that light herself, when Thranduil healed people, but never that bright. Jesus, maybe she really had been close to mush.

 

They walked the rest of the way in silence, pensive, as Ratiri tried to put words around the rest of it. He’d been so wracked, so strung out, that at the time it had almost been little more than impressions that he’d had to string together in the light of day. He was not going to say anything until he had anything to say, however, because he knew he’d only be able to do it once. It had been the most beautiful, most heart-wrenching thing he’d ever seen, and he needed to be able to do it justice. He wished, just then, that he had telepathy, so that he could just show her...maybe he needed Thranduil to do that. No matter how eloquent he tried to be, perhaps he needed Thranduil to show it to her.

 

The pub was all but empty this early; aside from them, there were only Geezer and Ian, eating pub sandwiches and drinking some kind of fizzy drink. Lorna didn’t look at either of them, nor did she face John when they approached the bar -- her hair made a great veil, among many other things.

 

“It’s early for you to be out and about,” he said.

 

“It was a long night,” Ratiri explained. “And we can use a very early drink.”

 

The man’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “At this hour? If you say so.” Ratiri could already see the wheels of his mind turning, and knew that this would be all over Lasg’len by lunch. That was the problem with small villages; anyone’s business was everyone’s, and he dreaded what this would be like once they all lived in the Halls, and theirs was the only human civilization anywhere.

 

“Gimme a pint,” Pat said, an order echoed by Mairead, but Lorna ordered a shot of poitín and grenadine with some mineral water.

 

Ratiri pondered saying something, and decided against it. One drink wouldn’t kill her, and if anyone deserved one, it was her.

 

John eyed her with concern. “Lorna,” he said, “I know I’m not your village barman, but when someone comes in at nine in the bloody morning and orders poitín, something’s wrong.”

 

“Something  _ was  _ wrong,” she said. “It’s not now, but it was, and will you not just give me my god damn drink?” She still didn’t look at him, but Mairead and Pat gave him matching glowers.

 

It was evidently enough, for the man got them their drinks, and they went to take up the table at the back, nearest the warmth of the fireplace. 

 

“They held hands,” Ratiri said at last, after a few long swallows. “I think that’s how they linked up their power.”

 

To his incredulity, Pat started giggling, somewhat hysterically, resting his head on the table. He very nearly upended his drink.

 

“What the hell’re you on about?” Mairead asked, staring at him.

 

“The elves,” he managed. “Jesus, this is wrong, and I’ve got no idea in hell why I thought’v it, but linking their power...by their powers combined...Jesus bloody Christ, now I’ve got the  _ Captain Planet  _ theme in my head.”

 

“Pat, this is serious,” Ratiri said, though great, now it was in his, too. “ _ Anyway _ . Thranduil took you up to his throne, and I think, if I heard right, he asked the Elves who of them would help their king. And it was...all of them. I’ve never seen anything like it. It wasn’t just hearing it, it was -- it was feeling it. There was something in it even I can’t describe. Loyalty, yes, but more than that. I don't know if we humans even have any equivalent of something that strong. Perhaps I could say unity, but even that isn’t quite the word I want.”

 

Lorna wasn’t used to seeing her normally eloquent husband struggle like this. This, whatever it had been, had evidently so moved him that even he was having problems using his words.

 

“He took you up there, and Earlene followed, and I think he had her put her hand on his neck, but I’m not sure,” Mairead said. “They all joined hands, one by one -- and  _ yes _ , Pat, it was all their powers combined, thank you so much for the levity nobody asked for --”

 

“It’s not my fault my brain does that shite,” he sighed.

 

“--and he chanted...something. I think it was the same thing he had when he first patched you up in the hospital, enough so that we could get you out alive. And Ratiri’s right -- I’m not sure there are any words for what the lot’v them were at that moment. ‘Unity’...it doesn’t work. It’s not enough. It was something...it was something I’m not sure humans’re even capable’v. Beyond loyalty.”

 

“Love,” Ratiri said. “Of a sort and a depth I’ve never seen before. I never thought I was a cynical person, but I’d had no idea that kind of love was possible.” He took another long swallow of his pint, still searching for words. He wished, so much, that he had not been so overwrought, so exhausted, hanging by such a slim thread...perhaps later he would be able to speak of it better. Later, when he and Lorna were alone.

 

“Didn’t think’v it like that, but ‘love’ is right,” Pat said meditatively. “Like...they’re not just neighbors, not just...just people, but like they’re all family. One really big one. I never...I never really gave it much thought, what their -- their society -- is like, though now I’m wondering  _ why  _ I didn’t. They’ve got...oh, Jesus.” He knew what he wanted to say, knew what he’d felt when he watched that, when he saw that the elves were willing to do, and how willing they were to do it, but he was little better with his words than his sister.

 

Time. He needed more time to think about this. Maybe then he’d have words. Maybe then he’d be able to pour the beautiful contents of his memory into something more than he would understand.

 

*****

 

Thranduil now wondered if his seneschal was avoiding him. He searched all the areas that were shared and their own in the home, including Thanadir’s rooms. There was no sign of him, and Thaladir was beginning to fuss. Earlene had returned to the Halls, citing having been away from the harpsichord far too long, yet he could hear her thoughts as she played the instrument, and knew she had gone alone. He frowned, having almost completed his second circuit of their home when from the upper storey stairs, he spotted a figure standing at a little distance in the woods. His thousands of years of knowing the ellon were not needed, to know that something was amiss. Very quietly he stole up on his friend to see the downcast eyes and hurt.

 

“I was afraid of this,” Thranduil said, placing an arm around him, insistently bringing Thaladir back into his arms. “Meldir, I did not mean for my words to imply that I am upset with your time with our son. Earlene and I chose this after careful thought. I never meant to cause you sadness.”

 

The eyes that turned toward him struggled more than he wanted to see. “I know I take him too much of the time, Thranduil, when he is your son. I am the one who is sorry. I have come to love him so very much…” Tears splashed from his eyes as he held the child to him.

 

“No, Thanadir. You were  _ meant _ to love him. This was the entire point of the thing. You have been standing here, allowing yourself to dwell on matters that are not true. Please, come inside with me. It is cold, for him to be out here.” Though in truth, the child had already vanished inside of Thanadir’s clothing and was held warmly against his body, so he was slightly grasping for straws with that pronouncement. For all the mortals criticized the notion of monarchy, at the moment Thranduil was grateful for it. Only because Thranduil had made a request, the ellon did not resist and turned to do as he had been asked. The King steered him inside, and into Thanadir’s rooms where it was warm. “He is hungry, and his mother is in the Halls,” Thranduil said, smiling. Thanadir looked at him in surprise. He had been aware that Thranduil...knew, but parts of him had wondered if this was truly accepted...or merely tolerated. When some minutes later, both ellyn sat together and Thranduil simply stroked his son’s back while he nursed, his arm draped over Thanadir’s shoulder in affection, he had his answer. This shared time together brought more peace to his heart than thousands of words could ever have managed.

 

*****

 

This one-eyed business, Lorna realized, was going to be a bit more difficult than she thought. So long as she groped out with her right hand, she didn’t actually run into anything, but tripping was a real hazard, especially on the road.

 

She hadn’t had nearly enough poitín to even make her tipsy, but she was at least relaxed, sort of, and turning over what she’d heard from her family. Perhaps later they would be able to express what they’d seen more clearly, but she could imagine it herself, at least to some degree. It had doubtless given them yet more food for thought, when it came to the elves and their society -- food they’d take back to Baile, too. Meanwhile, she needed more tea, and perhaps another dose of Thranduil headache medicine. It wasn’t her bad eye that hurt so much as her good one, which was straining ever more to focus. Maybe she needed to temporarily get glasses or something.

 

“Sooner or later,” Ratiri said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, “someone at the hospital is going to wonder where the hell you went. In all that chaos, they might well have assumed you’d simply been moved at first, but by now they have to have noticed that wasn’t the case. The three of us can be plainly seen leaving on the security cameras without you, so they might well be wondering who within the hospital could have grabbed you, and why.”

 

“Wish I could see their expressions,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“While I do, too, that’s going to cause trouble. Fortunately your address on your license is still listed as the cottage, right?”

 

“Mairead’s, actually. I didn’t see the point in changing it.”

 

“And I’m just  _ loving  _ the idea’v dealing with that,” Mairead said dryly. “What should I even tell them?”

 

“That you haven’t seen her,” Ratiri said. “And that you’re very tempted to sue the hospital for misplacing her. Nothing deflects suspicion quite so much as threat of a lawsuit. Given the nature of her injuries, they’re almost certainly going to assume she’s dead; act like you assume it, too, and that you believe she died because of their negligence. I hope you’re a better liar than Lorna.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“He’s got a point,” Mairead said. “I’m sure I’ll manage. If I go on the offensive right off, they won’t know what hit them.”

 

Lorna well believed  _ that _ . Her sister could be quite...forceful...when she chose, and with nary a cuss word in sight. What she herself did with much profanity,  Mairead could handle with withering scorn, a quirk of an eyebrow, and possibly some judicious shouting. Occasionally she’d been happy to play off the stereotype of the hot-headed ginger, for all she really wasn’t in real life. “Tell Kevin to film it. I’m sure it’d entertain everyone here.”

 

“Shut it, you.”

 

Lorna stuck her tongue out, but tripped, and would have gone sprawling if not for Ratiri’s hold on her. She had to find some way around that, before she tripped and split her newly healed head open like a melon.

 

“Lorna,” he said carefully, “what are you going to do, if Thranduil and Thanadir can never heal your eye?”

 

She shrugged. “Adapt, I suppose.” It didn’t sound like any fun at all, but she could do it. “Gran used to say a body can adapt to anything, even being dead.”

 

“And didn’t I always think she meant zombies,” Mairead sighed, shaking her head. “Pat, I wish you could’ve met our gran. She was...she was something.”

 

“In some ways she was like me, but worse,” Lorna added. “And this eye wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the strain headaches I get in the good one. Would those go away, after a while?”

 

“They would,” Ratiri said, “once the left learned to compensate.”

 

“Would the right one look like... _ this _ ...forever?”

 

He shook his head. “No. The remnants of the hemorrhage will dissipate, with time. It shouldn’t look any different than your left eye.”

 

Well, that was a relief. If she really did have to wind up not being able to see properly out of it again, at least it wouldn’t make people stare. That she could register a degree of light and shadow really was encouraging, too.

 

When they got back to the house, he led her into the kitchen, and they made tea. Maerwen had brought Chandra and Shane down to the Heart Room, and they came toddling into the kitchen, binkies firmly in their mouths.

 

Lorna picked up her daughter, so far beyond relieved that the little girl had  _ somehow  _ come out of that wreck all but unscathed. She was so young that she would probably never remember the accident at all, which was another bloody mercy. She’d been able to rest safe in her own crib last night, none the wiser.

 

This house was their fortress, and Lorna was, for now, reluctant to leave it. No harm could come to them in here, within these earth walls. Even going to the village had left her anxious, as nonsensical as that was -- lacking Sean, nothing nasty ever happened in Lasg’len. Still, it wasn’t until she was inside her home that she relaxed, breathing a small sigh of relief. She was safe.  _ They  _ were safe.

 

*****

 

“I know you can’t see one hundred percent,” Earlene said cautiously to Lorna when they were alone in the Heart Room one day, “but I was thinking about…. you went to Dublin that day for things for Saoirse’s party. Her birthday’s the day after tomorrow, and Thranduil’s aur en onnad is coming up. Do you want to go to Dublin, and do what you’d meant to? I could always look for something for Thranduil. I actually have an idea for something he’d like, but am trying very hard not to think about it here, for obvious reasons,” she smiled. “We could make an afternoon of it, and if you’d not want to kill me for it, maybe even bring Thanadir? He’s not been away from the forest or Lasg’len...well, it’s been awhile,” she said quietly. “But really, anything you’d want…” Earlene felt so hesitant, to ask her friend. She’d not forgotten the bridal shower mess, but worse yet was that...it never left her mind, what it took for her to get back into a car after the accident she herself was in. And that was when she was much younger, and allegedly more mentally flexible...she had her goddamn license now, and Lorna wasn’t the one who would have to drive.

 

The very thought sent Lorna’s heart pounding; the last few days she’d barely left the house. It really didn’t help that she kept tripping over things with her right foot, either, but Ratiri, the smart man that he was, had planned for this very eventuality, and got her a scrip for some actual Xanax. Thranduil had told her that the telepathic version would wear off once she was away from him, but this stuff was what Ratiri had called her nuclear option: if she needed to go out, this would make sure she could do it. Earlene wasn’t familiar enough with Dublin yet, and Thanadir was still new to cities in general. New York and Dublin were not the same thing. “Do you have any sunglasses I can borrow?” The hemorrhage in her eye was not as ugly as it had been, but it was definitely still there.

 

Earlene tilted her head at her friend; her physical tension was noticeable. “I do,” she answered slowly. Lorna’s eye was fading into that sickly yellow color that followed an insult to the eyeball, and admittedly it still did not look terribly nice, though it wasn’t that bad. “Mostly, I remember how hard this is, and if I’m to be fully honest, I am trying to find a way to get you out of here. I haven’t forgotten the feelings that come after a bad car accident, Lorna. I’m not going to pry, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here. It’s a little like getting back on a horse. The longer you wait, and all that…”

 

Lorna managed a little smile. “The weird thing is, it wasn’t this hard last time, and I actually remember that wreck. I don’t...I’m not sure why I’m so scared to get back in a car, because I barely remember this one at all. Big crunch, spin, pain, and then...that was it. Nothing at all like Liam, but like you say, I’m older now. I’ll be honest, the thought’v getting in one again right now scares the shite out’v me, but you’re right -- the longer I wait, the worse it’ll get.” She shook her head, and drew a deep breath. “As long as I’ve got some sunglasses and one’v Ratiri’s little helpers, I ought to be okay. Thank you, for...for thinking’v that. Ratiri wants to wrap me up in cotton, not that I blame him.”

 

“The one that happened to me affected me worse than I’d guess your first one did. But I managed. But then after 9/11, I got weirder. Not sure how well I’d bounce back, now, to be honest. I’m no shrink, and couldn’t even begin to guess at what happens in our minds, over stuff like this. I just know that feeling of...not being safe. It’s never really gone, or I’d not be so weird in a car. But I think getting out helps. You could hold onto Thanadir’s arm, and not trip over every damn thing, and we could take him to a decent lunch and watch him eat. Maybe even take him to a movie. I’ll admit, I’d sort of love to see him enjoy a film in a theater. Anyway, think about it. But if we go, we should go tomorrow.”

 

“That’ll give me a little time to wrap my mind around it,” Lorna said. “If Thanadir’ll keep me from slamming into anything and bloody everything...I swear my right shin’s nothing but one big bruise. And Christ do I wish my gran could’ve lived long enough to meet Thanadir. She loved anyone who could appreciate a good meal. Think that Nonna in New York, except Irish and really profane.” She wrapped Earlene in a hug, though she had to stand on her tiptoes to do it. One semi-embarrassing reason she wasn’t as physically affectionate with her female friend as the others was because she was just the right height to get a face full of tit if she wasn’t careful, and that would just be awkward for everyone. Well, mostly for her; she doubted Earlene would care that much.

 

“Good, then. We’ll do that, and it will be fun.” She rose, to tell Thanadir of their plans for tomorrow. 

 

******

 

Ratiri was quite frankly amazed Earlene had talked Lorna into getting into a car again so soon; he would have thought that would take a month at least. The last thing he wanted was for the trip to go badly, though, or the setback might be worse than the actual accident.

 

He’d got Lorna some Xanax through Indira, and he’d have her take half before she left. The other half could go with Thanadir, since it would be one less thing for Earlene to worry about. 

 

The only trouble was finding Thanadir. Ratiri had been over half the house before he thought to check in the craft room, plastic pill bottle in his pocket. It was strange, how little of the house he and his had used thus far; their flat, the Heart Room, and the kitchen were about it. Neither he nor Lorna had grown up in large homes; they weren’t used to having so much space to use.

 

“Thanadir,” he said, giving the open door a perfunctory knock. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

 

The seneschal looked up from his seat in a chair; he was turned away from Ratiri and craned his head around to make eye contact, with an expression of surprise and trepidation. “Probably? What is it?” His voice held unaccountable nervousness.

 

“I’m not sure if Earlene’s talked to you about it yet, but she wants to take Lorna to town tomorrow,” Ratiri said, “and I’d like you to hang onto something, if you would.” When he actually entered the room, he was incredibly surprised at what he saw, just because...well, it was possibly the last thing he ever would have expected. He’d  _ heard  _ of male lactation before, but quite honestly he hadn’t been certain it was anything more than theoretical. “You actually made that work,” he said, his natural curiosity overriding, well, basic manners. “How did you make it work? I know it’s possible, technically, but I’ve never actually read of any cases.”

 

The elf’s face revealed that he was flustered. “I…..he….” He swallowed. “You will not tell the others?” he asked in a low voice.

 

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Ratiri said, and privately decided that was for the best anyway. Neither Lorna nor Pat would ever say anything, but they wouldn’t need to; to say the pair of them weren’t good at dissembling was a vast understatement. He himself thought it rather peculiar, but mostly because he hadn’t been expecting it at all. “Is it difficult? Lorna had trouble.” Thanadir had little in the way of a chest; perhaps what Lorna had had, if that, and she’d definitely had issues holding them properly so they could actually eat.

 

“I have been told how most would view this, because I am male. I have read the same,” Thanadir confessed. “And I am afraid to be thought ill of. But it comforts him, and I would do anything for Thaladir.” He sighed. “It was not hard. I hold him much of the time against my skin; he was the one who sought out my nipples. Earlene explained to me, he suckles very hard. He would latch on, much of the time. Maybe two weeks later…” he shrugged. “Milk came. I welcomed it, for he enjoys it. But I cannot give him what Earlene can; he still needs her. I can provide maybe half, of what he wants? But it is nice, especially at night. I do not need to wake her so often, to feed him.”

 

“I won’t lie, Thanadir,” Ratiri said, “many in the Western world would find this peculiar. Actually, many wouldn’t realize it was even possible, but I’m a doctor. I could even explain why this works, if you don’t already know.” Earlene had doubtless done her research, but he couldn’t be certain how much, given she wasn’t a scientist herself.

 

Thanadir laughed, lightly caressing his son’s head. “I know. I have nipples, and I have milk ducts. And even the hormones, just not like what Earlene has. It is a shame that it is thought badly of, Ratiri. It is very special, and I am grateful to have experienced this though I am not an elleth. I am not always very good at understanding others, but even I can realize how unusual this is. Yet I am not sorry; I just do not want to be though more peculiar than I already am. Only Earlene and Thranduil know, and now you,” he said softly.

 

Poor Thanadir. “Ah, but do you know  _ why  _ you have nipples and milk ducts? All embryos are inherently female. We only became male thanks to our fathers’ sperm cells.” If he could put the elf at ease about this, he’d try. “It’s unfortunate that none of you have yet been exposed to cultures beyond the Western norm. This one has fetishized something that’s an entirely natural process, turned it into something sexual and...and  _ tawdry _ . Though as for being peculiar,” he added, with a certain quirk of an eyebrow, “look at the house you live in, Thanadir. We’re  _ all  _ peculiar, in our own ways. A truly normal person would take one look at us all and run away screaming.”

 

Thanadir seemed to be digesting this. “My father made me not female?” He frowned. “I think I need to read more.” But he smiled, and seemed visibly more relaxed. “I am sorry, you did not come here to ask me about...this. What is it you wished me to do?”

 

Ratiri laughed. “Well, he didn't do it on purpose. Read up on sperm cells, next time you’re bored. Somehow, Earlene has talked Lorna into going to Dublin, and she’s going to take the first half of this in the morning, but she may well need the second half by lunch.” He produced the pill bottle, handing it to Thanadir. “Xanax. Thranduil can only help her if he’s nearby, but this will hopefully allow her to ride in a car without panicking.” Hopefully. He was not so optimistic about the whole idea. “And...you’re going to need to stay on her right side the whole time. She doesn’t run into things, but I’m sure you’ve noticed how often she trips.”

 

“Earlene already spoke to me. I will keep the medication for her, and we both will take care of her. Do not worry. We both mean to ensure she has a positive experience.”

 

“I wish I wasn’t so worried,” he sighed. “I’m sending her with some prescription painkillers, too, in case the strain on her left eye gives her a headache. If someone says something about her eye, or even just stares…I’m not sure what she’d do.”

 

A gentle smile formed on Thanadir’s lips. “But I am sure what I will do, which is not allow her to come to harm. I am older, stronger, more persuasive, and infinitely more stubborn, Ratiri. You do not need to worry.” Thaladir chose that moment to be done with nursing, and let out a contented burp. The child was lifted against his chest and held close, while his little back was rubbed and gently patted.

 

“Just...don’t allow her to harm anyone else,” Ratiri said, though he was rather relieved. “She was doing so well, but trauma like that can do strange things to a person, psychologically. I’m not sure that the full impact of it has hit her just yet.” In fact, he knew it hadn’t; she had yet to really speak of it, of what little she remembered, or her feelings on the whole matter. He knew Lorna -- she wouldn’t say anything of it until she was ready, but the wheels in her mind would turn. Sooner or later, something would have to give, but he didn’t know where, or when, or just what the result would be. Hence, Xanax, though he suspected this was too soon for it to give. Maybe in a month or two they’d have to worry.

 

*****

 

Lorna had thought the Xanax had time to kick in, but when she stared at the van, she realized it hadn’t done quite enough. Nausea coiled in her stomach, sweat gathering at her temples, and the chicken part of her wanted her to beg off, but she wasn’t going to let herself. Though she really, really, wanted to.

 

Earlene’s sunglasses just made it even easier to trip, but she made it into the van without landing on her face or anything else, wondering if she could mix a little beer with her Xanax. If it wasn’t Jamie’s home brew, it wouldn’t do what it did to Earlene…  _ I’m not sure this is a great idea. Or a good one. Or anywhere close.  _ She couldn’t quite say the words out loud, though they lingered, sour, on the tip of her tongue.

 

Earlene privately chanted  _ Fuck the Road Authority, , Fuck the Road Authority, Fuck the Road Authority,  _ as she plastered the screaming red N-plate onto Lorna’s van. Never mind that she had over twenty two years as a vehicle driver with no citations or accidents under her belt. Never mind that she’d passed every exam with perfect marks, including the actual licensing test. She was required to place this Vehicular Scarlet Letter onto any vehicle she drove for the next TWO BLOODY YEARS because, in the eyes of Ireland, she was a ‘novice driver.’ But today was not the day to give vent to any anger or strong emotions of her own, so she went about the humiliation as though she didn’t mind in the least. In the meantime, she feigned needing something inside the cottage. It was part of a prearranged plan, not that anyone would admit it.

 

Thanadir had taken his customary place on the passenger bench of the van, and now spoke to Lorna, who had taken the passenger seat. “Lorna, I would like you to come and sit next to me, please.” The Sad Eyes were set on ‘stun’. ‘Kill’ would be employed only if necessary.

 

Behind her sunglasses, Lorna couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. “I know you do that on purpose, and yet I’m a sucker for it anyway,” she said, hopping out the passenger side. She tripped getting up into the back, but by now she was used to that. “The eyes are a damn weapon.”

 

He smiled and said nothing, while Earlene mysteriously appeared and took a moment to adjust the seat and mirrors and remind herself where everything was. “Off to Dublin, then,” she smiled. A glance in the rear mirror told her that the moment they left the driveway, Thanadir’s arm came around Lorna and held her close. And since she knew from vast personal experience that little felt better than being in that position, fears or not, hopefully it brought her more peace. With a sigh, Earlene settled in to the monotony of avoiding all the people who would drive worse than she did, who were not required to have N-plates on their windows.

 

Lorna’s hand found Thanadir’s as a twitch walked its way up her spine. “I really don’t know why this is so hard,” she said, her stomach lurching a little when they started along the road to Lasg’len. “I don’t remember it. I remember the initial crash, which was like two seconds. My first one….”  _ the first one I almost drowned and I watched my husband die, but it didn’t do this to me  _ “...was worse, and this didn’t happen. I’m getting mentally...rigid...as I get older.” Granted, the first one had just left her with a broken leg, not a half-blind right eye.

 

The seneschal’s hand rubbed at her back. “Do not worry. It is normal to have such a difficulty. Even an elf would struggle with having been injured so badly.” He might be exaggerating a little, because the full truth was, no elf injured so badly would be doing anything but resting in the care of Námo...but that would likely mean some kind of struggle, and therefore was not an outright lie. He hoped. To lie would be unseemly, but he was very worried about Lorna’s state of mind.

 

“I just hope I get over this before, y’know, the end’v the world,” she said, shutting her eyes. “I want another Charger. My  _ car... _ that thing was like a friend. I hit Von Ratface in it.”

 

The Xanax kept her okay until they hit the motorway. Even with her eyes shut, the pick-up in speed sent her stomach lurching, and her grip on Thanadir’s hand tightened. Fortunately he was an elf, so she wasn’t going to actually hurt him.

 

Thanadir turned and pulled her in closer, and held her tightly. Her ears were forced to hear the beating of his heart, and he began to hum softly. It filled him with pity, to see her like this, not that he would say a word. And while he could not do what Thranduil could, some measure of healing ability did belong to him. The occasional chanting of prayer was mixed in, moved into the old dialect of his Silvan people so that she would not understand. He felt her relax a little, and cared for her as he would Thaladir. As the miles wore on, he saw that she had fallen asleep. Perhaps that was for the best, for now.

 

Lorna slept the rest of the way to Dublin, though occasionally she would swim toward wakefulness; the steady beat of Thanadir’s heart lulled her under again, unaware of the traffic. She woke, though, when she felt the van decelerate, headed down the gentle incline of the offramp.

 

She blinked, sitting up. Whatever had happened, it had been entirely cleaned up, at least so far as she could see. And yet she looked at the traffic light, watched it turn green, and automatically turned to her right side, irrationally terrified. Jesus, what even -- she remembered next to nothing. Next to nothing. Crash, spin, pain...it wasn’t like she’d been trapped for hours. Bile rose in her throat, and she gripped Thanadir’s hand harder still.

 

“Listen to me, Lorna,” he said softly into her ear. “Nothing will happen. Your mind is trying to panic, and I will not allow it. Listen to my words, listen to the beat of my heart. Talk to me if you wish. If it is very important to you, I can try to listen to your thoughts though I cannot manage it for very long. I will not permit anything to happen to you.” 

Earlene glanced briefly in the mirror and worried that perhaps this had been too much, too soon. And yet they were here, and the only thing left was to press on or drive back home, and she was very disinclined to let this go without Lorna herself asking for the trip to stop. She simply calmly navigated to the parking site she’d chosen near the river Liffey; they were going to have a lovely afternoon. At least three art supply stores were all within walking distance of the others, and one of those was right near Dublin Castle, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and something called the Guinness Storehouse. Surely they could have a time of it. At last, the van was settled and they were able to emerge, Valar be praised. “Would you like to eat first, or shop? There’s lots going on here, but then again you’d know that,” Earlene smiled. 

 

Thanadir helped Lorna out; from here on out he would keep her from stumbling; her right hand was brought firmly around his arm. Earlene declined to say how adorable this looked, the tiny woman next to the tall, slender elf wearing a Star Trek t shirt and an unzippered hoodie. She still valued her shins.

 

Lorna discovered in fairly short order that sunglasses just weren’t going to work. “Um...let’s shop,” she said, and if she leaned a little heavily on Thanadir, well, he probably wouldn’t blame her. She couldn’t see for shit with the sunglasses, though, so she stuck them in her satchel, and contented herself with the fact that she had a fringe. So long as she didn’t look directly at anyone, the eye shouldn’t be too visible. “Saoirse’s got plenty’v ink and pencils, but I was thinking she might enjoy pastels, even if they are messier than hell.” Though the girl was surprisingly tidy about her art supplies, even if the same couldn’t be said for any of her other things.

 

“Sounds good.” Guessing that the day needed to go very smoothly, Earlene had already printed a map of their general area so she could navigate without being dubbed an eejit, and took them to the first store. How one would differ from the other, she had no idea, but Thanadir too might see things he wished to have. In fact, she was sort of counting on it.

 

“I think Evans’ is closest,” Lorna said. She’d done some homework, since art had not exactly been something that figured in her life when she lived in Dublin growing up. She’d had no idea there were different kinds of markers, but she’d bet Saoirse could do all sorts of things with them -- perhaps they could talk her into writing and drawing a comic book, which would be good for writing skill, too. The sets were expensive as hell -- almost four hundred euro -- but Saoirse was skilled enough that would be a worthwhile investment. Quality paper was a must, and there were something called polychromos pencils, which supposedly resisted fading for a hundred years. Well, they’d have plenty of time to find out if that was actually true.

 

The sky was grey, but a light grey, and so far everything seemed set to stay dry. Not  _ too  _ many people, either, at least by Dublin standards -- not that that was saying a great deal, since it was a tourist destination, and there were always people about. Thanadir kept her from tripping over anything, and nobody was about to run into her with someone his height beside her.

 

Somehow, when she thought of the trip she’d taken with Thranduil, she managed not to laugh. She was fully prepared to defend the honor of Thanadir’s arse if any skeevy women decided to home in on him, but she didn’t know if that sort would home in on him too much, unless they were uni students or the like. Thanadir looked too young to draw the kind of twat that had harassed Thranduil in the maternity section, and in this case they also had Earlene, who Lorna was quite sure could drive anyone off with a certain level of polite scorn that couldn’t be duplicated by anyone else.

 

Earlene looked around the shop, wishing she knew what to do with the half of it. Was there something here she could try, and not make a hash of? There was what looked like adult sculpting clay, was the use of it so different than decorating cakes? But it was very costly for such tiny amounts. It didn’t matter that she was richer than Midas; it was the principle of the thing. She had no skill to draw and then...calligraphy pens? Things that were not quills, that could perhaps have her Tengwar looking nicer? Suddenly, this had appeal, and a few pens and black ink was not expensive. Those found their way into her basket. “I hope you let me buy a few of the things for Saoirse,” Earlene asked. “I’m a little lost in here, but I’d certainly like to add to her gifts. With that kind of talent, she should have the whole shop, honestly. I wonder what about watercolors? Maybe she could see if she cares for painting, that way? I mean, we can always come back for oils and canvas, if she turns out to be Da Vinci.”

 

“Watercolors sound like a good idea,” Lorna said. “I was going to get her some markers and colored pencils, but I think she also needs watercolor paper and brushes -- I’m not sure the el-- er, that we’ve got that kind at home.”  _ Nice, Lorna. Way to almost slip.  _ “Cian, have you got any ideas?”

 

“Well, she seems to like to draw big scenes. And little ones. And...let’s stop pretending Earlene knows what she is talking about, and just get all the damn sizes. I can afford it, last I checked.” With a certain air of determination, she marched off to exchange her basket for an outright shopping cart, and in went about 14 assorted sized pads of paper. And a massive palette of watercolor paints, plus a backup pack of the primary colors that was more portable. Some pads of paper were for just drawing, but at least half were specific to watercolor. “There,” she said proudly. “That has to be good for something.” The shop owner was behind the register, looking happier by the moment as she surveyed the volume piling up into their cart. 

 

_ Fuck it _ , Lorna thought, grinning, and grabbed her own cart. Markers, colored pencils, soft pastels...this kid wasn’t going to emerge from her room for the next year, but it would give her something to do on rainy days, and there was plenty of wall space to hang her creations. The markers needed vellum, apparently, so she got some of that as well. “Can you tell we’ve got an art prodigy on our hands?” she asked, laughing. She rather forgot to not look at the cashier, even with the Eye of Ick.

 

“Your man not treat you right?” the cashier asked, peering at her. There was a distinct but faint scent of alcohol hanging about the register.

 

Lorna froze, and the vision in her good eye hazed red. She was half a breath and half a second away from launching herself across the counter and strangling the stupid cunt, rage prickling hot over her skin.

 

Thanadir held ontl her gently but firmly. “How dare you speak to her like that,” the elf hissed, his face immediately transforming from the serene features to which Earlene had become accustomed to the seneschal she had seen in her earliest days of knowing him. “She was in an accident and almost died. What is the matter with you?” 

 

“I think we are leaving,” Earlene added, her own face a storm of disdain. “I happen to know that there are several other shops of this kind where the proprietors will likely not say something to a customer of such an intrusive and hurtful nature. And you might not want to expect a terribly kind review of your establishment, once I’ve driven home.”

 

The woman’s eyes widened in horror. “Sure god, I’m sorry...I was trying to show a bit’v humor and...Christ, please don’t leave.”

 

“And what are you going to do to change our minds? She is as a mother to me, and your words have ruined her day.” His chin tilted higher, his usually kind eyes ablaze with indignation.

 

Earlene looked at Thanadir, without letting her face betray that she was astounded. Clearly she did not know everything about her friend.

“Twenty percent off your entire purchase?” the woman asked meekly. 

 

“Twenty-five, and my friend will not write her review of your store,” Thanadir countered, his eyes narrowing.

 

“You win,” her shoulders sagged. “Please believe me, I am sorry…” she trailed off miserably, not able to make eye contact with Lorna. Earlene glanced down at her friend and pulled out her card.

 

“I’ll get it all, Lorna, and we’ll settle up later,” Earlene said in a tone that hopefully made resistance futile. She glanced at Thanadir and jerked her head toward the door. The message was clear enough;   _ take her out of here and I will meet up with you on the way to the van. _

 

Lorna was entirely too startled to argue; she just nodded, and let Thanadir lead her out. What on Earth was she to make of what he’d said? He didn’t lie, ever. She’d always felt entirely protective of him, but she hadn’t had any idea that...well, that it had registered too much, because everyone was protective of Thanadir. It was impossible not to be; just looking at him made you want to keep the ugliness of the world at bay. Because she was so shit with her words, she could not yet say anything, but she was, by now, very good at hugs, so hug him she did.

 

His arm moved around her shoulder to hug her back, and they continued to walk, in no hurry. Thanadir knew how to be quiet, perhaps better than anything else, and he sensed that this was what Lorna needed. Earlene left the store perhaps a minute behind them, scanning the receipt.  _ Well, that paid for a few lunches and dinners,  _ she smiled to herself. Art supplies were not cheap, and the owner was still lucky that they hadn’t left their selections at the counter and stormed out. While she’d rather it had not happened in the first place, it was a little of a silver lining. She caught up to them when they were not far from the van. “Are you...okay?” she asked Lorna carefully.

 

“Should’ve seen that coming,” Lorna sighed, leaning against Thanadir. “Might not be the only time I hear that shite today. I just more expected it out’v little kids who don’t know any better.” Small children didn’t have filters, after all; they hadn’t yet learned to have any. _ That _ , though...she was half tempted to put the sunglasses back on, but fuck it. If somebody else wanted to give her shit, this lot would have to hold her back from strangling them. Except, Christ, no, she couldn’t...she couldn’t afford to get arrested, could she? She was probably presumed dead.. _.oh _ .

 

Oh dear.

 

_ That  _ was a nauseating thought, and one she really didn’t need right now. Nope. Not at all. “Let’s get some food,” she said, wishing her brain had not gone there. The ripple effect of this whole mess could turn into a big, big problem later.

 

“Good. There is a place not far, Al Vesuvio. Maybe there is a Nonna,” Earlene teased. Thanadir audibly groaned, but his charming smile had returned to his face. “They have a wine bar, and everyone likes pizza.”

 

That drew a laugh from Lorna. “Nonnas and Grans,” she said. “Tiny old ladies who cook and swear. I wish we had something like the Holey Cream in Dublin. Cor, that’s something we’ll have to stock up, before...the end’v twenty years: rock salt, so we can make ice cream. Because no matter what, the world needs ice cream.”

 

“It’s not anything we’ll have to leave behind,” she agreed. “At least, not in winter. Hm, that reminds me. We’ll be needing to add in constructing icehouses, to our list…” They walked the short distance, and Earlene took charge after assessing how hungry Thanadir might be. “Two pizzas; margherite and prosciutto e rugola. Two glasses of your finest house red, a sparkling water, and three tiramisu.” The waiter smiled and hurried off; lunch was over and compared to that panic, the mid-afternoon crowd was much more pleasant for the serving staff.

 

Thanadir’s arm came around Lorna again, as they all looked around at the pleasant preponderance of terra cotta that surrounded them by way of decor. “Lorna, Ratiri wished for you to have more medication. I have it with me, for you. Will you take it?” This time the Sad Eyes were on minimum power, but still very much there.

 

Oooh, tiramisu...that fixed many an ill. “Christ, you don’t have to ask me twice,” she said, relieved. “I know it’s not good to take this stuff for long, but I only need it while I’m out’v the house.” She took the plastic bottle and swallowed the pill, grimacing a little at the bitter streak it left down her throat. What she did not do was look at their waiter, or anyone else, because she’d had enough of that for one day.

 

“You don’t need to worry, as long as you’re not taking it all day every day,” Earlene said. “I’ve not told you that I lived on that stuff, on and off for the better part of fifteen years. I was just...careful. I’m not much prone to addictions, but I took no chances.” It was better to be blunt, she thought. Lorna’s previous alcohol habits were far more of a risk to her than some of the blue pills, of which she still had quite a stock. There just hadn’t been a need, not since Thranduil healed her.

 

Thanadir looked at Earlene, surprised. “Why, meldis? Because of what happened in New York?”

 

She nodded. “Mostly, yes. I could not control my emotions, Thanadir. That is what this medication does, it stops the ability to feel so anxious or fearful. Which is not a good thing, but there are times when it is take a pill, or suffer a great deal. Were it not for my husband, there is no doubt I would still be needing them at times.”

 

“I’ve been on it before,” Lorna said, wondering why it had not occurred to her that Earlene had probably had to take them for so long. Of course she wouldn’t have just started right before she moved to Ireland...Jesus. What must it have been like, to suffer all the years after 9/11 alone? She herself had had Mairead, and Gran, and half of Baile. She’d never had to deal with her grief on her own, unlike Earlene. “After the wreck when I lost Liam, Mairead had them, and she’d dole them out when I needed one. Didn’t want me having sole access, and I can’t blame her. I might not’ve abused them, but then again there’s a good chance I might’ve. Ratiri’s got them now.” It was better for everybody that way, though so long as she was at home, it wasn’t an issue; she was safe inside her own house, and if she got wigged out, Thranduil was usually somewhere nearby.

 

They finished their delicious meal and left, with Thanadir once again guiding Lorna on his arm. “It was not like Nonna,” he declared with smugness. “But it was very tasty.”

 

Earlene chuckled. “Good. I was just thinking it is time to make pizzas again; that oven is not getting nearly enough use. Maybe Saoirse would like that for her birthday? Or did you have some other scheme in mind?” She left the question to hang in the air, as they all climbed back into the van.

 

“You can’t beat homemade pizza,” Lorna said. “Pizza and cake. Christ, she could probably eat half a pizza on her own, she’s growing that fast.” Though ‘fast’ wasn’t quite the word she wanted; the girl hadn’t shot up an inch overnight or anything, but she’d been growing steadily since last autumn, and the crown of her head came up to Lorna’s nose. She probably wasn’t going to wind up  _ tall _ \-- the Donovan genes were working against her there -- but at least she could make it to the short side of average, and thus be able to buy her clothes in the adult section.

 

Shelagh Reilly entered the restaurant as a rather strange party exited: a very tall, pretty  man, a beautiful brunette, and...huh? She blinked, because the third member of the party was a very tiny woman with extremely long black hair, just like the woman the hospital had lost after that terrible accident. The woman with the impervious skin.

 

Everybody knew about her, and not just because she was such an anomaly: her sister had gone on the warpath once she’d discovered they’d lost the woman. Little wonder, too; how did a hospital manage to  _ lose  _ such a critically injured patient? The stench of a lawsuit hung in the air, and as one of the people who had tended to the patient, Shelagh was terribly afraid she’d be in on it. But this tiny little woman here...their mystery patient, Lorna Donovan, had been rather distinctive, as was this woman.

 

Shelagh shook her head. Poor Ms. Donovan’s injuries had been so terrible she was certainly dead by now. Wherever the hell she was. There was a betting pool among the nurses and EMT’s that the government had whisked her away,  _ X-Files  _ style.

 

Lorna, blissfully oblivious, steeled herself for another car ride. Food and Xanax helped, as did clinging to Thanadir like a remora. She wasn’t sure she wanted to try another outing any time soon, but at least she’d proved to herself that she could do it, even if only because her friends were with her. “Thank you for making me come out here,” she said. “I’m not sure when I’d’ve tried it on my own, and by then it might have been too late.” If it had turned into a phobia, she might never have got over it. “And especially thank you for handling that gobshite at the art store. I...wouldn’t have done nearly so well, if I’d dealt with her myself.” She no longer trusted her own emotional reactions, so it was just as well their limits not get tested. Prior to the accident, she’d been doing pretty well, but she was just a tiny bit fucked-up now. Just a bit.

 

Thanadir kissed her forehead, and held her tightly. “You did very well, Lorna. Very well. We will come here again, because I now know there are many things of interest to see. I did not know there is a castle, a museum, a cathedral to Saint….Saint….Saint Pat,” he finally concluded. It was true, while he was waiting for the pizza he had been suspiciously immersed in his mobile, reading with rapt attention to something or other. 

 

Earlene grinned. Was there anything better than a friend who was now a museum junkie? No, not that came to mind...she pulled away, determined to return to the M7 before traffic went to shite. Some uneventful span of time later, they had returned to the driveway. All their purchases were brought into the cottage bedroom, where they could lie hidden until tomorrow’s celebration for Saoirse.

 

Lorna breathed a sigh of relief to be home. “Thanadir, one’v these days we need to take you to the restaurant Thranduil and I went to the day we...er, went to Dublin.” She was not going to mention what they  _ did _ in Dublin. “Christ, we should all go. It was lovely, and I think the waiter about died when we asked him to recommend things. He’d probably bend over backward for us if he’s on shift when we go again.” Her tension drained ever more as they approached the house, until she felt positively lightheaded...until, like an idiot, she tripped. She’d been stupid enough to let go of Thanadir’s hand once they were home, and she cursed and flailed before righting herself. “I really need to get better at turning my bloody head when I walk.”

 

She wanted to ask Thanadir what he’d meant, saying she was like a mother, but it wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have in public. How to get him alone, however, she wasn’t sure.

 

The problem, however, solved itself once they returned home. Instead of seeking out Thaladir immediately, he found his laptop and went into the Quiet Room. He had read about something called the Book of Kells that was housed in Dublin, and had not had time to learn of it earlier. When he found the website and the photos of the precious manuscript, happy astonishment suffused his features.

 

Lorna knocked on the door before she stuck her head in. “Thanadir, have you got a moment?” Oh, how she wished he could read her mind, and know what she wanted to ask before she had to try (and possibly fail) to ask this without sounding like a twit.

 

“I do,” he answered softly, still mesmerized by illuminated manuscripts from which he forced himself to look up.

 

“So, you said you can kind’v read my mind, right?” she asked, creeping in; he’d mentioned that in the car, now that she came to think of it (and that was actually a touch scary, if she really thought about it, so she didn’t let herself.) “You know how shit I am with my words...can you look and see what I actually mean, so I don’t muck this up?”

 

Surprised, the seneschal’s lips parted, but he nodded, vaguely hoping there would not be too much unseemliness on the other side. Mostly he seemed to stare at her intently, until he stopped, and a smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “You wish to know why I said that about you, in the store? That you are as a mother to me?”

 

Lorna nodded, relieved. “Yeah,” she said. “I didn’t know that you’d figured out how much shielding’v you I did at first -- you and Thranduil, really, but he was harder, since he just kind of goes in and does his thing anyway.”

 

Thanadir’s smile broadened. “You told me once, you were not certain what the duties of a seneschal were. I believe you defined my title as, ‘whatever Thranduil tells me to do,’” came the fond memory. “Much of my role is simply to….know. To observe what happens, because if any matter does not go smoothly, it is my duty to present to my King how it can be made better. It is true that in the beginning I was quiet, struggling to understand your language, and confused by your culture, but all that did not stop me from watching you, Lorna.” He looked at the colorful glass on the wall, and his expression took on a faraway gaze.

 

“Long years ago there was an elleth named Belassiel. She had next to nothing, but that did not stop her from overseeing the welfare of others. A kind word, the work of her hands...those were gifts that cost nothing to give, and that even a poor elleth could have in abundance. Even though she herself was often in want, it would not stop her from giving to another if she felt they had greater need. That elleth was my mother, and while in some ways you and she are very different, I see much of her in you. In all my time since she and I parted ways, I do not think anyone has fussed quite in the way you do. Not even Earlene, who fusses but in another way.” He tilted his head at her. “Does that help?”

 

Lorna was beyond touched, even as she had to laugh -- because yes, she did fuss. She was a worrier, and had been much of her life. She moved across the floor to hug him. “That’s one’v the nicest thing’s anyone’s ever said to me,” she said. “I had good examples in fussing. I like taking care’v the people I love, even if I know it drives Thranduil around the bend at times. Some things...well, like you say, they cost nothing, and they’re easy to give. I can’t imagine not giving them.” She’d learned from Gran, from Mairead, and while the fussing wasn’t always wanted on the part of the other person, they couldn’t help it. “I know you lot don’t need me to worry and fuss like I do, but I want to keep you all safe, even if you don’t actually need it. It’s not quite so bad, now that you lot’v seen  more’v the outside world, but it’s still there. I’m just glad you’ve become...resigned to it, I suppose.” That just made her laugh again, but it was kind of true, honestly.

 

Thanadir grinned. He could roll his eyes about the fussing later; at the moment Lorna needed most to have her spirits kept up.

 

*****

 

Thranduil eyed Lorna, sitting quietly on the sofa. “You are coming with us,” he announced.

 

She grimaced. “Do I have to? I went to Dublin. I got out’v the house, and got stared at, and had that damn gobshite talk about this thing,” she said, pointing at her eye.

 

“Well, that reminds me, it is time to work on that a bit more,” he said, clearly radiating one of his moods of nearly insufferable cheer. 

 

Beckoning Thanadir, they took the better part of a minute to do the elf thing (could ‘elfify’ be a verb? Damned if she knew), at which point he admired his work.

 

“It is a new color, is it not, meldir?” Thranduil tilted her head gently this way and that.

 

“It is,” Thanadir agreed. “I would say you have just moved from khaki/goldenrod to pale canary yellow.”

 

“Someone has been looking at paint colors,” Earlene teased from across the room at hearing this snippet. That Thaladir was greedily feasting away while she spoke attracted no notice.

 

“That is incorrect, meldis,” Thanadir said with his own air of generalized superiority. “I have been reading about definitions of yellow.”

 

“Oh well, then, please pardon my ignorance, Michelangelo,” she deadpanned. 

 

“I shall,” Thanadir fired back.

 

“Um, I’m still here?” Lorna said, flapping her hand in front of her face.

 

“So you are,” Thranduil noticed, caught up in amusement at the banter. “Do you notice any change?” he asked hopefully.

 

“I do, actually,” she said, looking at one of the lamps. Covering her left eye, she found the right could make out brighter lights, and a few more levels of shadow. While she couldn’t see the lamp itself, the outline of it was distinct. It was no longer just a vague blob that differed little from the dark grey that was the rest of her vision. “Honestly, even if I only get half the vision back, it’d be a lot better than nothing. Tell me the truth, Thranduil: would the words ‘bursting’ or ‘exploding’ apply to what happened to this?”

 

“Sort of but not exactly?” he said softly. “That is part of why this has been so difficult. The best comparison I have is that it is like piecing a shattered mirror back together. All the pieces are there, but nothing was where it could do any good.” He would decline to mention that those words had applied to more of her anatomy than he wished her to know. But he would not lie to her; it was better for her to not have the mental fodder even if the details she imagined were not strictly accurate.

 

Lorna winced. “Maybe I do need a drink,” she said, because she couldn’t help but imagine bits of exploded eyeball floating around her brain. She knew that wasn’t at all how it actually worked, but that didn’t stop her imagining it anyway. Ew.

 

“And this is why I do not like to tell you these things, dear one. You churn these things in your mind over and over when it is better not to.” he whispered in her ear for her hearing alone. In an entirely normal volume, he agreed with her assessment of needing a drink. “Good, then. We will leave in five minutes; see if Ratiri and the others wish to come. Besides, we have a son to show off and once again have failed to bring a new child promptly to the pub.” He met Earlene’s eyes with a smile and a promise.  _ Next time,  _ he said even as he heard the same from her.

 

_ Yeah, but you know me,  _ she said.  _ I’d rather know than wonder.  _ “I’ll see if I can get the rest’v this lot in one place,” she said, hopping off the sofa. She could see where the doorjamb was a little better now; it was a distinct shadow, though she couldn’t tell what lay beyond it. And of course she tripped on her way up the stairs, but what else was new.

 

Ratiri, she found, was out on the deck, planting flower pots, surrounded by kittens, who weren’t very kitten-like anymore. “Pub,” she said, taking his hand. 

 

“I can’t say no,” he said, given that he was about done with being crawled all over by felines. 

 

Pat and Mairead were no-go’s, however; they sat in the quiet area, going over lawsuit shite. Niamh had marked things out very clearly, so they didn’t have too much difficulty, but neither of them were lawyers. The suit would drop when Lorna was “found”, though not right off; even though she was alive, the hospital had still theoretically lost her, and the best defense was a good offense. If they went after the hospital, it was less likely to go after them.

 

“Oh, come on, you two,” Lorna said. “This can wait.”

 

“Someone’s got to stay with Saoirse,” Pat said. “She’s drawing, like we could pull her away from that.”

 

“Oh, fine,” Lorna said. “Be that way.” She and Ratiri headed off, hunting down boots and coats, trailing kittens like a fuzzy, meowing comet.

 

“Mairead and Pat are a no-go,” Ratiri said to Thranduil. “They’re taking that pretend lawsuit a little too seriously.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrows arched. What was being done...stretched her tolerance of admissible use of the law. She had heard their reasoning and while she would not openly condemn it, neither did she approve entirely based on her understanding of Irish legal realities. It was not her business or her decision, but she did hope that nothing about this plan of theirs backfired. That was the thing about law….a bit like a spider’s web, really. You could tug on one strand and not realizing that the entire structure would shake on account of it. 

 

Turning aside, she put on her cardigan. This walk would give her the rare privilege of carrying her own son, though she knew Thanadir would be right next to her. In fact just to settle him better, she suggested he wear his own baby wrap; once Thaladir had been suitably admired, he could go back to his adar. One of his adar. Adar and adar. Maybe they should have adar and ada? Earlene rolled her eyes at the concept of words and names in general, and walked out the door with Thaladir happily nestled against her breasts. That the child kept kneading them with his little hands...it was taking some willpower to try to keep her milk from letting down on account of it.

 

_ I could help, meluieg,  _ Thranduil smirked.

 

_ The kind of help you have in mind would get us to the pub a half hour later than everyone else, Thranduil.  _ Her eyes narrowed.

 

_ You cannot say I did not offer,  _ he teased back, clearly in a fine humor.

 

It was necessary to wholly obfuscate her thoughts at that point, because her next retort would have been unseemly indeed. The chuckle she heard from him was not helping. Some days, it was simply unfair to be with a mind-reading elf.

 

Lorna leaned against Ratiri, still keeping him on her right. Having more light in this eye was encouraging, but it didn’t make her ability to see anything on the ground any better. Tilting her head up, she found she could see the shadow of the leaves overhead, sunlight piercing down through them. Still small, still new, but soon the canopy would be like a green roof.

 

“Stop staring at the sun,” Ratiri said. “You don’t want to undo everything Thranduil and Thanadir are doing.”

 

“You’re such a doctor,” she she said, sticking her tongue out at him. “You’re lucky I’m not tall enough to bite your nose.”

 

“Kinky,” he said, with the slightest quirk of an eyebrow.

 

“Shut it, you.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrow raised, at overhearing this.

 

_ No, _ came the firm reply.

 

_ Then can I bite something else instead? _

 

He actually inhaled quickly enough to choke. Even if it was a teeny, tiny bit, she heard the cough.

 

_ So is that also a No?  _ She pressed onward.

 

_ Meluieg.  _ The tone was flat and full of reproof.

 

_ Earlene, victrix. _ It was sweet, indeed. Thanadir saw Earlene’s face break out in a smile, and thought better of asking why.

 

Lorna was a touch nervous to approach the pub, though she really didn’t know why. Nobody in here was going to say anything about her eye, or probably even blink twice at it. Still, she let Earlene and the elves ( _ when  _ was she going to con Thranduil into learning an instrument, so that could be an actual band?) go in first.

 

*********

 

Mairead waited a good fifteen minutes, until even at the slowest they had to be out of the forest by now. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have with Thranduil listening.

 

“All right, Pat,” she said, shutting the notebook with a thud. “Here’s the thing: I know damn well what you want to do, and you can’t bloody do it.”

 

He glowered at her, a look so very like Lorna it was creepy as all hell. “You don’t know a bloody thing,” he said.

 

She snorted. “You’re your sister’s brother. You might not be as bloodthirsty as she was, but you’re still a damn Donovan. I know you want to kill that son’v a bitch. Trust me, I do, too, but we can’t actually do it, okay? It’s a nice daydream, but don’t go haring off trying to hunt him down. Then again, I’m pretty sure you already did.”

 

Pat gave a slightly guilty start. He had in fact tracked the bastard down, or thought he had; he wasn’t exactly a computer whiz, but there were only so many Johnathan Dornes -- it was an odd spelling of the name. “Why,” he said, “in bloody hell can’t I? He broke both his legs, it says; it’s not like he could run away.”

 

Mairead had to repress a morbid urge to laugh. It really wasn’t funny, and yet it sort of was, because she couldn’t help but visualize it, despite not knowing what the gobshite actually looked like. “Because you’ve got Saoirse,” she said. “If you get sent down for murder, your daughter won’t have her da for Christ knows how long. D’you really want that? Is it really worth it?”

 

He looked away. “Who says I’d get caught?”

 

“Who says you wouldn’t?” she countered. “It’s not worth the risk, you hear me? Karma’ll get him sooner or later. Christ, even if nothing too shit happens to him in the interim, juts look at it this way: he’ll probably die’v plague in twenty years. You kill him now, he won’t have to suffer that.”

 

Pat arched an eyebrow. “Sometimes I swear you’re a Donovan yourself,” he said. “That’s Lorna-logic right there.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he added, “I think I’ve found the other Lorna -- my older daughter. I want to reach out to her, but I’ve got no idea how. She’s got every reason in the bloody world to want nothing at all to do with me -- there isn’t any excuse I could offer that’d be enough for how badly I fucked up with her and her mam. I was a gobshite. I can’t even try to defend myself, because there was nothing to defend -- shit, if I was her, I wouldn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

 

Mairead pondered this. “That’s why you’ve got the rest’v us,” she said. “You’re right, she probably won’t want anything to do with you right off, but Lorna and I...maybe she’ll talk to us. And if she will, eventually we can get her to talk to you. We’ve got to try, anyway.”

 

“Why the hell couldn’t Mam’ve been like you?” he asked. “You look so much like her it’s scary, but Da...broke her, somehow. Somehow, I doubt that’d happen to you.”

 

His sister snorted. “Not hardly. I may not be a violent woman, but the first man that tried to hit me’d be looking for his bollocks up his own arse. Pat, I’ve thought about this ever since we talked about her, and I’m not sure it’s fair, to judge her like you have. There had to’ve been something wrong with her -- something mental. Nobody mentally sound would do what she did.”

 

He looked away. Maybe she was right. He’d been so young, and so oblivious -- how was he to know? He hadn’t known shit as a kid or a teenager. Jesus, he barely knew shit  _ now _ , and he was pushing fifty years old.

 

“In any event, no murdering that gobshite,” Mairead said firmly. “Let the plague get him, if something else doesn’t first.”

 

“You might be even more dangerous than a Donovan,” he reflected. “None’v us ever sit and play the long game like that.”

 

“Probably a good thing you don’t,” she said, with another snort. “You’d be the end’v the bloody world if you did.”

 

*****

 

Thranduil courteously held open the door for his wife and son. And seneschal, and friends. Pretty much everyone, since at the last of it even Mary and Ian snuck in, thanking him for the courtesy. “How goes it with the furniture, Ian?” the King asked cheerfully.

 

“Oh, grand. Your lass Sanya, that one knows her way around a lathe, if y’ don’t mind my sayin’ so. About another week and we’ll have t’ big order of stools carved and finished,” he beamed.

 

While Thranduil twitched slightly to hear the best carpenter in his Realm called a ‘lass’, he understood that their differing vocabularies were a struggle, especially for the older townfolk. It had been a genius solution, concocted between Earlene and Lorna, to allow Ian and Geezer use of the Halls’ sizable woodworking facility. With little additional training, the two began to make custom furniture sold for cash under the table, with the elves asking back a token 20% of the income. They had long passed the time when there was any real need to retain Ian’s services as a caretaker for Earlene, and yet no one wanted to cause the loss of his income.

 

This was an extremely generous arrangement, Earlene had explained, given that the men would have no overhead costs or expenses for rent, tools, materials, anything at all. It would allow the pair of them a fair income, give the elves a sort of ‘slush fund’ of cash that could be used to defray incidental expenses while reducing the sheer number of gems Shane needed to fence, and if the Irish government was being cheated out of a few Euros in taxes, they had assuredly made up that much and more on Earlene’s enforced Driver’s License Fiasco.

 

“Then I am very glad,” he commented. “And your back? You are feeling well enough?” Thranduil asked. 

 

No verbal answer was given, except a large smile and a nod of ongoing appreciation. At this rate, he’d work until he was ninety, with the arthritis he’d suffered for years gone from his joints. 

 

The Irish, Thranduil had learned, did not carry on about such things, but it did not mean their gratitude was any less. With a nod of his head, he smiled. It felt good, to know that such small concessions from him made such a large difference to others. Finally he stepped to the interior, where he saw his wife already mobbed by those wishing to see his son.

 

Lorna kept to the side, though Ratiri brought her a pint. Watching Earlene get surrounded reminded her a little of sharks gathering for a feeding frenzy, though in this case they were feeding off the ridiculous cuteness of Thaladir. She really hoped that kid didn’t figure out how cute he was, or he’d be getting away with literal murder by the time he was two. Sipping her Guinness, she wondered what the village would make of Eleniel and Ithiliel’s extremely rapid progress. It was a good thing, she reflected, that Lasg’len didn’t have any boys that would be the right age to start hitting on them once they were teenagers, or it might end...badly. Very badly.

 

To her surprise, Sharley slipped in after them. The woman tended to avoid crowds, and indeed took up residence in a corner, unheeded. How such a tall, blue-haired person could sneak unnoticed, Lorna had no idea, but she’d managed it several times. Nevertheless, Geezer must have spotted her, for he approached, pint in hand -- possibly looking for a fellow American who wasn’t being mobbed by cooing women. Niamh had kept her updated on Geezer’s immigrant status, such as it was: it had taken some difficulty, but she’d figured out that his grandmother had been an Irish immigrant, which meant he qualified for the Irish Right of Return. There were a ridiculous number of hoops to jump through, but, well, that was what they paid her for. It meant he’d be eligible for a whole host of things he wouldn’t actually need, but at least he’d legally exist.

 

Speaking of legal existence, Lorna wondered uneasily just where she stood. It was probably just as well she hadn't used her debit card in Dublin, because it was no doubt flagged for any potential activity. She wasn’t certain just what she was going to say, when she finally did decide to turn up “alive”, because she could hardly tell the truth.

 

_ Hardly tell the truth?  _ Lorna heard, a vague sense of horror creeping over her. Thranduil had been in much too good of a mood today. And when he was like that, he could be scary. Not evil scary, but more like Gremlin scary.

 

_ What are you going to do? You’re not...oh, Jesus. You are. You seriously are. _

 

“I would like to announce something,” Thranduil said, his voice carrying easily over the others in the room. “Our Lorna was in a terrible car accident in Dublin, not a week ago. We are lucky to still have her. So please do not bother her about the appearance of her eye; it is healing and will be fully well soon enough. Any questions should please be directed to myself or Ratiri, if you value your shins” (much to Lorna’s extreme annoyance, everyone laughed at his joke, with Mick in the back practically spewing his Guinness across the table). “Otherwise, please resume ogling my son. Thank you, very much.” 

 

They actually goddamn applauded him.

 

Lorna was going to murder him in the face. Right in the  _ face _ . Or at least, she was going to murder his eyebrows; surely there was duct tape lying around, and he had to sleep sooner or later. It really did not help that she could feel Ratiri shaking with suppressed laughter beside her.

 

She was rather relieved that the baby seemed to be of rather more interest, but Mick, the bastard, just had to make his way over. He’d obviously already been at the pint a while, but he sobered a bit when he approached. “Was it that accident just off the M7?” he asked, peering at her (and her damn eye). “I saw that. I was afraid it’d been your car.”

 

“It was,” Ratiri said, when she glowered at him. “Thranduil got her out of the hospital, and it took an eighth of the Elven population to heal her.”

 

“My internal organs were basically liquid, apparently,” she said. “Evidently this damn eye’v mine actually burst. Which is...ew.”

 

Mick certainly seemed to agree, given how faintly green he went. “How... I didn’t think all’v you could do that,” he said to Thranduil. “I thought it was just you.”

 

“Mostly, that is true,” Thranduil answered. “I am not strong enough on my own for something this bad, though. Many other elves helped me. Like...having extra batteries, all tied together. Energizer. Keeps going and going.”

 

Thanadir arched his eyebrows and looked at Thranduil in disbelief. He had seen Energizer Bunny commercials, and was not impressed at the analogy. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the seneschal went to find a Guinness.

 

The analogy was enough to make Mick snort into his pint. “Don’t do that again, Fun Size,” he said, and she had to duck his attempt at a noogie. “Though that’s not a mental image I’ll ever get out.” Picturing elves with those big drums...nope.

 

“It’s not like I did it on purpose the first time,” she grumbled. “Thranduil somehow got me out’v the hospital without anyone else knowing, so they probably think I’m dead. Or got abducted by aliens.”

 

“Aliens, elves, one of those,” Thranduil smiled.

 

“Thranduil, might I have a private moment with you? I need help with a little something with the baby.” Earlene’s smile was genuine and unruffled, as she laid her hand on his arm to interrupt. He followed her willingly enough into the private room in back, where she slid the bolt home on the door.  _ I wonder how many times someone has hidden in here for one reason or another,  _ she vaguely wondered.

 

His eyes were bright with amusement. “Are you going to tell my why you really wanted me to come with you? You hide your thoughts well, as always, but not so much that I do not see that it was a deception.”

 

“I do not hide my thoughts without reason,” Earlene countered, her face calm. “And in this case, the reason was to ensure you would come with me.”

 

“Yet you still have not answered my question.”

 

“Very well, then….Thranduil, what is...going on, with you? I only ask that you listen to me. I can see that you are in what we humans might call ‘rare form.’ You are joking, teasing, full of wit, and seemingly enjoying having an audience for those things a great deal. In the past few minutes I have listened to you compare your people not so obliquely to both batteries and aliens. And while I can see you are enjoying both the laughter and attention, I asked you in here to issue a warning. You are perilously close, in this mood, to managing to say something you will later regret. Why Lorna did not brain you with a barstool for your announcement, I may never understand, but I really cannot believe you did that to her.” 

 

Earlene stopped for a moment, rubbing at her forehead, trying to find the right words. Once again she looked up at him, nothing but sincerity and concern on her face. “I have witnessed many others in the same...state of mind you are in right now. I am only pleading with you to….recall who you are. You have worked very hard, not to take a misstep around the mortals you have befriended. Please...be careful, with your words.”

 

He stared back at his wife for at least a minute, without responding. That he wanted so very badly to argue with her was what gave him the most pause. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, he sighed, and his shoulders dropped. “Thank you,” he said softly. “The truth is, I have not allowed myself to...process, how close we came to losing her. I think you humans would call this ‘blowing off steam’. But your point is well taken. I have already annoyed Lorna and appalled Thanadir. I should perhaps….”

 

“Take it down a notch,” she finished for him, a tiny smile appearing at the corners of her mouth. “What I said was said out of love, Thranduil. I could not stand there and….”

 

“I know.” He wrapped his arms around his wife and son, holding both of them close. “I will endeavor to behave myself, now.” They broke apart, looked at each other, and burst into laughter. 

 

He did say  _ endeavor _ .


	88. Eighty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 11-12, 2018, plus one random morning later that month

 

Finally, after much delay, the trip to Lough Gur at last took flight. It was to be an all-household affair, right down to little Thaladir, and wouldn’t they make an odd group for the tourists to gawk at?

 

Pat offered to drive the commuter van, being the most familiar with vehicles of that size -- he’d often done odd construction jobs outside of work, and driven all sorts. Somehow they managed to get everything packed in something like order, though God knew they probably wouldn’t be able to find anything once they got there.

 

The day was nice, at least; summer was in full swing, a few puffy clouds dotting the sky. Still, the weather in Ireland could be so changeable that among their things were fifteen very sturdy umbrellas.

 

Saoirse, since the accident, had taken quite a shine to Sharley, and sat on her right side while Allanah’s car seat was on her left. Pat wasn’t sure if that made him nervous or not just yet; he liked Sharley, he really did, but sooner or later the woman was going to go back to America, wasn’t she? That separation could get ugly in a hurry, unless he decided to take his daughter with Lorna and her family when they went.

 

“All right, everyone’s got everything?” Lorna asked.

 

“If they haven’t, it’s too late now,” Ratiri said. “Go get telepathic Xanax,” he added. Though the accident had left her with no scars, the two inches of new hair she’d grown in were almost entirely silver, with little black remaining.

 

She rolled her eyes, but go she did, poking Thranduil. “Ratiri says I need telepathic Xanax, and he’s probably right.”

 

Thranduil sat on the outer edge of his bench seats, with Earlene then Thanadir at the window, so it was little difficulty for him to reach a hand to her. His face was calm, smiling. Lorna had slowly healed in the past months, with the inside of her progressing perhaps at about the same rate as the outside. Her eye was now only blurred, just as she had been able to forsake the prescription medications in favor of these even shorter-term moments of emotional assistance he could provide. Earlene smiled contentedly, realizing what was occurring. Mostly, she was just glad that her friend had solid means by which to cope.

 

“Thanks,” Lorna said, all her tension draining. The engine rumbled to life as Pat fired it up, and with a final check, Ratiri shut the doors. “Earlene, did it take you this long to get over your accident?”

 

“Longer,” she said, smiling encouragingly at Lorna. “You are doing much better, just so you know. It’s not easy.” What she was leaving out was that she wasn’t sure she _was_ over it, even now. If she were over it, she wouldn’t be half ready to barrel out the window every time a driver pulled a stunt. She wouldn’t cling to Thanadir like he was the Rock of goddamn Gibraltar every time she thought Lorna or Ratiri or whoever was driving too fast. But Lorna possessed a different kind of resilience, and didn’t need to know that part.

 

The invasion of her thoughts came almost in stereo. _What is Lorna/she talking about meldis/meluieg?_ The tones of their voices were not happy. Her eyes widened. They didn’t know about that? Perhaps she had forgotten to mention it or...it had been such a long time ago. Maybe she had not wanted to mention it. Now she was not sure. Either way, the statute of limitations on that tale had just expired.

 

With a slight tremble to her hands, she reached for each of theirs. _I will tell you. I know Thanadir cannot stay in my mind for long, hopefully you can do...whatever it is you do?_

 

_Yes._

 

She turned her head, to appear to look out the side window. _I still do not like to talk about it. I told Lorna the day we went to Dublin together, alone, because she asked why I seemed so nervous in the car or maybe it was why I cared so much how others drove. I thought she deserved an answer. I did not mean to exclude you so much as…_

 

 _You thought it unimportant and you did not wish to remember in order to tell us,_ came Thanadir’s voice. The amount of accusation in his mental tone (and that he was even still with her) caused her stomach to knot.

 

_Please, don’t do...that. I said I would tell you. Do I know every single thing about your past, Thanadir? I would dearly love to know everything about you, but I do not assume that what you have not told me is because you are trying to hide from me. Can you not believe that this was an oversight? Yes, it was an oversight because it is a difficult memory but…_

 

_I am sorry, Earlene. It was wrong of me, to assume. And...I cannot do this any longer, I will wait on Thranduil._

 

Earlene sighed, and replayed the memory in her head, for her husband. It was easier than saying it in words. Mostly, the memory of her friend’s shattered head, held in her hands. _I cannot tell you why I am still afraid. Only that I am. I have tried hard not to let this control me…_

 

 _Meluieg, I could have helped you,_ came the answer in much softer tones. _I still will, if you wish it._

 

_You can just make me not afraid any longer? Then why do you not do it for her? Why have her go through this when she could simply be done with it?_

 

Thranduil now found himself on the proverbial chair of interrogation. He closed his eyes, because for all his chiding he was now caught by her powers of observation. _Because in the end she will be more resilient if she can heal this on her own._ His head drooped a little. _I too am sorry. I had no right to criticize you or make you feel wrong about this._

 

 _I really do not want to shovel blame around,_ she answered, still looking out the window. _Please just be here for me, when I need you. Both of you. If I have coped with this at all, part of that is because of your love, and kindness. I think that is all of us really want, even Lorna._

 

By way of an answer, their hands both held hers tightly.

 

_And don’t let Pat drive like a gobshite. That too._

 

At that point, the entire back seat erupted into laughter, only to receive quizzical glances from those up front.

 

“Do not ask,” Thranduil chuckled aloud. “It is for the best, trust me.”

 

“Now I kind’v want to,” Lorna muttered.

 

“No, you don’t,” Sharley said, almost absently. She was showing Saoirse and Allanah how to fold paper cranes, and thus was not terribly mindful of what came out of her mouth.

 

 _“Sharley, sooner or later the others are going to figure you out,”_ Sinsemilla said, exasperated. _“It’s bad enough Thranduil knows -- at least he can deal with it, since he can sympathize. You really want the rest working it out?”_

 

 _“Oh, like any of them would,”_ Kurt said witheringly.

 

 _“Um, they_ all _will, if she keeps dropping hints like that. They’re smart people, Kurt,”_ Sinsemilla sighed. _“And I don’t know just how many of them would be able to handle being aware of the fact that_ Sharley _is aware of_ everything _.”_

 

Sharley said nothing, because she was around other people, and responding to the voices in company was just...no. Especially given the subject matter at hand.

 

Thranduil quirked his eyebrow, but said nothing. He hated the degree to which Sharley’s voices often had a point.

 

Shane eventually started fussing, so Lorna tickled at him with a feathery cat toy she’d stolen from the kittens. It put him in a much better humor, even if Chandra looked at him like he was out of his mind. The rest of the trip passed without a great deal of incident, though trying to play I Spy with Saoirse soon proved to be a terrible idea, as she was extremely adept at spotting things like perverted bumper stickers or drivers picking their noses.

 

Fortunately, the sun was still out when they reached Lough Gur, and Pat actually found somewhere to park their behemoth of a van. “All right, you lot -- everyone that’s got to have a wee, go do it now.”

 

“Well that would include me, then” muttered Earlene. A bladder was still a bladder, and it didn’t have to be a pregnant one to demand attention. “C’mon girls, let’s go visit the ladies’ room.”

 

“We’re not girls, we’re ellith,” Eleniel insisted.

 

“Are not, we’re half-ellith,” Ithiliel corrected. “That means we’re half girls.”

 

“You might not want to tell anyone outside of our family that you are half-ellith,” Earlene gently coached, hating that she had to. “Remember Nana explained to you, all the others don’t know elves exist?”

 

“But Nana...” Eleniel complained.

 

“No ‘but Nana’s’” Thranduil corrected. “This is the safety and the well-being of our family, our friends, and _both of you_ ,” he said gently but pointedly. “This is not a matter open for discussion, my daughters. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Adar,” Eleniel answered meekly.

 

Earlene smiled. There were some distinct advantages to having a King for a husband. The ellon knew how to give an order and make it sound like no exceptions were open for consideration. And right now, when she needed to pee, that suited her just fine.

 

“Look at it this way,” Saoirse said, scurrying up to them, “ _we_ know. That’s kind’v all that matters, isn’t it? Fu-- er, sod anyone else.”

 

Behind her, Sharley dissolved into silent laughter. Allanah didn’t know why, but she laughed too.

 

 _That kid_ , Lorna thought, shaking her head. She was good with the younger kids, and her vocabulary wasn’t quite as...salty...as it had once been. At the very least, she tended to catch herself mid-word.

 

“I s’pose,” Eleniel agreed. The twins had a charming habit of grabbing their chins whenever they were deeply considering a given matter, and right now was no exception.

 

“Bathroom, ladies,” Earlene refocused. “Last one in, is a rotten egg.”

 

The twins looked at each other, having no idea what a rotten egg was, shrugged and followed their mother.

 

“That kid is more entertaining than TV,” Lorna muttered, shaking her head.

 

“She’s definitely unique,” Sharley agreed.

 

“What’s that?” Allanah asked.

 

“It means she’s special,” Sharley said, lifting the girl into her arms. “Like you.”

 

“I’m special?”

 

“You are. And Saoirse is, and Eleniel, and Ithiliel...you don’t know yet what a family you’ve got, my girlie.”

 

Watching Sharley with Allanah was always slightly painful, because Lorna knew the poor woman had to be missing Marty like hell. That Allanah was wearing Marty’s jacket just made it all the more painful -- but Sharley herself seemed happy. That was always the difficult thing to reconcile; everyone else thought her life was utterly tragic, but _she_ didn’t seem to think so. Which was probably a mercy.

 

Fortunately, there wasn’t too big a queue at the toilets, so they managed to get in and out without it taking half an hour. By then everyone who didn’t need to take a wee had got out the prams and bags and assorted other shite. They were like a small army. A small, really odd army.

 

“Visitor center?” Earlene suggested. This place was supposed to be so many things. Archaeological site, bird sanctuary, nature preserve...and they were so overdue to be here.

 

Thanadir nodded happily, which was good enough for her. Much like a Mother Goose, Earlene marched off (but not too fast) in the proper direction.

 

Ratiri smothered a grin at the sight of all those children toddling after her. Even Allanah was in on it, though Sharley kept a watchful eye on them.

 

His own twins were in their prams for now; they’d get out once they were inside, should they feel like it. Fortunately they both seemed to be in a pretty decent humor, helped by Ortherion and Lothiriel. He wondered just how hard his and Lorna’s lives would be, if not for their live-in child care.

 

“Uncle Ratiri, how come in Scotland a lake is a loch, but in Ireland it’s a lough? They sound really similar,” Saoirse said, once they’d caught up.

 

“It’s because Irish and Scots are part of the same linguistic family,” he said. “They’re both forms of Gaelic, as is Welsh.”

 

“Can you speak Scottish?”

 

“I can’t,” he said. “We don’t learn it at school, like you do Irish. Well, we _can_ , but it’s not mandatory. I didn’t study it, unfortunately.”

 

“We can teach you Irish,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The light in her green eyes bordered on unholy.

 

“Your aunt,” he said dryly, “has already tried. And failed. I’m afraid I have to agree with your Uncle Fionn about it.”

 

Lorna kicked his ankle. “Don’t listen to him. Irish is a beautiful, complex language, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.” Just for that, he got to change the next round of diapers.

 

It did not help in the least that Thranduil’s bellowing laugh echoed from the front of their little parade.

 

“ _Hush_ , you,” she called. “We’re meant to be encouraging national pride in this one. Besides, all the kids’re going to have to learn it -- they won’t get their Leaving Certs without a minimum’v two years’v study.” She was pretty sure he didn’t know _that_ yet, so he could chew on it for a bit. Somehow, she managed to keep a straight face. Somehow.

 

It was far worse than that. Thranduil broke from his place next to Earlene, carrying Thaladir against him, to march right up to Lorna. “What do you mean, they have to learn it? Learn Irish?”

 

Lorna laughed so hardly she nearly cried. “It’s one’v the requirements to get a Leaving Certificate,” she said. “Two years’v study’v the Irish language. You can’t get them out’v it, Th -- er, Fionn. If they want to graduate, I get to teach them Irish.” The triumph in her voice was rather undone by the fact that she couldn’t stop giggling.

 

“You _planned_ that,” he said accusingly, beyond listening to his own words.

 

That just made her laugh harder. “ _I_ planned it? I haven’t got anything to do with the Irish Board’v Education, or its requirements. The fact that we have to learn it is why we all speak it, to some degree or another. The English tried to kill the language, and we’ve been fighting to keep it going ever since. There’s only something like three hundred thousand native speakers left.”

 

Earlene hurriedly walked back, abandoning Eleniel to Thanadir. She took Thranduil’s hand. “Beloved, did you hear nothing I said in six entire months about the Irish Road Authority? Think about it. It’s your government, in action.”

 

“I _am_ the government,” he protested, glaring back at Lorna as Earlene somewhat insistently led him away.

 

Lorna utterly gave up, leaning against Ratiri as they walked. Christ, she had a stitch in her side now, but oh, that had been worth it. She really didn’t understand just what Thranduil had against her language, but it was so much more entertaining than it ought to be. “Not out here, you’re not,” she called. _And you want your kids to be able to function out here, so you’re as much at the mercy of the Irish government as the rest of us._

 

 _I don’t like it,_ he sulked childishly, as his blond hair swung gently from side to side as he walked, his head tilted up in irritation. _Better they learn Quenya, for Eru’s sake._

 

Jesus, now she could barely breathe. _None of us do, but that’s the world for you_ . _And Jesus, Quenya? You think Irish is worse than_ Quenya? _My national pride hath been insulted. I challenge thee to a duel of breadsticks at dinner._

 

_Hmpf._

 

 _I didn’t think a mind could make that sound. I’m actually kind of impressed._ It really was a good thing she’d gone to the toilet, or she might well have wee’d herself by now. There was just something about watching the Elvenking _pout_ that was too hilarious for words. _You poor elf. Don’t worry, I won’t try to make you learn it._

 

 _I’m being repressed._ I _am supposed to get to do the repressing. Except I never did, and now look what has happened. This is totally unfair. I have been here longer than that...language...has existed, and my children should not have to learn it._ His mental tone was spectacularly grumpy.

 

Oh great, now she really was about to piss herself. Half the people around her were looking at her like she’d lost her mind, and she didn’t blame them. _You are going to make me choke to death laughing_ , she said. _If you were being repressed, you’d know. If you were being repressed, I’d be trying to teach_ you _Irish, too._ She pressed her face against Ratiri’s shoulder, trying so, so hard to stifle her giggling and totally failing.

 

Ratiri, by now used to his wife’s mental dialogue with Thranduil, just rolled his eyes. _If she somehow sicks up on my shoes from this, Thranduil, I’m blaming you_ , he said.

 

 _You may contact your elected officials about that,_ the elf grumbled. _Then at least they will be good for something._

 

Now it was Ratiri who burst out laughing. He couldn’t help but wonder precisely who he should complain to about an Elvenking making his wife vomit on his shoes. It would certainly make for an interesting letter.

 

“We’re supposed to be setting an example here,” Pat said, but he couldn’t maintain it; he didn’t need to know what they were talking about to figure it was something immature. “Something educational or other.”

 

Lonra stared at him. “Pat, you’re pretending to be a responsible adult. Are you feeling okay?”

 

“Shut it, you.”

 

“What is going on?” Earlene asked Thranduil in exasperation, as she watched his face sour like lemons in milk.

 

“I have just been informed that our children will have to learn that barbarian language,” he fumed.

 

“Quenya?” Earlene asked, confused.

 

“Ha ha!” chortled Thanadir, before apologetically clapping his hand over his mouth.

 

“No, Irish,” he explained, resisting the urge to pinch his brow.

 

“You cannot call Irish a barbarian language, Thranduil,” Earlene opined. “Barbarian comes from ‘barbaros’ which is the Greek word for ‘foreigner’. You can hardly assign that term to the native language of this country.”

 

“Meluieg,” he said sweetly, “Sindarin is the native language of this country. We were here first.”

 

“But Sindarin was not dispersed among the population, it was confined to…”

 

“Meluieg?”

 

Only now did Earlene notice that his eyes were blazing. “Oh. Then we will talk about this when you are in a better mood. I did not mean to cause offense by pointing out the etymology of…”

 

Thanadir took Earlene’s hand, and gave a warning shake of his head.

 

“Oh. I...yes, of course.” She lapsed into silence, wondering if she still had any aspirin in her purse.

 

 _Better mood_ , Lorna thought, shaking her head. That basically translated to ‘when you’re not pouting’. She had no idea why he had such a hatred for the Irish language; it wasn’t that it was too hard for him. _Look at it this way_ , she said _, at least if they ever want to insult people, they can do it more creatively?_ It was a somewhat weak argument, and even she had to admit it. _Your children are half human. Half_ Irish _humans. This language is a part of their heritage, and you really need to not disparage it around them, okay? The whole reason the language is endangered is because of British kings and queens. You don’t need to learn a single word if you don’t want to, but this is important to the Irish._ Yes, she’d gone rather serious, but in this case, it really was something of a serious subject. She didn’t want his attitudes about the language ruining it for the children.

 

Thranduil looked ahead and did not respond. He did not often find himself in this state of mind that was perilously close to storming off to be alone, but he was nearly there. And this was not the time or place to throw a royal fit even if one were justified. Basically, he found himself confronted with the very human necessity to  simply calm down. There were real reason why this issue grated on him, but if he could not speak about them civilly then now was not the time. Maybe it even surprised and embarrassed him on some level, to see that it was possible for the innocent teasing of others to work its way under his skin, so to speak. Better to apologize for silence, later on, than to need to ask forgiveness for saying many words he would regret.

 

Earlene glanced up at his face furtively. She did not know what was wrong, but she understood Thanadir’s warning clearly enough. It was equally obvious that without meaning to, she had helped make his feelings worse. Fumbling for his hand, she offered only one thing. _Please know that I love you._

 

Thranduil found this to be a balm to his heart. What Earlene was not saying was perhaps just as priceless. He knew she had not meant to further agitate or annoy, and all his wife wished right now was for him to feel better. For him to know that his feelings mattered to her. Most of all, she was even willing to not press what was right or wrong in reality out of regard for him. Yes, he was being an ass, and it did not change one bit that he simply needed to feel understood on some level.

 

His hand squeezed hers in return, and held it firmly. He felt her love, and that allowed him to raise his eyes to the sky and appreciate that it was a beautiful day which was not going to be ruined by petty irritations that were threatening to run amok. Forcing himself to breathe deeply as he walked, they soon arrived at the welcome distraction of the Visitor’s Center. What this place even was, aside from an ancient (by mortal standards) archaeological site, he did not know.

 

“It’s the biggest stone circle in Ireland,” Sharley said, her eyes traveling the stones. “And one of the oldest.” It was all she said; the history of this place poured into her mind, the ghosts of days long past shifting before her eyes. Mostly mundane things; no human sacrifices here, though plenty of animals. That was never a particularly easy thing to witness, and she was rather glad Allanah couldn’t see as she did, because eurgh.

 

Thranduil said nothing, but his eyes widened in the face of Sharley’s visions...Eru, not even he had sight like this.

 

“For a long time, nobody could figure out how any’v these stone circles were made, anywhere in Europe,” Lorna said. “We tend to want to assume our ancestors were a bunch’v morons who couldn’t possibly accomplish anything without modern technology, but there’s shite that’s been lost to time. Ancient people had maths, too.” The face she made did nothing to hide her opinion of that. “And they didn’t need calculators or the like.” They were going to have to start teaching people to do that again, before the world ended. Eventually, an abacus was going to be the most cutting-edge technology available in terms of calculation. Unlike her her parents’ time, even when she’d been a kid there hadn’t been much in the way of purely mental calculation. That was going to have to change, starting with their children. Thank God she had Ratiri for that, or her kids would be doomed.

 

Thanadir made a careful circuit of the information displayed, taking in the objects and descriptions. That some of what was here was half as old as he was….well, that was still rather a lot. Perhaps it was sad, and unfortunate, that they had walled themselves off from men. Their time had ended, and they were destined to diminish. And yet diminish did not necessarily mean vanish; but this was what had been determined for them by their King. But it was hard not to wonder, what might have happened for the humans, with their continued guidance? He shrugged, if only to himself. They would never know, and it had not been for him to say.

 

The whole thing was a bit much for Sharley, who meandered off to the side with Allanah, letting her feel the rocks. It wasn’t like Stonehenge, where you couldn’t go anywhere near it; these you could walk right up and touch. Ireland...could be difficult. It was so much older than anything in America, and while it was beautiful, sometimes it was a little much. She couldn’t exactly _tell_ any of them this, but there was an actual reason she hid in the mountains at home. The history of the natural world was not entirely overwhelming, like the man-made (or elf-made) could be. Every time she met a new elf, she had to go lay down with a headache; she wasn’t about to go to Thranduil, and constantly remind him that she’d seen every single thing he’d ever done in his life. There were plenty of things he would no doubt prefer to keep private, but nothing was private from her. Her ability was actually far more invasive than his; he was captive audience merely to surface thoughts. She was captive audience to _everything_.

 

“Why don’t we walk about the lake?” Ratiri asked. “I think that’s where most of the interesting things are to be found.” Both twins were still in a good mood, inspecting their environment with a seriousness that left him trying very hard not to laugh. If at least one of them didn’t grow up to be a scientist, he’d be very surprised.

 

Earlene seconded the motion, holding each of her twins by the hand as they walked toward the edge of the water. It was a warm day, and with no reason to prevent them, all their shoes and sandals came off to be deposited temporarily in the baby wrap she too wore in case someone later needed carrying. With toes appropriately muddy and tantalized by cool water, she crouched down to Ithiliel and Eleniel. “Look,” she pointed into the distance. “See those? With the orange bills? Those are Grelay Geese. And those, much closer, are Mute Swans. The dark ones, five of them together, are Cormorants. And the very tall one with the long legs, standing at the shore? That is a Grey Heron.”

 

Ithiliel’s finger went to her mouth. “But Nana, I thought they were birds?”

 

“They are all birds,” Earlene smiled, kissing her cheek. “You have just come to see that there is a thing called classification. Just as you are a living being, you are also a peredhel. And a female, and a young one, and Ithiliel. All those things are what you are, and yet no one of those words completely explains you.” Now it was Eleniel’s turn to frown.

 

“Thanadir is alive, but he is an ellon, and Uncle, and seneschal to Ada, and Thanadir?” she asked.

 

“Exactly,” answered Earlene, kissing her as well. “We give words, names to things because we wish to understand them more exactly. A bird is only a creature that lays eggs and probably has wings, but see how easily a Cormorant is not a Little Egret?” The latter sailed past them dramatically, on its way to another place on the lakeshore.

 

“I want to know all the names, Nana,” Ithiliel said, her mind now alive with enthusiasm.

 

“You certainly may,” Earlene said. “All you need to do is learn them. Come, we may see more kinds as we walk.” They each took her hands, and she marveled in both awe and trepidation that but for a chance occurrence, she might not have become a mother. For this alone, her entire life’s difficulties had been worthwhile. The grass underfoot, and her daughters with her. _This_ was living, being alive. Thranduil watched, at a small distance away, close enough to hear her. Did he know, that she knew the names of so many birds? Well, he did now, and marveled more to hear her speak of this creation in a way that rivaled the language an elf might choose. And in his heart, for the thousandth time, he thanked the Valar for her.

 

Chandra was staring, hard, at the cormorant, as though it had personally offended her somehow. Ratiri could practically see the wheels in her little mind turning as she tried to work out what this big flying thing was, even as Lothiriel hovered. All the birds in the forest were quite small compared to this one, which honestly looked a touch ungainly when not airborne.

 

The bird took off, soaring, and swooped down to catch a fish --  a rather large fish, for something its size. Both twins goggled, while Saoirse let out a, “Holy shit, Da, did you see that?” That girl...she was trying. She was better than she’d been, too, unless she was surprised. Then all her careful self-censorship, such as it was, went right out the window.

 

Behind him, Lorna tried and failed to choke back a laugh, muffling it in the back of his coat. The kid reminded her so much of herself sometimes that it was almost creepy. Ratiri rolled his eyes, and went to speak with her.

 

She noted that Thranduil had gone off on his own a bit, so she snuck away, leaving Lothiriel and Ortherion to watch the twins (who were so intent on staring that that wasn’t a very hard job), and went to attack-hug the poor elf. “Sorry I laughed so much,” she said, giving his ribs a squeeze that would have knocked the breath out of a human. “I didn’t know it’d bug you that much.” Someday maybe he’d tell her why, but she was hardly going to push him on it. He’d talk in his own time, if he chose to talk at all.

 

He looked down, smiling weakly, as he patted her shoulder. “It was not you. It was me.” His eyes sought out the antics of the same cormorant that had Saoirse so captivated. “Just as you have...things...that can cause your temper to flare, so do I,” he said softly. “I will explain, but not now. I hope you can understand.”

 

“Oh trust me, I do,” she said. “Next time I start poking at something, let me know, okay? I don’t want to push a button I don’t know is there.” Her eyes were quite serious as she spoke. There was teasing, and then there was prodding at unwelcome things, and she really didn’t want to be doing the latter if she could at all help it.

 

“Easier said, than done,” he answered. “I always think I am ‘over it,’ to find that I am really not. And sometimes it is not only the topic, but other things too. But…” he shook his head, more to remind himself than Lorna. “Not now. But thank you, for talking to me. It mattered to me, that you did.”

 

“Believe me, I understand that, too,” she said gently. “Don’t feel like you need to tell me a damn thing until you’re ready to. Even if that’s in like ten or twenty years.” She released him, and barely resisted the urge to try to give him a noogie. As if she possibly could have reached.

 

Sharley had shut her eyes a moment, needing a break from all this relentless _history_ , and hadn’t realized Allanah had wandered off. The little girl had seen the cormorant with the fish, and decided that she needed to catch one or both of them. Why, or what she’d do with them, didn’t matter; she just needed to grab.

 

She toddled off to the shore unheeded, out onto a tall outcropping of rock, stumbling and falling a little and not caring in the least, because _birdie. Fishie._ Things her tiny little fingers needed to get hold of.

 

When Sharley opened her eyes, she saw the little girl in the little coat, standing so precariously on the edge of the stones, reaching without a care in the world. The fall wouldn’t be far, but in this place the shore dropped off fairly precipitously; it was deep, where the rocks were, and in all that clothing, even if the kid _had_ been able to swim--

 

“ _Marty!_ ” she cried, tearing across the grass, across the beach, scrambling out over the stones. Her fingers caught the hood of the little coat, pulling the girl backward and gathering her into her arms. Not Marty, Allanah, an Allanah now in tears from shock. “It’s all right, kiddo,” Sharley said, gathering her close. “It’s all right, you’re not in trouble, okay? You just need to stay closer to the adults, and don't go in the water.”

 

“Not in trouble?” Allanah managed, eventually, through hitching sobs. Her little face was pressed against Sharley’s shoulder, one tiny hand hanging onto her coat.

 

“No, sweetheart,” Sharley said, resting her cheek on the girl’s fiery hair. “No, you’re not in trouble at all. You scared me. I’m sure you scared your adar, if he saw. We just don’t want you to get hurt.” Allanah would be safe. Allanah would never be Marty, and would never suffer Marty’s fate. She’d grow up and grow old, a nice long life -- Sharley hadn’t actually seen that, but she’d make damn sure it happened.

 

Thranduil’s head snapped up, at the swift motion in his peripheral vision, and without a second thought he dashed toward his daughter, horrified at his inattentiveness. The sight of Sharley, doing what _he_ ought to have been preventing in the first place...his insides churned. “I am so sorry,” he said to her, modulating his voice to not further frighten his daughter, who had just erupted with ‘Ada!’ and burst into sniffles. “You are fine, little one,” he said, forcing lightness and merriment into his tone that he did not feel, for the child’s sake. He bounced her in his arms, smiling, until he could hug her to him once she was giggling. Only then could he allow his face to crumble into his actual feelings, once Allanah could no longer see his expression.

 

“It’s okay,” Sharley said, though she still looked somewhat stricken. Allanah was safe. She was fine. There was no need to worry.

 

Lorna came over and wrapped her in a fierce hug. She hadn’t missed that slip of the tongue, that panicked cry of her dead daughter’s name. This poor woman...but Allanah was fine, even if Marty never would be. She would live to chase birds another day. “It’s all right now,” Lorna said. “Everything’s all right.”

 

Saoirse, who could at times be more perceptive than she seemed, came and hugged Sharley’s other side. She didn’t say anything, since she didn’t know what _to_ say, but a hug was a hug.

 

“It happens,” Sharley said to Thranduil. “Once they’re mobile, you blink and they’re exactly where you don’t want them to be.” Marty had come perilously close to toddling off a trail bridge at Allanah’s age, while wearing that little coat...maybe it was a good luck charm, since both of them had come out of it completely okay. Even so, Sharley’s heart was still hammering in her throat, because that water was deep and cold and she’d have dove in after Allanah without a thought.

 

Lorna looked at her own children, who were quite mobile, though not yet enough so to wander off like that. When it came to being a parent, it seemed, fear only grew as they did. The older they were, the more shite they could get into.

 

Thranduil nodded, not trusting himself to say more just now, and at the very least silently vowing his eyes would not leave this child for the rest of the day. Feeling it was best, he walked to catch up with Earlene and the twins. Thanadir appeared out of nowhere, and laid a hand briefly on his shoulder, giving a look of support and empathy. He had seen, and he had been in that circumstance many times.

 

The trail took them around the lake, to the many assorted sites and sights. The ring forts, the tomb, the stone circle. There were places associated with stories, and Lorna found herself in the mood to spin a yarn...which in this case, wasn’t completely a yarn, because this place really did run rife with lore.

 

“So, did any’v you know the Lady’v the Lake myth started here?” she asked, eying Thanadir. “The moistened bint that lobbed Excalibur at King Arthur? Except in the original, she was kind’v lazy, and the whole lake came about because she skived off on her duty to guard the well’v eternal youth. Why the lake itself doesn’t give eternal youth, nobody’s ever said.”

 

Ratiri choked on a laugh, just because of all the bloody places...England owed more of its mythology to Ireland than it was ever likely going to want to admit. ‘Watery tart’ indeed.

 

“There’s also Cathair Áine, somewhere in here. She’s an old goddess you don’t hear so much’v in folklore today -- she was known for healing and herbal remedies, but this stone’v hers, if you sat on it, you’d start to go mental. Sit on it three times and you were insane forever. Had a thing for human men who tended to die young from, er, exhaustion.” She’d also been raped by the king of Munster and had bitten off his ear for his troubles, which got him deposed, since he was no longer whole. Even Lorna had to admit that Irish mythology could be really weird. That wasn’t even getting into the fact that their pantheon included an actual goddess of getting drunk. Who also had a thing for human men who tended to die of exhaustion. Apparently the women of ancient Ireland had been really horny, wanted to scare their menfolk, or both.

 

“Nana says Morríghan was a goddess too,” piped Ithiliel. “But she won’t tell me what she did,” frowned the little child.

 

Earlene quickly stepped in. “She was someone to be feared, darling. When you’re older, you’ll learn why.” Kneeling down, she whispered, “You don’t want the others to be scared of you, do you?” Her daughter’s finger traveled to her lips, as she considered this.

 

“Not today. But maybe tomorrow, Nana.”

 

“Good choice,” Earlene said, stroking her dark head. “You should always keep them guessing.”

 

It took Saoirse a minute to figure out what Lorna had meant by ‘died of exhaustion’, and she wrinkled her nose. “ _Ew_ ,” she said. “Aunt Lorna, that’s icky.”

 

“I didn’t make up the myths,” Lorna said, stumbling a little. While her eye was almost entirely back to normal, there were enough stones that all looked a little too much alike. “Ancient Ireland was a strange place. Then again, most ancient mythology is pretty...cracked.” Some of Ireland’s was quite tame by comparison, to be honest.

 

“Still,” Saoirse said. “Icky. So glad I can steal a kid when I grow up, and not have to do anything icky.”

 

“The word you want is ‘adopt’, Saoirse,” Pat said. “Stealing children is bad.”

 

Saoirse didn’t look entirely convinced of that, but said nothing. It was a good thing that kid had a long way to go before she grew up.

 

Once they completed the circuit, formerly excitable children were dragging on adult hands and yawns abounded. It had been nearly the perfect warm-weather family outing, but the little ones were exhausted and even the adults were sleepier than seemed reasonable given the time frame involved. Soon enough, everyone and everything was back in the van, and fifteen minutes in, Saoirse was the only child not fast asleep (though even she seemed a tad groggy). Thranduil smiled, for his wife squirmed and nodded against him, fighting to stay awake. Finally the two ellyn looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Thanadir loosened her lap belt and moments later, she was cradled across their bodies in a comfortable position that allowed her to fall fast asleep. Thanadir gently shook her awake as they reached the town, and by the time they arrived at the driveway she felt completely refreshed, and was already pondering baking cookies.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. Clearly an intervention was necessary. Staring for some moments, he smiled as the elder ellon nodded in silent acknowledgement of what he had been asked to do.

 

Lorna and Ratiri got their twins changed and settled for the night, the kids so sleepy they barely woke. Even Saoirse went and crashed for a brief nap. “That was fun,” Lorna said, yawning a little, “but I’m glad to be home.”

 

*****

 

“Walk with me, Earlene,” Thanadir said, bearing a large coil of line over his shoulder.

 

Oh dear. Here came another one of Thanadir’s physical education outings, from the looks of it. Yet, ingrained habits died hard. “My clothing is suitable?” she asked. Today she looked much like one of the elven patrols, wearing light leggings, short boots, and a tunic. She had been considering some recipes, and thinking of going for a walk or run in the woods later, thus the complete informality. “Yes,” he smiled, offering his arm.

 

Earlene knew in her heart that if a thousand years could elapse for her, she would never tire of spending time in the woods with Thanadir. They walked on in silence for some time, listening to the summer sounds. There was a breeze today, and aspens near the streams shivered, creating a shifting symphony of sound. The both stopped to watch and listen, entranced, before he led her further into the forest, on and on, to where she guessed there might not be much distance to the northern border. Where he finally stopped, a peculiar and partial ring of rocks stood in a glade, covered in lichen.

 

“Is this our forest’s equivalent of a Neolithic archaeological site?” she asked, half amused at the sight.

 

“Maybe, in a way,” he answered her, with a faraway expression, before turning his full attention and bringing her close to him. He placed a kiss on her forehead that felt different, from any affection he had previously shared with her. Something in her spirit simply understood, to remain quiet and listen. “Trees live and die, but stones tend to remain,” he explained. “I placed these here, long ages ago, so that I would always be able to know. This is the place of my birth, Earlene. The trees that provided the edges of the home I knew here have long since grown old, died, and turned to humus. It is their descendants, that now stand nearby. Everything I once knew here, has changed.”

 

Her lips parted, and she blinked back tears, for now she understood why he had brought her to this place. He sat, to lean up against one of the stones, and beckoned her to join him. “We would have been sitting on my little bed, here,” he explained. “My father Feredîr made it for me. It was of little birch limbs, cleverly joined together. The mattress was of dried leaves; my naneth sewed together the skins of animals to make a sort of sack that could be stuffed with them. I would imagine the first one was not so large, since neither was I when I was an elfling, but I know that as I grew she had to make it larger and larger for me,” he smiled.

 

“Your adar hunted, if I may guess from his name?” she asked, entranced.

 

“Yes. We had very little cloth, in our home. Everything was hides, deerskin, because that we had in abundance. Nana and adar both spent much time, preserving and using every part of the animals he would hunt. Nothing went to waste. My earliest memory is of being kissed good-night, and being placed in my bed. Then by the firelight, I would try to stay awake and watch as my parents worked at these tasks; softening hide, trimming hide, sewing hides. But I never managed for long. My blankets were warm ones, pelts of rabbits stitched together. Bones were carved into needles, sinews became thread.

 

“Mother had learned letters; it was she who taught me to read. And write. Adar made me a tablet of clay, in a little wooden frame, so I could practice. It is hard for me to explain to you, how the materials of our lives were fiber, hide, wood, and spider silk. Metal objects were very precious among our people, before Oropher came, and adar had to trade for those. Two good steel knives were his prized possessions.”

 

Earlene tried to imagine all this, as he painted pictures with words. Household objects would come to mind, and she found herself rationalizing how they might be made, but with difficulty. “You have questions?” he asked, smiling.

 

“Well, how would...did you have a broom? What could you make it out of?” It seemed baffling, to her.

 

“Branch of a tree, stiff dried grasses, sinews.”

 

“A bucket?”

 

“Carved pieces of wood, sinew, and tree sap on the inside to waterproof it.”

 

“Cooking pot?”

 

He laughed. “A single piece of heavy hide, well greased with animal fat, suspended on a frame of wood. Stones from the fire especially for that purpose, were dropped into the water to heat it for tea or soup.”

 

“Really?” This sounded hard to believe.

 

“Really. I will show you how it is done, if you wish.”

 

“I do. Wish,” she added, completely fascinated.

 

“Father taught me all he knew, all his skills in the forest. He was a kind but simple ellon. I was loved, by my parents.”

 

“But at some point, you moved out? Away from them?”

 

He nodded. “Some years before my majority, my father and mother together gave me a gift. My stringed instrument.”

 

“Not the one you still have….?”

 

“Yes, the same,” he said. “I do not know how they afforded it, or what they had to do without or trade for in order to obtain it. But they did, and it was valued by me above all other things. I taught myself to play, and that is how one day an ellon named Galion noticed me. I would write songs, tunes, and one day he heard the music.”

 

“Not the same Galion who was once Thranduil’s steward, according to those books?”

 

“Yes,” Thanadir smiled. “Except before he was Thranduil’s steward, he was Oropher’s.”

 

“And so you…”

 

“I was offered a position playing music at the court of the new King. One thing led to another, quickly, and before I was thirty years past my majority, Galion had become Oropher’s seneschal and I stepped into his role as steward.”

 

Earlene shook her head as she digested all of this. For so long, she had wished to know, but this all sort of exceeded her imaginings. And now she wondered about something else, but still could not allow herself to ask. Thanadir saw, and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “The easiest thing to tell you is that Oropher was not the only father that did not return from Dagorlad,” he said quietly.

 

“Oh, meldir,” she whispered, as grief filled her heart. Why could she not have guessed? She knew what their losses had been. How ill-equipped the woodland elves were. But that he had...and Thranduil...and….just, _Jesus_.

 

“I still miss him, Earlene. But do not cry. Thanks to you, I will see him again. Sooner rather than later, actually. You must remember, it is different for us. We grieve our dead, but we are grieving what is almost always a temporary separation. He yet lives, by the gift of Eru to our people. As does my mother.”

 

“She died there too?” Earlene asked, horrified at the thought.

 

“No, you misunderstand me. My parents were not allowed by me to remain here in poverty once I gained a good position. Especially once adar died, I brought mother to live with me. But it was not to last for long. Not so many years after Thranduil assumed his throne, her chance came to take the journey west. I was sad to see her go, but I understood her desire to join my father in the Undying Lands.”

 

“Oh.” This still felt sad, but it was hardly unimaginable news that his mother was not an elleth who had participated in Thranduil’s Realm. For awhile longer, she considered all this. “Then it will be my wish that I too might meet them. I want to see their faces, and tell them that they gifted the most beautiful elf I know to the world, and thank them for it.”

 

“Most beautiful? Earlene, I hardly compare to our King. Your husband,” he teased her.

 

“Oh, but you do, Thanadir.” There was no humor in her voice. “There are many kinds of loveliness. I think he would agree with me, that yours is a heart of perfect beauty, exceeding even his own.”

 

The elf flushed pink with both embarrassment, and appreciation. They sat together in silence, holding hands, listening to the trees overhead and lost to their own reflections. Thanadir was first to say something. “Why did you want to know all of these things about me?” he asked, honestly confused.

 

“Why would I _not_ want to know, meldir? You are very dear to me. I love you. Loving someone is based on what one person knows about the other. When one knows more, there is more to love.”

 

He had not considered this, though even he had to concede that there was logic to her explanation of this facet of emotion. A sigh escaped him. “I do not see myself as beautiful so much as perpetually baffled,” he said. “All of that is so obvious, to you. And not to me.”

 

“That makes sense,” Earlene smiled, leaning her head over to look at him. “But just to make this worse for you, that you cannot see what the rest of us do...your innocence _is_ your beauty, Thanadir. It is purity of love, and thought. I know that you would like to easily perceive the same emotional nuances that we do, just as I would give much to have some of your talent with music or art. And yet if you were different, you would not be the same. Would not be your same self. I am not ashamed to say that I love you to a depth I would not have believed possible. I selfishly hope you will never change, on account of it.”

 

He groaned, laughing. “Your words will have me returning home thinking too highly of myself, meldis.”

 

“I can fix that, too,” she teased. “Besides, I do not think you brought that coil of rope with you because you feel it is the latest elven fashion statement. I am sure you mean to exact a price for your generous sharing of your personal history.”

 

“I would not have phrased it exactly thus, but…” he smirked, rising and uncoiling the line, “...yes.”

 

Thanadir was impressed, at Earlene’s skill. And today his challenge had been very difficult. The slack line was placed ten feet high, into the trees. Enough to force her to fear a fall, if she had inclination to do so. She smiled, to herself. He had chosen the wrong test. Her faith in his ability to catch her if she fell was unshakable; which allowed her to focus far too well on walking the line without distraction. His sincere praise caused her to flush with happiness, and perhaps provoked her to something else.

 

“Meldir, I would like to try something, if I may? I would like you to count evenly to one hundred, then come and find me? I will not run for miles. Only try to hide.”

 

As he failed to see how this could be any sort of difficulty, he was willing enough to indulge her.

 

Smiling happily, Earlene focused with all the power of her mind on the lessons of Thalion; the moment she saw the seneschal counting with closed eyes, she flitted off, eager for the challenge.

 

Thanadir opened his eyes, and stretched luxuriously before starting in; it would do no harm to give her a few extra seconds. Smiling, he scanned the area around him, only to find the smile wiped from his face. He realized, in a hurry, that this was to be every sort of challenge. Fascinated, his eyebrows raised in surprise and admiration. _How? How had she done this?_ Five minutes’ searching brought him only the signs of their original passage, which is when the epiphany came. He would find out how, later, but somehow, she had been schooled. He would suspect Thranduil, except that Thranduil had never adopted the full spectrum of the skills of his Silvan people. Legolas had done that, and Legolas was not here.

 

A half-hour later, a vaguely annoyed yet pleased elf dropped onto the branch in front of Earlene, where she languidly leaned against the tree trunk, playing a game on her mobile. Immediately, she switched applications and stopped the timer that she had running. “Thirty four minutes,” she said excitedly. “I never would have dreamed it would be possible.”

 

Eyes narrowed, he placed his arms against the tree trunk against her upper body. “Tell me how.”

 

“But if I tell you, it will be no fun,” she grinned, slipping her mobile carefully into a secure pocket.

 

“Tell me now, anyway.”

 

“Only if you promise not to exact retribution on my co-conspirators.”

 

“Aiya! Conspirators. I knew it. And I will make no such promise.”

 

“Not even for cookies?”

 

“I will make no such promise, and you will still make me cookies.”

 

 _Damn, he bargains hard,_ she thought, her eyes full of mirth. “Why would I make you cookies, when you are not negotiating in the least?” Her chin tilted up, set in determination.

 

“Because I happen to know that you are ticklish, and if I do not get my way, I intend to make use of that fact.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Well I don’t!” With surprising speed, she dipped out from under his arms, rolling off the branch. For Thalion had also taught her a great many skills regarding navigating in trees, and she had worked hard, even when pregnant, to lift weights and maintain the strength in her upper body. Dropping to the next branch down, in a blur she was out of the tree and on the ground, sprinting away from him. “You can’t caaaaaaaaaaaatch meeeeeeee,” he heard, as she fled.

 

“Eru,” he said, as he instinctively gave chase. His very spirit flared in excitement at the challenge, as he moved in pursuit. Earlene could outrun him, this he knew. But she was mistaken if she believed she could thwart an ellon who had called this place home for longer than humans had dwelled in these lands. With a wicked grin, he ran off at an angle from the paths he guessed she would take, the coil of rope still at his shoulder.

 

For a solid half hour, she guessed, Earlene tore on at a dead run before finding an outcropping of stone that she swiftly ascended. Even Thanadir had to make some noise, when running at great speed; Thalion had told her that it was unavoidable that one sacrificed speed for stealth; even the very best among them could not manage both in perfect combination. Her ears strained for any sound of the passage of another...even cupping her hands around her ears to amplify the sound yielded nothing. _Now what, Earlene?_ While her successful evasion still provided vast elation and amusement, a small part of her had begun to doubt herself. Or at the very least, the sense that she had opened a 128 oz instead of a 16 oz can of worms began to wash over her. And yet everything about her entire career told her, _you don’t throw away a hard-won advantage._  What would he do? It was entirely possible that he had just let her go. Or, he could be watching her right now, planning to tumble out of a tree to regain his advantage.

 

Okay, so she hadn’t perfectly thought this through, but there had been no way of knowing he was going to be a stinker about it. Besides, she really did not want to get Thalion in trouble, over this. _Logic, Earlene. Your advantage, such as it was, is now shelved. The number of unknown variables is beyond your ability to control. If you hear him coming upon you, you can still run. However the reasonable course of action is to simply go home. Which is why it is also entirely possible that Thanadir is doing just that, right now, and enjoying lemonade while you stand here on a pile of rocks trying to decide what to do._

 

“Then I will compromise,” she said softly to herself. “I will go home, but by way of the grove where Marty is buried. It has been a lovely afternoon, and a little time in the branches of the oak tree surely would not go amiss.”

 

From a distance, Thanadir grinned, his sharp ears having caught every word. Whoever taught her surely left out the necessity to never voice one’s thoughts aloud? He dropped down from the canopy of his tree, and set a swift pace toward the massive oak, chuckling to himself all the while.

 

Earlene arrived at the grove quite some time later, having chosen a pace that was barely a light jog. It was a lovely day, and she saw no reason to exhaust herself. She paused by Marty’s tree to see that it was growing well, like as not with the elves’ blessing on it. Making her way to the beautiful oak, she climbed into its welcoming arms, and found herself a comfortable spot. Stretching out on one of the massive branches, fingers and toes reaching in opposite directions, she sighed in contentment as she allowed her limbs to relax into this pose, completely in bliss at her present location.

 

 _Much, much too easy,_ mused the elf. He supposed he would have the easiest time of binding her arms first, but where was the fun in that? Of old, they did this two-handed. A particular end-knot had been placed at each end of the line, and in complete silence he came within easy reach of her. Expert flicks of his wrist in a complex pattern caused the lines to wrap around her extended legs and arms much like a tetherball around a pole, alerting her instantly but much too late; in a flash she was bound. Her eyes flew open to see a very pleased seneschal holding four strands of line. She struggled, hard, but in vain. _Fail, Earlene. Really big Fail. But when in doubt, bluster._ “You aren’t seriously going to tie me up, are you?”

 

“I already did tie you up,” he pointed out with insufferable smugness. “Though I suppose it is correct to say that I am still somewhat in the process of tying. What is the name of that verb tense you use, in English? Present perfect?” Dextrous hands placed more wraps here and there, until he felt more than satisfied that her situation was several degrees of Hopeless.

 

 _Well, shit._ “I can see that I made mistakes,” she admitted. “To be honest, I was simply pleased to have done so well.”

 

“You did do well,” he acknowledged, repositioning himself with a disturbingly cheerful tone to his voice. “I freely admit that I am extremely impressed. Which does not change in the least that you will tell me what I wish to know, promise me all the cookies I want, and for a further forfeit, I will still exact quite a penalty of some yet undetermined nature.” A single forefinger reached out to tickle at the side of her lower rib cage. “Oh wait, silly me. Not your ribs, your _feet_.”

 

Mild panic washed over her, as she still sought for an opportunity, an advantage. “You cannot seriously think you will get away with this.” _Hey, sometimes empty threats work._

 

“I most assuredly _am_ getting away with it. But out of curiosity, just why do you think I would not?”

 

“Because I happen to have a husband who will rescue me, that is why.”

 

“Rescue a student who has behaved in such a manner to her teacher? You do understand that you are in the forest today at his request for me to teach you, do you not?” The smirk widened.

 

 _Oh HELL no._ “You did not inform me of that,” she glared back at him.

 

“I did not need to, and am quite surprised at your uncooperative attitude,” he said happily. “I have not needed to do such as this since Legolas was an elfling.” Though she fought to keep it on her foot, it was all too simple for Thanadir to remove her boot.

 

Her brain had now just registered that if there was a definition of ‘checkmate,’ a photo of this situation might possibly be placed with it for illustrative purposes. “Alright. I may be determined, but I can also see when I have exhausted all options. I suppose you wish me to grovel.”

 

“You cannot move enough to grovel, meldis,” he said, a rather disturbing smile playing over his face as the same forefinger extended to perfectly swipe at the bottom of her foot.

 

“Who are you, and what have you done with Thanadir?” Unable to so much as jerk away from him, her foot twitched horribly against the tickling touch.

 

“Oh, he is me, and I am him. It is only that up until now, you have been a very compliant student. Or did you think my stern reputation came only from frowning at those who behave badly?”

 

“I see I have gravely underestimated you.” She could not help but burst into laughter; this was completely absurd.

 

“Are you making fun of me, Earlene?”

 

“No,” she hastened to add. “Not at all. More myself, actually. I was perhaps feeling somewhat delusional to think I could outwit you in this manner. Can I blame it on mortal frailties and nice weather?”

 

“That depends.”

 

“On what?”

 

“On how much longer you go on evading what I have already asked you to divulge.”

 

“The Germans could have used you,” she muttered without a trace of sarcasm. Frustrating as it was, she saw no further recourse but compliance, and bowed her head. “Thalion. I asked Thalion, months ago, to teach me some of your skills in the woods. I wanted to know how you could find me so easily, and learn how to evade you. Not only to play games, though,” she added. “I wanted to understand more of how elves...are...among the trees. He agreed, and for a long time I was his pupil. My learning had to stop, when I grew too heavy with Thaladir. If it is any consolation, he is quite possibly a more difficult teacher than you are.”

 

“Really?” This, he had not expected. In fact, it rather impressed him even more, though he was not about to admit that at this exact moment. He knew the ellon well; well enough to guess at what she had endured to meet his requirements. His eyes softened, though a merry twinkle remained.

 

“Really. Now what else will you have me do, to escape this completely ridiculous  situation in which you have me?”

 

“I have already told you,” he smiled. “You only have to agree.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. “I already bake you cookies, why are we even having this conversation?”

 

“Because there could be more cookies. Why else?”

 

“Fine. Cookies. Cookies and whatever other penalty you will assign to me, because I am in what is called ‘no position to negotiate’.  I promise, I relent, I agree, you win. Now are you happy?”

 

“Very,” he said, chuckling, as he spun the rope off of her with an elegance she would not have believed possible, and helped her to sit up. She glared at him, vaguely, while she watched his hands coil the line once again. “Yes?” he asked, as he watched her eyes follow his movements and handed her back her boot.

 

“I want to learn how to do that, too,” she said, realizing that more than anything she was hungry to know more. More and more. Everything. She wanted so badly, to be like them.

 

He reached his arms to her, to help her out of the tree though he knew she had no need of his assistance. Mostly, it was an excuse to hug her, once they were down on the ground. “I will teach you, meldis. I will teach you everything I know. And the first lesson I will give you is, never voice your thoughts aloud, assuming that your opponent is nowhere near. I could not have done this to you nearly so easily, had you not revealed your intentions.”

 

A guttural noise of frustration escaped her, and he held her tighter, patting her back. “You should know that I am full of admiration, at all that you did. It is an incredible feat, for a mortal to elude a wood elf. I am very proud of you. I am proud to call you my friend, Earlene. Come. Let us return home.”

 

“You mean it?” she asked, her failure still stinging her.

 

“I do. You know that I do not fell falsehoods, meldis.” He held her by the shoulders, to look in her eyes. “I did not press my advantage with you to point out your inadequacies, Earlene. I know you, just as I know myself. You are unhappy with the mistakes you made. I also know that you will not ever make those same mistakes twice, and now are hungry to learn more. I am thousands of years older than you, and you used your hard-won learning to gain a victory. I know you can forgive my sense of humor that went along with it. If I am like no other to you, Earlene, you are the same to me.”

 

Her arms wrapped around his waist. All of his words were true, which was why she was so grateful to hear them. She thought about a great many things, as they walked together. A few of them revolved around mildly wanting to kill her husband, some more pertained to cookie recipes, and perhaps most of them were just of trying not to smile, because they were two loonies among the trees, by any other words. For the afternoon they had just shared, he could have all the fucking cookies in the world.

 

*****

 

Orla had got everything there was to get on Lorna the Younger, as Pat called her. Age nineteen, worked at a sandwich shop, still lived with her mother, who had late-stage ovarian cancer. Lorna the Elder thought that perhaps they could kill two birds with one stone: heal her mother, and try to bring her into the fold. That, however, hinged on Thranduil, and she really hesitated to ask, because it was asking quite a bit -- but how could she not? The woman was dying, and Lorna the Younger was, well, _young_. Odds were very good she wasn’t going to want anything to do with Pat at first, and nobody could blame her, but Pat was not her only family. If he was lucky, he could build some kind of relationship with her, given time, but the Pat she remembered was the man he had been when she was a child -- and, as he’d said, he hadn’t been a good one.

 

So Lorna had to ask, and could only pray Thranduil would say yes. If he didn’t...she didn’t know what they would do. She and Pat had lost their own mother to cancer -- cancer discovered too late, and only because Da had finally beaten her enough to put her in hospital.

 

It was with unaccustomed nervousness that she went to hunt down Thranduil, figuring it better she do this alone than with Pat -- if Thranduil did say no, Pat didn’t need to know about it. She found him in the room she persisted in calling the cinema, out of the temporary rain. Ireland’s bipolar weather was being even worse than usual; the morning had been cloudless and sunny, but now it was pouring. Hopping over the back of one of the chairs beside him, she lightly poked him in the shoulder. “Hi. So, I know we’ve kept you busy with all the dinners with that lot from Baile and all, but I...kind’v need to ask for another favor. ”

 

He was watching the weather report, feeling that Thanadir and Earlene really ought to be back by now, even though he knew perfectly well what had taken so long. If he was mildly disgruntled that his plan had backfired spectacularly, well, sue him. The entire point of sending them out together yesterday had been to keep his wife from making more cookies. And because of his utter and complete failure to ever inform Earlene of certain realities pertaining to his seneschal (realities that he _had_ managed to tell Lorna), Thanadir had successfully extracted the cookie equivalent of King Solomon’s mines out of her, and there was not a damn thing he could legitimately do about it. He had already been in trouble for sending her on a ‘lesson’ without ever mentioning that fact. _Eru. And now this._

 

“The answer is Yes, with reservations,” he said, muting the sound on the satellite channel. “I am willing to help someone who wishes to be helped provided she is not...fundamentally objectionable, but I am not willing to use my gifts to influence someone who simply may be legitimately unwilling to choose what you would wish her to. I hope that can be enough.”

 

“Oh Christ, I’d never ask you to do that,” Lorna said, appalled. “Jesus, that’d be outright mind-rape, wouldn’t it? Not a great start, if she does come with us. I think persuading her’s going to have to come down to Ratiri and I. You being able to heal her mother’s kind’v the ace in the hole, if we can even really have one.” She paused. “What d’you mean by ‘objectionable’? Like if she’s an addict or something?” Orla’s research hadn’t indicated any evidence of that, but it wasn’t like they could know _everything_ just by that. But if she was...oh, that could get sticky. Especially if she’d only become one to manage the pain of cancer. _Save it for later_ , she told herself. _You don’t know shit yet._

 

“You ask a fair question, one that is not easy to answer.” He sighed, and leaned his head against the chair, which let his hair tumble down the back of it while leaving him to stare at the ceiling. “Elves have a fundamentally different perception, of what I can do, Lorna. My gift of healing, I mean. Among us, who will live again even if we suffer death, my abilities are...well, a little like the ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card in that board game we sometimes play. Helpful, advantageous but nothing that alters the course of history, so to speak. But for you…it is not the same at all. My gifts quite literally turn you back from an abyss, one for which neither you or I know can say what lies at the bottom. We do not know where the spirits of your kind go. Neither do you. It is a much...bigger thing.

 

“I was never put here to play one of the gods among you, and yet that is very much what it can feel like. Can you understand the difference of how it feels to me to heal you or Earlene, versus Pat, versus Saoirse, versus someone related to Pat that I have never laid eyes on? The more I have a bond to one of you, the more I can feel secure in my own mind that I am acting in a way that is upright. For the best. But to be asked this for one so far removed? My agreement to this is because of my love for _you_ , Lorna, not because of whoever this woman might be and whether she deserves to be yanked back from the edge of death. Or not. You are in my heart because you have earned your place there. I cannot say the same for someone in the outer world merely based on being a blood relation.” His voice exuded misery. “Just because I can, I do not always know if I should.”

 

Lorna crawled up onto the arm of the chair and hugged him -- slightly awkwardly, due to the angle, but still. “I don’t have your gift,” she said, “so I don’t know that I can fully understand, but I can try. I’m not sure anyone but you can fully get it, because you’re the only one who _is_ you, but I think I mostly do. It’s a question’v where to draw the line, and that’s hard to do where living people are involved. It’s going to be a huge, messy issue with us humans sooner or later, and none’v us are looking forward to it any more than I think you’re thinking’v this. I know this is asking one hell’v a lot’v you, Thranduil, and I wouldn’t’ve, if I’d thought there was any other way, but...well, shit.” She really didn’t want to...to use their relationship, and she’d been terribly afraid that asking this would be exactly that. “You know me and words. I love you too, and I really don’t want you to think I’d just ask you this for shits and giggles. It’s a big thing to ask, and please, don’t ever think I’ll just do this for the hell’v it. Please don’t.” She wasn’t sure she could live with that.

 

“I know your request is far more serious than that,” he smiled. “And I am offering myself to you...to be used. I am fully aware of it, and have made that decision freely. That being said, I need you to know my feelings, to what extent it is possible for us to understand each other. I know that this isn’t a...there are no giggles, in this,” he said a little morosely. If you want to know the truth, I think more than I wish to admit, how it would feel to face an unwanted death without a certain hope. I am not sure I could, and yet you humans face it every day. We are told that it is the Gift of Men, but I would be lying to you if I said I understood how exactly it is a Gift, when the recipient wishes to go on living.” He shook his head. “I am one ellon. I was not ever meant to have to have these responsibilities in addition to all the others.”

 

That brought a smile from Lorna, too, though it was a sad one. “You should hear Ratiri, once he’s got started on how the Gift of Men is actually bullshit. As he puts it, a gift isn’t a gift if you can’t give it back. When being able to die isn’t an ability, but an inevitability, and you don’t even know where you go when you do...no, that’s not a gift. I don't wonder why it started getting called the _Doom_ of Man somewhere along the way. I know I don’t want to die. I like it here. The only people who really _do_ want to die are usually the ones who commit suicide. The rest’v us...well, people’v been searching for immortality since forever.” She shook her head, chin rested against his hair. “Ratiri says it’d only be a _gift_ if it was something we could choose to do, rather than something we couldn’t escape, and that there’s some Tolkien scholars that think that was actually originally what the Gift of Man was, before Númenor went and fucked it all up for the rest’v us. Thanks, _Sauron_.” The word was an outright grumble.

 

“Oh dear,” Thranduil said. “No, no, no, I have not expressed myself well.” He massaged his forehead. “I am conflating two separate issues. That the Afterborn are mortal, that is one thing. The Gift of Men is that your spirits are not bound to this world as ours are. You get to take your ball and go home, so to speak, whereas we may never leave the playing field.” The blond head tilted back again. “It is ironic,” he said, to no one in particular. “There are elves who did everything, to try to cast their immortality aside. And there are humans who would give everything, to have the life of elves. If it is supposed to be humorous, I confess I find it hard to laugh.”

 

“There’s a human saying,” Lorna said, “the grass is always greener on the other side’v the fence. Basically means you want what you can’t have. And I still don't call it much’v a gift -- we don’t _get_ to take our ball and go home, we haven’t got any choice. Honestly, both us and you kind’v got shafted. Would’ve been so much better if we all just got to choose.”

 

She paused. “You saw what I saw, the day’v the accident,” she said. “You had to. I met Liam in this really weird forest, and he said he wasn’t going to let me cross over yet...I really wish Sharley’d tell me if that was real or not. I wasn’t scared there, but that was mostly because he told me I had to hang onto him because you were hanging onto me, and basically that I’d get to go back once my organs weren’t mush.”

 

“I did,” he admitted. “I do not know if that was...I do not know what that was. The mind is a complex affair. I would not be too eager to seek Sharley’s truths, were I you. What is in her head is a burden no one should have to carry. I do not know much, but I have been humbled enough to understand, the future will care for itself.” At that moment a clattering of dropped cookie sheets, followed by Earlene threatening said bakeware quite loudly, reached their ears. “Eru, he is going to eat himself into a coma,” Thranduil muttered. Thanadir had quite distinctly just requested chocolate chip, jam thumbprints, peanut butter, snickerdoodles, and oatmeal-raisin. The smells of the first one on that list were already wafting through the house.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Nah, I doubt that’s possible,” she said. “Though it’d be interesting to watch him try. You think she’d let us go lurk and steal some once they’re out’v the oven?”

 

“You will have to negotiate that with my seneschal,” he said glumly. “I can add to my list of failures that while I told _you_ , Earlene was never informed of the consequences of defying Thanadir. My efforts to get her out of the house to keep her from baking cookies thereby went spectacularly awry and now she is paying her penalty to him, or part of it. Which is all to say, they are his cookies.”

 

She sat up so she could look down at him, wide-eyed. “Ohhhhh no. You never told her...you are so lucky she’s _Earlene_ , or she’d kill you. Slowly. That poor woman...and dammit, I don’t have any equivalent’v Thanadir Eyes. I can’t try to weasel any.” Shaking her head, she said, “I’ll tell you what: once they’re done making the cookie batch from hell, I’ll make French Toast. How’s that sound? I won’t even throw it at you.”

 

“Or you could just ask him,” Thranduil said drily. “He likes you, and if I am not mistaken he has secured an unlimited supply. For Eru’s sake, please do not tell them you know. I am already in enough hot water with my wife.”

 

“Cross my heart,” Lorna said, now fighting laughter. Poor Earlene...Thranduil really _was_ lucky that Earlene was Earlene, or he’d be paying for _that_ one later. “I’ll try to sneak some for you, too, since I doubt Earlene’ll be wanting to give you any for a while.” Though who was she kidding, Earlene probably would anyway. The woman was far nicer than Lorna herself would ever be. She didn’t have a vengeful bone in her body, at least when it came to people she loved. (People like Von Wretched...they were another story entirely. Then she just got scary. _Really_ scary.)

 

Earlene churned out her doughs with silent determination, because she had already formed a plan. For a few hours after returning last night, she was yet feeling mentally chastened. But hers was not a spirit to easily accept defeat, and while on one hand it was a simple rivalry, she could not endure the memory of receiving such resounding discipline at Thanadir’s hands. Especially when the more she turned and mulled over every part of it that had occurred, she began to feel that the outcome had been deeply unfair. Their lesson at rope walking had been _concluded_ ; it was unfair of him to claim that she was still under the requirements of his mastery at the time when she had asked to try to elude him. It also wasn’t fair that he required her to divulge Thalion’s activities, or that he had penalized her further for resisting his attempts at coercing this information from her. It _definitely_ wasn’t fair that she had been the last to know that Thanadir could...get like this. And if he could play dirty, well, so could she.

 

Either way, she was already in enough of a hole with Hîr Sternness that digging it a little deeper hardly seemed like it could matter. Outwardly, she was a vision of calm compliance. Inwardly? Well, much of last night had been spent elsewhere. She’d snuck off to the cottage, leaving pumped breast milk behind in the event Thanadir could not feed the baby enough, and spent all the late night and part of the morning hidden in the bedroom there, with tutorial after tutorial about knots. Bowlines, nooses, bends, hitches...by the time she returned through their bedroom doors at almost 3 am, she had vastly expanded on her existing rudimentary facility with knots, adding in seventeen new options she deemed potentially useful to her purposes. Early morning found her in the Halls, hunting down Feren’s wife Indilwen, an elleth she knew had some knowledge of the location of assorted stores. This allowed her to secure several short sections of the legendary _hithlain_ rope, before fleeing out the forge entrance to take the long path back to Eldamar before anyone else was stirring.

 

And today? Thanadir had smugly begun hinting at cookies by late morning, and with a full showing of outward obedience to him, Earlene had begun to line up her recipes. And then some. They weren’t _just_ oatmeal raisin, they were vanilla-glazed oatmeal raisin. The chocolate chip ones had decadent macadamia nuts. She even found a way to turn what were supposed to be jam thumbprints into chestnut creams. These were not cookies, they were weaponized cookies. And though she veiled her thoughts from him, the images here and there that came to Thranduil by late afternoon had come to be truly alarming. He understood enough to know that this was not capitulation; it was planned revenge. And he absolutely did not dare interfere, not when his meddling in the first place had brought the initial circumstances to pass. When the term “Operation Nonna” came past his awareness, he groaned in dismay and raised the volume on the newscast.

 

Ratiri didn’t know what the hell Earlene was doing, but he didn’t want to get in her way. He fixed something simple for dinner -- keema, which was a lamb dish served with naan bread -- and let her do her thing, though he was wildly curious as to why the hell she was making enough biscuits to feed the entire population of the Halls. She seemed so intent on her task that he figured now would not be the best time to ask. When he whipped up a batch of bargain-basement lassi -- in this case, basically a creamy, yogurt-y smoothie with cinnamon and vanilla -- he shoved a glass in her direction, out of the way of the dough. The second went to Thanadir, who naturally had to come in and out, trying to cadge biscuits.

 

Earlene thanked him and sipped her beverage, her eyes narrowing at Thanadir. “I am fulfilling your requirement,” she said to the seneschal, too-sweetly. “But you must allow that they are properly ready before you come in here wanting them.”

 

“But surely just one?” he pleaded innocently, the Eyes set to medium power.

 

“One,” she agreed, smiling serenely in order to not generate too much suspicion. “Then shoo. I will not have it said that my cookies failed to meet standards because the baker was rushed and distracted.”

 

Her friend regarded her with curiosity; it was very unlike Earlene to ever ask him to go away. Usually she would go out of her way to have his company, under any circumstances. But he had pressed his luck very far, with this, perhaps it would be best to do as she wished. The cookies made thus far did, after all, look very good...taking his prize with him, he found Thranduil and sat with him to watch the program. He could not but help notice that his King seemed quite nervous about something.

 

“Thranduil?” he asked,  munching contentedly on his treat.

 

Eru help him, he had to ask. “Thanadir, what, may I ask, is the extra forfeit you intend to exact from Earlene?”

 

The old elf’s face split in a grin. “None,” he said very softly. “She is very determined, and I have always found that victory comes easier when others believe your position is stronger than it is. I believe you might call it ‘bluffing’.”

 

“I see,” Thranduil nodded, turning his attention back to the broadcast. _Well, I cannot say he is ignorant of his adversary, even if he is makina similar mistake to the one she did. Never assume that defeat is surrender._

 

Lorna wandered through the kitchen, eyed the biscuits, and wondered what the hell Earlene had planned. This was far more biscuits than even Thanadir could eat.

 

 _Thranduil, what is she doing?_ she asked, even as Ratiri whipped her up some kind of tasty smoothie. _What is she doing, and should we be afraid? Because I kind of already am._ There was a certain glint in Earlene’s eye that was downright unsettling.

 

_By all the Valar I am staying out of it, and I would advise you to do the same. Trust me, this is one time that none of us wants to know what is going on. I am making every effort to know nothing. Nothing at all. I will only say that this is between Earlene and Thanadir, and if we are very lucky this part of the house will still be standing when it is over._

 

Well, that was...disturbing. Lorna wisely took her smoothie and vacated the premises, leaving Ratiri to get on with things. He seemed to be very nearly done anyway, and then she supposed they just had to wait to see what the hell Earlene was up to, and _why_. Hopefully there would be some biscuits left over for the rest of them.

 

Dinner was delicious, and Ratiri was complimented profusely by Earlene, who apparently thought the road to Oz should really have been paved in Naan bread. After they ate, she rose and took Thanadir briefly aside. “All your treats are ready as you required, meldir. But if I could make a suggestion, it would be generous on your part to provide a plate of them to the others for dessert. I am under obligation to make you more, and especially it is hard on the children to know there are so many sweets and not be given any. But they are yours, it is your decision.” Laying a hand gently on his chest, she then turned away from him and left to have what she deemed was a well deserved soak in her bathing pool.

 

He considered her words, and brought out a platter. Even he realized that the sheer volume she had baked could not be reasonably eaten by him in days, much less one day. Moments later, he deposited an attractive selection on the table and invited the others to have these.

 

Sharley looked at the cookies, and at Thanadir, and bit the inside of her cheek, hard. She said nothing, however; merely took a handful, silent as a judge.

 

 _“Because this is gonna end well,”_ Jimmy muttered.

 

Saoirse, entirely oblivious, took a few with her and went to draw, kittens scampering in her wake. Lorna and Ratiri were content to wait and see what the hell was going to happen, while Pat preferred to sit and attempt to whittle -- and it was ‘attempting’, too. He really was not at all good at it yet.

 

When Earlene was certain that no one else wanted the TV room that night, she went in alone, and selected her weaponry. “Star Trek: Into Darkness” _again_ , because was it possible to tire of watching Chris Pine or Benedict Cumberbatch? (she didn’t think so), and “Star Trek: Beyond.” She made a bit of a show of preparing tea for herself, and some sliced fruit; enough time for Thanadir to notice what she was doing and be curious enough to see what the film was. Thranduil considered joining her until he realized what was happening, found a book, and joined those in the Heart Room instead. Thaladir was currently upstairs with Lothiriel and Ortherion, already asleep.

 

“What is this?” he asked.

 

“The two most recent _Star Trek_ movies,” she said unconcernedly. “They’re really good.”

 

“Can I watch?”

 

“Of course you can,” she said, hitting ‘pause.’ Do you want tea? I’ll bring you a plate of your cookies,” she offered. In the other room, Thranduil sank further down into his chair. Soon Thanadir was settled, next to her, while the great spider named Earlene spun her web.

 

Every so often, practically on a calibrated schedule, Earlene made sure to offer him one of his cookies. He was mesmerized by the film, just as she had planned, and did not notice when a quick bathroom break (in which she did not pause the film) actually became a refill of his plate. The real difficulty was between films, when he began to realize at the end of the second plate that he was already too full. “You don’t like them?” she asked, in a voice carefully modulated to seem disappointed.

 

“Maybe just a few more,” he said, trying to appease her. “Just a few!”

 

When she returned, the third plate was stacked higher than ever. When he looked at it in disbelief, she said “I was feeling a little hungry, I did not think you would mind if I had a few. I will certainly replace them for you.”

 

He nodded, and she did pick up one, making quite a show of nibbling at it until he was once again engrossed in the movie. From time to time (though now spaced at greater intervals) she would raise the plate, knowing that two out of three times he would eat another cookie. At last, the second film was over. “I need to get Thaladir,” he moaned, holding his stomach. “Meldis, I ate too many cookies.”

 

“Nonsense,” she said, patting him on the arm. “Thranduil has already taken Thaladir to our room so you could enjoy the movie (this she knew because he had told her so). You just lie down, and do not worry about the baby tonight. Get some sleep, meldir, you will feel better in the morning.” She reached to kiss each of his cheeks, like the Judas Iscariot that she was, and encouraged him into his room. “Can I get anything for you?” she asked with great concern.

 

“No, thank you. Goodnight, Earlene.”

 

“Goodnight, Thanadir.” A wicked smile flitted across her face. _Now to wait._

 

When she entered their bedroom, Thranduil was still awake, reading. He looked at her appraisingly, before looking back at the book again. Earlene crossed her arms. “I _know_ you know,” she said simply. “I promise you that one way or another, it ends tonight. If I lose, I will lose spectacularly. And if I win, I will consider that some justice has been restored to the universe. Fair enough?”

 

Her husband lowered the book, hesitant to reply. “I was not going to comment or interfere. As I am arguably part of the cause, it is better that way. I think what terrifies me more is having this unavoidable insight into your inner workings, if I am to be truthful,” he said softly. “Whatever the outcome, Earlene, I have earned a deep respect for the depths of your determination.”

 

“Are you just saying that to get back in my good graces?” she asked, her eyebrow arched.

 

“Is it working?”

 

“It never needed to.” Earlene walked to him as she disrobed. It would be necessary to kill some time, and she could not think of a better way to kill it. Forty-five minutes after, a physically sated Thranduil was asleep on his pillow, Thaladir was contentedly breathing and occasionally twitching his little lips, and in her estimation it was... _Showtime_.

 

After dressing in close-fitting leggings and a tunic, and braiding back her hair, she brought six lengths of the hithlain with her. Four of them had slippery bowline knots at each end, two were plain. Her plan was simple and hinged upon Thanadir being rather deeply asleep, which he should be just now. Her last weapon was a single long peacock feather, and her own stealth. Knowing that the French doors offered her the best chance of success, she exited those, padding silently along the deck and  appearing a moment later at those of Thanadir. Clearly the Valar favored her, because the seneschal had left his door to the deck open; only a gauzy fabric meant to discourage the entrance of insects hung in front of the opening. It was a warm night, and his bare legs were easily visible on the coverlet; he wore only short, loose sleeping pants that went just to his knees. Moving as a stalking cat, her every motion carefully considered, she crept forward until she could see him clearly. His legs were spread, perhaps two feet between them. One hand rested at his side, the other on top of his belly.

 

 _Fairly ideal_ , she thought, creeping forward. Watching him like a hawk, she studied his regular breathing and determined that it sounded a great deal like Thranduil’s when he was truly asleep; it wasn’t as if she had logged endless hours next to a sleeping Thanadir by which to be certain. It was most imperative to get his hands bound, first. Legs were luxuries, really, and she had no clear concept of what would happen once he realized he was bound--if she succeeded. His bed was made of large, solidly joined timbers, which had given her the idea in the first place; it would hardly be a success, to tie him to something he was strong enough to break.

 

For a moment, she hesitated. The penalty for failure might be rather high indeed. But sheer stubbornness won out, when she recalled his words to her while she was still pregnant with their son. _We’ll see who is more pigheaded, meldir. I can not best you in years, but this? Hmph._ She prepared her line, knowing she must work above all with smoothness. In a gentle motion, she lifted his right hand under the wrist, elevated it, slid the loop of hithlain over without touching it to his skin, then ever so gently reduced the size of the slipknot until when tightened it would bind. The other end was attached in a loose clove hitch to his bedpost, with no slack but no tension against his wrist.

 

He had not moved, nor was his breathing in any way disturbed. The line had been crossed. Either she was succeeding, or he had been feigning sleep this entire time and her doom was sealed.  There was nothing else but to press on. She did the same to his other hand, almost freezing in terror when he stirred a little as she held his wrist, only to breathe a sigh of relief when he settled again right away. _Oh, victory was near._ The feet were easiest of all; those did not even need lifting. A simple compression of the coverlet allowed the hithlain to slide past his heels. It was very hard not to burst into laughter when the chorus to the Bon Jovi song “Halfway There” rang in her mind, but she controlled herself. Not able to believe that he would have allowed her to get this far were he truly awake, she risked making the hitches that would control his feet rather snug and under tension; they were what might buy her time should he wake too early.

 

Earlene grinned with an uncharacteristically maniacal expression; victory was so, so close. There were two more things to do. Well, three, if she wished to be picky. The hitch on his right wrist was brought under more tension. In fact, she slowly but tenaciously moved his arm with one hand while shortening the line with the other before making it fast. (Now that she was on the home stretch, she also made all of the hitches impossible to free without the use of two hands). Gliding to the other side of the bed, she did the same. This finishing touch was to ensure he could not bring his hands near each other, and it was almost done. With her lips curled in triumph, she lifted his hand off his belly and swung it wide as she shortened the rope, not caring any longer if the motion woke him or not; with one more tug the hitch was secured and not even an elf could tear it free.

 

Thanadir woke with a start, as Earlene swiftly backed away from those strong hands, now retrieving her feather from where it lay near the door. Immediately she heard the twang of the tightening line as he demanded an explanation. “Earlene?! What is the meaning of this?” The ire in his voice was unmistakable.

 

“Mmm, the meaning of this is that I do not like being coerced into unfair agreements, Thanadir. So I believe we are calling this, ‘re-negotiating.’”

 

“Have you lost your reason?” he hissed at her. “Coming into my private room at night and…” he yanked against the ropes with a strength that was more than a little frightening.  
  
“And what, tying you up so that you are forced to agree to my terms, as I had to agree to yours?”

 

“That was different,” he said, an edge of panic in his voice as he continued to struggle, somewhat in disbelief that this could be happening to him.

 

“Don’t resist, Thanadir. The rope is your own hithlain, and you have been bound by seaman’s knots. They will not come free; you are going nowhere. In fact if you do not stop, I will use what extra line I have to bind you further.”

 

The seneschal glared at her, but lay still, though she had to watch in amusement when the idea came to him to try to work the hitch free with the same hand restrained by it.

 

“Won’t work either,” she said, tickling at the bottom of his foot with the peacock feather, and smirking in satisfaction when his foot jerked away. If there was penance to pay in Aman for this, she would gladly do it.

 

“Earlene, please. Let me go.”

 

“Certainly I will let you go, right after we settle a few terms. First: You will acknowledge that you had no right to make me divulge Thalion’s name to you. Second: You will return to _asking_ me for cookies, like a civilized person, instead of requiring me to be be your personal baking slave. Third: You will not assess me any further forfeits as you said you would, and, Fourth, and most important: We will stop this rivalry. There will be no more retributions, revenge, scheming, or attempted ascendancy over the other. I will return to respecting you deeply as my friend and teacher, and you will…. You will…” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I did not like feeling so helpless against you, Thanadir. I know it was meant in fun but...something about it made me fear you a little, and I never want to feel that way again. You are my friend, and I love you. Please?”

 

The old elf did not quite know what to say. He had _allowed_ himself to be taken captive before, to face Thranduil’s judgement, but waking to find himself subject to the experience involuntarily and completely powerless was making her point perhaps better than her words. “A part of me does not want to lose,” he admitted. “Yet I see I have no choice. You have created an interesting lesson for me,” he frowned. “The precise mirror of the one I used against you. Earlene, I am sorry. I did not realize.”

 

“I know you didn’t. Does that mean we agree?”

 

“Yes, we agree.” He sighed, holding up his wrists. “Please?”

 

It took her a few minutes to get the hitches undone, and she now understood why they were always best left _slippery_ , or with an end that could be tugged to free the closure. He examined the knots used at his wrist, fascinated, trusting her to free his ankles.

 

“You must have been a very good lawyer,” he said, sitting up now on his bed.

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“Had you not included your fourth stipulation, I would have tied you up again once you set me free,” he laughed. “I did not realize the lengths to which you would go. I will not make that mistake twice.”

 

“I don’t actually want to be like this,” she said, tossing the last piece of hithlain aside and sitting cross-legged near him. “Not anymore. It is as if something in me takes over, that will try to win at any cost. There is a relentlessness to it. Some of why I left to come here is that I no longer wished to be so competitive. What happened yesterday...it was like you woke up a dormant monster.”

 

He tilted his head at her, before groaning a little and deciding to lean back.

 

“Are you alright?” she asked, worried.

 

“Too many cookies,” he confessed, though he now saw the smile and the glint in her eyes. “You didn’t….you did that to me by design?”

 

She nodded, smiling. “I had to make sure you would fall asleep.”

 

“Eru,” he said, and laughed. “The master has been taught a lesson, Earlene.”

 

“I still like for you to have your ascendancy, Hîr vuin,” she said. “I was only challenging your method of discipline. And now, I had best go to bed. If it makes you feel any better, the amount of sleep I lost planning this will be my burden to bear.”

 

They reached forward, and hugged each other. Earlene did not feel so much that she had won, as that she had reclaimed normality. Secure in his arms; arms whose strength she trusted to care for her, not arms that belonged to a powerful adversary. A part of her did not wish to leave, but her tiredness argued otherwise. Rising, she picked up the pieces of rope. “You can have the peacock feather,” she grinned just before ducking back out the door. “Souvenir.”

 

Thanadir rubbed at his chafed wrists, flopping back down on his pillows with a soft moan as he rubbed his still distended tummy. He would think on it all more in the morning. In the meantime, his lips curled in a smile as he returned to sleep.

 

*******

 

When Sharley saw Earlene and Thanadir the next morning, she immediately had to take a detour outside, so she could laugh herself sick without rousing any suspicion. These people were going to be the damn death of her….

 

She went to Marty’s grave, telling her daughter what she’d seen, and thinking. If she hadn’t needed to shut her eyes yesterday, Allanah wouldn’t have had the chance to run off and nearly get herself hurt, or worse. When she’d first met the elves, she’d declined Thranduil’s offer of help because she feared it might tweak with her ability -- which, however annoying it could get, was undeniably useful. But if he could give her an off-switch for the other part, the part that forced her to witness the entire history of everyone and everything she looked at -- maybe that wouldn’t interfere.

 

If he could even do such a thing, she had no idea, but she’d never know if she didn’t ask. Some deep instinct in her was repelled by the very idea of telepathy, but that was entirely unfair to him, and she damn well knew it. She had no doubt in her mind that her own ability probably unsettled him, especially since he was the only one who knew the true scope of it.

 

“Marty, kiddo, sometimes I don't know what to do,” she said, sitting beside her daughter’s grave. The sun shone, but the morning was chilly, the ground still wet with dew and yesterday’s rain. “I love these people to bits, but everything was so much simpler when it was just you and me in the mountains. I didn’t spend half my time feeling like my head was going to explode. Would you have inherited this, if you’d lived long enough?” Sharley rather doubted it, or it would have started to manifest itself younger -- but would it have? Her memories of her own childhood were pretty scarce, but she couldn’t remember not ever being like this. The elves didn’t even seem to have any idea what she was, and if they didn’t, nobody did. What had done this to her? She’d read all there was to read about Arda and Aman, and nowhere did she fit. The Valar didn’t do this to people. There were some who had had foresight, sure, but not like this. None of them were ever have said to just straight-up walked into the future, or to know it in such intimate detail. And while there was no use in speculation, sometimes she couldn’t help it.

 

From the grave there came no answer, but she hadn’t expected one. Marty slept, her soul dreaming in whatever afterlife awaited humans. And such a nice place she had, so much nicer than that graveyard, with gorgeous trees and sunshine. Special, just like her. Sharley had never showed the others a picture of her daughter, but she always kept one on her: Marty standing beside a shallow creek that glittered with sunlight, grinning a gap-toothed grin. Her hair was still the tow-colored blonde only found in childhood, her eyes mismatched like her mother’s. She’d be Saoirse’s age now, if she’d lived, and Sharley had a very clear mental image of what she’d look like -- tall for her age, her hair a tiny bit darker, all arms and legs.

 

There existed a single video of her, shot with a video camera probably close to as old as Sharley. One of the crew at the bunkhouse had a sister who was into tech, and she’d ripped it into digital format, of which Sharley had made multiple copies. It was only about twenty minutes’ worth of footage -- all camera’s batteries allowed -- but it was enough.

 

The others would be at breakfast, so she snuck in through the back way, fetching one of the discs from her room and making her silent way into the AV room. The screen was big, far bigger than any TV she’d ever seen, and when she put the disc in, she curled up in one of the chairs to watch.

 

This had been a sunny day, and she’d taken five-year-old Marty along the Iron Goat trail, quite willing to haul that heavy camera if it meant getting some good footage of her little girl. Rays of sunlight pierced the trees, golden where they touched the ground, and Marty, in her little patchwork coat, ran through the ferns and trout lilies, shrieking with laughter. Her hair seemed to glow in the sunlight -- she’d had it to her waist, with bangs, and it flew in the slight breeze.

 

“Mama, I found a frog!” And indeed there was something in her hand, held very carefully. This video had been taken not a month before she died, so Sharley could remember her exactly as she had been. “He’s kinda slimy.”

 

“Put him back, sweetie,” Sharley said, and her own voice sounded so different -- there was nothing but happiness in it. “He has a home.”

 

“Can’t I keep him?”

 

“He wouldn’t be happy if you did. Maybe he has a lady frog and baby frogs.”

 

Marty looked at the little thing, which looked back. “Oh,” she said. “Okay, Mister Frog, I’ll put you back.” And off she went through the undergrowth, sturdy little legs never so much as stumbling once. She was a creature of the mountains, little Marty, able to traverse the forest floor and read the weather even better than her mother could.

 

What might she have been, had she lived? Even Sharley couldn’t know that. What none of the others, not even Thranduil, knew, was that she had known her daughter was going to die. Not how, or precisely when, but that it was going to happen. She’d walked into a future a year after Marty’s death, and had had a little time to...prepare herself. It hadn’t come as the terrible shock it would have otherwise. She’d filmed this video knowing Marty didn’t have long, but in a way, she was grateful she’d known, even if others would think she was crazy for it. It meant she’d gotten to cherish her time with her little girl, and never take a moment of it for granted.

 

“What about the squirrel, Mama? Can I keep _him_?” Marty pointed high up into the tree, where a brown squirrel chittered down at them.

 

“You shouldn’t ever keep wild animals, sweetie,” Sharley said. “They’re meant to be wild. They’re happiest when they’re free.”

 

*****

 

At breakfast, Thranduil had just been about to take a bite of his porridge. His eyes roved with amusement over the wrists of his seneschal. Only the faintest pink marks remained; in a few hours those too would be gone. He saw that Earlene had greeted Thanadir with sincere affection that was warmly returned, thank Eru *that* was over with. His spoon was at his lips, when Sharley’s thoughts came to him, and his throat clenched. Excusing himself for a moment, feigning having forgotten some small personal matter, he returned to their bedroom and sat for a moment, captive once again to this woman’s tragedy. He could not stop the tears that pooled in his eyes. When the worst of it had passed, he found himself staring out the window and into the trees. _When she first came to us, I believed she was the only one paying a price for her gift. Her curse. There is no doubt in my mind that it is both._ He now wondered, what toll proximity to her would eventually exact from him. Maybe he should talk to Thanadir and Earlene, though part of him doubted they could offer much by way of advice. He shook his head. _So much sorrow. Would joy ever come?_

 

*****

{one morning, late July 2018}

Earlene had concluded her morning exercise; today her feet brought her to the Halls. The thought of perhaps finding a warm beverage before she returned to Eldamar held some appeal, as she pushed open the heavy door to admit herself to the entrance nearest the forges. As she waited for her heartbeat to slow and her legs to feel a little less like jelly, she smiled. It had been very, very difficult, but she was seeing the reward for her ongoing efforts on the slack and tight rope. The strength and balance needed honestly made even intermediate level yoga poses seem like kindergarten exercises. _But I can do it_ , she thought to herself, smiling in triumph at her hard-earned skills. And so much more had gone along with it. The same balance that the rope demanded allowed her to test her reflexes on tree branches as well. Thalion had helped here, too. He came off duty at about the same time she sought to exercise in the early morning; by agreement she practiced in a prearranged area. When the time came to walk out on tree limbs, he acted as her safety net, and would teach her as well. The only reason she was managing this at all, without Thanadir’s watchful oversight, was that even at almost five months old, the seneschal’s constant attentions to their son wore him out enough that he usually slept until close to breakfast time.

 

All these things rolled around in her thoughts as she made her way down the stone passages. But this morning, something different happened. _Why do I never explore more?_ She asked herself. _Why not open more of these doors, and see what is behind them?_ One that was particularly nicely carven caught her eye, so she shrugged and pushed it inward, leaving it open only a crack behind her. The passage behind this door was unusually wide, which captured her interest right away. And there was a smell. A smell she knew. _Leather, and horses_...the first entrance to her left had no door, her lips parted in astonishment. “Valar….” she breathed. This was all but a...warehouse. And it was full of tack. As in, harnesses. Even though of elven make, only someone who had never seen a living horse could possibly not understand their purpose. Emerging from this massive room, she now saw another entrance, ahead and on the right.

 

“Sweet baby Jesus,” was the next expression to emerge from her lips. Girth bands. Saddles. What she guessed were elven versions of saddle blankets. All in rich brocade, all bearing Thranduil’s symbol; the birch tree in winter. Her mind could not accept it, on some level. There was equestrian equipment here for a cavalry of a thousand, were she to guess. Here too, she exited, now looking further on. Stables. “When was he going to tell me that these were actually underground?” Earlene shook her head. All this time, she had imagined that somehow there were….barns, something, perhaps originally built of wood and long since rotted into nothingness. This was simply incredible. She walked along the endless row of box stalls, all forlorn and empty.

 

 _Surely the horses did not walk through the passageways she had used to enter here?_ Her feet moved from a walk, to a trot, to a run, covering more distance than she could easily reconcile until finally she saw the first broad passage that turned upward; a ramp of sorts very exactingly carven to allow equine hooves a purchase against the stone in either direction. It was genius, was what it was. And yet on every level it felt like tragedy, to see them empty. Her feet took her further on, no longer caring about her anticipated treat. There were different kinds of stalls, ones that appeared larger and more suited to...draft animals? Her feet came to a halt, as she thought. Her eyes gazed into the dimly lit distance, where the cavern stretched away beyond what her vision could perceive. At the next opportunity, she would return, probably dragging a seneschal with her. _I want to know more. I want to know everything._ Turning on her heel with a spectacular frown, she jogged back to the entrance whence she came.

  



	89. Eighty-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 27, 2018

 

Lorna had initially been uncertain as to how to even contact Lorna the Younger. She couldn’t very well say ‘my techie friend cyber-stalked you’, but she’d found the girl’s Facebook, and thus had had to finally break down and get one of her own, just so they could communicate. Even then she’d been afraid the girl wouldn’t want anything to do with her, given she was related to the much-hated Pat -- and if it wasn’t for the mother’s cancer, that might well have been the case. From Lorna the Younger’s Facebook, she’d gleaned that there was no other family; if her mam died, she’d be alone in the world. At nineteen bloody years old.

 

The pictures of the girl had been a shock and a half, too. She looked rather older than nineteen -- Lorna would have guessed she was pushing thirty -- and they were such dead ringers that literally the only way to tell them apart was length of hair, and the fact that hers had grey in it. It went far beyond creepy, and once again she had to note the irony of one of Pat’s kids looking more like hers than her own did.

 

The girl had the Donovan green eyes, too, which was...worrisome. If the pattern held true, it meant there might be another Blank in the family, and Lorna winced at the thought of Thranduil having to deal with yet another one. Then again, his own son had them, as did both of her children; even without Lorna the Younger, Saoirse would possibly not be the last one he’d have to handle.

 

And it was that very resemblance that prompted the younger Lorna to communicate -- she too thought it was beyond creepy, and they’d sent messages back and forth for the last few months. Lorna the Elder (and she did  _ not  _ like that handle, but whatever) had shared Mairead’s Facebook with her, and that of all her cousins, and had yet to mention Pat. She could only imagine how sore a subject he would be, if he’d been as bad as he’d said he was when he was with his daughter’s mam.

 

Eventually, they’d agreed to meet up in the pub in Baile, where she could also meet Mairead. There would be no need for Thranduil to hide his healing abilities there; everybody knew about them, even if only Mairead and Big Jamie had ever actually seen them in action. Still, there were so many ways this could go wrong...both mother and daughter could decide the whole thing was too scary, and want nothing to do with them. And if that was the case, there was nothing Lorna nor anyone could do about it. They’d be in the wind, and Pat would be devastated. He’d agreed to stay home for this, much though it killed him to do it.

 

God, Lorna even agonized over what to  _ wear _ ...she didn't want to imply that they were too well-off, lest it make the girl and her mother wary, but neither did she want to go dressed like...well, her. First impressions counted for a very great deal, after all. In the end she went with leggings, boots, and one of her nicer flannel tunics; it was an inoffensive combination that shouldn’t raise any eyebrows either way.

 

Ratiri was coming with them, and they were bringing the twins, because babies made everything better, and Earlene and Thaladir. It might do Lorna the Younger some good to see she had more family -- family that wasn’t connected to Pat, at least so far as she knew yet. And little kids with the same odd eyes she had might help yet further. Lorna knew what it was like, to feel that you had no blood relatives left...the pull of it could be strong, hopefully strong enough to override reservations even before Thranduil managed to heal the mother. They could deal with the tangle that was Pat later, hopefully. It was going to be awkward as hell at first no matter what, but maybe, in time, they could move past it.

 

Whatever happened, they certainly weren’t going to want to live in the house, but Lorna had an idea there: they could stay in her cottage. Lorna the Younger could work for Big Jamie, if she wanted to; the two of them could be near Mairead, and could get used to living in Baile, among its people.

 

If she wanted to. If this worked.

 

Ratiri and Earlene had to go for more than one reason, unfortunately: while she could ride in a car okay now, as long as she had Thranduil’s telepathic Xanax, she still couldn’t drive. She’d tried -- she’d wanted to take the van to the pub on a rainy day, rather than walk through all that wet, and had damn near had a panic attack as soon as she’d sat behind the wheel. Driving, it would seem, was going to have to wait.

 

Earlene had agreed to do the honors. Drinking didn’t matter so much to her either way, and with her still nursing Thaladir she could take it or leave it; and it would allow Ratiri to have what he wanted. Big Jamie hadn’t run out of soda and lime juice yet, so she was sure she’d manage fine. And, it was really slightly beyond cute to have the image of Thranduil, Thaladir in his car seat, and Thanadir all liked up in a row. She was beginning to think, if she ever did get a tattoo of her own it would just be so simple to have a big fat letter  _ thule _ in Tengwar on the side of her arm. Which of course stood for the English sounds ‘th’. However, given that it looked disturbingly like the English letter “h” like as not that was a terrible idea.

 

_ Good,  _ she heard from her husband.

 

_ I thought you liked Lorna’s tattoos.  _

 

_ I like them on Lorna, meluieg. _

 

Shaking her head, she chuckled. And then had ideas, chuckled some more.

 

_ Meluieg…. _

 

With a disturbingly broad smile she started the engine, and they made their way toward the thriving burg of Baile.

 

Lorna held Ratiri’s hand as they went, because while she was  _ okay  _ in cars, she still wasn’t exactly great. Her eye was pretty much back to full functionality now; she had no real excuse not to drive, aside from the fact that she was just too afraid to. They had Earlene now as auxiliary driver; between her, Ratiri, and Pat, they were pretty well covered.

 

“That girl really does look terrifyingly like you,” Ratiri said, trying to distract her. “Your family’s genetics would be fascinating to study.”

 

“Yeah, well, yours broke the mold there,” she said, actually rather grateful there wouldn’t be more Donovan clones running around. “Though this family’s filling up with green-eyed people. Someday we’ll have to get the lot’v us in one picture, just so we can say we’re all secretly aliens or something.”

 

“Only you, mo chroí,” he said, shaking his head. “Only you.”

 

In his little car seat, Shane looked over at his sister and said, quite solemnly, “Barbarian.” She looked right back at him and, equally solemnly, said, “You’re a fucking barbarian.”

 

Lorna groaned. Well, at least they were an interesting little family, if nothing else could be said of them.

 

Thaladir craned his neck around and frowned at what his distant cousins were uttering. “Ada, man câr Nana?” (Daddy, what is Mama doing?)

 

Both Thanadir and Thranduil answered in stereo, “Your Nana is driving the van,” before looking up at each other and laughing, chagrined. 

 

“Oh.” He thought for a moment, his little green eyes lost in concentration. 

 

“Amman?” (why?).

 

Thanadir gestured this time to Thranduil. “Because Nana can, and someone needs to, so she is,” said the King, caressing his son’s cheek. 

 

“Oh.” That seemed to satisfy the quiet little boy, who had stolen all their hearts. Thanadir would never forget his first words. So often, he murmured to Thaladir that he loved him, in both languages; they had agreed long ago to make an effort to speak both English and Sindarin around him even when very small. One night after he had nursed, Thanadir was rocking him and covering his little cheeks in kisses, when out it all came at once: “Ada, love you.” The old elf thought he might die from joy, and later had been glad he was alone. After his son fell asleep, he had cried uncontrollably for at least ten minutes.

 

“Where we going?” Shane asked, trying to sit up to see out the windows. Evening was falling, though there was still plenty of light left.

 

“Mam’s other home,” Lorna said. “We’re going to see your Auntie Mairead, and a new cousin.”

 

“Is she a barbarian?” Chandra asked.

 

_ Well, at least the kid left off ‘fucking’, _ Lorna thought, deciding to count her blessings. “No, that’s just you two.”

 

“’Kay,” her daughter said contentedly. God her children were weird. But then, they were  _ her _ children.

 

Traffic was actually pretty reasonable, so they made it to Baile in a decent amount of time. There would be plenty of people in the pub, so Lorna the Younger and her mother could at least think they were semi-anonymous.

 

Earlene helped all the children out of their car seats, since the number of their brood now exceeded parental units. Ithiliel and Eleniel could work the straps better than she could; they weren’t the issue. Allanah still struggled with them a little bit, but she was still not quite three years old. It seemed fair. She truly felt sorry for her original daughter, who had to watch her sisters breeze by her developmentally. The child had never said a word, in part because her sisters stuck by her like barnacles. How it would be in their home had that gone differently, she did not wish to know. Lothiriel and Ortherion emerged, smiling as always, prepared to help keep a watchful eye on their completely ambulatory herd of children. Though it of course did nothing for them by way of alcohol content, the couple had developed a fondness for Guinness. To them it was a little like having a soda; they liked the taste of it; god only knew it helped them fit right in.

 

With everyone accounted for (and blessing the wonderful circumstance that right now, only Thaladir was in nappies), their contingency invaded Big Jamie’s.

 

Lorna had warned him that this herd was coming, and hoped like hell he’d warned the rest of the pub-goers they were about to get invaded by the Woodland Contingent, as they were now referred to. The pub wasn’t actually too crowded yet, though she suspected it’d be packed once everyone was off for the evening. She hoped like hell Jamie had enough nibbles, because Thanadir was Thanadir.

 

Lorna the Younger had said she’d meet them there at six, and it wasn’t quite, so they could at least get settled first. It involved shoving three tables together, getting the children assorted juices and fizzy drinks, and trying to find somewhere to stow all their shite.

 

“You’re like a small army,” Big Jamie said. “What can I get you lot?”

 

“Guinness,” Lorna and Ratiri said at once.

 

“A rum and Coke,” Sharley added. Fortunately, she had been here before, and knew all of these people; there would be no overload of history, so she felt safe drinking something.

 

“Better make it six Guinness,” said Earlene. “And would it be simpler to just order the whole menu, or tell you that we brought Thanadir?” She was a firm believer in consolidation.

 

“I am standing right here,” Thanadir said acerbically.

 

“I apologize, meldir. I am only trying to keep it easiest on the kitchen, and there are after all seven adults. I did not mean that you personally would eat the entire menu.”

 

Big Jamie, to his credit, was doing a fabulous job of suppressing his obvious need to burst into laughter by choosing just that moment to cough into his kerchief.

 

A curt nod was the extent of Thanadir’s response to her, whereupon Earlene realized she almost forgot. “I’m driving. I’d dearly love soda and lime juice and….what the hell, a little grenadine in there would be lovely. Please,” she smiled, doing her best to pretend that all this was in any way normal.

 

“Coming right up,” Big Jamie said, and at least managed to make it back to the kitchens before he burst out laughing. Life was never boring, with this lot around.

 

Shane and Chandra were by now ready to run around and burn some energy, so Lorna let them; nothing was going to hurt them in here, and she’d rather they wear themselves out than sit and call people fucking barbarians. Though she had noted, to her vast amusement, that Shane had not yet cursed even once within her hearing. Granted, Chandra made up for it and then some, but still. At least there was one single non-profane Donovan. 

 

Sharley, lurking like a lurking thing, took up a spot in the corner so she could watch everyone. She’d been hesitant to come, but Lorna pointed out that she was the only one who'd be able to tell just what was really going on with Lorna the Younger and her mother, since Thranduil didn’t delve deeper than surface thoughts.

 

“Okay, so I do need to warn you lot, this girl really does look like my double,” Lorna said. “I’m serious, it’s creepy. That was what started us talking, actually.”

 

Earlene nodded and sipped her drink. “I’m just in my role as the Token Relative and Mother of Green Eyed Child,” she gently teased. “Besides, after Saoirse, how bad can it be?”

 

“I wouldn’t have thought much worse, but it’s...unsettling,” Lorna said, just as Mairead, Kevin, Niamh, and Young Kevin all came breezing in. A fourth table joined the line, while Shane and Chandra tried to scale their aunt like a tree.

 

“Get off it, you monkeys,” she said, picking them both up. “You’ll be tree-frogs if you’re not careful.”

 

They looked at her, and at each other, and said, in stereo, “Ribbit.”

 

Mairead burst out laughing and set them down again, making her way to the bar to order some drinks.

 

Little Thaladir walked carefully up to Shane. The ‘carefully’ part was because Chandra was near, and on some level the sensitive little boy felt vaguely terrified of her. She would use words that were not seemly, and did not smile so much. But all he had were sisters, and of late he had come into some greater awareness that there was, after all, another boy in their home. Shyly, he tapped Shane’s shoulder. “Hi.” Even that made his little cheeks blush, because he hoped so very much they could be friends.

 

Shane grinned. “Hi. Chandra, go be a girl somewhere else.” She stuck her tongue out at him, but off she went. “Wanna see?” It roughly translated to ‘let’s go explore’; Shane was, in some ways, rather erudite for his age, and very much not in others.

 

Thaladir tentatively reached for the other boy’s hand, which came naturally to him; his fathers always held his hand to take him someplace. “Yes,” he answered brightly, studying closely for the first time eyes that looked like his own. Then his smile turned into a little frown. “How you have my eyes?”

 

Shane took his hand, but he had to think about that for a minute. “Your mam and my mam’re related. Da says genetics are weird, and it’s why Chandra has red hair even though Mam and Da don’t.” He had to say the word ‘genetics’ very carefully, and even then didn’t quite get it right.

 

Chandra, rolling her eyes, toddled over to the twins and Allanah. She still didn’t understand why Allanah looked more like her sister than Shane did like her brother, and was, in some hazy way, convinced she was supposed to have gone to Aunt Mairead and got dropped on the wrong doorstep instead. “ _ Brothers _ ,” she said, in the tones of an annoyed forty-year-old.

 

“Ours is pretty nice,” Eleniel said. “But he was little for a long time and always with Uncle Thanadir. Now he plays with us. We love him but….” she frowned.

 

“He has to do everything a certain way, or he gets sad,” Ithiliel finished. “Sometimes you just want to play with the Legos. But Thaladir might only want the red Legos. Stuff like that.”

 

“Thaladir is still little,” Allanah said, coming to his defense. “He’s shy.”

 

“Shy,” the twins agreed, shrugging. “Boys.”

 

“Boys,” Chandra agreed solemnly.

 

At this point, the pub door opened, and in came Lorna’s double, trailed by a rather gaunt, dark-haired woman of about forty, her clothes rather too big for her.

 

The girl really  _ was  _ Lorna’s double, too, right down to the height, or lack thereof. Her hair hung only down to the middle of her back, and lacked grey, but aside from that, the two were functionally identical. It was, Lorna decided, even creepier in person; Saoirse was a little girl, and thus looked like Mini-Me, but Lorna the Younger looked like a clone.

 

She was not the only one who thought so, either, if Ratiri’s, “Oh, damn,” was any evidence. “It didn’t seem as weird when it was just pictures. Jesus.”

 

Thranduil had sat quietly this whole time, sipping his Guinness. Earlene noticed, and put her arm around him affectionately. He turned to smile at her, which caused her to lean in and give him a peck on the cheek, though her eyes conveyed a great deal more. Truthfully, of late, she had begun to worry about him, in the carefully hidden corners of her mind. It was not anything she could exactly identify, just an overall sense that things were different. Inside of him. If she had to try to assign descriptive terms, they might have been words such as ‘withdrawn’, ‘taciturn’ and maybe even ‘slightly depressed.’ And yet they were just...impressions, and ones that she found herself constantly questioning. Nothing she could see in him fit into any mold she could contrive in her mind, by way of explanation. Though she did not understand, or even understand if there was anything  _ to _ understand, it did not change her efforts to have him know that he was deeply loved. If anything, she had tried to be more attentive to him than ever.

 

Sharley looked at the pair of women, and somehow managed to be both relieved and grieved at the same time. This girl had had a happy life with her mother, once Pat was gone; they loved each other dearly, and this Lorna had been taking care of her mother during her illness for the last three years. So damn young to be doing that, and she worked in a fucking sandwich shop. That was criminal. Absolutely criminal.

 

Lorna rose, moving around the table, and tried not to feel as awkward as she was unsettled. “Hi,” she said. “Welcome to Baile.”

 

The other Lorna’s green, green eyes traveled uneasily over the group. “Who are they?”

 

“Your family,” Lorna said. “The ginger’s my half-sister, your aunt Mairead. Giant Indian bloke is my husband -- I showed you some pictures’v him.”

 

“He’s taller than I expected,” the girl said. “I didn’t there’d be this many…”

 

“Hell, I only discovered half’v them a few years ago,” Lorna said. “C’mon, we’ll get you some food.”

 

Lorna the Younger’s mother, whose name was evidently Grania, stared from her, to her daughter, and back again. “Well that’s bloody unsettling.” Her voice was hoarse, and up close, Lorna saw that her hair was actually a wig -- chemo must have done it for the real thing.

 

“That’s what I said,” Ratiri called, dragging over two more chairs. Lorna did not miss the way both of them subtly checked him out, and it was all she could do not to laugh.

 

“So, we’ve sort’v decided I’m Lorna the Elder, and you’re Lorna the Younger, unless you’ve got a nickname,” she said. “This is your aunt Mairead -- she’s my half sister; we had the same mam but different da’s. Earlene here’s my second cousin once removed, so I have no idea in bloody hell what that makes you two. Genealogy's not my strong point. This is her husband, Thranduil, and Thanadir, who’s kind’v a brother-slash-uncle-slash best mate all in one. This one,” she grabbed a passing Chandra, hefting her up, “is one’v mine. The other one’s toddling about somewhere out there, getting up to God knows what.”

 

As she’d hoped, the girl stared at her eyes, and at Chandra’s. She was so reticent, though Lorna couldn’t really blame her; she was awfully old to have family dropping in on her out of the blue like this -- and so much family, too. Family she hadn’t known existed until a month ago. “Hi,” she said.

 

“Sure God I didn’t think there’d be this many’v you, either,” Grania said softly, but she sounded pleased.

 

“There’s still a little more, if I can flag them down,” Earlene said. “In addition to Chandra and Shane, there’s four of ours; Ithiliel, Eleneil, and Thaladir. Allanah is...she is biologically my niece, but we’re her legal parents now. So you’ve got four more far-flung cousins under the age of three,” she added obliviously. “Just figure if it’s a child, and it’s running around, it’s like as not a cousin.”

 

The poor girl looked a touch helpless, but not at all displeased, as Lorna shooe’d her into a chair. The second went to her mother, who wrapped her jumper a little closer about her, despite the warmth of the pub. “You live here?” she asked.

 

“ _ We  _ do,” Mairead said, looking at Kevin. “Your aunt here used to, but she’s pretty much moved to Lasg’len now.”

 

“And still won’t let me have her cottage,” Niamh said, a touch morosely.

 

“Shut it, you,” Lorna said, while Big Jamie brought over menus. “The French Dip’s grand, if you like that sort’v thing. He does a mean club sandwich, too.”

 

“Have you got any chicken soup?” Grania asked.

 

“Best in this bloody county,” he said. “You want some?”

 

The woman nodded, and Lorna the Younger said, “I’ll try the French dip, and a Tequila sunrise, if you can.”

 

“Back in a moment,” he said, and was gone almost as swiftly and silently as an elf, which was honestly a bit creepy.

 

Grania looked at the lot of them, one by one. “You’re wanting Lorna in your lives now?”

 

“We’d like both of you,” Ratiri said, “if you’ll have us. We’re not as strange as we look, I promise.”

 

“Yes we are,” Lorna said immediately. “No point in fooling you, we’re every bit as odd as we look, but we love each other, so that mostly makes up for it.”

 

Lorna the Younger choked on a laugh, but her mother just looked...relieved. “Look, I’ll be blunt,” she said. “I’m dying. Stage Four ovarian cancer. I don’t want this one left all alone in the world once I’m gone.”

 

Lorna looked at Thranduil; this was up to him. He was the one with the gift, and it was his right to decide what to say, and when.

 

Thranduil sighed. None of this was this poor woman’s fault, and he had already committed himself. “Could I speak with you privately, Grania, for a moment?” He rose and gestured to a pair of chairs over in the corner, currently vacant and largely hidden from the view of the rest of the establishment.

 

She followed him over, though not without a measure of hesitation and trepidation.

 

Thranduil smiled at Grania uncomfortably. “There is no good way to have this conversation, so I will begin it by saying that I am not joking, no matter how much it is going to seem like it. If you wish to live, if you wish to be well, we can save you. Anything we speak of now will be held in strict confidence. There are those who do not wish to go on; there are those who do. If you would like to be free of your illness, you need only say so.”

 

Grania stared at him. “Are you a doctor?” she asked, too tired to argue the fact that she’d been told the cancer had metastasized, and was now everywhere. “Is this like an experimental thing? Because I’d try it. I’d try anything. Lorna there, she’s too young,” she added softly. “She’s not even twenty yet. I can’t go leaving her. I don’t care if this is some kind’v...kind’v illegal, unsanctioned, whatever…”   _ I can’t leave my daughter _ .

 

“I am not a doctor. Ratiri is. What I am is stranger than that, but we can discuss it after you are well. I am calling over Thanadir, to whom you were introduced. He will help me. You are very ill.”

 

Quite promptly, the ellon came, looking at his King quizzically. “Iallal nin?” (You called me?)

 

“Elio nin, Thanadir. Lhaew.” (Help me, she is sick).

 

The seneschal nodded, and pulled up a chair, taking one of Grania’s hands and one of Thranduil’s.

 

“This will not hurt; you will feel warmth in your body….” Thranduil felt detached as he spoke to her, for reasons he could not explain. Was it that he was making this speech to relative strangers more than he ever imagined he might? _ It was not this woman’s fault. Just like it was not Pat’s fault, or Lorna’s, or….. _ he shook himself out of his reverie, forcing his attention to the task at hand. He wrapped his arm around the woman, and held her close. When they were done, he felt rather weary. Probably, he had managed it all. It would seem reasonable that he would be allowed a later opportunity to check his work, and make certain he had rid her body of all of...it. The only word he could use was one of Lorna’s;  _ squick _ . He had never seen this sickness before in a body, and it was horrifying.  _ Cells gone wrong, consuming their host like a…  _ he refused to think on it further. With a last squeeze to her hand, he released her and nodded his thanks to his meldir. 

 

Charmingly, the old elf patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. “Welcome to our family,” he smiled, before returning to await his hoped-for food.

 

Grania stared at them, wondering what the hell had just happened. She was not so far gone that she couldn’t at least appreciate the comfort of a hug from an attractive man, but that warmth...what in God’s name had that been? The only way she’d been able to truly cope with the pain of the cancer had been massive doses of opiates, which she hadn’t liked taking, given what they did to her mind. She’d been taking just enough to keep the worst of it away, without turning her into a chemical zombie, so it was always there...except now it wasn’t.  _ None  _ of her pains were; she’d had a bad back for the last five years, and bad knees for the last ten, and all of it was gone.

 

_ How? _

 

Neither man seemed poised to explain, given the speed with which they’d vanished. The thought was totally absurd, but were they...angels? Did such things actually exist?  _ No,  _ she thought _ , they don’t, but...if not that, then what? _

 

Lorna the Younger, somewhat alarmed by her mother’s expression, rose, and Lorna rose with her. “Don’t be freaked out, now,” she said, catching the girl’s hand. “If you want to go outside, I can explain. It’ll sound unbelievable, but you’ll be able to prove it, when your mam goes to the doctor next. I know you don’t know me, but you need to trust me.”

 

“What did he do?” the girl asked, unable to take her eyes off her mother. Her ma’s complexion had been grey and sickly for months, ever since the cancer took hold, but now it was -- it looked healthy. There was color in her face again, though her expression looked as startled as her daughter felt.

 

“He healed her,” Lorna said. “Please, come out, and listen to me. All I ask is that you listen, and don’t dismiss me as a lunatic. You can ask him all the questions you’d like, but I can answer most’v them for him myself, if you’d let me.” If they went further than fifteen feet away from Thranduil, it would be a truly private conversation.

 

He looked like he needed it, too. Thranduil seemed rather...down, and she knew how reluctant he’d been to interfere at all.  _ You know, you told me once that very few people are really good, but I think you’re the best person I know. You don’t have to do any of the amazing things you do, but you do them anyway, and we love you for it. I literally owe you my life, and you still help me when I ask. You  _ are  _ good, Thranduil Donovan, and I love you. And I’m hugging the shit out of you with my mind right now. You give so much, and I don’t ever want you to feel we take you for granted. I’ll give you a proper hug out in the van, so nobody thinks it’s weird or anything. Meanwhile, mind-hug.  _ She tried to infuse the thought with warmth, insofar as that was possible.

 

The voices, too, had noticed this, though they said nothing. Theirs was a discussion that needed to wait until there were none to overhear them -- meaning when Sharley and Thranduil were both asleep, whenever the hell they managed to accomplish  _ that _ , given how seldom elves actually slept.

 

The corners of Thranduil’s mouth turned up in a smile, as he inclined his head to her in acknowledgement of her words. It mattered. He was glad, for all of it, somewhere inside of himself. And it was that last part….he did not understand, why he felt like he did, which amounted more or less to feeling nothing at all except, weary. Nor did he want to consider it right now. He had done what was wanted of him, and there at the table was Earlene and his Guinness and a surprisingly appealing looking French dip sandwich. With a kiss to his wife’s head, he returned to his seat.

 

Lorna led her niece and the girl’s mother out into the chilly autumn evening. The van was around back, and she led them to it, so they could sit where it was at least half-ass warm.

 

“So, I don’t expect you to believe me right now,” she said, hiking herself up onto one of the seats. The only light came from a streetlamp, dark and golden. “This sounds mental, and I’m sure you won't believe it, but I can prove it, if you go to the doctor tomorrow. Go, and have him give you a blood test, or however the hell it is they test for cancer. I can guarantee you it’ll come back clean.” She had a feeling that any mention of the word ‘elf’ was going to have to wait; she didn’t know these two anywhere near well enough to know how they’d handle having  _ that  _ dropped in their lar laps straightaway. They  needed to see the proof first, before she threw the metaphysical at them.

 

“How?” Grania asked, looking entirely helpless.

 

“You won’t like the answer to that, but it’s the only one I’ve got,” Lorna said. “It’s magic.” She paused, drumming her fingers on the leather. “Did you hear about that big wreck a few months back? The one on the off-ramp’v the M7?”

 

“I did,” the woman said.

 

“I was in that. Mine was the red Charger that got T-boned. I should’ve been dead, but Thranduil healed me.” She laughed a little. “Well, he kind’v healed me, stole me from hospital, then healed the rest’v me.”

 

Lorna the Younger and her mother eyed one another. “I overheard my nurse talking about that,” Grania said. “The patient that up and disappeared. Isn’t your sister suing them?”

 

“She was, for the look’v the thing,” Lorna said. “She’s dropped it now, though I don’t think she ever told them I was alive and in one piece. That’d raise...questions.”

 

Lorna the Younger looked back at her, confusion and something else, something Lorna couldn’t identify, in her eyes. “You said his name is Thranduil,” she said slowly. “Is that  _ really  _ his name? Because he looks a shitload like that bloke in  _ The Hobbit. _ ”

 

Lorna couldn’t help it. She broke down into utterly helpless laughter, because  _ now  _ they found someone who recognized him on sight? Now, after all this time? “Yes,” she managed, eventually. “Yes it is, and there’s a reason for that, though I don’t know that you’re ready to hear it.”

 

“My mate Sheila thinks he’s hot,” Lorna the Younger said, “but I thought he was kind’v creepy. That bloke in there is, too, but...nicer? Is it some kind’v cult he’s got going, or did he just decide to run with the fact that he looked a lot like the guy in the movie?”

 

“Neither,” Lorna said. Christ, now she had a stitch in her side. “That’s really his name, and it’s always been his name, and I can tell by the look on your mam’s face that she thinks the whole thing is utter shite, so I’ll say no more on it right now. You go to the doctor, and you get your tests, and then you call me, and I’ll explain. I know I needed solid evidence, before I believed a damn thing.”

 

The girl bit the inside of her cheek. “Is he an actual Elf?”

 

Oh fuck it. “Yes,” Lorna said, “he is. And it sounds like shite, but Grania, I’m willing to wager you already feel better, don’t you?”

 

“Well...yes,” the woman said, though she looked deeply uncomfortable.

 

“Good. Hold onto that. Lorna the Younger’s got my mobile number -- call me tomorrow, and I’ll answer what questions I can. If I can’t, he can.”

 

“Lorna the Younger?” the girl said, quirking an eyebrow, and  _ God  _ this was creepy. It was like looking into a mirror, except the reflection moved independently.

 

“It’s what we’ve been calling you,” Lorna said. “Ratiri decided to call me Lorna the Elder, which earned him a wet Skittle in his ear that night.”

 

“He’s pretty hot,” Lorna the Younger said. “Does he have a brother who’s like twenty years younger?”

 

“Saints preserve us,” Grania muttered, rolling her eyes.

 

“Sadly, no,” Lorna said, and somehow managed to swallow her laughter.

 

“You’ll...you’ll answer my questions, tomorrow?” the woman asked. “Really?” Lorna could tell that the changes in her physically weren’t lost on her, at least to some degree; she certainly  _ looked  _ healthier already. Perhaps she was already poised to believe, even if she needed more solid evidence.

 

“I will,” Lorna said. “Any you’ve got, and if I can’t answer them, Thranduil can. Meanwhile, you two just come in and finish meeting the family, okay? I know, and Pat knows, that you’ll not be wanting anything to do with him, but there’s the rest’v us.”

 

The expressions of both women visibly darkened upon hearing Pat’s name. “He’s involved in this?” Grania asked.

 

“Yes and no,” Lorna said. “I only know you exist because’v him. Ran into him out’v nowhere a year ago. He’s told me what a wreck’v a human being he was with you, and that he knows you’ll never want anything to do with him again. You don’t have to talk to him, or even see him, if you don’t want to, but the rest’v us want to get to know you.” She hoped, very much, that the relationship between them could at least become cordial someday, but if that was even possible, it was likely a long, long way off.

 

“Good,” Lorna the Younger said, a touch savagely. “I know he’s your brother and all --”

 

“--but he was a shite to you and your mam. Believe me, I...get that. He’s not who he once was, but I doubt that’ll hold much water with either’v you. I know damn well some hurts just don’t go away.”

 

“He never hit us,” Grania muttered, “but that was all that could be said’v him.”

 

“I know,” Lorna said. “He hasn’t exactly held back on telling me’v his failures with you two. But don’t even think about him right now, okay? Just come see everyone else.” They needed to not think about Pat right now, because it was possibly the only chance they had of forgiving him later.

 

Mother and daughter looked at one another, but followed her when she left the van. Just as they made it back to the door of the pub, however, however, Lorna the Younger asked, “Okay, so why the hell doesn’t Thranduil’s hair match his eyebrows?”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and had to lean against the doorframe for a moment. “Because the laws’v melanin don’t apply to elves,” she giggled.

 

The warmth of the pub was a blessing, and once they sat down, Lorna the Younger found herself mobbed by children, all wondering why she looked like their mother/aunt’s twin when they weren’t sisters.

 

“Because the Donovan gene game is strong,” Lorna said. “It took Ratiri’s to fight it, and even then it only half worked.” The older the twins got, the more obvious it became that facially, they were basically duplicates of her, and of course there were the eyes.

 

None of the children knew what that even meant, but it had to be some kind of grown-up thing. Whatever the reason, they found Lorna the Younger absolutely fascinating, and she in turn was confused, intrigued, and slightly unsettled to find so many people that shared her eyes. She wound up with a twin on either knee, Eleniel and Ithiliel sharing a chair across from her, and Allanah watching with her fingers in her mouth. Thaladir had gone back to Thanadir, evidently already worn out by his trek around the pub with Shane. Though even then, green eyes stared at the new Lorna from a curious towheaded face.

 

_ Girl’s gone from having no family to having more than she’ll know what to do with _ , Lorna thought.  _ And her mam’ll be just fine. _ Some days, the world did work out.

 

Eventually, once food was eaten and tab settled, they parted at the doorway, with Lorna extracting one more promise from Grania to call the next day. She made certain they got to their car -- an incredibly beat-up Chevy older than Lorna the Younger -- and then it was time to get their own brood loaded.

 

Lorna, however, tugged Thranduil off to the side, and wrapped him in a hug. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for being you.” Something told her he wouldn’t want to dwell on this situation in particular, so she wouldn’t; thanking him for being  _ Thranduil _ , however, was not the same thing.  _ I mean it. You’re the best person I know. _

 

_ You are welcome, Lorna,  _ he said in return. Now was not the time to argue that perhaps she did not know nearly enough people, if he was the best in her lineup. It did not matter.  _ I am tired,  _ he added.  _ She was very sick. _

 

_ Cancer’s a bitch _ , she said.  _ Let’s get you home, and you can get some rest. I’ll make you some sleepytime tea, if you even actually need it.  _ She gave his ribs one last squeeze -- seriously, she couldn’t hug humans anymore without the risk of breaking something, she was so used to hugging elves -- and released him.  _ And who knows, maybe the kittens will decide to mob you. _

 

He smiled, and hugged her back. Earlene watched, discreetly, and frowned. With a glance to Thanadir, she saw that the elder elf was completely absorbed in Thaladir, paying Thranduil no heed. The conviction that something was the matter with her husband had only grown, in the past many weeks. What bothered her the most was, she  _ knew _ how much he loved Lorna. And yet when they embraced, there was...it was as if there was no light in his eyes. And that disturbed. Deeply. If that expression were ever on her face, hugging Thanadir….But now was not the time. Willing her thoughts elsewhere, she helped load all the children.

 

“Well, how do you think it went?” Earlene asked Lorna, figuring the ride home was their equivalent of the Post-Game Show.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “We  _ finally  _ found someone who actually recognized Thranduil,” she said. “Lorna the Younger had some questions, that was for sure. I could tell Grania wasn’t going to get there right off, so I told her to go to the doctor tomorrow, get checked, and then call me when she came back cancer-free. Lorna the Younger...I gave her food for thought. She asked if Thranduil was an elf and I said yes, and at least she didn’t immediately say ‘bullshit’. I know their type, though -- they were like I was, and won’t believe something without some kind’v hard evidence. Grania getting healed  _ is  _ that evidence, so I’ll just keep my mobile on me tomorrow. Neither one’v them want anything to do with Pat, but I expected that. There’s plenty’v time for that to reconcile, if it’s possible, and he knows it might not ever really happen.” She felt sorry for the poor man, but he’d brought it on himself, no matter how much he regretted it now. Actions had consequences, and he was suffering for his, but with any luck, that rift would at least half-arse heal.

 

“Well, that’s good. It’s a start, anyway, and no one ran screaming and the pub’s not on fire. I’ll call it a success. Speaking of which...I was watching the children tonight, and I think we have reached the point where we’d fare better having them play as a group. Thaladir wanted to be with Shane, Chandra got on well with the twins, and Allanah did fine too.” (It seemed safe to discuss this openly, since to a one the children in question had passed out in their car seats before they could even leave Baile). For the longest time, with the exception of meals, they had maintained their families with a certain degree of separation, out of concern for the peredhel developing too fast to be playmates for babies and Allanah being more than a full year older. And yet tonight, all that had finally seemed irrelevant.

 

“I think it’s a good idea,” Ratiri said. “Shane and Chandra are both coordinated enough now that even if they can’t keep up, they can come close. And maybe the girls will have a better influence on Chandra’s, er, vocabulary.”

 

“I don’t know why she does it,” Lorna sighed. “I’ve tried so hard not to curse around them, yet she’s my little sailor. And yet I’ve never heard Shane utter a single swear word.”

 

“Thank God for that,” Ratiri said, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Hopefully she’ll outgrow it, like Allanah did.”

 

“I am not so sure ‘outgrow’ is the word to use,” Thanadir smiled, glancing at Thranduil.

 

“Well, however it happened. I try so, so hard not to laugh when she does it, but half the time I can’t help it.” There was just something about an adorable ginger child calling someone a motherfucker that never ceased to be amusing. Perhaps there was some way to keep a straight face through it, but if so, she had yet to find it.

 

While Thanadir could at times be obtuse, he very much understood that Lorna had no interest in comprehending that only extensive teaching and attention by Thranduil had caused this to cease, on Allanah’s part. And that if her children gained the emotional reward of their parents’ laughter, it most certainly would not be stopping anytime soon. But this was not his business. He was quite grateful enough for his own reserved and gentle son and his sisters.

 

“Given my vocabulary, I almost feel like a hypocrite,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “But I don’t want them...they need to know there’s a time and a place. And I’m really not sure yet how to teach them. They’re only a year and a half old.” Quite honestly, she had no problem with them cursing, but she  _ did  _ have a problem with them doing it around people who would be offended by it, like Thanadir. And somehow, she needed to teach them that there was a distinction. Given that it had taken her thirty years to even realize such a distinction existed…eh, she needed help.

 

“We’ll work something out,” Ratiri said. “They’re young, but they’re smart, and they’re not malicious kids. I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about Shane at all, at this rate, and we can work with Chandra.”

 

“The twins have always shared with Allanah and never been selfish with their toys,” Lothiriel offered. “What will you want us to do? Do you wish them to play somewhere different?”

 

Earlene considered for a moment. “Well, the weather is warm now. Warmer, anyway. I wonder if using the big space near the dining table would work? Then if it becomes harder to heat that room in winter, we could move them elsewhere?”

 

“It is not hard to heat, Earlene,” Thanadir said. He had, after all, designed the home and there was a reason that all double-paned windows had been installed, oriented precisely to take advantage of sunlight that would shine through them in the winter months. “It only means keeping another hearth lit. The only reason it is cooler now is that the room is not often used, so no one does this.”

 

“And Shane and Chandra have plenty’v things to share, too,” Lorna said. “Saoirse’s good at reading to them by now. I wish that poor kid had more playmates her own age, but she seems happy to look after them. Most kids her age wouldn’t be.”

 

By now full dark had long since fallen, and a steady rain was falling. The sound of it on the roof made her tense, and she grabbed Ratiri’s hand. It had taken her so long to get over driving in the rain after her first accident, and now this one had just set it off all over again. He squeezed her hand, his fingers warm and strong and so much larger than her own.

 

Adults with umbrellas carried sleeping children hurriedly inside, to put them to bed. It had been worth it to bring Lothiriel and Ortherion for this alone; it was the only means by which to have a tall adult for each child while leaving Lorna free to manage the door, when they all got that far. As it was well on toward bedtime, once children were settled the adults all did the same.

 

Thranduil’s fatigue was obvious, which is why Earlene disappeared long enough to bring him a steaming hot mug of heavily spiked cocoa. He laughed, when he saw what was placed in his hands. “You just sip that, I will do the rest,” she told him, already working open the buttons on his jeans.

 

“I thought I was going to bed,” he asked, amused.

 

“You are.”   
  


“Yes but if you do that, we both know we will not make progress toward sleep.”

 

“Nonsense. Once you have a shattering orgasm, you sleep right away. I have been wed to you for over two years now, Thranduil. I have figured out that much.”

 

“Well, that sounds appealing,” he said hopefully. “To what do I owe all this?”

 

Her head tilted at him, as she made an appealing show of disrobing the upper half of her body while he consumed his beverage with increasing alacrity. “You are my mate and I love you. Does there need to be a reason?” Her fingers traced in slow circles over his chest, down to his navel, and then back up again, as he watched, fascinated.

 

“No, I suppose there does not.” 

 

Placing his mug aside, she straddled him, leaning in to kiss his lips. “Now. I do not think you have had nearly enough milk.” Before he could protest further, he found a rather enticing nipple between his lips, as his wife unabashedly took control and made love to him. Somewhere much later, when he was awash in pleasurable feelings, he could not stop his gratitude.

 

_ Thank you for this, meluieg. Thank you. _

 

_ Of course, beloved.  _ The words were hardly out of her mind, before she felt him go rigid in his final enjoyment. And just as she expected, within a minute he was sound asleep, leaving her to carefully extract herself from him. She adjusted the covers, tucking them up over his shoulders; the air was a little chiller, now that Autumn was come.

 

Not feeling quite so tired herself, she rose to sit in the pool, and think.  _ To what do I owe all this…...to what do I owe all this….. _ Was there a key of sorts, hidden in those words? The night brought no answers, but at least she had given him some peace, and comfort.

 

********

 

Sharley had had enough food and booze that she dropped off not long after they got home, and mercifully, Thranduil followed suit not  _ too  _ long after. It let the voices discuss unheard -- and they had very important things to discuss. One in particular.

 

“ _ The Stranger’s not going to be able to keep this from her forever,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Sooner or later she’s going to figure out the toll she’s taking on Thranduil, and then she’ll run away and never come back.” _

 

_ “Why the hell can’t he handle it?”  _ Kurt demanded.  _ “He’s an Elf king, and she’s just one broken person.” _

 

Had Sinsemilla possessed eyes, she would have rolled them.  _ “Because he’s also a  _ father _ , you dolt. Every time she thinks about Marty, he’s reminded that children can die. Three out of his four are basically immortal, but Allanah? Allanah’s a human. She’s every bit as frail as Marty was. Doesn’t help that Sharley’s taken such a shine to the kid, either. It’s her thoughts of Marty that’re causing this whole thing to begin with.” _

 

_ “So what in fuck do we do about it?”  _ Jimmy asked.  _ “We can’t block her mind all the time. If he figured out we could do that...pretty sure Sharley already kinda freaks him out. He thinks we’re not real.” _

 

_ “I don’t think we could really do that even if we tried,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Not from him. We didn’t manage it with the Other One, so how could we hope to keep an elf out? We just have to be -- Marty Filters, basically. Block any thoughts she has about Marty.” _

 

_ “Isn't he gonna wonder why she’s all of a sudden not thinking about Marty at all?”  _ Layla asked anxiously.

 

Sinsemilla sighed.  _ “I doubt he’ll question it much. He’ll just be glad it’s not longer an issue. When something that’s hurting you stops hurting, are you really going to  _ want  _ to question it?” _

 

She had a point, and all of them knew it. Unheeding, Sharley slept on, her hair a tangle of blue around her. The Stranger slept with her, and it was in  _ everyone’s  _ best interest if it stayed that way; the fact that it was awake enough to tweak with Sharley’s mind at all was more than a little worrisome. She had no real idea of the tragedy of her existence, and that was partly down to her voices. Sharley was not a woman accustomed to pining, and they amplified that trait as much as they could. Should she ever realize just how wretched her life was, she’d go to bed and never wake up, and they doubted anyone could blame her.

 

It had to stop taking a toll on Thranduil, and hopefully this would be enough. Her thoughts of her home, of her mountains,  _ those  _ were beautiful. It would have been millennia since he’d seen anything like them, and her powers of recall when it came to the memories she actually had were pretty clear. They might actually be nice for him to see.

 

_ “Then let’s give this a go tomorrow,”  _ Layla said.  _ “I mean, at the very least, it can’t hurt anything. It may even help.” _

 

_ “That’s the spirit,”  _ Jimmy said caustically.  _ “Okay, we’ll try it.” _

 

******

 

Lorna, determined to do something extra nice for Thranduil, woke early the next morning. Her last attempt to make French Toast had been somewhat disastrous, but she had two working eyes now, and no longer ran into half the things on her right. And if she could cook very little with anything like real success, at least she could make French Toast.

 

She put her headphones in as she worked, something she rarely had an opportunity to do -- somehow, she doubted the rest of the house would terribly appreciate her blasting Heart at six in the morning -- and whipped up her batter. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla only intensified as it cooked, bread sizzling on the skillet. It was late enough in the year that it was barely light at this hour, but the lighting in the kitchen was soft and warm and wonderful. This time she managed to get ten pieces warming in the oven before the sun was even over the horizon.

 

“But I tell myself, I was doin’ all right,” she sang, skidding over the floor on her socks, because why the fuck not? “There’s nothing left to do at night, but go crazy on you.” Out came the butter, set beside the stove so it would warm and soften, and the syrup into a jug that sat on the other side, though she’d pop that in the microwave if needed.

 

She’d been hoping nobody would wake yet, but she hadn’t counted on Saoirse. For a growing child, that kid needed surprisingly little sleep -- and given Lorna had her headphones in, she didn’t even realize the girl was there until she turned around and found her standing not six inches away.

 

_ “Jesus _ , kid, make a noise,” she said, heart lurching.

 

“You wouldn’t’ve heard one,” Saoirse pointed out, quite reasonably. “French Toast?”

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. “Stop making sense, allanah, and yes. The only thing I can really cook well. Want to help?”

 

“How?”

 

“I’ll batter the bread, you toss it into the skillet.” 

 

She stuck her free headphone in Saoirse’s ear, and very shortly the two were singing in stereo, though their accents did somewhat render the song unintelligible in places. Saoirse had a clear, sweet soprano that could probably be developed, and Lorna made a mental note to ask Thanadir.

 

“ _ Wild man’s world is cryin’ in pain _

_ What you gonna do when everybody’s insane? _

_ So afraid of one who’s so afraid’v you _

_ What you gonna do, oh.” _

 

Thranduil shuffled out, which was unusual in itself. Usually he was the last one to emerge from the bedrooms, or was in a tie with his children. He wore a long dressing robe over loose pants and a tunic (both of the latter at Earlene’s insistence) that was in a rich deep wine color. “Make French toast, apparently,” he said acerbically, reaching for the teapot before sniffing interestedly at the various tins of loose-leaf they had in their collections.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “I can think’v worse things to do,” she said, fishing him a mug out of the cupboard. “And if I make two whole loaves, I might just be able to leave Thanadir full. And I won’t even throw it at any’v you.”

 

“You’ll throw it at  _ me _ , right?” Saoirse asked.

 

“Okay, I’ll throw it at you, you monster. Go get me more bread.”

 

Of course the kid forgot to take the earbud out first, so it yanked out of her ear and then pulled the other out of Lorna’s, who rolled her eyes. She gave Thranduil a drive-by hug on her way to the fridge, only to nearly step on the Lump, who had come lumbering down the stairs. “You sleep okay last night?”

 

“Very well, thank you,” he smiled. He would decline to elaborate on why that was the case. “I feel better today.” He paused, considering telling her that he hoped it had all worked out to her satisfaction, but that would be redundant. He already knew that, he could hear her thoughts. Then another topic came to mind. “Are you ready for the next council meeting? It seems a little...exciting, that such ideas are moving on. Earlene has some huge proposal for the group, which she is managing to hide even from me,” he said, amused more than anything else. He had come to be actively grateful that his wife could hide things from him. She never abused this, and he had to admit that he liked the little mysteries.

 

“Christ, I hope so,” Lorna said, hauling the milk to the counter. They needed more batter, so it was a damn good thing they basically had a whole shelf dedicated to dairy. “I’m sure I’ll make a total hash’v it, but everyone’ll muddle through. Feel free to jump in if I totally fuck something up.” She poured the milk and cracked another egg, adding them and briskly stirring. More cinnamon came next, and another tiny dash of vanilla.

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do fine. I have a bet with Earlene about how many times Thanadir will pause and raise his eyebrows, though. Just so you know.” He ducked as a well aimed dishtowel flew at his head. Lorna could throw quite well, but she was no match for an elf. Thank Eru.

 

“You’d think he’d be used to us by now, but he wouldn’t be Thanadir if there weren’t a  _ few  _ raised eyebrows,” she said. “There’s plenty’v this in the oven keeping warm, if you’re hungry. You’d best get to some before Thanadir wakes up. God love him, but he’s a bit’v food Hoover. Fortunately he’s a cinnamon roll.”

 

“Is he precious, and too pure for this world?” Saoirse asked, returning with the bread.

 

“Yes, and you must never, ever tell him so.”

 

Thranduil burst into laughter, not caring that he almost spilled his tea. Gliding smoothly out of the kitchen and around the corner, he had just taken in the expression of his seneschal, who had heard every word of that and was now standing with arms folded and eyes narrowed. Though, the beginnings of a terrible grin spread on his face when he recalled that today, Saoirse was expected to start her physical training with him. “Aur vaer,”(good day/morning) he said quietly, appearing out of nowhere with an innocent smile on his face. Too innocent.

 

“Good morning, Thanadir,” Lorna said, and fought the urge to facepalm. Hard. “There’s French toast for the taking, once I get this pan out’v the oven.” Jesus. If he’d heard that...then again, was he going to understand the expression? Oh, she hoped not -- even if it was true, dammit.

 

“Uh-oh,” Saoirse muttered. “G’morningUncleThanadirIneedtopee.” With that, she was off, sliding on her socks and nearly tripping over the Lump, who grumbled and promptly sat and waited for Lorna to drop something.

 

He calmly filled his mug with tea and acted as though he was going to join Thranduil in the other room for a moment, but he stopped to take a quick peek at the French toast in the oven. “They look delicious,” he smiled. “They could almost be cinnamon rolls, don’t you think?” In a fluid motion of quick elegance, he was gone, off into the next room.

 

Oh, God  _ dammit _ ...and of all the days for him to find some horribly devious way to make her pay.  _ I’m not sorry, _ she thought stubbornly.  _ He  _ is  _ a cinnamon roll, even if he’s also a little shit when he wants to be.  _ She had an uneasy feeling that, in the right mood, Thanadir could put Thranduil’s ability to be a little shit to shame.

 

Oh well. He was highly unlikely to interfere so long as she was cooking, because he was Thanadir, and this was food -- moreover, it was sweet food. Saoirse, naturally, refused to return; she probably wouldn’t come back until all the others were down, the traitor. With a shrug, Lorna switched songs on her iPod, figuring she might as well sing her doom.

 

“ _ I’m waiting in my cold cell, when the bell begins to chime _

_ Reflecting on my past life, and it doesn’t have much time. _

_ Because at five o’clock, they take me to the gallows pole _

_ The sands’v time for me are running low. _ ”

 

Earlene emerged next, with Thaladir happily attached to her anatomy, procuring her tea one-handed as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “Morning,” she said to Lorna, gratefully eyeing the breakfast that she did not have to cook. “Smells wonderful,” she mouthed, before sidling off to join the ellyn. Lorna looked like she was having a musical moment, and there was never any point to interrupting those. Thanadir had an extremely peculiar expression on his face, that shifted only at the sight of Thaladir. “Everything well with you, meldir?” Earlene inquired, adjusting her breast against her son. He was of course eating other foods by now, but she allowed all the children to nurse as along as they wished. Even the girls still did so now and again, though not so frequently any more.

 

“Thanadir overheard that he is a precious cinnamon roll, finally,” Thranduil explained. “I suppose it is a miracle that it took this long.”

 

“Oh dear,” she said, feeling vaguely sorry for whoever uttered that in his hearing, though, she could guess. 

 

“It is a form of a compliment...” Earlene attempted, only to trail off at the abject glower she received. Clearing her throat, she thought better of further intervention. While ordinarily she would try harder to defend her friend, she had training with him this afternoon and did not wish to give him any reason to wield his particular brand of discipline. She sat next to him, hoping the sight of the nursing child might prove more soothing. When that appeared to be going nowhere, she rose and moved into the Dining Room, aware that the ellyn followed. Thaladir finished his meal, and she offered the child to her meldir so that she could reassemble her clothing. Hopefully his cheerful little greeting of “Adar!” and the adoring hug he gave Thanadir would have more fairy dust in it than what the rest of them could offer.

 

Lorna, meanwhile, still felt the need to sing her own doom, because.. _.because. _ She could throw enough of a hard-rock growl into her voice to carry off the next lyrics, at least, even as she tossed more toast into the skillet.

 

_ “When the priest comes to read me the last rights _

_ I take a look through the bars at the last sights, _

_ of a world that has gone very wrong for me. _ ”

 

Ratiri, sleepy, wondered why the hell his wife was singing a song about impending death at this hour, and decided he didn’t want to know. Not until he’d had tea. Hopefully it would also explain why Saoirse refused to come out of the bathroom. He collected tea, kissed her cheek, and joined the others at the table. Looking around at them, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “What’s wrong with you lot?” he asked, though he really wasn’t sure he was awake enough to hear the answer.

 

“Somebody heard himself be called a precious cinnamon roll,” Earlene murmured. “And that’s all I have to say about that.” With considerable determination, she continued sipping her tea.

 

Ratiri, unfortunately, had just sipped his, and promptly choked on it, liquid that was far too hot shooting right out of his nose. “Oh  _ no _ ,” he managed, before the coughing took over.

 

“Hm. Doesn’t Saoirse start her instruction with you today for physical fitness, meldir?”

 

“Yes,” he answered. And the look on his face was frankly terrifying. As badly as Earlene wanted to say something, she had her own hide to consider. She very much wished to not spend the entire evening in pain and covered in bruises; today was jumping from tree to tree and she was both elated and terrified.

 

Ratiri pinched the bridge of his nose, eventually coughing up the rest of his tea. “Thanadir, I’m just going to ask the same thing of you I will ask of Lorna: no major property damage, no fatalities, and please, no fires.” This...would not end well. He had every certainty that Thanadir could be the most devious creature in this entire forest, but Lorna was...Lorna. She’d give him a run for his money, and the rest of them could only hope nothing burned down.

 

Thanadir replied somewhat archly, “I do not believe I am the one with whom you need concern yourself,” he said with immeasurable dignity and a measured gaze. Next to him, Earlene’s eyes widened and she looked at Ratiri, trying to very carefully shake her head No without actually moving it. 

 

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Ratiri sighed. “I’ll talk with Lorna later.” This...was not going to end well. For anyone. At all.

 

Earlene ate her French toast quietly, trying to shift her mind to how she might prepare for later. She wanted to be relaxed, and limber. But not too tired. Perhaps plenty of yoga, and then a very light lunch.

 

Lorna brought the rest of it out, along with more butter and syrup. If this wasn’t going to end well, at least she wasn’t going to run away from it. Thanadir was a precious cinnamon roll, and if she could put up with being a doll, he could let her think he was pure and too good for the world. Because he was, god dammit. “All right, you lot, eat up,” she said. “Though save some for Pat, whenever he decides to shift his arse downstairs.”

 

*****

 

Pat did not shift his arse downstairs, so Lorna took him some French toast and tea. She was not surprised that he looked a bit like hell, though she wondered if he’d slept last night. Purple smudges lurked beneath his eyes, which were so bloodshot she suspected he’d had a drink or five.

 

“Don’t you look like hell,” she said, setting his plate (covered with another plate, upside-down, to keep it warm) on the coffee-table. “Eat some carbs, you’ll feel better.” She didn’t open the curtains all the way, but enough so that it didn’t look like an opium den.

 

“How’d it go?” he asked, squinting a little.

 

“Eat your fucking breakfast and I’ll tell you,” she said firmly. “I mean it, Pat. Eat.”

 

He uncovered the toast and dutifully took a bite, and only then did Lorna speak.

 

“It went well,” she said. “Thranduil healed Grania, but I told her I wasn’t really going to tell her how until she went to the doctor and had it confirmed that she  _ was  _ healed. Lorna the Younger...we finally,  _ finally  _ found somebody who recognized Thranduil, even if she did think he was some kind’v lookalike at first. I’m still not sure she actually believed me when I said he was the real thing, but she’ll find out soon enough. Here,” she added, taking out her mobile. “I got all the green-eyed kids in one shot, her included.”

 

On her phone was a picture of Lorna the Younger seated in a chair in front of the fireplace, a twin standing at each side of her, Thaladir on her lap. Looking at that photo -- all photos of the girl -- was still unnerving, because it was like having a twin, just one who was over twenty years younger.

 

Pat took the mobile, looking at the snap, and even in the dim light, Lorna could see the glint of tears on his cheeks. “I fucked up with her, Fun Size,” he whispered. “I fucked up so bad. I ruined her mam’s life and hers.”

 

Lorna sat beside him, wrapping him in a hug. “I don't know that you ruined her life,” she said. “Sharley had a look at them. Said they’d been poor, but happy. They love each other. Grania’s biggest reason for coming out to meet us all was that she was dying, and she wanted her daughter to still have family after she was gone.” She wasn’t going to tell him the woman had been so ill it had wiped Thranduil right out.

 

“No thanks to me,” he said, shutting his eyes and handing the phone back.

 

“Not thanks to you as you were then, no,” Lorna said, tucking it back into her pocket. “You’re not who you once were. I was a drug-addicted loser too, Pat. I fucked up plenty in my time, but people change. We both have. No, I’ll admit, neither wants to see you yet, but there’s a lot’v years for that to change. This is just...baby steps. What’ll really get it started is once Grania gets those test results, and realizes I’m not totally full’v shit.”

 

He looked at her, and Jesus wasn’t that heartbreaking. She knew all too well what it was like to have to live with the consequences of your own fuck-ups: it was bitterness without relent, because all you could do was sit there and kick yourself, and give anything to be able to go back in time and change it. She knew it, and she knew that it was no way to live -- but try telling that to anyone stuck in the throes of it.

 

“I’m serious, Pat,” she said. “Eat your fucking breakfast, and then let’s take a walk. It’s a nice day, and you don’t look like your morning-after’s  _ too  _ bad. If it is, put on some sunglasses.”

 

That drew a smile from him, albeit a brief one. “It’s not too bad,” he said, and she knew he’d say that even if his head was splitting open.

 

“Is it  _ really  _ not too bad, or do I need to sling you over my shoulder and drag you down to Thranduil?”

 

He grimaced. “Please don’t. I don’t have much dignity, but I’d like to think I have a little.”

 

“Oh, please,” Lorna said, snorting. “We’re Donovans. We don’t have dignity. But if you eat that up and drink your tea, I’ll drag you outside and you can look at pretty things instead. The trees’re bloody lovely -- I should take more pictures anyway.”

 

“You aren’t going to sit here and let me wallow, are you?” Pat asked her, slightly despairingly.

 

“Not a chance. You remember what I was like as a kid -- you do what I tell you or there will be duct tape involved.”

 

He actually shuddered. There had been an incident when they were children involving duct tape and arm hair. It hadn’t been pretty. It certainly hadn’t been painless. “Fine, fine, but don’t rush me.”

 

“Every bite, Pat,” she said. “All’v it. And your tea.  _ Then  _ we’ll walk.”

 

_ God bloody help me,  _ he thought, but he no longer felt like utter shite.

 

*****

 

“You did very well, Earlene,” Thanadir praised as she dropped from the last tree branch. He helped steady her, because at the current rate her legs were going to gelatinize imminently. 

 

“Thank you, Hîr vuin,” she said, trying to catch her breath. Flushed but happy, she felt vaguely triumphant. Earlene only thought she had been physically fit before. What she was achieving now, with the elves’ help...did an Olympic athlete feel this good? They didn’t have someone to help them with every injury, like she did. A bruise or a scrape (and sometimes slightly worse) only had to last as long as the return to Thranduil, and then she could be right back at it with impunity. Not that she abused it or was ever deliberately careless, but it did afford her a certain freedom to give it her best without constant worry of injury.

 

“Would you come have a drink with me, in town?” she asked. “I would very much like to have a long walk to...unwind from this, and would enjoy your company.”

 

Apparently this was the right thing to say, because he nodded his assent, offering his arm as always. To fill the time until they left the forest, she asked him questions about her technique or whatever related topic came to mind, until finally they were past the borders of the forest. “Now why did you really want to come here?” he asked, with a smile in her direction.

 

“Please tell me it wasn’t really that obvious,” she responded, groaning.

 

“Not to anyone but me, perhaps,” he responded truthfully. “I have seen lately that you have been quiet at odd times, as if you are reflecting on something. I reasoned that if I was correct, sooner or later you might seek me out.”

 

“Very observant,” she grinned, her face quickly lapsing back into seriousness. “But if you deduced that much, you likely deduced a little more.” Earlene gazed at him expectantly, knowing that she need not mind the path ahead. On his arm, he would not allow her to stumble.

 

“This is either about Thranduil or you do not wish him to know. I will confess that this aspect makes me nervous, but you have earned my trust and therefore have the benefit of the doubt, as I believe humans say.”

 

“Yes. Thanadir, something is….wrong with him. Or at least, I believe there is. Or may be. I wanted to talk to you because I too am nervous. I see what I see, but you have known him for thousands of years and have an insight I cannot match.”   
  


“Wrong? What do you mean?”

 

With a huge sigh, Earlene began to carefully outline her impressions, and why she had them. Freely admitting to him that her observations were as much intuitive as evidentiary, she talked at length. Once they reached the pub and ordered, she continued in Sindarin. It was doubtful that any of the villagers were fluent at this point, and she did not want her words overheard. The seneschal listened carefully, and when Earlene was done, they remained silent for a time while he pondered.

 

“It began when Sharley came, I think.” Thanadir finally broke the silence. “I have seen some, of what you say. But I also admit I have been so focused on Thaladir since his birth....”

 

“I understand,” Earlene said. “Were it not for your involvement with Thaladir, I am not certain I would have had the...brain space, to be noticing this. It is just that...I feel like the ellon I knew a year ago is not the ellon here now. It is as if ever so gradually, he is stepping back. Fading away a little tiny bit at a time, as more is asked of him for so many other people and….I don’t even know how to say it exactly. Meldir, mostly what I want from you is to pay closer attention. I spend hours arguing with myself in a manner that hides my thoughts from him about whether I am even actually seeing something. I am trying my best, to love and care for him and lift his spirits. But last night, something he said felt like the last straw.”

 

“What was it?”

 

“I was…” she looked away, blushing just a little, “I was giving my husband pleasure, when he asked what he had done to deserve this.  _ Deserve this? _ He is my mate, my King, my Lord. He deserves the best I can give because he exists and breathes, Thanadir. The Thranduil I know thinks enough of himself to understand that. But this one seems to be disconnecting from that understanding. I feel like he is a barrel of wine, and the tap is leaking one drop at a time. Ever so slowly, he is being...used up, somehow. Oh meldir, for all my ability with words and intelligence, I feel like I can barely explain. Please, will you try to pay attention? Tell me if I am imagining all of this?”

 

Thanadir nodded, his visage now troubled. He remembered the time Thranduil had begged him for sleep, after Sharley had one of her visions...and Earlene had as well, that same night. It would be foolish, to dismiss that they were being moved along by forces greater than themselves. If nothing else, he knew that Earlene truly loved their King, and that she had insight greater than his own. But he also knew Thranduil, and he most definitely could watch. And listen.

 

“Come, meldis. If we leave now, we will not make the others’ dinner late.” They both drained their glasses, waved good-bye at a phlegmatic John, and returned to Eldamar.

 

*****

 

Earlene pulled up the covers, glad to be in bed after so much exercise today. She laid down and relaxed for a moment, trying to will some of the soreness from her muscles and joints. It was a rare warm night, with a gentle breeze; perhaps the last one of the season. The weather forecast was for a cooling trend, beginning tomorrow. It was the last night for many months they would enjoy the gentle movement of air through their large room.

 

“I am surprised Thanadir did not tend to you,” Thranduil smiled at her, as he disrobed for bed, the sight as breathtaking now as ever.

 

“There was not time,” she said with mild evasion. “I wanted to go to the pub for a drink, which sort of ruined the opportunity for fussing over me. Besides, he does more than enough.”

 

“He does not tire of it, I doubt I need tell you that.”

 

“No. He does not,” she said, smiling, her heart warming merely at the thought of her meldir.

 

Thranduil regarded her. “You love him very much,” he said. It was not a question.

 

Earlene nodded, but also felt herself tensing. In the human world, that sort of statement would usually be the prelude to a spectacular marital argument.

 

Thranduil laughed. “Meluieg, no. It would be rather hypocritical of me, to have insisted on your relationship with him and then be angry that it came to fruition, would it not?”

 

“True,” she agreed. “Please do not take this the wrong way, but among humans, stranger things have happened-- hypocrisy and all--and nothing good has come of it. Whatever one would call...what it is we have with him...there is nothing like it outside of these walls, in the world at large. And if there somehow is, I pity the people involved. Humans fear and are intolerant of that which differs from what is usual. Surely, you can see some of that by now. The idea that we have all at times shared the same bed for sleeping, shared a child, that we show each other affection as we do...even I know it is not usual.”   
  


“Why?” he asked, suddenly intrigued. “What is so potentially disastrous about it?”

 

“Well, mostly sex, I suppose, but jealousy would be a close second. Were we all human, without whatever this elven mechanism is that binds us to each other, it would be nearly inconceivable that we would not share sexual intimacy with him. We would all share physical love, in some or all of the ways that is possible. But then another kind of problem can arise. If one of us in this hypothetical situation believed they were loved less, and felt slighted or insecure on account of it, there would be jealousy and all that goes with it. Humans are fearful beings, in so many ways. We want love, and yet once we have it we fear to lose it. We guard it, we hoard it. I think I hardly need remind you, about what happened with Ratiri, toward you; that was just one example of how jealousy can manifest. This does not happen with you and I, but…”

 

“But what?” Thranduil found himself completely absorbed in what he was hearing, as he snuggled next to her and began to rub at her sore shoulders. 

 

“Mmmmm, so nice….”Earlene murmured, before recalling that she was speaking about something. “Um, but….how am I supposed to concentrate when you do that?” she laughed. “ _ But _ part of me wonders, even were we all human, if Thanadir would want that. Want intimacy. He seems to be wired to not seek physical love. Affection and loyalty and companionship and children, yes. A female or male with whom to have sex? I do not think so; it is my intuition that were all your cultural rules, and the laws of Eru and the Valar removed from our situation, that Thanadir simply would not express sexual desire.”

 

Thranduil considered this. “Though I personally cannot comprehend it, you may very well be right. Who knows, sometimes I feel as though maybe I received all of what should have been divided between us equally,” he joked. “I seem to want it as much as he does not.”

 

“I accept him and love him as he is. Were he to find someone, an elleth…” she shook her head. “I would have no right to say a word about it, but somehow I think my heart would break. I am not sure what this says about me.”

 

“I think I do,” Thranduil said as he propped his head against his hand. “It says that you have given him your heart. You are as wed to him as I am. As you and I are to each other. It has taken me time to arrive at this, Earlene, but I do not believe that you and I are ‘married and then there is Thanadir’. At least from the place of our spirits, we are all simply entwined together. He will never leave you, just as he will never leave me.”

 

Earlene digested this rather weird thought that disturbed because it was so obviously true. “But you have never desired him physically, have you? Can that even happen, among elves? To want another of the same gender?”

 

“Not in the way you are asking, no. Not for sexual gratification. I am not capable of desiring his body as I do yours. If there ever was an elf such as this, certainly it never reached my ears. But Thanadir was everything to me, Earlene. His arms held me when I had been beaten. His wisdom guided me, when I would have preferred to act out foolishly. His strength showed me how to find my own, when I could not or did not know how. It is true that for countless centuries there was a kind of distance between us; the distance of my station and his, and the demands of duty. But our love...that always existed, somewhere just under the surface. There has never been doubt, of our loyalty to each other. And then I claimed you, and against all expectation you worked your way into his heart just as deeply. Do you remember what I told you about him, in the beginning?”

 

She nodded. “You said that he might become my friend, but that he lived to care for anything you cherish.”

 

“I was wrong. He has become more than your friend, because he lives to cherish you just as he does me.”

 

Her fingers reached up to trace through his flaxen hair. “I want to argue with you, beloved, but I find that I cannot.” A frown creased her brow. “These are new thoughts. I believe they are going to take awhile to settle.”

 

Thranduil continued to rub her sore spots. “What about you? Were you not sealed to me, were your inclinations not overruled by our bond, do you think you would desire him?”

 

“Huh. Ummm….” she snorted lightly. “This is not a conversation I ever expected to be having, somehow. I don’t do so well with ‘what if’ scenarios, because they are really not rooted in logic...but if I were to think of it as, had I met him first, would I have found him desirable? The answer is Yes. Definitely. Could he have seduced me if he tried, in some other universe? Yes. Thanadir….he is the purest beauty, to me. The loveliness of his spirit pours out of him, though I doubt he can see it. You are a little like a marble statue, one kind of a work of art. You have a raw power of physical attraction; a perfection of visible strength and strong expression of masculinity. You drew me in with a projection of confidence and power and sheer sexual appeal.  But Thanadir is a different kind of art; he is the stained glass window of dozens of jeweled colors, radiating light and beauty to those who will raise their eyes to see it.”

 

“To hear you talk echoes my heart, meluieg. It almost makes me want to get him a ring and speak my vows to him,” he teased.

 

“You don’t have to,” Earlene said, her voice dropping in earnestness. “He wears my father’s wedding ring. He does not know the peace it brings to my heart, to see it there. Thank Eru he is not here to hear this; I fear our conversation would scandalize him. Seeing him happy, that is all I want. Maybe that is love, when you will stop at nothing to see your beloved joyful. Though, I do not know what more I could give him.”

 

“He loves children.”

 

“Yes. Thaladir has brought him great joy, and my heart gave it willingly.”   
  
“Well, you said you wished for more children. Do you still?”   
  
“I do. But I fear I am going to kill the poor ellon; he does not sleep enough as it is.”

 

“Earlene, he wants nothing more. As do I,” he added softly

 

“Then by this time next year, let me conceive again.” She stretched, cracking her toes. “This discussion was strange, but I am glad of it. Do you think we should talk to him?”

 

Thranduil swatted her gently with a pillow. “I rather think we should allow him his seemliness. We are probably a bad influence.”

 

“We are not unseemly,” she objected. “We are peculiar. There is a difference.”

 

“I suppose. But I still have too much respect for my gwador to offend his sensibilities.”

 

“That much, I understand. I revere him second only to loving him.”

 

“Good, then we agree. Now turn over, so I can rub your back properly.”

 

“Yes, my King.”

 

“You are incorrigible, Earlene.”

 

“Mmmmmmm.” 

 

Outside, Thanadir stood on the deck, rocking Thaladir. His face was streaked with tears. He had not meant to eavesdrop; in fact he had been about to knock at their open door when their conversation reached his ears. And then he found, he could not move. This was more than he could ever have….he needed to think. Bringing his son back to bed, he tucked the sweet little child into the crook of his arm while he reflected on all he had heard.

  
  


*****

 

Lorna spent the evening after dinner in her flat, petting kittens and waiting for her mobile to ring. At a little after seven, it did, with the number she’d plugged into her phone as Grania.

 

“Hello?” she said, when she answered it.

 

Grania did not immediately respond; when she did, her voice trembled. “You were right,” she said. “God help me, you were right. The doctor ran the tests twice, because she couldn’t believe what she’d found. I told her it was a miracle, but...it wasn’t, was it? Not in the way I’m thinking?” The poor woman sounded shell-shocked.

 

“Yes,” Lorna said gently. “Thranduil’s an elf. So is Thanadir. There’s a load’v them here, where we live. He can heal practically anything short’v actual death, though sometimes he can’t do it alone.”

 

“How?”

 

She grimaced. “You’re not going to like the answer,” she said. “I didn’t, because it’s vague and sounds like shite, but it’s just magic. Some kind’v elf-magic. And that word pretty much explains everything about them, really, for all it doesn’t sound like it explains anything at all.”

 

There came an audible swallow. “Can we meet with you again?”

 

“Of course you can,” Lorna said. “We’re bloody family. We can meet again in Baile, and I can show you my cottage there. You two can move into it, if you’d like -- get out’v Dublin and somewhere healthier. Doing that did a world’v good for me, when I was younger.”

 

“Where d’you live?”

 

“With the elves. I’ll bring you here sometime, too, but I’ve got to boot Pat out for the evening. He understands that you’ll not be wanting to see him.”

 

This brought a harsh breath. “Is that going to be a problem for you, given he’s your brother and all?”

 

“No,” Lorna said gently. “I love my brother, but I know what he was. He’s been honest with me about how badly he fucked up with you two, and neither’v us would ever ask you to deal with him if you don’t want to. I know that...some hurts don’t heal.” She prayed, oh so much, that this would not entirely be one of them. Things were going to get very, very awkward if Grania and Lorna the Younger couldn’t even stand the sight of him; they needed to at least be able to tolerate sharing the same space.

 

“You promise?”

 

“I promise,” she said. “You won’t see hide nor hair’v him if you don’t want to. Just because he’s my brother doesn’t mean I’m blind to his past, nor that I’ll try to defend it. He’s said himself there’s no excuse for what he did, and I won’t go making up any.”

 

“Good.” Lorna recognized the quiet anger in Grania’s tone -- it was rage that was born out of hurt. The woman had never married, so far as Orla had been able to discover, and Lorna wondered if she’d had much in the way of boyfriends after Pat. Her own private theory had been that Grania had washed her hands of Pat in disgust, but if it was the other way -- if he’d abandoned her when she still loved him, in spite of it all -- that could be even worse. Simple scorn could theoretically be mitigated and worked with. The more complex kind, that spawned by pain...Jesus. That could be another story entirely. “At least he’s learned  _ something _ in the past twelve years.”

 

Twelve years...there hadn’t been much time at all between Grania and Maire, had there?  _ Oh, Pat, you idiot. _ Well, at least he had in fact learned. She debated pointing out that he’d learned more than that, but she knew the woman was not going to want to hear it. Not yet. What she said instead was, “Well, he’s not  _ completely  _ stupid. Just mostly.”  _ Sorry, Pat.  _ She was pretty sure he’d understand, though.

 

That actually drew a soft laugh from Grania. “All right,” she said. “Can we meet tomorrow? Is that too short’v notice?”

 

“Not at all,” Lorna said. “I’ll see you at Jamie’s.”

 

They bade farewells, and she hung up. This could get so much stickier than she’d anticipated, but it wasn’t like anything had to be rushed. Nineteen years was plenty of time to work out...well, something. Something they could all live with, if nothing else. At this point, they would all take what they could get.

  
  
  
  
  



	90. Ninety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sept. 29-Nov 21, 2018

 

Lorna had to have Ratiri drive her to Baile the next day, which was perfectly fine by him; he’d drop by to see Indira, and meet up with her, Grania, and Lorna the Younger later on. The day was crisp and clear for now, and she hoped it stayed that way; rain on the roof of a car remained a no-go for her. Even without it, tension still lingered -- it just wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it had been at first.

 

“Are you going to tell them about the end of the world?” he asked.

 

“As much as I don’t want to, I feel like maybe I’ve got to,” she said. “It’s so hard to know, given I don’t know them at all -- will they be ready to hear it, or will it scare them off? Accepting elves and magic is a pretty tall order in and of itself. Taking in that  _ and  _ the fact that the world as we know it has an expiration date? It might be too early for that. I’ll have to try to read them a little more, before I make a decision on that.” While she did not at all envy Thranduil his gift, there were times that she had to admit it would be useful. Her own thoroughly non-magical ability was not infallible; sure, she could read people well probably 95% of the time whether she wanted to or not, but there was always that 5% that proved her wrong. The fact that Lorna the Younger looked so disturbingly like her could well throw that off, too. Why the hell did all the Donovans look so similar? Even Chandra, the pale, flaming ginger, was shaping up to have her mother’s facial features, and though Shane’s skin tone was somewhere between his mother’s and his father’s, his face, too, was just like Lorna’s. If it had just been her, Pat, and their two siblings, it would have been weird, sure, but that both of Pat’s daughters were essentially clones of his sister, and that Lorna’s own children looked so much like her, even when in Chandra’s case she also kind of didn’t...the Donovan gene game must indeed be very strong.

 

What must that have been like, for Grania? Her daughter didn’t share so much as a single feature with her. If she had in fact still loved Pat when everything went to shit, looking at Lorna the Younger must have been bloody painful at times.

 

“Don’t rush it,” Ratiri said. “We’ve got time, and if you don’t think they’re ready for it yet, it’s probably best to err on the side of caution.”

 

“No kidding,” Lorna muttered. “I’ll play it by ear. Finding out there’s so much family neither one’v them might’ve expected...it might take some getting used to.” She even knew, to an extent, what that felt like; she hadn’t known Mairead or her gran had even existed before her accident, but at least she’d had siblings, and then the gang. She hadn’t ever been as alone as Grania and Lorna the Younger. This had to be handled with care.

 

When they reached Baile, Ratiri dropped her off at Jamie’s. The two were already there, fortunately  _ not  _ being mobbed by curious villagers; even the few daytime regulars were leaving them alone.

 

Grania already looked so much better. Hell, she’d seemed better even by the end of last evening, but now -- she was still too thin, but her complexion was hale and healthy, entirely lacking the grey tinge it had held when they’d met. No longer were there dark smudges beneath her eyes, any more than there was any trace of pain lingering within them. Her expression had lost the pinched look Lorna herself had seen all too often in people with chronic pain. It probably wouldn’t be too long before she had enough hair to get rid of the wig -- especially if Mairead could teach her to style short growth into something cute.

 

Lorna the Younger looked rather better as well. There had been a rather understandable wariness to her the night before, but it had eased a great deal -- she didn’t seem ready to fully trust yet, but that was just being intelligent. And Jesus, was seeing her ever  _ not  _ going to be creepy? They really were as identical as bloody twins, and she couldn’t help but wonder what Donovan ancestor had introduced such strong genes. It had not, from the one picture she’d seen of the original Aidan Donovan, been him. (Someday, oh she hoped, she could at least get these two and Pat acting cordial enough to bring Saoirse along somewhere, just to watch people double-take.)

 

“You know, it’s funny,” Grania said, “part’v me actually wanted you to be wrong, last night. I mean, that’s insane, wanting to still have cancer rather than a miracle cure, isn’t it?”

 

“I’m not so sure that it is,” Lorna said. “When I first heard about Thranduil, what he was and what he did, I called total bullshit. I didn’t want to believe. Then I accidentally gave Earlene alcohol poisoning and watched him fix it. It was the most amazing, and most fucking terrifying, thing I’d ever seen in my life.”

 

Lorna the Younger blinked at her. “He really is Thranduil, isn’t he? The elf king from the movies?”

 

“Don’t ask me how in fucking hell that even worked, but yes, he is,” Lorna said, flagging Michael down as he passed with a stack of empty napkin trays. “Can we get a few toasties? It’s a bit’v a walk to the cottage, you two might want some.”

 

The pair nodded, and off Michael went. “We’ve been trying to work out ever since we met the elves how the hell Tolkien knew all’ve it, because apparently all those books -- and there are actually a lot’v them -- are pretty much accurate. Prevailing theory’s that some lingering elf must’v met the man, and told him all they knew, except so far as we know, the only elves left in this world are in the forest. It’s a question that’ll give you a headache in a hurry, if you try to answer it.”

 

The girl’s brows drew together. “You mean you just...let it go, like that? Don’t wonder why?”

 

“Pretty much. It’ll do your head in if you give it too much brain power.”

 

Grania shook her head. “How did you give Earlene alcohol poisoning? Were you giving her poitín?”

 

Lorna grimaced. “No, I gave her beer,” she said. “But it’s Big Jamie’s and my home brew, and I didn’t realize beer in America’s pretty much literal piss. She drank too much, too fast, thinking it was like what they had over there, and I thought I’d killed her until Thranduil...did his thing.”

 

“How do you even get used to something like that?” the girl asked.

 

“Honestly? I haven’t. Not yet. I’m not sure it’s something you actually get used to.” And Lorna would rather it stayed that way. Some things shouldn’t be taken for granted, ever. “Look, why don’t you two come out to where we live -- the elves and my family and all that. There’s plenty to tell you over dinner.” Pat would just have to make himself scarce for a night -- take Saoirse on a trip or something.

 

“This is going to get even weirder than I thought, isn’t it,” Lorna the Younger said, and there was no query in her tone.

 

“Unfortunately, yes. But there’s some good to go along with it, too.”

 

*****

 

“Oi! We’re calling the meeting to order at 6:15pm, October 7th. But not if you lot won’t shut it, so bloody shut it.”

 

Thanadir looked at Earlene in wide-eyed horror, staring at his parchment and wondering how he was supposed to translate that. Shane outright burst into laughter. Well, it was Roberts’ Rules of Order, alright. Even if Robert, whoever he was, was rolling in his grave.

 

Thranduil was doing his best not to smile.

 

“Did everyone read the last minutes from the last meeting like you were supposed to, and do we approve the bloody things?” Lorna was so clearly not happy. Noooot happy. She’d been desperately hoping this wouldn’t get dumped on her yet -- or preferably, never -- but oh well. Nothing for it. 

 

Orla cleared her throat. “Says here we bought land in Baile. Pretty sure that’s a typo, since all we’ve ever talked about was buying land outside Lasg’len,” she pointed out.

 

Fuck. No one told her what to do if something was wrong. Granted, with this lot, she should’ve expected it, but still. “Niamh. Fix it?” she glared. 

 

Blushing at the obvious error, her redheaded friend nodded. Next was supposed to be treasurer’s report. Why was she so pants at everything? It sounded so easy when the others did it. Treasurer. Who in fuck? Jack cleared his throat, reminding her who had that assignment. He had a disturbing sheaf of papers on top of an equally disturbing binder in front of him. 

 

_ Lorna, Jack is waiting for you to call for his report _ , Thranduil encouraged. 

 

_ Right. Thanks.  _ “Jack, have you got your financial report?” She almost, almost said ‘financial report thingy’, but held back at the last moment. It involved numbers. Numbers, once you got past multiplication, were not her friend.

 

Jack nodded gratefully. “So here’s the thing. You’ve all got copies of what I’m looking at, here. It shows expenditures out for the things we’ve been buying, and also the sale price of the fifty hectare parcel old man O’Connor is willing to sell right across from the border of the forest. In my opinion it’s priced too high per acre, but you said it had to be that location, and that we weren’t so concerned about some thousands of Euros.” He winced, saying it. The idea that anyone could not be concerned about sums of money followed by three or more zeroes still did not want to compute, but this was what Thranduil had instructed him was the case. “So basically, you can bloody well see for yourselves that money going out is one hellva lot and money coming in is nil. All the expenditures have been itemized and….questions?”

 

Nobody seemed to have any, so Jack sat down, mildly relieved. 

 

“No action required, then,” Lorna said, pretty relieved herself. “Not on that thing, anyway. So what’s our first agenda item?” She knew Earlene had had ideas, so it was Earlene she looked at, and was entirely damn happy to cede the stage, or floor, or...whatever. Christ this was a nightmare.

 

“Thank you,” Earlene said. She stood, to distribute printouts to everyone. As much as she hated wasting the paper, it was just easier for people to have something to hold in their hands; ‘paperless’ was not a concept most people over age thirty embraced. “The idea I want to submit for consideration affects a number of things already discussed and worked toward, as well as something that Jack just mentioned. Nil coming in, lots going out. So.”

 

With a pause, she glanced at her husband and hoped she was not about to be in tremendous hot water, because she probably should have discussed this at length with him. And yet something about that struck her as a form of collusion. The point of these meetings was to not be locked into factions but to work together, to cooperate. The worst that could come of it, though, is that he could resoundingly say No and then that would be that.

 

“We have already talked at length about the necessity to have food production underway long before the plague comes. Because it will do us no good to try to cobble together a workable system and find out the problems  _ after _ we have no other means of recourse. And yet, it is more than a little peculiar, to develop a fully functioning food production system that we do not need and cannot use easily. If we grow diversified crops and attempt to sell them according to current market rules, we will be in a morass of legal and documentation requirements, permits, certificates, on and on. And yet if we do not pursue this, then we are faced with consuming thousands of pounds of food at a time when even if all of us came regularly to help ourselves, would exceed the needs of the elves, Lasg’len and Baile combined. Not to mention, this not only includes food raised in the earth; there has to be livestock as well. Breeds of sheep, goats, horses, cattle and poultry that will be suited to the realities of life...after. You don’t just go shopping at the local market for those; it will take time to find and purchase them, not to mention breed them into meaningful numbers of animals.”

 

Thranduil watched his wife, not certain if he should be impressed or mildly annoyed. Still her thoughts were veiled, but as he was currently in a very good mood, he continued to listen.

 

“So my idea is this. We create a non-profit foundation, a charity, as an outlet for all the surplus food. For women and children, or lower-income people or seniors...honestly I don’t care as long as it more or less goes to those without enough food. There are food banks that could and would take receipt of it. If asked why, we can say that we have the means and the desire to do good; philanthropy exists in the world, and no one need know we have other motives. Our non-profit status means our activities will not be taxed and our purchases may be deductible, saving ourselves several orders of headache compared to being for-profit farmers. 

 

“And there is another thing. I did not realize that underneath these Halls, are Halls. Vast spaces obviously intended for the housing of horses or other animals, all now vacant. And that that area is so massive that it runs in a tunnel to the edge of the forest. We will not need to build extensive housing for animals over time as we are able to acquire more land; we already have it. How else we are supposed to manage to acquire and train things like horses and cattle for field work and transportation and numerous other factors, I do not know. This of course rests on the permission of Thranduil to allow these spaces to be returned to use. This proposal is a huge undertaking and would require heavy input from the Baile faction, as they are the ones already farming. But we already concluded, what land we use for this has to be near the forest; once we are reliant on feet, bicycles and horses, land an hour away by car does us no good whatsoever. That’s an outline of my idea, anyway.”

 

Earlene plunked down, her face unreadable, but her thoughts had increasing trepidation. 

 

_ I am not angry, Earlene. In fact, I am intrigued. Quite honestly, all of what is down there slipped my mind; when the last of the horses passed on, it seemed that it belonged to another age and in my mind, I banished it to forgotten history. We will speak more later. _

 

She reached her hand to him under the table, giving his leg a grateful squeeze of affection. Now to see what in hell anyone else thought of it.

 

“That’s a really bloody good idea,” Niamh said. “I can set that up fairly easily, I think.”

 

“Building up breeding stock’ll take time,” Mairead said, “but we’ve got time. If we want to expand crops, though, we’ll need to buy some farm equipment. Most’v the farmers in Baile aren’t what you’d call large-scale growers. We need...Christ, what’s it called, Jack? A slush fund?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Okay then. How about we have all the farmers in Baile get together and brainstorm over this? We can consolidate what sounds good and separate it from the shite, and bring it up at the next meeting. Village was self-sufficient, once upon a time; the oldest of the pensioners still remember that. No reason we can’t do it again,” she said.

 

“Sheep,” Big Jamie added. “Food  _ and  _ wool, since there’ll come a time there won’t be any more cloth from the outside. I know the elves’ve probably got all sorts’v beautiful things, but what’ll wind up needed for everyday life is something sturdy, like wool. Field clothes.”

 

Lorna thought, highly irrelevantly, of her children,  _ baaaa’ing  _ like Shaun the Sheep, and smothered a laugh.  _ Not the time _ .

 

“There is more,” Earlene said. “There are rooms full of harnesses and tack. All kinds of things that I am reasonably certain are meant for animals to pull wagons or implements. Another part of this is that… I know that farming with draft animals is nearly a lost skill. There were people interested in going back to it, in the states, about ten years or so before I left. Gran knew a little about it, but by the time I came along they were long past mucking around with that kind of hard work and had bought a tractor. I am guessing that we need to un-lose that skill, before it is too late. It’s hard work, and...yeah. But we have a better start on it compared to many; though we are going to have to have a core of people that can actually get enthusiastic about this, and it would be best of all if they were twenty right now. Because that’s not asking much,” she concluded softly.

 

Mairead and Big Jamie both winced. Even the oldest of the pensioners had been pretty young when farming started switching over to machinery, which had been around the 1960’s. While they would have seen it done with draft animals, they probably didn’t have much actual experience, and that was a long time ago. “Christ, that’ll be a trick, but we’ll muddle through,” she said.

 

“What’s being used here already, to grind flour?” Lorna asked. “There must be some kind’v mill somewhere.” She really doubted the elves used mortar-and-pestle to grind grain of any kind.

 

“Nothing,” said Thanadir. “Our milled grain stores were so vast, and the gifts of our people made it unnecessary. Of course the kitchens have a large hand-cranked mill for managing things like porridge or...what they desire by way of extra flours. But of old the millers lived on the edges of the forest or where the streams ran quickly; we paid and traded for their labor to make our flour.”

 

“That’ll have to change,” Big Jamie said. “We’ve got the unenviable task’v figuring out how to build a mill without a river anywhere nearby. Thank God for Google.”

 

“Isn’t that the truth,” Lorna muttered. “Okay. Well, let’s see if anyone still alive in Baile knows what to do with a mill.” She doubted it, given that there had never, to her knowledge, been one in the village, but it was worth a shot.

 

“Um,” said Earlene without her usual elegance, “I am not sure I should even be saying this aloud, but...there are rivers in this forest that ran higher, once. Much higher. Like, when you come here, the bridge over the sad little stream? I am told that it used to be a rushing river. Why did the rivers change? Is it because of what human activity did upstream? Are there...I don’t know, dams or whatever, that took the water away? Because if that is the case, once they are all dead…” she stopped talking, unable to complete the thought.

 

The lot of them looked at one another. That...was actually vaguely horrifying. “It’d take a damn a while to erode, I’d think,” Geezer said, “but if there was a storm, it’d be easy enough to overflow one, if there was nobody to open the spillways wider, and that might straight-up bust one. Where’s the closest to here?”

 

“Not enough that we’ll flood,” John said. “Thank bloody God. Though if anybody survives in those areas...Jesus.” It wasn’t to be thought of.

 

“I wasn’t thinking of waiting for it to erode,” Earlene said. “Obviously I lack a huge amount of information about this, but...if it’s a question of hoarding explosives and sending out a group on horses to blow a dam when everyone upstream is dead anyway? Or throwing open the spillways? So that we can have the water flowing like it should for washing, milling, even generating electricity? I’m not willing to forego...investigating, at least if it can be managed without being branded a terrorist.” She shook her head. “Can’t even believe I’m saying this.” Rising from her seat, she wrote out a Post-It to add to the board: ‘Rivers’.

 

“Leave that to me,” Orla said. “We won’t have to go anywhere to do that -- can get everything I’d need online.” She sighed. “I’m going to miss computers. I have so bloody much fun with them. Being good at hacking shite’s what gave me enough money to open my construction business.”

 

“That’s something else we need to think about,” Bridie said. “We do sort of need to figure out a way to wean ourselves off all this technology, while at the same time not squandering what time we have left with it. Though how we’re to do that, I don’t know.”

 

“I am not sure I agree,” said Thranduil. “When it is gone, it is gone; there will be no choice. Mobile phones, television, the internet; all of that will vanish regardless. We need to be able to function without it, understand what resources were used before it came to be. We here are all too familiar with that aspect,” he grinned. “As long as we have a...functioning archaic system in place for when it is gone, all will be well. I can tell you that while we have barely known it, we too will miss it. It is truly a marvel of your world.”

 

“That’s just it,” Bridie said. “We need it to not be a shock to the system then, but at the same time, I don’t want to give up my bloody Netflix while it’s still a going concern, so there’s got to be some kind’v balance.  You lot, this is all new to you. You lived tens’v thousands’v years not knowing what electricity was, but for a lot’v us, this has been our entire lives. We can’t just go throwing ourselves back into the nineteenth century with no preparation, but nobody wants to waste what we still have while we’ve still got it. I almost think we need to set up some kind’v...schedule.”

 

“...Actually, that’s a pretty good idea,” Big Jamie said. “We’re already sort’v doing that, at my house, but maybe the villages could get in on it as a whole. Start spending evenings together in a party or something, with just fires and candlelight and all that.”

 

To Lorna, the very notion was strange, because she hadn’t lived someplace with reliable electricity and water until she was twenty-eight years old. She hadn’t had a mobile, or the internet, and yet now she was as addicted to them as anybody else. She wanted to enjoy them while they were still there to be enjoyed, but at the same time...ugh. Shelve that thought for now.

 

Thalion spoke, frowning. “Then why not simply come and stay here? Our people live in this manner all the time, with the exception of the internet access at Earlene’s cottage. And what is at Eldamar.” Everyone knew their King’s new dwelling had modern amenities, and no one begrudged them. In the eyes of the elves, they lacked nothing, and if they wished to enjoy the same niceties, there was the cottage. Much of the time, they could take it or leave it.

 

Mairead looked at Big Jamie, who looked at Indira. “We ought to start living here part-time, at least,” the doctor said. “To gain a better understanding, but we can’t move here permanently yet for several reasons. Many of us are old enough now that we are not so adaptable, and avoiding such a shock to the system is why we can’t give up all modernity at once. Besides that, if the whole village of Baile just emptied, it would draw attention. We’re off the beaten track, but we do still have utilities. Bills must be paid, water meters must be read...things like that. But we should definitely start living here at least part-time.”

 

“You are welcome,” said Thranduil. “Though perhaps we need some manner of notification system so that our kitchens can be prepared to feed larger numbers of you when you stay. Is there...something that could help manage this?” He looked hopefully at Orla.

 

“I can,” she said. “Christ, why don’t we just set a schedule? That way there won’t be any short notice or surprises for anybody.”

 

“We’ll have to sit down with everyone,” Bridie said, “and you lot, you’ll have to do the same in Baile. We can hammer out a system, and then present it to the elves, so that everyone’s agreed and on the same page.”

 

“We can do that,” Big Jamie said. “Might take a week or so, but I’m sure we could have it all settled before the next meeting.”

 

Earlene spoke up again. “Who is going to be in charge of finding the best animals to purchase? I don’t know enough about horses, cattle, sheep. I feel like I’m decent with chickens but that hardly addresses the more important livestock.”

 

“We already have a horse master,” Thalion said. He gestured to Thanadir. 

 

Earlene blushed furiously. She’d had no idea. “Well, that solves that problem,” she said softly. “And the others? Surely we have access to some farmers that understand the need to get back to the older breeds of hoofstock?”

 

“We do,” Mairead said. “There’s still sheep ranchers in Baile even now, and some cattle, though only two -- old Malachai has two ancient heifers that don’t do much but eat and shit, but at least they exist.”

 

“Well, there have to be...breed conservation groups, or something. I’ll add it to the list of things I need to research about this and bring back what I learn for next time.” She lapsed back into silence, wondering how many zillions of things she still did not know about the elf seated across from her, diligently taking notes. That was the problem with quiet people. They were quiet, and did not speak much of themselves.  _ Elf problems _ , she told herself.

 

Much to her chagrin, Thanadir lifted his head to regard her, smiling.  _ Do not worry, meldis. We will speak later _ , she heard in another one of his extraordinarily rare mental fly-bys. 

 

“So, I’ve noticed that after a year and a half, the last couple meetings haven’t had anything really new added to the board,” Ratiri said. “We ought to set about actually acquiring things now, but how? Where do we go from here?”

 

_ Good question _ , thought Earlene.  _ The list was massive. Should they organize it by expense? Difficulty of acquisition? Where it would be stored?  _ Then an idea came to her. “What if I transcribe it into documents now, by category,” she suggested. “Then we all get a copy next time, and maybe one of us has the means by which to get whatever the item is easier than another. Maybe even before that, we should review the items. Just because something is on there, maybe having it is not justified somehow. I’m not sure because I’ve not looked at it either, but some kind of analysis of the task ahead has to start somewhere?” Though she was speaking to the entire room, her eyes found Bridie, for some reason.

 

“I can certainly give that a shot,” the woman said. “I’ll admit, it’s been awhile since I’ve done that sort’v thing, but I'm sure it’d come back to me. And if it doesn't, I’ve got this one here,” she added, lightly elbowing her husband.”

 

“We need language textbooks,” Lorna put in. “Not sure that ever properly made it to the board, but Jamie, can you order some? Good ones? French and Spanish won’t be worth a damn if we don’t have people who can actually speak them fluently.” If it should take a century or so to make contact with anyone from either country, the dialect might well have drifted quite a bit, but even cursory understanding was better than nothing at all.

 

“I can,” he said. “Go ahead and just leave that off the list. I’ll take care’v it.”

 

Earlene could feel the veins in her head pounding.  _ French and goddamn Spanish?  _ Someone from Spain had as good a chance of winding up in what was now Haiti if they hopped into a boat, hoping currents would take them elsewhere, the way the currents ran. There were so, so many reasons that those were the least of their worries, and wasting time to ensure that there were fluent speakers without an existing population of those speakers? And yet she remembered Ratiri’s counsel to her on other matters and hesitated mightily as to the wisdom of speaking up. She need not have bothered, though her rescue came from a surprising source.

 

“Currents don’t bloody run from Spain t’ Ireland,” Shane grumbled. “If anyone ever came, it’d be more chance’v Dane or a German or some Norwegian gone Viking,” he muttered. “I’m not one for wasting some poor lad’s time making sure he can rattle on in Spanish. I’m more in favor of worrying about Irish.”

 

Earlene’s forehead twitched. This could get interesting, rapidly. Thanadir across from her looked vaguely pained.  _ Yes, interesting. _

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Fine, then let’s learn Norwegian or something,” she said. “Though I’ll add some’v the Spanish Armada wrecked on the Irish coast after that fight with Queen Elizabeth, so it’s not like it doesn’t happen. Point is, there’s a hefty chance sooner or later  _ someone  _ will come exploring, even if it’s in a couple hundred years or so, and you think they’re going to speak bloody English? No. Why would they? To them it’s a second language, and it’d be useless once the world ended. But you’ve got a damn good point about Irish. It’s so endangered already.”

 

Mairead drummed her fingers on the table. “Actually,” she said, “that might be a way to kill two birds with one stone. We all need practice living away from all this technology shite -- why don't we start some kind’v...translation evening? Some time at the pub where we all work on something, no tech involved. It’d mean a lot’v us would have to brush up on our Irish into the bargain.” Few in Ireland, unless it was their first language, were truly fluent.  _ Then again _ , she thought sourly,  _ I’ve seen plenty of native  _ English  _ speakers who aren’t what I’d call fluent. _

 

“That’s a grand idea, and a terrible one all at one go,” Big Jamie said. “You know it’ll devolve into an argument sooner or later, but on the other hand, it’d get us used to always being under each other’s feet a little more. And sooner or later some use’d actually come’v it.”

 

Now that...Lorna liked that idea. She liked it a lot. Given that Baile had an expiration date, she really needed to spend some more time there while it was still there to spend time in. One evening a week or so… “Let’s do it,” she said. “If you’ll host it, Jamie, I’d go.”

 

“I know a lot who would,” Mairead said, though she wondered how many would actually stick with it. Certainly not all of them, but if it became a Thing, an entertainment...it was worth a shot.

 

Indira, usually quiet, spoke. “I am sorry Lorna, but no one should learn Norwegian unless they have some personal burning desire to do so. What should happen is that the books of how to learn that, and many other languages, be in our library. We cannot know who or when may ever come here. What we can and need to have are reference works and original writings in Norwegian, Finnish, Danish, German, Belgian...basically every language spoken by a meaningfully sized population in the Western world. And that must include the Classical languages, Greek and Latin. Thanadir has shown me the elves’ library and it does not lack room for additional thousands of volumes. Leave the road open to communication when the need arises. Other than that, it will be like with the elves. We met, somehow a means got worked out to start learning each other’s words, and bit by bit we’re all starting to be able to speak with each other.” After this she clammed up.

 

Lorna didn’t manage to fight an urge to rub her temples. “Neither’v us were hostile parties,” she said, her patience being rather strained. Doc Barry’s idea was a good one, but not good enough. “What if in, say, a hundred and fifty years, some group’v neo-Vikings shows up and we can’t bloody communicate? They might be afraid’v us attacking them, we might be afraid’v them attacking us, and with no way to communicate without reading out’v a dictionary word-by-word, d’you have any idea how easily that could go south? The tools aren’t worth much if you can’t build anything out’v them, but this is giving me a damn headache, so whatever.” She needed to not say anything more, lest she actually lose her temper. “I like your idea, Jamie. I like most’v yours, Doc. They’re starting places.”

 

Earlene definitely was not going to speak up. She could not be more against Lorna’s thinking, but the last thing they needed was another blown-up meeting and a fight.  _ Neo-Vikings showing up? How hard was that, seriously? If they came not brandishing weapons, you did the time honored thing and attempted sign language and figured out their tongue later. _ There were sheets printed that you could literally hand someone, that asked the same question in every language. If they came at you with swords and spears, well, you fucking killed them.  _ Easy peasy _ . Sometimes, this whole thing gave her indigestion. Glancing across the table, she could at least see from the hard set of his lips that would be visible only to her and Thranduil that Thanadir agreed with her. It was something. Her gaze drifted to the Post-It board for something else to look at.

 

“I’m thinking that’s it for the evening,” Mairead said, in a tone that said she devoutly hoped so. Perhaps it was unfair of her, but she was always somewhat disbelieving when Lorna  _ didn’t  _ blow up over something -- and somewhat afraid that wouldn’t last long. It really was unfair; Lorna did in fact look like she had a headache, but not like she wanted to murder anyone with a spoon.

 

“Unless anyone has anything else?” Geezer asked, looking around.

 

Nobody spoke, though a few shook their heads. And everyone looked back at Lorna, whose job it was as chairperson to schedule the next meeting date and time, name the next chairperson, and adjourn the meeting.

 

_ Lorna? _ Thranduil reminded.  _ The chairperson duties? _

 

Uh. Right. “Okay, why don’t we set up the meeting for third weekend’v October? Is that good for everyone?” Generally there had to be a little finagling, given everyone’s schedules. “Same time as always?”

 

There were general nods of agreement, and notes were jotted down. “All right, then, let’s adjourn the meeting.” She wanted a drink, and yet this was not something dire enough to actually require one. Dammit. A walk would have to suffice.

 

“Earlene. Thanadir. Thalion. Tolo.” Thranduil rose and departed, in obvious expectation of being obeyed. Unhesitatingly Earlene left her notes and papers where they were, and followed him, as did the ellyn. She wondered where they were going, until his path made it obvious that the stables were his destination. When he pushed the door open, the King exuded a definite air of nostalgia. Thanadir laid his hand on Earlene’s back, guiding her to walk in front of him. 

 

“Did you find the living quarters?” Thranduil asked, speaking to her. She looked quizzically at Thanadir.

 

“I did not think to show her those, my King,” Thanadir answered formally. “I only explained what it was like, here, at the end of the Third Age.”

 

“I see,” he replied. “Thalion, would you lead the way to the first set of rooms?” With a formal nod, the heavily built ellon strode ahead, down the long tunnel. After perhaps a minute’s brisk walk, he turned into an entrance that could easily have been mistaken for the opening to a stall, and took one step up into what she now saw was a living space with minimal privacy. A curtain was held back by a woven rope, that would cover the entrance. Simple yet comfortable beds, large enough for one person, were in “bunk” style against the walls. This space was designed to hold four persons. A table large enough for eating, four chairs, four trunks at the head and foot of each bed.

 

“As you form your plans, meluieg, I lay one command upon you. When animals are housed here, there is no such thing as stabling them and everyone going home for the evening. Of old, there were always caretakers. Grooms, stablehands, workers, call them what you wish. The creatures are never to be left completely alone, not for five minutes. If we keep living beings here, they are minded. Constantly. It will become the obligation of at least two, perhaps many, to live down here. Like as not it will be those chosen to train and work with them. There are many such rooms as you see here. Some are appointed for a wed couple. Others for groups of males or females to share. There are lavatories, washrooms, adjacent. Do you understand?”

 

Earlene felt a little surprised at the tenor of his speech, but then again it was more than deserved for her having bombed this out at the meeting without prior discussion. These were, after all, his stables.

“Yes, my Lord, though…” she stopped herself, thinking better of her question.

 

“Though what?” he asked, before his face softened. “I would like to know, especially if there is a question.”

 

“It is only that you do not have the same requirement for Buttercup and Butterbean and the chickens. So I wondered….Rîniel does not live with the cattle in the barn.”

 

“No, she does not,” Thranduil smiled. “But what you are not considering is that three hours do not go by without one of our patrols passing into or near the barn. Were one of the creatures in pain or difficulty, it would come to our awareness quickly. And also, the loud bellows of a cow would reach to Eldamar; our home is not that far away. Down here, the stone absorbs the sound. A screaming horse could not be heard, in the upper caverns. Until the day the last animal perished before this cavern became deserted, someone remained here to tend it.”

 

“It will be as you require, my Lord.” On some level, Earlene felt very impressed. This was more than she would deem necessary; that he would have this level of regard for animals...nothing in their conversations during their time together would have allowed her to realize this. And yet it was touching. And would cause no end of headaches; she could not wait to have to explain to someone that they would be signing their life away so that the Realm could have cattle and horses.

 

“It will not be that bad,” he chuckled. “One or two of the elves who did this long ago are still unwed, and still would not mind the chance to return, I would guess.”

 

Thalion laughed. “I will warn Beriothien that his days are numbered.” 

 

This brought a smile and a shake of the head to Thandir’s face as well. “That will hardly be a threat,” the seneschal mused.

 

“What is so funny?” asked Earlene, seeing that she lacked information.

 

“Beriothien prefers the company of what goes on four legs, and always has,” Thranduil smiled. “It was a heavy blow to him, the day the last horse could no longer continue.”

 

_ Elves. _ The more she thought she knew, the less she actually did. With a smile and some sense of reassurance that this might actually work out after all, they returned to the upper Halls.

*******

 

_ Is it sad _ , Lorna wondered,  _ how much thought I put into a trip to Dublin now?  _ Once upon a time, she’d just got on her motorcycle and gone, but now there were all sorts of considerations, even when they weren’t bringing the twins.

 

At least Ratiri had offered to drive, so that she and Earlene could get as tipsy as they liked. He and Thanadir were going to some museum or other, while she and Earlene would hit up a pub and have girls’ day. The weather looked likely to be a bit miserable, so she wore her green coat and her boots, hair wound around her head and secured with one of the cat combs Earlene had given her for her birthday. Though she hadn’t needed one in a while, she brought half a Xanax, too, because she’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

 

“You ready to go, mo chroí?” Ratiri asked. He too had worn a sensible coat -- a long, dark wool coat that made him look nice and mysterious and vaguely like one of the Men in Black gone Irish.

 

“I am,” she said, hoisting her satchel. Seriously, how the hell had she gone so long without carrying one? She’d had a stubborn aversion to handbags of any sort, probably born out of Mairead’s nagging insistence that she should carry one. God love her sister, she really was quite good at bothering somebody into do the exact opposite of what she wanted them to. She’d so wanted Shannon to be a teacher, working with children, so of course the girl had gone into research, and worked with no one. At least her sister seemed to have learned. Finally.

 

Earlene appeared, dressed simply and with her ubiquitous backpack style purse, because apparently she didn’t think much of handbags either. A wool hat and Aran cardigan enveloped her, as did her elven cloak that somehow didn’t look kooky when she wore it; in her eyes it was half of an umbrella. Though, a compact version of the actual item was shoved into one of the inner pockets of said cloak, just in case. There was no real desire to test how much water the garment could take up before it and she were soaked. Thanadir too looked very nice, wearing black jeans and a fitted tee under a cashmere sweater in a deep wine color, that warmed the deep brown of his eyes. His hair was held back in a simple ponytail, unbraided in any manner, and a very dark gray wool blazer completed his outfit. Earlene smiled somewhat idiotically to see him, though she averted her eyes quickly enough. While his appearance did not have the same effect as seeing her husband, Valar be praised, nor was she immune to how strongly she felt love for him. Mostly, she did not want to make him uncomfortable and therefore refused to gawk. “Are we ready?” she inquired, vaguely looking forward to shopping and toasties.

 

“We are,” Ratiri said. “Even if it pours.” The sky was such a leaden grey that that looked entirely likely, and probably sooner rather than later. “We’re dropping you at Grogan’s, right?”

 

“Right,” Lorna said, tensing a little at the thought of being on the motorway in the rain. Ratiri had told her should could take a tiny nibble off a tablet of Xanax and still be able to drink, so nibble she did.

 

Earlene happily sat in back with Thanadir, buckling herself in before she found herself cozily held with his arm over her shoulder. In short order, spare hands were engaged in Thumb Wars.

 

The Xanax took the edge off quite nicely, and Lorna was fairly relaxed as the drove to Dublin. It helped that traffic wasn’t unduly awful, too.

 

“So where are you going after you eat? Or before?” Ratiri asked.

 

“Shopping,” she said. “Stephen’s Green. Need some things for the half-elf kids.” She still couldn’t say ‘peredhel’ right, and she wasn’t going to bother trying.

 

“Allanah’s getting bigger too. I’m not looking to overdo it but they need some things in which to be seen that don’t scream ‘Ren Faire.’ You know, for when we go places. And Thaladir has no such things, since he can’t wear his sister’s hand-me-downs, from that point of view.” No, her son did not need to be seen in purple tees with flowers on them.

 

“And he’ll be too big for Shane’s in no time at all,” Lorna said. “Thanadir, how did elf parents manage it, with elf kids growing as fast as they do? Did they just not have many clothes until they slowed down growing?”

 

“They were exchanged. It was fairly simple. Clothes for play were worn into rags, and ended their lives as the rugs you see in many of our washrooms and bathing rooms, so that what remained did not go to waste. Nice clothes, such as gowns or more...things for ceremonies, or study, were kept preserved well and given to other parents once no longer needed. Every elfling was taught very young the importance of changing garments, so that nice items were not soiled and ruined with play. I think it does not matter so much for you; clothing in your world is inexpensive and easily obtained. Not the same as when everything must be woven, sewn and decorated by hand.”

 

“Easily obtained and easily ruined,” Lorna grumbled. “You can’t really mend anything that’s store-bought nowadays, not without it being really obvious. I was so poor for so long that I couldn’t afford to buy quality clothing; part’v why I wore so much denim and flannel is how sturdy it is. Crappy polyester blends, that’s what you find in women’s clothing that’s actually affordable. Though Christ, that reminds me -- we need to start getting our hands on more’v those old treadle sewing machines. Depending on how large our population gets in the future, we might well want a warehouse’v the damn things.”

 

“Not the worst idea,” muttered Earlene. “Needles for them, too. So where are you two going to go?” she asked. 

 

“The National Museum of Ireland,” Thanadir answered just a touch too quickly. 

 

Earlene looked at him very intently, and caught the faintest of blushes on his cheeks.  _  Twenty euros says these two are up to something, but I’ll not out them.  _ If nothing else, it was very amusing. On the map, several alcohol related attractions were in the area, and she wondered. Oh well, she’d have it out of him later tonight. “Well I’m sure that will be lovely. You can report on the collection; maybe I’ll want to go another time myself.”

 

Ratiri said nothing, for he didn’t trust himself to speak.

 

“Take pictures,” Lorna said. “For the scrapbook. You know, I should make more than two copies’v the damn thing. Might as well make use’v Amazon while it’s still there to be made use’v.”

 

The rain didn’t start until they’d almost reached Dublin, and she couldn’t bring herself to look out the window. Was this ever  _ not  _ going to be an issue? It was better than it had been, sure, but she still couldn’t drive. She still couldn’t get behind the wheel without seizing up.

 

_ It’s only been seven months,  _ she told herself. Even so, when they reached the intersection at the off-ramp, she shut her eyes, knuckles whitening as they gripped her knees.

 

“Breathe, mo chroí,” Ratiri said. “Almost there.”

 

“Right. Good.”

 

Earlene suppressed a sigh, feeling very sorry for Lorna. There came a time when you might be able to tell yourself that being afraid was fucking stupid, and actually win that argument, but it happened when it was good and damn well ready, and not before. They found a place to park the car that suited their needs, and agreed to either meet back by five o’clock or text each other if some other change in plans was needed. Earlene also carefully recorded the location in an app she had for that purpose, because she was not about to end up tipsy and wandering about with her thumb up her arse wondering what street it was on. “You two have fun,” she said breezily as both women waved good-bye to the males.

 

“You think they’re going off to do something sneaky?” Lorna asked, as they darted undercover. “I’ve got a feeling they weren’t being totally honest.”

 

“I rather absolutely do,” Earlene smiled. “I’ll tell you my deductions if you promise to let them have their fun,” she teased. “It’s important for them to believe they are actually fooling us, now and again.”

 

“Oooh, tell me, tell me,” Lorna said, and tried not to cackle. “Poor blokes. They think they’re so smart.”

 

“Well, it’s just a hunch, but within easy walking distance of the National Museum are both the Jameson Distillery and the Guinness Storehouse. Combination museums and working attractions, you might say. I’m pretty sure we’ll find out,” she chuckled.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and scurried inside. “Men. They think they’re so clever.”

 

“Thanadir is too honest for his own good. Though I’ve noticed he is gaining some facility with mild deceptions. He now understands the concept of not lying, while just not telling the whole truth.” The rather large (given its storage size) umbrella was deployed, because, rain. It was rather easy, given their discrepancy in height, for Lorna to tuck in next to her as they walked to the area that had a concentration of clothing shops for children.

 

“You know what I wish?” Lorna asked, of Earlene and of the world in general, “I wish it wasn’t so damn hard to find kids’ clothes that aren’t either frilly girly shit or things that scream ‘boy, and boy only’. I’m not putting Chandra in any damn pink sparkly garbage, but good luck finding any alternatives.”

 

“No kidding. I’m actually pretty determined to find black, purples, royal blues and dark greens. Those are the colors that look best with their coloring. I’ll be goddamned if any kid of mine is going to run around in a Barbie shirt. What we need is our own line of children’s tops and matching leggings.” She stared off into space for a moment, before turning to stare at Lorna with a raised eyebrow. They weren’t poor, Lorna had some graphic design aptitude, and then both hated pink just on principle.

 

“If I was worth a damn as a seamstress, I’d say let’s do it it,” Lorna said. “I do sort’v remember how to make patterns, though. Gran taught me how. I can’t actually sew for shit, though, and Thanadir’s awfully busy already, isn’t he?”

 

“I don’t think we need to make it that complicated,” Earlene said. “Everything now is cotton. Tees or solid shirts are available in droves; the thing is what’s on them. What logos they have, or patterns. That’s just a question of designing, having them printed or embroidered or whatever the hell one calls that, and opening an online store. Like we fucking have time,” she muttered. “Then again, there are these things called employees…”

 

“Are we thinking elf employees, or human? Hand embroidery’d sell better, but who the hell can do it anymore, or at least do it well?” The elves all seemed to have plenty to do already, and where would they find humans? “We might be able to get some’v the pensioner ladies in on it, but that wouldn’t yield much in the way’v output. I don’t know where you’d send a shirt to have something printed on it, but I suppose we could find something pretty easily online.” The question was how much money would it cost -- but that wasn’t a question she needed to be asking anymore, was it? Old habits died hard. 

 

“Without sitting down and researching and ruminating on this yet, my initial instinct is….we should design some things we’d like our kids to wear. They should be Irish themed. I can already tell you that I’d create one with an outline of Morríghan and her crow, with that word on the bottom and maybe a Celtic symbol. It would be edgy but not tasteless, and marketed for girls. We could make up maybe...eight designs, have one hundred tees of each kind made. Open something like an Etsy shop and just see what happens. Hell better yet, with the product in hand? Come back here to these same stores and ask of the owners would carry them. We could offer to have them pay us only after the merchandise sold or...whatever. If it is a total flop, we have a lot of shirts. We’re not poor; if we want to blow a thousand euro giving it a shot, so what?”

 

“You know what, why the fuck not?” Lorna said. “Though Christ, even now, a thousand euro seems like a lot’v money. I keep having to stop and remind myself that no, I’m not broke, I can do things like spend that much money.” The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea, because even if it failed, they could just donate the excess. “I  _ know  _ we can’t be the only mothers out there who hate what’s currently available. I mean, Jesus, if I’ve got a choice between putting my daughter in a pink thing or a tiny rugby uniform, I’d rather she just walk around in a poncho, and there’s got to be loads more out there like us.”

 

“I’m guessing you’re not wrong. And if it all goes to hell, women’s shelters won’t refuse the clothing.”

 

Lorna grinned. “There’s an art store in here,” she said. “Not a fancy one, but we could get some stuff and draft some shite, and if we wanted to get  _ really  _ fancy, we could get Saoirse to design something.” Anything she made would likely take extra time and skill to render, but maybe if somebody wanted an extra special shirt or dress or...something.

 

“Why not. Just some paper, and...I’m not as good as you are, but I can use basic software for images. We have scanners and all that at home. I think the trick is to settle on images where we all can look at it and go, ‘oooh.’ Or at least, so people who think like us would go ‘ooooh’.”

 

“Let’s do this,” Lorna said, and laughed a little. She had to consult the ‘You Are Here’ map, shivering a little as she did. “So, apropos’v nothing, but d’you find yourself more sensitive to cold, since you had kids? It never used to bother me, but ever since I got pregnant with the twins I wind up freezing. I mean, I lived in a damn warehouse and I didn’t have this problem.”

 

“I feel cold easier when I  _ am _ pregnant,” Earlene said. “But not so much at other times. I exercise...a lot. Way more than before I came to Ireland, and I thought that was a great deal in the first place.  Maybe you should ask Thranduil to check you out, or ask Ratiri? If anyone would know something, it’d be him.”

 

“I may do that because, it’s weird, and I’m not particularly fond’v it,” Lorna said dryly, leading Earlene on. “The house is nice and toasty, but the Halls can get a bit chilly, especially on the feet. In the house I can get away with just fuzzy socks, but the stone floors need proper slippers.” She laughed. “Last time I tried to put a slipper on, there was a kitten in it. At least they’re too big to do that now. Though I swear the Lump and Tail have made a pact to try to trip everyone who comes down the stairs.”

 

“Maybe it is time to talk about installing cat furniture, so they have someplace else to lurk,” Earlene said. She too had seen the times Tail made a nuisance of himself. It would not be so funny, if it were one of the children that fell on account of his nonsense. And yet why he liked that spot was obvious; it gave him a commanding view of what went on below. They arrived at the first shop. The name Jojo Maman Bébé was not entirely inspiring, but try it they would. Earlene went first to the boys’ section. There were striped shirts with cutesy dinosaurs, but the clothing rack looked like it had vomited cheer and construction paper cutouts. It did not inspire. “Why does it all have to look like a Teletubbies episode escaped the TV screen?” she whispered to Lorna.

 

“You have to wonder if these clothing designers actually have, or have ever had, children,” Lorna whispered back. The least offensive thing she could find was a plain red T-shirt. “You want my opinion, the people designing this crap do a lot’v cocaine.”

 

“I mean, just look at this,” Earlene said. “Seventy percent of what’s here has pink as a dominant color. What doesn’t have pink has white. These are kids, they spill food and fall and roll in the soil. Who in hell even wears this, without having shares of stock in the bleach company?” She held up a single, navy blue long sleeve solid cotton shirt. “This is the only thing I could buy and not hate myself for it.”

 

“That,” Lorna said, “is a really damn good question. Obviously somebody's buying this shit -- many somebodies are apparently insane enough to put their toddler in white clothing. They must keep their child in a box.” Pink, pink, ruffles…. “We really do need to design some stuff. This is garbage. Overpriced garbage at that.” The prices actually weren’t terribly unreasonable, as far as normal clothing went, but when the quality was so poor...she’d learned enough from Gran to inspect the stitching, and found that it would probably give out the first time a kid fell down. Nope.

 

When Lorna pointed this out to Earlene, she waffled, but in the end bought two of the navy blue tops, reasoning that they would not be worn very often. They were, after all more ‘human visitor emergency clothing’ more than anything else. And only €10 each; it wasn’t like she had high expectations.

 

Lorna was willing to spring for two pairs of striped rainbow slipper socks, reasoning they’d be good inside. “Christ, will you look at how thin the material’v most’v this is? This is Ireland, not bloody Spain. The only way you could send your kid out in one’v these jumpers is if you put a real jumper over the top’v it first.”

 

“You know what, Lorna? Fuck this. I saw on the map that there’s an Aran Sweater Market nearby, just like the one on Inis Mor. I’d rather go there, and know that what I’m buying them is warm and well-made and not ridiculous looking. C’mon, let’s pay for these little things and get out’v here.”

 

Lorna grinned. “Hell yes,” she said. “Christ isn’t it weird, being able to pay for something expensive that they’ll outgrow in a year, even if you get it bigger than they need it now.” Once upon a time, the prices for those sweaters would have made her quail, and dismiss the possibility even for herself; now she could buy them for her growing children, and just pass them on when no longer needed. Some poor mother somewhere would be beyond grateful to be able to find such a jumper in a charity shop.

 

They paid for their overpriced, sub-par clothing, donned hoods, and once outside unfurled the umbrella. She was glad she’d worn her long coat and sturdy boots, because the rain was coming down harder than ever, and a stiff breeze meant the umbrella did little good to protect their legs. Ah, Ireland. It was the price they paid for their forty shades of green.

 

She was damn glad when they got into the sweater market; it was nice and warm, and smelled of clean wool. “Wonder how the lads’re faring,” she said. This was shaping up to be a proper Irish storm, but at least such weather was hardly new to either of them.

 

What happened next was all too predictable; between them they basically bought out the children’s section. Earlene had no qualms purchasing hats and sweaters that would fit Thaladir right now; though she wasn’t going to broadcast it to Lorna, she knew that he would not be the last child to have the use of the items. Double-breasted cardigans in beautiful red, blue shawls that would match their eyes, Tree of Life sweaters for all of them (that this happened to eerily echo the symbol of Thranduil’s house was simply a bonus point), zippered cardigans in green to match her son’s eyes, and hats for all. And because it looked far too much like Sean the Sheep, one of the woolen stuffed animals for Thaladir. She had every intention of corrupting him quite soon with the flock at Mossy Bottom Farm.

 

Lorna went a little nuts herself, just because she could, including things that wouldn’t fit them quite yet. She’d got herself a beautiful wrap in autumn colors, the borders rendered in Celtic knotwork, for around the house and especially around the Halls. The robe Ratiri had given her was beautiful and warm, but it was still definitely a robe, and she didn't need to be spending all day traipsing around in basically pajamas.

 

Left unconsidered was how they were going to get bag after bag of these bulky purchases back to the car in a downpour...and yet, right now, it had abated to a light rain. “What do you say we just make a dash for the car with all this while it’s let up a little, and then dry off in a pub after? We can’t possibly need to buy any more, today.” Otherwise, she saw little choice other than to pay to have the purchases shipped to Lasg’len, and that level of excess simply grated. Earlene might be wealthy, but she was never going to abide being ‘throw your money away’ wealthy.

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Lorna said, eying the sky. It was a little less leaden...for now, and if they hugged the bags close, even the breeze shouldn’t be able to soak them. “Maybe we’ll see what the lads’re up to, and if they’re being sneaky little bastards like we think they are.”

 

“Oh to hell with them,” Earlene huffed. “They’re either drinking themselves silly or knee deep in seventeenth century...chairs, or something. Or rather, Ratiri could be; I’m not even sure it’s possible to get Thanadir drunk.” She paused. “I’ve never even seen him tipsy. Wonder what it would take?” The question was purely rhetorical. The bags were stowed and the boot was slammed shut. “Thank the Valar that’s done. Where’re we going?”

 

“Grogan’s,” Lorna said. “This way.” She pointed, and the took off as fast as two people with an umbrella could actually manage. They needed to do more of this, while they still could, because there would come a time they’d all be too busy to just go to Dublin for a pub run. Better to enjoy it now, while it was still here and they still had the opportunity. They were going to have to keep the pub going in Lasg’len even after the end of the world, because pubs and Ireland had been one and the same for over a thousand years, in various forms.

 

Earlene now recalled that they’d been here before. “Ah, this spot. Well let’s hope we avoid any jerks being jerks this time around.” Then again, the toasties had been very good and now she was hungry.

 

“This time’v day, hopefully they’re less likely,” Lorna said, slightly out-of-breath once they reached the doorway. The run wasn’t that bad, but she had a wool coat that was soaked to the knees, so not exactly ideal for running in. “Christ I could do with some toasties and an Irish coffee.” Bailey’s was a little too good, especially in a hot drink.

 

Earlene was much drier than her friend, but the order suggested sounded good. Taking Lorna’s coat, she hung it to dry a little on the pegs provided for such things. The place was blessedly deserted just now, quiet and peaceful. “I feel like I could eat the whole menu, even though I know better.” Ham and cheese toasties and drinks would be on order, very soon.

 

“We need recipes for toasties,” Lorna said, grateful to find a seat near a radiator. “And how to make them over a fire. If an Irish person doesn’t get at least two a week, we don’t get to call ourselves Irish anymore.” God, she really did need to ask Thranduil and/or Ratiri about this; prior to her pregnancy, she was almost never cold.

 

Earlene eyed her friend, and she was about roasting to death from all the dashing around. In a sweeping movement her cardigan came off and went over Lorna’s shoulders. “Here. I’m dying and you’re freezing; have this thing do some good.” Her body now sang, from exercise. It was too accustomed now to the demands of running, leaping through trees, even flitting across stretched ropes. Being cold was something that was left behind the day of Thaladir’s birth.

 

“Thanks,” Lorna said, bundling up in it. “Mairead told me having kids could change your body chemistry, and I’m guessing that’s what happened here.” She flipped open the menu, even though she already knew what she wanted. “And Christ am I glad we got real clothes for the kids. Makes me feel better about taking them out in the winter. I don’t know why shops in Ireland carry shite like that one did -- it’s cold here. It’s wet. It’s windy. Even if you get wool soaked, it’ll still keep you warm.” Not  _ comfortable _ , no, but warm. You weren’t going to die of hypothermia in wet wool unless it was colder than it usually got in this temperate country.

 

A lad came and took their orders, and in no time at all had some piping hot drinks delivered. “Cheers,” Lorna said, raising her mug.

 

The first round went down far too easily, which was a consequence of being hungry and drinks arriving first. “Yeah, maybe I need water, and Guinness, and to slow down,” Earlene said ruefully, though she wasn’t the least bit sorry. You?”

 

Lorna pondered. “Yeah, I’ll go with a Guinness, too,” she said. “Goes better with toasties. We need to get some Bailey’s for home, because Irish coffee’s a thing’v beauty.” What were they going to do, when there was no coffee? It wouldn’t last forever even if they hoarded it, and she highly doubted even a greenhouse could provide the proper conditions.

 

“I have it,” Earlene protested. “Though as crowded as the liquor cupboard is, it’s small wonder if noone has seen it there. I like to have all that kind of thing on hand. Desserts, you know.”

 

“Have you ever had a chocolate and Bailey’s milkshake?” Lorna asked, once she’d got their second round. “Talk about heaven...and they’re dangerous, because you can’t really taste the alcohol.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrows raised, because said chocolate ice cream with milk from their cows...well that could be trouble indeed.

 

Toasties arrived, smelling wonderful, and very hot. They were descended upon as though they were two hyenas, but after the first half of the sandwiches went down, and about half their ale, a more relaxed state of mind had begun to take over. Earlene might just order a second sandwich, but for the moment she sighed contentedly.

 

Lorna nibbled, though her swallows of Guinness were rather more robust. “So, I’ve noticed Th --, er, Fionn, hasn’t been right lately,” she said. “What’s going on with him, d’you know? He seems...tired, but it’s not just that. It’s almost like he’s...detached, a little. If that makes any sense.”

 

Earlene sighed.  _ Dammit. _ Shaking her head a little, she tried to answer carefully because she worried about Lorna’s tendency to...worry. “I actually don’t know,” came the reply. “But I’ve noticed. I’ve been noticing for months now. And second guessing myself about what I’m seeing, and wondering if I’m imagining things. Somewhere around the end of September, I think it was, I dragged Thanadir out to the pub with me, to talk to him in private. He hadn’t seen it, but that was the time when I asked him to please pay more attention. Maybe last week, he told me that he agreed. He agreed that something is off, and now he’s….thinking about it. And of course I’ve not said a word to Thranduil because I have some gut feeling that it’s not something he can help. I do everything I can to spoil him, er, behind closed doors. Right now I don’t know what else  _ to _ do.”

 

Lorna pondered this, for once not squicked. “He needed Thanadir’s help to heal Grania,” she said meditatively, “and he was wiped out afterward. When I first met him, that wouldn’t’ve happened. Maybe…” Christ, this was not a thought she needed or wanted, but it was there. “Maybe having to heal me after that accident took more than he realized. More than he necessarily had to give.” He needed a power boost, somehow, except...there we days he seemed brighter than others.

 

“No, it’s not that simple,” Earlene shook her head as she thoughtfully chewed her toastie. “This started before your accident by quite a while.” What she was not going to give voice to, not remotely, was that this started after Sharley’s arrival. It was her firm belief that there was a certain connection, but that it was a complex connection she could not see; well, she was fairly sure about that part too. “The only thing I can really say is that what I’m sure about is just this tiny little bit, and that the reasons are not easily discerned. I don’t mean to sound arrogant but if they were easy to match up, I’d not be swimming around in the dark like this. Figuring things out is supposed to be what I do,” she said somewhat miserably. “And shit, I’m still hungry, I’m going to get another toastie and Guinness. You want the same?”

 

“I do indeed,” Lorna said, still pensive. She thought of a conversation she’d had with Thranduil ages ago, and knew she had to ask a question she wasn’t too thrilled by having to ask, but it could be important. There were certain things she really didn’t want to know, but if they could help, she’d live with it.

 

Earlene rose up and cared for that, receiving only smiles from the amiable proprietor. He looked like the sort that could tell quite a few tales, except now wasn’t really the day to go off on that. She set down the two filled glasses carefully.

 

“So, I never thought I’d be asking this, but how often d’you and him have it off together?” Lorna asked, and sipped her pint. At least the alcohol was nice and warming. “Because I’ve got a theory.”

 

Earlene almost sprayed her ale, catching herself before it could snort out her nose. “Sure god Lorna, that is not on the list of things I thought I’d ever be hearing from you,” she laughed, now quite pleasantly buzzed from the drink. “Jesus. Well, if you actually wish to know, ordinary is at least twice a day; always on waking and at night unless something comes up. And those sessions aren’t always one and done, if you get my meaning. We both want each other, a great deal. There are many times we are just having….conversations...while we...you know. Um, yeah.” It wasn’t that she was embarrassed to talk about this, it was that it was so unexpected coming from  _ Lorna _ .

 

Twice a day? Jesus. Lorna would think the chafing... _ ew, no. Not going there.  _ “Yeah, well, there’s a reason I ask,” she said, taking another long pull off her Guinness. “He told me ages ago that it was, er,  _ intimate contact  _ with you that un-faded him. I’d say maybe stepping up the game there might help, but I don’t think that’s actually possible. Seriously, twice a day?  _ Twice  _ a  _ day _ ? I’d think that’d leave things down south a little...raw, if you get my drift.”

 

Earlene grinned a little too widely, and shrugged. “There’v been times we’ve gone on all afternoon. I mean, think about it. We both want to, and if something gets sore, he can fix it. What’s not to like?”

 

Lorna had to laugh, and it was likely the alcohol that made her say, “I’m not sure my attention span’s that long. Probably doesn’t help that Ratiri’s on the, uh, well-endowed side, and I’m tiny. Care has to be taken. Did Thranduil ever tell you what happened when we all went to the Aran Islands?”

 

“You of all people should know he doesn’t give things away about others,” she chuckled, very surprised at the turn this conversation was taking. But at the same time, Lorna’s observation had not escaped her. Yes, she knew that, though that tidbit had been relegated to obscurity.

 

“Fair point,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Okay, so Ratiri and I were still trying to work around the height difference, and the bed there was smaller than ours, and we managed to somehow fall right off it. He dislocated his shoulder, and I broke my bloody nose, and we had to go to Thranduil like that so he could fix us. He didn’t laugh while we were there, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he did later. We behaved ourselves the rest’v that trip, because that was one’v the more embarrassing things I’ve ever gone through, and poor Ratiri was mortified.”

 

“Pffft, he didn’t care. It’s not in him to care about something like that. I don’t know how to say it exactly, but sexual desire is not a topic of humor, to elves. They don’t have the human mechanism we do, by which we pretend to go around not wanting what everyone knows we want. All that’d matter to him is that you weren’t hurting any longer. Even Thanadir; he knows perfectly well what we get up to, but it’s never something joked or teased about. They just accept it. To them, it’d make as much sense as giving someone endless grief for needing to use the toilet each day.” There was a little pause. “Just so I’m clear, are you implying that when Thranduil and I have sex that it ‘fixes’ him a little? Gives back to him? I stopped thinking about that a long time ago, if I am to be honest.”

 

“That’s my guess,” Lorna said, and downed more of her Guinness. “I just thought’v what he’d said, when I asked him how he’d un-faded -- if that was what gave him strength, maybe it’s just kept doing it all this time.” She giggled a little. “Kept doing it. That’s what she said. I wonder if it’s specifically contact with you, or if you could, like give him some kind’v...toy, or something. And I really can’t believe I'm even wondering that. I blame this.” She raised her mug, and drained it.

 

“Ok with the caveat that this falls firmly into the category of speculation, now you’re making me think of something else,” Earlene frowned. “The day you were taken to the Halls, after your accident, and all the elves gathered and so did I...that was the first time ever that I participated in one of their rituals the same way they did. They were all transferring their energy, power, vigor, call it what you like, to Thranduil so he in turn could give it to you. And it did the same to me. I was wiped out, afterward, though it wasn’t anything a night’s sleep didn’t fix. That they have some ability to both give and take from other living beings is totally obvious, even though I’ve not sat there and interrogated them about what happens exactly. If I were to guess, sex is a more powerful expression of that transference, and now I have a whole lot more to think about.” She too drained her glass, now thoroughly warm and buzzed. The toastie, however, was still under siege. “Not sure I can eat all of the second half of this, slice off some if you’d like more,” she invited, nudging the plate toward Lorna.

 

“Not an invitation I need twice,” Lorna said, though she ordered another Irish coffee before she tucked in. “All right, so level with me: does he bruise like a rainbow if you give him a hickey? I love Ratiri’s complexion, but hickeys are just darker splotches. Liam was paler, and I loved turning him into a hickey rainbow.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrows raised. “I’ve never even tried that,” she admitted. “Maybe I need to be a little more adventurous. Sometimes I feel like...I mean, I wasn’t exactly experienced before he came to me. And while I’ve tried to get a few things from reading magazines, that wasn’t on the list. But, he’d probably just heal in two minutes, from what you’re describing. Elves just don’t stay damaged.” Suddenly her gaze was faraway, as she imagined nibbling and even biting on that ivory skin….why  _ hadn’t _ she tried it? Because frankly it sounded incredibly appealing...

 

“Ratiri and I weren’t terribly experienced, either,” Lorna said, eating this half of a toastie much more slowly. “We’d each only had one relationship, and pretty brief ones at that. There was a lot of sneaky magazine buying and research on women’s sites from me, and I think he did pretty much the same. Factor in the height difference and there was a lot’v, er, trial and error. Yeah, let’s call it that. We’re still only adventurous within a certain limit, though, because neither’v us wants a hernia, or to dislocate anything else. Thranduil might not find it amusing, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing for us.”

 

“Well, then I won’t feel too bad….I’ve introduced a few things he liked a lot thanks to the magazines, maybe I should keep reading”. She really wasn’t sure Lorna was ready to hear about, er, what it took to pleasure a male in the way that turned them into quivering masses of jelly begging for more, not when it had taken her weeks to get up the nerve to try it herself.

 

“Just be careful with some’v them,” Lorna advised. “There’s a few I can’t imagine’d be comfortable at all. Oh Jesus,” she said, and burst out laughing, “Ratiri found this thing on Amazon that he actually went and bloody bought -- it’s the Kama Sutra as a pop-up book. I’ll show it to you when we get home. Whoever made it had way, way too much fun. Though keep the bloody thing away from Thranduil -- you don’t need him getting ideas’v a horribly awkward nature.”

 

Earlene blushed. “Pretty sure those were already tried. I’m, um, well... lots of yoga. I’ll leave it at that. Frankly most of it wasn’t what it was cracked up to be, however titillating the pictures are. He didn’t think so much of it either. There is such a thing as too much trouble for what you’re getting out of it.”

 

That only made Lorna laugh even harder. “Isn’t that the truth,” she managed at last. She sipped her second Irish coffee. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring up the idea’v involving some rope, except I don’t think Ratiri’d be any more open to being on the submissive end than I would, so that’s probably a no-go. The problem when you’ve got two dominant people in that situation is that you’ve basically got to swap turns as to who’s got more control, but that’d be giving it up to an extent I don’t think either’v us would be able to do.” Smirking, she finished off her toastie. “Next time Thranduil pisses you off, tie him down and like, put kittens on him or something. He’ll be frustrated and pissed and stuck.”

 

With a blush, Earlene recalled what had happened when she had tied Thanadir down. The strength with which those arms had jerked against the rope, so hard they audibly  _ twanged _ …and her husband was stronger than his seneschal. She shook her head No. “Bad idea. They’re just too strong, and I like my furniture. You should try what we do. We don’t use rope; one of us agrees to do what the other says. It might be not moving, it might be holding a certain position; whatever. One gets all the control. It takes away the potential hazards of actually being tied up, but imposes the same circumstances. In case you’re wondering, if the one who agreed to be submissive doesn’t do what they’re asked, then that person has to submit a second time. We don’t push each other too hard, and sometimes we ask to make sure we’re not taking it too far. It’s a fun thing, for now and again.”

 

“That’s a little bit like what Ratiri and I do, though we don’t usually go that far at it.” Lorna shook her head. “With our height difference, options are a bit limited, as we’ve found out the bloody hard way. You’re what, five-eight, five-nine? Ratiri’s a full foot and a half taller than I am. Even things that, er, ought to not be an issue can be one, with a difference like that.” She wasn’t ever going to mention what happened the one time they tried to make use of their shower for sexy purposes. Nope. There had been bruises, and not the fun kind.

 

Earlene grinned. “All I can say is, pillows. Lots and looooooots of pillows of all sizes. And, you’ve got a canopy bed. If your legs aren’t quite strong enough, a rope to hang onto from overhead can allow for all sorts of things to happen with you, ah, in the saddle.” And that was where that was going to be left, yes it was. “Well, think we should text the lads? It’s about time to meet up with them.”

 

“Now that,” Lorna said, draining the last of her coffee, “is good to know. At my age, it’s murder on the hip joints otherwise. And yeah, we probably should -- though Ratiri can never know we had this conversation. He would blush like a brick, and then possibly catch fire. Which might be entertaining, the poor man, but ultimately unhelpful.”

 

“Oh, he’ll not hear about it from me,” Earlene said. “And...the things you said...I now feel like I’ve almost no choice but to keep a sort of record of what we do in the bedroom and how Thranduil is afterward. In fact, there’s something I’d like to try, if you’re willing, because if I don’t have a blind observer I’ll not believe my own research. I’ll track how often we...you know. The same app I use to track my period will let me keep notes on that. You make some record of what days he seems to be the best, and the worst. I might even deliberately try to find days when we don’t, just in order to test the theory. After a time we can compare calendars. If what you say is true, there should be some kind of match. But what I can’t understand is, why is he needing anything from me at all?”

 

Lorna shook her head. “I’m going to have to start thinking in Irish from now on, if I don’t want him knowing what’s up,” she said. That would be difficult, but she could train herself into doing it...though that was just going to mean that half her speech might come out in Irish before she stopped herself.  “And that...is a damn good question, honestly. My only guess -- and this is just a guess, because I’m not a scientist or doctor or much’v anybody who should be making a guess -- that he’s suddenly got loads more people around him. Humans, I mean. I can’t think’v what else has changed, unless there’s something going on within him he’s not telling us about. The thing is...I’m not sure he’s noticed this, about himself. And that’s a bit scary, because normally he’s pretty bloody self-aware.”

 

“Agree. It’s part’v of what has disturbed me so much. Part of me wonders if his sense of duty isn’t somehow wrapped up in all of this but...shit, this is why I wanted Thanadir in on all of it. They’ve known each other forever; I’m a fart in a windstorm by comparison. I’m going to have to ask him sooner rather than later if he’s managed to think about it enough. And, just do your best to forget we talked about this. He’s not going to key in on you having passing thoughts about how he is, I don’t think. I could be wrong, but I think the amount of voices in the house that he has to tune out...it’s not like in the beginning when he only had three of us. Five kids, your entire family, me, Sharley when she’s around...that’s a lot of static noise, to my way of thinking. I think he hears less than ever, unless something about it flags his attention.”

 

“That’s what the Irish is for,” Lorna said, flagging down the lad so they could pay. “Even if he does somehow tune in in passing, he won’t understand. Guess I ought to be glad he’s got such a hatred for my language.”

 

Earlene doubted ‘hatred’ was the right word, but as they needed to get moving and it had been an otherwise pleasant conversation, the urge to comment was dutifully resisted. They cared for their tab, stretched, and looked glumly at the pouring rain outside.

 

“Christ am I glad we stowed the bags first,” Lorna said, buttoning her coat and flipping up her hood. “At least we’ve got a nice warm house to get back to. Though honestly, even in the warehouse we had this gas stove Shane had nicked from somewhere. We kind’v made a really big blanket-tent to keep the draft out and we were nice and toasty. There’s something about hearing the rain on the roof that just reminds you how lucky you are to be inside.”

 

Earlene contemplated, as they made their way back with the help of the umbrella.  _ Lucky to be inside. _ She wondered how many people were homeless, here. Doomed to have a miserable existence until the plague came and swept even that away. While they sat on a refuge large enough to absorb the entire homeless population of this country. A stab of guilt came, at that realization. And yet her purpose wasn’t to fix bloody everything. Though maybe a charity to make it a little less miserable would be better than nothing… fortunately Ratiri and Thanadir were back, the car already warmed up with the heater blasting. Ratiri clearly knew a thing or two about women.

 

“Bless the pair’v you,” Lorna said, not caring, at the moment, just what they might have got up to in her and Earlene’s absence. “Did you have fun?” Oh, it was nice to be in where it was  _ warm _ . She silently thanked Gran, yet again, for this lovely coat.

 

“We did,” Ratiri said. “Did you find clothes?”

 

“We went to the Aran Sweater Market,” she said, not missing his failure to elaborate on that. “Everything we saw at the shopping centre was complete shite. Overpriced shite at that.”

 

“Your son has lovely new sweaters and a sheep toy,” Earlene said, snuggling close to Thanadir. Was that a trace of whisky, she smelled? Her lips spread into a smile. “To match his eyes.”

 

The old elf smiled down at her, looking quite happy. 

 

“Tell me about the museum, meldir.”

 

Big mistake. With an ear to ear grin, Thanadir proceeded to narrate on each exhibit hall, including his nearly photographic recollections of artists and the names of the pieces in the collection, and what he liked the most about what he had seen. As he droned on virtually nonstop, she caught Lorna’s highly amused glance in the vanity mirror. It was Thanadir, and there was little choice other than to ride it out. From time to time she saw Ratiri suppressing his laughter, and Lorna poking him in the ribs. Hard.

 

“And where else did you go?” she asked, leaning over to sniff him. There was a distinct scent of Guinness.

 

“...For a walk,” he said, as vaguely as he could. “We stopped at a few places of interest.”

 

She smirked at him. “Riiiiight. Thanadir, where else did you go?”  _ He  _ would tell her the truth.

 

The seneschal’s eyes widened in panic. “To...places where my understanding of chemistry was furthered?”

 

At this point everyone in the car dissolved into laughter, though thankfully Ratiri mostly kept his attention on the road out of regard for Lorna. Mostly.

 

“Would it help if I asked if the Guinness Storehouse and the Jameson Distillery had anything to do with your science lesson?” Earlene teased, tickling him lightly around his ribs.

 

“I am sorry, Ratiri,” Thanadir said, with the sad eyes dialed up quite high. “I am not good, at deceiving others.”

 

“We guessed, meldir. It does not matter, we had drinks too. I love you the way you are. Plenty of people in the world are good at lying. Being good at telling the truth, do not ever be ashamed of that.”

 

The eyes that glanced at her were grateful. It must be hard, to now and again just want to...fit in...but not really be able to do it because of not being able to change almost twenty thousand years of habit on a whim.

 

“It’s all right, Thanadir,” Ratiri added. “If a woman wants to find something out, she’s going to find it out, whether you want her to or not.”

 

“You’re lucky you’re driving,” Lorna warned him, “or I would poke you so, so hard.”

 

“I’m afraid the poking is only delayed, isn’t it?” he asked her.

 

“Yep. I hope you had fun, at least.”

 

“We did,” Ratiri said. “Quite a lot. We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

 

Lorna tensed somewhat when they got onto the motorway, and nibbled more Xanax. It tasted foul, but at least it helped. “I need to start driving again,” she sighed. “Even if it’s just around the village...it’s been seven months. I can’t let this bloody go on, or I’ll never get over it.”

 

“Probably not a bad idea,” Earlene chimed in. “Maybe you should take Thanadir. He can teach some strange things. Many of the lessons I have with him, it isn’t so much the skill itself as how to think about achieving...whatever that skill is. All I know is, it helps, a lot.”

 

“Would you want to putter around Lasg’len with me, Thanadir? I definitely won’t be driving like a lunatic. I’ll be lucky if I made it over five miles an hour.”

 

“That may well be all it takes, at the beginning,” Ratiri said. “Baby steps. Just like the twins.” He said nothing about her tiny little feet, though he desperately wanted to.

 

“I will gladly help you, Lorna. In fact, there are many things on which we are overdue to work on together.” He was quiet for a moment. “This day next week. Right after lunch. We will start our lessons.” It was said with an air of finality. 

 

_ The rock sealing the tomb _ , Earlene thought. Then again, she doubted Thanadir could have worse in mind than was dished out to her on a regular basis. With a shrug, she grabbed his hand and started another Thumb War. Why was this mindless game so entertaining?  _ No idea. _

 

“I can’t promise I won’t sick up at some point, but I’ll sure try not to,” Lorna said, vaguely worried as to what ‘many things’ might actually entail. He never had got her back for the cinnamon roll comment, and she’d had a feeling he was just waiting. Oh dear.

 

“Drink some milk first,” Ratiri advised. “Settle your stomach. And what is it I’m always telling you to do?”

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow at him. “What did I tell you I was going to do, if you told me to breathe one more time?”

 

“A number of things,” he said, his amusement palpable. “Most of them involving shoving something somewhere unpleasant.”

 

“Just keep that in mind.”

 

Mercifully, traffic going out of Dublin wasn’t that bad, and they made it back to Lasg’len before dark. It was so nice to be  _ home _ , in their house among the trees, with children and kittens and that gigantic monster known as Tail.

 

They dragged their shopping bags to the house, bursting into the foyer in a combination of wet coats and woolen everything, just in time for Earlene to have a sneezing fit. Not just any sneezing fit, the kind that goes on for a good ten sneezes and at the end of it leaves that inescapable sensation of swelling sinuses and a tiny scratchy throat that heralds the beginning of a cold. She’d had to dash off to their bathroom; there weren’t really even tissues lying about the house since they were all completely healthy, all the time. Fortunately, there was toilet paper.  _ Seriously? _ It had been so long since she’d had any kind of viral illness that forgetting they existed was all too easy. Re-emerging, she hoped that she could ignore it and that it would go away. Give or take needing to sniffle mightily here and there.

 

Lorna hauled her goodies upstairs and changed into fluffy black pyjama trousers, slippers, and a flannel, and wrapped her beautiful new wrap around her shoulders and over her head like a hood. Cardigans in her hands, kittens at her heels, she descended again, ready to head for the nursery. “That you sneezing, Earlene? No good.”

 

“I was hoping to spend the next few hours in denial,” she said back. “I haven’t had a cold since 2015 and kind of wanted to keep it that way.”

 

“Well, let’s get the kids to try some’v these on for pictures, then you go lay down.” She’d been good, and only brought one cardigan each, rather than the whole load. She was learning, slowly but surely, to ration kid pictures so they didn’t both lose their minds, poor mites.

 

“No lying down,” said Thanadir archly. “Thranduil is coming. You are not going to share this and sicken all the children too. Ratiri has explained to me all about communicable diseases.”

 

“Hopefully not  _ all  _ about,” Earlene muttered under her breath. Did he really need to know about syphilis? She hoped not.

 

Lorna glowered at the Ratiri in question. “Of course he did.” Ratiri did not seem to realize how dangerous Thanadir’s curiosity could be. It was most definitely a double-edged sword, that could be used against one without him willing it.

 

“Oh, he’s probably right. Better to fix it with just me before the little viruses are left all over the house. Though I washed my hands about to death, have only touched this tissue in my hands, and the doorknob to our bedroom. I think containment is yet possible,” she joked.

 

“Well then let us be certain, meluieg,” she heard from behind her, and turned to see the amused and handsome figure of her husband.

 

“They think I am getting a cold,” Earlene grumbled while Thanadir gave her The Look.

 

“Yes but so do you,” Thranduil countered, for once outing her thoughts, though he softened it with a kiss to her head. “Come here to me, unless you prefer I walk over the sofa.”

 

It was no stress at all, to embrace him and feel a brief warmth move through her. Immediately the tickling sensations in her head were banished, and she reached up to kiss him properly. Mostly he seemed upbeat today, with only the faintest trace of fatigue...diverting her thoughts, she asked for Thaladir. “We are going to watch Sean, which he has never seen, and give him his new toy.” Thanadir brightened considerably at this prospect and left to retrieve the child. The others would be invited as well, though with the peredhel being older, they might not be interested enough to interrupt their play.

 

Shane came with Thaladir, though Chandra seemed to prefer to stick with the other girls. Apparently the only two boys needed to join forces against all those females.  “Come here, you,” Lorna said, wrapping Shane up in his little cardigan. He gave her a look that was entirely unimpressed, but the deep green did wonders for his eyes, and she snapped a picture before letting him take off the heavy garment. “I’ll get to your sister later.”

 

“Uh-oh,” he muttered, toddling after Thaladir.

 

Earlene could see Thanadir’s slight disappointment that Thaladir clearly preferred to sit with Shane, and gently took his hand to lead him to a different set of seats. “This is good for him,” she whispered quietly. “He will still have much need of you.” Thranduil too saw, and encouraged Thanadir to sit between him and Earlene. Not long after the first episode started, the toy for Thaladir was placed in Thanadir’s hands, while Ratiri waited in the wings with the same item to had to Shane. When the first ten minute long vignette concluded and the little boys were laughing happily, Thanadir reached over and placed the woolen sheep in his hands.

 

The wide eyes and the little intake of air were worth a million rainy days in Dublin. Thranduil reminded his son gently to thank his Ada Thanadir, even as Shane was receiving his own toy. Oh, the delighted hugs the little animals received! Earlene thought she might die of cute overload. As a thunderclap was heard outside and the rain sheeted down quite audibly against their home, blankets were brought and tucked around both boys, who now looked like little cocooned faces and arms holding their Seans.

 

Lorna snuggled up against Ratiri on the sofa, and took a few more pictures of the children. They had this beautiful snug house, with plenty of food, soft bed, and the knowledge that the rain was going to stay  _ outside  _ \-- that no matter how the wind howled, there were no gaps around windows, no cracks it might find a way in. Perhaps only Thanadir would understand just how grateful one could be for that -- it was the kind of gratitude that only came from knowing the other side of things. Just now, watching the kids, toes curling in her soft slippers, she felt like the luckiest woman in the entire world.


	91. Ninety-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nov 28, 2018 - Dec 25, 2018

 

Lunch was concluding, and Thanadir had issued one reminder, the evening previous, to Lorna regarding their scheduled lesson. His face was unreadable, in spite of Earlene having issued what she termed ‘her definitive attempt at toasties’ for their luncheon, along with a traditional American potato salad (heavy on the dill weed) and warm chocolate milk for adults and children alike. A jar of her pickled gherkins was opened and passed around, for any who wanted the little spicy garlic bombs formerly known as cucumbers. Because it was late November, in Ireland, and there were times when even she needed to toss nutrition out the window.

 

“Nana, I like this lunch,” said Thaladir, appreciatively, while his older sisters all nodded sagely. He had even eaten the pickles, which vaguely astonished Earlene.

 

“I am glad, ionneg” she smiled. “But you can thank your Aunt Lorna for being properly Irish, and understanding the importance of good toasties. Where I come from, toasties are different.”

 

Six small heads, a sea of blue eyes and green, now looked at Lorna with generally worshipful expressions. Though all of the children were good eaters, not fussy, there was no denying that a break from Auntie Earlene/Nana’s salads and vegetables were greatly appreciated just now. Even Thanadir had to crack a smile, which he was wont to do at the least provocation from his son. And yet this did not stop him from dabbing his lips with a napkin, rising, and asking Lorna, “Are you ready for our lesson?”

 

“God, as ready as I’ll ever be,” she sighed. “I’ll get the keys.” She was not at all sure this was a good idea, but if she didn’t do it soon, it probably wasn’t going to happen.

 

“You will not need those just yet,” he said, “but you may retrieve them if you wish.”

 

“Why am I suddenly nervous?” she asked, of no one in particular. Keys she grabbed, hands trembling slightly just to be holding them.

 

“Do not be,” the elf said kindly, his hand on her shoulder gently steering her toward the spiral stairs. “We are going upstairs first, to the second guest room on the right hand side.”

 

Bewildered, she let herself be led, wondering what kind of lesson would involve the guest room.

 

He closed the door behind her; this place was decorated somewhat unusually. A small table and two chairs, extra lamps for illumination if needed, and quite a lot of mirrors. Floor length ones, big rectangular ones. _Just, what?_

 

“This is where I practice music, and where we are going to practice your reading and diction. I know that you struggle with certain things related to words, and I am going to help you have greater mastery. Both over the speed at which you can read aloud and silently, and the ability to correctly pronounce words that you currently cannot. You are able, but you have not been properly taught. We are using this room because it is where no one else can hear; this entire floor of the house is empty during the day.”

 

Lorna felt the blood drain from her face. “You want me to read out loud?” she asked, and found herself shaking her head. The thought of trying to do that, of stumbling over every syllable, in front of this genius’s genius...oh God no. The thought was...humiliating. “You don't actually want that. Trust me, you don’t. It’d grate on your ears like...like Tail playing a violin.”

 

“I very much _do_ want that,” he countered. “I can see your fear, Lorna. You are afraid of what others will think of you, so you do not take the steps needed to overcome your current limitations. I cannot stand by and watch this without trying to help you. There is no reason for this to continue.”

 

Memories of every time she’d tried to read aloud at school crowded to the forefront of her mind -- the other children laughing, the teacher rolling her eyes and eventually telling her to just give it up, that she was stupid and she just shouldn’t bother… “I don’t think you understand this, Thanadir,” she said. “You’re a bloody genius. Is there anything you _can’t_ do, once you’ve set your mind to it? Because I doubt it. You want me to sit here and look -- and sound -- like a bloody moron in front’v you, who’s probably the smartest person on this planet.”

 

Thanadir sat down on one of the chairs, and folded his hands into his lap. “When I was little, my Nana tried to teach me the letters. The Fëanorian letters, the ones we still use today. For the first year, she tried over and over. Though it was not easy, she used ink made from soot on large dried leaves, something like what you would call ‘flash cards’, to try and help me tell them apart. We could not afford to use the deer hides we had as surplus for parchment; those were far too valuable to sell to others for things like wool for clothing. She did not know how to help me, and I felt like a failure. My Adar watched but said nothing.

 

“Then one day, he took me into the forest with him, bringing only five of the leaves. He held one up, and asked me what the shape reminded me of. Anything at all, as long as I truly thought it looked like something. The first one was _tinco_ , that after many long minutes I decided reminded me of the devices the shepherds used at the edges of our forest. You would call it a ‘shepherd’s crook,’ I believe. Letter by letter, Adar worked with me. Gave me a way to allow my mind to see, and remember. He told me too that it did not matter if it took a day or the next hundred cycles of the sun, that he believed I was very smart, and that I would find a way to succeed. In the end I needed three years, to learn the entire alphabet.” He reached to brush his thumb across her face. “Do you still believe your difficulty makes you a ‘bloody moron’?”

 

Lorna stared at him. “You really did? I just -- I can’t imagine you having trouble with anything. I mean, yeah, Tengwar’s kind’v insane, and a lot prettier than it is useful, but...you’re you. I always just thought -- well, shit. You’re so good at everything. I never would’ve thought you’d struggle.” Aside from baking, at any rate, but he’d got even that down under Earlene’s tutelage. “This...when I was a kid, and my teachers’d have me do this, they’d call me stupid because’v what I sound like. The other kids’d laugh at me, and then, well, I had to beat them up on the playground. My honor was...what’s the word, impugned? Just...I know you won't laugh at me, but that part’v me, that bit that’s a child, kind’v can’t help but be afraid’v it anyway.”

 

“I know. But I still cannot allow the cruelties heaped on you in your youth to direct the course of the rest of your life. This is only you, and I, and what occurs here does not leave this room unless you wish it to.”

 

Lorna drew a deep breath. Even Ratiri had never heard her try to read aloud; when she told the twins stories, they were all things from her memory. “You really promise you won’t be like, laughing on the inside, and just not letting it out?”

 

“Why in Eru’s creation would I think it is funny, that you are struggling to overcome a difficulty?” The frown that now creased his brow had some serious depth to it.

 

“You haven’t heard what it sounds like yet,” she said humorlessly. “Okay. What do you want me to read?”

 

“Nothing, yet. First we are going to work on the sounds you appear to struggle with. Beginning with ‘th’, that you cannot seem to pronounce in most circumstances. This is because you are not moving your tongue in a way that allows for that sound to occur. It is also why this room is filled with mirrors; it is necessary that you see what I do, and what you do. It is the same for music; certain motions create errors, and cannot be eliminated if they are not seen.”

 

“The curse’v the Dubliners,” she said, with a wry smile. “Ratiri’s been trying to teach me, but so far I don’t seem to get it. I know you’re supposed to put your tongue between your teeth like this --” she did so “--but I always wind up just...spitting.” She looked at her reflection, stuck the tip of her tongue between her teeth, and tried, but rather than a proper ‘th’ sound, what came out was mostly a faint hiss.

 

“You have never learned to modulate your airflow, for this sound,” he said, watching her carefully. “It is much like a wind instrument. Too much air, no good. Too little air, nothing at all. We are going to try something a little different. The sound is not only air; it is also voiced. You must use your larynx, as well. Put your tongue slightly between your teeth, and try to make the sound. It should not even be the ‘th’ sound so much as something that has a hum or buzz to it.”

 

She gave it a shot, and while she didn’t spit this time, she wound up with a sound rather like a very gravelly squad of bees. A second attempt wasn’t quite so dismal, but it hardly worked, either.

 

“More tongue,” Thanadir encouraged, which only made her burst out laughing. Poor Thanadir, he almost certainly had no idea what that sounded like…

 

“That’s what she said,” she muttered, but did as bidden.

 

“THAT”, he said, his eyes flaring with excitement, oblivious to the double entendre. “Can you remember how that feels? Because that is what you need. Do it again for me.”

 

“That?” she ventured, and it did actually sound a touch closer to a proper ‘th’. How had she done that? She tried it again, only to wind up with something more like “t’at” again. “So it only works if I'm not thinking about it. That’s great.”

 

“No, that is not it at all,” he corrected. “It did not work because you added in two more steps, when you are not ready. The production of exact sounds is very complicated, and you must train the muscles of your face to do what they have never done before. You are not going to wake up tomorrow pronouncing ‘th’ perfectly. Or at least, that is unlikely; I will not discount epiphanies. I want you to start all over again. Tongue between your teeth, looking only for the sensation you felt before. You must understand, whether for song or speech, you cannot fully rely on what you hear. Without a recording device, you do not hear what I do. Just as when I speak, I do not hear my voice as you will. Now try again. Tongue between your lips, only the ‘th’ sound.”

 

“Thh,” she managed, and yeah, sadly there was a tiny bit of spit that time. “Thhh.” It would probably sound better if it wasn’t basically an orphaned syllable. “Thhh.” Okay, that was better, but she wasn’t sure what would happen if she actually tried to use it in a full word. “I feel like a bit’v an idiot,” she admitted.

 

“That was very, very good, Lorna. Your homework is simply to do that. You may try to use it in a word if you wish, but not at the expense of practicing the ‘th’. Now there is another skill, you will need later. This is called ‘lip trills’ in your language. For some sounds that are more difficult, your facial muscles must be relaxed. Lip trills are impossible, with tension. Like this: BBbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb. And if your children cannot already do this, they should learn. Make a game of it with them, then no one will know you are practicing something.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, because she had actually see the twins do that (at each other. Apparently it had been some kind of contest.) “BBbbbbbb,” she managed, and laughed again. “This relaxes muscles?” She couldn't imagine how.

 

Thanadir refrained from rolling his eyes. Patiently, he rephrased what he had told her. “It does not relax them. However the sound cannot be made, if they are not relaxed; that is the difference. And again, you have done very well. Now we are going to look at words to read, just for a little while.” He opened a National Geographic that had been downstairs on a table; Earlene had insisted on subscribing, citing that they could all stand to learn of the world. “I want you to try to tell me, in your own words, what happens when you read to yourself versus when you read aloud. Is the difficulty the same? Different?”

 

“It’s different,” she said, looking at the glossy cover. “When I read to myself, it’s slow, but it’s...continuous? I don’t have to go back and re-read things for them to make sense anymore. But when I try to read out loud, it’s like something in my brain disconnects. I get a stutter, almost. I...shit, how do I explain this? To read a word out loud, I still have to read it silently more than once, and the higher the number’v syllables, the worse off it gets.”

 

“Alright. Try for me, just a little, so I can hear for myself the pattern of your speech. Only a sentence or two, at most.” What he was declining to mention, because he was somewhat oblivious to concepts of mental privacy, was that he had every intention of examining her thoughts as she did this.

 

Lorna winced. Oh, God… This issue looked like it was mainly about humans, so she flipped to a random page: _Like any other species, we are the products of millions of years of adaptation. Now we’re taking matters into our own hands_.

 

“L..like any o-to’er sp...shit. Spee-sees, w...we are t’ pr...oducts’v mil...mil-ee-ons’v...years’v a...fuck. Ad...ad...ad-apt-ay-te-on. See, this was a bloody bad idea,” she grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This. This is what happens. And yes, it’s fucking humiliating, which is why I don’t do it.” All the times she’d been called stupid, or retarded, or dense, or...pick your insult, she’d had it thrown at her. And since she couldn’t beat up the teachers, in that case she’d just had to live with it (though she _had_ smashed Mrs. Reilly’s windscreen with a rock, so at least there had been that).

 

He placed his hand around her shoulder. “I know that was not easy for you, and I appreciate your trust.” His hand rubbed her back, out of habit. “But in order to help you, I need to begin assessing what is the matter. We will revisit this at our next lesson; you need not concern yourself with any reading or practicing of reading aloud, unless you somehow wish to. How do you feel about driving the car, now?”

 

“Thank you,” she said, sagging against him. “I’m not a masochist, I won’t be trying to read aloud if there’s any chance even a kitten’ll overhear me. And I think we’d best try the car. I’ve put it off too long as it is. Then again, I think it was a full year before I drove anywhere but inside Baile, after my first wreck.” Though she’d been driving _within_ Baile long before eight months were up. “It’s weird. I don’t remember this wreck at all, but it’s been so much worse in the aftermath than the wreck that killed my bloody husband. How does _that_ even work?”

 

His arms came around her. “When I was shot, I had...a hard time, for some days after. All I could think of was what I might have lost. You, Ratiri, Earlene, some of my fellow elves. And I am immortal, Lorna. If I die, I am assured of where I will go next. You do not have any of that, and this is the second time you have had to consider the near loss of your life? I would think something is the matter with you if you were not struggling. None of us wishes to face losing what is most dear; the life we cherish with our loved ones.”

 

She hugged him back. “Good point. It’s sad, because with us humans, we know we’re going to die someday. There’s no getting around it, and yet it’s so often a scary concept. Thought’v dying, and going God only knew where while the rest’v you were still here without me…” The thought made her shiver. “But I can’t avoid driving forever. And it’s not like there’s much traffic in Lasg’len. Though, and I know this actually sounds sick and weird, I’m glad Von Assclown was a sadist, because if he wasn’t, he’d’ve shot you in the head, and then you wouldn’t be here.”

 

“I suppose you are right,” the old elf admitted. “It is hard to think of that one, and have anything for which to be grateful.” A mighty frown came over his face, as he released her and considered it further. “Yuck.”

 

Hearing such a word from Thanadir made Lorna laugh all over again. “I agree,” she said. “Yuck. You know, sometimes when I wake up in the night after a bad dream, I just tell myself ‘we bogged that bastard, and I wee’d on his corpse’. It gives me the warmest, fuzziest feeling, which is probably wrong, but oh well.”

 

“You are most peculiar, Lorna, but I love you.” With a grin, he held the door open for her so they could move on to the next thing.

 

“I love you too, and all the more because you don’t look at me like I’m insane.”

 

The seneschal bowed his head to her, but by now his thoughts were much further ahead. He needed to speak with his King, now, because he could not believe that what he saw in Lorna’s mind was any kind of normal difficulty. What he had experienced as an elfling and this...it was night and day. But Thranduil would know better, and he did not wish to upset Lorna when this topic was so sensitive….they had time.

 

*****

 

A few days later, Thanadir finally diverted Thranduil into his craft room before breakfast, relating all that he had seen. “I do not have your skill, Hîr vuin, but I feel certain something is wrong. Please, after the meal will you come to the room with us, and see what I did?”

 

Thranduil rubbed his forehead, a little tiredly. The seneschal watched and saw, and felt guilty for asking, but did not know what else to do if Lorna was ever to learn. With a half-hug to his brother, the King nodded.

 

After the meal, they did just that. The three of them, up in the closed room, with Thanadir asking Lorna to please read aloud.

 

Lorna winced visibly, but picked up the National Geographic. _Earth's temperature goes up and down from year to year -- but over the past half century it has gone up a lot._ Oh, yay.

 

“Eart’s t...t...temp..er...a...ture goes up and d...down from ye..year to year -- but o...ver the past h...half cen...cen... _century_ , shit, it...has...gone up...a lot.” Well, that was fucking humiliating, and she barely resisted the urge to chuck the magazine. Ratiri liked to keep them, though, so she tried to keep them in semi-decent condition. “That. That happens.”

 

“Lorna, I am so sorry,” Thranduil said. “I did not solve this problem at all; I see that now. And all this time you have been struggling. This was not your fault.” What he almost wanted to do was scream in frustration, _Why didn’t you tell me??_ But he already knew the answer. She simply did not know the difference. “This is going to be a little different. I am going to...do what I do, but I need to you keep trying to read aloud. In fact, just read the same over again, if you wish. Over and over.”

 

“You did fix it, though, mostly,” she said, flipping open the magazine again. “I read just fine in my head now -- just still slowly. I don’t have to read something three times to understand it anymore.” How was this connected to the dyslexia? Weird. She found her page, though, and took a deep breath. “Eart’s...t...emp...er...a..ture goes up and d...own from year...to year -- but o...ver the past half cen...century, it has...gone up a lot.” Not quite so bad, though still pretty dismal.

 

“Again. Do not stop.”

 

“Eart’s...tempera...ture goes up and down from...year to year -- but over the past half cen...century, it has gone up and down a lot.” Hey, that was...better. Her third try was even closer; she managed ‘century’ but ‘temperature’ still threw her. On the fourth try, she managed even that one, and by the fifth, she could read the full sentence without a hitch or break. “...Huh. So _that’s_ what that’s like.”

 

“Yes, that is what that is like.” He shook his head. “Well, better late than never, but I am still sorry. At least….you will notice a difference now, for everything. And Thanadir is not to hesitate to come to me, if he feels anything else is not right.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, standing up to hug him. “There was no way you could’ve known, since _I_ didn’t. Thank you, Thanadir, for making me humiliate myself -- which is not a sentence I ever thought I would say. I love you both, you know that?”

 

“We love you too,” said both ellyn at once.

 

Thranduil tilted his head. “Well, you may say I could not have known, but to me it is no different than if you did an oil change and didn’t replace the drain plug.” He arched his eyebrows at her, curious to see what she would make of _that_ comparison.

 

“How d’you know what a drain plug is?” she asked. “And...well, shit. Difference is, when I change oil, I know what to expect. You’d never seen dyslexia before, so don’t go beating yourself up over it or I’ll do what I used to do to Pat -- I’ll knock you down and sit on you.” The fact that there was pretty much no chance of her ever knocking any elf down was not one she was about to bring up.

 

“She’s all yours, Thanadir. Thank Eru, I have an inventory to review.” With a happy smirk, he walked off to do King things.

 

*****

 

The weeks until winter wound past, and before they knew it, Yule had come again. This year their celebration was so much larger, in the elves’ Dining Hall. All those who were on the Planning Council had been invited to attend the meal, and participate in the gift exchange if they wished, though only Pat, Saoirse, Sharley and Geezer had actually been comfortable enough to take them up on the offer. Which made sense, as they were the ones who spent the most time in proximity to more of the elves and therefore knew them best. Though, the ellyn who served mostly as guards and had come to frequent the Spotted Dick had leaned on John quite heavily to relent. In the end, they extracted a promise of ‘next year’ from the crusty barkeep, and considered it to be a victory of sorts. John’s capitulation like as not had more to do with the increase in his receipts, ever since the Woodland Realm had basically created an open tab at his establishment for the benefit of their people that wished to go to the pub, paid promptly every two weeks without fail. Business had been doing very, very well, enabling him to realistically consider planning for a real vacation. He felt the clock ticking, and he was certainly grateful to have a chance to see someplace outside Ireland before the opportunity was lost.

 

Earlene gazed over at their new guests, hoping that they had actually done as Lorna had advised, and read enough of _The Silmarillion_ to have the proper awe and reverence for what they would see tonight. This had easily become her favorite minute of the entire year, and she gave thanks in her heart for Ruscion and the gift he could give them.

 

“All right, just watch,” Lorna whispered. “Light’v the Two bloody Trees.” Father and daughter had read _The Silmarillion,_ and then had a good talk with Ratiri about it, just to clarify everything. She herself was nice and warm and slightly tipsy, curled up against Ratiri and wrapped up in her nice wool wrap. How could Ruscion live with such beauty in his head? How could the world as it was now possibly compare to what he had seen when he was young? Only an elf could grow up witnessing that and not think everything that followed was hopelessly drab by comparison.

 

Earlene’s personal goal was to be able to watch without tears streaming down her face, not that she had much hope for success. It still made her heart beat faster, when the beautiful dark-haired ellon whose eyes held such depth went to Thranduil. She at least had Thanadir, though, that seemed to perceive that it was hard for her not to go to pieces at the sight. Maybe he had seen this enough thousands of times that it did not affect him so much. And Orla was here this year, watching. Was there any way to make a hologram? Because she might empty a lot of her bank account to have one of this, if there was. The moment came, and when Laurelin and Telperion faded at last, she realized her hand was held to her heart without her having been aware. And there was only a single tear. Okay, so maybe her eyes were watery too. She did better than last year.

 

Saoirse stared, wide-eyed, too stunned to even swear. Yeah, she and Da had read but... _that_ was not what she’d pictured. She’d tried, but her imagination hadn’t come anywhere near that. And Ruscion had _lived_ with those trees? With how pretty that was? Shit, ‘pretty’ didn’t come anywhere _close_ to doing it justice; even her expanding vocabulary had no word for it.

 

Pat held onto his daughter, and was not at all ashamed of the fact that he cried like a bitch. Well, maybe not like a _bitch_ \-- his tears were silent, but they were very much there. That was so lovely it was actually painful -- a low, dull pain in his heart, because to know that something like that would never exist again was a blow. He’d never imagined anything could look so beautiful.

 

Sharley too watched, intrigued. When she’d first met Ruscion, he’d given her a royal headache, but eventually she reached the very beginning of his history. To see this as his own memories, made visible in some way other than that of her strange ability...it was wonderful. She had seen, in even the few remembered years of her life, things of great horror and of great beauty, but nothing, _nothing_ had ever compared to how beautiful this was.

 

Earlene looked around in time to notice the expressions on the faces of her human friends for whom this was their first sight of it all, and felt pleased in a way that was hard to define. The…Monarchy Thing still grated on her, at times. The council meetings were very much a reminder that the prejudices were still there. _But it is so much more than the words you assign to what you see here. It is so much love, and beauty, and that which is fair beyond human comprehension. Maybe you have a chance, now, to understand just a little more. At least, I hope so,_ she thought in her heart of hearts. Soon enough Thranduil returned to her, kissing his wife chastely on her forehead. Though she buried the observation Thranduil looked so very tired, during a few moments of failing to hide it well enough, before the mask fell again and he resumed leading their celebration. The gifts were exchanged, there was great merriment, and no one who had not seen their Yule before departed quite the same as when they arrived.

 

Eventually, Saoirse actually found speech, and looked at Ratiri. “ _That’s_ what everything was like before Morgoth decided to piss in everyone’s Cheerios? I hope there are like, big rats in the Void. Rats that keep eating him, over and over. And...cockroaches.”

 

Pat facepalmed, but Ratiri just laughed. “Saoirse, you certainly have a way with words.”

 

“That’s one way’v putting it,” Pat muttered.

 

“For once I can’t disagree with her choice of words,” Earlene said, ruffling the child’s hair a little. “Not when he cost the world such a great beauty. Even if it wasn’t a part of the world that was ever for us. Still wasn’t right.”

 

“I’ve seen some beautiful things, and some damn horrible ones,” Sharley said, “and...it’s nice to know that that was once a thing, even if it isn’t anymore. That something that beautiful once existed, even if, like Saoirse says, Morgoth had to piss in everyone’s Cheerios later. Knowing that it was there...it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen. Not remotely.”

 

“Not remotely,” Earlene echoed, once again, before shrugging and going to find a bit of iced gingerbread to give to the children.

 

*****

 

Christmas late morning, they waved good-bye to Lorna, Ratiri and the twins, who were celebrating today with Mairead. The rest of their house would enjoy Allanah’s birthday and a traditional dinner here. Earlene was feeling excited about her authentic Christmas pudding that she had steamed a week ago, and had been soaking in Lorna-worthy levels of alcohol. While it would not be suitable for the children, Pat at least would appreciate it. She had candied all of the fruits herself earlier in the year; none of that store-bought shite. “Have fun,” they waved, “and give our best to Mairead and gang!”

 

“I promise I’ll let you know if anything catches fire,” Lorna called back, as Ratiri fired up the van.

 

“Don’t jinx us,” he said, shaking his head. “I know your brother-in-law -- or at least, I know the stories Indira’s told me over the years. Did he _really_ shoot a nail through his own boot? I thought nail guns had safety features?”

 

“Newer ones do,” she said, twitching a bit as they pulled out of the driveway. Her last attempt at driving practice, the day she’d gone out with Thanadir, had ended before they even got out of the driveway. “His was just about as old as I am. God love the man, but he’s a bit’v a walking disaster. Fortunately Mairead loves him, though hell if I know why.” She paused. “She tells me he has a barbecue now. If he cooks meat, don’t eat it, because I can guarantee you it’ll probably have salmonella in it.”

 

Ratiri was suitably disturbed. “Mairead would let people eat meat she thought was tainted?”

 

“No, but she might not know any better, unless she sticks a thermometer in it...which she would, actually. So maybe we just won't get any turkey this year.” She laughed as they made it to Lasg’len. “The first year I lived there, he tried to deep-fry a turkey. Or rather, he _wanted_ to deep-fry it; as soon as Mairead realized he hadn’t thawed it first, she took away all his tools, told him to put the turkey in the tub to thaw, and that he had to tell everyone there wouldn’t be any turkey on actual Christmas because he was an eejit who couldn’t read basic instructions.”

 

“...It’s a good thing he has your sister,” Ratiri said, “or he might well have died years ago.”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

The day was clear and very cold -- no snow this year, but that was such a rarity it was no surprise. Any Christmas that wasn’t sheeting rain was automatically to be treasured. Sunlight sparkled on the frost that lingered in the shadowed areas around homes and trees, but the motorway was bare and dry, so there was one worry off her plate.

 

Ratiri spared her a brief sideways glance. “So, I was thinking,” he said. “I think that when you try to drive again, you need to do it in Baile, not Lasg’len. You’re familiar with Baile. It’s still home -- just not your only home now.” They both quite liked Lasg’len and its people, but it was not...theirs. It was a distinction anyone who had lived any time at all in a rural village could appreciate, even if a city-dweller wouldn’t.

 

“That...might not be a bad idea, actually. Hell, I can take the van out to the fields around the cottage and practice there. My poor cottage. We put all that work into it, and we never stay there.”

 

“We need to talk to Orla about moving it,” he said. “Once we find somewhere in this forest.”

 

“I want to spends some time in it where it is, though. I want the twins to. They’ll be the last kids that’ll live there, in that spot. Hey,” she said, “hey, maybe we could get a big tent, so everyone could come camp out near our woods for a day or so. Because mine are pretty too, dammit.”

 

“Pretty too, dammit,” Chandra said at once, and Lorna pinched the bridge of her nose. Why did she even bother?

 

Ratiri burst out laughing. “All right,” he said. “We’ll talk to them all later. Meanwhile, Chandra, I know you do this on purpose.”

 

“Do what on purpose?” she asked innocently -- too innocently. The kid wasn’t even two years old yet, for Christ’s sake; she should not yet know how to do that.

 

“You know exactly what. Behave and you can play with the kittens later.”

 

Lorna didn’t bother pointing out that they were going to wind up playing with the kittens regardless. It would not help.

 

Traffic was unusually light, thanks to it being Christmas Day and all, and they made it to Baile in under an hour. Baile went in for town decorations in a bigger way than Lasg’len, probably because they had slightly more money: the lampposts were wrapped in wide red ribbons and frost-tipped fake fir garlands, with fake poinsettias hanging atop them (very realistic fake poinsettias, too). Most of the businesses sprayed fake snow along the inside of their windows, and there were wreaths in plenty.

 

Nobody was out and about, but that was no surprise; they were all inside, getting ready for dinner. It meant the van could just breeze on through, and park out front of Mairead’s house.

 

Mairead was one of those people who looked at holiday decorations like they were an Olympic sport, and competed accordingly. Her house was so liberally covered in Christmas lights it could well prove a distraction for small aircraft -- even the fence around the property was wrapped in them. A very large, very real wreath hung on the door, the scent of cinnamon sticks wafting from it in such strength it nearly knocked Lorna over. Grania and Lorna the Younger weren’t here yet, so they could get everything set up and hopefully looking sane before they arrived.

 

“Oh good, you’re here,” Mairead said, as soon as she’d walked in the door. “Give me that bag, and would you go and get the cat down, Ratiri? There’s a good lad.”

 

“Down from where?” he asked warily.

 

Lorna sighed. “The tree, probably. The fluffy one likes to try to climb it so much that for years, we’ve had to basically hang the tree from the ceiling so she can’t tip it over. That doesn’t stop her trying.”

 

“I don’t...okay,” he said, shaking his head. He released the twins from their carseats first, so that they could roam around and cause whatever vague destruction they might wish.

 

The lounge, like the kitchen, was an ode to holiday over-

‘decorating: the tree was nearly as tall as the ceiling, a real, fat fir loaded with lights, colored balls, gauzy silver ribbons with wire edges...so much stuff that it left Ratiri momentarily disoriented. Oh, and the cat.

 

Lorna had told all sorts of stories about this cat, the first being that her nephew had tried to shave it and it hadn’t been quite right in the head ever since. Currently all that was visible of it was its incredibly fluffy arse and back legs, tail twitching madly; the rest of the cat was apparently wedged into the tree itself, far over Lorna’s head.

 

“I just... _why_?” he asked, shaking his head.

 

“Only she knows. Go on, get her down. She’ll go see what the twins are and then run off.”

 

Gingerly, he tried to disentangle the cat, which yowled like he was mashing her into a pulp. He let go on instinct, and she burrowed deeper into the tree.

 

“Well, now she’s not coming out until she wants to,” Lorna sighed. “Oh well. Christ did it give me a bloody turn one time, coming down here in the night and seeing two eyes blinking at me from the depths’v the tree.”

 

“Why were you down here in the middle of the night?” he asked, eying the cat in mild disbelief.

 

“Shaking my presents. Duh. First year I’d had a real Christmas tree, and isn’t that what you’re meant to do?”

 

“Yeah, if you’re eight,” Shannon said, passing through. “She’s in the tree again, huh?”

 

“Entrenched. Now look, you lot, Pat is kind’v persona non grata with Grania and Lorna the Younger, so don’t go mentioning him. He was a bit’v a shit and a loser when he was younger, and I promised the pair’v them I wouldn’t push for any sort’v...anything.”

 

“Mam said as much,” the girl said. “We won’t say anything. But they know about the elves, right? Not just that Thranduil’s some kind’v healer, but...elves?”

 

“They do. They _don’t_ know about the whole end’v the world thing, though, so don’t go bringing that up, either. What’s your da doing for dinner?”

 

Shannon grimaced, and ran a hand through her dark hair. “Barbecue,” she said. “God help us.”

 

“I hope your mam has that meat thermometer ready,” Lorna muttered.

 

“Oh, she does. She’s also got a casserole going, in case there’s no turkey. Again.”

 

The doorbell chose that moment to ring, and Niamh skidded across the kitchen floor to answer it on her stocking feet. It was Grania and Lorna the Younger, both looking a touch nervous, bearing a big paper bag. “C’mon in,” she said, when she opened the door. “Hopefully Uncle Ratiri’s got the cat out’v the tree already.”

 

Mother and daughter looked at one another, but before either could say anything, Shannon came breezing through. “He hasn’t,” she said. “Mothra’s well stuck now. Here, you two, let me take your coats. You go on ahead and set that wherever.”

 

“Your cat’s named Mothra?” Lorna the Younger asked, taking off her coat.

 

“Her brother’s Godzilla,” Niamh said. “He’s lazy, though. Doesn’t live up to his name at all.”

 

Mother and daughter met eyes again. It had been many, many years since they’d spent Christmas with any company other than one another, and this was going to be an...interesting….change.

 

“Oh good, you two,” Mairead said, heading into the kitchen from the garage. “What can I get you to drink? We’ve got hard cider and some kind’v mulled wine -- Big Jamie made it, not Kevin, so it’ll actually be good.”

 

“Kevin is your husband?” Grania asked.

 

“He is, God love him. He just can’t get it through his head that him and any kind’v alcoholic concoction just don’t get along.”

 

Cups of hot cider were poured, while the twins thundered into the kitchen and stared up at Grania. “Hi,” Chandra said.

 

“Hi,” Lorna said, kneeling.

 

“You’re our cousin, right?” Shane asked.

 

Should children this young be talking so well? She hadn’t been around that many children, so she wouldn’t know. “I am.”

 

They looked at one another. “Cool beans,” Chandra said, and they toddled off.

 

“They’re weird,” Lorna the Elder -- and God, wasn’t it weird thinking of her that way -- said. “You can’t use them as a guide for toddlers. Their da’s a genius and a half.”

 

“How’d you meet?” Grania asked, as she was hustled into the lounge. There was a dark green wraparound couch taking up two walls, and she and her daughter were herded to it.

 

“At the pub. He’s Doc Barry’s cousin, and he’d basically moved here because he was bored--”

 

Her words were interrupted by a _boom_ of worrying volume, a boom so strong it actually rattled some of the ornaments on the tree.

 

Lorna looked at Mairead, whose eyes narrowed. “ _Kevin!_ ” they cried, in almost perfect stereo, and raced to the back door.

 

The deck was a large affair, almost the length of the house, with benches and, in the summer, flowering pots along the rail. Mairead kept it conscientiously stained, which unfortunately was working against it now. The fact that it had been an unusually dry week was not helping in the least.

 

Kevin’s barbecue was -- or had been -- a gas Weber monstrosity that could very easily have cooked a turkey. _Had been_ being the operative words. Currently it was on fire, and he’d managed to at least kick it so that it was rolling away from the house, trailing flames in its wake. The stink of gas was almost like a solid force, and Lorna’s nose wrinkled as it went ponderously by.

 

“Kevin, _what in flying fuck are you doing?”_ Mairead demanded, even as her hapless husband flailed with a fire extinguisher. White foam sprayed over the deck, following the path of the barbecue -- unfortunately, the deck was so solidly constructed that rather than go through the railing, the thing crashed into it and stopped.

 

“Oh, fuck everything.” Lorna darted into the garage and grabbed the second fire extinguisher, utterly baffled. Turkeys were not oily birds -- what the hell had he basted the damn thing with? Could _any_ basting have done that? Unless he’d coated the thing in gasoline, she had no idea how the hell he’d managed _that_.

 

A second, more minor explosion reached her ears, not enough to override Mairead’s infuriated bellow. They needed to just...never let Kevin cook. Ever.

 

Back out she went, shivering; there hadn’t even been time to put a coat on, let alone shoes, and the boards were freezing under her stocking feet. At least the incendiary barbecue drove away some of the cold, though it was now liberally doused in foam. Racing across the deck, she let fly with her own extinguisher, burying barbecue and turkey both.

 

Kevin, the poor bastard, was staring at the wreck of his doubtless very expensive barbecue. From what Lorna could gather, through her sister’s rather creative invective, was that the eejit had basted the damned thing with _cooking oil_ , thinking it would make a nice glaze. Even _she_ , with her highly limited culinary ability, knew better than that -- had the fucking thing actually caught fire on the barbecue?

 

Ratiri, both her nieces and nephews, and their two unfortunate guests all crowded at the back door, goggling. They were all smart enough not to interfere, thank bloody God, though she had no doubt that Mairead’s tirade had something to do with it. Though...oh no. Ratiri had his mobile out. Mairead needed to never, ever know, but at least everyone back home would get some Christmas night entertainment.

 

Meanwhile, what the fuck were they to do about the fucking barbecue? It was still on fire, probably because the gas was still running... _shit._ This was probably an epically stupid idea, but the flames were mostly contained. Lorna grabbed a patio chair -- one of the nice, heavy wrought-iron ones around the deck table. “Out’v the way, you two,” she called, though she doubted either even heard hear. She had a clear path to the damn thing, and the legs of the chair were long enough that she hoped she wasn’t going to get her hair singed. If _that_ happened, Kevin was a dead man.

 

Gripping the chair backward, legs out, the mesh seat mostly protected her face. With a scream like a rabid banshee, she launched herself at the barbecue, gaining moment as she went, until the chair crashed legs-first into the side of the barbecue. Lorna might not weigh much, but she was very strong, and the force of the impact broke right through the railing, sending the barbecue sailing out onto the lawn.

 

Unfortunately, it sent her crashing face-first into the seat, and even over the tearing creak and crash, even over the shouts of her sister and brother-in-law, she heard something in her nose snap. Oh, _wonderful._ Pain radiated out through her face, blood flowed hot from her nose, and she couldn’t help it, she just _couldn’t_ \-- with a snarl of wrath and pure aggravation, she threw the chair at Kevin.

 

Fortunately for him, her aim with anything other than knives was terrible, so it only caught him a glancing blow -- enough to make him stagger, but not lose his footing. He flailed a little, but fetched up against the railing, and the entire situation was just so absurd that Lorna couldn’t sustain her anger. All she could do was press her sleeve up under her aching nose and burst out laughing.

 

“You’ve outdone yourself, you eejit,” she said, her words muffled by her sleeve. “Guess who gets to go get Chinese from Dublin.” Oh, ow. Her eyes watered and stung, though she wasn’t sure just how much of that was from her nose and how much from her laughter. Poor Grania and Lorna the Younger must be wondering just what the hell they’d got themselves into, and she hoped like hell this wouldn’t send them running off back to Dublin.

 

“We’re not always like this, I promise,” she said, when she’d made it back to the door. “Kevin’s a bit’v an eejit. Well, more than a bit, but this is pretty extreme even for him.”

 

“We can go,” Grania said, visibly nervous.

 

“Not on your life,” Lorna said. “I mean, unless you really want to. I know we seem mad, but I swear we’re not...much. Kevin’ll go get us some Chinese, and we can just nibble until then.”

 

“There’s Mam’s casserole,” Niamh said helpfully.

 

“Right. That.”

 

“Come on, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, shaking with suppressed laughter. He was still filming this, damn him. “Come on into the bathroom and I’ll set this for until we get home.”

 

“Oh, joy.” This was going to suck, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t had it done before. That just meant she knew how _much_ it was going to suck. “Will you at least stop filming first?”

 

“If you insist,” he said, leading her into the bathroom. There he did shut off his mobile, and dabbed at her nose. “Hold still.”

 

She rolled her eyes, but did -- though she couldn’t help but wince at the crunch that followed, nor could she contain the stream of invective it brought about, in English and in Irish. _Ow_ . Ow ow _ow_.

 

“We’ll put some ice on and and it should stop bleeding,” Ratiri said soothingly.

 

They exited the bathroom just in time to hear Kevin Junior yell, “ _Godzilla, get off the counter!_ ” That only made Lorna burst out laughing all over again, because talk about weird phrases you’d never expect to hear….

 

“Christ, I hope Grania and Lorna the Younger don’t decide they want nothing further to do with us,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“If nothing else,” Ratiri said, “you can’t deny we’re entertaining.”

 

They emerged into the kitchen just in time to see Kevin Junior chasing a ginger cat not quite as fluffy as Mothra away, feet skidding on the linoleum as it scampered off. “I thought he’d quit doing that,” Lorna said. “Didn’t you line the counter with tinfoil or something?”

 

“We did, and it worked for all’v a week,” he said. “Then the damn fluffball realized you could make balls out of tinfoil, and decided he liked it. He’d shred it up and bat it around.”

 

“That cat is both too smart and too insane for anyone’s good,” Lorna said. Her nose was still bleeding, but far less now. Fucking Kevin Senior. She heard the Explorer start, and assumed it was him, headed of to Dublin for Chinese that would not doubt need re-heating by the time he got it home.

 

Ratiri led her out into the lounge, where they found Grania and Lorna the Younger, both with big glasses of mulled wine and looking far more relaxed. “I promise this isn’t normal,” she said, while he went to fetch some ice for her nose. “Usually Christmas is a lot less...this. We’ve had a couple small fires, but explosions are a first.”

 

“And I hope they’re a last,” Mairead growled. “Can I get you two some more nibbles?”

 

“You know, why not?” Lorna the Younger asked, and burst into a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry, I just...that’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

“It’s one for the scrapbook, that’s for sure,” Mairead said dryly. “He’s not getting a new barbecue, either. That damn thing cost five hundred euro. If he’d actually asked me before he bought it, I’d’ve said no.”

 

“Which’d be why he didn’t ask,” Lorna said.

 

Nibbles were duly brought out, and eventually Lorna the Younger spotted Mothra’s eyes staring out from the depths of the tree, which only made her laugh all over again. The cat steadfastly refused to come down, though Godzilla trotted through, begging shamelessly.

 

“Will you get off, you fat little monster,” Shannon said, shoo’ing him away. “We fed him table scraps as a kitten, and we’ve regretted it ever since.”

 

“Can’t be as bad as Tail,” Lorna laughed. She would suggest watching the video, except Pat was in it, and that...might not go so well. “Thranduil fed him sliced meat _once_ , and he gained too much’v a taste for it. Kind’v like a shark.”

 

“Why’s the cat named Tail?” Grania asked, sipping her wine.

 

“Because it’s Sindarin for ‘feet’,” Ratiri said. “It’s a...strange language. Very strange.”

 

“And bloody hard,” Lorna muttered. “I mean, I studied Russian, and it’s easier than Sindarin. Then again, Thranduil thinks Irish is a barbarian language, so I suppose we’re even. Jesus, you should’ve seen his reaction when I told him the kids all had to learn Irish for school. I just about peed my pants laughing.” There really wasn’t anything quite like watching the King of the Elves pout. There really, really wasn’t.

 

Mothra finally descended the tree, and sat on the arm of the couch, looking appropriately decorative. The effect would have been a lot more regal if there hadn’t been fir needles stuck in her fur, and a tiny red bauble attached to the side of her tail. Lorna snapped a picture, just because. It would make a good Christmas card for next year.

 

More nibbles and drinks followed, until Lorna’s nose was nice and numb, even if it did keep leaking occasionally. Eventually the casserole was brought ought and left to cool a bit. The hapless Kevin returned, loaded down with bags of Chinese takeaway that had to sit in the oven for a few minutes to warm again. Eventually they were all sat at the table, though, with Godzilla locked in the bathroom so he couldn’t pull a Tail and get up into the food. He yowled like a banshee until Niamh gave him some sliced ham.

 

Lorna the Younger looked entirely relaxed now, and even Grania was much more so than she had been. It was nice to see the woman looking so _healthy_ ; she was no longer emaciated, and her complexion had actual color in it. Her tired eyes were no longer so tired, either; now that she didn’t have the shadow of death looming over her, everything must seem easier. What must that be like -- to know you were going to die, only to have life given back to you out of nowhere? Lorna couldn’t even imagine it. And such a relief for Lorna the Younger, who got to keep her mother _and_ acquired family she’d never known existed -- even if that family was admittedly slightly insane. Still.

 

An appropriately sheepish Kevin helped Mairead sort out the dishes, and Lorna had to admit that Chinese food was a perfectly acceptable substitute for turkey -- even if it did make her think of that bit in _A Christmas Story_ where they went to the restaurant and got served what had looked like a barbecued dog. Poor Kevin. Maybe he needed to learn how to cook in the kitchens at the Halls, where there weren’t any...implements...for him to destroy. How a man who was competence personified at work could be such a disaster at home, she had no, but it seemed nobody else did, either. Certainly not Mairead, who fortunately loved the man to bits. Very fortunately, or she might well have buried him in the back garden a decade ago.

 

The twins, naturally, wanted to try a little of everything. They found their mother’s swelling, purpling nose a subject of intense fascination, for all of five minutes. They nibbled, and then they went to play with Godzilla, who basked in the attention and quite forgot about trying to be a fluffy little food ninja.

 

By the time it came to open presents, Lorna was so drunk she could barely feel her nose at all. Their gift to Kevin became sadly hilarious: a set of barbecue implements. Lorna had also made scarves for all, including Grania and Lorna the Younger. Grania also got a soft hat of dark green cashmere, to keep her head warm until her hair grew back in. Nobody in the house had left those two out: there were fuzzy slippers, two very large black mugs with designs of bright glass paint -- John, Mairead and Kevin’s youngest, had done those -- and a framed print of the shot Lorna had taken at the pub, the one of Lorna the Younger and all her green-eyed relatives.

 

“Lorna, didn’t you say one’v your teachers said you and your siblings were like green-eyed versions’v the kids in _Village’v the Damned_?” Mairead asked.

 

Lorna snorted. “She did. The Donovan genes are stupidly strong -- Chandra’s the only one that’s broken the mold so far, and even that’s just in her coloring. Our mam and Ratiri’s da combined to break through there. It didn’t come from Earlene’s and my common ancestors, though -- but it’s possible he had the eyes. No way’v knowing, given the only pictures were in black and white back then.” Sooner or later she needed to find a delicate way of asking about Lorna the Younger’s temper, if she had one, but now was not the time. Maybe she wouldn’t have it. Maybe Lorna the Elder and Saoirse had just be a coincidence. They could pray, anyway.

 

Mothra decided to take a flying leap at the Christmas tree, but Niamh caught her like she was an American football, tripping over an empty box while clinging to the cat. Mothra stalked off in high dudgeon once she was set down, magnificent tail flicking back and forth. The effect would have been rather more effective if the bauble hadn’t still been stuck to it.

 

“See that rope up there?” Mairead asked Grania and Lorna the Younger, pointing to the line that connected the crown of the tree to the ceiling. “We had to start doing that when the cats were younger. They kept climbing the tree and tipping it over, so we finally said ‘fuck it’ and just hung it that way.”

 

“Our flat doesn’t let us have pets,” Lorna the Younger said sadly. “I’d love a kitten, otherwise.”

 

Lorna pondered. She and Earlene had talked about starting a clothing line… “How would you two like a job?” she asked. “Earlene and I, we were shopping a bit ago and decided most kids’ clothes are shite, so we’re coming up with our own clothing line. We’re going to need help there -- if either’v you can draw, that’d be grand, or embroider, but we’ll even need people who can pack and ship things.”

 

“I can embroider,” Grania said. “Slowly, but I can. My gran taught me, and I’ve had a lot’v practice...lately. The chemo left me too tired to do much, but I could embroider. But...I don’t want to be taking charity.”

 

Great. Another one. Lorna fought the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s not charity,” she said firmly. “We really will need the help, and besides, you’re bloody family. I don’t know what you’re getting paid right now, Lorna, but I doubt it’s what you’re worth. Shop pay usually is utter shite. We mean to get a silk-screening machine, and if you learn how to use it, you can help us with the shorts that’ll have designs screened onto them. What with the twins, I haven’t got the time to do what we’d need.”

 

“Where, though?” Grania asked. She no longer sounded quite so dubious.

 

Lorna pondered. “We were thinking’v trying to sell things on consignment in Dublin,” she said. “We could rent a little space there, for a workshop. You wouldn’t have to go far.” And they wouldn’t have to see Pat, which wouldn’t be avoidable if they worked at Eldamar. Eldamar would be one hell of a drive to make on a regular basis anyway. “And if you know anybody else who’s handy that way, let me know -- but you can’t tell them all about us, obviously.”

 

“Anybody with half a brain’d think we were mad if we did,” Lorna the Younger snorted.

 

“Can I have a job?” Niamh asked. “I don’t care what Mam said, I don’t want to go to uni. I wouldn’t know what to _study_ at uni.”

 

Lorna eyed her. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, ignoring Mairead’s glare, “you can work for us _if_ you start reading at home, and figure out what actually sounds interesting to you.” She would ask Thanadir if he could possibly spare any time to read with Niamh once a week, if it wouldn’t prove too awkward for either of them. Niamh had wound up utterly mortified, once she realized Thanadir was an elf, and not just some pretty uni lad, but Lorna was pretty sure she’d got over it by now -- and of course Thanadir didn’t hold a grudge. They needed educated people for the future, but Lorna was of the firm belief that university was useless if you didn’t go with an actual purpose in mind. There had to be something that would call to her niece, but she had to figure out what it was first. If they were really lucky, it would be something science-related, but one definitely had to have the aptitude and the interest if that was going to work.

 

“Fair enough,” Niamh said, and made a very slight face at her mother. “Oh hush, Mam. Haven’t you learned from Shannon?”

 

“Don’t drag _me_ into this,” Shannon said. Chandra had sat on her lap, and was busily sticking bows to her face.

 

“I still think you should’ve been a teacher,” Mairead lamented. “Look at you. You’re so good with children.”

 

“I’m good with children I like,” Shannon retorted. “I don’t like most kids. How often d’you got into a shopping center and see some mam or da dragging some screaming, snot-nosed brat after them? All those brats go to school. These two’re smart and funny, and there’s no snot.”

 

“Gross,” Chandra said. “Snot’s nasty.”

 

“Exactly,” Shannon said. “You’re not kids, you’re family.”

 

“Booya,” Shane said solemnly.

 

Mairead insisted they all eat double helpings of Christmas pudding, which meant it was well past nightfall by the time Lorna, Ratiri, and the twins left. Her nose was getting sore by then, but she’d had too much to drink to have any paracetamol, so oh well. Fucking Kevin. Fucking Kevin and his fucking barbecue.

 

There was a touch more traffic going home than there had been going out, but not by a whole lot. Both twins were sound asleep by the time they reached Eldamar, and Lorna was dozing. Even Ratiri had to roll down the window a bit, so the cool air could wake up him.

 

Each human Christmas now was to be treasured, because there would only be so many more. The weight of the future sometimes loomed heavy, but not right now.

 

Lorna roused herself when they reached home, and the two of them carried the sleeping twins up to their room, getting them changed and settled. Neither so much as stirred, and Lorna swapped her leggings for her fuzzy PJ pants, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. There was the bag of goodies still left in the van -- presents for everyone from  Mairead’s family -- and Ratiri went to fetch it. Naturally, there was large cake in a box, because Mairead knew her audience.

 

The Heart Room was somewhat dim, the lights turned low and fireplace burning. The lot of them were sprawled out on the sofas, a big bowl of eggnog on the coffee-table, what sounded like _A Christmas Story_ on the TV. They entered the room just in time to here Thanadir say, “ _You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!_ ”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, which just made her nose hurt. Oops. “I know nobody’s got room right now,” she said, “but Mairead sent us with a cake. And Ratiri took a fairly epic video example’v why my brother-in-law needs to never be allowed near a barbecue ever again.”

 

Earlene paused the movie and turned up the lights. ¨Does that video include why your face looks like it got into an argument with a frying pan? Thranduil, I think she needs...you. Once you’re fixed you can cast your video to the screen and we can watch it in all its splendor. Though, I’m fairly certain I’m afraid. You want some eggnog?”

 

“Please,” Lorna sid. “And it wasn’t a frying pan, it was a chair, by way of a barbecue.”

 

“It’s much easier to show than tell,” Ratiri added, unable to stifle a snicker. “Lorna’s brother-in-law is now never allowed to own a barbecue ever again.”

 

“Alright,” Earlene said, handing over two mugs. “It’s spiked, didn’t think I had to ask about that part. Let’s see it.”

 

With both a roll of his eyes and a hug, Thranduil smiled and made quick work of fixing her nose. A few seconds later, the cell phone video was running. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Really??”

 

“He’d basted it in cooking oil,” Lorna said helpfully. There was something about watching the thing trail flames across the deck that was quite different at this angle, and watching her poor brother-in-law flail with a fire extinguisher was even funnier. Mairead’s shouting was so loud it occasionally overloaded the mobile’s speaker.

 

“You really did sound rather like a banshee on meth,” Ratiri commented, when she took her run at the barbecue with the chair. There was something almost majestic in the way the thing went flying off the edge of the deck, a large section of the splintered railing gone with it. She didn't even remember saying half the rather impressive cursing that had followed, but she really did look like she’d got in a fight with a frying pan and lost. Oops.

 

“Christmas with the O’Reilly’s, everyone. At least Gran wasn’t alive to take it out on poor Kevin. She just about took his ear off the year he decided to try to deep-fry a turkey while it was still frozen. Fortunately he got stopped before he could blow his own face off.”

 

“Lorna, why in hell didn’t you just shut the gas off on the barbecue, instead of doing that? No wonder you came out of that a mess.” Earlene shook her head. “Well, Kevin’s not running my barbecue, that’s for damn sure. Might build a fence around it, if we have them over.”

 

“I didn’t know how,” Lorna admitted. “And anyway, look how covered in foam that thing was. We had a propane stove when I lived in the warehouse, but Shane never let me anywhere near it. Apparently that thing cost five hundred euro, too, so it’s double the reason for Mairead to murder that poor bastard. He’s so lucky she loves him, or he’d probably’ve been dead a decade ago.”

 

Earlene privately wondered who should kill whom over what, but decided the course of wisdom was to let that go. “Well, how’d it go with Lorna and Grania?” She chuckled. “Guess they saw all the splendid glory.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Oh God, I'm sure they thought we were all mental,” she said, “but they stayed. I want to hire them for our clothing line -- Grania can embroider, and if we get a silk-screening machine, we can teach Lorna the Younger to use it. I was figuring we could rent some kind’v office space in Dublin, and have a few employees on-site. It would take the load off’v us, so we didn’t kill ourselves working on it all.”

 

Earlene kept her features neutral. All this was leaping several steps ahead of where they currently were, but she then decided the situation was salvageable without any naysaying coming from her. “We can talk more on it tomorrow since I don’t want to derail the Daisy BB Gun here, but I think you should work with Niamh on setting this up as a partnership. Care for the business license, employee legal requirements, all that stuff. It would be good for you to understand in greater detail how all this is organized, because a nonprofit charity for the proposed farming idea will be more involved still. I will show you how to research a business plan and write one. We’ll get it done, and I’ve a few ideas on how to work up designs that will be easier than what we talked about in Dublin. Yes, tomorrow,” she smiled, feeling pleased. And slightly guilty. Yes, that was a bomb to drop on Lorna, who hadn’t thought of all the details involved before employees could even come into the equation. But she could and would learn, and in the end it would build confidence.

 

“Yeah, Niamh’s going to have to handle all the licensing shite,” Lorna said. “I was going to ask Orla if she knew’v anyone who could help, too. But...don’t we already have a business plan?” They were going to design and produce clothes, and see if they could find shops that would sell them. Failing that, website. Did it have to get more complicated than that? Grania and Lorna the Younger were family, not just employees. “Once I’ve had tea tomorrow, I’ll be in a better frame to handle this, I guess.”

 

Ratiri, wise man that he was, said nothing. While he knew little about running a business, he _did_ know that it was a great deal more involved than Lorna thought. By now he was far smarter, though, and kept his observations to himself. He liked all his bits in one piece.

 

Earlene caught his eye knowingly, and they shared a quick smile. “Back to the movie, then?” Thranduil and Thanadir had been politely patient. “Join us if you’d like, you two, this one never gets old.”

 

“Indeed it does not,” Ratiri said. He staked out some real estate on the sofa and pulled Lorna onto his lap, where she sat curled up with her head under his chin, rather like a cat. Earlene snuggled between the two ellyn. And when the magic moment came, all the humans yelled “Nadafingaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

 

The ellyn both laughed. They did not need to fully understand. Hell, no one else did.

 

 

 

 


	92. Ninety-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feb 23-28, 2019

 

“We are going somewhere nice tomorrow,  just the three of us,” announced Earlene as they returned to their bedroom after seeing the children to sleep.

 

“We are?” Thranduil murmured wearily.  “Where?”

 

“That is a surprise,  except for me reminding  you that in the time we have been wed,  we have not once celebrated our union in a suitable manner.  Humans observe wedding anniversaries, and ours is tomorrow. “

 

“But meluieg,  we married in June.” Thranduil only wished to relax,  and had so looked forward to a day of rest.

 

“Not in the eyes of the Valar,  we did not,” Earlene said archly. Next to her,  Thanadir nodded, smiling sagaciously.

 

“I thought a King might be _asked_ , instead of _told_ ,  about such arrangements,” he frowned.

 

“No,” the seneschal said,  crossing his arms. “You commanded that outside of your Halls,  we must only treat each other with the courtesy of family. That request was issued on March 7th, 2016. In the morning. At approximately ten-thirty. Therefore Earlene is under no formal obligation to consult you concerning taking you on a holiday.”

 

Thranduil did not know which was worse, that Thandir had actually recorded the date and time of his pronouncement of nearly three years prior, or that he was being judicially strong-armed by his own seneschal. “Eru,” he muttered, feeling too tired to resist as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Very well.”

 

Earlene and Thanadir nodded to each other, by prearranged signal. Behind Thranduil’s back, she mouthed the words ‘One Hour’ to Thanadir, who inclined his head and departed through the French doors, to occupy himself in his rooms until the time had elapsed. And then Earlene went to work, after checking that the door to the rest of the house was locked. Very gently, she pushed her husband back on the mattress, taking a moment to unbutton his tunic. Having somewhat saved up numerous small ideas for just this evening, she leaned over him, peppering his throat with small kisses, but ending with firm bites to his collarbone and shoulder. A free hand caressed firmly, but only once, over his soft sacs and manhood, before her mouth began in earnest to taste, nibble, suck and outright mark as she had never sought to before.

 

The assorted hisses and soft moans she heard in return only furthered her belief that these had been good notions, after all. “What are you doing?” he murmured, eyes closed, as she nibbled her way along the line of his shoulder as though it were a spare rib waiting to be devoured.

 

“Biting you. Do you like it? I think you do.”

 

A somewhat breathless “Mmmmmmyes” followed, as the swelling in his breeches reached fruition. Carefully, she unlaced the fabric, blowing, even nibbling a little as she freed him, but no more. More kisses and licks were peppered onto his firm and sculpted abdomen, judiciously avoiding his obviously aching arousal. For awhile it went on like this, with Earlene attending to ears, throat, nipples, tummy; more or less anything but what he wanted the most, until his breathing was so heavy with desire it was hard to refuse him for much longer. Her own clothing had been unbuttoned long since, as elegant motions gradually divested her of her garments. Finally she straddled him, just allowing her mound to brush once along his length, smiling when he bucked up, seeking friction against her body.

 

“Not yet,” she whispered, brushing his flaxen hair back from his face. Wordlessly she brushed her nipple against him, offering her breast. Ever since her conversation with Lorna, she had actively sought to do this as much as possible. That he found it sexually stimulating and psychologically soothing had long been obvious. In her deepest guesses, it was a form of comfort from a female figure. He had deserved to have this emotional reassurance from his own mother but was denied; where nurture should have been was replaced instead by emotional abandonment in the face of an abusive father. Even if this did not also give her enjoyment, she would gladly have extended the comfort to him just on principle. Her body lurched in response to his hungry suckling; her love flowed to her husband just as her milk did into his body.

 

She supported her weight on her arms for many minutes, until he finished nursing on her left side. When his eyes opened, glazed with relaxation and happiness, she encouraged him to move up against the pillows, divesting him fully of his trousers as he did so. Then she climbed onto him once again, and in one swift movement drove herself down onto his length as she offered her other breast, knowing that this was what he enjoyed most. With a groan of enjoyment, he bucked into her hard, even as he continued suckling. It had become her favorite as well. In her mind it felt like an unbroken circle; his member stoking her passion and claiming her even as he took the milk her body provided. Tenderly she cradled his head, whispering words of love into his sensitive ears.

 

The minutes wore on as his pace slowly increased, his arousal thickening and hardening inside of her body until she was half insensible herself with lust and desire. Suddenly he abandoned her breast, and with vigor she would not have believed possible from the fatigued elf here moments ago, spun both of them around to take complete control of their lovemaking. He insistently kissed her against the stifled moans that otherwise threatened to escape from both of them, pounding forcefully into her body until neither could endure more. Silently his body went rigid as his seed burst from him; her own climax milked all of what he had to offer. He nuzzled her gratefully, slipping off to the side of her body and drifting to sleep even as he breathed her name in thanks.

 

When she could move again herself, some moments were spent just sitting up, watching him. He seemed less pale, more normal to her. For her part, she simply felt good, as always after their lovemaking. Not tired. It was too early for bed. Sighing, she began to arrange for Thanadir’s return, slipping back into loose sleeping pants and a warm tunic. And a sweater. It was cold, outside those doors, and now that they were not engaged in activity she would not remain warm for long without layers of clothing. Rather than disturb her husband’s slumber, it seemed simpler to preserve his modesty by arranging blankets where need be. He never had fully removed his tunic, so she buttoned that back up, hiding the already fading purple marks created during their foreplay. And while she did so, her mind drifted back to how they had arrived at this moment in the first place….

 

*****

 

The past many weeks since their trip to Dublin had been interesting, indeed. After a short time mulling it over, Earlene had elected to be fully honest with Thanadir about what Lorna had observed. ‘Seemliness’ needed to take a back seat, in her eyes, to that which might help Thranduil or increase their understanding of what was the matter with him. Slightly awkward though it had been, complete (if tactful) admissions had ensued about the nature of their intimate life, and the manner in which it seemed to help Thranduil. To the seneschal’s credit, only one eyebrow raised slightly when she confessed the extent to which she breastfed her own husband. It had been followed by a slight frown, then an expression of full acceptance. While unanticipated, it was surely no more unusual than his own adventures pertaining to nursing; he was hardly in a position to comment.

 

After many such private dialogues, Thanadir had ruminated a great deal, and this time it was he who asked to take a walk to the pub. Once they left the forest, the real conversation began as they walked arm in arm. “I never imagined, Earlene, that I could ever find myself involved in discussions of this nature. My world has changed a great deal.” He looked around to the nearby fields, green yet bleak and deserted in the cold of winter. “And it is time something else was said.” Stopping, he turned and took her into his arms. “There was a night, many weeks ago, when you and Thranduil discussed your marriage, and….me. Please believe me, I had not intended to listen inappropriately, but the outcome was the same. I heard what you both said, about feeling as though you were wed to me as well as each other…..all of it.”

 

Earlene’s lips parted as she struggled to precisely recall that conversation. While every word did not return to her mind, it was enough to cause the color to drain from her cheeks. “Valar, I hope you can forgive me. Us. Thanadir, I….” For the first time, her words were silenced not by a finger, but by warms lips pressing on her own. Not in a kiss of passion, but a chaste one of deep love. At first her eyes widened in surprise, but then her body relaxed even as tears pooled and ran down her cheeks. He released her, to kiss her a second time on her forehead.

 

“It was not the easiest to hear, but the difficulty of listening did not change that once I reflected and prayed for many days, I was forced to admit that you both were right. About all of it. I love you and I love our King, in the place of the wife I will never have. With all my heart, but without the sexual desire you feel for each other. I do not know why or how this can...be. Once again, Earlene, I am forced to admit that of every elf who has ever lived, I simply do not fit in. Anywhere. If our Father Eru made me this way for a reason, I do not understand what it is. It has been very hard, at times, to always be the only one like I am. And yet in three short years of knowing you, joys unlooked for and unimagined have been mine. I will not continue to question. I have accepted the love offered to me, and will be content with these blessings.”

 

Earlene stared up at him, all of this churning through her mind. Reaching up on her toes, with a mighty frown, she brought his head down to hers, and kissed him carefully on the lips, wanting to...see. To see her honest reaction. He yielded willingly to her advance, and yet there was….this was….this was utterly outside her experience. There was comfort. Love. Warm familiarity. But the desire that would stir in her, the want of more, the simmer of latent yearning for physical fulfillment that she would feel with Thranduil...that was not present here. It was...what it had always been between she and the seneschal, but deeper. “What even is this?” she said to him and to no one, all at the same time. “This...I do not know if there is a word for this. What we….have.” Her fingers ran through her scalp. “Maybe it does not matter, whether there is a word.” A great sigh came out. “I do not understand, either. But know that I love you, Thanadir.”

 

“And I love you,” he smiled, taking her arm again. “But there is much more to speak of than this. Come.”

 

The pub was sparsely populated, but more were arriving as the workday concluded for many in town. A few ellyn were deep in games of cards or checkers with their ale; these bowed their heads in respectful acknowledgement of their seneschal and queen. Thanadir indicated a table in a deserted corner; Earlene claimed this as he retrieved glasses of Guinness from John. Sitting, her fingers drifted over her lips, where his kiss still lingered. Thanadir was the second male she had ever kissed on the lips, and her mind still could not classify the experience. In idle, private moments during the past weeks, she’d done some internet searches. Polyamory. Group marriage. And there was no such thing as a three-way with an asexual member of the trio in all of human record, near as she could determine. The relationships were always defined by sexual desire for the extra partner or partners. _Great, we’ve invented Elven Chaste Polyamory. Just, no._ And yet at the same time, there was no getting around it. Since the earliest days in which Thranduil had brought them all together, there had been more. Even he himself said it; he hadn’t expected her to form the bond with Thanadir that had resulted. And in the end, it was greater and yet more undefinable than any of them could have anticipated.

 

Her eyes raised to the ceiling, now struck with horror at another thought. _If my pleas are not granted, they will both lose me._ All her will was needed, to blink back the tears that now pooled in her eyes. Just as suddenly, the memory came of the Lady in Grey, and of her vision. _All will be well_. That it had possibly been the mercy of Nienna, and a strand of hope that the Vala’s words applied in a rather blanket sense to their lives in general, were all she had.

 

“Earlene?” Thanadir said, placing a hand on her shoulder after setting down their drinks.

 

She managed a wan smile. “Sorry. My mind was wandering. Thank you, for the Guinness.” Raising the glass to him, she sipped the soothing malty beverage. “You have more to say, I take it?”

 

“Yes.” He turned the glass round in his fingers, as her father’s wedding band gleamed on his hand. “I have given all you have told me about Thranduil a great deal of thought. And I have watched. I have even taken some notice,” his lips curled in a slight smile, “of his bearing and demeanor before and after times it was rather obvious you both shared intimacy with each other. There is no question in my mind that the outpouring of your love for him is indeed replenishing him. But it is the other side, that concerns me.”

 

“Other side?”

 

“What is happening, to cause him to be like this in the first place. Elves that possess significant gifts, meldis, tend to have a combination of two things. Three things, actually. Great age, great force of personality, and the blessing of our Lords and Ladies. With few exceptions I can think of, such ellith or ellyn had need of their gifts to carry out their duties to our people, and to the Valar. You met a Thranduil who appeared to have limitless power. He lived long and had expended next to nothing of the power he possessed, for ages. Then he met you. Healed you. Then Lorna. I cannot tally the times Thranduil has expended great energy to help her; definitely at least three times, with her recent accident being by far the worst. Sharley’s advent also required much of him. You, I, and Ratiri were all shot. Grania needed difficult healing. Saoirse….”

 

It was impossible not to interrupt. “So what are you saying, that he is like a...bank account, and too many withdrawals have been made?”

 

“Actually, that is a very good analogy. Yes, I am. All of our people have some ability to give to others, but we must have time to fully replenish. Thranduil is mighty in strength. Among the most powerful ellyn of our kind, I would guess. But even he has limits. And were I to guess, he does not see those limits, because Thranduil is also consumed by his solemn obligations. His duty. He has made promises to care for many. My fear is that he has promised more than what he can deliver, and yet that will not stop him from trying.”

 

“Well, why hasn’t _he_ seen this? He is not….oblivious; I credit him with having a fair amount of self awareness.”

 

Thanadir shook his head before taking a hefty swallow from his glass. “Meldis, you are not thinking analytically. Could I see my flaws? Could you see yours? No. Each of us had to be practically sat on and backed into a corner, before we could be helped. Come to think of it, we did sit on each other, quite literally. We had to be forced to admit to that which we did not wish to see in ourselves.”

 

“You are telling me my husband needs an intervention?” _Because that wouldn’t be surreal…_

 

“Perhaps he does,” Thanadir said, quite seriously. “What I can tell you for certain is, an overdrawn account does not replenish until enough funds are placed on deposit to replace what was removed. And a leaky keg cannot be successfully refilled, until the constant drainage is stopped.”

 

“He needs a week of nothing but rest and sex, and he needs to stop being at everyone’s beck and call medically?”

 

A brilliant smile followed a cheerful laugh. “Valar forgive me, that and more. I do not believe you alone can give him back all of what he has lost, Earlene. Not without far more time. However, I can,” he said, his face dropping into great seriousness. “And I gladly will. But not until I am certain that he is listening.”

 

“But…” her face was now screwed into a mighty state of perplexity. “You cannot mean...no, of course you cannot. What? Or more precisely, how? Please forgive me, there is yet so much about which I am ignorant, Thanadir.”

 

He reached for her hand. “Do not berate yourself. No one has explained many things to you that are plain enough to us, though I do not believe the oversight was intentional.” Now he leaned back in his chair. “What he gains from you...he does not _take_ from you, I do not believe. He receives an outpouring from you, manifested in physical love and even the gifts of your motherhood. It is like….as if a surplus of energy that you do not even need, flows to him and is gratefully received. Plus, you are wed; sealed to each other with a special bond. Were he to actively seek to drain you, you would feel tired. Very fatigued. Surely he has done this at least once; perhaps in your earliest days together? He told me once that he had. Of late, I have not seen anything in you but vigorous health. You have worked so very hard, Earlene, to be as fit as a mortal can be; for your race you are a perfection of health and vitality. What few small injuries and aches you incur he easily repairs. I do not require intimate contact to aid him, or any another elf. Just touch. It is not so different than healing an injury, except in this case there is not one. Only a depletion.”

 

“Then what does that do to you? Surely we are not helping matters if you become as bad as he is?”

 

“If I have time, say...five days to a week, I can do this. The rest I gain with ordinary sleep will allow me to give more the next day, just as it does you.”

 

“We have to sit on him for _a week_? How in Eru’s name is that going to happen?...”

 

“That is where you come in. You are his wife, and I expect that in that vast engine known as your mind, the challenge of how to remove your husband from his forest for a length of time in which no demands can be made on him is not beyond your skills.”

 

“Oh? Hm.” Her eyebrow raised, and Thanadir grinned. Mild treason had never been quite this much fun.

 

*****

 

The hour had now elapsed, and Thanadir returned to their room, speaking softly. “Do you have everything ready, for after breakfast?”

 

“Yes. The nice clothes, what personal necessities there are, everything is already packed into the boot of the car.” _Their_ car; somewhere around Christmas time Earlene had elected to take advantage of the holiday sales and purchased a 2016 certified pre-owned Honda Fit. She felt strongly that there was a need for a highly fuel efficient car in which up to four adults could travel for errands or day trips. It wasn’t fair to always be using Lorna or Ratiri’s vehicles, and the commuter van was simply ridiculous for anything but their full family outings. Sure god she had the money, and now with her driver license, well, why the fuck not?

 

“I too have my clothing prepared. We are basically starting tonight, at helping him. I have little fear that we will be able to get him to leave tomorrow. He already agreed to that, however reluctantly. The trick will be once he realizes the length of the stay.”

 

“I know,” Earlene said morosely. “I am counting on arguments, coercion, and prayers to the Valar for all that. And help from you too,” she said.

 

“Meldis, listen to me. All will be well. He does not see it now, but he will. In this I have faith in him, both as an ellon and as my King.” There was a pause. “I will be tired, after this, and will go to bed. You are certain everything is cared for, with the children?”

 

“Yes. But after we are done here, I will confirm that with Lorna and Ratiri. Though they are not so adept at hiding their thoughts, it should not matter. That we would have arranged with them and Lothiriel and Ortherion for care of the children would be utterly normal. All they need to do is not have blatant screaming thoughts about the length of our stay. Even Lorna can manage that. I hope.”

 

“It is well, then,” Thanadir said, turning to Thranduil. He first ensured his gwador would not wake, then gently lifted his King into his arms, holding him tightly as his light blazed for a time. Earlene sat very close. While she might have been imagining all of it, one thought would not leave her: _It feels like love._ When Thanadir was done, he did look drained. His beloved friend was settled into the bed, lifted enough for Earlene to bring the covers over all his body. They both tucked him in warmly. She walked into the cold night air with Thanadir, to return him to his room.

 

“Your turn,” she joked, pulling back the covers for him. Without protest he wearily crawled in and allowed himself to be settled. Frowning at the temperature in the room, she shook out another blanket and covered him with that too. “You will be warm enough?”

 

Thanadir nodded. “I will be fine, meldis.”

 

“Well, I intend to be certain of that.” She kissed him sweetly, and tenderly; her hands caressed his face until he was lost to sleep. A soft scratch was heard on the outer door and she smiled. Opening it, she allowed Tail to enter from the craft room. The orange monstrosity had snuck in so many times that Thanadir had given up weeks ago, and installed a cat door to that room. Happily, Tail bounded onto the bed and curled himself against the sleeping elf, purring louder than a bandsaw.

 

*****

 

Earlene wrapped up in one more layer of a robe and went to the Heart Room, where Lorna, Ratiri and Pat still lingered, reading. “I’ve been ordered to double check that we’ve not forgotten anything as regards the children for tomorrow. The only thing I feel shitty about is, I’ve not told the little ones about this. If I had before an hour ago, they’d have given away the game to Thranduil. But I equally hate for it to be like, ‘nana and adars are all taking off without you. Be back when we’ll be back’. But I can’t tell them the truth of how long we’ll be gone, because Thranduil doesn’t know that, and I need him to _not_ know that to get him out of here in the first place. Fuck.” Their lives were certainly complicated at times, by telepathy.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lorna said. “We’ll handle it. If we keep them busy enough, it won’t be so bad. Ratiri’s got all sorts’v science things for them to do. You three just go and have fun.”*

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


********

 

It was probably only the overall necessity of their grand plans that kept Earlene determined to go on this holiday, in the face of their children’s disappointment to hear that Nana and Adars were going to be gone for a bit. Especially Thaladir. Thanadir had to take him, for awhile, into his room and cuddle and reassure the little boy a great deal. There were reminders that he would play with Shane every day, see Sean the Sheep, and have extra time with Saoirse, who had promised to draw pictures of him if he wanted. “I love you very much, ionneg, and we will be back soon. I will think about you every day. And I will blow you kisses from where we are. Every time you think of me, that will be one of my kisses reaching you, to tell you I love you.”

 

The little arms wrapped around him and hugged his waist, as the old elf reeled with gratitude for the gift of this child for the thousandth time. “You can go now, Ada,” piped the voice from the little blond head. Thaladir was beginning to look a great deal like Thranduil did, as a young elfling, and there were times the weight of the years seemed strange indeed. “Take good care of Nana and Ada Thranduil.”

 

“I intend to, Thaladir. I will watch over them very carefully.” With one last kiss to the boy’s head, they left the bedroom hand in hand. At which point he saw Shane dashing through the Heart Room on his way to where their toys were kept, and raced off after him shrieking with glee. Nodding to Earlene, who had a firm hold on a slightly grumpy Thranduil, they slipped quietly away before further chaos could ensue.

 

“I do not need to bring anything?” Thranduil queried. It seemed most peculiar, that he was being ushered out in his coat and the clothes on his back.

 

“I brought it for you,” Earlene smiled. “You are going to like this very much.”

 

“Oh? You seem quite sure of that. Why do I have the feeling that I am being ensnared into one of your elaborately planned adventures, meluieg?”

 

“Because you are a wise sovereign that was not born yesterday?”

 

Thanadir snickered, unable to control himself.

 

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. “You are both probably in trouble, for this. I just have to work out how much.”

 

“Hm,” Earlene replied, beaming at him as she held the door. Though not large at all, the car had a surprising amount of leg room. The running joke was, it could be a Honda Fit, because it ‘fit’ both Thranduil and Ratiri. Especially if Earlene drove, and Thanadir sat behind her. This allowed Thranduil to push the passenger seat all the way back, permitting even his long legs more than enough room. While the ride was a little bumpier than in a perfect world, they were all going to manage to survive. She eased their way out onto the winding country roads; this was quite possibly the first time anyone had ever turned right to go out the driveway, ever, but that was the route to the M18 toward Connacht. Thanadir was in charge of navigation, else her husband’s quick mind would easily be able to look at the navigational software on the map and learn their destination.

 

“We are going to the coast?” Thranduil guessed.

 

“Close, but not quite so far,” Earlene responded smugly.

 

“You do realize I could read your mind anyway, penetrating the murky veils you have woven so well over your thoughts?”

 

“I do,” she admitted quietly. “But you will not, because it would ruin your surprise and you love me enough to allow me to do this for you. We planned a great deal, to ensure you experience something you never have before.”

 

“I dislike it when you are right,” he said, but he could not hide the smile on his face. “I must have slept very well last night. I am not even thinking about the next council meeting this week; that alone is encouraging.”

 

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Earlene soothed. _Of course it was going to be fine, because it wasn’t going to exist._ She had cancelled the whole thing without him knowing and postponed it for two extra weeks. In the backseat, Thanadir found he was struggling more than usual to keep his features carefully neutral. This was noticed in the rear view mirror, but wisely not commented upon. The view of the countryside was truly lovely, and Thranduil gradually relaxed and began to enjoy the car ride. “You know, I think it might not be the worst idea for both of you to get your licenses as well. It is simplistic. In fact, I am taking the rare step of advocating that in this one case, you should overwhelm the brain of the driving instructor, and simply use your gifts to avoid wasting the tremendous amounts of time required to convince the Irish government that you have the cognitive skills of a trained chimpanzee.”

 

“I suppose that the responsible monarch in me should tell you that you ought to be ashamed of yourself and that it is a terrible idea. Yet I confess I like it on the basis of its unseemliness.” He leaned back and grinned at Thanadir, who much to his surprise had a rather diabolical grin of his own. “Meldir, are your elevated moral concepts wavering?”

 

Thanadir did not skip a beat. “I am learning to have greater flexibility,” he countered. “In the face of a soulless bureaucracy, it is important not to be repressed.”

 

“Oh, Valar. I am responsible for the ruination of a pure spirit,” said Earlene. “I already feel guilty. Maybe you should stick to horses, meldir.”

 

His eyebrows raised. “I can teach you to ride,” he said, mulling that one over.

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. “Contrary to popular belief, I am already capable of riding.”

 

Thranduil shook with silent laughter.

 

“Why is that funny?”

 

“Because I have spent too much time around Lorna?”

 

“Oh Eru, Thranduil. Not you too. Now you are going to become Siobhan on me?”

 

He sighed. “Forgive me. You are right, the humor is unseemly and inappropriate.”

 

“I am an adult, and I _have_ a sense of humor. I only am not accustomed to thinking of an elf embracing slightly bawdy humor. No, that is not quite correct. I am not accustomed to an elf even _understanding_ slightly bawdy humor. I am not about to tell you what you may find funny or not, though I may tease you about it.”

 

“I am completely lost,” Thanadir said, his brow furrowed.

 

“If you wish it, I will explain; meldir, I will only warn that it is sexual humor.”

 

He hesitated, his eyes cast down. “I cannot afford to be continually ignorant. Though I would rather not know, the next twenty years of my life and more will be spent interacting with those who will speak this way. Think this way. I only ask that you not make fun of me, Earlene.”

 

“Meldir, I think better of you than that. You may always ask me, without fear. ‘Riding’ is considered a euphemism for when intercourse is had with the woman straddling the male, on top. Her motion is not dissimilar to ‘bouncing in the saddle’ so to speak. So when I said that I am capable of riding, the double meaning in a sexual sense is that I am declaring I am proficient at pleasing my partner in this position.”

 

“People joke about...positions?”

 

“People joke about everything to do with sex, Thanadir. It is somewhat...unavoidable, in the general population.”

 

“And Siobhan in particular,” Thranduil grumbled.

 

Earlene smiled. “Some mind their manners better than others, it is true. At least she is better than she used to be.”

 

*****

 

Lorna and Ratiri had decided long before Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir left that the best way to keep all these kids from missing their assorted parental figures was to keep them busy. Fortunately, the weather was surprisingly nice, so Ratiri devised simple chemical experiments out in the garden, where any mess wouldn’t matter.

 

The first order was for them all to work on a large, elaborate, hollow volcano of modeling clay and papier mâché. They constructed it on a plastic trash bag spread over the kitchen table, under the watchful supervision of Lorna, Ratiri, and three very curious elves. Lorna stuck nearest Thaladir, because Thaladir, like his namesake, was also a precious cinnamon roll, too pure for the world -- if any of the kids was likely to at any point have a meltdown over their missing parents, it was probably going to be him. Allanah had Sharley to keep her busy, and Eleniel and Ithiliel were twins, meaning they had a bond they just weren’t going to be able to share with their other siblings -- though Lorna was not ruling out the potential for even them to have a meltdown later in the week. They were extremely mature for their age, sure, but they were mentally and emotionally about five or six, from what she’d gathered, and a week without parents could seem like a long time to kids that age.

 

Saoirse lurked in the background, too, only helping when larger fingers were needed. “Uncle Ratiri, why are we building a volcano?” she eventually asked. She had a clay smear on her nose that Lorna wiped off with a paper towel.

 

“Because we’re going to make it erupt,” he said, “but not with lava.”

 

The girl looked at him. “Huh?”

 

“Trust me.” He’d even got food coloring, to make the ‘lava’ red. Some of his other experiments...it was probably a good thing Earlene wouldn’t be home to see what was going to happen to her kitchen. So long as they got it all cleaned up, she need never know.

 

What he had not, because he was actually intelligent, told Lorna about was the compressed gas cylinder of liquid nitrogen sitting in the barn. Shane had procured it for him, and he hadn’t asked any questions; it would be the ultimate experiment, the one that he hoped would boggle all of their little minds. From a safe distance, naturally.

 

Lorna had been smart and bought cheap paint, so the kids could paint the volcano before they did anything else with it. Lothiriel and Ortherion hovered somewhat anxiously, clearly worried about what might happen to the kitchen if this went wrong. Wisely, she put down another rubbish bag on the floor, just in case any paint slopped over. She really didn’t want Earlene murdering every single one of them when they came back from Ashford. (And if they didn’t go zip lining, she would be endlessly disappointed in them. They would never live it down.)

 

Naturally, Allanah and her twins wound up covered in paint; the peredhel and Thaladir were rather more careful, though even they weren’t without a few smears. Lorna went around and wiped faces with a damp paper towel, pulling wisps of hair out of the way and securing them with some of her eight thousand hair pins. If they were lucky, all these kids would wear themselves out running around today, and putting them to be without their parents around wouldn’t be _too_ hard. That would, at least from what she’d read on the internet, be the really difficult part, because separation anxiety was often worst at night, when kids were tired and vulnerable.

 

Ratiri, who also realized that Thaladir was a precious cinnamon roll, took the boy over the counters to mix red food coloring into the warm water in the soda bottle. This kid was a staggering argument for the ‘nurture’ aspect of ‘nature versus nurture’; he might not be Thanadir’s kid biologically, but damn were they alike. Indeed, he worried a little about Thaladir’s future; the boy was very sensitive, and taking him out into the world might prove...hard. At least he had all these other kids to stand up for him, until he was old enough to stand up for himself. He certainly seemed to be bonding with Shane, fortunately; they’d need each other, given they were surrounded by girls.

 

“When will Nana and Adas come home?” he asked, very carefully emptying the tiny plastic bottle of food coloring.

 

“In a week,” Ratiri said, wiping a few stray drops of red off the boy’s tiny fingers. “That’s seven days. Do you know how many seven is?”

 

Thaladir looked at his hands. He knew that seven came after six and before eight. “Um…”

 

Ratiri took his left hand, holding it up, and then his right, folding down all his fingers save his index and middle. “That’s seven,” he said. Folding down Thaladir’s middle finger, he added, “That’s how many times you’ll go to bed before they get home.”

 

This information was duly digested. “Where are they?”

 

“They went to a castle. A human castle. Sometimes grown-ups like to go on trips, but kids might not have any fun on them.” Which was a blatant lie; the kids would _love_ Ashford, but they didn’t need to know that. Far better to let them think they’d be bored.

 

“But they’re coming back?” Now there was a faint tinge of worry in the kid’s tone.

 

“Of course they are,” Ratiri said, ruffling Thaladir’s hair. “They love you, and Allanah, and Eleniel and Ithiliel, way too much to stay away for very long. Your Auntie Lorna and I will help Ortheriorn and Ithiliel look after you until then. And we’ll do so many fun things that seven days won’t seem like much time at all.”

 

Those big green eyes -- and the fact that he could have inherited them, as far removed from the original Aidan as he was, continued to delight Ratiri -- looked up at him. “Promise?”

 

“Of course I do. Now let’s see if my twins and your sisters are done out there. You’ll like what this does.” The boy was still so small that it was easy to pick him up in one arm and the bottle with one hand.

 

“All right, you lot, this is going outside,” Lorna said firmly. “Ortherion, Lothiriel, would you please help them get that thing outdoors?” They’d built the volcano on a large platter, so it was easy to pick up it and the trash bag all at once. She went to fetch the rest of the ingredients herself.

 

Allanah got to add a few drops of dish soap into the bottle, and Eleniel was given the task of adding baking soda. Once everything was well mixed, Ratiri paced the bottle into the center of the volcano, and let Ithiliel add the vinegar, a look of fierce concentration on her small face.

 

The mixture boiled up over the top of the construction, bright red -- the soap kept it from fizzing too much, so that it looked more like actual lava. Sharley was filming the entire thing on her mobile, so that the parents could see it when they got home -- though the effect was a touch spoiled by Chandra’s quiet but wide-eyed exclamation of, “Holy shit.”

 

“Da, why’s it do that?” Shane asked, staring.

 

Ratiri debated how the hell to answer that questions in terms a two-year-old would understand. Words like ‘bicarbonate’ were going to go right over his head. “It’s what happens when you mix an acid and a base,” he said. “Vinegar is an acid, baking powder is a base. Combine them in water and you get that.” That was so simplistic it almost made him cringe, but even this might confuse them.

 

“But why?” Shane persisted.

 

Could he go into the more detailed explanation? Should he? He could already imagine the children’s eyes glazing over. “Because that’s the way their individual elements work.” Again, he nearly cringed, but none of these children were mentally more than five years old. Shane, however precocious, was still not much past two.

 

Sure enough, his son just looked at him, and said, “’Kay. Can we do it again?”

 

“No, but we can do something like it tomorrow.” He figured an experiment a day ought to at least give them food for thought while playing other games. He also really, really wanted to introduce the Sullivan kids to _Doctor Who_ , but Thaladir might find it a bit much. Shaun the Sheep was a good alternative.

 

Lorna had them conscientiously pick up all the trash, though the volcano itself went to live in the barn, where it wouldn’t get rained on. They’d clean it off later and it could become a fixture in the playroom.

 

Lunch was simple -- cheese toasties and sliced apples -- and it wasn’t long before Allanah, both Duncan twins, and Thaladir went down for naps. Perhaps this would actually work, without dumping too much pressure onto Ortherion and Lothiriel.

 

Sharley took Eleniel and Ithiliel for a short walk in the forest; she was wise in the ways of children, and knew that it would be easiest to get them to sleep tonight if they were worn out, and little wore a kid out quite so much as running around in fresh air. Would they like Washington? Of course they would. If this group would go with her, she’d love to take them to Ross Lake, a place so beautiful it could give this forest a run for its money, at least in her opinion. Granted, she’d have to teach them how to drive speedboats first, but _that_ wasn’t very hard.

 

She’d taken Marty there, the last year the girl was alive, and they’d seen a deer swimming out from the shore to Cat Island. Marty had caught tiny frogs and put them in a big empty liquorice bucket, on the promise that she would release them at nightfall, and they’d gone fishing, though that hadn’t amounted to much. Still, it had been fun, and they’d both burned like lobsters thanks to the sun off the lake, even with their sunscreen. Marty had been utterly fascinated later, when her arms started peeling.

 

 _They’ll like it there_ , Sharley thought. _I can’t imagine how they wouldn’t._ Washington, to her mind, was the most beautiful place in the world. Ireland was much like it, in some ways, but it was only a likeness. There were no mountains here, and even yet the mountains were her home.

 

*****

 

Having reserved one of the suites for a week in of itself flagged the staff that the three of them were VIPs. Not to mention, this was technically the second time Earlene had patronized the establishment, given that Lorna and Ratiri’s honeymoon stay was her gift. After being greeted by the green uniformed footman who charmingly told them they were expected, their bags were promptly removed to their rooms by smartly uniformed porters.  Soon they were ushered to an unassuming wooden door with a brass plate that proclaimed “Reagan Suite.” Earlene frowned, slightly. He hadn’t been her favorite President either, but then again, who of them had? Thranduil gleaned from his wife’s thoughts that this was the name of one of the former American leaders, and an eyebrow raised. Once inside, he found himself somewhere as different from their hotel in New York as he could possibly imagine. Chilled champagne and sweet treats were already placed on the bed, and the porters vanished, leaving them alone. Earlene smiled, and moved to care for the champagne, while Thranduil explored and Thanadir simply appeared overwhelmed.

 

“Do I wish to know the cost of staying here?” the seneschal asked very quietly.

 

“Ah, Thanadir. There is a saying in the mortal world. ‘If you have to ask, you cannot afford it.’ We _can_ afford it. Though it is not like me, to be so extravagant, this is special. Our King deserves the best, and this is the best they have to offer.”

 

That struck Thanadir as being extremely seemly, and a reassured smile replaced the worried frown. Earlene kissed his forehead, then realized that he would have better success with the damnable cork than she would. A brief explanation of  how to make a proper job of it later, she carefully poured three flutes full, while nudging the tray of treats toward the seneschal.

 

Thranduil eventually returned, looking pleased, and was handed a glass. As was Thanadir, once she steered him away from the petits fours. “It is customary when beginning special celebrations to say something, so I will.” Earlene turned to Thranduil and took his hand. “Three years ago you claimed my spirit and my body. Though I thought I had lived well previously, I had not lived at all until I was blessed by the Valar to meet you. You have given me health, a life filled with wonder, beautiful children, and Thanadir. I have a home, a family, and love. You are my King, my husband and my heart’s desire, and I love you. And Happy Anniversary, as we humans say.”

 

He at least had the presence of mind to clink glasses with his wife and Thanadir. For the first time in many weeks, Thranduil felt as though a veil he had not particularly recognized as being present was lifting, a little. On some level he had been completely unprepared for his wife’s words. Eyes wide, he realized that he did not know what to say. “You have both given me all of yourselves. And….” he could not continue speaking, as tears welled up.

 

Earlene recognized an opportunity, and took it, gently removing the glass from his hand. “My Lord, come and sit for a moment.” Thanadir helped guide him; they all sat on the edge of a spacious velvet bedspread under a pleated ivory canopy. “We have given you all of ourselves, and you in turn have given all of yourself to those under your care. Thanadir and I both love you unwaveringly. You have done a great deal, Thranduil. Maybe too much. Part of why you are here is that we are going to care for you. You have been very weary, and now there will be some time for rest. And restoration.”

 

He looked at the patterns of squares and diamonds in the carpet, that somewhat mesmerized, before raising his head to Thanadir. “Is that what has happened to me?”

 

“I believe so, my King,” the old elf said, not able to resist rubbing at Thranduil’s strong back. “Sharley. Lorna. Those of Lorna’s family. I know you could not have done otherwise, but you have exceeded your own strength. Maybe you have not even seen it, but I know you have been deeply weary.”

 

“I have been walking in a fog, meldir. One that crept up, so slowly.”

 

“We will move it away,” Earlene promised. “Both of us.”

 

Thanadir looked at Earlene with a question in his eyes, and she nodded.

 

“There is more, Thranduil,” Thanadir said. “I must tell you now what I confessed to Earlene some weeks ago.”

 

“Oh?” The King raised his head, smiling. “This is _you_ , Thanadir. It cannot be too shocking.”

 

“Probably not,” the old elf smiled. “It is that some months ago, I was about to knock at your open door at night, to ask something. The same night the two of you were conversing about your marriage, and how you felt I am part of it. I did not mean to listen in, but…”

 

“But you could not help yourself,” Thranduil sighed. “Valar. I will assume that you are speaking to me so calmly means that I did not offend you past the point of no return?”

 

Thanadir shook his head. “You did not offend me. At least, not once I had time to think. A great deal of time, actually, because I wanted badly for you both to be wrong, on some level.” He paused. “You were not wrong.”

 

Thranduil’s arm came around him, in sympathy. “You are loved by us, and wanted, meldir. I know that...how the three of us are is not usual in either the human world or that of our own people. Nor do I care. All of my life, it is your love and strength that has sustained me. I have always loved you. I have never known what to...call you. ‘Father that I never had’, ‘brother’, ‘seneschal’, ‘friend’, ‘gwador’...each of those words touches on a part of the whole, and yet none of them remotely gives voice to my heart.”

 

“I have already concluded that our relationship exceeds the English language,” Earlene added. “There are words that describe loving partnerships of three, four or even more persons; that is called polyamory. But Thanadir has stated that he feels no sexual impulse toward me. Nor I toward him. So in the end, there are no words that suit. Except, love. I love both of you, but sexually I only wish for Thranduil.” She shrugged.

 

“And what does Thanadir feel toward me?” Thranduil teased playfully, thinking he already knew the answer. Which is why he was surprised more than a little when soft lips kissed his own.

 

Thanadir moved away from him, smiling back. “I like kissing both of you. Like that. It feels like...family. But I do not want more, from you or anyone else. My heart belongs to both of you.” He looked down now, feeling surprised and chagrined at his own boldness, and vaguely not believing he had just done that.

 

Thranduil stared at the elf next to him, thinking. Suddenly many things about his seneschal came into a sharp focus that had not existed before, including how much affection this ellon had probably subconsciously wanted over the years, and not been able to express. Or receive. He placed his arm around Thanadir’s shoulder, while his long fingers raised his gwador’s chin. It was important, that Thanadir look at him. “I now see more ways in which I have failed you, meldir. I did not fully understand, and for that I am sorry. It has already become obvious to me that we are obligated to keep some aspects of our lives with each other private to only the three of us; I am not certain even Lorna or Ratiri would weather being fully aware of our circumstances.” He leaned in, to kiss Thanadir carefully on the lips. “If expressing affection in this manner adds to your happiness, I am glad to give it, in private. And for that I am sorry, but…”

 

He made it no further, for he was hugged very, very hard. “I love you,” Thanadir exclaimed through a voice filling with strain. “I have always loved you.”

 

Earlene watched, and smiled, and felt like she was about to start crying from happiness. Whatever regard she already had for Thranduil had just tripled, at the very least. Thanadir managed to collect himself and not burst into tears, which was just as well; it would be a terrible shame for him to work himself up enough to miss lunch. “I understand,” Thanadir said, drying his eyes. “It is no different than if I kissed Earlene in such a manner around the others. I have learned enough of how mortals think that I know how it would appear. And even our own people would find it...most unusual.”

 

“Well, not on the Continent,” Earlene mused. “I had a friend who kissed everyone, like that, at greeting and parting. Man, woman, didn’t matter. His wife did the same. He was from Switzerland, but they had lived a long time in New York. We won’t even get started on the Greeks and Italians.”  She returned their champagne glasses to their hands. “Just so you know, Thanadir, much of what people watch is the duration of the kiss. Humans have very subtle forms of communication with body language. If I kiss another like this, (a suitably quick peck on the lips was demonstrated with Thranduil), no one would think a thing of it, except that I am somewhat close to that person as at least a friend. But _this_ (a chaste but lingering kiss) carries a far different emotion. Only two people with considerable intimacy would kiss for so long. But Thranduil is right; if you wish to avoid raising any questions in the minds of others, it is best left behind closed doors. Sadly. Here is another toast. To my extraordinary family, that defies description. I love you both.”

 

Finally, something everyone could manage. Glasses were clinked and the vintage appreciated. Thranduil finished his glass and stood up, appreciating the view of  Lough Corrib. He rapidly found each side of his waist colonized, and laughed merrily. “Thank you for this, meluieg. And you too, Thanadir, since I cannot imagine you did not contribute to this outing as well.” For an answer, the arms around his waist tightened. Maybe he had needed this, after all.

 

*****

 

Putting the kids to bed was fairly easy, but Lorna had suspected Thaladir might prove an issue, and she was right. The poor kid didn’t like that Nana and the Adas weren’t there to tuck him in.

 

Lorna eyed him, and the twins, and Allanah. “All right, how about I teach you a song before you go to sleep? Would that help?”

 

Four pairs of eyes blinked, and four heads nodded.

 

“Now this song is in Irish, and it’s about a famous pirate woman, Grace O’Malley.” And yes, some small part of her was highly pleased by this opportunity to expose Thranduil’s kids to Irish. They had to learn it sooner or later.

 

“A pirate?” Allanah asked. “Aren’t they bad?”

 

“Not all’v them,” Lorna said. “Now listen to me carefully, and see if you can pronounce it:

 

_Óró ‘Sé do bheatha ‘bhaile,_

_Óró ‘Sé do bheatha ‘bhaile,_

_Óró ‘Sé do bheatha ‘bhaile,_

_Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh!”_

 

The lot of them looked at one another. Eleniel and Ithiliel, unsurprisingly, were the most confident.

 

_“Oh-roe shay duh vah-ha wall-ya,_

_Oh-roe shay duh vah-ha wall-ya,_

_Oh-roe shay duh vah-ha wall-ya,_

_Ah-nish air hawkt un tauw-rEE!”_

 

After the first two repetitions, Thaladir and Allanah chimed in pretty much correctly.

 

“Good,” Lorna said. “Now listen again.” She sang slower this time, so they could handle the new words.

 

_Sé do bheatha a bhean ba léanmhar,_

_B’é ár gcreach tú bheith i ngéibhinn,_

_Do dhúiche bhreá i seilibh meirleach…_

_Is tú díolta leis na Gallaibh!_ ”

 

That drew her a quartet of blank stares, as even Eleniel and Ithiliel’s brains short-circuited, so she tried it again, and this time managed it.

 

“ _Shay duh vah-ha uh vahn bah layn-var,_

_B-Ay air grack too veh EEnn gay-vin,_

_Do-oo-EEv rah-EE shay-live mare-lawchk…_

_Iss too deal-tah lesh nah Gah-live!”_

 

“Good,” Lorna said, smiling.

 

“But what’s it mean?” Elenial asked.

 

“‘Óró ‘Sé do bheatha ‘bhaile’ means ‘Oh, welcome home’,” Lorna explained, tucking Thaladir in.

 

“That’s a lot of words to say just three words,” Ithiliel pointed out.

 

“It is, but that’s what makes Irish interesting. ‘Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh’

means ‘now that summer is coming’. So Ireland is welcoming Grace O’Malley home. She’s a hero, you see, to us, because back then, the country to the east’v us, England, was very nasty to Ireland, and she fought against them.”

 

“Why was England nasty?” Allanah asked, and Lorna thought very carefully. She was _not_ going to bring up monarchy or anything to do with it in any way, shape, or form.

 

“Because people can be greedy and selfish,” she said, “and back then, most people in England were, and didn’t care if us Irish starved as long as they got what they wanted. They’re smarter these days.”

 

Four pairs of eyes widened. “Starve?” Thaladir asked, and Lorna winced; she should not have brought that up. Shit.

 

“It was a very long time ago, Thaladir,” she said, kissing his forehead. “Everybody has plenty to eat now. And speaking’v eating, what does everyone want for breakfast tomorrow?”

 

Thaladir, bless him, was very much like his namesake. “French toast!”

 

“Yeah,” Eleniel said. “That.”

 

“And you two? What d’you say?”

 

“French toast,” Ithiliel confirmed, and Allanah nodded.

 

“Good. Now you lot go to sleep and you’ll wake up smelling it cooking.”

 

A chorus of, “G’night, Auntie Lorna”s followed her out the door. Her own children were waiting patiently for her to tuck them into bed, though they were both half-asleep already, and snuggled down into their beds when she kissed their foreheads.

 

For a long while, she stood and stared at Chandra. The kid seemed to have no memory at all of the wreck, and Lorna thanked Manwë or whoever that she’d somehow come out of it all but unharmed.

 

“You’ll wake them up again if you stand there and stare at them,” Ratiri murmured, taking her hand and leading her out of the room. “Well, Day One went all right. I just hope we can manage another six.”

 

“Fingers crossed,” Lorna said. She was weirdly tired herself, for all it was still fairly early. It might be a good evening to just lay down with a book, now that it didn’t take her five years to read anything. And no, it was not going to be anything to do with running a small business…she’d had to have a panic meeting with Niamh in Dublin once she figured out what _that_ entailed, but they had a location now, and Grania and Lorna the Younger had been helping set it up. It was just a few rooms in an old office building, but the rent was as cheap as you were likely to find in Dublin (which wasn’t really saying a great deal), and there was space for a silk-screening machine, and a packing and shipping area, and plenty of storage for...whatever. She’d let the pair of them arrange it as they liked, since they were the ones most often there, and meanwhile Orla had helped her set up a website, though it hadn’t gone live yet.

 

No, for now she’d stick with the zombie book Orla had loaned her, and let the cats surround her. It was not yet so early that she felt like a total old lady for putting on her pajamas and crawling into bed with Ratiri.

 

*****

 

The time since their arrival had been wonderful. Not particularly knowing what to take in, they had eaten a light meal in the Drawing Room, then simply explored. And eaten another light meal in the same place in the early evening, and explored some more. The grounds were vast and beautiful. Earlene made reservations for high tea for half the days of their stay, reasoning that Thanadir would be over the moon at all the tasty treats. Most nights they would eat at the George IV restaurant, so as to properly work their way through the menu. Yet they were there to do far more than eat. When evening fell at last, and the increasing chill made the hearths and cozy appointments seem very appealing, they returned to their suite, feeling extremely pleased with the scenery and the fresh air. Earlene wasted no time igniting the gas fireplace, which brought a cheery glow to the hearth of blue and white porcelain inlaid into what appeared to red jasper or marble stone.

 

Thranduil smiled, taking a second, more careful look around, before coming up to his wife. “Meluieg, I can see that we have a very large bed. And a lounging chaise, and even armchairs. Thanadir has slept with us many times...and yet out of regard for him we have behaved ourselves.”

 

“He and I talked about this, at length, before we planned this trip. He says he has considered it carefully, and that he does not mind what we do. Which surprised me, but I was hardly going to argue with him. He has held me as I have given birth. Twice. Three times, if I want to be picky. To my thinking, I have little left to hide from him.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows shot up, as his mind hailed back to his first marriage. Newly wed and filled with lust, he and Alassëa had unabashedly enjoyed themselves at times in the outer rooms of their home in the Halls. On one particular occasion, he had completely failed to recall that he had asked Thanadir to meet him there to discuss a matter of duty. And he had equally failed to notice, in the throes of passion just preceding his climax, that his seneschal had entered the room and frozen, before averting his eyes downward and blushing furiously. He had been less...sensitive to the feelings of others, then. It had not helped, that Alassëa rapidly detected a way to discomfit the seneschal that in her mind was always dishing up rules and demanding the time of her husband.  She was only too eager to be ‘caught in the act’, the more lascivious the pose, the better. Thanadir had been exposed to many, many such dalliances until there were no more to be had.

With a sigh, he explained all this to Earlene, along with his regrets for his behavior.

 

“So this is your way of saying, he has seen it all before?”

 

“Something like that. But I am still ashamed, to have had so little regard for him at that time. I must have embarrassed him terribly, which is why what you are telling me seems so strange. He…”

 

“I do not mind, Thranduil,” Thanadir said, seating himself, and folding his hands in his lap. “There is more, than what you know. I will tell it, if you want to hear.”

 

Thranduil stared at him somewhat dumbly, whereas Earlene rolled her eyes. “Well, I would very much like to know. There is so much that passed between you when I was not even thought of in the plans of the Universe. That is, if my interest is enough.”

 

The King shook his head. “Forgive me, of course I too want to hear. It is only that I am so...surprised.”

 

Thanadir smiled, and sighed. “You have to realize, that back in those times, I understood myself so little. When I was very young, Nana and Ada would of course talk to me about how they hoped I would reach my majority, marry a lovely elleth, and bring them grandchildren. I cannot blame them; what parent would not say such things? I believed it myself, it was simply what most of our people did when not in times of war or terrible struggle. But I was busy, busy with my work. Hungry to learn more and to succeed and to become ever better. And there just never was anybody. Not, in hindsight, that I was actually looking or making myself available. When not on duty, I was lost in the library. Or the training grounds. Or practicing music. Out of sight, alone, and absorbed in whatever it was I was doing. It did not even occur to me, though as the years ran by, from time to time I would think that surely something must happen soon?”

 

He stopped, to pour himself more champagne; the bottle was still quite cold. Though he offered it to the others, they declined. “When you courted and wed Alassëa, it was a very...internally volatile time for me, Thranduil. You were actually doing something that I believed I was supposed to have accomplished by then, and it caused me a great deal of distress. And it was made worse by the growing awareness that I could think of the name of every unwed elleth in your realm, and dismiss all of them in my mind. I did not understand, and it upset me greatly. And then, worst of all, were the encounters of which you just told Earlene. I was initially horrified, yes. I told myself it was unseemly, though for you I would tolerate that and much more out of love and loyalty. But the worst of it was, I knew that anyone normal should have become aroused. At least a little. Curious, at least a little. It was then that I had to sit alone, later, and admit that what I had seen you doing with your wife was….” he trailed off, unable to complete his sentence. Silence hung between them. “Was utterly uninteresting to me.”

 

Earlene’s heart filled with pity. Her own sexual expression had been latent, but not because it did not exist. “Oh, meldir. You judged yourself because you felt you did not measure up, instead of understanding that this is how some are. That their preference is uncommon but normal.”  

 

Thanadir nodded.

 

“Meldir, can I ask you something very personal?”

 

A weak smile played on his lips. “Earlene, my heart is bound to yours. While I thank you for your regard, you need never again ask me that. I will tell you anything I am free to tell.”

 

Inside of her, she felt poignance. Not because of anything...sexual. His words of long ago came back now... _I would especially not bind myself to a mortal, Earlene_... “Have you ever experienced a sexual climax? You are male, and at least among human men gaining an erection is simply unavoidable. You feel no pleasure or desire of the body when that happens?”

 

Thanadir’s eyes flared, and a deep sigh escaped him. “I have erections. But not because I am thinking of anything sexual. They come, and go. Usually when I wake, there is one that quickly goes away. I will admit that during the time I felt the worst distress from what I have just told you, of the time Thranduil was newly wed, I attempted to...feel desire. There is a book in our library, full of graphic depictions meant for the eyes of wed elves. I am fairly certain Thranduil knows of this,” he grinned with an amused glance at his mildly blushing King, before his smile faded. “The same book I later humiliated Erestor for viewing, just to add to my hypocrisy and the wrongs done to that poor ellon. Anyway, I secretly brought the volume to my quarters, and...tried. Tried to pleasure myself. It was the inability to achieve any enjoyment whatsoever from the experience that caused me to have to accept this about myself, that there was something wrong with me. It is true that among our kind lust awakens more freely at the time we marry, but it is still supposed to be _somewhat_ possible, beforehand. There have been times in my life when I have woken, and obviously had an emission of semen while I slept, but that is very rare now. So I think the answer to your question is, I have never knowingly experienced this, and yet obviously I have ejaculated, from time to time. My body is capable of the sex act. But apparently my mind really is not.”

 

“Thank you, that you would reveal something so private, whatever your regard for me. A part of me can understand, and a part of me cannot. Mostly I want to honor and respect you, Thanadir. So if you were to see us...you truly do not care?”

 

He shrugged helplessly. “I do not think I will sit here and watch you,” he said, shrugging helplessly. “To be fully honest, I am not certain what I will do. Part of this, if you are willing, is that I need to come to some kind of peace with the idea that this is what others usually do, when I do not, and that there is nothing the matter with it either way. I think, at this point in time, I hope to find what you have to be beautiful, even if it is a beauty in which I cannot share. It is your physical love that has blessed me with your children. I can hardly complain. You have say in this, too. If you wish me away from your bed, Thranduil, of course I will abide by that.”

 

Thranduil shook his head No. “I will only ask for one thing, after listening to all your words, Thanadir. Only that we maintain a dialogue with each other. If you see something, feel something that you need to discuss, that you not keep it to yourself. As we have all noted, this relationship is...unusual, and what matters most to me is your peace of mind.”

 

“I can do that. And while we are all talking some more….Thranduil, I am not only here on your anniversary holiday on account of the newly acknowledged depths of my love for both of you. There was another reason. You have been badly depleted, by your healing of so many illnesses of our human friends. And the healing is not the only thing that has strained your powers. I have watched you carefully for months now, and Earlene was watched even longer. It is my belief that her vigor has kept you barely stable for a very long time now, because you cannot ever rest enough to recover fully before the next demand is made on you. I am going to restore what has been lost, in the duration of our stay here.”

 

“‘Duration of our stay?’” He turned to his wife, his eyes narrowing. “Just how long is this sojourn planned for, Earlene?”

 

“As long as it needs to be,” she said with some level of defiance, her chin raised. “But a week would be a nice description.”

 

“I cannot be away a week!” he said, rising. “ _We_ cannot be away a week. I am a King. We are parents….we…”

 

“...are staying right here until you are fully well, Thranduil,” Earlene said. “Do you really believe that I did not ensure that everything would be cared for in our absence? Beloved, you have been a shadow of yourself for months now. You must see reason. You _need_ this. I can see it. Thanadir can see it. Lorna has seen it. Everyone knows there is something the matter with you, even if you do not wish to believe it or they are too polite to bring it to your attention.”

 

Thranduil froze. Part of him wished to be very angry, right now. The outburst lingered there, just under the surface, and he would need only the tiniest excuse to set it free.  Yet he looked back at the eyes that now watched him. Full of love, concern, and honesty. And still something in him wished to rage about it. For many long minutes, he stood immobile, until both Earlene and Thanadir moved off their seats and knelt before him. “Please, Thranduil,” Earlene said. “Please allow this. I will beg, if I have to.”

 

“As will I,” echoed Thanadir, though like Earlene, he did not raise his eyes.

 

And the anger broke, and vanished away. He sank to his knees as well, reaching for both of them. “After all this long time, it can still be so hard when others try to tell me what to do. Even if they are right.”

 

*****

 

Nothing was scheduled the next day of their stay, because it felt important for Thranduil to have two days of full relaxation. After their conversation, Thanadir changed into his sleeping clothes and excused himself to another part of their suite, with the obvious intention of allowing them privacy for what remained of their actual wedding anniversary. While he did not mention this facet to them, he could not help but remember the original conversation he had overheard, that Earlene intended to bear more children. This, more than anything, cheered him. Though he still felt a little awkward, maybe even nervous, at this new proximity to their marital activities, the promise of more children...he found himself smiling and happy at the mere thought of another pregnancy.

 

He had thought to watch a movie; the Castle had excellent Wifi and Earlene had of course packed all of their laptops. But when the film did not hold his interest, he found himself softly padding toward the bedroom, steeling himself against the sight he was likely to find. All these thousands of years of hiding behind his favorite word, ‘unseemly.’ What had it really been, except a way to shut down that which caused him terrible anxiety and conflict? His lips parted, as he looked on Thranduil and Earlene. They moved against each other with sinuous, fluid rhythm. Their eyes were closed, but even so all their body language spoke that each was only aware of the other. They kissed, but not as he would kiss them. With morbid fascination, he realized that their tongues mingled, and that they liked this a great deal. Thranduil kissed and suckled at breasts that in his eyes were only a means to feed the children. And over and over his King thrust into Earlene, sometimes so roughly that he cringed. _How did it not hurt her?_ And yet she showed no discomfort and even encouraged him. Their tempo increased, until they both went rigid at the same time, holding each other tightly, faces contorted by some sensation he could not comprehend. A few seconds later, their bodies relaxed as they tenderly kissed each other and nuzzled each other’s faces.

 

Silently, Thanadir withdrew, and returned to his computer. He continued to watch the film for a few minutes, but did not see any of it. Finally, with a sigh, he closed the lid and walked to the bedroom. Earlene had risen to use the lavatory, and he approached Thranduil with a smile, climbing in to sit next to him. “Will you go to sleep now?” he asked softly.

 

With a sidewise glance and a chuckle, he placed his hand on his friend’s lap. “That is a fairly unavoidable outcome of this activity, much of the time. Especially….especially when I have been so tired,” he confessed. There was no point pretending, that he had been only marginally functional for far too long.

 

“Come here to me,” Thandir said. “I will ensure you sleep well. And you will wake feeling better. You will feel better each day, my Lord.”

 

Thranduil gratefully leaned into the open arms, his head tucked against Thanadir’s neck. In a moment he was asleep, and as Earlene returned from the restroom, light flared again. She looked down, giving thanks to the Valar for Thanadir, and his love. When finished, she turned off the fireplace, and donned  a long tunic for the sake of the seneschal’s comfort. The old elf moved to let her lie next to Thranduil, who had been comfortably repositioned. Earlene kissed the cheek of her sleeping husband, before turning to Thanadir. He had already laid down and pulled up the covers around his chin. “Oh no you don’t,” she said, smirking.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

 

Earlene leaned over him a little, smoothing his hair. “Listening to you speak tonight, Thanadir...you must have been so lonely. You may never have wished for a lover, but you most certainly wanted affection. There are small happinesses we can yet give you, that you have never had before. And now that I feel very sure that I understand your needs, I will not withhold them.”  Without further discussion, she pulled up the covers over her shoulder, and reached to pull the tired elf against her. With a kiss to his cheek, she held him tightly and nestled into the crook of his arm. One leg rested against his own, while the other comfortably hooked back around Thranduil’s calf. Sighing with contentment, the last thing she managed before falling asleep was, “the Valar bless you, meldir. I love you very much.”

 

Too fatigued to reflect for long, Thanadir could only tilt his head to rest against hers, as he absorbed that he was being cuddled by a loved one while in bed. He was wanted, and cherished. With a pang in his heart, he understood that this had not happened since he was a small elfling, and his Nana held him against her warmth. With a tear rolling down his cheek, he was lost to sleep.

 

The following morning, Thranduil woke first, feeling better than he had in awhile. Not perfect, but better. He sat up partially, to see that his wife was somehow sprawled between the two of them; her legs tangled with his but her head buried against Thanadir’s ribs. In the night she had curled more into a ball, such that Thranduil wondered how that could possibly be comfortable. There was one way to find out. Diving under the covers, his fingers wandered, caressing and kneading at her firm and shapely bottom until he had his desired outcome. A huge sigh of contentment, and a shifting of her legs and tilting of her pelvis to entreat those fingers for more attention.

 

And attention is what he gave, knowing she would only be able to stand so much. His movements were slow and subtle, so that he would not wake Thanadir. When she pleaded with him in her mind for relief, he carefully pulled her onto him, but Earlene kept one hand lightly draped over Thanadir’s arm. It was actually very erotic, this challenge to gain satisfaction with only the barest of motions. Most arousing of all was the dialogue they shared in their minds. Of desire, of love, and of blatant appreciation of each other’s attributes. As the nearly imperceptible lovemaking session occurred inches away from him, the seneschal began to wake, and saw only a  frown etched on Earlene’s face. Worried that she was unwell, his first instinct was to join his mind to hers, to know what was the matter.

 

He could not avoid the sharp intake of air that came when the force of her climax surged through her thoughts and by extension, his own. Only the barest tightening of her hand on his arm betrayed the storm of bliss coursing through her body. His eyes flew open wider. Well, he had not expected that, and soon it became too difficult to maintain his connection to her...and yet by then the sensation had already almost completely abated. His eyes closed once again, as he tried to make sense of what he had just encountered. _Was_ that _what all the fuss was about? That few seconds of feeling very good, he had perceived in Earlene’s mind?_

 

Ignoring that her husband’s manhood was still embedded quite firmly inside of her, she propped herself up a little on her elbow. “Did I wake you, Thanadir? I am sorry, if I did.”

 

“No,” he said, smiling. “But I believe I have just received an accidental education.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. “I think I can guess. Pardon us, meldir, we were trying to be subtle.”

 

“You were,” the old elf acknowledged. “But I will now understand that if I find Earlene’s face displaying apparent distress, it might be something entirely different.”

 

“Oh dear,” Earlene blushed. “Oops. Well, er, was it...insightful, at all?”

 

“Maybe? That very strong sensation you experienced. That was…?”

 

“That was a female’s sexual climax,” Thranduil offered. “A male’s is honestly not much different.”

 

Thanadir propped his head up on his elbow. “Please do not be offended at my comment but...it seems a little like eating desserts. Good desserts. But it would be like the dessert being over with in one bite. I find myself frankly not comprehending that _this_ is what almost every mortal in existence thinks so much about? And desires? All the time?”

 

“Hm,” said Earlene. “Well, I do not think about it _all_ the time. At least, I do not think I do? But I want this, with Thranduil. Of course the culmination is pleasurable, but mostly I enjoy the feelings of loving and being loved. Of knowing that for a time, our bodies are one. If it were only the climax, all by itself...that would seem somewhat hollow. But I will not deny that there are those who only want that sensation. They are not so much interested in love, only the the body’s strongest response.”

 

“So with one that you love it is a little like having dinner, and then dessert? But dessert takes longer to eat?” He was trying so hard, to understand.

 

“That....yes, that could be said,” Thranduil frowned. “And maybe therein lies an element of understanding for all of us. Of everyone I know, I have never met another that cherishes eating food the way you do. Maybe eating is your version of this enjoyment.”

 

“Now you are making me want to cook for him,” Earlene said, combing her fingers through Thanadir’s hair, smiling. “Perhaps it is not only with human men; maybe the way to an ellon’s heart is through his stomach,” she teased.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened as he made far too many connections from that comment, and decided that he had indeed been corrupted by association with humans. Thinking it wise, he carefully withdrew from his wife and with a peck to her cheek rose to care for personal necessities.

 

Thanadir raised his eyes to the bed canopy overhead, and wondered what exactly had become of his life. “I do not think I could have imagined my current situation under any circumstances, the first day I laid eyes on you, Earlene,” he sighed.

 

“I would imagine Your Excellency could not have.” For a few more seconds, she snuggled against his warmth. “Just as I could not have imagined that I would birth my children into your arms. Life is full of surprises, no? And to think that for the longest time, I was certain I had ruined your existence.”

 

The warm eyes turned to her. “Please tell me you no longer ever think that. I know you are probably joking, but to hear that even in jest hurts me.”

 

“I do not think that now. Nor have I for some time. Forgive me, I should not have said such a thing. I...that was a memory of an old fear.”

 

He blinked. That much, he could understand. “You are always forgiven. And now I would like to bathe.”

 

She tilted her head, rising. “I am going to use the steam room in the spa. Then shower there, then swim. There is a pool; it is a long time since I have been able to do that.”

 

“Swim?”

 

“Yes. Surely you know how to…?”

 

Thanadir flushed pink. “I do not know how.”

 

“Would you like to go with Earlene, meldir? I prefer to relax here, and read.”

 

“There is only one rule I do not like here,” she chimed, “though I understand it. It is required to wear a bathing cap, to over one’s hair. I brought three. If you do not mind this, I would be glad of your company. And if you wish I can teach you a little of how to be in the water, though it is a quiet area. I will need to whisper, if we speak.”

 

Thanadir sighed. “I will try. It is only fair, after all I have required of you.”

 

“There’s a good sport,” Earlene smiled.

 

*****

 

Lorna made French toast the next morning, and didn’t feel terribly guilty for not cleaning up the kitchen right away. She made sure Thaladir got an extra piece -- for not being Thanadir’s biological kid, he sure as hell took after him, and could eat an astonishing amount of food. The rest of the kids didn’t seem to resent this, but they were smart kids, and even as young as they were they probably realized that Thaladir was a precious cinnamon roll. In fact, she was honestly a little uneasy about him; Thanadir was a cinnamon roll, but he was also about as strong as they came, when he needed to be. Thaladir was extremely sensitive, a little, fragile dandelion puff, and she had a feeling it might be best for him to just stick around home until he was a little older, and had had time to toughen up a bit. Otherwise, the outside world might not be a terribly fun place for him at all.

 

But he enjoyed his breakfast, and the lot of them helped her clean up the kitchen once she’d her tea, and the lot of them ran outside to play. It was another lovely day, which meant the trio at Ashford was hopefully sporting the same weather -- though, this being Ireland, they could well be being poured on. Little micro-systems seemed to love this country. Lorna had held back some French toast and warm syrup for Maerwen, Ortherion, and Lothiriel, so that they could linger and enjoy their breakfast for once, basking in the sunshine pouring in through the kitchen windows.

 

When all was done, she put on her coat and went outside. One of the good things about this lot was that they were, for the most part, very good at entertaining themselves; Allanah, Eleniel, and Ithiliel all had sets of marbles, and dribbled a circle of paint on the earth to make space for a game. Her own twins had Thaladir; the poor kid seemed rather nervous of Chandra, but Lorna knew already Chandra would punch the first person who gave him shit. Rather like her mother, Chandra might be blunt and coarse, in some ways, but once you were hers, you were hers forever, and God help anyone that tried to fuck with you.

 

“Do you think they’re enjoying themselves, at Ashford?” Ratiri asked, coming up beside Lorna and wrapping his arm around her.

 

“I’m sure they are,” she said. “Even if they’re getting soaked, I’m sure they are. I’m also sure they’re making whatever poor employee is teaching whatever activity they’re taking feel hopelessly inadequate without even trying.”

 

“I’d say I hope they don’t run into any obnoxious Americans, but I’d dearly love to see how one would melt under the Thanadir Eyes.” Even the thought made him laugh.

 

“Weapons’v mass destruction, they are,” she said. “Is it sad that even now, I worry about him a bit in the outside world? He’s fluent in English, and I think he’s past being shocked by much, but still...he’s a cinnamon roll.”

 

“I just hope Thranduil’s, er, getting relaxed,” Ratiri said. Lorna had told him her theory about Thranduil’s energy level and its connection to his and Earlene’s sex life, and it made a great deal of sense. However, he could see it getting a touch awkward for Thanadir. Seemliness, and all that.

 

She giggled, even if there was a little residual squick there. “Recharged, like a battery. So, you and I need to go and stock up on a better first aid kit. I don’t know how Thranduil’s going to take being told he needs to stop healing every tiny little thing, but it might be easier if we demonstrate human first aid on bumps and scratches.” In a way, she couldn’t blame him if he took it badly; if she’d had that ability, she’d want to use it for everything, too. But she was not about to let her brother-from-another-mother keep making himself sick and miserable over minor injuries. If somebody broke a femur or a rib, yeah, _then_ heal it, but cuts and scrapes? Unless it was a severed artery, that was what plasters were for.

 

“We need to work out a chart, too,” Ratiri said. “So that he understands what constitutes ‘serious injury’ and what doesn’t. The Elves and Sharley can handle the kids for a while.” Pat had declared that he would take lunch, so they didn’t need to worry about that; dinner was Ratiri’s duty. They’d worked it out so that the Elves wouldn’t have to do anything they didn’t normally do, in the absence of Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir.

 

“I got the paper,” Lorna admitted. “And Saoirse’s loaned us some Sharpies. I say we do it now. It’ll go over better with him if it’s obvious we’ve thought this through.” Surely it would help if they made certain he knew they weren’t just pulling this out of their arses.

 

“Then let’s bring it down to the kitchen. How much paper did you get, and how big?”

 

She winced a little. “A big tablet’v eighteen by twenty-two inch art paper. Got it at the art store last time I was in Dublin with Grania and Lorna the Younger.”

 

“Mo chroí, you should have been a Girl Guide,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “You go get it, and I’ll get the table tidied.”

 

Off she went, and when she came back down the stairs, she had all the cats at her heels. Naturally, as soon as she’d set the pad down, all six of the little monsters hopped up and started sniffing everything, including his nose. She’d brought a ruler, too, and Saoirse’s Sharpies. “So how’re we doing this?”

 

“Wounds,” he said, taking the ruler and a pencil, “in order of severity -- what need immediate treatment, and what can suffice with normal human medicine. Then diseases.” He divided the first sheet into two columns, with another line across the top. On one he wrote ‘Serious Injury, Thranduil, Help’. On the other went, ‘Minor Injury, Put a Plaster on it, You Big Baby’. He violated standard doctor practices in that his handwriting was actually very tidy.

 

Under the ‘serious’ column he wrote ‘broken bones’, with a list of bullet points beneath it: femurs, ribs, concussions, kneecaps or elbows. Across from it, in ‘minor’, he wrote noses (with a pointed look at Lorna, who stuck her tongue out at him), fingers, and toes. There was also a note saying ‘if a child breaks a finger, it teaches them to be more careful’.

 

The next subject listing was ‘illness’. This had taken slightly more careful thought, because there were many illnesses a human could live with that Thranduil might not be happy to allow to continue. In the ‘serious’ column went cancer, diabetes (it could be managed, but diabetics were never really healthy, no matter how well they took care of themselves), heart diseases, and failing organs. ‘Bronchitis’ was put in with a note that clarified it was only serious for the children. ‘Minor’ included colds, sniffles, bronchitis in adults.

 

“Shouldn’t we put flu in the ‘minor’ column?” Lorna asked.

 

Ratiri shook his head. “True influenza is no joke,” he said. “It can lead to pneumonia. I would not be averse to Thranduil treating that, for all most lay people think it’s less dangerous than it truly is.”

 

‘Dermal trauma’ came next, and was fairly straightforward: in the ‘serious’ column went severed arteries, head wounds, and anything that would require more than five stitches, with another provision that children were exempt from anything requiring stitches. Scratches, scrapes, and bruises all went into ‘minor’, with an added note that anything that became seriously infected (extremely unlikely, but still a possibility) would deserve aid. Tearing off a finger or toenail was minor, no matter how painful it might be.

 

“What happens if someone gets a tooth knocked out?” she asked.

 

“Honestly, I don't know. I don’t know if Thranduil could fix that even if he _wanted_ to,” he said. “I mean, I doubt he could just grow a new one in its place. Either way, there’s little point in having him do anything about it if it’s possible to replace it through standard dentistry. I’m going to leave that up to being between him and whoever’s unlucky enough to get a tooth knocked out.”

 

Lorna quirked an eyebrow at him. “Bad dental experiences?”

 

“The worst,” he grimaced. “I’m not even going to talk about what happened with my wisdom teeth...which reminds me, we’re going to need a dentist, and dental equipment, once the world ends. I don’t want future generations having to deal with keeping their wisdom teeth if it’s at all possible to get rid of them.”

 

She grimaced. She hadn’t had hers out until she was thirty, and it had _not_ been fun. All four had been impacted, so the dentist had had to break them up to get them out, and she’d wound up with half her face swollen and bruises right up to the bottom of her eyes. “Good idea.”

 

Pat eventually chased them out so that he could make lunch: an assembly line of small hoagies and various lunch meats, condiments, and vegetables, so that the kids could all make their own subway sandwiches. He very lightly toasted and buttered all the bread, just for the hell of it, and stood back as the little herd thundered in, chattering at one another as they set about a feeding frenzy that reminded Lorna a little of tiny sharks. Then it was back outside until nightfall, when Ratiri had this day’s experiment.

 

It had waited until dark because today he was teaching them how to make rainbow fire -- a lawn table was laid out with metal bowls containing a small amount of methanol. In the first was put lithium, which flamed red; calcium flamed orange; table salt flared bright yellow, while boric acid (in this case from insecticide) was green. The pure methanol was a lovely blue, while a salt substitute glowed purple. There was enough methanol in each bowl that they flared like torches, bright in the darkness, and the children goggled.

 

Lorna, several days ago, had put all her mechanical engineering study to use to create something that would allow them to shoot six pillars of rainbow flame at once: she’d taken lengths of plastic PVC piping and fastened them into something that looked rather like a menorah laid on its side, with the end of each pipe fitted with an upside-down fizzy drink bottle containing the various elements needed. A sprinkler valve attached to the main pipe allowed her to build up pressure with a bike pump, which could be remotely activated with the valve timer. She hadn’t actually tested the whole thing yet, though; there had been no way to do it without giving the whole thing away, so she hoped she wasn’t about to blow up half the yard.

 

“All right, you lot, back away -- well away. No, further.” They were practically in the door when she gave the timer a zap, and pillars of flame three feet high shot up out of the nozzles. It did her own little pyromaniac heart proud, and Saoirse’s cry of _Holy shit, Da, look!_ just made her prouder. All this informal studying was useful for more than one thing, and who out there _didn’t_ , somewhere inside themselves, like lighting things on fire?

 

It was beautiful, and wonderful...and then it blew up. She must have put in too much pressure, because the fizzy drink ends went shooting into the air, the flames surging until they were higher than her head, and there wasn’t a bloody thing she could do about it until the pressure died. At least she somehow managed not to scream like a little girl; the children were so busy being delighted that they didn’t seem to realize it wasn’t actually part of the show.

 

 _Pat_ , however, did, but all he did was roll his eyes. Nobody got hurt and nothing actually caught fire, so no harm done...right? Lorna was going to think so, anyway, and she’d stick to it, if anyone asked.

 

Allanah stood transfixed; her fingers in her mouth, her blue eyes wide open, and simply pointed. Ithiliel and Eleniel, in disturbingly harmonizing tones, sang something like “ooooooooooooohhhhhh” from opposite sides of the group of children. Little Thaladir, not knowing what to think (Was this one of Morgoth’s dragons that Adars had told him about? He hoped not.) held onto Eleniel and felt fairly sure that Adar Thanadir might not like this. But he frowned, because he was equally sure Adar Thranduil would. And admittedly, the colors were very pretty….

 

*****

 

The day was peaceful and uneventful, and in the late afternoon they elected to take another walk through the grounds before their dinner reservation. They were alone, and not so far from Lough Corrib. Earlene could not recall feeling so relaxed and carefree in quite some time, and out of nowhere, began to sing:

 

_Fanuilos, heryn aglar, rîn athar annún aearath. Calad ammen, i reniar, mi ‘aladrhremmin Ennorath!_

 

And the shimmering filled the air in front of her, as it had done once before; Earlene wondered how exactly she could have forgotten about this. Thranduil watched, astonished, as her song continued.

 

 _A Elbereth Gilthoniel, i chin a thul lin míriel…._ Her hand could not help reaching out to follow it, like a retreating will o’ wisp, until it led her to the edge of the lake where she could walk no further. Thranduil recalled that Thanadir had been with Earlene, when this first had occurred, and he now paid very careful attention to where they had been led.

 

With his arm around his wife, he told her, “it is near sunset, meluieg. Perhaps we should return to our rooms.”

 

Nodding mutely, she wrapped her arm around his waist while Thanadir offered his arm as well. Once returned, Thranduil could feel she was now cold and lit the gas fireplace.

 

“Meldis,” Thanadir asked, “was it the same, this time? Or different?”

 

“Different,” she said. “I wanted so badly to keep walking. Even though there was a lake in front of me.”

 

Now Thranduil knelt in front of her, taking her hands. “I would like to ask that you not sing that again, unless I am with you. We never spoke about this earlier as I promised we would, which was a terrible oversight on my part.”

 

“I will do as you ask,” Earlene said, still feeling terribly adrift, inside of herself. With a nod indicating Thanadir was to care for her, Thranduil rose and sought his computer, bringing up maps of both this place, and their home, and holding straight-edges against them. It did not quite make sense except...he extended the straight edges out a little more, into the ocean… “Varda,” he muttered. _Rîn athar, annún aearath….annún aearath…_ “ _Across a western sea._ ”

 

The seneschal had pulled her into his lap, holding her, rubbing her back, murmuring comforting words until she relaxed more and held him in return. “Why do I feel like this?” Earlene finally asked.

 

Thranduil returned and sat next to them, with the computer. “Meluieg, Thanadir tells me that the first time you two had this experience, the vision led you to the end of the forest, here. And just now, we were here. It is a rough guess at this point, but if I were to draw a line that matches the direction we were walking, it would extend...here.”

 

“To Inis Mor?” Earlene asked. “Why does that matter?”

 

“Because if I move the line to the edge of the forest, and place the other end on Inis Mor, it also corresponds to Thanadir’s memories. Meluieg, what does the song say, about our Lady Elbereth?”

 

“That she is Everwhite, Queen across a western sea, and a guide to those that wander the tree-woven earth. Middle Earth. Except that Ennorath is no more. At least, that is how I would understand it.”

 

“Across a _western_ sea. Earlene, Manwë himself said you would lead us home. It is my belief that you were given this blessing in order to find the Straight Road, so that when the time comes, our path is clear.”

 

“You think the way to Aman is via Inis Mor?” She would ask if he was joking, except both ellyn had never looked more serious.

 

Thranduil’s expression was pensive. “I am not fully certain what to think. Except that this is very important, and that I will be very surprised if discovering the answer does not involve a floating vessel of some description.”

 

Earlene blinked at him. _Straight Road? That wasn’t just a figure of speech?_ This Going to Aman had all just become so very complicated...

 


	93. Ninety-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 28-March 5, 2019
> 
> In this chapter we meet a new character. His name is Ailill. Ailill is pronounced "all+yill". If you would like to hear it spoken, here http://www.babynamesofireland.com/audio/ailill.mp3

 

By the fourth day, the difference in Thranduil’s vigor had come to be quite noticeable. The day before they participated in a few of the activities. Some of them, she blatantly confessed, she had signed them up for in order to be a bit of a troll. Earlene knew she would never hear the end of it, if they did not try the zip line that had so enthralled Lorna. The three of them smiled politely and patiently donned the harnesses ‘necessary’ for ‘climbing the trees’ (if you could call having ladder handholds affixed to the tree ‘climbing’). That their ‘instructor’ turned her back for ten seconds and then saw that all three of them were smiling from the upper platform brought no comment; it seemed best that way and after all, she wished to keep her job. At the end of it, they all thought the zip line...amusing? Earlene had not had the heart to tell her friend what much of her time since halfway through her pregnancy with Thaladir had entailed. For one who could now leap through the trees of the forest with nearly the same ability as the elves, the zip line was something of an armchair means for arboreal sightseeing, she thought.

 

“Lorna wants you to install one of these in the forest, doesn’t she...” Earlene asked Thranduil as the three of them concluded their experience.

 

The King smiled. “Something like that was mentioned, yes.” It caused her heart to leap, to see the sparkle in his eyes that had been missing for so many months. Thanadir saw the same, and shyly took Thranduil’s hand, holding it for a minute while they walked. Both of their thoughts were rather obvious, and the tall blond put his arms around each of their shoulders. “I know you are not done with me yet, but I want to thank you now, with all of my heart, for what you have given. And while I do not wish to muddy our time here discussing it, I will be open to hearing your counsel on...what to do henceforth. I feel as though veils are lifting from my mind that I was not even able to notice. I cannot allow this to happen again, and yet I am equally unsure what to do to prevent it. I have not been truly fit to carry out my duties for some time now, though I did not see it.”

 

They walked on in silence for awhile, enjoying the lush greens and trees of this immense parklike space. “I believe Ratiri had some ideas,” Thanadir admitted. “Please forgive us, but he and Lorna were part of our...planning, to help you. But not any of the others,” he hurried to add.

 

“It is well, meldir. If I cannot trust them, who else is there? And yet part of me fears to hear Lorna demanding that I heal no one, out of an overabundance of concern.”

 

“Well, the good news is, Ratiri is a doctor,” Earlene chimed. “So bless her heart, it will not be too difficult to overrule extreme ideas. But like you said...we can speak of this later.”

 

An affectionate kiss was given to each of them, as they continued to enjoy the sunshine. Later that day, they were to go to the archery course, because for this Earlene had been a _complete_ troll, not a bit of one. Later on Thranduil called her ‘my little cave troll’, and they would forever laugh at the memory. Thanadir actually giggled, when he picked up the light recurve bow, whereas Thranduil understood that the challenge would be to aim this infant’s toy that would require so little strength or finesse, in contrast to the great elven longbow he usually fired. Earlene said nothing, at the target that was a silly ten yards away, given that she had far less ability than they did...which meant nothing at all when she sank all of her arrows in the dead center. She did, however, whisper to the activity instructor that they might wish to move the targets back for the….men. To the treeline.

 

Eyebrows were raised, but they complied, and soon both ellyn were acting much like two five year old boys locked in a struggle for playground supremacy. When it became apparent that even at this fabulous distance they were able to have all their arrows in the center of the target, they began asking the poor man to declare challenges, such as arrows in a perfectly spaced pattern in the black ring, or across the target in a perfect diagonal. After the fourth round of this, with the ellyn happily running back and forth to retrieve their arrows, never in the least winded, the poor employee shook his head and lamented, “you are paying to be taught archery, when clearly you could compete in the Olympics?”

 

Earlene grinned. “We are paying to have fun, and we are having it. Do not worry. They have had a great deal of practice.”

 

However, by that evening, word was spreading among some of the castle staff; the three physically beautiful guests had unusual athletic skills. The afternoon was spent kayaking on the lake, which was much more of an even challenge; only Earlene had ever done this before. Thanadir was a little nervous about being on the water in such a small device, having only been taught two mornings ago how to float by Earlene, but was reassured about life vests and the improbability of tipping over on a dead calm lake. In the end, he had the most fun of all, once he mastered the simple use of the paddle. That night at dinner, the ellyn handsomely resplendent in their tailored jackets and ties, with Earlene’s necklace sparkling above her flattering dress, Thanadir thanked them profusely for being included on this trip.

 

“I think you need more vacations, meldir,” Earlene remarked thoughtfully. “We will come here again, I hope. Perhaps once a year. Maybe when the children are older we will bring them, too. With the time we have left, it would seem almost wrong not to enjoy the beautiful parts of life when difficulties to come will be inevitable.”

 

“I am curious, meluieg. What is all this (he gestured in a manner that meant ‘everything’) costing?”

 

“Well...when all is said and done, what we pay Lorna for two and a half to three months’ work. I could have chosen lodging that was not the finest in the castle, and saved considerably. But for your first time here, I wished you to have the best there was.”

 

“Honestly, I imagined it would be far worse than that. Part of me feels mildly guilty; through Lorna’s family I have become aware that most persons in the outer world could never...do this. And yet, I will not begrudge myself, after fifteen thousand years of serving my people. Not when a gem or two can cover the price.”

 

“Well...exactly. I can afford this, on my own. I usually would not choose to spend in such a flagrant manner but...everything has changed, and I no longer think the same. There is only so much time in which money can even matter, so, why not.”

 

The seneschal sat quietly, sipping his wine, pondering that in his entire life, he had really never had funds of his own, per se. Anything he had ever needed was provided to him as a function of his station. Really he had simply….lived. His life had been spent in the service of kings, and there were no regrets.

 

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Thanadir asked.

 

“Falconry, and in the afternoon shooting. You both should enjoy firing human weapons; something different. I am rubbish at it, but I will try.”

 

 _Falconry?_ Thanadir had no time to consider this further, as his chateaubriand for two had arrived, and he fully intended to demolish it all by himself.

 

*****

 

Ailill sighed, and prepared for the morning’s school. The young man of twenty-seven was very attractive, in a delicate way. Tall, willowy, reticent, and obsessed with falconry since the age of eight. He’d been bloody lucky, to have parents with the means and the indulgence to allow him his pursuits, not to mention the large holdings of his father’s farming and forestry enterprises that aided and abetted his interests. Mam had fretted for years, about him not wanting to go to University. Quiet and generally obedient as a lad, he had simply moved doggedly forward with what absorbed him, bearing up under fussing from his parents...until some years ago his skill set brought him not only employment but rapid advancement to the head of the Falconry School of Ireland here at Ashford. Ailill might as well have gone to college; he was part wildlife biologist, part avian behaviorist, part veterinarian. Much knowledge had been attained on his own; it was not a vocation only on the surface. His position was unique, prestigious, and he was looked up to by many in spite of his lack of years. And yet, though the people he met in the course of each day were always pleasant and interested, and he quite literally lived his dream, a void remained.

 

Though it was kept private from those he knew in person, his hours not spent with his feathered friends had an occupation as well. While outwardly ordinary in a charming sort of way (if being a falconer could fit that word), Ailill’s inner world was something else entirely. He dreamed of elves. Thought of elves. Wished the world was filled with elves. When his mind was not on something about his beloved three Harris hawks or the other raptors here at the school, it was adrift in elves. At age seven he read the Hobbit. By eleven years, the Lord of the Rings had followed. Every other work released by Tolkien’s son soon followed. Years ago he had mastered existing knowledge concerning the difficult elven languages referenced in the books, and ruefully realized some years ago that he spent more time pondering Ecthelion’s defeat of Gothmog or the reign of Elu Thingol (or the defeat of Morgoth) in a given week than anything not pertaining to falconry but based in reality.

 

In his rented farmstead room, his collection of books was kept in a locked cabinet; it felt...risky, to have others know that his personal interests were so heavily steeped in fantasy. Especially here at the Castle, with its high-profile clientele. It did not take a genius to work out that most with his degree of enthusiasm for fantasy were viewed as unstable at best and complete nutters at worst. His nights and days off were largely spent online, chatting with other enthusiasts...about elves. Some were fanfic writers; others simply immersed themselves for the joy of it. Most of his Internet cohorts seemed to be female. He wasn’t entirely sure; they all used pseudonyms, himself included. Finding out hadn’t been important enough; what mattered was that he had friends in the world that cared about...elves. Thank God, he’d had the brains never to tell mam and da; they already worried about their talented but obviously peculiar son. The hawks and his failure to ever come home with a girlfriend had been bad enough; that he was nearly as obsessed with lineages of fictional immortals...well, that might have pushed them over the brink. Thank god his brother and sister had wanted to be accountants and managers; else he didn’t know what he would have done.

 

Some of these things flitted through his mind as he murmured to Fion, his oldest and first hawk. This was his personal joke, for of course ‘fion’ was the word for ‘hawk’ in Sindarin. He often murmured snippets or poems to the birds in that or Quenya, loving the beautiful flow of the memorized words. Which is why nothing at all could have prepared Thranduil, who had just come within range of the young man’s thoughts, for what he next heard: _Nosto i-Aear, lass laeg, Legolas! Dorthannel anan nu ‘aladh vi 'lass: Ae lastol i-nall e-maew 'ri falas, gúrel ló-chiratha hîdh vi thaur dass_. (see endnote)

 

_How in Eru’s name is this young mortal thinking the words that cost me my son? In our tongue?_

 

Thranduil’s time to wonder about it further was interrupted by Earlene’s quiet “hello,” on seeing that the young man was engrossed with his bird and not wishing to startle him or it. Ailill turned with a smile to meet the guests enrolled in his next class and momentarily froze, before forcing himself to dissemble and speak pleasant words of greeting. He tried to look at all of them equally, and control his reaction, but internally he was thunderstruck. Something about them was different, ethereal. Being near these three felt like a gift of grace. Especially when he forced himself to look into the eyes of the tall blond man, whose height exceeded his own by a few inches. Over and over he had to tell himself, _no, get hold of yourself, that can’t happen. That can’t happen._ They radiated...something, and his heart wanted the rest of him to fall to his knees before them with a compulsion he actively had to fight. And it was also possible that he was finally beginning to go out of his idiosyncratic mind.

 

Ailill really wasn’t sure how he made it through the next hour and a half, except for maybe focusing on Fion. The sight of the powerful raptor, gliding inches over the lawn, to gracefully return time and again to the gloved arms of one of these beautiful people...and then he did a complete double take. The tallest one simply murmured something to the hawk, whereon it cocked its head and flew much higher and further away than usual, his clear cry echoing over the lake. _Nothing is happening. I would give anything if it actually were, but nothing is happening...._

 

_Ai! Carathol aen? (Ah! You would {give}?)_

 

The young man’s lips parted in both fear and hope, as he was shaken to his core. His eyes locked onto the intent blue ones that now seemed to sound the depths of his spirit.

 

 _Carathon aen_ (I would), came from someplace inside of him. _An i ngell nîn, man i eneth lîn?_ (Please {lit. “for my joy”}, what is your name?)

 

_Thranduil, Aran Eryn Lasgalen._

 

All the color drained from the young man’s face, as to Thranduil’s surprise the man bowed his head in deference. Something completely...different now unfolded here. There was a pause. _Im Ailill eston...aníron len buiad_ (I am called Ailill. I wish to serve you).

 

Carefully, the King reached his fingers under the young man’s chin, glittering blue eyes gazing into hazel ones. Earlene and Thanadir had already realized that...something...was occurring, and backed away. _I will say this in your tongue, which allows for the greater clarity. We will remain lodged here for two full days yet, beginning tomorrow. Reflect carefully, on what you are considering. Promises made cannot be withdrawn. I will allow you to know us, without pledging yourself in this manner. But my requirement is your silence; you will tell no one else. I will know, if you have done as I asked. You may seek us out in our rooms, when your duties permit._ Thranduil held up his arm, to allow for the return of Fion the hawk, which he offered to Ailill. As their time was now up, they divested themselves of the gear they had used. The King ushered Earlene and Thanadir away, and thought of where he would most like to have lunch.

 

 _Athon, i Aran nîn_ , he heard, though the man’s inner voice trembled. Turning one last time, he briefly inclined his head, before continuing on his way.

 

Ailill had perhaps thirty minutes, before the next guest. Reeling, he brought Fion back to rest and take water, cared for a chore or three, and prepared to work with Joyce, one of the school’s Harris hawks. Pretending to his coworkers that this was just another ordinary day might have been the single most difficult thing he had done in his entire life.

 

*****

 

“Do I want to know what that was about?” asked Earlene, as they walked away.

 

“An opportunity, perhaps. At the very least, an oddity. He speaks our language fluently. Quenya too. You might say he has more enthusiasm for elves than Ratiri, but with a different disposition entirely.”

 

Thanadir shook his head. Nothing surprised him anymore. Maybe the youth could write in Tengwar, too. It would be nice, not to have to tutor someone….but now they were to eat and that was of greater importance.

 

Earlene’s brow furrowed slightly. _Well, this ought to be interesting._

 

*****

 

That morning, all the children had an immense amount of fun experimenting (carefully) with pigments.

 

Ratiri had _thought_ all the pigments would be safe in the school room, given that all the children were outside. They sat in their tiny beakers, a pretty rainbow neatly lined up on one of the desks, out of harm’s way.

 

He had not, however, factored in cats.

 

Tail’s people had been absent for far too long, and he was not pleased by this development. He’d made his displeasure known by scratching at the furniture, only to be thwarted each time by the dreaded squirt bottle. He refused to be stymied, however; if he couldn’t claw things, he’d settle for shedding all over everything in reach. The furniture in the room with the big fire all had a lovely sweater of orange fur, but the room with all the hard things was currently fuzz-free, which was a state that had to be remedied immediately. Up onto the hard things he went, happily batting the colored thingies onto their sides and rolling in the dust for good measure.

 

This proved to be a mistake, as he discovered almost immediately; he sneezed three times in rapid succession and scrambled to his feet, shaking his paws. It only made him sneeze again, and left him quite ready to get out of there -- but before he could, the One With All the Hair appeared in the doorway, eyes wide.

 

“ _TAIL!_ ” she cried, and he made himself scarce in a hurry, scurrying out between her legs, off to places unknown.

 

Lorna stared at the mess, utterly aghast, because that damned cat had knocked absolutely _everything_ off the desk -- papers, pens, and the tiny beakers of Ratiri’s rainbow powders. They’d formed a multicolored pile that had been smeared into a trail a good foot and a half long thanks to the fucking cat using himself as a living Swiffer. She was tempted to hunt him down and make him finish the job, especially since he’d be tracking this shit all over the house.

 

Grumbling, she grabbed a broom and dustpan, sweeping up the powder and glass as best she could, wiping off the papers and setting them aside. There was a bottle of window cleaner and a box of towels in a cupboard, and she sprayed the shit out of what was left, muttering something about skinning cats.

 

The noise she made when she saw the result sounded very much like, “Aaaargh.” Rather like, she thought irrelevantly, the Castle Aaaargh in _Monty Python_ , but it was terribly apt, because as soon as the cleaner touched the powder, it grew and spread like a rainbow oil slick on fast-forward.

 

Lorna slammed down another towel, trying to halt it, but it just worked its way around the fabric barrier. How the hell was it _doing_ this? Was it somehow like a Borg cube, and just didn’t stop growing? She slapped down another towel, and another, trying to trap the stain before it could reach the walls. All that did was let it wick up through the cloth, staining her hands, the knees of her jeans, even the end of her braid where it fell over her shoulder and onto the floor.

 

She swore again, creatively and at length, grabbing yet more towels. What the fuck _was_ this stuff, really? Ratiri hadn’t mentioned anything about it doing _this_ when wet -- the only thing she was going to be able to do was let all this mess dry beneath the towels, and then...vacuum the rest up, if that was possible. It obviously couldn’t be washed, but neither could any trace of it be left on the floor, if this was the result.

 

And that cat. That fucking cat. Eyes narrowing, she rose, and looked upward. Ratiri’s electric razor was in their own toilet, and she was damn well going to use it. If the floor was this bad when wet, she didn’t want to imagine what would happen if they tried to bathe the cat -- but they couldn’t leave him covered in this shit, either. Quite aside from the fact that he’d ruin anything he sat on, he’d probably poison himself if he tried to give himself a bath. Right at this moment, _she_ couldn’t be arsed to care, but Earlene certainly would.

 

Carefully wiping off her hands, Lorna stalked upstairs, and was relieved to find Ratiri’s razor fully charged. She grabbed it and a dressing-gown belt and made her deliberate way to Earlene and Thranduil’s room -- which, naturally, had little rainbow kitty prints leading under the bed. Great. Though at least he wasn’t _on_ the bed, or they’d be looking at a whole other order of mess.

 

“Oh Taaaail,” she said, making a show of heading for the wardrobe. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

 

The cat was nothing if not predictable. He shot out from under the bed, fast as a cat could go, but Lorna was faster -- tackled him like he was a furry little rugby player, wrestling with him until she had his feet tied together. Her arms and her chest got scratched all to hell in the process, and Tail yowled like she was mashing him with a hammer, but it worked...mostly. She had to grab Thranduil’s dressing gown off the hook above her, and prayed he’d forgive her for using it as an oversized kitty straitjacket.

 

It only made the cat howl louder, but she would not be deterred; out he went into the backyard, which was mercifully free of children.

 

“Fun Size, what in mother fuck are you doing?” Pat demanded, sticking his head out the door.

 

“Shaving the cat,” she said, as though that explained everything. “He got into that powder’v Ratiri’s, and I discovered the hard way that getting it wet is a terrible idea, so this fluffy bastard’s getting shaved.”

 

Pat burst out laughing, which Tail did not appreciate at all, if the volume of his squalling was any indication.

 

Lorna, undeterred, unwrapped the cat just enough to shave all the fuzz on his left side, businesslike and fast; she’d never shaved anything with an electric razor before, but she’d seen Ratiri do it often enough. The rainbow-dusted ginger fluff came away almost like a sheep’s wool, bits of it floating in the air, and she sneezed three times.

 

She had just enough mercy to only shave the bits that had been hit by the powder -- though in a sense, it wasn’t mercy, because the only thing that looked sillier than a shaved cat was a half-shaved one. It only got more of the dust all over her, and she had a feeling these jeans and this flannel were toast, which only made her even more annoyed. She had to find some way to wash it out of Thranduil’s dressing-gown, though, or she might well never hear the end of it. _Oh, fuck everything. Just...everything._

 

The cat was only released once she’d shaved off every bit of stained fur, and then she stalked into the barn, shucking her wrecked clothes in favor of one of the empty grain sacks; ripping a hole in it gave her something like a poncho that she could wear back inside. “Not. One. Word,” she growled, glaring at Pat, who very wisely said nothing. He did, however, burst into helpless laughter again as soon as she was out of the room, which only made her roll her eyes.

 

Did she dare brave the shower, with even what little powder was on her skin? She had no actual choice. When she ditched her burlap poncho in the bathroom, and got a good look at herself, she swore. Tail really had clawed the ever-loving hell out of her; she had scratches all over her upper arms and chest, bleeding freely and stinging like a bitch; the flannel had given her a measure of protection from the cat’s talons, but it only went so far, and for once she wished she actually wore a bra, because at least it might have been some kind of armor. The scratches had half-dried blood somewhat smeared around them, too, thanks to the rubbing of her shirt.

 

“Fuck it,” she grumbled, turning on the shower. The water stung when it hit the scratches, enough so that it only made her angrier. She dabbed at them with a washcloth, and reflected that this was the first example of ‘Put a Plaster On It, You Big Baby’. It was a mercy Thranduil wasn’t home, to argue that point; by the time he got back, they’d be healing well enough on their own.

 

Still grumbling, Lorna washed her hair, and winced at the rainbow swirl on the floor of the tub. She left the water running even once she got out, hoping to rinse it all away, and wrapped her hair in a towel. Most of the scratches were still bleeding, and she dabbed at them with a dry towel before digging through the medicine cabinet and thanking bloody God they had actually bought more than one first aid kit, so she wouldn’t be using up all the plasters in the entire house. Even so, she wound up using damn near all of them, and taping some gauze over some of the longer ones. There were a few, though, that looked more like the’d been made by a wolverine than a cat, deep cuts that she knew already were going to need more than plaster or gauze. Shit.

 

A rummage through the kit produced butterfly sutures, which were _so_ much fun to use by herself, but Ratiri was out with the kids and she wasn’t about to ask her brother to help her put her chest back together. Once she’d got it all bandaged and plastered and thoroughly disinfected, she pondered revenge. Shaving that cat was not going to be enough. Oh no.

 

Once in her room, she changed into flannel trousers and one of her big Black Sabbath T-shirts, and started plotting revenge on Ratiri, too, because he was the one who’d left all those jars of whatever the fuck that was open. This was messy and hurt like a bastard, and she was perfectly content to spread the misery around with a big shovel.

 

*****

 

They had only just returned from dinner, having changed into more comfortable clothing a few minutes ago. Settling in, Earlene and the seneschal wondered how their children were faring. They had been apart enough days that their little ones were missed quite a lot. While she would not say Thanadir was pining for Thaladir, it seemed to flirt with that at times. Thranduil grinned. “They are fine, meldir. I miss them too, but they are with our trusted friends. We will see them very....”

 

He was interrupted by a firm knock on the door, and Thanadir rose to answer it, curious. It was the same man from this morning, the one who taught about the hawks. He held his hand over his heart in greeting, and lowered his eyes. “Suilad. Aníron adh Aran Thranduil peded. Im Ailill eston.” (Greetings, I wish to speak with King Thranduil. I am called Ailill).

 

Nearly speechless, the seneschal barely remembered to return the gesture of greeting and reply “Suilad” himself, before admitting the man. He certainly could not possibly pose any threat. He sincerely hoped that this one did not have some manner of illness that needed healing….

 

Earlene was curled up on the chaise, looking at information about silk screening equipment, and Thranduil was pouring wine when Ailill entered. “You came,” Thranduil said, still surprised on some level. “Would you like wine?”

 

“Yes, please, my Lord,” he replied, unable on some level to believe that the actual Elvenking was standing in front of him, pouring wine.

 

Immediately noticing the choice of words, Earlene shut her laptop and sat up, paying more attention. He was a handsomely pretty man, not so different than Thanadir to outward appearances, except he bore darker brown hair that fell to his shoulders, now tied back. Clean shaven, Earlene guessed he did not have too much _to_ shave, if his smooth rosy cheeks were any indication. It would not be hard for him to pass for an ellon, honestly.

 

“This is my wife and queen, Earlene,” Thranduil said, by way of introduction. “And my seneschal Thanadir. Earlene is human, though she is managing to appear less so all the time. And this is Ailill, who I am certain has many questions. Eru knows I have a few of my own.”

 

Ailill shook his head. Everything he ever wished for was right in front of him, and he would indeed give anything not to lose it. “I do not have questions, my Lord. Only a plea that you would accept my service. That you are here and I am speaking to you is enough; the rest of what I do not understand I will learn in time.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrows shot up even higher, but it was not her place to speak. Besides, Thranduil managed it for her. “You are a native born Irishman, and you would bend your knee to a King? I find this to be...astonishing. Baffling, even. Why would you offer to do this?”

 

Ailill shook his head. “You are not an English king. If elves are real, and they still walk this earth, I would give anything to cast in my lot with theirs. I would even give up my birds…” he said, not entirely believing the words issuing from his own lips. “This means everything, to me.”

 

Thranduil looked at him in disbelief. “You do understand...if you swear fealty to me, you become mine? You will be required to do as I ask, live as I command, obey me even if you disagree, all while earning the scorn of your fellow humans for having made this choice? Because there are many humans who _do_ know of us, and the only way it has been possible for me to interact with them is to pretend that I am not actually a monarch.”

 

A thin smile played over Ailill’s lips. “If you will forgive me, my Lord, I understand what it means to offer service to a King. And in my opinion, my fellow countrymen, bless them, often cannot see beyond the ends of their own noses as to what constitutes a wise decision. I gave my life over to falconry. I am more than used to being thought unsound in mind. Everywhere but here at Ashford, that is.”

 

A snort escaped Earlene, at this, though she quickly clapped her hand over her mouth. Even Thanadir cracked a smile.

 

  
The King overlooked his wife’s amusement. “Please. Havo dad.(Sit down). It is annoying, honestly, that our language has no word for ‘please’. I find I rather like English better, sometimes,” Thranduil said as he seated himself, with a mighty sigh, staring at the man. “Ailill, I refuse to do to you what I did to Earlene. While that tale need not be aired here, suffice to say, she entered my service and swore fealty without understanding nearly enough by way of the details. If you are determined in this, I will accept your vows--but not before you are told quite clearly what it will entail and are given at least some time to reflect. I will say again, it is not necessary to swear yourself to me in order to have a place among us. You are...uniquely suited to us, so to speak. I will also take the unusual step of informing you what you would be commanded to do, if you insist on counting yourself among my people.”

 

“It will not change my decision, my Lord, but I will do as you ask.”

 

Earlene liked him already….whoever he was? To think there might be one other of the human race that _truly understood_ ...oh, what a validation _that_ would be.

 

“Listen, then, and perhaps later we will have questions to ask you.”

 

Thranduil outlined all of it. Why the elves had remained. Emerging into the human world--cautiously. Von Ratched, and the coming plague. That they were planning for survival, and that at some point they would depart, but likely not inside of twenty years. “And here is what I would want from you. I do not wish you to leave your birds. In fact, your birds are most of what intrigues me. You possess a rare and valuable skill. I would task you with keeping this position for quite some time to come, and reporting to our Halls when you are free. I presume you have a car? When the outer world fails, you will be preserved with the rest of us. And after, I will want this castle secured for the use of those who survive. It is an obvious stronghold, and near to the western sea. You will, in the intervening years, teach as many of my people and my human friends the mastery of your skill with these creatures. Anything by which food can be secured in the future, even hawks, is welcome in my eyes. I cannot say what else I might require of you, with time. It remains to be seen.”

 

Ailill’s face showed interest, not fear or distaste. Truthfully, he had the overall air of someone who won the lottery. “I do have a car...And I will do as you wish. It is generous of you.”

 

The King’s face still mirrored astonishment. “You must have some questions. Please ask. Ask Earlene, or Thanadir. Since my own attempts to talk you out of this are not working, perhaps they can dissuade you.”

 

“Pfffftt,” Earlene rolled her eyes, before catching herself.

 

Thranduil stared at her, eyes narrowing.

 

“Forgive me, my King” she said demurely. “The strength of my opinions ran away with my propriety.”

 

“Eru,” Thranduil groaned. “I am trying to do this young man a favor, and you are not helping.”

 

“No, I am not,” she countered. “While there were some difficulties for me, I have loved serving you. Living with elves. Frankly, it gives me back some faith in humanity that perhaps one other person on this island might understand what it means to be counted among your people, and cherish it as much as I do.”

 

“Now she is really not helping,” sagely observed Thanadir. “Perhaps I can try.” He thought for a moment, and pointed out with quite a lot of gravitas, “Thranduil’s Halls do not have WiFi.”

 

“Oh,” said Earlene. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Orla can arrange for an undetectable signal, it turns out….”

 

“Earlene!”

 

“Sorry.”

 

Ailill could not help but laugh for joy. “This is not what I expected. It is so much more than I could have dreamed. You...are very funny.”

 

“We are family,” Thranduil admitted, rubbing his forehead. “And are perhaps more….humanized, at this point, than others of my people. There are many young children, at our home. Earlene, give Ailill your contact information. I am assigning her to introduce you to our way of life, when you are able to come. And as she is most often with Thanadir, you will have his guidance as well. Thanadir has the most fluency in English, next to me. Though, we are in the unusual situation of not needing a translator, for you.” He shook his head. “Even I do not speak more than the smallest amount of Quenya.”

 

“I...that would make sense that you do not...the whole...Noldor thing,” Ailill said softly. “They...all those elves, they truly lived? The stories were real?”

 

“Yes, they lived and what you have read is largely true. They still _do_ live, albeit not here. And before you ask, we have no idea how this Tolkien fellow knew what he did.  We may never find out,” Thranduil said morosely.

 

Earlene decided it was time to speak. “There are a few things I feel I should tell you about us. Elves meeting humans all happened because I decided to emigrate from the States three years ago, and buy a cottage on land that happened to be inside Thranduil’s borders. Then we met and befriended Lorna. Lorna is scrappy, tiny, former Dubliner who is as opposite from us in appearance and manners as you could imagine. And by some further twist of fate, she and I are distant relations, sharing a great-great grandfather. Lorna met and married Ratiri. We have all had children. Now our two families live mostly outside of the Thranduil’s Halls but in the forest, in a large home called Eldamar that currently houses eleven adults, seven children under the age of ten, and I think six cats. At times we still stay in our rooms in the Halls, but not so often now.” She paused for a moment, to see if he was following, before she said more.

 

“Since apparently you are signing on to our odd corner of the world, I presume you will be assigned quarters in the Halls. You will also, if I may be so bold (Thranduil nodded), be welcome in our home. We have unoccupied rooms. It may be easier to adjust for you, with other humans nearby. Right now I am the only human subject of the elven Realm of two hundred and twelve individuals, if that wasn’t made clear. In the Halls, we speak publicly to each other with more formality. Thanadir is properly addressed as His Excellency or Hîr vuin. But outside the Halls, at Eldamar...we do not use the titles unless one of us slips up and makes a mistake. This is the King’s wish. It chafes the sensibilities of our human friends, though slowly over time that situation has improved. A little. Did I leave anything out?”

 

“Nothing that cannot wait,” Thanadir opined. “Though, I still do not understand clearly why you wish to do this, Ailill. We are so often told by our human friends that freedom is the most important thing, yet you wish to relinquish yours?”

 

“Freedom can be important, Your Excellency” the falconer answered carefully, turning the wine glass in his hand. “Freedom from hunger, abuse, and other ills. But for all the freedom we Irish talk about having, we’re not exactly free in all ways. The government still takes my money for taxes and makes eejit laws, and some bloke at the pub can still get ossified and beat me up. What I want most is beauty. Freedom from _ugliness_. It’s much of why I’ve ended up where I have. My birds...their hunting is a pure expression of beauty. A perfection. I am almost always outdoors, away from most other people. But in my personal time all I read about, think about, is...you. I guess only the most overly enthusiastic actually learn your languages, but do you know why we do it? Because they and everything about you is beautiful, give or take some most unfortunate occurrences in ancient history. I do not believe those few deeds are representative of your people.”

 

He lifted his eyes to Thranduil. “It matters little, that you would tell me what to do. I am already told what to do, to an extent. I do not believe you would...have me flogged, or treat me cruelly. Which is more than I can be guaranteed if I drive to Galway and go drinking too late,” he laughed softly. “That you would allow me to serve you, and still pursue my occupation...yes, I want to relinquish my freedom. This is not something that my heart determined on a whim. What I ask is the fruition of years of longing for something I never imagined could happen...until today. And...why did you speak to me? Why would you trust me enough to invite me into your home, when you hardly know me?” Soft hazel eyes looked up at all three of them in query.

 

“Because I can not only hear your thoughts, I can determine the quality of your heart. Had yours been lacking in uprightness, I never would have spoken to you earlier today,” answered Thranduil. “Perhaps that is another thing that needs mentioning, too. Inside my borders, your thoughts are as unavoidably detectable to me as ordinary speech. Elsewhere, I only hear those that are within a certain distance.”

 

Ailill nodded his head. “I accept this. I do not wish to be rude, and intrude further on your time at Ashford. My next day off is four days from now; if that would not be too soon I will go where you tell me. Though, perhaps I should ask how far I must travel?”

 

“We are in County Clare,” Earlene chimed. Not so far away but the roads are...it is a rural region. You will go to outside the village of Lasg’len. Send me an email as soon as you can; we should at least ensure that contact is made before we depart.”

 

“I may be excused?” he asked Thranduil politely.

 

“Yes. We will see each other soon, Ailill….you have a surname?”

 

“Kerry, my Lord.”

 

“You have probably ascertained that we use other names in the human world.”

 

“Fionn and Cian. I will not be seeking you out again here unless you wish it, Aran Thranduil. If you are at Ashford it means you are on holiday, and it would be especially unseemly for one of the Castle staff to intrude more than I already have on your relaxation. I thank you, that you were willing to speak with me tonight. I will see myself out.” He smiled gratefully at them, and left the suite. After the door shut, no one said a word for several seconds.

 

“Did he actually say ‘unseemly’?” Earlene marveled.

 

“I like him very much,” murmured Thanadir.

 

“And I may need several more bottles of wine before I can believe any of that just happened. He is like...both of you, rolled into one,” Thranduil shook his head, and refilled his glass.

 

“What happens to him, when we leave for Aman?” Earlene asked, suddenly thinking of that.

 

“I do not know, meluieg. Ordinarily mortals are not permitted in Valinor, except with the special permission of our Lords and Ladies. When the time comes I must either release him from his vows, or bring him with us. That he would swear himself to our people, therein lies the uncertainty. Either way I will pray to the Valar, to seek their will in the matter.”

 

Earlene nodded, suddenly feeling weary. “I think I will shower, and go to bed soon.” The thought of copious hot water, the nice marble floors, and lovely body products seemed appealing just now.

 

“Go spoil her, meldir,” Thranduil said. “I would very much like to sit here and reflect, for awhile.” He had taken note of the shower, and found that he preferred their own at Eldamar quite a lot more. That one had to hold the device out of which the water came...though the scented soaps and shampoos were indeed lovely. The seneschal nodded, and plodded after Earlene.

 

Thranduil swirled his wine, and found that a long-standing weight was lifting from his heart. The Irish. He had bent so, so much. He had bent over backwards, and grabbed his own ankles, to accommodate their prejudices and to pay for the sins others had visited on their people. This unrelenting and automatic contempt of theirs had formed the locus whence came the equally pigheaded disdain he felt toward their language. And yet Ailill stood poised to change all that. One human, who without coercion or manipulation or...anything, really, simply expressed a longing for that which was of the Eldar. Who would give himself over, in faith and yearning. _I know you will not waver from your course, young one, though I had to offer you the chance. You cannot understand the true gift your pledge will give; not anything you will ever do for me but rather your willingness, and the trust and reverence that compels you to give it._

 

Earlene soon found that insistent hands were rubbing shampoo through her scalp, and scrubbing her skin roughly with a washcloth. “You are a saint, Thanadir. I hope I may return the favor. Eru knows you have to be wet enough by now.”

 

The seneschal frowned, as he tried to recall if he had any memory of even his Nana washing him? Once all the soap was out of her hair, Earlene snatched the washcloth from him. “Stand still, and hold this shower head however it pleases you.” That he aimed it squarely at her face got him a washcloth snapped across his derrière while she sputtered.

 

“Ow,” he protested.

 

“Well, that is what you get if you aim the water at my face, silly elf. Too bad.” Dousing the cloth with soap, she scrubbed briskly at his back, and arms, chest and legs, before shampooing his scalp.

 

“Valar, that feels nice,” he said, having a difficult time believing how pleasant this was.

 

“It does feel good. I enjoy this too, though I hope you do not mind that I am leaving you to care for your most personal body parts.”

 

“That is appreciated,” he chuckled.

 

“So...I have another question. Is it the same for ellyn as men, if you are kicked or otherwise take a blow to that area of your person?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, that one of the few ways a woman can incapacitate a man is to strike him hard on his private body parts. The pain is so great that it is nearly unendurable, or so we females are told. Did you not wonder why I was so angry at you, when you pulled me away from kicking Sean? The one who grabbed my breast, at the party Lorna gave us? I had every intention of multiplying his misery greatly.”

 

“Eru, who can forget that party,” Thanadir muttered. “No, I did not realize that. I was only wanting to take you out of there. And...I cannot answer your question. It has never happened to me. I have never heard this talked about. Perhaps Thranduil knows?”

 

They both heard the voice. _Yes, that happens to ellyn, and yes, it is bad. And no, I do not wish to discuss it._

 

“Oh dear.” How they both managed to not laugh, she wasn’t sure. They dried each other’s hair with the lovely dryer (Thanadir had never had this done before, and Earlene brushed it out to silken perfection), and retired.  When Thranduil finally had sorted his thoughts and came to bed, he smiled at the sight. Their arms were linked together, as they both slept peacefully. Earlene’s other arm reached into the space where he would be, as if searching for what was missing. _How he loved them both…._

 

Thanadir woke some hours later, carefully extricating himself, to walk to Thranduil. He poured his strength into his King, before returning to bed, now weary and exhausted...but happy.

 

*****

 

Ratiri had rolled his eyes when Lorna told him of her Adventures in Cat-Shaving, though he did own up to the fact that he really shouldn’t have left the beakers out in the open. She’d mentioned that the cat had scratched her and left it at that, and unfortunately he’d forgot that her standards of what constituted an injury were rather skewed compared to most people’s, which meant the state of her chest that night had come as a nasty shock.

 

“Scratched,” he’d muttered, leaning her back and taking off all the gauze and plasters. She’d actually done a fairly decent job disinfecting all the wounds, but he did it again anyway, ignoring her grumbling. Unlike her, he actually understood when real sutures were required, and fortunately he’d put together the Emergency Kit, which was rather more comprehensive than the ordinary first-aid kits. It included individual suture packets and even some localized anesthetic, and he managed to get everything that needed suturing stitched up in relatively short order.

 

“Next time you use the word ‘scratch’, I’m going to make you show me right off,” he’d sighed.

 

“Claws leave scratches,” she’d retorted. “That’s what they’re for. And Earlene would’ve been bloody sad if I’d let her cat poison itself.”

 

“That,” he’d said, “is entirely beside the point. No more cat wrestling, and we’re cleaning this lot every morning and evening. Cats’ feet are filthy.”

 

This they had done, and yet a few days later Lorna felt a little...bleh. Two of the deepest scratches had turned red, and felt rather warm -- infection, she knew, and she gave them an extra thorough cleaning with rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, and resolved to tell Ratiri later. That, naturally, she entirely forgot to do, and woke up the next morning exhausted and fevery, with a low-grade headache that was just enough to be annoying.

 

“Only you, mo chroí,” Ratiri sighed, placing his wrist on her forehead. “I think you have cat-scratch fever. Stay in bed for a day or two, and I’ll get you some paracetamol. You ought to feel better soon enough. I’ll get you some antibiotics, just in case.”

 

“Oh yay.” Only her, indeed. Somebody else would have to make breakfast for once.

 

What Ratiri didn’t tell her was how happy the children were to have something other than French toast for breakfast. Ortherion made porridge, griddle cakes, eggs, and bacon, which they gobbled down with relish. Poor Lorna...yes, her French toast was good, but when it was the same thing for breakfast every day, it wore a bit thin. The children were all too polite to say anything -- even Saoirse had more tact than that, even if not by much -- but the evidence was in the eating, as his dad would have said.

 

“If Aunt Lorna’s sick, she’s not doing any cooking, right?” Saoirse asked hopefully. “I mean, I'm sorry she’s sick, but eggs. Bacon. Things that aren’t French toast.”

 

Ratiri tried not to laugh. He really, really did, and he actually mostly managed it, but he couldn’t entirely suppress a snort. “No, Saoirse, she will not,” he said. “Be nice.”

 

“But...I was being nice,” she said, confused, and he shook his head. This poor kid...what were they going to do with her, when she got older?

 

“Auntie Lorna’s sick?” Thaladir asked, staring with round eyes.

 

“Just a little,” Ratiri assured. “She’ll feel better in a few days.” Cat scratch fever generally wasn’t treated with anything in a healthy adult, but he was going to get some antibiotics anyway, so that he could tell Thranduil it was being dealt with.

 

“Can we see her?” Chandra asked, her eyes as round as Thaladir’s.

 

“A little later. She’s taking a nap right now. What we all need to do after breakfast is see if we can find Tail. And I should warn you, he looks a bit...different.”

 

“Is he why there’s no more French toast?” Allanah asked, in a tone that suggested she was quite pleased with him, if that was indeed the case.

 

Ratiri somehow managed not to roll his eyes. Somehow. “Yes, and you must never tell her that makes you happy.”

 

The little girl eyed him. “’Kay.” She said nothing further, but she did save some bacon for Tail.

 

Meanwhile, Lorna napped, and Ratiri drove to into Lasg’len to get something from Bridie. If he started her on the antibiotics now, the infection would hopefully have cleared up by the time Earlene and the Elves (and yes, he agreed with Lorna, it really did need to be a band name) got home, so Thranduil wouldn’t even have any excuse to try to waste his healing ability on something so simple. And if it hadn’t managed it quite all the way yet, it would be a good exercise in restraint for him, and the first demonstration of the Chart -- which had somehow already earned the capital C.

 

*****

 

Their remaining days at Ashford were spent in a manner that even Thranduil agreed was peculiar. Earlene told him they were ‘casing the joint.’ They walked a great deal, and much of it was to ensure that they truly knew the castle and grounds. Thranduil suitably charmed several of the staff members, gaining valuable information through asking innocent questions. All of which, sadly, were with a view to a tragic future. And yet now they had a connection to this place, and would do what they could to ensure that it would live on in some kind of splendor, long past the time when all those now here were gone. On their last evening, Earlene discovered the beautiful walled garden of the castle, and felt so disappointed that she had not known sooner.

 

“Do not fret, Earlene,” Thranduil said tenderly, kissing her luxuriously on one of the garden paths. “We will return here. It is another place we will call home.” When they went to bed that night, much had changed. Thranduil forbade Thanadir to give any more of himself, citing that he was fully well. And indeed he felt a vitality that had not been his in months. Much would have to change, but this week had done more than he ever could have imagined. If nothing else, he wondered how often their bed would be only for the two of them henceforth, and found he welcomed it. The last thing Thranduil did before they departed their rooms was to kiss Thanadir tenderly, and hold him tightly in thanks for all he had given. If nothing else, he knew that his wife and seneschal were the staunch supports underneath him; he would never be alone for the challenges ahead. He also left a personal note of thanks, to be forwarded to Ailill: _Ben lathron mi eryn, glamor uin aur ir govannem. -Thranduil_ (I hear someone in the woods, an echo of the day we met).

 

When they arrived at Eldamar, it was just before lunch. “Anybody home?”

 

What greeted them was Tail, half-shaved and extremely grumpy, glaring as only a cat could glare. Saoirse, who had heard them, came skidding out on her stocking feet. “Everyone’s in the Heart Room,” she said. “Uncle Ratiri and Aunt Lorna made some kind’v chart, and then we kind’v blew up part’v the backyard and had to shave Tail. Did you have fun?”

 

In seconds Earlene was shaking with repressed laughter before she simply gave up. Though, as much as she wanted to comfort her cat, he looked completely ridiculous. This, of course, was the wrong thing to do.

 

“Meluieg, he is an animal but he has feelings. You are deeply offending your cat,” he scolded. “I would like it if you would make amends.”

 

“Of course,” she giggled, scooping him up. There was struggle and even a growl or two, but once it became obvious that they were going to the shelves where the cherished tins of fancy wet cat food were kept, a truce was established. Reasoning that the sound of the can opening would have flushed out any other felines currently in this part of the house, she placed the dish on the floor for the cat to devour. _Actually, god help the cat that tries to get in there_ , she thought. _It will be the swat heard around the forest._

 

In the meantime, Thranduil and Thanadir were in the process of giving hugs and profuse thanks for their freedom to go on their holiday. And then the King plunked down. “I understand there was general collusion involved, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it. This time,” he teased, not wishing them to think that he _wanted_ them to scheme against him. “It really is a wonderful place.”

 

“Did you go zip lining?” Lorna asked, giving him a rib-crushing squeeze. He looked so much better now -- they all did, more relaxed than she’d seen any of them in ages. “Please tell me you went zip lining.”

 

“She’s been wondering about it the whole week,” Ratiri said dryly, rolling his eyes.

 

“We went zip lining,” Thranduil smiled, hugging her in return. “It was a nice idea, though a little...odd, to our eyes. Earlene reminds me that you want one,” he teased.

 

“Though if we get one, we will all become lazy,” Earlene countered. It was easier than running and jumping limb to limb, sure, but it seemed like it would be a lot of work to set up for little reward.

 

“I do,” Lorna said, inordinately pleased. “I hope there weren’t any annoying Americans. And there is nothing at all wrong with being a little lazy sometimes. Especially if you can feel like you’re flying while you’re doing it.” She released him and headed to the drinks cabinet, feeling a celebratory, welcome-home drink might be in order.

 

“If there were, we did not interact with them. With the exception of the hotel staff, I really cannot recall even speaking to anyone besides Earlene and Thanadir.”

 

“What else did you do while you were there?” Saoirse asked, entirely innocent of the way an adult might take that question. Somehow, Lorna didn’t laugh. Somehow.

 

“Archery,” sniggered Earlene. “Lots of walks, I think we must have paced out the entire grounds, honestly. So pretty...and clay pigeon shooting….”

 

“And falconry,” said Thranduil, knowing why his wife was evading the mention of it.

 

“And I swam most mornings in the relaxation pool, even if there was a bit’v a battleaxe that worked there whose sole purpose in life appears to be to ensure that people wear bathing caps.” Thanadir nodded sagely at this observation. While he had of course obeyed the rules, he thought it the silliest thing he had ever seen, when braids could accomplish the same thing.

 

“Bathing caps...pools have filters,” Lorna said. “That’s their job. Did you embarrass everyone at the archery range?”

 

“We’d been wondering if you were making any of the employees re-evaluate their lives, if you did activities you’d be so superior at,” Ratiri added.

 

“My new nickname for my wife is…”

 

“Do not _even_ ,” Earlene said icily.

 

“My new nickname for my wife is best left unsaid but might have something to do with certain creatures that turn to stone once daylight shines on them,” he grinned. It wasn’t the troll word she minded so much, he knew, it was the specification of _cave_ troll that truly perturbed her.

 

“Yeah, so I couldn’t resist. It was funny. Really funny,” she giggled, the memory perfectly preserved in her mind.

 

Lorna almost snorted vodka out her nose. She had to feel a little sorry for the professionals who probably got blown entirely out of the water by three pretty strangers. “Did you eat in the George dining room? I know it’s not fancy in the same way as the Halls, but it’s pretty fancy.” If she kept asking questions, hopefully they wouldn’t go asking _her_ any yet. “I hope you did at least one night. And Christ, I hope you did room service breakfast at least once. I thought I’d died and gone to food heaven.” Thanadir had probably _loved_ it, though she quailed at the thought of what the bill must have been.

 

“We ate there. It was very nice,” Thranduil said, while Thanadir nodded enthusiastically. “But we did not have room service. Mostly we ate at the...Drawing Room, yes that was it. We decided to spend less earlier in the day and make up for it in the evening, I think,” he chuckled. “But do not worry. I have decided we are going back. All of us. And even the children, when they are older. I have become….interested, in Ashford Castle,” he said, with a bit of a faraway gaze.

 

Lorna’s eyebrows rose. What that would cost...yeah, they could afford it, but it made her terribly uneasy. Still, to have the kids be able to experience that...and there was so much she and Ratiri hadn’t done themselves. It would be amazing. She wondered what he meant by ‘interested’, but decided now was possibly not the time to ask.

 

Sharley, however, had entered just in time to her him say that, and she had no such compunction -- though she did it silently. _You’ll need it later, in some way, won’t you?_  she asked, though in seeing Earlene, she knew...well. The rest that she saw made her blink, startled, but of it she said nothing at all.

 

Thranduil did not answer directly, but he did look at her and grin. “I know it is costly,” he said. “But we can afford it, and we will. The time is coming all too soon when our wealth will have no meaning, anyway. A tiny amount of it can count for something, before that time.”

 

“I could invest some of it, if you are willing to accept some risk,” Earlene said idly. “The entire point of investing is that your money earns more money while you do nothing. You leave the principle and spend the earnings. Which technically makes it free.”

 

The King raised his eyebrows. “I think I wish to hear more. But not now, later please.” Right now, only fun things were permitted.

 

“The children all did well, while you were away,” Ratiri said. “We kept them busy, and the weather was nice enough here the first few days that they mostly played outside.”

 

“There was science,” Saoirse said, grinning. “And it was _cool_ science, not boring stuff. There were flames, and we saw what happens when you dump hot water into liquid nitrogen. _Boom!_ ”

 

Earlene’s eyes narrowed. On one hand, she trusted Ratiri as a scientist. On the other hand, her children _were_ one to three years of age, and she knew liquid nitrogen was not a toy. Nor were flames. With an eyebrow cocked, she looked for someone who might wish to offer further information.

 

“The children didn’t go near anything explosive or incendiary,” Ratiri assured her. “Their hands-on experiments weren’t dangerous. They did a baking soda and vinegar volcano.”

 

“Just messy,” Saoirse said; she might well have said more, if Lorna hadn’t poked her in the side.

 

Sharley again said nothing, but laughed silently. Were any of them actually going to spill it? It wasn’t her job, at least.

 

“Oh, whatever…” Earlene said. “Basically, I am giving you a bad time. Whatever happened, the house and children are still standing and without your help we could not have had this nice holiday. Besides, all I really need to do is find Lorna’s mobile,” she teased, howling with laughter at watching her friend go bug-eyed.

 

“I know where it is,” Saoirse said, all oblivious. She tried to move, but Lorna set her drink down and grabbed the kid, hoisting her over her shoulder. Given that Saoirse was by now nearly as tall as she was, it was kind of impressive.

 

“Nope. Not today, allanah. Pat, take this, would you?”

 

Saoirse shrieked with laughter as Lorna tossed her at her father, nearly knocking him over. “It’s not our fault we had to shave the cat! It was his fault!”

 

Lorna covered her face with her hands and groaned. “The thing is, she’s not wrong. He really did bring it on himself.”

 

“Actually, he kinda did,” Sharley put in.

 

“Maybe tomorrow?” Earlene said. “I kind of want to keep the warm glow one more night. In the morning, you can tell my why my cat is half bald. Deal?”

 

Thranduil started giggling. _Giggling._ Earlene was so, so tempted to swat him but….stupid monarchical rules. “You, I will deal with later,” she glowered instead, just glad she had....remembered.

 

“Tomorrow,” Lorna said, and sighed. She too gave Thranduil a glower, because seriously? Yeah, it was hilarious, but that didn’t mean he had to actually freaking giggle. On the other hand, though, it was nice to see him laugh -- really laugh -- at anything, even if it _was_ a half-shaved cat.

 

Thanadir sighed, rose, found a stash of  cookies that he put on a plate, and returned to the room, offering them to the others. Everyone else, who was much too full already from dinner, declined. He flopped down, stretching out and sighing. “It’s good to be home.”

 

*****

 

The following morning saw the three of them waking up in a tangle. There had been Tail, in the night, and too many blankets and too few blankets. Thanadir had wisely left Earlene and Thranduil time to themselves, which he occupied by going upstairs to dote on the sleeping figures of the children. And unable to resist, he carefully picked up his son and cradled him for a long time, covering his perfect face with little kisses. Eru, he had missed this little boy, and could barely wait to speak to him in the morning to hear what he had experienced that week. Though, a frown creased his brow. He hoped that a raging enthusiasm for chemistry had not just been created. Though he eagerly awaited his son learning such things, he wished it to be when he was older than one year. It would work out. Eventually he returned downstairs, where a general air of contentment told him that his dear ones had satisfied their physical wants.

 

Earlene was the first to extricate herself, receiving a glare from Tail for her efforts. However, some very well placed scratches and paw pad rubs (he loved those) smoothed over the offense. With a sigh, she found her robe, pinned up her hair, and slithered into the tub, feeling quite happy. Her thoughts had settled on frittatas with spinach and cheese, when she heard someone else entering the pool. It was Thanadir, who looked at her hair with envy. “I want to do that,” he whined, not wanting it to become sopping wet. She grinned and pointed at the basket of hair clips she used, telling him to retrieve one. Smoothing and twisting it up on top of his head, it was clipped into place. The degree to which he could now pass for a somewhat homely female disturbed deeply, and she prayed he was not listening in on her thoughts just now.

 

They sat, side by side. “Frittata, I thought.”

 

“Bacon?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“And porridge.”

 

“That too.”

 

“Blueberry pancakes would be wonderful.”

 

“So would be you two, not talking about food,” Thranduil grumbled, making his way to the lavatory while his wife and seneschal shook with laughter.

 

“Someone is grumpy.”

 

“And he has ears that work perfectly well,” the King glared, emerging to join them with a sour look.”

 

“Not working,” Earlene said, as she kissed him on the cheek much like she would kiss her cat. Thanadir gave the same, clearly being in a fine humor this morning.

Thranduil’s best attempt at the Sidewise Look of Authority failed completely, because he broke into a smile trying to do it. Oh well. Happily they relaxed for several minutes in silence.

 

“I miss the cinnamon milk.”

 

*****

 

An hour later, delicious smells wafted from the kitchen and happy residents threaded their way out of bedrooms.

 

Lorna and Ratiri were not about to inflict the Chart on anyone until well after breakfast, so all was safe there; Saoirse actually had enough tact to not express loud gratitude that they weren’t eating French toast. Tail was nowhere to be seen, fortunately, and the antibiotics Lorna had taken seemed to have entirely cleared her small infection up, though she’d be bearing the marks of Tail’s displeasure for quite some time. Pat also had yet to cease laughing at her over it, no matter how many shoes she threw at him.

 

Sharley snuck down long enough to cadge some toast and tea and then scooted, because this was so far beyond what she could handle; she’d try to talk to Thranduil later, once she was properly awake and could actually get him alone. As much as she hated the idea of asking him to exert himself after his vacation, some things just...could not continue. Nope. She really did not want to be captive audience to some of the shit those three had got up to in Ashford, because it was just too damn weird. Thought of spending any time in a bed while two other people were having sex in it was just beyond skeevy to her, and witnessing it in someone else’s history was just... _eurgh_. And she’d thought it was bad when it was just Earlene and Thranduil’s straightforward sex life. She had no idea why she had such an aversion to all things sexual, but she really did.

 

“Are you lot glad to be back in your own beds?” Lorna asked, yawning.

 

Halfway out the door, Sharley choked on her tea, and scooted. _Nope._

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened at what he now realized was the case, and an extreme state of unhappiness formed inside of him. For the first time, he was on the receiving end of what it was like when something one desperately wanted to keep private...was unavoidably known. Murmuring a need to care for something immediately that he had overlooked, he followed Sharley outside their home, with no small amount of pink suffusing his usually pale cheeks. He sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I am...very sorry. I have been unaware for quite awhile, and did not realize what you are experiencing. At least, not in a way that made a sufficient impression. From what I gather, we would both very much like this to stop. What you have seen is deeply private and not something I relish another knowing of, however commendable your complete discretion has been.”

 

Sharley grimaced. “There’s a reason I hid in the mountains for so long,” she said. “Trust me, I’d rather not know it, either. Is there -- I’m not sure if this is even possible, but could you make some kinda...off switch...for how I see things? Every time I meet a new elf I get a migraine, and then there’s stuff like...well, this.” She was pretty sure the word was ‘squicked’. “I’m...kinda like Thanadir, but worse. Anything about...that...skeeves me pretty hardcore.”

 

“I accept you as I accept my seneschal,” Thranduil said. “Neither of us are right or wrong, but we are both...mortified. And yes, there is something I can try to put in place. It will be like what Von Ratched did to Lorna. Your mind is…” Suddenly he thought better of finishing the sentence. “I believe I can cause a….barrier. One that will keep these experiences from flooding into you. And there may be a caveat. You could still likely seek out what is in the mind of others, but each time you do so you will probably weaken what I have set in place; I may need to do this more than once. And if I could ask...I would like your permission to cause you to forget what you have seen, of us.”

 

She smiled a little, rather wryly. “You can say my mind is broken,” she said. “I won’t get offended. And...I’ve been like this as long as I can remember, not that that’s saying much. To be able to just see the present, and not what was, or might’ve been -- shit, there’s not much I wouldn’t give for that. I can’t imagine there’d be much I’d _want_ to see again.”

 

Now her face actually burned a little. “No offense or anything, but I was gonna ask you to do that. There’s some stuff I’d just rather not know. And the others -- they don’t know what it is I do, and thank you for not telling them. You understand what it’s like to be stuck with something beyond your control, but I think they’d just be horrified to know I’ve seen absolutely everything they’ve ever done in their lives. Not that I’d blame them, either.” She’d had a hard enough time with Thranduil at first, because she had an instinctive horror of the thought of anyone or anything tweaking with her brain, but he was a captive audience. He had no more choice in seeing what he saw than she did.

 

“Then let us go for a short walk into the trees,” he answered, relieved. “No offense is taken. I am finding it is not easy, when how a person loves, or does not, is...different. And thank you, for...working with me. I would never betray your secrets.”

 

“Kinda sucks, having something you can’t control, doesn’t it?” she asked, and followed him. “It’s not easy. It’s not easy getting told you’re weird because you don’t love like...that. I mean, I know Marty had a dad, but he must not have been that special if I don’t remember him. I guess we’re all just weird, but if there’s something that can be done -- it’s shitty you can’t turn off what you’ve got, but I appreciate you giving me an off-switch. I might even want to travel, if I have one. And...don’t worry, I don’t judge, on that sorta thing. Family’s what we make it. In any form.”

 

Thranduil nodded, grateful, and reached carefully to hold each side of her head.

 

Sharley had no idea what he did, for she couldn’t feel it at all. She’d always thought actual telepathic interference would somehow be detectable. She didn’t even know when exactly it had worked -- not until she blinked, and for the first time in all her memory, saw the present, and _only_ the present.

 

She blinked again, turning. Above her head, the trees were all but bare; there was no ghost-impression of them in spring, in summer, or fall. Looking at Thranduil showed him only in this moment.

 

“Better?” he asked.

 

“It’s...amazing,” she whispered, and tears pooled in her eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so damn much. This is how normal people see things, all the time?”

 

“Yes. And I am glad. Glad for both of us.”

 

Sharley was not at all an effusive person, but she hugged him.

 

*****

 

The King was unusually quiet during breakfast, still somewhat reeling at their having been...discovered. This gave him some insight into how he _would_ feel, should this happen again...a child blundering into an accidentally unlocked room, someone somehow...he didn’t even know what. A kind of fear roiled in him, at how badly he did not wish their unusual arrangement to be known. It ran side by side with the equal conviction that there was nothing morally wrong with their choices, and that Thanadir deserved the love and affection they could bestow on him. He was a child of Eru too, and what he had _not_ deserved was millennia of being denied that love and affection because he was not made as others were. They would just have to be very careful. Locking the door would have to become something they all minded vigilantly. Heavier curtains and a locking screen on the French doors might not go amiss either. He would discuss it with Earlene in private, later. Thanadir did not need this burden; he already also understood what was at stake. For all his grumbling about talk of food, though, the meal was very good and he had enjoyed the frittata immensely. Rising, he began to sift what he should do today, and in what order.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “So,” she said, “we came up with something -- it’s basically  guideline for what would really need healing and what could be left to its own devices.” Ratiri went to fetch the Chart, which was by now rather more detailed, and took up more than one page. “It’s...kind’v comprehensive, him being a doctor and all.”

 

Thranduil looked at Earlene, and Earlene returned the gaze levelly. Long enough for him to see, his wife had no idea what this was about and had not had a hand in its incarnation. Whatever _it_ even was...his eyes narrowed a little but he said nothing. Yet.

 

“C’mon, you lot, there’s an easel in the Heart Room and everything,” Lorna said. “It’s not something awful, I promise. It’s just...a guide. A handy notebook. A really _big_ one, but that just makes it more handy.”

 

With an immense sigh, Thranduil followed her, certain he was not going to like this. But as their help had made his full recovery possible, he at least felt compelled to listen. And whatever they had done, much effort had gone into it; they were owed a hearing. He sat, and Earlene and Thanadir joined him, if only out of morbid curiosity.

 

She set the chart up on the easel, and flipped it open to the first page. “So, Ratiri and I went through and divvied up common injuries into two categories -- ‘Serious, Thranduil, Help’ and ‘Minor, Put a Plaster on It, You Big Baby’. There’s all sorts’v small things that really can just be left to human medicine, but if it’s a snapped femur or something, _then_ elven healing could make a big, big difference. Colds, sniffles, cuts, scratches...it’s why we have first aid kits. Tail scratched me to hell and back before I managed to get him into a bathrobe burrito, but Ratiri and some plasters took care’v it.”

 

“And sutures,” he muttered, ignoring her glower.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” she went on, “the point is, there’s plenty’v shite we humans deal with all on our own every day, and there’s not cause to go wasting healing energy on them.”

 

“Lorna had an infection,” Ratiri added. “I gave her a course of antibiotics, and now she’s fine. It was only a minor infection, not something dangerous -- should anyone somehow manage to contract MRSA, _then_ intervention would be warranted. Otherwise, a minor inconvenience is just that.”

 

“Basically, we love you, Thranduil, and we don’t want to see you drained like that again,” Lorna said, more seriously. “And we’re hoping this might help, because we’re pretty sure you’d toss your healing at us out’v principal, even if it hurt you.”

 

He blinked, and felt the eyes of Earlene and Thanadir on him as well. He stood, to face them. “I suppose you both endorse...this?”

 

“There is a certain logic to it,” Thanadir said somewhat evasively, glancing at Earlene.

 

“I...for me, I do not disagree; I am basically not ever ill anyway, and if I were….”

 

“No,” said Thranduil. “For all the others, I will concede that some...system needs to be put in place so that I remain fit enough for my duties.” He was of course declining to mention that Sharley had gotten to him less than an hour ago, but no one need know about that. “Earlene, you were promised full health as a condition of your service to me and I will not relent on that. I would be breaking my vows to you to do it, and I will not hear another thing about it. Nor am I willing to see my own children suffer for no reason.” His arms crossed.

 

“Then do as you have said, and for all the rest do as Lorna and Ratiri suggest,” offered Thanadir. “It might be wise to understand what their medicine can do, before the plague arrives. Would it not? We know nothing of their capabilities; we have not had occasion to find out.”

 

This grated. He loved that Thanadir and Earlene were so intelligent, except when it worked against him. He stared at all of them for several seconds before his arms dropped to his sides. “Fine. We will try what Thanadir said. Is that acceptable?”

Regardless of the answer, a visit to the pub was sounding quite nice, right now.

 

Lorna cross the floor and hugged him. “Thank you,” she said. “We don’t like watching you suffer, and you’ve done so much for us already.” _For me_ , she added, with a rib-squeeze. _I owe you so much, and I want you to be healthy, and happy. Don’t think I’ve gone and forgot all you’ve done for me._

 

With an exaggerated sigh, he shook his head, but he smiled. “Put a plaster on it…” he was heard muttering as he left the room. Thanadir and Earlene shrugged, before moving on to the classroom to check their emails and plan the day.

 

Lorna grinned. That had gone much easier than she’d thought it would. The real trick would be getting him to hold to it, the first time somebody cut themselves, or caught a cold. She owed Thanadir and Earlene a drink -- Thanadir especially, because it was pretty impossible to argue with his logic.

 

“That went suspiciously well,” Ratiri said, wrapping his arms around her.

 

“Thranduil’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid,” she said. “And he knows we’re doing it because we love him. I’d like to think that helped.”

 

Sharley watched in silence from the doorway, looking in wonder at the present. It was so simple, and beautiful in its simplicity. Part of her felt quite guilty for immediately digging into his supply of healing, but this was of as much benefit to him as it was to her, so she couldn’t feel _too_ guilty.

 

Ratiri, meanwhile, felt strangely happy. Some small part of him had always persisted in feeling a bit useless, since all his skill and education were rendered moot by Thranduil’s abilities. Now there would actually be a call for his profession again; he could be a _doctor_. Finally, what he was would have actual purpose.

 

*****

 

With a sense of both elation and fluttering nerves, Ailill departed Ashford Castle Saturday after his shift ended. Earlene had given a clear invitation to arrive in Lasg’len as soon as he was able, to maximize his limited time off from the Falconry School. _Earlene...I barely even know these people._ She looked so much like one of the Eldar, and he wondered if his mind had tricked him, that he recalled Thranduil saying she was mortal. A mortal, who would soon be his queen.

 

This first time, he elected to leave Fion and his other birds behind; it made far more sense to understand more of where he would be and...everything, really, before bringing the hawks with him. While they were his birds, ordinarily never apart from him, he did not relish the prospect of explaining mishaps or injuries to them, especially when he believed he was not permitted to mention anything to others about his destination. _Permitted_. His soft eyes blinked, as he considered once again Thranduil’s warning. If he did what he intended to do, nothing would be quite the same in the not so distant future.

 

Chatting with his online friends became too surreal for words as of four nights ago, when he’d just had the most profound experience of his existence. Of his life. In fact, he made excuses to log off early, citing coming down with a cold and needing extra rest. It was the best he could manage, to keep himself from what he understood on more than one level he could never share. “I met elves today. No, really.” He snorted. The thing they all wanted the most, and yet if he told the truth he’d be laughed right out of their chat room. And yet it _was_ the truth.

 

His thoughts wandered, as he drove the back roads that would eventually lead to Lasg’len. Remarkably, that village was less than two hours’ distant; this could have been much worse. Though to save a little time, he’d brought changes of clothes with him to work; the room he rented at the farm was further toward Galway and would otherwise have delayed his departure. His lodging was inexpensive, and most importantly allowed for a place to keep his hawks with him when they were not at the School.

 

The green kilometers flew by, as he crossed over from County Galway to County Clare. He had actually tried, more than once, to seriously reflect on the King’s words. About _not_ swearing himself to the elves’ service. And all the many and varied reasons why that would be the most sensible decision ever. But every time he tried to navigate that notion to the point of acceptance, his heart felt crushed under a heavy burden. There was no logic, in this. It ran deeper than ‘thinking it through’; this was iron filings hurtling toward a magnet. This was love, and the outcome was assured.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Galadriel’s warning to Legolas, in the Lord of the Rings. It says:  
> "Legolas Greenleaf long under tree  
> In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!  
> If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore  
> Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more."  
> This is Elaran's translation, from this link: https://www.elfdict.com/phrases/1-sindarin/35-galadriels_warning_to_legolas#!2620.


	94. Ninety-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 5-6, 2019

Finding specious reasons to putter around in the cottage, Earlene kept an eye out for their guest, knowing that he surely would arrive soon barring traffic related misfortune of any kind (whatever that might be; where they lived, having to wait for sheep to cross the road constituted ‘traffic’). Thranduil had asked them to remain silent on the subject of Ailill, citing a need to reflect further on ‘all of it.’ Privately, she truly wondered what their friends were going to think of this new development, once they learned. Perhaps Thranduil wanted Ailill to be able to make up his mind to completion without input from other humans; the night they spoke certainly indicated that the man had a solid grasp of the opinions he would face. And, this was not a matter for family discussion; this was between a King and one who wished to become his subject.

 

They had corresponded extensively the past two evenings; he had asked many insightful questions of Earlene that she freely answered. Ailill appeared to be possessed of a diverse intelligence; his life experience tended to reflect tangents of falconry and little else, though he had made an obvious effort to not gush about his vocation in his emails. She learned that he could cook basic meals, seemed to understand sound financial habits, and had a mind for organization and responsibility. If she had to guess, he was probably also exquisitely sensitive emotionally; his job required the ability to see every behavioral nuance of highly specialized creatures. He had revealed coming from a family with extensive commercial agricultural business interests, which would doubtless be a source of future discussion. There was no indication given of a life partner or a love interest; a tiny bit of her wondered if he might be gay. He was very, very...pretty. As pretty as Thanadir, in his own way, and reserved, and...well, not that it mattered in the least. Though, this reflection caused another thing to cross her mind. If he did wish for a mate, the odds of finding one just became rather poorer, in view of his stated intentions. 

 

_ Well, that is one advantage of being a mother _ . Anymore, she found that she simply said what needed saying, with less consideration to every nuance of how it would be taken by others. Thanadir reassured her that she interacted well with the children, and Earlene hoped that he was right. A part of her did feel rather...maternal, toward Ailill, for all she had known him in person for a whopping half an hour. At last she heard the sound of a new motor in the driveway, and elected to give a few moments before greeting him. This was all made a little easier by the fact that Lorna and Ratiri had cited a wish to visit in Baile for a few days, to mind the cottage as well as meet up with Orla about if and when they were ever going to move the damn thing. Not that she could blame them; after seven days of caring for the Sullivan brood, those two more than deserved to escape the forest for as long as they liked...though, they were supposed to be back late morning tomorrow, if she had heard right. 

 

Today Earlene was clad much as one of the forest guard; clothing that Thanadir assured her had been earned. While they had many more skills to enhance by way of weapons training, her skills in the woods as well as her ability with throwing knives both amounted to her now being a formidable adversary. Privately, Thanadir had told her that no one short of another wood elf could successfully pursue or capture her in the forest.  _ That _ compliment had caused her to flush with happiness. And he had mentioned that when the weather was a little warmer, they would put that to the test. A sort of….final exam, about which he remained completely mysterious, refusing to answer questions. With a shake to her head, she went to the front door, opening it to find Ailill smiling nervously, holding only a knapsack which presumably held some personal belongings.

 

_ This poor lad _ . “Suilad. Mae govannen,” she greeted warmly, grinning somewhat at his flawless responses. Hell, he probably knew the language better than she did. “Unless you truly wish otherwise, I will speak in English. I agree with my husband; our elven tongue lacks a certain flexibility.” It was just about seven o’clock; already dark. A simple dinner was already prepared, and the children would be put to bed right after they ate.

 

“Anything you wish,” he said kindly. 

 

“Good. I wish to feed you. Dinner is waiting in our home, and then we will figure out what to do next. Besides, if we do not eat soon, Thanadir will get into the cookies.”

 

“Cookies?” 

 

“Thanadir likes to eat, and is especially fond of sweets.”

 

Ailill laughed, and followed her. “I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, do I?” he asked softly. 

 

“I doubt it. I can only tell you that while there is lunacy, there is also love, and great beauty that those on the outside can barely begin to comprehend. Ailill, I am... not here to talk you into, or out of, what you want. I understand why my husband asked you to consider so carefully because believe me, I have felt the sting of being under a command I did not wish to obey. It is not fun. Much has changed since he and I first met; Thranduil did not always understand human needs as well as he does now. They may seem like us in some ways, but they are still elves, and there is a cultural and emotional divide that is not fully bridged yet. We are all still very much learning about each other. Thranduil can become angry. But he has never abused me and he is willing to listen. He is fair, and dutiful.  I have not truly found it a hardship to be under his rule; all the things that were the most annoying are gone now, because he learned and made changes that were….that worked for all of us.”

 

“What did you do, in America? If I may ask, that is.” His eyes lowered again. 

 

A glance up at him verified that he was taller than her, but not by much; perhaps he stood at 185 centimeters? “You may ask me anything, Ailill. You and I are like as not going to have a commonality no one else does; and I will not abandon you to guessing your way through (she gestured all around her)...all this. I was a litigator for one of the top legal firms in New York City. A specialized kind of solicitor, in ordinary words.”

 

The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, my.” 

 

“Well, don’t ‘oh my’ too much. What matters to me now is my children, and launching our farming operation, and the biscuit recipe that I am hoping the ellyn didn’t burn while I was waiting to greet you.” She smiled, and patted him on the back. “We are all very different here, and all valued and loved.” Reaching for the door handle, she explained further. “The house is quieter tonight; Lorna and Ratiri are away, so only Pat and Sharley might eat with us. I cook many meals here, but food is also always served at the Halls. This is…”

 

“Eldamar,” he said, pointing at Thanadir’s decorative metalwork.

 

Earlene blushed. “Well, that was stunningly obvious. Sorry about that. It is incredibly unusual that you already know the language, I hope you can forgive me it if takes a short time to lodge that firmly in my mind. Four children will do that to a woman.” Yanking it open, she ushered him inside. 

Ailill’s eyebrows raised.  _ Didn’t she say they met three years ago? _  And yet he did not consider that for long, once the dwelling greeted his eyes. “This is beautiful,” he whispered, somewhat in disbelief. 

 

“It is,” she agreed. “This was a lot of work to build, and all the elves helped. Completely worth it.” He was shown up the spiral stairs to the comfortably furnished room. His belongings stowed, they returned just as quickly to see that both ellyn were now in the kitchen, where the smell of biscuits that were not burning wafted encouragingly.

“Welcome, Ailill,” Thranduil said, as he looked up from the bottle of wine he was pouring. “Wine?”

 

“Yes my-- yes, please,” he smiled, catching himself. ‘The rules’ were going to be interesting for him. And apparently the books had not lied about the Elvenking and wine.

 

“Hello,” Thanadir smiled, standing with his hair unbound and two bright pink baking mitts on his hands.

 

“Valar, meldir, where on earth did those things come from?” Earlene asked, horrified. Because it sure as hell hadn’t been Lorna; neither of them would have brought such a hideous color into their home. They both hated pink, just on principle.

 

“The drawer?” the seneschal responded, confused. “The biscuits come out in one minute; we should ring the triangle.”

 

“Would you mind, Ailill? I need to make sure the table is set.” Earlene pointed at the heavy percussion object that hung from the ceiling.

 

“Man carin?” (what do I do?) he asked Thanadir, with a plea in his voice. He had never seen one of these in his entire life.

 

Thranduil chuckled. “Like this.”  He demonstrated removing the striker rod and clanging it against the interior of the instrument and then handed it to Ailill. “It is very intuitive once you begin. The point is to make a distinctive racket so that those living in the other wing of the home hear it and know to come eat.” Trying not to ponder that one of the first instructions given him by an elf king was….this...he was able to ring the triangle quite loudly in short order. Only seconds later, a rapidly moving child with hair longer than should have been possible came bursting through the doors and slid in on her socks, crashing into Ailill.

 

“This is Lorna’s niece and Pat’s daughter,” Earlene said, rolling her eyes, even as she ruffled the child’s hair. “Who will be pleased to know that uncle Thanadir wanted cookies tonight, and so we are having them for dessert.”

 

“Cooooooooooookiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeees” came a shriek from somewhere overhead, as four children came clattering down the spiral steps, and immediately also ran to Ailill to stare up at him. 

 

“What do we do when there is a guest in our home?” asked Thanadir, having none of this. 

 

The peredhel twins immediately looked guilty. “My name is Ithiliel, pleased to meet you.” There was silence, and then she elbowed her sister.

 

“My name is Eleniel, I am pleased to meet you.” Ailill stared back in wonder, seeing their pointed ears and the King’s blue eyes looking back at him out of identical faces.

 

Little Thaladir, wishing to please his Adar, stepped up next, with his tiny little voice and craned his head up to look at the tall man. “I am Thaladir, pleased to meet you.”

 

Allanah was feeling very shy just how, and Thranduil saw. Receiving a slight glare from his seneschal, he picked the little girl up and held her after kissing her cheek. “And this is Allanah, and she is pleased to meet you too, but the words are having a hard time coming out right now, aren’t they, my sweet girl?” The little one nodded, her blue eyes wide as saucers, and then buried her face against his neck.

 

Thanadir looked at Saoirse with an expression of hopeful expectation.

 

While looking slightly annoyed at the forced politeness, she did try. “Saoirse, nice to meet you.”

 

Ailill smiled. “I am Ailill, and I am pleased to meet you also.”

 

“Ailill is going to stay with us regularly, so you will see him quite a lot. You must all be very nice to him, because you will want to be his friend. Everyone in their chairs that wants cookies for dessert!” Earlene had taken a parenting approach somewhere between expectation and bribery of late, and it appeared to be working. For dinner she had prepared a gnocchi chicken minestrone, with roasted winter greens salad and herbed biscuits...and of course, butter. Pat and Sharley came along with Maerwen, Lothiriel and Ortherion and were introduced.

 

_ They hadn’t been joking, when they said a lot of people lived here _ , he realized, looking in wonder at the third through fifth elves he had ever laid eyes on. He was given a place of honor; Earlene moved down from her usual seat so that Ailill might sit nearest the King (who no one really minded sitting at the head of the table) and opposite Thanadir. When Lorna and Ratiri were here, they often as not took the foot of the table, because that left actual adults in a commanding view of children, whose seating arrangements were wisely broken up by the strategic deployment of elves and adult humans alike. And the food...from the first taste of the soup to the first bite of the biscuit, he realized he would be blessed in his time here, in this way as well. “This is wonderful,” he said to Earlene gratefully, earning one of her brilliant smiles.

 

“I would think they feed you decently at Ashford? Or...staff do not get a break there on any food, do they,” she realized suddenly.

 

“No. The restaurants are for the guests. The only thing that comes my way from the kitchens are scraps of raw meat, and they aren’t for me,” he smiled. “My meals come in paper sacks.”

 

Thanadir noted the look of confusion on at least Pat’s face at that statement. “Ailill is a falconer,” he explained. “The birds he cares for all eat only meat.” 

 

Everyone nodded, and at least from Earlene’s point of view, no one launched into a thousand questions either. That no one had asked _ why _ he was here felt semi-miraculous, in her estimation. From time to time she glanced at their guest, who seemed to be happy. If he had thought it odd that they ate with a tall woman with blue hair, he did not let on.

 

This was the first time Sharley had to make an actual decision about whether or not to flip the off-switch to ‘on’, and see just who the hell this guy was. He wouldn’t be here without reason; Thranduil didn’t let just anyone in, and it would be so easy for her to flip that switch and find out what that reason was….but she found she enjoyed the mystery.  _ Not  _ knowing something was so novel she savored it, and resolved to hear about Ailill and his purpose when Thranduil was actually ready to say something.

 

_ “You actually think ignorance is bliss, don’t you?”  _ Jimmy asked.  _ “That’s...sad.” _

 

Sharley made no response, because she was around someone unfamiliar with her, but she didn’t need to. It was, in some ways at least, very much bliss.

 

Thanadir and everyone else happily munched their cookies, and Ortherion insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes, which was appreciated; it saved them time. Thranduil gestured for Earlene and Thanadir to prepare to leave. It was silently transmitted that the clothing their guest had brought would not really be warm enough for traversing the forest at night, and the seneschal reappeared with an extra cloak. 

“We go now to my Halls,” the King explained, still weighing what he felt about Ailill. Part of him still wished to delay the man, whereas another part of him recognized that this was a yearning of the heart that would not go away or alter with the passage of time. Finally, many minutes into traversing the forest path, he arrived at a decision and he sighed. “I can see you have not been dissuaded, Ailill, just as I can see that forcing you to wait longer would change nothing. So I will simply tell you that I will accept your service when you desire to offer it. Tonight, next week, next month; the choice will be yours.”

 

This was not anticipated, because he had resigned himself to being made to wait, though he did not wish it. “Tonight, please, my Lord.”

 

The King muted the sigh that escaped him.“Very well. Thanadir, perhaps you should go on ahead, and make your preparations.” With a nod and a smile, the seneschal dashed off. The moon was bright overhead, and the sense of damp that could cling to the forest floor at night was in abeyance, for whatever reason. When they reached the bridge, Earlene heard Ailill’s gasp and realized that for the first time, Thranduil was not playing his favorite game. 

 

_ By what he is giving, he has earned the right not to be teased or toyed with, meluieg. I still find myself astonished at...this. _

 

_ I do not. Though I know he will eventually have some kind of struggle, he...he fits here. I can feel it. And I am not saying this only because I want another human with which to share this. He just….does. _

 

_ I know. And it is why I am allowing this to happen so quickly.  _

 

As they neared, the Gate swung open at a wave of Thranduil’s hand. Earlene explained softly, “The command for opening is ‘edro ennyn Thranduil.’ Our King does not need to speak it aloud, but the rest of us do. And I need not tell you that this is not information give to others without his explicit permission. The path we walked here is equally...controlled, but more on that later.” 

 

When Ailill followed Thranduil into the Halls, his vision did not need to adjust; what would seem dim in the daytime was now a warm glow. If he could have cried easily, he would have, at the sight. This was perhaps the most emotionally profound moment of his life, to date, and it was about to continue. Earlene watched him in sympathy, and carefully took his hand. It was squeezed lightly, and held firmly. She remembered how much she had wanted some kind of emotional reassurance, when this had happened for her. 

 

Thranduil walked on slowly ahead of them, knowing Earlene would care for Ailill. He walked to the base of his throne, and quietly waited for Thanadir, still not entirely believing that a mortal wished to do this. It was perhaps just as profound a moment for him, though for very different reasons. 

 

“I hope you do not have a fear of heights,” she whispered, for any sound echoed easily through the vast cavern. He shook his head no, though his grip on her hand did not loosen. Really it was far more that he was dangerously distracted, looking every which way at the painful beauty that greeted his eyes. Earlene stopped Ailill, just as they reached the massive platform and the throne. Thanadir was already coming from the other direction, bearing three items. With surprising strength, Earlene turned him around to face her, and not the sight of the throne. “Ailill, are you fully certain you want this, now? You have all the time in the world, but your vows cannot be undone by anything except your death. This will affect the relationships you have with all other humans, for the rest of your life. Your parents and siblings. Your ability to form romantic attachments without hindrance. Everything, from this night forward. You have reflected, on all of these things?”

 

His head sagged, just a little, as he regarded her and spoke with great respect. “I appreciate what you are doing. Everything I have seen since the moment I met the three of you, including what you are saying to me now, tells me that you are good people. And elves,” he smiled. “I have considered, Earlene, and I want this more than anything. There may be times my choice will prove difficult, but I do not believe I will ever regret this.”

 

A wan smile played over her face. “I will stand close to you, if you wish it.”

 

“Please, yes.”

 

With a nod, she gestured for him to turn around. “You will kneel before Aran Thranduil, and place your hand in his. The King will ask the questions of your vows. You are to answer ‘athon, i Aran nîn,’ if you consent. Then he will speak his own vow to you. And after, you are to kiss the ring on his hand; that is the final gesture of your fealty. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” Ailill answered, his heart thundering in his chest. For Thranduil appeared quite different now, clad in a formal robe, crowned, and holding the staff of his office.

 

“You must go to him,” she whispered, remembering how afraid she had felt even though she had already said the vows once.

 

He nodded and walked slowly, smiling. Because this time he could do what he wanted to, the first time he saw Aran Thranduil. “Aníron len buiad,” (I wish to serve you) he said again, raising his eyes to the Elvenking. Only this time, the answer was different.

 

“Buiathol nin.” (You will serve me.) Thranduil held out his hand. “Cûno dad.” (bow down)

 

Trembling slightly, Ailill did as he was told, carefully holding the King’s strong fingers as he went onto his knees. His heart soared at the knowledge that in a minute or so more, no one could ever take him away from the elves. Earlene stepped forward at seeing Thranduil’s permission, and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, standing tall. Thanadir remained off to the side, his record book open on a small podium-like construct used for this purpose. His face was immobile, but his eyes smiled; he was ready to witness the vows.

 

Thranduil took a deep breath, and began: “Gwestathol buiad i Aran lîn, caun en Arnad Eryn Lastalen a chebo i achain lîn?”

 

Sincerity poured from the young man’s heart. “Athon, i Aran nîn.”

 

“Gwestathol nin melad vi i ‘ur lîn, mabo i vaudh nîn an úgerth, a dhartho ero nu i valed nîn?

 

“Athon, i Aran nîn.”

 

Earlene could feel her eyes tearing up. She could not have understood, when it was her kneeling there, the words in the elves’ own tongue.  _ It was all I could do to remember the damn response. _ But that limitation no longer existed, and now that it was possible to perceive the manner in which Thranduil had rendered the sentiments into the rather different English language, she had to smile. The memories came flooding back; she made him promise that she would swear to the  _ exact same things _ in both languages, not able to comprehend that it was not technically possible. And yet, he had managed well enough. Plus, Earlene knew what Ailill could not; that these words were from the heart of her beloved meldir. Well, she could sentimentally cry about it later, in bed tonight. They would both understand.

 

“Gwestathol ech annad lain annin, a ech gwedhathol na i dúrcham nîn ir cuiol?”

 

“Athon, i Aran nîn.” Tears streaked down his face, but the voice coming from his bowed head remained strong and steady. 

 

Gently, Thranduil  lifted his chin. Who knew if he would ever repeat these words again, and he wished to look into Ailill’s eyes. “Im Thranduil Oropherion gweston buiad sui i Aran lîn anlin. Len tiriathon, len beriathon, ir cuiol. Epholatha i astor a daiss lîn.” The King moved his fingers aside to release the man’s face, and with reverence his ring was kissed. “Erio” (Rise).

 

Earlene backed away from Ailill now; it was done. Thranduil moved to embrace his new subject, and kissed him on his forehead in blessing. Stepping back, he smiled and extended his hand to Thanadir, who placed something in it. Earlene’s eyebrow raised.  _ This was different _ . The King took the man’s left hand in his. “This is not usual, but neither is the gift of your service.” He placed a golden signet ring on his index finger, engraved with a beautiful representation of a bird of prey. Embedded at the talons was a single diamond, not overly large but very brilliant.

 

Ailill’s lips parted in shock; the bird could be Fion. “Thank you, my King.” 

 

“I have never had a falconer before, and find that I like the idea,” Thranduil smiled, divesting himself of his royal symbols. “Earlene will show you the kitchens and Dining Hall; and Thanadir and I will see you again shortly.” He spun on his heel and moved off, with Thanadir following close behind.

 

Earlene moved around him carefully, guessing he might be in shock, a little. “Come with me. I have just the thing.” While she guided him to the kitchens, a short narration was given on basic navigation of the Halls. However, whether he was hearing a word of it was anyone’s guess. When they arrived, Rîlas was still preparing for tomorrow’s meals.

 

“Hiril vuin,” the elleth said politely, eyeing the new mortal with curiosity.

 

“Hen adan buia thî i Aran ‘win (this man now serves our King). Aníra cocoa-urui (he wants hot cocoa.”

 

“Ai! Maer,” she grinned, hurrying to ladle some. Hot cocoa was basically now as popular as tea in the Halls, and since there was no word for cocoa, they simply conflated their own word.

 

Guiding him to a seat within the kitchen, she gently insisted that he sit, pressing the earthenware cup into his hands. “Drink, it will help. Aran Thranduil gave me a cow that I never have to take care of,” she smiled. “The cocoa is fabulous.”

 

He nodded, sipping, and smiled. “I suppose I must obey you as well,” he said rhetorically.

 

“No and yes,” she laughed. “Yes, I am queen. I think I gave a command once, and...well, we will not discuss that. I was obeyed and…” she shook her head. “I try to help, not ask for things. I realize that my life here is not the same as yours will be. I do not believe I will ask you to do much of anything, but if I do insist it would be for a good reason. They are elves. Whatever they allow me, I do not let it go to my head. Who you do need to obey in addition to our King is our seneschal. Thanadir is granted vast authority, and you will see me show him deference as well. I do not have to; but it is done out of respect and the close bond I have with him.”

 

“Are there others? Others I must obey, that is.” The cocoa was helping, he could feel his nerves slowly settling from the extremely intense experience.

 

“Hm. Well, I suppose that depends on what you are doing, really. Thalion is another ellon held in high esteem, something of a captain of the guards under Thanadir. These Halls are more like a...cooperative city. Everyone works to help do something, on the basis of their own honor and everyone gives their best. Tasks are defined but to my knowledge no one is terribly overworked. No elf would ever ask you to do a thing unless it was needed; we help each other in whatever manner possible. And yet you....I am guessing that your feathered friends are close to a full time occupation?

 

Ailill nodded. “They are not something one pens up in a cage or leaves on a perch. At least, not for long. Caring for them means hunting with them a great deal or simply being with them.. And if one is in need of training…” he trailed off. “Usually if I go somewhere, they are with me. This is the first time in twelve years I have driven off and left them elsewhere.”

 

Earlene’s eyes widened. Perhaps extra outbuildings at Eldamar were about to be a necessity. “You are to tell me, in the next week, what their living requirements are like. And what yours are, for that matter. There are animal quarters in these Halls but not for falcons, and yet it would not be hard to rectify that at our other home. In fact, it might be best if you would bring me books to read or direct me to learning materials. I wish to at least not be ignorant of your occupation. I would like to understand more than what we learned at Ashford.” She considered herself to have some proficiency with chickens; they were birds. Why not learn more? Oh dear,  _ chickens…. _

 

The smile that broke out on his face was beatific, painful to see in the sense that he obviously did not hear those words very often; he obviously yearned to speak of what he loved. And yet still there was restraint.  _ Ah, Ailill _ , she thought. _ You are an idealist, and not really meant for this world, are you? _ Now she wondered. On the strength of his love for what he had found here, he would go far. And yet Earlene could not help but wonder what was going to happen for him, inside of himself, the first time he received a command that truly grated. A sense came that he had been….’indulged’, was not quite the right word. Perhaps, that he ‘had met with minimal resistance,’ was a better way to put it. That he was not accustomed to heavy demands, outside the ones he personally embraced fulfilling. Well, whatever. It was too late now, and like her, he would have to navigate his choices. And as he had finished his cocoa, she now led him to see the Dining Hall, and explained what happened here, and when. 

 

The Elven Grapevine was apparently working at top speed, because several ellyn that were clearly coming off patrol approached. Thalion was among them, and while his greeting was warm and polite, she could guess what was also foremost in his thoughts. Backing away a little and leaving Ailill to try to remember some of the names of those with whom he was meeting and speaking, she smiled when the powerful ellon approached her and spoke softly. “He is supposed to be a hunter?” The doubt on his face was palpable, as his eyes traveled the delicate and slender form. 

 

“Not like you are,” Earlene smiled. “I see what you do, and yet there is much about him we must yet learn. He is a master of hawks.  _ Fyn _ ,” she added, seeing he did not know the word. “He hunts, with them as his weapon.” Thalion’s eyebrows raised. It was apparently not known to these elves, that this was a...thing. Whether falconry was known to any elves was anyone’s guess; it was an obscure enough discipline even among humans. “I would guess that he will be required to undergo training, eventually. Yet I am not certain he will be with us more than one day in seven; Aran Thranduil is tasking him with remaining elsewhere for now. What is more certain is that he will teach us his skill.”

 

The ellon considered this, and in his usually reserved manner, inclined his head to indicate that he understood. “Word has it that you are to be tested soon,” he teased, showing unusual levity.

 

“If I pass, I will buy you an ale at the pub,” she fired back, but with a smile. “Because I will owe much of it to you.”

 

“Maybe,” said Thanadir from behind her, whereupon Thalion bowed his head in respect to the seneschal. “But you will owe it just as much to your own hard work and courage.”

 

“Either way, I will never be able to thank either of you enough for teaching me.”

 

This brought a warm smile to Thalion’s face, and he excused himself while Thanadir interceded to collect Ailill. To say that he was apparently ‘a hit’ would be an understatement; a mortal that knew their tongue and could converse with only minimal mistakes was a complete novelty. In a happy daze, Ailill was guided out to the passageways that led off toward their rooms. It was Earlene’s guess that Thranduil would generously gift him with nicer than usual quarters, and she was not wrong. He was assigned the room three doors beyond their own; with one other between him and the room that housed her harpsichord. It was not too dissimilar from the room originally given to Lorna, except that it had more luxurious appointments. “This will be your private home within my Halls,” Thranduil said. “You are free to come and go at will, keep here what you wish. And...how to say this. The clothing of our people will be provided for you; as you can see we do not attire ourselves in human garments here. I used to require of Earlene that she dress as we do when in these Halls. I no longer do so, having...learned. Our mortal friends who are not my subjects dress as they please. And yet it would please me, if you would keep to our ways more than not.”

 

“I am happy to wear what you wish me to,” answered Ailill. “I only need…”

 

“To be measured,” said Thanadir. “Which I will do, if you will permit it. We have learned that mortals are not accustomed to being seen unclothed and that it can cause great discomfort.”

 

Ailill looked at Earlene and flushed red. “You can decline,” she hurried to add. “Or Thanadir can try to measure you over your clothes. I know it is strange, and was an unwelcome surprise to me as well. And if you do accept, I will most certainly leave so you can have privacy.”

 

“We will be in the music room,” Thranduil said, determined to leave Ailill with Thanadir to decide what he wished, and he gestured for Earlene to go ahead of him.

 

Ailill looked at Thanadir with trepidation, but moved to unbutton his shirt, and remove his shoes. Then came socks and jeans, leaving him only in snugly fitting cotton undershorts. “Do you wish me to remove everything?” 

 

“That is not necessary,” Thanadir said, wondering at the visible fear he saw. “I will not harm you in any way, Ailill,” he said softly, sensing that this was not simply shyness. And then he went about his task. Measuring and writing, measuring and writing, until his notes were complete. 

 

Ailill found that it helped to simply close his eyes. He knew in his heart that no one would harm him here; quite the opposite. With all his willpower, he tried not to tremble. It was the first thing that had been asked of him, and he would have to manage, telling himself all the while that he was safe here.

 

Two rooms away, Thranduil closed his eyes while Earlene played one of her songs. He now saw he had a different problem. Ailill had been attacked before, in their world, more than once. On one occasion, it had involved him being made to undress against his will. And while he hid it well, he was afraid. He was no Lorna, and had no ability to fight or defend himself. His delicate appearance and manners were an invitation to those who enjoyed bullying others. He was now pledged to protect this man, but how to do it with him living at a distance? There was a way, but Thanadir would not like it….and yet a vow was a vow. He did not see that he had much choice. And it was worse yet. This...driver’s license was going to be a necessity; he might need to go to Ailill at any time, should he need aid. And without this Wifi in his Halls, that he knew the mortals desired….he groaned. How else could he guarantee that he could be contacted at all times?

 

“My Lord?” Earlene asked, on hearing the sound and seeing that he had been...ruminating. Rising from the seat, she moved to sit with him. “Is it about Ailill?” She lowered her eyes. “What I mean is, if I can help somehow, I will gladly listen. I did not mean to pry.”

 

Her questions broke his reverie, and he leaned in to kiss her. “While I thank you for your deference, I think we need to move beyond you fearing that asking me questions will offend me. If I am unable to answer, meluieg, I will tell you. I would rather know that you wish to help.” His thumb brushed across her cheek in affection. “I tell you this in confidence; I am seeing now that our Ailill has been mistreated in the world, more than once. Picked on, I believe is the phrase you use. It is my reluctant conclusion that changes I have resisted making here will have to occur, if I am to offer him the protection I have sworn to give him. He may be taller than you are and male, but aside from a certain ability to run, he is defenseless against those who would harm him.” He smiled. “WiFi. But you must not speak of this, except to Thanadir.”

 

The gears whirred into motion in her mind, and she smiled. “I see. Well, I doubt anyone will mind, though how to manage the electricity will be interesting. That will be one hell of an extension cord.”

 

Earlene returned to her playing, and soon enough Thanadir returned with the young man, clearly concerned for his sensibilities. Thranduil felt very sorry for him. He did not view Ailill the way he realized humans would; a male without much physical presence would be derided. They would teach him to be stronger, more capable, but at the moment that did not help. The King rose and embraced him.  _ I am sorry, for what I see has happened to you before. I will do all in my power to ensure it cannot ever happen again.  _

 

A sob tore out of Ailill’s chest as he found himself unable to resist wrapping his arms around the King’s waist, along with a torrent of embarrassed and apologetic thoughts. None of this was how he envisioned his first hours in the Elf King’s service unfolding, and misery washed over him. Thranduil silently instructed his wife and seneschal to return to Eldamar, and that they would follow. For many minutes an outpouring occurred, the King gently coaxed a fuller confession of what abuse had befallen him. All of it was after he no longer lived with his family, and he had kept the times he had been assaulted and beaten hidden from others. 

 

What moved Ailill most was the sense that he was not being shamed for what he had not done about it. Could not do, about it. They’d called him ‘homo’, ‘faggot’, ‘queer’ and ‘poof’. And he did not know that he was, or wasn’t. He’d never had a relationship, never spent time looking at others with a view to what attracted him beyond what he might call a passing crush, and what sexual urges he had were managed....on his own. The men that treated him this way had done it based on his appearance and his manner alone, and it was much of why he rarely went anywhere but his place of employment, the room he rented, and the village grocery.

 

He felt so safe, in the arms of his King, knowing that no one could harm him here. Peace began to come over him. It was barely noticeable at first, but in the end his fear and sadness vanished, replaced by comfort. Only then did he begin to wonder if this sense had come from within, or without. He did not ask. And Thranduil felt that for now, it was better left unsaid. “Thank you for being so kind to me,” he said, wiping his cheeks dry. “I wish I were...not like this.”

 

“Ailill,” Thranduil said, releasing him at last, “I now find myself wondering how flexible your duties at Ashford are, or are not. I would like you here more than your current schedule will allow. But I will not retract my words to you; if this is all that can be managed, then so be it.”

 

He thought a moment. “I could work fewer days, at this time, my Lord. Some of my coworkers would be grateful for the extra hours. But come summer my employers will expect me to work a full schedule, else they will have to hire others. It would be frowned upon.”

 

“Then do what you are able to have as much time here as possible, until then. You are going to be given some skills by which to defend yourself, young one.” He immediately saw the downcast and humiliated expression. “No, you must not feel that way. Look at me,” he demanded, waiting until the eyes obediently raised to his. “None of what happened is your fault. It would not be your fault if it happens again. I promised to protect you, and part of that involves you being taught to do what right now you cannot. I can see that you are not physically strong compared to many, but you have the potential to improve this. Estelio nin, nîth vain (trust me, beautiful young one).”

 

Ailill groaned with chagrin but smiled.  _ Please my King, not that for a nickname,  _ he pleaded silently, even as he acceded to Thranduil’s wishes.

 

Thranduil chuckled. “We shall see. If you try your best, I might not repeat it aloud.”

 

*****

 

That night, after they retired, Thranduil sat on the bed with Earlene and Thanadir, explaining his idea.

 

“I do not like it,” Thanadir shook his head. “You only just are back to...normal. But I know you will do it anyway, and I too cannot see a way around it. The poor firion (mortal man).”

 

“Just how much is this going to take out of you?” Earlene wanted to know. “Is this what you did to my necklace, before you placed it on me?”

 

The King sighed. “It will not debilitate me, and yes it would be similar. I cannot give the same degree of protection I do to you; part of that is that you are my wife. Lorna asked me for something like this, once, when Von Ratched was loose, and I could not help her. However the difference here is, he has spoken his vows. They too create a bond, though not one as strong as marriage. It would, however, be truly preferable if no further demands are made on my power for say...some weeks. A month, maybe. In order to regain what I will lose without continually turning to others. And no, meldir, you are not going to help me. I will not end up as I was before.”

 

Thanadir appeared less than pleased at this notion, but nodded.

 

“Well then, what  _ will _ it do, for Ailill?” Earlene found that she rather wanted details, as exacting as possible.

 

“It will not render someone who intends to harm him insensible, as your necklace does. It will do what your necklace will do, if you are at a distance from me. An attacker or attackers would be weakened. Sickened. Long enough for him to run away, long enough for him to have a chance of escape. Even this is not a guarantee, but it is the best I can give without changing my mind and bringing him to stay here full time. Which would rather defeat his purpose in my overall plans.”

 

Well, that  _ was _ something. Quite a lot, actually. 

 

“I would like to do this now,” Thranduil said. “He is asleep. I prefer he not know all of the details, not just yet. Meldir if you will ensure he remains asleep, it will be easy enough to have the ring off of him, do what I must, and return it to his hand. Tomorrow he will be told that it is not to be removed.”

 

“My Lord, are you sure that is the best idea? It would have helped me, if I had known from the beginning what the necklace did.  _ Not _ knowing created a great deal of distress, when it actually protected me. He is not like I was; there is no fear of you or...magic.”

 

“Only of those who would harm him. You make your point as always, wife,” he conceded. “Meluieg, I have a question. How will he be viewed by other humans?”

 

Her eyes were raised to the ceiling, and she sighed. “Honestly? Not that well. When he is with his birds, that is one thing. He becomes impressive because his hawks are impressive; all his learning and skill is on display. There is context. But apart from them? Most would immediately assume he is homosexual. Effeminate, weak, overly emotional, sensitive. His attributes are far more in line with stereotypes for women. Which is a big steaming manure pile, but it is how especially males will revile him, for failing to seem masculine enough. Thanadir, forgive me for this, but if Lorna calls  _ you _ a ‘cinnamon roll’, I hesitate to even guess what moniker Ailill will earn, at least in her thoughts. Many women will feel contempt for him too, even if only subconsciously, for not ‘being enough of a man.’ People outright fear deviations from gender norms. It is sad and disheartening, and while many actively reject these kinds of thoughts, many still feel they are justified. ”

 

“Can he be...helped?”

 

A whooshing sound escaped Earlene’s lips. “That question touches on what I would call...moral issues. Issues of personhood. To say that something is needing helping in Ailill...it is not much different than saying that Thanadir needs helping too. If you mean help him in the sense of give him tools by which to gain an actual sense of personal strength, and empowering him to not feel so afraid, then yes, I think he can be. But to imply he needs help in the sense of needing to be other than he is, somehow, or that he is broken and needs fixing? That would be terribly wrong, and failing to honor him as an individual.”

 

Thanadir listened, and his face darkened at what he thought he might be hearing. “Are you saying that others view me as being...female?” The question was asked softly, but with a definite edge to his voice.

 

“No. I can answer your question, Thanadir. I would only beg that you do not shoot the messenger.”

 

He considered this for a moment, and nodded. “I think I should know, even if I will not like what I hear.”

 

Earlene held out her hand to him, and he took it. “You are not like Ailill. I believe what most would think of you is that you are unclassifiable, meldir. You give the impression of not truly having gender, on first appearances. Your body type is slender, with a more delicate appearance than Thranduil, who is more heavily muscled. Your face is very beautiful in a way that is neither strictly masculine or feminine. But that is only what people think in the very beginning. At some point, they learn that you are not soft; that you can be stern and extremely demanding. That you are incredibly intelligent, and not cowed or easily swayed. And then they find out you have a mastery of physical skills; weapons, and strength to match. Those are all very masculine traits. The difference is, if four men in a pub accused you of being a homosexual and physically attacked you, you could kill them all in seconds with no particular difficulty, whereas Ailill would end up beaten half to death. The signals humans attune to are complex, Thanadir. It is a question of outward appearance, demeanor, attributes, and projecting a force of personality or a lack thereof. You only have your physical appearance working ‘against you’, if you wish to call it that. Ailill has  _ everything _ working against him.”

 

“I see,” said Thanadir, smiling. “That is not so bad, then. In fact I think I rather like it,” he grinned.

 

Glancing at Thranduil, Thanadir rose with a nod, and the two of them moved silently upstairs to do what had been discussed. Inside a minute, Thranduil had the ring back, and walked into the forest to work his enchantment. Thanadir remained with the man, to ensure he slept. He studied the face that could so easily have passed for an ellon’s, except for the sparse trace of facial hair that shadowed along his jawline and chin. It would fall to him to teach this one, he guessed, and he weighed from what he had seen of Ailill how best to go about it. The King returned in less than an hour, and replaced the ring on the sleeping firion’s hand, and the two ellyn returned to Earlene.

 

*****

 

Earlene woke up with generalized thoughts of cinnamon rolls, and it was early enough to pull it off if she hurried into the kitchen. That Lorna would not be there to run with that one might be for the best, though she would make extra for later, knowing how much her friend liked them. The dough was rising and she turned her attention to savory items, too. Lately she had been pondering refried beans and cheese on toasted sourdough, a traditional pioneer staple, and got to work on that, and somewhere in there memories of last night percolated. Thanadir and Thranduil eventually joined her, looking content. Why did she have the feeling she’d missed out on snuggle time? Oh well, later. 

 

“It might not be the best idea to have Lorna and Ratiri return and not say anything,” she commented, pointing to the general upstairs location of Ailill’s room. “You know as well as I do that it will go over like a lead balloon.”

 

Thanadir, not knowing this idiom, frowned. “Who would make a balloon out of lead? It would just….oh.”

 

“Oh, indeed,” Earlene commented, though she kept her speaking voice soft. It was early yet, and she did not wish to wake their guest.

 

Thranduil sighed. “I suppose you are right,” he said ruefully. “And that goes for Pat too, come to think of it. Then on the other hand, he has to know what others will think. He  _ did _ know, what others will think.”

 

“That is different,” she said, making tea for all three of them. “‘Others’ are not those who live in this house. He deserves better than to get slammed with how we all know they will react if they are not warned.”

 

“I agree with her, if my opinion matters,” Thanadir said quietly. “It would be unloving, to do otherwise.”

 

“Very well. Eru, what do I do, send a text message?”

 

“Actually, that might not be a bad idea. How else you will inform Pat before he appears here, I’ve no idea, and it will at least warn Lorna as well. Do you want me to do it? It might be best, coming from another human.”

 

With an unclassifiable noise somewhere between annoyance and frustration, Thranduil nodded, and Earlene did not skip a beat. “Meldir, you know where my mobile is. Would you please bring it here? You could enter the words for me, if you would.”

 

Nodding, he hastened back while she shaped the delicious pinwheels of cinnamony delight. “Please type, ‘I want to warn all of you, Ailill spoke his vows to Thranduil last night and is now a subject of the elven realm. Lorna and Ratiri, Ailill is someone that met Thranduil at Ashford. He wanted this and it was his decision. Yeah, I know, but please don’t let him see how you feel about it. More later on.’ And when you are done, please send it.”

 

“Eru,” Thranduil said.

 

“Eru, indeed.”

 

*****

 

When Lorna read her text message, she went positively bug-eyed. “Um...okay. Not...um. Jesus.” How in the name of mother fuck had Thranduil found an Irish person who actually  _ wanted  _ to swear fealty? It was a good thing they’d been warned before getting home, because her first thought was to wonder just what was wrong with the man. Not only had he voluntarily sworn fealty to a king, he’d sworn it to one he’d met what, a week ago? Who  _ did  _ that? (Well, okay, Earlene had done that, but Earlene wasn’t Irish, and had been initially mind-whammie’d into the bargain.)

 

“What?” Ratiri asked.

 

“Thranduil somehow found another human who volunteered to sign away their soul,” she said, and immediately winced. That wasn’t how it worked, and she hadn’t even thought of it like that in forever, but this was such a shock… “Not what I meant. He has another human subject,  _ somehow _ . And I’m bloody glad we got warned, because...well, because.” Because without the warning, what she actually thought of the whole thing would have been entirely blatant. It wasn’t even so much the fact that a human had signed on for the job they couldn’t quit, but the  _ speed  _ of it...she knew Thranduil wouldn’t have mind-whammied him; he had to have done this of his own free will, and that she just couldn’t fathom. To do that on such short notice...seriously, what  _ was  _ wrong with the bloke?   
  


Ratiri was just as startled, though rather more tactful about it. “Well,” he said carefully, “you know he’ll take care of someone who wanted to sign on with him.”

 

“That’s not the point,” she said, agitated. “This guy met them and signed on in no time at all. Thranduil’s going to  _ have  _ to take care’v him, because obviously he’s got no sense.” She never had told Ratiri about the mind-whammy that had been the start of Earlene and Thranduil’s association -- there was no need for him to know. There had been...mitigating factors...with her. Mind-whammy and sex, neither of which, she was sure, had any part in this.

 

“Earlene did the same thing,” Ratiri pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but Earlene’s... _ Earlene _ ,” Lorna said, uncertain how to express herself. “She’s...Christ, I don’t know how to put it. This took a week. Think about it, allanah: anyone who’d be willing to come out to this forest and swear fealty to a bloody Elvenking had to’ve been like Lorna the Younger, and recognized him.”

 

“What are you saying?” he asked, now slightly uneasy.

 

“I’m saying that unless I’m bloody well mistaken, they found a fanboy at Ashford,” she said. “Earlene didn’t know a damn thing about elves when she met Thranduil. She didn't have any preconceived...anything. Now, Thranduil could’ve explained everything there is to know about being a subject -- hell, I'm sure he did -- but...Jesus. I don’t know.”

 

“We won’t know anything more until we talk with him,” Ratiri said. “Can you...what’s the Americanism...get your game face on?”

 

She sighed. “I can,” she said, but she worried anyway. What would happen the first time this Ailill got ordered to do something he disagreed with? What would happen when he got the wake-up call that his life truly was no longer his own? Earlene was married to Thranduil; she wasn’t just a subject. She got more out of the arrangement, and he had fortunately removed his head from his arse when it came to ordering her around. Just…  _ Stop thinking about this, Lorna _ , she ordered herself.  _ It’s not your problem, and you don’t know shit yet anyway.  _ She had the rest of the drive to get aforesaid game face on, and thought she’d pretty well managed it by the time they got home. She realized none of it was any of her damn business, but she worried anyway, because that was what she did.

 

At least Mairead had sent them home with a cake, done up in a big cardboard carton. “Oi, my sister’s given us something that needs eating,” she called, when Ratiri opened the door for her.

 

“Then you should probably save it for Thanadir, who is at the Halls,” Thranduil’s voice called out from the classroom, where he was busy scrawling notes while he read at one of the classroom computers. “Earlene and Ailill are in the forest, and I am still full from breakfast. I presume Mairead is well?”

 

Lorna set aside the cake, and laughed. “She is. Kevin tried to sneak and buy a new barbecue, figuring she’d like it once he got it home, and she made him take it all the way back to Dublin. You’d think he’d know better by now.”

 

“The poor man needs a different hobby,” Ratiri sighed.

 

“Can’t argue there.” She hesitated to say anything further, because she didn’t actually like hurting Thranduil’s feelings, and this really wasn’t any of her business, but this just seemed like it had so many ways it could go  _ so  _ badly wrong… “So,” she said, after a pause. “Ailill.” She didn’t dare say anything more, for fear of being terribly offensive, but seriously, what the hell was wrong with the guy? Oops. She really needed to work on the whole ‘thinking in Irish’ bit.

 

Thranduil froze, wondering if he had prepared himself enough for this. Knowing the inevitability of her thoughts did not make hearing them any easier, and yet he equally knew his friend would not voice this aloud. Eru, how he hated this, sometimes. “What do you wish to know?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain neutral.

 

“What brought you to let him in, when you only met him a week ago?” she asked. It was a valid question, and hopefully not an offensive one, because regardless of what Ailill...well. There had to be some reason Thranduil would do this, given the man was a total outsider. “You don't do that for just anyone.”

 

Ratiri sighed. “You do know what that question sounds like, don’t you?”

 

Lorna blinked, because no, she really didn’t. She thought it was pretty valid and straightforward: Thranduil didn’t just throw open the forest to any random human he met. There had to be something about the man, or the man wouldn’t be here. “Um...no?” she said, after a moment. “I...kind’v don’t.”

 

Thranduil closed the laptop, swiveling his chair to face her. “Lorna,” he said softly, I know that this does not occur to you. But the undercurrent that reaches me is the same as saying, ‘if any human wants to serve me, they must be mentally deficient in order to have wanted that. So what’s actually wrong with him?’ It is not a very pleasant thing to hear.”

 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she said, frustrated, but  _ did  _ he know it? Was it going on too deep for him to see without pushing? “What I  _ meant  _ was why would you let in someone you met a week ago, because you don’t do that for just anyone, and the reason I’d think there’s something wrong with him isn’t even that he’d do this, but that he’d do it so  _ fast _ , and with no...help. Stable people don’t  _ do  _ that. Earlene, she lived here. She was around you lot -- well, you specifically -- all the time. She didn’t work in some castle two miles away, and she loved you. Love...that makes a world’v difference.” 

 

She had no idea how to express  _ that  _ any clearer, either, but Earlene  _ did  _ love Thranduil when she’d joined the elven ship, so to speak. Some strange man, who’d only met them not long ago at all, wouldn’t have that playing a part. “I worry, and I’m sorry, I know this is a...thing and I’ve tried to get over it, I’m still trying, but I’d be a lot less worried if this hadn’t happened in the space’v a week. Does that make any sense at all?” Christ she hoped so. If this bloke had taken some time and actually  _ thought  _ about all the ramifications, she’d feel a lot less uneasy. It smacked of a decision made in haste.

 

Long fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. For a moment he looked at Ratiri forlornly, even as he realized that it would be undesirable for the poor man to come to any kind of rescue. He would have to try again, from a different angle. “You are worrying a great deal about someone who you have never met and do not know. And while I understand your concern, you are mistaken. Ailill does love me. If you wish to discuss time frames, he took more than twice as long to make his decision as Earlene did, and extensive effort was made by both myself and Earlene to both dissuade him and to encourage him to delay. This was what he wanted, Lorna, the desire of his heart. And waiting would not have changed that.”

 

“Of course I am,” she sighed. “It’s what I do. I guess a less loaded question -- I hope -- is what you saw in him that made you let him know who you were?” It was what she’d really wanted to know to begin with, though mercifully she managed to kick her thoughts back into Irish before he could read anything further, because the next one was,  _ Bhí mé ag iarraidh go leor rudaí a bhí uafásach domsa, agus ní raibh aon mhaith liom (I wanted plenty of things that were terrible for me, too, and getting them did me no good.)  _ “Because you really don’t do that for just anyone, and this is someone none’v us knew.”

 

Thranduil sighed. “I cannot fully answer your question without violating Ailill’s privacy. All I can offer is that it was patently obvious that his heart was as suited for life among us as anyone’s could possibly be. If he chooses to tell you more in his own time, that must be his decision.”

 

“Okay,” she said. She could respect that. “But...how the hell could he love you when he’d just met you?” Even Earlene hadn’t done that right off, so far as Lorna knew.

 

Thranduil stared at her for a moment, actually biting at his thumbnail. Which was vaguely charming, but whatever. “How long did it take you to love Chandra and Shane?” he countered. “Love comes in more than one form, Lorna. There is such a thing as encountering another, and having one’s heart immediately kindled to love.”

 

“About point three seconds,” she said, “but they’re my children. It’s always different, with your children. And…” And she just didn’t believe in love at first sight. At all.  _ Thranduil  _ might be capable of it, but Thranduil was a telepath. Among humanity, love at first sight was a god damned lie spun by people who wanted to sell romance novels. “Well. It’s not my business and I know it, and I promise I won’t go harassing the poor man over anything. If you want him to have a place here, I’ll help him find it to be home. I promise I won’t say anything at all about monarchy or any’v the rest’v it -- though I hope you realize how much bloody work I’ve put into reconciling Baile to it,” she added. Not that it had been terribly hard at all; between the video of their dinner disaster and Mairead and Pat’s tales of her healing, that had pretty effectively done it. But perhaps he had not been in any condition to notice that, while he was so exhausted and drained.

 

He shook his head. “I cannot agree with your beliefs, concerning love. A King is as a father to his people. There are many nuances and...I am not sure this subject needs more pursuing, just now. Ailill already has a place here; he is one of us. It is ‘a done deal,’ as you humans say. He has much to offer, though you will not see all of that until his next visit. I should say too, his quarters are both assigned in the Halls, and he has been given one of the guest rooms in our wing upstairs. And, I do appreciate what you have done on my behalf. Very much. I would like to hear more about it, because it is true that I have not been...very aware, for some time. I love you, Lorna. All I ask is that he be given welcome here, and not be made to feel judged for his decisions. He will have enough of that from others. Thank you, for your willingness to give him that.”

 

“I love you too, you giant blond zombie,” she said, hugging him. “Of course I won’t judge him. He’ll be as welcome here as anyone can make him. Though Christ, we should’ve built this house bigger.” At this rate, they wouldn’t have any rooms not claimed by someone or another. She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I know you put up with a lot from us humans, and me in particular, so thank you for living with...us.”

 

“You do not have to thank me for that,” he said, hugging her back. “And, if I am not mistaken Earlene and Ailill are returning for lunch. You can meet him now or at the meal, your choice.”

 

“We’ve got to get the kids settled, and make sure the cats haven’t eaten everything,” Ratiri said. “We’ll meet up when everyone eats.”  _ Thank you for...being you.  _ That was pretty much all he could say.

 

“What he said,” Lorna added. “And I hope Tail doesn’t show his half-shaved self, or we’ll have some explaining to do.”

 

Thranduil chuckled, and waved at their disappearing forms.

 

*****

 

Earlene had taken Ailill with her into the woods, discovering to her happiness that he had some aptitude at running, though he was not entirely filled with elven grace at this point in time. When she complimented him on this, he laughed. “I have to chase raptors all day long. Since it’s deeply unfair that I don’t have wings, running is all that remains to me.” After some miles, he was becoming winded, though. “How can you not even be tired?”

 

She laughed. “I’ve always run, and then I signed on to...I am not sure how to say it. I have trained very hard, with different ellyn, to learn the elves’ skills in the woods. Many different disciplines. At least, during the times I was not too pregnant to make it impossible. Don’t compare yourself to me, you’ve not had a chance yet at the same learning.”

 

“They will ask that of me?” His eyes widened. 

 

“The King will tell you what he wishes of you,” she said, slightly evasively. “Most likely Thanadir would train you. He teaches all of us sword fighting and throwing knives, archery too. The recurve bow, not the longbow. I am not strong enough for that, and I would guess no human likely is. But I would expect to be asked to improve your physical skills. In the end it will benefit you. And you will have to put up with me teaching you to eat properly, too, if you do not already. If I have to send you home with proper meals for while you are away from us, I will. No fizzy drinks. No packaged foods. And sure god, no fast foods,” she waggled her finger at him, though she smiled.

 

He laughed, and groaned, begging to stop for a time. “At least I have found out one thing. My hawks can hunt in this forest. There are many places that are not too dense. And there are grasslands nearby? It is important for me to know where I can take them where they will not be shot at...that would be a nightmare.”

 

“I will look into that with you. Later this afternoon we will to go the pub, and you will be introduced. We’ll put the word out; we already know who most of the local landowners are because we’re trying to buy up all of the land around here, as fast as we can,” she said ruefully.

 

“Why?” He appeared baffled.

 

“Because the plague is coming, and it will do us no good to be a hundred miles away from our livestock and crops when that does happen,” she said, looking off into the distant trees. “There is much more I have to show you, more than we can manage with just today. We will continue to correspond, and eventually we will catch you up on your new life and home. Come,” she slapped his knee. “We will not go so fast, and we can slow to a fast walk if need be. But we don’t get lunch until we return home.”

 

*****

 

When Earlene arrived with Ailill, Thranduil was in the Quiet Room. “Ailill, come here please,” he asked, then he stared for a moment and chuckled. “No. Please make use of the lavatory,  _ then _ come here.”

 

Gratefully, the man bobbed his head and dashed off to relieve himself. It had not occurred to Earlene to offer him this, and he had been too embarrassed to ask for a moment of privacy in the woods. He would remind his wife for next time.

When Ailill returned, he sat where he was directed. “Thank you,” he smiled shyly, waiting to hear what was wanted.

 

“There is something I must tell you, that I do not wish you to share with others besides Earlene and Thanadir, who already know. First, a command. The ring that was placed on your finger is never to be removed, save by me.”

 

Ailill nodded and swallowed, hoping he would never sustain an injury that would make that a painful proposition. Thranduil saw his fear, and understood. “I had not considered that,” he admitted. “Let me try this, then. Never remove the ring without a dire need, Ailill, because it protects you now.”

 

“Protects me?”

 

Thranduil raised his voice. “Meluieg, come in here, please.” Then he grinned childishly. “This is the Quiet Room, and I am in violation of every house rule for hollering in here.”

 

Ailill’s heart filled with love for his slightly peculiar but clearly caring monarch; he chose to remain silent but his eyes sparkled.

 

“Please sit, Earlene,” he waved. “You see the necklace she wears?”

 

The young man nodded. 

 

“That is the Necklace of Lasg’len, made of mithril and diamonds. An enchantment is laid upon it. Anyone who lays a hand on my wife with the intent to harm her will drop to the ground, struck all but dead. It is not simply a pretty piece of jewelry. Your ring now does similar, Ailill. I have seen what you have suffered. It is my instruction to you that you will be trained by Thanadir to gain strength and the knowledge of how to defend yourself. But even now, if someone tries to accost you, they will be badly sickened. Unwell. It is my hope that this would give you enough time to flee, should you ever find yourself assaulted again. And there is more. We will very soon be devising a way for you to contact us immediately, with your mobile. If anyone threatens you, tries to harm you, you are commanded to contact me immediately. I do not care about the day or the time. Do you understand?”

 

He nodded dumbly, before finally speaking. “Yes, Thranduil,” he whispered. “And thank you.”

 

“That is all, for now.” He clapped Ailill’s shoulder. “Our friends have returned; it is time to eat.”

 

They were all ushered toward the kitchen, where wafts of steam came off the surface of a seafood chowder, and more biscuits and salad were prepared. Soon it was a repeat of yesterday at dinner; children clattered down and chairs in the Dining Room were taken.

 

“Thanadir, Mairead sent cake,” Lorna said, as she got the twins settled in their booster seats. She took silent stock of Ailill out of the corner of her eye, and realized that he was in truth what Thanadir only appeared to be on the surface: a cinnamon roll. Dandelion fuzz, just waiting for a strong breeze. It was probably a good thing he’d taken up with the elves, because while she doubted she could actually break him in half, she was pretty sure she could come close. “You must be Ailill,” she said. “Grand to meet you. I’m Lorna, and this is my husband, Ratiri.”

 

Thranduil groaned inwardly but kept his silence.  _ Cinnamon roll apparently is not the limit, now it we have dandelion fuzz. Eru. _

 

“Hello,” Ratiri said, finally getting Shane’s booster seat fixed in place.

 

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Ailill said kindly. “What are your children’s names?” He smiled at them too, not wanting to be so forward as to touch them. Birds taught one a great deal about relating to others. If you didn’t want to offend, let them make the first gestures about what they wanted, even if they were babies.

 

“This one’s Shane, and that one’s Chandra,” she said, ruffling each head of hair in turn. Jesus wasn’t this one precious...yep. Cinnamon roll.

 

“Hi,” they said, in slightly disturbing stereo.

 

“I hope you like cake -- my sister’s maybe the best cake baker on this entire island. Earlene’s tied with her on everything else, though.” She wasn’t even going to mention Siobhan.

 

“And she knows how many people live here now, so she always bakes a huge one,” Ratiri added.

 

Ailill said nothing, but looked very happy, and then looked even happier at the sight of the food. He did not confess to Earlene earlier that he lived off of convenience store deli sandwiches and coffee. How serious she had been about what she said regarding eating he was unsure, but with these meals, it was possible she had not been joking.

 

_ She was not,  _ he heard in his mind.  _ I will not command you in this, but I would like it if you would heed her wishes. Or at least, most of them.  _

 

_ I will, my Lord.  _ It wasn’t like he was in love with that food, it was just that it was affordable and something he did not have to expend effort to prepare. His entire week was spent dicing meat; cooking for himself on top of it held little appeal.

 

“What do you and Ratiri...do here? If I may ask? For work?” He was genuinely curious.

 

“I started off as Earlene’s PA,” Lorna said, dishing up some plates for the twins. “I helped get Thranduil and Thanadir legal identities, and a friend’v mine handles turning gems into money we can actually use.”

 

“I’m afraid I was relatively useless, until recently,” Ratiri added, a little wryly. “I’m a doctor, which there hasn’t been much call for. I teach the children, and do whatever odd jobs require someone tall when Thranduil or Thanadir aren’t around.”

 

Ailill did not understand how a doctor could be useless, but felt it would be more polite not to ask, so he smiled and nodded. And Thranduil merely watched. And observed that Ailill had caution, and was not prone to speak impulsively, apparently with the singular exception of pledging his service.

 

“Thranduil said you worked at Ashford,” Lorna said, not about to mention Earlene’s warning text. “What d’you do there?” He didn’t look like an archer, though possibly he could have been an equestrian. 

 

Ailill smiled at Thranduil, but it was also to receive reassurance that he was allowed to speak freely. 

 

_ Speak freely, Ailill. What you are not allowed to discuss will always be made very clear, ahead of time. _

 

Thankful for the mouthful of salad that delayed his response, he swallowed first. “I am the head of Ireland’s School of Falconry,” he answered quietly.

 

Ratiri’s eyebrows rose. “Falconry? That’s brilliant. How did you come to be involved in it?” It was a dying art everywhere, and he thought he now understood part of why Thranduil would want him -- the practical part, not the purely personal.

 

Ailill smiled. “You only need to have an obsessive personality, be internally motivated to extreme single-mindedness and hard work, have parents that can afford to support your hobby as a youth even when they are badgering you for not wanting to go to University, and love hunting with the birds every waking minute. Falconry...you can’t be involved in it. It is a consuming lifestyle, and not suited to most people.” His delivery was pointed but self-effacing. He had pushed mam and da to the limit, and was not above admitting it.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “It’s rare anymore that anyone’s got that kind’v determination,” she said. “I’m glad your parents supported you, at least. It’s more than many can say. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” He looked maybe twenty, but she was no judge.  _ Thanadir  _ looked twenty, after all.

 

“I was fortunate, the family business is in forestry and dairy cattle. A lot of it. My brother and sister are now happily working as accountants. Mostly mam and da are happy I have a roof over my head and that somehow I have gainful employment. And I will be twenty-eight this spring,” he answered.

 

“Forestry?” Ratiri asked. “You must love it here. Then again, anyone with any sanity loves it here.”

 

_ “And people who don’t have any,”  _ Jimmy muttered, but Sharley said nothing. Ailill didn’t need to know about...her...yet.

 

“It’s like something out’v a dream,” Saoirse piped up, between bites. At least she managed to not actually speak with her mouth full.

 

“You’re older than I thought you were,” Lorna said. “I’ll warn my niece, just in case you ever meet her. She didn’t know poor Thanadir there was an elf when she met him, and she tried hitting on him. She’s mortified now, naturally.”

 

He seemed to not know how to respond to that. He’d never been on a date, and did not as a general rule stand still long enough to get hit on. He liked some of the women with whom he worked, but their busy schedules left little time for flirting. Plus, it would be inappropriate of him to try even if he wished to; he was a supervisor. Forestry. He could talk about the forestry. “Da’s and mam’s business is in lumber. Growing timber for planned harvest, that sort’v thing. It left me with access to safe lands for training Fion, which is the part that appealed to me most. It’s not like this forest. This forest is untouched, and like few other places left in Ireland.”

 

“I’m not sure it’s really like any other forest in the world,” Sharley said. “I used to build trails for a living, in some’v the most beautiful woods in America, but they weren’t like this. There’s magic in here. Actual legit magic, in a quantifiable sense.”

 

“How on Earth did you wind up with two siblings who were accountants, if your parents have such an interesting job?” Ratiri asked, mystified. Accountancy, to him, was possibly the most boring job on the face of the planet; anyone raised in the environment of a forester’s family surely had more creativity than that.

 

“My parents emphasized practical thinking. The running joke was, my siblings got all of it and I never even stood in the line.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he said it. “That’s the best answer I can give; personally I’d rather feed myself to my own birds than do that. I mean, I have some understanding; I had to learn many things that pertained to working for organizations and operating a business. But accounting?” He shuddered.

 

That drew a laugh out of Ratiri  _ and  _ Lorna. “There’s enough practicality in this world,” he said. “It needs balancing. You’ll find a somewhat interesting mix of that here, at times.” No, he did not  _ quite  _ look pointedly at Lorna, but she gave him a discreet kick to the ankle anyway.

 

“He’s right,” she said, glowering at him. “People need to be able to handle the business’v the world, but accounting...no offense to your siblings, but a person’d have to be a masochist to want to do that for a living. Either that or thrive on boredom.”

 

“With Mary and John? The latter. But if they’re happy, I’m glad for them. The family couldn’t’ve managed two children like me anyway.” He wished to ask what Pat did, but was uncertain if he should. Lorna and Ratiri seemed quite nice, though he wasn’t a complete fool. Lorna was the more attentive of the two; he saw that he was being studied, carefully. He did not expect to impress anyone here with his choices, he only did not wish to offend the friends of his King.

 

“Oh, I understand that one,” Pat said, ruffling Saoirse’s hair. “I couldn’t handle another like this one. I’m guessing your parents think you’re one’v a kind, and that’s no bad thing.”

 

“ _ Da _ ,” Saoirse said, ducking. “Don’t listen to him, parents can totally handle more than one different kid. Aunt Lorna and Uncle Ratiri do.”

 

“Hey!” Chandra and Shane chorused, glowering at her. Lorna just dissolved into silent laughter, because Saoirse was...Saoirse.

 

They finished their meal amid light chatter, and Earlene insisted on doing the dishes. “Maybe you can fill me on on the t-shirt thing while I wash up, Lorna?” This hadn’t been discussed since their return home, and it really needed to be. 

 

Thranduil turned to Ailill. “You will go with Thanadir. Will you need to leave this evening, or in the morning?”

 

“I can manage the morning, if I might bathe tonight. As long as I leave here by five thirty, I will be at work on time.”

 

“Good.” With a nod to Ailill that indicated his dismissal, he followed Thandir, who waved him out a rear door. Thranduil felt vaguely sorry for him; he would be very sore and tired by late this afternoon.

 

*****

 

“So where is it all at?” Earlene asked cheerfully as she ran the sink full of suds and hot water. “Let’s hear it.”

 

“I’ve rented as cheap a piece’v office space as I can get,” Lorna said, gathering plates and bowls. “Grania and Lorna the Younger’ve been getting it all set up, though we won’t be getting a silk-screening machine until we’ve got more designs. Damn things’re bloody expensive. I ordered some plain T-shirts in different sizes -- more than I wanted to, really, but they’re cheaper in bulk. Saoirse wanted to do some designs, but I told her they had to be a lot simpler than what she was coming up with. You know how detailed that kid gets.”

 

“That sounds positive,” Earlene said, lying and trying to decide how it might be safe to proceed. “And what did Niamh have to say, did you have a chance talk with her to set up insurance, labor requirements, business licensing, who is handling accounting, advertising…?” She felt like this might be a safe compromise of a question, because what she really wished to know was, ‘how many of the boring legal and financial details that are absolutely necessary have been attended to?’

 

“Niamh’s got most’v that handled,” Lorna said. “Insurance is a bitch...I don’t know why the hell it has to cost so much, but she told me there’s no legal way around it. Don’t have advertising yet, unfortunately, but we’ll get there. Neither’v us knows yet just which firms that actually cater to small businesses’re decent and which ones’re scam artists. Orla’s looking into that, or said she is. She’s taking her fucking sweet time about it. At least she’s got the website put together.” All of that was well over Lorna’s head; she was not a techie, and she was content to let it stay there.

 

“Well that’s good,” Earlene said, ducking all the soup bowls and plates in after scraping them into the slop bucket for the chickens. She wasn’t buying a word of this, and was far more interested in what was  _ not _ being answered in  _ no _ detail. “What comes next, do you think?”

 

“Designs,” Lorna said, bringing in glasses. “Can’t print anything until we’ve got  _ some  _ kind’v advertising, though.” She laughed. “Though Orla seems to think she can hack Google to put my site up at the top’v the search algorithms. I don’t think that’s actually possible, but it’s nice’v her to try.”

 

Inside of herself, Earlene was vaguely aghast. This was coming together so arse backwards that the cart wasn’t just before the horse. The cart was full of apples and carrots and the horse was eating all of them and was about to come down with raging diarrhea. Her mind groped for what to say to get out of this conversation gracefully. “Tell me about Saoirse’s designs, the ones you didn’t like. They may have been busy, but was anything about them good?” Her hands quickly scrubbed dish after dish and rinsed in running water. Because she did not go in for this ‘dip and rinse’ crap, it was disgusting. Clean water, clean plates.

 

“Oh, they’re all gorgeous, but too elaborate. I read up on silk screening, and trying to do anything to ornate would just be a giant migraine. I told her to simplify them -- a lot’v them are Celtic knots, but there’s too many colors. Though I did save a couple as embroidery patterns, if we actually get enough business to justify hand embroidering anything. Grania’s deadly at it, but it takes ages, and we don’t want to just have a bloody waste’v time if it won’t sell.”

 

“Huh. Alright, later this afternoon when I get some time I’ll ask Saoirse if I can take a look at what she did.” Her hands flew through getting the clean dishes onto the rack. “I’ve got to go see the kitchens in the Halls about decent food for Ailill to take with him tomorrow, and then I’ve got to practice stuff for Thanadir. Maybe catch you before dinner?”

 

“Sure thing.” Lorna wasn’t quite sure what to make of Ailill; she’d have to think on him a little more. “Poor kid’s too skinny. Make sure they give him something that’ll make him weigh more than a dandelion in a breeze.”

 

“He needs more protein. I have a feeling it’s all going to those birds of his. There’s no substitute for eating right. And if there’s time I might be able to make him cookies….” the last dish was stacked to dry, and she shook out her towel and wiped off the counter quickly. “Alrighty, see you later,” she smiled, waving as she headed for her bedroom and a change of clothes. And her mobile. The little muscle at the base of her eye was twitching. It did that, when she was confronted by the friendship equivalent of the Kobayashi-Maru scenario.  _ Never mix business and friendship, that’s what dad always used to say _ , she half-muttered, half-thought as she sent a text to Ratiri. ‘Can you meet me in the barn,  _ alone _ , in 5 minutes and make a clean getaway?’ *send*

 

Tossing the phone on the bed, she swiftly stripped off her nicer clothes and donned her serious Amazon in the Forest Elven Patrol outfit, pulling on her boots with the knives in them just as the reply message came through. ‘Yes.’ Was it possible for a text message to sound nervous? Earlene dashed off to the barn, braiding her hair as she jogged along.

 

Ratiri shortly joined her, and sighed. “If this is what I think it’s about, I know,” he groaned. “The worst part is that she’s put real thought into this. She actually thinks she’s being sensible. My only hope is that Niamh and Orla know what they’re doing, letting her get away with this.” Orla, after all, ran a successful small business -- though he had his suspicions about the legality of the start of it. She was extremely blunt, too; if she thought this had no chance at all of success, she’d have said so. Unless, of course, all she’d done was the website, and knew no more than that...but then, there was still Niamh, who had been a freelance lawyer for years. Surely  _ she  _ would have said something...right? He wasn’t even going to mention that Lorna had sunk a third of her savings into this venture. Earlene’s eye was twitching enough already.

 

_ At the end of the day _ , he told himself, and had been telling himself for weeks now,  _ it’s only money, and as Dad might say, it won’t be worth a tin shit in eighteen years anyway.  _ Somehow, that was not comforting enough. It was still worth something right now, and Lorna was potentially wasting a great deal of it. But what could he really say? It wasn’t like he had any more experience with small businesses than she did, a fact that would work against him if he tried to stick his nose in too much. There was actually a kind of logic to what she was doing, but it was not the sort that was likely to lead to actual success. Not with how backwards she’d gone about so much that she was doing. His only hope was that the whole thing wouldn’t crash and burn right away, but he feared that was exactly what it would do. Lorna...did not have the aptitude for this. She just wasn’t suited for it, but there was no tactful way to say that, so he couldn’t say it.

 

Earlene squeezed her eyes shut, and then blinked. “When we first talked about this, I outlined what would need doing. I mentioned needing to write a business plan, and discussed how this would need to unfold. I’ll be the first to admit that Thranduil not being well and life in general around here diverted my attention; I gave Lorna some basic assignments but I assumed we would go about this slowly, meeting and discussing it regularly. It was only ever meant to be this little idea for a cottage business. Very limited, just something to test the waters. Next thing I know, it’s become all about giving Grania and Lorna 2 --sorry, that’s what I call her in my head-- a job. Which means employees, which means that immediately the entire thing is launched into being an actual business with tax requirements and labor laws and payroll and….this is not what we agreed to. And now she’s gone deep into just forging on ahead with things like ordering inventory and renting a space when we have no production, advertising, or even a prototype of what we’re going to sell.”

 

Expertly bending down, Earlene scooped up an unsuspecting hen in search of bugs. The bewildered fowl clucked a few times in protest, before settling down to enjoy her feathers being smoothed and the edges of her comb stroked. “This is  _ business _ , but she’s my friend, Ratiri. And I know how sensitive she is to criticism. I had wanted this for Lorna because I thought we could use it to  _ slowly _ teach her elements of business that would give her insight toward the much larger effort that will be involved in getting our farming enterprise operational as a nonprofit charity. I don’t know how to, or even  _ if _ I should sit her down and talk to her about this. On one hand, I could say nothing and let her blunder on toward nearly assured failure. Or, I could make my own version of The Chart and outline for her what should be happening, and what needs to be done to put it back on track. The office space can be let go of, the already purchased shirts somehow used. I’m so afraid of hurting her feelings. And yet there is still another side; by not saying anything because I think she can’t handle hearing the truth, what kind of friend am I really? Just, shit.” The hen was lightly bobbled in her hands before being turned loose once again on the barn floor.

 

Her fingers combed through her scalp in frustration.“This all went sideways so badly on account of Grania and Lorna. While I too am willing to see them helped, it shouldn’t have been done this way, not without discussing it first. It’s a little cowardly, but I feel like convening a family meeting about this, just the five of us. Maybe she’ll be so pissed at me she can’t see straight, but I have some faith that Thranduil could guide her through the most difficult of the emotions. Of all the kinds of stress in the world, this is the kind I want the least.”

 

Ratiri felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh God, no,” he said. “That...a family meeting over it would be a terrible idea. Lorna thinks she’s over this, but I don’t need to be a telepath to see that she still has a measure of an...intellectual inferiority complex. There is literally no way we can talk to her about this that won’t just make her feel like she’s stupid -- not helped by the fact that none of us have any actual experience either. Just rather better sense about the whole thing.” He’d seen her reaction at the meeting, when everyone kept shooting down her language ideas; this would be exponentially worse. She’d just gone for a walk after that one, but he wasn’t sure what she’d do after this, and had no desire to find out.

 

“With Lorna...I hate to say this, but we almost need to let her fail. It would be a lesson in consulting people before before she rushes off and just does something. If we all gang up on her and tell her ‘you’re doing this wrong, we know better even though we’ve never done it’...there is absolutely no way that I can think of that won’t come across as ‘you’re stupid and you have no common sense’. Maybe Thranduil might have some way to manage it, but I can’t imagine you or I or Thanadir doing anything at all helpful. If we do that -- if we get rid of the office space and all that, we’re just telling her ‘You’re an idiot, and we’re taking your things away because you’re too stupid to manage on your own.’ There has got to be some other, more tactful way of doing that, unless we’re willing to let her forge ahead and fail.”

 

Earlene nodded...this insight, after all, was why she’d asked Ratiri to come here. “Okay. I need to...think some more. Mostly I needed to hear from you what it was most important not to do. Maybe by tonight I’ll have some better epiphany. I’ve got to do stuff at the Halls and in the forest for the afternoon.” She sighed. “Thanks. I really do care about her, it’s just that...more than half the time I don’t understand her.”

 

That drew a smile from Ratiri. “Between you and I, I often don’t, either,” he said. “I just run with it. I would definitely suggest speaking to Thranduil about it; he can take a look at her head and see just where her logic is actually coming from. And to think I was once jealous of the fact that he could do that.” He shook his head. “Lorna’s a strange, walking juxtaposition of confidence and specialized but crippling inferiority, and the worst of it is that I’m entirely positive she thinks she’s past the inferiority. She’s not. Did you see her expression at the Council meeting, the one when her language ideas kept getting shot down by everyone? Trust me, I know exactly what she was thinking, and it’s probably a good thing Thranduil wasn’t aware enough to know it himself. I know it bothers him when she thinks like that.”

 

“Yeah. Alright, I can do this, I just need to...wrap my head around it. Well, thanks again and, see you at dinner if not sooner.” With a smile she trotted off, and had already disappeared into the forest before he exited the barn.

 

Ratiri sighed. Well, it would end how it would end, and he had to be ready to pick up whatever pieces might break off. He could only hope Thranduil had some ideas -- though even if he didn’t, there was always the option of just letting it fail. Yes, it would be an enormous waste of money, but if it came between wasting money and horribly, needlessly hurting his wife, he’d pick the former any day. If it failed, as it probably would, it would be a tangible object lesson. There was no way her inferiority complex could translate that into the result of some lecture by somebody telling her she was doing it wrong because she was stupid. Granted, failure of this venture might well make her feel stupid on its own, but at least it wouldn’t be coming from someone she loved.

 

But who knew -- maybe, just maybe, it would actually succeed. Niamh and Orla wouldn’t be letting her just blunder forward like this without  _ some  _ kind of safety net. Whether or not that net would work was another matter entirely, but he would wager it was there, in whatever form.

 

_ Time will tell _ , he thought, as he headed back to the house. As his Dad might say, there was no sense in borrowing trouble, because the interest rate was so bloody high.

 

***********

 

Having explained to the kitchen staff what was wanted for Ailill, arrangements were made for baskets packed with wholesome foods to be at Eldamar before his departure tomorrow. There would be baked goods, cheeses, fresh fruits and vegetables and salads in vinaigrettes that would be stable. Some few items would need refrigeration, but he assured her he had access to that. Which was good, else a refrigerator would have been on order for him already, if that was what it took.

 

As the next hours took her through a difficult sequence of tree climbing, rope walking, running, tumbling and awareness exercises, she tried with limited success to clear her thoughts of this issue with Lorna. Finally she gave up, slowed to a walk, and called out to her husband.  _ Can we please talk? _

 

“Yes.” 

 

Involuntarily a shriek escaped her, as she wheeled around and found him not fifteen feet away. Her face was crestfallen. “So much for passing my exam, if you came this close to me without my knowledge.”

 

Approaching her, he lifted her by the waist to twirl her around, then kept her seated in his arms. “No, meluieg. I wanted to watch you, and used my abilities against you. Do not berate yourself; it was not possible for you to perceive me.”

 

A smile of relief washed over her. “I hope you aren’t just making that up, because it is very good news.”

 

He chuckled. “You want to talk about the problem you face with Lorna, and your business idea.”

 

“I’ll guess you heard most or all of what’s transpired. I listened to what Ratiri said. How on earth do I deal with this, without becoming a basket case?”

 

He sat, enjoying holding her against him, just as she enjoyed being held. Any answer was delayed for a few moments, as kissing each other somewhat luxuriously pushed other considerations aside, but soon he broke away, laughing. “If we are to converse, instead of make love here in the woods, we had best stop this.”

 

“Probably true,” she sighed, but with a smile.

 

Thranduil’s face became serious. “Ratiri is right, in my opinion. Talking to her in the way you considered would be disastrous. I know that to you, not speaking seems cruel, akin to standing aside and watching a child burn himself on a hot stove for lack of a warning. But this is not how Lorna...works. And meluieg, there is something you are not considering. I will risk this once, revealing what I have seen in her mind, in confidence. Lorna believes that you were and are too busy to be involved in this project. She does not see it as you do, as a joint venture. In her mind, this is ‘her baby’, so to speak, which is another reason why talking to her would be ill-advised. Much of the distress you feel are because of the assumptions you have made concerning her views as to what is happening.”

 

Earlene groaned. “If I made assumptions, it is because I worked off of the last actual words exchanged between us regarding what I believed we agreed to do. It would not have occurred to me that she went off on a tangent and now considers this a solo project.”

 

“Then ask her, or rather find a way to confirm that, if you feel the need. But I think you will find that you can consider yourself washed of any need to feel obligation or oversight in this matter. It is hard, but I advise you to simply...drop this. You are about to have your hands full enough with Ailill, wife. Do not add more burdens where none need be.”

 

Her arms wrapped around him tightly. “I love you very much.”

 

“And I you.” 

 

Who knows how long they sat there, enjoying the sounds of the forest and the joy of each other’s company. But the sun was low in the sky, when they both finally rose, and jogged hand in hand back to their home.

 

*****

 

“Please, Your Excellency, may I stop? I almost cannot stand.”

 

Ailill had just endured an hour’s run in the forest, and then found himself in the practice rooms for a ‘rest’, which was apparently code for throwing knives at a target while his footwork and arm motions were repeatedly dissected and corrected. Then a longsword was placed in his hand, and the exacting footwork and motions for the first four drills he would learn were demanded again. And again. And again.

 

Thanadir gazed at him with arms crossed, his stern face unreadable. The greatest demand on him as an instructor was understanding how to motivate his pupils to give the most, give their best, without crushing their spirits. Were this Earlene, he would demand one more set. Maybe even two. But it was his guess that Ailill was truly at his limit. Perhaps beyond. Which is why unexpectedly, Ailill found the sword taken from his hands and the rest of him embraced by the elf, who now supported his body weight as much as anything else.

 

“You did very well,” he soothed, even as he gave of himself, a little, to help ease the physical pain he knew the man’s strained muscles were experiencing. The praise and affection gained an instant response, as the man smiled happily.  _ This one is much as a child, in some ways _ , Thanadir realized. Though he would not ask it, he craved simple affection and acknowledgement. This was not so strange an idea; the seneschal knew that he himself did as well. It was only that these exercises, to him, were the most basic of abilities. “We will return now, but first we will go to the Halls. There is a thermal pool in your quarters; you are to make use of it. It will ease your muscles. You will find a bowl of salve near the pool. After you bathe, you are to apply it to your arms, legs and back. It will keep you from experiencing pain and soreness later.” He was quickly ushered to his own door, and sent inside. “Clean clothing is laid out on your bed. When you are done, go two doors to the right; I will be in the music room waiting for you.”

 

Stunned, Ailill heard the barrage of instructions. All was as promised, and he gratefully undressed and sank into the warm water with a groan of enjoyment. He found himself in tears, for a short time, overwhelmed at the kindness and care he was being shown. None of it had been expected, but expanded his heartfelt belief that he had found his way home.

  
  



	95. Ninety-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 11- March 18, 2019

 

Lorna, Ratiri, Sharley, and Pat took a walk outside the forest, because discussion of Ailill needed to happen, and Thranduil needed to not hear it. Now that the sun was going down, it was pretty chilly, so coats were donned.

 

“All right,” Lorna said. “Ailill. First impressions.”

 

“Someone who needs protecting,” Pat said. “Jesus, a lad like that, I’m surprised nobody’s beaten him to death outside’v a pub some night. No bloody wonder he’d sign on with people who could protect him.”

 

“I don’t think it’s anywhere near that simple,” Ratiri said. “The kid’s lonely. That’s pretty damn obvious. He’s a misfit, and I would lay money that he was a fanboy before he met Thranduil -- to that sort, this would sound ideal. And ordinarily I would worry that he was a fanboy, but he doesn’t seem...I’m not even sure how to put it. I don’t think he’s going into this with an elaborate fantasy of how he thinks it all ought to work.”

 

Lorna leaned against him. “What I worry about is, what happens the first time he’s told to do something he doesn’t want to? Or told he  _ can’t  _ do something he does want to? If you’re right, and he is a fanboy -- which, I’d agree with you there -- he probably knows many, many other fans who’d kill to know something like this existed...and he can’t tell them. He can’t tell anyone. That’s one hell’v a secret to keep; hell, even  _ I  _ thought so, and I wasn’t even oath-bound, or whatever. And while he’s older than I thought he was, he doesn’t...well, he doesn’t seem that way. There’s something childlike, for lack’v a better word, about him. Like...he might be an expert in his field, but I'm guessing he’s something’v a disaster in the rest’v his life. It’s a good thing his parents are supportive, or he’d never’ve got this far.”

 

“Twenty-eight isn’t very old, period,” Pat said, from the sagacity of age forty-five.

 

“Hey,  _ I’m  _ probably not much older than that,” Sharley pointed out, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

 

That made him pause, and he stared at her. “You don’t know how old you are?”

 

She shrugged. “Nope. There’s a whole lot I don’t remember of my life before Marty was born -- just bits and pieces.”

 

“Doesn’t that  _ bother  _ you?” he asked, utterly aghast. He couldn’t even imagine being unable to remember so much of his life; there were plenty of places where the drugs had left his memory fuzzy, but at least he knew how old he was.

 

Sharley shrugged again. “No. Why should it? It is what it is. I remember Marty, and that’s what really matters. My point is...chronological age doesn’t mean shit. Not even necessarily for Ailill.” She’d been tempted, so tempted, to flip the switch and take a look at the man, but she hadn’t. Jimmy might taunt her, but to her, ignorance truly could be bliss. The switch was not something to be used and wasted, and with Ailill, it would be pure curiosity. There would be nothing to be really gained by it.

 

“I think it doesn’t in the opposite direction, if you take my meaning,” Ratiri said. “Lorna’s right -- he does seem somewhat childlike. Not slow, not in any way mentally impaired, but he is, I think, someone that will require a great deal of emotional care. Which means we need to tread somewhat softly around him, at first,” he added, with a rather pointed look at both Lorna and Pat, the former of whom kicked him in the ankle.

 

“I already promised Thranduil I’d do everything I can to make him feel welcome,” she said, glowering openly at her husband. “And I kind’v want to make him eat about eighty sandwiches, too. Kid’s even skinnier than you are, Sharley. I think a stiff breeze might snap him in half.”

 

“Thanks,” Sharley said, a touch dryly. “I think.” It never ceased her amuse her that Lorna could say such things and cheerfully ignore the fact that she herself was the size and weight of a squirrel. “Don’t...don’t worry, about Ailill. I’m pretty sure he’ll be just fine. And if I see anything, I’ll let you know.”

 

Lorna eyed her. The setting sun lent some color to her face, which was usually nearly as pale as an elf’s. “Why didn’t you sign on? You don’t have the hangups the Irish do. Earlene didn’t have a problem with it, and she’s American.”

 

Sharley looked away, and Lorna was almost sorry she’d asked. “I’m not Earlene. I was alone, but not lonely. I’m kinda like you, Lorna -- I need to be able to go where I want, when I want. I...there was the place with the needles, the place I don’t talk about, so don’t ask, but I was a prisoner there. You can’t give over your freedom, but neither can I.”

 

Lorna actually knew somewhat more about Sharley’s life than Sharley herself did, and was not at all going to push  _ that  _ issue. Her words, though, were something Lorna tried hard not to think about, and something she’d never speak about anywhere where Thranduil could hear her, audibly or telepathically. She hadn’t figured anyone but Pat could understand, and the issue had never come up with him. “It’d be like going to prison all over again, wouldn’t it?” she asked. “I love Thranduil, and I trust him entirely, but even the thought’v handing him the right to order me about, and me not having any say in the matter….” She knew he’d never abuse it, but there would inevitably come a time where they’d disagree on something, and she could never, ever give anyone the authority to dictate her actions. If she did or didn’t do something, it would be because she wanted to, because  _ she  _ felt it right; the opinions of those she loved would matter a great deal, but if it was something she felt was worth it, she’d go against them.

 

“It’s a kinda...sick feeling, isn’t it?” Sharley asked. “It’s not fair to him, but….” She fell silent, unable to say more. She certainly couldn’t ever say that he’d once told Earlene the only freedom she had was in having no choices, because...no. Just...no.

 

“But the mere thought’s enough to make your skin crawl?” Lorna offered. “I know. And I have to remind myself, all the bloody time, that I’m kind’v specifically unsuited to the whole idea. Though I doubt I’d’ve done it even if I hadn’t gone to prison -- I just wouldn’t be so violently allergic to the very concept.”

 

She laughed a little. “He’s said being a king’s a lot like being a father, but to me he’s not a father, he’s a brother. And the only way  _ that’d  _ reconcile is by way’v some really icky… I don’t know, conceptual incest.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing, and held her close. “Mo chroí, you and your way with words. Though I know what you mean. Like this, with our family being as it is, the four of us are his equals. Were we his subjects, by definition we would not be equal anymore. And I simply cannot imagine a person who looks younger than I do in any kind of paternal role as applied to me. I just can’t do it.”

 

“He doesn’t look younger than you do,” Lorna protested, though he actually almost did; Thranduil had seen a great deal of awful things in his life, but he didn’t wear them openly in his expression. To outsiders, he presented a mask that was only penetrable when he wanted it to be. Ratiri was more open simply by his nature, and that included wearing any grief and pain and fatigue more plainly, and with less provocation. “And I’m not quite sure  _ equality  _ is entirely the right word. Earlene and Thanadir are his equals in the family.”

 

“The term you’re looking for is ‘power imbalance’,” Sharley said. “We’re free agents. With us, there isn’t one.” She knew that that power imbalance had been, for tens of thousands of years, a barrier between him and Thanadir. So long as it existed, Thanadir was never truly going to be able to be his friend;  _ nobody  _ was, because he automatically had authority over everyone around him. While the imbalance did still technically exist between the two, and between him and Earlene, it was now nominal at best. He took his duty to protect his own very seriously, but he did not, from all she had seen, hold himself as being above or better than them -- than any of them, really.

 

She’d seen what he’d been in the past -- how arrogant he’d been, how he’d treated and how appallingly he’d regarded Earlene at the beginning of their relationship. Sharley at least considered some of it outright abusive, but he was not that person anymore. Not even close. He’d learned and grown more in three years than most people did in a lifetime, and that was largely down to Earlene, though the rest of his family had definitely helped. Having so many very different humans around had given him a kind of micro-taste of humanity, and he’d taken that and run with it.

 

What he didn’t know -- what the voices would never _ let _ him know -- was that if he hadn’t changed, if he’d stayed the arrogant, selfish bastard he’d been when he first met and used Earlene with nary a qualm, Sharley would not have come with her warning. There would have been no point, because there would have been no last bastion of humanity within the Halls. The world would have gone to hell in its own way, and if she’d survived the plague, she’d have stayed in her mountains until the day she died. His ability and willingness to grow had saved everyone around him.

 

“Well, so long as Ailill doesn’t mind it, I can make myself deal with it,” Lorna said. “Probably shouldn’t be too hard, after a while.” The kid would likely end up part of the family, in some way or another, provided he could handle them being...them. He really was a cinnamon roll, and did not appear to have the strength and backbone that differentiated Thanadir from your garden-variety cinnamon roll. Though the elves would likely remedy that in a hurry, provided the poor lad could stand it.

 

*****

 

“That was a very good dinner, Earlene,” Thanadir murmured with a faraway stare, as he slumped on the sofa. 

 

Earlene herself was tapping idly on a computer tablet, pondering some different breakfast recipes, her legs bent up at the knees as her bare feet grabbed at the edge of the cushions. Thanadir leaned back against her legs, and she grinned at the occasional soft noises that indicated that a Near Nonna Incident had occurred. From time to time she smoothed her hand over his head, even as she pondered more ways to stuff him with food.

 

“I’m going to miss not being able to cook like this, when the time comes,” she murmured sadly to no one in particular, sighing and switching to some other mental pursuit. “And on an equal note of pessimism, we have another council meeting coming up oh so soon. I’ve got to find a way to present more ideas about this nonprofit and how to launch it. All these people we’re going to need, to work with the animals. And sure god, there’s the conversation about the expats that has to happen. Like  _ that’s _ going to go well.”

 

“I’ve got an idea about that,” Lorna said, barely smothering a burp. “We have to make sure this doesn’t come across as ‘your family can fuck off because we want these homeless people instead’, so I say before we even mention that at all, we set out guidelines for what the expats need to do in the next eighteen years. That’s a long time to learn  _ something _ , even if it isn’t uni-level academic bullshit. Things like construction without modern equipment, cooking, farming. Once we get it through their heads that we’re not actually just saying ‘nope, sorry not sorry’,  _ then  _ we bring up the rest’v it. Though...we really need to revise our upper limit on our population,” she added. “Part’v the huge issue is the limited number’v spaces. Nobody wants to feel like they have to kick someone else out just so they can be in. Otherwise...I don’t even want to think about what we’d be looking at. I’ve thought about it too much already.” She knew exactly what would happen, and she wanted to make sure it didn’t.

 

“Thranduil,” Earlene frowned, “weren’t the upper population limits you gave when we first started having these meetings based on what you felt your Halls could support, resource-wise, for a period of time? Wouldn’t having a functioning farming operation right outside the forest, already in the process of generating food that could be stored make some difference to your original thinking on this?”

 

The King looked up from his book, even as he gently shook Thanadir’s leg. Apparently this was going to be a discussion, and his seneschal did not need to be catatonic. “Yes, that was part of it,” he agreed. “But it was also a question of governance. And yet even that has changed too. In the beginning I think I envisioned that those outside would live their ordinary lives up until the last moment, then come here. We have all come to conclude, though, that this really is not practical; that we all need to be already living as we will some time before it is necessary. That could, should make a difference as well. And I suppose now you want to know what I could revise my numbers to?”

 

“Well, yes,” Earlene said.

 

He frowned. “Let me throw it back at you. What do you want the number to be? And why?”

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. He had a better head for this sort of thing. “Right now,” he said, “I would tentatively say six thousand, for several reasons. I believe that would give us some margin of error -- perhaps we won’t find six thousand -- but five thousand is thought to be the very bare minimum necessary for a population to not inbreed itself into extinction. I know we had talked about hunting for other survivors after the fact, but there’s quite honestly no guarantee we’d find enough -- or that all of those we’d find would be people we would want. It’s going to make governing ourselves rather harder, but that’s still a small enough population to effect a commonwealth. If we continue events like the holidays and festivals, and if those who are allowed in continue spending time in the Halls before the end of the world, it should make the shift in governance less painful. Moving into the Halls permanently will not seem daunting, or traumatic.   
  


“Though speaking of trauma, and this is a subject for another time, there’s inevitably going to be some psychological fallout thanks to the world ending. We need to prepare for that; we can’t go assuming everything will be able to just tick along entirely smoothly at first. What we need,” he grumbled, “is a bloody psychiatrist. A dozen of them.”

 

“Psychiatrists or  _ psychologists _ ?” Earlene wanted to know. “It seems to me like the former are really good at the medical side, and the latter actually get people to feel better based on cognitive understanding. I’d also guess the former are harder to come by than the latter.”

 

Ratiri thought carefully before he spoke, because on the surface, she had a point. “It really depends upon the personality of either,” he said. “I’ve known too many psychologists who will over-medicate their patients, or who under-medicate them and assume they just need ‘tough love’. Such people wouldn’t fare too well in an after-the-end scenario.” He had, in fact, known one such specialist in London who lost his license after three of his patients committed suicide within two months. All had insisted their medication wasn’t working for them, and he’d refused to alter anything out of stubbornness and an inability to believe they knew themselves better than he did.

 

“Ohhhh….I didn’t know that, about here. In the States they can’t write prescriptions; you have to have a medical doctor’s license to do that. So therapists there work sort of ‘in addition to’  family doctors usually; psychologists encourage people to talk to their GP about medication if they feel it is warranted. Most people who take medication don’t see a specialist; that tends to be for people who have the most serious problems.”

 

“It’s rather the opposite here,” he said. “Anymore, very little actually goes through a family doctor, unfortunately. It’s partly why people can wind up addicted to so many prescription medications -- they see so many different specialists for everything, and the NHS database isn’t anywhere near as synced up as it would like to believe it is.”

 

“Well, add it to the list then. But listening to this...it makes it even more apparent that expats alone just aren’t going to make it. To have the best chance, it’s almost like we will have to recruit, for lack of better words, for people with specialized skills or we have to ‘grow our own’. And neither of those options is going to be much fun.”

 

“I’ll be totally blunt,” Lorna said, cracking her neck. “As’v right now, I can’t think’v any single person in Baile who would have the aptitude and stomach for medical school. We just aren’t, unless one’v the little children surprises us, going to get any more doctors from that.  _ Maybe  _ nurses...maybe. I’m pretty sure it’s the same in Lasg’len. For some things, we do need to recruit. All’v us from these small villages, we’re grand for practical things like farming and construction, but anything more...cerebral...would be a lot harder.” 

 

She looked into the fire, wondering how to say this -- wondering if she  _ should  _ say this, since it could come off as pretty offensive, at least to Ratiri. And if she couldn’t say it to him, how in the hell could she say it to the people of Baile and Lasg’len? “I...we need some doctors, yeah, and other medical people, but what we  _ really  _ need...Jesus.” She scrubbed her hands down her face. “We need people who’re medical people second, and survivors’v shite first. Everyone in Lasg’len, in Baile...except for Mick and I, they’ve all been on the poor end’v things, but still comfortable. At the risk’v sounding like I don’t even know what, they don’t know what it’s like to suffer. Is this making any sense at all, or does it sound as shite to you as it does to me?”

 

To everyone’s surprise, Thanadir spoke. “I understand, or at least I think I understand, what you are saying, Lorna. But I have to caution you. I think what you mean, is that people who have already survived hardship have proven they can survive. And on the surface, that makes sense. Yet sometimes having to survive adversity leaves people and elves alike tougher, yet broken in ways that...matter. I would argue it is only one means by which to gauge how useful or resilient someone will be in the face of adversity.”

 

Lorna felt rather like she’d been socked in the gut, but this was Thanadir, who often didn’t mean to come off as what he actually did, so she said nothing of it. What she  _ did  _ say was, “You’re probably right”, and even managed to say it sounding like a normal person, but...she and Pat had both been very broken in ways that mattered.  _ Thanadir is Thanadir _ , she told herself.  _ He didn’t mean to sound like that. _ Still, it left her feeling sick.

 

_ Lorna, I will explain, because I know you will not ask him. He was not remotely considering your circumstances. Your words caused him to think of me, and then the scores of ellyn and ellith he saw go into the West, heartbroken and emotionally damaged beyond their ability to endure. You have to remember, that cinnamon roll has seen tens of thousands of his people die brutally before his eyes. Though he does not speak of it, he knows better than most can imagine the price of being taught resilience through trials. And he is not wrong. I too am broken in ways that matter; I freely admit it. I am better now, but it does not negate his observations. He does not know you as I do, but please know he would not willingly hurt your feelings. He is only stating what he believes to be an objective truth. _

 

_ I know he wouldn’t _ , Lorna said, and she was rather ashamed that she felt relieved, because what kind of asshole felt relieved by that?  _ And I hope you can feel me mind-hugging you right now.  _ She never knew if he was actually aware of that or not. Aloud, she said, “We actually should try to come up with some kind’v gauge for that. Thranduil, I know you only read surface thoughts, unless you try harder; how can we set up some kind’v...screening process...so you don’t have to go digging through the mind of every single candidate?”

 

“Are we talking about for the expats or people in the world in general?” Earlene asked. My thing about the expats is, I am praying we can find some way of guiding everyone to the understanding that being at the center of this is a way of... having a chance to have a chance. That willing attitude and a commitment to hard work are important. It isn’t about being the biggest or the strongest. It’s….being like Geezer was. Remember, his hands, before they were fixed? He was maimed and in pain but it never stopped him from being of a mind that he was going to work, be productive. That’s what I’m talking about, the emphasis that none of us gets a free pass from that point of view. I feel like I’m not saying this very well. Dammit.”

 

“No, I get it,” Lorna said. “It was actually kind’v like that in the gang. Shane didn’t let in just  _ anyone _ \-- we all had to have something, even if it was a weird something. Though I’ve got to say, even now I don’t know why he let me in, given what I was like then.”

 

“Geezer is a survivor,” Sharley said. “He’s survived more than you know. More than  _ he  _ knows -- he’s like me, in that there’s a lot he doesn’t remember. It isn’t even that he learned to do without, because he never had anything to begin with. I wish he wasn’t gonna be so old when this happens.”

 

“Me too,” said Earlene. “But he’s one of the kind that is so tough age might just not matter. I admire him. It’s his spirit, we need to see in many. Hell even Ailill...he was willing to give something. He came because he wanted to give, not to take. All I mean is, that is it the attitude we are all going to have to have. And if someone doesn’t have it, family member or no, then as a community we’ve all got a problem.”

 

“Meluieg, I think perhaps you are worrying about this too much. Do you really feel that so many people will wish to be...forgive me, but the word in your mind is ‘freeloaders’?”

 

“Yes, I really do think there is a potential for that, Thranduil. You’ve not….I’m sorry, you’ve not seen how worthless some people can be. All those who have come closest to you, with rare exception, are good people. With respect, you are forgetting the gobshites, please excuse my choice of words.”

 

“Earlene’s right,” Lorna said. “You’ve not been out enough in the world yet. There’s loads who’d try to do as little as they could get away with, and take as much as they could get into the bargain. Lazy, greedy...well, gobshites, who don’t care about anyone but themselves. There’s the Donals of the world, too, and we don’t want  _ them _ , either; they’re just another breed’v gobshite…hmm. We need to make something like the Chart, only have it lay out all the different sorts’v gobshite we’d need to look out for, so the elves have some idea. They come in different flavors, see, like Skittles, only nastier.”

 

“If only Saoirse was a little older, I’d talk her into drawing a poster,” Earlene chuckled. “The Forty-Nine Kinds of Gobshite.” She started laughing, which of course jostled Thanadir’s backrest, earning her a glare. “Sorry, meldir.” She patted his chest, and began rubbing his shoulder by way of penance.

 

“Your humor aside, wife, Lorna has a point. Is there such a thing as a….screening test, for the appropriate sort of personality, or do applicants just write what they think you want them to write? That is truly what you are seeking to discover, is it not? Who will be suited to the realities of the future?”

 

“There are certain tests, but not in the form we’d want,” Ratiri said. “Both the military and police forces of most countries have psychological evaluations before they let anyone in, but given the number of sociopaths that slip through the cracks anyway, I question how effective they are. And anyway, we don’t want people of the mindset of either police or military as they currently stand.”

 

“They’re just like an interview, right?” Sharley asked, and he nodded. “Well, no wonder they fuck up. Who the hell is honest on an interview? Nobody. People’ll say whatever the hell they think you want them to say, or write what they think you want them to write. What we need, and I don’t even know if this is possible, is some kinda test they don’t actually know they’re taking.  _ That’s  _ how we’ll get actual honesty.”

 

_ “Or you could, you know, just flip the switch and look at someone,”  _ Layla said.  _ “It’d take a lot less time, and would be a lot more accurate.” _

 

Sharley groaned. “Dammit, Layla.” She had a point, which was rather unusual. “Nevermind. Voices. Ignore.”

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri, who looked somewhat sad.  _ At least,  _ he thought,  _ they’re an annoyance to her, and not a horror. _

 

_ Your voices have a point, Sharley, but there still has to be a better way. They are hardly considering your well-being or the stress on you to do such a thing, _  said Thranduil silently. Aloud, he spoke: “No, we have to seek out a better way. I too can screen people. Five thousand people? It is manageable; I have had armies larger than that. The problem is, ‘Thranduil says so’ is not going to appease the family of someone being told, ‘you aren’t suited.’ Which leaves us right back at the beginning.”

 

_ They rarely do _ , she said dryly.

 

“Here’s another question,” Lorna said, “and an even ickier one: what do we do with the ‘unsuited’ people who won’t leave? Because you know there’ll be some arsehole out there that’ll want to stick like glue, and if they’ve got family, that could get ugly in a big, fat hurry. All we really can do is take them out into the middle’v nowhere and dump them, because there’s no way in hell we’d get away with anything…worse.”

 

Earlene’s eyes darkened. “There have to be laws, going in. And one of those laws is going to have to be, that one who refuses to contribute when able in any way to do so will be charged with breaking a law. Judged by their peers, and in my opinion the sentence for that should be banishment. And I don’t mean that should be for a first time offense, but for when someone has refused other forms of discipline. If one person like that is tolerated, it makes a mockery of what everyone else is doing. We will care for the sick and injured and aged. There cannot be poisonous slackers. If their family wants to be with them so bad that they are willing to risk their lives on the outside to remain with them, well, I am not sure that can be helped.”

 

“You’re right,” Ratiri said. “And yet...that’s easy for you and I and Sharley to say. We have no family outside of this one. I don’t even want to ask this, but Lorna, Pat, what are you going to do if we find your brother and/or sister, and they can’t hack it in here?”

 

Lorna froze. That...was a horrible question. A really horrible one. No, she hadn’t seen either in almost thirty years, but once upon a time it had been the Donovans against the world, having none but each other to love and rely on. “We try to make them,” she said, after a long pause. “If they can’t…” Bile rose in her throat. “If they can’t...it’s less a question’v what we’d do as it is’v what we could live with.”

 

Pat looked away, ashen-faced. “I don’t know about you, Fun Size, but that -- how  _ could  _ we live with that? How could anyone handle surviving, knowing their loved one was dying out in the world, even if that loved one was a total shit? I mean...we could try, yeah. We’d  _ have _ to try, but if we failed, and they just couldn’t make it...we’d have to ride out the plague knowing they’d suffer and die’v it. Everyone with someone like that would have to. And fuck if I know how.”

 

Lorna sighed, and hugged her knees. She didn’t know what the odds were, that all four of them might have straightened out independently, but she’d bet they were low. She wanted to say that her odds of finding them unlooked-for were equally low, but she’d run into Pat, hadn’t she? ‘Low’ was not ‘impossible’. If she discovered Siobhan or Mick and they were incurable messes, she and Pat would have to let them die, and somehow live with that guilt. “I don’t know, either,” she said softly. “You and I, we’ve found a way to live with loads’v shite, loads’v regret, but I have no idea how to live with that.” She’d be forever wondering how and where they’d died -- if they’d sweated their lives away in fevered delirium, or spent their last moments terrified and choking on their own blood. Jesus, now she was going to wonder that anyway, even if they were never found.  _ Thanks, Ratiri. _

 

“I don’t think we’re seeing this quite right. Just because I don’t have family to lose to the plague doesn’t mean I haven’t lost family,” Earlene said quietly. “These folks are going to be given every opportunity to not fail. To not wash out. We’re talking about people that would end up proving, repeatedly, that they are worse than my brother Aidan in every way that matters. They are being given an opportunity, quite literally, for salvation. To keep their lives and help their loved ones. What kind of a person receives that, and tramples on it like it’s a cow patty in the road? I think I can safely say that there *is* such a thing as being able to turn your back on your own family without regrets, when they are that bad.”

 

Lorna winced. What she couldn’t say, because she wasn’t a heinous bitch, was that Aidan had  _ always  _ been a gobshite. There had never been anything in him worth saving, but Siobhan, Mick...whatever they might have turned into  _ now _ , they hadn’t always been gobshites. They were people the world had failed, and yeah, maybe they were beyond saving, but they were worth grieving. No matter what they had become, she’d loved them; it had been the four of them against the world, always. She’d have to be a sociopath not to regret that, but how the hell could she ever express that to Earlene, without upsetting and/or offending her? Aidan wasn’t and never had been worth missing, but Mick and Siobhan hadn’t been any different from Lorna and Pat, once upon a time. 

 

_ Thranduil...should I say anything? I'm not sure she could understand, but...Aidan is just one specific, awful circumstance. There might be such a thing as being able to turn your back on your family with no regrets, but only if you never loved them in the first place. _

 

Pat, mercifully, said nothing of it either, but muttered something about needing the bathroom and left. Lorna fought a groan.

 

No one had time to say anything to Earlene, because she was not blind or stupid, and knew exactly why Pat had left.  _ Fine. I see we still can’t actually talk to each other, and I have other things to do.  _ In a flash Thanadir found himself flopped on the sofa as his back support vanished; by the time he could even register what had happened, Earlene was already out the front door. 

 

Thranduil rubbed his forehead. How badly he wanted to say ‘shit’ out loud surprised even him.  _ Earlene did love Aidan, Lorna. Why do you think he was able to hurt her so badly? I am sorry but in this case you only believe you understand the circumstances of Earlene’s family.  _  “Well, that did not go well,” is what he did manage aloud. “I wonder if we are ever going to be able to talk to each other.”

 

That..had not occurred to Lorna, although it should have. “Pat’s pissed,” she sighed. “He doesn’t want to be an arsehole. Maybe Earlene can turn her back on someone for being like Aidan with no regrets, but not every failure’v a relative is like Aidan, and not all’v us can do that. If it was Siobhan, or Mick...no, it wouldn’t be possible. And what that sounded a hell’v a lot like was ‘you don’t have to regret it if you don’t want to’. Pat still doesn’t know her well enough to realize she’d never actually say something like that.”

 

“She did not mean that at all,” Thranduil said. “Sometimes even Earlene’s ability to express herself is not perfect. I think, if I were to pare everything else away, she only wishes to make the point that survival may demand some very difficult things, but the alternative is to have a free for all in which no one truly has any accountability. And...you know that she does not often speak of Aidan. It was, for her, an emotionally vulnerable statement, to say what she did. That Pat left rather than try to understand more….” He trailed off, because nothing more really needed to be said.

 

Thanadir, by now, had put together that Earlene had left in anger, sadness, or both, and headed for the door himself, rueing that she had so much of a head start. His meldis had become far too much of a challenge, and he hoped Thranduil would help him cheat. Not that he wished to admit he needed to.

 

“Pat,” Lorna sighed, “was in no condition to understand. Trust me. If he left like that, it’s because he didn’t want to yell. But Aidan...it never occurred to me that Earlene could ever’ve loved him, and I don’t know why not, because he couldn’t’ve hurt her like he did if she hadn’t.” The realization made her feel incredibly shitty, too. What would it be like, to want a brother and instead be stuck with someone like Aidan? And to have him be your only sibling? It would be worse than being alone. And God rest Earlene’s parents, but it didn’t seem like they’d done enough for her there.

 

Lorna had wondered, long before now, just how Earlene had come to lose both her parents so young. It wasn’t a question there had ever been opportunity to ask, really, and since Earlene herself never spoke of it, Lorna figured she didn’t want to. How long ago had they died? Probably a long while, if Earlene had been so alone after 9/11. Aidan had been the only family she had left, and he’d been... _ Aidan.  _ Fortunately, her next thought was in Irish, because it was,  _ No wonder she was easy prey for Thranduil, back at the start _ . To be so alone...Lorna herself never had been. She’d had her siblings, and then the gang, then Liam, and after Liam she’d found Baile, or Baile found her. If she’d tried to function on her own -- if she’d been as isolated as Earlene -- Christ knew what she would have turned into.

 

Thranduil heard this, and frowned. Only now did he realize, he did not know the answer to this question.  _ How indeed had Earlene’s parents died? _ She rarely mentioned them, ever, even to him. And now that he reflected on this, it likely was not a good sign. He sighed. “Well, the good news is that she likely will not be upset tomorrow; Earlene tends not to hang onto things like this. My only question is...what about Pat?”

 

“I’ll deal with Pat,” Lorna said. “He won’t talk to anyone else. Not when it’s about...this. I never -- this sounds awful, but I’ve never really sat down and thought about the fact that our brother and sister are probably going to die, if we can’t find them, and I don’t think he has, either. It’s a bloody miracle we found him; for all know, Siobhan and Mick might both be dead already. People like us, it’s often only a matter’v time before we OD, or get stabbed in some back alley, and the fact that the two’v us managed to get our act together independently’v each other’s something’v a miracle. Mick and Siobhan...I want to know, but I’m scared to. I could have Orla try to find them, but Michael Donovan is a pretty bloody common name, and Siobhan might well have married at some point. I almost...Christ, maybe it’d be better if they were dead. At least they’d be spared what’s coming.” Even saying that hurt her to the core, but what if she and Pat found them, and the exact situation they feared actually happened? Would it be better just...not knowing?

 

Thranduil stared at her, trying to mask his disbelief. This, from She Who Always Wanted To Know? Yet he had already seen enough tonight to realize that pointing out such observations would not help. “Whatever you choose to do, I will support you. I wish I could answer your question but I cannot. Do you...if we try to talk about this at the next meeting, is it all going to just blow up in our faces? I am beginning to feel unsure if it will be possible to have some of these conversations after what I have seen tonight, even though not having them will help no one in the end.”

 

“I think we need to only have part of it,” Sharley said gently. “No homeless people. Not yet. Save that for after we’ve dealt with...this. And we’ve gotta find a better way to phrase the whole thing. We need -- we need something like the Chart. Different scenarios -- somebody who’s an alcoholic, or a drug addict, or just a loser -- and things that can be done to help them. It’d be down to each family to deal with it, but if they had some way of knowing  _ how _ , it might help a lot.”

 

“That...is a very good idea,” Ratiri said. “We just have to come up with all the scenarios. I also think we need to defer ‘anyone who can’t hack it can’t come’ thing, at least for this meeting. People need the chance to digest even this little bit, before we go on to anything more. Baby steps.”

 

Lorna, for a long while, said nothing. Should she look? Would it really be cowardly, if she didn’t? It...probably would. But oh, she was afraid of what she’d find.

 

Then again, she probably wouldn’t find anything. Even Orla couldn’t find  _ everything _ . At the very least, they’d be able to say they tried.  _ I’ll look for them,  _ she said,  _ but sure Christ am I terrified of what I might find. _

 

“What you say has great merit, Ratiri. And I will speak with Earlene at some point.” He sighed. “I should not place this all on Thanadir”, he said as he rose. “It is not fair to have him spend half the night trying to find her.”

 

“Good luck,” Lorna said. “Give her a hug for me, will you?”

 

“I will. And thank you. It is beyond luck at this point, Lorna. Finding Earlene when she does not wish to be found requires blatant magic.” With a grin and a wave to Ratiri and Sharley as well, he went to find his cloak and was out the door.

 

“I should find Pat,” she said, and grimaced. “Though not yet.” Her brother needed another fifteen to twenty minutes to calm his tits, as he might say, before she went and explained that no, Earlene did not mean that to mean what it sounded like. While Pat could be very tough, he was like Lorna in that there were a few ways in which he could be incredibly touchy. “Sharley, will this even work? All’v this? Have we even got a chance?”

 

“Of course we have a chance,” Sharley said, eying her. “I wouldn’t’ve come here if I didn’t think we did. If you mean, have I seen anything concrete in the future of this place, no, I haven’t. Believe me, I wish I could make myself, but that’s not how this works.” She tapped her temple.

 

“I wish I know how it  _ did  _ work,” Ratiri said. “Lorna, do you need backup, with Pat?”

 

She shook her head. “Bad idea. This needs to be just between siblings.” Because she was  _ so  _ looking forward to that.

 

*****

 

_ Stop, meldir. We will both go to her. _ He at least owed his seneschal the decency to not chase Earlene in the wrong direction; she had laid down a false trail and at the moment he was being lured in by it. When he finally caught up to an annoyed Thanadir, he looked too cute not to kiss. 

 

“I created a monster, didn’t I?” the seneschal asked the King, smiling.

 

“Yes, but one that deserved to be created,” Thranduil joked. “Come. She is not all that far away.”

 

*****

 

They both appeared at her side, quite literally. Even if she had wanted to keep fleeing, there was now truly no point. Earlene could definitely evade...but escape was another story. “You didn’t have to come after me. I just wanted some time alone,” she said despondently. “I suppose I made an idiot of myself.”

 

“No,” Thranduil reassured, even as Thanadir’s arms wove around her. “Lorna wanted to give you a hug. It was all just bad….”

 

“Everything.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Her arms wrapped around both of them, as they leaned in toward her. 

 

“Meluieg, why do you never speak of your parents?”

 

Her body tensed, even as she realized that unawares, she had been less forthright than Thanadir on this topic. “I, uh...I suppose I made myself forget. It wasn’t a very nice time for me. I lost them both, in 1999, two weeks after gran died. My grandfather had passed on some years before, but gran kept on, at the farm. They both went there, because my father was the executor of the estate. That’s a fancy legal term that means, it was up to my parents to care for the financial and legal details of my grandmother’s passing. Disposing of her property according to her stated wishes, ensuring inheritances went where she wanted...that kind of thing. They went to the farm, planning to sort through all of the papers and what not. It was winter, and it was very cold. Gran always used a wood stove to heat the home, but there was also a furnace. And my parents decided that it would be easier to use that, and got it running. They didn’t know it was faulty. Both of them died that night in their sleep, in gran’s bed, from carbon monoxide poisoning. Since I doubt you know what that is, it means that they were poisoned by something in the air. I have...not really let myself think about it, then or now.”

 

“You lost all your family except Aidan in the space of two weeks?” Thanadir asked softly, not entirely sure he understood, though it had been plain enough. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Both ellyn tried to contemplate this, and what it must have been for her. Earlene sat still, not speaking. Not even thinking, really. She shed no tears, but they did. Carefully, they brought her to her feet and walked her home, holding her tightly.

  
  


******

 

Lorna waited, and eventually hunted down Pat. She knew exactly where he’d be; it was old habit, dating back close to forty years. Unfortunately, she was now old enough that clambering up onto the roof took some doing, even with the aid of the deck railing. At least the gutters were sound, so she didn’t need to worry about ripping one right off the side of the house. (Yes, that had happened, when they were kids. Da hadn’t known who’d done it, and for once they’d managed to blame it on the weather. Lorna was pretty sure he’d just been too hungover to belt anyone.)

 

Sure enough, there was Pat, beer in hand. What a shock. “That wasn’t meant as it sounded like,” she said, picking her way across the moss. She’d never been up here before, and had had no idea there was an actual  _ sitting-area _ . Jesus.

 

“Oh?” It was just one word, but it was more than she’d been hoping to get.

 

“Even Earlene isn’t eloquent  _ all  _ the time,” Lorna said, sitting beside him. This...was a lot higher up than their old roof had been. It was a damn good thing she’d been sneaky, and practiced her tree-climbing when no one was looking. “She wanted her brother to be...well, like you. Someone who’d be there, someone she could rely on -- somebody that could be worth loving. She  _ did  _ love Aidan, until he finally proved, at some point, that she shouldn’t bother expecting him to be anything other than a gobshite. Did I ever tell you how she wound up with Allanah to begin with?”

 

He shook his head, his profile dark against the sunset.

 

“Aidan’s wife died in childbirth, and he didn’t want Allanah. He’d never wanted children, but he caved because Madison did, and once Madison died, Allanah...was nothing. She was a thing, a thing he didn’t want. Earlene agreed to adopt her, because what the fuck else could she do? But Aidan, that wasn’t good enough even for him -- he came out to Ireland on no notice, and intended to just drop Allanah off and let her stay until the adoption went through. Then Sean hit him and left a dent in the pub. Only good thing  _ that  _ gobshite ever managed. Point is, Earlene’s not sorry he’s gone, and she wasn’t talking about anyone else -- any other situation. She wasn’t thinking’v what it’d sound like to us.”

 

“Okay,” Pat said, and he sounded utterly defeated. “Fun Size, what Ratiri said -- if we can’t find them, they’ll die out there. If they’re even still alive, they’ll die then. Why the hell did he have to go and say that?”

 

Honestly, Lorna wished he hadn’t, either. “I’m thinking,” she said slowly. “I’m thinking’v having Orla look for them.  _ I  _ never found anything, but I’m also not a hacker. If we find them...Christ, Pat, none’v us were ever really  _ bad  _ people. You and I, we were just losers. Losers and smackheads. If we got our shit together, there’s no reason they can’t, too, if we can find them. None’v us were ever  _ Da _ , whatever else we did.”

 

To that he said nothing, but she didn’t expect him to. Pat had always been a creature of few words when he was upset -- all she could do was hug him, and leave him to his thoughts. By the time he came inside, he’d be fine, though she hoped he’d do that before the dew settled and he caught a chill, because Thranduil wasn’t allowed to fix those.

 

Maybe she needed to find Tail. The poor fluffy bastard was still only half-fluffy, and seeing him was always good for a laugh.

 

*****

 

“Orla can hack into the National Driver License Service and falsify learners permits?” Earlene grinned. “That would be poetic justice. Especially if she could date them retroactively to six months ago.”

 

“I’m questioning if there’s much Orla  _ can’t  _ hack,” Lorna said, “which honestly disturbs me a little. I know she didn’t learn all that in prison, but she’s rather vague on where she  _ did  _ learn it.” She’d certainly had a fairly easy time of setting up the Halls for wifi, though nobody but herself, Lorna, and Ratiri knew it, or were going to know it, for fear of everyone trampling through with their laptop every time they came to stay for a weekend. “Though if you want me to, I can ask her to make sure we fuck with the same instructor you had, just so you can have, y’know, revenge, even if he’d never know it.” 

 

Ratiri didn’t laugh, though it was a very near thing. Were Earlene anyone else, he would have feared she’d brain that twat with his own rule book. He really had been a nightmare.

 

“Oh. Ohhhhhhh. Could she? I mean….ohhh.” The gleam in her eyes was positively predatory. “That gobshite…”

 

Thanadir cleared his throat, having just entered the room. 

 

“I mean, I’m sure that it would be extremely seemly,” Earlene quipped before disappearing into the kitchen.

 

Thanadir stared at both of them. “Do I want to know?” he asked.

 

“No,” chorused both Lorna and Ratiri together.

 

Lorna texted Orla, and tried not to cackle. Ratiri had told her all about Earlene’s instructor, and how the man had initially been more interested in her chest than in instructing her. Her method of handling it had been extremely classy, and rather more entertaining than anything else might have been.

 

Her phone dinged not more than thirty seconds later. “She says yes!” she called. Honestly, fucking driving instructors...her own had thought she had a false ID, and refused to do anything until Mairead had shouted at him. It was kind of nice to know that in eighteen years, there wouldn’t be any more. Granted, there wouldn’t be any more  _ driving _ , either, but still.

 

She pondered. It had been nearly a year now since her wreck, and she still hadn’t driven anywhere but to Baile. Maybe she needed to bite the goddamn bullet and just drive to fucking Dublin already. She wanted another Charger before the end of the world, and she needed to be able to drive one. Her bottle of Xanax was still mostly full; she could afford some for a trip.

 

“Does she say how long it will take, until we can make the appointment?” came from the kitchen. “Wait, that’s a stupid question. Tell her we’ll look forward to hearing  _ when _ , we can make the appointment.” If the chuckle that followed this pronouncement was somewhat disturbing in its tone, no one really blamed her.

 

“I almost feel sorry for this gobshite,” Lorna said, firing off another text. She added a request to, if at all possible, get the ‘novice’ status off Earlene’s own license, because seriously. She was extremely envious about how easy it was to get a license in the States; if only it was even half that simple here. “All right, Thanadir, you and Thranduil need to get some practice time in before you go anywhere. Fortunately Earlene’s car’s an automatic -- we can graduate to manual transmissions later on.” At least Ireland wasn’t like fucking England, where you needed a separate license for manuals and automatics. That was just a way of ripping off anyone who wanted to drive.

 

Thanadir had observed what they did to operate the vehicles a great deal, and felt that he should be able to learn quickly. There was no question Thranduil would. He had already read (which was code for ‘memorized’ the Rules of the Road the day after Thranduil explained that they needed this ability for Ailill’s sake. He sighed. There was going to be unseemliness involved, with the mortals’ rules, and yet his King wished it. He would have to manage.

 

“Pizza or sandwiches?” Earlene hollered out, by way of giving others a choice of luncheon.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “Pizza,” she said, at the same time as he said, “Sandwiches.” Both narrowed their eyes, and played a quick game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Lorna won, so she called back, “Pizza!”

 

“You’ve got it,” Earlene smiled, reaching for her cookbook and lighting the prepared bed of wood and paper inside the clay oven.

 

*****

 

A few days after, all of them sat in the Heart Room, later in the evening. “I thought that went well,” Thanadir opined. “Mostly. There was one point when I thought Mairead might throw something at Geezer, but she refrained.”

 

“She did,” Earlene agreed, wincing at the memory of how close the council meeting on the expat issue had come to a nuclear meltdown. And yet it had not. Ratiri’s chart, outlining assorted problems extended family might have and what could be done to help them had been both humane and reassuring. The spot on said chart where he had written: “intractable bad attitude, completely unwilling to work or participate” left a blank spot with question marks. In her eyes, it had been brilliant. It left them to draw their own conclusions, while providing food for thought.

 

“I’m shocked she didn’t, honestly,” Lorna said. While she didn’t have anyone on the outside who might be an issue, many in Baile did, and none of them were there to be able to throw anything. “Thank bloody God we had a chart, though. Sharley, allanah, you’re both brilliant.”

 

“I’ve been known to have a half-assed good idea or two,” Sharley said, but she smiled. “It’s a good foundation, anyway, and we can build on it as time goes on.”

 

“You know, I have a problem,” Earlene said. “In my mind, I think everyone will be okay with just jumping way ahead. I know why I’m like this; it was my job and all. From now on, when I’m trying to do too much too fast, I hope you will all just nicely reel me in. It really is hard for me to think differently...than I do.” 

 

Thranduil smiled, and put his arm around his wife. “I like the way you think, Earlene. You are trying, as we all are.” He kissed her cheek, wisely not completely agreeing with her.

 

“It’s hard for all’v us, I think,” Lorna said, “but it’s good we all think so differently. If we were all the same, I think this’d be going south in a hurry.  _ Somebody’s  _ got to look ahead like that.”

 

“And do it because they want to, not because they’ve got no choice,” Sharley added dryly; her sense of ‘looking ahead’ was rather different.

 

“I still would muff all of this up if it weren’t for the rest of you actually knowing how people will respond to things,” Earlene shrugged. “I guess it really does take a village. D’you think they’ll be...I don’t know, more relaxed about the idea? We still don’t know who or how we are going to get warm bodies to work with the horses and livestock.”

 

“I think they might be,” Lorna said. “As for who’ll work with the livestock...I’ve got no idea yet. I can’t think’v anyone off the top’v my head who’d be terribly enthusiastic about the job. The pensioners would, some’v them, but they’re not in great condition to be doing that  _ now _ , let alone in twenty years. I think we’re going to have to get some horses and start interesting the kids in it right now.”

 

Thanadir piped up. “We could acquire a few horses now; there are two single ellyn that used to be involved with the stables and would not mind the duty of living there. But to add many more; it would be unfair to have it be all on them.”

“Who?” asked Thranduil, curious.

 

“Beriothien and Arphenion,” the seneschal answered, pleased that Thranduil nodded in generalized agreement.

 

“Would these be draft or riding horses?” Earlene wanted to know.

 

“Riding would make the most sense,” Thanadir opined. “There is no point to bringing in animals for labor until that labor exists.”

 

“Once we’ve got them, we need to bring the kids, a few at a time,” Lorna said. “By the time everything goes to shit, they’ll be the ones in the physical prime’v their lives, so it’d make the most sense. Plus, that’s something you really ought to grow up doing, or you could come to resent it in a hurry.” Horses were damn hard work; she’d helped a few of the pensioners with theirs, and knew already she would not want to make a full-time job of it. Ever. “And we may need to set up shifts for that, so that it’s not anybody’s entire life unless they want it to be.”

 

“That would be nice,”  Earlene said, not taking her eyes off of her husband. “Maybe I’ll finally get this one to believe I can ride a horse.” She gently poked Thranduil in the ribs.

 

“It is not me you need to convince,” he said breezily, glancing over at Thanadir.

 

“Oh, wonderful,” she groused, which caused even Thanadir to laugh. The seneschal had few doubts; his meldis might not ride as well as an elf at this exact moment, but he had full faith that she would in time. A very short time…

 

*****

 

It was just after dawn, when Thanadir made his way to the Halls to check in with those who had patrolled in the night. He was humming some tune known only to him as he walked purposefully along the forest paths, his unbound hair swaying freely near his waist. Which is why he was very surprised to see a figure out of place, staring up at the Gates. He approached closer, confused. “Aurnia?” he asked kindly, not wishing to startle her. The poor lady did, after all, make the most nuanced quilt squares.

 

“Thanadir,” she smiled nervously. “I wanted to talk t’ Geezer, and Ian tells me that when he doesn’t come to his room at my flat, he stays here. Except, I’ve not got any way to get inside.”

 

“I will help you,” he said, murmuring the words of opening. He knew that Thranduil had allowed all the villagers passage to his Halls; perhaps she was like Lorna, unable to pronounce their Sindarin words. “Did you have a breakfast? Geezer will go to the workshop he and Ian use, but not before eating. Why not come and have some tea and food?”

 

Aurnia nodded, wishing she wasn’t so nervous, but what she’d read in the minutes from the last meeting...she was certainly very personally affected by it. She followed Thanadir, feeling entirely wretched.

 

The seneschal helped her to understand how everything was offered; pots of tea were already on the tables; she need only retrieve earthenware stacked in neat, clean towers. He could see she was upset for some reason, but managed to coax her into taking a biscuit with butter and preserves. And of course there was cream for the tea, on the tables. “He is sitting over there,” the elf indicated to a lone figure in the corner that he now spotted, patting her on the shoulder in what he hoped was reassurance.

 

Geezer looked up when he heard Thanadir, and wasn’t surprised to see that Aurnia had come all this way. She was the one person in Lasg’len that he was fully certain was personally affected by what had been discussed last night. “It’s Sean, isn’t it?” he asked. “You’re worried about him?”

 

She nodded, not trusting herself much to speak, as she tried to blink tears back that were very much not wanted while she looked away. Maybe it would’ve been better if she had stayed home and started drinking earlier. But that didn’t help most of the other days. Not really. And something told her to just come here, for a goddamn change, and….try something different.

 

“C’mon and sit down,” Geezer said, pushing his plate out of the way. “When does Sean get outta prison? Because we’ve got a whole lotta time to work on him, once he’s out.” Sean was a useless piece of shit, but he was Aurnia’s son, and even Geezer, who’d rarely been around kids of any kind in his life, knew that just because your kid was an asshole didn’t mean you didn’t still love them.

 

“Four years,” she answered unsteadily. “He’s done a littl’v it already. But you don’t understand, the whole village knows he’s a worthless eejit. No one but me…” she had to stop speaking again before her voice broke.

 

“He’ll be out in plenty of time for us to work on him,” Geezer said firmly. “Tell me, Aurnia, when did he start going wrong? No kid’s born like that. What happened?” He’d heard the kid’s father mentioned in passing, and that the asshole had been just like his son, but that probably wasn’t the whole of it.

 

“Who’s to ever say,” Aurnia said, staring into her tea forlornly. “It’s always been easiest for me to blame John. I wasn’t the perfect mam, but at least I was always there. John, he held down jobs enough of the time, and I even saw more than half the money, so it wasn’t like we were without anything. He’d give Sean lots of attention when he was home. And sober. That sprog knew every story of Ireland, I’ll give John that much. But then he’d go off with the lads and drink. Might not come home for three or four days, when it got the worst, and that was when we knew he’d lost another job to go with it. By the time Sean was twelve, John was as good as disappeared more than not. I’d had enough by then, and filed for divorce. I did it more for my son. Don’t know if you can understand, I didn’t want him to think this was normal, for all the good it did that I waited so long.”

 

This poor woman probably had no idea...if she’d been spending all these years trying to defend her waste of a husband to herself, it probably hadn’t done Sean any favors, but how could he blame her? She’d married the man, and she was of the generation that would have meant she was stuck with him. Anyone would try to justify all sorts of shit, in a situation like that, and at least she’d eventually divorced the fucker. Still, it sounded like there was actually something in the kid that could be worth trying. 

 

“Sounds like the kid ain’t actually malicious,” he said, choosing his words with care. “That’s good. Can’t work with an incurable asshole, but if Sean’s just lost and lazy, that can change. Leave him with me and the Elves once he’s out, and he’ll have responsibilities he can’t just walk away from. My experience is, people’ll rise to expectations -- or sink to them, if that’s what’s expected. Sounds like this village hasn’t helped him too much there.” If nobody had ever held the kid truly accountable -- if everyone but his mother had washed their hands of him -- it was no wonder he’d turned out to be such a loser.

 

“I can’t blame them.” Her hands reached for the elves’ earthenware cup, admiring the pretty patterns in the glaze they had applied, before taking a sip of tea. “Sean’s been a gobshite to the entire village. Stolen from some, vandalized, been drunk in public more times than I want to count. Christ, did they tell you he showed up to Earlene n’ Thranduil’s wedding party at the pub, and groped her tit? This is the kind’v shite he’s known for around here. Who’d want to take him on? Prob’ly all the village cheered when he got taken away.”

 

“I’d heard about that,” Geezer said grimly. “Once he’s out, you got any problem with us basically locking him up again? Because if he’s stuck in here with us, he can’t go back to his old behavior. And I dunno of any young guy who’d turn down the opportunity to learn how to stab things with a sword. I think that maybe if we keep him busy enough with things like that...maybe the village does have plenty of reasons to think he’s a loser, but if anyone can make him feel like he doesn’t have to be one, it’d be these guys. If he doesn’t think he can be anything else, he’s not gonna try. Maybe if we give him something to do, he’ll use whatever it is he’s got between his ears.”

 

Clearly feeling a little hopeful, since now she sipped her tea with more enthusiasm, Aurnia frowned. “When he was still in school, one’v the pensioners had started to teach him drystack. He wasn’t half bad at it, but once he could go on the dole and not bother, that’s what he did.”

 

Geezer looked back at her without comprehension, until it dawned on her. “Drystack’s what it’s called when they make the walls between fields with stones. No mortar. It’s a bit’v a lost art but still needed. Some around here’v got family from Scotland; they say ‘drystane’ there.”

 

“We could work with that,” he said. “Somehow. I’m sure we could, and hell, we’ll be needing it in the future, since I dunno anyone who can make mortar. If we can keep him away from all the shit he’s been doing, he’s got a chance.”

 

Her face finally softened into a smile, as she nodded and started nibbling on her biscuit. At one time Aurnia must have been a rather handsome woman, but aging and too much time in the bottle herself had taken a certain toll. “You like it here?” she asked quietly, darting a nervous glance around. The last time she’d been, was for the wedding, and that brought up too many depressing memories. As soon as it could be considered not rude, she’d returned home.

 

“Better than anywhere else I’ve ever lived,” Geezer said. “Takes a little getting used to, sure, but...it’s safe here. You haven’t stayed here much yet, have you? They’ve got apartments for everyone -- just have to pick one.” He wasn’t about to say how much he’d dreamt of this, when he’d been young. She didn’t need to be hearing about Vietnam, about  _ why  _ he’d spent so much time thinking of it. “If we’re gonna get Sean out here, you oughtta start spending time here, too.”

 

“I….wouldn’t know how to pick one,” she said hesitantly. “I can’t even get the bloody Gates to open for me. I’d still be outside if Thanadir hadn’t come along. I suppose I could ask the elf…”

 

Geezer nodded and pointed discreetly to the other side of the Dining Hall. “See over there? He’s talking to the ellyn, the male elves, that are coming off of patrol. Does that every morning, right around now. They’ve been jabbering long enough that I’d say they’re about done. Go on over there, and just ask him. You’d be about the hundred and thirtieth, by now. It’s what they’re doing, and we’ll all need a place eventually.” He smiled when she finished the last of her tea, emphatically placing the cup down, and strode over to the seneschal. He’d called it right, and the elf turned his attention to Aurnia right away, leading her off with a polite wave of his arm. Aurnia had a bit of spunk in spite of it all; he liked to see that in a woman.

 

Sean...he’d talk to the Elves, and see if they could make a plan for Sean. He was damn sure the kid would just go back to his old ways once he got out, if he was let, so they needed to not let him. Find some way to get him some motivation and self-respect, and hope the rest works itself out.

 

*****

 

It was with extreme satisfaction, that Earlene ate her pancakes this morning. Orla had achieved the falsified learner’s permits with frightening speed, which had in turn enabled Earlene to schedule ‘lessons’ for both Thranduil and Thanadir very quickly. Apparently business was not so wonderful, this week at the Gobshite School of Irish Driving, as Earlene now fondly thought of it in her mind. They’d wasted no time piling in the car, and after a whopping four days of Lorna telling them what to do and when to do it as they puttered around the roads near the cottage, both ellyn had a decent command of operating the car. Their appointment was not until half past ten, which meant she had the better part of an hour to present herself as she wished. It was Ratiri’s turn for dishes, so after finishing her tea, she sauntered back to their bedroom with a worrisome smirk etched across her face.

 

_ What to do, what to do _ , she pondered, as her fingers danced through the items on the closet dowel.  _ Ah. _ It was a lovely dress, in eggplant purple. Form-fitting, modest, with a skirt that fell in a flatteringly irregular hemline.  _ Yes, I do believe this will suffice. _ Now for the bra...Earlene had all kinds. Underwire, ‘natural’, ones that created quite a cleavage, ones that did little more than give light support to her naturally firm breasts.  _ This one, I think. _ Never mind that the grin on her face was halfway to diabolical. ‘This one’ had a front closure, and was made of an all-elastic fabric that would leave few visible lines to show through the clothing while at the same time failing to entirely hide the outline of her nipples. Yes, Ian Dooley, driving instructor gobshite extraordinaire, was going to have a very  _ hard  _ morning, if she could help it. Moments later she had her clothing on, and tilted this way and that to check the view in the mirror.  _ Hell, I think even I could get excited, looking at this, _ she laughed inside of herself. While she wasn’t much given to vanity, neither was she oblivious to her appearance. Continuing to smile, her hair that now fell to her hips in healthy perfection was brushed to a high sheen, and held back with one mithril ornament given her by Thranduil. Tasteful earrings were added, and then of course just a touch of cosmetics. The lip stain had just been dabbed on when Thanadir came into the room and stopped, staring at her.

 

For the first time in his life, he looked on his meldis and felt like he should be feeling more. He did  _ not _ feel more, but even in his mind he could recognize objectively that Earlene was very beautiful. And now he wondered if Thranduil would be able to leave the house on time. He bit his lip, and turned around in a hurry, causing Earlene to burst into laughter. She wasn’t sure what it had been about, but it seemed funny. Anyway, she was done. Her favorite Aran sweater draped over her arm, she exited to the foyer where apparently the entirety of their house that was traveling to witness this marvel was already assembled.

 

Thranduil caught sight of Earlene, and Lorna had been looking at Thranduil. It needed all of five seconds for his diminutive friend to burst into laughter.

 

“That gobshite is screwed,” she giggled. “Totally and utterly.” While Lorna had pretty much single-target sexuality, even she had to admit Earlene was well fit. What was even funnier was the fact that Ratiri and Pat were pretty much looking everywhere else, the poor bastards. Only Thanadir and Sharley seemed totally unmoved -- Thanadir was Thanadir, but Lorna wondered if Sharley wasn’t rather like him, in this respect. She was probably the only person aside from Lorna who was immune to Thranduil, too.

 

“If you’d put up with what I had for twelve sessions, you’d do the same,” Earlene grinned. “Today I have my fun.” They piled into their two cars, with the ellyn riding with her (no surprise there). Earlene laughed to see Thranduil needing to ‘adjust’ himself as they were getting belted in.

 

“What is so funny?” Thanadir wanted to know. Earlene glanced sidewise at her husband, grinning and shaking her head.

 

“What is happening is that I am aroused on account of my wife’s appearance, and it is most uncomfortable in this pair of trousers,” he growled, though he was not truly angry. Amused and slightly frustrated, yes, but not angry.

 

“I suppose that can be inconvenient,” Thanadir considered, trying to ponder coping with that particular state of affairs while wearing jeans.

 

“Well, meldir, one has to take the bad with the good, I suppose,” which caused Earlene to howl with laughter. 

 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” she promised him. “Mostly I want you to see for yourself how this idiot leers at me, and put the fear of something or other into him.”

 

At that mention, Thranduil’s eyes darkened. ‘Looking’ was one thing, ‘leering’ was another. 

 

“Is that why you keep calling that man a gobshite when you think I am not listening?” Thanadir asked.

 

“Yes, meldir. Yes it is. I understand that I am physically attractive to many. I do not mind if people admire. But there is a difference between admiring and what that entitled manure pile does entirely, and I will not be sorry to see him sorely embarrassed for his behavior.”

 

The seneschal leaned back in his seat, and felt vaguely glad in spite of it all, that such things generally sailed over his head. It certainly seemed to save a lot of bother. At least, until it did not…he sighed, and paid attention to how Earlene drove the car.

 

Lorna, by now, could ride in a car without freaking out at all, but the fact that she was still giggling just made it easier. Ratiri was driving the van, with Sharley and Pat in the backseat, the latter looking slightly red-faced.

 

“That poor bastard,” she muttered, between giggles.

 

“He really does deserve it, though,” Ratiri said. “It was appalling. How he ever managed to get this job, let alone hold it -- if he was willing to behave like that toward Earlene, he’s done it toward other women, too. This being Ireland, I’m surprised no one slugged him.”

 

“Looking like Earlene must be hard, sometimes,” Lorna said. “I’m kind’v glad nobody notices me like that.”

 

Ratiri said nothing, but people did notice Lorna -- just not like that. She was a tiny little pixie of a woman, all eyes and long hair; one had to look twice at her, but it seemed more people did now than had when they met. She was her own form of lovely, and of people saw her lack of a figure and skipped over her because of it...well, their loss. “ _ I  _ look at you like that.”

 

Looking at him, she gave him a rather crooked grin. “Yeah, but I  _ want  _ you to look at me like that. Earlene gets it whether she wants it or not.”

 

They pulled into the small car park, and Earlene gave her last minute instructions. “Give me just about most of a minute, and then simply come in there. Both of you. And whatever you do, do not knock or make noise, just let yourselves in. There is a short hallway where you will be unseen by him at first. I made this double appointment in my name; he doesn’t know yet it is for the two of you. If any luck is on my side, he will be well into inappropriate comments that you can appreciate as much as I did,” she grumbled with a dangerous gleam in her eye.

 

Earlene dialed Lorna’s mobile by  previous agreement; then once Lorna picked up she set the call to ‘mute’ and blanked the screen before pocketing the device. This would of course allow those waiting outside to hear...everything. Straightening her shoulders, with a wave and a grin to her friends she marched into the small office.

 

“Earlene darlin’, is that you? Probably didn’t manage to pass the exam the first time around, and need more of Ian’s expert assistance?” 

 

“And what would cause you to assume that?” she asked, in tones that generally dripped icicles. 

 

“Now, now,” he simpered, rising from his seat and reflexively combing his hair back with the overused and dirty cheap plastic item he kept in his back pocket. Early on she’d noticed that this habit was bordering on a nervous tic with him, and was genuinely surprised that somehow the teeth weren’t worn off of it, for all he seemed to need to use it every five minutes. “No need to get defensive. It’s hardly your fault that you learned to drive in the States, where I’m sure the roads aren’t the same at all. And if I may say, that is a  _ very _ fetching dress you’ve got on today. You sure your bloke appreciates it properly on you?” He moved around her, feasting his eyes, and almost visibly struggled not to touch. Which failed, as fingers reached out to caress her shoulder. “I certainly hope you know that  _ I _ would appreciate it properly. You, darling, have…”

 

Earlene’s body coiled; in another second her fist would be coming around to make contact.

 

“I will thank you to step away from my wife,” rang out the deep voice that was not pleased in the extreme. The next moment, the vision of voluptuous breasts were replaced by the angry face of a powerfully built man who towered over him. “Before she beats you to a pulp. How dare you touch her,” spat Thranduil, whose face was now inches from his own.

 

Ian retreated very, very hastily to his desk, stumbling badly over his own wastebasket. His face had now gone blotchy as the beginning of a lovely arousal in his jeans was somehow sucked back into his abdomen in a way that felt entirely painful. If his balls had just been dipped in the icy Shannon on Christmas Eve, they could not have retreated this fast. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure you are mistaken, sir. I was merely being courteous.”

 

Earlene marched forward and leaned over the desk, just daring him to keep ogling her breasts. “Then you will  _ courteously _ give my husband and his brother their first two lessons, which is why this appointment was made. You recall, do you not, that you are a driving instructor? Or did someone print ‘Tits Inspector’ on your business card, and confuse you?”

 

Thanadir stood back, and watched the play of colors across the man’s face. It was most interesting, actually, as he had thought only male turkeys were capable of this. He watched a lot of YouTube, surely that was not a bad thing? Except that it was obvious that this mortal was high in the displeasure of his King, so he did not smile or otherwise reveal his amusement.

 

After a minute’s silence, Ian cleared his throat. “I’ll need to see your vehicles. And your logbooks.” Opening her bag, Earlene procured the latter two items and dropped them on his desk with a resounding ‘plop,’ and continued to glare at him.

 

“Of course,” he said, regaining his arrogance. “This all looks in order. It’s a good thing you came to me, I’ll teach you right…”

 

_ Oh my fucking GOD,  _ Earlene thought, watching in disbelief as he marched out to the parking lot under the glare of both ellyn. Her eyes connected with Thranduil’s, who came over to her. 

 

_ I hope you do not mind. I considered letting you slug him, but saw no need for you to bruise your knuckles. _

 

_ I do not mind. But…. _

 

_ I am not through with him, meluieg. Not even a little bit. _ He pecked her on the cheek and followed the man outside, while Thanadir patted her on the shoulder in reassurance before doing the same. 

 

Behind the glass, nobody who had come in the van would have been able to hear anything, if not for Earlene’s phone call, which Lorna put on speaker.

 

“Dammit, Thranduil,” Lorna muttered. “You should’ve let her lamp him one.”

 

“Then there would be no lesson,” Ratiri pointed out, whispering.

 

She eyed him sidewise. “Thranduil could just wipe his memory,” she whispered back. “Duh. Even heal whatever bruise she gave him.”

 

“Good point. I swear he’s even skeezier than he was the last time she was out here.”

 

“Probably had plenty’v time to...fantasize,” Pat murmured, sounding about as sickened as he looked. He’d known far too many of that sort, over the course of his life; even at his worst, he’d never objectified anyone like that. Some things were just Not On. Poor Earlene...Lorna was right. It probably had to be hard, being her, at least sometimes. No woman ever asked for that kind of shit, but they got it no matter how they were dressed.

 

_ “Because that’s not disgusting,”  _ Jimmy muttered.  _ “People with bodies are fucking weird.” _

 

Sharley did not disagree, because when it came to that sort of thing, she was as bewildered as the voices, and just as disinterested. Why should this man look at Earlene like this? Why was her figure more desirable than others? It made no sense, but it was certainly a hassle for Earlene.

 

Ian sauntered across the parking lot, with some kind of odd hitch to his step that reminded Earlene for all the world of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. At this point, the display of overweening ego was so bad it was good. It amused her to see that the windows went down on the van, all the better to hear with. 

 

“Who’re they?” Ian asked, taking note of the extra people. 

 

“Friends,” Thranduil answered curtly. “Friends who are waiting for you to complete our logbooks so that we can enjoy lunch.”

 

“Complete the logbooks? But you’ve not had one lesson yet, not to mention all twelve.”

 

“Yes, we have”, the King said, staring at him intently. 

 

“You have, eh?” confusion seemed to descend over the formerly cocky face. 

 

Lorna hopped out of the van, and snuck close enough so that Thranduil could hear her thoughts.  _ Have him check the vehicle _ , she said.  _ Check the oil and wipe it on his shirt, get down on the ground to look at the tires and get his shirt and his trousers dirty. There’s an oily patch right near the front passenger side he could lay in. _

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows arched. “You should fill out the logbooks before you inspect the vehicle,” he said to the man. “All twelve lessons. You may date them every two weeks, beginning six months ago.”

 

“Every two weeks,” Ian vacuously echoed. “Bloody best students I’ve ever had,” he murmured, beginning to scribble furiously in both logbooks. 

 

While this was transpiring, Thranduil’s gaze fell again on Lorna.  _ And after that, what else is there? I do not intend to let him off with only stained clothing, not after how he treated my wife. Ensure there is a clean spot for her to kick him, though. She deserves it and there is no point dirtying her pretty shoes. _

 

Lorna grinned.  _ Make him think his trousers are falling down. Then he’ll just keep hiking them up until his shorts are stuck up his crack. He’ll give himself a wedgie. _

 

Thanadir stood slightly off to the side, near Earlene. He glanced at her forlornly as he saw the obvious signs of Thranduil silently communicating with Lorna. No good could come of this. 

 

Earlene patted his arm. “He deserves it, meldir. More than most. He has no respect for others, and needs to learn some.” A great sigh was her only answer.

 

The logbooks were completed and handed over. “You have not inspected the vehicle,” Thranduil pointed out, leaning into the driver’s side window to pop the hood. “I’m certain the oil needs checking.”

 

“It does now, doesn’t it…” Ian agreed, and in seconds was wiping the dipstick on the hem of his Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt. “It’s fine, but you could add half a quart.”

 

“Are you certain the car is not leaking fluids?” Thranduil asked, smirking as the man lowered himself into the aforementioned oil stain on the ground, and wriggled through it to stare at the undercarriage of the vehicle.

 

“Positive,” came the reply as Ian stood up and hiked his trousers up very high, blissfully unaware that there was now a grease stripe across his nose and cheek, among other places. He fished out his comb again, which caused the occupants of the van to howl in laughter as he did an excellent imitation of Squiggy on Laverne and Shirley.

 

“It is like an Imperius Curse,” Thanadir said, somewhat in awe of what Thranduil was doing. He tried to remind himself that this was a just punishment, because on some level, what he was seeing was very uncomfortable to behold.

 

“Yes. Yes it is,” Earlene said.  _ And it couldn’t be happening to a nicer guy. _

 

Lorna had to clap both her hands over her mouth, to stifle her own laughter, and she barely managed it.  _ Jesus… _ She thought furiously.  _ There’s always the good old-fashioned groin itch. Not enough to be horrible, just enough to be irritating, but when you start scratching an itch it always does get worse. _

 

Thranduil rather liked this idea, and the howls from the van increased when the man’s fingers began to rub and scratch at his crotch. 

 

“I think you’ve had your fun,” chided Earlene, who was becoming increasingly eager to simply never see this arsehole again. “We’ve got what we needed, right? Best get him inside now, before he breaks out in hives and can’t fill out his own logbook. You’ve got to find a way to get him to match all this stuff.” 

 

“Wait out here with Thanadir. Lorna and I will...help him organize his materials.”

This definitely boded ill, but she was hardly going to argue with him. In the meantime, they elected to sit in the van with the others and watch from a distance. “I wish I had popcorn,” lamented Thanadir.

 

“Me too,” Pat said, still snickering. “This is so much better than anything on TV. That gobshite’ll have sores on his langer by the time he’s done.”

 

“Thank you, Pat,” Ratiri said, though he was quite pleased by the thought. “Maybe he’ll get an infection and render it useless.”

 

Lorna made her way over to Thranduil, wondering what on Earth he had planned, and if she should get out her mobile and film it for posterity.

 

_ First his logbook,  _ Thranduil smiled wickedly, while Ian thumbed through the pages. Eru be praised, the man used a new sheet for each day instead of recording his entries consecutively. This meant, there would be no awkward explanation of why the dates were out of order or otherwise irregular. One by one, the King fed the man the days he had written in their books outside, until all was complete.

 

Lorna went inside, determined to look through this bastard’s shite, because he looked exactly like the sort who would watch pornos at work. Granted, she’d be putting her fingerprints on his keyboard, which was probably a bad idea, so she wrapped her hands in the hem of her shirt and two-finger typed her way along, checking any file folders with suspiciously boring names.

 

It took her a while to find anything, but when she did, it was a doozy. It was actually stored on an external hard drive -- so he wasn’t  _ completely  _ stupid -- but what it was...ew. Lorna had always thought porn was silly and stupid, and couldn’t imagine how anyone could actually find it arousing, but this was especially icky -- apparently Ian had a thing for watching women pee on things. Things, people,  _ animals, oh my God _ …

 

She closed the folder, swallowing bile. It could probably be worse -- at least it wasn’t child porn -- but still. That wasn’t saying much.

 

Why she thought of it, she never was sure, but instinct led her into the toilet, which was old and shabby, but surprisingly clean. There were only two stalls, which meant she didn’t have much ground to cover, so to speak. Dismantling the toilet tanks wasn’t exactly hard, but what she found there washed her vision red.

 

_ Somehow _ , she didn’t crush the tiny camera she found in the second stall, though it was something of a near miss. Stalking out into the watery sunshine, she yanked the logbook out of the bastard’s hand, spat right in his face, and slugged him in the throat.

 

He dropped like a shot duck, choking, and she drew her foot back to deliver a kick to his ribs so hard she thought she heard something snap.

 

Immediately her arms were in an iron grip as Thranduil pulled her back. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked, baffled. Her thoughts had raced on in a manner that made no sense to him, and once her rage had flared, disentangling what he saw was hopeless.

 

Out in the van, Earlene was the first to see. “What in hell is Lorna doing?” She did not wait to hear opinions on an answer, but threw the door open and stormed into the office. “What is going on?” The question was simple and direct, with no accusation.

 

“Son’v a bitch had a camera in the fucking toilet,” Lorna snarled. “He’s got all sorts’v shite on his computer, nasty shit about people getting pissed on by women, and he had a fucking  _ camera in the fucking toilet, now can I finish kicking his fucking head in?! _ ”

 

“No, you may not,” Earlene said. “Lorna, think it through. Why do you want to go to prison for the thrill of beating him, when he needs to go to prison himself? Listen to me. Right now, I want you to go take photos of the cameras you found, which stall, and the interior of the restroom. Hopefully you have not disturbed the cameras. This son’v a bitch is going  _ DOWN _ . And the moment you’re done, get Orla on the line. And you,” she said, turning to Thranduil, “keep his brains gelatinized until I figure out how to land him in the most trouble.”

 

“Can I at least make his bollocks explode?” Lorna asked, sounding almost pathetic.

 

“Pictures,” Earlene repeated, already dialing Niamh. When she picked up, the situation was outlined in a heartbeat. “I need you tell me the legislation on all this,” the others heard as she toggled her to speakerphone.

 

Pat, rather wiser if no less horrified, took out his mobile and went into the Ladies’, snapping photos of everything he could see, including the tiny camera. What kind of sick fuck...one thing was for sure, he was definitely going to ream Donal a new one. His former co-worker had recommended this sick fuck, after all.

 

Sharley eyed the twitching man, his face a somewhat alarming shade of purple. Did she flip the switch? Did she  _ want  _ to flip the switch? No, she absolutely did not, but what if it could be of some help?

 

_ “I don’t think they’d need it,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Sounds like they’ve got enough to metaphorically hang him already. No need to expose yourself to...that.” _

 

Lorna sighed, and Thranduil judged it safe to set her down. Ian’s portable hard drive needed to not disappear, either, because Christ knew what was on it -- if there were any videos from that camera on it, it was evidence, wasn’t it? 

 

“Come on, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, not bothering to check on the piece of filth still choking on the floor. “I think Pat’s taking pictures in the loo, but we should see if there’s more to find.”

 

“Orla! Orla now!” Earlene barked, as she listened carefully to Niamh.  _ Unbefuckinglievably, what this dripping piece of excrement was doing was not illegal under Irish law. There was nothing currently making it a crime to videotape someone’s private parts peeing and shitting without their consent, until that ‘someone’ was a child under seventeen.  _ Her stomach wanted to turn at the numerous gaping holes in her adopted nation’s legal system.  _ For all America has far too many stupid laws, truly this is the other end of the spectrum. Just, what??  _ Even her general pragmatism was finding this to be more than a little hard to take. Thanking Niamh, she disconnected and impatiently awaited an Orla to be summoned.

 

When Orla  _ finally  _ answered her damn phone, Lorna was surprised at how calmly she managed to speak. “Earlene’s driving instructor’s a fucking pervert who films women pissing in the Ladies’ room,” she said. “Help.”

 

For a moment there was silence. That was a first. “ _ What?” _

 

Lorna repeated herself, and laid out the situation as they currently knew it, still sounding far calmer than she actually felt. “What do we do?”

 

“You put me on speaker,” Orla growled, and Lorna did just that.

 

“Orla, Earlene here. I’ve just talked to Niamh. Long story short, we’re here with this gobshite, and Thranduil’s got his brains in a jar for as long as we need until someone else shows up. So, maybe not much time. What he’s done’s not illegal unless we find he ever filmed a kid. He’s got all his pervy shite on an external hard drive; we’re standing in front of his computer. How do we get everything to you so we can figure out best how to hang him before we’ve got to get out’v here?”

 

“Lorna’s got my dropbox password,” Orla said. “Compress it all and send it to me, and I’ll just wipe your traces away afterward. As much as I really don’t fucking want to, we’re going to have to watch that shit to see if any’v it’s his. Get me his IP address, too. I hope you didn’t kill him.”

 

“No, I just throat-punched him,” Lorna sighed. “Thranduil won’t let me do anything worse.”

 

“Killjoy,” Orla muttered, and they could hear the clatter of a keyboard.

 

“Pretty much,” Lorna said, giving the Thranduil in question a distinct hairy eyeball. She wasn’t the tech-savviest person in the world, but she knew how to compress files, and it wasn’t long before Orla’s dropbox had everything they needed. “Please let us know if you find anything.”

 

“I don’t have to find anything,” Orla said, now sounding rather evil. “I don’t have to watch anything. I just have to  _ plant _ something.”

 

“I somehow doubt you’ll need to,” Earlene said with disgust, while Thranduil gave a hairy eyeball right back to Lorna.

 

“You realize he cannot be left  _ damaged _ , like this,” Thranduil huffed in mild frustration at her, as he moved to do something that completely repulsed him. This was  _ worse _ than having to heal Sean, and that had been quite bad enough. Still, nothing said he could not leave some very minor damage. Something that would cause some pain, but not enough to cause him to go to A&E or make a surgery appointment. He just wouldn’t one hundred percent fix his ribs, that would do it. At that moment, another driver  was pulling into the car park outside. 

 

Earlene raised her voice.“We’ve got about thirty seconds to wrap this, people. Logbook back on the desk. Gobshite back in his chair. Stuff more or less as it was before we showed up here, and everyone except Thranduil out’v here before he has to bring this twat back to reality.”

 

Lorna, thus thwarted, did take a moment to spit right in the cretin’s ear before tidying the desk and scooting. Her anger, without an outlet, was misfiring along her nerves; she needed a drink. More than one drink.

 

Ratiri looked at her, and thought better of trying to embrace her. Right now, that was not what she needed, and he felt so ill himself that it was all he could do not to be sick. At least the end of the world would be the end of  _ that _ sort, or so he hoped.

 

“I’m going to kill Donal,” Pat muttered, climbing into the van. “Though I really doubt he knew about any’v...that. Donal’s a bit’v a gobshite, but not like  _ that _ .”

 

_ And here I thought Von Shitcicle was the grossest thing in this world _ , Lorna thought, shaking her head.

 

“When we’re through with this loser he’ll not be able to make out in a whorehouse with a thousand dollar bill and a stack of credit cards,” Earlene said. “But you can’t let on about what we found. Only that he leered at my tits like they were the Second Coming. That part was bad enough,” Earlene groused, waiting for Thranduil to emerge. “OK. Christ, lead on. Novice driver or not, I want a goddamn drink.”

 

“I can drive you home,” Pat said, shaking his head. “After I find out just how much Donal actually knew about this creep, I’ll know if I’ve got to lamp him one or not.”

 

“Can I help?” Lorna asked.

 

“As long as you don’t permanently maim him, yes,” her brother promised.

 

Earlene laughed. “Good, she needs a shot at someone. And don’t worry, I’ll not have so much I can’t drive fine. If we somehow were to get pulled over, well, there’s Thranduil. It’ll be alright. And speak of the Devil…” she watched with a smirk as her husband politely held the door open for the young couple that were now entering, wishing to god they’d had more time. And more options. And that neither of these poor people needed the toilet.  _ Revenge is a dish best served cold, Earlene. _ With a sigh she got into the car where Thanadir was already waiting, and as soon as Thranduil was inside they f0llowed the van to downtown Limerick.

 

When they reached Pat’s old place of employment, Lorna ordered a drink and immediately downed it, wishing the alcohol would soothe her thwarted temper. One drink, alas, was not enough, so she ordered three shots of poitín on the rocks, determined to at least try to nurse it. For once, they could all fucking forgive her, because there was nothing she could do with this fury, and scream therapy was not an option in a crowded pub. She could probably climb a lamppost in place of a tree, but that would just get the cops called on her, so...bad idea.

 

Pat didn’t even waste time asking where Donal was -- instead he stalked out back, hunting for his former coworker’s favorite smoking spot. No dice, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be back.

 

Sharley, meanwhile, was pensive. She  _ could  _ look at those files and know, far faster than Orla, if there was anything incriminating on there, but...she didn’t  _ want  _ to, dammit. Now that she wasn’t captive audience to absolutely everything, she didn’t want to have to subject herself to that shit, but should she? Would it make things easier?

 

_ Sharley, no. While I appreciate your willingness to help...you of all people should not expose yourself to what you would see there. Orla is...more suited, to endure such a trial, and she will derive great enjoyment from destroying him. Whether or not there is something to be found now, there will be when she is through...and I cannot fault her choice. He deserves to be brought to justice even though the laws of this land will not do it...without a little nudge. _

 

“I’m thinking French dip, Lorna. You?” Earlene hoped to poke her friend into having some food with her food, eyeing the drinks that were lined up.

 

“I doubt they’ll be as good as Big Jamie’s, but I’m willing to give it a go,” Lorna said. “Is it wrong that I still want to rip out that gobshite’s liver? Because I do. I really do. And I'm pretty sure that is actually extremely wrong.”

 

“You need coping mechanisms that would work away from home,” Ratiri said, though in truth he was feeling somewhat bloodthirsty himself. That kind of disgusting violation was a prosecutable offense in the UK, and he was shocked that Ireland, a country supposedly so religious, could be so behind the times. How could a country criminalize consensual sex work, yet allow something that went beyond sexual harassment?

 

“Who’s to say we won’t rip out his liver?” Earlene said, her eyes disturbingly cold. “He’s going nowhere. All things in due time.”

 

Thranduil and Thanadir both looked up at her, alarmed. Thranduil more so, because unlike his seneschal, he could see that this was thirty percent her idea of humor, seventy percent dead seriousness. 

 

“I think we should find a way to move on to speaking of other things, meluieg. Such talk will not prove ultimately helpful.” 

 

Something in his words caused her eyes to soften. Earlene wasn’t sure, if the others knew. Knew what she’d tried to do to Von Ratched, at the end. It had all been sort of a blur, really. It was her own rage and sense of violation speaking right now, and she could admit to that. And that same rage had led her before to a place with her husband and King in which she would rather not find herself again. Her gaze flickered to her own drink, a screwdriver. “You’re probably right,” she said, forcing her body to relax. In the end, she had what mattered most. Family, and friends, and friends that were family. The dark thoughts did not need to be nurtured. Not just now, anyway. 

 

Lorna and Ratiri exchanged a somewhat disturbed glance.  _ She  _ knew what Earlene had done to Von Ratched -- both times, though the second had been something of a blur to her as well, given she’d been busy eating the bastard’s nose at the time. The thought made her a touch ill, and she took another drink. Earlene, she reflected, would make a fantastic serial killer, if she chose...which was not a thought she needed right now. Nope.

 

The sandwiches and salads and food arrived, and soon enough Earlene felt mostly relaxed. What they had discovered was shocking by any decent standards, but she could put it out of her mind for good food. And the vinaigrette, with berry juice, was particularly excellent. What she wasn’t certain of is whether Pat had ever found the Donal he was looking for. Oh well, time would tell.

 

Lorna’s sandwich went some way to soaking up her rather heroic alcohol content, helped when Pat came and led her back outside. The sun was screened by clouds now, though it didn’t look like they’d linger.

 

“Lorna, hit him,” he said, pointing at a rather disturbed-looking man of around her own age, a cigarette in his hand and somewhat stained apron around his neck.

 

She wasn’t about to question this -- she just walked up to the bloke, who stared at her in bewilderment, and lamped him one, snapping his nose in the process. “Why am I hitting him?”

 

“Because while he didn’t know Donal was  _ that  _ kind’v gobshite, he did send Earlene to him because she was a pretty woman, and he thought he was doing the piece’v shit a favor,” Pat said, tone filled with disgust. “Feel better?” 

 

“Much better, actually.” Her hand hurt, but that was only to be expected, and it was a rather welcome pain. “Cheers, mate.”

 

She meandered back inside, now in a much better mood, and nibbled on her sandwich again. “Well, that’s over with. Nobody tell Saoirse. Ever.”

 

Earlene was very, very close to uttering the “H” word, but thought better of it. There had been quite enough drama for one day, and to a certain extent they were all guilty of some level of  hypocrisy when it came to Saoirse. Herself included, which was why she held her tongue. They paid up their tab, and collectively decided that going home had more appeal than further activity in Limerick.

 

On the return trip home, much of the time was spent explaining to Thanadir the totality of what had just gone on. When he finally understood, the elf had gone quite pale. “I did not understand the violent nature of you comments, Earlene. But while I still could not condone you ever trying something like that, part of me cannot fully blame you.”

 

Earlene choked laughing. “A little late for that, isn’t it? But thank you. I think.”

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“Oh, Thanadir…” This was not something she was sure she wanted to explain while driving. She had been certain he’d known. Had he just forgotten, the first time? It was true he hadn’t been in the barn…

 

“Do you wish me to tell him?” Thranduil asked. Honestly, if his seneschal had somehow missed the totality of what had gone on, perhaps it was time he was enlightened.

 

“I guess it depends. I…” she found she could not say it.

 

“Then I will say it. Earlene is afraid you will no longer love her, Thanadir, if you know that she is capable of harming others in cold blood that have wronged her deeply.”

 

Behind her, warm hands found her shoulders. “I do not hold that against you, meldis. But I hope that you would never act in a manner that was deeply wrong.”

 

“So do I,” she said, reaching with her free hand to hold one of his. If they collectively caught the thin thread of uncertainty in her response, it was not discussed at that time.

 

*****

 

Ailill was due back that night, and would be with them for two days this time. In the intervening week she had received a great deal of information from him about the needs of his hawks. There were suitable fully enclosed spaces within the barn that housed the cows and chickens that would suffice for the occasions the bird might need to be briefly ‘stored’, and the rest of the time his bird (it was agreed that bringing one at a time, for now, was wisest) would spend most of its time where it belonged, on his arm. Or at night, on a perch that Thanadir had already constructed and installed upstairs (on top of a piece of canvas, for obvious reasons). Earlene did not wait for him this time, but busied herself in the kitchen on a roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with creamed turnips and baked new potatoes. If nothing else, she was going to help that lad fill out a bit.

 

He had been ordered not to knock, that this was his home now, so when he arrived with perhaps an hour of daylight remaining, the roast still had three quarters of an hour to go. She was whirling around the kitchen as was her wont, when the screech of a Harris hawk interrupted her thoughts. With a crashing noise, an orange blur raced past them and crashed through the door to Thanadir’s room, causing Earlene to double over in laughter before she came to hug him in greeting. “Well, I can see that my cat is thrilled.” Tail had become such a shit that even she didn’t mind seeing him be actually afraid of something. Though, this could get interesting. 

 

“Oh, there’s nothing to fear,” Ailill said. “At least, not with just Fion. If I had all of them with me, it could be another story. I will try hard to ensure your cat remains intact,” he said sheepishly. “Er, cats. I thought I heard that Lorna had some, too.”

 

“Yes. Do you know, I’ve lost count? Shame on me. Anyway, I’m sure it will be fine. And...the chickens in the barn, hopefully that won’t come to disaster either? For now we can keep them inside when you are here, but they do like their time in the grass outside.”

 

“I’ll be careful where we hunt,” the young man promised. “I hope, though...that if the worst happens you won’t hate me. They are...predators.”

 

Earlene nodded. “I have sort of a farm mentality. I do what I can to protect them and care for them well...but things can happen. A stray dog...heck, one even killed itself getting stuck between two feed sacks, don’t even ask me how that was managed. They are highly regarded, but they are not pets. I will not hate you.”

 

Thanadir had come in, and was watching the bird in fascination. Ailill caught sight of him and bowed his head to the seneschal. “Hello, Thanadir. Would you like to hold Fion? I would not mind, to be able to put my things away.” Thanadir’s eager smile earned the offer of an extra glove from Ailill, who apparently came prepared, and moments later the bird was transferred. Earlene watched, more than a little mesmerized, as her meldir appeared to more or less commune with the creature.

 

“Can you talk to them?” she wanted to know.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” he answered her, as his ungloved finger stroked the bird’s feathers carefully. “All good beasts and birds have ever understood us. We talk to them from here,” he patted his heart. “More than only with words. It is difficult to explain,” he added. No surprise there.

 

Sharley, in search of a donut, paused when she caught sight of the hawk. She hadn’t seen one since she’d left home. “Aren’t you pretty,” she said softly. “Who’s this one?”

 

“Fion. This is one of Ailill’s birds. He is stowing his things upstairs.” In response to the sudden influx of new people he spread his wings and proceeded to make more racket.

 

“Oh, you’re fine,” Sharley said to the hawk, giving Thanadir a good wide berth so the bird could watch her. “There’s nothing in here to be afraid of, except maybe Tail. Maybe. All that fluff’s pretty good armor.”

 

“And he already ran for the proverbial hills,” Earlene quipped. “Dinner’ll be in just about forty-five minutes,” she added. “This is one of those ‘everyone needs to be seated before the pudding comes out’ dinners. I’ll be ringing the bell a little early.” It was always better to warn them.  

 

“I’ll let the others know,” Sharley said, grabbing her donut. “You be calm now, little guy. Not-so-little-guy. You’re just fine in here.” Off she went, and wondered if they would be seeing any more of those beautiful birds. How many did Ailill have, and how many would he be willing to bring?

 

The bird was placed upstairs at the time the dinner warning was given, both for overall normalcy as well as having a prayer of keeping children and adults alike focused on the meal. Both Thanadir and Ortherion had to help serve, since it was no mean trick to present the sliced roast beef just as the towering puddings were emerging from the oven to be rushed to the tables. Soon everyone was eating, and to her satisfaction Ailill’s plate was well loaded with meat and vegetables. She could swear he looked just a tiny bit less thin than last week, but it was probably her imagination.

 

Getting all the children settled always took some doing, but they had plenty of practice by now, so everyone was well ready by the time the food was. “I hear you brought one’v your birds,” Lorna said, dishing up Chandra’s plate. “A he, or a she?”

 

“Fion,” he smiled, thinking that would hopefully be self explanatory. Though he meant it for a Sindarin word name, he pronounced it as ‘Fionn’.

 

She smiled, and reached for Shane’s plate. “He must travel okay, then. How many d’you have?”

 

“Three. Fion, Diana and Thia. And this meal is delicious, thank you,” he said gratefully to Earlene, before continuing to answer Lorna. “Fion, I have had the longest. Since I was sixteen. Diana I took in as a rescue when I had maybe five years’ experience already, and Thia has been with me for only three years. But in some ways she is more settled than Diana.”

 

“Thia?” asked Earlene. “Another double meaning name?” 

 

“Yes,” grinned Ailill. “It means goddess, but it is also because she  _ seems _ to be older than Diana.”

 

“Another name I can’t pronounce,” Lorna said dryly, though she actually was a touch better with ‘th’ as long as there was a vowel after it -- she could sort of fake Thanadir’s name. Sort of. Thranduil’s name remained utterly beyond her, which meant so did opening the Gates. She remained convinced they just didn’t like her.

 

“Do they live with you?” Ratiri asked. “I know next to nothing about taming birds of prey.”

 

A harsh cry sounded down from upstairs, which instantly led to wide-eyed children that suddenly understood why the adults were asking so many questions about birds. “Yes, mostly. I keep mine at Ashford almost full time so that they can see the most activity, but there are times when I bring them with me. If I were going to sum up the principle, it is that the bird believes it is totally dependent on me for food. Everything we do together, the hawks are constantly reinforced with treats of meat. They need to hunt and fly at least three days a week; preferably every day of the week, and for hours and hours at a time. Training can be even more involved. That would be the very condensed version. You have to forgive me, I’m worse than a Hobbit talking about food, with them. I try very hard not to drive others around me crazy by overdoing it.” Even now, he was worrying a little that this was taking up more of the dinner conversation than would please his King.

 

_ Do not worry, Ailill. I am enjoying hearing about this, as are the others. We will tell you, if it becomes too much. _

 

Lorna laughed. “We’ve all got our passions,” she said. “And yours is more interesting than most. They handle all those strangers at Ashford well?”

 

“Yeah, I’d be afraid that all those idiots who don’t know about birds would freak them out,” Sharley added.

 

“They have seen it all, at this point. With few exceptions, the guests at Ashford are nothing if not well-behaved. I take my birds to many places; there are hunting days, events, outreach programs in schools...though it’s not officially on my list of duties, I try to help those who are interested just as I was helped. It’s a big deal, to get your first bird and have a mentor and go through all that learning...and some find it isn’t for them, and helping those same people get out of falconry and giving their birds a good human is also important.”

 

“What’s the worst thing that ever happened?” Lorna asked. “The biggest eejits, I mean.”

 

A strained sort of noise emitted from him. “Well, I guess it’s ok to say. I mean, I didn’t know their names or anything...there were these three young women. American college students, if I had to guess. They signed up for one of the school sessions….was it last July? Maybe it was the July before, I can’t remember honestly. Anyhow, this one blonde showed up more than half drunk, and ten minutes in decides she doesn’t need to be wearing her glove. She had it off before I could intervene and….do I really need to explain how that went?” He shook his head at the lecture he’d gotten over that one, though none of them could have stopped it. The woman was a complete eejit.

 

Lorna stared at him, and looked at Ratiri, and burst out laughing, resting her forehead against her husband’s shoulder. “Oh Christ,” she managed at last. “July before last...we were there, Ratiri and I. I think I know exactly who you’re talking about. She fell off her horse, too. Her group were being gobshites in the George V dining room so I ‘accidentally’ spilled water on her.”

 

“To say nothing of what happened later,” Ratiri groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not surprised she was stupid enough to take her glove off, though. She certainly didn’t want to listen to the equestrian instructor.”

 

“Their talons are no joke. I’ve held them many times, without protection, and it’s basically being injected by large needles. There is a reason they can kill things bigger than they are. She was….quite something, that one. Come to think of it, we all sat around and had a Guinness that night. On the sly, of course, that sort’v thing is against the rules. Technically.”

 

Saoirse twirled her fork, pensive. “Aunt Lorna, was that the woman you kicked in the snatch when the fire alarm happened?”

 

Now it was Lorna who groaned. “Yes, thank you for that, Saoirse. So she went home with a banjaxed knee, torn-up arm, and probably a bruise where no bruises should be. At least she’ll likely never come back. Just...how stupid d’you have to be? I mean, I know almost nothing about hawks, but birds have talons. The bigger the bird, the bigger the talons. Any idiot ought to know that.”

 

Thanadir nodded sagely, having stared at said claws for several minutes while holding the bird. Ailill chuckled. “I wish I could say I’m sorry, but in addition to bleeding everywhere, she upset Fion. The...she tried to hit him, when his talons raked her. And then he sort of bit her.” He could not help it, he began shaking with laughter at the memory for a few moments until he could collect himself. “Sorry. That was not very professional of me.”

 

Thranduil looked over at his new subject with amusement. Yes, he might have some deficiencies. But he liked this young man. Very much.

 

“He  _ bit  _ her?” Ratiri asked, and burst out laughing himself. “And I'm certain she went home complaining about how Ireland is a land of barbarians and vicious beasts.”

 

“She’s lucky he only bit,” Sharley said. “Coulda taken her face off. What kinda asshole tries to hit a bird?”

 

“A stupid one,” Pat put in. “I know the sort. The tended to get beat up behind the pub in Limerick, then whine about it the next day.”

 

At that, Ailill grew very quiet, and turned his full attention to eating, asking for a second helping of the meat and pudding.

 

Thanadir used the silence to speak. “Earlene, I thought you would like to know; I have decided your exam will be tomorrow, mid-morning. Ailill will be brought to watch, and any here are invited as well.”

 

Her eyes grew wide. “No pressure, I see, meldir. Very well, I suppose I should be glad you warned me at all.” Aaaand that took care of any further appetite she had, as nerves and butterflies invaded her stomach.

 

“Hell yeah,” Lorna said, looking at Ratiri. “Let’s go watch.”

 

“I’m coming, too,” Saoirse said.

 

“And I’d best make sure this one doesn’t get in any trouble,” Pat added.

 

Sharley just smiled. She’d watch, but not necessarily in the same way.

 

*****

 

“You are nervous,” said Thanadir, holding her against him.

 

“Well of course I am,” Earlene huffed. “I want to do well, but nothing you ask of me is ever easy. It’s...I am...oh what difference does it make. It will be what it will be.”

 

Very softly, he kissed her, until she dissolved into the comfort of his embrace and simply stopped thinking; gradually fading into sleep.

 

“We are being a little unfair,” Thranduil said, emerging from having prepared for bed. “She does not know, that she is being used to demonstrate many things to many people.”

 

“I know,” Thanadir said, stroking her hair. “But she is no stranger to competition. In a way I think she will do better than ever. It will help her focus.”

 

“True,” said the King. “But I still feel a twinge of guilt. Several, actually. She has worked very hard for this.”

 

Thanadir laughed softly. “And yet she is better than anyone who will go against her tomorrow. I would not be too concerned.”

 

“How do you know that?” asked Thranduil. 

 

“Easy. Thalion will not be among those who can draw to challenge her. Neither will you, or I. She already outstrips all the rest.”

 

Thranduil shook his head, and chuckled. “Meldir, I am glad you are on my side. The alternative would be unthinkable.”

 

Thanadir laughed, scooting over on the bed. “I know.”


	96. Ninety-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 19, 2019

 

After breakfast, Earlene had spent the time alone. She dressed in what her mind called her Forest Elf Clothes, and after confirming the location in which she was to  be, left Eldamar to walk in the woods and be alone with her own thoughts. There was no other means by which she was going to prepare herself, for this. Apparently, a section of the forest with definite boundaries had been chosen; these were to be marked off by more or less every ellon of the realm not currently asleep standing at the borders of this ‘area’. Should she or her opponents be about to go ‘out of bounds’, a sound of warning would be given, which meant that they would need to turn around and move elsewhere. She knew this area as she knew all the areas; it straddled the Enchanted River, across which many lines both tight and slack had been tied. There were areas of tall trees, and areas of sparser vegetation and undergrowth. 

 

A lone, safe sandbar in the river afforded the place from which those looking on could stand. Each was warned in no uncertain terms that they were surrounded by water that must not be touched. Earlene’s task was simple, and yet not. She was pitted against Feren, against whom she would gain twenty seconds to get away. He would have twenty minutes in which to try to hunt and capture her. If she could elude him, the test was passed. If he could capture her, it counted as a failure. No one spoke to her or even looked at her, as the seneschal outlined the rules. Saoirse was given a single stone, to throw into the river. When the rock hit the water, it was the signal to begin.

 

*Plunk*

 

Earlene was off faster than a rabbit, in the sight of her friends. Leaping onto one of the tightropes, she ran effortlessly across the somnolent waters, and propelled herself up a tree much as a squirrel might. Higher and higher, until at full speed, she ran out onto the branches. A collective sickening inhalation could be heard among her human friends, who had never seen anything like this outside of a movie, as she caught and somersaulted into the branches of a nearby giant, doing it again and again as she moved out of view into the distance.

 

Thanadir turned quietly to Ailill. “Part of why you are here is so that you can understand”, he said in a voice too soft to be heard by others. “Earlene is human, as are you. Admittedly she has trained very hard; you are seeing the culmination of more than two years’ struggle on her part. But it is possible, Ailill, one small step at a time. We do not ask that you rise to these heights. Only that you open your heart to what can be, with effort.”

 

“Yes, Your Excellency,” he said in whispered acknowledgement.  _ What in hell else could he say? _

 

Lorna had known Earlene was training with the elves, but somehow this was not what she had thought it meant. One thing was for fucking sure: she wanted Earlene to help her with her own tree-climbing, since she looked like a drunk monkey compared to her friend.

 

“How the hell can she do that, with the rope?” Pat asked. “Elves can defy the laws’v bloody physics, but she can’t.”

 

“You don’t actually have to do that, to run on a rope,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “It just takes incredible balance, and core strength.”

 

Lorna had to privately wonder how Earlene could manage that, given her, er, chest. She knew that having tits could ruin the career of a gymnast or a ballerina, but they didn’t seem to be slowing Earlene down at all. Seriously, though, how could she have learned to do that? They were humans. Humans weren’t supposed to be able to do that.

 

“Can I do that?” Saoirse asked.

 

“You can do most anything,” Thranduil said. “But this requires an exceptional commitment, for a human. Do not think this was easy, in any way. It is not even easy for elves.”

 

“What I want to know,” Lorna said, trying to spot Earlene in the canopy and utterly failing, “is why the hell nobody ever mentioned that training like this was even an option. Here I’ve been making a fool out’v myself in the trees for the last year. I’m sure the guards’v had fun laughing at me.” Seriously, where the hell had she gone? She’d vanished like a Predator. But honestly, why  _ didn’t  _ anyone mention it? Why hadn’t Earlene? Had she been afraid she’d get shit for it somehow?

 

_ Lorna, you must understand...Earlene can do this because she came to the proverbial table with a high level of physical fitness and near perfect health and nutrition in the first place. Even then, it was a great struggle for her to master these skills. She did not wish to brag. Nor did she wish to come off as superior or what I believe you call ‘preachy’ in speaking about this. Earlene assumed that the rest of you would have more sanity than to want to commit to this level of training. And it is not as though she set out to do all this with the end in mind. It started as one small thing. Then led to another and another, and at each turn she begged Thanadir to teach her. Thalion too, who is an even harsher taskmaster. Until she had gained so much, that she could compete as one of us.  _

 

Fortunately, Lorna’s next thoughts were in Irish, and she shoved them down, focusing instead on being proud that Earlene could do all of this. She doubted even trained stunt-people could handle this kind of thing -- and if Earlene managed to actually beat all or even most of these elves, she’d be getting a Mairead cake.

 

Saoirse, for her part, just wanted to be able to run on a rope. Aunt Earlene was old, even if she wasn’t as old as Da -- if she could be so badass, Saoirse herself could, too, right? Someday? In like twenty years? How could anyone learn how to do all that in just two years? Was Aunt Earlene secretly a ninja, too?

 

*****

  
Earlene felt vaguely panicked. She was sure it had been maybe what, ten minutes? And there was no sign of her pursuer. Her bitter lesson with Thanadir was remembered; there would be no assumption that her position was known...or unknown. Currently she stood, completely still, about twenty feet up in her tree. Absolutely still, she used only her eyes and ears to seek out a sign of Feren, knowing that the Eldar could still see and hear with greater acuity. Which is why even though her chest heaved with wanting air, she breathed in only through her mouth, silently exhaling through her nose. And through pure chance, she spotted him. Not so far away; perhaps fifty yards; he was looking up, too, goddammit, searching the tree limbs for signs of her passage. At the present rate, he would discover her location in just a few more minutes, but then that would mean he still had to catch her. With great caution, she sidled to the opposite side of the tree, lowering herself toward the ground with the utmost stealth. 

 

And then she saw it; yet another tightrope stretched from further down this tree to another. Earlene was almost ready to step out onto it when she took a second look. The rope was nearly severed in two, halfway across. Her indignation at Thanadir’s tricks aside, this still was not helping her list of options.  _ Just, dammit.  _ The faintest crack of a twig on a branch above her gave warning of her peril, but she determined to wait. Anything at all, short of outright murder, was within the rules. Feeling unaccountably daring, she waited three more seconds before moving onto the rope, knowing that if Feren followed, it would assuredly snap under their combined weight. She felt the swipe of the arm into the place where she was standing, as she sprinted across the rope; preparing for it to no longer be there imminently. Feren did not disappoint. Out onto the same tightrope he came, and in the next second she felt the tension part from under her feet. But unlike the ellon, Earlene was ready. Diving down, she caught at the end that fell away from her as both she and the rope fell through the air. With a cry, the ellon fell through space, informing her with a crashing great noise that he managed to catch himself on one of the lowest branches, while at the same time she was swinging like Tarzan toward a neighboring tree. The advantage was hers once again, and with a series of tumbles and leaps, she brought herself to the forest floor and ran like the wind. If Thanadir could not catch her, she had no worries that Feren would. 

 

When she could sprint no longer, she was once again in sight of the Enchanted River. Now what? Careful to leave no trace, she walked near the water’s edge, keeping eyes and ears out for sign of Feren. The sound of her iron triangle rang out in the distance; it was the sign that one minute was remaining.  _ And I have never felt so paranoid, because I don’t trust these elves as far as I can thrown them _ , she reasoned. What was needed, was to return to the other side of the river, the question was how best to do that. Her brain thought furiously. _ The hardest way over are the slack ropes. If I were an elf, I would least expect a mortal to try to use them. So, here goes nothing.  _

 

Breaking swiftly, she ran further down stream to the area in question. There they all were, a veritable spider web of drooping, seemingly useless lines, criss crossing everywhere in random patterns. Truthfully, she hated these. Which was why she had forced herself to spend the most time on them, once she realized the difficulty. Start high, she figured, and immediately scaled the tree that would allow her to use the one highest in the air. There was nothing to lose, now; the worst that could happen is she would fall in the river and be generally insensible, or so she guessed. A glance down revealed that she was in sight of her friends, not that she would allow that to register. What mattered far more is that when she was three quarters of the way across, Feren appeared at the other end of the rope and yanked it quite hard.

 

Even as she lost her balance and fell, Earlene grinned.  _ Because I know something that you do not _ , echoed in her head. This too had been practiced, and effortlessly she grasped onto the next rope down, using it to hurl herself at the tree on the opposite bank. With a very un-elven growl of frustration, she heard him pursuing her up above, and simply ran. There had to be less than fifteen seconds to go. There just had to be. And to make sure of it, she scrambled up into yet another tree, leaping for the one beyond that. Her hands made contact even as the triangle rang, and her face broke out in a smile. A few more jumps and tumbles, and she came to rest lightly on the ground, not far from her pursuer. A bruise and cut that was fading decorated his left eyebrow, but he was otherwise in good humor and the first to congratulate her. 

 

The look of happiness and pride etched on the faces of both Thranduil and Thanadir was not one she was likely ever to forget, and was enough reward for ten lifetimes. One by one, every ellon that patrolled passed by, to clasp her on the arm in what they would call a warrior’s embrace. Though they knew she might not yet have their full skill at arms, it was their way of saying that she had earned her place among them. And when it was all over, she flopped onto the sand and said “Valar be praised, that’s over with.”

 

The applause she received was quite loud, and Saoirse went to flop beside her. “Can I be you when I grow up?”

 

That just made Earlene laugh, though the compliment had been heartfelt. “Eat lots of vegetables, is all I have to say.” She ruffled the girl’s hair. “You’ll be lighter than me; you might be better at this than I am.”

 

“I somehow doubt that’s possible,” Ratiri said. “Jesus. And that only took you two years to learn?”

 

“Well, you’ll all be eating a Mairead cake,” Lorna said, pulling out her mobile. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s baking you one, and I’ll go and get it.” Kill two birds with one stone, and there would be delicious cake at the end of it. 

 

“There won’t be carrots in it, will there?” Saoirse asked, now stuck on the idea of ‘vegetables’. Would it really be worth eating all of them? It actually might.

 

“Nutrition, Saoirse. It’s how your body has a chance to do this in the first place. Carrots and all,” she smiled, rising up. Surely she could have wine? Wine would be good...even if it was before noon.

 

The elves ensured their mortal friends all carefully navigated away from the waters of the river, before dispersing. There would be much chatter on the Elven Grapevine this afternoon, that much was assured. Ailill followed at a distance, still trying to comprehend the skills he had seen. He did not know if he wished to be...that good. However he did know that if the King asked it, he would give his best. It was just that...he wanted to be among elves, but had no desire to be able to outdo them. Not like this. But it had affected him. He did believe he could do better, having seen.

 

Lorna did manage to get ahold of Mairead, and relayed her order of a cake, and had the perfect excuse to get the hell out before anyone could suspect much of anything. She told Ratiri she’d probably be a while, because the motorway was still a no-go.

 

“You’re driving to Baile?” he asked, visibly alarmed.

 

“I’ve got to sooner or later, and it’ll be the back roads,” she said, and kind of hated just how well she could lie to her own husband. “I should be back before dark.”

 

He didn’t get a chance to protest; she was gone down the path, leaving him wondering what the hell had got into her. It was a good thing she’d decided to drive, finally, but he really felt like he ought to go with her.

 

“I think she needs to do this on her own,” Pat said. “It’s a big step. Let her take it. Meanwhile, let’s go get some lunch.”

 

Ratiri really wasn’t certain that was a good idea, because he didn’t need telepathy to realize something was wrong, but Pat was all but strong-arming him. 

 

Lorna was not at all looking forward to this, but her Irish thoughts were her own and no one else’s, and she could keep all her stupid, pointless feelings in a box until she was out of the forest.

 

_ Lorna...I know why you want to go. And I will not try to stop you. Please think carefully, and drive carefully. I love you very much. I hope you know how much.  _ And then his voice clicked off, like it always did. Like it was never there in the first place.

 

She blinked, hard.  _ I love you too. I’ll drive careful, I promise. Please just...don’t tell anybody, okay? This is just me being stupid, and I don't want to ruin everything.  _ She didn’t want...she needed to not be here, and then she could just let it all out once she was out of the forest. The only problem was, now she  _ had  _ to drive to Baile, because cake. She couldn’t exactly come back without one, and nobody could mistake Mairead’s cakes for anything else.

 

_ Lorna, this is me. Do what you have to do. Only, be safe. _

 

She was more than happy to drive like a granny. The longer this took, the better; by the time she got home, she would hopefully have her equilibrium back.

 

The van keys were in the kitchen, and she grabbed them and a mineral water. At least she’d driven enough in Baile that being behind the wheel in and of itself did not scare her; taking the back roads wouldn’t be bad.

 

Her shit stayed together until she was past the borders of the forest, and then she let it do what it would, knowing it had to get out of her system  _ somehow _ , and it was better for everyone if it did it in private.

 

_ They wouldn’t even let us try _ , she thought. Earlene assumed they wouldn’t want to... _ bullshit _ . She’d assumed they  _ couldn’t _ , and yeah, she was probably right, but still -- to not even be allowed the chance...that hurt. And it hurt a lot. Lorna had been practicing her tree-climbing on her own; nobody had told her that instruction, that help was an option. Here Earlene could run across branches like Tarzan and Lorna couldn’t even really crawl along one -- why? Was she really so fucking inferior that she wasn’t worth even trying to teach?

 

Probably. And that was what hurt the most. To be so hopeless a case that even the option of being taught wasn’t to be considered. That was her life all over, and always had been -- stupid Lorna Donovan, don’t bother with her, she’ll only fail.

 

“Just fucking admit it, Earlene,” she growled. “You didn’t want the dead weight. You didn’t want any useless lumps slowing you and Thanadir down.”

 

It wasn't fair of her, and she knew it, but she also wasn’t sure she was wrong. Earlene didn't want to brag, except she was totally fine showing off all the cool shit nobody else was allowed to learn. Maybe she didn’t mean to rub her physical superiority in everyone else’s faces, but that was exactly what she’d done. As if the rest of them needed any reminder that they weren’t elves, now they got to see that humans actually  _ could  _ learn all that, but only if they were worth teaching. “Why did you fucking want us to watch that, Earlene? Why did you want to show off all the shit you learned that we don’t get to? If Thranduil’s right, and you didn’t want to brag or be preachy, you should never have fucking told us about this in the first place, not made us stand there and watch you defy the laws’v fucking physics.” If they’d all had that chance and she’d totally kicked their arses,  _ and let’s face it, she would have _ , that would be one thing -- but not only were they not allowed to compete, nobody had told them the competition was a thing.

 

She only got halfway to Baile before she had to pull over, her brief flare of anger burning out. Earlene was badass. She’d worked damn hard to be able to do all that amazing shit, and she was probably one of only a few humans on the planet who realistically could, or ever would. None of them could have even come close to matching what she’d done today. Thanadir had given her the time and instruction he apparently didn’t think anyone else was worthy of, and maybe they  _ weren't  _ worthy of it, but god dammit, they weren’t even given the chance to prove it one way or the other. To be so utterly dismissed...yeah, that hurt.

 

_ And what the fuck are you going to do about it, Lorna?  _ she asked herself. There was no changing it. Earlene could never know about this. Lorna herself was never going to ask for someone to teach her out of  _ pity _ \--  _ oh, let’s throw the tiny one a bone and let her think she’s actually accomplishing something an elf kid couldn’t manage by the age of two _ . She couldn’t say any of this to anyone, ever, so she had to figure out what to do with it, and...she didn’t know how. Not now, not yet, but she had to work something out before she could go home again.

 

_ Go to Baile, and when you get there, say you’re too freaked out to drive home, and you’re staying the night at the cottage. Thranduil can make sure nobody follows you.  _ Having a night to herself -- she could figure out how to deal with this, if she had that much time. That much time and a fifth of whiskey, just this once. Yeah, unhealthy coping mechanisms, but scream therapy wasn’t an option right now, and she’d been entirely soured on climbing trees. Fucking elves. They’d probably been silently laughing their asses off at her, but God forbid one even bother giving her a tiny pointer. Nope, she was just some stupid human -- well, this stupid human had had just about enough of forests and elves and everything to do with them. 

 

She’d find a way to wrestle this away into some box inside her mind, and if Ratiri tried to tease it out of her, God fucking help him. She was allowed some secrets, god dammit. Some things, the things nobody else needed dumped on them, the things that were just her being  _ stupid _ , could stay her own. When it was something this petty by anyone else’s standards, it could stay within her head. While she might not be able to just kick what she was feeling, she could at least not piss in everyone else’s Cheerios. And if she started to let even a little of it out, she’d let it  _ all  _ out, which would be horrible and unfair but totally unstoppable.

 

But what to do...scream therapy didn’t work in a house full of people, climbing a tree would only remind her of what a failure she was at it, and she couldn’t go back to smoking or drinking like a fish... _ tincture.  _ She could score some lovely green tincture from Shane or Orla, and just add a few drops to her tea when needed. Which would probably be every day for a while, but it would get her through and nobody need suffer a tongue-lashing they probably didn’t deserve. She’d get over this like a fucking adult, since she technically was one -- though God knew right now she felt like a stroppy teenager who couldn’t get over being left out. It probably wouldn’t bother her, though, if that hadn’t been the story of her entire damn life.

 

Thranduil couldn’t fault her the tincture. It wasn’t addictive like cigarettes, and it didn’t do any organ damage like alcohol. The worst it could do was make her lazy, and make her want to eat everything in sight. He knew her; he had to realize there was simply no way for her to express this that wouldn’t hurt absolutely everyone around her. And  _ she  _ knew that her own hurt was going to morph to anger again sooner or later -- but only if she let it. And she didn’t have to let it. She didn’t have to be that person. She wasn’t  _ going  _ to be that person.

 

With a humorless smile, she pulled her mobile out of her satchel. “Shane? I need a favor. A big one. If you come to Baile and bring me a bottle’v tincture, I’ll distill you some ninety percent poitín. Double if you don’t ask any questions.”

 

******

 

Lunch was eaten in the Halls for the sake of simplicity, where Earlene received yet more congratulations from admiring ellyn and ellith alike. This was appreciated, and soon enough over with. Given that she technically had no obligations, she elected to give herself her own prize...a long soak in the thermal pool in their quarters, with no one bothering her. Mmm. That sounded wonderful. And maybe even a nap. Yes, now the scenario was truly glowing with little rays of sunshine. Thranduil had things to do, and apparently so did Thanadir, as she saw Ailill led off with chagrin to the training rooms. While she felt a little pity for their new charge as her body lowered into the blissful warmth, in the end it was necessary. The poor lad. It was a wonder his hawks didn’t carry him away. Though that wasn’t entirely fair, she still wanted what they all did; to see him stronger.

 

Ratiri was rather worried that Lorna had vanished so abruptly, but Pat practically sank his fingernails into his arm. “Here’s the thing with Lorna,” he said. “If she wants space, she needs space, and she damn well  _ gets  _ space. Don’t you go poking her about it once she’s home, either.”

 

“Do you even have any idea what ‘it’ is?” Ratiri asked, wincing a little. For a man with such blunt nails, Pat’s sure bit in like talons.

 

“No, and I don’t need to. Let her be, Ratiri. She says you’re always trying to make her use her words, but if she doesn't want to, she doesn’t want to, and don't go making her. She’ll talk when she feels like it, or not at all.” Pat actually thought he  _ did  _ know what was going on with his little sister, but it was nobody’s business but her own, and she could be so damn secretive probably even Thranduil hadn’t seen it coming. Still, this was...bad. It could be really bad, because he knew Lorna, and if she wasn’t feeling like she’d been left out of the loop because everyone assumed she was too incompetent to even be allowed to try, he’d be very surprised. 

 

What was worse was that he suspected she might be right. He was honestly a touch insulted himself, though only a small touch, because he had little time himself in which to learn much of anything elf-related. Lorna, however...did. And while he  _ knew  _ none of them had intended this, that didn't change the fact that it was now a problem. A big problem, and not one he knew how to solve. She wasn’t going to be able to talk about this rationally, and if somebody tried to make her, she wouldn’t be able to help flaying them with her words. And then she’d spend the next twenty years regretting it, though possibly not as much as whoever pushed her into it.

 

“That’s...not healthy, Pat,” Ratiri said.

 

“That’s being a bloody Donovan. If you go poking her with a stick when she doesn’t want to talk, she’ll tear your face off. Let her come to you in her own time, or she won’t do it at all.”

 

Ratiri sighed. “She has such a habit of bottling things up.”

 

“Yeah, well, sometimes that’s a good thing. Odds’re good she’ll un-bottle it eventually, but in her own time. Not yours.”

 

Ratiri looked down at him. He looked so very much like Lorna it was downright unnerving -- right down to his expression, at the moment. “You don’t have to keep things to yourselves anymore,” he said. “There’s no danger in communicating.”

 

Pat’s eyes were quite serious. “Not for us, no,” he said. “If she’s keeping something to herself, it’s because she doesn’t want to hurt someone else. Don’t make her. Then she’ll be pissed  _ and  _ feel like shit. I know you want to help her get better, but Ratiri, there’s a time and a bloody place, and trust me, this is not it. I don’t care how much she loves you -- if you go pushing her when she’s really not ready to talk, she’ll go off on you like Krakatoa, and it’ll just be even worse.”

 

“Has she done that to you?”

 

“More times than I can count. I used to poke at her, when we were kids. It never ended well. She didn’t ever hit me, but it almost would’ve been better if she had.” Pat didn’t think Ratiri had much idea how incredibly vicious his little sister could be, if backed into a corner. They’d probably had a fight or two by now, but Lorna...she’d say stuff she’d regret like hell later, but that there was no taking back, and she fought dirty. She was trying so hard to be better, but while the thing behind her eyes might no longer be there, there were some ugly elements that couldn’t possibly be all the way gone yet. They might never be. The Donovans were not, by nature, terribly good people; they had to work at it. They had to try. And trying wasn’t always enough.

 

From all he’d seen, she’d gone like him -- if there was a chance she was going to go off on someone, she removed herself from the situation before she could do it, and came back when she was over whatever had got to her, right as rain and without hurting anyone. If someone didn’t let her do that, it would not end well for anyone. “She tries, Ratiri. Let her try. There’s things in her she doesn’t want to let out, and I  _ know  _ they’re not gone yet. Don’t push her until she does something she regrets -- and for Christ’s sake, we need to tell Thranduil the same thing. I know he can’t help but see what’s going on with her, but he needs to let it be unless she tells him otherwise.”

 

“He won’t,” Ratiri said, and he couldn’t keep the sadness from his tone when he added, “he knows her better than I do.” Once upon a time, he’d been terribly jealous of that, but now he was just thankful. Thranduil could often be the only person who could help, because with him, Lorna didn’t need her words.

 

********

 

Two hours later, Ailill could barely move his legs or arms and  was once again on the verge of pleading for mercy, though he tried very hard to keep his mouth shut. Thanadir watched him very carefully. He had already learned, that the closer the young firion was to his limits, that a slight hesitation would be involved as he apparently forced himself to bend to what was being asked of him. In the future, he could learn some useful skills in the woods, but for now it was necessary simply to build strength. Earlene was much stronger than Ailill, not that this needed to be mentioned. 

 

Though he was obviously weary, he was giving his best, and this is what pleased Thanadir most. He elected to stop their lesson, holding out his hand for the longsword that was gratefully handed over. “You may go now, to your rooms. Bathe and use the salve, like last time.”

 

Ailill bowed his head in something between a nod and a gesture of respect, and Thanadir turned to leave the room. “Please wait a moment, Your Excellency,” came out unsteadily as he fought to catch his breath. “I wanted to ask what I could do during the week to help with...this.” The degree to which he fought for air was pitiful, and he felt more than a little embarrassed. “I thought I had some measure of fitness but obviously I do not.” It was true that he was able to walk long distances at a fast pace, maybe even jogging for short distances, all of which he did when out with his hawks. But demanding aerobic exercises were quickly showing up the deficiencies in his perceptions.

 

The question surprised and pleased Thanadir a great deal. “Run,” came the answer. “But not as you have before. Speak with Earlene. There are correct techniques by which to run, and she knows them well. Ask her to watch you and teach you. Perhaps after you refresh yourself, you could take her with you and Fion? I believe she wishes to learn of your art.”

 

This was something within his reach, that would also suit his routine without incredible effort being needed. He smiled, happy for what he had heard, and gave his thanks. When a hand was placed on his shoulder and he heard the words, “you did very well today,” his happiness increased. Thanadir watched him leave with a smile on his face. In the end, this one would do well, if only on account of his willing heart. Eru knew, the rest of him was something of a work in progress...

  
  


********

 

By the time Lorna reached her cottage, she was just...tired. Tired, and sad.

 

Niamh must have been keeping up with fire duty, because it wasn’t at all musty in here -- though she hadn’t, Lorna found, cleaned out the stove. That had to get taken care of, but it didn’t take long, and then she kindled it, and rifled through the cupboards. Fortunately there was still canned food here -- canned food, and a full bottle of whiskey, put away so she wouldn’t be tempted by it at Eldamar. She’d promised Thranduil she wouldn’t do this, but she barely drank at all anymore; just this once wouldn’t kill her, or give her liver damage.

 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault she wasn’t good enough. She probably never had been, but it wasn’t until she moved in with the rest of that lot that she really began to feel it. Earlene was in fantastic shape, and Lorna really was proud of her -- though she’d be a whole lot more proud once she was done licking her own wounded pride. Earlene would never rub that in on purpose -- she couldn’t have known what she was doing.

 

Except there was that awful word, ‘assume’. People had assumed a whole lot about Lorna in her life, and none of it had ever been good. In this case it had been the assumption that there was no point, that she wouldn’t stick with it, that she wouldn’t be any  _ good  _ at it, so why bother? Why even give her the option? She’d never be good enough, but Christ, why didn’t they give her -- give any of them -- the chance to  _ try _ ? No, none of them could have possibly hoped to compete with Earlene, but they still could have learned something.

 

The burn of the whiskey helped a little, and on her empty stomach, it actually made her a tiny bit tipsy. It was just...Earlene was already better than her at everything but drinking and fixing cars, and even the drinking wasn’t really a thing anymore. While there were a lot of things she was much better at now than she had been, she was still second fiddle; Thranduil kept telling her there were things she was better at than the rest of them, but aside from mechanics, she had no idea what. 

 

_ I was always good enough, here.  _ She was a damn good barmaid, she could out-swear a sailor, and she could lay a drunk out with a single punch. None of that was of any use at Eldamar.

 

The really sad part was that in an urban environment, she could be sneaky as hell, but in a forest, with all those pesky twigs underfoot, she probably sounded like an elephant to the elves. She probably always would, too; Earlene had a gift that she doubted any other human could duplicate. But Lorna would have liked the opportunity to try. To learn  _ something _ . Knowing she wasn’t even worth the bother...still hurt. It might always hurt, and she had to find some way to shove it away for good.

 

Her soup began steaming, and she took it off the stove. Another belt of whiskey and she texted Ratiri:  _ Kind of too freaked out to drive home, I’ll come back in the morning. Pet the kitties and the twins.  _ Yes, she was too cowardly even for a phone call, but she didn’t trust her voice right now, and she really didn’t want him following her. He’d try to make her talk, and that...would not end well. None of them seemed to understand that with her, silence sometimes really was golden.

 

She had to wash the dust out of a bowl before she could pour her soup, and then she set it on the table and stared at it. Christ she was pathetic.  _ You’d think I'd be used to this by now, but it still manages to fucking surprise me.  _ It had been easier now that Pat was around, and she was no longer the sole ordinary person in a group of exceptional people, but this was too much. The fact that nobody had intended to shove her face in it didn’t change the fact that they had.

 

Another belt of whiskey, and she finally started eating her dinner. She thought of Earlene running along those branches, agile as any elf, and it just hurt all over again. That she herself -- that  _ none  _ of them -- were considered worth the effort of being taught that or anything like it was just not a sting she was going to get over right off, no matter how petty it was. And here she’d thought she was mostly over her inferiority complex, but obviously not. Then again, was it really even a complex if you actually  _ were  _ inferior?

 

And she could never, ever let Earlene or any of the others know. Ever. Thranduil didn’t need to know any more than he already did; she could think in Irish for a while, and keep her anger, her hurt, her pathetic insecurities to herself. They were nobody’s fault but her own, and yet somehow, knowing that didn’t help. At all. If anything, it just made it worse, because here was yet  _ another  _ thing she couldn’t do right.

 

Her phone pinged, and she picked it up.  _ Do you want me to come get you? _

 

_ No, I’m okay _ , she texted back.  _ A little time to myself might be good. Sometimes I miss my cottage, and if you came and got me someone would just have to drive the van home again.  _ She doubted he’d buy it for a moment, but hopefully Thranduil would keep him at home. Pat, at least, would know better; he knew to leave her alone.

 

Darkness fell while she ate her dinner and slowly but steadily killed the whiskey. The welcome rumble of a motorcycle approached, and she opened the door to find a visibly worried Shane, who pulled a crumpled paper bag out of his coat.

 

“What’s wrong, Fun Size?” he asked.

 

She shook her head. “No questions, remember? I’m not leaving Eldamar for good, I just need some time away. Now give me that tincture.”

 

When he entered the cottage, he looked at the nearly-empty bottle, and at her. “Lorna…”

 

“It’s a one-time thing,” she assured him. “I’m just...not good right now. You want some soup?”

 

He stared at her, hard, but relented. “Sure,” he said. “You wanna put this in yours, or in some tea?”

 

“Tea,” she said, taking the bag. They’d always had it in tea, and it brought back some nice memories as she filled the kettle and set it on the stove.

 

“So,” Shane said, one of the chairs scraping across the floor as he pulled it out. “Poitín, huh? You that desperate?”

 

“I am. And all I’m going to say is that sometimes it’s really damn hard, being at Eldamar. Being with all those people who’re...better. At everything. And I don’t know that even Thranduil can really understand what that’s like.”

 

Shane eyed her. “Somebody say something to you?”

 

“Somebody did something,” she sighed. “And not on purpose, so don’t go getting all pissed off on my behalf. I just...sometimes I miss the gang, you know? I miss being good enough, or at least thinking I was. I mean...even if you lot assumed I couldn’t do something, at least you always let me  _ try _ .” And she’d usually managed it, too, even if it took her more than once.

 

“Lorna…” he said, her name and nothing more. That always had been his way of making her unpack: give her a silence she felt compelled to fill.

 

With another sigh, she unloaded all of it onto him, for all she was sure she’d regret it later. He was the only person she  _ could  _ unload on, because she knew he’d never say a word to anyone else, and it wasn’t like he lived with them.

 

Shane fought a groan. What a clusterfuck of a misunderstanding...and none of them must have understood her as well as he did, or it wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place. There had in fact been plenty of shit he’d assumed she couldn’t do, but he’d let her try it anyway, on the off chance she’d surprise him -- and more often than not, she had. He’d learned very young that if you gave people expectations, most would at least try to rise to them. Expect little, or nothing, and that was exactly what you’d get. People had underestimated and dismissed Lorna, on one level or another, her entire life. She was over-sensitive to it, but not without reason. Hell, thanks to her temper, even  _ he’d  _ never pushed her to do certain things.

 

“I know it wasn’t on purpose,” she said, taking the shrieking kettle off the stove. She still had some unidentifiable black tea, so she added the strainer to the teapot and poured. “I  _ know  _ that, but...it really doesn’t help. In a way, it almost makes it worse -- they weren’t even thinking about it. Didn’t even cross their radar, because why should it? Everybody knows I’m pants at most things, and unless they’re trying to teach me something, I think it’s easy to just... _ assume. _ Christ I fucking hate that word.”

 

“You gonna tell anyone?” he asked, as she dug out the tincture.

 

“Fuck no. This isn’t their problem. It’s nobody’s fault, and they’d just feel like shit if they knew. It’d taint Earlene's accomplishments, and I’m nowhere near a big enough asshole to want to do that. She should be proud’v what she’s done, and if she knew this...no.” She poured two cups, adding three drops of tincture to hers. It didn’t precisely smell good, but it also didn’t smell much. “I’ll get over it. I’ve got my big girl pants around here somewhere, but I need a little time to find them before I can put them on and go home.”

 

“And drink stoner tea,” he said dryly.

 

She gave him a crooked smile. “That too. If it gets me through, I’ll take it. Can’t stay away more than one night, so I’d best deal with it now.”

 

Shane raised his tea in a toast. “At least you know you’ve got to try,” he said. “More than you ever used to.”

 

“Hush, you,” Lorna said, glowering. “I’ll get there. The shitty thing -- honestly, and weirdly, the shittiest thing -- is that it’s killed tree-climbing for me. How sad is that? Though I guess I can still climb them in my woods, where no invisible elves can laugh at me.”

 

“You do have your priorities right,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Drink your tea.”

 

Drink she did, and soon enough felt warm and calm and quite at one with the world...and really, really hungry. Good thing she had more soup.

 

********

 

When Thranduil heard from Ratiri that Lorna would not be coming home that night, he did not react in the slightest but was deeply unhappy. All he could do was key in on the last real question she had asked. ‘Why did no one tell me training like this was even an option’.  But Valar, that made no sense at all. Of course it was an option. It was an option for anyone. Everyone. Had they not discussed at council meetings that there would need to be training eventually, for their future society to have an effective force of defenders? Had not Thanadir already given each of them a measure of training at assorted weapons? Even he could not say why it stopped, though he could guess. Life. Babies. Difficulties, obligations, projects. What had been expected of them, to post invitations for classes? His mind could not find any logic for what seemed like it might be the case. Earlene had simply asked, because it meant enough to her to want it. True, she was a subject of the Realm and they were not, but what difference did that make? Had Thanadir been asked, he knew what the answer would have been. Was he truly to believe that such a chasm lay between them that she would not ask for something like this if it were wanted?

 

He blinked into the fire as Ailill explained things about falconry to Earlene and presumably the rest of the room; he was the one whose mind was elsewhere. And elsewhere it might remain, for some hours yet.

 

*****

 

Lorna managed to defer going home until the next afternoon, because she had, after all, promised to bring back a cake, and cakes needed baking.

 

The only problem was that she wouldn’t be able to take her tincture until she got home, but at least Mairead was busy enough that she didn’t demand much in the way of conversation. Once the cake was baked and frosted, it was nearly noon; without taking the motorway, it was a three-hour drive back to Lasg’len, and Lorna was once again happy to drive like a granny.

 

It was a nice sunny day, at least, and she cranked up the stereo as she drove -- Iron Savior this time, for the hell of it. She puttered along, enjoying the scenery, a Thermos of tea beside her; her tincture was already in it, so she could start in immediately once she got home. The cake would be a great distraction -- Mairead’s cakes usually were -- and by the time everyone was done descending on it like jackals, the tincture would have done it’s work and she’d be A-OK.

 

Perfect.

 

Still, she was rather tired by the time she reached Eldamar, and set her carton down on the kitchen counter with a general yell of, “Cake!” before going upstairs to drink her tea and take a shower. There were cats and kids and Irish thoughts, and it was okay. It was even  _ more  _ okay once the tincture kicked in while she was washing her hair.

 

*****

 

Earlene glanced up from her reading in the Quiet Room, knowing Lorna had not seen her. That was the thing about the Quiet Room; unless someone entering made a specific effort to turn around and stare into the room, it was generally possible to go unnoticed. And she wondered what was wrong this time. That something  _ was  _ wrong was simply a given; Lorna did not simply pack up for Baile on short notice unless she had gotten into a royal mood about something. And now she was back, and of course would not talk about whatever it was. She gave 30% odds that it would blow over, and 70% odds that it would blow up. Eventually. Shaking her head, she smiled. There was a distant uncle in their family, dad had always said ‘he has a short fuse with a lot under it’. Lorna wasn’t like that. She had a long fuse, with a faulty detonation cap, and a lot under it. Which didn’t make for the most elegant saying, but whatever. They all had their...things. What mattered to Earlene was that she genuinely believed Lorna was past the place where any fears of her simply not being willing to work it out and leaving for good were a possibility. Well, they’d see. Or not. Time would tell.

 

Lorna, wet hair combed and quite content, made her way back to the kitchen, humming to herself. Ratiri and Pat, lured by the word ‘cake’, joined her, and eyed her closely.

 

“I don’t know about you, but I want some’v this now,” Lorna said, and automatically brought out two plates and forks. “I think Mairead needs to start making two, honestly. Even a big one isn’t enough for all’v us anymore.”

 

Pat said nothing right off. Lorna  _ seemed  _ fine, for the moment -- suspiciously fine. But he wasn’t about to rock the boat, and certainly not when cake was involved. “I swear Mairead bakes crack into these things,” he said, once she’d cut him a slice.

 

“Or like, unicorn dust.” Lorna savored her piece, which was the only proper thing to do with one of her sister’s cakes. She could already tell she was going to want to eat everything else in the house, but oh well. Small prices.

 

Tail, who by now was pretty much wholly fluffy again, bounded through, saw her, and ran the other direction. That poor cat wouldn’t go anywhere near her now.

 

Thranduil emerged from the classroom, and Thanadir appeared at the doorway to the Quiet Room. “Meldis,  _ cake _ ,” he almost whined. 

 

“Well Valar forbid we should keep you from it,” she teased, patting his cheek gently as she walked by while winking at him. 

 

“That is not fair,” he retorted.

 

“Oh yes it is, and either way, you cannot eat it if we stand here and argue.” As even he could not refute the logic, he followed her to the kitchen. “I’m making tea,” Earlene announced, which was much simpler than asking who wanted it. ‘Not for me’s were much easier to count than ‘Yes, please’s.  And as there were no ‘not for me’s, she chose the large teapot, fairly convinced that Thanadir would cut a slice for her.

 

“And how is Mairead?” Thranduil asked carefully, pretending to be far more interested in the frosting flavor than in anything about Lorna.

 

“Busy, but that’s nothing new,” she said, gathering more forks and plates. This...really wasn't hard. Her thoughts were a hazy, pleased stream of Irish, though they were so banal she really didn’t need to bother. “Niamh’s been lighting a fire in the cottage, but the girl doesn’t know how to clean out a stove worth a damn.”

 

Saoirse, skidding on her stocking feet, ooched her way to the counter and waited patiently until Lorna handed her a piece. Boo was at her heels, squeaking.

 

Earlene poured tea for everyone first, and then remembered. “Thanadir, save a nice piece for Ailill, will you please? You’re going to work every bit of meat I manage to get on his bones right off of him again. Poor lad almost couldn’t run this afternoon, his legs are about gelatinized. Are you only training him for swords, or does the Boston Marathon fit into it also?”

 

Fucking  _ what _ ? Lorna slammed her fork down. “All right, I can just about fucking accept that the rest’v us weren’t fucking worthy’v the opportunity to learn what you did, Earlene, but seriously?  _ Ailill?  _ That fucking  _ dandelion puff  _ deserves this and the rest’v us aren’t allowed? You know what, fuck this.” She had to get out before she said something worse, something she couldn’t take back. So much for her special tea, but Jesus fucking Christ, this was just too much. And yet now she was stoned, and couldn’t drive.

 

Out of the kitchen she went, not even bothering to grab her shoes as she stalked out the door.

 

Saoirse had frozen, wide-eyed. She’d never seen Aunt Lorna like that, and she didn’t get it at all. “Da…?”

 

Pat pinched the bridge of his nose. To go after her, or not to go after her...he was going with ‘not’. “Don’t ask right now, allanah.”

 

Thranduil took a bite of the cake. Well, the nature of the problem just became stunningly clear. 

 

Earlene looked up, her face surprisingly placid. “Well, at least Ailill was not here to witness that rather unkind assessment. And I am sure that in time we will find out why on earth she is blowing up because she thinks she was denied an opportunity that is open to everyone. Do not worry, Saoirse. There has been a misunderstanding; it will sort out.”

 

The King continued to eat his cake. “Come to think of it, Thanadir, you need to schedule Saoirse to train alongside Ailill. You said you wished to start learning, did you not, Saoirse?” he asked the child politely.

 

Pat sighed. Obviously they didn’t get this, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. “Nobody told her it was an opportunity. It would never occur to her to ask.” It would never have occurred to him, either. You just...didn’t ask for things. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. Unless it was offered, you didn’t ask for it, because there were always...debts. Maybe he  _ should  _ go after her.

 

Saoirse’s brow wrinkled. “Da,  _ I  _ would,” she said. “I did.”

 

“Allanah, it’s...different. You grew up different. Asking doesn’t bring  _ you _ trouble.” That, and Saoirse was...Saoirse. It often didn’t occur to her that she  _ shouldn’t  _ do something, God bless her.

 

The King sighed. “I am gifted with telepathy, and had I all eighteen thousand of my years to figure this out, how was I supposed to understand this? Pat, we are family. We live under the same roof. My Halls are open to you. It would no more occur to me to specify to you that training in our skills is an option than specify to you that you are invited to the table at mealtimes. And while I can on some level understand the concept of not creating indebtedness, I would like to think that she and I…”  He refused to finish the sentence. 

 

Pat rubbed his forehead. “You don’t get it -- it’s not a conscious decision. It’s not a case’v ‘I want to do this but I don’t dare ask’. I still catch myself doing it sometimes -- it’s instinct. It’s like...a blind in your head, that doesn’t even let you see something. We don’t sit there and say ‘I don’t want to ask’. The idea’v asking just...isn’t there. I mean, haven’t you noticed that about her? But probably not, I guess, given how deep it is. I only really got aware’v it myself a few years ago.”

 

“You are correct, I have not noticed this. I am not certain how I or anyone else  _ could have _ . I think I wish to go for a walk, and I will hope that Ailill does not return to hear harsh words directed at him.” With that he rose and left out the front door. Better to spend time with his new falconer than to dwell on….this. Because, apparently his friend  _ did _ think that he was capable of treating her in such a manner, if he was being accused of it. And right now, he was unsure what to do with that, except to try to remind himself that she was driven on by anger and not reason.

 

Pat groaned. “Worst part, is, none’v us could’ve seen that one. I mean...you can’t see something nobody knows is there.” He didn’t really want to admit, even to himself, that he’d thought the same damn thing. So had Ratiri. Sharley...who knew. Saoirse was unusual; she’d ask for all kinds of weird shit if she was let. And even if she wasn’t let.

 

Ratiri felt an obscure need to back Pat up, because this had not been merely a Donovan thing. “I think it’s a fundamental cultural misunderstanding,” he said, and sighed. “I’m Scottish. I never would have dreamt of asking someone I barely knew for something that time-intensive unless it was offered. My mother would have slapped me upside the head for even considering it. To us, it would be heinously rude; you only ask anything that’s  _ that  _ much work of your family, who aren’t allowed to say no.”

 

Earlene and Thanadir simply stared at each other. And continued to eat their cake, because true believers did not let family difficulties keep them away from sugar. Which did not change that each of them were already plotting, as they reached the last forkful, they rose to leave as well. “It’ll work out,” Earlene said to Pat. “But that being said...it’s not like anyone wants to throw you to the wolves, but none’v us are going to dare try and talk to her after what was said. We’re going to take a walk too...at least this part of the house will be empty until it’s time to work on dinner.”

 

“I’ll talk to her,” he sighed. A glance at Ratiri told him there would be no help from that quarter just yet; the man must have taken his words to heart. “Though I’ve got to bloody find her first. I didn’t hear the van, so she can’t’ve got  _ that  _ far.”

 

“Should I come, Da?” Saoirse asked.

 

“No, allanah. Not this time.” He rose, and went in search of his misguided sister. Earlene and Thanadir disappeared as well, deciding that the opposite door of whatever Pat had chosen was a good idea. Yes, they were cowardly abandoning Saoirse. Yes, they were.

 

******

 

Lorna...really didn’t know what to do. And here she thought the tincture would take care of it, but nope. That weedy lad evidently deserved what the rest of them didn’t. Fucking beautiful.

 

She couldn’t be mad at Ailill himself, though. None of this was his fault. But, just…  _ nevermind _ . It was an even worse kick in the gut, and now she’d gone and blown up on everyone, and she’d wanted  _ so fucking much  _ to not do that.

 

Her spiked tea meant she couldn’t drive anywhere, though she’d dearly love to. Lacking both wallet and shoes, the pub wasn’t an option -- and even if it had been, she didn’t need the local busybodies wondering why she was drinking alone in the middle of the afternoon.

 

_ Fuck everything _ . She wished she’d been sick yesterday -- plaster sick, not serious sick. Then she wouldn’t know just what they’d all been denied, for...whatever reason. Even thinking of it brought the sadness, the anger, albeit only in ghost form thanks to the tincture.

 

She hadn’t quite made it down the driveway with Pat found her. “I don’t want to hear it,” she said, without turning around. “I fucked up and I know it. I don’t need you giving out at me.”

 

“I’m not giving out at you,” he said, wheezing a little; he was used to a lot of walking, but running? Not so much. “Lorna, you’ve got it all backwards. Nobody told us we couldn’t do it.”

 

She snorted before she could help it. “They didn't have to, did they? Nobody ever said it was even a fucking option, so how the hell were we to know?”

 

He sighed. “They figured we’d just ask,” he said, and yes, it had sounded as nonsensical to him as it doubtless would to her.

 

Now she turned. “...What? Why the hell would we do that, if nobody told us we  _ could  _ ask?” That was ridiculous.

 

Pat sighed again. In the brightness of the sunlight, he looked older than he was. “Because normal people don’t work like we do, Fun Size. They don’t stop to wonder if it’s okay to ask.”

 

“But that’s...that’s  _ stupid _ ,” she said, her brain absolutely refusing to compute that. “What the hell do they do if it’s not okay?”

 

“I...really don’t know,” he admitted. “Never quite got that far. But Lorna, Da’s dead. Nobody’s going to hit you if you ask the wrong question.”

 

“I know that, dingus,” she said, rolling her eyes, but memories she’d rather not examine tried to rise, and she shoved them down. “But, I mean...I never would’ve thought to ask. Ever. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, I didn't even think…”

 

“I know,” Pat said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Trust me, I do, and I think I’m the only one that does. I only figured out I did this a few years ago. It’s like there’s a wall, and you don’t even know it’s there until something makes you run into it. And if it makes you feel any better, I thought the same thing. It’s not just you being crazy, it’s both’v us.”

 

Now she managed a smile. “We’re Donovans,” she said. “That’s just part’v the package. Christ, I’m not sure how the hell I can apologize to them. I’m not even sure I’m ready. That hurt, Pat, even if it wasn’t real, and it still hurts. I just…”

 

“...can’t help but find any opportunity to think ‘I’m not good enough’ and believe it? Trust me, Fun Size, I know that one, too. I wish I could tell you there was a way to break that, but if there is, I’ve never found it.”

 

“Oh yay,” she said, utterly deadpan. It was good to have her older brother here. He’d always been like this -- the one who actually knew shit, who knew how to half-ass function in the world, even if he chose not to. He’d given her, Siobhan, and Mick all sorts of advice, some more useful than others.

 

“I don’t know if I even know how to say this right,” he added. “People like you and I -- we can get better. We can grow, and change, and try to move past what we were, but that past is part’v us. There’s no point trying to shut it away -- you learn to live with it, as best you can. You’ll fuck up, over and over, but here’s the thing: I don’t need to telepathy to know you’re ashamed as well as pissed and hurt. Don’t be. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t do you or anybody else any good. This was a big, fat misunderstanding.”

 

“That I hurt my friends over, for no fucking reason.” How she wasn’t supposed to be ashamed of that, she had no idea. She’d be a sociopath if she wasn’t.

 

“Lorna,  _ it happens _ . You apologize, and they love you, so they’ll forgive you.”

 

She looked up at the canopy. “I can’t apologize yet. Not when I'm still so….argh...myself. It hurt, and I can’t just...flip that switch off just because it’s not real. I wish that was how it worked.”

 

“Oh, I know that, too. It’ll keep. They probably need plenty’v time to themselves anyway.”

 

She thought about what Thranduil had said, all those months ago, the last time she’d blown up at someone. He’d said she’d fuck up, again and again, but that really didn’t make it any easier. Then again, if it was easy, there was probably something wrong. And...maybe she ought to even be a little proud, that she’d gone so long between metaphorical Krakatoas. Somehow, that wasn’t actually possible. Not when she knew all her friends were out there, dealing with what she’d said. At least Ailill hadn’t heard it. “Now what?” she asked.

 

He tossed some sandals at her. “Now we go to the pub, and you stick to fizzy drinks. Don’t think I don’t know what was in your tea.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Yes,  _ Mam _ ,” she said, but she couldn’t help but smile.

 

*********

 

Earlene and Thanadir found themselves high up on a very fat branch of a very tall tree. His back leaned against the trunk and she leaned against him; one leg stretched out on the branch while the other bent at the knee. With his arms around her, she was about as safe as in an armchair, so her body relaxed far more than would be ordinary for such a circumstance.

 

“Well, that was…” Thanadir hesitated. Because he could not find a single word that suited the description of ‘what that was.’

 

“You could try ‘unfortunate’, ‘sad’, ‘mildly tragic’ or ‘upsetting’?”

 

“No, that does not cover the entirety, meldis. Not even all of them together,” he sighed. “Maybe if I added…”

 

“Disappointing?”

 

The old elf considered. “Maybe. Probably. But I know Lorna struggles more than most. Even though I now know there was a reason, I wish that she could manage to not say things that are so unkind. If Ailill had been there, to hear…”

 

“I know. That is on my mind as well. The thing is, you and I are never going to know what her past did to her. Not all of it. Maybe we each had our struggles, but not like that. In my mind I was prepared, on some level, for something like this to happen. My wish is that Lorna could learn to stop her anger, and speak out about her perceptions in time to avert all this kind of thinking in the first place. But that is me, speaking from the place of the privilege my life has granted me. I don’t...hold it against her. But it is a little hard, knowing that it will happen again. And again. I’m not used to that. I cannot even imagine storming in and levelling those kinds of accusations against another, much less my own family. But I am not her. It is...messy. And what poor Thranduil thinks…”

 

“I saw his face. I am afraid this was bad, Earlene. He was calm enough when he left, but he is not happy. Not at all.”

 

“I can only guess at how that felt to him. He has given her much of his heart. For her to believe what she did implies that she felt he did this to her deliberately, and I would guess that it would be a deep wound. It would be like me accusing you of...I don’t even know what. There comes a time, when you love someone else, that almost no matter what, you cannot bring yourself to believe that the other is guilty of that kind of transgression. And yet…”

 

“This is Lorna,” the seneschal said, resting his chin on Earlene’s head. 

 

“It is indeed.” The two of them sighed in concert, temporarily away from the cares of the world down below. “I am not certain I feel very enthusiastic about preparing dinner tonight. Half the house probably will not even come.”

 

“Yet the children must have something. What about breakfast for dinner? You did that once, long ago.”

 

“Oooh. Brilliant. All of it can be in the oven, covered, on ‘warm’. Everyone can serve themselves.”

 

“I try.”

 

“You do much more than that, Thanadir. I love you. And I love Thranduil, and I wish I had a way to allow this to flow over him like water over the rocks. Being friends with someone like Lorna is a little like keeping bees. The creatures are fascinating and of course there is the honey to enjoy...but they sting. And you will get stung. More than once. For most, the good outweighs the bad.”

 

*****

 

Elsewhere deep in the forest, the Elvenking walked alongside Ailill, who had given over his glove to Thranduil and had begun to explain...more, about Fion. But as their time together wore on, Ailill could see that his monarch’s attention was not fully present. Something was wrong, and it was not his place to ask. So instead of speaking so much he kept the bird busy, noting that if nothing else, the King was deriving pleasure from interacting with his hawk. Perhaps it was then that a novel thought occurred to him. He now belonged to his King, and if his birds belonged to him, then they were the King’s as well. This made him smile, even as Fion returned flying barely above the ground to rise up to his King’s hand.

 

Unavoidably, Thranduil heard what was said, and by whom. The conversation between Pat and Lorna, as well as the thoughts of Earlene and Thanadir. Ratiri he was ignoring for now, since Ratiri shut himself out from the goings-on. He gazed into the amber eyes of the predatory bird, so keenly aware of everything around him.  _ How I wish everyone made as much sense as you do, little friend.  _  Fion tilted his head at Thranduil and flew away with a harsh call, searching for a rodent or a rabbit. The King gazed at Ailill, who kept his eyes respectfully lowered, and clapped the youth’s shoulder gently in a gesture of approval. That it elicited a joyful smile did not go unnoticed.  _ Perhaps some are simply easier to keep happy than others,  _ he thought morosely, as they walked on in silence.

 

*****

 

At the pub, Pat relented and let Lorna have one drink, which she sipped slowly. It wasn’t crowded but it wasn't empty, either, so they didn’t stand out. The took up a booth near the fire, sharing a basket of chips and way too much ketchup.

 

“This sounds terrible,” he said, “but I'm glad I wasn’t the only one who thought we’d been excluded on purpose.”

 

“I just...it was the only thing I  _ could  _ think,” she said, sipping her rum and Coke. “Right off. Immediately. I still don’t understand why they’d assume we’d ask if it wasn’t offered.”

 

“Because normal people are fucking weird,” he said, knocking back his own drink. “And this won’t be the only pitfall you run into, trust me.”

 

“Oh, I know that. Christ knows how many I found, the first few years I was living in Baile.” It seemed like half the time people were looking at her funny for one reason or another, because she’d violated or stomped right over some societal rule she hadn’t known existed. “D’you ever  _ stop  _ running into them?”

 

He snorted. “I never have. There’s always a new one. But...okay, Fun Size, what exactly did you think?” He asked the question so carefully she wondered what up.

 

“That we weren’t allowed to do it,” she said. “Right off, that. That Thanadir didn’t want to bother with us, and Earlene didn’t want to deal with any dead weight. Those two’re so close that I couldn’t help but think that, even though I know she’d never think that...consciously. I’m not so sure it wouldn’t be an unconscious thing, because let’s face it, compared to her, we  _ are  _ dead weight.”

 

“I wish I could refute that, but I really can’t. Thranduil didn’t figure anywhere into that?”

 

Lorna ate a chip, and really wished John had a better cook; salty, greasy chips were great, but there were limits to both. “Why would he?”

 

“Well, he is kind’v in charge’v the place,” her brother pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but I doubt he knew anything about that,” she said. “I mean, he probably knew Earlene was doing it, but I really doubt he knew we weren’t allowed to. He’s kind’v got better things to pay attention to.” His children, for one thing. Food, for another. Games played in the forest? Not so much.

 

“I thought so, too, but he thinks you blame him.”

 

She choked on a chip. “What?  _ Why?!” _

 

“Because he’s the one in charge. I guess they’re all closer-knit than you and I thought.” Because this wasn’t a clusterfuck.

 

Lorna groaned. “Out’v everyone possibly involved in that, he’s the only one I  _ didn’t  _ think’v. Great. Now I’ve got to try to find a way to say ‘I’m sorry’ that’s actually worth a damn.” It would be hard enough to find that for the rest of them, who hopefully didn’t know just how personally she’d meant that, but Thranduil?  _ Dammit. _

 

“I was so sure,” she sighed, toying with her glass. “I was  _ so  _ sure. I couldn’t imagine there would be any other reason we hadn’t be told about it besides ‘we don’t want you here’.”

 

“Same,” he said. “Only reason I wasn't upset like you is because I don’t have enough free time to really do that anyway, so it wasn't any skin off my nose. I actually -- Jesus, I'm ashamed to even admit this now, but I was wondering why they were rubbing it in so hard, and then figured they weren’t doing it on purpose.”

 

“It really is nice to know I'm not the only total eejit.” She drained the last of her glass, but was a good girl and ordered a grape fizzy drink next. “It was just...that word. Thranduil said Earlene ‘assumed’, and it was like, who the fuck does she think she is, assuming shite and not giving us a chance to decide for ourselves?  _ That’s  _ what got me, and it got me right off, and now look where we are. I’ve insulted everyone for no good reason, I spent all last night feeling like worthless shit, and now Thranduil thinks I hate him. Great. I’m not even sure which order I need to go about doing all the shit I have to do to fix this.”

 

“Trust your instincts.” In truth, Pat felt sorry for her. Being like them...it was hard, but he had more practice at this than she did. Baile had cut her a lot of slack, assuming she couldn’t do anything better. Yeah, that fucking word. It hadn’t done her any favors, and she -- and everyone around her -- were paying for it now.

 

“Because they’re steered me so right so far,” she said glumly. And the worst of it was that even now that she knew better, she couldn’t think of yesterday, of watching that while having had no clue it was even a potential, without that same, sick, sinking feeling -- she couldn’t think of Earlene running along one of those branches without  _ you’re not worth trying to teach this, you don’t get to learn  _ crawling through her head. It wasn't even  _ true _ , but oh, it had felt true yesterday, and it had eaten at her all last night, and she really needed more tincture if she couldn’t drink. She had to kick this thinking, but right now she’d made so much of a mess she had no idea how. That would have to wait. “First thing I’ve got to do is find Thranduil, if he’s this broken up over it. If I can figure out how to apologize to him, I can figure out how to do it for the rest of them...though shit, can you tell Ratiri not to worry? I mean, I know he will anyway, but...I don’t want him thinking I’m pissed at him, too, but I also can’t talk to him about it yet. Not until I’ve sorted out my own mess.”

 

“I thought you’d say that,” Pat said. “I warned him not to push you on it, when you got home, because I was hoping to avoid this.”

 

“Let’s face it, Pat,” she said, just as glumly, “something like it would’ve happened sooner or later. I would’ve stewed. I wouldn’t’ve been able to help it. Every time I looked at a tree I’d’ve felt totally inferior and worthless.”

 

Pat stole her fizzy drink, ignoring her glower as he downed half of it and burped. “Sometimes I wish I could bring Da back to life, just so we could kill him all over again. He’s not the only reason we’re like this, but he’s the worst’v it. But I’ll tell you something, Fun Size: our lives would’ve been easier if we’d had other parents, but I’m not sure we’d be so strong.”

 

“I’d trade strength for being an emotionally healthy human being,” she said dryly. “I’m sure everyone I know would prefer it, too, but life’s a bitch and then you die.”

 

“Hopefully not for a while yet. If you’re not going to be eating dinner, you need a sandwich or something. Something more substantial than chips.”

 

“When did you turn into such a mam?”

 

“When I became a da. A proper da. Christ, you want to talk about messes...you’ve got nothing on me.” He paused. “How are they? Grania and Lorna?”

 

Oh, this was a sticky subject. “They’re good,” she said. “Grania’s totally healthy now. They’ve done up a few test T-shirts, and they’ve been taking them around to different shops, to see if we can sell them on consignment. Not surprisingly, none’v the big chains’re interested -- they’d rather sell their cheap, flimsy shit -- but there’s actually a little shop downtown that’s agreed to take a couple and see what happens.”

 

Her brother said nothing, but she suspected it was because there was too much he wished to say, and he couldn’t pick any one thing. 

 

“Saoirse designed some’v them,” Lorna added. “We had to get her to simplify a lot, but once she had...get her to show them to you. She doesn’t know this yet, but she’s getting one for her birthday. The big ten-zero. Double digits. I remember how proud I was’v that, for some reason.”

 

“I think every kid is,” Pat said. “When you’re that age, it feels like an accomplishment.”

 

“Then it’s all downhill after eighteen.” She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “When I turned thirty, Big Jamie made me a cake and actually put thirty candles on it. I thought I’d die. Made me feel ancient.”

 

“That,” he said, “is a terrible thing to do to someone. Now stay here, I’m getting you a sandwich. Roast beef and mustard?”

 

“You know me too well.” She stole her drink back and downed the rest of it, and wondered if she should get one for the road. Even the thought of finding Thranduil filled her with an entirely different sort of sick feeling, because there was every chance he wasn’t going to want to see her at all. She wouldn’t at all blame him. He’d asked her who would want to talk to her, when she was like this...well, who would? Why would they? She couldn’t think of a reason, but she had to try anyway.

 

Even with the lingering effects of the tincture, it was all she could do to eat the sandwich her brother brought her. No matter which way she stacked it, she couldn’t see a single one that wouldn’t utterly suck. And...Jesus, what happened when this happened again? How many times would it take for them to decide she was just too much work?  _ God, don’t let me find out. _

 

********

 

“We should go find him, Thanadir. He’s had some time to think, and I’m not going to be okay just leaving him to stew with no comfort and no one telling him he is loved.” Earlene both felt and heard the sigh from the chest against which she rested.

 

“It is so different now, meldis. You are right, and we will go. But for so very long, when something happened to upset him, I was all but commanded to keep my distance. He was always determined to weather difficulties alone.”

 

“I can guess. But times have changed and I seem to be bringing slow ruination to the monarchy. Not all about that was good, Thanadir. I think you realize that now. We are stronger together than apart, whether Eldar or Edain.”

 

“We are learning. And I am trying. It has been harder on me, I think. To intrude on the King was…”

 

“Unseemly”. Earlene could not resist finishing his sentence with him. “Come” she said, after giving him a quick peck on his lips. “Let us go be unseemly together.” As she tumbled her way down the tree, Earlene laughed. “And in case you don’t know, do not ever repeat that publicly if you do not want to be stared at and have people think the very worst.”

 

“Amazingly, even I could figure out that much,” he said drily, right behind her. Suddenly he was aghast. “Am I thinking like Lorna?” he asked in a very small voice.

 

“No meldir,” she patted his hand. “Lorna would have fallen out of the tree for laughing at what I said, and then made assorted pronouncements such as ‘that’s what she said’. You have a long way to go.”

 

“Oh, good. Race you?”

 

Fleet feet sprinted off through the forest, making their way to the Gates.

 

*****

 

“Oh dear,” Earlene murmured softly, once her eyes adjusted to the interior. Thranduil was seated on his throne, head supported by the fingers of one hand, leaning slightly to the right. She and Thanadir exchanged sympathetic glances. His location and position were not...encouraging. Straightening her posture, she walked forward with the seneschal at her side, and did the only thing one could do at such times. Walking forward, she knelt at the base of the throne, knowing by the rustle of his garments that Thanadir was doing the same, a little behind her and to the left. It being that she personally was not at fault in today’s fiasco, though, she raised her eyes to look at her husband, after first bowing her head out of respect. And that sight was not encouraging either. 

 

_ Please? _ She asked in her mind. It was a breach of protocol, to address him first in such formal circumstances, but this did not stop her from working around that.

With a sigh he rose and descended, offering his hands to both of them, whereby they stood up. 

 

“I suppose you are here to bring cheer,” he said glumly. “I cannot promise it will work.”

 

“The odds are against it, in this location,” Earlene agreed. “Can we not go to our rooms, where we can show you affection without breaking about five rules concerning the dignity of your station?”

 

“I suppose.” They got no more answer than that, but Thanadir was slightly encouraged to at least see a faint smile. He was maneuvered into their living area, where by unspoken agreement they broke about ten rules by pushing him onto the sofa and engulfing him in a huge hug.

 

“She didn’t mean it, Thranduil. It is all a gigantic misunderstanding, and it will get sorted in the end.” Thanadir simply kissed his cheek. 

 

“I know it,” he admitted. “Or at least part of me does. But Eru, Earlene, what would have happened had Ailill been in the house?  _ That  _ blessing was nothing but blind good fortune. And that she would believe that I would  _ do _ that to her.  _ Think _ that of her. That  _ any of us _ , would think that of her. I find myself questioning my sanity, just now. Why am I doing this?”

 

“Because you love her,” said Thanadir. “And love apparently pushes us to do surprising things.” The charming grin displayed next to him elicited quite a laugh.

 

“Oh, Thanadir. To think that at one time I was not certain you  _ had _ a sense of humor. Yes, it does. But it still…”

 

“Hurts and feels awful.”

 

Thranduil nodded his head, surprised at the difficulty of keeping tears from trying to work their way toward his eyes. “I am sorry, but I cannot go back to our house yet. I need to think, some more.”

 

“Think, or brood?” Earlene asked. It was a valid question.

 

“Both, if I am to be honest. In my mind, I know it will blow over. I am trying to arrive at the place where I can feel more embracing of that and less occupied with the recrimination part.”

 

“Goals are good,” Thanadir agreed, which just caused Thranduil to chuckle again.

 

“Eru, next you will be running a comedy night at the pub.” Comments aside, though, Thranduil smiled.

 

“I am too busy for that. Do not worry. You will be...okay, my King?”

 

“At some point. Thank you both, for coming. I needed this. I can manage if I know that at least one side of our home functions in a way that still makes sense to me.”

 

“We love you,” chorused together, as they held him tightly.

 

He indulged that hug for quite some time, until finally insisting they go and prepare dinner. “Give my apologies to Ailill, please,” Thranduil said. “I promise I will return home before tomorrow morning. I will see him then. Feed him,” he grinned.

 

“I wonder if anyone ever did save him a piece of cake,” Earlene frowned. “Well, if not I’ll make another. Details.” With one last kiss to each of his cheeks, they departed. He looked longingly at the bottles of wine on the sideboard, and made a decision. One glass only, he poured. And drank down rather quickly. But he stopped there, and returned slowly and with a somewhat lighter heart to his throne.

 

Once they were outside the halls, Thranduil stopped her. “What kind of cake?”

 

*****

 

Lorna lurked for a while in the big tree, but it brought her no clarity, nothing better to say than ‘I'm really fucking sorry’. Maybe there wasn't anything better.

 

Sighing, she half-climbed, half-slid down -- because she was terrible at this, and nobody told her help was an option, and she hadn’t even considered that asking was a possibility. Just...fuck everything. She certainly did have a talent for making a mess --  _ that  _ was one thing she certainly seemed to be better at than the rest of them, and it was not a distinction she wanted.

 

Quite miserable, she picked her way toward the Halls...loudly. Some deep, shameful part her still resented this, even though it was nobody’s fault, and she wondered how long it would take her to kill it without tincture. How long it would take her to fix her stupid brain, at least insofar as it could even be fixed. She’d been completely wrong, but it had hurt so much that she couldn’t just...not feel it. Not all the way, not yet.

 

Darkness crept through the trees, but there was still a little light left when she reached the Gates, and paused. She was afraid, so terribly afraid, that she would ask this, and no one would answer.  _ Thranduil, can I come in? Please? _

 

There was no reply, but the massive door swung silently open.

 

Where the hell was he likely to be? Logic dictated his rooms, but logic didn’t seem to have any place at all right now.  _ Where are you? _

 

_ Throne.  _ Part of him felt a little childish, but the rest of him was genuinely hurt. To give more, right now, would have been...fake.

 

She winced, but kept on, ignoring the shadows. Jesus, didn’t he look miserable… Lorna, not being an elf, or a subject, or...whatever...had no qualms at all about climbing the stairs to that damn thing, hoisting herself up onto one of the armrests, and hugging him. Hard. Either he’d hug her back, do nothing, or kick her out.  _ I was never mad at you. Ever. I never would’ve thought that was your fault. Why would I think it was your fault? How the hell...anyway. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I’m just an insecure moron who hasn’t got the sense God gave a sheep. Now I’ve hurt all of you for no good reason. _

 

His arms immediately came around her, as he buried his face in her hair.  _ I know we need to talk about the whys. But I really do not want to right now, unless you do. I just want to thank you for coming to me so I can... _ he rapidly thought better of saying the words that actually wanted to come out, because they would have been hurtful.  _ So I can feel better. And we are breaking at least ten rules of protocol right now and no, I do not care. _

 

Relief washed through her, so intensely it made her head spin. He didn’t hate her.  _ Of course I came. I hurt you, again, and I’m not going to leave you alone like that. And I totally don’t care, either -- hugs trump protocol, dammit.  _ As if for emphasis, she hugged him harder. It really was a good thing elves were so sturdy, or she might have cracked a rib or two.

 

_ Don’t tell Thanadir. _

 

Somehow, that actually made her smile.  _ I won’t. I really am sorry, Thranduil. I love you, and I hurt you, and I just seem to be way too good at doing that, to all of you.  _ She shut her eyes.  _ And I'm so afraid that someday you’ll decide I'm too much work. That I’ll do this too many times, and…  _ She couldn’t actually finish the sentence, but it was her biggest fear. To hurt them so much there wouldn’t be enough left.

 

_ I am going to earn a new decoration on the Bad Elf Award. Though you may not believe it, and I am speaking for Earlene and Thanadir...they do not really care. They have seen enough to understand what goes wrong, and a little of why. It is not the disaster you fear it is. They love you, Lorna. What they are afraid of, especially Earlene, is that you will just leave and never return. She used to worry about that, with you. But after the last...episode, that is no longer the case. They have faith in you, and understand that your life has not been easy. _

 

Lorna winced.  _ Please, please tell me they don't...understand. That they don’t know...what I was actually thinking.  _ But then, they couldn’t have, or they’d care very much. They wouldn’t be able to help it.

 

_ Lorna, my wife is an exceptionally perceptive and intelligent woman. I am afraid you are not correct. She does understand, and she does not care. Earlene remained so calm because she guessed this might happen. _

 

That...made Lorna want to crawl into a hole. It was almost enough to make her run away and find one. She didn’t want Earlene to ever know she’d thought that of her, even for a moment. She couldn’t know all of it, surely -- oh God, don’t let her know. Even some was bad enough. At least Thanadir was Thanadir, and probably wouldn’t get the whole of it unless somebody told him.

 

_ You misunderstand somewhat. Earlene believes you blamed all three of us, with the majority of your ire directed at me, with Thanadir and her coming in somewhere further down the culpability chart. Or perhaps ‘believes’ is not the correct word; I already caused this mess because of a poor word choice. Earlene assigned the scenario I mentioned the greatest probability of being accurate. Earlene considers all scenarios, all the time. _

 

Oh,  _ no _ ...while it was actually a good thing they didn’t know otherwise, it was entirely unfair to poor Thranduil. Still, she almost let him go, curling in on herself without meaning to.  _ I never thought it was you, I thought it was them. I thought Thanadir didn’t want the bother of us inferior lumps, and Earlene didn’t want to be saddled with dead weight. You were never even a consideration. I thought they didn't want to teach the rest of us, so we weren’t allowed to even know it was a thing until we got to watch Earlene show off something we weren’t given the option to learn. And that was...it was  _ instant _. I was so  _ sure _ , because I couldn’t imagine anything else. I thought so terribly of both of them, and they can never, ever know that, but now they think I’m pissed at you and I never was...I need to just not speak, ever.  _ Maybe she really did need to go crawl in a fucking hole, because God knew she’d cocked this one up royally.

 

_ Dear one, you are worrying about everything that no one else is. It has not occurred to me before now, that you do not understand Earlene’s mind. So far, I have never seen another like it. I am not sure how to explain this. But I will try. The Post-It board, in the Planning Room.  Its purpose is to account for a vast spectrum of concepts that have nothing to do with the other.  At some point someone will need to sort, categorize, prioritize, cross reference and analyze all of it. Everything must be accounted for. All possibilities. That is a poor representation of how she thinks. It is much like a computer, but one capable of feeling emotions. You worry about what might cross her mind; everything crosses her mind, Lorna. Unless she is ill or very pregnant; those are the only two times I have seen otherwise. There is no point to worrying what she has considered or not. It has...been considered. _

 

Lorna pressed her forehead to her knees.  _ I didn’t understand. I don’t. All I ever knew was that she’s really smart, and really well-educated, and so organized it’s scary, and that...even when she’s upset, she can just do anything if she has to. She powers through it. And if she could think -- if she could even guess -- that I thought that badly of her...how the hell can I even try to apologize? She might not care, but  _ I  _ do. _

 

_ Simply say you are sorry. Nothing else need be said, and if you will please listen to me, you are making a molehill into a mountain. I wish you would not. _

 

She nodded. It was all she could do. It was something she couldn’t personally understand, given how pissed she’d be if someone she cared about thought that badly of her -- given how pissed she’d  _ been _ , when she realized everyone had thought she was faithless enough to just bail on them all the first time somebody looked at her funny -- but she’d try.  _ At least Ailill wasn't around to hear that, the poor kid.  _ Even if he hadn’t caught her words, her tone -- and volume -- would have frightened him half to death. That was pretty much the one mercy of the day.

 

_ Lorna, about that... _

 

_ He can never know. I know that. He’ll never hear a single word from me -- I was never even mad at him to begin with. I know he’s….a cinnamon roll. A total cinnamon roll, not one like Thanadir.  _ Thanadir was a cinnamon roll with a side of Carolina Reaper sauce, but Ailill barely even had frosting. He needed to know how to protect himself.

 

Thranduil hesitated. There was more he wished he could say, but he equally knew that she was quite incapable of considering her words before she spoke in anger. It would be nice if it would rain gemstones next Tuesday also, and that wasn’t likely to happen either. He chose to smile, and nod.  _ Now what are you going to do? _

 

Quite honestly, she didn’t know. She was so  _ tired _ ...she needed get her arse home and apologize, but she was just...exhausted. Emotionally as well as physically.  _ Not move until you make me _ , she said at last, tightening her hug for good measure. She could be like a remora if she felt like it.

 

Very swiftly, he pulled her into his lap. What was one more protocol violation, at this point. Besides, was he not King?  _ You have not said, if you like the view from here. I do. It is why I like to sit here and think. _

 

Lorna looked around, finally, and took in the full panorama. She was grudgingly impressed, though at the same time, it was not somewhere she’d ever want to sit and think -- too exposed.  _ Okay, it’s kind of good _ , she said, and arched an eyebrow at him.  _ Kind of. But this fancy chair doesn’t look comfortable at all. Elf arses must not fall asleep. _

 

_ I think it is very comfortable,  _ he frowned,  _ but then again it was carved to match my body.  _ He shrugged, then scooped her into his arms as he rose up.  _ You are tired. And I am tired of sitting here. We are going home. _

 

Wonder of wonders, that actually made her laugh.  _ Wait, wait, you had your throne carved to fit your arse? Good thing elves don’t gain weight.  _ That...was actually the best thing she’d heard all day. Weary as she was, that was a tidbit of information she felt better for knowing, even if just because it seemed so strange.

 

_ Well of course I did; why would I sit on some ill-fitting plank of lumber the wrong height and...why would I gain weight? _

 

That only made her laugh even harder; she tried to muffle it against his shirt, and failed.  _ Humans have things called cushions _ , she managed,  _ and often gain weight when we get old. We tend to not make things like that for that very reason.  _ One of the things she loved most about Thranduil was that he could cheer her up without even trying. He was just...him.

 

_ As if I do not know what cushions are. Hmpf.  _ While he suspected she did not need much more egging on, it made him happy to see her feeling better. This had been quite a day, and not in the way anyone intended. He traversed the distance quite quickly with his long legs.  _ I would guess you would like to be taken the back way to your room? _

 

_ Yes, please _ , she said, and sighed. God, don’t let Ratiri try to poke her over this...she couldn’t handle that. She was too tired. Maybe after ten hours of sleep she could approach this like a human, and apologize in some way that meant something, and just...move on. This said something about her, and she didn’t know what, but she also didn’t have anywhere close to the energy needed to figure it out. That could come later.  _ Someday you need to teach me how to not feel so damn touchy and inferior all the time. Every time I think I’ve got it beat, something like this happens. It ambushes me, and everyone else has to suffer for it. _

 

_ I can advise you on what to do, but I cannot say that it will make it any easier. Either way goodnight, and there is tomorrow. I love you and wish you a good rest.  _ He did not feel the need to mention the fact that he had issued Ratiri a five minute warning, because of all of them he had had it the worst in terms of being left in the dark and excluded from discussion. Then again, maybe he had had it the best...he kissed her on the forehead, smiled, and continued on. He almost never had cause to make use of this fun wooden bridge between the upper storeys of their home, but he did right now. Or perhaps one of the fire poles…

 

_ I love you, too,  _ she said. _ Goodnight, and...thank you. _ Now she had to find out what poor Ratiri had made of this whole mess…

 

He was awake when she entered, sitting in bed with a book and four cats around him. Though he said nothing, his eyes were filled with concern.

 

“It’s...it’s all right, allanah,” she said, fishing her pajamas out from under her pillow. “I just need sleep. I’ll...try to explain in the morning.”

 

Ratiri, bless him, still said nothing -- just set his book aside and pulled her close. She didn’t need to explain -- he knew already, and he wished, so much, that she didn’t need to feel things the way that she did. Pat had explained a great deal, and though it had clarified, it hadn’t helped much.

 

But they were all safe, and tired, and the sun would rise again tomorrow. They’d deal with it then. It wasn't long at all before Lorna was asleep, her breath warm and even against the side of his neck. She was so deep out that she didn’t wake even when Bast decided her hair needed grooming.

 


	97. Ninety-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {March 20, 2019}

Thanadir woke very early, feeling a little unsettled in his sleep. Thranduil and Earlene had not moved in the night, and with some difficulty he moved out from under the significant grip she had on his rib cage without waking her. Rubbing his eyes, he shuffled into the silent kitchen.  _ Perhaps some warm milk? _

 

His eyes scanned the countertops, where he saw a lone thermos. Tea would be fine as well; he did not mind warming it for a few seconds in their microwave. Unstoppering it and taking a sniff, he noticed that this seemed to be a substantial blend. The smell of it was strange yet soothing. Shrugging his shoulders, he poured the entire contents into one of their very large ceramic mugs and placed this in the little device, being careful to stop the timer before the beeping noises might disturb anyone. Shuffling back to the bedroom, he enjoyed the pleasantly warm beverage. Apparently he was thirsty, too, because in under a minute he drank down all of it. Lying back down, he concentrated on relaxing his body and clearing his thoughts, and soon returned to a restful slumber.

 

*****

 

Lorna slept so deeply that when she woke up the next morning, she was still in the position in which she’d fallen asleep. Ratiri had shifted somewhat, so that he lay facing her, dead to the world. The dawn outside the window was grey; it was too early yet to tell if it was cloudy or clear.

 

No matter what Thranduil said, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ just didn’t seem to be good enough. She really couldn’t comprehend Thanadir and Earlene  _ not  _ being upset by her assumptions -- she certainly had been, when nasty ones had been made about her. As had Thranduil, in whose case there hadn’t even _ been  _ any assumptions; he just thought there were. It was entirely possible they were just being nice to humor her, and like hell was she going to let that go with nothing more than ‘I’m sorry’. Gran had always said actions spoke louder than words, so she was going to make breakfast. That meant the tincture had to wait, since trying to cook while stoned would be a terrible idea for anyone, and certainly more so for her.

 

French toast was the easy way out, so she’d change it up for once. While she’d never made cinnamon rolls herself, she’d watched Earlene do it dozens of times; it didn’t look  _ that  _ hard. No, they wouldn’t be as good as Earlene’s, but that was just a given; though Lorna had never told her sister this, even Mairead’s had been eclipsed. Mairead could never know.

 

The assorted stools around the kitchen made assembling the whole thing a lot easier than it would have been otherwise, and she stuck her headphones in while she mixed and kneaded the dough. It stuck to her fingers until she added a tiny bit more flour, and she grimaced a little at the sensation; for some reason, the consistency of moist dough gave her the creeps, and the fact that her hands were so small just made it extra awkward, but she actually managed to get it an even, non-lumpy consistency. Yes, she had to do the math for a double batch on a piece of paper, but nobody needed to know that but her. Wiping her fringe out of her face with her wrist ( _ don’t want hair contaminating everyone’s food, _ Mairead always said) transferred a smear of flour over it and the bridge of her nose, which she wiped off with a groan.

 

“There is a house in New Orleans,” she half-sang, half-hummed as she rolled out the dough, “they call the Rising Sun. It’s been the ruin’v many a poor boy, and God, I know I’m one.” Nice even thickness, that was how Earlene did it, though Lorna couldn’t quite remember just how thick it was supposed to be. When it looked something close to what she thought was right, she paused to mix up the cinnamon and sugar...but she’d forgot to melt the butter, dammit. It would take too long on the stove, so she popped it into the microwave for twenty seconds, and came out with a substance so hot she could barely touch the bowl. Dammit.

 

She was pretty sure she got more of it than necessary on the dough, slathering it a bit thick, but that would just make them extra moist, right? Right? She was going to assume it was right. Sprinkling the cinnamon-sugar mixture over the dough took longer than it ought to have, too, since she tried to get it as evenly distributed as she could -- Earlene made it look way easier than it actually was. Cutting the strips also didn’t work quite like she’d anticipated, because running a circle-cutter in a bunch of straight, even lines was harder than it looked. Some of them were going to be a bit wonky in the middle, but it was a cinnamon roll. Like anyone was going to be able to tell. (Thanadir might be able to, but on the other hand, he was hardly a baking god himself.)

 

Miracle of miracles, she actually remembered to grease the pan before she put the rolls on, and glazed them with more butter before sticking them in the oven and setting the timer.

 

Glaze, glaze...what the fuck was in the glaze? Powdered sugar, milk, and...something else. Shit.  _ Salt. _ Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember the exact measurements for any of it, but she was pretty sure there wasn’t much in the way of salt at all -- maybe like a pinch? Nobody wanted salty frosting. Equal amounts powdered sugar and milk made sense, though she couldn’t remember how much of either of that, either. Oh well. Glaze was glaze. It was hardly the main event.

 

She paused when she saw her Thermos, and winced; that was  _ not  _ something she ought to be leaving around, but once she was done cooking, she wanted the rest of what was in it. Her mental equilibrium had nowhere near restored itself, and it probably wasn’t going to, without a little outside aid. Finding out that all her hurt had been for no reason had not yet banished the fact that it  _ had  _ hurt; human beings, or at least human Lornas, didn’t work like that, and then she’d gone and pissed in everyone’s Cheerios anyway, in spite of her best intentions. She couldn’t help but wonder if proper Adulting was just something she was never going to fully manage. God help her, she’d be forty-three in three months.

 

How could Earlene and Thanadir have such...control over their own feelings? How could  _ anyone _ ? Because she was pretty sure Thranduil didn’t -- he just had iron control over what he actually did about them. Earlene and Thanadir might not have been bothered by her mistaken assumptions, but Thranduil very much, very visibly had been, and she hadn’t even been thinking about him at all. But, and this was kind of terrible, the fact that he couldn’t do what they did made her feel a little better about her own inability to. If even the king of the damn elves, almost older than dirt, couldn’t do it...well, how could anyone blame her? It made her feel far less inferior about  _ that _ , if nothing else.

 

Whisking the glaze proved...problematic. Apparently her definition of ‘whisking’ was rather off, because she wound up with powdered sugar on the counter, on her, and even on the floor. Panicking a bit, she fetched a stack of kitchen-towels to clean it up, because she knew how particular Earlene was about her kitchen. It was going to add quite a bit to the laundry, but nobody needed to know -- she stuffed them back into the pantry, intending to hide the rest of her evidence later.

Okay. Glaze, delicate whisking. Why the hell was it so runny? Equal parts powdered sugar and milk, tiny, tiny bit of salt -- it ought to mix into a paste, right?  _ Of course not -- that would actually make sense _ , she thought, glaring at it. In went more powdered sugar, and she glared at the mixture as it started to thicken. And thicken...and thicken…  “Well, shit.” Oh well. More milk. It would balance out somehow.

 

Still, sweating slightly, she made herself a cup of tea, little bottle of tincture still in the pocket of her dressing-gown. She was going to want it, once this was over, though she’d better dump the Thermos -- oh. Oh  _ no _ . When she picked the thing up, she saw that it was empty, which meant  _ someone _ \-- and hopefully not a kid -- had drank the rest of it.

 

“Well,  _ shit _ .” Maybe she wanted that tincture now after all. But...who  _ did  _ that? Who found an unattended Thermos and just drank whatever was in it? She really, really hoped they weren’t going to find out the hard way.

 

*****

 

Earlene and Thranduil had altered their intimate habits somewhat, since their relationship with Thanadir had deepened. In the evenings, he often arranged to disappear for a time before he came to bed. They knew it was for their benefit and usually took advantage of it for...greater freedom of expression. Not to say that his presence stopped their morning activities; it did not. But like at Ashford, it was...subtle. Discreet. They had come to find a great deal of enjoyment from realizing that the slowest movements and the most minimal stimulation could draw out their pleasure for quite some time, and leave them with more than they bargained for by the time they reached the proverbial finish line. This morning was no exception, as Earlene enjoyed her husband’s, er, firm attentions. It was a function of their positioning, that allowed her to open her eyes on occasion to take note of Thanadir.

 

_ Do you think he is well? I know that he often sleeps through...this...but has his breathing ever been that deep? It is...different. _

 

_ Perhaps the drama with Lorna wearied him. It certainly wearied me; it is possible that last night I slept through my own orgasm.  _

 

_ That bad? _

 

_ Afraid so. _

 

Earlene held onto her husband’s arms more tightly as a few final steady pulses inside of her caused them both to go rigid with enjoyment, then relax into an afterglow of appreciation. With a tender kiss to each other, they rose to bathe, with Earlene glancing back at the still unconscious ellon asleep in bed.

 

“Are you  _ sure _ he is okay?” Earlene whispered from the pool.

 

Thranduil sighed. He was not particularly concerned anything was the matter with Thanadir, but could see that Earlene would continue to fret and worry. Leaning over, he kissed him, and received only the slightest sign of wakefulness. Frowning, Thranduil touched his cheeks, stroking them with his thumb. “Meldir? It is growing late for waking, can you rise?”

 

Confused eyes opened, and blinked, slowly registering what was said. “I am sorry,” he apologized. “I was very much….asleep. I will get up.” He threw aside the covers and stood up, with Thranduil steadying him with some degree of alarm when he nearly pitched forward. “Huh. That has never happened before.” Shaking his head, he took a deep breath. Whatever had affected him seemed to be gone, now. He was ushered toward the pool, with a now suspicious Thranduil guarding his steps from behind. 

 

They talked, a little, about the events of yesterday, and about what Ailill should do with the remainder of his time. Beginning the following week, the falconer would be able to come for four days at a stretch, at least until summer and the tourist season arrived. As the talk  wore on, assorted noises could be heard faintly from the kitchen. “Lorna is cooking breakfast, Eru help us,” Thranduil observed.

 

“Oh?” quipped Earlene.

 

“Yes. Cinnamon rolls.”

 

“Valar,” Thanadir chimed. “That sounds wonderful. I am very hungry.”

 

“Meldir, you are almost always hungry,” Earlene teased.

 

“Not like this.”

 

*****

 

Having ducked back into his own room, where his hair was combed and clean clothes were donned, Thanadir’s appetite worked to new heights as the tormenting smell of the cinnamon rolls slowly permeated the house. However, not before something occurred to him. The wall that divided his room from the one next door...it would be simple to install a door in place of the wall. And easy to disguise, with a fabric decoration on either side. Anything that aided the cause of discretion surely could not be a bad thing...he would discuss it later with Earlene and Thranduil. But first, and more importantly, there was food.

 

Thanadir appeared first in the kitchen, eyes gleaming with hunger. Ortherion was making eggs and porridge, and of course there was fresh fruit in a bowl as always. Thanadir peeled and began to eat a banana, attempting to display civilized manners while doing so. He forced himself to take small bites, while smiling at Lorna. “Those smell delicious. Can I have one now?” He remembered what Earlene had said about not overdoing it, and also attempted to control the expression on his face as to the degree of Sad Eyes.

 

Lorna hopped off her stool to give him a hug. This transferred a little icing sugar to the front of his shirt, but...oops. “Of course you can. Though I should warn you, the glaze is a bit...interesting. You kind’v have to scoop around the cement bits.”

 

“I do not mind,” he said, hugging her back and glad to see she was in better spirits. Of course he did not mind; there was food. Hungrily, he globbed some icing on and bit into one, grinning happily. They were not as good as what Earlene could make but they were serviceable, and in view of the state of his appetite, this might help him survive until the full breakfast was served. “These are very nice,” he said, remembering to say something.

 

Thanadir and Earlene now made an appearance. Her mind was already whirring ahead on several points of interest she intended to address today, as she too enjoyed the aroma. One sweep of her eyes was enough to assess the state of affairs, and she smiled to see that Lorna must have been bending over backward to keep the kitchen tidy. Before she could say a word, a harsh shriek from upstairs reminded them that a hawk was in the house, and soon it and Ailill came bounding down. With a quick greeting he was out the door; something about not muting indoors...falconry had quite a vocabulary all its own.

 

Ratiri, a twin in each arm, zombied down the stairs, nearly tripping over a cat. The kitchen smelled wonderful, but one look at Lorna made him burst out laughing. She had powdered sugar and flour all over her shirt, in her hair, smeared across the bridge of her nose...the kitchen was tidy, but possibly only because she herself was wearing what would otherwise be decorating the counters.

 

“Hush, you,” she said, glowering at him. “I pissed in everybody’s Cheerios yesterday, so this is me trying to say I’m sorry and backing it up with something that’s actually...real. And hopefully tasty.” Though, watching Thanadir, it was also obviously messy -- somehow, they seemed to have come out a lot stickier than she’d intended. Still, as long as they tasted good, that was what mattered.

 

“Veev aw vewy nice,” Thanadir repeated again, making a bit of a hash of his enunciation since his mouth was full of cinnamon roll. Ortherion looked up at His Excellency with wide eyes that were quickly lowered, and Earlene did not miss that the ellon sucked in and bit his own cheeks to keep from smiling. Fortunately all of this was derailed by an eruption of child-related noises, as their brood came rushing down the stairs. 

 

Thaladir rushed at Thanadir, chattering excitedly. “Ada! Ada! I tied my own shoes this morning!” he pointed down, where two irregular but very definite granny knots graced his little feet. Doing his best to chew and swallow, Thanadir did not hesitate to scoop the boy up and praise his achievements.

 

The child frowned. “Ada, you have frosting on your cheeks.” 

 

At this point Ortherion buckled, unable to prevent the helpless laughter that came over him as Lothiriel arrived to take in the unfolding scene. This was all made somewhat worse by Ailill’s return, and the fact that Fion emitted a series of noises that very much sounded like the shrieking laughter of a child.

 

Thaladir looked at the bird he had not yet seen, baffled, and pointed at it. “NO LAUGHING AT MY ADA!” he hollered, with considerable anger in the green eyes. 

 

If it was possible for a raptor to look taken aback, the hawk managed it, though Earlene wondered in part if the bird was really contemplating whether her son’s finger (or for that matter, her entire son) was a tidbit he could hunt.

 

Silence reigned over the kitchen; no one was laughing now, at the dramatic transformation in Thaladir’s demeanor. 

 

“He says he is sorry,” Ailill added soothingly. “Fion did not mean to laugh. In fact, he will have a time-out right now, and we will see him again after breakfast.” 

 

As he disappeared back up the stairs, Earlene murmured, “Wow, he’s good…” It was an impressive recovery. Thranduil joined Thanadir in whispering to the little peredhel, who now had his fingers in his mouth as both ellyn took him aside to soothe him. “Well, never a dull moment.”

 

Shane and Chandra watched Ailill and his big bird go up the stairs, totally enraptured, and Ratiri suspected many, many questions would be asked. Hopefully  _ after  _ tea.

 

Lorna looked at Ailill as he passed, and at her cinnamon rolls, and bit the inside of her cheek, hard. Though she was rather worried about Thaladir -- Thaladir with his Donovan green eyes. Was the pattern going to hold true with him? He was half elf, so she hoped like hell not. Otherwise, when he was older, and stronger, that could get...ugly.

 

“How about everybody has a cinnamon roll?” she said, hoping to distract the kid. They were so sticky they really  _ were  _ pretty distracting, too.

 

“Hold still first,” Ratiri said, setting the twins down. He grabbed a kitchen towel and wiped at her face, while she squawked and tried to dodge.

 

Pat and Saoirse appeared, both looking rather startled; they’d probably seen Ailill and his upset bird in passing. “I smell food,” Saoirse said. “Is it edible, or did Aunt Lorna cook it?”

 

“Thanks, kid,” Lorna said, taking the towel from Ratiri and throwing it at her. It landed right atop her head, leaving a light dusting of flour on her hair. “Just for that, you get the frosting that turned into cement.”

 

“And you can help set the table,” Earlene insisted. “It takes effort to cook things, Saoirse, and it so happens that Lorna did a nice job on these rolls. You cannot assume another person’s food is badly prepared without first trying it, and even then you should never volunteer that opinion. It hurts people’s feelings, because they gave their best to make something nice.” She stacked plates into the child’s arms, hoping that had been said in a manner that was...hearable.

 

Saoirse blinked, even as she took the plates. “In science we talked about extrapolation,” she said. “That’s like, forming conclusions based on evidence, right?”

 

“Saoirse, allanah, it’s not school time,” Pat said, knowing already where this was headed. “Go on and set the table.”

 

She looked from Earlene to her da, decided grown-ups were still incomprehensible, and set to work.

 

Ratiri scrubbed a hand over his face, because he too had known where that one was going. “Oh dear. Pat, your job is never done.”

 

“I’m not sure it ever will be,” the poor man sighed. “I’m bloody glad she’s not in normal school, that’s for damn sure.”

 

Soon everyone was eating happily. Now that Ailill was a regular at meals, it had evolved that Earlene once again sat next to Thranduil and across from Thanadir, with the falconer next to Earlene. He too enjoyed the rolls and complimented Lorna (Not having a particularly strong sweet tooth, he avoided the questionable icing). And, he made sure to have more eggs than cinnamon roll; he had been lectured extensively about food by Earlene and did not wish to displease her by his choices. Though it seemed a bit like his mam nagging at him, he had to admit that since he had begun eating the elves’ food for the vast majority of his meals, he felt better. More energetic, anyway. They ate quietly, but Earlene could not help notice Thanadir. While a few of them were flirting with seconds, he was already finishing his thirds, with no sign of slowing down.

 

_ Thranduil, what in Eru’s name is wrong with him? He is always hungry, but this is almost ridiculous. It is his fifth cinnamon roll. And he has cleared the platter of eggs, and the porridge bowl will have no leftovers for the chickens at this rate. _

 

Thranduil asked quietly, “You are very hungry today, Thanadir?”

 

He received a nod in return, with an almost helpless expression. “I feel like I have eaten nothing. I do not understand. I am just...so hungry.”

 

“Are you certain, you cannot fall ill?” Earlene stopped herself in the nick of time from mentioning,  _ and you were impossible to wake this morning. _

 

Thanadir  _ was  _ hungry, even for him -- and that was really saying something. Lorna had seen him eat a lot of sweet things, but never this much. He was hungry, he was messy enough to get frosting on his cheeks...oh,  _ no _ . Her eyes widened in abject horror, and traveled to her empty Thermos in the sink. “Thanadir,” she asked, very carefully, “did you drink the tea in my Thermos last night?  _ All  _ the tea? All at once?” Jesus, now she  _ really  _ wanted some of her own.

 

“Oh, that was yours?” the elf looked up. “No, I drank it this morning. I woke early and wanted something warm to help me go back to sleep. It was very nice,” he added sagely. “I cannot ever recall sleeping so well.”

 

Thranduil now raised his head and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Nothing  _ aloud _ , anyway.  _ Do I wish to know what you have done to my seneschal? _

 

I  _ didn’t do anything to him,  _ she fired back, rubbing her temples.  _ I didn’t give him that tea, he’s a tea thief. He’s not sick, though, he’s just stoned. He’ll keep eating everything in sight until he falls asleep again, then he’ll wake up just fine. If he hadn’t drank the whole damn thing at once, he wouldn’t be having this issue. _ It was hilarious, and yet it wasn’t, because poor Thanadir hadn’t known what he was getting himself into...but maybe it would teach him not to eat random things left on the counter.

 

Earlene’s eyebrow raised. Something of an undisclosed nature was occurring, but she would keep silent.  Thranduil returned to his food, but silently communicated with Thanadir, who looked up with wide eyes and finally glanced at Thranduil, nodding. And laid down his fork, with an expression of resignation.

 

_ He apologizes for drinking your tea; he did not know and believed that it was for anyone since it was left in the kitchen. I do not think he will forget this anytime soon; his hunger will be penalty enough. This is a...plant medicine, you humans use? _

 

Lorna fought a groan, and barely won.  _ That’ll teach me not to just leave things out, too. Weed’s often used to make cancer patients actually want to eat things, and as a painkiller, and it gets you...stoned. Mellow. You want to eat everything, and if you’re a human it makes everything seem very funny. You’re not supposed to take that much of it, though -- that tea was meant to last a while, but I’m not surprised he drank it all, given he’s Thanadir. He’ll be fine, though.  _ She was certainly going to have some herself after breakfast, because good grief.

 

Breakfast finished without further ado, and Earlene was silently informed of what had happened. After, she took Thanadir aside. “Will you be okay?”

 

He nodded. “I did not know, meldis. And I certainly will not take such a thing again. I am so hungry, even though I know I have eaten twice what I usually do.” The tone in his voice was miserable. 

 

Carefully, she felt down his chest and upper belly, her eyes widening at the bulge of his stomach.  _ Good grief, Matilda. _ “Perhaps there is something by which you could distract yourself?”

 

“I can try. I will survive, it is only that...hunger is not a sensation I enjoy. Not like this.”

 

“I am sorry.” Sadly, she felt she could guess at why he would probably rather feel pain than gnawing hunger. “But short of having Thranduil make you sleep the day away…”

 

“No. I have to train Ailill and Saoirse, and other things besides. And there is you, too; you have much more to learn with bow and sword, but you require another time-slot.”

 

“And Lorna? And the others?”

 

“I need to speak with Ratiri, first. Earlene, part of why you were able to learn our skills was that you were already a consummate runner and very healthy. And your yoga left you very strong and fit. I need to understand how to safely bring them to the place where you began. As you can see, it is unwise to assume elves and humans will respond the exact same way to something,” he said ruefully as his stomach growled.

 

“Very well. But do not worry about me until the afternoon. I have...things, to do.”

 

“I will be busy enough not feeling sorry for myself.”

 

An elleth that Earlene did not actually know by name burst into the kitchen, surprising just about everyone; Lothiriel had admitted her. “Hiril vuin, Rîneth sent me. Butterbean is delivering her calf!”

 

“Gotta go!” Earlene said to Thanadir and the rest of the room; with a sympathetic pat to his arm, he dashed off. 

 

Lorna, somehow managing not to facepalm herself into next Wednesday, filled the sink and brewed herself her own cup of special tea --  _ cup, _ not  _ Thermos _ . That much special tea all at once would have zonked her out for a full day, if not longer. Well, she knew better now, and at least poor Thanadir would be all right in the end. The tea mellowed her as she worked, ever more grateful for all the kitchen’s myriad stools and shelves.

 

Ratiri brought her the rest of the plates. “Did Shane bring you that?” he asked softly.

 

“He did. I’d promised I wouldn’t drink myself into oblivion anymore, and I couldn’t go back to smoking, but this shite’s harmless -- and no, before you ask, I didn’t take any’v it and then drive.”

 

“I wouldn’t expect that of you,” he said. “Just don’t go throwing knives or anything. I’m not certain Thranduil could handle a severed finger -- at the very least, I’d rather not find out.”

 

She sighed. It hadn’t been lost on her, that he’d had to heal that gobshite driving instructor on account of her -- but, though she had a much better time reining in her temper now, it was still there. She couldn’t always keep a lid on it...obviously. “Me neither,” she said. “As far as I know, he’s been good about not wasting his ability on stupid shite, which surprises me a little. I thought he’d be more stubborn.”

 

Ratiri laughed, gathering the silverware. “We had Thanadir on our side. It’s pretty hard to argue with him.”

 

“True.” Shaking her head, she finally let herself laugh. “Poor Thanadir, but I never expected anybody’d drink something out’v someone else’s Thermos. That’s one’v those unspoken human things that wouldn’t occur to an elf, I guess.” 

 

_ Cultural differences.  _ That, really, was the heart of the entire mess of the last two days -- because Ratiri hadn’t asked for any help, either, and not for the same reason as Lorna and Pat. He would have thought it terribly rude to ask people he barely knew for something so time-intensive, even if it had occurred to him that such a thing could be available. His mam had thumped that into his head quite young -- it wasn’t polite to demand a great deal of someone’s time unless they were your family.  _ Then  _ you could shanghai them into whatever you wanted, as long as you liked. “I guess,” he echoed. “And how long do you think you’ll be needing that tea?”

 

She sighed again. “I don’t know. Even though I was wrong, it...felt real to me.  _ Really  _ real. And knowing that I was wrong hasn’t made that go away yet. You know me -- I can obsess over something like there’s no tomorrow, and this’ll make me stop.”

 

He kissed the crown of her head. “I know,” he said. “To be completely honest with you, it stuck with me for a little bit, too. Just don’t drive or operate heavy machinery.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “That’s not exactly a hard promise to make. Still not fond’v driving, and it isn’t like we’ve got any machinery, heavy or otherwise.”

 

“Well, drink your tea, mo chroí. I have a feeling Thranduil will be asking me about it later.”

 

“It’s too bad it doesn’t do to elves what it does to us. I’ve been wanting to get them both stoned for ages, but if all it does is make them hungry, it’s no fun.”

 

“Certainly not for them,” he said dryly. “Poor Thanadir. He’ll live, but he won’t be happy for a while.”

 

“Definitely not after his first trip to the toilet.”

 

********

 

“Ailill, it is time we straightened out a few other matters. You are a part of this Realm now, and yet Thranduil wishes you maintained apart from us at times. Which brings me to ask about your financial circumstances.”

 

“I….ah…”  _ Well. this was awkward.  _ And yet he was now obligated. “I do not have many expenses. Did not, have many expenses. My car is paid for, and I pay to rent the room I live in outside Galway. And of course I pay for the care of my birds. For all the job title sounds lovely, my position is prestigious more than lucrative, though I am compensated fairly. I have a small savings, maybe five thousand euros. All my possessions fit in my room at the farmstead and…” he shrugged. “Sometimes my parents give me gifts of cash. I try to save what I can but if I am to be very honest, much of my income before coming here went to food. While I am able to cook simply, I dislike it. That is why I would buy prepared food. I would imagine that now that the elves are providing my meals, I will be able to save more.”

 

“How often do you see your parents?” Earlene had been tasked with being nosy, and she was more than up to the job. 

 

“Usually at Christmas. And sometimes the family will have a summer gathering of sorts, like a family picnic, for a combination Mother’s and Father’s Day. I try to go to that when I can.”

 

“Your enthusiasm when speaking of these holidays is overwhelming,” she probed with gentle sarcasm.

 

He smiled, his eyes cast down. “I am not sure it is anyone’s….fault. What I wanted, and what mam and da thought I should want turned out to be very different. And…” There was a great hesitation. “I know I gave a away many freedoms by my decisions, but will things I tell you be kept in confidence? I mean, from the others you live with. I would not keep anything from the King…”

 

“Ailill, Thranduil keeps many secrets. As do I. Obviously if I know something, he likely will soon, because my thoughts are not hidden from him either. It often also stands to reason that Thanadir will be confided in, because of his station. But no others end up hearing anything. I worked for clients that were billionaires, and very much know what it is to keep confidentiality. You have my word, that I would not violate your trust.”

 

A weak smile crossed his face as he nodded. “This is embarrassing for me, but if you are going to understand my relationship with my family it needs to be said. Mostly I avoid them. I think we all love each other in our own way but the simple fact is, my family believes I am gay. I have never gone on a date or shown interest in a relationship with anything that didn’t have feathers. After years of unwelcome comments and not so subtle hints...it has created a rift.”

 

“I am sorry, for that.” This was not a polite response; Earlene meant every word.  _ ‘I think we all love each other…’  Eru. No one should ever, ever feel like this. _ But her face did not reveal her thoughts.

 

“And for the secondary question that you are politely not asking,” he sighed, “the answer is, I am not sure myself. I have been obsessed with two things in my life, Earlene. Hawks and elves, however carefully I hid the latter from everyone else. I have felt twinges of attraction to both men and women that I have met but...my mind was always occupied with other things. I didn’t make time for them, and no one came chasing after me. If my King also told you what happened to me…”

 

“I was told in a very brief explanation,” she said, putting her arm around his shoulders. “No details.”

 

“I was not very inclined toward relationships in the first place,” he confessed. “But after what happened, I am terrified. I am not going to ask a lady on a date just to prove a point, and were a man to show interest in me...I don’t know what I would do. This isn’t something I have managed to figure out, and I am more disinclined than ever to try now. Plus, look at me. I have given myself to another, am I even free to consider this?”

 

Earlene reflected very carefully, before answering. “Thranduil would not keep you from seeking a mate; he would consider that to be cruel. Yet the nature of what you have undertaken here would make that process more...complicated. If you truly developed a love interest, my guess is that he would wish to meet him or her. He could tell you with fair certainty if your choice could make the transition to knowing about all this. But...I wish to be sure I understood your words. In a nutshell, you are largely alienated from your parents because they are homophobic and believe you to be gay, when in truth you cannot identify your sexual preference because you have not felt motivated to explore it?”

 

“I can’t think of a better way to say it,” he said, his voice beginning to break as tears pooled in his eyes.

 

_ Valar _ , she thought as she reached to hold him.  _ There are times I’d like to take half this island and smack its head against those of the other half. _ “We are your family now,” Earlene murmured. “You are loved and honored here. All of you, not just bits and pieces. You are safe with us.” It felt so much like comforting a child, and she felt deeply, deeply awful for what he had endured.  _ It was one thing to be persecuted for what you were, not that persecution was ever right. But to be persecuted for a Weak Maybe? _ That added new levels of insult. When he had calmed, she waited until he could give his full attention. “This conversation was in part to learn the realities of your life outside of this forest. And to tell you that while you did not ask, you will want for nothing that you need in a material sense. If you become ill, you are to tell us; we will care for your health. If you have an expense, it will be reimbursed. The money you need for fuel, to travel to us and back; that too. If you would like to have better lodging or...the point is, you are one of us now, and we will fully provide for your needs.”

 

The young man looked at her, horrified. “Earlene, I cannot accept that. It is already enough that I am taking all this food with me, that I have been given clothes to wear here. And a beautiful place to live.”

 

“Well, congratulations. You are very Irish. Come with me.” She rolled her eyes, even as she realized it was for the best. People refusing was a good sign of their character, not the other way around...however annoying it was, to have to break beyond their walls of stubbornness. While she had questioned Thranduil’s decision for her to do this, he had his reasons, and on some level she understood them. “We are going to the Halls, on a brief errand. You may bring Fion, if you wish.”

 

He nodded, knowing that he was in for a grueling (if quick) run. And run they did, to the Gates, with a contented but confused bird alighting on his hand from time to time and being given tidbits of meat by his breathless keeper. “On your toes, not your heels,” Earlene reminded him as she watched his stride. “Relax your hips more. Breathe more deeply when you inhale. You cannot run without enough air.” 

 

Outside the Gates he struggled to catch his breath. “I really am trying,” he said, chagrined at what appeared to be his body’s stubborn refusal to become more aerobically athletic.

 

“I know you are,” she smiled. “Follow me.”

 

When he had been marched to the vault door, they stopped. “Now, we are here to revisit the financial subject. I know you did not consider wealth when you desired to pledge yourself to Thranduil. Neither did I. I was not poor or lacking in any way before I came here, but I was cognizant of money. I was commanded to impart to you  _ why _ you will not resist what the King wishes for you, by any means necessary, and apparently this is necessary.”

 

She laid her hand on the door, silently speaking the words of opening Thranduil had revealed to her and brought him inside, marching him ahead of her by both shoulders. Somehow, the lights came up in brightness, which caused her to smirk. Her husband was incorrigible, but in a completely charming way. 

 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Ailill gasped, suddenly feeling slightly weak in the knees. They were going to give him a heart attack. Maybe. This was all too much…

 

“I rather prefer Eru, Manwë and Varda, but each his own,” she teased him, before turning him around to demand his attention. “Your King takes very good care of his people. They want for nothing, Ailill. You are one of his people now, and while he will not send you home in a new Maserati, you will accept without resistance that which he wishes to bestow on you. You promised yourself to this as well, though you may not have realized it.”

 

His shoulders sagged. “We were taught not to take charity.”

 

“This is…”

 

“I know, I know…” he said. “ _ This _ is not  _ that _ . I will do as I am told, I just need to...Earlene, this is so far beyond ‘a bit much’ I really do not have words for it.”

 

“It’s okay,” she smiled. “Want to know something fun?”

 

“What?”

 

“Smaug laid on some of it. Maybe even the ring Thranduil gave you. Who knows?”

 

A broad smile came over his face, of pure childhood fantasy come to life, as he slowly turned in circles, gazing on all the stores of treasure.

 

“Thank you,” he grinned. “I think I needed that.”

 

“I know. While it’s not as fun as a leather pouch full of gems, you will be given a charge card, and you will tell me how I can arrange to pay your rent on your behalf. You are to use the card for everything you need, and not argue. But no Maserati.”

 

At this he truly laughed. “I understand. Besides, the birds would not like it. Too bumpy.”

 

*****

 

It was time to send Ailill and Fion on to Thanadir, who she hoped was surviving the morning. It was equally time to make a very large luncheon salad for all of them, in view of her further reflection on the amount of cinnamon rolls her meldir had eaten. There would be sliced meats on it, eggs, cheeses...but most importantly plenty of green roughage. She would even throw in a creamy bacon dressing for Lorna, to offset the pain of seeing so much lettuce. And speaking of Lorna, there needed to be a call. To one Orla.

 

“Would you mind calling her? I have quite a level of interest in not forgetting to pursue the fate of one Ian Dooley, Perverted Driving Instructor Extraordinaire,” she said darkly even as dextrous hands began disassembling three huge heads of lettuce.

 

“I’d be more than happy.” Lorna had been responsible and only put a drop of tincture in her tea, so she was mellow but not actually stoned. “Though I feel sorry for her, having to look through all that shite. We should bake her something -- and by ‘we’ I mean ‘you, and I’ll beat eggs or something’, since the cinnamon rolls were a bit...messy. Still not sure what I did wrong.”

 

“You did better than many, and yes, we owe her cupcakes.” Immediately she started laughing hysterically. “I should not admit to this, but have you ever seen vagina cupcakes? Oh god, Orla would have a cow.”

 

That set Lorna off as well, giggling so hard she early dropped her mobile. Okay, maybe she  _ was  _ a tiny bit stoned. A tiny bit. “I’ve seen a picture through an email Siobhan sent Mairead once,” she said. “Even  _ she  _ wouldn’t make something like that, and this is the woman who regularly makes penis cakes.”

 

“Yeah and after what Orla probably had to look at way too much of...just,  _ damn _ . But I want to know if we have the bastard yet by his willie for something on that hard drive, or whether I need to summon Evil Earlene.”

 

“Evil Earlene scares me,” Lorna said, and she wasn’t joking in the slightest. When she rang Orla, the woman picked up, which was a surprise; this time of day, one might figure she’d be out at a job site.

 

“Lorna, you owe me,” Orla said, without preamble. “You owe me  _ so fucking much.  _ D’you have any  _ idea  _ what I had to watch?”

 

“Some idea, yeah,” Lorna said, wincing at the volume and holding the mobile away from her ear a little. “Did you find...anything?”

 

“I found more than just ‘anything’,” Orla said, and sounded genuinely ill. “The Gardaí got an anonymous tip, and some forwarded...footage. If he’s not been hauled in yet, he will be soon.”

 

“Did it involve...kids?”

 

An inarticulate growl was all the answer she needed, but Orla said, “Yes. Some’v it. Maybe more even than I looked at, because once was enough. I mean it, Fun Size. You owe me.”

 

Lorna took the mobile away from her ear. “Earlene, you need to be Evil Earlene, and if we don’t pay Orla with something I think she might skin me.”

 

“I just might, too. Bake me something.”

 

“Should I bake you a... _ special  _ something? Because I can do that right now.”

 

“I want a special something and I want some fucking poitín.”

 

“She will have her poitín. Ask her if she drinks Scotch,” Earlene said quietly. 

 

“Oh, I already know the answer to that one,” Lorna said, laughing. “Orla, you still drink Scotch, right?”

 

“I’ll drink anything short’v paint thinner,” her friend said.

 

“If it’s not paint thinner, she’s down for it.”

 

“This won’t be paint thinner. Remember the bottle you shared with John Oehlert in New York?”

 

“Ohhhh yes. That was absolutely fucking  _ divine _ . Orla, we’ll get you a present. A good one.”

 

“It had best be. Ta.”

 

“Ta.” She hung up. “Orla would be our slave forever for that.”

 

“Well, you can get on it then, and I’ll find something to bake. I’ll get you my charge card.” She frowned. “Then again, let me make sure I get one with a high enough limit.”

 

“A high enough limit?” Lorna asked, sipping her tea. “How much does it cost?”

 

Earlene chuckled. “ Ardbeg Special Release Double Barrel 33 Year Old Single Malt Scotch Whisky, Islay. I didn’t have the heart to tell you, at the party. That was a ten thousand dollar bottle of Scotch.”

 

That sent tea shooting right out of Lorna’s nose, stinging her sinuses. “ _ What?! _ ” she demanded, through her fit of coughing. “ _ Ten thousand dollars?  _ Why in God’s name would anyone...Jesus, and the pair’v us killed it in an hour.” That was outright blasphemy.

 

“Michael Sandgraust is a multi-billionaire, Lorna. That was pocket change, in his eyes. And you made a dear friend of mine very happy that night, sharing it with him. I’d call it money well spent.”

 

“I wish I’d got to know him better,” Lorna said, wiping her face on a tea-towel. “He wasn’t what I’d expected at all from somebody that rich.” What Von Ratched had done to him...the only mercy was that the poor man had been dead first. And wasn’t it terrible, that that would be called a mercy?

 

“John was a good one. One of the best.” She looked away, knowing the subject had to change. There was too much rage left, over that, and it needed to be gone before she asked her next question. “When you get a moment, check the news for Limerick. If that twat was arrested, it’ll be headline news.”

 

Lorna reached over and gave her hand a squeeze before opening up the Google app on her phone. Scrolling through the news feed, she found nothing, which probably meant the investigation was ongoing, or...something. “Nothing yet, but Orla didn’t say when she’d sent in her tip. I’ll keep checking today and see what comes up. Just...eurgh.” She put her mobile in her pocket and made more tea -- normal tea. “I know there’s some weird kinks out there, but anything to do with piss and shit I just do not understand. I mean, I don’t get why anyone would like spankings, either, but at least they’re...hygienic. They don't involve bodily waste.”

 

“This is true,” came the reply, even as an eyebrow raised.  _ Well, they had never tried that one, either. Hm.  _ Aloud she continued, “Well I just hope all this doesn’t somehow screw with Thanadir and Thranduil taking their licensing exam. It’s scheduled for three weeks, I suppose we’d best make sure they’ve enough practice before then.”

 

“Oh, we can do that. I’ll ask Orla to make sure it won’t banjax anything. For a ten thousand dollar bottle’v Scotch, she’d probably sell us her soul.”

 

*****

 

Thanadir had brought Saoirse with him early, because choosing practice weapons for such a young one was always a slight challenge. Really, she was likely best off with their long knives (as opposed to their throwing knives) but he wanted to find one that was suitably dull until he could ascertain her dexterity. That she had fine motor control, he had no doubt based on her art skills. It was the rest of her, that would need evaluation. In the end he did choose one of the long knives; fortunately Thalion had for whatever reason kept a number of items suitable for different aged elflings sequestered, long after any elflings had grown and departed.

 

“This is not  _ too _ sharp,” Thanadir said, handing it to her. “Which means, it is still somewhat sharp. This is a single-edged weapon, sharp on this side but not the top. You must always check, when handling a different blade. Never assume. So far so good?” he asked with a smile.

 

Saoirse inspected it. “Good,” she said. She knew that knives could be thrown -- she’d seen Aunt Lorna do it -- but the mechanics of it did not yet make full sense. “When it’s double-sharp...sharpened? When it’s double-sharpened, how do you not cut your fingers off when you throw it?”

 

“This is not a throwing knife. Those look completely different. This is a long knife, and at your current size will suffice as a sword. When you have gained strength and agility, you will use a short sword and later a longsword. But one of those would tire you very quickly, right now.”

 

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “I could use a longsword someday? But...I’m short. How could I use a sword bigger than me?” She’d reached Aunt Lorna-size now, but...that wasn’t saying much. Unless she were somehow to get really tall, like an elf, but Uncle Thranduil had said that probably wasn’t going to happen.

 

Thanadir pushed the door to the training room open. Carefully. He learned his lesson, about not entering so fast. The elf walked to his own weapon, which usually remained here. “This is an elven longsword, Saoirse. As you can see you are already taller than the weapon. Some kinds of these are larger, but larger is not always better. You may hold it, but to practice with it would wear you out quickly. Which defeats the purpose. And it is a two-edged weapon, so be careful.”

 

Saoirse took it, very carefully. “So I have to get a lot stronger before I can try with one of these. Got it.” She was built like a squirrel, as Da liked to say, and weighed about as much. Equally carefully, she handed the sword back to Uncle Thanadir, because Da had warned her that if she cut off a finger, Uncle Thranduil might not be able to magically glue it back.

 

Thanadir traded blades with her, and given that Ailill was not yet here, demonstrated her first exercise. “Now, much of this is very boring at first, to be honest. We do these movements repeatedly, so that our bodies memorize the motions. They are the foundation of everything that will be learned after, so learn them we must. I will show you what to do, you will try over and over, and I will watch you and correct how you move your feet or hold your knife if needed.” He demonstrated four different drills, with footwork, knowing that she was an intelligent and observant child. Two of these involved stabbing the mannequin, which seemed to have nearly universal appeal. They had a great deal of burlap; it was no matter.

 

Ailill waited now in the doorway, feeling vaguely aghast that his torment would occur with others nearby, but he did his best to smile and reconcile himself to this. It was not reasonable, to assume that the seneschal should give him private lessons all of the time. He would still do his best. Perches covered with leather had begun to appear nearly everywhere Ailill would frequent, and this was no exception. Fion was placed in the far corner, at some distance from where anyone would actually be. It was for the best, that he have a chance to see and hear these new sights and sounds. And His Excellency had been warned that from time to time, it was necessary to give Fion a tidbit.

 

“I would like you to warm up with the same drills we practiced yesterday,” Thanadir said. “Slowly. I wish you to pay more attention to your motions, not your speed.”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” he answered meekly, as he reached to retrieve this deceptively light blade that could become so heavy, so fast. Thanadir rested his hand lightly on the pommel of his sword, watching Ailill approvingly, when the advent of Sharley caught his attention. He waved her inside with a smile, and closed the door since all were apparently present.

 

The good thing about Sharley’s self-set schedule was that it was variable; she just got more things done really early in the morning, since she didn’t need a whole lot of sleep, and thus didn’t feel bad about showing up for this lesson. She returned Thanadir’s wave, and sat out-of-the-way while he ran Ailill through his paces. Saoirse had the most adorable, fierce look of concentration on her face, her movements slow and deliberate -- she was obviously taking this seriously, rather than just fucking around like many kids might have. The girl might have her issues, but nobody could say she half-assed anything she was interested in.

 

Sharley had watched these lessons before, and watched the elves practice. Their sleeping patterns were as odd as her own, and she liked watching -- they were so graceful. Even Ratiri was quite graceful himself, though he’d never be so much so as an elf, because duh, elf. If she were actually capable of being attracted to anyone, she might have been to him; he was what one of the others on the trail crew would have called ‘eye candy’. The elves were, too, and she wondered how Earlene and Lorna, who obviously  _ were  _ attracted to people, could handle what was surely a distraction to them.

 

“I know you have watched before, but we will be working on the same exercises that Saoirse is doing,” Thanadir said. “On the table are practice blades; you are tall enough to choose any of them.” With a gesture, he indicated for her to choose one.

 

She had watched the elves enough to have a guess as to which would work better for her than the others. It was simple, though lovely as all the elves’ weapons were, and her hand closed gently around it before she turned to Thanadir --

 

_ The elf had a weapon, and it was sharp, so very sharp. The others were no danger, but this one, this Thanadir,  _ he  _ was a danger, and the Stranger stirred, watching him, holding Sharley very, very still. His grasp on his sword was loose, casual, but the Stranger watched him like the hawk in the corner, unblinking. _

 

“Sharley?” His pupil appeared to be momentarily distracted. He turned slightly, and raised his blade. “I will demonstrate the steps and positions again, even though you have watched them before. If you will step for--”

 

_ He was a threat he was a threat he was worse than anyone in That Place --  _ the Stranger surged forward in Sharley’s mind, shutting her consciousness away as safely as it had been the night they escaped That Place, so that she knew nothing of what it did. It had never used a sword, but it had watched along with her, and raised the thing as the elves had done, a sweeping blow of the sort it had watched them do dozens of times, fast as it could. This one was too much, he could kill them, could kill them as easily as _ that other one  _ could have, should he choose, and he needed to not have that sword, nor any others.

 

With an expression of deep shock that flickered only for part of a second, Thanadir parried Sharley’s attack, simultaneously calling out to Thranduil. That he had barely managed to do so on account of the surprise unnerved him more than a little, but he was surprised no longer. Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and he barked a command to Ailill to take Saoirse and himself to the other side of the room.

 

The Stranger had watched him -- it knew how he fought, and it guessed now, experimental sweeps and slashes as fast as someone merely human could attempt. The sword had to go -- he had to drop it and he would be safe, not this threat. He parried each attempt too adeptly, too easily, and it only made the Stranger redouble its attack, Sharley still safe asleep in the depths of her own mind.

 

Ailill’s eyes were wider than saucers. While he was hardly heroic, he at least knew he could not live with himself if whatever was happening hurt this young girl, and swiftly pushed her behind him. His sword he kept, knowing he would be completely useless with it and yet it was better than nothing. He watched, vaguely awestruck, as Thanadir held his own with relative ease as he repeatedly told Sharley to stop what she was doing. The elf refused to harm her, knowing that Thranduil was coming. And certainly, he kept her as far from his other pupils as possible. If there was such a thing as a bright side to this, it was that he had forgotten his hunger.

 

The Stranger said nothing, but it ducked, stepping back as it had seen the elves do, bringing its blade up again. All expression had left Sharley’s face, all the humanity gone from her eyes; the Stranger was implacable, and it could not let this threat have her. No threat would take her ever again.

 

Saoirse, no fool, grabbed Ailill’s hand and tried to drag him away even further, because what the fuck was Aunt Sharley  _ doing _ ? “C’mon,” she hissed. “We’ve got to go.”

 

“No,” he said, refusing to release the child. “We were told to stay here and stay here is what we will do. Trust him. He know what he is saying.” That and, doing what Saoirse wanted would mean going quite close to Sharley, something he did not relish the idea of one bit. And he did not need to think further on this, because at that moment the King burst into the room, blond hair sweeping out behind him. 

 

“Thanadir,” he said sharply. “Drop your sword.”

 

For perhaps a second, though it seemed much longer, flickers of assorted emotion played over the seneschal’s face as Ailill watched in horror while this suicidal command was issued. And yet that second was all it took before the blade clattered to the ground, as the elf prepared to dodge his opponent now that he would be defenseless.

 

Thranduil did not pick up the swords at his disposal, but instead walked to Sharley and spun her around. “What is the meaning of this?” he roared.

 

Ailill closed his eyes, for a moment, and digested the courage and the obedience the seneschal had demonstrated. It was a powerful lesson, and not one he would soon forget. He had trusted the King with his life, and had not been led astray.

 

As soon as Thanadir’s sword had been released, the Stranger halted; when Thranduil turned Sharley to him, it looked up at him with dispassion. “He was a threat,” it said, its own sword now loose in its grasp, lowered. “He could have killed us. With his sword, he could have killed us. I couldn’t let him.”

 

_ “You  _ were the threat,” Thranduil retorted icily.  _ “You  _ caused her to attack someone more than capable of killing both of you. What in the name of all fourteen Valar and Morgoth besides were you  _ thinking? This _ is how you would protect her? You are  _ unfit _ .”

 

“It worked before,” the Stranger said, still dispassionately. “Get rid of the threat before it attacks, and Sharley sleeps. She never knows.”

 

“Do you wish me to take your advice? Give me one reason I should not get rid of  _ you,  _ before you can manage something so foolish and ill-considered a second time?”

 

“Because if you did,” it said, “Sharley would remember.  _ Everything. _ I keep her safe, including from herself.”

 

_ “Oh shit,”  _ Jimmy moaned.

 

_ “This?”  _ Layla groaned.  _ “This is why we hate this thing.” _

 

The Stranger ignored them. “Sharley has no one else. She has nothing else. There is only me.”

 

“Then you had best find a way to do better,” Thranduil said flatly. “If you cannot tell the difference between a swordsmanship lesson and an attacker, you have fewer brains than a troll at sunrise. And you are not leaving this room until you can come up with something.  _ And _ apologize to my seneschal,” he said. Oh, he had worked himself up into a fine dither.

 

“Teach me,” it said immediately. “If there is a difference, teach me. I will learn no other way. I will…” it blinked, because Sharley was stirring, fighting her way to the surface like a diver in search of air “... _ learn. _ ”

 

“ _ Well, dammit,”  _ Kurt muttered.  _ “The one time we  _ want  _ the fucking thing here.” _

 

The Stranger blinked again, and dropped the sword, and Sharley fought to wake again. Her head ached, her muscles burned...and this was not how she’d been standing -- “Oh... _ shit _ ,” she groaned, looking around. Ailill and Saoirse were huddled back in the corner, Thanadir was somewhere behind her, and Thranduil looked ready to murder her -- or more accurately, she was pretty sure he wanted to murder the Stranger. “What did it do?” she asked, sickened. There was no blood, at least, not this time; whatever it had done, it hadn’t hurt anyone. Somehow, that did not make her feel any better at all, because it must have  _ tried _ . It never fought its way upward if it wasn’t trying to hurt someone.

 

“Everything is well enough,” Thranduil said, his tone changing dramatically. “I am not angry at you, Sharley.  _ It _ decided that Thanadir teaching you the most basic of student sword positions was somehow a threat to your very life. And it wants to learn how to tell the difference. What am I supposed to say to it? ‘Elf, good’? I am afraid it was lectured pointedly.”

 

Thanadir only now seemed to recall poor Ailill and Saoirse, and made his way to them. “I am very sorry, about that. Thank you both, for doing as I asked. I believe we can continue shortly, if you still feel up to it?” he ruffled Saoirse’s hair. “But we will not speak more until the King is done,” he added quietly.

 

Sharley looked at the sword, and her empty hand.  _ Jesus _ … “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t -- I had no idea it would do that. I didn’t --” She was tempted, very much, to just make a run for the door, because she wasn’t safe -- nobody should be around her, not with that  _ thing  _ still in her head. “Every time I think it’s gone, it comes back. Please don’t kick me out.” To have to go home, because of  _ this _ ...

 

“How could she do that if she’s never used a sword before?” Saoirse whispered. That had been...really fucking scary, honestly. She wasn’t sure her heart would ever slow down after that.

 

“Sharley, you are not going to be kicked out, now or ever,” Thranduil said, cautiously offering a hug to her. “This is not your fault. No one was hurt. I think I understand what went wrong, and to ensure that bit, we will just make a few adjustments for your next few lessons. Please do not let this cause stress. You are loved and valued, here.”

 

She returned the hug, but cautiously, skittishly; she wasn’t used to touching anyone who wasn’t Allanah. “Somebody coulda been hurt. If it wasn’t Thanadir -- if it was somebody human with a sword -- the Stranger thinks I don’t know what it’s done. I remember the place with the needles, and the blood. Can you make it go away?” She’d seen the Chart, yes, but getting rid of the Stranger would be better for  _ everyone _ . “I need the voices, I know they’re...they’re part of what I am, what I do, but…”

 

“Sharley, I cannot see the outcome, were I to do that. Honestly, I would be afraid to try. You are like no one else,” he said sadly, realizing that it might be best if they took this conversation elsewhere. “Come. We can speak more about this. I am guessing that for today, your enthusiasm for swords has vanished.”

 

She’d been afraid of that. And how terrible was it, that her ability to see the future couldn’t give her some glimmer of an idea? But then, it never had been any use to her, personally. All she could do was nod, wretched, determined to not go near a bladed weapon again. There were other things she could learn, things that wouldn’t lead the Stranger to hurt anyone.

 

Thranduil closed the door behind them, making a mental note to speak with Ailill and Saoirse later on.

 

Thanadir now resumed speaking, a smile on his face. “Well, though it was not scheduled, you both ended up seeing a real sword fight. Sort of. Do you have any questions about what you saw, that I am actually capable of answering? I do not know what happened to Sharley. If she wishes she can tell us later.” His cheerful kindness was a rather stark contrast to the fact that someone had been actively trying to kill him a few minutes ago.

 

Saoirse looked at Ailill. “How could you know what she was doing to block her, when she was going like that?” she asked.

 

“That is an excellent question,” he replied, his face lit up in a smile. “The footwork and arm positions you are just beginning to work on now are indicators, of what you might do next. And also of what your opponent might do. As you progress, you will learn that certain motions from your opponent can only have a limited number of outcomes, giving you time to prepare for them in advance. This assumes, of course that you are fighting against another with skill to match you. Though Sharley fought with a great deal of effort and put a great deal of strength into her movements, there was a...lack of understanding, on some level. It was not difficult to know what was coming next. Ailill, is there anything you would like to ask?”

 

“Were you ever in danger?” he asked quietly, still not certain how much there had been to fear. Only now, was his heartbeat slowing closer to normal.

 

“Only at the first moment. Because I was unprepared for any such thing to happen. It was my duty, to summon my King and to keep Sharley from harming you. Or me. I have fought many, Ailill. It would take far greater skill to place me in real danger against another swords...person.” Thanadir smiled, guessing at the real reason for his concern. And he was touched, just as he had been favorably pleased that in spite of the young man’s fear, he had sought to protect Saoirse. There was courage here, that only needed helping along.

 

“So...if she can do that, we can learn to do it?” Saoirse asked. “But...not when she’s here, okay? I like Aunt Sharley, but that was really fucking scary. I know you’re better with a sword than just about anyone, but that...that was scary anyway. I thought maybe she might hurt you by like, sheer accident.”

 

Thanadir weighed the highly inappropriate language against the child’s genuine fright, and elected to try for a compromise. “I know that you are unsettled, Saoirse, but keep trying to mind your words,” he said, giving her a hug. “You will learn to be far better than that. Here. I am going to do something...unusual, so that you can understand. The sword is not only an offensive weapon, it is a defensive one as well. It arguably has the most flexibility between these two things; attack and defense.  I am going to allow you to attack me, Saoirse. You may try to hit me with your long knife by any means you can conjure except throwing it, and only because we do not want it dulled any more than it already is. You will see how difficult it is, to get anywhere. I will not hurt you, but I will keep you from getting near me.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Da said the only thing more dangerous than an expert with a weapon is an amateur,” she said, “because an expert will hit where they want to, but an amateur might hit  _ anywhere _ .” She really didn’t want to attack Uncle Thanadir, even though she knew he could defend himself, because what if something happened by accident? Blind back luck? She raised her knife, but hesitated. “You really want me to?”

 

“I would not ask if I was not certain,” the old elf smiled, raising his blade to a central ready position. “Go ahead, try.”

 

Saoirse thought for a moment, and decided to do what Aunt Lorna would have advised for someone their size: go low. Still, she hesitated to really use her knife hard, because while she’d hit plenty of kids at school, she didn’t really even want to try to hurt someone she actually liked. Her attack was tentative, but sue her.

 

Saoirse found that before she could come even close, the flat of his blade was always in her way, like some sort of morphing barrier that moved and annoyed in perfect timing with her own movements. “You will have to try much harder than that, Saoirse,” he chided. You cannot hurt me.”

 

That actually filled her with more confidence, though she watched how he used his sword. Somehow, no matter how fast she tried to be, how well she thought she had his moves predicted, he was right: she couldn’t get anywhere near him. It was like he could read her mind, not just her feet (and she really didn’t know how reading feet worked, but whatever; she was sure he’d explain it eventually). But how could he be reading her mind, when she didn't even really know what she was going to do herself before she did it?

 

Thanadir smiled. “Would you like to try, Ailill?”

 

“That will not be necessary, my Lord, I can already see what the outcome would be.” These sessions were humiliating enough; he did not need to further display his current incompetence. The message was plain: They would learn, and grown in skill and understanding that they currently lacked.

 

“C’mon, Ailill,” Saoirse said, pausing long enough to speak. “It’s frustrating, but it’s kind’v fun,  _ because  _ it’s so frustrating. Which made a lot more sense in my head.”

 

The young man looked at her, baffled, and then back to the seneschal, whose merry eyes watched in silent invitation. He swallowed nervously. “Well...alright.” On some level he could not believe he was doing this, but how was he supposed to tell a...was she even nine years old?...girl that he was too afraid? Yes, he was a wimp, but there was still some pride left in him… standing as he had been taught, and praying he remembered his footwork, he attacked Thanadir as he had been taught to attack the mannequin. Four different poses, he tried, and he was blocked in four different ways. Damn if the kid wasn’t right, it was kind of fun...if only because no retaliation was involved...he gave it about ten good tries before lowering his blade, and thanking Thanadir. Now he couldn’t help but wonder, what was a challenge for this ellon?

 

A loud rap on the door startled Ailill a little, and then it was pushed open. The tall blond ellon he recognized as Thalion was there, apologizing for the interruption and asking a question about the scheduled patrols for tonight. After answering, Thanadir asked, “are you free right now?”.

 

“Yes, Hîr vuin. What do you wish?”

 

“Our lesson was interrupted today, and I am of a mind to interrupt it a little more. My pupils had just begun to learn when an...upsetting occurrence happened. I think especially Saoirse needs to understand how difficult it is, to harm one who has gained a mastery over the sword in single combat. I wondered if you would indulge us, and spar with me for a few minutes.”

 

The ellon smiled and nodded his head, while removing his cloak and laying down the bow and quiver he had been carrying.

 

Saoirse backed up, setting her knife down, and tried not to bounce on the balls of her feet in anticipation.

 

Ailill backed up to stand near Fion, who screeched, startling Thalion, who had not observed the hawk. His eyes widened, and he looked up at the firion in admiration. “Would you teach me, about them, when your duties allow?” Some of the patrolling elves had seen him with the King the other day, and had been very impressed indeed.

 

The biggest smile Thanadir had yet seen came over Ailill’s perpetually nervous face, and Thanadir felt very pleased with his friend. The request was unscripted, and had done a world of good. Without more preamble, the two ellyn occupied the center of the large room, and faced off against each other, taking the other’s measure for a few moments, until Thalion attacked with unbelievable force. And yet for him too, Thanadir’s sword was always in the way. What Ailill found so hard to believe was, Thalion was a much larger ellon than Thanadir. More heavily built. More muscular. And yet it did not seem to matter. Thanadir was quicker than lightning, wiry, exceptionally agile. And as he was built more like Thanadir, it gave him some hope.

 

Saoirse felt proud that she noticed three occasions where one of them moved just the same as the drills she had been practicing.  _ So it really does matter, it isn’t a joke just because I’m a kid. Even they do it… _

 

Thanadir called a stop after only about four minutes, but it had been enough. With thanks to his opponent, he could see that it had been of some value, for each of them.

 

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” Saoirse whispered. “That,” she said, louder, “was deadly.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Thanadir smiled at her. “You both may never hear this from me again, but we are done for today. You have learned, though not the lesson I intended. We will resume this soon. You and I, Saoirse, will work on this perhaps every other day, to catch you up to Ailill. Both of you may go now. Pardon me. All three of you,” he grinned.

 

Saoirse looked up at Ailill. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? Because food should be a thing that happens now. I bet Fion is hungry too.” She’d seen how often Ailill gave the bird little meat snacks.

 

_ Hungry. _ The word flared like a pain, in Thanadir’s stomach. He had forgotten, amidst all the excitement, and now desperately wanted food. “I will show you how to exit the Halls from the forges, it is the quickest way to leave. I will return with you for...food.” Hopefully, his desperation was not so obvious…

 

“Uncle Thanadir can eat like three times his body mass,” Saoirse whispered to Ailill. “Uncle Ratiri said elves have the metabolism that Time forgot. Whatever that actually means.”

 

Ailill took Fion onto his wrist, and found himself somewhere between laughter and bewilderment. He had never quite met...anyone like this, and certainly not a child. The moment they were out into the open, he released the hawk to fly. It was the least he could do, after the creature had put up with diamonds and swords for the last hour.

 

Saoirse watched the bird fly, mesmerized. “What kind’v hawk is he? He’s pretty.”

 

“A Harris’ Hawk. Most people who do what I do use hawks, falcons, or owls. The are all different. All three of the birds I keep are the same as Fion. I like them best.”

 

“Will you ever bring the others?”

 

“Yes. Though only one at a time, for the forseeable future.” Fion returned, and was given a tidbit.

 

Saoirse looked up at the bird. “Hi,” she said, giving him a little wave. The bright eyes watched the movement of her fingers. “Can I touch him? Would he let me?”

 

“No, Saoirse, and I thank you for asking. Many people do not think to do that. To ask. Hawks do not like strangers; it is very unnerving for them. That is why I am carrying him on the side that is away from you. Fion is more used to meeting new people than many, but he is still a hawk. He is not a pet, even though he has a relationship with me. And I cannot guarantee he would not bite, were you to try...you do not want that, trust me.”

 

“Noooo, no, I wouldn’t,” she said, eying the bird’s sharp beak. “I know hunting birds like hawks and raptors and stuff can rip people’s faces off if they’re mad or scared. I think I saw a YouTube video about it once. I’ll just say hi from this side. I like my face where it is.”

 

Thanadir was interested to hear the conversation, though not as interested as he was in lunch.  _ Valar, would this not pass? _ He hated to think of asking Thranduil for help. He was...spoiled, now. It had been a very long time, since he had suffered this feeling. 

 

When they arrived back at the house, Earlene was just finishing the salad, and was stunned at the look of desperation on her meldir’s face. Without hesitation, she scooped up a big plate for him, crammed a roll on top of it,  and marched off without explanation to her bedroom. While the others ran off to wash up, he followed her with a furtive glance to make sure no one else saw. “Sit,” she said, clearing off a chair where she liked to read at times. “Eat.” The fork was shoved in his hand. “I am so sorry, Thanadir, that you are going through this. Leave the plate in here when you are done, and come to eat more as though you are just arriving.”

 

He would kiss her, except he would have to stop chewing to do it. With a grateful nod from him, she returned to the kitchen.

 

*****

 

Ian returned from a rather delicious lunch in the Dining Hall. He still couldn’t understand more than about ten words of the elf language, not that it bothered him that much. They were nice, they fed him, there were no goddamn furballs everywhere, and he had this nice job making things with another bloke who knew not to jabber on every minute of the day. It was sort’v paradise, honestly.

 

Geezer had just finished himself, but he was busy scribbling in a notebook. “Ian, can I ask your opinion? I made this thing for Aurnia, for when Sean gets outta prison, but I dunno if it’s too harsh for a mom to hear about her kid. I don’t want her thinkin’ I wanna torture him to death or something.”

 

Ian looked up from his drawer facing he was about to turn his attention to. “Why not. Kid’s a gobshite, but she’s a mam. Hard thing, that.”

 

Geezer handed over the notebook, filled with his cramped writing. “If the Elves’ll let me, I wanna bring him here and basically lock him in an apartment when he’s not working. No booze, no drugs, no electricity, no nothing.” He’d written out a daily schedule, even, along the lines of what he’d learned in the military: up at five a.m., go for a run. Six a.m., breakfast, followed by woodcutting (hopefully Pat wouldn’t murder him with a hatchet), lunch, whatever stonemason work there was to be done or to learn, dinner, a walk in the woods, then bed. It sounded reasonable to him, but he wasn’t this little punk’s mother.

 

Ian sighed deeply. “Aurnia ain’t gonna like it. You’ve got to know, Sean’s da was a gobshite worse than him, but Aurnia….” he shook his head, searching for the right words. “She’s a  _ mam _ . She tried t’ love the bloke, instead’v kick his arse into next week like he needed. Okay maybe he needed both, but you’ll have a time’v it with her; she’ll be out here wanting t’ coddle him an’ wear at you t’ go easier on him. Not saying you can’t get her to see reason, but you’ll need probably all the time between to get her to understand. Honestly, get that Lorna on Aurnia. A little crazy, that one, but she knows the value of kicking an arse that needs kicking, and she’s a mam too.”

 

“Was afraid of that,” Geezer said, grimacing. “I ain’t ever had kids, what the hell do I know? She came to me for help, but I don’t want her thinking I just mean to murder him when she’s not looking. I’ll talk to Lorna -- might be having a woman along’ll help anyway, even if she’s so tiny I’m afraid I might step on her if I look away.” 

 

He shut the notebook, tucking it away in his rucksack. “If Aurnia’ll let me do that or something like it, I might be able to help that kid, but if she wants me to go too soft on him, nothing’ll work. Doesn't sound like anything’s ever come too close, except when he was building walls.”

 

“Y’know, Geezer, when it comes down to it...without the drink and with a bloke not letting him get away with shite, he could hav’ a chance. Let’s face it...drink’s an issue for lots’v us. Aurnia too; I love her like a sister, but she’s swum too long near the bottom’v a whisky bottle than’s good for her. He might be dry from being behind bars; keepin’ him that way...you’re gonna need some luck.”

 

“Gotta get Thranduil and Aurnia to agree to let me keep him in here, somehow,” Geezer said, hunting down his sanding block. “Kid like that, husband like she said he was, I’m not surprised she’d be too into the drink. Hell, might be good for both of them to move in, but I don’t want her trying to make me go soft on him or it’ll undermine everything I’m tryin’ to do. Kid oughtta be glad I don’t send him out into the woods and start shooting at him. That’ll make you piss your pants and grow up in a hurry.”

 

Ian sat still for many minutes. “Y’know, there’s more. Maybe. Read your notes, about The Chart ‘n all. You’ve two doctors on that council’v yours. What’ll  _ they _ do, about the alcoholism? The way I see it, if they can’t say now, how’re they gonna say later? This place won’t make it, with half’v us ossified. It’s not going to be like now, it’s gonna be like when I was young. You had to bust yer arse just t’get by.” He shook his head. “I’d ask the docs.”

 

Geezer paused, block still in hands. “That,” he said, “is a really fuckin’ good question. Old Dan, guy I worked for back in America, he called alcoholism the Irish Virus. Said the Irish have the same kinda genetic predisposition to it that the Native Americans do. Drank a lot when I was young, but I never had much problem giving up booze if I had to, so I dunno how much advice  _ I _ could give anyone. One of the docs oughtta know, though. I don’t know Doc Barry real well, but Ratiri’s a damn smart man. If he don’t know, he can find out.”

 

Ian nodded, and began with his 300 grit sandpaper; the piece he was working on would be smoother than a baby’s arse when it done with. He glanced up at Geezer one more time, a question forming slowly in his mind.  _ Aurnia, asking a bloke about...anything at all? Hm. _

 

*****

 

Thranduil brought Sharley into the woods, where she seemed to find the most comfort, away from other people and elves. He had offered his arm to her, knowing that she literally did not know what to do with too much physical contact with anyone but children. That she took it, said something. For quite some time, they went on in silence, as he unavoidably followed the labyrinth of her thoughts. Finally, he spoke, in the kindest tones he could muster. “What do you think it will require, for me to convince you that this was not your fault, Sharley? That you have nothing to be ashamed of? Do you realize, it was a fortunate thing, what happened today? You could not have harmed my seneschal, and now we understand something about the Stranger we did not before. I am not worried. And I wish you would not be, either.”

 

She looked up at the canopy, though she didn’t really see it. So unlike her forest this was -- so much older, and warmer. “It’s always my fault, when that thing gets out,” she said, after a pause. “I keep it locked away. It’s chained, in my mind. If the chains aren’t strong enough, it’s my fault. And...I knew the Stranger would attack people, for me.” Her odd eyes turned to him. “I do remember the place with the needles, a bit. I didn’t see what it did, to get us out, but there was a lotta blood, and it wasn’t mine.”

 

“Sharley, what if I were to tell you that you are wrong? That it is not your fault, and that I know more about this than you do?”

 

Her brow furrowed. “Wait, you know some of what I’ve forgotten? It’s still...in here, somewhere?” she asked, tapping her temple.

 

_ “Um…”  _ Layla said, slightly panicked.

 

“What if I do?” he pressed, though his voice was gentle.

 

“Could you tell me?” she asked, wide-eyed. “I don’t remember more than I  _ do  _ remember. I don’t even know how old I am. I remember Marty, and some stuff from before that, but it’s in pieces. I don’t remember Marty’s dad -- I don’t remember my  _ own  _ dad, though I remember my mom some.”

 

If the voices had had a physical presence, they would have collectively facepalmed. None of them could even say anything to Thranduil, because they couldn’t speak without Sharley hearing, but what the hell was he doing? Did he really want to go waking the Stranger up again? Because if he brought up Avathar, it was going to have to wipe her memory of it again, and it would be...displeased.

 

“I have to ask a question to a question, and beg for your patience,” he said carefully. “Do you understand what the Stranger does?”

 

“It keeps me safe,” she said. “And I know it fucks with my memory. At least, I think it’s the only one that does. I’ve got my suspicions about the rest of these assholes.”

 

_ “Thanks,”  _ Jimmy muttered.

 

“Then you know that guarding your memory is part of how it keeps you safe?”

 

“So it says,” she said dryly. “I have my doubts about that. I think it’s just an asshole, too. There’s just too much I don’t remember, and I really don’t think  _ anybody _ has a life so shitty they’d need something to go in and erase three-quarters of it.”

 

“If I were to inform you that it is telling you the truth, would you believe that I am not lying to you?”

 

Sharley’s steps faltered, and she stared at him, hard. “If it is...if you are…” She thought about what she was missing, how  _ much  _ she was missing… “What the  _ hell  _ happened to me? I mean…I have a right to know, don’t I?”

 

_ “You do,”  _ Sinsemilla said gently,  _ “but Sharley, you don’t want to. There are people out there who would pay good money to be able to forget like you have. I’m sure Lorna would have given somebody’s left arm for a Stranger.” _

 

She sighed. “They treat me like a child,” she said, shutting her eyes for a moment. “All of them. And I get so tired of it. My mind should be my own. I should be the only one who gets to do anything with it, but it’s... _ broken.  _ But maybe that’s why I can do what I do. Or why what I do does what it does to me.”

 

“You do not know how deep my sympathy runs, for what has befallen you. You asked for none of this, and by means I cannot comprehend have been made into something unique in all the world without your consent. You are certainly the only one in all the world that can know me as I know most others.” He looked away, deeply uncertain how to say this. How to dance around promises already made.  _ Because you are good at that, are you not, Thranduil Oropherion? Always walking on the thin, sharp edge of your own honesty. _ He sighed. “Sharley, I am not free to tell you what I know. I am only free to tell you that on my life, you do not wish to know what you think you do. And I only risk saying this much because I do not understand how else to cause you to understand that the Stranger is not yours to chain. That this could be better for you. Easier. But only if you are willing to consider a different truth.”

 

Jesus, was her life really so terrible….? Probably. That was….depressing. The words ‘government experiment’ came to mind, except so far as she could recall, she’d always been like this. Maybe some lab had caught her, and tried tweaking with her ability. No, she probably did not want to know...and yet she wondered. She was human; she couldn’t help but wonder -- but if this ancient elf, who had seen so many terrible things, thought it was that awful, she wouldn’t ask any further. “If I don’t chain the Stranger, it hurts people,” she said. “If Thanadir had been human, it woulda killed him. It’s not...safe. And I’m not safe to be around, if it’s that shitty at being able to tell a real threat from a...not-threat.”

 

“Sharley. If you could chain the Stranger, you would have chained the Stranger. It is  _ that you try _ , that makes it unsafe. I have spoken to it. I can speak to it. But not when you do this.” His voice had taken on a far more assertive edge, but it did not cross into derision or criticism. “Today, now, we will walk on; I will not force you to return to Eldamar until you feel ready. But I will not stand here and argue with you. Forgive me, but I have nearly twenty thousand years’ more skill at determining what is a threat and what is not. If nothing else, please consider what I have said.”

 

She pondered this, even as they resumed their walk. “If it’s awake, I’m not,” she said, after a while. “It’s another reason I keep it chained -- I don’t know what it does if it’s awake, but I’ve sometimes had some nasty evidence. Is there some way we can both...be in the driver’s seat at once? I really don’t like not knowing what I’ve done. Anybody who’s ever been blackout drunk knows  _ that  _ one. If it didn’t...take over, and shut me down...I wouldn’t hate it so much.” She had an instinctive fear of the thing, but if it couldn’t basically take everything that made her  _ her  _ and stuff it into a box, she’d be a lot less afraid of it.

 

Thranduil frowned. “It can be talked to. Reasoned with. But it has...a child’s understanding of some things. It sees black and white, and not shades of gray. And yet I believe it can also learn. While some part of me cannot believe I am saying this, I can certainly try to speak with it.”

 

_ “We,”  _ Layla said, _ “are sorry in advance. I mean...damn.” _

 

_ “What she said,”  _ Jimmy added.

 

“I kinda feel bad even asking to inflict that on you,” Sharley sighed. “I mean, all I do is fight with the thing. I’ve never been able to speak with it unless we’re wrestling in my head. Sometimes it wins, sometimes I win. Just...if you ever wanna punch it, please don’t punch me.”

 

His flaxen head tossed back in laughter. With mirth in his eyes, he looked on her. “I do not know what it says about me, but I have enjoyed all of your...facets. I am old, Sharley. And you are like a roomful of interesting people, all in one place.”

 

_ “I’m glad  _ somebody  _ appreciates us,”  _ Kurt said, in tones so pointed that Sharley had to laugh, too.  _ “Seriously, she so undervalues us.” _

 

_ “If you’d stop telling her to punch people that look at her weird, she’d probably like you a lot more,”  _ Sinsemilla said dryly.  _ “He’s the nasty one. None of us like him.” _

 

_ “Oh, get bent.” _

 

_ “I can’t. I don’t have a body.” _

 

Sharley rolled her eyes, though she was still laughing. “It’s so  _ weird _ , having someone else be able to hear them. Normally I'm the only one they can yatter at. Marty sometimes heard them, but less as she got older.” Every time she thought about that, her mind skittered away from it again.

 

“I do not mind. Maybe I should, but I do not. They are….they are funny, though maybe I would not think so if I had to live with them as you do.”

 

“At least, no matter how long I wander into the mountains, I’m never lonely,” she said. “And...if you could help me….if you could help me able to live with the Stranger, without it knocking me outta commission every time it wanted to drive...damn I’d appreciate it.”

 

“I will do my best,” he promised. “You may not be happy about what happened today, but I am. For now I understand how I may speak to it. Though, I will not do this without your consent. I have no wish to cause you distress and hurt.”

 

“You have it,” she said. “This thing’s caused me more distress and hurt than you ever could. If I can’t get rid of it, I’d at least rather not have to fight it all the time.”

 

“Tomorrow, then. Today I still have a seneschal to...assist. I try to pace myself, these days,” he said, shaking his head but smiling. “They are serving lunch, soon. Will you eat?”

 

“I will,” she said. “And...thank you. I mean it.”

 

Feeling happier, he turned their steps toward Eldamar. Now the only difficulty left to manage was Thanadir. Perhaps he should have offered more help than only watching and waiting? He had not meant for his brother to endure quite this much.  _ Only Lorna _ ….

 

*****

 

Earlene was not expecting today’s lunch to be one of her all-time greatest hits. In fact, it had been months, since she’d given everyone “only” a lunch salad. Not that it was insubstantial; au contraire. But this was a group that believed toasties were at the pinnacle of culinary civilization, so she could not really blame them. Not that she would apologize for the meal; it was very healthy and filling. If anyone guessed why it had happened, they kept it to themselves. Ratiri at one point looked from her, to Thanadir, to the salad, and back to her with a knowing smile, whereas Lorna just frowned mildly at the lettuce but said nothing. Ailill was polite and ate everything, as did the children; only Thranduil seemed entirely pleased with the offering. She would make it up to them at dinner. What worried was that there were substantial leftovers, and that half an hour after everyone else had removed their plates to the kitchen, Thanadir was still in the dining room, plowing through serving after serving. 

 

“Thranduil, he is going to explode. I know what we all talked about regarding your healing, but can you not  _ do _ something? I cannot bear to watch this. Buttercup could not eat that much greenery, without consequences. You may be elves, but what goes in still has to come out, and I fear for what he is going to suffer.”

 

The King sighed. “I will speak to him. I am generally displeased with this...cannabis, you say it is called?”

 

“It is hardly the fault of the plant. This side effect is part of why it is so valuable. Many humans use it  _ because _ of what you are seeing now. People suffering from cancer whose treatment leaves them with almost no ability to eat, no appetite. Though, I have never heard of it doing anything to a human like it is affecting Thanadir. Yes, it makes people wish to eat quite a lot....but this is Prader-Willi syndrome, for Eru’s sake.”

 

“Prader….what?”

 

“It is the name of a health condition in which people cannot perceive that they have eaten. They feel as though they are starving, all the time. It is terrible.”

 

“That does it. If I am not allowed to care for those I love the most, what is the point of any of this?” he said dejectedly, opening the door to the dining room.

 

“Meldir,” he said, laying a hand on the old elf’s shoulder.  The eyes that looked up at him were pitiful, revealing the fear that the food was about to be taken away.

 

“I feel ashamed,” Thanadir said to him quietly, with downcast eyes. “All of my self-discipline is gone. I cannot…” he was silenced by a finger to his lips. 

 

“Do not worry about this, Thanadir. Just follow me.” They moved into Thanadir’s craft room, then on to his sleeping room, where Thranduil gestured for him to sit.

 

“You are not…” said the seneschal with wide eyes.

 

“Yes, I am. I have seen enough; this is not going to continue.”

 

“But…” Thanadir found his face held in a very firm grasp, as he was made to look into Thranduil’s eyes, where he saw both love and deep affection. Any will to resist dissolved, as his posture slumped in capitulation. “I wish you would not,” he whispered. “But thank you.” He let himself be held, and by the next minute felt the miserable gnawing in his stomach vanish. Only now, there was a different problem. His hands traveled to his belly, where he now felt the tenderness and the overwhelming feeling of all of the food inside of his body.

 

Thranduil lifted his tunic and examined carefully along his abdomen, palpating the distension. “Eru.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Right now, even though it technically was not her fault, he could not be more annoyed with his diminutive friend. “Meldir, it would seem fate is not through with you yet. You are to go around the deck into our room. I am going to brew a very large pot of a stimulating tea for you. I think we both know what needs to happen. Remove your clothes, bring some books to read. Make use of the comforts of the room, take sleep if you need to. Neither Earlene nor I will disturb you. If you begin now, by dinner time all should be back to ordinary.”

 

With a soft groan of discomfort, he rose to do as he had been asked. He would never, ever drink anything from a Thermos again.

 

Thranduil soon brought him what had been promised, finding him seated in the armchair wearing only a robe. Kneeling down, he took the seneschal’s hand after placing the tray he bore on the small table. “You have tried the mortals’ drugs and been attacked during a lesson, all in one day. Are you certain the Valar are not angry?” he teased.

 

“I have already thought of that, and prayed for forgiveness,” Thanadir moaned, rubbing at his tummy. 

 

“I hope you know I was speaking in jest.”

 

“I was not; one cannot be too careful.”

 

Thranduil burst into laughter.

 

Thanadir spoke again. “I had thought about altering the wall between our rooms, to add a door. It would add another layer of discretion to the current arrangement; no one could be seen moving to and fro on the deck.”

 

“I like the idea, very much. Perhaps a day soon, in finer weather, when no one else is in the home to hear the noise. If I helped you we could have a suitable amount of material removed in minutes.”

 

“And wall hangings on either side, to keep the door unseen to others that might come in.”

 

“Yes,” he reached up to kiss his friend. “I will leave you alone now; there are things I wish to study but I will remain in or near the home. You are to call me, if you find yourself in pain or have difficulty.”

 

“I will,” Thanadir answered, reaching for the tea after he pulled a blanket onto his lap. “I love you.” 

 

“I love you too.” 

 

“Thranduil, wait…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Did Butterbean have her calf?”

 

“Yes. Earlene said everything is well and that it is another heifer, unsurprisingly.”

 

“Did she name it?”   
  


Thranduil sighed, and smiled. “Butterbeer.”

 

Thanadir giggled, and then groaned once again as the realities of his body reasserted themselves.

 

The King closed the door behind him, vaguely wondering at the assorted absurdities of their lives.  _ Why do I have a feeling, I have seen nothing, yet? _

 

*****

 

Happy and refreshed, Ailill uneventfully drove the scenic roads to work, pleased at the ease with which Fion had integrated into his time in the elven realm. Inside or out, Halls or home, they had provided necessities for the hawk that had served perfectly. All that, in spite of the fact that no one had anticipated a guest bedroom would also end up being a mews. The beautiful smile as he reflected on the past few days bore witness to how thrilled he was with Earlene’s friendship. No one had ever assimilated  _ that _ much information about falconry, that fast, solely for his benefit and comfort. He could guess after the things he’d learned that Earlene was an incredibly intelligent woman...and very beautiful. Though he would never envy that which belonged to his King, he at least recognized that she was attractive to him. He snorted.  _ If it turns out I’m gay, I’m not  _ all  _ gay.  _ And the ‘final exam’ in the forest... _ what did one even do with that? _ He sighed. It had been a little over two weeks, and already he could tell, he felt a little stronger. More than that, he had a sense of having a little more confidence. 

 

Arriving in the car park and immediately taking Fion to the outdoor mews, he turned his attention to the second most important thing: the office coffeepot. It would be rude to ask, but this was another place where his Irish heritage had skipped the groove; he loved coffee. Tossing his jacket over his chair, he flipped on his computer and checked the mail stacked on top of his keyboard, only to see a handwritten envelope that was much smaller. Curious, he opened this first, and smiled. One of their newer hires, Mike, had a birthday this coming Friday, and this was an invitation to celebrate with all of the Falconry School at one of the pubs in Galway after work. He’d not been invited to anything in a long time, though, the tiniest fear settled over him.  _ No _ , he thought.  _ I will of course ask permission of the King to arrive later than usual, but it is time to stop hiding from the world in every regard. Besides, there will be many of them, all friends...it will be fine. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	98. Ninety Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 28, 2019
> 
> The second half of this chapter contains: **CONTENT WARNING FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/KILLING** Because this one is a bit much even by our usual frame of reference...

Earlene was being woken. And not in that wonderful, ‘here I have something hard for you’ sort of way that she was most used to. No, this was completely different. Her shoulder was being shaken firmly.

 

“Earlene. Meluieg. Get up and get dressed, we have a surprise for you.”

 

“You made chocolate banana crepes?” she murmured, refusing to open her eyes.

 

“No meldis, but I will help you make them if you come with us.”

 

Her eyes opened, though her fists held the bedclothes firmly around her mouth.

 

“It’s still almost dark out, and I do not detect that coffee or hot chocolate are part of this.”

 

Having heard enough, they both started tickling her, at which point her predicament had officially worsened. She launched out of bed to run the hot water tap and use the toilet. And scrub at her face, not necessarily in any order. _Just, dammit._ She’d been dreaming about something far nicer, but alas. Storming back out, she noted their clothing (woodsy) and copied it, standing dressed and ready in short order. Give or take the look of glum displeasure on her face.

 

With big smiles, they each took one of her hands and led her out the front door, where a smiling Feren was holding the reins of three horses. With no saddles. The dappled gray mare appeared utterly bored, and reached her head down when the guard was not looking, to neatly begin eating Earlene’s calendula.  Her eyes narrowed. “You got me up to go riding with you?”

 

They looked back at her and nodded, with smiles too innocent to be believed. And then the gears whirred into motion. _They didn’t get me up to go riding with them. They got me up to troll me, because neither of them believes I_ can _ride a horse. How long has he gone on about this? Oh, I’ll fix you, Thranduil._ Her thoughts by now could be completely muddled on command, and her face transformed into the sweetest smile. “Well! That’s wonderful! Which one am I to ride?”

 

The ellyn looked at each other with a most interesting exchange. Whatever it had been that Thranduil actually wanted, Thanadir appeared to firmly override, because the seneschal took the reins of the chestnut gelding from Feren, and handed them to Earlene. He himself took the Destroyer of Calendula, leaving the much larger bay gelding for Thranduil.

 

Determined to troll the trolls, Earlene demurred, going through the motions of appearing to fumble while bringing the reins back over her….”Does he have a name?”

 

“Innis.”

 

“I see.” She refused to make any gestures toward mounting, standing in such a way that it could not possibly be determined if she even knew how to get on. “Well, are we going somewhere?”

 

“I thought we might go out the driveway and along the edges of the forest,” Thranduil said. “If you think you could manage for about half an hour?”

 

A volcano could have gone off behind her, and she would not have allowed her facial expression to adjust. Only a nod was given. Thanadir looked at her uncertainly. “You can mount?”

 

“Oh, it might not be pretty, but I’ll manage somehow.”

 

Thranduil grinned from ear to ear at hearing this, and then made the fatal mistake. “I think I should make sure,” he grinned.

 

She shrugged. “Okay.” In a fluid motion, she jumped up and swung her leg over, elegantly shortened her reins with both hands, and had her heels dug into the horse’s side as she expertly pivoted “Innis” to bend around her leg and go tilting off at a fast canter toward the driveway. Oh, she’d pay for it later with thighs that would scream for mercy, but goddammit if she was listening to _that_ condescending bullshit. The soft gasp from Thanadir, at whom she was not actually irritated, was more than a little worth it too. Because she was a sensible person, she slowed Innis considerably as they neared the end of the driveway. Turning left onto the grassy path between their fences for their dairy cattle and the road, she rode at a sedate walk. The ellyn quickly caught up.

 

“I thought you said she could not ride,” Thanadir growled accusingly, which only caused the tense smirk on her face to broaden a little.

 

“I can’t. Isn’t that obvious?” she fired back. Someone might just be about to learn the meaning of a drought, and she was not referring to the weather.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened in alarm. “I was only teasing, Earlene. Meluieg?”

 

“Oh _were_ you,” she said acerbically, a spectacular tirade brewing. Then she thought better of it. _No, make him wait. And just for this I might serve goddamn cookies for lunch, while I’m at it._ Asking for a collected trot, she sat perfectly as with head held high, she headed on toward the road that would turn north toward the eastern border of the forest.

 

*****

 

Lorna had brought her tea (tincture-free, for now) and laptop into the Heart Room, typing up an email to Orla while Ratiri calculated expenses. The promised visit to Washington State was to occur in early July, followed by a week-long Yellowstone excursion, and he insisted that even though they were richer than God at this point, a budget ought to be at least attempted. The frugal Scot in him demanded it, though he knew full well it would get stomped on at the first opportunity.

 

“Orla says we can start getting the cottage out here in August,” she said. “She thinks she knows how she can doing it without having to completely dismantle it stone by stone, though fuck if I can guess how _that_ would work.” She hoped so; if they had to completely take it apart and rebuild it, it wouldn’t quite be the same cottage anymore. “She also sent an article about that sick fuck with the pisscam.” _That_ got forwarded to all of them; turned out the bastard had been part of a kiddie porno ring, and half a dozen others had gone down with him. Orla had received her highly expensive bottle of Scotch over that, though Lorna had thought she’d have a heart attack when she was told how much it cost. Apparently she’d gone so far as to buy a _safe deposit box_ for the damn thing (but then, Lorna couldn’t precisely blame her; knowledge that she’d drunk half a fifth of that in a little over an hour still horrified her).

 

“You know where you’re going to put it?” he asked.

 

“Yeah. Sort’v. That part’v it was all supposed to be Thanadir’s department. I think he’ll give us some options for where, and we give it thumbs up or down for the location.”

 

“What are we going to stay in when we go to Skykomish? Is there a hotel?”

 

“There is,” she said, typing away, “but it’s not very big -- we’d have to rent out the whole thing, practically. I was thinking’v getting one or two’v those really big tents, unless we wanted to rent caravans in Washington and just take those with us to Yellowstone.” Given the sheer number of them, they’d need three full-sized caravans, preferably with those bits on the sides you could push out when you were parked. Sharley’s landlord wouldn’t be too pleased at having three such monstrosities parked on her lawn, but there was a campground not far from the little town (and it was _little_ ; it made Baile look huge).

 

Ratiri, thinking of the expense, winced a little, but comfort was comfort, and they could afford it. Sighing, he jotted down the idea. “Have you looked at pictures of the place?”

 

“I have. It’s beautiful -- a lot like here, but not quite. And those _mountains_ ...I don’t wonder why she’s so reluctant to leave forever.” They were what she’d properly call misty mountains, and it looked like they got a load of snow in the winter; she’d love to learn to ski someday. Christ, how to word this next bit? She wasn’t a techie, what the hell did she know. _Wireless looks good_ , she wrote. _No problems so far, but I wouldn’t even know what to look for if there were going to be._ Thranduil and Thanadir’s driver’s licenses had come the other day, and whatever Orla had done, the ‘novice’ status was off Earlene’s; all was good on that front. Jesus, they really needed to just hire Orla on as their own personal tech and construction minion, given the number of extra people she was having to hire because of the work she was getting. She’d like being called a minion, too, given it sounded evil and kind of classy at the same time.

 

Email done, Lorna sent it off and added a drop of tincture to her tea. What she was going to do when she had to leave this shit behind on their trip to America, she didn’t know; this was going to be a plane trip without Thranduil’s telepathic Xanax, which meant she’d be reliant on the normal thing, but she didn’t like it nearly as much as the tincture.

 

When she said as much, Ratiri said, “Actually, I read that marijuana is legal in Washington State. Just buy some there.”

 

“Can I get the actual tincture?” she asked, thinking that in that at least, Americans -- or Washingtonians -- were far more sensible than Ireland.

 

“I’m not sure. I know there are shops that sell it to be smoked, but I haven’t looked further than that.”

 

That thought cheered her immensely, and she shut her laptop. “Well, there’s one worry off my mind. I was such a mess my last time flying that the only reason I got through it was Thranduil, and that’s not an option this go-round. I’ll just have to take keep some Xanax with me.” Jesus, how much of his healing ability had he wasted on her on that trip? The telepathic Xanax, fixing her knee, cramps, heinous indigestion...out of everyone in the house, she had been by far the biggest drain on him even before the accident, and it was a fact that had unfortunately not escaped her. The good part about the tincture, though, was that it was ace for cramps, too. “All right, now what?”

 

“No,” he said, “I want more tea. I think Saoirse’s off inspecting the horses. I pondered going for a ride, but my joints started protesting in advance.”

 

Lorna laughed, because she was now forever going to associate horseback riding with that eejit American at Ashford. “I’d hesitate to ride in front’v elves anyway. They’re probably all like trick dressage riders and I can just about handle a gallop.”

 

“The problem with living with Elves,” Ratiri said, and sighed. He loved them, he really did, but sometimes it could be hard living with people who were so superior at very nearly everything simply by dint of their nature.

 

“Indeed,” she said, and rose. Boo attacked her ankle as she walked by, grabbing onto the hem of her too-long fleece pajama pants and dragging along the floor with each step.

 

*****

 

Thranduil had been treated to a display that revealed Earlene could ride with extreme competence at all the ordinary gaits, including a hard gallop. However, she was not so foolish as to try to jump Innis over anything. No logs or...things. It had been far too many years, and it likely was only the degree of immersion in her late childhood and teens that somehow allowed for her body to remember what to do that well. Thanadir had become increasingly unhappy during the ride, realizing that his King’s sense of humor had led to him being party to helping with...what did one call it, a practical joke gone wrong? Earlene had hardly spoken to the King since they departed on the horses, and Thranduil had left of his own accord without attempting to speak with his wife afterward.

 

The seneschal had walked in silence back to Eldamar with Earlene, though he had offered her his arm as they traversed the woods. His meldis was leaning on him quite heavily, and he guessed the source. Fortunately, he had a solution to that, in his rooms. It was still very early when they had returned, no one was stirring yet. He swiftly appeared in the bedroom while she was stripping off her clothing to change into something that had not been in contact with horses. “Here,” he said, offering her the bowl of salve with a gentle smile. “I would imagine you will be happier applying this yourself to your...nether regions. But I will rub some into your back.”

 

“Thank you.” While she was not sure she cared, _he_ probably did, given it needed to go places between her legs in the worst way. In minutes, whatever in hell this stuff was had numbed the beginnings of the agony between her thighs and down her hamstrings...it had just been too long. And bareback, too. Yes, it was a preferred way to ride but it also meant hanging on with her legs instead of just sitting there. He helped steady her to dress, understanding how hard it was for humans to simply take on an new physical activity. In spite of her fitness and strength, Earlene was still human. “I might survive breakfast now,” she smiled. “Thanadir, I am sorry that you were dragged into...all that. I already know it was not your doing, and I do not blame you.”

 

“But you are angry at Thranduil.”

 

She sighed, reaching for him. “It is...something worse than that. And even I am struggling to give words to it. I am not usually a prideful person, meldir. I do not brag about the things I can do well, or put on airs. But at the same time, one of the fastest ways to bring me to nearly blind rage is to treat me as though I am incompetent when I am not. For whatever reason, teasing me about horses has gone on nearly since I met Thranduil. I do not know why. I think I was perfectly straightforward about mentioning that I can ride, more than once. And yet always this teasing, this speaking to me as though I could not. To say that it did not sit well is the understatement of the year.”

 

“Oh.” This reminded him of...something, something long ago. But what? He frowned. Perhaps it would come to him.

 

“Come. Mostly what I need is to get...un-mad. Please come cook with me, I very much want your company.”

 

He hugged her back, and kissed her tenderly. “I am not going anywhere. You said chocolate banana crepes.”

 

*****

 

Thranduil traced a trackless path in the general direction of Eldamar, being in no hurry to get anywhere. His wife was angry with him, his seneschal peeved, and his little attempt at humor had gone terribly awry. He was paying little attention to anything, and at one point simply elected to sit on a downed tree to listen to the birdsong. It was as good as an idea as any, just now, while he tried to sort his jumbled emotions.

 

Sharley, bundle of wood slung over her shoulder, paused when she saw him. There was no way she could sneak past without him being aware of it, and in any event he looked...not so good.

 

 _“He looks like somebody kicked him in the spleen and then laughed about it,”_ Layla said, worried. He was the one who was in charge here, at least in theory -- he needed to not be looking like that.

 

Sharley herself said nothing, but she went and sat on the log beside him, bundle of wood at her feet. He would talk, or he would not. It was up to him.

 

He cleared his throat. “Good morning,” Thranduil said courteously. Here at least was something to distract him. Maybe he could manage something else better than he could manage his own love life. “How are you?” Even he knew that this was a pathetic means by which to start a conversation, but at the moment it was all that came to mind.

 

 _“Is it, though?”_ Jimmy asked, dubious.

 

“ _I’m_ fine,” she said, ignoring both voices. “Not so sure you are, though. You can help me break up this kindling, if you need something to do. Or just sit. Sometimes sitting helps.”

 

Thranduil sighed. Apparently his circumstances were more transparent than he wished to believe. “Alright, so it is _not_ a good morning for me, but it is nothing that will not be resolved at some point. And sometimes turning my mind to problems I can solve instead of ones that elude me helps, too. Did you wish to continue yesterday’s discussion?”

 

Quite honestly, no, but there was no point in delaying it. She’d delay it forever, if she kept on that way. “No, but I’ll do it anyway,” she said, since there was no actual point in lying.

 

He chuckled, appreciating the truth of her words. “Well, how do we go about this? Do I have to physically threaten you, to bring the other forth?”

 

“Actually, I think you do,” she said, hardly able to believe she was saying this. “I’ve never let it out willingly. I don’t think I’d know how.”

 

“Very well.” In the blink of an eye, he locked both of her wrists over her head, pinning them together with terrifying strength. He deftly maneuvered behind her to tug her physically off the ground; for all her height, he still had half a foot on her, and longer arms. He wrapped his arm around her thighs, bracing them together as a constrictor snake might. While he was not damaging her, his hold certainly was not designed to be comfortable; he was quite certain it was somewhat painful. If _this_ didn’t do it, he hated to think what would. “Well, do I have your attention, Stranger?” He asked in much the same tone of voice with which he might address a dragon. Though he was confident enough in his own physical might, he knew better than to underestimate a powerful and unpredictable adversary.

 

The Stranger stirred, forcing Sharley down into the darkness of her own mind. This would hurt her later, but she would recover; she always did. Unlike her, it could control the adrenaline level of her body, could override the limitations that kept a human from their strength in an effort to keep them from destroying themselves. It couldn’t -- this one was strong, stronger than Avathar had ever chosen to be --

 

_Sharley was asleep, she need not know this -- she need not see the needles, the blood, all the memories the Stranger had taken. Taken, and now hurled at Thranduil, because it couldn’t escape him, not physically. He needed to drop Sharley, needed to give them a chance to run, and the Stranger couldn’t fight him, no, but maybe shock -- needles, blood, pain, Avathar. Avathar, the memories she above all could never be allowed to see._

 

“It will not work,” Thranduil said, aghast at what he was being forced to see but refusing to outwardly react. “This is only to be able to speak with you. You force me to do this; it is the only way to gain your attention. To let me talk to you. You said you wanted to learn, but you did not leave me a means to teach you. She said she will try, not to fight you.”

 

“Put us down and it will stop, Elvenking,” the Stranger said flatly. “I force you to do nothing. Sharley is the one who keeps me chained. And if you can teach her not to fight me, you will be a more powerful creature than I suspect. _Put. Us. Down._ There is worse I might throw at you.”

 

“I do not doubt it,” Thranduil grimaced. “But I cannot put you down until you tell me how to teach her, because then you will leave. Even I have to have something with which to work, and in the end, we are both trying to help Sharley. How does she fight you? Please? I do not particularly relish this either.”

 

The Stranger, for once, was at a slight loss, because how could it explain this? “How far can you go into a mind, Elvenking? How much can you see? Because I may be able to show you. There are chains.”

 

“I can plumb a mortal mind to its depths,” came the answer. “But I have to be careful. They are fragile. They can be damaged. And if I am resisted, it is so much the worse. To see to the very limits, I must either be willing to destroy to get there, or I must have one who will yield to me without question or hesitation.”

 

“Sharley sleeps,” the Stranger said. “She can’t resist, and I will not. Put me down, so I might see your eyes. I can let you in. I can show you how it is she keeps me chained.”

 

 _“Did you have to point out that that’s a thing you’d need to do?”_ Layla asked.

 

“Layla, stop helping,” the Stranger said, and in that moment sounded just like Sharley.

 

Thranduil hoped rather a lot that the Stranger was not prone to lying, and immediately did what was asked of him. Sharley was placed carefully on her feet, and he stepped around to face her, holding her lightly by the waist and shoulders in case she was not...present enough, to balance. “I have done as you asked.”

 

The Stranger’s eyes were flat and inhuman, and it didn't bother with something as artificial as an actual facial expression. “How must I let you in? Hold your eyes?” Were this not for Sharley’s benefit, the Stranger wouldn’t be considering this for a moment, but as it was -- it could tolerate this. This would be safe. Thranduil was not Avathar.

 

_Nothing at all, really; I am here. Usually I look only at the surface thoughts of others, but I can search much deeper. If you want to show me and have this be simple for all of us, simply have her actively think on...whatever this is. I do not particularly enjoying rooting through darkened cellars._

 

“You can’t go deeper unless I let you,” the Stranger said, “and I do not know how. You must…” It paused, searching. _Follow me. I cannot make her think of anything; she is asleep, and if I wake her, she will shut me away again. Can you follow, if she does?_

 

 _There is only one way to find out,_ answered Thranduil.

 

The Stranger let Sharley stir, and in those few moments of consciousness, she grabbed it and ruthlessly shoved it away again, down into the depths of her mind.

 

_Within this part of her mind sat a landscape: an arid desert of ancient lava, beneath a rusty-red sky without a sun. On it was a stone chair, a parody of a throne, and in that chair sat the Stranger, chained._

 

_It looked rather like Sharley, though with dark hair rather than blue, and it stared at him. “This is how she keeps me, Elvenking, unless she is threatened. Unless I can break through. Her will is stronger than you might think.”_

 

“Sharley, are you anywhere at all?” he asked aloud. “You agreed to stop this. _This_ is why we are having such a problem in the first place. You two need to have...couples therapy, I am afraid.” Well, Lorna would say he was talking out of his arse, but it was the best analogy from the human world he could think to use. And it was true. No wonder this thing was irritable, and humorless. It didn’t even have a nice place to sit, for Eru’s sake.

 

“I’m afraid of it,” Sharley said, staring up at him. “It can’t hurt you, but it can hurt others. And if I don’t keep it chained, it makes _me_ sleep. It takes over, and turns me into...into some kinda puppet.”

 

 _“If you would stop fighting me, I would not need to,”_ the Stranger said.

 

“Oh, like you wouldn’t anyway,” she snapped. “This thing, it says it keeps me safe, but I swear if it had its way, _it_ would be in the driver’s seat all the time. Nothing can hurt me if I’m not awake to be hurt, can it?”

 

 _“Oh, dammit,”_ Jimmy sighed. This was an old argument, though fortunately the two were rarely awake enough at the same time to give it.

 

 _“I have to keep you safe, Sharley. That’s why I exist._ ”

 

“I would be a lot more inclined to unchain the damn thing if it wouldn’t shove me into a mental box the moment it’s free,” Sharley said, ignoring it.

 

_Were you both under my command, I would tell you to stop it. Both of you. I would tell you to coexist. Stranger, she has a point. Nobody likes being cast aside and shoved into a prison. And Sharley, no one likes to be chained. The solution is obvious; both of you must agree to cease how you have behaved in the past. Since I cannot command you, I propose this. We are about to go on a vacation to Sharley’s part of this world. This is perhaps not the best time to try something new, and difficult. But when we return here, to the forest, there will be nothing from which Sharley *needs* protecting. I do the protecting; this Realm is mine. I want you both to agree that at that time, neither of you interferes with the other while Sharley walks in this forest. We see how that goes, before any further negotiations. Will you agree?_

 

“I will if it will,” Sharley said, not trusting the thing for a moment.

 

_The Stranger sighed. “Very well, so will I. Will you at least unchain me?”_

 

Sharley sighed. “This is your one chance, Stranger. If you fuck this up -- if I let you out and you try to take over again, I’ll shut you up in a box full of imaginary rats.”

 

 _“Dude,”_ Kurt said. _“Damn, Sharley, there are limits.”_

 

“And spiders,” she added, ignoring him.

 

 _“I will behave,”_ the Stranger said, though there was distaste in its tone.

 

“I want to emphasize, we are agreeing to this _while you are in the forest._ That means, when Sharley leaves to go to America, the old arrangement goes back into effect until you return here. Is that understood?” Thranduil was not particularly inclined to take chances on misunderstandings. He realized something else, too. Whatever his problems with Earlene were at this exact moment, they hardly rated as problems at all. By comparison. Which oddly made him feel a great deal better, on some level.

 

“It sure as hell is by me,” Sharley said. Thought of letting that thing out when she was home gave her the willies. She liked where she lived. She didn't want the Stranger getting her kicked out.

 

 _“Very well,”_ the Stranger sighed. _“Though I would at the very least appreciate a cushion.”_

 

Sharley burst out laughing before she could help it, because _seriously..._ what even was her life?

 

“Well, I think the three of us should go eat breakfast, now. Earlene is making chocolate banana griddlecakes, and it would be a shame to miss those. Shall we?” Thranduil smirked. Something had gone right today, not that it was likely to matter. Sue him.

 

“I have no idea how the hell I’m gonna eventually move home,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “Earlene’s cooking’s spoiled me.”

 

 _“Unfortunately, the rest of us can’t taste anything,”_ Layla said, a little morosely. _“I’d love to be able to taste things.”_

 

 _“You miss little,”_ the Stranger said. _“Though I will admit that maple syrup has something to recommend it.”_

 

The Elvenking rolled his eyes once his back was turned, and headed off toward Eldamar. He could allow himself to remember when life was simpler. And yet it had been boring. Then again, boring could be good… No. He would not think about any of this. Only the griddlecakes.

 

*****

 

At breakfast, little Thaladir was very talkative. He had learned about dogs, apparently, because too many episodes of Shaun the Sheep had caused him to fall in love with the dog at Mossy Bottom Farm. And who wouldn’t want a Bitzer? Hell, Bitzer could fix more things than Lorna and Thanadir combined. Everyone was very nice to the quiet boy, but it caused Earlene to start thinking. _Ailill’s hawks. Dogs. Little Thaladir. Hm._ Anyway, there was too much going on just now; she would have to file it for later.

 

They cleaned up; everyone had enjoyed the crepes and griddlecakes a great deal. Ortherion had of course made omelets (he was branching out these days) for something more substantial and Thanadir had busied himself with assembling a fruit salad, though it was limited to apples and bananas and strawberries. The greenhouse had been good for many things, and though there were not tons and tons of them, the little red treats were most welcome.

 

Children vanished to play outside in the warm sun, nannies followed, and Sharley drifted away to walk in the woods. Every other adult in the house moved to the Heart Room. If anyone noticed that Earlene sat on the opposite side of the room with her brimming mug of tea, and that Lorna had made it for her without asking any awkward questions, nothing got said about that either. When she was sure no one else was looking, Earlene added three drops from the bottle Lorna had discreetly provided to her tea, and began sipping.

 

“All right,” Pat said, sipping his own (non-special) tea, “Lorna’s always going on about using our words, so I’ve got to ask this: Saoirse’s said Sharley freaks her out, but she’s not said why. I know she likes Sharley, so what happened?”

 

“It was the sword lesson,” Thanadir answered reflexively, knowing that what had happened could hardly be a secret. Not with Saoirse having been in the room. “Something happened to Sharley and she attacked me without warning and would not stop. Thranduil had to...intervene.”

 

Pat’s eyes widened, but Lorna looked at Thranduil. _Stranger?_

 

“Why would she do that?” he asked. “Can’t see her attacking anyone.”

 

 _Eru,_ thought Thranduil. _Could this day get any worse?_ He had blundered with Earlene, very badly. And he knew it, and his jumbled thoughts on just why he had persisted in doing that to her were not un-jumbling. _Yes,_ he replied to Lorna. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was not Sharley. Not...exactly. Ratiri, I am hoping you can explain a little of Sharley, to Pat? I do not wish to be...Sharley is loved and valued here. But I cannot pretend she is any kind of normal. I want this explained in a manner that is compassionate.”

 

Earlene frowned. Well, it was nice to know his concern about being compassionate extended to someone. _How long does it take this tea to do any good?_ she wondered. The mug was placed on the floor where no one else could see, and four more drops were added. Probably the first three had not been enough.

 

Ratiri was surprised, but said nothing of it. “You know that Sharley sees the future,” he said. “She also manifests some symptoms of schizophrenia, though I’m not sure I would fully assign her such a diagnosis. She hears voices, that may or may not be related to her ability. She’s so attached to Allanah because she had a daughter who died young, and though I don’t believe the two look alike, Allanah is very similar in temperament.”

 

Lorna sighed. She’d not told him about the Stranger, and she hoped he wouldn’t get peeved. “She was held in a facility in America, when she was a teenager,” she added. “They experimented on her, and tortured her, and that...woke up...the Stranger. It’s some other part’v her, I think that, kind’v...splintered off, and it got her out’v there. Killed a load’v people to do it. I’m guessing it thought Thanadir was a threat…?” If so, it wasn’t wrong, in a technical sense. He _could_ be a very large threat.

 

“That is as good a way to put it as any,” said Thranduil. “It is a...it is not like talking to a fully developed person; it is a part of her that manifests when she is unsafe. Or believed to be unsafe. I have been trying to help her, because I can speak to it. I hope I do not need to say that what we are discussing is private to our household, and that this should never be discussed with Sharley herself.”

 

Pat really did not know what to say to that. He’d known the poor woman was a bit off, in addition to her ability, but he’d never wanted to pry. Her mind was that banjaxed, her daughter dead…. “That’s...that poor woman. Jesus. She was locked up in some...place? And they did things to her?”

 

Lorna did not actually facepalm, but she tensed. This was not a line of discussion she wanted followed, but there was no way to deflect it that wouldn’t sound suspicious as hell.

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil. “Which gets to the part she must not ever understand. The same one that attacked us here, the balrog, he was the one that imprisoned her. You must understand, there are not words for the evils that one committed, in the course of your history. We have reason to believe that this was an extension of atrocities that were committed in under the Nazi regime. What this facility was, or why he operated it...I do not know nor do I want to know. But our Sharley was kept there, and harmed.”

 

Lorna didn’t shudder, though only because of her lovely stoner tea. Her skin crawled a little anyway.

 

Pat, sickened, set down his mug. “Experimented on?” His thoughts strayed to _Stranger Things_ , and the little girl, Eleven.

 

“We think so,” Lorna said. “You have to understand, Sharley remembers almost nothing, and she can’t be allowed to. The Stranger kind’v...gave her guided amnesia, and got her out, and for whatever reason, that sick fuck didn’t track her down again. And I really, really wonder why not.” He wasn’t the sort to let someone as valuable and unique as Sharley just go. It was a blessing he _had_ , but the why of it, or lack of one, teased at her and wouldn’t let go.

 

“Jesus. So she got out, she had this kid...what happened to the da?”

 

Lorna hesitated, but not for long. “She doesn’t remember.” Hey, it was true.

 

While Thranduil felt sorry for Lorna, this was not her discussion to commandeer. “Avathar was Marty’s father, Pat. And that did not happen with her consent. I believe Marty died because humans were not meant to produce offspring that is partly of the Ainur. Sharley above all does not know this. This is first and foremost the knowledge that the Stranger protects her from. It says she would not psychologically survive knowing the truth.”

 

Now Pat felt _really_ sick. “That thing raped her and got her up the yard? Christ no, she couldn’t know that. It’d drive anyone mad…” How the hell could anyone do that to that strange, half-broken, gentle woman? “Thank God she’s got that Stranger, then, even if it’s...a bit not-quite-right itself. But...what’re the bloody odds of her _and_ it finding you?”

 

Lorna said nothing. Very pointedly. Even the tea was not enough to keep her from fully cringing, though, and her fingers clenched against the hem of her dressing-gown.

 

Earlene watched all their faces. _Jesus god, Lorna hasn’t told Pat_ , she realized. _That’s...sad._ The tension in her friend’s body was...well, if anyone had any observational powers whatsoever, it was pretty obvious what was going on. And Earlene was now looking critically at her tea, more than half of which she had downed. No wonder Lorna was tense, did this stuff actually _do_ anything? With mounting frustration, Earlene returned her mug to somewhere out of sight and added more drops. It was about six, she thought, maybe more; surely that should do something? Anything? Her suspicions that this stuff was useless (except for reducing elves to misery) was mounting swiftly.

 

“The Valar work in mysterious ways,” Ratiri said, seeing that Lorna wasn’t about to speak. “We had no idea Sharley existed when we met Avathar, and he eventually followed us to Ireland. She didn’t turn up until after he was dead.”

 

“How did he even track you to Ireland?” Pat asked. He’d sensed at first that Lorna really didn’t want to talk about it, and she’d said little -- that the creature had telepathy, but that was it.

 

“Not easily,” Ratiri said. “He knew that Lorna was from Ireland, and got her name from a co-worker of Earlene’s, and basically ran through every Lorna Donovan in Ireland until he found her. It took months, but eventually he found the right one, and thus the rest of us.”

 

 _Let that be enough, Pat_ , Lorna thought. _Just leave it. Leeeeave it, or I will throw my tea at you._

 

“There are days I wish we could have him back just to kill him all over again, after what he did to all of us,” commented Earlene. What felt like half a minute after the words were out of her mouth, she realized that she had not really meant to say that aloud, and frowned. Something was happening, in her thoughts...what?

 

Lorna’s eyes widened in utter horror, and she stared at Earlene, wondering what in the name of mother _fuck_ had...the tea. _Shit. Don’t ask Pat don’t ask don’t ask don’t fucking ask--_

 

“What did he do? I know he trapped you all in here, but Lorna didn’t say more than that,” Pat said, utterly ignorant of her unspoken thoughts.

 

Ratiri took Lorna’s hand, heading her off. “Too many things. He killed Earlene’s friend, he shot Thanadir and I--”

 

“--and Earlene,” Lorna put in, swallowing her panic a little.

 

“And did his best to destroy...everything. We had to send Mairead and Big Jamie to France, to keep them from him.”

 

“Jesus. He followed you from New York, but how did he find this forest?”

 

 _Abort, abort!_ Lorna thought, panic rising again. Words refused to leave her mouth, but Ratiri had her back.

 

“He found Lorna,” he said, “and read Lorna’s mind. That was how he figured not just where this forest was, but everything she knew about it and its people. She and I moved in here, once we knew he knew.”

 

 _Shut up, Pat, just SHUT UP._ If he kept on with this questioning, she was going to scream.

 

“And then he just had to get cocky and show up, and got gutted like a pig, but I didn’t do a good enough job,” Earlene murmured sadly. _Wait, did that come out too? This wasn’t going so...I should be somewhere else_ , she reasoned. _I’m leaving. In just a moment. Wait, where am I going? Dammit._

 

Pat stared at her. “ _What?!_ ”

 

“Pat, will you fucking _leave it_?” Lorna snarled. This was the last time she ever gave Earlene special tea. “It was shite, but he’s dead now. He doesn't matter anymore. It’s fucking over and can we talk about something else now?” Her mellow was morphing into anxiety at an alarming rate.

 

“Jesus, Lorna, can you blame me for asking?”

 

She sat up fully. “You’ve asked,” she snapped. “We’ve answered. Let’s drop it and talk about anything else. _Anything._ ”

 

Her brother eyed her, and she could see the suspicion in his eyes. “Fun Size, what did--”

 

“I said _SHUT UP!_ ” she screamed, and threw her mug at him. He didn’t quite manage to dodge; fortunately, the tea was merely warm now. “Jesus fucking Christ, Pat, you’re like a dog with a fucking bone! _SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH OR I’LL FUCKING --”_

 

“LORNA!” Thranduil said in that particularly sonorous tone that could carry for about a mile on a clear day. “Stop this right now.” _This is why it never should have waited this long, my friend. What are you so afraid of, that you are treating your own brother like this for loving you enough to be concerned about what has happened to you?_

 

Earlene took one look at the outburst occurring across the room, on which all eyes were riveted. Her, her tea, and the little bottle that slipped into her pocket glided away, in absolute silence. She would return her friend’s medicine later. Actually, no, she could return it right now. Tossing back the last of the tea, she left her mug on the counter and ascended the spiral stairs, moving quieter than Tail to the second storey and over the bridge to the other wing of the house. Letting herself into Lorna and Ratiri’s room, she left the bottle on Lorna’s nightstand, then drifted out of the house via the back stairs, and into the forest. The muffled sounds of speech and the occasional raised voice were forgotten as soon as they were heard.

 

“ _He_ won’t, so why the fuck should I?” Lorna demanded. “He can’t just let things go, like a normal fucking person even though it’s _obviously_ something nobody fucking wants to talk about anymore.” Pat opened his mouth, and she held up a finger. “ _No_ , Pat. You bastards can’t make me talk about this anymore. _EVER._ ” She staggered a bit as she unknowingly followed Earlene, just about ready to be sick. The world was rocking, ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough to stop her or even slow her down, though she tripped over a root eventually.

 

Thranduil and Ratiri looked at each other wordlessly, and started after her. This time, it would be both of them. Pat was left alone with Thanadir, who brought a towel to blot at the tea and retrieve the mug. “It was very hard for her,” the seneschal said, not knowing what _to_ say.

 

Pat blotted at his face. That was not Lorna in rage-mode, that was Lorna afraid -- terribly afraid. And he himself feared he knew why. “What did he do to her?” he asked, wiping off his arms.

 

“He...violated her. He did something to her mind so that she did not object, and took her in the way that should belong only to her mate. And then he caused her to forget. It was done as an assault against Thranduil, because of his love for Lorna. Avathar knew that Thranduil would see. Lorna forced Thranduil to tell her what he had learned.” The old elf shook his head in great sorrow. “It was very bad. Our people cannot abide….that. It would kill us.”

 

Pat bowed his head, shutting his eyes. “Jesus.” It was just what he’d been afraid of. He wasn’t surprised she hadn’t told him, though it upset him anyway. She’d never had a secret she couldn’t tell him -- but she’d never had something so terrible happen to her, either. _Oh, Lorna…_ He couldn’t let on that he knew. She wanted it to be her secret, and he owed it to her to let her think that it was. Maybe someday she would talk about it, but until she chose to, he had to respect her silence.

 

Thanadir laid his hand on Pat’s arm in sympathy, only now realizing that Earlene was gone. Perhaps she was in the bedroom? He removed the damp towel and mug, and went off in search of his meldis.

 

*****

 

“What the fuck is wrong with them?” Lorna snarled. “Jesus, why should I have to talk about it? Why should I do anything except fucking forget it? It’s over. It’s done.” Her fingers tangled in her hair, clawing at her head. _I’d love to see any of those fuckers so willing to talk about it if it had been them._

 

“Lorna, this is not helping you, or anyone else. Nothing is ‘the fuck wrong with them’,” Thranduil said. “Your brother loves you.”

 

“If he loved me, he’d leave it,” she growled, stumbling over another root. “He’d respect the fact that it’s something I _don’t want to fucking talk about._ ”

 

“Lorna,” Ratiri said, “he’s worried, and I’m sure you’ve scared the shit out of him.” He caught her before could trip again, but wisely didn’t try to hold her. Not yet.

 

“Then maybe he’ll stop asking fucking questions,” she said, curling in on herself. “Maybe he’ll shut the fuck up. He’s always been like a dog with a bone -- once he’s got his mind on something, he doesn't leave it. He doesn’t need to know this. _No one_ needs to know this. It’s over and it’s done and it’s got no relevance to...to _anything_ , so this needs to just...just _stop._ ”

 

“That sounds rather like someone else I know,” Thranduil said, pointedly but gently. “Lorna, once you and I talked about anger. You asked me how I managed it, and I told you that I could let it wash over me because I learned to see to the other side. You are angry right now, blindly so. But you are also hurt, and afraid. You will snarl and carry on and spit obscenities, until something is said that breaks the strength of your emotions. They will dissipate, and you will feel tired, hollowed out, and sad. You will realize that you hurt your brother with your words, and feel badly about it. And you will also become aware that thanks to the outburst you created, he is not going to fail to perceive that something so bad happened to you that few guesses exist as to what it was. Your brother, like you, can read people well and is not stupid.”

 

Lorna said nothing, and now Ratiri pulled her close, keeling on the ground so he could draw her into his lap. He had a suspicion he didn’t want to voice. “Mo chroí, are you ashamed?”

 

“Of course I bloody am,” she said miserably, fingers finding the front his his shirt. “Who wouldn’t be?”

 

Unfortunately, he could not refute the numbers, given how many women experienced the same thing in her place. “There’s no reason for it. This was not your fault, and you could have done nothing differently. Had you not been in the cottage that night, he would just have come another -- and none of us could have predicted this. There is nothing for you to be ashamed of.”

 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” she whispered. She hadn’t thought of the whole mess in two years -- it had been well behind her, having no lasting effect on her life, until it got dredged to the surface now. “I don’t know what he did to me…” What sick, depraved shite had he visited on her? What disgusting, degrading _things_ might he have forced her to do to him, to let him do to _her_ \-- and made her enjoy? She’d never let herself think about it, because that way lay madness. _Dammit, Pat_...it wasn’t her brother’s fault, yet that didn’t change the outcome. Her mind conjured too many possibilities, and she couldn’t stop it.

 

Ratiri could not read Lorna’s mind, but he could read _her_ , very well. Shutting his eyes, he said, _I know this might be hard for you, Thranduil, but if she has questions, please answer them. I think the not knowing is almost worse for her._ He could only pray that it _wasn’t_ something depraved -- to have that done to a woman was bad enough, but he’d worked in an A&E. He knew some of the things a man could do to a woman, things to inflict the most damage and produce the most tears. Thought of that happening to Lorna made him ill, though not, he suspected, as the wondering made Lorna feel.

 

Thranduil sighed. “I will never understand this about you, dear one. Why you have to know, even when knowing is more than you can endure. But your well-being means more to me than my own revulsion at the memories. Perhaps it is long overdue, to simply tell you whatever you wish to know. I want you to move past this. And if this is what is required, then ask me your questions.”

 

“If I know, I can move past it,” she said, her words half muffled by Ratiri’s shirt. “If I don’t, I’ll always wonder.” Wrenching out her next words was one of the hardest things she had ever done. “What did he do to me?”

 

With eyes cast down to the ground, Thranduil changed posture to sit on the side of his hip, bent legs to the side of him as he supported some of his weight on his left hand. This was the single most repugnant memory of his long life, which in his estimation was saying a great deal. By their very nature, elves were not equipped to process such a crime, and yet there was no choice. “He took control of your thoughts and emotions so that you would view him as a lover. And once any shred of who you really are was subsumed to his will, he interacted with you as a lover would. There was no violence; quite the opposite. He manipulated you to desire him as you would desire Ratiri. And he gratified those desires, until he had his fill. For a time.”

 

Bile rose in Ratiri’s throat, and he hugged her tighter. Lorna’s eyes squeezed shut, revulsion spider-walking down her spine. “He didn't make me do anything...sick?” She wasn’t even going to _ask_ what ‘for a time’ meant, given she could guess all too easily; if that wasn’t code for ‘he took breaks so he wouldn’t fuck you to death’, she’d be very surprised. It just sent another wave of horror crawling across her skin.

 

The King’s brow furrowed. “No, no, no. I meant, he would have tried to have you again. On another occasion, if the opportunity had been available. And if by ‘sick’ you mean, ‘outside of bedroom norms’, no, he did not.” He truly did not wish to ask for the palette of Lorna’s personal preferences; there were limits to what he wanted to discuss.

 

There was something truly wrong with how much that relieved her, but relieve her it did. What had been done to her was sickening enough; knowing there had not been anything degrading with it...actually helped. “Thank you, Thranduil,” she said, her arms wrapping around Ratiri. “I can’t explain why, even to myself, but knowing that...it’s better than wondering. I can move past it.” Something that...straightforward...could be worked through. Knowing she hadn’t been forced into anything she would have thought disgusting would make this easier to work through and move past. She’d sat on it for two years, but obviously wasn’t over it, if such a conversation could bring out such a violent reaction in her.

 

Ratiri, too, was oddly relieved. He hadn’t want to think about what that sick fuck might have forced her to enjoy. “What do you need, mo chroí?” he asked, carding his fingers through her hair.

 

“Tea,” she murmured. “Special tea.” Just now, she couldn’t think of _how_ she’d move past it, but she was certain it was possible. In this moment, that was all she could ask.

 

“That is probably a good idea. But you also have a brother inside who loves you dearly and is just as observant of others as you are. I am afraid that your outburst left very little to the imagination for anyone with some basic powers of deduction, Lorna. I would hope that you could stop hiding this, and accept his concern for you.”

 

The thought made her tense. How could she speak of it? How could she hope to even find the words? Even if she’d wanted to tell him, she had no idea how to do it. Even bringing herself to say ‘I got raped by a balrog’ might be beyond her. “I don’t...know where to start. I don’t know what I could even make myself...you know me and words.”

 

“No one’s saying you have to do it right this moment,” Ratiri said. “Words might be easier after more tea. Pat won’t ask -- he won’t say anything until you do. But he’ll worry.”

 

“I didn’t want him to know,” she whispered. “I didn’t want anyone else to. I just wanted it...gone.”

 

“He’s your brother, mo chroí. He won’t think anything...less of you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

 

It was, oddly, exactly what she was afraid of. She didn’t want him looking at her differently. Didn’t want him seeing somebody who’d been...who’d been _defiled_.

 

Thranduil tilted his head. “Lorna. If it had happened to Earlene, is that how you would view her? As defiled? Worth less, on account of what was done to her?”

 

She shook her head, but couldn’t speak.

 

“I know this is difficult,” Thranduil said softly. “But you must force yourself to understand that just as you would never view Earlene in such a light, no one would ever view you in those terms either. Especially not your brother, who loves you with his whole heart and would give his life for you without hesitation. He already basically knows, Lorna. The strength of your outburst left no other conclusion. The only thing left to decide is whether you will embrace his love for you fully, or leave this as a barrier between you.”

 

“What do I even say?” she asked, her grip on Ratiri tightening. “Thought’v just saying to my brother ‘I got raped by a balrog’...I’d choke on the words. Literally.”

 

“You can have help, you know,” Ratiri pointed out, carding his fingers through her hair again. “You don’t have to do that by yourself. The rest of us were there in the aftermath.” He was going to do his damndest not to let Thranduil get dragged into that, though -- he’d had to deal with it enough already.

 

“I was always so strong, when we were kids,” she said. “Nobody ever got me down, not for long. I fought back. I did whatever damage I could. I didn’t even stand a chance this time.”

 

“As much as I’d rather not think about this, you _did_ bite Von Ratched’s nose off,” Ratiri pointed out. “Perhaps it wasn’t defense, but it was revenge. Albeit in rather...unusual...fashion.”

 

That actually managed to draw the ghost of a smile from her. “True.”

 

“If this makes you feel any better, you had as much chance against Avathar as against Manwë, Lorna. He too did something to you without your consent. They are Ainur. It is difficult to resist a being altogether vested with greater power, unless that power grants you the right to resist. Avathar was not going to ever allow for that or anything else that stood in the way of his desires.”

 

“Eurgh. Well, that fucker’s dead and I wee’d on his corpse, so...there’s that. Sometimes, being an ordinary human just...sucks.”

 

“You aren’t precisely ordinary anymore,” Ratiri pointed out. “You are, in two senses at least, impossible to kill.”

 

“...True. And Jesus, you should’ve seen his expression when he tried to shoot me and it didn’t work,”  she said, a little too much relish in her tone. “Then he tried to stab me and _that_ didn’t work, either. Now he’s rotted in a bog and covered in piss, so there’s that, too.”

 

Ratiri wasn’t about to point out that bogs usually _prevented_ bodies from rotting. Nope. “Are you ready to go back to the house?”

 

Lorna shook her head. “No. Walk with me? Once I calm down I’ll get more tea, and then...try to talk to Pat, I guess. God help all’v us.”

 

Ratiri rose, taking her with him and setting her on her feet. “All right, mo chroí. But not too much tea -- you don't need to be eating everything in the house, like poor Thanadir.”

 

That actually made her laugh again. “Poor Thanadir. I feel terrible for laughing, but...well, poor Thanadir.”

 

Thranduil smiled and rose, citing duties to manage. As he walked to Thanadir’s room, he wondered how it was that he could manage to help others solve their difficulties so much better than he could solve his own.

 

*****

 

Ratiri really didn’t want Lorna having any more ‘special’ tea just yet, but since she wasn’t ready to return to the house, that was easily avoided.

 

“Is it wrong, how relieved by that I am?” she asked. Her arm was wrapped around his waist, the hem of her dressing-gown catching occasionally on the undergrowth. “It’s all disgusting, but it’s like...it’s the difference between something that nauseates you, and something that makes you actually projectile vomit. Food poisoning versus the kind’v botulism that shuts your lungs down.”

 

“A disgusting metaphor, yet apt,” he said. In honesty, he didn’t fully understand the relief, but he did to a point; to find out you’d been violated by a mind-raping demon, essentially, was bad enough, but there was some small comfort in knowing you hadn’t been degraded into the bargain. Or least, it seemed that way for Lorna, and he was not about to question it. “Can you heal now, mo chroí? Can you try?” She’d seemed to be past it, and quite thoroughly, but very obviously was not.

 

“Now that I know what he did -- and didn’t -- do, I actually...I think I can.” She really couldn’t hope to explain the level of relief Thranduil’s words had been, because it sounded so insane, but she’d take it. If it was her brain latching onto whatever it could to make things easier, so be it. Maybe it would sound insane to anyone else, but if anyone else said anything, she’d jam her boot so far up their arse they’d be sicking up shoelaces. And yes, she’d put a boot on first, just so she could. “I want to throw knives.”

 

“Then let’s throw knives.” Ratiri knew, by now, that none of the Elves would blink twice at Lorna in fuzzy trousers and a dressing gown; they seemed to be pretty impossible to faze. “Let’s throw knives, and eat lunch, and not worry about this for now.”

 

*****

 

It took all of about fifteen more minutes for Earlene to realize that she had chosen badly. From Lorna’s explanations, she thought this drug would act or feel...well, like Xanax, honestly. Not only did it _not_ feel that way, it was a personal disaster. The profound disconnection, the derailment of her thoughts and reasoning...this was both frightening and frustrating. Xanax did not affect her cognition; if anything it returned it to her, mashing down the parade of irrational thoughts and fears and painful feelings and allowing a lid to firmly close on the box that held them...at least for a time. This... _this_ , for someone who valued logical, linear thinking above all other attributes...was a train wreck. As the sentences played out in her head, the horrifying awareness came over her that she could not remember the beginning of those sentences. Oh, the thoughts kept coming, but they could not be recalled. This was godawful, and if what had befallen Thanadir was any indication, it would go on for hours.

 

Her steps took her aimlessly through the forest, as her mind floated along in random, disjointed places and a deep sense of misery settled over her. While she did not stagger or otherwise appear impaired, any trained eye would see she was leaving obvious tracks. By elven standards, she was making enough racket as her feet kicked up the humus to flush a warren of rabbits. The good news was, it was the simplest work possible for Thanadir to find her. He could see that something was wrong merely by watching her steps. “Meldis?”

 

Earlene hung her head. “I have made a mistake, Thanadir. Please help me.”

 

“What have you done?”

 

She snorted. “I am afraid I tried Lorna’s….medicine. I misunderstood what it does. And now I am affected and I must wait it out.”

 

“But Thranduil can help--”

 

“NO. I am not in pain, I am merely...affected. And deeply unhappy about _being_ affected. And right now...I do not want his help.”

 

“What do you need from me?”

 

“I think I should go to my room. But I do not want to see or talk to others. Could I go to your room? No one would look for me, in there.”

 

He nodded. “What do you mean, affected? You are hungry?”

 

“No. I mean, my mind will not work right, and it is very upsetting.”

 

“I will take care of you, Earlene. Hold my arm.” She did not speak much as they walked, and he wondered. As there was truly only one way to fully understand, he entered her thoughts. His lips parted, as he saw what had happened to the usual state of her thinking and awareness. “Oh, dear. I am sorry, Earlene. It did not do this to me.”

 

“I will survive. But I cannot fathom anyone liking this. I thought it was like the medicine I used to take. Before Thranduil healed me. The medicine I _ought to have taken_ , if distancing myself from my emotions for a few hours is what I had wanted to accomplish.”

“This was because you are upset with the King?”

 

“Yes. Like I said, it was a poor decision. I cannot be around my children, like this. Please, if they ask, tell them Nana is unwell. And I apologize to you. This will not happen again, Thanadir.”

 

“The children are fine,” he soothed. In the distance he spotted Thranduil and Ratiri talking to Lorna, and brought Earlene in a wide arc so that they would not be seen. While assuredly Thranduil knew of their movements, he did not let on. That was just as well, right now, though it troubled Thanadir to see this. Soon Earlene was ushered into his room through the outside entrance, and the curtain in front of the glass doors drawn. He had her lie back on the bed, removed her boots, and covered her with a throw blanket. Opening his laptop, he smiled encouragingly. “Do you think you can watch a movie? Or listen to music?”

 

“I think I will not remember a movie with... _this_ , going on. Maybe a movie I have seen many times….I…” She felt so, so unhappy.

 

“Earlene?”

 

“I do not like this,” she whispered, with something like fear in her voice. “Please stay with me.”

 

“I will not leave you.” He did not ask, but played the music he knew she liked best on his computer, soft enough that it would not carry to the rest of the house. He found a book to read, and drew her near. In seconds she snuggled against him, her head against his chest and her arm draped around his belly. Her body relaxed, and for a time he knew she listened, but then sleep took her. Thanadir moved her off of him, into a better position for rest, but remained next to her, reading. The door opened and the curtain moved aside; Thranduil entered and stood with downcast eyes.

 

“May I speak with you?” he asked Thanadir softly.

 

“Of course you may. You are my King,” the seneschal said, baffled.

 

“We can set that aside for a moment. I apologize to you, Thanadir, for all of this. I have offended my wife, and she is more than justified in her feelings. My actions are responsible for _this_ , too.” He gestured with his hand to Earlene’s state of unconsciousness. “The lack of harmony between us places you in an awkward position. I am ashamed at my behavior, and am trying to find a way to apologize. But I wanted to understand why I did this. That is why I waited this long to come here. Except, I have made no progress.”

 

“I could tell you my guess, but you would not like it.”

 

Thranduil’s blue eyes raised to his. “What I would like matters less than learning. Please?”

 

Thanadir lowered his gaze. “It took me most of the morning to recall that Oropher often teased Lothamîr in such a manner. He seemed to like to...I am not sure how to say it. He liked it when he could find he was better at something than your mother.”

 

The King’s lips parted. “‘Better at’? He was better than everyone at most everything. He was…” Was this some strange behavior that he had unwittingly modeled, across the ages? “I...I will reflect on this. Thank you, for taking care of her.”

 

Thanadir nodded. “I love both of you,” he said plaintively.

 

Thranduil nodded. “I will make it right, meldir. I just wanted to understand why I was foolish enough to make it wrong in the first place. I love both of you as well.” With a last, sad glance at his wife, he departed.

 

*****

 

Who even knew what time it was, when Earlene woke. Or rather, started to. The temptation to turn over and slip back for more sleep sent its silvery tentacles through her, enough that she did actually turn over and encounter a warm body next to hers. Her meldir. Pulling herself toward him, she inhaled deeply. _Maybe I should have just done this in the first place._ Everything about Thanadir was generally calming, at least to her. He was the brother she never had, a friend, a lover, and a pillar of all things right with the world. It was no longer possible to imagine life without him. And deep down, a part of her wondered if it would be possible to want life, without him. That was likely a very bad thought, and was therefore shoved away to where such notions belonged. Eru had a Nameless Void, and so did Earlene.

 

“How are you feeling?” she heard, spoken very softly. With some reluctance, her eyes open to see the browns and greens of the fabrics he wore today.

 

“Hard to tell. My head still feels like it is on a balloon string, distantly tethered to the rest of me. But I can now remember what I said one sentence ago; that is a huge improvement. How long did I sleep?”

 

“It is one-thirty. More than four hours.”

 

Earlene groaned. “Well, no need to ask if I should fix lunch. What did they have?”

 

“I do not know,” Thanadir answered. “You asked me not to leave you, and I have remained right here.”

 

That...was quite possibly one of the most touching things she had ever heard. “You did not eat the meal, because of me?”

 

Soft lips kissed hers, as his fingers combed through her hair. “You are more important than food, Earlene.”

 

She rubbed at her eyes. “You really do love me.”

 

He laughed. “I love both of you, Earlene.” The seneschal’s face sobered. “Thranduil came. He feels badly, about what happened.”

 

A sigh propelled her back onto the pillows, so that it might be possible to sit up better. “Well, that is something, I suppose.”

 

“He does not understand why he did that.”

 

“Hm. Well, I hope he figures it out. I…” she shook her head. “I do not hold grudges. You know that. But this felt...do you know, meldir, maybe part of it is being a woman. I am not sure it is possible, for you to understand what women face in the world at large, just to be taken seriously. At every turn we have to prove ourselves. Be twice as smart. Twice as good. Just to be acknowledged as being perhaps worthy to compete in the same way as a man. And this is after over one hundred years of progress, toward making the western world a place in which men and women are viewed equally. There is a long, long way to go, and I would be lying if I denied being as sensitive to this as any other woman who has faced discrimination.”

 

“I did not know this about you,” the old elf confessed, surprised. “But...your career...you had reached very high, had you not?”

 

“Yes. And the reason why was named John Oehlert. He opened the door for me to prove myself, Thanadir. Others did not want me to have the chance and certainly not so soon. They saw a young woman, too recently out of law school, and felt inclined to dismiss me based on my gender alone. John saw me as I actually am, and did not care that I have breasts and lack a penis. I am sorry, I do not mean to be offensive. Perhaps I should not talk about this, I still lack...control over myself.”

 

“Do not be sorry. It helps me to understand. But meldis, now what?”

 

“I need the bathroom. And then I am making us lunch. Now I am the one who is hungry. If I am very lucky, we can get right back in here and watch a movie.”

 

Thanadir grinned. The day was not lost after all.

 

*****

 

Having enjoyed one of the older Star Trek movies (always a safe choice for Thanadir), by very late afternoon it was more than time to consider making dinner. While she experienced nowhere near the distress the ellon had, far too much sliced fruit had been consumed, already resulting in one unforseen restroom trip. Determined that enough was enough, Earlene simply refused to continue eating, hunger or not. It was assuredly some brain...issue…

 

While she had not asked nor did she actually want to know about the outcome with Lorna, it stood to reason that it had been ‘a day’ and that pizza would make everyone a little happier, so they started in on that. An alarmingly large crock of sourdough always bubbled in the corner of the kitchen, easily kept at bay by the volume of griddlecakes served at their home, so in very short order pizza dough was manufactured in the stand mixer and rising, the oven was lit, and Pat and Thanadir contentedly chopped at the masses of vegetables that would comprise some of the toppings. While the man usually did not want to help, he looked sad and in need of something to do, and making pizza for eighteen people was no joke.

 

“I will be right back,” she said to them. “I want to see if there is anything in the greenhouse we could use.” Namely, the cherry tomatoes they had started quite some weeks ago. It was still early, but one never knew and there had been some green ones. The citrus trees were only a year old, which meant that there was quite a lot of open space available for smaller, seasonal vegetables and fruits. There had been discussion of paying to build another one, which was fine with her. Moving past the assorted doors, Earlene was filling her bowl with what could be spared when she realized she was not alone. This was awkward, but she was not so crass as to ignore her husband. “Hello,” came out quietly, as she turned to find more basil leaves.

 

He did not hesitate to come to her and kneel down. “Earlene, I am sorry. What I did was wrong and I apologize. I would like to ask you to forgive me but…” his head dropped, a little.

 

“But?”

 

“I wanted to know why I acted as I did. Why I thought that treating you in that manner would be so amusing, when I had many chances to know better. That is why I have not come to you sooner; I wanted to be able to say that I understood so that I would not make the same mistake. But that part has not gone so well.” He held his palms up, in what she recognized as their gesture of submission.

 

It was a rarity, to find him like this, but on one thing they agreed. She too would like to know _why_ . Her hand reached out for one of his. “Thranduil, I won’t pretend I am happy right now. I’m not. I also doubt it is hidden from you that I made a poor choice of my own today, and that my clarity of thought is not completely restored to me. Eru, I am never having anything to do with that accursed cannabis again, for as long as I walk this earth. I am not going to treat you...badly. Maybe I can even help you, but not in my current state. I...Valar, can you not just help me pick these leaves, and we can speak more on this later? I will forgive you, beloved. I _do_ forgive you.  But I would like it too if it never happens again. What you did was hurtful.” Releasing his hand, she rubbed at her eyes. This day needed to go into the trash icon, and the Delete button needed clicking.

 

“Thank you, meluieg,” he whispered, smiling. Not for the first time, he was extremely sobered by how fortunate he was to have this woman for a mate. “I could help you…”

 

“No. We all agreed, not to drain your power unless there is a real need. I am not incapacitated or suffering, and I brought this on myself.” She shoved the basket at his arms. “Leaves, or dinner will never get made.”

 

He began picking, studying her mind to know which ones were desirable. “Ailill is coming?”

 

“Tomorrow morning. Remember, he asked leave of you to attend a birthday party his coworkers are having?”

 

“Oh. Well, I remember now.”

 

*****

 

None of the elves even blinked when Lorna and Ratiri turned up at the Gates (which _still_ , even with Thanadir’s attempts at diction lessons, wouldn’t open for her; she was beginning to think that they honestly didn’t like her). They made their way to the training room, where she flung her knives with a force and a savagery that made him wince a little. Still, that ate up the better part of the afternoon; they had a light snack in the dining hall and passed Sharley on the way back -- the woman had taken over the job of gathering whatever wood was to be found on the forest floor, and was rarely bothered, because she spent much of the time speaking to her voices. She seemed content enough, and didn’t seem to even notice them, so they let her be.

 

“I...really don’t want to do this,” Lorna said. While flinging a mug at Pat was hardly the worst thing she’d thrown at him over the years, they’d been young, before. Somehow, it had been a lot more acceptable when they were teenagers than two people in their forties. Oh, he’d forgive her, but that didn’t make her feel any better about it.

 

“Lorna, you don’t have to tell him everything yet,” Ratiri said, pulling her close. “Just tell him you’ll talk to him about it later, and for God’s sake apologize for throwing tea all over him.”

 

That drew a slight smile from her. “That bit was a given. I'm sure he’ll be so happy to tell you about the time I threw a steel-toed work boot at his head.”

 

“What?!” Ratiri asked, staring down at her. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, but still.

 

“To be fair, he threw it at me, first. He wanted to play dodgeball, but we didn’t have a ball. I didn’t want to play, and we wound up busting a hole in the wall. Just shoved the sofa six inches to the right and I don’t think anyone ever found it.”

 

“Mo chroí...you never cease to surprise me.”

 

“Your life would be so boring without me,” she said, grinning up at him.

 

“That,” he said, “is very true.”

 

Pat was nowhere to be seen when they entered the house, thankfully; Lorna left Ratiri to prowl the kitchen, heading upstairs without mounting dread. She paused a moment before rapping on his door with her knuckles. In a high, squeaky voice, she said, “Housekeeping! We have fava beans and a nice Chianti!”

 

A choked laugh was the rather heartening response, and when Pat opened the door, she hugged him. “Look, I can’t talk about this right now, but I will sooner or later,” she said, all in a rush. “And I’m sorry I threw tea at you. At least it wasn’t a boot.”

 

Now he really laughed, and wrapped her in a hug. “The boot wasn’t the worst’v it,” he said. “D’you remember when you tried to make a Molotov cocktail and I kept telling you you were doing it wrong?”

 

She groaned. They’d heard of the things, but only had a hazy idea how to make them, and thus all she’d ever managed was a mess. “Yes, I do,” she said wryly. He’d pestered her about it so much she’d thrown the bottle at him, which he’d caught, run off, and drank half the contents of. It being really cheap vodka, he’d just sicked it up everywhere an hour later. “How the hell did we survive childhood?”

 

“Blind luck, probably. Fun Size, you don’t have to talk about it. I can guess pretty easy what happened.”

 

Lorna sighed. “I ought to, at least a little. I mean, you’re my brother. I trust you. But it’s just...can you really blame me for wanting to keep a lid on that one?”

 

“No,” he said, releasing her so he could look at her. “No, I can’t, but you don’t have to. Don’t be afraid to tell me shite.”

 

She couldn’t help but look away. “This was worse than shite. Pat, nobody outside this household knows what happened, and it has to stay that way, okay? Not even Mairead can know.”

 

“I understand,” he said, and his heart broke for her. It would have been different, if she’d had the chance to fight, but she’d stood no chance at all. That, he was sure, was what grated the very worst on her. “But c’mon, Earlene made pizza, and I contributed, for once.”

 

“God help us,” Lorna said, letting him lead her out the door.

 

“Hey, I can cook now,” he said, mock wounded. “Mostly. I was a single da, you know.”

 

“True.” She smirked a little. “It’s a spiral staircase. How d’you think trying to slide down the bannister would work?”

 

“Terribly,” he said. “That’s why we have the fireman’s pole.”

 

Quirking an eyebrow, she said, “I’ll race you to it.”

 

The thundering of feet from the floor above made Ratiri look upward, two voices quarreling in Irish growing ever closer, culminating in two Donovans trying to use the fireman’s pole at once. The result was that both of them crashed to the floor, arguing all the while. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. Order had been restored to the world.

 

Ortherion had been trained as the pizza baker, and stood at the ready with the long handled peel. Everyone loved watching the things bake. How a raw pizza could transform into a finished, bubbling perfection (with a perfectly crisp and chewy crust) in the space of less than three minutes (in the 350C temperature) was a marvel that never ceased to please. Pizza nights were not like other nights. The usual method of eating was bypassed, and paper plates were used. Everyone stood calmly in a line, children and adult alike, and everyone received a slice at a time of piping hot pizza; Thranduil or Thanadir was usually in charge of using the wheel cutter on them as they emerged. It was quite a production, and everything short of taking food into the room with nice furniture or throwing food was tolerated. It was much more like being at a party than eating a meal, and the children loved it.

 

Earlene leaned in quietly to Thanadir. “I will give up my next child to you, if I can have the first slice of pizza.” In the face of the aromas wafting from the oven, she was nearly helpless against her marijuana-fueled hunger.

 

The elf doubled over in laughter. “You have already given me more than enough in that regard, meldis. And believe me, I can guess what you are enduring. I will set it aside for you, fear not.”

 

A smile of pure gratitude came forth. They were both ridiculous, but at least they admitted it.

 

*****

 

The birthday gathering was scheduled for 6pm at The Quays, a colorful place that had kept its standing more solidly among the Galway locals than the tourists. Though, all pubs were now unavoidably filled with them, especially in summer. But summer was not yet come; just a few precious weeks remained before the start of what they all simply called ‘The Season.’ It wasn’t bad, and it wasn’t good. The tourists meant more work and more pay, but no one was terribly sad come autumn to see it all go back more or less to normal. At any rate, it was just enough time for their shift to end, for the extra twenty minutes of unpaid chores to be done that the birds seemed to always demand, and to climb out of their uniform polo shirts into something that didn’t scream that they were all staff at Ashford. By getting there early, they’d have a chance to hog the small upstairs spot (which had the advantage of a table on which to put the cake and whatever gifts came). Not really knowing what to get Mike, but figuring anything hawk-themed could not go too far amiss, Ailill had ordered a plush hawk toy online. He fully expected to be ribbed that the only choice was a red-tailed hawk, but when you were with a bunch of other nerds that sort of attention to detail was to be expected.

 

Jack, Alex, and Donal usually frequented this pub, and rarely caused much trouble, because you weren’t meant to shit where you ate. The three were in a mood tonight, however, fueled by cheap gin and greasy crisps; they wanted someone to hit, and Alex had a car with a big enough boot to toss some hapless toff or poofter in, should they find one. Ashford got a load of tourists, though it was a bit early in the year; maybe some idiot American or Englishman would stroll in, acting like Lord of the Manor, and present an easy target.

 

“We find some nancy, where do we take him?” Jack asked, tossing back a shot of whiskey. At twenty-six, he was the oldest of the lot, living in another friend’s basement and pretending to look for work.

 

“Out back behind the castle,” Donal said, eating a chip and smothering a belch. “Middle’v the night, no tourists, who’s to hear?”

 

“Don’t be bloody daft,” Alex said. Though he was the youngest of the crew -- he’d just turned twenty-three -- he was most often the leader, and not just because he was the only one with a car. “Anybody spots us and recognizes us, we’d be for it. Find some queer and we take him out with the sheep. Nobody’ll hear him out there.”

 

“And if there’s more than one?” Donal asked.

 

Alex smirked. “Big boot, innit? Jam two in there, if we try.”

 

*****

 

The ten of them were enjoying responsibly, as the Americans might say. In fact, some of their number _were_ Americans; Mike himself was on a six-month hiatus from his ordinary pursuits in the States. A college student at the University of California, he had applied with an impressive resume from the Raptor Center at the Davis campus. This meant that he’d had exposure to world-class veterinary treatment protocols, in addition to having personally worked with behavioral specialists that had taught him a wealth of information about the needs of assorted species as they underwent rehabilitation for release into the wild...or not, depending on the nature of their injuries. At any rate, he brought a top rate work ethic with him, and Ailill the others had enjoyed many conversations around the break room table in the early mornings over coffee. He was turning twenty-two today; a year over the legal drinking age in the States (which fact had suitably horrified all of them).

 

Drinks gave way to nibbles which gave way to more drinks, and amidst the laughter and feather-infested conversation it came time to open the gifts. Soon enough things like plush toys and kites and other themed gag gifts were bouncing around the upstairs, but they were hardly being loud enough to be a bother. Yes, they were being silly, and yes, Mike really was demonstrating the difference between owl and hawk landing patterns with the plush toy, bringing it repeatedly to Ailill’s arm. He would be the first to admit that he was enjoying the attention.

 

Jack, now three shots and two pints in, eyed the two pretty-boys and their stuffed bird (what the fuck was that thing?) A glance at Alex and Donal was as good as mind-reading: that pair would fit in the boot. Smirking, he took out his mobile and texted two of his mates, and didn't even bother being sneaky when he took a shot of the pair -- it was busy enough that they ought to not notice.

 

Mary, the Falconry School’s public outreach coordinator, leaned over uneasily to Ailill. “Have you taken account of the blokes down below? They look like trouble and they’ve been watching us for awhile now. One just took a picture of the lot’v us.”

 

Carefully, Ailill stood up and moved around the table in such a way as to get a look and immediately his heart sank into his stomach. He took a very deep breath, and tried to think. It was only about ten o’clock, right now. Their own party would break up soon, he guessed, and then there would be trouble. He had hours yet until the pub closed. If they all left together, it might be yet okay. But they’d come in many different cars and….he was not sure if he could live with himself if something happened to one of the women because of him. There really was not any choice; what he was under command to do had been stated very plainly. With no small amount of embarrassment, he sent his text to Thranduil, Earlene and Thanadir.

 

They were all in the Heart Room, reading peacefully. They had jokingly agreed on quiet time tonight, so that no volatile topics of conversation could arise. By silent agreement, no one commented that it was hardly a joke after how the morning had gone. Thranduil’s mobile jangled, and he read the message immediately. “While it could turn out to be nothing, it seems our Ailill may be in trouble,” he said quietly. “Earlene, Thanadir, be ready to leave in one minute. Lorna, I cannot demand, but I can ask. Would you come?” Earlene and Thanadir were already going to their rooms before his sentence to Lorna was complete.

 

“Of course I will,” Lorna said, setting aside her book. “Let me get my boots. Where is he?”

 

“Galway. And...if you cannot do this, I understand, but I have the sense that your van would be a wise choice of vehicle. Meet me there immediately; I need to get something from the barn.”

 

“Galway?” Ratiri said, alarmed. “Lorna, are you going to be able to handle driving there?  You haven’t been on a motorway since the wreck.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” she said darkly, running to fetch her boots. When she returned, she added, “It’s getting late, there won’t be much traffic. Maybe I’ll even get to beat somebody up.” After the day she’d haid, the prospect was more appealing than it probably ought to be.

 

Once her boots were on, she grabbed a hoodie and headed out to the van, first grabbing the keys off the counter. The evening was chilly, and when she fired up the van, she turned the heater on. She could do this. That poor cinnamon roll needed to not be left to whatever yobs might want to do...anything...to him.

 

Earlene and Thanadir arrived and filed silently into the back seat, looking like a scene out of goddamn _Robin Hood_. Both were wearing the attire of the patrols and moved in such a similar fashion that...it disturbed. Thranduil appeared seconds later, clad in the same black tunic and trousers he had worn earlier. The only addition was a gray nondescript cloak. He tossed two folded tarps onto the van floor and wordlessly moved to sit in the passenger seat.

 

Lorna glanced at the tarps, unease curling in her gut. If they had to find a bog… “All right,” she said, “Galway’s two hours away. I can get us there in under one if you let me drive like...me...but I know Earlene and Thanadir might choke me if I don’t ask first.”

 

“Do it,” said Earlene, in the coldest voice Lorna had ever heard. Her mobile was out, and it was obvious that she was texting Ailill.

 

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Lorna said, and couldn’t resist hitting her Lordi playlist before she took off. The sheer freedom of this -- if she wasn’t on her way to hopefully beat the shit out of someone, she probably couldn’t have done it, but there was no terror now in hitting the accelerator, the headlamps cutting swathes through the twilight. She didn’t quite take the back roads at motor-way speed, but only because she was in the van, and even then she did a solid hundred.

 

Thranduil looked behind him via the mirror, intrigued. In the back seat, Earlene used her fingers to comb carefully through Thanadir’s hair. Loosely she drew it into a queue, then began plaiting, taking the braid all the way down his back. When she turned away from him, he did precisely the same to hers. They then sat leaning together, keeping an eye on their devices for any updates. Thranduil, for his part, entered the navigation into his own mobile, memorizing the route in the event they lost signal.

 

Once they reached the motorway, they found the traffic light, and Lorna pushed them to one-forty, glancing in the mirror to see if either of backseat passengers looked likely to murder her. Neither seemed to care in the least, so she gunned it to one fifty, grinning as she wove through what little traffic there was. Oh, she’d _missed_ this…

 

The speedometer crept to one-sixty and she let it hold for about ten minutes. Still, nobody made any move to kill her, so she pushed it to one-seventy-five. This had been better in the Charger, but she kept the van in peak condition. Nobody protested when she upped the volume on the stereo, either; call her old-fashioned, but she liked a little music to get the blood pumping. She highly doubted the elves needed it, but what the fuck, she was human. Sue her.

 

In the pub, Ailill did his best to smile without apparent concern. Three of the women had already gone home, citing a need to work tomorrow. Which was true enough; he’d written the schedules. A part of him felt very stupid, second-guessing himself. If he was wrong and this turned out to be nothing, everyone would have been disturbed for no reason at all, and he would feel like even more of a will o’ wisp than he usually did at times like this. He had tried to talk Earlene out of them coming, but she would hear none of it...perhaps he had not thought through all the ways in which his life would be more complicated now. And yet at the edges of his vision, he continued to notice the hard stares of the men below.

 

Donal eyed his mobile. “Sam and the lads said they’ll meet us out by the coast,” he said. “If these nancies ever _leave_ , that is. Jesus, they’ll be here past lock-in at this bloody rate.”

 

“Told you we shouldn’t’ve been staring at them,” Alex growled. “Now they’re about to piss themselves and glued to their fucking seats.”

 

Two more of the birthday party said goodnight after one more drink; it had been perhaps half an hour since he had texted his new family. Mike, Molly and Fiona remained with him, and he felt it might be much in his interest to buy another round while starting what he hoped was a scintillating new conversation. “Ok, let’s hear it. Grossest thing your bird has ever done killing something.” Hey, it was weird, but so were they. You couldn’t be a falconer without having seen assorted small animals die horrible deaths, try though they did to mitigate it.

 

It worked. Molly laughed. “OK it’s not funny, except it is. There was this one time when Lulu had a mouse only by her second talon and….”

 

“Lulu?” Ailill and Mike both asked in stereo, in disbelief.

 

“Lulu,” Molly said acerbically. “Not all of us can have fancy wonderful names for our birds, I’ll have you know. She came with that name. Now d’ye want to hear what Lulu did or not?”

 

Jack, not _quite_ drunk as a lord, had had the hazy idea that maybe they ought to make sure these two were actually poofters before they did anything. They were both _pretty_ , but that didn’t necessarily mean anything; there were plenty of weirdos about, and this was near Ashford, after all. Accordingly, the three gathered their drinks and went upstairs, appearing to be nothing but jovial drunks. “I hear something about birds?” he asked, his eyes traveling over the three, searching.

 

“Yeah, we like birds,” Alex said, though he was not referring to animals.

 

“Ailill here, his bird’s named Fion,” Mike said obliviously, thinking this new man was coming over for friendly conversation about their jobs, though when Molly visibly facepalmed he realized that perhaps he had said something that wasn’t quite right.

 

“He didn’t mean that,” said Fiona, looking them up and down. She’d seen the type before; local gombeens, more balls than brains, and always plastered. God, she was fed up with most blokes. Mike was different; American and all, with new things to tell (even if he was an eejit about what some things meant in Ireland). And Ailill, he was too decent to hit on everyone. Boss or no, he’d always treated both the women and the men with respect.

 

With a look of open revulsion on his face, Alex made an about-face and returned to his companions. “Finish up. We’re leaving. The one with long hair, he’s ours. But none’v that lot is going to shift themselves out’v here with us scarin’ the shite out’v them.” Tossing back the rest of their glasses and not bothering to suppress a belch or two, they filed out.

 

“Sure god that was lucky,” sighed Molly. “Mike, love, tomorrow you’re going to start memorizing about ten pages of how things’re said in Ireland. You told that bloke Ailill’s a poofter, for Chrissakes.”

 

“I...what?...What in hell is a ‘poofter’?”

 

A groan of unhappiness escaped the hapless man. “I know you didn’t know better, but you said I’m gay. A homosexual. ‘Bird’ is slang for ‘a woman’, and you told him that my ‘girl’ is named Fion.”

 

“Oh Jesus…..” Mike was now turning ten shades of red. “Christ, now I need another drink. Please, let me buy the next round, it’s the least I can do after a fuckup like that. God I’m sorry…”

 

“Not for us,” Fiona said flatly. “Happy birthday and all, Mikie, but it’s getting on. Molly and me need to be up early. Time to turn in.”

 

“Alright,” the American smiled. “Thanks for all this, and see you the day after tomorrow.”

 

“Good luck,” the women smiled and waved. While Mike went to get two more Guinness, Ailill tried to be helpful by neatly placing all the birthday gifts into a box and clearing away the wrappers and ribbons into a bag for rubbish. Two ales were plunked down as Mike straddled the bench opposite.

 

“I’d best be off too, after this,” Mike grimaced. “I’d thought to see a few sights tomorrow, and don’t want to start too late.”

 

“You’re okay to drive?” Ailill asked cautiously.

 

“Not driving. I rent a tiny spot just a few blocks over; got a good deal on the place for the entire time I’m here. Owner said it was worth it to him, not to have to deal with dozens of tourists wanting it for a few days at a time; he’s gone until October and I’ve got the use of his car, too.”

 

“Brilliant.”

 

They continued their way through their drinks while Mike told a little of life in California, which sounded frankly intriguing. With a slight twinge of sadness, Ailill now considered too whether he would ever go anywhere. Not that he could go anywhere _before_ swearing himself to the Elvenking on account of the hawks, but still. _Then again Thranduil had not said he couldn’t...why was he even thinking about this?_ His mobile jangled; it was Earlene. Mike saw Ailill look at his device, and figured it was as good a time as any to make a break for it. “Hey, I think I’ll be off now too. Thanks for the party, it was a good time. See you next week?”

 

“Yes,” Ailill smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the Guinness, and good luck.” Mike grabbed his box and was off, leaving Ailill alone upstairs. Others mingled downstairs; it was getting later but not late. Closing was still a ways off. Ailill answered the message; the men he’d worried about were gone. That was sent, and for some moments he sat and enjoyed the last of his drink, his tension unwinding with the realization that though it had been a stupid waste of their time, his friends would be here before too much longer, and he would be escorted safely to the forest from Galway. He was a substantial enough person to handle what he’d had to drink tonight, and was fine for driving. On chance, his eyes raised awhile later to see two of the men from earlier return to the pub, with eyes that riveted on him. Panic rising, he tapped one word into the messaging app, his finger hovering over the ‘send’ icon. As they headed for the stairs and him, he sent the message and locked the screen, hiding the phone away in an inner pocket of his jacket. With any luck they wouldn’t have noticed he was using it, though what good he thought having it would do him he didn’t know.

 

*****

 

“I think something just happened,” shouted Earlene, since it was the only possible way to be heard above Lorna’s racket that for some reason was not annoying the piss out of her. Thranduil nodded, presumably communicating silently with Lorna, who now accelerated a little more. They were perhaps five minutes out from Galway City; at some point she would have to slow down or risk becoming a magnet for a traffic stop.

The same message had come in on the King’s mobile as well. After the last three reassurances that this had all been a mistake and that everything seemed fine, only one word had now been sent. _Help_.

 

*****

 

For the first time in his life, Ailill stared hard at the men he was sure were about to give out at him, causing them to pause just the tiniest bit. “Piss off,” he said, as forcefully as he was able, though his heart was hammering inside of his chest. However, after that brief hesitation, the two blokes simply looked at each other and grinned, before hauling him roughly to his feet. And as they did so, they both bent double. Eyes wide, Ailill remembered what the King had promised, and realized that this was Thranduil’s protection. His chance. Staying here was obviously no longer safe. _Run_ , he told himself, and he clattered down the stairs and made for the door while he still could.

 

Unfortunately, a car was parked at the curb, boot open. Two more men were waiting to grab at him the moment he exited, and a third stood ready to ensure the first two succeeded. He was not held fast so much as pitched forward, pulled and flung hard toward the car. Retching sounds behind him mingled with a hard kick to his hip and a violent shove that sent him into the boot. It was all a hopeless blur. A shove, a punch, another shove, and he heard the metal door slammed over him. More voices, more doors slamming, and then acceleration. He was sick with fear, except for one thing. As the car sped away, he had heard the King’s voice in his mind, briefly before it faded. _We are here, Ailill. Do not lose hope._

 

“You’ve got him?” Lorna asked. She’d dialed the volume back, given then were in the middle of town and didn’t need to be attracting undue attention. “In the Malibu? The black car? Good.” That was way too nice a model for gobshites like this -- ’75, if she had it right -- though it obviously wasn’t well-maintained; even in the glow of the headlamps she could see streaks of rust on the boot.

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil. “They have him in the boot. I can hear him, when you are this close.” _Lorna, I need to be very honest with you. They mean to violate Ailill and beat him very badly. It is not my intention that they will remain living. They are vile, hateful, and this is not the first time they have sought to harm others in this way. I do not ask you to involve yourself in what I will do, or to do anything that would affect your conscience._ “The one driving means to go to somewhere called Spiddal. Earlene, do you know where that is?”

 

“I’m mapping it now,” she answered calmly.

 

 _That_ sent cold washing through Lorna -- but only briefly. She knew what he meant by ‘violate’, and after this morning, it washed her vision red. _Don’t get blood in the back of the van, if you can help it_ , was all she said. Could she kill one of these bastards? Probably. Could she live with herself later? That...she wasn’t so sure of. But maybe she didn’t need to find out. With three other very deadly people in the car... _One thing, Thranduil: the dead can’t suffer. Remember that._

 

 _I am more interested in you_ not _suffering, Lorna. I mean it. I do not want you to do anything you even think might damage you later. It is not why I asked you here. Why I asked you here is because you drive like...you drive. I had a feeling this would be needed._

 

With a snarl that was downright feral, Lorna followed the car relatively sedately until they reached the motorway, and then she bore down on the bumper like an avenging Fate, cranking her stereo back up. Ailill would know they were here, and no mistake.

 

She saw the slightly panicked flail of the gobshites in the backseat, one turning to stare out the window, and she cheerfully gave him the finger. He turned back to say something, and the Malibu took off -- though not as fast as it could have, if the engine were in proper condition. Bastards.

 

Nevertheless, it managed some impressive speed, and the driver wasn’t a complete eejit, because he actually kept control of the thing. Unfortunately for them, while the Mystery Machine didn’t look like much, it had a v12 Detroit diesel engine that ran like new and growled like a demon.

 

The Malibu passed a small Honda, weaving through the light traffic; someone had taught this gobshite to properly drive, but it wouldn’t save him. When he tried to cross back over, she grinned humorlessly. “I don’t think so, jacknob. I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve probably been alive.” He had a pattern, and it would be his undoing; rather than try to follow him with each merge, she pulled the ultimate dick move and started passing on the right, weaving like an overpowered pinball until she was right on his arse again.

 

In the Malibu, Donal was trying very, very hard not to piss himself. “Who in bloody fuck did you piss off, Alex?”

 

“I’ve got no fucking idea, but Jesus can he drive.” He was sweating now, skin hot and prickly. He did owe quite a few people money, but not enough to justify this insanity.

 

“She,” Donal said, pale in the passing light of headlamps. “Woman. Looks ready to rip someone’s face off. You think the poofter’s got friends?”

 

“Not that kind,” Jack said, hunching low in the backseat. “Jesus, we need to get to Spiddal.” There’d be three more of them there -- and they’d be off-road. Surely that monstrosity of a van couldn’t manage that...right?

 

“Look, I’m going as fast as I can, okay?” Alex snarled.

 

_*****_

 

“Good job, Lorna. They mean to go off the road at Spiddal,” he informed. _Ailill, you may be tossed about quite badly, soon. Do what you can to protect your head._

 

_I will._

 

Thranduil could hear the suppressed terror in the man’s mental voice. His young charge was trying very hard, not to show his fear. _You are doing very well, nîth vain. There is no shame in being afraid._

 

Ailill groaned. _You really are going to call me that, aren’t you, my Lord..._

 

 _Afraid so,_ Thranduil chuckled. It had worked. For a moment, Ailill had felt less fear from the slight distraction. And then his thoughts darkened, to how many bodies this van could hold. _In the old days, they would pile and burn the carcasses. Like as not, this was no longer an option. No matter._

 

“You might want to cover your ears,” Lorna said, as she rode the Malibu’s arse off the motorway. The problem with having such a powerful engine was that once the Mystery Machine gained momentum, it wasn’t easily stopped, but she had no intention of stopping. She wouldn’t rear-end the bastards with Ailill in the boot, but _they_ didn’t need to know that. Cranking her music up yet further, she watched, she waited --

 

In the back seat, Thanadir tightened down his seatbelt before reflexively pulling Earlene against him, hard. She found herself held in a vise; the strength of the seneschal’s hold did not allow her head or shoulders or spine to really move at all, as he used his own body to absorb much of the force of the van’s motions. Because it was her meldir, she did not resist his restraint. If anything, it endeared her. He would allow her to fall into tree branches and shot arrows at her to dodge, but worried about her being bruised now. _It was goddamn precious, was what it was_. He earned a smile of favor, which was more than the bastards outside were going to get. Thranduil had already told her what was to happen, and that there were no rules except making as little mess as possible. It probably should bother her, that it did not bother her. Maybe it had, a little, but that was before she learned they meant to rape Ailill with a tire jack because they believed him to be gay. Flexing her calf muscles, she felt the reassuring pressure of her four throwing knives that were lodged inside of her boot.

 

“Jesus goddamn _Christ,_ Alex, _go!”_ Donal screamed. He was just about ready to bail out of the car, even at this speed, because that van was about to crawl right up their tailpipe. The roar of its engine was drowned out by a blare of music so loud it was actually making the car shake.

 

“ _ONCE AGAIN THERE IS PAIN, I BRING FLAMES, I BRING COLD!”_

 

Utterly irrelevantly, Jack thought, _Wait, is that Lordi?_

 

 _“I’M THE BLOOD RED SANDMAN, COMING HOME!_ ”

 

Shit, shit, _shit,_ the van was accelerating, _again_ , crawling up like it wanted to pass them. Heart in his throat, Alex tried to weave.

 

“ _ON THIS UNHOLY NIGHT I WILL MAKE YOU MY OWN!_ ”

 

That fucking van, it was just too _fast_ \-- it was almost beside him now, and he didn’t even _know_ what it thought it was doing. Jesus, who had he pissed off? Who would send this psychopathic bitch and her nightmare of a van after him?

 

Desperate, he pulled right off the road, swerving onto the grass and praying he wouldn’t high-center on some unseen hummock. Surely the van, so much heavier, couldn’t foll-- Oh, FUCK.

 

“You think so?” Lorna growled, unheard by any save her. Her blood sang with rage, with adrenaline, hear thumping with the music. “Because _I don’t._ ”

 

“ _RED DROPS STAIN SATIN SO WHITE, THE WAY I SIGN MY NAME!_ ”

 

“God DAMMIT, ALEX! _Who did you piss off?!_ ’ Donal screamed. The van, that fucking van, was barreling after them, tires chewing up the grass and dirt like they were nothing but dust.

 

“ _THE NEIGHBORHOOD’S PRETTY DEAD AT NIGHT, WHEN I’M THE ONE TO BLAME!_ ”

 

There were headlamps ahead, thank fucking Christ -- Sam and his lot would be there, at least, though this lunatic might well try to run them _all_ over.

 

“ _CAN YOU HEAR HOW THE CHILDREN WEEP!_ ”

 

Alex was about ready to cry himself, because seriously, _what the actual fuck?!_

 

“ _CHILLS OF FEAR, LIKE A SAWBLADE CUTTING DEEP!_ ”

 

Sam, sitting on the roof his car, cigarette in mouth, stared at the oncoming Malibu, and at the _thing_ behind it. “Jesus, Alex, who did you piss off?” he muttered, heart lurching. He was more than ready to do a runner, because he did _not_ want to get caught up in whatever the hell his mate had got himself into now.

 

“ _ONCE AGAIN THERE IS PAIN, I BRING FLAMES, I BRING COLD!”_

 

Alex veered right, but the van didn’t -- it roared forward, catching the Malibu’s bumper, and Sam and the lads were just bright enough to jump out of the way.

 

“ _I’M THE BLOOD RED SANDMAN, COMING HOME!_ ”

 

Lorna let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-snarl. She’d welded bull-bars to the front of the Mystery Machine; that little sedan was utterly fucked. She lowered the volume just long enough to say, “Brace for impact!”

“ _ON THIS UNHOLY NIGHT I WILL MAKE YOU MY OWN!_ ”

 

The Mystery Machine plowed right into the sedan’s passenger side, all but folding the car in half. The four of them might have a mild case of whiplash, but it was worth it to watch these new gobshites scatter like ants.

 

 _Now_ she turned the volume down, hopped out of the van, and eyed her handiwork. Looking at the closest man (who looked three seconds from pissing himself), she said, “Cheers, fuckface. Your car was a piece’v shit.”

Thranduil had one priority, and that was Ailill. _Lorna. First please free Ailill. I do not know where the release mechanism is. Then you may have your fun. However, I will move the trash out of your way._ He stormed to the driver’s side, and hauled the one called Alex out by his shirt. Fixing him with a cold stare, he kept his comments brief. “You chose to vent your hatred on the wrong one, tonight. He is under my protection.”

Without pity for the terror in the man’s eyes, he threw his body over the car, to see him land on his arse at Earlene’s feet.

 

Without hesitation she forced his legs apart and delivered a terrific kick to his groin. _That special feeling, of my boot burying itself in that rubbery softness. Oh, yes._ He curled up in agony, already numb in the legs from the blow to his tailbone, only for her to haul him by his shirt a short distance away. Now, he was going nowhere, and first things first.

 

Lorna didn’t know exactly where the trunk release was on a Malibu, but she found it easily enough, and popped it, releasing poor Ailill. The gobshite in the passenger seat opened his door and legged it, and she rolled her eyes. She had her knives, but the knives were too good for him; instead she grabbed a rock and threw it, catching him so hard on the back of the head he staggered and collapsed. “Idiot.” The third passenger tried the same, but there was a very handy empty bottle of lager that hit him square in the temple.

 

Earlene was the one to reach into the trunk and pull Ailill to her. “Are you hurt?” She held him as tightly as he held her, while she endeavored to aid him to get his legs under him. He shook his head no, which was encouraging. If there was something, it likely was minor and they could care for it. “Listen to me carefully. I will put you inside the van. Do not look outside, or watch. Shut your eyes and listen to Lorna’s godawful music. You are to stay there, until we come for you. I promise you they will not be able to get to you. You are safe. Can you do this?”

 

Ailill nodded mutely, wrestling with the terror he still felt. Earlene made sure he sat, and gave a kiss to his cheek. He looked into her eyes, and saw what seemed like an avenging angel before she vanished, and the door slammed in perfect timing to the beat of the positively bloodthirsty song that was being growled on the stereo.

 

Thanadir had taken off at a run, easily catching the two men his King instructed him to bring down. First one, then the other, found their necks in the elf’s iron grip, and hauled back, barely able to breathe, to where the others were.

 

“That one,” Thranduil grabbed Lorna’s shoulder and pointed at Jack, who was doing his damndest to crawl off. “That one has violated women. More than once.”

 

 _Oh, really?_ Lorna eyed one of the remaining bottles. Breaking one to make a weapon was not like it was the movies -- real bottles were heavier and thicker, and if you didn’t break it right, you’d wind up with a fist full of broken glass. Shane, however, had taught them all the trick (because of course he had), and she’d kept in practice showing it off at Big Jamie’s to anyone who was curious. It was all in the angle and the force of the blow (could she teach this to Saoirse, as a science lesson?), and she shattered the bottom off on the car’s hood before taking off after the fucker. While she was nowhere near as silent as an elf, she was plenty quiet when it came to humans; the bastard didn’t even hear her coming until she ploughed into him from behind, knocking him face-first onto the grass.

 

Before he could even think of getting up, she gave him a hard blow to each kidney -- she knew from sad experience just how debilitating that was. Given she’d knocked the wind out of him, he couldn’t actually scream -- though he certainly tried when she flipped him onto his back, drew a knife from each boot, and crucified him into the hard earth. She was heavy enough that he couldn’t throw her off without use of his arms; the strangled shriek he tried to manage cut off into a gurgling croak when she punched him in the throat.

 

“My brother says you’re a rapist,” she said, kneeling on his chest as she looked down at him. “I dealt with one’v those. Didn’t get to kill him myself, but I _did_ eat his nose.” She leaned down. “Know what happens when you bite a nose off? It crunches.”

 

His eyes, wide and terrified, were locked on her, glassy with pain. Grinning, she leaned down further, as though about to give him a kiss, but instead sank her teeth right into the bridge of his nose -- it did indeed crunch, and the hot salt of blood filled her mouth as bit, again and again, punching him in the throat once more when he tried to scream.

 

Lorna laughed, low in her throat. This man looked nothing like Von Ratched, and yet it was all too easy to imagine he was the one stretched out beneath her, attempting to beg for mercy she would not grant. The bottle gouged into his cheek, scoring deep, even slashes, but no, it wasn’t right, wasn't _enough_. Out came a third knife, this from the back of her boot. She grabbed his chin, holding him still even as he fought so desperately. She could see Von Ratched’s pale eyes, pale and cold, but cold no longer -- he feared her now, feared her vengeance, vengeance she’d had no chance to properly take.

 

“You kissed me, didn’t you, you bastard?” she whispered. “I know you did. That’s why you sent me that tea, isn’t it? To tell me you liked how I taste? Well, I can return it now, but you won’t like it.”

 

The blade of her knife was forced through his teeth, and sliced through his cheek like it was nothing but butter. Now he _did_ scream, his blood hot and copper-scented on her hands, and she laughed as she tore through his other cheek.

 

“I win, you bastard. _I WIN._ ” Jerking his head back, she sank her teeth into his throat, tearing and chewing until she found his carotid. More wetness, more heat, spraying over her face, her throat, her hoodie. Sitting back onto her knees she slashed his throat, all but bathing in that blood -- benediction, expiation, baptism into a world where Von Ratched meant nothing. _My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. You have no power over me._

 

*****

 

Thanadir dragged and deposited his two miscreants at the feet of his King, dispassionately awaiting further orders. Thranduil hauled them to their feet. “You would seek to harm one of your own kind, believing you have the right to deal out hurt and vengeance when nothing was done against you, or any you care about.”

 

“You mean fags? Poofters? What’re you, the grand fag of them all? You look like a goddamn Barbie doll,” spat Sam.

 

“Shut fucking _up_ ,” Kevin said. “He’s big enough to send your bollocks arseways, you eejit, d’you want to get us killed?”

 

“I’m afraid it will not matter,” Thranduil said calmly. “You are altogether evil, and you will never harm my Ailill or anyone like him again.” No other word was spoken; Sam’s head was grasped and in one quick motion, his neck dislocated. He dropped like a stone.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” Kevin whined, his eyes as big as saucers. “It was just going to be a bit’v fun, we weren’t going to kill the poofter or anythi--” _Snap._

 

“Thanadir. Lorna is having her fun with one. Earlene the other. Finish the rest of them, and then see to it that Earlene does not...Lorna does not wish blood in the van.”

 

Thanadir nodded, silently pleased. He understood what these men had meant to do to gentle Ailill. _Yrch_ , he thought, looking down at the carcasses with distaste. He found the unconscious ones easily enough, and his strong thumbs crushed their windpipes and held fast. It took an extra minute, but he did not mind. They were, in his estimation, getting off rather easily.

 

*****

 

Earlene returned to Alex, who was still doubled up with pain, and roughly grabbed one of his arms to haul him off a bit further. She unbuckled his belt and removed it, having had a moment to think about all of this. Out came one of her knives, and the sharp edges made quick work of his shirttails, cutting off a generous portion of the fabric. Dispassionately, she began to wad it up.

 

“What in fuck’re you doin’?” he wheezed, unable to move.

 

“I’m stuffing your shirt into your oral cavity,” Earlene replied in icy tones, pinching in front of the hinge of his jaw with considerable force and wadding the cloth into his mouth. One of his arms moved from his groin to pull it back out while he emitted an angry growl. “Oh, I don’t think so,” said Earlene, who drove the thinner of her knives through his wrist, pinning it to the ground before she stood on it. He began to flail in pain, when another well aimed kick to his scrotum caused a muffled shriek to tear from his throat. More of his shirt was cut, and the gag was tied around his head. A combination of kicks and hissed intimidations soon had him in a circumstance that he could not believe. His trousers were partway off, the sturdy denim acting like a straitjacket for his legs. His belt bound around both his wrists at once behind his back, then wrapped again into the ends of his jeans after Earlene kicked him onto his belly. In moments, he was reverse-hogtied by his own trousers, unable to move, and left only with his briefs still in place.

 

“Now about that terrible pain in your crotch,” she said coldly, retrieving her knife.” With two hard cuts through the cotton undergarment that posed no challenge for the sharp steel, he was exposed and shaking with fear. Earlene leaned over him. “So you wanted to rape our friend, did you?” She pulled the cheek of his buttock wide, and placed the tip of her knife roughly at his entrance. “Thought you’d give him something like this?” With a hard smack of her hand, she shoved the knife in all the way to the forged ring by which it could be held as he screamed in pain and rage. As hard as she could, she fetched a blow across his cheek and leaned in again. “Do you like it? Do you like what you wanted to do to that beautiful, innocent man who never did a thing to you? Let me show you what we do to animals that can’t control their impulses.”

 

A second knife was fished out of her boot and held up, as her fingers snaked down his belly to grasp at his penis. “Oh my, what have we here? My, rather a tiny little thing, isn’t it? Tsk. Hardly worth bothering with. Let’s see what else there is... How are these feeling, now?” Her fingers closed in around his sac, caressing them with all the tenderness of a lover, as she stretched and partitioned the skin just as she wanted it. With a motion like lightning, she slit him open, immediately retracting the skin back over the testes and severing their attachments as he screamed again, writhing and kicking to no avail. Her cold hatred was unaffected, and nothing about him moved her to any kind of pity as she waited for his initial agony to abate. Alex opened his eyes to see his own testicles being dangled like a pendulum by their suspensory ligaments. _Back and forth, back and forth._

 

Earlene’s thumbs began to press against his windpipe after she dropped his bollocks on his belly. “You’re going to die now, so you won’t be needing those pesky things any longer. Your friends are already gone. Do you know, I could sit here and pull out every one of your inner organs while you are still using them? Lucky you, I’m not in the mood to make a mess tonight.” Alex’s vision was already going black. The last thing he heard was, “You’re a goddamn homophobic pig, that can’t even give over a slab of bacon.” When his heart stopped, she retrieved her knives and sauntered to the sea-shore to wash the blades. Her fury began to abate, though she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smell of shite on one of them. _Ew._ Later, she would consider how she felt about all of this, and why. But it was already assured; one emotion with which she would not contend was regret.

 

When she cleaned her knives, and the small amount of blood on her hands, Earlene returned to the ellyn, stopping to see what Lorna had done.

 

Lorna, who looked rather like Carrie after the prom, cleaned up her knives and re-sheathed them. Von Ratched’s blood had sprayed a fine speckle over her face, but her mouth, her chin, her jaw were all bathed in red, already dark and tacky in places. It had run down her throat, wicking through her hoodie; the fabric was black, and so didn’t show the stains, but her hands too were streaked with darkening crimson. She looked up at Earlene, an almost delirious smile on her face. “I feel better,” she said. “He’s dead. For good, this time.”

 

“Well.” Earlene said, her eyebrow cocked as a faint grin appeared on her face. _Excessively messy, but, whatever._ “You get points for ‘most blood drained in a single evening.’” They really did need to show the ellyn _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , even if it was almost June. “C’mon. I know you probably don’t swim, and only one place has enough water to clean up. I’ll help you.” They walked together down to the seashore. “You do what you need to to clean up, and I’m going to hold onto you and keep an eye on the water. There’s riptides here. If I yank you, it means we run away from the water. Fast.”

 

“Please don’t let me drown,” Lorna said, a little dreamily.

 

Earlene chuckled. “I don’t intend to, because if you go, we both go.”

 

She stripped off her hoodie -- a lost cause, she was sure -- and her flannel, leaving just her vest-top. After a thought, jeans and boots went, too, since there was little more annoying than wet denim. Neither of the elves were going to watch, so she wound up just taking all of it off and finishing her baptism in the frigid waters of the Atlantic. The water ran red when she splashed it over her face, her arms, the sting of the salt just making the cold all the more intense. She was alive, and he was not...she was free. No matter what he’d done -- no matter that he’d made her want him, that he’d done what only Ratiri should -- he was dead and gone, and she was alive.

 

Alive, and _cold_. She waded back to the shore and dried off as best she could with her flannel, though she knew she’d want a proper shower at home, to get rid of all the salt. The end of her braid was wet and heavy, but oh well. Now blood-free, she soaked the hoodie to get the worst of the blood out, and thoroughly wrung it out before taking it back up with them. Earlene stripped off her cloak and the surcoat underneath it, handing them to Lorna. They were made of light wool, and more importantly were dry and warm. Not to mention, it allowed her to return to the van not bare-arsed naked.

 

Thanadir had already started the car formerly belonging to Alex, fiddling with this and that to discover the assorted functions. And wrinkling his nose against the disgusting smell of tobacco that permeated the vehicle, which he would have to endure. Thranduil approached the women and spoke quietly. “The bodies need to go in the van. Ailill has been shielded from knowing what took place here, and it is my wish he not know until he is less traumatized than he is now. He is also not to know what the men intended to do to him. I will escort him to the other vehicle; Earlene will care for him while Thanadir drives you both home. Lorna and I will clear away what evidence needs removing and follow in the van. And then, we will determine how to dispose of these carcasses.” He refused to call them corpses, for that would be dignifying them as having been bodies belonging to men.

 

Thranduil opened the door to the van, and reached for the deeply upset young man, holding him. He knew that Ailill wanted nothing more than to break down in tears, but was fighting it with all his might. _I am proud of you, nîth vain. You were very brave. You will return with Earlene and Thanadir, who will care for you._

 

_Thank you, Thranduil. Thank you…_

 

_Shhhh….all will be well, we will speak later. You are safe._

 

_My car...my car is still in Galway._

 

_Tell Earlene. All of us have driver licenses; one of them will bring your car. You are not to use your vehicle, not after what happened. Let us care for you._

 

Ailill nodded, walking to the other car, wondering where everyone had gone. There were only two cars, undamaged. Hadn’t he heard a crash? He was too upset, too confused to try to understand. Thranduil smiled. He was not letting his firion see the reality that surrounded him. Handing him off to Earlene, who ushered him into the back seat of their appropriated vehicle, he spoke silently to his wife and seneschal until the car pulled away.

 

Approaching Lorna, he looked at her, at the carnage, and back to her. “You know,” he grinned, “we really have got to stop doing this.”


	99. Ninety-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 29, 2019. Begins just after midnight.

 

They carefully spread out the tarps to protect the interior of Lorna’s van, organizing as they went. Wallets were removed, as was jewelry or any truly distinctive item of clothing. Lorna combed through the glove box of Sam’s car, while Thranduil stacked the bodies in such a way that the messiest ones remained on top. He had the bright idea of using undamaged clothing to swaddle the face and neck of Lorna’s victim, whereas for Alex, Thranduil simply undid Earlene’s bindings and pulled up the man’s trousers. He could not help but shudder a little, at his wife’s work. Eru, perhaps he now had further motivation never to tease her again. His private parts twitched involuntarily, as he stuffed Alex’s detached testes back into his jeans before closing them up. It seemed fitting; the man could rot with his severed anatomy, all in the same place. The gruesome stack  in the van should perhaps have bothered him, yet it did not. The modern world of these mortals did not permit such actions as this, and yet he was not sorry. He was no bloodthirsty murderer, but he was most definitely a King who would protect and avenge his own. “Well, now what?”

 

“We’ve got to shove that lump out into the surf,” Lorna said, pointing at the wrecked car. “Given the shape I bent it into, it might be easier to just nudge it with the van.” She flexed her hand, and winced; she must have punched at least one of those bastard’s teeth out, because there was a scrape over her knuckle, from which radiated dull pain. Oops. “Riptide ought to drag it out to sea.”

 

She ducked into the van to deal with her clothing -- her jeans were still okay, and the flannel. Earlene’s cloak would keep her plenty warm, at least, and the surcoat was nice and heavy. Pulling the keys from her pocket, she fired up the engine. Her mouth still tasted like blood, but there was a half-drunk bottle of very stale water behind the seat, so she grabbed it and gargled. Ew. This was probably going to hit her later, and hit her hard, but not yet. Von Ratched was dead, and she was free.

 

Thranduil frowned at his friend, but said nothing. While he did not understand this apparent...transference, it had helped her somehow. She was still emotionally giddy...they could speak more in a while. “I will set the transmission to neutral and steer. Use the van to push the car mostly to the water’s edge but not into it. Earlene said the surf here is treacherous, let us not risk your vehicle.”

 

“Sounds good,” Lorna said, shifting into first. This had to go very slowly, because the Mystery Machine was heavy enough that it didn’t always stop well. There was a shriek of twisting metal as the wreck inched toward the shore, and when she deemed it close enough, she stopped and backed up, leaving Thranduil plenty of space to do his thing. He climbed out of the car, not certain how best to do this. In the end, he elected to open all the doors that still opened after rolling down all the windows that still rolled. Timing it with the surf, he shoved the car forward as much as he dared, impressed and cautious as he felt the incredible strength of the ocean pull at his legs. It took all his power, to run against it back up to Lorna’s van.

 

“Eru, that is dangerous,” he said, more than a little shocked. “It works or it does not, I am afraid. Even I dare not try to do more. In fact, I think I would like to get further away from the water.”

 

“Easy peasy,” she said, and reversed. The only signs anyone had been there at all were a lot of crushed glass and some tire-tracks, though Von Ratched had probably left a big, dark puddle under him. It looked likely to rain, though, so that might not even be an issue by morning. “So, there’s bogs not too far away. We could dump this lot, weigh them down with some rocks, and be home before dawn.” She shook her head. “I’m too old for this shit.”

 

“We do not need rocks, unless some practically leap out to volunteer themselves for our use. I will cut open their bellies. If need be I will stand on them one at a time, so that they sink faster. They are not worth any more of our time than necessary; if they are found there is nothing on earth that ties any of them to us. We were not seen, and I do not believe that even those in the pub had any clear idea of what transpired when they left Galway.”

 

“Probably not,” Lorna said. “And this type, even if anybody _does_ ID them, they're not the kind the police’d look into too deep. They’ll just assume some other scumbag got them, pretend to look into it, and drop it.”

 

They _had_ left some fairly impressive tire-tracks leading from the road, but oh well. If it rained hard enough, no casts could be taken, or so she hoped. Once they reached the road again, she grinned. “Can’t believe none’v them bricked it. Or did one’v them? I know humans shit after we die, usually, so that doesn’t count.”

 

“Well, Earlene’s project is not entirely smelling like roses, but then again she did rather...her knife went...Eru, I cannot talk about it. He stinks with his own wastes. I will leave it at that.”

 

Lorna quirked an eyebrow, and briefly glanced at him. “Now this I need to hear,” she said, though she could guess well enough. _Jesus_ ...even _she’d_ hesitate to do something like that. Bastard deserved it, but... _eurgh._

 

“You firith worry me,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Earlene knew what he meant to do to Ailill. She kicked him more than once, then tied and gagged him so he was helpless. She...cut him, in places no one should be cut, before she killed him. I believe she did not wish to be messy.”

 

“What sort’v places are we talking about?” she asked, unsure if she actually wanted to know. She had a few guesses, but still.

 

“Um, one blade up his...opening...and the other to emasculate him.” And yes, his own privates twitched for a second time at having to speak that aloud.

 

Lorna twitched a little. She’d spent the first half of her life surrounded by violence, and dealt with some extremely awful people, but she’d never, ever met anyone who’d done...that. What she herself had done tonight, she’d done in blind rage, but there had to have been calculation behind Earlene’s actions. And that...worried her. A lot. “Well, I’m sure that bothered him before she arse-raped him with a knife. _Christ_ , that -- Thranduil, that’s fucked up, and this is _me_ saying that.” She’d ripped a man’s throat out, but at least she hadn’t shoved something sharp up his arse first. (Granted, she’d also bitten off his nose and given him a Glasgow Kiss, so maybe she should just stop right there.) Still, a knife up the arse...damn.

 

“I would agree that it is shocking, but...not what you say. If anything, it was elegant in its justice. Earlene meted out to him exactly the harm he would have done to Ailill, minus the killing part. Yet who is to say Ailill would have survived such physical brutality, had he met with such a one as this on his own? I had reason to believe that this entire group has hurt others, badly. This was a joke, to them. A game. I did not do this lightly, Lorna. Nor did Earlene act without full understanding of my information. I think what appalls you more is that Earlene can do these things without being enraged.”

 

“I’m...kind’v appalled she could do them at all, really,” Lorna admitted. “I mean, she’s better than me. _I_ wouldn’t do that, and I just chewed right through a man’s carotid artery. I mean...I know she gutted Von Ratched like a pig, but that was fast, brutal -- if he’d be human, he’d’ve been dead inside’v three minutes. To do this, it’s -- it’s calculated. And it worries me. Sure, the son’v a bitch deserved it, but...look, I know what it’s like. You start wanting to find excuses. Pretty soon you’ll make them up. I really doubt Earlene would go there, but I can’t be sure, so...keep an eye on her, okay?”

 

“You do not understand Earlene,” he said softly. “You did not see what she did to Avathar, while you were busy gnawing at him just before he died. My wife does not act out of passion but rather a sense of equity. What this has to do with in your eyes, in terms of being ‘better’...Earlene is different than you, Lorna. Not better, not worse. Yes, it is calculated, so that it is not too much or too little. There is a very predictable logic to her choices. Gruesomeness does not enter into her thinking. To her every one of these men were no better than orcs. Hogs at slaughter, though she never would be cruel to an animal. The only sort that could have anything to fear from Earlene are those that would be cruel themselves.”

 

“She’s a lot...tidier...than I am, at least,” Lorna said, filing this piece of information away for later perusal. “She’d make a great serial killer, which disturbs me a bit, and makes me glad she’s not a sociopath.” And part of what would make her so very dangerous was that she wasn’t the sort of woman anyone would expect to do something like that -- too beautiful, too poised. She was likely to be underestimated in a very different way than Lorna herself was; just look at that skeeze of a driving instructor, thinking of her tits and nothing more. Lorna got written off as tiny and weird, but Earlene could do a hell of a lot of damage just by wearing a certain kind of shirt. No creep would even see her knives coming.

 

They drove sedately once they were on the road again, since she did _not_ want to get pulled over with all those corpses in the van. Yeah, Thranduil could just mind-whammy the cop, but still. No thanks.

 

Thranduil chuckled and shook his head. “Tidier. In a way, I suppose. Well, we will hope this is the last of this sort of thing for awhile. I confess, I am looking forward to this vacation to see Sharley’s home. It is my great hope, that the sum of the violent criminal element in this area is in this van and waiting to become peat moss.”

 

“Christ, no kidding. I’m sure I’ll be disturbed by how I did this later, but I’m not yet,” she said. “ _Ratiri_ would be, and honestly, I’m not sure I should give him details. Would it be wrong to keep that from him? I don’t think it would be, and it’d only upset him if he knew.” She’d had her revenge. Von Ratched was dead, lacking a nose and with half his throat torn out. She’d been baptised by blood and by sea, made into something new, something _free_ \-- even if the salt from the water was already starting to itch in unpleasant places, and the pain in her hand radiated ever outward. It was starting to stiffen, too; she might well have sprained something, she’d hit the fucker so hard, but oh well.

 

“You have damaged your hand, Lorna. It needs fixing. Give it to me.”

 

“Eh, it’s fine,” she said. “Punching somebody that much hurts. No getting around it. Back before Shane taught me how to do it right, I broke my thumb.” By now there was pretty much no traffic at all, but she still didn’t speed. No point courting trouble, and Thranduil had probably had enough of her driving for one night.

 

“Well you did not do it ‘right’ enough. It is not sprained, it is broken. Apparently you need more lessons from Shane.” He made a grabby-hand at her hand.

 

She flailed it out of the way, holding it over her head. “How can you know that? D’you have X-ray vision, like Superman?”

 

“I have elf superpowers,” he said, becoming grumpy. “And if you think you are getting back to Eldamar without that healed, you have another thing coming. You might be stubborn but I can still sit on you. It works for Thanadir.”

 

“Not while I’m driving, you can’t,” she warned. “If it _is_ broken, it’s obviously not bad. Ratiri can put it in a splint or something. This is a Plaster Situation.” She kept it out of the way, which meant she had to lean and shift right-handed, but it wasn’t like she’d have to do that on this open stretch of highway. “But seriously, how d’you know it’s broken?”

 

“The same way I knew what had to be done to deliver your children, or to fix...other things, that have happened to you or anyone else. Magic. I can perceive what is not right. And stop driving like that, I am not going to forcibly seize you while you are operating a car. It is _not_ a plaster situation. I know what you are trying to do, Lorna. I would not offer were it not necessary. I agreed to abide by the rules and I have done so. Please give me a little more credit.”

 

She lowered her hand back to the wheel. “There were categories, Thranduil,” she said. “Broken femurs were in the Serious category. Hands were not. Here, do me a favor and check my mobile -- I think we’re on the right way to the bogs, but better safe than sorry. This was my own bloody fault, and you’ve probably wasted so much’v your healing power on stupid little shite I’ve done already.” That, really, was the crux of it; out of all of them, she’d taken the most from him, and often unnecessarily.

 

“You still are not listening to me, but maybe you will listen to your husband once we return home. I am not going to fight with you about this; it will have to be healed now or later.” Yes, he felt snappish, but he had just had to engineer killing six people tonight and the carcasses weren’t bogged yet. Sue him. He picked up her mobile. “If I understand the map right, we are on the right roads. But soon there will be a turn onto what I think is an unpaved path. At that point you should check in case I have made a mistake.”

 

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Thranduil,” she said. “I love you, and I don’t want you wasting your gift. I was...worried, before. Really worried.” He’d probably been too out-of-it to know just how worried they all were -- though at least Earlene was obviously making sure she was, um, something like the Energizer Bunny... _eurgh_. Nope. Bogs. Think about bogs.

 

“I know that,” he replied, his voice softer. “But Lorna, just as you wish me to respect your own right to self-determination, I would like you to do the same for me. I know you worry. I have been careful, and I am fine. It is what I said. I would not insist were it not necessary.”

 

Well, dammit...that was like the auditory version of the Thanadir Eyes. Not fair. _So_ not fair. “Oh, fine,” she said, holding out her left hand. “You’re not Thanadir, so how the hell do you do that?”

 

“I hope it is called the power of logical argument,” he quipped, as warmth radiated through her hand, preventing the arthritis that would follow this little mess in a few years were she to have completely refused his help. And it really was a small thing, for him to do. “Thank you. And up ahead, is our turn. We should slow down; I am guessing it will be easy to miss. Then you can check the map.”

 

“I reject any logic that doesn’t conform with my own,” she said, grinning. “You just channel Thanadir too well.” She pulled off when she found the exit, and paused to check her mobile. They were indeed on the right track, and it didn’t take too long to reach the bogs. She killed the engine, but left the headlamps on; this far out, and this late, nobody was likely to see them. “This,” she said, “is really going to suck.”

 

“I cannot disagree on that last part, and the first part we can leave until afterward. Well, let us get this nastiness over with.” The month of May or not, this late at night there was a chill in the air, but their task required him to leave off his cloak. He was adamant about having one dry thing to wear, if this all went to the wargs. _Huh, I haven’t remembered that saying in a long time. At least we don’t have any of those to contend with._

 

“I’ve got a crowbar in the back we can test the depth with,” Lorna said, shrugging out of her flannel. Unfortunately, the crowbar was wedged beneath a dead guy with no bollocks and a shredded anus, which...ew. He definitely reeked a bit, too. At least she didn’t get anything...icky...on her when she pulled it out. A coil of light rope came next, one end tied around the crowbar, and then she picked her ginger way toward the bog. “Thranduil, my mobile’s got a flashlight app -- can you hold it up so I can see where I’m going?”

 

“Mine has the same. Here.” He tapped it, and with a peculiar noise the bright illumination flared up in a direction where it served a better purpose. They could reposition the van, but this was perhaps easier.

 

Lorna picked her careful way along, testing the ground with the crowbar. It squished beneath her boots, soupy but still far too solid -- how the hell far were they going to have to drag these bastards?

 

Unfortunately for her, bogs could be very tricky things. One step was on semi-solid ground; the next, despite the crowbar finding purchase in about six inches of water, dropped her up to her neck.

 

The cold was so sudden and so shocking that at least she didn’t scream, and her toes brushed solid ground beneath, but she panicked anyway. Turning, she clawed at the moss and earth, hauling herself up onto something approximating dry land. Her heart thundered in her ears, adrenaline dumped into her veins in one highly unpleasant rush, heart lurching. She couldn’t swim, and that could have ended so, _so_ badly.

 

“I found where the ground runs out,” she gasped. “It’s about four and a half feet, here. Maybe a little more. Just...fuck everything.”

 

He came forward, biting his lip, apparently having no trouble whatsoever finding solid ground. “I am sorry! Ai, I should have done this instead of you. Though, I would not have left you to drown, I hope you know. Here. Untie the crowbar, and return to the van. Leave the rope along the ground as a marker for me. They are all too heavy for you to carry; get those wet things off and you still have Earlene’s clothes. My cloak is at the floorboards, too.” He walked back to retrieve the first body,  bringing it to the edge of the solid ground. On one knee, he raised each of their shirts and used his knife to cut deeply (and with general distaste) on a diagonal through their stomachs and intestines. If they were not using stones, they at least needed to ensure that the bodies could not bloat with gases and surface.

 

Lorna gave him a thumb’s-up. “No problem,” she gasped, hauling herself to her feet. Her boots squelched as she walked, and she shook her head, grateful she’d spared the flannel. Grabbing it and Earlene’s cloak, she went around the far side of the van and cleaned up as best she could, tossing her sodden clothes onto the backseat. A spare piece of rope served as a handy belt, and she could have passed for a hipster in a flannel dress. A barefoot, freezing hipster, but whatever. “You need any help there?”

 

“I could speed this up a little if you would cut them open for me, but if it is too distasteful I can manage.” He was already on the third body.

 

She pulled a knife from her soggy boot, eying the next gobshite in line. The tip of the knife touched his gut, breaking the surface of the skin...and she couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t do it. Bile rose in her throat, and she had to turn away. “Sorry,” she said, hating herself. Why the hell couldn’t she do this? She’d ripped a man’s throat out not an hour ago, and yet this...nope.

 

“Do not worry,” he soothed. “It is probably for the best anyway; keeps any mess right next to the water. Here, let me get all of them out. Then you can fold the tarps, get in and make the inside warm with the heater.” As if they were rag dolls, the remaining three were evicted from the van, which was when it occurred to him he could save time by bringing two with him, this next trip. He retreated to the water’s edge while Lorna tidied up.

 

These tarps weren’t that bad, but she might burn them anyway -- DNA evidence, and all that -- and at least she got the folded without getting anything...icky...on her last piece of clean, dry clothing. Nevertheless, she was hosing down the interior with bleach tomorrow, just to make sure. Once it was all stowed, she fired up the engine and turned the heater on full-blast, shivering. Great, driving a manual while barefoot -- but it was better than her nasty boots.

 

 _I can drive if you wish me to_ , she heard from him. Only two more to go, thank Eru. He had managed to amuse himself, basically stacking their bodies one atop the other, and then stepping on and off of them to sink them a little. They had just enough mass to allow him to step back up each time, and the worst that could happen is that he slipped and fell in just as Lorna did. Soon enough he was able to wash his knife and re-sheathe it, and with one last firm shove on the top carcass, only a few details of the body were still above the surface. With the help of gravity, in a few more hours all of them should be much further down into the acidic waters. He gratefully climbed into the warmth of the van. “Well. That was fun. Now let us get the hell out of here.”

 

“The sad thing is, it really was,” she said dryly. “I’ll drive -- you’re not used to a manual, and the Mystery Machine’s it’s own special beast.” She eyed her iPod, and then Thranduil. “How d’you feel about getting home in forty-five minutes?”

 

He smiled. “The truth is, I would rather not go quite that fast. While I am very glad to see you behind the wheel again...neither of us are invulnerable in a car, my dear friend. Why not count our blessings that this evening went as it did, and did not somehow turn into a complete….fiasco? I will make you a nice drink myself, when we get home.”

 

“You’re lucky I like you,” she said, shaking her head. “Fine. You can even pick the playlist. I don’t let just anyone do that.”

 

“What is...Weird Al? That is a person?”

 

Lorna cackled and turned the playlist on. It didn’t sound too grating…. _I met him in a swamp down in Dagoba, where it bubbles all the time like a giant carbonated soda, S-O-D-A soda…_

 

Thranduil listened in disbelief. “What in the name of Eru…?”

 

Lorna only grinned. A minute later, even Thranduil was singing along to the refrain, laughing very hard. Thanadir needed to hear this. Very much.

 

*****

 

Thanadir drove carefully and followed all the rules, unsurprisingly, as Earlene held Ailill in the back seat. The poor man could not stop shaking, and she did not have anything to help. Wait. _Wait…_ Opening her compact pouch that served as sort of a wallet, she remembered, there had always been two pills in there. Were there still? In the tiny little zippered compartment? “Ailill, I might have something that will help you. Can I look?” He nodded mutely, and released his hold on her while she reached into an inner pocket to check. _Sure as hell do…_ Her hand went to his cheek. “I used to have a serious problem with anxiety, and had a prescription for a drug that would reduce those feelings. Disconnect me from fear and worry. I still have the tablets with me. If you would like to take one, or part of one, it would help you I think.”

 

He nodded. “I am sorry, Earlene. I cannot seem to get…”

 

“No. No ‘sorry’. You have nothing to apologize for. I would gladly hold you all the way home, Ailill, but I have to drive your car. This will not taste good but neither is it awful,  just a weird bitter-saccharine. Get it down as best you can.” She slipped the diminutive blue tablet between his lips, which he gratefully swallowed. By the time they reached Galway City and his car, it was beginning to take effect. Earlene insisted he sit up front now, with Thanadir, who insisted on covering Ailill with his cloak. The streets were nearly deserted at this hour, and after a minute or so of seeing where the controls were on his vehicle, the two cars made their careful way back to Eldamar.

 

Earlene reflected a little on what had just transpired. Perhaps she should be appalled, that she could do what she had. But honestly, all that came to mind was that had the men not been killed, they would have done unspeakable things to Ailill. And then others after that. They would have taken this precious, pure-hearted man and destroyed him forever, to fuel their own sense of entitlement and...who even knew, what could drive one person to do that to another. Her own actions were not remotely the same, for she would never unleash that kind of pain and terror on an innocent. But those men were not innocents, which is why it had amounted to almost a duty. _Maybe orcs did survive the ages of Ennor. Maybe we just killed six of them. Either way I see no difference._

 

*****

 

When they finally parked the two cars, Ailill was well under the drug’s influence. Both she and Thanadir walked alongside of him, ensuring he would not stumble. The seneschal started milk for hot cocoa, making enough for five of them plus a little extra (he could certainly always drink two mugs) and then delivered a bowl of salve to Earlene, who could take a hint. They seated Ailill in the Heart Room, near the fire, and gently unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off of his shoulders. The light bruises they expected to find were in abundance, from his being battered by being thrown about in the boot of the car. Wordlessly, they began to apply the healing medicine to his back and arms, while he leaned forward and supported his head with his hands. Soft moans of appreciation escaped him, and after a brief time Thanadir left to tend to the cocoa. And all Earlene could think, no matter how hard she tried to do otherwise, was that even though he was too old, this was another son to her. She wanted to bring that man back and kill him all over again (slower), and the degree to which this was wanted disturbed more than her having done it in the first place. Shaking her head, she focused on rubbing his back, anything to make Ailill feel better.

 

Lorna turned the volume down (barely) as they approached the house, but she and Thranduil were nevertheless chorusing, “ _Eat it! Eat it! Get yourself an egg and beat it! Have a banana, have a whole bunch! It doesn’t matter what you had for lunch -- just eat it!”_

 

She killed the engine, giggling. “Could this night get any weirder?”

 

“No, but then again it is not over yet. Ailill still must be put to bed. And just so you know, Earlene gave him a xanax in Galway. They are having cocoa and some is for us, but obviously we will not put alcohol in his. I learned that much,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Though I will try to contain myself as we near the house. Somehow I do not think his sensibilities are ready for Weird Al, after the night he had. And Lorna...you do not know what it means to me, that you were willing to come and help. Ailill is my responsibility to protect and defend, but had you not come we would not have arrived in time. And I will never forget it.”

 

Lorna winced, because no matter what anyone said, she still felt bad about accidentally poisoning Earlene. “Of course I’d go,” she said. “Ailill might not be my responsibility, but he’s a kid who was going to go through something nobody ought to endure. After all... _he_ wouldn’t forget it, unless you made him.” She paused, shaking off _that_ thought. “And none’v you get to knock my driving ever again, you hear me? I’d hug you if I wasn’t afraid I'd flash you.”

 

“No one said a word about your driving. Earlene and Thanadir did not even look at you funny. That surely counts for something,” he opined. “Why not run upstairs and change clothes? I will make your drink for you. Whiskey, unless you wish something different in it.”

 

“Whiskey sounds fantastic,” she said, opening the door and hopping out. Wow, cold, _cold_ \-- not so fun with bare feet. “Meet you inside.” At least she had the presence of mind to hold the hem of her shirt down while she ran, darting into the house and up the stairs.

 

The bedroom light was on, but she found Ratiri asleep, book on his lap. The poor man must have been waiting up for them, but she wasn’t going to wake him now -- he’d ask questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. She tiptoed into the bathroom and at least dealt with the salt in unpleasant places, giving herself a once-over with a clean washcloth to get the bog residue off. That done, she found some flannel pajama trousers, another huge flannel, and her dressing-gown, and made her way back downstairs.

 

Poor Ailill seemed well out of it, which was a good thing, after the night he’d had. Lorna wondered what it would be like, to be so unable to defend yourself...he’d never had a Shane in his life. Thranduil would have to fulfill that role for him.

 

Passing Thranduil, she whispered, “I churned butter once or twice, living in an Amish paradise,” before choking back a giggle.

 

He handed her her cocoa. “A carbonated soda. S-O-D-A…”

 

“I see someone got introduced to Weird Al,” Earlene grinned. Though, she kept her voice low, from where she and Thanadir sat on either side of Ailill.

 

The young man had finished his cocoa, and was four-fifths asleep slumped against Earlene’s shoulder while Thanadir rubbed his back. Realizing it would be best if he were put to bed, Thranduil picked him up effortlessly and carried him upstairs; his own cocoa would still be there on his return. Mostly asleep became all asleep, as Ailill was laid down. It was warm in the home; his undershorts would be enough for him to sleep in with his blankets, so his trousers were removed and laid over a chair. Thranduil hesitated. A part of him wished so badly to erase the memories of tonight, but he felt he owed it to Ailill to speak with him first. However he did lay a deep and dreamless sleep on this young one. He did not intend for him to wake alone, tomorrow. “Sleep, nîth vain.” With a kiss to his forehead, he drew the blankets over him and returned downstairs, where he stopped in the kitchen long enough to add amaretto to his mug.

 

“I assume all went well on your end?” Thanadir asked Lorna serenely.

 

“If you ignore the fact that I fell up to my neck in bog water, it did,” she said, sipping her cocoa. She’d curled up at the edge of the sofa, trying to get warm. “There won’t be any sign by morning. Ailill okay?”

 

“Not entirely, but he will be better now. My heart goes out, that anyone would experience what he just has. Disgusting.” Thanadir’s usually placid face was now gathered into a mighty expression of disapproval.

 

“I have decided that some of your orcs survived down through the ages,” said Earlene. “Clearly there are now a few less of them in this world. The poor lad was terrified.”

 

“They were not my orcs, meldis,” Thanadir said, vaguely insulted.

 

“She meant, orcs belonging to our world of old, meldir,” Thranduil said. “Not your personal orcs.”

 

“Oh. Sorry.”

 

Earlene patted him on the shoulder and continued sipping at her drink.

 

Lorna stared into the fire, troubled. That she’d killed that bastard bothered her not at all -- she was quite happy Von Ratched was dead, for good -- but the manner in which she’d done it... _that_ bothered her. The others hadn’t made a...mess. They hadn’t used their teeth. They certainly hadn’t bitten anything off. “Well, they won’t be hurting anyone now,” she said, and sipped her cocoa. What was Ratiri going to think, when she told him this? Should she tell him anything other than ‘yeah, I killed that gobshite’? He’d never look at her the same, if he knew what she’d done. And she wouldn’t blame him, because she wasn’t sure she could look at herself the same way, either.

 

_I think you should talk about it, Lorna. You are among those who did it. We are alone, no one else to hear. I do not relish the idea of you having lingering...feelings of this kind, from tonight. They saw. They do not care, not like you fear. Especially Earlene might have a thing or two to say that you might not expect._

 

She downed half her cocoa at one go. “I...went overboard,” she said. “I did what I didn’t need to do. And I don’t know what to make’v that. Von Ratched’s dead and gone, but Jesus, I could’ve just stabbed him and had done with it.”

 

“I would’ve done more if there had been less need for not leaving a mess to clean up,” Earlene said without any particular concern. “I could be wrong but you seem to...do your thing...in the height of anger. I don’t see what’s so unusual about what you did. If I let myself get that angry and went for it, I’m not sure anyone in this room could even look at what I’d leave. I’d make Jack the Ripper look polite and tidy. Ha, wasn’t the name of yours ‘Jack’? Jack the Ratched, I think that’s how I’ll remember him. Anyway not sure if it’s helpful to hear, but ‘overboard’ is relative.”

 

Thanadir looked helplessly at Thranduil, who shrugged. Though his wife’s words sounded shocking, he understood more than the rest of them about whence they came. Yes, Earlene’s logic was cold and deadly and remorseless, and it was also something with which he could not disagree.

 

 _Jack? No, he was Von Ratched._ “It’s a good thing you haven’t got my temper,” Lorna said, and she probably shouldn’t feel as relieved by Earlene’s bloodthirsty statements as she did. “What they would’ve done…” _That_ was why she didn’t feel bad about the killing itself -- it was only the way she’d gone about it that bothered her, because she’d been trying, so hard, to get a better handle on her temper all this time. “None’v you are going to give out at me over it?” For the last three years it had be ‘violent Lorna, boo’; that nobody did it now genuinely surprised her. They usually gave her the stinkeye if she punched someone.

 

“Lorna, did you see what I did to Von Ratched when Thanadir was killing him?” Earlene asked quietly.

 

Lorna winced a little. “I was kind’v busy eating his nose,” she said, and drained the rest of her mug. She could do with more cocoa, but alcohol, or no alcohol? Maybe just a half-shot. She didn’t need to be getting hammered. “I know what you did in the barn, though.”

 

Thranduil held out his hand for Lorna’s mug, to refill it for her. Earlene gazed into the flames. “Well, I had slit him open, and my hand was working its way through one of the lobes of his liver, which I had every intention of tearing out of him in pieces until I was asked to desist. So frankly, while the nose eating was definitely interesting, you weren’t actually the one making the biggest mess. Why on earth would I give out at you over it, then or now? There is a time and a place for violence. Violence that prevents worse violence is and always has been a necessary evil, and that is precisely what was happening tonight. Nothing any of them got was worse than what they’d already given, or what they meant to go on giving. We managed a public service, if you ask me. I’m hardly going to criticize your methodology.”

 

Lorna handed him the mug, and pondered. “But..hang up, every time I hit someone, it’s in public service, in a way,” she said. “I don’t hurt people for no reason, but you lot slag me every time I lamp someone. I don’t understand the difference, but I’m probably too sober. And Earlene, don’t ever become a serial killer. You’d be way too bloody good at it.” She probably ought to be more disturbed than she was, because Earlene was Earlene, but disturbed she was not.

 

Earlene looked up again. “Everything I have ever done, I have done with the knowledge that Thranduil condemned that person. That way I don’t...I can’t make a mistake. I’m not relying on what I see but what he sees. I’d not ever have the...I would never act on my own without direct evidence. I kicked Sean’s nuts and I kicked the guy in Central Park that tried for Thanadir and I, because they started in first. But I could never just lay into someone out there in the world and strike the first blow. As you point out, it could get bad in a hurry.”

 

“I did not think of it that way, but it is the same for me as Earlene,” Thanadir said. “I do not feel a...need, to do the sorts of things I have seen you both do but neither do I criticize you in this regard. I simply kill. I have killed countless thousands. I am sorry to say it becomes...it feels like work, after a time. I do not wish either of you to have to do this enough to end up with the same perspective,” he sighed.

 

That made a great deal of sense, actually. She’d been that way with Shane, at first -- he’d tell her when to hit, and when not to, until she got a better idea of when she should or shouldn’t herself. “Shane taught me that eventually, I had to judge on my own,” she said. “It’s the only context I’ve got, but I was never -- I didn’t kill people, I just hurt them a lot. Because the dead don’t suffer. And in a way, that’s loads worse than just killing some bastard that deserves it.”

 

She shook her head. “Funny thing is, I always thought I’d never be able to bring myself to kill someone on purpose. Turns out it’s not hard, but something in me thinks that maybe it should be. Maybe it _would_ be, if the person wasn’t... _that_. Barely a person. Not even barely.”

 

“Lorna, I asked you along tonight with a good guess that what happened would be an outcome. When we first met, I never could have trusted you to contain your emotions. You have grown, changed. You are capable of...keeping it together. Honestly, you proved that earlier today. Talking. With Pat. I wonder sometimes if you realize how far you have come. I no longer worry about you proverbially murdering everyone in sight. You were _why_ tonight succeeded, and you had a place among us. I do not take just anyone out to conduct matters of my Realm, however unusual they appear to be these days. You, I trust. We all do.” Thanadir and Earlene both nodded in silent agreement, as they looked into the flames. It was true; they all had kept busy managing their own tasks. No one stood around to ensure Lorna didn’t go Krakatoa. No one even considered it.

 

Lorna ducked her head, because that might just be the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, warped though that was. “I know I’m not as bad as I was,” she said, “but I didn’t think…I didn’t think you lot trusted me that much.” It really was bewildering -- and maybe it would make more sense tomorrow, when she wasn’t keyed up on adrenaline -- that they should praise her for this while giving her shit for punching some gobshite in the pub. She’d never forgot Thranduil’s accusation that she still liked to hurt people, but now that she’d done far _worse_ than merely hurting...oh well. Normal people -- though it was a given value of ‘normal’ with this group -- were weird. She’d take it as it was meant. “I know we’re going to have to do that again sooner or later, once the world ends. Might as well get used to it. I just wish I knew how much I should or shouldn’t tell Ratiri.” The literally gory details could probably be left out. She suspected that, were he to kill someone, he’d be swift and methodical, like the elves. He wouldn’t...toy with his victims, like she and Earlene had.

 

“Why not let him ask the questions, and answer what is asked?” Thranduil suggested, stretching and rising. It was quite close to being time for bed. “I am guessing Ratiri will have difficulty with this, Lorna. He has oaths of his own, from being a doctor. If he is displeased, I hope it is mostly with me; what transpired tonight was under my authority, but he may not see that as justification enough for what amounts to committing one of the worst criminal acts in the outer world.”

 

“Good idea,” she said. “And...I’m sure you’re right. It isn’t you he’ll be displeased with, though, because he knows I only listen to you when I want to. Which is most’v the time, but still -- he’ll know I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t want to.” She could only hope he wouldn’t judge her too harshly, but she was too tired to think on it now. A real shower was needed, and then bed.

 

They all drifted away to their rooms, mugs and cocoa pot being left in the sink to soak. Earlene took off her clothing and put on a thick robe, and then carefully unplaited her hair. Nobody spoke to they other, and yet all three of them found themselves at Ailill’s bedside, with Earlene being the first and Thanadir being the last to arrive. Thranduil came in to see his wife kissing the man’s forehead, her fingers tangling through his brown hair.

 

“He is beautiful, is he not?” Thranduil asked in a whisper. “He does not wish me to speak it aloud, but I have begun calling him nîth vain. I cannot help it.”

 

“It is not a bad choice at all,” she murmured in agreement, sighing. “I never thought I could feel this attached to someone I have known such a short time. He is like one of my children, now. I want to mow down anything or anyone that does not cherish him, because he is beautiful. Thranduil, are you sure it is wise, your….intentions for him, to keep him in the outer world? Who is to say that tonight will not happen again and again? There will be times we are away from here, unable to go to his aid. The sad truth is, even if he rises to my skill level, he will always be a target to homophobes, and there are too many of them out there. If there are enough attackers, it would not matter what he could do. Unaided, he would not have…”

 

Thranduil held up his hand, his face tense with unhappiness. “I am too aware of what would have happened without us, meluieg. Do not think this has escaped my consideration.”

 

Earlene swallowed, realizing that she was dangerously close to exceeding the blurry bounds that existed near the intersection of husband and monarch. “Forgive me for my thoughtless comments, my King.”

 

His hand shot across Ailill’s sleeping form to cup her cheek. “You were worried, and I can see that you have a mother’s love. There is no need to ask my forgiveness, but thank you for understanding how I feel in turn.”

 

Thanadir stood still, not moving a muscle. He hoped that they would find reconciliation to this day, now that it was at an end. He smiled as he saw Earlene turn her face to kiss the open palm of Thranduil’s hand. A moment later, the distance was closed, as their lips met hungrily. He cleared his throat, causing both of them to blush and turn. “I will stay with Ailill for awhile. I think the two of you have something else you should be doing.”

 

With cheeks still pink, Earlene rose and returned to their room, with her husband only a few steps behind. Very soon, their bodies were entwined. “I do not understand him, sometimes,” Earlene whispered. “For one who has no interest in sexual relations, he certainly seems to comprehend rather a lot about it.”

 

Thranduil chuckled, even as a soft moan of pleasure escaped him, to be enveloped in the blissful warmth of his wife. “He is learning, Earlene. These last weeks have been the first time he has ever been confronted with what others think, and want intimately. All I can say is, be prepared for him to...evolve. We have opened a door that to my knowledge, no other elves have ever passed through. Where it will go, only the Valar know.”

 

She frowned. “Would that ever be...allowed? I mean, even if we wished to, are there not the laws of your people? Are they not the laws of the Valar themselves?”

 

“Prior to all that happened, I would have said ‘yes.’ And I know not to try to move beyond the guidance of what our spirits wish for. But it already was not supposed to feel possible to be bound in love so deeply to another. Time will tell, Earlene, and all I can say is that I love you, and I love him.”

 

“Why is life always complicated? Why can’t anything be simple?”

 

He snickered. “Some things are simple. Now hush, and I will remind you.”

 

“Best thing I’ve heard all day,” she smiled...which ended the conversation.

 

*****

 

Ailill blinked, waking slowly in the mid-morning light. For a moment everything was fine, and then the memories of the previous night came flooding back as he cringed and curled into a ball. He knew from the scent of the room that he was at Eldamar, and safe. It was the rest of it, that wasn’t going so well. Crushing emotions ran through him, as an involuntary sob shook him. God he was so bloody _useless_ ….

 

“Not to me, you are not,” Thranduil said, pulling him up effortlessly and holding him tightly, which caused the suppressed crying to burst forth in earnest.

 

_You saved my life, last night. You saved me. But it is never going to end, is it? I do not mean to be such a miserable failure at masculinity, my King. You cannot know how much I wish I was not like this…_

 

Thranduil sighed, having been afraid of exactly the response he was hearing. And could he blame the man? Yes, the other men had called him a ‘Barbie doll’, but the difference was that by comparison he was basically invulnerable to assault. Something would have to be done, he just was not sure what. _Ailill, I do not wish you to be other than you are. I love you, as you are.  There will have to be further refinements, of some kind, for your safety. Something will be managed._ It was not fully possible for the firion to stop the torrent of self-recrimination that raced through his thoughts, but his acceptance of the words on some level of compliance was obvious enough. Thranduil’s hand smoothed over his hair, and he was amused to brush his fingers across the stubble on his cheeks. _Beards._ They intrigued, though he was glad he did not have one. “Ailill, we need to discuss something. I have no wish to strain you further; this stay on your part will be spent resting and regaining your equilibrium. What I want to know is...can you endure the memory of what happened to you? I know the fear you already had, before the events of last night. Is this going to make everything much worse?”

 

Ailill leaned into the attentions he was being given like a love-starved child. “It is hard to answer that, completely. I will not want to go to a pub again, not for a long time. If I am invited someplace I probably will make excuses and decline. I think I can work, do my job, but for awhile I will be looking over my shoulder, afraid of every man I do not already know. It is not easy for me to feel safe again, when these things happen. I am not sure I have ever felt safe, except with you. Here. With the elves, I mean.”

 

The answer was weighed. _What to do, or not to do_. He had time, to decide. “Do you think you can come and eat?”

 

“Yes. But my Lord...what happened to them, last night? They saw my face. They took my picture…”

 

“I will tell you, nîth vain, but you must not speak of this outside of the four of us.”

 

He had heard this restriction enough to understand that a division ran between those in the house; those who were the King’s subjects...or not; Ailill nodded his understanding.

 

“They are dead, and all trace of them gone. They will not trouble you or anyone else again.”

 

The hazel eyes widened in shock. “I want to know more and I do not, all at the same time.” _You killed them? For me?_ A thrill of love, and awe, ran through his body.

 

_I swore to protect you, beautiful one. My vows to you are no less solemn than yours were to me. But I think it best if this is all you know, for now._

 

“I will not ask more. But...now I will feel less afraid, because I will know that they cannot come looking for me.”

 

“Good,” Thranduil said, kissing his head. “Bathe if you wish, dress, and come downstairs when you can.”

  


*****

 

When Ratiri woke, Lorna was still well out; he had no idea what time she’d got home last night, but he’d fallen asleep at one in the morning and she still wasn't back. Rather than wake her, he kissed her forehead and went to wake the twins. He and Maerwen brought them downstairs.

 

Ortherion was the only one about -- unsurprisingly, the rest were probably still asleep. The twins gave the Elf a drive-by hug before zooming to the Heart Room, and Ratiri set about making breakfast.

 

*****

 

Lorna woke to find the sun well up, insofar as it could be seen through the clouds. Having slept on her hair wet, it was a nightmare; combing it out took a good twenty minutes, and then she had the joy of trying to braid it.

 

In the cold light of day, she was...she didn’t know what. She’d killed a man last night. He’d been a horrible man, and God knew he’d deserved to die -- but like that? She couldn’t even blame it on going blank.

 

 _He was Von Ratched_ , she thought, shaking herself. _He went by a different name, sure, but he was Von Ratched, and he’s dead. Again. For good, this time. He’s dead and I’m free._ It was some comfort, at least; Von Ratched hadn’t been a man, even if he’d disguised himself as one this time. Whatever he’d done to her that night she could no longer remember, he’d never do it again, to anyone.

 

Plus, she’d got to drive like a lunatic without anyone trying to strangle her, which was also a nice bonus. And most importantly, Ailill was okay. _Traumatized_ , probably, but nowhere near as much as he would have been if those bastards had got their way. It was a strange relief to know that whatever icky things Von Shitstain had made her do, at least _that_ wasn’t among them.

 

When she rose, she found that almost all her muscles had stiffened in the night. She wasn’t used, anymore, to that kind of activity -- there was a difference between throwing knives and punching somebody repeatedly. Another hot shower would loosen everything up, though she didn’t wind up taking long, because she was absolutely starving.

 

The entire herd of cats (Ratiri had said a group of cats was called a clowder, but ‘herd’ just fit this lot better) followed her down to the kitchen, shuffling in her fuzzy socks. “I’m bloody starving,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Ratiri on the cheek.

 

“Good,” he said, turning some bacon. “Get some tea and go on -- they’re in the Heart Room.”

 

She did just that, wincing a little as she did -- the shower had helped, but not all the way. Evidently she really was too old for this shit, but whatever. “Thank bloody God there’s a fire,” she said, sitting in front of it and stretching. “How are you, Ailill?”

 

“Better now that I slept,” he said shyly.”Thank you.” He knew that she had been there last night, but Thranduil had indicated he should not discuss what happened with Lorna. Though, he hoped she knew his ‘thank you’ was for more than her inquiry.

 

 _She does, Ailill._ Thranduil was very pleased with his young subject. Though he did not understand how, it did not enter the man’s mind to do other than was asked of him.

 

“You are very welcome,” she said, sipping her tea. “Haven’t had a reason to drive like that...ever. You just rest and eat and pet some kitties.” As if on cue, the little monsters came bounding into the room, meowing away. The fluffy ginger, Pumpkin, jumped up onto his lap and started purring like a rusty chainsaw.

 

Only now did it occur to Ailill that his hawks were somewhere else. And that his phone was in his pocket upstairs. “Please excuse me, I just remembered something about my birds I neglected to arrange for.” Coming here had not gone at all as planned; he was supposed to bring Fion again and... _dammit_. He would need to ask one of the women to be sure to fly him this weekend so he didn’t get bored…

 

“Well once you’ve done that, make some time to eat,” she said, and didn’t care that she sounded like a bossy mam. She kind of was one. He genuinely did seem okay, at least, if understandably shaken. Though thought of him out in the world, where other gobshites of the same sort could get to him...it sat ill with her. Much as she hated to say it, he needed to avoid pubs, unless one of them was with him. Hopefully he’d see the wisdom in that.

 

_He does. And so do I. Something will be done._

 

 _Good. Poor kid._ He was safe now, if still too skinny. It was a good thing Mairead hadn’t met him yet, or she’d try to feed him a whole cow, tripe and all. At least Von Assclown could never get to him now, either; he was bogged.

 

Thranduil frowned, becoming concerned about these ongoing references to Avathar in Lorna’s mind. And whether or not he should say something to Ratiri. Then again...interfering in their relationship had gone very badly for him on previous occasions. He was highly motivated to observe certain boundaries.

 

“Did anybody else sleep like the bloody dead last night?” she asked, sipping more tea. “I don’t think I even dreamed.” Which was, all things considered, probably a good thing. “I should check the Mystery Machine for damage at some point today, too.” And burn the tarps, though not where anyone could see. Scrubbing the back with bleach would not go amiss, either.

 

“I slept fine,” murmured Earlene. Of course she had. The last thing she remembered was passing out after a shattering orgasm, and waking up to find her neck wrapped in Thanadir’s hair. There were times she did not want to know, and that was probably one of them.

 

Lorna yawned. Honestly, she could probably sleep for another few hours, but then she’d just be up again all night. “Well, now what? I feel like there should be...something.”

 

“Breakfast,” said Thranduil. “Ratiri says it is ready.” They all rose, and shuffled to the dining room.

 

Ratiri and Ortherion had concocted scrambled eggs and bacon on a practically industrial scale, along with tea and coffee and some sliced apples, though those were mostly for Earlene’s benefit.

 

Lorna, absolutely starving, got the twins seated and dished up. They were both entirely at home with utensils, though they had a habit of eating bacon with their hands (which she couldn’t blame them for, really, because she used to do it herself, and still would if they weren’t in company). Apple juice went better with both foods than orange juice, so she filled their cups and got herself some more tea.

 

“What’s everyone got on for today?” she asked.

 

“The usual,” Sharley said, cradling a mug of coffee. “Rained last night, so I’ll skip gathering wood for today. See if they need any help in the kitchens at the Halls. Gotta get ready to head home again, too.”

 

Pat was probably already there, and Lorna felt a bit guilty for not waking when he did, but she’d been busy last night. Sooner or later they’d have to have a talk, too, which she was _not_ looking forward to, but at least she could actually have it now. She was free.

 

“I’ve got Saoirse with science lessons today,” Ratiri said. “She was having a hard time with the Periodic Table, so I told her she could make a big, color-coded chart, and we’d go over each element as she worked.”

 

“And it’s a lot more fun,” Saoirse said -- not with her mouth full, for once.

 

 _I am doing whatever I am told to do,_ Ailill thought with self-deprecating humor, which caused Thranduil to raise his head. Perhaps they needed a day to spoil him a little. There were the horses, and their children would probably like to ride very much. And he very much owed it to his wife to let her enjoy the animals without him being an ass. He cleared his throat. “Our family is going to go riding, and have a picnic, with Ailill. It is a lovely day for spending in the forest, and it will give us a chance to discuss some future plans of a distant nature.” Every adult in the room knew that was code for their upcoming vacation. In order to ensure the children could focus on anything at all, it had been agreed that they would tell them about it much closer to their time of departure...but that was coming up quite soon. It would be the first time any of them had been away from the forest for a meaningful length of time.

 

“I’ve got some errands to run, and I’m going to check on the office in Dublin,” Lorna said. This would be the first time in over a year she’d be able to make the drive on her own...once she’d decontaminated the Mystery Machine. She really needed another car of her own, but it wasn't going to be the one that had belonged to the gobshites. _That_ she would have Orla fake a new title and VIN number for, and donate it to Mick -- a second vehicle for generalized village use. Von Asscrack’s truck had already proved very useful to anyone needing to haul something of any actual size. “Shirts’re selling loads better than I thought.”

 

Ratiri said nothing of the shirts, but he was privately boggled as to _how_. By all logic, that business venture should have crashed and burned months ago; Niamh and/or Orla had to have had a hand in keeping it afloat. Nobody was that lucky.

 

“If you want, take the Honda. It gets loads better mileage than anything else here,” offered Earlene. “Keys’re on the hooks by the front door.”

 

“Good idea,” Lorna said. It also wouldn’t stink like bleach.

 

When breakfast ended, she put on some ratty old jeans and one of her more ancient flannels, and cleaned out the Mystery Machine. The stink of bleach stung her sinuses, making her eyes water, and she had to leave the doors open lest she fume herself unconscious. It took ages to rinse the smell away, and even then a trace of it lingered, so she lit some incense in the back while she bundled the fabric tarps away, tying them up with twine and stowing them in an out-of-the-way place in the barn. She’d take them to the Halls to be burned, so there wouldn’t be any trace evidence left.

 

That done, she went upstairs and put on some half assed decent clothes (meaning nicer jeans and a newer flannel) and wrestled with her hair until her braid didn’t look quite like one big dreadlock-in-training. She felt positively...light. Von Ratched was dead. Her revenge was complete. He’d only had a go at her once (though she could really have done without the knowledge that he would have come back later, if she’d gone home... _ew_ ), and now he was dead for good, dead and bogged.

 

She hummed to herself as she put on her Docs -- her other boots were going to take a hell of a lot of work, if she was to salvage them -- and paused by the schoolroom to kiss Ratiri goodbye before all but floating out to the Honda.

 

Her iPod came with her, and she pondered before hitting her Flogging Molly playlist. She pulled onto the road to the strains of _Queen Anne’s Revenge_ , humming along. She was free.

 

*******

 

Grania, as usual, put on a pot of tea once she got to the office, and checked the orders account. They hadn’t been doing any too well until Orla had set up their website for international shipping; there were apparently one hell of a lot of Irish-Americans willing to pay good money for something beautiful and “authentically” Irish. Seemed a bit mad to her, but it paid her wages, so she was hardly going to complain.

 

They’d expanded from T-shirts to hoodies and vest tops, but were refraining on trousers for now, because they’d discovered no way to silk-screen denim that didn’t look weird. She didn’t even dare touch the machine herself; that was Lorna’s purview.

 

They’d pretty much had the run of things to themselves, too, because Lorna the Elder, as they called her, had been so long unable to drive on a motorway after her accident. She’d come down if someone brought her, and chat for a while, but she was both smart and kind enough not to get in the way of the system already in place. Sometimes she’d bring new designs for Lorna to try out on the silk-screener -- beautiful things, though she never would say where she’d got them.

 

She was nothing at all like her brother, that was for bloody sure. Pat had been...Pat. What had frustrated Grania so much -- and why she never had moved on as she should have -- was that he _could_ have been a good man. He had it in him, but he was lazy, and he drank, and used anything he could get his hands on. There were flashes, now and again, of who he could have been, which were the reason she hadn’t kicked him to the curb years before he left; she’d kept hoping that person could fight its way to the surface, but it hadn’t happened. He’d wandered off, unwilling to handle the responsibilities of a family, and left her a single parent.

 

She’d stayed single, too, because after him, she wasn’t about to go trusting a man again. Being alone was a struggle, but it was safer, too; she wasn’t giving anyone the power to hurt her.

 

And then she’d got sick.

 

She had no other family; she’d been an only child, and her parents were both dead. Lorna would have been all alone when she died, which was Grania’s biggest fear -- nineteen was too young to be totally alone in the world. And out of the blue had come that Facebook contact, from a woman who shared not only Lorna’s name, but her face, to a truly unsettling degree.

 

Grania hadn’t wanted anything to do with the woman at first, because she couldn’t help but think Pat’s sister had to be like him. If it wasn’t for the cancer, she might never have changed her mind on that, but this woman...didn’t seem like Pat. At all. Married to a doctor, worked as a PA for a lawyer, two adorable children -- Grania had deemed it worth the risk, and would not have been sorry even if the cancer had taken her. The Duncan-Sullivan-O’Reilly clan was huge and weird and a bit mental, and had taken them in with an ease that was honestly a bit staggering.

 

And, most importantly, nobody had tried to shove anything to do with Pat at them.

 

He lived with Lorna the Elder and her family, and Grania had been afraid that sooner or later something would be said about communicating, but nothing ever was. Lorna the Elder had said that he realized neither Grania nor Lorna would want anything to do with him, and that he respected it, and that was all there ever was. And while part of her might have been tempted to write it off as him not giving a shit, she really didn’t think Lorna the Elder would let him live with her if he was still the same man he’d been. And now, after all this time, Grania was curious.

 

She hadn’t forgiven him, and she sure as hell didn’t trust him, but she was curious. He was on the downhill slope to fifty now, after all. Now, finally, she would ask Lorna the Elder, and see what the woman had to say. A text had come in from her, saying she’d be by the office later.

 

The kettle shrieked, and she took it off the stove. Yeah, she’d ask. It couldn’t hurt.

 

She went over the invoices while the tea steeped, and had gone through four cups before Lorna the Elder bombed in, bearing a box of donuts and a smile like the sun. “Hope you didn’t eat too much for breakfast,” she said. “Stopped in at Baile to pick these up from Siobhan.” Christ, she and Lorna looked so alike it was uncanny; Grania had thought Pat and her daughter were similar, but these two looked like they’d been cloned. Even yet she wasn't used to it, but apparently neither was anyone else in the family.

 

“You’re in a good mood,” Lorna said, stealing a donut.

 

“I know,” Lorna the Elder said. “It’s a beautiful day, I managed a drive on the motorway, and I’m getting ready to head to America in July.”

 

“How many’v you are going?” Grania asked.

 

“All’v us. Whole bloody household. There’s this little inn in Skykomish, the place Sharley lives, and we’re going to have to rent out the whole damn thing, I think.” She set the donuts aside and fixed herself some tea, humming.

 

Grania considered. “Pat going?”

 

The woman paused. “He is, yeah.”

 

“I hope you know...I appreciate it, that you’ve not tried to talk about him,” Grania said, taking a bearclaw and staring at it. “He ever ask about us?”

 

Lorna the Elder sighed, taking her tea over to sit beside Grania at the rickety desk. “All the time. He knows he fucked up, Grania. He hasn’t tried to hold back on that, or defend himself. He also respects the fact that you don’t want anything to do with him.”

 

Taking a bit of bearclaw saved Grania having to respond to that right off. “What’s he do? For a job, I mean?”

 

“He works at the Halls. Chopping wood, moving it, helping with whatever odd little project the elves need help with.” There was caution in Lorna the Elder’s tone, and Grania couldn’t exactly fault her for it.

 

“He drink much?”

 

“No. None’v us do, not with all the kids in the house. I know you might not want to hear this, Grania, but he’s not what he was. It doesn’t do you or Lorna the Younger any good at this late date, but...he’s different.”

 

Grania couldn’t help but smile. “Lorna the Younger?”

 

Lorna the Elder winced. “It’s what we call your daughter, to differentiate.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” the girl in question called, “we’ve been calling you Lorna the Elder.”

 

“So has Ratiri,” the older woman said dryly. “I started going after him with a spray-bottle when he did it, like he was one’v the cats. It’s mostly worked, I think. Anyway, Pat’s actually grown up. He realized how much he’d fucked up with you two, just too late for it to make any difference.”

 

“What the fuck brought that about?” Lorna the Younger asked, drifting over to grab another donut.

 

Lorna hesitated, wondering if she ought to throw this out there yet. “He had another kid,” she said, “and he didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. Her name’s Saoirse -- the mam skipped town, but the girl thinks she’s dead. Looks just like you and I, too -- it’s creepy, actually. Really creepy. Thranduil calls her my Mini-Me, except now she’s taller than I am, because apparently that bastard can even make a person grow more, as long as they’re still in the process.”

 

Both mother and daughter stared at her, stunned, and she could guess well enough where part of that was coming from: envy. Better head that off at the pass.

 

“Let me ask you something,” she said, “if he’d gone and found you again, after Saoirse was born, and he’d cleaned his act up: would you have taken him back?”

 

Grania sagged, and looked away. “No. I wouldn’t’ve trusted him.”

 

“He had no idea where you were, anyway, and I think he was afraid to look,” Lorna said. “I couldn’t find him, he couldn’t find me...so much for the bloody information age.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “We’re looking for our other brother and sister now, too, but no luck so far. Did he -- did he ever talk much, about how we grew up?”

 

The woman snorted. “No. Fastest way to piss Pat off was to ask about his past -- all he ever told me was that it was shit, and that he’d had a sister called Lorna he wanted to name this one after. I mean, I’m not stupid -- I saw his back, for all he never wanted to let me. Only ever asked him about it once, though; he absolutely lost his shit, stomped out, and then I had to go bail him out’v gaol for picking a fight in some pub.”

 

Lorna sighed. “It was...hell. He was the oldest, and he got it the worst’v us. His only male role model, if you can even call our da that, was a man that’d beat him with a belt for sneezing -- and I’m not kidding, he did that, once. Da, he smacked all’v us around, but for some bloody reason it was Pat he went after the most. It’s no real surprise we all turned out to be fuckups.”

 

“You did, too?” her niece asked, looking rather gobsmacked. Lorna would bet Grania hadn’t said much at all about Pat -- not that she could blame her.

 

“Christ, I did, too,” she sighed. “Lived in a warehouse when I was a teenager -- Orla, she and I were in the same gang. Went to prison when I was twenty, because I’d manslaughtered our da, but I straightened out, and so did Pat. It can happen. We’re older and greyer -- well, I am. That bastard hasn’t got a single one yet.”

 

Grania ate the last of her bearclaw. “He could email me,” she said. “If he wanted. I’m not on that bloody Facebook.”

 

“Neither’s he,” Lorna said dryly. “It’s actually pretty bloody funny, if you get him going on about how technology’s turned the world into an impersonal load’v bullshit where nobody knows how to talk to other people anymore.”

 

“Maybe he actually _has_ grown a brain. But...just email. That’s it.”

 

“That’s it,” Lorna promised, and laughed. “It’s funny, but since I’m married, he says he’s glad there’s still a Lorna Donovan in the world.”

 

“Jesus, I keep forgetting, there was some man who came about a few years ago, looking for Lorna Donovan,” Grania said. “Tall man, more than a bit scary. He took one look at our Lorna and just said, ‘Well that’s creepy’ and walked off.”

 

Lorna choked on her tea, sloshing it all over her boots. Jesus -- but then, Von Crapsack said he had to go through all the Lorna Donovans, hadn’t he? _Ew_ . At least he’d thought it creepy, rather than done anything...icky. Now _there_ was a thought she didn’t need. “Oh, I knew him. Unfortunately. There’s a story for another day, though; I’ll give you Pat’s email, and you can do what you want with it in your own time.” While she had no hope of a full reconciliation, if the two of them could at least make peace between each other before the world went to shit...it would be good. It would certainly make their lives easier.

 

*******

 

“Okay, new business,” Earlene said. “And I’m even going to be nice enough to let everyone else’s new business happen before I bring up my own agenda item. Anyone?”

 

Blank stares looked back at her. Well, she fucking tried. The fifteen other faces on the council either already knew what was coming and were gearing up to support her proposal in the face of almost certain resistance, or were oblivious and bearing that expression of wishing that the meeting was over or that Mairead had brought more cookies, take your pick. Glancing across to see Thanadir reaching to munch on another one of the goddamn things almost undid her poise, but fortunately she had years of training under her belt.

 

“Well then, here is my proposal. Everyone knows that we are attempting to launch a functioning non-profit with our new acreage. Our first crops are in the ground, and we have verbal agreements with charity food banks in five cities through Ireland to which we will donate our surplus. But our vision cannot reach its full potential for one simple reason: lack of workers. Farm labor is not incredibly appealing to most, and the bulk of our future society currently already have their own jobs and careers to which most of their time is devoted. With over seventeen years left before the plague, it isn’t practical to ask people in good earning positions to toss it all aside in order to weed turnips. We’ve already hashed out the necessity to bring in expats and expose them to the realities of where our community will be going, but this still does not address our worker shortage. But in my opinion, the answer is right in front of us. Ireland has just reached a new peak of over seven thousand homeless persons, scattered all over. Some of those people are not simply mentally ill, lazy, drunks or drug addicts. Some have skills. They are human beings with needs and wants and I for one believe they represent an untapped potential not only for our needs now, but for our future society. I want to begin canvassing and evaluating the homeless all across Ireland to see who we could bring in. That’s it in a nutshell. Discuss.”

 

The faces had transformed from every emotion under the sun, ranging from approval to interest to incredulity and even anger. As feared, this was going to be...interesting.

 

“And before anyone gets pissy about drunks or drug addicts,” Lorna said, “I will remind you that Shane, Orla, Niamh, Mick, _and_ I were at one point both. People can change, you know.”

 

“How the fuck would we even do that?” Big Jamie asked. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but what sort’v an...interview process...could we have, short’v Thranduil digging through each’v their brains? I mean, nobody’s honest on a resume or an interview, and that sounds like it’d be one hell’v a strain -- even on an elf.” Yes, Big Jamie had in fact noticed how tired and...off...Thranduil had seemed for a while there. He’d never actually asked Lorna, but he hadn’t really needed to.

 

“I have this book,” Earlene answered. “Don’t laugh. It’s called _The Unstoppable Performance Team_ ; I found it on Amazon after a coworker said it was the best thing he had ever read after his favorite digest of Supreme Court Minority Opinions. Anyway, in it the author basically gives pretty solid advice on how to do exactly what needs doing. How to screen people in a way that they can’t successfully deceive you. If you’re willing to back me on this, I’ll take responsibility for the evaluation process, and I’ll get all of you copies of the book, digitally.” She tossed out her actual hard copy on the table in front of her. “I’ve seen a lot of crap about how to hire people, but this is the real deal. It’s even got a ‘No Bullshit Zone.’ How can you not love that?”

 

Geezer took one look at the title and burst into rusty laughter. “Whoever wrote this has a sense of humor,” he said.

 

“Howso?” Bridie asked.

 

“FUBAR,” he said, wiping his eyes. “It’s Army slang for ‘fucked up beyond all repair’. So, you think this thing could help us weed out the assholes?”

 

“I know it can, because I used it to hire all my assistants at my law firm. There’s a lot of alleged ‘wisdom’ out there about what it takes to hire the right people. Or in our case, find the right people. The problem is, it’s all crap. Everyone uses resumes and interviews, and everyone complains later that their hires are crap and that they could get everything done in the world if only Susie weren’t an office gossip or Jack wasn’t looking at dating sites while he is supposed to be working. This just cuts through all the stuff that sounds nice but has never worked.”

 

“What is it, like trick questions?” Mairead asked. She didn’t have time to do much more than skim it right now, even if she could actually wrestle the physical copy away from Big Jamie. “Trick people into telling you the truth?”

 

“No, it’s...weirder. And simpler,” Lorna said. “I didn’t get a chance to look over it very thoroughly, but a lot’v the time people aren’t even consciously lying to _you_ , they’re lying to _themselves_ and passing it on to you. Or...something like that.”

 

“Yeah, exactly,” said Earlene. “And when people are hired out there in the world usually? They’re already being lied to. Their potential boss or employer isn’t leveling with them, they’re already figuring how best to use them and fu-- I mean, take advantage of them.” She caught Thanadir’s raised eyebrow, and fought down the tendency to blush furiously at her near-use of Lorna words. “Anyway we won’t be doing that. Anyone who clears enough hurdles in the vetting process that we are thinking of bringing them in, they’re not going to get strung along. We make these people a fair offer in exchange for their work, one that leaves them in better circumstances than living out’v trash bags under an overpass by a considerable degree.”

 

“What about the ones that can’t hack  it?” Mick asked. “They can’t keep knowing about this, I’m assuming.”

 

“Well, in that case, we are facing the same difficulties as with any others who demonstrate they cannot hack it,” said Thranduil, feeling that it was somewhat his obligation to rescue Earlene from at least some of the thornier questions. “It stands to reason that certain among the loved ones in the community will end up in similar circumstances. We have already agreed that many forms of help will be offered to assist others in ‘hacking it’ but...if those fail…” he trailed off, rather than state the volatile reality.

 

Geezer really, really didn’t want to ask this question, because he was afraid he already knew the answer. “What exactly _happens_ to them, though? I mean, do they get their memories wiped, and just sent out on their way?”

 

Every eye in the room looked at the Elvenking. “The safety and secrecy of my people is obviously my chief concern,” Thranduil said carefully. “Were it up to me alone, the answer to your question would be Yes. They would be returned from this place to whence they came, no longer recalling anything about us or their time here. But I have agreed to participate in this council. That being said, if some other solution is to be required, that must be stated at the outset. I am willing to cede a great deal of my authority to this parliamentary mode of decision-making under which we are operating, but I cannot be asked to abandon my core obligations to the welfare of my people. I have spoken vows to protect them, and am not free to set those promises aside.”

 

Earlene winced, wondering if any other human in the room had any idea, any idea at all, how far the King was bending in this. “I do not see why erasing their memories and ‘sending them back,’ so to speak is in any way unreasonable,” she said quietly but firmly, before forcing herself to shut up. _I’m not Irish._ Which still seemed like a stupidly unfair logic almost all of the time, but deep down she knew that nothing about what Ratiri had counseled her on some time ago had changed.

 

Lorna was growing ever more troubled. She’d been flipped huge amounts of shit for only forgiving people she deemed worth it, but Earlene seemingly had no problem ass-raping (with a knife!) and forcing amnesia on those _she_ deemed not worth it. Okay, the gobshites last night had deserved what they got, but this...her thoughts kicked into Irish before she could finish that sentence, but it wasn’t fair. Why the hell had she been shat on so hard when Earlene got away with it? Was Earlene’s judgment somehow worth more than hers? It was not a pleasant thought, and she was certainly not going to share it. Tincture tea would be needed later, and then everything would be okay.

 

“It’s rather...unethical,” Ratiri said, even more uneasy than Lorna. He saw the logic in it, yes, but it sat ill with him nonetheless. It was playing God among people who hadn’t consented to have such a thing done, and yet he could not, at present, think of a better way.

 

Thranduil looked up at Ratiri, a very unpleasant awareness suddenly dawning on him. If his friend deemed _this_ to be unethical, by logical extension he would view the decisions made last night to be...quite possibly unforgivable. This was not a viewpoint that had been taken into consideration at that moment. _Not that it would have mattered_ , he sighed to himself. His duty, the same duty he had carried out for millennia was clear to him. An assault of this nature against any who belonged to him ever was and ever would be met with his judgement. That these men had been found to be worse than Orcs had simply made his obligations that much simpler to fulfill. That Ratiri neither knew this about him, or had ever considered the realities of the long years of his life...that was a separate issue entirely. And yet, he hated this. Hated the necessity for...how would the humans say it, _lack of full disclosure_? He would like to be fully honest, with his friends. But in some ways it was becoming quite clear that there would be more than one division between them, permanent in nature.

 

“I’m assuming,” Jack said slowly, “that this process doesn’t...hurt anyone...in any way?”

 

Geezer said nothing. Very pointedly. There was much in his life he’d forgotten, and not because he’d wanted to. He needed to not even get into this argument, so he wouldn’t. He was, however, going to go to the pub later, and try to pretend this entire conversation had never happened.

 

“There is no pain of any kind,” Thranduil replied. “I am asking for your vote of acceptance as a council, before anything proceeds. Not today, but at our next meeting. I will act in this way only with your sanction. Otherwise, I will have to involve myself personally in every aspect of this search for candidates, because it will be imperative to only give those an opportunity who I am fully certain will succeed.”

 

“We need to...think about it,” John said, though he -- and probably everyone else -- knew they were going to wind up sanctioning mind-wiping sooner or later. It was the only logical option, but it was still a difficult thing to swallow. “Bit’v time, we’ll come to a consensus.”

 

Shane only nodded, but Orla said, “It’ll get done.” She and the other former gang members had a far more pragmatic approach to the whole thing; mind-wiping was the only option that wouldn’t be a giant hassle. If it was painless, and didn’t cause mental damage, why the hell not? Yeah, the fact that Thranduil could do it was pretty creepy, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t all known that for ages now anyway.

 

Mairead was extremely troubled, too, but she also couldn’t think of any viable alternative. The idea might be icky, but it was a necessary icky. Somehow, that didn’t make her feel much better about it, but there you were. There _they_ were. It certainly wasn’t going to be the last icky thing they'd have to do -- not by a long shot.

 

Earlene nodded, and then moved forward to reviewing the acquisitions lists for approval or denial. The rest of the meeting, Eru be praised, was free of thorny and contentious debate and was only properly boring, as meetings are supposed to be.

 

By the time it was over, and all the snacks were consumed, the Council went to their respective homes. Sharley was pretty much packed, but Lorna wanted to give her luggage one last once-over, just because. Not that the woman had that much to pack; she’d resisted being given too many clothes or things. At least she had a nicer duffel bag than she’d come over with, and a better coat and boots. Having dry feet cured many ills, and if nothing else, Lorna could tell herself Sharley’s feet were dry.

 

*****

 

“Ailill, as you know, our family is leaving soon on a holiday to America,” Thranduil began with some hesitation.

 

“I do,” the young man nodded. “I will miss you; I hope you have a wonderful stay.”

 

Earlene felt horrible, wishing so much that they could bring him, yet knowing that it was not really possible. “I am sorry, that we are not including you,” she blurted out.

 

Ailill looked at her with surprise. “Earlene, don’t be sorry for me. I really cannot take vacations like normal people. Unless those vacations involve hawks...that I have left them all, at Ashford, on account of what happened...you’ve no idea how much this is a dereliction of duty, to me. Even though I know it was no one’s fault. I can no more travel abroad than fly to the moon.”

 

Honestly, that did reduce her Neglectful Mother Syndrome a few degrees, and she smiled at him. “Very well. I just did not wish you to feel unwanted, because you very much are. Wanted.” It was impossible to resist petting his head, just as she loved to do to Thaladir and all the girls. “I am sorry. I know you are an adult and do not need another mother, but I find I cannot stop myself.”

 

“I do not mind,” he said shyly, blushing somewhat. “Though I know this is several strikes against me on the masculinity index, I would be very sad if you did stop. I did not...get on well, with my own mother. You do not know what it is like, to feel that someone loves me and is proud of me...as I am.”

 

Hearing that just about broke her heart in two, but Earlene did not let on. A smile came over her face, and a nod. Thranduil decided that this was a good a time as any to give his decision. “I have given a great deal of thought to everything. What happened to you, our being gone, your safety. It is my decision that when you return to Ashford tomorrow, you will not return alone. I am assigning Calanon to you. His English is not perfect but it is good enough to get by with others he may encounter. He is also very eager to learn your craft, which means that it should be little difficulty on your part to have him appear to be a volunteer at your School.”

 

The young man swallowed. “You mean, he is to be my bodyguard, my Lord?” He could not remember if he had met this ellon, though the name sounded familiar.

 

“Yes. I will apologize in advance, for the impression this will give those from whom you rent a room. If seeking different lodging on account of Calanon would make it easier, that is of course an option. I spent quite a lot of time weighing having a protector for you versus fueling others’ perceptions; it is my belief that you will be safer with a guard than without. You will take him everywhere, and allow him to guarantee your safety. Do you have any questions?”

 

“No, Aran Thranduil. I will do as you wish. Thank you, for watching over me. Though…” one thought rather did come to the forefront; his room was not large and his bed was only double-sized.

 

“He will manage, whether it is sitting in a chair, lying on the floor, or sharing your bed. Calanon is a very kind ellon.” Which was an understatement. When Thranduil had approached the elf with this rather unusual request, his eager willingness to do as his King asked surprised even Thranduil. But not for long. He recalled that Calanon had younger siblings long ago, ones that had received a fair share of teasing and torment from the other elflings...and it went beyond that. He was no stranger to protecting weak ones.

 

“I have a request, while we are gone,” said Earlene, changing the subject. “Thaladir talks about nothing but dogs and birds now. It has gone on for weeks. I would like him to have dogs. Specifically, dogs that could help your birds hunt. But which dogs, and where to find puppies, and how to train them...he is a very serious and responsible child, and I think he would be over the moon to have a reason to participate with you. More than with any of the other children, he thinks the sun rises and sets on you.”

 

“Kerry beagles,” Ailill blurted out, already excited at the idea. “They are what you want. I am not as skilled with dogs as birds, but I have helped many train their dogs for this kind of work. But...Thaladir is a child, and this will mean that he sees animals being hunted and killed...we usually do not expose very young ones to our sport on account of their feelings.”

 

“He will not have the problem you fear,” Thanadir spoke while the King nodded agreement. “Our children are not shielded from realities such as hunting or using animals for food. They have seen them being killed, and have had many things explained including appreciation of where meat comes from and always ensuring that creatures do not suffer. He is indeed young, but there are many modern adults without his perspective.”

 

“Then I will do what I can to actively secure quality puppies...as soon as possible?” Ailill asked, to see all of them nodding. “This is going to be wonderful,” he whispered. “Go raibh maith agat, Thranduil.” His grateful heart poured out thanks in his native tongue, not realizing that none of them spoke it. Thranduil nodded and smiled, understanding the essence of the sentiment on account of his telepathy. For the first time, he considered the possibility of doing something that he thought he had utterly forsworn. Ailill was changing his heart; perhaps he would learn this Irish after all.

 

*****

 

Sharley’s flight wasn’t until noon, but both she and Lorna knew the value of getting there early, so she was all ready and set to go once they’d finished breakfast.

 

Allanah, naturally, was not pleased to know that Auntie Sharley was leaving, and looked on the verge of tears until Sharley took her tiny hand. “Don’t you worry,” she said. “You’ll see me again, very soon. I have some things to do at home, but you’ll see me again.” She knew the adults hadn’t told the kids yet about the trip, and she didn’t want to go spilling the beans before they were ready to.

 

“You promise?” the girl asked.

 

“My promise is as real as your hair is red,” Sharley said, and ruffled that ginger mop.

 

“I want Nana to get me blue hair,” Allanah said wistfully, knowing that Nana would likely allow no such thing. “I wanna be like Aunt Sharley.”

Nana, however, was indeed listening around the corner, and closed her eyes with a sigh. Removing herself to at least two rooms away, she fished her mobile out of her pocket and dialed Mairead.

 

*****

 

“You did not think to ask me my opinion on this beforehand?” Thranduil looked deeply unimpressed, and Thanadir did not appear to have much different of an opinion.

 

“I did think, but there was no time,” replied Earlene, massaging the vein that she could feel swelling with aggravation. “I am not thrilled with this either, but you do not understand. Allanah is a human girl. She idolizes Sharley. She is afraid and stressed and scared. It is only going to be a section or two of her hair, and above all, it will grow out. Besides, she has the chance to refuse it herself if she changes her mind. At three and a half years, that is a distinct possibility.”

 

“None of the reasons you have just given make any sense, meldis. I am over eighteen thousand, and I still do not see a need to have blue hair.”

 

“Valar,” Earlene huffed. “Then I will try to explain in better words, and if you truly love me, would you please rub my neck?”

 

The corner of Thanadir’s lips twitched ever so slightly as he suppressed a smile, but he did as he was asked.

 

Thranduil could already see in her thoughts where this was going, but decided to let her have her say. It was likely too late anyhow. While he did not approve, his wife was correct; it would grow out. That she had not stopped to reflect that Allanah was a member of the royal family, adopted or not, was entirely obvious. Then again, even he had to admit that the royal family had become very peculiar, even if most of it was behind closed doors.

 

“It is difficult for human children to develop a positive identity. There are many cultural norms that seek to shove children away from their early attempts at self-expression. Even at her young age, she is saying ‘this is who I want to be.’ And when an adult in a place of authority says ‘No’ or makes negative comments, what they are hearing is ‘this is who I am, and Adar or Naneth doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like _me_.’ While my words may sound absurd to you, this is the foundation of how children come to have poor self-esteem. All I can tell you is, she is an obedient child with a mild and happy disposition. This is the one thing she has ever wished for over and over, and we have denied it. My instinct tells me that there are far more important things to care about than this. Both of you, please, consider Ailill. He is the product, albeit an extreme example, of what happens when parents disapprove and the child believes its parents do not value him or her as a whole person. I do not ever want Allanah to suffer that kind of fear and doubt.”

 

Thranduil raised his head, not having seen this particular nuance coming.

 

“I did this out of concern for our daughter, to try to help her. I know how you both feel. It really is not so far from how I feel; blue hair is totally unnecessary, to me. But not to her. Please?”

 

Thanadir found that he could understand better than she might guess, now that he heard this explanation. He leaned down to peck her on the lips. “I will be supportive,” he said. “Though I do hope she grows out of this. It is not fitting for a member of the royal household to have blue hair.”

 

“Royal...?” Earlene’s eyes widened. Honestly, she forgot about that. Why would she remember? The titles were...well, with due respect to Thranduil’s station, this realm had a King and it needed little else. Pomp and circumstance for a kingdom of two hundred and thirteen souls seemed vaguely absurd.

 

Thranduil sighed. “Very well, meluieg. You have made your case. But I would have liked to have had this be a discussion, not an ‘oh by the way.’”

 

“Duly noted, and I apologize to both of you. What you ask is not unfair.”

 

“I know, you had little time. Well, at least she will be easy to locate. Easier,” he corrected himself, with a sigh. His reward was an extremely deep and suggestive kiss.

 

“I am still here,” Thanadir said, rolling his eyes. But smiling.

 

*****

 

Lorna didn’t think she was ever going to understand Earlene, but she didn’t really need to. Allanah’s squeal of delight was adorable, and it wasn’t hard to get her ready to go. Of course, once Saoirse knew what was going on, she wanted to go, too, and Lorna glowered at Pat until he capitulated. She knew, however, that Mairead was going to try to talk them both into something with more teal in it, because her sister was her sister, and always tried to match up a hair color to something that would suit the person’s eyes.

 

Sharley grinned as they got Allanah settled. Marty had got a streak not long before she died, but these two would have one until they tired of it -- if they ever did. She herself would never go back to her normal dark shade.

 

Saoirse was quite good at keeping Allanah occupied during the drive, and the two of them plus Lorna went and saw Sharley off at the door. “Fly safe,” Lorna said. “Call us when you land.”

 

“That’ll probably be like three in the morning, your time,” Sharley protested.

 

“Okay, so text. I’ll keep it on buzz so it won’t wake anyone up.”

 

Sharley rolled her eyes. “As long as you send me some pictures of these two and their hair.”

 

“I will,” Lorna promised. “Now go on, and don’t let the TSA people on your end try to grope you anywhere nasty.”

 

Off Sharley went, but Saoirse stayed in the back to keep Allanah busy. The girl really needed some friends her own age, and yet she didn’t seem to feel any lack in not having them. She was such an odd kid that she probably had a terrible time trying to fit in at school; not being around her peers was probably something of a relief.

 

The two kids sang along to various Weird Al songs until they got to Baile, where they discovered Mairead was waiting. Generally the beauty shop handled shampoo-setting the pensioner ladies’ hair, trimming the same styles people had had for years, and all sorts of coloring procedures, but blue was a new one. There was only one other customer in, at this time of day -- Colleen, one of the older pensioners, getting a wash and set and jabbering at Anne nonstop.

 

“All right, you two,” Mairead said. “You three, apparently. You’re wanting streaks, right? How big’v a streak?”

 

“Nana said I can have a section,” Allanah said, turning to look pleadingly at Lorna. “I wanna big section?”

 

 _Well, that’s helpful_ , Lorna thought, wishing she’d stopped to ask Earlene just how big was okay. On the other hand, Earlene hadn’t specified, either, so she couldn’t feel _too_ bad. “Mairead, help?” Even she knew that you didn't want chemicals on a child’s skin, after all.

 

Mairead eyed Allanah. “It’d be better to do a foil,” she said. “We don’t want any’v this on your scalp, my girl, but would your mam utterly kill me if I did a _big_ section?”

 

“I doubt it,” Lorna said. “If she’d kill anyone, it’d be me, and this’ll keep Allanah from missing Sharley too much until we see her again.”

 

“With that ginger -- you want the same color blue as Sharley’s got, the lot’v you?” She was met with two nods, but Lorna held up a hand and said “Pink? Maybe?”

 

“In that case...sit down, you lot. Allanah, yours’ll take the longest, so we’ll do you first.” In Irish, she added, “Do you feel like being a bastard? Because this kid has such blue eyes, and it’d be wider to do more blue than ginger.”

 

Thranduil and/or Earlene might murder her, but Lorna couldn’t help it. “Let’s do it. Allanah’ll love it, and that’s the point.”

 

“Excellent. What about you and Saoirse here?”

 

“I just want some streaks around my face. Saoirse, your da’ll kill me if I let you get _too_ much.”

 

“Can I just do...like, a couple big ones? Like you’re doing?”

 

Lorna groaned. “Okay,” she said. “But if your da kills me and buries me under the house, I’ll haunt you.”

 

Mairead snorted, but she was already assembling her necessary supplies. Lorna knew enough to get Allanah up into the beauty chair and get an apron around her neck -- she’d seen her sister at work enough times to know a _little_ about how it worked. “All right now, Allanah, I’m going to need you to hold very still, okay?” Mairead asked, gently combing the girl’s ginger hair.

 

“ ‘K,” Allanah said. And indeed she kept very still for a moment, before she started singing in her childish voice (but with disturbing pitch accuracy) “ _And you’re always busy, busy busy, busy scissors, oh, hairdresser on fire…_ ” while giggling to herself.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and Mairead heaved a great sigh. “You introduced that one to Weird Al, I take it?”

 

“Isn’t he awesome?” Saoirse asked. She was inspecting an unused beauty station, but at least she wasn’t touching anything.

 

Allanah interrupted, indignant. “Nana says that’s Morrissey! Don’t have any weird Als.”

 

Lorna eyed her. “Your nana listens to Morrissey, does she? I didn’t know that.” Surely that could be useful ammunition...somehow.

 

Allanah giggled again. “Burn down the disco, hang the blessed DJ because the music that they constantly play, it says nothing to me about my life, hang the blessed DJ, Hang the DJ, hang the DJ, hang the DJ....”

 

Giving up, Lorna laughed so hard she had to sit down in an empty chair. _Oh, Earlene, your secret is out…_ she didn’t know what she was going to do with this bit of information, or even if she would do anything, but it existed, and she had it, and that was enough.

 

“This won’t be going on her skin, right?” she asked, as Mairead assembled her foils, which were exactly what they sounded like -- long strips of something lighter and more malleable than tinfoil.

 

“It won’t,” she promised. “The foils don’t quite touch the scalp, so the bleach won’t, either. Her hair’s so much lighter that it won’t take near so much time to lift as yours and Saoirse’s, but I’ll have to tone it to keep the blue from turning green.”

 

Lorna nodded, as though she actually knew what any of that meant.

 

“As for you, this’ll take a while, but what would you say to me coloring all your greys pink, rather than a streak? I think it’d look better, and I know you were thinking something like that a while back anyway.”

 

“That does sound pretty nice.” Watching her sister at work was always kind of fascinating, because there was never a wasted movement: each foil was precisely placed, hair laid smoothly over it and painted with bleaching solution. Allanah’s hair was long enough to need the longer foils, which were then folded in half and secured by clips. The solution did in fact go almost to Allanah’s skin, but not quite, so there would be nothing to give her any rash or irritation.

 

“All right, allanah, I need you to keep sitting still, but I need you to come and sit under this thing.” Mairead helped Allanah down and led her to one of the big, old-fashioned bubble hair dryers at the back, with some kiddie magazine to flip through. Lorna kept her company while Mairead talked Saoirse down from doing half her hair blue.

 

“I don’t want your da killing your aunt,” she said. “She’s the only baby sister I’ve got, and your da’s a Donovan. He’d get away with it. Why don’t I do a foil in your fringe, and around your face? It’d still be plenty blue and nobody’ll be murdered in their sleep.”

 

Saoirse eyed her, with a level of scrutiny that was a touch unnerving. “Okay,” she said. Hers took much less time to foil, since it was much less hair, and once she was under the dryer too, Mairead tackled the mass that was Lorna’s hair.

 

“I’ve got to wash all this but not condition it, so you’ll be picking at it with the comb while I take care’v the kids. And yes, I know how long it’ll take to do that, because your hair tries to eat things.”

 

“Oh, brilliant.”

 

Once Colleen was done, Anne came and took over the hair-washing, and Mairead whisked Allanah out from under the dryer. The little girl was endlessly curious and gawked at all the blonde in her hair. She patiently tolerated having toner applied, and even more patiently sat still while it worked.

 

Mairead had put sixty-volume developer onto Saoirse’s head (something they’d received by mistake, and had sat unused until now), so the streaks came out pure platinum. The color went on hers straightaway, while Allanah went back for a second rinse and then the blue. It was far more interesting than anything they’d done in this shop in ages.

 

The end result was a little girl with hair as blue as her eyes, a not-so-little girl who looked a bit like a small punk-in-training, and a woman whose hair had turned out every bit as Mairead had hoped, for all it had taken ages: all of Lorna’s numerous greys -- and they truly were numerous -- were pink. The greys, however, had been far more silver to begin with, so it was more like she’d had metallic pink thread woven through her hair.

 

“All right, you three, hold still and let me get a snap,” she said, pulling out her mobile. “Then you go show Big Jamie and get these two some food. They’ve been very patient today.”

 

“Thank you Auntie Mairead,” Allanah said, absolutely ecstatic. “I’m just like Aunt Sharley!” Nonstop, she was twirling her blue hair in her fingers, all the better to admire it with.

 

“Now I just have to hope your Nana and Ada don’t shoot me,” Lorna muttered, so low the child couldn’t hear. It was so pretty though...how could they not like it? “All right, you lot, let’s get some food and get on home.”

 

“Thank you, Aunt Mairead Saoirse said, inspecting her own streaks. At least Pat wasn’t likely to kill her.

 

They got some chips at Jamie’s, though Lorna made sure to get some apple slices, too, so she wouldn’t feel overly guilty about corrupting Allanah. More Weird Al followed on the way home, the three of them singing at the top of their lungs as they pulled into the driveway.

 

“All right, you two, hang up a moment while I get my stuff.” If she was going to get murdered for this, she at least wanted to see the expression on Thranduil’s face before he hung her upside-down from a tree and left her there. It was past dinner by now, so she suspected they’d all be in the Heart Room, and yes, she got her mobile out so she could film it. Sue her. “Go on in.”

 

In the girls went, flailing in their excitement, and Lorna tried not to cackle as she followed.

 

Having abundantly prepared himself, only the corner of his eye twitched when he saw just how much of his daughter’s hair was now blue. Which was to say, if there was any of her natural hair color left, it would have to be discovered. Later, and with the aid of magnification. Thanadir smiled, and probably only Thranduil and Earlene were capable of detecting the fractional widening of the seneschal’s eyes that betrayed his surprise. But in Earlene’s eyes, Thranduil earned points for the next three years, quite possibly including some more adventurous bedroom ideas he’d been hinting at lately. He kneeled down and opened his arms with a huge smile and welcomed his daughter. “I am going to call you my blueberry now,” he teased. “Do you like it, Allanah?”

 

The child buried her face in his mane of blond hair. “I feel happy, Adar. So happy…”

 

Earlene found herself having to blink back tears. More than anything else, those six words told her that she had absolutely done the right thing. Hair color didn’t matter one goddamn bit, compared to what was happening right now.

 

“You are my beautiful blueberry, Allanah. I love you.” More hugs and kisses were given before Thranduil released his hold on her and handed her to Thanadir, contentedly reclaiming his mug of tea. Taking a nice relaxing sip, he looked up to see Lorna and involuntarily sprayed tea all over an extremely startled Earlene. And then he choked. Alarmed, Thanadir set Allanah down quickly to tend to Thranduil, who was coughing for all he was worth while Earlene dabbed at her face with her fortunately long and very patterned tunic.

 

When she turned, she too caught sight of Lorna and dissolved into silent laughter, flopping onto her back and covering her face while her belly shook. _How did I not see that one coming? Oh well, we certainly won’t lose each other in Yellowstone._ Standing up, she hugged her friend. “Thank you for taking her, she is thrilled. And...it’s very pink,” Earlene winked, patting her on the back as she went to get a proper towel.

 

Shane, wide-eyed, yelled, “PINK!” and came zooming across the floor. When Lorna picked him up, he grabbed a handful of her hair and inspected it. “Your silver is pink.”

 

“I know,” she said, with mock solemnity. “I did it on purpose.”

 

“What about me, Da?” Saoirse asked.

 

Lorna could tell he wanted to say something, but mercifully, what he _actually_ said was, “It’s lovely, allanah. And very blue. Lorna...God love you, it _is_ very pink.”

 

“I don’t think Mairead’s had this much fun in ages, honestly,” she said, sitting beside Ratiri. “It’s usually old lady perms and the same haircut someone’s had for the last thirty years. I know more now about the vagaries of working with ginger hair than I ever thought I’d want to, but it’s actually pretty interesting. If Chandra ever wants to do anything with hers, at least I know what to expect.”

 

“I want pink,” Shane said. “Can I?”

 

“Not quite yet,” Lorna said, mainly because she feared he wouldn’t sit still long enough. “When you’re Allanah’s age, then you can. Mairead said she’s got no idea how this’ll fade on me, since it’s grey and not bleached. Be interesting to find out.”

 

“As long as it doesn’t stain our shower,” Ratiri said.

 

“Christ, is it going to look like someone slaughtered Smurfs in ours?” Pat asked, inspecting Saoirse’s hair. He had to (grudgingly) admit that at least it was a very professional-looking job.

 

Hearing fuss, Ithiliel, Eleniel and Thaladir came clattering along from some other portion of the house and stopped in their tracks, clearly in awe of Auntie Lorna’s hair, until they saw Allanah. All three ran up to her, reaching out to touch it. “Luin,” Thaladir intoned solemnly, sounding so much like Thanadir in that moment that half the room had to keep from laughing, including the Thanadir in question. Ithiliel rolled her eyes. “I like it, sis, do you know it’s the same color as your eyes?”

 

Eleniel now leaned in. “Ooooh, it is. Hey if you get a haircut, can I keep it for my pony doll?”

 

Allanah grinned. “Yeah.”

 

Somehow, Lorna managed not to laugh. Somehow. “So they had chips for dinner, but I made sure there was fruit in there, too,” she said, while Shane inspected her hair. “I had Mairead send me a snap she took and texted it on to Sharley, because I’m sure she’ll love it.”

 

“Well, chips are made from potatoes,” Earlene said serenely. “And, since you children are all here in one place, I think it is time that an announcement was made. Many pairs of eyes riveted onto her, and Thaladir adorably put his fingers in his mouth and climbed into Thanadir’s lap. “Lorna? You did most of the work planning this, so I think you should tell them.”

 

Thranduil smiled, finally beginning to recover from choking on his tea, though he still basically could not peel his eyes off of Lorna’s pink hair. Eru, when he hoped something would distract him from Allanah’s hair, this was _not_ what he had in mind. His twins saw his vacant knees, and soon he had armfuls of daughter to occupy him.

 

“All right, you lot,” Lorna said, grabbing Chandra as she ran by, “your Auntie Sharley went home today because she’s getting ready for us to go and visit her, in her home. We’re going ourselves in three days. Discuss.”

 

“Wait, what?” Saoirse asked. “Really? We’re going to the place where she took the picture I painted on my wall?”

 

“That we are,” Lorna said. “She lives in a little town called Skykomish in the Cascade Mountains, which are bloody tall. We’re going to be staying in the town, but not in her house, because it’s not big enough. We’ve rented out the better part’v the inn for all’v us.”

 

“Is that far away?” Eleniel asked quietly, whereupon Earlene looked at her daughter with guilt.

 

Apparently geography had not made it into any aspect of their learning, but then she caught herself. _Christ Earlene, she isn’t even two and a half yet. Fuck the geography._ Thranduil raised an eyebrow but decided to let his wife answer. “It is very far away. It is in the same country where I came from, but on the other side of it. It will take us most of a day, two different airplane rides, to even get close to where Sharley is. I can show you on a map, if you like.” Seconds later she had them all ushered into the Learning Room, where she was able to cast the computer screen of Google Earth to their large movie screen. “This is the Earth, hopefully we taught you that we all live on a round planet hanging in space. And if we did not, well, that is where we are. We are here, in Ireland,” she zoomed in the cursor until they could see the town of Lasg’len.

 

“Where is our forest, Nana?” Ithiliel asked, confused.

 

“Uh, your Adar makes sure no one can see it. Not even the Google,” Earlene answered, cheeks burning and grasping at straws. “And here is where Sharley lives.” A collective gasp went up from all the children but Saoirse, as the planet rotated rather a lot before zooming back into the western coast of the United States.

 

“Inconceivable,” murmured little Thaladir, still with a mouthful of fingers. The fascinating part was that the child could actually enunciate perfectly in spite of the fingers

 

Once again, it was all Lorna could do to choke back a laugh, but she managed it somehow. That kid...he was too cute for his own good.

 

“Mam, how long will we be there?” Chandra asked.

 

“We’ll be with your Aunt Sharley for three days, and then we’ll go to a place called  Yellowstone, which is like nowhere else on Earth.”

 

“Yellow...stone?” Shane asked. “It’s a rock that’s yellow?”

 

“There are rocks that are yellow in it, but there’s loads more than that. What you lot need to do is go look at what you want to pack and take with you, and then have a parent look at and approve or disapprove’v.”

 

Earlene smiled, because she was incapable of leaving that much to chance. She would pack for the children, but with their input. As in, they could choose which fifteen pairs of socks to bring, but they were bringing fifteen pairs of socks.

 

“How much can I bring?” Saoirse asked eagerly.

 

“Not as much as I’m sure you’re thinking’v,” Lorna said. “I’ll help you. Your Uncle Ratiri’s got a list.”

 

“Thank bloody God,” Pat muttered.

 

A bone chilling thought occurred to Earlene. “Lorna, do you have lists for what we’ll need to buy once we’re in the states for Yellowstone? Camping gear, food, utensils and all that? If not I have my old lists somewhere on my laptop,” she said breezily, not wanting to set Lorna up to feel ridiculous in the event this had not been taken into account.

 

Lorna laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Ratiri, Sharley and I hashed that out between us. She’s spent a lot’v her life camping -- she knows what she’s on about, which is more than Ratiri and I can really say. Everything than can be reserved prior to Yellowstone already is. Figured we’d decide what we wanted to do there once we actually _were_ there.”

 

“Perfect,” said Earlene. Or not, but either way they’d find out.

 

“She says that she’s used to camping with children, too,” Ratiri added. “A child, anyway. She often took Marty with her to work.”

 

“We will live in sort of a home on wheels, for part of our trip,” Earlene explained to the young ones. “It is called a recreational vehicle. There are all the things that are in our home, like beds and a sink and toilet, but smaller. We will eat our meals outside, and cook some of our food over a fire.”

 

“You mean, like Uncle Ratiri’s fires?” Saoirse asked, trying to get the idea of cooking with dragons out of her head.

 

“Like his, and not like his da’s,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Apparently he burnt down a tent one camping trip.”

 

“Don’t even ask,” he groaned. “I’ve done my best to block that out.”

 

Saoirse’s expression said that she was definitely going to ask later, and in great detail. Unfortunately, what she actually said at the moment was, “Who’s Marty?”

 

Lorna winced. They’d never mentioned Marty around any of the kids, because that would mean explaining Marty, and why the girl was not with Sharley. “We’ll tell you later,” she said.

 

“Why?” Saoirse asked. “Why not now?”

 

Lorna gave Earlene a helpless look. Did she actually want her kids hearing about this? “Should I?”

 

Earlene pointed to herself to indicate, she’d do it. “Sharley had a daughter, and her name was Marty. She became sick and died. It was and still is a very hard thing for Sharley, because she loved Marty very much and she misses her. Which is why it is very nice that all of you children treat Sharley so well, because having children to love again makes her very happy.”

 

Well, that had been handled one hell of a lot more gracefully than Lorna could have managed. _Tell Earlene I said thank you,_ she sent Thranduil, who barely inclined his head in a nod. Their hidden communication circuits worked just fine. Most days.

 

“That...is so fucking sad,” Saoirse said, because a number of things made sense: the coat Allanah had, and why Sharley seemed to hang around with that particular kid the most. “We should steal her another one.”

 

Pat groaned. “Saoirse, allanah, that’s...not how it works. Really.”

 

Thanadir cleared his throat, but not too loudly.

 

“But Andy back in Limerick told me Gypsies steal children,” she protested. “Granted, he was also full’v shite, but still.”

 

Now Lorna groaned. “We can have a talk later about why he really is full’v it, why you shouldn’t let anyone call you Gypsy, and why stealing children isn’t okay no matter who you are.”

 

Chandra looked up at her mother. “I heard Sharley say Marty once. She said Marty is sleeping.”

 

“To her, Marty _is_ sleeping. I don’t know just what Sharley believes about the afterlife, but I think she’s assuming Marty will sleep until she does, too, and then they’ll be together again. Meanwhile, she loves all of you, and loves being Auntie Sharley.”

 

A frown passed over Allanah’s face, because she had heard her say Marty once too. She had heard Aunt Sharley _call_ her Marty. Fortunately, she was too young to think on it further than that she was loved.

 

Saoirse was pondering what would happen if they could talk someone into _giving_ them a kid to give to Aunt Sharley, but fortunately kept it to herself. She’d ask Da later.

 

“Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I think we’re going to start packing a few things,” Lorna said. “We’ve got more lists. And lists. And lists of lists. Mairead and Ratiri have got that in common.”

 

“Lists make the world go round,” he said solemnly.

 

“Yeah, if you don’t write them and lose them,” she muttered. That had been the bane of her life, for her first few years in Baile.

 

Ortherion came into the room, with a nod of respect to Thranduil and Thanadir. “The food is ready,” he announced. “Soup and biscuits.” It seemed rude, to ring the triangle when they were all so obviously nearby. He smiled, both excited and nervous about what he had overheard. He and Lothiriel were both going too on this holiday and...it was unimaginable. And yet, caring for the King’s children while they did this thing called ‘camping’...it sounded simple enough. Yes. Everything would be very simple, and nice.


	100. One Hundred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 6-8, 2019

Calanon stood waiting outside the door of Eldamar, precisely at sunrise as he had been asked.

 

“Mae govannen,” Ailill said shyly, placing his hand over his heart. Which was as far as he was allowed to proceed, for the ellon held up his hand in a gesture of 'stop.'

 

“Hello, I am Calanon,” the elf said, trying not to stumble over the words. “Please I wish to speak only English. So I learn.”

 

Ailill faintly blushed and nodded. “As you wish. I am Ailill.” He extended his hand, and the ellon looked at it, baffled. Carefully, Ailill reached to take the elf’s hand in his own and shake it. “This is how mortals greet each other, especially when two males meet. It is called a ‘handshake’.”

 

“Males?”

 

“Firyn.”

 

Now comprehending, Calanon smiled. “I try again?” Awkwardly, the greeting was repeated, and went more smoothly the second time.

 

Ailill decided it was wiser not to go into details about the strength of the grip, the length of the handshake, or looking the other person in the eye. Better he know the basics; refinement could come later. Though, he did look Calanon in the eye. An inch or two taller than himself, with merry brown eyes in a wholesome face, and long brown hair a shade or two lighter than his own. He held a pack, of sorts, which must contain his personal belongings; he had been dressed in jeans and an ordinary shirt, doubtless by Thanadir. And it was time to leave.

Arriving at his car was a study in confusion, as the elf frowned at the strange device. Though Ailill was very grateful, it rapidly was becoming apparent that this was going to be an extremely long day for both of them. With great kindness, he demonstrated to Calanon what to do; how to enter the vehicle and use the seat belt. When the engine roared to life and the car moved, the ellon’s eyes widened in alarm. “I will be careful,” Ailill reassured. “You will be safe.” The merry smile returned.

 

Once on the road, Calanon broke the silence. “Aran Thranduil said, I go to your work.” The words were spoken carefully. “Tell me. Please.”

 

“Yes, you will go to my work. You will be with me, and will tell others that you are a volunteer.”

 

“Volunteer. What means that?”

 

“That means, you work but receive no payment.”

 

“Ah. That is usual, yes?”

 

“No,” Ailill laughed. “In the world of men, people work for payment. For money.”

 

“Ai! I have much to understand,” the elf said with good humor, before frowning. “Why...you serve our King, why do you work?”

 

Ailill grinned. “Because Aran Thranduil wishes it.”

 

A delighted chuckle broke out from Calanon. That much, made perfect sense.

 

*****

 

Lorna was so bombed on Xanax when they got off the plane that she was of little use, but there were plenty of Elves plus Pat and Earlene to help with the luggage. Ratiri had never actually traveled by plane; he let Earlene take care of all the particulars, and contented himself with being a pack mule.

 

Saoirse was likewise groggy -- Pat had been smart, and had fed her an acrivastine before they left, so she would sleep for much of the flight. Ratiri supposed he ought to disapprove of that, but it meant they weren’t dealing with an excited, hyperactive child for fourteen hours. Lorna herself had managed a drug-induced nap, but Ratiri and Pat hadn’t been so fortunate.

 

Lorna practically plastered herself against his back as he walked, in an effort not to get stepped on; this airport was every bit as crowded as the one in New York had been. Saoirse rode on her Da’s back like a monkey; between the two of them, they were tall enough not to get trod on in a crowd. Then again, all the elves were so tall that they kind of created their own personal bubble. Chandra rode on her back in a kind of backpack-like carrier, playing with her braid; Ratiri had Shane strapped to his torso. Both twins had also had a bit of acrivastine, and thus snoozed the flight away. God only knew what this little herd must look like, as they gathered what hadn’t seemed like too much luggage at home, but definitely did now. The fact that she was still slightly woozy didn't help matters much, but oh well. She hadn’t spent the flight panicking, which was what mattered.

 

Earlene had been smart, and with Sharley had hired them a charter bus, so that nobody needed to figure out driving arse-backwards on a motorway. The air outside SeaTac was relatively warm, and damp; rather like home, honestly. It was nice.

 

The lot of them followed Earlene, who knew exactly where to go to meet their bus. Sleepy children were deposited in car seats, and between them they managed to Tetris the luggage into something not resembling the results of a car crash.

 

“I looked up Skykomish,” Lorna said, yawning as she leaned against Ratiri. “It’s a pretty little place. I can see why Sharley likes it there.” And it was a _little_ bloody place; from what she’d read, it only had a population of 198. It made Baile look positively huge by comparison. There was one petrol station, one shop, one post office, the inn, and a fire station, and not much else -- though some how it had its own high school -- and the whole lot of it occupied fourteen streets. Sharley being the private creature that she was, it was little wonder she’d settled there.

 

“Is it in the mountains?” Saoirse asked, stretching.

 

“I’d say it is,” Lorna said. “From what I gather, in Washington it’s still considered the foothills.” 282 meters seemed plenty high enough to qualify as a mountain to _her_ , but what did she know? “The mountain we’ll go over’s twelve hundred and thirty-eight, and it’s not even the tallest in Washington. Mount Rainier’s bloody four thousand, three hundred ninety-eight.”

 

The girl’s eyes widened. “Holy shit,” she said, and winced. “Sorry.” Lorna thought she could be forgiven, though; that was four times higher than the tallest mountain in Ireland.

 

“Fun Size, you remember when that other one blew its top? I know you were little, but we watched it at school. Mad, it was.”

 

“I remember you talking about it, and I think I saw some pictures.” They’d  never had a working TV, but something that big got around.

 

Earlene gazed out the windows with Thaladir on her lap. All technically illegal by the laws of somewhere, but regulations for restraints for adults and children alike on buses had not caught up to the rest of the world. Or, at least it hadn’t in the time since she moved away, and right now ignorance could be bliss. She talked softly to her son, explaining things about her native country, while his green eyes watched the passing scenery. This would be the first time the children had really seen a meaningful chunk of the world outside of their forest, and she wondered how much they were really able to digest of the maps on the monitor screens that they saw on the airplanes, or...it was simply a fact of life that their family led an insular existence, compared to what urban children that grew up parked in front of a telly screen all day would know. And yet, ‘insular existence’ could be a relative term indeed.

 

Thanadir sat next to her, listening carefully while pretending that he wasn’t. She had known the elf long enough to understand, his seeming inattention was a complete ruse. Almost nothing escaped his notice. And if something did, the odds were high it was quite inconsequential.

 

Honestly, she was still digesting being back in the States. It had been very strange for her, though she’s said nothing to the others, to enter the terminal at JFK and not be exiting the airport here. At the time, only Thranduil had understood her feelings, and had held her hand and showered attention on her while they were there, and she loved him for it. How many more times would she return here before it was all over with, and what would the reasons be? Who even knew. They still had more than seventeen years, if her math held up....meh. This would be an enjoyable vacation, the children would learn a great deal, and they would find out if it was good or a form of complete insanity to try to go on a holiday with a brood that made the Brady Bunch seem like Amateur Hour.

 

The trip along the motorway was nothing exceptional. Washington drivers seemed a bit more sane than those in Ireland, although not by a very great deal. Despite what Lorna had read about the state’s weather, it stayed bright and sunny as they slowly headed east. _Very_ slowly, once they hit rush-hour; she didn't feel at all bad about falling asleep, slumped against Ratiri’s side.

 

He stayed awake, at least, and nudged her awake when he saw the Cascades in the distance. They were...rather more than what the pictures made them out to be. Mountains in Scotland and in Ireland were stony, grassy, and somehow seemed more -- worn, in a sense. These rose tall, covered in dark green fir trees, wreathed in mist at the top.

 

“Damn,” Lorna said, rubbing her eyes. “Where are we?”

 

“We’re approaching Monroe,” he said. “Which is evidently where we will be returning to get our caravans.”

 

“We’re going up there?” Saoirse asked. “How far up?”

 

“Not that far,” Lorna said. “Not today, anyway.”

 

“It won’t be hard to breathe up there, will it?”

 

Ratiri choked back a laugh. Somehow. “You would have to go a very great deal higher before you’d encounter that problem.”

 

Earlene raised her eyebrows but said nothing. _Tell that to people who deal with altitude related issues and aren’t acclimated,_ she thought morosely.

 

Thranduil sat between all of his daughters. The twins insisted on sharing a seat, (no one really wanted to interfere in that), and Allanah was content to sit proudly, though she fidgeted with excitement. She absolutely could not wait for Sharley to see her blue hair, and this more than anything else allowed him to finally understand the wisdom of his wife’s choices. Yes, Allanah was a very young mortal child, and this was more important to her than anything. And the reason was, on account of how much she loved Sharley. Always, he was learning among the mortals. To the extent that he wondered what he would become, at the end of it all. It was humbling, to know he could be as old as he was and yet have so much to learn. But he was happy, and decided he ought to have some fun. In a very clear and sonorous voice that only he could command, he asked, “Are we there yet?”

 

Lorna turned, and gave him the hairiest of hairy eyeballs. “You just _had_ to start that, didn't you?” Revenge would have to be had for this. Somehow.

 

Sure enough, Saoirse joined in. “But _are_ we there yet? Or nearly there?”

 

Pat groaned, covering his face with one hand. _Thanks, Thranduil._

 

“Are we there?” Chandra asked, yawning. “Because I want to be there now.”

 

“Me too,” Shane added. “When will we get there?”

 

“Five minutes,” Ratiri said. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“Uncle Ratiri, d’you actually mean five minutes, or are you just saying that so they’ll shut up?” Saoirse asked.

 

“You’ll know in five minutes, now won’t you?”

 

 _Thranduil, you are so lucky I don’t murder you in the face_ , Lorna sent him. _I can choke people with my braid, you know, and you have to sleep sometime._

 

_But I am guarded always, and you are not. And I am on vacation, and that was very funny. I am now thinking of what I shall do next. Neener neeeeeener._

 

Oh good Jesus… _For this, I think Thanadir might just let me pass_ , she said, right as Saoirse began half-singing, half-humming a little song to the tune of ‘frere a jaques’: “Are we there yet, are we there yet -- are we there? Are we there? I want to be there now. I want to be there now. Yes I do. Yes I do.”

 

Chandra and Shane, those unfortunate mimics, took it up, and Lorna gave up and stuck her tongue out. _Yeah, I think Thanadir will let me smother you. I’ll just kill you a tiny bit._

 

Thranduil did not reply. Instead, he took up the tune himself, which caused Earlene to giggle and do the same. If there was anything entertaining about it, it was watching Thanadir’s head turn a little like a bobble, and look from Thranduil to Earlene and back again, trying to work out the relative seemliness of what was happening. He sighed and shook his head, looking with sympathy at the poor driver, who managed to maintain professional detachment. Like as not, the firion had heard worse.

 

Ratiri tried to keep his laughter quiet. He really, really did, but it was no good -- he burst out laughing so hard he nearly cried, which just set Lorna off in spite of her irritation. Deciding to run with it, she pulled out her mobile and set to filming this... _this_. If nothing else, it might somehow serve as good blackmail material later.

 

Poor Ortherion and Lothiriel seemed frozen, rather like deer in headlights, somewhat unable to fathom this behavior of their king and queen. Had traveling all that way, so very fast, _done_ something to them?

 

Earlene looked back and saw the faces of the horrified elves. Maerwen seemed to be coping better, for reasons at which she could guess. Handing Thaladir to Thanadir, she rose and went to sit in the empty seat behind them, smiling. “What you are hearing is a traditional melody. Humans have many strange customs concerning vacations, and the singing of nonsense songs while traveling is a very old one. It is thought to alleviate the wearying nature of the time spent in travel, and especially for children, it channels their energy into something that is...less destructive than what some human young ones might otherwise invent. You see,  it is entirely normal for children to begin physically assaulting each other on account of being confined in a vehicle. So this is really quite preferable. Though, I am sorry that you are seeing us behave in such an unguarded and undignified manner.” She patted Lothiriel on the hand, whereas Ortherion now had a gleam of mischief in his eye and clearly was trying to suppress laughter.

 

Lothiriel blinked a few times. “This has been very….” the poor elleth searched for words.

 

Ortherion intervened. “My wife and I have seen more new things in the past day than in the mast many thousand. Please forgive us, Hiril vuin. It is quite an adjustment.”

 

Earlene grinned. “You are both doing fine. Better, I would guess, than I will when I find myself one day in Aman. Please relax, and try to enjoy yourselves. You can always ask me questions; I do not mind at all. Besides, wait until we are camping, and there are marshmallows. It can only get worse.” With a broad smile, she returned to her seat.

 

Thanadir looked at her in mild disbelief.

 

“Ah, meldir. This is nothing. Wait until there are campfire songs.” She could not stop chuckling when he held on tighter to Thaladir, as if retreating to the only safe place he could envision.

 

_Are you teasing my seneschal, Earlene?_

 

Your _seneschal? I am afraid you have allowed our relationship to progress rather further than that. And yes, I am. What of it?_

 

Thranduil laughed. Vacation was fun!

 

Saoirse left off her humming by the time they reached the little town of Sultan, because as far as she was concerned, they were in proper mountains now -- and there were big, _big_ mountains still to come, some even with snow on the tops. She wondered if they could stay a whole summer here someday, not just a couple days before moving on…

 

“I can see why she stays,” Lorna said, freely gawking. “I’d have a hard time leaving this, too. Allanah -- Ratiri-allanah --” she’d had to start specifying, once child-Allanah was old enough to be confused “--we need to come back here and stay a while. A longer while.”

 

Ratiri fully agreed. “And how does this compare to certain other misty mountains?” he asked, couching it in vague terms because of the driver.

 

“It does not,” Thranduil answered. “They are different. They _were_ different,” he corrected himself, because of course _they_ were gone now. “But it does not change that they are beautiful.”

 

They passed through several more small towns, on the winding highway among the trees. Had they not lived in a giant, ancient forest, Lorna would have thought these trees quite large; as they did, she still had to consider them respectable in size.

 

“These’re the sort Sharley wants to bring,” Pat said. “Doug firs. They’re so dark.”

 

Dark they were, yet lovely against the blue sky. The sunlight had to pierce through them to reach the motorway half the time, dappling the pavement, and all in all, Lorna found herself relaxing.

 

However, none of them would have realized where the hell Skykomish actually _was_ , if they hadn’t had a map; the only indicator from the highway was a petrol station that said ‘Sky Gas’ in big white letters; the ‘Welcome to Skykomish’ sign was well back once you’d taken a right (and oh, wasn’t it strange, driving on the right side of the road). It was something of an odd sign, too -- it had a painting of a white mountain goat standing on its hind legs, pointing to text reading ‘Rocky Says ‘Welcome to Skykomish, a Great Northern town’. There was a shrubbery beneath it and everything.

 

“Adar, what does that say?” Thaladir pointed to the sign. He was not yet at ease with English letters.

 

“Rocky says welcome to Sk-....Skykomish a great northern town,” Ithiliel answered.

 

“Didn’t ask you,” Thaladir muttered toward the seat behind him. “Asked Adar.”

 

Ithiliel remained silent, but stuck her tongue out once her brother’s back was turned.

 

Thranduil gently laid a hand  on her shoulder and arched his eyebrow, which immediately caused his daughter to resume better behavior. He smiled.

 

“Adar, who is Rocky?” Thaladir asked.

 

Thanadir had a look of hopeless confusion. “Ask your Nana, Thaladir. I do not know.”

 

Thaladir’s face grew very serious. Adar knew _everything_. And now he did not know something?

 

“Nana?”

 

“There is no Rocky,” she explained. “He is a mascot, a picture of a mountain goat. That is the name of those creatures, in the real world. So they call him Rocky, because, there are Rocky Mountains not so far away from this part of the country. Rocky-mountain-goat. You see? People like to play games with words, in English. That is one of many.”

 

Nana had just assumed godlike powers.

 

They crossed a suspension bridge spanning a wide river, still swollen with snowmelt, into a town just as tiny as the internet described it. A very _quiet_ town, too; there was only one car to be seen moving, but it was also the middle of the afternoon. The homes all seemed to be on the old side, but most were more or less well-maintained, the lawns very green.

 

The Cascadia Inn, they found, was a long building, with half an upper storey -- the bottom level was painted white, but the wall above looked rather like a log cabin. There was an overhang shielding anyone going in or out from whatever rain might be falling at any given moment, and from it hung potted petunias in shades of red and yellow. And under it, leaning against a pillar, was Sharley.

 

“SHARLEY!!” Allanah squeed at astonishing volume. “Adar I see Sharley!!”

 

In seconds Thranduil had his hands full of wriggling child. “We have to let our driver stop the bus, Allanah,” he soothed. “Try to be patient. Sharley wants to see you too but even she wants you to wait until the bus stops.” It was a good thing he was an elf, else his thigh would have borne the imprints of a child size shoe for a week, so hard was she bouncing. At last the doors opened and Thranduil carried his daughter out, imagining that it would be wise to avoid her accidentally falling out of the steps of the bus. She was, after all, still very tiny. He set her down once he ensured cars and random pedestrians could not be a factor, and watched his daughter run with a wailing “Shaaaaaaaaaaarleeeeeeeeeeee” into her waiting arms. What it said about him, that he hoped Sharley had indeed given the Stranger a cushion, he did not know exactly.

 

Sharley’s eyes widened at the sight of Allanah and all that lovely blue hair. “That’s beautiful, kiddo,” she said, hefting the little girl in one arm so she could touch the soft strands. “When did you have this done?” It matched the kid’s eyes so well, too, and her grin...it was easier, now, to separate Allanah from Marty, since Allanah was more and more her own person, and yet still, in the ways that counted, very much like Sharley’s lost daughter. There was an inner sunshine that both had in common.

 

“Last week. Nana let me and Aunt Lorna took me to Aunt Mairead,” she replied solemnly. “Wait until you see Aunt Lorna and Saoirse,” she whispered confidentially. So naturally, it could be heard across the parking lot.

 

Lorna, of course, heard that as she disembarked the bus, holding Chandra’s hand. She managed not to laugh, but just barely -- though sight of Sharley’s incredulous expression sorely tested that.

 

“Did you -- is that pink dye just over your greys?” the woman asked, crossing the parking lot to inspect it. “That’s awesome. Why pink?”

 

“Shane likes it,” she said, nodding to her son, who was leaning against his father’s leg. “Saoirse’s got a blue streak, too. I think Mairead had more fun that day than she has in years. She told me to make sure you get yours done while we’re over here, and take a picture.”

 

“Your sister scares me,” Sharley said solemnly.

 

“She scares everyone,” Ratiri said. “I’m not entirely certain _Thranduil_ isn’t a little unsettled by her. You have a lovely little town here, Sharley. I’m glad you’ve got something like this, when you’re away from us.”

 

“Me too,” Lorna said. She’d privately worried over what kind of life the poor girl might have on her own, but this place was small and quiet and presumably safe, in such beautiful surroundings.

 

“It’s nice here,” Sharley said. “People...they’re calm. Usually. Friday nights can get a little hairy in the cafe if somebody’s had too much to drink, but that’s pretty rare. Nothing much happens here, and we all like it that way.”

 

Earlene took note of everyone talking with Sharley and milling around, and elected to attend to necessities. Namely, getting everyone checked in. It did not escape her that their retinue would be a little like a small tornado moving through this sleepy town, even if the locals never would figure out that they were graced to have elves in their midst. Smirking to herself, she wondered. Her own hair now fell to the small of her back, and more often than not Thanadir would braid it for her as an elleth would wear it. Though, she had forced him to _trim_ it as well; it was at the limit. There would be no Lorna with hair halfway to her knees; the same length at which Thranduil wore his was more than enough for her. He had rounded the bottom, and it looked very nice. As she herself did not look a day over thirty, the result was still very attractive. But for this trip she left behind all her elven garments; long skirts and geothermal features seemed to have no business being in the same place together. She wore jeans, boots (her knives in them, because they were permitted on checked luggage) and an unassuming pale blue blouse. The once-over she was given by the registrar was dutifully ignored, and the keys to five rooms. A sixth was on reserve as well, in the event more space was needed; she had it loosely in her mind how the children would be distributed based on rooms with two decent sized beds each; hopefully reality matched her planning.

 

Sharley helped them unload all their stuff, diverting the luggage into each appropriate room. “So, the locals might ask you questions,” she said to Earlene. “They all think I’m crazy, so they’re kinda protective, but once they talk to you a bit they’ll see you’re not some kinda weird cult that suckered me in.” She had to roll her eyes, though at the same time, it was nice to have people who cared. “And I was wondering, if Allanah wanted, could she come stay the night with me? I can always bring her back if she gets scared.”

 

“You mean we’re not a weird cult? Good to know,” she grinned, before her face became a little more serious. “You know, there are many times I’ve asked myself, ‘what even is my life, now’ Because how can I not? Nothing about us is normal, I’m well aware. But I still wouldn’t trade it. Probably you wouldn’t either, on some level. Questions don’t bother me. I’m still a lawyer, even if there is no brass plate on my door. And of course Allanah can go with you. We will do whatever she needs, but I’m not going to force her to stay in a room here when I know she’d rather be with you. I don’t mind. I love to see her happy.”

 

Sharley smiled -- longer than her usual fleeting smiles. “Thank you,” she said. “They grow so fast...I’ll take some pictures, because at her age, she might not remember it so well later. She and Marty aren’t so much alike now, but they both...there’s sunshine in their souls.”

 

“That is so true, about her. I have to believe it’s her mother, in her. You didn’t know my brother and honestly, that’s for the best. She can’t have enough people to love her, the way I see it. Allanah got his coloring, but I think all the rest came from somewhere else. But while I’ve got you, I hoped we could have a minute to go over the stuff having to do with the RVs and camping. Lorna, bless her heart, never really has done this, and...I might not be a helicopter mom but even I can guess what seven children, a campfire, and enough bags of marshmallows could turn into. I’m sort of a believer in wet wipes, paper towels, aluminum foil, bleach and Dawn dish soap. Give me those five things and I can survive all the possibilities.”

 

Sharley laughed. “I can get all of that,” she said. “We’ve only got the one store, but it’s pretty well-stocked, because nobody wants to have to drive all the way to Index for a decent grocery store. Between you and me, my neighbor had to keep me from packing stuff like a backpacker would -- it’s kinda Spartan, when you do that, and none of these kids has ever been backpacking.”

 

She shook her head. “When Marty was little, I’d go out with a pack on my back and her strapped in a harness on my front when she got tired of walking. At least the weight tried to balance itself out that way. If you guys have time, I want to take you on the Iron Goat trail. It’s an easy walk for little ones, and Marty loved it. I know yours are used to forests and all, but this is a different kind. And you guys can see a little of my home.”

 

“That is why we are here,” said Earlene with sincerity. “I’ll go anywhere. Running, and all,” she smiled. “I don’t object to minimalist outdoorsmanship, but I also am trying to realize, our children have only known the comforts of our home, and will be seeing so many new things. I thought perhaps a less….demanding...introduction to camping was in order. Actually, I can’t wait to see the look on all their faces to see that most of our food is ‘add some kind of hot water and stir’, or hot dogs. They will collectively think I’ve been taken over by aliens, and am out of my health-nut mind. But, it’s camping. Traditions, you know?”

 

“Oh yes. And actually, if you won’t kill me for it, I’ve got something I’d like to bring,” Sharley said, trying not to laugh. “When Marty was little, I bought these marshmallow guns. Problem is, I’m kinda afraid it’d be Lorna and Thranduil using them, not the kids.”

 

“Valar help me, bring them. It’s been awhile since those two have had some fun and...Dawn dish soap and paper towels. Hope to hell we are the only ones in whatever part of the campground, too.” An evil chuckle escaped her. “You know, this is kind of awesome. Usually I have to always not think about things around him at home, because then he might hear me. Damn, this is going to be too much fun.”

 

“Isn’t that hard?” Sharley asked. “I mean, it’s a good thing he likes my voices or my mind would’ve driven him nuts. I’m used to not having mental privacy, but all of you seem to just...go with it.”

 

“It’s not hard for me: I love him. I learned some time ago that I can sort of….meditate. It’s hard to explain; I can focus on thinking about nothing and it muddles what he can hear of my mind. That being said, he could force his way past it if he chose. I don’t do it much, and usually always for things like, a gift I want to give him or something he is better off not knowing about. Like the time I tried to blimp Thanadir out on cookies” she grinned. “What can I say, it goes with the territory of being married to an elf King. And seeing as how it’s saved my life at least once, I can’t really complain.”

 

That reminded Sharley of something deeply troubling. “The Stranger said he can’t get past it. Dunno how true that is, but even the thought freaks me out.”

 

Earlene shook her head in sympathy. “I’m not completely sure to what you are referring; I don’t know if you understand, he keeps whatever is between him and others private. I only hear about...things...if there is a specific reason I should. I only know that you have that element inside of you. The only other comment I can make is that he told me once that he could hurt me, hurt my mind, if he has to push in order to look deeply. There might be a distinction between what he can do and what he is willing to do. He would never want to harm you.”

 

“I mean...it said it can block him out, if it wanted,” Sharley said. “I don’t know if it just thinks it can or what, but...God. That thing freaks me out enough as it is.”

 

“What does?” Lorna asked, struggling past with a suitcase.

 

“The Stranger. Which...a couple people here know about, but not all of them, so this has to be kept on the downlow.”

 

“All I can tell you is, Thranduil wouldn’t turn it into a contest. Not when it could hurt you. I don’t know that...facet...of you, but from what I have been told, its reasoning is not always entirely sound. Maybe it’s best to take what it says...lightly, until you can know more.”

 

Sharley snorted. “Oh, you’re right enough there. Damn thing’s crazier than I am.”

 

“You shouldn’t say that about yourself,” Ratiri said, following Lorna. “If you believe you’re insane, you aren’t. It’s the lunatics that think they’re sane.”

 

Earlene nodded sagely, because god knew New York had been full of those.

 

Shane and Chandra, now well over their naps, came thundering by as well, and Lorna had to chase them down to keep them from jumping on the bed. Some things seemed to be universal with children, irrespective of culture or place of origin. Indeed, from somewhere down the hallway, she heard Pat’s dim voice: “Saoirse! No jumping on the bed!”

 

Sharley burst out laughing. “And on that note, are you hungry? D’you want lunch? Cafe here’s pretty good, though I got spoiled living with you guys. Nobody cooks like you cook, Earlene.”

 

“Which is entirely true,” Ratiri said, on his way back out from the Duncan room. “We would all starve if we tried to live on our own now.”

 

A merry laugh came out of Earlene. It was nice to be appreciated. “Well, I’ve a saying. ‘Anything I don’t have to cook tastes wonderful.’ And until we have a campfire to work with, the cafe it is. Let’s round everyone up and hope the waitresses are well rested.”

 

“I’m getting some stuff for hobo stew, too,” Sharley said, leading them back downstairs. “So there’ll be a few vegetables and real meat in there. It’s easy to cook and it’s actually kinda good for you. Kinda.”

 

“Like I said, it’s camping. If it doesn’t make for stacks of dirty pots, fills them up and everyone keeps happy...well, I almost don’t care if it’s potato chips and pork n’ beans.” They were in America, dammit, therefore they were no longer ‘crisps.’ When in Rome, and all that. “We can still have bags of apples and peanut butter, and stuff that isn’t completely horrendous. The salads will still be there when we return home.”

 

Behind them, Lorna twitched slightly. Yes, Earlene could make a salad that was actually worth eating, but it was still, at the end of the day, a salad. She’d been trying to con the twins into liking them, because healthy and all that, but it was slow going.

 

The cafe was a big, homey place, with dark hardwood floors and equally dark wooden tables, the walls a pale, warm yellow. It smelled of coffee and cooking, and was, this early in the afternoon, largely deserted. It meant they could appropriate all the tables the liked, and push them together so they weren’t eating in disparate groups.

 

“So here in the States we don’t have toasties. We have grilled cheese sandwiches, tuna melts, patty melts, and sometimes ham and cheese melts. They won’t be as good as what you’re used to because the cheese here is weirder, but if you want something close to home, that’s what to ask for. Chips are called French fries, and if you see a biscuit mentioned, they mean the things I bake at breakfast and not what we here call cookies. Hopefully the rest is mostly the same. Oh and you probably can’t get beer or ale here unless they have a liquor license; it’s not like a pub.”

 

“They have one,” Sharley said, dragging over some high chairs for the smaller kids. “And at least one of you has to try the trout. They’re fresh outta the river.”

 

Ratiri perked up at that. He hadn’t had trout in ages.

 

“Also, the fries here aren’t like the chips you’ve got in Ireland,” Sharley added. “They’re skinnier, but they’re pretty good. I’d recommend a ham and cheese melt for anyone who’s on the picky side. Another thing, the portions are huge, because...it’s America, and we just do that.”

 

Sandra, current waitress on duty, peeked out past the kitchen door. Sharley had said she’d be bringing a load of people, and she wasn’t kidding. They looked a bit...odd, all told, but there were happy kids -- one with blue hair, God help them -- and all in all they did not, at first glance, look like some weird cult that had grabbed that poor cracked girl for whatever odd purposes.

 

Grabbing the menus, she headed out, waiting until they were all seated before setting one before each person. “Can I get you all anything to drink?”

 

“If you’ve got fizzy drinks...Sharley, help.” Lorna really didn't understand the difference between colas and lemon-lime and...whatever.

 

“The kids might not like Pepsi,” Sharley said. “If you want to give them a pop, I’d say Orange Crush. There’s also juice and stuff.”

 

“Eh, we’re on holiday,” Lorna said. “They can have a...pop.” That was a word she’d be asking about later, because it made no sense to her.

 

“Ginger Ale or Seven Up might also be more benign choices,” Earlene pointed out. “Tell you what, I’ll get a Ginger Ale, and the kids can try it. There’s no way to know without just...tasting. And he (she pointed to Thranduil) wants a Seven-Up.”

 

“I do?” said Thranduil, not recalling these choices from New York, exactly. A glare from his wife silenced him. Thanadir simply looked baffled.

 

“He,” (pointing at Thanadir) wants a chocolate malt or whatever you have that’s closest to it. And please, water for everyone also. This was God’s country, and the water in theory would be delicious and not something from the bottom of a horrid valley well.

 

“I’ll try an Orange Crush, while we’re at it,” Lorna said, wondering if it was like the orange fizzy drinks back home. Ratiri opted for a Pepsi, while Pat, after much puzzling decided tea was in order. Saoirse went for some Seven Up.

 

Sandra took their orders, eying Sharley ever more curiously; there would, no doubt, be questions later. Of fucking course. “I’ll be back,” the waitress said. “You go ahead and take your time with the menus. Sharley knows all the best things.”

 

“Meldis, what do I want?” Thanadir asked quietly.

 

The elf had not eaten a truly full meal since they left home, which meant only one thing. “Order the prime rib dip and the caesar salad both, and ignore the look the waitress will give you. Fionn should have the Northwest steak salad.” If there was room afterward, they could discuss pie.

 

When Sandra came back, Pat ordered the barbecue bacon cheeseburger, finding the idea intriguing; Lorna got a panini, while Ratiri went with a mushroom-and-swiss burger. They went the safe route for the twins with grilled cheeses, but Saoirse, adventurous, went with a quiche. In the end, Earlene made selections for all the elves, choosing either known favorites or ones that could be shared to mutual benefit. They were likely going to have more than two meals here before they departed, which would certainly give time for other choices. She laughed, when Thanadir was brought his chocolate malt. Some things never changed.

 

Sandra, desperately wishing she had help on duty, took their orders back, with a warning that it would likely be about twenty minutes. She’d have to help in the kitchen, since Tony only had two hands -- and this was before the dinner crowd. God help them then.

 

“So I was telling Earlene, I want to take you guys on the Iron Goat trail,” Sharley said. “It’s an easy walk for kids, and it’s so pretty.”

 

“Iron...goat?” Saoirse asked, utterly confused.

 

Sharley laughed. “It runs along the old Great Northern railroad tracks,” she said. “Mountain goats are known for, well, climbing mountains, and so was that railroad. Musta been hell to build, back in the day.”

 

Now Earlene wished to see it even more. Trains rain near gran’s farm in upstate New York and...this was a part of America new to her. That was the thing about it; being American meant ten thousand different things, and more often than not a lifetime was not enough to explore them all.

 

“That’s why there’s a goat on the sign?” Saoirse asked.

 

“Yep. Skykomish was built when they were building the railroad.”

 

“Why’s it called Skykomish?” Lorna asked. “I’ve never heard a name like that.”

 

“It’s an old tribal name.” Sharley leaned back to let Sandra pass out all the drinks. “Used to be tribal land -- tribe was actually called Skai-whamish. There’s a lotta tribal names in Washington, and you can already tell an out-of-towner because they can’t pronounce them right. Given how some of them are spelled, I’m not surprised, either.” Puyallup tended to throw people, at the very least, but it was far from the only one. “Definitely makes it easy in same ways, though. There’s not eight of it, like there is someplace like Manchester.”

 

The food began to trickle out slowly and some part of Earlene actually had to force herself to not go into the kitchen and offer help, because she could only imagine what their arrival had done to the tiny place. Yes, receipts would be up tonight. And so would be consumption of ibuprofen. When about two thirds of them had been served (needless to say, the polite custom of waiting until everyone had their food before eating was forcefully tossed on its ear), Earlene became aware that they were all being watched quite closely, and that their conversation was monitored. _Now what?_ she mused.

 

Pat would have attacked his burger if it would have been at all polite to do so; as it was, he savored it, because dear God was it tasty. He’d never had barbecue sauce before, but he needed to find out if it could be got in Ireland, because it was practically divine. Saoirse actually managed to be tidy about eating her quiche, too, which was something of a minor miracle.

 

“You said you used to live in the ranger station?” Ratiri asked Sharley, and somehow did not inhale his burger along the way.

 

“I did. They weren’t supposed to let me stay there all year, but I did anyway. It was me and Marty, and nobody wanted to kick out the single mom,” she said, with a lopsided grin. “It’s actually pretty decent in there, though not as nice as the house I’ve got now.”

 

“Where did Marty go, when you worked?” Saoirse asked.

 

“With me. She was a pretty self-contained kid -- I didn't need to worry about her wandering off or anything. Give her some dolls and she’d entertain herself for hours.”

 

Lorna couldn’t imagine taking either Shane or Chandra up into the wilderness without watching them every moment of the time. She’d be terribly afraid one of them would wander off a cliff or something.

 

Charlotte, the next waitress on duty, had heard about Sharley’s odd crew, and had decided to come in early -- both to be nosy, and to help poor Sandra, since the dinner rush would be on pretty soon. She eyed the group with open curiosity before heading back to the kitchen to clock in.

 

Earlene decided that a moment in the bathroom was...wanted. There were times when the few minutes of solitude in the ladies’ room were the salvation of many an introvert. It was beginning to dawn on her, this vacation would be hard on her in some ways. Yes, she lived with these people...in their monstrously large home with well-defined spaces and in which she might go hours without seeing any of them. This would not be like that. She found the door easily enough, sighing with contentment to just close the stall door behind her. Finishing up, she exited to wash her hands and was startled to see one of the wait staff in the restroom as well. Her awareness was much better than that of many, and this woman either was as silent as an elf or could pass through walls. With a half smile of greeting, she made for the sink.

 

Charlotte washed her hands at the other sink, rather more carefully even than normal. “Sharley’d said you guys’d be a big crowd,” she said. “Keeps telling us not to worry about her, with you all, but we _do_ worry. She’s not right in the head, and we’ve been looking after her more than she knows.” There was curiosity in her tone, but it stopped short of being warning; Sandra had filled her in on the odd group. “She’s been happier, since she met you all. She didn't used to smile much. Won’t tell us how she met you, but there’s a couple of us who can guess.”

 

Earlene tilted her head. The woman was on a ‘fishing expedition’; there was no doubt. And yet the people here genuinely cared for Sharley. That was obvious, as well. Surely, this conversation would not be too difficult to manage? “She met us because she wandered to our home. And then she became unwell, and we cared for her. No, she is not right in the head; and yet in all the ways that matter she is better off than many. What is it you wish to know?” Sometimes, the direct approach was one people expected the least. And what point was there in prevaricating? What she could tell, she would. What was out of bounds, was none of their goddamn business.

 

“Just...that she’s safe with you,” Charlotte said. “We all worried, when she said she’d met some group in Ireland, that she’d run into some kind of cult or something, but she’s sent home enough about you guys that we stopped being scared of that.” She paused, wondering how to phrase this -- because if Sharley’s friends didn't know this, the last thing Charlotte wanted to do was tip them off. “You say ‘unwell’...fever? Long period of unconsciousness?” Most of Skykomish knew what Sharley was -- they just didn't talk about it. “She’s...different, and sometimes that happens.”

 

“I know. We’ve cared for her more than once when...that...happens. And just so you know, I cannot imagine a safer place than with us. We live near a small village with virtually no crime. There are wide open spaces she can walk and enjoy. And...please do not take this as how pretentious it will sound but...I am well-off. I enjoy some of the best security it is possible to have; our home is very safe. We lead simple lives, raising much of our own food. I do most of the cooking for our family; Sharley is well-cared for and more than earns her place among us doing little odd jobs that help out a great deal. Though we met by chance, she is part of our large family now and we all think very highly of her.”

 

Charlotte was visibly relieved. “That’s all any of us who know her could ask for,” she said. “After her daughter died, we just sort of started...not _babysitting_ her, but...watching out for her. Marty was her only family; nobody else was gonna take care of her. If she’s safe and happy in Ireland, it’s a big relief.”

 

She shook her head, drying her hands. “I don’t know if she ever told you this, but she had one of those...fits, or whatever you want to call them...and knew Marty was gonna die, about a year before it happened. Would have broken any of the rest of us, but by the time it happened, I think she’d kind of...made peace with it. She’s weird that way, but there are worse ways to be. So long as she’s happy, that’s what really matters. I just hope she stays here a while, though. We miss her, even though she sends us all kinds of pictures and stuff.”

Earlene nodded. “She is free to go wherever she chooses, of course. But...she brought Marty’s remains to where we are. They were laid to rest, some time ago. I have a feeling she will...keep close to that, if you know what I mean?” This, was going out on a limb as far as her friend’s privacy was concerned, but if these people understood her as well as they claimed, little else would need to be said.

 

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Did she?” That...actually made her rather sad, because it probably meant Sharley would no longer call Skykomish home. “She must be serious about you guys, if she’d do that. I don’t mind telling you, we’ve missed her like hell, and it sounds like we’ll be missing her like hell again. But I'm glad she’s found you guys, if you’ve turned into family to her.” She paused. “Would it ever be okay for one or two of us to come visit her?”

 

“Of course it would be. Our home is very large, shared with the Duncan and Donovan family. There are guest rooms aplenty. I have to warn you, we live in the absolute middle of nowhere, yet it is somehow never boring. I mean, look at all those children. Need I say more?” Her warm smile was sincere, although she did wonder if poor Charlotte had the foggiest clue of what she would be visiting. _Of course she didn’t; who could?_

 

Charlotte smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “I’d better get out there, but thank you for answering my questions. And thank you for looking after Sharley.”

 

“No thanks needed...but, you are welcome,” she smiled, and returned to the table. Hopefully, _that_ doused a few fires. And Jesus, if Thanadir hadn’t finished off both orders of food on his own...

 

*****

 

Some hours later saw the peredhel twins sleeping peacefully, and Lothiriel and Ortherion giggling as they tried to unravel the mysteries of American television. And the remote control. “Can you believe it, my love? We are so, so far away from the forest. I think the Blessed Realm is closer. And here we have just eaten...what was it called?”

 

“French fries and ketchup,” said Ortherion. “I thought them quite nice, too. I wonder if Hiril vuin knows how to make such things?”

 

“I am not sure that would be for the best. Hîr Thanadir is going to meet his match one day, and he seemed to like those very much,” she tittered. “Did you see how much he enjoyed the...the...what he drank?”

“Chocolate malt,” her husband answered patiently, charmed as ever with his wife’s inability to remember new words in English easily. “But he is a hardworking ellon, surely we should not tease him for how much he enjoys his food?”

 

“I know. But he is very funny, Ortherion. Even you have to admit that. It does not change that I respect him deeply as I do our King, but the ellon never met a sweet thing he did not like.”

 

Ortherion chuckled in agreement. “Hervess, look! The Food Channel! Do you think Hîr Thanadir knows about this?”

 

“I think you do not need to tell him,” she said, nipping at his ear.

 

“Tsk! Such unseemliness, near our King’s children. You should be ashamed,” he said, his own teeth finding the sensitive points of her ear. Perhaps a suggestive flick of his tongue was included, as well.

 

Lothiriel cleared her throat. “I think we should learn about this...chocolate bread pudding. Before you can find anything else on which to nibble.”

 

Laughing at the rebuke, he pecked his wife on the cheek as they leaned back to absorb the wonders of southern cooking.

 

*****

 

“Can you please go be the adult?” Earlene begged Thranduil. She had eaten, the mattress was comfortable, and she had spoken to one hundred and fifty percent of her quota of human beings for the day. Sharley wanted them to come and see where she lived, which of course made it something of a parenting prerequisite that someone...what, verify that the house was not overrun with marmots, or something? “I am a terrible mother. You may hang a sign on me.”

 

Thanadir grinned at hearing all this, but he was not in any mood to volunteer either. The journey had been very long and...he wished to sit here. And not move.

 

Thranduil smirked. “You might owe me one, but yes meluieg, I will go. Actually make that two; I see they have a nice shower, here.”

 

“Oh what _ever_ , you insatiable elf. I do not care if it is five, as long as I do not have to go anywhere.”

 

“Hm. I will certainly remember _that_ .” Now he was _very_ happy indeed, because he could be something of a literalist when it suited his purposes. Closing the door behind him, he went to find Lorna and Sharley; it would surprise him greatly if his diminutive friend was not also coming along.

 

Once the door was shut and a few moments had elapsed, Thanadir could not resist. “Five? Why would you agree to that, when he was content with two?”

 

Earlene smiled. “You ask that question as though five would be a negative, meldir. Sex is like a cookie that both persons get to eat. At least, that is the best comparison I can manage that would make some kind of sense. Maybe. Does anything about sex actually make sense? I doubt it. Except that wanting it is much like wanting...cookies.”

 

Thanadir sighed, shaking his head. He tried to understand, he really did. But it all eluded him. Earlene moved to sit behind him, and smoothed his hair out of the way before beginning to knead at his shoulder blades with her strong hands. It was something she could do for him, and the little contented noises that followed spoke enough of his appreciation. “I still do not comprehend your exchange with your husband,” he murmured.

 

“Ah, meldir. Some things are perhaps not meant to be understood. Do not worry about it. Just think of cookies.”

 

Even Thanadir had to laugh about that.

 

*****

 

Sharley, Lorna, Allanah, _and_ Saoirse were waiting down in the cafe; Lorna had Allanah’s little bag, and Saoirse had hers slung over her shoulder. “It’s not much of a walk,” Sharley said. “There’s not much of Skykomish, honestly.”

 

Thranduil smiled at Lorna. “I can assume you have the photography department covered? Earlene is too...she has had enough, for today.”

 

Lorna pulled her mobile out of her pocket. “Of course I do,” she said. “I’ll be making a whole scrapbook for this trip, all on its own.” She had, by now, made six of the damn things -- some for various holidays, others for just daily stuff.

 

“Of course you will,” Saoirse, said, and somehow didn't roll her eyes. “Aunt Mairead’s a bad influence.”

 

“So your uncle says.”

 

Sharley just laughed, and led them down the street. Evening was still a ways off, but the sun was tilting westward, golden and bright. Even at this distance they could hear the river, babbling away; the town was usually quiet enough that that wasn’t hard.

 

Her house was a tiny one, though it had two bedrooms, made of weathered cedar siding. It sat on a grassy lot, and she’d actually mowed it before everyone came to town. Though she was usually a tidy person, she’d given everything an extra going-over anyway.

 

The living-room was definitely the biggest room in the house, with soft grey carpets, a river-rock fireplace, and stained pine walls. On the mantle were framed pictures she’d taken while in Ireland -- the forest, the house, but mainly the people, many snapped when they weren’t looking. There was also a little photo of Marty, grinning a gap-toothed grin and holding up a trout on a fishing line.

 

The sofa was older, but she’d covered it in a patchwork quilt she and Sandra had put together one long, wet winter. Her landlord had given her two cushions, too -- weird, fat little tie-dyed things that clashed and yet were perfect. The whole place smelled like fir and fresh air, for she’d had the windows open all day.

 

“Jesus, it’s adorable,” Lorna said. She eyed a framed picture on the wall -- it was done in crayon, a lovingly childish rendering of the river and the forest beyond. “Must be nice and snug in the winter, too.”

 

“A house has to be, here,” Sharley said, adding some kindling to the fireplace. “It’s so grey and wet in the winter that a house has to be cozy, or you’d go nuts. Just don’t look in the spare room.”

 

“What’s in there?” Lorna asked.

 

“All the stuff I bought for camping. We’ve got this store here called Costco, where you can buy a bunch of things wholesale -- never had a card before, since there wasn’t much point with me living on my own, but I got one now. Getting all that crap, for sixteen people...it was an education. Let’s just put it that way.”

 

Thranduil looked around, saying nothing, his eyes fixed on the photo of the child that had to be Marty. Allanah sat in his arms, looking around with a combination of shyness and excitement. The home was certainly safe, and comfortable. It reminded him rather of Lorna’ cottage...and yet not. Only in the sense of its rusticity; in other ways they could not be more different. “What time will you wish to meet, in the morning?” He was at a loss for what to say, honestly. Sharley was an enigma to him, for all he could see her thoughts so plainly.

 

“Around breakfast, so eight-ish, maybe?” Sharley asked. “Though actually, let’s ask this little one here. Allanah, when d’you want to go back tomorrow?”

 

The child smiled and put her fingers in her mouth, and ran to hug Sharley’s leg. Thranduil grinned. “You have our mobile numbers; if there are any problems at all I will come for her. But I think she will be fine. I also think we will see each other at breakfast. Would that be alright with you, little one?”

 

More grins, and a nod.

 

Thranduil looked at Sharley and shrugged. Children were...what they were.

 

“Get some rest,” Sharley said. “I know you guys are...you guys, but even elves have to get some kinda jetlag.”

 

“And poke Da for me, while you’re at it,” Saoirse added. “He probably deserves it.”

 

Lorna laughed. “He probably does, and I will make sure that I do. Be good, the pair’v you.”

 

They waved good-bye and stepped outside, to walk back to their lodging. “Well, here we are,” the King proclaimed. “It is certainly not New York.”

 

“Which is a relief, honestly,” Lorna said. “Once was enough, though don't tell Earlene I said that. I lost my taste for cities once I moved out’v Dublin.”

 

“I do not think she would disagree with you, though it was hard for her to pass through her city on the way to somewhere else. I would guess that no matter where one has called home, some attachment always remains.”

 

“I think you’re right. I still have a soft spot for Dublin -- I just wouldn’t want to live there anymore.” She paused, and burst into giggles. “Even if we hadn’t blown up part’v it.”

 

“That was quite possibly the most costly fun afternoon in the history of my existence,” he grimaced, shaking his head. “Stupid gas company.”

 

“It gave Shane a headache,” Lorna said, still giggling. “Just listen to that river. I can see why Sharley likes it here. Living in Eldamar must have been a strain at times, what with all us people. I don’t wonder why she so often went out into the woods by herself. And these _mountains_ …” She could also see how leaving them forever would hurt, eventually. They were a part of Sharley, something familiar. “D’you know, the poor girl doesn’t even know how old she is?”

 

“Yes, I do. Know that, I mean.”

 

“I can’t...Jesus. I'm glad this lot seems to look after her, when she’s not with us. I won’t worry so much, when she’s away. Someday, I’d like to come back, and spend more time here.” It was so quiet, and so lovely, in a very different way than the forest and Eldamar.

 

“You should. It would be interesting for you, to really spend some time elsewhere besides Ireland. Though, I would miss you, but that is what texting is for.”

 

“I’d miss you, too,” she said, elbowing him lightly, “but I’ll text all sorts’v pictures, and Saoirse can drive you mad while I'm away. We’re functionally identical anyway, at least physically. Which still disturbs me a little,” she added, shaking her head. “Us and Lorna the Younger. We’re like clones, of different ages.”

 

It made him a little sad, to realize he had no freedom to do anything similar. These holidays were pushing the limits, really. His entire realm was left in the care of Thalion, and were anything truly...spectacular...to go wrong, he would be required to depart for home in an instant. “You are indeed,” he murmured. “At some point, you really must all have a photograph taken together.”

 

“God, I know. Though Jesus, don’t tell anyone I said this, but I'm pretty sure Von Shitedrawers actually found Lorna the Younger before he found me -- according to Grania, some ‘creepy bloke’ found them, looked at Lorna the Younger, said, ‘Well that’s creepy’ and walked off. Brrr.” At least _that_ had been his response, and not something...icky.

 

“Perhaps he did indeed,” Thranduil said, though he saw no reason to be particularly disturbed by this. The creature was dead, and hopefully Eru had banished whatever was left of it into the void. He looked around him taking in the...smallness, of the town, which in some ways did not seem to differ so much from Lasg’len. “This...Trump, for all that I read in the news, does not seem to have reached to places like this. It seems strange, in a way, that one man could influence such a vast and diverse country of people as this one.”

 

“If there’s one thing I’ve figured out, living so many years in a small village, it’s that the shite’v the outside world doesn’t often touch,” Lorna said. “Not unless it’s an extra big, extra stinky shite, anyway. Though I keep hoping that gobshite will shat out his bowels on live TV.”

 

“But that would not kill him, surely? I would have thought you would prefer a greater finality to...how is it you call him? The Flaming Cheeto, I believe?” Sue him, he was thoroughly enjoying this conversation.

 

Her laughter pealed out into the afternoon. “Got it in one,” she said. “Maybe if he like, shat out half his internal organs. That’d be fatal in a hurry, as well as messy and humiliating. And I can picture it disturbingly easily.” She really could, too. Perhaps that ought to worry her.

 

“I fear I have been a terrible influence on you,” he grinned. “And the worst part is, I am not in the least sorry.”

 

“I’m not, either,” she said, fighting a laugh and losing. “And I'm pretty sure I’ve been a terrible influence on you, too, which, yeah, not sorry about that either.”

 

“Flaming Cheeto,” he chuckled, shaking his head, as they walked the rest of the way in companionable silence.

 

*****

 

Allanah looked from Sharley to Saoirse and back to Sharley, not entirely certain what to do. The things in the home seemed familiar enough; not so different than their own house. “You gots stories, Aunt Sharley?” she wondered. There had to be something, here, and Lothiriel often read to them.

 

“I have stories, and I have toys,” Sharley said, helping the little girl up onto the couch. She still had most of Marty’s old toys, and a number of the little books they’d read. “The question is, which do you want first?” Saoirse, she saw, had brought a sketchpad, and was probably going to be lost in her own world for a bit.

 

“Wanna hear a story,” she said shyly. What she really wanted was to snuggle up against Sharley, but story might require getting up for a book. At least, that was often the case at home.

 

“Two seconds, kiddo,” Sharley said, and fetched an old, hardbound copy of _Green Eggs and Ham_. The corners had gone soft with age, but the pages were still in good condition. She sat back down and pulled Allanah onto her lap, opening the book so the girl could see all the illustrations. “This is by a wonderful man named Dr. Seuss. It’s a story and a poem, all at once, with pictures.”

 

“Nana says green eggs are rotten,” Allanah piped, confused. “An’ ham is pink.”

 

“In the real world, sure,” Sharley said. “But pretend food can be any color you like. And I’ll tell you a secret: you _can_ make fresh eggs that are green, but you have to put food coloring in them, and then your teeth are green until you brush them again.”

 

Allanah thought about this, and no matter which way she turned it in her mind, the green eggs did not sound appetizing. “Maybe wif spinach?”

 

“That might work, too,” Sharley allowed. God, she’d had a hell of a time trying to get Marty to eat spinach; she’d eventually given up. “Now see, this little guy here, this is what he says.” Dropping her voice, she read, ‘I am Sam, Sam I am. I do not like that Sam-I-Am.” In a slightly higher voice, “Do you like green eggs and ham? I’m guessing that’s a no,” she whispered, in her normal voice. “That’s okay.”

 

“Sam I am,” Allanah giggled...

 

*****

 

In the interest of not making someone have to take a cold shower, Lorna had agreed to shower that night, and Ratiri could take one tomorrow morning. The room was one of the ones with a private bath, which meant she actually had time to wash her hair -- it was a somewhat involved process, given how long it was, and it still bled pink a tiny bit.

 

After their day of travel, the hot water felt wonderful, and for a moment she just stood beneath the spray, basking in it. Of course they’d brought their own shampoo; she was so used to the elven stuff by now that she didn't think she could handle commercial brands anymore. She’d long since started enjoying the lavender again, and she sighed in contentment as she wetted her hair and squeezed out a dollop. It felt so nice against her fingers, too, as she worked it through to her scalp, massaging as Mairead had taught her.

 

All went well until she rinsed it -- this being an unfamiliar shower, she didn't realize that tilting her head back too far would bring her hair into contact with the shower knob. Her hair being, well, her hair, a hefty chunk of it wrapped itself around the knob like Cthulhu on steroids, and when she tried to stand straight, it yanked her head right back.

 

She sputtered at the water that so unexpectedly hit her face, ooching out of the way of the spray and fumbling around behind her. _Well, shit_. At least her hair was long enough that she could turn around, regarding the lovely tangle. Had she been taller, it wouldn’t have been an issue, but she was just short enough that now she was fucked.

 

Shutting the tap off, she tried picking at it, but just wound up freezing cold inside of thirty seconds. _Fuck._ On it went again, but that just re-soaked her hair into a hopeless, wet mass. Fingers fumbling, she tried again, but it was no good: the knot was well and truly stuck.

 

 _Shit_.

 

Squirting some conditioner on it, she tried to loosen it up that way, but all it did was make her fingers even slipperier. Maybe if she turned it a little…? Scissors were absolutely out of the question, given just how much hair had decided to reach out and hug this thing.

 

With a grunt of frustration, she twisted and pulled, and the knob came right off in her hand. The water gushed even harder as she stared at the thing, panic rising. Honestly, the only good thing was that Thranduil was too far off to know about this.

 

 _Shit. Shit shit SHIT._ Well, fuck it. She’d finish with her hair, actually wash herself, and _then_ deal with this mess. Somehow. Hopefully before all the hot water ran out.

 

She at least managed to pick apart the knot in her hair, now that the knob was out of it, and gave it a thorough conditioning before fumbling with the body wash. Once she was nice and clean, she tried to fit the knob back on -- it felt like it had to go a certain way before it would click, but she couldn’t find the way. Her fringe kept washing into her eyes, too, and with a growl of annoyance she stepped out long enough to grab some bobby pins, naturally trailing water all over as she did so. Fucking beautiful. Even with the fan going, the bathroom was rapidly turning into a steam-bath, but she could hardly open the door… _dammit._

 

More fumbling and increasingly vehement (though fortunately quiet) cursing, and eventually she managed to jam the thing back in place, shutting off the shower. She was already sweating again, and dried off in a hurry so she could put on her pyjamas and scoot. If the thing came off in Ratiri’s hand the next day….

 

“Enjoy your shower?” he asked. He was lying on the bed, reading a book; the twins were already asleep.

 

“Sure, we’ll call it that,” she said, wringing out her hair with a towel.

 

“Do I want to know?” he asked.

 

“Probably not.” She sat beside him and pulled out her comb, patiently picking at the traitorous mass. “Just be careful with the shower tomorrow.”

 

“Now I _really_ don’t want to know.”

 

*****

 

 _Thank the Valar, it is only a short drive home_ , Ailill said to himself as he and Calanon traveled in silence to the farmstead. The muscles at the edges of his eyes were twitching with mental fatigue. None of it had been Calanon’s fault, but the necessity to have the ellon with him at quite literally every moment had been wearying. The elf was very nice, easygoing and not at all demanding; it was simply the newness of it all and needing to explain so very many things. Though, he smiled to himself, some of it had been rather precious. Calanon’s extreme fascination with the office coffee pot had been borderline hilarious, and the awe in which he held the birds of prey (with some explanations in Sindarin snuck in when no one else was around to hear) was heartwarming to see.

 

Parking in the drive and piling Calanon’s arms high with the baskets of prepared food sent from the kitchens (now doubled, to feed both of them) they made their way to his room at the end of the house. It had its own door from the outside, which at the moment felt somewhat helpful. He supposed he would have to say something to his landlord, while not relishing the chance of being asked to leave on account of...what this would look like. But two persons was not one person, and it stood to reason that there would be a small impact on...he shook his head. _What, exactly, a few gallons of extra water?_ He cared for all his own food. There was a small bathing room; shower, sink and loo, but he kept it clean and stocked with paper. He did pay for a share of the electricity to have a light on, plug in a computer plus a few other small appliances and run a heater at times it was cold in addition to the rent...at some point, he would have the conversation. But not tonight.

 

Calanon stood, looking around wonderingly at the space that was perhaps four by five meters. His own rooms in Thranduil’s Halls were much larger. It held two chairs, a bed, bookshelves. Only one wall held a window, and the lone decoration was a large framed black and white photograph someone had taken of Fion, wings spread wide on what was presumably Ailill’s glove. He also did not fail to notice the weariness in his charge’s bearing. The firion neatly placed the wrapped foodstuffs on a shelf, and some items went into a diminutive refrigerator; it was quick work to put away their stores for the next many days. At the same time, two bottles of cold ale were removed and one was given to his guard. And guest.

 

“This is where you live?” the elf asked. While the answer was obvious, he needed to hear it on some level.

 

“Yes,” Ailill answered softly, drinking deeply. “My life was always with my birds. This was only a place to rest. And sleep. I pay another, for the use of this room. That is called ‘rent’. There is a chance we may have to find another place to live; it is possible that the owner may not care for me having you here.”

 

“Why?”

 

 _Well, if there was any doubt remaining about whether Thranduil, Thanadir and Earlene keep confidences, it is gone now._ The young man closed his tired eyes for a moment, struggling to find a way to answer. He was not about to lie to an elf, which left only generalized humiliation and an honest answer. “Because among humans, there are men who prefer to love other men, not women. So if two males are seen sharing the same living space, it is usually assumed that they are together. Lovers. Especially if there is only one bed. But many humans do not approve of this, believing it is very bad. Wrong. And,” he added miserably, “the reason you have been assigned to me is that it is often believed by others who see me that I am such a person. Some have tried to harm me, because of that.” He looked away, feeling moisture pooling in his eyes. Just once, it might be nice not to make a spectacle of himself on the first day he met someone new.

 

“That will not happen,” Calanon said firmly, causing Ailill to look up in surprise.

 

“How can you know that?” He tipped back the last of his drink, having a feeling he would need it. What the elf did not ask, and for which he was eternally grateful, was for the answer to the obvious question his statements had left hanging.

 

“Because I can be very persuading. Show me these people,” the elf said, rising. “Now, please.”

 

With an internal groan to which he did not give voice, Ailill rose to do as he was asked. Exiting the room, he took Calanon around to the main door, which he entered after rapping twice firmly on the door. Jack and Mary were evidently just finishing their supper, and sipping tea. Ailill smiled his best smile, and introduced Calanon, who did a more than passable job of shaking hands. Before another word could be spoken, the elf simply took over, as Ailill looked on helplessly.

 

“I volunteer at the Falconry School and wish to stay with my friend Ailill. I will pay extra rent gladly. I can work hard, do many things. I wish to help you on the farm and am good with all animals. You can show me what work to do?”

 

Jack blinked, while Mary’s eyes grew wide as she kicked her husband’s shin none too gently under the table. There were bales of hay that needed moving to the barn loft before they could get rained on, and the stalls for their few cows were a filthy mess.  Jack was already worn ragged tonight, from having fought with the tractor half the day _after_ the farm well pump had gone bad from a faulty capacitor. Right now, Mary didn’t care of this pretty new lad was the Grand Poofter of them all; he looked kind, and honest, and she was not about to turn down the offer. Whether or not he was capable, they’d know in a day or two.

 

“That’d be grand,” Jack murmured “Give me a half hour t’get sorted, and I’ll show what needs doing while there’s still light.” What that really meant, was what he needed the time to be off his feet before he could face any other tasks.

 

With a happy smile, Calanon retreated and ushered a bewildered Ailill back to his room. The young man sat on the edge of his bed, too tired to question or resist. The elf sat next to him. “All will be well, mellonenin. Estelio nin. How do you say in English?”

 

“Trust me,” Ailill murmured in reply.

 

“Yes. Trust me. Ready yourself for sleep,” the elf ordered. “You are weary.”

 

Nodding mutely, Ailill disappeared into the bathing room with his sleeping pants and returned some minutes later, his hair now unbound. It was a warm evening, not one in which he would usually want more than the light cover folded at the end of the bed. Ordinarily he would read or go online, but the exhaustion pulling at him was hard to ignore. His fumbling fingers were pushed aside as Calanon expertly spread out the blanket while Ailill lay down as far to one side of the bed as he could, with the thought of at least leaving the elf somewhere to rest. He folded his hands over his chest, feeling mildly embarrassed that the ellon pulled the blanket up to his rib cage before placing a hand on his.

 

“Rest well, Ailill.” The firion was instantly asleep, helpless against the elf’s spell. Calanon rose, unconcerned for his charge’s safety. He had seen the road to the farm; this place was isolated, with only one ingress and egress. Were another to come in one of the mortals’ automobile machines, he would hear. Certainly, there was no danger from the ones he had met that dwelled here as well.

 

Some hours later, hay bales perfectly stacked and stalls clean and deeply bedded with new straw, a gratified farmer was staring at the finished chores. _If that bloke is a poofter, well, here’s to poofters_ , Jack thought, shaking his head. Even the wheelbarrows full of soiled mess had been taken to the compost piles, and all the tools were neatly in their places.

 

Calanon changed into his long night shift, shook the dust off of his clothing outside, and laid the items over one of the chairs. He made use of the bathing room to wash his hands, arms and face before walking to the bed and regarding Ailill’s sleeping form. The firion was very beautiful; much like an ellon in appearance, though lacking such strength. It was easy to see why the King loved this one, who was now his responsibility to watch over. With a smile, he lifted the blanket and crawled underneath, lying comfortably on his side so as to face Ailill. And he did what he did millennia ago, when his mischievous younger siblings might to wake in the night and try to escape his oversight; he draped his arm over Ailill’s ribs in a gentle but firm hold before closing his eyes.

 

Hours later, Ailill stirred in his sleep, waking enough to become aware of the arm around him and to whom it belonged. Gratitude settled in his heart, as he nestled further into Calanon’s protective hold. With a deep sigh, he once again fell fast asleep.

 

*****

 

Lorna had carefully said nothing when the shower knob came off in Ratiri’s hand the next morning, though he’d tossed her a look that told her knew exactly whose fault it had been. She just tossed a look of utter innocence back at him, that fooled him not a whit.

 

Getting everyone to the trail had taken a few trips, given Sharley just had an ordinary van, not the monstrosity they had at home. Fortunately, it wasn’t a long drive at all, and she’d made sure they had everything the needed: plenty of water, plus snacks, especially for the kids.

 

“So, we don't have to go the whole way,” she said. “It’s a long hike, but even the short version is so pretty. It runs along the old railroad, through some of the tunnels that’ve overgrown with moss and flowers.”

 

“Will we see a bear?” Saoirse asked, her tone indicating that she very much hoped the answer was yes.

 

“Probably not,” Sharley said. There were in fact black bears in this area, but none had been sighted in quite a while.

 

“Damn,” Saoirse sighed, and Pat ruffled her hair.

 

The morning was cool and sunny, though it would warm up later; sunlight dappled the ground through the boughs of huge fir trees, and the air smelled of green things and clean earth. Lorna and Ratiri had been wise, and brought the harnesses, in case the twins got tired along the way, but right now they looked like they were buzzing with energy. The peredhel twins were using each of Thranduil’s arms like rope swings and Thaladir was doing something similar between Earlene and Thanadir. Everything looked just wonderful, and the young ones were all quite excited to be out exploring.

 

Lorna, of course, brought out her mobile and started snapping pictures. Shane and Chandra seemed fascinated by the undergrowth, picking leaves and flowers and, fortunately, _not_ putting anything in their mouths.

 

Saoirse naturally had to run ahead, which alarmed Pat, until Sharley assured him there was nothing that was going to get her out here. “All the dangerous critters are on the other side of the mountains,” she said. “There’s no venomous snakes or anything, and she’s really not going to run into a bear, no matter how much she thinks she wants to.”

 

“ _Are_ there bears, though?” he asked, a little nervously.

 

Sharley rolled her eyes. “In the mountains? Yes. Here? No. Not right now.” She was tempted to drag them to Ross Lake, way up north, and see if they could spot a grizzly.

 

 _If I might offer an opinion, from what I have read it will be difficult to_ not _see a bear in Yellowstone. Perhaps we need not go seeking out that particular element just now?_

 

 _Oh, we’d have to drive for hours to get to Ross Lake_ , Sharley said, _though I’d love to take you all there someday. It’s beautiful._

 

Chandra went zooming by, Shane hot on her heels, and Lorna knew they’d wear themselves out inside of half an hour, but that was okay. Neither was _that_ heavy yet.

 

Earlene walked at a sedate pace, content to match the short strides of her son. When he tired, there were more adults than children to go around (though not by much). Allanah was with Sharley, delightedly holding her hand, and Earlene smiled to see her daughter so happy. This morning at breakfast she tried to explain Green Eggs and Ham, which was simply Cute Overload. From time to time she glanced over at Thanadir, noting his innocent wonder at simple things like the tracks and the construction of the tunnels. So commonplace to an American, but when someone had never seen a train up close? Never felt the might of an engine creaking into motion, never considered the sheer scale of this achievement of their race? It was not the time for a history lecture, but she doubted her meldir could possibly know that he walked along the steel that literally launched their civilization into the modern age. Instead she made a far less profound observation. “Aren’t the colors lovely?”

 

Thanadir looked over at her, and barely smiled. They often did not need words between them; his enjoyment was palpable. At least, to her.

 

Sharley paused a moment when they reached an open stretch of trail. This was where she’d shot her last video of Marty, but to her it was not a sad place; she liked that she got to show it to her new family. She took out her own phone and shot a new video -- all of them walking through it, in and out of golden rays of sunshine. The Duncan twins cheerfully ran and occasionally tripped their way by, surprisingly quietly for children so young -- they didn't shriek or anything. Just flitted like butterflies, Chandra’s hair glowing.

 

She looked down at Allanah, whose hair also glowed, shining like a pale sapphire. Marty would have liked her, for all the difference in their ages. _Sunshine in the soul_ , she thought. Maybe Allanah would like some of Marty’s toys; she’d held onto them too long, herself. They needed playing with by another little girl.

 

Thaladir was now feeling braver, and wanted to chase after Shane, so he did just that; his sisters could not stand being left behind and followed. “I give it half an hour,” Thranduil guessed, as he watched the children swarm about like a cloud of insects that seemed to flit to and fro without rhyme or reason, yet always remain within the same general space. All of the adults had closed ranks, and were now walking close enough together to converse.

 

“The trail itself was only built back in the 90’s,” Sharley said. “Took forever, but a good trail doesn’t happen overnight.” She lowered her voice, so no children would hear. “They say it’s haunted, but I’ve never run across anything.”

 

“Now I want to come back here at night,” Lorna said. “With a flashlight, and that thingie the Ghostbusters have.”

 

“What would you do if you saw one?” Ratiri asked, amused.

 

“Brick it, probably,” Pat said, and had to dodge when she chased him down and gave him a noogie. They were adults. Really.

 

Thranduil grinned. He loved it when Pat did that. Which probably told him that yes, he really was the Brother from Another Mother. But the entertainment value of watching it was so much higher, when he was not personally involved…

 

They approached another tunnel -- a fairly short one, all things considered -- and Lorna took another picture, because the other end of it seemed to glow, sunlight pouring down onto fir trees and ferns, the sky so blue beyond it. “It’s a lovely place you’ve got here, Sharley.”

 

“Was hard, at first, leaving it,” Sharley admitted. “And I admit, I don’t like the thought that one day I’ve gotta leave it forever, but I’ve got a long while yet.” She also had every intention in the world of cheating, essentially; if she could teach the people of Skykomish some useful skill, she could justify bringing them to Ireland. She just had to figure out what that skill would be first. They had taken such good care of her and Marty that she couldn’t leave them to the mercy of the plague.

 

The Elvenking looked on in...he was not sure, he had an exact word for his emotions at what Sharley wanted. On one hand, he could hardly talk; every mortal he had come to care about was going to be under his proverbial wing when the time came. Could he begrudge the one who had supplied them with the warning that allowed for their survival? Just as surely as he was providing the means of this, in another form? And yet their system was supposed to be Parliamentary, requiring the approval of those tasked with making decisions. _Oh, the irony._ Had he his powers of his own rulership intact in this larger situation it would be his to grant, and yet that was not the case here. Feeling...ethically overwhelmed, he elected to remain silent. Now was not the time to drag this topic into the open, but he felt...disturbed.

 

Shane and Chandra, as expected, were flagging; Lorna and Ratiri each took a twin, placing them in their little harnesses. Christ, Lorna really could see why it would just about kill Sharley to leave...this was not like Ireland. Similar, but not the same. Ireland, so much older, had no such thing as true wilderness anymore.

 

“Da, I found a frog!” Saoirse cried, tripping back down the path with it in her hands, and it reminded Sharley so starkly of Marty that she almost missed a step. “Can I keep it?”

 

“No, sweetie,” Sharley said, before she could stop herself. “He’s happier where he is. He might have a lady frog somewhere.” It was almost word-for-word what she’d said to Marty, and it was beyond surreal.

 

“Well...shit,” Saoirse sighed, holding the amphibian up so she could stare at its face. “I’ll go put you back where you were.”

 

Thranduil made a guttural sort of noise. Eru knew he had tried, and yet Saoirse’s inability to curb her unseemly outbursts had continued on. He truly did not like it, and yet there was little he could do except endure. She was not his child. It was with extreme gratitude that he noted that at least in his presence, none of the other little ones would use such language. He tried to distract himself with watching the enjoyment of the little ones. The peredhel were still running around, looking under rocks and branches. Allanah was now a little more reserved, perhaps tiring? Thranduil now carried her and she seemed happy enough to enjoy the view of their walk from his tall shoulders.

 

 _So_ , Sharley said, easing her way around an overgrown shrub, _I got marshmallow guns. Theoretically they’re for the kids, but I know you and Lorna will be the ones actually using them. Just don’t light the marshmallows on fire. You might not have seen that memory of hers, but it’s in her history, and...honestly, I’m not sure how she lived to adulthood. I'm really not._

 

Thranduil blinked. _I am...genuinely not certain how to respond to this information. Frankly, after what happened last time Lorna and things on fire were part of a scenario, I am already suitably chastened._

 

Sharley grinned. _Just don’t drive Earlene nuts with the things. She needs to not murder everyone over the age of ten._ She had her reservations as to how well Earlene would handle being in such constant, close proximity as everyone else; hell, she herself questioned it.

 

 _You make a valuable observation,_ he said wryly. _I can have a tendency to, er, go off half-baked at times. I never had this kind of fun and I am afraid that Lorna and I in proximity are an unsafe combination. My wife tolerates a great deal._

 

 _Well, she does love you._ She laughed. _Oh, there’s more than two guns, by the way. The Donovans, adopted and otherwise, can have fun. And we can only hope we don’t piss off every other camper in the vicinity._ It was early enough in the year that the campgrounds probably wouldn’t be full, at least.

 

_Why do I have the feeling that we should just send the poor people chocolates and flowers now and save ourselves the trouble?_

 

That just made her laugh harder. _It might be a good idea. And there is nothing at all wrong with being kinda like a child._

 

As if to illustrate her point, Lorna chased Pat with a frond of fern, Chandra giggling in her harness as her mother poked her uncle in the back of the head.

 

_See?_

 

*******

_Meanwhile, back in Ireland…._

 

Ailill woke, wishing he did not have to get up soon. At least, he could take some more minutes to enjoy his current happiness. He was safe. Safely held by an elf whose strong arms would keep anyone from hurting him. Maybe it was this realization, that caused tears he did not intend to pool in his closed eyes. How often in his life had he ever felt truly free of being threatened? It wasn’t that he had felt actively _un_ safe, here in his room. Only that he had never felt _this_ safe. The sudden freedom from any doubt whatsoever as to whether something could happen to him was apparently only now so painfully noticeable by its absence. Perhaps it was more, too. His shortcomings and weaknesses were known now, to his guard, and he was not despised for it. Calanon could just as easily have fulfilled his duty sitting in a chair, but for whatever reason instead gave this reassurance and affection. From under his long lashes, wetness flowed over the bridge of his nose and onto the pillow underneath his head. _God,  Ailill, you are such a....woman in a man’s body. And not even a good one, either. Earlene is twice, three times the man you will ever be. With a better figure, too._

 

 _Maybe,_ he answered himself. _But what am I supposed to *do* about it? I have always been this way. I am not a bad person. And the only difference is, if I really was a woman, men would not look down on me and maybe I would feel less obligated to present a front to others._ With a mighty sigh, the internal discussion was silenced. He knew that were it not for needing to interact, he would not feel ashamed of himself as often as had happened of late. He did not feel this emotion when he was with his birds; in that part of his life he was free; his only role was that of caretaker and partner to one of nature’s most perfect predators. He soared with them on their sturdy wings, his spirit unfettered and happy. Which was likely why, now that he found himself suddenly in proximity to people in a familial way after long years of isolation, these notions persisted. _No, not people_ , he corrected. _Elves. Beautiful, beautiful elves._ Elves that were all he wished he could be, and yet these powerful and gentle ones loved him.

 

All of this internal dialogue was perhaps why he never noticed that Calanon had moved, and propped himself up. “Why do you have these, young one?” the elf asked, as the barest touches of his fingers brushed away the tears.

 

“Many reasons,” he murmured in return, wanting very much to take the hand in his own and hold it, but not daring to lest it be an affront. He instead limited himself to lightly grasping the ellon’s wrist, before letting go immediately. “I was thinking, but do not worry. I try not to do that too often.” Unlike with Aran Thranduil, he knew he was not under compulsion to expose all of his inner self. As of right now, he had known Calanon for twenty-four hours, and that felt much too soon for full disclosure.

 

Calanon tilted his head, sifting what was said. He knew an evasion when he heard one, and yet they were quite new to each other. Aran Thranduil had been very clear, that Ailill was an extremely sensitive firion who could hardly be shown enough love. Later on, he would press for more of an answer, but not now. In a swift motion, he turned and pulled the young man against him in a warm embrace. “You do not have to tell me, Ailill. Only know that if you wish to, I will gladly listen.” When he felt himself hugged in return with what he guessed was all the man’s strength, he smiled. _This one will need time._

 

“I should get ready to go.” It hurt, to think of leaving this embrace, but work was work and if he did not get moving soon to bathe and dress, they would end up running late.

 

“I will return here soon; make your preparations.” He rose and went to the barn, where sure enough he found Jack stooped over, milking one of the cows in the separate section that acted as a parlor. The two other animals already stood in their stanchions, vacuously munching on wisps of hay. Their swollen udders made it plain that Jack had only just begun his chore. “If you have a second (he pointed at the pail, not knowing the word) of that, I can do the same. Save you some work?”

 

Jack nodded and motioned with his head to the clean and disinfected pails, not about to refuse the offered help. “Over there.”

 

In under a minute, Calanon was next to the animal, a lovely Holstein-Friesian cross, and was murmuring quietly to her in a strange tongue Jack could not understand. _Must be some foreigner._ He knew well enough the School got plenty of those, and given that the posh clientele brought quite a lot of wealth to their area, he was not about to complain. Sheridan’s Cheese Shop in nearby Galway bought the rounds of artisanal aged cheddar Mary carefully made from this milk at a premium price, and mostly it was the same posh folk that bought the products sold there. When Jack finished up to step back and watch his new resident work, his jaw slackened. Peaches the Cow was known for being anything but a peach; her name was Mary’s idea of a bad joke. And yet this bucket-kicking, often foul-tempered creature was standing there, her milk let down in such a flood that the man’s hands were deftly alternating between quarters just trying to keep up. A glazed look of bovine happiness graced her placid face. “Christ, she’s not that much in love even when she’s got a new calf on ‘er,” muttered Jack, who was unable to believe his good fortune.

 

In under ten minutes, the elf stood up with the filled bucket--nearly three and a half gallons of rich milk--and asked where he should take it. Popping the lid on top, Jack led him to the kitchen, where Mary was already waiting with the strainers and ice water. “I will milk the last cow,” Calanon said simply, before disappearing.

 

“He helped?” Mary asked.

 

Jack shook his head. “He more’n bloody helped. I’ve not seen anything like it. It was Peaches, Mary, _Peaches._ He got all that out’v her, in a blink. Sure God, if he’d help with the milking…”

 

“Jaysus and the Holy Ghost,” Mary said, looking in disbelief at the volume in the pail. “Today’s banjanxed, but you tell those lads startin’ tomorrow, they’re to have breakfast in here before they leave to Ashford. Don’t you go talking about more rent to them, neither. That new lad is worth his weight. Ailill, bless his heart, ‘s bloody useless. Still, at least the lot’v them are easy on the eyes.”

 

Even Jack had to nod, however much that admission squicked him on some level. “Aye. I’d best get Dasiy an’ Peaches out on pasture, before he’s….what in hell’d they say his name is? Cal...something?”

 

“Just call him Cal. I can’t remember either, some foreign name.”

 

“Aye.”

 

Sure enough, before Jack reached the parlor, out Calanon came with the last bucket, smiling merrily. A stop off at the kitchen gave Mary time to tell him everything she’d asked Jack to relate. No chance then, for her husband to get anything arseways. With a charming little bow, the still immaculately clean elf returned to Ailill’s room to wash his hands. A breakfast repast was laid out; rolls and cheeses with sliced cold meats. “We are to eat at the house tomorrow morning,” the elf proclaimed.

 

“We are? Why?” He’d made rather a point of rarely presuming on an invitation from his landlords; it seemed easier to keep quiet. Before the elves, breakfast had been a container of porridge with dried fruits to which he could add hot water from the little electric pot he kept here in his room for tea or soup; instant meals were too tempting of a convenience. At least, they had been before Earlene’s raised eyebrow and subsequent lecture on additives and preservatives had quashed that notion.

 

“I will milk their cows for them when we are here. And help in other ways. I believe they are pleased.”

 

“You know how to do that?” Ailill asked, impressed.

 

“Yes. Do you wish to learn? Aran Thranduil has given Earlene cows. I could teach you. If you can master hawks, cows should be no difficulty.”

 

 _Wait until you get to know me_ , Ailill thought morosely. But he did not say that aloud. “I will try, if it is with you,” he answered quietly. He knew that Rîneth usually did this work, and making a complete fool of himself in front of one of the ellith was somehow a more painful notion than any of the alternatives.

 

Calanon smiled. It would be another interesting day, out in the world of mortals.

 

*****

 

By the following morning in the state of Washington, they had appeared a sufficient number of times in the local cafe to be greeted with smiles and waves. After a hearty breakfast at which Thanadir continued to order two entrees (Earlene was fairly sure some manner of informal wagering among the wait staff was already underway, even if it was only for how many little containers of cream and sugar he would demolish with his coffee). After, it was time for a faction of the adults to travel to Monroe to obtain their Recreational Vehicles, because _that_ wouldn’t be interesting.

 

So much had been arranged in advance that the only truly necessary details were watching the demonstrations of how to use things like the toilet/sink/shower/generator et cetera...they really were rather like homes on wheels, albeit with different power sources. Earlene paid careful attention and hoped that Lorna was doing the same; she was the one who dealt with engines and...things. She herself was rather more occupied with matters such as, how to keep these vehicles passably clean with the sheer volume of bodies that would enter and exit. Already she could see that a mat and “shoes off” inside would be extremely wise. Not to mention, having a broom and dustpan. Thranduil, Thanadir, Ratiri and Lorna would be the ones doing the lion’s share of the driving, with Earlene and Sharley filling in as needed.  

 

It had been agreed that they would spend this day in light preparations, shopping and napping, because at roughy six o’clock this evening it was their intention to make the thirteen hour drive to Yellowstone National Park. They would avoid all daytime traffic not to mention the warmer temperatures, this way. While consideration had been given to seeing places like the vast lava beds of southern Idaho, in the end they were not deemed as being of sufficient interest by comparison to their ultimate destination. Sharley had already purchased many of the items they would want for use on this trip, which was no mean feat; blankets, towels, utensils, cookware...all of it had to be accounted for and Earlene was impressed to see that meticulous lists had been kept. In the end, stops were made at a grocery for things like fresh produce and perishable foods; this would otherwise be a true American camping experience with all the fat and twice the sugar, as she liked to think of it.

 

In fairly good time, the three massive vehicles (by Irish standards, where even the largest caravans paled in comparison to these lane-hogging monstrosities) were all neatly ordered in the parking lot of the Skykomish Inn. The resident males wisely deferred further involvement except to be obedient beasts of burden when it came to ferrying the many items from Sharley’s home and into the many cupboards, drawers and storage bays.

 

Lorna watched in increasing disbelief. Sharley had said shopping for sixteen had been an education, and it looked like she’d been right; even with a van, she’d probably had to play Tetris just to get it all to fit. “How many trolleys was this?”

 

“Three,” the younger woman said, grinning. “Which doesn’t sound like much, but Costco carts are ginormous.”

 

“How could you haul three trolleys around?” Saoirse asked, staying well out of the way.

 

“Bungee cords,” Sharley said seriously -- so seriously that Lorna suspected she had to be joking.

 

“Seriously?” Saoirse asked.

 

“Yep. Made going around corners an interesting experience, let me tell you.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. While she had never seen the inside of a Costco, she could picture Sharley with three trolleys tied together far too easily. “God love you, Sharley.” She could only imagine the stares _that_ had brought; Sharley kind of stood out all on her own, but with something like that...oh dear.

 

“Earlene sent me with a long list,” Sharley said. “Tons of towels and sheets, as well as food. Lots of food. Lots and lots of food. Which, I mean, Thanadir’s going with us, so that’s kinda necessary.”

 

Somehow, Lorna managed not to laugh again. Poor Thanadir, but he really was something of a food Hoover. She was never, ever going to tell him just how endearing that actually was.

 

Earlene vaguely cringed at the plastic utensils and mountains of paper plates and disposable towels but kept reminding herself with a chant: _seven children, seven children._ This would all have been planned quite differently if it were only adults on this little adventure, but she was not about to consign all of them to hours of cleaning and dishwashing for the sake of being eco-friendly. The planet only had eighteen more years to be infested with humans; one hundred more paper plates that had already been manufactured were simply were not going to tip the ecological balance.

 

Thranduil smiled and shook his head, deeply impressed at all the work the others had done to somehow ‘pull this off,’ as the mortals might say. He leaned toward Pat, who was also watching this unfold with mild disbelief while he enjoyed a fizzy drink from the Inn’s vending machine. “Different, eh?” Thranduil asked, amused.

 

“Just a bit,” Pat said. “I don’t think the plans to storm the bloody beach’v Normandy were as complicated as this must’v been. Though I’ve never really been camping, so I couldn’t say. I was only ever able to take Saoirse on day-trips, but that wasn’t so bad. Camping in Ireland can be shite, considering the weather can turn on you in a heartbeat.” He laughed. “And after what Ratiri said about his da burning the tent down, it’s probably a good thing I never tried it without someone who knew what they were doing along.”

 

This only caused Thranduil to consider Sharley’s admonition about the flaming marshmallows. He eyed the RV dubiously. _How fireproof were these?_

 

The preparations were more or less wound up. Lorna and Ratiri were leaned on to consider taking a late afternoon nap before dinner to bolster their ability to drive through the night, while everyone else took all the children to enjoy splashing around at the river under extremely watchful supervision. Thranduil was not about to ever remove his eyes from his children near water, ever again. Quite possibly not even when they were twenty years of age. As hoped for, exhausted little ones struggled their way through an early dinner at the diner and then were settled into their RVs while Earlene cared for checking out and payment at the Inn. The Duncan-Donovan clan minus Saoirse but plus Maerwen went into Rogue One. Thranduil drove Base Station Two with all of his daughters plus Sharley and Saoirse, while Thanadir, Earlene, Thaladir, Ortherion and Lothiriel were in Starbase Three. All of the nerds were very happy with their names for the RVs, and in theory the adult/child distribution was adequate...that part could be amended later if needed.

 

Sharley sat down to navigate for Thranduil, a large grin on her face. “Okay, so I got these thingies,” she said, holding up a walkie-talkie. “All three RV’s have got one. Means we can communicate if we somehow get separated by traffic. Also, it’ll be hotter than hell in some places, so the Duncans and Donovans’ll probably need to periodically dump water over their heads. Lorna thought New York was bad, but some places we could be looking a triple-digits. Don’t want them keeling over and dying.” She hook her head. “Honestly, even Earlene might have issues, if she lived most of her life in New York. I know it can get hot there, but not like it might be where we’re going.”

 

“I believe that this consideration was some of why we are going to drive through the night hours,” Thranduil said, adjusting mirrors and seat belts. “But we will indeed have to mind the others. Lorna suffered discomfort even in New York, and that was much, much cooler. The good news is, these vehicles have air conditioning. Hopefully that will help them.”

 

“I’m tempting Fate by saying this, but as long as it doesn't break,” she said. “These’re nice RV’s, but you never do know. I know Ratiri’ll make sure they all drink enough water, at least. Easy to forget to do, when you’re distracted by something pretty.” There had always been at least one trail volunteer who failed to do that, and paid for it later. “And between him and Earlene, I'm sure there’s more than enough sunscreen for our resident redheads. Even if one of them is blue at the moment.” For all her own skin was so fair, she didn't tend to burn, though she tanned a bit. _Marty_ had burned like a lobster; Sharley probably could have bought stock in Neutrogena, given the amount of stuff she had to slather on that kid. Ratiri, Lorna, Pat, and Saoirse probably didn't need to worry, though it might be a good idea to put some on Shane, just to be safe.

 

“We will manage. Hats, and whatnot,” he smiled. Perhaps he was slightly more laconic because he could fix what was broken, even though he was not supposed to. _So, if I might ask, how did it go with the Stranger, when you departed the forest? I hope that it was...amicable?_

 

She laughed silently. _Sorta. I chained it to a Lay-Z-Boy, at least. I still don’t trust it -- not when you’re not around. It’s really hard for me to talk to it, because when it’s awake, I’m usually not -- which is why I hate the thing so much. Not sure yet how to...share, and it’s not, either. All it’s ever done is lock me away. It doesn’t know how to do anything else._ She’d pondered chaining it to the Lay-Z-Boy and then keeping it stocked with mental beer, but she hadn’t actually known how to do that.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. _That sounds like the best case scenario, all in all._ How the stone chair had been there in the first place, much less replaced by a recliner, are things he was not equipped by Eru to consider. They drove on, with occasional questions coming from Saoirse or one of the girls, but as the scenery was generally unremarkable aside from being different than Ireland, there was not so much to say. The girls were good at occupying themselves, and Saoirse helped considerably by being willing to read aloud to the girls from the new storybooks that had been acquired for the trip. Many of them were beloved American tales of bygone times. In fact, the first was called Little House on the Prairie, and Thranduil in short order found himself struggling to focus on the road. The content was enchanting, but fortunately Sharley apparently knew these well; they were her books. She good-naturedly provided directions and reminded him to follow them in a timely manner.

 

Two hours in, they agreed by their radio devices that a stop was in order for a lavatory, and pulled into whatever the one was past the oddly named Ritzville. “Adar, what is a Ritz?” Ithiliel was leaning forward.

 

“A kind of cracker,” Sharley mused, knowing full well that the answer was utterly unhelpful but unable to resist. They all parked, and gratefully got out to stretch their legs when Allanah shrieked.

 

That brought Sharley running, but she sighed in relief when she saw it was just grasshoppers. “They won’t get you, honey,” she said. “They’re gross, but they’re just doing what they do. You want me to carry you to the bathroom so you don’t step on any?”

 

Saoirse eyed the bugs with horrified fascination. She’d never seen such things in Ireland -- grasshoppers there were cute little things. These were damn nasty. “ _Gross_.” She was pretty sure one was eating another one, too. Cannibal grasshoppers. Sounded like the name of a really bad band. She’d have to tell Aunt Lorna.

 

Lorna eyed the mass of insects. “Well that’s...icky. I have to wee so bad I really don’t care, though.”

 

Pat twitched a little. He didn't mind bugs, but these were certainly no kind of bug _he_ was familiar with. How did the people here live with this? They had to get in the house, no matter how careful you were with the door.

 

Earlene eyed the insects with distaste. Some mental file had heard of these...there was a name for them, she just could not recall it at the moment. Either way, she wanted the toilet. She glanced at Thranduil. “Insects do not bother me. But I could do without the noise that rather disturbingly imitates an unmannerly diner smacking their lips.”

 

He chose that moment to repeatedly pucker his lips and send air kisses her way, to which she rolled her eyes. “You really are incorrigible. You ought to be nicer to me. These creatures are edible, you know.” With that she saucily turned and walked to the women’s room, swinging her hips with great deliberation for his benefit.

 

“Are they really?” he murmured.

 

Thanadir too rolled his eyes, but now found himself wondering if they tasted like chicken.

 

Lorna carried Chandra into the bathroom, followed by Saoirse. Of course there were a few bugs in here, too, but at least none on or in the toilets. “I,” she said, helping Chandra, “would not want to live here. I wonder if this is a yearly thing, or what?”

 

“I’m not sure anyone would live here if it was,” Saoirse said. “I mean...ew. _Ew_. I bet they’ crunch if you stepped on them.”

 

“Let’s not find out,” Sharley said. Allanah didn't seem to want to get down from her arms until she’d made a thorough sweep for bugs in the stalls, and found none. “I’ll stand guard, and squish anything that might come close.”

 

“Why are there so many?” Chandra asked. “I think they’re eating each other, too.”

 

Lorna twitched a bit. “It’s called a swarm,” she said, helping her daughter was her hands. “Some insects move in one. They’re probably not here for very long.”

 

She paused, and groaned. She hadn’t brought her satchel in, so she raced back out to the caravan, deposited Chandra into its cool interior, and zoomed back inside with a tampon. Lovely. It wasn’t time yet, but it would just figure it would go out of whack while she was on holiday. The heat was so intense that she felt a little woozy.

 

“Of bloody course,” she grumbled, though at least she wasn't reduced to doing this behind a trash can again. Sharley had bought ibuprofen, so she’d be smart and take some now, before the cramps kicked in. Fucking wonderful. Apparently the Communists really hated her.

 

Both the heat and the Mormon crickets (Sharley said that was how they were called) made the idea of lingering any longer than necessary not appealing. Earlene returned to Thranduil to see if he had repented of his earlier sarcasm. “Well, have you decided yet if you want crickets on the dinner menu at home? They sell them on Amazon, you know.”

 

“Yum yum,” he answered with a smirk, not about to give in so soon. It was very warm, and she knew what he did not. Underneath her buttoned blouse she wore a tank top that put the “s” in “scoop” and now began to languidly unbutton her top, fanning herself all the while, until the view of her charms was not one he could miss. She suppressed a smile as she watched his eyes drawn to the sight, as she used her fingers to wipe away some of the perspiration that had begun to trickle down between her tempting cleavage.

 

“Yum yum, indeed.” Earlene turned and sauntered back to the RV, which Thanadir already had running. It was going to be a long night, but not for her.


	101. One Hundred and One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 9-11, 2019
> 
> There are many places and little excursions referred to in this chapter. We are adding links to those videos for those who would like to learn a little more:
> 
> *Bay Bridge Campground: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FxdPLtTaQFM</a](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FxdPLtTaQFM</a)  
> *Idiot who told kids to go up to Bison: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPpQc6GPjBk</a](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPpQc6GPjBk</a)  
> *Mud Volcano area: [https://www.nps.gov/media/video/view.htm?id=00DE4630-155D-451F-6717863CEC1BDB93</a](https://www.nps.gov/media/video/view.htm?id=00DE4630-155D-451F-6717863CEC1BDB93</a)  
> *Bison herd in Hayden Valley: ["https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fB5VDXTR4_Q</a](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fB5VDXTR4_Q</a)  
> *Uncle Tom’s Trail [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGwJ-Cb6NtA&feature=youtu.be</a](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGwJ-Cb6NtA&feature=youtu.be</a)

“Earlene. I think we are here, meldis,” Thanadir whispered, reaching over to shake her upper arm quickly. “Yellowstone National Park, right?”

 

“Whmf?” she sat up quickly rubbing her eyes. It could not have been so long ago that she fell asleep; she had not meant to fall asleep at all, and yet it was light in the sky outside. _So clearly, that had happened_. Quickly, the approaching sign registered in her vision. “Ye--” (Coughing and throat clearing ensued) “Yes. This is it. You did very well, Thanadir. And now I had better find my wallet, because, entrance fees. Are the other Rebel Alliance Forces right behind us?”

 

“Yes.” Thanadir grinned. Only a few weeks ago they had watched all the Star Wars films, and he had loved those too. Their caravan wound their way to the kiosk to pay for such things, and Earlene chuckled. “I wonder if Lorna thought to check on the entrance fees.” What she did not add aloud was _Because I did, and about shat a brick._ Seven twenty dollar bills and one ten were extracted from her billfold; it would cost $150 for all three of their RVs just to enter the park, never mind campground fees. Gone were the vague days of camping being next to free. Then again, for sixteen people, this amount of money bloody well _was_ next to free. As quietly as possible, the other two vehicles were notified that they would then proceed to their campground...or at least that was the plan. Somewhere in Bumfuck, Idaho, they’d stopped for the use of a toilet and just to move around a bit, but as everyone but the drivers and those riding shotgun were sound asleep, it hadn’t counted for much.

 

Lorna had relieved Ratiri as Rogue One’s driver, figuring the poor man needed some sleep. She was glad she had practice driving the commuter van, too, because this thing was a beast of a vehicle. Fortunately, both twins were napping; Pat had tried reading a book, but gave up when he got queasy, and now sat passenger, her current navigator. Maerwen, of course, didn't get sick while trying to read, so she’d been looking at pamphlets they’d got about the park.

 

“You know, I read that this whole place is overdue for some massive eruption,” he said, as they passed through behind Base Station Two. “At least if it goes later, we’re on the other side’v the world.”

 

“Yeah, but it’d turn into endless winter,” Lorna said. “I saw it on a documentary. It was David Attenborough, so you’ve got to believe it.”

 

He smothered a laugh into his hand, and somehow didn't wake the others.

 

In Starbase Three, Sharley was dozing until the RV stopped. “We here?” she asked softly. All the other children were asleep, so far as she could tell.

 

“We are in the park itself now,” Thranduil informed. At this point, he was brooding in some mixture of awe and disbelief at the size of the country from whence Earlene, Sharley, and Geezer hailed. Seeing it on a map did not make the same impression as driving a fast moving vehicle for twelve solid hours and managing to only cross a state and a half. America might be many things, but small was not one of them. “We will drive to the campground. Which is not exactly close, if I understand it.” The forecast was for a very civil 23 degrees C, which he hoped would make life more bearable for Lorna.

 

True enough, they had to wind their way down the interminable and winding Hwy 191 that went east, then south, then east again, to finally meet up with Hwy 20. About two thirds of the way to their destination, they were granted the view of the immense and forested edges of Yellowstone Lake. It was something to look at besides asphalt and yellow lines in the road. And quite a nice something, at that.

 

“There was a big fire here,” Sharley said. “Big fire, years ago. I was a smokejumper for it, and it was like trying to deal with something in hell. They decided to mostly let it burn, because it was a natural wildfire, but we got sent into the places it might actually torch a structure.” There were huge gaps in her memory before and after it, but that was the sort of thing that tended to stick in the mind. What she remembered most vividly was the wind, fanned by the heat of the fire; it was like a blast straight out of an oven, making them all sweat like pigs. They’d had to drink an insane amount of water so they wouldn’t collapse of dehydration -- and even then, a few people did. Between it and smoke inhalation, a lot of people had been rotated in and out.

 

“What year was that, Aunt Sharley?” Saoirse asked blearily.

 

“Nineteen-eighty-eight,” Sharley said. “The burned areas still haven’t fully recovered, I think.”

 

“Nineteen-eighty-eight?” Saoirse asked, leaning over the seat to look at her. “Aunt Sharley, how old _are_ you?”

 

She shrugged. “Dunno. Old enough.”

 

Thranduil said nothing, but this gave him pause. Because, that was thirty-one years ago. And from what he understood of their modern world, fifteen year-olds were not permitted to take on employment that involved things like jumping into raging wildfires. First they thought she might be in her twenties. Then her thirties. Then maybe her forties. And now fifties? He considered her physical appearance and for the first time, felt a twinge of disturbance that he absolutely would be keeping private to himself. Earlene had kept her youthful appearance by taking great care of her skin and having optimal nutrition. Sharley’s youthful appearance, after doing no such thing and living a very rough life….raised many questions.

 

“We are going to Bridge Bay Campsite,” he mentioned, so that two sets of eyes could be on the lookout for signs.

 

“Why Bay, I wonder?” Sharley asked, of no one in particular. She couldn’t remember if there were bays or anything like them on the lake.

 

“I believe there is one, of sorts. Earlene showed me the maps of this place during the last week as best she could. I hope too, that we will have a nicer time of it on account of being near a large mass of water. Perhaps it will be cooler.”

 

“And if not, at least all our overheating Irish people can jump in the lake,” Sharley said dryly, poking Saoirse. “You guys can’t handle heat worth a damn.”

 

“It’s not like it’s ever really hot in Ireland,” Saoirse said, just as dryly. “What’s the hottest temperature you’ve ever been in? D’you know?”

 

“It got up to a hundred and twenty, in the fire,” Sharley said. “I’m not sure what that is in celsius.”

 

 _“It’s forty-nine,”_ Sinsemilla said.

 

“Ah, okay. Forty-nine celsius.”

 

Saoirse’s eyes bugged out. “How did you not _die_?”

 

“Water,” Sharley said sagely. “Lots of it. I bought canteens, and all us humans are gonna lug around a big one each. I don’t care how heavy it is.” Saoirse and Lorna would be especially vulnerable, out of the adults, given how tiny they were. That the children would be vulnerable went entirely without saying, though she suspected it might not be an issue with the peredhel.

 

Earlene finally saw the campground sign with considerable enthusiasm (“Valar be praised,” was heard to escape her lips). After darting a furtive glance here and there, she was not shy about giving Thanadir an enthusiastic kiss on his lips, for his willingness to drive here. They were fortunate enough to be on the first of the four loops that comprised this campground, and were able to also have consecutive campsites. This was radioed to the other vehicles, where to park, and a reminder to remind children that might wake that it was early yet for other campers--no sprinting out the door shouting or yelling. And you betcha, she was unapologetic about having sites that were quite near the bathrooms. _Seven children--sue her._

 

Both Chandra and Shane were wide awake now, staring about with avid curiosity. Mercifully, it was much cooler than it had been since they crossed the Cascade Mountains, too; she actually got out their jumpers when they went back to the caravan. The trees here were different than the ones in Skykomish -- still conifers (hey, she knew a word) but with longer needles. They smelled rather intriguing, too -- yes, she paused to sniff a branch. She was on holiday, she could be as weird as she liked.

 

Saoirse was quiet, but she nevertheless ran around the caravans a few times, possibly to wake herself up a little more. She too had put on a jumper, wise girl; while Thranduil could heal any chill any one of them caught, that didn't mean he ought to have to.

 

Pat, bless him, had put a kettle on as soon as he’d woken up, so there was plenty of hot water for tea. To Lorna’s amusement, Maerwen had taken a liking to particularly strong blend of Irish Breakfast.

 

“Now this is more like it, for a temperature,” Pat said. “Pity it won’t last.”

 

“Water,” Saoirse said. “Aunt Sharley said she’s going to load us down with it. God bloody help us.” She sounded so much like Pat that Lorna burst out laughing.

 

Earlene made the rounds. “There’s instant porridges in the cabinets for breakfast; add hot water and follow the instructions. We’ll get more organized about food soon enough and...there isn’t a picnic table big enough for the entire lot of us to eat together for breakfast. So I’m suggesting, get everyone fed. Don’t worry about clothes and sunscreen and all that yet. When everyone’s eaten, a handful’v adults are taking all the children to show them the restrooms and the other things that matter in the campground. While that’s happening, the ellyn will put out the mats and whatnot to help keep the RVs decent. I’m not going to go militant, but these things have to be returned spotless, and ‘shoes off inside the RV’ is the only way I can think of to do that. So I’ll check back in around an hour,” she beamed, to zoom off to repeat her announcement to Base Station Two.

 

So _that_ was what the sheets were for...while her tea steeped, Lorna brought the things out and covered over the sofas and the bed. Ratiri got out the instant porridge, and discovered that Sharley had thoughtfully provided some fresh strawberries for it in the mini-fridge. She was also, bless her, one of those people who believed in whole milk, not the sacrilege that was skim.

 

“I’m glad we all brought sandals, as well as hiking boots,” Lorna said, adding some sugar to her tea once she was done. “Taking boots on and off all the time is a pain in the arse.”

 

Saoirse stuck her head in long enough to steal some porridge, but Sharley told her to be careful eating it. “You don’t want to attract bears,” she said seriously. “They can’t get into the RV’s, but we don’t want them even coming close.” A bear could, in fact, get into an RV, if it was really determined, but the kid didn't need to know that.

 

After breakfast, the folding camping chairs were brought out and everyone, adult and child alike, was assigned their own. Markers were used to help the children know which was whose, with their first initial in Tengwar was written on it (because, why not?) in Sharpie. Then they had their first group meeting, once everyone was dressed for the occasion. Earlene took the initiative to address all the young ones. “This is camping, and we will have fun. But there are things we all will do for courtesy toward others, and safety. The other campers can hear every word we speak. We must keep our voices down, especially in the early morning and after dark, and we should keep colorful language inside the RVs; it is considered very bad manners to use swear words in public in this country.

 

Also, we will all help you to not leave food around our campsite. Bears live in this place and they can be very dangerous, and they like people food. After dark, if you need to use the toilet either use the one inside your RV or get an adult to take you to the campground toilets. None of you are to go alone to the restrooms alone at night without an adult. I do not want you to be afraid of the wild animals here, but I do want you to respect them. We also do not feed any of them any of our food. Now we will all go to see where the toilets are, and where the adults will wash dishes. Any questions?”

 

Children’s eyes ranging from mild alarm to indifference looked back at her, and she was rather proud to see that Thaladir was in the latter category. She hated to have to talk about bears, but she also considered it rank stupidity for them to not know that bears were not a joke.

 

“Aunt Sharley said bears can’t get into RV’s, but that we shouldn’t leave food around outside anyway,” Saoirse said, entirely uncertain if she could keep all the ‘colorful’ words totally out of her vocabulary. She did okay until she was surprised by something. It was bad manners to swear in this country? Being around other people must be _so boring_ in America.

 

“That is a good point, Saoirse,” Earlene praised her, fully intent on completely evading the fact that a bear could tear open an RV with all the ease of a starving seven year old child on a bag of crisps. “What everyone should do is, if you open a package of food, or do not finish eating food, it goes in the bear locker. That is this thing, over here.” A demonstration of how to open and close it ensued. “This is the only truly safe place for items of food that a bear could smell, because they absolutely cannot get into these. We do not have to worry so much in the daytime when we are all here. It is when we all leave to go see other places in the park or when we get ready for bed at night. Those are the times we will all be checking extra carefully to make sure all food is properly stored.”

 

“How cold is that lake?” Saoirse asked. “I kind’v want to go wading.”

 

“Probably pretty cold, kid,” Sharley said. “Wait until it’s hotter.”

 

Lorna, naturally, broke out her mobile and started taking pictures, because this trip was probably going to necessitate more than one scrapbook. “How much d’you want to bet we’ll see some eejit trying to pet a buffalo?” she asked. “I’ve read about all sorts online, including the gobshite who told his kids to go touch one while he filmed it. Darwin Award-contenders.”

 

 _Things like that are why I sometimes think there should be a test you have to pass before you’re allowed to breed,_ Ratiri thought, shaking his head.

 

Earlene literally facepalmed. “We do not feed the wildlife, and we also do not try to pet the wildlife. Not even the ones that run up on the picnic table begging for your crisps.” She was prepared to teach the children what _to_ do. What she had forgotten were how many eejits would be modeling what _not_ to do.” Just, _dammit._

 

“And that is the thing,” Sharley said, finishing the last of her tea. “Some of them might try, especially the smaller critters that’re used to being fed by people. It’s not healthy for them, and while rodents are cute, you don’t want to touch them. They can carry diseases.”

 

Saoirse, naturally, had to ask, “What kind’v diseases?”

 

“Nasty ones.” Sharley was not about to explain hanta virus to a ten-year-old. She didn't want the kid hiding in the RV the whole trip. “Admire them at a distance, and if something comes too close, just gently shoo it off. Although don’t be surprised if you leave something on a picnic table and a raven flies off with it.”

 

“Or a chipmunk,” growled Earlene. “Basically, take what you can eat and no more, and guard your plate like something else wants it more than you do. Because it does.”

 

A memory struck Sharley -- there had been critters, critters everywhere during the fire, running as fast as their tiny legs could take them. Flocks of ravens, but only the first day; they were faster, and gone within hours. “It does, and it’ll get it. Also, when we go see the geysers and mudpots, all you kids need to hold somebody’s hand the whole time. Well, not you, Saoirse; everyone under the age of ten. The water is way, way too hot to touch.” There were plenty of adults who had hands to hold, after all.

 

“And in places where there are walkways, we stay on the walkways, no matter what we see other eejits doing or animals either.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. He was aware these were real concerns, but these two were going into Ellith Mode, and it was time to intervene. “Come, children. We are going to see the restrooms now,” he said in his soft yet sonorous voice. With generalized relief, they all hopped up to attach themselves to an elf, leaving Sharley, Lorna and Earlene just where they were. “Damn, I was just getting rolling, too,” Earlene said. “Oh well.” Surely there was a cabinet to organize.

 

“I need more tea,” Lorna said, stretching and yawning. Then she wanted to stroll with her mobile, and see what there was to see. She added, “I read this article where some gobshite tried to jump into one’v the geysers and died, and the water was so acidic that by the next day, his corpse had _dissolved._ ” It was the kind of creepy, wonderfully horrifying thing she thrived on -- and it also meant she and Ratiri were keeping the twins literally in hand. They were not the type to run off, but she didn't think one could be too careful. Thranduil could hardly heal someone in public, and in any event such a major injury would drain him far too much.

 

“That,” Ratiri said, “is disgusting, and fascinating. I’ve read that dozens of people have died here over the years, mostly by being stupid.”

 

“The Darwin Awards exist for a reason,” Pat said, passing behind Lorna’s chair. “Natural selection at work.”

 

“What’s natural selection?” Saoirse asked.

 

“Never you mind what it means,” Pat said. “It’s not something the little ones need to hear.” That was a neat way of covering for the fact that he didn't know how to explain it in any manner that wouldn’t scare her, or make her ask a dozen other questions he couldn’t answer at all.

 

Earlene enjoyed what was likely to be one of precious few moments of solitude on this trip. Honestly she felt tired, still discombobulated as to her internal clock. Not that she couldn’t manage to push past that, of course. Oh, the irony. They had come to visit one of the most beautiful and dangerous natural wonders in the entire world. It felt like a litany, to recite everything that could go wrong here. And here was poor Saoirse, who would be scared of her own shadow if given a reason to be. _Why did it seem so hard to explain to people, just don’t be stupid?_ But when those people were children...well, how were they supposed to know? Part of her wanted to scale one of the trees and go sit up high, enjoying the view but... _sure, Earlene, because that wouldn’t attract attention_. Maybe later, somewhere more discreet.

 

Thanadir found her, slumped asleep over the little kitchen table, her head buried in her folded arms. She had stayed awake nearly the whole night to keep him company, though he tried to encourage her to sleep. He could follow highway signs. Carefully stepping back out the door, he told Thranduil silently what had happened, and then carried her to the bed in the back of the RV. That was one advantage to being an elf; he could keep sleeping ones asleep without fear of waking them. He drew all the little curtains, and covered her with a light blanket after removing her sandals. “Sleep, meldis,” he smiled, kissing her cheek and closing the door behind him.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. The tea hadn’t kicked in yet; she didn't feel quite like moving, but the twins had plenty of energy now, and were buzzing around like little hummingbirds. “All right, you lot, what’ve we got in mind for now?” she asked, of everyone and no one.

 

“There’s a place to rent a rowboat down there,” Sharley pointed toward the lake. “About fifty dollars for eight hours. Why don’t we leave the kids with the ellith and all the boy elves come with me,” she grinned. “I’ll teach you how to row the boat, then later on you can take turns taking the kids out for a few hours. They’ll love it, and it would make all of them feel like we did something today. Then after the kids have their fun and crash, any of the adults that want can go out too. Cheap entertainment that’d take us to when it’s time to work on dinner.”

 

Thranduil seemed favorably inclined, and now saw Thanadir headed toward him with news that his wife was with Irmo. He chuckled. Poor Earlene.

 

 _Boats_...Lorna was no longer utterly terrified of water, but that didn't mean she wanted to go out on it. Shane and Chandra would be safe with the elves. “Allanah, are you going?” she asked Ratiri.

 

“You know, I think I will,” he said. “I’ve never rowed a boat, but it can’t be _that_ hard.” Though he was sure, by the end of it, every muscle in his torso would be screaming for mercy. Even so, he couldn’t let that stop him; he wanted to see the twins’ reactions to such a thing.

 

“Take pictures,” Lorna said, leaning back in her chair. She’d been awake long enough that a small nap sounded like a great idea, even with the tea.

 

*****

 

The day had gone well. Fun was had, the tired were refreshed after long naps, and the children had done admirably well with a variety of entertainments both quiet and exciting, like the rowing. Dinner was to be an epic nutritional travesty, and oddly enough, Earlene was fine with it. Hot dogs and fixings, potato chips, dill pickles and some fresh fruit, with s’mores after. That she kept chuckling and murmuring, “Because ‘Murica!” probably should have disturbed everyone more, but basically no one except perhaps Sharley even had a prayer of even comprehending it anyway.

 

Out of the Donovan-Duncan clan, all three adults had at least a little experience cooking over an open fire (even if it was just things like hot dogs), so they helped the children; Ratiri and Lorna each sat with a twin on their lap, holding the sticks for them. Saoirse seemed fascinated with watching hers drip as it cooked, and Lorna, who had apparently been spending way too much time around Earlene, wondered just how much fat was in the damn thing. She was fairly certain neither twin could handle a whole hotdog, so she would cut them in half -- if the other half went uneaten, Thanadir could munch on it. It would not have been chewed on.

 

Ratiri was absolutely starving. He’d known rowing would be hard work, but even he hadn’t realized _how_ hard. He hadn’t done it since he was a kid, and back then his dad had done most of it. He’d let Saoirse try; once she got the hang of it, she did pretty well, but she also couldn’t row very far before she tired.

 

Sharley didn't seem bothered by it at all, but once he actually took a good look at the woman, he realized she was not as bony as they’d thought: like Lorna, she was wiry, but was actually pretty well-muscled. Add in the fact that she hiked regularly and he realized he shouldn’t be surprised she’d have such stamina.

 

Earlene took over the s’mores, having insisted that aluminum foil and two cookie sheets be part of their supplies. Graham crackers were neatly laid out in squares on the foil-protected pans, each with a suitable piece of Hershey’s chocolate on top. A section of quarter-squares was done for the smaller children, since the odds of a three year-old successfully navigating an ordinary size s’more into their mouths were on par with lightning striking their campground. All was arranged so that each person only had to take their marshmallow to the tray, slide it off the stick, and enjoy. Insofar as that would be possible, given that all of them were rather spoiled on European milk chocolate.

 

Thanadir hovered anxiously until Earlene reassured him that Sharley had bought warehouse-sized boxes of chocolate bars, and that their vacation would not suffer a lack of these for the duration. The old elf gratefully squeezed her shoulder and went to help little Thaladir roast his marshmallow; he was struggling a little as the fire was still burning quite hot. Lothiriel and Maerwen were giggling continuously; some contest was going between them about who could get their marshmallow to melt completely without turning brown. _Elves_.

 

Lorna, naturally, burned hers to a lovely blackened crisp and peeled off the burnt outer layer, though Pat rolled his eyes. He at least could appreciate the nice golden brown of a well-toasted marshmallow, but Lorna seemed to actually _like_ the bits of burnt crap that lingered. Fortunately, Saoirse seemed to be more in his camp when it came to being a s’mores connoisseur.

 

Sharley showed Allanah how to do it, just as she had shown Marty years ago, sitting the kid on her lap. The firelight made her hair glow, her little face set in concentration as she carefully turned the stick. She wished that the two little girls could have met; they’d probably have been friends.

 

“So many stars,” Ratiri said, glancing upward. It had been like that when he was a boy, living in rural Scotland, but now, even out in an Irish village, it wasn’t the same. Too much light pollution, even with the city so far away. “You can forget, sometimes, how vast the universe is, when you can’t see it properly over your head.”

 

Because Earlene was Earlene, she had Google Sky on her phone, and was sharing it with Thranduil and Thanadir to find the names of the constellations. “Wilwarin,” Thanadir pointed out, not needing to look.

 

“Cassiopeia,” countered Earlene.

 

“It looks like a Wilwarin,” Thanadir shot back. “What does a cassiopeia look like?”

 

“It doesn’t, it is the name of a mythological person. A woman.”

 

“Well then, I am sticking to it being a butterfly,” the seneschal said with reverence. “Those were among the first stars our Lady Elbereth placed in the sky.”

 

Earlene looked up and for the first time wondered. How did the Valar, which she understood were quite real, reconcile with modern astronomy? _Heck if I know_ , she thought. _But honestly, I’d rather think what Thanadir does. It feels nicer. And maybe some day I’ll have an answer to all of that…_

 

Thranduil listened in on all of this and smiled, just enjoying the view. The stars were dimmer, compared to when he was young. But they were beautiful nevertheless, and in the dense canopy of their forest home there were no places in which to enjoy such a sight. Unless, of course, one felt like climbing a tree. He felt relaxed, and happy.

 

Lorna had been quite wise, and put the twins in a pair of old shirts that could handle having marshmallow all over them, and kept some baby-wipes on hand to wipe off sticky fingers and faces. “So, I was looking in the caravan park earlier,” she said, “when I took a walk. There’s number plates from all over the country here. I’ve never been anywhere that could draw so many people, from all around the world, but Yellowstone’s pretty bloody unique.”

 

“Aunt Sharley says she fought a fire here in nineteen-eighty-eight,” Saoirse piped up, wiping off her mouth. “I guess she’s like an old person.”

 

“Hush, you,” Sharley said. “I know where you sleep, and I'm tall enough to hold you upside down by the ankle.”

 

“I’d let her,” Pat added. “Never talk about a lady’s age.” That she was potentially around as old as he was was weird, but not unduly so; Lorna looked pretty damn young for her age, as did Earlene. And while Earlene had probably had fancy face creams and stuff, Lorna hadn’t, and she still looked like she was in the neighborhood of thirty-five.

 

Earlene heard the child’s words and Thranduil groaned silently. The data sorter otherwise known as his wife’s brain flared to life, analyzed and filed the new preliminary conclusions faster than he could exhale. _Eru, next to nothing escapes her notice._ It was very fortunate that he was not prone to anything that she could consider an objectionable vice, or he would be doomed to the point where Life with Námo would be an improvement. And on this one, he had to be certain. _Meluieg, you know to remain silent, on this?_ He asked in tones of hopefulness.

 

_I always remain silent in the face of disturbing information requiring further supporting data, husband. That you wish for this only cements that conclusion._

 

_I can see your hypotheses, and it is especially those I do not wish ever uttered aloud._

 

 _We may be in Yellowstone, but you are still my King._ Her mental tone was laced with humor, and told him what he needed to hear.

 

_Thank you._

 

Thranduil now watched with interest as an illuminated object sailed through the air. _What the--_?

 

Ratiri’s eyes widened. He’d lit his marshmallow on fire, and had _intended_ to simply shake the stick to put it out. This, however, was quite a green stick, and rather more flexible than he’d thought -- as a result, his relatively gentle shaking sent the flaming thing flying, soaring through the air in a bright arc behind him --

 

Earlene was completely startled by the movement in her peripheral vision and saw what appeared to be something flaming blue land on Thanadir. Reacting on pure instinct she swatted at it with her open hand, hard. Only to realize, she had just smashed a burning and fully liquefied marshmallow into the seneschal’s hair. “I….uh…” Pulling her hand back resulted in tendrils of marshmallow sort of stretching and… “Oh dear. Your poor hair...I am sorry!”

 

The elf looked down at the gooey mess that now decorated hand, t shirt, and his long hair, and shook his head. “You probably saved my hair from burning, so, do not apologize. The real question is, why did one fall out of the sky?” He was more amused than anything else, though he was mustering a stern look for what he guessed was the errant child who had flung the thing.

 

Lorna watched the marshmallow with horror, and yet some deep, irreverent part of her thought, _It wasn’t me! For once, it wasn’t me!_ Thanadir -- all that lovely hair -- she would straight-up murder anyone who did that to her hair. Thought of cutting and of that beautiful brown actually made her cringe.

 

“Oops,” Sharley said. “Hang on a minute, kiddo,” she added, setting Allanah on the ground. “Thanadir, don’t move. I’ve got some peanut butter in case of just this problem. It’s a messy solution, but it means nothing’ll have to get cut off.” She’d been entirely sure this would happen at least once, though she’d thought it would be to a child.

 

Earlene simply wondered why it could not be eaten off. His hair was quite long. Experimentally she grabbed the affected section, because before anything else it was necessary to consume the mess on her own hand. _Shit. Why did marshmallows have to be so weird?_ It rapidly became apparent that this might require both solutions. Sharley returned to them to find Earlene diligently sucking on a strand of the elf’s hair while Thranduil tried to wipe her hand clean. What Earlene did not see was that the Elvenking was shaking with laughter he was desperately trying not to set free.

 

Sharley did a slight double- take, because of all the things she had never thought she’d see, this had to rank pretty high on the list. “Well, that’s one way of handling it,” she said, opening the jar and peeling back the paper. “Lorna, was that you or a kid?”

 

“Neither,” Lorna said; she was having rather less success than Thranduil at containing her laughter.

 

Ratiri glowered at her, wishing she wasn’t so willing to throw him under the bus. At the same time, he knew he ought to just own up to it. “No, that was me,” he sighed, eying the gooey end of his stick. “This thing was a bit more bendy than I’d anticipated, and inertia did its work.”

 

Lorna utterly gave up, snickering helplessly. “That’s what she said.”

 

Ratiri closed his eyes in silent pain, but Pat joined his sister in laughter before he could help it. Mercifully, Saoirse didn't seem to pick up on the meaning of that.

 

Sharley’s eyes widened, because there was another thing she’d never have expected. She kept that observation to herself, though, and busied herself slathering peanut butter into Thanadir’s hair. “I know this looks weird, but the oils in the peanut butter’ll break down the stickiness.”

 

 _Dawn dish soap_ , Earlene thought, having done all she could. Thanadir’s eyes danced with amusement. “We will get you a clean shirt, I can wash that.”

 

“It will be fine, meldis.” He shrugged. “I like peanut butter.” When Sharley was done, he simply took his own hair and started sucking on it like Earlene had done. Thranduil walked off, making what sounded disturbingly like muffled sobbing noises. Earlene was not about to ask. And of bloody course, Lorna was snapping pictures. “Ow,” she groused, unhappy with the camera flash.

 

“I really am sorry, Thanadir,” Ratiri said. Yes, it seemed to be more a subject of amusement than anything else, but still. The fact remained that there was marshmallow goo in the poor Elf’s hair, and it was his fault.

 

Lorna had done her best to master her laughter, but she wasn’t making a terribly good job of it; there were still moments she sounded a bit like a quietly dying seal, because honestly, for once _it wasn’t her._ It was _always_ her, but not this time. She had to savor that a little, terrible though it was to do so. That something negative could happen that wasn’t actually her fault in any way...it was a rarity, and she would enjoy it. Sue her.

 

“I am fine, Ratiri. Do not worry. It was an accident. I am only glad that I will not need to cut it. But even if I did, it would grow again. Go enjoy your s’mores,” he smiled. Honestly, if this was the worst thing that happened camping, it would be an unqualified success.

  
Ratiri felt rather bad nonetheless, simply because he was not prone to mistakes of this nature. The fact that Lorna was still giggling helped not a whit, and he was rather relieved when she jumped up to take a walk.

 

“Look at it this way, Uncle Ratiri,” Saoirse said, busily assembling her second s’more. “This’ll probably be like, the one thing that’ll go wrong that’s your fault. It’s never you.”

 

“Somehow,” he said, eying the stick and wondering if he should give it another go, “that does not help.”

 

“Ratiri, it was a marshmallow, not vascular surgery. You’re not really allowed to have a worse perfectionist complex than I do. The campsite can’t handle it,” Earlene teased. “Besides, tomorrow will be a busy day. You’re going to need your strength, not to lose your temper at all the stuff you’ll see every eejit in the Park doing.”

 

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Good point. Though speaking of eejits, it’s possible we want to give Lorna a drink first, or I’m not sure what she’ll do the first time she sees some wanker try to lead their child off the path.” He was perfectly content to let any idiotic adults earn their Darwin Awards -- though preferably _not_ in front of the children -- but any fool like the man who told his children to pet a buffalo might well get murdered by his wife. At least he would only take the children away.

 

“Might want one myself,” Pat muttered. He did not have his sister’s temper, no, but he was a father, and one who would not take kindly to watching someone endanger their own children.

 

“Unfortunately, and I mean this quite seriously, do what it takes to get a grip,” Earlene said in the nicest way possible. “This isn’t Ireland. Lay a finger on someone else or their child, and you will be arrested and jailed for assault and battery. It is very much the right of every person in this nation to be a complete eejit. The only time it is safe to intervene is when something has already happened or is inevitably about to happen. Like, you can swipe a kid away from a charging bison, but you can’t get in a fight with dad because he just sent the kid within ten feet of one. You can only use words. I’m going to hate it just as much as you are, but it’s part of being here. There is too much Stupid in America to hope to contain. It’s like oxygen; it’s everywhere. You can kill yourself trying to bottle it all up, and you’ll accomplish nothing whatsoever.”

 

Ratiri had known the assault laws in America were rather more ridiculous than in Scotland, but Pat blinked. “You’ve got to stand by and watch some gob -- some eejit endanger their kid, you’ll get arrested? What kind’v bloody country is this?”

 

“There is a reason Americans tend to top the list for Darwin Awards,” Ratiri said. “It is in fact their right to be completely stupid. Though if Lorna sees someone trying to put their child on a buffalo, at the very least she will verbally flay them. And I can’t promise I wouldn’t help.” He laughed. “At least nobody will be likely to understand her, if she does yell. They won’t know how badly they're being insulted.”

 

Earlene snorted.“Oh, they will, because I’ll help. Pat, here’s the irony. Freedom of Speech is protected in America; it’s one of our most sacred rights. You can put out any form of verbal abuse you want--though I strongly recommend that it not be based on race, religion or gender--and there is nothing anyone can do about it. You just can’t be physical. It’s far better to take a video, get the license plate of their car, and to turn them over to Child Protective Services. There is still a way to cause people big trouble here, it’s just not as satisfying as punching someone.”

 

That seemed utterly arse-backwards to Pat, but hey, they were practically on the other side of the world. “In that case,” he said, shaking his head, “I pity whatever poor bastard might be stupid enough to set us all off.”

 

“Come to think of it, so do I,” Earlene mused. “I still have my legal license here, and god if I don’t have the ability to call in about a thousand favors.  I just try to remind myself, I’m on vacation.” With a disturbing smile, she started cleaning up the wrappers and whatnot; the children were clearly sugar-bombed into comas.

 

Well, that was...unsettling. Pat had decided long ago that Earlene was not a good woman to cross, and that impression just deepened as time went on. Unlike him or Lorna, her vengeance was likely to be far more underhanded.

 

“Well, I’ll make certain my mobile is charged,” Ratiri said. “I know Lorna will want approximately eight thousand pictures. Her scrapbooking is getting slightly terrifying, and yet I know we’ll be glad of it later.”

 

“Da, can I make one for this trip?” Saoire asked, wiping at her sticky face with baby wipes.

 

“Of course you can. We’ll get you all the stuff we we get home.”

 

Everyone smiled and nodded when Earlene suggested sleeping arrangements for all of them. The problem was the adult to child ratio (not to mention gender distribution). There were a limited number of adult-sized beds, but in the end the problem was solved by Maerwen and Sharley agreeing to share a loft bunk. This gave the three married couples the bedrooms with the doors, and in theory left Pat and Thanadir their own lofts in privacy. While the occupants of Starbase Three felt mildly guilty for the deception, it also allowed for no one to notice if Thanadir joined Earlene and Thranduil for a time. However, at least the first night, the senescal wanted to sleep out where the children would be. Thaladir and the twins would stay in that same vehicle, and in the end it worked out that Thanadir took his son to the loft with him. Sharley, Maerwen, Saoirse, Allanah and Lothiriel and Ortherion staked out Base Station Two. Everyone was comfortable, everyone had a nice spot with warm cozy blankets.

 

Earlene had of course policed their campsite before retiring, ensuring that all their burnables...burned. At some point Thranduil came to join her, sitting down and enjoying the warm glow as each new paper plate went up in flames. “Are you feeling recovered from your humor?” she asked him with a smirk.

 

“I am. Forgive me, Earlene, but I have lived a long time, and never expected to see my wife sucking on Thanadir’s hair. I never expected to see anyone or anything, sucking on Thanadir’s hair. It was very funny.”

 

“Well, when you say it that way, I suppose I cannot blame you. It all must have been very...stuffy and formal, for both of you,” she said softly. “Did you never have things to just laugh at?”

 

“Maybe a little,” he chuckled. “My steward, Galion. He was rather fond of wine. Fonder even than I. I need not tell you that Thanadir found it unseemly, and then the time the dwarves escaped because he was drunker than a Lord…I never told this to Galion or Thanadir, but after I made a show of being incensed at what had happened, I returned to my rooms and laughed so hard I cried. You could say, I had my moments.”

 

“I am glad to know that, somehow. Even if we do take our job to keep you immersed in the Ridiculous very seriously.”

 

He gestured all around him. “The last Elvenking of Ennor, camping in Yellowstone. I would say you have succeeded, and I am so very grateful.” With a chaste kiss that held a great deal of love, they held hands and made their way inside to help their children get ready for sleep.

 

*****

 

Though Ratiri had been smart and taken some ibuprofen before he went to bed, he still woke up with his back and his arms screaming in protest. And here he’d deluded himself into thinking he was in some kind of shape. Though to be entirely fair, rowing did use a few muscles even swordsmanship did not.

 

He winced as he rose to take more ibuprofen, and Lorna, bless her, smeared Tiger Balm all over his back and down to his hands. The stuff stank to high heaven, but there was no denying its effectiveness. By the time they had the twins up and dressed, he felt much better -- though he was bringing the jar with them, just in case.

 

Lorna opened the door long enough to realize that June or no June, it was very cold right now -- which wasn’t too surprising, given their altitude. It meant she made sure the twins had their coats on before she took them out to the toilets.

 

“Why’s it cold, Mam?” Chandra asked, her breath foggy in the air.

 

“Because we’re very, very high up,” Lorna said. “Much higher than we are at home.” At least, if they were taking the caravans from place to place, they wouldn’t be lugging around all these heavy clothes once the heat soared.

 

Pat, bleary-eyed, put on water for tea and mixed up some instant porridge, with blueberries today. Lorna and Ratiri took their twins to eat outside, cold or no cold, but he wasn’t setting foot out except to run to the toilets.

 

Saoirse, naturally, was already running around, but at least she was doing it quietly. Had he ever had that much energy? Probably, but if so, he didn't remember.

 

Morning...things were marshalled soon enough. It was agreed that they would leave their camp chairs at the two sites from which they were removing the RVs as an announcement of occupancy to the world; they would cram eight people in each vehicle in order to ‘day trip’ around the park. Rogue One would stay put. “Next stop Mammoth Hot Springs,” Earlene announced with all the organization of a Camp Counselor. “One and a half hours’ travel, fifty miles on the Grand Loop Road. All aboard,” she smiled.

 

Ratiri made sure everything was completely organized inside Base Station Two before they set off, so that there would be as much room as was actually possible for everyone. The kids squashed themselves into the loft bed except for Saoirse, who squeezed into the kitchen table seat where she could see out the window. Maerwen was his navigator, while Lorna and Pat had the sofa. He was taking the wheel on this one, given the road ahead; while the Elves had vastly superior reflexes, they also had far less experience, which had made him a touch uncomfortable.

 

The scenery meandered by, with Earlene navigating for Thranduil. Part of this was the same road they had traveled in on, and after most of the first hour was elapsed they were headed north of their original turnoff into new visual territory. She pointed out the Norris Geyser Basin, somewhere they would spend their last day in the Park. There were plumes of steam visible in the distance and landscapes that seemed so strange compared to Ireland. But not as strange as their destination. They passed what looked like a blasted area; the soil (if that is indeed what it was) was all in greys, whites, spattered with the occasional brown. They pulled into the parking lot under the warmth of the morning sun with an assortment of trail...walkways? Nearby. Eru be praised, there were maps, and they picked up some to borrow.

 

“We walk, apparently. Everyone stays on the walkways, all the time, no exceptions,” Thranduil intoned. When in doubt, have a King act king-y. “Everyone that needs it, hats, sunscreen and water to drink. We will leave in five minutes; anyone who needs a toilet can use the ones in the RV.”

 

“Flush,” Lorna emphasized.

 

“What she said,” Earlene added.

 

Lorna, being smart, took care of certain other business while she was in there. She had more tampons in her satchel, and if she had to use Ratiri has a screen to deal with the next one later...eh, she was not averse. There didn't seem to be many people about yet, fortunately. She made the twins go, too, even though they insisted they didn't have to. “There won’t be any walking off the trail to do your business behind a bush,” she said, “so let’s get it out’v the way now.”

 

Sharley had to help her apply sunscreen correctly to Chandra; out of all of them, she was the only one who’d ever done that to a slightly squirmy child. Their canteens were already filled, and Lorna and Ratiri both had their child harnesses, just in case. The sunblock went in Saoirse’s daypack, also just in case; Pat’s held canteens.

 

Fortunately, it was not nearly so cold outside now that the sun was properly up, so the twins and Lorna went out with light hoodies. Ratiri didn't even bother; he just had a flannel. Even out here, before they’d reached anything like a hot spring, the landscape looked rather alien. It wasn’t just the distant mountains, it was the ratio of open land to trees; most of Ireland, outside of a proper forest, was fairly open. It had been logged and tamed years ago, and even the woods around the Halls didn't seem like...like wilderness, in the way that Yellowstone felt. Somehow, the sky seemed bluer, too, though she suspected that was the altitude.

 

Lothiriel held Eleniel’s hand while they walked along the wooden walkways, which she understood where there because the ground underfoot in this area might not be ground at all. They called it ‘crust’, apparently. She found herself shaking her shaking her head a great deal, and the child noticed.

 

“What’s wrong, ‘Thir? You don’t like it here?”

 

“I have never seen anything like this,” the elleth admitted. “And it feels strange. Our woods are green, and smell of the trees. Even long ago, when there was once a great fire, the earth did not look so strange.”

 

“I dunno,” said the Peredhel. “Nana says everything here is made by boiling water under the earth. I think it all looks like boiled eggs, don’t you? It’s white, and…” she trailed off, searching for a suitable adjective. “It kinda smells like eggs, too? Like the time that Rîniel missed an egg that got into Buttercup’s stall and Ada Thanadir found it bubbling in the kitchen?”

 

Lothiriel laughed like the tinkling of bells, because honestly, the little elleth had a point. _Why not?_ She lifted Eleniel into her arms. Not that she was tired, but the view was better from a higher vantage point.

 

“Weird. Maybe it isn’t eggs. Maybe it’s more like, someone wanted to make a bath like the one in Adar Thranduil’s rooms, but they forgot to stop.”

 

This only caused Lothiriel to laugh harder, as they continued their stroll into this strange, strange place.

 

Thranduil could not help but chuckle, and share his daughter’s insights to his wife and seneschal. All of them fought down smiles.

 

 _Dammit_ , thought Earlene. _Hardboiled eggs may just have been ruined_.

 

Lorna, of course, brought out her mobile, snapping pictures one-handed while Chandra held the other. She could feel the heat of the ground beneath the walkway, which was downright bizarre, but it was when they approached the springs themselves that she paused.

 

“Holy shit,” Saoirse stage-whispered. “It’s like being on the moon, if the moon was boiling.”

 

The kid wasn’t far wrong. The springs were terraced, forming what looked like natural, uneven stairsteps, that were indeed as pale as the moon. The water within them was perfectly flat, reflecting the morning sunlight, steaming away. There were subtle streaks of red in places, too -- probably iron, or something like that.

 

“Why’s it like that, Da?” Saoirse asked. Pat, of course, had not done his homework, and this he couldn’t answer.

 

“Because this part of the world has never stopped forming,” Ratiri said. “Yellowstone is rather unique in its level of geological activity. There are hot springs all over the world, but many of them are now deep underground.” He lifted Shane up onto his shoulders, which only made Chandra scowl; sitting up on Mam’s shoulders wouldn’t make her go very high.

 

Maerwen, bless her, did what Lorna just wasn’t able to -- she picked up Chandra, giving her a bird’s-eye view over the railing.

 

“We are here because this place is unique in all the world,” Earlene added. “There are other places where heat underground has caused unusual activity on the surface, but there is nowhere else where there is so much of it to see in a single area. Not to mention the forests, valleys and wildlife. Most places, the surface of the earth has settled down. Not Yellowstone.”

 

“How could they build all these paths, if the ground underneath isn’t solid?” Saoirse asked, peering through the cracks in the walkway.”

 

“Very carefully,” Ratiri said. “And they have to constantly monitor them, to make certain the ground beneath hasn’t shifted. They’ll close anything that isn’t safe until it can be assessed and repaired.”

 

That sounded like a hell of a lot of work, and she wondered how many people actually worked here. Probably a bunch.

 

The springs were everywhere, and apparently they came in multiple colors -- they saw some that were orange, and some that were red. Saoirse peppered Ratiri with endless questions, but at least he had answers for most of them.

 

“Cor, how’d you like to live here?” Lorna asked Pat. “Can you even imagine it? Working here must be a dream. I can only wonder how many people apply every year.” Ireland was beautiful, and the forest around the Halls even more so, but this...no hand had tamed this. Aside from these walkways, the springs had probably been bubbling and shifting for ten thousand years, if not longer.

 

“Don’t I wish.” In fact, a thought occurred to him, one he’d speak to Sharley about later. For now, he’d leave it.

 

Thranduil raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Like usual. They moved the vehicles a little closer to their next destination for the likely benefit of the children. At the Visitor Center, which was part of the historic Fort Yellowstone, each child was told that once they went inside the Center, they could each choose a souvenir. Cup, pen, shirt, hat, didn’t matter, but only one per person. This would keep them excitedly surveying the possibilities for some time, while the adults did the same. When they all emerged outside, Thaladir called out excitedly. “Nana! Look! Elk to hunt!”

 

Horrified glances from other tourists were directed at her son, but she smiled and went to him, pleading with her husband. _A little help, here?_ The poor boy had no way of knowing about...how most people viewed that. Earlene wanted him to be proud of his activities with Ailill and his hounds.

 

Thranduil scooped up his son. “They are beautiful, with a great deal of meat,” he said approvingly. “But can you see what the problem is?” They walked inside, while the boy considered the question at length, trying very hard.

 

The fingers went in the mouth, and the frown arrived, as did Thanadir. They gave him a moment longer, to consider, but in the end he had to shake his head. “They are just sitting here, my son,” Thanadir said softly. “To take animals in this way is not hunting, it is butchering. They are tame, accustomed to the presence of people. And also, this is not our forest, so it is not lawful for us to hunt here. I am very proud of you, for knowing an elk from a deer.” He ruffled the child’s head, to see the happiness return, and the little arms reached for Thanadir.

 

“Perverts,” muttered a passer-by in the aisle all too audibly, at seeing the ellyn exchange who held the boy. For a brief moment Thranduil tensed, then decided to let it go. Nothing and no one here was worth it, in the end. But it saddened him to know, this sickness of intolerance was not limited to Ireland.

 

“Oi, fuck off, you gobshite!” Lorna called after her. “I bet your snatch is dry as the bloody Saraha.”

 

The woman, fortunately, didn't seem to have understood anything more than ‘fuck off’, but she looked absolutely scandalized, and hurried off.

 

Ratiri tried not to laugh. He really, really did, but it was no good; his shoulders were shaking with the effort, and eventually he just let it out. Setting Shane down, he shook his head. “Mo chroí, you are a terrible example to the children.”

 

“No I’m not,” she retorted. “I’d hope any’v them’d tell off some bigot when they’re older. People like that shouldn’t be allowed out in public. You can’t let shite like that stand, or they’ll think they can get away with it.”

 

“Can I?” Saoirse asked eagerly.

 

“I said _when you’re older_ ,” Lorna said firmly. “Once you’re past eighteen.”

 

Well, dammit. That would take _forever_. Eight years was ages.

 

Thranduil met Lorna’s eyes from across the room, and dipped his head in thanks. He had taken Thanadir with him immediately across the store, not wishing his sensitive son to have to bear the knowledge of the exchange. There would come a time when Thaladir would have to learn about these realities, but it would not be before even his third birthday.

 

“I’m getting a refrigerator magnet,” the little boy said proudly, displaying the photograph of the garish Grand Prismatic Spring affixed to a magnet. Personally, Thranduil though it looked like the damned Eye of Sauron, but only smiled and lifted his son up to cover his cheek in kisses.

 

Someplace called Apollinaris Spring was on their way back; a quiet picnic area with tables and a place to eat lunch. They pulled in, and Thanadir decided to stretch his legs and see what was available, exactly. Sometimes the pictures were not worth a thousand words, he had learned. He walked around a copse of trees to see a grassy area with tables, and an extremely large bison bull who appeared to be napping with his head resting on the picnic table greeted his eyes. The seneschal cleared his throat. This seemed unacceptable. Not to mention, unsanitary. A lazy eye opened as the animal flicked at flies with its tail. “Shoo.” He had read about their physical capabilities, and already knew both his own speed as well as the location of the nearest tree. “ _Shoo!_ ” he said with more emphasis, clapping at the bovine.

 

With a look of disgusted annoyance, the creature slowly turned, and emptied its bowels exactly eight inches from the edge of the tabletop before sauntering off. Earlene had come up behind her meldir, and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Well, that certainly was effective,” she deadpanned. “Good work.”

 

Thanadir closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Eru.”

 

*****

 

The next day found Lorna and Earlene sharing one of their few (but great) commonalities. Earlene’s eyes darted to her friend, and she launched her best imitation. “Smeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellll baaaaaaaaaaaad.” And sure god if the geothermal feature did not obligingly respond with a few ominous noises and blurps, even if they were not strictly fart-like in tone.

 

Lorna laughed so hard that the few people nearest looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Unable to resist it, she aided blurping mud with a rather more accurate farting sound, which only made Ratiri roll his eyes, trying to suppress a smile.

 

“Oh bloody God, no,” Pat groaned. “Don’t start---”

 

“You remind me of the babe,” she said, fixing him with a baleful eye as the mud blurped and blepped behind her. The sun was hot, and she felt like being a little shit.

 

Earlene somehow, somehow dropped her voice an octave. “The babe with the power.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened in alarm. _Sweet Valar, not here…_

 

Somehow, Lorna managed not to cackle. “What power?”

 

Sharley gave up, dissolving into silent laughter. “The power of voodoo,” she supplied.

“Who do?” Earlene tossed back to Lorna.

 

“You do.”

 

“Do what?”

 

Sharley, laughing openly now, finished it off. “Remind me of the babe.”

 

Thanadir moved in for the kill. “Stop,” he said quietly, but with a look of complete earnestness. “Or I teach all the children ‘It’s a Small World After All.’”

 

Earlene and Lorna looked at him, and then each other, with Earlene’s shoulders slumping in defeat. “Party pooper,” she growled quietly.

 

Oh, Lorna had him and he didn't know it. Only Pat would know it, though Earlene and Sharley could surely guess. “Chonaic mé mo leanbh, ag caoineadh go crua mar a d'fhéadfadh babe caoineadh. Cad is féidir liom a dhéanamh? Bhí grá mo leanbh imithe, agus d'fhág mo leanbh gorm. Ní raibh a fhios ag aon duine.."” she sang, and actually tipped Earlene a wink.  _I saw my baby, crying hard as babe could cry. What could I do? My baby's love had gone, and left my baby blue. Nobody knew Hey,_ the air was stinky and she still kind of had cramps, she’d do what she wanted.

 

Pat, the bastard, doubled over laughing, until Saoirse slapped him on the back a few times. She did not yet know enough Irish to understand Aunt Lorna, but she guessed it was something unfortunate.

 

The seneschal’s eyes narrowed, but as he could not strictly understand, he was forced to let it go. Though, ever since the Cinnamon Roll Episode, he had had his suspicions. Either way, he had doubtless just averted something every child would otherwise be imitating for hours.

 

Thranduil, in the meantime, watched the fetid, bubbling mass before him in morbid fascination. It looked like a device of Morgoth, yet was strangely mesmerizing. Thanadir sidled up next to him. “Not since we housed the dwarves in your dungeon, have I smelled the like,” he said primly.

 

He shook with laughter, which was not the reaction Thanadir was expecting. Ithiliel tugged at the legs of his jeans. “Adar, what is so funny?” He whisked her into his arms.

 

“All of it, iellig. The Valar must have a sense of humor, to bring such things into the world.”

 

“But Adar, it smells like the toilet after Thaladir has--”

 

“Shhh,” he corrected his daughter, smiling. “Let us be kind.”

 

She giggled.

 

Ratiri decided it was high time to distract his giggling wife. At least the Midol seemed to be working. “A very important bacterium was discovered in Yellowstone,” he said, mainly to Saoirse.

 

“What’s it do?” she asked, wondering if her aunt had gone temporarily mad.

 

“It allows scientists to detect the DNA of things that make you sick,” he said. “It’s called PCR testing.” The actual molecular chemistry would go sailing right over her head, so he kept it simple. “If you only have a little bit of the bad organism, you can use this bacterium to grow a lot of it, very fast, and save a lot of time that would otherwise be wasted.”

 

“Huh,” Saoirse said, for want of anything better. “And they found it here?”

 

“Indeed they did.”

 

“You know what else?” Earlene added. “They only found it a very short time ago. That was because, bacteria aren’t supposed to be able to live in boiling water. So because everyone accepted that that was truth, no one thought to look. Until someone didn’t care what anyone else thought, and asked the question to check it out anyway. One of the biggest advances in disease prevention since antibiotics, all because someone had the brains to ask what was supposed to be a stupid question. Remember that, Saoirse. There are no stupid questions, and people who say there are, are not the ones who ever matter in this world.”

 

The girl turned this over thoughtfully, but so did Lorna. Her own childhood had certainly made her believe otherwise; she’d forcibly forgot most of her school career, such as it was, for a reason.

 

But the sun blazed hot, and the mud smelled, and the shade of the trees ahead was calling. She and the twins drifted toward it, and she took a pull off her canteen. She’d actually been smart and soaked her hair before they set out, so at least her scalp wasn’t sweating to death. It was so much easier for the sun to hit the ground in this odd, sparse forest, and that in itself seemed strange to her. In Ireland, there were trees, or there weren’t. It wasn’t like these patches that could dot otherwise empty terrain.  They walked onto the Dragon Mouth Spring (which stank worthy of Glaurung) and then came to a...what did one call it, exactly? It was a smallish lake, but a color that Earlene would describe as ‘seafoam green.’  Nothing here, apparently could be remotely normal. At the end of the long loop trail was a mud geyser, which also seemed self explanatory. And yet not two hundred feet across the highway ran the cool and clear Yellowstone river. _It feels like one ought to somehow leak into the other,_ she thought, even while knowing that things here did not work in such a manner.

 

The children were to a one showing evidence of having inhaled enough hydrogen sulfide for the day, so they would now drive a distance down the road to look at Hayden Valley, and the vast numbers of animals that made this place a home.

 

Lorna gratefully sat back in the caravan’s glorious air conditioning, fanning herself with a paper pamphlet they’d picked up God knew where. She was happy to let Pat drive this leg, while she took a few more ibuprofen and ate a piece of bread. At least the Communists hadn’t showed up in horrible force this time.

 

Hayden Valley, she discovered, looked almost like something you’d find in Ireland, save for the heat and the mountains beyond. Since it was spring, the grass was very green, especially beside the wide, lazy river, that had --

 

“Holy shit, you lot, look out the window,” she said, wide-eyed. “There’s fucking _Buffalo_.”

 

“I hope they’re not actually fucking,” Ratiri said dryly, but moved to peer out beside her. Obviously the animals were gigantic in photographs, but seeing one in relief actually hammered that point home. They looked so placid, too, eating the grass and ignoring the light traffic, but he knew they would gore a person to death if angered.

 

“They look like they’re covered in carpet,” Saoirse said, fascinated. “That shaggy weird carpet from the 80’s.”

 

Lorna snorted. The kid really did have a way with words.

 

After reminding the children that the bison could run faster than they could possibly imagine, and never to approach them no matter what anyone else here did, they all exited the vehicles after finding a spot to pull over and watch. Earlene was almost sad that they had left all the chairs back at camp. She debated, whether or not to tell another story. And figured, _why not_. As she spoke, those of their family that stood at a little distance moved closer to hear her. “So about four hundred years ago, there were so many bison that the plains were blackened with them. It is estimated that twenty-five to thirty million of these animals covered the plains, the grasslands, of what would one day become America. The ground could shake as if with an earthquake, were anyone near enough to experience their running in a stampede. You can see, how powerfully they are built. The native peoples, the ones who lived here before white Europeans came to this land, hunted them and relied on them for food and clothing and shelter. From halfway into Mexico, to almost the northernmost reaches of Canada, they covered the land. By the end of the 1880s, there were less than one hundred of these animals remaining. What happened to the forests of Ireland is also the story of the American bison. However, the only area in the entire country where a wild bison herd remained is right here. Yellowstone. Twenty-three of them survived, and you are looking at their descendants.”

 

“How did they not inbreed themselves into extinction?” Ratiri asked, fascinated. A hundred animals was nowhere near enough to sustain a viable population.

 

“Mam, what’s a European?” Shane asked.

 

“Us, partly,” Lorna said. “Your gran and my gran came from far away in the other direction.”

 

“Why did they do it, Aunt Earlene?” Saoirse was deeply troubled by that. Why would anyone kill that many of these big things? She’d think that a single one could feel a whole family for like a month.

 

“Greed,” she said softly. “Money. They killed them for the leather that could be made from their hides, and left them to rot in the sun. Later they would collect the bones, to grind them up for fertilizer. There was also the expansion of the railroads, but mostly it was the commercial hunters. You have to understand, it was hard to make a living back then. A very good quality hide could sell for fifty dollars, at a time when you could do backbreaking work all day and hope to earn only a single dollar. The story of how America was established is in many ways tragic. We accomplished great things, and we destroyed what we had no right to, in order to do it.”

 

The girl considered this, looking at those big, placid beasts. “Early Americans were dicks,” she pronounced. “Then again, weren’t a bunch’v Americans originally English? ’Cause that’d explain it.”

 

Pat groaned. “While you’re not _entirely_ wrong, you shouldn’t say things like that.”

 

“They killed a bunch’v these walking carpets and left them there,” she said. “Dicks.”

 

Earlene looked down at Saoirse, hesitating. But the truth needed to be said. “They were the descendants of the English, Saoirse. _And_ the Irish, and the Germans. And the French, and even some of the native American tribes participated. No one people did this. America is a melting pot. We are a nation of _everyone_ ; just…people. People did that. And what country their parents came from did not matter one whit.”

 

“So...everyone was just a dick?” Saoirse hazarded. “Because that’s a horrible thing to do. You should only kill something if you’re going to eat it.” She’d learned that much from Ailill’s lessons with Thaladir. They killed chickens and stuff, too, at the house, but it was because they were going to eat them. They didn't just use part of it and throw the good stuff away.

 

“If this interests you, we will learn more about it, when we return home. The thing is, it is in everyone’s nature to wish to find someone or something to blame. Sometimes, though rarely, there really is just one evil, just one sort of person ‘being a dick’, as you say. But almost always, it isn’t that simple. The reasons why the bison were killed fill pages, books. It wasn’t only that one person wanted to make a bunch of money. It was thousands of people. Maybe tens of thousands. It was beliefs, and attitudes at the time. That is why it is so important to think, so very carefully, about what we accept as being true. As much as we would like it to be, life is rarely simple. Sometimes we say, “black and white”, to talk about how there is a clear division between two different ways of looking at things. Life is really made up of shades of grey. And your Aunt Earlene is talking too much. Let’s enjoy the bison,” she smiled, rubbing Saoirse’s shoulder affectionately.

 

They really did look like big walking carpets, and Saoirse wondered if there would be any way to ship some to Ireland. They probably wouldn’t like it there, though. “They don’t seem to care about the cars at all.”

 

“They’re probably used to them, by now,” Lorna said. “I saw pictures on Google of them just sitting in the middle of the road, stalling traffic. If a bison’s in the way, it gets to stay in the way. But...how _did_ they not inbreed to death? Ratiri said you need around five thousand, minimum. Otherwise they ought to have weird mutations, assuming they came to term at all.”

 

“Look,” Thanadir said quietly. “Far in the distance. Wolves.”

 

Thranduil turned his gaze, as did all the elves and humans, but only the Eldar could perceive these animals easily. Earlene squinted, and could make out...something? But her eyes were only human. “I am guessing we do not have binoculars?” she asked. Sharley shook her head no, not that this was surprising. Oh well. At least those with the hawk eyes could enjoy the sight. When the others began to look restless, she suggested that they move on. There was another picnic area, at the western edge of the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. They could enjoy lunch, and walk a bit in this area. “Wapiti Lake picnic area, next.”

 

“Is that another native word?” Saoirse asked.

 

“Yeah,” Sharley said, helping the twins back into the RV. “Some people were smart and kept the old words. They fit here, I think, better than the ones that got imported.”

 

“Like the Irish names for things at home,” Pat mused. He let Lorna drive, content to take a break and drink some water. Sharley had been adamant about that, and part of him was afraid to disobey her.

 

The youngest children were showing signs of food coma, after lunch. Which required an adult powwow. “The littlest ones need a nap,” Thandir asserted. Thaladir, Shane, Chandra and Allanah were clearly groggy. There were even odds Ithiliel and Eleniel still had some life in them, and Saoirse was still fine.

 

Thranduil spoke to his peredhel daughters. “There is a place nearby, to which the others wish to go. It is more than three hundred steep steps, down and up, and I am told there is a view of a waterfall. The same waterfall that we will be spending all day visiting tomorrow, from various views and locations. You may choose to stay here and rest, or go with the ones who wish to see. We will help you if you tire, but will not carry you up all those steps.” He smiled at them, tickling their flawless cheeks, while he let them consider. His daughters were so, so beautiful. It was difficult to imagine the loveliness they would display, when full-grown. Earlene’s luxurious hair and softly shaped eyes, coupled with his eye color and exquisite facial contours.

 

“I want to go,” Ithiliel said.

 

“But I do not,” Eleniel said crossly. “You won’t stay here with me, Ith?”

 

Thranduil gently corrected his daughter. “Allow your sister to make her own choices, Eleniel. There is no right or wrong, and you will see each other soon. Besides, it will be a great comfort to Allanah, that you are staying. She wants to go, but her body is not strong enough. You will make her very happy, to remain here.”

 

The girl reflected for a moment. “Okay, Adar. I will stay.”

 

“Good girl,” he praised, kissing her on the forehead. “Go now with Ortherion, he will help get you settled.”

 

Lorna, being a smart monkey, got her hair wet again, to keep it cool, and tied an equally wet scarf over her head. Ratiri and Pat followed suit, because honestly, the heat was getting to them just as much, though neither Earlene nor Sharley seemed to even register it. _Americans._ Maerwen wished to go, as did Chandra; the elleth agreed to carry the little one...though they did not mention that to the others.

 

Lorna could hear water somewhere, and the thought was absolutely lovely -- the idea of standing under a waterfall, clothes and all, was fantastic right about now.

 

Down they went, along the brief dirt track then down the really impressive metal staircase that Earlene read had something like 350 steps. But who even cared, because it brought them in view of one of the loveliest falls she had ever seen.

 

Earlene paused, knowing how Lorna could get, well, tunnel-vision at places like this. “Lorna, do you see?” she asked kindly, pointing to the distance, where the spectacular sight of the waterfall bathed in rainbows was plainly in the near distance. Others were stopping briefly too; that meant they were allowed.

 

Lorna looked up from her intent focus on the steps. “Jesus, isn’t that beautiful.” The sky was so blue behind it, and yeah, she did take a few pictures. This trip was going to need at least two scrapbooks.

 

They all stood at the bottom in open admiration. Ithiliel took her hand, and she easily hoisted her daughter up into her arms. “Waterfall,” was the only word she spoke. Neither of them needed to discuss that the word was everything, and nothing, by way of a description. Turning, she silently also pointed downstream to her daughter.

 

“Tomorrow we will spend much time seeing this from many different views. It is almost as beautiful as you are,” was whispered into her little ear, earning giggles.

 

“Bloody Jesus,” Lorna said, taking out her mobile. There was so much water, falling from so high, that it churned the river below into a white froth. She’d never seen a proper waterfall in real life, before; unless she was much mistaken, Pat and Saoirse hadn’t, either. The girl’s green eyes were taking in every detail, greedy as a miser with gold. The trees here were sparser, and almost terraced as they went up the steep cliffs, roots clinging like vines to any stone they could. The view was absolutely spectacular -- craggy cliffs, with a few brave trees clinging to life where they could, with a thick forest above, like a carpet of green.

 

Pat appreciated not only the beauty, but also the chill spray that reached even here. A nice dip in that river would sound great, if he wasn’t entirely positive he’d drown.

 

Sharley watched it, and wondered if she’d seen it before. The fact that she had no memory of it did not actually mean anything. Oh, she wished she could have brought Marty here, and a pang of grief pierced her. It was old grief, though, and dulled by time. Wherever Marty was might well be just as lovely as this place.

 

“Three hundred stairs, huh?” Lorna asked. “I hope you lot don’t mind going slow. I’m so short stairs and I don’t really get along, especially not when it comes to speed.”

 

“We should’ve brought a sled,” Pat said. “You could sit on it and get dragged up.”

 

“Yeah, and break my tailbone. No thanks.”

 

“But...I’m short, too,” Saoirse said. “I’ll be slow with you, Aunt Lorna.”

 

Sharley managed not to laugh, but it was a near thing. A very, very near thing.

 

Earlene listened to this, and inconspicuously removed her leather belt, to re-thread it so that it only passed through her front belt loops. When all was settled, she turned to Lorna, speaking quietly. “Grab onto my belt. I can make it much easier for you. Let me help pull you up the stairs.” The belt had been loosened and rearranged so that doing this would not require Lorna to feel like her hands were practically on Earlene’s arse. She knew that this weather was hot for her friend, whereas to her this was the most temperate day imaginable. Paradisiacal, even.

 

“Don’t let me pull you backward,” Lorna said, alarmed. “I’m heavier than I look.” Nevertheless, she took the leather strap, hoping she wasn’t going to wind up breaking both their necks if she tripped. Earlene was a creature of grace, but she most definitely was not.

 

“I am going to put you down now, sweetheart,” Earlene murmured to Ithiliel. “Go to Thanadir, and hold his hand. He will help you, and make it easier for you to go up the stairs.” While her daughter had done very well on the way down, now that she saw how many steps….that was a lot for such a young child, peredhel or not.

 

Pat, unfortunately, could picture all too clearly what would happen if Lorna managed that. The fact that Thranduil could heal anything that got broken was entirely beside the point.

 

“There are handrails,” Earlene said. “Don’t worry.” Compared to the strength needed to hurtle up a tree, this really was nothing; not that she would be so tactless as to say that aloud. She went at a measured pace, if only because this little staircase was apparently rather popular. Some that ascended ahead of them were not in good physical condition, and struggled to keep on. It was fine. None of them were in a rush, and they were all going to get there. The pull from Lorna was not terribly significant; she probably should have told Saoirse to hold onto Lorna except...that whole coordination thing. Maybe silence was best.

 

 _Good idea, meluieg_ ,  came from a highly amused Thranduil.

 

 _Be nice_ , she admonished.

 

_I am being nice. I am also being factual._

 

 _Of course, my Lord_ , Earlene commented acerbically, effectively terminating the dialogue while she rolled her eyes. _Elvenkings._

 

It was a good thing Lorna had got half-decent at climbing trees, because otherwise the height here would have made her quail. Even so, she kept her eyes firmly on Earlene’s hair, only looking down every so often to see where her feet went. She tripped a bit, but that was only to be expected, and she didn't drag Earlene with her.

 

Pat was questioning the wisdom of this. Oh, it was gorgeous, but God was it hot...he caved and dumped a little water over his head. Saoirse didn't seem to mind it, at least, though at her size he would have thought it would be worse for her. Children. Ratiri was sweating pretty good himself; they were all going to want showers later, or at the very least a standing wash-up in a bathroom sink. Of course Sharley didn't look ruffled at all, damn her blue-haired hide. It wasn't fair.

 

Thranduil felt some concern, for Pat. Lorna was exerting herself less on account of Earlene’s offer, and he wondered if he should not offer similar. Pride aside, he did not wish his friends to suffer. They were, after all, not halfway up. He elected to do the same. It was simple, for him to extend a hand backwards once he was in a position to do so. _Take my hand, Pat. No one will notice; all the others are too occupied with their own struggles on the stairs. It is far too warm for what you are used to._

 

The very idea was a blow to Pat’s pride, but he was not a stupid man. He took Thranduil’s hand, feeling very like a small child who couldn’t keep up. He was short, though; he couldn’t help it. Now, he was not Lorna-sized, but he was still a full foot shorter than Ratiri.

 

And yet here was Saoirse, without a care in the world. Oh, she too was sweating, but she didn't look at all strained. Oh, to be young again.

 

“I wish Ireland had stuff like this,” Saoirse said. Pat was quite sure she’d be producing any number of drawings and paintings off of this; they’d have to find room somehow.

 

“Very few places have something like this,” Ratiri said. “Yellowstone is one of the rare areas of the world that man can get to, but hasn’t spoiled.”

 

 _Word_ , Earlene thought, and slowly began climbing again to make sure Lorna had time to catch on. There were loooots of steps left. And she could not possibly care, as her eyes took in the bright midday colors of the canyon walls, or what of them she could see. This just might end up being her favorite place, and she hadn’t seen the half of it yet.

 

Onward they went -- onward and upward, and oh, this was a bit high up. So long as Lorna didn't look down, though, she was okay, and there was so much else to look at that that wasn’t exactly hard. That little rest meant she wasn’t quite so hot, either. (Seriously, how could Earlene stand this? How was it not hot to her? How was it not hot to Sharley? The woman had barely broken a sweat.)

 

“Up, up, up, up,” Earlene gave her best Gollum imitation. It was hardly the stairs of Cirith Ungol, but it seemed funny nevertheless. No one else was laughing, but that was okay. A glance back revealed that Ithiliel did indeed hold Thanadir’s hand. It really was wonderful, to see that one of the twins had decided to do something apart from the other. This might actually have been the first time, come to think of it.

 

Saoirse was flagging a tiny bit, so Sharley took up position behind her, just in case she stumbled. The kid seemed to be handling with the Irish considered to be soaring heat a lot better than the adults. How they could think this too hot baffled Sharley, who thought it quite pleasant -- but then, she’d seen for herself how chilly the average Irish summer was. Unless it had been really hot in New York City, this was the warmest temperature any of them had ever been in.

 

She glanced at Lorna, and wondered why none of the others had noticed -- why Lorna herself hadn’t. She’d been plagued by balance issues for years, issues that Sharley at least had seen resulted from a few nasty blows to the head as a teenager (and one as a child), but Thranduil had fixed that damage. The underlying cause was no longer there, but she -- and everyone else -- expected her to be clumsy, so clumsy she still was. It was a psychosomatic loss of balance, and everyone took it as normal. Sharley herself would have, if she hadn’t been able to see Lorna’s history. _Just how much does perception and assumption_ really _affect us?_ she wondered. It was past time she actually said something, but not right here.

 

Pat was determined to go sit in the nearest large body of cold water, clothes and all, even if just for a moment. He had a feeling Lorna would go sit with  him, until they were no longer roasting alive. Still, this view was worth it and then some.

 

When Earlene and Thranduil saw the toll this jaunt had taken on Pat and Lorna, they both felt badly for their friends but carried on as though nothing were strange about this. Silently, she informed her husband of a turnout not at all far from where their RV was currently parked; there they could cross the road and be where the Yellowstone River ran to a sandbar and flowed into Otter Creek. It would probably be colder than never mind what, but clearly these two needed that more than anything else just now. They all went; the children could splash in the water, though Ithiliel and Saoirse both were told they had to hold one of Thanadir’s hands at all times. The river was cold, and above the waterfall, and...no one was floating off anywhere on account of a slip or an accident, however unlikely that would be if they stayed in the creek.

 

Pat paused only long enough to take off his boots before just wading in and laying in the shallows. It was _cold_ , so cold it made him yelp, but it was worth it. He burst out laughing when Lorna joined him, her braid floating in the slight current.

 

“Now that’s better,” she said, splashing her face.

 

“Don’t stay in there long,” Ratiri called, unable to wholly hide his amusement. “You can get hypothermia in a hurry that way.”

 

“Spoilsport,” Lorna said, sitting up and splashing her face. The water glittered in the sunlight, diamond-bright, the scent of grass and damp earth and what she suspected was pine trees combining into a lovely perfume.

 

“Well, was it worth it?”

 

“It was,” Pat said, shutting his eyes and basking. “It was worth every sweaty step’v it.”

 

Lorna couldn’t stay in the water any longer than that; she hopped out and went to sit in the sun. “Did you put more sunscreen on Chandra?” Maerwen had to have carried her, since she doubted even Ratiri could manage it all this way.

 

“I did,” he said, watching her try  little too hard to drag Maerwen further out; he needed to go rescue the poor elleth. “I think she might have a touch of a burn, though. I still haven’t yet worked out how often it actually needs to go on, because the instructions on the bottle tell you to wait longer than you actually should. Though perhaps that’s just because she’s ginger.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Lorna said, eying her daughter as her husband rose to help poor Maerwen. The older the twins got, the harder they were to corral, and she dreaded what they’d be like at five.

 

“Hobo stew, for dinner,” Sharley said, scaring half the life out of her. How did she _do_ that? “Had to buy a lotta tinfoil, but it’s good. Big trail crew staple, at least for the first few nights. There was this guy, a few years back -- he hadn’t brought enough food for the whole week, and by the last day he was down to drinking squeeze butter out of the bottle.”

 

Lorna grimaced. Even she’d never been _that_ desperate. “Did he give himself the shits?”

 

Sharley grinned. “Probably once he got home.”

 

Earlene wrinkled her nose, appalled. It was appalling enough, what she was voluntarily feeding her family on this trip, but she refused to be That Person who treated food like a religion when general circumstances clearly required greater flexibility. Hell before this was all over, she’d feed the kids McDonald’s. It wasn’t like they’d eat this way the rest of their lives; and if gastritis happened, well, then they’d appreciate her efforts at home so much the better. It meant a great deal to her, to provide a very high standard of nutrition to her larger family; so many on the outside had no way to ever know the difference.

 

“Come with me, to stand in the river?” she asked Thranduil. He raised his eyebrow in query at first but then garnered from her thoughts that she wished to stand IN the river, at least knee deep. She had quickly changed into shorts, after their return to the RV. And also that while she wanted this, she had a fear bordering on something that could turn to panic, at the thought of being swept over a waterfall.

 

“Of course, meluieg,” he smiled, taking her hand and holding on in such a way that his grasp on her wrist was unbreakable. They stood together in the frigid water, sandals set aside on shore. The tug of the current was unmistakable.

 

“Do you ever think about it?” she asked softly as the water rushed by. “How many uncountable volumes of water sweep through this river, every year? How long this has all gone on, to have made that canyon, and the waterfall? You are old, but even you are as young as a blade of grass in comparison to that. Or any of the forces that created this place.”

 

He looked on his wife in wonder. It was not the first time, Earlene showed that she thought and felt much like an elf. That her mind considered time in much greater stretches, and took in greater possibilities.

 

“I have,” he said softly. “The questions I was asked once, by Ratiri. About what happened to the land. Where all the places might have gone, that no longer seem to exist outside the borders of my Realm. I now wish I had paid greater attention; not had my head in the proverbial sand in so many ways. And yet that does not alter that these things can be accomplished by the slow erosions of time, or in an instance of great violence.” He held her against him, kissing the crown of her head.

 

“I love you,” she murmured. “And now I cannot feel my feet.”

 

He laughed, and helped steady her until they reached warmer ground.

 

Pat, shivering, finally got out of the water and went to change. He felt much better now, and he had some amazing pictures. “I hope we’ve got enough wall space for all the drawings and paintings we’ll get out’v Saoirse,” he said, shaking his head. It sent water flying, rather as though he were a dog. Earlene and Thranduil returned, everyone returned, and it was time to make the drive back to the campground. Thanadir was offered to ride shotgun, since by now he knew where they were going as well or better than Earlene.

 

“Tomorrow we’ll spend pretty much the whole day in various spots of the Grand Canyon, Saoirse. There is even a place called Artist’s point. We’ll stay for quite a while at each place just to stare and appreciate it. And for you to have time to draw something from your own eyes, not just a photo or memory. I’d guess we are going to frame a whole lot of drawings, before it’s said and done. You know, we need to think about having a gallery wall in the Dining Room. There are two monster tall walls in there, might as well DO something with them.”

 

Ithiliel frowned. “I want to draw like Saoirse does.”

 

Earlene ruffled her daughter’s hair, and pulled her onto her lap. “Then you need to start drawing. Saoirse and Thanadir can help teach you, but I would guess the main thing is to practice a great deal.”

 

“It is,” Saoirse said, delighted by the very prospect. “Lots and lots of practice. You can...lose yourself in it. It kind’v comes alive as you go.”

 

Not for the first time, Lorna wondered just what went on in that kid’s head when she drew. ‘Lose yourself’ was right; a bomb could go off and that girl wouldn’t notice. To be able to see something once, and recreate it so perfectly...something was going on in Saoirse’s head that she’d bet few other people shared.

 

From the front, Thanadir nodded sagely. It was exactly how he might have chosen to describe it.

 

“Well, are you nice and cooled down now?” Ratiri asked Lorna and Pat.

 

“Yes,” they chorused, and burst out laughing.

 

Thranduil erupted in laughter when their vehicle finally pulled into its spot back at the campground. All of the children who had stayed to nap now had fully charged batteries and were jumping up and down, cheering, to see the return of the rest of them. “Meldir, I do not think I have seen a reception like this since we returned from the Battle at Erebor,” he grinned. “And perhaps not even then.”

 

“This is a happier occasion, and happier times,” the old elf reminded him.

 

“Yes. Yes, it is indeed.” He cared for the brakes, and the stabilizers, and all the...RV things...and gave Thanadir’s arm a squeeze of affection. They were the last ones, abandoned by the others who had already exited the vehicle.

 

“I feel so happy,” Thanadir said, looking at him. “Us. Them. All of this. I never could have imagined,” he said quietly, clearly trying to contain his emotions.

 

“I know, meldir,” the King replied, enfolding him in a hug. “I know. Me either.” They clapped each other on the back before Thranduil exited the door, and Thanadir wiped away a tear. He smoothed his clothing out of habit, and now wished to know what this hobo stew was, and when it might be ready?

 

Sharley grinned. “All right, this is an assembly line,” she said, taking out the pre-cooked, ground beef, potatoes, carrots, onions, and assorted other vegetables in various Tupperware containers. “Everybody go ahead and sit at these tables, in a line.” She nodded to the picnic tables, which the Elves helpfully pulled into a line (she wasn’t sure you were supposed to do that, but sue them).

 

Lorna and Ratiri, after getting their twins settled between them, sat, and wondered just what this would entail. Sharley set a large square of aluminum foil in front of each person, and told them all to be careful in cutting up their potatoes, because they needed to not make any holes in the foil.

 

“Why’s it called hobo stew?” Saoirse asked, carefully slicing her potato.

 

“Because back in the Depression, in America, homeless people would make stew like this,” Sharley said. “You don’t need a bowl, see -- the foil gets folded up into one, and you put it in the coals of the fire to cook. It’ll hold enough water for broth.”

 

“That,” Lorna said, “is bloody genius.” In the warehouse, they’d at least always had a few pots and pans, and of course there were soup kitchens, though one had to be careful with those -- if they suspected a person was under-age, they tried calling social services and getting them stuck in a foster house, blech. Generally Shane and Orla had gone, and taken whoever looked like they could pass muster at any given time -- they’d just sneak extra food out when they left.

 

 _Where,_ she wondered, _did Pat go?_ She’d never yet asked her brother what he’d done after he’d left home; what little he’d volunteered suggested he wasn’t that fond of talking about it.

 

Thanadir found himself confronted with a dilemma. His piece of foil was not nearly large enough for his level of hunger. Earlene, who was surveying all the tables with an idea to waiting awhile to assemble her own meal, spotted this and grinned. Returning to their supplies, she brought out the extra wide heavy duty foil roll, and walked to him, guesstimating what he would need. “Use this instead; I will trade you.” The Thanadir- sized sheet was placed in front of the now-happy elf, who looked up at her gratefully.  
“Not the eyes, meldir. Just focus on your potatoes,” she teased, kissing him on the cheek. The poor elf was never going to change, that much was obvious.

 

Lorna and Ratiri helped the twins fold their ‘bowls’, but Saoirse’s was like some damn origami masterpiece, with perfect sharp corners and some kind of actual lid. Sharley took one look at it and bit the inside of her cheek, somehow managing not to laugh, because that was far too fancy for hobo stew. Lorna, of course, just took a picture of it.

 

“All right, now we just wait for the fire to burn down.” Sharley gave it a few pokes, just for the hell of it. Now that the sun was setting, the air rapidly chilled, which meant coats and long pants were donned. Lorna and Saoirse had matching black hoodies, which made them look rather like twins, or at the very least, an older clone and a younger one.

 

“More s’mores tonight?” Saoirse asked.

 

“If you’ve got room for them,” Sharley said, watching the emerging stars. “Hobo stew’s more filling than you’d think.” Thanadir, she was sure, would be able to eat his hugely oversized stew _and_ five s’mores, but Thanadir was a rather special case. The children would probably be stuffed.

 

 _Where did you say the marshmallow guns were?_ Sharley heard Thranduil ask with an air of feigned innocence.

 

Sharley managed not to laugh, but barely. _In Starbase Three,_ she said, poking the fire again. _They’re in a box stored in the overhead compartment._ This was likely to get entertaining, at the very least.

 

Thranduil sidled away, going where instructed to, and found the toys. One, indeed, was a marshmallow gun, designed to fire the kind the children (well, and Thanadir of course) were placing in their hot chocolate mixture at breakfast. However the others… “Sweet Lord Oromë,” the King murmured somewhat irreverently, but he could not help himself. They were _bows_ that shot marshmallows… “I love the humans,” he giggled almost hysterically. “I love them…” He carefully and quietly hid all the items in question under his outer garment, and sauntered to Starbase Three in order to obtain his stores of puffy white ammunition. _In a military action, it is imperative to strike first at the unsuspecting enemy._ Shaking with helpless laughter, it was a good five minutes before he could rearrange his features into the neutrality needed to rejoin the others.

 

Sharley wouldn’t let the children close enough to the fire to put their bowls in themselves, but they watched her carefully arrange them around the edge of the coals. “Now, you know they’re done when the steam starts coming out heavy,” she said, wondering if she was going to regret buying those marshmallow guns. As long as nothing got lit on fire...but with this group, that was a fairy good possibility. Yikes.

 

“How long does it have to cool for?” asked Thanadir, his fork poised and yet feeling somewhat fearful of the billows of steam coming off of his dinner.

 

Earlene rolled her eyes, and had to choke back laughter when she made eye contact with Ortherion, who was doing his level best to keep from smiling. Lothiriel, inexplicably, had her face buried against her husband’s shoulder. No idea why. Sharley was already bringing over the sliced loaves of sourdough, and gave Thanadir three of them. “Here, these will help. You put a little on the bread, and blow on it enough to make sure it is cool before you bite into it.” If nothing else, she was understanding the wisdom of having gone to Costco. Otherwise, they’d be looking at fines for him bringing down one of the bison to feed himself. One by one, the children could not finish their suppers. And one by one, that food was passed down to Uncle Thanadir.

 

“Makes you wonder how our house could function without him, doesn’t it?” Earlene leaned in to say to Lorna very, very quietly. She never underestimated the acuity of elven hearing. A sage nod was received, by way of reply.

 

Ratiri, watching Thanadir, was really beginning to wonder if the Elf’s stomach was, in fact, some kind of culinary TARDIS. Either that or he really did have a hollow leg.

 

“Did you make this when you worked on the trails, Aunt Sharley?” Saoirse asked. She at least managed to eat it all, but barely.

 

“I did. It was something you ate on the first few days, though, because ground beef, even when it’s cooked, doesn’t keep forever. What we’d usually do is wrap all our food up in plastic and stick it in a creek, if there was one nearby,” Sharley said. “You couldn’t do that with meat, though, because other critters’d try to eat it.” She shook her head, again staring at the night sky. The stars were massed now like diamonds spilled over velvet.  “One time I took Marty camping, and we were gonna have this Jell-O pudding for dessert. Mixed it up in a pot and put the pot in a creek to cool, with a tin plate over the top and a rock on it. Well, some curious deer knocked the plate off and licked the whole damn pot clean. And I know it was a deer because we spotted a doe with a big ring of chocolate around her face.”

 

Saoirse eyed her dubiously. “Really?”

 

“Really. Marty chased after her and yelled at her for eating our dessert. I actually have a picture of that in my wallet in the RV.” It was blurred, of course; Marty was a kind of smudge with flailing hands and flying hair, while the deer leapt off into the forest in a panic.

 

Thranduil felt the moment had arrived, and with immense accuracy had his four loaded marshmallow bows unleashed on an unsuspecting Lorna before anything could be said about it. “Look children, marshmallow toys!” he said, carefully placing the spares in the middle of the table while he smiled an extremely toothy smile in her direction.

 

Earlene, who sat next to Thanadir, groaned. “Here we go.”

 

“All those marshmallows are just going to fall on the ground?” the seneschal asked incredulously.

 

“Oh, meldir. Finish Thaladir’s dinner. I promise, you will have marshmallows.”

 

Lorna yelped, all but falling off her bench. “Oh, you’re a dead man,” she said, scrambling to her feet. Her little boots ate up the sod as she launched herself at Thranduil like a tiny bowling-ball. There was no point in actually trying to get his weapon off him -- he could hold it over her head too easily -- but maybe, just maybe she could knock him over. Marshmallows fell out of her hair, and her hood, but she wasn’t going eat one until she’d had her revenge.

 

“Oh dear,” Earlene said, as she watched Lorna launch. Ever after in her memory, it would replay in slow motion, somehow. Thranduil had both the time and space to evade Lorna easily, but what he was not recalling, apparently, were the camping chairs scattered basically all over the place. The unanticipated object behind him and the angle at which Lorna collided with him sent both tumbling to the ground, while he twisted in what was doubtless an attempt to not crush his friend.

 

“Terrible spatial awareness,” Thanadir commented laconically as he looked on and chewed his piece of potato.

 

“To be fair, it was a fairly unconventional attack,” Earlene opined.

 

“Still no excuse.”

 

Earlene shrugged, reasoning that he probably had the right of it, having seen much of actual warfare.

 

In his best five-year old voice, Thranduil wheedled to Lorna, “I was just kiiiiiiiiiiddiiiiiing.”

 

“Like hell you were,” Earlene muttered, safely outside her husband’s hearing. “Meldir, however did you raise him?”

 

Thanadir sighed and gestured at his King. “I didn’t. Can you not tell?”

 

“Okay, don't ever use that voice again,” Lorna half-said, half-gasped. She’d somewhat knocked the wind out of herself. “It’s creepy.” That said, she attacked his sides with tiny, tickling fingers -- given she had two children, she’d got fairly good at that by now. She was pretty sure Pat was the one cackling in the background -- she’d get him back later, too, though it would probably involve something unpleasant in one of his boots.

 

“You’re not really trying to do that, are you?” smirked Thranduil, running a single finger up the side of her ribs while its companions danced along behind it with disturbingly precise pressure and placement. He might have been knocked down, but he was not about to lose a Tickle War.

 

“Uncle Ratiri, what are Adar and Aunt Lorna doing?” asked Eleniel, who placidly waited for things pertaining to s’mores to manifest. “I thought we weren’t allowed to run around the campground.”

 

Unlike Pat, Ratiri was at least trying not to laugh, though he was making a bad job of it. “Sometimes, even adults can act like children,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Your father and your aunt especially.”

 

Lorna yelped again, belatedly realizing this was a bad idea. Still, she’d committed herself, and at the very least she could give as good as she got. “Of course I am,” she said, and redoubled her efforts, heading for his armpits. “You started it.” And if she made a dreadful face at him in the process, he was the only one who saw it.

 

A slight giggle escaped him, because he _could_ be a little ticklish, but not as much as she could. “Oh yeah?” He rose up to his full height, drawing her along with him, and the next moment he had Lorna seated on his shoulders while reaching up to tickle her ribs. While he skipped around the campground.

 

“He is one minute from sleeping with you tonight,” Earlene said. “Honestly.”

 

“Me? What did _I_ do?” asked Thanadir, astonished. “I am sitting here, eating my dinner.”

 

“True. I apologize. Maybe I was simply trying to say, he is one minute from sleeping _elsewhere_ tonight,” she chuckled. “Oh, who am I kidding. But if none of the children behave at all tomorrow, I know who I am pointing a finger at.”

 

“Two fingers. I will help you.” Though, it did not stop him from laughing either. “Truthfully, I have always loved this about him. And it is so rare, that he can be this way.”

 

“I know. But what exists of the parent in me feels obligated to at least pretend.”

 

“Pat, help me!” Lorna cried, but her traitorous brother was too busy laughing. She was giggling so much she had a stitch in her side, totally unable to retaliate -- or so Thranduil thought. Clearly he’d forgot that she could touch the back of her head with her foot -- she was extremely flexible, and all she had to do was lean back and let gravity and her rubber-like spine do the work for her. Reaching back behind her wasn’t that easy, but her fingers attacked his stomach, even as the blood rushed to her head.

 

Thanadir snorted. “I think it is time to end this. Get one of those bows, Earlene, and climb on my shoulders.”

 

“What??”

 

“You heard me. Load _two_ of them, now that I think of it.”

 

Feeling that she might regret this but now feeling quite silly herself, it was the work of a moment to do as he had asked. Certainly, it helped that she was used to keeping silence, because it would be easy to squee with delight. It was like being on a drunken horse, as they careened off after Thranduil and Lorna. “I expect you to hit him in the face, or there will be extra archery lessons in the forest,” said Thanadir.

 

“Hmpf,” retorted Earlene, managing just that on the first try.

 

“Now aim the other at Lorna,” he grinned.

 

For better or for worse, all the rest of the campground wanted in on this, and soon the older children were seated on the remaining elves, armed with marshmallow bows. Thaladir moved to sit across from Pat and Ratiri, his green eyes gleaming in the light of the campfire. “No good can come of this,” he intoned solemnly, as he watched his older sisters join in the fray, seated on Lothiriel and Ortherion. It went without saying that ‘not making noise’ was completely out the window at this point.

 

Ratiri choked on his fizzy drink, because that child sounded exactly -- _exactly_ \-- like his namesake. “It will be okay, Thaladir,” he said. “Sometimes even grown-ups need to act like children every now and again, or we forget how.”

 

Lorna spluttered when the first marshmallow hit her, eyes narrowing. Oh, absolutely not. Hoisting herself back upright, she said, “This means war. Put me down, Thranduil, and let’s get them.” However, before he could actually do anything, she couldn’t help it -- she got her pinky wet with spit and jammed it into his ear, giving him a very effective wet willie. Might as well introduce him to one more human tradition.

 

His eyes flew open wide at the erotic sensation to which he had just been treated. _What the...and this was Lorna….oh Eru NO. Not happening, not now, not ever...but oh that had felt so nice…_ As Earlene would say, he was screwed. He could not even afford to explain, much less admit to, that this was not the punishment his friend imagined it to be. He was only too glad to do as she asked, still twitching from what had just transpired. And trying to deal with the fact that something _else_ had just begun to twitch. _VALAR, NO. Ewwwwwwwww._

 

Lorna, quite fortunately utterly oblivious, started gathering what of the tiny marshmallows she could see by firelight. The moon was rising like a great silver coin, which helped a bit. If she ate one or two...well, things happened.

 

Pat had betrayed her utterly, so she didn't waste too much ammunition on the others -- throwing marshmallows was not exactly like throwing knives, so her aim was a touch off. Just a tiny touch. Thanadir and Ortherion got a few, but most of them she visited on her hapless brother in one giant storm of tiny marshmallows. “You,” she said, when he flailed and tried to run, “are a terrible brother. _Terrible._ ” As if to hammer the point home, she shoved a few down the collar of his shirt.

 

Ratiri, who had been attempting to help the younger children with s’mores, was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, red-faced in the firelight.

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. “And _you_. If you weren’t doing what you’re doing, you’d be a dead man, too. Don’t think I won’t get you later.”

 

His laughter cut off, because he was suddenly rather worried. Mercifully, having suitably chastened her brother, she darted back off -- though she grabbed what was left in the open bag of big marshmallows, first, and stuck one in her mouth. There was an unopened one left for actual use. There was little more disgusting than soggy marshmallow.

 

“Meldir, let me down please? I think it is time for all the children to have the use of the toys. The adults have behaved badly enough.”

 

Reluctantly, Thanadir had to agree, and stood still. Earlene was on the ground a second later. S’mores sounded lovely, right now. However, she kept a watchful eye on Lorna. That one could hold deep grudges, and she did not intend to have marshmallow in her hair, thank you very much. It was still before nine thirty, at which time the silliness would be cut off so as not to disturb the other campers. Their play was winding down a little, now that Thranduil had the wind out of his sails. He was dutifully allowing his daughters to shoot him with marshmallows while pretending to evade them. In fact, he appeared to be having to ensure that most of them had a prayer of hitting him. Which was adorable.

 

Lorna, eyes narrowed, managed by sheer luck to hit him in the side with one of her semi-chewed missile. She missed Thanadir, however, and she couldn’t be sure if she’d hit Earlene or not, honestly. Thranduil was having enough of a time with the children, she’d leave him to it. Nevertheless, she vowed revenge of some kind, to be thought of later.

 

At the fire, Sharley was helping Allanah with a s’more, laughing silently. What possibly none of them knew yet was that she’d filmed the whole damn thing, because it was too good _not_ to. It wasn’t every day you saw Elves and humans get in a marshmallow fight, after all; that had been even better than she’d expected when she bought the bows. If only those had existed when Marty was little -- she’d had a shooter, but nothing as cool as the bows.

 

“Well, that was...something,” Lorna said dryly. “Be right back.” Yes, she went and took a belt off the whiskey at the back of the cupboard in Rogue One. When she returned, a prepared s’more sat at her place, charred to cinders just like she liked it.

 

“Minor peace offering,” smiled Earlene. It had all been in good fun.

 

“Do I get one?” Thranduil plunked down next to his wife, nuzzling her ear. Which seemed a little odd, but what wasn’t, lately?

 

“Sure,” answered Earlene. “Except...I am not sure I have seen you eat one? How do you like your marshmallow?”

 

“The opposite of that,” he said, pointing at Lorna’s.

 

“Alrighty,” Earlene rolled her eyes. “Coming right up.” _Those two._

 

Thranduil blew air kisses at Lorna, with an ear to ear grin and blue eyes sparkling.

 

Lorna glowered at him. “Look at your shirt,” she said, and took a big bite of s’more. There was a lovely glob of marshmallow on his left side, and she smirked around the edges of the graham cracker.

 

He calmly removed the shirt in question, and stuffed the marshmallow coated section into his mouth. _Why not? It worked on Thanadir’s hair._ “Tastef be’er iss way.” Still, he smiled, his teeth scraping a bit at the cotton.”

 

“ _Eeeew_ ,” Lorna said, around her s’more. Once she’d swallowed, she added, “I chewed on that, you know. Now you have Lorna cooties.”

 

“And to think you call yourselves adults,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. Yes, he was filming the entire thing, because he was evil. Lorna couldn’t even punish him for it, either, given they shared the caravan.

 

“Hush, you, or I won’t be giving you the fun kind’v cooties when we get home.”

 

Saoirse passed by just in time to hear that, and gagged slightly. “TMI, Aunt Lorna.”

 

“What’s TMI?” Shane asked.

 

“And what the fuck are cooties? Oops.” Chandra had actually been pretty good about keeping the cursing down, but she had to slip up sooner or later.

 

“The first means too much information, and the second has a very malleable definition,” Ratiri said.

 

Chandra eyed him. In the firelight, her hair glowed red. “Oh.”

 

“What fascinates me is that you think I could possibly _mind_ your cooties,” Thranduil posited, pulling his shirt back over his pale skin. “Honestly.”

 

She wondered if there would be any way to induce a spider to crawl over his face in the night, but realized that would mean she’d actually have to go near a spider, so nevermind. “See, if you’d grown up human, you’d realize how gross spit actually is,” she said, consuming the last of her s’more.

 

“She is right, you know,” Ratiri put in. “Human saliva has an appalling amount of bacteria in it. Though I suppose you lot are immune to it.” Someday, he would love to get a sample of Elven blood and see what would happen if he introduced various microbes. Probably a whole lot of nothing, but still.

 

He was just about to comment about his own interactions with human saliva when Earlene kissed his cheek and set his s’more in front of him. _I would appreciate you not pursuing this topic, if I might ask for that._

 

With a half smile, he recognized...he was probably doing it again. The Larger Than Life thing. _Of course,_ he replied to her. Later he would be grateful, but right now he just sighed and bit into his treat. Thanadir sat next to him, with four on his own plate. Earlene shamelessly helped herself to one. When the seneschal tried to give her Sad Eyes, she simply said, “You’ll thank me later when you haven’t gone Nonna.”

 

“What is Nonna?” Ratiri asked.

 

“I wrote you about her, when we were in New York,” Lorna said, deciding to forego another s’more in favor of stealing some of his fizzy drink. “At the Italian place.”

 

“Ah.” He’d laughed himself half sick when he read that, because the old woman had accomplished what he had not thought possible.

 

She looked up at the billions and billions of stars. “I want to come here again,” she said. “Longer, next time. Like a month. I have a feeling you could live here ten years and not see it all.”

 

“I’ve heard of people who are campground docents,” Earlene said. “No idea how it works. You live here, at whatever campground, and sort of be the…” she stopped herself from saying ‘hall monitor’ because she doubted Lorna knew what that was. “....the keeper of the peace.”

 

“That’s...Christ, that’s tempting,” Lorna said. “I mean, Chump’d have to go first, or I doubt we’d even get let in, but...allanah, what d’you think?”

 

“I think it’s worth thinking about,” Ratiri said. He did not add, _in seventeen years, the opportunity will be gone forever_ ; he didn't need to. “Not until the twins are much older, though. Old enough to remember it.”

 

“I think I am going to nudge the children inside,” Earlene said. “It’s bedtime, and now that I am stuffed like a meatroll, I think I might be close behind them.”

 

“I will help you,” Thanadir immediately offered, rising with her.

 

Thranduil had a twisted smile on his face. “And for the first time this evening I will pretend I am an authority figure as well.” He looked at Ratiri. “I imagine by now I have stomped to bits every expectation you ever had about us, haven’t I?”

 

The sight of him was so...odd. Ancient, immeasurably powerful, beautiful, and yet capable of behaving as though he belonged as an inmate in a kindergarten. “Oh, I gave up on _those_ two years ago,” Ratiri said, laughing. “And yet you continue to surprise me. As I so often say to Lorna, never change.”

 


	102. One Hundred and Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 12-13, 2019
> 
> Probably everyone already knows this but if you don't...though we have both been to Yellowstone, we relied heavily on Google Maps/Earth software to write these chapters. You can enter the name of things like "Fountain Paintpots, Yellowstone" and instantly be taken to the satellite view of the geological feature. But better yet are the quality photographs submitted by nearly everyone, some of them 360 degree panoramas, of all these places. It's almost crazy, how we could 'walk around Yellowstone' while sitting in our respective chairs. Since words don't do half of the things justice that our vacationers are seeing...well, it's how you can join them, if you wish!

The sky was barely streaked with dawn when Lorna woke, bladder uncomfortably full. Trying not to grumble, she fumbled for her boots as quietly as she could, waiting until she was outside to put them on. Her hoodie did approximately fuck-all against the cold, and she wished she’d thought to bring the coat Gran had made her. Her breath puffed out in white clouds, and when she crossed the grass, it crackled frosty under her feet.

 

The bathroom was equally cold, the toilet seat even more so, and once she’d done her business and washed her hands, she stood beneath the hot-air dryer a moment, basking in the heat. After yesterday’s climb, she needed a shower, too, but definitely not until it was a bit warmer. Or a lot warmer. She didn't need to be using up all the caravan’s water, but these bathrooms actually had a pay-shower -- though she’d definitely be wearing her sandals in it.

 

Yawning hugely, she plunged back out into the cold, intent on getting at least another hour of sleep. There were still far too many stars in the sky for anyone sane to be awake.

 

Though speaking of ‘awake’, Starbase Three was rocking slightly. She paused, and twitched, because  _ ew  _ \-- while they were on holiday? Really? With Thanadir and possibly one of the  _ kids  _ in there?  _ Gross. _

 

Sleepy, cross, and kind of squicked, she unlaced her left boot (her chilly fingers had all the dexterity of sausages), and lobbed it at the side of the caravan as hard as she could. The only thing that kept her from adding cat noises was the fact that she didn't want to wake up anyone else. The boot was loud enough, making contact with the metal side with a solid  _ thud _ .

 

The caravan stilled, and she rolled her eyes. “Can’t even go ten days,” she muttered -- but that was all she managed because a monstrously huge, shaggy bear head peeked around the other side of the caravan. If ever an animal face could be described as looking surprised, this one was.

 

Lorna froze, eyes widening, wondering just what in mother fuck she was meant to do. A small sound that could only be described as, “ _ eep”  _ left her throat, but nothing more. Fortunately, she didn't have to do anything -- the animal let out a very deep, all-too-loud chuffing sound and ambled off, grass and twigs crunching and snapping beneath its feet.

 

Heart in her throat (and possibly no longer beating), she snatched up her boot and ran back to Rogue One, shutting and latching the door behind her. She had to resist an urge to hide in a corner, though she did  _ not  _ resist the impulse to take a belt of whiskey.  _ Jesus _ . She’d known bears were big, but knowing and seeing in person were not at all the same thing.

 

Shivering, blood pounding in her ears, she took off her other boot and crawled back in next to Ratiri. Sleep, however, was long in coming.

 

******

 

Thranduil opened one eye, when a solid *whump* hit the side of their vehicle. While he could not make out at this distance who or what the culprit was, his sensitive ears and his mind registered the presence of the bear, and what it saw. He chuckled to himself silently, because when Lorna came to retrieve her boot her thoughts were most definitely within his range, and quite clear. He heard the door latch click closed on Rogue One and smiled.  _ If I was convicted, I might as well commit the crime _ . Long fingers worked their way under the covers to rub at Earlene’s shapely bottom, while she sleepily but gladly parted her legs for him. He kept his movements smooth, sinuous, so as to not move their fragile home. Frankly, Earlene was the recipient of quite a lot of extra pleasure because this morning because he could not stop laughing inside of himself long enough to focus on reaching the finish line until quite some time had passed.  _ Only Lorna _ .

 

*****

 

When Ratiri woke, Lorna was dead out, and he didn't want to wake her, too. He crept quietly out of bed, rousing the twins to take them to the bathroom; Maerwen, naturally, was already up, so she took Chandra.

 

The sunrise was absolutely glorious, rose and salmon and gold, and he kindled a fire with the ease of long practice. The morning was still cold, and the heat of the growing flames was welcome.

 

A teapot went onto the grill, so as not to wake Lorna or Pat, and he sat at one of the picnic tables, enjoying the quiet. As the light strengthened, however, he noticed strange, deep tracks in the ground -- much bigger than human feet, and quite oddly placed.

 

His eyes widened. Was there a bear? Had there  _ been  _ a bear? Oh God.

 

He hustled Shane back into the caravan, and when Maerwen returned, he had her put Chandra in there, too. “I think there was some kind of ursine life out here,” he said quietly, not wanting to use the dreaded B word.

 

She looked at him blankly. “Ursine?”

 

His voice dropped yet further. “A bear. Look.” He pointed to the tracks, infinitely grateful they had come in caravans rather than tent-camping. A bear  _ could  _ get into a caravan, but with a lot more difficulty than a tent.

 

Maerwen looked, and looked back at him. It had been millennia since she had seen a bear, but yes, those were in fact bear tracks. It was not worth waking the King over,  however; either it was here, or it was gone, but she suspected the latter. “I do not hear anything. Were it anywhere close, I would know.”

 

Well, that was a slight relief. “Still, I’d rather keep the children inside until the others are awake,” he said. A bear would have to be insane or rabid to want to deal with sixteen people, even if some of them were children, and he’d found nothing in his online research to suggest there were rabid mammals of any actual size within the park.

 

Earlene came awake when nearness to a spectacular, 9.5 worthy orgasm made doing much else impossible.  _ Damn _ . Just,  _ damn _ . How other people woke up most mornings was not worth considering, in her estimation.  _ Start the day off right, and all that _ . Husband was kissed in gratitude, and she suppressed giggles when he fully informed her of what had gone on.

 

_ And meluieg, we should make an appearance sooner rather than later. Ratiri is fearful of the bear. _

 

_ What bear? I thought you said it left. _

 

_ It did, but he does not feel assured of that. _

 

Earlene rolled her eyes.  _ Bears didn’t sit there at the tables waiting to be fed breakfast, for Pete’s sake. Whatever _ . A few seconds yielded undergarments, jeans, and warmer clothing, and she shuffled outside, her braid looking somewhat mussed. Before, with shoulder-length hair, there was no point to braiding it before bed. She had learned, from the elves, that it was often worthwhile to take the time for this; it saved a good deal of de-tangling the next day.

 

Their own kettle was filled quickly, and set to warm up next to the one outside Rogue One. Apparently they were eating in this neck of the woods today. That and, they had Bisquick, which meant griddlecakes.

 

“Maerwen is certain it’s gone now, but we had a bear,” Ratiri said, fixing two mugs of tea. He knew Lorna would be out presently, probably groggy and possibly incoherent.

 

“I know,” Thranduil smirked, stretching luxuriously in his camping chair. “Lorna rang its doorbell, so to speak.”

 

“And didn't make her wee herself?” he asked, before he could help it. Poor Lorna. “Though I’m rather more surprised she didn't scream bloody murder.” Quite honestly, he might have, in her place. Bears were...bears.

 

“I believe she had just cared for that matter,” the King said, debating just how much of what Lorna had been doing he should reveal. Given that he only knew what he did on account of his gifts, he reluctantly concluded that her throwing a boot at the RV because she believed he and Earlene were having sex was probably not allowed.  _ Dammit. _

 

“That would explain it,” Ratiri said, though he still wasn’t sure how she hadn’t screamed like a banshee. “Poor Lorna. At least the bear wasn’t in the bathroom.”

 

Sharley, yawning, came out of Base Station Two, followed by Saoirse. “Bear?” Saoirse asked eagerly, looking around.

 

“It’s gone,” Ratiri said, and couldn’t help but laugh at her dejected expression. “Don’t look so depressed. You don’t want to meet a bear in real life.”

 

“You really don’t,” Sharley said, sitting on the ground directly in front of the fire. “Trust me. Knowing they’re big still doesn't prepare you for actually seeing one in real life.” She was not going to mention the teenager of two years ago, who had been camping out with a youth camp and woken up to a bear gnawing on his head. Nope.

 

Thranduil shook his head. It was good to be an elf, sometimes. It was such a lovely morning, making it hard to remember that just a few days ago, the cares of the forest were on his shoulders.  _ How was his firion Ailill getting on with Calanon? How was poor Orla managing, with the order for the additional two greenhouses? _ ...in a way, the latter saddened him. It had required the sacrifice of what had been much of the open space previously between Earlene’s cottage and the forest trees. And yet it was too soon, to consider placing these structures on their newly purchased property. They had all decided, it was a ‘necessary evil’; one for which the benefits outweighed the detractions.

 

“Your thoughts are elsewhere?” asked Thanadir, who sat next to him after preparing hot cocoa for the children and himself.

 

“Just thinking about home,” Thranduil mused. “And what might be transpiring. I love our forest, meldir, but I would be lying to say I was not enjoying myself so much here.”

 

“I know,” the old elf confessed, sipping his beverage. “Me too.”

 

Lorna eventually emerged from Rogue One, but only gave them all a vague wave before trudging to the bathroom. Shower. Shower was necessary.

 

Pat, shaking his head, made his way over to the tables. “Look how still that lake is,” he said, stealing Lorna’s tea. It was mirror-smooth, reflecting the sunrise. “I’m serious, I could live here for a while.”

 

He was not the only one, but that would have to wait. Ratiri would love to spend a summer as a camp docent, but not until the twins were old enough to properly remember it. “And in seventeen years, it will go back to being truly wild,” he said. That still seemed ages away, and yet he knew it would not for long.

 

“So, since Lorna’s not here, I’ve gotta say something,” Sharley said. She had instant coffee rather than tea, and poured some hot water into a mug before adding the brown crystals. “She keeps thinking she should be clumsy, and so do all of you. She shouldn’t be.”

 

Ratiri blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

“Her balance issues.” The spoon clinked as she stirred the liquid. “She got hit on the head really hard as a kid, and a few more times as a teenager. Her brain got a little scrambled. It got fixed after her accident, but she doesn't know that. It’s psychosomatic, basically, but I dunno how to tell her that in a way that’ll actually help. Telling somebody their symptom’s psychosomatic usually doesn’t make it go away, does it?”

 

“No,” Ratiri said, intrigued. “No, it usually does not. You mean all this time she’s been tripping and suffering equilibrium problems for no physiological reason?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows arched, as did Earlene’s, but for differing reasons. While the King wondered if Sharley had calculated the full scope of her pronouncement, Earlene simply ran with it. “Well, that’s good, right? She can actually learn all those things she wanted to. You know, trees, and...elf stuff. I’d think she’d be thrilled if only she could…..oh,” she said. “Um, this is why I don’t analyze out loud before I’ve had caffeine. Can I have some of that powdered coffee?”

 

Sharley handed it to her with a grin, and Earlene poured both the coffee and a hot cocoa packet into her mug.  _ Why choose when you can have both _ ?

 

“Once we figure out how to break the psychosomatic thing, yeah,” Sharley said. “I mean, she’s been that way most of her life. I don’t think she can remember ever not.”

 

“Wait, how the hell d’you know that?” Pat asked. “How could you know...any’v that?”

 

Sharley froze. Dammit, she was usually better about this -- she’d gone a whole damn year without letting on… “I know a lotta things,” she said, staring into her cup.

 

_ “Smooth,” _ Jimmy said.

 

_ “Hate to say this, but he kinda has a point,”  _ Layla said, sounding a touch disgusted.

 

“Yeah, but how?” Pat persisted. “You see the future, right? How could you know that if you see the future?”

 

“Because  _ I know a lotta things, _ ” Sharley said, somewhat more emphatically. “That’s all you’re gonna get outta me, Patrick Donovan. Focus on helping your damn sister, because I don’t know how.”

 

“But--”

 

Ratiri laid a hand on Pat’s shoulder. He was just as curious, and a touch uneasy, but he knew that right now was not the time to push. “I’ll have to think about that one,” he said. “I’m not sure how yet, either. Lacking any other symptoms, I’d figured it was some kind of blow to the head.”

 

Pat still looked poised to speak, so Ratiri dug his fingers into the man’s shoulder. His poor brother-in-law did seem to have an issue with not leaving something well enough alone -- it was one Lorna shared, though not to this extent.

 

“It is best to not inquire further, Pat,” Thranduil said softly. “I know it is difficult but trust me, this is one best left alone. Sharley offered the information out of a desire to help. I for one have seen the wisdom of respecting that which she does not wish to share.”

 

Earlene, on the other hand, sipped her hot drink and frowned because... _ well all of this is simply becoming more and more interesting _ .  _ Round and round and round they go. Where they stop, nobody knows… _

 

Thranduil trusted Earlene’s given word, but winced at her seeming inability to fail to notice things he really wished she would miss.

 

Pat subsided, but he didn't look happy about it. “Can Lorna be helped, somehow?”

 

“We’ll find a way,” Ratiri said, though he was wondering what on Earth else Sharley knew, and how. Her knowing the future he could handle, but such intimate details of...everything? Potentially everything? The thought was beyond unsettling.

 

Thranduil met Ratiri’s eyes and smiled.  _ It is not what you think. At least, it is not what you think anymore. And that is all I can or will say. _

 

Ratiri sighed.  _ I trust you. _

 

Probably fortunately, Lorna came tripping in at that point, hair wrapped in a towel-turban. “ _ Tea _ ,” she said, making grabby hands. “Oooh, and griddlecakes. We’re going to the Grand Canyon today?”

 

“It will be a very relaxed day,” Earlene said. “The point of the day will be to sit and stare, and maybe take in the visitor’s center at Canyon Junction. There could be a little walking, but this is such a beautiful place. And for Saoirse, I wanted her to especially have the light in the morning and later in the afternoon because of the colors.”

 

Saoirse paused her devouring of griddlecakes long enough to say, “I might need more paint and stuff.” She had so many images in her head, and not enough stuff to get them out with. “If it’s really pretty, maybe I’ll do a big painting for...somewhere.” Sooner or later they’d run out of walls, and then she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Start painting the ceiling, maybe. There were so many stars here, so many more than she’d thought possible, and she wondered if she could render the sky right. She’d certainly try.

 

“Walk with me for a moment, Thanadir.” Thranduil stood up, having eaten enough, and moved away. His seneschal caught up soon enough.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Saoirse. I want to discuss something before it can be pushed aside by other concerns. The child has vast talent, on the level of our people. What she wishes is to have canvases to fill. You have seen her room, which is all but consumed with her artwork. And yet do we not have the thousands upon thousands of rooms in our Halls?”

 

Thanadir considered. “Stone is different than the plaster we used at Eldamar. And the surface irregular. Yet, something could be done.” he noted, since it was obvious what his King wished. It was his job to make things...possible.

 

“I would appreciate it, if this could be managed. She is a bright child, and yet I feel that this expression of her abilities would give her more joy--and keep her out of more trouble--than many other pursuits could offer.”

 

“I do not disagree,” Thanadir said. Saoirse did not curse, when there was no one with whom to speak. At least, not that anyone had to hear...

 

“Thank you,” he said, leading them toward the toilets, where he shrugged. “We are here, might as well.”

 

Thanadir laughed.  _ Might as well. _

 

*****

 

“OK so I have this planned out,” Earlene told the assembled group. “Today is waterfalls and Grand Canyon; sheer beauty, all day. We  _ could _ start where we were yesterday, and go straight to the brink of the Lower Falls, but if we do that, we will have the morning sun coming from the east and making good photographs impossible.” 

 

Thranduil chuckled, and was given a mild glare of reproof by Thanadir. Earlene actually had a map held in front of her, and was using a downed twig to point to the assorted geological features in question. This reminded Thranduil more of preparing a battle plan than seeing a waterfall. The seneschal sniffed in disapproval; he thought it quite commendable, that Earlene had thought of these tactical factors and was planning accordingly. The Earlene in question raised an eyebrow at the sniff, but said nothing. 

 

“So I suggest that we drive to the furthest area; Inspiration Point. We then work our way back to Grand View, and lookout point over the course of the morning. For lunch, we drive to the Canyon Visitor Center for washrooms, food, and treats. Then, back to the south side of the canyon, to stay the afternoon at Artist Point, where drawing, taking pictures, thinking, and staring off into space are encouraged. Questions? Comments?”

 

Now Thranduil was grinning ear to ear, and gaining sidewise glances of dismay from Thanadir, who still could not say a word about it. Earlene narrowed her eyes at him. He may have fucked her brains out to good avail this morning, but that wasn’t going to get him off the hook for being a ninny.

 

“You look frighteningly happy,” Lorna said. “Suspiciously so. Are we going to get some kind’v surprise?” Because she was rather afraid the answer was yes.

 

Completely distracted, he looked at Lorna. “Uh, no. Not at all. My mind was elsewhere. I am enjoying myself,” he declared, grinning. Thanadir managed to exchange an eye roll for an extended closing of his eyes. His King could be both a mighty Lord and a three year-old, with change occurring swiftly.

 

“Because I believe that for a moment,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. “Saoirse, pack up all your art stuff. I’m sure we’ll find out whatever fresh hell your uncle Thranduil has for us in due time.”

 

The girl dashed off to do just that, while Ratiri choked on a laugh. “I’ll get the twins ready.” They pretty much  _ were  _ ready, but he needed a moment to himself lest he break down entirely.

 

“Thanadir, I will get Mairead to bake you a cake if you let us in on this,” Lorna said, shaking her head. No, she was not averse to playing dirty.

 

“I am  _ not _ up to anything!” he exclaimed. “Really! I was only...okay maybe I was poking a little fun at my wife for how much she has the day planned more or less like a battle sequence,” he said quietly.

 

“I HEARD THAT,” Earlene projected forcefully, not about to overlook this. He was quite lucky, that the orgasm had been above a 9.0. Because if it had been an 8.5, well, a tirade might have followed.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Jesus, Thranduil, don’t go poking Earlene with a stick,” she said. “I’m positive it wouldn’t end well. She can be scarier than you are.”

 

Ratiri came back just in time to hear that, and gave up. Thranduil really was taking his life in his hands, there. Especially since they were sharing a caravan for another week.

 

“Okay, I’ve got my stuff,” Saoirse said, bounding after him. ‘Stuff’ she did indeed have -- a big backpack of vellum, colored pencils, ink, sharpeners, and a few things she didn't remember bringing, but would probably need anyway. “Why does Aunt Earlene look like she wants to rip someone’s head off and shi-- do something bad down the hole?”

 

Thanadir could not stand it any longer, and put his arm around Earlene.  _ I thought you did very well, meldis. You are very clever, to think of so many things. He does not mean it; he is just...playful.  _ He guessed, correctly, that him making this kind of effort would take her mind off of the current circumstances. 

 

_ I wish I could kiss you, but that would be unseemly just now.  _ She smiled, contenting herself with a half-hug instead.  _ He was right; and no real offense was taken, but who in hell else was supposed to organize this stuff? Eh, whatever. _

 

“Because your uncle Thranduil is a troll,” Lorna said, as though that explained everything. Which, actually, it rather did.

 

“Oh. ’Kay.” The kid hopped up into Starbase Three, helping Allanah.

 

“You people,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “You make me realize I lived alone for way, way too long.”

 

Once everything was loaded, off they went, while the sun crept higher over the eastern horizon. Lorna wondered how sunrise could be so spectacular here -- it was lovely in Ireland, especially in the countryside, but this was even more beautiful.

 

It was well up by the time they reached what was known as Artist’s Point, at the upper falls, and she could see at once how it had earned the name. The view of the falls was absolutely breathtaking as they poured white over the rim of the canyon, the mist rendered rainbow in the morning light, the canyon painted a hundred hues of gold with the morning sunshine.

 

It was still early enough that they were, for the moment, the only people there. Saoirse, almost in a trance, pulled out a pad of vellum and her colored pencils, sitting cross-legged on the ground to render the first outlines of the falls. Lorna really wanted to know where that kid had got her talent, because it sure as hell wasn’t from the Donovans. 

 

Shane and Chandra stared, stared as only the pair of them could, their green eyes wide. Ratiri lifted his daughter so that she could get a better view of the falls, which of course made Shane scowl until Sharley picked him up. While the pair of them were tall for their age, that didn't necessarily mean much; they could well wind up short-arses anyway, the poor kids.

 

“You can kind’v feel it, all the way up here,” Pat said. “Can’t you? I'm not out’v my mind?”

 

“Well, you may be, but you’re not wrong about this,” Lorna said, grinning. The roar of the falls could be heard even out here, which meant it was likely deafening up close. “And after...well,  _ after _ ...it might be a thousand years before anyone can come back here. Might take that long to rebuild.” It had taken centuries for Europe to recover from the Black Death, and that had only killed two-thirds of the population, not ninety-something percent. Thought of this beautiful place unappreciated by any was tragic, but on the other hand, it would go back to being what it had been for the tens of thousands of years before humans lived here. She was pretty sure only some parts of the park had been tribal land; much of it had been untouched in any way when the park was created.

 

_ It will still be here, long after we’re gone,  _ she thought. There was something oddly comforting in that.

 

Sharley leaned against the railing, watching the blue of the sky deepen. She was tempted, so tempted, to flip the switch, but she wasn’t entirely certain what that would do to her mind. This was a place that was beyond ancient, and Ratiri and Pat were suspicious and uneasy enough already.

 

She was pulled out of her thoughts by an oncoming group -- what looked like two sets of parents, one man in the most ungodly pair of khaki shorts, while one of the women had an honest-to-God  _ fanny pack  _ and oversized sunglasses. Sharley had no interest in fashion, but even she cringed at that. With them were five children of various ages; the eldest, a blonde girl of maybe fourteen, had a truly amazing sunburn. A younger, equally blond boy had his eyes glued to a Game Boy, expression sullen. “This is just like a bigger version of Central Park, only with bears,” he complained.

 

Lorna, upon hearing this, pressed her face against Ratiri’s arm in a desperate attempt to keep her laughter at bay.

 

“Yeah, and everybody knows Old Faithful’s fake anyway,” another boy added -- this one somewhere in his teens, speaking with all the smug superiority of someone who would grow up to wear a trilby. ( _ Trilby _ , not fedora. The poor fedora had had its name besmirched by far too many neck-bearded “smart guys” who couldn’t even properly identify their own pretentious hat.)

 

That did it -- she dissolved into laughter before she could help it. Ratiri merely winced, the sheer stupidity of that statement actually, physically paining him. He debated saying something, but realized with a creature that staggeringly dense, there was no point.

 

Earlene was clearly in a mood to be a troll. She turned to Ratiri in all seriousness: “Do you know, I read on the park website that they forgot to turn on Old Faithful yesterday, and got the most complaints they’d ever had? It crashed their server, and everything. God, you’d think they’d manage better; people are paying good money to see this, and all. At least they remembered to turn on the waterfall this morning, or I’d be pissed right now.” It was said quite loudly, and the look on Lorna’s face once she said it was...well, kind of priceless, really. Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose, and Earlene cared not a whit.

 

Ratiri managed a straight face, though even he wasn’t sure how he did it. “I just wish they’d turn down the thermostat on the hot springs,” he said. “I mean, what good are they if you can’t swim in them? That’s a waste of what should be a hot tub.”

 

Lorna, much though she wished she could add to that, simply could not. She just laughed even harder, and eventually had to wander off. Pat, just as helpless, followed her -- though Saoirse was too absorbed in her drawing to hear a word anyone said.

 

“See,” the boy said, with sickening triumph, “I  _ told  _ you.”

 

That did it for Ratiri, who utterly gave up and laughed so hard he nearly choked. The parents glowered at him, hustling their brood onward.

 

“Nobody who wears a bumbag has any right to glare at anyone,” he said, and didn't care that they had to have heard him. “It’s not nineteen-eighty-seven.” His dad had had one of those ungodly things, of course.

 

As Earlene sat and smirked, a possibility came over her. They would be at this location for quite awhile; what would happen if she bullshitted her way into pretending she was interviewing Park patrons for an academic study, and just started asking them questions assured to plumb the depths of visitor stupidity?  _ Oh god, the amusement factor could be off the scale… _

 

_ No. _

 

Her eyes tracked to her husband, to see _ that _ look on his face. The one that had distinctly monarchical overtones of expecting to be obeyed. 

 

_ Is that a command? _ She pressed, somewhat determined to have at least a little payback for his amusement at her organizational efforts.

 

_ Does it need to be? _ His gaze was clear and steady, his face betraying no hint of his thoughts.

 

_ No, but I would remind you that you have an unfair advantage. And, you might have been nicer to me. If you think it is easy to organize a trip like this for sixteen people, even if this is my native country… _

 

_ I am sorry. Please forgive me. I know it is hypocritical of me, when I have not behaved in the most adult-like manner myself. But I am afraid that if you do as you are thinking, it will lead to something...worse. We do have Lorna and Pat and Saoirse along and… _

 

_ You make your point well enough, and I appreciate the apology.  _ Her gaze turned, to consider the shifting light on the canyon walls. Next thing she knew, his hands were on her shoulders, rubbing at her neck.  _ Well. That is much better _ , and she had left the tourists in peace.

 

Sharley eyed the falls, and the next group of approaching tourists. A pair of them looked promising -- a man and a woman, young, spray-tanned, their shorts and tank tops both looking far too designer for Yellowstone. Earlene had awaked her inner troll, and when she heard the heavy California accents, she just couldn’t help it. Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, she set it to record audio, and tried not to smirk.

 

“Excuse me,” Sharley said, in a dead-on impersonation of Lorna’s accent, “I’m making a thing for some friends back home. What d’you think’v this place so far?”

 

“It’s like, gorgeous,” the woman said, beaming. Like so many Americans, Ratiri noticed, she had blindingly white teeth -- it was distracting enough that Sharley’s disturbingly on-point accent didn't immediately make him burst out laughing. “I just wish I knew how high you had to be before the deer turn into elk.”

 

_ Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh _ , he ordered himself, pinching the skin between his thumb and forefinger. It worked…for now.

 

Sharley didn't miss a beat. “I think you have to be at five thousand feet before that happens,” she said, utterly deadpan.

 

“Ohhhh okay,” the woman said. “I totally wish I could watch that happen. I mean, I bet it would be so cool.”

 

Earlene swallowed wrong. Or maybe it was, inhaled and swallowed wrong. Either way, deep rasping coughs came out of her chest, but they were conflated with an urge to laugh hysterically. Thranduil did not skip a beat, and sort of ushered her out of earshot toward the RV with quite an impressive amount of coordination. Thanadir had been sitting quietly with little Thaladir; they had both listened. 

 

“Adar,” he frowned mightily, speaking at the top of his high pitched voice. “Deer do NOT turn into elk. That is why they are deer. They…” Thanadir, to his credit, looked at no one and nothing while rising, hugging the child to his chest, and marching off toward the parking lot before sensitive Thaladir could manage to see the others erupt in laughter. He would not understand, and believe that he was being mocked.

 

“I bet it would be, too,” Sharley said, calm as you please. “Thanks.” The pair looked puzzled by all the laughter, but moved on anyway, off to the side where they could snap approximately eight thousand photographs of the exact same thing.  _ Tourists _ .

 

Saoirse, of course, remained oblivious. A five-car pileup wouldn’t have distracted her, especially as the light and shadow of the canyon took shape beneath her fingertips.

 

The next group of tourists included a forty-something man who complained quite loudly that the park should train the bears to stand where people could see them.  _ Somehow  _ Sharley kept a straight face through that one, though Lorna and Pat had to duck away again lest their laughter give the game away. Lorna wished, oh so much, that she could manage something like that, but it was a no-go. That Sharley could mimic her accent to such a degree was downright disturbing.

 

“What’s so funny, Mam?” Chandra asked, puzzled.

 

“People can be very silly. Even adult people.”

 

“...’Kay. Can I go back in the caravan? I’m hungry.”

 

Lorna, grateful for the chance to escape, took her daughter back. Once inside, she burst into utterly helpless laughter. “Oh good Jesus, how did some’v these people reach adulthood, let alone hold down jobs?”

 

Earlene had recovered under Thranduil’s assistance, and decided that perhaps heating water for lunch was a safer use of her time just now. Pat was still with Saoirse, and they could ready food before needing to pull her out of her artistic dreamworld. Today’s menu: fresh fruit, crisps, and Cup of Soups. She rolled her eyes, and began peeling plastic off of the containers.

 

Sharley eventually had to give up, her stoicism under too heavy a siege, and joined the group in the RV. “Every time I think I’ve met the dumbest person in all of humanity, somebody comes along to prove me wrong,” she said, shaking her head. “Talked to one guy who was  _ not  _ an idiot, but who told me about a couple of complete morons who sprayed  _ bear spray  _ all over themselves, because they thought it worked like mosquito repellent.”

 

Ratiri twitched, because...oh God.  _ No. _

 

“How’d you learn how to fake my voice so well?” Lorna asked, giggling.

 

“I did live with you for a year,” Sharley pointed out. “And your voice is kinda...distinct. Poor Saoirse, I don’t think she heard a thing anyone said.”

 

“More like lucky Saoirse,” Ratiri muttered. “And lucky everyone else, because I can only imagine what she might have said if she’d actually been paying attention.”

 

After lunch they relocated to Grand View. There was less to see here and yet more; this was perhaps the stretch that would afford them the greatest views of the canyon walls with their delicate shades of rose and saffron. Earlene sat with all four of her children. “Water made this,” she explained. “That river down below has run through here for a very, very long time, and it ate away the ground. The river will continue to make the canyon deeper unless something else happens to change that.” 

 

Allanah frowned. “Where’d all the dirt go?”

 

“Someplace else,” Eleniel said. “See the muddy river, Allanah? That means, there is soil in the water, and it’s going to wherever the river goes.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrow raised. He did not expect his children to be idiots, but this was a perception he would guess many human adults visiting this place would not have. Predictably, Saoirse brought her art supplies, her eyes taking in the scenery and judging what of it she would like to memorialize on her sheets of paper.

 

“What was it like before?” Chandra asked. “Before the water?”

 

“It was probably level with the cliffs around it,” Ratiri said. “Or very nearly. Water and ice can do extraordinary things, given enough time.”

 

“If somebody jumped, would they splat?” Shane asked, staring down in fascination.

 

“They would die, yes,” Ratiri said. He was not about to explain what would actually happen to a human body hitting the ground from this height, but ‘splat’ wasn’t that far off.

 

“So stay well back from the railing,” Lorna added.  _ She  _ certainly was; she’d had about enough of heights for now.

 

Pat watched his daughter. How she could simply disappear inside of herself like that, he had no idea. In that she reminded him very much of Thanadir. At least it was only drawing that made her do so; he didn't need to worry about her wandering into traffic or anything of that sort. He really, really wished he knew where her talent had come from; if the world wasn’t going to end, he’d suggest she go to art school, except she’d probably blow everyone there away.

 

The time at Grand View bled into the time at Inspiration Point, and then finally the arguably loveliest vista of all, Artist Point. Nowhere else were the pinks so pronounced, or the shades of ochre so varied. The falls were visible, and it was altogether lovely.  _ Carnelian _ , thought Earlene. There were always words for specific colors, though not ones often used in daily language. Sharley had the clever idea to go and sit on top of the parked RVs, which afforded them all a seated view over the heads of everyone else. Saoirse could draw from here with an unobstructed view, and the rest of them could people watch. It was the best of both worlds. At least until the family came with the two boisterous sons, that were permitted to scramble up onto the protective rocks that were sure as hell not meant to be play structures. With that amazingly steep canyon just at the other side. Yeah, shit like this made it hard to watch.

 

“You’ve gotta wonder if the parents have big life insurance policies on those kids that they’re just waiting to cash out,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “If that doesn’t work, they might resort to just kicking one over the edge.”

 

“Ouch,” Lorna said, sipping water. She’d got bored and added Tang to it -- odd stuff, that, and very sweet. “And yet you might not be wrong.”

 

“Can I do that?” Shane asked, staring.

 

Ratiri snorted. “Absolutely not. Your mam and I love you too much to let you be that stupid.” He was tempted, so very tempted, to go deal with the parents, but what good would it do? The Americans did have a saying, after all: you can’t fix stupid.

 

A group of arsehole teenagers blew by, blasting some obnoxious pop music and destroying the atmosphere nicely. At least they were gone as fast as they came, though given their driving, it was only a matter of time before they hit someone. How did more people not die in this place each year? They’d witnessed some truly astonishing stupidity in only two days.

 

As the light began to fade from the sky, Pat was given the unenviable task of telling Saoirse that it was time to return to the campground, and think about dinner. Because there had been precious little to do all day by way of child care, Maerwen, Lothiriel and Ortherion had spent a great deal of time simply standing, off by themselves, soaking in what for them must be in some ways the view of a lifetime. Earlene tried to imagine what it would be like, to have known nothing but Thranduil’s forest for endless thousands of years, and then to behold a sight like this. They must want to commit every rock to memory…

 

Lorna drove on the way back, to give the others a break -- which of course meant she had to scoot the seat as far forward as it would go. This was rather like driving the commuter van, at least, though the roads were hardly the same. Still, at least the rest of the drivers were a lot more sane than the gobshite teenagers; she could chug along and enjoy the view without anyone trying to crawl up her tailpipe.

 

It was a long drive, but that was okay; it gave them time to think up what to do for dinner. Lorna had left that up to Earlene and Sharley, quite happily; she was so out of practice at cooking that she’d probably just make a hash of it now. She couldn’t say she was that sorry, either, since she never had enjoyed it -- though that was possibly because she’d had Mairead as a teacher. God love her sister, but she had a singular gift for turning someone off a subject.

 

Ratiri was happy to doze, a twin on either side of him, until a whirling flash of red and blue and the single chirp of a siren roused him.  _ What in the…? _

 

“All right, I  _ know  _ I wasn’t speeding,” Lorna said, pulling over as soon as there was an actual place to do so. “If this thing has a tail light out, somebody’s getting shouted at. I’m not sure who, but there will be shouting involved.”

 

Thranduil pulled over also, at Earlene’s behest, once he told her what had occurred. Given that it was not Lorna’s homeland, she did not want to be too far away. Though, she elected to not exit the vehicle and stick her nose in where it did not belong; law enforcement could be...odd that way. They would simply observe, and wait. And hope Lorna knew not to cuss at the officer.

 

“Deep breath, Lorna,” Ratiri said, hoping she was not about to utterly lose her shit over this. Yes, she had a pretty good handle on her temper by now, but this was law enforcement. She had rather a bad history with it.

 

“Allanah, what did I tell you the last time you lectured me about breathing?” she asked, but her mouth twitched in a smile.

 

He winced. “I’d done my best to block that out.”

 

Pat stirred, rubbing his eyes. “Do I want to ask?”

 

“Nope,” Ratiri and Lorna said at once.

 

The officer that approached them was tall and sandy-haired, and if he’d made it past thirty, Lorna would be very surprised. She cranked the window down, and nearly sighed at the loss of precious air conditioning. “Have I got a tail light out?” she asked, in carefully measured tones. She really didn't want to have Ratiri need to translate for her.

 

The young man’s hazel eyes were at once filled with relief and amusement. “No, I just wanted to make certain the RV wasn’t being driven by a child,” he said. “I’ve seen it before.”

 

“Wait, seriously?” Ratiri asked, making his way to the front of the caravan.

 

“More than once,” the officer sighed. “Ma’am, you’re from Dublin, aren’t you?” 

 

Lorna blinked. “I am,” she said, surprised that an American would be able to pick that up.

 

“My gran’s from Dublin,” he said, a little sheepishly.

 

She burst out laughing. “I swear, half the Americans I meet’ve got an Irish gran. Let me guess -- cooks, swears a lot?”

 

“She can pull a three-course meal out of thin air,” the officer said, shaking his head. “Don’t ask me how. All right, I have to ask this, but can you see well enough over the dashboard?”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “I can. I’m used to driving a commuter van back home. A caravan’s easy, compared to that.”

 

In the back of the caravan, Pat was doing his level best to keep his laughter in. He actually had to stuff his face into a cushion, because oh good  _ God _ ...only Lorna. Only his poor, tiny sister would get pulled over simply for being short.

 

“Well, good luck,” the officer said, grinning. “I’ll radio around with your license plate, so you don’t get pulled over again.” With a wave, he was off, and only once Lorna had rolled the window up did she break down laughing.

 

“Well, that’s new,” she said, giggling helplessly. “Jesus bloody Christ.”

 

Thranduil started the engine and smirked at his wife. “Want to take a guess?”

 

Earlene frowned. “She didn’t come to a complete stop at the last sign?”

 

“No. She is short.”

 

“Oh well, for god’s sake….”

 

“The man told her, he has pulled over vehicles that had children at the wheel.”

 

Earlene stared straight ahead and shook her head. “Welcome to ‘Murica.”

 

Thranduil said nothing, and decided that it was more than time for the campground. And he had seen that Sharley had packed some wine, perhaps this was the night for it to be consumed. He had, after all, helped the day to get off to a difficult start, and owed his wife something nice. Er, nice and fit to be done in public.

 

Lorna kept laughing until they reached the campground, because honestly, what else could she do? That was one of the more ridiculous things she’d had to deal with, at least when it came to being so tiny. Nobody had ever assumed anything she was driving was actually being driven by a  _ child  _ before. “I wish I’d taken his picture,” she said. “It’d be something for the scrapbook.”

 

That just set Ratiri off again. “Never change, mo chroí,” he said, shaking his head. “Never change.”

 

“Not one word, Pat,” she said, as she parked. “Not one. Bloody. Word.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream’v it,” he said, snickering. “ _ Little  _ sister.”

 

“That’s two words,” she warned. “Keep in mind, Pat, you’ve got to

sleep sometime.”

 

*****

 

“Spaghetti.” Earlene looked at the packages, the number of people, and the jars of sauce and more or less decided that the campfire was just not the way to go. However. They still had one loaf of French bread that had not gone stale, and Sharley was handed butter, garlic, the entire roll of foil, and a knife. “I’ve gotta do this in one of the RV stoves, else we’ll not eat until midnight.” They had one large pot and one decent sized saucepan; this would require a certain measure of inventiveness. The steady diet of junk-ish food was beginning to wear on some of them, though no one complained aloud. This would be the last night of fresh fruit, though plenty of bags of things like craisins or dried acai-berries were still in the cupboards. Those got the Mental Earlene Veto as well, for having added sugar, preservatives and...preservatives, but there wasn’t much choice since they couldn’t exactly skip down to the Farmer’s Market here. At least they had some real Romano cheese to shave onto the pasta; it had been made clear that the presence of anything pre-grated in a can would be met with a tantrum.

 

Lorna put together a large bowl of punch -- guava juice, which she hadn’t even known was a thing until they went to New York, and which was all but impossible to find in Ireland -- and a bottle of ginger ale. The bowl they had wasn’t nearly big enough for all of it at once, but she could keep re-filling it. 

 

Pat, wisely, avoided her, and pondered making tea. He knew she was serious about her threat, and had no desire to wake up with something disgusting lodged in his ear. Nope. He didn't care that they were both well into their forties, he knew she’d do it anyway.

 

“You should’ve been smarter than that, Pat,” Ratiri said, watching him with unveiled amusement. “She might not make you pay tonight, though. She’s been around Elves too long. She’ll wait until you’ve dropped your guard.”

 

“Because I so needed to hear that,” the poor man said.

 

“I still owe her one over ‘Cinnamon Roll’,” Thanadir mused. “Hmmm.”

 

“Whatever you do, please try not to do it on the same day she gets Pat back,” Ratiri said. The house would survive, but the sanity of those in it might not.

 

“No no, do it the same day,” Pat said. “If you get her before she gets me, it might not be as bad.”

 

“Or she’ll be doubly annoyed, and it’ll go worse for you,” Ratiri pointed out.

 

Thanadir pondered carefully what he knew of Lorna. That she would try something, he did not doubt. But whether she possessed the subtlety to plan an attack against him as Earlene had done...that seemed unlikely, though he did not like to underestimate her. This only indicated to him that should he attempt his payback, it must be of obscured origins.  _ Plausible deniability _ , as his meldis would say. He said nothing further, but smiled. And kept on smiling.

 

Pat resisted the urge to cross himself. Barely. Fortunately Thanadir had elven hearing, because Lorna was tiny. She could jam herself into astonishingly small spaces -- when they were kids, she’d pulled the front off his bottom dresser drawer (which he never opened), tossed the rest of the drawer out the window, and hidden there until he fell asleep like an idiot. Once he was well under, she’d snuck out, stuck a half-chewed wad of gum in his ear, and tiptoed away without waking him. Because  _ that  _ had been so much fun.

 

“Why do I think this isn’t going to end well?” Ratiri asked, of everyone and no one. He debated telling Thanadir he looked like a serial killer when he smiled like that, and decided against it.

 

Thranduil sidled next to him and sat down.  _ You are not actually going to do something to her, are you? _

 

A sidewise glance to his King ensued.  _ I had….considered it. I did not appreciate being publicly spoken of as a Cinnamon Roll. It was disrespectful. Lorna has rather too much tendency to retaliate against others for small things, while not noticing the forbearance of others toward her for arguably larger things. _

 

_ I was hoping that this might not occur on this vacation. I have ever stayed out of these sorts of things between you and others, meldir. _

 

_ You have. Are you asking me not to, Thranduil? It is your right to do so. _

 

The King sighed. This would be setting a precedent that he very much did not wish to set. He blinked. And received another sidewise glance.

 

_ If I may offer, I will refrain from my indulgences at least until our return home. I can see that this makes you uneasy. But please, I do not have to tell them that, do I? _

 

Now Thranduil chuckled, and clapped the old elf on the shoulder. And that was more than enough of an answer.

 

Food was produced in due course, while the sun sank toward the horizon. Shane and Chandra, bundled in coats, played with blocks in front of the fire, while Saoirse sketched in between bites. Lorna, bundled in her hoodie, came and sat on Ratiri for warmth.

 

“You unbraided your hair,” he said, swatting a strand out of his face.

 

“It makes a great shawl.”

 

Pat rolled his eyes. “She used to say it was as good as a blanket, when we were kids. Siobhan swore it had a mind of its own, and tried to kill her in her sleep.”

 

Earlene was inclined to agree. Lorna might have twelve inches of hair or even a little more on her, but the way it behaved...well, it might as well have been part octopus. She too sat on Thranduil’s knee, pulled in against him while they enjoyed the firelight. As the children faded, the elven nannies ushered them off one by one to their beds; that part was extremely handy. Ratiri went to get the twins settled, leaving Lorna by the fire.

 

Sharley, once she’d stuffed her own face, lay on one of the other picnic tables, staring up at the stars. Her memory was a fragmentary thing, but the stars were constant. When she’d escaped That Place, it had been night; she didn't remember where the blood had come from, not really, but she remembered the stars -- at first, she hadn’t known what they were. All she’d known was that they were lovely, that they were something beyond flat white walls and speckled ceiling tiles, something more than fluorescent lights and hard, cold tile. Her memory had returned, in bits and pieces, each night as she would lie awake and watch, from wherever she’d chosen to stay. It had been years before she’d sleep indoors. The night sky had been the only thing she trusted.

 

So many stars here, too -- the night sky in the mountains was pretty impressive, but it wasn’t this. Maybe it would be like this everywhere, after the end of the world -- no more light pollution, no more  _ air  _ pollution. Maybe all her memories would come back. It would be nice to know...things. Anything.

 

Shouts from elsewhere in the campground caused the remaining adults still outside to raise their heads up and look in the direction of the noise. Four college-aged young men,  _ sans-culottes _ (as the French might say) came streaking by (as the Americans would  _ definitely _ say), treating them all to...a sight. “Oh my,” was the sum of Earlene’s comment. What she thought, but of course did not say aloud, was that she had so much more of a lovely package nearby than anything running by their campfire.

 

“Oi, Micro-Bollocks!” Lorna cried. “You shouldn’t go running off without your pants in the cold, especially when your langer’s the size’v a bloody pencil to begin with!”

 

While odds were good few to none of them actually understood that, the one at the back tripped, and crashed face first onto the grass. From the sound of it, he sicked up a little while he was at it. 

 

Further up ahead, one of them went, “Oh, shit, there’s a kid on that table.  _ Run. _ ”

 

Unfortunately for him, Lorna had a lot of practice with throwing knives. A stick didn't have anywhere near the same aerodynamic properties, but nevertheless, the one she lobbed at him hit him square in his pasty white arse.

 

“Oh dear,” Earlene now sagely observed. “Well, at least it wasn’t a flaming marshmallow.” The best part of that crack was that even Thanadir laughed at the unfortunate man.

 

“It is not too late,” the seneschal noted. “The bag is in the bear locker, and he does not appear to be going anywhere.” He was not about to help this idiot, who seemed to deserve what he had earned.

 

Lorna looked at him. “Thanadir,” she said, “are you actually condoning it, if I do something marshmallow-related to that gobshite? Because I’m not above doing it.”

 

The elf turned his soft hazel eyes to her. “I have no jurisdiction here,” he replied solemnly.

 

“Eru,” groaned Thranduil. “Why must your honesty always be so frightening?”

 

Earlene sipped her wine. “I hope someone takes video. For the record, I will be denying everything.” The other three men, it seemed, had no wish to return for their companion, who was still rolling and retching on the ground.  And because she did not do retching under any circumstances, she was not about to try and help. “We probably should call for the campground docent. You know, in ten minutes or so.”

 

Lorna cackled, scrambling to the bear-box. Yes, she tripped on her own hair a bit, but oh well. Not thirty seconds later she had a marshmallow speared on a stick, flaming blue as the sugar scorched. Aiming  _ this  _ was much more difficult, because it was rather like trying to judge the aiming of a trebuchet, but after a moment of contemplation, she swung the stick hard enough to send the marshmallow flying.

 

Rather incredibly, it too hit the kid’s arse, making him yelp through his retching. He wound up slapping his ass, which put the fire out, but just left ass  _ and  _ hand covered in sticky white, and there were so many places Lorna could go with that that she didn't know which to try first.

 

“Cheers, mate,” she said, spearing another marshmallow. This one, however, went in her mouth, because the only thing better than watching some gobshite uni student slap his own arse was watching while eating sweet, sugary, slightly carbon-coated goodness.

 

After noting that the bag of sweets made it back into the bear locker, and tipping back the last of her wine, Earlene rose wearily. “Alright, we either have to bother Ratiri or call someone. We can’t leave food in the campground for the bears and like it or not, he qualifies. It’s bad enough he puked. And I am so not going anywhere near that.” 

 

Sharley rolled her eyes, but stood up. “Don’t bother Ratiri. This jackass isn’t worth it. I know where the docent is.” She vanished across the campground, wrinkling her nose in distaste at needing to bother.  _ Jerk. _

 

*****

 

{June 13, 2019}

 

Blurp. Blub. Burble. Blep. Pop pop pop. Blorp. 

 

Thanadir was mesmerized. They called it a mudpot. Or rather, a paintpot. Fountain Paintpots, to be particular. This one even had a name, ‘Red Spouter’. And he loved it. It hissed, it bubbled, and it was not possible to stop watching it. Them. He had already filmed fifteen minutes of video, only of this. That was when Earlene realized, she had not seen him take a single picture on their trip, before now.

 

“You like these, meldir?” 

 

He sighed. “They are soothing, Earlene. I wish we had this at home. It speaks to me.”

 

“I see,” she said, though she actually did not see in the least. And she definitely worried about what the paintpots might be saying to him. It looked like someone had tossed plaster of Paris into a saucepan, set it to boil and added a drop of red food coloring, with the rest being aftermath. Then again, he genuinely did seem to be enjoying this.  _ Maybe he needs a lava lamp… _

 

This was the Lower Geyser Basin, and these last two days in the park would be spent feasting their eyes on the assorted geothermal features that made the Park famous. The area viewed by the Fountain Paintpot Trail was a vast, ashen colored crust weirdly streaked with what they soon learned were ‘bacterial mats’. Which was a fancy way of saying, places where the hot water ran away from where it surfaced, and then allowed strange orange mats of living organisms to grow that provided such contrast to the clear blues and greens of the hot water. Everything here was apparently color coded by temperature. They were able to best look down into something called Silex Spring, with a deep blue aquamarine color too clear to be believed, and the riot of orange streaming away from it all around. It was alien and beautiful and it almost made sense now, why people went off and did utterly stupid things here. In spite of the danger, it beckoned. People were not made to resist that level of Pretty.

 

“Mam, they don’t look real,” Chandra said, eying the bubbling colors with blatant distrust. “Is this a real thing or a fake thing?”

 

“It’s real. The world’s an amazing place.” Her daughter had a point, though; they really  _ didn't  _ look real. The Silex Spring itself looked like a painting, and she had a feeling Saoirse would be making an actual painting on it when they returned home.

 

“I really wish there was something like this in Europe,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “It would certainly be easier to visit, but if there was more than one Yellowstone, it wouldn’t be as amazing.”

 

“Oh, it’d still be pretty amazing,” Lorna said, and frowned when some gobshite kid threw a rock into the pool. They weren’t, so she’d read, meant to do that, since it could block up something if it landed wrong. Fortunately, the kid’s parents grabbed him and hustled him off before he could do any more ecological damage.

 

Their next stop was the Grand Prismatic Spring, quite possibly the single most impressive feature in the entire Park, depending on one’s preference. And of course there were nearby geysers and the Firehole River and other very impressive sights. And they had an advantage; many in their party were either tall, coordinated, or both. One at a time, the elves offered their shoulders to any who wished, because they could easily hold human child or adult without risking a misstep off of the wooden walkways. And the view of the spring from ten feet up was quite different from the view standing at ground level. Especially if you were Lorna. To a one, they ignored the glares of the less coordinated tourists who were basically just jealous.

 

“I think somebody died in this one,” Lorna said. Then again, according to  _ Death in Yellowstone _ , people had died pretty much all over, mainly from being stupid. There was something hypnotic about it, though. 

 

“Did they?” Saoirse asked, so mesmerized that she didn't look up. “Gross. What a way to go.”

 

“Or not.” In all honesty, truly hot water made Pat nervous. He’d scalded the ever-loving shit out of his hand as a kid, and he’d been a bit freaked out by it ever since.  _ At least it would probably be fast _ , he thought.  _ I hope, anyway. _

 

Ratiri debated explaining exactly what that would do to a human, but considering there were small ones, he figured he’d leave it until the kids were all asleep.  _ Then  _ he could get cheerfully gruesome, because weren’t you meant to tell scary stories around a campfire?

 

They drifted from place to place, from geyser to geyser. Some had times on when the next eruption would happen. They stayed for a few, looked sadly at many, and hoped that at home there might be YouTube videos to cover their losses. And then of course they had to see Old Faithful, while joking about the stupid kid and his ‘fake geyser’ comment until even they could not stand it any longer. The real thing did not disappoint. Thanadir approved; it was precisely on schedule, which he felt was incredibly seemly for an inanimate object (and he said as much). 

 

All of the elves watched in wonder, aware that in the place they stood, millions on millions of humans had also passed. Here was something so old that by comparison, they too were as infants. This was not something they often were made to feel, and to a one they found that they relished the idea that for longer than their kind had existed, this had been. Though privately, Thranduil wondered which of their Lords or Ladies came up with the idea for such a place. Ulmo, Lord of the Waters? Certainly not Yavanna, who made things fair and green? Or perhaps even Aulë, though that made little sense. A part of him even wondered if this was an idea of Melko, and yet it seemed too lovely in its own strange way. Ah well, perhaps one day he could ask.

 

Sharley held Allanah’s hand as they approached the Old Faithful Inn. It was the oldest structure still standing in the park, a massive, sprawling building of timber and shingles. And the fire had been  _ so close _ ...she’d sprayed water on the roof, the heat so intense that it steamed--

 

_ Oh, it had been hot, the air dry and scorching, though they’d never been reduced to oxygen masks out here. The smoke and parching breeze had tightened her skin until it cracked in places, leaving her to rub on Vaseline which melted almost immediately. Even outside of the smoke, the scent of it was so intense it all but seared her sinuses, and the wind, fire-fanned, swirled it about into an eye-stinging nightmare. _

 

_ And the sound of the trees, as they burned -- the tearing crack, the roar as the flames consumed them, because they’d been tinder-dry now for years. This part of the park had been like a box of matchsticks, and she’d -- they’d -- been so certain they wouldn’t be able to save the Inn. _

 

She felt the heat of it again, the ghost of the fire raging before her eyes, blue sky obscured by smoke that had dissipated decades ago. It stopped her in her tracks, the shock of it all but driving the breath from her. The heat of the sun and the heat of the fire that was no more hit her like a sucker-punch, and it sent her staggering a little.

 

“You okay, Aunt Sharley?” Allanah asked, looking up. Thranduil appeared at her side rather quickly.

 

_ Is everything...well? _

 

“I’m okay, sweetie,” Sharley said, blinking. The ghost-fire remained before her vision, and she realized just how fast she’d gotten used to  _ not  _ seeing like this.  _ I didn't flip the switch,  _ she added.  _ I think the switch flipped itself. Jesus, this was...terrifying, and amazing, and weirdly fucking beautiful.  _ Her heart was pounding with the remembrance of adrenaline, sweat beading on her forehead. To see it was it was now, overlain with what it had been...it was beyond surreal, and she tried to flip the switch back. Given that she hadn’t turned it  _ off _ , she didn't actually know how to do that.  _ Why  _ had it flipped itself? Because this was somewhere she’d been, somewhere she remembered? It was as good a guess as any.

 

Thranduil laid a hand on her in reassurance, understanding how distorted her perceptions currently were. And if he was to be completely honest, rather enjoying them. Yes, he’d realized there had been a fire, but who could have imagined  _ that _ ? When their own forest burned, there had been two simple choices: Those still in the Halls remained where they were, and sheltered without disturbance, and the rest of them watched at a distance until Ulmo had sent his rains to make an end of the flames. He would never forget; and yet what had happened here was not that at all.

 

_ At night it was like hell, the fire so huge that there was nothing approximating darkness. The smoke screened the stars, but every so often a patch it would clear, and all those billions of diamond-bright lights would shine against the distant velvet sky. She’d seen nature in action before -- she’d watched Mount St. Helens blow its top from the shores of Lake Washington -- but somehow this was far more intense, because it was so immediate. She no longer remembered who had told her this, but someone had once said to her ‘Have respect for nature, because it has no respect for you’. If ever anything could make a person feel small, feel like they didn't matter a whit, it was this, and yet she’d felt so  _ alive. _ There had been fear, yeah, because she wasn’t  _ completely  _ insane, but the heat and smoke and sweat had seared into her imperfect memory. _

 

“We thought we wouldn’t save it,” she said. “I mean, we had to try, but we thought there’d be no way, yet here it still is. It’s what, a hundred and fifteen years old now? That’s pretty damn old, by our standards.”

 

Thranduil nodded, and smiled, mostly more worried that her recollections had broken through his protections on her tendency to see all through the past...and yet this seemed harmless enough. It was not the same as looking at another, and seeing their entire history, as had gone on before.

 

They all filed inside of the Inn, to appreciate it. Certainly, the elves had never seen the like and neither had the humans. “I’ve seen log cabins before,” Earlene murmured. “But not like this.”

 

“It’s a log cabin on steroids,” Lorna said. The thing was what, five storeys high? The center was a big open space dominated by a free-standing, river-rock chimney, though she noticed that the floor looked almost more like Pergo than real hardwood -- it must have been replaced at some point. The hallways to the upper floors were open-sided, railings and pillars all built of actual sticks and huge sections of tree-trunk -- hell, even the steps were short logs cut into halves. It must have taken absolute  _ ages _ , especially if the little pamphlet was right and it actually had been built in 1904. 

 

“If we ever add on to Eldamar, can we make it like this?” Saoirse asked, staring.

 

_ It had been stinky and smoky in 1988, but still beautiful. Nobody had been able to stay inside until the fire was out, and even then it was so hot nobody really wanted to, but Sharley had spent the night in one anyway, on a soft bed with sheets that smelled of smoke, surrounded by dark pine walls and a window that looked out onto a ruin. It had saddened her, though she knew that new things would grow in their place. Yellowstone would go on, as it had for tens of thousands of years.  _ “I want to stay here again, sometime,” she said. “When it doesn’t smell like smoke.”

 

“It doesn’t,” Earlene said kindly, guessing that a few things might be temporarily out of order. “But I bet it’s hell to get reservations.” Usually these popular destinations could book quite far in advance. Though if she recalled correctly, it wasn’t horribly expensive to lodge here.

 

A man in a Parks uniform wandered toward them, coffee in hand. He wasn’t paying a great deal of attention to those around him -- not until he stepped out of the way of a passing group of Japanese tourists and nearly wound up right in the middle of theirs. He started to make his apologies, but paused when he saw Sharley -- and Sharley saw him.

 

_ She remembered this man -- his name was Devon, and in 1988 he’d been a twenty-year-old green trainee who’d had no business being sent out on such a major fire. His first day he’d been scared shitless, and of course, being a twenty-year-old male, hadn’t wanted to admit it to anyone. She’d just told him that being afraid meant he wasn’t utterly brain-dead. _

 

She could see the man he had been, a ghost-image over the man he was now. He’d gained about forty pounds and his hairline was slightly receding, but he made up for it with a big, astonishingly impressive sandy mustache.

 

He stared, his eyes searching her face. Her hair hadn’t been blue then, but she knew that her eyes were rather memorable. “You...sorry,” he said. “You just look one hell of a lot like someone I once knew.”

 

Sharley’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Hi, Devon. Fire didn't scare you out, huh? I remember you saying you wanted to run into an inner city and never leave, because concrete didn't burn.”

 

He winced at the memory, but kept staring. “Well, hell, at least one of us aged well,” he said, smoothing a hand over his hair. It was a little long for a Parks employee, but obviously nobody minded. 

 

“Eh, genetics,” Sharley said dismissively, as if that made any kind of actual sense. “How long have you been here?”

 

“I stayed away for maybe two years,” he said, sheepish. He directed them -- and it was ‘them’, since the Donovans followed -- off to the side a little, so they weren’t in the way of traffic. “Then I realized I had to come help again. Never did go back. Where did you go, though?”

 

“Here and there,” she said with a shrug. “Met these guys two years ago. Lorna, Ratiri, Pat, this is Devon -- he was fighting the fires in eighty-eight, too. Devon, meet the Duncan-Donovans. This little one is Allanah Sullivan, Lorna and Pat’s cousin, but she’s a little shy.” She picked the girl up, figuring Allanah might feel safer in her arms.

 

“Hi,” he said, shaking hands all around. His eyes traveled from Pat to Lorna, the latter of whom was pretty sure he thought they were twins. It would not be the first time. “Here I was thinking this one was your daughter, but we’re a bit old for that, aren’t we?”

 

“Dunno,” Sharley said, a flicker of pain passing through her. “I had a daughter, but I don’t have one anymore. I’m happy being an auntie.”

 

Devon winced visibly. “Sorry. Jesus.”

 

She shrugged again. “It’s okay. It was a while ago now. I’ve got lots of little nieces and nephews.”

 

“How long are you in town for?”

 

“Another two days, then we’re off home. Which is a lot longer a trip for these guys than it is for me.”

 

“We want to come live here for a while,” Saoirse said. “A whole summer, if we can.”

 

“There’s plenty of docent jobs.” Devon suddenly sounded quite enthusiastic. “Park’s big. If you want application forms, I can get them.”

 

“Ratiri and I won’t be coming for a while yet,” Lorna said. “We’ve got twins ourselves, and we wouldn’t want to come until they’re old enough to remember it.”

 

Thranduil listened and now was completely disturbed, though he kept his face neutral. While he had already derived a few bits of reasoning concerning Sharley, the stark contrast in appearance between the youthful image of this man Devon in Sharley’s mind and his current appearance could not be more stark. ‘Aging well’ had nothing to do with this, and he had been deluding himself to even consider that excuse. While he knew that mortals used medical and surgical options to preserve the appearance of youth, this was beyond all of that. Earlene looked young  _ for her age _ , whereas Sharley looked plain  _ young _ , despite rough living and assuredly no interventions of this kind. Not now, but once they were at home and assured of time and full privacy, he would need to have a serious discussion with both his wife and seneschal. Because, he would have to weigh the risk of yet another confrontation. It could not be more obvious, that the Stranger was hiding more than it had admitted to; the question was in the wisdom of pressing further. He shook his head ever so subtly. For now, this needed setting aside.

 

They puttered and meandered, and decided that they all wanted one more look at things like the Morning Glory Pool, the likes of which they would doubtless never see again. And after it was time to return to camp. This was their second to last night; tomorrow would be one more day of geysers and basins. Earlene decided that her favorites were ones that spit. “Meldis, why are you looking at that one so much?” Thanadir saw that she had taken up a position near a thermal feature that did not do much of anything except appear to be in a bad mood.

 

“It spits. It reminds me of certain people I knew, that were always cross and given to complaining. And much like them, it never shuts up or does anything different. You had your mud pots, but I like these most.” And like the best friend that he was, he did not tease or argue, but took up the same stance next to her to watch it as well. After several minutes of consideration, he decided that it reminded him most of Thranduil’s former wife, in her latter days before departing. Not that he would ever speak this aloud. It was crass, and would be inappropriate. That it was also true, did not matter in the least.

 

Lorna, naturally, snapped even more pictures -- some copy shop in Kildare was going to get a lot of business, and possibly run out of ink. If only it wasn’t so  _ hot _ ...she was sweating, and she could tell Pat and Ratiri were as well. The kids didn't seem to mind it at all, but if she wasn’t quite certain Sharley would give out at her, she’d dump this entire canteen over her head. What this place was like in high summer, she didn't even want to imagine -- though if they did come and stay here later, she’d find out.

 

_ Ice packs _ , she thought.  _ Under your shirt. That’d take care of it and then some. _

 

Earlene surveyed the scene. It was obvious that the comfort level of some of their party was waning, and they would be doing much the same thing tomorrow. They had already seen most everything they wished to twice… “Meldir, I think we should ask Thranduil to call for returning. Some are feeling too warm, and we will spend tomorrow looking at more geysers and...things of this nature. Perhaps we should go back so the others can go to the lakeside if they wish.”

 

Thanadir rose and quickly saw what Earlene had, and sought Thranduil’s mind. They had a strongest connection outside the forest of any, and a moment later the King nodded in agreement. He began the process of gathering their company into someplace out of the way enough to talk for a moment. “I am told that there are places to eat in this complex, and thought it would be nice to do this. We would have a break from campground cooking, and a little variety. It is only...cafeteria food...but does anyone object?”

 

“Not me,” Lorna said. If they only knew what she and Pat had grown up eating...cafeteria food was like manna from heaven. No, it wasn’t a patch on Earlene’s cooking, but nothing was.

 

“Me neither,” Ratiri said. He’d just be happy to get out of the sun; food was a nice bonus.

 

Saoirse’s stomach rumbled, which kind of decided  _ that  _ one.

 

Thanadir and Earlene looked at each other and smiled. She knew he had not had his fill since all this began, except for perhaps Hobo Stew night. And as they were eating the worst sort of packaged food anyway, cafeteria fare could hardly be a step downward. Thranduil saw their looks of eagerness and laughed. The children, having eaten out so little, had no opinion but were clearly interested at the novelty of the proposal. Not thirty seconds later they were moving as a herd, following their striking blond leader. 

 

Earlene lingered back, carrying Thaladir, just enough to amuse herself watching other people watching them. What they all must look like; this group of tall, inhumanly lovely individuals peppered with short Irishfolk and a gaggle of children….she really needed to remember to ask Thranduil sometime.

 

The Duncan-Donovan adults breathed a collective sigh of relief when they were inside, grateful to be out of what to them felt like merciless heat. Sharley kept her smile to herself, because she really didn't understand how they could feel so very hot.

 

Surprisingly, it wasn’t jam-packed (yet), and nobody objected when they shoved a few tables together. Lorna and Ratiri draped their assorted bags over chairs, to make certain they’d staked their claim. It was lovely in here, too; the same hardwood floors and rustic, bare wooden walls, the massive rafters, made of tree-trunks, exposed. Lorna was with Saoirse -- if they ever made any additions to Eldamar, she wanted something like this.

 

Both she and Ratiri bore a twin, who each expressed interest in sharing a barbecued pulled-pork sandwich -- she doubted even both of them together could eat the whole thing, but that was why they had Thanadir. She’d steered them right past the kids’ menu, because maybe Earlene had been rubbing off on her, but she’d be damned if they ever ate a chicken nugget.

 

She went for a Jack Daniels barbecue chicken sandwich, which sounded intriguing, while Ratiri settled on a pesto chicken wrap. God help them all, but Pat went for a bowl of beef chilli -- if it gave him a raging case of the farts later, he was sleeping on the roof.

 

Oddly enough, the entire elven contingent wanted meatloaf. Looots of meatloaf. Earlene simply hoped the meatloaf was good, but then again, they did have Thanadir. While there were other selections, she had never tasted a slice of commercial turkey worth eating, and they had basically been eating “deli” type fare for days.  Barbecue was not a favorite. And more importantly, there was soft-serve. If her children were going to be fed crap, they were going to save room for traditional, honest-to-America fake ice cream on a wafer-cone crap, if she had anything to say about it. Hopefully with sprinkles on top.

 

“It,” Lorna said, grateful to sit, “is too bloody warm out there. And I know most’v you will laugh at me for saying it, but it is.”

 

“It’s not your fault you live in the land of mists and rain,” Sharley said. “I mean, I do, too, but I’ve been in the desert plenty as well. You’ve all done good so far.”

 

“It’s not  _ that  _ hot,” Saoirse said, genuinely puzzled as to why her da and aunt and uncle were dying as they were. Yeah, it was pretty warm, but she sure as hell wasn’t feeling it like they were. She happily slurped her fizzy drink, wishing they got these more often at home.

 

Earlene had ordered root beer floats, knowing that none of her brood had ever tried them. Thranduil in theory would find it not too sweet, Thanadir would like it on principle, and the twins and then Allanah and Thaladir could each share one since they were rather large. Thranduil watched as his longtime friend encountered this new confection, not yet touching his own beverage. The elf prodded at it with his spoon, not quite working out whether he was meant to eat it or drink it. Finally he fished up a spoonful of ice cream, with enough root beer swimming around the sides. “Ooooooh.” 

 

Thranduil placed his own spoon down and now leaned back and folded his hands in his lap, still not removing his eyes from his seneschal. Earlene watched both of them, oscillating back and forth, because this was now more entertaining than eating the actual food. Thanadir now sipped at the actual root beer, which elicited another raised eyebrow. And next the spoon came back up, because there was root beer foam. “Sweet Valar on the avenues of Valimar,” Thranduil muttered. “How can anyone interact so heavily with a beverage?”

 

Thanadir looked up, a slight touch of hurt in his eyes. “What?”

 

“I just do not...understand. What interests you so much? Why not just eat it?” There was no sarcasm in the words, only honest curiosity.

 

“Well…” the older elf seemed to take some encouragement from realizing he was not being mocked. “There are different flavors, you see. The foam tastes different than the root beer with ice cream in it, just as the ice cream with root beer around it tastes different still. Textures, too. The foam is strange and airy, yet curiously pleasing. The root beer is….” he searched for the correct words. “The root beer has an acidic tone, yet with sweetness. Sharp, rather exciting. Whereas the ice cream is smooth, nuanced, and a perfect pairing with the root beer.”

 

Thranduil blinked, his hand covering his chin. It would be so easy, to tease Thanadir...but his seneschal was quite serious. As serious as he had ever been about anything at all. “I never thought of it that way,” he said. “Thank you for explaining that to me.”

 

_ For being so kind to him, you have just earned the oral pleasuring of your dreams, tonight,  _ he heard from his wife. 

 

Thranduil blinked again as he digested this news, and his meatloaf arrived. “I like root beer floats,” he decided. And Thanadir smiled.

 

Pat did his best to be polite, and not just wolf down his chili in three bites. He did have to poke Saoirse, who was consuming her turkey sandwich a little too fast to be entirely mannerly.

 

“I missed root beer, in Ireland,” Sharley said, relishing her root beer float. “We should make it. I'm sure there’s a way to do it that doesn’t result in it exploding.”

 

“If it’s anything like brewing actual beer, I could probably do it,” Ratiri said. “Earlene got me a brewery kit for Christmas a few years ago, and I’m fairly decent at it by now.”

 

“Too bad we won’t be able to freeze anything, or I’d say let’s make ice cream, too,” Lorna added. In theory they could run a freezer off the solar panels, but those things were an unforgivable power drain. If they did make ice cream, they’d have to eat it all at once -- not that that would probably be an issue, given how many of them there were.

 

Saoirse didn't quite smother a burp, though she tried quite valiantly. Pat just shook his head, because at least she’d  _ tried _ .

 

“You could make root beer, Ratiri. It is very similar. And I don’t see why we couldn’t utilize icehouses,” Earlene said. “That’s what they did here, before modern times. It freezes in Ireland in the winter; therefore, ice can be made. And what can be made can be stored in an icehouse. We are not short on peat and caverns.” Earlene’s smile twitched slightly at Saoirse’s eruption. She wondered what the child would think when she learned that at one time, Finishing Schools had existed.  _ Because that wouldn’t be an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object _ , she reasoned.

 

“Isn’t that the truth,” Lorna said. “Christ, have you ever smelled burning peat? It’s rank, and yet that’s what people heated their houses with, back in the day. None’v them must’ve had any sense’v smell, after a while.”

 

“As disgusting as that is, you’re probably right.” Ratiri had already almost finished his food, which was something of a feat, considering he at least had actual manners. Lorna wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but manage it he had.

 

Sharley blinked, looking down at her plate. Too many people, with too much history...she wasn’t used to this anymore, which was not a good thing. Now that she knew the switch could trip on its own, she needed to get used to it again, in case this happened a second time when Thranduil was five thousand miles away.

 

“I don’t want to burn it, but, it can be used in lieu of sawdust, right? That’s what they did here; cut blocks of ice, and packed them into ice houses surrounded by inches of sawdust.”

 

“I don’t see why not. It’s worth a shot, anyway.”

 

“I need the bathroom,” Allanah said. Given she’d hogged most of the root beer float when Thaladir had proven less than fully enchanted, that really wasn’t surprising.

 

“I’ll take you, kiddo,” Sharley said. Moving a little might shake her out of this; she really had to learn how to flip the switch herself.  _ Really  _ needed to, but here was not the place to do it.

 

Given it was now very crowded, she picked Allanah up, rather than risk her getting stepped on. No sooner had she got two steps, though, she found herself confronted by a couple of maybe forty-odds, staring with identical looks of disapproval. Both wore Yellowstone T-shirts, with extremely unflattering walking shorts and, ugh, socks with sandals.

 

“I can’t believe you’d do that to your daughter’s hair,” the woman said, glowering. “Just because _ you  _ like looking like a freak doesn’t mean you should inflict it on her. What were you when she was born, sixteen?” The husband, fortunately for him, said nothing, but he wore an identical expression of smug self-righteousness.

 

Sharley’s eyes narrowed. “This one’s my niece, not my daughter, and if I want your opinion I will fucking  _ give it to you _ , you nosy bitch. By the way, your husband’s having an affair with your best friend’s daughter, and nobody who had such poodle hair in the eighties has any right to judge anyone. I’m not even going to  _ talk  _ about the neon workout gear.”

 

Both of them blinked, and the man paled noticeably. Sharley smiled, with slightly vicious satisfaction, more than ready to lay both of their ugly histories bare in front of God and everyone.

 

“You look here --” he started.

 

“I  _ am  _ looking here,  _ Clyde _ , and I’m not impressed by what I see.”

 

Out of nowhere, Allanah’s nana arrived, hovering at the same side of Sharley where Allanah was held. She was at the very end of the table, and along with the ellyn was likely the only one who overheard the whole exchange. Earlene leaned in toward the woman; she had a good four inches of height over the object of her ire. “You will go somewhere else and remove yourself from my daughter’s sight, or you will rue the decision you made to ever set foot in this place. I am an attorney with an unbroken track record of successful litigation. I can call in favors from the wealthiest people in this country, and use my business connections to turn your sad little lives so upside-down that you will be lucky to own the garishly colored shoelaces on your Made in China sneakers, by the time I am through with you. How dare you say anything about my daughter’s appearance or that of her Aunt, when it is no business of yours? Get. Out. Of. My. Sight. And take Clyde with you.” Her features were inhumanly cold, her stance predatory. 

 

Thranduil saw, and immediately rose to find out what was the matter. When he came close enough, his eyes widened. The objects of his wife’s derision were standing still, not moving. Worse yet, this was beginning to attract attention.

 

“Who do you--” Clyde started, his attention quite thoroughly diverted by the word ‘attorney’. “This kid’s yours?” What lawyer let their kid have hair like  _ that _ ? But then, if this long-haired hippie-reject was her husband, that would explain a  _ lot _ .

 

“I’d shut up, if I was you,” Sharley said. “Amanda, check his laptop. Him and Cynthia like to take  _ videos _ .”

 

The man paled yet further, and tried to hustle his wife away. She seemed, mercifully, to be suddenly distracted. “Clyde, what is she talking about?”

 

“I could give details, but I just ate, and I’d like to keep it down,” Sharley said blandly. “Though if you stick around, I’ll let the entire damn cafeteria in on your secret pot habit.”

 

The woman’s eyes widened.

 

“Ignore people like that, Allanah,” Sharley said, doing just that. “Grown-ups can be stupid, too. Your hair is beautiful, and anyone who doesn’t think so is just dumb. You want your naneth to come to the bathroom, too?” Kid was probably going to want her mother, after  _ that _ .

 

“I’m Okay, Aunt Sharley. But I still have to go wee.” She gave her mother a sunny grin that wiped the scowl right off of Earlene’s face. Even if it was very much her plan to ask if Clyde and Amanda had last names….

 

“Then let’s go, before you have to go a little too much,” Sharley said, returning the grin. “In case anyone wants to know, their full names are Amanda Alice and Clyde Malcolm Schultz.” With a smirk, she left them to Earlene’s dubious mercy, onward to the bathrooms.

 

“How does she--?”

 

“You can’t prosecute us,” the woman said, ignoring what she deemed currently immaterial -- though she was deeply disturbed. “We didn't do anything wrong. Lawyer or not, you ought to be ashamed to let your child do that to her hair.”

 

“Oh, will you piss off, before she gets  _ really  _ angry?” Lorna demanded -- Lorna, with the still rather pink strands in her hair. She hadn’t be able to help but notice what was going on, and had come to investigate. “You don’t want to do that. Trust me.”

 

The line had been crossed. “I never said I would  _ prosecute _ you,” Earlene said with deadly calm. “I said I would  _ turn your sad little lives upside-down _ . It will start, when people who know people are tasked with learning everything about you. Everything from the last transaction posted in your bank account to what the last month’s worth of computer activity from your home was. Your complete financial profiles and phone records. Who your family and friends are, where you go. And then, life will start going badly for you. And it will keep on going badly until you understand what it is, when someone not wanted or needed inserts themselves into your otherwise pleasant day for no good reason other than to cause grief. No good reason, other than wanting to be pompous, judgemental windbags determined to prove a point, even if it means hurting the feelings of the sweetest child to walk this earth. You,” she pointed at them, “will never know my name. But I already know yours. And that should worry you more than if I was Jack the goddamned Ripper standing in front of you holding a knife. You pair of hot air balloons just picked on the wrong little girl, and you’re going to learn a lesson.”

 

“Translation: ‘leave, you dizzy bitches’,” Lorna said, morbidly fascinated. She was almost disappointed when the two hurried off, because watching Earlene verbally flay someone was far more entertaining than just about anything on TV.

 

“So,” Ratiri said, after a pause, “ _ that  _ happened.” He was not going to point out that Pat had been covertly filming the whole thing.

 

Earlene cleared her throat.  _ That happened? Oh, nothing has happened at all yet, my tall friend.  _ Anger still blazed in her eyes, as she watched the retreating forms of her fellow ‘Muricans leaving the cafeteria, with occasional backward glances that were a mixture of fear and disgust. “Well,” she said breezily, the mask of pleasant affability dropping into place. “That’s all taken care of, and poor Allanah finally made it to the toilet.” As though nothing had happened at all, she returned to her seat unconcernedly, while Thranduil looked on, electing to wait for Sharley.

 

“You want me to pass those names onto Orla?” Lorna asked, even as she wondered how in the name of mother fuck Sharley could know that. Had she just made all that up, or what? Given their reactions, it sure as hell didn't sound like it, but...did Sharley see more than just the future?

 

“Yes. Yes I do”, Earlene said, shaking her head and thinking at warp speed about the things Sharley had said in a desperate scramble for a means to deflect what others might be thinking. “And photos of them along with it, since knowing you lot there are some,” she grinned. “The stupid twats had their names penned onto their things. He had ‘Clyde’ on his hat in small letters, and she had her full name on a piece of paper sticking out of her purse. Of all the dumbshits the universe could drop on this place…”

 

Well, that was a relief. Sharley was a dear, but the thought of her knowing what shouldn’t be known was just too unsettling.

 

The woman herself emerged from the bathroom, Allanah still in her arms. “Teen mom,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If she only knew.”

 

_ I am here to look like a dutiful father checking on my little girl,  _ Sharley heard as Thranduil leaned in to caress Allanah’s cheek.  _ But I am really here to ask if you want my assistance. That was very close, what happened back there. Earlene told an extremely convincing lie just now, to explain away how to Lorna you knew those people’s names. _

 

_ Sorry _ , she said, wincing a little.  _ Got too mad, I guess, but honestly, who says that to a little girl? _ If Allanah had cried, that scene would have wound up a whole lot uglier.

 

_ I understand. Believe me, I do. If it is any consolation, it seems my wife’s words were not idle ones. Do you want me to...fix it, or do you wish to keep on as it is now?  _ He certainly knew what he hoped she would choose, but as always this was her decision.

 

_ Definitely better if you fix it now, though I should practice with it before you guys leave, so I know how to fix it myself if it happens again, but -- not here. Not with all these people.  _ Thought of Earlene ruining the lives of those assholes was a little too appealing...and a bit scary. She was like a one-woman mafia.

 

When they all returned back to the table, they found that the remaining elven adults had made great effort to distract the children at the table from witnessing what had occurred. They were playing a guessing game that had even Saoirse completely engaged, which is why they were also oblivious to the increasing glares from those searching for a place to sit and eat that saw them lingering past when they were done eating. In the name of politeness, it was time to leave; they were done with their meal. Everyone corralled their plates and glasses; they could at least help do that much for the buspeople. An hour later (thanks to part road traffic delays) the welcome sight of their campground greeted their eyes. Really, it was lovely. They could have a fire, only for s’mores if anyone wanted some. There was nothing to do but relax. In minutes, Earlene had a very large glass of wine poured. Thanadir’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing. He pulled his chair behind hers, and began to knead at her shoulders.

 

Pat, unfortunately, shortly regretted the chili, though not half so much as those around him. Lorna made him sit downwind of everyone else, though at least she was nice enough to give him something called Pepto Bismol, which was possibly the most unnatural shade of pink she had ever seen. She was content to doze in the sun, at least until it grew too hot. There was something amusing in the fact that everyone else lay under the bright blue sky, while she, Pat, and Ratiri had dragged their chairs beneath a pine tree.

 

Saoirse, naturally, sat and sketched -- though when Ratiri saw what she was drawing, he burst out laughing. That kid’s memory was too perfect; somehow, she’d managed to render every detail of that couple’s gobsmacked expressions when faced by Earlene and Sharley. At his urging, she showed it off, which just made Sharley laugh as well.

 

“Kid, you’ve got a real gift,” she said. “That’s amazing.”

 

Saoirse just smiled, suddenly shy.

 

Thranduil sat next to his wife, deciding that since Thanadir had been on duty for the last fifteen minutes, she might be in a better mood now. Silently, he offered her his hand, brushing his fingers ever so lightly over hers, asking. In a moment, she was regarding her hand in his much larger one. Such fine fingers...a smile crossed her face, at the memory of how this was her first sight of him, so long ago. This same hand. His hand. And it was still a very lovely….hand. “Are you going to tell me not to?” she asked quietly, figuring that she might as well know before a big production was made. It wasn’t too late to tell Lorna she’d changed her mind about Amanda and Clyde, not with them being out of cell reception for most of the next two days still. His thumb caressed her, with its long reach. All the way from her fingertip to her wrist, it could reach.  _ How odd, I’ve never noticed that. _

 

“I will not interfere,” he answered her. “You are a mother, and have a right to do as you feel you must.”

 

“But you disagree?”

 

Thranduil hesitated, sensing perilous waters ahead. And, he had to reflect. “I neither disagree or agree. I can weigh many factors, and justify reasons to choose both doing nothing and doing something. I can also realize that this course of action would not be open to ordinary people. You hold more power than they do; they did not realize this until far too late. And yet their crime was, on the grand scheme of things, petty.”

 

“And how many times have they done that to others?” she countered. “You see, it is not only for my sense of revenge, or because I love my daughter. It is knowing that this was almost assuredly not the first time, and will not be the last time. I do not intend to ruin them, though I also do not mind them having to fear that for awhile. What I want is for them to have to understand that this behavior can have consequences...and decide to mind their own business, the next time they think of speaking that way to a total stranger.” Earlene turned her head to meet his eyes. “It is not going to be my intention, to become an avenging angel of public misbehavior. But this one time...well, I feel it is deserved. If you know differently, I am listening.”

 

He shook his head. “You are not wrong.” Her fingers were lifted to his lips. “May I try a sip of your wine?”

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” The glass was handed over. Behind her, Thanadir smiled. He had been...worried, about what had transpired. What had been said. This exchange made him feel better. Much better. And there was still time for marshmallows.

 

Unfortunately for Pat, the Pepto Bismol didn't kick in right off, so he was still banished to the fringes of the group. Lorna had no idea why he’d eaten chili, given what it inevitably did to him. She herself was so full she almost didn’t want dinner, but Thanadir was Thanadir, and must be fed at regular intervals. The twins were currently napping, but they’d want a little something when they woke.

 

“All right, you lot, who wants a drink?” she asked, uncertain if she had the ability to get up at the moment.

 

Ithiliel and Eleniel wanted to share something, while Thaladir and Allanah had zero interest. They were playing a card game, and clearly could not be bothered. “I already started,” noted Earlene, happily waving her glass.

 

“I know you’ve got whiskey in that caravan,” Ratiri said. “If we’ve got any ice, I’d love some.”

 

Pat, the poor bastard, just groaned. And farted.

 

Lorna rose, making her lazy way to the caravan. It was nice to have an evening to just laze around with a good drink, watching the sun tilt toward the horizon. Poor Chandra, in spite of all her mother’s best efforts, had a bit of a sunburn; the opportunity to rest and play in the caravan would be good for her.

 

Saoirse followed her, and grabbed a grape fizzy drink out of the fridge. “Is Da sleeping outside tonight?” she asked hopefully, and Lorna laughed so hard she about dropped the whiskey bottle.

 

“If he doesn’t stop with the farting, yes, he is,” she said, dumping ice cubes in two plastic cups and adding the liquor. “We’ll just make sure he has loads’v blankets.”

 

She was still laughing when she went back outside, handing Ratiri his drink. Poor Pat, and yet she was glad she hadn’t had to share a room with him growing up. Not all the nights Mick had come into her and Siobhan’s room had been because of nightmares; sometimes, it was just to escape the stink caused by whatever random thing he’d eaten.

 

Earlene raised her eyebrows. In her married life she had always endeavored to be fully polite in that regard. At least, when it was in her control to do so; if her body betrayed her during sleep there was nothing to do about it. Though, neither of her bed partners ever said anything to that effect. Of course, they were perfect, and if they even had to struggle with this rather human issue it was news to her. Then again, if they kept eating this crap food too much longer, her body might have a whole lot more to say about it sooner rather than later. It simply had not been discussed; elves had bodily functions, but maybe not that one?

 

Thranduil rumbled with laughter and chose that moment to head to the restrooms. And frankly, now Earlene rather wanted to know, but hell if she was going to ask Thanadir.  _ Oh meldir, by the way, do you ever fart? Ah, no. _ Some things were not to be borne. But when the Elvenking in question did return, her eyes did not leave him.  _ Well, you laughed. So is there an answer? _

 

_ Yes, it can happen. As in, we do break wind. But minimally, and certainly not like what Pat is managing just now. It is no struggle, to be very mannerly in this regard. And since I now appreciate that there is an alternative, I will thank you for not being human in quite this way. _

 

_ You are far too elegant beings to inflict with such unpleasantness. I try my best, and will continue to do so. But honestly, garbage in, garbage out. It helps considerably, to eat real food. I am looking forward to returning to my own kitchen, however much I have appreciated being here and seeing all these things. _

 

He leaned over to kiss her cheek grinning from ear to ear.  _ Right about now, I believe Pat might feel the same... _

  
  
  



	103. One Hundred and Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 14-16, 2019

 

“Nana, does the walkway ever end?” Eleniel looked up hopefully from where she held her mother’s hand, as they traversed the vast expanse of crust on the safety of the elevated paths. They walked behind Thranduil with Thaladir, and Thanadir with Ithiliel. Allanah, as always, was with Sharley. Norris Geyser Basin was simply not a small place. What it lacked in multiple interesting watery things of lesser presence, it made up for with larger, more impressive and alien outright-peculiar things. There was no way around it; to see today’s sights would require a great deal of placing one foot in front of the other.

 

Earlene smiled down at her daughter. “I could tell you the walkway goes ever on and on, because most of them are loops. So the answer would be No. Or, I could tell you that we will come to a destination, and will stop walking, and that the answer will be Yes.”

 

Ratiri was within hearing distance of this exchange, and couldn’t resist. “Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both No and Yes.”

 

“Nerd,” Lorna said, poking him in the side. For once she’d been smart, and just dumped water over her hair and clothes before heading out. As a result, she wasn’t nearly so hot today.

 

Sharley laughed silently, shaking her head. These people. She loved them immensely, precisely because they were...them.

 

Earlene broke out into laughter. “I really have gone to the other side, haven’t I?” _Oops._

 

“Osmosis,” Ratiri said sagely, though Earlene was the only one of them who had gone so very far, for all they’d all been living around Elves for years now. He was not going to bring up the fact that given she’d been having sex with one all that time, _osmosis_ might not be a completely inaccurate statement.

 

“You know,” Lorna said, eying a particularly gorgeous blue-green pool, that looked very much like an eye, “I can see why somebody who hadn’t got any actual brain cells would be tempted to go right up to one’v these things. I mean, they’re beautiful. Almost hypnotic.”

 

“It’s a wonder more people haven’t died doing it, honestly.” Ratiri was not going to mention that this was the area where a lad had died and then had his body _dissolve_ by the next day. Small children, and all that. The very thought was morbidly fascinating, though, because...he’d _dissolved_. The water really was that acidic.

 

Earlene had seen the story she was fairly sure Ratiri was not elaborating on just now, and...honestly it was hard to know what to say. If there could be a more horrible way to die, than being boiled alive...just, god _DAMN_ that sounded like a nightmare. And very quickly, she found herself a bit lost in her own thoughts. _I can understand risk-taking,_ she thought, recalling the news article of the man who wished to use this place as his personal hot tub. _But what I cannot quite fathom is throwing all caution to the wind in the face of clearly stated danger of this magnitude. What causes anyone to think that such a choice could ever be a good idea?_ No answers came forth. _It is not difficult, to be safe here. All we had to do is follow simple directions, and we have had a lovely visit so far. Apparently that is hard, for some. Still, the victim was what, a young man of twenty-three? Hopefully he did not reproduce._

 

“Uncle Ratiri, what happens if someone falls in one’v those?” Saoirse asked. It really was beautiful, so still and smooth it looked like you could walk across it. If not for the steam, she might have thought it was solid.

 

“They die,” Ratiri said. “I’m not going to give you any details with small ones around. They don't need the nightmares.”

 

“That gross, huh?” She was really tempted to chuck a rock, but the guides had said you weren’t supposed to do that -- that there was some geyser that was basically broken because so many people had done that, that it clogged it up, or something like that.

 

“Why?” Chandra asked, looking up at him. “Why would we have nightmares?”

 

“Because, as Saoirse says, it’s gross. Very gross, and we don’t need to be thinking about icky things when we’re somewhere this beautiful.”

 

“Oh,” she said. “’Kay. Can we hear about it when we’re somewhere ugly?”

 

Lorna choked on a laugh. They were approaching another -- one that had been dyed red by alkali, or...something. It looked disturbingly like the Eye of Sauron, actually; pale at the edges but the color darkened as the water deepened. “Allanah, tell me you see what I see.”

 

“I’m pretty sure I do,” Ratiri said. “Does anyone else see what we see?”

 

“It is a device of Morgoth,” Thaladir intoned, staring intently at the feature.

 

Every elf nearly doubled over in laughter, and that included the child’s father. “Well, he might not be wrong,” Earlene pointed out. “This place _is_ old.  And now we know where Peter Jackson got his ideas?”

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t look like it should be real.” And actually, the more she looked at it, the more she thought it looked a bit like what happened to your knickers when the Communists didn't bother knocking before they arrived.

 

Earlene had her nose in some literature. “Huh this is more than just the Eye of Sauron, it says. That particular feature has the highest acidity of any geyser in the entire world. Echinus Geyser. And so of course there are bacteria living in it, making it red. Wow, I wonder if it’s _the_ bacteria? The one they used to develop the PCR test?”

 

“It’s certainly worth looking up,” Ratiri said. “Though I can’t say I miss my mobile. It’s been rather nice, being disconnected from it for a few days.

 

Lorna thought so, too, though she dreaded the amount of email she’d go home to. Best not even think of that; she’d just focus on the tiny hand of her son, enfolded in hers as he watched the geyser with vague distrust, as though he expected it to do something.

 

“I’ve seen a lot of colors here, but that takes the cake.” With some sense of sadness, they all quit staring and moved along. The long trail took them past Puff N’ Stuff geyser, Green Dragon Spring (which looked to Earlene as though someone had lost control of a vast amount of CometTM brand cleanser, not that she was going to say that aloud), and then of course Pork Chop Geyser. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it? The guy goes and dies in something that sort of makes him into a...cooked piece...um, nevermind. The name has irony. I’ll leave it at that.” After came Vixen Geyser, which she liked very much.

 

“It spits, too,” said Thanadir, recalling yesterday’s favorite.

 

“I wonder how hard it would be to get our pool to do that,” Earlene mused.

 

“No,” said Thranduil. “No spitting water. I need tranquility.”

 

Since that made far too much sense, she could not exactly fault him.

 

“Oh, admit it,” Lorna said. “You just don’t want to get your hair wet when it’s not wash day. Not that I can blame you, mind.”

 

“That is not it at all,” he countered. “I have clips and hair sticks for my hair. I do not have to get it wet.” Which was true; this was an improvement Earlene had introduced almost from the start.

 

She couldn’t help but picture the clips as the plastic kind Mairead used at work. The mental image of Thranduil twisting his hair up in them (and he’d need two or three, given how much hair he had), was a little too priceless, and she bit the inside of her cheek, hard, to keep from laughing. For some reason, within her mind’s eye, he was both kind of grumpy and holding a glass of wine, and wearing Mairead’s ungodly, fuzzy pink dressing-gown.

 

“I can see I need to walk around the house in my own, actual dressing gown a little more often,” he said acerbically. “That just isn’t funny.”

 

Lorna cackled. “Oh, come on, you could totally pull off pink,” she protested, and wondered if that wasn’t an idea for a Christmas present. Where the hell would she find a fuzzy pink robe for someone who was six and a half feet tall, though?

 

“You know what,” Ratiri said, “I don’t want to know, and yet I do.”

 

“My mind goes to strange places,” she said.

 

He blinked, because he knew her well enough to realize what she likely meant. “Oh dear.”

 

“I would refuse to wear it. Earlene hates pink, and I do not care for it either.”

 

“Especially when he looks so good in black,” Earlene herself piped up, deducing what this was about. Pink is for roses. And…” she was at a loss to come up with anything else pink might be good for.

 

“Clematis!” Thanadir said happily.

 

“Sure. That too.”

 

While he appreciated Earlene’s efforts, Thranduil was now massaging his forehead. _How is it I can be standing in a geothermal basin, and suddenly we are talking about pink dressing gowns?_

 

Shane’s green eyes narrowed. “Mam’s hair’s got pink in it,” he said, scowling up at his uncle. “Do you hate her hair?”

 

 _Oh, good Jesus._ “No, he doesn't hate my hair. Just bathrobes.” _Thranduil, for God’s sake back me up here._

 

“Of course I do not hate her hair. I only do not wish to wear a pink bathrobe. Or pink anything else, for that matter. It is...not my color.” He drew himself up to his full height, in an attempt to appear convincing.

 

Shane gave him a highly dubious look, but was apparently mollified. For now.

 

“Then I guess I’d best nix the fuzzy slippers from your Christmas list,” Lorna said, with mock exasperation. Of course, there was always tie-dye...except she wanted a tie-dye robe for herself, and it would be weird if they matched.

 

“What happens if a new geyser or something opens up under one of the walkways?” Saoirse asked, peering at ground that seemed solid enough.

 

“They close it,” Ratiri said, and was absolutely not going to elaborate on what would happen to anyone on the walkway if it suddenly gave. “That way nobody can get hurt.”

 

Walking slowly out of consideration for the children, they meandered toward the Back Basin, where it veered off toward Steamboat Geyser. “This is supposed to be the one that almost never erupts,” Sharley noted.

 

“Then what is that?” asked Thanadir, pointing to the column of what looked like steam beginning to rise.

 

“You’re joking,” said Sharley. “Except, you’re not. Hurry everyone!” There was really next to no one else around, as she scooped Allanah up into her arms. They all ran, and contented themselves with merely getting out of everyone else’s way, since others behind them were coming quickly. To a one, they stood and stared, as the column of water and steam rose higher and higher, like an ascending cumulus cloud. It seemed like a pillar into the sky, at this close range. Children were lifted up onto the tall shoulders of anyone nearby fitting that description. For ten solid minutes, they watched in awe as the water surged; easily more than two hundred feet over their heads. At last it settled, only to begin spewing vast amounts of steam. “I don’t believe it,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “This is the Holy Grail of Yellowstone, to see this geyser erupt. And here we were... _right here_.” A crooked grin was given to Thranduil. “I’d accuse you of somehow doing something, but I know that even you can’t manage that.”

 

Thranduil smiled and shrugged. “Maybe Lord Ulmo was feeling kindly disposed today?” Thanadir rolled his eyes at the slight irreverence, but then again...who could say, anymore?

 

Lorna actually managed to fumble her mobile out, though running with the camera probably just created some terribly jerky footage. Whatever, she could isolate a few stills once they got home. The heat of it reached them even here, like stepping into a sauna. The fact that Saoirse exclamation of, “Holy _shit_ , Da, it blew up!” probably picked up on the microphone did not detract from it in the least.

 

Both twins watched, wide-eyed. Thranduil and Maerwen had the presence of mind to pick them up, so they could get a better view. “Wow,” Chandra said. “That’s big.”

 

“Really big,” Shane added. “Really _really_ big.”

 

“Really big. You’ve seen the world’s tallest geyser erupt, on our one and only day here. Wow,” Earlene breathed. Right now she was so inwardly thrilled that she could probably even be talked out of what she wanted Orla to do to those gobshites from yesterday. _Almost, but not quite._

 

Sharley had a fleeting wish that Marty might have been able to see this. She would just have to add it to her journal; she’d begun keeping one on this trip, addressed to her daughter, detailing all the beautiful things she would have shown her, if the poor girl had lived long enough. “It might be another eighty years before it erupts again.” _And there won’t be any humans left here to appreciate it_. She really doubted Yellowstone would be high on the list of prime real estate for whoever survived the plague. Too many predators, no matter how beautiful it was.

 

They passed aptly named Emerald Spring, and it was time to make a decision. “Museum, or continue on to see the Porcelain Basin?” Even as the words were out of her mouth, she could not help but add, “Valar, that sounded so very wrong.” It did not help that Lorna was already laughing. “Well that is what they named the thing,” Earlene groused. “It is not my fault.” Of course Pat had joined in, snickering away. And while it took Saoirse an extra moment or two to catch on, she too made it there in the end. The elves and peredhel simply stared. And Sharley….was Sharley.

 

“Not really sure who got away with naming that one, but whoever approved it was asleep at the switch,” she said. “I mean, it’s not like the meaning’s new.” Yeah, yeah, there were actual porcelain basins that had nothing to do with toilets, but still. They’d been known as porcelain basins ever since they were made out of porcelain.

 

“The sad thing is that I’m entirely sure there’ve been at least a few people who tried to wee in it, just for the sake’v the pun,” Lorna said, shaking her head. They would’ve had to all be lads, and if at least one of them hadn’t almost fallen off the edge of something, she would be very surprised.

 

As no one had actually answered the question, Earlene pressed on toward the Basin, only to realize that it had been moot. This wasn’t a museum in any ordinary sense, but rather a display with a roof over it. An impressively solid and overbuilt roof, at that. The structure, open to the air, could easily withstand a hurricane from the looks of it.

 

Ratiri, having not attempted Lorna’s solution to the heat, was quite glad to be out of the sun for a few minutes. The stone walls actually made it something close too cool-ish inside. “I wonder if this place was built by the WPA in the thirties,” he asked, of everyone and no one. Colorful signs, encased in plastic, explained the history and geology of the area, but there was surprisingly no indication of just how old this particular structure was -- only an estimation that it was ‘probably’ built in the 1930’s.

 

His sweaty children all but plastered themselves against the wall, soaking in the relative coolness, and he was so very tempted to do the same. If he’d had enough water, he would have done what Lorna did, but he knew that Sharley would only have a go at him if he did. She was so strict about water consumption that it was a little disturbing -- but if she’d been here during a major fire, it was also hardly surprising. At least she knew her physiology well enough to understand how necessary it was.

 

Thranduil desired to linger here, over-focusing on the explanatory information and reading it aloud to all of them for the benefit of the youngest ones. It was all a ruse to give the others time to cool down, and so far it appeared to be working. By the time they continued on to the Porcelain Basin (which was ruined on arrival, thanks to the name) everyone had had a respite, at least. And to be fair, today was the warmest one thus far, and there was little shade or shelter out in the desolate geothermal areas. It was easy enough, to understand the moniker. The ground beneath was porcelain white, as if it was clay. And the hues of the waters...it reminded one of hand painted china ware. Maybe the name came on account of something else, but that was his opinion and he liked it, thank you very much.

 

“I wonder just what the first explorers thought, when they found this place,” Lorna mused. “How strange it must have been, to find somewhere the Earth still hadn’t stopped cooking.” She also wondered how many victims these pools had claimed, before there was a park. If the geography really did change as often as the pamphlets said, what was solid ground one day could become a death trap the next. You’d be taking your life in your hands half the time you stepped out of a building.

 

“I bet the steam is even more spectacular in winter,” Ratiri said. “Steam among all the snow. So much of this place doesn’t look like it ought to be real. Like something out of a fever-dream.”

 

He wasn’t wrong, really. _How fortunate,_ Lorna thought, _are the elves, that their hot springs can be bathed in, rather than scalding their skin right off?_

 

 _It must not surprise you that I have been thinking the same, a great deal,_ Lorna heard from Thranduil. _Maybe it has been...some magical outpouring of my will, or a gift of the Valar...but I now understand that we have taken the stability of the warmth that comes from the earth beneath us for granted. You perhaps do not know that there are temperature variations in the pools that surface in my Halls. Have you met Vanya, the elleth who cares for the laundering?_

 

_Uh, nope._

 

_Well if you ever meander to her place of occupation, you will find that she reigns over the hottest of the pools. They do not risk injury to skin or limb, as these do, but they would all be considered to hot for even an elf to remain for any length of time. And yet...if they have ever changed temperature I have not been told of it._

 

 _Oh god, don’t tempt Fate,_ she said, watching one of the green-blue pools steam. After the end, the only source of hot water for bathing would be the springs. Yeah, back in the old days they’d heated it on the stove, but it had been such a hassle nobody bathed as often as she felt they should. A bath once a week just was not enough, nor was a hip-bath anywhere near large enough even for her, let alone someone Ratiri-sized. _Fingers crossed that it stays that way for a long, long time._ She’d read that the people who tried to bathe in these things called it ‘hot-potting’, and she wondered why they’d think any of the pools were at all safe. They weren’t hot tubs, for Christ’s sake. She supposed it was Darwinism in action, but still.

 

“Christ, I read about that baby buffalo,” Pat said, “you know, the one those gobshite tourists tried to stuff in their car because it ‘looked cold’? They had to euthanize it, because the mam wouldn’t take it back.”

 

“Idiots,” Ratiri muttered. “A fine isn’t anywhere near enough, for that kind of utter stupidity.”

 

They meandered along to Whirligig Geyser, which...that name, the silliness. Earlene chuckled. As it appeared to be flirting with doing something, they lingered. Other tourists appeared on the walkways as well, so their group did what it could to take up less space; children hoisted to shoulders and standing back a little, for courtesy to all the other humans who were quite a lot shorter.

 

“They make the weirdest noise,” Pat observed, and they really did; it sounded a lot like helicopter blades of all things, the water spluttering and sputtering, as though the geyser was clearing its throat.

 

“I wonder how hot it is,” Saoirse said. She really, really wished it wasn’t against the rules to throw rocks in, because she wanted to. Stupid people breaking one of the other geysers -- if they hadn’t done it, maybe it wouldn’t be against the rules.

 

Sharley, to her utter horror, heard a little boy somewhere down the walkway say, “Mommy, it isn’t even hot! I want to stand in it.” She turned, but before she could say anything, the mother piped up.

 

“Okay Bradyn, but stay next to the walkway.”

 

 _Oh, you dizzy bitch,_ Sharley thought, having picked up one of Lorna’s expressions. She tried to push her way down the walkway, but there were too many people. The ground crunched beneath small feet, and if she could hear the footsteps, she knew the Elves had to be hearing them.

 

“Still not hot, Mommy.”

 

“Come on back now,” the father said, sounding, far too late, rather nervous.

 

 _Thranduil, help_ , Sharley called, but not soon enough -- two more steps, and then a piercing, ear-bleeding shriek of surprise and pain.

 

Maerwen was the closest -- she lept off the platform with the kind of grace only the Elves possessed, running feather-light over the crust. She bore the little boy, still screaming, back to the walkway.

 

The others around him screamed when they saw what had happened to his foot, and practically stampeded backward. Ratiri shoved his way through, kneeling beside the kid, white-faced with agony. _Thranduil, please put him to sleep,_ he said desperately. _He needs to not be feeling this, and I need to look at his foot._ “Get back,” he said. “I’m a doctor.”

 

_If I do that, the mother will believe he is dying. I can lessen the pain, but I cannot afford to interfere in this, though it tears at me to have to say this._

 

The lower leg was already an angry red, ballooning of the ruined skin already beginning in some areas.

 

 _Jackson’s three zones of damage,_ Ratiri thought. _Sonofabitch._ He hastened to remove the child’s sandal, before more swelling could begin _._ There were places that would be ruined to a pale pink; these would lose all skin and leave exposed, gaping tissue underneath. Other places would turn bright red, puffing up with grotesque blisters, and what remained would be a horrid mixture of the two. This was a ‘stocking pattern’ burn and would leave a mess to last a lifetime. And there was not a goddamn thing he could honestly do for this child, except to bark at everyone nearby, “Call for emergency services. Immediately.”

 

Lornat took one look at the poor child’s foot, and ordered Pat to keep the kids out of sight of it. Sharley shoved forward, handing Ratiri her canteen -- he started pouring it over the foot, which only made the kid scream again -- and the stupid gobshite of a mother tried to get down as well, and get in the way. Fuck _that_ bitch.

 

Ratiri tried desperately to soothe the boy, even though he knew that would be impossible. “I know this hurts, but I need to do it,” he said, trying to hold the kid’s ankle firm. It was hard, with just one hand, so Sharley took hold of his leg. Ratiri poured water over the wound, slowly, wishing it wasn’t lukewarm.

 

The mother was hovering, gibbering, and Lorna got her out of the way by the simple expedient of a punch to the face, pulling the damp bandana off her neck in another motion. Soaking the fabric in the runoff from the canteen, she wrung it out over that poor foot.

 

“You _hit_ me!” the mother shrieked, and Lorna handed Ratiri her own canteen, rising. With a snarl of incoherent rage, she launched herself at the woman, hitting her again, even harder.

 

“Oh, go stand next to the walkway, Bradyn,” she said, the words a vicious singsong. “You stupid _twat_ , this was _your fucking fault!_ ” The woman’s nose snapped under the strength of her blow, blood pouring hot and red.

 

 _Well,_ Ratiri thought, wondering how long it would take emergency services to get here, _that’s one way of keeping them out of the way._ He was dimly aware of the father getting in on the action, followed by a distinctly masculine howl of pain. If that wasn’t a kick to the bollocks, he’d be very surprised.

 

Thranduil was shaken from his reverie, and immediately signaled Thanadir to remove Lorna. In seconds, Lorna found her left arm locked around that of the elf in an unbreakable grasp. “We need to leave,” were the only soft words he spoke, as he unapologetically escorted her away. It was little different than being attached by a tractor beam.

 

“Look at me, kiddo,” Sharley said. The poor child’s tears had tapered off, his face almost as white as his foot with the pain of it. “It’ll be okay. More doctors will get here soon, and they’ll make it not hurt.”

 

“Why does it look like that?” he choked. “Why’s it white?”

 

She took his face in her hands. “It’s burned, that’s all. Look at me. Ratiri here, he’s a doctor. He’ll take care of you until more doctors get here.” She was not a doctor herself, and so had no idea just how bad this burn really was.

 

“I want to go home,” he whimpered.

 

“And you will, eventually. Once your foot’s all better, you’ll go home. Just keep looking at me. It’ll hurt less if you don’t look at it. You’ve had shots at the doctor’s, right?”

 

He nodded, sniffling.

 

“It’s like that. If you don’t see it, it isn’t as bad.” Ah, child-logic. She wiped his face with the bandana, hoping the cool-ish water would help.

 

Lorna, so unceremoniously hauled off like a sack of potatoes, flexed her bloodied hand. “Hey, they’re out’v Ratiri’s way,” she said, wiping her knuckles on her shorts. In truth, she could have kept hitting until that bitch’s face caved in. Somebody ought to throw both those idiots into the geyser.

 

“This is true,” Thanadir acknowledged, relaxing his grip somewhat. He did not believe she would be foolish enough to try to run from him, for it would not succeed. “I believe it would be best, while we walk, if you would perhaps twist up your hair, or perhaps hide it down your shirt. We are all overly striking in appearance, and just now it would be most beneficial to appear quite ordinary.” He released her arm completely, to pull back his own hair. Earlene had given him a simple tie, and he now made a simple pony tail. Which, while doing nothing to hide his utter prettiness, did make him seem a great deal more like a hippie college kid.

 

Lorna grumbled, but wrapped her braid around her head, securing it with a few pins from her pocket. She’d given Ratiri her bandana, unfortunately, but given how short she was, it wasn’t like she couldn’t be identified even if she did have it. “Gobshites. It’s probably too much to hope they’ll lose custody.”

 

The little boy was still sniffling, and Sharley was still wiping his face, when emergency services finally arrived. She and Ratiri stepped back to let them work, and he grabbed the father before the man could get in the way.

 

“The pair of you are unforgivably stupid,” he said, glaring down at the bastard. “Both of you. What happened to him is bad enough, but it could have been so much worse. He could have lost his foot. Are there, or are there not, signs all over this park warning people to stay on the trails? To not be complete _idiots_ and tell your child ‘Oh, those don’t matter, it’s okay if _you_ do it?”

 

“We just thought --” the woman started, paling, one hand under her streaming nose. She tried to move past, but found a Sharley in her way.

 

“No,” Ratiri said icily, “you didn’t. If there was any justice in this benighted country, that boy would be taken away from you, and placed with a family that has more than three collective brain cells between their ears.” He didn't wonder why Lorna had hit them both -- never, in all his life, had he been so tempted to do so himself. “You are going to go with your son, you are going to apologize for telling him to do something so unutterably stupid, and you are never going to return to this park, you utter _morons. Do I make myself clear?_ ”

 

Sharley looked at him, rather disturbed. She’d never seen Ratiri this angry before, and it was just _wrong_. Lorna was the one with the temper, not him. This was...just, no.

 

“Now wait--” Evidently the father was just as dumb as the mother, given he actually tried speaking.

 

“ _Do. I?_ ” Ratiri repeated. The father wasn’t a short man, but Ratiri still towered over him, and his fists were itching to strangle the life out of both of these morons. “People like you are why there ought to be some test taken before you’re allowed to breed.”

 

Thranduil had seen enough, and quietly gestured for Ortherion and Lothiriel to depart with him in the opposite direction. Pat seemed to think that bringing Saoirse along was the course of wisdom. Fortunately, this was a loop trail, which meant that if one walked the other way, eventually arrival at the start of the trail was guaranteed. Earlene lingered behind with Ratiri, feeling it necessary to both act as a witness in the event of problems and generally be present in case of needed support. But the time was...past for this. “I think we should move along now,” she said quietly, taking his hand. She made hard eye contact with both parents, but said nothing herself...everything and then some had already been uttered, and at this point leaving before anything resembling police could arrive seemed like rather a good idea.

 

“You’re probably right,” Ratiri said, and sighed. “The kid won’t lose his foot, I think, but I’m not sure what will actually happen. At the very least, the scarring is permanent.” He shook his head. “Sometimes...well. There are times, albeit rarely, I wish I had Lorna’s options. If I hit someone, I’d be accused of attempted murder.”

 

“Mmmm, probably,” Earlene smiled. _You’re holding hands with someone technically a murderer, my friend. It’s only that you don’t know it._ As they walked along, Earlene was forced to realize something. Her reaction to Lorna had been very, very different this time. Yes, a part of her still twinged at what she could call the absolutely unnecessary violence. But she didn’t _care_ , like she would have before. The reaction was faint, so blunted compared to what would have been the case even just a year ago. _You’ve changed, Earlene. A great deal._ There was going to have to be some thinking about this, and soon. But not here. A sigh escaped her. _Those wispy plans to move to rural Ireland, become a hermit, and never see these shores again...so here I am with sixteen other people standing in Yellowstone. And why is that?_ An eye cocked, and angled up. _Manwë._ Every damn bit of it, comes back to Manwë, does it not? My life has been...I am the… _My Lord, if you are listening up there, wherever it is you are, I would ask you for an explanation someday. It would be most appreciated. Because sometimes all of this…and I am babbling to a Vala. Wonderful. Goddammit, I want a Cup O’ Noodles._

 

He just shook his head. “The sheer amount of stupid people who have children...and in seventeen years…” In seventeen years, that boy would likely be dead anyway. Oh, there was always some portion of a population immune to any given virus, but the odds sounded very low. He didn't let himself think of the fact that most of those they met outside of Baile and Lasg’len would probably die -- and die horribly, if what he’d seen in Sharley’s head was any indication.

 

“Don’t think about it,” Earlene said, squeezing his hand. “You can’t let yourself, because it’s too big. In a way, it’s like that kid back there. You want to do more and…” she shrugged. “You can’t.”

 

“I know,” he said, eyes tracking over the geysers -- so pretty, and so deadly. “Did I ever tell you why I quit Great Ormond Street and moved to Ireland? It wasn’t just that I needed to get away, and find somewhere quiet.”

 

Earlene tried to recall. “I am struggling to recall. Either it could be summed up with ‘gobshites,’ or we did not have that conversation.”

 

That drew a laugh from him. “Well, the gobshites didn't help,” he said, “but mainly...there were too many children I couldn’t save. I would watch them die of cancer, of rejected organ replacements, of...far too many things, including parental stupidity, and there was nothing I or anyone else could have done. The last straw was a two-year-old who died from complications of measles, because his _idiotic_ parents didn't believe in vaccinations, and were then too stupid to bring him in in time for him to be saved. After that, I just couldn’t do it.” It had, he’d eventually realized, been ripping holes in his soul.

 

Shaking his head, he added, “The first time I did an autopsy in medical school, the cadaver my group was given was a child. Few of us could do it -- two people cried -- but it was what made me want to become a pediatrician. I wanted to save children from ending up on someone’s slab, and I did -- I watched so many leave hospital, happy and well. Those that died...it just took too great a toll, after fifteen years.”

 

Her hand dropped his, in favor of wrapping the arm around his waist. “I am sorry,” she said with sincerity. “You are very good at what you do, but I am not sure you ever developed the detachment needed to go the distance. Which is really a form of the highest compliment. You care. We live in a world where caring can be the worst sort of liability.”

 

He hugged her back. “I’m going to have to gain that detachment, before...everything happens,” he said. “We have no way of knowing how long you lot will be around, afterward. Then there will be so many I can’t save, that might have been saved now, and I will have to live with it. At least, if we can find more doctors, it won’t be Indira and I alone.” If caring was a liability now...but then, if no one were to care, after the end, it would only make the world a worse place. “I wish I knew of others with that aptitude, in our communities. As it stands, we need to wait for the children to grow older, and see.”

 

“I will...try, to be helpful.” She laughed. “I don’t know if you knew, that in my career I had a nickname. I was called The Ice Queen, when others thought I was not listening. And while I had a sense of humor about it...it is all too true. I could have done what you did, with flying colors. My father was a surgeon, and wanted me to look at medicine. But Aidan already was doing that and...I had to find my own way. Our thoughts and beliefs can very much be little more than games we play with ourselves. So much so that it disturbs me to admit it.”

 

He looked down at her, and burst out laughing. “The Ice _Queen_ ,” he said. “Oh, the irony. Lorna told me that Aidan was a neurosurgeon -- in my experience, they’re all insufferable. There’s a certain hierarchy among doctors, and everyone hates the neurosurgeons. Too many are too insufferable for words.” Shaking his head, he sighed again. “I fear that, no matter how much I prepare, the world we will live in once you leave will be a terrible shock. Things like that boy will seem like nothing. Though...God, I don’t want to know what Thranduil’s feeling right now. To have the ability to heal the injury entirely, but be unable to because of witnesses...I would say ‘at least we brought whiskey’, but that’s like water to an Elf.”

 

“He will not be happy, but he has had to do far worse things in his life,” she answered, looking straight ahead. “Honestly Ratiri, from what I’ve seen with my own eyes this trip and read what goes on in this park, the real miracle is that accidents aren’t happening every day, all day. The entire place does not suffer fools well.”

 

“I know. With the sheer volume of people who pass through here every year, it’s a miracle there isn’t a death per week at the very least.” Abruptly, he burst into quiet laughter again. “At least I'm fairly sure Lorna broke the mother’s nose, and if she didn't give the father a kick in the bollocks, I’d be very surprised. The sound a man makes when that happens is rather...distinctive. Does it hurt an Elf, when that happens?”

 

“A kick in the balls? According to Thranduil, yes it hurts. Do you know, he was absolutely unwilling to elaborate on how he knew that? Hmm.”

 

That just made Ratiri laugh harder. “No male is proud of admitting it happened to him,” he said. “No matter what the species, apparently.”

 

“Time to change the subject,” came out with a laugh. They had now reached the end of the walkway. “Well, I’m thinking that Thranduil will follow us, and Thanadir likely whisked Lorna to the RVs. That way those two people back there have no way to file a police report against anyone. Though, they are probably distracted enough by their son’s current circumstances. Poor kid.”

 

“Still, it’s a good thing we’re leaving soon,” Ratiri said. “We’re all a bit, er, distinctive. And that kid...well, it could have been worse. Much worse. I’ll spare you the description of some of the burns I’ve seen -- I’ll just say that in one, it was down to the man’s bone. Working A&E in Glasgow gave me some very interesting stories. Most of which should not be told over dinner.”

 

“Doesn’t ever bother me. But I might be the only one.”

 

Eventually, they all trailed into the RVs where the usual case of Noodle Cups was being filled with hot water, as fast as it could heat on the diminutive stove. All of them seemed a little glad, honestly, to have sanctuary from the outer world. Everyone sat except for Thanadir, because people milling around in an RV when one person was trying to do much of anything was simply not helpful. Sharley and Lorna had their crew in the second vehicle, and were busy with the same activity. The seneschal felt that Lorna had calmed herself passably well on the walk back, and made no objection when she wanted to start water for lunch in Base Station Two.  He would miss the names of their RVs, he realized. It was quite fun, to have them. ‘Eldamar’ was lovely too, but hardly exotic by his standards.

 

Lorna couldn’t actually read Thanadir’s mind in the other caravan, and yet she said, “We need to name the cars at home. The Mystery Machine is already the Mystery Machine, but the van and the sedan need names. We’ll have to toss names in a hat, to see which gets named what.” She had to run her stinging knuckles under the tap for a moment, because she was pretty sure she’d caught that bitch’s teeth at least one. She hoped she’d knocked one out. Stupid slag.

 

“The van’s big, it should be Base Station Two or Starbase Three,” Ratiri voted. “The sedan’s smaller, it can be Rogue One. I suppose it’s too much to ask, if someone were to invent a flying car between now and the end of the world.”

 

“The fuel requirement for that would be enormous,” Lorna said. “And someone would have to rewrite physics if they didn't want it overheating inside’v five minutes.”

 

“Wings,” Sharlely said. She was laying on her back on the folded-up sofa. “I saw where some guy in the 70’s made a car with wings. It actually did fly, but the second time he took it out he crashed it in a corn field and died.”

 

“Why would anyone...you know what, I don’t want to know,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. His stomach grumbled, and when Lorna handed him a Cup O Soup, he could hardly wait for it to cool long enough to start eating.

 

“I want to fly like Ailill’s birds do,” Allanah said wistfully. “They can do everything.”

 

“Me too,” Shane said. “Da, why can’t people fly?”

 

“Because we don’t have wings,” Ratiri said, fortunately without his mouth full.

 

“But why don’t we?” Chandra asked.

 

He was not going to trot out the intricacies of evolution yet. “Because we aren’t born with them. Neither are cats.”

 

This was cause for consideration. “Oh. ’Kay.” She had a slightly devious look on her little pale face.

 

“If you go gluing wings to the cats, my girl, it’ll go very badly for you,” Lorna warned.

 

Chandra gave her a look that said, quite clearly, ‘Who, me?’ It didn't fool either of her parents for a moment.

 

Saoirse hopped out of the caravan and went to knock on Base Station Two. There were just too many little kids in Rogue One. “My cousins are weird, can I come in?”

 

“Yes,” chuckled Thranduil “Do we want to know?”

 

“Chandra wants to glue wings to the cats to make them fly,” Saoirse said, clambering into the caravan. “Aunt Lorna won’t let her, but still. Who even thinks’v that?” Sure, her cousins were creepily smart for kids that young, but still.

 

“Well, that would not work. It is not enough to glue wings to fur; how would the cats flap them? It is much more complicated than that. Then again where would they get the…” a variety of disturbing visuals accompanied that thought, in Thranduil’s brain. “Never mind. We can all agree it would be a terrible idea.”

 

If it wasn’t for Thaladir, Saoirse would tell them about the man who had turned his dead, taxidermied cat into a model airplane, but she didn't want to freak the kid out. He was so sensitive. The thing looked creepy as fuck, too -- its front legs were stretched out across the wings, its little face with those glass eyes just _staring_. “Yeah it is. Still, we better watch the cats for a while. I don’t trust that one.” She knew it wasn’t true, that gingers had no souls, but in Chandra’s case, she wouldn’t be surprised.

 

Thranduil openly stared at Saoirse, unwilling to imagine to what depths her exposure might have sunk had she been left to make her way growing up in the outer world. Clearing his throat, he ate his now-cooled soup. Which is when heard his wife.

 

_What do we do, after lunch? I do not want repercussions from Lorna’s...behavior...but at the same time we did not see most of the Porcelain Basin. We likely will never come here again, and I would like to see what we missed...but not at risk of running into law enforcement or anyone who recalls us from earlier._

 

_I can...help with that. Also, some of the children may wish to stay here. I can feel how tired some of them are; we walked a great deal already this morning._

 

_True._

 

 _When we have all eaten and had a moment, we will ask the others. Are there any apples to slice? Any real food?_ he asked plaintively.

 

With a nod and a smile, she rose to procure the fruit.

 

Allanah eventually wanted to see Naneth and Adar, once she’d had her soup, so Sharley brought her over, too. “Someone wants her parents, and some strawberries. Lorna had to forcibly grab the box away from Ratiri.”

 

Thranduil left to take counsel among the RVs, and found that no child wished to return outside. Conveniently neither did Maerwen or Sharley, meaning that they had child care. So after all elves adopted pony tails and some of them put on random hats, they returned to Porcelain Basin, to leave no geyser or hot spring unobserved. Just to be safe, they asked Lorna to change to a different color shirt, too. And tuck her hair under her shirt and wear a floppy hat. No point taking chances.

 

“Is it wrong that I’m glad I don’t have to worry about one’v the kids somehow tripping and falling off the trail?” she asked. She’d put on a pair of lightly tinted sunglasses for good measure -- she didn't really need them, but there weren't a whole lot of adults as short as she was, and one extra piece of disguise couldn’t hurt. The fact that she’d had to put Band-Aids on two of her fingers probably helped, too.

 

They walked back again, determined to get farther than Whirligig (or as Earlene liked to think of it, ‘The Geyser that would Live in Infamy’). And there they found Whale’s Mouth, which… “Where do they get the names,” she wondered aloud. “What whale could that possibly be? It’s not even very big and...they need a naming contest.”

 

Thanadir patted her on the shoulder in sympathy, wondering if the vacation was finally wearing on her. It was not like his meldis, to mention something so inane.

 

“Crackling Lake. This is more like it,” Earlene quipped with far greater enthusiasm. Thanadir glanced at Thranduil, who shrugged. While Earlene feasted her eyes on the riot of frankly ugly colors, he began to rub at her shoulders again. “Actually that looks like an antifreeze spill on a dirt lot. Am I wrong, Lorna?”

 

“Jesus, it does,” she said, staring. “The wonders’v bloody nature. First we had the Eye’v Sauron, now there’s antifreeze. Maybe we should just rename them ourselves.” She had a feeling Orla could hack the website fairly easily, but that would just be mean.

 

The heat of the sun, though scorching to Ratiri, also calmed him some. This landscape was… “You know, I’ve been struggling to articulate it to myself, but some of the places in this park really are like being on another planet.”

 

“Mars meets Venus, the real story,” Earlene quipped.

 

“What are those?” Lothiriel asked timidly.

 

“Oh! I am sorry,” Earlene apologized. “Venus is Eärendil, and is said to be very hot and inhospitable. Too warm for any human to survive. Really, too warm for anything to survive, come to think of it. And Mars is Carnil. Both hot and cold and with no green or living thing either. And yet very different from each other. These basins are like that. Nothing grows on the geyserite, the white and gray ground, and people cannot use the hot springs because...well, you saw what happened today. I am making strange comparisons; I do that sometimes.” From the look on the poor elleth’s face, she had no idea if that remotely helped or not. _Shut up, Earlene._ It seemed better to take her husband’s arm, and perhaps be less effusive, just like she sometimes told him to be. Thranduil patted her on the hand, but only she could have heard his low rumble of humor.

 

“So I’ve got a question about Eärendil,” Ratiri said. “How is it that Venus is a Silmaril, and yet people have seen the planet through telescopes? Did Vingilot get an upgrade to become an entire planet?” If so, that would be pretty bloody amazing, actually.

 

Earlene laughed. “Ratiri, I have an entire file called ‘If I Ever Get Thirty Minutes With Manwë’.”

 

“You actually might,” he pointed out. “The rest of us will just have to wonder.” Maybe, when they died, they could poke Námo about it, before they passed through the Halls of Mandos.

 

“If we ever manage to put a thingy on Venus like we did Mars, maybe we’ll find out,” Lorna said. “I know it’s supposedly so inhospitable, but what if it’s really not? What if it’s some sort’v...I don’t know, camouflage?” She looked at Thranduil, who out of all of them might have something approximating a guess.

 

Thranduil blinked. Her suggestion of camouflage was absurd, and yet how was it any different than what he had done to hide his people in the forest? His powers defied the laws of their physical sciences; this they already knew. “I….cannot say, Lorna. I have no means by which to know. And yet what you suggest could be possible. Apparently we live on a different playing field, as you like to call it.”

 

“Well, if we send a thingy to Venus, maybe we’ll find out. Somebody’s got to get off their arse and build one, though, in the next seventeen years.” She’d read that a satellite could theoretically stay in orbit for centuries, though obviously it would stop working sooner or later. The thought that there would still be some floating around up there long after most of the humanity that put them there had died...it was too weird. She wasn’t sure if it was comforting or horrifying, given they’d essentially be monuments to a world that was no more. (She’d also read that the moon’s orbit was increasing, meaning it would someday make a break for freedom. Now _that_ was a weird thought.)

 

“Well, we’ve done it!” Earlene felt oddly triumphant. “We have stared at and taken pictures of the largest collection of acid geysers on the planet. I can go to my rest a fulfilled person. Now what do we do? The afternoon is young but we are leaving tomorrow. I guess we can figure it out as we walk?”

 

“Might as well,” Lorna said. “I could use another shower. I'm...yuck.” The hat was making her head sweat, among other unpleasantness. “What’ll we do for food tonight? I had to keep Ratiri from inhaling all our strawberries.”

 

“Hush, you,” he said, in such a perfect mimicry of her accent that she poked him. First Sharley, now him. It was creepy.

 

“I thought we could make pigs in blankets? It would be a slight upgrade from hot dogs...at least by tomorrow we can plan on a meal in Jackson Hole, on our way out of here.”

 

Thanadir looked incredibly disturbed. “Where are we going to get any pigs, and why would we give them our blankets?”

 

To be fair, Lorna was the first one to lose it. Ratiri was not far behind, and Earlene’s own attempts to not follow had the effect of a fountain whose pipes tried to restrain the water within, only to fail utterly. Soon all three humans were laughing helplessly while Thanadir simply looked affronted. With an iron will, Thranduil kept a straight face, while with extreme difficulty, Lothiriel and Ortherion managed the same, but only by staring at their own toes. Earlene was the first to recover, knowing that she had dug in quite deeply. “Please forgive me, Thanadir. I am tired and...it was wrong of me to laugh but I could not help myself. I am sorry. That is the name of a food, not actual pigs. Like Toad in the Hole, except here the pigs are sausages and big griddlecakes are the blankets.”

 

The corners of his mouth twitched, as he saw his mistake. Lothiriel and Ortherion looked like they might melt from the cuteness, as they watched Thanadir kiss Earlene’s forehead and wrap her arm around his own. Poor Hiril vuin needed a large glass of wine, was all. Perhaps two. He patted her on the hand, but still wished humans could find more appropriate names for their foods.

 

 _And he wonders why I call him a cinnamon roll_ , Lorna thought, somehow getting her laughter under control. “If it makes you feel any better, Thanadir, I was pretty disturbed when my Gran first made toad-in-the-hole. I thought she’d killed actual toads.” And she’d felt quite bad for the poor things, too, until her gran laughed herself sick.

 

“I wonder now if I should ask what other bizarrely named foods you humans have in your arsenal,” he asked with humor. He did not see that Lothiriel and Ortherion exchanged happy glances. Clearly they also felt Hîr Thanadir was precious, though they would never dare compare him to a baked treat.

 

“Uh…” Now Earlene had to think for a moment. “Well, I thought Dublin Coddle was a little odd, once.”

 

“Don’t forget the pub; Spotted Dick,” offered Ratiri. “And the Cullen Skink.”

 

“Welsh Rarebit,” Lorna chimed.

 

“Bubble and Squeak, that’s a good one.”

 

“Stargazy pie?”

 

“Jellied eels!”

 

“Angels on Horseback.”

 

Earlene thought some more before looking at Lorna and Ratiri. “I think I’m tapped out. You?”

 

“I can’t think’v any, but I’ll offer you something I found online: morons eating ‘medium rare chicken’,” Lorna said. “Salmonella, here they come.”

 

Ratiri winced. He shouldn’t be surprised people would be that stupid, and yet he was. The depths of humanity’s idiocy never ceased to stagger him.

 

“Eurgh,” she said, holding on a little tighter to Thanadir’s arm. “So, at least we’ve got dinner...wrapped. We might as well have the s’mores fest of all time tonight, too, since there will be no more chance to make them later on.”

 

**

 

And so it went. Ratiri, gentleman that he was, rather insisted on grilling the sausages while Sharley took similar interest in the griddlecakes. Allanah “helped” her take each cooked one and keep it in a covered tray to warm, and Saoirse made a good job of wrapping each sausage in its blanket and pinning it with a toothpick. Earlene found herself seated, with more wine. Thranduil rubbed her shoulders and Thanadir rubbed her feet.

 

“Was I that bad?” she asked quietly. “You both are being far too nice to me.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. “You deserve it, Earlene. You planned much of this trip, with Sharley and Lorna helping. We had a wonderful time and saw practically everything. Consider it our...appreciation.”

 

She smiled and said nothing more. But inside, she felt wonderful.

 

Pat, feeling the need to assist in some way, got out paper plates and made another bowl of punch -- they were nearly out of juice now, but that was okay. They could stock up on stuff to eat on the way home in Jackson Hole, which sounded like a terrible name for a town. “Well, did you see everything there was to see?”

 

“I think so,” Lorna said. “Lots of geysers with very strange names. The print shop in Kildare won’t know what to do with all the pictures I’ll want printed. And I need to hit up some shops in Dublin for more scrapbook supplies.”

 

“God help us,” Ratiri intoned, and did not manage to duck the hand-towel she threw at him.

 

“Shut it, or I’ll put all the cats on you in your sleep when we get home. I hope they haven’t torn the house apart in our absence.” She could see Tail especially being a menace, given he already was one, but if he decided the lead the others in revolt, who knew what the hell they’d be going home to.

 

“Maybe Ailill brought his avian family back enough to keep Tail under control,” Earlene mused. “That cat is terrified of those hawks. Wow, I wonder how it is going for Ailill and….what was the ellon’s name? Cal…?”

 

“Calanon,” said Thanadir. “An ellon of good humor and impeccable credentials.”

 

“Oh? _He_ could catch me in the forest?”

 

The smile wiped off of Thanadir’s face. “Um...perhaps.”

 

“I am just teasing,” Earlene patted his hand. “I am not going to become immodest. I am still no elf,” she said quietly, finding that the statement disturbed her more than she wanted it to.

 

“No, I think you’ve kind’v got the best’v both worlds,” Lorna said seriously. “Back me up on this, Thranduil. She’s got skills like an elf, but the kind’v...shit, what’s the word I want? Immediacy? The immediacy’v a human. Which means you can think in terms’v years, not centuries, without actually having to try.”

 

Earlene laughed. “True enough. I do not have to try at all. Huh. You know, we basically can’t even imagine anything else, can we? It just isn’t built into us. But, I don’t want to start thinking about issues of mortality. It sort’v clashes with being on vacation.”

 

“I still think people should be able to fly,” Chandra said. “It’s not fair that we can’t.”

 

“If you try gluing wings on the cats _or_ your brother, you’ll be very unhappy,” Lorna warned, and grinned when her daughter gave a guilty start. She totally would have tried that with her brother -- and worse, he might have let her, thinking he could just jump off the upper deck and go sailing.

 

She rose, intent on getting more punch, and of course tripped over a root, sloshing what little was left in her cup all over her hand. “Dammit.”

 

Sharley watched her, and looked at Thranduil. _Do you want to tell her, or should I?_

 

Thranduil cleared his throat. “You know, Lorna, everything in your brain that used to cause you to be clumsy was repaired. There’s no reason for you to keep expecting to trip and stumble. Only habit.”

 

Lorna looked at him, wiping her hand on her shirt. “And you’re just now telling me this, _why_?” That was well over a year ago.

 

 _Tell her I saw it in the future, or she’ll go off on you,_ Sharley said.

 

“Well, to be honest, because I didn’t think about it or notice it. But not so long ago Sharley told me about something she’d seen in the future, in which you could do physical feats you cannot do right now. Things no clumsy person could. And I had no cause to recall it until just now. I am sorry,” he said contritely. “I did not mean to...space it.”

 

 _Space it?_ Earlene cocked her eyebrow at him. Oh my, the vernacular was indeed catching up to the Elvenking at last.

 

Lorna eyed him more closely. Thranduil was not prone to ‘spacing it’, but he also wasn’t infallible. “So I still trip because it’s _habit_? That’s...weird. Are you sure?”

 

“It makes sense,” Ratiri said. “I know you’ve had a few concussions, starting as a child.”

 

That made her frown. She was pretty sure she’d got the first one when she was six, and Da hit her so hard she smacked her head on the doorjamb and knocked herself out. “So what the hell do I do about it?”

 

 _Good save_ , Sharley said, and grinned into her punch.

 

 _Millennia of diplomacy,_ Thranduil returned, abruptly borrowing his wife’s glass of wine to take a sip. “Well, now you know. Maybe over time you will believe that there is no reason for it, and this assumption will stop governing where your feet place themselves. It can be very strange, the power of belief.”

 

“That’s true,” Earlene agreed. “I watched these videos by a man who brings concepts to light that are at the edges of what science can explain. One of them revealed scientific evidence for the idea of a human collective consciousness able to influence what happens in the world. You kind of have to see it to believe it, but the data exists.”

 

“That’s honestly a bit disturbing, given the Cheeto currently occupying the White House,” Ratiri observed.

 

“True enough,” Lorna said, “but...it’s not like I trip on purpose. I don’t realize I’m going to until I’ve done it. I can’t very well tell myself ‘you didn't have to do that’ when I just did it. How could that help?” It sounded like an exercise in frustration, honestly. She was annoyed enough by her clumsiness and lack of balance as it was. Telling herself she didn't have to do it was just going to make it worse.

 

“I will try to help you, when we return home,” offered Thanadir. “I have some ideas. We know that you do not do this on purpose. Nobody would.”

 

“Can you promise you won’t let me make a fool’v myself in front’v the other guards?” she asked. “I’m sure they’ve been laughing at me.” That was honestly what had stung the worst, when she’d come to her mistaken conclusion -- the thought that they’d probably been snickering at her pathetic attempts at tree-climbing. _Look at the stupid monkey, it thinks it can do a trick._ No, she didn't still have insecurity issues. Not remotely.

 

“They don’t do that, Lorna. Ever,” said Earlene, far too quickly for any telepathic conspiracy to have been involved. “They are kind, and supportive. Some of them are demanding, but never cruel. Not very many people know that I studied with Thalion for a time. No one has sterner expectations than he does, but never once did he make fun of me. Not even a little. Even of they did want to behave like that, it would not be tolerated. It is not their way.”

 

“Oh, I doubt anybody’d laugh to my face,” Lorna said, staring into her empty cup. “But if they haven’t been laughing like hell to themselves...anyway. I’ll give it a shot, and see if anything comes’v it, I suppose. I just hope I'm not the one failure you can’t teach, Thanadir.”

 

“Lorna, where has this bloody come from?” Pat demanded. “You never used to be embarrassed by anything.”

 

“I didn't know I should be,” she muttered. “Then I grew up.” Then she’d met this lot, and realized...a lot of things. It had been good, but it had also been bad, in a way.

 

Lorna found herself scooped into a hug by Thanadir. “No one has laughed to themselves, Lorna. Nobody. Earlene has told you the truth. It is not our way, and secondly, even if someone were to somehow think that mocking you was a pastime, I would come to know of it. There is no one among our people who would ever risk the consequences. Have faith in yourself, my friend. You will learn at the pace you are meant to.”

 

Lorna hugged him back. “I just don’t want to look like an eejit. I’m trusting you there, Thanadir.” He might or might not know just what an enormity that was, for her.

 

“We will find a way,” he assured her, releasing her because he knew she would not appreciate any more of a scene. “Now it seems to me that your cup is lamentably empty.” He took it from her before she knew what had happened, to return with it refilled.

 

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it in more ways than one. It was...well, it was a relief, knowing she hadn’t been a silent joke among the other elves.

 

“Who wants marshmallows?” Ratiri asked, feeling a need to lighten the atmosphere.

 

“Me!” Saoirse called. Shane and Chandra echoed the sentiment immediately.

 

“Me too,” Pat said, laughing.

 

“Better marshmallows than chilli,” Lorna said darkly. They weren’t even going to _talk_ about the stench in the caravan last night.

 

“Everybody,” laughed Earlene, wondering just how bad it had been in Rogue One. Probably….pretty awful.

 

Pat rubbed the back of his neck, wincing a little. “Trust me, it was pretty bad for me, too.”

 

“Not as bad as it was for us,” Ratiri muttered. That man’s gastrointestinal system could produce some smells that the human body simply should not be able to concoct.

 

“Glad I was in Base Station Two,” Saoirse said. “Da’s always like that when he eats spicy things. When we lived in the flat I had to sleep with my window open, because it would stink up the whole place.”

 

Thanadir sighed, and shook his head. Thranduil patted him on the shoulder, and poured him a glass of wine as well.

 

Dinner was eaten, the sausages were wonderful, and even Earlene was impressed that Bisquick could be made to taste this decent.

 

Ratiri fetched the marshmallows, and they were shortly all roasting some over the fire. “We need to do this at home,” he said. “We should build a fire pit in the yard. I doubt it’s that difficult.”

 

Sharley, helping Allanah hold her stick, laughed. “I took Marty camping, when she was about Allanah’s age,” she said. “We’d roasted hot dogs before, but for a treat I’d bought the ones that have cheese in them. Well, we discovered the hard way that if you try to cook _those_ over a fire, they explode. Cheese, cheese everywhere.”

 

“Do they really?” Saoirse asked, plans already forming in her mind.

 

“No,” Pat said immediately, and hoped such things didn't exist in Ireland.

 

“Party pooper,” Lorna said, throwing a marshmallow at him.

 

Earlene filed the notion of cheese-filled sausage under ‘ _Do not do_ ,’ and did not comment further. “Well, I guess we’ll head out after breakfast? Sort of? I thought we might eat lunch in Jackson Hole. There is a place that serves bison burgers...that sounded like something to try, just to say we did it.”

 

“They make food out of those big things?” Saoirse asked. “How? Do they just...go out and get one off the grass?”

 

“They probably raise them on farms,” Ratiri said. “They’ve cross-bred bison with cows, and called the result Beefalo.”

 

Lorna looked at him. “That is a _terrible_ portmanteau,” she said. “I mean, it’s actually painful.”

 

“Oh there’s worse out there,” Earlene said. “I mean, for years everyone had a dog that was a Cockapoo. Beefalo is looking way, way up by comparison.”

 

“A _what?_ ” Lorna demanded. “That’s like...a cocker spaniel and a...poodle?”

 

“That would be a terribly strange-looking dog,” Ratiro opined, turning his marshmallow.

 

“Whoever named that thing secretly let their twelve-year-old do it,” was Pat’s observation.

 

“Can’t disagree,” Earlene muttered, tipping back the last of her wine.

 

“So what’s in Jackson Hole, and why does it have such a terrible name?” Pat asked. “Because it’s almost worse than Cockapoo. I mean, the jokes that could be made off it are never-bloody-ending.”

 

“What kind’v jokes, Da?” Saoirse asked.

 

He snorted. “None you’re old enough to hear.”

 

“Do you know why they called it that, Sharley? This is more your stomping grounds than mine...I spent most of my life well east of the Mississippi.”

 

“Nothing interesting, I’m afraid. The town was originally called Jackson, and going down into the valley’s like going into a hole,” Sharley said. “They were kinda literal-minded, back then. Though it got called Jackson by a woman who was kinda acting as a postmistress, even though there wasn’t a post office, so people from the east had an actual address to sent stuff to. I think she named it after a beaver-trapper.”

 

Pat choked on his punch, snorting it right out his nose, because holes...beavers...just _no_. The whole thing was a dirty joke waiting to happen. It was practically tailor-made for it.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes, and threw another marshmallow at him. The only reason she didn't throw two was because it actually was pretty damn funny.

 

“Well, that is as sound of an explanation as any,” declared Earlene, rising to fix herself a s’more. “I will remind you all it is our duty to finish these marshmallows. Enough in here for most of you to have another one.” With a grin she shook the bag for emphasis before handing it to Thanadir.

 

“Aunt Sharley, let me wash my hands -- I made you something.” Once Saoirse had finished her s’more, she hopped up and ran into Rogue One. When she returned, she had a drawing that made Sharley go still, eyes widening.

 

It was Marty -- her little blonde daughter sitting in the middle of a field of flowers, which was only half-finished yet. The likeness was, like all Saoirse’s drawings, downright uncanny; the kid must have seen the pictures scattered around the house. In it, Marty was grinning, flowers in her hands, her hair aglow in the sunlight. While Sharley had no idea where the blondeness came from, her eyes were her mother’s: one was mostly brown, with a segment of a much lighter brown that was nearly golden, while the other was the same uneven pinwheel of blue and green that Sharley’s left was.

 

“It’s not done yet, but I can finish it later.”

 

“Jesus, Saoirse, that’s beautiful,” she said. She wrapped the sleeves of her flannel around her hands before she took it, so that she wouldn’t get any soot or grease from dinner on it. It was a picture she would have wanted to take, if they’d really been in that field. “I’ll frame it, and put it over the mantle.”

 

“What happened to Marty?” Chandra asked, as Sharley looked at the picture. “Aunt Earlene said she died.”

 

“She did,” Sharley said. “We have a little organ called an appendix, right down in our sides, and hers burst. _You_ don't need to worry about that, because you have your uncle Thranduil, but I didn't know what had happened until it was too late.”

 

Shane crawled over to her and somehow managed to give her a hug around Allanah. “Were you sad?”

 

“I was,” she said, ruffling his hair, “but I don’t think of it that way. I don’t think of being sad she’s gone, I’m just glad I had her at all. She woulda liked you guys. I can’t be sad, Shane, because I know that wherever she is now, wherever we go when we die, she’s happy there. And someday, hopefully a long, long time from now, I’ll see her again, and we can just pick up where we left off.”

 

That...was a fucking enviable mindset, and not one Lorna thought she’d be capable of, in Sharley’s shoes. Though thank bloody God the woman didn't know who Marty’s father was...the Stranger might be an iffy thing, but at least it knew enough to keep her from wondering. (Though how it could _do_ that was not something Lorna felt like contemplating.)

 

“D’you still miss her?” Saoirse asked, sitting beside her.

 

“Sometimes,” Sharley admitted. “But being an aunt to you guys has helped a lot. She woulda liked you, and you woulda liked her. The thing is, what with the universe being the way it is, nobody’s ever really, truly _gone_ \-- they’re just somewhere else. You just have to be patient enough, and know that they wouldn’t want you to be sad in the time before you see them again.”

 

Earlene listened to Sharley speak, and frowned deeply. To the extent that she had to catch herself, and consciously erase her facial expression lest she attract any attention. This was a very classic trap in reasoning, that she found herself facing, and she was becoming worried about her own objectivity. Causation and correlation. She had formed a hypothesis about Sharley; one that lacked a great deal of solid data. And yet these snippets fed into her surmises in a steady stream. _They aren’t proof, Earlene. Just because things seem to feed into what you might want to believe, those are not the same as facts. You succeeded in practicing law because you never let yourself fall into this trap. Don’t fucking start now._ A sigh escaped her. Yes, logic had served well. But there was also intuition, and she had learned the hard way that there were limits to logic where the Eldar were concerned. She bit at the skin at the edge of her thumbnail.

 

“I think we will say good-night,” Thranduil announced, rising. “We will have a fun and relaxing day tomorrow, but there will still need to be driving. A good night’s rest seems in order.” Sleepy children’s heads, tired from a day under lots of sunshine and even more walking, were not at all resistant to the idea. Their brood disappeared into Starbase Three, to help settle the children for bed.

 

“That sounds like a good idea,” Lorna said, picking up her yawning son. Ratiri got the twins settled while she helped Sharley tidy up the campsite, making certain there were no food tidbits to attract any more bears. Seeing once was more than enough for one lifetime, thanks so much.

 

When they were alone, she folded Sharley into a hug. “You can look at losing your daughter in a way I think many would envy,” she said. “If everyone could, the world might be better.”

 

The embrace startled Sharley, but she returned it. Normally she didn't much like being touched, but Lorna was tiny, and a mother to her core. It was...comforting. “I talk to her, sometimes,” she said. “In my dreams. Maybe they’re just dreams, but they feel very real, so I like to believe that they are.”

 

Lorna released her. “I talk to my gran, at times,” she said. “And to Liam. I might not know shit about where we go when we die, but I do believe we can...phone home, sometimes. Supposedly the afterlife’s a happy place, but I don’t know that I’d be able to be happy if I couldn’t poke my loved ones’ brains and say ‘hi’ every now and again.”

 

That drew real, honest, uninhibited laughter from Sharley. It was such a rare sight that it made Lorna pause. Sharley was much older than she looked, but this made her seem like a girl.

 

“I like that idea,” she said. “Remind me to teach you about Discordianism someday. Pineal glands, they’re amazing things.”

 

“That sounds dirty as fuck,” Lorna said, bursting into giggles. “Pineal? Really?”

 

“Really. Five words: ‘House of the Rising Collapse’. I’ll explain the rest later.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Yawning, Lorna deposited their trash in the appropriate receptacles and trudged into Rogue One. She rather liked the caravan, and she’d miss it when they went home. It was tempting to look for one in Ireland, but Ireland simply didn't sell caravans this big and luxurious.

 

Pat was already well out, as were the twins. Maerwen sat reading a book in the passenger seat -- Thranduil had bought the book _Death in Yellowstone_ , and she was reading it with a relish that was honestly a touch disturbing.

 

Lorna swapped her clothes for her fuzzy pyjama pants and a flannel, and snuggled in next to Ratiri. Soon enough they’d be home, in the land of mists and rain and, most importantly, sun that wasn’t intense enough to broil anyone’s brains. _Jackson Hole_ , she thought, and giggled again. _Dammit, Pat._ Half the dirty jokes that could be made off that would not have occurred to her if not for her damn brother. Some things, it would seem, never changed. If he hadn’t outgrown his filthy sense of humor by now...but then, it wasn’t like she had, either.

 

Her thoughts on the matter were derailed when sleep took her, deep and dreamless.

 

In Base Station Two, Sharley carefully put Saoirse’s drawing between the pages of a big hardbound book they’d bought, so that the corners wouldn’t blunt. She’d make a copy of it, to take with her when she went to visit everyone at Eldamar. It touched her in ways she had no hope of ever expressing.

 

 _Be at peace, little bug,_ she thought, changing into her PJ’s. _Wherever you are, be at peace._

 

Thranduil and Earlene had retired to the privacy of their room. “Well, this is the last night of watching you try to fit six-and-a-half feet of yourself into a matchbox,” she teased in a whisper. Though elegant and lithe, Thranduil was not small and there was little room to maneuver in the constrained quarters.

 

“I quite liked it,” he grinned back. Needless to say they had kept the curtains on their bedroom closed; though he kept sleeping pants in easy reach in the event he needed to rise in the night for some reason, he still slept nude even here. “Though...I am not certain what it says about me, but I find I have missed having Thanadir with us. He is...soothing. Something like a….” he grasped for words.

 

“Cat. A cat, but larger, and better at snuggling,” Earlene offered.

 

“Yes. something like...that.”

 

“I have missed him too. But I think in the interest of anyone sleeping, ever, not to mention not potentially scandalizing our children, it was likely for the best to change arrangements. It was only for a short time; we will be home quite soon.”

 

“Home,” Thranduil echoed. “Eru, I have not thought about any of it in two days.” This awareness stunned him, on some level. “I have never...not thought about it. That feels almost reprehensible.”

 

“I could see why, but I hope you do not accept that you should feel that way. It is called a ‘holiday’ for a reason.”

 

“I suppose,” he replied in that tone of voice that Earlene recognized as being less than completely convinced.

 

“Well, I suppose I will have to give you something else to think about, then.”

 

Disappearing under the covers, it was the work of moments before dessert took on an entirely new meaning. They had basically perfected the art of pleasuring each other in near silence, and with minimal movements. When Thranduil finally lost himself to bliss, he had a second awareness. _Holidays are wonderful, and it is almost a shame that they have to end. But if they went on, how would they be appreciated?_ Maybe this was another mortal dilemma. And regardless of what it was, it could wait for tomorrow. Once he had satisfied his wife in turn, they cuddled against each other, and drifted into a sound sleep.

 

*****

 

“Adar Thanadir, where are we going?” asked Ithiliel. They had eaten, and packed up, though there had been actually very little _to_ pack up. The stores of food had been very well planned. They were very depleted though not completely gone. There were still apples, other dried fruit and crisps, more instant soups and cookies. Crackers too, and packages of cheese slices in the refrigerator. More than enough means by which to stave off hunger and see them back to Skykomish.

 

“To see a place called Jackson Hole, and the Grand Tetons,” answered the old elf.

 

“Tetons?” Eleniel asked, with a dubious tone to her voice. “Nana, you never taught us that word. What are ‘tetons’?”

 

“Well, breasts, actually, in the French language. The Europeans who came to this place first were French, and thought that the mountains looked like a woman’s breast.”

 

“Oh.” This seemed like an incredibly strange name for a landform, but what did she know? They didn’t even have mountains in Ireland or the forest. Nothing even close to what was here. “C’mon Ith’, let’s play cards.” The sisters did just that, while Thaladir quietly watched the scenery pass by. Today he was counting elk. His adars had taught him to count to one hundred, and so far he was at forty seven. He liked the elk and wished that the hawks could hunt them, though he knew they were too large. _I miss Ailill, and Finn…_ he sighed, smiling happily as he remembered the rabbit. _Ooh, forty-eight, forty-nine_...there were lots of elk.

 

Their road took them out of Yellowstone via Highway 191, and they were able to traverse this distance without too many delays. Earlene thought it quite scenic, as it wound through the vast expanse of the Caribou-Targhee National Forest, before weaving southeast around Jackson Lake to reach the cutoff into Grand Teton National Park. They elected to go this way, to at least appreciate the scenery better and perhaps stretch their legs at Jenny Lake. “El, Ith, you gotta see this,” Thaladir told his sisters, who were still immersed in their game. “Valar, they are beautiful,” he said.

 

From the front, Earlene and Thanadir exchanged meaningful glances of happiness, at listening to the children. “Ooooooooooohhhh” came from behind them. This meant that her daughters were unbuckled, for the moment, but she would allow them a minute before enforcing a return to their seats. That probably made her a crap mother, but she was not about to deny her children their first sight of true American mountains when there was next to no one else on the park road and an elf at the wheel.

 

In Base Station Two, Sharley held Allanah up for a better view. She was partial to her own mountains, and not just because the Tetons didn't look like they ought to be real; the Tetons were jagged, harsher, and the fact that they just rose out of the landscape that abruptly made them look like some weird special effect.

 

 _Fun fact,_ she said, _‘Grand tetons’ basically means ‘big tits’ in French. Obviously the explorers needed to get some action, because anyone who thinks those mountains look like any kind of boob has some issues._

 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and suddenly felt somewhat more interested. Sue him.

Pat was sound asleep on the sofa in Rogue One, and Lorna poked him until he woke up. He’d overcooked his brain a bit the day before -- he planned on napping until they reached Jackson Hole (and that name would never not amuse him, now) -- but Lorna had to wake him for this.

 

“ _What?”_ he grumbled, when she refused to leave off the poking.

 

“These mountains look like they were dropped by aliens,” Lorna said. “Just one look, and then you can to back to sleep.” She was awfully tempted to do the same thing, honestly; she was used to being pretty active, but the heat of the last week had sapped her energy. She knew Ratiri was feeling it, too, though Saoirse, somehow, seemed almost totally unaffected. Lucky squirt.

 

Pat stumbled to the window and admitted yes, they did indeed look weird, and were pretty impressive, but not impressive enough for him to stay awake for just yet.

 

Obligatory stops at one or two scenic vistas were cared for, and they finally pulled into parking slots for Liberty Burger in Jackson. It had by far the best reviews in town and ought to be more than used to influxes of hordes of people. “OK so here’s the deal,” Earlene said, once they were inside and sort of compacted into their usual phalanx that allowed them to have group discussions without taking up vast amounts of floor space. “Any burger on the menu, they will give you bison meat if you ask for it. Otherwise it’s regular. So this is your best opportunity this side of the Atlantic to try it. Supposedly everything here is totally delicious. And then after we order, Sharley and I will explain the weird references on the menu to ‘liberty everything.’ Oh, and bathrooms are over there,” she pointed.  Having arrived somewhat earlier than the standard crowd, seating was quick. Earlene was proud of all of them. They had gained a certain efficiency, and having such small children had not been a liability; their brood was collectively better behaved than many groups of human children that were ten years older, chronologically. Really, the trip had been a pleasure and it boded well, for their considerations of future vacations. The server came, and Earlene could not resist looking up at her husband.

 

_Why do I actually want to wager with you about what Thanadir orders?_

 

The perfect blue eyes looked up from perusing the menu. _Shame on you, meluieg. Though if I were to accept your crass inducement, I would assert that he will order both a milkshake and a personal pie._

 

 _Ah, but what_ kind _of personal pie?_

 

_He will not get coconut meringue, when chocolate meringue is the only other option._

 

_Spoilsport._

 

There was something for everyone, including adult shakes. And that was when Lorna spotted the one called The Lebowski, and lost it. Thranduil smiled as if nothing were unusual about a tiny woman laughing hysterically at the menu and being unable to speak. He ordered for the entire table because, duh. The waitress was simply glad to not have to do anything but stand there while the hunky blonde man gazed into her eyes and kept reciting orders. Oh yes, Lorna got her Dude to Abide and Pat was given an order of Big O onion rings, whether he wanted them or not.

 

“And now it won’t be too cold for you to sleep on the roof,” she said, while her brother was busy trying not to giggle over his food.

 

“Oi, onions don’t do that to me,” he protested. “Anymore, anyway.”

 

“Did they used to be like chilli, Da?” Saoirse asked. She was splitting a burger three ways with Shane and Chandra, so that she would have room for pie later. Unlike a burger, pie could theoretically refrigerate and not look and taste like ass later.

 

“Yes,” Lorna said, before her poor brother could say anything. “It was rank.” She was perfectly happy to enjoy her milkshake -- you couldn’t get them quite like this in Ireland, and the name was just too good.

 

Ratiri had decided to be brave and tackle the Nooner -- buffalo, bacon, ham, hash browns, ketchup, and a _fried egg._ Somewhere, his dad was smiling down on him, while his mam rolled her eyes.

 

“What?” he said when Pat eyed him. “It’s not like I have to worry about heart disease if I just eat it _once_.”

 

“He’s just giving you shite,” Lorna said. “Enjoy your O-Rings, Pat.”

 

Both he _and_ Sharley choked at that, the latter of whom promptly inhaled an onion. Ratiri had to whack her hard on the back a few times to get it back up.

 

“The poor O-Ring will never be taken seriously again,” he sighed.

 

“You don’t even know how surprised I was to find out it was actually a legitimate thing, not….well.” At Saoirse’s curious look, he added, “Nope. Not telling you until you’re thirty.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. “Thanks Pat. Leave all the fun stuff to me for Science Monday. Coward.” But she was grinning. And because of the way Thranduil had ordered, she had to behave herself and wait to learn what Thanadir had ordered. Well, mostly. They had agreed to share a kale salad, but after that she had not anticipated that he would choose the Nutella and Graham Cracker shake over plain chocolate. Neither did she see it coming that he ordered both pies. Mostly, she hoped he wasn’t going to Go Nonna and barely be able to drive later on.

 

 _That will not matter,_ she heard from Thranduil. _Lorna and Ratiri are too tired to drive the long distance safely. We will all eat our fill, and find someplace quiet to park. The nannies will keep the children that wish to play or have activities in one RV; adults who want or need to will sleep the afternoon away. There is no place for miles that does not have a view of those stunning mountains; it will be pleasant for everyone._

 

 _I guess you are not King for nothing._ Earlene took on so much organizing for their group that she forgot sometimes what skills he had as well. _You get to plan the next trip._

 

_No. Part of the wisdom of my office is knowing when to delegate...and that is, most of the time. I only intervene in plans when there is a strong necessity._

 

“Better you than me,” Pat said, laughing. Saoirse fought an urge to roll her eyes, because after all, there was this little thing called _Google_ that he seemed to forget existed.

 

“Pat, did you see any’v the _Austin Powers_ movies?” Lorna asked. “Saw the first one in prison. ‘Don’t force it, you’ll blow your O-Ring!’” Her attempt at an American accent was truly sad, and it was that even more than the quote that made Ratiri burst out laughing.

 

“Mo chroí, please don’t ever try to sound like an American again,” he said. “You sound like you’re dying.”

 

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Git R Done,” she said flatly, which only set Sharley off again.

 

“ ‘Murica,” added Earlene, finding this incredibly funny.

 

Suddenly a harsh scraping noise came from behind them and a very large man came over to their table.

 

“You buncha foreigners making fun of the United States of America? On whose soil you are walking?” He was beet-faced, with flinty blue eyes and a hard, hard stare.

 

Earlene stood and turned in a single fluid motion, pushing her chair aside. Her face was inches from his. That he towered seven inches taller than her did not matter in the least. “That bunch of foreigners is with _ME_ ,” she hissed. “Born and raised in this country and knowing that the Constitution has a First Amendment that guarantees the right to freedom of speech. You are in goddamned _LIBERTY BURGER_ , named for the patriot that pitched for our right to have those freedoms. I survived 9/11 in New York City just blocks from the World Trade Center. I went home every day and cooked for hours, to give out food and supplies to the New York Fire Department for months after, while you were sitting on your pasty ass watching the TV news from your recliner. You want to stand there and lecture _me_ about the United States of America?? _Do you?_?”

 

“If you’re smart, you’ll say no,” Sharley said, rising. “Seriously, you just dug yourself a deep enough hole as it is, so to quote my tiny Irish friend here, get fucked, you fat-headed gobshite.” Her last words were in a dead-perfect imitation of Lorna’s voice. “People like you are why the rest of the world hates us, FYI.”

 

Lorna choked on her milkshake, because good _God_ was that creepy.

 

Two other men from the opposite table came around to their friend. “Kev, not today. We’re going somewhere else. You’re not starting this shit, and you’re sure as hell not gonna take a swing at a woman if I have anything to say about it.”

 

 _I’d almost like to see him try,_ Earlene thought.

 

As the trio began to move off, the other man tipped his ball cap. “I’m sorry for my friend, ma’am. Marines, in Afghanistan. He hasn’t been right for a long time.”

 

Earlene’s shoulders dropped immediately. _Jesus fucking Christ._ “Oh god...I’m sorry too. It’s just, I’ll not be spoken to like that.”

 

He looked at her sympathetically, and gave a nod before following his friends out. Earlene looked back at the rest of the table, her eyes lingering for a moment on those of her husband, and at Sharley. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I just need some air.” She turned to leave, and not a word was said when Thanadir rose to follow her.

 

“The ironic thing,” Lorna said, to everyone and no one, “is that Kevin is an Irish name. Christ, Afghanistan…” They’d heard bits about that, in prison; it had filtered in even there. “Lot’v broken people, who don’t always know it, I guess. Poor bastard, but he’ll not go making any friends like that.” If his friends hadn’t been here to pull him off, it might have gone very badly for him. “Geezer’s said America doesn’t take great care’v its vets.”

 

“It doesn’t,” Sharley said. “I can almost guarantee you that whatever treatment that guy might or might not be on, the VA isn’t any actual help. The individual _people_ try, but the bureaucratic level is just...no.”

 

Thanadir had little difficulty finding Earlene, who had only gone out the rear exit and now leaned against the wall of the building, staring into space. This vacation had dampened down a great deal of the daily affection they shared privately. Neither of them were ashamed, but both understood that others would find it uncomfortably odd. So it was with an extra measure of relief that she felt herself taken into his arms in a close embrace. Not a word was said; his kiss to the crown of her head held a great deal of love.

 

“When we get home, I would like for us to talk,” she said softly. “I feel like something is happening to me, but I haven’t wanted to get into it here. On this trip. I didn’t used to be like this, Thanadir. I’m reacting to hostility and rudeness from others with quite a lot of my own, and...that I am capable of backing it up now; I’m...worried.”

 

He held her tightly, swaying in a pattern that was soothing yet nearly imperceptible. “We will talk,” he reassured. “But know for now that...it is not so unusual, as you think. You have gained a measure of power, power of a kind you did not have before. There was a time when I could not fight, or wield a blade. It was not the learning that changed me, but rather the first time I had to use those skills. The first time I went into battle, and killed. You will learn to adjust. It takes time.”

 

“So I am not hopelessly devolving into a serial killer?” The question was three-quarters joking, one-quarter not.

 

“No,” he smiled. “But you will have to regain a perspective. You have killed now, Earlene. That changes any good person, whether man or elf. You did not do it without reason, nor was it undeserved, but do not think that this tragic rite of passage leaves anyone unscathed.”

 

In some completely twisted way, his words helped enough for now. She looked up, and their lips met in a soft kiss. “We should go back,” he said, to which she agreed.

 

All the children had naturally wound up with many questions nobody wanted to answer, so Sharley distracted them with tidbits of the history of the American Revolution -- what few she knew, anyway; she couldn’t remember going to school, but obviously she’d picked trivia up somewhere along the line. “Paul Revere had way too much good press,” she said. “He actually didn't do much, but his name sounded best in a rhyme, so he got all the glory.”

 

“That’s not fair,” Saoirse said.

 

“Eh, that’s history,” Sharley said. “Wasn’t until the twentieth century that the idea of fact-checking became a thing, and even then, historians can be pretty terrible about it.”

 

Thanadir and Earlene returned just as the food was arriving, and seated themselves. Oddly enough, she felt no necessity to apologize for her behavior, because, this was them. Thranduil met her eyes. _I love you._ This too, was what she needed to hear, and a better smile than what she might have thought herself capable appeared on her face, just as a kale salad was plunked in front of her along with her bison burger. A tentative nibble to the burger revealed that.. _.this is fucking amazing_. Sweeter, more tender...damn. Could they have these in Ireland?

 

“Well, now that that happened, Earlene, help me out,” Sharley said. “I’ve been trying to give these kids a history lesson, but I’m not so great on the history of anything east of Yellowstone. Did the Liberty Bell _actually_ get a crack because it rang so hard, or is that just propaganda made up by some jackass who dropped it and didn't want to admit it?”

 

Lorna snorted into her milkshake, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “I’d thought it...fell? Like, fell on the ground and cracked…?”

 

“Uh, no one knows for sure. When it cracked is lost to history. It was definitely not made right, because it was brittle and they had to re-cast it twice. Somehow I think the third time wasn’t a whole lot better.”

 

“So it was just a crap job that stayed crap after they re-did it,” Lorna said. “Nice.”

 

“And now it’s famous because’v it,” Pat snorted, wiping his greasy fingers on some napkins. He was glad they had Pepto Bismol, because he could already tell he was going to need it later. “I guess, if it gets you into the history books…”

 

“It’s big, isn’t it?” Saoirse asked. “Like a churchbell big?”

 

“Bigger. I’ve kinda wanted to see it, but it’s a long trip and it just never sounded worth it. Not when there’s that many people to deal with,” Sharley said. “Yellowstone was different. I'd been there before, and I was with you guys.”

 

“Compared to many of the bells in European cathedrals, it’s not so big at all,” Earlene said. “I’ve been to see it. It’s interesting, but Sharley’s right...if I hadn’t lived not really so far away, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way for it.”

 

“Really?” Sharly asked, ordering herself a milkshake. “Huh, I always thought it was bigger than that. Was it worth the line?”

 

Earlene shrugged. “By itself, I would say No. But with all the other things like Independence Hall, Congress Hall, the Jewish History Museum...the point of the thing is to make a day of seeing all of that.  And then if you’ve gone that far and are staying the night, it’s two and a half hours to Gettysburg, so you might as well soak up that bit of depression too.”

 

“Christ, Gettysburg…,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Okay, so we had this book in prison, for some damn reason, that was all about famous speeches, and one’v them was the Gettysburg Address. There was this photograph of some building or other associated with it, and this woman -- and mind you, I think she was pushing thirty -- looked at it and told me, dead seriously, how much it must have sucked to live in the past, when everything was black and white.”

 

Ratiri stared at her. “Seriously?”

 

“Seriously. I thought she was taking the piss, but no, she actually thought the world was black and white up until color film was invented.”

 

“And we think our education system sucks,” Sharley muttered. “Though there’s this YouTube series you should check out when you get home -- it’s a bunch of ‘Top Ten Dumbest Tweets’ videos. Your idiot prisoner is not alone in that.”

 

“That,” Saoirse pronounced, once she’d swallowed her bite, “is scary.”

 

The meal was finished, and if giggles spread around the table when Thanadir struggled to eat precisely half of each pie, he took it with good grace.

 

“Meldir, you can have a take-away box, and eat it later if you wish.”

 

“Oh,” he said sheepishly, as the entire table burst into laughter.

 

A long nap and/or much staring at the magnificent Grand Tetons later, the long night drive back to Skykomish resumed. “Well,” Saoirse piped optimistically, “at least we might not have those crickets in the bathroom on the way home.”

 

Lorna glared at Pat as if to say, _she’s your daughter_.

 

“We can hope,” he sighed, defeated.

 

*****

 

Sharley’s lawn was a crowded place. The stares they received from the occasional passers-by were of curiosity and in a few instances, outright nosiness. “I hope to hell you have a good thrift store around here,” Earlene shook her head. “I feel like we’ve turned your house into that storage warehouse they show at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

 

Lorna arched her eyebrows as she carried seven rolls of paper towels into Sharley’s house, balancing them somehow in her arms in an odd sort of pyramid. Hard to disagree much with that observation.

 

“Fortunately, it’s just me here,” Sharley said, laughing a little. “Trust me, this’ll all find a home fairly soon. Always someone who can use a little extra.”

 

Saoirse, yawning, brought her sketchbook in. She’d finished Sharley’s picture, and stood it now on the mantlepiece, out of the way. “You should get a cat, Aunt Sharley. This would be a great house for a cat.”

 

“If I didn't travel, I would,” Sharley said. “I couldn’t go leaving a cat alone, though. It wouldn’t be nice. I just enjoy yours when I’m with you.”

 

“I hope ours haven’t destroyed the place,” Ratiri said. “I don’t trust that clowder of menaces even when we’re all home. I’m half afraid they’ll have ganged on up Ailill and eaten him in his sleep, if he doesn't keep one of those birds with him all night.”

 

Thaladir had a little gleam in his eye, which both Lorna and Earlene noticed, as they exchanged glances. Their home was many things, but boring was not one of them.

 

*****

 

Sharley very often ate at the cafe, because cooking for one was boring, and she had to do something with all this money in the bank account Earlene and Thranduil had given her.

 

It was a warm July evening, and the front door was left open to take advantage of the fresh air. There were a number of locals, and two families staying at the inn; their babble filled the room, a pleasant background drone.

 

Sharley sat in the corner nearest the door, enjoying a beer. Charlotte kept her busy with a steady supply of nibbles, wondering what the hell it would take to make her a little less bony. She’d just refreshed her hair dye, and there were a few faded blue splotches on her neck; she was so pale they looked like bruises.

 

“Your guys get back home okay?”

 

“They did,” she said, smiling a little. She did that a lot more these days, since she’d met that weird group from Ireland. Charlotte just wondered how much they actually knew about her -- not all of Skykomish knew what she was, and those that did were aware there was likely much more they hadn’t yet learned. “We had a lotta fun there. Nice to see it when it wasn’t on fire.”

 

Charlotte eyed her. They knew Sharley was older than she looked -- much older -- but it wasn’t something anyone talked about. “Everything’s better when it’s not on fire.”

 

“Isn’t that the truth, and I need the bathroom.” She rose, took two steps, and collapsed.

 

Charlotte didn't quite manage to catch her -- all she did was grab her arm, though at least it meant she didn't land flat on her face. _Shit_.

 

Alan Cohen, the only doctor in town, hurried over. The conversation faltered, a few of the tourists crying out in alarm. The locals, some of whom had seen this before, ignored them; Alan knelt beside Sharley. “Been a while,” he said to Charlotte, feeling Sharley’s pulse. It was elevated, as it had been the other three times this had happened.

 

“Wish it’d been longer,” Charlotte sighed. They knew that this didn't actually hurt Sharley, though it did make her sick, but...there was always the fear of what she saw. Last time, she wouldn’t tell anyone, but she’d looked like someone had just tried to gut her with a rusty knife.

 

“Is she okay?” one of the tourists asked anxiously -- a middle-aged woman with a rather impressive head of curly blonde hair.

 

“She has epilepsy,” Alan said. “She’ll be fine, once she comes out of it.”

 

“That doesn’t look like a seizure,” the woman’s husband said uncertainly. He’d hustled their two kids across the room, well out of the way.

 

“Trust me, it is. Charlotte, get my car, will you? I’ll take her home.” Skykomish had no clinic; the closest one was in Sultan, which was something of a drive. They just needed her out of the way, away from the curious eyes of outsiders.

 

Off Charlotte went, leaving Sheila to help. Sheila hadn’t been in here the last time, but she’d been the time before that -- she’d been here when Sharley had discovered her daughter was going to die. Never, ever had she seen or heard anyone cry like that; it had scared the shit out of Marty, too, and Charlotte had had to keep the girl back in the kitchen until Sharley had something like better hold on herself. Why could the poor woman never see anything _good_? It seemed like the future only poked her in the brain when it wanted to show her something awful.

 

Her mismatched eyes stared at nothing, her face utterly still, and she was utterly dead weight when Alan lifted her to take her to his car. There was no telling how long she’d be under like this -- it could be hours or it could be days. If it was days, they were going to have to take her to Sultan, just because they didn't have the equipment to keep her hydrated. He really didn't want to do that, though, because exposing Sharley to the outside world was an iffy proposition. Those that knew her had rather dreaded it, when she’d decided to go off to Ireland the first time -- not that she’d actually told anyone that was where she was going. At least she’d called the cafe a couple times, to reassure them she wasn't dead.

 

Out they went into the summer evening -- for such a bony person, she really was surprisingly heavy, and getting her loaded into the backseat took some doing. Angela, Alan’s wife and Sharley’s landlady, helped him out, careful that she didn't hit her head. “I’ll follow you. I’ve got the spare key, assuming she actually locked the door.” She generally didn't bother, and she wasn’t the only one in town who didn't. In a town this tiny, the only fear of crime came from anyone who might come wandering in off US2.

 

Alan drove carefully, though it was less than a block, and found that she had no, in fact, locked the door. For someone who lived alone, she did keep her house quite tidy, and her thrift-store furniture was well-cared-for. On her bed was a patchwork quilt, the reds and yellows brightened by the light of the setting sun through the window.

 

“What the hell happens if one day she just doesn't wake up?” Angela asked softly.

 

“Don’t even say that.” Alan closed Sharley’s eyes, watching her breathe. “She’s made it this long. However the hell ‘this long’ actually is.” Her memories were fragmented at best, but she’d watched Mount St. Helens erupt, and was pretty sure she’d been an adult then. What was really weird about that was that _she_ didn't seem to find it weird at all -- the fact that she didn't know how old she was didn't bother her, and the fact that she looked thirty when she had to be at least fifty didn't seem to bug her, either.

 

They’d pushed her about it one night, after the cafe closed but before everyone was willing to go home -- him and Angie, Sheila and Charlotte, and Kyle Pruitt, who’d been on duty in the kitchen. She’d been increasingly puzzled, wondering why they thought it odd, which just led to more and more questions. And that was how they’d met the Stranger -- if ‘met’ was even the right word. The thing had surfaced just long enough to tell them to stop that line of questioning right now, and scared the shit out of all of them in the process. Kyle had tried asking _it_ questions, until it grabbed him by the throat and threatened to snap his neck if he ever told Sharley this had happened. So far as Alan knew, she still didn't know, and he hoped it stayed that way, because he was very much afraid she’d run off if she found out. She was weird, and probably more dangerous than they knew, but she was _their_ dangerous weirdo, and they didn't want her leaving for good.

 

They sat with her for the next four hours, while the sun set and the stars emerged. She was so still she looked dead, but her pulse thrummed fast beneath Alan’s fingers. “Go on home, Angie. God knows how long this’ll last.”

 

“Like hell I will. My house, mister.” Nevertheless, she yawned; two hours later, she was asleep, head rested against the wall. Sharley too slept on, if you could call it that, dead to the world and everything in it.

 

He woke Angie at dawn, needing sleep himself. She sat up until she knew Sheila would be off-shift at three, and they swapped; Charlotte came in at eleven. None of them dared leave poor Sharley alone, just in case she...swallowed her tongue, or something.

 

It wasn’t until a day later that she eventually woke at four in the morning, wide-eyed and deeply disturbed. _What_ , she thought, _in mother_ fuck _was that?_ Just...fucking Valar. Out of all the insanity she’d witnessed, _that_ was what struck her the most, because, well, _duh_ . These last two days...Jesus. What were the Valar _doing_? Forcing this on those two...it was cruel. Beyond cruel. Neither had asked for it. Neither actually wanted it, and now they were stuck with it.

 

“Fucking Valar,” she muttered, her voice a rasping croak.

 

“What did you see?” Charlotte asked anxiously.

 

“Nothing _bad_ , just...creepy,” Sharley said, flopping her head back and looking at her friend. “Super creepy. I’m okay.” _I am. They’re not._

 

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” Charlotte snorted. “I’ll make you some soup. Don’t move.”

 

That was not an order Sharley was tempted to disobey. She hadn’t been out overly long, but she could tell she had a fever anyway; she was cold and achey and all her joints hurt. Shifting her quilt, she curled up underneath it, shivering.

 

Those poor people. This shouldn’t be the kind of shit they felt like they needed to keep a secret, on top of everything else, but Sharley knew they’d probably both die before they told the Donovans or Pat. Which, yeah, it was a bit weird. More than a bit. Neither one had asked for it, but it was definitely a thing now. The Valar had a fucked-up sense of humor, because this...wasn’t funny. Not at all.

 

That had been... _interesting._ And rather unexpected. Okay, totally unexpected. At least they had been under the covers, or that would have been entirely too much. She certainly did not understand that they had apparently been sleeping in one bed together, let alone….seriously? Was that even a thing? _How_ was that a thing?

 

 _“Well,”_ Kurt said, sounding as ill as she felt, _“I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say_ that _was fucked up.”_

 

Sharley burst out laughing, covering her face with her hands. “You have a way with words, Kurt.”

 

 _“They can’t sit on this forever,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“I don’t think they realize how accepting the others would be.”_

 

“No, I think they know better than that,” Sharley said softly, “but there’s no denying they’ll find it as weird as I did, if they aren’t warned. Problem is, I can’t warn them without Thranduil finding out...fucking telepaths.” She had a feeling she hated telepathy, though she couldn’t say why.

 

God, she needed to pee. Hauling herself out of bed, she staggered to the bathroom, took care of Nature’s necessities, and fell on the floor. At least she’d gotten her pants up first.

 

“...Fuck,” she muttered, crawling back into her room. Christmas. She’d email them and tell them she was coming to Ireland for Christmas, and invite Lorna, Ratiri, Pat, and their kids out for a few weeks before then. That would give her some time to figure out what the hell she was going to say.

 

That the Valar were somehow involved with this unwanted union...the thought was...honestly infuriating. They were _people_ , not...not _chess-pieces._ They had thoughts and feelings. Sharley knew how all that worked -- these two were going to get handed all kinds of emotions they weren’t ready for, because they didn't actually _want_ them. Ratiri would call it the Valar playing silly buggers with them.

 

“Kinda glad they’ve never given me anything,” she muttered, “unless seeing all this shit’s their idea of a gift. Given how unwelcome this will be, I wouldn’t be fucking surprised.”

 

God, she felt like shit. In this moment, if Manwë himself were to show up in front of her, she’d probably bite him.

 


	104. One Hundred and Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 19-August 12, 2019

The commuter van was quieter than a morgue, as they drove the M7 back from Dublin. Or rather, while Lorna drove the M7, with an air of quiet determination. While they kept their individual thoughts to themselves, it would not have taken a master detective to know that every one of them, right down to young Thaladir, simply wanted to be back home so badly they could taste it. The children were accorded a great deal of praise for their lack of acting their age. Even Shane and Chandra seemed to know, nothing was really to be done about it except to soldier on. Earlene stared dully out the window, until finally Thranduil rolled his eyes and reached over her to poke Thanadir in the shoulder, pointing down at her. With a snort and a grin, the seneschal took her into his arms, cradling her. She was asleep in under a minute.

 

The King sighed. Back to reality. “Well, did we have fun?” he mused aloud to the sepulchral silence. Though whether he was asking a question to them or himself; that was the part he wasn’t sure about.

 

“I did!” Saoirse chimed.

 

“Me too,” Lorna said, echoed by Ratiri.

 

“And me,” came from both twins.

 

Pat was rather too deeply asleep to say anything one way or the other. Thranduil chuckled and shook his head. “Me too,” he said softly, grinning at Pat.

 

Finally Finally FINALLY the crunch of the gravel was heard under the tires as they pulled into the driveway. “Twenty bloody hours later,” Lorna moaned, removing the keys from the ignition.

 

“I owe you a drink,” Thranduil said. “Probably several.” It had indeed been a long journey. Bus trips, airport lines, flights, layovers...there was simply no way to do much about it short of a private charter, and Earlene adamantly refused to spend that kind of money, even though they had it. There was just something immodest about dropping nearly a quarter million dollars just because you could, and it simply wasn’t going to happen.

 

“Tomorrow,” Lorna said. “After a nice long sleep. And a shower. How the hell travel can make a person so grimy, I don’t know.”

 

“Witchcraft,” Pat mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. “And...bees.”

 

“Witchcraft and bees,” Ratiri snorted. “Welcome home. I say we leave anything that’s not necessary, because I'm exhausted.”

 

“Oh…..fifteen kinds of wow, people. Look at what Orla has gotten started on the greenhouses.” Indeed, the skeletons of these massive constructs were impossible to miss. They had elected to use more of the elves’ timber for the construction, and keep with the visual continuity of the greenhouse that already stood at Eldamar.

 

“Holy shit,” Saoirse breathed, wide-eyed. “That’s mental. What’ll they look like when they’re done?”

 

“Bloody huge, that’s what,” Ratiri said. “I hope Orla knows what she’s doing.”

 

“She’s  _ Orla _ ,” Lorna said. “Of course she does. But yeah...stuff. We’ve got a lot’v it.”

 

“There is nothing that cannot wait.” Earlene already had the things that mattered most in a backpack purse she usually toted around, and slung that over her shoulder. Of course all the elves looked fresh and rested, but were also instrumental in helping carry exhausted children or wanted belongings into the house. That was when Earlene caught sight of Ailill’s car, and found the wherewithal to smile. “Oh, look who is here!” For the benefit of her son, she pointed out her observation. With a shriek that was one long utterance of the falconer’s name, the child ran toward the house. “Damn. That’s cute.”

 

Thaladir kept jumping up at the door, but was a little too short to reach the latch. In moments the portal swung open, and Ailill bundled the youngster into a hug while Calanon stood nearby, obligingly holding Fion on a glove. They had just been about to go hunting.

 

“Thaladir, I missed you!” It was no exaggeration for the child’s benefit; he sincerely loved the boy. “Did you have fun?”

 

A frenetic disgorgement of...well, everything, began to pour from the boy so fast that he was almost unintelligible. Some of it lapsed into Sindarin and even Calanon had trouble following. Clearly, their hunt was going to be delayed for a time; the ellon returned the bird to their room without being asked.

 

“He’ll talk both their ears off,” Lorna said, shaking her head. It really  _ was _ cuter than hell, too. “It’s good to know the cats didn't eat either while we were away.”

 

“That doesn’t mean they won’t try to eat  _ us _ ,” Ratiri pointed out. “And if at least one of them hasn’t crapped somewhere, I’ll be very, very surprised.”

 

“I locked my door for a reason,” Saoirse confided, yawning.

 

Pat...wasn’t so sure he had, come to that. Oh dear.

 

*****

 

{July 13}

 

Pat checked his email out of habit, but there was rarely anything that wasn’t from Mairead or her family. The morning of the thirteenth, however, he opened it and just about fell out of his chair.

 

_ Pat. It has taken me a long time to be willing to write this. Still not sure why I am. Well, that isn’t entirely true. It’s because of Lorna. Both yours and mine. Your Lorna says you’ve changed, and she’s not given me a reason to think she is lying. Not to mention the...elf thing. I have had to think a lot about our Lorna. It all went to shite between us but you are still her da. This isn’t going to be easy for me but I have to start somewhere. Here are some pictures of her. Our daughter. You can write me back but don’t expect I’ll answer right off. _

 

Grania. Grania had sent him an email. Grania had sent him...Jesus Christ, Lorna looked so like her namesake it was creepy. There were pictures of her at work, making the T-shirts, and a few at what looked like the seaside. Happy, healthy, beautiful young woman -- she might look like her aunt, but her smile was all her own.

 

So what the fuck was he supposed to do now? He had to write her back, but….but...well, shit. He shut his laptop and carried it down to breakfast. “Grania wrote me,” he said, to the room at large. “What the hell do I do now? I have to answer before tomorrow, or it’ll all fuck up.”

 

Lorna’s eyes widened, and she actually squee’d. “Did she? Go on, what did she say?”

 

Pat handed over the laptop, squirming a little, and Lorna read it aloud. “Well, the first thing you  _ don’t  _ do is send anything without running it by us, first,” she said. “You don't need to be sticking your foot in your mouth and not realizing it until after you’ve hit ‘send’.”

 

“Why tomorrow?” Earlene frowned. “Is there some reason to hurry besides eagerness?”

 

“Tomorrow’s her birthday,” Pat said. “Lorna, shit, there’s got to be something I can give her, right?”

 

“Hold up there, mate,” Lorna said. “Happy Birthday is great. Don’t know that she’ll be wanting any presents from you yet. Though it’s bloody sweet you still remember it.”

 

“Yeah, well...you know.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “Pat, you don’t remember  _ anyone’s  _ birthday. Yours, mine, and Saoirse’s, and that’s it. That’s not a ‘yeah, well, you know’.”

 

“Er…”

 

“Aaaaand he’s achieved complete mental vapor-lock,” she sighed.

 

Earlene’s eyebrows were vaulted as high as they could possibly go, Thranduil noticed. Suddenly he was interested in this conversation that otherwise threatened to be somewhat inane, to his thinking. “All these years later and you remember her birthday? Oh. Ohhhh. This is indeed A Thing,” she grinned somewhat wolfishly. “Is it not A Thing, Lorna?”

 

“It is, in fact, A Thing,” Lorna agreed. “Sit down, Pat, and don’t touch that keyboard until we’ve had a bit’v a conversation.”

 

His eyes widened in sudden terror, given the expressions on her and Earlene’s faces. “Um…”

 

“ _ Sit _ ,” Lorna ordered, and sit he did --  mostly because he knew that if he tried to run, she’d just chase him down and sit on him. “All right, Earlene, thoughts? Because I'm thinking leading in with ‘happy birthday’ would be a great start.”

 

“No, no, that needs to come in later,” she opined. “That’s like...the golden ticket. Save the best for last. He needs to start with….okay Pat, first, you need Woman 101 since I can see you’ve not got a foggy clue what’s going on here. 

 

“Here it is: She’s agonized over this since she first met our Lorna. It’s taken her all this time to learn that you aren’t who you used to be and convince some thread of herself to believe it might be safe to see if our Lorna was really full of shite or not. And for the record, she doesn’t _ believe _ Lorna is full of shite, she just has to prove to her own self that that’s the case. But not yet. If you banjanxed it with her as bad as I’ve put together from what snatches I’ve heard, she’s hopeful and terrified. Her whole life has had to be about building defenses so that no other man could ever do to her what you did. She didn’t want to; no woman does. But she had to. This email is the first tiny step toward her considering that you might have changed. You can’t send her a gift because it’s far too much right now. This is like...one of Ailill’s birds. You have to meet it on its terms, or not at all. You with me so far?”

 

Thranduil stared at his wife in open fascination, his lips lightly parted. He flattered himself, that he had some grasp on females by now.  _ Sweet Eru…what?? _

 

That washed over Pat in one great  _ whoosh _ , leaving him somewhat overwhelmed and a bit frightened. “Um...yes? Then shit, what do I say? What’s too much? I mean, I figure asking about Lorna -- my Lorna -- is okay, but...how much is...help?” He cast a very helpless glance at Ratiri, and at Thranduil, searching for some measure of support.

 

Thranduil blinked at the unfortunate man, while Ratiri suddenly found the rock pattern on their hearth bottomlessly fascinating.

 

“Lead in with Lorna,” his sister said. “She’s what you’ve got in common, and probably the only thing that you both categorically don’t regret. Ask after their job -- that’s safe. Whatever you do, don’t bring up anything from the past.  _ Anything _ . Nothing. Nada. Nyet. If there was an Irish word for ‘no’, I’d use it.”

 

Poor Pat was visibly sweating.

 

“All right, fuck this. Earlene, you probably type faster than I do.” She brought the laptop over, smothering a grin. “We’ll take your dictation, Pat, and edit it as needed.”

 

“Wait. There’s something that needs to be out in the open first, and I’m sorry for putting you on the hot seat out here Pat, but….Thranduil, we’re alone, right? No little ears are near? It’s just adults?” Her husband confirmed this with a nod. “OK I need you to be honest. Do you want her back? Because if you are even a fraction not sure about that, it changes everything.”

 

Pat sighed. “God help me, I do,” he said, dragging over a chair. “I’ve regretted fucking things up with her for the last fifteen years. But...Jesus, Earlene, I was the one that left. I was the one that was...Christ, I don’t feel like I’ve even got the right to  _ talk _ to her.”

 

“You’re not talking, you’re emailing,” Lorna said, determined to quash  _ that  _ thought right there.

 

“What she said,” Earlene nodded. “Look, we’ll help you. You had to have lived in another world, back then, and I don’t believe there is such a thing as unredeemable mistakes. Call me an idealist, but the only reason it should ever be completely over for someone to try to make it right is because the person is being embalmed.”

 

“What she said,” Lorna said. “Okay, so how about we start with this -- Earlene, you’re better with words than I am, but it can’t go sounding like someone else wrote it for him, so we’ve got to run it through a Pat filter.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Hush, you. How about something like ‘Thank you for being willing to write to me’, for a start?”

 

“Yes. But I need that in Pat-speak. Earlene-speak is a dead giveaway.”

 

“Pat, how would you say that?” Lorna pressed.

 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Um...basically that?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just go with ‘Thanks for giving me the chance to write to you.”

 

“Wait. Lorna, this is no good, me typing it. Please forgive me but I won’t...it’ll be too...there won’t be mistakes and that might not be authentic? I mean, women sniff these things out like mice to peanut butter. I know I would.”

 

Pat hung his head, rubbing his temples, but Lorna laughed. “True enough. Here, give that over.” She took the laptop, and shoved it at her hapless brother. “Okay. Type. ‘Thanks for giving me the chance to write to you.’ Do it.  _ Do it. _ ”

 

He did, slightly afraid not to to. All this time, Thanadir had followed the conversation between Earlene, Lorna and Pat as if he was viewing table tennis. 

 

“Okay, there’s that.” Lorna cracked her knuckles, making him grimace. “And thank you for sending me the pictures’v Lorna.’ Um...shit, now what? Should he mention how glad he is she’s in recovery, or is that too soon?”

 

Truly, Earlene was rolling. “I think it would almost be callous to not say, ‘it did me good to hear you are healthy now. Something like that? I mean, he can’t ignore it. But neither can he gush.” Pat looked helplessly at Ratiri, who held up his hands in the silent, universal gesture of ‘leave me out of this’. “Wait, I know. ‘It did me good to hear you are healthy, the elves are wonderful. They’ve helped all of us.’ I kind of like that, because there’s a bit of enticement there, to come out at some point. Just a tiny hint, but not too much. Yes?”

 

“Yes,” Lorna said, and flicked her poor brother on the back of the head when he didn't immediately start typing. “Then...hmm...he shouldn’t go on forever, but it shouldn’t be too short, either. Maybe the same length as hers. Could it hurt for him to go in so early saying he’s sorry he was such a shite? I mean, I know I said don’t bring up the past, but it might do her some good to hear that he’s sorry from himself, not just from his sister.”

 

“Dammit. You’re right. He almost has to, because to say nothing whatsoever implies that nothing needs fixing. But he so totally cannot go on and on. Let me think a minute…ok, I’ve got it.”

 

Pat was not about to say that that had been more like five seconds. It was nowhere near a minute. That he saw Thranduil ever so subtly shaking his head No only confirmed that silence was wisdom.

 

“Grania said in her email,  _ Lorna says you’ve changed _ . Those are the key words. He has every right to say something about what she said. But maybe no more. So...he has to use only that. He has to find a way to agree with her while acknowledging that he understands why she might not believe it. Thoughts?”

 

Lorna pondered this, pacing. “Something like…‘I know I fucked it all up between us, and I’m more sorry than you can know. I’ve been trying to change ever since, and….erm….no, not ‘trying’ to change, that sounds wrong... ”

 

“I fucked it all up between us, and am so sorry for what a gobshite I was,” Thanadir said solemnly, with his hands folded in his lap. Every head in the room whipped around to stare at him. “You said to keep it simple,” he pointed out to Earlene, questioning if he had blundered somehow.”Did I say the wrong thing?” 

 

Ratiri burst into a fit of startled coughing, trying to mask his laughter. Lorna, unfortunately, had just taken a sip of tea, which meant she snorted it out all down the back of her brother’s shirt. Thanadir...he just…?  _ Gobshite?  _ He just said…? 

 

She looked at Thranduil, even as she coughed.  _ My corruption is complete. _

 

Pat grimaced. “Jesus, Fun Size, I just had a shower...that sounds good though, Thanadir, thanks.” He obediently typed, rather glad Lorna’s tea had cooled somewhat before she went and hacked it all over his back.

 

_ Almost _ , returned Thranduil acerbically.  _ You do realize, he was only selecting words that Pat would authentically say. It does not truly count until he says it of his own origin. Though, I will allow that your influence is creeping. _

 

_ Party pooper _ , she said, and yes, she she stuck her tongue out at him. She was an adult. Honest. She had a driving license and everything.

 

“Okay,  _ now  _ what?” Pat asked, wanting to get this over with and go change his clothes.

 

“He’s got to say something complimentary about Grania’s Lorna. And then wish her a happy birthday. I think that’s…..oh wait. There has to be something, just one thing, that he asks her. Because she’s got to have something to write back about, or it kills the conversation. It has to be just right. Not too personal, not too impersonal. Discuss.”

 

“Asking about work’s too impersonal,” Ratiri offered, finally weighing in. “Ask her how she’s feeling now.”

 

Lorna shook her head. “No, that could get weird...ask what Lorna -- your Lorna -- is like. She’s a mam, she’ll love to talk about her kid, and she’ll be glad you’ve asked.”

 

Sweating, Pat did just that. “And I just end it with ‘happy birthday’?”

 

Lorna looked at Earlene. “I think that sounds good -- pleasant surprise there, right?”

 

“Absolutely.” Poor Pat. She’d seen people less sweaty who had just sat the Bar Exam.

 

He typed it out, gave it one last read-over, and hit ‘send’ with a hand that trembled slightly. “Okay,” he said, a touch unsteadily. “I’m going to go change my shirt. And possibly wash my hair.” He was up and gone before anyone could say anything more.

 

“I think you should remind him later, not to be crestfallen when she doesn’t answer right off. She said she wouldn’t, and I can guess why. She’s afraid of falling down the hole too fast, and is trying to keep some distance from the edge. Your poor brother. I don’t envy him. If this was answering an email, can you imagine if she agrees to come here for dinner?”

 

“I will,” Lorna said. “And Christ, if she agrees to come to dinner, he might just have a coronary on the spot. It’s…” she sighed. “It’s hard for him, knowing that mess was ninety-nine percent his fault. We need to stop him bending over too far backward and freaking her out.”

 

“Does she know about Saoirse?” Ratiri asked.

 

“She knows Saoirse is a thing that exists, but no more than that,” Lorna said.

 

“You know, one or two more emails in the future, that’s what to do. He sends her a photo of Saoirse. Because then she will know more Donovan clones exist in the world. That alone might be an enticement; a half sister for her Lorna.” Earlene’s eyes gleamed with the possibilities.

 

“Thank Eru you are not loose in the world, meluieg. I am not certain how it survived you.”

 

Earlene grinned. “It didn’t. Just ask my opponents. I’m pretty sure a few parties got thrown in celebration when I announced my departure.”

 

Lorna cackled. “Someday, I need to get those two into a picture with me. It’ll be creepier than hell.” She made a mental note to bring that up to Pat when he wasn't in a tizzy.

 

“And make the family of green-eyed terrors complete,” Ratiri said dryly. “I’m tempted to give him some of your Xanax, if this is going to be how he reacts to an email. I just….shit, I hope this has a prayer.”

 

“Grania never had another relationship,” Lorna said. “After Pat, that was it. I’m hoping that’s a good sign.”

 

Thranduil broke his long silence. “Time will tell, and I wish him the best.”

 

*****

 

Nienna looked at Irmo dubiously. “Are you certain, this is wise? They will not thank you for this, and both will suffer.”

 

“What else am I to do?” he sighed. He had already listened to this speech numerous times. “The command was clear. It begins with them, and in this way. There is no one else, and there are no other options.”

 

“Be that as it may…” A tear streaked down Nienna’s cheek.

 

“It will not be only grief. You were chosen to help them; fulfill your role. And I will fulfill mine.”

 

“It still seems unfair,” the Vala said unhappily.

 

“When since before the discord of our Music was anything truly fair, Blessed One?” he asked gently, laying a hand on her shoulder.

 

“I do not wish to watch,” she said, turning aside.

 

“You are not required to,” Irmo replied sympathetically. “Your part comes after.” He returned his thought to the task at hand, and began to weave the dream.

 

**

 

Earlene barely woke to an extremely common and welcome sensation; a pulsing manhood nestled against her bottom and a warm arm languidly holding her against a masculine body. For some time, she allowed herself to drift in and out of hazy thoughts of her own arousal, until in her half-reverie her desire wanted satisfaction. It was not necessary to check, to know that she was prepared to receive her beloved. Moving her upper body away, and lifting up her thigh, her hand deftly found the waiting erection and guided it inside of her. A sigh of contentment escaped, as she wriggled carefully backward to push herself against him. They had done this so often; both more asleep than awake, their physical joining creeping into the pleasantest of lucid dreams. She thought she recalled touching herself, as the thick shaft pushed into her from time to time, teasing, tormenting and throbbing. Who even knew how long this went on, before the heat rose in her to the point of no return, and she found herself clutching his hip, pulling him inside of her at the same time a strong arm held her fast. His hips bucked toward her, straining in union with her body. Both of them stiffened at once in release; the binding of her spirit that she had not felt this strongly in a long time rushed through her.  In seconds she was fast asleep again, her lips curled in a blissful and contented smile.

 

Toward morning her dreams grew restless, when she once again felt a demanding throbbing and grinned to herself, shaking her head.  _ This time, it would be nice to have a different position. _ Rolling around, she deftly parted her legs and pulled her husband on top of her in clear invitation. A sleepy Thranduil was very happy to comply, as he met her entrance that tilted to take him in. He would not tell his wife, but like as not she would conceive their next child quite soon. Perhaps today, even; now that they were returned from their holiday it was the time long agreed upon. More elflings! He nuzzled his wife and kissed her deeply, becoming more aroused and excited at the thought. Sex with Earlene for pleasure was one thing, but sex to create a new life...there were not words, either for the pleasure or the sense of thanks and wonder.

 

Writhing beneath Thranduil in an excess of enjoyment and so close to her peak, Earlene’s arm flailed out to the side. Her forearm was taken and held by Thanadir, who she had completely forgotten. The touch affected her in a way she could not register, sending fire through her body and triggering a crushing release that in turn ensnared Thranduil, who shuddered helplessly as his seed burst from his loins. After initially collapsing on his wife, he did his best to shift his weight off of her with a thankful kiss. Thanadir snuggled next to her, reaching over her belly to caress Thranduil’s arm. For a time they all remained there, still and happy, drifting in and out of reverie, before having a mortal bladder brought such pleasant moments to an end. With a groan of annoyance she launched from the bed to make use of the facilities, holding her head in generalized happiness.

 

After, the pool engendered contented sighs as the very warm water enveloped her. Thranduil grinned and cited a wish to care for some matter in the Halls prior to breakfast, and dressed swiftly before leaving. The adoring eyes of his wife followed every move as he attired himself.  _ You must be in a very good mood,  _ he heard her tease.  _ Twice in one morning?  _ Earlene’s face was radiant as he grinned back, not at first considering her words, and shrugging them off as he moved through the forest.

 

Thanadir finally sat up, with the most charming case of elven bedhead, and after fully disrobing came shuffling into the pool to sit with her. Deftly, she caught at his hair while he seated himself, twisting it up for him and pinning it in place with hair sticks so that it would not become soaked. Thanadir always forgot to mind his hair; he would not be fully awake for perhaps five minutes. He was this way most every day on waking, and Earlene had come to love this about him. He sighed happily and turned to kiss her as he often did, holding her gently as their lips met. 

 

It was quite strong, and quite unexpected, the sensation that coursed through her. The kiss lingered, longer than usual, and his lips met hers again. The barest flicker of his tongue asked for more, and without thought or hesitation she yielded to him, ceding control. After their mouths mingled briefly, he pulled away and gave one last peck on the lips. “I slept so well, meldis,” he sighed, leaning back into the water. “Like all the Valar blessed my rest. I cannot recall feeling this way before. I love you, very much.”

 

Earlene smiled back at him, her eyes shining. “I love you too, meldir.” Though, something lurked at the edges of her mind that she wilfully dismissed even as she reached for his hand. They sat together in contented silence.

 

Hours later, the three of them sat in the Quiet Room, laptops out, working on respective assignments for the next Council meeting when Earlene felt a tugging sensation inside of her and smiled hopefully. “Did I just…?” Both ellyn’s heads raised, and the faces lit up with joy gave her an answer.

 

“Yes,” came in stereo, as all computers went away and they moved to hug her.

 

“I love you both,” she whispered. “So much. But I do not want the others to know. Not for awhile. Maybe not until it cannot be hidden any longer.”

 

“I certainly will not object,” Thranduil chuckled. 

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. “I too am not eager to hear further direct or indirect comments on our family planning,” she said acidly. The derisive opinions of Lorna had not been much appreciated when she conceived Thaladir, and they would be just as unwanted now. There was one sure way to eliminate the possibility of criticism, and that was silence.

 

That night, there was a great deal of joy, as they talked late and shared kisses all around. But Thranduil noticed what Earlene did not. She was forcing herself to disregard that her exchanges with Thanadir were arousing to her, and now he wondered greatly at her comments of earlier even as he positioned himself to satisfy her growing lust. Thanadir did not move away as he often (but not always) had, instead electing to knead at Thranduil’s back or massage Earlene’s shoulders as he calmly and joyfully encouraged their loving of each other. A new elfling! The seneschal was ecstatic, and felt suspended in blessings. And love.

 

When they woke the following morning, it was to see that Earlene now carried...twins. Both elves looked on the other. “Eru,” said Thanadir, who quite literally did not know what to do with his happiness. But at least he did not faint. They told Earlene once she was in the pool, which caused her lips to part in surprise. And some degree of shock. Today it was Thanadir’s turn to have duties and errands, so he departed after a relatively brief time, leaving her alone with Thranduil.

 

Once he was gone, the King kissed his wife. “Meluieg, I think there is something we should discuss.”

 

“How you will both survive me carrying another set of twins?” she asked drily, only half in jest.

 

“No, though maybe that should be a secondary topic,” he grinned, before becoming serious. “Earlene, I think you have been resisting a new awareness in yourself. About Thanadir.”

 

Though the statement made her nervous, their relationship was beyond fear of jealousies. Her head nodded. “It is true. And I do not think it is only me, Thranduil. Something in him has shifted, somehow.”

 

“I think I know why, meluieg.” His hand caressed her face. “Can you not guess? Consider your feelings.”

 

Earlene stared back, searching his blue eyes for answers that would not come. “I love him, and something in me...for the first time ever I feel as though I might desire him. But it is Thanadir, and I am wed to you, so I…”

 

“So you still only consider the possibilities that your logical mind will allow, even when the answer is obvious, Earlene? You must realize, I am not upset.”

 

“Upset at what?” Tears were pooling in her eyes. “You are making no sense and this feels hurtful,” she said, her chin trembling.

 

He sighed. “I am sorry. It is not my intention to cause you distress. Meluieg, last night between sleeping and waking, I did not make love to you twice. Only once.”

 

Eyes wider than dinner plates, she stared at him. “You cannot mean...but Thanadir cannot...please tell me you are joking,” she begged.

 

He held her tightly. “I have seen your memories, hazy though they are. You were barely awake, and you believed you were joining your body to mine. Thanadir does not know, Earlene, not at all. He truly was asleep; the extent to which his body responded to yours was not with conscious awareness on his part. You both achieved release, though, and by it you were sealed to him as well. What you now feel is that bond.”

 

“Oh, Valar….what have I done?” Waves of sickening devastation came over her. “Have I...violated him? How will he ever forgive me, for this? And you, to whom I gave myself…” Hoarse sobs tore out of her throat, as she broke down under the weight of this understanding. 

 

“Earlene, no. No, meluieg, do not cry. You have done nothing. I mean, yes something was done, but please do not take this burden on your spirit.” He held her tightly.

 

“But this is not supposed to be possible.” Earlene’s words spiraled into a high pitch from strained agitation. “I thought you said I would never be able to desire another but you. Never be able to form another bond. And...this is  _ Thanadir _ . He will not want me, not in this way.”

 

“I...did not believe it could happen, either.” He massaged his forehead, as he spoke. “I did not believe other things that have happened between the three of us, could occur. And therein I think will lie the part of this that will be a genuine burden, for you. You are able to desire him now, sealed also to his spirit and body, but unless I am greatly mistaken, he will not wish to physically love you as I do. It is my guess that he will bestow affection on you to a certain extent, and not want or offer more. I had no way of knowing that this would come about, meluieg. It was an accident of sharing a bed. He had an erection while he slept; you did as you always have done with me, and your bodies did what bodies do. Your spirits bear witness to it.”

 

She shook her head vehemently. “I would never ask him to...for my sake. Never. I honor him, Thranduil. I cherish him, as he is; he is perfect, in my eyes. I will bear the burden of unrequited desire, if it means his happiness.”

 

“I think we both know that I am more than willing to satisfy those yearnings, in his stead. But know too, that should he somehow...you are his now as well, meluieg. Do not turn aside from him, if that is what both of you are called to.” He held her and comforted her tenderly, for many minutes. “There is more, Earlene.”

 

Feeling sick with despair, she squeezed her eyes shut. “What is it?”

 

“You carry sons, meluieg. One of them is Thanadir’s. They are not identical twins, and his seed was given to you first. You conceived in a bonding; this can be especially powerful.” This time no outward show of emotion occurred; numbness deadened her. Only silent tears streaked down her cheeks, for many minutes, as he held her. “I hope I do not need to tell you that I will love and embrace and cherish them with all my heart, regardless of who sired them.”

 

“He will never wish to lay eyes on me again,” Earlene whispered. “I cannot face him.”

 

“Meluieg, you are upset, and overreacting.”

 

“Overreacting? Thranduil, I know what he said to me. I heard it from his own lips: ‘ While I mean no disrespect to you, it would above all not be my desire to join with a mortal.’ And thanks to me, he has done just that.” Her detailed memory drew the phrase up from her archives just as surely as if it were a printout placed in a file folder.

 

“When? When did he say this?”

 

“It was when we were first learning of each other. It was the same day I placed my father’s wedding ring on his hand. I am...I need to be alone. I am too agitated, and I certainly do not want to see the others this morning. I need to think...and I am so sorry. I feel as though I have betrayed you.”

 

“You may go and be alone, but not while you believe such as this. I will not allow it.” A huge sigh escaped him as he kissed her cheeks. Even he did not know why this was not affecting him, but it did not change that he sincerely felt no other connection to this aside from wishing to banish the distress these new circumstances would bring. “I am not angry, or even upset. I am joyful that my wife will bear sons. I am not diminished to know that you share this bond with Thanadir, whom I also love. You have not betrayed me. You thought he  _ was _ me, for Eru’s sake. Please, have some faith? I have known him countless lives of men. While I will allow that he may be deeply shocked, just as you are, he will not reject you. Earlene, do you honestly believe he will turn his back on the mother of his child?”

 

Her eyes filled with sadness as she ignored his last statement. “In the world of people, this is not outside the bounds of possibility but here, I thought it was. I have no reference, no guidance for my feelings and…”

 

“No more words, Earlene.” His finger against her lips silenced any further expression. Without conversation, he helped dry and dress her, leaving her clad as the forest guard. “Go,” he said, kissing her forehead. “There is peace and restoration, among the trees.”

 

She hugged him very tightly, and departed out the French doors. With a sigh, he dressed, determined to play with his children before breakfast. He felt saddened a little, to have his joy on this day diminished, but he understood. What he trusted most, now, was the sense of peace on his spirit. Why the Valar had allowed this, he could not fathom, but he felt assured that they had. And that in the end, there would be a reason.

 

Breakfast came and went, in which he was able to explain away Earlene’s absence breezily, knowing that everyone believed him but Thanadir. He lost count of the times that the seneschal’s eyes darted to him during the meal as he ate his porridge with his usual projection of placid imperturbability. Eru knew, he would need it for what would follow. When they went their separate ways after the meal and Thanadir followed him to his room, his time had run out. 

 

“Where is Earlene?” the seneschal asked worriedly.

 

“In the forest. She is upset, meldir, and needs time to think.”

 

“Why? What happened?” the old elf blurted out.

 

A twisted smile came over Thranduil’s face. “I am afraid you did, Thanadir. Old friend, we should talk, but you must promise me you will not leave this room until I give you my consent.”

 

Thanadir lowered his eyes. “You are my King, you ever have had my promise to do as you bid. But...your words are causing me to feel afraid, Thranduil. What did I do to Earlene?”

 

He took Thanadir, and led him to sit on the bed next to him, encircling his meldir with his arms, and told what he knew, and what he very much guessed might be the case. Moments later he held a trembling elf whose face had drained of all color, and found himself having to give the same speeches of counsel, assurances, and comfort.

Grief that was pitiful to behold poured from the seneschal, who sobbed more than Earlene had. Thranduil shook his head. “Meldir, you must try to compose yourself. She needs you.”

 

“Needs me? How can she not despise me? I have….Valar, there are not even words, for what I have done.”

 

“Then I will tell you what she feels, since her sadness and her pleas to Nienna and Estë ring in my mind. Earlene can barely make herself believe you will ever wish to look on her again, and fears that she as good as raped you. She remembers your words, that would not ever wish to join with a mortal, and fears you will hate her for what has happened. Meldir, neither of you did anything wrong. The Valar have not struck you down. I love both of you unreservedly, and it tears my heart to see this suffering. This accidentally occurred, and it cannot be undone...though I acknowledge, it is a very big ‘this.’ Will you not help her? Right now, you and the Valar are the only ones who can. It is not good for the children, for her to be in this state.”

 

“The children inside of her,” Thanadir whispered, as his eyes widened. “Did I...are we…?”

 

“They are sons,” Thranduil said. “Yours was conceived first. Mine, afterward.” Thranduil tilted the finely shaped face to look at him. “You have been granted your heart’s desire, meldir.”

 

“But I….” Thanadir shook his head, tears still splashing from his eyes.

 

Thranduil closed his eyes, knowing that he had to do his utmost to help make this somehow...work. “Thanadir, let me ask you this. Do you love her? Do you love Earlene?”

 

“You know that I do, Thranduil. I love her and I love you, with all my heart.”

 

“Then go to her, and find a means to turn grief into joy, meldir.”

 

*****

 

The papery bark ran smooth under her skin. It was unusual, to find a beech tree this tall, but months ago she had marked this one as a personal favorite. It reminded her of Thranduil, on some level. Earlene felt certain that she had evaded all the elven patrols, and that her perch in these heights above was a private one. Someplace she could pour out her grief, and pray. Tears came again, as she wept her sorrow and confusion to Nienna and Estë, and tried to allow her mind to grasp what had occurred. In her heart, she knew that her husband was correct; it could not be undone. _Her husband. What did that even mean, now? They are both my husband_ , she groaned to herself. _Well, you finally managed the group marriage part, Earlene. Congratulations, for single-handedly corrupting and destroying countless thousands of years of elven marital sanctity._ _No one can ever know._

 

This had just raised another wall, between the three of them and all the rest of their friends and community. Perhaps that was the worst of it; what should be open love, in all light and joy, would have to be hidden away in shame and secrecy. Not so different than their current circumstances, but with an exponentially greater urgency.  _ Thanadir deserves so much better than this _ . The thought of his shining heart, his unblemished spirit; now bound to hers because of an accident in the dark...a sense of weight and of barely being able to draw breath suffused her. Crushing anxiety; how well she knew it. Turning her head against the tree trunk, she rolled her forehead against the smooth bark. Back and forth, back and forth, because somehow the rhythmic motion provided some other thing on which to focus her sorrow. 

 

“I am so sorry, meldir. My beautiful meldir.” More tears were welling up, when she felt arms around her that could only belong to one elf. A low wail of pain broke from her chest, as with unrelenting but gentle tenacity he pulled her into his embrace. “...so sorry…” managed to be heard, amidst the crying.  _ So sorry I have done this to you... _

 

With a sense of wonder, Thanadir now realized he could hear her even as her arms wrapped around his chest as though he were an anchor against a storm. In his mind, effortlessly. And the magnitude of her grief, coupled with her obvious love, undid him.  _ Earlene, please, no. I love you, meldis. _

 

_ How can you, after what I have done to you? How can you ever forgive me? _

 

_ It was an accident, Earlene. I know that you did not mean for this to happen. I too was deeply shocked, but what has been done is done. This is not only your responsibility. _

 

_ What do you mean? How can it not be? _

 

Thanadir rocked her in his arms gently, as much as their current altitude safely permitted, his lips continually pressing tender kisses against her forehead.  _ Well, I did not wake. Did not react in any manner to repel you, at the level of my spirit. And apparently my body....I see in your thoughts what happened, and that I did not resist the situation. Some part of me sought to complete the act of love, with you.  _ For awhile more, he held her, soothing as her sorrow and regret began to diminish. If he could show her that he accepted their circumstances, did not blame her, maybe her pain would leave?

 

Earlene tried to understand. _Was it true, what he said? He would have...woken and pushed me away, had this been truly repulsive?_ _This adds new dimension to Aredhel and her being ‘not wholly unwilling.’_  Finding that she might have a commonality with Eöl, however minor, was not exactly proving to be a comfort or a consolation.

 

 _It is not like that, meldis. There are two reasons I would not have sought this with you, had I been completely aware. One is that you were already wed, the second is...me. I do not have physical desires. But, there are words you need to hear now, on account of what I said to you when we were newly acquainted. When I told you I would not choose to bind myself to a mortal...Earlene, I have grown in love for you, over time. In thousands of years, only you and Thranduil have laid any claim to my heart. By the Valar, you graced me with your own child, and birthed him into my arms. Who else could I want but you, who has given me everything that was within your ability to give? I will need some time to adjust, as will you, but I would never turn from you._ _I will not be filled with regrets, about belonging to you now, not at all; I only regret the distress and unexpectedness of what has befallen us._

 

Earlene took one of the hands that held her, kissing it before holding it against her face.  _ I love you, Thanadir. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive that you are now tied to me like this, without having had a real choice? That you will have to live with this in secrecy? This is the shame I feel; you in no way deserved to have this happen. You deserve so much better. _

 

 _You did not have a real choice either,_ he retorted. _You did not set out to accomplish this._ _And I am the one who wanted to share your bed. To be close to you both, and experience the happiness of being near those I love. While I did not ever anticipate this, it could not have happened had I continued sleeping in my own room. Thranduil is right, Earlene. Our bodies joined, and though I do not understand many things, here we are. Of course I forgive you, though I do not believe you are to blame in the first place. No one is to blame, meldis. Please look at me._

 

Her expression was unhappiness incarnate, her brown eyes were still full of doubt. Though, he was right about one thing:  _ Here we are. _ Salt-streaked cheeks were kissed tenderly.

 

_ You are with child now. With children,  _ he corrected himself while he brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  _ I want your heart to be lightened. What do you need? I cannot bear it, to see you hurting so much at a time you should be filled with the joy of your pregnancy.  _

 

Fingers traced down the edges of his smooth cheeks, seeking reassurance in his timeless beauty. _ I need to be able to believe that I have not brought ruination on all of us, and right now, I do not know how that can happen. _

 

**_All will be well_ ** _ , powerful  _ voices of indescribable quality said. They were a blend of both masculine and feminine, and ethereal.

 

Earlene frowned at him.  _ Did you just say that? And how is it you are speaking to me like this for so long? You have never done this before. _

 

_ That was not me speaking, and, I can hear you now. Without effort. Suddenly it is easy. I would guess that this is a blessing of our union. And speaking of blessings, you have also just received one. The Valar have given you their assurance, Earlene. Now, can you believe? _

 

Her eyes widened, at the understanding of who did speak, and silent prayer of thanks was given.  _ Apparently, I must. It is an honor, that they would consider me in this way.  But I still feel afraid, meldir.  _

 

_ I do too. This was not how I envisioned my ‘never marrying’ working out. Not to mention…. _ he traced his hand down to her lower abdomen and rested it over her womb, and his eyes filled with joy.  _ I will be a father. You will give me a son, the issue of my own body. _

 

Something inside of her shattered like glass, at seeing his expression. Since their first days together, it had barely been possible to refuse him any happiness that was hers to give. Whether or not she could yet fully accept it, his son was inside of her. Not merely symbolically, as with Thaladir, but in reality.  _ I hope you know that in spite of my struggles with what has occurred, I am honored. Honored to have you, honored to carry your child. My beautiful, perfect Thanadir. _

 

Gentle hands cupped her face, as he studied her. Earlene was a lovely woman. More so on the inside, than out. Carefully he kissed her, and his gesture was returned with something akin to reverence. When he deepened the kiss, he was met with welcome. He felt so drawn to her, consumed with love and the desire to care for her. This had been present for some time and in some measure, but now was amplified greatly. Earlene felt a physical yearning for him, and studiously ignored it with the vast reserves of her mental discipline. She loved him, and this was enough. Perhaps there were ways to please him that did not involve...that, and she could learn them in time. Her fingers combed through his hair; felt the delicate points of his ears. His eyes closed as he enjoyed her touch, allowing her to examine his face anew as well. Had she ever really noticed, the flawless texture of his skin, or his enviably long and curled eyelashes?

 

_ You can still hear me?  _ she asked uncertainly.  _ How am I supposed to get away with anything, now? _

 

His lips curled up in a smile as his eyes opened. “I have confidence, that you will manage. You are resourceful and clever.”

 

“True.” It was time to wipe at her eyes with her sleeves. “Thank you for coming to find me. I know Thranduil must have told you. This has to have been very hard for you also; I am afraid it will continue to be hard. I do not know what to do, altogether. Lorna and the others, they can never learn of this. If we can barely accept what has transpired, they certainly will not. And I do not wish to begin to imagine what the other elves would think. If you are listed as your son’s father...what do we do, lie to our child about who his father is? I could hardly bear that.”

 

“Meldis,” he rebuked gently, “you are forgetting. All will be well. Thaladir has two fathers. All your children do. These will, as well. I do not care, what some piece of paper on file with the Irish government says.” He leaned down, to kiss her again, before playfully nipping at her ear. “I too know that it may not always be easy, to have to deceive those close to us. It goes against much of what I believe to be right. But in this case,” he shook his head. “I do not see another way.”

 

“You win,” Earlene said, smiling, much of her misery quelled, though she was not stupid. There was going to be worry about all this, and stress. She would try, very hard, to accept these new...developments. 

 

He hugged her tightly. It was as much as he could ask for, just now. “There is more, we should talk about,” he said softly. “I am not ignorant of the desire you will now have for me, and that I am not able to respond to you in this way.”

 

“I do not want you to respond to me,” she answered flatly. “I never want you to feel, not for a second, that you should do anything you do not wish to. It is true that I will now want you, but that in no way means it is your responsibility to do something about it. I have Thranduil, and if it comes down to it, I have myself.”

 

Hesitation lingered in the ellon’s eyes. “You will not resent me, for my shortcomings?” he asked softly. “Not become frustrated, for what I cannot give? I have seen enough to know that sexual contact is very important to you.”

 

“You have no shortcomings, Thanadir. You are perfect, in my estimation. I love and accept you as you are. You have no obligation to me, in this way. I would be horrified, to know that you were pressuring yourself to behave in a way you do not wish to. I promise to cherish and care for you as I do Thranduil, and see to your happiness in ways that respect your needs.”

 

He listened, humbled at the depth of her love. Because of his connection to her, there was no doubt that she meant what she said to him. “And what if I ever did want to try, to love you physically?” he asked, though even the question made him feel a little fearful. A part of him very much wondered... _ could he? _

 

“Then I would welcome you.” She shook her head. “You are not to ever concern yourself about me, sexually. For your happiness, I would give anything. To have you know you are honored, wanted, and respected exactly as you are; this is what I want. I will never try to seduce or tease you, Thanadir; I care about you too much to ever do that. I think you have seen how I am with Thranduil. If you truly feel you want me, you only need say so. If you try but then change your mind, I will not be upset. If it cannot bring you at least some pleasure, please, do not do it.”

 

Thanadir nodded, feeling an array of emotions in the face of a topic he usually sought to not think about. This would require time. A great deal of time. It was time, to change the subject.  “You did not eat breakfast,” he observed.

 

“No, I did not. I was not hungry.” Her eyes followed the flight of a starling that raced through the trees. “This sounds awful, but I really do not want to see our friends just now. I need more time than a few hours to pretend nothing has happened today, and that my life has not just changed forever. Maybe you do, too.”

 

He watched her expressions as she spoke, still marveling that he could hear her. Hear her, as Thranduil must hear her. “Come to the Halls with me? I would like to spend time with you, and I think I know what would help you to feel better.”

 

An hour later saw Earlene having eaten a snack, and in front of the harpsichord. The two of them leaned into each other as they usually did, plinking the keys and enjoying the lovely music. From time to time, tender kisses were exchanged, and the sense of love shared between them grew and deepened. It was a slow transition, but as the minutes and hours wore on, so many thoughts of despair and sadness lifted and transformed into feelings of peaceful calm and joy. She had heard it herself; the Valar were not ready to pitch her into the Void. Somehow, this would all work itself out. There was the happy news of two new lives, growing within her. Perhaps some the livelier tunes they played today, helped to lift her spirits. But more than this, Earlene felt blessed with the love of two extraordinary ellyn. The sum of what had happened was weird, weird beyond measure. But it was weird only between the three of them, for now, and somehow that made all the difference in the world. 

 

*****

 

Lorna and Ratiri, blissfully unaware of their friends’ current turmoil, were enjoying a late cup of tea on the deck. Their view of the greenhouses was quite impressive, and she wondered just how much extra crew Orla had had to hire to get it all done.

 

Tilting her head back to let the sun fall on her face, she wondered if today would be a good day to go get all their pictures printed. She had some serious scrapbooking to do -- so serious the idea made her quail, and realize she was going to need help.

 

“So I was thinking,” Ratiri said, breaking her reverie. “In the future, condoms are going to be a finite resource. You can’t get a tubal ligation, due to Manwë’s gift, but I could get a vasectomy. Then we wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

 

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “You mean...get snipped, down south?”

 

He laughed. “That’s exactly what I mean. It’s a simple procedure that can generally be done right in a doctor’s office. We’d have to keep using a condom for two months, just to make sure it ‘took’ all the way, but after that, no more risk.”

 

“Doesn’t it...y’know, hurt?” Lorna asked. She knew how sensitive a man’s bollocks could be, for better or for worse.

 

“They do give you a local anesthetic, mo chroí,” he said, shaking his head. “They don’t just drop your trousers and go to town with a scalpel. Anymore, they often don’t use a scalpel at all -- they’re colloquially known as ‘key-hole’ vasectomies, because it’s a small incision and a hemostat. No muss, no fuss, and probably little more than light bruising.”

 

“If you’re sure,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “I know what that can do to a bloke, mentally.”

 

Ratiri rolled his eyes. “The only man who has a true psychological issue with a vasectomy is a man whose identity is far too wrapped up in his own genitalia. We have two wonderful children and we don’t want any more than that. Quite honestly, a vasectomy would make more sense even if you  _ could  _ get your tubes tied, because it’s a less invasive surgery. Besides,” he added, kissing the back of her hand, “after your  _ last  _ visit to hospital, it’s probably best if you never go back to one in Ireland. There would be...questions.”

 

_ That  _ was bloody true. Even if the procedure could be done, she’d have to go all the way to England.  _ England.  _ No thanks. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

 

“I’d like to think I'm practical,” he said, smirking a little. “We’ll have to make a day-trip to Dublin. It’s a bit of a hassle, but the only qualified professional I know of outside the city is Indira, and...no. There are limits.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Yes, yes there are. We can make a day’v it, but if your bollocks’re too sore once the painkillers wear off, you be sure and tell me, so we can go home.”

 

That just made him laugh, too. “I’ll sit on an ice pack,” he promised.

 

How, exactly, had she found this man? How had she been fortunate enough to meet him at the right place, and the right time? “I love you, allanah,” she said. “You know that, right?”

 

“I do,” he said, giving her hand a light squeeze. “I love you too, mo chroí. And I need more tea.”

 

She laughed again, rising. “You know, tea’s always so associated with England, but Ireland drinks much more’v it. Bloody bastards even took that title from us.”

 

Ratiri kissed her temple. “Someday we need to go to England, just so you can see it’s not the land of bogeymen you think it is.”

 

“Been there,” she said. “Briefly. I wasn’t impressed.”

 

“Yes, but how long ago was that? It’s not like it was. I did just fine there.”

 

She looked up at him. “Someday,” she said. “Maybe.  _ Maybe. _ ”

 

******

 

{August 12, 2019}

 

Earlene’s text chime went off, while she worked at the kitchen counter making the custard for summer fruit tarts. The plums and nectarines from more exotic climes were to be had, since she could afford to order them from the suppliers that could guarantee top quality.  _ Oh goddamn it, would I love to stuff those greenhouses full of trees that actually can’t grow here. If only it worked that way. _ She shook her head, not really wanting to admit what she’d paid for the fruit that would grace this dessert. But trees were not the answer in a clime where inadequate sunshine was the main problem. Citrus were another story; they could be tricked into cooperation as long as they didn’t freeze. Things like peaches? Well, those just gave Ireland the botanical version of a big middle finger. Ailill and Calanon would come tonight, and she wanted something extra special. She had coaxed squashes and tomatoes out of their greenhouse, and tonight would be a summer vegetable galotte with Swiss cheese on puff pastry, salad, and of course these tarts. When the custard had thickened, she turned off the heat and washed her hands to see who had messaged.

 

“Thanadir!” her eyes grew wide. “Meldir, he has them!!”

 

The seneschal manifested seemingly out of thin air. Earlene often talked to him now without actually knowing where he was. Since they made their bond, if he was in any part of their wing of the home he could usually hear her. It had saved so much time looking around for him and…well, if you were going to find yourself wed to an asexual elf, at least something useful had to come out of it. It seemed fair.  _ Earlene, that is not a nice thought _ , she chided herself, though it had been suitably muddled.  _ I know, but it is still hard sometimes. We are all still...adjusting.  _ Her head shook; this was not what she wanted to be considering just now. One look at his eyes full of love made it so much…. _ oh goddammit all _ . “Puppies,” she said in a whisper. “Ailill has the puppies. He is bringing them tonight!”

 

“Oh….” This was worth needing to pull up a chair, and have tea. “How old are they?” Their voices were barely audible, because one never knew when children were not so far away.

 

“Nine weeks.”

 

He nodded. “We will need supplies.”

 

“I already bought food and water bowls. And I have been watching puppy training videos for two weeks now, when I was supposed to be working on council meeting plans,” she admitted sheepishly.

 

He erupted into laughter, and came around to hug her.  _ You still amaze me, sometimes.  _ His elegant face held an expression they reserved for their moments of privacy. 

Earlene sometimes felt that the intensity of his love burned brighter than Thranduil’s. Thranduil expressed some of his love as...well, lust. But with Thanadir, it blazed forth in a transcendent, more spiritual form. It was nothing she could ever hope to match, because she could not be like him. These moments of intense intimacy were what she loved and feared most. It was like standing under the light of a thousand crystals, surrounded by love so pure that physical desires seemed obscene by comparison. And yet it did not change that she had them. It caused her to wonder about the nature of man as a race.  _ We are angels and we are apes, and yet we are truly not able to be either. _

 

“I love you,” is what she said aloud, since it was beyond even her verbal abilities to give voice to what she felt. He kissed her forehead. 

 

“We should tell Thaladir. He will want time to prepare.”

 

“Now? Before they come?”

 

“Earlene.” He took her hands. “I am going to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer. Are these to be Thaladir’s dogs, or yours?”

 

Her eyes shifted to the floor and she bit her lip. “I meant for them to be his, but I worry on account of his age. Among humans, children are almost never able to manage the responsibility of fully caring for a young dog so that all its needs are met. I assumed that this would be the case with our son, but I feel you are asking me in order to point out that I am wrong.”

 

“I would not phrase it quite in those words, but...yes. He is peredhel, Earlene. He  _ is _ old enough to do this. It will mean a great deal to him. We will of course watch, and ensure that this is the case. Thaladir will have Ailill, and us as well. Will you trust me, in this?”

 

“You know you do not have to ask.”

 

“What is this?” Thanadir asked, curious, lifting the necklace and its pendant out of her clothing so that he could see it. He had never paid much attention to the ornaments she wore previous to their union, but found that he now noticed details about her that he used to ignore.

 

“Ratiri gave it to me when I was pregnant with Thaladir. You were there, but I could see why you might not recall. It belonged to his family; it is a harmony ball. It makes little chiming sounds.  They are thought to soothe the children.”

 

He both listened, and moved his hand down to feel her belly. “That is a lovely gift,” he smiled. I am happy to know this. But now I think I should find Thaladir and...no, wait. I assume that the pups will sleep with him?”

 

“I do not object. I certainly do not subscribe to keeping dogs confined outdoors and ignored most of the time; they want to be with their people. They are to be part of our family, meldir. Else what would the point be?”

 

“Good. I was just...checking.” With a peck to her lips, he turned to find his son.

 

“Wait.”

 

Thanadir stopped and glanced back, with a bemused expression that conveyed ‘now what’?

 

“I don’t know how you will manage it, but find some way to record the look on his face when you tell him? Please? Mothers live for these kinds of things.”

 

He nodded and grinned. “I can do this. So do fathers.” With a merry wink, he left.

 

“Elves,” Earlene muttered. But she smiled, and tucked her harmony ball back under her neckline.

 

*****

 

Six o’clock was fast approaching, and Earlene glanced at her son with concern. “Would you like a blueberry, Thaladir?” He had stood nearly...at attention, for the last half-hour, staring at the front door. His blond hair was growing now, and mostly at least touched his shoulders. This seemed alarmingly rigid, for such a young child.

 

“No thank you, Nana. I am too excited.”

 

Earlene bit her lip as she saw Thanadir return to the kitchen. If this was excitement, it had to be Thanadir excitement, because this was not how any small human child would express this emotion.  _ Was this normal? _

 

_ It is, meldis. Elflings are more...moderate, in their emotions. He is like I was, I am afraid. Even as young ones went, I was serious in nature. _

 

_ As long as this is some kind of ordinary, I do not mind. I only want his health and happiness. Isn’t it strange, Thanadir? He is not your flesh and blood, but he might as well be. _

 

_ Eru works in mysterious ways. Apparently.  _ The humor was terribly dry, but she caught it. And fed Thanadir the blueberry instead. 

 

Finally, the sound of a car engine was heard, and now the little boy began at least swaying a little with eagerness. “Please, Adar?” his eyes begged the unspoken question. 

 

“We will go together,” Thanadir smiled, offering his hand.

 

“Me too,” Earlene said, taking her son’s other. The galotte had ten minutes yet in the oven, and she wanted to see this. They walked outside to see the familiar sight of Ailill walking toward them, this time with Thia on his arm. Calanon followed behind, with two very small wiggly things on leashes that he spoke to softly. And what he said seemed rather obvious, as both pups squatted to wee on the grass. Just then Thranduil came striding toward them. He had to have run from the Halls, but of course looked completely unruffled. 

 

Thaladir hopped up and down, a little.  _ That’s more like it _ , Earlene thought, grinning at her son.

 

“You remember what to do?” Thanadir asked.

 

The child nodded and stood still, waiting for the pups to come and see him, and knelt down to pet them though it seemed to Earlene that the dogs and her son had about the same body mass. Oh well, they were puppies. The worst that could happen is he would get….Thaladir erupted in giggles as the puppies wagged and licked him. Two squirming black and tan...and white…and oh, they had so very much to say. Her arm went around Thranduil’s at the sheer pleasure of seeing their son so happy. Nothing, nothing, had ever brought this expression to his face and it was pathetically hard not to cry for how sweet it was. A slight glistening of Thranduil and Thanadir’s eyes told her she was not alone. For once she remembered to be Lorna, and began filming this.

 

Ailill came next to her and gave a hug and a kiss to her cheek. “A male and a female,” he said quietly. “I have their papers with me; they have had all the veterinary care to date. These are very good dogs, Earlene. Some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Thank you so much,” she beamed up at the delicate young man. “This is wonderful.”

 

Ailill and Calanon both bowed their heads in respect to the two ellyn, and Thranduil came forward to embrace him as he often did.

 

“They are beautiful,” Thaladir said. “Thank you Ailill. Thank you, Nana and Adars. Thank you too, Calanon.” Earlene beamed. Her children had beautiful manners, and she was very proud.

 

“It is almost time for dinner, ionneg. You should bring your dogs inside. I think your Adars would like to talk to them.”

 

With sparkling green eyes he beckoned to pups that knew to follow, which is when Earlene realized something else. Animals and elves. Puppy training videos just might be on the trash heap. Either way, her galotte had to come out of the oven, and she excused herself to race back to the house.

 

The smells were already attracting lurkers from elsewhere in the house, and she caught Saoirse close to giving into temptation on one of the fruit tarts. “Not until dessert,” she chided, pretending she did not notice as the hand withdrew from its approach. The child grinned good naturedly. “Go to the door, Saoirse. See what’s coming.”

 

_ Dammit _ , Saoirse thought. Those tarts were so tempting, though…if Aunt Earlene didn't want people stealing her food, she shouldn’t be such a good cook. It was all her fault. Nevertheless, off the girl went, and squeed when she spotted  _ puppies! _ “Holy shi-- er, um, puppies!” she cried. “Oh God, the cats will go to war. Uncle Thanadir, how can we keep Tail from eating them?” The question was entirely serious.

 

Thia chose that moment to emit the Harris hawk call that frankly sounded like a demented baby doll being squeezed. “There is your answer, I think,” Thanadir replied. “The cats fear the hawk. And in time, they should come to accept the hounds. In the end, the dogs will be much larger.”

 

“Hi Thia,” Saoirse said, giving the bird a little wave.

 

“How much larger?” Lorna asked, entering the room in time to hear that last. Large dogs made her nervous, mainly because she herself was so small; years ago, Big Jamie had had some kind of lab mix that had tried to jump on her and knocked her flat on her arse. “Jesus aren’t they pretty. Oh, hi Thia.” She had taken after Saoirse in greeting all the birds, though she didn't chatter at them like her niece did.

 

“A little over twenty kilos, I think,” Thanadir replied. “They are only nine weeks old.”

 

“Oh, good Jesus,” she muttered. “Man, between them and the hawks, we’re going to have to start importing critters for them to hunt or they’ll clean the forest out.”

 

Ailill laughed. “There’s more in there than you could imagine,” he said. “They will all learn to work together. And once those pups are grown, the only thing they will clean out is space on your sofa, if they are allowed it.”

 

Given that the cats also quite liked the sofas, that could get...interesting. They could be looking at a fluffy, hairy war zone. “Well, they’re lovely little animals. Have they got names yet?”

 

Thaladir looked up at Aunt Lorna, to whom he did not often speak. “Go ahead, Thaladir. You can tell Aunt Lorna the names of your puppies,” Earlene encouraged.

 

“Flannery and Kieran,” the child intoned solemnly.

 

She grinned. “That’s lovely, Thaladir,” she said. “Good Irish names for Irish dogs. Will they be sleeping with you at night?”

 

The blond head bobbed up and down. “Ada and Ailill say I have to take care of them and make sure they go potty lots and lots.”

 

“Dinner!” called out Earlene from the kitchen.

 

Lorna really hoped a kid as young as Thaladir could handle that, but he  _ was  _ half-elf -- and such a serious-minded child at that. It made her wonder if there was more in a name than Shakespeare had thought, because the kid was far more like his namesake than either of his parents. “Well have fun with them,” she said, as they herded into the kitchen. “They’ll love you like you were their da.”

 

Thranduil lingered behind, to touch the minds of the little animals in the ways given to the elves. Thanadir helped their son prepare the dog’s meals; a feeding place was agreed on. Puppies being puppies, by the time the humans were just seating themselves, two little puppies had already belched charmingly and were settling in on the comfortable dog bed that Nana mysteriously procured from the closet. “I actually have two,” she confessed to Thanadir. “But they won’t need the other for awhile.” Minutes later, the wriggling animals were sound asleep, collapsed on top of each other. Dinner was served.

 

Calanon looked around. It was still strange and welcome, to be included at the King’s table. His assignment to Ailill was still new enough that this weekly privilege was yet quite a novelty for him. Since more humans than elves lived under this roof, it certainly was a chance to learn, and observe. And he learned one thing, very quickly. His King’s mortal wife prepared exceptionally delicious food.

 

There were by now so many people that getting everyone seated took an actual system, as did passing dishes, but they had it down to something of an art form. Eating at a table remained somewhat novel for Pat, even after two years of doing it, though at least he kept his elbows under better control than Saoirse. “So, Grania emailed me back,” he said, hoping he wasn’t going to regret telling them this. “Now what?” Having Earlene and Lorna basically write the last one for him had been a bit terrifying, but obviously it had worked.

 

“You write her back,” Lorna said. “Derp. What did she say?”

 

“Told me a lot about my Lorna,” he said. “What she’s like now. Asked what life here’s like.”

 

Earlene inhaled her food down the wrong pipe and began choking into her napkin. Fortunately, Thranduil was not far away, and kept this from becoming too much of a mealtime incident. The adults were having wine, and she took a swallow once her throat was no longer full of a zucchini bit. From upstairs, Thia sang the song of her people about five times in a row. “Well. I’m certain you will find a great deal to tell. Make sure you include photos.” It was all she could do not to shake with laughter. Their home was indescribable, compared to how probably pretty much everyone else on the island lived. And those were just the things everyone knew about.

 

“Well, that’s just it,” he said, “how much  _ can  _ I tell? I mean, is there anything I shouldn’t say?”

 

“She already knows about the elves,” Lorna said. “I mean, what else is there to hide?”

 

“I suppose we seem normal until you get to know us,” opined Thanadir, as one of the pups woke up long enough to Yip at the other before returning to slumber. Thranduil tried to glare at him but then just laughed. He could hardly fault his gwador for telling the truth.

 

“You are normal,” said Ailill softly. “I love being here. Your normal is better than so many other normals. I would say...colorful. Your home is colorful, but in a wonderful way.”

 

Lorna wondered just what the fuck kind of repressive household this poor kid had grown up in. “Thank you, Ailill. Pat, write that. Tell her about the kids, and the puppies, and Tail the Evil Mastermind.  _ I  _ will take pictures for you, since I know you still haven’t worked out your camera on your phone yet. Was she surprised you remembered her birthday?”

 

“She was,” he said, not daring to look at anyone. “Really surprised.”

 

Earlene held up both arms in a sign of victory for a blessedly brief moment. “And for the record, I will not be singing the refrain from ‘We Are the Champions’.”

 

When Lorna looked back at his wife with that gleam in her eye, Thranduil groaned. “Blessed Eru, please not at the table.”

 

_ Shit. Well, he did have a point. Children and manners and...all that. _ “We will help you out, Pat. I’m happy for you. It’s great news.” Earlene smiled, and only her partners were subject to her actual thoughts.

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow, but did not actually stick her tongue out at him. “Just let me read over your email before you send it,” she ordered her brother. “You don’t need to go banjaxing it now.”

 

“Your confidence bloody overwhelms me,” he said dryly.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

It was so, so hard not to laugh, but Thranduil instead rose to help his wife serve dessert.

 

*****

 

The following morning, Lorna seemed tense. Earlene just felt...tired. Though he’d tried not to disturb her, Thanadir had risen at least three times last night to take the pups out for potty trips so that Thaladir did not have to. While he intended that his son would manage these duties when awake, he was far too young to have this expected of him. And yet each time he returned, his warmth snuggled against her, so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Breakfast was….hm. Today a muffin selection sounded nice, along with her homemade granola and milk. Lately, everything was oats. Oat muffins, granola had oats by default, but she conceded that there needed to be blueberry and banana nut as well...but hazelnuts and not walnuts, thank you very much. And because she herself was tired, she made a very large pot of coffee for whoever wished it. Plus cocoa for the children. Thanadir had helped her with much of the meal. The time in the morning with him was cherished. Quite often he would nibble at her neck or ear in affection, with the result that by the time she excused herself from him while he kept an eye on the oven and the cocoa, she was ready to shag Thranduil senseless. It never took more than two minutes, and he had yet to object. 

 

Finally everyone was assembled at the table, the pups having eaten their little breakfast. They were politely sniffing around at everyone’s feet; Thranduil seemed to be able to simply tell them what to do. And not. Though everyone was careful not to step on them, nevertheless. Earlene could not help but notice that Lorna had brought a thundercloud of a black mood to the table with her, and was debating the wisdom of asking. And while she wrestled with this, she watched Ithiliel and Eleniel split their muffins into geometric divisions. Their kids were a little odd. Oh well.

 

Lorna checked her mobile. Orla had said she’d text when she headed out from Dublin, but no text yet. It might be best to head to Baile after breakfast no matter what. “All right,” she said, “who’s coming with me? Ratiri?”

 

“Of course I am. Relax, mo chroí. Orla isn’t going to break your cottage.”

 

“You’ve got no way’v actually knowing that,” she said, fiddling with her spoon.

 

He rolled his eyes. “This is  _ Orla _ . When has she mucked up yet?”

 

“There’s a first time for bloody everything.”

 

“Ohhh that is today?” Earlene asked.

 

“It is,” Lorna said, still fiddling with her spoon. “And for some bloody reason I’m scared. It’s just...it’s my cottage.  _ My  _ cottage, the only thing that was ever really mine. And...well, shit. I just -- it means a lot to me.” What she couldn’t articulate was that she’d spent most of the first weeks after Liam’s death in that cottage, helping her gran out, letting the old lady badger and guide her in equal measure -- learning what it was to have family again. Thought of anything happening to it almost wasn’t to be borne.

 

“It will be fine, mo chroí,” Ratiri promised her. “Orla knows what she’s on about. She wouldn’t be doing this if she wasn’t sure she could.”

 

“I know,” she sighed. “Really, I do. I might need to store some furniture in here, if we’ve got space. Mairead doesn't have room for all’v it.”

 

“Where’s it going?” Earlene was curious.

 

“There is a glade roughly between here and the Halls,” answered Thanadir. “A spring is very close by. It is not terribly far from the edge of the forest but set back enough that it would be impossible to detect. Honestly it is closer to town than either here or the Halls. Thranduil has given permission for us to build a temporary road that will allow for Orla’s vehicles to come to the very edge of the woods. Almost all the ellyn not on duty and half the ellith will be coming to offload. I have organized it.”

 

Earlene just stared, wondering how she knew absolutely none of this.

 

_ Blame me, meluieg. You have had a great deal on your mind recently, and I did not wish to add something that was Thanadir’s assignment to your thoughts. I asked him not to mention it to you. _

 

The subtlest nod, was the only answer he received.

 

“And don't think I’m not incredibly bloody grateful,” Lorna said. “I was -- when this started, I was so afraid’v leaving in there, all alone, after the plague. To be able to have it here, it’s...well. You lot know me and words.”

 

“We do,” Ratiri said, and kissed her temple.

 

Her mobile dinged, and she breathed a sigh that somehow managed to be an impossible combination of relief and anxiety in equal measure. “That’s Orla. Jesus. Okay, Maerwen’s got the twins for today...what else do I need?”

 

“To calm down,” Pat said, rolling his eyes.

 

_ Xanax day if ever I saw one,  _ Thranduil said, idly drumming his fingers on the table.  _ She’s going to blow.  _ His blue eyes glinted with mirth though his features really did not change.

 

_ You are very right _ , Ratiri said, somehow not rolling his own eyes. “Mo chroí, stay put.” Rising, he went to fetch her boots and one of the little white pills. “Pat, will you come and give some kind of moral support? Xanax or no, she’ll worry herself into a fit.”

 

“I’ve got work,” Pat said, and added to Thranduil,  _ Please tell him I’ve got work, Lorna will drive me mad if I go with her.  _ “You can handle it.”

 

“It is much appreciated, Pat. The work you are doing has freed up three elves who can now in turn help with the cottage,” the King declared with great gravitas. 

 

“Traitor,” Ratiri grumbled, and hurried off. Pat did not even try to look sorry.

 

Lorna sighed. “I know it’s just a thing,” she said, “and I shouldn’t be so worried, but...to me it’s  _ not _ just a thing. You know, I never did have you lot out to stay,” she added, and that grieved her a little. “I wanted to have you out for a weekend, to walk in my forest.”

 

“Look at this way,” Ratiri said, returning with alacrity. “Now they won’t have to go an hour to do it. Swallow this, and put these on.”

 

She took the white pill from him -- well, half of a white pill. “You’re supposed to let me freak out,” she said accusingly.

 

“You’ve already done that,” he said, while she chased the pill with some tea, grimacing at the bitter taste. “Stop freaking out, put your boots on, and do yourself up a Thermos.”

 

Earlene decided that perhaps she would look in at some point, but right now she preferred to think a bit. About her life, and lunch, and random twinges of feeling a little hurt that she had been excluded. Really, it wasn’t much. Just...add it to the list of things that could feel so strange in her life. Everyone was dispersing, and she could be helpful by dealing with the cleanup. Thaladir called the pups outside to go potty (how many thousands of times would _ those _ two words be uttered? Memories of training the family dog when she was quite young resurfaced, and they were of uttering ‘go potty’ more than devout Catholics would say the Hail Mary).

 

*****

Treading softly, her boots moved noiselessly across the forest floor, until she saw a tree that seemed like a suitable perch. Rapidly she scaled it, and once in a place that gave a good view, Earlene watched the scene below. The flaxen head of her husband looked at her and smiled, but she knew he would not give her location away. The brown hair of her...other husband (a groan escaped, because there was much to which she had not yet reconciled herself) shone in the dappled sunlight, while she realized this was a rare opportunity. Thanadir’s abilities did not often have a chance to shine. His duties as seneschal were diminished, and so were his opportunities for the full expression of his talents. Earlene knew that she was seeing only a bare glimmer of his ability, just as those here only ever saw a fraction of what she had achieved in a court of law. Fascinated, she gathered her cloak around her until only the sharp eyes of the elves could have detected her presence from another bit of mossy foliage in the distance.

 

Thanadir and Orla worked together. The stonework of Lorna’s home had been drystacked; a tribute to the cleverness of her forebears. And rather than alter a single bit of that, Orla had elected to disassemble and reproduce it precisely. Each and every piece of stone was quadruple-labeled with a numerical marker that could not wash off without the aid of detergent, and Orla herself had used computer software to aid her in this task. What she saw happening now, under the direction of the two who worked off of a tabletop amidst the trees, was the offloading and immediate reassembly of the stone walls.

 

Obviously site preparation had gone on for some time here. The foundation had already been created, pipes managed, all that sort of thing. Some adjustments doubtless had to be made for the off-grid electrical supply. After a time, groups of four elves at a time came bearing the trusses, that were all laid in an orderly fashion. Always, Thanadir’s clear and musical voice could be heard, issuing directions. She felt so proud of him. He was a beautiful, talented ellon, and Valar or not it was still impossible not to wonder if she had ruined his life.  _ Fuck this _ , she thought,  _ if I’m just going to sit up here and have pregnancy hormones swirl around. I’ve things I should be doing. _ Turning, she began to drop down from the tree, crossing to the next before working her way back to Eldamar.

 

Thranduil lifted his head to note his wife’s movement. He felt so deeply sorry for both of them, his wife and seneschal. Still he marveled at how little he felt the changes to their life affected him personally. He wished, so much, that he could somehow reach in and make it better between the two he loved most, but he could not. His heart told him, they would have to find their own way through this...together, with him to offer support during the times that might not be so easy. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the setting of the stones.

 

Lorna was smart enough to stay well out of the way, content to watch in a slightly Xanax-hazed daze. What would Gran think of this? She’d probably approve. She wouldn’t want the old place sitting abandoned forever. It could stay in the family, for as long as there  _ was  _ a family -- just in a different spot.

 

Ratiri wrapped his arm around her. Watching the Elves work really was something of a marvel. It was easy to forget how very strong they were -- or, if not strong, at least tireless. Evidently they already knew dry-masonry, too, given the ease with which they were reassembling the outer walls. And Thanadir -- he might as well have been a seasoned construction foreman, he directed it all with such surety. Even Orla looked impressed, and that was saying something. (Ratiri also caught her eying his hair, too, and nearly laughed; she’d confided that some of the Elves were so pretty and androgynous it was sending her brain mixed signals, and really weirding her out.)

 

“It’s actually here,” Lorna murmured. “We’ll spend some time, this winter -- you never really got to stay in it too much. In the winter, when it’s wet and windy, and you’re sitting in front’v the stove...I never much used the fireplace, but we can now, given we don’t have to worry about firewood. Being in it, snug and warm, when the night’s wet and miserable outside...it’s grand. Knowing that my mam, and my gran, and  _ her  _ mam and gran all lived there, and sat in front’v that fireplace...it’s not something I can explain. I didn't grow up with anything like...like lineage, if that makes any sense. We lived in a shitty little house built like hundresd’v other shitty little houses in Dublin that got tossed up after the second World War. My great-great granddad built this cottage himself. There’s no other like it in all’v Ireland.”

 

“We’ll have fun, putting everything to rights on the inside,” he said. He did, in a sense, know what she meant; he too had grown up in a one-of-a-kind little home, though his hadn’t been quite so old. The house they’d moved into in Glasgow had seemed so flat and impersonal by comparison, no matter what his mam did to decorate it. This history was what Eldamar would come to have -- their great-grandchildren would value it in the way she valued this cottage. “I’m just glad we never got around to adding the second storey, or this would be a bloody nightmare.”

 

“Christ, no kidding,” she muttered. “We won’t need to, now. It can stay as it is. And God, Mairead said she’d be out to help us, once it was all put together. It’s kind’v a terrifying thought, but she lived there too, as a child. She’s got as much right as me, there.”

 

He paled a little. He loved Mairead, he really did, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with her idea of ‘helping’.

 

Once back, Earlene changed into something far less forest-y, though she caught Ailill’s smile at her original set of clothing. He sat with Calanon in the Heart Room, just conversing about topics that did not seem to be of any huge importance. ‘Human stuff’ is how she would have termed it; the sorts of things one invariably ends up explaining to an elven friend. She brought them tea, and took a moment to assess Ailill with her eyes in a very motherly sort of way. He had put on some weight, and did not look quite so thin as a few months ago. His cheeks looked a little rosier, and maybe a touch of the anxiousness that always seemed to lurk not too far under the surface was missing. All in all, satisfactory. It was hard not to want to ruffle his hair affectionately, but she restrained herself. 

 

There was lunch to consider, and it was early enough in the day that she could make a proper job of it. It was not overly hot for an August afternoon, but soup did not feel right. Too warm. There were not quite enough tomatoes for tomato sandwiches. Salads would not be popular, not with all of them outside fussing over the cottage. She frowned.  _ What would Thanadir most like? _ Her lips parted in a smile at the mere thought of him. Pizza, fruit, salad, and monstrously large cookies all served with milk. Chuckling, she shook her head. Sometimes it needn’t be that hard after all. Her hand traveled down her belly, though she knew it was much too soon to feel anything at all. Sometimes she found herself wondering,  _ what will they look like? _ All Thranduil’s children had borne some strong mark of resemblance to him. Would Thanadir’s? He would probably have brown eyes. At least she could chalk it up to her German heritage. Maybe.  _ God I hate this. Feeling like I have to lie and conceal. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this... _ and yet if she could give it all back right now,  take away the son growing inside of her, would she do it? _ No. Very much no _ , and that spoke quite loudly. A tear fell down one cheek, which she wiped away. 

 

_ Pizza, Earlene. Fucking pizza. _ With a sigh she opened her laptop for her crust recipe, only to see the news banner:  **American President Donald Trump Has Died** . “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered. “The Cheeto is gone…?”


	105. One Hundred and Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 12-25, 2019

 

The news staggered. Earlene clicked on a variety of pages but there was precious little in the way of actual facts. Trump had been found dead. He was in his private family quarters, and was found by his wife Melania (who Earlene pitied on every level of humanity, but that was beside the point). No one was saying anything about an assassination or foul play, but neither was anyone confirming that this was death by natural causes. Then again, in this day and age, it went without saying that there was going to be an autopsy and an official everything in triplicate and then people whose names were not known would decide how much if any of the truth to tell the public. To think things worked otherwise would be just...naive. 

 

“Well that’s it then,” she muttered to herself, more than a little in shock. “President Pence gets what’s left of this excuse for a term in office. He’s probably already been sworn in.”

 

Calanon and Ailill had watched the changing play of emotions on Earlene’s face and realized that something might not be well. “Earlene?” Ailill asked. “Are you alright?”

 

“Um…” she looked up, not even sure there was a vocabulary word, for what she felt like right now. Not sad, definitely. Concerned? Yes. Happy? On some level yes, except she was too seasoned of a political cynic to think that getting rid of President Spray Tan would really make a difference--the problems her native land faced were now so deep and entrenched that she was hardly alone in wondering if there even  _ was _ a solution. Her head shook. “The American President has died. It was...unexpected.”

 

“Oh,” Ailill said. “Trump is dead?”

 

“Yes. At least, that’s what every major news outlet is reporting. No one seems to know much. And...I was going to make pizza, if you’ll excuse me.” 

 

Calanon frowned and looked at Ailill in query. 

 

“I’ll tell you in a while,” the man whispered to the ellon. There was some impulse to cheer, but like with Earlene, he found himself under a rather better government these days. 

 

Lorna and Ratiri got the twins inside and cleaned up in time for lunch, making sure hands were washed and leaves combed out of their soft hair. “I smell pizza,” she said, scenting the air disturbingly like a bloodhound.

 

Earlene was sliding the first of her creations out of the oven; there had been no one to help. Or rather, she was not about to let Ailill or Calanon into her kitchen, so lunch was undertaken alone. “There’s some news,” she said to all of them at the mealtime. “Apparently Trump was found dead.”

 

Lorna’s eyes widened, and she...squeed. There was no other word for it. She actually jumped up and down a bit. “Wait,  _ seriously? _ That’s the best thing I’ve heard in bloody ages. What happened? Did he go out like Elvis, and have a heart attack straining to take a shit?”

 

Ratiri buried his face in his hands, entirely unable to keep his laughter at bay.  _ Oh, Lorna... _ it really was the best possible news, though. No more Cheeto.

 

Lips parted in response to the...celebratory demeanor...Earlene needed a moment, after that. Americans could be funny. For her...while she did not have any respect for Trump as an individual, she did have respect for the Office he had held. Mostly. Sort of. It was complicated. What glee she might have had out of dislike of Trump was somewhat muted on account of a far greater awareness of things like...her portfolio value had probably just taken a temporary nose dive, because US Presidents dying could and did cause economic uncertainty on a global scale. And Lorna would be interested in approximately none of that.

 

“They don’t seem to be releasing many details. You can check on the computer; last I looked they were all saying a great deal of Nothing Much.”

 

“I wonder if that means anything, or if they’re just sitting on it,” Ratiri said. If it was some kind of foul play, they’d want an investigation first, but given that this was an American President, they’d be doing an autopsy no matter what. “He was not a healthy-looking individual. An overweight man in his seventies, severely Type-A personality...if it wasn’t a heart attack or an aneurysm, I’d be surprised. Assuming he wasn’t assassinated, that is.”

 

“And no one would be in a hurry to release that information, trust me,” Earlene grimaced. “Can someone cut the first pizza? You guys know the deal, load up plates and just eat...I need to get the next one in the oven.”

Thanadir moved immediately to care for this, since he so often did anyway, while Earlene expertly flicked the pizza off of the cornmeal-coated peel and onto the firebricks.

 

“Now what happens?” asked Thranduil, curious.

 

“It is all spelled out in our laws,” Earlene answered, eternally mesmerized by the instant puffing of the crust. “The Vice-President, Pence, will succeed him immediately. He will be sworn in as fast as they can connect him to one qualified to administer the Oath of Office.”

 

“While I can’t say I'm fond of what I’ve read about him, at least he can conduct himself like an adult,” Ratiri said. “He won’t get us into World War III  because he can’t keep his mouth shut.”

 

This was hardly a statement to which anyone could object, but still she shrugged. Hopefully the next one had a better hairdo.

 

*****

Lunch was done, and Earlene had some time to get off her feet and ponder dinner. Lots of time, actually, and some of that needed to include manicuring tomato vines and otherwise fussing in the greenhouse. Which also gave her the chance to surreptitiously watch Orla’s workers constructing the domes that were nearby.  _ I’ve got to give them credit _ , she mused. _ They don’t make half the racket that construction crews usually do. _ Tea was sipped from time to time, as she fell under the ministrations of Thanadir’s hands to her feet. The news banner on her desktop had been shut down some hours ago because honestly, she did not want to see the T-word assaulting her eyeballs every few minutes.

 

He glanced up at her, smiling. Smiling with happiness like always, but for almost a month now, an extra gleam of love lingered in his eyes. Especially in moments they found themselves alone, or mostly alone.  _ I love you very much, and this feels wonderful _ , Earlene offered. His soft brown eyes drew her in and often caused her to blush from their eager interest.

 

_ I know _ , he grinned.  _ But it is still nice that you tell me so often. _

 

She found that these simple exchanges held a great deal of emotion, and quite often now she felt more like a teenager in the throes of new romance than a forty-one year old mother of...how many was it, now?  _ Dammit Earlene, losing count is not acceptable. _ Little Thaladir sat next to his Ada’s legs on a floor cushion, reading on a tablet, asking about new words rather often. 

 

“Ada, what is…’attractive stimulus’?” the child asked, frowning. Thanadir looked up at Earlene, helpless against the onslaught of specialized terminology. 

 

“Your Nana will tell you,” Thanadir replied calmly.

 

“For dogs, it means something they want. Something that causes them to want to take a certain action or do a particular thing. Like,  _ seeing a rabbit _ is an attractive stimulus, because a dog will want to chase it.”

 

“Oh. OK thank you, Nana.”

 

“You are welcome, ionneg.”

 

On the floor, Flannery and Kiernan dozed at Thaladir’s feet, lost in puppy twitches and dreams. Little ‘whooofs’ escaped from time to time, and occasionally more drawn out sounds as well. These were not going to be silent dogs, it seemed. Out of the corner of her eye, movement attracted Earlene’s attention. It was Lorna’s Lump Ness Monster (seriously, what  _ had _ she been thinking when she named this poor cat??) and it was stalking into the room, ever so cautiously. Eyes were riveted on the sleeping pups. Thanadir too had seen, and both watched the sinuous and deliberate movements of the rotund feline as it slowly traversed the floor. Finally, patience was rewarded, and the cat began to cautiously sniff at Flannery. It was a matter of seconds before Earlene received a glance from the cat that seemed to ask, ‘You’re going to drown these in the river, right? Because they are not wanted here.’

 

Earlene shook her head. “Sorry kitty,” she said softly. “I’m afraid we’ve gone and ruined everything.”

 

The cat slowly blinked its eyes in disgust before moving in a little closer for some more sniffing. And yet from beyond into the dreamworld, the Lump’s nose was not the only one at work. Little puppy noses quivered and twitched. The cat either did not see, or ignored. A bay erupted from the puppy that was no longer asleep, as it launched to its feet, tripping over Kiernan in the process. Thaladir was too startled to react quickly, and it was all he could do not to drop the electronic tablet in his lap. Terrified, the Lump ran for one of the large tree-trunks that formed the bearing beams for this room of the home, scrabbling with claws for some kind of purchase on the unfinished wood, while two baying pups now jumped as high as their little legs could propel them, trying to reach the cat’s tail. The singsong noise was deafening. How did those two little bodies produce that much sound??

 

Thanadir, fortunately, moved far more quickly and in moments had transported the terrified feline out to the Dining Room, closing the glass door behind him as confused and disappointed little dogs trailed him. He bent down to pet them. “That is a cat, and you did not meet it properly,” he chided. “They live here too, and you are not to chase them.”

 

Guilty and ashamed puppy looks followed.

 

“You did not know,” he soothed, stroking the tops of their heads. “There are more of them that live here. There will be many creatures for you to hunt and chase, but not those.”

 

Little doggy butts wiggled and tails wagged.

 

“Now go back and see Thaladir,” the old elf encouraged, and which point eager feet sought purchase on the smooth floor. Which did not go terribly well, but eventually traction was achieved.

 

The child had not moved during the commotion and now looked up. “So that’s what they do when they hunt?” he inquired.

 

“That is indeed what they do,” Thanadir smiled, ruffling his son’s flaxen hair. “And Eru help all of us.”

 

“I think it is time for potty,” Thaladir piped, leading the pups outside. Ailill and Calanon came clattering down the spiral stairs.

 

“Do we want to know?” grinned the two pretty faces from around the stair landing.

 

“First encounter with a cat,” Thanadir frowned ruefully. “It was not the ideal introduction, I am afraid.” 

 

“We were going to exercise Thia,” Ailill said. “May Thaladir come with us?”

 

“He would love that,” Earlene smiled. “Just be prepared to carry those dogs home if you go too far,” she warned. “They are very little, still.”

 

Ailill grinned at Calanon, who more than had the strength for such things. The elf rolled his eyes, but good-naturedly. “Just a beast of burden, am I?” he teased.

 

“If you say so,” Ailill retorted impishly, dashing upstairs quickly to retrieve the bird.

 

“How are you finding Aran Thranduil’s assignment?” Thanadir asked, feeling both friendly and curious. They had not really spoken much, on this subject, since their return from America. 

 

“I am very happy,” Calanon answered. It was the truth. “The human world is most interesting and they have so many….” he searched for the words “...small appliances.”

This caused Earlene to burst into laughter, because it simply was not anything she expected an elf to care about. Calanon only smiled, and continued. “I like the coffee maker.”

 

Thanadir nodded sagely, and held his hand over his heart in a gesture of ‘good-bye for now’, as the pair made their way to find Thaladir and the pups. He also resumed his foot rub.

 

“Coffee pot?” Earlene teased, eyebrow quirked.

 

“Well,” smiled Thanadir. “If I am to be honest, when first I came to your home, I was completely entranced with the sink faucet. And, I am afraid I must leave you now. They will be resuming the placement of stones for Lorna’s cottage soon.” He leaned down, to kiss her tenderly on the lips.

 

Earlene sighed.  _ Elves. _

 

*****

 

Shane and Chandra were entirely convinced they were too old for this nap nonsense, but Maerwen insisted. Unfortunately for her, she didn't make sure they were actually asleep before leaving them in their bedroom; they waited until they were certain she was downstairs, then tiptoed out. 

 

_ Naps _ , Chandra thought scornfully. Naps were for  _ babies _ .

 

There was no way they could sneak downstairs -- waaaay too many people -- but Mam and Da’s room usually had at least one kitty. While they’d decided puppies were nice enough, puppies weren’t kitties. They were too big, and they didn't purr.

 

Pumpkin, big and orange and fluffy, was on Mam and Da’s bed, and was happy to let them pet and snuggle with her, covering both with fuzz in the process. All their cats purred like chainsaws, as Da said, loud and pretty, and most tended to try to groom anyone who was nearby. Mam had said it was because they thought people were just big stupid cats who didn't know how to take care of themselves.

 

“I wanna see the bathroom,” Chandra said eventually, hopping off the bed and padding barefoot across the chilly wood floor. They weren’t allowed in there without an adult, unless they were actually using the toilet, and then they couldn’t hang around long.  _ Now  _ they could do what they wanted.

 

“Should we?” Shane asked, a little uncertainly. Petting the kitties was one thing -- going into somewhere they weren’t supposed to was another.

 

“What’re they going to do, make us take naps?” his sister asked. “Make us pick up stuff? We already do that.”

 

She had a valid point, and besides, he really was curious. He followed her, and Pumpkin followed them, lurking as they opened the wooden cabinets. There were a lot of them -- some had clean towels and washcloths, others unopened soaps and Q-Tips (both of them hated Q-Tips, because anything that went in your ear was gross).

 

“Mam puts something on her eyes sometimes,” Shane said, thinking. “Black stuff. I want it.” He was pretty sure she kept it in one of the mirror cabinets, which was well out of their reach -- but, not to be deterred, he figured out that if he got up onto the toilet and sort of jumped, he could get onto the counter. “Excellent.”

 

“What’s up there?” Chandra asked. She’d always wondered, because they’d so rarely seen.

 

“All kinds’v stuff,” he said. “Here, c’mon.” If he crawled to the other side of the sink, she could get up, too. There was the thingy Da shaved his face with (something they were both smart enough not to touch), and the can of creamy stuff that looked like it ought to be something you could eat, but wasn’t. It took some doing to get some of the white foam out, and Shane tasted it anyway -- which was a mistake. Blech.

 

“ _ Eeew _ ,” Chandra said. “Drop it, we can get it later.”

 

Drop it he did, and next found the smelly stuff Da put on after he shaved. It actually smelled pretty nice, but in the bottle it was way too strong. Ick.

 

His sister, meanwhile, dug through Mam’s things -- not that there were many. There was the stuff on the plastic thingy she put on under her arms every day, and nail clippers, and the Black Stuff. It was long and skinny, like a pen, with a cap on one end. They’d seen her shake it before they put it on, so shake it Chandra did, and eventually got the cap off. When she drew on her hand, it left a smooth black line, and she grinned. “Shane, lemme draw on your face.”

 

“’Kay,” he said, currently busy with whatever it was Da put in his hair. Everybody else had straight hair, but Da’s had kind of a wave when he washed it, and this stuff straightened it out -- but how? Science, or magic? Or bees? Because apparently bees could be involved, according to Uncle Pat.

 

Five minutes later, Chandra was pleased with her handiwork; her brother had all kinds of weird marks on his face, and she let him have a go at hers. They looked scary, like woad war paint, except black and not blue. Oh well.

 

“Hell look, balloons! Why do Mam and Da have balloons, and why the hell won’t they share?” she asked, holding up a little box. Little foil packets fell out all over, one side clear enough to show their contents.

 

“Not fair,” Shane said, glowering at them. “Let’s blow them up. We can draw faces on them with the Black Stuff.”

 

Chandra grinned. “Excellent.”

 

Blowing up a balloon was hard, because you had to tie the end in a knot, but they’d watched Uncle Thanadir do it a few times. Their balloons didn't get very big, and there was a weird point at the end, but whatever. Pumpkin had fun with a few, and after she popped the first one, got smart enough not to hit them with her claws.

 

There was another box under the sink, one that had a bunch of long thingies in plastic wrappings. When Shane opened one, he had no idea what the hell was in it; it was like a plastic tube in two pieces, and if you shoved one piece into the other, and another thingy came out. It was light, but kind of rough, and he couldn’t begin to guess what it was for. There was a string on the end, though, which meant it would make a  _ great  _ cat toy. He needed a stick.

 

Unfortunately, there were no sticks, but pulling a lace out of one of Mam’s spare boots worked just as good. He had to tie it to the string like eight times, but eventually he could swing it around without the white thingy going flying, which Pumpkin seemed to totally love. She’d skitter across the floor, sliding a little on the hardwood, and he grinned with delight.

 

“Chandra, lookit.”

 

His sister’s eyes widened. “I wanna make one.” She scrambled for Mam’s other shoelace, but when she tried to fling her white thingy, it went flying and landed in the cats’ water dish. “Uh-oh.”

 

They both went to see what had happened to it, and their eyes widened. It had been a skinny thingy, and now all of a sudden it was a  _ really wide  _ thingy. “Whoa,” they said in unison. Shane got the cat’s thingy wet, and the pair of them watched it expand with rapt fascination. 

 

“I want another,” she said, hurrying back to the bathroom. Why would Mam and Da keep these cool things a secret? Why would they hide toys? That wasn’t very nice, or fair. It wasn’t even like there was a bathtub up here to play with tub toys in.

 

Pumpkin must have talked to the other cats like Uncle Thranduil sometimes talked to people in their heads, because Boo and Midnight came in through the door to the deck, and the Lump Ness Monster, kind of puffed up and scared, scurried in through the main door. Pretty soon she wasn’t scared, though, because she too liked the expanding thingies, and sat happily chewing on one while holding it in her front feeties.

 

This was almost as much fun as Yellowstone.

 

*****

 

Ithiliel, Eleniel, and Allanah sat in an out-of-the-way spot watching the progress on the drystacking of the cottage. 

 

“Kinda like a puzzle,” Allanah said, more than a little awed by the speed and efficiency of the elves that did the work. It really was a little like watching a sped-up video of people in motion.

 

“No, not exactly,” Eleniel reflected. “Ada Thanadir knows where all of it goes. So it isn’t really a puzzle. More like playing with blocks.”

 

Ithiliel considered this comparison and found it satisfactory. “Why are they even doing this?” she asked both of them and neither of them at once. “Aunt Lorna has a house in Eldamar. Aunt Lorna has a place in Ada’ Thranduil’s Halls. And now Aunt Lorna has a house in the forest?”

 

“Maybe she likes houses?” Allanah ventured. “I collect marbles.”

 

Ithiliel leaned over to kiss her sister’s cheek even as she rolled her eyes. Allanah could be...precious, sometimes. “I heard Ada Thanadir say, that house is old. That it belonged to Lorna’s gran’s gran. Something like that. And that she didn’t want to leave it behind.”

 

“Leave it behind where?” Eleniel frowned.

 

“That other place we go sometimes. You know, where Aunt Mairead lives. Where we go in the car.”

 

“Oh. So who’s going to live here? Is Aunt Lorna gonna move out?” Eleniel wondered aloud. 

 

“Don’t think so,” said Ithiliel. 

 

“Maybe when the kitties need a place?” Allanah hazarded. “I hear Aunt Lorna swear at them sometimes cuz’ she forgets that the hallway is open to where we play.”

 

Eleniel laughed. “I don’t think it has much to do with whether she forgets, Allanah. Aunt Lorna just likes to swear.”

 

Ithiliel giggled. “I love it when she does it in front of Ada Thanadir. You can see his eye twitch.”

 

“Can  _ not _ ,” Eleniel made the rebuttal.

 

“Can too! You’re just not watching careful enough. Next time look. It’s always his left eye, just underneath. A tiny little twitch.” Allanah and Eleniel now looked on their sister as though she had superpowers. All of them started giggling when Ithiliel tried to imitate Thanadir Eyes.

 

“C’mon,” Allanah said. “Let’s go back to Eldamar. We can play a game.” The three girls joined hands and went skipping off down the forest path. Lothiriel rose and followed, allowing them the fun of being some distance ahead of her. The elleth looked up to see Aran Thranduil grinning at her, and bowed her head in respect. What he had just overheard was priceless, and one of the many joys of fatherhood. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the stonework.

 

*****

 

Chandra crept downstairs first, making sure the coast was clear before signaling her brother. They were both hungry, and Aunt Earlene usually kept fruit lying around in different bowls.

 

Each still had a shoelace with a wet thingy on the end, which meant the kitties came thundering after them, meowing. Fortunately, the kitchen had all those different stools and things for Mam, so it was easy to get up onto the counter -- though they couldn’t let anyone catch them up there, or Aunt Earlene might murder them both.

 

“Catch,” Shane said to his sister, and tossed an apple toward Chandra. Regrettably, his aim was not so good and the apple bounced on the floor and into the corner.

 

“Shit,” glowered the girl. “Do another one. Something that won’t roll.”

 

“How about I dangle a banana for you?”

 

“’Kay. Get two. I’m hungry.”

 

Soon enough, banana peels were on the floor and the children wolfishly devoured the fruit. A noise was heard from the other room, and the two peeked back into the dining area to see the three girls entering from the door nearest the greenhouse.

 

“Hi guys,” Shane said cheerfully, waving what was left of the banana. “Mam and Da were holding out on us. They have tub toys and...thingies. That get big when you get them wet.”

 

“The kitties love them,” Chandra added, hopping off the counter. If Aunt Earlene was behind them, she’d rather not get murdered.

 

Allanah’s eyes widened. “You’re not s’posed to be up there,” she said worriedly. Even she knew, you didn’t mess with her Nana’s kitchen.

 

“I know,” Shane said, hopping down as well, “but we couldn’t reach the fruit otherwise. And trying to drag the bowl closer with a broom handle or something might just break it. Here, look.” He held up his cat-thingy-toy, and Boo jumped up to get it. “See?”

 

“Those look familiar,” Ithiliel frowned. “Sort of.” Did Nana have some of those? Or was she just imagining it? Either way, didn’t matter.

 

“They’re weird,” Chandra said. “When they’re not wet they’re like this big around.” She held her thumb and forefinger a few centimeters apart. “C’mon, there’s more stuff in Mam and Da’s room -- it’s okay, we go in there all the time.” Which was...sort of true. They did indeed go in all the time, just not when their parents weren’t there. What was Da’s favorite word? Semantics? Something like that.

 

Cautiously, the children tiptoed up the spiral stairs. Nana was somewhere, maybe, but right now it was all quiet. Up to the second storey, over the bridge, and in a moment they were outside Lorna and Ratiri’s rooms. Some, but not all, of the cats had followed the soggy tampon, that was beginning to leave a trail of globby cotton fibers in its wake.

 

“Lookit these,” Shane said, picking up one of the balloons. “I just bet they use these as cat toys. We don’t have a bathtub up here, I don’t know what else they’d do with them.”

 

Chandra batted one up in the air, Boo and Midnight staring. “They prob’ly have all kinds’v fun and don’t tell us. That’s not fair, is it?”

 

“Well, they’re grownups,” Allanah said nervously, while Ithiliel and Eleniel simply appeared to be trying to process these objects as well as the reasoning involved. “Aren’t we, like, playing with their toys?”

 

“They never said we couldn’t,” Chandra said, quite honestly. “As long as we don’t make a big mess.” They’d made...kind of a mess. They could clean it up.

 

“Yeah, we only can’t ever go in when the door’s shut, and they didn't shut it,” Shane added. “It’s okay, Allanah. If anybody gets in trouble, it’ll be us.”

 

“I don’t think we should be touching their things,” Eleniel said flatly. “Adars told us that we should respect other people’s belongings, just like they don’t come and take away or touch our toys and things.”

 

Chandra turned this over in her head. “Well what else is there to do? We’re supposed to be taking a nap, but naps are  _ so boring. _ I mean, you guys don’t take naps anymore, do you?” This wasn’t any fun if they wouldn’t play, too. Kitties were kitties. They didn't talk.

 

“Not always,” Ithiliel answered. “Just sometimes. Can’t we all go do something...not here? I know that Adars and Nana would not like this. I think we should go.”

 

Chandra rolled her eyes. “You’ll miss out on all the fun,” she protested. “I mean, just watch.” She took one of the dry thingies and dipped it in the cat’s water, watching it expand. “At least take some’v these with you. I bet it’s science.”

 

“Or magic. Or bees,” Shane added. “But I don’t understand how it could be bees, even if Uncle Pat said magic and bees are a thing.”

 

The peredhel stared at each other, which always had the eerie effect of making them look like matched bookends gazing on each other. They did not always wear matching clothing but today they were, and the effect was unsettling. Allanah, now feeling even more unsettled, had her fingers in her mouth. “No thank you,” Ithiliel said primly. “We are going to go down and play with blocks. We’d like it if you came with us, but we’re leaving now.” It was such a firm assertion, and Allanah said nothing as her sisters’ hands towed her off toward the fire pole. She still hadn’t tried this yet. It made her feel nervous. “You want to go down the pole, Allanah?” 

 

“Nuh-uh. Too scary,” Allanah said. 

 

“It’s ok. We’ll go the long way,” Eleniel reassured her, with a hopeless glance at her twin sister. It was so hard, sometimes, that Allanah was older than they were and still couldn’t do so many things. Adars had explained they needed to be patient, because Allanah was human. That didn’t really make sense, because Nana was human and she could do pretty much everything, but, whatever.

 

Chandra and Shane looked at each other. Blocks didn't sound appealing, but Allanah was freaked out, so they should probably go make her un-freaked-out. They scrambled to clean up the wet thingies and wipe the water off the floor, being followed by kitties the whole time. They didn't want to pop all the balloons, though; those they hid under the bed, since the only ones that went under there were kitties. Once that was more or less done, off they went.

 

“It’s okay, Allanah,” Chandra said, when they finally caught up. (Shane, the dummy, tried to jump to the fire pole, and almost fell down the whole way before he grabbed it.) “See? Nobody’s getting in trouble.”

 

She nodded solemnly, then brightened. “Let’s jump rope instead!” They had five of them, they could do all kinds of fun things. Sort of. They still weren’t too good at it, but it didn’t stop them from trying.

 

The Lump Ness Monster had to come investigate, but she wouldn’t come too close. Since no one was paying attention to her, she yowled until Shane took a break to pet her. “Mam says we can go stay in the cottage sometimes,” he said. “You guys should come, too. It’s old and cool, but not old like the Halls are old. Different old.”

 

That discussion got no further, because a dead baby sound announced at the very least the return of Ailill and Thia. “Biiiiiiiiiiirrrrdiiiiieeeee!!” shrieked Allanah, roughly at the same time Lothiriel appeared to check on the children. She frowned. Maerwen, with whom she had just been visiting, said that Shane and Chandra were asleep. Disappearing quickly, she decided it was time to alert her friend to that misconception. The rest of the children followed Allanah, since the sight of the hawk was still enough of a novelty to be worth taking in. Ithiliel shamelessly begged for Calanon to pick her up so she could see better, and not knowing that he was being ensnared, he immediately obliged the little one. He did not forsee that he would almost immediately have Eleniel wanting the same...but he was strong enough, and soon they had a very close view of Thia. In the meantime, Thaladir followed, with two tired puppies in tow, on their way to the water bowl.

 

Earlene came out of the bedroom rubbing her eyes...that nap was down in flames now, and it was probably time to start dinner anyway. What she did not quite understand is why every child but Saoirse was crammed into the foyer, but, whatever. She saw that Allanah was somewhat overlooked in the bustle, and picked her up with kisses. “Did you have fun this afternoon?” she asked kindly.

 

“Ummm…..” The fingers went into Allanah’s mouth.

 

“It’s ok. I have days like that too,” Earlene smiled, returning her to the ground with a kiss.

 

The Lump took one look at the hawk and took off again, highly displeased by all these new...creatures...in their home. She yowled once, to make her displeasure known, and scooted for the safety of the upstairs bedroom.

 

“She’s so pretty, but she sounds like somebody squeezed a baby too hard,” Chandra said, looking at Thia. “How come she sounds like that? Just...because?”

 

Ailill smiled. “Just because. That is their voice,” he shrugged. “I am going to return her to her perch,” he grinned at the beleaguered Calanon, who did not really understand how he found himself holding both of the King’s daughters. At just the next moment, Lothiriel appeared to rescue him, while Earlene watched the scene in amusement. It was entertaining, to watch the brood being dispersed like leaves in the wind.

 

_ Calanon seems nice enough _ , Earlene reasoned, though she did not really know him at all. And given that she was feeling withdrawn and introverted today, that was not about to change right now. With the nicest smile she could muster, she went to the kitchen to busy herself gathering ingredients for tonight; a braised sort of beef stew with lentils and vegetables. Picking up the half-gallon mason jar of lentils, she was lost in thought as she returned to the counter when suddenly her foot went out from under her. The next thing she knew was blinding pain as her tailbone landed on the hard floor, and the mason jar shattered into pieces, sending hundreds if not thousands of pink lentils in every imaginable direction.

 

Thaladir’s eyes grew wide as he saw the look on his Nana’s face and heard the glass shatter. Calanon was there in a moment, picking his way through puppies and lentils and broken glass, and had the sense to tell the young peredhel to stay where he was and keep the pups with him. Which did not stop the young boy from bursting into tears. Earlene simply...looked at Calanon, not knowing what else to do. Her son was upset, the most fabulous stabbing pain seared all through her lower back, and what was really not so fun; she could not really feel her legs. The ellon seemed to understand. “Do not try to move,” he said kindly. Ailill came flying down the stairs, now taking in the scene. Calanon said something to him that made it past her son’s sobbing, because Ailill swept the boy into his arms and took him up the stairs, whispering and holding him while the wails disappeared into a bedroom and a door closed, if the muffling of his wails was any indication.

 

“That won’t be a problem,” Earlene said acidly, though she did not mean to be rude to the ellon...but not being able to feel your legs was never, ever a happy thing.

 

“You fell...here?” Calanon asked, touching where his own tailbone was. 

 

“Tailbone, is what it is called. Yes,” Earlene managed, trying to keep her voice level. “I need to roll onto my side. Is the glass…?”

 

“I will pick it up,” he said, before he really realized the impossibility of that proposition. “Er….”

 

“Can you pick  _ me _ up?” Earlene asked with impatient desperation. When he nodded, she reached her arms to him. “Please just take me to the sofa.”

 

That he was more slender than Thanadir did not seem to affect his strength. All Earlene knew was that she felt intensely uncomfortable to be held by someone else, and not just because of how completely disconcerted she felt right now. Which seemed weird in itself. He set her down, and she thanked him with as much sincerity as she could manage, which is thankfully when Thranduil came storming in, Ratiri on his heels.

 

Ratiri was smart enough to know that Thranduil was going to fix this pain for her, even though it would normally fall under the Get a Plaster category, simply because she was his wife. “What happened?” he asked. “Did you trip?” That was highly unlike Earlene, but there was a first time for everything.

 

“I….don’t know,” she said honestly. “I was walking and then I wasn’t. And this really, really does not feel good. I’m not sure if I can move my legs,” she said, fear in her voice even though she knew it would be alright.

 

Thranduil reached for her and  _ this _ felt good; this felt right. She held onto him like a barnacle. In under a minute, everything was fine again.

 

Ratiri went to see what on Earth she could have tripped over -- she wasn’t like Lorna, who had once literally stumbled over her own shadow. It took quite a while, too; eventually, he found a mashed banana peel half-lodged under the fridge.  _ What in the shit?  _ He picked it up, wondering who would dare be careless enough to drop a banana peel and then just leave it.

 

“I found the culprit,” he said, taking the peel back to her. “I’m not surprised you didn't see it, given the pattern in the floor. I suppose I ought to save it as evidence, and confront whoever dropped it.” 

 

He noticed that a necklace had slipped out from the collar of her shirt -- the harmony ball. His eyebrow quirked, but he said nothing, since she obviously didn't want it known, or she would have said something.

 

Earlene tried to sit up, with Thranduil helping her. She kissed him in sincere thanks. “You’ve both saved dinner,” she smiled. Calanon, seeing that all was well, removed himself to upstairs to see if he could help with Thaladir. One of the pups now came into the room proudly bearing an apple in its mouth, at which Earlene rubbed her eyes. Its sibling was doing its damnedest to steal it away. “Why does the dog have an apple?” she wanted to know.

 

“Not a question I’m sure I want answered,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “Stay put, Earlene. Lorna and I will get the kitchen cleaned up.”

 

“What happened?” Lorna asked, just now making it inside.

 

“Someone left a banana peel on the floor, and Earlene wound up on her tailbone,” he said. “Now there’s lentils everywhere, so let’s go deal with that.”

 

Lorna winced. She’d landed on her tailbone more than once, and knew just how much it hurt. “Good idea. Earlene, don’t move.”

 

“I just said that.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m saying it, too.” This was, after all, Earlene, and food, and the kitchen.

 

“I supposed it does no good to point out that I’m all better now?” she asked, not really expecting an answer from the retreating figures. Instead, Earlene grabbed a puppy. Because it was there. Thranduil took advantage of the temporarily empty room to steal more kisses, which were not begrudged. “I’m all out of *kiss* lentils *kiss* now,” she complained.

 

“There are always *kiss* dry beans *kiss*” he noted.

 

“You  _ want _ me *kiss* to feed Pat *kiss* beans?”

 

Thranduil sat up straight. “Well that certainly killed the mood,” he admitted.

 

Lorna was halfway out of the room, but burst out laughing when she heard that. “She’s right,” she called. She hunted down the broom and dustpan, and let Ratiri sweep while she gathered the lentils up in the pan. Carefully she ran her hand over the floor, making sure there were no stray shards of glass. “I’d blame Pat for this, except he was out with us,” she said. “So was Saoirse.”

 

“I have no idea,” Ratiri said. “I  _ do  _ know that unless we get something going, Earlene will try to get in here and cook, even though she just landed on her arse.”

 

“Toasties,” Lorna said, dumping the lentils and glass into the rubbish bin.  _ Thranduil, Ratiri and I are making toasties, and Earlene is going to sit quiet and like it, even if you have to sit  _ on  _ her to make her. _

 

_ So much for braised beef, I take it?  _ He grinned, while Earlene looked on suspiciously. Truth be told, he liked toasties rather a lot. Not that he would admit this to his wife.

 

_ Yeah, braised beef’s a little beyond both of us,  _ Lorna said.  _ I’ll be sure to put some vegetables in them, just so she feels better.  _ They had some broccoli -- it went decently with cheese toasties, even if it wasn’t her favorite. At least it was something green.

 

“Meluieg, I am afraid they are taking over the kitchen,” Thranduil said carefully, watching in fascination as the puppy chewed on Earlene’s hair. The other one had already placed its paws on her knees, trying to reach its sister. Its sister, whose eyes were already blinking with the Hound Dog Thousand-Mile Stare. Earlene lowered the little dog to the floor, where it yawned once and collapsed.

 

“I will take a walk to the Halls, then,” she said. “Now I am out of lentils.” Thranduil stood, to go with her, when he reasoned it would be better to move the pups. Upstairs, he found that Ailill and Calanon had settled Thaladir into his bed for a nap, and were standing there watching the young boy.

 

“Aran Thranduil,” they both said, bowing their heads respectfully. 

 

Aran Thranduil, with as much dignity as possible, placed two zonked puppies next to his sleeping son, sharing in the warm smiles that met him. “I suppose the poor bird is worn out by now?” he ventured, thinking how nice it would be to enjoy that he had a falconer, even if it was only for a few minutes.

 

Ailill smiled. “She is not, my Lord. I will get you a glove.”

 

“We only have about an hour, just enough time to go to the Hall kitchens and back, to replace Earlene’s lentils. There are toasties for dinner.”

 

Calanon had no idea what toasties were, but guessed he would find out soon enough. Shrugging, he happily followed along as the group moved out the front door, with the King happily bearing Thia on his wrist.

 

Lorna might not be much of a cook, but she’d worked in a pub for eleven years -- a pub with a very good cook, and thus was an old hand at making toasties. “You know, I’d blame Saoirse for the banana peel, except she doesn’t like bananas,” she said, grating cheese. “Pat’s not  _ that  _ careless, and I can’t imagine it’d be Ailill -- he’s too particular. And anyway, everyone was out’v the house all day.”

 

“It could well have been an older peel, except it didn't look quite brown enough to be from any point before today,” Ratiri said. “I mean, I'm not exactly a connoisseur of banana peels, but still. I’d imagine it would look a bit more manky if it was older.”

 

_ Only Ratiri _ , she reflected, _ would manage to use something as posh as ‘connoisseur’ and a word like ‘manky’ in the same breath. _ “Allanah, I love  you dearly,” she said. “Never change.”

 

*****

 

Thaladir woke up to feeling something warm and furry next to him, and groggily opened his eyes. One feel of the soft tummy told him this was Flannery, because, no penis in the way.  _ How come dogs got to have theirs on their tummies, and didn’t have to wear pants?  _ He sighed, and realized he had to go wee. He nudged Kiernan climbing out of bed, and the little dog moaned and squealed its displeasure, one little brown eye opening to look at him balefully.  _ My puppies. _ He still couldn’t believe they were his. Ithiliel and Eleniel said they didn’t want puppies, didn’t want to have to take them outside to wee all the time, and that they would just pet his dogs from time to time.  _ Shane was right; girls were weird _ . He was sure glad Nana wasn’t a girl. Nana understood about hawks, and puppies.  _ Nana...was Nana ok? _ Thaladir’s face began to frown in worry when the door to his room opened. “Ada Thanadir,” he said, with a voice full of love. “Ada, is Nana okay?”

 

“Why would she not be?” the ellon smiled, kissing his son and lifting him over the sleeping pups to see the child’s legs were half-crossed. “Do you need the toilet?” he asked kindly.

 

“Uh-huh,” the little boy said, dashing off in that direction. “Nana fell, and she hurt herself.”

 

“She did?” Now Thanadir was worried, but… He closed his eyes, and moments later received assurance from Thranduil. “Everything is fine. Adar Thranduil made her better.”

 

Thaladir paused. “You can’t make Nana better?”

 

“Not like Adar Thranduil can,” he answered softly. “Adar Thranduil is our King, and is blessed with great powers.”

 

The green eyes stared and puzzled. “I have hair like Ada Thranduil,” he said.

 

“Yes, you do.” Thanadir stroked the boy’s soft hair.

 

“But...I don’t look like you. And I don’t look like Nana.”

 

“We are not your parents because you look like us, Thaladir.” He brought the child to sit on his lap. “But because we love you. I have loved you since the first moment you opened your green eyes to look at me, right after you were born from your Nana’s body.”

 

“You were there when I was born?” Thaladir asked, wonderingly.

 

“Yes.” How he loved this little boy! Kiernan sat up and yawned mightily. “It is time for these two to go potty,” Thanadir smiled. “We will take them down the back stairs.”

 

*****

 

Everyone returned home at once. Puppies, hawk, lentils...everyone. Earlene quickly placed her new jar of legumes to the pantry shelf, before anything else could go wrong, and went into the bedroom to clean up from having been in charge of feeding Thia meat tidbits. The house smelled tantalizingly of toasties, and the kitchen more or less seemed to be under control. Thanadir followed her, encircling her in a hug from behind as she washed her hands. “You were hurt?” he asked, burying his face in her neck.

 

“I was,” she frowned. “I fell in the kitchen because someone left a banana peel on the floor. They are very slippery and I never saw it. How fortunate we are, meldir, to have our King. It hurt, quite a lot, and I do not wish to think of what it would have felt like without his gifts.” Turning, she embraced him properly now that her hands were not wet, standing on her toes to nuzzle and kiss his neck before forcing herself to stop, and sinking back down to her heels as many emotions ran through her. The moment ended as all these moments did; with Earlene holding him, eyes closed, and marshalling her thoughts to stop thinking of what she truly desired in favor of how much she loved his bright spirit and his trueness of heart. As always, it was enough. Because she did genuinely love him with all her heart, and it had to be. And now it was time to eat.

 

Lorna and Ratiri had piles of toasties ready and waiting, along with some sauteed vegetables, so Earlene had something green besides broccoli to focus on. Apple juice for the kids, a few types of tea for the adults, and eventually everyone was seated and settled and dished up.

 

“How’s the tailbone?” Ratiri asked. It was something of a silly question, given he knew Thranduil had fixed it, but he was, after all, a doctor; it was second nature.

 

“Like nothing ever happened,” Earlene smiled at Thranduil, eyes full of gratitude. “I really don’t want that to ever happen again. That hurt way too much and, what a criminal waste of lentils.” She stabbed at the broccoli with her fork, unable to help it. Throwing out food was just not okay. That they had money didn’t matter; it was just one of her ‘things.’

 

“What happened, Auntie Earlene?” Shane asked. “What’s a tailbone?”

 

“She slipped on a banana peel,” Ratiri said, “and landed on her backside.”

 

The twins looked at each other. “You didn't pick that up?” Shane asked.

 

“You ate it!”

 

“You helped!”

 

“Well...shit.” Chandra winced. “We’re sorry, Auntie Earlene. That was us.”

 

A smile crept over Earlene’s face. “Thank you for apologizing, I appreciate it.”  _ What kids at their age actually owned up to something like this? _ “Uncle Thranduil made it better, so, no harm done.” It was tempting to rub it in more, yes, but she was allegedly the adult here, so she let it go. From across the table, Thanadir shot her a brief look of pure adoration that caused her to blush a little, while Thranduil grinned because to him the whole thing was quite amusing. But then something else was remembered. “I don’t suppose this had anything to do with why the puppies were playing with an apple?” she asked kindly. Calanon now looked up grinning from eating his toastie, not having heard about this part. Human families certainly were interesting and varied!

 

They looked at each other again. “Um...that was probably us, too,” Shane said. “Sorry.”

 

Lorna massaged her forehead. “Stay out’v the fruit, you two,” she said. “Just...if you want food, ask.”

 

“’Kay,” Chandra said.

 

“Well, better fruit than other options. Maybe I need to move the fruit bowl.” It did not take Earlene level deduction skills to look at the location of the fruit, and the size of the children, to know that illicit countertop climbing had happened.

 

“Yeah, we’re little,” Shane said. “Littler than Mam.”

 

“Not helping,” Lorna said, pointing her fork at her son.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Thaladir was trying to work out how or when his puppies had played with apples, and was now frowning mightily. Thanadir saw the brewing storm and smoothly intervened. “Did you have fun with Flannery and Kiernan when you went with Ailill and Calanon?” he asked the child, who was now diverted.

 

“Yes, Adar,” he piped up in his small little voice. “But they got tired at the end.” Calanon beamed to hear this. He ought to know, he was the one that had to carry them most of the way back home.

 

As usual, the kitties sniffed out food, and came swarming down into the dining room in a fluffy herd. They were adorable, as usual, except...what in the shit?

 

The Lump, lumbering after the rest, had what looked like a long beige...balloon...stuck to her fluff. It had a lopsided smiley-face drawn on it, and when the cat approached --

 

“Okay, what in the  _ shit _ ?” she said aloud, scooting her chair back so she could grab the cat. Naturally, the Lump dodged, scrabbling through the legs of the chair.

 

Calanon deftly produced the adhering object, and held up a strangely shaped air bladder with drawing on it, examining it curiously. A very strange wheezing noise escaped Ailill as the firion snatched it out of the elf’s hand, only to sit there staring at it aghast and blushing. “Uh, this was on the cat, it would seem.” His cheeks were flaming, flaming pink.

 

Ratiri’s eyes bugged out, and he flushed like a brick. “Is that…?”

 

“It  _ is _ ,” Lorna groaned. “Ailill, give that here, will you?”

 

Earlene was not much help. By now she was shaking with laughter, her hand clamped over her mouth. It was not right to laugh at Ailill, but the shade of color on his cheeks was one an artist would beg to capture. The poor, sweet man...

 

“Nana!” Ithiliel exclaimed. “How ‘come we don’t have those balloons to play with?” came the plaintive question. “Those look fun.” 

 

Thranduil was massaging the bridge of his nose in tiny circles with his long, elegant fingers. “Valar,” he whispered.

 

“Just... _ how _ ?” Lorna asked, taking the condom. It did indeed have a somewhat drunken smiley face on it. “And  _ why _ ?”

 

Shane and Chandra looked at each other. “But...they’re balloons,” she said. “Why is it funny?”

 

Ratiri gave up, laughing so hard he nearly choked. “No, Chandra, no they are not,” he said.

 

“Then what are they?” Shane asked.

 

Lorna unconsciously mimicked Thranduil’s posture. “You’re just a  _ bit  _ too young for that. Did you two do this?”

 

“...Maybe,” her son said. “Why?”

 

“Jesus,” she sighed. “You two went into the bathroom, didn't you?”

 

“...Maybe,” Chandra said.

 

“You two...just no.” Lorna burst out laughing as well, because honestly, how could she not?

 

Calanon watched Ailill in wonder, half-worried about the extraordinary colors on his charge’s face. He had never seen anything quite like this. And yet no one else at the table was reacting badly, and Aran Thranduil and Earlene seemed to think something was very funny. Was Ailill...embarrassed? Why would anyone be embarrassed about an air bladder? He felt baffled, but instinct told him that now was not the time to inquire. He returned to eating his food; maybe he would venture to ask later. Or not…

 

“Stay out’v the bathroom,” Lorna groaned. “Just...we’ll talk about this later.”

 

Earlene insisted on cleaning up, since she had not done anything at all for dinner. Ailill equally insisted on helping, which meant Calanon too. Soon enough a cheerful line of sudsy sink water and rinsing and drying dishes ensued. A smile was on her face as the shy young man worked next to her, his eyes cast down. Finally she could stand it no longer and threaded her arm around his waist. “You know there is no reason to be embarrassed,” she said gently. “Children have a knack for doing such things, in a household as large as this one.”

 

He flushed again. “I know. It is just that…”

 

“You are shy,” she finished, hugging him tightly. “It’s OK, Ailill. You are loved.” Earlene leaned up, to kiss him on his cheek. “Just as you are. Now stay there, while I go collect all the glasses.”

 

Calanon had listened with rapt attention, disappointed that he still did not understand but equally afraid to ask. He did not wish to upset the firion to whom he was assigned. Ailill glanced over at him, only to see Calanon quickly lower his usually cheerful eyes. The man managed a weak smile. “You do not understand, do you?” Ailill asked kindly.

 

“No,” came the honest reply.

 

“They are called condoms, and are what people use to place over a man’s penis during sexual intercourse, to prevent him creating a child with a woman.” He was not even about to go into ‘other uses.’

 

Now it was Calanon’s turn to blush a little, though he managed to create far less of a spectacle. He cleared his throat and looked down, smiling. “I have much to learn about humans, I see. But I appreciate you telling me so that I am not ignorant. Thank you, Ailill,” he added softly.

 

“Here we go,” Earlene said cheerfully, offloading a large tray of glasses and cutlery into the sudsy water. Ailill did not reply to Calanon verbally, but almost imperceptibly leaned in against the elf, lingering for a moment before straightening up again. Feeling clueless about things having to do with sex was something to which he could very much relate. And sympathize.

 

*****

 

Once everyone had gone to their rooms, Earlene sat on the bed to change her clothes. She considered an oversized t-shirt for a night-dress, until Thranduil pouted and she rolled her eyes. He grinned, at seeing her pin her hair up, feasting his eyes on the display of her gorgeous body while pretending to read his book. It was time for a shower, before bed. Thanadir watched her, his eyes flickering with uncertainty; this was observed. “Do you want to join me, meldir? I will wash you,” she offered kindly.  He nodded eagerly because, he liked this. It turned out that he liked being touched a great deal, just not in a manner that focused on his genitals. Since their union, he had given her consent to touch him anywhere, not feeling it proper, somehow, to deny his wife access to his body. 

 

However, being no fool and having made promises to him, Earlene was very careful that any contact was chaste in nature. She never allowed her hands to linger on his private areas. The first time she washed his entire body, he was visibly tense. But as the days had passed, and she never attempted any form of sexual advance, he relaxed and demonstrated both joy and further trust. Earlene felt that she was still learning, what pleased him most. So far, cloths with soap and bare hands that rubbed his skin were the best liked. He would stand with his eyes closed, and simply enjoy that she washed his skin. Sometimes Thranduil would come near just to watch, because the old elf’s stoic face then became tremendously expressive in a way not often seen. He might smile just a tiny bit, when his fingers and hands were scrubbed with the cloth, only to sport a dazzling smile when his shoulder blades were scoured in earnest. The King would shake his head in disbelief, and he and Earlene would smile, to see this new side of one they loved so dearly. It was childlike, and very sweet.

 

Later, they lay in bed, all three reading. Earlene was pondering fish in parchment recipes, thinking how nice it might be to have Ailill pick up some fresh catch from Galway one of these days before he returned here. A small pump bottle of lavender scented oil was near, that she used to give Thanadir a hand massage. He liked this a great deal as well, and sighed in pure happiness. Finally he put his book away and kissed her, before turning on his side to rest. Thranduil could not help but look at the fish recipe, * _ that* sounded delicious _ . Once Thanadir had given up, she simply grabbed Thranduil’s hand and kept going, while she pondered seasoning recommendations and this condiment called Yuzu Koshu, that she very much wanted to try (where in  _ hell _ did you get a yuzu tree in Ireland??). 

 

Soon he too was softly groaning in delight, as she felt free to not only massage his fingers, but suck and nibble on them as well. It was a terribly short trip from this beginning to Thranduil burying himself inside of her warmth. She held him close to her, freeing all the sense of physical desire it was not possible to share with her other mate. The King felt this emotion from her as strongly as his Dorwinion wine, and moaned again as he felt himself hardening more. Earlene bit, licked and nipped at his skin, far more eager and excitable than usual. Or rather, than what had been usual prior to her joining to Thanadir… Eru help him, he could not regret what had happened. The only regret was that of the three of them, he was the only one truly at peace. And he knew it, but as his climax tore through him, it was hard to care as much as he should. When he rolled off of Earlene to recover himself, he flopped between her and Thanadir. While he rested, his chest heaving from his exertions, he found that those on either side of him crawled to snuggle into the hollows of his shoulders, holding each other over the rise and fall of his chest. His arms came around both of them...his peculiar and completely beloved family.

 

*****

 

{August 25}

 

Lorna followed Thanadir to a location not so far from the Halls. It was a reasonably large glade, and remarkable for how completely flat it was. Except, most glades in the forest did not have a series of trees with coils of rope that sat neatly arranged, ready for use. “I just need a moment,” the seneschal said, smiling encouragingly. A coil was retrieved and unbound, and wrapped in a neat fashion around one of the tree trunks, quite low down. This was secured in place with a hitch, and then the line was drawn over to another trunk. With an impressive show of strength, the elf tightened the line and then repeated the process; all in all creating a tightrope that was a little over thirty centimeters off the forest floor. For Earlene, he had once created vast webs of tight and slack lines in this place, but that would not be necessary or desirable today. “This is what we will use for our first lesson, and many after,” he explained. “The goal, of course, is to gain the balance to walk across the line. And the first sub-goal is just to be able to stand on the rope.” He demonstrated easily. “There are two schools of thought, on this. Some prefer to learn barefoot. Earlene did not do well with this; the soles of her feet were not tough enough and it caused pain. She always wore footwear with flexible soles, in order to learn.” Thanadir had already ensured that Lorna showed up in elven-made boots that would fit this requirement. “So the choice of which to try is yours.”

 

Oh dear...well, at least she was pretty sturdy, for all she was forty-three; she could handle landing on her arse or her elbow or whatever, and just come away with some impressive bruises for her trouble. Eyeing her feet, she took off her boots; she usually went barefoot all summer, and the soles of her feet were pretty damn tough. “This might work better if I can really feel what’s under my feet,” she said, “but I hope you have like...bruise ointment, or something. I’m going to need it.”

 

“No, you will not,” he replied rather firmly. “Now I am going to stand on the other side of this, and you will take my hand before you step up onto the rope. But before that, watch how I place my feet.” His own boots came off quickly, as she watched how he placed one foot in front of the other. He demonstrated that he could grip the rope between his first and second toes, if he wished. At the very least, those toes seemed to dictate how he chose to step.  Lightly, he stepped down, to turn and offer his hand.

 

Lorna watched, honestly a bit fascinated, because she suspected that was going to be much more difficult for her than he made it look. “Okay,” she said, wincing a little, because she could already see where this was going. She took his hand, stepping up onto the rope as carefully as she could, and immediately almost pitched forward onto her face. At least Thanadir was an elf, and so her vise-grip on his fingers probably didn't actually hurt.

 

The rope was quite smooth, which didn't surprise her, given it was elf-rope. She tried to mimic what he’d done with his toes, but her feet were so small, and toes so short, that she couldn’t do just what he had. “Um.” The rope wobbled a bit, and she leaned on his hand, using it as an anchor. “Why is my brain still telling me this should happen? I mean, if there’s no actual reason for it...ugh.”

 

“Because you are accustomed to nothing different,” the old elf replied, tilting his head. He did not wish to dwell on this, but it deserved an answer. “It will likely take your mind time to truly embrace a different belief. Just like you will need time to adjust to the feel of the rope. A tightrope is not a solid surface. It can move, bounce, vibrate even. I would suggest that we simply walk back and forth, back and forth, just like this. You will wish to look down at your feet; in the beginning you may do this. But eventually, you must not, for you will rely on looking ahead in order to balance.”

 

“You really think I can do that?” she asked. It was a rather silly question; she knew he wouldn’t be out here with her if he thought she was a hopeless case. “Because...I’ll try. But if I suck at it...don’t feel bad.” She gave his hand a light squeeze.

 

“Of course you can do that,” he affirmed, his eyebrow raised at the question. “It will not be easy, though. It was not easy for Earlene. It is not truly easy even for elflings,” he added. “But once the balance is acquired, it will seem very different than right now.”

 

“Just...don’t let go, okay?” she said. “Please? Even managing a couple steps’d be interesting, but it won’t happen if you let go. I’ll just wind up on my face.”

 

She took a careful step, then two, trying to grip the rope with her toes -- but if he hadn’t had hold of her hand, she would have fallen off after the first. Tight though the rope was, it wobbled a bit beneath her, and her attempts to compensate for it were...almost too much. They just made the wobbling worse, and she frowned.  _ Dammit _ .

 

“You are thinking too hard,” Thanadir coached. “And your body is tensing. I will not allow you to fall. Once you can trust that, focus on relaxing. I will help be your balance, for now. To walk a tightrope also includes being able to stand still on it. To adjust to the motions of the rope instead of resisting them.”

 

She honestly was not sure how to do that, but she would try. “Okay,” she said, and tried to relax. Of course, that just made her tense even more, and she drew a few deep, slow breaths. Another tentative step wasn’t much better, so she leaned a little more heavily on his hand, focusing just on putting one foot in front of the other. “Okay, now this is going to sound weird, but how can Earlene balance when she’s got, y’know, such a chest? Because I’d think that’d screw things up.”

 

Thanadir frowned. “Earlene’s breasts are attached to the rest of her, so, she balances. But I know that she does wear a garment, for exercise of this kind, that confines her bosom. She told me it is uncomfortable for her, if they can move freely during running. But nothing was ever said about rope work? You would have to ask her, I am afraid I have little reference to answer other than what she has told me.” He smiled to himself, knowing that this was probably not the strangest question he would be asked.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, which of course just made her stagger, and land right on top of him. “I can just picture her expression,” she managed. “I just know that with human gymnasts, once they get tits it can throw off their center’v gravity and their balance. Then again, I might say that’v all my hair, but I know the weight can’t possibly be the same.”

 

Thanadir wisely said nothing, but kept his steady grip on her hand. Back and forth, back and forth. Her smoothness increased as the lesson went on, to the point where in the end he walked on the rope ahead of her. Backward, still holding her hands, forcing her to adjust into increasing movement on the rope. In the end, he smiled. “This has been enough for now. We will be doing the same, as your body adjusts to this skill.” Stepping off, he ensured she was on level ground before casting his gaze in search of his boots. That was the problem, with everything blending into the forest so well…

 

“Thank you, Thanadir,” she said, hugging him. “I didn't think I'd even manage this much.”

 

His long fingers very gently held the bottom of her chin. “I would like to see you have more faith in yourself, Lorna.” He spoke with the Sad Eyes at medium power, careful not to completely overdo it. “Part of why you struggle so much is that you give yourself the added burden of expecting to fail, for no real reason other than the shadows of your past.” He did not wish to give her time to reflect fully on his words, just now. So he hugged her back, somewhat intentionally squeezing the air out of her. A little. What he hoped, would be that his words might sprout amidst the self-doubt that governed her mind...and therefore her body.

 

Lorna wheezed a bit, because oh God, the Sad Eyes. “Ratiri says the same thing,” she said. “I try, but it doesn’t always work. I still catch myself, but I know there’s plenty’v times I don’t even manage that.”

 

He at last located his boots, and sat to pull them on, brushing leaves from his feet. “You are doing your best. That is all I can ever ask of you,” he smiled, before his attention was distracted by needing to scrape off a particularly slimy piece of dead leaf.

 

“I just...I sometimes worry,” she sighed. “And I know I shouldn’t. Even now I catch myself wondering if you lot’ll just get tired’v me because I lag so far behind.”

 

The offending leaf was now banished, and so he looked up. Surprise tinged with hurt crossed over his features. Until he realized that this was not said out of accusation, but fear. The former, he would not have been able to understand. But the latter...that he knew very well. “I cannot speak for the others, but I do not see you as lagging behind. Why would I think you lagged behind, when you have never even tried this or many other things? Lorna, you seem to believe that you should magically know how to do things that others know because they invested long hours of concentrated effort. Do you not understand, few are gifted to learn difficult pursuits quickly? Thranduil’s son Legolas practiced for thousands and thousands of hours, to gain his skills as an archer. So too for Thranduil, and his abilities with a sword. Anything any of us do well, countless time has gone into the learning. It is only that you did not see that part, or see any of us when we too struggled and did not succeed at first.”

 

She wasn’t going to point out that he was one of the few who could master many things in little time at all. Thanadir was one of a kind; she’d never met anyone like him before, and she doubted she’d ever meet another. “Thank you, Thanadir. I just...it’s easy for me to lose sight’v that. You’d think I wouldn’t, after all this time, but...eh, humans. We’re weird. I’ll get there.”

 

“You will,” he confirmed, pulling on his boot.

 

“Well, I’ll get Mairead to make you a cake, once you’ve watched me fall off enough to learn how to stay up,” she said, grinning. “Ratiri says I’m so tiny and so light I’ve got to work it out eventually. He won’t even try -- he says that he can’t violate the laws’v physics the way you lot do, and that while he wouldn’t break elf rope, he might break the tree it was attached to.”

 

Thanadir laughed and shook his head. “Cake is not necessary, and we do not violate the laws of physics. At least, I do not think we do…” he trailed off.  _ Did they? _ This was perhaps a subject for another time.

 

“He says you do,” she said, as they headed back for the house. “Nobody who weighs what you do should be able to walk on top’v snow, or along some’v these skinny branches. Hell, even the twins couldn’t manage that, and they’re tiny. He says I weigh as much as a squirrel, but stick me on one’v those skinny branches and I’d drop like a stone.”

 

“The twins are far too uncoordinated and young,” he chided, smiling. “Some of it is technique.”

 

“Oh, I'm sure it is,” she laughed. “But no amount’v technique would make us able to walk on snow.” She paused. “If one’v you carried one’v us, would it still work? Could you still walk on snow?”

 

Thanadir’s brow furrowed charmingly as he tugged on his second boot. “I think so?” I could do it with armor, or carrying other….things?”

 

“If I ever meet Manwë, I have so many questions,” she said. “Sooo many. You lot got given so many things we didn't, and I wish I knew why. I mean, maybe I’d get an answer, or maybe I’d get laughed at, but I’d have to ask.”

 

The elf did not know what to say to this. The Eldar did not presume to ‘meet’ their Powers, though it stood to reason that living near Valinor might afford such access. He could not say, never having known life in the Blessed Realm. He smiled, which was the only response he could really give.

 

*****

 

Earlene stood in the kitchen, elbows leaning on a countertop, eyeing the fish recipe she’d targeted over a week ago. Ailill would come tonight, promising to bring fresh catch. If she readied all the other ingredients and side dishes, they could have a spectacular gourmet meal tonight. Aislinn had a new shipment of mushrooms that would be stuffed and roasted, and she’d actually been able to order yuzu juice on Amazon. Hot chili peppers were in the greenhouse, having been successfully coaxed to grow and yield in the hottest parts of the structure. But first she wanted to measure out for the seasoned grains dish... it barely registered, that Ratiri had come into the kitchen until she looked up from her laptop to notice him seated on one of the stools, smiling at her. “You look cheerful,” she hazarded, retrieving the container of couscous-quinoa-lentil blend.

 

“I saw you wearing a certain bit of jewelry the other day,” he said. “I’m assuming congratulations are in order?”

 

“Oh that.” She flushed, completely caught off guard. Blindsided, even, as her fingers retrieved the beautiful pendant from inside of her clothing. Her shoulders sagged. “I wanted to be able to appreciate the necklace for longer, this time. And I wasn’t going to be able to hide it forever. Yes, more are on their way,” she smiled, trying to recover herself.  _ More are on their way under circumstances you would never be able to believe from us and which I don’t know how I’ll even manage, in the end.  _ She tried to hide that her hand shook a little, as she poured out the grains into a measuring device.

 

His eyebrows rose.  _ Their  _ way? Given what happened the last time she’d carried twins, it was no wonder she was so unenthusiastic. “Is this one that accidentally became two again?” he asked gently. The odds of her having a second set of identical twins was pretty low, but fraternal twins weren’t that unlikely. “How far along are you?”

 

“Not accidentally. They are fraternal. Conceived a day apart,” she murmured. _Oh, SPECTACULARLY fraternal._ _SUPERFECUNDARILY fraternal. Was that even a word?_ “I guess I am just the original Fertile Myrtle. Um...how far…” It needed thinking about for a moment. “July fourteenth and the day after, so, a little over a month now? They’re boys.”

 

“You really are an aberration,” he said. “And I mean that in a good way, not a...weird way. The odds of that are quite low.” He paused. “Were they planned? Or was at least one of them?” She really did not seem thrilled at all, though it could just be because, twins.

 

“Yes, they were planned,” she answered in an incredibly flat tone of voice. “And if I’m going to be brutally honest, that exact subject is why I haven’t said anything. I know she didn’t mean it to be, but Lorna’s opinions on my last pregnancy were not...very welcome, on my part. In my own way I’ve been avoiding any chance of having to hear about it until it was no longer possible to hide it.”

 

Ratiri sighed. “Earlene, you’re doing that thing again,” he said. “That thing we all have to guard against. Have you never asked Lorna  _ why _ she had those feelings? Because it wasn’t without reason. It’s not that she disapproves of you having more children.”

 

A mighty frown crossed her face. “Oh, she made it fairly plain, that it was because she didn’t approve of my husband failing to keep from knocking me up so soon after I’d given birth, and we hadn’t planned on having Thaladir just then. But what she never seemed to listen to was that it was _ my body _ and that I welcomed the pregnancy. We were going to have Thaladir, just maybe not quite so soon. I don’t know if you can understand that to me, it very much felt like since it was  _ my _ body,  _ my _ husband, and  _ my _ pregnancy, that if I didn’t have a problem with it, no one else had a right to.” The words were spoken with rather a lot of vehemence behind them. She looked down, feeling slightly ashamed at her response. “There are times I feel like everyone else gets to have feelings but me, even though I know that’s shite to say. I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation just now.” Which wasn’t even the half of it, but it was the only half about which she could actually talk.

 

He reached out to take her hand. “Earlene, there was a reason for that. You had just --  _ just  _ \-- come off a miserable pregnancy and a traumatic childbirth, and now you, for all any of us knew, had to do it all over again almost immediately. She didn't approve of Thranduil’s failure to prevent your pregnancy because you were the one who would suffer for it. It turned out to be much easier than the first, but she still feared your childbirth would be just as terrible. That she never told you this...I should have poked her to. Ironically, she still seems to think not saying anything is wiser, because...because. Her idea of what spares feelings is...warped.”

 

Earlene struggled to control feelings that were threatening to turn into tears. “I didn’t realize she worried that much,” she said quietly. “But I still think it unfair to blame it all on Thranduil. It wasn’t like he meant for that to happen; he really didn’t understand a human woman’s level of fertility until it was too late. Er,  _ my _ level of fertility, until it was too late. I am apparently part rabbit, in some other universe.”

 

“Of course she worries that much,” he said, shaking his head. “She worries too much, about everyone. It’s just...what she does. And…” he sighed. “She saw it as Thranduil being too focused on getting off to do his job. After seeing what your first pregnancy and childbirth were like, she was honestly rather angry that he...wasn’t paying attention. And...well, honestly, I kept telling her you wanted Thaladir, but she saw it as you making the best of a bad situation, because it wasn’t like you had any other choice.” Honesty Hour. It wasn’t always pleasant.

 

“Ok, that is  _ so not fair _ , to Thranduil or me,” Earlene said, her eyes widening. “And I could also point out what it feels like to be standing here defending what happens between him and me in our bed. I was there too, just as eager to ‘get off’ as he was. I don’t think I need to tell you that it takes two, and that also makes assumptions about my husband’s priorities that feel pretty shitty to hear. I wanted that baby. I think what’s really going on is that she doesn’t want more kids, to a degree that she can’t stop projecting her feelings and her experience on everyone else. I’ve got news, these twins probably won’t be the last either. I mean, am I completely off-base here? I know that I’m showing that tendency to not have Honesty Hour again but...Jesus, Ratiri. I would really hesitate to make repeated reference to my opinions on something that happened between you and Lorna between the sheets. And I think that part of what is going on with me is, she didn’t just say it once. It was a State of Disapproval, and it went on for quite some time. It  _ hurt _ .” Her expressive brown eyes simply stared at his, truly not knowing up from down right now. Probably she shouldn’t even be saying the half of this, but Word Vomit was dialed up to maximum right now. And, Ratiri was someone she felt she could trust with this much honesty, even if it  _ was _ his wife she was shredding at the moment. Doctor. Wigged out parents, and stuff. Surely he was used to this?

 

Ratiri took her other hand. “I know,” he said. “But it stopped, didn't it? You  _ are  _ rather off-base. She’ll be happy for you -- it wasn’t that she disapproved of you wanting more children. It...well, honestly, what she was hung up on was the fact that even though you wanted Thaladir, you got saddled with him unplanned. Which was what happened between her and I. Once she realized -- once I got it through her head -- that this  _ wasn’t  _ you making the best of a bad situation...you should talk to her about it, Earlene. Don’t be afraid she won’t be supportive. And don’t be afraid you can’t tell the rest of us. I know that the last time you had twins it was miserable, but you have all of us to help you.”

 

A nod happened, and she hugged him, because it was the only way she could buy the few moments necessary to master how close she was to bursting into tears.  _ There isn’t any help, for what has happened to me. To us. If only this was just about having twins. It’s so far beyond that and there isn’t anything to be done about it.  _ Forcing these thoughts away, she returned her face to neutrality, and broke away from him. “Ailill and Calanon will be here for dinner. I’ll talk to Thranduil. Maybe he can make an announcement, if you don’t mind keeping our secret a few hours longer. I feel like I owe it to him to have the chance to give the good news.” She paused. “Thanks for talking to me. I suppose I’ve been an eejit, but...I swear something happens to my brain each time I concieve. Not that it’s really an excuse…”

 

“It’s yours to announce,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. “And it’s a perfectly valid excuse, because something does in fact happen to your brain when you conceive. It’s called hormones, and none of us will hold it against you. Did Thranduil ever tell you I had a woman throw a remote control at me a few hours post-birth? You’re by far the most rational pregnant woman I have ever met.”

 

“Oh dear. That really is bad,” she muttered, shaking her head.

 

“Oh, there was even worse, but I don’t even want to think about it,” he said, shuddering a little. “Let’s just say that there’s also been spit and, at one point, urine.”

 

Earlene blinked. “Ratiri, I’m not one for being squeamish. But when it’s worse than what can happen in a barnyard….just, no.”  _ Honestly, that sounded worse than being shat on by the cow. And yes, that had happened a time or two. _

 

“Obstetrics wards can be...interesting,” he said, grinning. “But you do know that we’ll always support you, right? That no matter what, we’re here for you? Because we are. You’re our family.”

 

Earlene nodded and smiled weakly. The temptation to just spill all of the beans was so, so strong, but she was too afraid. And, this was not only her secret to keep. It affected how all of them would view Thranduil. Both as a person, and a leader. And Thanadir...she would do anything, to guard the sensitive elf from being hurt or having to endure the opinions and judgements of others. Telling the truth was simply not possible. She believed that Ratiri...believed what he said. But there was no way he had their circumstances in mind when he spoke those words.  _ How could he? How could anybody? _

 

“Good. I know you haven’t had a whole lot of family, but trust me, we stick together. I don't suppose you would want any help with this, would you?” He was pretty sure there was more on her mind than this, but now was not the time to push.

 

“Not unless you are dying of boredom,” she said, shaking her head No. “For all it will look fancy, this will actually be one of the simpler meals I’ve made in awhile. I just have to get everything ready so that the moment the fish show up, they can get into the oven.”

 

“Good luck,” he said, giving her a smile. 

 

Thanadir and Lorna chose this moment to enter; Ratiri snared her arm and led her toward the stairs.

 

When Earlene was certain that their friends were well on their way to their own quarters, she turned to Thanadir, who held her in a loose embrace. Smiling, she leaned up to him; their lips met in a long kiss, after which they stood still, leaning their foreheads against each other’s in silent exchange.  _ I missed you. Ratiri wanted to help me cook but I am guilty of having chased him off because I hoped you might. _

 

A radiant smile came over his face as he kissed her forehead.  _ Of course I will. You know that I love spending time with you always, meldis.  _

 

With an extra squeeze to his ribs she released him, tracing her finger lovingly across his cheek.  _ Good.  _

 

Ratiri backtracked, intending to ask if there would be bones in the fish (small children and bones were not exactly a good combination) and his eyes widened at the sight of Earlene and Thanadir. What on Earth…? Well. It was not something they would have wanted seen, so he’d keep it to himself; he snuck off, not wanting them to know what he’d viewed.

 

*****

 

It was what passed for tea-time in decent places, and Aurnia had quietly made her way to the elves’ Halls. While she still didn’t know much of their language, there had been high motivation to learn the password phrase that opened Thranduil’s Gates, and she had managed this rather quickly. Her heart fluttered a bit, as she brought her simple offering of hot tea in Thermoses and some fresh scones with butter and jam. Yes, the elves could do all of this and better, but she had to try something. One day she’d cornered Ian in the pub after she had two or three Guinness under her belt already, to ask more about how the two men spent their time working. It was then, that she’d concocted this idea to bring them a tea now and again. She prayed she wasn’t being too obvious.

 

Marching in through the door of their workshop she quietly laid out the treat before crossing her arms and saying, “Now, you two give over that sandpaper. I can manage just as well; take a break and have a cuppa and a scone.”

 

Ian suppressed his smirk, his eyes darting over at Geezer (who had not even noticed Aurnia enter). “Aye,” he answered, not remotely wanting to face the consequences of any other response. Tomorrow was quilting night, and he didn’t want to end up locked out of his own bedroom if Mary got wind of him being a gobshite.

 

Geezer was more than happy to take a break. He flex his hands, still, even now, marveling slightly that he could do it. “You’re spoiling us, Aurnia,” he said, inhaling the scent of the tea before taking a sip.

 

“Least I could do,” she said happily, eyes darting toward Geezer while she tried not to blush.  _ Sandpaper, where in hell did it go... _ busy hands snatched a piece up, as she regarded the… “What is this going to be?” she asked. “Looks a bit like a chair leg, but what do I know?”

 

“It is,” Geezer said, savoring the tea. “Y’know, I never appreciated tea, until I moved to Ireland. Granted, I can’t make it for shit myself. You got a secret for it?”

 

Aurnia blinked.  _ You added boiling water to it, what kind’v a bloody eejit can’t make tea? _ Ian smothered a grin by burying his nose in his mug. “Er, no. I only do it like mam did. And gran. Maybe it’s just from living here,” she offered, not wanting to call the object of her interest an ‘eejit.’ Not yet, anyway. There was time for that, once a man was actually interested. And right now, she was rather worried about being able to get that far.

 

“Dunno how, but it always comes out tasting like I boiled it in kettle full of pennies,” Geezer said. “Every damn time. Must just be the American in me,” he added, laughing.

 

Aurnia smiled, not knowing what else to say. Ian rolled his eyes, having pushed his chair back to a safe distance. “Any news’v your Sean, Aurnia?” he asked, determined to not let their conversation crash and burn just yet.

 

“Yeah, he’s due out in what, two years?” Geezer asked. He was hoping, though not holding his breath, that prison would do that kid some good.

 

“He wrote me. I’m all he’s got for a pen-pal; his other mates aren’t looking in on him after what happened. And between you and me, that’s not for the worst. He’s reading, and they’ve got him working at...well, something a little like this, from the sound of it. It’s some kind of furniture-making place, inside the prison. He’s been taught to use a router. Something about cabinets.”

 

“If he’s away from his friends, that can only be a good thing,” Geezer said. “Trick’ll be keeping him away once he’s out. At least none of them live in the village, I take it?”

 

“No. Lasg’len’s viewed as little better than a tiny shitehole to most with a city background. Suits me fine; it keeps the troublemakers out. There’s little here worth having, in the eyes of some.”

 

Iam nodded sagely at this assessment. It was why many if not most of the younger crowd had gone elsewhere.

 

“Good,” Geezer said. “You said he knows dry-stacking; that’ll give him a job, but we’ve gotta find something fun for him to do, too, so he doesn’t wanna go out and do something stupid. Question is, what? I mean, did he have any hobbies that weren’t drinking, when he was a kid or something?”

 

“Well…” Aurnia ran her hands through her hair a little nervously. It was embarrassing, but questions like these were hard to answer because all Sean ever did aside from drink was...oh. “He liked to play those video game things, when he was sober. Some...I don’t know how you call it, some big internet game where hordes’v people play at once. I never understood it too well, but he’d be sucked in for hours on end.”

 

“I think I’ve heard of that,” Geezer said. “World of...something. It’s like, fantasy stuff, right? Swords, and all that?”

 

“Yeah, it was something like that,” she agreed. “I don’t know the name. Maybe it was even more than one,” she shook her head. They all looked alike, to her.

 

“Well shit, there’s our answer,” he said. “Take all that gamer shit and make it real. What kid wouldn’t wanna learn how to use a sword? I figure we can kinda...pay him for good behavior. It’d get him in good shape, too. I just wish there were more kids around his age in Lasg’len -- decent ones. Maybe he’ll meet up with some of the younger people in Baile.”

 

“Elves and swords, huh? He’s never been much for fitness, that one. I’m afraid he takes a little after his mam in that department. Though, I’ve been trying to get out and walk more…” she trailed off, but remembered to smile encouragingly because after all, Geezer had said something about helping Sean. “Couldn’t hurt to try. I didn’t...I didn’t tell him yet, what all the rest of us know now. Didn’t want to risk him blabbing inside the prison. He believed in the elves, same as the rest of us, but he didn’t stick around long enough to learn about all of this.” Her arm waved in a sweeping gesture, even as she had to quit sanding a moment in order to manage it.  She couldn’t help but notice, they’d eaten their scones in a hurry and weren’t far from finishing their tea.  _ Dammit, I want to stay here. How do I manage without looking desperate? _

 

Ian leaned back a little more sipping his tea. The curmudgeon in him would rather be left alone to work in silence, but Aurnia wasn’t really like Mary. She didn’t rattle on, from what he’d seen. He might regret this, but he also felt deeply sorry for her and unlike Stars and Stripes Clueless next to him, he knew why she was really here. A bloke didn’t get on being married for close to forty years without picking up on a few things. “You’re right handy with that sandpaper,” Ian mentioned. “Don’t suppose you’d stay and help us for the hour until we’re done here? We knock off around five each afternoon, that’s when the lads start meeting up at John’s place.”

 

Geezer looked at Ian like he might be from outer space, but said nothing.

“I’m sure Geezer would like the help, since he’s been on about finishing this chair so we can move onto ‘something more fun’. Isn’t that true?” Ian pressed on, pinning down his companion, who chose that moment to choke on a swallow of tea.

 

“Uh, true.” Ian was positively glaring at him, and he couldn’t understand why. “Uh, yes, we’d very much appreciate the help?” If it came out as a question, it was because he felt fairly desperate to escape the sudden ire of his workmate.

 

“Oooooh I’d be glad to,”  Aurnia said. “I’ll be quiet, like, and not disturb you.” 

 

The happiness in her eyes spoke volumes, at least to Ian.  _ Clearly it’s time to get the lads to have a bit’v a sit down with this here Lost Cause. Third time this month the poor woman’s been here bringing tea and he still thinks Sean and furniture have anything to do with it. Whan in fuck do they teach them in America??  _ He finished his tea while the other two sanded away.  _ In fact, tomorrow. That’ll be it. Tomorrow, this poor bloke won’t know what hit him.  _ Ian grinned somewhat wickedly. Maybe a little of Mary had rubbed off on him after all these years. He couldn’t resist an opportunity for a little matchmaking. None of them were getting any younger, and when a good woman was trying as hard as Aurnia was, well, it was time the village stuck together and made something come of it.

 

*****

 

Ailill and Calanon arrived precisely when expected to, with fish and this time two hawks; Diana and Thia. The ellon delivered the wrapped packages to Earlene in the kitchen while Ailill took the birds up to their room. “Ailill asked for them to be filleted for you, Hiril vuin. We hope this is acceptable.”

 

“It is better than that, thank you,” Earlene smiled, handing them to Thanadir with a silent request to rinse the fish in cold running water. “Though I can manage on a whole fish, I never do as well as those who do this all the time. I would end up making a mess and probably wasting a little of the meat.” She looked up fully at the ellon now, still a little surprised at the degree to which she felt as though she shied away from interacting with him.  _ I wonder why? I did not ever feel this way around Thalion…  _ “Go make yourself comfortable, Calanon. Dinner will be in perhaps thirty minutes? Please tell Ailill for me?” The ellon understood that he was being dismissed, and did not take offense. With his usual merry demeanor, he went upstairs.

 

Thanadir sidled next to her, as she took the fillets from him and placed them on paper towels to dry one after the other.  _ You do not care for Calanon, meldis?  _ He felt concerned, at what he saw in her.

 

_ No, it is not that. I do not know him well enough to say either way. It is more like, some part of me wishes to avoid him. And given that I like all elves, I truly do not understand these feelings. And yet neither have I been inclined to give the brain space over to trying to figure it out. Maybe something is wrong? Certainly he has never offended me, and Ailill seems to like him. He keeps my Ailill safe.  _ For a moment she stopped her work.  _ Thanadir, there is something, though. Ratiri knows I am pregnant. I intended to ask Thranduil to simply make an announcement at dinner tonight. I thought you should know. _

 

_ Earlene, I am happy for this. You are worried because of my feelings? Because Thranduil will need to say they are his children? _

 

_ The thought crossed my mind, yes. _

 

_ Then you need to understand that to me they are his children.  _

 

This arrested her attention enough to look at him, and ignore the fish for a moment. 

 

_ He is my King, Earlene. For countless years I have belonged to him. And by default, all that I call mine belongs to him as well, though he would not likely choose to see it this way. I am grateful beyond words to have a child of my own issue growing inside of you. Our child. That he grows alongside his brother, the offspring of beloved Thranduil, is a blessing to me. That I have been accepted and welcomed in spite of all that has befallen us, is a blessing to me. I have no ego to bruise, in this regard. I know that I have sons, meldis. It is more than enough, for me. Do not think that what has happened erases what I feel for Thaladir, who you also have made my son. We are family. We have love. Please be happy. _

 

Earlene stared at Thanadir, wondering how anyone could be so good, so beautiful. She felt a hand at the small of her back. “Meluieg. Thanadir.” Thranduil kissed each of them on the cheek in greeting, having heard the entirety of their exchange.  _ I will announce our happy news, if that is your wish. It seems the cat is out of the bag,  _ he smiled. Another sort of cat was out of the bag, but of this he had no intention of speaking. He knew that Ratiri had seen an exchange of affection between his wife and seneschal that could not be explained under the heading of ‘friendship,’ but on that matter he had elected to keep his own counsel. For this silence he was more than a little relieved; he had no desire to have to offer explanations about their private lives. Especially not with their changed circumstances being so new. And raw. 

 

_ I think we may as well get it over with, and let everyone have their...fun. They can all… _ Earlene forced herself to stop. Her thoughts were both morose and unkind to her friends.  _ I am sorry. And I need to finish getting this meal ready.  _ Turning her mental focus elsewhere, she busied herself taking the fillets to the prepared sheets of parchment and went into action. 

 

Thranduil gestured with a tilt of his head for Thanadir to follow while he returned to their room to change for dinner. During this time, he enlightened the seneschal concerning the exact content of her earlier conversation with Ratiri, including that Earlene still struggled grievously with the burden she carried. While a part of him hesitated to weigh Thanadir down with this knowledge, it was not right that he remain ignorant of their wife’s difficulties. The old elf nodded, saddened to hear this but not surprised. Of the three of them, it was plain that Earlene was the least reconciled to what had happened. Not that he blamed her. Perhaps elves had more practice with finding themselves in seemingly untenable circumstances in which the Valar were involved. They had learned a form of simple faith, if nothing else. Thranduil wrapped Thanadir in a warm embrace, holding him tightly. His family was precious to him, beyond words. “I think it would not go amiss tonight to give Earlene extra love and attention, meldir. She hides it well, but this day was not easy for her.”

 

“Yes.” They touched their foreheads together, before returning to the kitchen to help in what ways they could. 

 

The meal itself was a resounding success, with everyone issuing compliments for  the exquisite flavors. Pat speared his fish with a fork, realizing that he now found himself in some sort of culinary alternate dimension, in which even the best pub fare could only seem like dumpster leftovers by comparison. Ailill made a mental note to stop for fish far more often, and even the children ate happily, making up ridiculous word games centered around ‘yuzu’. No one really believed that Nana/Auntie Earlene wasn’t joking about that. They were smart enough to know there were no such things as yuzus. 

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes but eventually cleared his throat and clinked his spoon against the side of his wine glass, asking for everyone’s attention. He reached to take Earlene’s hand. “We have decided it is time to share our happy news with all of our family. We are expecting again, and hope you share our joy in welcoming our twin sons.” He smiled when Lorna glowered at him for waiting until she was taking a drink of wine to say that. She had almost sprayed Pat from across the table. Almost. It had been entirely worth it.

 

“Thanks for that,” she managed, coughing. “More sons? Good, we’ll have a balance. Congratulations, you two.” Naturally, she was worried about what this pregnancy would do to Earlene, but that was the future. For now, babies. Cuteness.

 

“Will we need to add rooms?” Pat asked, wincing a little. That really had been close. He would have been honor-bound to murder Lorna if she’d got that all over his very tasty dinner. “I can’t build shit, but I can paint.”

 

“And I’m sure Mairead still has a few baby clothes I haven’t pried out’v her,” Lorna added. “At the very least, booties.” Hauling herself out of her chair, she went to hug Earlene.

 

Thranduil was relieved to see that Earlene returned Lorna’s hug with sincere warmth. “Thanks,” Earlene said. “We’ve still got Thaladir’s things, but, extra boy this time. Probably one of them won’t appreciate wearing girl’s clothes,” she grinned. “If Mairead still has some, it’d be welcome.” She also raised her head up to smile at Ratiri, in such a manner as to not be too obvious.

 

“We’ve still got Shane’s, too,” Ratiri said. “He doesn’t need them, and we only need to save one pair of booties.”

 

“If you don’t mind flannel,” Lorna added, laughing. “I know it’s not your favorite fabric in the world, but it’s good for little boys.”

 

“I really do like flannel,” Earlene said. “Just not as much as you do. And it’s not like it’s ever really warm here, in summer. I guess they’ll be born in May, if last time around is any indication. I think those clothes would be wonderful.”

 

“Oh good, no more February children,” Lorna said.

 

“I think if anyone had to share a birthday with  _ that _ many others, they’d all go into open revolt,” Ratiri added. “You do realize you need to tell us if you need help, right? Because you have us all for a reason, and it isn’t just to eat all the wonderful food you cook.”

 

“Yeah.” Lorna glowered at her, in what she hoped was a stern expression. “He means it. No overdoing it.”  _ Thranduil, seriously, tell us if she’s overdoing it. _

 

Thranduil wisely took a sip of wine and remained silent. 

 

“Thank you,” smiled Earlene. “I have these two, always helping me.” Her eyes swept across Thranduil and Thanadir, with open adoration. “I’m sure I’ll have the same troubles in the later months. But so far, everything’s been fine.”

 

“Have you thought’v names yet?” Pat asked. “I know it’s bloody early, but that’s half the fun.”

 

“There’s plenty’v time,” Lorna said. “Just keep off your feet one they start to hurt.” Yes, Earlene was going to get smothered. It was for her own good, given she seemed to want to push herself whether she ought to or not.

 

“Erm….” answered Earlene, eliciting a laugh from most of the table. 

 

Little Thaladir wiggled in his chair. “I get brothers, Nana?” he had to ask again, because this seemed too good to be true. He was looking at Shane as he spoke, realizing that this could place the boys into equal numbers with the girls! But he had to be sure.

 

“Yes, son. You will have two brothers, when the babies come.”

 

Shane and Thaladir both smiled with disturbingly eager looks on their faces. 

 

“We’ll still be older,” Ithiliel just had to pipe up. She hadn’t missed a thing.

 

“Children,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Indeed you will, so you’ll all have to look after them, and keep them out’v trouble.” She gave Chandra a pointed look.

 

“Hey!” her daughter cried.

 

“If the shoe fits...yes, missy, I found the rest’v those ‘balloons’.”

 

Pat choked on his wine, laughing so hard he wheezed.

 

“Earlene, we’re going to need more childcare, aren’t we?” Ratiri asked, rolling his eyes. “That will be too many for Lothiriel, Ortherion, and Maerwen to handle.”

 

“Ithiliel and Eleniel are growing fast,” Thranduil interjected smoothly. “I am certain we will work something out. And, Thanadir has already asked to take on being Earlene’s primary helper once the children are born. We will likely be fine. Much is different, this time around. We are no longer building this home; life is more settled. And should we need more help, it is not far away.” Though Ratiri could not possibly know the precise reason for this, it was best to just get everyone used to this notion as early on as possible. The truth being, that wild tigers would not be able to tear Thanadir away from spending every allowable moment with his son. Their sons. That he would manage to nurse these children as well, Thranduil had no doubt.

 

“Very true.” Ratiri wondered just how much of the other Elves’ duties Thanadir had already taken over with the children. He and Lorna had long thought of him as the asexual third partner in Earlene and Thranduil’s marriage; maybe they were just more right than they’d thought. “Well, you’ve got us, too. Provided our daughter doesn’t give them bad ideas.”

 

“Hey!” Chandra said again. “Shane was just as bad.”

 

“ _ Hush _ , you,” Shane said, sounding so very like his mother that Ratiri laughed before he could help it.

 

Thranduil smiled and thanked him. Earlene’s dessert tonight was very simple, a butterscotch pudding with rich whipped cream. This bit of cloudy deliciousness was enough to distract from further discussion of babies and...things. Ailill and Calanon insisted on cleaning up (and Ailill stole that chance to give Earlene a big hug of congratulations), which allowed the chance for her to retire early to her room. It had been a long day, and she just wanted to be alone. She’d meant to read, and wait for Thranduil and Thanadir. But when they entered, they found her sound asleep, a book on art history splayed next to her. Carefully, they removed her shoes and jeans and placed her in bed before joining her. 

 

*****

 

Later, after Lorna had fallen asleep, Ratiri...mulled.

 

What, precisely, had he seen? He could not dismiss that kiss as merely friendship. Friends didn't kiss like that. No, there had been nothing actually sexual in it, from what he could tell, but neither was it platonic, and he had no idea what to make of that. He could say nothing of it to anyone -- yes, Thranduil would know that he knew, but he was quite sure it wasn’t anything any of the three would be anxious to talk about. To hold this secret...was going to be awkward. He got unfairly annoyed with Lorna, whenever she kept something from him, but he couldn’t tell her this. None of those three would want her to know, because they wouldn’t want  _ him _ to know...he’d have to do his best to put it out of his mind.  _ As if  _ that’s  _ going to be easy,  _ he thought. One thing was for certain: it probably wasn’t anything simple.

 

Well, he’d try not to think about it. He could give Thranduil that much, even if there would be no actually forgetting it, and Thanadir and Earlene need never know what he’d seen. Their relationship was their relationship, and he’d let them get on with it.

  
  



	106. One Hundred and Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 16-August 29-November 16, 2019

 

Earlene woke to a stiff neck and a throbbing head, and managed to move just enough to throw her forearm over her eyes. _Last night. Dinner. Lorna is going to fuss over me now like a broody hen. Oh sweet Jesus, no…._ But at least her pregnancy was out in the open. It was one small thing that no longer needed hiding, against the other rather huge thing that still did. Her hand reached down to her womb, though she knew it was too early to feel the children yet, even with twins. Her thoughts she obscured, not knowing which if any ellyn were awake or near, and she could not help but feel, _Valar, why?? Am I not nearly as open-minded as I believed I was? Everything was so neat, so tidy before...and now nothing can ever be tidy again because there is going to be a child._ And this only made her feel more ashamed, to have such...lack of enthusiasm even though she wanted to feel differently. _Is there someone in the outer world I should talk to?_ _Maybe someone who counsels persons who found themselves in...situations?_ While her life was odd, she doubted it was unique. And yet the idea of telling all this to a random stranger who happened to have letters at the end of their name plate….no. No, there had to be a better way. But maybe there was something to her idea...weren’t there...organizations, online support groups? _Yeah and the moment you do that, Earlene, you’ll not be able to keep that private. Not with the telepathic freeway that has offramps in your head….just, FUCK._ It was time to quit feeling self-pity and make breakfast. 

 

Opening eyes and listening told her that she was alone after all. Weirdly cheered by this in spite of her headache, she rolled out of bed and combed her hair, and found some pretty summery dress that was loose fitting.  _ It was completely adorable and had been on sale on Amazon, what was not to like? _ Plus she suspected Lorna would covet it. It was a tie-dye pattern; not one she would usually choose, in a visual assault of colors. She needed something upbeat today, sue her. A comb was run through her hair, but that was left... _ no, put it up Earlene, this is how you don’t have batter in your hair. _ Twisting it roughly into a knot that she stabbed into place with hair sticks, her appearance was given one final assessment in the mirror. She blinked at her own reflection, resisting the tears that pooled in her eyes.  _ Do I even recognize who is looking back at me? _ Shaking her head, a few tears dropped, before she wiped them away in anger and marched out to take charge of the kitchen. Ortherion was greeted mechanically as she began to pull ingredients for banana muffins and an egg and vegetable breakfast casserole.

 

Lorna, hair still damp, meandered downstairs with a canvas bag. “I know it’s way too early yet, but here’s all the baby things Shane’s grown out’v,” she said, giving Earlene a hug. “Anything you don’t want you can just give to a charity shop, I won’t mind.”

 

A quick survey of the garments met with extensive approval. “Well, none’v them are pink, yellow, sky blue or more than half-white, so all in all I’d say I’m happy,” she smiled. Here they were, right back to shitty choices in baby clothes...except not. “And I’m lucky enough to know where to order stuff that’s better. Huh you know, I’ve not really looked at the website for your business in forever. Maybe when the boys come we should take lots of photos of them wearing the baby clothes. Cute babies always sell stuff. Can’t go wrong there.”

 

“Very true,” Lorna said. “And yours never look like Winston Churchill. Christ, I’m glad we’ve got the commuter van, too; it can handle two more kids easy.”

 

“And a land whale,” Earlene said drily. “Though you know, there are horses around this time. And I might intend to make use of that. Maybe they’ll be small children,” she said optimistically, not really believing it herself. “Eh.” The batter got a final stir, before a Thanadir came along and unceremoniously found himself with a measuring cup placed in his hand and four trays of muffin tins with paper liners in front of him. Smiling, he took the hint and began doling out the gooey mixture. “So...did Pat ever write Grania back? I never did follow up on that. We’d best make sure he doesn’t chicken out and not answer in a timely manner. Almost two bloody weeks’ve gone by, if I’m counting right…”

 

“We can hope,” Lorna said. “And he did. I’ve been helping him with his emails, so that he doesn’t go and stick his foot in it. I always say that when in doubt, ask about Lorna the Younger. She now knows that Saoirse is more than just a thing that exists -- he sent a picture, which’v course creeped Grania out a little, because the Donovan genes are a terrifying thing. I’m thinking that someday, he and Saoirse can go rent a cottage by the seaside for a weekend, and Grania and Lorna the Younger can come see Eldamar and get more used to elves. If Pat and Saoirse are away, there’s no anxiety there.”

 

“You know, that’s not a bad idea...at least, if there’s a non-rude way to kick your own brother out and sneak a visit with his ex while he’s gone…” Earlene might think that was kind of awful, except for her acute awareness that she was the reigning queen of relationship messes just now.  _ Not going to comment…. _

 

“Actually, it was his idea,” Lorna said. “He’s pretty serious about it. It’s almost scary.”

 

“Huh. Well...that makes it easier. Definitely.” Now she felt a little distracted, because it was necessary to turn her attention back to the huge griddle that held what would be one very large omelet. Two of these would be enough for the whole table, and she didn’t wish to burn them. Because they would contain bacon and cheese, and not having them turn out perfectly would be wrong. 

 

Thanadir finished his task and frowned, realizing Earlene did not feel well.  _ Let Ortherion manage preparing the food for serving; he knows how to transfer cooked eggs to a platter and check muffins. Come with me. _

 

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said to Lorna absently. “I forgot something, apparently.” Knowing it was useless to argue, she followed him into his own room, where he locked a door and pulled her to straddle his lap. Her eyes closed and arms wove around his waist as skilled hands rubbed the sore muscles causing the problem. She did not allow herself to think about how perfectly right this felt, when alone with Thanadir. And how perfectly disastrous because she could not do this openly, at most every other time. That was all shoved deep down, and placed into a locked box with a weakening lid, with all the other realizations of a similarly painful ilk.

 

*****

 

Late morning, Earlene tried to sink her mind into council stuff. Their next meeting was soon, and it was the one at which everyone was supposed to give a definitive Yes or No concerning ‘the homeless issue.’ The way she saw it,  _ Earlene and Lorna were ready to go, on this. _ They had an idea for how to make contacts within the organizations connected to assisting homeless in major cities they’d earmarked. Dublin, would be where they’d start; they had statistical reason to believe that nearly half their nation’s homeless were in the capital city alone. What hardly bore thinking about was that out of the nearly 8,000 listed as homeless, 3,000 of those were children. It was going to be a depressing task but...it needed doing.

 

And yet the more she stared at statistics and questions for interviewing people, the more her self-confidence failed. This wasn’t just compiling statistics for a legal case, this was people’s lives. She suddenly closed her laptop. _ Yes, this needed doing and...were they really the ones to play God? _ In the Quiet Room, Earlene found herself staring at the shifting colors that shone through the stained glass. It reminded her a little of a church, except this window had no pattern, told no story.  _ Well, shit _ . She heaved a huge sigh, and wondered if life would ever manage to feel simple again. At the moment, it seemed doubtful. And staring at the pretty colors was much easier than thinking.

 

*****

 

Little Thaladir was smiling from ear to ear. One of his little hands proudly rested on Kiernan’s head. (Conveniently, Flannery had more red fur, and Kiernan a dark patch, so at least the names matched their appearance.) Earlene grinned at the sight, remembering that the boy had originally wanted to name the dogs Liam and Donovan. Earlene and Thanadir had gently persuaded him away from those choices, much to everyone’s relief.  The boy’s other hand, for the time being, held the rabbit that Thia and Diana the hawks had just caught; the little hunting hound pups had flushed their first prey for the birds to take down out in the open. Ailill helped Thaladir end the rabbit’s life quickly and humanely, while Calanon attempted to distribute tidbits of meat fast enough as reward to the birds. The young boy was chattering about a thousand miles an hour, overwhelmed with excitement as Ailill and Calanon ensured the tired but still boisterous pups did not manage to drag the young peredhel. Each adult bore a hawk on a gloved hand, and one thing was certain: they were running out of hands.

 

Thranduil had of course been unable to ignore the childhood triumph that was now all but shrieking into his mind, and excitedly told the rest of the household what had transpired. Soon everyone was outside, to see the proud little boy emerge from the forest. Thanadir could not resist running to express his delight, while Earlene was so proud she was speechless. Thank the Valar, Lorna had her mobile out, else her children’s most important moments would never be documented. 

 

Watching this relatively diminutive child, waving his first hunting success around to show everyone...for the briefest of moments, Earlene had a glimpse of the future. Her son, grown; a skilled and capable hunter with all of the physical beauty of his father, and elements of her own facial features as well. Though not usually given to fits of emotion, she had to stop thinking on it lest she cry. In a bustle the pups were headed through the wide open door to noisily drain the water bowl, Calanon and Ailill were taking the birds to their room, and Thranduil was moving forward to teach his son how to skin the animal (something she rather hoped Lorna chose  _ not _ to document until it was transformed into a pelt).

 

“Well, that’s...tasty,” Lorna said, wincing. She liked her meat when it looked less like an animal. “It’s just a little wabbit. What’re you going to do with the pelt?” For some damn reason, the mental image of Tarzan stealing it and wearing it as loincloth entered her head, and refused to leave. That segued to the rather more welcome image of  _ Ratiri _ wearing it as a loincloth... _ sorry, Thranduil. _

 

There were moments when the King did not know whether to laugh or cry, and this was one of them.  _ Should I tell my son that you dearly would like to have his rabbit pelt? Perhaps at Christmas?  _ A significant gleam of mischief came from the glance of those blue eyes, even as he helped guide his son’s hand unerringly with his knife.

 

She arched an eyebrow.  _ As much as I would like that, I think your son ought to keep it _ , she said -- and only half because she knew Ratiri would die before he’d wear such a thing. Still, a woman could dream…

 

He turned his head to cough, earning a frown from very serious Thaladir. “Adar, are you well?” the little voice piped. 

 

“Oh, very well, thank you. Auntie Lorna was just making me laugh.” Thaladir’s eyes took in his adar, Auntie Lorna, and then his adar again, with an expression that was so much like something Thanadir would generate it was hardly to be borne. Thranduil forced himself to look at only the rabbit. Right now, his salvation was with that little carcass, and he knew it.

 

“That was very well done, Thaladir,” she praised. “You’ll have to get your Adar Thanadir to help you tan the hide, so you can keep it.” Jesus, that was honestly a touch creepy...maybe there really  _ was  _ more to a name than Shakespeare implied.

 

Thranduil dared one more grin in her direction, then gave the pelt over for Thaladir to hold up for a picture.  _ That  _ could go in a scrapbook, without being hopelessly gory.  _ Meluieg, our son is already dreaming of his kill being our dinner. Can you manage?  _

 

Earlene blinked. She had many culinary talents, but fresh-killed wild rabbit was not among them.  _ Wasn’t there something in the Lord of the Rings about Sam stewing a rabbit? _ Nodding and fleeing back inside, it was Google to the rescue.  _ Christ, the thing will need to simmer for hours... _

 

Ratiri ooched his way into the kitchen. “You could make that into a stew,” he said, “with mashed potatoes. If you cook and shred the meat, everyone gets more, or at least thinks they do. I know you’ve got a crock pot.”

 

Freezing for a moment, Earlene considered. “Oven roasted mashed potatoes with parmesan cheese, and the rabbit stew served on top of it once it has a nice crust. You’re a genius.” Briefly hugging Ratiri for the idea, she launched into action, pulling out her vegetables. Fortunately Thanadir was close behind her, eager to help please his son, and soon much chopping and rummaging in the refrigerator for their concentrated meat stock was underway. “I see someone is a proud Adar,” she teased the seneschal. The elf radiated so much happiness he was practically glowing.

 

“I have always loved little ones,” he said, as carefully as he could. Earlene laid down her knife for a moment, to wipe her hand and rub at his back between his shoulder blades. She knew he was close to tears.

 

_ I know _ , she thought, before resuming chopping her mushrooms and realizing there were not nearly enough of them.  _ Hm. _ Then the idea came. Walking upstairs, she knocked on Ailill’s door. When Calanon opened, she smiled to see the young man flopped back on his bed, arm laid over his eyes. The two raptors stared at her disinterestedly, as they stared at most things that were not their next meal. “I wondered if I might bother you two, though now I feel guilty for asking. I see my son has worn you out.”

 

“I am happy to help, Hiril vuin. What do you wish?” Calanon of course was fine, but Ailill stood up under obvious polite duress. She had not spent years in Manhattan courtrooms without being able to recognize a forced smile when she saw one.  _ Poor Ailill. _

 

“I need more mushrooms from the grocer’s. Six kilos, if they have that much and if not, whatever is there. Ten kilos of potatoes too. But only if you also stop at the pub and enjoy having a Guinness. I do not need them right away, but I would like to have them for the dinner, to help the rabbit stretch as far as possible. Within the next three hours. Thranduil says Thaladir wants very badly for us to all eat it for our meal, and one rabbit hardly feeds eighteen people.”

 

At hearing that this was for Thaladir, Ailill found inner strength, for he dearly loved the little boy. “Yes, of course,” he answered, though he was inwardly not so enthusiastic about the idea of the pub. His guard, however, quite obviously was; Calanon’s face lit up at the mention of the word ‘Guinness.’

 

“Good, the shopping bags are near the front door.” With a smile, she pulled the door closed behind her.

 

Ailill let out a groan. He had done a great deal of extra running today and right now, his calves were barely speaking to him. “Just five minutes. Five minutes, and then I can do this.” 

  
“What is wrong?” Calanon asked, sitting on the edge of the bed with concern.

 

“Pathetic legs hurt,” came the answer, muffled by the pillow unto which his head was half-buried.

 

“Here?”

 

A hiss of pain escaped, at the touch of probing fingers on his calves.

 

“I see. Do not move.” Calanon rummaged in his pack to find salve, before pushing up Ailill’s trouser legs to his knees. Carefully, he began to rub this into the aching muscles while he massaged them, noting the soft hitches in breathing that the young man was unable to stifle.

 

Ailill buried his face further into his pillow, and refused to allow himself to think. If he had been able to manage it on some level, he would have acknowledged the emotions that had begun to filter through him, concerning his assigned guard. There was, quite simply, yearning for what could never be. And he knew it, and he would rather die than allow a single thought to form that would ever show disrespect or disregard for this ancient and beautiful race of beings so far above him. Which made being touched, soothed in this way an almost painful burden. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the gift of healing being given, and his own gratitude. Calanon did so very many small things for him that were not strictly necessary. He tried to show thankfulness. He patiently taught the ellon whatever he could, answered his questions. As long as it was not about himself, he talked freely to keep the merry elf company. He was not stupid; his feelings betrayed that he was what everyone said he was. But if he never admitted them, never acted on them...well, that left the benefit of doubt.  _ Didn’t it? _

 

After many minutes of doing this, the ellon asked, “Is the pain lessened?”

 

An experimental flex of his legs revealed a great improvement. “Yes. Thank you, very much. I feel better, now.” Stretching, and giving Calanon a glance of gratitude, he rose to his feet and they departed on their errand.

 

The grocer had everything Earlene wanted, and laden down with produce, the two meandered to the pub. Calanon carried the potatoes, leaving the nearly weightless mushrooms for his charge. Ailill grew quiet, as they neared the pub door. He told himself over and over,  _ this is the Lasg’len pub, there is nothing to fear here _ . That even if there  _ was _ a problem, Calanon was with him; nothing could happen. But it did not stop a thin sheen of perspiration from breaking out on his face, or keep him from seeking the most isolated table in the back corner while the elf went to obtain two ales.

 

_ I probably should not have come here _ , he realized too late. He had not been in a pub since he was abducted, and it was difficult to suppress outright panic, however illogical he knew this was. He closed his eyes.  _ You cannot spend your life like this, Ailill. People go to pubs. You, go to pubs. This isn’t...good. It isn’t the fault of pubs _ . However his internal speeches were not helping much. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Ailill?”

 

He looked up to see his guard watching him with concern. “I am here,” he said quietly, trying to dissemble. “Thank you for the Guinness,” he smiled, and drained a third of his glass at once.

 

“I know something is wrong,” Calanon persisted. “Please, will you tell me?”

 

It actively hurt, to see the unattainable ellon so near to him, and so obviously worried. Ailill looked to the side, unable to answer right away. “Only on two conditions. That you do not ask me any more about this, and that you do not require me to leave here before I wish to.”

 

A mighty frown creased the elf’s brow, but as he had no right to force the man to do anything unless he was in danger… “Very well. I agree to your...terms.”

 

“Thank you, Calanon. It is very difficult for me to be in a pub. Any pub. And that is all I can tell you right now.”

The ellon started to speak, and realized that he could not. Nothing he wished to say would not violate one of Ailill’s requirements. “Thank you,” eventually came out, though it was spoken with hidden pain. He wanted to help, so badly, and he was being kept at arm’s length. And at the moment, there was not a thing in Ennor he could do about it.

 

Calanon stared off toward where John was polishing his glasses, still smarting from the rebuff he’d experienced. He tried to look into his ale, and wave to the occasional ellon that came in. All he could really do was watch the other patrons, and noticed that one was beginning to behave in a rather animated fashion. He’d seen this man before…. _ Ian, wasn’t it? _ ....he came to the Halls most days with another firion, to use the King’s woodworking chambers. But this was the week-end, so here they all were much earlier in the day than usual.  _ What in Eru’s name was this about?  _  “Ailill, would you like another ale?” he asked politely. Because he very much would. 

 

“Yes, please,” his charge answered, still not looking up. Ailill felt...guilty. He knew he had been unkind to Calanon with what he’d said, but how in hell else was he supposed to handle it? It was far easier to keep drinking than to think about...that.

 

Ian was unquestionably holding court at the pub, today.  _ Something about Aurnia and Sean and Geezer...who even were these people? _ Ailill wondered dully.

 

Geezer, beer in hand, sat and listened, as he usually did. The skinny kid the Elves had recently taken on didn't look happy, poor boy, but like Geezer had any idea what the hell to do about it. He had one of the Elves -- Calanon? -- with him, at least.

 

Ian went to John for a fresh Guinness, and with a great sense of purpose, strode over to where Geezer sat. Which was not terribly far from Calanon and Ailill. Thus fortified, he plunked down into the available chair at the table. “Alright, mate. What’re you going to do about Aurnia?” Ian stared him down, clearly not willing to go anywhere until he had an answer.

 

Geezer blinked at him. “What about Aurnia?” She’d seemed fine to him.

 

Ian shook his head in disbelief. “Geezer...when a lass shows up with treats more than once for a bloke, she isn’t there just to make conversation. You mean to tell me you’ve never had a lady friend?”

 

Geezer stared at him. “There’s been a couple ladies that came and went, but...er, no.” Aurnia...really?  _ Really?  _ “Never figured I'd be any good in a relationship, so I never tried. She...you’re sure?”

 

“Geezer, I’m married. She sure as hell isn’t there to chat with me. Aurnia’s a fine woman who’s had her share of being hurt and blokes that were a waste o’ space. Sean’s da was a gobshite. And if she isn’t sweet on you, then I’m Michael Flaherty.”

 

Well... _ shit _ . “She  _ is  _ a fine woman, so what the hell does she want with me? I’m a broken-down old vet who’s never had anyone you’d call a girlfriend. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I... _ shit _ .” Panic flared through him, because Jesus, what was he supposed to  _ do _ with that?

 

“Why’d an American lass take on the damn Elf-king? Geezer, it’s _ women _ . There’s no accounting for them. But when  good one crosses your path, you’d be an arse not to at least try. And if you’re not going to try, you owe her the decency of telling her you’re not interested. Don’t leave her dangling out there to hope if there isn’t any. No one here’d thank you for it.”

 

“I...oh, dammit,” Geezer sighed. “I could be interested, if I let myself, but I don’t want to fuck it up. Not when she’s already been through hell with a guy. I mean that leaves a woman...vulnerable or something, right? What happens the first time I stick my foot in it?” How would he even know he had, unless she told him? He knew fuck-all about women.

 

Ian leaned back in his chair, taking a hefty quaff of his ale. Unbeknownst to him, Calanon was listening raptly, though he had the good sense not to look over at their table and let on about it. His sensitive ears could not help but clearly hear the conversation that was likely too soft to be easily heard by Ailill next to him. Ailill, who was still morosely sipping at his Guinness.  _ Maybe humans did not understand each other?  _ That idea felt hopeful, somehow.

 

“Geezer, you live in an Irish village. What happens the first time you stick your foot in it is, everyone and their gran will come and slap some sense into you, that’s what. And I’ll not be surprised if my Mary is at the head of that parade. You’ve not lived until you’ve had the quilting ladies chewing on your arse. And I don’t mean in the fun way, either.”

 

That sounded more than vaguely terrifying. “No offense, Ian, but your wife’s kinda scary,” he said. “Her and them things she calls cats.” Geezer shook his head, draining his pint. “So women like...flowers, right? Should I give her flowers?”

 

“It’s pretty damn hard to go totally wrong with those,” Ian answered carefully. “You could talk to her. Ask her what she likes?”  _ Sure God, he’s clueless,  _ Ian thought, sipping his ale.  _ Maybe it’d be worth tipping off Mary that this one’s an extreme case. _

 

“Probably a good idea. Jesus...well, if I fuck this all up, at least you can kick me.” He wasn’t about to ask Mary for help, but Earlene and Lorna could probably give him  _ some  _ kind of advice...right? They weren’t in the immediacy of the village life, and thus wouldn’t immediately blab his ignorance to all and sundry. Geezer was not easily embarrassed, but this was kind of outside...all of his experience. Ever.

 

_ Talk to...him, ask him what he likes…  _ Calanon reflected on the overheard words.  _ Maybe humans just liked others being interested in them? _ While he saw his circumstances as rather different, was it not still a case of wishing to bridge a gulf between himself and another thinking person? He stared down into his glass, and resolved to try something different. “Ailill, how did you think it went today, with Thaladir? Do you feel he is learning?” He watched the man carefully, trying not to stare too intently. 

 

Calanon perceived a sense of struggle, as Ailill lifted his head and searched for an answer. “It went well,” he answered slowly. “Thaladir is very young but exceptional. I have no experience with anything like a young elf. Or a young half-elf. It is difficult to believe he is not yet two years of age. But I can say now,” his voice increased a little in animation, “he will be a formidable partner with those dogs in the next three or four years. He will be older, and the hounds will enter the prime years of their life. I think Thaladir will become a masterful hunter, one day.”

 

“You see the same thing I do,” Calanon agreed. “You might not know that Aran Thranduil is the most skilled hunter among us. He is very modest, but unmatchable. I like to think his son has inherited something of his talents.”

 

Ailill considered, not having known this at all. What he truly knew of his sovereign was admittedly limited. He finished his ale. “We should probably return and give Earlene her groceries.” Agreeing, the two rose and departed. Calanon smiled, as he glanced over at Geezer in sympathy for his...trials. At least he had managed to draw forth conversation from Ailill, once again.  _ Patience would apparently be required. Much….patience. _

 

*****

 

Earlene stood in her kitchen and stared at the guest star of tonight’s meal, her back to Ratiri. Ratiri who had damn near as much ability to sneak up on her as Thanadir, come to think of it. An audible whimper escaped her. 

 

A hand was laid on her shoulder in sympathy. “That’s not a very big rabbit, is it…?” Her dilemma was obvious. He knew how he’d feel, were it one of his kids. “I’m sure Thaladir will appreciate that you’re trying?”

 

While she patted his hand in appreciation, what she really needed were solutions. “Erm, so, I’ve had rabbit a few times, and...would you say it tastes like chicken? I would.”

 

“Yes, it can if it’s domestic rabbit,” Ratiri said cautiously. “Wild rabbit can be quite a lot different.”

 

_ Shit. Alright, this basically became a vegetarian dinner, because it’s going to take a microscope to even _ find _ the damn rabbit meat...and there goes my idea to sneak in chicken. Christ I hope Aislinn has those mushrooms… _

 

Just then, Calanon and Ailill returned. With a muffled and generally indescribably noise of happiness, Earlene all but snatched the potatoes and mushrooms away and soon poor Ratiri was peeling potatoes. Loooots of potatoes, while Earlene wielded a cleaver to frightening effect to section the rabbit into six pieces. Because damned if she was going to try to stuff Da Wabbit whole into the crock pot. The pieces were buried in water for simmering, while she began to tackle a mountain of vegetables to carmelize for the stock. Part of her had to smile. If it killed her, her son would have a delicious meal out of his rabbit.

 

*****

 

Finally, Ailill could rest for awhile, and went upstairs to resume his flopping on the bed, kicking off his boots. Not quite knowing what to do, Calanon removed his own footwear, and quietly picked up a National Geographic magazine from the stack that was in the room. It was an old issue, and the title said, ‘Gender’. Lying down next to Ailill, he began to read. The elf did not know that word, but was able to piece its meaning together from the context and the photographs. Very quickly, he found himself more than a little fascinated at what he read. That so many humans in the world did not feel at home in the bodies into which they were born or...he never would have understood. So absorbed was he in the article that he was a little surprised to hear Ailill’s voice break his concentration. “Calanon, I owe you an apology. I am sorry, for my behavior at the pub. Please forgive me.”

 

The ellon closed the magazine, and shifted a little to be able to look at the firion. “I do,” he responded quietly. And though it took great restraint, he did not press for more. Perhaps if he kept his silence, Ailill would offer to confide in him? To explain...why? This did not happen. 

 

“Thank you,” was all he heard, before Ailill turned away from him to lie on his side. Acting on instinct, Calanon carefully reached his hand to gently grasp the man’s shoulder. A moment later, a hand came to cover his own, and it remained there. Still Calanon waited, until he realized that Ailill had fallen asleep. With a crooked smile, he carefully withdrew his hand and resumed reading.  _ Patience _ , he reminded himself.  _ Patience. _

 

_ **** _

 

Lorna was Busy with a capital B.

 

Last time Earlene had carried twins, it had been an utter nightmare. Lorna had vowed to build a motorized easy chair, but had never actually made good on it, and she intended to now, god dammit. All the nice flat, smooth floors in Eldamar, and the doorways were all wide...she’d be able to scoot around in style, whenever she quit being able to walk comfortably (or at all). Yeah, yeah, she had plenty of elves to carry her around, but this would give her autonomy; she wouldn’t need to rely on anyone else if she could zoom around on a Lay-Z-Boy. The only drag was that she couldn’t actually put a jet engine in it, because fumes. (That did not mean she couldn’t build a second one for outdoor use, however.)

 

She was still in the planning stages, sketching out the requirements for the engine and the battery. It was going to have three gears, a stick shift, and a cup holder. Possibly a TV tray while she was at it. Naturally, the cats had to ‘help’, though at least they did keep the corners of the papers flat.

 

“Mo chroí, you’re having a bit too much fun with that,” Ratiri said. He, like a sensible person, was reading in bed, Bast perched on his chest.

 

“Oh, you’ve seen nothing at all,” she said, grinning. If she gave the thing the right suspension, Earlene would be able to take it outdoors, so long as she didn't try to take it really off-roading. A three-speed engine with a perfectly balanced clutch, gas and brake, emergency brake...it just needed to have like, tasteful upholstery, not something ugly and floral.

 

“You’re going to have to build her two, you know,” he said, knowing he really shouldn’t be giving her ideas. “She has to be able to get to the Halls and back, and those tires just won’t do it.”

 

“Oh, I know,” she cackled. “I’m so tempted to give it a jet engine. It would be’v no use to anyone or anything, but I’d love to say it has one.”

 

“Somehow, I doubt Earlene would mourn it if it didn't,” he said dryly, shutting his book. Her studies of electrical engineering plus her natural aptitude for mechanics was producing some disturbing results, if those blueprints were anything to go by.

 

“Yes, but  _ I  _ would,” Lorna said. “She probably wouldn’t want to brag if she had a jet engine, but if she did want to and couldn’t, that’d be...bad.”

 

Ratiri rolled his eyes. “It’s nice of you to take an interest, mo chroí. I only hope you aren’t offended if she doesn’t use them.”

 

“Why the hell wouldn’t she? I mean, yeah, she’s got Thranduil and Thanadir, but there’ll have to be some times she wants to just do her own shit. At the very least, she’ll have an option.”

 

_ Please, Earlene,  _ he thought,  _ use this thing at least once. Otherwise I will never hear the end of it. _

 

_ ***** _

August 29, 2019

 

Geezer came late to work, on purpose. He kind of knew that Thranduil, Earlene and all ate a fairly early breakfast at Eldamar, like, almost always before eight o’clock. For the last three days he had sanded away, hoping like hell Aurnia didn’t come back to the woodshop until he had some ideas. A plan.

 

He needed help. A lot of it. And while he was a stubborn old bastard, nobody could say he was a stupid one. Hand him a battle plan and he was golden, but women? Nope. They were complex creatures he could not claim to understand, and he wasn’t about to do a damn thing without advice. Earlene and Lorna were women who were a step removed from the village, and they were both in happy relationships with men who, while a bit weird (one was a king, for fuck’s sake) seemed to be doing all right in the romance department.

 

Flowers. Flowers were a good start. Beyond that...yikes. He hadn’t been to Eldamar in ages, but he knew where the Heart Room was -- the why behind the name usually make him grin, but today he was too flustered to summon a smile. “Er...can I get some help?” he asked, rapping on the doorframe.

 

Earlene blinked.  _ Geezer? _ He was so out of place, but not for long. “Get in here,” she grinned. “How much ethanol do you want coming off your tea?” Turning slightly, she hollered in a distinctly uncollected voice “Hey Lorna! Geezer’s here!”

 

“No  _ too  _ much,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “Gotta still be able to think. Er.”

 

Earlene cocked an eyebrow and served up his tea with what she would define as a ‘conservative dollop’ of whisky, and pressed the mug into his hand.

 

“Geezer? Been a while, mate,” Lorna said, scooting her way through the door in a clowder of cats.

 

“Yeah, Ian and I, we’ve been...busy.” He eyed the fattest of the cats with morbid fascination; the thing looked a little like a soccer ball with a face. “What the hell d’you feed that thing?”

 

“The Lump? I’m pretty sure she eats small children. What d’you need?”

 

Geezer took a grateful sip of the tea. “Found out something...er, surprising,” he said. “And I need some thoughts from women, because I dunno what the fuck to do.”

 

“Let me guess,” Earlene smiled, gesturing for him to sit with them in the Heart Room, and curling her legs underneath her. “Aurnia.”

 

Geezer choked on his next mouthful of tea, the liquor burning in his sinuses. “Just -- how the hell did you know?” he asked, wheezing a little. Helplessly, he sat, trying not to spill the rest of his tea.

 

“We have eyes,” Lorna said, hiding her smirk behind her own teacup. “Question is, how’d you figure it out?”

 

“Ian,” he admitted. “Pointed out...things. Thing is, I dunno shit about women, she’s already been through one totally shitty relationship, and I don’t want to shove my foot down my throat without even knowing until it’s too late.”

 

“So….I take it that means you sort’v like her...at least a bit?” Earlene hazarded, reluctant to put words into someone else’s mouth.

 

“I could, if I let myself,” he said, staring down into the depths of his mug. “I never had a girlfriend, though. She’s a good woman, and I don’t want to...fuck it up. I mean, I’m a cranky old man who drinks too much and swears a lot. All I know...well, hell. Not sure what she sees in me at all.”

 

Lorna looked at Earlene. Lorna herself had little in the way of a leg to stand on, given how inept she’d been in her own relationship at first. “Obviously she sees something, Geezer,” she said. “You’ve really never had any kind’v girlfriend?”

 

“...Er,” he said, looking into the fire. “Not...as such. I mean, there were women, but not, like...relationships.”

 

“Ah,” said Earlene, finally understanding what he...meant.  _ Well, people have...needs. Some of them, anyway. _ This notion threatened to trigger a fresh downward spiral, and was forcefully dismissed. Because the fact that it felt refreshing to meet someone with a sex drive was really not okay just now, and told her that she was getting kind of...shitty, about her personal circumstances.  _ Fucking shut UP, Earlene _ , argued her own mind.  _ Just, shut it. _ All that appeared outwardly was a slight frown, however, and...honestly, what he was asking wasn’t that hard to answer. “Well, I’ve always tried to go by simply treating the other person as I’d like to be treated. I know that sounds sickeningly Biblical on some level, but it’s really not a bad way to go. For example, if someone liked me, it’s nice when that person shows some kind of interest. To begin with, just asking her questions about herself can’t hurt. Things like, how’d she meet Sean’s da? How was it to raise Sean? Why does she like quilting? Does she have other hobbies or interests?”

 

Geezer, the precious man, actually pulled out a small notebook and wrote all of that down. It was all Lorna could do to keep a straight face. “See, things like Sean’s da, that’s like a minefield, innit?” he asked. “I mean, Ian hasn’t told me a whole lot, other than that the man was a complete piece of shit, and I don’t want to like...poke any old wounds, there. That’s my big fear -- what if I fuck up and she’s too nice to tell me? She  _ is  _ nice, and I don’t want to just...stomp on her feelings and not know any better.”

 

“You’re getting a bit ahead’v yourself there, mate, but it’s the right attitude,” Lorna said. “Start off with her hobbies -- those’re nice and safe, usually.”

 

“Aurnia strikes me as pretty tough, Geezer. And if it worries you that much, just tell her what you’re telling us...maybe leaving out the part about past encounters just at first. Everyone understands someone who doesn’t know what to do. Better to just be honest than go around with a bunch of bravado. If it were me, I’d find it rather charming that you were basically saying that you’re worried about making mistakes; it shows you care. But word to the wise? You can’t have a relationship without making a few. Mistakes, I mean. I’ve done some doozies. We all have. We’re human. It happens. And it happens for elves too. Trust me.” Earlene grinned, a little disturbingly.

 

“I’m not sure you realize how frightening that facial expression is,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll stuff my foot down my own throat sooner or later, but I’d rather avoid it as long as possible. You think letting on I don't know shit oughtta help?”

 

“Made me feel better, when Ratiri did,” Lorna said. “I thought he was so far out’v my league, but he admitted he was as clueless as I was and it took the pressure off. Mostly.” She’d still been daunted as hell, but it had been doable.

 

“Really?” That surprised him. Those two were both inept dweebs when it came to relationships, or so he’d been told. “Then...it probably can’t hurt. I'll try. Worst she can do is laugh, I guess.”

 

“She won’t laugh, Geezer,” Lorna said. “Okay, she might a little, but it won’t be at you. Here’s a thing: sometimes, if a woman laughs, it’s because she finds you sweet. Just run with it.”

 

Geezer was suitably disturbed by the idea that anyone could find him remotely sweet, but hey, he’d play along. “Flowers are good, for when I talk to her, right?”

 

“Yes, they are,” said Earlene. “But they also have a sort of nuance of, ‘I want to date you.’ Here’s my two cents. You stay at her flat sometimes, right? Next time she shows up at the Halls, invite her to go on a walk with you after work. You can eat at the Halls; you know the food will be good. At least that way you’ve only got the elf gossip vine rolling, not the village one. Elves shut up better than humans do. Take her for a walk in the forest, and just….talk. If you feel like it’s going great, offer her your arm. Not quite so forward as holding hands, but still very gentlemanly. I’d bet my next dividend check she will be over the moon just to understand you want to spend time with her. Am I wrong, Lorna?”

 

“You are not, in fact, wrong,” she said, grinning. “It never hurts to take your time. Just don’t get pushy unless you’re sure she wants you to.”

 

“How the hell will I know that?” he asked, mystified.

 

“You’ll know.”

 

It was not helping one bit, that Earlene was nodding in agreement. “We’re most always here. You’re most welcome to use our cultural translation service any time. We also pride ourselves on basic matchmaking and dinner invitations, don’t we, Lorna?”

 

“That we do,” Lorna said, grinning. “Geezer, for now, get her a drink and be honest. Worry about the rest later.”

 

“I’ll do that,” he said, draining his tea. “Thanks. I don’t feel quite so much like being sick now.”

 

“Another success story,” Earlene teased. “But seriously? We’ve got your back. It’s not easy, and we’ll help in what ways we can. I owe it to her, in some ways. The thing with Sean and...I’ve wished I could do more for her, but I really can’t. You, however, can make a huge difference. Don’t forget that.”

 

“I won’t,” he said, rising. “I’ll do the best I can. I just want to make sure she tells me when I fuck up and do something stupid.”

 

“We’ll do that,” Lorna assured him. “Women talk, when their men are stupid. We’ll know.”

 

That just disturbed him even more. “Well...I guess that’s good?” he hazarded.

 

“It will be,” she assured him.

 

“We’re really on the side of men in general,” Earlene pointed out. “Just not the gobshites.”

 

Lorna nodded sagely, and Geezer decided that he most definitely heard his sandpaper calling. Thanking them for the tea and the advice, he made his retreat.

 

Once he was gone, Lorna shook her head. “That’s adorable,” she said. “I mean, a train wreck waiting to happen, but adorable.”

 

Earlene nodded. “I know this seems weird, but I almost feel a little proprietary about poor Geezer and Pat. Like if they were...clients, or something. They needn’t worry.” She grinned. “They’ve got us.”

 

“Which maybe ought to scare them,” Lorna said, grinning. “At least Pat’s being as sensible as an eejit like him can be. Hopefully Geezer’s got a brain on him, too. At least he had the sense to realize he needed help.”

 

_ Ouch,  _ thought Earlene. But she said nothing, and only nodded.

 

*****

 

{November 16, 2019}

 

The door slammed shut, as Calanon deftly stepped out of his Wellingtons on the mat just inside the door of Ailill’s room. “All done,” he said quietly, as Ailill looked up from his reading. He sat propped up against pillows on the bed, as he often did.

 

“I still don’t know how you can do that so fast. I mean, I do, but I can hardly fathom the cow liking me enough to allow it to happen anywhere near as quickly as you seem to manage. Not to mention, how you don’t freeze out there.” Though the elf had shed a heavy cloak, such a garment would not be enough to keep Ailill from suffering the frigid winds only partially blocked out by the barn. The mere mention was enough to cause him to pull one of the woolen blankets draped over his body up a little higher, which did not go unobserved. Calanon came to the bed to sit next to him and place an arm over his shoulders. His body radiated warmth.

 

“You are cold?”

 

“Only a little. I will be fine,” Ailill said, not that it stopped him from leaning into the offered affection of his caretaker.

 

“Elven runes?” Calanon queried, only now seeing what was on the screen in front of him. “You can read them?”

 

“Only a little. Just like Sarati. I try, but they are harder for me. Honestly, just reading your language in any form took many years of study.”

 

“Sarati? What is that?”

 

Ailill flushed pink. It hardly felt right, to lecture an ancient being on the history of his own people, but the question had been asked. “There was an elf long ago, Rúmil.”

 

“The brother of Haldir?” Calanon said excitedly. “He is known to me. Was, known to me.”

 

“No. I know it is not often that elves share names, but this was an occasion it apparently occurred. Rúmil lived in Tirion, in Valinor. Maybe he still lives there. He was a master of languages, and was the first to invent a method of writing. This was called Sarati.” He opened a new web page, to show the letters. “It was this, that Fëanor crafted and perfected into what you know. Tengwar.”

 

Calanon blinked. “You are very learned,” he said quietly, not having known about any of this.

 

“Only at very few things, most of which no one deems very useful,” Ailill said, his eyes downcast. Very quickly, he found his jaw hooked by the elf’s fingers, and tilted upward.

He saw that anger flashed in the ellon’s eyes, and that somehow he was the cause of it. 

 

“I do not like it, Ailill, when you run yourself down. You have great worth, in my eyes. And in the eyes of the King as well. I will not pretend to understand how you came to dislike yourself so much, but it hurts me to see it.” The elf was further dismayed to find that in seconds, his charge’s eyes were filled with fear and that his body trembled.

 

“I am sorry,” came the broken reply. “I did not mean to offend.”

 

_ By all the Valar, what is wrong with him? _ Calanon tried to think, very hard, about the sum of what he knew about Ailill. And then he remembered something said in the very beginning.  _ ‘Some have tried to harm me…’ _ It was perhaps time to ask far more insistent questions, and not take No for an answer. “Ailill, what was done to you? Who hurt you?”

 

The body next to his stiffened with tension and tried to pull away, but quickly went passively limp against the ellon’s unbreakable hold. Ailill felt simply...sick. “Please, can’t I just apologize?” was heard in a small voice.

 

“No, and I will tell you why. You are allowing the actions of others to determine your ability to feel any worth, unless I am very badly mistaken. For months now, I have been at your side. You are only truly happy at the school, with your hawks. Or in our forest, with your hawks. And at those times, you are radiant and filled with a grace any elf would see and admire. Then later you become someone else, like a blossom that closes its petals at the setting of the sun. I have come to care for you a great deal, young one. I would help you, if you would let me. I want you to see yourself as I see you. Please, trust me. I want to understand why even now, you are afraid.”

 

The young man slowly nodded in capitulation, having no real will remaining by which to refuse. Daeron’s ancient runes were forgotten, as the wind howled outside. Ailill spoke, his voice soft in surrender to the ellon who held him. Calanon listened, while every emotion from sympathy to boiling anger passed through him on hearing what was told. This was how he came to understand that there will still orcs, but that they now had the form of men. It was not something he had fully been able to realize, before, on account of his own exposure to the outer world being so limited. And finally, the tale had neared its end. “I did not mean to push you away, Calanon. It is that I have never really told anyone, before. Aran Thranduil knows because he can see into my mind; nothing is hidden from him. Having to actually say all this aloud is very hard for me.”

 

“Why is it hard?” Calanon asked with great tenderness. He was turned so that Ailill was curled against his chest, head resting under the crook of his neck, while he rubbed soothing patterns against his back.

 

Ailill considered this. “Because I am afraid. Afraid you will not like me, once you know me well enough. I know it is not fair to you, but that has been the pattern of my life. My parents, random strangers that seem to sniff me out as an easy target...I have never been strong enough to manage anywhere but with falconry. Outside of that, most have only either pity or contempt, for someone like me. A lifetime of seeing that reflected back at me...you are right. When I think of myself in any other context but what I am with my birds, only two words come to mind:  _ Bloody useless _ . I mean, am I wrong? Isn’t it true, that you treat me so kindly because you feel sorry for me? And pathetic creature that I am, I cling to whatever affection someone throws my way because it is all I am ever likely to have?”

 

_ Valar _ . Anything Calanon had guessed at did not match what had just been said, and the prepared response he was formulating in his mind died on his lips. It nearly choked him with sorrow, to hear the honesty for which he had asked. Insistent feelings that he had been seeking to ignore for weeks on end were now surfacing, and could no longer be shoved aside.

 

“I should not have said that,” Ailill said regretfully, raising himself up. “My words were utterly unfair to you, when you have shown me such regard. I have been grateful, that you have chosen to go about your duty to our King with such an excess of care. Please forgive me.”

 

The elf shook his head, meeting his eyes. “I do not want to discuss whether or not you should have said it. I want to know if that is genuinely how you feel.”

 

Ailill hesitated, before nodding. “I refuse to lie to you, though right now it would be easier. Yes, it is how I feel. How else  _ can _ I feel? My years are few, compared to yours. But in all of them, not for one minute have I ever had a real reason to believe anything to the contrary. It is not your fault, Calanon. It is nobody’s fault. It just...is.” Ignored tears traced down his cheeks, as he looked dully at the elf so near to him, whose compassion he hardly felt he deserved. He was a failure who happened to be able to do one thing very well.  _ So what. So could...snails, or frogs. _

 

“I do not think you understand, Ailill. I do not show you affection as I do out of duty, though it was made known to me that you yearn for this.” He leaned in to kiss away another tear, and found that he did not wish to pull back.  _ Valar, what is happening to me? _ His mind began to panic; this was not the way of their people. And yet a nearly physical force seemed to compel him to express his feelings, as though he no longer had a choice. A blanket of peace settled over his heart, even as tears of his own began to form. He placed another soft kiss at the corner of the man’s lips, and then hovered. Each was close enough to taste the scent of the other; each paused in fear and hope and uncertainty.

 

Ailill blinked in disbelief at what was occurring. These were the sorts of thoughts he had quite literally hammered out of his own mind; his awe and reverence for the elves would not for all the world allow him to seek what was possibly being offered. And even now he felt terrified. Unsure. Paralyzed. To misunderstand would be unthinkable. Slowly, he raised his hand to touch the ellon’s face, and when the gesture was reciprocated his eyes closed against the force of his heart pounding in his chest. Calanon seemed to realize, he would need to be the one to initiate past any possible doubt, and with incremental slowness pressed his slightly parted lips against their soft and yielding counterparts. The kiss then ended, to be replaced by another that was firmer, more insistent. Ailill felt the flicker of a tongue against his lips, and did not resist the deepening kiss. A groan of want escaped his lips, as his hand pulled more insistently against the elf’s neck. He did not have it in him to refuse something so badly wished for when it was offered so boldly. When this one ended, Calanon held his face firmly, and kissed his forehead, before folding Ailill into his embrace. 

 

With a rasping sob, the young man broke down completely, not knowing what to do with the awareness that he might be something more than an object of pity. Years of suppressed grief poured out of him, uncontrolled, as Calanon held him like an elfling. Ailill clung to him, unable to speak. 

 

“I have you, Ailill. I will not let you go. I love you.” In between those murmured reassurances, tears of his own were shed, in prayer.  _ What, exactly, had he just done? _ He was a devout ellon, and felt filled with trepidation. Prayers were poured out, even as he knew in his heart he could not regret his actions. He would willingly repeat them. Minutes were needed before Ailill stopped crying, confused but no longer able to stop his own declarations of affection for this beautiful elf.

 

A blinding light filled the room, and Calanon instinctively shielded Ailill’s eyes with his hand. The effulgence resolved into three figures, their radiance dimmed to allow even the mortal man to see. The faces of both man and elf went ashen; instinctively they twisted their legs around to kneel and bow low.

 

“Look on us, little ones,” the masculine voice commanded.

 

There were not words. Two Ladies and one Lord, with two onlookers rendered speechless in both awe and yearning.

 

“Your love is with our blessing, for further purpose comes to the will of Eru,” said the sorrowful Lady clad in gray, “you will guide many to the end of much suffering.” A tear rolled down her cheek, as she leaned forward to kiss Ailill’s brow.

 

“Time will pass, before this purpose is complete. You will need to exercise restraint, to avoid the scorn of your people,” the Lady said whose hand rested on the arm of her Lord, and on whose shoulders songbirds alighted and hopped to and fro. She spoke to Calanon, reaching to touch his shoulder and kiss his forehead. “I have led you to this purpose, you who defends and cares for those without strength.”

 

“You have sworn yourself to the Firstborn, mortal man so pure of heart. It is granted, to follow your King wherever he leads,” spoke the Lord to to Ailill. As they looked on this one, he seemed wreathed in illusions that caused him to shift form, though his pale hair and penetrating gaze remain unaffected.

 

“Blessings, Children of Eru,” they said in concert, before the Ainur shimmered in departure and  they were left alone.

 

“I think I am going to faint,” Ailill whispered, clutching the sides of his head as vertigo consumed him.

 

“No, meleth. I have you. Hold onto me, for I will hold onto you. I no longer have to wonder what has happened to me.” His heart was filled with joy, but also concern for his firion. Calanon was no scholar, but even he knew that the Valar had hardly ever appeared to mortals. Most of an hour elapsed, before Ailill could speak. He was carefully laid down against pillows. “I am going to make you some tea. And then we will eat our supper,” the ellon said with finality.

 

“Am I going mad, or did I really just see Valar? I think the former, because of all the people on the planet, why would such a thing be granted to me?”

 

“If you were listening you would know the answer to the last part,” Calanon growled. “They did not leave you to guess.” The ellon stood up, close to the beginning of a towering snit, pointing a fork at him. “PURE OF HEART. Please tell me you are not deaf, young one. Or are you going to argue not only with me as to your worth, but the Powers of this World as well?” His hands were on his hips, a scowl on his face, and at the moment he was doing a terrifying imitation of everyone’s Irish gran.

 

Ailill quailed. “I am sorry, Calanon,” he said contritely. “Please be patient with me. It will take me time, to remember to stop thinking and talking like that.”

 

The elf’s demeanor instantly transformed into one of smug contentedness, as he went to fill the kettle with water. Ailill was deeply unsure how he would survive the evening. His head was spinning still, and he had so many questions...in a brief moment he felt himself held again; a blissful sense of warmth and love descended over him. “They were three of our Lords and Ladies,” the ellon said after placing him carefully back on the pillows. His hand smoothed Ailill’s hair back from his forehead. “Do you know their names?”

 

“I think one was Nienna. May the other Lord and Lady forgive me, I am uncertain.”

 

“Nienna, yes. Irmo and Estë, as well. The keepers of dreams and desires, and of the healing of hurts.”

 

“And what they said…?” Ailill asked timidly, reaching carefully for Calanon’s hand, eyes filled with yearning.

 

“Do you love me, nîth vain? Do I have a place in your heart?”

 

“Yes,” Ailill admitted, barely registering that the dreaded moniker had been applied to him by a second elf. “But...you have to understand, before ten minutes ago I could not allow myself to even consider that. I am mortal, you are an ellon. We are both male. I never would have dared to trespass onto that which was not lawful for elves, whatever I wanted for myself.”

 

“Pure of heart,” Calanon murmured, his eyes shining with joy. “Well, we are apparently meant for each other. Meant to be together, in some greater plan I will not pretend to understand. But we were also just told that there are consequences to how we go about it. I do not think I need tell you how elves marry?”

 

Ailill’s cheeks turned flaming pink.

 

A hearty laugh greeted the sight. “I will take that as, you understand this about us. Their words were fairly simple. ” he mused. “It has been affirmed to us that we may express our love for each other without transgression, but that we must...I believe, use discretion, to avoid the scorn and censure of others. We will be the first known relationship of this kind, among my people, Ailill. That is, once we wed.”

 

“Married?” Ailill spoke the word slowly. “This is happening very fast, for me. I am still trying to comprehend that you kissed me.” His insides lurched at the bliss of this memory. “Calanon, I do not know if you understand what it means to me, just that another living being might love me as a partner. And that I might have someone to love in return.”

 

The kettle chose that moment to begin shrieking. Rolling his eyes at the uncooperative appliance, the elf tended to their beverage and while it was steeping, heated food for their meal in the small microwave. The entire time, Ailill’s eyes followed his every move. He felt utterly drained and weak, as if he was coming down with something. Calanon brought one dish to the bedside, and stabbed the fork into a tender piece of meat, offering it up. “I do know, meleth. I have walked this world for many thousands of years alone. Long ago I cast off any hope of loving another. Of having a mate. My heart was drawn to yours from the first moment I saw you; I have been in struggle with my feelings for awhile now. I did not understand, until the Blessed Ones came. I will not rush you, or pressure you. I would very much like to properly court you first; that is usually how these things are done.”

 

Tears welled in Ailill’s eyes that were blinked back. More needed to be said. “Calanon...I am not an elf. As much as I wish to fully love you in return, you will lose me. I will age, and pass on. I do not want to be the one to bring you to loss and ruin.”

 

The plate was set down, and the ellon took both of the man’s hands. “I am willing to accept that. Ailill, maybe you are not considering the other half of what they told you. To follow Aran Thranduil wherever he leads means, you are being granted permission to enter the Blessed Realm when our time is at hand. The Valar are not cruel, meleth. They would not bless our union, only to sunder us in the blink of an eye. If I am commanded to go to Aman, what difference does it make if it is because I have faded from grief to the Halls of Námo, or if I walk there at your side? Either way, I am there. I choose to spend the time allowed for us in happiness, with you. If, that is, you will have me.”

 

“If there is a greater gift than the love you offer me, I do not know what it is,” Ailill answered honestly, kissing the elf’s hands. First one, then the other. For even though being granted to see the Ainur with his own eyes was beyond all measure, it still could not surpass the first flames of emotion that Calanon kindled in his heart.

 

They ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence, with Calanon helping his new love to eat, then prepare for bed. Ailill found strength to care for personal necessities on his own, thankfully. Tomorrow after breakfast they would return to the forest. “There is one last thing of which we should speak, Ailill,” Calanon murmured softly into his ear as they lay snuggled together. “We are both sworn to Aran Thranduil. We must tell him, what has happened.”

 

Ailill sighed. “He is going to know anyway, Cal. He can read my mind, remember?”

 

“Be that as it may, he is our King and deserves the courtesy of being approached in a formal manner. Honestly, it is appropriate to seek his blessing. His permission. Wait, did you call me ‘Cal’?”

 

“You called me ‘nîth vain’.”

 

“But you  _ are _ my nîth vain,” Calanon protested.

 

“And you are my calan and my callon (my light and my hero). Either way, it is ‘Cal’. I did not mean that I disagreed with you. I revere our King and will of course do this. Honestly maybe I should text him in the morning, that we wish to see him as soon as possible. It is the only way he will not have to suffer learning of this in bits and pieces.” He paused. “If you only wish me to call you by your proper name, I will.”

 

“No...I might like the other, in private…which brings us to another matter.”

 

“I will not betray our relationship to others,” Ailill said. “I would not do that to you.”

 

“In time we may want to betray it,” the elf sighed. “But I think now is too soon. And, our King may command us in this. Valar or no, this can affect his rule; it is his right to lay restrictions upon us.”

 

“I know. And I will abide by them. Were it not for him, I would not have you. But I hope...he will not keep us apart, will he? If he takes you away from guarding me, I think my heart might break. Though, if that is his demand, I will have to endure it somehow.” 

 

“I forbid you to think on this,” Calanon said sharply. “Aran Thranduil would not do such a thing without extreme necessity. I have never seen him act without reason.”

 

“Alright,” Ailill said meekly. “Please do not be angry with me.”

 

“I am not angry, and I apologize for my tone of voice. I did not mean to sound like that. I only want so badly for you not to suffer, meleth. This has been a hard day for you. Please forgive me?”

 

They turned to face each other, finely formed hands each caressing the other’s cheeks.

 

“Always.” Two perfect, sweet kisses were exchanged before Calanon gathered Ailill against his side.

 

“Sleep, meleth. May our Lords and Ladies bless you.” While they nestled against each other and drifted into slumber, Irmo smiled. Their days might be filled with difficulties, but their nights he would rule with blessings and rest. It would start now, as their dreams wove over and over through the exquisite joy of love’s first whispers.

 

*****

 

Ailill woke first, wearier than he felt he should be, and wanted a shower for more than one reason. He carefully slid from his love’s hold, to disappear into the privacy of the bathing room and run the water, trying to ignore his painfully hard arousal. A minute later, blissfully warm water ran over him, as he tried to sort jumbled thoughts while reaching to care for what obviously needed attention. He tried to...think. Tried to imagine Calanon, touching him in this way, and found that he barely could. To let the elf into his heart and mind would require an unprecedented outpouring of trust and love. He did not lust for the ellon, because he could not allow himself to. Not yet. His yearning was in his heart; to be worthy of the love and regard of such a one as this. A gift beyond all price. The wants of his body seemed base, irrelevant, by comparison.  _ ‘I would very much like to properly court you first…’   _ The mere thought of this caused him to burst unexpectedly into his hand, as pleasure surged through him. He tried to catch his breath, reaching shakily for the shampoo to wash his hair, and found he had to steady himself instead against the tile wall. And he remained thus, fearful of moving lest he fall.

 

The door quietly opened, and the curtain followed. “Ailill?” Calanon quickly divested himself of his night clothes, and entered, to hold Ailill and support him.

 

“I still feel weak,” he whispered. “I am sorry.”

 

“Do not be. I will help you. Keep your hands on the wall to hold on; I am right here.”

 

Ailill closed his eyes as he felt strong fingers lathering his hair, and afterward a washcloth scrubbing at his skin. Perhaps he really was ill; this level of feeling physically drained was not normal. It was true that this had been one of the most emotionally charged days of his life, but sleep should have helped more. Much more. He was dried and bundled back to the bed like a small child, where he shivered. “You are very warm, Ailill. Too warm.”

 

“I do not feel well,” Ailill admitted. “There is medicine, in the main house. Can you please go and ask them for some tablets for fever? If I am sick I do not wish to spread it to them. They will know what you want. And then we should go. It might be better that I do not collect my birds. I could stay in the Halls. I could…”

 

Fingers were placed over his lips. “You are mine to care for, nîth vain. I know what to do. What I need to know is, are you well enough to drive your car? If not, I will summon help.”

 

“I can,” he said softly, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt. What he needed was to dress, and he forced himself to muster the energy to do it. Undershorts, socks, jeans, cotton shirt...he was struggling, with the sweater, when Calanon came to the room with two of the tablets asked for, and filled a glass for water.

 

“They hope you feel better,” the elf said, stuffing what personal items he would take into his knapsack. “Jack did not wish me to milk the cows. In fact, he seemed most eager that I bring you away from here as swiftly as possible.”

 

“What a surprise.” Ailill ran his hand over his face. “I still need to shave,” he murmured, dreading the idea. Days like this, he would manage to cut himself. Just because.

 

“I will do it for you.”

 

“You have never used a razor in your life,” Ailill protested. “If you have hair anywhere but on your head, it is news to me.”

 

Calanon crossed his arms and arched his eyebrow expectantly.

 

“Do as you wish,” the man capitulated, realizing his situation was hopeless.

 

“I was hoping you would come to your senses,” the elf smiled, picking up Ailill by the chair he sat in and moving all of it into the small bathroom, somehow. First he carefully combed and tied back the lightly damp hair, before spreading shaving cream over the places with stubble in great fascination. Honestly, the ellon was obviously having far too much fun, if the merry expression in his eyes was any indication. With great care, he tilted his charge’s head this was and that, carefully shaving his way around face and throat. He had certainly watched enough times, to know what to do. “I may have no hair on my face, but you are not far behind,” he teased, finishing up. “There is not so much here.” Calanon had just seen that there was more, in certain other places. Not that it bothered him. His love’s form appeared quite beautiful, and would be cherished.

 

“Glad you approve,” he murmured feverishly, hoping the paracetamol would work soon. A shiver ran through his body. “We should go now, Cal. I have a feeling that in too many more hours I will be worse.”

 

Having watched, Calanon knew how to start the engine on the car, and cared for loading their few belongings. The empty baskets of food, laptop, some items of clothing to be washed and knapsacks were all that was required; his sick firion was not allowed to come to the car until the heater had warmed it thoroughly. Right about that time the tablets must have kicked in, because Ailill felt a little better. He handed his mobile to the ellon, and off they went. The next two hours were not fun. It was raining, sometimes heavily, requiring careful attention to driving. Calanon said little but watched his companion closely, knowing that he had little strength remaining. It was quite possible he had erred, in allowing him to drive, for which he was already reproaching himself. When they pulled into the driveway, he knew Ailill was exhausted. It was pouring rain. The ellon sent a text Thanadir and the King. It seemed important to keep the man warm and dry. In moments, he saw Thanadir moving toward them with an umbrella, and exited the car to help Ailill out. He carried the man, shielded as much as possible under a cloak and the umbrella, to Eldamar and immediately bore him upstairs to his bed, tossing aside the wet garment.

 

“Please, Hîr vuin, he is sick,” said Calanon to Thanadir. “Would our King help him?”

 

Taking one look at the feverish face and the half-frantic ellon, the seneschal called out to Thranduil, who was in the Halls. “He will come soon,” Thanadir assured. “Stay here, and care for him. I will bring tea.”

 

Boots were removed, jeans exchanged for sleeping pants. In minutes Ailill was warmly tucked in bed, but still shivering. “So cold,” the man muttered. “Please, Cal. So cold…”

 

Calanon shook his head; this was not how he wished for this to unfold. But it seemed there was little choice, for he could not refuse these pleas. Stripping off his boots and wet trousers, he at least donned loose fitting pants before lifting the covers to slide in next to his love and hold him tightly. The man groaned and shivered against him as he sought the comfort of the warmth. Thanadir returned, and to his credit did not react in any outward manner to the sight that greeted his eyes, though inwardly he wondered. “There is tea, Ailill,” he whispered. “I will help you sit up. You will feel better, if you drink it.”

 

Something not completely coherent was murmured. Thanadir reached to feel Ailill’s forehead and immediately felt gravely concerned. The young man was burning with fever, and the seneschal now understood why the ellon held him. His body trembled with chills. “We can wait, on the tea. Thranduil is coming.” Moments later, the King entered the room, needing little other information than the thoughts coming from his young subject’s mind. Thanadir moved aside quickly, and waited at the foot of the bed. 

 

When Thranduil sat, he reached for the man, who clung to…? Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, as he looked at Calanon. His gaze was met firmly, but with respect, and he helped urge Ailill to let go of him and turn toward the King.  _ Come to me, nîth vain. I will care for you. _ Only jumbled thoughts of physical distress reached him, as he held the man against him and drove the sickness from his body. It had only been beginning; in some more hours Ailill would have been desperately ill. Calanon left the bed, watching in extreme gratitude as Thranduil gave what he could not. He could have helped a little, but not like this; his knowledge of healing was very limited, as was his power. The realization came over him that his love was very delicate, even by mortal standards. He would need to take great care of him, in their life together. In moments the fever was gone, and Ailill slept easily. Thranduil set him back against the pillows. “He will sleep for a time; this would have been a serious illness.” He stood, only to see Calanon go down on one knee before him.

 

“My King, something has happened, and honor requires me to tell you of it.”

 

Thanadir moved to leave, but Thranduil held up his hand. “Stay, Thanadir. If this is what I discern it might be, you must hear as well.” He raised Calanon to his feet, and gestured to the chairs in the room. 

 

“Please, if you would see my thoughts and memories, Aran Thranduil? Otherwise I fear this will all be more than can be believed.”

 

Thranduil smiled. “You might be surprised at what I can believe, Calanon. But yes, I will do as you ask. And with your consent, I can allow Thanadir to see as well.”

 

“Of course.”

 

The words were recounted, the recollections disgorged. The seneschal’s emotions were betrayed only by the barest flicker of his eyes; he said nothing. Thranduil listened until all was related, and sighed. He was beginning to wonder if the Valar were punishing him, quite honestly. If they had ignored him in the long years of his refusal of their summons, they were certainly making up for lost time now...and in the most colorful and headache-inducing means possible, as near as he could tell. This was little more than a progression of the circumstances in which his own family found itself, not that he was about to reveal that to Calanon. Thranduil laid his hand on the ellon’s shoulder. “Thank you, for your courage and regard you have shown me. Ailill was correct; I would have known soon anyway, but this did not change your determination to uphold what was right in your eyes.”

 

The ellon’s eyes looked back at him with full trust, and honesty. “I am prepared to obey you, Aran Thranduil, whatever the difficulty for me. I would only plead, for the heart of this young one. He is so afraid…”

 

Thranduil held up his hand. “I know. It is not given to me, to deny what the Valar have approved, even were I inclined to. And for the record, I am  _ not _ inclined, though I would like that sentiment to also remain private between us for now. I agree, that your relationship will likely...cause a stir. Yet I see that you have not given yourselves to each other. That your love is in its earliest stages, and that it is your intention to keep it hidden, for now. I think this is wise. I may have more to say later on, but do not fear that I will separate you. I know this man’s heart, and I too cherish it. There is much I need to consider. Do not be surprised, if Earlene comes to speak with you, at some point. I do not doubt the trueness of your feelings for him, but there is much that you do not understand about the world of mortals. If you will listen to her, she will teach you what perhaps even Ailill cannot. For now, I have only one comment: The door to this room has a lock, and I expect you to use it.”

 

Calanon could not help but grin. “Yes, Aran Thranduil. I understand. Thank you, from the depths of my heart.”

 

Thranduil and Thanadir left the room, closing the door behind them, and heard the bolt click into place. They returned to their own room, doing the same. “Eru,” said Thanadir, deeply stunned.

 

“I am afraid change has come to the world of seemliness, old friend. Then again, we can hardly talk, can we?” A half-smile replete with irony twisted his lips, as he looked on the sleeping form of his wife, who had fallen asleep reading a book, her belly visibly swollen with both their sons.

 

Thanadir walked to sit next to his beloved meldis, as his hand caressed her abdomen. “No. I suppose I cannot. It is really no different than what has befallen me, in its own way. I will only need a little time, to adjust to the idea.”

 

*****

Calanon lay down next to his firion, occupying himself with one of the many books in this room. They told of the earliest times of the elven people, and he realized he had never thought to ask how it was that Ailill had learned of these matters of which even he did knot know much. He was a Silvan elf, who had always led the simple life of a hunter and warrior. He had been born in the time of Aran Thranduil’s reign, having never known another King. Hours later, Ailill stirred, instinctively reaching for the warm body next to him.

 

“Is that you, Calanon?” he murmured.

 

“Yes, nîth vain. I am here. And you are to rest, if you are still tired. Aran Thranduil said you were very ill.”

 

Ailill tried to sit up, and found that he now could actually move. His bones were no longer gelatinized. He rubbed at his eyes, that did not wish to focus. “What happened to me? I remember driving here, and little more. I did not feel well. Was I asleep for days?” he frowned. “How is it I am no longer sick?”

 

“Our King healed you, silly.”

 

“Healed me?” He stared at the elf, not comprehending. “You mean he can…?”

 

Calanon engulfed him in a hug, a merry rumble moving through his chest. “You did not know this, about Aran Thranduil? He possesses great powers of healing. He would never leave one of his own to suffer sickness or infirmity, meleth. You are not like an elf, who can heal from hurts far more readily.”

 

“Oh.” He blushed, feeling foolish, but then again how was he supposed to know? “Well, if I am feeling better, then I must thank him. And ask to speak with him.” The second sentence was laced with trepidation, and resignation.

 

“There is no need. I already did, Ailill.” The ellon felt the man tense. “No, young one. Turn away from your fears; I will remain at your side. Perhaps there will be wishes from our King later, when he has had time to reflect on what he has learned, but our love is accepted.”

 

Waves of relief washed over the slender man as he snaked his arms around Calanon, his heart overflowing with emotion. “Will you really be able to stand me? I am afraid of so many things. I try to hide how bad it really is, and now I am afraid you will tire of how much is wrong with me.”

 

It was the first honest admission that the ellon did not have to drag out of him, and Ailill was terrified of that, too. Calanon understood how much courage was needed for these words to be spoken, and did not rebuke him. “I am here to be strong where you are not, meleth. To protect you, to heal your spirit from those who have caused it harm. I give you my heart, and will cherish yours in return. I will not tire of anything about you, nîth vain. You are so much more than what you believe yourself to be.”

 

All Ailill could do was lie there, safe in these arms. “Thank you for loving me, Cal. For your patience, and all that you have done for me. I promise to give you my best. I have never loved anyone before. I hardly know what to do. But I love you. Very much.”

 

“You will manage,” Calanon teased. “Pretend I am one of your hawks.”

 

“You want to sit on my hand while I feed you scraps of raw meat?” Ailill grinned, a glint of humor coming into his eyes for the first time in a great while.

 

“Oh so you  _ can _ tease, and not always be serious. Where did that come from?”

 

Ailill tapped his finger against the ellon’s chest, as he looked up with eyes full of love. His insides quivered with a new emotions, as he gathered the courage to kiss Calanon on the cheek. Which was less than what he truly wanted, but as much as he could summon the wherewithal to do.

 

The elf had no such feelings of inhibition, and carefully brushed his lips against those of this frail, lovely firion who had claimed his heart. For a long while they kissed, hands carding through each other’s hair as exploring fingers felt each curve and nuance of the other’s face. Whispered endearments were sprinkled throughout, while Ailill began to relax and shed some of the layers of anxiety under which he had lived his life.

 

“What are you thinking, nîth vain?” the ellon finally asked, as the man broke away to rest his head where he could hear a strong heartbeat.

 

There was hesitation, but not for so long as in the past. “Many things. Mostly, I am filled with wonder that this could be happening to me. When I gave myself to Aran Thranduil, I more or less expected that I would be foregoing any chance of ever having a partner. It puts a damper on looking for anyone, to be sworn to the service of the Elvenking when that includes an admonition not to reveal that elves exist to the outer world. But as I did not believe I had much chance anyway, it really did not affect my decision. If you were human, I would still be very afraid. People fall in and out of love, from what I have seen. Giving your heart to another seems full of risk; it can be taken and shattered in so many ways. But you are an elf; you choose your spouses for life. Life and then some, if I have understood correctly. I believe you, when you tell me that your heart will remain true. Which all brings me back to, not understanding how I can be so blessed.”

 

While Calanon listened, he remembered the words of Thranduil; that there was much he did not know about the life of mortals in this world. Perhaps these talks that the queen might have with him would be more valuable than he could currently realize. But at the moment, some response was required.  “I see. But you are correct, about my love for you. It will not fade away. I am afraid you are stuck with me.”

 

“Please do not say that,” Ailill asked with great sincerity. “Do not ever imply that you are anything less than a miracle. Because to me, you are. ‘Stuck with you’?” He shook his head. “If this room were suddenly filled with gems and gold, they would be worthless in comparison to the treasure I have in you.”

 

To hear his love say such things from his heart gave the usually merry and slightly mischievous elf pause. It would be necessary to choose his words more carefully. Now was not the time for this kind of banter; he could see that his declaration of love had been as the first drops of rain on a parched desert. The void of longing and yearning in Ailill was far deeper than he had understood, if he had given any thought to this at all. Calanon was happy and light-hearted by nature, not prone to sorrows. He had desired a partner, but had also been whole in and of himself. Then again, his life had not really held so many sorrows; he was young enough to have bypassed much of the grief that had befallen their people. At the close of the Third Age he had been too young to take up arms, and had weathered the Battle Under the Trees within the safety of his King’s fortress. He had barely come of age, when his parents announced their wish to sail. Calanon was full of youthful spirits, swept away by the camaraderie of his peers and the work of restoring the newly renamed Eryn Lasgalen. So many were leaving, and he felt called to remain in the only home he had ever known. This, and his love for his unmatchable King, had led to his decision. Even as a faded spirit, he had not suffered regrets; he had his forest home and the company of his fellow elves. “I am sorry, nîth vain. I have much to learn. I will do better.”

 

“Cal, you’re not alone. I mean, what do I actually know about you? Not your age or your aur en onnad, or if you have a favorite color or whether you knew your parents.”

 

The elf blinked. “I do not know those things about you, either,” he admitted. “Maybe it is time we...talked. You may ask me anything, Ailill. Anything at all. I will keep nothing from you.” A sigh came out. “28 Firith, is my aur en onnad. I was born near the end of the Third Age of Arda, in the year 2985. I am much younger, than some of the other elves among our people. Color? I like many colors. Right now I especially like the color of your eyes; they are very beautiful. And yes, I knew my parents, though we have been parted for a very long time. I was only sixty years of age, when they sailed to Aman. Ainion and Indilwen, were their names.”

 

“You were thirty-four, or thereabouts, during the War of the Ring,” Ailill mused. “But I still do not know how old you are, because I do not know on a mortal calendar when those events took place.”

 

“I do not know myself, exactly,” he confessed. “There came a time I stopped counting. We all did. Maybe Aran Thranduil or Hîr Thanadir could help us? But I would guess it is perhaps ten thousand of your years. That is the number I have heard among those at the Halls, in the discussion of how long we were all isolated from the world of men.”

 

No sound came from Ailill, as he struggled to absorb this number. There was a long silence. “My birthday is March twenty-eighth. Orvedui. I am twenty-seven years old. You are too old for me, Calanon.” He burst into laughter, and uncontrolled mirth followed. “I have heard of age differences, but this is more than I am capable of...oh, what does it matter? My favorite color is that of Fion’s eyes. I do not know quite how to call that. Amber? golden? But lit from within. My mother’s name is Mary and my father is Ian.”

 

“Twenty-seven?” he smiled and shook his head. “There is much about our union that will be very strange. Perhaps it is the same for Aran Thranduil and Earlene. He said Earlene might wish to speak with me.”

 

“Earlene is wonderful. You can tell her anything, and she will keep it to herself. I do not completely understand what she did before moving here to Ireland, but it was very important. I looked at her name on the Internet; she was the very best at what she did.” He did not know how to explain the concept of a lawyer, to an elf. If he was to be honest, he barely understood them himself. “She is very strong, Cal. I wish I could be like her.”

 

“Mmmm but I do not. I wish for you to be exactly who you are.” The ellon began tickling him, which resulted in a pillow fight as Ailill attempted to retaliate. Calanon held back his strength to make it fair, until they both fell out of the bed and hit the floor with a resounding *thud*, laughing uproariously. The sound of the mirth carried through the thick earthen walls.

 

Down below, Thanadir raised his eyebrows and looked up from his book. “Well, I would guess he is feeling better.” Amusement played at the corners of his mouth.

 

Thranduil chuckled, unable to avoid hearing their private exchanges and frankly being very pleased with what he now knew. His nîth vain could not be in better hands, and the rest would somehow take care of itself. He kept hearing Lorna’s voice in his mind, saying something she often did:  _ You keep telling yourself that _ . This once, that is exactly what he would do, because he had to have faith that he was right. He had quite enough on his plate already and was hardly going to argue with the Valar; Eru only knew what else they had in store for him.

 

*****

  
  


Later that evening, after dinner, the ellyn apprised Earlene of what had transpired in the life of Ailill. Earlene had avoided paying much attention to Calanon, and now it seemed that that option was at an end. Thranduil, Thanadir and their children were most of her emotional world, and it was easier to see most other males through a lens of their roles in the Realm or their household. Calanon was Ailill’s guard; he was classified and accounted for in her mind. But if Calanon was now to be something much more...

She  _ very much _ paid attention to Ailill, watching over him at a certain distance much like one of his hawks. Earlene might not be a helicopter mother, but she could very much be a...spotting-scope type. Looking in, ensuring that all was well. She had noted that Ailill did not communicate with her so much during the time he was not in the forest as he had done in the beginning, but she had chalked it up to having an actual elf with whom he could speak and have questions answered. And since she had conceived, several other factors had come to be on her mind that had perhaps pushed Ailill aside, a little.  _ Gee what might those be, Earlene? _ He was safe, and appeared to be functioning and basically well...and now her delicate adult son by emotional adoption had a lover. Not just any lover, either. There was a certain enormity to it, to be quite honest. Her brows knitted together in a frown.

 

Her brain rose up to begin processing this new data set, causing Thranduil and Thanadir to both look at each other with mild alarm. “Meluieg…”

 

“What?”

 

“I am concerned that Calanon survive your...concern. He is a good ellon, Earlene. I know that you do not know him well, but he is as honorable and true as one could wish.”

 

“I do not doubt it. I am far more interested in whether or not he will have any awareness of far more practical matters.”

 

The ellyn darted nervous glances at each other which did not go unobserved; her eyes narrowed. “Thranduil, let us be completely blunt. When you first came to me, you knew how to seduce a woman. In triplicate, with confetti on top. But you did not know many other things about my needs as a human female; you had lived with an elleth. Now you  have just informed me that a presumably virgin ellon has fallen in love with my Ailill. A man cannot be...taken, in the same manner as a woman. There are particulars that must be known, and cared for, or else Ailill will be physically hurt when they try to finally join together. Just as you knew what  _ not _ to do with a virgin woman, they must have that same information. There are also things Calanon must understand, about how a human male body behaves in each decade of life. Now would you mind telling me which of you ellyn is going to elaborate on that, for their education? This is not a joke. I will bet half my portfolio that Ailill is as innocent and naive in these matters as it is possible to be. He will look to Calanon to guide him through. Are you going to seriously tell me that he has that knowledge? Maybe they will go on for months in chasteness, maybe in a moment of passion they will bond tomorrow.” Her hands went to her hips. “Well?”

 

Thanadir’s lips parted under this verbal barrage as he cast his eyes down; no one knew less about sex than he did, from the standpoint of personal experience. Thranduil merely appeared contemplative, and did not notice the other ellon’s discomfiture.

 

Earlene instantly regretted how forcefully she had spoken. “Meldir, forgive me. It was not my intention to cause you distress.” And it most apparently had caused him just that, because his face was crestfallen. “I should not have said this with you here.”

 

He shook his head, his chin trembling. “Why does everything have to be about sex?” he whispered. “At every turn, I am reminded that I do not fit in, do not belong.”

 

Maybe it was pregnancy hormones, maybe it was indeed the frustration Earlene carried daily on account of the beautiful, off-limits elf to whom she was also joined. The answer that came out of her was not one she would have spoken so readily, under normal circumstances. “You  _ do _ fit in, and you  _ do _ belong,” she said with a much harsher tone than she meant to use. “It does not change the fact that for a majority of elves and humans who have ever walked on this world, sexual desire is a driving force of biology. Ask Eru, why he made so many this way. I have given my all, to have you know you are loved and cherished with no expectation of anything different. This conversation was not meant to be about  _ you _ , but rather about the young one for whom I also feel love and owe a duty of care. What do I have to do, Thanadir, for you to be happy? Change my own nature? Change the world? Do you think this is--”

 

“Earlene!” Thranduil said sharply, knowing what was so very close to being verbalized and praying that Thanadir somehow did not. “I think you should take a walk, before you say something you will regret more.”

 

“Take a walk...” she echoed, her face hardening into depths of anger. “Of course, my King.” With as much grace as she could still manage, she walked out of the door, and into the twilight that threatened rain. There was only the briefest pause, to flick her cloak off of its pin near the door and over her shoulders. Her hands made a deft grab at her car keys. Right now, being anywhere but this forest seemed like the best idea  _ ever _ . And in seconds, Earlene was doing just that. The car went no further than around the bend in the road, to the property opposite the forest.  _ The place where they would begin their large farming endeavor, if their pigheaded Planning Council could ever get its thumbs out of its collective arse. _ There was a generous gravel drive, and she simply backed off of the road and into it, and shut down the engine. Just to think for awhile, and have her thoughts to herself. 

 

_ How in fuck did that all just happen?  _ Feelings of confusion and remorse mixed in with anger and frustration, and she began to cry. These last months since she had accidentally bonded with the seneschal had been very hard, harder than she let on. If Thanadir was asexual, she certainly was not; the burden she carried sometimes felt crushing. Her love and desire for him had amplified, to be met only ever with kisses and hugs. Kisses that she always let him direct, lest she accidentally become too aroused and lose all self-control. Thranduil knew how badly she wanted more; fortunately he had indeed been willing to satisfy her yearnings. (There were times she suspected that he was the completely happy beneficiary of this arrangement; some days her lust ran so deep that an ordinary man would have had heart failure by now--and yet he never once complained). Sometimes her body simply screamed for what it could not have, but a promise was a promise. She rested her hands on her swollen abdomen.  _ So Thanadir will have his son, and I will have a lifetime of being unrequited. I mean, maybe if he could just boff me one time and pretend like he enjoyed it….but what difference would it make? Whether once or whether a thousand times, I will not want him less for having had him. And you want to beg the Valar for an eternity of this, huh Earlene?  _

 

Most times she...managed. But only because the well of her self-control and personal honor was a very deep one. To suffer all this, and still hear him complain that ‘everything is about sex’ was more than she could take just now. Maybe shielding him from reality wasn’t working, but what choice did she have? To force him to realize what she dealt with daily for the benefit of his sensibilities, that was supposed to accomplish something? Why was it right for her to always deny herself, without him having to understand or appreciate that denial?  _ Because he did not ask for this, and you know it. You promised yourself you would do this, for the sake of his happiness. So that he would not spend his days feeling pressured to do something no one should ever be forced to do, without truly wanting to. You are the one that pulled him inside of you, not the other way around. Your sex drive did this. If you didn’t have one, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, Earlene. He is not asexual because he wants to be. He is this way because he IS. And forcing him to share your misery out of spite will leave you worse off in the end.  _

 

Leaning forward, it was still just barely possible to rest her forehead against the steering wheel as sad resignation once again reassembled itself inside of her. “Maybe the truth is, though I love him I still cannot understand him. Perhaps I never will. I cannot understand having no desire any more than he can understand having it. Valar, you told me all will be well. I do not see how, but I do not see many things. I have to do better at a time when it is hard for me. Please help me. I do love Thanadir and I did not mean to hurt him. Please show me how to find the strength to place his needs above my wants, and to carry on.” She would drive back, in a little while. But right now it was so much easier to just sit here, and watch the drops of rain splash onto the windscreen.

 

*****

 

Thranduil sat with Thanadir, his arm around the shoulder of the stunned ellon for the last many minutes of silence. “Where did she go?” the seneschal asked, in spite of himself. It was nearing dark, and it was quite cold out. He could only hear her when she was within about ten or so feet of him; it was not like Thranduil, who could discern her thought anywhere in his forest Realm. 

 

“I cannot tell you,” the King answered. “She drove away in the car.”

 

A groan of worry escaped the older ellon. “I should not have said what I did. I am sorry, Thranduil. It was selfish of me.”

 

“Earlene will probably feel the same when she has had some time to calm down, meldir. She has coped with a great deal, these last months. Just now the strain was a little too much, and she lost control.”

 

“I am part of it,” Thanadir said miserably. “I know I am. She thinks I do not know, what she is doing for me. I think in some ways I feel ashamed every day, because I know it should not be like this. I wish so much that it was different. I wish I could want her as you do. For her sake.”

 

Thranduil frowned deeply, but said nothing. He was on very thin ice; what was between Thanadir and Earlene was just that, and he had gone to great lengths to leave it thus. They sat together for a very long time, until Thranduil stood up at last to leave the room. He paused to say just one thing: “She came back, and went to the cottage. I believe she intends to stay there for quite awhile yet.”

 

Thanadir rose too, and nodded his head. Without speaking, he put on his cloak against the rain, and walked outside alone. When he approached the glass doors, he reflected on how much had changed. He remembered the first time he came here, how Earlene had welcomed him. Always, from the first moment he met her, she had shown regard for his comfort and well-being. A huge sigh escaped him. Matters between them could not go on, like this. While a part of him greatly feared that this would not go well, he equally knew that he had to try. Not only for her, but for himself as well.

 

With a prayer to the Valar, he let himself in silently, realizing quickly that she was in the bedroom. Rather than startle her, he decided to load more wood into the stove, which she had lit not so many minutes ago. The house was cold from not always being occupied, and would take some time to heat up. Noise was made, on purpose, knowing she would come to see who it was.

 

Earlene looked on the kneeling figure poking wood into the stove and sighed.  _ Let the apologies begin. _ After moving to stand near him, she recited the prepared speech: “Thanadir, I am sorry for my words. They ran away from me. Please forgive me, meldir. I love you, very much.” All her calm and self-control was back in good order. He stood tall after fiddling with the damper and the door, and turned to her with an expression she was at a loss to interpret.

 

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said, pulling her toward him. “I too am sorry for my words. I love you.” Leaning down, he met her lips insistently, and she did what she always did; yielded helplessly to these small tastes of what he could not give. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed again for some kind of...guidance. He had watched Thranduil love her dozens of times; felt this experience through his connection to her mind just as often. It had given him an idea, as he sat earlier and thought in silence. He could try to be open to possibility, and see what happened. It had to be better than the alternative. “Meldis, this is very hard for me. On more than one level, I am afraid. But...I would like to try something. I would like us to go to bed, and simply touch each other. Anywhere. Everywhere. I cannot promise that I will be able to make love to you, but I...want this. I want to try.”

 

Her eyes locked onto his, and saw the damned Sad Eyes. Another speech long prepared evaporated into the ether. Instead, she only nodded. Earlene reached up on her toes to kiss his cheek tenderly, and walked to lock the French doors. Thanadir understood, and did the same to the one in front. In the bedroom they quietly disrobed, and Earlene wasted no time climbing under the covers; the room was chilly. When Thanadir followed, they instinctively sought each other’s warmth. Earlene bit her lip against the moan of enjoyment that wanted to escape. Her skin against his skin, as never before.

 

“No. Please, do not hide your responses from me. I know why you do this, but I need to feel what you feel. It is very important to me.”

 

“I will try. I am afraid, Thanadir, of going too far. Of going beyond what you would want me to.”

 

“I know. And I love you for it.” He pulled his wife in close and kissed her, immersing himself deeply in her mind. Felt his kiss from within her thoughts, and the love directed toward him. Felt how the touch of his body against hers inflamed her appreciation. And for the first time, he realized there was far more than only lust at work. Yes, Earlene desired to climax from his attentions. But more than this, she wished to feel their bond. So did he, for this was the cause of their deepened feelings for each other. His explorations roved her body, and he felt how much she enjoyed his hands and everything they did. He too, liked this sensation. Always, he had liked being touched. Held.  _ Was sexual contact so very different? _ Earlene traced her fingers everywhere; whisper softly here, firmly kneading there. Chest, arms, calves, thighs, finally caressing his male parts; and he now understood he did not have to be afraid. Her touches were careful, reverent; and he saw in her mind that she appreciated his form and sincerely believed him to be very beautiful. Desirable. Which still seemed a very strange thought, but he could accept that these were her perceptions. 

 

Fingers caressed down her belly, between her legs, and felt that which he had only ever looked on at a greater or lesser distance. The riot of sensations when he touched her most sensitive spot was hardly to be believed, and intrigued him greatly. She wanted this very badly, and felt what she felt as his fingers stroked languidly through the slick smoothness and soft folds.  _ Oh please, please…  _ Thanadir felt surprised. To do this cost him nothing, only a touch, and her spirit begged for it. He now felt very badly, for what he had withheld. It had not occurred to him, though he should have known better; he did not have to join his body with hers, to give her relief from her desires. He lost himself in her thoughts, and focused only on each touch of his fingers. 

 

Earlene wished for his kisses, and in just moments he found an easy rhythm of doing this while stroking the place that burned for his touch. More noises that she could not control escaped; whimpers and groans. All soft, all of them for him. He had barely been aware, of her continued attentions to his intimate areas. When it happened exactly he was not certain, but he slowly began to register that her hand on his member felt nice, just as her kisses did. Just as it did when she massaged his back, or his feet. To his own vague astonishment, he noted that he had an erection. The uncontrolled pleading from her mind perhaps took over; he did not really consider much of anything when he moved himself between her legs and allowed her to guide him. He only needed to follow her mind, to move forward, until he felt himself enveloped in warmth. And love.

 

Thanadir could feel her swelling belly beneath him; in a few more months this position would not be possible. For now, it was no matter. He held himself up on his elbows, cradling her, as eyes filled with adoration and gratitude looked back at him. This did not feel bad or repugnant as he feared it might, and she was enjoying him so very much. Maybe that was what he could not have comprehended. He had always believed the exchange was about nothing but carnal pleasure, but truly Earlene wanted  _ him, _ on a spiritual plane as well as the physical. It felt nice, when he pushed into her, and to her it felt better than nice. So much energy inside of her was cresting, cresting...her hands at his hips pulled him in insistently, faster and faster.. _.it did feel rather pleasant _ ...with a gasp of surprise he felt her climax unleash all around him as her hands continued to direct his movements. Except now, he felt something in his own body too. The nice sensation escalated somewhat, and suddenly his lower body went rigid as he whispered her name. With a reasonably enjoyable spasm that erupted from nowhere, he experienced his first climax. Perhaps more wondrous yet, only now did Earlene cry out his name. Quite literally, too, for she was dissolving into tears as the insistent flood of their bond claimed her. Crying with happiness, crying in ecstasy. 

 

Incoherent thanks tumbled from her lips as her arms pulled him tightly against her. All he could register was the pleasure of the moments of his emission, and how deeply Earlene loved and cherished him. The complexity of what he had experienced washed over him; even with the connection to her psyche it was difficult to perceive the reason for her tears. He would ask later, in plain language, but his best guess was that this was relief, and gratitude. A catharsis. A thing yearned for had been given, a precious gift that had not been expected. 

 

“Earlene, I am so sorry. So sorry, for what I have made you endure. There is much that I only now begin to understand.” He paused. “I do not think I can ever be as Thranduil is, but I now see that I do not have to fear this.”

 

She shook her head. “I never wanted you to feel obligated. I still do not. But I cannot lie to you; I have yearned for this, yearned to feel your bond to me at a time when we were both fully present and not in the shadows of sleep. I will always love you as you are, even if you never come to me again. I know you did this for me, and not for yourself. And as much as I feel like I am sending you the worst sort of mixed messages, I am so grateful for what you have given.”

 

He shook his head and pulled her closer. “No, that is not completely true. It was not only for you. I have held assumptions and fears about sex for most of my life, and for the first time today I felt moved to lessen my ignorance. What you said to me, earlier...you were not wrong, Earlene. The extent to which you hid your circumstances...you were noble, unselfish in the extreme to do that for me when I now see fully what the cost was to you. And you are still determined to carry on like this, for my benefit. I cannot say what will happen; I am still...me. But I now know that I can satisfy your desire in more ways than one, and that it costs me little to do so. You have been doing all of the trying, for all of these months since we first joined. It is only fair that I accept some responsibility as well. I do not experience what you do, so much intense pleasure. For me it is more like...nice. Maybe a little better than nice, right at the end, but it is not...chocolate. Certainly it was not awful, and that I can feel what you feel gives me something as well. I enjoyed your touch on my skin, and such closeness to you. I will work harder, to care for you as you have cared for me.”

 

Now it was her turn to shake her head. “You have always cared for me, Thanadir. Through bearing children and teaching me and watching over me. I know that it would be easier on both of us, had our relationship not ever taken this next step, but here we are. Maybe...I think on what has befallen Calanon and Ailill, and maybe the Valar have some greater purpose in mind. I certainly do not know. What I do know is that I need the lavatory, and that it now feels rather warm in this room to me. And that chocolate does sound good, but it is all at Eldamar. I could make us pudding?”

 

Thanadir laughed, rising with her. “I will help you. It is the least I can do, since I caused this disturbance in the first place.”

 

Her eyebrows raised. “You can disturb me in this manner most any time you like,” she grinned mischievously, reaching for her undergarments.

 

“Why are your breasts wet?” he asked, curious now that he noticed the damp sheen. 

 

“Milk,” she shrugged brushing some of it away. “It flows, when I have sex. Usually Thranduil...enjoys it.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” she laughed. “He nurses more than the children. I think it comforts him, and I feel honored to provide it. I love that he wants to, especially when right now the little ones have no need.”

 

Open curiosity played across his face. “Can I…?”

 

“Of course you can.” She held up one of her breasts. “I think it tastes a little like vanilla, honestly. Sugary. Did you never try your own?”

 

“It did not occur to me,” he confessed, before bringing his lips to her nipple rather tentatively. She felt his tongue flick out, gingerly tasting a little, before sucking very gently. “Oh! It  _ is _ sweet. Ai! I am afraid I like this.” He returned for more, which caused her to chuckle and stroke his hair. He could do this all day too, not that she was about to mention that aloud just now. 

 

“Well, the breasts just keep making it. And soon enough I will have babies again,” she smiled. Thanadir watched in fascination as her thoughts of suckling babes caused more to run out of her rather quickly. “Oh, bother. We had best talk about something else, or  _ that _ will keep happening. Besides, now I am hungry for dessert.” Though, the full truth had more to do with not wishing to be seduced a second time. This had gone so well; she had no wish to damage the memory of their encounter in any way. They kissed once more. A shy, happy kiss.

 

Dressing and arranging were completed. Before they left, a protracted hug of friendship occurred. This felt the same and yet so different than what she had with Thranduil. Her  connection to Thanadir felt...unshakable. What knit them together was both their similarities and their differences, and their tremendous respect for both of those elements within themselves and each other. The fire was dampened down in the stove, before they dashed through the rain back to Eldamar

 

Thranduil lay on the bed, reading a large book balanced on his legs, pausing to look up at both of them with a sincerely happy smile. “Come here, you both.” The book was laid down, and his arms were held out in invitation for them to join him on the bed. Earlene raised her eyebrows in amusement and curiosity, at the unusual and strategic placement of the tented book over his lap. They were both gathered into his embrace, but he turned toward Thanadir. “That took a great deal of courage, my faithful one. I am sincerely happy for both of you. I hope that it can be a beginning.” They held each other for a time, in contented silence, before Thranduil cleared his throat. “Thanadir, as I could not help having to participate vicariously, I wonder if you would mind measuring the ingredients for Earlene and allowing a few minutes before we join you? Then  _ all  _ of us will be far happier, and I will help stir the pudding. Unless, of course you wish to join us.”

 

They all burst into laughter, after which Thanadir bowed with a flourish and disappeared, making his way through to the kitchen before reaching for the heavy crock of milk.  _ Eru, what even was his life? _ ….a smile crept over his lips, nevertheless. He already knew the answer.

 

*****

 

Later, after the pudding, they found themselves back in bed, all reading one thing or another. And Earlene found herself thinking. While something wonderful had been accomplished tonight, the subject that had set those events in motion remained unaddressed.  _ Because approaching an ellon you barely know and asking him if he knows how to have gay sex is everyone’s idea of a good time. Just, no. _ That had as much appeal as a root canal without anesthetic. But there was another way, and that was to talk with Ailill, with whom she did have a relationship. Then again...she knew some things about this subject, but did she know enough to actually be helpful?  _ You’re a goddamn lawyer, Earlene. Put on your Big Girl Pants and research it; it’s the Internet _ . She sighed, and brought up an incognito tab. While it was doubtful to her that Orla or anyone else tracked search histories on their IP address….this was one she would rather have be less obvious. 

 

_ What do I even look for? Hm. Let’s try, ‘M/M relationship, how do I prepare my partner for intimacy?’  _ Her eyes widened at the search results: _ ‘My wife gets frustrated when she can’t do things, like organize our daughter’s desk.’  _ _ Jesus. Clearly, that’s not the right search term. Maybe if I spell it out. ‘Male-male relationship, how do I prepare my partner for intimacy?’  _ _ Christ in a bloody sidecar, ‘You and your partner at breastcancer.org?’ NOPE.  _ She reached up absentmindedly and held her chin in her hands, considering.  _ Maybe your words are too...elevated, Earlene. Try just using the words: ‘Gay relationship.’ _ This time she blinked and rolled her eyes: _ ‘Gay relationship mistakes all couples should avoid?’ Wow. This entire subject now gets an award for, the most searches I have ever done while being nowhere near an answer. _

 

More thought happened, and not noticed at all were the furtive glances being directed toward her laptop screen by the ellyn on either side of her. Thranduil was becoming openly curious, and Thanadir was doing his best to shove down his discomfort while trying to reason with himself that there was nothing about which he needed to be squeamish. This was not for him; this was simply a fact of life in the outer world. The elf actually envied Earlene’s ability to treat this with so much dispassionate interest; to her it was no more intimidating of a subject than puzzling her way though trends in the NASDAQ Index. Part of him wished to leave for awhile, find an excuse to do something elsewhere in the house too far away to hear her thoughts, but he forced himself to stay. A huge stride had been taken tonight, in….acceptance, and shedding fears, and his instinct was that he should remain and listen with an open mind.

 

_ Okay Earlene. Maybe what you need here is to go for the gutter, because I have a feeling that that’s where the fish are swimming.  _ This time she tried, _ ‘Virgin gay sex, what do I do?’  _ _ Ohhh. Yes indeedy. ‘Anal virginity?’ Oh, so that’s what they call it. Well, I suppose it has to be called something, doesn’t it? _

 

_ ‘Gay sex: Is this your first time?’  _ the Google offered.

 

_ The eagle has landed, people, no falconry puns intended.  _ Several articles and Quora and Reddit posts later, an education had been obtained. There were tasteful books, to be had. And certain...toys, apparently would be helpful. Now, she had a plan, and felt much better. Though, there was curiosity, too. She had never tried this, with Thranduil, though of course it was within the realm of possibilities.

 

_ You would want to do this?  _ Earlene heard from him _.  _ A twitch was all that betrayed how badly she’d been startled out of her own little world.

 

_ Oh...dear, I have been treating you two to more than you ever wished to know. I was preoccupied.  _ Even though Thranduil had asked the question, she turned first to Thanadir. _ Meldir are you...alright? _

 

He put down the book that he had been staring at the same page of for quite some time now, nodding slowly. “I need to understand more about others. I will not lie, this is uncomfortable for me to hear. That I made love with you is already quite a lot to process. And yet...it is only how two males do the same thing, apparently.” He paused. “I would not have thought that so many others felt fear about their first time as well. I thought it was only me. Thranduil, were you afraid, when you wed Alassëa?”

 

Earlene heard a sigh behind her. “No, Thanadir. Not for myself. I was...concerned, would be the right word, about not hurting her. Because of my anatomy, I stood to only gain pleasure from the act. But for females, the first time can require a great deal of patience; it was necessary to allow her body to adjust to the size of me...it was the same for Earlene, I think? Would you say you were afraid meluieg, your first time?”

 

“Ahm….’afraid’ is not the right word. I was nervous, because I knew it could hurt. But I had so much desire for you. You were very careful, and there was only small discomfort that did not last for long. Thanadir, for most people, the fear is of experiencing physical pain. But I am guessing that for you the fears were emotional ones? Did anything cause your body discomfort, today?”

 

The elf laughed. “No, it did not hurt. It felt...nice. Not as nice as it felt for you, but nice enough. It helped me a great deal, Earlene, to be able to experience my own actions through your perceptions. I was afraid because I was not sure what the point of it would be, for me. But now I have an answer to that. The point of it is, to feel closer to you, and what other pleasure comes with it is secondary.”

 

She kissed him on the cheek. “I am glad, then. And to answer your original question, Thranduil, I am not repulsed by the idea of doing that. I am curious, but for a long time now I have assumed you would not wish to. And if I am to be fully honest, I did not want you to think badly of me for considering something that I feared you would find unacceptable.”

 

Now it was his turn to laugh. “In the very beginning, had this subject come up, I think I would very much have said No. But meeting Orla, and to an extent Ailill...I killed, in order to protect that Ailill has this preference and to keep him safe. Many males apparently have the same inclination. Now an ellon, has this inclination. As time has gone on and I have seen more, I am finding that what once seemed shocking now seems very ordinary. Which leads me to conclude, it was never shocking in the first place. It was only a matter of what I was used to, or what I believed to be lawful. And the times you have pleasured me…there...Eru, what pleasure.” His penis twitched, merely at the memory. 

 

Thanadir’s eyebrows raised. “Do I want to know?”

 

“There is a small gland inside the male body, not very far inside of your opening. Stroking it is capable of giving intense enjoyment.” Thranduil earned an elbow to his ribs, for the sound of agreement that he chose to set free just then. She glared at her incorrigible husband before continuing. “Though you may not have seen this yet with us, there are times that I ask Thranduil to lie still, so I can bring him to a climax while he focuses on only his own experience. Sometimes it is the other way around. It is another way we show our love to the other, and if you ever wished it I would gladly give you the same. It is not so different than a massage; just one that goes...further.” Earlene ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek, with a kind smile.

 

Thranduil groaned. “Are you trying to do me in, meluieg?” she turned back to him, to see that the light covers on the bed were visibly poked upward.

 

“Not yet, but I can if you want me to,” she smiled, shutting down her computer and rising to acquire a thing or two.

 

“What does that feel like, to you?” Thanadir asked Thranduil shyly. Whatever else was going on for him, he knew that he could ask questions here without fear of rebuke or mockery.

 

“I would have to show you; I cannot explain. You wish this?”

 

The seneschal nodded, reaching out his hand. His eyes widened when Thranduil grasped him, and he felt the strength of the physical longing for release. “Eru,” he whispered. “It is like this every time?”

 

“Mostly,” the King smiled sheepishly. “Maybe now you can more readily forgive some of what I have put you through in our long years together, my friend.” 

 

Thanadir nodded, frowning to feel that something was happening to his nether regions, as well, and quickly released Thranduil’s hand. He flushed pink, a little.  _ This is entirely too much _ , he thought, as he observed the tenting of his sleeping pants.

 

“I am sorry.” Thranduil could not really help but notice. “I have done that to Earlene, more than once. Except, it was usually on purpose. This was not.” Chagrin covered his face as though he was an errant schoolboy. 

 

“You can...share this? Share your desire?” Thanadir tried to comprehend, even as he could not ignore the obvious evidence that answered his question.

 

“Oh, can he ever,” Earlene chuckled. “Not that he has needed to, very much. In my own way I think I am not much better, sometimes. Though,” she frowned, “I flatter myself to think that I am not as bad as Siobhan. At least, I hope I am not.” In her hands was a small towel, and the bottle of lubricant. Only now did she notice Thanadir’s...situation, and hesitated before speaking. “I fear pressuring you, or rushing you, meldir. If you wish to participate with us, you are fully welcome. You of course do not have to do anything, either.” She kissed him chastely on the lips, and brushed a strand of hair back from his face. “I want what makes you happy.”

 

The seneschal bit his lip, while Thranduil eagerly wiggled the towel underneath his shapely posterior. _ So I want to get the show on the road, sue me. _

 

_ Isn’t suing people my job?  _ Earlene teased.

 

“But...there are two of us and one of you?” Thanadir at the moment felt interested, but hesitant.  _ I have to deal with this somehow. _ He looked down in general disbelief at his erection.

 

Earlene poured generous amounts of the lubricant into her hand, warming it and spreading where she wished it to be. Thranduil moaned with want as her hands tended to his aching member, down to the softness below, and further yet...he raised his knees, very much wanting to be touched where her fingers were already tracing silken circles.

 

“Follow my thoughts. There is a way. Several ways, actually,” she smiled.  _ But all of them require you not having clothes on.  _ Earlene reached down, taking Thranduil into her mouth, appreciating his immediate expressions of enjoyment. It had been a long time, by their standards, since they had done this. Thanadir’s presence in their bed had, to an extent, caused them to choose tamer colors from their palette of lovemaking out of some attempt to have regard for not causing his head to explode. Hopefully, he was ready to discover that there was more. Knowing that Thranduil had received quite a dollop of mental eroticism today, she did not tease him, but set about satisfying his yearnings.

 

Thanadir watched, fascinated, as her delicate fingers caressed a place he had never even considered to be sexual, before today. Earlene deliberately moved her own body out of the way to aid her meldir’s view. What she did not see, was Thranduil offering his hand once again to his gwador. His sleeping pants were already gone, and he had gathered that he was to apply this slippery liquid to himself. When he took the King’s hand, want that was not his own flooded his mind, causing him to reflexively gasp and touch himself. This felt...very nice. And even though he knew that it was not really  _ him _ , this was not an experience about which to complain. His thoughts were a tapestry of his own sensations, what Earlene was doing to Thranduil, and what Thranduil was experiencing from Earlene...and it was electrifying. His arousal hardened, and ached, and he was feeling for the first time what  _ they _ felt.

 

Her finger deftly worked its way inside of the King, and as it sought and stroked the hidden gland Thanadir released another gasp, and had to let go of himself. But only for a moment. He perceived Earlene’s invitation to enter her as she was, and saw that she raised her bottom toward him invitingly, spreading her legs wider so that he could see...where to go. Little time was wasted, bringing his manhood to this place and pushing inside of her with a moan of pleasure. Earlene hummed to feel him, which further heightened Thranduil’s experience.

 

Thanadir simply lost himself, captive to the intensity of his King’s physical want. One hand held Earlene’s hip, as he plunged into her over and over. It was difficult to notice, that she pressed back against him, eagerly receiving what he gave. He was arousing her more than he realized, but she could not climax in this position without his touch. Thranduil released Thanadir’s hand and took hold instead of this thigh, silently advising him what to do, while Earlene worked at him faster, more skillfully. Thanadir reached around, fingers well-coated with the slick lubricant, to stroke her sensitive spot. The next twenty seconds were the greatest physical bliss any of them had experienced. They held each other at a height of ecstasy, until within the same few seconds they tumbled over the cliff together. Her mouth filled with her husband’s sweet emission, even as Thanadir covered her body with his, straining into her as he ejaculated forcefully. This was so far beyond ‘very nice,’ that he hardly had words. 

 

Earlene shook helplessly against the enjoyment as her distended womb contracted over and over. And over. With a slight hiss, climax shifted to discomfort, as the orgasm subsided into something that felt much more like a cramp. Both ellyn felt this, and Thanadir withdrew from her quickly, fearing that he had done something. “Meldis?” he asked, afraid.

 

“Do not worry, Thanadir,” Thranduil said, his afterglow slightly interrupted as he leaned up on his elbows.

 

“It is normal during pregnancy, meldir, if slightly inconvenient in timing,” Earlene grimaced, turning to him and rubbing at her belly. He wrapped his arms around her. “That was wonderful. Amazing. Thank you, so much.” She kissed him soundly, before giving Thranduil the same and flopping on her back. “What even just happened?”

 

“Thranduil accidentally...helped,” Thanadir said, diving onto his belly to be next to her. Wiggling endearingly, he rested his head on her shoulder; now he could rub his hand over where the babies were. “At least, until it was on purpose. I understand far more about why you both are...like you are.” He sighed. “I accepted my differences long ago. Left to my own devices, I cannot be like this. But I would be lying if I did not admit that I am now intrigued by the possibilities of sharing physical love with you, in this way. It is a chance to be...someone else, for a short time. And yet, I am happy with who and what I am.”

 

“As am I,” Earlene said, stroking his hair. “And I still feel like I’m sending you mixed messages.”

 

“No, meluieg. It is not mixed messages, to be honest about the physical desire you feel for Thanadir. He should know it is there, just as you know that with him it is not there. This will sound very funny, coming from me, but...sex is not what is important here. It is wonderful to climax from the touch of a loved one, but it is more important to cherish and to know that we are cherished, each by the other. Of all of us here, I am the one who experienced having physical relations with a spouse while the emotional relationship decayed around us. And I can tell you that I would ten times over rather have both your love and care, than orgasms by the dozen without it.”

 

Thanadir reached across Earlene to take Thranduil’s hand. “I have always loved you. While physical love is very new to me, I do not doubt the truth of what you say. Knowing that you loved me, in whatever way you did...my oaths to you bound me to your side, my King, but what I held in my heart for you was what gave me inner peace. What I drew from, at the times when life was not so easy for me. I think that I should...slow down, now. I have a great deal to consider, and more than anything I want to find my place with you both in a way that feels true to who I am, without ignoring your needs. Or mine. I cannot give you this every day, Earlene, not without relying on what Thranduil can do to my body.”

 

Earlene leaned her head to kiss the crown of Thanadir’s soft hair. “I do not want that, meldir. What you were willing to share with me, physically, meant a great deal to me. But I love your mind far more. And to be held in your arms. And to listen to your voice.” As she spoke, Thranduil cuddled against her, caressing her breast with his fingers. “You too,” she chuckled, carding her fingers through his flaxen hair. “I know this will not be easy at times, but Eru, I love you both.” A lone candle lit earlier for ambiance burned low and guttered, as they collectively wriggled under the covers. Earlene turned slightly toward Thranduil, needing to shift the weight of the children off of her back. Just as the flame extinguished, a warm mouth took her breast. With a contented sigh, she drifted off.  

 


	107. One Hundred and Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 6, 2019. Then later December 9th, 20th, 21st

For months Sharley pondered and stewed, wondering what the fuck to do about this, because seriously, fucking Valar. Eventually she made arrangements with the Duncan-Donovans to come out for a couple weeks in December, so she could break this to them without Thranduil or his telepathy around. She figured it might be best to make contact with Earlene, too, so she fired off an email.

 

_ Earlene, _

 

_ I know you wouldn’t want me knowing this, but I saw what happened with you & Thanadir. The Valar are a collective load of shit and if I could kick ass of all of them at once, I’d do it. You are people, not toys, and the fact that they did this to you two is beyond bullshit. If you need to talk, go ahead and email me, okay? This isn’t your fault or his and I don’t want you sitting and stewing over it or anything when the whole thing is the Valar just being bitches. _

 

_ Seriously, write me _

 

_ -Sharley _

 

_ P.S. Tell Thanadir the hat is adorable. _

  
  


Earlene read, and blinked. And re-read, and blinked some more. Her eyes traveled to her right, where her mate lay happily reading. Lorna had helped her knit a house-elf hat, something like the one Dobby wore in Harry Potter, and Thanadir had become enchanted with it. It even had S.P.E.W. embroidered on it. After no small amount of persuasion, Thranduil had coaxed him into limiting its use to that of being a night-cap. This was preferable to having to forbid it being seen outside Eldamar. It was bad enough that many days his Star Trek pin appeared on his formal clothing; there were limits to what Thranduil wanted to criticize.

 

_ How? Just how in fuck….?  _ And the worst thing is, there was no hiding it. “So, that just happened,” she announced to her husbands. And seriously, why couldn’t there be _ words _ for what had happened to all of them? But now wasn’t the time.

 

Somehow, Thanadir was still oblivious. Earlene looked back over.  _ Well no bloody wonder, he is re-reading “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.” _ His lips were pursed in concentration. It was so adorable she could almost cry, sometimes. 

 

Thranduil’s eyes had widened. “Oh, Eru,” he said, leaning his head back with an audible groan. “Earlene, I am sorry.” He took her hand, wondering why they couldn’t be left in peace.

 

“Fuck my life,” Earlene said, earning instant shock from Thanadir. “And this time, I can’t apologize for saying it, Thanadir. I can only ask for your forbearance. Thranduil, what do...was I an orc in another life, or something, to deserve this?  _ How can she know this stuff?!? _ ”

 

“I think you already know the answer, or have the same guess I do, meluieg,” he said, trying to soothe her. By now, Thanadir had sat up and was simply trying to comprehend. His elf hat had tilted to a rakish angle that should have provoked laughter. Except right now, nothing was funny.  

 

Earlene pushed the laptop toward the seneschal, so he would not have to go on wondering. “Yeah, Ok. If we’re going to have that conversation, finally. For all your powers, I don’t care what you think you see; there is no way that woman is human. And if she’s not human and she’s not an elf, in my limited experience that leaves only one other possibility, and I don’t mean Ents, Dwarves, Hobbits or Orcs.”

 

Thanadir was simply appalled. “How can she speak in this way about the Valar?” he whispered. The words on the screen were so far beyond unseemly, and from one he believed would not ever say such things. The air had somehow been taken from his lungs.

 

Thranduil reached across to steady his gwador. “No, Thanadir. Look beyond the words. Earlene has perceived what you have not, and reached the same conclusion I have. While I do not pretend to understand, I believe Sharley is of the Ainur. I equally believe something happened to her. I believe that the Stranger has done far more than keep the truth of certain events of Sharley’s life a secret from her. I surmise it has hidden her very nature from not only her, but others. Time may prove that I am wrong...but there is no other explanation for this...this foresight, she possesses.”

 

“This royal pain in my arse.” Earlene held her head in her hands. “The worst part of this is, I  _ have _ wanted someone to talk to. I  _ have _ wanted someone to unload on. This has been hard for me in ways that are difficult to explain,” she admitted, tears pooling in her eyes. “Thanadir, please believe me when I tell you that I love you with all my heart and will never be ashamed of you. And yet my  _ situation _ feels shameful, to me. This is not how I wish to live, stealing kisses when no one is around to see; pretending that I do not love you as I love Thranduil.”

 

“But meldis, I do not mind. I understand; I have accepted it.”

 

Thranduil felt the need to break his self-imposed rule of minding his own business. “She is telling you, Thanadir, that she has  _ not _ been able to accept it. This has been a burden Earlene has carried since the day she conceived your son, and she has carried it alone and in silence. I promised myself I would not interfere, and I have said nothing. And I now understand fully that I was wrong to do so. Enough is enough, Earlene.”

 

Earlene’s head snapped up to glare at Thranduil, her eyes full of accusation. 

 

“Yes, I am ‘outing’ you to Thanadir, meluieg. And I hope that you will forgive me. But if the three of us cannot find support and acceptance in this bed, then we truly do have problems.”

 

“Meldis? Is this true?” Thanadir’s tone was gentle, but insistent.

 

She stared fixedly at the wall opposite the bed, covered over with fabric and pretty decorative mirrors that reflected the ambient light. The better part of a minute passed, before she would answer the question. “Yes, it is true. Thanadir, you do not understand as much about how humans are, in our societies. If our relationship were widely revealed, while we might get uncomfortable polite nods to our faces, elsewhere all manner of unkind things would be said. I would be thought of as little better than a harlot or an insatiable sex addict, take your pick. Both of you would be thought demented, to even consider sharing a mate with another male. We would be torn apart in the court of public opinion, because  _ this is what people do to what they don’t understand _ .” Her hands were gesturing animatedly, by way of emphasis.

 

“Look at how Ailill was treated. By comparison, being gay is about five hundred percent more acceptable in the minds of others, compared to what we have. Why? Because there are probably a thousand gay couples to every polyamorous relationship, were I to guess at statistics. And this isn’t just any poly relationship; this is one between elves and a human. That makes us exponentially weirder, more deviant, more wrong, more to be feared and reviled. It is not what I wanted for either of you, or myself.”

 

She paused, for a moment. “I am begging you, Thanadir, please do not read into my words a rejection of you, your child inside of me, or my love for you. I am genuinely happy and at peace when I am with you in any sense of the word. It is when the door to this room opens, and we have to go...out there.” Her finger pointed at the exit. “That is when this crashes down on me. And yet I cannot shake the belief that this is my doing. Sharley says the Valar did it, but I do not recall seeing them here in the room joining our bodies together. I can accept that it was an accident, but little more. I refuse to speak of the Lords and Ladies as Sharley is doing. Her feelings are her own, but I do not share them. She says we are not toys. Are we not, compared to such great ones? It is the same as I said to you once, Thranduil. You could treat me very differently than you do, because you have the power to do so. There would be nothing I could do to stop you. Plus, I do not think I believe her. Yes, I have been used already. But this?”

 

“Meluieg,” Thranduil said carefully, after her speech had a moment to settle. “While I will not endorse her choice of words, I cannot entirely disregard her assessment.”

 

“Why would you of all people say such a thing?” Earlene’s tone was not angry; it was a genuine curiosity.

 

“Because through Calanon’s mind I saw what the Valar said to him. And Ailill. So did Thanadir. They made it quite clear that what is befalling those two is to a greater purpose of our Father. Which makes it very difficult for me to consider their situation in that light, while ignoring our own.”

 

This time it was Thanadir that asked. “We are being used to...be a lesson, to others?” The old elf seemed intrigued more than annoyed.

 

“That is my guess, yes,” Thranduil replied. “And if that is the case, then I would further guess that we have been chosen because we are strong enough to bear this burden.”

 

“My next words might be minor blasphemy,” Earlene noted. “But does it ever occur to them to  _ ask _ ? Instead of just  _ doing _ ? Apparently not, said the ant to the elephant.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm and bitterness. 

 

“I do not want to go back, Earlene,” Thanadir said, sincerely. “If I were offered the choice, I would ask to keep what I have now.”

 

“You  _ would _ ?” This was not what she expected to hear. “Even if it was only our marriage, and no child on its way?” This question lay at the root of several assumptions she had about Thanadir, and only Thranduil could perceive the veils woven around her thought. He held his breath, for how Thanadir would respond to this query; more than his seneschal knew hung in the balance.

 

“I would.” He took her hands, his eyes full of sincerity. “Neither do I take offense or begrudge you your current...grief. Can I use that word? Is that right?”

 

Her eyes swept across the ceiling.   _ How do I even deserve him? All this time I assumed it was mostly about our son...but Thanadir would never lie to me…  _ “That may be the most accurate word that can be brought to bear,” she murmured, unable to look at him right now. “I wish I felt different. I hate how I feel. I hate feeling like a charlatan, day in and day out. I hate that I sit here and admit to you both that this is what has gone on inside of me. But I thank both of you for your kindness. I will have to come around eventually; there really is no choice. Wishing it had been different changes nothing. It has been almost six months of this and...I am tired of the stress.”

 

“I think you should write back to Sharley,” Thranduil said pointedly. If nothing else, he trusted her discretion, which had proven inviolable. “You might find that what is said helps you. She reached out to tell you that she does not think any of those things about you, Earlene. Or us. And if I could offer an opinion...you once told Lorna not to feel ashamed about having been raped. You told her it should not matter if others knew, that she had done nothing wrong. You did not do anything wrong either, Earlene. But you are unable to take your own advice, and are allowing what you believe others will think to steal your joy away.”

 

“Did you really just say that?” The words were said very softly. “My responses are being compared to that of a rape victim?”

 

Thranduil hurried to make amends. “Please forgive me. I now see that it was an insensitive comparison. I did not mean to imply...Earlene, please. I only meant that a thing happened that was outside your control, and you are suffering from it in ways that parallel the feelings Lorna had. And that you are going to have to set aside caring what others might think. You are my wife. I call Thanadir brother, gwador. I am King, and if it is meant to be, the feelings of my family will matter more to me than what anyone else thinks or says. Do you really believe that this is the only matter about which others disapprove? No, it is not the first nor will it be the last. Meluieg, you are sensitive to being thought ill of. I know why. I also know that you  _ could _ not care what others think, if you turned your mind to it.”

 

Earlene stared at him, angling to slightly change the subject. “I don’t know if I can correspond about this, and accept the Valar being used as my scapegoat. But I suppose I can cross that bridge when I come to it. Thanadir, this affects you. Do you feel I should write to Sharley? Your opinion matters to me.”

 

Thanadir reached to cup the side of her face with his hand. “What I want is your happiness, Earlene. I am very sad, to understand you have had these troubles. On top of even more that you shouldered, because of...me. I now realize much about what you have lived with during this time that should have been filled with the joyful anticipation of our children. You took all this on yourself, and left me to simply be happy. It has been very unfair, meldis. This is not what I wanted. I know why you did it, and I love your generous heart, but please do not do it again. It hurts deeply, to know that my joy has been amidst your suffering.”

 

One of the babies chose that exact moment to kick. Earlene glared at Thanadir. “I am blaming that on  _ your _ son,” she said acidly, rubbing her belly. 

 

“Does it mean you will listen to me?” The Sad Eyes were at medium-low.

 

“Oh Eru, Thanadir, when am I ever left with any real choice? Thranduil may be King but you are the Crown Prince of Getting Your Way. Look at me,” she gestured to her rounded belly. “I am hardly able to offer meaningful resistance at this point in time.”

 

“Good,” he grinned. 

 

Earlene made a noise of disgust and rolled her eyes. Thranduil simply laughed. “I love you both. Write back to Sharley.”

 

“Fine. I suppose you’re right. You usually are.”

 

“What about me?” Thanadir wanted to know, feigning being mildly insulted.

 

“You,” she said, “need to be quiet.” She moved rather gracefully, for being nearly six months’ pregnant with twins. He was shoved back against the pillows with arms pinned near his head, straddled and kissed soundly so that he could not speak. The elf hat fell forward over his eyes, at which point Thranduil began laughing so hard tears came to his eyes, as he watched Thanadir’s feet flail under his nightshirt and the covers. Everyone knew he had the strength to break Earlene’s hold, and that he was allowing her this. However when she pulled his elf hat down more over his head to his nose, he gently retaliated, somehow lifting and moving her so that she was cradled in his arms, securely pinned while he nibbled his way down her shoulder, tickling her. She shrieked and giggled, unable to move. 

 

The King might ask  _ what even was his life?... _ but found he no longer cared.

 

******

 

_ Sharley, _

 

_ While this is so far beyond what I did not have in mind that it isn’t funny ...well, ok. So the cat is out of the bag. Since you ask, I’ll talk about it, but there’s something I’d appreciate. I’m not really ok with the ‘trashing the Valar part.’ You’ve got a right to your own feelings and beliefs, but I’m more in the category of being relieved I don’t have to have tea with Morgoth over this. I gave myself to an Elvenking; I’m a little more fatalistic about others having power over me. I just...can’t deal with that aspect of it right now. Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not; how exactly it came about in the first place changes little for me. Is this any worse than the sum of my life being at Manwë’s behest? You tell me. All that’s really on my mind is, I’ve single-handedly destroyed thousands of years of Elven law and tradition. Not quite what I wanted on my epitaph. _

 

_ Um, yeah. What am I supposed to say, “this is fun?” If you want the truth, it’s been six months of mostly hell. I don’t know which is worse, that it happened at all, or that now I am just as deeply in love with Thanadir as Thranduil, but I can’t show it. We already loved each other, but not like this.  _

 

_ I don’t know if you can understand the half of it. Thanadir is...different than most other males might be. I genuinely love him as he is, but the differences made an already difficult situation harder.  How am I supposed to talk about having a ‘closet extra husband’ that no one else can know about? That I am very happy to have him, but am completely ashamed that I do?  I’m expecting children from two different fathers, and living in a house where I deceive everyone, every day, about what my life even is now. *I* can’t face it or really understand it, so how can anyone else? I basically can’t bear to think of how appalling this would be.  Admit it, it was probably shitty enough for you to squick over it for at least a week.  Maybe, months. I mean, you only see the future, right? And you’re only writing to me now? Sure, everyone might be nice enough to our faces...but then let the comments begin. Right now, it would be easier if I realized I were a lesbian and ran off with Siobhan in Baile...because, that’d actually be *more normal.* _

 

_ Thranduil tells me I need to quit caring what everyone else thinks. That sounds good for the moment, but isn’t so easy when I remember that the husbands are King and Seneschal. Oh what the elves will say... “See? This is why you don’t bring home a mortal, they’ll screw anything.” Just, fuck. And I thought Bill Clinton had problems. Yeah, I’m angry, and I realize that a lot of this isn’t rational. That’s been going on for awhile now. The ellyn have been very supportive and have not felt the same way as I have. I guess I’ll have to get over myself sooner or later. Yay, me. _

_ -Earlene _

 

_ P.S. the hat *is* adorable. Fortunately, Thanadir is far cuter than a house elf. Heh.  _

 

*****

 

Sharley pondered this, seated cross-legged on her bed with her laptop before her and a cup of tea on her dresser.

 

_ Earlene, _

 

_ I’ll keep the Valar-bashing down, then, but I’d still like to give them a piece of my mind for not at least  _ asking  _ first. I mean seriously. _

 

_ Thranduil’s right. I get why you’re afraid you’ll get a certain kind of reaction, but you won't. Your family loves you, and as far as the other Elves go,  _ I  _ might not think much of the Valar right now, but  _ they  _ do. Nobody’s gonna give you the hairy eyeball over it, but I can understand why that would be hard for you to even consider right now. You got this thing dumped in your lap without anyone’s consent  _ and  _ you’re pregnant. Being pregnant helps approximately nothing when it comes to rationality. There might be a lot I don’t remember, but I do remember it playing merry hell with my brain, as Lorna might say. (The Irish have the best expressions and I’m stealing some.) _

 

_ And you got stuck in a crazy situation. Of course you’re not being rational. If you were rational, you’d be crazy. But the three of you have each other, and eventually you’ll be ready to have it not be a secret anymore. I promise you it won’t turn out all scary and weird like you’re afraid of. _

 

_ Is Thanadir asexual? Because I could see how that could be an issue, and I wish I could give any advice there, but I’m like him. Can Thranduil help you with that? (And I don’t mean that in any weird skeevy way but you know.) Telepathy. I’ll be honest and say it can kind of creep me out sometimes, but it can be useful. Hopefully in your case too?  _

 

_ I wish I could give you any kind of like, actual relationship advice, but I don't remember ever being in one. You all love each other, and your family loves you. You want to know what kinds of comments you’d get behind your backs? The rest of your family will be pissed the Valar did this to you, and feel terrible that you had to hide it and feel miserable about it. I don’t know if you know this but they already kind of think of Thanadir as the asexual third partner in your marriage -- Lorna’s own words. This will surprise the shit out of them sure, but they’ll support you, and if you think Lorna and Pat won’t slug anyone else who blinks funny, think again. They love you, and that’s what people who love you do. _

 

_ Meanwhile, take some pictures of Thanadir in that hat. I know Lorna makes scrapbooks so she should make a whole page of it. _

 

_ -Sharley _

 

She hit  _ send _ , and hoped that would do the poor woman a little good. “Fucking Valar,” she muttered, taking her teacup. Earlene might not want to kick them, but Sharley herself still sure as hell did. She had no idea why, but she had kind of a low-grade resentment against them in general.

 

*****

 

Earlene did not see Sharley’s reply until after breakfast the following  day. The content surprised her a little, and soothed her a lot.  _ I very badly want to believe that Sharley isn’t blowing smoke up my arse. _ Sharley was odd, but not in a way that involved white lies or sanitizing what was said for the sake of feelings--hopefully this was the case now. Thranduil would have told her if there was a risk of that kind, here. She inhaled very deeply and released the air before beginning her reply.

 

_ Sharley, _

 

_ Thanks, it’s appreciated. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it because I’m not sure how anyone could *not* give a sideways look to this situation. It belongs in a cheap tabloid, for Christ’s sake.  _

 

_ Yes, Thanadir is asexual. I’ve done enough reading and talking to him. If you want the classification, he is not romance-averse. He’s not even fully sex-averse; I’ll spare you the details but yes, that has happened. And not just when the babies were made. We are working on coming to an...arrangement, trying as best we can to care for each other’s needs. I never expected anything at all but...Thanadir is a complex ellon with deep feelings. I really feel like a very lucky woman, even if I didn’t want this goddamn situation at all in the first place. Thranduil has been supportive but mostly (wisely, I think) he has left us the space and time to allow Thanadir and I to work this out on our own. I think he was the most able to accept this mess, from the start. Maybe when you’re a King you are so used to flying piles of shit that even things like this somehow find their place in your mind. Honestly, I have no explanation for how he rolled with it as well as he did, but there was never even a whisper of him being angry or upset. That was all me. And to a lesser degree Thanadir.  _

 

_ I know that Lorna and Ratiri are wonderful people. I just don’t expect others to weather what I can barely manage myself. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. This was not one of them. I like to think it takes rather a lot to surprise me this much...it’s just...shit, how do you even find words for it? I guess they’ll find out someday. Maybe. No fucking clue...but they’ll not hear it from me. The other part of this is, I just don’t want to inflict it on others. It’s like radioactivity; why would you want to get any of it on you? Rhetorically speaking, of course.  _

 

_ ‘Asexual third partner’...heh. That was true enough. The three of us had that conversation quite a while ago. Thanadir overheard Thranduil and I talking about all that, and later cornered us to say that yes, that was exactly the case. After that we all became much closer. That was odd, I suppose, but not *that* kind of odd. Thanadir loves simple affection. He just wanted to feel closer to those he loves. So we would all sleep together like a pile of puppies; most nights were more like a big slumber party. Everything was fine until what I now call in my mind the Great Bait and Switch. Eurgh. Anyway, enough about that. That was when things were only Slightly Weird instead of All Weird. _

 

_ I know the Duncans/Donovans will be there soon. I won’t say, “say hello” but you lot have a fun time together and give Allanah kisses from Nana. I think you know by now you’re Other Nana, Sharley. Our little girl got dealt a rough hand, and I am more than a little happy that you too love her so much. _

 

_ Thank you, for the letters. It means a lot. _

 

_ *hugs* _

_   
_ _ -Earlene _

 

_ ***** _

 

Sharley didn't roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. She knew Earlene would never tell the Duncan-Donovans, which was why she was doing it herself. The poor woman was in no condition to realize that it would actually be  _ easier  _ for those guys to weather it than it was for her and hers, exactly because they weren’t the ones getting crushed under the weight of it. There was probably some construction metaphor she could use, if she could be bothered to think one up.

 

_ Earlene, _

 

_ I’m happy to help however I can. I know this is crazy hard and there’s not any real comparison anyone can make to it. It’s strange and unique and at least with Elves there’s literally no precedent, but you guys are making one. If this helps at all, I haven’t seen a whole lot about life after the plague, but one thing I  _ didn't  _ see is any weirdness that could be related to this. Somebody will try to attack our not-quite-autonomous collective like ten years after, but nobody in the Halls was walking around going ‘wow our king’s relationship is weird and creepy’. _

 

She paused, and frowned. There was oh so much she wanted to say about the ‘Great Bait and Switch’, but Earlene didn't want to hear anything against the Valar, so she’d keep it to herself. Well, herself and the voices.

 

_ For all the beef I’ve got with the Valar right now, I don’t believe they would force anything on you that would be supposed to make your lives miserable. That sentence looks a little weird, but I can’t figure out a better way to say it. They wouldn’t have shoved this on you if it was just going to turn out to be something bad. If it was just something that was going to end in all your people, the humans and the Elves giving one big ‘Ewwww, threesomes’, it wouldn’t have happened. Just remember that you have family who love you to bits. _

 

_ I’ll be sure to give Allanah lots of extra hugs and kisses. She’s a long way from Nana and Ada, and I’ll make certain she’s got a lot of affection. At first when she was a young toddler she just reminded me so much of Marty, but now she’s getting older and she’s more and more her own little person, who likes and loves and dislikes all kinds of things, and she’s dearer to me than I ever thought anyone would be again. I think the two of them would have been friends, because they have sunshine in their souls. You look at Allanah smile and it’s like watching the sun rise -- the way her whole face lights up is like a little miracle. Maybe she got dealt a rough hand in losing her parents so young, but she got given a way better one when she was brought to Ireland, and has so much family that loves her. I haven’t seen her future yet, but I can’t help but think she’ll go on to do wonderful things. _

 

Again she hesitated. Earlene had so much on her mind already that she probably wasn’t going to want any reminder that someday they were going to have to leave, and Allanah wouldn’t be able to go with them. Sharley would keep this to herself for now, but while Allanah would eventually lose Nana, she’d never lose Nana Sharley.

 

_ I know Lorna will take lots of pictures, but I will, too. Someday, when all the kids are older, you guys should come here in the winter and I’ll teach everyone who doesn't know how to ski. Allanah’s still awfully little but they do make tiny skis, and the peredhel kids grow so fast that they can all use little ones too next year. Can you ski? I doubt any of the others can, just because there’s not a whole lot of snow in Ireland and Scotland. _

 

_ Anyway, I have to get going, but all this shit will work out, I promise. Remember, I see the future ;) _

 

_ -Sharley _

 

She shut her laptop and pulled on her boots. It was one hell of a drive to the airport, so they had worked out a similar system to the last trip: the Duncan-Donovans (she was just going to have to start thinking of them as D&D, except Ratiri the Über-Nerd would seize on that and not let go) would take a shuttle to Monroe, and she’d pick them up there. It had dumped snow all morning, but let off about an hour ago; US2 was compact snow and ice, which was actually preferable, at least to her, than slush. The inside of the van was practically sparkling; Sheila had helped her go over it with some kind of foamy cleanser that, while stinky, was pretty damn effective (she’d then had to leave the windows down and cover it with a tarp, to keep the snow out).

 

It was so cold that the snow creaked beneath her boots, ice crackling on her driveway. She was going to miss this, after the end; unless the climate shifted drastically, she wouldn’t be seeing a whole lot of snow seventeen years from now.

 

_ “What’re you going to have them learn?”  _ Layla asked, as she fired up the van. The roar of the engine was oddly soothing.  _ “Everyone in town? What’ll they learn?” _

 

“Still not sure yet,” Sharley said, cranking up the heater. “Has to be something nobody else’ll have.”

 

_ “Well, there’s one thing right off the bat,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “They’re not Irish. Genetically, if any of them have any Irish in them at all, it’s a tiny amount. The future gene pool will want them.” _

 

“True.” Very, very true. “Still have to think about something else, though. Sooner or later something’ll occur to me.” And it had better damn well be good.

 

*****

 

Earlene caught the third letter after lunchtime….she had to admit that it was somewhat luxurious to have  _ only _ six mouths to feed at mealtime...and with no Ailill or Calanon until the weekend...honestly, when was the last time she’d cooked for so few people? It had been a matter of instant agreement to simply tell Lothiriel and Ortherion to please take a vacation of their own; Valar knew they deserved a break from their incessant and insistent care. It wouldn’t be too much longer before she would begin to struggle with the weight of the babies she carried, but right now…  _ early March _ , she figured.  _ That’s when my ability to walk and get around will likely go to hell. _ But this was mid-November, and that meant she had time. 

 

“Ha ha,” she laughed aloud from her perch on the sofa. “Yes, I can ski. I can snowshoe, too. You forget I’m from upstate New York, Sharley.”

 

Thanadir appeared and sidled in beside her. They were reveling in the luxury of being openly affectionate anywhere in their home, instead of the usual restrictions. He caught her into a long and tender kiss, peppering her cheeks with more of them. “You seem a little happier, Earlene,” he said softly.

 

“I guess I am.” The laptop was closed and set aside, so she could better cuddle up to him. His hand traveled under her tunic to her belly, as it often did now, not that she blamed him. This was the first time when he’d felt unreservedly able to touch her anywhere without it being unseemly or having to have an internal debate on when and where it was appropriate; his curiosity about the children inside of her was nearly bottomless. His hands craved for any chance to feel a kick or explore the contours of her womb. And his touch was always, always comforting. “Sharley is out to convince me that none of this is my fault and that no one would care if they knew,” Earlene murmured into his shoulder.

 

“I would like it if you would believe that,” Thanadir said quietly. “For I too think that is the truth. You have had enough struggles, Earlene. I wish you could let go of this weight that you carry for no real reason. But you have been patient with me through all my foibles, and I will do the same for you.”

 

“Foible. Huh.” Earlene frowned now. “Do you know where that word comes from, Thanadir?”

 

“The dictionary?” the old elf answered. “Don’t they all come from there?”

 

Earlene erupted in laughter. “Oh dear. No, my love, they do not. Words come from...other words, just like all Elvish words are derived from Common Eldarin. The study of the origin of words is called Etymology, and English is a language that has so many words because English came from so very many other languages. ‘Foible’ is a word that comes from French. It meant originally, ‘the weak point of a sword blade; the spot closest to the tip.’ And then by extension, ‘a weakness of character.’ Right now, I am finding that to be a rather compelling choice of words on your part.”

 

The seneschal considered this, rubbing her belly. “I want to say two things now. I want to make sure you understand that a fighter must manage the weaknesses of a weapon in order to be effective; this I think you know. And then I want to ask, how in Eru’s name you know that?”

 

Giggles ensued, especially because he chose that moment to tickle her ribs. “I do understand. Which is why you are causing me to think in a way that might actually be productive. And, I know that because I read a great deal, and what words I have looked up in this way...I just remember arcane details. I once thought ‘foible’ was a strange word, and I wanted to know whence it came.”

 

“I see,” he murmured, hugging her tightly. “I love you, Earlene. Foibles or not.”

 

“I love you too, Thanadir. So much that I will probably make you cookies this afternoon.”

 

Thranduil leaned against the hearth, having appeared out of nowhere as he so often did. “I might not object to the cookies if we first take our children and dogs for a walk,” he grinned. “It is a beautiful morning for the time of year, and I think we can do better than discussing vocabulary words.” He obviously did not wait for a response, because doors upstairs were heard to open, and Flannery and Kiernan were already baying in the hallway. An overhead sound that could only be a vexed Tail the Cat fleeing his customary perch flitted by. In minutes they were outside, where a grinning Feren held the reins of two horses.

 

Earlene looked at Thranduil in surprise. “I thought we were walking?” 

 

“We are. They are walking, while we all trade off riding. Up with you, wife.” In a moment a happy Earlene was seated on Wynne the mare, with Thaladir in front of her. Thanadir took Ithiliel and Eleniel with him, and Thranduil elected to walk, for now. The last of the trees were shedding their leaves, and crisp air moved softly through the grasses. Thranduil gazed upward to see that the sun shone down with the weaker light of autumn out of a brilliant blue sky. It would be a wonderful outing.

  
  


******

 

{December 9th.}

 

Ailill slept, but only for so long. In spite of Earlene’s wonderful meal after their late arrival to the forest last night, nervousness woke him in the small hours of the morning though he forced himself to lie still in Calanon’s arms. The comfort of the warm body behind him was in stark contrast to the insistent nagging of his mind. He had tried to ignore the emails. _ ‘Work is busy, I’m not sure of my schedule.’  ‘I’m the supervisor, I might not be able to take off any of the holiday times; someone has to be in to look after the birds.’ ‘I think I’ll just have to see how it goes.’  _ They wanted him to come to dinner on Christmas night. Every year, he had gone, because it is one of the hardest things in the world to say No to your own mother at Christmas. At some point this afternoon, he began to think on this and further dread settled over him. Only the slightest disinterested consideration had been given to his human family, before his vows to the King. How they would fit in, how he would...manage them. _ Had he cared at all?  _ The answer was sadly obvious.  _ Hell no. _

 

_ I wish that they had been worse. They were kind of awful, but in a way that makes it hard to justify cutting them off completely.  _ Their money and their insistence on helping had allowed him to have his present life, after all. His hawks. Even as their subtle disapproval, hints, and occasional barbed comments had destroyed what little self-confidence he might have had otherwise. _ Was it really even their fault? They were products of a different era. They pulled through and made the family business a success through times of strife, uncertainty and...The Troubles.  _ His sensitivity, his frailty, were not anything to which they could relate. They felt frustration at what they could not understand, just as he felt the same at his lack of real acceptance.

 

_ ‘We miss seeing you,’  _ mam would say. _ ‘You hardly come home anymore.’  _

 

_ Well why might that be?  _ he thought bitterly. And now what would he do? He was to be guarded, but now it was so much more than that. 

 

_ ‘Hi mam and da, here’s my new elven bodyguard. Don’t mind him.’  _

 

_ ‘Happy Christmas! You always thought I was gay, and now I’m here to prove it.’  _

 

_ ‘Meet Calanon. He is the one meant for me. Because three Vala said so. Oh, you want us to leave, even though we just got here?’ _

 

As his mental agitation increased, so did the tension in his body. It was so hard, to sort all these things out. Maybe his King could help him. Tell him what to do. Perhaps he did not have to decide about any of this; maybe that choice was out of his hands already and there was no need to worry. But then he thought of all his parents had given him over the years; all the ways in which they had made his life easier, more comfortable. And because he could not even believe they actually liked him, it honestly made him feel little better than a bought-off whore. Tears pooled in his eyes and an involuntary sob escaped his throat before he could stifle it.

 

Calanon was awake in an instant, his arms instinctively tightening their hold. Something was the matter, but it could not be anything external. And that meant, Ailill’s thoughts were troubled. 

 

“How can I help you, nîth vain? What grieves you? Do you wish to tell me?”

 

Ailill struggled. The answer was No, he did not wish to, and yet he had promised Calanon he would give his best. He forced himself to speak. “My parents want me to come home for Christmas dinner,” he whispered, trying to turn to face the elf. Soon he was held against the warm chest. “They do not know about Aran Thranduil. They do not know about you. They  _ definitely _ do not know about  _ us _ . I do not know what to do.”

 

“Ah. And this time is not so far away, and you are afraid,” the ellon guessed, soothing him. “We will find a way. Together.”

 

Tears still leaked out of the man’s eyes. “I was, I am afraid, that what will transpire will cause you to feel as though you do not matter to me, when you very much do. I am not good at this, Cal. I cannot actually speak to my parents; I have never had the courage. All my life I have kept my feelings in silence while their money paid to establish the life I have. I never told them what I wanted so much as stubbornly refused to do anything else. I am not proud of my behavior. Always, I took the easy way out because I did not have the strength to do otherwise. Or maybe that is just the excuse I make for myself, so that I do not have to face what a coward I really am.”

 

The elf held and comforted him, rubbing his back. “Listen to me. I will never lie to you. It is true that you have avoided facing many troubles, but you were never taught to be strong. You have never had help, until very recently. We will both speak to Aran Thranduil about this matter. Right now, try to trust me. I would like to return you to sleep. Believe that all will be well, one way or another. We cannot force your family to accept you...or us. They are who they are. Only believe that no matter the outcome, you have a home, and a family, and those who cherish you. You are a good man, Ailill. The sum of your life that brought you to this place was not all your own doing.”

 

Ailill wept, to hear the compassionate words, and Calanon knew that he needed this. To release these strong emotions. When at last the tears subsided, the ellon began to hum, very softly, gradually bringing sleep until the last thing remembered were strains of gentle music, and a beating heart.

 

*****

 

{The following morning. After breakfast.}

 

“If you refuse to interact with your family you will draw attention to yourself, Ailill. Were one of my own children to behave in this manner, I would not simply accept it without investigating further.”  Thranduil paced back and forth near the pair who stood before him. “To be blunt, I believe you are making too much of this, and are perhaps worrying needlessly. You are to inform your parents that you will attend, and are bringing a male friend. Their response will tell you how to proceed. You have not advanced your relationship with Calanon so much that this is any kind of a lie.” The King frowned. “Though it is admittedly a deception. If they refuse to allow you your guest,  _ then _ you will have grounds to decline their invitation. But until that happens, I require you to see your mother and father at Christmas.”

 

Calanon stood a half-step behind Ailill, so that his smile on account of their King’s words was not visible. “Yes, Aran Thranduil,” the man spoke softly, head bowed. Well, that was it, then. The decision had indeed been made for him.

 

“You may go,” the King said simply to the firion. “If I am not mistaken, you have lessons with Thanadir quite soon.” With a nod, Calanon made to follow Ailill out the door but was halted. “Not you,” he clarified. “There is another matter I wish to discuss; Ailill certainly knows the way to the Halls.”

 

Calanon stopped and turned, lowering his eyes out of respect. And waited. “Sit down, please,” he heard his Lord say, and complied immediately. “Look at me, Calanon.”

 

The eyes that met Thranduil’s were bright and sincere. Not a whisper of a shred of evasiveness, reluctance, or any form of shadow lingered on the ellon’s features. A consuming fairness, wholeness and beauty of form belonged to this one. He had been well-named. His lips parted to speak, only to close again. The King stared at his subject, never having been quite so much at a loss for words. Then again, to be fair, he had never spoken to one of his people about quite so delicate a matter. Calanon kept looking at him, as he had been asked, though the delay was becoming…odd. “My Lord?”

 

“Forgive me,” the King stated. “I find that what I must say is awkward at best. I am not certain if you are aware that my wife has an extremely protective interest in Ailill. This has not been so visible, since you were assigned to him. Indeed, I could argue that Earlene was the first to function in your role. Though she is less than fifteen years older than him, her view of him is somewhere between fiercely maternal and that of a concerned friend. Probably more heavily the former. Once she learned of your attachment to him, she had certain concerns.”

 

Calanon’s face wavered between smiling geniality and confusion. “I would give my life for Ailill, Aran Thranduil. I hope my queen understands this, about me?” The question was soft, with no hint of ire or offense having been taken.

 

Thranduil massaged his forehead, breaking from Calanon’s gaze. “It is not anything so dire. It concerns...intimacies, between two males. And I pray you realize that this is as awkward for me to discuss, as it likely is for you to hear.” He tried to control what he knew was the flush of his cheeks. It was not that he was speaking about sex between men, it was that he was speaking of sex  _ at all _ ; this simply was not done among their people. This was private; discussion belonging only between those who would join as mates. Forcing himself, he continued. “To bond with another male is unknown, among elves; I hardly need mention this. But it is not new, or even terribly uncommon, in the world of men. I think you know this, too. 

 

“Earlene has made me aware, quite insistently, that there are considerations you must know to not cause Ailill great pain or even injury, when you seek to join your bodies in marriage. And that you have no means by which to be informed of these things. She holds no faith whatsoever that Ailill is enlightened on this subject, and above all it is her wish that you are able to guide him. You will find a box, in your room upstairs, containing materials my wife believed necessary. She is willing and able to seek further resources or answer questions. Also Ratiri, that lives in this house, is a human healer who could aid you as well; his discretion in matters of the body is inviolable. Earlene had intended to tell Ailill what I am telling you now, but I insisted on approaching you first. 

 

“And Calanon, I hope you can forgive this intrusion into your privacy. King or not, there are limits to the proper exercise of my authority. I fear that I am very close to those limits, in this.”

 

Finally Thranduil risked looking at the ellon again, and found his expression to be unreadable. He too now sat, waiting. 

 

“I had wondered, a little, what we would do when the time came,” the slender and beautiful ellon said at last. “I could guess at some, but...I will confess that I am ignorant. I have only the love in my heart, for him, Aran Thranduil. You have ever been as a father to me. To all of us. I believed and prayed that the Valar would guide us, and have placed my love for Ailill in their keeping. And now you have shown us the kindness to speak of these things. To offer help. You cannot know how grateful I am. Annon allen, Hîr vuin.”

 

Thranduil stood, as did Calanon. The King saw that he was revered. Perhaps it was another erosion to the monarchy, that he was about to render, but he found he did not care. He opened his arms in offer of an embrace to the younger ellon, whose eyes widened in awe and happiness. “I carry all of you in my heart, young one. I can call you that still, though none of us are young any longer. But I remember when you were the smallest elfling.” He smiled, releasing him. “You may do as you wish, now.”

 

Calanon nodded, his face radiant. “Please also give Earlene my thanks?”

 

Thranduil nodded. “I will. You have many hours of free time, if I am not mistaken. Make good use of them,” he smiled, gesturing toward the stairs with a shooing motion.

 

With a grin, the younger elf returned to his room to find...the box. He blinked, at seeing the first item was a packaged...object, at whose use he could only guess. There were books, with illustrations that left no room for doubt. Blushing furiously, he rose up to lock the door. The last thing he could endure was one of the little children trying to enter unannounced, though usually they had very good manners. Now, it felt safe to look again, so he sat in a chair and began turning the pages. With occasional disbelief he read, and found that he was becoming hopelessly aroused at the thought of sharing these activities with his loved one. And yet it was his obligation, to master that desire and above all demonstrate love and restraint. 

 

The box also contained a dizzying array of these ‘lubricants’, the books discussed ( _ There were that many kinds?? _ ). At the end of his time reading, he found himself understanding that there would be many differences, between him and his delicate love. Ailill probably already engaged in this ‘self-pleasuring’; an act apparently universal among human males. So much had been learned, that Calanon could barely process it all; time would be needed for this to settle. And yet he stared down at the definite bulge in his own trousers. On one hand, the expression of intimacy was sacred among their people. Meant for the act of union. But these books had pointedly explained that what was in store for them was not simply something one decided to do out of the clear blue sky one day. Their coming together would be more of a series of encounters, that would culminate in their marriage. It was necessary to  _ understand _ . Choosing one of the bottles, he divested himself of his clothing and began to...try. Ten minutes later heard words whispered to the air, “Ailill, my love” as his body ascended into the throes of unimaginable pleasure. He sat still, reeling from intensity of the experience. A tear trickled down his cheek, for the joy that was in store for them and the gift they had been given. When sufficient time had been spent recovering, he cleaned himself and the box was stored out of sight. He would have to find a way to thank Earlene. Just, not today.

 

*****

 

The D&D’s systems were badly out-of-whack thanks to the time difference, so Sharley let them just relax and enjoy the snow the first day, once they were settled in the Inn (as much as she wanted them at her house, there were just too damn many people). She took the twins for a bit, because Lorna and Ratiri needed a little ‘alone time’ once they’d caught their second wind.

 

Naturally the kids all wanted to go play in the snow the next day, too, so she’d bought all kinds of snow gear and sleds from Costco (seriously, she should have gotten a membership there  _ ages  _ ago). The complete lack of traffic in town meant it was safe for them to be outside by themselves, but Maerwen went anyway -- partly, Sharley suspected, because it meant she could be out in the snow, too.

 

Lorna, Ratiri, and Pat sat in her small living-room, before her crackling fireplace. She didn't have a whole lot in the way of Christmas decorations, but she did have some -- there was no room for a proper tree, but she had a little fake one on the coffee-table, hung with tiny glass ornaments and even tinier Christmas lights. Marty had helped her make some of the bigger ones that hung off the mantle, and she’d bought enough craft supplies that the other kids could all make one while they were here, too. Add in glittery tinsel garland and lights over all the windows, and it was actually pretty festive, all things considered.

 

Being wise to the ways of the Irish and Scottish, she got them nice and tipsy on eggnog first -- proper eggnog, not the non-alcoholic variety she’d filled the kids up on. Earlene would probably shoot her for giving Allanah so much sugary stuff, but the kid was on vacation. A little extra wouldn’t hurt her.

 

_ “I dare you to say it when someone’s got something in their mouth,”  _ Kurt snickered. He found the whole situation too funny for words, the dick, but fortunately, she was the only one who could hear him.

 

_ “Kurt?”  _ Layla said sweetly,  _ “shut it. And that’s what she said.” _

 

Sharley fought an urge to rub her temples. She wasn’t prone to headaches, but that asshole could cause them in a hurry.

 

“Okay,” she sighed, curling up in her chair, “I’ve got news for you guys -- it’s not  _ bad  _ news, but it is  _ weird  _ news, and I had to tell you out here because if I didn't, Earlene might...I dunno, have an aneurysm. I thought  _ I  _ was paranoid, but she’s worked herself up into a constant, low-grade panic.”

 

“What?” Lorna asked, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Why? What’s wrong?”

 

Sharley sighed again. “Nothing’s actually  _ wrong _ , though for a long while she was thinking there was. Look, you guys need to just sit there and zip it until I’ve got this all explained, okay? Otherwise I’ll just screw it all up.”

 

The three of them exchanged uneasy glances, but nodded.

 

“Okay, so let me start this off by saying the Valar are bitches and I want to kick them,” Sharley said, draining her eggnogg. “I mean, I  _ really  _ want to kick them. You know how Thanadir was the asexual third partner in Earlene and Thranduil’s relationship? Yeah, he’s not totally that anymore, and it’s the Valar’s fault.”

 

Ratiri’s eyes widened, but she held up a hand, forestalling him. “They were all already sleeping in the same bed, but it wasn’t like that. Thanadir’s...he’s kinda like me, but not as bad. He doesn’t want sex, but he  _ does  _ enjoy physical affection. So they’d all kind’v snuggle like cats, basically.”

 

Lorna blinked. Actually, while that was something of a surprise to hear at first, she wasn’t totally bemused. All three of them really were close already, though she wondered where the hell poor Thanadir went when Thranduil and Earlene had it off.  _ That  _ had to get a bit awkward. “And that somehow…?”

 

Sharley rubbed her forehead. She was going to have to take a lot of care with this, because Lorna, given her history, could very easily take this the wrong way. She herself thought the Valar were just bitchy, but well-meaning; Lorna could see it very differently. “So, this’ll squick you, given you’re you and this is Thranduil and Earlene, but they tend to have sleep-sex if one of them wakes up enough. Usually Thanadir isn’t even aware of it, but he got poked with a Valar horny-stick, and Earlene thought he was Thranduil. The two of them got it on without even being aware of it until the next day, and she got knocked up in the process.”

 

“So they didn't even...on purpose?” Pat asked, visibly disturbed. He needed more eggnog, and he needed it yesterday.

 

“So what did the Valar have to do with any of it?” Ratiri asked.

 

_ “Careful, Sharley,”  _ Sinsemilla warned.

 

As if she didn't already know care was needed...Jesus. “The Valar caused it,” she said. “See, I saw all this -- and yes, I mean  _ all  _ of that, gross -- and I heard the Valar speak to them. They’re a...test case. So that other Elves realize the world is changing, and that that’s okay. That the old...order...isn’t the same anymore, and given it’s their royalty that got this dumped on them, nobody can sit there and say ‘boo’ -- except Earlene’s fucking terrified that people will say ‘boo’ anyway. Boo, and worse. I still haven’t gotten it through her head that you guys aren’t going to look at her like she’s some kinda...I dunno, whore, or something.”

 

“She thinks  _ what _ ?” Lorna demanded, half rising. “Why would she--?” That was honestly rather offensive.

 

“Because she’s  _ scared _ ,” Sharley said. “She’s scared to death. This is so far outside what she’s always considered...I dunno, Right and Proper, and she can’t imagine anyone not looking at her like she was gross and wrong. Which is why  _ I’m  _ telling you this --  _ she  _ wouldn’t dare. I figure we all go home and just say ‘look, quit freaking out, this is fine’, but I couldn’t do it over the phone or email or whatever, and not just because Thranduil would know it right away. He’s been totally supportive of them, but you needed the chance to hear it without him bombing in and being...him. He’d be trying to manage your responses, given how protective he is of those two, and even I know how well  _ that  _ would end.”

 

Ratiri, out of all of them, knew best how Elven marriage worked. He knew that Earlene and Thanadir would have had this new, stronger, particular emotional bond, whether they wanted it or not. It would not have been a case of ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am/sir, and by the way, here’s a baby’. It certainly explained the kiss he’d seen in the kitchen… “And all this time, they’ve felt they had to hide it. They’ve been ashamed.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Sharley said. “I don’t think Thanadir minds the secrecy bit, but Earlene does. A lot. It’s been killing her, and I wonder...I’m no psychologist, but I wonder if she’s so afraid of being judged a certain way because it’s how she’s been judging herself. She won’t blame the Valar, for...some damn reason. She thinks this is somehow her fault.”

 

Ratiri groaned. “Of course she does,” he said, staring into the fire. “It’s a consequence of being...how she is. She’s almost always been the best at everything she’s tried, and she has a terrible sense of self-recrimination when anything goes wrong. Which I would hazard is also partly the fault of that...that wanker of a brother she had. She doesn’t talk about him, but I’m guessing he jumped on every single tiny mistake or flaw, and it taught her to do it to herself even once he wasn’t in the picture.”

 

The more she heard about that gobshite, the gladder Lorna was that she didn't tell anyone he was still technically a little bit alive after his wreck. Good fucking riddance. “I need more booze,” she said, and snagged more eggnog from the bowl in the kitchen. “So she’s blaming herself because the Valar basically raped her and Thanadir,” she growled, when she returned to the sofa. “ _ Nice. _ ”

 

Sharley shut her eyes. This was exactly what she was afraid of. “Lorna, no they didn't,” she said. “I’m not their biggest fan by any means, but nobody raped anybody. If either Earlene or Thanadir  _ really  _ hadn’t wanted it -- if the idea had squicked them that badly -- nothing woulda happened. The two of them do love each other -- they just didn't in that sense.”

 

“Am I the only one who’s a bit disturbed by the very idea of Thanadir as a sexual being?” Ratiri asked.

 

“Nope,” Pat said, and followed his sister’s example. More booze. More booze was necessary.

 

“Well, that’s the thing,” Sharley said, wondering if this wasn’t going to just make Lorna’s suspicions worse, “he’s not. Not really. He doesn't  _ mind  _ it, but it’s also not something he’d go seeking out on his own. It’s more a case of ‘it’s Earlene, so it’s okay, once in a blue moon’.”

 

That was actually something Lorna could sort of understand, even if she was in fact squicked herself. She wasn’t at all interested in sex unless it was with Ratiri, but then she was very, very interested. But still...Earlene and Thanadir might love one another, but that wasn’t something either of them would have ever done of their own accord, and that -- well, to her definition, that was kind of like... _ I don’t know, date-rape by proxy.  _ “It’s not right,” she muttered.

 

“No,” Sharley said, “it wasn’t, but they could be happy, if only they’d get over this shame thing. I don’t agree with the Valars’ methods, but the love was already there, just in a different form. The only barrier right now is the fear, and the shame. If they didn't have that -- if they weren’t so afraid of being judged -- they could actually enjoy it.”

 

Lorna...really was troubled. How could Earlene think they would ever judge her, or any of them, like that? They were family. Family didn't do that shit.  _ It’s because she’s scared _ , something in her mind said.  _ Fear isn’t rational. You know that. _

 

Yes, yes she did. Still, she was incredibly tempted to put Earlene into a headlock and noogie her into submission, because honestly, the thought that the poor woman had been afraid and ashamed for the entire damn length of her pregnancy...Jesus. Just...no. “So what do we need to do, to get it through her head that no, she doesn’t have to think we’re going to think something awful?”

 

Now, finally, Sharley laughed. “Do what feels natural,” she said. “Though given she’s pregnant, save knocking down and sitting on her until after she’s given birth. And -- well, don’t chew her out too much for being afraid to tell you. That won’t help.”

 

“I know,” Lorna said. As tempting as it was, it would do Earlene no good whatsoever. The poor woman needed all the reassurance she could get.

 

Ratiri shook his head. “I told her that her pregnancy was an aberration,” he said, smiling in spite of everything. “Twins conceived a day apart. Twins conceived a day apart by different fathers? Even more rare.”

 

“I didn't think that was possible,” Pat said. He really did not know what to make of any of this -- he just knew that anyone who looked at the three of them funny would get a boot up their ass.

 

“It’s very rare. Very, very rare,” Ratiri said, and sighed. “Well, we ought to buy them something...well,  _ something _ ...while we’re here. I’m just not sure what.”

 

Sharley grinned. “Stay put.” She rose, and fetched a smooth wooden box from her room. When she handed it over, he saw that it contained a silver bracelet -- a wide one meant to go on the forearm rather than slip over the wrist. On it was etched what looked like a tribal rendering of a...bird?

 

“Eagles are all over the place in the art of the Pacific Northwest tribes,” Sharley said. “They can be a symbol for strength, but also for peace. The feathers represent courage and wisdom. I’ve got one for all three of them, in different styles. Like wedding rings, but more hardcore.”

 

“That,” Lorna said, “is bloody perfect. What’s this on the inside?”

 

“Orcas. They can symbolize almost anything, but I picked them for healing.” The entire job had cost so much she’d almost quailed, but it had been worth it.

 

The conversation was cut off by the arrival of four snow-covered children and Maerwen, all of whom at least stomped their boots off and left them outside. “Food is needed,” the elleth said, laughing.

 

“There’s plenty of it,” Sharley said. Kyle had done her a giant solid and helped her concoct at least one dinner she could serve at home. “Then I have stuff to make ornaments. You guys want to make ornaments?”

 

“Hell yeah,” Saoirse said. “Is there glitter?”

 

“As if you could make ornaments without it,” Sharley grinned.

 

*****

 

Allanah wanted to make a Sharley Ornament, and was puzzling how to do this. One solution came to mind.  _ Ask Saoirse _ . Adar Thranduil always told her, ask for help. She pointed, in turn. “Blue glitter. Clay. Paint. Tinsel. I wanna Sharley one. Don’t know what to do.” Truthfully, she was becoming slightly cranky. The long flight, the altitude, running and playing in the snow...it was taxing her not quite four year-old creative powers.

 

Saoirse sat beside her. “Okay,” she said. “Do you want to make a  _ whole  _ Sharley, or just like, her head?”

 

This required great thought, and the little forehead furrowed in concentration. “Sharley head.”

 

“All right.” Saoirse took a lump of the clay, and rolled it a bit in her hands to warm it up before handing it to Allanah. “Do like I did. The clay will get softer so you can make her head.” Saoirse might be young, but she understood how important it was for Allanah to do most of this herself. She’d just take care of the trickier bits, so that Allanah could say it was her thing she’d made.

 

“I like tinsel for hair. But the tinsel isn’t blue,” the child pouted, after doing a better than expected job of forming a human face out of the rounded piece of clay. 

 

“Wow, Allanah, that’s really good,” Saoirse said, genuinely impressed. “And we can make the tinsel blue. Hang on a minute, let me get my Sharpies.” They would work better than paint, because they wouldn’t take away the shininess. When she returned, she said, “Okay, watch me do this once, and then we can both do it -- it’ll go faster if we both do.” She laid a few strands of tinsel on a paper towel and colored them over with the blue marker -- it was actually pretty close to Aunt Sharley’s hair, even -- and let it dry a moment before turning the glittery stuff over and doing the same thing. “See? Blue. Here, take this marker.” She was smart, too, and cracked the kitchen window a bit, so the smell would go away. Yeah, it was cold, but there was a big radiator against the far wall.

 

Allanah worked diligently, and at first there were a few yawns. Saoirse looked up but said nothing. As time went on the yawns increased in frequency, and the eyelids drooped. Saoirse waited, as the stack of ‘blue hair’ grew. And waited. And expertly caught the Sharpie before it could fall tip down on the kitchen table when Allanah finally face-planted into the middle of the uncolored tinsel. Capping the pen, she rose to get Aunt Lorna.

 

Lorna, shaking her head, carried the little girl into Sharley’s room, tucking her in and resolving to check on her later. Saoirse busied herself poking the tinsel into the still-soft clay of the head; Allanah could take care of the fun part once she woke up. Most people didn't like the small, repetitive, detailed work -- they found it boring -- but Saoirse loved it, and it would save her little cousin’s three-year-old patience to not have to do it herself.

 

Once that was done, she set to work on her own ornament -- a blue glass ball onto which she started painting Marty, holding a poinsettia. If the little girl had lived, she’d be what, eight now? Nine? Old enough to play with without worrying she’d fall and get hurt or something. Saoirse loved all her little cousins, but they were so... _ little.  _ Even the peredhel kids had slowed down growing physically, and sometimes Saoirse wished she had kids closer to her own age to play with. They didn't go into the village often enough for her to see Orla, and there was so much about living at Eldamar that Orla wasn’t used to, or wouldn’t understand.

 

Chandra and Shane, she found, were making their own ornaments out of clay -- Aunt Lorna was helping Chandra carve a Christmas tree with toothpicks, while Shane was making what looked like a snowman.  _ That  _ would probably finish getting dry by next Christmas, but whatever. He was having fun. “Da, we should have everyone make ornaments at home, too,” she said. “I bet Uncle Thanadir’d blow us all out’v the water.” The things Uncle Thanadir could do fascinated her, because he could come up with things even  _ she  _ couldn’t equal.

 

“We should indeed,” he said, though she could see he was half asleep, his empty cup on the floor beside his left foot.

 

Saoirse rolled her eyes.  _ Grown-ups. _

 

*****

 

{December 20, 2019}

 

He sat on the bed cross-legged with an ale in one hand and the laptop in front of the other, as he had for most nights this week. Tomorrow was the last day of work before an extended holiday, and then they were returning to Eldamar…  _ Goddammit Ailill, you were given a command. You’re out of time. There is no going back to the forest tomorrow, and Aran Thranduil finding you have not yet obeyed him. It’s bad enough you’ve procrastinated this long. Grow a set of balls, and send this fucking email to mam. Why is this shit so hard? _

 

_ Because you’re a pathetic weenie, that’s why,  _ came the other voice from inside of him.

 

_ Just goddamn do it!! _

 

_ Okay, okay…  _ He took an immense swig of the beer. Which is to say, he downed the entire bottle.  _ Liquid courage. _ Wiping his sleeve across his mouth, he hammered the words out in a hurry. 

 

_ Dear mam. The schedule worked out, I can come for the dinner at Christmas. I’m bringing a friend, his name is Calanon. He’s from abroad and volunteers at Ashford. I’ve a kitchen here, and there’s the shops and whatnot; please tell me what I can bring. I’ll figure the usual time unless you say otherwise.  _

 

_ Love, -Ailill _

_ * _ click*

 

“Now why was that so hard, you worthless excuse for a human being?” he muttered aloud to himself, his arm already over his eyes. “Jesus.”

 

His ears became aware of a very odd tapping sound, that caused him to lift his arm away to see what it was. It was a booted foot, clicking on the wooden floor, attached to an elf that had an expression of great ire on his face. Stormy, even. Calanon’s arms were crossed in front of him, and a formidable glare was leveled in his direction. 

 

_ Oh, hell.  _ Ailill lowered his eyes. “I suppose you heard that.”

 

No answer, only tapping.

 

“I would not have said that, if I knew you were in the room. Why can’t you make more damn noise?”

 

Still more tapping.

 

_ Shit. _ “Calanon, I am sorry. I know you don’t like it, but this is a habit. A really big, lifelong habit. Yes, you caught me. You’re going to catch me again, I can almost promise you. Please?”

 

The arms unfolded. “Maybe if you tell me why you said it, I might be slightly less annoyed?” the elf offered.

 

“That will cost you another ale from the refrigerator.”

 

Calanon rolled his eyes, but procured two of them, popping off the caps with his thumbnail. There were certain things quite handy about having an elven partner. No bottle opener required, was apparently one of them. One was handed over, hints of a smile playing at the corners of the ellon’s mouth. “Well?”

 

Ailill helped himself to a generous swallow. “I was on the verge of being disobedient to Aran Thranduil. I still had not told my mother we will come to their dinner. You caught my self-recriminations for having waited so long; I finally did as I had been commanded. There. Now you know.”

 

“Oh.” He gazed thoughtfully at the firion. No, that was not what he had hoped to hear, but in the end Ailill had managed. Barely. It was better to hear this, than the alternative. He flopped onto the bed with fairly un-elven grace, and placed his arm around Ailill’s shoulders, sifting what to say. “In the future….”

 

The interruption was immediate. “Calanon,  _ I know _ . I am ashamed, to have delayed so long. It was inexcusable. I will tell the King, and ask his pardon. Please, I am not happy with myself. This has eaten away at me all week. I did not mean, to...do this.” The man’s hand came up to cover his eyes; his agitation was plain enough.

 

Choosing the next thing to say seemed very hard, to the elf. His thumb reflexively rubbed at Ailill’s shoulder. “I will not excuse your actions, Ailill,” he said gravely. “To fail to obey the King, whether it is a matter great or small...that is very serious. And yet I know that you were not born to this, but freely chose to offer your fealty. I will not add to your sense of disappointment. I will only say that I hope you remember these feelings, so that next time they help you to do what is right when you are given a command, and not later on. And as for your words...no, I did not like them. But perhaps now I understand.” He guessed his response would have a strong chance of driving Ailill to tears, and he was not wrong. The bottle was set aside, as he turned to hold the man. There would be no apology for what he said, because Ailill needed to hear it. There was supporting the weak, and then there was enabling and coddling someone who needed to grow up.

 

“I know you are right,” was said in muffled tones through sniffs and tears. “I truly am sorry. And I will remember. Please forgive me.”

 

Calanon hugged him harder. He was trying; he was accepting the rebuke. It was all he could ask. “I do, nîth vain. And I have faith that you will make a better choice, next time.”

 

*****

 

Sharley already missed the snow, and they hadn’t been in Ireland more than an hour. It was a beautiful green country, sure, but in the winter it was damp and dreary. Thankfully Eldamar was always nice and bright and warm.

 

The kids were all sleepy, thanks to the Benadryl they’d been fed, and they continued snoozing in the van. The little ornaments the kids had made had come with them, since they wouldn’t do anyone any good sitting all alone in her house; Allanah’s and Saoirse’s had almost made her cry. She’d forgotten how nice it was, to have a child make something special just for you.

 

“Everything seems too green,” Lorna said, flicking on the windscreen wipers. “I liked all that snow. Stupid Atlantic and its even stupider tempering effects.”

 

Pat choked on a laugh. “I’m sure you’ll live,” he said, and yawned. He was just waking up from a nice nap himself, disoriented by the fact that it had been morning when they left Seattle, and was mid-morning in Ireland.

 

“Doesn’t mean I’ll like it.” Yes, she needed her own bed, and her kitties. The kids no doubt did, too.

 

When they arrived at the house, they let the kids sleep while they unloaded the van, waking them only when they were carried inside. Chandra and Shane went right up to their room, barely stirring; Saoirse, rather more awake, dug through their bags until she came up with all the ornaments. “Hey guys, we made stuff!” she called.

 

Earlene emerged from the kitchen, where preparations were underway for a Welcome Home lunch. A cheddar, green onion and potato soup that Earlene swore tasted more like a bag of crisps than soup simmered appealingly; there would be bacon toasties and sliced oranges to go with, and a case of Guinness was cooling on the back porch for the adults. _ No one could possibly regret returning to Ireland under those circumstances _ , she reasoned. “Bring them in here,” she smiled to Saoirse. “Ailill and Calanon will come home tomorrow night for the holiday, and we will decorate the tree. See?”

 

They rounded the corner and followed her into their dining room to see that this year, they had outdone themselves. In their absence, an immense potted Douglas Fir had been procured and ordered. Two of them, actually, since the twin of this one was now in the Dining Hall being prepared for Yule. The tree had to have been close to three meters tall; four if one included height added by the planter. To say that it dominated the room was an understatement; it practically blocked the view of the greenhouse from the immense oak table.

 

“Holy shit,” Saoirse said. How had they even got it in here?  _ Witchcraft _ , she thought.  _ And bees.  _ “Allanah made Aunt Sharley a thing. Allanah, c’mere and show your mam what you made.” The little girl was rather more awake than the others, though yawning.

 

“Have the cats stayed out’v that?” Lorna asked, not believing it for a moment -- and indeed, when she went closer to inspect it, she found a pair of eyes blinking at her from the depths. Boo, of course.

 

Earlene glared at the feline, shaking her finger at it. “So help me, I’ll perch those hawks in this tree, shite and all, if you rotters don’t find somewhere else to lurk. I see one broken ornament and I’ll…” the cat fled in panic, as her voice raised in volume. She cleared her throat and resumed smiling. “Anyway, welcome home.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing, joined shortly by Pat. “Thank you, Earlene,” he said. “It’s good to be home.” The cat wasn’t going to come out of his and Lorna’s bedroom for the next week. Lovely.

 

“Whatever you’ve got cooking, it smells wonderful,” Lorna added, giving her a hug.

 

Sharley, entering behind them with Allanah in her arms, stared at the tree. “That thing’s almost the size of my living room,” she said. “Where did you even get it, and how did you get it here? Did you actually cram it into the commuter van?”

 

“No,” Thranduil said, with Thanadir in tow. “Welcome home! We had this ordered and delivered from the same place we’ve used in the past. Apparently our annual patronage and ordering back in early autumn worked to good effect.” He sounded quite smug, but mostly was happy to see his family return home.

 

“Welcome back,” Thanadir added with complete sincerity. “There are cookies with lunch!” he added with enthusiasm.

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. _ So much for that surprise _ . Thanadir looked at her contritely, only now realizing his mistake, and was waved off not to worry about it. As if  _ that _ mattered, on the grand scheme of things. “Pardon me, I have to stir the soup. You all get settled, lunch is at...lunchtime.” She flitted off. Lorna’s sharp eyes caught the barest beginnings of the Pregnancy Posture. Earlene was indeed tipping into Twin Mode.

 

“Biscuits?” Saoirse asked. “Sweet!”

 

Lorna sighed from where she was inconveniently blocked from view by the press of family around her.  _ Thranduil, when she really starts waddling, promise me you’ll help keep her from working herself to death? I’ll take over the kitchen with a broom if I have to. _

 

Thranduil arched his eyebrows.  _ Lorna, if you are worrying about it, clearly you are not recalling the last time she carried twins, and Thanadir. She has about as much chance of working herself to death as I do of sprouting wings and traveling to Limerick. _

 

_ Last time she carried twins, she wound up almost unable to walk,  _ Lorna pointed out.  _ Though on that vein, I’m building her something. Two somethings. And yes, you should be afraid. _

 

“Sweet Eru,” he muttered aloud, shaking his head at the images he caught. “You go unpack. I am going to...make cookies.” With a grin, he trailed Earlene toward the kitchen, if only to save her from Thanadir’s Sad Eyes. Maybe if he force-fed his seneschal some dough, that would help…

 

Lorna cackled. “Oh, just wait,” she said. “It’ll be glorious.”

 

“What will?” Pat asked.

 

“The motor-chairs,” she said. The indoor one was actually already under construction in  Mick’s garage, though she wouldn’t let him touch it himself. Not yet.

 

Ratiri groaned. “Mo chroí, you are a menace to society.”

 

“Thank you,” she said primly, and rose on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Anyway, Saoirse, why don’t you take Allanah upstairs and get her settled? Poor kid still looks sleepy.” As if to punctuate that sentence, the little girl yawned.

 

“Okay.” Allanah was almost too big for her to carry now, but she managed it nonetheless, leaving the adults alone. It was time to out this whole thing to Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir, but since all Lorna would be able to do would be to scold them, she’d keep mum.

 

“I’ll do this,” Sharley said. “You just chime in when you feel like it, but we need to get Earlene buzzed first.”

 

The trio followed her to the kitchen, which fortunately was big enough even for seven to move comfortably.

 

Thranduil was already dropping balls of cookie dough onto the baking sheets by heaping tablespoonfuls when he froze against the sum of the thoughts he could not avoid hearing. His lips parted but even he had no time to react. It was quite possibly one of the first times his mind had ever simply….frozen. He searched for the words by which to stop them, silence them, but Sharley was already speaking. Sharley, who he had been sure would never, ever do this... _ Valar… _

 

Figuring it was best to just get it out there, Sharley leaned against the counter and said, “So, this group knows what’s up with your group,” she said. “Earlene, I was right. Mostly they want to poke you for feeling like you couldn’t share this, but they also --”

 

Lorna cut her off by the simple expedient of giving Earlene a hug. “You goober,” she said. “Did you really think we were going to give you shite over this? C’mon, you know us better than that.”

 

Earlene may as well have stepped into the vacuum of space. Her lungs had no air, her eyes widened, and her feet were already turning to run, except she was already locked into Thanadir’s hold.

 

“They also...that,” Sharley said. “I know I could sit and reassure you until I was blue in the face and you still wouldn’t believe me, so...Merry Christmas. These guys are your  _ family _ , and they  _ love you _ , and they want to be there for you,  _ because they love you. _ ” That last was said with a very hard stare at all three of them.

 

Ratiri winced. “C’mon, you lot, back off a bit,” he said, because he at least could see that Earlene was two breaths away from bolting out the door. That she wasn’t already doing that apparently had nothing to do with lack of effort on Earlene’s part. 

 

None of them but perhaps Thranduil had any way to know it, but the expression on Earlene’s face had not been seen since the day she watched the first tower of the World Trade Center collapse. It was pure horror that looked back at Sharley and whispered, “How  _ could _ you?” before it was followed by a keening wail of anger, humiliation, and fear. She was immediately sandwiched between Thanadir and Thranduil, as they both felt her mind simply….dissolve.

 

The King looked at Ratiri, but let everyone except Earlene hear him.  _ Of everyone here, I think she could listen to Ratiri, right now. Maybe. Please. I know what you meant to accomplish here, but I think you seriously underestimated how bad this has been. _

 

Ratiri nodded. “Earlene, she could because she knew that you wouldn’t,” he said gently. “She knew that you would spend the rest of your life miserable at maintaining a lie, and that you would forever live in shame over something that isn’t shameful. You don’t have to hide this from us. None of us think badly of you, or ever will. This is not something that -- we’re not going to judge you, Earlene. Not any of you. And to be honest, we would have worked it out sooner or later, anyway -- I saw you kiss Thanadir in the kitchen. You shouldn’t feel that you need to do that in secret. You all love each other. I wish you could believe that to all of us, that’s all that matters.”

 

Thranduil followed the morass of Earlene’s thoughts; she had heard, and she was trying to force herself to think. He spoke to all of them again.  _ I am going to move away slowly; the three of you should come and hold her in my place. Whatever you do, do not try to pull her away from Thanadir. She heard you. But I will say this again, she has been more afraid than you can imagine. _

 

They moved slowly, careful not to spook her, and Lorna wrapped her arms around her quite carefully. “We love you, Earlene,” she said. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid’v us.”

 

“Not ever,” Ratiri added. He at least was tall enough that he could kiss the top of her head. “We’re always going to be here for you.”

 

“And we’re not going anywhere,” Pat added. “Not ever. You’re our family.”

 

“Yeah, you’re a Donovan by marriage,” Lorna said. “We always stick together. Because we’re...sticky. And that sounded a lot less gross in my head.”

 

Earlene cried. It was all she could do right now.

 

_ Meldis, I have you and I will not let you go. I know you are afraid. But they are telling you that you do not need to be. Everything will be...all will be well, Earlene. Just like the Valar said it would.  _

 

_ Thanadir…this has been so hard. _

 

_ And yet it will not be hard any longer.  _ His fingers reached to her neck, where he began massaging there gently. Gradually crying was replaced by...less crying, until it stopped altogether. Her thoughts sorted themselves back together, until finally one thing coalesced. She was standing in the middle of six people, and had no idea what to do next. And her eyes probably looked like something for a Visene commercial.

 

“You do not need to know what to do next, meluieg,” Thranduil said softly, completely ecstatic that this had happened and trying not to let on about that part. “Let me help you. Earlene thanks all of you, and right now does not quite know what to do with herself. Maybe hugs are a good place to start,” he gently suggested. “Sharley is on your left, Earlene,” he murmured soothingly. “Can you give her a hug?”

 

Thanadir encouraged this idea, but was careful not to release his hold on her before she loosened her grip on him. He too was very, very happy. One by one, she made the rounds, hugging everyone, and for once understanding what it was Lorna must feel like. Because for the life of her, she just couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t talk. Right now hugging was all she could manage.

 

Normally Sharley was not one to touch people who weren’t children, but she hugged Earlene fiercely. Hopefully the woman would forgive her for this, but it had to be done. She’d been far too miserable for far too long, and for no reason.

 

“All right,” Lorna said, when they at last drew away, “Earlene, Thanadir. Kiss. Do it, or there might well be biting’v kneecaps.”

 

Ratiri rolled his eyes, and stirred the soup. Because food was food, and if it burned, Earlene would kill them all. Slowly.

 

Earlene’s eyes flared at this, but she was not given much time to think about it. Thanadir seemingly fully endorsed this new development, and pulled her back toward him, carefully tilting her chin up. There was undisguised love in his eyes, and this was perhaps the final straw. Thanadir, the Seneschal of Seemliness, wanted to publicly kiss her. Hadn’t Lorna called him that, once? 

 

_ I want this, Earlene. Will you? _

 

_ Have I ever told you, you really are not fair? _

 

_ Good. _

 

His lips claimed hers in what all would privately agree later was a passionate yet tasteful kiss (this was Thanadir, what else was it going to be?), and while the clapping and whistles brought vivid pink to Earlene’s cheeks, they also brought a smile.  _ Finally. _

 

_ Your Christmas present just got upgraded,  _  Lorna heard from Thranduil.  _ And I don’t just mean a Star Trek mug. _

 

“There, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Lorna asked, laughing.  _ I’m a bit scared. Should I be scared?  _ “And I think the soup’s done, so you lot sit down and let Ratiri and I deal with it. Pat, go somewhere else.”

 

Her brother rolled his eyes. “How about I get everyone a drink? Earlene, one won’t hurt, will it?” Maire had drank, when she was pregnant with Saoirse, but that didn't mean it was actually okay.

 

“That might be a good idea,” Earlene said quietly. The first words she’d spoken in awhile. “I brought Guinness for lunch, it’s out on the back porch. There’s extra.”

 

Thranduil now took the opportunity to embrace his wife and kiss her as well.  _ Meluieg, I am happy for you. For all of us. I love you so very much. _

 

_ You have been an anchor in all of this, husband. It feels like...the sun coming out. _

 

_ I know. We will talk more later. Right now...please drink something, and feel happy. _

 

Earlene laughed, that Pat was the first one to whom a drink was given. One had to hand it to the Donovans, they knew the value of alcohol.

 

“Well, now that  _ that’s  _ taken care of, check this out.” Sharlely pulled out her cell phone and flicked through the gallery until she found a picture of Allanah, in a tiny blue snow suit, standing on equally tiny skis, grinning her sunrise grin. “They thought she was the cutest damn thing ever. Had a hell of a time finding a helmet small enough, but we managed it,” she said, passing the phone to Earlene.

 

“Ohhhhh….” Earlene smiled. “I didn’t answer one of your last questions. Yes, I can ski. But I doubt the...husbands can. Then again, elves can run on snow and they can learn anything yesterday, so what difference could it make?”

 

“They’ll make the instructors cry by the end of the day,” Sharley said. “Stevens Pass has some great runs. Your next kids probably won't be big enough by next year, but the rest will be -- we can have them invade the ski school, if you want. Allanah did fine on the lift, though I didn't take her up very high. She’s a natural at it.”

 

“Unlike me,” Ratiri said dryly. “I spent more time on my arse than I did upright.”

 

“You’ll get there. Skiing’s harder to do when you’re tall -- I swear it’s the wind resistance, even when you’re actually in the right stance.” Which Ratiri, god love him, hadn’t been. At all.

 

Earlene nodded happily and took over the spoon from Ratiri, silently asking Thanadir to heat the grill for the toasties. The soup was cooked enough; right now it was just stirring in the grated cheese until melted and perhaps reheating it a touch when the sandwiches were ready. She was helping him butter the bread slices, blushing when he leaned down to kiss her cheek rather frequently. “You are enjoying this,” she accused.

 

“Yes, I am.” There was zero repentance on that face. Zero. And she was not about to complain. However Lorna shrieked and began cackling over in the Heart Room, causing Earlene mild curiosity. It had been a really dynamic vocal output, which meant that whatever it was likely rated fairly high on the entertainment scale.

 

The tiny woman herself came skidding into the kitchen. “It’s not exactly appetizing, but Trump shat out his intestines,” she said, somehow managing to speak through her giggles. “Not sure how that’s even possible, but talk about a humiliating way to go. That’s even worse than Elvis.”

 

Giggles erupted from Earlene. Followed by more giggles, followed by Thanadir becoming rather alarmed and taking her out of the room insistently. Thranduil suggested to Ratiri and Lorna that they might want to take over toastie assembly; all the ingredients were ready to go. The Elvenking was not about to share his wife’s thoughts, and if anyone could manage to stop her laughter, it would be Thanadir. His poor wife was just...overwrought, today. It was not her fault. Though, when a shriek of laughter made it past the series of heavy doors leading to their bedroom, the others couldn’t help but join in. Finally, amidst a toast or two to the Demise of the Cheeto, Thranduil took the opportunity to speak to his friends. “Thank you, for what you did for her. All of you. Though this was not the expected outcome of encouraging Earlene to write to Sharley, you have set her free when I could not. You will always have my gratitude.”

 

“I’m just glad she’s happier,” Sharley said.  _ And that she doesn’t hate me.  _ That had been a very real fear, but one that had to be worked through. “I know what it’s like, to be that scared, but she doesn’t have to be, and I know she would never see it without something...drastic.”

 

Pat laughed. “And I already know what Saoirse will say -- if it’s not some variant of ‘so it’s like always, but there’s icky stuff’, I’ll be very surprised. You lot were so close already anyway.”

 

“Here’s to that,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “But if you don’t want to tell the kids yet, for Christ’s sake don’t think you’ve got to. Do it in your own way.” Given they already had Adar Thranduil and Adar Thanadir, she doubted it would be much of an adjustment.

 

Thranduil nodded, realizing that this was still...a consideration. But first there would be lunch, and more ale. And then quite possibly, a nap.

 

*****

Calanon opened the door at Eldamar, while each of them juggled a hawk. This would be a nearly two-week stay; an unusually long time for them. But a run of incredibly bad weather and more in the forecast, plus one of the school birds having come down with some manner of respiratory illness a week prior...Ailill was taking no chances; all three of his birds were removed from their housing at Ashford. Every other one of the falconers with their own hawks or owls were doing the same; the volunteers and staff that were still working over the holiday would be quite busy sanitizing everything under the sun. The sick bird, understandably, had already been sent to the veterinary surgeon, not to return until it had a perfect bill of health.

 

Which is why it required two trips to bring Diana, Thia, and Fion upstairs in addition to their clothing and other personal necessities. They usually traveled light, but it was winter. And it was Christmas, and that meant presents for their friends. Finally all their shite was put away. Calanon watched Ailill carefully, for any sign of his resolve wavering. He was pleased to see that this was not the case. Only one thing, he had agreed to do to help, and he was doing it right now. The ellon walked downstairs to the Heart Room, where he found the King engrossed in reading the news on his laptop. Lorna was nearby, doing similar but he could not see how this mattered. “Excuse me, Aran Thranduil. I must return briefly to the Halls to retrieve something, I wondered if there was any errand I could care for?” 

 

Thranduil looked up, and his eyes very temporarily unfocused before returning to normal. “If you will please see Thanadir in the kitchen? He has a message to be brought to Thalion.”

 

“Of course. And with respect, Ailill asked if he could please speak with you. He is waiting in the Quiet Room, but I am happy to tell him if this is not a good time.”

 

Thranduil blinked. The Irish Times could wait, honestly. “I will go. Thank you, Calanon.”

 

Lorna followed the exchange, mildly intrigued and feeling more than a little mischievous. That room was rather nearby. _ And so conveniently close to the loos near the entryway. Hm.  _ She trailed him, her thoughts focused on needing the toilet. The news was boring, sue her.

 

Thranduil entered, to find a very nervous looking Ailill waiting. “Aran Thranduil,” he said in greeting. There was nothing else for it, but to get this over with. Going down on one knee, he silently unburdened himself of his shortcomings and mistakes. “I am sorry, and ask your pardon for what I have done.” He did not make excuses, or go on and on; he equally understood that there might be consequences.

 

“I see,” said Thranduil aloud. “I can also see, that you were rebuked as to the seriousness of your choice?” There was a hard edge to the King’s voice that Ailill had not heard before. It pained more than anything else had, because he could hear the disappointment mixed into the words. 

 

“Yes, my Lord. I was. I will not do this again.”

 

“How can you be sure?” Thranduil knew that the questions sounded harsh, but he felt determined to continue what Calanon had started. Ailill needed to have a certain amount of guidance, if he was ever going to manage to overcome certain tendencies his family had enabled him to develop. This man was indeed sensitive and delicate, and would be cherished...but out of love he would also be helped to grow, even when it meant discussions like this one. 

 

“Because I know I have failed you and disappointed you, and I have been miserable all week. That I feel this way is my own doing, and I sincerely have no wish to repeat this.”

 

Thranduil sighed. “Ailill, do you understand why I refuse to let you take the easy way out, with this?”

 

“I think so, Aran Thranduil. At least, Calanon certainly has had a great deal to say about it, and I will guess that his thoughts echo your own.”

 

“Precisely. I acknowledge you for coming to me, but it should not have been necessary. I pardon you. Now go upstairs. Rest if you wish, or join us. You have most of an hour before we eat.”

 

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.” What went unseen was that Thranduil gathered the man into a hug, hoping he wasn’t doing too spectacular of a job of sending mixed messages. He never wanted Ailill to doubt that he he was loved. That doubt, where his parents were concerned, was what had caused all of this in the first place. He gave a few minutes for the man to leave, before looking at the ceiling and shaking his head.  _ Eru. Anyone who thought being a King was anything other than parenting children was an eejit. Wait, did I just think that? _ With a groan he returned to his laptop.

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. She had no idea what the hell  _ that  _ had been about, but Ailill was a dandelion puff who should not be spoken to in those tones. She’d be more likely to get answers out of a rock than she would out of Thranduil, but Ailill wouldn’t know any better than to answer her, the poor lad. She’d have it out of him before the night was over, and then she’d know whether or not she actually had to get angry.

 

Off she went, pondering. It was possible someone would have to get shouted at, but at least she wanted dinner first.

 

Dinner was lovely. The chocolate pudding for dessert was even lovelier, with chocolate chips melted into the warm gooiness, and a generous dollop of sweetened whipped cream and a cookie tucked into each serving mug. Ailill was scooping the decadence out, feeling better by far for having set matters straight. He was interrupted in mid-spoonful when Earlene asked, “Ailill, Calanon, did you remember we are all decorating the tree tonight after the meal? We hope you will join us.”

 

“We did remember, Earlene. Thank you. And thank you for the delicious meal.” Calanon’s head bobbed next to his, which brought out a grin.  _ Those two were adorable.  _ Everything seemed sunnier now, without her own...problem...hanging over her head quite as much. Cleanup could wait, and dishes were arranged to soak; there would be no stopping the flood tide of childish enthusiasm that made its way around the tree. Earlene and Lorna had wisely seen to it that their mutual ornament collection had been brought out of storage and made accessible. Thanadir and Ortherion had already undertaken the tedium of installing the three-way lights (colored, white, and alternating blinky), enabling maximum Kid Fun to commence without delay. Soothing holiday music had been negotiated in advance between Lorna, Earlene and Sharley (no Bob Rivers allowed). Spiked and normal eggnog was ready for grownups and young ones alike. Truly, it looked to be a promising evening.

 

Lorna, naturally, filmed the entire thing on her mobile -- with Ratiri taking over as needed, should the children require help. Her height meant she wasn’t any good for hanging ornaments very high, but at least she could keep the biscuits coming.

 

“All right, all you tall people get to fight over who’s putting on the topper,” she said, grinning to herself. She was a troll, and did not care in the least.

 

Earlene whispered to Thranduil who grinned, and stood completely still to allow Earlene to climb to his shoulders. Thus seated, she made grabby hands for the…..whose turn was it this year? “Thanadir, didn’t you win the contest? Do you have the tree topper?”

 

The seneschal grinned, and handed up a completely realistic model of the USS Enterprise while Thranduil groaned. “Oh Eru, really??”

 

Earlene swatted him. “He won fair and square. When you win, you get to pick. Besides, the  _ rest _ of us think it’s wonderful.” She urged him closer to the tree, while he continued to mock glare at Thanadir. Who just kept grinning, so it really wasn’t working. Back in the corner, Calanon enjoyed his eggnog with Ailill, marveling at the things he had not known about their rulers. A sudden crackling noise came from the sound system: 

 

_ Who put the stump _

_ In my rump-ba-bump-ba-bump? _

_ Who took and jammed it  _

_ In my ram-a-lam-a-ding dong? _

_ Who stood the wood _

_ Where I poop-she poop-she poop? _

_ Who put the stick  _

_ Up my hipty-dipty-dip? _

 

Earlene’s face clouded over with wrath. “ _ WE SAID NO BOB RIVERS!! _ ” she hollered at the top of her lungs while Lorna cackled, tears streaming down her face.

 

“ _ We  _ did,” she managed. “ _ Pat  _ didn't.”

 

Ratiri groaned, but he couldn’t help laughing himself. Oh dear. “Earlene, you can’t kill anyone,” he said. “You’re holding the Enterprise.” Because there was logic in that, somewhere. If he thought about it long enough, he’d find it.

 

Earlene felt her seat vibrating. “You’re not laughing, are you??” she dug in with her heels for extra steadiness, as she carefully lowered the venerable Starship onto its five week voyage aloft. “Tell me you aren’t laughing.” Thranduil tossed her up and caught her rather dramatically on the way back down, giving her a kiss. 

 

“See? Not laughing.”

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes. He was enjoying the view of the tree too much to expose his King’s blatant falsehoods.

 

“Silly songs’re just part’v Christmas, Earlene,” Lorna said. “At least we’ve got kid-friendly ones.”

 

“True.” Ratiri thought of some of the things that had gone around the break room during Christmas, and shuddered a bit. It was amazing what kind of filthy versions of innocent songs medical staff could come up with when bored. “And at least it’s not Weird Al.”  _ The Night Santa Went Crazy  _ would likely traumatize the lot of them.

 

Earlene stared at Ratiri. She liked Weird Al... _ maybe it was best not to ask. Time to talk about something else _ . “Ailill, Calanon, I hope you know you are invited to our family dinner here on Christmas night? In fact, I probably should get a head count soon…”

 

Ailill immediately developed a most interesting facial expression...that was quickly banished. “Thank you Earlene but I have to...I mean, I am going to my parents’ home for dinner that evening.” Oh yes, mam had written back in all of about fifteen minutes. To gloat, tell him to loan Calanon a necktie, and ask for two bottles of red wine for the table.

 

The poor kid’s expression wasn’t gone fast enough for Lorna to miss it, and her eyes narrowed.  _ Have to?  _ she wondered. “Why d’you have to?” she asked, unable to help it. “I mean, I get that they’re your parents and all, but just drop in for cheese.” She knew little to nothing of Ailill’s parents, but she doubted they were terribly  _ great  _ parents, or he wouldn’t be such a delicate dandelion puff.

 

The young man’s lips parted, as abject panic spread over his face. “I...ah…”

 

“He has to because I said so,” Thranduil answered calmly, knowing full well that Ailill was in over his head with Lorna. “And my dear friend, this is one time when though you mean well, you would be happier if you did not involve yourself.”

 

“Oh  _ really _ ?” She actually kept her voice rather level, all things considered. “You’re -- can I talk to you a moment?” This was not a discussion that needed to be had in front of anyone else. If this didn't have everything to do with what she’d overheard earlier, she’d be very surprised.

 

“This will not end well,” Thaladir intoned solemnly, causing just about everyone in the room, Ailill included, to dissolve into laughter. At the very least, it broke some of the tension.

 

“Do not worry, son. Your Adar is a King who does things for a reason. Trust him, and in the meanwhile enjoy your eggnog. Their business is private,” Earlene said calmly. Looking up at Ailill and Calanon, she smiled. “Sorry about that. Sometimes the autonomous collective feels repressed.”

 

This brightened Thanadir considerably until Earlene held up her hand. “Only Lorna gets to say that, meldir. No one is repressing you tonight; you won the tree topper contest.”

 

“True,” he pouted. “But I still wanted to say it.”

 

“You cannot be referring to…” Ailill asked carefully.

 

“I’m being repressed!” Thanadir repeated with perfect mimicry.

 

Ailill stood up. “Does anyone even have to  _ ask  _ why I wanted to be with the elves? They know Monty Python! What else  _ is _ there?”

 

“Indeed. Be a dear and get me more eggnog, would you please?” Earlene held up her cup for him. “The low octane one, please.” 

 

Ailill nodded mirthfully.

 

At first everyone sort of stared at each other on account of the exchange, until Ratiri snickered. It took exactly five seconds to transform into uproarious laughter. Even the children laughed, though they didn’t know why. It was just...very funny.

 

Lorna knew already she was going to want some of the high-octane eggnog later. At least she waited until they were in the Quiet Room to say, “Thranduil, why the hell are you making that poor kid go visit his parents when he obviously doesn’t want to? If they were worth a damn as parents, he wouldn’t look like visiting them is about as appealing as getting hit by a bus.”

 

Thranduil sat down, and held out his hands to her, which she took with a measure of skeptical reluctance. “Lorna,” he sighed. “This time, you are standing squarely on a matter of jurisdiction between me as a King, and one who has sworn himself to me. I do not owe you explanations here. But because this is you, I will give them anyway to the extent I am able.” He looked down for a moment, before his brilliant blue eyes met hers again. “There is more here than what you understand. Some of it is private to Ailill, and I refuse to speak of it without his consent.  The answer I can give to your question is, I am requiring Ailill to go because it is what is best for him.”

 

Her eyebrows rose. “How the hell would  _ you _ know that? Thranduil, I love you dearly, but unless you’ve actually met his parents and read their minds, you  _ can’t  _ know that. Plus, he’s a grown man. Shouldn’t he be the one to decide what’s best for him?” Yeah, there was something very childlike about Ailill, but still. He wasn’t actually a kid, and if he was avoiding his parents, there was probably a reason. And besides, shouldn’t he be  _ distancing  _ himself, given they were probably going to die in sixteen years?

 

The King sighed. “I am not always free to tell you everything I know. This is one of those times. There are reasons for my decisions.” He regarded her carefully. “If it is important enough to you to wish to interfere, ask to go with him,” he challenged, though his voice was soft. “Otherwise you must respect the decisions being made. I know a great deal more about Ailill than you do. And either way, he will do as I have asked him. I’m afraid that taking him aside and trying to persuade him otherwise will not avail you. I truly am sorry, Lorna, but that is all I can say on the matter.”

 

“Oh yeah, like he could totally explain me,” she snorted. “‘Hi Mam and Da, this tiny little weirdo is Lorna, I know her through work, don’t aks any questions.’ That’ll go over well. I just...Thranduil, I had too many people in my life decide that they knew what was best for me, and I had no say. I know what that feels like, and if that poor kid isn’t feeling the same, I’d be really, really surprised.”

 

“I have not silenced him as to anything about Christmas dinner,” he mused. “And ‘Hi Mam and Da, this lad here is Calanon from work’ is very much what his parents have already been told. Ailill is not going alone. He is not  _ you _ , Lorna. I am not stopping you from speaking with him; I would only ask you to have some sensitivity to the choices he has made.”

 

Now her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “ _ Calanon’s  _ going, too? Bloody Jesus, Thranduil, that’s even worse. His parents will think any lad he brings home is his boyfriend no matter what he says, and if they’re at all homophobic, that’ll just wreck his Christmas. I mean, I know Calanon’s a ‘volunteer’ at the castle, but does he have any kind’v cover story for the rest’v his life? Ailill’s on the delicate side. I'm not sure I want to know what too much stress would do to him at any time, but on Christmas, with his parents? One wrong word from them and the whole holiday’s ruined for the poor kid.”

 

He leaned back now, having released his hands. His face was already well into the ‘nothing is going to change’ expression. But out of regard for the last time they had this kind of interaction… “I will say one more thing. I am more aware than you can know that the last time we had a conversation like this, it was just before I managed to ruin your bridal shower. Which is why, when I ask you to trust me on this, I know that I am standing on thin ice indeed. This is not me being unwilling to listen, Lorna. This is not me failing to understand. Ailill needs to do this. So I will offer again; either choose to involve yourself fully, or let it go.”

 

She sighed. It had taken her a very long while to get over that bridal shower -- Mairead had given her a scrapbook of it that she’d promptly thrown out -- and while it hadn’t been consciously in her mind at the start of this conversation, it had probably been in there somewhere. “I hope you really do know what you’re doing,” she said. “And if Ailill’s okay with me going --  _ actually  _ okay, not ‘my king is making me so I have no choice’ okay -- I’m going with them. They might need...help.” Indeed, a plan was already forming in her mind. “Though I hope you know that if they  _ do  _ somehow hurt him, if this whole thing blows up in his face, your eyebrows’ days are numbered.” She poked the left one, just to get her point across.

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You may do as you wish. Ailill and Calanon are very much going because their King is making them go. And I will remind you that my wife has a vested interest in my eyebrows, and has a penchant for peculiar acts of revenge.” He scooped her up into a hug. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Thranduil murmured, squeezing her just a little bit before letting her go. “I am getting a big mug for my eggnog,” he said. “Want one?”

 

“Vested interest…? You know what, I don’t want to know,” Lorna said, twitching a little. “And yes, I think I’m going to need a big one. Then I have to talk to Thanadir at some point.” Following him, though, she had to laugh. “Okay, I’ll leave the eyebrows alone, and just ambush you with a Wet Willie when you least expect it.”

 

His lips parted, and a very peculiar expression appeared until he schooled it off his face. No, he would not utter a word. Not. One. Word.

 

“I’m sneaky,” she said. “Just you wait.” Well, this could get...interesting. While she trusted he’d learned from the bridal shower, Thranduil wasn’t infallible. He might know what he was doing, or he might be setting up one epic disaster -- and if she’d taken the bridal shower hard, she didn't want to imagine what Ailill, so much more sensitive, would go through if this dinner was a nightmare.

 

Thranduil sighed, knowing anything else he might say would fall on deaf ears, and did what was necessary to hand her a very large mug of alcoholic creamy goodness.

 

Lorna eyed Thanadir, pensive. “I need to borrow jewelry,” she said. “A lot’v it. And I need to borrow Thanadir, if he’s got any spare time between now and then.”  _ If Ailill’s parents turn out to be total gobshites, they won’t know what the fuck hit them. _

 

“You may have any of that you wish,” Thranduil said.  _ Now this was becoming interesting…  _ “Er, I mean, I am certain Thanadir would be happy to help you.”

 

“Good.” She marched up to Ailill, eying him and Calanon. “I’m going to your Christmas dinner,” she said. “If your parents get shitty, I’ll deal with them and you two run for the hills.”

 

Calalnon simply stared, not certain he had understood. Ailill understood, but did not comprehend. “You  _ want _ to eat Christmas dinner at my parents’ house? Why in the name of indigestion would you want to do that?” he whispered. “Just you?” he looked around, now worried that somehow the entire room might want the same.

 

“Because you obviously  _ don’t  _ want to, and I think you might need the support,” she said, rather more gently. “And yeah, just me. I won't make you drag the entire brood, and anyway, I’ve got a Plan. You and Calanon’ll be just fine. Trust me.” And if there was in her tone a note that was slightly evil...well.

 

Ailill looked rather like a mouse that sees the cat coming. “Will my mother still be speaking to me, after?” he asked in a small voice. On the other side of the room Thanadir and Earlene darted furtive glances at Thranduil, whose demeanor was far too angelic. 

 

_ I usually do not ask, Thranduil. But this time I will venture to inquire if I wish to know?  _ Earlene rose to re-seat herself in his lap, helping herself to some of his eggnog.  _ God  _ damn _ that’s strong, who spiked it?  _

 

Thranduil grinned, eyes full of mischief.  _ I might have had something to do with that. And, I am not certain if you wish to know. Right now, I am not certain if  _ I  _ wish to know, either. _

 

_ Well. You know where I live,  _ Earlene grinned, nestling against him.

 

“Oh, she will,” Lorna assured him. Whether or not his parents would dare speak to  _ her _ would depend entirely upon their behavior, but she was pretty sure she at least half-assed knew what she was doing. Didn't the Americans have some saying about dazzling people and burying them in horseshit? Even if not, she was about to make one.

 

Silence fell over the room, as the strains of the music pleasantly played Perry...

 

_ Oh there’s no place like home for the holidays _

_ ‘Cause no matter how far away you roam _

_ When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze _

_ For the holidays you can’t beat home sweet home…. _

 


	108. One Hundred and Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 21, picking up where the last chapter ended. Then December 22-25, 2019

It was pleasant, very pleasant. A few times, assorted people came and went to bring presents long prepared from hiding to place under the beautiful tree. Tummies were full, adults were pleasantly at one with the world, and the teapot and eggnog bowls were not yet emptied. Thranduil met Sharley’s eyes and they exchanged a nod.

 

She gathered the three wooden boxes, passing one to him, Earlene, and Thanadir. “Take these, but wait a moment.”

 

Lorna, who was by now more than a touch tipsy, raised her mug. “All right, you lot, this is early but whatever, it’s important. You three get to open your presents early.”

 

“What?” Earlene said, confused. “But I didn’t get you…”

 

“Sharley made them,” Ratiri said.

 

“No, I  _ had  _ them made,” Sharley clarified. “I’m nowhere near that skilled. Open them up and I’ll explain.”

 

Earlene carefully raised the lid of her box to see a….this was more than a regular bracelet. It was more of an armband, wrought of heavy silver and decorated with a… “Sharley, this is beautiful, thank you. This is a...hawk? Eagle?” Earlene admired, but did not really understand why it was being given. But she did observe, hers was identical to the gifts for Thanadir and Thranduil, give or take size. Her arm was of course not as large around as theirs.

 

“Eagle,” Sharley said. “In a lot of the northwest tribes, there’s a lot of eagle symbolism -- they mean strength, and courage. If you look on the inside there, they’ve got an engraving of orcas, too -- and let me tell you, the jeweler looked at me like I was nuts when I told him I wanted engraving on the inside as well as the outside. Those are orcas, which can symbolize a whole boatload of things, but one of those things is healing.”

 

_ I think I understand why, now _ . But what surprised her was how quickly Thanadir moved to help work it onto her arm. He somehow already wore his, as did Thranduil. And both of them were looking at her a little oddly, as they each took one of her hands. “Thank you Sharley, again. It is a beautiful and thoughtful gesture. And why am I fairly convinced you two are up to something?” A quick scan of all the faces in the room revealed curiosity on the part of everyone except perhaps Sharley, who was simply difficult to read. Not helpful.

 

“We are up to something,” Thanadir smiled honestly. “Earlene, not everyone in this room understands why these gifts have been given. That should change. No more hiding.”

 

“I see,” she smiled crookedly, unable to help blushing again. “Very well. I suppose you are right.”

 

Thranduil turned all of them so that they could be seen. He at least had fifteen thousand years of telling others ‘how it was going to be’ on his side. Though, this was still not the easiest announcement he had ever made. “Children, Lothiriel and Ortherion, Maerwen, Ailill and Calanon. You are our family that lives under this roof, and it is time you were all told that something has happened to us. To myself, Thanadir and Earlene. In what is apparently the will of the Valar, Earlene and I are wed.” He paused. “And, Earlene and Thanadir are wed. Earlene is pregnant with two sons; each has a different father. This was not something any of us expected or sought to happen, but happen it did. Adjusting to what we have been asked to be, as a family, has been very difficult.

 

“We are apparently meant to bear a message: Many kinds of love are acceptable in the eyes of our Father Eru. Otherwise, you will find us the same as ever, but we are now a family of one wife with two husbands. One mother, with two fathers. I know that this will be...difficult to accept. And yet accept it we must.”

 

He turned now to face his wife. “Earlene, you and I wear rings of marriage according to the custom of humans. Thanadir wears the same; the wedding band that belonged to your father, as a means by which to keep away unwanted interest.” Chuckles of humor traveled the room as Thanadir smiled and rolled his eyes, since none of them were likely to forget the first time the seneschal was taken out on the town, so to speak. “It is time for something else that symbolizes our family as it is now, according to the customs of elves.” 

 

Thanadir now gained Earlene’s attention, and held open his palm to display two bands of shining gold; the smaller ring was half the width of the other. What was to be done here was quite obvious. Her cheeks heated up, but at least no gasps of horror had filled the room. Still, she did not look at anyone but Thanadir. Her tentative fingers took the larger of the bands from him; smiling, she took his right hand. “By our father Eru, my husband, Thanadir,” she said clearly, slipping the band onto his index finger. It was impossible not to tremble a little, as he looked on her with all the love in his heart, closing his eyes with emotion as the ring was fully seated into place.

 

“By our Father Eru, my wife, Earlene.” The same motion was reciprocated, before he pulled her into a kiss. After, their foreheads touched briefly. Thanadir gently pushed her back and turned her toward Thranduil. Her beautiful, fair-haired spouse held out the same rings. Or rather, rings that looked the same. This time she had the presence of mind to tilt the band around, grinning to see that it was indeed engraved on the inside. It stood to reason that the first one she wore bore letters as well. The same was done, leaving Earlene wearing two rings. It was perhaps better that they had surprised her, because if she felt dizzy and disoriented now, it would have been far worse with time to think about it. After her kiss with Thranduil ended, she dared to look around the room. With the exception of Saoirse, the children did not seem to be batting an eye. Ailill and Calanon simply looked delighted,  and the elves... _ were grinning knowingly _ ? There had to be a story there, she just wasn’t ready to know what it was.

 

Saoirse raised her hand. “How is that any different?” she asked. “I mean, I thought you guys already kind’v...I don’t know, were? It seems like you all already  _ were _ married, just without all the icky stuff that happens with grown-ups.”

 

“Saoirse,” Ratiri groaned, but Pat burst out laughing.

 

“That’s pretty much what I said she’d say,” he said. “It’s official now, Saoirse, that’s what matters.”

 

The girl pondered this. “Okay,” she said. “Congratulations, you three.”

 

“Thank you,” said Thanadir, counting his blessings nothing more unseemly was uttered.

 

Ailill did not hesitate to rise and share his joy. It was easiest to go to Earlene first. “I am happier than you can know,” he whispered, hugging her.

 

“Oh, I  _ do _ know,” she whispered back, looking at him meaningfully. Though she meant it in humor, the relief in his eyes was tangible. Earlene perceived, for the first time, why this might be more than just about her. “Birds of a feather,” she murmured in his ear, and felt him laugh. His smile was brilliant.

 

“Flock together.” Ailill now faced Thranduil.  _ I do not think I need say that I accept your family wholeheartedly, my King. You give me courage.  _ He found himself pulled into a warm embrace. If Lorna had any concern that Ailill bore hard feelings toward Thranduil on account of Christmas dinner, those were dispelled in a hurry. The kid practically glowed like an elf, he seemed so happy. 

 

Not to be outdone, Calanon was there too in offering best wishes. This in turn brought the other elves off of their seats. Yes, it was peculiar. But if their King proclaimed this, well, so it was. And Thranduil and Earlene were completely adorable together anyway and had been since day one so... _ like the child had said, what was the difference? _

 

Watching, Sharley could not be at all sorry she’d dragged the D&D’s out and blabbed to them. This was so much better, and so much healthier, and while she’d still love to give the Valar a kick, at least it wouldn’t be such a hard one.

 

Earlene sighed as she hugged the ellith and Ortherion. While some part of her felt relieved, she also knew that by this time tomorrow every elf in the Realm would know. This was it, the ship was setting sail.  _ So be it, Earlene. Sitting in drydock sucked pretty bad. Just...roll with it. It’s been good so far. _

 

Thanadir took her by the hand and pulled her into his lap.  _ Have faith, meldis. All will be well.  _

 

_ If you say so, husband. _

 

_ It so happens that I do _ , he fired back.

 

She rolled her eyes, and snuggled against him, relaxing. It was exactly five seconds later that every child she called her own piled on top of them. 

 

_ See? _

 

_ Oh hush, you.  _

 

Thranduil outed the last part of that exchange for the benefit of the room, while Earlene glared at him. But everyone also laughed at Lorna, thanks to his flawless imitation of her accent. Ailill looked over at the tiny woman he barely knew, and wondered if it was wrong to hope the flu broke out at mam and da’s. A very hard stare from the King told him that yes, it was wrong, and he immediately bowed his head in apology. Sharley, for her part, knew what she wanted to do for Christmas day, and grinned disturbingly. “Don’t suppose we’re having turkey for Christmas dinner here?”

 

“Yes, we are,” answered Earlene. “Turkey and ham both. The turkey is being sent special, from the Byrne farm, near Galway. I hope that’s OK?”

 

“Oh yes,” Sharley answered. “Yes it is. It will be just right. Can’t wait.”

 

Earlene smiled and leaned into Thanadir’s embrace while Ithiliel and Eleniel sat on her feet while she bounced them. Truly, she was determined not to ask.

 

*****

 

Calanon closed and locked the door to their room. Ailill was very tired, but still dragged out his laptop. “More computer time?” the ellon asked, with a not-so-subtle air of suggesting that he not.

 

“I do not want to be in more trouble with Aran Thranduil, Cal,” he said softly. “I have to tell mam that Lorna is coming too, and I’m doing it right now. The thing is, I have no idea  _ why _ . I mean, I barely even know her.”

 

“Ah. Then I am glad you are...caring for matters. Your talk with the King was…?” he felt he had to ask.

 

Ailill finished typing and clicked ‘send’ before he answered, closing his laptop. “He was not happy. I did not expect that he would be. But I am not being punished, if that is what you are asking? I meant it, I do not want to make that mistake again. I did not want to make it in the first place…” he trailed off. “I need to grow up, Cal. This is the first time I have ever had someone demand that I act my age and just...stop being a total wimp. But it does not change that I still feel afraid.”

 

The elf came to sit next to him, and put an arm around his shoulders. “What is the worst thing that could happen, in your eyes?”

 

“I need a few minutes, to think of how best to answer that,” Ailill murmured, rising. “Let me get ready for sleep.” He brushed his teeth, which always seemed to fascinate the elf. He combed his hair too, before returning to find his night-clothes. If he did not need to remove all his clothing, he would now change in front of Calanon. Whereas the elf seemed to have no modesty whatsoever, and did not care what he did. At first it seemed shocking, to see him. But now...he found he did not have an opinion either way, except to note that Calanon was very beautiful. He was slender of form, but wiry and muscled. And he found it very amusing that Ailill liked flannel sleeping clothes so much. Flannel was new to elves, and the soft warm fabric was quite nice to snuggle against. *Someone* had a wrapped present of flannel night-clothes, not that Ailill was about to mention that.

 

“Well?” asked Calanon gently.

 

“Well, the worst thing I suppose would be to be accused of being gay and be asked to leave the dinner on account of it. They could disown me too...but those things would be just embarrassing if they happened. In fact, maybe they wouldn’t be the worst at all, because it’s true. I don’t know if you can understand, I’ve spent most of my life trying to not find out if I am attracted to males. I’ve been afraid of that, too. It was easier not to know. Then I could still wonder. But...I can’t wonder any longer. I won’t be ashamed of you, Cal. I love you very much. It’s just another thing about myself I’m trying to...put somewhere. But back to your question? I think what is closer to the answer is that I worry I’ll have to find out somehow that they dislike me as much as I’ve suspected they have for my whole life. I believe my parents love me, but they don’t like me.”

 

“‘Love you but don’t like you’…wait. How can that...that can happen?”

 

Ailill switched off the light, pulled back the covers and slid into bed, happy to be followed underneath the warm covers and held. “It can. I am no psychologist, Cal. I do not understand everything about why I feel as I do. Maybe that is part of the problem.”

 

“What is...psychol...that word?” 

 

“Psych-o-log-ist,” he said slowly. “It is people that help others to...feel happier, or something? They are supposed to know about feelings. Things like that.”

 

“How do they do that?” Calanon felt fascinated.  _ Who would not wish to make others feel happier? _

 

“Well...honestly, I do not know, I have never been to one. But from the things I have read, they listen to people talk about whatever is the matter. And then offer...insight.”

 

“Like what?” the elf persisted.

 

“You are going to be the death of me,” Ailill laughed. “Can we look on the computer, tomorrow? I am a falconer, Cal. If I tried to answer I would be making up stories. This is outside what I know.”

 

“I would never kill you,” Calanon protested.

 

“It is a figure of speech, you silly elf,” he teased, trying to tickle him to no effect whatsoever.

 

“I am not silly,” the ellon pretended to sulk.

 

“If you say so.”

 

“I do.”

 

A noise of exasperation came, amidst a smile. Ailill had wrapped his arms around his chest, and his legs were now snaking around as well. “I do hope you are comfortable.”

 

“Mmm hmmm.”

 

“Do I at least get a kiss good-night?”

 

“Mmm hmmm.” Ailill unraveled himself, growing very sleepy.  But a kiss, that was motivation. He raised his hand to the beautiful elf’s face, caressing his cheek with reverence. “I love you very much, Calanon,” he said. “I am so grateful to have you.” This was one of the few feelings in his life of which he felt very sure.

 

“I love you as well, nîth vain.” They kissed long, and sweetly, before Calanon could sense his partner was all but asleep. “Posto vae,” he whispered. Ailill nestled close, wrapping his limbs again. Calanon absolutely loved it, that he did this. He felt wanted, needed, in a way he never had before. His eyes closed, fully at peace with the world.

 

*****

 

Lorna, a touch tipsy, hunted Thanadir down before he could actually go to bed. “So, Thanadir, I need some help, if you’ve got the time,” she said. “Help with clothing in particular.”

 

“Of course. What do you wish?”  _ Poor Lorna. She had clearly had much eggnog. _

 

“I’m rescuing Ailill from his parents,” she said, “but I need to look like the richest, poshest bitch that ever rich’d and posh’d. If they see that he’s got somewhere...shit, how do I put this? If they see he’s got people in his life that mean he doesn’t actually  _ need  _ them, things might go better for the poor kid. Right now I’m betting they think they’ve got him over...hell, over a barrel, as we say. That they’re the ones with the money, so they’re the ones with the power. If I, his incredibly rich boss’s sister, show up, looking all rich and...rich, the shoe’ll be on the other foot.”

 

Thanadir’s lips parted slightly. Lorna had much...none of that was right to his understanding, yet all he really knew was that both Earlene and Thranduil felt it best to keep out of this. Best say nothing. “You wish to look wealthy and very...something like the party we went to in New York?”

 

“Exactly,” Lorna said, grinning. “There’s an Indian garment called a salwar -- easy to make, you could probably do it inside’v twenty minutes. I want to make one out’v black velvet, and we can figure out what decorative whatever to put around the collar and the hem. I’ve got leggings already, but I don’t have shoes -- have you got any tiny little elf shoes that would fit my feet?”

 

“Probably, if one of the ellith will help me find them. And yes, I am happy to make you a salwar, if that is what you wish. I can style your hair, too. Perhaps you should talk to Earlene? She might know what would suit this kind of occasion?”

 

“I appreciate it, Thanadir,” she said. “This’ll be...interesting. If nothing else, I’ll be giving Ailill an out if he needs one -- if his parents start grilling him too hard, I can just be...present. Very much there. And rich.” Yes, she cackled a little. She couldn’t help it.

 

“I take it you wish to raid the vault?” Now he was amused. He had understood that it was hard to persuade her to wear nice things, and now this?

 

“Oh, I do,” she said. “Though I'm not going to dig through all my wedding jewelry. Elf jewelry is so much lighter and more comfortable. I just need to be sparkly and confusing.”

 

“Oddly enough, I believe I can manage that,” Thanadir said, giving her a hug. “Tomorrow. Sleep well, Lorna.”

 

“You too,” she said, squeezing him back. She wandered off, the wheels of her slightly drunken mind still turning.

 

*****

 

Thanadir was the last in, and locked the door behind him. “I assume you heard all of that,” the seneschal said to Thranduil in tones laden with amusement as he changed into his sleepwear. “I am like Earlene. Do I wish to know?”

 

Thranduil smiled and shook his head. “In this room, I am among my trusted advisors,” he smiled. “Lorna believes I am abusing Ailill in some manner by requiring him to see his parents at Christmas, and is determined to interfere and protect him from the decisions of Mean Aran Thranduil.”

 

“Does she  _ know _ about Ailill and Calanon?” Earlene asked carefully.

 

“To quote Lorna, ‘Nope’.” Thranduil was grinning shamelessly.

 

“My husband, the troll,” Earlene shook her head. “I should not find this funny. I should not. But Valar help me, this is funny.”

 

“She may be able to do some good,” Thranduil admitted. “But mostly...Lorna has no real idea, of the concessions I grant her from...our point of view. I told her that this was a matter of my Realm. Ailill pledged his fealty to me; she has no right to interfere in anything about this. Whether it proves to be a lesson to her, or something unforeseen...well, time will tell.”

 

“I wish Ailill had had better….structure,” Earlene said. “I have met people like him. Young men, to be more specific. I can guess a little, at why he struggles so much, though nothing excuses the abuse he has endured at the hands of others. But I had the fortune to come from a very emotionally stable home, give or take Aidan. He did not. It can affect how a person develops, no question.”

 

“I know, meluieg. And that is why I am being...strict, with him. He needs a certain amount of parenting, yet. Between myself and Calanon, he is hard-pressed sometimes. He will succeed. I know he will. I intend to ensure it.”

 

Thanadir reached to turn off the light, as it was late. “Wait, meldir.” She pulled off her new rings, looking inside the one from the seneschal to see that yes, it was engraved as she had suspected. Then back on her finger they went. “I want to thank you both, for tonight. It was a lovely gesture and is very special to me.”

 

“I like wearing this ring,” Thanadir smiled. “Our marriage now feels real, in a way it did not before. I hope saying that does not offend.”

 

“I feel the same,” Earlene replied. “Now you can turn off the light.”

 

“Valar be praised,” Thranduil quipped. 

 

Earlene thwacked him with a throw pillow. “Oops.”

 

“Do I need to remind you it is unlawful to strike your King?” Thranduil said, smirking unseen in the darkness.

 

“Oh dear. Well, we both know I have the worst habit of not remembering that one. I suppose you will have to assign me some penance. And technically, the pillow struck you. My hand was elsewhere.”

 

“You are hopelessly insubordinate, Earlene.”

 

Thanadir giggled.

 

“And now you are subverting my faithful seneschal.”

 

“I have to be good for something, besides growing babies?”

 

“Eru. I am going to sleep. I love you both.”

 

Earlene snuggled against him, and felt Thanadir do the same behind her. It had been a wonderful evening, even if Bob Rivers had been involved. Sighing, she fell asleep at once.

 

*****

 

The next day, Lorna waited until after breakfast to corner Ailill. She beckoned him into the Quiet Room, so at least they wouldn’t be stampeded.

 

“All right, Ailill, I’ve got some questions,” she said. “How much does your family know about your life now, how much do you  _ want  _ them to know, and how much are you allowed to tell them?” While she normally would have been displeased to know there would be any restriction on that last, she fully understood why it existed. Their secrecy was pretty damn necessary, after all, and it could be all too easy for some to trip up before they realized what they were doing. While her experience of him was admittedly limited, the kid didn't seem to have a great deal of guile.

 

His lips parted as he looked at the diminutive woman, feeling vaguely terrified, as he tried to reason with himself:  _ She isn’t asking for the most private secrets of your soul, you coward. Just answer those questions. Not more.  _ Aloud, he cleared his throat, hoping his voice would be steady. “In the way you are asking, they know nothing. My family knows I run the Falconry School at Ashford. Period. I...I suppose they should know that I have new relationships with other people. I mean, most people in the world have friends? I am not allowed to tell them or anyone else that elves exist. And,” he looked down at his shoes, “my family never knew about my interest in elves. They don’t know that I speak the elven languages or...any of that. I hid it. They already saw me as having no grounding in reality, and I was always afraid that finding out about that would be more than they could stand knowing.”

 

This poor kid...it had to be hard, being the only dreamer in a family of pragmatists. “Don’t worry, I won’t mention your interest in elves,” she said. “I’m going with you so that if they try to push you about life -- about Calanon -- I can sit there and confuse them. I’ll just talk about my brother the extremely wealthy landowner, and how you met him at the castle and the family adores you now. I don’t have to tell them anything more than that, but...I think it’d be good for them to know that you’re valued.”

 

“Pat is a wealthy landowner?” Ailill asked, confused.

 

“Thranduil,” she clarified. “Or Fionn, as he is in the outside world. Pat and I adopted him as an honorary Donovan, for reasons that aren’t mine to share. He might tell you, if you ask him; it’s not like it’s anything dire or weird, but it involves things that only he’s got any right to talk about. Though he did help me burn down my old house, so there’s that.”

 

Ailill sat down, both to no longer tower over Lorna and to absorb this. Perhaps he was not meant to know, that Aran Thranduil burned down houses. It was obvious that his King was close friends with Lorna; this was in no way a subject on which he should have an opinion. “Fionn. I had forgotten he uses that name...outside. Maybe that could also explain how I know you; that I am also a private falconer to him. It would also explain why I never visit home any more; my time is spoken for. I am sorry, I told mam that I know you from the School, that seemed easiest. But she is used to me only telling her snippets of things; maybe it would make sense that I also know you because of Aran Th-- Fionn. But that will confuse her too because Finn is my hawk. Oh well. Everyone will be confused anyway, it is nothing new.”

 

“I’m sure she’ll manage,” Lorna said. “I really did meet you through Thranduil, so it’s even the truth. Mostly. Meanwhile, just wait until you see Yule. It’s one’v the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life.”  _ She  _ thought it gorgeous, but it would mean more to Ailill, because Ailill was like Ratiri, only even more so. No doubt it would be his daydreams made real, and more than real. “There’s one elf, Ruscion, he’s older than old -- he saw the light’v the Two Trees, and he can sort’v...show that. Don’t ask me how it works, because I’ve got no idea in hell, but it’s so lovely it hurts.”

 

Suddenly the man’s eyes were riveted to hers. “He shows the Trees of Valinor?” Ailill did not see how that could possibly be true; his heart was in his throat at the mere thought of it.

 

She grinned. “He does. I’ve got no idea how, but he does. I’d never seen anything like it before, and I've never seen anything like it since.”

 

Suddenly Ailill was looking forward to Yule very much, and was equally determined to harass Calanon for not mentioning this. “Is there anything else you want to know?” he asked Lorna.

 

“That’s about all I need for now,” she said, giving his shoulder a pat. “You just gear up for Yule, and don’t worry about Christmas.” If things got too weird as this parents’ house, she was fully willing to fake sick to get them out of there. “This’ll be the first time Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir’ll be out, if that’s the word I want, in front’v the rest’v the elves. Maybe just stick closer to them, in case they need the support? I’m sure it’ll be fine, but I know Earlene worries, and if she’s got all’v us that already know around, that might ease her mind a bit.”

 

“Earlene worries?” he asked carefully, not understanding. Earlene was the strongest person he knew. That night...he had done as he was asked; he had not tried to listen, and he had not looked outside of the vehicle in which they told him to stay. But he was not stupid. All of the men who had attacked him were nowhere to be seen, and there had been a calm coldness to Earlene that...he had never asked, but he had always guessed. Wondered. Earlene wasn’t afraid of anything, he thought.

 

“I was surprised, too, when I found out,” Lorna said ruefully. “I’d always thought she was close to superhuman, that she never doubted, but...well, that’s another thing that’s not mine to say. Her and Thranduil and Thanadir sat on this for six months, though, because she was afraid the rest’v us would...I don’t know, abandon them or something. Which, I’d be insulted if I wasn’t fully aware that fear can make you do and think some weird shite. Anyway, what I'm saying is, it wouldn’t go amiss to just let her know you’re thinking’v her on Yule, when she’s facing all the other elves in one big lump. Even if it just means an extra hug, I'm sure she’d appreciate it.”

 

Ailill swallowed and nodded. “Of course.” How could he not, when he knew that one day, it would be him on display? Calanon did not seem perturbed in the least. He had seen that his beloved ellon was filled with simple faith that everything would work out fine. But that was Cal; he himself was not nearly so fortunate in his mastery of his feelings. Poor Earlene. Maybe he should...talk, with her. But not just now.

 

*****

 

Calanon’s eyes widened, at the understanding he would eat at the table with the Royal Household at Yule. It had never occurred to him, when accepting the offered assignment to guard Ailill, that half of the things that had befallen him would come to pass. “Thank you, Hiril vuin,” he said to Earlene when he was informed of this detail in the quiet that descended on Eldamar after lunch, when everyone usually dispersed to do...whatever. Ailill had his lessons with Thanadir, and Thranduil had gone to the Halls to oversee preparations pertaining to Yule. And everyone else was plain old gone; the nannies had taken the children to meet new draft horses that had been purchased; gentle giants that would be used for farming. Because of course, the Planning Council had gotten off its arse on the subject of farming just in time for winter weather to set in fully and for Earlene to arrive at the time when long hours canvassing amongst the homeless would be out of the question as the twins grew inside of her.

 

“You don’t have to thank me, Calanon.” She gestured to the sofa near the fire, after seeing that he had tea. Lately, sitting down felt better and better.

 

“But I do, Hiril vuin,” he said softly. “Maybe not so much for this, but for something else you did for Ailill and I already. I have not until now summoned the courage to thank you for the box that found its way to our room. But I am thanking you now. You cannot know how much it meant to me, or how helpful this was.” 

 

Earlene snorted. “Oh, that. Well, first, you need to start calling me Earlene. ‘Hiril vuin’ is fine in more formal circumstances, and your respect is appreciated. Yet I feel far more like I am the one who should show you respect. I am human, you are an ellon. I have never sought to be elevated on account of my husband.”

 

Calanon smiled. “We forget you are human, if you want to know the truth. And you deserve the respect accorded to you. You have given our King children. Brought him immense happiness. Hîr Thanadir as well. Not to mention that you are a better elf than some of the elves,” he admitted. “For all these things we honor you. But I will call you ‘Earlene’ if that is your wish.”

 

_ Why have I been so stand-offish around him until now?  _ she wondered to herself.  _ He is well-spoken and more than a little kind and charming. Oh well.  _ An imperceptible shrug passed over her shoulders. “Regarding the other....I was worried for you both, and in a place to help do some good. I would help you in any way I can. Ailill is a very special person, and I find he and I have much in common. You understand, that to me, he is the only other mortal who has loved Thranduil enough to give his service? I never thought to share that with anyone human. It was….lonely, but I had accepted it. And then he came out of nowhere one day, speaking Sindarin and wishing to give fealty to our King.” She shook her head and smiled at the memory. “I would do anything for him.”  _ And I have proven it,  _ ran the thought, though that was of course kept private.

 

“I had not thought of that part,” the elf admitted. “For us it is just...normal. But I see your point. Ailill told me a little of how Kings are viewed in this country and while it did not occur to me, you and he are extremely unusual in this regard.”

 

Her head nodded. “Are you ready to meet his family? That sounds like it will be a most interesting evening.”

 

A laugh erupted, almost causing him to go awry with sipping his tea. “I will be fine regardless. I will admit to being more than a little curious about my love’s parents and siblings. What he has told me about them...I am disturbed, but at the same time...I love Ailill, Earlene, but I am not oblivious to his lack of maturity in certain areas of life. He has suffered greatly from lack of…” he sought the words.

 

“Guidance.”

 

“Yes, that,” Calanon grinned, to realize that others saw what he did. 

 

“He will be fine, in time,” she said. “I have known others like him. A sensitive man, raised by well-meaning but emotionally unaware parents. Parents who loved him because he is their son, but who likely have little in common with him, and lacked the skill to bridge that difference. If I were to guess, you will find that they are the reason he has so little self-confidence. He never had a reason to start believing in himself before he came to us. To you. When someone believes they are unlovable, the depths of what happens when someone changes that are difficult to put into words. He will need time, but he is already so much happier. I have seen him be far less anxious, since you entered his life.”

 

The elf considered all of these things, and wondered how she knew this. He was too polite to ask. It was time to change the subject. “Will you tell me about human customs at this ‘Christmas’? Is it like what we do in the Halls for Yule?”

 

And here she thought the afternoon would be boring and lonely….

 

*****

 

Everyone was seated at the tables, waiting for the entrance of Aran Thranduil, his wife and seneschal in order to begin the Yule Feast. The children were all dressed beautifully, as was everyone really. It was arguably the most festive night of the year. More paper snowflakes than ever hung from the ceiling (the elves now viewed these as something of a contest, with each of them having submitted at least a half-dozen. And because they were elves, these were beautiful and intricate beyond anything Lorna and Earlene contributed the first year of their participation).

 

Arrive they did, both walking hand in hand with Earlene in formal attire. Thranduil on her right, Thanadir on her left; their fingers laced together. All the elves rose and bowed or curtsied formally, which mattered far less to Earlene than the friendly expressions and smiles that greeted her. Ailill and Calanon had made a special point of approaching the three in order to bow, and holding out their chairs to seat them with honor. Thranduil dipped his head in acknowledgement, and the staff flew into action, bearing the trays of food to the tables.

 

Thanadir turned to look at Earlene with a smile that clearly said,  _ Told you so. _

 

_ You were right, as usual.  _ She squeezed Thanadir’s hand.  _ I was silly and afraid, as usual. _

 

_ I did not mean it that way, meldis.  _ He leaned over to kiss her cheek.  _ I too have been afraid. I am only happy that you see you no longer have reasons to worry. _

 

_ What Thanadir said.  _ Thranduil too kissed his wife on one of her rosy cheeks. How beautiful she looked to him, now that her body was growing again with children. She was always beautiful, but he especially loved sharing these months of her pregnancy with her. It had pained him to realize that for many males in the human world, the sight of their wives’ bodies changing with growing babies inside was off-putting. He loved his human friends, but frowned on many accepted beliefs seemingly ingrained in the larger world of men. These were attitudes he would not miss, once they were gone.

 

Their food was delicious but Ailill found he had a hard time enjoying it...he was too eagerly awaiting the promised sight of Laurelin and Telperion. “Now you know why I did not tell you, nîth vain,” Calanon teased in a whisper. A poke to his ribs from a sharp elbow was the only reply, which caused the elf to chuckle. Finally, Ailill saw his wish, when Aran Thranduil rose and the ellon who must be Ruscion came forward to take his hand. 

 

Without being aware, Ailill grasped Calanon’s hand and held on tightly, against the beauty that assaulted his vision. He could only think,  _ I could die now, and not care, for having seen this.  _ As the dewy light from the trees at their time of transition from day to night spread as a mist through the room, he cried silently. When the vision faded, he felt as though a part of his heart was taken away with it. 

 

“Look at me, Ailill,” Calanon whispered, making it seem as though he was leaning in to share some bit of humor with the man, while deftly blotting away his tears out of sight of the others. That his firion wore his hair unbound could be quite handy, at times; it obscured the view of his face. Soon Ailill was set to rights; now no one would know there had been tears, which he knew his sensitive love would not want seen. His hand was squeezed in thanks. “There will be dessert now,” the ellon whispered. “You can forget yourself in sugar.” Even Ailill had to laugh. This part was no exaggeration; the treats that now emerged from the kitchens were hardly to be believed.

 

Lorna had, as she almost always did, consulted both Mairead and Earlene as to baked goods, and this year they’d agreed on the same thing: cupcakes. And yet to call them merely ‘cupcakes’ would be to do them a disservice; they were decorated with intricate patterns of icing, most in winter themes. Snowflakes made of crystal icing sugar stood up from the creamy frosting; some even had ‘boulders’ made of colored nuts, though she avoided those -- nuts in most baked goods were sacrilege, as far as she was concerned.

 

“Are those cupcakes, or just...tiny cakes?” Ratiri asked, as the trays were brought out. They  _ were _ rather too big to be cupcakes, but they had to be, given the sheer level of detail in the decorations. Even Lorna had no idea how they’d managed to make the icing sparkle like actual snow, but it had to be edible or they wouldn’t have done it.

 

“Bloody Jesus,” Pat sighed. “Every time they make something that pretty, I always feel guilty for eating it.

 

“That’s what pictures are for,” Lorna said, taking out her mobile and snapping away. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when the world ends, and I can’t snap and print anymore.”

 

“That’s why you’ve got Saoirse,” Pat said. “She’ll make memories and then some.”

 

“That she will.” The girl had already stolen a cupcake, and was now perched at the end of an unused table, sitting disturbingly like Gollum as she very slowly savored her dessert. The blob of frosting on the end of her nose just kicked the image into beyond endearing territory.

 

Ratiri, being rather smarter than Lorna in some ways, grabbed about sixty napkins, while she took a cupcake and cut it in half for the twins. They’d be at it a while, and would probably be buzzing around on a sugar high half the night, but oh well. It was a holiday. They’d just crash and sleep for two days after Christmas. Lorna probably would, too, come to that.

 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, going to Ailill’s?” Ratiri asked.

 

“Actually, I think I am,” she said, surprising even herself. “I mean, maybe it’ll all go to hell, but I don’t think it will. I’ve got an idea.” Not a plan, not fully; if things went as she hoped they would, it would be a plan. If not, she’d just have to improvise.

 

Before the evening ended, Ailill remembered one thing of great importance, with great chagrin. He approached Thranduil, and waited to be asked to speak. Though he really need not have. 

 

“You need wine to take to your parents’ dinner, and forgot?” the King asked, amused. 

 

The man looked back at him and nodded sheepishly. “I am sorry, Aran Thranduil.”

 

“Fortunately that is not a problem,” Thranduil answered kindly. “Follow Thanadir and Earlene; they will leave soon. Thanadir will provide you what is needed on your way out.” It was safer this way; entrusted with the task, Lorna would probably try to find Dorwinion. 

 

Ailill thanked him with deep appreciation...finding a wine shop that was open Christmas Day on the way to Killarney was simply not going to happen. He had purchased a gift of cheeses for his family from the specialty shops in Galway, but had entirely forgotten the one thing for which mam had actually asked. 

 

Soon they were back, and Ailill was in bed first, with his eyes closed though he was not particularly tired yet. Maybe he would read, in a minute. But right now, he just wanted to remember the Trees. Lorna had been right, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He did not notice that it took Calanon a little longer to join him, or that some shuffling sounds had taken place on the other side of the room. With three hawks dozing about eight feet away, it was easy to ignore extra noises. 

 

“Ailill,” his companion’s voice said in a tone heavier with emotion, causing his eyelids to flutter open.

 

“Yes, love?” Right now he felt relaxed, comfortable, and happy. Maybe it had been the delicious wine at dinner, but either way he was not about to complain.

 

“This has been a very special evening, with you. All of my time with you, has been special. Part of me hesitates to ask you this the night before we see your family together, but my heart moves me to wait no longer.” He held open his hand to show that it held two silver rings. “Will you be mine, Ailill? Will you walk alongside me until the day of our marriage, whenever that may be?”

 

It surprised Ailill, that the question and the sight of those bands held no trepidation for him. Maybe the part of him that worried about everything had at least reconciled itself to what seemed now like an inevitability.  _ The Valar had said so, hadn’t they? _ This was going to happen anyway and...another part of him knew that he could not hide forever. Calanon deserved better than that...and maybe even so did he, though it was still hard to accept that last part. He did know that he loved Calanon with all his heart; that much was not going to change. If his ellon wished to be formally betrothed to him...really, that was a tremendous honor. “I will,” he whispered back, closing his eyes and reaching to trace his fingers over the elf’s cheek. “I love you.” His heart beat harder, as he felt his left hand taken, and the ring slid onto his forefinger, until it was his turn to do the same. And  _ dammit _ he was crying again, it could not be helped.

 

“Shhhh,” Calanon soothed. “I want you to feel happy, not sad.”

 

“I  _ am _ happy,” came out in hitched breaths.

 

“You mean, humans cry when they are both sad and happy?” The elf frowned, flexing his finger against the extremely welcome sensation of the ring just placed there.

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“I have so much to learn still,” he laughed softly. “But right now I am going to kiss you.”

 

When their lips met, a force of desire previously pushed aside coursed through Ailill. His hands had only ever travelled to hold Calanon’s hands, hug him, or touch his face. He found now, they wanted to rove the ellon’s back, and shoulders. This was welcomed, and reciprocated. Buttons were undone, nightshirts were slipped off, and bare skin held bare skin. He felt confused, but happy, and wondered what was...okay. It absolutely seemed that reading was not going to happen, as Calanon broke away to switch off the light. When he returned to bed, the elf’s gentle hands slowly wandered further. But before they wandered too far they paused, and Calanon spoke: 

 

“You understand, nîth vain, that when we at last join our bodies in intercourse, we will wed? It is customary that betrothal last a year. With your consent, I would like it if we begin to learn how to share pleasure with each other. Understand each other’s bodies, learn to trust each other. But only if this pleases you. I am content to wait until our marriage for these things, if it is what you want.”

 

Ailill found it hard to know what to say. On one hand, he was afraid to do anything wrong. But being among the living, his very insistent arousal badly wished for attention. He would have to be honest. “Cal, my body wants you. I, want you. I am human; I have desire. I have been very...I do not want to make mistakes. You are perfect and pure and I give myself into your keeping. Please guide me. I don’t really know what to do,” he said shyly. “I am afraid to do anything wrong or improper. You mean so much to me…”

 

“Then we can start with kissing each other, and touching. I love you, Ailill. You are to tell me, if anything I do causes you to wish me to stop. I will always respect you. Eru, you are beautiful.”

 

By the time sleep came, they had shared an exchange of physical enjoyment that left Ailill reeling, and tired. He had experienced many strong emotions this evening. His heart was as filled with bliss as his body had been; he thanked the Valar for his life. Tonight was more than he ever could have imagined; he trusted Calanon with all that he was. Suddenly, facing his family tomorrow felt like it was of small consequence. For the gifts he had been given, he felt he could be sent home for a year and still manage his dysfunctional family. Not that he wanted to.  _ This _ was his family now. He rested in the arms of his lover; his future spouse, whose hand still caressed the skin of his chest. Nothing else mattered.

 

*****

 

Christmas morning at Eldamar meant preparations for a breakfast like none other. And presents. And children, and learning that today was Allanah’s fourth birthday. Earlene was the first to encounter Ailill and Calanon in the very early morning, and the first to notice. She grinned, and kissed both of them on the cheek, eyeing their rings. “Do you want everyone to know just yet? I got you both something that will buy you a little more time, if you wish,” came the mischievous question. The two looked at each other bashfully. 

 

“Maybe that would be nice,” said Calanon, blushing a little. “We are still getting used to it ourselves.” He looked at Ailill, with love in his eyes. 

 

“Stay here,” Earlene said, shuffling off to the tree in the other room and back before her batter even noticed she was gone. Returning, she gave them each identically wrapped presents. “Open them, go on!”

 

Merrily they tore through the paper to rival the greediest small child, to find grey woolen half-gloves, made from a very fine yarn. The application was obvious; wearing them would leave their fingertips uncovered while obscuring their new jewelry. “You both spend much time outdoors, and need to be able to manage the birds. I like these for gardening in cold weather, and thought you would too.”

 

They both thanked her, and delightedly pulled on the wonderful gloves. Their services were offered for breakfast, and soon they were in a corner, peeling and slicing fruits while Earlene prepared for a monstrously large batch of crumpets. Thanadir shuffled out sleepily to kiss her. There was no point talking to him until he’d had tea, so he leaned against the counter with his elf hat at a crazy angle while Ailill goggled at the sight. He had never thought Hîr Thanadir was a Harry Potter fan but apparently he was wrong, about that…

 

The day was relaxing and lovely, with even a brief (and unsuccessful) hunt with Thaladir and all three hawks. Saoirse had been invited along, to her delight, and was placed in charge of Finn and shown how and when to offer him the pieces of meat. Watching her sense of wonder was a form of Christmas present in itself. But late afternoon came, and it was time to prepare to leave. It would take most of two hours to drive to Ailill’s parents, and allow extra time for traffic or...whatever. In dinner jackets and ties with crisp shirts, they met in the foyer. 

 

Earlene assessed their appearance with a critical eye while they waited for Lorna. A collar was adjusted here, a piece of lint removed there, and then Lorna appeared. “Christ Almighty, Lorna,” Earlene whispered.  _ This _ was amazing. “Thank god this isn’t a regular party, or you’d come home with an extra husband, looking like that.” She paused. “Okay I didn’t  _ quite _ mean to say that, but it was meant as a compliment.” Yes, Earlene facepalmed. Her brain was pregnant. These things happened. “You’re gorgeous, and given how you looked in New York, that’s saying a lot.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Thanadir’s a miracle worker,” she said. “Can you believe he made this thing in a day and a half?” She smoothed down the salwar -- heavy black velvet, it hung just past her knees. They’d cheated on the decorations; rather than straight embroidery (which would have taken even him ages), he’d sewn silver trim that looked like vines, the flowers picked out in crystal beads. Add in black leggings and some rather interesting soft black boots, and she managed to look like something other than a doll. He’d pulled half her hair up and secured it with one of Ratiri’s combs, but she’d managed her minimal make-up herself (and discovered just what the twins had used to draw faces on the condom-balloons, since she was nearly out of eyeliner). She had rings on all her fingers -- emeralds, rubies, and plain silver, light and delicate and very, very sparkly -- and the emerald necklace Thranduil had given her so long ago.

 

Ratiri eyed his tiny wife, and found himself with a disconcertingly strong urge to grab her and drag her right back upstairs again. Instead he took a sip of tea, trying very hard to think of something else. “No dragging home any other husbands,” he said. “Not without interviewing them first.”

 

Earlene burst into laughter, while Ailill and Calanon regarded each other with barely suppressed smirks. Calanon took his hand. “Are you ready for this?” he asked Ailill softly. Ailill nodded and closed his eyes in anticipation of the kiss he saw was coming. Their lips met briefly. “Then we will go,” the ellon said, clapping him carefully on the arm. “The wine is already in the car, as are their other gifts.” Calanon had insisted that Ailill have something for each family member. Weeks ago. It had not been an option. Ratiri, being quite observant, now caught sight of the rings they wore, and somehow managed to say nothing. 

 

“Have fun you three, and behave yourselves,” Earlene smiled. “Drive carefully. Text so we know you got there safe.” She did not miss the fleeting expression on Lorna’s face, and kept her features completely normal. Apparently Thranduil was not the only troll in their family, she acknowledged to herself.

 

“All right, you lot, into Rogue One,” Lorna said. “Don’t worry, I’ll drive safely.” She shrugged into her green coat and grabbed the keys, giving Ratiri a kiss goodbye before leading Ailill and Calanon out to the Honda, which she’d re-christened not long after they got home from Yellowstone.

 

“Okay,” she said, once they were inside, “has anyone said anything to you about my driving?”

 

The two males looked at each other. “Should they have?” Ailill asked cautiously.

 

“Nope,” she said, grinning. “Just wanted to make sure they hadn’t prejudiced you.”

 

Off they went, and she drove fairly reasonably on the back-roads -- not as fast as she’d prefer, but rather faster than the actual speed limit. “Okay, Ailill, what’re your parents like? Any topics I should steer clear’v?”

 

“They’re conservative,” Ailill said. “Socially, financially and probably in most ways you can think of. They’re not mean people but they have opinions. Lots of them. And little realization that not everyone shares them,” he added ruefully. “If I told you what topics to steer clear of, you might not talk all night.”

 

She quirked an eyebrow.  _ Oh, dear _ ...a plan was forming, something more than her nebulous desire to be something of a buffer. She was ethnically ambiguous enough that she’d been mistaken for a half-dozen different things; it would be very easy to convince Ailill’s parents he’d taken up with some extremely wealthy foreign family. If they were  _ too  _ conservative, the fact that she was richer than hell and vaguely brown might unsettle them to keep them off balance. “I’ve known a few’v that sort -- not the conservative bit so much much as people who don’t understand that their opinions aren’t universal. Calanon, you’re getting introduced as a volunteer at the falconry school, right? Anything more there?”

 

The ellon smiled from the back seat. “I think you can see that there is a great deal more, there. But whether this is the right time for his family to know that seems...doubtful. They have never met me nor do they know I exist beyond being a name. And...perhaps I should let Ailill speak…”

 

“No, you’re doing just fine,” Ailill interrupted, gnawing on this thumbnail. “Tell her what you need to, Cal. Aran Thranduil trusts Lorna; it is enough for me.”

 

“Very well. Ailill never had the chance to...figure himself out, relationship-wise, until...we...happened. There is no way to inform human parents that their son is betrothed to an elf in the first relationship of its kind that the Valar have permitted in Arda. And yet it grieves me that Ailill has experienced fear and doubt as to whether he is remotely accepted by them. They have apparently not been kind, in their comments about same-sex relationships. This did not help Ailill’s life to date, at all.”

 

‘We happened?’  _ Thranduil, your eyebrows’ days are numbered,  _ she thought, thanking whatever deity might be listening that she’d found this out  _ before  _ they reached Ailill’s parents’ house. “I’d bloody well think not,” she sighed. “So all this time they’ve been insensitive at best, and now they might be total gobshites at worst...well, if they do get shitty, we can leave. Thranduil said you had to  _ go _ , but not that you had to stay and get insulted.” Christ, knowing that -- and Thranduil  _ had  _ to know that, given he was him -- she was even less pleased that he’d make Ailill go deal with...that. It had occurred to her that it was maybe Thranduil’s idea of tough love or something, but he had zero actual idea what he was sending this poor kid into -- this poor kid and Calanon. His few brief experiences with homophobia were not enough, because honestly, shit like what those gobshites had been going to do to Ailill was horrible, but the cruel words of people you loved, who were supposed to love you...she really hoped her brother-from-another-mother had considered all the possible outcomes, because if this went badly, it could be ten times worse than her bridal shower.

 

“To answer more of your original question, I work alongside Ailill the days we are at the School. We thought it best to appear to be friends only, unless some sort of miracle happens,” Calanon added.

 

“I hate that you have to,” she sighed, speeding up, though staying on the high side of sane, “but if you think it’s necessary, I won’t out you.”

 

She glanced at the speedometer, and decided, rather abruptly, that she wanted another Charger. It was time. The Honda was great and all, but it was...well, it was a Honda. Serviceable. She wanted a muscle car again. “So Ailill, do your siblings have families? How many people’ll be here?”

 

“I’m never totally sure, honestly. Definitely, you’ll get my little sister Mary. She’s twenty-five. My older brother John is thirty; he’s been dating Chloe for three years now and she’s about his age I think, they met in college. Both my siblings work for the family business. That’s called Kerry Land and Timber, since you’ll like as not hear about that too. There are aunts and uncles that might be there, and possibly gran--that’s mam’s side. There’s also some of da’s single friends that are business...not exactly partners, but highly placed in the scheme of things. Some’v them are single men with nowhere else to go and most years come for dinner. Plus random people. It’s a big house with a big table that holds at least twenty, and that’s if mam doesn’t go into overflow.” He rolled his eyes at some of the memories of past holidays, but couldn’t help but grin. “Oh well. I suppose Aran Thranduil is right. I’ve never missed a dinner yet, and have no reason not to go except my own wishful thinking.”

 

A couple that like to fill their house, yet had no grandchildren...oh dear. And yet it made her curious; both his siblings had solid, Anglicized names, and then there was Ailill. A delicate Celtic name for a delicate Celtic lad. If his parents had wanted three unimaginative accountants instead of just two, they shouldn’t have given him such a whimsical name. It meant  _ Elf _ , for fuck’s sake -- what the hell did they expect to happen? They ought to have called him...Brian, or something, if they wanted a different kind of son.

 

“Well, there’s a relief,” she said. “They can’t grill you too hard with all those people about. You’ve brought wine and cheese -- you’ve done your duty as an adult child.”

 

Her GPS told her which exit to take, and then they were still one of the very few cars on the road. Out here the clouds were clearing, the sun bright in the pale sky. She wasn’t without hope that they might see a little snow back home, before the day was out.

 

Eventually they were guided to the long drive of what was clearly an estate more than a home, though the house was thankfully not Downton Abbey posh-looking. The residence looked large and quite nice, in a conservative sort of way. It was built of brick with a shingled roof. Two stories, rectangular in shape, and with decorate stonework paths leading from a parking area through manicured lawns to the front entrance. There were neatly trimmed shrubberies in geometric shapes. It was very...uninteresting in a socially acceptable sort of way. “Home sweet home,” Ailill sighed, trying to muster himself. “Alright, I need to behave myself,” he said apologetically. “Mam and Da have always been nice to guests, and I apologize for putting my family misgivings and baggage on you. I’m sure this will be...fine. And thank you both for coming. It feels nice, and for once I’ll have someone to talk to past ten minutes in.”

 

Calanon said nothing but blew him an air kiss, which caused Lorna to laugh. They packed up bags of gifts and bottles and cheeses and made their way to the door.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lorna said. “I’ve had plenty’v that myself, in my time.” She was not without hope that Ailill’s parents wouldn’t learn their lesson -- Mairead had, after all. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, even if it might be somewhat unlikely. “Just keep in mind: I’m the sister’v a landowner who met you through the falconry school, and I’ve got an interest in your future. The great thing is that it’s all true, just not at all in the way they’ll take it as.” She tipped Calanon a wink, hoping he wasn’t as nervous as poor Ailill. Somehow, she doubted he was; while she didn't know him well, he didn't seem easily rattled.

 

“OK. And for your end, you’re as you are, married with children, and your family had to ...I need some reason why you are here. Your family all caught colds and can’t do anything...wait, no...you already had your family thing last night and were curious about this lovely dinner?” Poor Ailill. He was pants at lying.

 

“Let’s go with the second one,” she said kindly. “Better to not let your family think I’m carrying germs. I’ll just say my children are playing with their toys and my husband is still in a food coma, and I was curious as to your own family.”

 

“Sure,” he said gratefully. “I’m a crap liar. I think I already told mam I met you through the school, but it’s just as easy to clarify that I know you through your brother. My other employer. I do better when it’s as close to the truth as possible,” he confessed.

 

Calanon smiled to hear this. It would have bothered him, to learn otherwise.

 

“Between you and me, I am, too, if I’m trying to do it on the fly,” Lorna said, and laughed. “Ask Thanadir sometime, just how badly I mangled trying to keep my niece from hitting on him. She didn't know he was an elf, and I couldn’t tell her that, but my attempts to protect him were...well, honestly pathetic.”

 

She heard people moving on the other side of the door, and crafted the kind of enigmatic Cheshire smile she’d seen Earlene wear a few times.

 

Ailill opened the handle to step inside, which triggered a shriek of happiness from a mid-aged woman who appeared to be in her late fifties. Maybe early sixties. Honestly, she was quite attractive; her shoulder length silver hair framing a face accented by tasteful make up. “My wayward son flies home after all,” she said, hugging him. Ailill’s mother was considerably smaller than him, only about 163 centimeters. 

 

“Happy Christmas, mam,” he answered, smiling and hugging her in return. She stepped back and fussed over the knot on his tie, earning an eye roll.

 

“That was inspected and approved by someone very particular, I’ll have you know,” he gently chided, removing her hand. “I want you to meet my friends. This is Calanon, and Lorna.”

 

The woman’s eyes swept over Calanon with a critical eye that seemed to instantly assess Calanon as “Ailill, take two,” but her gaze arrested at seeing Lorna. She smiled, yet could not hide the frown of confusion. This woman seemed older that Ailill...perhaps too old to be a love interest... and quite well appointed.  _ What? Good grief, don’t tell me they are dating. _ “Welcome, Cal and Lorna” she said aloud, immediately shortening the elf’s name without asking. “I’m Mary Kerry. Please let me take your wrap; everyone’s is in a nearby room. Let me show you.” Gliding down the hall a short distance, Lorna followed with a backward glance that spoke of entertainment while Calanon took in the view of the home.

 

“You grew up here?” the elf asked.

 

“Mostly. This home was built when I was quite young. I think I was five or six, when it was completed and we moved in? So yes, this is more or less the home I have known.”

 

“And yet you have been content to rent a single room in a farmhouse?” Calanon pressed further.

 

“Well, that farmhouse is attached to a farm, and when I need to I can bring all of my hawks there. Priorities, Cal.”

 

“I see,” chuckled the elf. Lorna was already returning with Mrs. Kerry. 

 

“We have the wine you wanted, mam. And cheese. I know where the presents go, but where would you like the other?” Ailill asked politely. 

 

“Into the kitchen with all of you, and you can see the house,” she smiled, leading the way. “Now how do you all know each other again?”

 

“Calanon volunteers with me at the Falconry School, mam. I know Lorna because I took a second job last spring. Her brother is a landowner that wanted to hire me as a private falconer. So when I’m not at Ashford, I work there.”

 

“I thought you said you met her through the school too,” Mrs. Kerry said, her voice tinged with suspicion.

 

Patiently, Ailill managed the accusation. “I did, mam, because that is how I met her brother. It seemed easier to say that in the email rather than writing a novel about them.”

 

“Oh. Of course,” she smiled, unaccountably nervous at how carefully Lorna was watching her.

 

“Ailill’s been teaching my brother’s children falconry,” Lorna said. “Mine are still too young, but he’s wonderful with my nieces and nephew.” And if she was a tiny bit pointed in her praise, sue her.

 

“You’re married?” came out almost too quickly. Mary bit her lip a little at the blunder. “And can I pour you wine, or something stronger?” she added. Ailill, to his credit, did not roll his eyes, though his fake smile took on an edge of hardness at the nosy question. Both he and Calanon shook their heads No to the question.

 

Lorna laughed. “I’m afraid my husband is still in a food coma from last night -- we do most of our celebrating on Christmas Eve. And I would love a glass of wine, please.”

 

Mary took the bottles from Ailill and saw the indecipherable labels. “This is wine?” she asked doubtfully.

 

“My brother is something of a wine collector,” Lorna said smoothly. “It’s very old -- this vintage has been in the family forever. You won't find better in all’v Ireland, I’d wager.” She didn't actually give Aillil a wink, but she came awfully close. This was way too much fun.

 

“Ohhh,” Mary said, impressed. “We’ll have Ian in here in a moment, maybe he’d rather have these with dinner? But...what does this say?”

 

Calanon interceded smoothly. “I overheard them mentioning that those are written in a notation only the family uses and knows. They like their secrets. But it is definitely red wine. Ailill has shared bottles before, that they have given him. It is wonderful.”

 

“It’s also a touch strong,” Lorna added. “Perhaps it would be best with dinner.” She looked around her; the house was tastefully appointed, but rather like the front yard, there wasn’t a great deal of originality to it. It was almost like a show house, rather that something one would live in. “You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Kerry. Ailill said it was built when he small.”

 

“Thank you,” she beamed. “And listen to me. Ailill, I’m keeping you from greeting your father. He’s near the tree, John and Chloe are here but Mary’s not come yet.”

 

“Follow me,” he invited his guests, picking up the bag of gifts while making certain his mam noticed the cheese selection, to which he pointed with a smile.

 

They threaded their way through a hall or two, past a staircase, and into an impressively large living room with a lovely tree that looked like a department store window display expert had been hired to decorate it. All gold ribbons and white lights and gold balls, and not remotely as tall as the one at Eldamar. Not to mention, sure as hell it had no Starship Enterprise on top. “Da!” Ailill tried to muster enthusiasm for greeting his father, a tall and substantially built man who had far more in common with Thranduil as to physical appearance. It was easy to see that Ailill had much of this man’s height, but his mother’s delicate construction. “Happy Christmas.” He reached to hug his father, ignoring the look that clearly said _ Another year and he still hasn’t cut his hair. _

 

“Good to see you, son. Glad you finally decided you were able to make it,” he quipped. “I had to listen to your mam for three solid weeks when you didn’t answer sooner,” came the accusation.

 

“Sorry, sir. I have a lot of work now; it couldn’t be helped.” This was of course not true, but he would gladly pay any penance Thranduil gave him for having said it. Right now, he did not fucking care. “Please meet my friends. This is Calanon, and Lorna.” He gestured to them. 

 

Calanon offered a handshake on which he had been extensively schooled, and Ian raised an eyebrow at the grip that revealed far more strength than he expected to encounter from this willowy kid who looked all of twenty-five. “Ian Kerry,” he offered. “Pleased to meet you.” Lorna too held out her hand, and Ian got more than he bargained for when he failed to return her grip and found his hand grasped with tremendous force.

 

“Pleased to meet you as well,” she said, eying him, and that showcase Christmas tree. “I was telling your wife that you have a lovely home. It’s certainly one’v the more impressive Christmas trees I’ve seen.” Not, it wasn’t like the one at Eldamar, but they’d obviously put in the effort. She had the strangest feeling that this entire place -- house, yard, all of it -- was a showpiece, but that that wasn’t necessarily deliberate artifice on the part of the family. Maybe it was a subconscious need to keep up, rather than an actual decision.

 

“This is my brother John, and his partner Chloe,” Ailill said, indicating the tall, more substantially cookie-cutter man who stood nearby.

 

“Hello,” he said, extending his hand after giving his brother a half-hug. None of the Kerrys were unattractive, it seemed. John had Ailill’s same good looks, but with a more rugged appearance. However, unlike Ailill’s hands that were rough from use and activity, John’s hands betrayed a life spent indoors and at a desk. “I take it my brother torments you both with his flying circus?” John teased, earning a chuckle from his father.

 

“Torments?” Lorna asked, quirking an eyebrow. Already she didn't like this one. Not at all. “He’s been teaching my brother’s children how to hunt with and care for his birds. They’re beautiful, though I can’t quite shake the fear that one will try to nest in my hair. Which isn’t at all fair, but I had a bat get stuck in it once, and I’ve been wary’v flying things ever since.”

 

“Brother’s children? I thought you were working for Ashford, little brother.”

 

“I have more than one job, these days, John.” Ailill kept his voice level, not taking the bait. “I work privately for Lorna’s brother on the days I am not at Ashford. You might say I have been bought out; I have been shown quite a lot of generosity, and am able to teach more than ever. I’m quite happy. Calanon travels with me to both jobs, and works with Fion and Thia as well as I do, now. Diana is still...Diana.” She had always been the most temperamental of his three raptors.

 

Ian raised his eyebrows at all of this, but for now did not ask further. “And what is it you do, Lorna?” It seemed wise to change the subject, just now.

 

“I started out as a personal assistant,” she said, “but now I work with my brother and sister-in-law to make and run a non-profit charitable business, specifically to feed the homeless. Between us we own more land than we know what to do with, so we decided we ought to put the revenue to some worthwhile use.” Which...really wasn’t a lie, honestly. Oh, it wasn’t the  _ truth _ , but it wasn’t a lie, either. Funny how that could work.

 

Ian raised his eyebrows. “Don’t suppose you keep cows,” he joked.

 

“Her brother’s wife Earlene does,” Calanon answered carefully. “And I do some of the milking for the farmer where Ailill and I rent rooms.” Yes, it was a bedroom and a bathroom, and therefore, rooms. It seemed best just now to test the waters while keeping them obscured.

 

“Better you than me,” Lorna said dryly, giving him a smile. “I tried milking Buttercup once. Evidently she disliked my tiny hands, so I’ve never tried again. I’m only glad she kicked the bucket, rather than me.” She would never, ever forget -- which one had it been? Rainbow? -- Madison’s friend, who so desperately wanted to liberate a cow that didn't seem interested in being liberated.

 

“Hand milking is not easy,” laughed Calanon. “Do not feel bad. I have an advantage. Cows like me. What is it you do, John, Chloe?” He noticed that the firieth with Ailill’s brother was being ignored.

 

Chloe did not give John time to answer. “He’s an accountant,” she smiled, offering her hand to Calanon to shake. “I am a social services worker with the homeless in Kerry county,” she eyed Lorna. And I dearly would like to hear more about what you are doing, Lorna. Be a dear, would you John, and get me some of that lovely wine?”

 

Alright,  _ this  _ one Lorna liked. A lot. “Are you?” Well that could be...handy. “Christ, I’ve got to say I was so disheartened when I first read the statistics on homelessness in Ireland. I’d known it was bad, but not that bad. What we’ve got going is a land-use project that’ll use draft animals and other traditional methods to give jobs and housing to homeless families. My brother got a wild hair, so to speak, and wanted to preserve traditional Irish farming. 

 

“There’s a screening process, to make sure anyone who signs on is capable’v doing it physically and mentally; as for the food we raise, the excess will be donated to charities. I wish I had a card or something to give you, but we haven’t had any printed yet. At the very least I can give you mine and my sister-in-law’s mobile numbers.”

 

Ian looked from his son to Lorna to Calanon and back again. “Do you fit into all of this, Ailill?” he asked cautiously, hardly daring to believe that his son could have fallen in with people who actually were capable of accomplishing something. 

 

“Yes, in my own way,” he said quietly. “My employer’s young son has his own project, raising and training Kerry Beagles. It’s my responsibility to help him learn the proper care of both the hawks and the hounds, and to hunt them together. He caught his first rabbit this last fall. Don’t you have pictures of that, Lorna? He is an adorable child, quite serious. But he loves his new dogs and is wonderful to teach. I have been asked by his father Fionn to have a view toward eventually acquiring a pack of hounds that will also act as a reserve of the best genetics for the dogs in the country. To them,the traditional hunting techniques are seen as an adjunct to the farming methods.”

 

“I do,” Lorna said, pulling her mobile out of her pocket. Mercifully, the rabbit wasn’t actually a bloody mess; even she would have been hard-pressed to take pictures if it was. Her favorite was of Thaladir, holding it up and grinning like a sunrise, with Ailill and Thia behind him. “Isn’t he a cute little one? I think Ailill’s one’v his favorite people in the entire world.” She passed the phone to Ian, who no doubt was going to wonder why her ‘nephew’ was white as white came.

 

“Your nephew is very blonde,” Ian grinned. “But sure God he has your eyes. Look at this kid, John.” He handed the mobile to his other son. “I didn’t know you liked children, Ailill,” his father said appraisingly.

 

Calanon was about to protest when Ailill answered first. “I would do anything for that little boy. I love him to pieces.”

 

“Wish we could get you married off and have some grandchildren,” he said pointedly, looking over the rim of his glasses.

 

“I know where I can borrow some,” Ailill replied acidly.

 

“He’s young yet,” Lorna said, staring hard at Ian. “I didn't have mine until I was forty. And anyway, he’s’v too much value to us as he is, right now,” she added, giving the poor kid what she hoped was a comforting smile.

 

“Ian! Come try this wine Ailill brought,” they heard from across the house. Mary’s tones were of delight and amazement.

 

“Pardon me,” he smiled, excusing himself.

 

“Don’t you mind that,” said Chloe, shaking her head at the retreating form of Ian. “They’ve been on us every two months about babymaking. You’d think they’d wait until we talked about marriage first.”

 

John flushed a little and looked away. Ailill saw his opportunity. “Afraid of taking the plunge, big brother?”

 

“That’s a big step, and only our business,” he answered archly. “Like you’d know anything about it,” he muttered.

 

“You never know. I might beat you to it,” Ailill pushed back. “But I agree. It  _ is _ only your business, and I’m glad you’ve got your head on straight about that part. Don’t mind them, mam and da can’t help it. They were having us when they were twenty. They don’t understand it’s different now.”

 

Chloe nodded sagely, looking at John. “You still haven’t gotten me my wine, and your da went that way to the distinct sound of a bottle being opened,” came the pointed observation. “It’ll take me just that long to use the powder room.” Chloe departed abruptly. Blinking at both Ailill and his girlfriend, John scuttled off without another word, leaving them temporarily alone.

 

“You are bolder than I realized, nîth vain,” his lover said quietly.

 

“The night is young, Cal. Long way to go yet. God, I want a drink. But I need to ask...Lorna, only we can drive. I’m glad not to drink and drive home. You tell me what’s wanted; you’re my guest.”

 

“You go ahead and drink,” she said. “Probably best if I don’t -- I tend to run my mouth if I do, and nobody needs that. No matter how entertaining it might be in hindsight.” She grinned at him, hoping that would set him a touch more at ease.

 

“Cal, do you still not want anything?” he asked kindly, to see the elf still declined. There was a decanter of Scotch on the sideboard, and Ailill helped himself to the ice in the bucket and poured a double, downing it at one go before replacing it with another that he intended to nurse. “Fortification,” he said to Lorna, grinning.

 

“Why thank you, sir,” Lorna said, returning the grin. “Ten to one they ignore that I said it was strong, and wind up ossified off their gourds inside’v half an hour.”

 

Calanon rolled his eyes, and then noticed a young woman in the doorway who he guessed from the resemblance might be Ailill’s sister. Tall, willowy, delicate, she glided across the floor to hug her brother. “Mary,” he said, hugging her. “How are the ledgers treating you? These are my friends Calanon and Lorna.”

 

Calanon watched with approval as Ailill’s sister lingered in her hold on her brother’s waist. “Hello,” she smiled and waved to Lorna and the elf. “They exist,” she rolled her eyes. “Boring shite. But it keeps mam and da happy, and it’s not like I mind. I’ve missed you, big brother. I wish you came around more, though I understand why you don’t.”

 

Neither of Ailill’s guests missed the appreciation on his face for that comment, as he hugged her again. Mary was just shorter than him, so her head tucked in neatly under his chin. “I miss you too.” He did not comment on the rest of it. “Drink?” he queried. 

 

Mary shook her head No, as she now shook the hands of her brother’s guests. The first thing she caught once she began taking in the details of all of them was that her brother now wore rings, because Ailill never had. In fact, he had put up more than one fuss-fit about not liking jewelry, in the past. “That’s beautiful,” she said, grabbing at his hand to see the golden ring with the hawk engraved on it. It was a very, very short trip to noticing the other band he wore. It seemed innocuous enough, until she noticed that Calanon wore one exactly like it, on exactly the same finger.  _ Hmmmm. _

 

Lorna watched her sharply, but there was not, as yet, any judgment or hostility in the woman’s expression. “We keep him fairly busy,” she said. “Well, us and the castle. Between the two, he’s not got too much free time, I think.”

 

“It’s for the best,” Mary said with heavy hardness in her voice. “I love my brother and I miss him. But he’s better off away from here. He just...is.”

 

Lorna’s gaze softened. “He certainly seems happiest in the forest,” she said, looking at him. “I know you definitely always seem delighted when you’ve got the kids and the hawks and the hounds. Even if the hawks do scare the life out’v the cats.” She laughed. “Jesus, have you heard the call one’v them makes? They’re gorgeous birds, but they sound like someone squeezed a baby too hard.”

 

Mary giggled. And so did Ailill. “I’ve told him that for years,” she said. Mary looked so much like her brother it was kind of scary, actually. Very similar face, but on a woman’s body. “Oh and look who’s here.” She walked to greet her brother John, and Chloe was returning from what appeared to be a trip to the ladies’ room and now had her wine. The family reconvened and more guests arrived. There was indeed the array of people Ailill predicted, and just about ten minutes before dinner was to be served, a gray-haired elderly lady was escorted into the room by Ian and placed into the armchair.

 

Ailill stifled a groan and turned to care for familial obligation. Calanon watched, vaguely horrified, as the first words to be heard were “When’re you ever going to get a haircut?” the old woman glowered.

 

“Good to see you too, Gran,” Ailill said, perfunctorily smiling and kissing her on the cheek. He had heard this every year now. Eighteen of them and counting. At least the universe was in order.   
  


*****

 

The children were all playing with their new presents, so Ratiri didn't feel bad about leaving them to it and going to harass Earlene. He knew she’d only allow him a certain amount of time before chasing him out of the kitchen, but he meant to make the most of it.

 

“I don’t suppose you need any help?” he asked. “I could chop or stir something.”

 

“You’re on. There’s three pounds of chestnuts in that pot that need peeling. Two bowls are in front of you and the alcohol you’ll need to get through it is in the usual place. Don’t burn your hand.” Heh. She liked to keep them on their toes.

 

That drew a laugh from him. “I’ll do my best,” he said, and dragged over a stool. It had been ages since he’d done this, but he gamely took up the tongs, grabbing the first chestnut. “So. Ailill and Calanon. I suspect there’s a rather large reason he didn't want to go to his parents’ house for Christmas.”

 

Earlene smiled. “No and yes. I assume you’re asking more about what you saw in the foyer when they left?”

 

“I am,” he said, carefully peeling. “If his family are at all homophobic, I don’t want to know what Lorna will do to them. What I  _ do  _ want to know is, do they know how to be safe? Because it’s not exactly intuitive without...research, or advice.”

 

She stopped fiddling with the turkey carcass for a moment. “I can’t...tell you where they are at with regard to that, exactly. Honestly, it’s...complicated. What happened to them is apparently like what happened to me. I think you know, there are no homosexual marriages among elves. But there will be, it seems; they too are caught up in some larger grand plan of the Valar. They showed up this morning wearing betrothal rings. I think we both know that when they take a certain step, then those become different rings. I guessed some months ago when I first heard about their relationship that they’d have no idea how to have intercourse. I went out and bought them everything I’d read they could need, after lots of research. When they get that far, they’ll only ever have each other. And they at least have more than enough information how to go about...that...so nobody gets hurt. I know Thranduil talked to them, and told them they could ask you if they had questions about...health. But I don’t dare ask them what they are or aren’t up to in their bed. Elves just don’t share that kind of thing except for with their partners. If I missed anything, I’m all ears.” She picked up her boning knife. “Though seriously. Do you have any idea how hard it was to find out that ‘anal virginity’ is a search term? I’m not sure Thanadir has recovered from that, yet.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing. “Oh Thanadir,” he said, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s about as unseemly a term as you can run across. Well, I want you to tell them that if there’s any questions or confusion not answered by whatever information you gave them, they need to ask me. Not Google, or some website. Me. They don’t need to feel any embarrassment over it, either. I know Elves probably don’t understand the confidentiality of human doctors, but Ailill ought to.”

 

“Well,” she smirked, “they will be home later tonight, if you feel that strongly? It’s not like I am exactly chatting about condoms with them on a nightly basis. But I warn you, you’ll probably send Ailill running screaming.”

 

“Well, what I say tonight will depend on how dinner with his parents goes,” he said dryly. “If Ailill is squeamish, I hope Calanon isn’t. The fact that they’re both virgins could end badly if they’re not knowledgeable enough beforehand, and if they have any questions about the material you’ve given them, I’d rather they ask now than later.”

 

Earlene sighed. “Well, somewhere upstairs in that bedroom is a cardboard box about the size of this turkey, and it contains what they were given. If you’re really that worried, you can go see what I gave them, and decide for yourself if it rates or not. But this precise issue was why I made the effort in the first place.” Really, she did not know what else to say. One could only do so much, and if nothing else she knew more than she ever meant to about fun at the back door, so to speak. Then again, she wasn’t a doctor and he was.

 

He shook his head. “That would seem weirdly intrusive; I’d want to ask them if they would let me first. I’ll just tell them to come to me with questions and leave it at that.”

 

“Sure. Huh, wonder how it’s going for them in Killarney. I’m also wondering how blindsided Lorna got by having to realize that those two are a couple. It took a lot of courage for them to decide to let anyone else know.”

 

Ratiri snorted. “I would suggest Thranduil sleep with one eye open, for not warning her of that. Though if Ailill’s family says anything remotely shirty over it, I predict none of them having a terribly happy Christmas.”

 

“Now, that’s not quite fair... He wasn’t at liberty to divulge their business until they did it first. Lorna was determined to get involved there...sometimes that has consequences. And I’d be very surprised if Thranduil didn’t tell her both of those things.” She made a note to herself to install extra locks on their doors.

 

He arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” he said, entirely unimpressed. “Right. As opposed to Thranduil being an unrepentant troll who likes trolling Lorna a little too much.”

 

“That part, I won’t argue. But. As much as we all collectively manage to ignore it much of the time, there is this whole monarchical reality that touches life in this part of the world. Ailill is Thranduil’s subject, and troll or not, interfering in what Thranduil wants him to do is...shaky ground. I make a huge point of staying out of this sort of thing. And in this case...Thranduil adores Ailill. Whatever the hell is going on, he has reasons. I know he does. Some of them I know about, and I happen to agree with what he’s doing, but it’s not a topic I’m free to debate. So I’ll just shut up on that now. But Christ in a sidecar, I hope she doesn’t rile Thanadir. Trust me, that isn’t a place you want to be without advanced weaponry, and it’s winter. I really don’t want holes in the roof.”

 

Ratiri started on another chestnut. “What she does will likely depend on what Ailill’s family does. But...you do realize  _ why  _ this particular thing bothers her, don’t you? Why she’d be angry enough to leave our house on Christmas Day?”

 

“I can take several guesses, yes. I don’t mean to be picking a disagreement. But I trust my husband, and I’ve agreed to the same things Ailill has. The view is just different from here. It may always be a...thing, between the two sides of this home.” She began to nimbly salt the bird’s cavity. “But even Thranduil acknowledges that Lorna might be able to make a positive difference tonight. I hope she can.”

 

“I think that Lorna  _ thinks  _ she trusts him,” Ratiri said, “but on some level I don’t think she does, or she wouldn’t have gone with Ailill and Calanon. It took her a long time to get over that bridal shower. I'm not surprised she’s hesitant to make Ailill run that gauntlet when he so doesn’t want to, even though she’s totally sure she’s moved past her own...history. Lorna is not the most self-aware of people at times, and thinks that she’s more assured of herself than she actually is.”

 

“I would agree with that assessment. But we’re all growing. I just watched all of you stand by me in the face of what’s been in some ways the hardest half-year of my life. I’m not even going to give a shit about the little things. And to me, that’s what this is. A little thing. I don’t know why the Valar are doing this to all of us. But...maybe I got a glimpse this morning, with Ailill and Calanon. It’s more than a little amazing, what can happen for people when they believe they will be accepted, instead of cast aside for being different.”

 

“Well, hopefully his family doesn’t throw cold water on it,” Ratiri said, tossing another chestnut into the bowl. “We’ll know how it went sooner or later, though the fact that we haven’t had a rage-fueled call from Lorna ought to mean his family is at least being civil for now.”

 

“True. And they got some pretty nice wine. Wonder if they’ll have it for dinner?”

 

*****

 

The dinner served at the Kerry home was indeed delicious. Chloe and Lorna were chatting softly through the meal, which was rather lively. Most everyone was talking to someone, and Gran O’Donoghue was talking  _ at  _ most everyone, as it suited her. Lorna noticed with a combination of alarm and amusement that the elder Mary Kerry had definitely been in Thranduil’s wine, that all three bottles had been opened, and that this was most definitely fueling the animation at the table. Ian had complimented it at least five times, and his son’s reputation may have risen a notch or two.

 

Lorna hid a smile behind her own glass -- she’d only had one, then switched to water for a while. Whatever else this family was, they were definitely Irish; give them good booze and they were entirely at one with the world. Maybe, just maybe, they’d get through this evening with their sanity intact.

 

The delectable ham, the sweet potatoes and herbed rolls, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the cheese raviolis (which was weird to find on an Irish table, but apparently there was some Italian connection and this was a family tradition. And god _ damn, _ the things were good). Dessert was both a trifle and a traditional English Christmas pudding (though of course the “E” word was not uttered). The entire thing had been worthy of Earlene, and a very large vessel of warmed brandy was ignited in the dimmed room to pour over the pudding. Applause ran around the table at the sight of it. 

 

“Beautiful flaming pudding, mam,” the younger Mary said approvingly. “You did a fabulous job on this whole dinner.” Many echoes of similar appreciation followed from everyone, because truly, it had been a magnificent meal. Ailill stole a moment in which to hold Calanon’s hand under the table discreetly, but did not linger long. 

 

“I was quite glad to see that the puddin’s the only thing flaming here tonight. Gave me a bit’v a turn, to see you’d brought a young man with you, Ailill.”

 

Ailill looked up at his grandmother, who he had never liked. Only tolerated. Before he could form a response to this completely inappropriate verbal attack, his father cut in.

“Leave him alone, Gran,” Ian growled. “There’s no poofters here to assault your sensibilities. I’ll not have such talk at this table, not after Mary’s killed herself all day to cook this dinner. I’ll thank you to be quiet.”

 

Ailill looked down with both humiliation and cold rage, before some place inside of him that had finally had enough broke open. He pushed his chair back calmly and stood up. Every eye was on him, and there was dead silence. “I’ve endured talk of this kind all of my life, here,” he said in a voice that was uncharacteristically calm and strong. “I’ll hear it no more. Had you been different people, you might have heard tonight that you were meeting Calanon the man I will marry, instead of meeting Calanon my friend. But you can’t hear that, just as I can’t stay where I am not really welcome. I am gay. Queer, a homosexual, a poofter, or whatever other wonderful slur you choose to use, and I’ll not let you make me feel afraid of your bigotry any longer. Mam, thank you for the dinner. We are leaving.” He held out his hand with love in his eyes to his mate, who also rose and also spoke to Ailill’s mother. 

 

Calanon looked across the table only at the older Mary, while he took Ailill’s hand. “Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Kerry.” The two of them left the room, content to wait however long was needed for Lorna to join them. Ailill did not know her well, but doubted it would be too many minutes.

 

“Oh, well done, you gobshites,” Lorna said, surveying both father and grandmother with a contempt so strong it was almost a solid force. “He wouldn’t’ve come here at all today if my brother hadn’t encouraged him so much. Bloody hypocrites, you are -- you say you want family, but all you  _ really  _ want are...are accessories, don’t you? Anyone who doesn't fit your narrow little mold need not apply.”

 

She rose. “Well,  _ my  _ family loves Ailill as he is. He’s a brilliant, sweet, wonderful lad, and we’re lucky to have him. And if you can’t value him as he is, it’s your bloody fucking loss, you maggots.”

 

With that she swept out, catching the pair of them in a hug. Given how much taller than her they were, it was probably kind of hilarious. “Fuck your family, Ailill,” she said. “We actually love you  _ and  _ we’ve got biscuits. And booze.” She was going to want plenty of both, and then she was going to chew Thranduil out.

 

Ailill laughed. “Let’s get you your coat,” he said, knowing the fastest way to the correct room. Then they were out the door, and in the car, and they were leaving. 

 

Calanon wore his seatbelt but leaned forward to wrap his arms around Ailill. “I am so proud of you, nîth vain. You spoke well for yourself.”

 

“I don’t know why it’s OK, but it is,” Ailill replied, holding the elf’s hands tightly. “I’ve never done that before. Something just happened, and I didn’t care any more. And I don’t care now. I’ve never liked gran, and da...whatever.  Did you know that the proper word for ‘mother’ in Sindarin should be ‘evil’? God knows gran fits the bill. I am going to thank Aran Thranduil. This needed to happen. And it did happen, and now I’m free. For the first time in my life, I actually stood up for myself. It feels like a dream.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Are you serious? That’s...disturbingly apt. Well, if any’v them are worth a damn, they’ll try to call you,” she said. “I’d recommend not answering until tomorrow, though. Give them time to stew, and see what it’ll be like if you just drop them all and swan off to people who actually love you. I just...tell me something, Ailill: was growing up in that house like living in a museum?”

 

“A little,” he said. “But I didn’t grow up in the house. I ran outside all the time, and usually had to be dragged in for meals or bedtime. It was the first of many ways in which I’m not like Mary or John. And Lorna, that was brilliant. I’m no good at talking to people like that, but I’ll never forget what you said in there. That’s the other reason maybe, why it’s OK. I do have another family and they love me as I am. I was just so….tired of that. I must’ve been out of my mind, putting up with it as long as I did. There were reasons, but only tonight did I realize that the reasons weren’t good enough to keep on with.”

 

She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “It’s easy to tell ourselves things aren’t as bad as they are,” she said. “Especially when we haven’t got, or don’t think we’ve got, anything else. It’s not you out on your own without them now.” Laughing, she added, “Honestly, I don’t know what they expected. Did you know your name means ‘elf’? Of course you were never going to be some stodgy accountant. You had to live up to ‘Ailill’ somehow.” Honestly, it seemed strange for his parents, such staid, conservative people, to name their kids John, Mary, and  _ Ailill. _ Maybe one of the Valar decided to poke his mam’s brain with a stick on a whim, and see what happened.

 

“It does?”  _ Well that is um...too weird?  _ “You’re not making that up?”

 

“Cross my heart,” Lorna said. “Somebody had a sense’v humor, naming you, and might not’v even known it. I’m blaming Manwë, because I blame everything on Manwë.”

 

“I have not been privileged to meet that Lord,” Ailill mused. “Only Irmo, and that was quite overwhelming enough. I would not dare blame them for anything, though.”

 

“Apparently I met him, but I was unconscious at the time,” Lorna said. “He gave me something that I can both thank and blame him for, since it’s a bit’v a double-edged thing. When did Irmo show up to you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“Not so long ago,” said Calanon. “Maybe in November? He was not alone. We were visited by Estë and Nienna as well, given the message that our love for each other would not be in transgression of the Valar’s law. That the law is...changing. What happened to you, if I can ask?”

 

Her eyebrows rose. “Three’v them? I think that might be a record. I…”  _ Don’t sit on this _ , she told herself. “A lot’v very nasty things happened to us, a couple years ago. Ailill, I don’t know how much you know about Avathar, the balrog that hunted us down after we met him in New York, but hunt us he did. Specially, he hunted  _ me _ first, and ripped through my brain until he found out everything I knew about the forest, the Halls, and the elves. Thranduil told me that Manwë came to him while he was trying to fix something in my brain, and what he did was...well, Jesus, I almost have to show you. I’m close to invulnerable now. I can’t be shot, I can’t be stabbed, and it  _ sounds  _ like it ought to be great, right?”

 

She shook her head. “It’s not great. Not entirely. A year and a half ago I got in a horrible car crash. I mean, should’ve died, would’ve burst like a grape if not for whatever he did to my skin, but the downside was that I couldn’t have an IV, I couldn’t have any kind’v surgery...if my family hadn’t come and got me, and Thranduil hadn’t been able to heal me, I’d’ve died. I’ll never be able to have surgery, ever.” Laughing a little, she added dryly, “And now I can’t ever go back to hospital in Ireland, because as far as they know, I just vanished.”

 

The man blinked in surprise. “We just got told we could marry, and to be discreet about our relationship in the beginning.” Ailill suddenly felt very small. “I did not know about a balrog or...any of that. I am very sorry, Lorna. But I know that our King takes care of those he loves, and I can see that he cherishes you.”

 

“Hey, there’s nothing ‘just’ in being told you can be the first homosexual couple in all’v elf history,” she said. “That’s a pretty damn big deal. And...it’s okay. We’ve all had time to work through Avathar, even if it took us a while. Thranduil especially took it hard, but I owe that man -- elf -- more than I can ever hope to repay. I don’t just call him my brother-from-another-mother as a joke. He became family to me almost before I knew what happened.”

 

“Like you all did for me,” Ailill said softly. “My life has changed and I don’t really want the old one back at all.” His fingers caressed over Calanon’s ring. And his mobile jangled from somewhere near the floorboards. “It’s mam. And I am completely not ready to talk to her or any of them right now.” He switched it to vibrate so that it would not annoy them to hear the ringtones.

 

“And there’s nothing says you have to,” Lorna said. “We’ll eat some’v whatever amazing thing Earlene made for dinner, have some eggnog, and relax with cats. I just hope none’v them went up in the tree again. Earlene was threatening to let your birds eat them.”

 

“Pretty sure the birds are asleep by now,” Calanon snorted.

 

“You weren’t over when we had my sister and her family to dinner,” she said. “Those cats are sneaky little shits. Tail jumped right up onto the table, stole a chicken leg, and ran off. Then the rest of them tried to join in on the fun, and it turned into a free-for-all.” She wasn’t going to mention that she’d chased Saoirse with a broom and then climbed Thranduil like a tree in an effort to exact more vengeance. Their sensibilities could probably handle only so much challenging, especially after today.

 

She needed to talk to Earlene at some point, and let her in on just what she’d seen at Ailill’s parents’ house. Thranduil wouldn’t understand it quite as well, simply because he wasn’t human, and his experience of human families was still somewhat limited. If that was what they were always like, it was no wonder poor Ailill was twitchy and lacking in confidence. He’d probably been told his entire life that he was weird and not good enough. He was such a delicate lad, but if all he’d ever received was disapproval, it was no wonder.

 

At first it seemed odd to her, that they should think so poorly of his chosen path yet fund it anyway, but halfway home it occurred to her that it was probably their way of buying him off. Of keeping some measure of control over him. So long as he owed them, or thought he owed them, they could drag him back home for holidays and keep running him down. His sister seemed a decent sort, but she was the only one; his da and his brother seemed to get a kick out of knocking him, and his mam...Lorna didn't know what to make of his mam. She really did seem the sort to be obsessed with outward appearances, if her house and their Christmas tree were any indication. Yes, both were beautiful, but totally impersonal. It was like nobody actually  _ lived  _ there -- like it was a furniture showroom in a department store. All the other houses she’d ever been in had some kind of character, but that one had just been weirdly bland. It was about as far from Eldamar as it was possible to be.

 

“I love being able to stay at Eldamar,” Ailill said. “Thranduil gave me beautiful quarters in the Halls too, but I’ve never even spent the night in them. Eldamar feels like...family, and Thaladir is there. I mean...jabs from my da aside, I’m not exactly going to have children of my own. So I’m grateful to be around so many that belong to others.”

 

“You will have no lack,” Calanon observed drily. “Earlene loves to bear children, and soon Thaladir will have little brothers to help chase his hounds.”

 

“Earlene’s lucky,” Lorna laughed. “Her first pregnancy was a misery, but Thaladir gave her no trouble at all. She may have more even after these twins, and trust me, the more help, the better. Even Thanadir, Ortherion, and Lothiriel’ve only got six hands between them. I’m just glad I got two-for-one, because I’m never doing  _ that  _ again. Thaladir especially loves you, Ailill. And if there was one thing I discovered, being an aunt to my sister’s four kids, is that it can be just as rewarding even if you’re not their parent.”

 

“I do not want to pry but...I notice that Allanah likes very much to do things with Sharley and your family, but that the peredhel do not do the same. Is she meant to be treated...differently?” Calanon had long wondered about some things he had observed, but felt it was not his place to ask. Yet, Lorna seemed willing to talk with relative openness.

 

“It’s not something we did on purpose,” she said. “Allanah’s human, and I think sometimes she likes being with other humans. The peredhel developed so much more rapidly than she has, mentally, though from what I understand she’ll catch up pretty soon. 

 

“And...she’s very dear to Sharley especially. Sharley had a daughter who died young, and she says that Allanah’s a lot like her little girl -- says they both have sunshine in their souls. Plus, someday you lot will leave, but Allanah will stay behind. She needs to still have family, no matter how old she is when it happens.”

 

“I had not thought of that,” Ailill said. “That when we leave, the King will leave his human child behind. That is...very hard.”

 

“And that is why you are doubly fortunate, for the blessing the Lords and Ladies granted you, Ailill. This sundering is not something you will face,” Calanon said.

 

“It will still be hard,” the man said, leaning harder into the ellon’s hands. “This is the only home I have ever known.”

 

“It is the only home I have ever known either,” Calanon reminded. “Of all of us in the Halls, only Aran Thranduil and Ruscion knew life elsewhere. The rest of us are Silvan elves that have ever called the forest our home. And yet if it is what our Lords and Ladies command, then leave we must. I will not be afraid, though I do not understand the reason. I can only believe that there is one.”

 

Lorna’s eyes widened. “Ailill, you get to go, too? Jesus that’s brilliant. Your parents might be gobshites, but they named you well. And Calanon, I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never thought’v that -- that you’re all walking into the total unknown, except maybe Ruscion. It’s always been talked about as you lot going home, and I never stopped to think that this ‘home’ isn’t actually anywhere you’ve ever even seen. Though...I know this sounds awful, but I'm glad Allanah won’t be going, too. If she did, it would totally destroy Sharley, and that poor woman’s broken enough already.”

 

“There is much I do not know,” Calanon admitted. “In some ways, Ailill knows more about being an elf than I do; he has studied and read and is so much more learned. But Valinor was never meant for mortals. I know some have gone there; Aran Thranduil’s son Legolas gained permission to bring his dwarf friend. I was young when that happened, but I remember. And none of it helps me to understand,” he trailed off with a hint of sadness in his voice. “It is likely that Allanah will be happiest to stay where she is. But I think that is all still many years in the future.”

 

She smiled, shaking her head. “I know I’m loads younger than you, Calanon, but if there’s anything I’ve seen in this life, it’s that things happen for a reason -- and that even if they seem shitty at the time, they have a tendency to end well, if you’re willing to be open to the future. Life in this world’s given me more than I would’ve ever thought possible, and from all I understand, Aman’s an even better one. I was never a person who had much faith in anything, but I do now. The Valar might work in some weird ways, but work they do. Hell, they’re why I’m even alive right now.” 

 

They all drove on in silence, each with their own thoughts. In the rear seat, Calanon held Ailill tightly. Ailill himself held his lover’s hand, and did not stop moving his fingers over the ring of betrothal the elf wore. Over and over, the smooth metal reminded him... _ this is love. This is home…  _ and in the dark, as the kilometers sped by, nothing else mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are über-nerds themselves and caught the reference to how the Sindarin word for "mother" should be "evil..." Here is the linguistic explanation, provided by our resident expert who prefers to remain nameless (if nothing else, the comment provides insight into just how not-simple Tolkien's invented languages are!):
> 
> Not all scholars prefer to use the word "naneth" for mother. A later and more supported word is "emel." But, "emel" is also problematic. The problem is the phonetics, or lack thereof. Tolkien either forgot his own rules, or disregarded them on purpose (you'll see why). Now, the root is AM, and the Quenya cognate is given as "amillë". And the Quenya form is clearly a direct continuation of the Common Eldarin form. Which means, "emel" comes from ancient "amille". Now the problems: Despite coming from the root AM, we don't see an "a" but "e" in the word. Which suggest that I-affection took place (I talked about that before). But where is this "i"? Ancient form suggest that it's in the second syllable, where Sindarin has yet another "e". For the "i" to become "e", another change, "A-affection" must have taken place. But "a" is, again, nowhere to be found. Not even in the ancient form. Then let's disregard the ancient form, and assume "emel"s hypothetical ancestor to be "amillA". So, now our "i" can become "e" because of the final "a". However, this leaves us with "amel"... There is literally no way for "amille" to end up as anything other than "evil" in Sindarin.
> 
> Clear as mud, right? ;-)


	109. One Hundred and Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues where ch. 108 left off, through the end of Christmas Day, December 25, 2019.

 

Earlene giggled at the size of the Scotch on the rocks Ratiri poured for himself when he finally finished the chestnuts, while he gave her mild stank-eye. “I kind of suckered you into that, but you came along like Frodo into Shelob’s web, and I couldn’t resist. I know the chestnuts are a bitch. But you will enjoy the deliciousness, I promise you. There is nothing like chestnut stuffing in a heritage turkey. Nothing.”

 

“Given that you seem to be some sort of food wizard, I’ll count it worth it,” he said, taking a healthy swallow. “Besides, I had practice as a kid. Dad used to make this kind of chestnut pudding every year at Christmas, which sounds like it ought to be revolting, but it was actually pretty good. Not good enough for the labor, though.”

 

“They are fickle things, chestnuts,” Earlene philosophized. “Food of the gods when used in the right way; insipid and tedious monstrosities when mishandled. Here. I want you to try something, just promise me you won’t tell anyone else about this.” She looked at him expectantly, actually waiting to hear The Promise.

 

“I promise,” he said, eying her, “and if you were anyone else, I would be deeply worried.”

 

“Damn straight,” she grinned, while looking right and left to see that no one else was about, then reaching for a jar that she kept hidden far back in a particular cupboard. Retrieving a spoon, she scooped out a small amount of a brownish looking paste and handed it to him, quickly re-closing the lid. “ _ This _ ,” she said in quiet tones, “is a puree of candied chestnuts that were later suspended in a syrup of high-quality dark rum. That takes the better part of a month to make, and you don’t even want to know how many hours. Tell me what you think.”

 

He took the spoon, and actually groaned at the taste. “Are you sure you didn't put crack in this?” he asked. “Keep this away from Lorna. Don’t even tell her it exists. I’m going to have a hell of a time not sneaking down here in the night and eating the rest of it, but she wouldn’t even try to resist.” What on Earth were they going to do, however many years down the road, when Earlene left for Aman? She was a cooking goddess, and none of them could hope to equal her skill. Mairead came close, but fell just short of the mark (not that he nor anyone else could ever, ever tell her so. Ever. At least she could honestly be told that her cakes were without equal.)

 

“Do I get to try that?” Thanadir’s arms wrapped around her from behind.

 

Ratiri burst out laughing at the look of horror on Earlene’s face. Because he could now (accurately) guess from whom she was hiding the jar in the first place. Her shoulders slumped. “What do I have to do to keep you from eating the whole jar?” she asked miserably, even as she took his hand and kissed it.

 

“Hmmm,” he smirked. He had waited quite awhile for this opportunity, and was not about to lose it. “I get half the jar?”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “You get half the jar  _ and _ you peel all of the chestnuts needed to begin making another batch of this.”

 

“Ooooh that is a very high price, Earlene. I  _ could  _ just eat the entire jar. And not promise to help you.”

 

“And I could march it out to the chickens right now and feed all of it to them,” she countered.

 

“You cannot outrun me heavy with children,” he retorted smugly as he caressed her belly.

 

“She could if I tripped you,” Ratiri pointed out. “It’s not a long run, and I'm taller and presumably heavier. Besides, do you  _ want  _ her to smother you in your sleep?”

 

Thanadir assessed this new complication, realizing that it just might delay him enough were that to unfold. He sighed, but not unhappily. “I will agree to your terms, meldis. Now can I try it?” He was peppering her cheeks with little kisses. If it was unusual to see Thanadir behaving romantically, Ratiri was doing an excellent job of dissembling. Earlene spooned out a glob and handed it to him.

 

“If you are nice, I will make you something with this and chocolate. It is not really meant to be eaten by itself, but to rise to new heights in my version of a Montblanc.”

 

“I wiwll be nife,” came out as Thanadir tried to talk through the sticky paste.

 

Ratiri choked on a laugh. If he didn't want Lorna thinking of him as a cinnamon roll, he needed to stop being so blatantly adorable. “And I promise I will leave it alone,” he said, “however hard that will be. Though Mairead’s going to want that recipe, if she can hide the results from Kevin.” Laughing, he added, “Apparently, when Lorna first lived with them, she had a habit of raiding the pantry for whatever snacks she felt like. Mairead gave out at her over it, until she pointed out that Kevin did the exact same thing -- she’d go on midnight hunts and find he’d got there first. Between that and the fact that she’d hide food in her room, poor Mairead was driven to distraction.”

 

“Oh dear. Well, I wouldn’t hide this at all if it wasn’t such a damn pain to make--hey! You use a clean spoon to scoop out more if you want it, Thanadir! We will have no jar unseemliness in this kitchen,” Earlene admonished sternly, earning a terrible case of the Sad Eyes.  “Honestly meldir, go get a bowl for that.” She nudged him affectionately. “And I need to stuff this goddamn turkey or we’ll not eat until midnight.” She looked up. “What was I even talking about? Oh, hiding food. Well, Lorna’s better than that now, right? Though I can’t speak for Kevin. The man sounds like a complete menace to live with. I am far luckier in that regard.” Her eyes fell lovingly on the elf, who had indeed put his chestnut goo in a bowl and was now happily licking the spoon.

 

Ratiri winced a little. “She still squirrels away biscuits and things. I asked her about it once, and she said she’s done it since she was a kid -- they never knew when they were going to be able to actually eat next, so they’d hide whatever little snacks they found to have later. As to Kevin, I asked her about  _ him  _ once, too, since he really does seem to be a bit of a menace. According to Mairead, he’s fantastic in bed and is completely willing to do housework, which I suppose makes up for his other failings.” Lorna’s expression, when she’d relayed that, had certainly been a sight to behold. It was beyond revulsion, verging on trauma.

 

“Ohhhh I can imagine how that revelation went over, if Lorna’s ongoing, er, well she had gotten better about hearing about Thranduil and I, even if there was wine involved that one time.”

 

Thanadir pretended he was not listening, but he very much was.  _ Fantastic in bed...that was...what is that?  _ But he did not have the courage to ask in front of Ratiri. It was obvious that Earlene knew, whatever it was. 

 

“Don’t tell me,” added Earlene. “She died of Squick.”

 

“Oh, she did,” Ratiri said, laughing. “I think she’s finally got over you and Thranduil, but Mairead still teases her sometimes. I can only imagine how squicked she’ll be, if Pat and Grania ever reunite. Family and familial figures, for whatever reason, are not allowed to be thought of as sexual beings to her. Then again, she’s a bit weird about that in general. I think she’s possibly the only human I know who’s completely incapable of even casual admiration of others. I mean, even I still have eyes, but I think the very idea is alien to her.” Even  _ he  _ found the Elves pretty, yet she didn't at all. She wasn’t just saying that.

 

“Well, the cumulative sexual and physical abuse to which Lorna’s been exposed...it’s not really any wonder. I wish so much for her that it wasn’t like that, because I think it is a form of not being able to fully enjoy your own body. But I’ve no idea how to help, or if it’s something that needs helping at all. I just know that I’m different, and leave it at that. And can someone bring the bottom part of that covered casserole dish near? I’ve got to heft this bird into it, now that it’s seasoned and tied.”

 

Ratiri fetched the dish, nimbly setting it in place. “I do, too, but I don’t know how to help her. I mean, she, er, enjoys things with me,” he added, blushing a little, “but to be able to aesthetically appreciate others...there’s nothing wrong in it, and yet I almost get the impression she doesn’t dare. Like she’s afraid that simple appreciation would lead to something she doesn't want. And that in turn makes me wonder if something didn't happen to cause her to feel that way.”

 

Earlene said nothing for a moment, while she placed the bird into the readied oven, washed her hands and dried them. All the while she was frowning. “You know, when I was having the...the worst of my hard time with my hidden circumstances, I wished that there was someone with whom I could speak. I mean, a professional. Someone trained in all this kind of thing; a therapist. I talked myself out of it for a number of reasons but...there are times I wonder if it wouldn’t be worth going just on principle. To better understand things. Like why I can’t stop being such a perfectionist. Or why she has...that issue. Who even knows, what others here might want to talk about. We could probably hire one and have the entire household take up a day’s worth of weekly appointments. And I can’t help but think too...we need some of them on board for when it all goes to hell. It isn’t the first time we’ve discussed this, but maybe we should do more than discuss. I just don’t know who. Or how.”

 

Ratiri pondered this. “The trick,” he said, “is finding both a good one, and one we could trust with...our lives here. For every good therapist there are at least three quacks, and as for the rather unique circumstances of our lives -- we need to find someone who already has an enthusiasm for Tolkien’s world, but who would also be able to handle the revelation that it’s actually real. And God only knows how we’re going to manage  _ that _ .”

 

“I know one,” Sharley said, scaring half the life out of him --  _ how  _ could she move that silently? “Back home. My buddy Alan, he’s a doctor, but his wife’s a psychiatrist. They work at the clinic in Sultan.”

 

“Don’t suppose they want an eight week paid holiday to lovely scenic Ireland?” Earlene asked, not joking in the least.

 

Sharley laughed. “They’d have to put in for the time off, but I'm sure they would,” she said. “I’ve told them all about Ireland, and your home here. They just don’t know the Elf part of it.” Well, there were two she could probably drag in, when the time came. Though... _ you know what, fuck it.  _ “When the time comes, I want to drag Skykomish here. All of them. They’re the only reason I’m still alive and nominally sane. I owe them more than I could ever pay back, and I can’t leave them all to die in seventeen years.”

 

Earlene blinked and shrugged. “Don’t see why not. They’re different genetics than the Irish here, you’d have at least four council persons already in favor, and to my mind, you’re sort of owed whatever the hell you want for saving our asses in the first place. I’ll be the first to stand up and say so, and you know Lorna.”

 

Relief washed through Sharley. “I...thank you,” she whispered. “I was so damn worried, and I was trying like hell to figure out something to teach them all, to get them in. Until I came here, they were the only family I ever knew. They looked after Marty and I, and after I lost Marty, they got me through it. If I can save them, it’s the only way I could ever try to pay them back.”

 

“Well, you’ve got all of us on your side,” Ratiri said. “It’s not like you’re asking to move Seattle. Skykomish has what, a hundred and ninety-eight people?”

 

“Yeah. In the grand scheme of things, not a whole lot. I know some have families outside the town, but not many. I’d say it would be maybe two hundred and twenty, all told? So it’s not like they’re displacing a huge number of others.”

 

“That just about qualifies as pocket change,” Earlene opined. “Though...what’ll be hard for them and all the rest is the years leading up to that. I don’t want to depopulate Skykomish, but...the more that come in earlier and turn this into a working lifestyle as opposed to boarding the ship just before it sails, the easier it will be. I figure we’ll have enough of those as it is. And I can’t even imagine how hard that will be. Did you lot over here know about a jackass named Harold Camping?”

 

“I’ll talk to them,” Sharley said. “We can’t have too many leaving too soon, or it’ll look weird and draw attention, but what we might be able to start doing is sending people over here on extended vacations, to get used to the Halls and the Elves and all that.”

 

“People who are used to wilderness, too,” Ratiri said. “That’ll be useful. And no, I’ve never heard that name.”

 

“Well, he was a doomsday prophet that made a fortune getting his followers to believe the end was coming and gouging them for money. Of course his prophecies never came true and those who believed him had their lives go to shite. In a way, we’re asking people for the same kind of trust. You can’t tell me we’ll have no one thinking, ‘what if that lot doesn’t know what they’re talking about?’ Religions have been pulling the ‘end is coming’ stunt for thousands of years. People are being asked a lot, to trust in this.”

 

Sharley snorted. “Classy,” she said. “Well, Skykomish will believe me, at least. Not all of them know what I do, but enough of them have seen it -- and taken care of me in the aftermath. What I worry about are the others -- the expats, and the homeless you’re recruiting.”

 

“Hopefully the fact that we aren’t asking for money will be a point in our favor,” Ratiri said, “but I worry about the same thing. Things have been going well so far, with Baile and Lasg’len, but once we get closer to the wire, I’m afraid that won’t last. Seventeen years seems like a long time; once we get down to, oh, five minutes to midnight, we’ll be having issues.”

 

“Midnight?” Sharley asked.

 

“The Doomsday Clock,” he said. “Supposedly, however minutes to midnight is how close we are to total destruction. I think it came about during the Cold War, as a means to scare people about nuclear apocalypse.”

 

_ “We’re already at two and a half minutes,”  _ Sinsemilla said helpfully.  _ “Five’s too optimistic.” _

 

“Well, that’s cheerful,” Sharley said. “Sinsemilla says we’re at two and a half right now. I guess maybe we’d have to say one minute to midnight.”

 

Ratiri eyed her. She hadn’t known what it was, but one of her voices supposedly knew the time? He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and called up Google, and was incredibly disturbed to find she was right. “I don’t want to know how she knows that.”

 

“It’s better not to ask, I’ve found,” she said.

 

“Alright you lot. I’ve got a half hour before I need to start the sweet and mashed potatoes, and I intend to float in my bath for that amount of time and get off my feet a little, so please excuse me.”

 

Earlene vanished, leaving Thanadir still licking his spoon. Ratiri and Sharley shrugged, and returned to the room where children were playing, while Thanadir smirked before returning the remaining half jar of chestnut paste to its hiding place. Then he followed her into the bedroom, to see his wife flopped on the bed. “You are not going to get into the pool?” he asked.

 

“I told a small lie,” she confessed, groaning in happiness as he began to rub her feet. “I did want to be off my feet, but I also wished to be alone. And before you ask, alone with you is very welcome also. Please stay, if that is what you had wished to do.”

 

“It is. I had wanted to talk with you, but privately.”

  
“About?”

 

“Something Ratiri said. When he was telling you about Mairead’s husband, and that he is ‘fantastic in bed.’ What does that mean?”

 

Earlene sighed, stalling a little for time. 

 

“You are worried you will hurt my feelings by answering,” he pressed.

 

“Which one of us is the lawyer?” she eyed him. “Oh, Thanadir. I have loved that my thoughts are now transparent to you, so I will simply answer. Yes, I am a little afraid my answer will hurt your feelings, but it will not stop me. Being fantastic in bed means, a person has great skill at offering their partner sexual pleasure. At controlling the experience to maximize the physical and emotional satisfaction of those involved. Sex is not simply two bodies colliding together until climax is achieved; there are many possible nuances and...things.”

 

“Thranduil is fantastic in bed?” 

 

“Yes, he is. Very much so.”

 

“And I am not,” the elf said, reflecting on this.

 

“That is exactly how I do not wish you to feel, meldir. It is...a question of practice, like anything else. A learned skill. I am not lying to you, when I tell you that you have given me pleasure. It is not a...contest. I would never expect sex to be interesting to you, Thanadir.”

 

“But I never thought of it as something at which to be skilled,” he protested, frowning. “I never thought about it at all, until very recently.” There was a long silence, in which despite Earlene’s efforts, her thoughts were not able to be entirely marshalled. “You are working very hard at not thinking how much you would like it, if I tried,” he smirked. “To be fantastic in bed.”

 

Earlene groaned. “Thanadir, have some pity on me. You have me completely at your mercy, in this. I hope you can also see that if I am working very hard at not thinking that, it is because I love you and do not want you to feel like this is something you have to do. Or should want to have to do. But I am myself; I have desires. Desires I gladly set aside for your happiness.”

 

“I know that. And it is appreciated. But at some point, you have to begin trusting that if I am doing something having to do with sex, it is because I want to. I know why you protected me before but...it is not like that any more.”

 

“It is something of a habit now, I admit. Not helped by the fact that I cannot see your mind as you do mine. But I can try to remember. And it helps, when you tell me how you feel. I do not otherwise know anything has changed. Besides. There is something you do better than Thranduil, to give me pleasure.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“You are doing it right now.”

 

He laughed. “Foot rubs were not quite what I had in mind. And I do not think they fall into the category of being ‘fantastic in bed.’” 

 

“Well, we are on a bed, and I will be the judge of what feels fantastic, thank you very much.”

 

*****

 

With Ratiri and Thanadir both helping peel and otherwise wrangle root vegetables, the mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes were well on their way to success without interference from Earlene. So were the rolls; because she simply cheated and had arrangements for Thranduil to bring these back with him in a covered basket from the Halls. There was Cooking, and then there was Stupid Duplication of Effort. Squash pies, salad, cranberry sauce; really not a whole lot remained. The turkey and ham should be done within the hour. A cracking sound on the door knocker set off the hounds, who raced down the stairs to bay at the door.

 

“And we want an actual pack of those things, huh?” Earlene smiled at the racket. Truthfully she thought it cute and funny, and Thaladir came shrieking from above about Auntie Mairead. The little boy loved her; she was proper. And seemly.

 

“Dîn!” (quiet!)  he said to the puppies, who both looked at him and silenced instantly, licking their lips repeatedly with the effort of containing themselves. He stood on his tiptoes to reach the latch, and opened the door. “Happy Christmas Auntie Mairead!” the little voice piped.

 

“Happy Christmas, Thaladir,” she said, stopping to give him a hug. “Jesus haven’t these two grown. Last time your Aunt Lorna sent us pictures, they were just little things. Earlene, I know you might not need it, but I made a cake anyway. I saw a new icing pattern and just had to try it. D’you need any help?”

 

Behind her, Niamh was all over the puppies, scritching their heads. “Aunt Lorna says you’ve been hunting with them, Thaladir.”

 

“Yes. Kiernan and Flannery chase the things that need chasing, so that the hawks can catch them. And then Nana makes dinner,” he said proudly, at one with his simplified understanding of the process.

 

“Aunt Lorna sent us a picture of you with your first rabbit.” One of the puppies -- she wasn’t sure which one -- licked her face, and she grinned. “Did you make the pelt into anything?”

 

“Not yet. Adar Thanadir says I should have earmuffs and Adar Thranduil says I should leave it alone for a… a… keepsake,” he remembered the word.

 

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “Your first’v anything’s always special. My mam’s still got the first award I ever won at school, and that’s just a bit’v paper. A pelt’s a lot more interesting.”

 

Kiernan and Flannery continued to sniff around the great outdoors, seeing Mairead’s car in the distance, and recognizing it as a New Thing. “Go potty!” Thaladir squeaked encouragingly. Everyone watched in morbid fascination as Kiernan reached the car, sniffed the tire, and hesitantly attempted to balance on three legs while lifting the fourth. The urine stream missed the tire, but only just. “Ada Thanadir says Kiernan has to learn to lift his leg like a real dog,” the boy declared solemnly. “He can’t do it right, yet.”

 

Niamh burst out laughing, and laughed all the harder when Shannon, bearing a Tupperware box of gingerbread biscuits, paused to stare at the dog. “Well, at least he missed,” she said, shaking her head. “You probably don’t remember me, Thaladir, but I’m your cousin.” She hadn’t seen any of them since last Christmas, and he’d just been a tiny little thing. “At least your dogs are pretty, even if they haven’t quite worked that bit out yet,” she added.

 

“Pleased to meet you,” the child said. “And, I do not remember. But I will now.”

 

Jesus, he was cute. So cute. “Does your mam need any help in there?”

 

“Nana,” Niamh said. “They call their mam Nana. It’s an elf thing.”

 

“Ah, okay. Does your nana need any help?”

 

“Don’t think so, but you can ask. We all know not to go in the kitchen when Nana is cooking. It isn’t safe. May I take your coats?” he asked politely, even though he was so small that it seemed assured one adult coat would bury the poor lad.

 

“Your nana’s like our mam,” Niamh said. While she hesitated to swamp the poor kid in her coat, he was so earnest, so she took it off and carefully folded it into something he could carry without tripping over it. “Except when she tried to teach your Auntie Lorna to cook. That ended...poorly.”

 

Shannon burst out laughing, taking off her own coat and, like her sister, folding it up as small as it would go. “That’s putting it mildly.”

 

Shane and Chandra came running in, attacking their cousins with hugs. “Niamh, we got checkers,” Shane said. “You want to play after dinner?”

 

“Sure thing, kiddo. C’mon, let’s get out’v the way.”

 

“Mairead, Niamh, Shannon, Happy Christmas,” Earlene said, figuring they were making it past meeting her son. Thanadir and Ratiri waved their greetings from their piles of vegetables. “And who’re these fine lads?” she’d heard that the entire family would be coming, not only the ones she had previously met.

 

“This one’s John,” Mairead said, pointing at a dark-haired lad of twenty-two, “and this one’s Kevin, though we started calling him Big Kevin once he hit his growth spurt.” Said Kevin stood a full six-foot-one, his sandy hair a mess of curls.

 

“Hi,” they said in stereo, and burst out laughing. “It’s good to meet you. Mam and Aunt Lorna’ve said a lot about you all,” Big Kevin added.

 

“Let me give you a hug, before my stomach can get any bigger and we can’t do this at all,” Earlene said, smiling. “I’m glad to see you at last. My other other half will be here soon, with the rolls. He’s stealing them from the kitchens in the Halls. Which makes me realize, you two haven’t really seen all this yet. Or the new greenhouses. There’s a lot to see,” she grinned. “But first, drinks. Mairead, I know you know where the cabinet is and aren’t shy; wine and glasses are already on the counter there, and Guinness is just outside the back door in the cold.”

 

“One each, you lot,” Mairead called, already pouring a glass. “I hope you’ve not been on your feet all day, Earlene -- these lads’v been helping you?” She gave Ratiri and Thanadir a glance that clearly said,  _ I hope so, for their sakes. _

 

“We have,” Ratiri promised. “We’re good at doing as we’re told, in the kitchen.”

 

Saoirse came zooming in, sliding on her stocking feet. She’d got a new set of pastels for Christmas, and had a smear of green across the bridge of her nose. “I heard people,” she said.

 

Both John and Big Kevin stared at her. “Okay, that is seriously creepy,” the former said. “I mean, I saw the pictures, but still.”

 

“We called her Lorna’s Mini-Me, until she grew,” Ratiri supplied. “Go on, you two, get a drink. Saoirse, show them to the Heart Room, will you?”

 

“’Kay,” she said. “C’mon, let’s get out’v the kitchen before we get murdered.”

 

“Never underestimate the value of having a reputation,” Earlene quipped, smiling. “So. I guess Lorna told you a little about why she’s eating dinner with some random family in Killarney tonight?”

 

“She did,” Mairead said, “and if that family so much as breathes wrong, she’ll tear their hides off. So I really hope that poor lad isn’t that attached to them,” she added.

 

“Yeah, but there’s more about it that you  _ can’t _ have known about, because she wasn’t aware herself until ten seconds before she walked out that door this afternoon. What happened to me and Thanadir and Thranduil? It didn’t end there. Last night Ailill and Calanon exchanged rings of betrothal. That means, they are going to be the first relationship of their kind ever seen among elves. No one could say anything until they did; it wasn’t our business to out them until they were ready. And even now...I hope my husband will insist to the other elves that live in our home that they keep quiet about this for now. Those two deserve a chance to have some peace and happiness in a secure place before they go out there and be poster children for gay elves. I thought you should know, before they come back tonight. Just as much as I hope they all survive the evening, honestly.”

 

“Jesus, now she’ll  _ really  _ rip the hide off anyone who so much as side-eyes them,” Mairead said. “What d’you mean, poster children? Weren’t there any gay elves before now?”

 

“Apparently not,” Ratiri said. “Which is honestly tragic. I mean, what if there  _ were _ , but it just wasn’t ever okay for them to admit it?”

 

“I believe exactly that has happened,” Earlene said. “They’re not like us. They’re...steadfast. Much less given to being swayed by internal desires. It would be a mistake to think that it would be the same for them as for humans; they are different. But have some of them led unfulfilled lives on account of having a deep-seated preference it was not lawful to pursue? Probably. Else, why do this? I mean, insofar as I can presume to second-guess the Valar...but that’s my logical conclusion to every time I reflect on all of this. You know what’s odder still? What happened to me, to us,  _ that’s  _ the weird and scandalous thing in the human world. But to us, Ailill and Calanon are like,  _ so what? _ But not to elves. They’ll see this as opposite. We’re the ones who are no big deal, but same-sex? Much harder to digest.”

 

“Yeah, that’s totally not fair, by the way,” Niamh said. “You’ve got two grand, fit lads, and I haven’t even got one.” She paused, noticing Thanadir again. “Er, sorry. Still.”

 

“Lorna said Sharley made you marriage bracelets,” Mairead said, glaring at her daughter, who didn't look at all repentant.

 

Thanadir sidled over and placed a hand on Niamh’s shoulder. “You really don’t want to be with an elf,” he said. “Trust me. We look pretty and attractive, but we are nothing but trouble. It starts out that you think we are exotic, interesting, so you want to get to know us. Then you find out that we really stay up until four in the morning doing things like embroidery or etching patterns into sword blades because that is what we want to do with our time. Or memorizing dictionary entries from R through T, or perhaps composing an epic poem about the Fall of Beleriand. And the if that isn’t bad enough, we might walk in the forest and stand for four hours, watching a snail crawl across a stump, because we have nothing but time on our hands. When we see you next, we will tell you all about it in great detail until your ears are bleeding from how much you wish we would shut up. It takes an exceptionally strange human to put up with the half of it. Trust me.” He patted her kindly.

 

That made her burst out laughing. “Better than watching football for hours with a beer in your hand,” she said, “but Aunt Lorna says you’re all Menaces with a capital M. Well, she says Uncle Thranduil is. You’re a menace with a smaller m because you’ve got better manners, according to her.”

 

Ratiri pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh dear.

 

“You’re twenty, you don’t need a lad’v any species,” Mairead said, only for her daughter to glower at her.

 

“I’d certainly like one. All the lads in Baile are eejits. I’ll just have to import one, like Aunt Lorna did.”

 

“I imported myself,” Ratiri pointed out.

 

“Eh, same difference. I wish you had a nephew or something.”

 

“Lorna’s wrong about that,” Earlene smirked. “She has her menaces reversed. You don’t ever assign Thanadir the small ‘m’. Trust me. Who do you think taught Thranduil? And Niamh, if you were studying abroad or pursuing some kind’v program, you’d be more likely to meet a better sort’v lad. If you’re looking for fresh baked bread, you don’t go shopping in the frozen section. That’s just how life is.”

 

Niamh laughed, but sobered soon enough. “How’s that meant to work, though? I mean, the world’s going to end in seventeen years. I’d have to find somebody who could hack it, who could be told about the elves and not run away screaming or think I’m totally mental. That probably narrows the candidates. Like, by a lot.”

 

Ratiri looked at her, dismayed. She had a very valid point. “That’s why you need to go abroad,” he said. “And find one sooner rather than later -- hush, Mairead, hear me out. Whoever you find, if you think he’s worth it, has to wrap his head around the future. The more time he has to do that, the better.”

 

“Bonus points if he’s fit for something more than ale and football,” Earlene quipped. “Seriously, though, you want a lad like that anyhow. Don’t settle just to have someone; that’s the worst mistake you could ever make.”

 

“It’s true,” Ratiri said. “Better single than with someone who isn’t worth it.”

 

Mairead snorted. “Funny, that’s almost exactly what Lorna said, the one time I mentioned she ought to go lad-shopping. Relationships’re wonderful, Niamh, but only if they’re worth having. Lorna went eleven years between her first husband and Ratiri. Ratiri, it was what, fifteen for you? And Earlene, you were -- were you thirty-eight when you met Thranduil? It doesn’t have to happen right away.”

 

“We won’t discuss when it happened for Thanadir,” Earlene teased. “The point is, live your life, Niamh. Do what you feel is important with it. Learn things, have adventures and experiences. Relationships are things that happen around already having lived. They aren’t life itself.”

 

“I’ll remember that one, and throw it at the rest’v my eejit children,” Mairead said. “Just don’t go and be a homeless roadie like your aunt did. Some’v the stories she’s got...no. Just...no.”

 

“Lorna had disadvantages none of the rest of us did, Mairead. That’s comparing apples to coconuts, for god’s sake. I mean, Niamh, what do you like to actually  _ do _ ? And please don’t tell me sit at home and play console games.”

 

“Oh, I know that,” Mairead said, sobering. “I’m just grateful she survived long enough for Gran and I to find her.”

 

Niamh winced. “Well, I do do a bit’v that, but mostly I like to walk and read. I was always hoping I’d get that cottage away from Aunt Lorna, because it was just a few steps out back to the woods.” She laughed. “When we were kids, we’d pretend we were hunting zombies out there. Da let us watch  _ Night’v the Living Dead _ , and we’d go out pretending sticks were shotguns. I got used to being out there, so I just kept on going even once we outgrew that.”

 

“And didn't I just about kill him when I found out about  _ that  _ one,” Mairead growled. “John had nightmares for weeks.”

 

The lad himself came through, Bast seated regally on his shoulder. “I want to keep this one,” he said, even as the cat started grooming his hair.

 

Earlene blinked at the sight of the cat and forced herself to ignore it, turning her attention back to Niamh. “I like walking and reading too, but unless you’re planning on blogging about walking the Camino Trail in Spain, you’ve got to find something practical. If it suits the future here, that would be useful too. You’ve still got quite a lot of time. Challenge yourself to find something. Don’t waste the time you’ve been given.”

 

“I don’t know if you would have any interest in medicine of any sort,” Ratiri said, “but you might look into it. It doesn’t have to be actual medical school -- even practical nursing courses would help.”

 

“I’ll consult Google,” Niamh said. “And John, will you get that bloody cat off your head? You haven’t seen the house or the Halls yet, so let’s get going before dinner.”

 

*****

 

Dinner was on the table, everyone was almost seated, and Earlene saw her fluffy orange menace plotting. “So help me Tail, if you even  _ think _ of jumping this turkey I’ll turn every damn one of those hawks loose in this dining room, and I won’t care what I have to tell Ailill later!” Tail hissed his displeasure before bounding up to the bridge high above and scuttling for the relative safety of the spiral staircase far away. “Sorry about that,” she said apologetically. “Still haven’t forgotten the time with the chicken.” Thranduil rose and offered his hand to seat his wife, pulling her chair out for her. It was an excellent time to not mention that the cat had learned to do this in the first place because of him. “He used to be such a cute little kitten,” she lamented. Thanadir rolled his eyes.

 

“We saw the video,” Shannon said. “He’s still beautiful, though, even if he  _ is  _ a menace. And I’m sure he knows it, too.”

 

“Of course he does,” Kevin said. “He’s a cat. Though didn't Lorna shave him a while back?”

 

Ratiri snorted into his eggnog. “She did,” he said. “He’d got into something left over from an experiment I did with the children, and since she couldn’t wash it out, she just shaved him. Or I should say,  _ partially  _ shaved him, so he looked even sillier.”

 

“That is still a mildly sore subject,” Earlene said to no one in particular. “Thranduil, could you please carve the turkey, and Thanadir, could you manage the ham?”  _ This is my concession to traditional gender roles, but if you want me to do them I can. _

 

_ No/no I will  _ Earlene heard, as both ellyn rose and swiftly began dismembering the meat. “That’s another thing, Niamh. You want a man who can carve food at the table. These things’re important.”

 

Mairead snorted, somehow managing not to inhale her wine. “This one might not be able to cook a turkey worth a damn, but at least he can carve one,” she said, nodding at her husband.

 

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” he asked, sounding pained.

 

“No,” Niamh and Mairead said at once.

 

“That was a kitchen disaster that far outdid anything Lorna managed,” Mairead added. “And that’s truly impressive. She once lit pasta on fire.”

 

Ratiri paused, trying to figure out how that was even possible, and failed. “All right, that’s slightly more impressive than my worst cooking disaster,” he said. “I decided to get ambitious for once, and make homemade pizza, but I forgot to set the oven timer. It came out a big charcoal disk.”

 

“Well, Lorna can fix automotive clutches, and you can operate on people and have things come out right, so you’re still both pardoned in the General Competence Exam,” Earlene said. “Now let’s get plates loaded up. Adults, if you’d serve yourselves and any children closest to you, we can manage to start getting fed. We’ll bring the meat around to you once it’s carved. And warning on the sweet potatoes, there’s more marshmallow on there than vegetable, but it’s Christmas.”

 

Lothiriel and Ortherion exchanged glances with good humor; they had volunteered to bring around the meat platters and found Earlene’s food creations to be an endless source of enjoyment. (Little did the rest of the house know they had begun watching chef shows on YouTube to the point that it was now their nightly bedtime entertainment.)

 

“Thaladir, did you remember to feed Kiernan and Flannery?” Earlene asked. 

 

With a look of complete chagrin, the child looked down and said “May I please be excused to do that?”

 

“Of course you may, Thaladir,” answered Earlene. “Do not feel bad, ionneg. You will remember next time.”

 

“Ok Nana,” the child squeaked.

 

“I’m glad I don’t have to remember,” Ithiliel said, with Eleniel sagaciously agreeing with her. And as this had no bearing on anything, no adult commented.

 

Ratiri got the twins’ plates loaded before dishing up his own. He was highly amused to see Saoirse try to sneak as many sweet potatoes as she could, ignoring Pat’s pointed look. He was pretty she was trying to squeeze however many centimeters she could out of her artificial growth spurt, but couldn’t resist the sweet things, too.

 

“No falling into a food coma, Da,” Chandra ordered. “Or else we’ll put cats all over you.”

 

“Oh, the horror,” he said, utterly deadpan. “They do that anyway.”

 

“Not on your face,” Shane said.

 

“No, they do that, too. Your mam’s lucky she sleeps on her stomach, because I’ve woken up more than once coughing on a face full of fuzz.”

 

They ate in companionable silence for some minutes, until the edge of everyone’s hunger was taken off.  And then Earlene decided...it was time. “I’m not sure what it says about me, but I would give a great deal to know what is going on at Ailill’s parents’ home, just now. And whether or not Lorna has left it standing.”

 

Thranduil understood why Earlene was speaking, and as there was little choice, followed suit. “I think everyone here should know, if you do not already, that last night Ailill and Calanon exchanged rings of betrothal. What the Valar have decreed was not limited only to the relationship that my seneschal and I have found ourselves in with Earlene. Irmo, Estë and Nienna appeared to the couple. They are to be the first sanctioned relationship of their kind in the history of our people. We accept them with love and warmth to our home and family, and we also will keep this matter private until such a time as they choose to reveal it to those outside of this house,” he admonished, speaking most pointedly to Maerwen, Ortherion and Lothiriel.

 

Saoirse frowned, much as she had the night before. “You mean no elves are gay? Weird. Because lots of people I know of are. Sounds pretty normal to me.”

 

Nods of assent from every human at the table confirmed the Non Event Status of this announcement among the mortal population. 

 

“About time then, I’d say,” growled Mairead. “Sure God I hope that lad’s family isn’t a pack’v gobshites. But Lorna hasn’t sent any texts, right? That has to be a good sign.”

 

“True,” said Earlene. “I shouldn’t be so nosy but...they are both the sweetest people, and Calanon has literally done everything, to help Ailill gain a sense of confidence. I’m so happy that they have each other. It is a great blessing.” Heads nodded all around. 

 

“I wonder if we should call one of them,” Ratiri said uncertainly. “I mean, no news is usually good news, but...it’s Lorna.”

 

“Oh, if she’d done anything, we’d know,” Mairead said. “ _ She  _ might not call, but I’m sure Calanon or Ailill would.” 

 

“I hate waiting,” Earlene said. “But I guess there is little other choice.” She stole a glance at Ortherion and Lothiriel, and instantly felt more than a little guilty. As elves went, their faces looked shocked, and pained. Maybe even a little angry. But this had to come out, no pun intended, sooner rather than later. Earlene looked at Thranduil.

 

_ It is my responsibility, meluieg. I will speak with them privately, after we have eaten this meal. And while I might have gone about this differently, what you did was probably more helpful. They see now, that no one else here cares...but you must understand, we are old. _

 

_ I know. And I do understand. I only do not want those two to have any form of censure under this roof. Not even a little bit. _

 

_ I cannot control their thoughts, but I will do what I can to set their minds at ease. This is a...big deal, as you would say. _

 

_ Thank you.  _ She stabbed several small pieces of turkey onto her fork. “If we’re having a farm by this time next year, we need a few turkeys.”

 

Thanadir nodded. “They are delicious.”

 

“What do they look like, Nana?” Eleniel asked, curious. 

 

“Oh dear. I guess I am officially a Bad American, if my own daughters do not know. I will show you after dinner,” she offered.

 

“Okay.”

 

“So...why did the Valar decide to do all this now?” Saoirse asked. “Is Irmo one of them? Because they’re like...kind’v gods, right?”

 

“In a sense,” Ratiri said. “Not quite like how many religions think of a god, but Irmo is indeed one of the Valar. They’ve given us many blessings.”

 

Sharley went still. “Blessings?” she asked, and though the voice was hers, the tone was all Stranger. “The Valar don’t  _ bless _ . We’re tools to them, and when we’re no longer useful, they discard us.” She looked at Thranduil, the Stranger’s ancient gleam in her eyes. “You can’t trust them. As soon as they don't need you, they’ll abandon you. They have a history of it,” it added, with more than a little venom.

 

“Sharley…” Earlene said, more than a little shocked. Sure, there had been her tone in those emails, but at Christmas fucking Dinner?

 

“Meluieg. That is not Sharley,” Thranduil said quietly. “Let me.” He turned his attention. “This is not the time or place, Stranger. We are loyal to our Lords and Ladies, and are not inclined to listen to this,” he said in modulated tones.

 

It regarded him closely. “We were too, once,” it said. “I hope there never comes a day when you find they’re not loyal to you. They abandoned Sharley. She screamed and she screamed, and they never answered. All she had was me.” Though there was never much emotion in the Stranger’s odd tone, there was a great deal of grief now. “I’ll say nothing more, if you’re determined to keep believing what you believe, but what happened to Sharley, what they left her to, is not something I can ever forgive.”

 

Ratiri stared at her, but didn't dare say anything; Saoirse looked poised to, but he kicked her under the table. He’d never yet seen the Stranger, and the thing was... _ wrong _ . It was Sharley in form, but that was all, and he fought to keep from recoiling.

 

“I  _ know _ ,” Earlene said, interjecting. “I know everything, because like just now, you’ve given it all away. I have wondered, and now you have said too much and confirmed the last piece of the puzzle. You are supposed to be protecting her, and you are exposing her. Stop it. We will listen to you, but not like this. Have you lost your mind?”

 

“Oh, you don’t know everything,” the Stranger said softly. “You do not even know the half of it. I know you will not hurt her. I know you can know what she is, or what you think she is. She is safe with you, or I would say nothing. In time, with all of you, I may reveal to her what she is, because she will not be alone.”

 

“Um...what?” John asked, and winced when Ratiri kicked him, too.

 

“What happened to her, Stranger?” he asked.

 

“If I told you, you would never sleep again,” it said. “Terrible things.”

 

“There is  _ still _ more than you know,” argued Earlene, now with fire in her eyes. “We will talk again, because you think you know lies from the truth. You don’t. And sooner or later I will prove it to you.”

 

The Stranger regarded her with something close to pity. “I know that even after the darkness, they never came. I shielded her, and I cried out to them, and  _ they never came. _ No matter how I prayed, there was nothing.”

 

Earlene stood up now. “There was a reason. It wasn’t what you think. There was a reason. Let her go now. You shouldn’t be here. We both know that.”

 

Thranduil and Thanadir both were dumbstruck, but at least they had half a prayer of following. Thranduil did not understand why, or how, but knew that he had to stay out of this. He had been told already, that Earlene was sanctified to the Lord of the Winds. And he was seeing it now in a way that was both visceral and frightening.

 

“A  _ reason _ ?” the Stranger echoed. “There is no reason in this world or any other for what was done to Sharley. No benevolent beings would force  _ anyone _ to…” It sighed. “She does not understand why she has such distaste for the Valar, but there is a reason. If you have any love for her at all, do not speak of them when she is near. I’ve spent far longer than you know subsuming that memory, and even yet she isn’t ready for it.”

 

“We can do that,” said Earlene. “But it does not change what is happening here. And you are  _ still  _ wrong, and I will _ still _ prove it to you.”

 

“I wish you luck in that,” the Stranger said. “If I let her wake now, what will you do? All of you?”

 

Ratiri had no actual answer to that. He’d never seen what happened when she...woke, or whatever. “Um...be here?” he offered.

 

“What he said,” Thranduil growled. The timing of this thing was execrable at best, and he was more than a little annoyed right now.

 

“Very well,” it said, and Sharley’s head bowed. A moment later, entirely oblivious, she said, “Can I have more sweet potatoes?”

 

The O’Reilly’s, to a one, stared at her. Ratiri kicked John again, and then kicked Kevin when he looked poised to speak. “Sure,” he said, passing her the dish.

 

“There’s pies for dessert, don’t forget,” added Earlene seamlessly.

 

“I’ll go easy on the sweet potatoes, then,” Sharley said. “Every time I come here I wish I had a second stomach, like a cow.”

 

“Cows have two stomachs?” Saoirse asked.

 

“I think so. I read it somewhere, anyway.” Blissfully ignorant of all the stares, Sharley passed back the potatoes and sipped her wine.

 

“Where do they put it?”

 

“It’s secretly a TARDIS,” Ratiri said seriously. “All cows are.”

 

“Cows have FOUR stomachs,” Earlene quipped irritably. “Not two. Four. They are ruminants.” Thanadir worried when he saw her massaging her forehead.

 

_ Meldis? Are you alright? _

 

_ I….uh...mostly, Thanadir. This dinner is getting...weird. _

 

_ I can rub your feet tonight? _

 

_ I love you, Thanadir. Just eat your turkey. I will be fine in a moment. _

 

The elf nodded, while Earlene reached for Thranduil’s wine, hoping to hell it was not the elf stuff. Or maybe she  _ was _ hoping to hell...his hand quickly slipped over the top to prevent her taking it.

 

_ Give me your hand. _

 

Calm suffused her while she poked at her cranberry sauce, her thumb caressing the new wedding ring he wore.  _ Thank you.  _

 

_ Wait a few more minutes, then I will help you bring out pies. Dessert always helps. _

 

“Four?” Saoirse asked, wide-eyed. “Buttercup’s more interesting than I thought.”

 

Ratiri choked on a laugh, utterly failing to suppress it. “God love you, Saoirse, you’re...you,” he said.

 

She beamed.

 

“How many cows have you got now?” Mairead asked, shaking herself. “Last I heard it was Buttercup, Butterball, and Butterbean.”

 

“Still the same, but early next year all of them will calve again, if I understood Rîniel right. Then with any luck, in two...wait...well, a little more than two years we’ll have six milking cows. Honestly, bad person that I am, I’ve not paid enough attention to that. Except to know that Butterbeer is next on the name list.”

 

An audible groan escaped Thranduil. “Eru,” he said.

 

“ _ Excellent _ ,” Saoirse said, with obvious relish. “Best name ever.”

 

“What’ll you do when you run out’v ‘butter’ names?” Shannon asked. She was pale, but she’d rallied nicely.

 

“Well,” Earlene frowned. “I’ve still got Butterscotch, Butter Toffee, Butter Brickle, Butter--”

 

“Meluieg!” Thranduil exclaimed, feeling the strain. “You are not actually answering the question,” he pointed out.

 

“Oh. This is true. Sorry. Move onto another word, I supposed. I think next will be the Cream series. Cream puff, creme brulee, cream…”

 

_ I think you should stop now, meldis. _ Thanadir was glancing worriedly at Thranduil.

 

“Um...you get the idea,” Earlene concluded. “Please excuse me, I need to get the pies warmed. Back in a jiffy.” Calmly she exited, wondering if a double shot of Scotch could hurt the babies.

 

“Keeping them in a series is always fun,” Mairead laughed. “And it could be worse. When I was a kid, we had a cow, and Gran let me name her. Being six, I called her Booger.”

 

“Oh  _ no _ ,” Ratiri said, dissolving into laughter.

 

“Oh yes,” she sighed. “She was a good cow, and didn't seem to mind being called Booger.”

 

“Nice, Mam,” John said. “Very nice.”

 

Earlene turned to look at Thranduil meaningfully, and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Because that would not be helpful. Instead she inclined her head in her best gesture of respect, because now he looked...tired. The Stranger had certainly not been welcome at dinner. Not. At. All.

 

Ortherion helped her, following her into the kitchen while she began cutting the pies. Two pumpkin, one pecan, two chocolate silk with cream on top. It was impossible to ignore how uncomfortable he looked. “Are you alright, Ortherion?” she asked kindly, though the answer was obvious enough.

 

The ellon paused, looking down. “What was said at dinner was very shocking, Hiril vuin. I have known Calanon since he was an elfling. To choose a mortal male…”

 

Earlene’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, unapologetically. “I know it can be hard, to set aside beliefs that we have held for a long time. But it is not me asking it. Or Thranduil. This is what the Valar want. This is what they allow now according to the will of Eru, in a greater acceptance of love. I did not want what happened to me either, Ortherion. But I have seen that it is for a reason, and I had to find a way to manage. If it is hard for you, imagine what it would feel like if you were suddenly told your love for Lothiriel was no longer valid. Or wrong. It is no different. If you need to take some time and return to the Halls to settle yourself, I would understand and not hold it against you. Under this roof, they are loved and accepted just as I have been. I know that my husband can explain more to you. This is important.”

 

Ortherion nodded, trying to master himself. “I will find a way. And I am sorry, for you to have seen this in me.”

 

“Do not worry about that. Just give them pie before anything else of a peculiar nature can happen,” she smiled.

 

The elf grinned, and nodded. “Pie.” He maneuvered them onto the dining table with characteristic grace.

 

“Da, I want to get a critter so I can name it Booger,” Saoirse was saying. “A kitten.”

 

Pat groaned. “Of course you do. Haven’t we already got enough cats?”

 

“ _ I  _ don’t have one.”

 

“Fine, we’ll get you a kitten. You can even name it  _ Booger. _ ” He sighed. “Thanks, Mairead.”

 

“Always happy to help,” she said innocently.

 

“Now you sound just like Lorna. Don’t do that. It’s creepy.”

 

“Pie!” Chandra cried. “ _ Big  _ pie.” She wanted to eat all of them, all at once.

 

At that moment a distant commotion could be heard in the foyer. Earlene, who was still slicing pies in the kitchen, became aware that two pairs of feet were making haste up the spiral stairs…. _ wait for it _ ...a hiss and a yowl escaped right on schedule, as Tail was nearly stepped on.  _ That had to be Ailill and Calanon. Uh-oh. And where is…. _

 

“Gobshites,” Lorna muttered in disgust as she stormed past Earlene on her way to the Dining Room doors. “Well, if Ailill’s family ever speaks to any’v us again, I’d be surprised. Though his mam did try to call when we were driving home.” She tossed her keys and her coat aside.

 

“You’re very...sparkly,” Mairead said, taking her in. She had a lot of very tasteful elven bling on her fingers, and around her throat.

 

“Sparkly and annoyed. Eejits. They were worse than I’d expected.”

 

“Have some pie,” Ratiri said. “And some wine.”

 

Thranduil had been enjoying his vintage, until the images in Lorna’s mind came flooding out at him. It was quite possible he was getting a headache. He said nothing, as he tried to focus enough to hear Ailill, upstairs. His firion did not seem nearly as unhappy.  _ Maybe it would all go away. _

 

“Did you tell them off?” Saoirse asked, as Lorna grabbed a piece of the chocolate silk.

 

“That’s one way’v putting it,” she said. “His da’s lucky I didn't belt him upside the head. I’m glad Ailill found us, because his family’s worse than useless. His sister seems like she might be okay, but the rest’v them? Human garbage, the lot’v them.”

 

“Drink, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, pushing a glass of wine at her. “And focus on something rather more pleasant: Saoirse’s future kitten named Booger.”

 

Lorna eyed her niece, and then her sister. “You told them about Booger?”

 

“I did. It’s a good name for...something.”

 

Earlene came back through the doors with the last pie, frowning about ‘booger’ anything, but knowing better than to make a stir at this point. “So what actually happened? There isn’t long before they come back down,” she said jerking her head in the direction of their second storey. “Dish.”

 

“His da and his brother seem to have fun running him down,” Lorna said, taking a healthy swallow of wine. “His mam’s about as superficial as they come, too. I mean...their house, it’s like a furniture showroom, not a home. I’m about ready to kick his brother when his -- the brother’s -- girlfriend sends him off for wine. Poor woman, I hope she knows what she’s taking on.”

 

She drained her glass, and Ratiri poured her another. “Anyway, we sit down to dinner and his bloody gran starts in on how she’s grateful Calanon’s his friend, because the whole family’d been afraid he was a poofter. Then his da busts in about how she needs to not be talking about poofters, because there’s none at the table, or...something like that. I was so furious I don’t quite remember the exact wording. Anyway, Ailill basically told them to get stuffed in a very polite manner, he and Calanon left, and I told them they were a load’v gobshites who didn't deserve Ailill. At least I stopped short’v actually telling them to get fucked, though it was a damn near thing.”

 

“Fun Size, if it’d been three years ago, I’d’ve expected you to break someone’s nose,” Mairead said, shaking her head. “Well, if his family’s a load’v shite, at least he’s got you lot.”

 

“Trash, they are,” Lorna growled. “They might’ve made money, but they’re as trashy as my da ever was.”

 

“Time is up, on this particular topic of discussion,” Thranduil warned, only seconds before Calanon and Ailill came in, jackets off, ties gone, and looking quite radiant. “Welcome home,” the King said warmly. “We have pies, and I hear that congratulations are in order.” Without another word he stood up and embraced both of them warmly. 

 

Calanon especially hardly knew what to do with himself. “Thank you,” he smiled, and bowed lightly. Ailill did the same.

 

Thanadir rose and gestured for Ailill and Calanon to take the seats he and Earlene had vacated. “Havo dad,” (sit down) he smiled, with an air of authority they dared not refuse. He and Earlene would sit at the opposite end of the table. Much to Earlene’s astonishment, Ortherion rose and went to Calanon, offering to clasp his arm in congratulations. The smile that broke out on the ellon’s face was lovely to see. And Earlene made a mental note to find out just what kind of treats Ortherion liked. He had just gone waaaay up in the polls.

 

“I hope you’ve got room for pie,” Sharley said. “I want to try a piece of everything, and I know _ I _ don’t have room.” Ailill was way too damn skinny. Calanon was pretty slender, too, but he was an Elf, so that didn't necessarily mean anything. 

 

“Pie and wine,” Lorna said, pouring them each a glass. “Dinner’v champions, it is.”

 

Earlene surveyed the scene and was satisfied that everyone was more or less cared for. She disappeared into their movie room (which ought to be called the Classroom but lamentably she rarely thought of it that way). She began fiddling with the controls for the movie projector, when Thanadir appeared. 

 

“Earlene, I am sorry for what happened.” He hugged her in a way that was not to be ignored, and she could only hang onto him for a moment. 

 

“I want this evening to be over, Thanadir. But since I cannot have that, I can only aim for second best. Distraction. Promise you will sit with me to watch this?”

 

“What is it?” he frowned. A movie during a dinner party?

 

“It is something that will set this evening to rights. Please trust me.”

 

“Alright, but it will cost you a kiss.”

 

 _Cost?_ _That was just silly_... she soundly kissed him, finished setting up, checked that there were more than enough places to sit and blankets and pillows...and dragged him back to the Dining Room.

 

Ratiri, ever tidy, had started removing and stacking empty plates. Lorna, now that she had some wine and pie in her, moved to help him, but when he was returning, he paused her in the doorway. “Look up.”

 

“Mistletoe,” she said, and gave him a wry smile. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you planned this.”

 

“Good thing you do know better.” Their height difference was such that he had to actually grab her and pick her up to kiss her, leaving her to cling to him like a monkey. It was just a shade too long to be strictly tasteful, interrupted by Saoirse’s shriek of, “ _ Eeeeeew, get a damn room! Cooties! _ ”

 

“Oh, you’ll understand later,” Lorna said, glowering at her niece. “Maybe.” Her lipstick was a little smeared, and Ratiri was wearing a bit of it. The effect was so adorable she wasn’t actually going to tell him.

 

“Alright everyone,” Earlene bellowed. “In fifteen minutes,  _ A Christmas Story _ rolls in the front room. Blankets and pillows are already there. Forget the dishes, that’s an order. Use the loos, change into pyjamas, whatever; be there or I’ll shoot your eye out.”

 

Mairead grinned. This film had been a Christmas staple ever since it had first come out. “Lethal,” she said. “You heard her, you lot; I know we’ve still got PJ’s and things here.”

 

“I’ve got spares,” Ratiri said, eying John and Big Kevin.

 

“And you’ve got lipstick,” Mairead said, snickering a little.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t going to tell him that,” she said, as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

 

“Yeah, on him it just looks creepy,” her sister said.

 

“Oh, shoo. Chandra, Shane, c’mon -- best do what your aunt says.”

 

The east wing of the house hurried to change and ready themselves vaguely for bed, since it was a given that the children would not last through the film. Calanon appeared adorably attired in his new flannel sleepwear (Earlene resisted the urge to pinch his cheek--she was becoming far too much of a mother) and instead gave her attention to helping Allanah change. When she passed Ortherion in the upstairs hallway, she held her hand over her heart. “Thank you, for what you did.”

 

He paused, and gave her a weak smile. “I am trying,” he whispered.

 

She nodded. It was all that could be asked.

 

At the appointed time, most everyone was assembled. Pat adulted, and actually placed the uneaten food in its proper location--the shelves with a locking door that would keep the animals away. (It was never not going to be weird, not to have to refrigerate things like meat and cream pies.) Scraps went into the bucket to be taken to the chickens in the early morning. Without much effort, the mess was much better managed. Earlene noticed that Thranduil was nowhere to be seen, and found him in the bedroom. Going to him, she knelt down, draping herself over his knees. “For whatever I may have contributed to your current feelings, I am sorry,” she whispered. “Is there anything I can do?”

 

He carded his fingers through her hair, to rub at the back of her neck. “No,” he said softly. “None of this is on account of you. It was the Stranger. And we have guests,” he sighed. “I only wanted a minute alone.”

 

In a fluid motion she rose, to kiss him hungrily, knocking him back on the mattress as she straddled him. “Oops.”

 

Laughing, he rose to his feet and took her with him, turning her so as not to press in on her belly. “I love you,” he murmured, nipping at her ear.    
  
“I love you too. But you have to come with me so I don’t have to shoot your eye out.”

 

“These movies. At this point they inspire fear, more than anything else.”

 

“This isn’t Willy Wonka. I promise. You will like it, and so will the children.”

 

“And what quote will my seneschal be repeating for the next decade?” he asked accusingly, but with humor.

 

“Hm. Hard to say, but I’ll bank on ‘Nadafinga’.”

 

“Eru.”

 

*****

 

All the O’Reilly children knew exactly what to do, when it came to Christmas Movie Night. When they were very young, it was one of the few nights in the year they were allowed to stay up late, and by now they could practically recite the movie by heart. Saoirse, for whom this was new, watched with fascination.

 

“When I was a kid,” Mairead said, “I thought this was how all Christmases in America were like. I kept wondering when some drunken row would break out over the ham.”

 

“Yeah, it’s not Christmas in an Irish village until someone’s been lamped out,” Lorna laughed.

 

Her sister snorted. “You weren’t around the year Gran slugged Jack Ahern,” she said. “For a seventy-four-year-old woman, she had a punch like a longshoreman.”

 

Lorna blinked. “I need this story,” she said, “but not now.”

 

“Yeah, hush, Mam,” John said. “Movie’s starting.”

 

Earlene felt some obligation to explain this film, a little, to her children. She was held by Thranduil, with the rest of her draped more or less over Thanadir’s lap, but all three peredhel were on floor cushions just below her. Flannery was already snoring on top of Thaladir while Ithiliel rolled her eyes at the puppy. “This is what Christmas was like when your Nana’s Nana was a little girl. Maybe even a little longer ago. In America.” The children nodded, watching the scenes that seemed so...quaintly archaic.

 

“Gran always said she wished it was that nice in Ireland, back then,” Mairead said. “In the forties, she lived in Lorna’s cottage, without electricity or running water. Wished they’d had that much food, too.”

 

“At least they had easy Christmas tree fodder,” Lorna said. Her great-granddad had actually planted a small patch of conifers for that very reason.

 

“Yeah, and the cats climbed it, too,” Mairead snorted.

 

“Ha ha! ‘The deadly mother block.’ I am so going to remember that one,” Earlene chuckled. Thanadir patted her foot; he was simply trying to keep up in his comprehension of this alternate universe displayed on the screen.

 

“That furnace reminds me of the one at the house I grew up in,” Ratiri said. “Dad spent more time swearing at that thing in the winter…”

 

“I wanted a BB gun so much as a kid,  because’v this movie,” Mairead said. “Of course, there weren’t legal in Ireland.”

 

Saoirse stared. “Are those...are those  _ sequins  _ on that kid’s costume?”

 

“Looks like he escaped from Vegas,” Sharley observed.

 

“A BB gun was every boy’s fantasy, circa 1940,” Earlene chuckled.

 

“That  _ snowsuit _ ,” Lorna said. “Poor kid can hardly move. Does it really get that cold in America?”

 

“Depends where you are,” Sharley said. “It’s not cold enough  _ anywhere  _ for that snowsuit, though. That thing’s an abomination.”

 

Earlene wanted to ask, ‘Didn’t your parents  _ ever _ badger you to put on more clothes because it was cold outside?’ but caught herself in time. Thanadir patted her foot again, captive to her mental dialogue.

 

“There was an urban legend that the actor who played the kid with his tongue stuck to the pole went on to do p--er, adult-oriented movies,” Lorna said, catching herself just in time.

 

“Thank you for that, Lorna,” Thranduil said acidly. Honestly. “Thanadir will not want to come to movie night if he has to consider that.”

 

_ Oh, I don’t know… _ Earlene heard in her mind, to her general alarm. She looked at the seneschal, blinking. Oh dear.  _ Thanks, Ratiri. Now you’ve gone and created a monster.  _ Thanadir patted her foot again, and grinned disturbingly. Thranduil raised two eyebrows, but said nothing.

 

“You’re welcome,” Lorna said, giving him an innocent smile.

 

“What the hell kind’v a second name is Farkis?” Pat asked. “If that was my name, I’d be a bully, too, in sheer self-defense.”

 

“Are BB guns legal here?” Earlene wanted to know. 

 

“Ha ha!!” Thaladir shrieked. “Look Flannery, hounds!” The pup raised its head and farted audibly, before flopping back down with a grunt.

 

“Ewwwwwww” squeed Ithiliel, fanning the air in disgust.

 

“Shhhhhh!” hissed Thaladir, ignoring all of it.

 

“BB guns are in fact legal now,” Mairead said. “Have been since...what, two thousand six?”

 

“So not fair,” John grumbled. He’d wanted one so much as a kid.

 

“...What in God’s name is that kid doing with his meatloaf?” Pat asked, both fascinated and repelled.

 

“I don’t want to know,” Lorna said, grimacing. “Reminds me’v Mick, honestly.”

 

Ratiri blinked. “Mo chroí, I want that lamp,” he said. “If Amazon has it, I want that lamp.”

 

“And what did you do, to win the electric  _ ahem _ gleaming in the window, Ratiri?” Earlene tossed back.

 

He gave her a grin that was positively evil. “Nothing, yet. Ask Lorna tomorrow morning.”

 

“Oh  _ Jesus _ , Ratiri, don’t talk about my bloody sister like that,” Pat said, revolted.

 

“ _ Hush _ , Pat,” the sister in question said, eying her husband speculatively. “All right, allanah, I’ll tell you tomorrow if you’ve earned it or not.”

 

Thranduil leaned over to whisper in Earlene’s ear. “Well, that backfired.”

 

“Indeed,” she sighed.

 

“Our tree’s way better than that,” Eleniel opined. “Those are so tiny!” 

 

“Because we are blessed enough to be able to afford nice things. Not everyone can,” Nana admonished.

 

“Oh.”

 

Lorna looked at her brother. “Pat you remember when we were...I think I was maybe eight...when we stole the tree and dragged it home? We never had one, so the four’v us stole one one year and set it up out back. There wasn’t any plug on the outside, so we lit candles on it. Big mistake.”

 

He dissolved into helpless laughter. “Christ, do I ever. Dragging that thing home at one in the morning on a rainy night...there’s a reason we never did that again.”

 

“What are they doing to that boy?” Thanadir asked, cringing at the object Ralphie was required to keep in his mouth.

 

“Washing his mouth out with soap,” Earlene answered. “Back then if you were caught saying bad words, also called ‘dirty’ words, your mouth needed to be ‘cleaned’ and so they made children put soap in their mouths.”  _ This house doesn’t have enough soap, so good thing that’s not happening. _

 

Mairead snorted. “And here my gran taught me most’v what I know,” she said. “Very different worlds.”

 

“Hell, she taught  _ me  _ a few things,” Lorna said, “and I’d thought I knew it all.”

 

“Like what?” Saoirse asked.

 

“I’ll tell you when you’re twenty.”

 

“And soap makes them go blind?” Thanadir wanted to know, now completely appalled.

 

“It doesn’t,” Ratiri said. “It’s an old wives’ tale parents used to frighten their children into good behavior. My mam thought it was horrifying.”

 

Thanadir was feeling quite baffled.  _ How did your civilization survive, meldis? _

 

_ This was another time. People were ignorant and yet tougher, more resilient. There were things about this era you would have liked. They were all more seemly, back then. But there was also much that I am glad is gone. _

 

Thranduil chuckled at the furnace’s second explosion, but not as hard as when the leg lamp was broken and the Old Man had a fight with his wife.

 

“And that, boys and girls,” Lorna said, when Ralphie started mauling Scott Farkis, “is what you do to bullies. Otherwise they’ll never leave you alone.”

 

“It works,” Saoirse said, from sage experience.

 

Over in the corner, Ailill nestled closer into Calanon’s hold, growing uncomfortable and saying nothing.

 

“At least his mam’s got his back,” Pat said. Their own mam rarely had theirs, but that was mostly because Da beat the shit out of her when she tried.

 

“Are there Christmas parades in Dublin?” Saoirse asked. She’d never seen anything like this one before.

 

“There are,” he said. “We should go next year.”  _ There will only be sixteen more of them,  _ he thought, and shoved the thought away.

 

Shane looked up at his father. “Da, how can Father Christmas get all around the world in one night?”

 

“Because his sleigh is a TARDIS,” Ratiri said.

 

“Uncle Ratiri, you say  _ everything  _ is a TARDIS,” Saoirse protested.

 

“That,” he said seriously, “is because everything is, secretly.”

 

Shane and Chandra looked at each other, determined to discover if this was true. Somehow.

 

“What is that place, Nana?” Ithiliel pointed to Higbee’s Department Store. 

 

“That is where people used to go to buy presents before there was Amazon.com or the Internet,” she clarified, while at the same time realizing how little her children knew, understood or had seen. _ Did it matter if they went to Aman without knowing what a department store was? _ She sighed.

 

Saoirse watched, disturbed. “Santa’s helpers are gobshites,” she said.

 

“Saoirse,” Pat groaned.

 

“No, she’s right,” Niamh said. “Look at them.”

 

“Father Christmas isn’t much better,” John observed. “Must’ve been having an off-day.”

 

Suddenly, the electrical socket with twelve plugs inserted into it blew. “And that, people, is why we hired Orla.”

 

“Why is there a star on the tree?” Thaladir wanted to know. “Why not a Starship?”

 

“Captain Kirk wasn’t born yet, son,” explained Thanadir, earning snickers from the entire room.

 

“What I want to know is why they don’t make tinsel like that anymore,” Mairead said. “We always had it when I was a kid. Gran had had the same tinsel since nineteen-fifty.”

 

“Too many children choked on it,” Ratiri said. “And many a Hoover died.”

 

“Man, I want a white Christmas,” Shannon said. “I know you had snow here, but there wasn’t much in Dublin last year.”

 

“What,” Ratiri asked in disbelief, “is that pink... _ thing _ ?” 

 

“A monstrosity,” Lorna said.

 

“But it matches your hair, Lorna,” Thanadir said in tones by which no one could determine if he was serious or not. And given that he could sew, it was an alarming proposition.

 

“My hair doesn't have bunny ears or a fluffy tail,” she pointed out. “Nor do I want it to.” Best he not get ideas. “Besides, it’s faded so much it’s barely pink anymore. Mairead, I’ll need to see you soon.”

 

Thanadir smiled, and said nothing. 

 

“Da, I want a BB gun,” Saoirse said. “One like that.”

 

“Oh good Jesus,” he groaned.

 

“You’ve already got a bow, what do you need a BB gun for?” Lorna asked.

 

“Just...because. And I don’t have glasses to break.”

 

Earlene frowned but said nothing; it was not her child.

 

And at last they came to the turkey scene. The hounds had savaged the turkey. A phrase of great unseemliness was uttered. Then there was Chinese food. And unpronounced “L”s.

 

“Probably the most interesting Christmas they ever had,” Ratiri observed.

 

“You know,” Sharley said, “I think I had that car.”

 

Mairead side-eyed her. She didn't know just what the hell that Stranger was, or what it had meant, but she was wondering like anything just what in fuck Sharley actually was. They’d be having a big family discussion, on the way home.

 

That the Stranger was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, Earlene understood. But why Sharley was so obliviously giving away so much...that was harder for her to fathom. These too-frequent dropped hints about having lived years that no human could account for…

 

_ Say nothing, meluieg, though I do not think I need tell you. _

 

_ Yes, Thranduil.  _ It was time anyway for other matters. “Time for bed for children,” she announced. “Thaladir, I can take the puppies outside for their last potty trip tonight. You go on up and get in bed.”

 

“Please Earlene, I would like to,” said Ailill. 

 

Earlene saw the young man was swaddled in flannel, whereas her own leggings were thin. She nodded gratefully. “Thank you, that would be nice.” Puppies that did not want to be roused from a warm lap had to be lifted onto their feet, while the nannies began to herd little ones to their beds.

 

“All right, you two,” Lorna said. “Go on and get your teeth brushed.”

 

Usually, there was an argument over that, but the twins were so full and sleepy that they went without protest. Ratiri, rubbing his face, went with them, but Lorna stayed to see the O’Reilly’s off.

 

“There’s leftovers for you to take home,” Pat said. “I didn't label them, but I can show you.” He led them all out, Saoirse in tow.

 

Sharley remained, staring at the darkened TV, still and silent. She felt...very strange. Content, and safe, and yet there was a strange, inexplicable grief, simmering low at the back of her mind. “Things fall apart,” she whispered. “The center cannot hold.”

 

Shaking herself, she rose. “Merry Christmas, you guys,” she said, more cheerfully. “I’m gonna take a walk.” Out she went, seeking her coat and boots.

 

Between them, Lorna and Pat got Mairead to take some leftovers, in spite of her protests -- Lorna actually had to jam some Tupperware into the back of the Explorer. She also managed to sneak some goodies into Shannon’s car, too, before getting them off into the chilly night. The sky had cleared while they ate, the stars out in force, and she was pretty sure it was going to freeze. Her breath rose in frosty clouds, and she was glad enough to get inside.

 

“All right,” she said to Ratiri, “you get to earn that lamp now.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” he said, lifting her off her feet. She tried to stifle her giggles as he carried her upstairs.

 

Saoirse, wrinkling her nose in distaste at their antics, went to do a little drawing, and Pat just went to bed. Food coma had been imminent for the last half an hour, and he was grateful to finally succumb to it.

 

Sharley, now with boots and her heavy wool coat, grabbed a piece of the chocolate silk pie and a flashlight. Every Christmas she went to Marty’s grave, and she moved now through the forest, silent as she could.

 

The huge tree stood behind Marty’s, almost embracing it in its massive boughs. Sharley sat on the dry, crinkling leaves, the cold air stinging on her face.

 

“It was good, little bug,” she said, taking a bit of the pie. “You’d’ve liked it. So much tasty food, and so many children. I think Saoirse especially would’ve liked to have you here. She’s good with the younger children, but it’s hard for her to really play with them. You’d be close to her age, now, or at least closer than the others.”

 

She laughed. “D’you remember our first Christmas in the bunkhouse, and that little tree Tom brought? I still have all the little chestnut ornaments we made. We sat by the space heater, all bundled up in the quilt Charlotte gave us, and sang carols until...well, until it was way too late. You wanted to know how Santa would get in, since there wasn’t any chimney...I can’t remember what Tom told you.”

 

_ “He said he got really small and came in through the furnace,”  _ Sinsemilla supplied.

 

“Right. That. Then you asked if Santa was like Ant-Man. He didn't know  _ what  _ the hell to do with that one.” She half fancied she could  _ hear  _ Marty giggling. One of the things that had first drawn her to Allanah had been the fact that the little girl’s laugh at been the same: it was the sound of sunshine. “And I braided your hair, and put little ornament balls on the end. I don’t know how you wound up so blonde, kiddo, but I swear your hair glowed in the sunlight. Like you were a little angel.”

 

She’d wondered, so much, why Marty had to die. It hadn’t taken her too long to realize that her little girl had simply been too pure. There was too much ugliness in the world for her; she’d gone early to whatever awaited after it -- something Sharley was pretty sure had to be good. There had been a while she’d been tempted to follow, but only a while; she dreamed of her daughter so often that it was enough to keep her here.

 

“I hope you had something tasty, wherever you are,” she said, eating another bite. “You loved chocolate so much, and I was always so worried for your teeth.” She still had three of Marty’s baby teeth, lost in the winter and spring before she died. Perhaps it was morbid, but she’d had them made into a necklace; she didn't wear it here, though, because she knew the others would find it tragic. Which didn't make a whole lot of sense to her -- yes, there were times she missed her daughter horribly, but they were few. What she had found was that, once the grief was spent, there was only love. Mostly, she could think on their good times without pain, and the others had no context for that. Lorna had lost her first child, but before it could even be born -- she grieved for what had never been, and never could be. Sharley had only had a few years with Marty, but they had been good ones. When she started missing her too much, she just thought of the fun they’d had -- the hikes, the games. Marty had had such a vivid imagination, and Sharley was never going to cease being amused by the fact that they’d played  _ Hobbit _ games more than once. They’d pretended they were off on the adventure with the Dwarves, splashing around in the Skykomish to pretend they were escaping in barrels.  _ Oh, the irony. _

 

“I do wish you coulda seen this, though,” she said, after another bite. “I wish you coulda seen that it was all real, and even better than we imagined. I hope that you know it, wherever you are, and that you have somebody to play hobbit with you.” After a final bite, she leaned forward to kiss the tree. “I love you, little bug. Merry Christmas.”

 

She rose, and went back to the house. The others had all gone to bed, so she washed her plate and fork and headed to her own room. It was...strange, having family to spend Christmas with again, but she liked it.

 

******

 

Thranduil, Earlene and Thanadir visited the children’s rooms and tucked them in, jostling with Lothiriel and Ortherion as well as Ailill and Calanon returning sleepy pups to Thanadir’s room. The hallway could be crowded, just at bedtime, in the upper storey. 

 

Ailill took the opportunity to ask a brief moment of Thranduil’s time. The King held out a hand to him, which he took and bowed his head.  _ Thank you, for your decisions on my behalf. I was afraid. And though in some ways it was what I have always feared, something good came of it for me. It needed to happen, and I would not have gone without your insistence. _

 

The deep blue eyes regarded him kindly.  _ What will you do now? I see that you have rejected your mother’s attempts to contact you. _

 

_ With your permission, I ask just one night to gather more courage. Whatever messages I was left, I will listen to them in the morning. Maybe with all of you, for guidance. I will need...help. To know where to go from here. _

 

Thranduil gently lifted Ailill’s chin with his fingers.  _ My intention was not for you to suffer emotionally tonight. It was meant to see if an issue could be forced. Ailill, I did not want you to have to turn your back on your family without cause. You now have that cause, as a certainty and not as a vague fear. I will not require you to interact with them further if it is your desire not to do so. But some hope exists with me, that there may yet be a relationship to salvage. Go now to your mate, nîth vain. He is waiting for you.  _ Thranduil leaned down to kiss the man’s forehead in blessing before nudging him gently toward the door of his room. 

 

Earlene and Thanadir had already gone below; Earlene was scrubbing away with her beloved toothbrush while Thanadir Googled ‘How to be fantastic in bed,’ on an incognito tab. This had nothing to do with sex. He was not about to be deficient in a point of proficiency; viewed from this place of clinical detachment, he found that he very much needed to understand these matters. He might be more in control of his drive to excel at whatever he did, but it did not mean that the tendency was gone. Far from it. His eyebrows raised.  _ These results are not good resources _ , he recognized from Earlene’s tutelage.  _ These were...based in popular culture _ . He wished for something more sophisticated. More...academic. He would have to reflect on this matter. Perhaps even ask Thranduil, in a private moment. As Earlene returned to the bed and Thranduil to the room, he closed the screen.

 

“So  _ that _ happened,” Earlene groaned. “Don’t suppose it’s possible to bring the Stranger out and slap it silly for a few minutes and hand it a book of etiquette for later?”

 

“How I wish,” Thranduil grumped with equal vigor, positioning himself to comfortably speak with both of them. This involved many wadded up pillows and slinking his long legs underneath Earlene’s knees, but it was managed. “Earlene, I am very proud of you for what you said tonight. What I am not certain of is  _ how _ you said it. I wondered if we could revisit what happened in plain English.”

 

“Well… for some of it, neither am I sure, exactly. It was me, talking, but I felt a little as if something...extra was nudging me to say some of that aloud. And before you ask me, while I don’t _ think  _ I was being manipulated to speak words from the Valar, I can’t say that with full assuredness. It’s pretty basic, really. Sharley is of the Ainur. I’m sure of that beyond any doubt. The Stranger is keeping her from being aware of that to a degree that is frankly alarming in its completeness. It even managed to fool you. It makes her appear human, even to powerful elves. But the rest of it...far more happened to her than Avathar, Thranduil. I have a sense that whatever it was made  _ him  _ seem like roses and bonbons. And what I fear is that the answer lies in what was said. I will acknowledge I am making a leap of faith based on the sum of my experiences, because there are only two possible conclusions to be drawn. 

 

“The Stranger speaks against the Valar. Condemns them. Warns us away from them. I know of only one source for that kind of reasoning, and it is my deduction that those were the lies planted in her mind, and given justification by what was allowed to befall her. Sharley, whatever her true name is, must have suffered what I cannot even begin to fathom. I think  _ He _ had her. Tormented her. Broke her. And I think that what is living with us is...what is left.”

 

Thanadir broke in. “Then if what you say is correct, Earlene, how can any of what she says be believed? Should we not be stopping everything we are doing, to consider this matter in further detail? Everything would then be only lies and deceptions.”

 

“No. Not true. You are not considering Sharley herself. She sees the future, meldir. Not just futures about us. Futures here, futures there. She sees the tapestry of time. Does that bring  _ nothing _ to your mind? I do not believe she is merely  _ any _ Ainu. I think she had a role to play, and was accorded this powerful gift. Can you think of no other possibility, than that she is filled with falsehoods?”

 

“Oh,  _ Eru _ ,” Thranduil said, now following the totality of what his wife had pieced together. “This….this is beyond my place in Arda, Earlene. What am I supposed to do with...this?”

 

“Find a way to be the glue to keep her together, Thranduil. She is cracking apart. Dropping more hints. Making more mistakes aloud. And that simply cannot happen yet. It can’t. The Stranger gave one clear admonition: The word ‘Valar’ is not to be mentioned around her, to the extent that we can control it. And...it would be best, when we can...she needs to be alone more. As much as possible. It is my instinct that those two things are the best we could give her, just now, to reduce her stress. Honestly this is a big, steaming mess, and if it is beyond you, how do you think it feels to me?” she shook her head, realizing too late the callousness of her words. “I apologize...did not mean that the way it might have sounded.”

 

“I know,” Thranduil said, smoothing his hand over her belly with great tenderness. “I do not take offense.”

 

“You mentioned that there is a second possible conclusion. What is it?” asked Thanadir.

 

Earlene looked down. “That the Stranger is actually correct, and that we have all been indeed lied to and deceived. I have only my heart and the history of your people to go on, but I choose to reject this notion on the basis that...Morgoth already played this game, and look where it got any of those who listened to him.”

  
  



	110. One Hundred and Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 26, 2019 - January 2, 2020

 

Lorna woke the next morning both sore, and incredibly pleased. Ratiri had definitely earned his lamp; shit, he could stand it in the center of the room if he felt like it.

 

“I’m going to walk funny,” she said, stretching, “and it’s all your fault.” Her left hand landed on something soft -- Boo, curled up beside her pillow. The cat opened one eye just long enough to glare at her.

 

“Somehow, I doubt you mind,” he said, rolling over to kiss her.

 

“Ugh, don’t, I have to brush my teeth,” she said, rising. “And no, I don’t mind at all. It definitely made up for the fiasco that was Ailill’s house. Still don’t know how I didn't lamp his da out.”

 

“Well, don’t stew over it,” he said, following her. “He might still want a relationship with them, someday.”

 

Lorna snorted, wetting her toothbrush before adding a glob of toothpaste. The floor was chilly beneath her bare feet, and her toes curled. “ _ Why? _ ” she asked. “Aside from his sister and his brother’s girlfriend, they’re all bigoted, new-money trash. Can’t imagine that ever changing.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Ratiri said, grabbing his own toothbrush, “but there’s also no guarantee they won’t. Not every gobshite stays a gobshite forever, and like you said, his sister might be okay.”

 

“Oh, fwine,” she said, around her toothbrush. “But he’s too goob for theb.”

 

“I can’t argue there.” He had to reach around her for the mouthwash, and it was all she could do not to reach back and tickle him. “I don’t even want to think about what might have happened to him in later life, if he hadn’t found us. Or we hadn’t found him. Right now he’s young and pretty, and I’m sure a lot of the teenage girls who come through Ashford have sighed over him, but when he’s fifty? Then he would have just been considered weird and creepy.”

 

_ Hopefully he ages better than his da _ , Lorna thought. But then, his da had looked like the sort who was a little too fond of Guinness and a little too against fruit, neither of which were problems for Ailill. She spat, and rinsed her mouth. “I just can’t get over the fact that his name actually means ‘elf’.”

 

“Does it?” Ratiri asked, laughing. “Well, with a name like that, what else did they expect?”

 

“That was my question. Gobshites. I just...why the fuck does anyone have a problem if two people with the same genitals like to bump uglies? I mean, so what?”

 

“I wish I had an answer for that. Some people in this world are just...gobshites.”

 

She grinned up at him. “Glad you learned that word, are you?”

 

“It certainly has its charms,” he said dryly. “So do you.”

 

“Down, boy,” she laughed. “I need food. You gave me just a bit’v an appetite last night.”

 

“Just a bit?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “Obviously I didn't do my job right.”

 

With a shriek of laughter, she ducked his arm, scooting out into the bedroom and nearly tripping over Bast, who lay regally right in the middle of the floor. She swapped her boxers for some pyjama pants and grabbed her robe, knowing that if she didn't get out of the room now, she wouldn’t be making it downstairs for another hour. They had children to feed, dammit. Yes, her hair was an absolute nightmare, but she grabbed a comb on her way out.

 

When she went to the twins’ room, she found them already awake, playing with their new toys. The fact that they’d apparently mastered checkers in one night, at not quite three years old, worried her a little. “All right, you two, get some slippers and let’s go downstairs.”

 

“I’m not hungry,” Chandra said, not looking up. “There was too much food last night.”

 

“Downstairs anyway,” Lorna said. “You can bring the checkerboard.”

 

“’Kay,” Shane said. He methodically gathered the checkers, stuffing them in the pockets of his dressing-gown. Chandra grabbed the board, and they went thundering across the bridge and down the stairs. Lorna went down the fire-pole, just because she could.

 

Nobody else was up yet, but there were bread and eggs and milk, so she set about making her one decent dish, singing to herself and practically floating as she slid her way around in her socks.

  
  


*****

 

Geezer eyed his creation, and wondered how in the name of fuck he was to get it out of the woods and all the way to Aurnia’s house.

 

Granted, that was assuming she liked the thing to begin with. He was pretty sure she would, but ‘pretty sure’ was not ‘ _ entirely  _ sure’. It was big, but he’d figured it had to be, and he knew it would fit in the corner of her dining-room.

 

He hadn’t known what the hell to get her, until he’d heard Ian grumbling about the Quilting Club taking over his front room again. Aurnia was a quilter. Aurnia’s quilting desk was an ancient piece of shit that was not, so far as Ian said, a family heirloom or anything. She just couldn’t afford a new one. The lightbulb had dinged, and he’d gone to work -- though not before secretly snooping in the table she already had, to figure out just what it would need. 

 

What he’d built was five foot by eight -- big enough to spread a quilt out on -- sanded smooth as a baby’s ass, the edges carved with a row of leaves. Beneath it was a shallow drawer, as big as the table itself, with little compartments for needles, pins, bobbins, spools of thread -- all the little shit that quilters used. There was space for scissors, too, and a big one for pattern-books. The legs were rounded, and he’d spent ages whittling them into trees, complete with branches that curved up and attached to the frame. Attached to the side were lathes that could be raised to create a quilting frame, which was actually something he’d had to Google -- he hadn’t wanted to ask any of her friends, because he just knew they’d spill the beans to her.

 

He’d then realized she didn't have the right chair, but adjustable chairs were beyond him; he’d cheated and ordered one off Amazon. It had padding and everything, so it would be comfortable.

 

“I know it’s way too late,” he said to Ian, “but d’you think it’s too much? I don’t want to scare her off or anything.”

 

“Christ no, are you kidding me?” Ian asked, boggled. “Just...look, she might kiss you over this. Be ready. Women get excited over shit they actually like, and she’s gonna actually like this a lot. Trust me. Jesus, now you’ve fucked me over,” he growled. “All the ladies are gonna see this and oooh and bloody aaaaaah and all I got Mary is a gift card for the Limerick Quilt Centre.”

 

Geezer winced. “Make her a cat toy,” he said. “A dozen of ’em. I know she loves those fuzzballs more than is actually healthy.”

 

He walked around the table, inspecting it. “Gonna have to get help getting it outta here. I know Elves are strong, but this thing’s fucking heavy.” At least he’d been smart, and grabbed a plastic tarp to cover it in case it rained on the way.

 

“You’re not paying attention at the pub,” Ian grinned. “Feren’s taken a shine to poitín. For a round or two he’ll get a few of the elf blokes to carry it for you, and they only want ale. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. Ya just gotta figure which schedule they’re on. Four thirty sharp, they come off patrol and make their way to the Spotted Dick. There. Problem solved.”

 

Geezer twitched a little. “Jesus. Poitín. I drank moonshine back in America that wasn’t as strong as that shit, and here the Elves down it like water. Well, I can do that, anyway. Though I don’t know what Aurnia’ll want to do with her old table. Thing’s not good for anything but firewood, but she might not wanna hear that.” Women. He knew they would be weird that way.

 

“Tell ya what. You help me knock out one’v them goddamn cat furniture palaces I can tack carpet onto tomorrow, and I’ll help you do the finish work on that with oil, so it’ll shine like a million Euros. That’ll get me off the hook, and I can even come up with some excuse about savin’ it for New Year’s Day.”

 

Geezer’s rusty laughter rang out through the hall. “Deal,” he said. “I know there’s plenty of scrap wood in here I can use. Just how big d’you want this palace?”

 

Ian pondered how he could best shove the worthless fuzzballs into kitty cubicles and decided to spare no effort. He grinned. “Big.”

 

*****

 

Earlene sniffed the sniffs of someone else cooking and smiled. Having a lie-in seemed deserved, after yesterday’s Herculean cooking efforts. It was not terribly long after, that Thranduil’s morning routine commenced with wandering hands...wandering. They’d pretty much had to go into ‘baby mode,’ which always slightly depressed her. So she was a blatant traditionalist; missionary position was her favorite,  _ and *why* in fuck a perfectly good position has to be ruined by the use of that term, I will never know. _ But regardless what it was called, the use of it was out for the duration now. The months of being a land whale were not far away at all. On the plus side, she had been in absolutely top physical condition when this pregnancy began. On the minus side, months of stress had taken their toll and she was now faced with the fact that these seemed to be bigger babies than Ithiliel and Eleniel had been.  _ Yay, me. _ Which was all to say, that morning sex now tended to be with Thranduil behind her. Not that he ever cared where he was, seemingly, as long as he could reach what interested him.

 

Little kisses peppered the back of her neck, teeth nibbled her ears (terribly sexy, that), and hands that always seemed to know the perfect pressure roamed her belly, creating both anticipation and desire. That he buried his endowments right up against her bottom to remind her of what was coming soon (no pun intended on that, either) managed to tease quite a lot as well. He loved to draw it out, make her wait, until without warning he would go straight to business….and she loooooooved it. Closing her eyes, she abandoned herself to the experience, until she realized that either Thranduil had grown two heads, or Thanadir was enjoying sweetened milk before breakfast. So, this part of having two of them was working out quite nicely, just now. By the time they were though with her she really gave no fucks what might happen the rest of the day; Earlene Rhian Sullivan was one happy woman. That a back rub in the pool was tossed in after she finally made it off the bed just expanded on the wonderful start to the day.

 

“I thought Christmas was yesterday,” she mentioned, somewhat dazed. “You two were holding out on me.”

 

“You worked hard all day, meldis. The meals were very delicious and the chocolate pie; well...you could talk me into a great deal, with a steady supply of those.”

 

“You are learning to bargain, Thanadir. Excellent,” grinned Thranduil. 

 

“What is this, Thranduil’s School of Sexual Negotiation?” An eyebrow was cocked at him in query.

 

“No,” Thanadir intervened. “But I might have been asking him many questions.”

 

“Oh dear. You are serious about this, aren’t you?” Earlene asked the seneschal kindly. “I was thinking it might have been a notion of humor that was upon you yesterday.”

 

“Thanadir does not like doing anything with less than a high level of skill, Earlene. Even this. It has risen beyond being a carnal matter into a question of demonstrating excellence. I do not believe you will find grounds for complaint.”

 

“Complaint, no,” she murmured. “Survival? Well...just remember, I am mortal. You two are frankly able to kill me with enjoyment, if you are not careful.”

 

“Oh, I think you will manage fine,” Thanadir smirked. “But about that pie…”

 

Earlene started laughing and shaking her head in general disbelief. What else could she do?  _ Oh, Siobhan. If you only knew… _

 

*****

 

Lorna had quite a stack of French toast slices keeping warm in the oven by the time everyone else came down. She’d tidied up her mess, and was now sitting on a stool trying to deal with the rat’s-nest that was her hair -- Ratiri always had a little too much fun running his fingers through it, which inevitably left it a disaster.

 

The twins had gone into the Heart Room to play checkers, but Ratiri had stayed with her to wash the dishes, listening to her hum with a smirk of self-satisfaction that bordered on insufferable. The rather impressive hickey on her neck had something to do with it.

 

Thanadir passed through to pour himself tea; he meant to spend a quiet morning working on some sewing projects as well as researching some...things of a personal nature. He could not help but notice Lorna’s demeanor, and definitely did a double-take at the purple bruising on her person. He was about to suggest a salve when some other sense told him to keep his silence. Her husband was, after all, a healer. Beverage in hand, he removed to his craft room, but left the door slightly ajar.

 

Dishes done, Ratiri had little to do; he knew Lorna wouldn’t let him get into the French toast early. Leaving her to her hair-brushing, he followed Thanadir, knocking on the craft room door.

 

“Come in,” he heard, to the strains of soft music playing. 

 

Ratiri entered, and recognized the song as one off the playlist he’d made for Thanadir a few years ago. “How’s Earlene doing?” he asked. “She’s certainly heading toward ‘can’t see her own feet’ territory.”

 

The elf nodded and smiled. “She is happy, but already it is hard for her. Earlene is very strong but...do not tell her I said this, but I think these children will be larger than the girls were. Soon I am afraid that the physical strain of carrying them will once again...well, you know.”

 

“Lorna has made her a...thing,” Ratiri said. “She was afraid of that very problem. It’s an easy chair, like the one we’ve got in the Heart Room -- the one that folds out into a bed -- but she put it on wheels, and built a motor for it, so Earlene can drive it around the house if she wants.” He laughed. “There’s a second one in the works, that she can take out into the forest if she feels like a trip to the Halls.”

 

Thanadir blinked, uncertain what to make of this new information. He was actually looking forward a great deal to carrying his wife here and there when the time came, and yet this device sounded as though there was...practicality. “I am sure she will be very appreciative, though I hope you will forgive me if I struggle somewhat to envision what you describe,” the elf laughed, shaking his head while he paid out fabric yardage for what Ratiri suspected was to be baby blankets.

 

Ratiri pulled his mobile out of his pocket. “It’s that,” he said, pulling up a picture and handing the phone over. ‘That’ was an easy chair, the upholstery green brocade with a pattern of leaves. It had a polished wooden table/tray attached to one arm, a small steering-gear attached to the other, a foot rest beneath the gas and brake pedals, and a  _ lamp  _ attached to the back. “The whole thing runs off a car battery -- the lamp is wired into it, so she doesn’t need to plug it in. We measured the doorways -- they’re all more than wide enough for it to navigate through.”

 

Thanadir blinked once or twice. “Honestly, that is amazing. Lorna does not give herself nearly enough credit. Earlene will be surprised at first and I believe she will be very happy. I don’t suppose it can manage two?” he asked with an exceedingly obvious grin on his face.

 

“The second one can,” Ratiri said, flipping through the pictures. “I think she took this one as a challenge, and the only reason the first isn’t this big is she didn't think it would fit through the doors.” 

 

He passed the phone back; this picture was of a sofa, also with a table and lamp, but with the addition of  a portable awning, folding table, proper steering wheel, gas, brake,  _ and  _ clutch, along with a gearshift with a chunk of quartz for a handle. “She found the quartz in the Halls,” he said. “This one’s not done yet, because it’s got an electric motor and a gas-powered one -- hybrids, they’re called. Can’t use fuel inside, but it’s more powerful for a trip through the forest.”

 

Thanadir shook his head and then looked up at Ratiri hesitantly. “Do you have some time to talk?” 

 

“Of course,” Ratiri said. “What’s on your mind?”

 

Thanadir walked around to close the heavy door to the room. “Apologies. I would rather not have this discussion be overheard accidentally or otherwise. It is my...new life with Earlene. This family being what it is, you have probably heard that I lack sexual desire. From what I have read, I qualify as an ‘asexual who enjoys romance and is not averse to intimacy with my partner’.” He looked at Ratiri carefully. “You understand...this is not the same as having the same desires that most do; I do not have any personal need for any of this?”

 

Ratiri nodded, smiling kindly, which seemed to reassure Thanadir.

 

“I am trying to learn what to...do...with my circumstances, and both Earlene and Thranduil have been very supportive of my...of who I am. But…” he carded his fingers a little nervously through his long hair that today was worn loose. “I do not like being...ineffectual, ignorant or otherwise lacking competence at anything I do. I would like how to learn to give Earlene happiness in this regard. Thranduil is helping me. But he also mentioned that you might have...insight. If you do have any, I would be… I would like to hear it,” he said softly.

 

“Ah,” Ratiri said, feeling his face heat.  _ Thanks, Thranduil.  _ Still, he would help as he could. “I should warn you, some of this might seem...unseemly. Just tell me if it’s too much. And...I hope you’re not like Thranduil, who finds putting Lorna in any kind of sexual context to be, as she would put it, squicky.”

 

“Why would I care about...you will have to forgive me, I really do not understand the word though I have heard it many times. Let us assume that I do not care. And while I thank you for your regard, my changing circumstances have forced me to at least begin understanding that while I may not be interested in sex, most everyone else certainly is. You are married. What you do with your wife by definition cannot be improper, give or take public exhibitions of intimacy,” he smirked. “And I somehow do not think we are discussing that.”

 

“That makes it rather easier.” Ratiri was never, ever going to forget that agonizingly awkward conversation with Thranduil when they went to the Aran Islands.  _ Ever.  _ “It can be difficult for some people to think of their friends in any kind of sexual context. If you haven’t got that, it solves a number of problems. First off, is there anything you want to know specifically?”

 

“Please don’t think badly of me,” the elf confessed. “But yesterday you talked about Mairead’s husband being fantastic in bed. I am already aware that Thranduil is a gifted lover. And…” he flushed deep pink. “This is hard to admit but...for many months now I have shared Earlene and Thranduil’s bed. There were times they loved each other with me absent, and times when I was very much present. Even before Earlene and I...came together. I have seen plenty? I think you might say? But I do not truly understand why what I see him do excites her so much. It is hard for me to even know exactly what I am asking but...I too would like to be thought of that way. By my wife, of course. I want to learn to please her.”

 

“Ahhh,” Ratiri said. “This I can help you with. Fortunately for you, neither Lorna nor I were terribly experienced, so we had to...learn together. She gave me much feedback, shall we say. The first thing, and I'm sure you’ve seen this --”  _ and god, wouldn’t that be awkward  _ “-- is that actual intercourse is maybe half of it. The things a man can do with his hands can do a great deal of work even before the main event, if you will. You’re good at all kinds of crafts, and dexterity helps. A lot.”

 

He felt his face heat a little further, and took to pacing. “Every woman has erogenous zones -- places on her body that arouse her -- and they can be different for every woman. Lorna’s are a bit strange; for many women it’s their breasts, or between their legs, but for her it’s her arms, and her back. You learn, and this does take a few tries, how much pressure she likes, and where. And never be afraid to ask for instructions. Lorna was always ready to tell me if something was good or bad, and I’m assuming Earlene would as well.”

 

Thanadir suddenly appeared rather sheepish. “Erm, there is something I realize I have failed to mention, but I would ask you to keep this private, please. More so than even the rest of this discussion. When I wed Earlene, I was granted something. To hear her mind as Thranduil does, with no difficulty or impediment. I interpreted it as...some kind of gift, for this is not usual as far as I know? This is all to say that it is not difficult at all to understand what pleases her; I hear every thought unless she makes a special effort to blur them.”

 

“What I wouldn’t have given for  _ that _ ,” Ratiri muttered. “In that case, it might be easier for you. For women, a truly good experience in bed is as much mental as it is physical, if not even more so. You have to...worship her, for lack of a better word. Let her know how very beautiful she is. Sometimes you can say it in words, but most times...and again, this can take some practice, but through how you touch her, and kiss her. Make each one count. Don’t hurry anything -- unless she wants you to, anyway. Sometimes women want to get to it as much as a man might, and given Earlene is pregnant, she might fall into that second category. Lorna about killed me of exhaustion when she was pregnant.”

 

He paused. “Er, this might sound awkward, but exactly how much do you know about the various...uses a tongue can be put to?” Great, now his face was close to on fire. “And are there places you would object to putting one?”

 

“I have seen Thranduil do what I believe you are...mentioning, and while I do not, er, object, I did not understand why that is any different from...fingers? The first time I saw this I was...it was surprising. But I see Earlene use her mouth on Thranduil’s... and he seems to like it very much...but Thranduil likes everything she does very much and...Eru this is not so easy to discuss, is it?” The elf’s cheeks were a fine shade of rosiness, just now. “I am not ashamed of my body but neither am I accustomed to discussing these matters, it would seem.”

 

“And yet uni boys won’t shut up about it,” Ratiri said dryly. “The difference is texture, warmth, and dexterity, really, but anticipation can play a part. With Lorna, I’ll start at her ankle, and sort of...kiss and nip up her leg, but pass over where she’s wanting it the most and move to her other ankle instead. By the time I get where she wants me, she’s calling me every name under the sun and telling me to get on with it -- which means I’m doing it right, odd as that might sound. You’ll know she’s on the right track if she starts shivering. That’s actually a good sign.”

 

He paced again, his face hotter than ever. “And...I don’t know about Earlene, but Lorna very much likes anything to do with her neck and her throat. I don’t know if you noticed the hickey she had this morning, but she’s very...appreciative of that.”

 

“That purplish bruising? That is a good thing?” Thanadir stared at the fabric pieces, trying to understand. “You...you bite her?”

 

“No, it’s not  _ biting _ , per se,” Ratiri said, staring at the ceiling. “More...sucking. Maybe a little nibbling. She’s bitten  _ me  _ a few times, but...not on purpose. If you’ve done your job right, by the time you bring a woman to climax, she’s half out of her mind. Though doing that can be hard if she doesn't make any bloody  _ noise _ ,” he added, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you know just how...vocally appreciative...Earlene is or isn’t, but Lorna’s so damn quiet that it took me ages to figure out if I was doing it right or not. Still, if you do get bitten, take it as a compliment.” He had no idea what poor Thanadir would make of that one.

 

“I have much to consider, now. But...different people like different things, is that right? What makes one woman happy does not necessarily mean another will like it?”

 

“Exactly. Every woman is different, and you have to...learn your partner, as you go. ‘Fantastic in bed’ isn’t something standardized -- and honestly, the biggest thing is to have a sense of humor about it,” Ratiri said. “If you can laugh, it takes the anxiety out of it. People talk about ‘performing’ in bed, but it’s not a performance, it’s...it’s more like a dance. A performance, a show, is something meant to be watched or experienced, not participated in. A dance can be a sensuous...you know what, look up the Tango on YouTube. It’s a dance that basically symbolizes sex, and how much of a give and take it is. And if there’s one thing almost any woman might appreciate, it’s genuine sensuality.”

 

Thanadir blinked.  _ This _ sounded interesting, and he remembered the ballet he had liked so very much. Earlene loved to watch ballet...hmmm. “This has been very helpful. I truly appreciate that you would speak to me about such personal matters. And...Earlene is very kind, and she does have a sense of humor. I have never felt other than appreciated for anything I have done,” he smiled.

 

“You’re welcome,” Ratiri said. “It’s good to have a partner that appreciates you. It helps enormously...though mine is probably wondering where the hell I am, and if we want any French toast, we’d best get back to the kitchen.”

 

*****

 

Everyone began filtering in for breakfast, and somewhere along the line Ortherion had made the staples of scrambled eggs and porridge, though smaller amounts of each than usual. This food Lorna made was popular and usually everyone liked that--but Aran Thranduil did not prefer sweets, so he always cooked at least some eggs. He had spoken with Lothiriel until quite late last night. While she was willing to obey their King on account of that being how things were done since time immemorial, she was struggling more than her husband with what she viewed as Calanon’s actions. In all the history of their people, they had only ever heard of males with females. She could not even fathom... _ where do they..? how do they… _ ? and found that she really could not think on it any longer. What she could do is paste a smile on her face, show the ellon and his firion due courtesy like usual, and care for the children. No one commanded her to gush about this...only not be...churlish. Maybe later she could speak with Maerwen. Perhaps she had some…wisdom.

 

The children arrived, puppies were fed breakfast, and the last to arrive were Ailill and Calanon. The former looked less cheerful and happy than the night before, and it escaped no one’s attention that his eyes seemed a little red and that Calanon kept close to him.  _ Uh-oh _ , said Earlene, guessing that some other aspect to this drama was unfolding. And that quite likely was in the form of messages.

 

“Eat up, Ailill,” Lorna said, giving his shoulder what she hoped was a comforting squeeze. “Just enjoy the breakfast and...cats.” They’d all made their way downstairs and were circling the table like little fuzzy sharks.

 

He nodded, forcing a smile. “Thank you,” he said politely, but took only one slice of the toast, the smallest one easily accessible. That Calanon piled four onto his plate stood in stark contrast.

 

Saoirse, oblivious, said, “I had the weirdest dream last night. We were watching the movie, except a UFO came and abducted us. They brought the TV, too, so we just kind’v...ignored them, and watched the movie, and they got really pissed and started throwing things at us.” She poured more syrup on her French toast, and added, “It was really annoying, so Aunt Sharley knocked them all out with a brick in a sock.”

 

Sharley choked on her tea, though at least she didn't quite snort it out her nose. “Well, that’s a lot more interesting than mine,” she said. “I just dreamed I was stuck in traffic, and then that I was wandering around in a field. I’d love to brain an alien with a brick.”

 

Lorna was not going to mention that she’d been too worn out to dream. She could not, however, keep the little Cheshire smile off her face.

 

Earlene met her eyes at one point, smirking right back at Lorna. When Lorna’s eyebrows raised, Earlene’s glance quickly darted to Thranduil with a smile. Her gaze might have swept across Thanadir as well. She stifled a laugh to see the same glance occur toward Ratiri.  _ So that conversation was had _ , mused Earlene, until her eyes returned to Ailill. Like as not this was a bad time to focus any attention on them.  “So New Year’s Eve and Day is next in the Eldamar social lineup,” she said to the table. “I was thinking about a potluck style dinner with, uh, a selection of adult beverages for the Eve, and a continental breakfast that would stay out until late morning for the day after. Mostly casual, so that 2020 can be greeted with flexibility. Discuss.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Lorna said. “Anything too fancy would be too much, so soon after Christmas.”

 

“Yeah, I can’t handle another huge dinner, and I’m getting too old to stay up all night drinking,” Pat added. “And don’t I hate to admit that.”

 

“I’m going back to Skykomish,” Sharley said. “I missed one New Year’s, and they’re not about to let me miss another. Technically you aren’t supposed to light off fireworks, but we always do anyway. Everything’s covered in two feet of snow, it’s not like anything’s gonna burn down.”

 

“It’s also a shameless attempt on my part to not cook a massive meal. If anyone wants a food theme we could do that, but the point was to keep it simple.”

 

“I would suggest Indian, but that would be a lot of work,” Ratiri said. “And I’m not certain just who in Ireland could cook authentic Indian food apart from me.”

 

“Is that a challenge?” Earlene asked silkily, before a kick from one of her sons twisted her face in fleeting pain. “Um, never mind. The kids say Nope.” She laughed, trying to find the humor. “What about we share making a mass pile of toasties and have things like fruit salads or side dishes to go with them? Seems like everyone loves those?”

 

“Toasties are always a win,” Pat said. “Toasties and biscuits, but Mairead left us with about eight thousand’v those.”

 

“Not for long,” Saoirse said.

 

“Oi, you. Too much sugar’ll rot your teeth.”

 

She looked at him. “Did it rot yours?”

 

“Yes, yes it did,” he said, grimacing. The amount of dental work he’d had done over the years… “And yet your aunt never even had a cavity when we were kids.”

 

“Never have since then, either,” Lorna said. “I got lucky.”

 

“There’s two kinds of saliva,” Ratiri explained. “If you’ve got one kind, you’ll get cavities no matter what you do. If you’ve got the other, you can neglect them to hell and probably be fine.”

 

Thanadir raised his eyebrows. Humans were so interesting...was this why Earlene always scrubbed at her teeth in that odd ritual twice a day? He would have to ask her at some point.

 

“Alright, that’s settled then. There’ll be drinks and...if you know you’d like something fancy to celebrate say so in time for me to grab mixers or...whatever. The stores won’t be open except for a few days this week so….yeah.”

 

Thranduil had waited patiently through all of this. “I would like it if the adults not caring for children could linger in the Heart Room after we eat this morning. There is a matter on which I would like to have a family meeting,” he said in his usual polite but authoritative tones. He knew why Ailill appeared as he did, and...input was in order, this time.

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “Sure,” she said, and he nodded in agreement.

 

“Can I bring my tea?” Pat asked.

 

“When have you ever  _ not  _ been able to bring your tea?” Lorna demanded.

 

“Hey, you never know.”

 

*****

 

Ailill sat on one corner of the sofa, being the first one done with his non-breakfast.  _ You will please retrieve your computer,  _ he heard from Thranduil in his mind, and rose immediately to care for this. Which took no time at all. He would wonder why, were he not still stuck on the fallout from last night. They filtered in one at a time, grabbing at assorted devices and whatnots until Thranduil arrived rather deliberately last. Calanon unsurprisingly sat next to Ailill, sitting close enough to hold his mate’s hand and wishing he could offer more reassurance. 

 

“I asked you in here because...Ailill, you have not really seen this yet, but some problems experienced by those in this house are solved by the entire family. By committee, you almost might say. I can see that you are coping with aftermath from what happened at your parents’ home last night. I will not force you, but if you would share what your mother and sister wrote, we will help you.”

 

The young man’s lips parted as he slowly lifted the laptop and turned it around. Earlene could see he was clearly barely in control of his emotions.  _ Thranduil, unless you mean this to be nearly a punishment, he will not make it through reading an email aloud if that is what you mean to ask him to do. It would be far kinder to ask him if someone else could read it. Or...something. I can guess at what it must say already. And...you might ask him if this is wanted. He has obeyed you. This is a terribly difficult thing for anyone to face. Especially someone like him. If I may comment,  _ she added respectfully.

 

“Would speaking with us help you, Ailill? I know this has been difficult.”

 

The man looked at him with a pleading expression, communicating silently.

 

“Calanon, would you please read what his family wrote to him?” Thranduil asked. Ailill slid the computer to the ellon’s lap.

 

“This one is from his sister Mary,” Calanon prefaced. “ _ Ailill. I am so incredibly sorry about what happened last night. I didn’t have as much courage as you did, but I at least managed to stand up, throw my napkin on my plate, and walk out too just a few moments after you did. I want to believe mam and da aren’t bad people but I also...it kills me to see you treated like this. I love you and accept you and your fiance. I’ve guessed for a long time that you might be gay, and I don’t care what you are except that you are my brother and I love you. If I could apologize for the family to Calanon I would, but it’s just me. He seems like a very nice man and Jesus, he’s gorgeous. Whatever happens...I’d like to be a part of your life, if you’ll have me, Ailill. I’m here to listen if you’d like to talk. I know we haven’t been as close as I’d have wished but...goddammit I’m sick of all of this. I love you. -Mary.”  _ The words came out in a rather stilted fashion; Calanon was still not a completely fluent reader but he tried his best.

 

“The next one is from Ailill’s mother Mary. Everyone is...Mary,” he smiled, earning a few muted chuckles from around the room. He inhaled deeply before starting this one.  _ “Ailill, I really don’t know what to say. We didn’t like that you left like that, but a part of me can’t blame you. Your father shouted at gran something fierce once you were gone, but...I know it wasn’t just gran. I guessed for a long time that you might be gay. I admit I kept hoping you weren’t. Now there’s nothing left to wonder about. It isn’t easy for us. Your father and I. We weren’t raised to think that two men together are okay. I’m not stupid, I know the world is changing. I just am not sure how well we are going to change with it. It sounds like you have people that care about you very much. I am happier about that than you can know. Your father didn’t say anything last night after everyone left. I’m writing this while he is driving around to check one of the pastures, because right now I don’t think he knows what to do or think. I find that I am thinking back over a great many things that were said in front of you. I really can’t imagine how that must have made you feel. That it has taken all of this for me to even consider that...I didn’t mean for that to happen, which is not really an excuse. I don’t need to ask to know that Mary is furious about what happened. I am sorry, Ailill. I have always loved you, but I didn’t want to understand you. -Mam.”  _

 

Lorna inhaled sharply.  _ Didn't like that you left like that _ ...Jesus, that dizzy  _ bitch. I wish I’d pimp-slapped his da so hard his teeth fell out.  _ She gripped her mug so hard she actually snapped the handle off, fingers digging into the porcelain, but she said nothing. Any words she might speak would be of little help to anyone, for all they’d be very cathartic to say.

 

“Well...shit,” Ratiri said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “The question, Ailill, is what do you want to do now? Do you want to respond, or wait?”

 

“ _ I’d  _ like to put a boot up his da’s arse,” Pat muttered, so low none but the elves would hear.

 

Ailill’s voice was very small. “I feel like I want to reach out to my sister, but I don’t know if I can because of my life here. But not yet. Right now...this hurts,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’ve told myself I’ll stop caring what they think or do but the truth is, that is harder than I thought it would be.”

 

Lorna set aside her tea, and went to sit on his other side. “They’re your family,” she said, wrapping her arm around him. “And even when some’v them are toxic bastards, it can be hard to let go. They’re meant to love you unconditionally, and when they don’t...it’s hard. When they’re not acting as they’re meant to, but you  _ want  _ them to...you just wait until you’re ready, and meanwhile you be here with us. If there’s one thing I’ve discovered, family doesn't have to mean blood. It’s who you love, and who loves you.”

 

“I don’t...want to write back to mam. I don’t know if or when I will. I am tired of these feelings, Thranduil.”

 

The King understood the unspoken questions. “If and when you are ready, contact your sister. Part of the reason Eldamar was built was so that we would have a place to receive visitors from the outside world into our home without exposing ourselves. It is possible for a friend or relation to come here and go away, not knowing that they have just visited the elven Realm. And how you manage your parents, henceforth...your mother is stating nothing at all, in her letter, except that she wishes matters were otherwise. I think she feels concern for you, but equal or greater concern for herself. Your father has said nothing, which places him in a rather more culpable position. You are entitled to experience happiness with your partner without it being overshadowed by...this. I know what I asked of you was difficult, but you have found needed clarity on account of it. You no longer have to wonder, and there is a certain freedom in that. We are all here to support you in whatever manner you most need. Does anyone else have something to add?”

 

“What do you want to do, Ailill?” Sharley asked. “Right now, I mean. What is it, this very moment, that you need?”

 

“I wish I could just not react to this. Forget about it, or...I wish I could not have this intruding on what should be a very happy time for me. For us,” he said, taking Calanon’s hand again. “But short of getting roaring drunk I don’t know of any way to do that.”

 

“Well, I do,” said Earlene.  _ I want him to have your wine. And watch a stupid movie that will make him laugh. Please, can he, Thranduil? I will babysit him, and so will Calanon?  _ Aloud she asked, “Ailill, have you ever seen a movie called the Wedding Singer?”

 

Thranduil massaged his forehead.  _ Oh very well. I suppose it is the least I can do. _

 

“Uh, no, don’t think so,” Ailill said, not seeing what this had to do with anything.

 

“Is there anything you have to do with your birds today so that they will be okay?”

 

“They should be taken out for an hour or two to hunt,” he said despondently.

 

Thranduil spoke decisively. “Then do that, and afterward you and Calanon are to return here. My wife is plotting to grant your wish. I believe we are done now, and any adult wishing to see this film can find their way to the front room in two hours. I am not responsible for lost productivity, should you choose to attend,” he smiled.

 

Ratiri looked down at Lorna. “I had an interesting conversation earlier,” he said. “Come back upstairs with me?”

 

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Ratiri, allanah, I love you dearly, but I am very sore. Would a walk in the woods be a decent second?”

 

He considered this, and dismissed it. “Bathtub?”

 

Her other eyebrow went up. “Impress me,” she said.

 

Pat grimaced. “Jesus, you two, get out’v here before I sick up my tea,” he grumbled, rising and stalking to the kitchen.

 

Sharley mimicked his facial expression to a disturbing degree. “You...people,” she said. “And your...hormones. I’m outta here.” Off she went for coat and boots, because  _ ew _ .

 

Ailill looked confused about this, but rose and bowed his head to Thranduil in respect, before wandering in something of a daze upstairs to gather his birds. 

 

“Wait,” Thranduil asked softly. “Can Thaladir and I go with you both?”

 

“Of course my K- Thranduil,” Ailill answered, forgetting how he was not to address him here. “May we meet you out front in five minutes?”

 

*****

 

Exactly two hours later, a bottle of wine had been watered, and was available in a decanter, a movie was ready, some butter cookies were baked, inviting blankets and cushions were arrayed, and Adam Sandler singing Dead or Alive songs was happening as Earlene dangled the goblet of wine in front of Ailill. “Savor it, but drink this down,” she instructed. “That is an order.”

 

Thanadir raised an eyebrow at her, clearly questioning her wisdom. By the time George was singing “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” Ailill was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face and Calanon looked mildly concerned...but more grateful than anything else. Having fully prepared, Earlene passed over a clean kerchief for this. He would need it. Otherwise, she rested in Thanadir’s embrace and enjoyed the movie. 

 

Ratiri, both pleased with himself and nursing a slightly strained muscle in his back, shook his head and laughed. “I had a perm in nineteen-eighty-eight. Mam did it. It was...special.”

 

Lorna sat up, and looked at him in horror. “You  _ didn't _ ,” she said. “Why in bloody hell would you do that? Your hair’s already got a little wave to it.”

 

“Because it was the eighties,” he sighed.

 

“I know you have pictures, and I want to see one,” she said, poking him in the side.

 

When Earlene decided that Ailill’s laughter was ebbing somewhere around “Somebody Kill Me Please,” she pressed a second glass of wine on him. Because failure was not an option. Calanon and Thanadir were staring at each other helplessly during the torrent of singing along to  _ “and it all was buuuuuuullshiiiiit” _ that erupted from both Earlene and Lorna, who both adjusted positions enough to share a High Five. They knew all the words to the songs, imagine that. But the ellyn managed to overlook this outburst in favor of the transformative effect their antics were having on Ailill, who felt himself lifted out of his sense of despair and filled instead with a sense of belonging. And it was completely sweet, to watch Calanon cuddle and kiss Ailill while Earlene and Lorna sang in two part harmony “I Wanna Grow Old With You.” Thanadir was developing new understandings of mortals and Seemliness; for the first time he saw that words of which he did not approve could also be an element of bonding and humor. It was all more complex than he had believed.

 

After, Calanon was full of smiles at the change that had come over his love. Earlene’s methods were strange yet very effective. Outside one doozy of a storm was setting in; the winds had picked up and rain was starting. It was generally good that outdoorsy activities had been done earlier, because they weren’t going to be done now. Earlene shrugged and started season six of  Sean the Sheep. It was the day after Christmas. Sue her.

 

*****

{Dec 31, 2019}

 

Lorna and Ratiri stayed up until the twins were put to bed, whereupon they went to their  _ own  _ bed, and rang in the New Year in a rather pleasant way. She’d read that after the first year, a couple’s sex life often deteriorated, but she thought she understood why hers hadn’t: they never took each other for granted. It was never just a perfunctory ‘quickie’, or what have you; if they were going to do it, they were going to take their time. Ratiri was one of the rare men who realized just how much the mental component meant to a woman, so things never got stale. 

 

Admittedly, neither of them were  _ terribly  _ adventurous; their kinkiness was often more mental than physical, but their height difference had forced them to become...inventive. Even so, she was nearly always left pleasantly sore, and she knew she’d be a bit more so by tomorrow, but whatever.  _ Worth it _ , she thought, as she dropped off to sleep. Ratiri, to her amusement, liked to curl around her like she was a stuffed animal, arm around her waist. All things said, damn good way to ring in the New Year.

 

*****

 

“You do not wish to stay up to see the year 2020 begin, meldis?” 

 

Earlene had stretched and waved good-night, while assorted newscasts covered what would be the start of a new decade.

 

“Well, it already is 2020 somewhere about two time zones to the east,” she smiled. “And really, I think I’d rather read in bed. I might still be awake later.”

 

Thanadir and Thranduil looked at each other. They were the last ones remaining in the Movie Room; Lorna and Ratiri had shuffled off the better part of an hour ago as had all of the children. Everything was switched off in a hurry, because what Earlene proposed sounded much better. Besides. They had plans to announce.

 

No sooner did she have her laptop open and reading about matters of cultural interest than they came and curled around each side of her. Which jostled her computer. If there was one advantage to later pregnancy, it was having a built-in screen support. 

 

“We have plotted against you,” Thanadir announced with an expression bespeaking how entirely pleased with himself he was.

 

“Oh?” Earlene glanced at Thranduil, to see that the beautiful face held a smirk of the most self-satisfied sort. Whatever it was, she could count herself more or less screwed.

 

“You are going on a vacation. With Thanadir. In fact, you are leaving early in the morning the day after tomorrow.”

 

“I am what?”  _ There was another council meeting in ten days, there were classroom duties for Saoirse, and then there was… _

 

“And that is why we are going, Earlene,” Thanadir insisted. “Thranduil is being kind enough to allow me the time alone with you. To be like a normal couple.”

 

“Not to mention, you are on the verge of the time in which you will begin struggling with your pregnancy, meluieg,” Thranduil said, tracing his finger down her throat and upper chest. “I want very much that you go from here, and have only enjoyments for some days.”

 

Her head swiveled from one to the other. “But we have always done things all three of us together,” she whined, unable to hide that part of her concern was in being away from Thranduil.

 

“This time I wish to stay here. And that is not the same as wishing not to go with you. I love you both, and of course I will miss you. But...Earlene, our realities have changed. You and I have had years of enjoying each other, whereas your time with him has been almost exclusively filled with fear and doubt. Please trust me, in this.”

 

“Resistance is futile,” Thanadir murmured, massaging at her shoulder while he nuzzled her.

 

“I can see that,” she said softly. “I just tend to resist going places. Which is why I should probably ask, where are we going?”

 

“Oxford,” Thanadir smiled, waiting for the reaction. 

 

Her eyes widened then narrowed. “ _ You _ have been in my computer,” she deduced. “How else would you…?”

 

“We have both been in your computer, to be perfectly fair, Earlene,” Thranduil admitted with a sigh, as he traced a fingertip seductively back and forth over her rounded breast that simply beckoned his lips to follow. “For months now, you have been gathering information on the life of the man who wrote the books about Arda. Piecing out how it was possible, or what this Tolkien really might have known. I know you wish to go there and see these places yourself, but left to your own devices will not. There is not so much to do that you will spend long days needing to walk or be on your feet. You will have much time to yourselves to just be together, seeing what you wish to see or enjoying your rooms. I would like for our family to see London, but this is not the time for that. So off to Oxford you go.”

 

“You planned all this?” she asked Thanadir softly, feeling very touched at the effort they had made, to choose something that would please her.

 

“If you mean caring for the hotel, flight, and car rental...yes,” he smiled. “I have watched you research these matters many times, though you may not have suspected I was paying any attention. And Thranduil helped by making suggestions or pointing out what he believed would please you most.”

 

“I am not really sure how I deserve you both.” Tears were blinked back that threatened to form.

 

“We feel the same, meluieg.” He saw no further need to resist temptation. “Would you like to…?”

 

An elbow wrapped around Thranduil’s neck, as she pulled him nearer with a cascade of flaxen hair that fell onto her shoulders, kissing him well past the point of distraction. Which is why she did not notice the slow and gradual invasion of clothing being moved aside. It seemed very much like Thranduil’s hand that was flirtatiously promising enjoyable sensations to her nether parts, until what was most definitely a tongue made its first tentative exploration. A faint wheezing sound escaped Earlene, and it was all Thranduil could do not to laugh.  _ He is very serious about this, meluieg.  _ If it was possible for a mental voice to be filled with rainbows and smiles, he was managing it. Part of her wanted so badly to watch what was happening down below, but already her belly was going to make the proposition all but impossible.

 

Instead she did the only sensible thing; move her legs further apart, relax, and enjoy what was already quite enjoyable.

 

*****

 

{January 2, 2020. Four o’clock in the morning.}

 

All had been packed the night before, and plenty of time was wanted to get to the Dublin airport before commute traffic began. None of this should present much difficulty; Earlene would wear her warm cloak and boots on the plane. Even Thanadir, who was generally immune to female beauty, felt her appearance was stunningly attractive. Something about her overall build and carriage simply made the outfit appear fashionably chic on her, as opposed to some middle-aged woman trying to pull off an elf fangirl imitation while noticeably pregnant. All their other clothing was contained in two matching medium-sized pieces of rolling luggage. Thanadir, being a tidy minimalist with excellent skills at folding garments, was able to accord her a little extra space for things like an Aran sweater, and a dress to wear in the evenings. 

 

At any rate, she woke Thranduil up just enough to give a longing kiss of parting. It felt very, very strange to be leaving him for any reason, but she told herself to suck it up and behave like a grown-up. The moment their lips met, she felt herself briefly locked into his hold, as warmth and calm came over her; this was his parting gift. Her thanks was known to him, as she sighed and forced herself to walk out. A very similar expression of love and gratitude followed from Thanadir. They did not need to exchange words; having been together simply...most of forever.

 

As they were finally leaving, Ailill and Calanon were also moving items down the stairs and into their car; within the half-hour they would be returning to Ashford and their ordinary schedule after the long holiday. Hugs were exchanged, and wishes for a lovely trip. Though what the difference was, Earlene was not sure. They would see each other at the next week-end; all would return at the same time and in the meantime, there would be four less adult mouths to feed at Eldamar. By five o’clock, silence reigned in the house, and Tail’s tail flicked in feline pleasure at the sight of the last accursed hunting bird being removed from his environs. With a luxurious stretch, he paced slowly to the area just in front of Ailill’s room, and sicked up a hairball.

 

Ratiri woke well before Lorna, and decided to make his way downstairs and get some tea in him. Ortherion, as usual, was fixing up some eggs, though it would seem Earlene and Thanadir had already departed.

 

“Smaller herd today,” he said. “The question is, what else do we make? At the very least, I can fry some bacon.”

 

“I would like that,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “I am not certain what it says about us, but we had a discussion recently at the Halls. Bacon won, as the single greatest improvement in elven life since we made contact with humans. Before, we only thought to eat the meat. Never to cure it. Truly, it is wonderful.”

 

Ratiri laughed, grabbing the big skillet. “Many of us appreciate it, too. I mean, depending on how it’s prepared, it can be terrible for you -- well, for us, not you -- but nothing else tastes quite like it.” He found the rashers in the fridge, and started busily cutting them on the plastic cutting board. “We lacked your magical ability to preserve food, so we had to get rather creative prior to modern refrigeration.”

 

“Well, it was not a close victory, though sugar and the Internet might have been tied for second place,” he noted, stirring his eggs. There was a pause, during which Ratiri chuckled quite a lot at that last comment. “May I ask you something that I fear might be an offensive question, Ratiri?” The ellon’s voice had dropped considerably in volume, and what caught his attention more than anything was the tinge of fear in his voice.

 

“Of course,” Ratiri said, as he greased the pan. What on Earth could this elf think he would find offensive?

 

“It is about Calanon and Ailill. I do not want you to think we will not do as Aran Thranduil has asked us; we will obey him regardless. But...my wife and I, Maerwen...we are struggling to accept what has happened. And the only thing we can clearly see is that you are not struggling at all. It is like Pat’s child said, when first she heard. To her it was strange that this difference does not exist among our people. We want to feel other than we do, if only for the reason that it has been required of us. But...we do not know how.” His voice was laden with the emotion of how difficult it was to speak.

 

_ Ah _ . “I was surprised, too, to hear homosexuality was unheard of among the Elves,” he said, laying a few slices of bacon into the pan. They sizzled nicely. “It’s not just something that occurs among humans; other species’ can have homosexual individuals, though the frequency of this varies.

 

“The question I need to ask you first -- and I’m not trying to be hostile, or judgmental, so please don’t think that -- is, what is it in particular you struggle with? What, precisely, disturbs you?”

 

“Marriage, for us, is integral to the welcoming of children. But by its very nature, this kind of pairing cannot ever produce little ones. It is not possible. And...the bodies of an elleth and ellon are made for each other. Made, to join as one. But two males? It seems...we cannot understand how there could be this desire.”

 

Ratiri thought very carefully, because he had to frame this answer in a way that wouldn’t utterly insult Ortherion. Though he was normally an eloquent man, he was struggling here. “A certain kind of human maintains that the purpose of marriage is children,” he said slowly, “but most do not. To us, a marriage or a relationship is first and foremost about the love two people share for one another; many couples never have children. 

 

“And there is a school of thought that posits this inability to breed is the very function of homosexuality in nature -- population control. Eldar are unique in your ability to naturally control when a female conceives. For the rest of us...well, among humans, we spend a great deal of thought and effort to make certain a woman  _ doesn’t  _ conceive, at least until she actually wants to.” 

 

He shifted a little, uncertain if he should even address that last statement. “With some things...you don’t have to understand, just accept. I could never be attracted to a male in that way, but neither am I  _ truly  _ attracted to women other than Lorna, and yet I accept and understand there are plenty of happily married male-female pairs, and plenty of happy male-male and female-female. I think...well, I think that in time, we need to start exposing you Elves more and more to more humanity than just this segment of Ireland. Things might make a bit more sense, then.”

 

“Never have children?” Ortherion repeated. This was a new idea. He sighed. “We did not realize that this is the case. And...perhaps it is honestly no more peculiar than what befell Hîr Thanadir. It is just that for us...it is still a female and a male, and Earlene bears children. Can that make any sense? Are there degrees of what is ordinary?” he shook his head and snorted, not knowing the answer to his question.

 

Ratiri laughed a little, and added more bacon. “The funny -- or not-so-funny -- thing is that among humans, their situation is far, far stranger. Earlene was afraid to tell us for six months of their change in circumstances, because while there are some cultures and subcultures under which polyamorous -- relationships with more than two people -- are accepted, many cultures revile the idea, and can say some rather terrible things about those in such relationships. It’s so ingrained that she was actually afraid that we, their family, would look down upon them…”

 

He hesitated, and decided to go for broke. “And it was partly, so Sharley says, out of shame. She did not want this. Neither did Thanadir. It flew in the face of everything she had been raised to believe, and it remains something that will have to be introduced to humans outside of this household with great care. Realistically, they will face disapproval sooner or later, voiced or unvoiced.

 

“And...it’s possible Ailill’s parents will never accept him. I have never understood homophobia, but it can be too strong for even familial relationships. From what Lorna said, from what she observed, his family loves themselves more than they love each other, and they care more about the face they present to the outside world than anything else. Ailill is not what they wanted, and so they may well simply discard him. His sister is the only one I have any hope for; for the rest -- well, don’t get Lorna started on what she thinks of the rest.”

 

Ortherion’s lips parted, he had not known any of this….and now he simply felt...ashamed, for what he had not understood. “I did not know any of these things,” he admitted. “But I see now that feelings of disapproval have consequences I did not consider.” He blinked, and in a delayed reaction realized that the burner was still on underneath the finished eggs; his hand raced to turn off the gas. “I appreciate very much that you were willing to talk with me. And I am very glad I asked,” the elf said humbly.

 

“You’re very welcome,” Ratiri said, turning the bacon. “Never be afraid to ask, Ortherion -- my dad told me that when I was just a wee one. The worst thing anyone can say to a question is ‘no’, and you’ll never know if you don’t pose it. This is all outside your culture, and your experience, and I have to admit that Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir’s is outside mine. We’ll all get through it, somehow.”

 

He peered out the window. “And actually, given the sky’s clear, you’ll probably get to see Lorna’s gift to Earlene. If she drives it out here, it’s...well, interesting. You lot might want to take turns on it before Earlene gets home.”

 

Thranduil appeared in the kitchen about a half minute later, quietly preparing himself some tea before turning to Ortherion. “I hope you can forgive that I overhear many things,” he said to the ellon in gentle tones, hastening to reassure him when worry descended over his features. “You did well to ask your question, Ortherion. I am not blind to your struggles or your obedience. There is something I did not share with you, but I think the time is right. When Irmo spoke to Calanon and Ailill, he issued a warning. That they would have to show significant discretion, to avoid scorn amongst the elves. While I wish that warning were not needed, it very much was. This is why you were commanded to silence. When you and Lothiriel and Maerwen can find a way to fully accept this in your hearts, then I will know there is a prayer of slowly informing the others. It is my firm belief that eventually all of us can view this matter as the humans do; that it is no matter at all. Until that time…” He shrugged. “Here we are.”

 

Ortherion bowed his head in acknowledgement of Thranduil’s words, and wondered how breakfast ever had become so complicated. Thranduil took his tea to where his laptop waited by the fire. It was a clear morning, which meant that it was chilly outside even as elves viewed such things.

 

Lorna, yawning, came tripping down the stairs, cats at her heels. Boo and Midnight liked to take flying leaps at the ends of her hair, and she blearily realized she should probably have it trimmed next time she saw Mairead. “G’morning,” she mumbled, sniffing the air -- bacon. Bacon, eggs, and tea. _ Yes. _

 

“Good morning,” chorused back, from three individuals that were already ignoring her in some capacity. Thranduil was already nose deep in the online edition of the Irish Times, Ratiri was focused on that critical juncture at which bacon is twenty seconds away from being perfectly crisp but not burnt, and Ortherion was clattering around in a cabinet to find the smaller serving trays.

 

Lorna rose on her tiptoes to give her husband a sleepy kiss on the cheek before pouring herself some tea, meandering to the fire with the cats still following. Midnight climbed the side of her dressing-gown as she sat, purring like a fluffy chainsaw. “Earlene and Thanadir get off all right?” she asked, yawning.

 

“Yes, and they--” Thranduil answered, looking up at her now and doing a remarkable impression of a transmission that is suddenly thrown into Park with the car still being in motion.

 

“They what?” she asked, instinctively checking her hair for anything odd. She’d just washed her face, she didn't have anything stuck to it. “What’s up?”

 

Thranduil blinked.  _ Ratiri, could I bother you to come here for a moment please?  _ Just a moment later the man appeared, looking confused. For regard of their privacy this seemed best not spoken aloud. He addressed himself silently to both of them:  _ I feel obligated to tell you that Lorna is pregnant.  _ His eyes lowered after saying this, because the rest was not going to be easy for him or anyone else.

 

Ratiri’s legs nearly gave out beneath him, but Lorna just felt sick, nausea coiling cold through her. “Jesus, are you sure?” She pressed a hand to her abdomen, revulsion crawling along her skin.

 

With struggle, Thranduil suppressed a desire to reply flippantly, understanding that this was his own stress manifesting. It only needed one word for an answer. “Yes.”

 

“Well... _ shit _ ,” she said helplessly. “ _ Shit _ . Allanah we -- we used a rubber, didn't we?”

 

Ratiri groaned, but sat beside her, pulling her close. “They’re not always a hundred percent effective,” he said hollowly. “And we were...rather drunk.”

 

“Just... _ shit _ .” Her brain was rapidly achieving vapor-lock as disbelief and panic warred within it. What was she going to  _ do _ ? There was the pill, that would be the most sensible thing -- that was the  _ only  _ thing, really, because the mere thought of enduring such a nightmare a second time made nausea rise within her -- but...but…

 

_ Shit. _

 

“I am…” Thranduil realized there was simply nothing he could say. This was a problem for which he could offer no meaningful assistance or solution.  In this; they were more or less abandoned to their own resources. No, there was one thing. “I am sorry for your distress,” he said softly. There. That. That at least did not violate any moral boundary he felt personally obligated to uphold. However, there was one small blessing to this situation, he realized. Thanadir was gone.

 

“Mo chroí, I’ll take you to Baile,” Ratiri said, running a hand up and down her back. “Indira can help.”

 

It was what she needed, what she wanted, but...shit, she felt so guilty. Why? Why guilt? This wasn’t a baby, it was a fertilized egg. But no, this --  _ Earlene has all these other kids, these fucking easy pregnancies she just breezes through, so what the fuck is wrong with  _ me _? I’m strong, I’m healthy, why can’t I do that? Just….  _ She barely heard Thranduil, or Ratiri. Right now all she could focus on was not screaming.

 

The King looked up at Ratiri, sadness in his eyes.  _ I hope you know that if there some how is a means by which I could be of assistance, I would do so. This will not be easy on anyone as I can guess what you will find it necessary to do. I am truly sorry, and I think it best I leave for now so you can help your wife.   _ And he had never felt quite so much like he was abandoning a friend or running from a problem in his entire life, but it was not granted him to solve all problems. And this was one of them.

 

_ I know,  _ Ratiri said, looking back.  _ I appreciate it, and...I’m sorry you have to see this. We’ll...figure out something. _

 

_ But that is the irony,  _ Thranduil said.  _ It is on account of meeting me that your options are so limited.  _ He turned and left the room, sensing that his emotional control was waning rapidly. Thaladir was awake; he would help him with the puppies.

 

“Mo chroí, what do you want to do?” Ratiri asked, looking down at his wife’s wide green eyes. “Right now, what do you want to do?” If she waited too long, Indira wouldn’t be able to help so easily, but this was hardly a decision he could just rush her into, either.

 

“We need to go to Baile,” she whispered. “Before I can second-guess myself and do something I’ll regret. I can’t, Ratiri. Not again. I still have nightmares...I can’t do that again.” She was forty-two years old. It had been bad enough before, but now --  _ no _ . She’d wanted the twins, wanted them so much it hurt. She didn't want any more, and she could all too easily see what would happen if she tried to carry this one: it would be a parasite, something she resented. By the time it was born, she might well hate it. Just...all bad.

 

Ratiri sighed. “All right. But you need to eat something first. You’ll want something in your stomach when you take the pill.”

 

Her eyes squeezed shut, but she nodded. How was she to eat anything, when she felt so sick? How could she hope to keep anything down?  _ You’d better figure out _ , she told herself, sipping her tea. What a shitty thing to wake up to. She wished, oh so much, that she’d been insistent on that vasectomy, but there hadn’t seemed to be any hurry. Neither she nor Ratiri had felt it needed to be urgent, and now look where they were.

 

Again bile rose in her throat, and it was all she could do to choke down the toast that Ratiri pressed into her hand. If only she could have surgery, she could get her tubes tied, too, but that was a no-go. Even laparoscopic surgery wasn’t an option when nothing pierced your skin.

 

Again she thought of Earlene -- Earlene, who always seemed so radiant through her pregnancies, even when she was horrendously uncomfortable. The twins’ had been miserable, but Thaladir’s had been almost perfect, and she wasn’t afraid to do it again. She just...did it, went for it. She was braver than Lorna, that was for damn sure, and normally Lorna wasn’t scared of very much. Not much at all, and yet the mere thought of enduring that horror-show again was almost more than she could handle. She had  _ hated  _ it, hated it so, so much -- so much so that there had been times, even with how much she’d wanted these children, that she’d wished it had never happened. What would it be like, with a kid she  _ didn't  _ want so desperately?

 

_ Bad  _ she thought.  _ Bad and wrong and unfair. _ No kid should come into the world when it wasn’t fully wanted -- Pat hadn’t been wanted, and look how his life had gone. Actually, none of them had been, but Da got more off the dole with each kid.

 

No, this was the only thing she could do. She had resolve, albeit very fragile resolve, when she went upstairs to put some real clothes on. Numbly, she kissed her children -- her wonderful, sweet children, who she loved with a fierceness that at times scared her -- put on her boots and coat, and went out to the Mystery Machine.

 

Ratiri took her hand and squeezed it before starting the van. They would both need...cake, or something. He knew that Lorna wanted this, but that didn't necessarily mean it would be easy for her to live with, at first.

 

*****

 

It was two o’clock in the morning in Skykomish, but Sharley was already awake. She hadn’t gone to bed until eleven, but it seemed she slept even less these days.

 

So. That was unfortunate. Thranduil would know by now, so she dragged her laptop up onto her bed, leaning back against the pillows. Bringing up her email, she sent him a short one:  _ I’m here to talk, if you want. Email or phone, whichever works. _

 

Off she sent it, wishing she’d seen this enough in advance to try to prevent it, but nooo. This had hit her not long after midnight on New Year’s Day, and been frustratingly brief -- this, and the fact that Earlene and Thanadir were going to England, and that was it. Useless ability.

 

The reply came back unexpectedly quickly.  _ Sending invitation for chat room.  _

 

Well that was different, she mused. Mr. King. Always efficient. He could be a royal pain in the ass here and there, but one did have to admire his managerial skills. She clicked on the next email that was indeed the aforementioned invite. Already there was a message: 

 

_ T: You saw, didn’t you. _

 

_ S: I did, but not soon enough. This hit me really early New Year’s Day. _

 

_ T: I have never felt so useless. Or like I am letting down my dearest friends. But...I cannot do this. I will not place my burdens on them, but this is taking the life of a child, even though I deeply understand why this must be. _

 

_ S: I know. And I know they understand. Lorna’s probably gonna be a mess, because it’s not the kid she doesn’t want, it’s the pregnancy. But you have to do what you have to do, too, for yourself. Don’t kick yourself over it any more than you have to. _

 

_ T: It wasn’t only that. They would not face any of this were it not for me. I know that there are many means by which to prevent a pregnancy and nearly all of them are useless on account of me. Ratiri will go and have this surgery probably, and I might even ruin that if I need to heal him later. And yes I know this is ridiculous because all of my interference has been for a greater good, but as you humans say, this is *fucked*. Please, don’t tell Thanadir I wrote that. _

 

Sharley couldn’t help it; she laughed at that last one.

 

_ S: Maybe not, but they also wouldn’t have their twins, and I know they both love those kids to absolute bits. And even if you ruin it, so what? It’s not like he can’t get it again, and he knows that needing to do it again might be a possibility. This isn’t anybody’s fault, Thranduil, except whoever made humans unable to control their reproduction like you guys do, and I doubt that was even on purpose. In America, we like to say that shit happens. Maybe you’ve heard Earlene say it, maybe not. _

 

She hesitated; him knowing this might help or might hurt, but either way, she probably ought to tell him.

 

_ S: Lorna is going to be kicking herself for not being Earlene, FYI. Earlene powers through pregnancy like a champ, even the shitty parts, and Lorna hates the fact that she can’t do that herself. Thinks there’s something wrong with her. She probably won’t say anything to you about it, but you maybe ought to know. Just in case Ratiri needs to lean on you or something. _

 

_ T: I will help as best I can. I would usually criticize her for thinking so foolishly; she is not Earlene. But now is not the time for that. I think I need not tell you that I cannot tell my wife what happened, account of Thanadir. He is not me, and would not be able to understand. It would be a kindness for him to not know of this. _

 

_ S: I know. It’s why I emailed. I know you can’t tell Earlene, because of Thanadir. I’m guessing he can’t ever know about this one, because it would break him. _

 

_ T: Not break him. He is stronger than that. But it would grieve him, hurt him deeply. I would protect him from that if I can. _

 

_ S: I know they went to England, but I didn't see anything that happened there, so I guess that will at least be a surprise. With Lorna, make sure she drinks some of her special tea tonight. I know she has it. And just let her know you don’t judge her or hate her, because she’ll be hating herself later. I can’t explain what goes through a woman’s head with stuff like that, but even when she wants a morning-after or whatever, that doesn’t mean it’s easy on her. And especially when it’s ‘didn't want to be pregnant’ instead of ‘didn't want another kid’. _

 

  1. _This is the part I can understand. And respect. I am never going to punish Lorna for...not being an elf. This is not her fault; this is one of the differences between our races and nothing much can be done about it. I can do all of that. Because I am more than capable of imagining how I might feel in her place._



 

_ S: That’s what she’ll need the most. I mean, this will be easier for her than if it had gone on longer, but that’s not saying a whole lot. I looked up what the pill does, though, and it’s not fun: she’ll be crampy and sick and probably have the period from hell, so hot water bottles and chocolate. Ratiri has to know all that already, though. I wish I knew why you guys had such a hard time conceiving, and we did it too easy; it almost makes me wonder if whoever was in charge of that bit was asleep at the switch that day. Sinsemilla thinks it was deliberate, though, because you guys live forever, so you can’t go having babies left and right, but humans used to literally die of sneezes. She’s the smart one out of all these guys, so she might be right. _

 

_ S: Also, tell Ratiri it would have been be ectopic, so Lorna won’t feel so bad. _

 

_ T: Will do. Thank you, and, until next time. _

 

He had found the last exchange odd and had no idea what ectopics were but he could certainly pass that along. It was more than beyond time to see his children and quit lingering on the computer.

 

*****

 

Lorna remained silent on the ride to Baile, but not because she had nothing to say -- on the contrary, there were too many things churning around in her head for any one to be given voice to.

 

Would she want this child, if it could be had without a pregnancy like her second? Maybe. It wasn’t the new baby she objected to, it was what went into cooking it, so to speak. If she had known what pregnancy would have been like for her...but then, her first hadn’t been that bad. She’d assumed the second would have gone the same, but the first had been miscarried so early on...she’d had no idea.

 

“How does Earlene do it?” she found herself asking. “I’m fit. I’m healthy. Why is it so much harder for me than for her?”

 

“You are very small, mo chroí,” Ratiri said. “And while you are healthy now, you and she led very different lives. You didn't have access to anything close to a balanced diet until you were nearly thirty, and childhood malnourishment...doesn’t help anything. At all.”

 

“I know she’s taller than me,” she said, staring out the window as the scenery whizzed by. “But...Jesus.”

 

“She’s not just taller,” he said. “It’s more than that. You are...tiny. Your pelvic arch is very narrow, even for someone as small as you. Perhaps it might have been easier on you, with smaller fetuses, but look at me -- the odds of you carrying a small baby are very low.”

 

“Gran had four,” she said. “And none’v them were...oh, what does it even matter?” Lorna just...didn't like feeling like she was somehow broken. Like every other woman on the planet could do this but her.

 

And...she’d lost a child once already. She’d lost her fucking firstborn before the kid was even born; how could she  _ do  _ this now?

 

“You are not your grandmother,” Ratiri said, “any more than you are Earlene. But mo chroí, if you don't want to do this, tell me. If you’re not certain, we can always turn around.”

 

“No, we can’t,” she sighed. “Because if we do, every elf in fucking Eldamar will know I’m up the yard. We dodged a bit’v a bullet, that only Thranduil saw us. You think any’v them would actually understand wanting a morning-after pill?”

 

_ No,  _ Ratiri thought, thinking on his earlier conversation with Ortherion,  _ no, they would not.  _ “True. But I don’t want you feeling like that has to force you. This is your body. Nobody gets to tell you what to do with it, and nobody gets to make you feel guilty for it, either way.”

 

She knew that wouldn’t stop some people, intentionally or unintentionally. They just needed to get this over with, before she could sick up the bread and tea she’d eaten. All she could do was try to think of nothing, and turn the radio on to some mindless pop station with music so aggravatingly twee it could distract from anything.

 

The sun rose higher, but clouds scudded across the sky in ones and twos; it might rain by evening. That would be oddly apropos. 

 

Ratiri had called Indira before they left, so that she had a pill waiting at the clinic -- not the morning-after pill, but mifepristone, otherwise known as the abortion pill, as well as the second, to be taken later. Given the egg was already fertilized, he’d rather make double sure it didn't take hold, because he didn't think she could do this a second time. 

 

The clinic was currently empty, though probably not for long, and they didn't linger long after Lorna had taken the pill -- though it was widely known Thranduil no longer healed every tiny little thing, people would still wonder why they were here, and neither of them wanted to answer any of  _ those  _ questions. Not remotely.

 

“No alcohol, mo chroí,” he said, when Lorna looked longingly at the pub. “Not today. That pill has to do its work.”

 

She drew a slow breath. “Tea,” she said. “Special tea. And...well, that. I don’t know what else.”

 

He looked at her, slightly worried. This wasn't like her at all, not even when....well. “Why don’t we get some special tea and some cats,” he said gently. “You can have tea, and there will be cats, and everything will be warm and safe.” This would reach tipping point eventually, but if they were somewhere at home, in their room, in privacy, she could allow herself any emotional reaction she needed. She couldn’t explain it to anyone else but Pat, so it  _ had  _ to be contained.

 

Christ, she didn't want to have a secret, but...she knew how much elves loved kids. This wasn’t something she ought to go around advertising she’d done.

 

“Tea and cats,” she sighed. “Tea and cats.”

 

****

 

One impressive achievement after another had punctuated Earlene’s day. For Thanadir’s first effort of this kind, she was prepared to accept any and all mishaps, minor travel disasters, and generalized fuck-ups, because on some level it seemed hardly possible that an elf could pull this off not three years into knowing the human world existed. And yet with each hurdle cleared, whether it was the business-class flight, the seamlessness of the baggage claim, the exacting preparations for the car rental or even the navigation of the London roadways out of Heathrow--absolutely everything was as good or better than if she had planned it herself. Thranduil’s words of long ago echoed in her ears:  _ Thanadir is extraordinary, meluieg.  _ Maybe she too, though she truly did have an essential grasp of his peerless qualities, had been taken in by hearing him called Cinnamon Roll one too many times.

 

To be fair, when had she ever really seen him ‘in action’ besides the days when Lorna’s cottage had been moved to Eryn Lasgalen? It just had not been possible to see the scope of Thanadir’s capabilities. However, she certainly was seeing more of them now. If she had done a damn thing between Eldamar and sitting on their bed in this well-appointed hotel room except walk, it was news to her. Even now, he was bustling around the room, putting their clothing away neatly in drawers. Had she realized he did that? How little she knew certain aspects of him was being thrown into sharp focus. And while she would miss Thranduil, maybe he had been right to insist on this. Her eyes tracked him as he moved around, perfectly graceful and fluid in every motion. 

 

“Why are you watching me so carefully?” he smiled.

 

“Because while I have always known on some level that you are extraordinary, I am seeing new facets of it,” she replied softly. 

 

“You did know that a seneschal organizes and plans, and sees that all happens in an orderly manner, did you not?”

 

Her lips parted, because while yes, that really wasn’t what was happening here. “I did.”

 

The seneschal noted her shifting mood, and came to sit with her, taking her hands. “What, then?” he asked kindly.

 

Something built up within her that Thanadir had not yet seen, a force of love that had been somewhere else, or was left previously unexpressed. With great reverence her hand reached for his face, and this time she kissed him. It had always, always been the other way around, unless she was teasing or in jest about something. This was not. This was Earlene, opening herself to him in trust and admiration and deep respect, including the understanding that she could do this without fear of hurting him. It was not desire. It was joy. They kissed for a very long time, love blazing between them, but Earlene did not feel as though she wanted the rest of him. That she had him, and he had her; that was so much more than enough. After they kissed she held onto him, and was pulled into his lap. And she might have stayed there all afternoon had her stomach not growled insistently, causing both of them to laugh. “It is time to eat. In fact, it is tea time, and that is what we are going to have.”

 

“Did you warn them about your appetite?” she teased.

 

“No,” he said honestly. “But Thranduil explained about leaving a good tip.”

 

*****

 

By the time Lorna and Ratiri got home, she wanted nothing more than to put her pajamas back on and curl up in her bed with a cat. Or five. He had explained to her that the pill she would take tomorrow would make her life temporarily no fun at all, so she figured she ought to enjoy, if that was even a word that could be applied to this situation, this while it lasted.

 

Ratiri brewed her some special tea, but it was very  _ weak  _ special tea, since he didn't want to risk it interfering with anything, or making her sick. She put on her fuzzy pyjama pants and an ancient Black Sabbath-shirt, and lay back on her bed with Boo perched on her chest, staring down at her with glittering yellow-green eyes. It was warm in here, and calm, and safe, and she wished she could stay and never leave.

 

Thranduil walked back from the Halls, lamenting that life was often unfair. He held little Thaladir’s hand while Flannery and Kiernan ran amok. One pup had found a stick, which meant that a tumbling, partially coordinated battle for supremacy was ensuing in the waning daylight. It was very funny, and they both laughed a great deal. These moments with growing children...they were special. Sacred. Never to be recaptured. His heart soared to think of how he had enjoyed these times with Legolas, and now against all hope, they were his once more. Which made what had happened today all the more tragic, in his eyes. He sighed heavily, knowing that he would have to see Lorna. It was the only decent thing to do, to pay a visit. But how nice it would be, if the sorrows of one thing did not have to take away from the joys of the other.

 

He made more tea in the kitchen before he went, and brought out some biscuits from hiding. Maybe they would not be wanted. It seemed doubtful that she would come down to dinner; in fact, he knew she would not; it would be a kindness to find something to bring to her but Ratiri would know best about that. He paced upstairs and knocked on the door.

 

It was Ratiri who answered it -- a Ratiri who looked tired, and sad. “Hi,” he said. “Come on in. We’re not doing much of anything. Just watching cat videos.”

 

Lorna half-sat, half-lay on the bed, laptop on her knees and Boo on her lap. She looked up, though, and managed something approximating a smile. “Hi.”

 

“Hi. I brought more tea. And cookies. Or biscuits. Or whatever one cares to call them,” he said softly, setting these down before he sat at the edge of her bed. “Hug?”

 

She set aside both laptop and cat (who squeaked in protest) and scooted over to do just that, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. “I wish I didn't feel so shitty,” she said. “I mean, I’d feel even shittier if I didn't, but...Ratiri, allanah, you have fucking super-sperm, and I'm not happy.”

 

That actually drew a small laugh, though it was mostly sad. He sorted out the tea and things on the dresser, while Boo went to climb him instead.

 

_ I will not stay long. I only wanted you to know how sorry I am. And that...I understand. You are probably worrying about that, so please do not. I love you, Lorna, and this will not change that in the least. _

 

She shut her eyes, hugging him a little tighter.  _ I was so afraid...I know you said you wouldn’t hate me, but that was before it actually happened. I love you, too. I know I can’t tell anyone else about this, except maybe Pat, so...I...I need to get this out of my system, like...emotionally. Can you make me cry? _

 

_ If that is what you wish, yes. Do not be afraid. If you have taught me one thing, it is that sometimes it is all one big ginormous clusterfuck and I will deny every word of that if you tell my seneschal.  _ A wall of grief slammed into her mind that could have no other outcome but her dissolving into sobs while he held onto her tightly.

 

Lorna pressed her face against his shoulder, knowing she was probably getting snot all over his shirt but unable to feel terribly guilty over that right now. It hurt, it  _ hurt _ , but she knew, without knowing how, that if she’d tried to keep that embryo, it would have ended poorly. Somehow, even with Thranduil as a healer, it would have ended...something would have gone wrong. She wasn’t Sharley, she couldn’t see the future, but every scrap of intuition she had told her she’d dodged some huge bullet.

 

And yet it hurt.

 

_ I can’t tell the others, and I know I can’t, but this is….this is a huge secret, and what the fuck am I supposed to do? What are Ratiri and I supposed to do? Because I know he’s not going to actually tell me if this is tearing him up inside. He’ll be too busy trying to look after me. We’re a little too much alike in that. _

 

_ Lorna...I am going to give you the same advice I am giving Ailill and Calanon. Do not feel ashamed of this. It is your right, it is within the laws of your people, and ultimately this is your happiness and your decision. I will not lie; we both know that this will be a difficult subject for my people just as a gay relationship is as well. Time, honest dialogue, gradual changing of attitudes. These are the things that have to happen. I do not want you to turn into Earlene, over this. Do not feel ashamed and suffer. And you can weld another piece onto the Bad Elf Award; your husband is not enduring what you are. He is...sad, a little, but his profession brings a means by which to cope with this that you do not have. How about this... I will come back in a few hours. Bring some food for a meal that you can eat. Then you will sleep because I will make you sleep, and Ratiri and I can talk. That way he has some support too. Yes/No? _

 

That actually drew a smile from her. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless.  _ I have so much shit to add onto that award, you might as well just bring it here so I can work on it with Earlene’s motor-chairs...just wait, you’ll understand later. And...I’d like that. A lot. I don’t deserve you lot, but I'm glad I found you. _

 

_ And I as well. Now watch more kitten videos and I will return later.  _ He rose up. “Oh, I almost forgot. I received a message from Sharley earlier today. She said, and forgive me if I mispronounce as I do not know the word, ‘Tell Ratiri it would have been ectopic so Lorna doesn’t feel bad.’” It came out EEKtopic, rather confirming the truth of his statement.

 

Ratiri, teacup in hand, stared at him. “Ectopic? E-c-t-o-p-i-c? She knew that?”

 

“Knew what?” asked Thranduil, pausing on the way to the door. “And yes, that was the spelling. It seems I murdered the poor word.”

 

“An ectopic pregnancy is when the embryo implants outside of the uterus,” Ratiri said, his skin actually crawling a little. “Usually in the fallopian tube. Thranduil, would you have known it was in the wrong place, without looking very closely? Or would you have just seen you were keeping the embryo itself healthy?”

 

Thranduil looked completely confused. “The latter. The baby ends up in the womb and it grows?”

 

“Usually, yes,” Ratiri said, his pulse jumping a little, “but not always. If it implants in the fallopian tube, miscarriage is inevitable -- an ectopic pregnancy is not viable, ever. If a woman is fortunate, the embryo miscarries and passes fairly early on, but if she doesn’t, it can rupture the tube, possibly fatally.”

 

Lorna stared at him. “ _ What? _ ” How was it possible, to feel at once so relieved and so utterly freaked out?

 

“You would have needed an abortion no matter what, mo chroí,” he said, setting the teacup aside and leaning against the dresser. “Thranduil would have kept it from miscarrying, just as he did with the twins, but that would have probably killed you. Unless he was right next to you when the tube ruptured, you could have died. There could have been no surgery to aid in the abortion process, no…” Why was he  _ now  _ so disturbed? Was it knowing what could have gone so terribly wrong, had she changed her mind? “Left alone, ectopic pregnancies often take care of themselves before a woman’s even aware of it, naturally miscarrying, but in this case, that wouldn’t have happened.”

 

Thranduil now utterly and completely did not know what to think. “Ratiri? Are you alright?”

 

“I...yes,” he said, and somehow made his way over to sit beside Lorna. “Hearing that...I’m not sure Elves ever experience this, although I can’t imagine you don’t: do you know what it feels like, to find out some unexpected disaster was averted?”

 

_ I think  _ I  _ do, _ Lorna thought, leaning into Ratiri as he wrapped his arm around her. Knowing what could have happened, and all without any actual warning…. _ Jesus _ .

 

“Well, there is Sharley, so, I think so?” This day was becoming very, very strange.

 

Ratiri rested his chin on Lorna’s head. “Then do you understand the sheer...relief, mixed with horror at knowing what might have happened?”

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil. “That much, I can understand. I am going to obtain a dinner from the Halls and bring it here. I love you both, but you should be with each other and I desperately need a little time alone to think.” With that he turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

 

Lorna rested her head on Ratiri’s shoulder, shuddering. It was a damn good thing she  _ hadn’t  _ wanted another kid, if that was...while it made her feel no less sad, in a way, she certainly no longer felt actual guilt. She grieved that it had happened in the first place, especially because God, what if she’d listened to her own arguments in the car, and chickened out? What if she’d thought ‘oh, maybe I can do this even though I don’t really want to’? It could have killed her. Even living with an elf who could heal just about anything, it could have killed her, because nobody would have seen it coming.

 

“Tea,” she said. “Tea and biscuits, allanah, because Christ have I got the heebie-jeebies.”

 

*****

 

“I think I ate too much,” said Earlene, as they left their teatime at the Old Bank Hotel. “But it was completely worth it.” 

 

“Just lean on me,” Thanadir smiled, as they determined to walk among the shops and stores that were still open yet for another hour or so. It was quite cold outside, but under the cloak the seneschal had made her it did not seem to matter. Not a single store had taken down its holiday decorations, which made it feel a little as though they were visiting at Christmas still, but with none of the crowds or hassle. Really, the streets were sparser with people than she guessed might be the case, but it was the first day back. Already she liked it here...it felt a little like being in a university town again; something she once knew well. Er, if you could call New York City a ‘town’ even on a good day.

 

Thanadir almost was giddy with enjoyment. He was walking in a mortal city, with his wife on his arm, who carried his child. They were having fun. It was lighthearted and happy, and there was great love. He felt it in every touch of her hand, and every thought. This was more by way of blessings than he had ever hoped to receive, and he would never forget this. Even the simple content of her mind as she looked at This and considered That in the shop windows was pleasure to him. As were the many times she turned to look at him, and he saw that she thought him so very beautiful. Eru, it was almost too much. 

 

“Will you look at that?” she said quietly, pointing. “Now surely, that beckons.” The carved wooden sign was suspended by wrought iron on two small chains, and said  _ ‘Tavrobel.’  _ and underneath that, ‘ _ Unusual and Rare Books _ .’  “I would like to go in here, if only for the name,” Earlene said to him. Anywhere else, she might feel a little more excited or curious, but here in Oxford one expected to find things having to do with Tolkien. So, just a nice name, if erudite and eclectic. When they opened the heavy door, a small bell jangled. They were quick to come inside, not to let the cold in or the warmth out. 

 

This was a modest sized establishment that spoke of age, and care. And smelled gloriously of old books. But the tempting shelves arrayed along diagonal lines were not what arrested her attention. Someone in here was playing a harp, and they were quite good at it. Browsing was about to be very enjoyable. Hand in hand they walked the aisles, and unsurprisingly came to a Tolkien section. If she cared about this more as a ‘fan’, she would have been quite impressed. There were early editions of things like The Hobbit, and even a solidly built locked display case on a wall that held first editions, some of which were signed. One caught her eye, though she had no interest in the most expensive edition.  _ The Unfinished Tales.  _ Somehow this had escaped her notice. She thought they had all of these books; there were twelve Volumes of Histories and...honestly there were a lot of Tolkien books. Dutifully she had pored through many of them in her earlier days with Thranduil and filed away many, many tidbits. But not from this one.  _ So why not buy it? _

 

They browsed more, and slowly came nearer to the sales counter. The music was definitely more of a curiosity than the books, for this man had begun to sing softly, and had the sweetest voice she had ever heard. It was captivating, in fact. Thanadir sounded like rusty nails by contrast.  _ Sorry, meldir. _

 

_ I do not disagree, honestly. No offense is taken. He is very, very good. Do you recognize this song?  _ Amusement played through the question.

 

_ It is the Lay of Leithian,  _ she replied, elbowing him lightly.  _ I may be pregnant but I still have part of my brain. _

 

Thanadir laughed softly and pecked her on the cheek. “So you do,” he said.    
  
Though she hated to leave, she had seen the store hours sign on the door, and knew they were closing soon. Politely, they walked to the cash register, not too close to the singer, and waited to pay for Earlene’s book. The musician did not seem to see them or have awareness of their existence, but she did not mind in the least for now she could watch him. His fingers plucked the strings with a surety that was mesmerizing, and the sweetness of the song drew her in with nearly physical attraction. And only now did she notice, how sad he seemed to be. Or if it was not him, he was doing one hell of a job projecting for his song; it was true that the Lay of Leithian was not the most cheerful subject. And now that she was observing more closely, it was apparent that despite a number of external detractors from his appearance, he was a very beautiful person in the physical sense. But she could not dwell on this for long, for Thanadir’s hand now closed around her arm.  _ Meldis. That is not a man. He is an ellon. _

 

_ What? You are certain? Seriously? Well, his hair is a wreck, but his face is quite exquisite.  _ Long, ropy tangles fell to his waist, decorated here and there with a brightly colored piece of string. Earlene had never cared for these unkempt styles; they gave an appearance of being a dirty mess whether they were or not. That his hair was dark, was all that it was possible to discern.

 

_ I know an elven fae when I see one, Earlene. He is an elf. _

 

_ Well, that would explain a great deal. On the upside, he has not noticed you. In fact, I am not sure he has noticed anything at all. Not that I mind, I feel as though I could hear him forever. _

 

A bustling noise was heard from the upstairs loft. “Coming,” said a baritone voice with the barest hint of irritation that transformed to footfalls clattering down wooden stairs. This new man stared at the musician with mild disgust. “Kana, you  _ might _ have helped the customers?” he glared, but his speech went disregarded and he rolled his eyes. Earlene had a moment to notice that this one too was very beautiful, with glossy brown hair cropped shorter than the harpist’s, and wondered. 

 

_ Yes,  _ she heard from Thanadir.  _ Another.  _ Earlene slid the book across the counter so it could be rung up.

 

“Sorry about my friend. Just tha--?” The question died on his lips as the second ellon finally raised his eyes to see Thanadir. For several seconds, no one said a word.

 

“So that’s how he knew,” Earlene said quietly to this one, as all the pieces clicked together and revealed the probabilities. “It was  _ you two _ . Kana. Kanafinwë? and…?” Her eyes glinted triumphantly at her deductions. “Oh, im Earlene eston. Mae govannen.”

 

Thanadir turned to look at her with something akin to complete disbelief in his eyes, while the strange elf did as well. “Kana!” the ellon hissed. No response. “KANA!!” 

 

Finally, Kanafinwë ceased his playing and raised his eyes to his friend. “What, Quen?” he asked softly, seeming to slowly come back from some other reality.

 

“For pity’s sake, use your eyes,” he pleaded, with uncharacteristic tenderness for one who seemed so irritated just a moment ago.

 

Kana stared at Earlene for moment, before almost a whimper escaped the other ellon, who now pointed to Thanadir with an exaggerated gesture. Ordinarily it would have been deemed quite rude, but even the seneschal understood these were extraordinary circumstances. Beyond extraordinary, actually. And he had had quite enough of this awkwardness. 

 

“Obviously we all can speak English. I am Thanadir, seneschal to Aran Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen. No one seems to be contradicting that this is Kanafinwë? So please, who might you be?”

 

“Quendingoldo. Please excuse my behavior, Thanadir. I once had far better manners. This is...there are not words, honestly. We thought we were alone. There has never been another, not in ages.”

 

Earlene perceived that if a land mine had gone off in their store, these ellyn could not be more distressed or surprised. “We are glad to find you,” she said in tones she hoped were soothing. “This has been quite a shock for you, and I know it is nearly time for your shop to close. We are staying in Oxford for a few days. Perhaps there is a time we might call on you, and speak more? For surely, we  _ should _ speak more.”

 

Quen nodded, only now beginning to wonder why a pregnant firieth was part of this discussion. “We do not open until eleven in the morning. Perhaps you might come at nine?” He turned to his companion. “Kana? Will that be alright with you?”

 

Kanafinwë blinked, and looked down at the counter. He nodded, and seemed like he might be about to say something...but instead maintained his silence.

 

“I am sure that would be lovely,” Earlene smiled, holding out enough money to pay for the printed price of the book on the countertop. “This is enough?”

 

Quen nodded again, taking the bills from her. “Thranduil is still here?” he could not help but ask.

 

“Very much so,” Earlene said, smiling. “Tomorrow, then. We will return at nine.”

Taking her book, she gently pulled at Thanadir, who was still blinking quite as much as the others. They exited the shop together, not speaking until they returned to their hotel room.

 

“What in Eru’s name are we to do?” Thanadir asked, at a near complete loss, as he helped Earlene remove her cloak. 

 

“Well, for starters, tell our King that we have found Maglor and Pengolodh in a bookshop in Oxford.”

 

“Eru,” Thanadir shook his head. “I think even I need a drink.”

 

“Yes, indeedy.”

  
  



	111. One Hundred and Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> January 2-8, 2020. Begins where ch. 110 left off.

Thanadir considered the last thing Earlene had said. “Well, we ate a rather large meal at tea. I do not mind a late dinner, if you wish to contact Thranduil now.”

 

“Meldir, I am not sure I need  _ any _ dinner after eating all that. But yes, I think we need...collaboration, even were he not King.”

 

“Maybe. But I also know you require less food, more often. I do not wish you to be hungry through the night.”

 

“Fine, a late dinner then. So let me get comfortable, and we can communicate with him. Sure god, this hotel knows how to do pillows right. Can you send him a text message, asking him to get on his computer?” That part about the cushions was true; there was a preponderance of large, comfortable ones. There were even the rolled decorative bolster throw pillows. Thanadir seemed more inclined to rub her feet while she did the typing; he did not have her blazing speed at this task and was content to leave it alone.

 

“He said to give him a moment,” Thanadir mentioned after his phone jangled. And then it jangled again. “He says to open a Hangout. What in Eru’s name is that?”

 

Earlene laughed. “It is for chatting. A chat room, if you will. The Elvenking now uses chat. Oh dear...I kind of love that, honestly. If this keeps up, he will want a Facebook page.”

 

_ T: Is everything well, meluieg? _

 

_ E: Yes. There is nothing wrong with me. Or Thanadir. But you are King, and we have a...situation. _

 

_ T: Please do not tell me you have found another balrog in Oxford. _

 

Earlene laughed, even though it was not technically funny; all of what was written was relayed aloud to Thanadir. Even he snickered, so it couldn’t be _ too _ wrong of her.

 

_ E: No, no balrog. In the space of exactly three hours, I found out the answer to everything I have wondered about, in a book shop quite near the hotel. I went in because it was named Tavrobel. That book shop is run by Maglor and Pengolodh. _

There was no reply for many, many seconds, which made her feel more than a little nervous.

 

_ T: I want to see and speak with you. Give me a moment to move into our bedroom for privacy. I will start a video chat. _

 

_ E: I understand. _

 

“Thanadir, I think perhaps you might wish to join me on the bed. He wants to have a video call; and I know he will not only want to speak to me alone.”

 

The elf nodded and crawled up to sit next to her. “I have never done this,” he confessed. “What is it like?”

 

“You’ll see in a minute. He will see us; we will see him, each through the cameras on our laptops. Give or take that his telepathy will not work through the camera, it is the next best thing to us all being together in one place.”

 

The icon jangled, and she answered.

 

“Eru, that is amazing,” Thanadir said.

 

“Thranduil, are you well?” Earlene asked, concerned. “You look...stressed.”

 

The King smiled. “It was a conversation with Ratiri,” he dissembled. “A private one. Everything is well now, and I will be fine. It has just been a difficult afternoon, on this end. I am far more interested in hearing everything. Do not spare any detail you can recall, either of you.”

 

They disgorged all that they could manage, speaking over each other as needed. Earlene included her emotional impressions of both ellyn in the shop, as well as the (to her) obvious means by which she discerned that the one was Maglor.

 

Thranduil blinked. “I am both happy and profoundly unsettled.” His hands ran through his hair. “And you say that Maglor appears to be...unbalanced.”

 

“Well, that was a first impression,” Earlene said. “I heard him say exactly two words, though he sang a great many more of them. Beloved, if only you could have heard his music. It was like nothing I have ever witnessed.”

 

“Well, he was known for that, until his reputation took a turn in a rather different direction,” Thranduil mused. “I will not lie to you, Earlene. He is a Kinslayer, and even all these many years later, that stain cannot be erased. And yet we are too few left in this world for me to justify ignoring them. I can at least agree that I need more information. So while the last thing I wish is to interrupt your time together…”

 

Thanadir cut in. “This is different, Thranduil. This matters. This is thousands of years of these two ellyn somehow having existed just as we did. A holiday does not outweigh the need to find out more. But what I think we both wish to know is, what are your requirements for us? What may we tell them? Or not?”

 

Thranduil took a deep breath. “I am not there. Nor do I intend to be.” He shook his head. “You are my family, those I trust most in this world. Tell them what you feel you need to. If I cannot rely on your discernment, my own is not likely to be much better.”

 

“And what of asking them to join us? Meet with us again, come to see us in the forest, be with their own people again?” Earlene asked pointedly.

 

“I will not deny them,” Thranduil said quietly after much reflection. “Based on a previous outburst, Earlene, I think you know that I yet harbor strong feelings about the actions of Fëanor and his sons. And yet of all of them, Maglor and Maedhros are the ones about whom I have wondered the most, based on what was known of their deeds. They saved the lives of Elrond and Elros, and I do not forget or overlook this. Thank Eru, most of us are Silvan. Really only Ruscion might struggle with feelings similar to my own, and he is one ellon. Do as you both see fit. I will not send you in there to speak with them at a disadvantage or with your proverbial hands tied behind your backs.”

 

“Thank you,” Earlene said, glad of the sense of direction she now felt she had.

 

“And Earlene?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Harp or not, wife, your ability to so quickly deduce all of that...I am glad you are on our side. I for one never bothered knowing their other names.”

 

She shrugged. “I read things, and they end up filed away.” Her finger tapped the side of her head. “It just happens.”

 

“Well, I am still pleased that it happens to my benefit. Now you two go do what you were doing; I promised to bring a dinner from the Halls for Lorna and Ratiri. I love you both, and will hear what happens next later.”

 

“We love you too,” they both chorused, smiling as the screen went blank with them all waving at each other.

 

“Your human technology is astonishing,” Thanadir shook his head. “I confess I will miss this when it is gone. The Internet. It is amazing.”

 

“Me too, to a degree. But I lived without it once, and will live without it again. Now, what were we doing?” she smiled, and twirled a strand of his hair around her finger.

 

*****

 

Thranduil ran to the Halls to save time, finding that his thoughts cycled through astonishment, disbelief, and curiosity, only to start all over again. He did not run back to Eldamar, because that would have sloshed the stoneware container of thick soup inside of the heavy basket he bore. None of his reflections diminished his sense of amazement.  _ In Maglor, there could be an artist of renown _ , he mused.  _ But Pengolodh; there was a scholar beyond reckoning _ ; one who doubtless knew many things that had transpired outside his forest during the long ages at which he could only guess. That one, he very much would like to meet.  _ How these two would fit into the plague, and a return to Aman...had the Valar spoken to either of them? Had they experienced the same rollercoaster of circumstances as had he and his people? So many questions… _

 

Thranduil knocked on their door for a second time.

 

Ratiri, cat in hand, opened it, and breathed a sigh of relief. “That smells wonderful,” he said. “Come on in. We still have some tea and kitten videos, if you’re interested.”

 

“I will not ask why you have kittens and need kitten videos,” he smiled. “But one of us has to go downstairs to get bowls and eating utensils. It is soup.”

 

“There’s no such thing as too many felines,” Ratiri said. “Even when they’re like this one.” He held up Boo, who squeaked. “I’ll go get them. She’s...well, she’s a bit stoned right now.” He set that cat down; she immediately scurried back to the bed.

 

The movement distracted Lorna, who looked up. “Hi, Thranduil,” she said, and though she was still sad, and more than a little freaked out by Sharley’s revelation, she was also somewhat serene. Tincture would do that.

 

“Hi Lorna,” he smiled. “I am about to distract you mightily, but I will wait for Ratiri to return first. I have news.”

 

“I hope it’s not bad news, but you wouldn’t be smiling if it was,” she said, setting aside her laptop. “C’mon and sit down, though you’ll have to move a cat first.” All six of them had arranged themselves around her, purring; they definitely knew when something was wrong.

 

“No. It is weird news. Very, very, weird news, and…” His sentence was interrupted by Ratiri’s return. “Did you run?” he asked the man, amused.

 

“Close,” Ratiri said, laying out the bowls along the dresser. There were spoons, too, and napkins. “I was pondering food earlier, but I didn't want to...well, to leave.”

 

“Very well,” he said, taking it upon himself to begin serving up portions. “So as I was telling Lorna, I have news that should prove to be some manner of distraction. As you know, Earlene and Thanadir are in Oxford, and they contacted me maybe an hour ago.” He  _ did _ have some ability as a storyteller, and left that dangling out there to attract interest.

 

“Oh?” Ratiri asked, dishing up soup and taking a bowl to Lorna and Thranduil. His own he grabbed on the second trip. “Did they find something?”

 

“Yes, they rather did. In her own quiet way, Earlene has been on a slow...data gathering project, because it has eaten away at her sense of what is possible that this Tolkien man wrote his books about us. It is part of why I sent them to Oxford; my wife is a hopeless homebody and I knew that she would not otherwise ever actually go there. They found a book store tonight named Tavrobel, and went inside out of curiosity. But what Thanadir was able to see is that the proprietors are not human. There are two ellyn there, and their names are Kanafinwë and Quendingoldo. Any guesses?” he smiled.

 

It took Lorna a moment, and Ratiri beat her to it. Eyes widening, he almost dropped his soup. “Are you shitting us?” he asked, and winced to realize the full extent of how Lorna’s vocabulary had ruined his. “Really? I mean, it had driven me mad myself, wondering how Tolkien could have known all this, but I thought he must have stumbled upon the account of some Elf left long ago. And now they run a bookstore...well, at least it fits.”

 

Lorna stared at Thranduil, and then couldn’t help but laugh. It was not fully a laugh of humor. “First we find a balrog, now two elves nobody knew existed...what the hell else are we going to find? Is Maglor...well, what’s he like, mentally? Because if I was him, after everything, I’d be...well, cracked. Or more than cracked.” She wondered how the hell they functioned now, in a world where legal identity was a must. Did they have an Orla? Why was she wondering this? Did it even matter?

 

“I do not know much. Their meeting was brief and Maglor apparently barely spoke. He had been singing and playing his harp. Though...it did not sound terribly encouraging, as to his state of...normalcy. It was the other, that did all the talking. They will see each other again tomorrow.”

 

“I admit, I’m not sure who Quendingoldo is,” Ratiri said, setting his soup aside before he could spill it. Lorna had no such compunction, and started eating it. Hey, she was hungry. Sue her. “And the two of them are in Oxford...hah, of course they are. Will they -- you -- keep in contact with them? I mean, Noldor, Kinslaying, all...that.” Honestly, he wouldn’t blame Thranduil if they decided not to, but still... _ Maglor _ . Oh, how he would love to speak with that one, even if only for an hour.

 

“There are...concerns,” Thranduil admitted. “But I will not bar my doors to him based on that alone. I need to know much more, and Earlene and Thanadir have full authority to speak as they feel they need to. And you would probably know Quendingoldo better as Pengolodh, the great sage of Gondolin who taught and recorded so many things.”

 

Now that name did ring a bell. “If anyone can suss out their minds without actual telepathy, it’s those two,” Ratiri said. “I really want to know...why Tolkien? Why Tolkien, and no one else? And why do some of the accounts that we have conflict? Was he told multiple versions of the same story, or…?”

 

“Breathe, allanah,” Lorna said. “Breathe and eat your soup. If he and Maglor are willing to say much, we’ll find out when Earlene and Thanadir get home.”

 

“Yes, but…”  _ but I want to know  _ now _ ,  _ he thought despairingly. He knew he sounded just like the twins, and so he didn't actually say it aloud. “You’re right, but still. The last holdover we found was a nightmare, but this one -- these two -- could be...well. If they’re willing to talk, that could be...amazing.”

 

“I am afraid I have to agree. But we must remember, they are people, not museum pieces. They will have their own needs and fears. Frankly, I would guess that...well as you sometimes say, ‘their heads must be exploding’. In all this long time, they must have convinced themselves they were alone. I cannot imagine how startled they must have been to see an ellon in front of them.”

 

“At least they’ve had each other,” Lorna said, “for however long they’ve been together. I can’t imagine what being the only one’v your kind left in the world would be like. I mean, Von Shitelanger was the only one’v him, but he was an arsehole. For someone who  _ isn’t  _ an arsehole, who’s capable’v feeling alone, and possibly afraid...yeah, it’s better that there’s two. And if they know there’s a whole kingdom’v elves still left, that must have been a shock and a half in its own right. If they do get...oh, I don’t know, invited back for tea, it might take them a while to be willing to come.”

 

“And given that they’re Elves, ‘a while’ could be quite long, by our standards,” Ratiri sighed. “But...I know it’s far too early for this, but they ought to be warned. About what’s coming in seventeen years, I mean. While I doubt the plague will affect Elves -- Von Asscrack didn't know there were any left when he made his virus -- that doesn’t mean their lives won’t be horribly disrupted when it happens.”

 

Thranduil smiled. If he had hoped to distract them from their sadness, this had succeeded beyond his expectations. It was a little like winding up one of the toys he had seen Earlene purchase for the children and watching it go...he made certain to keep his usual phlegmatic exterior as he ate his soup. “Well, I imagine we will know more perhaps tomorrow, or later. My curiosity is at war with the fact that the point of this holiday was to give Earlene and Thanadir time to be alone together. Yet I suspect they will be just as eager to share, so…” he shrugged. “We shall see.”

 

“Nothing can ever be simple with you lot, can it?” Lorna asked, smiling. “But then, I’d imagine you’d get bored if it was.”

 

That sobered Ratiri a little.  _ She’ll need the distraction tomorrow _ , he said.  _ The second pill she has to take will leave her very uncomfortable, so something to take her mind off it -- something in addition to the tincture -- would really help. _

 

_ Will she be in pain?  _ Thranduil’s eyes widened in concern. That would not make him happy.

 

_ She will, yes. Possibly quite a lot of it. This pill essentially induces an artificial period, which can be very heavy, and the cramping can be terrible if a woman is unlucky. She usually has heavy periods and bad cramping on the first day anyway, but the tincture ought to take care of the worst of that. It has more than one use. _

 

“So,” Lorna said slowly, wondering if she should even ask this -- she’d wanted to before, but cornering Thranduil alone was pretty hard, “Christmas. The Stranger. What the hell was that?” She knew what the Stranger was, of course, but she’d never seen it in action.

 

“Oh, that,” he said softly. “Well, the simple version is that Earlene had reflected on a great many things about Sharley, and come to some conclusions. And she went to war with the Stranger over what it said about the Valar, based on her deductions. It would appear that my wife was not wrong. There may have been...more than that.

 

“I honestly cannot remember how much I told you about my encounter with Manwë. His exact words were, ‘Earlene is sanctified to me.’ And while I cannot prove it, I very much felt on a...spiritual level, if you will, that Earlene was speaking the Valar’s own truth that night.” He paused. “Are you truly certain you wish to have this conversation? It will alter how you view certain matters, and once you know, some of your peace of mind may be gone along with it. And Lorna, I know that you often feel you must know everything you can, but I would be remiss if I did not warn you that this involves matters that are so far beyond me as a King of elves that even I hesitate to speak. You should be very, very slow to act on what you hear.” He looked at both of them with careful attention, waiting for a response before he would continue.

 

“Well, you can’t say that and then not tell us,” she said. “Sharley is...Sharley. We love her dearly. Unless you’re going to tell us she’s just like Von Crotchrot, nothing will really change our minds about that.”

 

“No. She is not just like him, she is far more powerful. Sharley is not human, Lorna. She is a Maia. And while we do not know a great many things, Earlene has arrived at some conclusions. Any more, I feel that I ignore my wife at my peril. Earlene believes that Sharley, which of course cannot be her true name, was in the service of Vairë and gifted with exceptional powers. And that somehow, she was taken by Morgoth. Taken, and subjected to horrors and torments that you or I will never be able to understand or imagine, and utterly broken. It is also guessed that this was when the Stranger first arose. The Stranger is Sharley, and Sharley is the Stranger; but Sharley is broken as though she was once a vessel made of clay. The Stranger is the large and powerful shard that rose up to defend the other broken pieces, while they reassembled into what we know as Sharley. Whatever else it may be, it is powerful enough to hide Sharley from everyone and everything. Powerful enough to obscure her true nature from one as discerning as me, even. But all this recent talk about the Valar...Morgoth has ever taught and turned others with lies and slow deceits, and has left her, or parts of her, with the conviction that the Valar abandoned her to her torment. Refused her pleas for help. That...viewpoint...has been accepted by the Stranger and internalized. This is why the Stranger said what it did, and Earlene fought back against that reasoning.” He paused for a moment, trying to decide what to say next.

 

“The Stranger is weakening. Cracking, if you will. We cannot allow it to fail or fall apart. Not yet. This is why we need to not mention the word ‘Valar’ around her again, just as it asked of us. Sharley needs to be away from strain and stress; what happened here wasn’t...good. If the Stranger falls completely apart, Sharley will remember everything, and she is defenseless against those realities. While I do not know what to do, exactly, even I can see that maintaining the status quo buys time. Time in which to one day find a means to help a broken Ainu who possesses power far greater than my own. It is rather...a lot.”

 

“Jesus…” Lorna whispered, staring at him. Her heart sank, her eyes burning with the tears she could never shed. “That poor woman...and she’s been alone, and then  _ he  _ found her, and...God I want to give her a big, big hug. I mean...we need…”  _ we need to keep her in Skykomish, keep her safe in her home, and go to her, rather than having her come to us. We need to take Allanah, and spend time with her in the space where she feels safest. _

 

“I wonder, is that even possible?” Ratiri murmured, stricken. “To help one so broken, who has suffered so much...how could one even begin? What she will need...I hope we can repair the Stranger, for now. We can’t just abandon her, not when she’s attached herself so much to us.”

 

“There is more,” Thranduil said. “Earlene has one idea about why Sharley was not helped by the Valar when she was...taken, and treated so cruelly. And yet she does not feel it is a good explanation; she is...working on it. Waiting for more information I also fear that this will not be something you could emotionally accept, but I am trying to share the current evolution of thinking with you: If the Powers had helped Sharley, rescued her as she begged to have happen, they would have altered the future. That included being able to warn us of what was coming. To be able to save all of you, and bring us home. Right now, I do not know exactly what to believe. I do not accept for a minute that Sharley was abandoned by cold-hearted reasoning. The Valar too are bound by laws and rules; they are not all-powerful ones who may do as they please on a whim. What befell Sharley is unquestionably tragic, but everything about the Valar is tied into Eru’s purpose. Regardless of what the truth turns out to be, if we can ever know it, I for one am left at a place where I must choose who to believe; the Stranger, or the Valar. I have chosen the latter.”

 

He was right -- Lorna couldn’t emotionally accept that. To know that all the shit Sharley had gone through could be, in some small measure, her fault...it was horrible, horrible knowledge. How could she live with herself, knowing that gentle, broken woman might have been been shattered so that she, her family, her friends might be saved millennia down the line? Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed, hard. Just now she had a horribly dim opinion of the Valar, but she wasn’t about to say so to Thranduil. Her horror over the entire situation was too great. “What can we do for her? How does a person even begin to know how to help someone who’s been through that much?”

 

“If the Stranger is cracking, it has to partially be because she’s coming here,” Ratiri added. “But we can hardly just cut her off, so we’re going to have to go to her. Go to Skykomish. We were talking about spending a summer there anyway.” It would be a win-win; she’d have her adoptive family with her, and she’d be in her home. If anything would allow the Stranger to...repair things, it ought to be that.

 

Thranduil looked at Lorna, because he had been paying very careful attention to her responses. “Lorna, I know that you do not have any background in...spirituality or spiritual thinking, so what I am going to say may be very hard for you to understand. Long ago, many of us were approached by one who did everything to convince my people that the Valar were wrong. Oppressors. Keeping us from our best happiness. That there were other ways, better ways, than the path laid out for us by our father Eru. Some chose to listen. And for their trust they were repaid time and again with death and despair. Bad things do not come from the Valar, Lorna. They come from the imperfections Melkor laced into the world in the earliest part of Eru’s music. Before I or you or any living creature apart from the Ainur existed. Do not be quick to think ill of the Valar; it is the deception Morgoth, who makes all things that cast the Valar into a negative light seem as wisdom to believe.”

 

She curled up against Ratiri, tucking her feet beneath her. “You’re right,” she said, “I don’t. Until I met you lot, I thought religion was just a way for the selfish and greedy to sucker in the gullible. Finding out there actually  _ was  _ something out there -- it’s been hard to reconcile, and this...is harder still. I don’t know the workings’v the Valar, or Eru, or any’v that lot. All I do know right now is that I could never, ever destroy an innocent person to save others -- no matter how many others. I’d never be able to sleep again. That’s...I have to think about it. To me...to me, the value’v lives don’t have a...a price attached. They’re all worth the same, unless someone’s a total gobshite. This...isn’t going to be easy for me to come to terms with. It might...take a while.”

 

“It would likely be easier if we were from religious backgrounds,” Ratiri sighed, wrapping his arm around her. “To have a -- a spiritual template -- would make this far more simple. This isn’t just about switching a faith, though, it’s truly having faith begin with. And it’s still quite new to us.”

 

“I understand. I do not mean to be...pedantic. But when time and again you have witnessed your world go to ruin over the lies and deceits spread by that one and those who served him...it is more than an abstract concept, to an elf. The Valar did not break Sharley. Morgoth did. And I also must caution you that all I have told you is based on Earlene’s deductions and not firsthand knowledge. Earlene herself would tell you to consider the information while not accepting it as proven fact.”

 

Lorna could only nod. “So...what do we do?” she asked. “However Sharley got so broken, and why, what matters is that she  _ is _ . What can we even to do help her? I mean, yeah, we can go spend a lot’v time there with her, but you know she’ll come back each May. She always goes to Marty’s grave on her birthday.”

 

“It really is quite simple. We don’t mention Valar in her presence any longer. Ailill and Calanon will be informed of this before her next visit, as will all of us in this house. She really does not interact with others. Speaking of which...maybe you should talk to Ailill. Ask him what he saw, and how he felt. You might find it an interesting perspective.”

 

“It really might,” Lorna said. “To us -- well, to me, anyway -- they’re still almost an...abstract concept. I was always one’v those people who only believed in it if I could see it and touch it, and that’s a bit ingrained. And actually  _ knowing  _ what they saw -- you’ve got to understand, there are loads’v people out in the world claim they’ve seen/spoken to whatever deity, but I would say most if not all’v them are either liars or crazy. Actually having that one be a confirmed fact...well, it’s weird. Really weird.”

 

“And I -- if this makes any sense, I believed, but I had no actual faith,” Ratiri said. “It’s not like with this. I never had any certainty of any deity’s existence, and it’s still bizarre to me. I just hope we won’t scare poor Ailill off.”

 

Thranduil looked at them, needing to consider only for a moment. “There is a way. I cannot show you for long, but I can show you my memories of what I saw. And by default, what Ailill and Calanon saw. I think this is one time when it is important enough to make the effort,” he said quietly, extending his hands to each of them.

 

Lorna reached for one, but hesitated. “Will this...hurt you?” she asked. As nice as some kind of...of confirmation would be, she didn't want it to come at the expense of Thranduil’s health. That was, to her, rather more important than her own struggles with faith.

 

“No,” he laughed, “but thank you for thinking of it. Take my hands; this is much easier if I am touching you.” When he felt each of them grasp him, he closed his own eyes and opened his mind. It felt like it always did, the pressure and the sense of airlessness, but this would be brief. In turn he recalled the sight of Manwë in Lorna and Ratiri’s room, of the Lord of the Wind holding Lorna unconscious, and then Irmo, Estë and Nienna as they appeared to Ailill and Calanon. Maybe it had been ten seconds, when he gratefully released them. “So now you have...something,” he said gently.

 

Neither said anything for a very long moment. When Lorna finally spoke, she said, “ _ That’s  _ what happened when I got...invulnirableized? And yes, allanah, I realize that’s not a word, but it ought to be.”

 

“Yes, though I did not show you the part where he kissed your forehead. If that has ever happened to a mortal before, I would much like to hear of it,” Thranduil said, realizing that they were more profoundly affected by this than he had anticipated. Maybe it was true, what Lorna had stated. Perhaps they  _ did _ need to see, in some manner, in order to believe.

 

Lorna’s eyes widened. Bloody Christ...now  _ that  _ was something she could believe in -- something she could see, and that she had touched, for all she didn't remember. “So...okay, so assuming Earlene’s right, and Sharley had to go through what she did to warn us...can’t we ask them to fix her now? I mean, they seem to be getting involved in stuff -- you and Earlene and Thanadir, Ailill and Calanon -- it’s not like after the War’v Wrath, where they basically nope’d out’v the world so they didn't break it again.”

 

“My instinct is that this has to unfold in its own way,” Thranduil said. “Sharley is not suffering right now. In fact, she may be the most happily ignorant of all of us. Whatever the Stranger believes, Lorna, the Valar have not forgotten her. I am content to do what I can to keep Sharley at peace and comfortable, and let what will happen….happen. It is a tendency we elves have; not to pursue such immediacy. Quite often we are content to exercise patience, with a sense that somehow it manages to all work out in the end. Though, we cannot always see how.” He snorted. “Look at us, sitting here talking, and think of me, four years ago. A faded shadow lurking among the trees. If I know nothing else, it is that things can change when least expected.”

 

Ratiri managed a smile, though it was a slightly sad one. “You have forever,” he said. “Whereas we have a saying: ‘he who hesitates is lost’. I have to wonder how terrifyingly powerful the Stranger actually is, because it somehow keeps her from finding the fact that she’s so old yet looks so young to be at all odd. It’s like...she doesn't even think of it. She remembers her past, and things she should not, if she was human, have witnessed, but it just...doesn't compute. It’s like the connection just isn’t there.”

 

“And that thing fooled  _ you _ ,” Lorna said. “Shit, I’m pretty sure it fooled Von Shite-for-brains, though why would it do that? Why not just break her out?”

 

“He might well have been stronger than it,” Ratiri said. “And if it failed an attempt to escape, and he discovered what Sharley actually was….”

 

“No,” Thranduil said. “I do not believe he was stronger or that he ever knew. And you bring up something else by which Sharley can be helped. Earlene believes that these...mistakes, in which Sharley voices knowing of events that reveal her age to be much greater, are signs of the Stranger being under stress. I would advise you never to engage with the discussion when you hear such comments. Do not wince or react, just simply move along as though something had been said about the weather. Above all do not attract attention to them. The Stranger is not a complete person; it is only a facet of one. It is erratic and I understand why Sharley’s voices fear it as they do...but it is still a part of her. Above all, Sharley is something that was beautiful beyond words at one time, and was broken. And now all those pieces are held back together but not in their original form. I believe there is still much that is beautiful still...but it is not given to me to understand how to heal her.”

 

“Kintsugi,” Ratiri said quietly.

 

Lorna looked up at him. “Huh?”

 

“Kintsugi,” he repeated. “It’s the Japanese art of repairing something that was broken with golden...well, glue, basically. Lacquer, mixed with gold dust. The goal isn’t to hide that the thing was once broken, but to embrace the signs of repair. Maybe...Sharley can’t be allowed to know she’s been repaired, not yet, but I think we don’t need to try to ‘fix’ her so much as reinforce the areas the Stranger has, um, glued.”

 

“I can say with surety that having family, no worries about money, and Allanah have been the greatest gifts for her,” Thranduil smiled. “Whereas mentions about the Valar, battles with the Stranger, and our collective sex lives have perhaps been less than pleasant,” he laughed. “But still the good outweighs the bad. Poor Sharley…”

 

“I see how much she loves Allanah,” Lorna said. “You should’ve seen them when we were over in December. It’s not that Allanah’s a replacement for Marty -- it’s that Allanah’s like...Marty’s sister, almost. Another child that might’ve been, if the world had been different for her. If you lot and Allanah are both willing, I’d like to keep taking her over to Washington, when we go. I know Sharley’s so happy to show us all the different parts’v her home, and Jesus aren’t those mountains something else.”

 

“I have to wonder,” Ratiri said slowly, “she does seem genuinely disgusted by sex. I wonder if that’s something the Stranger just can’t fully suppress -- if what Von Testiclewart did to her somehow left an impression even it can’t banish. Though perhaps it’s far more simple, and she simply isn’t interested. As I understand it, Maia that  _ were  _ interested were something of a rarity.” At least, from reading  _ The Silmarillion _ , he’d got the idea that Maia like Melian were rare, and that the married Valar were marriages of companionship than anything physical -- which made a great deal of sense, since they only had bodies when they felt like it. No hormones there.

 

“I find I prefer not to contemplate that one,” Thranduil smiled, finishing the last of his soup. “Have you both had enough to eat? Soon it will be time to help put children to bed and do all the little things Thanadir and Earlene usually care for around this time. Not to mention making sure the puppies make it outside enough,” he frowned. Soiled carpets would not be terribly welcome.

 

“I actually have,” Lorna said, surprised. She hadn’t even realized she’d still been eating, but it did her good. “We’d best take care’v our own kids, too.” She set her bowl aside, and hugged him. “Thank you, Thranduil. I needed that. More than even you might know.”

 

“You are welcome,” he said, returning the affection. “I will check on you both in the morning, and...see how matters stand. It will be simple enough to bring food upstairs then; with Ortherion there will at least be a basic meal. Do you wish to remain awake, Lorna, or go to sleep?”

 

“I think...I'd like to sleep,” she said slowly. “Then I won’t have time to stew again.”

 

“It might be for the best,” Ratiri said. “I’ll stay with you, as will all these cats.” Boo had taken her vacated seat, basking in the warmth, and protested when he picked her up.  _ She’ll take the second pill after breakfast tomorrow, so I’ll add some tincture to her tea before she does. _

 

“I can wait while you do human bedtime things,” he grinned. “Earlene still insists on brushing her teeth every night and morning. It fascinates us.”

 

“It’s pretty necessary, for us,” Lorna said, releasing him. “Even people like me, who have good teeth, still get morning breath.”

 

She and Ratiri got the twins ready for bed, kissing them after tucking them in, and returned to their room with cats at their heels. It didn't take her long to get settled herself.

 

Once she was comfortably in bed, Thranduil touched the side of her face, leaving her quite effectively unconscious and sleeping comfortably. “Good night, Ratiri. You know where I am, should you need anything. I will not go far tonight, just in case.”

 

“Thank you,” Ratiri said, and meant it wholeheartedly. “This will be hard on her, for a while. Knowing how badly it could have gone if she’d kept it will be a comfort, at least.”

 

The King nodded sadly. “This was a….lesson, for me, in the differences between our races. I did not know such an occurrence was even possible. It is difficult, is it not, when a subject laden with emotion on account of moral views becomes a matter of medical necessity?” He paused. “I am not looking for an answer to my own question,” he smiled, before turning and leaving the room.

 

*****

 

Sharley, after a breakfast of coffee and oatmeal, went for a walk in the snowy, silent forest. The sky was clear and very blue, the sunlight stabbing golden through the white-laden boughs.

 

As terrible as Lorna’s situation was, it would have been infinitely worse if she had decided to go through with the pregnancy. Sharley would have had to tell her what was wrong, and she’d have had to get an abortion anyway -- how much more terrible would it be, having one forced by necessity, rather than by choice? Even Thranduil couldn’t have done anything about that one.

 

The sad truth was that Lorna simply was not built to bear children, and especially not at her age. Thranduil’s aid meant she’d taken her twins to term and delivered them safely -- if terribly uncomfortably -- but without his help, she would have miscarried. Her first kid might have been okay, because she was so much younger, but now...no. There were plenty of small women who gave birth to healthy children, but only if the fetus was small enough itself, and Ratiri was...Ratiri. A borderline giant. Not all very tall men produced very large fetuses, but Lorna was so little than even a moderately-sized baby would just be a no-go. Add in the hormonal and psychological toll it took on her, and it was almost a relief this had happened as it did.

 

And yet, Sharley was sure, that wasn’t going to help entirely.

 

Her breath rose in a pale cloud as she looked up at the azure sky. While there were a few holes in her memory of her pregnancy with Marty, she recalled it as being uncomfortable, but not unbearably so. Yeah, she’d had morning sickness, but not like Lorna had; she’d been living in Seattle at the time, both living in and volunteering at a homeless shelter, and it hadn’t cut too much into her work hours. It had tapered off, too, after the first two months. She was tall enough that her baby bump hadn’t been unduly large, either; yeah, it wasn’t any fun, and for whatever reason she had killer indigestion, but it hadn’t been like Lorna’s. Discomfort was not the same as misery.

 

Marty hadn’t been a big baby, and her labor had been so astonishingly fast and easy that she’d almost given birth in the taxi, before they even got to the hospital. Oh, it  _ hurt  _ like an absolute bitch, but not for very long. Lorna’s Shane had come out in a hip and a hurry, but Chandra hadn’t been nearly so cooperative. Even with Thranduil managing her pain, it had still been horrific. No wonder her brain vapor-locked at the mere thought. But that might or might not help worth a damn now.

 

_ “Will you email her?”  _ Sinsemilla asked, as she stepped over a fallen log.

 

“If I can think of anything to say.” How strange was it, that she, half-cracked Sharley, was becoming something of a therapist to these people? But then, maybe it made more sense than she thought; she knew much about them, and they had let her into their family, but she was still literally outside. She lived on the other side of the world, almost. “I’ll invite them out here, though I doubt they’ll want to come any time soon. I’m not sure I would, in their place.” They ought to know the offer was there, at least. She was hoping to drag them and Allanah, if she would come, out here for at least two weeks, if not a month. Ross Lake was beautiful, and by this autumn the twins would be more than big enough for life jackets -- autumn was her favorite time to go to the lake, because of all the shrubs and sumac changing colors.

 

Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir, she knew, were not nearly so free. They couldn’t come and go as much as they pleased, and especially not so far from home. Their vacations would have to be rationed, but maybe they too would come to Ross Lake someday. Someday, but not yet -- traveling with the huge herd was like traveling with a circus, and a place like Ross Lake needed to be a bit more...peaceful.

 

And...they needed to enjoy it all while it was still here. To see her home as it was, and make memories along with her. Memory would be all that was left, in seventeen years. Soon to be sixteen.

 

She sighed. She hadn’t yet told the people of Skykomish what was coming -- and what she meant to do with them all. That needed to be relayed very carefully, and she needed to figure out how to do that before she opened her mouth and stuck her foot in it. And how to do _ that _ as yet eluded her _. _

 

*****

 

Settling in for bed the night before was just...odd. To have only Thanadir...at times it seemed like its own alternate universe because in many ways it still was, yet she tried not to think on that. For each of her husbands...well, they did not have two. They had her, and only her, and it seemed only right that she do what she could to have that be special for each of them. _Jesus fucking Christ, there was no roadmap for this. No self-help volume in the bookstore aisle telling one how to navigate a relationship like this or how to make the best success at it. Were it anyone else but Thanadir, this might be damn well impossible._ Because whenever the absurdity of her situation began to close in around her, she could still remember that this was her friend, who she loved without limits. And whose happiness meant so very much to her. _But that was all_ _supposed to have been managed by cookies and roasts of beef, not all this other stuff…_ Her eyes rolled, knowing that her time for private self-reflection was at an end, because he was about done with his shower.

 

He walked to the bed, his attention suddenly diverted by the hotel directory at the bedside, while she smiled and shook her head. “Thanadir,” she interrupted his reveries on room service, “I would feel better if we talked about tomorrow. What do we hope to accomplish? I find that I want to help them somehow, but maybe help is neither wanted or needed. They have managed all this time without us.”

 

He dropped the binder with a gentle toss and set aside his towel, sliding into bed nude. Instinctively, she nestled against his extra warmth. “ _ Have _ they managed? I am not so certain,” he said. “Maglor especially...meldis, I cannot really imagine his burdens. I do not think there is an elf alive that has not given some thought to what we assume about him--a sensitive spirit almost forced by family loyalty to take up a binding obligation too terrible to be imagined. It is why next to no one can fathom the thought of what Fëanor did; elves love their children and yet he sacrificed his on the altar of his own pride and arrogance. It is something none of us can comprehend or excuse. And yet Maglor is not Fëanor, but the one left to bear the crushing weight. I will be honest, what I most wish to know is how he did not fade to Mandos.”

 

He held her a little more tightly. “I have never told you this, but...there was a time, fortunately very brief, after the conflict with Erestor...I felt convinced my life was at an end. I could not see how I would move beyond my shame. My sense of failure and shortcoming. The emotions were the most painful I have ever experienced, and were it not for Thranduil’s compassion and love I am not certain I would have survived. I had...begun the process of dying. And yet my mistakes were as nothing, compared to the guilt Maglor bears. Which is why I simply cannot comprehend how he had the strength to carry on.”

 

Earlene listened carefully and did not interrupt. “You make a good observation. And while I have not reflected on this to the same extent, you thoughts surely must encompass his circumstances. Maybe it is why I feel a wish to help him. If we think Sharley has problems, I think Maglor’s must be a near-second. One thing is certain: Those two ellyn have a story, and what it is...well, we can only hope they will share it.”

 

Thanadir reached up and shut off the light, weaving his arms around her, snuggling closer. “There are time I miss wondering what you are thinking, a little,” he mused. 

 

“Well, I could go sit across the room and then you could wonder again,” she retorted, smiling. “But I agree, it does cut down on our conversation. But I have a question for you, since I do have to wonder, still.”

 

“What?” he asked, amused that her thoughts were now veiled from him. 

 

“All those things you said to Niamh on Christmas Evening, about how awful it was to be with an ellon. I have never seen you stare at a snail for four hours in the woods, nor do any of the other tedious things you mentioned to her by way of discouragement. Were you simply giving her a bad time?”

 

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But I have done all those things at one time or another since meeting you.”

 

“And where was I?”   
  


“Asleep. I do not need as much sleep as you. Though like Thranduil, I find that I now like the time in bed to be near you more than reading the phone book or watching late night infomercials.”

 

Earlene burst into laughter. “I guess I am honored?” _ I had no idea it was that bad… _

 

“Yes. Well. I think we all know I am a little different,” he said with a note of self-deprecation.

 

“Oh, I really do not wish you to change. I love different, Thanadir. Quite a lot. But I am growing sleepy. You know, though, this hotel offers headphones? You could make me fall asleep and both be in bed with me and watch the Food Channel until four in the morning. I will not tell.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

He actually giggled a little, before deciding he would give her a while to fall asleep on her own. Anything less would be a little...well, unseemly.

 

*****

 

When Lorna woke the next morning, she snacked on a packet of biscuits before she took her second pill.

 

She hadn’t dreamt at all, thankfully; Thranduil had put her well under. Even so, somehow she managed to be both depressed and deeply creeped out all at once.

 

She’d been so close to telling Ratiri to turn around -- so close to trying to force herself to go through with it anyway. Thinking of her own Saoirse, the daughter who’d been lost before she’d even been born, had almost done it. And if she had, if she’d wavered in her convictions, she could very easily have died.

 

Morbid curiosity led her to grab her laptop and consult Google. What she found disturbed her immensely: 

_Signs and symptoms may vary from woman to woman, but the most common indicators are a missed period, abdominal pain, and_ _vaginal bleeding. However, many women have no symptoms at all until the ectopic pregnancy ruptures._

 

She wouldn’t have had any warning signs. Thranduil would have made sure of that, in keeping the fetus healthy; it would have grown and grown, and then...burst. And it got worse -- apparently, if the embryo was too big to be passed with their drug, which was much like the one she’d just taken, she’d need surgery to get it out. Surgery she couldn’t have, because of her skin. Thranduil could have taken care of any internal bleeding, or the ruptured tube itself, but she really doubted he could have dealt with this big wad of embryo just sort of...free-floating in her abdomen.

 

And...Jesus, one of the causes of an ectopic pregnancy could be age. It hadn’t happened to Earlene yet, but it _ could _ , and Thranduil wouldn’t know. Oh, it probably hadn’t in  _ this  _ pregnancy, but what if she decided, for whatever mad reason, to have another one? The thought sent Lorna cold. Yeah, Earlene could have surgery, but still. If she wasn’t close enough to Thranduil, internal bleeding could do her in before he could get to her. They weren’t actually joined at the hip.

 

The thought made her twitch, and she set aside the laptop. Ratiri came in bearing tea and eggs, which she ate mechanically. He added a drop of tincture to the tea, at least, though not to his own.

 

“So, I kind’v...didn't want to say much about this,” she said, leaning against him, “but if Earlene wants more kids later -- and I think she’d be crazy if she did, but you never know -- she needs to know this would be possible. Because if it happened to her, and nobody knew…”

 

“One thing at a time, mo chroí,” he said, stroking her hair. “This pregnancy is fine for her. She might not choose to have any more. Six children is...quite a number, even with childcare.”

 

“True. I can hope, anyway. I mean, I thought she was mad to do it again after Eleniel and Ithiliel, but Thaladir was the easiest fetus in the world, wasn’t he?”

 

Ratiri laughed. “Yes, I think he rather was. I’m not so certain she’ll be thrilled once she hits what I would call the Land Whale stage. Going through that again while carrying twins won’t be fun, no matter how you slice it.”

 

Was it wrong, that Lorna hoped it sucked so much she decided to never do it again? Maybe, but hope she did, because if she herself was so fucked-up over losing a pregnancy she didn't even want, what would happen to Earlene? She was too strong for it to destroy her, but it would fuck her up pretty badly. Which...not good.

 

A dull cramp worked its way through her abdomen, and she frowned. It wasn’t tampon time yet, but it probably would be soon enough. She winced, curling up a little, but compared to her normal first-day period cramps, this was nothing. “How long with this….bleeding, or whatever...last?”

 

“Probably no more than a day,” he said, “though you may spot-bleed for a week or so, and I would imagine it will throw your cycle off somewhat -- not that that’s saying a great deal, given how irregular yours is now.”

 

“Oh, brilliant,” she sighed. “Because I so needed more’v that.”

 

He said nothing more, but rubbed her back, and another cramp worked its way through her. She sipped her tea, waiting for the tincture to kick in. “Would it be okay for Thranduil to just send me to sleep, once I actually, you know, need to use a tampon?”

 

“No, mo chroí,” he said. “You need to be awake so we can monitor how you feel, at least at first.”

 

“Great.”

 

It wasn’t long before she and a fresh pair of boxers went scooting for the bathroom, and she realized that the pill didn't just let the Communists in, it brought them along with Niagara Falls.  _ Beautiful. _ Well, she had a brand-new box of tampons, at least, and the pads she usually wore at night the first few days in addition to them -- and this time the twins hadn’t turned them into cat toys. Small favors.

 

When she went back out, she curled up in bed, and Boo curled up against her abdomen, purring. Ratiri sat beside her, still rubbing her back, but she was so depressed he wondered if he should get Thranduil.

 

A knock came on the door. The children had been fed, and it was apparently beyond time to check on his friend, Thranduil reasoned.

 

Ratiri rose, and opened the door. “Hi,” he said, nudging Midnight out of the way; the puffball of course wanted to climb Thranduil’s pants. “Come on in. I gave her some food and some of her, er, special tea, but it hasn’t quite kicked in yet.”

 

“I see,” he said, smiling, and going to the bedside. “So how is it going today, aside from you spending too much time worrying about my wife’s pregnancies?” His words were a tease, but his tone was quite gentle, as his eyes met hers and he reached to move a wayward strand of hair off of her face.

 

“Aside from cramps, and the Communists invading in a stampede, not so much,” she said, managing a little smile. “And yeah, I worry this’ll happen to Earlene. It said on the website age can play a part in whether or not you get one, so if she ever has any more, make her get an ultrasound, okay? If only for my peace’v mind?” Another cramp rolled through her, and she winced.  _ Come on, tea, do your shit. _

 

Ratiri didn't have telepathy, but he might as well have, for he poured her more tea, and brought it over.

 

“Lorna, I  _ am _ an ultrasound, and now that I am aware of this, I certainly would not fail to look. You can set your mind at ease, with this. And you forget, Earlene is younger than you. Everything will be fine, and there is no need to fret. I think you have not been watching enough kitten videos,” he chided.

 

She quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, younger than me by a whole year,” she said dryly, but managed a smile. “Okay. But shit, now I have to find something else to fret over.”

 

As if to prove her wrong, the Lump jumped onto the bed and trundled over, sniffing her, her tea, and Thranduil, before flopping onto his lap and purring like a rusty chainsaw. “Or I could just look at that thing.  _ How  _ did she wind up so fat, when the others didn't? I mean...she’s a lump. I named her well.”

 

“It certainly cannot be all the rodents she is not catching,” he said acidly, though he scratched her under the chin. She sniffed his fingers and gave him a look of pure disgust; he smelled like  _ dog _ .

 

“It is hardly my fault if you have not yet learned to share the house yet,” he chided the Lump, which earned him tail flicks. Cats rated above Kings, at least in their own estimation. “Anyway,” he turned his attention back to Lorna. “I think you need a lineup of ridiculous movies to cheer yourself. I admit “ _ The Christmas Story” _ was cute, and funny. Surely there are others?”

 

Lorna looked at the way the cat looked at him, and laughed. “What’s it like, being able to read their little minds? What goes on in their heads?”

 

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Ratiri said. “And we do have a lineup of ridiculous movies, or can do -- I just have to make one.” 

 

Another, stronger cramp worked through her abdomen. Jesus, this was going to suck, wasn’t it? “Thranduil, I don't suppose you’ve got any like a heating pad, have you? I’m pretty sure Pat stole mine, the bastard.”

 

He chuckled. “Well, their thoughts are simpler, more dictated by physical drives. In the case of cats there is a certain ruthlessness to their desires, I would say. They live in the moment, mostly seeking their own contentment. Just...different. And…Ratiri, why can she not have pain relievers? I know you have these medicines.”

 

“That’s what her special tea is for,” he said. “Acetaminophen might make the bleeding worse. This isn’t quite like a normal period, and she doesn’t need anything that will thin her blood.”

 

“You know what,” she said, “see if Pat’s got ibuprofen. I can take that, right?”

 

“You can indeed, and I will be right back. Don’t move.”

 

“Not exactly tempted to,” she said, as he hurried out. “Ibuprofen doesn’t always sit right with my stomach, but at this point I really don’t care. It’s not bad now, but it might get bad later. Because...yay.” She had to laugh as Midnight jumped up onto the bed as well, and crawled right over the top of the Lump to settle on Thranduil’s lap, purring and blinking her big eyes.

 

“That fucking cat is flirting with you, I swear,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Look at her.”

 

“That is because she and I have an understanding, and she knows she cannot work her usual charms on me. Which means that she is simply trying harder, because she is a cat. Aren’t you, little one?” he skritched her fur just above her tail again. And if in doing so, his hand managed to brush against Lorna, well no one would know the difference if her cramps were just a little less bad for a moment. He had deniability on his side.

 

“She’s a cat, and that’s what they do.” She poked Midnight, who just purred louder. “Have you seen  _ Guardians’v the Galaxy _ ? I know you’ve got lots to do today, but if you get time, you should watch it with us. There’s a talking raccoon with a giant gun.”

 

Ratiri entered just in time to hear that, and laughed. “That’s a good one,” he said, bringing her two ibuprofen and a glass of water. “Now you tell me if those make you feel sick, you hear me?”

 

“Yes, Mam,” she said, but smiled at him. “Why don’t we just run through Marvel films? Start with  _ Iron Man _ ? Thranduil, if you can, come back for  _ Guardians _ ?”

 

“If it would please you, yes,” he smiled, willing to agree to most anything that would give her cheer. “Tell you what. I need to see to some things at the Halls. Text me when to come, as soon as you can figure it out. I could bring a basket from the kitchens; I am having my family eat there for lunches and dinners until you feel better. Less….fuss.”

 

Lorna sat up enough to hug him. “Thank you, Thranduil,” she said. “I mean it. Best brother-from-another-mother ever.”

 

“And all the more so because you let these furballs sit on you without complaint,” Ratiri added, shooing them away. “She should be all right for now. If I need to run into the village for anything, though, would you stay with her? I highly doubt I will, but one never knows.”

 

“Yes. So I will care for my obligations and return as quickly as I may. I expect I will be gone about two hours. Behave yourself, Lorna, and enjoy your Iron Man. Honestly that sounds somewhat entertaining.”

 

“You’re like, one’v three people who can tell me to behave myself and I’ll actually listen,” she said, grinning. “I might be stoned when you get back, but I’ll still be here.” She could feel the tea kicking in a bit, thankfully. Between it and the ibuprofen, hopefully the cramps wouldn’t be bad.

 

“I’ll sit on her, if I have to,” Ratiri said. “Have fun out there.”

 

*****

 

Promptly at nine, Thanadir rapped sharply on the door to Tavrobel. He and Earlene had spent breakfast in quiet discussion, while she watched in thinly suppressed amusement as the elf did serious damage to the hotel’s Continental Breakfast offering. At least they were getting their money’s worth, which was more than she could ever say for similar stays elsewhere. And in moments, Maglor arrived to unlock the door and admit them. It was not going to be easy, remembering to call them by their other names. In fact, she wondered outright at the use of his father-name.

 

Earlene saw now with far more clarity that his eyes were a silvery gray color. He would be drop-dead gorgeous, were it not for the general aura of depression that seemed to cling to him and his rather unkempt appearance. Maglor’s eyes swept over her with open curiosity, but he seemed far more reluctant to meet Thanadir’s gaze. As to that, she could guess why, but as usual kept her hypotheses to herself. “Come in, please,” an impossibly musical voice in a light baritone invited, before leading them on past the counter and into a small...well, den, really, at the rear of the store. This part seemed as though it might be open to the public as well; perhaps used for readings and such?

 

Pengolodh was already seated here, with tea steeping in a pot. Apparently the British were not so far from the Irish, in their habits.

 

“Good morning,” he said, rising to gesture her into a seat. “It was Earlene, right? And Thanadir? I was so startled yesterday I should at least check I remembered your names correctly.”

 

“Yes,” she replied, smiling. “Quite right. Which brings me to a question...your Quenya names are rather a mouthful for me, but I will not presume to address you by the ones you are better known to me as without your consent. Otherwise, Quen and Kana it is.”

 

“You are quite polite for a...I hear both American, and Irish. Which is it?” Pengolodh asked.

 

“Both. And neither. I came from New York City, have lived in Ireland for three years almost, but my home is in Eryn Lasgalen.”

 

“Well, for now I would ask that you please keep on with the names we use. You see where we are. We have carved out our existence exploiting a fine line between fantasy and reality. You are the first ever to hear ‘Kana’ and somehow….know. Do you mind if I ask how you managed that? We are rather occupied with maintaining our secrecy.”

 

“As are we,” answered Thanadir, not about to watch this ellon grill Earlene for information, though Eru knew she could handle it as well as he could. “And as for how she knew, that is quite simple. I told her you were ellyn, and she surmised that  Kana meant Kanafinwë. Plus, the song and harp.”

 

“Fair enough,” Pengolodh-Quen said. “Though, you have us at something of a disadvantage. You know a great deal about us, and we know nothing of you.”

 

Earlene smiled. “It is hardly our fault, if you decided to tickle the ear of an Oxford don who then devoted his entire life to penning your tales, friend,” Earlene said, amused. “And yet we are here in a spirit of honesty, and trust. It seems to us that there is much we could offer you. No one of our people knew any different, than that we comprised the last elven population in Ennor. And yet here you two are, having obviously survived all this long time on your own. While I expect your story is astonishing in its own right, surely you miss the company of your own people?”

 

Maglor (or Kana as she must now force herself to think of him) could bear no more and interrupted. “Forgive me; you speak as though you are an elf. But you are  _ not _ an elf, unless my eyes deceive me.”

 

“I am not, it is true. But I have earned a gold star for my efforts,” she teased, feeling unaccountably cheerful. “I am married to elves, I live with elves, peredhel grow in my womb. I am sworn to the elven realm, and have mastered many of your physical skills. I lack immortality, the ability to run on snow, and pointed ears, but otherwise I flatter myself that I have managed to fit in nicely.”

 

“Almost another Tuor?” Quen mused.

 

Earlene smiled demurely. “Something like that. But I am under the direction of Manwë and not Ulmo, and I was not sent to warn but to...initiate change of another kind.”

 

“What?” Kana said unabashedly. “You cannot mean that the Valar have…”

 

“Yes, she can,” Thanadir said softly. “For a very long time we lived, hidden in the forest, isolated. Mostly faded. And then Earlene came, and absolutely everything began to change. We found that our Lords and Ladies have not abandoned us after all.”

 

“You are welcome, you know,” Earlene added. “Our King welcomes you, should a time come when you would like to see us.”

 

Kana snorted in amusement, pointing at Thanadir. “He is the seneschal, but  _ you _ invite us to the Realm? Interesting setup, you must have there.”

 

Earlene’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Well, yes, he is the seneschal, but I am the queen. Does that make the invitation less irregular, in your eyes?” 

 

The ellyn apparently did not expect this. “Thranduil wed...you?” Quan asked.

 

“Yes, he did,” Thanadir answered. “And while I do not know what your customs of old were, your speech to Earlene is bordering on quite impolite, friends.”

 

For an uncomfortable half-minute, no one said a word until Earlene sighed in exasperation. “I am sitting with one of the most gifted musicians ever to grace this world and one of the most regarded scholars of the elven people. Surely, we can all manage to be kind to each other? We are here both out of curiosity and a wish to offer friendship. In proof of that, I propose that we allow you to ask us the questions. If we are at all able to answer, we will.”

 

“Accepted,” Quen answered, his eyes glittering with a hardness that Earlene did not find reassuring.

 

Something was going on here, and apparently the only way to discover what it was involved enduring their apparent truculence. Then hopefully she would find out what, if anything, was on the other side. Not for the last time, Earlene felt generally glad that she lacked...pride. Because both of these ellyn were frankly being assholes, and Earlene took some consolation from the fact that Lorna would already have thrown their own teapot at them. Thanadir raised an eyebrow so subtly that only she could notice. It amused and heartened her all at the same time. She took a sip of tea and waited, her face neutral under Quen’s obvious scrutiny.

 

“You are a mortal woman, wed to the Elvenking, but here in Oxford alone with his seneschal. Thranduil was wed, but her name was not Earlene and she was certainly not a human. Your rings of marriage are traditional and yet quite odd. Would you care to explain?”

 

A crooked smile graced Earlene’s mouth.  _ Straight for the jugular _ . Well, she had used that approach a few times herself. Her nickname for this ploy was, ‘Bust the Bullshit’ and she would have to deal with the embarrassment of...this.

 

“I will answer part of that, since Earlene was not present for it and I was,” said Thanadir softly. “Alassëa left for Aman during the Second Age. Even I would need to check the records in the library to find the year; I have lost the recollection. It was not a pleasant time nor was it an amicable departure. Thranduil made advances to Earlene that amounted to...well, the only honest way to say it is that she was blatantly manipulated into his bed in a great hurry, and they wed. What Thranduil discovered too late was that his bond to his first wife was already dissolved.”

 

“No, Thanadir. That is not quite correct” Earlene asserted. “Yes, Thranduil manipulated. But I accepted him willingly as my lover; there was no coercion. I gave him my love and my fealty in very short order because I wished to, and it was apparently what I was...meant for. Which sounds ridiculous, but that was what Manwë declared, so who am I to argue?”

 

Eyebrows were raised. “Quite sordid, I would say,” Quen said.

 

“Don’t worry, it gets worse,” Earlene muttered. 

 

“I would prefer that you do not criticize her so harshly,” Kana said, seeming suddenly quite animated. “Do you think it is easy, for them to speak of these things?”

 

Quen looked at his friend, and gave a nod. “Please continue,” he said in milder tones.

 

“My time with the elves has been marked by one seeming impossibility after another,” Earlene said, forcing herself to meet Quen’s eyes. All in all I believe we have had no fewer than two full-on visits and several more verbal nudgings from the Valar as to their will. In the most recent set of developments, apparently the Laws and Customs of the Eldar are being turned upside down. I found myself wed to two ellyn. Not long after, a pairing between two ellyn recently betrothed to each other has occurred. So to pointedly answer your question, I am wed to both Thranduil and Thanadir, that is here with me. My rings reflect...that. I am not wanton, nor did I seek for this to happen. But happen it did.” She could not control that her face was flushed pink, or that her voice trembled in the telling. “And you have just asked for and been told two of the most personal and painful details of my private life. Our, private lives. The good news is, I suppose, this conversation can only improve from here, in my eyes.”

 

Thanadir stood, not caring what the other two thought, and crouched down next to her to put an arm over her shoulder.  _ Are you okay, meldis? Nothing says you have to tolerate this. I do not care if they are Elwë and Ossë, their questions are appalling. _

 

_ I know. I am just...embarrassed. It will pass. My heart tells me this is necessary, Thanadir, though I do not know why. Just...be here with me.  _

 

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and squeeze her hand before returning to his seat.

 

“You speak to each other with thought,” Kana said, fascinated.

 

Earlene nodded only, very much needing some swallows of tea before she kept talking.

 

“What other ‘seeming impossibilities’ have happened?” Kana inquired, his tone still kind.

 

“Well, there was the balrog... there was being sought out by a...someone, we are not fully positive what...so profoundly damaged that she appears to be a human with mental illness--oh, and she sees the future, by the way--which is why we know that in seventeen more years, the aforementioned balrog will unleash a plague that will kill most humans on the planet. And I am meant to lead the entire elven realm to Aman, sometime after most everyone perishes. I believe those are the big things.” Earlene did not flinch from Maglor’s gaze as she spoke, but at the end of it looked into her cup. “I would really like more tea, please?”

 

Quen and Kana looked at each other, and then back at Earlene, before Quen addressed Thanadir while Maglor poured more tea. “You are of the Nandor?”

 

“Yes. I was born in what is now Eryn Lasgalen. I am a little older than Thranduil, and came to the service of Oropher when I was old enough to do so.”

 

“And later served Thranduil, obviously?”

 

Thanadir nodded. 

 

Quen sat back. “You would not happen to be the same ellon who chased off Erestor of Imladris, would you?”

 

“Is there a reason you are asking such cruel questions?” Earlene demanded, determined to defend Thanadir though she would not defend herself. 

 

“No, Earlene,” the seneschal answered, placing his hand on her forearm. “I will answer. Yes, that was me. It is an act of which I am deeply ashamed. If it is granted to me, I will find Erestor one day, and plead for his forgiveness.”

 

“I have heard enough, Quen,” Maglor said. “Stop this.”

 

Quen turned his grey eyes on Maglor’s, and considered his words. He was weighing something, though what Earlene could not perceive.  _ Analyze, Earlene. What are they doing here? When you have done the same, what were you hoping to accomplish?  _ Her brow furrowed a little. _ I was applying all the pressure I could to ferret out dishonesty, if any was to be found. But why do these two fear lies, if indeed this is the reason? Maybe this is not the same, though. Maybe this was simply... _

 

“A test of character,” Quen said, his tone changing dramatically. “Forgive me, us, for speaking to you in this manner.” He lowered his gaze. “In our defense, you cannot possibly know how many times others have sought to deceive us, endanger us, abuse us. We have learned over time that our best defense is…”

 

“...to be patently offensive,” Kana finished. “Those who come with honey-coated offers disguising something different tend to not make it past the second question, before much is revealed.”

 

“We forgive you,” Thanadir said mildly. “I hope you can pardon the question but...I can understand this caution among mortals. But your own people?”

 

“Earlene is not an elf, Thanadir. And in our long years we have had to learn that all elves are not good elves. You were in the service of Oropher. Do I truly need to explain this to you?”

 

Thanadir’s eyes widened. “You...know?”

 

Quen’s eyes moved to look at the sunshine pouring through a nearby window. “I spent much of my life in the service of recording what I witnessed, and heard. And I witnessed and heard many things.”

 

“I hope that should you ever accept our invitation, that discretion is among your virtues,” Earlene said. “Of all those sworn to Thranduil’s service, only Thanadir and I know about...that. It is an intensely private matter, to my husband.”

 

“It is, Earlene,” Quen said. “But I will advise you; what is a secret in Ennor may be widely known in Aman, if it is true that you are to one day leave these shores.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, inclining her head to him. “And, point taken.”

 

“May we keep asking questions that are not obnoxious?” Kana asked Earlene and Thanadir, before turning and gesturing pointedly at Quen. “It always falls to him to do the proverbial ‘dirty work’, for I have not the heart for it.”

 

“I can sympathize with the need for interrogations,” Earlene smiled. “And yes, that was the offer. Ask away.”

 

Maglor lowered his eyes. “You know what I did. Thranduil, knows what I did. How is it that he would welcome me?”

 

She blinked, wondering how to answer when all any feeling person could want to do is hug him.  _ Figure it out, Earlene. Fast. _ “In my experience of him, he is very loving as both a King, husband, friend and father. He understands that our worst moments do not define us as individuals, and he has deep compassion. I...do not know if it is proper of me to say this, but Thranduil does not...blame you. Your father; that is another story.” It was still difficult to forget what had happened when she read Fëanor’s Oath in ignorance, and her voice died to a whisper by the end of her statement. Resolve hardening, Earlene continued. “I do not blame you either. You are welcome in our home, you are welcome to hold our children in your arms. Our house is called Eldamar, and you are Eldar.”

 

Disbelief played across Maglor’s face as he stared at her for a time, then nodded.

 

“I would like to know where you are exactly, besides somewhere in Ireland?” Quen stated, unprepared for the insistence of Earlene’s reply. 

 

“County Clare, near a very small village called Lasg’len. Not joking,” Thanadir laughingly replied when the scholar stared at him and raised an eyebrow. 

 

“I am always telling Kana, the world  _ does _ have a sense of humor,” Quen smiled wryly. “And I think at this point you are entitled to ask at least one question of us.”

 

Earlene did not hesitate. “I want to know what kinds of harps Kana plays.”

 

Quen burst out laughing. “You could ask me something about the Fall of Gondolin or how the lands were sundered through the ages, and  _ this _ is your question?” His tone was not mocking so much as incredulous.

 

“Yes, it is,” said Earlene defiantly. “Because one day he will come to see us, and I am going to have harps for him to play on. Big ones and small ones and in-between ones, if they are known to him. So he feels welcome.”

 

Kana stared some more. “I play all harps. Lever harps, Celtic harps, the triple harp, and ones yet lesser known. But Earlene, harps are very expensive.”

 

“I very much doubt it will be any worse than my harpsichord, Thanadir’s flute, or much else that is finding its way to our music room. Money is not an object,” she stated flatly.

 

“Thranduil’s fabled vault,” Quen mused, which earned a further glare from Earlene.

 

“It so happens that I  _ worked _ out in the world. I do not require my husband’s resources to buy musical instruments, if I wish to have them.”

 

“Oh? And what did you do?” If the scholar was finding out nothing else, it was that Earlene was not what was expected.

 

“A corporate litigator,” Thanadir said with pride. “And a very good one at that.”

 

They looked at him blankly. 

 

“They are called barristers here, Thanadir,” Earlene gently amended. “I brought cases to trial for large commercial businesses. As you know, the legal system is different in the United States.”

 

“Quen…” Kana growled, drawing the attention of his friend.

 

Quen’s shoulders sagged. He had provoked Kana quite a lot already, and he knew it. “I apologize, Earlene. I did not mean to...well, actually, yes I did. So I will begin again. I apologize for assuming that….for assuming anything about you, actually.”

 

Earlene snorted. “Apology accepted. But...I cannot help but wonder, you two don’t get out much, do you? And I don’t mean that as a disparagement. You must...keep to this place a great deal. Hiding in plain sight.”

 

“You might say that,” Maglor replied somberly. “But we have survived, like this. I have my music. Quen, his writing. And both of us, our poems. Whether we wish to write about the Eldar or some political commentary, it is open to us. If the former; well, we are presenting ‘fiction in the style of Tolkien.’ If the latter...whatever we want. Some nights we have readings or performances here. They are quite popular. Not to mention, we are a bit of a destination for every fan that comes along.”

 

“And those fans never know they are visiting two famous elves,” she smirked. “I give you immense credit for originality.”

 

“Famous?” Quen asked. “Him I understand, somewhat,” he jerked a thumb at Maglor. “But who in the world has ever heard of me?”

 

“Anyone who reads?” Earlene rolled her eyes. “I will grant, only the more dedicated wingnuts will know of you. But I did, and I live with two others who would as well. And I wasn’t even one...I mean, this was not of interest to me until I found myself married to the Elvenking. I’d only ever heard of these books, and all of...it. Having yourself portrayed by the Professor as a literary device, now that  _ was _ quite a nice touch.”

 

“I thought so.” The ellon truly smiled for the first time since they had met. “When we are away from here, someday, I will allow you to call me Pengolodh. This conversation is the most amusement I have had in a very long time,” he chuckled.

 

“Quen, it is getting on toward when we must open,” Kana said softly.

 

“So it is.” 

 

Earlene felt uncertain what to do. Part of her desperately wished to have as much time as possible with these two, but another sense said…. _ no. It is better not to force this along. _ “Then we should go, and not presume on your time any longer. Would you be amenable to correspondence? We all use email, I would think you do as well?”

 

“Thranduil sends emails?” Kana found this terribly funny, and his face broke out into a genuine smile. 

 

Knowing that this existed... _You don’t need more projects, Earlene._ _And be careful. You really don’t know him._ Her internal voice paused. _Does anyone really know anyone, ever?_ She frowned. _Stop this ruminating and answer the goddamn question._

“Yes, he does. He is on the computer more than Thanadir and I put together, quite honestly. Here. Here is my contact information. If you would be so kind as to email me, I will connect all of you.” She handed them a business card, and grimaced a little. Still, she was using old ones from New York, but the email address and phone was still valid... _ god, I hate to throw away anything that can still be functional. _

 

Thanadir spoke now, seemingly less hesitant about their circumstances and willing to press further. “I would very much like to see you once more before we leave, though I do not wish to be a ...pest. Would you allow us to invite you to dinner, perhaps tomorrow or the night after?”

 

The two ellyn looked at each other, exchanging some subtle communication known only to them. “Yes,” Kana answered. “We would like that very much. I will contact you.”

 

“We are at the Old Bank Hotel,” Earlene added. “Earlene and Cian Sullivan.”

 

“Cian?” Kana queried.

 

“You are not the only ones hiding in plain sight,” Thanadir smiled. “Until next time.” For the first time they extended the traditional gestures of parting, before Kana let Earlene and Thanadir out, unlocking the door for business as they went.

 

Back inside, Maglor turned to Pengolodh. “I have not given another our sign of parting in over ten thousand years,” he said softly. “That felt…”

 

“I know, Kana. It was the same for me.”

 

Maglor nodded, sat behind the counter, and began tuning the strings of his harp.

 

*****

 

Lorna, by now, was quite happily stoned, munching biscuits and drinking lots of (unadulterated) tea. They’d gone through Iron Man 1 and 2, surrounded by purring, shedding cats, and though she’d had to make a run for the toilet a couple times (the website wasn’t kidding about heavy bleeding, or very mild dizziness) things  otherwise...weren’t that bad. She had a heating pad for the cramps, which the tincture had dealt with pretty well on its own so far anyway.  _ Knock wood, anyway _ .

 

Pat wasn’t yet off work yet, but she’d agreed with Ratiri that she’d tell him about this when he was. He’d want to be here, if he did know, and she’d kept so much from him already that it didn't quite seem fair to do otherwise.

 

Thranduil knocked, and this time simply let himself in, bearing another large basket full of snacks. “I could not help but notice your thoughts of hunger,” he announced, thoroughly amused. “I told the kitchens you were not feeling well and an hour later this was ready.” He set it down on a table, and began rooting through the offerings. “Valar, they have made you crisps.” He popped one in his mouth, finding it rather pleasingly salty and crunchy. They were many colors, and he realized that his staff had not stopped at potatoes, but fried wafer thin rounds of everything from carrot and parsnip to beetroot and sweet potato. The result was a piled bowl of colorful deliciousness that he was actually tempted to make off with and eat himself.

 

Lorna sat up straighter, and of course made grabby-hands. “Go raibh maith agat, deartháir ard,” she said, giggling a little.

 

“English, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, stealing a crisp for himself. His eyes widened, because that was far better than any commercial crisp he’d ever tasted.

 

“Thank you, tall brother,” she said, and giggled again. “You want to know a secret?” she added, whispering. “I’m not totally fluent in Irish. Most’v us aren’t. Unless it’s your native language, or unless you study it your whole life, being really fluent’s hard. It’s a hard language. The grammar is...insane. So’s the alphabet, or, y’know, how it works. We should have our own, like the Slavic languages...and these are really bloody good.” Her eyes were hazed and glassy as she munched, and slightly muzzy smile on her face.

 

Thranduil blinked, to see the train wreck that was Lorna’s usual cognition, and looked up at Ratiri. “Do you know, that when Earlene tried this substance, she was completely miserable? It was intolerable to her, to have her thoughts so...unmarshalled.”

 

“How much of it did she take, do you know?” Ratiri asked. “It’s entirely possible to take too much, and wind up a complete mess, especially if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

 

“I didn't measure for her,” Lorna said dreamily. “It would, though, wouldn’t it? Didn't think’v that at the time, but she’s so...in control. Reality isn’t something she really wants to escape. When I was younger, I’d do anything to avoid it, and right now...it doesn’t really hurt, y’know? I mean, there’s kind’v cramps, but not bad. The rest’v it...I’ll be sad and freaked out later, when the Communist’ve stopped storming the gates, if you get my meaning.”

 

“Well, that I cannot answer, but...not this much?” Thranduil smiled. “I came also to tell you of Thanadir and Earlene’s meeting…” For the next many minutes he related the details he had been told, sparing nothing. He knew that Ratiri could remind Lorna later of what was said; it would be a miracle if she retained a quarter of what he was telling in her current state. “It was...food for thought, that they had managed to know of matters I would have guessed were lost to time. That and, apparently someone is going to be assigned to shop for harps,” he grinned.

 

“That’s...it’s bloody extraordinary,” Ratiri said, beyond delighted -- and a touch disturbed, because seriously,  _ what  _ else was out there? First there had been Von Rectalwart, then Sharley, and now  _ this _ . “I do hope that someday they choose to drop by for tea. I have so many questions -- not that I have much hope of getting them answered yet.”

 

“You know how glad I am to know how Tolkien knew all this stuff?” Lorna asked. “It had bugged me. A lot. And while these two kind’v sound a bit like rude bastards...eh, they’ve lived in England for ages. It’s just to be expected, I guess.”

 

Ratiri burst out laughing. Even stoned off her gourd, she could insult the English. Lovely. “Well, Earlene and Thanadir are two of the most diplomatic people that I can think of,” he said. “And in a sense, it might be a blessing it hadn’t been you, Thranduil. An Elvenking might have been more of a surprise than they could handle, after everything.”

 

“Thranduil, gimme a hug,” Lorna said, out of nowhere. “I can’t hug Ratiri, I keep wanting to do stuff to him I shouldn’t be doing right now.”

 

The King burst into laughter and did as he was asked. “Oh, Lorna. You are so fortunate that I am not you, or I would record this on my mobile and play it back for you when you have returned to us.” Sometimes, sometimes, there were moments that made the assorted trials of their lives seem quite worthwhile. This was assuredly one of them.

 

“You forget that I’ve got almost no shame,” she said, grinning. “I’ve done way weirder things than hug a friend while I was stoned. That was how I came to drive the bus off the bridge...though now that I think’v it, there might’ve been more than just weed involved there. Though actually, I didn't really hug people back then. I didn't let almost anyone even touch me. Y’know why I trusted you there? I knew you’d never try to like, break my neck. I mean, I know nobody else I know would either, but like...I knew it was safe because I could know for a fact you weren’t like, some creepy pervert who was just hiding being a creepy pervert, or...something.”

 

“It didn't take you lot to let me touch you,” Ratiri pointed out.

 

She looked at him, and giggled. “You I  _ wanted  _ to be a pervert,” she said. “You weren’t creepy, you were just pretty. The kind’v pretty I wanted to do more than just stare at.”

 

“I’m flattered,” he said dryly, stealing more crisps. “I think, anyway.”

 

“And I am so very much going to quote this conversation when you are sober at some later date.” After all the months of Lorna being ‘squicky’ he had endured, it seemed more than fair…

 

“Of bloody course you are,” she said, and giggled again. “Allanah, can I have more crisps?” She made grabby-hands with just one hand.

 

“You are going to get crumbs everywhere,” he sighed, but handed her the cloth bag.

 

“Eh, there’s a Hoover. And the Lump, who will eat anything.” Munch she did, content. “So what’ll we do if those two -- what do they call themselves now, Quen and Kana? What’ll we do if they decide to come for tea, or...whatever? Because we’re...us. A bit unique, and maybe a bit much.”

 

“Yes, that appears to be how they wish to be addressed. I think that any visit will not be soon,” Thranduil said. “Were I to guess, there will be a great deal of email before ever they grace our forest. And since the first pieces of information they demanded revealed every skeleton in our collective closet, well, what really can end up worse?” He sighed. “I will need to speak with Ruscion, well before then. But...he himself is Noldo; once he moves past what will assuredly be his own surprise, I would think he would welcome it, to once again see his kin. But Lorna...we may have to be prepared for some initial...attitude. Though they have lived among humans, it has not been as been as with us. They have held themselves apart. I believe their initial treatment of Earlene was not only having to do with testing her character. Of old, very few elves ever seriously attempted to immerse themselves into the lives and cares of humans. Finrod was one; Elrond another. It is not arrogance so much as…” he shook his head. “An immersion in our differences rather than our similarities.”

 

It took her muzzy head a moment to sort through that. “So basically, if they act like bastards, I need to not give out at them?” she said. “Thranduil...that’ll be hard, for me. I’ve never put up with people insulting me, or my friends. I mean, my temper’s a lot better than it was, but it’s still...there. It’s not like I’m going to hit anyone or anything, but I -- if I’m going to be honest, I can’t promise I won’t say something. Or several somethings.”

 

“I understand,” he said. “And perhaps by the time we get to...that point, if it ever happens, matters will be different. But Earlene guessed, correctly, that by enduring their behavior, a positive result was to be gained. And Thanadir did not stand for all of their poor manners, without issuing a rebuke. These are ancient and proud beings, Lorna, that walked this world before the Years of the Sun. Not that it excuses rudeness, and yet I believe it has more to do with being...damaged. I cannot fathom the life they have led, out in the world. And they just as likely cannot fathom what we have here, now.” He shrugged. “Earlene would listen to this conversation and tell me not to have it; there are too many ‘what ifs’ to have anything be meaningful. And she would be correct to say so.”

 

She shook her head, and sighed. “I promise I’ll try,” she said. “And if they started acting too much like gobshites, I’ll just go somewhere else.” She’d been pretty damaged herself, and her pride was all she had, but that was...different. She was so young, and half-feral, and while she’d never been really  _ rude  _ to anyone who didn't draw her anger...she hadn’t been Earlene, that was for sure. ‘Manners’ was not a word that fit into her vocabulary.

 

“If they’re as smart as Tolkien makes them out to be, I’m sure they’re capable of learning,” Ratiri said, “no matter what they’re like now.”

 

“I sure as hell hope -- shit.” Lorna scrambled upright, tripping over her own pyjama trousers in her dash for the bathroom. “Be right back,” she called, slamming the door behind her.

 

Ratir sighed. “Poor woman. The tea’s kept the cramps at bay, but I’m afraid the rest of it is rather necessary.”

 

Thranduil nodded. “I will return in a short time, and then watch the movie as I promised. The puppies need a trip outdoors. Thaladir does very well for his age, but yet needs occasional reminders.” 

 

“He really is good with them,” Ratiri said. “And it’s adorable to see him. That he’s hooked on with Ailill so much just makes it even better.”

 

“It does,” Thranduil said proudly. “He is a wonderful child. Do not tell Thanadir I said this but...it is like having a young Thanadir. He is so much like his namesake. Except this one, I get to cuddle and carry around.”

 

Ratiri laughed. “For now. I’ll wager he winds up as tall as Thanadir, if not taller. Well, good luck with the puppies -- I’ll get Lorna settled in, once she’s out of the loo.”

 

Thranduil realized, he was probably right, about that. Though, Alassëa had not been short, but Legolas had not come near to his stature. Well, time would tell.

 

*****

 

“This is lovely, meldis,” Thanadir whispered in hushed tones as they followed their guide. They walked a brickwork path that surely Professor Tolkien himself had trodden many times; the venerable and exquisitely lovely and historic Merton College Library.  _ It is fitting, in a way. This man wrote of us, occupied his mind with things of bygone eras. And from your own perspective as humans, this is as archaic a collection of volumes as could exist in your world. _

 

_ It is,  _ Earlene agreed.  _ Few things in our world that yet stand were ‘completed in 1378’. And yet in that year you were like as not sitting in your own library. A place I have barely laid eyes on, if I am to be honest. _

 

_ Why is that? _

 

_ I...I have of course poked my head in the door, so to speak. It was when I was quite new to Thranduil; he showed me some of the places of importance and that was one of them. At the time, I could not read a letter of your language. Then came distraction, and children and later when I could read...well somewhere in there I learned of what happened with Erestor. I wondered if you...I did not wish to… _

 

Thanadir stopped her and raised her chin.  _ You worried that the library held painful memories for me, and eschewed it because of my habit of following you most everywhere you go? _

 

Earlene nodded, an embarrassed half-smile on her face; cheeks were beginning to flush pink.

 

Not another word was said, but he folded her into an embrace.  _ When we return home we will go there together. My heart sings to see the regard you have for me, but this was not necessary, Earlene. I long ago made peace with the library. Though, I have ever kept Erestor’s cataloguing system; it was my penance to myself. And…  _ he smiled... _ it is a much better concept than the one I had before. I will show you his work. It is perhaps some of the most perfect script you will ever see, unless Pengolodh himself deigns to offer us some of his writing. I confess I would very much like to see his lettering. _

 

_ But your script is perfect. How could another’s be any better? _

 

_ You flatter me. I will show you the differences, but not here.  _ He kissed her.  _ Come. There are books to see, and our guide is growing impatient. _

 

**

 

They looked around, from their seats in the Rabbit Room at The Eagle and Child; another location not to be missed. “I feel guilty being here,” Earlene confessed. “Ratiri would be having several heart attacks, and...well, come to think of it, maybe he  _ has _ been here. He worked in London all that long time, and Oxford is not so far away at all. Given his level of nerdiness, I’d almost be shocked if he hadn’t. Though, he never mentioned a word.” The interior was on the dim side in the way most every pub in the world seemed to be, with brick, rich woods and placards more or less everywhere denoting this as the home of the Inklings. 

 

_ He must have counted himself uniquely fortunate _ , Thanadir said. It seemed the course of wisdom to keep discussions of this nature from any, any chance of being overheard. Their introduction to Ratiri had been a painful lesson; even speaking Sindarin was no guarantee of anonymity.  _ To have known living elves...and I have to assume that he carried this secret to his grave. Then again, as you sometimes say, ‘’Who would have believed him?’ He likely would only have earned the scorn of his peers. But I am guessing that the price of the ellyn’s information was his silence. _

 

_ Hopefully we are told that at some point, if they are willing. Likely your assumptions are valid given that they are one of very few explanations possible, but it still would be nice to have that confirmed. And...they *knew* him. They actually knew him. Tolkien was a great scholar by human standards, but one who would remain in obscurity had it not been for these books.  _

 

They nursed their ales, and soon enough their British Pie was served.

 

_ Earlene, Do not tell Lorna this but...I see so little difference between England and Ireland. There are lovely places to visit. The people seem to live similarly. The pubs certainly are the same. The same language is spoken, sort of; no Irish and different accents.  Though, I have seen less green open spaces but...we are in cities. _

 

_ You are right, in the sense you mean it. But no, never say that to her. Her prejudices run too deep. I am not Irish like she is; I could like as not live in England just as well. But I went to Ireland to be alone, and we all know what a failure that was. You know, this food is quite good. After lunch let’s do Harry Potter? _

 

_ You wish to go to Christ Church next? _

 

_ Yes. _

 

He took her hand and kissed it. _ Then to Hogwarts we will go. _

 

*****

 

{January 8, 2020. 6pm.} 

 

Thanadir turned into the driveway at last, a little puzzled to see headlights coming in right behind them. At least, until he recalled that Ailill and Calanon would be arriving tonight as well. “Earlene, we are home,” he said softly, shaking her awake.

 

“Ooooooh, you were not supposed to let me fall asleep, Thanadir. You drove all this way with no one to talk to. Or did me actually falling asleep have anything to do with it?” she asked accusingly.

 

“Guilty,” he laughed. “But please forgive me. You were tired when we began this day, Earlene. And all we have done is travel. I wanted you to arrive home not exhausted, especially as some of the reason for your tiredness is my doing.”

 

“Well, that last part is true, but I am hardly complaining. Congratulations,” she murmured. “You too are fantastic in bed.”

 

“You are not just saying that to boost my ego?” he laughed, knowing full well that she meant her words. 

 

“After last night, it does not need any boosting,” she retorted. “Trust me. I still do not expect this from you but….good grief, meldir.” There was still a lingering afterglow, if she was to be honest.

 

He took both of her hands. “Let us agree on something,” he said softly. “I will not come to you in that way every day, because I will not wish to. But when I do, please trust that it is for more than only feeling obligated to you? I have learned a great deal about both you and myself in the past many months.”

 

“I will,” she promised. “And I will do as you ask, and show you more of my desire for you, with the understanding that you are free to not respond to it, with no ill feelings between us.”

 

“I would like that,” he said, reaching to hug her. “Now let us go see our family.”

 

It was a point of amusement that Ailill and Calanon had more things to bring into the house than Earlene and Thanadir. Earlene found herself with Fion on a glove, while Thanadir cared for both items of luggage. A smiling Calanon had bags of laundry and clothing, and Ailill balanced what seemed like a mountain of return baskets to give back to the Hall kitchens in the morning. The logjam at the front door was spectacular. Thranduil of course gave away their return, so shrieking children, dogs, hawks formed a cacophony in the foyer as laughter and hugs were exchanged.

 

Chandra and Shane came barreling through, saying hi to all and sundry before zooming on to the Heart Room. The checkerboard remained their favorite toy, from which they were rarely distracted.

 

“Welcome home, you lot,” Lorna said, standing back from the excited puppies. “Did you have fun?”

 

“Very much,” Thanadir said, proudly showing off his new Ravenclaw scarf. “We saw many lovely things, ate nice food and of course found two ellyn. Though, I think the hotel was not sorry to see me go. I think they may regret their complimentary Continental Breakfast.”   
  


“Now don’t you worry about that,” Earlene scolded. “Their rates cover plenty of scrambled eggs and croissants and bangers, trust me.”

 

“Did you go through the library?” Ratiri asked, unable to help himself as he came up behind his wife. There was a very faint trace of...oddness, in his tone, that only Lorna might catch.

 

“More than one,” Earlene smiled. “But I guess you are asking about the old collection at Merton College, or the Bodleian Library. Yes, to both.”

 

“Do they allow photographs in there?” Lorna asked. “I mean, I’d love to go someday, too, but pictures’d be good to start with.”

 

“Let them get settled in first, mo chroí,” he said, laughing a little. “I’ll make some tea.” It was Ireland; tea had to happen, no matter what time of day it was. And if he was busy, and elsewhere, well...he wasn’t going to complain. He didn't want to see the pictures, nor think about that library at all. Even now, it hurt.

 

_ Ratiri,  _ asked the King,  _ are you...okay? _

 

Ratiri sighed.  _ Yes. No. Katherine and I, we always meant to go to the Bodleian, to see Oxford, but there was always something else, something that kept us from it. It was one of those ‘we’ll go next weekend’ things, except she died, so ‘next weekend’ never happened, and never will, now. And I couldn’t bring myself to go without her. _

 

_ I...am sorry. I do not want to cause you discomfort now but should you wish to speak more later on, I hope you know I would listen. _

 

_ I’ll be all right, Thranduil _ , Ratiri said.  _ But...thank you. _

 

Earlene did not really have to settle in except for removing her cloak and taking Fion upstairs, which she cared for right away. Thanadir had already disappeared with the suitcases, Thranduil in tow; a warm embrace and a kiss were exchanged in the privacy of the room.

 

“So, I really didn’t bother taking more than a few photos no one but me will care about, because the whole thing is on Google Maps,” Earlene said. “It’s ridiculous. There are 360 degree views of the entire space, so detailed you can see some of the book titles. I just memorialized things like the sign telling not to walk in the aisles with high heels on, because I’m like that.”

 

“You know,” Lorna said, “after the end, some’v us -- and by ‘us’, I mean the elves, because they’re the immune ones -- should go there and grab some books. As much as we can archive. I’m sure there’s loads’v history there, and it shouldn’t be lost.”

 

“Not a bad idea,” Pat said, setting down his backpack -- he always carried one to the Halls in the morning. “Provided it’s possible to get there without it being too...gross. Maybe in a year or so?”

 

“Wouldn’t they all be moldy by then?” Lorna asked, wincing a little at a minor cramp. Tincture tea was needed, and Ratiri was smart enough to put some in her cup.

 

“We’d need to ask an archivist or a librarian,” Earlene frowned. “We’d need to ask Pengolodh. Duh. And I hope I am not going to mess everyone up but I have no intention of calling him Quen here at home until if and when they ever visit. It just sounds...weird.”

 

“What did you say?” asked Ailill, who was just now coming down the stairs.

 

“Oh….we have some news, Ailill. Thanadir and I found two ellyn in Oxford. So the mystery of JRR Tolkien’s knowledge is known at last.”

 

“You spoke to Pengolodh?” he whispered, close to dumbstruck.

 

“Maybe we’d better sit down,” Lorna suggested. The lad looked like he was three seconds from fainting.

 

“Yes,” Thanadir said gently. “He is with Maglor, Ailill.”

 

The young man was officially in vapor lock, and nothing more was to be done except allow Calanon to rub at his back and murmur whatever it was the elf murmured into his lover’s ear.

 

The rest of them looked at each other somewhat helplessly. “Um, books,” Earlene said. “Much of that should be online now. Digitized. And while the resources are amazing...all that risk to save seven hundred year old texts written in Latin? There are libraries in Dublin that are just as valuable, if not more so. I mean, the Book of Kells is there and...stuff.”

 

“True,” Lorna said, “but...well, shouldn’t we try to get Tolkien’s original manuscripts? Just because they’re the whole reason we knew about you lot to begin with, even if we did think you were fiction.”

 

Ratiri brought her a teacup. “It’s special tea,” he murmured. “You’ve been keeping track of...that, right?”

 

“Thanks,” she murmured back. “And I have. Not much now.”

 

Pat eyed her. “You sure there, Fun Size?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “ _ Yes _ , Pat. Thranduil’s a way less irritating older brother.”

 

He could think of no rejoinder, so he just stuck his tongue out at her.

 

“Mature, Da,” Saoirse said, wandering through with a biscuit.

 

Earlene did not know how to respond to that idea. They were already tasked with preserving a mind-boggling array of knowledge and resources.  _ Traveling to England in a post-plague world? No airline flight? Boats or ships, navigable waterways, passing through the remains of London and going inland on foot without so much as a horse? And trying to get stuff home in what, a backpack? _ Nothing sounded less practical or possible, so she said nothing except “Huh.”

 

Thranduil had returned to assess the scene in front of him, and realized he had been rather remiss not to at least send Ailill an email. He sat next to him, after an affectionate pat on the shoulder which at least seemed to break his trance. Sometimes being King was helpful; there was always that extra note of motivation that hung around like an aura of sorts. “I am not certain how it could be possible, Lorna,” he said carefully. “Though certainly that and many other things would be nice to save.”

 

“We could always...break in before the plague?” she offered.

 

“Mo chroí, no making plans on special tea,” Ratiri ordered. There was still some in her system from this morning, obviously.

 

“Oh, boo,” she said, glowering at him. The cat of the same name clearly thought she was being summoned, and ran in, meowing.

 

_ Thank you,  _ Thranduil sent to Ratiri.

 

_ Not a problem. At least she’s easily distracted, like this. _

 

“So what else did you see or do, besides libraries and surprise elves?” Lorna asked, picking the cat up. Boo perched on her shoulder, licking her hair, while she sipped more tea.

 

“Eat,” Thanadir supplied. “They had afternoon tea at the hotel. It was wonderful.”

 

Earlene simply was trying to not blush, because, what did Lorna  _ think _ married people did on a holiday? But it was obvious Lorna was stoned off her gourd and... _ why _ , was Lorna stoned? She only ever got this blotto when something was the matter. Her gaze fell on Thranduil, who failed to mask a twitch of guilt and evasion in time.  _ Hm. Duly noted _ , she thought.

 

Thranduil silently groaned, and realized he had failed to greet his wife adequately in any fashion. Rising at once, he drew her to her feet to hug her warmly.  _ Please don’t ask?  _

 

_ I have never asked, Thranduil. That won’t change.  _ Her fingers wove through his hair, the mere feel of him spiking no small amount of lust.  _ Earlene, you are hopeless _ , she told herself.  _ Rabbits could take lessons from you.  _

 

_ Later,  _ he promised.  _ I missed you too,  _ he teased, giving her a peck on the cheek suitable for public consumption. Children were milling around, looking for laps to colonize, and Thaladir shamelessly crawled into Ailill’s, eliciting a smile.

 

“Of course you ate,” Lorna said, giggling a little. “Christ, now I’m hungry. Again.”

 

“Mo chroí, you’ve been nothing but hungry the last few days,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “I’ll make you a sandwich, to tide you over until dinner.”

 

“Best husband ever,” she said, kissing his hand. “So, Earlene, Thranduil didn't know ectopic pregnancies were a thing, but he does now, so if you ever decide to get up the yard again, make sure he checks, okay? Otherwise I’ll worry, because that’s what I do.”

 

Earlene stared at her friend as the remaining empty slots clicked home and she observed what amounted to a cringe from Thranduil.  _ Well, I didn’t ask _ . And in the interest of absolutely everything, she smiled and nodded. “Of course. We wouldn’t want you to worry.” If Thanadir noticed that this thought was weighted down with a rock, placed in a sack, and tossed into the middle of one of her mental lakes, he did not let on.

 

“Good,” Lorna leaned closer and whispered, rather too loudly, “because abortions fucking suck. They just do. They’re crampy and icky and it’s like the crimson waterfall from hell down south. But at least there’s special tea and cats.” She leaned back, and smiled. “So...yeah.”

 

Pat sighed. “Fun Size, here, eat this and stop talking.” He tossed a packet of biscuits at her, which she fell on rather like a wolf. It was honestly a touch disturbing.

 

Earlene’s head turned to see Thanadir’s face. Well, shit. “Oh, bathroom time,” Earlene announced. “Sorry, must hurry.” As she passed near him, his hand was snagged.  _ Please come with me,  _ she pleaded. This might be one very long trip to the restroom. 

 

Thranduil was torn. He did not wish to cause a distraction or a scene, but he knew what would likely unfold in their bedroom in a matter of moments. There was nothing else for it, he would have to wait a few minutes before he could try to slip away. He was beginning to see why his wife was not a fan of this...tincture. 

 

Ratiri passed Earlene and Thanadir on their way out, and caught sight of Thranduil’s expression.  _ Oh, for the love of… _ “Mo chroí, eat this and don’t talk anymore,” he said, handing her the sandwich.  _ And how terribly is this going to go over? _

 

_ If anyone can manage, it is Earlene. But I do need to join that effort as soon as I can slip away without it being obvious. I do not want to cause her distress or draw attention to leaving, or that will only be exchanging one problem for another. I intended for Thanadir to be told much, much later...but now it has to be...managed. Do not worry. Though it would grieve me to use my authority in this way, I can and will command him if need be. But I would much rather not have to,  _ he said sadly.

 

_ Well, it’s not like she had any choice _ , Ratiri said -- though even if she’d had a choice, it wasn’t something she ought to have to hide. Not that they would ever know, because he was getting a damn vasectomy, and they’d say no more about it.

 

_ Ratiri, this has nothing to do with Lorna and everything to do with Thanadir. This is not the time or place to...explain him, in this way. This lesson would have to be learned, whether now or in seventeen years, if we are to live with humans. It will not be the first time a woman wants or needs to terminate a pregnancy. _

 

Ratiri sighed.  _ Good luck with him,  _ he said.  _ I know this will have to be hard, and I hope he’ll be okay eventually.  _  He was sure Thanadir would; the Elf was made of tough stuff, but this was...well, probably totally outside his experience. And when one as that old, it had to come as a shock.

 

Thranduil nodded, and pretended to be interested in a magazine while making polite inquiry regarding Ailill’s week. He appreciated to no end that despite Ailill’s thoughts racing on at immense speed regarding questions about new elves, they were left unasked. Instead, the young man tried to calm himself. That was helped greatly by Calanon’s efforts; the two of them looked generally pleased and happy. Thranduil smiled to realize that at least part of this was their newfound intimacy. And, he had other fires to extinguish, and excused himself to ‘care for a small matter.’

 

*****

 

Thanadir was already crying, before the bedroom door was closed. This was going to take quite a lot of skill, exacerbated exponentially by the transparency of her thoughts.  _ Dammit Lorna, of all the beans to spill _ ...he was marched straight to their overstuffed armchair and gently pushed into it, so she could sit on his lap. Which fortunately he did not resist; this upgrade to ‘wife’ had some advantages. “Please listen to me,” Earlene pleaded. “There are things you do not understand about women. We are not ellith, and I am not a typical example of what a human female experiences with regard to pregnancy and children. There are times a pregnancy cannot succeed, Thanadir. There are times nothing is to be done. Whatever happened, it was private to Lorna and Ratiri and...we really only have the right to have opinions on matters concerning our own family.”

 

He stared at her in disbelief. “How can you say that? I may not know everything, Earlene, but I know what ‘abortion’ means. It means terminating the life that is inside of a woman. Denying the little one its birth. That is…”

 

“Not true. Because you are not listening to me, and you do not understand as much as you think you do. Answer me this: A woman conceives a child, but something is the matter. It lacks a brain inside of its skull and could never live, but as it grows it damages the mother, and she dies. Now the mother is dead, and so is the baby inside of her that never was going to survive anyway. What was accomplished?”

 

He stared at her, tears still rolling down his cheeks. It took everything she had not to kiss them away. Seeing Thanadir hurting was like wilfully ignoring an entire litter of puppies crying in distress. This felt beyond horrible to her, but he had to understand. It was imperative. He thought, and he considered, and every which way he turned it, there was no way to make a positive solution for the unborn child here. Neither was he stupid. “Are you telling me that this or something like it was the case with Lorna?” he asked quietly. 

 

“Yes.” Earlene equally knew that he would see more. She could only mask her thoughts so much, and the truth was, women also had abortions for reasons that were Not This. Yet he seemed to be thinking, and for the moment his tears diminished, while she brushed some of them away with her fingers, very carefully. He held her, and ran his  hand underneath her tunic to feel her abdomen, as if it was the most precious thing in Eru’s creation. Because to him, it was. Taking some hope from this, she stroked his hair.  _ I hope you know how much I love you. How much I wish I could tell you that there were not things in my world that are deeply difficult and painful. And how much I hope you can not hate me, because though I choose to conceive and bear these beautiful children, I will not criticize another woman who for many reasons might have to choose differently. _

 

Earlene felt him tense underneath her, as his eyes widened and his expression became unreadable. Thranduil swept into the room, just then. He somehow found a perch on an edge of the chair, and placed the flat of his hand over Thanadir’s chest. She had no way to know what was being communicated between them, and said not a word, but with incremental slowness his body slowly relaxed until a sob broke forth. All three of them held each other tightly, but especially they embraced Thanadir. Earlene could only sit on her own thoughts with all her ability and discipline, because too much that could come from her might might be unhelpful right now. Finally there was simply nothing, except Thranduil.

 

“Earlene, you can let go of him,” he said quite softly. 

 

Which is when she realized that Thanadir was sound asleep. “There are times I am so grateful you can do that,” she said. “This is one of them. Is he going to be OK?”

 

“Yes,” he answered, helping her up, after which he lifted the limp form to lay him on the bed. “But he will be skipping dinner, and I will be telling a complete fabrication about having sent him on a nonexistent errand.”

 

“Well, I now know what your stressful week was about. I am sorry. Whatever the reasons and outcome, it could not have been much more pleasant for you to hear of it that for him,” she gestured to the sleeping elf.

 

“It was not,” he admitted. “But it was a lesson, too. The same lesson I know you were trying to get through to him. Were it me, I would have left out that last part,” he told her gently. “I love you for your honesty, but in some matters Thanadir cannot temper his response until he has had time. He can accept things in increments better than all at once, but you had no way of knowing this.”

 

“I see that now. Sometimes I think the Valar would have done better to let you two wed,” she teased. “You will always know him better than I will.”

 

“Not really,” Thranduil chuckled. “He lacks breasts and certain other bodily structures that are enticements to me, I am afraid. We might have great conversations but our sex life would be...would we even  _ have _ one?” he frowned, shaking his head. This line of thinking was surely ridiculous. “Anyway, as I can have the former without being wed to him…” he shrugged while Earlene laughed into her hand.

 

“I love that we can at least joke about it.”

 

“So do I, Earlene,” he said, coming now to kiss her in a way that was much more a peck on the cheek. “So do I.”

 


	112. One Hundred Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {February 15-Feb 29, 2020}

They lay in bed, Earlene busily planning the mass birthday dinner that would occur for her, Thaladir and both sets of twins mid-week, until an incoming email to  Earlene’s laptop disturbed the tranquility. Earlene had weeks ago changed her inbox sound clip to one of the Shadow vessels from the Babylon 5 TV series, and a shrieking rush cried out.

 

“Meldis, that noise is completely disturbing. I wish you would change it,” Thanadir opined quietly.

 

Earlene turned to see his expression, and saw he was not in jest. “Well...how about this. I will change it _if_ you watch the show with me. It is arguably better than Star Trek in its own way, and I am becoming increasingly pregnant. I would dearly love to spend the time with you enjoying and discussing it.”

 

The old elf appeared visibly dubious that anything could exceed Star Trek. “What is it about?” he asked cautiously.

 

“War. Every possible facet of war. Its cost, its effects, its aftermath, its victories and its tragedies. And on a grand scale, at that.”

 

What he gleaned in her mind looked interesting, actually. “Alright, I will do as you ask.”

 

“What about me?” Thranduil mock-pouted.

 

“You know you are welcome, beloved. I did not mean to exclude you; it is that you have not always found such things to your liking.”

 

“I think I might enjoy this,” he reflected quietly. “If ‘enjoy’ is the right word. War  has indeed touched Thanadir and I. And I will admit that for once, it might be...philosophically interesting to consider this subject from the luxury of peacetime instead of in the midst of its harsh realities.”

 

“I would absolutely love that,” Earlene smiled, already imagining long, rainy afternoons cuddled in the movie room with her husbands. And plates of cookies, just because. But then there was this pesky email. “Oh. It is from Ailill. Apparently his mother has written him again; he forwarded it to me.” Her eyes scanned down the letter. “Oh dear. This woman has a terrible case of wanting to have her cake and eat it too. For not the first time, I am so grateful to have had parents that did not buy into the buffet of bigotries that exist out there in the world. Life is hard enough without this….stuff.” Which was not the word she wanted to choose, but out of regard for present company, she tried not to descend to the brighter colors of the vocabulary crayon box.

 

“Meluieg,” the King said thoughtfully, “At risk of making this mess worse, what do you think of the idea of contacting this woman yourself? You are perhaps in quite a position to make a difference here, if a difference is to be made. You are closer to her in age, you are a mother, and you know her son perhaps better than she herself does. Might it not be worth the effort?”

 

Earlene reflected on his words, sorting what she did and did not know into neat little categories. “I don’t believe it could hurt to try,” she answered slowly. “In the sense that, it could hardly make matters worse. I can send her an email; she will respond favorably or not. Lorna and I already had loose plans to travel to Killarney next week; there is a harp maker there and I intended to do quite an amount of shopping. We will be taking Lorna’s van, because who even knows what we will come home with. Meldir, you have been completely reworking the music room this last week, have you not?”

 

“Yes,” Thanadir said. “It is almost done; I need only a few more tables for smaller instruments. It is almost ready as a combination practice and performance space. I think, I hope, you will like it. It certainly has far greater visual appeal than before.”

 

“I know I will love it, Thanadir. Anything to which you set your mind is always beyond what I could imagine.” Leaning over, she kissed his cheek with affection while he smiled at the praise.

 

“You are flattering me,” he accused, while the corners of his lips turned up.

 

“No, Thanadir,” Thranduil interjected. “Flattery most always contains an element of insincerity. All those things about you are true. Which is why I could not have been a success without you, in whatever ways I have actually succeeded.”

 

“Oh you two,” Earlene elbowed both of them. “You will drive me out of bed with your collective radiance. Now help me decide what to say to Ailill’s mother, or I will not get around to changing my email chime.”

 

“We cannot have that,” Thranduil said acerbically.

 

“Indeed,” Thanadir echoed in all seriousness.

 

“Oh, Eru….”

 

“How about this, meluieg…”

 

*****

 

Eyeing the clouds overhead, the day was what Earlene would call ‘partial shite weather’ instead of ‘full on nasty’. It was winter in Ireland, one had to take what one could get. Bundled up in their warm clothing and with plenty of extra blankets on hand to cushion purchases they might make, they climbed into the van. Blessedly, it had been left idling for the last ten minutes so at least the interior was warmer than the average popsicle.

 

“Cold and damp, oh joy,” Lorna said. “The joy’v Ireland. So long as to doesn’t bucket on us, though, I’m happy.” Even now, years later, she still wasn’t fond of driving in the rain.

 

“Well, we’re in no rush. I guess. I’ll be honest, this thing with Ailill’s mother...I feel a little like I’m being sent in to win a case. Which is fine, I guess it’s what I do...did...but I just can’t understand anything that could keep a parent from loving their own child regardless of what’s there. I mean, Ailill isn’t a...baby murderer…there is nothing at all wrong with that man. In fact, quite the opposite. I just...I don’t want to understand it.”

 

“I don’t, either,” Lorna said. “You’d have to be a right gobshite to put...to put conditions on your love like that. I mean, it’s your _kids_. How can anyone do that to their kid? But then, you’ve not met the woman. It might make more sense then.” She pulled out of the driveway, shaking her head.

 

“Well, I’ll try and keep an open mind. I was once paid to tie other people up in knots. Who knows, I might enjoy this more than I think I will.”

 

Their chatter was mostly of musical instruments, as Earlene related what she had learned of harps. Lyres, bray harps, triple harps, Celtic harps, pedal harps (single and double action), double-strung harps, cross-strung harps, on and on, and what might make actual sense to purchase. For all she knew, Maglor would never come to them, so it couldn’t all be about him. “To me this is with a view to having another way children and young ones alike can try out different kinds of music,” she said. “How many adults might change their minds about learning music, if only they actually had everything all in one place, to try? I mean, imagine having a room full of instruments. Woodwinds and brass and stringed things of every description. Plus someone who actually can at least half-assed play each of them; enough to show what to do or give that person a feel for it. Someone might find they are interested, under those circumstances. Or, we can hope.”

 

“That was how I got interested in the guitar,” Lorna said. “I never thought about it one way or the other until I was around one all the time. Once you see someone actually playing something, rather than just listening to it, it can make you curious. Even if you never pick it up again, you can say you tried.”

 

“Exactly. And what was so interesting to learn was just how connected harps and guitars apparently were, back in the day. There was some...hell I’m not going to remember, but basically there was this method of instruction in Spain that existed and it simply assumed that if you were reading their directions, that you already played guitar. I mean, who’d figure?”

 

“I love stringed instruments’v all sorts. I just wish my hands were a little bigger. Or a lot.” Playing bass was a little harder for her, because tiny child-hands, and as much as she would _love_ a twelve-string, there probably wasn’t any way of making one for someone with hands as small as hers. “Once my twins’re older, I want to see if I can get them interested in the violin.”

 

“You know,” frowned Earlene, “have you considered having instruments custom made for yourself? I mean, so what, you’re small. Big people are smaller people at one point in their lives. If you had a range of instruments sized for yourself, whether guitars or violins or what-have-you, others would be able to learn on them too when they are children. Or maybe just not gigantic adults. You’re small but you’re not going to be the only small person. That doesn’t seem statistically possible.”

 

“I’ve thought’v that, actually,” Lorna said, “a bit. I just worry that in some cases, shrinking the instrument that much would affect the sound, but it’d be worth looking into. I know they make tiny violins already, and my Fender’s custom, but it’s a six-string. I’ll see what a smaller twelve string might handle, though, and hope it isn’t some hopeless buzzing sound and nothing more. Though that’d be pretty funny in and of itself.”

 

“Well, we have the money, and in seventeen or however many years it won’t matter anyway. Might as well spend it on stuff that will be usefully used for generations to come.”

 

“We need to get people learning how to make them, too,” Lorna said. “I mean, I’ve got a basic idea how a guitar’s made, but basic’s all I know. In a hundred years, we’ll be wanting more instruments, I think.” The idiot in front of her was driving like a complete gobshite, and she couldn’t go around him without driving a bit more like...her. Dammit. “Ailill ought to learn the harp, if he’s interested. He looks like the kind’v lad that’d be good at it.”

 

“Huh. I’ve not thought to ask him if he plays anything at all, in his time with us. He’s got long fingers, and must have some dexterity. Well, with any luck there will soon be quite a collection in the music room, and anyone can do whatever they want.”

 

“If he doesn’t, I hope he’ll learn,” Lorna said. “He’s got...well, if I’m honest, he seems to have some self-loathing going on, and having met his bloody family, I don’t wonder why. If we could prove to him that he’s good at things other than falconry, it might help him a lot.”

 

Earlene turned this over in her mind, as they progressed toward Killarney. It also included asking Lorna for many more impressions about her one visit to the Kerry home, while knowing that her friend often struggled to put difficult concepts into words. At least, by the time they were pulling into the driveway, she felt she had a better idea of what she might encounter than two hours’ previous. “I see he came from money,” Earlene observed wryly. “Now I like him even more than I did before, because he obviously doesn’t give a shit about it.”

 

“They’re New Money trash, is what they are,” Lorna muttered. “Some people, when they get money, use it well -- they _do_ things with it. Ailill’s parents...well, you’ll see when we get there. Their house is the blandest, most impersonal thing I’ve ever seen. Their front room looks like it belongs in a furniture store, not an actual home. Their Christmas tree was just as bad.” She paused, and pondered. “What’s that American phrase -- ‘keeping up with the Joneses’?”

 

“We have that phrase, yes,” Earlene said, her eyebrow raising. She really didn’t want this visit to devolve into a cussing match, because that could possibly close doors when her objective was to see if they might be opened further. “But remember, this woman was willing to talk to both of us in spite of how Christmas dinner went. That says something. She can’t be all bad, to have us here in spite of what was apparently said. The question is, the degree of bad.”

 

“I gave out at her once -- no point in doing it again,” Lorna assured her. “It was his da and his brother I really wanted to punch, anyway. Gobshites. I really don’t wonder why he’s such a nervous-looking lad. He’s probably been told he’s weird and lacking his entire life.”

 

“On that, we agree,” Earlene said, feeling vastly relieved at hearing this. “Alright, here’s the, um, not so yellow-brick road.” Moments later she knocked sharply, to have Mary Kerry answer. With a half smile of nervousness, she introduced herself. “I’m Earlene Sullivan, and I believe you know my dear friend Lorna,” she smiled. Only then did Mary’s eyes travel downward.

 

“Oh! You didn’t mention you were expecting. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable. My daughter Mary’s here too, she’ll show you to where we can all sit and have tea.”

 

Earlene thanked her just as the aforementioned Mary appeared. _Who in hell names their daughter after themselves?_ Earlene wondered. _I mean, I know this happens with males a lot, because of some obsession with family names, but I thought women were more immune to that sort of idiocy. Maybe not._

 

“Thank God you contacted mam,” Mary said in hushed tones, ushering them down the hallway to what seemed to be a living room. “Ailill doesn’t know about this, does he?” she asked, worried.

 

“He doesn’t,” Lorna said. “And depending on how this visit goes, he might still not know later.”

 

“Trust me, I bloody well understand. It’s been quite a...shitestorm, since Christmas,” Mary said quietly. “Mam feels guilty but still can’t wrap her head around having a gay son, and keeps wondering aloud how to fix him. Da just won’t talk about it at all, and John’s a world-class gobshite who now seems to think that his shite doesn’t smell. I’m not trying to wave my flag or anything, but I’m the only one in this family that seems to understand that my brother is fine like he is. I think mam could come around, but...you’ve got to understand about her, she an’ da built everything they had together, but it was mostly her supporting him. He had an idea, she made it happen. My mam’s smart but not...independent. It’s hard for her to have her own opinions, because emotionally….I love my da, but there are times he’s a complete arse.” Hearing her mother approaching, her speech ground to a swift halt.

 

 _Her brother and her da are lucky I didn't rip an ear off each of them before I left,_ Lorna thought sourly, though she kept it to herself. She was going to let Earlene do the talking here, just to make sure she kept her temper; she’d chime in when opportunity presented itself.

 

Mary poured tea, and cared for all that sort of thing. “So you’re Ailill’s friends,” Mary tried to absorb.

 

“More than friends,” Earlene said flatly. “Ailill is our family. He lives in our home when he isn’t at Ashford, works with my children. Especially my youngest son. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, because he is simply one of the finest young men I’ve ever met. And Mary, I’ll be honest. It hasn’t been easy to see how scrambled eggs for emotions your son is, on account of a lifelong sense that he was never valued here. In fact, I’ll get right to it. I don’t care what your husband or other son think about any of this.  Can you accept Ailill as he is, and not how you wish he would be? Because if you can’t, me trying to help build that bridge is never going to work.”

 

Younger Mary was visibly cheering behind her mother’s peripheral vision, while older Mary’s hands trembled a little. Her teacup was set down. “I don’t know if you can believe me, but...I want to accept him. I just don’t know how. All my life, what he is has been thought...wrong. Bad. Abnormal. You already know his father feels that way about it. I do love Ailill. But I can’t see a way to making this work.”

 

“And that’s why he gets emails asking if there is any chance he will change and not be gay any longer?” Earlene inquired pointedly.

 

“I keep hoping,” Mary whispered. “But I know it won’t.”

 

“Oh mam for Christ’s sake,” younger Mary began to go off when Earlene held up her hand in a gesture demanding silence. One look at the younger woman got her her way.

 

“Then I have a second question to ask you, and this one is going to require brutal honesty with yourself. Are you prepared to lose your husband and the facade of a united family that you have right now, in order to be a mother to your son? Because it might well come down to that, and you should be aware of the consequences of either course of action. He’s always going to have someone, Mary. I adopted him as one of my own from the first moment I saw him. Lorna did too. But we’re not you. If you can’t truly give him your unconditional love, for god’s sake let him go.”

 

“And you’ll have to make your mind up in a fair bit’v a hurry,” Lorna added. “You let it go too long and Ailill’ll think you don’t love him. None’v us chooses to be the way we are. Earlene and I didn't choose to be straight, nor did you. Imagine what you’d feel like, if your mam kept shitting on you because you liked lads instead’v women? And not just your mam, either.”

 

She glanced at Earlene a moment. “There was a while back that a group’v gobshites grabbed him outside a pub,” she added. “They were going to take him out into the middle’v nowhere, beat the shite out’v him, and -- well, there’s no nice way to put this, they were going to arse-rape him with a tire iron because they thought he _might_ be gay. This is the world he lives in, and now he’s even hearing from his _mam_ that he’s wrong, that he’s something bad? I mean, imagine what that must feel like.”

 

Earlene’s eyes widened at the same time Mary and Mary’s faces fell. “As god is my witness,” growled Earlene, “neither of you will _ever_ breathe a word of what you were just told to Ailill or anyone else. He doesn’t know, and he isn’t _going_ to know. And while I might not have chosen to reveal that to you, Lorna is completely right. _That is_ the world he lives in. That is, in fact, the world we protect him from, whether he knows it or not. It really is as simple as she says, too. If you think he ought to change, I want you to march out right now and make love to another woman. If you expect he can do it, you should be able to as well.” She sat back and sighed deeply. “Mary, I’m sorry that all the words of this conversation have to be so blunt and painful. I really do sympathize with what you’re going through. But when you pare all the rest of it away, it’s a question of choosing your priorities. Have you given any thought to seeking out other parents who are in your same situation? In the States there are organizations, to help.”

 

“There are here, too,” Lorna said. “We were late on the bandwagon’v this compared to some, but there’s resources. There’s a whole LGBT website where you can get better educated.” Though, and she would never say this to Earlene, it amused her to no end that her supposedly conservative, Catholic country legalized gay marriage before the States did.

 

“What about me?” said Mary the younger. “I miss my brother. I want to see him again, and I’m honestly terrified that I’m going to be rolled into what the rest of my family can’t accept and lose him. Right now John and I aren’t speaking except for what’s necessary at work. Because that’s made for fun days at the office. I don’t even know where you folks live, except that it isn’t horribly far away. Please?”

 

Earlene looked at Lorna, trying to decide how or if to manage this one.

 

“It’s a little village in County Clare,” Lorna said, hoping Thranduil wouldn’t shoot her for this, “but we’d have to set up a day. I know you’ve got work, and so does he, and he spends a lot’v time with my nephew.”

 

“Give me your email address before we go,” Earlene said, realizing that she was taking a risk without Thranduil being here. “I can promise you that I will try to help. But I won’t do it against Ailill’s will.” Mary’s expression sank. Earlene hurried to clarify. “I just mean, I’m not going to trap him into a meeting he isn’t expecting. He’s suffered a lot on account of all of this, at a time he should be enjoying much happier thoughts. I’ll talk to him, but I’m not going to badger him if it’s going to add to his stress levels.”

 

“He is really going to marry that...I’m sorry, he looks like a boy,” Ailill’s mother said.

 

“Almost beyond question,” Earlene said. “And that boy is older than he is, though he might not look it. He loves Ailill with his whole heart, and has brought him great happiness. We are thrilled for both of them.”

 

“And they’re so adorable together it’s honestly a bit sickening,” Lorna added. “I mean, seriously. Nobody should be that cute. They both take the falcons out, and my nephew, and the puppies...they’re part’v our family, as much as any’v the rest’v us. And thanks to Earlene’s cooking he’s not quite so skinny, either,” she added.

 

Mary the older smiled at this. Even laughed a little. “Ailill always was a picky eater. It had to be something he liked and something he could eat fast. One of the hardest things in the world was just getting him to stick around long enough for meals. He’d always be trying to get back out the door...at the...first...opportunity…” her words trailed off as for the first time in her narrow existence she realized why that might have been the case. Earlene could see tears coming, and rushed into her purse for tissues, holding one out to the woman. She felt sorry for her, she really did. _I’m not about to sit here and judge her. I don’t know actual shit about her life or her marriage or...anything. But this...this is sad. It shouldn’t take a virtual stranger coming into your home to tell you something about your adult child._ Earlene looked over at Lorna once again; she was running thin on advice and was sensing that it would be wise to leave soon.

 

Lorna...really had no idea what to do. She wasn’t good with crying strangers, especially not strangers she had no real reason to like. “Email us,” she said. “Or, we’ll email you, and go from there. For now, just know that Ailill is safe and happy, and he’s not going anywhere, so don’t worry he’ll haul stakes and leave the country or anything.”

 

“Here is my card,” she gave one each to Mary and...Mary. Seriously, whose idea _was_ that??

 

“You’re a lawyer from Manhattan??” older Mary said with undisguised surprise.

 

“Retired, and too lazy to print new business cards,” Earlene returned, not inclined to listen to fawning or flattery. “We thank you for the tea, but we really should be getting on. We are buying harps today and...it’s important not to rush, I think. Thank you both for your hospitality.”

 

 _Because that doesn’t sound like an odd non-sequitur,_ Lorna thought. “Good luck, both’v you,” she said, rising.

 

Younger Mary chased them to the door, while the elder remained where she was. “Please tell Ailill I love him,” were her parting words.

 

“We will,” Lorna said, softening a little.

 

“You’ll hear from me soon,” Earlene promised. “As long as you write me, that is.” With a wave they kept on until they were in the van. “Well. Um. Hm,” was the sum of her eloquence.

 

“That was...something,” Lorna said. “You know, as much as Mairead used to annoy me, and as much as she was always trying to ‘guide’ me, at least I knew she loved _me_ , not what she wished I was. That Ailill can’t say that about his parents...that’s bloody tragic.”

 

“There’s hope yet, but not a lot. In my opinion. His mam is going to have to make some very hard choices at a time in life when most people have started to lose flexibility. And she’s probably fucked on some level no matter what she chooses. It’s really pretty basic. If she chooses Ailill, she risks totally alienating her husband and other son. The best case outcome is a strained marriage in which she expresses her love for Ailill while da sits there like a glowering lump. Worst case scenario, they divorce and break up all their possessions and business holdings over it. Not fun. And older Mary does not strike me as...internally strong. Great, if it works out but...I’m not going to hold my breath on this one.”

 

“If she does choose Ailill, I hope to Christ she’s got the conviction to follow through with it,” Lorna said grimly. “If she goes halfway and stops, it’ll just be worse for absolutely everything. Though...if she and her husband split, Niamh and Orla could make sure she gets the company, and he gets fuck-all.”

 

“Hmmmm. Might just have to...no, bad Earlene. Let’s see how things unfold first. And in the meantime, there’s harps.”

 

“Indeed there are, and they’re rather more welcome. Can you pull it up on the GPS, so I don’t wind up missing it?” She passed over her mobile, honestly glad to drive away from that bland house and its troubled occupants.

 

“Yeah, sure.” Neither of them seemed to wish to discuss much of what they had just...seen, so on toward Killarney Harps they drove. On the positive side, at least they weren’t sitting in the car calling Ailill’s family expletives.

 

Their destination was not an ordinary store but a craftsman’s home, where they had been offered a chance to visit by appointment. Earlene had heard of businesses that ran like this; no actual sign hung out front but sales were managed online, at fairs and festivals, and they of course had a solid presence in the local musical community. In sum, they spent two and a half hours there. They strummed, plucked, asked about five dozen questions, watched carefully, and explained their circumstances to the proprietor without...explaining their circumstances. In the end, they departed with only one of the 34 string Innisfallen harps, (but with yet another just like it on order) in addition to a 37 string Muckross Harp. Honestly, it was enough, and still cost what plenty of cars did all totaled. This would turn into an odyssey, of sorts. Different kinds of harps, from different parts of Ireland that supported different traditions. Which was fine. “Christ tell me you know somewhere for food and a drink,” Earlene murmured. It was way, way past pregnant woman mealtime, and she was well aware that the potential for hangriness was looming.

 

“I don’t, but I can soon find out,” Lorna said, pulling up Google on her phone. “Meanwhile, feel free to munch.” Not being stupid, she’d brought a bag of oranges with her; having been up the yard herself, she knew that when food was needed, it was needed. She passed the bag to Earlene, tapping away on her mobile.

 

“I’ll vuvft hav wun,” Earlene said, biting into an orange like a rabid dog, all the faster to get the peel off. And yet somehow, she did not make a mess, though maybe orange oil sprayed everywhere. Oh well, air freshener.

 

Lorna smothered a laugh, but barely. “Jack C.’s bar has the best reviews,” she said. “And hopefully not too busy this time’v day. Shall we?”

 

“Oh, definitely. There are two Guinness in there and they’re each named Mary,” she said, munching the last of her orange.

 

“Oh good Jesus,” Lorna said, and burst out laughing before she could help it. “All right then, let’s go.” And off they went, leaving all the...unpleasantness...behind them.

 

“Y’know,” she said, as they sat at a traffic light, “that honestly does make me appreciate Mairead a bit more. She used to drive me up the bloody wall, but she always meant well. Ailill’s mam...she loves him, but I think, all this time, she’s loved herself, and her life, more. And that’s...it’s sad. Your family’s meant to come first, not your...your _reputation_ , or...whatever. The face you show the outside world.”

 

“I think with her it’s worse than that. Yeah, she’s a narcissist. But I don’t see her as malicious. I think there are entire places in her personality that just never developed under the shadow of a strong-willed husband, raising three kids and running a massive business. I won’t pretend to know how she ticks, but there’s more to her than just being a fuckup. Something happened. Wait a minute. Was that her man, the gran at Christmas dinner, or the da’s?”

 

“Hers. And she seemed an even bigger gobshite than the husband, if you can imagine it,” Lorna said, disgusted. She resisted the urge to lay on the horn at the eejit idling at the green light with his thumb up his arse.

 

Eventually the eejit moved, and she saw the pub in the distance. _Finally_.

 

Earlene waited to continue until they were comfortably seated and had menus in their hands. Fuck it all, this was an ale and toasties occasion if ever there was one. Though maybe just a little salad...her innards were already starting to rebel at having not enough room, no sense exacerbating the problem. “So, if Mary’s mother’s a heinous bitch, not many people come unscathed from those situations. It doesn’t excuse her, but it might explain quite a lot.”

 

“Yes, yes it would,” Lorna said. “Well, at least if things go to shite and she’s willing to support Ailill, Orla can make his da’s life such a misery he won’t have time to harass either’v them.”

 

“Well,” Earlene replied carefully. “We may not want to mess with that system just yet. Mary the older owns half of it. They have holdings in land and cattle. Think about it. If it’s all going to go to fuck, I’d like it to go to fuck in our direction. Plus, here isn’t like the states. Divorcing here is a big, complicated mess by contrast. And I don’t care, I’m calling them Mother Mary and Sister Mary from here on out. No Beatles jokes.”

 

“Better than Mary the Elder and Mary the Younger,” Lorna muttered. “And Christ, I know it is. Still better than it was when I was a kid, though, and an ‘Irish Divorce’ was one spouse, usually the da, deserting the family. People had more kids then, and no mam could support them all on her own, so she’d shack up with some other bloke and people’d wag their fingers about ‘living in sin’ until some bright spark said ‘fuck you, give us desertion laws’. That took seven years, though -- seven bloody years before you could wash your hands’v whatever deadbeat abandoned you.”

 

“And we’re right back to that whole thing about Ireland having too few laws and America having five times too many. I have to admit...I mean, not that I’m going anywhere but...damn, makes you think twice about whether marrying was even a bright idea or not. I mean, what’s the damn incentive? You can still wear a ring, have sex, make babies. Married you get lower taxes, can collect welfare easier and...oh, I almost forgot. It would’ve been impossible for Fionn to adopt Allanah had we not, but still… it would’ve changed nothing about daily life.”

 

“The young ones’re brighter than our generation, in that,” Lorna said. “A load’v them are just living together now, no marriage involved. The old farts think it’s just terrible, but like you say, where’s the incentive? There isn’t one. Unless you’re really religious, which an increasing number aren’t, they just share a home. I just got married to Ratiri because I wanted to, and he wanted to, and we got to have that bloody nice wedding.”

 

“For me, what was the difference going to be? I already had all the responsibilities, it only made sense to take advantage of legal...whatevers. The other thing too was, if I hadn’t married him legally, when I died, he’d have no right to inherit my property and some other who-knows-who would buy it and move in. I had no way of knowing every other damn thing was going to happen instead. I just wanted the elves to have peace and quiet once I was gone.”

 

A waiter came and took their orders, and when he had left, Lorna said, “I married Liam because if something happened to one’v us, we wanted the other to have rights. We were...we did stupid things, and if one’v us ever wound up in hospital, it could’ve been bad. I had no idea Mairead existed, I had no idea where Pat or Mick or Siobhan were; to my knowledge, I was totally alone aside from Liam, and but for me all he had was a cousin. Then I got up the yard, and that just made it more logical.”

 

Earlene snorted. “To being married, in Ireland!” After raising her glass, helpless giggles ensued. She probably should not be drinking on a totally empty stomach. “If only they had a foggy clue what I’ve managed to do to the institution,” she chuckled. “Oh well.”

 

“You didn't do it, the Valar did,” Lorna said, raising hers as well. “I’d love to see any marital court try to argue with _them_ .” Actually, she really kind of would. “Saoirse’d come up with some’v the best courtroom art _ever_.”

 

“She would at that, though I’d probably die of embarrassment having her there. I could just see the ‘icky adult stuff’ questions now. Brrrrrrr,” her head shook violently. “No thanks.”

 

Lorna choked on her pint. “She’d never ask. Not in a million years. Though...all right, _I’ve_ got to ask, how can you stand sharing a bed with two other people? I mean, Ratiri and I’ve got a huge one and I can just barely handle having him in it. Anybody else I’d probably kick to death, and not even on purpose.”

 

“Well, I don’t really flail around at night, and I’m guessing you do? I never get cold, I’ve got someone to warm my feet no matter which way I’m facing, Cian likes to give backrubs and...I really can’t think of what’s not to like?”

 

“I do flail, quite a bit,” Lorna said. “But...and maybe it’s just because I’m so small, I can’t properly sleep if I’ve got anyone _too_ close to me. Ratiri and I mostly snuggle when we’re awake, but I guess in my sleep I’m afraid anybody too close’ll like...roll over and crush me, or something. Though I wish Ratiri liked to give back rubs that much...I’m so little, and his hands are so big, that he says he’s always afraid he’ll dislocate my ribs, but that’s a shite excuse. Do you never overheat, though?”

 

“No,” she frowned. “It’s always just...cozy?” There was no way in Eru’s creation she was going to mention that overheating did happen--and why. Nope. That could be left out of the discussion, which after all was about ordinary sleeping. Not...the other. “But yeah, that is a shite excuse. Then again, to be fair, Fionn doesn’t offer that much either. Cian is just...touchy. He likes being touched in affectionate ways, and vice versa. Can’t complain. Ha ha but if I asked, I’m pretty sure Fionn would make the effort. It’s just so much easier for him to let Cian do it.”

 

“Well, I'm going to shamelessly use that to try to squeeze more back rubs out’v Ratiri,” Lorna said. “He’s too good with his hands, he’s got no excuse...and that sounded a bit wrong. Though to be honest, he’s good with them _that_ way, too.” She paused, sipped her pint. “All right, feel free to not answer this, but Cian -- Ratiri and I always called him the _asexual_ third partner, so did that actually change, or did the Valar just...make sure it happened once and made it count?”

 

The waiter of course chose that moment to bring their food, which was just as well. It was not a subject for which she would relish interruptions. The man was blessedly brief.

 

“Well, part of what was more or less a living nightmare for me was that...once we had joined together, even though neither of us had the memory of it in any meaningful fashion, I...wanted him. And I knew he wouldn’t want me, because he is an asexual. I could tell you that Fionn had the fun of trying to take on my unrequited yearnings, and, he gave it the college try. But it doesn’t work like that. When you are with an elf you want your mate, on every level. Physical, emotional, spiritual. And without intercourse, it feels like living in a half-life.

 

“But I promised myself I just wouldn’t go there. I tried to hide from Cian that I was miserable, a lot of the time. Then this...thing happened, a couple of months ago. There was a discussion about Ailill and Calanon that led to an unfortunate comment from Cian, complaining about people wanting sex and...I lost my shit. I don’t even know where you ...oh wait, yes I do. You must have been with Sharley, or gone, or something. You weren’t around. Anyway, I drove off for awhile until I could get my head back in one piece, and then decided to hole up in the cottage for the evening. Cian came and...he wanted to. Apparently they _can_ want to, and one of the big things is being able to believe that their partner has no expectations. I think he was scared, too. He had a lot of assumptions about the...act...that turned out to not be true. Anyway. All that is to say that while it doesn’t remotely happen as much as with Thranduil, yes we...that.”

 

 _Assumptions about the act that turned out to not be true…_ Lorna had been rather that way, though likely for vastly different reasons. “So he’s like...what’re they called, sex-indifferent asexuals? The ones who don’t mind? I keep meaning to email Sharley about talking to him, but she thinks sex is revolting, so that might not help either’v them.”

 

“Yes. Cian is actually very romantic, and attentive. He isn’t repulsed by sex, but to him it just isn’t as pleasurable as a good chocolate cake. He does experience some enjoyment, just not to the same degree most of the rest of us would. Truthfully, he’s been rather full of surprises, in that department.”

 

“We, he’s Cian” Lorna said, savoring a bite of toastie. “He doesn’t exactly half-ass anything he ever tries. But how did it -- is it because’v what the Valar did, that you can be attracted to him like that at all? Because you’d said with the way, er, _those_ marriages work, you’re only ever attracted to your spouse and that’s it. Which I really understood, honestly, because for me it’s Ratiri and Ratiri alone. What changed that?”

 

“No one knew this could happen. I didn’t because Fionn didn’t. But the direct answer to how is, he had sex with me. It is a binding of two spirits and...the rest is history. It was how Fionn pieced together what had actually happened. I literally woke up the next morning and was experiencing attraction to Cian that I hadn’t before. I tried to ignore it because it wasn’t supposed to be possible; so in my mind it wasn’t. Possible. My brain kind of works that way. It’s sad, really. The day you learn you’re pregnant, and it should be happy but instead it’s one of the worst days of your life.” She chewed a few times and froze, realizing what she’d just said. “I’m sorry, Lorna. I...that was a totally thoughtless thing to say.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lorna said, though she winced a little. “Ratiri got snipped, it won’t be happening again. What still gets me, though, is...I almost chickened out. I almost just went home, and if I had -- if Sharley hadn’t seen what she did -- I’d’ve probably died. _That’s_ what keeps me up at night sometimes. Fionn’s...gift...would’ve backfired on me, and none’v us would’ve known until my fallopian tube...er, went bad.” ‘Burst’ was not a word that should be used while anyone was eating.

 

She sighed. She’d never told this to Ratiri, because she didn't want to be dumping in on him on top of everything else. “The sad thing is that I wouldn’t’ve minded another _child_ , she said, “I just didn't want another _pregnancy_ . If I could’ve somehow...transferred the fetus into someone else, I’d’ve been happy. But Earlene, I’ve never told Ratiri this, I _still_ have nightmares about being pregnant, and the twins’re three and a half years old. It was that horrible.”

 

“I don’t blame you,” Earlene said, continuing to eat her toastie. “You’re too small, and it was complete shit for you. You had a far worse time...your body just isn’t built for it. Not to mention you married a man the size of Th--dammit, Fionn. I’m just sorry that it was so bad, if you’d wished for more of them. And here I’m a damn rabbit; apparently my partners can all but look at me and I’m pregnant.”

 

“Yeah, if Ratiri wasn’t a giant, it might not’ve been _quite_ as bad,” Lorna said, though she wasn’t so sure she believed it. “I’m just glad we got two for one. And honestly, those two can be such menaces all on their own -- especially Chandra. Did I ever tell you I found more condom balloons under the bed? And what they’d done with my tampons, fucking Christ.”

 

“You know, it’s slightly impressive that they could blow those up. I mean, slippery and weird shape and all,” she commented while dissolving into laughter at the memory. “Oh god the look on Ailill’s face...bad, Earlene. Bad bad bad….”

 

Lorna burst out laughing herself. “God, I know. I thought he’d die, the poor lad. What was worse was that they’d drawn faces on the damn things with my liquid eyeliner.” Yes, she facepalmed. She couldn’t help it. “So, will you be using my chairs, when those two start getting bigger in the oven? Because Jesus, if you’re this big now, you might not be walking by May.”

 

“I’m fighting to keep on my feet, but I have a sense it’s a losing battle. I’m going to need them in I think just another 2 weeks. I’ve already been threatened that if I don’t reduce to making just one meal a day that Cian will sit on me. And since he’s not joking…” she shrugged. “At least I got him to promise to watch all the Babylon 5 reruns with me. That will be about a hundred and twenty episodes of sitting on my arse to look forward to.”

 

Lorna chewed a bite of toastie, thoughtful. “ _Where_ would he sit?” she asked. “I mean, you haven’t got much lap, he can hardly sit on your stomach, and if he sat on your face, he’d suffocate you. I guess he could sit on your foot, but that’d risk getting it jammed up his arse, whether he wanted it or not. Not to mention, squishy male bits don’t usually go well with feet, outsid’v some weird fetishes.”

 

“He’s Cian. Trust me, he will find a way. The last time I had to attempt retaliation it just...no. Do not engage in battle when the possibility of victory is nil.” This sentiment was chased down with an immense swig of ale. “Oh, Guinness. You are appreciated, old friend.”

 

“Never give up,” Lorna said. “Victory’s always possible, if you’ve got the right strategy. Admittedly, it’s shit that they can read your mind and you can’t read theirs, and it makes your life a lot harder, but that’s why you have friends. Ratiri and I can do shite for you. Or more like, Pat and I can. We were little shits growing up.”

 

Earlene laughed. “Lorna, god love you, you don’t ever want to get into it with Cian. You just do not. I bested him one time, and what it took...Valar.”

 

“See, you’re just making the prospect more attractive,” Lorna said. “I’m sure we could get one over on him -- it’s what he’d do in return that’d make me paranoid.”

 

“Thaaaaaat’s what I’m talking about. Sure, with enough careful planning, you can claim a victory. But later? Well, you’re screwed, that’s what. And then it escalates, and then people are genuinely mad or hurt. Not worth it. Not worth it at all.”

 

“Yeah, not right now,” Lorna said. “But maybe someday...though I can’t imagine him doing anything bad enough for me to want to do anything awful to _him_. But still, he doesn’t get to threaten to sit on you just because you want to get up and do something.” She joked about sitting on Ratiri, sure, but she couldn’t actually hold him down. It was a joke. Thanadir was likely serious.

 

“Well, what about being bound hand and foot in ropes in the middle of the forest, until you were forced to agree to something you didn’t want to? Would that tip you over the edge?” Earlene asked idly.

 

Lorna set her fork down. “He. Did. Fucking. _What?_ Why is he still alive?” She herself felt a sudden, almost blinding urge to stab the poor elf in the kidney. “Earlene, that’s horrible. I mean, really horrible. I’d’ve shanked the son’v a bitch and left him to bleed out.”

 

“Lorna, the point of telling you this isn’t to rile you. For the record, I got him back in equal and elegant measure. The point is so that you remember that he is a clever and powerful...what he is...who isn’t the cinnamon roll you want to imagine him as, once he finds himself in certain circumstances. Even Fionn will not push those buttons, because he knows better. You have to keep in mind, Cian is in some ways like Saoirse. There are certain filters he just _does not have_. Couple that with his physical and mental capabilities...that’s a recipe for disaster. One of the ways we protect him is by keeping that sort of thing from ever getting to that point. I’m trying to do you a favor here; if I didn’t spell this out, I don’t think you’d understand what I’m trying to tell you. I usually wouldn’t share this; it’s my private shite between him and I. Just...don’t start with him and we’ll all be a lot happier,” she trailed off.

 

Sighing, Lorna said, “You might have got him back in elegant measure, but unless you also beat him within in an inch’v his life, it wasn’t equal. I can see not provoking him, but that doesn’t mean letting him run roughshod over you. You’re a grown woman. Pregnant or not, he doesn’t get to manipulate you into doing shit just because nobody wants to set him off. Restraining someone against their will is not okay. That he would do that to you...I don’t care if he is like Saoirse, that’s just wrong. I’m assuming he’s learned from that, but...the fact that he’s different doesn't earn him an exemption from decent behavior. Which is code for ‘treating you like an adult’.” _An adult, not a baby-factory._ She really was deeply disturbed, because she hadn’t thought Thanadir could be such an...asshole.

 

Earlene tried to take several deep breaths to marshal the anger she could feel rising. It was enough to at least keep her voice calm and level. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, Lorna. I have my own ways of managing Thanadir, and we are very happy with their success rate. But responses like that don’t make me want to confide in you. Just because I don’t handle the poor behavior of others in the same way you do doesn’t mean I don’t handle it.”

 

“Earlene, I’ve been held down against my will,” Lorna said quietly. “I know what it feels like, and it’s a terrible thing to do, and I didn't think Cian had it in him. It...disturbs me. A lot. I mean, I know you didn't have to worry about him actually doing...anything...to you, but...it’s a dick move. One I wouldn’t’ve expected from someone like him.”

 

“And that is you, viewing everything I just told you only through the lens of your own experience,” Earlene said with equal quiet. “It would be a terrible thing to _you_ . It disturbs _you_. But I am not you, Lorna. I was at worst annoyed, at best half-amused.”

 

“But...how?” Lorna asked, mystified. “I mean, I know there’s people that like that in a sexy way, but outside’v that...wouldn’t anyone be afraid’v having their own...own body away from them? To be totally defenseless, not by choice?”

 

“For starters, because I trust Cian with my life,” she shrugged. “It is all perspective, Lorna. I am defenseless against him every minute of every day. Fionn too. Any of the...them, with possibly a few exceptions. Rope makes no difference really, except to prove a point. Correct me if I am wrong, but you’ve had bad experiences in...another place...that caused you serious mental trauma. To you, anything similar is _that_ . It’s not _that_ , to me. It’s completely different. I am sorry for what you went through, but it definitely makes how we respond to certain things polar opposites.”

 

The thought actually made Lorna shudder a little, a shiver of revulsion creeping up her spine. “I have,” she said. “And I’ve seen what happened to other people. Friend’v mine -- some gobshite thought her smiling at him meant she wanted his hand down her pants, and he didn't want to take no for an answer. It -- yeah. But I wouldn’t call yourself defenseless, if I was you. I mean, you’re not an elf, but you’re about as close as as human can get. You sell yourself short, sometimes.” She really did, too, and it bothered Lorna a bit. Earlene was...well, she was _Earlene_ , and she didn't need to think she had to regard the elves as superior in every way just because they were elves. None of them cooked as well as Earlene, for starters. None of them could drive like Lorna herself.

 

Earlene tilted her head. “I think you misunderstand me. I know what I am capable of, and them as well. I’m aware that I can do a great deal. I am discussing the likelihood of besting one of them in a knock-down battle for physical supremacy. And I can tell you with complete confidence that I would not win, short of some unforseen miracle. That isn’t selling myself short; that’s just understanding the realities of a potential opponent. So, does that have anything to do with why you don’t really check out other guys? What happened to your friend?” This last question was asked in a very kind and non-confrontational tone of voice. Then again, she felt like Lorna had changed the subject quite a lot. Turnabout was fair play.

 

Lorna blinked, and she could practically hear the gears in her brain grinding at this abrupt shift of subject. “What? What d’you mean -- the thing with Maureen? It...was a thing. It was awful. Shane beat ten kinds’v shit out’v him and the rest’v us just sort’v...took care’v the rest. Why would that…” She trailed off, and set down her toastie, because...Jesus. “I hadn’t thought’v it in years. Just...one’v those... _shit_.”

 

“Oh. Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for the question to be that...yeah. Shit.”

 

Lorna shook herself. “No, it’s okay, it’s just -- I never thought’v that. Thought’v it like that. I’d only been with the gang...hell, less than a month? I wasn’t much past fourteen, and Shane wasn’t sure he’d wanted to bring me along, but like hell was I getting left.” She’d also be quite stoned, at the time; hence _why_ he hadn’t want her to. “Maureen, there’d been this lad she’d had her eye on, but nothing serious. Just smiled, and...admired. Two weeks later, and -- well. We’re eating, I’ll spare you the details. But I guess...I’d forgot this, but she said ‘don’t go admiring, you’ll get more than you want’. I’d never admired anyone in my life, so it didn't really sink in. Or at least, I’d thought it hadn’t.” And that...was a whole other order of disturbing. She needed to call Shane later.

 

“Well...I’m not going to pretend to be a therapist, but, maybe there’s something to explore, there. And Lorna...I can’t tell you how to think or feel, but _I’m_ going to feel like shit if you can’t look at Th-- _god dammit_ , Cian the same way for what I told you. You’re not hearing the whole story, you weren’t there, and you definitely weren’t there for the payback. I just wanted you to understand that...he’s just as capable of messing up as the rest of us, and he doesn’t have as good of an off-switch when it happens. There’s a lot there to love, and I do love him. No one’s perfect, us or them.”

 

“I’ve...got plenty to think’v on my own,” Lorna said. “Cian...that won’t be hard, I won’t be thinking’v him much at all, I’m afraid. Because...well, fuck, I need to call Shane, and maybe Orla. They were there the same time, and they were probably a lot more sober than I was.” Thanadir, and whatever gobshite-like qualities he might possess, had been booted right off her radar. For now. “Though...what’d you do to him, in revenge?”

 

“Well, the first night I went to the Halls and got a bunch of their hithlain rope, and stayed up until 3 am at the cottage reminding myself how to tie certain knots. Practiced until I could do them in pitch dark and from any angle. Then the next day I baked shiteloads of cookies and got him to watch movies with me and kept feeding him more and more cookies until he went off to be a stuffed wreck. Waited exactly two hours, snuck into his bedroom and tied every limb to a bedpost without waking him up. That is, until he woke up, unable to move or do a damn thing. There might’ve been a peacock feather involved. I required apologies and a certain set of agreements...aaaaand I’ve probably said enough.”

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “You Nonna’d him?”

 

“It was worse than that. It was...slow and deliberate Nonna-ing, counting on the movies to keep him from realizing how much he was overeating.”

 

“That’s evil. I approve,” she said, but her heart wasn’t wholly in it, because she remembered what Shane had said eventually happened to Maureen. Shaking herself, she added, “And I’m sure he had all kinds’v fun on the toilet later. Though Jesus, maybe not as much as he did after he drank an entire Thermos’v special tea. That taught me to ever leave anything out on the counters.”

 

“Oh. Well, I didn’t ask about that part. Too unseemly, and all. But...he suffered, from that tea. I have never seen him so miserable before or since, and I never hope to again. Damn. Speaking of toilet, that had to have been bad. He couldn’t stop eating…”

 

“I’d been wanting to get...that lot...stoned for ages, but finding out that’s all it did was just depressing,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “I wanted to get them baked and show them a laser show.”

 

“It’s sad when a perfectly good drug doesn’t work like one would hope. Though, who knows. Maybe they’d still like a laser show. Their eyes see different than ours. Maybe it’d be...extra interesting or something.”

 

“You mean like the cats with the laser pointer, just on a bigger scale? Christ, I’m tempted to try, honestly. She sobered, though, and drained the last of her mug.

 

“Fionn has seen that, not sure if Cian has? Now there’s an idea…I’ll get the tab and hit the girls’ room…” Earlene drifted off, wondering where she had even put Tail’s laser pointer.

 

If Amazon didn't have something she could use, Lorna would be very surprised. God she was going to miss that site, once the world ended. Her grandchildren would likely marvel that any such thing had ever once existed. There was a lot they would marvel at, probably, until, with however many successive generations, knowledge of it was lost entirely.

 

Well. That was depressing. She downed what was left of her pint, and since she was alone, she burped. It cheered her a little.

 

“Well, let’s take baby harp home. We can all pluck at it and act like we know what we’re doing,” Earlene sighed, having had enough of adulting for one day.

 

“I need a cat,” Lorna said, as they headed back out to the van. “Or all’v them. Kitties and comfort food and a little tincture, and I’ll call Shane later.”

 

“Sounds good,” Earlene smiled, though, she didn’t think it sounded good at all. _I worry about Lorna. There are times when it literally seems like she can’t cope without a strong emotion without booze or weed. Yes, it’s better than when she used to go off and get shit-faced, but almost dying can have that effect. What’s she going to do when it all goes to shite and we have real stress, every day? Life now is a field of pansies compared to how bad it could get, later. But that’s not a discussion for today…_

They piled in the car and went home mostly in silence. Earlene found her mind drifting back to Ailill’s mother and sister, in equal measure. She pitied the former more, and wanted to help the latter more. _Just, fuck._

 

When they reached the edge of the village, Lorna blurted, “Maureen got murdered, later. Shane, when we all met up at the pub a few years ago, he said her boyfriend killed her. We save her from one and she wound up with some other piece’v shite.” _That_ was really why she needed the tincture; she’d forgot about her friend’s first brush with...that...and then forgot what Shane had said, until now.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Earlene said, not knowing what to do exactly. “I’d give you a hug right now but...you’d probably like us to make the driveway before I make you crash. And that was the most shite attempt at humor ever but…” _But your life before this sucked all to the ninth circle of hell and that’s just not even a polite thing for me to say right now. Scratch that earlier. Maybe the only miracle is that she doesn’t take every drug in the book._

 

“I’ll take a mental hug,” Lorna said. “That’s not shite humor, that’s black humor. Two different things.” She drew a deep breath. “Well, we’ve got a harp, and in theory Ailill’s mam and sister might not make this whole mess worse.”

 

“Um, yeah. Trying not to think about them until I’ve had a little time soaking in a bathtub. Preferably with lavender and tranquil music.”

 

“And no hawks, nor Tail.” She pulled into the driveway, killing the engine. Night was falling fast, and she knew it was chilly outside. “What do you say we grab this harp and scoot as fast as we can, so we don’t freeze?”

“You betcha.” Except, she need not have worried, because Thranduil and Thanadir were already outside, and Thanadir was wearing his S.P.E.W. hat.

 

“Hotel taxi!” the older elf exclaimed gleefully, grabbing the harp while Thranduil swept Lorna up into his arms. “Come meldis, it is cold outside!” Earlene barely had time to grab her purse before she was being scooted along and brought into the door. Both she and Lorna found themselves delivered to the spots on the sofa closest to the hearth, while hot chocolate loaded with whipped cream was shoved into their hands as they looked at each other dumbly. Everyone was there. Ratiri, Pat, Saoirse, and assorted children that were quietly reading or coloring.

 

“So,” Ratiri said brightly. “How was your day?”

 

“Well, we got a lovely harp,” Lorna said, still mentally reeling. “And possibly another to come in the future. Strange little shop, but fun.”

 

“What she said,” Earlene nodded, coming quite close to brain lock. Thanadir and Thranduil perceived the cascade of thoughts and desperately sought a potential distraction.

 

“Can we see the harp?” Thanadir asked.

 

“Of course. That’s a smaller one, thirty-four strings. Two more on order. And much more shopping to do; the harp odyssey has only just begun,” Earlene smiled. “I think it’s tuned. At least, it was when we left. Tuning key’s in the pocket of the case, somewhere,” Earlene added.

 

The seneschal removed it from the case and set it on the floor, scooching down along the sofa to nestle it against his body. Experimentally he began plucking the strings in octaves, because, of course he did. It was Thanadir. Curious children gathered around him, and soon he had Saoirse and Thaladir standing on each side of it, somehow playing “Row Row Row Your Boat” in about forty-five seconds. Earlene rolled her eyes and smiled. This was what she had hoped for, more than anything. Children. Instruments. Music.

 

Lorna relaxed, leaning against Ratiri. Tincture could wait a minute. Would Saoirse ever want to take up an instrument? It would be hard to get her away from anything art-related, but maybe. Sooner or later she’d run out of surfaces to paint on...though given the size of the Halls, maybe not.

 

Thanadir let them go on a moment before demonstrating “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and letting them try that too. This was less of a success, but they laughed at the mistakes and tried again. Earlene decided she might try herself...tomorrow. She needed some sheet music, and she wondered how hard it would be to try using the levers. One way to find out, but, she didn’t expect to be Maglor anytime soon. Still, the memory of the beautiful ellon and his playing...talk about motivation.

 

Lorna eventually snuck upstairs, swapping her boots and jeans for fleece trousers and socks, and adding two drops of tincture to her cocoa. Back down she went, sipping; she’d call Shane later, once the kids were put to bed. For now she was in her nice warm house, with her family; the cold was outside, and it would stay outside.

 

Boo hopped up onto her lap and immediately started purring, kneading her stomach with pointy little feet and sniffing her mug. _Kids and cats, and the cold is outside._

 

*****

 

“Do you want to talk about what happened today?” Thanadir coaxed, kneading her shoulders as they sat together on the bed.

 

“Well, I’m not even trying to muddle my thoughts from you,” Earlene replied with a twinge of sarcasm that was instantly regretted. “Thanadir, I am sorry,” she immediately apologized. “If I am to be truthful, I don’t want to talk about it for two reasons. The first is that I am apparently well under the influence of pregnancy and not in the best control of my outbursts. The second is that...I think you can see I had a discussion with Lorna today, and I am feeling some measure of guilt about confiding things that were private between you and I. Not that you had barred me from speaking of them, but...just…” _Shit._ Her face was buried in her hands. The sense that she had once again dodged a mine exploding refocused her unhappiness. _It...sucks, to have friends with whom I cannot be fully truthful. Am I the same way? Are there things no one can tell me because I might go off or react too badly for others to want to manage?_ This was a sobering question, and not one that had been previously considered. _I don’t_ think _so but….is that true?_

 

 _Meldis…_ there was no resistance as he stopped his massage and effortlessly drew her into his arms. _I am not upset at what you told Lorna. It is, after all, true. And perhaps you have inadvertently done both her and I a favor. I did not clearly understand this extreme aversion within her. If nothing else, I know never to do such a thing with her in jest or otherwise, unless I wish to unleash volcanic forces._ His mental tone was amused more than anything else. _And I have already promised not to bind you in such a way again. So I do not see that any harm was done._

 

The most jumbled array of emotions passed through her, at those words. Reflecting back on the original incident that had produced the discussion, in which he had captured her, she frowned. Her emotional orientation toward him had changed. During their trip to Oxford, he had expressed an assertive range of bedroom behaviors that she had enjoyed more than she wished to admit; a palette of the more aggressive maneuvers Thranduil had shown to her in the past, but with nuances that made the differences all Thanadir’s own. That he had a particular flair for dominance was not anything new. That he had been capable of bringing it into a sexual context...well, in a million years she would not have guessed at that. Nor would she have guessed at how much she liked it; even the thought of it was producing uncomfortable results at a time when she would rather not be considering...that.

 

“I did not realize you found that so appealing,” he said, his limber hands returning to her shoulders. “You are strong, and able to be assertive. But you also like to be mastered?”

 

“Apparently,” she said, blushing red. “Though I cannot tell you why. There is a part of it that makes no sense to me. But I would be lying to you, were I to deny it.” Some moments of silence elapsed. “Can I ask you why you like to on occasion overwhelm and control others, when most of the time you are very gentle?”

 

He hugged her against him, rocking slowly from side to side. “I am not fully certain,” he frowned. “If I were to try to guess...I like things ordered. Ordered in a way that pleases me. I am well aware that this tendency can go much too far; a desire for my own version of perfection that exceeds reason. Having my own way, and not someone else’s way...that becomes a desire, at those times. And once I am in such a mood, the ability to demand anything and everything of another, to behave aggressively in order to get what I want; that is not far behind. I am...careful. This has brought me trouble more than anything else. But I see from your thoughts that it feeds an aspect of your desire?”

 

“In a certain manner, yes. I would not wish to be treated that way outside of the bedroom. But as an element of fantasy, on occasion…” she sighed. “It’s a thing.”

 

Thranduil entered, locking the door behind them. “Now that your discussion has me hopelessly aroused,” he noted drily, “I will find it hard to come in here and talk about the situation with Ailill’s family. Pun intended.”

 

“You say that like there is no solution to your problem,” Earlene fired back, not about to be apologetic.

 

Thanadir took a calculated risk, and carefully brought her wrists together, slowly pulling them over her head while Thranduil’s eyebrows raised. Seconds later, one of his hands held them pinned together in an unbreakable hold. “Here is one solution,” he teased her. “If you are willing. I will release you if you wish,” he added softly.

 

“I will note that you were courteous enough to ask,” Earlene responded, already feeling excited. “But for the purposes of the experience, we will pretend I did not just agree to what you are doing.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes flared at the clear invitation, as his hands moved to stretch her out on the bed. It was quite easy, to gain access to what he wished, pushing up her skirts while Thanadir held her fast. The King made a show of freeing himself, and placing her further on cushions to allow for her comfort with her swollen belly. The emotional experience that ensued as she was taken vigorously while being restrained was confusing, exciting, and deeply satisfying. Later she guessed that it had something to do with fully knowing that she was safe; that these two would never harm her in any manner. Occasionally she struggled against Thanadir’s hold, receiving intense gratification from her own helplessness, as her husband thrust into her with long strokes. Thanadir yet had one free hand, and that found occupation delivering a number of sensual delights to her upper body. A blinding climax took her at the same time Thranduil found his own release, after which Thanadir slowly released his hold on her wrists, gently massaging them while she recovered her senses.

 

“You two,” she cleared her throat, “are dangerous. What even _was_ that??”

 

“Does it matter?” Thranduil said, flopped on the bed with his arms over his eyes. “It is the gift of Eru and just now, it was rather a good one,” he laughed. “Thank you, Earlene. You are a delight to me and still full of surprises.”

 

“Glad to help,” she murmured fuzzily. _Just, Jesus._ “Um, Ailill’s family. I think I could do that now...in a minute.”

 

“Yes, In a minute,” agreed Thranduil. Thanadir simply smirked, and peppered her face and neck with kisses.

 

“So. Mary Kerry, and Mary Kerry. I like your solution to their names,” Thranduil chuckled.

 

“Me too,” laughed Earlene. “For me, my biggest question is whether Sister Mary could be brought to our world. And I cannot comment, because only you can know that for certain.”

 

“And yet I see your devious mind has run forward to questioning whether or not by some twist of fate we might absorb some or all of the Kerry holdings into our oversight, in the end?”

 

“Well, it occurred to me that with Mother Mary as the apparent half-owner of the family business holdings and a daughter on board with us, when the time came it might be to everyone’s advantage? I hardly think they wish to see their cattle die of neglect and starvation when the inevitable happens. While I doubt they have other than commercial breeds, it would be an extra boost of food supply while we are in a time of transition. If nothing else, not to sound callous, they are better off ending their lives as meat for us than rotten carcasses. And yet that would represent several degrees of assumption. It would perhaps be better to start simply with, does Ailill want this, and would you permit it?”

 

“I would permit it, if it is Ailill’s desire. It would be the same as for all the others; he would be told of how we have done this in the past. We would invite her here for a meal, and...do what we do. She would either pass the test and join us, or fail and leave with her memories erased. He would always be allowed to maintain a relationship with his sibling outside of this forest, of course. Or come among us, but be limited to what exists at Eldamar. This is his home too, and we are out here away from the Halls for a reason.”

 

“So you are telling me I have your consent to discuss this with him? Right now, I am of a mind to do what I can, as quickly as possible, to help him have contact with Sister Mary. Mother Mary is a whole other subject, depending on her responses. I really could not say which way that will go. While I don’t condone her spinelessness where her child is concerned, it is more complex than that.”

 

“Then we will start with Ailill and his sister, and see what transpires,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. “And I see there was more.”

 

“Yeah. Another dubious attempt on my part to risk more honesty with Lorna and not being sure it was the right decision.”

 

Thranduil frowned, searching her memories. “Because of how she responded to your final admonition about Thanadir?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because Lorna already said as much, I am at least at liberty to tell you that your question to her about not admiring other males tore something open greater than what you might suspect,” he said gently.

 

“Oh. I guess I could have pieced that together but...please forgive me. I try to do what I can to be close to her, but there are times I despair of our differences ever being fewer than our similarities.”

 

“That is not your fault, Earlene. I can see that you are trying, and with pure motives. Lorna is indeed very much unlike you, meluieg, but she too is trying her best.”

 

“I know. Please don’t….mind me. Hormones. Idiot families. The nicest part about the day was in some ways the harp,” she sighed. “Maybe the next place I go, just the three of us could have an outing? I’d like that very much.”

 

“We will manage, meldis. For now, come and read with me. I wish to hold you.” Somehow this brought a smile.

 

 _Only in this bed can we go from mildly kinky sex to snuggling in the same half hour_ , she mused. Who was she kidding, nothing else would be so wonderful. She crawled to Thanadir, who enfolded her into his arms while whispering words of endearment that melted her heart. The same heart that sometimes felt it would burst, for the love of these two beautiful elves.

 

*****

 

Lorna, stoned and yet not entirely mellow, waited until they had the twins put to bed before calling Shane. It was a call best had in private, so she went down to their seldom-used recreational room, pacing in the dark.

 

Shane’s phone didn't ring many times before he answered it, though his slightly gravelly voice suggested he was a bit drunk. “What’s up, Fun Size?”

 

“Your blood alcohol content, I'm guessing,” she said dryly. “Shane...why are we left? Why, out’v all fourteen’v us, are the five’v us the only ones left? Did we just get lucky and the others didn't?”

 

“I might be drunk, but you sound stoned,” he said. “And that’s a hell’v a question. I don’t know. Why’re you wondering?”

 

She sighed. “Earlene said something that made me remember Maureen,” she said, weaving slightly as she paced. “We got her away from that gobshite, and then later on you said she’d gone on and got murdered by another. The rest’v them all met bad ends, so why didn't we?”

 

To his credit, Shane pondered this before answering. “We grew up,” he said at last. “In the ways that count, anyway. Maybe...I guess you could say we were given the opportunities, and recognized they were there. You met Liam. I started working in a mechanic and decided I liked it. Orla did...whatever the hell it was Orla did, Niamh became a lawyer because she wanted to help people fuck over the law. Mick just went home. Though it’s not like any’v us became law-abiding citizens,” he added dryly. “We just got sneakier about it.”

 

“Fair point,” she said. None of them had come out of prison with any burning desire to uphold the law -- she wasn’t the only one who’d just wound up resenting it. She just also hadn’t gone to the extremes of Orla, Niamh, and Shane, when it came to bending it or outright perverting it. She and Mick went on to live rather mild lives of only minor criminal activity, but Shane, Orla, and Niamh? Nope. They were as bad as they’d ever been -- they were just better at it. “What….what exactly happened, to Maureen?”

 

Shane groaned. “Jesus, Fun Size, d’you really need to know?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Christ. She’d had this complete twat’v a boyfriend who liked to drink too much, and while I don’t know the circumstances exactly, I know he stabbed her. She died in hospital the next day.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes. “Jesus. That...that night was the first time I went out with you lot -- when we went to get her from that...gobshite. There was...shit, I don’t know how to put it. It was like I belonged, in a different way that I had with my brothers and sister. The four’v us, we’d been thrown in together, but with the gang...we chose each other. And going to get her, out in that damp summer night...well, listen to me.” She couldn’t really put words around it, of course, because her and useful words were still only passingly acquainted, even now.

 

“I know,” Shane said. “We won then, and in the end she lost anyway.”

 

“Life’s a bitch,” she grumbled, “and then you die.”

 

“Not yet, you don’t. Go be warm, Lorna.”

 

She managed a smile. “I will,” she said. “Bye.”

 

“Bye.”

 

She headed upstairs, to where it was indeed warm, and curled up in bed with her husband and their assorted felines. Maybe it was good Maureen was dead -- she wouldn’t live to see the world end in sixteen years. It was a terrible thought, and not one Lorna wanted.

 

 _Fuck it_ , she thought. Sleep healed many an ill; she’d feel better in the morning.

 

*****

 

{February 16, 2020}

 

Lorna helped Ratiri get the twins up and dressed and fed, but she wound up taking a walk. This was something she ought to do...something with, right? She had a vague feeling that she should, though she couldn’t think _why_ , exactly. It was something that was a thing, and she hadn’t realized it was a thing, and that quite honestly disturbed her. A lot.

 

She wandered through the forest, pensive. She’d always thought her total indifference to ninety-nine percent of the male population was just part of her. Finding out it was something she’d pretty much done to herself was...unsettling. _Had_ she done it to herself? Was she just reading things into it that weren’t there? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done that.

 

 _Well, there’s a lesson_ , Maureen had grumbled, shortly after kicking her would-be attacker right in the fork. _Don’t go admiring, or you’ll get more than you actually want. Gobshite._

 

Oh, it was tempting to just leave it, to let it lie, but instinct told her she shouldn’t. She’d let too many things lie for far too long -- but the question was, what could she actually do about it?

 

This would be kind of an awkward thing to ask Thranduil about, given that, from what she’d been told, elves didn't go admiring anyone they weren't married to, either. Still, he knew her brain better than she herself did, in some ways, so go she would, and wonder if she’d break _his_ brain a little, with this. Sooner or later it had to happen: she’d go to him with some problem so bizarre he’d just go into mental vapor-lock.

 

“I thought I might come out to meet you, and spare us both the trouble of trying to find a place to talk in peace. We are close to your cottage…?”

 

That made her laugh before she could help it, even as she jumped a bit. “Oh, come on,” she said. “I lit a fire in it a few days ago, so it shouldn’t be musty.” She’d been religious about doing that, because she knew how easily the damp could settle into an old house. This was something of a _new_ old house, but still.

 

“I see that your mind is unsettled on something my wife managed to dredge up,” he said kindly. “I hope you do not mind; I could not help but see that bit when we were conversing about Ailill’s family last night.”

 

“I know you can’t,” she said, opening the cottage door. There was no point in locking it out here, so she didn't. “What disturbs me is that it’s something I’d just thought was innate, not something I sort’v...did to myself. You want some tea?”

 

“I suspect we will have it regardless, so yes please,” he smiled, careful as always not to strike his head on the ceiling beams that appeared to always be too low (but were not).

 

“You know me too well,” she said, filling the kettle (there was a hand pump now, in the sink) and putting it on the stove. After she’d kindled a small fire, she stood and looked at him. “I don’t know what to do with this, or if I should do anything with it, but...well, Jesus, it unnerves me, you know? I didn't think there was a reason I’m that way, and I don’t know that I like remembering that there is one.”

 

“Well, what would the worst thing about it be? To you, I mean, since you are the one dealing with this matter.”

 

She pondered, and paced a little. “Well, I don’t like that I forgot something like that,” she said, “and I don’t like that I let it affect me so much. I mean, I know every other woman on the planet at least, I dunno, _eyes_ someone, even if that’s it. I thought I was just weird, not...not...shit, I don’t know what word I want. I mean, I get that you probably don’t even understand what that means, given you’re an elf and all, but still. It’s like I got cheated out’v something, except I cheated _myself_ out.”

 

“Is it fair to say that you are upset because you now realize your behavior is on account of having been traumatized, and not because this is how you want to feel?” He asked carefully, because while he might have more verbal ability than Lorna, it still always felt like a risky proposition to find words for another’s thoughts and emotions.

 

“Er...sort’v,” she said, pulling two mugs down from the cupboard. “I mean, I’ve lived with the shite trauma’s done to me. I’ve found ways to sort’v...work around it. But I’m actually _aware’v_ all that -- what bothers me now is that it’s the result’v trauma I didn't even remember. I’m not sure I'd ever want to feel different -- I mean, am I really missing out on not admiring people who aren’t Ratiri? -- I just wish I’d known about this ages ago. At my time’v life I’m not sure there’s much point trying to change it, honestly.”

 

The kettle steamed, and she eyed it as she grabbed two tea bags. “And...Maureen, she got murdered later. We saved her from that the first time, but somebody killed her later anyway. I'd be lying if I said that wasn’t part’v what’s bothering me.”

 

“But...while I am sorry for your loss...Lorna, the life you led...it is a miracle any of you are here among the living. Collectively you exposed yourself to constant danger. In many cases, you deliberately sought it. The fortunate thing is that you few survived.”

 

She laughed quietly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “I was asking Shane the other night, why us,” she said. “Why we were the ones who survived. There’s...well, I thought I’d made peace with the traumas in my life, as much as I could, anyway. Finding out there was one I didn't even remember makes me wonder, how many more might be waiting to ambush me? And what in God’s blood name am I to do when they do?”

 

Thranduil frowned, trying to discern whether more lay beneath her worries than she expressed. “The first question cannot be answered without scanning your mind so deeply that it would be unwise, and for the second...you can do exactly what you are doing now. Talk with someone you trust about your experiences. I am always willing to listen when you wish to discuss what might bother you, Lorna. But I do worry a little that you will fret more than you need to about what else might happen in the future. I know Earlene often warns herself off of speculative thinking. She calls them ‘what if?’ questions, and feels that they are a dangerous waste of her time and emotional resources, because they attempt to explore outcomes that may never come to pass. So in that regard, she has a point. And yet I sense that this is not helpful to you to hear,” he reflected.

 

She quirked an eyebrow at him, even as she removed the shrieking kettle from the stove. “I guess it’s a holdover from being how I was, but I’m used to thinking’v multiple things that might come to pass.” A memory surface, and made her smile. “You told me once that my mind was interesting because it went off on so many different potential paths. I guess it can’t be un-learned. Oh, I don’t know,” she said, and sighed. “I guess part’v me’s just irritated, too. I wasn’t missing out on much, but I missed out on something, if every bloody woman I know is any indication. They always thought I was weird, and I always thought they were weird. Ugh. D’you want sugar with that?” She didn't keep milk in the fridge unless they were staying overnight, but there was always sugar.

 

“No, thank you. Your sugar bowl is safe until Thanadir comes.” He drummed his fingers. “Don’t unlearn that skill too completely, Lorna,” he cautioned. “It is a fighter’s thinking. And I fear a day will come when you will need to think this way again. I have had the luxury of setting aside that frame of mind for a long time. The sadness lies in not being able to shed this if that is what you wish to do. But, it is not too late. Most everyone I know, with the exception of Sharley, sees the aesthetics in others. Even Thanadir, though he is at the low end of that spectrum. Simply put, there is nothing wrong with noticing another’s beauty, be they man, woman, child, dog, ellon or elleth. There is a vast difference between that and...Siobhan. It is tasteful to notice without making an outward spectacle of it, I think.” He laughed. “Though I am admittedly not tasteful at all with regard to my wife, but she is the one other for whom I may express that admiration openly.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, adding a heaping spoonful of sugar to her own mug. “You’re definitely not subtle about it,” she said, “but I’m not exactly subtle with Ratiri, either, so I can’t throw stones. I wouldn’t know how to admire someone if I tried, but at my age, what’s the point? Although given I'm taking to an eighteen thousand year old elf, maybe that’s not such a great point,” she added. “I can try. Though I’d do myself better if I focused on something...I don’t know, something that was important to someone who isn’t just me. It seems almost selfish to waste time on it, but part’v me wants to. If only to prove that I can.”

 

“I am not certain what is stopping you? I mean, I admire others in my own way, when we are out and about. If I see a very attractive woman, it does not escape my notice that I have done so. Do I write an epic poem about her hair, figure and eyes in my mind? Of course not. But to simply note, ‘that is a lovely firieth?’ Why not? It is my mind, it is private. It goes nowhere. I am not certain I would ever utter it to anyone; the only one who really needs to know of my admiration is Earlene, and I truly do admire her above all others. _Is_ something stopping you?” he asked, curious, blowing on his tea to cool it somewhat.

 

“That’s just it,” she said, sipping her tea, “it’s not something I do on purpose. I don’t consciously tell myself ‘don’t admire this one or that one or anyone who isn’t Ratiri’. If something’s stopping me, it’s something in my mind I’m not aware’v.”

 

“Then…” he sighed. “This is where I hesitate to dish out advice, because I am not a professional when it comes to the twists and turns of the human psyche. But insofar as we elves have commonalities with you, I would say that if it is not causing a perceived lack in your life, perhaps it is best not to worry about it? It would take perhaps one of your psychologists, to give a better answer. And, have you spoken with Ratiri? Your husband is very level-headed and insightful. He may have ideas that in my limited experience, I do not.”

 

“We need to find a shrink,” she said. “Sharley needs to get those friends’v hers out here. I’ll talk to Ratiri, but he does tend to get a little awkward about things like that -- he thinks I’ll get mad that he looks at other women, even though I don’t. He’s a healthy male, and he’s not weird like me; of course he’s going to notice other people. Though I think he feels really awkward that Earlene’s so beautiful -- though not as awkward as poor Pat does. There’s a reason he scoots every time she goes to feed one’v the babies.”

 

“Eru. Well, he ought to get over it. Twins are coming, and that means what, another twelve months of breasts?” he chuckled. “Poor Pat.”

 

The thought made Lorna giggle so hard she snorted into her tea. “When Pat was younger, he was a pervert and honestly kind’v a slut,” she said. “Part’v his whole...growing-up bit was trying to put that behind him. Plus, Earlene is technically related to both’v us. I’m sure that’s an extra creep factor for him. I just let Ratiri know that yes, Earlene has a fantastic rack, and I don’t care if he looks, because how can you not notice it? They’re tits, and they’re very obviously there, and it’s just occurred to me that if I’m going to even half-arse take notice’v anyone, it’s probably another woman. Now there’s something a shrink’d have a field day with.”

 

Thranduil shrugged. “I notice attractive men. Attractive is attractive. It does not mean I wish to have carnal relations with them; it only means I admire that they have a level of beauty given by Eru. Thanadir is one of the most beautiful elves I know, and...I am not certain I will ever completely understand this ‘squick’ thing you lot have invented. Maybe it is for the best.” He grinned and rolled his eyes.

 

“Have you ever heard Siobhan’s nickname for Earlene’s tits? She calls them the hypnoboobies, because once you look, you can’t look away,” Lorna said. “And I wish I didn't know what the concept of squick was, either, but I’m still quite well acquainted with it. Though I’d like to think I’m better about it now.”

 

“I...I am not certain I can un-hear that,” he grimaced. “Damn.” He covered his mouth and chin with his hands, which did not in the least stop him from dissolving into laughter. Which kept on. “You really have to tell Earlene that,” he somehow choked out in between fits of mirth.

 

His laughter made her laugh, so hard she sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “I will,” she said. “Though God, speaking’v squick, apparently Siobhan and Shane’ve been seeing a bit’v each other, and I don’t want to know how much a ‘bit’ actually is. See, I did figure _this_ out -- anyone who’s family to me, blood or otherwise, I just can’t think’v having a romantic life. I just can’t. And I think I can blame _that_ on Pat being a slut with no filters. The things you don’t want to know your brother’s doing….eurgh.” She actually twitched a bit.

 

When he finally collected himself, Thranduil shook his head. “This is probably a safe place to end our discussion, before it goes off the tracks.” The last thing he was about to mention just now was that no one else’s intimate life was likely to be as odd as his...theirs...had become. But they were happy, and that was what mattered. Hopefully all the other couples and...other numerical combinations... out there were as well.

 

“Good idea, but finish your tea first,” Lorna ordered. “My gran used to slap me upside the head if I didn't finish mine. It’s precious, you know.”

 

“I will,” he assented. “But it might go faster had you not mentioned hypnoboobies.”

  


*****

{February 28, 2020}

  


Ailill sat on the bed, trying to control the state of nerves into which he was descending. Calanon’s arm came around him, as the worried ellon plunked down next to him. “She is your sister, nîth vain. You know she loves you. Accepts us. Why are you feeling this way?” His voice was very gentle, as he held his love close.

 

“Because I want it to work, and I am afraid it won’t,” he confessed miserably. “I’ve always liked Mary, Cal. But I kept her at arm’s length because of my parents. Because of how they were toward me. I didn’t want the same for her.”

 

“You tried to protect her?” the ellon asked.

 

“In a way. I didn’t want her dragged into my problems. They were...my problems, not hers.”

 

Calanon held him tighter, kissing his cheeks, until he felt the man’s body relax. “Look at it this way. If it does not go well, nothing will be different in her mind. Only yours. There will be no burden to carry, for her. And there is a chance that it will go well, Ailill. Try to think of that. Be positive.”

 

“I know that is what I should do,” he whispered, returning his mate’s affection with pecks to his lips. “But it is not easy. Thank you. Thank you for being here at my side. I love you.”

 

 _Poor Ailill._ Calanon embraced him tightly, knowing his love looked to him for strength that he was glad to give. After he kissed away tears that were threatening to form, and bade him stand up to inspect his appearance. It was a rainy afternoon, and Calanon brought a smile by fussing and insisting that the man don a sweater. With a soft smile this was accomplished.

 

For Christmas Earlene had also bought each of them Aran sweaters; someday Ailill would have to ask why everyone in the house seemed to have one. Sure, he was Irish too, but there was a bit of an obsession with them for someone who was allegedly American. Downstairs the heavy knocker fell on the door, and the excited chatter of Thaladir calling off Flannery could be heard. Where Kiernan was they had no idea, but at least it meant half the noise.

 

Thaladir pulled the door open just as he was joined by Ithiliel and Eleniel. “Hello,” they chorused at the strange human woman.

 

Sister Mary Kerry blinked and smiled at the shockingly beautiful children arrayed in front of her. “Hello,” she said cheerfully. “I am Ailill’s sister, Mary Kerry. Is he home?”

 

Thaladir blinked and solemnly declared, “Ailill will be downstairs momentarily.”

 

Mary covered her lower face with her hand to mask the grin that broke out all over her face. She did not wish to insult this very proper little boy. _God if he wasn’t the cutest thing to ever walk this earth...and the girls, with those eyes...twins, even._

 

“Please come in,” Eleniel offered. “May I take your coat?” All of the Sullivan children had been trained in exacting standards of etiquette by Adar Thanadir; nothing else would do. Surprised, Mary shed her raincoat, while Earlene appeared.

 

“Hello Mary,” she greeted, offering a hug. “And down, Flannery,” she glared at the hound, who instantly retreated with mild and temporary guilt. “I know Ailill heard the racket. Please come in and sit; tea’s just about ready.” Rather than subject his sister to the full force of one of their family meals right off, Earlene had suggested a real teatime by way of a snack. Thanadir had been bribed into not resisting her efforts, with promises of being able to eat all imperfect results in the food department and extra chocolate-dipped fruit. Of course he helped her prepare all of it, keeping her off her feet more.

 

Ailill and Calanon did appear; he hugged his sister, picking her up off her feet and twirling her around with the force of it. Long suppressed tears came to her eyes. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you,” erupted with a sob, though she tried to contain herself. Calanon looked on, realizing for the first time that emotional difficulties might be something that ran through all of the children in Ailill’s family...that had a heart. He lingered back a little to give them room, offering to help Earlene and Thanadir instead in the kitchen, where trays of tempting treats were loaded for them to enjoy in the Heart Room; a special coffee table was brought in for the occasion.

 

A few minutes later, the ellon brought the scones and cucumber sandwiches and tiny decorated cakes out, followed by Earlene with the things for tea. “Mary, you remember Calanon. Do you mind if he is with us?”

 

“Of course not,” Mary said, rising to pull the bewildered elf into a hug. “You’re to be my brother-in-law. You’re family.” Mary found the man to be surprisingly muscled under what seemed a delicate exterior; his body was as solid as lumber.

 

“Hello, Mary,” Calanon said affably, patting her on the shoulder since he was not sure what else to do.

 

“Some place you’ve got here,” she smiled, looking around. “It’s beautiful in a way that actually looks like something.” Watching while Calanon poured them all tea, she queried in her usual direct manner. “Those were Earlene’s children, at the door?”

 

“Probably,” Ailill smiled. “Blonde green-eyed boy and redheaded blue-eyed girl?”

 

“No, blonde green-eyed boy and identical twin girls.”

 

“Ah. Still yes then, but one was missing. Earlene has three daughters.”

 

Mary processed this while sipping her tea, not minding if she tried some of the treats. But not before she piled some on a plate and gave them to her brother. “You need to eat,” she teased him. This was an old joke between them. “What did that sign say, on the door? Were those letters?”

 

“Yes,” Ailill said cautiously. “It says ‘Eldamar’.”

 

“Does that mean something?”

 

“It means ‘Elven home,” Thranduil said, coming around from the staircase. “I am pleased to meet you. My name is Fionn; Earlene’s husband.”

 

“And my employer,” Ailill said.

 

“Pleased to meet you also,” Mary said with sincerity, standing to shake Thranduil’s hand before sitting again. Thranduil smiled and continued on toward the kitchen, scooping up Thaladir that had appeared and kissing him joyously. If nothing else, it was obvious that long hair was in vogue with the members of this family _...and God weren’t they pretty. Gorgeous, even._ They ate and enjoyed the food in companionable silence or a bit, before out of the blue, the million dollar question was simply blurted out: “Why do they call it ‘elven home’?”

 

Ailill put down his cup and looked intently at his sibling, hesitating before speaking. “How hard would you laugh at me if I told you that elves exist, that I’d always dreamed of finding them, and that I have? Found them?”

 

At first Mary snorted into her tea, until she saw the expression on her brother’s face, and her eyes widened. “You’re not joking, Ailill?” Mary asked softly.

 

“No, I’m not. And the future I can have with you depends wholly on whether or not you can know about this and keep your silence, versus dropping your cup and bolting for the door screaming.”

 

For many seconds, she sat there, blinking, before slouching down a little in her seat. “I believe that _you_ believe this is true, Ailill. I know you’d never lie to me on purpose. But… you do have to realize this seems a little incredible. I don’t mean to come off as acting the maggot, but how can I be sure?”

 

Ailill smiled. “Well, for starters, you’ll find they are all very attractive people. My fiancé is not a man, Mary. Look at his ears.”

 

Calanon obligingly tucked back his hair.

 

“Okayyyyyy…..”

 

“Elves are stronger than humans,” Ailill pressed on. “Would you, Cal?”

 

With a polite nod, the ellon easily hoisted Ailill up to sit on his shoulder, holding his waist as though he weighed little. Mary frowned. Even if this was a very good act, he should have struggled at least a little, to do that.

 

“I know that alone, those two things might not be fully convincing. But my...employer, who is rather more than just my employer, could offer proof beyond any doubt.”

 

“Rather more than your employer?” Mary echoed.

 

“Yes,” Ailill answered. “I will ask him to please come talk with you, if you want more evidence.”

 

“Right after what you tell me what he actually is,” insisted Mary.

 

“He is our King,” answered Calanon truthfully. “The Elvenking.”

 

“You work for an elf king?” she repeated slowly, trying to digest this.

 

“Not exactly,” Ailill sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand, Mary. I don’t work for him, I serve him. He is my King too, and I am his falconer. Or whatever he wishes me to be. He has made me part of his family. A member of his household.”

 

She ate another mini-scone to try and fortify herself. “Wait. Earlene isn’t an elf, is she?”

 

“No, Earlene is human.”

 

“Um, just a minute.” Earlene was obviously still in the kitchen, so Mary felt free to wander the few steps in that direction. Outside the window, Thranduil was racing Flannery back and forth, back and forth, to the delighted giggles of his son who rode on his shoulders, their flaxen hair streaming behind them. “Sorry to bother you,” she said to Earlene who was watching the scene unfolding outside with a happy grin.

 

“No bother,” Earlene smiled, before her face changed. “Uh-oh. They told you, didn’t they?” she asked with sympathy.

 

Mary nodded her head. “This is true? I mean, you were a lawyer. I didn’t mean to pry but I looked you up when you left me your card. You were… I mean, Christ, you’re not the sort to buy into stuff that’s a load’v...that’s not true.”

 

“It _is_ true,” Earlene said. “And I know it’s hard to digest. It was for me. Your brother quite possibly has the distinction of being the first human to perceive what the elves were on sight and not really bat an eye. More than that, really.”

 

“He did?” Mary asked, floored.

 

“Yes. Of all of us that live in this home on a regular basis, six are elves. Elves of this forest. Our world here is different and wonderful beyond anything you can imagine, but we also have to protect it. There is a price for what you have learned, and that is your silence. You cannot tell others what you know of us here. The authority to tell new people rests only with my husband. And I have to warn you, he will know if you have kept our requirement.”

 

“How?” Mary asked, genuinely curious. She already knew she had no intention of betraying anything that had given Ailill happiness, but this all sounded...otherworldly.

 

“My husband can read your mind, as he can mine.”

 

*****

 

After a delicious meal at a boisterous family table, Mary reluctantly unwrapped her arms from her brother in order to drive back home. Though, after just a quarter mile down the road, she found a need to pull off in the little town of Lasg’len to think for a moment. _It’s all true. Every bit of it. My brother is in love with an elf, and there is a beautiful fortress hidden in those woods, and I can be part of it now. Just…_ she had to yank a tissue to blot at her eyes, and her hands were trembling a little at how much she really did not want to drive home. She wanted to turn around and… _this non-profit farm they explained_ … suddenly a resolve formed in her mind. They’d asked her back next weekend, offered for her to spend the night if she wished. “I’ll beg them for a job,” she murmured. “I’ve money put by, and to not have to work with John and watch da storm around all day not speaking to me on account of Ailill? Fuck that. Fuck _them_. Right now I’m half wanting to do what Ailill did. Wait, no. Not that. I can’t go that far in...and later, I need to understand why Ailill gave himself over to a king...but it’s elves and... just,calm down, Mary. Drive home, go to bed. And give mam even more shite than before. If she won’t come around, I might have to kill her myself.” Feeling more settled, she took a deep breath carefully put the car in gear again, and kept on toward Killarney.

 


	113. One Hundred and Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 16-20,  2020

Lorna was pretty sure everything was perfect, but even if it wasn’t, too late now -- Grania and Lorna the Younger were on their way. Pat and Saoirse had been safely packed off to the coast the night before; the girl didn't actually know why they were taking a trip, but she was hardly going to protest. Any time they could go somewhere that would give her fresh artistic fodder, she was all over it.

 

Earlene, who had for some time now been in the Land Whale stage, had been firmly assigned a supporting role for this evening -- Ratiri was doing something elaborate and Indian. He’d been cooking more and more Indian food, because it was the only excuse he had to take over the kitchen; it was the only food category he could confidently say he had more skill in, and while Earlene might argue, she couldn’t argue very hard.

 

The brick oven had proven perfect for tandoori chicken, which, with a little tweaking, wouldn’t scald the mouths of his guests or fellow householders. Naan bread, an assortment of fresh fruit (largely so Earlene could see it was there), and a wide assortment of drinks -- including lassi, a traditional drink he was not going to tell anyone was yogurt-based, in case it put them off. It had fruit juice in it, and that was all anyone needed to know. And God help him, he’d made kulfi again -- yeah, it was a raging pain the ass, but it was so tasty. And because it was so aggressively Indian, he could steer Earlene and her swollen feet gently to other tasks.

 

Besides, watching her with her chair was the best thing he’d seen in  _ aaaages _ . It wasn’t just her, oh no -- there was usually at least one child perched on the arm, and possibly a dog. Everyone wanted a ride on the thing, which was just as well, since it would still be around after she’d given birth. Both of them would; the second lived in a spare room, unless Earlene wanted to go to the Halls.

 

“All right, you lot, they ought to be here soon!” Lorna called. “That means Tail needs to get shut up somewhere.” They were not having a repeat of the chicken tikka, no matter how hilarious it had been.

 

“Right after the picture,” Earlene hollered back. At the moment she was wheeling out the door that Ailill obligingly held open for her, while Calanon stood nearby and grinned. Tail was perched on the top of her armchair, as he often was these days. In fact, everyone was hard-pressed to recall when the last time was anyone had seen him move, though obviously he must for food and...things. The poor cat was probably going to go into mourning for the chair once she delivered the children and it was no longer needed.

Flannery sat on one armrest, sniffing the breezes, while Thaladir sat behind his dog. “Nana, watch the doorjamb!” he piped as always. So she had missed  _ a little _ , just that one time. Sue her. Ithiliel and Eleniel were tucked up on the other armrest, and Allanah sat on Earlene’s knees with her freshly done blue hair, leaning carefully against her enormous belly. All her children seemed to like to rub her abdomen in fascination, not that she could blame them. Her and Lorna had taken to calling it The Alien when no children were around, because frankly...Earlene was not so goochy goochy maternal that she couldn’t appreciate an obvious sci-fi analogy when she heard one. Though, they were pretty careful not to mention it around Thanadir. 

 

Sharley followed, vastly amused, closing the door behind all of them. Calanon’s job was just to take pictures, as they all rolled out onto the verdant grass. Ailill and Sharley stood behind the chair, with Thia held up proudly and at an angle that somehow managed to keep Tail from noticing the bird. Calanon snapped away, laughing as he went, because it was as absurd of a family photo as anyone could ever hope to have. Until Lorna came out, that is, and offered Earlene one of Ratiri’s fancy yogurt drinks that happened to have a paper umbrella in it, which of course necessitated Lorna posing down somewhere near Earlene’s feet. Either way, a great many independent opinions would be set forth as to exactly what happened next, and for years to come.

 

Earlene was taking a sip of the drink, which amounted to half of the drink, because she was quite hungry when it was given to her. Thia screeched, which caused all twenty pounds of Tail to panic and seek escape. His path of exit involved Flannery, who yelped and knocked into Earlene’s glass as she leaped over Earlene’s belly. The mixture went into the air and all anyone really knew after was that Ithiliel and Eleniel were on the ground yelling that Flannery scratched them, Thaladir tripped and face-planted in the grass because he tried to chase after the dog that weighed more than he did, and there was lassi in Lorna’s hair. Calanon, the useless elf, was kneeling in the grass, laughing so hard he was crying, while Ailill just stood there a moment, uncertain what to do (though, it did occur to him to chastise his other half for not helping the children). Sharley went much the same route as Calanon, though she did help the twins when she recovered a little.

 

Somehow, Earlene’s belly was unscathed in all of this, though Thranduil came running out of the house in something of a panic. It did not help when he saw the full scene, and joined Calanon in laughing. Earlene shook her head.

 

“Um, I’m really sorry, Lorna. It seemed like a good idea three minutes ago?” was all Earlene could manage, as she licked the dribbled blobs of lassi off of her wrist. Allanah had some in her hair too but seemed unperturbed; she simply stuck it in her mouth.

 

“Eh, it happens,” Lorna said, dabbing at her hair with her shirt -- she’d need to rinse it out and change her shirt, but oh well. “And Jesus wasn’t that...er, something.” She burst into giggles, unable to help it, because honestly, that couldn’t have been more perfect if they’d planned it that way.

 

She heard gravel crunch in the driveway, and her eyes widened. “All right, you lot just...be you. I'll be right back.” Off she dashed, in search of a clean shirt and a tap for her hair.

 

Ratiri was pretty sure that them ‘being them’ was what had resulted in this in the first place, but it was just...he couldn’t help it. He’d held his laughter in, but he could manage it no longer, and he covered his face as he gave up and all but cackled. “Well, if that isn’t at least a good indication of...us,” he said, shaking his head. “At least they know what they’re getting themselves into.”

 

“Do they, though?” Sharley asked, wiping Allanah’s face. “How can they?”

 

“Well, they’ll find out soon enough,” Ratiri said. He saw them approached past the barn, Lorna the Younger bearing a cardboard carton of some sort. “Come on, you two -- we’ve just had a bit of...well, something.”

 

Lorna the Younger and Grania goggled in openmouthed wonder at the double greenhouse they were passing, unable to see what if anything was inside. Not much changed when they caught sight of Earlene, and kids everywhere, plus one of the prettiest men they had ever seen holding a bird of prey and...Jesus, an even prettier man that came out of nowhere to stand next to him and...what even was that thing she was sitting in, and Christ wasn’t Earlene pregnant?

 

“Hi!” she smiled, motoring up, offering her hand. “We’re so glad you were able to make it. Sorry about the chaos, we were having a family moment that sort’v...went like things around here go.”

 

Thranduil appeared from...wherever. “Grania, Lorna, welcome,” he said kindly, offering hugs.

 

“Is everything all right?” Grania asked, eying the...well. The whatever this was.

 

“Aunt Lorna says you’re too tall to hug. You really are,” Lorna the Younger added, just about breaking her neck in the attempt. “Then again she also says if you poke Uncle Ratiri in the side he squeaks like a hamster, so who even knows.”

 

“I do not!” Ratiri protested, sounding totally put out.

 

“Actually, you kinda do,” Sharley said. “There’s nibbles and stuff inside, you guys. Go on in, we’ll deal with all these kiddos.”

 

“To answer your actual question, I’m fine,” Earlene said cheerfully. “I’m just very pregnant. Last time this happened I pretty much couldn’t walk in my late pregnancy, so our Lorna built me this. Nifty, huh? Now I can get around mostly on my own and plus it’s cheap entertainment too.”

 

“That thing’s brilliant,” Lorna the Younger said, circling it. “You’ll have to keep using it even after you’ve had your kid -- though Aunt Lorna says it’s twins, am I right?” How Earlene’s stomach could have swelled that large...good grief. How had she not popped?

 

“I’m glad I made it to carry one hell’v a load,” Lorna said, emerging from the house with a clean shirt and slightly damp hair. “It’s usually also got a cat, at least two kids, and a dog.” The lamp tended to be on, too, as it was right now. Just...because.

 

“Well, I intend to get  _ fit _ again after I have these kids,” she laughed. “But yes, I take your point. It is too much fun, and will get used.” 

 

“You are still very strong, Earlene,” Thranduil reassured. “Even if you are convinced you are wasting away from inactivity, it is not the case.”

 

“If you say so, beloved.”

 

“I do, actually.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes, but grabbed his hand to kiss it. They were all getting rather excited, honestly, in their bedroom. Not  _ that _ way, but for the impending babies. So soon, the three of them would meet their sons, but as the sons in question had not dropped yet, it seemed that they were in no hurry. 

 

“Christ, I can’t imagine twins,” Grania said, as Lorna the Elder lead them all inside. “Lorna here was bad enough. I had the worst heartburn, but she came out with a full head’v hair, which I guess was why. Not sure that isn’t just some wives’ tale, but it’s a hell’v a coincidence if it isn’t.”

 

“At least there’s absolutely no chance they’ll be sharing a birthday with other kids here,” Lorna the Elder said. “I still can’t believe Earlene and I went into labor on the same bloody day, with her first kids. Talk about a nightmare and a half.”

 

“Oh, what’s that we’re eating?” Lorna the Younger asked, shutting her eyes and sniffing. “Smells like heaven.”

 

“Ask your uncle. Something Indian and tasty. Earlene, d’you need anything there? Towels, or what have you?”

 

“Nah, I’m good. If I missed anything, one of the dogs will find it.” Scent hounds, she had learned, were very useful creatures. “But I hope he’s almost done, I’m starving.” It was a household joke; she was always starving. Because she could eat maybe a softball-sized amount of food, then wanted more just an hour later. They’d figured out four weeks ago to divide her meals onto small salad plates, because she needed three or four dinners, most nights.

 

“All it’s got to do is cool down enough to eat it,” Ratiri promised. “Grania, Lorna, can I get you anything to drink? God that’s going to be weird to say.”

 

“Er,” Grania said, “what’ve you got?”

 

“Try what Earlene had,” Lorna the Elder suggested. “It’s like a creamy fruit smoothie.”

 

Mother and daughter looked at each other. “Okay,” Lorna the Younger said, and let herself take in her surroundings. “Aunt Lorna says you lot mostly built this place by yourself,” she said, to the room at large. “That her friend Orla did up the plans and things like the wiring, but you built the rest’v it yourselves?”

 

“Yes. Most all of the materials came from the elves. Lorna and I personally cussed at every piece of ceramic in every mosaic; we did most of those with Thanadir’s oversight. Well,  _ all _ of it was with Thanadir’s oversight, honestly; he designed the home, and Orla took care to make sure that details pertaining to modern human amenities would mesh with what he had drawn. Some parts of it are built with ‘normal’ framing but otherwise it is what is called an Earthship. It’s made from mud, straw, used tires and even bottles of Guinness are embedded in some of the walls; you’ll see a lot of decoration with glass; some of that is just empty liquor bottles. For all it’s huge, most of the cost was in appliances and furnishings and the electrical work; most materials were free. Well, not the greenhouses, either. Those were something of a delayed add-on, took more time to complete, and we just hired Orla outright for that. Have our Lorna take you around, there’s quite a lot to see. Feel free to look in our bathrooms, too; that’s where all the fun mosaics are.” She had made sure that their room was quite tidy, not that it was ever a mess. 

 

“Seriously, those things took _ forever _ ,” Lorna the Elder said. “It got to the point where we finished them just because we were too sick’v them to give the satisfaction’v giving up. That and Thanadir would never’ve let us live it down.”

 

She led the two of them off, and Ratiri shook his head. “All right, look at that one, and look at that one, and tell me this isn’t at least a little unsettling,” he said. “Saoirse’s a child, it’s not this...jarring.” Lorna the Younger’s hair was shorter, and it had no grey in it, but otherwise...yes, she looked younger than her aunt, but not by a whole lot. They could have been sisters, and it was  _ creepy. _

 

“No different than the first time we met her,” Earlene mused. “You should honestly be grateful neither of your kids looks just like her too. The genetic gods were kind to you.”

 

“Maybe not  _ just  _ like, but close enough,” Ratiri said. “Shane looks more and more like her every day, and Chandra might not have her coloring, but just pay attention to her facial features. I’d better hope they get my height, or you won’t know they’re my children. It really is disturbing, and I wonder which Donovan ancestor sold their soul for such potent genetics.”

 

Sharley snorted. “What a weird thing to sell your soul for,” she said, and followed after Grania and the Lornas (hey, band name…)

 

Lorna led her niece and Grania to the Quiet Room, with its glass mosaic windows. “Even on a grey day it’s pretty in here,” she said. “The glass makes anything look warm. All the outer walls’ve got loads’v little glass bits, if not entire windows.” And that, plus the electricity, was a huge reason she preferred Eldamar to the Halls:  _ daylight.  _ There was some light in the main caverns, but in the private flats? Nope. No light, no windows. It had really started to get to her after a while, when they were trapped by Von Herpesface.

 

“And you lot did all this yourselves?” Grania asked, touching the windows.

 

“We did. And Christ, didn’t it suck after a while. If you ever build your own home, hire out that bit.”

 

“What’s this room for?” Lorna the Younger asked. There really wasn’t a whole lot of furniture; a really big, long sofa, and that was it.

 

“We call it the Quiet Room. Basically, if anyone wants to de-stress, or just sit and read or whatever, this is where they come to do it. Thranduil, Earlene, and Thanadir usually read the news in here, but otherwise we’re in the Heart Room.”

 

“Heart Room?” Grania asked, following her. She led them through the kitchen, staying out of Ratiri’s way, and into the airy, bright room dominated by the river-rock fireplace.

 

“It’s kind’v a joke,” she said. “Pat and I, we can’t say ‘hearth’, like a fireplace hearth, right, so everyone started calling it the Heart Room.” She sort of managed the ‘th’...sort of. Half-assed. And yes, she spat a little. Sue her.

 

“And he lives in here somewhere?” Grania asked, a little carefully.

 

“He does. He and Saoirse are up in Ratiri’s and my wing -- we’re upstairs, but he’s downstairs. Has his own little studio to himself. I can show you, though I’m sure it’s a bloody mess. Normally he’s a tidy man, but I guess he’s taken to woodcarving, because there’s shavings everywhere.  _ Everywhere.  _ The cats keep sicking them up.”

 

Grania looked startled by the offer, but Lorna the Younger was inspecting a painting on the wall. It was the Upper Falls at Yellowstone, the gold of the sunrise going well with the light coming in through the windows. “Where’s that?”

 

“Yellowstone. Saoirse did it, when we got home. There’s loads’v them all over the house.”

 

“Bloody Jesus...you said she was good, but  _ God _ ,” Grania said. “And she’s what, ten?”

 

“Eleven, now,” Lorna said. “We can’t figure out where she got that skill, because it sure as fuck wasn’t from the Donovans.”

 

“What happened to her mother?” Grania asked.

 

Lorna sighed. “We don’t know,” she said. “Saoirse thinks she’s dead, but Pat told me she just sort’v...ran off. Had something wrong with her, but wouldn’t see a doctor -- something mental she didn't want to admit was there, or something like that -- and walked out one day and never came home. He hasn’t been able to find her since, which isn’t a surprise, but Orla can’t, either, which means she maybe actually  _ is  _ dead.”

 

“What, and he never tried again, after that?” her niece asked. “Just gave up on...everything?”

 

“Look, my brother’s a fuck-up,” Lorna said. “He knows it, and he didn't want to go ruining another relationship, so he just...didn't. It was him and Saoirse until we bumped into him, literally, in Limerick. Then they moved in here, and...well, you’ve seen this household. Madness, it is, and that’s on a good day. 

 

“Saoirse, she goes to school here, along with the rest’v our kids -- c’mon, let me show you the classroom-slash cinema.”

 

“The what--?” Grania asked, a little helplessly. “Aren’t most’v these kids too young for school?”

 

“The peredhel -- the half elves, Earlene and Thranduil’s kids -- develop mentally faster than humans,” Lorna explained. “Eleniel and Ithiliel are three, but mentally they’re more like seven or so. Thaladir’s around...four, I think, mentally? And while my twins are human, their father’s a bloody genius, literally, and they took after him. They just turned three in February and Ratiri’s already taught them to read, the bastard.” Yes, she was somewhat annoyed she hadn’t been brought in on that, thanks so much. Oh well. “Saoirse, she’s...different. Ratiri thinks she’s an aspie. She doesn’t read social cues very well at all, and when she’s wrapped up in drawing or painting, sometimes you have to literally poke her with a stick to shift her. Pat say she bit him once, when she was little.”

 

Grania stared at her. “And the two’v them are off...somewhere?”

 

“Limerick, for a little holiday. I think he wants to go back to the pub he worked at and be a customer for once. Although,” she said, thoughtful, “last time he went there, I was with him, and I lamped one’v his old co-workers for suggesting a driving instructor that turned out to be a creepy pervert paedophile, so...maybe not such a great idea.”

 

“Your lives certainly aren’t boring, are they?” Grania asked, and Lorna burst out laughing.

 

*****

 

It was time for dinner, so of course Earlene had to use the toilet again. This part of pregnancy, she could do without. However, she had gained a remarkable facility for opening doors without getting out of her chair. Reaching for the second knob that would admit her to her bedroom, the door was pulled open from the inside. Thanadir waved her inside with a smile.

 

“You have been hiding in here,” she said accusingly, inching herself forward to prepare for standing up with what felt like fifty pounds of baby attached to the front of her. Though, the scale insisted it was far less than that. She need not have bothered; Thanadir gently drew her up out of the chair. “My muscles are going to atrophy if you two don’t let me do more on my own,” Earlene chided.

 

“You said something like that last time, too,” he gently teased. “I cannot carry the child in  _ my _ body, Earlene. Let me do this for you.”

 

That was when it dawned on her, as she steadied herself against him. “You would, if you could, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Yes,” he said shyly. “You have no idea how grateful I have been, to share your thoughts while pregnant. To know what your body feels like, all the time. It is a miracle to me, but...the limit of my contribution was the start of the process.”

 

“I will argue with you after I take care of relieving myself,” she smiled. Was her bladder even the size of a golf ball these days? It did not really feel like it.  _ Oh, much better _ … As she washed her hands, she considered.  _ You have to know how much it is you do. Not only helping me, but once the children are born. You do so much more than I do. Tirelessly. You are a wonderful father. I am just good for...this part. After that, not so much. _

 

_ I would disagree. So I suppose the point of it is, we would disagree with each other, and between the three of us children are born and loved? _

 

“Fair enough,” she chuckled.

 

“Let me carry you to dinner? Please?”

 

“If you insist.”

 

In a moment she was seated at the table, where she reluctantly had to let go of him and pretend she was an adult. Really.

 

Ratiri had got the twins settled in when Lorna, Grania, and Lorna the Younger arrived; the latter two looked slightly dazed, and he wondered if his wife had dragged them over the whole house. It was a beautiful house, but admittedly overwhelming for one not used to it.

 

Their table could be overwhelming, too, especially given Ailill and Calanon were with them. At least there were no hawks in evidence, and Tail was hopefully somewhere safe away from their chicken. “All right, everyone, get settled and we’ll get the food started.”

 

Thanadir welcomed Grania and Lorna to their home, not having been present earlier. “Was your travel from Dublin alright?” he asked.

 

“Wasn’t bad, all things considered,” Grania said. “I mean, the M7’s only good at about midnight, but it’s not really a long trip. I had no idea this little village was even here, though, and Lorna here was wondering, Thranduil, did you do that on purpose? Make this place sort’v...fall off the map, or is it just one’v those dying villages nobody thinks about much, so they might as well not exist outside?”

 

“I made my forest fall off the map,” he smiled. “But the village being what it is is all on its own. However, it definitely...helped our cause, that this was the case.”

 

“It is obscure, but so are a lot of places,” Earlene said. “When I was looking for a place to buy, a lot of properties around tiny villages were vetted out. Lasg’len is definitely not the only one.”

 

“We had to wonder,” Lorna the Younger said, as Ratiri brought out a big platter of chicken. “Lasg’len not being an Irish name, and all. Though it’s not as odd as Swords.”

 

“There’s an actual place called Swords?” Ratiri asked.

 

“There is,” Grania said dryly. “Not that any outsiders believe it. Christ, anymore half the Irish don’t, either, our education’s that bad.”

 

“There’s a town in California called Weed,” Sharley offered. “And a city in Oregon called Boring.”

 

Lorna choked on a laugh, and utterly failed to keep it to herself. “ _ Weed? _ ” she asked.

 

“Oh yes. There’s a worse name in Newfoundland, but it’s not fit for general company -- meaning small ears.”  _ Thranduil you can tell the adults it’s named Dildo _ , she added.  _ And there’s a place in Austria called Fucking. _ “I guess even cartographers, or whoever, get bored.”

 

“Phtt,” said Earlene. “We’ve got Throop, Butternuts, Lackawanna and Neversink in New York. And I could keep going. Ohhhhh, Butternuts! I have another name!”

 

“Oh, Eru no,” Thranduil muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

Lorna cackled. “Embrace it, Thranduil,” she said, spearing some chicken with her fork. Under her example, Grania and Lorna the Younger did as well. Ratiri dished up for the twins. “You’ll have a whole herd’v cattle called Butter-something. Just look at it this way, maybe it somehow affects them so we get better butter? Weirder things’ve happened.”

 

“Given that talking to plants seems to actually work, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Ratiri said, bringing out several plates of naan bread, as well as the fruit.

 

“Thank you, Ratiri,” Earlene smirked, not meeting Thranduil’s eyes. Thanadir’s gaze smiled at her warmly. He did not mind ButterEverything. Living with Lorna taught him how much worse it might be. Just then Earlene’s eye fell on Saoirse’s kitten. She trusted no feline around any meat at dinner, and eyed it warily.

 

“Oh, come here, you,” Lorna said, when he mewed pitifully. She picked him up and put him on her lap, where he was content to curl up and purr. “This little one’s Saoirse’s, and he’s the neediest little shit I’ve ever seen. Mammy’s gone, so he doesn’t know what to do. Unlike the rest’v our little monsters, though, he actually seems like he’s a  _ good  _ kitty.” The tiny little thing just sat and purred like a motorboat, happy now that he was with a human.

 

“What’s his name?” Grania asked.

 

“Booger. She found out my sister had a cow named Booger as a kid, so Pat took her to get a kitten. I’ll show you this one once we’re done eating -- he’s even got a black dot on his nose, so calling him Booger actually fits.”

 

Ratiri simply couldn’t not laugh each and every time that story got told. If anything, the acquisition of the kitten had just made it even funnier, because he had an actual booger. The fact that he was adorable, and loved everyone, really didn't hurt -- though he was very much Saoirse’s cat. He was a cuddle-bug of a cat, but if she was in the house, he preferred to be where she was.

 

Sharley grinned. “See, Thranduil, it really could be worse. Better Butternut that Boogernut.”

 

“Can anyone here tell me why I try?” he asked to no one in particular.

 

“The dignity of the monarchy?” Thanadir offered, genuinely trying to be helpful.

 

Thranduil froze, rendered completely speechless. 

 

Earlene broke in, determined to help him salvage a rhetorical question that would have been better left unasked. Reaching over, she patted him on the hand. “You do very well, all of the time. Were it not for you, the house would probably fall into chaotic disorder and we would only watch Star Trek reruns all day. But, we have to enjoy our human humor. It keeps us out of trouble.”

 

“And then no one feels repressed,” Thanadir added happily.

 

Ailill looked helplessly at Calanon, who smiled and shrugged.

 

“And there would be cats where cats do not belong,” Ratiri added. “More so than there already are, anyway.”

 

“Yeah, and there would be one less person to hug,” Lorna put in.

 

“And we’d probably all be zooming around on chairs like Earlene’s,” Sharley continued.

 

“ _ Nyoom _ .” It was the closest to a zooming sound as Lorna could come up with at the moment.

 

“If it is not too forward of me, Thranduil, I would rather be here than my own home a hundred times over. You are the kind of father I wish I could have had,” Ailill said quietly.

 

Lorna raised her glass. “And somebody I’m happy to call my brother, even if you’re adopted.”

 

“And as good a friend as anyone could want,” Ratiri added.

 

“Plus, you always try to help, even when they’re nothing in it for you,” Sharley said.

 

“There,” Earlene smiled, squeezing Thranduil’s hand. “Now you have your answer.”

 

“I suppose I do,” he murmured, smiling. “Thank you all.”

 

“No,” Grania said unexpectedly, “thank  _ you _ . I’d be dead if not for you. They’d given me six months when I was diagnosed. I’d be in the ground long since by now, and Lorna here’d be alone in the world.”

 

The girl in question shuddered. “Christ, Mam, don’t even say that,” she whispered. “I still have bloody nightmares.”

 

Earlene chose to ignore that potentially depressing topic in favor of lamenting that she was...already full. And with a grimace, she realized that it was necessary to find a restroom again. Quite soon. The toilets in the foyer were not really that far away...

 

Thanadir instantly moved to help her. “I’m probably fine,” she muttered, never quite liking this part.

 

“Yes, but I prefer ‘definitely fine.’ It is not your fault that you have so much pressure on your nerves,” he reassured. “I would rather you not have a mishap at this late juncture.”

 

Earlene sighed, and did her best to hold her belly with her arms. It really was easier that way. It reduced what she thought of as ‘the waddle.’ “Be back,” she grinned and rolled her eyes.

 

“Those’re going to be the biggest babies ever,” Lorna said. “Too big. Eleniel, Ithiliel, you were reasonable-sized babies, but I’m betting those two’ll be close to a stone each, if not more.”

 

“She’s tall enough to carry them...okay, at least,” Sharley said. “But there’s two of them. Marty was a big freaking baby, but she was the only one. Hopefully it won’t be too much longer before those two get sick of fighting for space and want out into the world.”

 

“Mine were kickboxing, by the end’v it,” Lorna said, glowering down at her children. “You made me so uncomfortable, you two. At least it prepared me for what you’d be like when you were born.” She poked the tip of each child’s nose, and they giggled.

 

“So I was thinking,” she added, looking at Grania, “if you’ve got any questions about...anyone...you might talk to Thranduil. He could give you better answers than anyone else here.”

 

The woman blinked, startled, and looked at the elf in question. “I...might,” she said. “If it’s okay.”

 

Thranduil sighed. “Except we all know, that if I am going to have that kind of discussion, I would need the express consent of the third party.”

 

_ As if you don’t already have it, _ Lorna said, rolling her eyes. Aloud, she said, “Give me five minutes on my mobile after dinner. I’m sure I can get it.” Pat wasn’t quite as shit with words as she was, but he was pretty bad; if he didn't welcome the idea with open arms, she’d be very, very surprised.

 

_ I do not need the Bad Elf Award getting any larger than it already is, and you know it. This is important, Lorna. I have to be sure beyond doubt, or it is a horrible violation of a person’s right to privacy. Be happy that it matters to me to insist on this; the alternative would please no one. _

 

She pondered this.  _ Actually, I have a few more things to weld to that thing anyway,  _ she said, trying not to grin.  _ Okay, point taken. But I guarantee you I’ll have it inside’v...not even five minutes. Probably forty-five seconds. You’re the only one who can actually reassure Grania. I’m sure she thinks I’m kind of biased, even though I might not realize it, just because Pat’s my brother. You can read his mind. You out of anyone’ll know, so she’ll trust you. _

 

_ I suppose. Is there dessert first? _

 

_ You sound frighteningly like Thanadir _ , she said, and now she  _ did  _ grin.  _ Yes, there’s dessert first. And coffee, or wine, or...whatever. _

 

_ Good. Then it buys me time.  _ To the rest of the table, what seemed like an inexplicable smirk spread over his features. “What did you make for dessert, Ratiri?”

 

“Kulfi, if it worked right,” he said. “Fruit kulfi. At least I had more time to properly freeze it this go-round.”

 

“What’s kulfi?” Lorna the Younger asked.

 

“It’s a kind of ice cream popular in India,” he said. “Bit of a bastard to make, but if it’s done right, it’s worth it.”

 

Lorna snuck her mobile out of her pocket and texted Pat:  _ can thranduil tell grania about you?? _

 

About thirty second later, it dinged:  _ yes hows it going? _

 

_ good, shut up and i’ll give you details later. _

 

  1. _you are an annoying lil sister._



 

_ fuck you too, have fun with saoirse _ .

 

_ Fine. You were right,  _ Thranduil related silently, rolling his eyes.  _ But not until after dessert, and not in front of the entire family. That conversation deserves some semblance of privacy. _

 

She quirked an eyebrow at him.  _ Of course I was right, he’s my brother. And I figured as much -- Grania might want one-on-one for that. _

 

It disturbed him, how much he wanted to stick his tongue out at her, but he refrained and instead inclined his head. ‘Dignity of the monarchy.’

  
  


*****

 

The daylight still streamed the jewel-tone colors through the window in the Quiet Room, where Thranduil invited Grania to take a seat. “Our room for silence or at the very most, quiet conversation,” he explained. “It has the advantage of being one of the more private open spaces in our home, give or take the greenhouses. But I can assure you, it is more comfortable in here.” He smiled in a manner he hoped was encouraging, and assessed her for a moment. “I know you have certain questions about Pat, and I have been given his permission to answer them. There are two reasons why Lorna has asked me to speak with you. The first is that my people, elves, we do not lie. The second is that because of my gifts of insight, it is simply not possible for any human to hide their character from me. I see the heart, one might say. So, ask what you will.”

 

Grania sighed, and gazed at the colored glass that glowed in the sunlight. Nerves fluttered in her gut, in spite of the frankly excellent meal she’d just eaten. “Is he actually better?” she asked. “Lorna says he’s changed, and there don’t seem to be many flies on her, but he’s her brother. She’d want to think that, wouldn’t she? We’ve emailed a bit, him and I, but that’s...well, anyone could write anything in an email. What’s he like, now?” 

 

The plain truth was that, though Pat had been a gobshite and there were times she’d wanted to lamp him into next Wednesday, she had genuinely loved him, and it had about broken her heart when he left and never returned. It had made her hate him, too, because why should she be so upset over somebody who’d been so worthless? She should have been able to just write him off, but she hadn’t, not fully. And now he’d resurfaced, and he’d apparently changed -- but if Grania had learned anything, it was that if something looked too good to be true, odds were that it was.

 

Thranduil met her eyes, before beginning his answer.“I did not know Pat long ago, but I have seen his memories. He no longer drinks to excess or uses drugs. The man I met was one whose determination was foremost to care for his daughter in the best way he could. I am sure Lorna told you we found him working at a very menial job in Limerick. He has a certain amount of pride in wishing to contribute and ‘pull his weight,’ I think you would say. Like the rest of us he is not perfect in every way. But he has compassion and love for his family. He is dutiful. I know that he is filled with regret for his treatment of you and your daughter. With the Donovans; there is a temper there. A fierceness to defend themselves and their loved ones against outsiders. A certain difficulty in controlling a quick temper. But Pat has controlled it. I have seen proof of that, more than once. The worst I have seen Pat do is cuss or walk out of the room in anger. And yet I am certain that in our large family, that behavior has not been limited to Pat.”

 

She picked at the hem of her shirt. Picturing Pat as a hard-working family man was...pretty bloody hard, actually. She’d known he had it in him somewhere -- he wasn’t a stupid man, not by any stretch of the imagination, and when he sobered up he was grand. The problem was, he was so rarely sober, and even more rarely as time went on. Eventually, after turning all of that over, she looked up at Thranduil. “Can I trust him?” she asked. “If I do talk to him again, really talk to him, can I trust him to not just...I don’t know, relapse? Because he was forever saying he’d change, and he did -- for a while. Sooner or later it always went to hell again, but he’s been living with you what, two years now? Three?”

 

“Two, I think,” Thranduil said. “I can comfortably say you can trust the man he is right now. He rises early every day, to labor in my Halls. He never complains, and is always quick to help. Saoirse and Lorna mean the world to him.” He paused. “If you do not already know this, Saoirse is….not right, in some ways. She is an exceedingly intelligent and talented child with zero ability to understand social cues, not cuss, or have any awareness of when not to blurt out that which is rather inappropriate. We are all working with her, and Pat has shown her great love and patience. Grania, I cannot see the future. But I can tell you that were he to relapse, he would have to face Lorna, my wife and me, vaguely in that order. And I would not envy him one bit of it. Given the future we all face...where, exactly, would he go?”

 

“Lorna mentioned Ratiri thinks Saoirse has Asperger’s, or something like it,” Grania said. Trying to imagine Pat raising a special needs child...he’d alternately been good and utterly shite with their Lorna. There were days he’d play silly games with her for hours on end, and days he seemed to forget her existence. That he could possibly be attentive enough to handle a kid that would need much attention all the time...it almost didn't compute. “She also said the lot’v you’d probably rip off all his limbs and beat him to death if he went back to what he’d been, but...well, sometimes I’m never sure if she’s kidding or not.”

 

She sighed. “Part’v me wants to trust him, and part’v me doesn’t dare. He burned me, horribly, if you’ve ever heard that expression -- means he fucked me over. And...I don’t know how to trust him. Not after everything, but my Lorna, she should know her da. I think she wants to -- or at least, half’v her does. She’s got some’v the same resentments I do, but...well, shit. What should I do?”

 

Thranduil grimaced. “Lorna is not kidding, for better or worse. Yet, that has to be your decision, Grania. I could point out to you that you are agonizing over a choice, when the subject of your concern is someone you no longer know. You could choose to learn about the man he is now. Not from others, but from personal experience. Or you could turn away, and not pursue this. I do not believe you would be here, were you seriously entertaining that notion.” He steepled his hands together in contemplation, before speaking further. “You will face a decision at some point that has nothing to do with Pat, and everything to do with you. And that is the question of forgiveness, and whether you will be able to manage that. None of your efforts will amount to anything if there is not a place in your heart that can pardon him for his past misdeeds. This is not something everyone can do. It can be very difficult. Or it can be as simple as one day, in the face of enough evidence that it is deserved, deciding to do just that.”

 

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” she asked, shaking her head. “Someday we’ll be stuck in the same place, even if it’s a very  _ large  _ place and we can probably mostly avoid each other. That’s no way to live. I...you’ve given me a lot to think about. A lot I’ll be sharing with my Lorna.”

 

“I think you should know, Pat is more afraid of you than you are of him, if you can possibly believe that,” Thranduil said softly.

 

Her eyes widened. “What?! Are you bloody serious?  _ Pat  _ is afraid’v  _ me _ ?” Grania’s brain just...could not comprehend that. It didn't gel at all with the Pat she’d once known. “Just... _ why _ ?”

 

“That, I can sadly answer,” Thranduil said, looking now at the glass window. “I do not know if you know about elves, that it is very rare for us to do other than marry once. But Earlene is not my first wife. My first wife left me. Not all of that was my fault, but a great deal of it was. I had...no idea...how to care for a relationship. I was much younger than I am now; this was a very long time ago. And I also was the son of a violently abusive father. So I hold the dubious honor of being one of the very few elves among my people to have ever had a failed marriage. It is difficult to express my feelings concerning the chance I have been given with Earlene. Or my motivation to not fail again. Earlene and I have had our difficulties, as couples do. And they also were my doing. Shall we say, I have worked much, much harder this time? Done what I should have done, with my first wife? But that relationship is past any hope of reconciliation. Yours….is not.”

 

That was...one hell of a lot to take in, honestly. “Pat, he’d talk about his da sometimes,” she said. “Only when he was bloody smashed, though, and he hated letting even me see his back. Hated the thought that I might be pitying him, or something. And I did pity him sometimes, because how could I not? But he hated that like poison -- and having been around your Lorna so much, I think it’s a family trait.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’ll talk to him, sometime, but...not yet. I've got too much to think about -- I just need to stick to emailing him for now.” With something like a laugh, she added, “It can be hard, since we’ve both only got so much to talk about. It’s easier for me -- I tell him what my Lorna’s been up to. He...tends to tell me whatever crazy thing your animals’ve done. I’ll have to start poking him for more information.” If he genuinely was scared of her -- and honestly, Grania wouldn’t believe that for a moment, if it wasn’t coming from an actual telepath -- then she was going to have to be the one to broaden their line of communication.

 

“I am always here if you wish to speak more. And I too have email,” the King smiled. “But I think you have enough on which to reflect for now.”

 

“I do,” she said. “Thank you. This -- it’s what I needed to know.”

 

“Hug?” he offered, opening his arms. Grania smiled and accepted.  _ Relationships,  _ Thranduil thought.  _ So challenging, yet so rewarding when there is success.  _ He wished them well. Truly.

 

*****

 

{May 18, 2020}

 

“We have another email from Thranduil, I see,” Quen stated, amused.

 

“Really?” Kana said, looking up from polishing a lap harp, one of his unkempt braids almost falling into the jar of oil. “What does he say?”

 

Quen looked at his partner carefully and saw that for a moment, the dark clouds that so often hung over his friend were lifted. A little light, and curiosity, played about the gray eyes. For unnumbered years now, this was their life together. Pengolodh cared for Maglor, protected him from the worst of himself and the outside world. He could have returned to Aman ages ago but...he had never believed that Maglor was beyond all hope. Maybe he _ hadn’t _ done him any favors, staying by his side. Keeping him from fading. But his heart told him that if Maglor was allowed to depart this world to Námo, that it would be his final end. He would be too broken, too...everything, to ever be granted re-embodiment. And that was the thought he could not abide. Because Maglor was a blazing light of beauty and worth, even if of the two of them only he believed it. 

 

And so they had continued on in a half-life, not exactly living but certainly not dead.  _ Existing _ , that was what they did. They existed. They had each other, the written word, their poems and music. The book shop was their home; two small rooms were in the back of the loft; each large enough for a bed and personal effects. A kitchenette allowed the preparation of food. When Maglor’s depression lifted for a time, he could cook very well and made delicious meals. 

 

But mostly, Pengolodh cared for this and other practical matters of their lives. The store was popular and did well enough; the seemingly eccentric proprietors were liked by a student population that never seemed to notice their remarkable state of preservation. Longish hair hid the points of their ears. At this era in time, if they were asked, they’d simply say it was a contrived appearance, to play along with the Tolkien craze. That wouldn’t have worked in the nineteen fifties when the Professor still came, but it would work fine now.

 

“Quen?” Kana interrupted his friend’s reverie. “The email?”

 

“Oh. Well, this time he is talking a little about this Planning Council he’s part of, for when all the mortals die in that plague they claim will happen. Honestly I wonder if Thranduil’s not more than half-cracked, but what Earlene and Thanadir told us…”

 

“What else?” Kana insisted.

 

“He is about to be a father again,” the ellon replied in softer tones that for once were not laced with cynicism. 

 

“She was pregnant when she was here, and didn’t she say twins?”

 

“Yes. Twin sons. I have not seen an elfling in…” he trailed off, unwilling to think about that lost joy.

 

“I don’t know when, but I am going to want to go,” Kana said softly. “I just want to see what it is like. Not now,” he hurried to add. “But at some point.”

 

Quen stared at him, as he continued to polish the wood. Kana had not wanted to do anything since one hundred and four years ago, when he bought his last harp. “Then we will find a way to go. When you are ready.” He stood up, to come and place a hand briefly on his shoulder. Always, he was careful not to touch or hug him much, because it could trigger profound sorrow and despair. He knew why. But this once...and even more rarely, a hand came up to clasp his, for the briefest of moments.

 

“Was there anything else?” Kana asked.

 

“Well, there are these two pictures.” Quen’s eyes widened as he tried to make any sense of them. “I think it is some kind of ‘before and after.’

 

“What of?”

 

“I can’t really explain. You have to come see it. Earlene is in it. And children and all manner of animals. And a woman and child with blue hair...”

 

“Oh?” Kana set down his materials carefully, and rose to come near. He stared. And stared. And he erupted with laughter. He laughed as he had not in a very long time, and the sound was beautiful in Quen’s ears.

 

*****

 

{May 20, 2020}

  
  


“They are plowing the first field today,” said Thanadir at the breakfast table. “The ellith and ellyn helping are quite excited.”

 

“I want to go,” Earlene whined.

 

“No,” chorused Thranduil and Thanadir together.

 

“Spoilsports,” she grumbled, before a contraction caused her to suck in air. Her days now were peppered with Braxton-Hicks contractions. Which always felt like a tease. It was a tease that maybe the show was finally going to get on the road, when of course it was not. The babies had dropped, she was sure of that much, and this time around some feminine sanitary products had become a must. It was simply not possible to battle the state of her bladder since about a week ago; tiny little accidents if she laughed (or god forbid coughed or sneezed) were now A Thing. There was nothing to ask Thranduil to fix; what he was supposed to do about so much weight squashing an organ made to hold liquid? It was just another part of the fun. 

 

“Earlene, God love you, but we don’t need you hitting real labor while you’re out in the fields,” Lorna said. “What’ll you do if your water breaks and you somehow pop a kid out in front’v everyone and their dog? I mean, it can happen. Look how fast Shane decided to scoot, and you’ve already had three kids. You might get lucky and it’ll be like a Slip n’Slide, but that’d be a  _ bad  _ thing in the middle’v a dusty field.” She eyed Thranduil, then Thanadir, and  _ somehow  _ refrained from rolling her eyes.

 

“But…” Earlene said, and made it no further. With eyes wide in horror and embarrassment, there was an audible sound like a ‘pop’ or a cracking of someone’s knuckle at the table, and she felt her leggings soaking through. And a steady dripping noise going onto the floor. Her cheeks flushed deep pink in humiliation.

 

Thranduil did his best to step in and Thanadir had already gone for towels; they knew instantly. “My wife’s water has just broken, which precludes any possibility of going to watch the oxen work today,” he said kindly but firmly. “It is alright, meluieg. You have no say in when this happens.”

 

“It’s the dining table,” Earlene whispered, her face buried in her hands. “This is so not fair.”

 

“Better here than there,” Lorna said. “I’ll look after the rest’v the kids -- Earlene, you breathe and...do your thing. You’re old hand at this by now, huh?” she added, hoping she sounded encouraging. Thaladir had been the easiest birth ever; hopefully these twins would cooperate, too.

 

“True….” Earlene said slowly, still disappointed. “Someone please go and take pictures, though? Video? I mean, even if this weren’t for the end of society as we know it, this is a big deal. This will probably be the first time someone has done field work with heritage Irish cattle since the damn tractor was invented.”

 

Ailill and Calanon were still here, lingering for an extra few days’ visit. “We will do it, Earlene,” the man promised. “This interests me as well; we can exercise the birds later in the day.”

 

Thanadir returned with towels, kneeling down to mop up the mess, for which she was grateful.  _ Somebody please help me to get out of these clothes,  _ she begged silently. Thranduil offered his hand, and walked her from the table to their room; Thanadir was not far behind once everything was...dry.

 

Lorna and Sharley gathered up the children, taking them outside where no mid-birth vocalizations could be heard. Ratiri, though, lingered. “On the off chance you should need my help, I'll stay inside and cook,” he said. “Good luck Earlene. Holler if you need anything, even if it’s just tea.” She was in good hands with Thranduil and Thanadir, but still. Paid to be safe, and all that.

 

“I think I need to go to the Halls,” Earlene said. “I want the pool there.”

 

“Meluieg, we should have time,” Thranduil reassured. 

 

“No, I don’t think we do, Thranduil. Last time was almost a….please just get me out of here, however you have to do it.”

 

He thought for a moment, while Thanadir began to visibly fret. “Honestly, this chair would be the most comfortable for you, Earlene. More comfortable than either of us carrying you. It is made to travel the forest paths.”

 

“Then I think we should do that right after someone helps me take off these disgusting leggings,” she said, already hit with a contraction that more than gained her attention. “Why am I such a...breeding machine,” she asked of no one.

 

The ellyn looked at each other and decided it was better not to answer that one.  _ Ratiri,  _ Thranduil said,  _ you may wish to upgrade to coming with us now. _

 

_ I can do that _ , he said,  _ though I can’t run as fast as that chair. Lorna says it can go thirty-two kilometers an hour.  _ He doubted even Earlene could manage that -- or at least, not for long.

 

_ We are not quite in that much of a hurry. But my wife seems to feel she does not have a great deal of time and after what happened with Thaladir I am not going to stand here and argue with her. _

 

_ I wouldn’t, either. You two get her changed and I’ll grab some snacks in things, in case she’s in the tub long enough to want one.  _ Nibbles could be important, after all.

 

All this was cared for, with Earlene not being essentially pleased that contractions in earnest descended out of basically nowhere right when they made it to the treeline of the forest. In what had to be the visual absurdity of all time, Thranduil held her hand while her other was used to direct the movements of the chair. Thanadir simply sat on the overly ample armrest, comforting her as best he could.   _ Over my dead body is this chair going into the Halls,  _ she announced silently, thoroughly in A Mood.  _ Please one of you carry me, when we are at the Gates. _

 

_ Of course, meldis,  _ Thanadir answered, finding swiftly that this was going to be very, very different than her last two births...because now he was connected to her mind, and the totality of her experience was flooding at him. How had Thranduil managed to help her, like this? Suddenly he had a new appreciation for his King’s powers of...management.

 

Earlene really only noticed Ratiri once at the Halls. “You got roped into this, I see?” she asked, finding that to be somewhat funny.

 

“I volunteered,” he said. He had a bag with biscuits, a salami sandwich, some strange snack mixture Lorna had concocted out of nuts and fruit, and a hot Thermos to which tea could be added when needed. “Just in case.”

 

“Well, thank you, and I’ll apologize now for anything I don’t remember later,” she smiled, before grasping Thanadir’s shoulder in extreme discomfort. “Meldir, please walk quickly,” she begged, which was the last thing said before the Gates shut behind them.  _ I refuse to make noises in this damn Hall that will echo for every elf in the Realm to hear. I refuse, I refuse, I refuse.  _ Burying her face in Thanadir’s shoulder, she found that biting his tunic sleeve worked nicely. If he was being bitten as well, he managed to not protest.

 

“Don’t spit on me or throw urine and we’re good,” Ratiri said. “And at the risk of you threatening to punch me like Lorna, breathe. Slowly.”

 

“That’s disgusting,” she tried to laugh through the discomfort. “Just, yuck.” And she did follow his advice as best she could, give or take that if he said ‘breathe’ too many times he would likely be in mortal danger.

 

*****

 

Earlene had a grip on Thanadir’s arms that would have wrecked an ordinary man. At least, when she was not hugging him against her. The poor seneschal had lost most of his detachment and usual command of the situation, swept along by his connection to her mind. And while Thranduil felt sorry for him, he was far too occupied managing her pain. It was left to Ratiri, to do much of the verbal coaching. However…

 

“Ratiri, Earlene says that if you say ‘nur atmen’ one more time, she is going to haul you into this pool and show you the meaning of needing to breathe,” Thanadir relayed worriedly. For all he knew her as well as anyone, he genuinely could not parse out if she was serious or not. However he most certainly knew what she was capable of, so… “She says she wants it quiet now.”

 

“At least she would be breathing if she did,” Ratiri said. He went to sit at the edge of the pool behind her, and after a moment of hesitation, took Thanadir’s hand. “In the interest of me not groping your wife,  _ you  _ put your hand on her chest, and just follow the rhythm of mine. Earlene, just breathe in sync with the pressure of Thanadir’s hand.” He trusted Thanadir would be able to read the pressure variations of his own hand to follow along, and guide her respiration. Besides, contact with her husband -- one of them, for now -- might have a calming effect on her.

 

Even with Thranduil, this just seemed to...hurt.  _ How fucking big was this kid?? _ And yet the boy in question was in just as much of a hurry as his brother. It may have gone down in the annals for not feeling good, but she was so close, she could tell.  _ Thranduil, which son is this? Do you know? Thanadir’s child, or yours? _

 

_ This is Thanadir’s son, Earlene.  _ He firmly suppressed what he felt was an amusing observation that amounted to, ‘first in, first out’, because even he knew now was not at all the time.

 

The old elf looked up at her, his eyes wide as saucers. It looked like he was in more distress than she was, though how that could be was beyond her. And yet...his face was a mighty distraction. She would never, never forget the fear and joy and wonder written on his expression.  _ Catch your son, meldir. I love you _ , her mind managed before a last mighty push that she was sure was going to shove her eyeballs out of her sockets. Or maybe her innards out her arse.  _ And goddammit, Lorna had completely corrupted her mind. _ That was when she realized she was about to sick up her breakfast.  _ Lovely.  _ The first cries of an infant mingled in her ears with her own retching, as Thranduil worked to help her. She could not help dissolving into tears. Why did birth have to be so...like it was?

 

_ That is a gigantic fucking baby _ , Ratiri thought, staring at the boy. His lungs certainly worked just fine -- though now that Thanadir had him, Ratiri had nowhere decent to put his hand. He settled for what little area she had beneath her shoulder that didn't turn into boob, again aligning the rise and fall of pressure with his own breathing.

 

“Earlene says she does not….fucking care where your hand is, Ratiri,” Thanadir uttered, which caused an immense sound that was reminiscent of ‘Snork” to escape from Thranduil.

 

His tiny friend had finally done it. Lorna was now the indirect ruination of Thanadir. Though this was technically a spoken quotation, his dear meldir was on his way…

 

Ratiri laughed in spite of himself. “All right,” he said. “Earlene, I promise I’m not actually groping you. Just focus on my hand, if you can...and I did not meant that to sound as dirty as it did. Don’t tell Lorna.” At least it was easier to guide her respiration with his hand slightly further south, though he did his best not to hit anything...untoward. Yes, he was Thanadir. God bloody help him, he was Thanadir.

 

Earlene started laughing. Hysterically, no pun intended, but it was the funniest goddamn thing she’d heard all week. And she kept on laughing for exactly twenty five seconds until the truly awful sensation of the next watermelon moving into her birth canal could not be ignored as the next contraction hit, and “Ahhhhh!” was the only thing to cut off her mirth. 

 

“Anála,” Ratiri said. “Apparently that’s ‘breathe’ in Irish, and I only know that because the last time I told Lorna to breathe over anything, she threw that at me and then told me that if I didn't want my head up my own arse, I’d not say it again. I told her she’d essentially have to rip my spine out first, and she replied that that’s what Google was for.”

 

Earlene blinked at him, and all she could actually think was that she was sort of a knife woman, and those were elsewhere right now.  _ No, he really does not need to know that. _

 

“You are almost there, Earlene,” Thranduil crooned, deciding that her mind needed refocusing rather desperately right now. “You only need to push as best you can, meluieg. I will help you.”

 

Somehow, that notion made many things better. She knew that Thranduil had on his own forced her body to deliver Ithiliel. And while that had been generally horrible, this did not feel like that at all. It hurt like every expletive in the book in spite of his help, but she wasn’t worn into the ground like that first time. This was still in the provenance of what her mind knew she could manage. Which was why exactly nine minutes later, Thranduil’s son was delivered into Ratiri’s hands, while the King held and kissed his wife who collapsed back against him.

 

“I think Lorna may well be right,” Ratiri said, gently cleaning off the squalling infant. “If both these boys aren’t at least a stone, I’d be very surprised.” He carried the baby to Earlene, who he suspected was just relieved as all hell that  _ that  _ was over. “Do you have names, or are you waiting on those?”

 

“Eldan Cormac, said Thanadir quietly, still deeply in shock.

 

“And Algar Oisin,” Thranduil said, finally able to touch his son.

 

“I want to nurse them,” Earlene said. “And I want to be not in this steam room but…”

 

“Ratiri, there is cool water in a pitcher in the room outside,” Thranduil said. “Could you wet one of the small cloths for Earlene please?” He silently nudged Thanadir to help him guide her toward a shallower part of the pool. While he knew she wanted out of the water, the mess from the afterbirth would be so much better managed right here.

 

“Can do,” he said. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind his wet trousers sloshing over the floor...he’d have to make sure whoever came and cleaned the room got extra biscuits, or something. He dampened a cloth and wrung it out carefully before returning to the equally wrung-out Earlene. “Here.”

 

“Thank you,” she beamed, feeling more rational, even if it did feel like a freight train ran over her innards. “You were a marvelous help, even if you were completely Shanghaied.” Right now, little mouths were sucking away on nipples and the Happy Hormones were raging.

 

“It’s not Shanghai’ing if you volunteered,” he said. “Do you have a robe or something you’d like me to get, for once you’re out of the tub?” The afterbirth probably wouldn’t take that long, or so he hoped. Sitting in contaminated water would be neither healthy nor pleasant.

 

Earlene appeared unable to process this simple question, which led Thanadir to pat her on the shoulder and leave the pool. “I know where it is,” he said, reaching for a towel to dry himself before climbing back into his own clothing. His hair he mostly dried; no one really had the presence of mind to pin their hair out of the way this time; it had all moved along quite quickly. “But you could help with cutting the cord. Last time with two of us there really were not enough hands,” he grinned.

 

Naturally, there were scissors, though where they had come from and what they were normally used for, Ratiri had no idea. In any event, the afterbirth decided to make its way into the world with alacrity, and soon cords were cut and babies were bundled into towels while Thanadir and Thranduil got Earlene cleaned up and settled onto the bed. He gave her back both babies, for the first time registering something other than their unusual size: one had hair so blond that he had to be Thranduil’s, but his eyes were a light brown. The second, by default Thanadir’s, also looked rather like him, too: both hair and eyes were the same shades of brown and hazel as his father’s. “Well, you certainly won’t have any difficulty telling them apart at a distance.”

 

“No,” Thranduil said softly, somehow still trying to register all his beautiful children.

 

Ratiri continued the process of weighing and measuring; Thanadir had had the foresight to have an older kitchen scale here permanently. 

 

“Lorna and I were right,” he mused. “Thanadir, your son’s a stone even, but Thranduil, yours is nine pounds, eight ounces. Thanadir, yours is fifty-six centimeters; Thranduil, yours is fifty-eight. While I’ve seen bigger babies, I haven’t seen many.”

 

Earlene blinked, because this only further confirmed her rabbit status in her own mind. Possibly on its way to being upgraded to bovine, even...

 

When Ratiri was ready to leave with all the happy news, Earlene asked, “Wait. What time is it? Did all that even take three hours? Two hours? If this keeps up the next one will come flying out at the dinner table,” she lamented. “But I guess it’s a good problem to have.”

 

“A touch over three,” Ratiri said, checking the clock on his mobile. “But I'm sure it felt like far longer.”

 

Once Ratiri departed, the three of them snuggled together on the bed. Each ellon held his son, and Earlene felt...proud. All that they had given her...well, she could give them this. Tears streaked down Thanadir’s face. “I never thought...never...this is the happiest day of my life, Earlene. I will never be able to thank you enough for this. Either of you. I…”

 

“You do not need to thank me, Thanadir. This was a privilege. There is really so little I can do for you, that you cannot do for yourselves just as well. And to see you so happy. It means a great deal to me. And you too, Thranduil,” she smiled. “He looks so much like you. But I’m afraid my genetics stole away the blue eyes,” she grinned.

 

“Trust me, I do not mind,” he said, completely besotted with his new son.

 

“We should come stay here, sometimes,” Earlene said. “I have forgotten how much I like it. And now we live always at Eldamar, and these rooms stand all but deserted.”

 

“We will be back here one day, do not forget,” Thranduil said sadly. “And that reminds me. Later, when all is settled...Thanadir, we must find a way to expand our quarters here. You, all the children...a time will come when we will need all the adjacent rooms. I will not prepare everyone else for this world cataclysm and forget to ensure our own rooms are a refuge. Eru, we will need it.”

 

“Of course, my King,” the seneschal replied, clearly not fully engaged in the discussion if his dreamy tone of voice was any indication.

 

“I think we lost him,” Earlene smiled.

 

“Maybe,” smiled Thranduil. “But it is time to return you to yourself, meluieg. You did so very well,” he praised. 

 

“How much did you do to help me?” she asked, curious.

 

“Surprisingly little. I did keep you from tearing; the children were quite large. I only reduced the worst of your pain and helped strengthen you a little for delivering Algar.”

 

“I am afraid you married a baby machine,” she grimaced. “I am half-glad I found you late in my childbearing years. Otherwise I might have single-handedly populated a small village.”

 

“Being King has its privileges,” he teased. “This will be more comfortable if you are asleep, Earlene. Do you mind?”

 

“No. But maybe don’t have me sleep too long? I lost my breakfast and would like more food.”

 

“Of course,” Thranduil said, grinning when Earlene slumped from Thanadir’s touch. “That probably is not fair of us,” he said, handing Algar to his gwador. 

 

“Maybe.” Thanadir smirked, before his face transformed in seriousness. “Thranduil...if Earlene still wants more children, I think they should be yours,” he said quietly. “Everything that has happened...I am so grateful for my son, but...she was your wife before she was mine.”

 

Thranduil laughed. “These just arrived, Thanadir. We need not worry about more anytime soon. And while I applaud your generosity, I have sired five children. I adopted Allanah. You have one that is of your own blood. I believe the numbers are in my favor.”

 

Thanadir smiled. “I had not thought about it quite like that.”

 

“I know you did not. But meldir, all my sons and daughters are yours. We are family. Nine of us, now. That is many blessings. Now, let me help our wife.”

 

“Please let me help you...help her.”

 

Gazing on Thanadir with understanding, he nodded, and the older elf  carefully laid their now sleeping sons between protective cushions on the large bed, and moved to place a hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. Earlene was slowly and carefully restored much of the way to her ordinary physicality. “She will want the lavatory right away,” Thranduil commented. “One of us should steady her. Her body had greater changes with this pregnancy; what I have done will disorient her.”

 

“I will care for her.”

 

A few minutes later Earlene was groggily but blissfully relieving a bladder so full that how it was still intact was beyond her understanding. As clarity returned, she frowned and realized that she was being supported. “Do I want to know why I am waking up on the toilet?” she asked, her eyes not yet open. “Are you Thanadir?”

 

“Yes,” he chuckled. “But how do you know?”

 

“I asked first,” she murmured, though she now held on to him.

 

“Because Thranduil said you would want to be here,” the seneschal responded, stroking her hair.

 

“Oh. Then, because I can smell your scent.”

 

“You can do that?” he marveled. “What do I smell like?”

 

“You. I do not know how to describe it otherwise.” Finally, the stream of urine leaving her body was almost at an end.  _ Thank god _ . And what was equally ‘thank god’ was that clean clothes were here, into which she could change. There was indeed unsteadiness in her walking, but she held fast to Thanadir, and soon was clothed and resting against the cushions again. For the first time she could truly take in fully the sight of her sons. “They are beautiful,” she admired. “But how could they be otherwise, when their fathers are you two?”

 

“You are not exactly lacking in loveliness, Earlene,” Thranduil chided, admiring breasts that were once again more rounded with milk.

 

Her eyes narrowed. “You are completely incorrigible. You know that, don’t you?”

 

He shrugged. “Guilty.”

 

*****

 

Ailill carefully pulled off his boots, checking for mud. The filming had gone wonderfully, and he hoped Earlene was pleased with the results. “Do you think she is doing okay, Cal?” he asked the elf. “She was so...big. I can’t imagine having a baby. I can’t imagine what a woman goes through, having a baby.”

Calanon sat behind him, and gently pulled him into a kiss. “Well, we are a certain kind of fortunate, in this way,” he said quietly, while he restrained himself from any further sensual explorations. “We will not have the joys of bearing our own, yet the joys of the children here are ours. They have been very generous, to include us as family in their home and their lives. Look at how we already love Thaladir, and the others. Even Ithiliel and Eleniel are learning about your hawks, in spite of themselves,” he chuckled.

 

“I know,” Ailill said, smiling as Calanon peppered soft kisses down his neck, causing him to shiver with delight. “Yet I think for the love of you, I will manage just fine,” he said, finding himself becoming aroused. “You are going to cause problems, Cal.” The elf often caused problems, and he rarely complained. Though, he liked to pretend to be annoyed, that tended to get him even more attention.

 

“I have always been a problem,” Calanon grinned. “Just ask my fellow guards, or all those who have patrolled the forest with me.”

 

Ailill raised his eyebrows. “Well I certainly hope you weren’t doing  _ this _ to them,” he gasped, as fingers and hands slowly worked their way down his belly. Valar, he was helpless against this…

 

_ “Nooooooooooooooooooooo” _ was heard, muffled, in the distance. 

 

“What was that?” asked Calanon, his movements suddenly arrested.

 

“What was what?” moaned Ailill, already desperate to be touched...more.

 

“Those noises,” said the ellon, sitting up. 

 

_ “Flannery, NO!” _ came from downstairs.

 

Ailill suddenly no longer had carnal pleasures in mind. “What in the world is that smell?” he asked the elf, hurriedly pulling on his boots.

 

“That, my love, is the smell of unsupervised children. Hurry,” Calanon urged, tying on his own shoes. Romance would have to wait, sadly….

 

*****

 

Given so many of them were gone to the Halls, Saoirse figured she’d make some kind of lunch. Problem was, she didn't really know how to cook yet -- not on her own, without Aunt Earlene supervising her. Sandwiches were boring, and anyway you couldn’t really make them unless everyone was around to say what they wanted.  _ Popcorn _ , however, was a nice light snack, and it couldn’t be too hard to make. Even so, she’d check with Da, just so she could say she did. If it all went wrong, it would be his fault.

 

She found him out back, carving...something...she was pretty sure was for the farmers. He had shavings all around him, including in his hair. “Da, how d’you make popcorn?” 

 

“You put cooking oil and kernels into a pan,” he said absently, “and cook it on the stove. Not too hot, though, or you’ll burn it.”

 

Well, that was...sort of helpful. “Okay,” she said, and scooted back to the kitchen. All these handy stools and steps meant she could get at even the popcorn easily enough -- while she was taller now than Aunt Lorna, she didn't think she’d wind up taller than Da, who was still pretty short, honestly. Stools helped.

 

“Two Irishmen, two Irishmen, diggin’ in a ditch,” she half-sang, half-hummed, putting the big kettle on the burner -- and it was a  _ big  _ kettle, too. Aunt Earlene said it was industrial sized, whatever that meant. Eying the oil bottle, she poured in about 12 centimeters, thinking that ought to be enough. “One called the other one a dirty son’v a Peter Murphy had a dog, a very good dog was he.”

 

In went the kernels -- a lot of them. It was a big kettle, she ought to make sure there was enough popcorn, right? “He gave it to his lady friend to keep her company.”

 

On went the lid, and then she turned on the burner; mindful of Da’s words, she put it on low. “She taught it, she taught it, she taught it how to jump. It jumped right up her petticoat and bit her on the country boy, country boy, sittin’ on a rock, along came a spider and bit him on the cocktail, ginger ale, five cents a glass.”

 

Booger came skittering in, and she picked him up, letting him rest his little forepaws on her shoulder as she danced aimlessly. “If you don’t believe me story then ask me no questions, I cannot tell a lie. If you ever get hit with a bag’v shit, be sure to close your eyes.”

 

Snickering alerted her to the presence of Chandra and Shane -- at least their parents wouldn’t care that she’d been swearing around them. Aunt Lorna had it down to an art form all on her own. 

 

“Mam says your cat is a needy little shit, but that that’s a good thing,” Chandra said. “That it means he’ll always stick close to you.”

 

“You are my needy little shit, aren't you?” Saoirse asked, holding Booger so she could see his little boogery face. “Yes you are.” She kissed his head, and he purred.

 

“C’mon and play checkers,” Shane said. They were demanding that of everyone so often that Aunt Lorna had threatened to teach them chess. Saoirse didn’t understand why Uncle Ratiri and Da had looked so terrified.

 

“Okay, but you’ve got to bring the board in here, so I can keep an eye on the popcorn,” she said. While it seemed pretty simple, she really didn't want to like...light it on fire, somehow. She was sure it was possible.

 

Soon enough, it was popping and pinging away in the kettle, the sounds growing louder and more frequent, and the pleasant scent of it managed to leak out even around the lid. After Chandra beat her twice inside of ten minutes, she gave up, and went to check on the popcorn.

 

She lifted the lid off the kettle, and a puff of steam escaped right into her face; five seconds later, it was followed by a waterfall of extremely hot popcorn bits.

 

“Ow,  _ fuck! _ ” she yelped, rubbing her eyes. When her vision cleared, her heart lurched. “Oh,  _ fuck _ , just... _ what?! _ ” 

 

Popcorn overflowed the edges of the kettle in all directions, looking very like some weird geyser that had escaped Yellowstone. It was falling  _ everywhere _ , and it just...it just  _ kept going.  _ How could it be doing that?

 

“Food fight!” Chandra cried, racing into the growing layer of white puffy kernels. She kicked at some, and the flew through the air in a way that was entirely too interesting.

 

“ _ Nooooooooooo _ ,” Saoirse said, snatching the kettle off the stove -- in her haste, she missed the handle, and naturally burned her hand. “Oh, god  _ dammit _ . Shane, stop it!” He, naturally, had joined his sister, though in his case he decided to take a flying leap and, of course, land on his arse. He was a good sport about it, though; unlike a lot of little kids, the twins didn't cry when they tripped or fell down. Chandra swore a lot, but that was it.

 

She’d hoped that taking the kettle off the heat would stop Popcornapocalypse, but nope -- out it poured, even now. Booger scampered through, swatting at the kernels with feline glee. Of course he was joined by half of Aunt Lorna’s cats, including their mam, who just sat there licking herself. Nice.

 

A cry was heard from upstairs, and soon baying dogs were scampering down the stairs. Flannery saw the cat AND the popcorn and barreled in, because the only thing more fun than food was chasing a cat away from it.

 

“Flannery, NO!” Saoirse yelled, before Kiernan rounded the corner as well, gobbling popcorn. 

 

Thaladir now rattled down the stairs and wailed at the top of his lungs, “ _ My puuuuuuuuuuuupppppppiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeees!  _ No! Leave it! Don’t eat that!” Saoirse had to cover her ears; she would later claim that the pitch of his voice had the power to make ears bleed.

 

Ailill knew about the fire pole to downstairs; he had just never used it before, being somewhat intimidated about….everything. But what he was hearing below sounded very bad indeed, and not one adult voice had been noted amidst whatever was happening. He threw caution to the wind and leapt onto the pole, sliding down faster than anticipated, and landing with a jarring pain to his ankle that sent his vision white with pain. But still he staggered toward the kitchen and….froze. There were children and puppies and popcorn and he had no clue in Eru’s creation what to do. Calanon fortunately was right behind him and not yet aware of Ailill’s plight. He swept Thaladir into his arms, and pointed at the pups. “DARO!!” Drool was flying everywhere from their muzzles as both children and canines froze, while the pot continued to ominously churn out white fluffy kernels onto the formerly immaculate floor. Ailill groaned softly and flopped onto his side, holding his leg.

 

“Da said oil and popcorn kernels,” Saoirse said. “That’s what he  _ said _ , and now there’s  _ this  _ \-- dammit, Boo!” The cat in question scurried off, an exceptionally big and fluffy piece of popcorn in her mouth. “Ailill, how do we make it stop?” Because it certainly didn't look as though it had any intention of ceasing any time soon.

 

“I think I broke my ankle,” the man whispered. “And I’ve got no bloody clue. Um…”

 

Calanon however had no such hesitation. The pot was the source of the problem, there was a back door, and he was more resistant to high temperatures than the humans. He gingerly grabbed the pot handle, and found it insulated. Mostly. He set this down into the sink, away from any water, and watched as it ominously kept churning out popped corn in fits and starts. And it was disgustingly oily, not fit for eating. Perhaps they could lure vermin with it, for the hawks? Only then did he notice his betrothed, and rushed to his side.

 

“I can get ice,” Saoirse said, even as she stared at the mess. Once again, dogs and cats were at play, and Aunt Earlene was going to  _ kill her _ ...although she’d just given birth, so maybe she couldn’t run that fast. Besides, this was how Da said to make it. It was his fault, or at least partly. She always followed directions in the kitchen, but she’d had shit directions this time.

 

“Where is Ratiri?” asked Calanon. Even he knew better than to trouble Aran Thranduil at a time like this.

 

“Da went with Uncle Thranduil and Uncle Thanadir to help Aunt Earlene get her babies out,” Chandra said, picking through the snowdrifts of popcorn to find bits that were edible. They needed salt, that was for sure.

 

“And I don’t know where the hell Da is, but I’m going to murder him,” Saoirse groaned. He should have heard all this by now, unless he was not longer at the back door.

 

“Alright, here is what we are going to do. Thaladir, I will take the pups outside with you. Keep them out there as long as you can. Saoirse, Chandra and Shane,  _ YES YOU TWO _ , the elf pointed at the twins that were attempting to make an exit, you help Saoirse scoop as much mess as possible into this basket here (he brought out a wicker basket he knew Earlene used for rubbish) to feed this to the chickens later. I will help you right after I help Ailill, who is hurt. Does everyone understand?” He did not have an unkind bone in his body, but he glared at the children because...children needed glaring at. His naneth had said so over ten thousand years ago, and she was never wrong about these things.

 

“If you keep Aunt Earlene from skinning us all, I'll do almost anything you want,” Saoirse said, uncertain Calanon could actually manage that one.

 

“Why us?” Chandra demanded, frowning.

 

“Because if we look like we’re helping, we won’t get in trouble,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

 

“...Oh. ’Kay.” Neither really knew where to even start, so they just followed Saoirse’s lead.

 

Calanon carefully lifted Ailill into his arms. “What is wrong?” he asked softly.

 

“My ankle. It hurts. I am just a...klutz. I’m sorry...anyone else would know how to slide down a pole.”

 

“I will not listen to that, and you know it,” Calano said sharply. “I will place you on the sofa near the fire, and Saoirse said there is ice. There will be help, soon,” he promised.

 

“I love you,” he whispered to his mate, receiving a kiss on the forehead in return.

 

Lorna chose that moment to return from the greenhouses, hot and sweaty. She’d wanted a nice glass of lemonade; what she  _ got  _ was… “Oh Christ, Saoirse, what’d you do?” she asked, groaning.

 

“Da  _ told  _ me to,” her niece said, utterly exasperated. “Kernels and oil, and will you get your fucking lard-ass cat out’v here?” The Lump, of course was munching away.

 

Lorna gave up. She just...gave up, and sat down before she could actually fall, laughing so hard she nearly choked. “Saoirse, allanah, I’ll give you some advice,” she managed eventually, while the girl glowered at her. “When it comes to food, never ever listen to anything your da says.”

 

“Yeah,  _ now  _ you tell me,” Saoirse sighed.

 

Thaladir was outside, in the beginnings of an anxiety attack. His Flannery was drooling everywhere, and looking woeful. He petted her, fretting, when it became obvious that she was about to sick up everything. Not much longer after, the pup did just that...oily popcorn, all over the grass, and Kiernan was excitedly trying to lick at it. The sensitive boy shrieked, crying because he was so upset and not really strong enough to restrain the dogs.

 

Pat, who had been having too much fun feeding the chickens, heard the sobbing child and hurried over. “Hey now,” he said, kneeling in front of Thaladir. “What’s wrong? What’ve they eaten?”  It looked like...popcorn. Oh. Oh  _ no _ . “Popcorn won’t hurt them,” he said, brushing Thaladir’s hair out of his face. “They’ll feel better once they’ve sicked that up. Dogs always do.”

 

“My puuuuppppiiiiiieeees are siiiiiiiick,” wailed the boy, “annnnd they wonnnnn’t stooop eeeeeatttiiiiiiiinggg iiiiiiiiit,” he sobbed, pointing at Kiernan enthusiastically licking at the mess his his sister had puked up. “Grooooooooooooosssssss.”

 

It took every single ounce of willpower Pat had to keep a straight face. This wasn’t funny to the kid, but bloody Jesus...and yeah, it was pretty gross. “Come on now,” he said, picking Thaladir up. “Call them, will you? Let’s get them away from the sick and they’ll find something else to do.” He hoped so, anyway; he knew fuck-all about dogs, except what he’d observed of these two.

 

“Flannery,” choked out Thaladir between sobs. “Kiernan!”  

 

Kiernan licked his chops, because he had just managed to down the lion’s share of what his sister had so thoughtfully provided. Flannery was already blissfully ignoring his little master, and sniffing hopefully at where the vomit used to be. Tails were wagging all around. At that moment Calanon came flying out the front door and spied Pat. “Oh, thank Eru,” the ellon said. “Can you help? Lorna is in there and she cannot stop laughing. There is much to clean up and I think Ailill has broken his ankle. No one seems to know how to get the ice from the trays. Please can you help? We need an...adult.”

 

_ I don’t wanna be broomed _ , Pat thought,  _ I need an adult!  _ “Well, this little one needs someone, too,” he said. “Thaladir, can I pass you over to Calanon? I’ve got to go help inside.”

 

Thaladir simply kept sobbing, so that part was easy, as Calanon took over, right away soothing the little boy. He had far greater success at reasoning with the child that his pups would be fine. Glaring at the dogs that refused to acknowledge any guilt, he herded them back indoors. More popcorn had been picked up than not, and he would certainly be preventing them from eating any more of it.

 

Pat sighed as he headed inside, and found Lorna still giggling as she fought with the ice tray. Truth be told, he didn't know how it worked, either, but between them they managed to get some into a plastic baggie, and wrap the baggie in a towel.

 

“This was your kid, Pat,” she said. “I’ll take this to Ailill. You just...do something.”

 

_ Do what?  _ he wondered. There was...Saoirse had found the big broom, and was trying to sweep approximately eight billion puffed popcorn kernels into a wastebasket, which Chandra and Shane tried to hold steady.

 

“Oil and kernels,” his daughter said, giving him a baleful glare. “Oil and kernels, he says. Well, I used oil and kernels, and I wound up Popcornageddon, so thanks,  _ Da _ .”

 

...He had said that, hadn’t he? And it had been  _ all  _ he’d said. Still, he would have expected anyone with any sense to use  _ something  _ like moderation...but this was Saoirse. She still took things rather literally, and ran with them. “Oh, allanah,” he sighed. “Give me the broom, and you hold the wastebasket. These two’re too small.”

 

Chandra stuck her tongue out at him, and the two of them ran off, chasing cats as they went.

 

Calanon shook his head and rolled his eyes, as he gratefully took the ice from Lorna to hold on Ailill’s ankle. “Thank you.” It was already swelling, and he knew the boot would need to come off. Frowning, he arranged pillows to elevate the leg, then shamelessly asked Ailill about something irrelevant up on the ceiling. When the man was no longer looking, he sent him to sleep. And then quickly and carefully removed his footwear before applying the ice to his visibly purpling ankle. 

 

*****

 

Thanadir and Earlene each carried one of the babies, and Thranduil monitored his wife, though she seemed well enough. They stopped in at the kitchens for a basket of food to take, because he knew better than to create circumstances by which she might be tempted to prepare a meal. No wife of his was going to deliver twins and return to work an hour later, and that was that. However, they did not consider that it was nearly time for the midday meal, and were basically mobbed by happy elves seeing the elflings for the first time. At this juncture, all of the peredhel children were elflings and babies interchangeably, depending on the mood of the speaker. Nobody wanted to call them ‘peredhel’ all day long, because the word was not cute enough; on this all were in silent agreement.

 

The seneschal was over the moon. Earlene was truly sorry she did not have her phone with her, to record the proud father showing his child to others for the first time. And while she watched, all the fear and doubt and grief of the last ten months seemed to evaporate into the ether. Thranduil saw it too, though he had not suffered what his wife had. It was every good thing in the world, given to the one who appreciated it more than most could understand. But finally Thranduil had to clear his throat, and announce the necessity to care for his wife’s needs, with a promise to return later. The chair was where they had left it outside the Gates, and with a grin they all decided to pile onto it and ride home. Thranduil especially laughed all the way along the forest path...to think that he was traversing his ancient forest in this….contraption, with newborn children. 

 

They quite literally rolled into Eldamar, whereupon Thranduil telepathically announced  _ Babies _ to the entire household, and waited for arrivals to greet them at the door, even as he sensed from the thoughts of those inside, now that he was paying attention, that much was amiss.  _ But...what in Eru’s name was that smell? _

 

“Ooooh, popcorn,” said Earlene. “Now I want to watch a movie.” The front door flew open; it was Lorna, with the most peculiar look on her face.

 

“Er….” Lorna sighed. “Saoirse tried making food. It didn't end well.” 

 

Within the house, her niece’s voice rang out: “ _ God dammit, Lump, get out!” _

 

Ratiri somehow now appeared behind them, frowning at the noises coming from inside even as he smiled at the new babies and the ridiculous sight of them all piled in Lorna’s mobile chair. Thanadir stood, feeling it was his duty to assess the situation. Especially since Earlene was sitting on Thranduil and holding babies, making it much harder for them to get up just yet.

 

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Ratiri said. “Thanadir, let’s do this. If the kitchen is a mess, I think Earlene might run someone over with this chair. And the scary thing is I suspect it would actually hurt.”

 

That made Lorna pause, thoughtful. Could she put some kind of spikes….?  _ No. Bad Lorna. _

 

“How about this,” Earlene offered humorlessly. “I will let Thranduil drive this into our bedroom with my eyes closed, and pretend I did not hear a word.”

 

Just then, a very adult sound of pain was heard from not so far inside. “Oh, Eru,” Thranduil said. “I am afraid there are more pressing matters. Thanadir, hold that door open please, and get ready to help take the children. Ailill is hurt and needs help.”

 

Ratiri hoped the poor lad hadn’t tripped over one of the cats. With Thranduil on hand, he himself was rather superfluous; he elected to go with Lorna instead. “I’ll tell you how bad it is, before you come through,” he said.

 

“She might want to shut her eyes,” Lorna said. “It’s not what it was, but we’re not done yet, either.”

 

“Popcorn and oil!” Saoirse called, exasperated almost beyond endurance. “Fucking popcorn and oil! That’s what Da said, and it’s what I did, and now there’s  _ this _ ...dammit, cat!”

 

Lorna sighed. “Allanah, deal with the cats. Earlene, I promise it’ll be fine by the time you’re ready to use it again, even if we do have to scrub it down with bleach or something.”

 

_ Bleach on her earthen floors??? _ “That does it,” she said, launching off of Thranduil’s lap with a son held against the considerable cushion of each of her breasts. “What in holy hell is going….on…” her eyes widened as she saw Ailill’s ankle. “Here,” she finished in a whisper, now gazing from the popcorn, to the glistening streaks of oil, and back to Ailill, who was clearly in a great deal of pain. “Well,  _ HELP HIM _ ,” she bellowed, nodding to Ailill.  _ “CATS. GET OUT!!” _

 

This was impressive. Every feline froze, before racing for its life. Except, on the polished floor, claws did not help traction one bit.  _ “OUT!!” _ she bellowed a second time, whereupon Algar giggled. Earlene paused and looked down at her son, who was pointing at the cats.  _ No. That was not possible. Peredhel or not, this child is not two hours old, and this is not possible.  _ And then Eldan pointed and did the same thing.  _ Just, what?? _

 

Lorna didn't laugh, but it was a very,  _ very  _ near thing, because honestly, that was kind of terrifying. Watching all the cats flee for dear life, except -- what the fuck?

 

“ _ Ow _ ,” she said, wincing. Something heavy was attached to the end of her braid, and when she brought it around, she saw that it was Booger, wide-eyed and terrified. “Oh, you little thing. Saoirse, go comfort your kitten. Pat, get over here.” She handed the little furry thing to Saoirse, who hurried off with her, whispering words like ‘purr’ and ‘pet’. That cat was going to be like her child in very short order.

 

“All right, Pat, what have we learned?” she asked, picking up the wastebasket and tossing the broom at him.

 

“Don’t let Saoirse into the kitchen unsupervised,” he sighed.

 

“Yes. All right, Earlene, what d’you have for cleaning...agents?” Lorna asked, determined to make sure this situation didn't get any more ludicrous. Then again, she wasn’t sure that was actually possible, at this point.

 

“Just use Dawn dish soap for the oil,” Earlene whispered, still not believing that her sons had just done that. She’d imagined it, right? “I’ll deal with the rest another time. I think I need to...sit down.” Right now, fussing over Ailill seemed more appealing.

 

“No,  _ we’ll  _ deal with it,” Lorna said firmly. “Allanah, go get Earlene settled wherever she wants to sit. Earlene, d’you want a lemonade while you’re at it?”

 

“Umm….I’ll share one with Ailill. Better make it high octane,” she said, wincing at the memory of the purple bruising, as she began to wander off, still clutching babies wrapped in nappies and little thin blankets. “Oh. And this is Eldan, and Algar. How rude of me,” she smiled. Popcorn should not trump babies. Ever. 

 

Thaladir wandered over, wide-eyed, and Earlene knelt down. “Do you want to meet your brothers? Here they are, ionneg.”

 

The child walked up to the tiny ones as if he was afraid they might break, and looked from Eldan to Algar and back again. He reached out a tentative finger to touch Eldan’s little face, while the baby tried to focus and burbled. 

 

“Do you want to hold your brother?” Earlene asked, to see a speechless nod. Thanadir appeared around the corner just in time to see Thaladir taking Eldan from Earlene carefully, and holding him just as he had seen the other adults hold children in the pictures Aunt Lorna had shown him. The seneschal was unable to resist, and carefully scooped both his sons into his arms once he had knelt down on the floor.

 

Oh, Jesus...Lorna whipped out her mobile and filmed the whole damn thing, because it was Cuteness Overload. “How did they like their first ride through the forest?” she asked. “Pat, get the lemonade, I’m filming.”

 

“Jesus, yes  _ Mam _ ,” he grumbled, but even he had to pause to smile and wave at the babies.  _ Big  _ babies; no wonder Earlene’s abdomen had wound up so big. Saoirse had just been the tiniest of tiny little things.

 

“They slept all the way here,” Thanadir smiled. “I think the...excitement...woke them up afterward. Thranduil says Ailill broke his ankle,” he added. “But it will be better soon.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes and shook her head, and was thankful to Thranduil for the hundredth time.

 

“Poor lad -- how’d he do that?” Pat asked, bearing two lemonades he’d assembled in record time.

 

“If he tripped over a cat, I’m shutting them all in with the cows for the night,” Lorna said darkly.

 

“He did not,” Calanon reassured, suddenly appearing. “Aran Thranduil is almost done with him.” He did not let on the reason for the accident, knowing that Ailill was embarrassed enough. “Ooooh, elflings,” he cooed. “Can I hold one?” Earlene was too happy to hand over Algar. They would have abundant quality time in the near future. Of that she felt assured.

 

Pat replaced the baby with a lemonade, and went to bring Ailill his. Poor lad needed a good drink and some rest, and no bloody cats.

 

“Look at these lads,” Lorna said. “Now they’ll outnumber the girls, God help the lot’v them. How did the birth go this time?”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. “Didn’t hurt any less, but I swear the next one’ll pop out on a dining platter at this rate. We weren’t there three hours. It’s ridiculous, how fast they want out. Then again, I do have the extra help. It’s not like I go through anything normal. And I might’ve threatened your husband a time or two. Sorry.”

 

Lorna eyed Ratiri. “Did he tell you to breathe?”

 

“...Possibly,” her husband said. “More than once.”

 

“Did he tell you what I threatened to do to him, the last time he told me to breathe?”

 

“Yes, yes I did,” he sighed. “But there are two large and healthy babies now examining the world around them. And the fact that on their first day they rode through the forest on a motorized sofa delights me more than I can express.”

 

She burst out laughing. “True. Not many kids in all the world can say that.”

 

Thranduil appeared around the corner, smiling at the depth of Ailill’s gratitude for having such a simple injury repaired. All that aside, he was feeling very smug about his next email to Pengolodh. The stuffy Noldo could not possibly be having this much fun, and he knew it. No, he harbored no official prejudices or hard feelings. But a little rivalry? Well, he could not entirely help himself.

 

“We might be at the kitchen a bit, but I can get nibbles,” Lorna said. “You lot go relax in the Heart Room. Let those wee ones get used to their new home.”

 

“My basket…” Earlene said, suddenly remembering how hungry she was.

 

“I will care for that, meluieg. You go sit down. Soon your sons will want to eat and then you can traumatize Calanon and Ailill.”

 

This time she did take her lemonade and stick her tongue out at him. Just a little. But she sat, next to Ailill. “I am sorry you were hurt,” she said, putting her arm around him. “It is well now?”

 

He nodded, his cheeks flushing. “I need to learn to slide down the fire poles,” he whispered, knowing she would not mock him.

 

“Ohhhh those,” she smiled, hugging him to her. “Do not feel bad. We can teach you. Did you get to see the plowing this morning?” she asked wistfully.

 

“Yes. I am sorry, in the midst of...everything...I forgot. You said there is a way to get it from my phone to the movie screen in the next room?”

 

*****

 

Minutes later, they were watching Doyle Callahan barking orders at a variety of people as the yoked team of Droimeann cattle pulled the plow, with one of the stronger thirty-something year old female volunteers guiding the implement. The look on her face was one of pure joy, and Earlene beamed in turn.  _ I knew it,  _ she said to herself.  _ Most of the people running these modern small farms are women and there’s not going to be any exception to that here. If I’ve anything to say about it, women will outnumber the men two to one at our farm.  _ In the background, a variety of bystanders cheered while Doyle continued to walk alongside, teaching. The plowshare turned the lightly damp earth as if it were butter, revealing the rich dark soil underneath. Oh, yes. They were on their way.

 

Callanon appeared with Eldan, who was beginning to fuss, and unthinkingly Earlene unbuttoned her top while watching the video, quickly producing her lovely breast and offering it to her son while Ailill turned ten shades of red next to her. At least, until a wheezing noise caught her attention, and she looked up to see Ailill’s face while Calanon laughed silently but helplessly at his poor mate. “Oh. Sorry about that,” she patted Ailill on the arm. “I should have warned you. Everyone knows what my breasts look like and if they don’t, they will soon. Don’t be embarrassed, Ailill. They are for feeding the babies and you will see a lot of them. Stare all you like, it doesn’t bother me and I don’t consider it rude. I think Calanon already does not mind,” she teased, smiling at the merry elf’s antics.

 

_ Pat  _ considered it rude, which was why he tried to avoid looking at her at all when she was feeding her kids; he’d been a bit of a pervert in his youth (maybe more than a bit) and it was something he was trying to leave behind him. That included not staring at his cousin as she fed her kids, because that was just a whole other category of Ick on its own.

 

“Yeah, you get used to it,” Lorna said. “I mean, that’s what they’re there for.”

 

Ratiri was too busy watching this to pay attention to tits or anything else. He’d been fascinated, being out there -- there had been farmers around his village when he was a child, but nothing like this. They’d all at least had a tractor. Watching everyone at work made him think, for perhaps the first time, that this was actually, truly going to  _ work _ , long-term.

 

“This is fabulous,” said Earlene. “Having these Droimeann cattle, knowing that they’ve belonged to Ireland since before even the Vikings showed up...and knowing they’ll still be able to keep on no matter what...that makes me happy. Hopefully I’ll be able to see it myself soon; they can’t plow up the whole place in a day. We’ll get there. One farm animal and person in need of a job at a time.”

 

“It makes it seem too real,” Lorna murmured.  _ Knowing  _ the end of the world was one thing; it would seem that seeing active preparation, as opposed to just meetings and paperwork, made it rather more...immediate. It was springtime now -- Sharley had said the plague would happen in late spring or early summer. They were down to sixteen years now. It seemed like forever, and yet she knew how short a time it really was. For now they could still travel -- could still fly to see Sharley, could cross oceans in hours. After the end, it might take centuries for anyone to be able to sail from Europe to America. In sixteen years, little Skykomish would be empty; the Bodleian Library would be left to moulder, over a thousand years’ worth of literature and history, lost forever….

 

_ Stop it _ , she told herself. Today was a day for babies, for happiness -- even for kitchen disasters and cats. That was all they needed, for now.

 

*****

 

Later on, after the house had settled, a soft knock was heard on the bedroom door. They were all fully covered, and only reading in bed, so Thanadir rose in a fluid motion to unlock the door. He was surprised to see Ailill.

 

“Please forgive me, Hîr Thanadir, for intruding at a time like this,” the man said anxiously, lowering his eyes. “But I wondered if I might speak to Earlene.”

 

“Come in, Ailill,” Thranduil said kindly and firmly; Thanadir opened the door wide to admit him. 

 

Because she had the advantage of a telepathic relay, already she understood why he was here and began to work her way out from under the covers. 

 

“Please stay where you are, Hiril vuin. I am embarrassed to disturb you the same day you have given birth, but I will not sleep tonight if I cannot talk to someone. It is my mother,” he spoke softly, visibly blinking back tears.

 

“Then if you will not let me get up, you come be here with us. Sit next to me; Thanadir will share his space with you for a little while.”

 

“I do not mind,” said the seneschal kindly, understanding what Earlene wanted to happen.

 

Ailill crawled onto the bed with them, feeling slightly chagrined. He smiled sheepishly at his sovereign, who watched him with eyes that held both amusement and kindness. In a moment he opened his laptop for her to read: 

 

_ Dear Ailill, _

 

_ This letter is very hard for me to write, but it must be as nothing compared to what I have put you through for your entire life. Son, I love you and I am sorrier than I will find words to say it with. _

 

_ After Earlene and Lorna came, many things happened. I tried to think about the things they told me, but it was still not easy to sort out my thoughts. Then your sister went to see you, and as you must know, not a fortnight after she quit her job with us to work for your employer. Your da went...let’s just say that that day opened my eyes. Because right in front of me, John, and the entire office he yelled at my daughter, your sister, and called her every horrible thing. Told her that she was choosing you over us. Maybe it took a display like this to have any understanding of how you have been made to feel. Either way, I felt like a veil was lifted. _

 

_ Later that day I started reading, Ailill. Everything I could find, about having a child who is gay. And then I made phone calls and then I started seeing a professional to understand what was happening to me, and my family. I’m not going to lose my children because your da is...your da. I’ve still got to find the courage to have it out with him, and it’s not fair that my dealing with him be put on Mary’s shoulders. She’s been helping me a great deal, both talking and encouraging, but I have to manage this on my own.  _

 

_ I want to tell you that I am sorry for never having known how to love you. For placing my own wants above your needs. For all the suffering I’ve caused you. Please forgive me.  I’ve no right to ask this but would you please give me another chance? There is a place in me that hesitates to ask you this, because it’s been pointed out to me that maybe this isn’t what you want after all the harm I’ve caused. I won’t push you, son. And I won’t keep asking, if it’s not what you want...but I had to ask at least once. I want to find a way to make this right, and I still have so much to learn. I wrote to Earlene, too. Not to ask her to try and persuade you, but so she knows her visit here wasn’t a waste of her time.  _

 

_ If I can ask one more thing, it would be to please give my apologies to Calanon until a time might come when I can tell him myself. I know I have hurt him as well, and I am sorry for that too.  _

 

_ I love you, Ailill _

_ -Mam _

 

Knowing how hard it was for Ailill, Earlene read it silently since Thranduil and Thanadir both would hear it through her. She had not yet seen whatever email Mother Mary was referencing, but put her arm around Ailill’s shoulders, happy to feel that Thanadir had already done the same. “That is a form of good news, perhaps,” Earlene said with caution. “Certainly it is tremendous progress, for your mother. The real question is, how do you feel about what she has written?” Earlene tugged a spare throw blanket over the man’s legs, to keep him warm and hopefully make him feel more comforted. That he smiled and clutched it against him suggested it had been a good decision.

 

“I would be happy if I thought I could really believe her, Earlene,” Ailill murmured, agitated and clearly struggling not to break down. “But...while I can see she has made an effort, it feels both unreal and...too late. All those years. All the things she said. The same things da said, and I had no reason to believe that she felt different than he did. She say she’s changed  _ now _ , but…” he shook his head. “But where was she when I needed her?”

 

Thranduil listened, and felt his own stomach twist. The part of him that wished to solve every problem, manage every situation had counsel he could offer. But he knew these feelings. Knew how he might feel if this was a far different conversation in another time and place, in which he was in Ailill’s position. By sheer will, he forced thoughts of Oropher deep down, buried in the grave where they belonged.

 

“Your mother says she is seeing a professional,” Earlene said, holding him tighter. “I am going to ask a question, and will not think ill of you if the answer is No. If I were to contact her and suggest that you see someone as well, maybe the same individual who is helping your mother, would you be willing to consider that? I genuinely believe that a professional could help you to evaluate this. Maybe eventually, this person could guide you to being able to meet with her, and assist both of you through trying to build a new relationship? I would support you in any way I could, even going with you. So would Calanon. There is enough flexibility in your schedule to manage this, I think.”

 

“Maybe?” the man replied. His first reaction to the idea lay somewhere between sheer terror and a twinge of hopefulness. “I would need to think about it.”

 

“I understand,” she said. “I love you Ailill, and I will support you regardless of what you want to do.” Unable to resist, her hand reflexively smoothed the soft hair that fell down his back.

 

For a minute, he closed his eyes, unable to stop a few stray tears from escaping. “I may never be able to explain what having you in my life has done for me. What all of your love has given me. Thank you, for listening. And I should go now,” he smiled, blinking and wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. “Calanon worries.”

 

Thanadir moved to allow him room to escape their bed, and wished him a good night, closing and latching the door once again with a smile. Back upstairs, Ailill slipped into bed next to a blissfully warm body in an already darkened room.

 

“Do you feel better, nîth vain?” Calanon murmured, instinctively wrapping his arms around the man.

 

“Yes,” Ailill whispered. “But now I have even more to consider. Can we talk about that tomorrow, when we are in the forest?” The delicious heat of the elf’s body spread through him, causing another sort of heat. Their touches were gentle, careful. Neither took the other for granted. Their kisses were of genuine love and adoration for each other, far more than lust. Their caresses of each other were a dance of slow beauty, not a frenzy of motion. Their relationship had deepened, these last months since their betrothal. Shyness and uncertainty had given way to a solid foundation of trust and respect, and an earnest desire to please. Rarely did they have to correct the other as to what was wanted, so carefully did they pay attention to each small sign of enjoyment expressed by the other. With soft kisses and shared bliss, they silently loved each other as hands that had gained in skill gave pleasure.

 

Below, for better or worse, Thranduil was held somewhat captive to Ailill’s experience. He became aroused, given that he could not easily ignore their intimacy, but more than that it was simply...fascinating. The couple upstairs loved each other deeply and completely, and yet had such natural restraint. They were not like Thanadir; they definitely expressed desire. What surprised him was that it was so...spiritual, in a way. He knew that Thanadir loved Earlene physically in a manner more akin to this. Or rather mostly akin; there were a few twists and turns of interest there, to put it mildly. And yet his own preferences were...his own preferences. By comparison he was incredibly libidinous; there was no other word for it. Very different from these others, yet pleasing to his wife who seemed much the same in her desires. So many preferences...it was basically intriguing. He did his best, for now, to continue reading the news. He drew his knees toward his chest, both to prop up his computer and hide what else was...up.  _ Bother. _

 

Earlene, who missed nothing, smiled, and slowly moved her hand under the covers to caress his swollen member, eliciting a hiss of enjoyment. Thanadir rolled his eyes good-naturedly; reading time was clearly about to end. He skilfully reached to clear assorted computers from the bed; the King had already claimed their wife’s lips and was giving no further thought to any news of the 2020 American presidential race. Soon she was astride him; her heavy breasts bobbed temptingly while he worked to gain his release. After, he nursed for a very short time, slipping away into sleep with his face written over with contentment. With a grin she adjusted the light covering over his shoulder. “Dream well, beloved,” she whispered before turning to sit up again, and found that Thanadir was staring at her with a befuddled expression.  _ Is something the matter, meldir?  _ Her fingers stroked his soft cheeks and traced the perfectly bow shaped upper lip.

 

_ Every other time I have paid attention to you making love with Thranduil, you have had physical desire of your own. But tonight you did not. You were completely uninterested in having pleasure. You did not even attempt to climax, but still you sought his body? _

 

A smile spread over her face.  _ It is not so different than what I guess you do for me, is it? You are correct. My only motivation was to satisfy his sexual want. But you must know by now that it does more than that? Especially for Thranduil, it also tells him that he is loved. Valued. By ensuring his desires are met, I show him he is cherished. As you told me once, it costs me nothing. I am certainly not forcing myself to do something for which I have no positive feelings. Knowing that I am giving something that is wanted and emotionally needed….I wonder if you realize that for a male with Thranduil’s level of desire for sex, the refusal of it is almost inextricably bound up with whether he himself feels loved or accepted? His sundering from his first wife was likely more painful than it would have been for many another ellon. I do not mean only when she departed to Aman, either, but rather when she began denying him her body. _

 

The seneschal frowned, trying to understand.  _ But...there were many months when I did not show you sexual affection, and I never found in your thoughts that you felt rejected by me? _

 

_ Had you been a different kind of person, I very well might have. But you are...you. I have always perceived your love, Thanadir. Both before we wed and after. Because I am more like Thranduil, I will always yearn to join my body to yours. For the times you release your seed into me, and I physically and spiritually feel being bound to you. Of course I enjoy too the pleasure you give me when this happens. Yet what always mattered most is the place you occupy in my heart and mind. I think you know that by comparison to my relationship with Thranduil, you and I share more similarities in all the ways that are not sexual.  _ Her fingers carded through his silky brown hair, carefully moving down the edges of his ears. All the while Earlene watched his soft brown eyes, and relished how much she loved him. 

 

Thanadir’s hand lifted to cradle her head, as he kissed her first softly but then insistently, their tongues entwining and exploring. No sooner did they pull each other into  closer embrace when the sounds of babies waking and beginning to fuss met their ears. Both froze, then smiled. He kissed the tip of her nose.  _ I will bring them to you.  _

 

Sitting up, Earlene sighed happily, looking down to see Thranduil’s steady breathing. The sight was just as beautiful and perfect as the first moment in which she first beheld his form.  _ I have everything anyone could ever want and Valar, I thank you for this life. _

  
  
  
  



	114. One Hundred and Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 25-26, 2020.  
> Quenya language translations in this chapter are by our lambengolmor, who does not wish to be credited for his scholarly contributions.

 

“Are you certain you feel up to this, Earlene?” Thanadir said worriedly, as he handed Eldan to his mother to nurse. While he was once again enjoying the feeding of their children, the seneschal never had been able to produce close to the milk his wife could manage.

 

“Nursing, or having a big party in two days?” she teased.  It was perfectly obvious that he was asking about the latter, but any opportunity to poke gentle fun at him was hardly to be missed.

 

His eyes narrowed, as he helped adjust his son at her breast. There were methods of retribution just as subtle, he had discovered. “What do you think?” he retorted, as his fingers delicately traced their way down her abdomen. In the months since she had delivered, all of her former level of physical fitness had been regained, and her firm abdomen shuddered slightly at his touch.

 

“You wouldn’t…” she glared at him.

 

“Oh, wouldn’t I? You seem to think that teasing can go only one way, meldis. I happen to know otherwise.” His fingers now artfully tugged at the tie of her lounging pants, that allowed his hand to travel further downward. Much...further...downward. Where dexterous digits now began to explore and tease.

 

“What happened to being asexual?” she bit her lip, trying not to give in to the responses his fingers were eliciting.

 

“Nothing has changed,” he grinned, amused. Now he propped his head up with one bent arm, enjoying the expressions of discomfiture that flitted across her face. “This is completely uninteresting to me except for my thorough enjoyment of what it is doing to _you_.”

 

“That is not fair,” she hissed at him, even as she had to stifle a moan. Eldan sucked harder and giggled, delighted at the sudden increase in the flow from his private tap. “And don’t you start too,” she scolded her son.

 

“It is no different than what you do to me when you ply me with cookies or desserts,” he accused. “Don’t deny you have done that before.”

 

“I am certain that I had good reason,” she tried, growing a little glassy-eyed, now that his fingers were working their way teasingly and expertly inside of her. Stroking, rubbing, and _Valar, that feels good…_

 

“That isn’t good enough,” he said smugly. “Admit it. Admit that you have used my weakness for food against me just as I am using your weaknesses against you now.”

 

“What weakness?” she stubbornly resisted. He said nothing, but increased his pressure and his tempo until she was lost to desire...and then abruptly stopped and withdrew his hand, licking at his fingers contentedly.

 

“You know, this part _is_ a little like food,” he commented as though he were preparing a dining review. I like the taste of your body, and your scent. It is a little like...oh, wait, did you want me to continue?” Those soft brown eyes were absolutely gleaming with thinly veiled dominance. And as much as Earlene did not want to admit it, that part was turning her on almost as much as his fingers had been. _Dammit._

 

“Yes,” she confessed, knowing she’d been beaten but still not wishing to voice it aloud.

 

“Then do as I have instructed, and you will have your wish,” he pressed onward, not giving an inch. His eyes locked onto hers, boring into her.

 

Thanadir did not do this often. It was so infrequent that it was easy to forget that this was among his...range of behaviors...and it had not happened at all, since their joining. A part of her was responding to him as she used to respond to Thranduil when he was far more interested in having mastery.

 

“I admit I have baited you with food to gain an advantage over you,” Earlene capitulated, wanting only to feel those hands back inside of her. “I concede, Thanadir.”

 

“Was that so hard?” he teased mercilessly, even as he threaded his fingers back to where she so desperately wanted them to be, moaning quietly to feel his touch again.

 

“No. And….yes.” She liked a good intellectual battle as well as the next lawyer. But there were some games that were worth losing, and this was one of them.

 

The beautiful elf kissed her cheek, and then his son’s head. “Close your eyes, Earlene, and relax. Then you will enjoy this more.”

 

Enjoy it she did, as he resumed his caresses, while roaming lips and teeth paid gentle visits to her ear, neck and breast, until her vision went white and her body convulsed with bliss. At the end he kissed her deeply and insistently, and told of his love for her. She recovered her senses cradled in his arms, while her son finished his meal. “You are dangerous, Hîr vuin,” she whispered, nuzzling him in affection and appreciation.

 

“And so are your desserts, Earlene.” Eldan chose that moment to release her nipple, and begin giggling. With a final kiss, Thanadir released her to take the baby and ensure he was burped. “And you, young ellon, are far too precocious for your own good.”  Eldan laughed some more as his face was covered with his father’s kisses.

 

“Ada,” the little boy said delightedly. “i Ada nîn”

 

Earlene sat bolt upright, and stared. “He said words. Not one word, _words_.”

 

“I know,” Thanadir said, tears of happiness rolling down his cheeks. “Oh, meldis. How I love him. And you, for giving him to me.” He returned to sit next to her on the bed, and enveloped both mother and son in an embrace of pure joy.

 

Thranduil entered their bedroom holding Algar, to see his family’s moment of happiness. “Congratulations, Thanadir,” he said softly. “Your son’s first words.” Nothing was more special than all the beautiful ‘firsts’ as a new father. The old elf nodded ecstatically, as Earlene reached for and began feeding the other twin. Thranduil sat next to her, and gave a mischievous kiss. “I don’t suppose you’d like a repeat of that?” he offered, waggling his eyebrows.

 

Earlene flopped back against the pillows. “As if I am going to say No.”

 

*****

{September 26, 2020}

 

At four o’clock on Friday afternoon, Ailill and Calanon returned from the aviary, quite tired. Everything had been cleaned and disinfected that was on the schedule for such work, and this in spite of having handled an unscheduled (read: extra) falconry session for a family of VIPs that demanded the activity without having booked in advance. While this was not necessarily uncommon in a hotel that catered to a very wealthy clientele, it was still an unrelenting pain in the arse that Ailill did not appreciate.

 

But it was his job to provide a flawless experience for Ashford’s patrons, and provide it he did. He had long ago accepted working with occasionally fickle and spoiled members of the public as the price for his current position. The sum of the day was why he wearily reached for the last of what was still warm in the office coffeepot; a little pick-me-up before the drive to the forest in an hour. He found he was looking forward immensely to this coming weekend. The elves would celebrate the harvest festival of Enderi, the ‘middle days.’ But more than that, he had been informed who would be visiting them, for the first time. The ancient ellyn Maglor and Pengolodh were driving from England, and the thought of it made him arguably weak in the knees. He would lay eyes on one of the sons of Fëanor. It...he really could not allow himself to consider it much, because the idea was as close to emotionally overwhelming as it was possible to be.

 

Calanon interrupted his reverie. “Ailill, there is an envelope on your desk,” he pointed out, knowing his beloved had not seen it. They never used terms of endearment at work. They never so much glanced at each other with eyes full of love. This had been discussed since they first declared their feelings to each other, and they agreed that their relationship, especially prior to marriage, would be kept fully apart from Ailill’s workplace. It would be professional to behave as if they had zero connection other than as workmates, and this is what they did without exception.

 

The man flopped with his cup of coffee into his office chair, slit open the envelope and began to read. “It would seem that the new Personnel Manager for Red Carnation Hotels is firing me,” he said, not amused in the least. “I am to clear out my belongings effective immediately.”

 

“What?” Calanon said, as he began to move toward Ailill.

 

The man’s eyes flashed in anger as he held up a hand to stay the ellon. “Cal, you know how to set up the back of the car for the birds. If you would please help me by preparing to take all three hawks, not just Fion like we planned?”

 

Calanon paused as if about to argue but then bowed his head and did as he was asked. He felt angry, like he wished to defend Ailill against...something...but did not know where those feelings should be directed, if anywhere. Ailill carelessly tossed a box from an empty case of supplemental avian vitamin mix onto his desk and began moving his few belongings into it. Whether by habit or otherwise, he did not keep many personal effects here, there, or anywhere. The last item placed inside was his coffee cup that proclaimed, ‘Because I’m The Falconer--That’s Why.’  With a last look around and a sneer of profound disgust, he picked up his things. If they were firing him, they could sod off if they thought he was staying until five o’clock. He rose and walked the box to the boot of the car, returning to the aviary to help Calanon retrieve Diana and Thia. Diana was never other than slightly cantankerous, and it was easier if he was the one to handle her first.

 

He was on his final trip out to the car when he ran into Mary, who darted nervous looks down the empty corridor. “Ailill,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I can’t talk here but please, promise you will call me tonight. I know what that letter said and then some. Stuff I’m not supposed to know. They can’t do this to you, it’s completely illegal,” she whispered. “Promise me?”

 

That a friend of his had such nervousness in her eyes was almost as bad as whatever had happened to provide her this colossal insight. _He was good at his fucking job. One of the best. Which was why…_ “Alright,” he said, his gaze softening as he returned her hug while keeping a protesting Diana literally at arm’s length. “Later.” When he saw she was knuckling back tears, it moved him. “Don’t worry for me,” he reassured. “I’ll be fine no matter what happens.” And that much was true. However, one other thing crossed his mind. “Mary, Calanon doesn’t drive, so he’ll no longer have a way to come here. Forgive me, but I’m not going to put up with this shite and ferry a volunteer to work every day for their benefit. Sorry.” With one last affectionate squeeze to her shoulder, he turned and left. He would keep his keys, because, _fuck them_.

 

“I understand,” she whispered miserably to his retreating form.

 

*****

 

Fat droplets of rain spattered against the windscreen by the time they arrived at the forest. The hard set of Ailill’s jaw had not altered, and few words had been spoken between the pair during the entire trip. When the car was parked at last, Calanon moved to change that. He reached for his love’s hand, grasping it firmly. “Please talk to me,” he pleaded. “I can see you are...something...but unlike Aran Thranduil I cannot read your thoughts.”

 

Ailill looked ahead, struggling with himself; his hand lay passively in Calanon’s grip. It wasn’t easy to be completely pissed off clear up to outer space, and have to include someone else in those feelings. “I’m angry,” he answered, trying to keep his voice even. “Really angry. I’m no solicitor and even I know that how I was dismissed is...complete and utter shite. The blame was laid on my absences and my irregular workdays. The same workdays THEY agreed to, over a year ago. I put in the same hours that I have always been paid for. More, even. How many times did we stay late to do extra cleaning or inventories, or lessons or whatever in fu-- or whatever we were asked to do? Plenty, that’s what. There was no discussion, no warning, no… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be angry at you. I’m not angry at you. It’s just…” he sighed. “I really can’t think about this right now, Cal. I have to talk to Mary later on. She asked me to call her tonight, and whatever she has to say is going to probably piss me off all over again. Everyone here is probably busy with their own problems on account of Enderi, and what sounds like a lot of guests coming.” His body relaxed somewhat, as Calanon’s free hand petted his shoulder.

 

“It will be alright,” the ellon insisted with simple faith. “You are not alone, with this. You do realize that if Aran Thranduil wishes matters to be otherwise, otherwise is how they will be, in the end?”

 

 _No, I actually had not stopped to consider that._ There were times he wondered if he actually knew the half of what his King was capable of doing. And Calanon was right. He belonged to Thranduil, and only had to wait on what his sovereign wanted, in this. “I guess I realize now,” he smiled, leaning toward the elf. “Thank you.” A cry from one of the transport boxes in the rear seat reminded them they were not alone, eliciting a smile. The baying sounds of two dogs alerted them that others were coming, so with a quick kiss the discussion was terminated. Seconds later Kiernan was happily peeing on the tires of the car while Flannery sniffed everything. The hounds had been successfully trained never to jump up on people, but that was perhaps all that could be said. Thanadir, Earlene and Thaladir came to greet them, each offering to carry something into the house.

 

*****

 

Ailill sat quietly through the evening meal at Eldamar, still profoundly upset but glad to be home and with his family. As he was often quiet, this attracted no particular notice. Earlene had made a hearty beef and onion soup served in ‘bowls’ of crisped mashed potatoes and a delightful shredded beet, yogurt and garlic salad on the side. There was a sheet cake for dessert, filled with a butterscotch custard, and Thranduil had brought out bottles of a very nice red wine to go with the meal. If Ailill was drinking more of that than usual, only Calanon saw. Or rather, only Thranduil and Calanon saw. Ailill and Calanon insisted on doing all the dishes for this meal as they always did, and after, they retreated to their room. Quite soon after, Ailill sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed while a worried Calanon rubbed his back. A knock came at the door, and the ellon hurried to unlock the latch, bowing to admit the King.

 

So immersed in his anger was he, Ailill did not notice Thranduil’s arrival until his name was spoken, and immediately rose with apologies.

 

“I am sorry, Aran Thranduil. What may I do for you?” he asked quietly.

 

“Sit down, Ailill,” Thranduil asked, joining him and placing an arm over his shoulder. “I would guess that most of your circumstances are known to me now, since little of what happened to you or what you feel about it was left out of your thoughts tonight. I am sorry for what has occurred, and I very much intend to address it. Sunday. When all of the weekend events are passed. I know that you must speak to one of your workmates this evening; I hope the information proves useful. However, I must ask your cooperation in one small thing. For the love of Eru, do not tell Earlene about this or let on in any way until two days’ hence. I know my wife, and…” he massaged his forehead. “She is going to ‘go off’, to put it mildly. It is important to me that she enjoy tomorrow, which is arguably the first milestone of victory after much hard work on her part. Can you do this?”

 

“Yes, of course, my King. But with respect, I do not see why Earlene would become so...involved...with something like this. It is just one of those things.”

 

Thranduil laughed. “Do you not understand that Earlene was and still is a lawyer, Ailill? A solicitor? Not just any lawyer. Earlene is known and admired by highly placed politicians. Millionaires. Billionaires. It would not surprise me to know that she could make two phone calls and have the entirety of Ashford Castle under new ownership in a fortnight. If you have indeed been dealt with wrongly according to the law, there will be little help for those who have transgressed. But we will speak of this, and other matters pertaining to it later. Not now. There is only one question with which I wish you to occupy your mind between now and then. And that is, do you want to return to your position as head of the Falconry School, or would an indeterminate amount of time to live here among us and focus on your learning among my people be to your preference? I do not want you to tell me what you think I wish to hear, nîth vain. Explore your own heart; discuss it with your mate. That is all, and I will see you at breakfast. We will be joined by the ellyn from Oxford; they will travel through the night to come to us.”

 

“Yes, Aran Thranduil,” Ailill whispered, leaning into the affectionate hug he was given. Behind his back, Calanon beamed, and Thranduil had to suppress a smile at the sight of it. Of how practical and level-headed an ellon Calanon was, he perceived more all the time. “We wish you a good night, Aran Thranduil.”

 

“To you also,” he smiled as he closed the door behind him.

 

*****

 

Earlene was up long before dawn. Why she cared so much, she wasn’t sure, but she was going to be goddamned if anything but one of her better breakfasts was served today. Maybe it was the residual sting of her initial meeting with the ellyn at Oxford, and a determination to show them that mere humans could be far more gracious hosts. Maybe it was that no matter how much she wished to deny it, that having a living, breathing son of Fëanor in her home was an honor few could claim. Yes, he’d killed people, but so had she, and while of course it was not remotely the same...he was famous and there was no getting around that _. I am still human, sue me._ Whatever it was, she was already angling toward fruit-filled crepes, fresh-baked berry muffins, scones, and two variations on eggs Benedict. And that meant a great deal of batters and doughs needed creating. Oh and hot cocoa; if they couldn’t show off their superior food products today of all days, what even was the point?

 

Thanadir and Ortherion appeared in that order, the former nuzzling her with kisses while he prepared them tea, and the latter rubbing his eyes to politely ask what she would like him to do, as always. He was placed in charge of prepping a laundry list of food ingredients, and given clearance to make the usual breakfast staple of porridge (which today would be spiced squash custard porridge, just because) and the three of them set to work.

 

Lorna knew better than to go anywhere near the kitchen, so she busied herself making sure the twins were actually presentable. This ran into a snag when Chandra, chasing Midnight, slipped on her stocking feet and smacked her face on the doorjamb.

 

The twins weren’t quite like normal children -- they didn't really cry when they got hurt. Chandra just swore like a sailor, clapping her hands over her bleeding nose -- which just made her swear even louder.

 

“What’ve I told you about running in socks?” Lorna asked, grabbing a hand towel out of the bathroom. “Ratiri, allanah, will you get some ice when  you’ve got a moment?”

 

Her poor, half-shaved husband looked at their daughter, and shook his head. “Chasing the cats?”

 

“Yep. Chandra, will you not hold still?”

 

“Do I _have_ to?” She was already over it -- her nose was bleeding. Big deal. Shit happened.

 

“Unless you want to turn this house into a biohazard, yes,” Lorna said firmly. “Stop chasing the kitties, or I’ll broom you.”

 

“I don’t wanna be broomed!” Chandra cried, now quite familiar with this one. “I need an adult!”

 

Lorna grinned. “I _am_ an adult, and I’ll tickle you into submission if you don’t hold still.”

 

The little girl looked at her. “How could I hold still if you tickled me?” she asked, mystified.

 

“She’s got you there,” Ratiri called, over the sound of the running tap. “Stay put, you two. I’ll be right back.”

 

Out he went, across the bridge and down the stairs. His face still stung slightly from aftershave, but it actually felt a bit nice. “I need some ice and a towel,” he said. “Chandra’s had a bit of a mishap thanks to socks, a hardwood floor, and a cat.”

 

Earlene glowered. “Maybe I’ll not curse the day I said I wanted these floors shiny and polished when the lot of them are past twenty,” she grumbled, only half-seriously.

 

Thanadir raised his eyebrows at the comment, and realized that his meldis was perhaps more tense than he had discerned, while he hurried to bring out the ice. “Here you are,” he said to Ratiri with an apologetic look and an unseen jerk of his head toward Earlene.

 

“I SAW THAT”, she glowered some more, causing Thanadir’s eyes to widen. _How….?_

 

 _Better you than me,_ Ratiri thought, and hurried off. Thanadir was her husband, dealing with this was his job.

 

“I think Earlene might be about to go Chernobyl on everyone in the kitchen,” he said, when he reached his room. Lorna was still patiently standing with Chandra, holding the bloody cloth under her nose.

 

“It’s a big deal for her,” Lorna said. “I mean, _Maglor_. Though I guess we’re meant to call him Kana, which I for one will have a fuck’v a hard time with. Whatever. She probably wants to get back at them for being bastards when they first met.”

 

Ratiri snorted. “I think our household will be retribution enough,” he said. “Eighteen people, two dogs, seven cats, and three hawks that sound like demented babies. If they don’t leave here mildly traumatized, we won’t have done our jobs right.”

 

His wife burst out laughing. “Fair point. Go get Shane put together, will you? Once this one’s nose stops dripping like a faucet, I’ll join you.”

 

Off he went again, and wondered of these two ancient Elves were remotely ready for this household.

 

Some minutes before a sound was heard, Thranduil came to his wife, having delivered cleaned and fed sons into Lothiriel’s keeping. He placed an arm around her shoulders, drawing her against him. “You understand that our household is our household, our Realm is our Realm, and that if it fails to find favor in the eyes of our guests, it is their loss and not ours?” he asked softly.

 

Earlene actually put down her cookie sheet for a moment in order to wrap her arms around him. “I know. And I have been trying to tell myself that and many other things. I don’t even know why this is getting to me so much. None of it is my responsibility, but I feel deep down that they need us, Thranduil. Especially Maglor. These are not elves who are really...living. Seeing them in Oxford was...sad.”

 

He tilted her chin up to look in her eyes. “You are filled with compassion, Earlene, and it speaks well of you. But for what Maglor has done with his life, you are not the one who is going to be able to save him. We will offer both of them a home and a family. Whether or not to accept remains with them. You know as well as I, this cannot be forced.”

 

Her head nodded against his chest, as he held her tightly. Overhead, she heard the unmistakable sounds of Thaladir clattering down the back stairs with the dogs, to have their brief morning run in the woods. “I know,” she whispered, releasing him. There were still two batches of scones remaining to be baked.

 

Eventually, Lorna got Chandra cleaned up and in a new shirt, now feeling somewhat harassed. The little girl darted off, needing to impart a certain nugget of information. She rapped on Eleniel and Ithiliel’s door, pensive.

 

“Come in,” echoed in stereo. The twins had a ritual of combing each other’s hair, which they had long ago learned was easier than doing it themselves. Ithiliel was weaving her sister’s beautiful dark hair into a pretty loose braid.

 

Chandra snuck in, and shut the door behind her. “So, my mam said the two elves who’re coming were bastards to your mam when they met, and that her making breakfast so perfect is her way’v getting back at them.”

 

“What?” Ithiliel frowned as she reached for a hair tie. “Get back at someone by making them extra good food? That doesn’t even make sense, Chandra. Are you sure you heard right?”

 

“I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that’s grown-ups for you,” Chandra said. “Mam said, ‘She probably wants to get back at them for being bastards when they first met’.” Her impression of her mother was… a little too spot-on, honestly.

 

Now Eleniel entered the fray. “Chandra, do you know who the ellyn are, who are coming? Besides that you think they are bastards?”

 

“Da says they’re both really old, and that one of them especially has been through hell,” Chandra said. “And their names are Quendingoldo and Maglor, but they like to be called Quen and...Kana, I think? But if they were actually nasty to Auntie Earlene, I don’t give a shit who they are. I need more information. I love your mam, and nobody gets to just be a bastard to her.”

 

“Well they happen to also be a scholar and one of the greatest musicians that ever lived, too,” Eleniel said. “They are famous elves and honored guests of our adar. I don’t know about anything between them and our nana but….look, just be careful Chandra, OK? You thought condoms were balloons. I agree, I think you need more information, but either way it sounds like grown-up business and...do you want your hair braided?” Maybe Chandra could be distracted. It worked sometimes…they loved their cousins but especially Chandra could go off half-baked. They were never going to forget the tampons incident. Never.

 

“...Okay,” Chandra said. Hey, hair-braiding was hair-braiding. Even so, scholars or musicians or whatever, if she found concrete proof that they’d been bastards to Auntie Earlene, it would be made known, in no uncertain terms, that such a thing would not be tolerated again.

 

Allanah poked her head in the doorway, hearing voices in the room. “Hi Chandra,” she said with a sunny smile. “Whatcha gonna do today?”

 

“Eat breakfast,” Chandra said innocently. Whatever was going to happen, she wasn’t going to drag Allanah into it. Poor Allanah didn't handle getting in trouble nearly as well as she and Shane did -- probably because she never really _got_ in trouble. “Your mam’s got a lot going downstairs, I think.”

 

“Oh,” Allanah said, disappointed. They would not get much attention from the adults today, except Lothiriel, and even she would be busy with their newest brothers. She had hoped they might all go play in the woods, but clearly that hope was not shared. A heavy knocking sound carried up the stairs. “Guess that’s Quen and Kana here. So breakfast it is. Nana will ring the triangle soon, I’m gonna see if I can find Tail.”

 

“He might be with Booger,” Chandra said. The big ball of fluff seemed to have adopted Saoirse’s kitten, for some reason; where Booger was, Tail was often not far behind. “Allanah, see if Saoirse wants to play later.” If Allanah was well out of the way, nothing could happen to her.

 

“Okay,” she said cheerfully, tucking her blue hair behind her ear. It might actually be possible; with the festival today, Saoirse might just not be painting in the caverns like she seemed to almost every spare minute that she was not required to study or be in the classroom. Maybe Saoirse would even make something with her, that was always super fun. And there were colored autumn leaves now; last year Saoirse helped her make something very pretty out of them that nana had liked so much that she made Ada Thanadir cover it with...something...so that it stayed permanent. Then the triangle rang; that meant, mealtime was now.

 

*****

 

Thanadir answered the door, having changed into clothing that was more suitably elven than not. Especially after he had seen Earlene do the same. Thranduil was determined to send a somewhat different message, and appeared in black buckskin breeches and boots, with a very ornately embroidered silver-gray tunic. Earlene groaned silently. _Those_ breeches held fond and lascivious memories, all of which came flooding back. Color rushed to her cheeks. There were many things Thanadir had not realized about the earliest days of their knowing one another, and while she had not meant to hide these details from him, neither had she gone out of her way to tell him of various unseemly dalliances that had been timed around his appearances at her cottage. A quirked eyebrow from the seneschal meant that she could count on having to ‘fess up later on. But for now she smiled.

 

“Quen, and Kana. Welcome to our home at Eldamar,” she said, offering them their own gesture of traditional greeting. Which they did in turn, though their attention was rather more arrested by the sight of the one who must be Thranduil. This was the first ellon Kana had seen that was even close to his own height; he stood only a few inches taller.

 

“Aran Thranduil,” they said with courtesy, looking around in wonder at what they could see of the home.

 

“No. Only ‘Thranduil,’ here, though it is appreciated,” he said earnestly. “Please, Thanadir, show our guests their rooms. We are just minutes from having our morning meal.”

 

With a nod, Thanadir whisked the case carrying their belongings into his arms, and showed them up the stairs, indicating various appointments of the house as he assisted their bewildered guests. Kana carried a case that presumably held some kind of harp, which he brought with him. They showed no need to do other than note the location of their rooms, when a wailing cry came from nearby. “What in Eru’s name was that?” Kana asked, alarmed.

 

“Oh, that is one of the hawks,” Thanadir explained. “That is their cry.” The two ellyn looked at each other blankly, until Quen recalled that Thranduil had mentioned a mortal falconer and nodded. They conversed briefly, until the jangle of the iron triangle jarred their ears. “That is the sound of mealtime,” Thanadir informed them optimistically. “I hope you are hungry. Earlene has worked very hard at making a special meal, which I am certain is owed to your visit.”

 

Neither ellon could object to the promise of food, especially after the mention Thranduil had made of his wife’s culinary talents. They all filed again into the hallway, only to almost collide with four young females. “Ah. This is Chandra, Allanah, Ithiliel and Eleniel. Girls, please say hello to Quen and Kana,” Thanadir introduced.

 

Kana looked down in wonder. These were all beautiful children, though one had a peculiarly sour grimace on her face. And another did, in fact, have blue hair. “Pleased/nice to meet you,” they politely chorused.

 

Chandra eyed them. They were...Elves. They didn't look immediately unpleasant, at least -- but then, they were Elves. They wouldn’t. More information was needed. It was that word Da liked so much...reconnaissance. Something like that. They were certainly _tall_ ; that was just going to annoy Mam. “You’re as tall as my da,” she observed. “You and he and Uncle Thranduil will have to stand for picture, probably. That’s what grown-up seem to do, anyway.”

 

“We will do that, Chandra. Now you four take the poles down, and hurry. There is to be hot cocoa today, and you don’t want Thaladir drinking it all first,” he cautioned, knowing that chocolate at breakfast was something of a Universal Motivator. All the girls eagerly scuttled off in the direction of the wooden bridge that led to the fire pole in the dining room.

 

“I understood none of that,” Quen said, with amusement, though he was glad enough to see children again.

 

“Poles,” said Thanadir. “You passed one in the foyer. It is the fastest, if least dignified, means by which to descend from the upper storeys of our home. Come, you should try them.” He smirked and led the way, knowing they would not refuse, and thinking it very humorous that he could be causing them to do this. Once down below, he could not help but note the twinkle in Kana’s eyes, though nothing was said.

 

*****

 

At the table, Thranduil formally introduced their guests to the rest of the household. Earlene and Thanadir moved down a chair from their customary seats, allowing their guests the places of honor next to Thranduil. All at the table that knew how extended the elven greeting to them, which was at least more polite than clapping or cheering. Lothiriel brought Algar and Eldan to Thranduil and Thanadir; they wished for everyone, even their very young sons, to be present at this meal. As each of the twins squirmed in their father’s laps, Quen and Kana’s eyes were riveted on them, and it was not many seconds later before the babies were transferred into the arms of their guests, who were now both smiling broadly. Quen saw this, and knew it had been worth the nine hour drive just to see his friend this happy.

 

Lorna and Ratiri got their twins settled and dished up, complete with cocoa. Chandra forebore comment for now; she was still watching these two Elves. So, she noted, was Saoirse, though in her cousin’s case it was probably because they were going to go in her sketchbook, like half the other people they met. Uncle Pat looked...Chandra was pretty sure the word was _frazzled_ , and she had no idea why. Grown-up stuff. The older she got, the more she started to think that being a grown-up secretly sucked.

 

“I’d say I hope you’re ready for the festival, but I’m not sure any’v us are,” Lorna said. “It’s the first year we’ve had a farm. And the kids’ll all have costumes, too.” She wasn’t sure when or where either twin had figured out what a zombie was, but they both wanted to be zombies, so zombies they would be. Saoirse had agreed to go with the theme, but Pat...poor Pat. Grania and Lorna the  Younger were coming to this, so he’d agreed to don ladybug antennae and a spotted red jacket. Hard to maintain any tension when he looked like _that_.

 

Quen’s eyes widened. He was fairly certain he caught ‘farm’ and ‘kids’ and...what? “Please forgive me,” he said as politely as he could muster. “We have lived in England so long that I am unfamiliar with some Irish accents.”

 

Thranduil laughed, knowing that he could salvage that easier and thereby frustrate Lorna less. “My dearest friend is originally from Dublin, where her abilities with Irish have proved of no end of help to us,” he said. “She is asking whether you are ready for our farm’s harvest festival, and telling that all the invited children will be wearing costumes. We thought it would help them enjoy our event more.”

 

“Oh, yes,” smiled Quen, hoping he had not offended. “We both love little ones, and food this good is not something we have the pleasure to have very often.” That seemed like a safe enough response.

 

Lorna gave up; she had to laugh, too. Leaning over, she said, “Alright, allanah, you’re my interpreter. Go ahead and tell them this isn’t the first time I’ve needed one.”

 

Ratiri smiled. In truth, he was trying not to be visibly boggled, but...but... _Maglor and Pengolodh._ Even how, he was not immune to Nerd Mode; he just had better control over it. “My wife says this isn’t the first time she’s needed an interpreter,” he said. “Don’t worry, she’s used to it.”

 

She gave him a discreet kick under the table, though her expression didn't change.

 

“Aunt Earlene’s the best cook in Ireland, probably,” Saoirse said. “How long are you staying here?”

 

“We have to leave Sunday evening,” Quen answered. “We have to have our book shop open on Monday morning. That will let us drive back and have a little sleep.” He already wondered if their lives would be the same, by then. The compliment was no jest; the food before them was wonderful. As good or better than the fare at the nice restaurants near them. “You prepare food for this whole family yourself, Earlene?”

 

“Yes, with help. Thanadir and Ortherion more often than not are working alongside me. And sometimes Thranduil too, and Ratiri cooks very well. Perhaps one day we can treat you to one of his Indian meals.”

 

“We are very grateful to be here,” Kana added. “Everything is delicious. And this cream…” he marveled.

 

“You’ll have to see the cows,” Ratiri said. “There’s nothing like fresh dairy. And the chickens, though they can get a bit...friendly...if you go too close.”

 

“And by that he means they’ll try to eat your boot laces,” Lorna said, slowly and carefully. Ratiri translated it for her anyway.

 

“But they’re cute,” Saoirse added. “Noisy, but cute. They chase Tail, too, if he goes in there. Watching a two-stone cat running away from a herd’v chickens is better than TV. Especially when he’s all puffed up like a big orange floofball with feet.”

 

“We will show them everyplace, but after the meal,” Thranduil reassured. “More scones, anyone?”

 

*****

 

“I think we are ready,” the King said, amused. Ailill and Calanon were already down with Thia and Diana, and once it was known that Ratiri was coming along, he swiftly found himself with a glove and Fion on his wrist. Thaladir was proudly waiting with Flannery and Kiernan, and Earlene had only wanted a moment to change out her clothing for something more suited to riding. She appeared swiftly enough, wearing a light cloak that she would doubtless abandon at the stables. They were heading out on a combination mini-hunt and tour of their world for the benefit of Quen and Kana.

 

Earlene took one look at Ratiri and laughed. “You were the unfortunate spare hand, I see,” she laughed.

 

“I am indeed,” he said, eying the bird. He hadn’t been up close with any of the hawks before, but none of them seemed to have attacked anyone yet, so there was that. “Hopefully he does not see me as any kind of snack.”

 

The hawk, possibly offended, let out his demented-baby cry.

 

“Sorry, sorry.”

 

“He does not understand English,” Earlene said, exasperated. “And of the three, he is the nice one.”

 

“You are doing fine, Ratiri,” Ailill said encouragingly. “Soon we can begin flying him, and you will not deal with his impatience.” True to his word, once they began walking,  Ratiri was shown to release the jesses and allow Fion to fly off into the trees, where he would make many searching forays, returning to the glove each time.

 

“The cats are terrified of the hawks,” Ratiri said, “except for one of ours, the fat one. I’ve caught her staring at them like she’s trying to size them up for dinner. Either she’s too smart to try it, or too stupid.” He was leaning toward the latter.

 

Kana watched the birds in fascination, for never had his people of old used birds in this manner. At least, not so far as he knew. And while he had of course read of this pursuit in books, he had never seen it. Ailill watched carefully. Later, he might offer the elf a glove. But not just yet, and certainly not Thia. Thranduil, however… “My Lord, do you wish my glove?” he offered respectfully. The smile of affirmation Thranduil gave in return was enough; Ailill knew he had more innate skill with any creature than he would ever have. The moment he released Thia, he surrendered his glove to his King, and turned to Ratiri. “Is everything well, or would you like me to take over?” he offered kindly, seeing that Ratiri still seemed nervous.

 

“That might be for the best,” Ratiri said. “I’m such a complete novice. I’ll have to come out with you again sometime, when there aren’t so many people around.”

 

“You did fine,” Ailill reassured, taking the glove. They moved through the forest, Thaladir’s hounds tracking along in a criss-cross pattern. That was when the young boy walked over to Quen and tugged at the sleeve of his tunic, gaining the ancient elf’s attention.

 

“Would you consent to pick me up and carry me?” the small voice piped.

 

Quen inhaled sharply. He had not seen the boy’s emerald green eyes at the breakfast table; until now Thaladir had never looked up at him. “Of course,” he said, swallowing hard, as he hoisted the elfling high into his arms.

 

“Thank you,” Thaladir said very properly. “Now I can watch my hounds.”

 

Ratiri watched the child, and Pen -- er, Quen -- and thought it was one of the more adorable things he had ever seen. To see an Elf so visibly moved...and of course Thaladir was one of the cutest kids in existence. He turned away, hiding a smile, and was quite pleased by the morning so far. He just crossed his fingers it stayed on this way.

 

“Ma merilyë mahta i fion, Canafinwë?” (Do you wish to handle the hawk, Kanafinwë?) Ailill asked with great deference.

 

“Ma quetil lambelma?” (You speak our tongue?) the ellon asked, very surprised.

 

“Apárien landanna massenyo,” (I have learned as best I could) the man answered.

 

“Merin, é!” (I would like to, indeed) Maglor replied, whereupon he was immediately presented with the falconer’s glove. Moments later Fion came, wingtips all but skimming the forest path, to alight. His bright amber eye searched expectantly for the tidbit of meat that was swiftly provided.

 

They walked on until they arrived at the Halls, whose Gates were not hidden from elven eyes. With a whisper, Thranduil ordered the hounds to mind themselves on the walkways and that there were no dog toilets in his caverns until they reached the stable stalls. All the hawks were of course secured to their gloves once again, and the usual amount of time was given for the eyes of the humans to adjust. Ratiri and Ailill chuckled with good humor; their mortal vision was not to be helped.

 

“This is beautiful, Thranduil,” Quen said. “This is a little like those Eldar from Doriath described Menegroth.”

 

“It is a pale shadow of that grand fortress,” the King reflected sadly. “Yet we have been happy and safe here for endless years. Better a more modest abode than one that lies now in ruins.”

 

“How silly of me,” Quen admitted,, chagrined. “My mind has sat idle for too long. Of course you knew Menegroth…” he trailed off.

 

“No harm is done,” Thranduil said kindly. “We will spend more time here for the festival tonight. Our destination now is the stables, for horses.”

 

“It’s been an interesting experience, learning to farm with them,” Ratiri said. “Only a few of us knew how, and the rest have had to learn on the fly. I sometimes helped the farmers where I lived as a boy, and it was much easier then.” He’d been young and limber, and had the energy of childhood. He was still fairly limber, but he went home tired as hell on the days he worked in the fields. So did Lorna, who would fall asleep sprawled on his chest and then just...not move. He’d have to shove her away so he could breathe.

 

“And this is all to...prepare for the end you believe will come?” Kana asked. “It is very shocking, what you related, Thranduil. Had I not seen these things with my own eyes...but I never fully understood how you slew the creature.”

 

“That is because I was not about to write that in an email,” the King answered. “I am willing to explain that with perfect clarity, if I might have your word that the information will be kept private between you.”

 

“I give it,” Kana said.

 

“As do I,” echoed Quen.

 

“Thank you,” Thranduil inclined his head. “One of the possessions of this Realm is Eöl’s blade Anguirel. I doubt I need explain much more.”

 

“You have Maeglin’s…” Quen’s eyes widened. “And you…”

 

“Used it. Or more accurately, my seneschal used it. He was the one who struck the fatal blow, though it was necessary for me to finish it. Avathar was very strong, and Thanadir had been shot. Most everyone, had been shot,” he remembered bitterly.

 

“Something I certainly did not enjoy,” Ratiri muttered. “If it wasn’t for Thranduil, I would have bled to death. That bastard would have killed Lorna, too, if not for Manwë.”

 

Kana looked at Ratiri with a peculiar expression. “Killed Lorna? Mana?” (what?)

 

At this Ailill snickered a little. “No. Not ‘killed asleep’. ‘Lorna’ is his wife’s name. That you met this morning. Only I and one other ellon in the Halls know your ancient tongue, Kanafinwë.”

 

Maglor smiled, suddenly understanding. “Of course. I see now,” he grinned.

 

Ratiri eyed them both, struggling to suppress laughter. “‘Lorna’ means ‘asleep’ in Quenya? If any of you intends to tell her that, let me be nearby when you do. I thought Lorna Empty was bad enough, but Asleep Empty? Perfect.”

 

“What?” Ailill asked, confused.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “Ailill, when Lorna was new to the Halls and spoke no Sindarin, she walked about one day gesturing to herself and saying ‘lost’ because, well, she was lost. Thalion thought her name was ‘empty’. It has been something of a joke since then.”

 

“Ohhh,” said Ailill. “But ‘lost’ is not a word in Quenya, only Sindarin and...I think I had best stay out of this.”

 

“Probably wise,” Thranduil said acerbically, as he gestured them all through the stable doors.

 

Ratiri gave up, snickering. Oh, he was using this. Somehow, he was using this. And whenever she inevitably retaliated...well, he could hide.

 

“So anyway,” the King continued, “bringing animals back here after countless years was the first stage of our farming project. We are going to need to provide food for a population of undetermined size that seems to be rapidly heading to at least two thousand individuals, in a world that will have collapsed. It was concluded that it was an absolute necessity to have a complete agricultural enterprise in place before that time. We expect that a great many farm animals will perish from neglect once this outbreak happens--but not if ours are nearby to us. We can safely house hundreds of animals here, probably close to a thousand--if we have adjacent lands for their fodder and grazing.”

 

The two ellyn gazed at each other, looks of uncertainty on their faces.

 

Ratiri caught their expressions, and sighed. “Thranduil, I think we need to tell them about Sharley,” he said, “and what Sharley showed us.”

 

All this time, Earlene had lingered back a little, remaining silent. Now, she chose to speak. “They were told, Ratiri,” she said softly but audibly. “But Thranduil has the ability to do more than tell. He can _show_. I will go on ahead with my son and Ailill, because that discussion is for greater years.” Quen immediately lowered the boy from his arms, and Thaladir took his nana’s hand without question. With a bow of courtesy to the ellyn, Ailill and Calanon followed Earlene. Kana could certainly sit a horse and hold a hawk; of that there was little doubt. They would meet up soon enough.

 

“Thanks to Thranduil, I saw some of it, too,” Ratiri said. “It was...it isn’t that we _think_ this is going to happen in the future, we _know_ it. Sharley doesn’t have the date narrowed down, but it’s in springtime, sixteen and a half years from now. Avathar’s just the gift that keeps on giving -- he set this up. Were he to ever die, twenty years later, a box would be opened. I’m a medical doctor, and I can say that within it is the most hellish disease I’ve ever seen or read of, and it will wipe out almost all of humanity. In three bloody weeks.”

 

“You are a…” Quen said, helplessly. It had been easier to dismiss this plague discussion as a fanciful eccentricity of a very old Elvenking. He looked at Kana.

 

Thranduil interrupted. “My wife seems to think it time you be offered more concrete proof. I can show you, if you wish, though not for long. I can only communicate this way easily with my seneschal.”

 

“Aran Thranduil,” Kana said. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I can make this bridge with great ease, if you will allow it. I give my word that I will not attempt to see further than what you wish to show me. Quen and I often communicate with thought as well, if the need arises. He is not as skilled in this as I; but I can...relay, as it were.”

 

“You have given me no reason not to trust you,” Thranduil said kindly, extending his hand to Maglor.

 

Quen and Kana both looked at Thranduil, nearly speechless. For though it had not ever been spoken of between them, they were Noldo and he was Teleri, and to them his words meant far more than their face value. “Thank you,” whispered Kana, taking his hand. “Nod to me when you are ready.”

 

A moment later, Thranduil did just that, and ten minutes later two ashen-faced elves stood stunned.

 

“Sharley says that there’s no averting it,” Ratiri sighed. “And I’m certain if there was a way, she’d have found it. We don’t know just where these visions of hers truly come from, but she’s never been wrong yet.” He wasn’t going to mention Earlene’s theories; those were hers to share. Or not.

 

“I am sorry,” Thranduil said. “None of us wanted to accept this. None of us wants to deal with it at all. But as I am the only one who can shelter them, that is what I will do. I know this is still...raw. Hard to contemplate. Please know that you have a place here among us.” He poured all his sincerity into those last words, before looking away. “Perhaps now it is best to find our horses. Though it is not our custom to encumber our mounts, it attracts attention if we do not at least have bridles on them. Those are in here,” he gestured.

 

Soon they were moving through the long tunnel that would exit through another massive set of underground portals into the forest, not overly far from the edge of the trees. Like the Great Gates, there was most always a guard hidden in the trees nearby. While not easy to see because the ingress was well hidden by boulders, trees and greenery alike, it was a point of access. While it too had protective enchantments, there was no desire for any uninvited mortals to ever come near this location. With a wave of his hand, Thranduil caused these doors to swing open prior to Earlene and her companions reaching them.

 

 _I have never asked you if these open the same way as the main Gates, Thranduil? Does the same password work here?_ It was only the third or fourth time she had passed through them; pregnancy and the demands of very young babies had kept her from riding as much as she might have liked over the summer months.

 _  
_ _For you, yes,_ came the merry voice in her mind. With a smile, she decided she would pursue the finer details of the question later.

 

Soon they had crossed the road to the farm, where Kana was invited to fly Fion in earnest, now that the dogs were hunting in the shrubs and grassy spaces. It needed only five minutes, for the Kerry hounds to erupt in their hunting cry, flushing a large jackrabbit from the brush. Kana’s mouth opened in astonishment as Fion, Thia and Diana plunged from the air en masse on the hapless creature. Calanon and Ailill followed on foot, ensuring that little Thaladir could get to his hounds with a reward while Ailill did the same for the hawks. Quite soon the prey was in the little boy’s hands, and he ran back to his father excitedly waving the freshly deceased animal. “Adar, look! Look!”

 

Thranduil lifted his son into his arms, lavishing praise on the boy and hugging him. Earlene sat on her horse (today it was Seodag, the gelding) and watched proudly. Which is why she observed what no one else did--Maglor, quickly knuckling tears from his eyes as he watched father and son, before any of the others noticed. For the sake of the ellon’s pride, she quickly averted her glance and pretended not to have seen. Which was difficult, honestly, because she so badly wanted to give him a hug.

 

*****

 

That evening in the Halls, the atmosphere could best be described as ‘biggest party to date.’ Children from Baile and Lasg’len moved in costumed herds, grabbing nibbles when and where their little hands wished. Since their harvest had been primarily flint corn and winter squashes and animal fodder in the form of baled hay (now securely stored in the farm’s barns), cake-style cornbread, squash pies and tarts figured prominently on the tables. Otherwise, it was just the usual loads of food. They’d planted a vast apple orchard too, that sixteen years from now would yield obscene amounts of cider, juice, pies, and dried fruit. But for now, they had to content themselves with purchased crates of fruit, to make the same treats. Some had brought a dish to share, and as usual John and Big Jamie had been hired to operate an elven version of two pubs in assorted corners of the gathering areas.

 

While it had not really been discussed, apparently Thanadir had made some of his own plans. Bridie had her violin, so did he. His flute was at hand, and Chloe had her bodhran. One of Lorna’s guitars stood handy on a stand, and also present was the largest of their pedal harps. They had gone on to acquire a few more of these instruments (though Earlene was not done by any means), and Thanadir had unsurprisingly gained the most proficiency with them to date.  Certainly he had enough skill to be able to play along to the Irish dance tunes that he had learned at these assorted social functions.

 

Shane and Chandra were dressed up as tiny zombies who somehow managed to be as adorable as they were creepy, their faces rendered grey with makeup and powder, a few bruises here and there done out of eyeshadow Lorna had bought just for the purpose. Torn clothes, though not much fake blood, because she didn't want them scaring any of the other small children.

 

She and Ratiri just put their wedding clothes on, though she left off the better part of all that damn jewelry; one necklace and a few bangles at her wrists, foregoing the naath but putting the dupatta over her hair and holding it in place with the crown. (Melian’s crown. Fucking _Melian’s crown, thanks,_ Thranduil.) She even managed to mimic her wedding makeup, more or less. The lightness of the clothes made their drive through the forest (and yes, she was driving the damn couch; she’d stuck a big torch on the front for a headlamp, while Pat and Saoirse sat on the back) a bit chilly, but it was worth it once they were inside.

 

The Sullivan children wore costumes as well, and privately asked their nana what zombies had to do with a harvest festival. Earlene felt she was at a loss to answer that; her usual creativity had abandoned her. Smiling, she murmured something about how old farmers fall off their tractors when they die, and left it at that. Ithiliel and Eleniel wore matching autumn leaves costumes which were quite fetching; Thanadir had outdone himself as usual. Allanah was a sunflower, and Thanadir had chosen to be a scarecrow. To his mild disappointment, Ailill had to tell him that Fion would not have fun at the party and regrettably could not sit on his shoulder throughout. He had sort of known already, but felt it couldn’t hurt to ask and be sure about that.

 

In a complete departure from the borderline lascivious costume Earlene wore last Halloween, she was arrayed this time in a simple ‘farm girl’ outfit. Jeans, straw hat, checkered red blouse tied at the waist, hair in a single simple braid down her back. Thranduil wore no costume at all but simply looked regal. Earlene had convinced him to wear his crown; it did not look anything like a human crown, and fit the season perfectly with its red berries and autumn leaves interspersed here and there. Thanadir also was dressed in an ordinary elven manner. Quen and Kana were too, but they had abandoned their conservative English blazer and trousers in favor of the same tunic, leggings and boots the other elves wore. And miracle of miracles, something had happened earlier that day…

 

**

{a few hours previous}

 

Ithiliel and Eleniel had encountered Maglor in the upstairs hallway and stopped, blocking his way and frowning mightily at the sight of his long and unkempt braids. “Please Kana, would you let us comb out your hair?” The ancient elf’s lips parted in confusion as two pitiful pairs of dazzling blue eyes gazed up at him with yearning out faces too lovely to disappoint. Nodding dumbly, he allowed himself to be led into their room and seated in front of the little desk and mirror the girls used for such pursuits. So tall was he, it was necessary to sit cross-legged on the floor; their little chairs would not avail him. Nimble little fingers began unweaving the dark tangles that fell to his waist while the twins happily chattered about his lovely tresses while beginning to carefully comb out the tangles. Their little fingers running through his hair jostled very old recollections of younger cousins and siblings doing the same.... Only minutes later Allanah came in, fingers in her mouth as always, to see what her sisters were doing. It took little time before the girl had climbed into the elf’s lap and asked to be told a story.

 

“What kind of story?” he asked her, entranced by the blue of her eyes, knowing that the only tales which came to mind were filled with sadness and terrible deeds. They were not fitting for the ears of beautiful little girls. Even ones with blue hair...

 

Allanah thought for a moment. “Did your nana ever get mad at you when you were our age?” she wanted to know.

 

An involuntary chuckle erupted out of Maglor, as more long-forgotten memories surfaced. “Well, there was the time when my brother Maedhros and I thought it would be helpful to our nana if we were to change the soiled diapers of our twin brothers. They were named Amrod and Amras, but mostly at home our nana called them by the same name, Ambarussa…”

 

**

 

And now the ancient ellon that stepped into the Dining Hall stood apart as no other, revealed in great beauty.

 

A number of the people from Baile had taken the idea of ‘costume party’ and discarded the thought that it should be harvest-themed; there were children and adults in outfits of all sorts milling around, eating and drinking and yattering away. There was an air of excitement now that had been absent at previous get-togethers, though; they’d farmed. They’d _done_ something. Many had come on their days off to help, and now the fruit of their labor had been brought in and stored.

 

“I wasn’t sure how well this’d work, the first year,” Big Jamie said. “I thought maybe it’d take a bit to find our feet.”

 

“Not with elves involved,” Lorna said, sipping a rum and Coke. Trying to drink anything with lip stain on was...interesting. “I’m not sure they know the meaning’v ‘finding their feet’.”

 

Saoirse, also dressed as a little zombie, ran by, chasing Chandra, who had grabbed a very large cupcake and was scooting for freedom with it. The little girl dodged Kana handily, but Saoirse nearly ran into him. “Sorry,” she said. “I think I might need to murder my cousin.”

 

“No you don’t!” Chandra called, already distant. “Auntie Mairead said I could.”

 

“She totally didn't,” Saoirse sighed. “You lads having fun yet?”

 

Quen smiled. “Yes,” he told the young firieth with the strange green eyes. For seeing what had been done to Kana’s hair alone, it had been worth it to come here. It was one of many things on which he dared not offer comment to his friend; apparently little ellith had a power that he lacked entirely. Saoirse flitted away as quickly as she had arrived, and in her place stood a different ellon. One who bore a physical resemblance to their own kin.

 

“I am Ruscion,” he said kindly. “For long years I have been the only Noldo inside these Halls. I welcome you to our home.”

 

They regarded each other silently for a time, a measure of awkwardness settling over the conversation. Earlene breezed in seamlessly, having watched at a small distance. _It is just damn wonderful_ , she thought, _to deal with elves that_ can’t _read my every passing brainwave._ “Ruscion, it is very nice to see you,” she said sincerely, placing her hand over her heart. “I wanted to thank you for your elegant and skillful work in constructing the stone mill. The milled product is...well, from a baker’s viewpoint, it is beyond anything I could ever have hoped for.”

 

“Hiril vuin,” Ruscion said, giving a bow of respect.

 

Earlene now turned to Quen and Kana. “I know you have not been to one of these occasions before, so I can only advise you not to miss the cupcakes or the squash pies. They are another cooperative endeavor between the ellyn and ellith of the kitchens here and some of our extended human family. I believe you will be quite pleased with their efforts. And...I am so happy to see you here.” _Where you belong,_ is what she thought but did not voice, before moving on to greet others.

 

“She is unusual, is she not?” Quen asked Ruscion, half out of observation and half out of questioning.

 

“You have no idea,” said the other Noldo. “Did you know she attacked the balrog that afflicted us not once but twice, armed only with a knife?”

 

“She _what_?” asked Kana, certain he had heard wrong.

 

“You heard correctly; Earlene is no ordinary firieth. The queen is beloved by all. She has brought our King great joy and has worked tirelessly to earn our regard and respect. And more. In the beginning, many of us believed that Aran Thranduil had made a grave mistake in taking her to wife. Now I believe the opposite. The Valar guide their steps, and I am glad to follow. Come. Perhaps you would do me the honor of allowing me to introduce you to some of the other ellyn?”

 

Kana smiled, still in disbelief but now for different reasons, and nodded his assent.

 

Lorna, drink in hand, intercepted them along the way. “Have any’v you seen a tiny little ginger girl? My daughter’s being sneaky again. She probably had a really big cupcake and an evil grin.”

 

“Over there,” Quen smiled, easily able to see the child in question on account of his stature. He pointed the way.

 

“Thanks.” She eyed Ruscion. “So, I confronted Thranduil over this thing on my head. All he did was smirk. Never did get him back for that, actually.”

 

“Our King does nothing without a reason,” Ruscion smiled enigmatically. “Even if the reason is evident only with time.”

 

“Uh-huh,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Anyway, thanks. If you hear the sound of a small child shrieking, it’s just me hanging my daughter upside down and tickling her.” Off she went, hunting.

 

“How do you live alongside them, so easily?” Quen asked in a very soft voice, once Lorna had moved out of hearing. The idea of this had troubled him for some time. Ever of old their races had mostly kept apart. True, there had been exceptions such as Finrod and Elrond, but…

 

“It was strange, at first,” Ruscion admitted. “But as time with them passed...you see, it is not like our lives of old, where the blessings on our people gave a nearly automatic ascendancy. I do not wish you to think we feel we are better than them. We do not. For we have been forced to understand that in spite of their short lives they have achieved greatness. Their inventions, their ability to consolidate knowledge...it has proven humbling. We are not so different as many of us once believed. Though the King’s favorite, Lorna, who was just here? She is very different from Earlene, for example. They are not all alike, not in the least; this also has been an education. And yet Lorna has helped Aran Thranduil accomplish a great deal, for all her manners can be...well, vulgar at times. Should you grace us by spending more time in our midst, you too will see.”

 

“But we too live among humans,” Kana interjected. “We have for years. Centuries. Millennia. We do not see, what it is you speak of.”

 

Ruscion tilted his head. “I ask this next question not in rebuke but in sincerity, Kanafinwë. How hard have you tried? How much effort have you invested, in truly trying to know the mortals?”

 

Kana looked down. “There was one,” he replied. “One like no other. But we blinked and his life ended, as all their lives do.”

 

“We too bear the risk of that pain,” Ruscion admitted. “And yet I dwelled here as a faded spirit for ages. Content enough, yet not really living. Since our King has brought them into our world, we live once again. We have purpose that is not merely reflection on past glories or the contemplation of Eru’s creation. If their short time among us is the price for having this sense returned, I will gladly pay it. Otherwise...we merely exist; witnesses to all that has passed by and changed, while we remain the same.”

 

Quen and Kana looked at each other, and back to Ruscion. “We will consider your words,” Quen said with respect, laying his hand over his heart.

 

Ruscion smiled as he gestured toward the tables. “This way.”

 

**

 

Poor Pat had been cornered by Mairead -- who, having heard about his not-quite-date with Grania, was determined to give him all sorts of advice -- and had no real idea how to escape. Chandra saved him, however, by darting by and grabbing another cupcake, zooming like a little ginger hummingbird.

 

“I saw that, young lady!” Mairead called, but Chandra didn't so much as falter, and Pat took off after her. _Thank-you, kiddo,_ he thought, even as she just about lost him in the crowd.

 

“Uncle Thranduil, help!” Chandra cried, somehow keeping hold her her cupcake. “Mam and Uncle Pat are going to _eat me_!” She scurried behind him, munching away and smearing frosting all over her face.

 

He whisked the errant child into his arm. “Help you, because you are eating sweets in place of dinner when your parents have asked you not to?” he asked with a measure of sternness and humor.

 

She at least finished chewing and swallowed before she said, unrepentantly, “Yes. It’s a party. You’re supposed to eat cupcakes at parties.” To her, her logic  made perfect sense. “Besides, I don’t know why Mam tries to make us eat vegetables. She never says anything, but I know she hates them. She twitches a little every time we have salad night.”

 

“And do you think it is possible that your mother knows more than you do, since you are not yet four and she has lived on this Earth ten times longer than you?” He was not about to let Chandra Logic stand unchallenged.

 

“Maybe,” Chandra admitted, and munched another thoughtful bite of cupcake. “But grown-ups are weird and I swear sometimes they do stuff just to mess with us. And if Mam hates eating something, why does she eat it? Why does she make _us_ eat it? Isn’t that what vitamins are for?”

 

Thranduil smiled. “I will tell you what. You have two choices. You can stop eating cupcakes and eat some of the food your mother wishes you to before having more sweets. And I mean a real portion, not a sliver of each. No cheating. Or, you may sit down with your Aunt Earlene tomorrow, and she will explain to you all about why you need to eat those foods and why vitamins are far less useful by comparison.”

 

Chandra pondered this, eating the rest of her cupcake. She actually was curious as to _why_ the hell Mam kept trying to make them eat all that green crap, even though she didn't like it herself. ‘It’s good for you’ was just too vague to be acceptable, dammit. “Aunt Earlene can tell me tomorrow,” she said. “If I have to eat that icky green stuff, I want to know _why_. So I’ll just go eat more cupcakes tonight.”

 

“Fair enough,” chuckled Thranduil, setting her back down again. He wondered what he would owe Earlene for this one.

 

Off Chandra zoomed, and Pat groaned. “Did you have to let her scarper like that? Lorna’ll kill me later. If Grania doesn’t do it first.”

 

“You may tell anyone and everyone to speak to me. I went out on a limb and made an agreement with Chandra, and I will take responsibility for holding her to it. She is free to eat what she wishes tonight; the consequence will come tomorrow,” he smiled. “So you are ‘off the hook’ as they say.”

 

“I think that’s a relief?” he said. Truth be told, he was sweating, and not from the temperature of the Halls, which was still quite pleasant. “Jesus, I’m freaked out. Lorna had me out practicing driving the sofa all day so I wouldn’t be a wreck, and I’m a wreck anyway.”

 

“You are anxious about Grania?” Thranduil asked with sympathy.

 

“I’m about ready to be sick, honestly,” Pat said. “I haven’t actually _seen_ her since the day I left, and that was...not good, needless to say. Not good at all. I mean, we’ve been emailing back and forth just fine, but that’s not nearly the same thing as talking face-to-face, and Christ, what if I somehow fuck this up? I’m not as bad as Lorna when it comes to sticking my foot in it, but I can still be plenty good at that.”

 

Thranduil pulled him into a hug whether he wanted it or not. “Patrick Donovan, you are a good man. Maybe you were not always one, but you are one now. Everything will be well enough, and it will be better yet if you quit worrying that the worst will happen,” he said kindly. And if he forced the man’s mind to calm down somewhat, he would blame it on Pat’s delayed response to the ale or the cupcakes. Whatever it took.

 

Pat hugged him back, after a startled moment. “I just hope I can convince her’v that,” he said. “Lorna said I need to take her for a drive on the sofa, so things’ll be so absurd they can’t be awkward.”

 

“Well, the absurd part is true…” ruminated Thranduil. “Erm...perhaps after you show her a few things? Has she seen all of the walls Saoirse has decorated, besides here in the Dining Hall? Or some of the waterfalls where the orchids are? Maybe work up to the sofa ride…”

 

He pondered driving to and from all these places on the sofa, but he didn't want to be doing that on the high walkways, and he doubted she would, either. “Good plan,” he said. “I need to run, before Mairead finds me and tries to give me more ‘advice’. God love that woman, but she’s terrifying.”

 

Thranduil quirked his eyes and with a gleam of mischief, sauntered off to find Mairead. _It would be far more fun to pester her, lest she pester…._

 

_**_

Lorna had given up trying to hunt down her wayward daughter, and had instead started dodging Siobhan. This meant she wound up hiding behind Big Jamie, furtively sipping another rum and Coke. She saw Thranduil go by, and his expression suggested he was about to go and be a little shit, so she’d follow him. It usually paid to watch him, when he was in this mood. “Whatcha doing?” she asked, jingling faintly as she walked.

 

“Mairead hunting. Pat needs a reprieve, and I have an entire list of recipes about which I just _must_ ask her,” he smirked.

 

Meanwhile, across the Hall, a metallic twanging sound brought a frown to the seneschal, whose ‘E’ string had just broken. He looked in his case...no replacements. _Valar._ “Bridie, do you have an extra?” A shake of the head No dashed Thanadir’s hopes. There was nothing else for it; it would be necessary to return to Eldamar where such things were kept. Vaguely appalled at his own carelessness, he furtively snatched a cupcake on his way out toward the Gates.

 

“Oooh, let me help,” Lorna said to Thranduil, cackling. “Check it out, I'm loud when I walk.” She danced a little, the bangles on her wrists and ankles clanking.

 

“You’re also a bit drunk,” Big Jamie said, falling in behind her. “You’re trolling Mairead? I want to help, too.”

 

“Now I did not agree to make this a group project, you two,” Thranduil glared. “But it can be. The point is, Mairead is hounding your brother Pat like Flannery on a rabbit, and he deserves a little peace. Tonight is a momentous occasion for him, and he is already wound up tighter than Thanadir’s harp strings.”

 

Lorna and Big Jamie rolled their eyes with such synchronicity it was honestly a bit hilarious. “Of course she is,” Lorna sighed. “Fine, let’s go distract her. Poor Pat...I was hoping driving the sofa around would calm him down, but it didn't. Once this night’s over, we’ll have to get him really drunk just so he winds down.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes but said nothing. _And lo, there was Mairead…_

 

Thanadir rushed into his craft room, grabbing three extra packets of ‘E’ strings (they were always the ones that broke, every time!) and made to return when he saw Lorna the Younger and Grania standing outside Eldamar, looking quite confused. “You are looking for the festival?” he asked kindly. They nodded, looking so tragically nervous. Swiftly the strings were placed in his tunic pocket, and with his best charming smile he offered each of them an arm. If nothing else, this earned a nervous smile from each of them. “Right this way, ladies.”

 

The enchantments were lowered, apparently, which was good. Thanadir did not wish to explain a door opening suddenly into a mouldering hillside, but instead he had the opposite problem. It was easily forgotten, how new ones reacted to the sight of the Gates. Though, Lorna’s sofa was parked just outside, under the portico.

 

“This -- this is where most’v the Elves live?” Grania asked nervously, staring. Lorna said nothing, but lurked protectively near her mother.

 

“Yes,” Thanadir cheerfully. “These are the Elvenking’s Halls. For large gatherings we must have everyone come here; our home at Eldamar is much too small. Wait until you taste the cupcakes,” he said enthusiastically. “Mairead made them and they are at her usual high standard. Come inside, where we will wait a moment. It is dimmer, and I want to make sure you can see. Keep hold of my arms; I will bring you to the Dining Hall.”

 

Grania looked at Lorna. Somehow, the notion of cupcakes just didn't jive with this place, but then, their lives had been flipped so upside-down already that what was a bit more? Lorna had little fear of heights, but Grania did, and was not ashamed to hang into Thanadir’s arm like a limpet.

 

Had this even been a good idea? What if she saw Pat and it all went south in a hurry? They’d have all these _witnesses_ , and... _oh, why did I come out here?_ Her heart lurched, nerves fluttering in her gut like a trapped rat.

 

“Here we are,” Thanadir said. “This is the Dining Hall. Do you see the walls? Pat’s daughter Saoirse painted those. And on the tables are food, two different firin are dispensing Guinness, and oh! Here is Earlene. She can help you. Please excuse me but they are waiting for the violin.” With a pat to the back of her hand, Thanadir left the two women with Earlene, who received a peck on the lips by way of flyby.

 

“Huh,” Earlene mused. “Thanadir is at least on his fifth cupcake and sugar buzzing, or my name is Stanley. So glad to see you both here, are you hungry?”

 

“Where does he put it?” Lorna asked, mystified. “I could use a cupcake.”

 

“I could use a drink,” Grania added. “Jesus, I didn't realize there’d be the better part’v two villages here.”

 

“We’ve tried, at least once a year, to have a sort of huge party and open house for Baile and Lasg’len and...whoever else has been brought into this,” Earlene explained. “Encouraging people to begin spending time here, trying out living in their quarters...it’s been slow going. We hope that the more familiar it seems, the more that will change. And if all else fails, at least everyone that gets ossified finds themselves staying overnight here. Thanadir will need the extra energy; it’s usually on him to make sure anyone drunk gets to their rooms.”

 

“I’ve tried not to think about the fact that there’ll be no Dublin in sixteen years,” Lorna said. “I’ll only be in my thirties.”

 

“That’s why you don’t think about it now,” Lorna the Elder said, weaving slightly. She had a drink in each hand, and she handed one of them to Grania. “Eat, drink, and be merry, for in sixteen years everybody else dies.”

 

“Because that’s cheerful,” Grania muttered. “Thanks. I needed this.”

 

Lorna the Elder looked at Earlene, wondering how the hell to put these two a little more at ease. Sure, she could just get them drunk, but that wasn’t exactly productive.

 

Earlene was thinking the exact same thing, and bit her lip. There was elf wine but.. _.no, bad Earlene. Bad._ She’d seen Thranduil with Pat, who looked like a quivering star ready to supernova for nervousness. Well, if alcohol wasn’t the wisest option, that really left just getting it over with. These three weren’t going to get less nervous for waiting, that much was guaranteed. “Oh look, there’s Pat. About time you lot met each other in person.” She leaned into whisper, even if it was a little loud on account of the ambient noise, “Try not to make fun of his costume. It was for the kids, and he’s been a little sensitive about it all week.”  She continued to speak blithely, ignoring their obvious state of near panic, as she left them with Lorna the Elder and marched over to an unsuspecting Pat, firmly claiming his arm and moving him away.

 

**

 

“You know how it’s best to take off a plaster, Pat?” Earlene asked out of the clear blue sky.

 

“No no no no no, not yet,” he said. “They’ve only just got here, haven’t they? You can’t inflict me on them while they’re still in...in stare-mode.”

 

Lorna the Elder rolled her eyes. “So, my idiot brother’s spent most’v today trying not to piss himself in sheer terror,” she said. “I took him driving the sofa about and it still didn't calm him down, but make him do it later. It’s too much fun.”

 

“Driving the…?” Lorna the Younger said, a little helplessly.

 

“When Earlene was up the yard, in her last few months, she was pretty immobile,” Lorna the Elder said. “I made her two motorized...things. One was an easy chair, and the other was a sofa. The sofa’s my favorite, because you can actually take it on out the open road. We mostly just drive it back and forth between here and Eldamar.”

 

**

 

“Patrick Donovan,” Earlene glowered. “So help me you will come over there with me right now. If you don’t I will either pick you up and carry you there myself, or go to your room and follow you around breastfeeding for a solid fortnight. Or both, I haven’t decided yet. They are here to see _you_ , and waiting will get you nowhere. On with you. Right now!”

 

Pat stared at her in sheer, unadulterated terror, because he honestly wasn’t sure which one was worse. He grabbed Jack’s drink right out of the poor man’s hand, downed it in two swallows, and burped a little. “If this ends badly, I’ll...I’ll...I’ll pull a Lorna, and sit outside your door making cat noises,” he said, scarcely aware of what left his mouth. Later, he’d blame it on Lorna’s influence, because...well, she was her.

 

**

 

Lorna the Elder choked on her drink, because she’d heard that -- he was discovering that Earlene could be every bit as belligerent as anyone born in Ireland. “Well, things might get interesting around Eldamar,” she said, coughing a little.

 

Poor Grania and Lorna the Younger looked at one another helplessly, and she hoped they weren’t both about to run back the way they’d come. “It’ll be okay. Nobody’ll be dragging you around, or breastfeeding at you.”

 

“He has a problem with that?” Grania asked, more than a bit dubious.

 

Lorna grinned. “He runs and hides. It’s hysterical.”

 

**

 

Earlene grabbed his arm harder. “It will _not_ end badly, you eejit, unless I have to ask you one more time. Now plaster a smile on your face, remember you’ve got a lovely daughter and family _and_ a pair of bollocks, and here we go.” By sheer force of her very strong upper body, Pat found himself helplessly walking off to his doom.

 

Pat rather feared she’d separate his bollocks from the rest of him if he tried to bolt, so go he did. Jesus, look at him -- when he was young, he hadn’t been afraid of anything, but now he was bloody terrified to even lay eyes on the woman he’d fucked over so badly, and regretted ever since.

 

**

 

“Here we go,” Lorna muttered. “If you want me to kick him, just tell me. I’m good at that. Though I’ll warn you now, he might not be able to speak.”

 

“Why not?” Lorna the Younger asked.

 

“Because he’s afraid anything he might say would just be a disaster,” her aunt said. “Seriously, you don’t even know how afraid he is’v fucking this up.”

 

Grania watched Earlene all but strong-arm him over, and she might have bolted herself, had Lorna the Elder not handily got in her way. He was older, of course, but he didn't look like a man pushing fifty -- rather like his sister, he seemed to have stopped somewhere around thirty-five. And he was in fact dressed in a ladybug costume...sort of. There were the antenna, and a red hoodie with black dots (which had a blob of frosting on it), along with an empty glass in his left hand.

 

“Hi, Pat,” she said softly.

 

He swallowed, hard, and made some kind of...noise. It might have been words, but if so, they were not anything she could make out.

 

“That’s Pat’s way’v saying ‘hi, Grania, it’s lovely to see you but I’m too paralyzed with fear to summon actual speech’,” Lorna the Elder said, and reflected that Thranduil really was rubbing off on her, if she could say something like that.

 

Earlene raised her eyebrows in general approval, and patted the poor, still imprisoned man on the shoulder with her free hand. “Try again, to say hello,” she whispered encouragingly in his ear.

 

“Hi,” he managed. “I really don’t want to fuck this up, but it’s me and I’m sure I will, so don’t kick me off one’v the high walkways, okay?”

 

Lorna, unfortunately, had been taking a sip of her drink, and shot rum and Coke out her nose. Neither were substances that were at all pleasant when passed through the sinuses. Grania turned to look at her, concerned, but she just gave the woman a thumb’s-up and left them to it. Either they’d be fine, or they wouldn’t, but either way, her hovering wouldn’t help.

 

“She does that,” Pat sighed. At least the sight of his sister, dressed up in all her finery, hacking and coughing over her own drink, was enough to drain a little of his tension. The fact that she continued doing it, and swearing all the while, made something in him snap, and he burst out laughing. _Oh, Jesus…_

 

“She’ll be okay?” Grania asked, though even she had to admit the sight was a little amusing, if only because nobody dressed up that nicely should be cussing like that. It just...didn't work.

 

“She’ll go find Thranduil if she’s not,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “Er…”

 

“Pat was just about to say ‘hello’ again, while _leaving out_ the part about being sure he will make a hash of this and asking you not to murder him, weren’t you?” Earlene smiled winningly at the terrified man. It was probably a good thing she left off practicing law before she became a mother, because her nickname would now be so much worse than The Ice Queen. More like, The Frost Dragon, at her current rate of progress.

 

“But...it’s like a disclaimer,” he said. “Just, y’know, getting it out there...hi,” he said, defeated. Jesus this woman scared him.

 

Grania had to smother a giggle. An actual _giggle._ She couldn’t help it, though, because it was just too damn entertaining for words.

 

“I love you, Pat,” Earlene smiled, kissing the side of his head. “Now Lorna, you come with me, and we’re going to find plates of nibbles…” she snaked the younger Lorna’s arm with just as much skill as she had entrapped Pat, and moved the daughter firmly away toward the table of treats while ignoring the helpless backward glance or two she knew was occurring. Once out of earshot she added, “They need a chance to talk alone, Lorna. Sorry about that. But seriously, the nibbles...do you prefer ham, or turkey?”

 

“Um...vodka?” younger Lorna offered. “And maybe some turkey with it. That’s the most awkward thing I’ve ever seen in my damn life.” She really wasn’t sure what she thought about seeing her da again...she’d been so young when he left, and he hadn’t exactly been around much even when he and Mam were still together. She’d let Mam deal with that, and get a few drinks and some nibbles into her.

 

“That’s the spirit, pun intended,” said Earlene. “And I wish I could say the same. I’m pretty sure this last week was the hardest of your da’s life. I’m not usually like that, back there, but I know how much he wants this, and he is so scared of his own shadow at this point that he just...needs some help. We’re family, so I’m helping. ‘I’m helping!’” she said again, in a perfect imitation of the original pizza commercial that started the phrase...and that probably no one here knew. At all. _Oh well._ “I’m going to go watch Thanadir for a few moments, want to follow me once you’ve got your plate?” she asked. “He’s playing his violin tonight.”

 

“Sure,” Lorna said. Anything to get her away from her awkward-as-fuck parents. She grabbed some turkey, but she also grabbed a big cupcake, just because. Once armed with munchies and vodka, she followed Earlene. “Aunt Lorna says he’s great. That Elves’re musical people, but he’s gifted even by their standards.”

 

“He is, very much so,” she said, casting an admiring glance at her talented husband but allowing her gaze to drift over to another ellon so far away. She simply did not dare to ask, but how she hoped he might. Earlene was close enough for Thanadir to hear her mind, and with a very subtle expression began to consider her wish. The music began, a very lively tune that began to clear the floor out for those wishing to dance. And it was a reel, and Earlene hoped the younger Lorna had been brought up properly Irish. “Join me in a bit, if you want?” she invited, holding her hands behind her back and beginning the steps. Soon her face was flushed with happiness as several others joined her.

 

It had been a long time since Lorna had done any step dancing -- Mam had had her in classes as a kid, but she didn't kept on -- and yet it came back remarkably fast. But then, it was just muscle memory, wasn’t it? She just hoped nobody would swipe her plate and/or her drink. Part of her still couldn’t believe all of this was real -- these Halls, these Elves -- and it seemed all the more surreal now that she’d read quite a bit of Tolkien’s works. Not all of them, not by a long shot, but to know it was real, and _then_ read it...it bent her mind like a pretzel.

 

Though not just at the moment. For now there was music, and dance; everything else, including her agonizingly awkward parents, could be left aside for now. Hopefully they wouldn’t just get in the mother of all rows, though her da was so terrified she doubted that would happen.

 

After three dances in a row, Earlene bowed out, reasoning she didn’t need to make a marathon out of the evening. And there were desserts still. “I’m going to get a cupcake for myself and Thanadir, want another?” Her natural reclusiveness aside, she really did not want to abandon younger Lorna to a sea of strange people and elves and was trying to be a good hostess.

 

“Sure,” Lorna said, a little breathless. “Christ, I haven’t done that in ages. I’d forgot how much fun it was. And the way he bloody plays...do the Elves being Elves ever make you want to just...not try, because they’re so good at everything? I mean, even if I had any interest in playing a violin, I’m not sure I’d bother, because I’d never be that good.”

 

“No, quite the opposite. We have a music room now. A real place for people to try different instruments. There are several harps already, my harpsichord, guitars, recorders, and we keep adding more all the time. There will eventually be at least one piano, maybe more. And brass and woodwinds. I want everyone to be able to have music, whether a little or a lot. This is Ireland, and that means...music. Hopefully everyone will want to bother, even if it’s just beating on a bodhran.” With a smile, she tugged Lorna (or as she thought of her, Lorna2) to the cupcakes.

 

“Sooo,” Pat said, “that’s my family. I’d say you get used to them eventually, but...you really don’t. But you probably already figured that out with Lorna.”

 

“She’s certainly...forceful,” Grania said, shifting uncomfortably. “Jesus, this is as awkward as I thought it’d be.”

 

Pat pondered. “Thranduil told me I ought to give you a tour, then let you drive the sofa later,” he said, “but why don’t we do the sofa first? It seriously is a stupid amount’v fun, because...it’s a bloody sofa. Lorna wants to put a jet engine in the next one.”

 

Grania blinked, utterly thrown. “You can _do_ that?” she asked.

 

“Apparently.” Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be _quite_ so bad. Or so he devoutly hoped. Some instinct told him that bringing up past things would not be a good idea on this first face-to-face meeting -- not unless she brought them up herself.

 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s go drive a sofa,” Grania said, and wondered just what the hell her life had become. “But I want a drink first.”

 

Thanadir stepped down from the dais on which the musicians were playing, but not before testing the octaves on the harp one more time for tuning. He noted perfectly well in his peripheral vision that Kana’s head had swiveled at the first pluck of his fingers on the strings, but Thanadir did not look up at the time. Yet now, he strode purposefully toward him. It was one advantage to being seneschal. No matter what the function, everything was his business, everything was under his purview. “Kanafinwë, would you do us the great honor of playing for us? I do not mean to surprise you as our guest; only if you--” he made it no further as a hungry gleam came into Maglor’s eyes.

 

“I would like that very much,” he said softly. “That is a new instrument?”

 

Thanadir nodded. “Built not far away, in County Kerry. We have three from that craftsman now. But Earlene keeps acquiring more; others are elsewhere.”

 

“Are they?” he said softly, to no one in particular, as he walked to the harp, testing the string spacing and tuning for himself. “Play something,” Kana instructed Thanadir. “And I will follow.”

 

The seneschal nodded, and picked up his golden flute from where it was kept in its case. Kana had not seen this previously, and his eyebrows arched. He knew a quality instrument when he saw one. Thanadir lifted the instrument to his lips and with a look to Bridie and Chloe, began ‘Behind the Haystack,’ and extremely lively and quick tune suitable for dancing. Earlene was returning with cupcakes when she saw what had happened onstage. Lorna2 heard only a gasp from Earlene, and saw her freeze into place before coming as close to the musicians as she dared, for one not dancing.

 

Lorna the Younger had never really been a classical music fan, but the Elves had been changing her mind all night -- and this was a reel she’d know anywhere. This, though...she gave in and danced herself, leaving Earlene to appreciate it in her own way. A jingling off in the distance told her that Aunt Lorna was dancing somewhere, too -- and from the sound of it, possibly tripping a bit. As long as she didn't break herself or anyone else, that was all that mattered.

 

She herself staggered, however, when she whirled past her double -- another double, because this wasn’t Aunt Lorna. What in the shit? Of course she lost the other girl in the crowd almost immediately, and scooted back to Earlene. “Is there some other person here who looks like Aunt Lorna and I, or am I going insane?”

 

Earlene nodded absentmindedly, her eyes riveted on Maglor. “That’s Saoirse,” she whispered. Few people were dancing, now, and the Hall had fallen increasingly silent except for the tapping of the feet for the reel. More and more people were noticing and being beckoned by the blazing skill of Maglor’s hands, as he plucked the strings almost too fast to be seen, while looks of amazement spread through those watching. When the dance was over, everyone applauded wildly. Yet after a few moments of this, Thanadir held up his hand for silence, and gestured to Maglor, who he suspected would play now...and sing.

 

A half-smile played at the corners of the dark-haired ellon’s mouth; if he knew he had been slightly maneuvered, it would appear that no offense was being taken. His fingers began to pluck a much slower and haunting tune, and a voice of indescribably beautiful timbre began to sing:

 

_A king there was in days of old: ere Men yet walked upon the mould his power was reared in caverns’ shade, his hand was over glen and glade. Of leaves his crown, his mantle green, his silver lances long and keen; the starlight in his shield was caught, ere moon was made or sun was wrought…._

 

It was quite hard to remind herself to breathe, but Earlene had to. That or some part of her would burst into tears. Maglor, son of Fëanor, was singing the Lay of Leithian not ten feet away from her. _And if this wasn’t enough, what would it feel like going to Aman?_ Really it was almost….too much.

 

Lorna and Ratiri both stilled, and drew nearer. _The Silmarillion_ had said that Maglor was a musician without compare, but there was a vast difference between reading that and experiencing it in reality. Ratiri thought of his childhood, of trying to imagine things like this and failing, because the human imagination just wasn't capable of that kind of beauty, no matter how hard one tried. He wrapped an arm around Lorna, who leaned against him. When was the last time Maglor would have sung this to an audience?

 

 _Maybe more often than you think,_ he heard Thranduil say. _They hold small concerts, in their bookstore. But I agree that his talent is wasted in such a place. Do not tell him I said that,_ followed a plea.

 

 _And nobody at those concerts has ever realized just what they’re actually listening to?_ Ratiri asked, incredulous. This was...so obviously Elven singing. This music was too beautiful, too pure, to ever be made by humans, and surely even a skeptic must realize they were listening to something truly extraordinary, right?

 

_Sadly, the extraordinary is everywhere; all around many people. Even elves can take that for granted or overlook it. Maglor and Pengolodh hide in plain sight, as it were. I would guess that he is thought of as a talented, eccentric local who likes to set poems to harp music._

 

 _Sometimes our ability -- and by ‘our’ I mean humans -- to take things for granted like that, to just not_ see _what’s really there, boggles me,_ Ratiri said. _I mean, this is an inhumanly beautiful person playing and singing with inhumanly beautiful skill. No wonder we’re all going to get wiped out, if we’ve got so little imagination. There aren’t enough Agent Mulders, who want to believe._ And yet even he, who had wanted to believe, had been afraid to, at first. When faced with something that shouldn’t be real, it was too easy to doubt, to try to turn away. How many other Tolkien fans had watched Maglor, done a double-take, and then convinced themselves, _nah, no way_?

 

 _Honestly?_ asked Thranduil. _Everyone I have ever met in the outer world except Ailill._

 

Poor Ailill...it really was a good thing they found him, before somebody else did. _Will these two come to us, when the world ends?_ He couldn’t imagine them doing anything else, but still. Those two were old, and likely had their own ideas of how to live life.

 

_I hope so, very much. But I sense they must not be rushed or forced. I am doing my best to be as welcoming as I know how. Earlene certainly is, what you are hearing now is what she desperately hoped for in acquiring so many harps. As with many things, time will tell._

 

Saoirse, who somehow managed be buzzing while holding relatively still, snuck up behind them, and grabbed Aunt Lorna’s hand. “Pretty,” she whispered, wide-eyed. “Also, I really want his hair.”

 

Earlene now saw that Lorna2 had once again spotted Saoirse _and_ Lorna, and that it was probably good Maglor’s song was almost at an end. The poor woman looked like she might be about to pop a gasket. Eager applause greeted the end of the ellon’s musical gift to them. It had turned the mood of the party, in a way. It had been...too beautiful, for one of their spirited celebrations, but that would not stop them for long. It was Ireland, after all. Finally remembering, she offered Thanadir the cupcake, requiring her to come closer to Maglor. _What did you even say to someone who could play like that? ‘That was beautiful?’ ‘You’re wonderful?’ ‘Oh that was so lovely, I wish I could play like that?’ Eurgh, no._ He had probably heard all of those a hundred thousand times already. Maybe something simpler would be far more preferable. “Thank you,” she said aloud. Maybe it wasn’t too shite of a choice, because Kana smiled at her.

 

“You are welcome.”

 

At the far side of the Hall she caught sight of another point of interest...Ailill and Calanon, with Mother Mary and Sister Mary. Which meant, she should probably greet them, and soon. Sister Mary was all but a regular, but if she was not mistaken, this was only his mother’s second trip to the forest. She waved and began working her way across the crowd to see them.

 

Lorna the Younger, now quite disturbed, made her way over to her aunt and this Saoirse -- Saoirse, who, while taller than both of them, was much younger. _Much_ younger; if she was any older than twelve, Lorna would be very surprised. “Okay,” she said, “Aunt Lorna, us looking so much alike is creepy, but I could handle it. All three’v us, though? Just...what the hell? Did some Donovan ancestor sell somebody else’s soul to make sure we all looked like him?” All right, she was going off the rails a bit, but she really was quite startled, and in any event, she’d heard Saoirse’s name. She knew this was her da’s other kid.

 

Lorna the Elder burst out laughing. “That would be a very specific and stupid thing to sell someone’s soul for, but it’s as good an explanation as any. Lorna, this is your little sister. Saoirse, this is your older sister. Discuss.”

 

The two girls stared at one another, and right as Lorna said, “I need a drink” Saoirse said, “I need a cupcake.”

 

“You’re Donovans, all right,” Lorna the Elder said, rolling her eyes. _Thranduil, help me, this is going to get too weird otherwise._ Saoirse was...Saoirse, and while Lorna the Younger had likely been warned about her, that wouldn’t necessarily be enough.

 

 _Very well, but if I am in trouble later for leaving Earlene to navigate both Mary Kerrys on her own, I am blaming you._ How could a smirk come across in a telepathic voice? No one would ever know. It took a few moments, but Thranduil had worked his way through the crowd. Mostly, others moved aside for him, if they were still sober enough to notice his presence. He was bearing a plate of nibbles. “The squash tarts are very good,” he observed to Lorna. Lorna, who was still by herself. “They fled for their own versions of digestible courage?” he asked, amused.

 

“They did indeed,” she said dryly. “Whatever else they are, they’re Donovans at their core.”

 

“So it would seem. How do you think it is going, with them? Grania and Lorna, I mean?”

 

“It’s hard to say. I mean, the fact that Grania hasn’t stormed into to grab her daughter and scoot is probably a good sign, but I think Lorna’s a bit...overwhelmed,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, I can’t blame her; I was, too, at first. And to have her first time in the Hall be during a big party, with elven singing...it’s a wonder that she’s as good off as she is, but I still want to have a buffer here. I know she and Saoirse know about each other, but Saoirse being the way she is, there’s always the potential for things to go…sideways.” She spotted the younger Lorna at the bar, grabbing a pint.

 

_To be continued…._

 


	115. One Hundred and Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commences where last chapter ends; night of September 26, 2020- evening of September 27, 2020
> 
> *****  
> Dear Readers, we wanted to let you know that many active fanfic writers are participating in NaNoWriMo; a month-long novel writing challenge during November; Spamberguesa and I are on that bandwagon. So while you will see at least a chapter a week here from us, our focus is going to be off of this story while we do...that. We both kind of doubt we can actually not write this fic, but if we are going to succeed at the other we at least need to back off a little.

{meanwhile at the party}

 

Earlene, for her part, finally threaded her way to the Kerrys. “Mary, I’m pleased to see you here,” smiled Earlene. “I hope you’re not too…” a snort escaped her as she gestured around. “Overwhelmed.”

 

The woman smiled. “I’ll be honest, this has turned into far more than I bargained for, but in a good way. What matters is being here with my children. And their family,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around the waists of the much taller Ailill and Calanon.

 

Sister Mary beamed. “Now if I could just get you to quit too, mam. I’m sorry for the office and all, but it’s been so much nicer to work someplace without all that tension. Christ, I don’t miss that.”

 

Mother Mary sighed, looking at Earlene to explain things she probably didn’t really know about, exactly. “Well, the office has been at least _civil_ , since my husband and I had it out. I won’t say it’s ‘cheerful’ or ‘fun’ but, was it ever? We at least laid out some ground rules about...behavior. I told him that if he didn’t want lawyers and heading toward divorce to gain traction, that the yelling and the tantrums were done with. That there would be respectful speech at work and at home. Not much else has really happened, but for the first time in years I feel like I’m not getting stepped on so he can have his way.”

 

Earlene blinked, feeling a little blindsided by some of this. “Please forgive me if the question is nosy but...are you still together with your husband?”

 

“Yes and no,” Mary smiled. “The last time we...discussed...Ailill and Mary, I told him I’d not lose two of my three children to his bigotry, and that I’d come to realize how wrong I’ve been about Ailill. How horribly we’d treated him. Ian flew off the handle, and I told him if he didn’t like it I’d be moving out of our bedroom. He didn’t like it, and….” she shrugged. “It’s a big house. Lots of rooms. Right now we live as housemates. Certain topics are not discussed. It’s civil but...there’s a hollowness to it. Sooner or later he is going to have to decide if we are going to try to save what’s left of our marriage, but...all this didn’t happen that long ago and I’m going to give it a little more time before I start forcing more conversations. He has a lot to lose, but Ian is a stubborn and prideful man. He worked hard for what we have, and I worry sometimes that all that has gotten the better of him. I hope not, yet...time will tell.”

 

Lorna the Younger, pint in hand, passed by in time to hear this. She looked at Ailill and Calanon and gave them a thumb’s-up -- Aunt Lorna had mentioned that they were having something of a trailblazing relationship, and they were both so _pretty_. It was adorable.

 

Not so far away, Thalion saw the firieth who was obviously Ailill’s naneth embracing both the falconer and Calanon, and his eyebrow raised in a way that it had not before. Not so much had been seen of Calanon at the Halls, in the long months between his being assigned to guard the firion and tonight--over a year now. And as he watched, carefully, his eyes widened to see that Calanon wore a ring of betrothal. _Valar, what?_ How is it possible that among the perhaps sixty single elleth among their people, that no one knew of a relationship--much less a pending marriage? Had Calanon chosen a firieth as had Aran Thranduil, and said nothing? Further observation revealed that Ailill too wore a ring. And yet they were never seen in the company of other females, they were always together. His patrols noted the movements of everyone in the forest; it was obvious that both of them lived at Eldamar a goodly amount of the time.

 

At one point, he observed Ailill and Calanon meeting each other’s gaze, with a smile that lingered a little too long and... _no_. That could not be possible. But there was one way to learn, without disturbing Aran Thranduil on such a trivial matter of what probably amounted to gossip. Ortherion. He needed to find Ortherion. And that meant a trip to the nursery, here, for usually when there were functions of this kind, the King’s family would spend the night in his rooms. With a kiss to his wife’s cheek, he murmured that he would return shortly, and departed down the passageways.

 

Lorna the Younger returned to Lorna the Elder at around the same time Saoirse did, and it was all the Elder could do not to burst out laughing. Both of the poor things looked so disturbed….

 

“All right, you two,” Lorna said, “Saoirse, this is Lorna, your older sister. I know your da is a good man now, but when she was your age he was a gobshite, and he’d tell you the same himself. In fact, I’m pretty sure he already has.”

 

“He did,” Saoirse said dubiously.

 

“Lorna the Younger, this is your little sister. Yes, your da was a much better da to her than he ever was to you, but that’s because he’s older and wiser and pulled his head out’v his arse. You both look terrifyingly alike, and the three’v us need to get together sometime and troll the shit out’v people.” She looked at Thranduil. “Anything to add?”

 

Thranduil looked at her in general disbelief, but did not entirely hide his smile. “I really do feel like she has captured the scope of the situation nicely. Oh, maybe one other thing. Do not use Saoirse’s art supplies without permission. Yes, I think that covers it all.”

 

Lorna the Younger looked at Saoirse. It really was _weird_ , seeing her own face on a child -- a child who had grown up with Da, and who Da had taken care of. It would be so easy to resent that, if Aunt Lorna hadn’t said Saoirse was...different. Brilliant in some ways, utterly backward in others.

 

She downed the rest of her drink, and was somewhat amused to see the girl munch the rest of her cupcake. Mam had always knocked the Donovan tendencies, but maybe they weren’t all bad. Though the fact that they seemed to be linked to appearance was downright creepy.

 

“Well, should we troll some people, or what?” Aunt Lorna asked. “Saoirse’s so tall now we can’t use her as Mini-Me anymore, but honestly, this just makes it a little more unsettling. Thranduil, give us a target. You’re a lot more sober than the rest’v this lot.” _If we play this right, we can make these two bond, and they won’t even know we’re doing it._

 

“Why not Shane?” Thranduil suggested. “Besides, you might do everyone the favor of interrupting the escalating public displays of affection thanks to Siobhan’s state of inebriation.”

 

Lorna twitched, and so did Lorna the Younger -- a gesture so identical that Saoirse stared at them. “All right, you two, come with me. Thranduil, I hate to throw you to the wolves, but Siobhan might come running in your direction shortly. If she does, just hand her another drink and send her on her way.”

 

“Oh, fear not. We have reached an understanding of sorts. Maybe.” He grinned, and waved good-bye to them.

 

Off they went, like a very small school of very small green-eyed sharks. When Lorna tapped the drunken, slightly amorous Shane (ew ew _ew_ ) on the shoulder, he turned, took one look at the three of them, said, “ _NOPE,_ ” and fled. Though he didn't flee as fast as Siobhan, who, drink in hand, beat feet as fast as her tottering heels would let her. Lorna did have to give her grudging credit -- she could certainly run in six-inch heels, which was a skill that likely was not common.

 

“Well, that didn't take nearly enough time,” she complained. “Let’s find somebody who will stick around longer.”

 

Thranduil pondered, vacillating between disbelief that he was participating in this and the fact that he was enjoying himself far too much. _Try...John at the bar. Ian is nearby with his wife Mary, so you will actually get three for one plus all the gossip at the next quilting meeting_ , he suggested.

 

 _Excellent._ The trio marched up the the bar, and Lorna and Lorna the Younger somehow managed to say, in unison, “Give us a pint, John.”

 

The poor barman stared at them. “That’s just bloody creepy,” he said. “Don’t do that again.”

 

“Do what?” the pair asked, and Saoirse just about fell over she was giggling so hard.

 

“ _That_ . Just...how? And _why_?”

 

Lorna shrugged. “Donovan genetics,” she said. “They’re a bitch. Chandra escaped, though Shane didn't.”

 

“Well hopefully he’ll keep shorter hair than you lot,” John growled, putting on his best fake sour face. He had to keep up appearances, after all.

 

**

 

Thalion strode quietly into the nursery, where Algar, Eldan and Allanah already were sleeping; Lothiriel and Ortherion both were assisting Thaladir to prepare for bed. Kiernan and Flannery were nearby, barely able to keep their eyes open, waiting for their young master. Both elves looked up in surprise and greeted the Captain with silent gestures; he indicated with a hand he would like to speak to Ortherion. The ellon nodded and rose when his wife indicated she was more than able to manage on her own, and accompanied Thalion into the passageway.

 

“How may I be of service?” Ortherion asked politely. He had always had great respect for the steadfast and handsome ellon, whose brown hair bleached golden from sunlight. Though to be blatantly honest, he loved his service to the King’s family far more than the endless patrols in the forest. Not that he would fail to perform whatever duty asked of him, regardless.

 

“I will go straight to the point. You live at Eldamar. I see that Ailill and Calanon wear rings of betrothal and yet they are never seen in the company of an elleth or a firieth. Who are they to marry?”

 

Ortherion lowered his eyes on hearing the question. “I may not speak of their circumstances.”

 

Thalion’s blue-grey eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, by that? It is a simple question, Ortherion.”

 

“By command of Aran Thranduil, none of the edhel living at Eldamar may speak of their circumstances. I am sorry Thalion, but I will not disobey my King.”

 

“Nor should you, and nor am I asking you to,” Thalion said softly, now more deeply concerned. “Forgive my intrusion, friend. I wish you a good evening.” He held his hand over his heart, and turned to leave. Ortherion watched him go, a sinking feeling in his heart. Silently, he prayed to the Valar. He too once had struggled to accept what had happened. But now he begged forgiveness, fearing he had erred somehow in his choice of words. He stepped briefly inside again, whispering to Lothiriel that he needed to deliver a message to Hîr Thanadir. Surely he would know what to do.

 

**

 

Earlene listened to the entirety of Mary Kerry’s tale of her current circumstances before inquiring further. “Your daughter is an accountant, and her skills have been most welcome on the farming side,” she asked. “But can I ask what your role is in your family business?”

 

“Oh, everything,” Mother Mary laughed. “You might say Ian and I are cooperative office managers, though when it comes to major decisions I’ve always conceded to him. We...I’m not sure how to say it. We only wanted to grow to a certain size, then focus on excelling at and streamlining those parts of the business to ensure we remain competitive. People want lumber and people want milk, so we’ve never had to worry too much about supply and demand; there’s always a demand. So whether it’s personnel management, overseeing the financial aspects, acquisitions...anything at all, the two’v us have done it together. But,” she said quietly, “I’m not getting any younger. Neither is my husband, though he tries to ignore that part. Where will it go from here? That’s the part that is more than a little stressful right now. Mary leaving was a bigger blow than might seem obvious. I think Ian had a vision of Mary and her brother John taking over the business at some point, but that has been placed in significant disarray.”

 

“He wanted _what_ ?” Sister Mary said, not sure she had heard right. “All these bloody years and he never said a _word_ about that? Mam, that would have been something kind’v important to talk to your kids about, I’d think? Or did he just assume that we’d fawn all over that when it was brought up? I always felt like I wanted to help, but run the entire thing? Do what _you_ do, everyday? No. It’s not what I want and I would’ve said so...just, Christ, mam.”

 

“I know, honey. Trust me, if there is anything the last eight months in therapy have taught me, it’s that our family didn’t communicate worth a bucket of shite. Ever.”

 

Ailill broke out in a laugh, and tugged his mother’s shoulders closer to him. “You don’t know how it feels, mam, to hear you talk that way now. It just…” he shook his head. “I never thought it could get better, at all. I’m glad to have been wrong about that.”

 

Earlene smiled. “Why don’t you, Mary and Calanon show your mother around the Halls a little more? I’m sure she’d enjoy some of the pretty places. And the lumber storerooms might even intrigue her, given what business your family operates?”

 

Apparently that idea was well-received, since they left to do just that.  No sooner were they gone that Earlene spotted Ortherion, and immediately frowned. _Was something the matter with the children?_ He was heading straight for Thanadir, which did nothing to reassure, and she immediately moved to intercept. Not caring if she was interrupting a confidence, she came close enough to overhear enough of what was said. _Oh, Eru. Wonderful._ This was indeed one best left to the King and seneschal, though she wondered just how they would...manage. _Maybe the same way they had managed the first three elves,_ she reasoned. Thalion was many things but he was not a gossip. He seemed to be fair-minded, but it really would not do to underestimate how shocking this was likely to be, to each new elf that learned of it. How ironic. Probably close to every human here already knew and could care less. But elves? Oi. Not fun. For Ailill’s sake, she hoped it was handled well. Calanon had resilience. Ailill might have the same in time, but right now he was only just beginning to find his feet underneath him.

 

With a pleased glance that reflected approval at the sum of Earlene’s reasoning, Thanadir gave a brief but tender kiss to her forehead in passing. Because he did, indeed, know what to do. As Earlene watched his long brown hair sway as he walked away,love blazed at the sight of his retreating form. And that was when she spotted Aurnia and Geezer, sitting together holding hands at a table, and ambled over. At least _that_ appeared to be going well. “And how are you two enjoying yourselves?”

 

“Good food, good booze, good company,” Geezer said, raising her a toast with his free hand. “We’re still not used to these big gatherings, though you’d think we oughtta be by now.”

 

“I’ll confess something,” she said as she plunked down. “I detest large parties. I’m an introvert. But they have to happen, so I put on my best face and hope I’m helping everyone feel more at home. But...my god, did you hear Kana play the harp? Introvert or not, that pretty much made the rest of 2020 worthwhile for me, whatever else might happen.”

 

“You’re an introvert who married a king,” Geezer said. “That’s gotta get hard. And Jesus, yeah I did. Never heard anything like it in my whole damn life.”

 

Earlene frowned a minute. “Do you...understand who he is, Geezer? He is known better by the name Maglor.”

 

He stared at her, and nearly dropped his drink. “Are you shi --” glancing at Aurnia, he instead said, “Where the hell did you find him?”

 

“Oxford,” Earlene grinned. “We are doing everything in our power to subvert them to come live here, but I think that will be a slow process. Still, to have heard him even once...it is seriously the stuff of Ultimate Nerd Fantasy. I don’t think any of the elves can understand it quite like the humans can. I mean….Maglor,” she shook her head, only now noticing Aurnia’s expression. It was clear that she had no idea what a Maglor was. “He is a very famous elf, Aurnia. With a difficult and tragic past, but that past also included being one of the greatest musicians among elvenkind. You will learn many things about him if Geezer takes the time to explain, as I guess he will. We are choosing to focus on who he is now, and offer what help we can.”

 

“There’s a lot to explain,” he said, looking at Aurnia. “Maglor’s a...complicated dude. Seriously, Oxford? That explains a bit. Or more than a bit.”

 

“Yeah. Earlene’s version of The Search for the Holy Grail is what led us to blunder across them in the first place. I had my guesses it was something like this. But I never would have thought...them.” With a shrug, something caused her to look up and see Thranduil’s eyes fixed upon her, and a beckoning became apparent in her mind; she rose to leave. “Pardon me, I am being summoned. Make sure you eat the cupcakes, they’re top notch.”

 

Considering the assorted children had been raiding them all evening, he’d well believe it. “I’ll tell you all about Maglor, Aurnia, but not here. It’s a long story, and it ain’t always pleasant.”

 

**

 

 _Yes, my Lord?_  Earlene approached Thranduil, sidling under the arm opened in unspoken invitation.

 

_I think you are aware that we have an issue, concerning Thalion. I have a few choices open to me, and wish your advice._

 

_Me? Of course, but you know him far better than I._

 

_You know him well enough, Earlene. Your months of training under him leave you knowing as much of him as the next person; only Melda likely knows him better._

 

_I would hope so. How may I help, then?_

 

_I can simply command his silence, but I am not ignorant of the fact that this will do nothing to ease his mind. I think you understand that this is not simply an issue of legal transgression, as it were. It is a moral concern, and therefore runs somewhat deeper._

 

Earlene frowned _. And yet all the elves living at Eldamar have changed their views, once they had time to discuss their concerns with others and gain new insight._

 

_Exactly, which is why this particular case is so important. Thalion, like Thanadir, is viewed as something of a pillar of our society, here. What he can reconcile, so can the others. I am aware that Ailill and Calanon cannot hide their relationship forever; it is something of a miracle that their rings have not been seen sooner. They have shown as much discretion as is possible without denying their love for each other; I will not ask more of them in this regard._

 

_And I have some sense that you wish to deal with this quite soon, as in, immediately?_

 

_I wish for...containment, is how I think it would be said._

 

_Thalion is not a gossip._

 

_No, but Valar bless her, Melda is. It is only a matter of time before he does what husbands do, and speaks of his observations to her. He loves his wife very much._

 

Earlene frowned, thinking for a moment, while Thranduil watched in generalized amazement as her mind sifted facts and possibilities and projected outcomes with blinding speed, arriving at last at what she felt was the best course of action.

 

 _You would do this?_ he asked, surprised.

 

 _Well, yes, if you do_ that _,_ Earlene answered.

 

_Then it will be so. Wait for him near the entrance to the stables._

 

 _Yes, my Lord. Finally, an excuse to get the hell out of this party_. Earlene smiled, grabbed a cupcake and another Guinness, and moved off to do as she was asked while Thranduil shook his head with a smile.

 

**

 

Lorna hadn’t had this much fun in aaaaages. Lasg’len had got used to her and Saoirse, but Baile hadn’t, and neither village had yet had Lorna the Younger thrown into the mix. It was made all the creepier by the fact that Lorna the Younger had the exact same Dublin accent as her aunt -- her voice wasn’t as deep, but still. The similarity was downright unnatural. And it was helping the sisters bond in a way Lorna could have only hoped for; the difference in their father paled in comparison to the looks of deep unease the three of them were given from all and sundry.

 

It was all great, until Dai, Baile’s drunken mechanic, tripped, swore, and tried to steady himself. Unfortunately, what he wound up grabbing was Lorna the Younger’s arse.

 

The girl screeched like a rabid pterodactyl, whirling around. Where most women might have thrown their drink in his face, though, Lorna was horrified to see her slam her entire glass against his forehead. The thing was too heavy to break so easily, but it sent him stumbling backward, blood pouring from the scrape on his forehead.

 

“Jesus bloody _Christ_ , it was an accident!” he yelped, trying to shield himself.

 

Lorna the Younger said nothing, though; the lights were on behind her eyes, but she wasn’t the one home; looking at her, Lorna now knew why Shane had called it going blank. _Jesus, is that what I looked like?_  

 

“Lorna,” she said urgently, trying to grab the girl’s arm; though she was in the grip of mindless fury, she wasn’t as strong as her aunt, nor did she know how to fight in the same way. “ _Lorna_ , give over.” _Thranduil, help._ Nobody had ever managed to break her out of the Blank; she could only imagine her niece was the same way.

 

Dai scarpered, and Lorna the Younger tried to chase him. Lorna the Elder had no idea how to subdue her without actually hurting her, either.

 

Earlene saw that bit of chaos unfold and fortunately Thanadir was not far away. In moments the seneschal had the relatively tiny woman’s arms completely pinned and simply marched out of the Hall with her tucked up much as an errant child might. He could not stop what was happening to her just now but he could completely restrain her until his King could come. He felt very sad for the woman; this...problem...that the Donovans seemed to have…if anyone thought it odd that a completely phlegmatic elf was simply walking off with someone trapped in his arms, nothing was said.

 

Several chambers away, Thranduil rolled his eyes. The timing could not have been worse. He was preparing to reveal the Valar’s appearance to Ailill and Calanon to Thalion, and whatever crisis was unfolding elsewhere would have to wait. He had faith it would be alright because he had a seneschal, Eru be praised.

 

Lorna looked at Saoirse helplessly. “Well, guess _that_ ran in the family, too,” Lorna said.

 

Dai was hunted down by Earlene and brought to bay in a chair, where napkins were used to control his bleeding. Poor Feren made the mistake of passing by, and was pressed into service. “Please bring more napkins, and ask Ratiri to come over here” she asked the ellon. In a moment she would have to try and check that all the glass was out of the cut. Or not; that could be the doctor’s job if he was even around at the moment. Dai himself looked vaguely terrified.

 

“I didn't mean to grab her arse,” the poor lad moaned, eyes squeezed shut against the blood. “I swear I didn't. I just tripped it was right there.”

 

“I know you didn't,” Lorna said. “You’re not that sort, Dai. You’re a bloody drunk, but you’re not a pervert. Or at least, you don’t act like one.”

 

Saoirse wrinkled her nose. _Ew_.

 

Fortunately, Ratiri was not far away; he came and took over for Earlene, sending Lorna and Saoirse to grab more lights. “Well, you’ll have an impressive scar,” he said. “This needs stitches, and because I’m stupid, I don’t have any suture kits in the Halls. Either we can take him to Eldamar, or someone can fetch one for me.”

 

“I can’t go running in this,” Lorna said, looking down at her lehenga.

 

“Why doesn’t someone take the sofa?” Earlene asked. “Or I can just run and go get it. Probably the same difference either way.”

 

In spite of everything, Lorna had to fight not to cackle. She hoped Pat and Grania hadn’t got to the thing first. “C’mon, Dai, let’s ride the sofa,” she said. “That way you can say you did.”

 

“Lorna,” Dai said, pained, “that sounds _so_ wrong.”

 

“I know it does. C’mon, we’ve got some painkillers there, too. Earlene, you want to come?” Lorna knew her friend’s tolerance for large crowds definitely had limits.

 

“Sorry, I can’t just now...I have a, er, function to take care of shortly.” Which was of course code for, _I have to attempt to present a human’s view of why not embracing homophobia is the way to go to an ancient elf who is quite possibly more stern and proper than Thanadir. Yay, me._

 

“Good luck,” Lorna said. “C’mon, Dai, up you get. You’ll feel loads better once Ratiri’s got some drugs in  you.” The pair led the poor lad off, stumbling a bit, and Lorna wondered if ever there had been an Irish celebration where someone didn't wind up bleeding at least a little.

 

Earlene thanked Feren with a smile for his help and then decided it might be worthwhile to find Thanadir and Lorna2. She wandered in the same direction he had departed from, and found him with an ease that she suspected had been guided by Thranduil in some manner. That or she and Thanadir simply thought alike, which was an equally distinct possibility. He still stood there, with a very restrained, very ‘the lights are on and no one is home’ young woman.

 

“Is it always like this?” she asked him softly. “I never saw our Lorna do this. Only Saoirse.”

 

“Yes. Every time I have been involved, it is...this. I feel so sorry for them,” he said, his soft eyes filled with empathy.

 

“I just can’t imagine what on Earth has to be wrong.” Lorna2’s eyes were reptilian. Like something behind the glass in herpetological collection. No emotion, no evidence of higher functions. _Just...well, no wonder they called it ‘blank.’_

 

“What will you do, Thanadir?”

 

“Just what I am doing now, meldis. It is all I can do, but if need be I can do it for a very long time. I have not the skill to aid her on my own; I must wait on our King.”

 

“And oh my, I am not supposed to be here,” Earlene flushed, recalling her instructions to be elsewhere awaiting Thalion. Blushing furiously at her oversight, without another word she ran off toward the stables. Thankfully, no one was there yet, which allowed time for self-recrimination to occur. _Well you’re not pregnant, what are you going to blame_ this one _on? Jesus, Earlene. You had one thing to do…_

 

 _Meluieg, stop,_ the voice intruded. _I am aware of what happened in my absence. That would have distracted even Thanadir. No more blaming yourself; you will have quite enough to do in a few moments. He is coming._

 

Earlene sighed. “I will,” she whispered aloud to nobody. Her eyes closed, as she breathed deeply in some attempt to calm herself further; she had zero idea of what she would find with the somewhat mercurial ellon.

 

“Hiril vuin,” she heard, recalling her to the waking world.

 

“Thalion,” she inclined her head respectfully to him.

 

“You need not show me that courtesy,” he said somewhat archly. This caused her in turn to look up into his pale blue eyes and notice the hard set of his squared jaw.

 

“You are yet my teacher, and deserve honor for both your integrity and your station, in my eyes. I do not intend to stop showing you regard, so do with that what you will,” Earlene replied, her eyes locking onto his in a manner that suggested mild challenge. She knew perfectly well Thalion could not pursue this line of discussion further without a serious breach of protocol. He was therefore forced to nod his own head in acknowledgement of the compliment, though she noticed the barest hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. _Oh, the subtleties of elves…_ “I would imagine you have...that what you have learned is deeply difficult to absorb. This conversation is private and will go no further. You may speak freely, and ask me anything. I am here to help you perceive other viewpoints, if you are willing.”

 

“I have no choice, Earlene,” he replied with bitterness in his tone. “I have just been shown that our Powers are throwing more than twenty thousand years of morality into the Void. So yes, it is indeed _deeply difficult to absorb_.” Each of the last four words were articulated in a manner that left no doubt as to his ire.

 

“Will you offer your arm, and walk with me?” she asked. He did not respond, but held out the requested limb. It was something. They exited out the forge entrance, silently moving into the woods. “What you stated...that is one manner in which you could choose to view what has transpired. Another would be, that the Powers of Arda have heard the voice of Iladar, and that they are moving to correct a sour note that displeases the Creator.”

 

“A sour note?” he asked, incredulous. “You, a firieth, will presume to tell me that the music of Eru was flawed?”

 

“Yes, I will, Thalion. But it is not I who presumes. I merely read. Your own histories, the Ainulindalë, reveal that the world brought into being was tainted with the dissonance of Melkor. That all we see is not the perfection our Creator originally intended, but is Arda marred. If the Valar have chosen to appear to the first two males destined to wed in order to bless their union, do you believe they are acting solely of their own accord?”

 

To this he had no answer, and they continued to walk on in silence as the stars began to emerge overhead.

 

“Even if all you say is true...it disgusts me,” he whispered. “It is against nature.”

 

“And yet throughout the animal kingdom that has the ability to mate, same-sex pairings are in evidence. So it most definitely is _not_ against nature. And certainly, relationships of paired males or paired females are completely common among humans. If you look around, you will find there is widespread acceptance of this. What is occurring, Thalion, is that for a very long time this was not the way of elves. It is hard to let go of dearly held beliefs in the face of change. Let me ask you this: How did you regard Calanon, before you knew of this?”

 

“Highly,” he answered truthfully. “He has been ever faithful in the service of our King. Ever diligent in his duties. His name was not given idly; he has been a light among our people.”

 

“He still is a light. It just may take you some time and wisdom in which to see it. Do you really believe that anyone in their right mind would choose to earn censure and scorn from the only family they have known for thousands of years, without reason? What would you do if you were Ailill or Calanon, and the Valar told you that a path this difficult lay ahead, but that it was for a reason? Their reason? Would you see their will done?”

 

Still they walked on, as the stars grew brighter. “I can observe that you are prepared to refute any objection I raise. I liked you better when you simply did everything I told you to.”

 

“You are entitled to your feelings,” Earlene laughed, appreciating his candor. “Do you want me to refute some more objections? I was really only getting started.”

 

“I suspect you will anyway,” he said, though his tone was less harsh than earlier.

 

“I do not mean to browbeat you into making your mind over in one evening, Thalion. I am trying to offer you rational observations by which you could learn to feel differently, and not ones based in emotion and bias. And another one of those observations is...let’s talk about the ‘disgusting’ part. What exactly disgusts you?”

 

“A male is made for a female, and vice versa. Surely I do not need to explain this in unseemly detail, as you also are wed?”

 

“You do not,” she replied. “It is true that such a union of males cannot produce children. But with more than eight billion people living on this planet and a catastrophic plague coming in sixteen years, does that matter so much? I have already produced enough little ones to cancel out their obligations in that department. They can still love each other. Exchange affection. Provide each other intimate pleasure. Care for the children of others all around them. If this is where their hearts are drawn, why is that disgusting? ‘Disgusting’ is a perspective, Thalion. I see two beings who love each other, who cherish each other’s spirits and bodies. You can, too. And if all I have said does not move you, consider their happiness. Ailill is as a son to me. Most of his life, his mother and father did not love him on account of suspecting he had a preference for males. Rejected him. He has suffered greatly. He has been a victim of violence, because of the disdain of others. I want to hope you do not believe he deserved the treatment he has received.”

 

“But that firieth here tonight...is that not his mother?”

 

“Yes. His mother, who all these years later has begun to see the error of her thinking and the ways in which she has grievously hurt her child. She once felt as you did, give or take that I am fairly certain she does not know who the Valar are.”

 

“I need time to think, Earlene,” Thalion said quietly.

 

“You will have it. But I expect far more of you than merely changing your mind, Thalion. You are a leader here, and in the end you will be an example to help others.”

 

“I am but a simple forest guardian,” the powerful ellon said, his voice now tinged with amusement.

 

“Of course you are,” Earlene said, patting his arm, smiling in the darkness. “I think we should walk back now. Perhaps there are still some squash tarts.”

 

**_**_ **

 

Lorna, Ratiri, Dai, and Saoirse made it to the sofa just in time to find Pat and Grania inspecting it. Neither looked panicked and/or angry, which was hopefully a good sign.

 

“Sorry Pat, but we need to steal your ride,” Lorna said. “You might as well come with us, though, just...because.”

 

“Jesus bloody Christ, what the hell happened to him?” Pat asked, eyes widening.

 

“Other Lorna,” Saoirse piped up, before Lorna could stop her. “He tripped and grabbed her arse and she went after him with a glass.”

 

Grania paled. “Oh Christ, I'm so sorry,” she started, but Lorna held up a hand.

 

“Dai here’s from Baile -- he’s seen me go like that more than once,” she assured. “It’s a Donovan thing, but it seems like it’s only the Donovans with the green eyes. Which, given I’ve got two green-eyed kids, just makes me _so_ thrilled.”

 

“But--”

 

“No but’s,” Lorna said firmly, getting Dai settled on the sofa. “Saoirse and I were both like that, until Thranduil and Thanadir fixed us. Lorna’ll be fine, Dai’ll be fine, and that’s what matters. Pat, sit.” She pointed at the arm of the sofa, arching her eyebrow.

 

He eyed her, but decided defiance wasn’t worth the effort.

 

“Good. Grania, you take the other arm; Ratiri, you’re on my left, and Dai’s on my right. Saoirse, just...I don’t know, hang onto the back somehow.” God was she glad she’d designed these things to handle far more weight than she’d ever have thought necessary -- it had been a challenge to herself.

 

Once they were all seated, the exhaust ports belched a little. This one being so much bigger, she’d had to modify the engine so that it wouldn’t either immediately overheat, or scorch the arse of anyone sitting on it; it had involved getting very creative with vents around the sides and base. As a result, on a chilly night it was like driving through a very light cloud. The engine rumbled slightly, too, just...because. It sounded fun, so she’d made it.

 

They took off slowly from the front gates, Pat and Grania clinging to the back at the first lurching movement. Saoirse, well used to it by now, automatically adjusted her weight to stay put.

 

It was pitch-dark now, so Lorna turned on the headlamp, and let her not-so-little niece sweep it back and forth. Quite honestly, the forest was more than a bit creepy at night; Lorna and Pat had both been city-dwellers in their formative years, and out here, as the Red Priestess on _Game of Thrones_ would say, the night was dark and full of terrors. Though it was admittedly a bit more difficult to be afraid when you were driving a sofa. That automatically loaned any situation a certain amount of absurdity.

 

“You okay there, Dai?” she asked. He groaned something unintelligible, but at least it meant he was conscious.

 

“Just how fast does this go?” Grania asked.

 

“Thirty-two kilometers an hour on the open road,” Lorna said, grinning. “I won’t try to do that in the forest, though. Don’t want to crash into anything.”

 

“What would happen if we did?” Saoirse asked, morbidly curious.

 

Lorna laughed, and sped up a little. “We’d all go arse over teakettle,” she said. “And all’v us but you are too old for that, so I’d rather not.”

 

“But it sounds like fun,” Saoirse protested.

 

“It really doesn’t,” Pat said. “Don’t even, Fun Size. Don’t you dare.”

 

Lorna eyed him. Surely he knew her better than that...didn't he? With a slightly evil grin, she said, “All right, you lot, grab something.”

 

“What?!” Pat yelped, even as Grania inadvertently put Ratiri in something close to a headlock. Saoirse clung to the back like a monkey, cackling as Lorna shifted the sofa into second. This was a pretty straight, flat path; she wasn’t going to get into too much trouble if they spend up a little. She pushed it to 24kph, ignoring Pat’s panicked cry.

 

Grania, however, let out a shriek that was unmistakably delight, laughing. She released her death-grip on Ratiri, who wheezed a little. The chilly night air whipped at their hair, rushing over their faces, and Lorna let the sheer absurdity of the situation wash over her. She was a forty-three-year-old woman driving a sofa through a forest, zooming along while her sugar-hyped niece yelled, _“Wheeeeeee!_ ” at the top of her voice. At least they were giving the guards some entertainment.

 

“Dammit, Fun Size!” Pat cried, but he couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice. “How the hell can you even drive a _sofa_ like a lunatic?”

 

“It comes naturally,” she said. “Look, Eldamar.” The house’s lights were visible in the distance, and on a whim she pushed the sofa to its full speed, praying nobody fell off. The sofa jounced and bounced, but they reached the yard without incidence; the brakes on the thing weren't great, so she had to downshift and start slowing well in advance. By the time they reached the house, it came to a peaceful stop, and Ratiri helped poor Dai into the house.

 

“Don’t let him bleed all over the kitchen!” Saoirse called. “Aunt Earlene’ll murder you both in the face!”

 

“Nobody’s murdering anyone, in the face or otherwise,” Pat said firmly. “Go and wash all that gunk off, before you get it everywhere. You look like somebody already _did_ murder you in the face.”

 

“Dude, there’s not nearly enough blood for that,” she said, but darted off.

 

Lorna snorted. “Sharley’s had a bad effect on that kid’s vocabulary,” she said. “You two want anything to drink?”

 

Grania watched Saoirse go with a terribly peculiar expression. It could possibly be because the kid looked so much like her own daughter, but Lorna didn't think it was that entirely. She itched to ask how the night had been going, but even she had more tact than that.

 

“I need one, after that,” Pat muttered, shaking his head.

 

“Oh, give over,” she said, following Ratiri and Dai into the kitchen. “You loved it.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually enjoyed it,” Grania said. “It’s been years since I could do anything like...well, that.”

 

“You need to come here more often,” Lorna said, grabbing three glasses from the cupboard. “It’s mad around here, all the time.”

 

Grania sighed. “Well any’v you want us back, after Lorna...doing what she did?”

 

“Grania,” Lorna said, filling a glass with some ice, “listen to me. That’s just the Donovan curse in action -- I had it. Saoirse had it. It’s true she didn't maim _nearly_ so many people as I did, but she stabbed someone through the hand with a fork. I won’t even go into some’v the shit I’ve done in the past. Even Thranduil doesn’t know what causes this, but he can fix it. Well, he and Thanadir. It’s a fairly tall order, as I understand it.”

 

Grania sighed, and leaned against the counter. “This hasn’t happened to her often,” she said, “but often enough that it’s had me worried. It’s like everything that’s _her_ just goes away, and she’s….”

 

“Blank?” Lorna offered. “It’s what Shane, my old gang leader, used to call it. Light’s on, but somebody else is home.”

 

“Da called it ‘the thing that lived behind her eyes’,” Pat offered. Lorna shoved a glass of ice at him, and he took the hint; the drinks cabinet was in the dining-room, so off the three of them went. “I grew up watching it, Grania. I know it’s bloody unnerving, but Thranduil and Thanadir fixed whatever was broken in this Lorna and in Saoirse. Neither’v them have had any...episodes...since then, to my knowledge.”

 

There had been what she did to Von Ratched, but she wasn’t going to mention _that_. “She’ll be better, Grania. I promise. Now pick your poison.”

 

“Vodka, if you’ve got any,” the poor woman said. “And a little grenadine.”

 

The drink was procured, and once Lorna and Pat had fixed their own (another rum and Coke and whiskey on the rocks, respectively), Lorna ushered them both into the Heart Room.

 

“So even Thranduil doesn’t know what causes it?” Grania asked, sitting on the sofa facing the hearth.

 

Lorna shook her head. “Nope. Apparently, we’re unique. There’s something broken in us, but he doesn't know exactly what. He just knows how to fix it.”

 

Grania hesitated. “You...you hurt people?”

 

“Sadly, yes. I don’t want to go into details, but among other things, I bit off someone’s nose.”

 

Grania choked on her drink. Wheezing, she managed, “All right, my Lorna’s never done anything _that_ bad. She broke a lad’s jaw, but I don’t think she ever bit anything off.”

 

Lorna couldn’t help it. She just couldn’t. “That’s what she said,” she muttered. “You two kids don’t do anything crazy -- I’m going to go look in on mine.” Maybe a little alone-time would do them some good.

 

Once she was gone, Pat looked at Grania. “Well...welcome to Eldamar,” he said sheepishly. “I wish I could say it isn’t always like this, but it kind’v is. At least the animals are all asleep. Probably.”

 

Grania’s piercing blue eyes held his. “Your Saoirse seems happy.”

 

“I do what I can,” he said, trying not to squirm. “I’ve tried bloody hard, all her life, not to repeat my mistakes. I was stupid, Grania, and immature, and...well, a load’v bad things, but I’d think to think I'm capable’v learning. I’m not my da.”

 

“You were never your da,” she said, and sighed. “You were a drunken man-child, but you were never malicious.”

 

“No, I was a drunken, _drug-addicted_ man-child,” he said. “And I stayed that way, until Maire, Saoirse’s mam, got up the yard. Then I realized I needed to not fuck up again. And once I couldn’t drink away my regrets, they landed on me like an avalanche. They’d been threatening to crush me for years anyway. I was always just...running away, all my life, and I fucked over you and our Lorna in the process. I swore to myself I wouldn’t talk about the past today, but Christ, Grania, I know this doesn’t do you a bloody bit’v good, but I’m more sorry than I can say.”

 

“I know,” Grania said, and stared at the pinkish depths of her drink. “I want to trust you, Pat. Your Lorna says I can. _Thranduil_ , says I can, and I suppose he’d know, but...I’m not going to be able to, Pat, until _you_ prove that I can. This isn’t something I can take anyone else’s word on -- not even a telepath.”

 

“But...you’ll give me a chance to?” he asked hesitantly.

 

“Possibly against my better judgment,” she said, but she smiled. “You were always against my better judgment, Pat, and yet I never could let go’v you. Prove that you’ve changed.”

 

“You’ll have to tell me now to do that,” he said, just as hesitantly, “so I don’t fuck it up.”

 

“Oh, no,” she said, and a slight hint of devilment entered her smile. “ _That_ you’ve got to work out all on your own. We’re both pushing fifty; you’ll figure it out or you won’t.”

 

Pat swallowed. “And if I don’t, my sister and cousin might just murder me.”

 

“Earlene is a tiny bit terrifying,” Grania agreed. “I can see why she’s queen -- and sure God isn’t that a word I’ve had trouble with.”

 

“We all did, at first, but you get used to it. This lot aren’t royalty like we ever learned’v it.”

 

She snorted, and tipped back a long swallow of her drink. “That,” she said, “is pretty bloody obvious. Are all your parties that...big? And...well, like that?”

 

“This one was bloody tame,” Pat said, unlacing his boots. “You should’ve been there for Lorna and Ratiri’s wedding. Things caught fire and everything.”

 

Her eyebrows climbed. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

 

“Probably not. Still, it was fun -- and then Lorna and Ratiri went off on their honeymoon and some dizzy bitch tried to stuff her hand down his pants. Christ, did you see the news the day Ashford evacuated? And the picture that went with it?”

 

Grania laughed. “You mean, Sadako kicking that woman in the snatch? Yeah, I saw it.”

 

“Sadako was Lorna.”

 

Grania paused, picturing the image, and laughed so hard she almost knocked her drink over. “Oh good Jesus...our Lorna and I laughed so hard over that. I wonder, did that slag actually sick up after that?”

 

“Apparently she did,” Pat said, snickering. “Ratiri made a print and framed it, though Earlene wouldn’t let him hang it in the Heart Room. Just as well, given Saoirse’s paintings’ve taken it over.”

 

“She’s got a gift,” Grania said -- and yawned. “Jesus, look at me -- it hasn’t even gone eleven and I’m falling asleep.”

 

“Middle age approaches,” Pat said, in perfect mimicry of Ratiri. “It’s a curse. You and Lorna’re staying the night, right?” He really didn't want her driving home; no, she hadn’t had much to drink, but still. With their Lorna in her current state (whatever that even was right now), it was better they stay.

 

“We are,” Grania said, “though we’d best go get her before I fall asleep sitting up.”

 

“That,” Pat said, “is why we have the sofa.”

 

*****

 

Thranduil came to Thanadir; the two looked at each other helplessly. “We cannot leave her like this,” the King observed. “But it goes against all I have ever done to simply heal her without her express consent.”

 

“I understand. But if I release her I believe we will have…”

 

“No need to explain, meldir.”

 

“Sorry,” Thanadir smiled.

 

With a snort, Thranduil shook his head. “This would be funny, were it not...not funny. The one piece of information I lack is how long it takes them to emerge from these...states.”

 

“Could you not bring her out of...this...without repairing her?” the seneschal suggested.

 

“I think so?” The King replied. “But is that wise? None of her family is here right now, though I believe they are en route. Meldir, this sofa on wheels...it is almost too much.”

 

“Have you tried it?” Thanadir ventured. “It is quite comfortable.”

 

“Not you too,” the King said, crossing his arms. The look of abashed guilt on Thanadir’s face was too much to be borne. The Eyes were at at least 8 out of 10 and Thranduil had to laugh. “It will not last forever, Valar be praised. I suppose it will be one of many things I will put up with, before the end. And I suspect I will try the sofa before long.”

 

**

 

The sofa, driven by Grania under Lorna’s instruction, came rolling up to the Gates, which were fortunately still open; Lorna really didn’t like admitting that they refused to open for her. Apparently they’d open for _Pat_ \-- half the time. Not always, but half the time, which was more than she ever got. Maybe she really shouldn’t have pissed outside them that one time. Oops. “All right, you lot, c’mon,” she said, rising with a groan. _Thranduil, do you have Lorna the Younger somewhere?_

 

_Yes. Perhaps you would like to join the debate on what to do with her?_

 

 _There’s a debate?_  Oh dear. _Where are you?_

 

_In the interest of simplicity, we have taken her to my quarters. Thanadir would probably like to be able to stop restraining her at some point this evening._

 

 _Oh Jesus. All right, we’re on our way._ “They’re in Thranduil and Earlene’s rooms,” Lorna said. “Apparently she’s still out’v it. Grania, would you let Thranduil fix her?” she added, as they hurried a long. It wasn’t terribly easy in her lehenga, but whatever.

 

“Of course I would,” Grania said. “Shit, she’d want him to as well.”

 

“Good. Keep that in mind.” It was something of a jog, but they got there eventually, and Lorna knocked on the door.

 

_Since when do you not just come in??_

 

 _Since I have company with me. Jesus, you’re in a mood._ She went inside, leading Pat and Grania, and wondered if she ought to give Thranduil some wine _now_ or _later_ . Where the hell was Earlene? If he stared at her tits he’d probably feel better, though it still made Lorna twitch a little. _Hypnoboobies_ , she thought, and snickered, because she was eternally twelve. Especially when she was a little drunk.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. _It so happens I had a Code H tonight, and a containment situation. I have gone from that to this and while I realize it is no one’s fault, at least_ you _have had the luxury of drinking something. So there is no need to bring my wife’s breasts into it, thank you very much, even if you did not just speak it aloud._ “How long is this going to last?” he spoke aloud, gesturing to Lorna2.

 

 _Ah. Sorry. Well, have a drink when you can, and...Hypnoboobies_ , she said, and somehow didn't laugh. _I’m sorry, it’s just that the word is hilarious._ No, she wasn’t drunk at all.

 

“Honestly, I’m amazed it’s not stopped yet,” Grania said, disturbed. “It’s never lasted this long before. Unless she didn't have enough’v a go at that poor lad, and that’s what it’s not let go’v her yet.”

 

“Which...actually might be the case,” Pat said, “except I never saw it this long with this Lorna. Thranduil, can’t you knock her out?”

 

“And fix her?” Lorna asked, looking at Grania, who nodded.

 

“I have never done this without the express consent of the individual,” he said, rubbing at his temples. “She is not a child, she is of age.”

 

Well, shit. “Can you just knock her out, then? Put her to sleep, and we’ll take her back to Eldamar? There’s still time for you to get a few drinks in then,” Lorna said.

 

“I suppose it is not a great deal different than her current condition,” he frowned. “Very well, but this will not last more than an hour. We had planned to stay the night in the Halls; half our children are already asleep here, so...hopefully someone can watch her?” He was not about to change his plans because others were too drunk to manage, not that he would say that aloud. The house would probably still be standing in the morning and they planned to return quite early.

 

“There’s the three’v us and Ratiri,” Pat said. “Plus Saoirse and that poor lad, not that they’d be any real use.”

 

“All yours,” Thranduil said, sending the ‘nobody’s home’ version of Lorna2 into the ‘fully unconscious’ version. “Thanadir will take her to your sofa, does that suit?” _Eru, was he really saying that out loud?_

 

Lorna snickered again, because just hearing that from Thranduil… “It does,” she said, and went to give him a hug. “Now go party and have fun. Lorna’s orders.”

 

“Oh, hush you,” Thranduil said in flawless imitation of her, smiling. Thanadir giggled as he walked past.

 

“Okay, that’s just creepy,” she said, and dissolved into laughter. “All right, you lot, follow the Thanadir and let’s get her home.”

 

**

 

Earlene thanked Thalion for his time with due courtesy, disconnecting from his arm well before their return to the Dining Hall. She had no wish to explain to Melda why she was off with her husband; Thalion would likely have plenty to think about without adding that to his mental plate. And Valar be praised, there were yet tarts. She placed two on a napkin, and paid John a visit. “A pint please, if any’s left,” Earlene grinned.

 

“Be a sad excuse for a barkeep if I ran out, Earlene,” he grumped. That meant, the universe was in order.

 

“True enough,” she agreed, making off with her brown nectar of the gods just in time to see Thranduil return. A gaze of generalized longing was fired in his direction, as she stood there, oblivious to her own appeal. Though modest, her tied blouse could not help but curve her shapely bosom and... _dammit Lorna._ He was not certain he could ever actually mention ‘hypnoboobies’ to Earlene. Because if she managed to not find it humorous, well, it would end badly.

 

Shane, more than three sheets to the wind, snuck over, Siobhan in tow. “We’re hiding,” he said, “and I’d love a tart, I'm starving.” He grabbed one at the same time Siobhan did, but rather than fight over it, they just broke it in half. And if Siobhan just had to spare Earlene’s chest a lingering glance...well, hell. Hypnoboobies.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened, and his shoulders slumped in defeat as he procured himself a Guinness and joined his wife. “Well, I suppose this was a success?” he asked. Many couples and singles had drifted away, presumably to their rooms. Some were bent on becoming yet more drunk. All but the oldest children were already in bed; Ortherion or Lothiriel had apparently corralled their oldest twins at some earlier juncture. The musicians had long ceased playing, after Thanadir’s forced disappearance.

 

Earlene leaned against him. “It was, for me,” she said softly, looking longingly at the harp. She would not embarrass herself by trying; only rudimentary slow tunes were possible for her though she could at least do a little with both hands. “Hearing him play, and sing...I do not wish to be selfish by wishing there was more, but I will treasure every memory of his music. So beautiful…”

 

Thranduil knew what his wife did not, which was that Kana was quite nearby and listening. _Why not?_ “If you could hear him play anything, what would it be?” he asked, impishly curious.

 

“Oh, well…” that took a moment’s consideration. “I’m a hopeless Baroque music addict, so...that? Lots of pieces were transposed for harp. But which pieces, and what...something by Bach? It’s rather a moot question, though.” Thranduil looked back, to see Kana looking at both of them, some internal debate raging.

 

 _She does not know you are near, and you are under no expectation of indulging my presumption,_ Thranduil sent, feeling quite relaxed. _You are entirely welcome to join us in conversation, if you wish._

 

A little nod of his head indicated that he had been heard, but Maglor instead walked to the instrument and regarded Earlene with a peculiarly intent expression while he adjusted the harp against his body. Thranduil knew that the ellon was checking the veracity of his claim, and allowed it without interference. Maglor then lifted his hands and began Bach’s Italian Concerto, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Thranduil’s arm came around his wife, while her lips parted in astonishment.

 

Maglor had watched many people watch him in turn, and he knew all the types of them by expression. The bored listeners, the stiffly polite, the critics, the romantics, the fawners, the cough-drop addicts (second only to the Kleenex addicts), the elderly couples, the Children Forced to Listen, the social climbers...and rarely, those capable of actually experiencing the music and the musician. Very quickly he realized that Earlene was truly interested not in him per se, but the art he created. And because of it, he did not mind. In fact he was happy to play for such as these; they were just so difficult to find.

 

Midway, Thranduil had to remove her glass of ale from her hand and the plate from her

lap; Earlene was oblivious to anything but the composition and was at risk of dropping all of it on the floor. And he was not about to interrupt her enjoyment. Thanadir too returned before it was over, and sat on her other side, taking her hand in his. Sundry others came near to watch as well, but as this was not their preference in music, most drifted away again after a time. When he finished, Earlene did not clap, but only placed her hand over her heart and hoped he could perceive her gratitude. With a smile and a brief bow of his head, he moved through the room. It was late, and he wished to seek rest.

 

“Did you have anything to do with that?” she asked Thranduil, only now returning to reality.

 

“Maybe,” he smirked, but only a little, squeezing her shoulder.

 

Thanadir sighed. “He really is very good.”

 

**

 

“There is a part of me that feels more than a little guilty telling Thalion that our conversation was a private one when my head is an open book to both of you,” Earlene confessed later, as they sat in the bedroom lined up on the sofa, three in a row staring at the flames in the fireplace. It had been a long time since they had sat here and done this; the nostalgia alone felt comforting.

 

“It is not as though we are in any way going to abuse that awareness, meldis,” Thanadir opined, caressing her upper chest and throat idly with his fingers, while Thranduil’s thumb absentmindedly rubbed at her bent kneecap.

 

“I am more interested in how you chose to try to break through his barriers,” Thranduil said. “I had never considered simply tackling the points of objection in a systematic fashion combined with mild emotional browbeating.”

 

“I hoped it wasn’t that bad but...admittedly, maybe I applied a certain amount of pressure just like I did to Ailill’s mother. But if I did that, it is because I know he is a fair-minded ellon who just needs some help to see things in a different light. There really is no such thing as changing someone’s mind if they are determined to cling to prejudices.”

 

“I believe he will come around,” Thanadir opined. “What worries me, if anything, is that at some point this information will reach the ears of more than just one ellon or elleth and then it will be a mass...the edhil will be shaken and perturbed.”

 

“It is still very hard to believe that your people accepted our plural marriage so easily and yet find a gay couple so shocking. Whereas humans see _us_ as being that which is so peculiar, and Ailill and Calanon are completely pedestrian.” Earlene snorted as a completely unwanted thought popped into her head. _Eru, what if instead of this, the Valar threw both Lorna and I at Thranduil. Maybe I should kneel and thank them for their mercies._

 

“Ewwwwwwww!” exclaimed Thranduil. “Earlene, how can you even think such a thing? Just... _eurghhh._ ”

 

“Because I cannot control my thoughts to that degree, I cannot control that you hear them, and...did you really say ‘ewww’? Thranduil, I never would have believed it. My Lord you are….regressing.”

 

Thanadir nodded sagely. “Too much time around Lorna.”

 

“Nothing about this has _anything_ to do with the matter at hand,” Thranduil said primly. “And I can feel revolted if I wish. Lorna may be my dear friend but the mere thought of that is simply…”

 

“Squicky?” Thanadir offered with genuine innocence. Earlene began snickering, shaking uncontrollably with laughter.

 

“I love you both,” she gasped for air. “So much…” Awhile was needed before her giggles stopped but finally she regained a serious frame of mind. “You know, the other thing about all of this is...it is now the end of September. In three more months, they will have been betrothed for a year. Will they wish for a wedding? If so, when? The idea that they would want to celebrate their marriage in the usual fashion has to be considered, but if most of your people cannot abide the idea, where does that leave them? They should not have to hide their happiness.”

 

Thranduil massaged his temples; he had not considered that aspect. The months had passed along peacefully enough and... _Eru_. “Well we have time yet and...we will know nothing until we ask them.” Truthfully he wanted all of it to go away and...perhaps they would seal their union in bed, and spare the trouble? He had certainly managed; no awkward betrothal or formal marriage ceremony.

 

“It was nice to see Ailill’s mother tonight, too,” Earlene said. “She has come a long way. They all have.”

 

A time of quiet reflection ensued, in which the three of them kept occupied with their own thoughts. Thanadir was the first to speak. “Earlene, I believe our people will adjust to Ailill and Calanon with time. If Thalion can successfully digest your information, and if a few others can be given the same...instruction, so to speak, I believe the rest will follow. We have ever been a hierarchical society; thinking comes from the top down, so to speak. If those who lead or have positions of extra authority are accepting, the rest will follow after an initial period of shock and discomfort.”

 

Turning away from the fire to curl up on her side, Earlene snuggled against the seneschal’s tummy. His fingers slowly began to massage her scalp, which felt like pure heaven. “I just hope they can get over that hill before the difficulty has a chance to affect their happiness” she said, eyes closed. “If there is one thing I fear it is Ailill having a perception that he is rejected here because of his sexuality. Even if their attitude changes later, that initial first impression will not be a good thing. Maybe Calanon could get get past it, being stronger and having a better understanding of the difficulties of his peers.

 

“I mean, look at what happened to me. I had a lon- standing impression about how Lorna felt about me that lingered for years because of me becoming convinced she was biased against my choices and my relationship the second time we ever spoke. And while maybe I am flattering myself, I think on account of the assaults Ailill has already experienced it would be a similarly difficult...trauma.”

 

“But he already knows that our people have...that this is new concept for them and formerly something that was not permitted,” Thranduil said, frowning.

 

“Yes but knowing that _intellectually_ and actually _experiencing_ a harsh word, a grimace or overhearing something unkind about ‘how revolting they are’...please trust me, it is  going to be very different, if that happens. That is what I desperately do not wish to have occur.”

 

Thranduil furrowed his brow, wondering if the simplest thing would be to leave Ailill and Calanon at Eldamar and convene the Realm and simply issue an edict. This was a monarchy, and if that was what needed to happen...perhaps that would be for the best. His command to the elves at Eldamar had been successful; they obeyed, and then had time and space in which to reach understanding and reform their thinking.

 

“I think it is time for sleep, Earlene.” Thanadir nuzzled her. Thranduil whisked his sleepy wife off of Thanadir’s lap, and held her upright in an embrace.

 

“I agree,” Thranduil said. “Dawn will come early, and we yet have guests.” With a kiss to her cheek, they all disrobed and crawled into bed.

 

*****

 

Lorna the Younger stayed asleep on the whole ride back to Eldamar and was still snoozing on the back side of the sofa in the Heart Room. Pat and Grania sat on either side of her, and neither was quite sure what to say. The honesty brought on by alcohol clammed up with sobriety, until Lorna the Elder rolled her eyes and dragged over one of the fat armchairs.

 

“All right, Grania, you and Lorna the Younger are coming back here sooner or later. I’ll build more motorized furniture, so we can race it or something. If staying in the same house as Pat here is too weird at first, one or the other’v you can stay in the Halls -- we’ll get you some flats set up. It’s best you get used to that anyway, before the world ends. The beds’re more comfortable than anything you’ll find out there, but the lack’v electricity takes some getting used to. We’ll do all sorts’v stupid shite, and when Sharley comes again, you can meet her. We’ve -- Ratiri and I and our kids, and Pat and Saoirse -- have gone to where she lives in Washington State in America, a few times. It’s beautiful there, and someday I want you to go with us -- but only once it’s not weird.”

 

Grania looked at her, a little helplessly, and Pat sighed.

 

“Told you they were always like this,” he said, and winced when Lorna kicked him.

 

“Think it over,” his sister said, and left them to it. She needed more tea, dammit.

 

Now it was Grania who sighed. “Pat, we’ll come back,” she said, “but...I need a bit. This is a lot to take in.”

 

“I know,” he said. “ _Believe_ me, I know. When Saoirse and I first came here, it about did my head in.”

 

Grania ran her fingers through her hair. She could manage a short bob now that her now hair was growing back in. “It’s still hard for me to wrap my head around,” she said quietly. “The idea that the world’ll end in what, sixteen years? That Dublin’ll be empty -- that _Ireland’ll_ be empty. Everything we are as humans, everything we’ve made -- I can’t think that’ll just all be gone.”

 

“You, me, and everyone else,” he said grimly. “And I’m sure it’ll get worse once the clock starts winding further down. I’m just glad Saoirse and our Lorna got to grow up in this world. Chandra and Shane, and Earlene’s kids, they’re the last generation that’ll be adults by the time the plague hits.”

 

“Christ, I can’t even think’v it. Not right now.”

 

“Then think about something better,” he said. “Our Lorna won’t go blank anymore, once Thranduil and Thanadir are done. She’ll be done with it. Forever.”

 

Grania smiled a little. “It’s hard for me to believe, really,” she said, running her fingers through her sleeping daughter’s hair. “Seeing her go like that...I can’t even describe it. It was just….”

 

“I know what it was,” he said. “I saw it often enough as a kid. I wish I knew what Donovan ancestor got _that_ one started, just so I could go back in time and slap them senseless.”

 

That drew a very quiet laugh from her. “If she’s better, I’ll take it. I want her to be able to travel. To see the world, while it’s still here to be seen.”

 

“It’s what we’re all doing, in bits and pieces,” he said. “Washington’s beautiful, and there’s other places all over even in just America, but I don’t want to spend all our trips just there. Ratiri and Earlene speak German, so maybe we’ll go to Germany. Lorna speaks Russian, though I’ve got no idea how the hell easy it is or isn’t to get into Russia these days. Lorna, Ratiri, and I got so overheated in Yellowstone that I’m not sure traveling to any desert or tropical areas’d be such a great idea.”

 

Shaking her head, Grania said, “It’s a sight different from what either’v us ever thought we’d be doing.” While she had not grown up in an abusive home, she’d been one of four children of a single, alcoholic mother who was rarely home as much as she ought to be. Her mam had been a jolly drunk rather than a mean one, but as irresponsible as a teenager (which made a bit of sense, considering she’d been fifteen when the eldest sibling was born). Grania had always grown up with the idea that poverty was close to eternal, and that even if she got out of it, she’d never have money to do much. She _certainly_ hadn’t imagined Pat ever would.

 

“Life’s full’v bloody surprises,” he said, and paused. “You will -- you’ll come back, right? This won’t be your only trip?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “No, it won’t be, you eejit. Make yourself useful and get me a fresher, will you?” She handed him her empty mug of tea.

 

Now this he could do. Off he went, still wondering if he should be relieved or terrified.

 

*****

 

Sunday morning was a quiet one; after breakfast they sat in the Heart Room. Quen and Kana occupied themselves at who knows what; Ailill and Calanon were quietly conversing in one of the corners, leaning into one another affectionately. If their elven guests found this offensive, they either genuinely did not care or were hiding it well. Earlene was busy on her laptop as was Thanadir; she was immersed in recipe possibilities and this was always of interest to his discerning palate. Assorted Duncan-Donovans were scattered about, reading books or magazines. Thranduil glanced at Ailill nervously, and decided that waiting much longer would be unwise. He moved over toward his firion, choosing to stand and lean against the wall inlaid with stones. “Did you converse with your former coworker at Ashford on Friday night, Ailill?”

 

“Yes, Thranduil.  She told me a great deal of what she had overheard about why I was fired. Apparently this is not the first time that man has targeted an employee he suspected was...like I am… and--”

 

“You were WHAT??” Earlene said, her head wheeling around.

 

Ailill froze. Apparently his King had not been exaggerating. “I was fired from Ashford Friday, Earlene. Close to quitting time. They left a letter on my desk telling me to clear out at once. So we packed what little I keep at work, put the hawks in the car and…” he shrugged helplessly.

 

“And I am to understand that a coworker supplied you with information to the effect that she witnessed your employer stating you were being fired because he believes you are gay?”

 

“Um, yeah. Pretty much...that.”

 

“Come with me. Right now. You may come as well, Calanon. Quiet Room.” She snapped her laptop shut near a bewildered Thanadir and stormed toward the other room.

 

“Someone is about to be in a regrettable predicament,” piped Thaladir sadly, from his cushion on the floor. He had taken quite a shine to Quen, and had been leaning against the ellon’s leg while he quietly read a book.

 

Maglor looked up at this comment and met Quen’s eyes. They both bit their cheeks not to laugh at the adorable peredhel.

 

“You are quite correct, ionneg,” Thranduil said softly, moving to follow the other three.

 

“Sit,” ordered Earlene, her fingers already flying across her word processor program. Thranduil entered, and looked as if he was about to speak. Earlene held up her hand. “With respect, Thranduil; please let me do this first. Regardless of what happens after, I need certain information documented before one more minute goes by.” Thranduil nodded his assent and sat quietly.

 

“Ailill, Calanon, but mostly Ailill, you are to close your eyes. Take a moment, put yourself back in that office at whatever time of day it was on Friday. Keep your eyes closed unless you must open them. I want to tell me what happened, just as if you were relating it to a friend. If you remember something a little after, just say that too. And after, I want you to move on to the phone call. Tell me as much about what was said of the conversation as you can remember. I am going to transcribe your words; I will be typing exactly what you say. I can type very fast, but if you could speak at a calm rate it would be appreciated. Begin when you are ready.”

 

For probably fifteen minutes, little was heard except for the lilt of Ailill’s voice and the clicking of swiftly moving fingers on the keys. Calanon watched in fascination, not knowing that anyone could possibly use the computer with this kind of speed; it was mesmerizing. When he could add in or correct a detail he did, but mostly the recollections were Ailill’s. When there was no more, he said as much, and Earlene nodded. “Thank you very much. Thranduil, thank you for your patience.”

 

The King nodded. “What I wanted to know was whether you had given thought to what I asked you on Friday, Ailill? If nothing else I am certain it will affect what happens. And Earlene; I have asked Ailill if he truly wishes his position back, or whether he would prefer to be free of Ashford to pursue studies and life...here. I feel all of us are owed the answer to that question before this goes further.”

 

Earlene one hundred percent disagreed with several facets of his statement, but kept her silence; he was King. Surprised, Thranduil raised his eyebrows but did not comment.

 

“I liked my job there,” he confessed. “It wasn’t always easy work but it is where my heart is. I performed well, I know I did. And while I feel more than a little bitter about what happened, maybe fighting it is important to send the message that they can’t keep doing this. Mary said that wherever this bloke came from, that he bragged it wasn’t the first time he’d got rid of...people like me. But I equally wouldn’t mind a little time to not have to be there. I’ve worked at Ashford long enough that this shouldn’t have been able to even occur. But… if it can’t work out, and I can’t go back? I’m not going to be devastated. I have you and I know that I can...I know you will care for me, Aran Thranduil.”

 

“Oh, you’ll go back,” Earlene fumed. “You just decide how large you’d like your salary to be. Whoever that gobsh-- that man is, he’s going to be sorry he was born. When I’m through with him…” she rose up and went for her mobile, leaving a stunned Ailill.

 

Thranduil shrugged. “That went quite a lot better than I expected, actually.” He smiled and followed his wife. Ailill looked at his fiancé, speechless, until they both burst into laughter and hugged each other.

 

“See?” Calanon smiled. “Everything will be well in the end.”

 

*****

 

They all resumed their seats in the Heart Room, and on the return trip Ailill had procured his laptop, much to Calanon’s exasperation. Ailill only grinned. He knew the ellon felt he spent too much time on the device (and perhaps that was occasionally true) but unlike his lover, he had some small shadows of a life remaining on certain social platforms. Not to mention, email and...things. Seated so as to lean against the ellon, he checked his Inbox. “Mam says she had a lovely time last night and she wants to...oh Valar, _no_ …”

 

Thanadir’s eyebrows raised in amusement, his curiosity piqued. Calanon too looked on and grinned. “She is asking if we have set a date for our wedding,” the merry elf smirked.

 

“Well, one cannot set a date for something one has not discussed, love,” Ailill said, closing the device. “I was quite contentedly enjoying being betrothed to you, thank you very much. I think I need some tea. Very strong tea, at that.” Rising, he went to the kitchen, leaving Calanon with the computer.

 

“At least I got him to quit looking at the screen,” the elf said smugly.

 

“Uh-oh,” Grania said. “Mams and weddings’re a dangerous combination. Should’ve seen neighbor, when her daughter got married. There’s all this talk’v Bridezillas when it’s _Mamzillas_ you’ve really got to worry about. Calanon, is your mam here?”

 

“My mother is in Valinor,” Calanon answered with an engaging smile. “But...pardon me, what is a ‘mamzilla’? It sounds very bad.”

 

Grania laughed so hard she couldn’t actually answer, so Lorna said, “In a series’v movies, Godzilla’s a giant creature that goes on a murderous rampage and usually wipes out Tokyo, though it’s been other cities. He’s usually fighting some other monster, too, but that’s not the point -- the point is that sometimes the mothers of one or both’v the couple who are actually getting married can try to butt in and take control, or at the very least give loads’v ‘advice’ nobody asked for or wanted, then get pissy if it’s not taken.”

 

“We need to watch a Godzilla movie,” Ratiri added.

 

Maglor looked up in vague disbelief but also was biting his cheeks trying not to smile.

 

“Well,” Thanadir said with the weight of much wisdom, “the surest way to keep someone from taking over is to already have it planned. What is that saying I hear sometimes, ‘nature abhors a vacuum?’ Do not leave a vacuum.”

 

Thranduil closed his eyes. This conversation was sealing the necessity for him to do something. And arguably, the ‘something’ needed to be done. So be it. He would work out the details once Kana and Quen departed.

 

“And if you’re smart, fob _something_ off on your mam,” Grania added. “Something little and stupid, that you don’t care about. She’ll be glad she’s got something to do, and she’ll hopefully stay out’v your hair.”

 

Lorna was somewhat disturbed. Were mothers of prospective brides and grooms really that bad?

 

“Be glad she’s not Indian,” Ratiri said dryly. “Trust me. Though watching her fight with Katherine’s mother was at least rather entertaining. When Mam got too pissed she just shouted at people in Hindi and/or Urdu until they gave her what she wanted or went away.”

 

“God I wish I could’ve met your family,” Lorna said, shaking her head.

 

Earlene returned from another part of the house, where a phone call to Niamh had already been made and an email sent. Perhaps a cup of tea, before she rejoined the others. It might help her regain her...equilibrium. Given the nearness of the Heart Room to the kitchen, it was impossible not to overhear the conversation. _Now this was interesting…_

 

_Meluieg, Ailill’s mother has asked about whether they have set a date for the wedding._

 

_Oh dear. Well that rather adds an extra element to our discussion of last night, unfortunately._

 

_Yes. Only, they have just said that they have not discussed this topic themselves, but I have a distinct feeling that they will discuss it now. Privately, of course. Such a matter is not for a family forum. At least, not usually._

 

_I see. Thank you for the information._

 

_I thought it might cheer you up, or at the very least distract you from the scent of blood._

 

 _That bad?_ Earlene arched her eyebrows, now that she was in a far better humor.

 

_Well, not for me, and not for Ailill._

 

She chuckled, and entered the room to sit with Thranduil. Many little potential tidbits of advice wanted to escape her lips, but she quelled all of them for now. The couple deserved the right to discuss the near future of their relationship without unsolicited advice being heaped upon them. And Quen and Kana certainly did not need their remaining hours at Eldamar laden with what had the potential to amount to household dirty laundry. There was something she would rather know about, and the first thing to do would be to ask those who could tell. “Quen, Kana,” Earlene asked quietly. “I wondered if, with the understanding that what is said here never leaves this room, you would be willing to tell us something of what it was like to meet with Professor Tolkien. None of us have more than his writings, or archival materials. But you actually knew him, spoke to him.”

 

Most of the heads in the room turned to the two ellyn, who stared first at each other in surprise at the question, until Kana gave Quen a very subtle nod. Had Earlene not had vast practice at reading Thanadir’s expressions, she would have missed it entirely.

 

“John was an extraordinary man; we knew him since he was quite young. And it was because he was delving deeply into very old stories linked to myth and legend, that we began conversing…”

 

*****

 

The early autumn sunshine already seemed to have that gradually dimming hue that soon enough would give way to the pale days of the cold season. The days when the sun could shine all it liked, but would offer no warmth to the small bipeds that walked the Irish soil so far below. Ailill wore his wool sweater, to walk outside with Calanon. His partner had become adept at handling two hawks at once, leaving them with one free hand between them. Little Thaladir ran on ahead with the hounds, happily oblivious to the adult conversation taking place behind him.

 

“So I guess we have to talk about us,” Ailill said, shyly. “This wedding. Or rather, our marriage.”

 

Calanon laughed, but not at the words of his mate. “Here I always imagined we would discuss this sitting somewhere lovely in the forest, perhaps holding hands. Not both gloved and watching out for hawks not to land in the wrong place,” he grimaced slightly. Thia had had a moment of confusion three weeks prior, and had tried to settle in Calanon’s hair. He had received deep cuts to his scalp that had frightened Ailill, for on a human they would have been quite serious. But he was reassured that while it might hurt for some hours, that he would be fine and heal very rapidly...and he had been correct. Still, it was a moment neither of them wished to repeat.

 

“I suppose this is the other side to deciding to have a relationship with my mother,” he said softly. “I do love her, Cal, but she can...take over. I’ve seen it. When I was young, at holiday times, Mary and I would just clear out at every opportunity. The way the house was decorated this last Christmas was nothing compared to what she used to do. It was…” he shook his head, not really wanting to waste the brain cells on seeking out the right words by which to describe it all.

 

“But back to us,” the ellon smiled. “I will admit that because of our...circumstances, I had not considered that we would wed with a ceremony. When the Valar told us we would need to exercise discernment, in my mind having a celebration before my people did not strike me as meeting that requirement. I had thought that we would marry...with words and the binding of our bodies, privately. But much has changed since we pledged ourselves to each other. It is not my decision to make, alone. If a wedding ceremony is important to you, then I will not deny you this.”

 

With a rush of wings, Fion returned to Calanon, only to be sent off again after receiving a tidbit of meat. All of the birds came and went, in the time it took Ailill to reflect silently on this question, and at last he spoke. “Here is what I would like, and when I tell you this it is with the understanding that just because I want it, this isn’t how it has to be. In the same way, your opinions matter to me also. I have been thinking back to how all of this started for me, and what I have seen of weddings of other people. Weddings are a party that is thrown for guests. Lots of nervousness and planning and finery, to speak vows and formalize a union, then all the rest of it is party. Party and drinking, in this country.

 

“So that makes me want to separate the issues: Us and our union, and, our friends and family and a big party. I agree with you in that I would like our union to be private or mostly private. When I came to your world, it was me meeting only our King, his queen, and his seneschal. I would not mind exchanging vows to you in front of them. Nothing fancy, just...maybe in the Quiet Room or some place that is lovely. We would be witnessed by those who matter most to me. Perhaps Aran Thranduil would even be so kind as to offer us his blessing. And then on some other day of our choosing, why not have a reception. A party. Have it be very nice, invite whoever is being invited. Let my mother fuss, let who wishes to celebrate, celebrate.”

 

Now it was Calanon’s turn to reflect on these ideas. “I like this. I like the idea of a celebration. Perhaps it could be in the springtime, when it is easier to be out of doors and the trees are newly crowned with leaves. There is one thing that I want very much, that has not been part of this conversation. We began our betrothal on Yule Eve, Ailill. I wish to wed with you on that same day, if you would consent. But if you need more time, nîth vain, I would underst--”

 

“Yes.” Ailill’s eyes were shining with love. “I want that as well.” While he had not thought of this previously, his heart leaped at the words. He had thought Calanon might wish to take longer, to wait...hearing that he was wanted without delay sent a thrill of happiness through him.

 

“Glove!” barked Calanon, seeing that the bird was almost on Ailill, whose wrist snapped up just in time. He blinked at Diana, who bobbed around looking for her treat. When he saw that injury had been avoided, the ellon was relieved. “Maybe in the interest of safety, we should finish this conversation once we are back inside,” he observed.

 

Ailill sighed. “I am afraid I have to agree. Too...distracting.” But he smiled.

 

*****

 

Earlene was trying very hard to shut up. To shut up, and not say things like, ‘I wish you weren’t leaving,’ ‘I hope you come back very soon,’ ‘When can you come again?’ and other generally fawning and obnoxiously pushy comments or questions. Yet all of those things were felt; Quen and Kana were leaving to return to England and it felt very, very wrong.

 

“Thank you for your generous hospitality,” the pair said, making the gesture of parting. “We would very much like to come again, when we can.”

 

 _It won’t be soon enough,_ Earlene thought sadly.

 

“I will keep writing,” Thranduil reassured. “I have enjoyed our correspondence.”

 

“Not as much as we have,” said Kana, thinking fondly on all the silly family photos. Photos that now had some context, since he had met all (or most all; there was still the adult blue-haired firieth  in the photos who had not been present).

 

“It was grand to meet you two,” Lorna said. “I hope this’ll not be the last time we ever see you.”

 

Ratiri had to fight to summon real speech, because Nerd Mode. “And thank you for playing for us last night,” he said. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, and a privilege to witness.”

 

Shane just gave them a wave, too occupied with trying to keep the Lump from eating his sock, but Chandra, the creepy little child, looked up at them and solemnly said, “You passed the test,” before meandering off. Hey, they had. The were Not Bastards.

 

Earlene stared at Chandra, tempted to ask but realizing that that would be a terrible idea.

 

 _It really would be,_ Thranduil confirmed. _We will discuss it when they are gone._

 

All of them waved farewell, and the ellyn momentarily disappeared to the other side of the cottage before the sound of their motor leaving the driveway could be heard.

 

Pengolodh waited until they were past the village of Lasg’len before speaking to Kana, some of whose hair was still unbound and silky, for the peredhel twins had cornered him again and brushed it to a shiny luster before adding in braids in the style of their people. And as these were not suited for their purposes in the outside world, Maglor began to gather the mass of it and weave it together into a much messier and haphazard single plait. “How did you feel about this weekend?”

 

“I felt welcome. Accepted. There was much that pleased me,” the ellon answered quietly, already seeming to begin to withdraw into his usual shell. Commenting on this or anything like it would serve no purpose, this Quen knew well.

 

“I did also,” Quen said. “I could easily see going there once or twice a year, if we were invited to do so.” This was spoken with a blithe indifference, as if it mattered no more than what tea he might wish to brew once home. It was his way of placing a toe in, and testing the waters.

 

“Yes. I would like that very much,” Kana confirmed, brightening for a moment before his eyes took on their usual faraway gaze. “The children. They were all such beautiful children…”

  
  
  



	116. One Hundred and Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 29-December 26, 2020

 

{Sept 29, 2020}

 

“Alright you two, let’s go,” Earlene said to Ailill and Calanon shortly after breakfast.

 

“Go where, Hiril vuin?” Calanon said, baffled. 

 

“The three of us are going on an outing. We will be back in time for you to exercise your birds. You might say that I am taking you away so you can have a date,” she smirked while Thranduil attempted to keep his expression as one of complete equanimity. “Dress for being outdoors.” The sky outside was a crisp, blazing blue, which at least was a cooperative gesture on the part of the weather. Minutes later, after a certain amount of shuffling in their upstairs bedroom, they returned warmly clothed. “See you fine folks later,” Earlene waved brightly to everyone in the Heart Room as if this was the sort of thing that happened every day.

 

Lorna blinked. “Okay,” she said. “What the hell is that about? You guys are being...suspiciously weird.”

 

“If we discuss this, can you promise me you will try not to erupt?” Thranduil said levelly. He did not mind including Lorna in the affairs of his Realm, and this really  _ was _ one of those, in spades.

 

“That makes me a bit nervous, but sure,” she said.

 

“We had a close call last night,” Thranduil explained with a somewhat weary expression. “And I think I need not mention, this is not a subject for discussion outside of our home and family. Thalion saw Ailill’s mother holding both him and Calanon at the waist, and then caught sight of their betrothal rings. He immediately went to Ortherion, seeking more information, only to be told that it was not a matter that could be discussed. This forced my hand; I spoke with Thalion. Afterward, Earlene spoke with Thalion. Earlene also made some pointed observations in private later. This is all to say, I cannot allow this relationship to continue on in secrecy without risking outcomes that I do not wish to see happen. I had hoped to introduce this knowledge of them gradually, over time, but this cannot be. So just after the midday meal, I am convening all of our people. They will be told. And instructed.” He shrugged. “It is all I can do, but I was not about to  have any of it occur with those two here. I do not wish them to have to know about any of this.”

 

Ratiri winced. “No, they definitely need to not know about this. It would shatter Ailill’s image of the Elves, to know his relationship was disapproved of.”

 

“So basically you’re telling everyone to keep their traps shut unless they can say something nice?” Lorna asked, and wondered why in the name of all hell he thought she’d erupt over  _ that _ .

 

“Essentially, yes, but more than that. I am realizing that they need the chance to...how to say this. ‘Rearrange their thinking.’ And this has to start somewhere. What you just said, Ratiri...I had not considered that aspect of it. Calanon is able to weather such temporary states of disapproval from his peers...but I do not believe Ailill could manage in the same manner. And Earlene is right. They deserve to have their happiness, not more prejudice. At the same time, I do not blame my elves; they have only ever known...the other. And Lorna, I apologize to you. I know that you can become...passionate...about certain topics, but even I do not always know ahead of time what those will be.”

 

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re telling them something most human parents used to teach their kids: ‘if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all’, as well as to think before they  _ do  _ speak. That’s something most adults’v any species ought to do -- or at least, try to do,” she added, when Pat threw a slipper at her. Hey, if he only knew all the things she  _ didn't  _ say. She’d never once told him the mustache he tried to grow as a teenager had looked utterly stupid, or that the acid-washed jeans he thought would impress all the ladies did no good on a lad with no arse. (The 80’s really had been a special, special decade, and she only wished she had pictures she could embarrass him with. If Saoirse could see some of the things her da had worn, she’d die laughing.)

 

“I do not think you completely understand,” said Thanadir quietly. “It is beyond an issue of manners. This is a question of morality, of Law and Custom. For thousands of years it has been seen as a serious...moral flaw...to disobey the Valar or to attempt to thwart their will. Or behave in a manner independent of what they have decreed. Comments made to Ailill and Calanon would have not been from only a place of simple discrimination and personal discomfort, but from a place of spiritual fear. Even though the Powers themselves approved this, they did not declare it to the entirely of our people here. Calanon is an ellon of deep faith; he very much needed to receive personal direction from the Valar else he would have found himself in extreme emotional duress.”

 

“You’re right,” Lorna said, “I’m not quite so up on that, just because for most’v my life my morals were a bit...well, you’ve known me for three years, Thanadir, you know what I’m like. But homophobia itself isn’t just hatred, it’s fear. Fear’v what a person doesn’t understand. As long as they behave themselves around Ailill and Calanon, they’ve got literally all the time in the world to wrestle with the idea, am I right?”

 

“Something like that,” the seneschal confirmed. “Basically what is being done today will be to place...clear guidelines on how anyone may speak or interact with the couple, in order to buy the time for everyone to digest it. Our people are not given to mindless hatreds, and yet this is a very different thing, for them. The elves living in this home have all managed to change their thinking, though it took some longer than others. I think it was the most difficult for Lothiriel to come around, but she had Ortherion with whom she could speak freely.”

  
“That is another element of this,” Thranduil frowned. “I cannot command the thoughts of others. Only their actions. They will look to the few of us who no longer have difficulty with this issue. They will want to be able to have discussions. Like everyone, they all have feelings and opinions.”

 

“I had a good talk with Ortherion,” Ratiri said. “He just had many questions, mostly about how we could find such a relationship normal. Honestly, they just need, well, educating. It’s the only real way to move past prejudice and bigotry.”

 

“A conversation I would imagine was similar and yet different was what happened last night between Earlene and Thalion. It was her assessment that he would just need some time to...come around.”

 

“We should let them know they can use the internet,” Lorna said, sipping her tea. “If they want to do any research, that sort’v thing. And shit, Orla’s gay -- I can see if she’d be willing to talk to them, if that’d be a good idea.” Siobhan was bisexual, but it was highly doubtful the elves would survive a discussion about sexuality with Siobhan.

 

“I am not sure it would carry the same impact, because of being human,” Thanadir said. “Our people have a surface awareness that such couplings exist in the outer world. It is that it is an ellon. And that Calanon is taking a mortal to wed, that too is unusual. Though seemingly becoming more frequent.” The seneschal’s cheeks were distinctly coloring pink, as he all but muttered the last sentence.

 

“Maybe not, but it would be more than just surface awareness. It would be a human, apart from Ailill, who’s also into the same gender. Might make the concept seem less weird and alien, if they knew more than one gay person.”  _ Thranduil, if they get stroppy, I seriously suggest throwing Siobhan at them. Seriously, do it, and let me film it. _

 

_ Absolutely not. Thanadir may be involved in a plural marriage, but he still uses the word ‘Seemly.’ And that very much would be ‘Unseemly’. I have to live with him, you know. _

 

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her laughter at bay.  _ So keep Thanadir busy with something else. Once Siobhan was done with that lot, Ailill and Calanon’ll seem as wholesome and pure as new-driven snow to them. The woman gets people to pay her for hitting them with a flogger.  _ She wanted to see their reactions, and she wanted to film them. She just...did.

 

_ A good King does not ask his people to endure what he cannot,  _ Thranduil smirked.  _ No. _

 

_ Really?  _ You  _ couldn’t endure that? Oh come on. As nauseating a thought as this is, maybe she could give you ideas. That don't involve food.  _ And no, Lorna still couldn’t eat chocolate syrup. Damn Siobhan.

 

_ I rest my case,  _ Thranduil said.  _ Perhaps we should invite her here for a private instruction session?  I’m certain Pat will find that wonderfully illuminating. As will Lothiriel. Thanadir and Ratiri can compare notes. You see, Thanadir enjoys food a great deal, as you know….and he certainly would want to know all about chocolate syrup. _

 

_ I would certainly hope ‘private’ would mean ‘you, Earlene, and Thanadir’,  _ Lorna said, somehow infusing faux primness into her mental tone.  _ What you three do in the privacy of your own bedroom is your business. Your  _ private  _ business.  _ She was not going to let him squick her into next week. She was an adult, dammit.  _ And Earlene doesn't seem the kind who’d want to use anything like normal chocolate syrup, anyway. She’d make Thanadir melt real chocolate first, or something. _

 

_ True,  _ he admitted.  _ The last time she made it it was a wonderful dark chocolate, not so sweet. I have to admit it was rather appealing… _

 

Lorna tried not to grimace. She really, really did, but didn't quite succeed.  _ Don’t understand the appeal of it, myself,  _ she countered.  _ It’s sticky, and gets in unpleasant places. Plus, lady infections, though that wouldn’t really be a consideration for Earlene. Or would it? That kind of falls under the ‘Put a Plaster On It’ heading of the Chart.  _ She quirked a challenging eyebrow at him, because she was not folding that easily.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes.  _ It is not used like  _ that _ , silly. The best place to put it is on Earlene’s-- _

 

_ You know what, I really doubt she’d be thrilled by you talking about her sex life without her consent _ , Lorna said hurriedly, because no. Just...no.  _ I’m not going to talk about the thing Ratiri and I do with body wash, so hush, you.  _ She glowered at him over the rim of her mug, though some last, lingering bit of little shit in her had to take a parting shot, in the hope of making him at least a tiny bit uncomfortable.  _ You’re tall, I bet it would work for you, too. _

 

His eyebrows raised at the imagery. The floaty smile that appeared on his face was completely disturbing.  _ Oh, she does not mind,  _ came the last trailing sentiments.

 

“It is time, Thranduil. We should depart for the Halls,” Thanadir prompted, interrupting his daydream about chocolate syrup and body wash. In that order.

 

“Of course,” he said, his reverie breaking. He rose, but not before winking at Lorna.

 

Maybe Lorna wasn’t an adult, because the only response she had to that was to blow a loud, wet raspberry at him.  _ Someday  _ she would win a Battle of Squick, dammit.  _ Someday _ .

 

Thranduil blew Lorna a kiss with one of the strangest grins ever seen to date decorating his face, before he turned and followed Thanadir.

 

Ratiri looked from one to the other, and rolled his eyes. He didn't want to know. He really, really didn't.

 

“Do I even want to ask what that was?” Pat asked, disturbed.

 

“No,” Lorna said. “The man isn’t King’v the Elves, he’s the King’v Too Much Information. Sometimes telepathy is not a good thing.”

 

Pat’s expression went thoughtful, and she threw a cushion at him. Because he was apparently still as much of a mental twelve-year-old as she was, he made a dreadful face at her and wandered off.

 

“Nice,” Lorna muttered, and sipped her tea.

 

Ratiri looked at her curiously. “Mo chroí,” he said carefully, “do you...there’s a  reason people are afraid to tell you some things. We can’t always know what will trigger your temper or not.”

 

Lorna glowered at him, rising, and stalked off. If he thought that statement was helpful, he was sorely mistaken.

 

*****

“What is this place?” Calanon asked from the back seat, his eyes wide with wonder.

 

“This is Glenstal Abbey, Calanon,” Earlene answered. “An ancient building used once for the purposes of those who led a religious life. I brought you here because it is beautiful, and also because one of the remnants of Ireland’s ancient oak forests is on these grounds. I thought we would all enjoy it. We will look around, and when you are ready I had an eatery I wanted to take you for lunch. You two are not to worry about sticking around me; enjoy each other’s company and the beauty of this place.”

 

Once out on the grounds, they did just that. And if it occurred to Earlene that she was bringing a gay couple onto church grounds, well, that might have elicited a smile or two. Herself, she took many photos, especially of the scenic old oaks she was able to find while milling aimlessly around.  _ I think I am rather beginning to enjoy taking pictures,  _ she realized. The massive stonework of the abbey itself was equally impressive, with many architectural features worth capturing. It was never something that had proved to be an attraction before, but as she framed photo after photo and saw her surroundings in a different light, the appeal was definitely increasing. 

 

Eventually they meandered back, now holding hands. This made her smile. They were so relaxed, so... _ chaste _ . And so very beautiful.

 

They took their late lunch at Freddie’s Bistro in Limerick, which while not sounding very charming had the advantage of having once been a coach house. And that meant, charm by default. She did not press the couple about their plans, but to Earlene’s surprise they volunteered the information, telling her what they had decided in their discussion yesterday.

 

“Do you think that would be acceptable, Earlene?” Calanon asked, worried that they might be imposing.

 

“Yes, more than acceptable. But that isn’t what I want you worrying about. You will only marry once. Well, maybe twice, if you decide to seek a civil union under Irish law, but that’s not the point. We want your happiness.”

 

“I think my happiness will come from keeping my mother reasonably out of the planning,” Ailill grinned. “But a reception or party or celebration or whatever we wish to call it...that will give her something to help with and will keep her happy. She has only recently learned about edhil; it will take her awhile to understand that that means far more than humans whose ears have pointed tips.”

 

Earlene chuckled at this assessment, which...yeah. That was...well stated. They lingered and took their time, before she saw by the clock that it would be safe to return them to the forest. In the car, Calanon wrapped his arms around Ailill from the back seat. And since he managed it while wearing a seatbelt, that was fine with her. God, they were cute. So, so cute. It was probably time to get back to her babies, because the urge to pinch their cheeks was becoming overwhelming…

 

*****

{a random day in mid-December, 2020}

 

Upstairs, Earlene was busy doling out hugs and kisses to an assortment of children, making the rounds. This was one of her favorite times of day. Which was better, tucking in giggling Thaladir while the hounds clambered around the bed, seeking kisses? Or perhaps the time spent reading a short story to Algar and Eldan, who still refused to sleep in different beds even though in so many ways they were very different personalities? Or the time with her oldest twins and Allanah, where they would often have reflective conversations about topics that far outreached what one would expect from children so young? Just because she knew her peredhel twins were different, it did not always prepare her for the experience of that fact. Tonight’s question had come from Eleniel.

 

“Nana, are we ever going to get another sister? All you have made since us are boys.” Three pairs of vivid blue eyes fixed on her, in sincere expectation of an answer.

 

“I will be honest, I had not thought about it yet,” she answered truthfully. “And I would have to discuss it with your Adars, too.”

 

“Why?” Ithiliel frowned, not seeing in the least why that should be necessary. “You have to do all the work having the baby. What do you need to ask them for?”

 

“Well,” Earlene smiled, “I cannot make the baby all on my own. I need help from an adar for that, and so that means they have the right to have an opinion about whether they wish to bring another brother or sister into the world.”

 

“What do they have to do to help?” Eleniel frowned. 

 

_ Oh Valar, here we go. Well, time to stand by your convictions, Earlene.  _ “Well, we can talk about this more in greater detail, but you understand that males have a penis?”

All three girls nodded their heads. “Well, there is a place in my body into which a penis can fit. And to make a child, a nana and adar have to join their bodies and share their love; something comes from the adar’s body through his penis to create the baby. Without the adar, no baby can begin to grow inside of the nana.”

 

The children digested this for a moment. “I didn’t know they were good for anything,” Allanah pronounced solemnly, “except going to the bathroom. Penises, I mean. Not adars.”

 

“You are not the only one that thinks that, Allanah,” Earlene said reflectively, suppressing a grin. “Well, I shall have to consider a new sister for you,” she smiled, kissing each of them on the nose. 

 

“Can Adar Thanadir make her?” Allanah asked. “All of us have blue eyes and no one has brown hair.”

 

Earlene’s eyes widened. “But you both have brown hair just like mine,” she protested.

 

“Not like Ada Thanadir’s color. Only Eldan has that,” Ithiliel pouted. “We want more hair colors.”

 

“I see. Well I’m sure I can discuss it with your...adars,” she said.  _ Seriously, this was not going to be in any parenting magazine article, anywhere, ever.  _ It was all Earlene could do to maintain her unflappable demeanor as she exited the room. By the time she reached their bedroom, she was shaking with barely controlled laughter.

 

Thranduil and Thanadir both smirked at her mightily. “I hope you can forgive, melueig, that I have shamelessly been sharing that exchange with Thanadir. That was perhaps the most entertaining thing I have heard all month.”

 

“It really was,” she giggled, wiping her eyes. “And I’m sorry, but the ‘not good for anything’ bit...that was priceless. Sorry. Can’t help it.” Shrugging out of her clothing and into a loose fitting night-dress, she crawled into bed dragging her laptop with her, looking forward to the peace and quiet.

 

“Earlene?” Thanadir said, which caused her to look up.

 

“Thanadir?” she teased back, before noticing the expression on his face. Her second question was framed in far softer tones. “What is it?”

 

“What did you think about what the girls asked you?” He was trying to speak in a neutral tone but did not successfully hide his emotions. 

 

Thranduil looked on in fascination as her mental gears whirred and clicked into full discernment. “I will never get tired of watching that,” he murmured, while Thanadir worriedly glanced at him before returning his gaze to Earlene.

 

“You want to have another child, and you want to know whether I want the same?” she asked kindly. The dumbfounded nod of affirmation she received confirmed her deductions. This topic had already been given consideration in random moments, so answering was not difficult. “Well, it is something like this: I am not opposed to having another. But, I have been pregnant for much of the time I have been married. Part of me would really like a break. However, I also know that I am forty-two years old, and that I am possibly nearing the end of the years in which I can still conceive. In addition, what children we will have...I do not want to have a very young one when the outer world finally fails. Which is all to say that...if we are to have another, we should do this sooner rather than later.”

 

“Meluieg, if it is any consolation, I agree with your assessment. And while I would gladly keep having more and more...there must be some kind of limit, in this time and place. Thanadir and I have discussed this at length and...we both wish for him to sire this next child. But I also believe that all things being equal, it should be our last. We have been greatly blessed; we would have seven beautiful young ones to call our own.”

 

“Alright.” Earlene stared at Thanadir thoughtfully. “For the last two months, I have had periods again so...whenever is good? But I would like to ask one thing. I am always, always,  _ always _ pregnant at Christmas. This year I would like to not be so I can drink and enjoy and have the same fun as everyone else.”

 

“I think we can manage that,” Thanadir smiled, coming to her side and covering her cheeks in delighted  kisses. “Thank you, meldis. You cannot know what this means to me.”

 

She turned to hold his boyish face by the chin, smiling to see his elation. “Can’t I?”

 

*****

 

{Yule Eve, 2020 at the Evening Celebration in Thranduil’s Halls}

 

Ailill felt his heart pounding, as he held Calanon’s hand under the table. He had been thinking about little but this for the entire week, and right now he was a solid mixture of borderline nausea and... _ Valar _ , he wanted this, more than anything. And he wanted it over, more than anything. His thoughts were not so much on what would come after, though that too made him feel nervous.

 

There had been a few conversations with Earlene, in recent weeks, when she gently but persistently coaxed him to speak openly of any questions or concerns. “I’m the only human married to an elf you’re going to find until it happens to you, Ailill. Ask away or be sorry,” she had teased him. He had wished to know what would...happen to him. He had heard Earlene speak of being sealed to an elf but did not really understand. So she had described her physical and emotional experience as best she could, with both of her mates. If nothing else, he understood that before the night was over, Calanon would have him in a way that was more than merely symbolic.

 

The ceremonies for Yule were now concluded, and people’s thoughts were turned to the business of filling their plates with an assortment of this year’s magnificent desserts. Of course Mairead and Siobhan had gotten in on it this year, and once again nudged for cupcakes and...that was another story entirely. The couple saw Earlene and Thanadir quietly rise, because Thranduil had already beckoned and was departing the Dining Hall. It was time. 

 

After much discussion, it had been agreed that their brief ceremony would be conducted at the base of Thranduil’s throne. Thanadir had brought the King’s crown, and he was already attired rather regally in view of the holiday celebration. Earlene and Thanadir stood, one at each side of the couple. With eyes full of love and hope, Calanon guided Ailill to kneel with him before their King. Both already were resplendent in tunics of matching green velvet with very dark brown leggings and leather boots. Ithiliel and Eleniel had insisted on combing and braiding their hair (at which they were becoming exceptionally skilled) and those braids were tied off with carefully worked black satin ribbons. Ailill’s hair had grown longer in the year and a half of his service to Thranduil, and while it could not match Calanon’s, it was already to his shoulder blades.

 

Thranduil smiled and resisted the urge to clear his throat. “You come here tonight to pledge yourselves in marriage,” he began softly. “The sacred provision of Eru to all his children, by which to enjoy bliss and the blessings of family.” He had no intention of going on and on, but had thought a great deal ahead of time about what advice he might offer. “From this day forward you will be joined as one. Your hearts and spirits will belong to the other. Do not take your binding for granted. Even its strength can fail, if you do not continue to work to keep your love kindled. Listen to each other. Respect each other. Never be content to let a difficulty between you go unsolved. You are surrounded by friends and family who will work to help you succeed. I give my blessing as your King to both of you. It is now time to speak your vows to each other, and exchange your rings. Please remove now the rings of your betrothal.”

 

With great difficulty, Ailill tried to control his trembling hands, as he worked the silver ring off of Calanon’s fingers. He felt his love lay a hand against his chest. It was a reminder; to breathe. He smiled and nodded, remembering to inhale deeply to try and calm his nervousness. Finally, the band came free and he placed it in Thranduil’s open hand, while offering his own hand to his mate (who at least had the same problem getting the ring off).

 

The man took a very deep breath before taking the ellon’s hands in his own, and looked into Calanon’s eyes. He knew he would cry, it was a foregone conclusion. If he could only get the words out before he lost all ability to speak, that would exceed his personal expectations. “I, Ailill Stephen Kerry, give myself to you in love. My heart to yours, my body to yours, my spirit to yours; I will be bound to you while we both yet live. I ask our father Eru to witness my oath, and bless us.” It went better than he thought it would; his voice remained surprisingly steady though tears streaked down his cheeks.

 

Calanon spoke the more traditional vows of their people; they had decided ahead of time that they would each speak in their primary languages: “Im Calanon Ainionion annon vi meleth uireb anlen. Gur na ‘ur, rhonn na ronn, fae na fae; im gwedhon.  Lasto i ‘weth nîn, Eru Iladar, a mentho i ‘alu lîn am ven .” 

 

Earlene and Thanadir now each stepped near enough to offer the golden bands they held, each of which were slid home onto the forefingers of their right hands. Thranduil now offered a hand to each of them, to raise them up. Which was more necessary that one might think; Ailill and Calanon were both overwhelmed with emotion and did not want to release each other’s hands. Tears now streaked the ellon’s face as well. Thranduil held each by a shoulder, and leaned forward to kiss each of their foreheads in blessing. “I wish you all happiness, now and in the future,” he said, dabbing at their cheeks with a soft cloth his wife had had the foresight to ensure he possessed.

 

“Come you two, have some cupcakes,” Earlene fussed, giving each of them a hug and wishes for happiness. Having already determined that they intended to spend this night in Ailill’s quarters in the Halls, she had seen to it that everything they might need, from wine and sweets to...more intimate necessities...had been provided to that room. There were advantages, to being wed to a seneschal.

 

With eyes dried and happy faces (though not so happy as to attract notice) they returned to the table in time to help themselves to a little dessert. Before they departed, Ailill stopped near Thranduil. “Go raibh maith agat, mo Rí, as gach rud a rinne tú dúinne.”  _ Thank you, my King, for all that you have done for us. _

 

Thranduil smiled. “Tá céad fáilte romhat; Ba mhór an áthas é.”  _ You are very welcome; it was my great joy. _ Ailill smiled in surprise, not having ever heard him speak their tongue before. With a nod of his head, he continued on.

 

Lorna froze, and felt very like she’d been socked in the gut. Thranduil had learned Irish? When? And from  _ who _ ?

 

Her thoughts slammed into her rusty Russian before she could think anything further, but she was up and out the door with as much stealth as she could manage, grateful she wasn’t yet drunk. Sofa. Sofa, tincture, farmhouse. Away. The fact that this hurt her so much was a shock even to her, and she needed to scarper somewhere outside of the forest. Just... _ nope.  _ There were times she really, really hated living with a telepath; the fact that she had to leave home to sort through shit in private could get very tiresome. She’d call Ratiri later; she had no idea where he currently was, or she’d tell him she was scooting.

 

No one even noticed, when not long after the newly wed couple slipped away and disappeared down the passages to Ailill’s room. They were hardly inside before Ailill found himself drawn into a passionate kiss. This was surprising, for never before had Calanon moved with such intensity or alacrity. “I am sorry,” the ellon said after, blushing at his lack of self-control. “I wanted to kiss you so badly. My husband. I have waited a very long time to say that.”

 

“That’s impossible,” Ailill teased. “Surely you did not know all this time you would end up with another male?”

 

Calanon froze, thinking. “I suppose that is true. I thought you would be a wife, but surely you do not wish me to call you that?” He blinked, trying to sort it out in his mind.

 

“No, I do not,” Ailill laughed. “Though tonight, you could call me most anything you wished and I would not mind.”

 

This time a far more restrained kiss resulted, as roving hands slowly unbuttoned fastenings until bare skin was revealed. A fire had blazed in the hearth for some time, leaving the bedroom pleasantly warm. Only when clothes began to be removed in earnest did Ailill notice the additions of wine and other treats to their room. “Oh! That was very kind of them,” he said. “Only, I have already had enough of food and drink.”

 

“You might be hungry later,” Calanon smirked, tugging at his leggings after first caressing the front of them.

 

“Only me, huh? As if you will not be doing some of the work?”

 

“I thought I might be doing a great deal of the work,” the ellon shot back, not to be outdone. “I was only being courteous to your mortal frailties.” This good-natured rivalry led to laughter, and more kisses. Clothes were abandoned, hands roved. Skin was luxuriously appreciated and tasted and touched. Nothing they were doing yet was anything completely new, for it had been important to Calanon to ensure that the physical trust between them would provide a foundation for their joining. During the long months Earlene’s gift of books had been shared with Ailill as well. At first he blushed furiously and felt vaguely mortified, but when the elf explained to him how his family was looking after their well-being, he more than understood. 

 

Their aroused bodies had been teased and tempted by each other, and they felt the need to join quite insistently. It had not been spoken, but somehow they each knew that when the time came, that it would be Ailill who would yield to Calanon’s guidance. That at least on the first occasion, he would wish to receive love rather than give it. “Lie back,” he whispered to Ailill, arranging him with a pillow under his hips. “While I know there are many positions to try, I want to see your expressions.”

 

He obediently reclined , and drew up his bent knees to allow his lover access to his body. During the time of their betrothal, Calanon had slowly added new sensations and explorations to their bedroom activities, as though it had been a long, slow march that would culminate in this experience. Which is why he was able to relax into the touch of his husband’s hands, as the silky lubricant was applied generously to his intimate places. There had been little struggle involved on his part to wait for this day, with such substances in the world. These magical products Earlene had so thoughtfully procured for them set his body aflame. It had not seemed to matter so much that they were deferring the full act of intercourse, when every motion of Calanon’s hand felt like liquid silk moving over his most sensitive parts...and right now his husband’s fingers were proving extremely pleasing, as he prepared his increasingly aroused partner for their union.

 

But Calanon was a merry elf, and a little prone to mischief. He would stop from time to time to lower himself over Ailill’s body, demanding more kisses while their arousals rubbed against each other. Each time, this elicited louder moans and not necessarily coherent statements. “I don’t think I understood that,” the ellon said through his grin, nipping and licking at the man’s throat, thoroughly and perpetually entertained by the barest shadow of his facial hair. “Did you want me to stop?”

 

“Do something, and soon,” he pleaded, enunciating far more carefully this time. “Please Cal. Tease me later all you like but not…” A finger appeared over his lips to silence him, and eyes that smiled with love hovered over his. 

 

“I will be very careful, and go slow.” Watching his love’s responses, he prepared himself, adding the slippery liquid to his swollen member before placing himself at the entrance to his husband’s body. “Push against me; it will help you relax,” he whispered, as he leaned forward and gently began the slow invasion.

 

The man’s eyes widened. All the toys and fingers and play could not quite have prepared him for what this would feel like. This was the heat of his lover’s body, and such a feeling of fullness…

 

“Valar,” whispered Calanon, looking helplessly at Ailill as the head of his shaft found its way past the strong muscle. “You feel so good, nîth vain. So good. I could not have imagined this…” It became necessary to stop for a moment, to regain his self-control. “Am I hurting you?” he worried, not certain about the expressions he was seeing.

 

“No. There is no pain but it feels...different? In a good way,” he added quickly. “What matters most is that it is you, and that you will make me yours.” The trust and love that gazed up at the elf was emotionally overwhelming, and he had no choice but to kiss Ailill more. With soft groans, the man surrendered his body completely to his partner. Seconds later Calanon managed to rub against the small swelling inside of Ailill, eliciting a much louder noise of want. “Ai! It did not feel like that before! Do that again! Please!”

 

“You mean this?” The merry elf aimed himself at the same target, but this time moved past it as well, as the urge to fully penetrate consumed him. Now Ailill was not the only one making sound, as an involuntary noise of pleasure escaped him. “Ohhhhhhh….”

 

Ailill could stand no more and reached with his arms to force the elf to move in a more satisfying manner. Locking his hands around Calanon’s biceps, he squirmed away from him just a little, enough to create some motion, while he reached up to claim a kiss. This...did something. The usually restrained and mild ellon suddenly became far less temperate, as his third thrust back into Ailill’s body brought a murmured affirmation that could at least be made out as ‘Yes.’ In earnest, Calanon claimed his husband now, egged on by shameless noises of encouragement. The pleasure was blinding beyond anything they had yet done with each other, and Ailill lowered his hand to see to his fulfilment while being stimulated so delightfully in other places.

 

“No, let me,” Calanon said, moving his hand away. He easily supported most of his weight on one elbow, while wrapping a hand around Ailill’s hardened length. An easy rhythm of strokes and thrusts was established, as he watched to see his mate come undone from the intensity of the experience.

 

Ailill writhed, no longer certain of many things as he succumbed to his lover’s ministrations. All he truly would be able to remember afterward was a building wave of ecstasy, and love for his mate that seemed like it might cause his heart to burst from his chest. In the last moments, his mouth was claimed in a final kiss, an eager tongue thrusting in much as something else was thrusting elsewhere. With a cry of bliss he climaxed hard, which in turn caused Calanon to do the same. Their lips parted enough to speak the other’s name as they strained against each other. Ailill held Calanon to him tightly as the elf’s seed filled him. 

 

Mere seconds later, he felt it. “Ohhhh….” He held on for dear life against the intensity that moved through him. It was what Earlene had described, but so much stronger than anything she had explained. He burst into tears, consumed by what felt like an inferno of love. Over and over he spoke his name. “Calanon….Calanon... _ Calanon _ …” There was some awareness that Calanon was doing the same, while kissing his face and nuzzling him. As the moment passed, he could feel his partner slipping from his body. He disregarded his own emission, that was now sandwiched messily between their chests and bellies.

 

_ Ailill _ , he heard.  _ Now we are wed.  _

 

_ Wait, what??  _ Ailill’s eyes flew open at the sound of the voice in his mind, to see his husband also had cried, and held him tightly. “I never imagined anything could feel like that. Anything. Ever. Thank you so much, Cal. For loving me, for marrying me. And...I can hear you now, in my mind?” He held his hands to the sides of his head, fascinated.

 

“It would seem so, my love. But please do not thank me. Not for this. You say that as though I have done you a favor, instead of earning the greatest privilege anyone could have,” he whispered. “I am bound to you now, Ailill. Feeling my spirit pulled to yours...nothing greater has ever happened to me.”

 

_ I did not mean it that way,  _ he pleaded.  _ I want you to understand my gratitude. _

 

And Calanon did see, now that he had the perception of this new insight for which he thanked Eru, the Valar, or anyone else who may have been responsible for this unexpected gift.  _ I understand now, nîth vain. I...this is amazing. I can understand what you feel. Did anyone tell you that this would happen? _

 

_ Earlene told me once she shares such a connection to the King but...now I am confused. Does it matter? And...you can feel what I do? I...cannot perceive you in that way. I only hear your voice in my head instead of aloud. Is it supposed to work like this? _

 

Calanon felt baffled.  _ I do not know, Ailill. I have heard of this ability on the part of my people. I have experienced it perhaps a handful of times in connection with our King giving instruction. Perhaps the others can help us understand?  _ He pulled his mate close, yearning for him again already, but fearing to overtax his body with this new activity. But this did not stop his hand from reaching to idly play with the man’s now flaccid anatomy; before long evidence of desire returned. They delighted in being able to now kiss and converse.  _ Would you take me, Ailill? I want to experience all I can of you… _

 

Ailill smiled. He was still relatively young, and more than eager.  _ I was hoping you would offer… _

 

*****

 

Lorna the Younger had not expected this. Whatever ‘this’ actually was. ‘Yule’ had been fairly vague, and she was pretty sure what humans called the holiday was not celebrated the same way by the Elves.

 

She’d had fuck-all in the way of nice things to wear, but fortunately had an aunt who was built exactly like her; Aunt Lorna had loaned her some black leggings and a green-and-black checked tunic. Mam had had it slightly more difficult -- while she wasn’t a tall woman, she was taller than both Lornas, and had had to make do with a skirt hastily bought and a cashmere sweater. The Halls were beautiful, but they were also just a touch chilly.

 

Mam had gone off to get food, but Lorna had decided to trawl for drinks. She wasn’t used to being in large crowds of people, and it made her a little nervous now, especially since many of the Elves were talking to one another in what she assumed was Sindarin. She’d feel a lot better once she had a little alcohol in her. This time she was sans both Aunt Lorna and Saoirse, as well as Earlene -- Earlene was no doubt busy, and there wasn’t a hope of finding either Aunt Lorna or Saoirse in a crowd this size unless she literally ran into them.

 

There were tables laid out, but no actual seating-cards or anything, thank God. A carafe of wine stood at the center of the one nearest, and she poured a little into a -- well, a bowl, basically. It was so alcoholic the fumes made her eyes water, so she did what her Mam always did and watered it down a bit -- a handy pitcher of that stood on the table as well.

 

Sipping out of the bowl took some doing, since she didn't want to just dribble it all down her front. It meant she had to sip, not gulp, but the first taste of this wine was enough to make her pause, savoring it. Holy  _ shit  _ that was good...normally she wasn’t actually that fond of wine, especially not red wine, but this stuff was  _ amazing.  _ It had to be Elf wine -- what they hell had they called it in  _ The Hobbit _ ? Dorwinion? Something like that.

 

_ I’m standing in a hall full of Elves, drinking Elf wine. Jesus fucking Christ.  _ She’d been trying to wrap her brain around it since the harvest festival. Yeah, she and Mam had known there were Elves, duh, but it hadn’t seemed half so real until they’d come here, and seen it all for themselves.

 

She’d gone home and finished reading the books, then -- she’d read  _ The Hobbit  _ and  _ The Lord of the Rings _ , but  _ The Silmarillion  _ was a bitch of a book and had taken her absolute ages. Seriously, everyone and everything had like at least three names -- and that wasn't even getting into Túrin, who seemed to change names like most people changed socks. She’d had to get a notebook to keep it all straight. It had left her with a lot of questions she’d never actually ask, because they’d probably poke at old wounds -- chief among them being, why the hell was Turgon throwing Eöl over the ramparts not considered kinslaying? Yeah, Eöl was a gobshite who’d bloody deserved it, but still, it was one Elf killing another Elf, and that was the definition of Kinslaying, right? It seemed like it ought to be...but Eöl had been a weird dude. Maybe he didn't count.

 

And why the hell were they all so  _ pretty _ ? It was...well, it was annoying, honestly. Distracting. Lorna had never been boy-crazy; she often hadn’t noticed the lads, and she wasn’t really pleased that these were lads -- well, males -- it was impossible to ignore. The less androgynous ones were distracting, and she didn't like being distracted. She’d best learn a way around that, before they had to live here forever, or her life would be perpetually irritating. Assuming she ever wanted to find a human lad, how were any going to compare, next to this lot? She was picky enough already; she’d never actually had a boyfriend, because she wasn’t willing to settle for some loser who did nothing but drink and watch football -- which, at her age and social set, was all there were. These beautiful aresholes were just setting the bar of her standards impossibly high. Bastards. At least this wine was very, very nice.  _ Very  _ nice.

 

*****

 

Lorna managed to keep her thoughts in Russian until she was out of the forest, tincture, tea, and kettle beside her. She doubted Thranduil would notice, in the middle of everything, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

 

What the fuck was  _ wrong  _ with her? This should not, in any way, be affecting her like this. It was ridiculous, and a terrible shock even to her. Just...what?

 

Except, as she drove through the chilly night air, she did know. Thranduil never had told her why he hated her language so much, and she’d never pressed the issue; if he didn't want to say, that was his business. Then he, for whatever reason, wants to go and learn it? From who,  _ Ailill _ ? The fucking dandelion puff who just seemed to get handed everything?

 

_ That’s not fair, Lorna _ , she thought,  _ and you know it. _

 

Yes, she _ did  _ know it, but that wasn’t helping in the least right now. He’d been offered training she was just supposed to be rude enough to know she had to ask for,  _ he’d  _ possibly been the one Thranduil went to for the Irish…

 

_ You don’t know that. You don’t know what he did. _

 

No, she didn't, but she  _ did  _ know he’d never come to her to learn, or even told her he was learning. Part of her had hoped, all this time, that she’d be able to teach it to him someday. She only knew how to do two things that he didn't, and she knew he’d never be interested in learning mechanics. That left her with nothing to actually offer, when he’d taught her so much. Any moron could give a hug. Irish was a skill, one of a very few she had, and she was irrationally angry and upset that she hadn’t been given the chance to at least talk with him.

 

“No, but fucking  _ Ailill  _ did,” she snarled, before she could help it. In that moment -- that unbalanced, irrational moment -- she hated that kid like she’d hated very few earthly things. That dark part of her wondered why the hell he just got things handed to him, incapable of acknowledging how utterly wrong and ridiculous that thought was.

 

_ Of course he gets handed shit _ , a saner part of her thought,  _ he signed on for the job he couldn’t quit. Logic, Lorna. It’s a thing. _

 

It was indeed a thing, but not one she could grasp at the moment. Good old incandescent fury, formless and currently unstoppable, surged through her. This time it was mingled with a very deep, very stupid sense of hurt. The fact that she hurt so much over such a stupid little nothing just made her even angrier. As soon as she’d gone into the farmhouse and put the kettle on the stove, she let out a scream of primal, bone-deep rage.  _ Get it out while you can, so nobody else sees you being an idiot. _

 

This was...this was  _ stupid.  _ It  _ was _ , and she  _ knew  _ it, and yet that helped not at all. She was far enough from the forest, and encased in thick walls, that any elves lingering in the woods wouldn’t be able to actually understand anything she yelled. It would be hers alone.

 

“ _ That stupid. Fucking. DANDELION PUFF. WHY  _ does he just get given this shit? Why does Thranduil go to him for things  _ I  _ should be teaching him?!”

 

_ Because he signed on for the job he couldn’t quit _ , her mind repeated.  _ Duh. This is just a consequence of that. Deal with it. _

 

“I  _ am  _ dealing with it,” she growled. “This is me, dealing with it. I know this is stupid and petty but I don’t have any fucking choice but to deal with it now, because now is the only  _ fucking time my fucking thoughts are just MINE _ .”

 

That...actually, that was a huge part of her problem, whenever she  _ had  _ a problem: she couldn’t just deal with it, because she lived with a telepath. How many times had she deliberately shoved what she was feeling away? She had no idea. They’d talk something out, and that was supposed to be that. Lorna knew she had a tendency to dwell, but in trying so hard  _ not  _ to dwell, was she ultimately doing herself a disservice? That -- well, it was entirely possible. She never gave herself time to really turn something over in her mind, to find a way to work with it. She just hid, talked about it, and tried to squash whatever was left. And that couldn’t possibly be healthy, but what else was she going to do? If she  _ didn't  _ do that, Thranduil was captive audience to it. Not until now had it occurred to her how huge a downside there was, to living with a telepath.

 

She sat at the kitchen table, stunned. No wonder this shit, shit like the training, festered. It had continued to try to hurt long after she’d supposedly got over it, and as a result she’d done nothing but climb trees and practice balance. Despite the fact that what she’d thought had been her own mistake, the idea had been soured for her...and maybe that was another reason she’d shoved it down and let it curdle. It  _ had  _ been her mistake, so she hadn’t wanted to sit and examine it -- she’d been wrong, and stupid, and that should have been that. It was  _ supposed  _ to have been that. She’d been so determined not to dwell that she’d just got herself stoned until she could ignore it. It wasn’t something she’d wanted Thranduil to have to bother with -- and she hadn’t wanted him to think ill of her.

 

The kettle shrieked, and she rose to fix her tea on auto-pilot. She’d only turned one light within the farmhouse, so she could easily see the starry sky through the window as she added the tincture. What was she going to do with this? What was she  _ meant  _ to do with this? It was probably some kind of breakthrough, or something, but it was a breakthrough in a vacuum. The logical thing to do would be to go away for a week or so, to process things without a mental audience -- Jesus, she wished she hadn’t moved her cottage. She couldn’t go to it now, given it was within the bounds of the forest. Right now it was just her out here, and maybe Ratiri, later.

 

Ratiri. She took her mobile out of her pocket and shot him a text:  _ too many people, I'm at the farmhouse. _ At least he’d know where she was.

 

The tea steeped, and she sat at the table again, staring at the grain in the wood, wondering how to process this. Thranduil had decided he wanted to learn Irish, and had told fucking  _ Ailill  _ \-- had assuredly  _ practiced  _ with fucking  _ Ailill  _ \-- was he ever going to tell  _ her  _ about that? Or was she just to be left out, again?

 

It hit her like a fucking thunderbolt: she was jealous. She was fucking  _ jealous _ . It wasn’t even Ailill she was mad at -- she was just afraid she was being replaced. Replaced by someone who’d signed on for the job they couldn’t quit, an obedient little pet --  _ no.  _ No, she was  _ not  _ going to think like that. It wasn’t fair, not at all, to either Ailill or Thranduil. The fact that she was a damn mess was no excuse to think of Thranduil like that -- she knew him too well. That wasn’t how he worked at all.

 

_ Jesus, am I really that insecure? Am I really that petty?  _ Oh God, she  _ was _ . And yet she could not be entirely certain she was wrong, either. Ailill was...elf-like. Far more like the elves than she would ever be, even if she could force herself to try. For her, it would just be an act, and everyone would know it. Thranduil would never  _ deliberately  _ try to replace her, but that -- well, it almost made it worse. He wouldn’t consciously be so drawn to this other person, this kid who was everything she wasn’t. But was he, unconsciously? 

 

She didn't really have any right to be upset if he was. Just...he was her brother. Her brother-from-another-mother. And the mere thought that she might be even half-assed right about this was almost too much. That the only thing she could have taught him that he might have wanted to learn had been taken away didn't help, either. 

 

_ Oh, grow up, Lorna. You’re forty-three-fucking-years old. _

 

“He knew I wanted to teach him Irish,” she countered. “And even if he didn't learn it from fucking  _ Ailill _ , he didn't even tell me he was interested.”

 

_ Did he know? You never actually told him so. Yes, he’s a telepath, but he doesn’t dig deep into your mind. He can’t. He’d hurt you, remember? _

 

She did remember, and she had indeed never actually told him that. Sipping her tea, she sighed. “Well, I’ve been teaching all the children.  _ Logically _ , wouldn’t he have come to me, too?”

 

To that the voice in her head had no answer.

 

“Thought so.”

 

Her ire had drained, though, almost entirely, and she was just...sad. There was a hefty dose of disappointment in herself mixed in there, but not as much as there likely would be later. She was the only one who was going to see it all this way -- that something she would have liked to share had been taken from her, that yet again she had been denied an opportunity.  _ Because let’s face it, the ‘you should have asked’ about the training is just an excuse to avoid saying we were denied it. They’re not thoughtless enough to not say, at least once, ‘hey, Earlene’s doing this, wanna join?’ Earlene and Thanadir hadn’t assumed we were sane, they’d assumed we were lazy. That we wouldn’t want to. And consciously or not, they hadn’t wanted us there.  _

 

The plain truth, now that she thought about it, was that she didn't, and never had, really believed their explanation. What she still thought of as their excuse. Of course none of the rest of them would have asked someone they barely knew to devote so much time to them. Duh. She doubted that lot had consciously lied to her and Pat and Ratiri, but she was pretty sure it  _ was  _ a lie, deep down. Offering them training after the fact had been their unconscious way of trying to fix their ‘oops’.

 

And she couldn’t say anything of this. She couldn’t think it later.  _ Fuck _ , she hated living with a telepath. If only she could do what Earlene did, and cloud her thoughts -- but her mind just didn't work that way. She could, of course, think in Russian, but her Russian was rusty as hell, and didn't come naturally to her like Irish did.

 

“Why am I like this?” she whispered, and wished the tea would kick in already. “Why am I so... _ this _ ? At my age, it’s probably too much to hope I’ll grow out’v it.”

 

She ran her fingers over her hair, pulling out the comb and letting the bun fall loose. Eventually the tea would do its thing, and maybe she would only be a ball of hair and sad for a while before she fell asleep.

 

The inescapable truth was that she really  _ was  _ the one who was teaching all the children.  _ Logically _ , she really was the best choice, if Thranduil had wanted to learn, but he’d gone...somewhere else. She wasn’t going to accuse Ailill when she didn't know, but...well, it hurt. It hurt, and she wasn’t going to try to suppress it like she did everything else. Her attempts at working through things hadn’t actually worked, because she’d tried to do it while in the same house as a telepath. And that thought, that realization, was strangely freeing. Perhaps, just perhaps, she had an idea what to actually do about it.

 

Well, no, she had to suppress some of it for a while yet. They were all going to Washington tomorrow with Sharley -- the Donovan-Duncans and Allanah. She’d have somewhere she wouldn’t have to...to subconsciously sneak it, when she thought Thranduil wasn’t listening. If she had to fall apart, she  _ could  _ fall apart, with her mind open to no one else. She could finally actually get her head in order.

 

Maybe, when she wasn’t so sad, she’d actually believe it.

 

*****

 

Sharley sighed.  _ People _ ...life really was easier, sometimes, when you were alone.  _ Thranduil, before you go to bed tonight, I need to talk with you,  _ she said. Fortunately for Lorna, they were headed out early the next morning; Sharley wouldn’t lay the whole shebang on Thranduil, but they did need to at least touch base before the D&D’s and Allanah went back to America with her.

 

_ Should I be worried?  _ The voice that came back was full of general merriment.

 

To lie, or not to lie? He wouldn’t thank her if she did.  _ Yes. But you don’t have to go worrying just yet. _

 

_ I think I shall find an extra glass of wine,  _ he grimaced, reaching forward to the carafe in front of him. No, he would not drink to excess, but he was certainly entitled to fortification.  _ Very well. If you find I have departed, we are spending the night here in the Halls and I will be in our rooms. I will tell you when we are leaving or...whatever works. _

 

_ Take your time _ , she said, and drained her own glass.  _ This needs to be a private conversation, though. No Earlene or Thanadir just yet. _ They didn't need any more people involved in this than absolutely necessary; it could all get properly hashed over when they got back from Washington. They’d be there a week and a half; that would give her plenty of time to pick at Lorna, and plenty of time for Lorna to do what she wouldn’t let herself do at home.

 

_ In the interests of that privacy then, I think we should meet in the music room. Just slip away in a moment or two; it will be easiest.  _ Finishing his wine, he rose while citing some minor necessity requiring his attention and a promise to return.

 

**

 

Sharley slipped away as well, though not before noting that Lorna the Younger was absolutely bombed on Elf wine. 

 

_ “That poor kid’s gonna wish she was dead tomorrow,”  _ Layla said.

 

“Probably,” Sharley murmured. Passing Thanadir on the way out, she waylaid him. “Lorna the Younger’s plastered. She accidentally got into your guys’s wine, though at least she watered it down some.”

 

The seneschal’s eyes widened, as he sought out the firieth in question and saw the telltale flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “Oh, Eru. I feared this would happen sooner or later,” he clucked, moving off at once to intercept.

 

Sharley shook her head. Poor kid. She snuck out, and made her way to the music hall. Part of her very much wanted to play a violin before she left.

 

Thranduil was already there, somewhat unable to resist the temptation to pluck the harp strings on one of the instruments there. How strange they felt, under his fingers...and yet this as with so many other things did not spark his interest enough to want to pursue the discipline of learning. Though there were times he mourned this lack of motivation to learn focused skills, it had inadvertently served him well. With the exception of combat, a King was better suited to being a generalist, not a specialist. Noticing Sharley had come, he placed his palms against the strings to still them and rose. “I hope your topic is more cheerful than the plague,” he teased. Or hoped. This was Sharley, one could never be certain.

 

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not as bad as that,” she said. “There’s not much I need to actually drop on you, but you have a very sad Lorna out in the farmhouse who’s ten percent afraid she’s being replaced by Ailill. And before you go ‘what the hell, why didn't she tell me’, she just now figured it out. She really wanted to be the one to teach you Irish, if you were ever interested, and you never told her you were learning. And yes, she realizes she’s being stupid and irrational and that’s not remotely helping her.”

 

_ “Just lay it out there, why don’t you?”  _ Jimmy asked witheringly.

 

“Like there’s any other way to do it. Now stop helping.”

 

He sounded downright offended when he said,  _ “Since when have I  _ ever _ tried to help?” _

 

_ “He’s got a point,”  _ Kurt said.

 

_ “Both of you, can it,”  _ Sinsemilla said, warning in her tone.

 

Thranduil massaged his forehead. “Where in Eru’s creation did she come up with  _ that _ ?” Thranduil snapped, not at all happy. “Replaced by  _ Ailill _ ?” he blustered. “And why  _ would  _ I tell her what I am learning? I also did not tell her about cell biology, algebra, rudimentary chemistry or the preparation of rabbit dishes.” He flopped with nothing resembling grace into one of the couches in the room. “And….Sharley I do not mean to lash out at you, but you have no idea how frustrating these instances can be to me. Eru.” He stared blankly at the carpet pattern beneath his feet.

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. “Don’t I? I’ve read your history, Thranduil. I know you. And I’m gonna give you the short version for now, but when she saw you speaking Irish with Ailill, that was what made her really worry. He’s -- well, there’s no really nice way to put this, but he’s a frail lad who does whatever he’s told, and worships the ground Elves walk on -- basically her polar opposite. She figures it’s only natural you’d start to prefer him. Ninety percent of her knows what she’s afraid of is crap, but that ten percent won’t go away.”

 

She paced a little. “The thing with the Irish...she only had two skills you didn't, and she’d hoped that if you ever did decide you wanted to learn Irish, she’d be the one you’d talk to, especially since she’s the one teaching all the kids. She doesn’t understand that you’re like Thanadir -- you can just go and learn something without help. The way she sees it, you’ve taught her so much, and that was the only thing that she alone could have taught you, outta all Eldamar. You don’t have any interest in engines, after all,” she added dryly. “She figures...Christ, what did she say? Any moron can give a hug, but Irish is one of the only real skills she has to teach.”

 

“And I suppose now she is somewhere else, getting stoned, drunk, or both,” he said acerbically. “That part never seems to change.”

 

“She is, in fact, stoned,” Sharley said. “You and her need to sit down and find a way to make it so she can cry when she wants to. If she could do that, she wouldn’t need to get stoned. Just...how much of her history have you seen -- you know what, don’t answer that. There’s a reason she can’t do it, and it’s not physical-- she just thinks it is. Whenever any of the Donovan kids cried, their dad would hit them and call them weak, then keep hitting them until they stopped. Her whole life, the only outlet she’s ever had for  _ any  _ negative emotion is anger. If she could cry like a normal damn person, she wouldn’t have to get stoned.”

 

“What am I supposed to tell her?” he said, clearly frustrated. “She already goes around constantly feeling inferior to those around her because she makes comparisons about education and ability.” He now mimicked a sarcastic woman’s voice utterly not his own, complete with goofy expressions: “ ‘Oh by the way, didn’t I mention that I’m a genius too? I didn’t need  _ you _ to learn, Lorna. I had the Internet, and those videos of the cute redhead that taught me all the cuss words’?” He shook his head. “I can talk to her. I can even heal her inability to cry. But what frightens me are her lack of coping and communication skills, Sharley. I am beginning to think that if you are going to make an effort to get your friend who is a mental health professional here, sooner rather than later might be more than a little important. We both know a day will come when she has to have achieved much more. I do not discount her successes; I remember vividly who she was when first we met. And yet I fear for her future.”

 

Sharley choked on a laugh. “Okay, for the love of the damn  _ universe _ , don’t tell her you learned the cuss words from anyone but her. I don’t even want to know what would happen.”

 

She ran her fingers along the back of the harp. “As for what to tell her -- just tell her the truth. You didn't know it would mean anything to her, for her to teach you. She’s acknowledged that she never actually said anything to you about it, but she’s hurt you didn't go to her, the teacher -- tell her the truth there, too. You didn't need a teacher.

 

“As for Angie, I’ll try to get her out here, but in Lorna’s case, I’m gonna try to con her into staying in Washington for a few weeks at a time. One of the other things she’s just now figured out is that when she’s dealt with something, she’s never finished dealing with it, because she lives with a telepath. She thinks the rest of you think that once a subject has been talked about, it’s supposed to be over and done with, so if there’s anything left of it, she just kinda...shoves it down. If she’s in Washington, she can unpack it all without fear of you knowing what she’s doing.”

 

“She thinks...does...what?” Thranduil whispered. This was genuinely hurtful. He had tried, very hard, not to create a circumstance whereby anyone living with him would have caused to feel surveilled. Apparently that effort had not been good enough. Maybe he should build housing over on the farm property, if they needed to be away from him so badly.  _ Maybe some things about their living arrangement were never a good idea in the first place.  _ “I can speak with her,” he said, forcing himself to behave like a King who could not afford to indulge in his emotions. “Do you know when it is best that I do this? You all leave in the morning. I suppose I must track her down at the farm. And find some suitable minor falsehood to explain how I knew where she is.”

 

Sharley’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare,” she said. “Don’t you build so much as an outhouse, not for this. This problem won’t solve itself that way. This isn’t your fault, Thranduil. It isn’t  _ anyone’s  _ fault. Lorna knows that she has a tendency to...dwell, and she can’t tell the difference between dwelling and something...something legitimate. You didn't do shit to cause this, so don’t go feeling bad about it, you hear me? I’ll work with her on ‘dwelling versus legit’ while we’re in Washington. Angie and I will. You beat yourself up over this and I swear I’ll...I’ll find all your boots and pee in the right one outta every pair.”

 

_ “Jesus, Sharley,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

_ “Do it _ ,” Kurt urged, overriding him.

 

“Shut up, both of you. Honestly, you could go see her anytime between now and tomorrow morning. Make her cry, let her hug you, and trust me and Angie for the rest. Also, can I play this thing?” She plucked one of the harp strings.

 

“Of course. The one who plays them best, Maglor, will not be here very often. And I will thank you to leave my boots alone; your point is taken. I have emotions too, though I am tasked with having few opportunities to indulge in them. I will speak with her in the morning; I think it best to wait until then.”

 

“It’s a beautiful instrument,” she said. “And just go ahead and tell her I sent you -- don’t worry about some excuse. She already knows I do this. With what she’s doing right now, though...that’s the thing, with humans. They can get insecure, and jealous, and hurt, but she wouldn’t be feeling any of that if she didn't love you so much. But before you go back out there, just sit back and let me play. Pretty sure I know how to do this.”

 

His eyebrows arched in curiosity as he gestured assent. “Please.”

 

She eyed the harp, the wood gleaming in the lantern-light. A song rose in her mind, nameless, and her fingers danced over the strings. The music rippled like water, strong and sweet in equal measure, and she smiled. Yes, she knew how to do this.

 

Thranduil watched, not saying a word, knowing that they would...add it to the list. In the meantime, the music was lovely, and he closed his eyes to enjoy a few moments of beauty before... _ oh Eru, Lorna’s niece got into the elf wine? _ It could wait a few minutes more. It could just….wait.

 

*****

 

Lorna didn't sleep well, but that was okay -- it just meant she’d snooze away the flight. At five in the morning she rousted Ratiri, and the pair of them took the sofa back to Eldamar.

 

The house was quiet and dark, and ate a piece of bread so she could take a Xanax before heading up to shower. Ratiri, bless him, asked few questions -- he just made sure the luggage was put together. She’d talk to him about this later, when they had time and privacy; last night she’d been too stoned to say much of anything.

 

When she was clean and dressed, she went downstairs to the Heart Room to plug in the Christmas tree. It was a beautiful thing, glittering with lights and all sorts of ornaments, the  _ Enterprise  _ sitting proudly atop it. Sitting on the sofa, she combed out her hair, cats beside her and at her feet. She’d miss the little monsters while they were gone.

 

Abruptly she found herself caught in two very strong arms that whisked her into a lap and hugged her tighter than a determined four year old with a teddy bear. “You are not leaving like this, Lorna Duncan,” he murmured into her ear. “You should know how much you mean to me.”

 

The comb went flying, cats scurrying, and Lorna choked on her own spit, yelping a little before she could help it. “ _ Jesus _ ,” she wheezed, even as she hugged him back on instinct. “I am going to braid bells into your eyebrows. And here I thought I’d been sneaky and got out before you could intercept...that...last night.” The fact that she hadn’t was vaguely depressing, but still, she was glad he’d found her. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she was glad. She shut her eyes, wondering just how much he’d caught of...that.

 

“None of it whatsoever, but that didn’t stop Sharley,” he said, now loosening his hold on her enough so that they could actually converse. “We do not have much time, so I will get to the point. I learned Irish on a whim, never imagining that you would care about that or anything else.” He stared off into the embers of the fire. “Lorna, I do not go around speaking about it, but Thanadir is not the only elf in this home who can learn new information with extraordinary ease. The difference between he and I is that while Thanadir is interested in a great many topics and will choose to devote the time to learning many of them, I am not. Not interested. My personality in this way is far more capricious, and often even I cannot say why I choose to do things. Ailill had nothing to do with any of this. Ailill does not know that I could not always speak Irish; he thought that like most who live here in this country I already did.”

 

“I liked it better when Sharley was spilling other people’s secrets,” Lorna sighed. “I know...it’s stupid, what I’m feeling. I never actually told you I wanted to teach you Irish. I just joked about it. I’m just...insecure, and dumb. But -- shit, just what did she tell you? Because I don’t want to go and stick my foot in it, blabbing something you don’t already know. I mean...I wanted to teach you for a reason.” No doubt he would tell her it was a silly reason, but still. It was one.

 

“Dear one, she told me more than enough. And I am not offended or upset so please do not spend your vacation time fretting about this. We have perhaps exactly three minutes before your family comes looking for you. Time to talk about all of these matters will have to wait until your return. I would like to give you a gift, in the brief time we have remaining, but I am not going to tell you what it is. Do you trust me? Will you allow it?”

 

“Of course I trust you,” she said. “I’d always trust you.” She paused. “Does this...you’re not replacing me with somebody more...tractable? Because Ailill is….”  _ Not like me. He’s not like me at all and I wouldn’t blame you if you liked him better. _

 

He sighed. “Lorna, you saw us together last night because he and Calanon wished to have only myself, Earlene and Thanadir privately witness their marriage vows. They are now wed, and wanted their King’s blessing in this manner. No, he is not you. And none of it is a contest. Now shush, and close your eyes.”  While he held onto her, he did what Sharley asked, praying to all the Valar that the woman knew what she was doing. As far as he was aware, none of the Eldar had ever found themselves accepting the guidance of a fractured Ainu. And yet Ainu she unquestionably was, and not one who had ever served Darkness. Of that he was sure. He only hoped his faith and devotion to that which was greater than himself would not lead him astray. He walked outside the boundaries of the map, in this. Soon his light dimmed, even as he heard the stirrings of steps in the distance. “Safe journey, my friend. We will speak more when you return.” With a kiss to the crown of her head, Lorna found herself alone on the sofa, her comb somehow once again on her lap.

 

She blinked, disoriented.  _ Thank you in advance _ , she said, starting in on her hair again. Boo immediately jumped up onto her lap.  _ You forgive me for being an insecure idiot?  _ She felt...so relieved.  _ So _ relieved. She hadn’t known just how big a ball of misery had sat on her chest until it was gone.  _ Because I love you to bits, deartháir ard. And you actually know what that means now. _

 

_ Behave yourself,  _ she heard in what seemed like a smirking tone.  _ I love you.  _

 

*****

 

Between the Xanax and a very long nap, Lorna managed the flight to Seattle quite well. Well enough so that she was actually coherent for the kid-wrangling -- though that was a lot easier now that the twins were older. Allanah, the peaceable child, had never been an issue in an airport, but Chandra and Shane had a tendency to wander. She carried Chandra, while Ratiri had Shane, and Allanah rode on Sharley’s shoulders, watching the crowd with wide blue eyes.

 

All her birthday presents were carefully hidden in the luggage, too, and Sharley had told them the cafe was making her a birthday cake. Lorna had initially been surprised Earlene would let the kid go  _ anywhere  _ on her birthday, much less halfway around the world, until logic kicked in: nobody knew when the elves, and by extension Earlene, would have to leave after the plague. It would be much better for Allanah if she’d bonded strongly with others outside the family. 

 

Lorna had assumed she and Ratiri would be those others, but it was actually a good thing it was Sharley. Allanah, no matter how much the pair of them and the twins loved her, would always be aware she wasn’t actually a Duncan. Nothing they’d be able to do would change that, no matter how much they tried. Sharley, however, had no other living children; Allanah could have her all to herself, and though Sharley loved all the kids, Allanah was her favorite.

 

Allanah was also surprisingly awake; the antihistamine had made her sleep for about eight hours, whereas the twins had slept almost the whole fourteen. Fortunately she was a very well-behaved child, and could sit still for hours so long as she was entertained. Of course she’d wanted to sit next to Sharley, who told her all kinds of stories; between that and her coloring books, she was good to go.

 

As ever, it was somewhat disorienting to find that, long though the flight was, it was still morning, and all three Irish adults were happy enough to let Sharlely drive. It meant they could nap the motorway away, until they reached the mountains and their beautiful snow.

 

The houses of Skykomish were festooned with Christmas lights, though most of those were currently turned off, as it was a beautifully sunny day.  _ Cold _ , too; when Sharley opened the van door, the icy air about stole Lorna’s breath.

 

“Okay, kiddos, you can play in the snow, but you need to put your warm stuff on first,” Sharley said. “I know mosta you outgrew what you had, but I’ve got more.” Chandra was tall for her age; she and Allanah could wear Marty’s old gear, and there had been some pretty decent-quality stuff at Costco for Saoirse and Shane. Plain stuff, nothing with any stupid snow bunnies or anything a kid would resent -- it had been easier for Saoirse, who she’d managed to find extra-small adult gear for.

 

“Can we make a snowman?” Chandra asked.

 

“You can make whatever you feel like,” Sharley said. “Just make sure you come in to thaw every so often. I bought hot cocoa.”

 

Four pairs of eyes widened in glee, and Lorna stifled a laugh. Yeah, cocoa would do it, all right.

 

Sharley watched Lorna as they unloaded the luggage, snow squeaking beneath their boots. She needed to get the tiny woman alone, but it was a small house, and they tended to all move in a group -- her best bet was to put both guys in a food coma first. She’d flipped the switch long enough to see how this morning had gone for Lorna, and was heartened by it; she was also pleased to see Thranduil had done what she’d asked, though it was likely going to come as a very large surprise to Lorna when the gift finally gave, so to speak. Oh well. Cross that one when they came to it.

 

She helped them haul the luggage up to their rooms at the Inn, and left them to get on with it. Saoirse and Allanah were staying with her again, so their stuff went into her living-room, where her tiny tree stood. All the ornaments the kids had made were hung along the mantelpiece, with a long stretch of red tinsel garland above it. Allanah especially was delighted to see hers, hanging right beside Marty’s. Someday, the kid was going to be old enough to ask questions about Marty, but Sharley was ready for that.

 

Five years old. Damn. She was the same age now as Marty had been, when Marty died, which was a bit surreal. Unlike Marty, though, Allanah would live. Sharley hadn’t directly seen her future, but this little sunshine girl would go on to be happy, to love and be loved. And if she ever had children -- if she had a daughter -- Marty’s things could be passed on again. Her dead little girl would be happy to know someone else was wearing her clothes and playing with her toys, since she was no longer around to do so herself.

 

Allanah stared at the pile of presents that surrounded the little Christmas tree, fingers in her mouth, eyes tracing the brightly colored packages.

 

“ _ Those  _ are for tomorrow,” Sharley said, “but you’ve got some birthday presents to open after dinner tonight.”

 

The innocent, unrestrained glee in the girl’s blue eyes was almost more than she could handle. She was so, so glad Allanah would be an adult when the plague hit -- that she got to spend her childhood in this world, able to travel. That she could be given what Marty had been given, even if in slightly different form. 

 

She got both kids bundled up in cold-weather gear and mittens, and turned them loose on the two feet of snow in her yard. How was she to get Lorna alone, and how could she say what she needed to say without giving away that  _ other  _ facet of her ability? Because she knew that, unlike Thranduil, these guys just wouldn’t be able to handle that. Not on top of his telepathy.

 

Well, she didn't have to do anything today. It had been a long flight, and jet lag was a thing.

 

_ “Sharley, you just need to straight-up lie,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “They all know you can see their future, sometimes very shortly before it happens. Just tell her you saw that, but that it was before you felt safe actually interfering.” _

 

That...was not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all. None of them fully knew just how that facet of her ability worked, but they knew that it  _ did  _ work. And it was true that she had, until recently, been very reluctant to interfere -- she’d only done so with with Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir because she couldn’t stand leaving them to suffer needlessly. Especially not with Earlene pregnant, and the stress it could put on the babies.

 

Quite honestly, the biggest, most useful thing she could do for Lorna would be to convince her that it was okay to keep thinking about something after it had been talked about -- that she didn't need to shove it down for fear Thranduil would think badly of her, or assume she was just dwelling on it. Between that and what Sharley devoutly hoped was her newfound ability to cry, she’d probably be in a much healthier place. Sharley herself rarely cried, but at least she could do it; her negative emotions didn't all channel automatically into anger. It was little wonder the poor woman always got stoned -- what other options did she have? She no longer hit people, or drank to excess, but the only outlets she had, lacking tears, were weed and scream-therapy. Crying...cleansed. It was messy, and could give you a headache, but -- at least in her case -- it left you drained and hollow in a way that was ultimately good. And it might be a better aid to Lorna than anything she or anyone else might actually say.

 

Sharley went into her kitchen, and put some milk on the stove for cocoa. Fuck that instant shit you put in hot water -- this was  _ real  _ hot cocoa, with a huge bag of tiny marshmallows bought at Costco. She’d had to buy a lot of extra mugs, too, which barely fit in her slightly dinged kitchen cabinets. Some she’d ordered off Amazon, including a few  _ Star Trek _ mugs, just for the hell of it.

 

_ “It’s gonna suck when Amazon’s gone,”  _ Layla said wistfully.

 

“Yes, yes it is,” Sharley said, stirring. “We’re all gonna get a nasty shock, no matter how well we try to get ready for the new world after the plague. There won’t be any helping it.” Even if one were to live in the Halls full-time, the rest of the world was still  _ there _ . They could still take a day-trip to Dublin and get beer, or whatever. Later, knowing that Dublin was now a charnel-house...that would be another story.

 

Which reminded her...she still needed to get the whole town together, to talk about moving to Ireland. She’d told a few of them about the plague, and Ireland, but she didn't want to bring that up to the community at large until Alan and Angie had actually  _ been  _ to Ireland, and seen for themselves what the Halls were like.

 

“Man, sometimes I wish there were ten more of me,” she sighed.

 

*****

 

Children came in from the cold, followed by adults, and cocoa was had by all. It was a bit of a jam, getting everyone inside her living room, but that just made it warmer. From the look of it, the adults had been out walking in the snow, too, if their reddened faces and wind-blown hair were any indication.

 

“Jesus isn’t it beautiful out there,” Lorna said. “Even if I did almost fall on my arse. Twice.” She brought out a big paper bag filled with presents, setting it beneath the tree. She felt...much better. So much better than she had last night. It was calm here, and peaceful, and lovely.

 

“Three times,” Ratiri said, amused. He stood well out of the way while cocoa was passed out, along with mini-marshmallows. “And since it’s someone’s birthday today, someone has presents to unwrap.”

 

“Indeed she does. Go on and sit by the fire, Allanah, and you can get these open.” Lorna set the big bag of presents in front of the girl, and took out her mobile.

 

The first box was wide and tall -- twelve inches by twenty-four and about six inches deep. Allanah shook it, and it made a very odd sound. Frowning in confusion, she tore the paper off, and Auntie Lorna helped her open the box itself.

 

Inside was a big sketchbook, like the ones Saoirse used, along with a box of colored pencils -- also the good ones like Saoirse had. With it went a pencil sharpener, a couple of graphite pencils, and an eraser. 

 

“So, you can share that if you want, but you don’t have to,” Saoirse said. “If your brothers and sisters want stuff like that, we can get them their own.”

 

Her face split in a wide grin.  _ Art stuff just for me!  _ Because everyone knew you didn’t touch Saoirse’s supplies. You didn’t even stand too close to them, and give Saoirse grounds for thinking you  _ might _ have touched them. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her eyes sparkling. Though, she wondered what to try to do first. She had watched her cousin many times but maybe it was harder than it looked...but Saoirse always helped her. It would be fine. “I don’t mind if they share,” she said honestly. “Though maybe not Algar. Right now all he wants to do is throw stuff.” Her youngest brother was indeed becoming A Handful, as she had overheard Ada Thanadir say one day not so long ago.

 

Saoirse hugged her. “He’s a baby and he’s a boy,” she said. “Thaladir wasn’t normal for a little boy -- a lot’v the time they can be kind’v bratty.”

 

Next came Shane and Chandra’s present: Mam had bought a warm white dressing-gown, and had helped the two of them tie-dye it in various shades of blue, to match her hair. Ratiri and Lorna had bought her the  _ Little House on the Prairie  _ books -- she might not yet be old enough to read them herself, but they could be read to her, and it might be good for all those kids to hear about how humans had lived a hundred and forty years ago -- while their own future existence wouldn’t be that primitive, it would be good for them to know that plenty of humans had made do in the past with far less than they would have.

 

Sharley’s present came last: a little patchwork dress, richly colored, with a slight ruffle about the hem and sleeves that belled a little at the ends. It was obviously handmade, not mass-produced, and if it hadn’t belonged to Marty, Lorna would eat her own foot.

The little girl’s eyes widened further. “Wanna put it on!” she exclaimed. Bless her heart, when she was excited enough her enunciation tended to regress substantially, not that anyone minded. Hopping up and down, there was nothing else for it, as Sharley was dragged by the hand into a different room while Allanah unabashedly began peeling off clothing that went everywhere until she was attired in the little dress and could go running back into the main room, oblivious to the trail of discarded clothes in her wake. “Look at my dress!!” she piped excitedly, in a high range that was worthy of Thaladir.

 

Sharley somehow choked back a laugh. Allanah had grown into her own little person, but she still had  _ this  _ in common with Marty. She gathered up the clothes, folding them and setting them aside.

 

“Jesus aren’t you adorable,” Lorna said. “Here, sit by the fire with your presents and I’ll take a picture for your Nana and Adars.”

 

The little girl did, grinning hugely, and Lorna sent the snap off to Earlene’s mobile, along with the text,  _ She’s already having a happy birthday and we haven’t even got to the cake. _

 

“Now you go ahead and wear that to dinner,” Sharley said. “There’s a surprise for you at the Inn, but you only get it after dinner.”

 

Saoirse leaned over to Pat. “I bet that means cake,” she whispered.

 

“You’re probably right, but don’t say anything,” he whispered back.

 

When darkness had fallen, they all trooped to the cafe. It was only open for a few hours on Christmas Day, but it did open, mainly because there were a number of older people without families, who liked to gather together for a while. Younger families often went for a while, too, just to visit and celebrate.

 

Naturally, all the kids got doted on, but for Allanah, once they’d all eaten, there was a big birthday cake with a forest scene on the icing. Sharley had ordered it from the Costco bakery before she left for Ireland, and Alan had been wonderful and gone and got it for her last night. Costco cakes, she had found, were rather like crack; she didn't know what they put in the frosting, but it was the best she’d tasted outside of Ireland. It was a big sheet cake, too, so all the locals could have a piece as well. 

 

_ I’m glad they’ll have this,  _ Lorna thought, watching the kids.  _ All of them. Whatever’s coming, they’ll know the world as it is now. They’ll be able to cross an ocean and a continent, spend time in snowy mountains that aren’t like Ireland’s at all. Their own children won’t have any idea -- their whole world will be confined to the forest, probably, and the fields around it. It’ll be like it was two hundred years ago, when hardly anyone left their village. _

 

She shook off the thought, and took more pictures, all of which she texted to Earlene: Allanah grinning over the cake, a little frosting on her upper lip, with Saoirse behind her to make sure she didn't fall off the chair. The twins helped their cousin pass out the pieces of cake, so they would have something to do, too, while  _ happy birthday  _ was sung by people in varying states of sobriety. All the kids were going to wind up on a massive sugar-high, but that was what playing in the snow was for.

 

When they emerged outside again, all the little town’s Christmas lights were lit, and Lorna took a walk. Ratiri let her, knowing she needed time to think, and that she’d talk to him about it later, when she had the words. He could mind the twins while she was away.

 

It had grown even colder since the sun went down, and she was glad not just of her long wool coat, but her cashmere mittens and beautifully warm  _ Doctor Who  _ scarf. The frigid air burned where it touched her skin, and burned her lungs with each breath.

 

It was weird, but being here...it made it feel like everything that occurred last night had happened to some other person. Her hurt, her...for lack of a better word, freakout...seemed so remote, as though putting physical distance between herself and Ireland somehow distanced her from it as well.

 

Now that she was out here -- out where her mind was her own, and she didn't have to worry about hurting Thranduil, or annoying him -- she could take the whole thing down off her mental shelf and examine it.

 

Starting with Ailill. She felt protective of the kid, and wanted to make sure that he was safe and happy and loved, and yet there were times she resented him so much it surprised even her. Resenting the fact that he got special treatment for signing on for the job he couldn’t quit was just petty, and immature, and she’d honestly thought she was better than that. The kid might be delicate, but he wasn’t weak -- he’d survived his childhood, after all, and his gobshite family. She just had to get over her own history there, because in the world she’d grown up in, anyone who let someone order them around was considered spineless and weak. That wasn’t the way the real world worked. Ailill was...Ailill. A true cinnamon roll, unlike Thanadir, who was a cinnamon roll with teeth and a side order of Carolina Reaper sauce.

 

It was easy to think of it that way out here, but would she still have perspective when she went home? When her mind was no longer solely her own?  _ Well, I’ve got a week and a half to get my shit put together. Hopefully I can by then. _

 

And as for her jealousy...that too dismayed her, because she’d thought she’d been better than  _ that _ , as well. She kicked at a clump of snow, staring at nothing, while the Skykomish River burbled and gurgled below. A delicate layer of ice had formed along the banks, thin and fine as lace, and it glittered in the glow of the Christmas lights.

 

_ Why  _ was she jealous? Lorna knew she could be insecure, but Thranduil was her friend. Her brother. She had no reason to be afraid he’d just abandon that for someone else. That wasn’t how he worked. It was just…  _ It’s just that Ailill’s like the perfect human, to the elves _ , she thought _. He wants to be one. He’s not like Earlene, who came into all of this...untainted, I guess. I mean, she’d probably take elf-hood too, if it was offered, but she didn't spend most or all of her life idolizing, and probably fantasizing, about elves. _

 

It was none of her business, but part of her was afraid that Ailill had signed on with the elves not just because he idolized them and their culture, but as a way of running away from the world outside. Logically she knew that couldn’t be the case, because if it had been, Thranduil wouldn’t have let him, right?  _ God, why do I care? He’s not my brother, or my son. He’s not mine to worry about. He’s got Calanon, and his mam and his sister have come around, even if his gobshite da and brother haven’t and probably never will. And he’s better off where he is than he’d ever be outside. _

 

No, she shouldn’t be jealous, and yet she was -- mostly because that deep part of her, the darkest corners of her mind that never had really escaped childhood, was afraid. Afraid Thranduil would find somebody better, some other friend-slash-sibling...and she had no idea how to make that fear go away. All the logic and reason she might throw at it wasn’t enough.

 

But she didn't need to be afraid to look at it, put it back, and take it out again later. She didn't need to feel guilty for thinking about it, or worried that Thranduil might silently roll his eyes and think,  _ Oh Eru, she’s  _ still  _ thinking about that?  _ Because she hadn’t realized, until last night, how much she feared  _ that _ , too. Feared disappointing him.

 

_ Since when are you afraid of disappointing  _ anyone _ , Lorna Donovan?  _ she asked herself.

 

“Since I started caring what other people think,” she said aloud. “Since I had people in my life who’d actually  _ be  _ disappointed by me. Mairead, Jamie -- God love them, but they never thought I'd be anything else. They didn't expect anything, so they couldn’t be disappointed. This lot, though -- my newer family...well, shit. I don’t know.” She couldn’t put words around it, even to herself. All she knew was that she was tired of screwing up, tired of worrying about what she said or did, and wished, with all her bloody heart, that she was different. That she didn't  _ need  _ to worry, because her mind just...wouldn’t go places she’d have to be so ashamed of. So guilty about. “I want them to be happy, but how much’ve I been sabotaging myself, in my warped way’v trying to  _ make  _ them happy?” Unfortunately, she suspected the answer was ‘quite a lot’. She also suspected she was not the only one who had been doing it.

 

Well, shitbananas. Thranduil, she knew, would not thank her for having done that, even if she hadn’t done it on purpose. Misery and self-recrimination rose within her, hot and shameful, and oh, in this moment she wanted to just run -- run away, like she’d always done as a kid. Like she wasn’t a fucking adult. Was she  _ ever  _ actually going to grow up, or was that totally beyond her?

 

The thought was behind depressing, and she sat in the snow, watching the dark water below her. Her eyes burned, vision blurring, and she was highly alarmed by the hot moisture that welled from their corners. She was... _ leaking _ . Lorna couldn’t cry, not without either help or somebody being dead, so what the fuck?

 

_ Present,  _ she thought, even as she stripped off her glove and touched the wet heat.  _ Thranduil’s gift.  _

 

In spite of everything, she laughed. The fact that a person could laugh while crying...she might never get used to it. For now she would just sit, and cry, and let it all drain away.

 

Sharley, unnoticed, watched her from the bridge. Much made a great deal of sense now, more so than it had last night. She meandered back to her house, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket and shooting a text to Thranduil:  _ You have a Code Thanadir on your hands. His former biggest fear is now Lorna’s.  _ There was a whole lot more to it than that, but with hope and work, maybe there wouldn’t be by the time the D&D’s went home.

 

*****

 

“The table seems so empty,” Earlene said quietly, looking at the missing spaces that Maerwen, Lorna, Ratiri, Pat, Saoirse, Chandra, Shane and Sharley occupied just last evening.

 

Algar burbled. “Mmmmmmmpteee,” while picking a surviving whole cranberry out of the sauce and flicking it at his brother across the table. Algar and Thaladir looked a great deal alike. Or rather, Algar looked exactly as Thaladir had, at his same age. Giggles erupted, as Thaladir’s brow creased in a frown worthy of the seneschal. His little brother was more than six months of age now, and therefore old enough to know better.

 

“Algar, that is unseemly,” he primly corrected. “Nana made the food for you to eat, not to fling.”

 

More giggles. Eldan looked at his sibling and smiled but was all too aware even at his tender age that no one else was laughing, especially his Adar.

 

“Ionneg, we do not throw food in this home. Ever.” Thranduil intoned this in his best authoritative manner, until the boy’s giggles diminished and his cheeks reddened a little. Mischief or not, few could or wanted to bear up under the King’s displeasure. Thaladir simply took his napkin and wiped the offending cranberry off of his (fortunately red) tunic and calmly continued eating.

 

“The turkey is really good, Nana,” Ithiliel said. Personally, she relished enjoying the table as it was right now. With so many adults always present, she and the other children often felt like they had no room to make ordinary conversation at mealtimes, unless they were spoken to. It wasn’t like they had ever been instructed to keep quiet, but...doing otherwise just didn’t feel right. Certainly she, Eleniel and Allanah had talked about this more than once in the privacy of their rooms. They didn’t really mind that much, but having the change?  _ Oh yes, this was quite nice. _

 

“Could we ever go see the farm they come from?” Eleniel asked. “Why don’t we raise some turkeys at our farm? I mean, not hundreds and hundreds of them, but these are nice to eat, and then we could have our own.”

 

Earlene lowered her fork to look at her daughter. “This, those, they are bronze breed, if I am not mistaken. Maybe we should see about purchasing a few poults from the farmer, come springtime. It would make sense; if we waited a year and did not eat our first ones they would in turn make more poults and…hmm,” she thought.

 

“And we would add more turkeys to the menu,” Thanadir concluded with obvious relish, reaching to spoon more stuffing onto his plate.

 

Thranduil looked contemplative. “Ailill, would your birds leave turkeys alone, or would we be raising hawk snacks?”

 

The man looked up quickly, startled out of his daydreaming. Right now, he and his mate were in the throes of newly sealed love, and focusing on anything but the nearly constant endearments they were silently exchanging at the table was difficult at best. “Uh,” he blushed. “Please forgive me, Thranduil, I am afraid I was not paying attention to the conversation. What was the question?”

 

Earlene bit her cheeks very hard, to keep from smiling. There were few guesses as to where the poor lad’s mind was just now, and she did not blame him one bit. Thranduil kindly repeated his question. 

 

Ailill frowned. “The young birds would be at risk. Definitely. They would need to be nearly adults or kept in a pen with overhead protection to be completely safe. As you already know there were two accidents involving chickens, over time. I try, but…” he trailed off, not really wanting to think about what had befallen one of Earlene’s poor old pet hens. Well, the creature hadn’t had long for the world anyway; Thia had just sort of...made sure of that. He shook his head at the unpleasant memory.

 

“They could be reared in the barn, with a small outdoor run enclosed by wire,” Earlene pointed out. “That would allow them to grow to adult size. And when it came time to nest, we could keep the poults in similar safety until they grew.”

 

“I do not like the idea of keeping animals always confined indoors when they are meant to roam and eat grass,” Thanadir commented. “Would it not make more sense to put the birds away before hunting the hawks on the days they will be near the farm?

 

Earlene considered this. “Hm. I suppose…”

 

Dinner gave way to pies and spiced cider, their annual viewing of _ A Christmas Story _ , and then bedtime. The day had been wonderful, albeit different with their diminished household. When Earlene finished saying good-night to the children, she was filled with a sense of sadness. Her daughters wanted to know why Allanah was gone for her birthday, and it had caught her badly unawares. She truly believed they were too young yet to hear the full answer, which amounted to ‘one day your sister is going to be left behind, and our family will be divided. Allanah needs to be closer to those who will remain.’ What she told them instead was a partial truth. “Allanah loves Sharley very much and I wanted to have her birthday be what would be the most special for her, not me.” 

 

_ There are times that it feels so, so hard. _ Times when she wished that her fate had been known to her _ before  _ she agreed to adopt her niece.  _ It would have changed nothing, Earlene, and you know it. Leaving her to be raised by random parents out in the world would have solved none of this, except to ensure that she was dead before her twenty-first birthday.  _ It was very much her private misery, because she somehow knew beyond all doubt that whatever Aman was, it was no place for her fully human daughter. Allanah was a bright and sunny child. While she demonstrated intelligence aplenty, it was not of the sort that Earlene tended to think of as being Elven. Shaking her head to rid it of these unproductive thoughts, she locked the bedroom door on seeing that the ellyn were both inside. Her head was still pleasantly buzzing with wine, in which she had indulged herself while she cooked for the family. That too had been wonderful; a Christmas with the freedom to do just that.

 

Thanadir came to her side. “It will all be well in the end, meldis. Please do not be sad.”

 

Her arms wrapped around him. “I know. It’s just...Thanadir, so much about Allanah will always be something that I wish could have gone a little differently. For both her sake and mine. I have tried my best, but I cannot always hide from the truth of my own feelings.”

 

The seneschal was wise enough to see that those feelings were so complex and tangled that silence and soothing would be the best he could offer her. With a scoop of his arms he took her off her feet. “Pool time. You need to soak for awhile. I will rub your feet.”

 

 _Well who is going to refuse that offer?_ _Certainly not me._ A glance up revealed that Thranduil appeared to be engrossed in reading what was probably the news. She did not notice his smirk, as she waded into the pool and seated herself in the steaming water. Though, his eyes did take a moment to linger on her unmatchable form. His wife’s shapely arms and legs were toned and defined; her abdomen sculpted. Her bottom was curved and tight, and her full and firm breasts stood out proudly. Eru, the next few weeks were going to be interesting, as Thanadir sought to get her with child. Not that it ever seemed to be exactly difficult; Earlene certainly seemed to conceive readily. Already he could feel his erection beginning, and forced his eyes away and onto the latest nonsense happening in the United States. 

 

Which reminded him. Soon it would be tomorrow, in America, and he wanted to know how his daughter’s birthday had gone. He briefly switched over to tap out a query to Sharley. He had simple faith that she would share whatever they needed to hear, of how things were going in the great state of Washington. Satisfied that he had now not neglected his paternal duties, he returned to the news.  _ Explosive device in Upper Manhattan Storefront Kills 8, Injures 33, _ he read. He sighed.  _ How cheerful. _

 

Earlene, meanwhile, was quietly melting in the pool. Thanadir’s hands were simply incredible. He had always been an able masseuse, but after their bond had formed, it had reached new heights. His ability to feel what she felt eliminated all need for discussion. At one point an eye opened long enough to note that Thranduil was no longer in the room, which seemed slightly odd, but Thanadir’s hands were now traveling to places they usually did not, causing her to breathe a little more quickly in hopefulness. He made quite a production of drying her after he lifted her from the pool; a great deal of that involved kissing and licking the water droplets off of her skin.

 

It was so, so different than when Thranduil made love to her. The two of them tended to go at it with abandon. Their interludes were quick, lustful, exhilarating and left both of them in a glorious afterglow (which quite often would be interrupted by the urge to tumble each other again, and have yet more glorious afterglow). But not with Thanadir. His every move was deliberate, calculating. And quite often maddeningly slow. She had been schooled enough times to learn that an attempt to hurry him would mean yet more delays; for someone so yielding and accommodating in most aspects of their life, in bed he dominated. Compliance was rewarded; acting out was met with tormenting resistance. Which was why even though she most wanted to be thrown onto the bed and pounded senseless, it was a foregone conclusion that no such thing would take place.

 

Of all things, her yoga training helped most. At least she knew how to try to relax, and breathe deeply. And place herself in the frame of mind that was prepared to do as he wished. 

 

_ Very good,  _ he murmured, pleased with her submission.

 

Now if only she wasn’t so much like Thranduil in the sex department that all she could think of was how badly she wanted release from her own lust...and where was he, anyway? 

 

_ He is attending to something private,  _ came the uncharacteristic answer, as she felt herself picked up and laid down on the bed. There was some mild disbelief to see that though she had not touched him, he was already aroused. Little opportunity was provided to analyze further, as he straddled her and began to nip and kiss at her throat, ears and shoulders. All the while, he lazily allowed his erection to trace around her belly, thighs, hips; more or less wherever, as he leaned and angled himself differently to tease at her…. _ this was not fair. Not fair at all.  _

 

Earlene was not particularly sure how a human man’s anatomy behaved, but from what moments she had dallied in the seamier side of the Internet, it did not seem that they were quite the same as ellyn. Elven arousals were quite...unyielding, standing firmly at attention and at quite a steep angle. None of this flopping around, like a sausage loose on a barbecue grill. This gave an ellon a great deal of control, concerning where he wished to place that part of himself at any given moment. She resisted the urge to blurt out ‘Look, ma! No hands!’  _ Bad, Earlene. Bad bad bad. _

 

Thanadir laughed. “I see,” he smirked, understanding if nothing else that his temptations were succeeding. For her observation, she had earned that his arousal now slid over her cleft, eliciting a gasp of want. She would never understand how he had learned to do this; how he had arrived at this...style. It was probably for the best, that he did not make love with her terribly often. If she had to endure this every day, she would probably thrown an aneurysm or two from being teased this mercilessly. What a tease it was, too. Now he chose to move himself near her entrance, taking advantage of what was no doubt copious evidence of her desire. A moan escaped her while her frame involuntarily shuddered, and he immediately froze while she bit her lip. This was another of his games; he liked her to remain silent, to see how far he could push her before she lost all control.

 

_ Dammit _ . Now he would make her wait, and she was aching, aching for him. Her pride open the window and jumped into the void. “Please, Thanadir.”

 

“Please what?” he asked softly, now lowering his head to suckle at her while she bit her lip harder and tried to stifle any more noises.

 

“Please, I want you inside of me, Hîr vuin.” _ Gratuitous obsequiousness couldn’t hurt either _ , she reasoned.

 

In a complete departure from what passed for ordinary, he granted her wish. Her sharp intake of air as he plunged inside of her was unavoidable. “Since you asked so nicely,” he responded, knowing full well that at this point her wits were all but completely addled. He thrust into her repeatedly with considerable vigor, thrilling her with this completely unexpected behavior. He bit and sucked hard on her skin as he took her, marking her neck, until moments later they climaxed together. The enjoyment was blinding. Thanadir and Thranduil were quite similar, regarding anatomical endowments. Practically equal, as near as she could tell...but one difference was that Thanadir ejaculated so powerfully and with apparently greater...volume. It was actually possible to feel this occurring inside of her, and it was a very good sensation indeed. Her arms locked around his torso as she held him close. Their relationship seemed so peculiar, at times, but she loved this elf to the other end of the forest and back. Once she had fully subsided, his chin was peppered with kisses. This caused him to laugh.

 

“Did I surprise you?” he smiled, kissing her tenderly. Thanadir could transform from unyielding assertiveness to gentle serenity at a moment’s notice.

 

“Just a little.” There was not going to be one word of complaint about tonight’s performance. Not. One. Word. They both crawled up into the bed together, where they held hands in silence. Earlene vaguely lamented that the only thing rarer than what Thanadir had just done was that he might do it twice in one evening, but that was greed speaking. It had been wonderful. Thranduil now returned, moving through what they jokingly called The Secret Door into what had been Thanadir’s bedroom.

 

“I was hoping I might have a turn,” he said to Earlene. “Every adult in this house is making love but me, and it is rather a lot to endure,” he grinned.

 

“Oh?” Earlene asked, until she had thought about it a moment. “Oh, of course. Derp. Newlyweds,” she grinned, pointing upstairs. “And of course you can have a turn. I would like that rather a lot. Thanadir kissed each of her fingers slowly, all smiles and with a drowsy sort of expression on his face. 

 

Thranduil cast aside his robe and climbed into bed, where to her fascination, she watched her husband put on a condom before turning to her. A  great many things clicked into place in her thoughts, but she said nothing. Moments later her body was enveloped by his, while he held her tightly and pushed into her more times than she cared to count. All the while, there were soft kisses and caresses to her fingers, hand and wrist that had been left in Thanadir’s keeping. A powerful orgasm, more kisses, and then she was fast asleep.

 

Thanadir smiled to see her. “How long until she figures it out, do you think?” he asked.

 

“Oh, probably not too long,” Thranduil smiled in answer, walking to the bathroom to dispose of the prophylactic. “I should not have to tell you that she is very clever. Consider it a challenge; let us see how long you can keep her successfully distracted,” he smirked. “Now that she has realized you are trying, she will expect you to come to her repeatedly until she conceives.”

 

Thanadir grinned and nodded. “Thank you again, Thranduil, for what you are doing. For your help. I think that otherwise it would be far more difficult for me.”

 

The King shook his head. “No thanks are needed, meldir. Not for this. There are times I wonder if the Valar stole what should have been yours, and gave me the double measure instead. I will confess that I am enjoying this, quite a lot. While I did not start out to be a voyeur of everyone’s bedroom preferences, it is somewhat forced upon me. And it is rather...erotic. Something new, if you will.”

 

“I can understand, through the lens that you can offer me,” the old elf smiled. “And yet I also cannot. My circumstances are peculiar...but welcome.”

 

Thranduil nodded. “Your thoughts have been an education for me as well. I have learned a great deal from you, since our relationship deepened.” He paused. “You are certain, you wish for a female?”

 

“Yes. A daughter.” His eyes gleamed and filled with hope, and the word passed his lips with reverence.

 

Thranduil nodded and leaned over Earlene. “Good night, Thanadir.” Their lips met in a kiss.

 

“Good night, Thranduil. May Irmo bring you pleasant dreams.”

 

Unseen, not far away, the Lord of the Gardens of Lórien smiled to hear this plea, passing his hand over the ellon and firion that slept entwined, their desires sated for now.  _ What was one more brief stop, before he returned home? _

  
  
  
  
  



	117. One Hundred and Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 29, 2020

Earlene cautiously opened one eye, after hearing the regular breathing of the ellyn on either side of her. It would be really nice to sneak off and look at email with a cup of tea, but her odds of getting out of the bed without being noticed were slim; that was one tremendous disadvantage to their sleeping arrangement. She was trapped. Trapped like a rat. And oh, how things had changed, in the past three days. After months of vaguely bemoaning the infrequency of intimate contact with Thanadir in the dark corners of her mind...Valar, who even  _ was _ this in bed next to her, and what had he done with her meldir? 

 

He was taking this concept of fathering a second child seriously. Very, very seriously, to the point where she knew that leaving the bed without him managing what she suspected he would see as his Morning Duty were all but nil. And how could she refuse him, without hurting his feelings?  _ Oh, wishes, Earlene. Be careful what you wish for, you might get it. Didn’t gran always say that?  _

 

_ Yeah well gran bloody well never saw  _ this  _ coming, that’s for sure,  _ she retorted to herself. All of these thoughts were of course carefully subsumed in some nameless babble of German phrases and assorted mental obfuscations. Still, his relentless lovemaking was really rather endearing. What must it feel like, to want children so badly, to have lived so long, and to finally have this opportunity to impregnate a woman (while actually being aware of doing so)? Viewed in that context, she really could not begrudge him; his first time hardly counted, from that point of view. In fact, now she felt almost a little guilty for her desire to sneak off and have tea alone... _ and after all he’s done for you, Earlene. Tsk, tsk _ . With a sigh, she turned a little to look at him, his angelic face resting peacefully. With a shrug, she leaned up on her elbow and pressed a kiss against his lips. And then another, until she saw a smile forming and he turned toward her. Pulling him on top, her thighs spread in anticipation of welcoming him as she yielded to his kisses. Tea could wait awhile.

 

*****

 

“Sweet Eru,” Thranduil said, looking at his Inbox. “Lorna is going to break the Internet.”

 

“That is not actually possible,” Earlene spoke back from the kitchen, where she was making stacks of oatcakes while Thanadir stirred the hot cocoa.

 

“Well then, she is going to break  _ my _ Inbox. And before you argue that that is not possible either, you at least owe me the courtesy of coming to look at it.”

 

“Go on,” Thanadir nudged lovingly. He was hoping, so much. The anticipation was something he could almost reach out and feel. Surely, she would be with child soon? According to Thranduil, most any time they had had relations and he was not preventing it, Earlene became pregnant immediately if she was in her time of fertility. In a matter of hours. And yet it had been three days already, and nothing….

 

Earlene turned of the burner, hoping that this would not affect her achievement of the Perfect Griddle Temperature (which was much more difficult to attain than many a casual cook would wish to believe) and walked to the Heart Room to see what what going to break the Internet. “Valar,” she said, her eyes widening. “Maybe I need to tell her about Google Photos.”

 

“Do you have time to look at them with me?” Thranduil asked softly, a note of pleading in his eyes. 

 

For just a second she hesitated, knowing that there were more cakes to cook, but only a second. The food could wait a little while, and Thanadir’s attentions had taken up a great deal of the time that was ordinarily shared far more evenly with Thranduil. “Yes,” she said firmly, and sat next to him, sliding gratefully under his arm that welcomed her.

 

“Oh, will you look at Allanah in that dress!” she gasped.

 

“She is beautiful,” Thranduil sighed happily. “Maybe I do not mind, if Lorna breaks the Internet.”

 

“Me either.”

 

*****

 

Lorna’s cry had done her quite a bit of good, though she had to try to cool her face down with snow so her eyes weren’t so red. It didn't work that well, but Ratiri, bless him, just gave her a hug. She would have talked to him about it that night, except they were both so tired that they were asleep within ten minutes.

 

She’d woke the next morning feeling remarkably clearheaded. Was that what tears did? She’d seemed calmer before, when Thranduil made her cry, but she’d always assumed that had at least something to do with him. That tears alone could manage that... _ damn _ .

 

Ratiri was still dead out, so she snuck a shower, making certain there was no trace left of last night on her face. Surprisingly, there wasn’t at all; her eyes weren’t red, nor swollen. The snot had stopped, too, thank God; she hadn’t realized that that happened  _ every time  _ a person cried. Ew. Just, ew.

 

The next day had been St. Stephen’s Day, which they’d spent in Sharley’s home. Her lounge was quite full, with all of them, and dinner was by necessity simple, but tasty. The kids had played, and she and Ratiri had gone for a walk, where she’d tried to spill just what was going on in her head. It wasn’t easy, though; talking to someone else was very different than talking to oneself, even when that someone else was your husband. And besides, it was fucking Christmas. The rest of the heavy stuff could wait.

 

It was weird to find that America had no equivalent of St. Stephen’s day, though Sharley said there  _ was  _ one -- it was just called Black Friday, and happened after Thanksgiving instead of Christmas.

 

“Every year, it seems, you see something on the news,” she said, as they got the kids bundled up to go skiing. “Somebody dies somewhere on Black Friday, gets trampled or whatever, and then for a week all the moral guardians are up in arms about The Commercialization of Christmas, all while ordering all their expensive, commercial presents off Amazon.”

 

Pat burst out laughing. Sharley, whatever else one might say about her, certainly had a way not just with words, but with tone. Though he and all the rest of them had been amused to hear the tiniest bit of an Irish lilt had crept into her accent. He was not going on the Skiing Adventure From Hell: his one attempt had been a disaster, and he had no desire to repeat it. Lorna had poked him and called him a quitter, just because she’d been nearly as bad and was still game for another try.

 

“I’m older than you, Fun Size,” he said loftily. “And possibly wiser.  _ I’m  _ going to enjoy the snow on my own two feet, away from eight hundred other people in neon snow gear.”

 

Lorna wrinkled her nose. For whatever fucking reason, 80’s fashion had been on the serious rebound; she blamed designers who were too young to remember how horrendous it had been the first time around. This was all the worst bits, too: screaming, eye-searing neon, the coats big and puffy and, bafflingly, not remotely aerodynamic, which you’d think a skier would want. (Though even that wasn’t as bad as the bits of early 90’s that had crept back in -- specifically, Hammer pants. Whoever thought  _ that _ was a good idea ought to be shot.)

 

Once the kids were set up, she of course took a picture and texted it onward. Thranduil and Earlene weren't going to have any storage space left, but oh well.

 

Into the van they went, and off to the pass. It was surprisingly fucking crowded for the day after Christmas; surely most people ought to still be in food comas, right? This was America, where holiday meals were on steroids.

 

“This is mental,” Ratiri said, looking at the car park in disbelief. “Did these people just not sleep?” Skykomish was not that far from the ski area; maybe half an hour. The rest of these people had to have left wherever they were very early, to get here before this group.

 

“Skiers,” Sharley said, as if that explained everything. Her brakes made a truly unpleasant grinding sound as she slowed, and screeched like a bat on meth when she came to a stop.

 

Lorna cringed. “Sharley, when did you last have the brakes done on this thing?”

 

The woman paused, seemingly counting, and said, “You know, I don’t actually remember.”

 

“Oh, good Jesus. All right, if there’s a garage anywhere in town, we’re taking your van in and I’ll show you how to change your own brakes.”

 

Sharley actually couldn’t be annoyed by that. She’d been wondering how to get Lorna alone, and that was perfect. “Sounds good. All right, everybody out.”

 

Naturally, as soon as they were out, Lorna took another picture.

 

*****

 

They were all exhausted by the time the day was over, and when they got back to Skykomish, Ratiri and the twins immediately headed off for a nap. Allanah and Saoirse weren’t far behind; the former was still too young to stay in the house without an adult, so the pair of them went to snooze in Pat’s room.

 

Lorna had a brief nap herself, but it was very brief; she didn't like throwing her sleep system out-of-whack by a longer one. Her snow-clothes had been hanging over the heater-vent, and were now dry; she’d done better on the slopes this time, so they weren’t that wet to begin with. While she’d never be a pro skier, at least this time she hadn’t embarrassed herself. She doubted, however, that she’d go again for a few days -- her left knee was twinging a bit, so she’d let it rest. She had some more introspection to do, anyway, and that was fairly impossible on a ski-slope.

 

Mindful of her sleeping family, she changed in the bathroom, and tiptoed out with her boots in her hand. Sharley’s van looked like a ’69, a Ford that was in surprisingly good condition for being over forty years old. It could be difficult to find parts for a vehicle that old, but Fords, for ages, had been fairly standardized -- and Skykomish wasn’t exactly awash in newer cars. New cars, with all their fancy, computerized shit just pissed Lorna off, because it meant it was pretty much impossible to fix them without taking them to the dealership and getting charged twice what the labor was worth. She’d gutted both the commuter van and Rogue One, replacing pretty much every single part with something she could actually work on. It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford to take either to a dealership if need be -- it was a matter of pride. God dammit.

 

_ Christ, isn’t that a sad thought _ . She shook her head as she crossed the street; it had been ploughed, but with the sun setting, it was icing over fast.  _ The only skill I’ve got’s a dying art.  _ That she was studying electrical engineering was a boon, honestly. If her original mechanical training was going to be rendered obsolete -- and it looked like this was where that was headed -- at least she was gaining other knowledge to fall back on.

 

What they needed was biofuel, once she knew how she wanted to produce it. Diesel, from all she’d seen...well, she’d figure out out later.

 

When she reached Sharley’s house, she found the woman in question already dressed for the cold, a Thermos in one gloved hand. “There’s a heater in the shop, but when it’s this cold, it’s good to be bundled up,” she said. “Out here, anything that isn’t really well-insulated tends to turn into a fridge in a hurry in the winter.”

 

“That, I would believe,” Lorna said. In spite of her warm clothes, she shivered a little.

 

“Here, drink some of that,” Sharley said, handing the Thermos to her. “Cocoa. Nice and hot. Every so often you read about some idiot eating ice cream or a slushie in this weather and dying of hypothermia.”

 

Lorna blinked as she took the Thermos. “What is it you lot call it? The Darwin Awards?”

 

Sharley’s hoarse laugh rang through the streets. “Yeah,” she said, “we do. They used to come out with an actual book, twenty years ago or so.”

 

“Nice.” Damn, this cocoa was good -- really good. It warmed Lorna right to her fingertips, and she was pretty sure there was a faint tang of something...special...in it. Best go easy on it, then, if she was going to be working on a van. Given what she’d seen of some of the curves on this pass, the last thing they needed was for Sharley’s brakes to fail and her to go sailing off a five-hundred-foot dropoff. Admittedly, it wouldn’t kill her if it did, but  _ still. She  _ didn't know that, and it was probably best that she not find out. Not yet, anyway.

 

The garage, they found, was like garages everywhere. Like Mick’s, it only had proper room for one car at a time, but given Skykomish’s tiny population, that probably wasn’t a big deal. Though the pegboard was worn, the steel drawers dinged and scratched, it was very tidy, and as clean as any professional garage was ever likely to actually get. “Anybody else here?” she asked.

 

“Nah,” Sharley said. “Told them I wanted a lesson, and there’s only room for two in here. Three, if you really squeezed, but that’d be uncomfortable, and probably not very safe.”

 

“Indeed not.” Of course she didn't know where the hell anything was in here, but whoever owned the place had arranged it like a sensible person. She found her assorted sockets, ratchets, and wrenches, though the C-clamp was hiding. The hydraulic jack she noted with approval, looked brand-new.

 

“All right, c’mon and sit beside me,” she said, grabbing a foam pad. “I need to get a look at these rotors.”

 

“Dave’s got all kindsa parts here,” Sharley said, dragging over the other pad. “They’re in the other room.”

 

“Well, that’s good to know.” Lorna had a good look, shining a torch on them just to be sure, and rose. She was going to be a dirty mess by the end of this, since she was one hundred percent positive there were no coveralls here that would fit her, but oh well.

 

The other room was mercifully warmer than the garage itself. “So, you ratted me out to Thranduil,” she said. “Which, I’m not sorry you did, but...yeah.”

 

“Of course I did,” Sharley said. “You’re wrong, or at least kinda wrong, about a whole lotta stuff, Lorna. I know your logic makes sense to you, but you’re missing information.”

 

“About what?” Lorna asked, happy to find the exact rotors she needed.

 

Sharley leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “The training thing,” she said. “I know you don’t actually believe them when they said it was a mistake, but it was.”

 

Lorna sighed, setting down the rotor. “No, I don’t believe it,” she said. “None’v them are that dense. I think  _ they  _ believe it, but otherwise, why leave us out but offer it freely to  _ Ailill _ ?” Oh dammit. She really, really needed to stop taking shit out on that poor kid, even in her mind.

 

Sharley echoed her sigh. “They knew Ailill would never dare ask,” she said. “And they knew he needed it more than the rest of you. Lorna, they had no way of understanding the...cultural differences between you guys and Earlene the American. It never occurred to them that the fact that she’s queen and you aren’t would have any effect on you and...that.”

 

“And how would you know that?” Lorna asked, looking at her. “You’re not a telepath, are you?”

 

Time for blatant lying. “That whole mess with Earlene and the Elves isn’t the first time I’ve seen the future with you guys,” she said. “It’s just the first time I dared interfere. You gotta understand, Lorna, there’s a reason I so rarely interfere. Unless I'm totally certain what I'm doing isn’t gonna turn into a disaster, I don’t try. Because it  _ has  _ turned into a disaster before.”   
  


Lorna wanted to argue with that. She really, really did, but this was Sharley -- Sharley, with the ability even she herself didn't understand, but which had yet to fail. “They seriously expected us to be that rude and presumptuous?”

 

“Yes,” Sharley said bluntly, “because they wouldn’t see it that way at all. It’s called ‘cultural differences’ for a reason. It genuinely didn't occur to them that you wouldn’t ask any of the Elves for help. The fact that you’d be asking people you really didn't know for something that time intensive...to them, that’s not weird. If one of them wanted your help for anything, they’d just ask, and it didn't occur to any of them that you wouldn’t be the same way.”

 

Lorna hunted brake pads. “That still doesn’t explain why nobody ever said, ‘hey, Earlene’s doing this thing, want to try, too?’ It almost...shit, Sharley, it’s almost like they were hiding it. I know Earlene and Thanadir were BFF’s long before he became the not-so-asexual third partner in that marriage. Of course they’d want their running time, or whatever, to themselves. You really expect me to believe they didn't want us there?”

 

“That was just -- well, bad luck,” Sharley said. “I know it looks bad, but I’m telling you, Lorna, it isn’t what you think it is.”

 

Lorna looked at her. “Are you sure? Because Thranduil told me that they  _ assumed  _ we wouldn’t want to, which to me sounds a whole hell’v a lot like ‘you’d be dead weight so we didn't want you’.”

 

Sharley internally cursed whatever impulse had led Thranduil to use that word. He’d had no way of knowing that it was basically gasoline onto a fire. “Lorna, that was just...shit wording,” she said. “You’re used to being left out because people were dismissive of you, I get that, but it’s happened to you so much that you’re seeing it where it’s not.”

 

“And does it,” the little woman said, more quietly, “have anything to do with the fact that I can feel so inferior, so they were trying to spare me the frustration?”

 

Sharley hesitated. She could justify the one lie, since it was protecting both herself and Lorna, but this one? This was one she hated telling, and yet she told it anyway. “No,” she said. “That woulda required forethought they didn't have. This isn’t like when you were a kid. I know you’ve had a lotta people call you stupid when you were young, and leave you out because of it, but that’s not the way it is now. You’re just still hurting from that, and that part of you that hates yourself won’t let it go.”

 

Lorna dropped the pad. “ _ What? _ ”

 

“C’mon, Lorna,” Sharley said, beckoning her back out into the shop. She took a rotor in each hand, so Lorna could carry the shoes. After the warmth of the parts room, the garage seemed damn chilly. “You and I both know you’re not the most self-aware person in the world. Part of you  _ does  _ hate yourself. Why else would you run yourself down so much? Some part of you, deep back here --” she tapped Lorna’s forehead with her index finger “-- is still that kid who got told she was worthless so often she started to believe it. And before you ask how the hell I would know that, meeting you was like looking in a mirror. Only difference is why -- I hate that I can’t remember.”

 

Lorna stared at her, stunned. “But -- the fact that you can’t remember isn’t your fault,” she protested.

 

“And your dad being a walking bag of dick cheese isn’t yours,” Sharley countered. “He started you on this, and you’ve just kinda...kept on. I know you’re beating yourself up because you’re jealous of Ailill.”

 

“Oh, Christ,” Lorna sighed. “ _ That _ . He’s a fucking kid, of course I’m beating myself up over that. I thought I was better than that.” She shoved the breaker bar into the socket and set to work on the lugs, dragging Sharley down so she could watch.

 

“So did Ratiri,” the woman said dryly. “You’re forgetting, he was doing the exact same fucking thing three years ago. I mean, the  _ exact  _ same thing. You think Thranduil’ll like Ailill better because you see him as this soft kid who wants someone to boss him around, right?”

 

“Well...yeah,” Lorna admitted, wrenching on the lug. “I mean, I know he’s not a weakling or anything, I just -- shit.”

 

“He  _ is  _ soft,” Sharley said, “for now. He’s been getting stronger ever since you guys found him. And yeah, he likes having direction in his life, but he doesn't want someone bossing him around.” Which...wasn't entirely true, since it seemed to have started out that way. “And it’s not that he idolizes the Elves so much as reveres them. Which is a concept you and I can’t really understand, but it  _ is  _ a thing.”

 

It was, Lorna knew, a thing -- but she only knew it in the abstract. “Here, you try this.” She rose, and switched places to Sharley. “Loosen that, but don’t take it all the way off.”

 

Sharley did so, very carefully. “I know you think he’s getting special treatment, but he’s not. Not in the way you think. Physically, he came to you guys pretty frail. He needed that training. It’s done him a lotta good.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell Lorna that he hadn’t wanted it to the extent he’d actually got it. That wouldn’t go over well yet. “He needed guidance, and...well, parenting, sorta. Christ knows he didn't get any from either of his parents. He was the kinda person who’s totally fantastic at their job, but sorta a disaster in the rest of his life. He’d always kinda had to...muddle along. His parents gave him money, but not much else. They were never really  _ parents _ at all.”

 

“Now that I saw,” Lorna said, with blatant disgust. “His da and his brother especially. His sister was always okay, and his mam’s come around, but in her case the damage was already done. It’s why I feel so shitty being jealous’v him -- his life hasn’t exactly been sunshine and roses. My da might’ve been a nightmare, but I always had my brothers and sister. I think Ailill’s sister was afraid to push, and his brother’s a gobshite and a half. The way they could sit there and just insult him like that on  _ Christmas fucking Day _ ...it was pretty easy to see they didn't consider it an insult at all. That it was just business as usual.”

 

“Well, look at it this way,” Sharley said cheerfully, “they’ll probably both die horribly in sixteen years.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, so hard she nearly cried. “Nice,” she said. “Morbid, but nice.”

 

“I do try. Anyway, you think Thranduil’ll start liking him better because he wants to be more like an Elf, right? Because you think he’s more what they’d want in a human?”

 

“Pretty much.” Lorna grabbed the Thermos and sipped more cocoa.

 

“Ratiri was thinking pretty much the same thing, y’know. You and Thranduil are a lot more alike in some ways than he and you are. He was jealous of the fact that you talked to Thranduil about a whole lotta shit you didn't talk to  _ him  _ about, even though he logically knew it was because he couldn’t understand like Thranduil would. Deep down, you know better about Ailill, I think, just like deep down, Ratiri knew about Thranduil, but if humans were totally logical, they’d be Vulcans.” 

 

Lorna laughed before she could help it, though she carefully watched Sharley with the next lugs. Fortunately, the woman seemed to have an instinct for it. “Okay, fair point.”

 

Last one loosened, both of them grabbed the foam pads and headed around to the other side. “And has it ever occurred to you,” Sharley said, starting on the next lug, “that Thranduil likes you  _ because  _ you’re not like an Elf? That he likes you exactly as you are -- tiny and profane and stuff? He’s got a lot in common with you that he doesn’t have with anyone else in your lives. Ailill was abused, but not in the same way. Earlene’s brother was a total piece of emotionally abusive shit, but her parents loved her. Thranduil’s still your brother-from-another-mother, and nothing’s gonna change that.”

 

“Is he really, though?” Lorna asked, rising again to grab the jack. “I mean, I call him that, but he’s never really said, one way or the other.”

 

“Lorna, he helped you smash your old house to bits and then blew it up. If that doesn’t tell you you’re a little sister, I don’t know what does.” Still, Sharley thought, she’d write to Thranduil and tell him he ought to actually clarify that out loud. And possibly find some way to call her Fun Size in Sindarin, if that could even be done, given every other sibling in her life seemed to.

 

“Okay, that’s a fair point, too.” The jack couldn’t be used until the breaker bar was available, so she sipped yet more cocoa.

 

Sharley grunted as she loosened the last lug. “Anyway, back to the fact that you hate yourself,” she said, and Lorna winced. She’d hoped that could be left behind. “Stopping that is hard. Trust me, I know. Especially since you still sometimes compare yourself to the others in your life and think you’re stupid next to them.”

 

That just made Lorna wince again. She was far better about that than she once was, but yeah, it sometimes still cropped up. And honestly, all the more so because Thranduil had let slip that he was basically a supergenius like Thanadir. And here she’d thought Thanadir was the only one. “Okay, yeah, I do,” she admitted. “Sometimes.”

 

Sharley handed her the breaker-bar. “Well, don’t tell anybody, but I do that, too.  _ You  _ can fix cars, and build motorized furniture, and all kinds of mechanical shit. Me? I build trails and see the future, and one of those pretty much does itself, whenever the fuck it feels like it. It’s about as useful as tin shit if I can’t control it. If I could, maybe I coulda saved the world.”

 

Lorna snorted, working the jack. “Christ, you want to talk about self-loathing? If I hadn’t got Thranduil and Thanadir their ID’s so fast, none’v us could’ve gone to New York when we did, and we wouldn’t’ve run into Von Dickweed in the first place. I keep telling myself that it could well have just been worse, because Earlene would’ve gone anyway, and might’ve run into the bastard alone, but...it’s hard to accept.”

 

Sharley paused. “I think this was destined to happen,” she said. “I mean, there’s no good reason I shoulda had such a hard time getting to Ireland. I felt even then like something  was trying to get in my way. And if it wasn’t the fucking  _ Valar _ , I’d be really, really surprised.”

 

Now it was Lorna who hesitated, Thranduil’s words on the matter rising in her mind. “Sharley, they’re sky-fairies,” she said, and hoped like hell any who might be listening would forgive her. It was for a good cause. “Between you and me, I’m not pleased by what they did with Earlene and the Elves--”  _ still  _ needed to be a band name, dammit “--but I just don’t see them as being malicious like that. I mean, the only reason I’m standing here talking to you is because Manwë gave me invincible skin. Yeah, my insides got mashed into a pulp in the accident, but I didn't wind up impaled by my steering column or anything. Thranduil and half the Woodland Realm healed me, and they only could because’v Manwë.”

 

Sharley frowned, and Lorna hastened to change the subject. “If I blame anyone, I blame Von Ballsweat. Him  _ and  _ the idiots who’ll actually be carrying out his last request. If I was them, I’d toss the box, because how would he know if I didn't? I wouldn’t hang onto the fucking thing for twenty years, that's for damn sure.”

 

“I wouldn’t, either,” Sharley said, mercifully taking the distraction.

 

Lorna handed her a jack-stand. “Here, put this right there. You know, I have to wonder if he did something to their minds, so they’d actually go through with it. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

 

“I wouldn’t put  _ anything  _ past him,” Sharley said. “Though I wonder how the precious  _ Valar  _ missed him.”

 

_ Uh-oh.  _ “He was disguised as a human,” Lorna said. “Like, really human. Bled and everything. Bled a lot, actually -- Christ, did you see what Earlene did to him?”

 

Sharley smiled. It was not at all a nice smile. “I did indeed. Wish I coulda helped.”

 

“Same here,” Lorna muttered. “Anyway, all the shit he was doing, out in the world, it was all through other people. Humans. He wasn’t pulling a Sauron and being all obvious and -- and in-your-face. He was a shadow-man who got off on making people do his shit without knowing they were manipulated.” It also was not the only thing he’d got off on, but that could just stay silent. Sharley could never, ever know that the two of them had one very awful thing in common. “But he’s dead and bogged and I pissed on his corpse, so...there’s that.” 

 

That actually made Sharley laugh as she took off the left wheel, carefully setting the lugs aside. “Wish I coulda helped. Contributed some liquid gold, if you will.”

 

Unfortunately, Lorna had chose that moment to take another sip of cocoa, and promptly shot it out her nose. At least it was no longer piping hot, but  _ still _ . “Thanks,” she managed, coughing. “I shouldn’t drink around you any more than I do around Thranduil. It’s not safe.”

 

“And I can’t heal you if you start choking to death,” Sharley added, thumping her on the back a few times before fetching a cloth. It was mostly clean, so Lorna felt no compunction about wiping her face with it. “Anyway, you’ve got another problem.”

 

“I do?” Lorna asked, wondering if something had got stuck in her braid.

 

“The fact that you don’t just work through shit,” Sharley prompted, removing the tire under Lorna’s direction. “That you think talking about something is supposed to be the end of it. You shoulda seen Thranduil’s face when I told him that. He was horrified.”

 

Lorna wondered just how the hell Sharley could know this. She hadn’t realized ‘seeing the future’ could be so...comprehensive. “Well, how am I supposed to?” she asked, grabbing the other tire herself. “If I sit there and keep thinking about it, won’t he just go, ‘oh Eru, she’s  _ still  _ stuck on  _ that _ ?’ I know that I dwell, if I’m not careful. I always have.”

 

“There’s a difference between dwelling and getting closure,” Sharley said, and stood back to let her do her thing. “Like this training thing. You just told yourself you’d fucked up and then got stoned until you weren’t thinking about it anymore. It’s no fucking wonder it sat and festered.”

 

“Well, apparently I really  _ was  _ wrong,” Lorna said irritably, as she loosened the caliper.

 

Sharley rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but even so, what you were feeling was still valid,” she said. “Just because you read the situation wrong didn't mean it didn't hurt you in a very real way. It was okay for you to feel that, Lorna. Nobody woulda blamed you if it took you a while to work through it.”

 

Lorna gave her a look that was thoroughly unimpressed. “Wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t think just think I was being stupid, because to them, my logic was flawed?”

 

That...Sharley actually couldn’t answer. She saw what  _ would  _ be, and what was; what might have been was not as easy. “Not if you talked about it. Thranduil’s the only one who can read your mind, and even he gets it wrong sometimes. Everybody fucks up that way, sometimes. It’s not something to be ashamed of. You just have to not be angry and snap at everyone when you do it.”

 

“Aaaand  _ that  _ would be why I don’t talk about shit,” Lorna said, fastening the caliper safely once it was loose. “I can’t be sure I won’t just go Krakatoa out’v nowhere if I do. I still don’t always have any warning before that happens, so it’s not like I can know the warning signs and scoot.” After how she’d gone off on Ratiri that terrible day -- and the horrible things Thranduil had said to her, things that hurt all the worse because most of them were true -- she was terrified of that.

 

Sharley stared at her.  _ This  _ she had not known, not to the full extent. Well, shit. “So get stoned first,” she said. “You don’t get pissed like that when you’ve been drinking your tea, right?”

 

“Not that I've noticed,” Lorna said slowly, wrenching the bolts of the caliper carrier free. “But just because I haven’t doesn't mean I can’t, or won’t, if something pushes my buttons the wrong way. I mean, I already know they hesitate to tell me some shit because they’re afraid’v how I’ll react.”

 

_ God dammit, Ratiri _ , Sharley thought. She knew he’d meant well in saying it, but it hadn’t helped. At all. One more thing to put in her email to Thranduil. At least there wouldn’t be as much as there would have been before this conversation. Lorna was never going to get any better about this if they just tiptoed around her. If she blew up again -- and realistically, she probably would, sooner or later -- so fucking what? She knew, now, to vacate the premises when she did. Leaving her in the dark for fear of her reaction was ultimately not going to do her or anyone else any favors -- certainly not in the future, after the world ended. She wasn’t going to learn how to control that reaction if everybody tried to make sure she never had the chance to have it in the first place. Yeah, it was certainly way less stressful, but only in the short-term.

 

The bridal shower disaster had proven that she was, in fact, capable of holding her temper. It had sucked, sure, and the aftermath of it hadn’t been good, but it was a start. When she’d found out about Ailill’s Christmas thing, she hadn’t gone off like a landmine, either. Yeah, she’d been angry, but she’d used it, rather than letting it use her. The night before they left for America had been pretty bad, too, but she noticeably had not made any kind of scene -- she’d scooted quietly, and gone an vented her anger in the only way she’d currently had available to her, away from all others. No, it was not healthy, but it also was not her throwing things at people and calling them every cussword in four languages. She could cry, now. She could go off, have a good cry, and hopefully be fine later.

 

Sharley knew Thranduil was afraid of how she’d react to him doing things in a Kingy Thingy context, and that...well, yeah, that was slightly trickier, but Sharley had a decent idea what would do it and what wouldn’t. He had little knowledge of how a gang actually worked; there were certain types of decisions, like him telling the Elves to zip it about Ailill and Calanon’s relationship, that she was naturally going to approve of. What she  _ didn't  _ approve of, and probably never would, was him telling individuals to do things ‘for their own good’, or something directly against their will. For Lorna, those words were gas to fire. Shane had never forced them to do anything against their will, and unfortunately there were some things Lorna was still going to perceive that way. And crucially, Shane had never acted like he had the inherent right to boss people around just because he was leader and he felt like it doing it. Sharley could, however, make Thranduil a list, so that she could slowly work through it, a bit at a time.

 

The other thing, though, was the depression that could follow her successful containment of her rage, or take its place if she was really bad off. Hopefully her new ability to cry would stave that one off, too. Though the fact that she was so confused by it was honestly a little adorable. Yes, snot happened every time. It was gross, but it was part of the package.

 

“Yeah, well, they need to stop,” she said aloud. “Another talk you need to have when you get home -- but get stoned first. Go into it relaxed, not belligerent and mad.”

 

“You know,” Lorna said, “we need to try to sneak some seeds home. We’ll have to be growing it ourselves, after the end, and hope the greenhouses can do it. I know it’s a plant that’s picky as hell.”

 

“That it is,” Sharley said. “All right, tell me what this thingy is.”

 

“This is the rotor,” Lorna said, and grunted as she whacked at it with a hammer. “All right, so tell me, how the fuck am I meant to tell the difference between working through something and dwelling?”

 

“That’s a hard one,” Sharley said, “and honestly, you might not always be able to tell. What you need to do, especially at first, is ask Thranduil. Which I know will be hard for you, but he can tell the difference. You just have to give him the chance to, not stone yourself into oblivion until you think it’s gone away. Your family loves you, Lorna. They know you’re damaged, and they want to help you.”

 

Lorna went still, staring at nothing. “They’ve all given me so much already,” she said softly. “It just feels...wrong, taking more from them. Especially when there’s nothing I really give back. It’s why I’d wanted to be the one to teach Thranduil Irish. There’s nothing else I  _ can  _ teach, because he’s never going to have any interest in this.” She rapped on the side of the van.

 

Sharley tapped her on the shoulder. “Lorna, he’s learned a shitload from you just because you’re you. He didn't realize Earlene wasn’t typical of humanity. He could well have gone out into the world -- into fucking  _ Ireland  _ \-- and inadvertently shoved his foot right down his throat just because of  _ massive  _ culture clash. Earlene didn't know just how strong Ireland’s attitudes toward monarchy actually were. Their foray into the outer world coulda been over as soon as it began, because I’m sure you can imagine as well as I can just what woulda happened if he’d gone into the Spotted Dick and expected to be called ‘my Lord’.”

 

Lorna couldn’t help but giggle, for all it really wasn’t funny. “Okay, you’ve got a point there, too.” It would have gone over with all the grace of a lead balloon, which probably would have surprised the shit out of Earlene as well -- she’d known the Irish weren’t fans of the English, or their kings, but she hadn’t understood anywhere near the sheer depth of that hatred. America had thrown off the control of theirs so long ago that it no longer left a bitter aftertaste. All those who could remember how monstrous theirs had been were long dead, whereas until about ten years ago, there had still be some living in Ireland who’d been alive before the Rising.

 

“Plus, you put them in touch with Orla and Shane. They’ve given you a lot, Lorna, but you’ve given more than you think in return. So don’t go sitting there and thinking you owe anyone shit. That’s not how family works, anyway. You do shit because you love each other, not because you think you owe one another.”

 

“Funny, Thranduil’s told me the same thing,” Lorna sighed.

 

“That,” Sharley said, “is because he’s a smart man. Elf. Whatever. Now what’s  _ this  _ thingy?”

 

*****

 

_ Thranduil, _

 

_ Lorna and I had a nice long talk today while we replaced my brakes. I cleared up some of the biggest things that had been eating at her, and there’s time to work on the rest. Crying a bit really did help her, too, even though she’s disturbed by all the snot involved. She’d been hoping that was a fluke. _

 

_ I need two things from you guys, one from you in particular: find her a nickname. She calls you her brother-from-another-mother, but she’s not certain you think of her the same way. Find something funny and vaguely insulting. I don’t know if there’s any way to translate ‘Fun Size’ into Sindarin, but it’s what Pat and Mairead call her, so if you can get close, go for it. _

 

_ The second I need from all of you: stop tiptoeing around her. Just stop it. Ratiri told her that you guys hesitate to tell her things because you’re afraid of how she’ll react, and that’s helping absolutely no one. All he managed when he said that was to piss her off and keep undermining her confidence in her ability to manage her own temper. She’s never  _ going  _ to manage it if everybody keeps making sure she has no chance, and if she hasn’t by the time the world ends, all the humans are going to be in for a world of hurt. Yeah, she might blow up again, but she might not. She knows how to walk away. And if something pisses her off and she does walk away, don’t use that as an excuse hide things again. She’ll get better, but only if you guys give her a chance. _

 

_ Also, I kind of knew why she doesn’t talk about things that are bugging her too much, but I didn't know the whole of it. She’s afraid that if she does, she’ll lose her shit and it will be like the mess with Ratiri all over again. She’s scared you’ll wind up so disgusted with her again. And she worries that if she doesn’t just jam it all away once it’s been talked about, you’ll just wonder why the hell she’s still thinking about it. I told her to talk to you, because you’ll know better than her when she’s dwelling on something and when it’s something that still needs work. The fact that she trusts you so much will be the biggest help here. _

 

_ But her mind is at rest about the training thing, and about Ailill. I pointed out that she’s just doing what Ratiri did a few years ago, that it’s jealousy that came from insecurity, and that that’s just something humans do sometimes. A person can get over it. I think she’ll be over it, by the time I take her home.  _

 

_ Meanwhile I'm sure she’s been spamming with you with more pictures. Allanah was the cutest little skier on the mountain today. She’s good at it, too, especially for a kid that’s only done it twice. Ratiri and Lorna...didn't fall down too much. Pat stayed behind, and Saoirse wound up sitting in the lodge with some cocoa and drawing after a while. We’re taking the kids sledding tomorrow, and I’ll see if I can get Pat on snowshoes. _

 

_ Tomorrow night I’ll talk more to Alan and Angie, too. They’re thinking they can go to Ireland in the spring, but we never firmed up a date or anything. I'm trying to make a list of stuff on each person to give them, but I know I won’t have all of it, so can you guys write them about each other? Not show them to each other, god, but it might help Angie in more ways than one.  _

 

_ Also, Saoirse wants to make sure you guys are petting Booger enough. She says he’s a needy little shit who gets sad if he doesn’t have enough attention, and that if you don’t pet him he’ll sick up all over her room. Which would be nasty, so pet him a lot. _

 

_ Anyway I'm feeding everyone way too much sugar, but they’re on vacation so whatever. They’re having fun. I think Chandra might wind up wanting blue hair, too, if the looks she’s giving mine and Allanah’s is any indication. Mairead will be ecstatic. _

 

_ -Sharley _

 

_ ***** _

 

Thranduil read his letter, with eyebrows that Earlene noticed pitching a little higher all the time, as his eyes scanned down the screen. Oh, the occasional trials and tribulations of Not Asking. With a sigh, she snuggled further into Thanadir’s hold, enjoying his caresses to her arms and shoulder.

 

“Meluieg,” Thranduil asked absentmindedly, “has anyone been petting Saoirse’s cat?”

 

“You mean ClingOn?” Earlene asked, smirking.

 

“No, I mean Booger.”

 

“Same thing, my Lord. Except that I have my own nickname for it. ClingOn.”

 

Thanadir frowned. “That cat is nothing like a Klingon,” he protested. “It has no honor in battle. It does not pride itself on the merits of its family. It does not…”

 

Earlene’s hand reached up and gently pinched the elf’s lips shut. “You misunderstand, meldir. Klingon is….alliteration. What I mean really is Cling-On, a brand of plastic wrap that sticks to anything it touches, balls up, is generally uncooperative and cannot be removed no matter what else I would prefer to do with it.”

 

“Oh,” the elf said, accepting the correction. “That is different, then.”

 

“Yes, very. And to answer your question, my King, no, I have not been petting The Booger except when I have found it with Tail. Those two have quite enough of a mutual admiration society.”

 

“Well then,” the King frowned, “has anyone checked on Saoirse’s room? They are worried that the cat has been vomiting in there.”

 

“Oh for Eru’s sake,” Earlene huffed, launching up from her comfortable perch. “I will go look.”

 

“No, Earlene, let me,” Ailill insisted. “I am getting a crick in my neck and need to move around a little.” Much to Calanon’s dismay, the man stood up. Seeing his love’s visage, he smiled. “You can come if you really want to, and help me look for cat vomit,” he teased the ellon. Calanon happily followed.

 

“Ah, true love,” Earlene quipped, as she settled back down against Thanadir. 

 

“Meluieg,” Thranduil began again. “I need help with something. I am being asked to give Lorna a nickname. Something I am supposed to call her. And it is supposed to be endearing and yet sarcastic, all at the same time. I am certainly not going to call her  _ meluieg _ , for that would be wildly inaccurate and is already taken. Nor can she be  _ gwathel _ or  _ meldis _ . What else even _ is _ there??”

 

Oh, the self-control needed not to ask was tremendous. Thanadir chuckled, appreciating both the necessity for restraint as well as temptation to inquire, and kissed her on the forehead. “Umm...well….that certainly is an open-ended question,” she mused.

 

Just then Ailill returned to the room, with a cat pinned under his arm and scruffed, while its little paws flailed. Its head was securely jammed into a snack bag. “Is this the one?” he asked. “We were on our way to Saoirse’s room but we heard this awful noise in Lorna and Ratiri’s room, so we looked in there and found this.” He held up his mobile, and replayed the video clip he had taken of the animal careering all around the bedroom, crashing into objects as it sought unsuccessfully to remove the bag. And he now shamelessly switched the app to continue filming the hapless creature.

 

Thranduil gestured for the animal to be given to him, and he murmured to it while teasing the bag off of its head. After which he released the kitten (which refused to be released, glomming onto his lap instead), and held up the bag to take a better look. “Mixed nuts,” he read, frowning.

 

Earlene burst into laughter. “Well, there is your nickname,” she said, howling with unsuppressed mirth. “What hoards away nuts?”

 

“Squirrel?” Calanon answered, not really knowing if he should answer or not. 

 

“Exactly,” smirked Earlene. 

 

“You want me to call my friend ‘Squirrel?’” Thranduil asked, not certain he had understood. 

 

“You could call her Little Squirrel,” Earlene pointed out, “except squirrels are already not large by default. Your choice, of course.” 

 

“Peccuvincë,” Ailill grinned, clearly feeling like it sounded better in Quenya.

 

Thranduil’s lips parted. First was astonishment, then a genuine smile, then a wicked grin with endless mischief behind it. “Peccuvincë?” He intoned.

 

“Peccuvincë,” echoed the room, with assorted guffaws and chortles garnishing the word.

 

“Very well, but I expect you all to act as sworn witnesses,” Thranduil said. They all looked at each other, smirking even harder, and as if by unspoken agreement all went down on one knee before him. 

 

“We swear to witness that Lorna hoarded mixed nuts, Aran Thranduil,” Thanadir intoned solemnly, while all of them held their hands over their hearts.

 

“Oh,  _ ERU _ ,” Thranduil said, exasperated, before the entire bunch of them burst into laughter. 

 

Earlene sank the rest of the way to the floor, unable to stop laughing. “And they say monarchy is no fun,” she giggled. Ailill smirked, and discreetly hit Stop on his video recording.  _ This _ would go into his archive of private treasures.

 

*****

 

{January 9th, 2021}

 

Disembarking a flight, Ratiri decided, never did get any more pleasant. Hunting for luggage and dealing with sleepy children was always a bit of a hassle, but fortunately there were plenty of adults to deal with it.

 

Sharley was still coherent, and so it was Sharley who drive the commuter van home -- it was honestly too big for this group, but the Mystery Machine was too small. The rest of them dozed and snoozed, while she tried to get used to being away from the snow. She didn't want to admit it, but she was not looking forward to living in Ireland’s climate. Yeah, Western Washington was pretty damn damp, but the mountains got snow. Lots of it. Unless the plague somehow halted climate change, there wouldn’t be much of that in Ireland. She was just glad she didn't have bad joints, or anything.

 

She glanced in the rear-view mirror. Though it was only early evening here, they’d been on a long, long flight, and their sleep schedules were probably going to be out-of-whack again. At least Saoirse could stop worrying about Booger -- Earlene had had to text her with regular updates and pictures, assuring her that the kitten was indeed just fine, and had not actually puked all over anything.

 

The drive wasn’t too bad, though they were going in the wrong direction for rush-hour; everybody was getting out of Dublin. It was pitch-dark by the time they got to Eldamar, for all it was only seven o’clock. “All right, troops, everybody up,” she said, once the car had rolled to a stop in the driveway. “Good news is, it’s not raining.”

 

“Yaaaaay,” Pat mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. “We home?”

 

“No, we’re on the moon, Pat,” Lorna said dryly.

 

“Wouldn’t that be nice. I’m gonna get this little one in to see her Nana, before we get going.” Sharley got out and took the sleepy Allanah from her carseat, carrying her across the driveway. She’d swear the kid had grown in the last week and a half, which she knew was impossible -- though what was undeniable was the fact that her left front incisor was now distinctly loose.  _ That  _ was an event that needed to happen at home, because a first lost tooth was a big deal, and Earlene didn't need to miss it.

 

“Everybody alive in here?” she called.

 

“Everything except the bag of mixed nuts,” Thranduil smiled, coming to the foyer to greet them. “Welcome home,” he said with great sincerity and warmth. “Do you need help with anything?”

 

“This kiddo has something important to show her nana,” Sharley said. “And we came back with more than we went over with. I took them to Leavenworth, and they kinda went nuts. I’m sure Lorna sent you pictures of the village with all the Christmas lights, right?”

 

“Yes,” he said happily. “We hooked up the computer to the movie room electronics, and looked at the pictures on the screen. They were all quite lovely.”

 

Earlene now appeared from the kitchen, and Ailill and Calanon slid down the fire pole (now that Ailill actually knew how, he used it all the time). The children came to greet their family, and soon the foyer was packed in like sardines with excited people.

 

“And I managed to keep Lorna from spamming you with  _ all  _ of them,” Sharley said. “Scary as that might be. All right, Allanah, show your nana your tooth, and if I could get some help with the bags and other kids, that’d be great.” She passed Allanah over to her mother, trying not to grin at how sleepy she still was.

 

“You have a tooth?” Earlene gasped in mock surprise. “I did not notice you had any teeth. Are you sure?”

 

Allanah giggled, and opened her mouth to push at a loose upper incisor with her tongue.

 

“Oh! Earlene gasped. “They gave you teeth that don’t work! Look at those! We are going to have to send those back for a refund on Amazon.com right after they come loose. Nobody is giving my daughter inferior front teeth. I won’t stand for it,” she said, covering her cheeks with kisses.

 

More giggles.

 

“Come upstairs with you. We’ll change into pajamas and you can have a little soup before you sleep. Are you hungry?”

 

Allanah nodded, sleepily, rubbing her eyes. The twins scuttled upstairs to choose a warm pair of night clothes for their sister; they were very kind that way.

 

Sharley led the lads --  _ thanks, Lorna _ \-- out to the van, where she found the other adults had already got the rest of the kids out and at least some of the shit organized. Saoirse, naturally, grabbed her luggage and scooted into the house, needing to see Booger. Ratiri took a twin -- both barely qualified as awake -- in each arm, bearing them upstairs. That left Pat, Lorna, and a whole lot of shite that needed to go...somewhere. The rec room for now, probably.

 

“We have stuff,” Lorna said, and yawned hugely.

 

“Stuff we will all appreciate tomorrow,” Thranduil admonished. “Earlene has a cauldron of hot soup ready with buttered toast, and a big pot of herbal tea. Go get mostly ready for bed, eat, then go rest. Shoo,” he said, though he could not resist sweeping her up in some indescribably twirling aerial hug that managed to set her back down on her feet and pointed in the correct direction. 

 

Lorna let out a sound that could only be described as  _ eep _ , but hugged him back. “Earlene,” she said, when he’d set her down, “is a saint. An actual, bloody saint, and the rest’v you will qualify soon enough.” Into the house she went, scenting the air rather like one of Thaladir’s hounds. While the cafe in Skykomish made very good food, nothing could compare to Earlene’s cooking. What they were going to do when the elves left for Aman, Lorna didn't know, because she’d swear her friend was an actual food wizard.

 

She gave a half-wave on her way upstairs, and swapped out her clothes for fuzzy PJ pants, her oversized Pantera shirt, dressing-gown, and slippers.  _ Something  _ had been chewing on those, and if it was Booger, she would noogie the cat into submission.

 

Ratiri, wise man, had got the twins settled, and donned PJ’s as well. He followed her back down to the kitchen.

 

“Tea,” she said, as she half-staggered into the kitchen sounding very like a zombie moaning for brains. “And that smells literally divine.” She grabbed a mug from the cupboard, pouring herself a cup and inhaling deeply.

 

“That,” Ratiri said, doing the same, “is honestly a bit disturbing. It’s not brains, and you are not a zombie.”

 

“Yet,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him.

 

“You guys are weird.” Saoirse padded by, Booger firmly in her arms. The cat was licking her face and purring like an outboard motor. “He didn't sick up anywhere, so I guess he got enough attention.”

 

If ever a kitten could be said to look self-satisfied, Booger did. He was so lucky he was adorable.

 

Thranduil was smart enough to say nothing whatsoever about the cat. Mixed Nuts would wait for tomorrow.

 

“Did anything major happen while we were gone?” Ratiri asked. It was entirely possible that, if something had, they wouldn’t have been told, so as not to ruin their holiday.

 

“No. It was entirely dull, in a good way. The only thing I can think of is that apparently the last Council minutes were read by more people than we hoped for, and Thalion’s proposed mandatory fitness and nutrition program is being met with everything from outright grumbling to borderline mutiny,” she said cheerfully. “So I’m sure the next meeting will be good for extra income at the pub afterward. John will be happy.”

 

“Oh good Jesus,” Lorna said. “What’s he want to do, that they’re so up in arms about?” Given that they were elves, she feared it was something that would be punishingly intense, by human standards, right off, and that  _ would  _ lead to mutiny.

 

“And why do I think the ‘nutrition’ section is what people are protesting the most?” Ratiri asked.

 

Earlene said nothing but smirked. Her jaw muscles actually ached with the effort of trying to tone down the degree of self-satisfaction on her features.

 

“Down, meluieg,” Thranduil joked quietly.

 

“I didn’t say a word,” she said breezily.

 

“You can make an Irish person exercise, but take away their pints and their pub food and there’ll be a riot,” Lorna warned. “My advice? Ease them into the food. Don’t tell them they’ve got totally change their diets right off, or it’ll end in disaster. And honestly, I’m not asking them to do it if I’m not willing to do it myself, and I’m not.  _ We _ haven’t given up absolutely everything that could be considered unhealthy, after all.”

 

“I’ve got a suggestion,” Sharley said, scaring half the life out of Ratiri. She seemed to have appeared right behind him out of thin air, she was that quiet. “Cooking lessons. If they’re going to eat more healthy, they need to know how to make healthier food actually taste good. If a person hates it, it’s usually because somebody cooked it wrong when they were growing up and then made them eat something disgusting.”

 

“You’ve got that right,” Ratiri said, and shuddered. His dad had boiled Brussel sprouts, and he’d had an abiding hatred of even the smell of them ever since. (Then again, they did smell rather like cat wee, so that didn't help.)

 

“But make them  _ easy  _ recipes,” Lorna stressed. “Earlene, you love cooking, but a lot’v people don’t -- and even the ones that do often don’t want to hassle with preparing dinner for two hours after they’ve been at work all day.”

 

“That….is a frame of mind,” Earlene said reflectively. “And one that has to be handled very carefully. But Sharley does have a point. If a person is eating like shite, fixing that isn’t going to happen overnight. And yet a day will come when pub foot won’t really be able to exist any longer. Deep fryers aren’t going to work, when we will have to work awfully hard to grow rapeseed, harvest and process it. God only knows how it’d taste. I’d be willing to help; I could teach classes. I could train a core of people who could even go into others’ homes and teach them a handful of simple recipes that would be enjoyed and meet with success. But I’m not going to be the one to promote this. I already have a reputation and people will think I’m being preachy. It needs to come from someone else.”

 

“Specifically, it needs to come from the Irish person,” Ratiri said pointedly, looking down at Lorna, who groaned.

 

“I wish you weren't right,” Lorna sighed. “All right. Everybody in Baile knows that I’m not a very good cook, and that I don’t enjoy it. If we can make some recipes  _ I  _ can manage, the rest’v them will know they can, too. I mean, getting someone like Mairead to cook healthier wouldn’t be a big deal, but you’d pry her dessert recipes out’v her cold, dead hands. Except you wouldn’t get a chance to, because she’d murder anyone who tried, up to and including an elf -- and while normally I’d say a human’d have no chance against an elf, never underestimate an Irish woman and her cake recipes.”

 

“Cakes are hardly the issue,” Earlene grimaced. “Unrelenting consumption of chips, crisps, store-bought biscuits and candy, all washed down in steady streams of alcohol. Frozen entrees full of additives and preservatives, snacks fried in fat, and eating everything not from the produce aisle or the meat counter except on occasional accident.  _ That _ is the issue. They’re addicted to it, half of them are obese, and….well, if I may quote you, it will end in disaster. Don’t get me wrong,” she hastened to add. “I don’t blame them. I blame the food companies. The marketing agencies. They were out to get people hooked on those items and they succeeded. There is a reason those foods are hard to give up, and it has nothing to do with being tired after work. It was one of the greatest successful conspiracies of this century, and I wouldn’t be surprised at all to find out that Von Ratched’s companies led the way.” Yes, that last tidbit may have been placed there for Lorna’s benefit. But if that was the case, it was done out of love and to help give her message a chance at further understanding.

 

“I wouldn’t say ‘obese’,” Ratiri mused. “Overweight, but most of them have jobs that are too physical to let them reach the point of obesity, at least in Baile. I think what we’re really going to have to do is teach people how to make healthier snacks that are A.) appealing and B.) don’t take four hours to make. I’m sure there are recipes out there. I know there are those dehydration...things...that let you make apple and banana chips, for a start.”

 

“Christ, Von Asstaint,” Lorna sighed. “He really  _ is  _ the gift that keeps on giving. So, I have an idea, if we can somehow make it work -- Baile’s got one grocery, and Lasg’len’s only got one, too. If people would buy healthier snacks, they’d carry them, but the healthy stuff’s usually too expensive for the average villager’s budget. Is there some way to work it so we can get it in and actually make it affordable?”

 

“Ratiri,” Earlene said incredulously. “I know you are a pediatrician, but even I know that the clinical definition of obesity is that a person has a body mass index of about 30. Or in other words, a little under three stone overweight. You are really going to tell me that they are just ‘overweight’? Or are we confusing ‘obese’ and ‘morbidly obese’? Because I have been to the pub in Baile, and physical jobs or no, they need to lose more than that.”

 

“We don’t use the body mass index in Britain, or in Ireland,” he said. “It’s too non-specific, and doesn’t take into account whether or not the weight is fat or muscle. By its standards, a bodybuilder is morbidly obese. If you look at someone like, oh, Big Jamie -- he’s got a bit of a gut, sure, but the majority of his weight is muscle. He’d been hefting around beer barrels since he was fifteen. His wife has about a stone and a half to spare, but most of that, too, is muscle. You really ought to talk to Indira; she won’t name names, but rural Ireland isn’t like much of America, where people can gain weight because they sit on their arses at a TV or computer nonstop. Many of these people could stand to lose some weight -- in fact, I would hazard the majority of them do, to one degree or another -- but it’s not what it would look like in America.”

 

“Fascinating as that is, nobody’s answered my question,” Lorna said, not actually interested in the least right now -- oh, it could definitely be an intriguing subject later, but for now was entirely beside the point. How much weight a person had to lose mattered less than how they were to lose it. “Is there any way to make that work? If people could afford it, they’d probably buy it, but nobody in either village is going to pay five euro for a packet’v apple chips.”

 

Earlene thought, for once not answering immediately (and forcing herself, with great difficulty, to set aside rebuttals to Ratiri about visceral fat). “You know how it works? You centralize the food supply. It works for real when they are all living here and can be fed properly by a core of people that are skilled at cooking real food. Everything before that, taking real actual human nature into account, is in all likelihood going to amount to plasters.”

 

“That doesn’t help right now, though,” Lorna said. “You can’t centralize the food supply with two villages who live an hour from one another -- not unless you want to split it up into two locations. This is a little over seven hundred people we’re dealing with here, and it’s the old codgers and the teenagers who’ll complain the loudest if we just shove this on them without...greasing the skids, so to speak. If we put a supply in each village, and dole it out through the shops,  _ that  _ would probably work without us getting non-stop complaints.”

 

“And at least the old people know how to ration,” Ratiri added. “I know it wasn’t the same here as it was in Britain during World War II, but the sheer poverty of Ireland was honestly worse -- this is a group that grew up knowing how to not waste food. Which is something else everyone’s going to have to learn, because we do live in an appallingly wasteful society that way.”

 

“What if…” Earlene frowned. “Back home we had this thing called Meals on Wheels. It was designed to deliver a nutritious meal to seniors that otherwise had trouble eating well. We already have good food being prepared at the Halls. How much more would it take to have a team of people whose responsibility it was to come in, say three days a week at first, help the kitchen staff prepare food that would go into reusable...I don’t know, lunchboxes or something...and then be driven to a central location in each town? A horse-drawn wagon could take it to Lasg’len and then the Baile stuff could be loaded into a van and taken the rest of the way? Lots of people might make more of an effort to eat right, if the food is placed right in front of them. There would of course need to be a promise not to waste it; that would be...bad. It could also be an incentive for maybe some in those communities to help do the work. Sign up for shifts, that sort of thing.”

 

“Now that,” Lorna said, sipping her tea, “is a  _ fantastic  _ idea. If there’s groups working together, it’s more interesting for them, rather than a chore. Plus, they’d get better-used to cooking over a fire. I know some’ve practiced, but a lot don’t have a woodstove, or a fireplace big enough to cook over. I’ll get them to hash out a sign-up sheet once we know how big each group’s going to be, but I'm guessing we’re going to be looking at family units.” Though she was not letting the pensioners come in big lumps without younger people in the mix, mostly because the poor cooks did not need to be dealing with a bunch of old humans who would argue with the breeze.

 

“Well, we have to at least pretend this comes from the Council,” she gently reminded. “Put it on the next agenda for what, a few days from now? Oh, wait,” she smirked. “I forgot, I’m chairing that one. Consider it added.” The snort that escaped her was less than genteel, not that she cared.

 

Lorna snorted into her tea. Jesus she needed to just not drink around these people. Any of them. “Well, I smell amazing soup and I’m starving,” she said. “I’ve missed your cooking, Earlene. We all have. You’ve spoiled us rotten.”

 

“She’s right,” Ratiri added. “We were eating a rather tasty pie in the cafe, and all I could think was,  _ I bet Earlene could make this even better. _ ”

 

“Oh, hush, you,” Earlene blushed, in a completely magnificent imitation of Lorna. “We will let you eat your soup. Come on, Thanadir. Let’s go watch the Vorlons.”

 

The seneschal’s eyebrows raised. They were still working on Babylon 5, and he liked it far more than he had expected. Maybe they would have time for two episodes...Earlene caught at his hand as she pulled him toward the other room. He grinned at them. “Bye” he waved.

 

Ratiri laughed. He caught that reference, even if none of the others did. “Well, let's get at least some of the presents out,” he said. The children’s could likely wait until tomorrow, when they were all awake and aware and had time to enjoy them. Likewise, Lothiriel, Ortherion, and Maerwen’s would get theirs in the morning.

 

Some of the shops had actually done gift-wrapping, or at least gift-bagging. Earlene’s had come from two different shops: one was a set of cookware, rubber scrapers and spatulas and...things, made out of wood painted with tribal-style orcas. Sharley’s idea, naturally, because whales. The other was a steel hair-comb with a flower made of mountain agate set into it.

 

Thanadir received a massive, 6,000 piece puzzle of a fictional nebula over Mount Rainier, along with a promise to frame it once he was through (which, knowing him, would take about five hours), while Thranduil was gifted a walking-stick taller than he was, polished to a mirror-shine, with the face of an owl carved into the top.

 

“So, this is an interesting thing,” Sharley said, holding it up. “The store said this was actually a whole tree that grew at a really high altitude, and that was why he was selling it for so much. I thought he was full of shit until I looked at the end -- count the rings there. This was seventy-six years old, for all it’s so skinny.”

 

Ailill and Calanon’s matched -- each had a leather pouch, meant to be worn around the neck, with a vaguely Celtic pattern etched into it. “Theoretically, you’re each meant to put a lock of hair in one, so the other can wear it,” Ratiri said, “but you can use whatever you feel like.”

 

Everyone thanked them warmly for the presents but perhaps no one felt so affected as Ailill. Though, he hid it successfully from everyone but Calanon and Thranduil. He simply had not expected to be...included, or thought of, by those he sometimes thought of as The Other Side of the House. It touched him deeply, and he knew what would go inside. A lock of his lover’s hair, and a feather from each of his hawks.

 

******

 

{January 12, 2021}

 

It was fairly early in the morning, when Calanon and Ailill made the drive into the rural outskirts of Galway toward the farmhouse. If Calanon noticed the grimace from Ailill when he passed the turnoff that they would have taken to reach Ashford Castle, he was wise enough not to comment. They were traveling to hand the McDonaghs their rent money. Though they had not been staying there since Ailill’s dismissal, by no means did Ailill wish to give up the lodging until the outcome of Earlene’s legal pursuits had come to a conclusion. 

 

The more Ailill thought about Earlene, the more the whole thing vaguely boggled his mind. In the intervening months he had been...schooled, by assorted members of the house, just what kind of power she had held back in the States. And still held, by virtue of social connections that worshipped the ground she walked on. While he tried not to pry, he was given updates, every so many weeks. What he understood of it was that some very pointed and demanding letters were being written between Earlene’s solicitor (maybe it was even solicitor s , he wasn’t sure) and those for the company that owned and operated the Castle. He had read some of the correspondence, and knew right away that the stress of even that was almost too much for him. Though, he felt loved, and proud to know such generous people; so prepared to help someone in his position.

 

“Ailill?” Calanon’s question broke his reverie. 

 

“Yes, love?” he answered absentmindedly as he approached the long driveway to the farmhouse.

 

“Will we tell the McDonaghs about us?”

 

Ailill’s eyes widened. That had not been in his itinerary for the day, no...and his hesitation to answer was his undoing.

 

“Are you ashamed, to be married to another male, nîth vain?”

 

He was completely unprepared for the question. But this did not stop him from giving an honest answer. Whatever else, he would never lie to Calanon. “Inside of myself, no, I am not. I love you more than I love myself, Cal. What I am is...afraid. Every time I choose to volunteer that information to someone whose thoughts or opinions I cannot be sure of, it feels like risk. What happened to me at Ashford...I don’t want that to happen to us, here. If we tell them there is a chance we could be asked to leave, because they may not approve of gay couples and what might be going on under their roof. If you leave other people doubt, it makes it easier for them. They can tell themselves that maybe they’re wrong, or it’s none of their business. But once it is spoken, confirmed?” He sighed. He was not going to even mention aloud that technically, in the outer world, they were not married; their union was not recognized by Ireland. “I am not strong like you, but I will deny you nothing. I would do anything for you. Do you want me to tell them?” He reached and took the elf’s hand, waiting for his answer.

 

Calanon reflected for a moment, as the car was parked and the engine turned off. He was a warrior, and accustomed to fighting. But he also understood strategy. And for this, he was forming ideas of his own. He had already spoken to Aran Thranduil, about the couple here, and their difficulties with their farm. “No. Not today. I respect your reasons. And for what you said...thank you.” With a squeeze to his hand, they went into the main house to look for the McDonaghs.

 

What they found startled them deeply. Mary looked exhausted and haggard. Jack was seated near the fireplace, with a blanket over his lap, looking miserable. Yesterday evening’s pails were piled near the sink, unwashed with dried milk streaking the stainless steel.

 

“Are you both alright?” came out of Ailill’s mouth even before “hello” could be uttered. 

 

“Jack’s been ill,” Mary said, waving at them to sit. 

 

Ailill took one look at the mountain of items that needed washing and shook his head. “I’m going to wash these while you tell me what’s been happening,” he insisted. “And sit yourself, and I’ll make some tea.”

 

Calanon nodded approvingly. “Has the milking been done this morning?” The moment Mary shook her head No he was already moving to leave out the back door.

 

“Thank you,” the woman said, ashamed. Her kitchen was a mess, only the bare minimum had been done. “Jack came down with shingles, Ailill.”

 

The man frowned. “That’s...I’m sorry, I know that it’s bad, but I am not sure what that is?”

 

“It’s goddamn awful, is what it is,” Jack murmured, shivering. Mary hastened to place another blanket carefully over his shoulders. 

 

“It’s the same as causes chickenpox, but comes back as sort’v a round two when you’re older. But it’s much worse. He has headaches, can’t stand to be out in the sunlight...and he’s in no state to do any work at all. But the worst part is the rashes. They hurt him, he can hardly bear anything touching him.”

 

“And you are trying to do your work and his, while you take care of him?” Ailill guessed. 

 

“Wasn’t going too badly until two days ago,” she said, rolling up the hem of her jeans to reveal a deeply blackish purple bruise across her shin that radiated out to a disturbing distance. “The cows don’t like me as much as they do Jack. Got kicked pretty hard. It’s just...slowed me down even more. Hurts to walk on.”

 

“Is it broken?” Ailill looked at the swollen, ugly mess and swallowed. 

 

“I don’t think so, but I haven’t had time to go see anyone…” she trailed off. “I’m sorry. Don’t mean to be unloading all of this on you, lad. From the sound’v it you’ve had your own problems.”

 

“True. And...would you excuse me for just a moment? I forgot something in the car,” he lied. Once out the door, he called Thranduil, pleading to be allowed to help them.

 

In the Quiet Room, Thranduil listened to what his young subject was telling him. He felt pleased, to hear Ailill’s desire to be compassionate, but from what Calanon had already reported to him, there was more here. Perhaps it was time to investigate personally. “I am coming. Say nothing to them, and be prepared to follow my lead once I arrive.”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” Ailill said, hearing the click of the disconnection and staring at his mobile in disbelief.

 

“The rent money,” he said to Mary, giving her the envelope with cash once he returned inside. His scrubbing of the pails was resumed, and not too many minutes longer Calanon arrived with the first bucket of milk. Mary made to rise but Ailill insisted she not. “Tell me what to do.”

 

As he carefully filtered the milk into waiting jars under her watchful eye, they whiled the time away discussing idle subjects, including his family (sanitized version), Christmas holidays (even more sanitized), and finally a little about who he referred to as his ‘employers in the woods’. At the end of it all, Calanon had completed the milking, fed the animals their hay, and was helping Ailill wash, dry, and store the stainless steel vessels. And in this time, they kept a steady stream of hot tea going to the couple, even as the ellon and his firion communicated silently. Calanon told of his worry that at this rate, the cows would end up in difficulty before the week’s end. 

 

A knock broke the silence. “Now who on earth’s that?” Mary said, attempting to rise. Jack had, except for his lone complaint, been utterly silent the entire time. 

 

“Let me get it,” Calanon offered, opening the door to see his King and queen. A momentary communication was all that was needed, for the ellon to nod his head in silent obedience.

 

“Mary, these are my other employers,” Ailill said carefully. “I hope you can forgive me, I told them what was happening here and they insisted on helping.”

 

Earlene strode forward, taking charge. She set a large basket down on the table and in seconds was ladling a rich, hot soup from  a heavily insulated earthenware vessel. “I am Earlene Sullivan,” she said. “And this is my husband Fionn. We have a farming operation as well, with dairy cattle. I hope you can forgive us the intrusion, but we couldn’t stay home and do nothing.” Bowls and spoons were pushed in front of the couple, shortly followed by herbed biscuits with rich butter to go with it.

 

“Real butter,” Mary observed wryly. “What kind’v cows?” 

 

“Well, we’re in a bit of transition,” Earlene admitted, while her eyes surveyed the farm kitchen. “It started with a Jersey cow and heifer calf, and is now...five or six of those...but we are also working on our first Droimeanns and later we hope to add Kerry and Irish Moiled. It’s a big...farming project.”

 

“What kind’v project?” Jack asked, breaking his silence. Why anyone would want those breeds?...and yet the Irish farmer in him had to know...

 

Thranduil had had enough time to...discern. “Well, that is what we hoped to talk to you about,” he said, sitting where he had been directed to by the couple who were swallowing their pride to gratefully accept the offered meal. “You see, we wondered if we might hire you to come work for us.”

 

Jack simply stared at Thranduil, wondering if he was completely mad.

 

“We’re in no position to work even for ourselves right now, much less anyone else, Mr. Sullivan,” Mary said awkwardly. 

 

Thranduil smiled. “Let me give you an outline. There is much you cannot possibly realize about what we do, because we do not like to attract more notice than is necessary…”

 

A long-winded explanation later, Thranduil could see that while the couple had a favorable disposition in terms of their psyche, their love of their own farmland would not be quickly overcome. He sighed. “This is not how I generally prefer to go about these matters, but you are both physically ailing. You are farmers, and you have treated our Ailill very well. And there is more happening here than what I have told you, but how to say this…” 

 

He looked at Earlene, asking for better words. 

 

She tilted her head, and looked at Mary. “There’s no good way to bring this up, so I’ll just be plain about it. Fionn and Calanon are not human. They are elves. Fionn can heal you of your injuries and your illness, if you will allow it. No cost, no...anything. We want to help you, because you have helped Ailill. And because one day we hope you might consent to join us.”

 

Jack laughed outright, shaking his head.

 

“Why do you think I get along so well with your cows, when you do not?” Calanon smiled, pulling his long hair behind his ears to reveal their points. “It is because I understand them. They think you pull too hard when you milk them (pointing at Jack) and they think Mary takes too long. They are also not happy that you have cut back on their favorite hay. The sweet-smelling kind; I do not know your word for it.”

 

Mary blinked, being closest to the ears and able to see them very clearly. Thranduil did the same, seeing that Calanon’s tactic seemed to be working. “You claim you can fix that,” she said, pointing at her leg. “No cutting anything open, or needles, or swallowing God knows what?”

 

“No,” Thranduil smiled. “I need to touch your injury with my hands. That is all.”

 

“Do it,” Mary’s eyes flashed in challenge. If this was a bad joke, Ailill could pack up his stuff with the other crazies here and move right on out.

 

Jack frowned and sneered in cynicism but said nothing, until the next forty-five seconds erased all of that. In spite of his pain and discomfort, he had seen the light (quite literally) and now stood up to ogle his wife’s leg, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Pumpkin? Are you alright?”

 

Ailill turned away. It was the only way he could suppress his smile at seeing the truth behind the man’s gruff and crusty exterior.

 

“Better’n fine, you sit back down now and let him do the same!” she blustered, before pausing to look at Thranduil. “You can...fix Jack, too?”

 

He nodded, looking at Jack. “You consent?”

 

The farmer nodded dumbly, struggling to believe any of this was happening. And in a minute, he himself was well. “Jesus,” he said, looking at his guests with newfound respect. “Thank you,” he said, still in shock.

 

“Ailill and Calanon will stay here for a day or two. I’m certain they mentioned they are newlyweds, but in spite of this being part of their honeymoon they made it rather clear that they insist on seeing that you can get back on your feet before they return to us.”

 

Ailill’s eyes widened in shock, though he banished the expression as quickly as possible, rising. He did not have it in him to comment, but he did not deny or try to minimize what his King had said. “I will cook supper,” he said.

 

“And I will see to caring for the stalls in the barn,” Calanon chimed in. 

 

Jack looked from Mary to the newlywed couple and a peculiar look came over him. “We wish you both the same happiness we have had,” he said, putting a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Congratulations. We’ve a nice bottle of whisky put by; tonight seems as good a time as any to enjoy it. Something to celebrate around here’d be a nice change.”

 

Ailill nodded in relief and happiness, as Earlene and Thranduil prepared to leave.  _ You may tell them what you feel you need to, nîth vain. I am proud of you. We will see you soon. Do not worry about your birds; Thanadir and I will personally care for them. _

 

_ Annon allen, Hîr vuin.  _ He had not felt this content in a long time. And for the next meal he fully intended to drive into town for some fish and vegetables, after cadging some of that milk...a fish chowder it would be.

 

_ Perhaps we could accompany you? Earlene talked about nothing but buying fresh fish most of the way here… _

 

Ailill grinned.  _ The honor would be mine. _

 

*****

 

{Somewhere around Jan. 16th, 2021}

 

The month had been...interesting. At one point Earlene finally insisted on walking in the forest on a frigid cold day with Thranduil, giving no notice whatsoever and demanding that they depart at a time when Thanadir was occupied with other duties. The nature of what she wished to discuss caught him rather off guard. _ I never thought I would say this,  _ she said,  _ but this is beginning to drive me crazy. Yes, I will gladly carry Thanadir’s child. But I did not sign up to be made to feel like a breeding mare. In the beginning it was wonderful. I won’t deny that there were many times I wished for more from him sexually. In the past two weeks, however, I am not being made love to. I am being...serviced. Since a week ago, he is going about this with a level of tension and desperation that is painful to behold, and I do not know how to help him,  _ she confessed miserably.  _ I mean, it has only been this first month, that we have been trying. From everything I have read, that is not anything bad, is it? It does not mean something is wrong. Right? _

 

Thranduil sighed. Their routines in seeking this pregnancy had disrupted his...patterns of behavior... as well. He had not realized that Thanadir would develop such intense anxiety, when she did not conceive at once.  _ A part of me worries that some of this is my fault,  _ he admitted.  _ You conceived so readily, every other time, Earlene. But you are a little older now; your body is slowly changing in this regard and it is not something desirable for me to alter. This is a natural part of your race’s life cycle. Do not mistake me, you are still fertile. There are not...problems. But he does not know these many things about firith and I believe assumed it would be much as last time... and what he knew of the times before...one intercourse, and you were with child. Perhaps I should have said something. You must understand, meluieg, I want you to have your own intimate relationship with him, without my interference. Just as he allows mine with you.  _

 

A frown creased her forehead.  _ Well if he believes that, I could certainly understand the anxiety. And I respect your not wishing to be the one to talk to him or be placed in the middle. Mostly I want to help him feel better. Different. This should be a...it should be relaxed, joyful. I am not worried about it, but I am starting to feel as though I am. Does that make any sense? I am starting to think too much, each time he loves me, ‘Is this going to be the time? Will to day be the day?’ Valar, this is not what I want for either of us. I want my happy Thanadir back.  _

 

_ Trust me, I too am eager for you to conceive, but for different reasons.  _ His eyes twinkled. 

 

_ You want us to be able to not have to look at another condom package?  _ she smirked.

 

_ Something like that,  _ he chuckled.  _ I have many powers, but keeping our seed segregated inside of your body is not one of them. It is a necessity, until you are impregnated and even then a little beyond--I do not wish to be responsible for encouraging more twins. You really are very.... _

 

_ Fecund?  _ she rolled her eyes.  _ Fertile Myrtle? A baby factory? Fruitful? Productive? High-yielding? Sadly, all of them apply. _

 

Now he was laughing openly, and swept her into his arms, kissing her luxuriously.  _ As you have graced me with five beautiful children on account of it, I am hardly complaining. Oh. Well, technically four, but I am not about to split hairs. But...as long as we are out here talking, there is something I would like to ask. _

 

_ And that is? _

 

_ I would like us to go away for a little while. On our own, just the two of us. Like you and Thanadir did last year. To be alone and… _

 

_ Copulate like rabbits? _

 

_ Well that too,  _ he confessed, blushing.  _ But not only that. In all our time married, we have not once done this. We never had a honeymoon. And I want to do this, very much. I remember a time we talked about having more time for ourselves, caring more for our relationship. I feel as though I have failed to live up to my promises, and I would remedy that. Unless...you do not wish to. I would understand. _

 

_ Of course I wish to,  _ she returned as her arms wrapped around him and fingers wove through his hair.  _ My love for Thanadir has not diminished my love for you. If anything, watching the grace and support you have shown through all that has happened...I have not told you nearly enough, what your actions and your compassion meant to me. My husband and my King, in no particular order.  _ She groaned, feeling her desire for him spiking and yet this was probably not at all a good time.

 

_ What if I told you I have condoms in my pocket and there is no other ellon within a third of a league of us at this time? _

 

She bit her lip.  _ That I want it about as hard as you think I can survive you giving it? _

 

He tossed back his head in a beautiful laugh.  _ We really do deserve each other, somehow, do we not? _

 

_ Afraid so. Now are you going to stand there and philosophize, or use your Kingly Scepter? _

 

_ Really, meluieg. That is a quite unseemly thing to say. _

 

_ Uh-huh. And are you going to tattle on me? _

 

_ No. No, I am not....one Kingly Scepter coming up. _

 

_ Oh, that was so bad,  _ her head shook as she dissolved into giggles.  _ So, so, bad. _

 

_ You started it. _

 

_ Yes, I did. And I love you… _

 

Unsurprisingly, they were both in a far better mood when they returned to the kitchen at Eldamar. Earlene decided that what she liked to call Medicinal Tea ( _ not _ the Lorna variety) was in order, since who even knew when she finally would be pregnant. She needed to stack her drinking, thank you very much. Mugs of almond tea with with generous amounts of amaretto and cream were made, and she handed one to Thranduil. Alone in the kitchen, they were being ridiculously mushy in a quiet sort of way. One never knew in this home, when someone was lurking around the corner. Or at least,  _ she _ never knew; Thranduil probably did. And something to snack on seemed like a good idea; the cabinet for such things had pretzels, crisps,...ah, nuts. Some of the contents of the tin was poured into a bowl and a little sliced fruit was offered to go with it. A roasted almond was chosen, slid around the curve of her lips, then pressed into the mouth of her husband who was rather enjoying the display. 

 

“Mmm. Delicious,” he murmured, not entirely referring to the treat he was now chewing.

 

“Get a room, you two,” Lorna said, breezing through in search of tea. “There are kids in the house, for fuck’s sake. And you haven’t lived until you’ve heard one ask why Da is trying to eat Mam’s face.” Ooh, nuts...

 

Thranduil snorted indignantly. “I was eating a nut. We are entirely clothed and no bodily contact existed. Nice try, Lorna. Now if you had wanted to actually catch us at something…”

 

“Thranduil!” Earlene said. “You stop that. We are supposed to be adulting, in the house. Theoretically.” She reached for a Brazil nut, nibbling on it in a highly suggestive manner.

 

“Riiiight,” Lorna said, pouring herself a cup. “It’s you two, you don’t need to touch each other to be exhibitionists, which shouldn’t even be possible.” She nabbed a handful of nuts, dumping them into a bowl. “Somebody got into the bag I had in my room, but I have no idea who the hell it could be, unless it was one’v the kids.” She couldn’t see any of  _ them _ doing it, either, but the nuts were nevertheless gone.

 

“Peccuvincë,” smirked Thranduil.

 

Earlene nodded. “Peccuvincë, indeed. And Booger got them.  _ And _ the bag stuck on his head. You’re probably lucky he didn’t destroy the room before Ailill rescued him. Poor cat probably shat out nuts for two days,” she grinned.

 

Fortunately, Lorna had not actually sipped any tea yet. “Well that explains a bit,” she snorted. “That cat is so lucky he’s so damn cute. What does peccuvincë mean?” She was, by now, pretty fluent in Sindarin, but that word was totally unfamiliar.

 

“I decided I am long overdue to have a nickname for you,” Thranduil smiled, his eyes sparkling a little too much. “It means, a hoarder of nuts.” Strictly speaking, that was not a lie. Strictly speaking. Earlene’s face did not flinch. Not one millimeter.

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. She new him too well to think he was being totally honest with her. “That,” she said, “is a suspiciously specific word for a random action. There wouldn’t be any other definition I ought to know about, would there? If I ask Thanadir, he’s not going to roll his eyes at the antics of his friend-slash-brother?”

 

“Thanadir?” Earlene chimed in, unable to resist the chance to help obfuscate. “Well, he was there at the time it was decided upon, and he approved of it quite a lot. Then again, eye-rolling is always a possibility.”

  
“Possibility for what?” the old elf said, appearing out of nowhere from the general direction of their rooms.

 

“The meaning of ‘peccuvincë’” Earlene clarified.

 

“A hoarder of nuts?” Thanadir asked, knowing quite well that Lorna should be unaware of his link to Earlene’s mind if Ratiri had kept his confidence.

 

Given that Thanadir could, in a way, be almost as much of a little shit as Thranduil, this did little to reassure Lorna. “If you say so,” she said, adding sugar and milk to her tea. Nabbing the bowl of nuts, she just couldn’t resist; passing Thranduil, she added, “I suppose I should thank you, brat nezhiti.” Irish nicknames were no good anymore, but she had two other languages to choose from.

 

Thranduil smiled warmly, not rising to the bait. “Cheers,” he smirked, raising his mug to hers and drinking the delicious beverage. “So tasty, Earlene. Just like….almonds.” 

 

Lorna grimaced, sticking out her tongue before flouncing off with her nuts.

 

“Peccuvincë,” Thanadir said, amused, enjoying the little joke. “But what did she call Thranduil?”

 

“Well, she knows some Russian; she mentioned that on numerous occasions,” deduced Earlene. “The sound patterns fit. And there is this thing called Google. I’m sure we will manage soon enough.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. He was enjoying this idea immensely.

 

*****

 

{Jan 19, 2021}

 

Mid-morning, on a rainy day, and there was nothing to do. Earlene had walked through the house, checking. Lunch was already prepared; leftover chowder and saltines, from a huge pot that had been warmed from the night before. She peeked in on the girls; they were playing quietly with their construction toys. Thaladir was alternating between teaching Flannery some tricks, and brushing the dogs. Algar and Eldan were playing with blocks. Or rather, Eldan was trying to stack blocks, while Algar kept knocking them down, but somehow they were both managing to find enjoyment in this so she did not intervene. Lothiriel and Ortherion were preparing an activity for the children for when their current amusements ceased to entertain, and Thranduil was contentedly reading in the Heart Room, lost to the world. The rest of the household was presumably in the other wing. Thanadir was likely busy at the Halls. Practically giddy at the chance to nest and read, she retreated to their bedroom. A cozy fire was lit in the rocket heater, and the room was pleasantly toasty.  

 

This circumstance could not have happened on a better day. She could tell the Communists would likely assault tomorrow (or the day after at the latest); her nipples were a little sore and her mood was hormonally ‘less than perfect’. (And yes, The Communists was the best Lorna-ism in the docket, even if she tended not to say it aloud.) Sure, she could bother Thranduil to banish her symptoms, but it wasn’t like it really mattered; this was just a minor inconvenience that would pass fairly quickly. Her new book awaited, the latest in the Three Musketeers series by Alexandre Dumas;  _ Louise de la Valliére _ . With eager fingers she pulled a blanket over her hips and propped herself up, quite enthralled to finally read this torrid tale of the Sun King’s mistress. Minutes later she was lost, in faraway France long ago...until she felt a hand pull on her leg while its companion slid up her skirts. Startled and blinking, she looked up to see Thanadir advancing and seconds from pinning her to the bed. The book was quickly lowered, and she caught at his arms but did not otherwise resist his movements.

 

“Feeling feisty, are we?” he smiled, a familiar gleam in his eyes. 

 

She did not answer, but lowered her eyes as he quickly broke her grip on him and captured her wrists in turn.

 

“No. No, I am not. And...we need to talk. Please.”

 

He had never seen this response before, and stopped what he was doing, hesitating. Uncertain. This did not seem at all, like their usual games. “Are you unwell?” he asked, worried. He could feel the assorted discomforts in her body, now that he was near and paying attention.

 

“Not in the way you mean it. You have not had much occasion to observe how my body works since we wed, Thanadir. For much of that time I was pregnant, and then after that my natural cycle did not return for some months after. And it is not always the same, each time. How I am feeling is normal, just before my menstruation. I will bleed in a day or two.”

 

“You are not interested in lovemaking.” The words came slowly, and he released her wrists, and moved off of her. “I am sorry,” he said, embarrassed.

 

“No, Thanadir. There is no reason to feel as though you made a mistake. I am trying to educate you. How could you possibly know?”

 

“I read a great deal about how a human female body works, Earlene. So I would understand. But it was sometimes confusing and…” he sighed. “This last month has been hard for me, meldis. I feel like I have...failed.”

 

“Because I am not pregnant yet?” she asked carefully.

 

He nodded, his eyes downcast.

 

“Would you come lie next to me? Under the blanket?”

 

“Let me change my clothes first.”

 

“How about, just take some of them off?” Earlene suggested. “I would like to feel your body.” When he nodded his assent, her fingers tugged at the laces of his trousers, until he was able to slip out of these and mingle his legs with hers under the warm, heavy coverlet. Gratefully, she settled into his embrace, and held him in return. “It bothers me, that you have become so worried about me conceiving. Though it was immediate for me in the past, every pregnancy is different. I hope you realize, what is abnormal is how quickly I became pregnant the other times? Some couples try for months. Years, even.”

 

“Years?” he whispered, vaguely horrified.

 

“Oh, it will not be like that. I can feel it. But...I want you to be able to savor this time. Have the joy of it. Not feel like you are dutifully having to...to…” she closed her eyes, unable to say the words.

 

“Impregnate you?” he asked, his eyes closed as his cheeks flushed with humiliation.

 

“Thanadir, please. Please, do not do that.” Her voice began to shake. “You will break my heart, if you do.” Tears she really had not wanted to have happen right now began to pool in her eyes as she held onto him tighter. “Please. I love you…”

 

He was awash in confusion, and hurt, but could see that her feelings were as bad or worse. That this conversation had felt like a risk to her, and one for which she now was on the verge of believing would result in damage to their relationship. Her fingers reached up to twine in his hair.

 

_ I don’t need you to be perfect in bed, omniscient about my every mood, or ‘in charge’ of every encounter. I know this has to be hard for you, harder than it would be for anyone else. I have appreciated your efforts, deeply. All of them. But all I ever wanted was...you, Thanadir. As you are. My elf whose spirit blazes with a thousand points of brilliance. I want to love  _ you, _ not the idea of having a child with you. The child will follow, from the love between us. The child is not the goal; it is the blessing, the result, the fruit of love shared between us. Please, let it happen in its own time. Please? _

 

Her words fell on his heart, in a manner to which he could listen, and comprehend. A hoarse sob escaped him, when the totality of what she was trying to express finally sank in. He had been trying much, much too hard, and he had only succeeded in making these past weeks something of a chore for both of them. It was instinct, that caused Earlene to kiss his cheeks, kiss away his tears. Neither of them were quite sure how it changed, that the soft kisses of caring transformed to much deeper ones of emotional need and comfort. Everything else was forgotten, as she moved her clothing aside to join her body to his. Neither dominated the other, but both strained to seek and provide reassurance. 

 

Earlene wept again, after she climaxed, unable to control her emotions. Unwilling, to control her emotions. This felt...necessary. The intellectual knowledge that it was likely hormones talking did nothing to erase the sense of how badly she had wanted this kind of encounter.  _ This _ was her Thanadir.  _ This _ was what she had needed from him. His love, in all its unscripted simplicity. With his haphazard thrusts and hungry kisses he had given what she viewed as perfection, because he had not tried to give her anything at all. They had existed in the moment, connected by mutual need and vulnerability, and it transcended everything else beforehand. 

 

The old elf held her, spent after his emission and trembling himself from the intensity of what had just befallen him. His weight collapsed on top of her, and while he knew he should prop himself up if only a little, his muscles would not obey him. Just for another moment, he needed to linger, resting on the pliant and soft body he had claimed in such a different manner than on every other occasion they had made love. Not as though he had much choice; her legs curled around his and her arms held him with impressive strength. The depth to which he had obviously pleased her surprised and deeply gratified him. Not that he believed Earlene would ever try to lie to him, but her raw emotions gave a credence that left her words beyond all question. Finally he raised himself up, smiling at her noises of complaint when his flesh slipped away from hers.

 

“Thank you, meldis,” he whispered. “I love you. So very much.”

 

She rubbed her cheek against his hand that she had captured, kissing his fingertips, followed by the palm. “Would you stay with me?” Drowsiness was overcoming her, and she wanted nothing more than to nap, just as they now were.

 

For an answer, Thanadir tugged the blanket a little higher around their shoulders, and pulled her closer. “Always.”

 


	118. One Hundred and Eighteen

{February 3, 2021}

 

Lorna was tired yet oddly restless, and didn't know why. Yes, the weather was grim and wet and grey, making any thought of going outside entirely unappealing, but she couldn’t settle down to a book or a movie. She missed Skykomish -- specifically, Skykomish’s snow. She had never minded the grey of Ireland’s winters until she experienced something else.

 

Lacking any better ideas, she elected to deep-clean their flat, chased by cats the entire time. Midmorning, smelling slightly of window-cleaner, she took a tea break in the kitchen. Naturally, the cats followed her there as well, circling like furry little sharks. At least Booger was, naturally, with Saoirse.

 

“You miss the snow, don’t you?” Ratiri asked, lured by the scent of tea.

 

“I do,” she said. “It’s funny, when I was younger I didn't care what the weather was, but having a proper home’s been slowly spoiling me for years.” It didn't help that ever since she’d had the twins, she was actually susceptible to cold.

 

“It’s not just you,” he said, fixing himself a mug. “I roamed the moors in all weathers when I was a kid, but now you’d have to pay me to go out there when it was pissing rain and five degrees.”

 

Lorna snorted, and sneezed. That was another reason she was getting all these chores done -- she was fairly sure she was coming down with a cold, and since colds fell under the Plaster section of the Chart, she wanted to be able to spend the next few days curled up with tea and soup.

 

“I hope that’s not what’s going around Baile,” Ratiri said, “though I can’t imagine what else it would be.”

 

“Ugh, I know.” She’d made the mistake of going to Baile a few days after they got home from Skykomish, to pass out presents and to get Sharley’s and Allanah’s hair dye refreshed. Half the village had had a truly revolting cold, and though she’d kept all three of them religious on the use of hand sanitizer, she might well have brought it home anyway. Hopefully Allanah didn't catch it, too -- though if she did, nobody would fault Thranduil for healing her. She was his kid, after all, and family could be the exception to many rules.

 

Ratiri pushed her fringe out of the way, and rested the inside of his wrist against her forehead, frowning. “I’m pretty sure you have a low fever, mo chroí,” he said. “Go take your temperature, and then take some paracetamol. Doctor’s orders.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

 

“Doctor,” he insisted. “I have a fancy degree and everything.”

 

“I know.” Lorna poked him in the ribs before heading upstairs, tea in hand. She couldn’t help but think of the  _ last  _ time she’d had a fever -- it had been That Day, the day she didn't like thinking about at all. Even now she had mixed feelings about it; no, she hadn’t wanted to be pregnant again, but knowing that she couldn’t have even if she  _ had  _ wanted to put it in a rather different light. Knowing that she probably would have died if she’d chosen to keep it just made it more difficult.

 

It wasn’t, she realized, that she didn't actually want another child. Maybe it was her hormones trying to gather for one last gasp, or maybe it was being around all of Earlene’s, but more and more the idea of another sounded tempting. The problem was that she flat-out refused to ever actually get pregnant again. Both of Earlene’s after the first had been a lot easier, but Lorna was entirely sure hers would not be. She was too small, too...well, physically unequipped in general. She’d been so, so miserable -- although she had to blame part of that on Ratiri and his absolutely draconian dietary...bullshit.

 

No, she wasn’t doing that again, ever. Hell, even if she wanted to, a vasectomy wasn’t always as reversible as the procedure claimed, and she was almost forty-four years old. Plus, keeping her healthy would be a drain on Thranduil’s ability, which did not help. Earlene was his wife -- keeping her running on all six cylinders through pregnancy was pretty much his job, and in any event she seemed to be pretty well-suited to pregnancy in general. It was a nightmare Lorna refused to even entertain repeating...but that didn't mean she didn't want.

 

The plastic thermometer told her she did indeed have a low-grade fever, so she took some paracetamol. She still felt more or less fine, but she knew Ratiri would poke her if she tried to keep busy. Sometimes, being married to a doctor was a pain in the arse.

 

“Yes it is, kitties,” she said, sitting on the bed. Midnight, Boo, the Lump, and Bast had all followed her, and settled themselves around her. “Your da can be an overprotective goober, but we love him anyway.”

 

She stole his pillow, putting it on top of hers so she could just lean back for a while. Naturally, Boo came to sit on her stomach, while Midnight curled up on her lap.  _ Could we adopt?  _ she wondered. Given that she’d been convicted of manslaughter, and Ratiri had only become a legal citizen a little over a year ago, she would guess it would be difficult, if not outright impossible. Orla might be able to help, but there were limits to her abilities; adoption involved a lot of the Human Factor, what with agencies and inspections and...whatever. Lorna didn't know just what was involved, but she knew that it was a lot -- it had been easier for Earlene because Allanah was a blood relative with no other living family.

 

But there were a lot of kids out there who needed homes, and the only ones likely to get one were white. There had to be Pakistani kids, though, or Syrian -- children who would look more like her and Ratiri, and feel like they fit in better. The kid didn't need to be a baby, though she’d read somewhere that you shouldn’t adopt out of birth order, so they probably wanted a younger child. The twins were almost four, though developmentally more like six or seven, and all the other kids were there mentally, if not chronologically. They could easily absorb another young one into their little group.

 

Granted, she needed to talk to Ratiri about it before she though any further, but...she liked the idea. Dislodging the cats, she rose to grab her laptop. Naturally, they voiced their protest, but they’d live. With a little smile, she Googled Irish adoption laws -- though her smile immediately faded at what she found.

 

_ Grounds for disqualification include: the applicant has ever been convicted of felony child abuse or neglect  _ \-- no problem there -- _  domestic or spousal abuse --  _ also no problem --  _ a crime against children --  _ again, nope  _ \-- a crime involving violence, including homicide.  _ Shit. Manslaughter was not homicide, but she really doubted the law would make any distinction there. And if they managed to unseal her Juvenile Offender list, she’d be even more screwed.

 

_ You shouldn’t be surprised _ , she thought, staring at nothing. She shouldn’t, and she really wasn’t, but she’d hoped. But what if Ratiri was the one who adopted? Could he do that, on his own?

 

According to Google, yes, he could, in theory. They were legally married, and if he wanted to adopt and she gave her consent, he could actually do it...except for the part where she’d been convicted of manslaughter. If she’d just beaten the shit out of her da, she’d have been golden; assault and battery, unless they were against children or a partner, was not a disqualifier.  _ Ah, Ireland.  _ Probably no other Western nation could say the same.

 

Lorna shut the laptop and set it aside. Well, that had been a nice dream. At least she hadn’t let it take hold before doing actual research. Still, it was somewhat depressing -- and all because of her fucking  _ father _ . She hadn’t murdered the bastard, he’d just been drunk and stupid, like always, and he wound up dead and she wound up with a criminal record for life. Maybe going and pissing on his grave again would make her feel a little better about this. Once she got over this cold, anyway.

 

*****

 

{February 4, 2021}

 

_ Damn it is cold outside _ , but an idle thought had repeatedly crossed Earlene’s mind for several days now. Thanadir had...backed off, a little, when it was explained to him that on the grand scheme of probabilities, there was less chance of her conceiving until a more likely window of opportunity. Though, he had still come to her often enough to ensure that his sperm lived in her body, just in case. And as of today, given that her cycles were still mostly regular, that window was probably cracking open.  _ How _  cold it was outside could be a setback to her plans, but she liked to think a few things had been learned from Thranduil about, uh, how to keep warm. The worst thing that could happen would be that they would get there, and one or both of them would decide it was a terrible idea.

 

Fuzzing up her thoughts as best she could, she took two woolen blankets out of storage, rolling and binding them neatly. She was dressed for the forest, but with an especially cooperative pair of trousers underneath the long woolen tunic that went almost to her knees. Thanadir had made three such garments for her over the years. They had closures that allowed for relieving oneself without making a damn mess, mooning the entire forest, or freezing to death in order to get the job done. In short, they allowed...access. Slinging the bundled blankets over her shoulder, her quarry was found playing the flute in his craft room. “Let’s go for a run,” she said. If nothing else, the weather was brilliantly clear; which was part of what made it even colder, she was sure.

 

“Now?”

 

“Now. I want to try something.”

 

His eyebrows raised, as at least some of her intention filtered through to him. “In this cold?” he asked, doubtfully.

 

“Oh, I have a plan for us to be quite warm,” she smiled. “Unless of course you would prefer not to…”

 

He sighed, feeling both hope and trepidation. Last month really had been difficult, but...children did not come from thin air, and her invitation was clear. Earlene was doing this for him, and he felt like he needed to try. They had tried last night, and still...nothing. But he had little choice, he felt. “Okay,” he smiled, reaching for his cloak to follow her. The run was exhilarating and soon Earlene was beyond warm, in spite of the frigid temperatures outside. If it was even 2 or 3C, it was news to her. After a time, it became apparent where she was going, when they approached the small clearing that in a far bygone time was Thanadir’s home. “You want to make love here?” he guessed, suddenly understanding.

 

“While I cannot control the outcome...I wanted to try in this place, meldir. Where you yourself were given life. I come here now, sometimes, on my own.”

 

“Why?” It surprised him, to hear this.

 

“You have to ask, silly elf?” she whispered, pressing her body against his and pulling him very close. “Here is where you began and then, across time, you became mine. Though I do not know them, your parents gave me the gift of  _ you _ . I love you more than I have words for.” Leaning up on her toes, she pressed her lips softly against his, allowing the feelings she might have uncaringly described as befitting a lovestruck teenager to wash over her. It was a burning intensity, only for her mates and her children.

 

He felt her words as much as he heard them, and returned her kiss eagerly. “I am afraid the cold will not leave us too many options,” he smiled. “I do not wish you to become chilled.”

 

“Well, this blanket is to lie on,” which was handed to him. “And the second is to cover us. I do not think we will need to tarry here very long.” Already her hand moved down to caress his intimate places. He smiled.

 

“Oh, Earlene,” he laughed. “If you had ever told me that I would welcome this, when first I met you...surely the Valar have a sense of humor.”

 

“You and me both,” she rolled her eyes. “I have dragged you down into terrible unseemliness.”

 

“No,” he said, kissing her for emphasis. “You are my wife, and we are alone. We are joining in the hopes of creating a child. Nothing at all could be more seemly.”

 

She shook her head. “Two ellyn I love completely. Your word is ‘seemly’ and Thranduil’s is ‘mine’. There is something in that, and later I shall have to consider what.”

 

“Yes, later,” he said, his eyes darkening with rising desire. His body had learned, with the help he had been given over time. Still it was not the same as it would be for his King, but he now knew how to relax better. To allow himself to respond and concentrate on what enjoyment he could attain. Her insistent rubbing over his clothing already was causing him to swell. “Lie down,” he invited, shaking out the blanket. Her nimble fingers freed everything necessary, and soon her hand was caressing his bare flesh.

 

“Do you know that in some ways this is my favorite part?” Earlene smiled to hear him gasp a little, as her fingertips barely brushed his sensitive ridges.

 

“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. What of his brain was still able to focus on anything else was looking off to the side, seeing in his mind’s eye his little childhood bed of so long ago.

 

“Anticipation. Thinking of how much I want to join with you. To be as one, with you. It is a sensation, however brief, of becoming whole. Of feeling like I am not alone in a way that exceeds what mere companionship can bring.”

 

Her words worked to arouse him better than her hands on his body, and nothing else needed to be said. Feeling that she was more than ready for him, he pushed his rigid length into her. This felt different, somehow. Electric and erotic in a manner he had never before experienced. He would not have believed that word, ‘erotic,’ could ever apply to any of his feelings, but it certainly did now. He closed his eyes, his mind a swirl of his wife’s body and spirit joined to his, and...this place. This place in which his own adar and nana had done the same, and brought him forth out of their love. There was nothing but the urgent rhythm of their lovemaking, and her thoughts of encouragement and faith. Her silent prayers were to the Valar, for the granting of his desires.

 

Earlene felt his body begin to stiffen, signaling his imminent release. Her hands reached to cup his face without knowing why; his eyes opened to lock onto hers. The physical response of his release took over, as his back arched. The sudden warm sensation of the jets of his seed triggered her own climax; it would be the last normal sensation she would recall for a very long time.

 

Next came a short sequence in time, that slowed and played out across an uncounted number of frames. Though it lasted mere seconds, it would seem once in memory as though the duration was much longer.

 

A crushing climax involuntarily tore a hollow sound from her throat. Every muscle contracted in what began as pleasure but transformed to something very different. Her past conceptions, when she had felt them, had been marked by a gentle tugging sensation. This was not. Pain was not the right word, nor was discomfort. This was a sundering, a sensation that part of her was now ripping away never to return, and the force of it frightened her. There were too many different awarenesses crowding into that moment in time. Had she been the earth itself, it could have been likened to a tremor. There was violence, beauty in power. Something had been destroyed, and something had been created. Through it all, their bond strengthened, and the only word she could whisper before her hands slipped from his face and her eyes went dark... “Thanadir…”

 

Panicked, the seneschal raised up from her to see that she still breathed. Still had color. But his eyes widened when he looked more carefully. Earlene’s fae had...changed. It was diminished, somehow, but there was also the new life within her. The second fae blazed, dazzling like nothing he had ever beheld, and he was afraid. He pulled her up against him, instinctively keeping her wrapped against the cold, and called out in his mind to Thranduil. Grief, joy, and fear escaped his throat in a hoarse cry.

 

_ You are closer to the Halls, Thanadir. Carry her there. Do not be afraid, meldir,  _ he soothed.  _ I will be with you in just a few minutes. _

 

But he  _ was  _ afraid, and he was fighting back tears in his distress. He had never seen or heard of anything like what had just happened. Ever. He began to pick Earlene up when he remembered that his trousers were still unlaced. At any other time it might have been terribly funny; it was not amusing at all just now. He had no choice but to return himself to a decent appearance. Earlene’s long outer tunic would hide everything in disarray about her own clothing. Wrapping her a second time against the chill, he gathered her into his arms as best he could. She was not much shorter than he was; just about 12 centimeters, and he could not recall carrying her any distance when she was not conscious. Thalion himself had not been very far away, on patrol, and came swiftly on hearing Thanadir’s exclamation. “Hîr vuin?” he asked, lowering his eyes in deference.

 

Shaking his head No, Thanadir moved off through the trees.

 

“Valar bless you,” Thalion whispered. While he did not know for certain, he could make a series of educated guesses. Firieth or elleth, he had never seen such a newly formed fae, and held his hand over his heart as he watched the seneschal disappear from sight.

 

Walking with great swinging strides, as fast as he could, Thanadir passed through the forge entrance perhaps ten minutes later. The few elves that witnessed the sight looked on in wonder while at the same time lowering their gaze out of respect for Thanadir’s visible distress. It was quite obvious, that something was the matter with their queen. He did not know it, but their prayers rose up behind him. The door to his old quarters was closest, and Thranduil directed him there in thought. A fire was already lit, to warm the room as swiftly as possible against the chill. They removed her outer garments. Not having suitable underthings for a female, one of the seneschal’s tunics were procured before they  laid Earlene in the bed. Thanadir bent over her, and broke down in tears. “What have I done?” he cried.

 

Thranduil came around at once to console this ellon he loved so dearly. “You did not do anything wrong, meldir,” he whispered. “Do you trust me?”

 

“You know that I do,” the older elf answered brokenly.

 

“Then believe me when I tell you that Earlene will be well.” The King closed his eyes. It was the first time in his life he had ever spoken to Thanadir...not a complete deception, but the truth was, he was not fully certain about his own assertion. And if he  _ was _  correct, just what kind of time might be involved for that to be the case. Earlene certainly was not in mortal peril but...he had a strong idea as to what had happened. He knew Thanadir was not thinking of it, nor was he about to remind him. But every elf knew the story of one who became the mightiest of their kind because of the strength he took to himself...from his mother. “Your daughter will not be ordinary, Thanadir. You have been blessed in a manner that I cannot fully envision. I have never witnessed anything so beautiful.” He traced his hand around the shimmering lines of the child’s fae, even though he knew it was not something that could be felt or touched.

 

“But...Earlene,” he said, in a voice laden with grief. “Her fae, Thranduil...what has this cost her?”

 

Thranduil sighed but hid this from his friend. He knew that for Thanadir’s sake, he had to make an impression now, before this could go any further. He caught the elf’s chin firmly in his hand, forcing him to make eye contact. “We will know that in time. But there is something you must realize, and accept. Earlene  _ wanted _  this. For you, for her, for all of us. And even had she known this would happen, she would still have gone ahead. Do not add your grief to the burdens she will carry. Turn to me for this kind of comfort, but let her see only your joy. She will need your strength.” What he did not add was,  _ For I fear much of her own has been taken from her. _

 

Earlene became aware of the sound of speech around her, and tried to stir, but it was so hard. And she was comfortable where she was, though she was not alone. “There you are,” a feminine voice said.

 

Her eyes finally cooperated, and she blinked. At any other time, the sight of them would have been overwhelming, but her spirit felt oddly at peace. “My Lady. My Lord,” she added, now catching sight of the second figure. “I would show you due honor, but...I cannot move,” Earlene realized.

 

“We know,” Tulkas answered in a merry voice. “You have been most patient, indulging us.”

 

“Did I have a choice, my Lord?” Earlene smiled demurely but her words still held great respect.

 

“No, and Yes,” the Vala grinned. “Your choice was in how you responded to our demands.”

 

“With unfailing grace,” Nessa added, her hand smoothing Earlene’s hair.

 

“I have not been perfect,” Earlene said, lowering her eyes.

 

“But you  _ were _ ,” Nessa corrected. “You were perfect with all you had to give, Child of Eru. And our Lord Manwë has allowed us this, too.” The Vala swept her hand to rest over Earlene’s womb. “You have a choice. This, we will not demand. Thanadir only wanted a child, to love. We offer for your child can be counted among the great, but at a cost to you. Or you may simply share with your husband this happiness, the joy of your daughter--but she would be ordinary.”

 

Earlene regarded their beauty, savoring these moments as she considered the strange question. “But...are you not asking me because this is your will, your purpose?”

 

A smile spread over Tulkas’ powerful face. “There is a reason for our question. Yes, we have a...a wish, for this. But it is not one we may explain.”

 

“Then that, my Lord, is all I really need to know. But I thank you for your courtesy...and...I would also gladly give my husband every gift allowed.” She paused. “Am I dreaming? Will I remember your words?”

 

Nessa and Tulkas regarded each other, and smiled. “You will remember  that which you need to,” the Lady said.

 

“As you will it,” Earlene said, basically thankful to even find herself in the present conversation.

 

“You will see our blessings in time,” Tulkas added. “Rest now, Earlene.”

 

“Earlene. Earlene? Meluieg?”

 

Her eyes fluttered open with a frown, a fog of displacement, like she had just been somewhere else entirely. “Are we pregnant?” At the moment, that seemed to be the only thing that mattered.

 

“Yes, meldis,” Thanadir said. “Thank you, Earlene. Thank you.” His arms wrapped around her, as Thranduil watched a radiant smile spread over her tired face. He had not guessed wrong, at least in this regard.

 

“Thranduil?” She thought she had heard him…

 

“I am here, sweet one. And I am very happy.”

 

She wanted to ask him what had happened, but felt that she already knew. And now that she could take more careful note of Thanadir’s face, she saw the worry he was trying to hide. “Well, that was different,” she dissembled, buying time.

 

“It was,” Thranduil smiled, smoothing her hair. “Thanadir, we still have a supply of miruvor, do we not?”

 

“Yes.” He held Earlene’s hand, stroking it to try and contain his own anxiety.

 

“I believe it would help Earlene, to have some of it?” the King nudged gently.

 

“Oh. Yes. Of course,” Thanadir muttered, immediately leaving for the Healing Hall.

 

Thranduil smiled at his wife. “You have become very, very good at concealing your thoughts, meluieg.” He kissed the end of her nose, smirking, right after Thanadir was far enough away.

 

“Well, I have to be, don’t I?” with a smirk of her own.

 

“It is for the best. At least, at this time. He blames himself, as I am sure you know.” Thranduil looked at her very carefully. “And yet I see there is more?”

 

Only now did she release her hold on the already indistinct memories. “Something happened, but it is already hard to remember.”

 

“Let me in,” he asked softly. “Open yourself as fully as you know how.” His lips came down to meet hers, and immediately she yielded, her fingers tangled in his hair. After, she laughed at herself.

 

“I am truly hopeless,” she shook her head. “Worse than….oh, never mind.”

 

“That ‘truly hopeless’ is why they could give this, Earlene.” He kissed her forehead. “I will help you as best I can; I fear this will not be easy for you.”

 

She shrugged. “For his happiness and well-being, I would do this and more. Can...I do not want to hide what has occurred from Thanadir, but he looks terrified. Should I tell him what little I remember?”

 

“I cannot answer that,” Thranduil replied. “It is hard even for me to puzzle out exactly what they intend. I believe this is their will in the matter.”

 

“Why is our life so weird?”

 

“I ask myself that a great deal,” he laughed. “But for now I am content that we are welcoming a new daughter.”   
  


“Me too. Mostly. What do I say to him? ‘Thanadir, I think the Valar will be tinkering with your daughter?’”

 

“They what??” The seneschal stood in the doorway, ashen-faced. Thranduil hurried to him before he could drop the vials he held in his hand. Expertly he caught at them, setting two aside and unstoppering one.

 

“Earlene, drink this. And Thanadir, sit, and I will show you what little I could puzzle out.”

 

Earlene sniffed cautiously.  _ This smells kind of wonderful. And tastes even better. And, ooooh. Who needs elf wine? _  She marveled at the little container her fingers turned this way and that, as she felt what the concoction was doing for her.  

 

Thanadir was now completely overwrought, and staring in disbelief at Earlene, who smiled up at him. “You ever try this? This is amaaaaaaazing, meldir.” She made grabby hands for the ellon, whose turmoil was so visible. He sat down, to come to her. “It will be okay. I promise. Thank you, for what you have given me. I love you.”

 

Thranduil watched, blinking back tears. He had met few in his life who were this unselfish, and they were here in the same room. “I am going to bother the kitchens for lunch for us. After, if you feel well enough, we can return to Eldamar.” It felt a little strange, to be the one doing for Thanadir, but he was glad enough of the change. It made him appreciate all the myriad small things that Thanadir had done in his service that much more. By the time he returned, his seneschal was only marginally less of a wreck, and a vial of the miruvor was now held out to him as well. “Drink it, meldir. Do not argue.”

 

Meekly, the old elf obeyed, and felt much better after consuming the restorative cordial, and food. Earlene was helped to dress again. While they made their way back through the forest, she idly wondered if there would be time to read today…

 

“Yes,” Thranduil said. “Or the two of you will watch your TV shows. One thing that must change is your time in the kitchen, Earlene. You may be there, teaching us what to do, but you must set aside constantly cooking three meals a day for the entire household.”

 

“I will agree to that if we establish right now that when I feel well enough, I still can enjoy myself. I do not want to be treated like a child, Thranduil. Interference from you two, I can manage mostly. But...I will not be…”

 

“I promise you that we will do what we can to keep you happy,” Thranduil hastened to say, for he could sense the storm that was brewing. “I cannot control the actions of others in our home.”

 

“I’ll stock the damn cottage again with kitchen supplies if I have to,” she fired back, in the first of what would be many expressions of volatility. “I mean it. I’m not putting up with that.”

 

Thanadir’s eyes widened, his words cut off by a warning glance from Thranduil. “I know, meluieg. It will be okay. One day at a time,” he offered gently.

 

“Okay….sorry. You’re right. One day at a time. Do we have to tell them right away?” she asked plaintively.

 

“You have until the next elf sees you, probably,” Thranduil smiled.

 

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose.”

 

Thanadir was not about to tell her that Thalion already knew, and between him and the others that had seen them earlier, probably nine tenths of the Realm were aware…he suddenly realized what might help a great deal. “You both had talked about going away, on a short trip. Maybe you should do that, soon. It would give you some time away, Earlene. You would have some time to...digest all of this.”

 

“I am more worried about you, at the moment,” Earlene said. “Leave you alone here?”

 

“I will be fine,” he lied through his teeth, both ashamed and determined. Well, maybe it would not be a lie, maybe he would be better by then… “I want you to do this. It would be good for both of you, and I would like the time to have the children all to myself.”

 

Earlene narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. But he never lied...shrugging, she nodded her assent. “Alright. I guess we can talk about it.”

 

Thranduil looked at his friend, and smiled.  He would not have thought this possible… “I had thought about Paris…?”

 

*****

 

{February 24, 2021}

 

It was the second day after Earlene and Thranduil had gone on their holiday, and most of the household was ranged around the Heart Room --  children playing, adults absorbed in either books or computers, while the fire crackled. It was a misty, chilly day, and they were all glad enough to be inside.

 

Well, almost all of them. Saoirse, ink smudged on her fingers, came bounding down from her room. “I’m bored,” she said, flopping onto the sofa next to her aunt, who was very surprised; she hadn’t thought the kid was  _ capable  _ of getting bored. Her next words, however, explained a bit. “We haven’t been out’v the house in  _ ages _ , and it seems like we never do go unless it’s going to be A Big Production. I found this arcade in Dublin that does laser tag -- can we go? Please?”

 

Lorna looked at her, and looked at Pat, who had something of an epiphany. When was the last time Saoirse had had an adult that wasn’t him to herself? She got on well with the other children, but they were all so much younger than her; intellectually most of them were beyond their years, but still, they weren’t anywhere near eleven. “I like the idea,” he said, setting down his book, “but there’d only be four’v us -- this lot couldn’t handle the equipment, I’d think.”

 

“I would be happy to watch the children,” Thanadir smoothly intervened, seeing the interest on assorted little faces. He had read about this, as well as used the equipment they did have... and in his opinion they were all still too young for that activity. “We can all watch a movie.” He saw doubt written on the little faces, but he was far from done with his powers of persuasion.

 

“You’re a saint, Thanadir, you really are.” Lorna said. “As for you two, you be good for Uncle Thandir, you hear me?” she added, pointing at the twins. “I’ll know if you don’t. And it’s Monday, so the beauty shop’s closed -- I bet we could grab Mairead, at least. Maybe Niamh, too.” Her niece had been working at the Market, and her days off, last Lorna had heard, were Monday and Tuesday. “I’ll call Shane and Orla, too, just to see.”

 

The latter probably couldn’t come on such short notice, but the former set his own schedule when it came to his legitimate job; he didn't actually need the money, it just gave him an excuse for having an income. Orla did still have other clients, though, for all most of her work had been done for them for quite a while, and if she was on a job site they couldn’t just yank her away on no notice. No matter how nice that would be.

 

The thought was derailed by a sneeze, and then another. The Cold from Hell had been hanging on for weeks; she’d reached the stage where she felt just fine, but still sounded like death. Scratchy voice, cough, sneezing, yet no fever or sore throat or fatigue. She was back on all six cylinders -- well, okay, maybe five and a half -- but you’d never know it listening to her.

 

“And we could get lunch after,” Ratiri suggested; he’d had the same realization as Pat. “There has to be a half-decent restaurant near the arcade.”

 

Saoirse’s eyes lit up, and she scurried back toward the stairs.

 

“I didn't know arcades even  _ existed  _ anymore,” Lorna said, setting aside her book. She’d have to put on human clothes for this -- possibly including a coat and her wrap, just for shits and giggles. “I’d thought Xboxes and things had put them out’v business.”

 

“If they’ve got laser tag, it means they got smart and adapted,” Ratiri said. “They’ve probably got better equipment than what’s on the market for home purchase.”

 

“I’ve wanted to play laser tag ever since I first hear it was a thing,” Pat said, stretching. “Paintball, without the paint or pain.”

 

“We’ve got laser tag equipment,” Lorna said. “We just haven’t used it too often. Turns out that whatever’s in the forest that confuses phones and wifi mucks with the lasers as well.” Which just got frustrating as all hell at times, especially when you were playing against elves.

 

She rose, and moved up the stairs herself. Naturally, there were cats everywhere -- and Booger, damn his adorable, fuzzy little hide, was sneaking around, sniffing for food.

 

“You little shit,” she said, picking him up and giving him a noogie. Unlike any other cat ever, he didn't struggle -- he purred. “You’re the reason I got called Little Squirrel.” Though she had to admit, it was a less annoying nickname than Fun Size. At least squirrels were cute; all Fun Size candy bars did was piss you off because there wasn’t enough to them.

 

However, she had had to discover the meaning of this word herself, because nobody would tell her; because of this, she had yet to inform Thranduil what ‘brat nezhiti’ meant. Given it was Russian, he’d have a harder time consulting Google than she’d had  -- he’d have to learn at least some Russian before he worked out she was calling him Zombie Brother. (Well,  _ Undead  _ Brother, since the Russian word for ‘zombie’ was the same as in English.)

 

Ratiri followed her, finding human clothes, as she called them, for himself. Maybe it was a little pathetic, that in winter they spent so much time in their PJ pants, but fuck it -- PJ pants were warm, and it wasn’t like they had to go anywhere very often.

 

Lorna opted for boots, leggings, a plain black tunic (with undershirt, of course), and her green wool coat. It was dark enough that her wrap went with it nicely, too. She had to resist the urge to tackle Ratiri and lick him when he changed shirts, and scooted out before she could give in. Hey, it was not her fault he tasted so good.

 

She almost ran headlong into Pat on her way to the stairs. He had his own nice wool coat, though talking him into buying it had been like pulling teeth: it was deep charcoal, and Thanadir had tailored it to fit him properly. He actually looked respectable in it, which she knew made him feel screamingly uncomfortable, even now.

 

_ We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?  _ she thought. Look at them now, in this beautiful house, with quality clothes. Their children had never known the life they’d led, when they were young; even when Pat was poor, he’d always made sure Saoirse was happy and taken care of. What was it Gran had said -- that survival was the best revenge? Lorna thought it might go a touch further than that. Survival was great, but happiness? Happiness was the ultimate vengeance.  _ Suck it, Da, wherever you are. Suck it long, and suck it hard.  _ Sharley really should not have sent her old clips of  _ Celebrity Jeopardy  _ from  _ Saturday Night Live _ ; that was just many of the gems Sean Connery had thrown at poor Alex Trebek.

 

That thought too was interrupted by a sneeze, followed by a hacking cough, and she grabbed a packet of tissues from a drawer in the downstairs bathroom (Ratiri insisted on keeping big boxes of them, given it was winter). Watch her totally give her position away by sneezing or coughing and be sidelined within five minutes.

 

“Jesus, Fun Size, you sound like you’ve got TB,” Pat said. “You sure you won’t cough up a lung?”

 

“Oh, piss off. I feel fine, and Ratiri says I am. According to him, a wet cough’s fine -- it means all the crap in your lungs is breaking up and on its way out. Dry coughs are the ones you’ve got to watch for.” Which had seemed entirely backward to her, but what did she know? When it came to medicine, fuck-all.

 

She called Mairead, who along with Niamh was a go; Shane was, too, but Orla, unsurprisingly, was not. She had to get the address of the place from Saoirse, and then they had to work out when the hell they actually meant to get there, since it would be two hours for Mairead versus one for them, and Shane was already in Dublin. Eventually they agreed that the Donovan-Duncans would meet Shane at his mechanic, and Mairead would call once she’d hit the city.

 

A thought struck her, and she rang Grania and Lorna the Younger. They could take the morning off if they chose, and it could be a good bonding exercise. Hopefully. The pair agreed, and she tried not to cackle.

 

“All right, you lot, off we go,” Lorna said. She’d added a seat to the Mystery Machine, so they wouldn’t have to take two cars. It meant they could no longer pile dead bodies into it, but that wasn’t exactly an experience she was keen to repeat anyway. Ailill was no longer in danger from homophobic fuckwits, so having to do so was unlikely.

 

Off they went indeed, into the late, misty morning.

 

*****

 

Leisureplex, Pat found, was nothing like the arcades of his childhood. He and his siblings only had any money if they stole it from somewhere, but they’d been able to go a few times, and the one nearest their house had been dark and crowded and loud, crammed with big booths with seats. Video games were still quite new in the 80’s, especially in Ireland; Pong could hardly compare (not that the games they’d had could hold a candle to those the kids had now, either.) This place was big and bright and modern, and apparently the laser tag would involve more than he’d thought. It was in a huge room rather than outside, but the room was filled with pillars and lumps of fake rocks, along with platforms one could crawl up to shoot from above. The whole setup actually worked because the room would be filled with mist and music, darkened so flashing light and dancing lasers would confuse the eye. In short, it looked bloody lethal.

 

They were wise not to bring the younger kids, though, since the whole apparatus that went along with the gun and sight weighed almost a stone, and was somewhat awkward to wear even for someone the height of both Lornas.

 

It was almost surreal, having his daughter and Grania here as well. The pair had been out to Eldamar more than a few times since the harvest festival, and he’d met up with them on his own a few more, but things were still a touch awkward. To have them and the rest of his family out somewhere, away from home, was novel. Novel, and weird.

 

Grania’s hair was long enough now that she needed to put it in a ponytail to keep it back from her face, and she held her gun with a seriousness that was slightly worrying. They looked like smaller versions of something out of the  _ Alien  _ movies. Why did he have an ominous feeling he would be her main target?

 

_ Because you’re not  _ completely  _ stupid _ , he thought. Well, retreat was the better part of valor. That probably wasn’t actually a saying, but it was now, dammit.

 

Out they went, and off the lights went, replaced by smoke and near-darkness. Music -- some kind of techno, he thought it was -- blared out through the speakers, and they all legged it in different directions.

 

A moment later the strobes and overhead lasers kicked in, multicolored and bewildering, and he wondered just how many people had seizures in here. The music pounded through him, almost like a second heartbeat, and he was surprised at the level of adrenaline it produced.

 

He darted behind a pillar, and saw a shape he thought might be his sister in the distance. When he fired his gun he found it made a noise, very much like a phaser in  _ Star Trek _ , but whoever it was, he missed.  _ Shit _ .

 

Some other phaser sound came faintly from his left, and he ducked and dodged and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a cry of frustration.

 

“Dammit, Fun Size, since when can you aim?”

 

Lorna cackled. “Since I started living with you-know-who. They taught me.”

 

Grumbling, Shane relocated. Apparently you didn't get sidelined when you got shot; it all came down to how many times a person got hit --

 

Pat’s own headset flashed right in his eye --  _ ow  _ \-- and the rig at his side squawked.

 

“Got you!” Grania called, disappearing into the smoke like a damn Ringwraith. Further away came, “and you!” followed by, “God dammit, Mam.”

 

Pat was so distracted trying not to laugh that Lorna -- Fun Size Lorna -- darted by and shot him again. At least she narrowly averted running face-first into one of the pillars.

 

“Oh, sod this.” He left his obviously ineffective cover and shot at her, but missed all three times. She cackled again, and he swore, until his fourth shot caught Shane by sheer accident.

 

“You bloody people!” Shane cried.

 

“You’re giant and you’re white,” Lorna called. “You stand out.”

 

_ Thranduil _ , Pat thought _ , should never play this. None of the Elves should.  _ Or maybe they should, and for once the humans would win.

 

His shoulder blades itched -- someone was overhead, and he turned and fired blindly.

 

“Oh, fuck everything,” Saoirse grumbled. She tried to fire back, but he somehow dodged. Dodged, and literally tripped over Ratiri, who was focused somewhere to his left. They paused, stared at one another, and fired at the same time -- which made them laugh, until Saoirse got them both.

 

In the distance, Lorna the Elder sneezed, yelped, and swore, and went vaulting over the fake stones, firing as she went. She got Ratiri, but Pat got her, and Saoirse got all three of them.

 

Though the game supposedly went for twenty minutes, it didn't feel nearly that long. At the end, Grania was the only one who hadn’t been tagged even once, and her grin of triumph was a beautiful thing to behold. He shouldn’t be surprised, though; when the two of them played  _ Duck Hunt  _ ages back, she’d always kicked his arse seven ways to Sunday.

 

“I think we need celebratory pie,” Ratiri said. “For once let’s avoid real lunch and just eat pie.”

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were a doctor.”

 

“I am,” he said, kissing the crown of her head. “Our diet is very healthy, which is why one single lunch of pie will hardly kill us.”

 

“Manning’s Bakery’s nearby,” Mairead said, already consulting her mobile. “Let’s get some damn pie.”

 

“Anybody who’d turn down pie isn’t someone I want to know,” Shane said. “Unless they’re diabetic or have food allergies or something. The only kind’v bad pie is pie that kills you.”

 

“I want that on a bumper sticker,” Lorna the Younger said.

 

Niamh laughed. “Same.”

 

It was enough of a distance to the bakery that they caravanned, and stole two whole tables. Given how many pies they ordered, though, Lorna doubted the employees minded.

 

“Nobody can equal Earlene’s pies,” Lorna said, around a mouthful of strawberry rhubarb, “not even Siobhan, but these are still pretty damn good.”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” Saoirse managed. She hated to say it, but having a day without all the little kids around had been even more fun than she’d thought. She loved them all, she really did, but it could be hard, sometimes -- they all had each other, since they were mostly the same age, but she was older than them  _ and  _ a lot of the kids in Lasg’len, but younger than the teenagers. It could be hard, so days like today were nice.

 

“Don’t ever tell Siobhan that,” Mairead warned. “You’d start a baking war.”

 

“Dunno,” Shane mused, “might be a good thing.”

 

Ratiri shook his head. “Not right now,” he said. “She’s pregnant again.”

 

“How many kids does she plan on having?” Niamh demanded, wide-eyed. “I mean...pregnancy. Doesn't it suck?”

 

“Not for her, the lucky woman,” Lorna said. “Not after the first, anyway. Thaladir and her sons were both pretty much easy-peasy, though with the second twins she wasn’t very mobile come the end. It’s why I made the chair and the sofa.” And yes, part of her was a little sad, and a little envious, but only part. Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir all loved children, and it wasn’t like pregnancy seemed to be too much of a chore to Earlene, so there really wasn’t any reason why she shouldn’t keep on if she wanted to. They had plenty of childcare, after all.

 

Speaking of children, though…once she was done with her pie, she rose, pulling her mobile out of her pocket. “I’m going to go call Thanadir,” she said. “And before any’v you give me shite,  _ hush _ . I’m a mam, it’s my job to be paranoid.”

 

Her glare was such that none of them said anything -- to her face. It was so loud in here that she stepped outside and out back of the building, pulling her shawl up over her head. A fine, misty rain was falling, but at least back here the noise of the traffic was lessened.

 

Lessened enough, in fact, that she could actually hear a tiny cry coming from the dumpster.  _ What in the shit…?  _ It sounded like a kitten, or a baby, but there was no way…

 

Hoisting the dumpster’s lid open was not an easy task, and when she had, her eyes widened. Horrifyingly, yes, it actually was...oh good Jesus. It was a  _ baby,  _ and not more than a few hours old, if she was any judge -- it hadn't even been cleaned…

 

Hauling herself up over the edge wasn’t easy, either, but she managed it, very carefully lifting the poor thing out. Oh, you heard of dumpster babies, but she’d always thought it was an urban legend.  _ Why  _ would somebody do this? Why not drop the kid off at a hospital, if you didn't want it yourself?

 

There were a few potential answers to that, all of them disturbing. Minors couldn’t go to England for an abortion without parental consent, and there were poor women who couldn’t afford to. Married couples also weren’t allowed to put a child up for adoption, either. Still, couldn’t they have done  _ anything  _ other than throw the little thing out with literal trash?

 

Lorna whipped the shawl off her head and carefully wrapped up the baby, hoping the poor little creature -- little girl, she saw -- didn't already have hypothermia. She knew from Ratiri that newborns couldn’t regulate their own body temperature yet, and while it was hardly frigid, it was still pretty damn chilly. “It’ll be okay,” she said, unsurprised when that didn't comfort the child in the least.

 

If she took the baby back in with her, they’d have to take her to hospital. The hospital would treat her, and take her away, and put her in foster care. Lorna had known people who’d grown up in the system, and knew that it was a crapshoot -- you could land with good parents, or with terrible ones who just wanted you for the government paycheck.

 

Fuck that. Fuck that, and fuck whoever had abandoned this little one like so much garbage. Pulling out her mobile while holding the baby was a somewhat difficult task, but she managed it, and called Ratiri.

 

“You need to go with me to the Mystery Machine,” she said urgently. “Right now. Shane or Mairead can pay, but I found something we need to get  _ home _ .”

 

“Lorna…”

 

“ _ Now _ ,” she said, over the sound of the baby’s cries. “I’m not kidding, Ratiri, and I’m not going to waste time explaining over the phone. Just tell the rest’v them there’s an emergency back home, grab Pat and Saoirse, and get your arse to the van.”

 

There was no way he couldn’t be hearing the crying, which was probably why he said, “Okay. But I want to take a look once we’re in the van.”

 

“Pat can drive. I’ll met you there, allanah. Bye.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Off she went, making sure the baby was very securely bundled. The van wasn’t far, fortunately; she didn't want to run the risk of anyone asking about the newborn. She breathed a sigh of relief when no one did, and turned on the van to warm it.

 

“You little thing…” The tiny hands were like ice, and she folded them in hers. “It’s all right now. I know you’re cold and you’re probably hungry, but you’ll be all right.” Shit, what were they going to feed her? Ratiri and Earlene both had a healthy amount of scorn for manufactured formula, but what else were they to do? And where were they to get it? If they went into the market at Lasg’len, Aislinn was going to want to know why, and there was no way they could have this getting out. Not until they had a cover story.

 

Ratiri, bless him, was out to the van himself in less than a minute, Pat and Saoirse hurrying behind. “Where--?” Ratiri asked.

 

“In a dumpster,” Lorna said, ire rising. “In a fucking  _ dumpster _ . I’d always thought those stories were just stories. I didn't think anyone actually  _ did  _ this. We’ll get her home and cleaned up and Thanadir can look her over.” She wished Thranduil was home, in case the poor girl needed healing of some sort, but Thanadir could at least take a look at her mind and see if she was in pain anywhere.

 

Saoirse opened her mouth, but Pat cut her off with a, “Not now, Saoirse. We’ll talk later.” She sat in the passenger seat while he drive, and Ratiri carefully looked the baby over.

 

“She might have hypothermia,” he said. “She’s too young to have been in that dumpster for very long.” He cleaned her off as best he could with just a dry cloth, not even wanting to  _ know  _ what microbes and bacteria might have been in the trash around her. “Lorna, unbutton your shirt and hold her against your skin. That will warm her up better than the shawl.

 

Lorna did just that, and sneezed. The girl’s cries were softer now, but was that because she was tired, or because she was weak?

 

She didn't realize she’d spoken aloud until Ratiri said, “It’s probably both. Just keep her warm and I’ll call Thanadir.” This was not, he knew, something the Elf had ever wanted shared with the rest of the house, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He dialed Thanadir’s number, and prayed it would be answered.

 

“Hello? Ratiri?” said the elf, whose voice was immediately worried. “Is everything well?”

 

Ratiri breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m hoping it will be,” he said. “We have a newborn that needs feeding. Lorna found her...well, it’s an unpleasant story, but we’re bringing her home with us. Sometimes I think the plague might be a good thing, given some of the people in this world.”

 

“Feeding?” Thanadir asked, not certain he had heard any of this correctly. “A kitten?”

 

“A baby,” Ratiri said, fighting his own anger. Who could do this? Who would just throw away their child? “Someone abandoned their newborn in a  _ dumpster _ . Lorna found her, and we’re bringing her home.”

 

The seneschal blinked, holding the mobile a little away from him as if it could convey some magical form of answer. “Are you saying you want…?” he could not complete the question. No one else here knew. No one else had ever known...his cheeks burned pink.

 

“I do,” Ratiri sighed. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but we don’t have any other choice. And -- you don’t need to worry about that, Thanadir. Don’t need to be afraid of it. Trust me.”

 

There was a lengthy silence, followed by a sigh. “Alright,” Thanadir said. “I will gather Eldan’s things from when he was newly born and bring them to the Dining Room.” He had no idea what to think; this would all have to be...determined...later.

 

“Thank you, Thanadir,” Ratiri said. “I owe you.  _ We  _ owe you.”

 

He did not know what to say to this, either. “Drive safely,” he admonished. “See you soon.” He ended the call, and checked that the children were still engrossed in their program. And then he went into the bedroom, closed the door, buried his face in a pillow and cried.

 

Pat got them home as fast as was reasonably possible, while Lorna held the baby. Presumably Thanadir was doing something about food; they’d get this little one fed and cleaned up and comfy...she needed a name. ‘Maeve’ meant ‘hope’ in Irish, but looking at this baby’s complexion, she had more than Celt in her ancestry.

 

“Allanah, give me an Indian name that means...I don’t know, something like ‘gift’,” she said.

 

“Atia,” he offered.

 

“Atia Maeve Duncan. I like it.”

 

When they pulled into the driveway, she hopped out of the car as soon as it was stopped, hurrying into the house. Ratiri was right behind her, calling for Thanadir.

 

He emerged from his craftroom, wearing a deer-in-the-headlights expression as well as a tunic made of very soft material that could unbutton all the way down the front. He held his hands out for the child, and spoke more softly than usual. “I would appreciate some time in privacy. Maybe ten minutes. You can come in afterward.” The cryptic words were spoken mostly to Ratiri, after the baby was given to him. With visible trepidation, he glanced at Lorna before retreating into the comfort of his rooms.

 

_ Poor Thanadir _ , Ratiri thought, leading Lorna away.

 

“How’s he going to feed her?” she asked, looking at the door as they left. “I mean, he’s Thanadir, I trust him entirely, but...how?”

 

Ratiri sighed, leading her to their room rather than the Heart Room. “He doesn’t want this broadcast, but he can feed her himself. It’s possible for men to breastfeed, with effort, and he’s trained his body into it.”

 

Her eyebrows climbed, even as Midnight hopped up onto the bed and headbutted her arm. “How can men do that?” she asked, absently petting the cat. “I mean, how is it possible?”

 

“To quote  _ Jurassic Park _ , all mammalian embryos are inherently female,” Ratiri said, sitting beside her. “It’s why men have nipples. We do have lactic glands -- they just don’t work without a certain amount of training. There are some cultures where what Thanadir does is normal.”

 

“How did he find out he could?” she asked. “I mean, unless he hit Google, which I could see, but how would he even know to ask?”

 

“I don’t know, but I do know this: he’s very sensitive about it. He’s afraid people will judge him, or mock him, if they were to know.”

 

Lorna blinked at him. “Why the hell would any’v us do that?” she asked. “I mean, yeah, it’s kind’v a shock it’s even bloody possible, but he doesn't exactly live in a...a frat house, here.”

 

“You know how sensitive Thanadir can be,” Ratiri said, scratching Boo behind the ears. “And you can’t deny that to Western culture, it  _ is  _ quite strange. He’s afraid others would find it disgusting, somehow.”

 

“Well, sod that,” she said. “Once he’s done I’ll give him a bloody big hug, and get Mairead to bake him a cake. Probably the best actually tangible thank-you we can give.”

 

“That it more than likely is. Now let’s dig out some of Chandra’s old things -- I think there are still other baby things floating around.” They’d give poor little Atia a bath, to make sure she was nice and decontaminated, and then…. “Shit. We need a cover story.”

 

“That we do,” Lorna said, already rising to gather things. “And I have no idea what in bloody fuck it’ll be. Obviously I haven’t been pregnant, nor did I tell anyone I was.”

 

“Worry about it later,” Ratiri said. “I’m sure Thranduil and Earlene can help us cough up something, if we can’t figure it out before then.”

 

They killed the rest of the ten minutes setting up a bassinet in their room, which the cats naturally had to investigate thoroughly. When they returned to the craft room and knocked on the door, all was set up.

 

“Come in,” Thanadir said softly. The infant was held against him, suckling well; she had just finished nursing on one side. They approached quietly. “I know there is a story I am not going to like. Tell me that part afterward, or it will affect my ability to do this. I want to know instead what you intend to do.” He was leaned back, his body very relaxed, his eyes barely open. Seated in his rocking chair, his foot nudged the slow and comforting motion

 

“We want to keep her,” Lorna said, “though we don’t yet know what in bloody hell we’re to tell everyone else. She’s got a name and everything now -- Atia Maeve. Atia’s Indian for ‘gift’, and Maeve is ‘hope’ in Irish. Seems fitting for her.”

 

“We have things set up in our room, though we’ll need to bathe her,” Ratiri added. “She already looks better. I was afraid she’d have hypothermia.”

 

Thanadir nodded. “I cannot make as much milk as Earlene does, but for one this young I will have enough. And they will be home soon. I am sure she would be willing to nurse her, if you do not intend to do this yourself, Lorna.”

 

“I think I’ll ask Thranduil to help me,” she said, “as bloody awkward as  _ that  _ will be. So, Ratiri explained to me how this works, but how did you figure out you could do it? Did you look it up, or did it just sort’v happen and surprise the shit out’v you?”  _ No, Thanadir, I do not think it’s weird _ , she thought, hoping she could convey that through her tone.

 

His eyes opened further, and he regarded her very briefly. “I wanted to very badly, and I did,” was all he would say. It wasn’t that he disliked Lorna, but he did not have an intimate emotional connection with her. This was a very sensitive part of his inner makeup. Detail felt...risky.

 

“The power’v positive thinking actually  _ does  _ work,” she mused. “If you don’t want me to tell anyone else, Thanadir, I won’t, but you don’t need to be afraid anyone else’d react negatively. It’s fascinating, not...squicky, or anything like that. I don’t think so, and Pat wouldn’t, either, but if you want to keep it to yourself still, I won’t say anything. And I'd give you a hug if you weren’t feeding my baby,” she added with a smile.

 

He smiled too, hesitantly. “I would prefer that no one who does not need to know learns of this. I do not want every elf in the Realm...there is already enough that is strange about me and...this is private.”

 

“Thanadir,” Lorna said sternly, “you are not strange, you are unique. Big distinction.” She paused. “You’re also the reason I found Atia. I'd gone out back’v the bakery to call you, and I’d never’ve heard her otherwise.”

 

“I appreciate your words,” he said firmly. “But ‘strange’ is in the eye of the beholder.”

 

“True,” she said. “Though if you want to look at it that way, everyone in this house is strange, except maybe Ortherion and Lothiriel. We’ve thoroughly corrupted Maerwen. So that still leaves you unique. None’v us are anything like the others.”

 

“Well, Thaladir is very like you, Thanadir,” Ratiri said. “But otherwise...it’s far nicer living here than anywhere else I ever have, because we  _ are  _ all so different. It certainly can never be called dull.”

 

The old elf chuckled. “No. It cannot.” The little girl was now sleepy and full, and was no longer nursing. Thanadir carefully handed her back. “You know where to find me. At night, unless you have other means, it may be best for her to stay with me because she will need to nurse often. Unlike Earlene I cannot pump the milk. It does not...work.”

 

As much as Lorna wanted to keep the baby with them, Thanadir had a point. It was the only sensible thing to do. “I appreciate it, Thanadir,” she said, cradling the baby. “We both do. Now we have to give this little one a bath, which is a shame, since she’s so sleepy.” As if to punctuate the words, Atia yawned.

 

“I will not tell Thranduil and Earlene, unless you want me to,” he volunteered. “Except for the milk, I will stay out of it.”

 

“They’ll have one hell’v a surprise to come home to,” Lorna said dryly.

 

“Yeah, I’d rather not disrupt their holiday,” Ratiri added. “I’m assuming Atia isn’t in any pain. She just needs food and rest and love. Though I dread ever telling her how we found her. I know it’s wrong to keep the knowledge that a child was adopted from them, but...this wasn’t adoption. This was something far darker.”

 

“Well, we’ve got years to figure that one out,” Lorna said.

 

“Do you need me to...check, that she is well?” Thanadir asked Ratiri. The baby  _ seemed  _ fine, but…? He did not know everything, about mortal children.

 

“If you can tell me if she is in pain or not, I can run other tests on her myself. I don’t think she has any fractures or she would still be crying, but I would appreciate it if you could make sure,” Ratiri said.

 

Nodding, Thanadir laid his hand over the child’s belly and closed his eyes, his brows knotting together in concentration. “There is nothing. She is in no discomfort of any kind. That is the best I can do,” he said apologetically.

 

“Just now, that’s all we need,” Ratiri said, and gave him a hug. The only reason Lorna didn't was because she had an arm full of baby. She did, however, say, “I’m hugging you in my mind.” Then, of course, she sneezed.

 

Thanadir smiled and shook his head, and went to see to the other children (that by some miracle were all entirely oblivious to the added goings-on). It was time to think about supper; he would make a simple rice dish to go with the last of the fish. Ailill and Calanon made another trip to check on their farmers, so more fresh catch had been brought from Galway. While not having nearly Earlene’s skills, there were lemons now in the greenhouse and he did feel like he could manage simple fare. That, and steamed vegetables, would do well enough. While he prepared his ingredients and washed the fishes, he thought of all that had just transpired. Sooner or later, he knew that something about this would upset him. But for now, he remembered the cherished sensation of those little lips, and that he soon would be a father again. His mouth curved into a smile.

 

Fortunately, little Atia was so sleepy that she didn't mind being bathed overly much (not something that could usually be said about a baby), then Ratiri gave her as thorough a checkup as he could. Her temperature was normal now, her heart and lungs sounded fine, and if she’d picked up any infections, Thranduil could heal them when he returned. Just now she was a tired, sated, content little girl who fell asleep as soon as her exam was done.

 

“How could someone do that?” Lorna asked softly, looking down at their unexpected daughter. “I mean, shit, if you don't want your kid and can’t afford to go to England for an abortion, there’s other ways. And if you’re carrying the poor thing to term and still don’t want it, there’s so many other things. Things that wouldn’t all but guarantee the little one’s death.” She could not regret her own abortion, because she’d literally only been pregnant a single day. There was a difference between that, carrying a child to term, and literally throwing it in the trash.

 

“I don’t know,” Ratiri said, just as softly, “but I hope whoever did it pays. It might not have been the mother’s choice -- obviously she didn't give birth in hospital, and there’s every chance the baby was taken against her will.”

 

“Because I needed  _ that  _ thought,” Lorna said, taking Atia back out into their bedroom. Ratiri arranged the pillows so she could sit comfortably, and she unbuttoned her shirt so the baby could rest against her chest. He’d stressed the importance and benefits of skin-to-skin contact when she’d been pregnant with the twins, and how it could be especially helpful to fragile babies.  _ Someone  _ hadn’t wanted this baby, but she and Ratiri did, and she hoped there was some way she could communicate that to this tiny being, not even a day old.

 

She thought of that cold, filthy dumpster, and how alone this little one must have felt. Atia was safe now, clean and warm and dry, well-fed -- and currently being investigated by six cats, who were evidently fascinated by this new tiny person.

 

Ratiri, not being a stupid man, called Mairead and told her that they’d had to run off because a child-noggin had been bonked at Eldamar, and since Thranduil wasn’t home, his presence had been requested in a professional capacity. Mercifully, she bought it hook, line, and sinker, and promised to let the others know.

 

Lorna turned away from the baby as much as she could, sneezing. “Glad I’m not contagious, but should I be worried about transmitting anything even so? I mean, if I get...I don’t know, tiny phlegm droplets on her?”

 

“It might be best to have Thranduil deal with that,” he said. “A newborn’s immune system is so fragile, and after the start she’s had, she’s at an extra disadvantage. This shifts it out of the Plaster category.”

 

“Okay. Well, if we can keep this from the twins just now, I think it’d be a good idea. Just tell them I'm not feeling well again and they won’t come in here. They’re easily distracted anyway.” And given she still sounded terrible, when she did go to see them at bedtime, they’d not question it.

 

“Yes, yes they are. I’ll go down to them just before dinner, to get them ready.” He sat beside her, arm around her shoulders, free hand stroking Atia’s little face. However she’d come into the world, they’d make sure she was happy.

 

*****

 

Earlene was awakened by the sound of someone knocking at the hotel room door at La Maison Favart, and groggily lurched up in bed to rub her eyes. A glance through the gauze curtains showed that it was very early in the morning; on the Rue de Marivaux below hardly a person was to be seen.

 

“Je vois remercie,” Thranduil said, taking the proffered tray while offering a tip. He nudged the door shut and placed the tray on the table. “I am sorry, Earlene. I wasn’t fast enough to answer before he woke you.”

 

“It’s alright,” she smiled. “Since when do you speak French?”

 

“Depuis le Google,” he smirked.

 

“C’est bon,” she deadpanned. “You really are amazing.”

 

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of her compliment, and set the tray down. It was covered; the food would keep warm. “Am I allowed to wake you properly?” he asked, his eyes filled with desire.

 

“You ask me that every day,” she teased. “Logic should tell you the question is not necessary.”

 

“Logic does,” he countered. “But regard for your condition dictates that I set that aside in favor of being certain.” His lips met hers, and ten minutes of unbridled lust ensued.

 

“At least this hasn’t changed,” Earlene said gratefully, her heart pounding through the sheen of perspiration now covering her. Her fatigue had been immediately difficult to manage. The nausea and vomiting had arrived on day three; the ellyn carefully kept her on a steady stream of the precious cordial that prevented it. Bless the Valar, they had at least left her with the ability to gain full pleasure from sex. Mostly. She now coped with sensations of numbness in her extremities that came and went, making it easy for her to stumble or drop things. And sometimes, there was dizziness too. But the parts of her mostly involved in having an orgasm were blissfully unaffected. “Though, I imagine Thanadir will be able to take a break at last,” she said with sympathy. “I can’t fathom what it must have taken from him, to...make love so many times.”

 

“He knew what he was getting into,” Thranduil smiled, kissing her before donning his robe to serve them breakfast. “At least in that sense,” he added ruefully. The drops of cordial were added to his wife’s coffee, and the tray placed over her lap once she had sat up against the pillows.

 

“You are spoiling me to death,” Earlene said, her eyes sparkling at the meal of crêpes, poached eggs and sliced fruit with small cheese croissants. “Thank you, Thranduil.”

 

“I thought today I would take my queen to see Versailles,” he smiled.

 

Earlene’e eyes flashed in eagerness before the look faded. “That sounds so nice…” she said. “But I had a hard time at the Louvre yesterday. I became tired so easily…”

 

“Which is why I have rented a wheelchair. You will do nothing but sit, while I push you around and we enjoy the sights.”

 

The sparkle returned to her face. There were so many things she wanted to say, by way of appreciation, but they all jammed up together in her brain.

 

“I know, meluieg. Just eat. Eat, and we will enjoy our day.” He daintily speared a forkful of fruit.

 

She nodded. “I love you, Thranduil.”

 

He smiled and regarded her while he thought to himself.  _ I know you do, and I still do not deserve you or your unselfish love. But I am not going to tell you that…because today I just want you to be happy, and have fun.   _ “I love you, too.”

 

*****

 

Thranduil drove back from Dublin while Earlene slept. They had managed the trip well enough, but moments like this were snatched by her at every opportunity, and he did not begrudge her the rest even though he missed her conversation. He glanced over at her from time to time, looking at her bundled in her pretty Aran wraps that she loved so much, and reflected a little on all the ways in which this woman next to him had changed his life. Even as she gave and gave; everything that was asked of her by the Powers of their world. Still, from time to time, he could not help but think on their uncertain future. As always, he would utter a prayer:  _ Please _ . He wondered if it was to teach him humility, the long years of not knowing. For so much of his life, he had been able to order his world much as he wished it to be, and there had been a cost to others. Now...he was far more inclined to make different choices. To help, just because he could. To do for others, because he now understood so acutely what it was to hope for the granting of that which was most deeply desired. She had shown him the way, in all of these things, and whatever the ultimate outcome he knew he would never regret a day of his time with her.

 

“We are almost home, meluieg.” With a gentle shake to her shoulder, Earlene woke, rubbing her eyes to see that they were just leaving Lasg’len and therefore were minutes from their driveway.

 

“Thank you,” she murmured. “And thank you for driving. I was terrible company; I am sorry.”

 

“That is hardly your fault,” he countered.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. They did give me a choice. Sometimes I’m still that little kid that had to beat Aidan to the Cracker Jack box to see what the toy was. I can never just do the easy thing. I always have to see what is behind Curtain Number One.”

 

“This sounds like a story,” he glanced at her sideways, not having heard firsthand about this facet to her personality.

 

“Not really. I just have a long, documented list of decisions I made based only on which choice would be the more difficult one to pursue. I would tell you that it is because I am curious or adventurous, but my dad always thought it was because of sheer cussedness.”

 

“Such as?” Now Thranduil really wanted to know.

 

“Well, like wanting to learn a harpsichord and not a piano. Like studying corporate law instead of family law. Like insisting on learning to drive the big cantankerous field tractor before the nicer, newer garden tractor. Just...things like that.”

 

“I see.” This was rather a lot of food for thought, but he would have to consider it later. “Here we are,” he smiled.

 

In moments dogs and kids and….well, everyone willing to brave the cold came to greet them. Earlene had learned that it would be ill-advised in their household not to have presents for everyone, and their trip to the catacombs had allowed for a frankly alarming array of bizarre souvenirs (for most of them) plus some other items for those who would not think stacks of bones were objects of entrancement. But those could wait a bit. The first to reach her (after Flannery and Kiernan) was Thanadir, who kissed her soundly and wrapped her in a hug.  _ I missed you,  _ she told him, not realizing how much until right now.

 

Earlene traveled with very little luggage as a point of pride, and the others insisted on carrying the other bags. The souvenirs took up more room than their actual bags. She was happily oblivious, whereas Thranduil immediately began to absorb from the thoughts of those around them that _...oh, sweet Eru... _ their time away had not been without incident. As it was blessedly only mid-afternoon, greetings and getting settled with tea in the Heart Room took minimal amounts of time.

 

“So,” Thranduil said cautiously, once all the children were dispersed to other areas of the home. “Tell us about it…” He was looking mostly at Lorna and Ratiri.

 

The pair looked at one another. “We went to Dublin to play laser-tag,” she said, “and came home with more than...should I really be talking about this?”  _ In front of everyone? We’ve kept it a secret so far. Only Thanadir, Pat, and Saoirse know. _

 

“Perhaps I should preface. This is a Adult Family Meeting. Meaning, anything said stays in this room. This is a serious matter and in my opinion, needs some manner of plan in place immediately. Does everyone understand?”

 

Ailill and Calanon looked at each other uncomprehendingly and bowed their heads, as did Earlene. Though she could not fathom what in hell he was talking about, as they had just walked in the door not five minutes before.

 

Lorna and Ratiri looked at each other again. “In that case, go get her,” Ratiri said. Off Lorna went, sneezing.

 

He sighed. “As Lorna was saying, we went to play laser tag in Dublin two days ago,” he said. “What few here know is that we happened upon a newborn in a dumpster. We brought her home, fed her, cleaned her, and have taken care of her since then. Her name is Atia Maeve, and we are keeping her, though we still don’t have a cover story in place. Saying she was a home birth would be easy, since all ours have been, but that doesn’t help with all the people we know who will be very surprised.”

 

Lorna returned with a sleepy Atia in her arms. “Fortunately we don’t think she was in there long,” she said. “Ratiri’s been taking her temperature and listening to her heart and lungs each day, and so far she seems healthy, but you’d know much better than we would.” And naturally, she had to turn away and sneeze again.  _ Surprise?  _ she offered silently.

 

“I have a hard question to ask,” Earlene said. “How much effort have you made to determine if she really is abandoned? Have you had Orla check police logs? Been combing the news for any evidence of a child that was taken?”

 

“Orla’s checked missing-persons cases,” Lorna said, “but unsurprisingly, hasn’t found anything. Either nobody wanted this one, or the parent that did had no say -- Ratiri thinks she wasn’t more than a few hours old when we found her. And if that’s the case, it’s unlikely they’d dare go to the police. I mean, she was in a dumpster, with the lid shut. I’d not’ve heard her at all if I hadn’t gone out back to call Thanadir.”

 

“Generally,” Pat said, “abandoned babies are abandoned for a reason, in Ireland. We’ve got a long, nasty history’v it.”

 

“And here I’d thought it was an urban legend,” Lorna sighed.

 

“That’s all I wanted to know, that you tried. I’ll support fully whatever fabrication we are going to engineer to make this work,” Earlene said. “And I’ve no idea how you are feeding her, but I still have milk if you need...help.”

 

“And we still don’t yet know what that will be, beyond declaring her a home birth,” Ratiri said. “Mairead and her family can know the truth, and Shane’s not stupid, but we don’t dare let anyone else in on it. The problem is, Lorna is tiny, and has very obviously not been visibly pregnant. Short of saying the baby was incredibly premature, I don’t know what to do.”

 

“And if that had been the case, realistically we wouldn’t’ve gone to Washington,” Lorna added. “And...well, this is awkward as fuck to ask, but I’d like to be able to feed her myself, at least for a little bit. Bonding, and all that. I don’t want to do it a full year, but a month or two, maybe?” This little monkey would be worth the discomfort for a little while.

 

“Ok one issue at a time, and issues separated,” Earlene frowned, rapidly going into Lawyer Mode. “First and most pressing problem: The Story. Lorna, I want you to think very carefully. Who outside of Mairead’s family, anyone connected to the Halls, your old gang, or Baile has laid eyes on you since late October?”

 

“I went to Baile in January,” Lorna sighed, sitting on the sofa. “I took Sharley and Allanah to get their hair done, and caught the cold from hell. I was not a walking blimp.”

 

“No, that wasn’t the question. I don’t care what you thought you looked like. I want to know who  _ saw you _ .” She had already asked Thanadir to bring her laptop right away.

 

“Mairead and Anne,” Lorna said, thinking, “and Old Orla, who was getting a perm. We stopped at Jamie’s for a nibble, but it was the middle’v the day and there weren’t many there. Jamie and Michael, the other bartender. Dai, naturally, but he was at the back. Molly was there when we went in, but she left after about...ten minutes? Alec...there were another three in there, too, but that was it.”

 

“No other excursions?” Earlene asked.

 

“The sad thing is, no,” Lorna said, a little disturbed her lack of social life, even though it helped her now. “I caught that cold in Baile and then didn't go anywhere until two days ago. Mairead usually always comes here now if we’re meeting up.”

 

“Ok good. Now. What were you wearing that day, if you can remember?”

 

Lorna thought hard. What  _ had  _ she been wearing? Leggings, obviously, and boots...she couldn’t remember which tunic it had been, but she was pretty sure it had been one. “What I usually wear in the winter,” she said. “I can’t remember exactly, but it was a tunic and leggings combo, and my green coat.”

 

“How much does that baby weigh, Ratiri?”

 

“Two point one kilograms,” he said. Such a small baby, and yet Lorna was a very small woman. Could they successfully spin this? He sat beside her, looking down at the sleeping little face.

 

“This is a complete piece of cake,” Earlene declared, smiling. “Lorna, I’ve never seen you voluntarily wear an item of form-fitting clothing in your life, without it being nudged in your direction. No one saw you in a fitted tunic because you don’t wear them. All the rest is simply this: You lost a pregnancy some time ago. You were both very upset and determined that no one outside the immediate family would know anything else until the day you had a healthy child, because you were not going to endure having to face everyone if this pregnancy also had complications. That is a tiny baby; some women barely show even at eight months. No further discussion, no nothing. That’s the story. Period. Anyone crass enough to inquire further gets told it is private, and none of their goddamn business.”

 

Lorna and Ratiri looked at one another again. While she wasn’t as terrible a liar as she had once been, she still wasn’t good at it; they were going to need some time to practice before she tried to pitch it to other people. With practice, though, she could probably sell it. “That,” she said, “sounds perfect. Completely perfect. But what do we tell all the kids? Saoirse knows, she was there, but none’v your kids our mine even know Atia exists, let alone where she came from. Shane and Chandra haven’t shown any interest in how babies are made, but have yours?”

 

“Ithiliel and Eleniel know basics about sex,” Earlene replied. “I told them the first round of the facts of life when they asked for another sister. But that is still a secondary topic. We are still on the topic of The Story. And...Pat, I hope you can forgive me but…” she broke off and looked at Thranduil. “You are positive we are alone, and that no children are anywhere eavesdropping?”

 

“I am, meluieg. Say what you have to say.” It was actually a relief to watch Earlene simply take over the proceedings so that he did not have to. Not to mention, charming and instructive both.

 

“Alright. The biggest risk to this succeeding long term is...Saoirse. Bless her heart, she has zero ability to not blurt things out. And this is one thing that can never be blurted. Ever. To be completely blunt, I see it as coming down to a choice between making it so that she cannot make the mistake, or being willing to take the risk of the fabrication being blown sky high at any random future moment.” She hoped she did not need to spell out what she meant; that she was saying it at all about someone else’s child felt bad enough.

 

“Making it that way how?” he asked, warily, though he already knew. His eyes traveled to Thranduil. “What would you be doing?”

 

“Do not look at me,” Thranduil said. “I have not been telling Earlene what to say here. Though, I believe she is bringing it up because...either way it is an unpleasant consideration. For my part, I would do what you, Pat, would ask me to. Including, nothing at all. I would never act without your consent, in this. I think I have gone out of my way, to demonstrate my insistence on not acting independently in matters of this nature.”

 

“Jesus…” He sighed. “I trust you, Thranduil, and it’s the only reason I’m saying yes. Feels wrong to do it without telling her, but Earlene’s right. She’ll give the whole thing away sooner or later.” He looked so wretched that Lorna reached out and took his hand.

 

“Were this not a question of an innocent child’s life, I would not be willing to even discuss this,” Thranduil said, shaking his head. “But this is a very real and serious risk, and failure means attracting the government here. To this place. Which in the end could require damage control on a level I do not wish to consider. We have done very well, hiding in plain sight as we search for more and more persons to shelter with us when the time comes. I would in this case plant a false memory. Instead of an infant in a dumpster in Dublin, Saoirse would falsely remember that Ratiri and Lorna returned from the Halls a few days ago tired but with a new baby. There would never have been a trip to Dublin. Unless someone has a different idea. Lorna, I never thought I would ever see the day in which your, forgive me, abysmal fashion sense would prove to be the key to success.”

 

Earlene covered her mouth with her hand, doing all she could not to laugh while an oblivious Thanadir nodded in agreement.

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow, even as she snorted a laugh that threatened to wake Atia. “Abysmal? Gee,  _ thanks _ ,” she said dryly.

 

It was enough to make Pat laugh a little, too, though he sobered soon enough. “Grania and my Lorna were there, too,” he said. “If Saoirse forgets Dublin and they slip up and mention it, she’ll wonder what’s going on.”

 

“You make a good point,” Earlene said. “Maybe forgetting Dublin isn’t a good idea. Better that she just not remember anything but the laser tag. And if I had to say, have it be said that you were keeping the baby private for a few days. So that Saoirse didn’t know about her, when you went to Dublin. Can that work?”

 

“God help us, it can,” Pat said. “It’s for the best, I know. God love Saoirse, but she’s still got no filter, and I doubt she’ll ever get much’v one.”

 

“That’s not quite fair,” Lorna said. “She doesn’t swear half so much anymore.”

 

“Not where you can hear her, no,” he said, and smiled a little. “But she can’t go giving this away.”

 

“No, she can’t,” Lorna agreed, looking down at her newfound daughter. “I’ll need to practice this story until I can get it straight...and don’t think I’ll forget that crack about my fashion sense, brat nezhiti,” she added, giving Thranduil a glower that dissolved into a smile.

 

“Someday you need to tell me what that means,” Pat said, shaking his head.

 

“If I told you, then he’d know. More fun this way.”

 

Thranduil simply gave a Cheshire Cat grin and said nothing.

 

“Children,” Ratiri said. “And speaking of children, what do we tell ours? Eleniel and Ithiliel will surely realize Lorna wasn’t pregnant. They know what happens to a woman during pregnancy, and where babies come from.” He hated the thought of lying to his own as well, but what was necessary, was necessary.

 

“Chandra and Shane are the only ones that might see Lorna in a sufficient state of undress to ever have noticed. You never wear form-fitting clothing at home, Lorna. None of our children would have been examining you to look for signs of pregnancy. Who is to say that your pregnancy was obvious, and for the same reasons you did not wish to tell outsiders you did not tell anyone here but the adults? Only you two know if your children see you in a state of undress enough that they would absolutely notice,” opined Thranduil.

 

“They don’t,” Lorna said, while Atia woke enough to yawn. Christ, could they actually pull this off? “I always wear those big T-shirts as pyjamas, and usually a robe or the wrap unless it’s summer, because I’m chilly.”

 

“It is true that you complained loud and long during your first pregnancy,” Earlene noted. “But if you were truly wishing to keep this one quiet over the loss of a previous pregnancy, well, it is entirely believable that you might not have said anything around your own children. Who, after all are still very young. I do not advocate keeping this a secret from most of the children forever. I believe they should know the truth. In time, maybe with maturity, Saoirse can improve. It is only that for now it is not safe. I hope that just as with Allanah, the time will come when you tell her what really happened. I know that when our children are old enough to know, they would keep their silence. But right now they are all rather...young.”

 

“We were wondering that ourselves,” Ratiri said. “What to tell her, I mean. I know you shouldn’t keep knowledge that a child is adopted away from them forever, but...she wasn’t adopted. We found her in a dumpster. That’s something she’s going to have to hear as an adult, I think. Allanah’s father died, and though he was...well, what he was...at least you’ll never have to tell her you found her in a trash bin. I don’t even want to contemplate what that would do to a child, psychologically.”

 

“Fortunately, we’ve got a while to think about how to do it,” Lorna said, rather glad human children didn't develop as fas as peredhel. “Thranduil, can you take a look at her, and make sure everything’s okay? I mean, it seems to be so far, but we can’t do what you do.” She rose, and handed him the baby, who blinked sleepy dark eyes up at him. At first she’d thought they were brown, but they were actually a very deep hazel.

 

For a few moments, he was enjoying himself so much holding her that he forgot what he was supposed to be doing, but quickly recovered. “She is fine,” he said, clearing his throat a little.  _ Ten more months, and another little girl… _  He handed Atia back, before he could make a spectacle of himself, smiling.

 

Earlene dove into the rescue. “Alright, so we have the household managed. Mairead and those you are solid with in Baile can know the truth. All the elves will have to be pressed into going along with our deception, unfortunately, since there is no keeping a non-pregnancy a secret from them. Saoirse will have to be dealt with right away, I am afraid. And regarding the other...Lorna, there is a technique to lying. A few simple rules, really. I can teach you what to do. The most important thing is to never lie except when there is dire necessity, and this fits that first rule.”

 

“So, don’t offer if they don’t ask?” Lorna said. Atia had woken enough to grab at her braid. “I can do that.”

 

“Okay,” Earlene said. “I’ll go there. For the record, I work hard not to lie. I can count the number of times I’ve done it on one hand. But I am very, very good at it when I do. So, here are the rules; I already said the first one. The second rule is, you must only lie about whatever aspect is absolutely necessary. Never set out to tell some grandiose whopper. Understand clearly what elements of the lie are the most important to success, and have all the rest of the details be what actually did happen in reality. In this instance, the lie is that you wanted to keep your pregnancy secret because of past emotional trauma. Which is why only a handful of your closest family knew. And that is all. Nothing else happened. There never was Dublin or dumpsters. None of that. You carried a baby for nine months and didn’t ever really show and it was intensely private to you and your husband. Which brings me to the third rule. You must think on the lie, over and over. And tell yourself that it is true. As true as if you were an actor on a stage, putting your entire heart and soul into your performance. I have heard you sing ballads; pretend this is a song. Your song. It is real. Nothing else exists. Forget that the truth happened, file it away into a dark place. From this day forward, only the lie is true.  _ That _  is how you lie. You do not just speak words, you embrace them with all your mind and heart with enthusiasm. Lie with enthusiasm.”

 

Thanadir had pulled away and was staring at his wife, openmouthed. “I do not know whether to feel proud of you or deeply afraid, meldis,” he said quietly.

 

Earlene shrugged. “I am a lawyer, Thanadir. Selling stories that may or may not be a version of the truth is what I was paid a great deal of money to do. And I was the best, at what I did. Please don’t think ill of me. I am not lying when I tell you that...I don’t lie. There are reasons it is bad and dangerous. But sometimes, it is very necessary.”

 

Lorna looked down at her daughter, who looked up at her. “I can do that,” she said. “For this little one, I can practice that. Maybe I’ll come to believe it. It’s sure as hell better than the alternative -- than the truth.” She couldn’t think of anything worse than the truth, honestly. It didn't get much more depressing than ‘we found a baby in a dumpster’.

 

“And it’s certainly nice to pretend Lorna had a pregnancy that didn't go to hell and back,” Ratiri added. “Though that definitely means she need to nurse Atia, too, or it will look strange. Anyone paying attention will wonder why she isn’t.”

 

“Because this is going to be  _ so  _ much fun,” Lorna sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not even the nursing that’s uncomfortable, it’s...everything else. The leaking. Ew. But even if I didn't actually shove this one out’v some place unmentionable, at least I can feed her.” Yes, she had actually stopped herself from saying ‘hooha’. It was probably personal growth, or...something.

 

“I will help you,” Thranduil said. “On two conditions. That we are both fully aware of where I need to place my hands in order to achieve this and will behave like adults, and that the word ‘Squick’ will never be uttered in reference to the foregoing action.” He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. If he had to act like a grown-up, dammit, he was not going to be the only one. Earlene burst into laughter and shook helplessly as she giggled into Thanadir’s shoulder, while Ailill and Calanon seemed to be snuggling out of similar necessity.

 

“Put your hands…? Oh, of bloody course,” she sighed. That was how it always worked, when he healed, or...manipulated. “I guess it could be worse, but if anyone speaks’v this ever again, I’ll hunt them down and skin them. And yes, that means you,  _ Pat _ ,” she added, watching her poor brother scurry away.  _ Better my chest than my snatch _ , she thought. Because  _ that  _ hadn’t been totally humiliating or anything.

 

_ Oh and I suppose you think I had it any better?  _ Thranduil glowered at her across the room.

 

_ You didn't have two living bowling balls in your gut,  _ she retorted.  _ Two living bowling balls, one of whom wanted out in a tearing bloody hurry. _

 

_ Nice try,  _ he retorted grumpily.  _ You were not the one responsible for making sure those bowling balls could be born safely, on the same day my own children were arriving. You do not know what that....   _ He dropped off suddenly, refusing to say more and looking away. Suddenly this conversation was no longer amusing. “I am going to get more tea,” he said, rising and leaving.

 

_ Fair point,  _ she sent him.  _ And at least this one wasn’t born on the twentieth _ , she added, hoping to lighten his mood.

 

_ True.  _ He returned with his drink momentarily.

 

**

 

“Everyone has a present,” Earlene said happily, as the meeting concluded and the children were brought down from assorted corners of the home. It was decided in advance that in the interest of time, that the gifts would be announced along with their recipient, passed around, and eventually wind up in the right hands.

 

“For Saoirse,” she began. “A Catacombs Keepsake Box.”

 

“Oooh, thanks,” Saoirse said. She knew a catacomb was a fancy word for an underground graveyard, so she happily sat and opened it.

 

“For Lorna and Ratiri: Paris Catacombs dark hoodies, hopefully in the proper sizes.”

 

“Excellent.” Yes, Lorna pulled hers on now, just because it was her and this was a nice, soft, warm garment. “Thanks, you two,” she said, and Ratiri echoed the sentiment.

 

“For myself: Catacombs Pot Holders for the kitchen.” (No one was surprised).

 

“For all of the girls under this roof that are not Saoirse: Catacombs sundresses.” (The speed at which Ithiliel launched for hers was slightly disturbing).  Allanah and Eleniel were also delighted because even with their different coloring, the black and white pattern would look lovely on all of them.

 

“For Pat, a Catacombs coffee mug. Oh, and almost forgot...Lorna, they had Catacombs guitar picks with skulls on them so I had to do that too.” The pick was popped into the mug before she passed it along.

 

“Oh, thank you,” Lorna said, grinning. Atia investigated it thoroughly before yawning and falling back asleep.

 

“For Thaladir, a selection of Paris art dog collars and  Catacombs leashes.” (Inside of three minutes the regular collars were off of the hounds, replaced by their upgrades as he both frowned at and admired the leashes.)

 

“For Algar and Eldan, Catacombs soccer balls.” Little eager hands reached for their toys.

 

“Ailill, this is a reproduction hawk lithograph by Carigiet,” she smiled as she handed over the framed work that she had seen by chance in a street vendor’s collection. Grinning, the man happily felt that at least everyone knew what he liked.

 

“Calanon, this is a book with all the paintings from the Louvre, a famous museum. I’m sure you will be willing to share.” The elf appeared delighted.

 

“Maerwen and Lothiriel, silk scarves with print patterns by the artist Monet.” The ellith immediately began exploring ways to arrange the attractive fabrics around their shoulders.

 

“Ortherion, a chef’s apron displaying the Palace at Versailles and another one of the Catacombs.” He grinned good-naturedly; they would certainly see use.

 

Thanadir was by now thoroughly nervous. He had not been mentioned yet, and a great many of the gifts seemed to be festooned with skulls (which utterly baffled him and seemed terribly morbid).

 

“Lastly, for Thanadir. Three puzzles. The Eiffel Tower and Gardens, 3000 pieces. The Mona Lisa, 1000 pieces. And the rose window of Notre Dame, 468 pieces.” The last one was not meant to be difficult. It was meant to express how beautiful she felt her husband was, in her eyes. But that part was private. He looked up at her and smiled gratefully, holding out his hands to take the boxes and admire them.

 

“If you pick out your favorite photos, I’ll do you a scrapbook,” Lorna said. “You’ll probably want one, later.”  _ Later, after the world ends, and the whole of Paris is a tomb. _  Because  _ that  _ was a cheerful thought.

 

_ The whole of Paris is already a tomb, they beat you to it,  _ Thranduil said silently.  _ And...we did not really take photos. Earlene remarked that it would be different, without you. _  This was more than a little of a deception, but it was meant out of love, and to defer attention away from his wife. The truth was, some of the trip was a physical struggle for her. She had made it very clear that whatever was to...happen...on account of the Valar’s gift, that she did not want the rest of the house making it harder by fussing and fretting. The longer they could be kept from realizing that all was not well, the happier Earlene would be.

 

_ Next time you go on holiday, take some _ , Lorna ordered. She really hoped they hadn’t been too distracted by, well,  _ stuff _ ...and she was leaving that thought right there.  _ I can’t make one out of nothing. I hope your trip was less eventful than Earlene and Thanadir’s, though.  _ While theirs had been interesting, it probably couldn’t have been called anything like relaxing.

 

“It was very nice, all of it. The hotel, the food, the things to see. We should probably go back and take Thanadir, if only to eat. There were patisseries,” he explained.

 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Earlene smiled. “I found a New Thing. French macaroons. There is enough in the box for everyone in this room to have one.” The container in questioned was opened, displaying the colorful treats, and given to Thanadir, who took his and passed them along.

 

“I’ve heard of those, but I've never had one,” Ratiri said, taking one for him and one for Lorna before passing it on. Atia had woken up and started fussing, but quieted when Lorna picked her up. So far, she was proving to be an extremely easy-to-calm baby, unless she was hungry -- but then, all babies fussed when they wanted food.

 

“Jesus, that’s good,” Lorna said. “I bet you could make these, too.”

 

“I think I might try to learn,” Earlene said. “They certainly are delicious. Either way, it is good to be home.” She resumed her seat with Thranduil, expecting to lose Thanadir to the puzzles momentarily.  _ If I ever have the energy,  _ she thought with a sigh.

 

_ I would help you, Earlene. Be your hands, if that is what you would like.  _ Thanadir said this in all sincerity as he munched his cookie.

 

This brought a smile to her face.

 

_ I have another box of those just for you, meldir. _

 

Thranduil and Earlene both saw the look of rapture on his face and had to turn aside and kiss each other just to keep from dissolving into laughter.

 

Lorna wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure you’d like to go and unwind,” she said, and then, more firmly, “in your  _ room. _ ”

 

Thranduil stood up with Earlene, thinking that her suggestion sounded just fine and dandy regardless of the sarcasm. He blew Lorna a kiss. It was good to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, it's just a simple formula: when we see you care, so do we. Reviews feed our souls and our brains. Feed us, Seymour.


	119. One Hundred and Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 7-8, 2026
> 
> A note on this chapter...we wrote this after the fact, after reviewing all of the story through chapter 145 and deciding that certain events had been glossed over a little too much. This story encompasses a long period of time, as you might guess, and while we very much intend for this to be a large and detailed tale, we do need to arrive at things like The Plague...this is all to say that we agreed to do a 'skip' forward in time...so this chapter picks up FIVE YEARS after where the last one left off. And, it represents a different kind of writing exercise--the story is told via the characters discussing their memories from that five year interval, to catch you up on details you otherwise would not have seen. It might be a little awkward, but we did our best. So now that we've explained ourselves....enjoy!

 

{April 7-8, 2026}

Propped up in bed, Earlene slowly turned the pages of Lorna’s scrapbooks. A party was in the planning stages; this was to also be an open house at Eldamar--the first they’d had in quite some time. They would have a slideshow, and it was falling largely to her and Lorna to select what events in the life of their family and community would be featured in said audio/visual entertainment. With a sigh, her eyes first fell on a page from exactly five years ago today…

 

**

 

The photo was of her and Thanadir in the kitchen. Proudly displayed were the plates of colorful macaroons that they had made; it was supposed to be something fun. They had chosen to do vanilla, almond, mint and orange. And even yuzu, since she had read that was an option. At the time the photo was taken, all was well. Really, Thanadir had done everything for her even though she warned him there would not be many mistakes he could eat. Macaroons were finesse, not volume. Their heavy mixer generated batch after batch of the meringue-variant cookie batter; he provided her with this so she could do the easy part while seated; piping the cookies onto the silicone baking mats. He brought every filling ingredient to her so that only stirring the mixtures together in a bowl was needed, and faithfully kept cleaning the little pastry bags and other items that had to be used repeatedly. 

 

Her eyes closed, as she recalled how much she had enjoyed the afternoon...until she had not. Thank Eru, after the cookies were assembled and the pictures taken, everyone in that part of the house was content to grab just one and somehow they dispersed to their rooms. That was when it happened. She held one of the three plates, and was walking it to one of the food storage cupboards just as she had done about ten thousand times before, and suddenly the world seemed to spin upside down. Lost in vertigo, she fell, putting out her spare hand unthinkingly. The plate shattered, along with her wrist as it hit the hard earthen floor. Cookies rolled everywhere. It was the first time she had become dizzy enough to go down in this manner, but it would not be the last. 

 

Yes, it had hurt, but the surprise and dismay still were vivid, even now. No sound emerged from her, because the sense of disbelief had been so great. Ailill and Calanon heard the noise, and came to help. One of them had the sense to pick up all the cookies; given how much work macaroons required, it helped her greatly to learn afterward that they were not a loss. Of course, it was fine in the end. Her only real memory was of being in Thanadir’s arms; he had carried her to their bed and insisted she lie down. And of apologizing profusely for her clumsiness, and of the worry and sadness in his expression. When she woke (because of course he had caused her to sleep) Thranduil was there, and her wrist was healed. They were nice about it, but after that one of her husbands was always close enough at hand to catch her if she began to lose her equilibrium. 

 

_ So, no, not that one _ , she thought ruefully as her fingers turned the page. Perhaps another would be better.  _ Or not. _ The next one that had anything to do with her elicited another frown. From mid-June of that year, it was meant to be a cute photo; a close-up of Kiernan giving a sloppy puppy kiss to her nose. She noticed what others might not; her usually nice complexion had gone from nice to perfect. The reason being that she had begun wearing foundation--makeup--every day. Coinciding with when her pregnancy had started being visible, she woke with dark circles under her eyes, giving her an uneven skin tone. And she was not about to allow Thranduil to waste his power on something this trivial, especially when she could manage it herself. A little vanity about her appearance might exist, but it would not be coddled at his expense. Thanadir and Thranduil knew, of course; it hardly was possible for her to hide this addition to her morning routine, however brief. Though, she recalled easily how she began to deflect attention away from this by simply changing her grooming habits. No longer did she wash her face at night; if she left the layer of expertly applied makeup on her skin then it was still there in the morning. Only when she cleansed her face then would she also reapply the cosmetics along with her moisturizer. It was Earlene’s hope, that the ellyn simply stopped noticing that she was doing this or the reason why.  _ I could not afford to look tired and ill; it would attract the notice of others in the house,  _ she reasoned. It was perhaps only this last year, that she had discontinued this practice, when some of the evenness returned to her complexion. Sometimes she wondered what had happened, and her best deduction was that Thranduil had...done something. She was not privy to his thoughts, and about this he did not offer comment.

 

In the summer, in early August, their family had gone to London. Just the Sullivans, and Lothiriel and Ortherion to help with Eldan, Algar and Allanah. The other wing of the house had planned for a summer in Washington, back in America. Photos had been taken, and Lorna made some pages out of the best ones. They’d seen the British museum, the Tower of London, the Globe Theater--everything. They even drove to Oxford to see Pengolodh and Kana at their book shop, and to take them to lunch before continuing on to Stonehenge. What none of these photos showed was that at most of these places Thanadir was pushing Earlene in a wheelchair, because otherwise she would have lacked the strength to make it through each day without siphoning off of Thranduil constantly. A game was made of it; Eldan or Algar got to sit in Nana’s lap and enjoy the ride; fortunately her children were sensitive and unusually aware of her physical needs. It was obvious by late June that Faeleth was not going to be a small baby. By August, she was already extremely pregnant in appearance. With a smile, she remembered how none of her children ever leaned too much  against their sister. That was just as well, because there were many times that Faeleth had kicked so, so hard. But the photos felt like a bit of a lie. Earlene had insisted, vehemently, that there be no pictures taken of her in the wheelchair. Period. It was non-negotiable, and her husbands wisely did not offer any resistance concerning this.

 

Thanadir entered the room, smiling to see that she was basically resting. “How are you doing?” he asked softly.

 

“Alright. Just working on this project for the party, though I am not certain I’m getting anywhere.”

 

He came over, lying next to her to view the scrapbook. “Ah, London. I liked that trip. The museums were wonderful. And the Shakespeare…”

 

“I still have not forgotten you reciting Sonnet 18 to me in the Globe Theater,” Earlene blushed, remembering happily. “That was so incredibly romantic. You certainly know how to make a woman feel wanted.”

 

“You are still my summer’s day, meldis,” he said, eyes full of love. Setting the scrapbook aside, she reached to hold him. Whatever weights pressed on her heart, whatever difficulties she had encountered, always there was Thanadir. His love, his constancy, the extra measure of steady regard. It was his difference from Thranduil, who could burn brighter in his love for her, but whose flame could both surge and diminish. The King did not have the luxury of focusing his every thought on her, not that she begrudged him this. Thanadir somehow had a capacity to do just that, while still managing his duties and obligations. They both were extraordinary, but they were not the same. And since the time when so much had been taken from her, in many ways Thanadir had felt like an even greater anchor than Thranduil, for all his power and abilities.

 

“Whooooooooaaaa.” Earlene closed her eyes against the vertigo, as Thanadir held her tightly. 

 

“You cannot fall. I have you; the dizziness is not real. I mean, I know it feels real, but nothing is actually moving.”

 

“I know. I never worry, when you are with me. I am only sorry that I am more work than one of our children.”   
  


“I have never minded taking care of you. You are my wife. It is an honor.”

 

“I want to say that it must be a pain in the hind end, but I suppose you would not like to hear that,” she teased him, holding on tightly. 

 

“I would not,” came the arch reply. 

 

“Thanadir, I love you. So much.” There were moments when her attempts to avoid self-pity fared poorly, though she never complained aloud. It had been her rule, for herself. Even though she was in far better shape than when pregnant, her husbands still had to do so much more now--and they did it willingly. Nothing was ever said in recrimination; the least she could do was not fill their ears with negativity over something that she had chosen in the first place. 

 

The gentle elf felt his heart spilling over with love. Their time together since Faeleth’s conception had been hard on him, but never anything with which he truly was unable to cope. With one exception. “And I you, Earlene. You will never be other than my most precious wife.” She felt his kiss on her forehead, that now felt a little more attached to the rest of her. The vertigo was passing. “I came to spend some time with you before it is time to prepare the next meal. May I stay with you, while you do this?”

 

For an answer, she nestled closer against him, bringing the scrapbook onto both their laps. “I would like that.”

 

The next picture was of herself, Thanadir and Thranduil on Lorna’s sofa creation. Seated between them, a heavy layer of blankets covered her and they all wore hats, it was very funny. “Valar, I was….huge, wasn’t I? I don’t think I remembered how big Faeleth was.” Even in the photo, with the blankets hiding her body, the image reminded her more of a walrus beached between two elves.

 

“You were not a walrus,” Thanadir chuckled. “Though, this was well into the time you could not longer walk. I am still grateful, for the contraptions Lorna built. I admit that when I first heard of her ideas I thought they would be silly, but in the end they were a means for you to find some freedom.”

 

Nodding, a sigh escaped Earlene. Before, it would not have mattered. Her arms were strong, powerful. It would have been simple to just have a wheelchair, and propel herself around their home that way. But after...she would have managed to move herself a little, but there were days when the weakness in her arms was profound. By the beginning of her eighth month, that she even possessed legs was an afterthought; they were useless to her. She had added on a whopping 40 pounds of extra weight (and at the moment, she had no intention of thinking in metric, thank you very much). “Well, I am grateful for all that you did for me. If I had to get like that, at least I got to spend more time in your arms.”

 

“I  _ was _ the cause of you getting like that. It seems so strange, sometimes, now that I have learned the science of how a child is conceived. Something from me so small it is invisible meets something almost as small inside of you, and just keeps...growing. It is a miracle.”

 

“It is,” Earlene agreed, turning the page to now see Faeleth’s newborn photo. Photos. This was a close-up Lorna had taken of their daughter’s face, along with one that noted her measurements. “Thirteen pounds, four ounces,” Earlene whispered, still in disbelief. “But look at those eyes.”

 

Thanadir remembered that day, for who could ever forget it? “She was born very beautiful. Sharley’s eyes are interesting but I think Faeleth’s are lovelier. I have never seen eyes like hers.” A hint of discomfort was in his voice, for that had been another...thing. There were times when a light was in Faeleth’s eyes, when the flecks of color in her irises seemed more than ordinary. Never was he allowed to forget, really, that his daughter was indeed something more. And it was a ‘more’ he did not understand.

 

“Meldir,” she asked hesitantly. “I do not remember the last part of her birth. After, I did not ask and none of you ever offered to tell me. All of these years have gone by and...I think I would like to know what happened. I can guess that it was not pleasant. I woke up later in a bed, clean, my body restored as Thranduil has always done for me. But there was more, wasn’t there?”

 

For long moments Thanadir stared straight ahead at the photo, not responding. Finally his eyes turned to hers. “There was more. It is still not easy to think about, meldis. But if you want to know, I do not feel I have the right to keep it from you.”

 

“That bad?”

 

Thanadir looked away again. “You almost died, Earlene. It was one of the most difficult days of my entire life, and though I try I cannot erase the memory of what it felt like, to come so close to losing you.”

 

An involuntary and sickening knot took hold of her stomach. This...was news. And not in a good way. “I...had no idea. I never would even have thought...no one let on, even a little…”

 

“We decided that it was for the best. You carried enough burdens, with the physical difficulty of having carried her. There was joy, when you saw her for the first time. There was joy for all of us, but especially we did not want you to begin your life with our daughter thinking about...that.”

 

“You are a brave and unselfish being, to have done this for me. I am somewhere between awed, dismayed, and grateful. For as much as I would like to argue about what you all did, even I have to admit that it was for the best. Thank you,” she whispered, holding on tightly to him.

 

The old elf smiled, to hear this praise. “What do you remember, about that day?” he asked softly. Certainly, he did not wish to retell anything that was not necessary.

 

“Well…” Earlene frowned trying to recall. “We had moved to the Halls a few days’ ahead of time, on account of it being so cold. December was not a fun month that year, from the get-go. And labor started, but it wasn’t like it was with Algar and Eldan. It felt slow, and the pain was very bad, early. Thranduil helped with that, but I think at one point you both made me stay asleep, regardless, because it was just taking forever. Is that much right?”

 

“Yes,” he said, stroking her hand. “Go on, see what else you recall.”

 

“Um. I woke up again, and the contractions were even worse, but my cervix still wasn’t dilated. You told me that I had been in labor for 24 hours already, and I had a hard time believing that. But at least I’d gotten some real rest, somehow. And Ratiri had come, by then. We were all in the pool...and then I could tell it was time to push...and then it got a little blurry. I was excited, because you said her head was born, but then I pushed more and nothing was happening. Thranduil said he needed to help do something but he might not be able to control my pain while he did that….and then I remember it hurt. So bad. Really bad. I might have even screamed, I can’t remember...I held onto you...and then I don’t remember any more until...wait. There was something else in there. I...you were holding me, and I was pushing because you were telling me to, but...you know, I’m really not sure about that part? Then I woke and saw all of you, and I had Faeleth.”

 

“That is what I guessed might be the case, but I wanted to hear it from you first.” Thanadir closed his eyes, holding her tightly. Remembering. Remembering what had happened next…

 

**

 

_ Ratiri,  _ said Thranduil,  _ something is wrong. The baby’s shoulders cannot fit past Earlene’s bones, and before I begin un-knitting her pelvis to do something about it, common sense indicates I should ask you first. _

 

Oh, wonderful.  _ It sounds like shoulder dystocia,  _ he said _ , but you might not need to un-knit anything. There are maneuvers I can try, but it might be best for all concerned if she’s unconscious. _

 

Never had Thanadir felt this much abject panic in his life. Here was his daughter’s head, already born, and suddenly everything seemed to be going wrong. Whatever  _ was  _ actually wrong, Thranduil was not telling him silently or otherwise, but he had told Earlene that he had to stop managing her pain in order to do ‘something.’ And now she was screaming. No sound like this had escaped her since the birth of Ithiliel, and it made no sense to him. Abruptly her noises ceased, and Thanadir now saw that Earlene was unconscious; Ratiri was supporting Earlene’s head to keep it out of the water. How could she go from pushing and doing seemingly fine to  _ this _ ? It did not matter, his thoughts had no further time to consider any of it, because the next moment, Thranduil gave different orders entirely. “Thanadir, take her legs. Now. She must be taken out of the water immediately. The baby cannot be born, she is stuck.”

 

Thousands of years of obedience asserted themselves and he did what he was asked to, his heart hammering in his chest. “I do not understand,” he whispered, trying to suppress his own fear.

 

“I think it’s shoulder dystocia,” Ratiri said, trying to sound soothing. “Fortunately, I know what to do about that. I need you to take her out and lay her on the dining-table, and then I need a lot of towels.” He had to ignore the fact that this was not remotely a sanitary delivery room, because these were Elves; bacteria was not exactly a big deal to them, even if the current...facilities...were not what he would have chosen.

 

“Shoulder what?” Thanadir asked, his soft eyes openly betraying his fear. “Please explain to me in words I can understand.”

 

“The baby’s shoulders are positioned so that they can’t pass through the birth canal without help,” Ratiri said, glad he’d brought his knife -- and equally glad Earlene was unconscious. The living-room was bright and warm, at least. “But I need those towels.”  _ Thranduil, I'm not sure he’s going to be able to handle seeing what I have to do. _

 

Thanadir hurried to the sideboard to get what was asked, mentally berating himself for not hearing the request the first time. “Here,” he said, placing them next to Ratiri.

 

_ Have faith in him. If need be, I will intervene, but he is her husband and the child’s father. I will not ask him to leave until there is no doubt he cannot manage. _

 

“Thank you, Thanadir. Will you go stand with Thranduil for a moment? There’s one thing I need to do first.” He placed one of the towels beneath Earlene, and drew a slow breath. Yes, he knew how to do an episiotomy, but he’d never actually  _ done  _ one, and this would require great care -- especially since he had a knife, not scissors. At least it was a sharp one.

 

“I am not leaving. Stop treating me as though I need to be coddled. She is my wife and if it is important enough to be done to her, I am going to watch.” A shift in his voice that was not often heard was now apparent.

 

_ Do not contradict him. Do whatever it is you need to do, and ignore him, if my advice means anything. He will not interfere.  _ Thranduil’s voice, of the two, seemed far wearier at this point.

 

_ If he faints, I’m not catching him,  _ Ratiri said, a little sourly. Yes, Thanadir had probably seen more gore in his time than most humans on Earth combined, but there was battle, and then there was surgery. A surprising number of people could handle one, but not the other -- and, as he said, this was his wife, which could just make it worse. Doctors weren’t allowed to perform procedures on their own families for a reason. Oh well. Medio-lateral episiotomy, carefully, so carefully, this Elven dagger sharper and cleaner than any scalpel he’d ever held. Yes, there was blood, but that was what the towel was for.

 

Equally carefully, he took hold of both of Earlene’s leg’s, hyperflexing them toward her abdomen. It widened her pelvis, but evidently not enough, as no more baby was forthcoming. “Thanadir, take my place. I’m going to see if suprapubic pressure helps.”

 

Rolling his eyes because Ratiri was not looking at him, he took hold of Earlene’s legs and  silently communicated with Thranduil instead, since it was obvious that the man was not about to remember to speak in words he could understand.  _ Please, what is he doing? Why did he cut her? _

 

_ He is trying different things to see if he can get the baby’s shoulders past the bones inside Earlene that are blocking the way. The child is very large, meldir, and her shoulders are too big; it is more that, than anything about Earlene. He made the incision in order to allow more overall room; apparently sometimes this can be effective. Now he is having you keep her in this position because it too can create extra room. And now he is going to try to...push one of her bones out of the way; the one that forms the slight mound of her intimate regions. He asked for me to have her sleep because this would all be very painful with her awake. _

 

Thanadir closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to take a deep breath.  _ Thank you, Thranduil. Yes, I am afraid, but mostly I do not wish to be left out. _

 

_ I know. We are all doing our best right now. This is...I did not expect this. _

 

Ratiri was wondering just how big this child actually was. Earlene did not have a narrow pelvic arch; she’d delivered a baby that was a little over a stone, and one just under, without these complications. The child was still stubbornly stuck, barely crowning, and he was left with a dilemma. He could try the Woods’ screw maneuver, but if this baby was as big as he suspected, all that was going to do would be to tear up Earlene’s vaginal tract.

 

“Go ahead and lower her legs, Thanadir,” he said. “Your daughter doesn’t want to come out and join the world.” He had two options: symphysiotomy and caesarean section. He did  _ not  _ want to do a c-section outside of a hospital setting; he had the tools, but he lacked plasma in case of a hemorrhage. There was also the small matter of the fact that he’d never actually done it before -- no, he hadn’t done an episiotomy or a symphysiotomy, either, but neither were nearly as invasive. “I’m going to need you to take one of those towels, and when I say ‘swab’ it means ‘wipe the blood’.”

 

“Alright,” the elf said softly, praying for all he was worth. For all of them.

 

The history behind this procedure was slightly horrifying, and not one Ratiri planned on sharing at this moment. At least Earlene was unconscious, and need never know it actually happened -- it was the only thing he could comfort himself with as he carefully worked a finger between the baby’s head and the vaginal wall. He knew where he needed to be, and if he was sweating a little when he made a delicate incision just above her symphysis, he could probably be forgiven. “Swab,” he said, carefully removing the knife. Blood welled around it, but not a great deal.

 

Thanadir immediately blotted away the blood, trying to force his face to neutrality.  _ What in Eru’s name is he doing now?  _ went the plea to Thranduil.

 

_ He is cutting through the softer tissue, the ligaments, that connect her pelvic bones in the front. Once they are not joined there will be more room for the child. It is this, or cut open her abdomen to remove the child, or I have to take my own form of extreme measures. Either way I have to heal Earlene from what is done; this way does no harm and is the human method of what I myself would do. This...spares my energy, too. Just in case there is somehow more to come. _

 

At this, Thanadir’s eyes widened, and he again thanked him.

 

Ratiri gently felt around the baby, but she wasn’t going to come out on her own. “Thranduil, I either need you to wake her up long enough to push, or I can try a vacuum-assist,” he said. “I have the equipment, but I’ve never used it.” He’d bought it, and a whole lot of other tools and instruments, when he realized just how awful this pregnancy was for Earlene. Try though she had to hide it, the fact that there was anything to hide at all was pretty telling.

 

The King felt unwilling to unilaterally make this decision. “Thanadir, do you have an opinion on which he does? I can control Earlene’s pain so that she cannot feel what has been cut. She will not be able to return to the pool, but we may have to support her so that she can be in a different position to push. Or Ratiri can try to use his device, with her remaining asleep.”

 

Realizing he could not delay to consider, he allowed what he instinctively understood to make the choice, hoping that he was not somehow wrong. “I think she would prefer to do this if she can. That and whatever is the least risk to the baby.” He now looked at Ratiri, because he did not know for certain what was riskier.

 

Had Ratiri actually known what he was  _ doing  _ with the vacuum-assist, he would have said it was the least risky, but he did not. “Can you manage her pain, if we wake her up?” he asked. “If she’s in too much agony, she might not be able to do what I may need her to do.”

 

“Yes,” Thranduil answered confidently. “What you heard before was because I had to stop doing that in order to understand what was wrong.”

 

“All right,” Ratiri said. “This isn’t going to be fun for anyone, but I need you to wake her up and help her onto all fours. It ought to widen her pelvic outlet as far as is humanly possible.” And if  _ that  _ didn't work, he was going to have to do the C-section, whether any of them liked it or not. “Earlene, I promise I will get Mairead to make you a cake,” he added to the unconscious woman.

 

“Thanadir, help turn her now. She will be disoriented and perhaps weak, and yet she has to be on all fours.”

 

Eyes wide in disbelief at the command, the only thing he could figure to do is to slide underneath the upper part of her body, so that if need be he could allow her to rest on top of him. First they pushed her upright, into his arms so that her head lolled against his shoulder. And he held her while leaning back, and trusted that somehow Thranduil and Ratiri were caring for the rest. One thing was for certain. He would never be able to look at this table in quite the same way again. Ever. “I have her,” he told them, just in case that was somehow not obvious.

 

“I am waking her now, Thanadir. Encourage her in every way open to you to push.”

 

_ Meldis? Meldis it is me. You must push the baby out now, Earlene. Everyone is helping you. Hold onto me however you need to, and push. _

 

Earlene’s thoughts, in his mind, were very fuzzy. She did not understand where she was, how she was in this position, or why she was waking. 

 

_ Push meldis. Nothing else matters. I am here, and I love you very much. Push, for me. Push our daughter out so that we can meet her. _

 

That seemed to be something onto which her mind could latch, and with a incoherent murmur, she began bearing down against the child within her. There was tremendous pressure, but that was to be expected. Had it hurt, awhile ago? Something? Maybe? But it did not hurt now, and yes, she could push.

 

_ Good Earlene, just like that. When the contractions come, push. _

 

“Come on, little one,” Ratiri said, as the baby crowned yet again. “You’re giving your mam nothing but trouble, aren’t you? Let’s get you out into the world, and you can give everyone hell, not just her.” To his relief, after two more contractions and some healthy pushing by Earlene, the baby’s head finally emerged, followed by her troublesome shoulders. Once she’d got halfway, she decided to keep on in a hurry, and it wasn’t long at all before he could say, “Okay, Thranduil, put her back to sleep, and let’s get her laid down.”

 

He was staring at the baby as he said it, though, because holy  _ shit  _ this was a big baby. In all his fifteen years at Great Ormond Street, he’d never seen one quite this large; she put Algar and Eldan to shame. It was no wonder even Earlene, who seemed practically tailor-built to have children, hadn’t been able to do it on her own.

 

Earlene slumped in his arms, even as he heard Thranduil in his mind.  _ She is here, meldir. Finally, she is here. Help us turn Earlene over.  _ Never had he sat up so quickly; her weight on him was as nothing at all. Ratiri had the child, and was wrapping her in more towels. This was not the same as the pool births, where the water had delivered a largely clean baby into their arms. This was...well, a mess. And he did not care at all, as at least the joy of his child began to eclipse the fear he had for his wife.

 

“All right, Thanadir, hold your little girl,” Ratiri said, passing the baby over. “We just need to wait for the afterbirth. Thranduil, can you heal what I’ve done?” Even as he spoke, he was cleaning the blood from his incisions, tidying them up before Thranduil did his thing.

 

“Yes,” said a clearly weary but now very happy Elvenking, who looked on in vague disbelief at the size of this child. And a very beautiful child it was, as her eyes studied those around her. When she fisted a chunk of Thanadir’s braid, he was not ashamed of the tears of happiness that flowed down his cheeks. But only then did she open her eyes. They were exact reflections of Thanadir’s, but so much lovelier. The colors flecking the hazel were vivid, like an autumn day… “Every father thinks his child is the most beautiful, but you may actually have managed it, meldir,” Thranduil told him, even as his light flared to quite literally put Earlene back together again. “And thank you, Ratiri. I did not expect this to happen. Anything, like this.”

 

“You are very welcome,” Ratiri said, wiping off his bloody hands. “I was afraid she’d have difficulty, but I didn't expect this, either. I’d be very curious to see what that baby weighs.”

 

“I brought the scale,” Thanadir said dreamily. “It is on the sideboard.” Only now did he look up at Earlene, laid on the table. She looked so, so tired. Drained. But..this was often the case after a birth. Maybe after Thranduil fully repaired her and she rested…

 

Ratiri fetched it, setting it on the table beside Earlene. Poor Earlene. She was going to need to be spoiled, a lot, for at least the next six months. After what she'd gone through, and what they’d had to do to her...she needed rest. And cake. “All right, let’s get this not-so-little-one weighed.”

 

When the baby was on the scale, he stared in disbelief. Six kilograms?! Six point oh seven, to be somewhat precise… “Good  _ grief _ ,” he said. “Well, this is by far Earlene’s heaviest baby, as well as largest.” Why this one had been this huge, when the others were not...he had no idea, and doubted anyone else did, either.

 

Thanadir held his daughter tightly, and now wondered if this was the beginning of...many things. Kissing her little forehead, he thanked the Valar for this gift, even as he wondered...what they had done. Knowing that the little girl should be on her mother’s breast, he moved around mindful of the cord which was mostly done pulsing anyhow. Thranduil obligingly held Earlene in more of an upright position, and between the two of them the little girl was able to latch onto her mother’s nipple. The King chuckled. Earlene’s body was nothing if not generous in this regard; the little one would not be hungry for long. “Ratiri, if it is time to cut the cord, please do so. It is taking many hands to manage her nursing,” Thanadir said softly. “And I also thank you for your help. I did not know so many things could happen.”

 

“Human birth can certainly be a...varied experience,” Ratiri said, busying himself with the cord. “After Earlene, any future births I attend ought to seem fairly simple, unless they’re breech.”  _ Then  _ he’d really have a problem, though possibly not as much of one as the mother did. “Though I’m going to suggest that no matter what she wants, you wait a while before any further children.” Honestly, what he  _ wanted  _ to suggest was that Earlene have no more children, ever, but it was her body, and her call. Even so, she ought to wait.

 

The ellyn looked at each other. This was her last child, they all had agreed, but that tidbit was also not their place to tell. “We will tell her what you advise,” Thranduil said diplomatically. “Thanadir, perhaps you can cover Earlene with some more towels. It is not so warm in this room, and we must remain here until the placenta is born. I can hold both Earlene and the baby.”

 

With a happy nod Thanadir disappeared briefly to bring a few of the larger bath towels from the next room, returning to see the afterbirth had arrived and that Ratiri was examining it for whatever it was that doctors examined things. Casting out a towel to cover her legs, marveling a little at the healed place where not so long ago the ugly incision was, his lips parted. Suddenly there was a great deal of blood, bright red blood, flowing out of her at an alarming rate. “Why is she bleeding so much?”

 

Ratiri looked, and his eyes widened. He let out a highly unprofessional whisper of “ _ Shit _ ,” grabbing a towel. If Thranduil had healed what he’d done, this had to be… he felt around, swabbing blood as he worked, and felt his heart lurch. “Postpartum hemorrhage,” he said, mastering himself. “Thanadir, stay here. Thranduil, can you tell me what’s going on? If there are any tears?” He hurried to fetch one of the other little kits he’d bought, this one on a whim -- he hadn’t figured to need it now, but thought it might come in handy later. He’d seen an intrauterine balloon tamponade used once, and he  _ hoped  _ that this hemorrhaging was just caused by her daughter being so monstrously huge, because that could be dealt with fairly easily even if Thranduil was exhausted.

 

“The only thing different is that her womb is still very large,” Thranduil said, focusing on trying to stem the flow. “It is not shrinking as it should but...maybe because the child was so big and all the troubles, her womb is just...tired? There is a great deal of blood inside of the organ. I am trying to stop this, but surely anything you could also do cannot hurt.”

 

“I was hoping that was the reason,” Ratiri said, opening the kit. “Thanadir, if you could get me some warm water from the pool, I would greatly appreciate it.” What he held now was a Bakri balloon tamponade, a handy little device perfect for a low-tech society. It was a clear plastic balloon, attached to a large syringe. He’d read that you could use air or a liquid, but he thought that a liquid might make it stronger.

 

Thanadir had just enough sense to swiftly take his daughter and lay her on the couch, surrounded by pillows so that she could not roll anywhere no matter what, before snatching up an empty ewer to fill in the warm water. He was back in seconds, his heart once again pounding in his chest.

 

“Thank you,” Ratiri said, filling the syringe. Very slowly he injected it into the tamponade balloon, not wanting to subject her poor uterus to any further trauma. “Once upon a time, postpartum hemorrhaging was the leading cause of maternal death in the world,” he added. “This little thing was a miracle. Unfortunately, it’s still a very costly miracle for many places in the world, but interestingly, you can get pretty much the exact same thing using a condom and a syringe….” And this was not going to be a miracle in Earlene’s case. She’d gone almost grey, but the balloon was almost full; as soon as he’d managed it, he hustled for an IV. “Thranduil, she needs you. Her pulse is racing -- she’s in trouble.” 

 

He was gone and back in a moment; he’d stored all his equipment in the bathroom. And while he might have no experience as an obstetrician, he could get an IV line into an arm in under fifteen seconds. Earlene got warm saline in both, and he wished, so very much, that he’d had any way of storing blood. Lorna, Pat, and Lorna the Younger were all universal donors, but he couldn’t store whole blood, and he had no way to separate plasma.

 

“Thanadir, I am calling out for Thalion. Ruscion. Any of the strong ones who are nearby. Until they come, I need you. I will be honest, meldir; Earlene is near death and I am near exhaustion. But we will succeed. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. He walked immediately to Thranduil, and placed both his hands on the King’s shoulders. “I am ready.”

 

Thranduil held onto Earlene; he could feel her thready pulse through her chest wall. Closing his eyes, he poured their strength into her.

 

Ratiri opened the doors, and then fetched one of the blankets that lay along the sofa, covering Earlene as best he could. No, she didn't usually care who saw her body, but in this case, she was unconscious. She needed what dignity he could afford her. Her IV lines were running full open; for now, there was little more he could do. Fortunately, he had more of them, though he hoped it was enough.

 

Thalion was the first to arrive, and needed no explanation of what was wanted, when he saw Earlene’s ashen skin and the two ellyn fighting to keep her alive. Feren was with him, then came Melda and Ruscion. Soon the room was at least a dozen deep in linked elves; this all would have been completely surreal and wonderful if it was not so serious.

 

Carefully, Ratiri pressed his fingers to Earlene’s throat, and felt her pulse still beating far too rapidly. With his other hand, he grabbed one of the saline bags and squeezed it; if he could get it ahead of the other, he wouldn’t have to change them at the same time. He couldn’t rush this, for all she needed the fluids.

 

When that bag had drained, he immediately changed it, and started squeezing the other one. Saline was not plasma, but it was better than nothing; while this was admittedly guesswork, he thought she might have lost two liters of blood, or near enough. Even if he got all the universal donors in Eldamar together, they couldn’t hope to make a dent in that without risk to themselves. Lorna and Lorna the Younger were both so tiny, and Pat was not a large man by any means...he’d have four patients on his hands, not one.

 

_ What you are doing is helping as much as what we are doing,  _ he heard Thranduil’s exhausted voice.  _ The more of that you can get in her, the better. I could wake her up to drink liquids but right now I would really rather not. She will make it, Ratiri. Whatever went wrong inside of her has stopped; the device can come out now. Soon I will use what power the others are giving me to restore her womb to normal. But we will be remaining here some days, I think. _

 

_ That would be the best idea,  _ Ratiri said, changing the second bag.  _ The best things for her will be rest, care, and attention.  _ He went to remove the balloon, beyond thankful he’d thought to order it; honestly, half of the things he’d bought he hadn’t anticipated actually needing, but had wanted to have around to examine and practice with. He wrapped it in a towel, intending to dispose of it once he got back to Eldamar.

 

At last Thranduil removed his hands from her, tired but actually feeling better than before they began this. “Earlene will be well, now,” he said to all gathered. “We thank all of you who came for your precious gift. He turned and rose, just in time to see Thanadir swoon in front of him. Fortunately he still had reflexes left, and caught him before he could fall to the floor. “I am afraid that our seneschal needs rest. I should have guessed he would give too much of himself.”

 

Thalion stepped forward. “Give him to me, please, Aran Thranduil. Care for your wife. I will place him in the bedroom. And I think I speak for all of us here when I ask that you please not worry. We will clean this room and remove the linens. Bring meals here. And wine,” he smiled, well enough able to imagine how the family must feel. “But...there is a child?” The question was asked with a hopeful tone.

 

“Here, husband.” Melda spotted the little girl, asleep on the couch cushions, and was cradling her lovingly.

 

“Valar she is...she is large, my King. And very beautiful.” 

 

Thranduil chuckled wearily. “If Melda would consent to hold her until we can settle Earlene and Thanadir, I would be most grateful. I would be equally grateful if someone could ensure that Ratiri has a hot meal before he returns to Eldamar. Without his assistance this day would have been immeasurably more difficult.”  _ Or disastrous,  _ is what he would not voice aloud. These extended demands on his power were...very difficult to manage, and this delivery had been like nothing he had ever seen or imagined.

 

“Rest well,” Ratiri said. “Enjoy that baby. I believe I will go steal some of the beer I know Geezer keeps in the woodworking hall.” He gathered up the rest of his mess, but paused at the door. “What’s her name?”

 

Looking in mild disbelief at the child’s unconscious parents, he shook his head and smiled. “They named her Faeleth. No middle name. Just Faeleth.”

 

“Well, Just Faeleth Sullivan, let your naneth sleep,” Ratiri said, pointing at her. “I’ll get the birth certificate filled out...later.” He could murder a hot meal, honestly. All the academic study of obstetrics in the world couldn’t prepare a person for the real thing, and he was damned glad he had bought so much equipment on a whim.

 

**

 

“So you see, meldis, Thranduil had to tell me about the last part of it when later I woke. You cannot know what it was for me, to see you well again with our daughter at your breast. I was so afraid…”

 

“And here I just thought it was like Ithiliel,” she murmured. “Except, an Ithiliel I mostly slept through.”

 

Shaking his head, Thanadir disagreed. “You would have been in agony. What still pulls at my heart is the knowledge that women surely have experienced that and worse, without help. Ratiri told us about something but...he did not elaborate.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘something’?”

 

“When he had to cut you, here.” Thanadir’s fingers traced delicately over the top of her pubic mound. “So your bones could part, to let Faeleth out. There is a word for it, though I cannot remember. He said that something...bad, used to happen. To women. That is all I know. I hope you can understand why I did not recall it until now, or have any desire to look then. I wanted to forget that it had happened.”

 

Nodding slowly and holding him tightly, this was filed under To Be Researched. For later. “I am so sorry, Thanadir, that you went through such pain. I remember being very weak for days after, and you both told me I just needed time to recover from the birth. But what I really needed were all new blood cells, didn’t I?” she mused. “I still appreciate it. But at least I was able to get...better, afterward. I mean, sure I’m not as I was before Faeleth, but I have more strength than when I carried her. And I almost never fall anymore. Though, the occasional breakable still falls victim to...yeah. Me. But...thank you for helping to save me. I just wish it had not been necessary.” This information would have to be digested, now. Slowly. It was not the first time she might have died in her life with them, but to hear that it was in childbirth….well, no one wanted to think that they were almost another statistic. 

 

Her fingers released their hold on the elf long enough to turn the next page; Thanadir was busier kissing the side of her head (which was very, very difficult to ignore but dammit she didn’t have one photo to submit for this party yet). It was of Ratiri, happily holding a bottle of the insanely costly Scotch that…. “I do not remember ordering this for Ratiri,” she frowned. Honestly she did not remember seeing this photo before at all. “When did this happen?”

 

Thanadir chuckled. “That was our thank- you gift to him for what he did to help you. We purchased that without your knowledge. But you will like the rest of the story. For the first year after it was given him, he hid the bottle in their flat at the Halls so that it would not be necessary to share it. Only later on did he tell Lorna. Though I think it also may have been to deflect questions about why it was given. I do not know what Ratiri did or did not tell about your birth.”

 

“Knowing him, nothing at all,” Earlene said.  _ That poor man. Good thing he is not Lorna, he must have had to have his hands in some very interesting places.  _ “Doctors are usually obligated to say nothing about their treatment of patients, even when it is one of us. And shoot, I can’t use that photo either, I certainly don’t need these memories dredged up for all of you.”

 

“It might be best,” he said, now nuzzling her neck with his nose.

 

“Maybe I should do this later, when I feel more inspired,” she murmured, setting the album aside to give her full attention to snuggling with him. Her hands sought the muscles in his neck, and began to rub tiny circles there. This was among his favorite things, and after what she had just been told, a thousand more of these would not be enough.

 

*****

 

Lorna too sat flipping through scrapbooks; she had over a dozen of them in a box beside the bed. Some were all-Ireland affairs, but a couple were of the trips the Donovan-Duncans took to Washington, to spend holidays with Sharley. There was always a summer trip and a winter trip; summers they hiked and camped all over the state, but always wound up at Ross Lake at some point, whereas winters were based in Skykomish. They skied, and went sledding and innertubing, and took long hikes in the snow-muffled forests of the Cascades. So very much snow remained novel, even year after year.

 

And then there was Atia. She hadn’t expected to ever have another kid to add to the ‘kid’ scrapbook, so she’d had to dismantle the existing one and get a larger book, so all three of hers could occupy the same one. Tiny Atia...the first picture of her had been with her parents -- she was yawning, of course. Little mite had spent a lot of time sleeping, probably to make up for her first few cold, lonely hours.

 

Lorna had worried, at first, about what those few hours might have done to her mentally, for all the idea was ridiculous; such a young baby had no cognition at all. Still, even when not nursing, she’d sat for hours with her daughter cradled against her skin, letting her know she was loved and wanted. And if she’d been almost militant when it came to keeping the twins warm and comfortable as babies, she was almost fanatical about it with Atia in that first year. And indeed, in most of these pictures, her youngest was being held by someone; it wasn’t until she reached the stage that she needed to be learning to inchworm that Ratiri put his foot down and made her  _ get  _ put down. He had a point, so Lorna went with it, but that didn't mean she wasn’t still affectionate as hell -- just in moderation.

 

The next picture was Atia, age ten months, at Christmas. She sat before the tree, which twinkled with lights, surrounded by cats and grinning a big, beaming grin. She had a head of wispy black hair by then, and somehow, her big hazel eyes were the same shape as Ratiri’s. She was happy, healthy, safe, and loved, and had grown into the sweetest little girl, who liked to play with bugs and frogs and kitties.

 

Though God, the first time they’d gone to Baile…

 

**

{March 24th, 2021}

 

They’d kept Atia at home for a solid month, both to make certain her immune system was decent, and to give themselves time to practice their story. Ratiri was wise enough to realize Lorna would get all kinds of questions about her pregnancy, and that rather than try to make up details she’d no doubt muck up sooner or later, she needed to just say it wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. If she wanted to say it hadn’t been bad like the twins, she could go ahead and do it; having a pregnancy that was easier than  _ that  _ horror-show would make not complaining about it more believable. And Atia, even after a month, was so tiny; given that there was only one of her, an easier pregnancy  made sense.

 

But now it was time to get her out and let Baile see her, just to get it over with. Pat and Thranduil were going with them; Pat to serve as a distraction, and Thranduil to take care of any questions Lorna couldn’t answer without looking like a lying liar who lied.

 

Of all of Baile, Mairead and Niamh alone were let in on the ruse; even Kevin and the other kids didn't know. They’d all decided that the fewer people were in on it, the better, since it meant less chance of someone fucking up. All the rest of them thought Atia was the product of a sneaky pregnancy.

 

Lorna fed her before they left, so that she’d sleep along the way. Breastfeeding was no more fun the second time around -- it wasn’t even the feeding itself, so much as the leakage. The mess. The heaviness and oversensitivity. When Atia was actually  _ nursing  _ it was fine, thanks mostly to all those nice hormones and endorphins floating around, but when she wasn’t? No thanks. Still, she’d keep this up until her daughter was eating proper baby food. She knew from her first go-round that breast milk was the healthiest thing for an infant, but she just didn't think she could manage a full year of it again.

 

“Mo chroí, she’ll be fine in the carrier,” Ratiri said, amused. Lorna so rarely put her down, but that was going to have to change eventually. “Look at her, she’s already half asleep.”

 

“I know,” Lorna said, bundling her up in a little coat and extra booties over her onesie, and a tiny green hat. March in Ireland was not known for its pleasant weather, and it was all of ten degrees outside. A small, soft blanket of heavy fleece was tucked around her sleepy little body, because Lorna had an irrational fear of her getting cold. Her first hours of life had been spent cold and alone, so if she had to go back out into the chill, she should at least be as warm and comfortable as they could make her. “I’m her mother. Sue me.”

 

Her husband kissed her instead, and they got the carrier securely buckled into the Mystery Machine’s backseat. Lorna insisted on sitting back there, too, leaving Pat and Thranduil to fight over the passenger’s seat. They had all the assorted paraphernalia needed to travel with such a young baby -- nappies, spare clothes, two binkies, a spit-up cloth, and whatever other odds and ends Ratiri had thought of.

 

“I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am,” she said, looking down at her snoozing daughter.  Mairead had primed the pump, so to speak; nobody in the pub would be surprised by Atia’s existence. What she anticipated were a thousand and one questions as to how she’d done it, and how it had been -- and for all Ratiri advised her to refuse to talk about it much, she’d have to say  _ something _ . If she didn't complain a little, it would look awfully suspicious.

 

“You are overthinking it,” Thranduil said. “It is a baby. There were the usual difficulties, but not so bad as with the twins. There. Done.” Sometimes, his friend could be better assuaged with advice in short, matter-of-fact packets.

 

“You know how nosy Baile people are,” she said. “And I've never, to their knowledge, successfully kept a secret from them for very long. But if we get them drunk, they’ll ask fewer questions.”

 

“That they will,” Pat said. “And I’m sure Mairead’s already got  _ that  _ going.”

 

“No,” Thranduil countered. “The mistake you are making is in acknowledging that they have any right to have it out of you in the first place. Lorna, forgive me, but in many other areas of life, when someone tries to force you to do something you do not wish to, you have zero difficulty telling them off. Complete with what Earlene would call ‘multiple f-bombs.’ So why in Eru’s name would you go in there even considering capitulating to a group of nosy people? This strikes me as ridiculous.”

 

“Because if I kick up  _ too  _ much fuss about it, people will wonder,” she said. “The thing is, a lot’v people who know me will be wondering how in fuck I managed to go through a pregnancy without complaining to  _ someone  _ in the village. And they’re kind’v not without a point, so you lot’ll have to just help me keep reinforcing the ‘lost an earlier pregnancy’ angle until they shut up.”

 

“You are still overthinking it, dear one. You are going in there with the belief that people have a right to extract private information from you. It is just that. Private. You need reinforce  _ nothing _ except for repeating as many times as necessary, it is a private family matter. I am sorry, but you have all somehow created a monster by not enforcing your own boundaries a very long time ago, if this is the current state of affairs. No one should ever have to justify why they do not wish to reveal information. Ever. Private. Priiiiiivaaaaaaate.” Thranduil’s arms were now crossed, and he was fully turned around to stare at her.

 

Lorna, in a show of wonderful maturity, stuck her tongue out at him. Atia snoozed on. “I just don't want people wondering too much, and to anyone who knows me, actually pulling off a secret pregnancy...well, I probably couldn’t actually do it if I had to.”

 

“Sure you could,” Pat said. “Fun Size, I love you immensely, and please don't take this as an insult when I say you’re the most stubborn bitch on the planet. If you really, really wanted to hide one, you’d do it. You’d probably take it out on the rest’v  _ us _ , but you’d do it.”

 

“He’s not wrong,” Ratiri added. “Though, in the interest of maintaining all my assorted bits and pieces, I will omit the ‘bitch’.”

 

“What  _ both _ of them said, which is why I cannot believe we are having this discussion,” Thranduil added.

 

“Oh, hush, all’v you,” she glowered.

 

“We’re almost there anyway,” Ratiri said. “Is Atia still asleep?”

 

“She is. And still nice and warm.” Lorna couldn’t forget how cold that day, and that dumpster, had been, the poor baby’s extremities so bloodless they were nearly blue. Her tiny hands were a healthy tan shade now, little fingers warm when her mother touched them.

 

It was raining lightly when they reached the pub, and she pulled up the carrier’s little hood even for the short trip between van and the great indoors. Jamie’s was warm, and brighter than usual, which meant the little hat and blanket could come off.

 

_ I do not recall Lorna fussing this much with the twins,  _ Thranduil frowned as he spoke silently to Ratiri.   _ Am I imagining this? _

 

_ Yes and no _ , Ratiri said.  _ The twins were indoors for their first few months, but she was still pretty insistent on keeping them warm. I would rather she be so militant with Atia about it than otherwise, though, especially when out of the house. I’ve never yet seen her overdress her, and I can’t tell you how many babies and toddlers I saw in Great Ormond Street who’d caught colds or bronchitis from their parents under-dressing them. If it gets to be a problem, I’ll talk to her, but right now it’s better than the alternative. _

 

_ Hm. Very well. _

 

“All right, you lot,” Mairead called, in a voice that somehow managed to carry while being relatively quiet. “There’s a bloody sleeping baby, so shut it, the lot’v you. This is Atia Maeve Duncan.” Although quite honestly, why any of those kids was actually called Duncan was beyond her, given Ratiri had been absorbed into the Donovans, not the other way around. Hell, Lorna’s false identity had her listed as Donovan.

 

“And we will begin this celebration with the first two rounds for everyone on me,” Thranduil added, sonorously but also quietly. “A new baby is a wonderful event.”

 

It being the middle of the day, there weren’t  _ too  _ many people in here, though still far more than enough, and they closed in on the baby carrier like sharks. Siobhan had never wanted one of her own, but that didn't mean she didn't think they were cute when they belonged to other people. This one was so  _ tiny _ , but even so, how the hell had Lorna hidden her damn baby bump? She had to have had one, she was so little herself.

 

“Will you not go breathing right in her face?” Lorna asked, poking her in the shoulder. “She doesn’t need to be catching a cold the first time I bring her out’v the house.”

 

“Which one’v you delivered this kid, and how bad was it?” Siobhan asked. There was an edge of concern beneath the word, for all they sounded teasing.

 

“We both helped, and it was not bad at all,” Thranduil said archly. “I am not about to let my friend have a horrible experience.”

 

“And look at the size’v that one,” Mairead said smoothly, all but shoving a pint into Siobhan’s hands. “Ratiri’s giant’s genes didn't have their way in the womb this time. Drink that and go and get us some buns, would you?”

 

“Lorna, our sister’s a bit scary,” Pat said, as she expertly hustled Siobhan off.

 

“We both learned from our gran,” Lorna said. “All right, me not being a doctor, can I have a drink without it affecting my nursing, if it’s a weak one?”

 

“Just one shouldn’t hurt,” Ratiri said. No, he didn't particularly like it; babies tended to nurse less when the mother had been drinking, but it wasn’t like Lorna made a habit of it. A single time would make no appreciable difference.

 

“Oh thank fuck. Pat, get me a rum and Coke -- half shot,” she said, even as Shelagh drifted over. She was in town for once, though not for long, and she looked from the baby, to Lorna, then to Ratiri and Thranduil.

 

“All right, exactly how much grief did she give you lot?” she asked. She’d been extremely surprised Lorna had actually managed to keep a secret like that; if this pregnancy had been anything like her first, she’d probably been miserable, and a miserable Lorna tended to spread it around with a shovel.

 

“Enough,” Ratiri said, and left it at that. If he’d said ‘none at all’, it would have sounded patently false. “It was worth it. Look at the result.”

 

‘The result’ yawned, flexing her little hands, and settled right back to sleep.

 

“She is  _ Lorna _ ,” Thranduil answered with a look of incredulity on his face. It wasn’t often that he had an open invitation, nay, a  _ reason to need _ to poke at her publicly. So he was enjoying this. Sue him.

 

Lorna, again a fountain of maturity, turned to stick her tongue out at him, while Shelagh smothered a laugh.

 

“I can imagine all sorts,” she said dryly. “All right, yes, I’m asking this in front’v Ratiri: did you have to eat that bullshit rabbit food again?” She hadn’t actually seen much of  Lorna during her first pregnancy, but general village opinion of Ratiri’s idea of a healthy diet had been a rather negative one. Even Doc Barry had been less than impressed.

 

With a smirk at her husband, Lorna said, “Not at all. Earlene cooks such healthy food that I got to eat all the bacon I liked.”

 

Ratiri’s left eye twitched a little, but he couldn’t contradict her.

 

Mairead, bearing two pints, returned, handing one to Thranduil and one to Ratiri. She was trailed by Young Orla (Big Jamie’s wife), Old Orla, Molly,  _ and  _ Nuala, Doc Barry’s nurse.

 

Nuala was the one that made Lorna nervous. Nuala and Doc Barry both knew the actual circumstances behind her “losing” her last pregnancy -- and yeah, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that, but still. Having those two know the loss had been a deliberate thing was not comforting.  _ Thranduil, what is she thinking? _

 

_ Just weld another golf club onto the Bad Elf Award,  _ he said morosely.  _ She felt sorry for you; she knows the pregnancy you aborted was ectopic. So she is more than a little pleased to see that you are happy now. _

 

_ How about I add a golf club  _ and  _ make you some biscuits? Some with baker’s chocolate, so they’re not too sweet?  _ She had, in point of fact, actually been adding shit to the Bad Elf Aware over the years; blowing up her old house had seen a tiny replica pipe-wrench, for one. 

_ I have one better. We are in a pub, and it suddenly occurs to me, I have not really sampled too many kinds of human alcohol. You know my tastes well enough. Surprise me? Let us be honest, you will make the biscuits for me, and Thanadir will eat them all. _

 

_ That he will _ , Lorna said, and fought not to roll her eyes. She loved Thanadir, she really did, but he was a bit of a Hoover when it came to sweets.

 

Atia woke before any of them could actually ask any questions, her big hazel eyes staring at nothing in particular -- at four weeks, she was too young to focus for very long.

 

“Jesus, hasn’t she got Ratiri’s eyes,” Molly said. “Finally, a bloody Donovan without the green.”

 

“I’m right here, you know,” Pat grumbled.

 

Molly, in answer, threatened to throw a peanut at him.

 

Atia blinked, and sneezed, and then looked very startled. The little group of women all but melted -- as did Big Jamie, coming up behind them. 

 

“Yeah, well, Jamie, this one needs a drink,” she said, using her words as an excuse to both leave the admirers, head to the bar, and pull Thranduil after her. “You can still do a Long Island Iced Tea like we studied, right?”

 

“That in fact I can,” he said, moving on auto-pilot.

 

“You’ll love it,” she said to Thranduil. “It’s not sweet, but you also can’t really taste the alcohol, which is why they’re so bloody lethal. You drink five’v them and then you’re blotto. Well, a human would. Still, they’re tasty.”

 

“This, I should like,” he said, smiling and ruffling her hair. “This will be a lovely evening,” he said meaningfully, with a wink in her direction. “I am certain of it.”

 

*****

 

After what turned into an extended touchfest, during which time Thanadir was subjected to a scalp and foot rub that left him a very happy elf, Earlene was alone once again. Returning to her project, she decided to save hassle, and flip through a later part of the scrapbook that did not have anything to do with Faeleth.  _ This. This is something worth including. _ She smiled to see these photos, of the days seven years ago when they had planted the orchard trees. It was a grand permaculture technique; one that would mean carefully protecting the fruit trees via fences and stone walls while they grew up. Many of the plantings would line the stone pasture walls, allowing for at least possible success with crops such as pears that needed the residual heat from the stones. Plums, gages, apples, mulberries, cherries even a few peaches and nectarines  known to endure cold and bloom late were acquired. Neither were nut trees left out of the equation; walnuts and chestnuts were placed as well. And shrubs, she smiled, grinning at a photo of her twin daughters proudly holding up the three colors of currant--and gooseberry bushes. Blueberries, lingonberries, and of course blackberry and raspberry vines were all included.

 

None of it was worth a damn the first year, but now? The lovingly tended plants were now not so little, and were entering full production. And somewhere in these books had to be the photos of their first big harvest...or maybe not, actually, since that was only just last late summer. Maybe Lorna hadn’t gotten that far with the scrapbooks; one never knew where she was except that “behind” was a legitimate guess. These creations took a great deal of love and patience and she was rather glad Lorna was so good at this and enjoyed it so much. Done; at least she had this series of photos now. Something was accomplished. Now for the other…

 

_ Cutting down the front of the pubic bone... _ The mere thought elicited a shiver, and with a thankful heart she realized how lucky she was to have husbands that could bring unconsciousness.  _ That is apparently called a ‘symphysiotomy,’ because that’s not a mouthful...now what was Ratiri talking about? Maybe something to do with….oh my FUCKING GOD.  _ The air was stolen out of her lungs as the search results stacked up in front of her. “ _ Symphysiotomy - Ireland’s Brutal Alternative to Caesereans. _ ” With her stomach in her throat, she read and swiftly began talking to herself aloud. “They thought back then that if a woman had too many caesereans, that it would damage her ability to continue to bear children, so in order to not do C-sections on account of the Catholic church’s teaching to not damage fertility, they did these operations  _ without pain relief or informed consent _ in order to make sure the woman could keep popping out more kids? Mother. Fucker.” All seemliness was out the window as she felt her blood boiling. “Fifteen HUNDRED FUCKING WOMEN, this happened to?? A metal saw down the middle of your privates while you are already in labor, without even being told what was being done to you?? This is goddamn institutionalized torture. This is...what in hell was  _ wrong _ with this country??” Article after blog after personal account made this discovery worse, and worse, and worse. “Fuck this,” she whispered, taking her computer. She was going to find Lorna.

 

**

 

Storming up the stairs to the second story, Earlene came within range of Thanadir’s mind for just a moment while he was measuring ingredients (having become very fond of the ease of casseroles and other single-dish meals) for a beef-broccoli-rice with a mushroom sauce concoction. “Meldis?” he whispered too late, as she was already moving across the bridge to the other wing. He sighed, but guessed that it was 1) not about him and 2) he would like as not find out soon enough. “Maybe I should make a pudding,” he mumbled to himself. Desserts were always cheerful.

 

Earlene knocked on Lorna’s door, unsure if she was even home or still out being a productive human being.

 

“Come on in!” Lorna called. She was surrounded by both scrapbooks and cats, braid wrapped around her head and secured with pins to keep Pumpkin from trying to eat it.

 

Earlene slipped inside, her state of wrath suddenly mutating into a slight feeling of awkwardness...but dammit, she wanted...oh who fucking cared. “Hi...um, ever have a day where you learn about something just godawful and kind of need to tell someone else about it? That would be where I’m at. But...if it’s not a good time…”

 

“Christ, distract me,” Lorna said. “C’mon, let’s kick some cats off some chairs.” They had a few very nice wingbacks by the fireplace, though it did involve booting some disgruntled felines first. “Do I even want to know?”

 

“Well…” Earlene flopped down into the chair. “Okay I guess I need some preamble here, but that’s not what I want to talk about. In all this time, I never asked what happened when Faeleth was born. I wasn’t awake for all of it and...doesn’t matter. What does matter is that for the first time, Thanadir told me the whole story today. And he told me Ratiri mentioned something during the time I was knocked out about a procedure he had to do to me. He had to...had to cut the front of me open, to separate the bones so she could get out. I’m sure that wasn’t pleasant for anyone to watch but again, that’s not the point of this. What is the point is that afterward, I looked up what this is. It’s called a symphysiotomy, and I wanted to know what Ratiri meant when he said that it had a bad history or...something like that. That was when I found this.” She opened her laptop, turning it around and handing it to Lorna. “I am ten thousand kinds of speechless that this ever could have happened and now I’m having a moment of crisis with what in hell is wrong with Ireland, kind of thing, even though I know it isn’t just this place that’s got issues.” She fell silent, knowing Lorna would need time to read.

 

Read Lorna did. “Oh, good Jesus,” she said. “It wasn’t Ireland, it was the bloody Church, and the fact that the bloody Church let in a load’v sadists and gobshites, then gave them protection. I’d tell you to look up the Magdalene laundries and the industrial schools, but your blood pressure might not survive.”

 

Pumpkin jumped up on her lap, purring, and she passed the laptop back to Earlene. “When you combine that with a lack’v separation between church and state...you get that kind’v shite. And I can’t even blame it on men, since the Magdalen laundries, and the all-girl industrial schools, were run by women. It’s like...honestly, kind’v like how the modern Garda’ll protect its shite officers. Modern law enforcement everywhere, come to that. Big institutions like that...they’re poison.”

 

“I know there aren’t degrees of awful, but the idea that this could have happened here to so many mothers. Mothers without elves to care for them whose babies were killed on account of it or who had their health ruined for life on account of some self-righteous piece of shit doctor thinking he had the right to do this to a woman without even any pain relief. It’s just...Jesus.”

 

“Even now there’s too many people, religious or otherwise, who think a woman’s function is to  _ breed _ ,” Lorna said, scowling. “Our wants or consent don't bloody matter, so long as we’re still able to pop out the kids. It was worse back then because they could get away with it. It was the same in Ireland as it was in England or America, for a long time: the life’v the baby meant more than the life’v the mother. We, as women, we’ve only been considered worth a damn as  _ humans  _ since what, the eighties? Otherwise we were just incubators with legs.”

 

“When the future happens,” Earlene said quietly, “I don’t know how, but I hope you can find a way to keep this from happening. Part of me hopes that religion just ceases to exist, because without that none’v this could have happened. The arrogance...I don’t know if there is ever going to be a way to outlaw treating people like slabs of meat, but I hope you find it.”

 

“The only really religious people in either village are all pensioners,” Lorna said. “This shite stopped decades ago for a reason, but we’ll make sure it doesn’t come back. With Ratiri training all the future medical staff...honestly, I think he’d really stop and think before teaching this technique. Yeah, it worked on you, but you had Thranduil to heal the damage. Though...Christ, you bring up a good point, because, expats. Who knows what they believe.”

 

“I don’t fault Ratiri for doing this. I read about it and...it’s one of the choices you make when the baby is stuck. It was not the first thing he tried, from what Thanadir told me. I would guess it still has value, at the right time but…” she shook her head, trailing off. “This just is so appalling.”

 

“If you can heal it later,” Lorna said. “I’m not sure I want to know how you’d have to do heal that without Thranduil’s help. I mean... _ gah. _ ” Pumpkin chirped at her, and she scratched the cat’s ears. “I’m not sure it’s so unlike what Thranduil did, when he delivered my twins, but it’s the kind of thing that needs magical healing, I’d think. Otherwise, you’d risk what these poor women went through.”

 

She sighed. “Which brings us right back to future birth control, however it might be accomplished. Because people who want sex badly enough will have it.” It was not something that she personally understood; she’d been totally happy to do without, between Liam and Ratiri -- but she would not have been at all happy to do without while she was  _ with  _ them.

 

“Don’t know if you’ll ever perfect it,” Earlene smiled. “Humans are too fertile. Accidents will happen regardless. But how about compassionate care for the mother, actual real help with birth, and a place for babies not wanted that doesn’t turn into a dumping ground. There just has to be a way to treat each other like human beings and not make people shamed for wanting sex. They’ve always wanted sex. We’ve just done such a piss poor job of addressing that in a realistic manner. I mean, sure, try to teach the kids that if you do this, there can be a baby. And that even with support and help it’s not going to be fun. Abortions can be risky. So can birth. You know, I wonder if condoms made of sheep’s guts or whatever actually can work….”

 

“Keeping the number’v unwanted -- or hell, even wanted -- babies down is going to be pretty damn important,” Lorna said. “I mean, we need population growth, but not out’v control. And while that’s a disgusting thought, it’s also worth looking into.” Her nose wrinkled. “Vasectomies can be reversible, and are pretty fast and easy, even if they’re temporarily, um,  _ uncomfortable _ , and you’ve got to wait two months before you can have it off without a condom. I wonder how getting your tubes tied works -- how invasive or hard it is, and if we could do it after the end. Because I can see a lot’v women wanting to do that, after they’ve had however many kids they want -- or if they don't want any at all. Back in the day, nobody knew how to do either.”

 

Boo jumped up onto her lap, and immediately started grooming Pumpkin, who squeaked. “Babies themselves, though...I don't want to start orphanages. Just...no. At least, with a smaller population, we can keep a better eye on any foster families. And we  _ won’t  _ do what every bloody Western society does now,” she added darkly. “We won’t be paying foster parents in anything but goods for the kid. The sheer number’v...well. I’ve known people who grew up in the foster system, and the whole gang avoided it like poison for a reason. There  _ are  _ good foster parents out there, but there are also a shiteload’v greedy muppets who treat the kids like shit and spend the government paycheck on themselves.”

 

“Don’t reinvent money,” Earlene said drily. “Wouldn’t that be nice. I wonder if it really could work, like Star Trek, where food, clothing, shelter and health care are just basic human rights. And then people can go put their energies toward being useful somehow, or...making the world a better place. Yeah, I think I’m feeling philosophical just now.”

 

“I don't want money, and I doubt anyone else will, either, once they’ve really thought about it,” Lorna said. “I mean, it’s objectively useless. Worthless. You can’t eat it, though I suppose you could burn the paper stuff to keep warm for like, five minutes. And I think...I think we can  manage that, at first. That trick will be to keep it going once our population grows, and everyone no longer knows practically everybody else.

 

“What I worry about is training whoever’ll take over the Council, once the original one’s died off. We’ve got to try to train people, but how? None’v us really knows what we’re doing even now. And I think we’ll have a harder time’v it once everyone’s actually living in the Halls full-time.”

 

“Well, the original council was formed by popular appointment. That might need to stay the same. There might need to be a...deputy council, for lack of better words. And a time will come when the elven faction won’t exist so...that will shift too. Maybe you’ll replace us, maybe you won’t. 

 

“I think it might be good if we do, just so people feel they’ve got more people representing them,” Lorna said. “What  _ I  _ want to know -- what we need to come up with, sooner or later -- is when Council members can retire. I don't want to be dealing with government when I’m ninety.”

 

“Maybe submit it for the next agenda,” Earlene suggested, now distracted because of another knock on the door.

 

“Earlene?” a voice asked softly, opening the door a little but not looking in.

 

“I’m in here, Thanadir, come in.”

 

“I am very sorry to disturb you,” the Sad Eyes said, “but my sauce isn’t...working. Could you please help me?”

 

“Of course. Be down in just a few minutes.”

 

“Okay,” he answered as the door closed.

 

Earlene chuckled to Lorna. “Probably for the best. This will keep me from looking up Industrial Schools and getting my underwear into its next bunchup.”

 

“Good luck,” Lorna said. “I’ll see what else I can find in these bloody scrapbooks. Glad I organized them by category, that’s for damn sure.”

 

“I’ve got one set of photos I want...and that’s as far as I got. The orchard plantings and all that...and I wondered if you had the pictures of the fruit baskets we harvested and all that, even if they aren’t scrapbooked? Together they’d make a nice reminder for the party that yes, we are actually getting somewhere.”

 

“Oh, I’ve got more than I know what to do with,” Lorna said, setting the cats down. “Go work on your sauce, I’ll have it all in hand.”

 

“Will do,” she smiled, disappearing with a wave out the doorway. “Thanks for the chat.”

 

*****

 

{April 9th, 2026}

 

“Okay, I have had two days to iron out my underwear of All Things Shit About Irish History, and we still need more stuff for this party. I was thinking a little about the cruise to Alaska? But honestly that was just kind of gross, though we all laughed about it in the end.”

 

“Oh, there should definitely be some’v that,” Lorna said, “but after poor Ailill and Calanon’s reception. It’s a good thing they’re such good sports, because that was just...painful.” Her warnings about ‘mamzillas’ had not, unfortunately, been unfounded, though she’d been somewhat wackier than most.

 

“Oh god. The reception. Mary Kerry won’t be at our party and...Ailill and Calanon usually have a pretty good sense of humor. Surely a slide of the ‘peas in a pod’ wedding favors couldn’t hurt? Everyone who is in the know will just laugh and for the rest, if it sails over their heads no harm done. Those poor blokes...makes me glad we never had a real anything.”

 

“It’s just too good to pass up,” Lorna said, laughing. “I mean, it could’ve been worse -- they could’ve had those boxes’v Tic Tacs with ‘Mint to Be’ on them, but still. The peas in a pod thing just needs to be...a thing. Though sure I thought Ailill would die when he first saw it, the poor lad.” He couldn’t really be called a ‘lad’ anymore -- he was well into his thirties now -- but he still looked so young she couldn’t help it. She didn't know if it was genetics, Thranduil, or both, but he still looked like he was about twenty.

 

“Yeah,” Earlene grinned. “Let’s do it. The beauty of it is, they’ll forgive us. They probably still laugh from time to time. Ha ha, do you remember the look on Ailill’s face when he walked into the Heart Room, and read us that email from his mam?”

 

“Oh, quite well,” Lorna said. “He doesn’t know this, but Saoirse drew a picture’v it. She said she couldn’t help it.”

 

Earlene burst into laughter….and the recollections began.

 

**

 

“Lorna. Earlene,” Ailill whispered, in a panic. “Mam sent me a message about our reception. I think she’s...sure god, what do I say?”

 

“Well, let me read it,” Earlene answered, putting down her tablet.

 

_ Ailill, you don’t need to worry about a thing. I’ve already ordered flowers for the table, I’m sure you and Calanon like green? Bells of Ireland everywhere, I thought, with white baby’s breath and some pretty statice. I need to know what flavor cake is your favorite (oh, be sure to ask Calanon too!) and I have the most adorable party favors for the guests, you’ll just love them!  Tell Earlene I’ll be emailing her soon about the menu for appetizers, and I need to talk about the decorations…” _

 

Earlene looked up at Lorna, with her eyebrow raised, searching for something suitably diplomatic by way of a comment.

 

_ Don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh _ , Lorna ordered herself. It wasn’t funny, and yet at the same time, it totally was. That poor lad’s expression… “Well,” she said, “you can tell her you’ve already got the cake in hand, thanks to my sister -- given how big it’s got to be, your mam would break the bank trying to order one herself. That way you two can pick out the flavor and decorations yourself, at least. Honestly,” she added, thoughtful, “you could tell her you’ve got a load’v that already put together, but let her keep what she’s already made. It’ll be tacky, sure, but at least it won’t be worse.”

 

For once, and she felt terrible for even thinking it, she was rather glad her own mother was no longer in the land of the living, and that Mairead had at least had the sense to let her get on with things in her own way.

 

“This is, er…” Earlene could see that Lorna was keeping a remarkably even keel. “This is what you hope mothers won’t do but mothers so often  _ do _ do. I think we can help reel her in, Ailill. But what I need to know, quite soon, is what aspects of this event are important for you. You see, nature abhors a vacuum and so do mams. If something isn’t already there, she will see it as something needing to be done and seek to do it. But if I have the ability to tell her that you already asked for this or we already did that….well, it will help reduce the, uh, the…” Earlene looked at Lorna helplessly for how to say it.

 

“The maternal urge to be helpful,” Lorna said. “It’s natural for a mam to want to contribute, I think, especially since you’re the first’v her kids to get married, and she’d feel left out if she didn't get to do  _ something  _ \-- but, as tacky as they sound, she’s done the flowers. Unfortunately, there’s no way to change that bit without hurting her feelings. I’m sure Thanadir can arrange them into something within screaming distance’v tasteful.” He was Thanadir; creating decorative miracles of all sorts was just something he did. Yeah, usually it involved clothing, but she was sure he could take this and run with it. Statice and baby’s breath were actually rather pretty, but bells of Ireland? Really?  _ Really?  _ Well, there had to be some way to...minimize them.

 

“We’re doomed, aren’t we?” the man asked.

 

“A little,” Earlene grinned. “But I promise you that we can keep you as tipsy as necessary to survive the ordeal. Think of it this way: It’s just a party. People will come, enjoy the cake, and the food. Get ossified, because this is Ireland. They will be glad you and Calanon are happy, and...then they will go home and forget about it. You married each other exactly as you wished to, with no interference. This is just...a little thing, to share your joy with others. And since it will be here, there is only so much your mam can do; in the end Thranduil has the ability to say No to anything that is too much.”

 

“True…” Ailill nodded, trying to absorb this.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” Lorna said, biting the inside of her cheek, “why don't you two start designing a cake now? Saoirse can knock up a sketch, so you’ve got something to show your mam. If she sees you’ve already got that far, she can’t very well complain, or at least not as much. My sister can do things with icing even a professional baker could only dream’v, and your mam knows it.” Mother Mary had seen (and eaten) a Mairead cake, so she could hardly disagree. 

 

“I can do that,” Saoirse said. The girl had kept an admirably straight face, all things considered; poor Ailill’s expression...well. Lorna could safely say she’d never seen one quite like it before.

 

Calanon came around the corner. “You have a new email from your mother,” he stated, after seeing his husband’s expression. It was not a question.

 

_ Clever elf _ , Earlene thought, though she knew not to broadcast that sentiment aloud. “Yes,” she answered for Ailill, who seemed to be frankly….stuck. Were it not so sad she would have laughed; he really did look a little like one of the chicken hens when they froze in place, seemingly having gone into avian vapor lock.

 

“Alright, listen to me,” Calanon insisted, moving to restart normal cerebral function in his partner. That his methods included a chaste and extremely tasteful kiss seemed to be helping. “We are going to make a list, right now, of the things that are unimportant to us. All of those will be left to your mother, so she knows where she may indulge herself. For all the rest, we inform her that the matter is already cared for. Simple. Done. And nothing more for you to worry about.” The elf was now making entertaining smiley faces designed to elicit a laugh. Or at least a smile. It appeared to be working.

 

Earlene caught Lorna’s eye and they shared the Mutual Raised Eyebrow of Approval. Calanon was perfect for Ailill, some odd combination of parent and lover. Personally, it would have driven her nuts, but it was quite obviously exactly what Ailill needed. 

 

“Lorna just suggested choosing the cake, with which I agree.” Earlene looked at the pair expectantly.

 

“Vanilla” followed by “Chocolate” came out simultaneously. Earlene smiled, and sincerely hoped Lorna was feeling decisive today.

 

The Lorna in question had to bite her cheek even harder. “How about we do one that’s half chocolate, half vanilla?” she offered. “It’ll have to be huge anyway, so why not?” She pulled out her mobile, calling up the ‘notes’ app. “And icing?”

 

“Lemon” followed by “Strawberry” suffered a similar fate, which caused the two of them to burst into laughter. At least the mood was lightening.

 

“Can I suggest a custard filling for all of your choices?” Earlene offered. “It is easy for the baker, popular with everyone, and will not clash with any of the flavors you’ve mentioned thus far.” The couple nodded, honestly not seeming to care all that much about cake. _ Men. _ They so rarely understood the importance of these things, which was why Thanadir was a shining gem among his….er….  _ best just drop this line of thought entirely, Earlene,  _ she admonished herself. “Custard it is,” she said, trying very hard to keep a straight face.

 

“Well, cough up a design, you two, so Saoirse can get started,” Lorna said. “If you can email the finished product to your mam, she’ll have a harder time making ‘suggestions’.” These two...they really were so adorable it was almost sickening. They were just so pretty, and Calanon almost looked younger than Ailill...she wanted to pat them both on the head, except she couldn’t reach.

 

“Except don't literally cough it up,” her niece added. “Because, ew.”

 

Earlene felt an idea coming on. “Sheet cake. Huuuuuuuge sheet cake. Send Saoirse to Siobhan and Mairead. Give her the airbrush cake decorator and have them help her with how it’s used. Forest scene. Hawks. What do you think? Of course I’m shamelessly volunteering Saoirse here, but…”

The couple nodded, perfectly happy that the others in the room were running with it. Apparently any sane input that was not from Mary Kerry was going to be approved...that poor woman.

 

“I can do that,” Saoirse said, thoughtful. “I’d want to practice with the tools first, but I could totally do that. Except Siobhan’s kind’v gross.”

 

“You’ve got no idea, kid,” Lorna said. A steady relationship had not made the woman any less perverted -- if anything, she was even worse. At least Mairead could belt her upside the head if she started getting too raunchy around the poor girl.

 

Saoirse began sketching already, and was soon lost inside her own head. Thia was her favorite of the three hawks, and there had been one day she’d looked up to find the bird soaring through sunlit trees, light and shadow playing over the feathers and small, bright eyes. She’d learned in science class that birds of prey were descended from dinosaurs -- hell, hawks were even called raptors -- and when she looked at them, she’d swear that there were times they  _ remembered _ .

 

“That would be beautiful,” Ailill said softly. “If it’s not too much trouble? We just wanted a chance for everyone to be happy with us, insofar as that is possible,” he smiled crookedly.

 

Calanon’s face darkened; Earlene had seen this before and in a flash decided to run interference. “Now, none of that, Ailill. Yes, some people can be prejudiced, but don’t take away from those who do not think that way. We are joyful for you, and...well, screw all those others, alright? I know it can be hard, but try not to say stuff like that. The more you do, the more you are going to reinforce your own fears. I understand having them. But those are the feelings we need to fight, as best we can.” She hugged Ailill, and kissed him on the cheek, knowing that she was one of about three who could get away with this. “Okay?” 

 

“Okay,” he murmured, smiling and hugging her back. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Calanon compose himself, and felt she had scored a minor victory.

 

“Trouble?” Saoirse echoed. “Hell no. It’s a challenge. Haven’t had one’v those in a while.”

 

“And the pair’v you, I’ll teach you a handy little phrase in Russian -- you can use it when you’re fed up, and nobody’ll know what you mean,” Lorna said, grinning. “‘ Chert s nimi ’ means ‘to hell with them’. You’ve got all’v us in your corner.” And God help anyone who pissed off all the Donovans…first person who looked at these two funny would find themselves hanging by their ankle from a tree, stark naked, possibly covered in ants. And glitter. And maybe bees, if any were to be found.

 

Calanon smiled, realizing that Earlene had...gotten through. “Cake. Guests. What we will wear. The kitchens will not run out of food, and John from the pub will dole out drinks. Surely we can let your mother do the rest, to make her happy?”

 

“I suppose. I just feel like...she will manage to do something. I don’t know what. I mean, you saw her house. Just...something.”

 

“Look at it this way,” Lorna said, trying to be encouraging. “If she  _ does  _ manage something...special...at least it’ll be a story to tell all these kid’s kids?” The pair of them were adopted uncles to this brood already, so surely that would continue on with the next generation.

 

Ailill blinked, not liking the sound of this potentiality. “Umm……”

 

“I think it is time to exercise your birds,” Calanon said firmly, all but dragging him out of the room. Poor Ailill clutched at his laptop, barely snagging it in time.

 

“So,” Earlene said, waiting until the pair were well upstairs. “That went well.”

 

As soon as they were gone, Lorna let herself burst into a fit of giggling. “Those poor two...we’ve got to find something to foist on Mary. Something she can’t inadvertently make tackier than all hell. Bells’v Ireland... _ honestly _ .”

 

“Isn’t there a guest book, sort’v thing?” Saoirse asked distractedly. “Give her that to work on. It’s not like they’ll ever look at it again.”

 

“Guest book, decorations. Let her get it all out of her system,” Earlene said. “What could possibly go wrong?”

 

**

 

A few weeks’ afterward came the actual day of the reception. At breakfast, Ailill appeared visibly queasy, and Calanon mildly exasperated. Earlene tossed a telepathic dissertation Thranduil’s way, until he agreed to perform what amounted to a fatherly duty. And because even the Elvenking could be affected by the possibility of mamzillas, he took Thanadir with him when he summoned Ailill to the Quiet Room. 

 

“You are nervous,” Thranduil said.

 

“I think ‘vaguely terrified’ would be a better word, my King,” the man answered quietly. “This is...mam. Mam who has superpowers of wanting to be over the top, when it comes to decorating and...things. I know she means well but...yes, I am more than a little afraid of what completely humiliating things she will have managed to procure.” His gaze shifted to Thanadir, and a plea was in his eyes. “You were not there, the year she decided that everyone had to wear fleece bunny hats on Easter Sunday. I was only ten, and...I would give a great deal to forget that day.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened, for he could see the memory with great clarity, and much of his royal discipline was needed to maintain his neutral expression. For in his estimation, the only thing he had seen worse was Ralphie’s rabbit pajamas in that film Earlene insisted on watching each Christmas night. Perhaps Ailill’s level of worry was not entirely unjustified. 

 

“Try to look at it this way,” Thranduil advised, placing an arm over his shoulders. “Everyone who will be at this occasion are friends, or family. Either way, those who know and like you and your husband. Even if matters do go awry, it will be something about which to laugh. Eventually. And even if your mother is given to excesses, it is only able to happen because your relationship with her was salvaged after much hard work and effort. I know what it is to lose the love of a parent,” he said in a rare offer of personal openness. “It is why I pushed you so hard to at least try, to salvage some connection to your family. While I do not wish to diminish your fears, I hope you can keep…” he struggled for the right word.

 

“Perspective,” Thanadir added softly. “Even though there is a difficulty, keeping the greater picture in mind.” This advice too came from the heart, for when he had failed to follow his own advice in this regard, the outcomes had been abysmal.

 

“I will try. Try harder,” Ailill said, his mein written over with sadness. “I know I am driving Calanon...I know my behavior is upsetting him. I wish I had better self-discipline. It is so hard for me to mask my feelings.”

 

“It is not always a bad thing,” Thanadir smiled, trying to be encouraging. “Would it help you, if I spoke to Calanon?”

 

“He is my husband, Hîr Thanadir. I should not push that off onto someone else.”

 

“You misunderstand me,” the seneschal corrected kindly. “I have lived closely with a human partner for longer than he has. I had hoped to share some...insights.”

 

Ailill’s head bowed. “Then I will not stand in your way.”

 

“Come here,” Thranduil told the man, having made a decision. He perhaps had offered this too easily to Lorna in the past, and not enough to Ailill whose emotions were arguably just as difficult for him to bear. But today was a special occasion...he pulled him into his embrace, leaving Ailill calm and at peace.

 

“You can...how can you do that?” The firion marveled at how different he felt. “Thank you.”

 

“It is a facet of healing,” the King answered. “And a small test of your ability to work with it, not against it.”

 

“I will give my best,” Ailill grinned. “And if I may be excused, I should dress for this and...prepare myself.”

 

“Go on,” Thranduil agreed. “Remember to enjoy yourself!”

 

**

 

Mary Kerry descended in a storm, driving the Kerry company lorry filled to the brim with boxes and buckets of flowers. Earlene, having gone into some modified form of lawyer-mode well beforehand, welcomed her and had already impressed a rather impervious Thanadir into helping offload the assorted items. Tables from the Halls had already been placed on the lawn area, ready for use. Thanadir, as suspected, had the flowers foisted on him almost immediately, and retreated to the workbenches in the greenhouse where all the needed cutting tools and water was available. Earlene watched this with vague envy, since that left her with little choice other than to help Mary set up the tables. 

 

All seemed well enough during the linens, plates and flatware portion of the distribution. But then the box of party favors was opened, and Earlene’s eyes widened. Snatching one, she pretended a need to recruit a little more help, and dashed off to find Lorna. Which did not take long. “Okay, as proof of my undying friendship, I’m racing in here with a preview, so that you have half a chance to prepare yourself. God help us, these are the party favors.” She held out a small ceramic open pea pod, with two grinning peas staring up out of it. Each pea appeared to be deliriously happy with the state of its existence. Never mind that the idea of peas having that much of an opinion on anything was disturbing in and of itself.

 

For once in her life, Lorna was neither eating nor drinking when confronted with something surprising. Somehow, she managed to choke anyway. “Oh good Jesus...we should probably warn Ailill and Calanon, before they can get blindsided by...this.” Lorna would be the first to admit she had little in the way of taste, but she still knew tacky when she saw it. “Christ, they look like they’re  _ high _ …”

 

Ratiri entered the room just in time to hear this, and stared. “Those are…?”

 

“Party favors,” his wife said. “Courtesy’v Mother Mary.” Biting her lip, she eyed the peas, and then looked at him. “I’m sorry, allanah, but I'm using you shamelessly. You’re pretty and distracting and I’ve seen Mother Mary stare at you more than once, so go distract her, will you? Offer to help her move something heavy. You’ve got the jeans on for it.” They were beautifully fitted, and Lorna at least was aware of the artistic properties of his arse, even if they went right over his head.

 

The poor man facepalmed, flushing like a brick, but one more look at the peas sent him off. The more he could spare Ailill and Calanon, the better.

 

“I had this made specially,” Mary said, when Lorna followed her husband. In her hands was what was presumably the guest book, and one look at it made Lorna have to bite the inside of her cheek so hard she drew blood. She’d though the party favors were tacky, but this -- there were scarcely words for it. Apparently peas-in-a-pod was going to be a running theme, because the cover of the book was a vivid spring green, with an even more vivid stencil of peas in, yes, a pod. The words ‘Two Peas in a Pod’ were lovingly stenciled across the top in gold leaf, with Ailill and Calanon’s names at the bottom. Sweet pea flowers were stenciled all around the edges; they would have been pretty, if their pastel hues hadn’t clashed so badly with the background.

 

“It’s...original,” she said, for want of anything else to say. “Why don't you go on and put it in the kitchen, so it doesn’t get dinged or anything before we need it?” There was no way in hell she wasn’t warning Saoirse about it beforehand, because her niece’s utter lack of a verbal filter could prove disastrous if she didn't.

 

“And you can tell me where you’d like...anything else you’ve brought,” Ratiri said, resigning himself to being eye-candy. Four years of uni and seven of medical school, and here he was, distracting a middle-aged Irish woman with his arse. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a little humiliating. Still, he’d endure it for Ailill and Calanon’s sake -- but Lorna owed him.

 

“I didn't know if you had tablecloths or not, so I brought some,” Mary said, blushing a little.

 

He could only imagine what kind of monstrosities  _ those  _ would be, so he said, “We’ve already got some, but it’s good of you to think of it.” He had no idea if they actually did or not, but anything was likely better. If they too weren’t pea-themed, he’d be very surprised...this poor woman needed a boyfriend. No, she and her husband weren’t officially divorced, but that was probably only because divorce was so insanely expensive in Ireland -- well, that and the fact that they did co-own a rather lucrative business. Still, so far as he knew, the Kerry’s weren’t terribly religious people. There ought to be nothing stopping her from going out and finding some nice single man.

 

Once in the kitchen, he put the offending guest book well out of the way, and let her order him about like a rather intelligent pack mule. To her credit, she was at least trying not to stare at him, but her blush gave her away.  _ Oh Lorna, you owe me so, so much. _ Was this what Earlene felt like, when someone stared at her chest?

 

Thranduil appeared, greeting Mary with his charmingly good manners. She paused long enough to appreciate the sight of the handsome elf-king with whom her son had somehow gained employment. If she did not understand the full extent of that arrangement, that was probably for the best. Earlene passed through, taking note that apparently Ratiri and Thranduil both had Powers of Distraction. Thanadir, bless him, failed to turn Mary’s head and therefore was nowhere near as useful just now.

 

“Mairead and those from Baile will be along soon enough,” she pointed out. “That will be for the cake, of course. The elves at the kitchens will bring along the trays of food; platters for cold-cuts are already here and ready to be taken outside. Same for the fruit and cheese and cracker trays. Other than that, guests should begin arriving soon and...do we have the seating dealt with? It looks like Lorna took care of the wine glasses at the tables.”

 

A look of panic came over Mary’s face. “Oh no! The place-cards! I have to set out the place-cards! I have the entire map of them right here…”

 

_ Assigned seating at an outdoor party?  _ Earlene wondered in vague disbelief. “I can help you, if you want? We should take care of that right away.” 

 

The two of them went outside, where Mary procured the stack of them. “Each one gets folded along the seam and placed on the center of each plate,” came the instruction. 

 

This was simple enough, Earlene started in except that she realized almost immediately that these were not just place-cards. They were pea-themed, and each one had a unique (and godawful) pea-related saying written on it in flowing calligraphy. ‘World peas,’ one declared. ‘Pease of pie.’ ‘Speak your peas.’ ‘Peas on Earth.’ That was when Earlene decided that slipping Ailill diluted elf wine might be the most merciful thing anyone could do. At least then, he would be able to laugh more at all of this. And right after she finished helping deploy this verbal travesty, Earlene made a beeline for her husband.

 

“You have to,” she pleaded. “If he drinks that, he will think everything is funny and not care. Surely that is better than spending the entire time borderline depressed and humiliated? And if not, I will do my best to get him drunk just on principle.”

 

Thranduil massaged his forehead, and she was struck once again by his statuesque beauty. Which made it more interesting to see him burst into laughter.    
“Alright, I agree,” he answered, his eyes twinkling. “He will be under my supervision and...this whole event has become utterly ridiculous and I feel that a certain measure of responsibility for that rests on me. I will care for this. But where are Ailill and Calanon? Do they know Mary is here?”

 

“Hiding in their room, I would guess,” Earlene replied. “I will inform them that showtime has begun.”

 

“No, I will do it,” Thranduil said. “Mary gave me a task earlier, I am to give them some clothing she wished them both to wear.”

 

“And what would that be?” Earlene asked, deeply worried. 

 

“Well, the packages are wrapped, but I will abuse my powers to tell you that they are matching cashmere jumpers, very costly, since I could see that in her thoughts. I hope you will keep that private between us?”

 

“I will,” Earlene agreed. “Thank the Valar, that seems innocuous enough.”

 

**

 

“Sweet baby Jesus, he did not mention they were  _ green  _ jumpers _ ,” _ Earlene said, officially horrified. “Oh these poor...I am going to owe them a vacation or something. Somewhere. This is like a bad dream, in shades of split pea soup.”

 

“Why peas?” Lorna wondered, staring helplessly at the monstrosities. “I mean...you’ve seen their house. It’s bland, sure, but there’s  _ taste  _ to it. This is just...I haven’t got bloody words for this.” They were in fact pea-green jumpers, but it got worse: each had a pod with two peas in it embroidered on the left side of the front. “They don't just need a holiday, they need like, a romantic getaway to a villa in France.”

 

“Yeah...I think the two of us are going to be researching both the best places as well as how to care for hawks for a week. Because  _ that _ won’t be sketchy. But if I had to guess on the peas thing? This has to be Mary overthinking it. There was this big mess about her not accepting her son as gay. And now she’s doing what she thinks is best to embrace that and not be tacky. Unfortunately, in my estimation, anthropomorphized garden vegetables probably were not the best choice. Just...damn.”

 

“Eh, we can manage the hawks,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Elves are good with animals, and I know Thaladir’s spent a lot’v time with them. Are we going to give Ailill some wine  _ before  _ we show him these...things?”

 

“Hell yes. I might need a tiny nip myself, at the rate this is shaping up. If there is a pea salad, I’ll be the one in the corner quietly drinking too much.”

 

“Oh, I’ll be right there with you,” Lorna said. “At least the cake turned out, and has nothing at all pea-related about it. Though I’ve got to say, I wish Mother Mary had consulted Daughter Mary before getting all’v...this. I’m sure her daughter would’ve tried to rein her in a little.”

 

“Sadly, I did not think of exploiting that. Consequence of having a sibling who was a gobshite, I guess. I forget that having them can actually be useful. Ah, and here comes our lad now. Will you look at that? Calanon actually looks good in that sweater. And adorable. It must be an elf talent,” Earlene muttered. “Ah, and there is Thranduil with the wine. I do love that ellon…”

 

**

 

Most all of the guests had arrived, and to their complete credit not a one of the villagers from Lasg’len or Baile had batted an eye much at the peas, though John from the Spotted Dick did seem to have an eye muscle that started twitching fairly soon after Mary insisted on draping his keg in green ribbons. Every elf in the Halls was present; all in all this was pushing 300 people milling around to enjoy the offerings and celebrate on this unusually fine spring day. Whether it was the wine or not, Ailill actually appeared to be having a good time, which in turn yielded the same result with Calanon. Thanadir’s flower arrangements were gorgeous, Mairead’s cake was a triumph, and Earlene had been able to resist grimacing when she walked by a place-card that said ‘masterpeas’ (seriously, how many of these fucking things  _ were there _ ??). But the couple seemed happy, and really, nothing else mattered.

 

“Somehow, this is working,” Earlene murmured in Lorna’s ear. Needless to say, they were a few drinks in themselves (proportionately; Earlene never again tried to keep up with Lorna after that first disastrous incident).

 

“Fingers crossed it stays that way,” Lorna said, and sipped. She’d been trying to pace herself, but every time she looked at one of those grinning peas, or one of those ungodly puns, she sipped. “Look at Calanon carry off that jumper, though. And Ailill’s as happy as he is drunk.” She snorted. “And Christ, will you look at Saoirse? I’ve never seen that expression before in my life. Looks like she’s just spotted an alien, and she’s not sure if it’s friendly or not. And I think I saw Mairead choke on her drink when she looked at one’v those puns. They’re even worse than the sort’v thing I’d expect from the Quilting Club.”

 

Her eyes traveled over the crowd, that seemed to be enjoying itself in spite of the decorations. Most of the food had already been eaten; the dishes on the long table were nearly empty, and the tablecloth (mercifully, Thanadir had in fact had something that could be used, sparing them all more garish green) fluttered slightly in the breeze. Beneath the hem, she could see paws -- legs -- oh  _ no _ .

 

“Don't bloody even!” she cried, but she was much too far away. Thaladir’s hounds were on the hunt, and apparently their quarry was leftover bits of roasted meat.

 

“Flannery! Kiernan! NO!” Earlene tried. The volume was impressive, but futile. She found herself wondering two things. First, whether anyone had fed the dogs before the party (strong suspicions existed to the negative). And second, just how many platters were about to hit the lawn. Sure enough, the clever hound wasn’t trying to table surf for food, oh no. Flannery had grabbed the tablecloth, and was pulling with all her might. To his credit, Thranduil appeared over there very quickly; Earlene guessed at the use of his elven superpowers on that maneuver...but half of what was on the long table was already crashed and in a mess on the ground. “Did you know dogs could eat that fast?” she asked Lorna helplessly. “Because I didn’t.”

 

“Oh, good Jesus,” Lorna said. “No, I didn't either. It’s probably down to us to deal with that, isn’t it?” Somehow, she’d managed to slosh her drink down her front even though she’d only taken half of an aborted step. Maybe she’d hit her limit...though looking at Flannery all but inhaling the remains of what she thought was roast beef, maybe not.

 

Thaladir, having heard the commotion (and seen, because it was hard to ignore that much tableware clattering to the ground) was ineffectively piping variations on “No! Bad dogs!” but...meat was meat and there was basically no way they were going to stop on account of being scolded when every last strand of their doggy DNA molecules told them to polish off every bit they could manage. What did succeed was Thranduil scruffing both animals and tucking them under his arms, intent on locking them in the house. 

 

Earlene looked over, worried, to see that Mary Kerry appeared to be horrified whereas Ailill was laughing so hard he was almost crying. “Erm…” she looked at Lorna. “Damage control on aisle three.”

 

“Oh, lovely.” Lorna knocked back the rest of her drink and made a beeline for Mary, hoping she could stave off a meltdown. It meant she had to pick her way through a crowd of people, many of whom were in various stages of inebriation, who had turned to look at the free show.

 

“Oi, Mary, it’ll be all right,” she said, when she reached the flabbergasted woman. “Everyone’s already eaten, the cake’s safe, and sure just look at Ailill -- it’s made him laugh, so it’s worth it, right?”

 

“He is, isn’t he…” Mary trailed off. Mary the Younger, who had somehow managed to be present without being noticed sooner, suddenly appeared--hands on her hips. Wherever she had been, bless her, she was in a ‘take charge’ frame of mind just now. 

 

“Mam, every party needs a good story. And now there is one, and it didn’t involve the cake or an ambulance. Let’s call it good.”

 

“I guess it is a little funny,”  Mother Mary admitted, taking in the sight of what seemed to be disembodied dog butts with furiously wagging tails being toted off by the elf-king. “I suppose that isn’t something you see every day?”

 

“Indeed it’s not,” Lorna said, fumbling her mobile out of her pocket and taking a picture. “And puppies are puppies. At least it wasn’t the cats. You’ve not lived until you’ve seen seven cats descend on a piece’v meat.” She shook her head, and glanced at the Marys. “Don't know about you, but I’d say it’s time for another drink before the cake.”

 

**

 

“Well, my vote for the slides of that one is, Thranduil carting off the dogs, with a collage of all the peas items including Ailill and Calanon’s jumpers. Everyone who was there ought to get a laugh out of those. It was funny, and it only cost us that vacation on the French Riviera. All in all I think it was quite a success,” Earlene chuckled. “Though, don’t know about you, I still can’t look at shell peas in quite the same way.”

 

“That sounds perfect,” Lorna said, even as she wondered if this household would ever manage a party without  _ something  _ going wrong. “And Christ, I can’t, either. At least it was, um,  _ memorable _ .” If nothing else, it was a story to tell any grand-nieces or -nephews. She gathered together the pictures, snickering. “Damn, you know what else we should do? The Alaskan cruise. That was a bit...special.”

 

“Oh, who could forget ‘all aboard the Puke Princess’” Earlene said acerbically. _ Who could forget, indeed. _ She had been ambivalent about the idea, until it was pointed out to her that she was not required to go ashore, and if she wished could admire the glaciers from afar. For that was the point of their cruise, to see as many of the glaciers as possible. Given that this would be a trip with the entire household, she was not eager to be seen in her usual survival mode of the wheelchair. And yet keeping up appearances without one, especially for any shore excursions...would be hellaciously difficult unless she selfishly relied on Thranduil to care for that matter. In the end all that ended up being irrelevant, since somewhere around the time they put into Icy Strait, the first awfulness happened. 

 

“Boy I remember that,” Earlene shook her head. “There I was, all bundled up in a deck chair enjoying the hot chocolate Thanadir had just brought me, and here come this little kid that tossed his guts up not twenty feet away. How I didn’t add to the mess is beyond me, because I really don’t do other people vomiting. And that was when they all started getting sick.”

 

Lorna grimaced. “You read about that sort’v thing, but I never thought it’d happen to us. You’re lucky you didn't see this, but some kid sicked up all over Pat, which made  _ me  _ sick up, too.” Ratiri had taken a picture of Pat -- mercifully only neck-up -- and her poor brother’s expression was torn between horrified, sick, and slightly murderous. “I’d been so worried about taking Atia out when she was so young, but she got to just sleep the whole thing away.” Saoirse handled sick even worse than her father did, so she’d kept the three Donovan kids in a cabin, playing with toys.

 

Flipping through the photos, Earlene smiled. The atmosphere on board the vessel had been peaceful. Their children were well behaved, and Faeleth was exceptionally coordinated for even a peredhel, so she had no problems keeping up with her older siblings. She was closest to Eldan and Thaladir, unsurprisingly. Even though how the children were treated was never different on account of who had fathered whom, Thanadir’s natural and psychological offspring seemed to band together on instinct. Algar was the biggest outlier, and in some ways got on with Shane better than did Thaladir. They had the fresh air of all the decks in which to run about (politely!) as well as the youth centers on board the ship. Though, they did have to remind Faeleth not to do things like pick up deck chairs or otherwise do anything that would be hopelessly out of the ability range of very young human children. 

 

“I remember how nice it was to just lie in those lounge chairs and see that beautiful scenery float by. I sort of liked that vacation more than some others just on account of how much nothing there was to do, during the periods of sailing from one place to the next.” Compared to the busy schedule they’d kept in Yellowstone, it proved a wonderful change of pace.

 

“You had more nothing than I did,” Lorna said, laughing. “I’d been hoping Atia wouldn’t be quite so mobile yet. I hadn’t counted on the twins.” She shook her head as she looked at a picture of Chandra and Shane, Atia firmly sandwiched between them. None of them were bad children -- they were just insatiably curious and easily bored, and surrounded by wholly unfamiliar things. Still, she’d thought she’d die when she discovered they’d taken apart the microwave in their cabin -- with  _ steak knives _ , no less. “At least we wore them out when we went on shore.” They’d also been able to take each kid zip lining, which had resulted in round eyes and a lot of happy shrieking.

 

“Well, I am at least fortunate that all my oldest ones have a sense of, uh...they tend to ask before they decide to just do things,” Earlene smiled, continuing to investigate the photos. Lorna had ridiculous amounts of photos; only the premium moments were chosen for scrapbooks. This did not alter that she had shoeboxes full of prints that stacked up like some people kept old newspapers for the fireplace; more came all the time. Each one was marked with a date on the outside and perhaps a cryptic reference as to the subject matter, if one was applicable. Otherwise...prints. “Oh, remember this?” she held up one of what looked to be an immense splash in the distance. “The glacier calved right when we could see it. Too bad there couldn’t have been more warning when that happened.” It was a miracle that Lorna had been able to snap the photo of the splash; actually capturing when the ice sheet snapped away would have needed a miracle.

 

“I’d had no idea that could be that loud,” Lorna said. “I mean, I’d seen pictures in  _ National Geographic _ , but that was one hell’v a sound.” She laughed. “Poor Atia cried. She thought the glacier had died, but Ratiri told her it had just had a baby.” Of course the twins had then wanted to know how glaciers could have babies, and what they had to have sex with to do it. She’d glowered like thunder, because he was the one who’d taught them the “facts of life” so young. Somewhere there was a picture of Pat laughing himself half sick over the whole thing, the bastard. The fact that they’d got all kinds of scandalized looks from fellow passengers really hadn’t helped.

 

“I recall Thanadir giving the dessert buffet a run for its money,” Earlene smiled, enjoying the images Lorna had snapped of the assorted culinary offerings. “Wonder how much money they lost on his ticket?” Now giggling helplessly, she recalled the sheer disbelief on Thranduil’s face at the amount of sweets the elf had been able to put away. Sometimes she thought that the best thing wasn’t Thanadir’s love of sugary foods so much as Thranduil’s inability to comprehend it.

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and fished through her pile of photos. In one of them, Thanadir had put a whole pie on his plate, but the funny thing was the gobsmacked server in the background, wide-eyed and openmouthed. She passed the photo to Earlene. “Considering how many they probably had to refund thanks to the virus, he was probably the least’v their problems. Although I discovered his appetite can be something’v a double-edged sword.” Shane, having watched Uncle Thanadir put away an improbable amount of food, kept trying to sneak cookies and things himself. Lorna, not wanting him to get sick later, snuck them back and gave them to Thanadir. Hey, waste not, want not. “I think between him and Sharley they probably ran through most’v their sweets.”

 

“True. Wait, this one here--let’s put this one in the slideshow on account of Sharley. She likes the native artwork, and here you have a good one of the totem poles. Most Irish will not have ever seen them outside of a magazine.”

 

“Oooh, yes,” Lorna said. “The last good day before the virus hit. That was the day we went zip-lining, isn’t it? Christ, you should’ve heard Pat screaming like a little girl. He hadn’t realized he had a fear’v heights until he got hooked into his harness.” And yes, there was a picture of him, slightly blurred as he flailed while zooming down the line. “You’re lucky you stayed on the ship for that one, honestly. I loved it, but we had to deal with a traumatized Pat for the rest’v the day.”

 

Smiling, Earlene suppressed a sigh. She had not gone on that excursion for lack of interest, but rather the knowledge that the odds were too high of something going wrong with her. A fall, a dizziness, who even knew. Her body was just too unpredictable and she had saved up her energy for only one outing, that would occur the last day of their time aboard. Besides, the excuse of needing to watch small children whose age was far too young to participate in such activities had been quite workable. “Well, I think we need not include any vomit-related pictures, that would just be in poor taste. Especially not with food being served.”

 

“You are probably right,” Lorna said, wrinkling her nose. She didn't deal with sick very well at all, even after three children. “The gardens, though -- those’d be nice.” The whole group had gone on that one, Earlene and the small ones alike. It had been a kind of beauty quite different from the forest, and even lovelier than that gardens at Ashford. The flowers were in bloom, and the day they’d gone had actually been somewhat warm, so they could enjoy the sun without the need for coats.

 

“Those were so pretty,” Earlene remembered, savoring these reminders of the Butchard Gardens. Sure, they had all seen lovely parks and gardens in their travels, but none with quite so many flowers and colors as this one. “Maybe two or three of the photos from here? And then one of Sharley and Allanah against those archways of pink roses and boxwood shrubs. It sets off the blue so nicely. And...I think that’ll do it? I suppose we don’t want to cause vacation photo burnout…”

 

“Probably a good idea,” Lorna said. “They’ll be a nice follow-up to the reception. One hilarious disaster followed by beautiful things.”

 

“Kind’v seems like the story of our lives, here, doesn’t it?” Earlene tossed out the question, but it needed no answer.


	120. One Hundred and Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 7-9th 2026

 

The balmy evening caused gentle movements of air through the lower level of Eldamar. Doors to the outside were opened, allowing their guests to enjoy walking the large deck that girdled the home and wove among the greenhouses without in any way feeling as though they were intruding into unwelcome areas. So far, the only thing that had gone remotely amiss was Thanadir descending upon two boys in their early teens, who felt it would be a good idea to get into an orange war inside of Earlene’s personal greenhouse, pelting each other with fruits. The errant youth soon found themselves raking leaves out from under the trees. One tree, for every orange picked and ruined without permission. Their initial belligerence was met with being backed against a wall and stared down. Attempts to escape were thwarted with blinding speed, until they learned that the elf that looked little older than a college guy was not a pushover after all.

 

“Thanadir, I was looking for…” the statement died on her lips as Earlene arrived into the greenhouse and saw the boys, and the seneschal who was quite obviously in a disciplinary mode.

 

“Oh good,” Thanadir scowled. “John and John wished to apologize to you, Earlene, for picking your oranges without permission and deciding to hurl them as missiles at each other. Inside of a greenhouse that has some glass panels.”

 

Earlene knew these were Aurnia’s nephews or grand-nephews or...some damn thing, but she had never met them prior to tonight. “Oh?” she put her fists on her hips, playing along. No scowl was on her face, but rather an absolutely unreadable demeanor that frightened them far worse than if she had been trying to scold them. Her look was predatory, analytical, and they wondered for all the world if they were not to be sent to the kitchens to be the next ingredient in the nibbles. The tall woman with the diamonds at her throat was scarier than the mean elf.

 

“Uh, sorry,” they both said, now looking down at their shoelaces.

 

“Apology accepted,” she said, with no change of expression. “And, you missed a leaf.” Her finger pointed to one that had indeed escaped the rake, right under the wicked yuzu tree (it had taken a year to finagle the acquisition, but one was now hers. Oh yes, it was).

 

_ You are worse than I am, meldis,  _ Thanadir said silently in a tone of approval.

 

“OW!!” yelped one of the boys, managing to back into a branch.

 

Earlene suppressed a smile. “When you are finished here, the scrapbook will begin soon,” she informed Thanadir.

 

“Nana, Ada Thranduil says we need more special iced tea,” said a youthful voice.

 

Thanadir looked up to see Faeleth, his youngest, and his face broke into a radiant smile. His daughter had her mother’s hair and eyes that were like his own but with so much more intensity; a variegated hazel flecked with many colors. She quickly assessed many things...the small pile of oranges, the sullen boys, her father’s current disposition toward them. Silently, she picked up five of the oranges and began to juggle them as she gracefully weaved around the room, astonishing the errant brothers. “Rake,” the seneschal intoned, reminding them of their punishment which was not yet over. As Faeleth danced and smiled, the oranges went in a higher and higher arc. Thanadir admittedly struggled to keep his eyes on his wayward charges and at one point obviously failed. 

 

“Stop it!” John yelled at John, shoving him hard such that he in turn crashed into Faeleth. Thanadir lunged to keep his daughter from falling, but made no such effort to keep two of the oranges from landing on the aggressor’s head. “OWWW!!” he shrieked, beginning to cry.

 

Geezer, beyond exasperated (not that this was a new state of affairs, with these two around), arrived just in time for that last bit. He took in the scene and tried very, very hard not roll his eyes. “These two making trouble again?” he asked, fixing the boys with a glare that could have stripped paint.

 

“Afraid so,” Thanadir said, feeling somewhat glad that someone else could manage them.

 

“Well,” Geezer said, watching them pale a little, “if they’ve got enough energy to go throwing around something that ain’t theirs, they’ve got enough to go shovel horse shit for an hour. C’mon, you two.” Christ, he was as close to a parent as he was ever going to get...at sixty-fucking-five. These two weren’t exactly  _ bad  _ kids -- they’d just run half-wild, and thought the world was their playground because, well, it had been for a while. 

 

They went, and he sighed. “Sorry about them. Dunno that their mom’ll ever get her shit together, though don’t tell Aurnia I said so. Might be better for them if she doesn’t, honestly, so they’re not thrown back and forth between houses like damn human Ping Pong balls.”

 

Thanadir smiled.  “Earlene’s cow barn is closer than the horse stables,” he noted. 

 

“That it is,” Geezer said, fixing the boys with a baleful eye. Out they went, and he followed after, wondering what in fuck he was going to do when Sean was out of prison. He  _ should  _ have been out years ago, but like a fucking moron, he’d gotten his hands on some toilet wine and then tried to escape. He was going to be all kinds of fun to deal with when he finally did get out.

 

Thanadir joined the party,  happily carrying a Faeleth who busily peppered his cheeks with kisses. The child was a joy,  and he had to be very careful not to show favoritism to her over Eldan. His son was a good child too, but Faeleth clearly was exceptional. The seneschal still felt grave regret at what Earlene had endured, to bear her.  Thanadir had felt such guilt,  in spite of having had no choice. He loved Faeleth with all his heart but would have refused to allow his wife to do this,  had the decision been his.  All these years later it still felt...complicated. But now the scrapbook presentation was beginning;  it was time to set those memories aside.

 

“All right, you lot, settle down and shut it,” Lorna said. She’d say there were over thirty people in here, all of whom had brought snacks and all sorts of things, and she waited until they’d at least quieted down. Geezer snuck in at the last minute, sitting beside Aurnia; word of the incident in the greenhouses had already spread, and Lorna trusted the boys not to do any more stupid things today, lest Uncle Geezer cough up some even worse punishment.

 

“Geezer, Aurnia, you’re first up,” she said, grinning. She’d taken loads of photos of their wedding day -- Aurnia in a simple white dress with a little lace, and Geezer in a suit, hair neatly combed, looking terribly uncomfortable. It had been a summer wedding, and the weather had actually cooperated enough for them to have it outside, in the forest. Mairead, naturally, had baked a wedding cake -- a monstrosity of a thing, though not quite as big as Lorna and Ratiri’s had been. The next slide was of Aurnia and Geezer standing beside it; he looked markedly more relaxed in this one, though still a touch discomfited. He’d later confided that he felt like some kind of government monkey when dressed up in a suit, but it had made Aurnia happy. They’d gone on honeymoon to Limerick, and Pat had pulled a few strings to get them free drinks when they went to his old pub.

 

There were more to follow, mainly of the reception. Aurnia had tossed the bouquet and Siobhan had practically knocked Molly over in her attempt to catch it. Catch it she did, though, and two days later proposed to Shane, because she knew he’d never get around to it otherwise. Their wedding slides were somewhere further in.

 

There was the fun stuff of Ailill and Calanon, and assorted vacations, and the next batch she’d taken in the kitchens, when Earlene’s bastardized version of Meals on Wheels really got going. People had been so enthusiastic, once they actually worked out nobody was taking away their Guinness, that they’d had to set a limit on how many could go at once; otherwise, the poor kitchen staff would have been overwhelmed. In this one, Jack and Bridie were stirring something over the fire -- well, he was stirring, and she was watching the flames. Both had a sheen of sweat on their faces, and Bridie had a smudge of soot on her chin. Little Orla, no longer so little, had been pressed into fetching and carrying, and her brother was stuck peeling vegetables, the poor kid. Lorna had caught a shot of him, too, and this one drew laughter from many of the assembled, because he was scowling like thunder.

 

“Oi, you know that copy’v that one you gave me?” Bridie asked. “I framed it. It’s over the fireplace.” The lad himself, now ten, rolled his eyes.

 

John and Mary, Ailill’s old landlords, had eventually given over and moved into the Halls, and Lorna had a wonderful snapshot of them in the fields at high summer. Calanon, Ailill, and Mother and Sister Mary were out there as well (and Christ, didn't they have too blasted many Marys, but that was Ireland for you). They were hardly alone; half of Baile was there, and a good chunk of Lasg’len, on the kind of warm, gloriously sunny day you rarely got in Ireland.

 

Another showed the household children, and a number of others, playing along the edges of the field. They’d had little chores to help with, but had just been too young to do very much. Saoirse and Maureen, from Baile, were watching them, and making certain nobody shot an eye out or anything.

 

She’d caught a particularly fantastic one of Atia, drawing in the dirt with a stick. The story Earlene had concocted had been swallowed with such ease that Lorna wondered if Thranduil had helped it along. It didn't hurt that Atia had turned out to bear something of a resemblance to Ratiri; they’d done a genetic ancestry test and discovered she was a mix of Irish and Pakistani by way of Syria. Given that both Lorna and Ratiri had black hair and complexions in various shades of browns, she didn't think anyone had questioned it. Any who might have blinked twice would just have looked at Chandra, their elf-pale ginger. Lorna remembered that picture well, too; Allanah had come to check on her, and her blue hair had all but glowed in the sunlight.

 

“I was  _ little _ ,” Atia said, staring. She was still little, though not unduly so for her age.

 

“We were all little once,” Earlene smiled. Their little enclave had had an amazing series of life events transpire that had, thank Eru, calmed down as of about four years ago. 

 

The next photos were of Ailill and Thaladir, who had managed to share his canine obsession. Flannery had had puppies about a year and a half ago, and that litter had been dispersed among the elves in the Halls. Especially the patrols had been most interested in them, and agreement was reached. Sometimes the dogs living with the elves would go on the hawk hunts, but all of them (Flannery and Kiernan included) had begun to learn to work with the forest guards. The ellyn collectively reasoned that while they had many other very acute senses, none of them included scent. Thranduil had encouraged this, knowing a time would come in which the use of these dogs for the safety of those remaining behind could very well provide a critical advantage. “My dogs are more spoiled than the others!” Thaladir proudly asserted, earning a groan from Thanadir. It was true. There were entire collages of photos of the assorted positions in which those two animals slept on the child’s bed with him. And, Earlene noted, her son’s voice was not so high and squeaky any longer (which was all relative, as he was still quite young).

 

And oh, of course. “Everyone remembers last year, when Maglor agreed to play and sing in a full concert with Thanadir?” Thranduil asked. Lorna had of course taken some video, having even obtained a tripod for such things so as to improve the quality. A short clip was played now, of the two of them playing a duet for flute and harp. Earlene knew it had been recorded but had never asked to see the footage, and found herself blinking back tears. What she would not give for he and Pengolodh to finally relent, and come to live with them. Even on a video, it was more than music.

 

Sharley watched, and listened, and grew ever more curious. She had yet to meet those two; their paths had never crossed on her rare visits to Ireland. She came twice a year, and the Donovan-Duncans plus Allanah went out to Washington for part of the summer and the winter. Maybe she needed to meet those guys, someday, because damn was that beautiful. How had she not known of them, though? They’d been at large for ages, and yet stayed off her radar where Thranduil had not. If it was the Stranger -- and she didn't know what else it would be -- she was chaining it down again, and not to the recliner. It could sit on a chair full of thumbtacks.

 

_ Oh god, prank day _ , Earlene laughed aloud. “Saoirse’s finest hour!” Earlene said, when the image came up on the screen. The girl who was not really a girl any longer but well into her teens grinned. She had enlisted the help of all the other children and sworn them to secrecy, and had even had the presence of mind to ask Thranduil and Thanadir’s permission first. (The adults, afterward, agreed that this had probably been the greater achievement, in actuality). She had taken the children on repeated trips to their ever increasing acreage on their farm, and brought back massive amounts of willow switches from the trees that grew along the local streams. And laboriously, using inexpensive twine, they had worked to form the scaffold of the forelegs, head, long neck...of how she envisioned the dragon Smaug. Then they covered the entire thing with papier mâche, and painted it bright orange with tempera paints that she helped the other children mix properly. It was a massive, massive undertaking that took weeks of effort, but that was not the best part. With the help of some of the more agile ellyn, they had smuggled the entire thing into what had become known as the Hoarding Hall, where their stockpiles of tea, coffee, spices, sugar...you name it, really, were being amassed. The pieces were placed so that the surprisingly realistic dragon appeared to be guarding the entire thing, Thranduil was so impressed he loaned out real jewels, to embed in the ‘scales’. And then not a word was said, until one day a mixed group of humans and elves brought in the latest sacks of booty to be stored and screamed, dropped everything, and ran for their lives.

 

Saoirse grinned, and did a slight bow. Honestly, she was surprised they’d managed to pull it off, though she probably shouldn’t have been; as that group of kids had got older, they could be wonderfully devious and always dedicated to whatever they were doing. Not wanting to leave little Atia out, they’d given her the job of deciding where some of the gems went. The best part, though, was that everyone had liked it so much it was now permanent.

 

Shane and Siobhan’s wedding had been an  _ interesting  _ affair. Naturally, the two couldn’t go with anything traditional; they’d had a biker wedding, and just as naturally, Siobhan’s dress showed way too much cleavage to be tasteful. She’d confided to Lorna that it was that or her bondage gear, to which Lorna had said she was never getting that mental image out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. The dress had had a detachable skirt, so she could ride off in something shorter and not catch it on fire.

 

In one of the shots was Niamh, and Niamh’s boyfriend, whose existence (and picture) had at first bowled over the entire household  _ and  _ Mairead’s. The lad was basically a human, somewhat more masculine version of Thanadir: hair not quite as long, and with what seemed to be a permanent five o’clock shadow, but nevertheless, the resemblance was downright unnerving. He was even a musician, someone she’d met when she’d gone back to France to see where the family had stayed when they’d been hiding from Von Shitweasel. His instrument of choice was a cello rather than a violin, but still. He loved to cook, and when she’d brought him home for their first Christmas Mairead had wanted to glue his feet to the kitchen floor so he couldn’t leave. But the most hilarious thing was that Niamh seemed utterly blind to the resemblance, though it was plain as day to everyone else.

 

Many other fun things were shared; their first truly successful fruit harvest and cider pressing. The Potato Success that led Ratiri and Earlene to sneak off and buy a stainless steel distiller (still a popular device whose positive results had led to branching out). Birthdays and trips to the coast and little moments of enjoyment. The time Fion dropped a rat carcass onto Calanon’s head (which was not actually funny but this did not stop them from laughing, and the good-natured ellon took it in stride).

 

Once the slide show was over, their house guests dispersed into the dining room and the Heart Room, eating and drinking and mingling. Lorna liked dealing with them far better than she did some of their newer recruits, who could be obnoxious without even trying, but by dint of ignorance rather than malice.

 

There had been a few, though, that they’d had to kick out, and whose memories had been modified. Ratiri had long since got over his unease about that subject, especially after he’d noticed one of their potential doctors staring a little too often at Earlene’s chest. Yes, she had a nice rack, but there was noticing that, and then there was blatant leering -- and that twat had fallen into the latter category. Others had assumed she was too beautiful to have any intellectual substance; watching her correct that mistake had been a joy every single time. None of them could tear into someone quite like she could, with nary a curse word or even a raised voice. It made him wonder what she’d had to endure, on her rise to the top as a lawyer. Too many men, and even an appalling number of women, automatically dismissed a lovely woman with a stacked chest as a bimbo before they even spoke to her. Earlene was fantastic at putting them in their place, but it had to get aggravating.

 

Mostly, though, it was getting everyone past the ‘K’ word. Given all the problems Lorna had had with it, at least she knew what objections most of them had, and could thus refute them...mostly. There were some questions that stymied even her, who had never thought of them, and left her floundering for an answer. Her best (or at least, easiest) weapon was the video Mairead had shot of their dinner party years ago -- Tail stealing food, her chasing Saoirse with a broom and having to climb Thranduil like a tree to get at her. It humanized him, for lack of a better word, because it was hard to imagine someone looking down on you as being inferior when the King himself landed on the floor and got in an argument over whose fault it was.

 

So yeah, it was nice to just be surrounded by them and theirs, so to speak. She watched Chandra and Shane sneak off, Atia in tow, and shook her head. Being human, Atia was mentally the youngest out of the lot, and yet they made sure she was never left out -- though that usually just meant including her in whatever trouble they got into.

 

Ratiri shook his head. Sharley had apparently seen Atia’s mother, and what happened to her: the poor woman had been a teen mam, a white girl whose parents had kicked her out for having a Syrian boyfriend. She’d given birth in the home of a friend, not wanting to risk going to hospital and have the baby taken away from her as soon as it was born. Unfortunately, there were complications, and she’d died; the friend freaked out, but she’d been intending to take Atia to hospital until her nerve broke and she tossed the baby away.

 

It was a horrible story, and yet it was almost a relief, terrible as that was. Knowing there wasn’t a living mam out there, forever wondering what had happened to her baby, erased any guilt he and Lorna might have had about keeping Atia. They had no way at all of finding either the father nor the grandparents -- and the grandparents could fuck right off, after a stunt like that. Atia was a Duncan, through and through, though it was somewhat ironic that she looked more like Lorna and Ratiri than one of their biological children did. Somehow, her eyes were the same shape as his, though they had turned into a very light hazel as she aged. The effect against her complexion was rather striking.

 

“Aren’t you going to follow those kids?” Siobhan asked, watching the three depart.

 

Lorna snorted. “They can go get into whatever mischief they’ve got on their minds, and then have to deal with Thanadir before they deal with us. You’d think they’d’ve learned by now, but I think they’re just stubborn.”

 

“Because we don’t know where  _ that  _ came from,” Pat said, approaching with a can of Guinness in his hand. He had a touch of grey in his hair now -- and hilariously, so did Lorna the Younger, who seemed to be taking after her aunt even in that. It was creepy.

 

“ _ Hush _ , you,” Lorna said, poking him in the side. The strangled squeak the action produced made Ratiri choke on his ale.

 

“Da, why’re you squeaking?” Saoirse asked, meandering over. Her growth had topped out at just a bit below her da’s, though otherwise she looked rather younger than sixteen. The Donovans often did, especially as teenagers; Lorna the Younger had been something of an exception. The blue streak in her hair had gradually widened over the years, too, in tiny increments, until it was less of a streak and more of a chunk.

 

“He swallowed a hamster,” Ratiri said seriously. “Your aunt is trying to make him sick it up.”

 

Saoirse quirked an eyebrow, a gesture so like her father and aunt that it was disturbing. “Uncle Ratiri, I’m kind’v too old to be falling for that,” she said.

 

“Eh, I had to try. Only Atia and the twins really do anymore.”

 

Lorna really didn't want to mention that the twins actually usually didn't -- they just played along to humor their da. She’d often heard them whispering to Atia that it wasn’t true, Da just liked messing with them and it was best to let him think he was getting away with it. She’d just nod, fingers in her mouth half the time, until they dragged her off to do something else. Lorna had worried, when she was born, that she would be too much younger for the others -- Faeleth was physically younger, yes, but being peredhel, had developed mentally so much faster -- and had been relieved that the twins were so determined to include her, once she was old enough and mobile enough to be included. Her littlest daughter was only left alone when she wanted to be, and wasn’t given the chance to feel left out. 

 

Grania and Lorna the Younger meandered over, drinks in hands. They’d spent a number of weekends at Eldamar and the Halls, and holidays with the ever-growing family. Grania and Pat had yet to rekindle any kind of relationship, and while most of them were surprised, Pat himself was not. Trusting him as a friend was entirely different from trusting him as a partner, and he’d known from the first that re-earning  _ that  _ was not going to happen overnight. 

 

Sharley, bearing a whole plate of pigs in blankets, followed after. She usually came two or three times a year, and the Duncan-Donovans plus Allanah -- and a few times, plus Grania and Lorna the Younger -- went to Washington, also. It was they who’d had to help bring all of Skykomish up to speed on the whole thing, which had been...interesting. She’d never seen some of those expressions on anyone before. Aside from that, though, she knew all the best nooks and crannies in the entire state, places without tourists or even much local traffic, though each summer they went to Ross Lake, which never seemed to change. “Okay kids, what’d I miss?” she asked.

 

“Uncle Ratiri being a goober,” Saoirse said. “He’s good at that.”

 

“Better a goober than a Booger,” Lorna said. “We don’t need more than one of those.” Saoirse’s kitten had grown into a big black-and-white love bug who insisted on sitting on any visitors, whether they liked it or not. He was probably losing his mind right now, there were so many people to say hi to. While he was still very much Saoirse’s cat, he’d developed quite an attachment to Atia, too.

 

“I still think we should name one’v the cows Boogerbean,” Saoirse said, “if only to see Uncle Thranduil’s expression.”

 

“Tell him that,” Lorna said, grinning. “Preferably when he’s drinking something.”

 

**

Kana plucked at his harp at the bookstore counter, much as he always did. At the end of this week, university would end its session, and for a brief time it would make sense to chose their doors. Lately his mind turned often to thoughts of their impending visit to their brethren in Ireland. Once again, his long braids were in disarray, and he idly daydreamed of the peredhel children at Eldamar who would eagerly seek to fix his tangled locks. “Come on, Uncle Kana,” they would say, as little hands took hold of his long fingers and guided him away to a chair. He was not sure what it said about him, that he now looked forward to those occasions more than anything else of which he could think. A smile graced his face in his reverie, which caused Quen to smile in turn. These last years had been a little better for his friend than many of the ones previous. There was no doubt that the association with their own people had been positive for him. But this thing about the plague...it was not that they did not believe it; they had been moved beyond that. Now it was simply denial. Not wishing to engage, or to take solid action on the matter that the world in which they had eked a comfortable niche would cease to exist in what for elves was the blink of an eye.

 

Quen still felt that the quiet and the stability of the book shop was important for both of them. Though with each passing arrival at the Woodland Realm, he had noticed that Kana seemed a little more reluctant to leave. The oldest of the mortal children, Saoirse, had given his friend long hours of companionship. The two were ideally suited, in some ways. She would paint for hours, lost in her visions of art that in some ways were far more reminiscent of the behaviors of his own people. Kana would play his music, and Saoirse would ignore him. Except of course for the one time she turned her attention toward him, and many hours later had captured him in all his beauty. No one was really sure how she managed such detail; even the different colors of his harp strings were visibly accurate. And when he had finally looked up from his soulful playing and singing, he found himself memorialized on the cavern wall. And the young firieth who had made it possible was already oblivious again, her brushes now rendering a stag she had seen in the woods.

 

“It is too bad we missed the party they had yesterday,” Quen commented. “It sounded fun. Thranduil said that some of the human children got themselves in trouble with the seneschal and had to shovel out the cow barn. Something about oranges in the greenhouse.”

 

“When are we leaving?” Kana grinned. 

 

“I thought in two days,” the scholar answered carefully. “We will have time to do inventory and organize our records that way. Then when we return everything will be in order.”

 

“Makes sense,” Kana said, frowning. He did not want to wait the two days, but understood the need to do otherwise. 

 

**

{May 8, 2026}

 

“Are we ready?” Earlene asked, looking at Sharley and Lorna. 

 

The women looked at each other and nodded. There had been more than enough time to check they had everything they needed, and Allanah, Atia, and Faeleth were all going on a short weekend to the coast. This was to be a sort of, ‘mother and youngest daughter bonding experience.’ In the intervening years it had been decided (as the outcome of about three fairly passionate Family Meetings) that the policy of “everyone or no one” was going to end. Which was a fancy way of saying, there was no longer going to be a scenario in which in order take an outing, the adults would keep feeling obligated to bring every child in the household. It was not practical, nor did it necessarily make for everyone having the best time. Their trips to assorted places had indeed been Productions with a capital “P”, and somewhere along the line the value of adults having more personal time with far fewer children had become obvious. It was kept fair so that favoritism was not shown, and in the end they were all enjoying themselves a great deal more. The children who remained behind still had fun of their own, and the children who went were able to have better quality time with whichever household adults went. 

 

Thranduil, Thanadir, Ratiri, Ailill, Calanon and Pat had once taken all the boys hunting in the forest for three days and two nights, on a ‘male bonding’ experience. That especially had been a hit; they brought down a buck, several rabbits and numerous squirrels (those were fed to the hawks because neither human nor elf particularly wanted to eat them.) And when they came back, three weeks later Earlene had adamantly insisted they do the same exact thing over again, this time taking only the girls. With help from Thanadir, Saoirse and the peredhel twins brought down a buck of their own, and a horde of properly filthy and bloody little girls came home triumphantly bearing the skin. Each had taken turns helping carry the carcass, too. Earlene recalled these little adventures fondly, as they now made to head to the sea-shore for far tamer entertainments. They expected more time playing on the beach than anything else, and with a happy good-bye wave drove off.

 

The Cliffs of Moher had been the destination for this particular trip; given how beautiful their home was, it was tough to find attractions that would actually beat it. There was nothing like the Cliffs, though, not even close.

 

Lorna had put her PA skills to use and found them a bloody  _ gorgeous  _ hotel, with the slightly odd name of Egan’s Wild Atlantic View. Some of the rooms had four-poster beds, for Christ’s sake, and it looked like they all had nice big bathrooms -- always a plus when traveling with kids who weren’t afraid to get dirty. She’d had the sense to book it well in advance, too, so they actually got the rooms they wanted.

 

Allanah and Faeleth were good about including Atia in their conversation, though Atia was also busy drawing. She might not have Saoirse’s level of talent -- then again, who did? -- but her pictures were pretty good, especially for a five-year-old. Saoirse had taught her the patience needed to craft a well-done picture; she didn't just sit and scribble for five minutes and declare herself done, like a lot of kids. Like Lorna herself had done, on the rare opportunities she’d had to draw anything.

 

“Mam, can I get blue hair, too?” she asked, not looking up.

 

“Of course you can,” Lorna said, running her hand over her daughter’s head. Her hair was long, down to her waist, and currently held back in a braid. “Though it’ll be harder for you than it is for Allanah.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because your hair is like mine. Your Aunt Mairead will have to bleach it first, or the blue won’t look right.”

 

Now her daughter looked up. “What color is Allanah’s hair normally?”

 

Sharley choked on a laugh, and Lorna realized Allanah’s hair had been blue all of Atia’s life.

 

“The same color as Chandra’s. The lighter your hair, the easier it is to bleach to put blue on it, but you and I and Saoirse all have hair so dark it needs much more work. I’ll probably take all day, so be prepared to sit still.”

 

“’Kay.” She said that just like Chandra did, and it was adorable beyond words. Many pictures would be taken, and once again the print shop in Kildare would run low on ink (though at least they wouldn’t run  _ out _ ; Lorna had in fact once brought in such an order that that very thing had happened, to the manager’s disbelief).

 

The drive was a bloody long one, but they stopped for breaks and snacks, and by afternoon had reached the bed and breakfast. She’d shown pictures of the place to Earlene and Sharley, but it was a surprise to the kids, who grinned with delight. It looked, from the outside, like an oversized cottage, and they could see immediately why it had such a peculiar name: the view of the ocean was indeed fantastic. Lorna had splurged and booked three of the rooms with that view; they were the King rooms with the lovely four-poster beds. Granted, this lot were more used to those than other kids might be, but they were beautiful nonetheless.

 

It was past lunch, but they ate an early dinner at a nearby pub, and between the drive and the food Atia was so sleepy she went down for a nap. Quite honestly, Lorna was tempted to do the same thing herself, and wound up nodding off not long after her daughter. Tomorrow would be a long day, and like it or not, she was pushing fifty; Thranduil might have drastically slowed her aging, but it seemed that some things were going to happen no matter what. And anyone who would turn down the opportunity for a nap was missing out...

 

** 

 

“One of these days we should probably just fly there,” Kana murmured, as they watched the English countryside fall away. “And do away with this all-night drive.”

 

“Well, we could but...we’ve talked about that before. You dislike crowds, you dislike the security measures, and you really dislike being cooped up on the airplane.”

 

“Guilty,” Kana had to admit. “Sometimes I miss the Great Eagles. Before everything went to hell, and a cheeky young ellon could sweet talk them into consenting to offer a ride.”

 

“Am I about to hear one of those stories you so rarely will tell?” Quen laughed, glancing sideways at his companion.

 

“Well mostly you just  _ did _ hear it,” Kana grinned. “You see, what few know about them is that the mighty birds dearly liked music. I wonder where they are now,” he mused, his voice turning contemplative in tone.

 

“I would think Valinor,” Quen answered. “Were they anywhere in this plane of existence...well, it certainly would wreck the airline’s profits.”

 

“Don’t tell them that,” Kana winced. “They were very touchy about that sort of thing. Kingly they were, much like their Lord.”

 

“Was it like Fingon said, that they spoke in thought, just as we do sometimes?”

 

“Yes. They did not speak aloud, except in their own speech. And that is not one that you, for all your lore, would understand. Or I. Mostly I was happy they would consent to acknowledge me at all. But this was not in Beleriand, you know. It was all...before the bad things happened. Before…” he could not continue speaking.

 

“I know, Kana,” Quen hastened to say. “I know. Be at ease. Here, I will play some music. See if you can sleep a little; we will be there soon enough.”

 

**

 

Their hostesses were not going to return for two days, they discovered on their arrival, which meant that they had rather more fun than usual early on with the other ellyn. Simple foods to eat around an open fire in the forest, traveling to some of Thranduil’s more special hidden spots on horseback, sleeping under the stars after a long night of discussion (and demolishing several bottles of the King’s fine Dorwinion vintages). Perhaps not being used to such fine vintages in quantity is why Kana found himself not returning to Eldamar the next morning, but to the private quarters assigned to him long ago within their Halls. Quen had the same; their rooms were adjacent to each other. Each of these were quite luxurious, with thermal pools, and he gratefully disrobed and soaked in the pool for a very long time. Though, he did pin his hair out of harm’s way first, grinning at the memory of Ithiliel and Eleniel’s mock disapproval on catching sight of the tangles in which he arrived...

 

“Uncle Kana!!” Ithiliel had tsk-tsked, after scampering up him to kiss his cheek in welcome. 

 

“You would be disappointed if I left you with nothing to do,” he teased back. “Admit it.”

 

“Maaaaaaaybe,” Eleniel answered. “But you would have to come here with nice hair in order to find out,” she giggled. 

 

He shook his head at the memory of their antics, stretching and occasionally dozing a little, enjoying the relaxation. He sighed to the empty bathing chamber. Each visit, it was becoming harder for him to leave. And yet, in Oxford there was Quen, and the comfort of familiar routines. Those would not be so simple to abandon, he reasoned. Not without...a necessity. Finally rising from the pool, he dried himself and dressed in the clothes provided for him. Clothes befitting and Elflord of old, with beautiful colors and embroideries. He had been provided with a vest that seemed to mirror a tapestry pattern of the sky. In many shades of blue.  _ Woven blue _ , he thought, before he caught himself as the memory he would not allow himself to think on most of all threatened to surface.  _ No. You walked away, and it is gone forever _ , some small part of him reminded. He closed his eyes briefly in grief, and left to seek out the music room. Perhaps Earlene had purchased more harps?

 

No sooner was the door pushed open than he heard a few notes plucked on strings, then nothing. Curious, he walked silently to the rear chamber. As he moved forward, his sensitive ears began to detect the sound of muffled crying. It sounded like a child…? And so it was. He recognized little Eldan, leaning into the great triple harp that was much too large for his tiny body. Little arms were wrapped around the soundboard, as he sobbed into his sleeve. Very carefully, he came near to the boy and knelt down, placing his hand softly over his shoulders. He did not like to see children in sorrow; it broke his heart now just as  it did long ago. “Tell me what is wrong,” he coaxed, rubbing the tiny back with his comparatively large hand.

 

Eldan did not look up to see who it was nor did he move. “I want to play it,” the broken little voice said. “I want to play it and I cannot. Every time I try it hurts, and I have to stop.” A fresh round of tears followed this information. “Ada says I am too little but I do not want to be too little. I want to play the music.” 

 

“Come here,” Maglor said, gently tugging at the little arms. “Let go of the harp and allow me to comfort you.”

 

“Nooooo,” Eldan wailed. “If I do not keep trying, how will I ever learn? I want to learn….” he said miserably.

 

Maglor closed his eyes, feeling that at last his fate had come upon him. “Come here, Eldan,” he said again. “You will learn because I will teach you. I give you my promise, if you promise me in return that this is truly your desire.”

 

Only now did the tear-stained little face look at him to see who was with him. “Uncle Kana?” he whispered, stunned. He thought that this was one of the ellyn in the Halls, who had chanced to come into the room and was trying to make him feel better. “You would teach...me? Why?”

 

Clear gray eyes looked into the child’s brown ones, and Eldan nodded solemnly and let go of the harp. Only then did the older ellon see that his little fingers were bleeding from the strings. Scooping him up, he right away went to the clean linen cloths that were kept for drying the wind instruments and wrapped his hands in these. He knew that Thranduil could repair these hurts with ease. “Because once there was another young ellon that wanted to learn, but he had to do it all on its own, and he still remembers how hard that was. But Eldan,” he admonished, “I will be your music master and you my student. That means you must listen, and do as I instruct. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” Eldan nodded, wide-eyed, as Maglor dabbed away his tears with another of the cloths.

 

“Good. Now, you see this instrument, that you were trying to play? You are not to try again until I give you my leave. This is the most difficult of all the harps here to master. But before we leave this place, we will find you the harp you  _ are _ to use. And if you need a different one than is here, we will purchase it.”

 

Eldan wrapped his arms around Maglor’s neck and held him tightly. “Thank you, Uncle Kana,” he whispered.

 

Maglor chuckled, but he too closed his eyes and held the child close. “You may not be thanking me soon enough,” he said. “I can make it easier, but I cannot make it easy.”

 

“I will try my best,” the boy said stubbornly. “Ada Thanadir said that is what I am always to do.”

 

“Your Ada Thanadir is a wise ellon. Now, we are going to look at the smaller harps, which for you will be much as full-size ones.” He set the boy down, who smiled up at him with innocent trust. He had seen this expression on a child’s face, once before. Long ago.

 

Kana sighed. Memories. So, so many memories….

 

*****

 

Three girls that were very happy to get out of the car tumbled into the grasses in the cottage driveway. “Fissssssshhhh, fiiiiiissssshhh,” said Allanah with dramatic flair.

 

“They aren’t  _ that  _ bad,” Earlene insisted, grabbing her packages of treasures from the back. There had been no possibility of returning from the coast without fresh catch. 

 

“Actually, they kind of are,” muttered Sharley, out of hearing of the others.

 

“Oooooh Uncle Quen and Uncle Kana are here!” Faeleth shrieked, dancing across the grass toward the door before anyone could remind her to carry her own things. Oh well.

 

“How fast do you want to bet Eleniel and Ithiliel got Kana’s hair untangled this time?” Lorna asked, hefting her baggage. Atia wrinkled her nose, and scooted off with her own little suitcase at top speed. “Mairead still wants to know how the hell they do it. My guess is, tiny fingers.”

 

_ “That’s what she said,”  _ Jimmy muttered, and Sharley fought a groan.

 

“Oh, he usually can’t get his bags upstairs before he is in their chair, so…” Earlene thought for a moment. “I’d give them fifteen minutes, because the old time record was before Thanadir showed them the spray-on detangler he’d made.”

 

“That stuff,” Lorna said, trundling toward the house, “is amazing. I know it won’t work so well...later...but if it’s even half as effective, I’ll brew it by the vat. I can comb this mop out in less than five minutes with it.” Before, even with the elven shampoo and conditioner, it had still taken ten to fifteen -- though that was better than the half-hour she’d had to waste before she met this lot.

 

Sharley followed her, grateful for fresh air. She’d worked on a fishing trawler, at some point, and she’d forgotten how powerful the smell was. At least then she’d been out in the fresh air, not in a van.

 

Into the kitchen they trouped, bags, fish and all. “We got stuff!” Lorna called, to the household at large.

 

“Stinky fishies!” Atia added, from halfway up the stairs.

 

“They are  _ NOT _ stinky,” Earlene growled. “We’re back, can you tell?”

 

Thanadir and Thranduil rose to greet her, and the former could not control his nose wrinkling. Earlene’s face fell. “Really?”

 

“I missed you?” the seneschal said, trying to salvage the situation, turning the Sad Eyes up to 9.5.

 

She stared at him. “Well, it isn’t a superpower for nothing. I missed you too, meldir.” Her husbands received chaste pecks on the lips, and Quen and Kana earned cheek kisses. “Welcome, and it is so good to see you,” she said, as Thanadir quickly disconnected her from the packages of fish and hastened them into the sink. “Have I missed anything?”

 

“Yes and no,” Thranduil said, in a find humor. “The biggest thing would be that Kana has asked to remain with us, meluieg. To instruct Eldan in music.”

 

Earlene stared at the ancient elf. “You weren’t by chance visiting the music room in the Halls, were you?” she asked, with a peculiar expression on her face.

 

“I was,” came the quiet answer.

 

“Then as his mother, I thank you with all my heart. You have long had a place in our family,” she said quietly. “I am beyond grateful that you would do this for my son. I love Eldan very much and have been at a loss as to how to help him, in this.” *This* had been going on for months, and nothing that she or Thanadir or any of them had been able to say had made a difference to her son.

 

With a half-smile and a nod of acknowledgement, his nose suddenly wrinkled as the smell of fish wafted into the room. “Oh, Eru,” Earlene grumbled. “Please excuse me.”

 

Sharley, having dropped her luggage in her room (and dabbed some Vicks under her nose, because seriously, stinky fishies was about right), emerged back into the kitchen for some tea. “You people have corrupted me,” she said. “I come from the damn Coffee Capital and now I drink tea all the time.”

 

Thranduil appeared in the kitchen now as well. “Sharley, it occurs to me that you have never actually met Quen and Kana. I would like to introduce you, since we are slowly succeeding at corrupting them as well. When you have your tea, of course.”

 

“I don’t know how we keep missing each other, honestly,” she said, adding milk and sugar. “I mean, I know I don’t get over here too often, but still.” She followed after them, sipping the sweet liquid. This was...sassafrass, she was pretty sure, wonderfully fragrant. Once out of the kitchen, she added, “I think we need to decontaminate the Mystery Machine. Good  _ grief _ .”

 

“Oh shush about the fish,” Earlene said. “They just needed rinsing. I’ll go spray my lemon peel cleaner in there later, and you’ll not know the difference. Honestly. If you lot don’t stop I’m going to start brewing fish sauce, and then you’ll be sorry.”

 

Thranduil caught a mental image of what fish sauce involved, and decided that hurrying Sharley out of the room was the best option for all concerned.

 

_ “Subtle,”  _ Layla snickered. Sharley just sipped her tea, and let herself be hurried.

 

“I hear your son’s learning the harp?” she asked.

 

“He will be. Kanafinwë has just generously insisted on remaining with us to teach Eldan, who has for months now desperately wanted to learn. Thanadir was able to instruct him to an extent, but...I think we all know there are times when a parent is not the best teacher, for a young one.”

 

Sharley snickered. “You should’ve seen Allanah, Chandra, and Shane, when I taught them how to clean a fish at Ross Lake. I thought Shane was gonna puke, but he kept doing it because I was Auntie Sharley and he couldn’t weasel me like he could Lorna and Ratiri.”

 

The entered the Heart Room to find it crowded -- all the kids, plus Saoirse and Pat, Maerwen and Ortherion and Lothiriel. Atia came scurrying in around her, and both her siblings grabbed her in a hug.

 

There were two other elves, as well -- and as soon as she set eyes on them, she felt something in her mind...crack. It was like what happened when a thin layer of ice over water fractured. It didn't hurt, and yet it was horrible, because it was so alien, so  _ wrong _ …

 

One of them she didn't recognize, but the other...the other...why did something more crack with every second she looked at him? The mug fell from her hand, shattering where it hit the floor.

 

“Laurë,” she said, unaware of what left her mouth -- and then she screamed, clutching her head.

 

_ Pain, hot and red, pain and exhaustion and despair, her mind taken apart over and over and only haphazardly returned to her. It was dark here, so dark, and almost hotter than she could stand. How long? How long had it been? She’d been left here, alone and forgotten, and it was almost better when they tore at her flesh, because at least her mind was left alone. Always, always eventually  _ he  _ returned, and dug deep into her thoughts, her memories, searching for the source of what she was, whatever stray note in the Music had made her. Never had he found anything, and yet that didn't stop…Angband was all she knew, now, all she could remember... _

 

Sharley dropped, though Thranduil managed to catch her, and Ratiri rose in alarm. “Thanadir, get a pillow or something,” he said. “Thranduil, put her down, but mind her head. She’s having seizure.”  _ How  _ she was having a seizure, he had no idea, but now was not the time to wonder. “Don’t try to restrain her.”

 

“This is not a seizure,” Thranduil said through gritted teeth, his eyes fixed now on Maglor. “The Stranger has just broken.” He lowered her to rest her head in his lap. He would not try to hold her tightly, but he did mean to ensure her head could not strike anything hard.  _ Kana, is there anything you wish to tell me? Why did she call you Laurë, and behave as if she recognized you? _

 

Maglor sat unmoving, pain and fear written across his face. 

 

_ Kana!!  _ Thranduil demanded, seeing that there was indeed something.

 

_ I abandoned my wife of long ago to undertake my father’s hateful oath,  _ he admitted in a mental voice filled with deepest shame.  _ I left from our home on Formenos when Tirillë was away, in the Halls of Námo. I never saw her again. But she called me Laurë. Never did she care for my father, after he created the great jewels. She would only use my mother-name. _

 

_ Halls of Námo? To….of what are you speaking?? _

 

Maglor’s eyes filled with misery as he returned Thranduil’s gaze.  _ My wife is Manatirillë, the far-seer. Handmaid to Vairë, and tasked with the weaving of the blue threads of her tapestries. My wife is Ainu. _

 

Quen had no compunction whatsoever about forcing his own mind into their silent discussion, which is why he was prepared to catch at Maglor’s shoulders when he collapsed in grief. He had known of many of his friend’s burdens, but not this one. Kana tried to push him away, but Quen only held on harder.  _ No, my friend. Not this time. Long years have I watched over you as you ran. Ran from everything. No more. Do not press me. I will force you to remain here, if I must. And I feel very strongly as though I might not be alone, in this. You are mightier than I, as a fighter. But you are not stronger than all of us here together.  _

 

He received no answer except a physical one. Maglor yielded, allowing himself to be held, just as he allowed his grief to crash down on him in full measure.

 

_ She was supposed to have been safe. Safe in Valinor. Not here. And not like this. I thought I knew the extent of my crimes, and now…  _ his vision went dark, as Quen without remorse caused him to lose consciousness. 

 

Earlene was standing at Quen’s side, suddenly. “Bring him to our room,” she commanded. It was not necessary to look back, to know that Quen was complying. Moments later, Maglor was laid out, his head resting on soft pillows. “I know you will want to stay with him. I will check on you as soon as I am able.” With that, she closed the door to return to that chaos known as the Heart Room.

 

“I know there’s no point in asking what the fuck just happened,” Lorna said, “but I’m asking it anyway. If the Stranger really did just break…”

 

“Then poor Sharley’s just remembered whatever there is to remember,” Ratiri sighed.

 

Pat paled. “Jesus.”

 

“Is there anything we can do?” Lorna asked, knowing the answer was probably ‘no’. Still, ask she had to, because Sharley...they’d all grown so protective of her, the last few years. She was family. And knowing there was nothing they could do to help her was almost too much.

 

Saoirse, wiser than she appeared, had hustled the twins and Atia out almost immediately, and Lorna knew she should go to them, but poor Sharley…she’d stilled at least, but just what did that mean? Was it a good sign, or a bad one? Thranduil would know, but whatever she was seeing, he was, too.

 

_ “Sharley,” Sinsemilla said urgently, “Sharley, stop.” _

 

_ But Sharley couldn’t -- didn't know how, didn't know what there was to stop. There was only pain and terror and despair, and they’d  _ left  _ her here. She’d screamed and she’d cried until her voice gave way, and nobody came, nobody answered, nobody did ANYTHING, they’d LEFT HER, and he mocked her for it, every time he came to her. Told her she must have been worthless, if they would abandon her to him -- that she and all she did counted for nothing, or someone would have at least tried. Nobody, he assured her, had. From all the Valar, there was only silence, while he tore her mind and body to shreds, over and over, until she shattered, until the voices came, the  _ Stranger  _ came. The Stranger, who was everything she was not: a protector, but one filled with a distance and cold, reptilian calculation. It stitched the pieces of her mind back together as best it could, and unlike her it felt no pain, nor anguish, nor despair. _

 

_ It feared nothing, and on the day of his last battle, it had shoved her and her agony away, and slaughtered every orc and corrupted mortal it encountered. They’d broken free and fled, and still, even now, her prayers went unanswered. The Stranger’s hatred for the Valar had only solidified, because there was no word, no explanation as to why they had abandoned her -- there was  _ nothing _. And for the next twenty thousand years, there remained nothing. _

 

_ But the stitches in her mind were frail, and they could not strengthen so long as she remembered. The Stranger took her memories, and her name, and left her with a new one: Harë. She had endured, and her new name would reflect that, but over the millennia it had morphed into Sharley. _

 

_ In time she’d found a mountain in a far-off land. Into it she had crawled, and slept, and woken again on the eve of the century before last, into a range of misty forests and peace. There she had stayed and lived and worked, leaving only occasionally to wander, and then, oh...no, no,  _ no _ , then  _ he _ had found her, and he’d...he’d… _

 

A cry of revolted anguish struggled to leave her throat, catching before it could break free.

 

“No more,” Thranduil whispered, and sent her to sleep, holding onto her as tears streamed down his face. What he had just seen shook him deeply and he did not know what else to do. 

 

Thanadir looked on in dismay at the sum of what was happening and took charge. 

“We will take Sharley to our room so that we may watch her. I do not think I need say that this exceeds all of our experience. It would be a great help if you could mind the children and perhaps prepare a meal. A meal that is not fish…” he clarified. “In fact I think toasties and ale are rather in order, if such can be managed. Calanon, please help me bring Sharley and our King. I promise I will come to you when there is something to to tell.” 

 

Somehow the direction was reassuring, and everyone dispersed with a purpose. Calanon lifted Sharley easily, while Thanadir guided Thranduil into the bedroom. Earlene did the only sensible thing, and was met by Lorna, who had the same idea. They began to brew two immense pots of tea, to take in their respective directions. “So that happened,” said Earlene, as she chose the strongest black tea leaves she could find.

 

“That poor bloody woman,” Lorna said, shaking her head. She pulled the whiskey bottle down from the top shelf in the pantry. “I can’t imagine everything she’s remembered, but I know what one’v them was. She just got hit with...well, with what Thranduil took away from me, when it happened to me.” And with that thought, she took a long pull straight off the bottle. Sue her.

 

“And I am afraid that bad as that may be, it is a drop in the bucket of what she actually remembered.” Earlene was not sure how many of her guesses would prove right, but she had heard her call Maglor ‘Laurë,’ and knew what this name was. That alone, while it did not prove all her surmises, proved one: Sharley was as old as she had guessed, and whatever the connection, she had somehow known Maglor. Just...there were times when it was sickening, to be right.

 

“What will we do when she wakes up?” Lorna asked, automatically assembling ingredients for toasties while the tea steeped. “How could anyone bear those memories? I mean, I wasn’t much’v a fan’v the Stranger, but it gave Sharley the chance to be happy. I don’t know if there’s anything we can do for her, but...well, shit, I can’t just assume that. She’s family. There’s got to be...there’s got to be something.” If she kept telling herself that, she might believe it. 

 

Could Thranduil make Sharley forget again, if she wanted to? Sure, it had been easy with Lorna herself, but Lorna was human, and the memory a short, isolated incident. It sure as hell hadn’t been...whatever had happened to Sharley. Whatever unimaginable tortures the poor woman had endured. Even Thranduil might not be equal to that. Could he glue the Stranger back together, and let it get on with things? The thing was dangerous, yeah, and weird, and creepy, but because of it, Sharley had been able to laugh. She’d been happy, not remembering -- and yet what Von Arseface had done would be enough to break someone on its own. Add God only knew what else, and Lorna wondered just what there would be left of Sharley’s mind to salvage. 

 

“Allanah,” Ratiri said, and grabbed the whiskey bottle off the counter. “I can all but guarantee you, as soon as she’s coherent again, she’ll want to see Allanah.”

 

Earlene hesitated. Allanah was just a child still, and whatever was happening with Sharley and Maglor was in the Cosmically Bad portion of the scale. Her daughter deserved to be protected from these kinds of problems and yet... _ goddammit no one tells you as a parent, what to do in these situations.  _ And, this conversation now was somewhat forcing her hand. “Ratiri, I have to be worried for my daughter about the things she could see and hear. I did not want to say this, but…” Her face went grey and she did not speak for several seconds. “It is my fear that Sharley was a captive of Morgoth. For a very long time. Allanah is a nine year old human child and...I really do not know what to think about the wisdom of involving her. At the same time, my heart is bleeding for Sharley.”

 

Lorna and Ratiri looked at each other. “What if she asks for Allanah?” Lorna asked. “I don’t...I don’t know what she’ll be like when she first wakes up, but I doubt she’ll be...well. Once she’s her again, though...Jesus.” She rubbed her forehead. “Something tells me this won’t go well right off, for her and Maglor. She’s Sharley. I don’t think she wants to be anyone else. Especially if that someone else was tortured.”

 

“Shit,” Ratiri muttered, and took the bottle from Lorna. After a swig, he said, “Marty. If she remembers Von Sociopath, she knows he was Marty’s father. And knowing that, on top of everything...honestly, I'm not sure there she’ll ever be  _ her  _ again.”

 

“She’ll be someone,” Lorna said firmly. “And we’ll love her, whoever she is.”

 

Earlene shook her head. “I have to leave this with Thranduil. He will protect his daughter, and let Allanah be there for Sharley if it is safe for her to do so. I’m only a human who wants the best to both of them.” She stopped and shook her head some more. “Dammit. I just don’t understand. We did what we were supposed to. No one has even mumbled the word ‘Valar’ around her in years. Shit.”

 

“I think it’s safe to guess she knew Maglor,” Ratiri said, and this time drank tea like a responsible person. “Perhaps seeing him was too much, and that was what broke the Stranger? I can’t imagine what else it would be.”

 

“She must’ve known him pretty bloody well, if that was the case,” Lorna said. “If one look at him could manage...well,  _ that.  _ Hell, if she’s Ainur, maybe she knew him in Aman, before his twat’v a da made everything go to shit.”

 

“I think we should be pretty careful about what we think we know about events of the First Age,” Earlene said, rubbing her forehead. “While presumably we now have those responsible for what was put to paper in the next room...is what they gave us completely objective? Thranduil said some things once that made me wonder. It’d be like all of what we know about European history coming from two people...yeah. Because  _ that _ would be impartial.” Fëanor may have been many things, but she herself would hesitate to refer to him as a ‘twat’. He was a great deal more than that, both for good and ill. And either way, she certainly would not want Maglor overhearing it. Fëanor was not an abstract concept to the ellon; that was his father.

 

“I wish it sounded like we were going to learn anything  _ good  _ about the First Age,” Lorna said. Privately, she’d call Fëanor a twat, and worse; he’d all but forced his sons to swear an oath over three shiny lightbulbs. An oath that had driven them to murder their own kind, and one which ultimately killed all of them but Maglor. Yeah, he was a twat.

 

“Whatever happens, I just want to help her,” Ratiri said. “Them. Poor Maglor -- I can’t imagine what could have brought that reaction out in him, either, unless he knew her. And I’m almost afraid to find out how they do, if that is in fact the case.”

 

“We’ll learn at some point, I’d guess,” Earlene mused sadly, loading cups and the pot and other things onto a tray. She was about to take it to the bedroom when she thought better of it and silently called for Thanadir, who appeared as out of nowhere to carry the heavy item. Still Earlene’s extremities could go numb without warning, and today and especially right now she did not want to add dropping all of this onto the floor to the rest of the drama. With a backward glance of solidarity, she followed the seneschal and then held the doors open for him, before closing them again. Thranduil and Quen were conversing quietly. 

 

The King stood up to speak. “I have been explaining to Quen the reasons why I believe I should share with you both what I now understand. In the past I have always given heavy weight to each individual’s right to privacy...but this is something different entirely. I have one of my own people and another who is...more than that, and both are grievously injured in spirit. And in mind, I would argue as well. They will need help, and perhaps for a very long time. As much help and love, as we are able to provide. I do not fully see the road ahead, but I know that under this roof are those who love and care for them most.”

 

Quen ran his hands through his hair, agitated. “Before all of this happened he told me he did not want to go back to Oxford. I know what that means. That means, ‘Quen, sell the shop.’ I had guessed this would happen eventually, but I did not expect it this soon.” He buried his face in his hands. “And after so much time being relatively stable, this. Again.”

 

“You have no other business connections?” Earlene asked as gently as possible. “No one else to assist?”

 

“Too dangerous, Earlene,” Quen said. “We have always relied on a healthy measure of isolation as part of our protection from the world of men.”

 

“You do not have to sell your store if you do not wish to, Quen. You are family to us and we will gladly care for any of your needs. If it would help you I will return there myself and hang a sign in your window. Or whatever you wish. You only need tell me what you want to happen, and I will accomplish it. I want you to be able to concentrate on Kana. Nothing else matters. Please let us help you.”

 

Pengolodh looked at Earlene as if seeing her for the first time and nodded, before turning his attention back to Thranduil. “There is something I need to know,” he said in a voice that contained hints of nervousness. “I lived in Gondolin, and that meant that I bent my knee to King Turgon. You too are a King, and this is still a Kingdom. If I, if we accept your invitations, will you require our vows?”

 

Thranduil tilted his head. “At this point, only if you wish to give them. You can see that my mortal friends have not bound themselves to me in this way. Except for the one, and that was at Ailill’s own insistence. I will not pretend, Quendingoldo. My rule here is almost at its end, and what is in store for us in Valinor, what will become of the remnant of my people...I do not know whether the time is almost at hand to set aside my crown. I will fulfil my duty to my subjects for however long they ask it of me; that binding agreement is why I am still here. You must do as you see fit, but either way I will care for you as members of my family. I would only ask of you in return your word that you will not ever work against us, or seek to cause us harm.”

 

“You are very generous, and I am grateful. We, are grateful, if I may speak for Kana as well.”

 

“Kana,” Quen said absently, turning to his friend. Holding his hand. “I do not know exactly what will happen now. I heard what he said to you. That somehow, this one next to him is his...wife. His long-lost wife, that he only mentioned once in a bout of drunken sorrow so long ago that it almost eludes memory. I never knew her name. Or that she was a Maia. Only that she was among the bitterest of his grievous losses. I know that he loved her. Maybe you can guess, a little, at how broken he is. The weight of his memories, of his survival, of his shame...there were many times I came so close to losing him. But each time Eru granted that he continued on living. And here we are.”

 

“Forgive me the question, but after all that has befallen us I feel I must ask,” Thanadir said. “Are you in love with him?”

 

Quen looked up, and smiled. “Not like you mean it. I love him as my gwador. I swore to care for him; protect him as best I could. But I have no romantic or carnal interest in him, which is what I believe you are asking.” He paused.  “I knew he was wed. I found him well into the Fourth Age. I had been most everywhere. Gondor. The remains of Imladris, before Elladan and Elrohir took the last of their father’s collection with them across the sea. I had meant to make that voyage with them, to be honest. But they day came when I lingered at the Emyn Beriad, and saw a lone ellon wandering in sight of the towers. He did not see me, but from the height of one I saw and heard him, as he played and sang a mournful lament. In that moment I realized that my future would be elsewhere, for I determined that his was a beauty that would surely vanish from this world if not cared for.” 

 

“I would have done the same,” said Earlene. “How could anyone with a heart not?”

 

Thranduil determined to interrupt. This was all well and good, but was not helping him to understand what to do. “I cannot keep him asleep forever,” he pointed out.

 

“That was actually my doing, Aran Thranduil,” Quen smiled.

 

“True,” the King conceded. “But the real question becomes, what will happen when he wakes?” 

 

“We have miruvor,” Thanadir pointed out. It had taken some trial and error, but he had become rather adept at the distillation of this concoction. And these days, he was wise enough to keep selections of their medicines  _ both _ at the Halls and at Eldamar.

 

“I think that would be wise. If you would be ready with that, Thanadir?”

 

“Wait,” Earlene said. “Before you wake him, what about Sharley? Lorna and Ratiri think Allanah should be here. I have my misgivings, but said I would trust your judgement, Thranduil. Is Sharley going to be any brand of sane at all? In my estimation you should make certain Quen knows as much about her as we do. Including the nasty parts. You have no idea what she will think or feel. Something tells me she may not run to Kana with open arms. Her mind has been rearranged more times than a box of crayons in the hands of a three year-old.”

 

Thranduil winced at the analogy, which was unfortunately quite true. With a heavy heart, he explained all that they had learned. Or rather, since he already knew much of that, he added in the parts he had hoped never to have to mention, including the things he had just learned.

 

“Valar,” Quen exclaimed miserably, trembling. “To have been left to such a fate…”

 

“There was a reason,” Earlene defended. “I know there was. It was horrible and cruel and yet there was a reason she could not be helped. They would not have allowed this to come upon her without cause.”

 

Quen was about to ask, but at the last second caught Thanadir, who stood behind Earlene, outside of her peripheral vision. He shook his head No, very subtly. 

 

So instead the ellon only nodded his head, as if in full consensus with what had been said. In truth, he did not know what to think of this strange mortal woman who spoke more as a devout elf than anything else. “I will wake Kana,” he said, and Thanadir stepped forward with the cordial. The moment Maglor roused, the vial was at his lips. “Drink, Kana. It will help you; it has great virtue.”

 

Confused and disoriented, Kana sat up and swallowed obediently before his thoughts had time to tell him to do otherwise. It created a buffer. The miruvor pushed back powerfully against his negative emotions, blunting the force of his despair. He turned to see that he was not alone on the bed, and moved around to look at his long-lost mate. “I never thought to see her again,” he said, looking at the face that was so familiar and yet so different. Her spirit remained unchanged, the shimmering blues of her fëa that were once so familiar to him. “Tirillë.” Cautiously, he reached to take her hand.

 

“Kana,” Quen said. “I need to tell you some things. About her. Things that happened to her.”

 

Unexpectedly, Thanadir stepped in front. “And he is telling you because she will need you, Kana. Our Sharley, your Tirillë. We love our wives, and would do anything for them, would we not?” 

 

Thranduil watched his seneschal, mesmerized. He had see the ellon use his powers of persuasion before, but never quite like this. The Sad Eyes were set to full power, and so was the weight of his modulated voice. Every syllable was being spoken to gain agreement, cooperation, a sense of shared purpose. And Maglor fell to Thanadir’s charms without ever comprehending the exact nature of his undoing. “I can never repay what I took from her. Whatever you may think of me, whatever she may think of me, I did love her. I was so, so foolish. Old enough to be wed, yet not of sufficient strength or wisdom to turn aside from my father’s demands. Only later did I realize the seriousness of my mistake, and by then it was too late. To have her back, even if it is only to hold her hand for a few moments this once...Yes, Thanadir. I would do anything.”

 

Thanadir nodded, placing his hand on the ellon’s shoulder in reassurance. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we promise to help you in any way we are able.” 

 

“Thranduil, might Lothiriel bring Allanah down here and wait with her outside the door? What is your decision?” Earlene wanted to know. 

 

“That seems the best course of action,” the King agreed. “I will know a great deal more after I wake her.”

 

“More miruvor?” Thanadir wished to know.

 

“I cannot hurt to try,” Thranduil agreed. “It helps humans, and mostly Sharley seems to cling to the belief that the Stranger gave her. That she is human, I mean.”

 

“Human?” Maglor mused, running his thumb over the top of her hand. “Tirillë, you were many things, but human was not one of them,” he smiled, allowing his love to show through for that moment.

 

“You have no idea,” Earlene said acidly.

 

“I will have Lothiriel bring Allanah in, meluieg. I will keep her from seeing or hearing anything amiss until I am certain all here is well.”

 

“I trust you, my Lord.” Earlene left to stand with Thanadir, and appreciated it very much when her husband’s arms held her securely. These poor, poor, poor people…

 

“Sharley?” Thranduil asked. “Wake now, Sharley. I have something for you to drink. It will help you feel better.”

 

Wake Sharley did, slowly, groggily, and at first couldn’t remember why or when she’d gone to sleep.

 

_ “Sharley, be calm, and drink what he gives you,”  _ Sinsemilla ordered.  _ “Jimmy was obnoxious while you were out.”  _

 

“What?” Sharley asked. “What’d he do?”

 

_ “Drink it and I’ll tell you. Thranduil, give her that ASAP. Sharley, drink it.” _

 

“Bossy,” Sharley muttered, shutting her eyes.

 

Thranduil tipped the vial against her lips, once again entering that alternate universe known as Sharley’s Mental Sideshow. But what seemed most important at the moment was that she was downing the cordial, before thought and memory had a chance to arrive before it did.

 

Drink Sharley did. She didn't recognize this liquid, but it relaxed her, and it was sweet without being overpowering.

 

_ “Deep breath, Sharley,”  _ Sinsemilla ordered next.  _ “This isn’t gonna be pleasant for anybody.” _

 

Sharley opened her eyes again, utterly bewildered. Who was holding her hand, and why did she not  _ mind  _ that he was holding her hand? She hated being touched by strangers, and yet this was oddly comforting.

 

Memory slammed into her like a freight train -- but what struck her most, perhaps because it was the most recent, was Marty, and how Marty had come to exist.  _ No no no  _ no _ , not now. That was someone else.  _ Someone else, not Sharley Corwin. Not the woman who lived in Skykomish, in her tiny house. Not the woman who had taken her adoptive family over every beautiful nook and cranny of Washington State, who had fought wildfires...this was who she was. The  _ other _ , the one that had happened to, was not her.

 

If only telling herself that worked.

 

_ “You are Sharley Corwin,”  _ Sinsemilla told her,  _ “but that’s not all you are. Just be Sharley for now, and we can work on the rest in time.” _

 

_ “Bite-sized pieces,”  _ Layla added.

 

_ “Yeah, like Fun Size candy,”  _ Kurt added. _ “Just don’t actually eat Lorna, I bet she’s tough and stringy.” _

 

Sharley covered her face with her free hand. “I never thought I’d say this,” she said, “but don’t shut up. Chatter away. Allanah, I need a hug.”

 

Lothiriel released the little girl with a nod from Thranduil, and she bounced onto the bed. With a sunshine grin, she grabbed both Maglor and Sharley’s hands where they were joined, then somehow leveraged the rest of herself against Sharley. “Are you sick, Auntie Sharley?”

 

Sharley hugged her with her free arm, and wondered why she was so reluctant to release this man’s. Elf’s. She knew him, but she couldn’t think about how. Not yet, not so soon. “A bit,” she said, breathing in the clean child-scent of the daughter that wasn’t her daughter, yet close enough. Allanah was pure, untainted by the evils of the world. “I don’t feel good, but I’ll get better.”

 

Could she, though? All that memory...it was like a yawning pit in her mind, one that threatened to suck her back into it if she let her guard down. To her own surprise, she felt tears gather in her eyes, and a terrible urge to scream -- but she couldn’t. Not with Allanah here. With great effort she swallowed it, and just focused on this warm little body, the little innocent being of sunshine. No matter where Marty had come from --  _ no, don’t think about that --  _ she too had been a sunshine-child. “I think I need some of Lorna’s special tea.”

 

_ “I never thought I’d say this but go for it,”  _ Kurt said.

 

“I am sure she would be happy to share,” Thranduil said soothingly, right how being happy with any frame of mind that did not involve a nervous breakdown. “Do you think you would like food, after? Lorna and Ratiri are making toasties.”

 

_ “Yes, you would, Sharley,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

Sharley rolled her eyes, but focused on the irritation so she wouldn’t think of anything else. “Apparently yes I would.” Only now did she look at this man -- this Elf -- beside her. “She knows you,” she said, “doesn’t she? Other her...the other one.”  _ The other one _ was a perfect description for the one who had all those terrible memories.

 

“Yes,” Maglor said softly, heavily coached silently by Thranduil by way of translation. “She called me Laurë. Those here call me Kana. I am also called Maglor. You may choose whichever of those pleases you most.”

 

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t like the name Kana,” she said. “No offense. Maglor’s better. Laurë...I don’t know.” And she didn't know -- she had no idea what she felt about that name, but she felt  _ something _ , and she was pretty sure it was something good rather than something bad. Even so, she couldn’t think about it right now. “You’re the one I keep not running into. Both of you are.”

 

_ “Yes, they are, and you need tea,”  _ Sinsemilla said, determined not to let her think too deeply, about the elves or anything else.

 

_ “And maybe you  _ should  _ eat Lorna,”  _ Kurt added.  _ “She’d only be like three bites. It would be like eating a squirrel.” _

 

“Kurt,” Sharley sighed, “sometimes I wonder about you.”

 

_ “Good,”  _ he said smugly.  _ “It means I’m doing my job.” _

 

“I will go get Lorna,” Earlene said, being blessedly unaware of much of that exchange. “There is tea here for everyone. Lorna can make yours...special.”

Quen looked on all of this and...Thranduil was generally grateful for the telepathic capabilities of his two ancient guests. Who were really no longer guests, anymore...this was going to be a very, very interesting week.

 

“Bless her,” Sharley said. She still felt so strange, poised on the edge of that great, yawning hole, where all those terrible memories lurked at the bottom -- but she held the hand of someone she knew, yet didn't know, and had her little sunshine child in her arms. She wasn’t going to fall over that edge, not yet.

 

_ “I still say you should eat her,”  _ Kurt said.

 

“Dammit, Kurt, I am not gonna eat Lorna,” she said, just as the woman herself came in, bearing a tray.

 

“Nobody gets to eat me but Ratiri, and he does it in the fun way,” she said, setting the tray on the end-table beside the bed. “Allanah, let’s get Sharley sat up so she can drink this --  _ drink _ , not chug.” She was never going to forget poor Thanadir and the Thermos.

 

“How do you eat someone in the fun way?” Allanah asked innocently. Thranduil said nothing, but his cheeks began to redden spectacularly while Thanadir’s eyes widened at this yet unequaled display of unseemliness.

 

Earlene fought down the pink that wanted to come into her own cheeks. “It is something that has to do with sex, and is for adults, Allanah. I will explain that to you a little later on but we will do that in private.” And she would glare at her friend for a week later. Other things here were too tenuous to worry about something as stupid as that right now.

 

Lorna was extremely surprised Earlene would explain that, but rallied. “And it’s not something you should be thinking about until you’re, oh, thirty,” she added. “I saw the opening and I took it.”

 

Sharley, unable to help it, burst out laughing, so long and so hard her sides ached. These guys...this was her family. Whatever was back...back  _ there _ , back down deep but threatening to break to the surface, it could stay there. “Lorna, I love you, but sometimes I gotta wonder.”

 

“Yeah, well, wonder and get stoned all at once,” Lorna said, handing her the teacup. “Then we should watch some stupid movie and I’ll stick cats all over you.”

 

“...That actually sounds good.”

 

The toasties were impeccable, and Ailill and Calanon had made use of their time to race to town and procure bottled Guinness in generous amounts. The meal was shamelessly devoid of nutritional merit except at least the children had milk. Quen and Kana did not actually seem to mind; they both rather enjoyed brews. They found themselves ushered into the movie room afterward, where they were informed that they were watching the movie Happy Gilmore.

 

“What is this about, meldis?” Thanadir asked Earlene, skeptically. 

 

“Well, technically it is about golf.”  _ But mostly it is very funny with a minimum of unseemliness, and right now Sharley desperately needs something to keep her mind off of...things like having been tortured in Angband. _

 

_ Oh. Well, when you put it that way… _

 

_ I was hoping you would snuggle with me,  _ Earlene added while looking at him with a pitiful expression.

 

_ But I wanted to rub your feet. Can Thranduil hold you? Please? _

 

She smiled and nodded, and went to bring cookies out of the freezer.

 

Once everyone was settled in the media room, Lorna made good on her promise to stick cats all over Sharley. What amused her was the fact that they actually stayed there, though a few went to sit on Allanah as well. Their purring was something like a symphony of tiny chainsaws. Supposedly a cat’s purr was good for healing, so hopefully a purr times seven would really help.

 

She herself curled up next to Ratiri, Atia on her lap, but she kept glancing at Sharley. Just how fragile was the poor woman right now? When was she going to break down again? Because she would, sooner or later. It was inevitable.

 

She was distracted by Pat, who had never actually seen this movie before. When it got to the line about Happy trying to take his ice skate off so he could stab someone with it, her aggravating brother burst out laughing. “Jesus, Lorna, he’s you, if you were a lad and American.”

 

“Shut it, you,” she retorted.

 

_ “Actually, he’s more like Kurt _ ,” Jimmy said.  _ “Kinda glad he doesn’t have hands, all things considered.” _

 

_ “Yeah, you’d better be,”  _ Kurt growled.  _ “If you had a head I’d pop it like a zit.” _

 

_ “Oh, shut up,”  _ Layla sighed. _ “Watch the movie.” _

 

Kana was uncertain what to do, and chose a path he hoped was one of interested neutrality. He sat next to Sharley, but not in such a way as to crowd her. He laid his hand on one of the cats near to her, and left it in such a position so that it could be taken, or ignored. Wife or not, he understood the barest outlines of how much was wrong. And not just a little wrong, but incredibly wrong. She would be given all the support he knew how to give. He had thought her irretrievably lost, so even the sight of her was something he felt he barely deserved. The things that would be great horrors; they would have to deal with those at some point. But not tonight. Mercifully, not tonight.

 

Sharley, without thinking, took the offered hand, though she could not have said why. The cat, the Lump Ness Monster, busied herself giving both of them a thorough bath, purring all the while.

 

This moment was...okay. Things were...okay. She could do this. She could laugh, or at least smile, at this movie, while covered in cats, with her little sunshine girl, surrounded by her family.

 

But sooner or later, she was going to have to sleep. And the thought terrified her.  _ Thranduil, can you make it so I don’t dream? _

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. This was not a simple request, and yet there was a way . He would have to send her to sleep himself, and keep her that way. There were three of them, actually capable of ensuring she could not wake, but...he wrestled for some moments with what was ethical and came back to one thing. However disrupted this was, Sharley’s husband was here, and he deserved the chance to at least help. Silently he spoke to Kana, who answered only with an affirmative nod of his head. That was all Thranduil needed to know.  _ You must tell me when you are ready to sleep; I will cause you to sleep deeply enough not to dream.  _ Which was glossing over several salient details but right now he did not feel those needed mentioning.

 

_ After the movie,  _ she said, and sighed..  _ I’m so tired, but I’m afraid to sleep. And...can Lorna stay with me? I won’t scare her if I do somehow have a nightmare, and she’s doll-sized. I won’t break her in half if I squeeze too hard, either. _

 

In spite of everything, Jimmy couldn’t help it. He just couldn’t.  _ “That’s what she said,”  _ he snickered.

 

Layla groaned.  _ “Oh, good  _ grief _ , Jimmy.” _

 

_ “What? It actually  _ is  _ what she said.” _

 

_ “That,”  _ Sinsemilla said, pained,  _ “is not the point.” _

 

_ “Then what  _ is  _ the point?” _

 

_ “Does there have to be one?” _

 

_ Do not worry about these things, Sharley,  _ Thranduil said gently but firmly.  _ You are our family, and you are here, and we will take care of you. There will be no dreams tonight.  _ He felt very badly about what was happening to her, but felt it was equally his role to appear as a source of strength. And sometimes that meant not equivocating.

 

She shut her eyes.  _ Thank you,  _ she said.  _ I don’t know what I'm going to do. I probably can’t forget again, though god do I want to. _ She wanted it so badly she could taste it -- even before she’d met these guys, before she’d truly been happy in the years between losing Marty and finding them, she’d at least been at peace. Now she wasn’t sure she’d ever know peace again.

 

_ We will speak of this and many other things, but not now. Now, is, enjoy this ridiculous movie. _

 

He said that just in time for Happy to yell, “ _ The price is wrong, bitch! _ ”, which sent both Lorna and Pat off into a bout of helpless laughter, with Ratiri not far behind. 

 

_ “Nice,”  _ Jimmy said, and Sharley knew already he just had a new favorite catchphrase. Beautiful.

 

“There’s something way too funny in watching old people beat up younger people,” Lorna said, as Bob Barker slugged Happy. “I mean, how can you not laugh at that, at least a little?”

 

“This movie is somewhat revising my opinion of golf,” Ratiri observed. “I’ve always regarded its existence as a mark of national shame.”

 

Thanadir leaned in toward Earlene.  _ I think I would like to try this game, meldis.  _ Earlene groaned, but fortunately it was timed against his thumb delving into the sole of her foot and she was able to dissemble. Thranduil smiled, but then turned his attention to Lorna.

 

_ Lorna, we need to talk, right when this film is over. There are things you need to know about all that has transpired, and I would advise you not to be drinking any beverages when I tell you. It is about all of us, and taking care of Sharley. _

 

_ Thanks for the warning _ , Lorna said, now worried all over again.  _ I can keep her stoned for however long it takes, if that’s any actual help to her. _

_ Maybe in the short term, but that is no actual solution. Do not worry about her. No amount of worrying will help what has happened. She will need the help all of us here have to offer her. But anyway, watch your movie. I refuse to interrupt the presumptive downfall of Shooter McGavin. _

 

_ Who eats pieces of shit for breakfast _ , Lorna said, and tried not to giggle.  _ That  _ was one that would stay in her repertoire, for whenever it might be useful.

 

At last the golf ball landed in the hole of Triumph, and Thanadir clapped in delight while Earlene reflected on the idea that they had possibly just created a monster. And whether her meldir would look good in tweed.

 

Thranduil took advantage of the credits to begin his conversation with Lorna. It was entirely obvious when he told her about Laurë and Tirillë. A rasping cough filled the air, and he smiled to himself. Sometimes, warning did not help.

  
  
  
  
  



	121. One Hundred and Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 10-July 5, 2026. Begins in the morning.

In the hour before daybreak, Thranduil came to Maglor. He was seated in a chair next to Sharley’s bed, where Lorna slumbered under a mass of silvering hair on the other side of Sharley. Kana held Sharley’s hand in his own.  _ How did she fare during the night?  _ the King asked.

 

_ Three times, her mind became active. Three times, I sent her back into a very deep slumber, _ he replied tiredly, laying her hand down carefully on the coverlet and rising.  _ Thank you, for allowing me this. _

 

_ She is your mate. How could I do otherwise? _

 

Kana looked down in humility.  _ There are some who would choose to see matters otherwise.  _ He hesitated to say more, as he moved away from the chair so that Thranduil could sit.  _ Quen told me of your discussion, concerning whether you would require us to speak vows to you. We both feel we owe you an answer on this matter, one way or another. Your offer was generous, but we would like more time to reflect and consider. _

 

_ Of course,  _ Thranduil answered, puzzled that this could even be something they were considering. Either way, he had more pressing concerns. Namely, Sharley.  _ Take some rest, please. I will watch over her for the next hour. After that, it will be close enough to breakfast and then they will not have to realize we kept vigil here. I do not wish Sharley to know that this is not as simple as waving a hand and walking away, lest she refuse the help. _

 

_ I understand. And I will gladly rest for a short time.  _ With a wistful expression, Maglor left the room silently.

 

**

 

Lorna woke before Sharley did, and was relieved to find the poor woman still under. Unfortunately, she was also tangled up in Lorna’s mass of Cthulhu hair, which necessitated a lot of delicate detangling before any thoughts of visiting the bathroom could actually be acted on.  _ She’s slept all through the night?  _ she asked Thranduil.

 

_ Yes. No waking, and definitely no dreaming. You would not go amiss to give her your tea at breakfast. This cannot go on indefinitely but for the first two to three days, I see no reason not to. And Lorna, perhaps you can find a way to ask her about her friend from Washington. The psychiatrist. The one that came here, some time ago. While we are all very willing to help Sharley, there is going to be trauma here to overcome that is beyond the ordinary. I have thought a great deal on this, since yesterday. While the magnitude is greater, the kind of damage she endured is not outside of the realm of human experience. I want the best help for her we can manage, and this time I think that includes not assuming we know enough to conquer this solely on our own. And this does not even begin to address Kana, who is also deeply...damaged. _

 

_ I can do that,  _ Lorna said, finally able to sit up.  _ Both of those. If Sharley doesn’t come away from this with one whopping, unimaginable case of PTSD, I’d be very surprised, but I’m not sure any psychiatrist is necessarily going to be equal to it. It’d probably help that Sharley knows Angie -- she’s not some stranger.  _ She resisted the urge to brush some hair from the poor woman’s face.  _ And shit...does she know who Kana is, to her? I mean, at all? _

 

_ Not like you do. It is my belief that he should be the one to tell her, in his own time. An aspect of her recognizes him and accepts him. You have seen it. But that aspect is also linked to a great deal of suffering of which I am certain we do not know the half. I felt it important that you and Ratiri know so that what you are seeing will not be veiled to you. She will need him, as she will need all of us. I have no wish for her to find out far too soon and cause more problems than it can solve. _

 

_ Christ, no kidding.  _ Poor Kana...what a thing to get dropped on your head...with a sigh, Lorna rose, careful not to jar Sharley.  _ You want any tea? Normal tea, I mean? _

 

_ I do, but I will have it at breakfast. Now that you are awake...she  _ should _ sleep through to breakfast, but are you willing to watch her? Should she begin to stir but not wake, wake her. What we want above all is for her not to dream. Otherwise I can send her deeper into slumber one more time, and then you would only have to rouse her before you are ready to go to the meal. I think Earlene means to make coconut pancakes. _

 

_ Sure. And Christ doesn’t that sound tasty. I’ve got my tincture in my pocket -- you want me to go get her tea and come back? _

 

_ It would get her drinking it the fastest,  _ Thranduil admitted.  _ Call out to me if she is doing badly. Thanadir can come with more miruvor very quickly. I only wish to create some false impression that we have not hovered over her all night. It is my hope to not leave her feeling...smothered. _

 

_ Probably a good idea. _ Lorna nipped downstairs and fixed up a cup -- the lemongrass Sharley was partial to at the moment -- and added a drop of tincture. A little sugar took the taste away, and a tiny dash of milk. They really had corrupted the poor woman, who had lived God knew how long in the Coffee Capital of America.

 

Back upstairs she went, carefully setting the mug down on the end-table.  _ I’ll wake her up, if need be. Go get some food.  _ She gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

 

When he’d gone, she watched Sharley. She couldn’t even imagine what the poor woman must be going through -- she wasn’t sure there was anyone out there who could. Angie knew Sharley, though; hopefully, she’d know what to do, though she’d have to be filled in on one hell of a lot first, possibly including a Cliff Notes version of  _ The Silmarillion. _

 

Sharley stirred a little, but stilled when Lorna brushed the hair out of her face. Yes, this woman was actually incredibly ancient, but Lorna still felt a maternal sort of affection for her. “Wherever you came from,” she said softly, “and whatever happened to you, you’re here now, with people that love you. Whatever we can do to help you, we will. You’re not alone now.” A dark part of her had to wonder if the Stranger didn't half have a point, because if Sharley was an Ainu, why  _ had  _ she been basically abandoned? They all owed the Valar a hell of a lot, but this...didn't fit. Not in any way that she could see.

 

**

 

Ratiri got the twins and Atia downstairs with the aid of Saoirse, who knew how to herd them quite effectively. Not until Lorna brought down an obviously-stoned Sharley did he dare breathe, though, and they loaded up the poor woman’s plate, knowing the munchies would kick in soon enough.

 

“Meldis, these are tasty,” Thanadir said appreciatively. Heavy amounts of sweetened coconut had gone into the batter of the pancakes, and crushed, pureed pineapple figured heavily in the syrup she had made to go with it. There were also omelets, and hash browns made from the mountains of grated potatoes Ortherion and Thanadir had helped her prepare and fry in golden butter. That, and a selection of fresh fruits rounded out the meal. And...

 

“This is the first meaningful batch of the orange juice,” Earlene said proudly, indicating the pitcher on the table and the fifteen or so small glasses that had been poured out. Each fruit had been zested before she juiced the halves, so as not to waste any of the use of them.

 

Meanwhile, Allanah watched Sharley carefully, worried. She knew that something had been wrong yesterday, though none of the adults would tell her exactly what. It had been bad enough that Nana had explained to her about ‘eating someone the fun way.’ Though her words had been tasteful, having learned more about things adults did for enjoyment had proven somewhat disturbing. And now she could not quite take her mind off of the thought of what Aunt Lorna and Uncle Ratiri must do in their free time…. _ yuck _ . So she had tried to think of something else, and had ended up looking at scrapbooks. There were lots of pictures, of when she was a baby and with Ada Thranduil and her Nana. And in all of them, she could not help but notice her blue eyes. They were not at all the color of her father’s, and she wondered why. 

 

“Why aren’t my eyes the same color as Ada Thranduil’s?” she blurted out at the table, while Ithiliel and Eleniel looked on in curiosity.

 

Earlene blinked. While she had expected to have this discussion someday, she had not quite thought it would be at the breakfast table. “That is because Ada Thranduil is not your biological father, Allanah. Just as I am not your biological mother. You have your father’s eyes. Your father is my brother; his name was Aidan. I am really your aunt. But he died when you were very young, as did your real nana. Thranduil and I wanted you, and now you are our family. You are the first of our beautiful children.”

 

“Oh,” Allanah said, surprised. “Was his hair red too?”

 

“Yes. Red just like yours. He was taller than I am, nearly as tall as Ada Thranduil.”

 

“But he was not a King,” Allanah said slowly.

 

“No,” Earlene smiled. “He was a neurologist. A kind of doctor, like Ratiri, but one who took care of people’s nerves.”

 

“Huh. Can I see pictures of him later?”

 

“Of course you can, Allanah. I do not have many, but I have some.”

 

Only then did Allanah realize she did not know what her grandma and grandda or...any of those people... looked like. “Can I still call you Nana?”

 

“Absolutely. You are legally our daughter; we adopted you and have papers and everything. It might be the only way you can tell me apart from all the other Aunties in our house!”

 

Thranduil smiled, to see that this conversation was going as well as could be hoped. 

 

“I always wondered why I don’t have any points on my ears,” she said, eating another bite of pancake. “I am not half-elf, am I?” 

 

“You are human just like me, Allanah,” Earlene smiled. “And, you are both an American and Irish citizen.”

 

“So I’ll be a grown-up at seventeen?” she asked, hopefully.

 

“Mmm hmmm.”

 

Ithiliel and Eleniel looked at each other with looks of vague horror, but said nothing.

 

“Cool,” Allanah grinned, and went on with her breakfast.

 

“How come Allanah looks more like my sister than Shane does like my brother?” Chandra asked, looking up at Lorna.

 

“Genetics,” Lorna said, “are all kinds’v fun. Your da’s da and my mam both had ginger hair like you.”

 

“Did they glow in the dark?” Shane snickered, though the sound died off at the look -- more like Look, with a capital L -- his sister leveled at him.

 

“Hush, you,” Lorna said, trying to be stern just so she didn't burst out laughing. Yes, she still found the fact that the elves glowed in the dark to be far too amusing, even now. “You  _ are  _ related, though. Your Auntie Earlene and I are second cousins once removed, though I’ve got no idea what that makes you two and your cousins. Who are probably your third cousins or something, but whatever. I’m not a hobbit, I don’t keep track.” Her Gran would probably slap her upside the head for it, too, but that was why they had Mairead.

 

Ratiri looked down at little Atia. Would it occur to her to wonder if she was adopted? She did look rather like him, and of course Chandra looked almost nothing like either of her parents. Perhaps she wouldn’t wonder, but she should be told someday anyway -- though they had to find some way to avoid telling her they’d found her in a dumpster.

 

“You’re about the size’v one,” Pat cracked, and it was only the fact that they were seated at the breakfast table that kept Lorna from throwing something at him. Her expression vowed later retribution nonetheless.

 

“I’ll tie you down and wax your arms if you’re not careful,” she warned. “I’ve got hot wax.”

 

“Do I want to know why?” Saoirse asked, her nose wrinkling.

 

“It’s how I do my eyebrows, you pervert,” Lorna said.

 

“Ladies,” Thanadir corrected, feeling like this discussion was heading too far toward unseemliness at the breakfast table. “Who would like more pancakes?” He saw that Sharley held up her plate and rose to distribute more food to those who wished it. Kana too seemed to relish today’s menu, whereas Thranduil and Thaladir favored the omelets. 

 

“How come I do not have blue eyes like Ada Thranduil?” Thaladir now wanted to know.

 

“Because whatever common ancestor I share with Lorna that had green eyes gave them to you,” Earlene said. “At least, that is my guess. You have your Adar’s fair hair.”

 

“We have his blue eyes,” Ithiliel and Eleniel chorused. “And Nana’s pretty hair.”

 

“I have his fair hair,” Algar piped, not to be outdone. 

 

“Eru,” Earlene exclaimed, realizing that this had suddenly become Genetic Attributes Hour.

 

“Mam, Saoirse, and cousin Lorna all look so alike it’s creepy,” Shane said.

 

“I showed you the picture’v your uncle Pat and I and our other brother and sister,” Lorna said. “You want to talk about  creepy.”

 

“Aunt Mairead said the stork dropped me at the wrong door, but even when I was four I knew that wasn’t how babies worked,” Chandra said. In truth, she was a bit grumpy that she looked so little like the rest of them. If it weren’t for the eyes, you wouldn’t know she was related to Mam  _ or  _ Da.

 

“I have hair like Da’s,” Atia said. “Except straight like Mam’s. And I still want it blue.”

 

“Of course you do, you monkey,” Lorna said, ruffling it slightly. “Patience is a virtue...and I can’t believe I just said that. Christ help me, I’m turning into Mairead.”

 

Ratiri looked at her, and at Atia, and hid a frown behind his teacup. He strongly suspected Lorna had taken Earlene’s advice to heart a little too well, and  _ that  _ wasn’t going to be any fun to deal with. Fortunately, they wouldn’t have to for a few years yet.

 

Sharley ate yet another pancake, lost in a pleasant haze. The voices had been singing Weird Al Yankovic songs since she’d woken up, and were quarreling over the lyrics half the time. For once she didn't completely tune them out; they kept her thoughts at bay.

 

_ “Have some more yogurt, have some more Spam,”  _ Layla sang,  _ “it doesn’t matter if it’s fresh or canned.” _

 

_ “What the hell even is ‘fresh’ Spam?”  _ Jimmy wondered.  _ “It’s canned meat, it can’t be fresh.” _

 

_ “Apparently it tastes like human,”  _ Kurt said, with relish.  _ “In the Fiji islands or somewhere during World War II, the American soldiers were sick of Spam, but the islanders  _ loved  _ it because it tasted like ‘long pork’.” _

 

That made even Sharley pause. “Kurt, I don’t even want to know how you know that,” she said.

 

_ “Eh, I pick things up. Here and there.” _

 

“That’s what worries me.”

 

“What’s he know?” Ratiri asked. They had all, ages ago, agreed to act like Sharley’s voices were a normal thing -- since, to her, they were. It meant she had no compunction addressing them around her family.

 

“That Spam apparently tastes like people. Considering he can’t taste anything at all, I’m not gonna believe it.”

 

“I certainly hope you never let Kurt watch the Alien movies back to back,” Earlene said. “I don’t even want to know what he would do with enough multimedia.”

 

“Meldis, it is breakfast,” Thanadir tried to protest. 

 

“Oh dear, it is. Please forgive me, Thanadir. I forgot myself. Then again this is Kurt we are talking about, but you are of course correct.”  She always felt better about being called out by the seneschal if she had what she felt was a viable excuse.

 

“We saw the first one in the theater,” Sharley said, actually rousing herself. “Didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. Thought it was the same kinda B-movie you found all the time in the fifties and sixties. Oops. Same thing with  _ Night of the Living Dead  _ \-- we didn't know it was a legit horror film.”

 

Lorna looked at Pat. “You remember when we snuck in to see  _ Day’v the Dead? _ ’ she asked.

 

He groaned. “Christ wasn’t that a mistake. You had nightmares for  _ weeks _ .”

 

“Oh, like you didn't.”

 

Thanadir’s eyes were growing sad and alarmed at the waning seemliness of breakfast, and Maglor found himself suppressing a smile with increasing difficulty. Earlene wanted really badly to now talk about  _ Night of the Living Dead _ but the pitiful look from her husband silenced her. It was  _ seem _ ingly beyond time to choose a whole other topic. And the seneschal apparently agreed, because he brought it up himself. “I thought we might run in the forest this morning, Earlene.”

 

“Alright. I would like that,” she said, though she had to work hard to cover that this was not a complete truth. It was bitter for her, to have lost such a measure of her physical strength. What had been taken away was what had allowed her to be extraordinary, for the brief span of time when she was at the peak of her achievements. Now, it was not so easy. If she climbed trees, she tired quickly, and the risk of a fall from a weak handhold or a foot that failed to find its mark was real. She could not go on for hours like before. Yet Thanadir felt somewhat determined that she would not lapse into a complete loss of her hard-earned faculties, and more or less forced her to keep trying. Whether it was because he hoped something would change one day or not...that was what she could not determine.

 

“Lorna, will you come with me?” Sharley asked, turning her slightly glazed eyes to her friend. “I want to go see Marty, and...talk.”

 

_ Uh-oh… _ Lorna thought she knew where this one was going. “Of course,” she said, and wondered if she ought to have a nip of that tea, too. Probably a good idea, all things considered. “I’ll pack snacks.”

 

Maglor looked up at Thranduil while Quen winced imperceptibly. He had hoped not to have this conversation so soon.

 

_ Not here, Kana,  _ his friend said to him with a heavy heart.

 

_ Who is Marty?  _ he demanded, becoming agitated.

 

_ I will tell you,  _ Quen said, a harder edge to his voice.  _ I give my word. But not at this table, and not this minute. After. Trust me, my friend. No one will thank you for forcing this answer immediately. Least of all Sharley.  _ It was possible that that last part was not correct, but right how he felt as though he needed what aid he could muster.

 

Kana still held the King’s gaze. 

 

_ Please listen to your friend. I too promise we will discuss this, once everyone has dispersed after the meal. _

 

Maglor said nothing more, and lowered his eyes to finish the last bite of his fruit. Ailill and Calanon, across from him, were making silent plans concerning where to hunt today, and what to teach Thaladir. His eyes traveled to the others, until he saw little Eldan’s face looking adoringly in his direction. His gaze continued to travel, as a familiar pull of despair sought to find a perch.  _ You gave your word to the child, Kanafinwë,  _ he told himself.  _ You must try.  _ With a heavy sigh, he rose and left the table. Some of the children had already gone elsewhere; there was no custom here to remain at the meal past the time necessary to eat, on ordinary occasions. He now went to his room, to ponder Eldan’s first proper lesson. And try to force from his mind thoughts of who Marty might be.

 

*****

 

Lorna, rather wisely, made a big Thermos of special tea, and took it and a box of biscuits out to Marty’s grave.

 

It was a beautiful spring morning, dew still glittering on the leaves of the massive tree. Around the smaller tree, atop Marty’s grave, bluebells grew, bright and cheerful.

 

Sharley was anything but. She sat beside the little tree, running her fingers along it. “I never cared, that I didn't know who Marty’s father was,” she said softly. “For some reason, it never bothered me.”

 

“I don’t think the Stranger would’ve let it,” Lorna said, sitting beside her.

 

“Did you know? About... _ him _ ?”

 

Lorna sighed. “I did. The Stranger told Thranduil, who told me -- it didn't want us pushing. I didn't tell you because, well,  _ Christ _ , why would I? Better you not know, and not...have it poison anything.”

 

Sharley took the Thermos, and sipped. “You don’t remember, what he did to you,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

 

“I don’t,” Lorna said, “but...I know what he did. Thranduil told me, because the not knowing had been preying on me. It was probably the same thing he did to you.”

 

Tears pooled in Sharley’s eyes, hot and bitter. “It’s... _ humiliating _ ,” she whispered. “That he made me...that I…”

 

“Enjoyed it?” Lorna offered, wrapping an arm around her. “I know. I felt the same. But Sharley, and it took Thranduil to get this through my thick head, you haven’t got anything to be ashamed’v.  _ Nothing _ . He was a monstrous piece’v shite, and I smashed his face up while Thranduil and Thanadir dismembered him, and then we tossed him in a bog and I pissed on him. And if it’d make you feel any better, I’ll take you out to that bog, and you can give it a golden shower, too.”

 

Sharley looked at her, incredulous, and managed a laugh through her tears. It was so... _ Lorna _ , and yet she was almost tempted. “I might take you up on that,” she said. “I just...the hardest part is that I can’t wish it hadn’t happened, because I got Marty. And how wrong is that?”

 

“It’s not wrong,” Lorna said. “It’s very -- human. And at the risk’v some  _ very  _ black humor, at least you got a kid. All I got was a sore snatch and a headache.”

 

Sharley choked on her tea, because  _ really _ ? “Okay, that really is some black humor,” she said, coughing.

 

_ “I approve,”  _ Kurt said.

 

“Sharley, allanah, here’s the thing,” Lorna said, “I still don’t like telling people it happened to me. I still don’t, unless I’ve got a good reason to. I understand, in that. And you’ve got it worse than I do, because you can remember, but nobody’ll look at you weird. I mean, they don't look at  _ me  _ weird -- or at least, not because’v that.”

 

Sobering, Sharley handed the Thermos back. “It almost woulda been better if I hadn’t liked it,” she said softly. “If I’d fought and lost, at least it’d be honest. Instead, he made me...I mean…”

 

“I know,” Lorna said. “I about sicked up my tea when Thranduil told me how it was -- and thank Christ he didn't go into any details, he didn't need to. Sharley, to that sick fuck, it wasn’t even about the sex, it was about the power he had over people. That he could make us want him, when we never would’ve on our own.”

 

She took a healthy swig of the tea, feeling pleasantly mellow, and surprisingly willing to talk about this -- she never really had, not even with Ratiri. “Any idiot with enough strength or a weapon can rape someone. Until he met Thranduil, for all he knew, he was the only one who could use his mind. It was all just a power-trip. He did it to me and made me forget, but made sure Thranduil would know he’d done it -- and that Thranduil would have to  _ tell  _ me he’d done it, or I’d just trot off back home and he’d have a go at me again. Which...ew.”

 

Sharley munched a cookie, but was quiet. Lorna might not remember what was done to her, but she had seen it -- hadn’t been able to avoid seeing it, when they first met. It really was very like what he’d done to Sharley herself, except actually even sicker. He hadn’t...talked...to her as much as he had to Lorna, which she supposed she ought to be grateful for. Nor had he had that sick fetish for her hair. With Sharley he’d been much more...action. A thought that almost made her puke both tea and cookie all over her own feet.

 

And yet there had been Marty -- sweet, sunshine Marty, with nothing at all of  _ him _ . How could a monster like that create something like Marty? She’d been a being of light, a pure, dancing sunbeam of a girl…

 

...so why had she died?

 

The thought made Sharley still. Why  _ had  _ she died? If both parents were Ainur -- and Sharley couldn’t let herself think on  _ that  _ for long, or the yawning pit in her mind pulled at her -- she shouldn’t have been able to die, right? Certainly not of appendicitis, which had been the very definitive cause of death. There had been no mystery to it; her appendix had ruptured, quite suddenly, and she’d died not long after reaching the hospital. Cut and dried, nothing odd or mysterious about it. And if there had been anything weird or inhuman about her, surely someone would have said something. They wouldn’t have released her poor little body as speedily as they had.

 

She needed to ask Thranduil. He probably wouldn’t know, but she needed to ask him anyway, on the off chance he’d have even an idea. Perhaps she’d never know.

 

A truly, truly awful thought struck her -- one that drove the breath from her, and pulled a low keen of grief from her throat. One of the only things that had got her through Marty’s death had been the knowledge that one day, she’d die and join her, wherever the souls of the dead went. But if she really was Ainur, she was never  _ going  _ to die, was she? Unless someone killed her? Avathar was dead, but where was his soul? Did they go to the same places as humans?

 

_ “Marty wasn’t human,”  _ Sinsemilla pointed out, in a possibly futile attempt at comfort.  _ “Wherever she’s gone, it’s where you will go, too.” _

 

“Yeah, but  _ when _ ?” Sharley asked bitterly. “Not like I'm gonna get old, am I?”

 

Given that Lorna couldn’t hear Sinsemilla, it took her a moment to guess what Sharley meant -- and when she had, her heart nearly stopped. Oh  _ God _ ...hadn’t enough been done to this poor woman already? “Sharley, Marty’s what you are,” she said. “What you were. Whatever. Wherever she is, she’s not out’v your reach. Not forever.”

 

“She was human,” Sharley whispered. “She lived and died like one.”

 

“ _ You  _ thought you were human,” Lorna said. “The Stranger had you and everyone else fooled on that. I mean, shit, even Thranduil couldn’t tell. You got cuts and scrapes and shit, you needed to eat and sleep...yeah, you didn't age, but otherwise you were like us. If you’d been shot through the hear --”

 

_ “And you’re to blame,”  _ Jimmy sang, unable to resist.

 

_ “You give love a bad name _ ,” Layla added, giggling.

 

“-- you probably would’ve died, physically.” Lorna’s eyes narrowed at Sharley’s suddenly thoughtful expression, and she took the woman’s pale face in her hands. “ _ No _ , Sharley,” she said. “Don’t even think about it. You’ve got too bloody  many people who love you here, and a little blue-haired girl whose heart would be smashed and ground into powder if you checked out on us.”

 

Sharley shut her odd eyes. “I know,” she said. “I just...I wonder what Marty woulda grown up like, you know? I’d hope she’d have been like Allanah, but I’ll never know.”

 

Lorna folded her into a hug, or as much of a hug as she could at her size. “Actually, I do,” she said softly. “I’ve wondered on and off, for years now, what my Saoirse would’ve been like, if I hadn’t lost her. It’s not the same, since I never knew her in the first place, but...I do get it.”

 

“Shit, of course you do,” Sharley said, hugging her back. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. And look at it this way,” Lorna said, nibbling a biscuit, “Marty might sleep for now, but someday she may wake up. And not as a zombie, or anything creepy like that.”

 

“I’d love her even if she was one,” Sharley said. “Even if she was a mangled zombie, I’d always love her.”

 

**

 

“Marty was Sharley’s daughter,” Thranduil explained to Maglor. Quen was with them, as was Ratiri. This discussion needed a wide perspective, he felt, and that included a human. And a doctor. Conveniently, Ratiri was both.

 

“Daughter?” he said in a voice filled with both disbelief, and something else. And Quen knew what that something else was, having seen it on one or two occasions he would prefer to forget. “Are you telling me that my wife took another--?”

 

“She was raped,” Thranduil said flatly. “Taken and held by the same creature that sought us out here and tried to tear us to pieces.”

 

“I am no fool, Thranduil,” Kana hissed, a growing rage evident in his demeanor. “Our kind and hers cannot  _ be _ raped. Which can only mean that she gave herself willingly.”

 

“Then you  _ are  _ a fool,” the King fired back, understanding that this was no time for a show of weakness or nicety. “Because mortals most assuredly  _ can _ be raped, and that is what she believed herself to be. That is what the Stranger did to her, Kana. It buried her true nature so deeply that she fully believed herself to be human. She still does, for Eru’s sake, because right now she cannot allow herself to reflect on all that what is left of her mind has begun to recall.”

 

“How can you know what you say is true?” Kana asked, still deeply angered but perceiving that Thranduil fully believed the veracity of his own words.

 

“Because I saw those memories,” Thranduil said, nauseated. Time did not make these recollections any easier. “And because I know exactly how it was accomplished. The same creature who raped your wife also raped Lorna. You were not told, Kana, of every aspect of what happened here, though you were told much. We are telling you this out of regard for your suffering, and the chance that what you lost with her can be restored. This very private information is arguably not our right to tell.”

 

Kana looked at Ratiri, whose thoughts were as transparent as glass to him. “This is true?”

 

“It is,” Ratiri said, and sighed heavily, “though for God’s sake don’t tell Lorna you know. Sharley -- she didn't know where Marty came from, and the Stranger kept her from wondering. The scope of that thing’s power over her was, in hindsight, truly terrifying.”

 

He shook his head. “Now that she knows, she and Lorna are out having possibly the sickest bonding experience in the History of Ever over her daughter’s grave. And quite frankly, I don’t care who you are -- if you insist, one more time, that Sharley was in any way willing with that...that  _ thing _ , I swear to Christ I’ll break your nose.” He’d been around Lorna far, far too long, but the mere thought of anyone thinking that of his poor broken friend was nauseating.

 

Kana sat down now, his shoulders slumping. “But then...how? She was always strong. So strong, and…”

 

“You are very powerful in your gifts of the mind, Kana,” Thranduil said more gently. “And so was he. Against me, he could gain no advantage. But against anyone lesser, anyone human? There was little he could not do. He did not force his victims physically. He…” suddenly Thranduil clapped a hand to his mouth.  _  Ratiri, can you please explain to him, if you are able? Because it is entirely possible that I am about to vomit for the first time in my long life. _

 

_ If you give me some wine later,  _ Ratiri said, grimacing.  _ The good stuff.  _ Drawing a deep breath, he said aloud, “Von...Avathar, his real name was Avathar, went into their minds and -- twisted. He stole their will, and…” He tried to recall exactly what Thranduil had said the fucker had done to Lorna -- not an easy proposition, given he’d tried to erase the whole thing from memory. “He took control of their minds, and once every shred of who they were was burned away, he--” Swallowing bile, he downed the last of his teacup.

 

Drawing another slow breath, he ran his hands through his hair. “He took them over and acted like...like a lover. Please don’t ask me to elaborate; that’s all I know, and it’s all I want to know. Actually, I don't even want that, but there we are.” Shuddering, he added, “And if Sharley had been so broken in Angband, she couldn’t have resisted. The Stranger, for all it had its...issues, was not stupid. It would have known better than to let him know Sharley was Ainur, which meant it had no choice but to let that...happen.” What he might have done to Sharley, had he known what she really was, did not bear thinking about. It might well have been Angband 2.0, with bonus rape. And if she’d had Marty while she was his prisoner…  _ I think I need that wine now, not later. _

 

Kana’s anger remained but now was redirected. “And you killed this thing,” he whispered. “You killed this thing so that I cannot.”

 

Every ounce of his Kingly forbearance was now required to keep his temper in check, but he was trying to understand how this ellon must feel. And remind himself that Maglor was not entirely well himself. “We did not know of his crimes against Sharley until after he was dead. Not until the day the Stranger told me,” Thranduil said, giving Kana some time. “I will warn you now, you must never say a word against Marty if you wish to have even a prayer of reconciliation with your wife. Her daughter was the one shining beacon in her life. Her one point of light or beauty. If you had been the one to hear of her unwitting grief, if you had been the one to stand and watch when she speaks to the child…” he trailed off. “I have had to hear more than most, and as a father these words have been as swords rending my spirit. It is why Sharley has taken to my daughter Allanah. Allanah reminds her of Marty. Has in a way been a replacement, for Marty. Allanah loved Sharley in return, and long ago Earlene and I determined not to interfere in this.”

 

Maglor stared back at them, his face unreadable, until his mein suddenly crumbled. “For what I have done I would have deserved all this and more,” he said brokenly. “But not her. And yet none of this could or would have occurred if not for me. That much is plain. I must thank you both for what you have said here, though it tears at me to have to do so. You have been here, when I could not be. Cared for her, when I could not. I only wish…” He hung his head, knowing he had no right to wish for anything at all. 

 

“No, Kana,” Quen said softly. “We have spoken of this many times before. You made terrible mistakes, but cannot simply assume that you are forever accursed. Many times, have you expressed your remorse to me.”

 

“And I have told you many times before that oaths are binding, and that nothing waits for me except the judgement of the Valar. And the darkness beyond,” the ellon murmured, his eyes downcast.

 

Thranduil listened, understanding immediately that this quasi-argument was as old as their relationship. Part of him wished Earlene was here. Would she have anything to say to this? Every elf knew at least some of this ellon’s story, and to his mind it would be unfathomable, to believe that the Valar would punish Maglor in the same manner as Morgoth. Morgoth, whose deeds were arguably the true cause of every ill that had transpired in the world. He did not believe that Kanafinwë had been pure as the driven snow, not by any stretch of the imagination. He had disobeyed, murdered who even knew how many innocents, committed treachery. But he had also saved the Lord Elrond and his brother, which deed alone had altered the course of their history for the better. There was no further evidence of rashness, or malice. To his eyes, there was only regret and despair, and perhaps now he understood in fuller measure why that was so.

 

*****

 

“One more tree, Earlene,” Thanadir urged. “Just one more, and then you can stop.” 

 

“I can’t,” she said, crestfallen. It was not about not wanting to, it was about plain common sense. Her arms were shaking, her hands were partially numb again. “I will fall, Thanadir. I have no more strength to do this.”

 

“Yes, you do,” the elf stubbornly insisted, feeling that if she pushed herself hard in these circumstances, perhaps she would strengthen herself marginally, and be better for it next time.

 

She sank to the ground in flat refusal. “No. And it is more than time that we discussed this openly, instead of cat-footing around it as we have for the last five years.” Her arms crossed over her chest, as she looked off into the distance, ignoring the view of his boots and knees as he stood over her.

 

The seneschal joined her on the ground. “If we have cat-footed around it, meldis, it is because there was little to discuss. You made a decision concerning our daughter in which I had no say. No possibility for input, no choices. There was a permanent cost, one that was a cost to me as well. I have done my best, to live with the consequences. I was the one who wanted Faeleth. It could not have occurred to me that the Powers would use the conception of each of my children to achieve something for their own ends without my knowledge or my consent.” A tone of surprising bitterness laced through his words.

 

Earlene closed her eyes. She had wondered, in idle moments, how all of this had caused him to feel, and characteristically he had kept his deeper feelings private. His words held validity. It had not been discussed. It did not cross her mind, nor would it have, to ask the Valar if she might gain his input.  _ You never would have, Earlene,  _ she admitted to herself.  _ You are stubborn and self-reliant and the only thing you took into account was what you saw as the opportunity for Thanadir and Faeleth. And the challenge to yourself. You did not think to ask him, because you knew he would be there to pick up the pieces regardless, didn’t you? _ “Would an apology matter to you, now?” she asked, taking his hand. “I did not intend to mar your happiness. If anything, I think I erred on the side of wanting to give you more than you asked for.”

 

“I know,” he said softly. “And there are times I feel you still frustrate me because what you want to give carries more weight in your mind than what I tell you I wish to have.”

 

_Ouch._ She hung her head. “Your observation is legitimate. This has always been a...tendency. And it is not the first time you have said something like this to me.”

 

“But it is also not the first time that if you had done as I wanted, you would not have had what you wanted. There are times when what each of us wants is at cross-purposes.” He reached to draw her into his lap. “My love for you is strong, meldis. I have never wavered in my devotion to you. And I know that if anything, you have willingly given all that was in your means to give.”

 

“I did not know exactly what would happen to me, with Faeleth,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around his chest. “I am not certain I could even have remembered their words to me, were it not for Thranduil. But Thanadir...they told me they wanted this. That it was their will. Please believe me, that swayed most of my decision before I began to even consider my own wants. I do not think I am meant to recover from conceiving her. I am not trying to thwart your efforts to keep me fit. At least, I do not think I am. It has been  _ five years _ . At what point do we both stop pretending that I am an elf, and realize that nothing is likely to change? I miss what I could do physically, very much. Those abilities meant a great deal to me. Yet it seems like the only sensible thing to do is to appreciate that compared to many, I am still reasonably fit with some measure of health. Certainly, I have been given a respite from how I was during my pregnancy with her. But...neither of us is going to find happiness from me pushing to achieve something of which I am no longer capable.”

 

Thanadir closed his eyes, holding her close, and gave way to emotions he had held back from the day of his daughter’s conception. He cried. “I love you and the children you have given me, with all my heart. But I did not want this. Not for you, not for me. I only wanted ordinary children, to love.” It was the grief he had never expressed, in all this time. “And yet Faeleth is….”

 

“I know, meldir. I know.” She held him tightly. “I am sorry, so sorry that all was not as you wanted it to be. I have tried not to begrudge the ways in which we have been...used. I cannot separate the blessings of my life from the demands made of me. And deep in my heart, I have not minded what they have asked, if I am to be completely honest.”

 

“I have not let myself mind, either. Mostly,” he admitted, ashamed.

 

“You have a right to feel some grief,” she said. “I have my own as well. I just do not usually allow myself to dwell on it because...what is the point? But sometimes, it has to be let out. You have been my strength, meldir. Always there for me, always encouraging.” His smooth cheeks were kissed soundly. “I love you. And while I wish we could have had only positives, no negatives...I am not certain that I could have done otherwise. I have a hard time saying No to them.”

 

Thanadir laughed in spite of himself. “Well, if you had said No to them, you and I would not be here talking. I would still be wandering around the Halls in a spectral outline, living only in my memories and walking in the woods unseen. I must accept what has been difficult as well. I have been...resisting.”

 

“I cannot blame you. Our stubbornness is perhaps our greatest commonality. Ordinarily I would endorse what you have been trying to do but…”

 

“But the feeling deep in your heart is that this also is meant to be.” He held her close, carding his fingers through a loose lock or two of her hair.

 

Earlene nodded. “I am glad we have finally said all this aloud, though. I am sorry that I did not have the courage to insist on this conversation earlier. Disappointing you is not something I have ever really been very good at.”

 

“Hurting you is not something I have ever relished, either,” Thanadir admitted in turn. “If we both could have done better, at least our mistakes were made out of love.”

 

“They were,” she agreed. “There are far worse problems to have.” They kissed tenderly and held each other, feeling an extra measure of peace that had long been missing settle over them.

 

“Adar, Nana, what are you doing here?” Faeleth asked, having easily tracked the pair of them through the forest. She danced around the clearing in front of them, gracefully pirouetting on her toes.

 

“Being boring, and hoping you would come dance for us,” Earlene answered without skipping a beat. Faeleth giggled and ran to their arms. 

 

Thanadir now held both his wife and daughter in his embrace.  _ Valar,  _ he silently prayed.  _ I did not want this and yet now I could not give it back for any reason. Please help me to do better. _

 

A feminine voice of infinite patience came back in reassurance:  _ All will be well, young one. _

 

His lips curled, as his spirits lifted a little.  _ You always say that, my Lady…  _ but then a new thought occurred to him.  _ And maybe that is the point. _

 

Unseen, Nienna smiled.

 

*****

 

{July 3, 2026}

 

Kana walked often in the forest, alone, absorbed in the experience. If his people, the Noldor, had a serious flaw, he now had to admit it was their seeming disconnection from Yavanna’s creation. It had already been a point of sorrow that he was such an aberration among his branch of the elves; a Noldo given to music and poetry, when few enough of his kin had displayed any such gifts. Easily he was the most peculiar of his brothers; an outlier, though his father had shown him no less love on account of it. 

 

Today he was not so far from the Halls, having found a grove ruled over by a rambling oak of unparalleled magnificence. Many times he circled it, admiring, until another tree caught his eye that seemed out of place. It was a young birch, a sapling in a part of the forest that otherwise held only very old trees. Not to mention, its white bark was the only one of its kind in this grove; that seemed most unusual. Further investigation showed an array of objects near the base of it. Polished stones, marbles, a pine cone. Some pieces of what looked as though they might be fossils; he was uncertain. He knelt down to look more carefully, reaching out a hand to touch some of these things before withdrawing it. They felt as though they should not be disturbed after all. 

 

_ Was this the child’s grave, of which Thranduil had spoken? _ If it was, then it meant Tirillë spent countless hours in this place. He sighed, heavily. These last many weeks of being near her, often holding her hand...they had been precious to him, and yet he knew she did not remember. Not truly. She did not see him as he saw her, nor did he know if that could ever change. Still, it was more than he had ever hoped for, and it was enough. Maybe Quen was right; maybe this was a mercy of the Valar. A small sign of forgiveness. If only he could truly believe that…

 

Sharley, bearing a set of tiny jacks and a little plastic ball, had headed out to the tree after breakfast. She’d made the jacks herself -- Ratiri called it creative therapy, to focus on creating something with an end goal. Metalwork was unknown to her, so she’d had a lot of help, but they were done now. 

 

As she approached, she spotted Maglor, and wondered he’d found it -- or if he even knew what it was. It wasn’t precisely a normal grave. “Marty sleeps here,” she said, as she approached. “Best place for a little girl to rest, I think. So pretty, no matter what time of year.”

 

For some moments he said nothing, a war running on inside of him over what this child represented. Both what was stolen from him, and what had been his wife’s only joy in the long ages of time. The struggle was blessedly brief. “Tell me about her,” he asked softly, not rising or looking up.

 

“She was...she was a little ray of sunshine,” Sharley said, just as softly. “I don’t -- I don’t know how the hell she coulda come from -- from where she did.” Her face twisted in disgust at the words, a shudder of revulsion running through her. “How... _ that  _ could have produced someone so pure. She loved everyone and everything. Even as a baby, when she’d cry, it wasn’t for long. She was too busy being curious to fuss much.”

 

“Then she was like her mother,” Kana said, remembering well Tirillë’s joy and kindness. “I do not believe any part of her spirit came from other than you. Had it been otherwise, she could not have been as you describe.” Perhaps the Valar had given what succor they could, barring the fëa of that monster from contributing anything toward her child’s creation...not that he had any means by which to know such a thing. It gladdened his heart, to hear this much. To think that only his defiled body could have given Marty form. Form, but not substance.

 

Now she looked at him. “Was I like that?” she asked. “The...other me?” She still had to think of the her that had suffered all that torment as another person; trying to do otherwise just led to further breakdowns. Recovery from that was very slow going so far. “With Marty, to see the world through her eyes...she didn't see the ugliness. Everything was beautiful to her. If he somehow had nothing to do with that other than...than physical, I guess it would make sense.”

 

She pulled her wallet out of her pocket -- she always kept it on her, because of Marty. The photo within it was soft-cornered from age and frequent handling: a tiny girl of four, in jeans and a blue raincoat too big for her, grinning with a gap in her teeth. “She didn't look much like me,” she said, handing it over. “Except for the eyes, but at least she didn't look like  _ him  _ either.” Her tow-colored hair was her own, as was her nose -- but her eyes and her smile were all Sharley.

 

“You were filled with goodness. A bright light to all who knew you,” Maglor answered carefully. “She is beautiful. But...your eyes were not always like this,” he said, describing a circle with his forefinger in the air around her eyes. “At one time they were all the shades of blue.” He lowered his hand and rested it outside of his lap, offering it to her.

 

Sharley no longer wondered why she found his touch so comforting, and took it without hesitation. “I guess a whole lot broke, Before.” It was the only way she could refer to what had happened to all the things she’d remembered. “My hair’s dark, if I don’t dye it -- was it then?”

 

He shook his head No. “It was silver, much like that of Manwë. Though in the low light, in the time after the Trees, it often seemed to have shades of blue. And...you are not the only one. That one...He broke many things. Many people. Many hopes, and dreams. My brother was never the same...after what was done to him. No one was. I am so sorry, for what happened.” He held her hand tightly, wanting to say so much more but deeply afraid to.

 

“I still can’t let myself think about...that,” she said. “I’d lose my mind, and I'm not exactly stable to start with. I’m still getting over -- well, Avathar. Lorna says not to try to hurry that along, or it won’t end well.” She gave his hand an answering squeeze. “I wonder if me looking different was the Stranger’s way of protecting me. Get rid of my most distinguishing features, except it couldn’t quite manage the eyes.”

 

She pulled her braid over her shoulder with her free hand. “Marty loved blue, too,” she said. “She had clothes in all colors, but her favorite things were blue. I guess, if I did the blue threads, that explains why.”

 

“You always wore blue,” he mused. “You liked blue things at home. I liked it too. It reminded me of water, and the skies above. Of mountains in the distance. There was calm, and peace. Sometimes you would complain, wishing that you could occasionally have the green threads.” The memory made him smile.

 

“Might explain why I love Washington so much,” she said ruefully. “It’s very green there, too, but in a different way. I’d take Marty hiking in all the fir trees, and she’d chase butterflies. I’d’ve let her dye her hair blue, if she’d lived.” 

 

She shut her eyes, and when she opened the, she looked at the little grave. “I knew she was gonna die,” she whispered. “A year before she did, I knew. In a way, it helped, because at least it wasn’t a complete surprise. I’ve always told myself that someday I’d follow her, wherever she went, but what about now? I’m immortal, apparently. I won’t die, unless something kills me, and that’s not likely. The D&D’s think it’s not so cut-and-dried as all that, but none of us knows.”

 

“The D&D did not live in Aman, Sharley. Which is why they cannot tell you that Marty would be with Lórien. He cares for them, the young ones. In his gardens, where there is only happiness and blessing.” He forced himself not to roll his eyes. These mortals loved her, he knew. But he had seen early on that they lacked...reverence. Understanding, of spiritual matters. It was not their fault. Of all of them here, he and Ruscion alone had ever dwelt in the Blessed Realm. Quen had been born in Gondolin. And Ruscion, he had discovered, was a very private ellon. Given to deep thinking, and reflection. Not the sort of elf likely to seek out mortals for fellowship. And Tirillë...she knew these things but had made herself forget. It was understandable. Many things about Maedhros had been strange, when Fingon at last returned him from his captivity and torment. In the sickest possible way, perhaps the experience of his brother had prepared him, a little, for this.

 

Sharley looked at him again. “I’d always hoped -- I’d hoped she was somewhere like that. Somewhere she could play, just like she did here. Somewhere…” She swallowed. “Somewhere she’d wait, but I can’t...this is my home, Maglor. I can’t leave it. My memory always had more holes than Swiss cheese, but even when I wasn’t really happy, I was at peace.

 

“And honestly...I don't want to go. I just want to stay right here. Will you go with them, when they leave?”

 

Kana looked at her searchingly before lowering his eyes. “I do not see how I can. It is not the same, for me.” Right now, he absolutely did not want to discuss his realities. “I lost you once, Tirillë. Right now I only wish to focus on being with you.”

 

“What does that name mean?” she asked. She still wasn’t entirely sure she liked it -- it was so alien -- but she didn't mind him calling her by it. Nobody else would be allowed to, though. “What are we, to each other? Because normally I hate being touched by people I don’t know -- hell, I don’t like it from even a lotta people I  _ do  _ know, but with you...it’s a comfort. Why?”

 

His heart thundered in his chest, now that he had quite obviously backed himself into this corner. He was not entirely sorry, but feared it was too soon. “It is my nickname for you. You are Manartirillë, the Fate-Gazer. It was not only your name, it was...you. What you did. And…” he swallowed in fear. “We are wed. That is what...we are to each other.” He could not look at her when he spoke the words. There had already been so much, lost, and he feared to lose more.

 

Her eyebrows climbed in shock. “We’re  _ married _ ?” she asked, incredulous. “I...wow. Okay. I just...um. Actually, I think that might explain a little. Or a lot.”

 

_ “Sharley’s never wanted a relationship, here,”  _ Sinsemilla explained.  _ “There was never any interest. Her aversion to sex...made sense already, but if she’s already married, no wonder she wasn’t interested.” _

 

“Uh...about that,” Sharley added. “I don’t...touch people like that. At all. Ever. Which I know can be a deal-breaker in some relationships.” What was she to do with this little revelation? She liked Maglor. He was a comfort to her. What he was  _ not  _ was someone she remembered yet, and what the hell was she to do, if he wanted a, well, real  _ marriage _ ?

 

He shook his head. “I am not answering your question to find my way into your bed. There is much, for which I have been responsible, though it was never my intention to cause such misery. My greatest hope is to be allowed to help you, in whatever manner you will permit. I have always loved you. Just to see you again…” he looked away, and brushed away the tear that spilled down his cheek.

 

Sharley didn't fight the urge to hug him, even as she marveled that she had it. “I’m broken,” she said gently. “And I don’t know just how fixed I can ever be. The Stranger glued me back together as best it could, but the Stranger had...issues.”

 

_ “That’s putting it mildly,”  _ Kurt snorted.

 

“But I don’t want you blaming yourself for whatever happened to me, you hear?” she asked, ignoring the voice. “I don’t remember what dragged me out, but I woulda done it on my own, if I was anything like I am now. Nobody woulda made me do it. Hell, if I’d wanted to that much, nobody coulda stopped me. I can be stubborn, when I want.”

 

“Had I not left, had I not been a disobedient fool without the moral compass to stand against his father and brothers, you also would not have left. It could not have been otherwise,” he whispered, grateful to hold her. “But telling you how sorry I am changes nothing. I do not know how I can help you, yet that will not stop me from trying.”

 

“The D&D’s and Allanah usually go to Skykomish with me for a while in the winter,” she said. “Come with them, when they do. See where I’ve remembered living. Normally we go to a lake in the summer, but I dunno if I’ll be able to do that this year. Things are...things.”

 

_ “Understatement of the century,”  _ Jimmy sighed.

 

“And Allanah...she’s what I hope Marty woulda grown into. They’re each their own person, but they’ve got souls of sunshine. Talk to her more, you’ll see.”

 

He nodded, releasing her to hold only her hand once more. Something told him as well, he should give her time alone now. And soon he was to meet with Eldan. Either way, he now needed time as well, to clear his mind. These things she spoke of...traveling, clinging to life among the humans...they filled him with fear. He had never really done these things on his own, not in the later ages. Quen had always been there, to care for him. He kissed the back of her hand, before rising. “I will be at Eldamar later on,” he said quietly. “Thank you, for talking with me.” With skill worthy of a wood-elf, he moved off through the trees, uncertain whether to rejoice or weep.

 

“Thank you for listening,” she said softly, and spread the jacks over Marty’s grave. She had one hell of a lot to think about now -- far more so than she could turn over all at one. For now she’d focus on Marty, and knowing her little girl was in a place she’d always hoped had been her daughter’s soul’s destination. She missed Marty, missed her so much it hurt -- but if she was in a garden, with other children to play with, it wasn’t quite so bad. So long as she was happy.

 

“I love you, little bug,” she said, and kissed the trunk of the beech. “I hope you know that.”

 

*****

 

{July 5, 2026}

 

Quen and Kana approached Thranduil while he read in the Quiet Room, in the mid afternoon. He closed his laptop screen to give them his full attention. “What can I do for you?” he asked his permanent houseguests.

 

The ellyn looked at each other. “We have made our decision, and wish to swear our service to you.”

 

His eyebrows arched. This discussion had been laid aside some weeks prior, and he was not certain it would surface again. In fact, he had rather guessed that the notion had been shelved. “Thank you,” he said. “May I know your reasons, for wanting to do this?”

 

“We...understand the circumstances you have outlined,” Kana said, smiling wryly. “Though not for long, I once acted as High King. I understand what it is for an elven people to work in solidarity. To have a leader, and to have that leadership be unquestioned. If I were to make my simplest answer, it would be that I cannot justify a show of non-support or neutrality while living under your literal roof. We are elves. You are the last Elvenking on these shores. The decision has been made to dwell here permanently, until the outer world changes. We feel we owe this duty to you, just as we once owed it to others. As others once owed it to me. It has ever been thus, has it not?”

 

“For better or for worse, it has,” Thranduil grimaced. “I accept your reasons. Moreover, I appreciate your regard for my situation. I think you can guess, you will not find me to be a demanding ruler. Perhaps a time will come in the near future when we must fight, or defend ourselves. Though if I am to be honest, there are some matters with which you could help. I thought that perhaps my people should learn your language, in a rudimentary fashion at least. I would hate to arrive in Aman being the silvan bumpkins that cannot speak two words of your Noldorin tongue. And while we have been lax, there will soon be a greater effort underway to train the humans in our methods of fighting. Some, namely those living under this roof, have greater or lesser degrees of ability. Most still living outside do not.”

 

“Obviously we will be yours to command,” Quen said with deference. “We are prepared to formalize this as soon as you wish it.”

 

“That could be done tonight, if you are certain you are decided. Thanadir can inform you of the vows themselves, which are simple enough,” he smiled, still remembering the minor fiasco with poor Earlene.

 

“Tonight, then. Thank you.” Polite smiles were exchanged again, and the pair withdrew from the room to walk in the forest.

 

**

 

Earlene felt the need to make use of Ratiri’s gift of a barbecue on a grand scale tonight, declaring that their meal would be grilled hamburgers and sausages. Rolls for buns had been baked in the afternoon, and a respectable mountain of potato salad had been produced. With lots of dill and onion, because anything else constituted a travesty in her opinion. Once the food was laid out, Ratiri felt rather insistent about doing much of the grilling, which was fine with her. It gave more time to produce a batch of vanilla ice cream. Thanadir had been hovering a little, seeing that she was tiring as the meal neared. 

 

“Help me with the ice cream maker?” she asked him, eliciting a big smile. The cream mix was already in the chamber; it needed only the ice and salt. Swiftly he ran an electrical cord to one of the outlets outside the kitchen, and joined her on the deck near the grill. He poured the tubs of cubed ice as she sprinkled the salt, and then sat next to her to watch the dasher spin. Which was of course code for, waiting until it could be sampled. 

 

“When we go to Aman, can you make something like this? All we need are the gears and a manual crank, and then we can at least have ice cream. I mean, I hope there are cows in Valinor?”

 

Quen had come outside to watch what they were doing, and heard her question. “Kana says there are. All the same kinds of farm animals as here, though by now they may look...who knows, how they have been bred in all this long time?”

 

“That’s a relief,” Earlene smiled. “I suppose I should ask him more. I have wondered, what it will be like. For obvious reasons, I cannot imagine.”

 

“I am sure he would be happy to share his memories if you ask him. You will shortly be his queen and mine, which makes me feel doubly certain he would not refuse you.”

 

“Oh? Joining our little party fully?” she teased.

 

“Yes,” he chuckled. “After the meal, tonight.” 

 

“Then, welcome,” she said. “I am glad to hear it.”

 

**

 

At last they were all seated, eating their very excellent traditional American BBQ fare. Thanadir was already uncomfortably full from having over-sampled the ice cream, but Earlene said nothing. 

 

Once he was mostly done with his eating but before the ice cream appeared, Thranduil rose. “I would be remiss not to announce that after this meal, some of us will reconvene in the Halls to witness Quen and Kana’s vows of fealty. This may be of interest, to some of you. You are all invited to attend, if you wish. It is a brief ceremony.”

 

Ailill lifted his head from his potato salad to smile happily at this news. “I hoped I would not be the last one ever,” he grinned. While he was still quite slender, he had filled out somewhat under a steady regime of exercise and proper food. He was a much stronger man now, and Earlene especially had been proud of his achievements.

 

“Ratiri, allanah, is your mobile charged?” Lorna asked. Hers was on its last legs, and this needed to be filmed, dammit.

 

“It is,” he said. “Though I’m sure Saoirse will document it herself.”

 

“Hell yeah,” the girl said, not looking up from her sketchbook.

 

Sharley just smiled. She didn't understand the appeal of formal oaths, mostly because they had no significance to her, but Maglor and all the Elves came from a world of them. If swearing this one made him happy, so be it; Thranduil wouldn’t be an annoying sort of king who would try to make him do shit he was totally against. It wasn’t something she’d be doing herself, though, mainly because she felt it would be wrong to make what to her would be an empty promise. If a person was going to do that, it ought to mean something to them.

 

Earlene chose that moment to retrieve the shallow pan of ice cream that was being kept chilled on a bed of ice. “There is marshmallow sauce, butterscotch, chocolate sauce and fresh fruit to have with this.” The bowls and ladles were indicated as she spoke, then she began to dish out scoops of the softly set treat to be passed down the table.

 

“Chocolate sauce?” groaned Thanadir, while Thranduil shook his head. Some things in their family did not change.

 

“Oh God, I want all’v it,” Lorna said.

 

“Even the fruit,” Atia added, giggling. She actually did like fruit quite a bit, but she didn't consider it dessert.

 

“I can’t think’v marshmallows without Yellowstone,” Chandra said, grinning at her father. “And Da with his marshmallow.”

 

“We still have the guns,” Ratiri said, laughing. “Somewhere, anyway. No wonder we had a bear the next morning.”

 

“I was more thinking the one you lit on fire and flung into Uncle Thanadir’s hair,” his daughter said, with a grin that was downright evil.

 

“ _ Why  _ did you have to remember that?” he groaned.

 

Maglor stared at Thanadir, wondering how he would have managed similar. The elves here seemed to have assimilated so well, to living among humans...he wondered if he would ever be able to do the same. Truthfully, he had many fears, about that...he shot a pleading look toward Thranduil, only now realizing this facet of what he might be getting himself into.

 

The King looked up, hearing the thoughts sent his way.  _ It will be my vow to care for you. One that I will take very seriously. We will find a way, together. _

 

Nodding into his ice cream, he felt relief wash over him. No one else here besides Quen knew how bad it was, for him. Sharley was still not making much use of her connection to him, if she was even fully aware of it. And not wishing to add to her burdens, he had declined to remind her. It seemed the best, for now.

 

“No eating yourself into a food coma,” Lorna ordered Pat. “Unless you want to take the sofa.”

 

“If he fell into a food coma, he’d just wreck the sofa,” Shane pointed out.

 

His mother laughed. “True. In that case, Saoirse’s designated sofa driver.”

 

“Eru,” Thranduil muttered. Just once, he would like to pretend there was still dignity to the monarchy. Then again, the sofa could not enter the Halls. That at least was something…

 

**

 

Thanadir donned his circlet and his formal robes, Earlene wore her prettiest dress that Thanadir had made her. Word had spread quickly in the Halls that one of the sons of Fëanor would give his fealty to Aran Thranduil that night, and it was fair to say that every elf in the Realm was in attendance. Thalion found himself needing to cancel patrols in order to avoid mutiny (though, Thranduil perceived this would be the case, and gave his permission to do so...before his Captain could develop a headache, not after).

 

The ceremony was simple indeed, as Thanadir recited the vows from memory and each kneeling ellon responded with the familiar “Athon, i Aran nîn.” Earlene found herself grinning and reminiscing. Ailill held Calanon’s hand tightly and brushed away a stray tear or two. And the peredhel children, not having seen this or having a need to speak these words by virtue of their birth, witnessed their Adar Thranduil in a role little seen now, and felt very proud. When all was concluded and Quen and Kana each placed their kiss on Thranduil’s ring, all the Realm held their hands over their hearts.

 

Allanah ran to Earlene. “Nana, am I a princess?”

 

Her lips parted. “Well, yes, I would say so, Allanah. Though…”

 

“Princess, princess, princess!” Allanah danced away happily, returning to Ithiliel and Eleniel. “See?”

 

“Oh, Valar,” Earlene muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose, only to look down and see Eldan tugging at her skirts.

 

“Nana, am I a prince?”

 

She blinked at her son sired by Thanadir. “Well I...I am not certain, actually; there is…”

 

Great tears formed in the child’s eyes and splashed down his cheeks as he dashed off, threading his way out of sight through the crowd of very tall persons.  _ Well I can see there has been a Parenting Fail of epic proportions,  _ she thought, not sure what to do. Thanadir was speaking to Quen and Kana; she was not about to interrupt to ask him to referee the children’s sudden obsession with royal titles.  _ Valar. _

 

Oh dear -- Lorna had heard that. Poor kid, of course he was as prince -- he was Earlene’s son, even if not Thranduil’s. Though...why the hell did Earlene never wear her crown? Thranduil only worse his on very formal occasions, but she didn't think she’d  _ ever  _ seen Earlene wear hers. 

 

She wormed her way through the crowd until she found Thranduil, and unceremoniously said, “For some reason Eldan thinks he’s not a prince, and where is Earlene’s crown? She seems to like wearing hers even less than I want to hassle with mine, but for fuck’s sake, she actually signed on to wear one.” Hell, Lorna had put on a damn  _ dress _ , Earlene could at least wear her crown.

 

The King blinked at her. “At the risk of incurring a fabulously bad headache by responding to you, Eldan is not a prince. And, Earlene does not have a crown. And, language. Please.”

 

Lorna blinked. “What? Why not? I mean, she’s a queen. Queens have crowns. Even I know that.”

 

“Attempts to take a trip to the vault for such purposes in the past were met with resistance,” Thranduil said drily. “I think you should ask my wife, why she does not wear one.”

 

“Ask me what?” Earlene said as she came within earshot of the discussion, already feeling mildly harassed. Or maybe her problem was that extra serving of marshmallow sauce. Some nights, it could be hard to tell.

 

“Why you never wear a crown at formal things,” Lorna said. “Even Thanadir has one, and while he’s very pretty, he’s not Queen.”

 

“That is not a crown, it is a circlet,” Earlene said, concerning Thanadir’s ornament. “And I do not wear a crown because I do not have a crown. I have really not seen the point; I am a...a...I am married to him,” she pointed, cheeks flushing pink at what even she knew was a shite answer.

 

“Which makes you a  _ Queen _ ,” Lorna prompted, not sure what the problem was. “And it’s going to start confusing anyone who sees these formal things and spots you not wearing a crown. We need to present a...a united front, right? And that includes not leaving people uncertain. I know you’re not much into bling that isn’t your necklace, but even the Irish know queens wear crowns, and it’s going to weird them out that you don’t.”

 

Thranduil made no attempt whatsoever to suppress his smirk. Earlene’s face clouded over.  _ You are enjoying this _ , she accused him.  _ My Lord _ .

 

Thanadir hastened over. “Someone told me Eldan is crying and was seen running off. Do you know what is the matter?”

 

“Yes, I do, but your attention to our son will need to wait. Thanadir, a matter of protocol has arisen that needs addressing immediately. Eldan is crying because Earlene could not tell him if he is a prince or not. And Lorna has just pointed out that it will become a matter of confusion, if Earlene is queen and yet never wears a crown because she does not have one. What is your legal counsel, in this matter?”

 

Things had slipped rather badly, apparently, because his lips parted but no sound came forth for many seconds. He cleared his throat. “Eldan is not a prince; he is not Thranduil’s biological child. He would however rank as…” 

 

“A prince,” Lorna prompted again, slowly, “because Earlene is a Queen, so her kids are still royal. You’re an adopted royal, Thanadir; you’re married to both monarchs -- am I in the Twilight Zone or what, here?”

 

She shook her head. “If monarchy’s more complicated than that, you need to come up with a simplified version, or people are going to think it’s actually a bunch’v rules you’ve arbitrarily pulled out your ar --er, pockets.” Why in the name of mother fuck was  _ she  _ the one doing this? It was beyond surreal. “You’re all some kind’v royalty thanks to your marriage, right? Just give crowns to the lot’v you, tell the kids they’re  _ all  _ princes and princesses, and have done with it.”

 

“Lorna, while your interest is appreciated,  that is not how decisions are made,” Thanadir corrected.  “And while I am wed to Earlene, I am most certainly not wed to Thranduil. Regarding the official stations of our children; somewhere in our archives there is a precedent, and that precedent determines our law. Royal titles are not handed out like holiday presents. There has never been a royal family of this nature, which is why the answer must be researched. Technically, Earlene has been a queen consort.  If the King wishes that changed, he must indicate that desire.”

 

Earlene said nothing and glowered,  because it was obvious where this would end up.  

 

Lorna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jesus, I  _ am  _ in the Twilight Zone. All right, at least that queen consort crap needs to end like, yesterday, because that’s not what absolutely any’v the humans we know think this is. We’re dealing with a whole hell’v a lot’v humans we don’t need to be confusing here -- there’s no point in leaving a loose thread, because sooner or later  _ somebody’s  _ going to tug it. The fewer things to be uncertain about, the better.”  _ No, Thanadir, there is no precedent -- you said yourself your relationship is unique. You are now setting precedents, so why can’t you just hand out titles to your whole family? What’s stopping you? Nothing. You’re the last elf kingdom on Earth -- you make the rules. It’s not like anyone’s going to put you in detention.  _

 

Honestly, that baffled her -- if you  had supreme executive power, why not use it for this kind of thing? If you couldn’t have at least a little fun with it, what was the  _ point _ ? And every precedent, everywhere, had at some point been set. They hadn’t always existed. Quite frankly, it was sounding more and more like monarchy could suck as much for the monarch as it could for everyone else.

 

Thanadir looked at Lorna much as he would an errant elfling needing to be told in detail the facts of some painfully obvious lesson. He was about to speak again when Thranduil held up his hand for silence, and turned to Lorna. “I love you, dear friend, but your expectations and assumptions concerning how our Realm functions do not make our decisions.  However,  your point about Earlene is well taken. It is an easily remedied circumstance. Tomorrow,  Thanadir. There will be a private ceremony,  since it would appear we are not to make it known that this all is not already the case.” He looked at his wife, who had erased all emotion from her face, and nodded her head in acknowledgement of his declaration. Her thoughts were another matter entirely,  but as Lorna could not hear those, he would ask no more of her. “There. Problem solved.”

 

Lorna quirked an eyebrow. “Not quite. For one thing, there’s a sobbing little boy out there somewhere who’s devastated he’s not a prince like his brother. For another, someday we’ll have five thousand humans wanting to know how rulership works with a three-person marriage, and I have to have  _ something  _ to tell them. This is where the whole ‘setting the precedent’ thing comes in, because, well, that’s what it is. Your whole relationship is one big precedent-setter.”  _ Pretty sure that’s kind of the point. _

 

“You will have those answers soon,” Thanadir answered,  both alarmed and a little afraid at the mental invective coming from Earlene.  He spoke to Thranduil silently.  

 

“Take Earlene with you,  Thanadir.  You know what to do.” If nothing else,  he saw the wisdom of removing his wife from Lorna immediately. 

 

Thanadir did not hesitate, and escorted Earlene away at once.

 

Once he was gone, Lorna said, “Seriously, though, why can’t you just...I don’t know, set your own precedent? I know I don't understand, and...I really don’t.”

 

Thranduil wanted to say a great many things right now by way of admonishment, but chose otherwise. This was the most interest Lorna had ever shown in their realities, and as much as this had not gone well for Earlene, he felt he could not afford to slam that door when it had at last been opened. “Because if I did, I would be no better than those kings against which you rail, Lorna. I would be using my authority to make arbitrary decisions benefitting those closest to me, because I can. You have words for this behavior; nepotism and cronyism. We have never worked that way. We  _ will _ never work that way. If you want a clearer answer, you may ask Quen, who served a different elvenking. Maybe he served more than one; for all I know he was in Lindon under Gil-galad as well. I have not asked him for the full accounting of his life. The only time it is considered acceptable for us to depart from law and custom is the direct intervention of the Valar, or warfare necessitating a suspension of the usual protocols. For all else, there is precedent. Else why even have a seneschal?”

 

“But, Thranduil,” Lorna said, “the Valar  _ did  _ intervene. They’re the reason you lot’re all married, and...well, hell, the old system you, you elves, have always had...it’s not built for a relationship like yours. Why would you be expected to keep to it?” She really didn't think the Valar would go halfway and stop, so to speak. If they really meant for those three to be a marriage of equals, and not ‘husband number one, wife, and husband number two as some kind of non-royal hanger-on’, wouldn’t that be a good enough reason to set new precedent?

 

“You are missing the point, Lorna. Our marriage is not about my rule, and my rule is not about our marriage. If you must know, Legolas is the one who would succeed me were my demise somehow to come about. After that, Eleniel, once she comes of age. Then Ithiliel. However after tomorrow, it would be Earlene, before my daughters. For all my other children, it is a completely moot discussion, because there is simply no statistical possibility of any of them ever assuming power.  _ All of this _ is a moot discussion; the Valar themselves have said I will go to Aman. There is no need for a precedent, in any of this. There is only a need to speak to misinformed children regarding the realities of a royal family in a Kingdom of fewer than two hundred and fifty subjects.”

 

“Eldan,” Lorna said softly. “Eldan is why it isn’t moot. He’s not going to care about any of that -- he’s just a heartbroken little boy who doesn’t understand why his brother and sisters are royalty and he isn’t. And at his age, I’m not sure he’d care why even if it was explained to him.” That poor kid...peredhel were precocious, but not  _ that  _ precocious.  _ If it wasn’t for his tears, I wouldn’t care one way or the other,  _ she added silently,  _ but he’s just a little child, and  _ he  _ cares. _

 

Thranduil shook his head in disbelief. He could feel that his patience for this conversation was waning, and that he needed to find a way out of it. Quickly. “First of all, he _ is _ royalty. He is a member of the royal family, and is therefore royalty. Secondly, you cannot seriously tell me that you believe decisions of government should be made on the basis of a crying child? For if that is what works, I will drag all my children to these interminable council meetings and have them break into sobs at appropriate moments in the proceedings. Eru knows it would save me a great deal of trouble.”

 

“I guess I should clarify,” Lorna said, though she couldn’t help a laugh, “he’s crying because he’s not a  _ prince _ . His brothers are princes. His sisters are princesses. And from where I’m standing -- which is admittedly a place’v ignorance -- passing that poor kid a title should not be a big deal. The fact that it apparently is boggles me more than a little.” She wasn’t even going to touch the whole idea of him bringing in his kids to cry at Council meetings -- mostly because it was all she could do not burst out laughing at the mental image.

 

He smiled, and bent down to kiss her on the forehead. “I am going to say something very unusual,” he smiled. “Ask Ratiri, for the answer to your question. I think perhaps they can explain it to you better than I or Thanadir could. And, you must excuse me for the time being; you have left me with the need to prepare for a private coronation tomorrow.” With an enigmatic smile, he whirled around on his heel, leaving her to ponder what she would. At the moment, it had just become more important to rescue his seneschal.

 

**

 

Earlene was sitting on a pile of golden coins in Thranduil’s vault, sobbing. Thanadir wrung his hands at the complete loss of anything resembling seemliness, until he decided to just give up. He plunked down next to her, and pulled her into his lap, not ever having thought to use the treasures for a seating area. “Do not cry, meldis. I am sure she did not mean for...She was speaking in ignorance, anyone could see that...Please, Earlene? You are thinking too fast for me to follow.”  

 

Those words just made her cry harder. It was pure emotion, that she was feeling. And it simply had to purge itself. That she had felt blindsided, humiliated, that her world had been turned against her in the blink of an eye...all of those things coalesced into a single viciously enraged thought.  _ She’ll find out. Oh, she’ll find out, and when she does, then she can see what it feels like. What it feels like to be forced to display authority over others when you have no wish to do so. _

 

“Meldis...meldis, nothing will change. It is only a formality. All of us already knew that your wishes were as the King’s own.”

 

_ Then you know that none of that is the point. The point is that someone who has burdened me with her hatred and disdain for all things Monarchy since the day we first met has just usurped my ability to discuss this rationally with you and Thranduil, in private, by standing there dictating how this Kingdom is supposed to be run until she provoked a response. I serve this Kingdom. Not Lorna. And yet tonight I had to listen to Lorna stand there and try to tell its King, queen and seneschal how to make law. You will have to forgive me if I feel that this beggars belief. _

 

“She does not understand, meldis. Try not to be angry with her. I think she was more upset for Eldan than anything else.”

 

“But _ I am _ angry, Thanadir. Because this is my world, not hers. I do not step across the line and tell the Irish how to be. Not like that. And I am afraid I have grown extremely fond of the Irish staying on their side of the line.”

 

“The Irish are why I did what I did, Earlene,” Thranduil said, still apparently able to move silently through solid walls sometimes.

 

“That was your right, my King,” she said dully, not looking up. “And I am  _ still  _ angry.”

 

“I do not blame you, Earlene. You have endured more, in this regard. I will not try to diminish the feelings with which you have contended, over the years. I do want to thank both of you, for your support and comportment in the conversation we just had back there. I know that I can trust you both with anything. Anything at all. Lorna may never understand. Eru knows I could not get through to her either; her reasoning baffles me completely. And Thanadir is right, meluieg. Little will change, except in the eyes of the other humans. In time, I have no doubt you will manage to wrangle it into some manner of perverse retribution.”

 

Earlene snorted. “At this point, my Lord, perhaps it would be best if you simply told me what is involved. I assume I must speak more vows?”

 

“Yes. They are not appreciably different than the ones I spoke to you the day you gave me your fealty. It is a promise to care for our people. To protect them, to work for their welfare. Binding until your death.”

 

Earlene rubbed at her temples. “This is another reason I did not want this. Words have meaning to me, Thranduil. This is a level of responsibility I never wanted. I do not need to tell you that my strength is diminished; I am not what I was before Faeleth. And...each time I feel like I might be enjoying that quiet life I hoped for, something like this seems to come along to shatter it. But if this is your will, then consider it done. Valar, Thranduil, it is absurd...I am mortal.”

 

Thranduil winced, reminded again of just how different his wife’s life was from what she had originally envisioned. And yet, could that not be said for all of them? “I know, meluieg. But I am learning that most humans beside you and apparently Ailill  _ are _ absurd in some measure, which is why we must...how do you say it, ‘maintain appearances’? Please trust me. I will do all I am able, to keep matters the same for you. You have me, and you have Thanadir.”  He held out his hand to her, and helped her leave Thanadir’s lap. Tilting his head, he regarded his seneschal. “Do you know, meldir, gold looks very nice against your skin?”

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes and worked his way off of the pile of coins, straightening his clothing in a dignified fashion. “The Queen’s crown is still here,” he said bluntly to Thranduil.

 

“I know. That is why  _ we _ are here. If you would?” Thanadir nodded and moved through the aisles he seemed to know quite well.

 

“It was Alassëa’s?” Earlene asked dully. 

 

“Yes,” Thranduil said. “She broke those vows, when she left. Another part of…”

 

“Please don’t,” Earlene asked. “Tell me that tale at another time. Right now, it would be a kindness to me to do only what must be done.”

 

“This,” Thanadir said, holding it out. 

 

Thankfully, it was more of a diadem and not a weighty object. It looked something like woven twigs, with rather a lot of diamonds and emeralds suggesting something forest-ish. “Why is it not like yours, made of wood and living?” she asked. 

 

“Alassëa,” Thanadir answered, rolling his eyes as if no further explanation was needed. “It could not be mithril, because that would not have matched her golden hair. There had to be emeralds, on account of her eyes.”

 

Earlene took it from him, and placed it on her head, annoyed that it fit perfectly. It was not very heavy, and stayed in place well. “Lovely,” she said flatly, removing it. “Is that all we need, from here?”

 

“Yes,” Thranduil answered, worried at her sudden change in demeanor. She was too calm, too dispassionate.

 

“Then if you will pardon me, I would like to return home and go to bed early. I feel tired.” She passed in front of Thranduil, and went down on one knee to kiss his ring, before continuing on her way. He exchanged worried looks with Thanadir. 

 

“I should follow her,” the seneschal said.

 

“No, meldir. Not this time. My decision created this. Take the crown to our quarters for tomorrow. Care for whatever needs managing, here in the Halls. Moreover, circulate word among our people of what is to happen. Tomorrow, at dawn. This will not be an occasion for our human friends; only our sworn people.”

 

Thanadir nodded, and they both exited the vault.

 

****

 

Saoirse had not been expecting this, and she’d taken the opportunity to sneak a little wine -- human wine -- and hide in a corner, watching. And rather troubled.

 

Kana and Quen had both visited rather a lot over the years, and most of the humans had met them at least once. As she’d grown older, the girls in her age group had all come close to swooning over them, Kana especially, and it was beginning to bug Saoirse that she didn't understand why. They’d talk about lads, when they were over, and giggle, and she didn't understand that, either. Was there something wrong with her? She wasn’t into girls, either, though at first she’d wondered if she’d been meant to be, and something got stuck halfway in her brain. Nothing and no one stirred what Maureen called squiggly feelings -- whatever the hell that even meant.

 

She liked  _ looking  _ at people, but it was because she wanted to paint them, or draw them. Never once had she actually felt the urge to touch any of the people she drew -- touch them like  _ that  _ or otherwise. She didn't daydream, didn't fantasize -- not about people, anyway. She daydreamed about the books she read, but not about  _ doing stuff  _ to the people in them.

 

When she’d been younger, thirteen and fourteen, she’d figured she was a late bloomer, but she was sixteen years old now and she’d never had so much as a crush. Not even a tiny one. Honestly, she wasn't sure what they were even supposed to be like. Listening to the other girls talk was mystifying.

 

She eyed Kana, sipping her wine, and pondered. Yes, he was very pretty. All the Elves were, but...so what? She wanted to watch them, to draw them -- she didn't want to touch them, and she  _ certainly  _ didn't want to kiss them. Gross. Didn't people know how much bacteria the human mouth held? Frenching a dog would be more hygienic than kissing someone -- though admittedly, Elves probably had cleaner mouths, but still. The point stood. Swapping spit was nasty, and if she hadn’t changed her mind on that by sixteen, she probably wasn’t going to.

 

All right, so Maureen and her older sister both wanted to lick Kana, which...gross. She knew Aunt Lorna sometimes licked Uncle Ratiri, which was equally gross. Why was that appealing? She’d licked her own hand once, to see if she could figure it out, but all she’d tasted was a little salt and a lot of nothing. Sex itself just sounded messy and pointless, unless you were trying to get up the yard, and that was what turkey basters were for.

 

_ Seriously, though,  _ is  _ there something wrong with me?  _

 

Saoirse knew she was a bit...different. That she was a little like Uncle Thanadir. Asperger’s, Uncle Ratiri had told her once. It was why she still sometimes couldn’t think before she spoke, and why she could have a hard time reading people’s expressions. Was that why? Or was it something else? She was pretty sure that girls her age were supposed to want  _ something  _ \-- lad, girl, sheep, whatever -- but she just wanted to draw. Dating would take away from her drawing time. And as for the physical side of things, er, solo, even that wasn’t interesting. She’d tried experimenting a little, but given up after she got bored. Plus, how fucking awkward was it, trying to learn how to wank in the same house as your uncle who could read your damn mind? Ew. It was just as well it wasn’t interesting. (How the hell Aunt Lorna and Uncle Ratiri could have it it off while knowing they were being spied on, even if the person doing the spying didn't  _ want  _ to do it, Saoirse didn't know.)

 

_ Hell, how does poor Uncle Thranduil handle it? Aunt Lorna and Uncle Ratiri aren’t exactly a monk and a nun, and Ailill and Calanon aren’t monks, either. _ It wasn’t like either pair went around snogging each other in public, but still. Awkward. She’d probably run away screaming, in his shoes.

 

At least she’d never be contributing to that. She ought to ask someone -- ask if something was wrong with her, or what. The problem was that she didn't know  _ who _ . When you lived in a house full of sex addicts, that was kind of hard. Oh, Aunt Sharley wasn’t, but Aunt Sharley had plenty of her own problems to be getting on with.

 

Uncle Thanadir. From everything she’d gathered, he was the non-sex-addict, and he had the bonus of also being some kind of Aspie. She’d ask him...later. For now, she was enjoying her wine.

 

*****

 

There were too many people -- far too many -- so Sharley retreated to the music room, unseen. It definitely showed signs of being used more often now, and there seemed to be more instruments every time she visited.

 

She passed by the violin, though she might move on to it later. She’d grown rather attached to the harp, long before she’d met Maglor again, but she was hardly about to play any normal classical pieces -- too easy. As with the violin, she took songs entirely unsuited to the instrument and re-scored them herself. Her fingers danced over the strings now, and the strains of Metallica’s  _ Nothing Else Matters _ rose through the air. The tension left her shoulders as she played, the knot at the base of her spine easing. It was not her instrument of choice, but it came in a close second.

 

Kana listened from the entrance of the second doorway, leaning against the portal entrance. He grinned. “Not bad,” he complimented. “What happened? You would never learn, before,” he teased.

 

Sharley smiled, though she didn't pause. “I don’t know,” she said. “I didn't know I could, until these guys bought this harp. Having my memory be so full of holes sucked, but sometimes I’d get a pleasant surprise.” She knew, now, how she’d learned the violin, but she wouldn’t let  _ those  _ circumstances destroy her love of the instrument. “Why wouldn’t I learn? Because I knew I couldn’t be as good as you?”

 

“No. You could have been  _ better _ , silly. I am just the ordinary elf, remember? You told me that if you learned, I would play and sing for you less. Which I always thought was completely ridiculous, but you had your way. You liked to weave, unsurprisingly. One room of our home had a loom. You said you liked it because there, you could have any color thread you wanted. While you worked on your art, I would play and sing for you, and watch your work. I was very happy, those times.” His eyes shone with his remembrances of their past.

 

Sharley was nowhere  _ near  _ the point of remembering that. She still hadn’t dealt with even a tenth of a tenth of what had happened in Angband, but at least she apparently had literally all the time in the world to get there. “We should get a loom,” she said. “For here. You can play the harp, and I’ll see if I can still weave.” Shaking her head, she added, “I’ll never be able to think of Elves as ordinary. Not ever. And definitely not you.”

 

_ “She means that in a good way,”  _ Layla clarified. Just to be sure.

 

Kana’s spirits lifted, at what he hoped was some small indication of endearment, and he seated himself at the triple harp in the center of the room. “Keep playing?” he asked, smiling when she did. Moments later he joined his music to hers, weaving more harmonies and a richness of sound around her song. 

 

_ “Well, I feel inferior,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

_ “Jimmy, you don’t have  _ hands,” Layla pointed out.

 

_ “That is so not the point.” _

 

Sharley rolled her eyes, but in truth she felt a little intimidated, too. He very likely had never heard this song before, and yet he could just play it, automatically -- and beautifully. So beautifully that she almost stopped, because the melody, as played by him, was far lovelier than it ought to be. “And you say you’re ordinary,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“I have had more time to play,” he answered. “But I have enjoyed none of it so much as the chance to play with you.” His grey eyes raised to hers, full of sincerity. He did not often make comments of this nature; the sentiment came from his heart.

 

“You’ll have to teach me some of the songs you knew,” she said, though she felt a touch awkward -- she wasn’t used to anyone saying things like that. “Ratiri, he has an idea. If I try to sort through everything that happened...after I left Aman...before I try remembering what came before, it’ll take me another twenty thousand years. He thinks I should try to jump back over everything from Angband, and remember what was before it. Aman. Us. He’s a smart man, he’s usually right.” She was terrified of trying to push it, though, in case that pit in her mind sucked her down again. If they did things like play music, hopefully that would do it sooner or later.

 

Though quite honestly, the thought of being something other than human somehow managed to be both impossible and terrifying. She still  _ felt  _ human, and wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to feel like something else. Human was familiar, and though a terrible thing had happened to her while she was human, it was nowhere near what was done to that other her. 

 

Maglor seemed so hopeful, and she had no idea how to tell him she was never going to fully be that Tirillë again. In time, she hoped she could blend that identity into hers -- but she’d been Sharley a lot longer than she’d been Tirillë, which was a realization that stunned her. The world had been young, when Maglor skipped town and she followed him; she’d spent the better part of twenty thousand years under the umbrella of the Stranger, forging her own identity while it kept the truth from her. And with that realization had come another: it was going to be less a case of blending Sharley with Tirillë than blending Tirillë with Sharley.

 

But how the hell was she to tell Maglor that? He didn't seem to mind that she wasn’t what he’d once known...right now. He might start to miss the original Tirillë, the one who hadn’t been smashed and glued and smashed again, over and over.

 

And also, how could she really be anything but human? Sharley couldn’t remember how to Ainu, and it wasn’t like there was anyone around to teach her. She didn't want to go to Aman, and neither did he. While she didn't have the Stranger’s beef with the Valar, she still wasn’t happy they’d just ditched her like that. No doubt they’d had a reason, but whatever it was, it didn't change what had happened to her.

 

But how could she say any of that to this poor, broken man -- Elf -- whatever? He really  _ was  _ so hopeful, and in his own way was as damaged as she was. She couldn’t help but wonder, too, how he was going to handle the fact that she might never be able to move beyond hugging. Anything further than that still filled her with cold horror, because of Von Shitlizard (the household’s habit of assigning him ridiculous names was a help, at least). If he’d hurt her, that would have been one thing, but instead he’d poisoned the good aspects of sex, twisting them into an ugly, disgusting parody of what it ought to be. Maglor had been celibate a long, long time, and though she knew he’d never push, she also knew that sooner or later, he’d get frustrated, and what the hell was she to do  _ then _ ? Either way, one of them wasn’t going to be happy. And she wanted him to be happy, because somewhere within her was Tirillë. Tirillë, who loved him in a way Sharley was still incapable of understanding. There was so much she still didn't understand.

 

_ Stop thinking _ , she ordered herself.  _ Just play. _


	122. One Hundred and Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 6-7, 2026

Earlene had slept like the dead and was not pleased to be woken. It was still dark. Still dark and she did not want to do this but had to. As she stood under the shower, unrepentantly using vast amounts of hot water and not caring, she tried to remember That Case.  

 

John Oehlert had insisted she take That Case, because he felt she was the only one capable of ‘steering it safely to the dock,’ as he liked to say. And That Case had been on behalf of one of the emerging biotechnology companies that was seeking to find a firmer foothold in the United States. It had concerned genetic patents and had necessitated fighting for something that would undermine her own deeply held personal beliefs about freedom, the limits of corporate influence, and the sanctity of food. It had been bad enough of an internal conflict that she went home many nights, crying about what she was being asked to do. It was as close as she had ever come to having an irreparable rift open up between herself and John. In the end she did as she was required, and made it clear that if she were ever pressed in this manner again that neither of them would like the outcome. 

 

Thranduil entered their bathroom, partly in response to her thoughts. Her eyes opened long enough to look at him in challenge. The message could not have been clearer, either in her overt thoughts or the hard set of her jaw. 

 

_ It will not happen again,  _ he promised her, as she shut down the flow of water (finally). She walked to him, dripping wet, and tugged open the sash on his robe, not caring what hurry anyone might be in and definitely not in the least interested in seemliness. Her hand caressed him at the same time she rose up on her toes to nip at his lip demandingly. A hand reached over and turned the water back on, and seconds later he found himself tugged into the shower. Long ago, Earlene had insisted that a step be built into it, which Thanadir had frowned at but not questioned further. The use of that step was now being demonstrated quite well, as she egged her husband on to satisfy her while she comfortably stood at just the perfect height. If she was going to go through with what felt like a Personal Fiasco, there was going to be at least one pleasant memory connected to it.

 

Thanadir walked in, to stare in somewhat morbid fascination. He had never tried that, with Earlene, in the shower. Now that his children were born, he left many of the obligations of actual intercourse to Thranduil. Not that he had no interest at all; there would be times when he desired pleasure with her or she with him. But they were rare occasions by comparison, as opposed to the endless lust with which his King contended. He rolled his eyes and left them alone, occupying his time instead with choosing attire for her. The mingled and muted cries that came from the bathroom a few minutes later told him that they had reached their conclusion, and would be out momentarily. Earlene appeared, her hair wrapped in a towel and the rest of her wrapped in a robe, and was guided into a chair by the seneschal. Who was of course fully dressed.

 

“Do you feel better?” he asked kindly. He was not any longer ignorant of the benefits of sexual release, for people in general or for his wife in particular.

 

“As better as this morning is likely to get, yes.” There was a certain coldness to her expression, though he knew it was not meant for him. This was her insulation, against being asked to do something in a manner guaranteed to be as difficult for her as possible. She wished Lorna would have shut her pie hole, last night. She wished Lorna would have had the presence of mind to understand how audacious her demands had seemed, in Earlene’s ears.

 

“Then I am glad.” He bent down to kiss her lovingly on the cheek, when she suddenly grabbed him, demanding a proper kiss. He responded to her, understanding just how badly she was agitated. Her mood had a certain edge of need, and hunger. Perhaps later today, he should endeavor to be extra attentive...but right now there were other concerns. “I found out about the children’s titles, last night. Quen offered to help me, and…well, really, there was only a very short trip through Oropher’s archives, because we felt the answer lay plainly in the histories of our own people.”

 

“Fascinating as that may be, would you tell me the answer and then explain the method at how it was arrived at later?” Earlene bit her lip, regretting the words as soon as they were spoken. “I am sorry, Thanadir. I am not doing very well right now. I do not mean to lash out at you.”

 

“I am not offended, meldis. I can read your mind, and I can see what is wrong. The answer is, none of them are anything, except for being our beautiful children. No princes, no princesses.”

 

“Sadly, I like the sound of that. But how?”

 

“The simple version is, that those titles have to do with succession. Legolas was once the Prince of this Realm; when he left for Valinor he ceased to be one. Just as Alassëa ceased to be Queen. The titles inherently imply an expectation or a role that is being exercised. Thranduil is the King. We all know he will not perish; he will enter Aman. He is King until if or when he can lay down his crown. You will be the same, as Queen. But none of the children under our roof will ever rule from this throne. There is not only no expectation, there is no possibility. All of our children are royal, by connection to the three of us, regardless of parentage. They are entitled to bear the symbol of the royal household. Even Allanah; this is a connection of family. Think of Kana, if this still seems confusing. He is of the Royal House of Finwë. His father Fëanor was High King of the Noldor, until he perished. Kana himself held this title, during the years of Maedhros’ captivity. But that was the point; the title passed where it needed to according to who exercised authority in that role. Kana walks among us, and yet he is no longer a king; he now serves our King.”

 

“Makes sense. I didn’t care in the first place. I didn’t know the children cared. This has never come up before, in discussion, and I am sorry that my poor attempts at answering what I thought were innocent questions went so badly awry.”

 

Thanadir laid a hand on her shoulder reassuringly as he combed and braided her hair. “You had no way of knowing. None of us knew, until we were presented with the question. So, that at least is settled.”

 

**

 

The ceremony itself was simple enough. Thanadir recited brief lines about an obligation of care and duty. Of upholding law and justice (oh, the irony). Of defending and protecting to the best of her ability (the last clause being a concession on which she had insisted).  Following her promises that she would fulfill all of these requirements, Thranduil lowered the crown until it settled onto her head from his position behind her, and then rested his hands on her shoulders. Facing the elves of the Realm, she placed her hand over her heart, thankful for her years in the courtroom. Her pulse was racing, but no one aside from her husbands would have any way of knowing it. The gesture was returned by every elf (and Ailill, which brought a smile to her face), at which point she lowered her hand. Some warmth crept into her expression. She loved every one of the faces in front of her. And after so many years, she knew each of their names. Could they possibly understand, how much she had not wanted this ascendancy over them, formality or not? None of that mattered, now. It was done, over with. Time for them to disperse, and eat breakfast. Or in her case, prepare breakfast.

 

And sure enough exactly thirty minutes after she was standing in her kitchen. The dress had been exchanged for other clothing entirely; a black tunic and leggings. What was far more peculiar was that she had not removed the crown. Thanadir and Thranduil exchanged nervous glances as they looked on, seeing her peering into a cookbook and measuring out flour for a recipe, with the diamonds and emeralds glittering on her head. Thanadir laid a hand on Thranduil’s shoulder in reassurance and joined Earlene, gently nudging against her. He was handed a wooden spoon and the hot cocoa recipe without so much as a sideways glance. Looking up at Thranduil and shrugging, he began preparing the beverage while Thranduil shook his head sadly and retreated into their bedroom for some time alone.

 

*****

 

Lorna woke slightly later than normal, and stretched. Naturally, this led ther kicking two cats, but it was their own fault. Now that the twins were old enough to help Atia with breakfast, she didn't always feel the need to get up at the ass crack of dawn. She could luxuriate in bed a little, even if she did wind up smacking several more cats.

 

Earlene had not looked tremendously happy last night, but to Lorna’s way of seeing it, it was doing the same thing they’d done to her: set her a challenge she might not like, but that she would rise to anyway, because she could. That did not, however, mean Earlene was going to want to be around her any time soon, so she’d be smart and avoid the kitchen.

 

She looked over and found that Ratiri was not just up, but showered, his long hair damp. He was reading, Boo on his lap and Bast at his feet.

 

Stretching again, ankles cracking, she yawned, and he smiled down at her. “So,” she said, “before I forget entirely, Thranduil told me to ask you about something.” She relayed the gist of their conversation last night, after which he facepalmed. He actually facepalmed.

 

“What?” she asked.

 

“Lorna,” he sighed, “you can’t  _ do  _ that. That’s not how monarchy works -- they don’t just go in and change it at a whim, unless they’re some tosser like Henry the Eighth. Thranduil was right -- it would just be nepotism, and an abuse of power. In other words, everything the Elves don’t do. No wonder Earlene’s pissed at you. She might be more pissed even than you realize.”

 

“Yeah, well, I'm not the only person who knows that the only purpose’v a ‘consort’ is to breed,” she said. “ _ I’d  _ never say that to Earlene, but you can bet your arse someone would, sooner or later. She’s not support staff anymore, and she doesn't need people regarding her like she is.”

 

“Indeed she is not, and does not,” he said, “but you shouldn’t have pushed it like that. They’re our family, mo chroí, but in this, we’re separate. Some things have to stay apart, and that includes us and anything to do with their government. We don’t have any place meddling in it.”

 

Looking up at him, she said, “But if we didn't, nothing would change. Earlene would still be a real queen in all but name, and none of them would realize how much damage having a title that basically amounted to ‘brood-mare’ would be, sooner or later.”

 

“You don’t know that,” he said. “None of them are stupid people. They might not know Ireland like we do, but that doesn’t mean they don't know it, or that they’re not capable of learning. They’re adults, mo chroí, and brilliant ones at that. Give them a little credit -- and for God’s sake, stay out of their government.”

 

“Point taken,” she said, and sighed. She owed Earlene -- she just wasn’t sure what, yet. “I just...I know this sounds stupid, but there was also this part’v me thinking, it’s completely bloody wrong that I, some random human, have  _ Melian’s damn crown _ while Earlene, Queen’v the Elves, doesn’t have one at all. She doesn’t want one any more than I would’ve, if I’d known what it was, but she actually deserves one -- and I’ve got a feeling she’ll be glad she has it, later. Don’t ask me why, but I do.”

 

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you Sharley now?”

 

She didn't laugh. “No,” she said, “I just...maybe I'm totally wrong, but I think she’ll be glad she’s got it, once everyone’s living in the Halls. I mean,  _ we  _ know how much authority she has, but everyone else -- everyone who doesn’t know this group well? They’ll want to see that symbol’v authority. If they don’t see it, they could well write her power off, even if it was subconscious.” And the possibility was all the higher because she was so beautiful. Watching Earlene the last few years, Lorna had come to decide there were a few very nasty disadvantages to being so attractive. Foremost among them was a constant need to prove herself, so that people didn't dismiss her, consciously or otherwise, as less than intelligent. As lesser than she really was.

 

Ratiri frowned. “You may be right,” he said, “but you still shouldn’t have ambushed her like that. You backed her into a corner, and left her no way out. Remember what happened when Thranduil did that to you, over your bridal shower?”

 

Lorna winced. Shit. “I think this is going to take more than just food for an apology,” she sighed. “Saying I didn't know I was sticking my foot in it isn’t going to help.”

 

“Not remotely,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll think of something -- but meanwhile, don’t do that again.”

 

“I heard you the first two bloody times,” she said irritably. Maybe she should steal breakfast and go into Dublin -- Earlene could have a Lorna-free house, and Lorna could go shopping and hope some appropriate apology gift leapt out at her. What on Earth that might be, she didn't know, but surely there was  _ something _ .

 

That meant she needed to get up and scurry, though. Fortunately, she had donuts squirreled (ha ha) away on the bookshelf; she all but inhaled those, showered, and shamelessly snuck out the back staircase. Hopefully she’d run across something in Dublin that screamed ‘Earlene’. If not, she’d be headed to Baile and begging Mairead for a cake.

 

*****

 

Nobody said a word, as their crowned cook distributed heaping platters of berry crumpets with whipped butter and scrambled eggs. There was fruit salad too, and of course the beloved hot cocoa. When it became obvious that Lorna was not going to be at breakfast, some of the tension abated from Earlene’s body. But only some. The table was uncharacteristically silent, as even Kana and Calanon privately struggled to puzzle out why Earlene was still wearing the arguably beautiful but rather out-of-place jeweled ornament. The children were excited to see their Nana’s new pretty thing, but when they caught Ithiliel and Eleniel’s expressions (frowns and shaking their heads No almost imperceptibly) they knew to keep silent. Of all the children, the female peredhel twins knew and understood their Nana’s moods the best, and the others looked to them for Interpretation. That was not Nana so much as the fabled Ice Queen sitting and eating, and they knew better than to disturb her. But such ponderings did not last for long, as the deliciousness of the food erased such comparatively trivial concerns. 

 

Earlene was the first to finish eating, and she retreated to the kitchen to being washing up.

 

Ratiri, with a sigh, rose and followed Earlene. She was, he was sure, even angrier than he’d feared -- and while there was likely nothing he could do about it, he could at least help with the dishes.

 

Saoirse, meanwhile, followed Uncle Thanadir, hoping she could nab him alone for a moment.

 

**

 

Thanadir had intended to spend the next few hours choosing fabric and designing a particular sort of satchel he wished to make, having decided that Earlene’s ‘purse’ lacked suitable flexibility and usefulness. Already lost in ideas for reinforced compartments, he drifted toward his craft room, to draft out some ideas.

 

“Psst,” Saoirse said. “Uncle Thanadir, can I talk to you for a minute?”

 

The old elf looked up, surprised. This was unusual. “Of course,” he said, gesturing to one of the comfortable seats.

 

Saoirse sat, and hoped the paracetamol kicked in soon. The wine had left her with a very faint headache. “So...you’re the only person in the house I can really ask this,” she said, “since everybody else except Aunt Sharley is either a sex addict or my da, which...ew. No.” She stared at her toes. “Is there something wrong with me? All the other girls I know like staring at guys, and...and fantasizing, and shit, and I just find that...gross.  _ Really  _ gross. Is that...you know, normal? Or at least, not bad?”

 

Thanadir blinked, trying to translate that question into something he could answer. While he was still not the most socially able individual, he could take some guess as to how hard it had been for her to ask. “Let me make sure I am understanding the question,” he said gently. “Are you asking me if something is wrong with you because you do not have the sexual interest common to others your age?”

 

Saoirse nodded. “It’s not just not an interest, either,” she said, still staring at her toes. “I still find the whole thought gross. I mean, I know how it works and all that, and I can’t understand the appeal. Why would anyone want to, unless they wanted a kid? It’s not really a question I can ask any’v the nymphos in this house, because I doubt they’d understand how somebody  _ wouldn’t  _ want to.”

 

“That is not true, Saoirse,” Thanadir said. “Earlene and Thranduil both understand  _ me _ . They understand what it is to love someone who does not really express sexual desire. They do not need to be as I am, in order to comprehend that I have these preferences. And I will give you advice concerning something I learned the hard way. Their ability to enjoy sex does not make them wrong or right. It does not make them ‘nymphos’. I know that using such names can make it seem easier, make it seem like you are not the one who is different. But in the end that will not help you.”

 

Now she looked up at him. “But you don’t find it gross,” she said. “I mean, obviously, since you’ve got a kid. Two kids. I don’t even want a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or a...a sheep. I just want to draw, and paint, but I live in this world where sex is everywhere, and it’s like -- it’s like being an anthropologist in a foreign culture. It seems to be so important to almost everyone, but it’s not to me, and you’re the only other person I know who’s like that, aside from Aunt Sharley. She’s got so many problems’v her own that I don’t want to bug her, though.”

 

She picked at the hem of her shirt. “I listen to all the other girls talk, when they’re all here,” she added. “And I see the way they look at lads -- at elves. I don’t understand it, and I have to wonder if there’s something wrong with me. It feels like there must be. Like something in me’s defective.”

 

“You are not defective, any more than I am. I have had time, and help, and support. While it is not common for me to discuss matters this personal; this time, I will. And the reason for that is, there are not many like us. You may ask me whatever you need to, but I would appreciate that to the extent you are able, that you not repeat what I tell you about my private life.” He sighed. “I do not know how much you know about elves. Ordinarily when we are over fifty years of age, we start to have interest in finding a mate. Marrying. I wanted children very badly, but I never seemed to find an elleth. The truth was, I had many responsibilities and just was not very interested in ellith. I kept imagining I would have more time, that there was no hurry. I will make this go faster by saying that a lot of time did go by. And eventually Thranduil met and married his first wife. He is rather...opposite of me. He is very interested in sex. And the only reason I am saying that is so that when I tell you that many times I came upon he and his wife in places they should not have been doing that with one another, that was when I was forced to realize that I had zero interest in the idea of it. 

 

“I am not sure ‘gross’ is the word I would use. More like, I was afraid. Being around sex, or having to think about sex made me feel afraid. Because I knew that my feelings had nothing to do with being proper; normal elves would at least find such a sight a little bit arousing. That was when I had to start realizing that there was something the matter with me. And because I did want children, the idea that Thranduil had his wife and I did not have one...that was very painful. I knew that I was not going to ever manage to marry and have children, because of something about how I was. There was no one I could talk to, no one who would have understood my feelings. So I said nothing, but instead I had the joy of Thranduil’s first son Legolas. 

 

“And then a whole lot more time went by, and Earlene came. I think it is not a secret that I fell in love with her. She was my close friend, someone who cared about  _ me _ , and not just what I could do for her. More than anything, Earlene would give the last of herself just to see me happy. And then we married, because the Valar caused that. I have no memory of it, but that was when everything started to change. I had already learned that there was a word for me, asexual. Earlene showed me how to research, so I learned everything I could. There is more than one kind of asexual, Saoirse. I am a kind who is capable of romance. Of loving thoughts, toward another. But I still did not want sex. The idea scared me, very much.”  He paused, trying to think of how much more to say. Or how to say it.

 

Saoirse digested this. First off, the thought of catching Uncle Thranduil  _ anywhere  _ doing that was too gross for words, but she’d keep that to herself. Poor Uncle Thanadir. “Asexual, huh? I've never heard that one. How can you fall in love without wanting sex, though? I always thought the two were kind’v...part’v the same package. What did it feel like? Because you always read about people falling in love partly because they want to have it off with the other person, or else supposedly it’s just friendship? What does the difference...how did you know it was different?”

 

“You can fall in love without wanting sex,” Thanadir said flatly. “Anyone who tells you otherwise is uninformed or lying. Though maybe not on purpose. There are not that many like us, compared to most. Which is why not everyone even knows we exist. But we do exist and then some, according to the Internet. But there are also asexuals who do not fall in love. The only commonality different kinds of asexuals have is, we do not have sexual desire as a rule. And yet it is more complicated than that, as I found out. I did learn to have sex. And to enjoy it. But it is…” he buried his face in his hands, making a noise of frustration. “This is not easy to explain. When I see my wife unclothed, I cannot think any of the things someone else might. My body has no reaction, to the sight of her body. 

 

“But what can happen now is that my mind can respond to the strength of her love for me. Earlene sees me as someone she loves deeply who has particular needs. She understands that I do not want my privates touched, but that I love to have my back massaged. That I do not want anyone trying to arouse me unless it is my idea, but that I would love to run in the forest with her and then have cookies. She cares about my needs above her own, Saoirse. And I have learned in turn that my wife needs sex, to an extent. There are things I can do for her to please her that do not require me to ‘go all the way’, as others might say. The point I am trying to make is, when you truly care about another, sex can have a chance of finding a place in that relationship. It is not the important thing. It is our love, that matters. Maybe you will change a little, someday. Maybe you will not. It is more important to understand and accept yourself, and that you learn to be happy with who you are. What the others think and do is not important. They are not you. If they cannot respect you as you are, maybe they are not real friends.”

 

This, too, was given due consideration. “I think Aunt Earlene might be one’v a kind,” she said at last. “Can’t imagine a human lad who’d be willing to be in a relationship like that, so it’s probably a good thing I don’t want one. I do want a kid someday, though. Maybe there will be orphans or something, after the plague. Or hell, maybe I'll find a dumpster baby. Sadly, they’re a thing in Ireland.”

 

She stretched her legs out, rotating her ankles to hear them crack. “Thanks, Uncle Thanadir. I feel a lot better.” And she really did. She was already pretty sure she would never be like him -- she’d never be able to enjoy sex, even if she were to ever stop thinking it was gross -- but knowing there was a name for what they were was a big help. A name that was not the word ‘defective’.

 

“You may come and talk more at any time, Saoirse. Do not feel like you have to figure this out all on your own. I may not be the world’s most emotionally capable elf, but I am loyal. And I keep confidences.” He hoped, that somehow, what he said could have made a difference. Even a little. 

 

She grinned. “I’m not the world’s most emotionally astute human, so we match there,” she said, hopping off the chair. “I feel so much better now.” Though not normally a demonstrative person, she gave him a hug.

 

Thanadir smiled as he watched her retreat. Well, that was enough talking about sex. Now about those compartments...perhaps leather?

 

**

 

Earlene methodically began scrubbing her crumpet rings in the sudsy hot water. She had four sets, since making then en masse was now a necessity. And for each one, she liked to clean them with her bare fingers, since it had been determined that fine scratches on the metal seemed to create problems with batter sticking. Scrub scrub, turn turn. Scrub scrub, turn turn…

 

Ratiri took up rinsing duty, and at first said nothing -- she probably didn't want to hear anything yet anyway, poor woman, but at least he could be here, and give her a hand.

 

Earlene’s internal frown was not made external. Not yet, anyway. It took a few moments for deduction to penetrate her state of ire, and for a conclusion to be reached as to why he was helping at this particular meal when usually the D&Ds made their greater cleanup efforts in the evenings. “Well, I suppose you heard,” she said bluntly in a tone that was neither angry nor exactly encouraging.

 

“I did,” he said. “And I explained to Lorna just what an epic mess she’s made, and now she’s off in Dublin trying to figure out what to get you as an apology present.”

 

“I don’t want a present, Ratiri. What I wanted was not to have to do this in the first place, but it is altogether too late for that.”

 

He sighed. “I know,” he said. “And she knows, but she figures an ‘I’m sorry’ would fall a bit short. If it helps -- though I’m not sure it would -- she understands just how badly she fucked up.”

 

“Does she? So her sudden grasp of monarchy now extends to what it means to have to speak permanent vows to a kingdom of subjects to whom I now owe care and duty for the rest of my life? It’s not a joke, Ratiri. I didn’t want to be a crowned Queen for a  _ reason _ , and it had not one fucking thing to do with equality or gender equity or any of the other airy fairy princess story themes that seem to be on people’s minds when they indulge themselves. Lorna and I have an unfortunate past on this entire subject, and to stand there and listen to  _ her _ dictating what this Realm is supposed to do has got to be one of the more mind boggling things I never wished to behold. And if you  _ ever _ tell her I said that last part, so help me I will wrap this crown around something important until it cuts off circulation and turns gangrenous.”

 

Ratiri stared at her. “You think Lorna wanted you to have that crown out of.. _.gender equity _ ?” he asked. “You mean she didn't actually...of course she didn't tell you. Earlene, that had nothing to do with it. In twelve years, you were going to have to be an acting Queen, title or no title, because we’ll have five thousand humans in here who will assume you are. Hell, you already are -- you’ve given this kingdom and its people your care and your duty from the moment Thranduil married you. You’ve give him, and it, everything you have, and then some. I wish you hadn’t been railroaded into it, and I told Lorna she’d basically cornered you just like Thranduil cornered her over the bridal shower, but Earlene, look in a mirror. You were born for this. I just wish you’d had the opportunity to do it on your own terms.”

 

“When someone says, and I quote, ‘that queen consort crap’, and makes two references to how my son is supposed to be a prince based on my being a queen, I have every reason to believe that it is about gender equity as well. And Ratiri? Newsflash: I don’t care what those five thousand humans think. Or what they assume. I serve the elven Realm, not any of them. We don’t tell those outside what to do, and the same is supposed to hold true in reverse.  _ That’s _ why we formed a council. The day I made my vows to Thranduil neither of us knew we were married. I had very specific conditions on my service that had nothing to do with any of this. You don’t know those things because neither of you were there at that point in time, but I was, and I happen to remember what was said.” She stiffened. “And I am going to apologize, because I cannot continue this conversation. I am too angry, and I am leaving before I can say something I will regret. Thank you for trying.” All of the crumpet rings were dropped in the sink, and she turned and left before the tears that were pooling in her eyes could run down her cheeks. 

_ It is a warm day, and I am going to take myself and my bag of shite the hell out of here.  _ She might have lost much of her strength, but she could still run better than many, and in seconds had disappeared into the woods.

 

Ratiri sighed. He should have known better than to try that when she was still so angry, but she had utterly missed his point. It might go over easier coming from someone who wasn’t married to Lorna. Lorna, who he hoped was finding something amazing in Dublin, or this day might just get worse. If that was actually possible.

 

He finished up the dishes, at least, and got the rest of the kitchen tidied. What he was to do now, he didn't know; it wasn’t a school day, so he’d best make certain his children weren’t off demolishing something.

 

**

 

Thranduil overheard the disastrous conversation in the kitchen and felt he had little choice but to follow. While Thanadir could likely succeed better, he felt more and more responsible for how badly this had gone. There had been a...dynamic, here, and one from which he had better learn. It had all seemed simple, and amusing. And then Lorna had become involved and then for Earlene, everything had become un-amusing in a great hurry. But he had not perceived the depth of that until it was far too late. He had tried to placate Lorna while requiring something of Earlene over a matter that could have waited. There had not been a real need to rush as he had done. Yes it was only a formality, but it had been more than a formality to his wife. It was not the first time his sense of humor and his inability to perceive the nuances of his wife’s emotions had landed him in tempestuous waters.

 

He turned back to the house, to fetch Thanadir, who was concluding a conversation with Saoirse. Having taken enough missteps, perhaps he could avoid another with better counsel. One look at Thranduil’s face was enough to bring the seneschal’s mind off of satchels. “She left?” he guessed correctly.

 

“I need to talk to her. We, need to talk to her. Which is all to say, please help me. I am afraid I have handled this badly.”

 

Thanadir sighed and followed him into the woods. 

 

** 

 

Earlene ran and ran, until the stupidest idea ever came into her head. She wanted to talk to someone, and she knew just how she wanted to do it. There was a place where one of the not-so-enchanted streams ran past downed logs. Plenty of moss grew, and there was mud. And stones. A rotten tree stump served as the base for her effigy. More stones and sticks and mud built it up into a rudimentary figure. Mudballs made brown eyes, and hanging moss in the trees made for sickly green hair. Except she did not want brown eyes, she wanted green ones, so she pressed pieces of moss into the mud eyes. Only one more thing was needed, and she saw it dangling from a tree. A section of ivy vine made a convenient crown. 

 

“There,” she said. “You are Queen Mudsy, Ruler of the Woodland Streambank. I am just a poor impersonation of your Royal Magnificence. And I am really hoping you can tell me how I am not going to hate everything and everyone for the next several weeks of my life. You see, Your Majesty Mudsy, I did not want this bullshit. I did not ask for this bullshit. But I am most definitely stuck with this bullshit, and I am feeling dangerously resentful of that fact. Oh, and how can you properly reply, when I have not given you a scepter? Or a mouth? Silly me.”

 

Taking a moment, she fashioned a downed branch into something more decorative by balling up more ivy twine at the top of it, and creating a sort of arm and hand for Queen Mudsy. The good news was, the mud here was particularly high in clay content, and grabbed onto anything pretty well.  _ In fact, when I decide to be sane again, I should bring Saoirse here; I’d guess a great deal of sculpting clay could be harvested from this site. But where was I…   _ “Oh yes. Your reply, O Great Queen?” Earlene paced in front of the effigy, waiting for an answer. The delay only gave space for her to argue with herself:

 

“She’s not going to give you any, Earlene, however pretty she looks there. I think you know you are behaving childishly.”

 

“But I am Queen, and can now be as childish as I want. Can’t I? Oh wait, being Queen isn’t what it’s cracked up to be? I don’t get to call my children princelings and Princess Barbie or whatever the hell I want to? Silly me. Guess I got all that wrong.”

 

“So why did I do this?”

 

“Because the King commanded it.”

 

“And why did he command it?”

 

“Because bloody Lorna doesn’t know when to  _ shut up _ .” 

 

Some kind of rage broke in her, at that moment, and a much larger branch was taken in hand until Queen Mudsy was beaten into a pulp and scattered into pieces.  She sat on a mossy log.  “This accomplishes nothing. I don’t feel any different. This is...stupid. My behavior is stupid. I am livid because someone who should not have been able to affect my life in this kind of way did.” She buried her face in her hands, at a total loss how to manage herself.

 

“And the one who should have protected you from it made it worse,” Thranduil said. “I…”

 

Thanadir irritably waved him into silence; the rebuke was accepted. “Meldis, what do you feel like you need?”

 

Earlene felt like she wanted to cry but could not. “I feel like I need to not feel this way. I am very angry about something that cannot be reversed. It isn’t even about that. I would have done this if you asked it of me, but...not like this. And Thranduil...this is my shortcoming, but I feel you let Lorna do what you would never tolerate from anyone else. I know she is your friend but...I think when it comes to your rule, I expected you to defend the sanctity of that from people who are not your subjects. To know on any level that she can just march in and get her way...I think that is at the core of what is wrong with me, right now. You did not let me down as my husband. You let me down…” she could not speak the words. “I am sorry.” This felt like crossing many, many lines. 

 

Thranduil listened very carefully, and saw the analogy. He had failed to protect her just as assuredly as if he had allowed Lorna to tell Thalion his latest duty roster. He had failed her as her ruler. He sighed. “I want to think that I can run out of ways in which to make mistakes with you, Earlene. It is I who am sorry. Please believe that I did not intend this outcome.”

 

“I know you did not.” 

 

Thanadir interrupted impatiently. “As glad as I am to see that you have isolated the source of your ire, this still does not tell me  _ what you need to feel better _ ,” he clarified.

 

“I wish I could go away from here for awhile,” she blurted out, not even completely understanding whence that came.

 

“That, I can do for you,” Thranduil said kindly. “I will see what can be managed. At the very least, you will go with Thanadir.”

 

She nodded, obviously disappointed. Unseen, Thanadir glowered at Thranduil while he embraced her from behind.

 

“If it is at all possible, the three of us will go,” he hastened to add. Those words brought a small smile. There was still much to discuss. He might be far from perfect, but he was wise enough to know that would be best done later. Much later. He slipped his arm around her waist, glad to feel the gesture returned. He did not tell her, how much better the diadem suited her than Alassëa. Or how much she had already done for their Realm, in comparison to his first wife who was eager to receive the benefits while eluding the responsibilities. Instead he kissed her forehead. “Where would you like to go?”

 

Earlene shrugged, far more interested at the moment in the affection she was receiving from the two who mattered most to her. “Surprise me.”

 

*****

 

Sharley, in desperate need of more tea, meandered back into the kitchen. For all she was supposedly physically Ainu, she did still need sleep, and caffeine. She also needed to resist the urge to bash four collective heads in. Maybe she needed to sit them all down and give them a detailed play-by-play of all the visions she’d had so far, for all the thought of doing so sat uneasy with her.

 

_ “Man, are you sure you want to still be human?”  _ Kurt asked.  _ “Because that was a clusterfuck.” _

 

_ “Thranduil’s an Elf,”  _ Layla reminded him.  _ “Everybody fucks up sometimes.” _

 

_ “Yeah, but this is...impressive,”  _ Jimmy muttered.  _ “Even for this group.” _

 

“Fun with Group Dynamics,” Sharley murmured. This had nothing to do with being humans, or Elves, and everything to do with being...people. And it was why she’d isolated herself as long as she had.

 

She remembered something now, something new -- she knew why she’d been so fixated on Washington. At some point in her wanderings, she’d found an ice cave in the Cascades, and had crawled into it to sleep. How long she’d slept, she didn't know, but she knew she’d woken eventually. No Europeans had made it that far west yet, so she’d confused the shit out of the tribes, whenever she’d run across any; they’d thought she was a spirit, and she hadn’t known what to call herself.

 

Pouring herself some tea, she eyed the sparkling kitchen, and wondered who she wanted to slap more: Lorna, for shoving her foot down her throat; Thranduil, for taking that unfortunate bit of foot-in-mouth and running with it; Earlene, for either refusing or being unwilling to see that Lorna’s reasons for stuffing aforesaid foot down her throat weren't what she thought they were, or Ratiri, for trying to talk to Earlene when she was still so incredibly pissed-off, and just making things worse.  _ People _ . 

 

_ I kind of want to go home.  _ She missed her little house, and her little town. Much as she loved her family, there were just too many  _ people  _ here. Always, always people; finding the kitchen empty was a minor miracle.

 

The problem was Maglor. She’d discovered -- mostly through Quen -- that flying was not a thing Maglor did. He didn't like being trapped in an enclosed space he couldn’t easily get out of, or in anything over which he had no control. She hesitated to leave him behind, and yet she knew, instinctively, that she wouldn’t find the healing she needed here. Eldamar was beautiful, but it wasn’t her home.

 

And yet, Maglor.

 

She added sugar to her tea, and milk. What would happen to him, when she left? Would he sink into total depression? He’d managed so far without her, but just how  _ well  _ had he managed? ‘Manage’ was a word with variable definitions. She’d done plenty of ‘managing’ in her life without actually being happy.

 

_ “He won’t be happy if you’re not,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “And you won’t be happy until you’re better.” _

 

“What even is ‘better’?” Sharley murmured. “I’m never going to be Tirillë again.”  _ I don’t  _ want  _ to be Tirillë again. I'm Sharley. Sharley first, Tirillë second. _

 

_ “It would probably help if you tried the leapfrogging thing,”  _ Layla said.  _ “Maybe being Tirillë wouldn’t be so bad if you could actually remember what it was like to, you know,  _ be  _ her.” _

 

Sharley sighed. “I know. But I’m scared.” She didn't actually know how she was supposed to do this. Hypnosis? Talk to Maglor? Get really stoned and watch a laser show? She didn't know. Even Thranduil probably didn't -- not that he didn't have his hands full as it was. He really needed to learn how to rein in his sense of humor, before Earlene made him wish he was never born, after her own fashion.

 

_ “So what will you do?” _ Layla asked.

 

“Talk to Maglor. Not sure what else there is  _ to  _ do.” She hoped, oh so much, that this wouldn’t just tip her back over into that pit in her mind, but she’d never know unless she tried.

 

He waited a moment so as not to startle her. “I wanted some tea, but I could not help overhearing. I hope I am not disturbing you,” Kana said with a voice tinged with apology.

 

“That’s okay,” she said. “I was just going to find you.” She stood back so he could get at the kettle.

 

“You need to leave here,” he said as a statement, not a question.

 

“Eventually,” said. “Not yet. There’s things I want to try, so that when I do leave, I can get better and come back.” She wished he could handle flying, but she knew there were many, many people who couldn’t.

 

“I would understand, just so you know.” He looked down. “I would want to go with you but...I am not sure what would happen. I am not proud of that part. I...I have not really lived among humans. Not like you have. This is the most exposure I have had in my entire life and…” he shook his head. Maybe it was the last vestiges of pride, but he was still a son of Fëanor and he hated to show weakness.

 

“Between you and me, that’s kinda why I need to go, at some point,” Sharley said. “Too many people here. And, I have a friend back home, who might be able to help with this.” She tapped her temple. “Before that, though, I want to try what Ratiri said. I want to try to remember the shit -- the good shit -- before Angband. Wherever it was we lived in Aman, that sorta thing.”

 

“Be careful, Tirillë,” he said, concerned. “We have time. But if it is what you wish to do I will support you in what ways I can.” His hands gracefully selected what tea leaves he wanted. Lately, he was fond of Earl Grey. It was the bergamot.

 

“I don’t want to try everything at once,” she said, sipping. “Just...maybe one memory. One specific thing, so it’s contained, not some big, overwhelming mess.”

 

_ “Something simple,”  _ Sinsemilla advised.

 

“It seems so unfair,” he said. “I have so many and you have none.”

 

“Hopefully, that won’t last,” Sharley said, with a slightly crooked smile. “Even if it has to be one at a time.”

 

He smiled at her, feeling happy just to be speaking about nothing in particular. “I am glad to see that it is only us, here. Usually the house is more...populated, just now. It feels as though something did not go well. Earlene looked...ai, I probably should not speak of things that are not my business. But it is hard not to notice when a home is shared, like this.”

 

“I’d tell you the story behind that, but I try not to do that,” Sharley said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not fair, that I can see so much, but sometimes I want to share it outta sheer frustration. I can’t even blame it on humans being human, since it’s half Thranduil’s fault.”

 

Maglor smiled. “I will not presume to criticize my King. But I will offer this much: Having been King for a brief time myself...nobody can imagine how hard it is. How easy it is to make decisions that have terrible outcomes. How quickly, what seems like a good idea can become a disaster. Everything seems so simple when you are not the one wearing the crown,” he sighed. “I do not want one, ever again.”

 

“They do seem to be more trouble than they’re worth,” she said. “Thranduil does fine until he lets his sense of humor interfere. This isn’t the first time he’s flubbed things with Earlene over it -- it’s just that this time he shares the blame. And poor Earlene...well, maybe I shoulda told her before now that I've seen some of what she does as Queen, and saved everyone the headache. But I don’t always have the best judgment, either.”

 

_ “Ya think?”  _

 

“Fuck off, Kurt.”

 

“It would be hard to have a mortal partner,” he reflected. “And yet she is not really like a mortal at all. I have not met another like her. In some ways they do not seem well matched. He enjoys the close association with humans. More, I think, than she does.” He was speaking slowly now, as if less trying to talk to Sharley and more trying to clarify the thoughts in his own mind.

 

“They have to balance each other, that way,” Sharley said. “Otherwise, when all the humans moved in, it would be Elves versus humans, kinda. Thranduil and Thanadir especially love being around humans, though Thanadir’s got more of a limit. Earlene gets on better with the Elves even than Ailill does. It sometimes causes...friction, but honestly, it’s a miracle there hasn’t been more of that than there has been so far.”

 

“In any circumstance there are those who create storms in their wake and those who seek to calm the waters,” he said. “While I have kept apart from direct contact with humans, I have lived in what is now England for longer than I wish to admit. During those years, we listened, and watched. The years have changed, as have the trappings of society. But the nature of men and elves alike has seemingly remained the same.”

 

“We seem to have a lotta both, here,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “Even in just this house. Poor Lorna...she means well, but there’s old prejudices, and she’s not good at expressing herself at the best of times. Gives great hugs, though, and she’s the right size if you’re looking to hold an oversized doll.”

 

“Would it make sense to you if I said that I feel drawn to what is here, even though there are times I half feel like I do not know how I will endure it? What has been created by them, this close interaction in a family setting--children everywhere, both human and peredhel--there has never been anything like it. Quen described Imladris under Lord Elrond, and even then there was not quite...this. I am fortunate that Thranduil is willing to show me patience. What I will do when the disease comes, and so many will be here…” he shook his head. “I am afraid I may be in my rooms with several harps and not come out for some time.”

 

She grinned. “I go for long walks in the forest. I know exactly what you mean -- I always want to come back, even though the sheer number of people is a bit...much...sometimes. I mean, it helps that I have the switch, now, so I’m not inundated with the history of absolutely everyone and everything, whether I want it or not.”

 

Pouring herself another cup, she dunked in a fresh tea bag. “For all the time I really remember, after... _ after _ , I was alone. Then I had Marty, and she died, and I thought I was more alone than I actually was -- turns out, the people in the little town I live in now were keeping a closer eye on me than I realized. Point is, I’d been apart from people since forever, as far as I knew, and I was afraid coming here would overwhelm me, but...it hasn’t. Yeah, I need to escape sometimes, and probably all the more so once we’ve got five thousand extra people here, but you get used to it.”

 

She paused, and then looked at him. “Could I control it, Before? What I saw -- I didn't have to see everything?”

 

“I will not pretend to understand all of your task, but you explained to me what it was lawful for you to tell, in words you thought I could understand. You were one of many in the service of the Lady, but you were among the more powerful. Some of her maids had only a shade to weave; you and some others had a color range. You worked...with her. Vairë.  All of you did. Somehow your visions fed into her one vision. You each saw parts, aspects of things that were to happen, and in her the information became unified into a distinct whole. I hope you can forgive me, I can only relate back to you my limited understanding of what you told me long ago. Being among the living, it was never permitted for me to visit your workplace, so to speak.” He frowned. “You never spoke of controlling anything. Only of your closeness to the blessed Vala, and that the things you saw were passed along to her and then lifted away. There never seemed to be a burden. You were joyful.”

 

Sharley set down her teacup, her eyes widening. “There are others?” she asked faintly. “Like me --  _ that’s  _ what we did? We didn't just weave -- all of us saw?”

 

Earlene would kill her if she knew she’d hopped up to sit on the counter, but it was sit or fall. “All this time, I’ve thought I was the only one,” she whispered. “I didn't know why this happened to me. I thought I was cursed.”

 

“No,” Maglor said, carefully placing an arm around her shoulder. “You were blessed. There are countless Maiar that serve the Valar. They have many roles, and greater and lesser powers. The few that I have been privileged to know...I have appreciated them all. They seem more...approachable than the Valar themselves, not so far above us. They do not mean to be, but I suppose they cannot help being what they are any more than the rest of us can.” He sighed. “In the end my father did not get on with them so well. To make the understatement of the year.”

 

“I...damn,” she said, leaning against him. “I mean, I’ll never meet the rest of them again, but I’m glad to know they’re out there. That it isn’t just me. I mean, I can’t even explain how isolating it is, to not just be the only thing like you, but not even know  _ why  _ you’re like you.”

 

“Then I am glad I could help you feel better,” he smiled. Though what he thought was,  _ never say never.  _ “I wonder...if it is not to forward of me, could we watch a movie together? I think I would like to learn more about what you enjoy. That and, maybe you know what buttons to press. Quen and I lived a rather low-tech lifestyle, in Oxford. The most sophisticated thing I know how to use is the stovetop.”

 

She laughed, hopping off the counter. “Between you and me, I wasn’t much better, before I came here,” she said. “If it was used to build trails, I was all over it. Computers, though? Very basic, and I tended to break them. Though if you want a look at how much more confusing and awesome both could be, let’s take a look at  _ Star Trek. _ ”

 

_ “You mean, could have been,”  _ Kurt said.  _ “Everybody’s gonna die, nobody’ll build starships now.” _

 

Layla snorted.  _ “Wow, you’re like, a constant downer, huh?” _

 

_ “When has he ever been anything else?”  _ Sinsemilla asked, a touch wearily.  _ “You don’t know that, Kurt. Humanity has survived massive population bottlenecks before and recovered, and this isn’t like nuclear winter. Maybe, in ten thousand years, they’ll have recovered again, and there will be starships after all.” _

 

Sharley looked up at Maglor, and grinned. “There’s a reason she’s my favorite.”

 

He took her hand, and carefully kissed the back of her fingers. She was so...strange, in this new manifestation. And yet in all the ways that had mattered most to him, she was still Tirillë. “I think she might be mine too,” he said, smiling for a moment in that manner that made his already handsome features transform into a temporary radiance. “I have heard of Star Trek. Thanadir likes that, I think.”

 

Sharley burst out laughing, and on impulse wrapped her arm around him. It hadn’t yet ceased to surprise her, just how much she liked having him near -- how much of a comfort it was to her, when normally even her friends were kept distant. (Lorna didn't quite count, since Lorna was a doll. Otherwise, anyone over the age of ten was just not someone she touched unless necessary.) “Thanadir,” she said, “would join Starfleet in a heartbeat, if it was offered.”

 

_ “I wonder if anyone’s told him Klingon is an actual language,”  _ Layla said.

 

_ “Nobody do it right now, or Earlene and Thranduil might murder whoever does,”  _ Sinsemilla warned.

 

“I could join,” Maglor mock-pouted. “Surely they need harpists in space?”

 

That just made her grin. “Mister Spock isn’t a harpist, but he plays a Vulcan lyre. I'm sure they could find room for more musicians.”

 

“Good,” he smiled, boyishly joining his hands behind his back as he marched off to the Movie Room, until he realized he had forgotten his tea. Blushing charmingly, he retrieved it and tried again with what remained of his dignity. Sue him. He had not felt the emotions of love in a very long time and was entitled to be a little bit of an idiot from time to time...

 

*****

 

In Dublin, any and all ideas for an apology present had come up as a bust. Lorna, feeling both guilty and annoyed, stopped for a cup of tea in a little cafe that was surprisingly crowded for late morning on a weekday.

 

Earlene didn't need... _ stuff.  _ She had plenty of stuff already. Mairead’s cakes really didn't need to start being associated with apologies -- and that was quite aside from the fact that she’d twist her sister’s ear off over this mess.

 

_ You still can’t learn to really think before you talk?  _ she thought, except it wasn’t that. The problem was that she  _ had  _ been thinking, she just hadn’t expressed herself worth shit, and she’d shoved Earlene into a corner there was no way out of. She remembered, all too well, what it had felt like when Thranduil did the same to her, and thought that she’d gone and done that herself…

 

“There has to be  _ something _ ,” she muttered, scrolling through her mobile for something to do.

 

She didn't think Earlene understood how important her position among the elves would be, once they were all living in the Halls. It was easy for them to keep any tensions down now, since everyone was living out in the world, and people were growing accepting of the idea of monarchy -- but if they found out she was, by human definition of the word ‘consort’, a baby factory with no de facto power? Nope.  _ Nope. _ It wouldn’t matter that she had a lot of  _ unofficial  _ power, that in practice her word was as good as Thranduil’s. Getting that crown on her head had been the right thing; it was how it had come about that was beyond wrong. Lorna had stomped on in there without thinking twice (because what else was new, even now) and tried imposing her logic...and Thranduil had let her. 

 

_ I have to poke him and tell him he needs to know when to tell me to shut it,  _ she thought. She suspected this was something he’d been wanting Earlene to do already, too, or he would have done just that.  _ Because God knows it seems like I’ll never learn it myself.  _ At the back of her mind, a phantom Gran fetched her a slap upside the back of the head.  _ If only that had actually worked. Because Christ, what Earlene must be feeling…  _ Probably not just pissed, but betrayed. Lorna was probably the last person she would have expected this from. 

 

And that, oddly, suggested an idea -- possibly the only actually good apology that would mean anything. She pulled up her contacts list, and called Orla.

 

“Orla? I need a favor.”

 

*****

 

He and Thanadir both had helped make a simple lunch of salad and tuna melts, as Earlene called them. They seemed a little like strange toasties, but the finely chopped vegetables and seasoned pieces of fish were really quite appealing, Thranduil thought. They were very close to serving time when he felt his mobile buzz in his tunic pocket. Frowning, he washed and dried his hands so as to look at what it was. Knowing that Lorna was not home, he could not help that a twinge of fear raced through him.  _ Valar, not another accident… _

 

_ Talked to Orla. A week-long holiday in southern France, where Mairead and Big Jamie stayed when we got them out of VR’s way, is yours for the taking if you want it. I figured Earlene might want a getaway, after...that. It’s a villa near a winery in the middle of nowhere, with a little village nearby for food and stuff. Good weather this time of year. _

 

He did not even ask.  _ YES. THE THREE OF US. ASAP. _

 

Lorna snorted into her tea.  _ Done deal. I'll have the tickets when I get home. _

 

Thranduil smiled.  _ I love you. _

 

_ I love you, too. You need to start telling me when to shut it, so I don’t do something this stupid again. _

 

_ We do need to talk. But this was my Fail, not yours. Live and learn, and I seem to do a great deal of the latter. _

 

_ Oh, I didn't help. Like, at all. I’m doing a lot of the same, and yet there’s always room for another fuckup. Next time I start stuffing my foot down my own throat without knowing it, just say ‘plohaya belka’. I’ll know what it means, even if nobody else does.  _ She had no intention of informing him it meant ‘bad squirrel’ in Russian. Nope.

 

_ Like I am going to remember that.  _ He rolled his eyes.  _ We will figure something out. When does the flight leave? _

 

Unknowingly, Lorna echoed the gesture. This was a man who had learned Irish on his own, and yet wouldn’t remember two words of Russian? Riiiight.  _ Tomorrow at two in the afternoon, so get packing. I’ll drive you to the airport, unless Earlene's still super pissed at me. Ratiri can do it if she is. _

 

_ No need. Long term parking is quite affordable. Thanadir can drive; we will take the Honda. _

 

_ Pssst, it’s not the Honda, it’s Rogue One.  _ She paused, and then had to asked,  _ Just how pissed at me is Earlene? _

 

_ It is more complicated than ‘at you’ but...it is not good. I am sorry.  _

 

Lorna winced, but she wasn’t surprised.  _ Well, I brought it on myself. Hopefully a holiday will help. _

 

“Thranduil, were you planning on burning that sandwich? Because in about thirty more seconds that is where you will arrive at,” Earlene said with her best effort at keeping dripping sarcasm out of her voice. Not being an idiot, she knew there was only one person he could be texting that much right now.

 

_ Yes. Must go now, sry,  _ he tapped out before returning his mobile to his pocket. “I am sorry, meluieg,” he said softly, quickly turning the sandwich on the griddle. There was nothing to be gained, so open confession was in order, with a slight side dish of deception. “That was Lorna. I asked her to care for an errand, and she was notifying me of the results. We are leaving here late tomorrow morning, for a week away. The three of us.” 

 

Thanadir looked on in dismay from his salad tossing as Earlene’s chin began to quiver, and Thranduil wisely turned off the burner underneath the sandwich. He took her into his arms before she burst into heavy sobs, and guided her away from the kitchen into the privacy of their room. Shaking his head, Thanadir grasped the striker on the iron triangle and made the best racket he could manage.

 

**

 

“I may never get used to that,” Maglor said, emerging from the movie room; Sharley lingered there to turn off the electronics.

 

“The triangle?” Thanadir grinned. “It is thoroughly obnoxious but I have grown quite fond of it. And it is more seemly than shouting through all the house that the meal is ready.”

 

“I wonder how far the sound of a very large one would carry,” Maglor said idly, reaching up to touch the smooth iron with attractive twists interspersed. “Who made this?”

 

“I did,” Thanadir said, wondering now if it was good enough. He had thought so, but Kana was a son of Fëanor, and he suddenly felt very nervous.

 

“It is very good work,” Maglor admired. “The metal is wrought evenly, the angles are precise. The ornamentation matches and is flawless. I doubt my father or brother Maedhros would have done better.”

 

“Really?” Thanadir asked shyly, even as his cheeks flushed with happiness at the compliment. “I did not know that you were interested in smithing.”

 

“I am not,” Maglor deadpanned. “But in my family it was hardly possible to be raised ignorant of crafting with metals. Father, grandfather, and especially mother practiced the art. I too had to learn, until my father finally saw that my heart held no passion for the forge, and that my time spent there was only out of obedience until I could be free to work on my true love--music.”

 

Thanadir hesitated, but then decided he very much wanted to ask. “Please forgive me if the question is too personal, but…”

 

Maglor tilted his head. “You wish to know what my father was like?”

 

Thanadir nodded. “I do not believe that what was recorded was all there was to know of him. It cannot be. Maybe I did not think on this, until at last it was granted to me to hold a child of my own issue in my arms. He was a father, and a husband, and did many great works before...Before,” the seneschal said, surprised at himself and a little embarrassed to have been so forward in his questioning.

 

“I do not mind, Thanadir. Perhaps for a long time, I did, but it is only natural that there would be curiosity about him.” He smiled, staring off unseeing into the past. “Father was…a very beautiful ellon. Matchless. I have never beheld a fairer form. He was somewhat taller than I. Mother thought that out of all of us Curufinwë resembled him most, but I was something of a second-closest. He was still  _ more _ than me in appearance, in every way. But all anyone really needed to know of him is in his name. His was a spirit of fire. He burned fiercely, with love of his family, love of his craft, love of his children. Until that flame turned to ruinous pursuits, and thereby consumed us all. Please understand of me that I do not try to shirk responsibility for the great evils I have done. I have repented of my decision to speak my father’s oath and all that followed a thousand times over. But it changes nothing,” he shook his head sadly. “Perhaps one of my greatest sorrows is that no one remembers the ellon he once was. They only remember the ellon he became. And yet who can blame them?”

 

Thanadir felt moved to move to his side, and grasp his arm in a show of affection and sympathy. “Our people are fated to carry the burdens of the past, and yet we have each other. Most of us have made mistakes, some greater and some lesser. I believe that the Valar guide each of us to the lessons we need, if we are willing to accept them. I would gladly listen to you, if ever you wish to speak more.” He released him, and indicated the tray of neatly triangulated half-sandwiches ready to be taken into the next room. “I hope you like tuna melts?”

 

Maglor smiled, both gratified at this show of open acceptance and at the seneschal’s seeming ability to turn most any discussion toward food. “I will carry the salad, Hîr vuin,” he offered.

 

In the dining room, the adults got the younger children settled in. Ratiri had fed his a line about their mam needing to run an errand in Dublin, which fortunately nobody questioned further; the older children needed no help. Though only three people were missing, the table seemed surprisingly empty without them.

 

_ “Is the clusterfuck still a clusterfuck?”  _ Jimmy asked, as Sharley regarded Thanadir.

 

“Maybe,” she whispered. “Maybe not. Hush.”

 

Earlene and Thranduil appeared not too far into the meal. Her face that had been distorted from crying had been ‘fixed’ so that she need not have that embarrassment. Though, she still stubbornly wore her diadem, and Thranduil wisely elected to say nothing about it. Frankly, he could hardly wait for tomorrow. Earlene was overwrought, and little other than time and distance was likely to soothe her emotions. 

 

“So, Ratiri,” Sharley said, “I was talking to Maglor. I want to try what you suggested, in a day or so.”

 

“The leapfrogging?” he asked. “Maglor, do you think that’s something you could do, telepathically? I think that just sharing one simple memory might be a good place to start. Nothing important -- just an afternoon, or something like that.”

 

“I can,” the ellon said hesitantly. “But I will be honest, the idea of this worries me. The mind is a difficult thing to heal.”

 

Thranduil felt it was something of his duty to inquire. “Do I wish to know?” he asked in a tone of voice he hoped did not sound authoritarian or off-putting.

 

“It wouldn’t be healing,” Sharley said. “Just...a memory.” Looking at Thranduil, she said, “Ratiri thinks I ought to try to jump back before all...well, you-know-what -- so I can see what things were like without having to wade through all that first.”

 

The King nodded slowly. Surprisingly, Earlene spoke. “But...Kana cannot give you  _ your  _ memories, can he? He can only give you his own?”

 

“Yeah, it’d have to be one of his,” Sharley said, “but it would let me see something. Home, or what have you. Right now it’s all totally abstract. If I had one thing to focus on, it might help my own memories get around...that.”

 

Earlene nodded, being out of her depth to comment on any of this, though she did not have a good feeling about it. Then again right now her feelings were so not good, who even knew what baggage she was projecting onto those around her.

 

Thranduil’s face was carefully neutral, but internally he was frowning.  _ Ratiri, I am leaving tomorrow, with Earlene and Thanadir. We will be gone for a week. I hope that before you do this, you have a supply of...medications, something, to use in the event this does not go as expected. _

 

_ I do,  _ Ratiri said.  _ I tested Xanax on Sharley, to make sure it would have the same effect it would on a human. If it goes south, I’m confident Maglor can bring her back until she can take a Xanax. She’s too afraid to look at anything that happened in Angband, and I don’t blame her, but I can’t imagine how else she’s going to remember anything before it without trying alternative methods. She’s aware that it could go badly.  _ Honestly, the extent to which Sharley seemingly  _ was  _ still physically human was rather fascinating. She’d never needed as much sleep as the average person, though certainly far more than the average elf -- but she seemed to need no less since discovering she wasn’t actually human at all. She ate and drank as she always had, was active and rested in equal measure.

 

He sighed.  _ Though if this doesn’t work, I don’t know what will. I don’t know how to tell Maglor to be prepared for the possibility she might never actually remember being Tirillë. That she might always be Sharley.  _ It would, he was afraid, be a terrible thing to have to accept, especially after being parted for so long.

 

_ Regardless, they are wed. That is the strongest possible bond. Trust me, he would accept her in any version. He tries to hide it so that she does not feel pressured, but he loves her very much. _

 

_ I think she knows,  _ Ratiri said.  _ I also think she’s fairly at sea. Fortunately, they have, literally, all the time in the world to figure things out. _

 

Thranduil nodded absently, finishing the last bites of his salad, and kissing Earlene on the cheek before murmuring something in her ear. Whatever it was caused her to smile a little.

 

_ Are you alright, Earlene?  _ Thanadir asked, looking at her anxiously. 

 

_ I will be, meldir. I am truly sorry, for my behavior today. _

 

The seneschal’s eyebrows raised.  _ That is not what I want to hear. _

 

_ I had to try, didn’t I? _

 

A smile curled at the corners of Thanadir’s mouth. That was more like it.

 

Quen dabbed his napkin to his lips. “Do you hear Kana, Sharley?” he asked. “Because you should.”

 

Sharley looked at him, confused. “Hear him?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

 

“What he means is,” Thanadir said, “wed partners hear each other easily. It is granted with the bond of marriage. Earlene and I can communicate with thought. So do Ailill and Calanon. It is affected by distance, at least for me.”

 

Calanon looked up from his salad to nod sagely. “About six meters. Or so we think, we have never used a measuring device to find out.” Not too many seconds later something was obviously said of a private nature, for the elf’s face flushed with happiness.

 

Sharley looked at Maglor. “I don’t think I ever have,” she said slowly, and wondered why not. “I don’t know how to start, or why I can’t now.”

 

_ “Lingering humanity,”  _ Sinsemilla offered.  _ “You didn't know you could.  _ I  _ didn't know you could. Try it.” _

 

“That’s not very helpful, Sinsemilla,” she said, rolling her eyes. Reaching for Maglor’s hand, she added, “Maybe it would help if I touched you?” He seemed to find that every bit as comforting and grounding as she did.

 

_ I can hear you, Sharley. I did not speak of this because I did not wish to frighten you or cause you to feel intruded upon. Please forgive me if I have made a mistake in doing so. I am old, and have strong gifts in this regard. I can cause you to hear me, just as is happening now. I am not sure how to tell you to do this. I can feel your mind, the weight of your thoughts. There are...openings, by which to slip in, and listen. Though with you, it really does not work that way. That is what I do for the others, if I have some need to listen. We are wed; if I am near you, I simply hear you. _

 

She snorted on a laugh.  _ I knew you could at least a little, or you wouldn’t hear the voices,  _ she said.  _ But why can’t I hear you? Is Sinsemilla right? _

 

_ “When was the last time I was wrong?”  _ the voice broke in, irritably.

 

_ I could Before, right? When we were in Aman? _

 

_ Yes. I know it is not easy, but you must realize that you were by far the one of greater power, of the two of us. I am an elf, nothing more. You are Maiar, but much has been done to you,  _ he said sadly.

 

She gave his hand a squeeze.  _ I’m a Maia who doesn't know how to Maia _ , she said.  _ Have to figure out out as we go along, I guess. We’ll get there sooner or later.  _ They had to, eventually. They had a terrifyingly long time in which to do so.

 

_ I do not mind,  _ he answered, hoping his eagerness did not carry too forcefully. In some ways he was reminding himself of an elfling, but he tried not to feel regret about this. It had been a very long time since he had felt joy for any reason.

 

_ It’s something new to learn. Something I used to know. And hopefully easier than leapfrogging.  _ As much as the idea of being Tirillë freaked her right the hell out, maybe it wouldn’t scare her so much if she could manage something like this.

 

He squeezed her hand a little tighter.  _ I will help by any means I have.  _ His gray eyes were filled with love, and kindness, and he forced himself to look away. It had been two months, but everything suddenly felt like it was moving...quickly. When there were no expectations, it became very hard to know what to expect.

 

_ Well, let’s see how leapfrogging goes, _ she said.  _ If that’s a bust, we’ve got something to fall back on. _

 

_ As you wish,  _ he replied, releasing her hand to take his last bite of sandwich. He and Quen had not seen many movies, but they had seen a few.

 

Sharley burst out laughing.  _ I see what you did there. _

 

His cheeks reddened a little, yielding a beautiful blush, but he smiled as he looked bashfully at the crumbs on his plate.

 

Calanon, who often watched Maglor, hoped so very much that he succeeded in overcoming the troubles Sharley seemed to have. It was impossibly romantic, to see him trying to court her, and tragic as well. Averting his eyes to look at Ailill he appreciated how his firion was just as beautiful as this legendary ellon, in his estimation. He shifted uncomfortably, as a reminder from below his waist told him his thoughts were wandering perhaps too much at mealtime.

 

_ I love it when you look mildly guilty,  _ Ailill said to his mate in a voice that promised a very enjoyable penance. His reward was the reddening of the elf’s cheeks, something he loved to see more than anything else. Mealtimes at this home...one just never knew.

 

“Da, can we teach Atia to climb up the roof?” Chandra asked, looking up at her father, whose eyes narrowed.

 

“Since when can  _ you  _ climb up the roof?” he demanded.

 

“Since we were her age,” Shane said blithely, twirling his fork. “Saoirse dared us to.”

 

“I did not!” Saoirse retorted. “I said  _ I  _ couldn’t do it. I never dared  _ you  _ to.”

 

“Same difference,” Chandra said. “If you were older than us and couldn’t, that meant we had to.”

 

Her cousin stared at her. “Sometimes your logic…”

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes and nodded. By the Valar, sometimes one could not help it in this house. At least neither of them had fallen. Yet. Rising, he removed his plate and cup, ensuring that Ortherion was willing to manage the dishes. Right now he wanted to distract Earlene, whose thoughts had shifted away from anger and more toward sadness.

 

“No,” Ratiri said, “you can’t take your sister up on the roof. Good grief. Go drive the sofa if you’re that bored.”

 

Sharley looked at Maglor. “Have you driven the sofa yet? It’s so much more fun than it ought to be.”

 

_ Whatever happened to riding horses?  _ Thanadir wondered, shaking his head at the conversation that echoed into the kitchen. Sharley passed by, with Maglor, while plates were being stacked. “We’re taking the sofa,” she announced; the tall ellon allowing himself to be led along. Thanadir smiled. He loved to see romance, and happiness. Next Shane and Chandra scurried through. “We’re taking the sofa,” Chandra chirped.

 

Thanadir grinned.

 

_ ***** _

 

Lorna didn't sleep that night; the most she managed to do was doze, guilt eating at her like acid indigestion. At three in the morning she gave up, sneaking down to the kitchen to brew herself some special tea. She’d get out of the house before the rest of them were up, and go for a nice long walk...outside the forest. Once everyone had gone, she’d come back and deep-clean, or something.

 

She wasn’t used to this level of guilt, because usually, when she fucked something up, she could fix it. There was no fixing this -- she couldn’t undo it. And that was something she did not yet know how to deal with. To know she’d hurt Earlene so much, and that there was no getting around it…

 

_ Yeah, time to go for a walk. _

 

She hunted down shoes, and headed outside with her tea, still in her dressing-gown and PJ’s. Summer though it was, this was Ireland at the arse crack of dawn; it was damn cold out, but she’d warm soon enough if she got moving. Thinking, just now, was a terrible idea, since it would get her nowhere, so think she would not; she’d just walk, until she could figure out something useful to do.

 

Her cottage. She’d go dust and clean her cottage, and light a fire in it; she hadn’t yet done that this week.

 

*****

 

Sharley lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

 

She could not yet read minds. Maglor had tried to teach her to...open the channel, or whatever, but since for him it was innate, it was difficult to do. It would be like explaining thinking of an elephant to someone who had never even heard of what an elephant was, let alone seen one. Eventually they’d agreed to break it off, and try again tomorrow; the rest of the afternoon had been given over to watching  _ Star Trek Into Darkness  _ in the media room.

 

She had found, however, after she’d gone to bed, that she was aware of the...shape of minds, in a sense. She could tell where everyone in the house was, and though no thoughts made themselves clear, emotions did.

 

Lorna was being eaten alive by guilt, in a way that wasn’t healthy. There was being sorry you’d fucked up and hurt someone you cared about, and then there was this. The tiny woman had come a long way over the years, but she was still capable of being lost in a self-perpetuating cycle of -- of  _ bad _ . Better to break the cycle before it could really get going, and possibly kill two birds with one stone while she was at it.

 

Maglor was quite reclusive. He was either in Oxford, or he was here. Sharley understood the appeal of home, but she’d also been a nomad for much of her remembered life, and she hoped she could coax him out of the house for a while -- him and Quen, since the two were something of a matched set, so to speak. Where one went, so did the other. Lorna was the only one with an Irish driver’s license; if Sharley could con her into taking them into Dublin, it would give Lorna something to do  _ and  _ get the Elves out of the house.

 

She rose, showered, and dressed, and when she emerged from the bathroom, found the Lump Ness Monster sitting at the center of her bed, purring and generally being lump-like. All the cats were friendly, but this one in particular had taken a shine to her...and to Maglor. She wasn’t quite sure what he thought of that yet, but  _ she  _ thought it was adorable. She wasn’t used to finding anything that wasn’t a child adorable, so it was rather novel.

 

Hoping he was awake, she went and knocked on his door.

 

A rustling was heard inside, and momentarily the door opened. His long hair was adorably tousled, since he did not braid it before sleep apparently. A very heavy and modest robe covered his sleeping clothes. He blinked at her, while it registered that she was the one person he truly wished to see right now. Many nights he stayed up very late, composing his poems and music, and last night had been no exception. “Good morning,” he said, not quite knowing what else  _ to _ say.

 

“Hi,” she said, and failed to choke down a laugh when the Lump trundled past her and head-butted his shin, purring like a rusty outboard motor. “I was wondering if I could ask you and Quen for a favor today, provided that cat doesn’t purr you into submission.” The fat thing was stubbornly rubbing her face against his robe, as though he were made of catnip.

 

“You wish us to accompany you somewhere?” he asked cautiously. A flicker of fear passed through his expression but vanished very quickly. He did not want Sharley to...know. Not if he could help it.

 

“Just for a few hours,” she said. “I want to go to Dublin -- Lorna can drive us. I want to get a few things for the kids.” They all went through a ridiculous amount of art supplies, anymore, and the only good shops were in Dublin. “Also, I think you’re being drooled on,” she added, shaking her head. “And I can’t read your mind, but I can feel it. We won’t stay long, I promise.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, not wanting him to feel like he had to hide his anxiety from her.

 

“It is hard for me,” he whispered, raising her hand to his cheek. “Please, I do not want the others to know. I will try, if that is what you would like.”

 

Sharley ran her thumb over his cheekbone. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “It’s okay, Maglor. You don’t have to hide it from me, even if you don’t want anyone else to know. I mean, look at me, I'm a mess. I’m not going to judge you for it.”

 

He nodded and kissed her hand. “Thank you. When did you wish us to be ready?”

 

“Maybe an hour,” she said, and picked up the Lump. “I have to go get Lorna, and she has to finish her tea. Meanwhile, at least give this poor thing a scratch behind the ears, before she purrs herself apart at the joints.” The Lump gave him a look of complete adoration, and said, “Mrow?”

 

He bent down to pick up the cat under its forelegs, staring in disbelief while it purred like a limp sack of laundry. His eyes looked from the cat, to Sharley, and back to the cat. His shoulders slumped slightly in resignation, and he pulled the creature against him, cradling it while he rubbed its face amidst fountains of drool and purring. With a look that could only translate as  _ This Is How Much I Love You _ , he smiled and slowly closed the door. “I will be downstairs when I am presentable,” he said softly, as the latch clicked shut.

 

“Thank you,” she said, trying not to die at just how adorable a sight he and that cat made. She headed off to find Lorna -- who, if she wasn’t mistaken, had gone to her little cottage in the woods.

 

The sun was peeking over the horizon when she headed outside, moving quiet as she could throw the forest. Lorna had got to the point where it was hard to track her, but she obviously hadn’t been taking especial care of anything along the way.

 

She was indeed in her cottage, standing on the counters to clean out one of the cupboards, humming a little. Her eyes were red, though; she’d been crying at some point, and Sharley would just have to pretend not to notice. Lorna, in some ways, was a bit like Maglor. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

 

Lorna twitched a little. “Jesus, you startled me,” she said, wondering what could have drawn Sharley out this far, this early.

 

“I want to take Maglor and Quen into Dublin, and get some art supplies for the kids,” Sharley said. “You know Dublin better than the rest, and if I tell Ratiri, we’ll just be dragging the whole gang along and be out until evening.”

 

Well,  _ that  _ was true enough. Lorna strongly suspected ulterior motives, but she couldn’t prove it and didn't care to try. A distraction was a distraction. “Sure,” she said. “Should we take the Mystery Machine?”

 

Sharley laughed. “I don’t think either of those guys would fit too well in the Charger,” she said. “Plus, art supplies. Canvases need room.”

 

“That they do.” Lorna sighed, and glanced down at herself. “Let me get some actual clothes on first.”

 

“C’mon. We can get a coffee once we’ve hit the city.”

 

Lorna was not ashamed to sneak up the back way, nor to have another breakfast of hoarded donuts. She told a sleepy Ratiri what was up, then darted away before he could interrogate her. She was clean and dressed and out at the Mystery Machine within fifteen minutes, warming up the engine.

 

Quen and Kana appeared, looking like more or less respectable British citizens give or take the length of their hair. It promised to be a reasonably warm day, so lighter trousers and a lighter coat, with button down shirts but no neckties. Maglor’s hair was tied back in a neat ponytail that bound up between his neck and his shoulders. The unexpected addition of a Baker Boy cap the same shade as his hair rounded out a scholarly yet understated appearance. With a smile, he offered his arm to Sharley. Quen followed, happy but...apprehensive. There were so, so many unknown factors to this outing and...Valar help them, he hoped it would go well.

 

_ ***** _

 

Earlene looked out the window at the towns and villages below, as their flight descended into the ancient fortress city of Avignon. Last night had been something of a blur. They had packed, and spent some time looking at where they were going. As a probable testament to how bad she seemed to be, Thanadir had given her a bedroom experience she would not soon forget; in fact she was still pleasantly sore from his efforts but...knowing that it had been given in some kind of Herculean attempt to cheer her up almost made her feel worse.  _ Just shut up, Earlene. You are getting to see Avignon, one-time seat of the Papacy. Living history. Your husbands are doing this for you so suck it up and enjoy yourself.  _ There were many ironclad pep talks she had for herself, in assorted degrees of severity. This being one of the milder ones; well, maybe that counted for something? 

 

Thranduil slipped his hand around hers and kissed her fingers, eliciting a forced smile.  _ I know you are trying, meluieg, but...it is okay, that you are having these feelings. They are understanable. _

 

_ Is this where if I don’t agree with you Thanadir will sit on me, or something like that? And not in the fun way? _

 

_ Your references to possible unseemliness aside, yes, that is exactly right, meldis. _

 

She sighed.  _ Why do you always get your way? _

 

_ Because I like to be on top,  _ the old elf said smugly, causing her to choke on her own saliva. 

 

_ He just made a joke with sexual innuendo,   _ Earlene coughed, earning askance glances from the other passengers busy with the rituals of disembarkation.

 

Thranduil smiled and clapped his seneschal on the shoulder. He was extremely pleased.

 

**

They arrived early enough in the day to see the Palais des Papes. Which was really two palaces, but why be picky? These large buildings had a peculiar history and seven hundred years’ worth of assorted uses. The odd part was, seemingly everyone had made better use of it than the few Catholic Popes that ordered its construction...but the original name was going nowhere, it seemed.

 

“Meldis,” Thanadir asked, “Why would something so grand be built, only to be destroyed by those who came after? If we came upon a structure of such beauty, we would do what we could to care for it. I do not understand.”

 

“Contempt,” Earlene answered. “People have always expressed contempt, especially political or religious contempt, but the wanton annihilation of anything deemed no longer in alignment with current thinking is something that has always occurred. Many fabulous antiquities have been deliberately destroyed for ideological reasons. Because, you know, we are immortal and need to destroy our greatest cultural achievements to make sure the memory of them is erased.” 

 

Thranduil sifted through her thoughts and her acid attempts at humor, to discern that his wife had contempt for the contempt. Fair enough. They appreciated what art had survived, the colorfully painted walls of the Pope’s bedroom (the King rather felt that Saoirse did much finer work) and the plaster effigies in the north sacristy. And then they left, to drive to the ancient Roman Theater at Orange. “This is most impressive,” said Thanadir, immediately perceiving the function inherent in the design. “Those people near the stage are speaking in normal voices and yet I can hear them.”

 

“Physics,” Earlene said, her eyes feasting on the architecture and statuary. “Acoustics. There are people who study only how sound is transmitted and how to enhance that to maximum effect.” The theater must have been wonderful in its full glory but even now, it still felt magnificent to sit here, and imagine the hundreds of years of those who came and went and sat here in bygone ages. Of course that made her feel the weight of the ellyn on either side of her, which in turn threatened to cause another form of sadness.  _ Valar, can I just stop being such a mess right now? _ Ordinarily she might have tried to stand up and walk away, but instead she just turned toward Thanadir as a stray tear escaped her eyes. It would pass in a moment. It usually did.

 

They lingered awhile longer, after which Thranduil gently suggested they make their way to Gordes, and their hotel, before the afternoon could wear on too long. Nodding and still struggling to control her roiling emotions, she began to follow him when her resolve felt like it was cracking. With a small lunge, she reached for Thranduil’s hand as they climbed the steps out of the theater.  _ Please help me?  _ He opened his arms to offer her a hug, soothing her mind and her emotions. He met Thanadir’s eyes, and saw the accusation there. 

 

_ I know, meldir. I promise you, there will be changes.  _

 

Thanadir nodded, and lowered his eyes, walking past them as he continued toward the exit.

 


	123. One Hundred and Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 7- July 10, 2026. Commences where previous chapter leaves off.

 

 

Lorna drove like a reasonable person, once they were settled: Quen in the front seat, Kana and Sharley in back. Getting away from the house was a relief; getting out onto the open road, even more so. “You’re wanting art supplies?” she asked.

 

“Yeah,” Sharley said. Maglor’s hand was firmly ensconced in hers, and she did her best to send him a sense of peace, despite not knowing what the hell she was doing.

 

“I spent a great deal of time around Saoirse during previous visits,” he said. “But we did not really speak much. Tell me about her? Are you shopping for her?”

 

“Her and everyone,” Sharley said. “She’s gotten them all into art, though she’s still far and away the best at it. Saoirse’s...Saoirse.”

 

“She’s a bit like Thanadir,” Lorna said. “My husband says it’s Asperger’s. It’s why she can focus so intently, for so long -- she’s done it ever since she was little -- but she’s not so good at social cues. We don’t know where her talent came from, either, because it definitely wasn’t from her da’s and my side’v the family. Pat says nobody taught her to draw or paint, she just did it herself.”

 

That made sense to him; he largely taught himself music. Many years went by before he had anything like a proper teacher. It did not seem so strange to him that a child would be self-accomplished.

 

“When we get back, I’ll show you the first picture she ever drew,” Lorna said. “She was a year and a half old, and she’d got hold’v a pencil he’d left out. He was baffled as shit when he went into her room to check on her and she’d drawn all over the side of her crib. It was a picture she’d seen in a magazine, while her da was flipping through it. Pat saved the piece’v the crib, because he was so gobsmacked.”

 

She merged gently on the motorway, by now quite used to dealing with passengers who didn't want to handle her driving like...her. “I’m glad we got her into Eldamar, though. Public school would’ve ruined her. Ratiri, Earlene, and Thanadir -- they’ve all taught her in a way she can understand, and in ways that don’t bore her.” She laughed. “And Thranduil made her grow, so she didn't wind up a shortarse like me.”

 

Maglor listened carefully, trying to understand all of her words. He knew, after his many visits, that Lorna favored coarse speech. It still grated, a little, but as the others seemed to accept it he had little choice. Still, life at Eldamar could be quite a contrast from the erudite patrons of their bookstore. At least, the ones that weren’t hopeless tossers. He smiled to himself. Perhaps he liked coarse speech a little too, but they were more admiring of different words. “What is Dublin like?”

 

“Big,” she said. “And old, though not by your standards. Traffic’s usually bad, but hopefully not this time’v morning. Thranduil and I blew up part’v it a few years ago, but it was an accident.”

 

Sharley burst out laughing, unable to help it. “When I'm away in America, I still look at the Irish news,” she said. “I saw that headline and just  _ knew  _ you were involved somehow.”

 

“Hey, it was not  _ my  _ fireball,” Lorna protested.

 

This made Maglor feel rather proud. He really had not known a great deal about Thranduil before taking the steps by which he had committed his service. Or rather, there were details about which he obviously lacked knowledge. Knowing his ruler had a measure of power...better than than the alternative. He turned to Sharley and smiled.

 

“He had to give that up, though,” Sharley said. “Expending his power like that so often. He didn't realize it was a finite resource -- or at least, not one that didn't replenish itself right off. It’s why anyone who gets a cold is stuck with a cold, but he’ll heal a broken bone. These guys made a whole chart as to what constitutes a serious injury and what everyone can just deal with the normal way.”

 

“I still feel bad about that,” Lorna said, shaking her head, “even though the accident wasn’t my fault. Years back, I got in a wreck just outside Dublin -- it was pouring rain, and some eejit ran the light. Manwë’d given me a kind’v blessing, after...Avathar...or I would’ve died right there, but Thranduil and my family had to come sneak me out’v the hospital and bring me home. Took him and a quarter’v the rest’v them to save my life, and even then I wasn’t really healed for another six months. It took more out’v him than I think even he realized at the time.”

 

Maglor and Quen both turned to look at her in open amazement. While they had heard tidbits of this, they had not heard the complete tale. “You are much loved,” Quen said quietly. “Never in any history of our people has an elven ruler done so much for one who is not of our kind. Not to mention, those gifts are extraordinary. Unusual. It is common that we heal quickly, or can aid others to some small degree. But never have I heard of anything like this.”

 

Maglor wondered. Quen had told him of how Elrond had grown to be possessed of powerful gifts of healing, but this exceeded those by some orders of magnitude. Amazing…

 

“Thranduil’s one’v a kind,” Lorna said. “He’s told me only he and his father, that he knows’v, have had gifts like his, and he’s not sure why, or where they came from. He’s been more’v a help to me than I can say -- I've given up any thought’v trying to pay him back, because I couldn’t. I love him like my own brother -- Pat and I decided to informally adopt Thranduil. Just...because.” She didn't know how much they knew of Thranduil’s background, and if he hadn’t told them, it wasn’t her place to. “He’s done so much for all’v us, really, but he’s taken care’v me as well as my own family ever has, if not better.”

 

Quen smiled. Their race had not always shown compassion, and yet their King obviously had. “We are glad to hear it,” he said with sincerity.  _ Far better this, than the alternative, eh, Kana? _

 

_ I think you know what my answer to that would be. _

 

Quen went slightly pale. _ I am sorry, I did not think. Please… _

 

_ It is alright, Quen. I know you did not mean anything by it. I am sorry, for such a curt response. Right now I feel...well, you can guess. _

 

_ I can. If it gets too bad, please tell me? I will feign something, so that no one has to know. _

 

_ I will be fine,  _ he said with more assuredness than he felt.  _ Do not worry. _

 

Quen nodded slightly. Not worrying had very little chance of happening.

 

Sharley might not be able to read Maglor’s thoughts, but she could feel the shape of them. Giving his hand a squeeze, she said, “How did my weaving work, in Aman? Was it just the same kinda loom we have here, but bigger?” She’d seen pictures of looms -- the big ones the Navajo made their blankets with -- but so far as she recalled, she’d never been around one in person. The Stranger probably hadn’t wanted her remembering anything.

 

“You had what is called here a floor loom,” he said. “I made the wooden pieces for it, and my father made the frame in his forge. Mother made the ornaments. It was my gift to you, when we wed, because I knew that if there was to be harmony in our home, that I had best ensure your happiness,” he teased. “The loom was wider than the span of my arms. There were many spinners and those dyeing wools in Formenos but you were part of the royal family. We could afford threads and yarn.”

 

“What did I make?” she asked, as Lorna gently wove through traffic. “Blankets? Clothes? Curtains? A little of everything?”

 

He shook his head No. “You made tapestries. It is...what you did. Many were in grandfather’s house, in places of honor. Scenes of many things, according to your thought and desire. They were very beautiful. My favorite was one you made of Cuiviénen, of the awakening of our people under Varda’s stars.” 

 

Sharley turned this over. “Lorna, can I steal some space in your rec room?” she asked. “I want to get a loom.”

 

“Of course,” Lorna said. “We won’t find anything in town better than they’ve got in the Halls, though. We’ll just have to go poke around and hope someone can tell us where to look.”

 

Sharley smiled. “Of course, there’s a chance I’ll try this and be a miserable failure, but you never know.”

 

“Indeed you don’t. We’ll find you a big enough spot.”

 

Hoping this was working, Sharley did her best to keep distracting Maglor until they reached Dublin, and then Lorna unwittingly joined in the effort, pointing out the sights -- including the Erection at the Intersection.

 

Maglor did not look...pleased, at the descriptor, and averted his eyes. Some coarse speech he could abide. Not this. But he did not wish to cause a scene, either. He turned instead to Sharley. “If you want a loom, I would be honored if you would allow me to make you another. I am good for a little more than plucking strings and writing poems.”

 

Quen’s eyebrows raised. It was true; Maglor was a patient and extremely competent woodworker, who had built many harps in their time together. After the effort needed for those, simpler constructs were not exactly a difficulty. However getting him to offer to do the work? That was another story entirely. It was very strange, to see his friend so obviously in love. And Love indeed it would have to be, for him to be willing to do this.

 

“Only if you let me help -- or at least, explain to me what you’re doing while you do it,” Sharley said. “I mean, I know theoretically how they work, but if this one’s going to be mine, I want to hang around while you make it. And keep the Lump Ness Monster at bay.”

 

Lorna smiled. Those two were adorable and awkward all at once, and she hoped this leapfrogging, or whatever Ratiri called it, actually worked. After everything poor Sharley had been through, the complete wringer that had been her life, she deserved some happiness already -- happiness that wouldn’t die, like Marty had.

 

“I would make it in the Halls. That is where the forge and woodworking rooms are. I have no intention of managing a cat while I am working on such a device,” he said, raising his eyebrow. He was willing to devote attention to the creature at Eldamar, but it was simply not going to happen that he would tolerate one of those fluffballs near his preservative oils and unfinished pieces. He might be in love, but he still had standards.

 

Sharley burst out laughing, and Lorna choked one down herself. “The only safe place is away from Eldamar, then,” Sharley said.

 

“At least they don't move in a herd anymore, like they did as kittens,” Lorna said, pulling into the car park. “And they don’t try to run right under your feet. Even Thranduil almost stepped one one.”

 

“But they’re so cute,” Sharley said. “It’s why they get away with murder.” Early though they’d left, it was a long drive, and they’d reached the mall just at opening time. This early on a weekday, there were few people, and she hoped that would help Maglor relax a little.

 

“No cats, until it is finished.” Reaching out, he tweaked the end of her nose gently with his finger for emphasis. “They can turn it into a tangled wreckage once it is in  _ your  _ possession.” He attempted to sound aggrieved, but his eyes smiled.

 

“You win,” she said, grinning. Lorna had noticed Sharley had smiled more, over the years, but she had rarely outright grinned at anyone who wasn’t Allanah. “Let’s shop. There’s like nobody in here, you won’t have to try not to step on anyone. It’s funny,” she added, shaking her head, “I used to really hate dealing with people who were taller than me -- not that I met many. Then I met up with Elves.”

 

That just made Lorna laugh, though she said nothing. They’d made her give up on resenting tall people, too, because when you were around them, it was give that up or just give up entirely.

 

Quen and Kana followed the women, careful to let them lead. Lorna was very small, and did not move terribly fast, so the adjusted their stride so ‘idly strolling’ and not ‘actual walking.’ Neither had really ever  _ been _ in a place like this, having no necessity to ever do so. Compared to their book shop, the stores seemed glaring, ugly, and in desperate need of better lighting. Lighting that did not flicker and glare, with unnatural shades of illumination. Their own little store had these things called, Eru forbid,  _ windows _ .

 

Lorna had never actually been in a mall this early before, and it was rather weird: there were more workers than shoppers, opening up the shops and setting things out, echoing and quiet.  _ Creepy _ , she thought, naturally thinking of the mall in  _ Dawn of the Dead _ , just...because.

 

There was a fairly new art store here -- a proper one, not the little kiddie place she’d looked at years ago. They passed maybe ten shoppers along the way, two of whom were yawning over their tea.

 

Sharley looked at the Elves, taking Maglor’s hand out of habit.  _ You get used to it,  _ she said.  _ Walking more slowly. It’s easier if you also spend a lot of time around the kids. Poor Lorna will try jogging if she has to, to keep up with all of us tall people. We try not to be mean. _

 

_ I am trying to be courteous; I can see she is very small and cannot take the same steps as we can.  _  He looked down at her, liking that her height was still the same. Just the right size that when they embraced, his chin could rest on the crown of her head. He hoped very much that someday, she would do that again. Hug him, like that. It was so strange, basically having to court his wedded wife all over again. But he found he did not mind this either. If only it was because this was what she needed, it was reason enough. He would not ever say that he had taken her for granted, the first time. Not at all. This still felt exciting, and very special. A great blessing, unlooked for.

 

_ It’s why I like hugging her, if I'm upset. She’s tiny -- it’s like hugging a doll. And she smells like lavender. I’ve always loved lavender -- haven’t I? Is that a new thing, or a Before thing? _

 

_ You have always loved lavender. Our home was filled with it; it had a bluish flower. Every time I have ever smelled it, I have thought of you. _

 

The art store was deserted save for the lone employee, so Lorna got a cart and left Sharley and the Elves (which just didn't sound like nearly as good a band name as Earlene and the Elves; it lacked the alliteration) to do what they felt like. They could get two carts’ worth, since God knew the kids went through things in half a blink.

 

Maglor became interested in the fine writing papers and cardstocks that he had often seen but never felt motivated to order. And there were calligraphy pens too, and all sorts of fun things he felt might enhance his late night artistic efforts. After asking Lorna’s permission, he placed these things in the cart. It felt a little strange; Quen and Kana did have money of their own, but much of it was tied up in the store that they had been counseled not to rush into selling. Their finances had been combined since time immemorial. It had been made clear to him that the Realm would pay for anything he desired within reason; he just was not fully certain if the Realm dealt in cash or credit. It had all changed rather quickly, really.

 

Traffic outside the shop picked up a bit, but not dramatically; it was nowhere near the sea of humanity you’d find later in the day. Between them they got two carts’ worth, and everything was paid for and bagged in fairly short order.

 

“Anybody want a scone?” Lorna asked. “There’s a bakery in the food court that’s decent.” Her breakfast of donuts was already wearing off.

 

Sharley looked at Maglor.  _ Up to you _ , she said.  _ I can make up some excuse, if you want to get out now. _

 

“I would like that,” he prevaricated.  _ She made the effort to drive here, and she would not ask, if she was not hungry. I hope I can be forgiven exaggerating my level of interest? _

 

Somehow, Sharley didn't laugh, but her eyes danced anyway.  _ Fair enough. That’s kind of you.  _ She elbowed him lightly, hooking her arm through his, and let Lorna lead them to the food court.

 

If Sharley had left the switch flipped on, she might have seen this coming before it did -- indeed, this made her re-evaluate her decision to ever turn it off. The food court was precisely what it sounded like: a circle of mostly mid-priced takeaway places, with one sit-down restaurant, one cafe, and one bakery. Within the circle were dozens of plastic tables and chairs, beneath a ceiling of smoked glass -- a few fat raindrops were hitting it now, splatting and beading.

 

At first, nothing seemed amiss. The cafe was busiest at the moment, unsurprisingly, but there were a smattering of people at some of the other stations: two men in sharp business suits, mobiles glued to their ears; a rather harassed-looking blonde woman in faded jeans, whose expression made Lorna immediately think ‘new mother’; a gaggle of teenagers, enjoying summer vacation (what the hell were they doing up so early, though?); another gaggle of older ladies who reminded her of slightly more fashionable members of the Quilting Club, and assorted others meandering about.

 

Unlike in other malls, the food court at Stephens Green was not located near the exit, which was why they didn't immediately realize the exits had been sealed. Not until the intercom system kicked in did any of them realize something was seriously wrong.

 

“Listen up, maggots.” It was a boy’s voice -- or at least, someone little older than a boy. “This shopping center’s ours now. You’re our bloody fucking hostages, so nobody act like an eejit.”

 

“Oh, you are  _ kidding _ me,” Lorna groaned. “They need to not let school out during the summer, if this is the shite kids get up to these days.”

 

“We’re keeping you until we get what we want. And right  _ now  _ what we want are any’v the bloody darkies you’ve got in here. Out into the food court.”

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed, but Sharley laid a hand on her shoulder. Being taller, she could see that while the voice on the intercom was some stupid kid, the men at the entrance were assuredly not: none of them looked to be in peak physical condition, but they all had guns, and lots of them.

 

“I’ll give them a bloody  _ darky _ ,” Lorna muttered. “Right up the damn jacksie.”

 

“Be still,” Sharley said. “Not...yet.” No, Lorna could not actually be harmed by bullets, but they really didn't need all these people  _ witnessing  _ that.

 

The only reason Lorna actually listened was because she liked Sharley, and trusted her, though it rather galled to be directed behind her and the elves, quite handily out of sight. Rather unsurprisingly, nobody went forward into the food court, and she wondered what kind of morons these would-be terrorists even were.

 

Machine-gun fire cut that thought off, and she felt her blood pressure spike.  _ God dammit, Sharley _ .

 

Sharley stilled. The gunfire had been aimed at no one, simply an intimidation tactic, and one she was inclined to dismiss as empty posturing. Still, they were idiots, and idiots with weapons they should not be allowed to touch.

 

_ Lorna,  _ she heard from Quen,  _ for Eru’s sake dial 112 on your mobile, while there is still time. No knowing how many of these people are too afraid to do so. _

 

They now began hearing single popping sounds, which seemed frightening and confusing. As it was likely meant to be.  _ Cameras,  _ said Quen.  _ They are shooting out the security cameras. Or what of them they can find. _

 

Maglor froze. He could feel the long-buried rage gnawing at the edges of his fear. He would so much rather feel afraid, because he had learned long ago what he could do when his rage turned loose. His father’s blood ran in his veins, as much as he many times had wished it did not. He held onto Sharley’s hand as though it was a lifeline. And for the first time in ages, he prayed.  _ I would understand if you will not listen to me. But I do not ask for myself. For Tirillë, for Quen. Even for Lorna. Please, keep them safe and do not allow them to be harmed.  _ More sounds of shots being fired came, both in the distance and not so far away. He closed his eyes, feeling sick.

 

Lorna did as asked, hissing to the operator that there was a group of lunatics with guns in Stephens Green, possibly white supremacists, demanding all the ‘darkies’ (and God, did she hate that word) present themselves for inspection.

 

“ _ Yes _ , I'm serious, you dizzy bitch,” she snarled. “They’ve shot out the security cameras, and they claim all the exits are barred, but Christ knows.”

 

“Lorna,” Sharley said softly. “Lorna, hang up.” Her tone was very...odd. Not like her at all.

 

_ Maglor, Quen, make sure nobody sees her. I have an idea _ . Sharley said nothing more than than; indeed, she was only half-aware she’d said it at all. There were more of these idiots now, all in some kind of cobbled-together uniform -- they reminded her far too much of a group she’d run across in Seattle, years ago. Skinhead types, desperately needed some time in the sun...she’d hated them then, and she hated them now, and something in her mind...shifted.

 

The closest was a man of maybe twenty-five, pig-shaved, too many tattoos on his arms for any individual one to be made out. His mind...so much anger, and hate, and superiority -- and fear. There were spiders in his mind, and her lips parted as she reached for them, drawing them out where he could see them. Where he could see for himself just what he was.

 

_ “Sharley, what in the shit--” _ Kurt started.

 

_ “SHUT UP, Kurt,”  _ Sinsemilla hissed. Shockingly, he actually did.

 

The man looked down, and screamed so loudly even Lorna jumped. His gun fell from suddenly nerveless hands, and he slapped at his arms, his chest, his legs, clawing at his head.

 

The others looked at him like he’d lost his mind, but not for long -- the one behind him feared women, feared a specific woman, and Sharley left him face-to-face with her. His mother, she was, and she’d been every bit as awful as he; a bitter battle-axe who had passed her bigotry along with her bad teeth to her son. For the next man, it was darkness; the one after him, a certain closet from his childhood. 

 

It wasn’t long before the gunfire started up again, though this time it was panicked, the men firing at each other and everything else, and  _ that  _ couldn’t be borne, but Sharley didn't know how to stop it, she didn't  _ know _ , and someone was going to get shot if she wasn’t careful, but how? How could she be careful? So long as they were armed, it wasn’t safe to approach; she and the Elves were hard to kill, sure, but if they got shot, with Thranduil away, they’d have problems.

 

_ Quen, Kana, I’m going to cause a distraction,  _ she said, with an almost dreamy calm.  _ We get the guns away from anyone who’s still alive, and deal with it, and then we leave. Okay?  _

 

_ Okay,  _ Quen responded, debating within himself at how to manage Kana, who at the moment was still not responding to anyone. He would find a way. He had to.

 

Sharley looked down at Lorna, who looked suitably bloodthirsty. “Lorna, I promise I will get you the good poitín and make you special tea,” she said. “Don’t get stepped on.” And with only that for warning, she grabbed her tiny friend and hurled her out into the mayhem, ignoring poor Lorna’s cry of, “ _ What the fuuuuck _ ”.

 

“There’s my distraction,” she said. “Let’s go.” Sure enough, the morons were suddenly quite bewildered, given a small ball of human and hair had just landed unceremoniously in their midst, cussing like a sailor. It meant Sharley and the Elves could surround them like a trio of silent sharks.

 

_ Kana, NOW,  _ Quen demanded of his friend. His eyes opened at long last, and when he saw that Sharley was entering the fray in which Lorna was already immersed, his restraints crumbled. With death in his grey eyes, his hand snagged the back of a chair and hurled it with astonishing force at the head of the one who held one of the large automatic guns. In seconds, the assault style weapon was in his hands. He had no training with these, nor did he want any. What he had now was a cudgel made of solid steel and a chair, and he did not hesitate to smash the barrel of the gun sideways into the head of the nearest assailant.

 

The Stranger had always been good at improvising weapons, and it would seem that skill had transferred to Sharley when it broke; within thirty seconds she’d felled two men with a metal napkin dispenser. The thing dented and split, but it made a very handy makeshift knife that passed through the throat of a third man with surprising ease. Blood sprayed like a fountain, hot and red and salty, and it woke something else in her -- an almost primal rage that would have scared her, if she’d been capable of it just then. 

 

_ “Oh, wonderful,”  _ Jimmy sighed, as she snapped the neck of a fourth. The funk of fear was tangible now, the sour sweat of terror so strong she could taste it; it made her grimace, but it didn't stop her. 

 

Somebody tried to hit her, but she ducked without thinking, and Lorna did her the favor of tackling the asshole. Sharley heard something snap, but the scream was masculine, not feminine.

 

More of the goons had come running in, but all was such chaos that they didn't seem to know what to do; they weren’t willing to open fire on a group of people when their own were interspersed among them.

 

Quen had seen what Maglor had done with the chairs, and there was an entire food court’s worth of them at hand. Chair after chair arced through the air, all aimed to fall in the concentrated area where many of the miscreants were lingering, unsure what to do. And Maglor did not stop at the chairs. He grabbed their injured, and moved toward them with one man held in each hand by the scruff of his clothing. As if he was throwing scarecrows stuffed with straw, the men were hurled like bowling balls. Vicious blows were landed that shattered jaws. And sweet Eru, one of them had a billy club. Except, not any more. The ones remaining near here were not prepared to see their own wielded as living shields, allowing for the brutal beating of anyone near. They turned and ran.

 

Gunfire erupted somewhere up ahead, but a moment later it was followed by a squawk, shriek, and a  _ “STOP. FUCKING. SHOOTING. ME!”  _ from Lorna, punctuated with some kind of blow.

 

Well. At least she was having fun.

 

Sharley spotted Maglor, and was half-distracted, because he looked like a damn avenging angel when he fought. She was not one for noticing the loveliness of others, but in this moment he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen --

 

_ “Fight now, drool later,”  _ Kurt ordered, snapping her out of it.

 

Sharley grabbed one of the guns. It was an ugly thing, an evil thing, and she found she didn't want to touch it. She threw it aside, but not before snatching off the strap, and turning it into an improvised garrotte. 

 

Lorna happened to be somewhat close when the gun fell, and grabbed hold of it. Among  _ this  _ group, she couldn’t contribute a whole fuck of a lot, fighting-wise, but she did know how to use a gun. Sort of.  _ Thank you, Tatiana,  _ she thought, desperately hoping the clip was full, because she had no idea in hell how to change it.

 

They were trying to run, now, evidently smart enough to realize they were fucked, and if Lorna could do nothing else, she could prevent  _ that _ . Her aim with a bow was good, so her aim with a gun was passable;  _ short, controlled bursts,  _ Tatiana had said, and that was what she did.

 

Something hot hit Sharley’s arm, something from behind her, and when she looked down, she saw her arm was bleeding. Not a bad wound; little more than a flesh injury, and yet it did...something. Something more. She turned on the gunman, who froze, and paled, and leapt at him with a force and a savagery that knocked him backward.

 

“Why are you here?” she asked, planting her boot squarely onto his ribs. He was an older idiot, forties at least, with a swastika tattooed on his neck, and she could hear his bones creak a little.

 

“The fuck--”

 

Sharley stomped, and his already pasty face whitened. “I asked you a question.”

 

“We want our Ireland back,” he managed, wheezing a little.

 

_ “Well that’s pathetic,”  _ Kurt sighed.  _ “I was hoping for something less...predictable. _ ”

 

“Me too,” Sharley said, rolling her eyes. “Unfortunately for you, I know what I am now. I’ve dealt with someone who hated, who hurt, who wanted dominion over what he decided was his own land...I couldn’t do anything to him.” The light in her already fever-bright eyes rose. “But I can do something to you,” she whispered. Before he could speak, she seized his head, her palms at either temple, and  _ squeezed. _

 

The resultant crack was not as loud as it ought to have been, she thought dreamily. It had seemed so much louder in the movie. Almost...anticlimactic. Oh well. Her hands were hot and red, and there was more screaming around her, screaming and the thunder of feet.

 

Sharley felt herself roughly yanked to her feet. “We go. Now,” said Quen. Maglor was already dragging a protesting Lorna with him, but she was no match for his strength. He stepped on the carcass of the man Sharley had just killed, and quite literally tore his shirt from his body. “Wipe your face while we are heading to the doors,” he demanded of Sharley. Their party moved away easily enough; most of the assailants in this section of the mall were dead or badly broken. All but one. Maglor had retained his club, and hurled it with unerring accuracy straight at the head of the last obstacle between them and the world outside. The skinhead dropped immediately, red blood welling from his temple. 

 

Sharley appeared confused now, distracted.  _ No one must see us, Tirillë. Just like long ago, when we wished to sneak off unnoticed, to picnic near the garden. You hid us from sight, made us disappear from all who looked on. Think of how we are going on that picnic, Sharley. We will have such a nice time, holding hands and watching as the light fades from the sky...think of us home, and safe, with no one having been the wiser…  _ He hoped it could work. He  _ knew _ it could work, if only she could free herself…

 

Picnic...picnic...did she remember a picnic? Did she remember? Maybe...maybe she did, or she thought she did -- a sky clearer even than that in Yellowstone, soft grass under bare feet, the smell of clean earth and green, living things…

 

She could do this. She knew how.  _ Go now,  _ she said.  _ Let’s go. _

 

They held hands, because in this way Quen and Sharley could pull Lorna between them much like a child. Under the circumstances, she thought they would agree, and it was more dignified than carrying her or something like a piggyback ride. For two blocks they ran unseen, until they were well outside of rows of Gardai units with loudspeakers and flashing strobing lights. They happened upon a public drinking fountain. “Stop,” ordered Quen, now wetting the messy remnants of the shirt that Sharley still held onto. “All of you, and I assume I am no better, we cannot leave here with blood on our faces. Sharley, fix Lorna, if you would.”

 

Sharley did just that, but still half-dreamily, all this use of power she thought alien to her buzzing along her nerves, rendering her somewhat incapable of purely rational thought. She wiped off Lorna’s face, though there was little in the way of mess there; she’d have some fantastic bruises later, probably, but that was all.

 

“I just wanted a fucking scone,” Lorna sighed, knowing how pathetic she sounded and not caring in the least. She paused, though, and caught Sharley’s wrist. “Sharley, allanah, you’re bleeding,” she said.

 

“It’s nothing,” Sharley said.

 

“Like hell it isn’t. Gimme that.” She took the shirt, and managed to tear off a strip of fabric. “Hold still. Ratiri can deal with this properly when we get home.” She looked at the other three, and paused. 

 

She did not know Maglor well at all. She was, however, very intimately acquainted with his expression, given how often she’d worn something like it herself, when she was younger.  _ Well...shit.  _ “Okay, when we get to the van, you three go and sit in the back-back,” she said, and hoped that having Sharley and Quen near would keep him from going Chernobyl until they were safely home.

 

Maglor did not say another word until they reached the van, piling in as Lorna had instructed. “My arm hurts.”

 

“Where?” Quen asked, confused. 

 

“In the back,” Maglor pointed. “It aches, and burns. I cannot see there.”

 

Quen looked more carefully, and was immediately annoyed to see the darkening stain on the dark fabric. “Alright, I need to take a closer look. The blazer has to come off.”

 

“That hurts,” Maglor said, his body now beginning to tremble.

 

“Here, I am just going to move to look at a better angle,” Quen lied, reaching behind his friend to touch his neck. Immediately, he slumped against Sharley. “Sorry about that. He wouldn’t have held up much longer. I’m bloody astonished he made it this far. He’s been shot in the arm. Don’t worry,” he hastened to say as he saw Lorna’s head snap around. “He’s not going anywhere, there isn’t much blood. This is just a kindness, before the totality of what happened overtakes him. Forgive me, my friend.” His hand moved to smooth Maglor’s hair. “Well, that was a complete and total balls-up,” he concluded.

 

Hearing a term like that come from someone with such a posh accent was enough to make Lorna burst into slightly hysterical laughter. Her hands were trembling, her foot unsteady on the accelerator. “Not how I wanted to spend my morning,” she said. “I just need to...not go to Dublin anymore. Ever. I’m a bad-luck magnet.” Somehow mastering herself, when they reached a stoplight, she looked back over her shoulder. “Sharley, allanah, are you alright back there?” She didn't know what Sharley had done, exactly, but that had been a lot of blood. A  _ lot  _ of it.

 

“I’m fine,” Sharley said, brushing damp strands of hair back from Maglor’s forehead. “I just want to go home.”

 

“A-fucking-men to that,” Lorna muttered.

 

She drove as fast as she reasonably could, not wanting to attract attention, and once they reached Lasg’len, she pulled out her mobile. She really didn't want any of the children seeing this, if it could at all be avoided.

 

“Ratiri? Allanah, we’ll be coming up the back staircase to Kana’s room. We’ve got some injuries to be treated, and a mess to clean up.”

 

“What happened?” he asked, alarmed.

 

“White supremacists,” she sighed. “Well, they happened, then we happened to them, and it was just a clusterfuck and a half. I'm never going to Dublin again.”

 

“Should I check the news?”

 

“I’d be morbidly curious to see what it says.”

 

A sigh. “All right. I'll meet you there. What are we looking at?” 

 

“Sharley’s got a gunshot wound to the arm, but it looks superficial. Kana’s got one that might be more serious, we don’t know yet.” She paused. “Quen, you okay? You need plasters, or anything?”

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” the ellon answered politely.

 

“Quen’s good. I just need a few paracetamol. Haven’t been kicked in the head that many times since I was twelve.”

 

Ratiri sighed again. “Mo chroí, I don’t even want to know.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’re going to find out.”

 

“I was afraid of that.”

 

The children were nowhere in sight when they pulled into the driveway, fortunately. “Can you two carry him?” she asked.

 

“I can, if you wish?” Quen asked to Sharley, not presuming. She was quite strong enough, but Kana was more than half a foot taller.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said. Her arm was burning again, and she wanted a cookie, or something sweet. What a morning.

 

Quen brought Kana to his bed, efficiently removing his shirt to expose his injured arm. There was an ugly entry wound, and purpling bruising. Bloody wonderful. He arranged him on his side, ensuring he would stay asleep. Whatever the physician would do would feel far better if it was not felt at all. To this day, they had no idea if the mortal pain relievers could help them. Probably sometime they should find that out. He unfolded a light blanket and covered his friend’s chest and lower back, leaving only his shoulders and arm exposed. For an elf he was rather overly modest, and as it did not matter either way to him, he had always tried to respect Kana’s preferences.

 

Ratiri, hands disinfected and then ensconced in gloves, entered, and eyed his patient. He could already see there was no exit wound, which could get...complicated. At least he’d been smart, and upgraded his basic first aid kit to a basic  _ surgical _ kit, obtained illegally. “I’m certain there’s more of a story behind this,” he said, “but it can wait. Let me have a look at that arm.”

 

Unconscious though Kana was, Ratiri gave him some morphine anyway, on the extremely off-chance he should wake. Surprisingly little blood, though; he’d count that a mercy. “Well, the bad news is, it’s still in there,” he said. “Obviously.” He lightly palpated the arm -- for all the good it did him. Maglor might not be a body-builder, but his muscles were rock hard, which meant shifting them and anything within them was a no-go. Damn. Exploratory time. Fortunately, he had tiny retractors, so he wasn’t trying to hold the wound steady and feel around at the same time.

 

He breathed a sigh of relief when the probe found the bullet. “Good news is, I think it’s intact. If it had fragmented, we’d have much bigger problems. I also think it missed the bone.” If it hadn’t, he just didn't have the facilities or the equipment to deal with it. All he could really do either way was a sling.

 

There remained surprisingly little blood, but he still had to have Quen swab a few times as he worked, carefully easing the bullet out. How it hadn’t fragmented, he had no idea; he’d have to save it, and ask Geezer just what kind it was. He made as certain as he could that there was nothing else in there -- he couldn’t know with  _ complete  _ certainty without an X-Ray machine -- irrigated and disinfected the wound thoroughly, and closed it up with four neat sutures. Putting a sling on an unconscious person was never fun, but he had practice.

 

“I know you lot heal fast, but he should still avoid using his arm as much as possible, until Thranduil gets home,” he said, as he wrapped aforesaid arm in gauze. “I have plenty of morphine, should he need it. While I’ve never tried it on an Elf, I know marijuana affects you,” he added dryly. He administered the injection for pain according to a human dose; in theory it should help. In theory.

 

“Thank you, for helping him,” Quen said worriedly. He was not really so concerned about the wound; Maglor had described far more grievous injuries incurred during the wars in Beleriand. No, he was more afraid of what the impact to his mind would be, once he woke. On a whim, knowing he would sleep for at least a little while longer, he went downstairs to the King’s room, letting himself in. He walked to the little table that seemed like a place a female would care for her hair and other grooming, and began to examine the collection of vials on the tabletop. (He could not help but smile to see Earlene’s crown, which she had chosen to leave at home. Probably for the best.) It did not take him long to discover what he wanted; lavender oil, and tiny bowls in which the pure oils could be mixed into a carrier oil. Carefully, he drizzled almond oil into one of the bowls, adding several drops of the lavender afterward. And just one drop of that which was so obviously peppermint. Later, he would ask forgiveness for this intrusion, but at the moment he acted on his instincts. Returning to the bedside, he began to rub this onto his friend’s skin below his collarbones, a little just below his nose, some at his temples. 

 

Eventually, Maglor stirred, blinking in confusion, but reassured to see Quen’s familiar face. Immediately, the other ellon ceased his activities. “What are you doing?” he asked, finding that he felt disoriented. Floaty.

 

“Nothing but watching over you,” Quen said evasively.

 

Maglor sighed. “I will try again, then. What  _ were  _ you just doing?”

 

Quen hung his head, seeing his diversions were not working. “Rubbing scented oils into your skin. I know you do not like to be touched. I am sorry. I only wanted to help ease what I feared would be your distress.”

 

Maglor took his friend’s hand, strangely uncaring about doing so. “I feel very strange, right now,” he admitted. “I am the one who is sorry, Quen. Sorry for how I have been. Sorry that I have caused you to tiptoe around me even as you have taken care of me for so long. I know I have been difficult. It was never about you. When others touched me, it reminded me of having lost Tirillë. Even of losing Elrond and Elros, for in the end I no longer had them either. It was painful, to be reminded of the affection that I once had. Maybe I have been foolish. But...Tirillë is here now. I feel differently than I used to. Thank you, for what you have tried to do. For all that you have done; I have not said that to you nearly often enough. But what I think I need to ask more is, how did I get here and what happened?”

 

Quen did not try to hold back his tears. He had never done this to receive praise or acknowledgement, but hearing it anyway felt very, very nice. Maglor raised his hand to brush the streaks away from his friend’s cheeks, wincing when the other arm did not wish to cooperate at all. “You were shot in the arm. Ratiri removed the bullet and cared for the wound. You were given a drug to ease the pain, even though he could not say if it would help you. Morphine.” 

 

“I would guess it is helping,” he said in reply. “I feel very little pain, not like when we first got into the van. You sent me to sleep?”

 

Quen nodded sheepishly.

 

“Thank you, gwador. But if I could ask for one other thing...I am very hungry. I never had a chance to eat my scone.”

 

Quen laughed at the gallows humor. “I will gladly make you a whole tray of the damn things. Rest. Here, take my computer. You can at least amuse yourself that way. I will return soon.” With a squeeze to his hand, and a small amount of fussing to make sure he was settled comfortably, he left the room.

 

While he appreciated the gesture, Maglor did not open the screen but closed his eyes. A sinking feeling settled over him, as he tried to piece together... _ what had he done? _

 

*****

 

Sharley stayed out of the way while Ratiri hurried in, kit in hand. There was still blood beneath her fingernails, and she drifted back to her own room to shower, so no children would be frightened, should they see her. This was something to remain outside the sanctity of this house.

 

Her mind wandered as she stepped under the hot spray, seeking that memory -- was it a memory? Or was it simply her fevered imagination, conjuring up what she thought that memory ought to be like? She didn't know, and she wouldn’t known until Maglor woke, and was in any condition to actually be asked.

 

Somehow, she thought that would take a while.

 

She stared at the water, as it ran pink down the drain. This was not the first time she’d done anything so violent, and yet it was the first time  _ she  _ had done it. Always before, it had been the Stranger who killed people, and she’d had no awareness of the act itself. Those memories had returned with all the others, and somehow, they were a help now.

 

For whatever reason, there was no guilt over what she’d just done. They’d been terrible men, and, save for that last one, she’d killed them cleanly. She hadn’t lingered to enjoy  it; it had been a job. That she should do it so dispassionately probably ought to worry her, but it didn't. Right now, the only thing she worried about was Maglor; she’d seen that expression on a few others, but never to that intensity. It would just figure he felt even rage with greater poignancy than a human. Given what she knew of his past, that was no great surprise. 

 

When she’d scrubbed every last trace of blood away, she dried and dressed and combed her hair, the Lump trundling after her. The cat’s purr was a comfort, grounding her as much as anything could.

 

Her world was changing.  _ She  _ was changing, with such speed it terrified her. What had she done? How had she done it? Obviously it was something she’d known how to do Before, but she no longer knew how she knew. A very different sort of pit seemed to open in her mind -- not Memory, but Unknown. It was enough to send her not back to Maglor, but to Lorna.

 

Lorna, who had been rather less...messy...than the others, and thus had an easier time of cleaning up. Now that her adrenaline was waning, though, she was one giant ache. Bullets might not be able to pierce her skin, but the impact still hurt like a bitch; it was like being shot point-blank by a paintball gun, only eight times worse.

 

Skipping the paracetamol, she opted for some special tea, and some actual breakfast already.  _ Seriously, I just wanted a fucking scone _ . At least the others were well off on holiday, and wouldn’t know about this debacle until they got home.

 

Debacle.  _ I killed people _ , she thought, as she dug out bread for toast.  _ And it wasn’t like Von Shitemuncher, when I was half out of my mind. I killed people in cold blood.  _ And it troubled her that she was not more troubled by it.

 

They were terrible men, who were going to do terrible things -- shit, a number of them had tried to kill her directly. She’d done the world a favor, hadn’t she? Who knew how many innocent people might have died, if she hadn’t picked up that machine...oh shit.  _ Oh, SHIT. _

 

Her eyes widened, and she almost dropped her mug. That gun would have her fingerprints on it. All of their fingerprints would be all over everything, but she was the only one with a criminal record in Ireland. They’d get entered into the database, sure, but she was already there…

 

She covered her mouth with her hand, fighting panic. The Halls were there, if she had to play fugitive, but if they did come looking, was she going to have to do that until the end of the world? She already couldn’t go near any hospitals, thanks to the accident. Hell, she was presumed  _ dead _ , all her assets, if one could even call them that, transferred to her new identity (which was basically her name, but a different PPS number.) Orla hadn’t had to do more than that, but what if she did now? What if this necessitated a whole other...everything?

 

_ Oh, for fuck’s sake, who cares? You have way bigger problems on your hands,  _ a small voice in her mind said.

 

She blinked.  _ We do? _

 

_ Come on, you saw Kana in there. You saw his face.  _ He’s  _ going to be a huge problem when he wakes up. _

 

“Not necessarily,” she whispered aloud. “He’s got Quen, and Sharley. If they need somewhere more private to go, while they recover, they can go stay at the cottage.” She could stock it with food, and they could recuperate in peace and quiet, without being surrounded by animals and children. It wasn’t like there needed to be any time limit on that, either; they could live in it as long as they felt like, and she’d just go out with food runs as needed. Neat and tidy -- far too much so, of course, to actually work.

 

Sharley, hair damp, barefoot, padded into the kitchen, and when she saw Lorna, she crossed the floor and grabbed her tiny friend, sinking down with her back against a cupboard.

 

Lorna yelped, startled, but after a moment hugged Sharley back. The poor woman was shivering, and her skin felt clammy and cold.

 

“What’s happening to me, Lorna?” she whispered. “I don’t even know who I am now. I don’t know how I did that. I don’t know what  _ else _ I can do.”

 

“Allanah, you’re Sharley,” Lorna said. “You’re becoming more than that -- you’re remembering you’re more than that -- but you’re still you. Everything you were before you came here, before you met Kana again, is still there. There’s just more to you than you knew.” She gently rubbed Sharley’s back, just as she did the twins when they’d had a nightmare.

 

“I’ve just…I’ve been the same, or near to it, as long as I can remember. Things seem to be changing so fast, I don’t know how to keep up.”

 

Lorna could not at all blame her. She couldn’t really imagine what Sharley was going through, finding all this out about herself and her history. “You’ll work it out,” she said. “We’ll help you, as we can. You’ve got lots’v people who love you, allanah. If you need to fall apart, do it. Nobody’ll grudge you.” Or rather, anyone who did would be feeling a very small boot to their arse. She couldn’t imagine anyone in this house doing so, though; while they might all be vastly different people, none of them were lacking in empathy.

 

Sharley just nodded, so Lorna just hugged her. After a while, she said, “Well, when you get tired’v holding the Lorna-doll, I'll make you some food and some special tea, and we can just take the rest’v the day off.” Her own stomach grumbled like the first, ominous rumblings of a waking volcano, and she felt Sharley’s silent laughter.

 

“Good point.” She stood, and set Lorna on her feet. “Damn, you are going to have some amazing bruises later. They’re already showing up.”

 

“Because  _ that’ll  _ be fun to explain,” Lorna sighed. She didn't wear foundation, so she didn't have any way of hiding whatever decided to be visible. Maybe Mairead would have to bring her some, because she couldn’t let the kids see and wonder. “Though I can probably say I’m the only person who knows what it’s like to be shot in the face and just come away with a bruise. Or five.”

 

“Or twenty.”

 

“Oh, brilliant.” Somehow, Lorna managed a bit of a fry-up, though the fact that the tea was kicking in meant she made a bit more of a mess than usual. Fortunately, Sharley was good about going behind her to clean up, and eventually they wound up with a big plate of bacon, eggs, and toast.

 

“Seriously though,” she said, giggling, for the tea had taken full hold by the time the food was done, “I'm just never going to Dublin again. Like...ever. Bad things usually happen when I do. Property damage, at the very least. Are you going to go see Kana?”

 

“I am,” Sharley said, giggling herself. “I’ll bring him and Quen some food. What’re you going to do?”

 

“Go to bed and watch cat videos. Fuck this entire day.” She munched one last piece of bacon. “So, if you three want to go hang out in my cottage for a few days or weeks, you can do that. I know there’s a lot’v people around here, and Kana and Quen still aren’t used to that, but there’s fuck-all at the cottage but woodland critters.” She loved the word ‘critter’; it was one she’d picked up from Sharley.

 

Sharley looked at her. She knew how much that cabin meant to Lorna -- that it was supposed to be her tiny friend’s personal retreat. “You’d do that?” 

 

“You’re family, allanah; of course I would,” Lorna said. “It’s got electricity, though you’ve got to fill the cistern from the pump and light the boiler if you want hot water. The beds’re nice and comfy, and there’s books and things, though the wifi doesn’t work out there.”

 

“I doubt I'll suffer from not knowing what’s going on out there,” Sharley said dryly. “You’ll just have to keep us posted if anything important shows up.”

 

_ My fingerprints might _ , Lorna thought, but she wasn’t going to dump that on poor Sharley. Orla could probably work that out, given enough time. She’d just have to stay home until it was sorted.

 

She yawned hugely. She’d had so little sleep, and then this… “I need a nap,” she said. “You go see Maglor, and I’ll check on you later.”

 

“Okay,” Sharley said, and gave her a brief hug.

 

Lorna trudged up the stairs, swapped her clothes for T-shirt and boxers, and flopped onto the bed, wincing a little. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

 

*****

 

They stood together on the balcony of La Bastide de Gordes, admiring a view that seemed almost too beautiful to be real. Far up on their hillside, the fields and farms of Provence stretched out in the far distance, with forests beyond and occasional dottings of brilliant purple from the lavender plantings. It was still sunny near sunset, the temperature perfect. They had eaten an early dinner; a sumptuous meal at Péir. And yet all of this pampering was only serving to fuel a wider sense of depression and disconnection. As marvelous as this was, it was a bandage. The root cause was something else entirely, and any ability to enjoy this getaway was only going to come about once that had been addressed. “I think we need to return to our room and talk, if you wouldn’t mind,” Earlene said softly to both of them. A glance up at Thranduil revealed a tall and proud ellon, whose face was softened in reflection. Eyes that had held her heart captive since the first moment she saw them shifted her gaze to look down at her.

 

“Then that is what we will do,” Thranduil replied. Their bedroom awaited, a charming space with an intricate Oriental rug in wine tones. The carpet accented the velvet upholstered couch and the rose-spattered wallpaper. Attractive sage green wainscoting surrounded the room’s alcove where a large bed lay swathed in white linens. A writing desk, lamps, small tables a plush armchair completed the luxuriously furnished room. Not caring in the least about what went where, she dragged the armchair across the carpet to have it face the sofa, and sat in it. Thanadir and Thranduil exchanged glances, and sat next to each other. 

 

“Comfy,” Thanadir observed, hoping to break the tension at least a little. 

  
Earlene smiled. “It is a very nice place, and I do thank you both for bringing me here. But it has become obvious to me that if we do not discuss all of what happened, I am not going to be able to enjoy our time here.”

 

“Is there really so much to discuss, meluieg?” Thranduil asked. “I will freely admit that I failed you as your King. While I still want to believe that I do not let Lorna exercise undue influence over my actions as ruler, even I have to acknowledge that my recent choices do not give me much credibility in that regard. I have already determined that henceforth, we will have an agreed upon signal to indicate when the matter is closed for further discussion. Period. I should have seen this coming; something similar occurred with Ailill a long time ago. But so many years passed, with nothing of this sort. And then...this.”

 

He sighed. “I hope you can appreciate, that I was also confronted with the first evidence of interest in the workings of our Kingdom on Lorna’s part. In all the years I have been her friend, she has mostly acted as though I am her friend who happens to be King in his spare time.. She was actually trying to understand something about us, and asking meaningful questions...and I freely confess that a sense of sudden hopefulness eroded my objectivity.”  Thranduil now leaned forward to take one of her hands that rested in her lap. “I did it again, Earlene. I was more concerned about something having to do with Lorna than with you, though I did not mean for that to be the case.” His proud head drooped. “Please forgive me. I have made such a mess of this, and for no real reason.”

 

“I think you have always tried to be honest with me, Thranduil. We have all come a long way from where we began together. At least, I think we have. I have some things to say, but first there is something regarding which I want absolute clarity. When you put that crown on my head, what did you do? What is the extent of my authority?”

 

Thanadir answered. “Were you to be in disagreement with the King, his decision would still be above your own. He could overrule you, I believe is how you would say it. Otherwise, your commands carry the same authority as Thranduil’s. Whether it is the guards, the workers at their tasks, or even me; we are required to obey you. To do as you order is no longer a suggestion, the King’s wish, or an evidence of courtesy; it is law.”

 

“Thank you, meldir. You were both right, when you said that little will change. I am still not arrogant enough to presume to order elves around, but I am perfectly capable of exercising authority. There is only one place where I see myself making a difference, and it is going to be my unapologetic ability to tell those not sworn to your throne to butt the hell out of our business, when order and protocol are being stomped on. There are appropriate methods, for making suggestions. There is even a Council, that is supposed to deal with elven and human relations. I too would be the first one to embrace it, if Lorna ever actually wants to know and appreciate how we live our lives. But I am far from convinced that this was the case. Thranduil, I love you dearly, but you  _ and _ Lorna are seemingly both oblivious to one central thing: Lorna’s greatest skill is in her ability to emotionally maneuver others to get her way. She doesn’t even recognize it; it is completely unconscious. There is no artifice, or malice; only a force of will. Yes, she has doubts and insecurities and an inferiority complex as wide as the Grand Canyon but…”

 

“The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone or the Grand Canyon that is in the southern United States?” Thanadir wanted to know, interrupting. 

 

Earlene blinked in disbelief and leaned forward, while Thranduil did much the same. She kissed the seneschal softly and thoroughly on the lips, while Thranduil took his turn after (albeit in a more chaste manner). “How about the latter, since it is for illustrative purposes?” she answered, smiling and clearing her throat. 

 

“As I was saying, for all her shortcomings, her aptitude in this one area is off the charts. And forgive me, my King, but you were mowed down by her because  _ you do not see it _ . I have  _ always _ seen it, since the first day she told that lorry driver what he could do with himself. If she could only believe in herself, Lorna could be unstoppable. However, my only concern is that when her talents are leveraged inappropriately, that she  _ is _ stopped. You crowned me your Queen and so help me, Thranduil, I am never enduring anything like that again.  _ I no longer have to _ . The worst outcome possible is that you can reverse my decisions. You are still King and there is still a Realm. There will be a Realm until the day we set our feet on different shores and our people disperse. Until that time I expect you to maintain that it exists and that it has value to those who live under its authority.”

 

Thanadir wanted to stand and cheer, but he did not. He glanced at his King’s face, which looked rather stricken. 

 

“I did not think I was falling so short,” Thranduil whispered, which caused Thanadir to feel terrible.

 

“You have not been, Thranduil. Not with any but Earlene. And Valar bless her, she is able to weather storms and still carry on. However, as witness to all that happened I cannot fault her words. I too felt dismay, at your swift capitulation to what Lorna wanted. You do not owe it to me to ask my counsel on that or any other matter, but I was very taken aback that you did not. You always have, in the past, but not this time. It suddenly felt like it was you and Lorna making decisions for the rest of us and I will confess that it was a very unappealing sensation.”

 

“What he said,” Earlene echoed. “It’s like I tried to say earlier. We have our side of the line, they have theirs. And someone crossed the line and just started...just started…” The analogy in her mind was incredibly unflattering and she did not want to say it.

 

“Pulling my strings, like a marionette?” Thranduil asked, with an edge to his voice.

 

“I did not speak it aloud for a reason,” Earlene pushed back. “I cannot always hide every thought from you. Nor can I master every emotion. Obviously. I love you, Thranduil. You have always had my deep respect. You have supported me when I have made mistakes. I have tried to do the same for you. I am not saying all these things because I want to poke at you with a stick but because I cannot move past my own emotions if they are not spoken of aloud.”

 

“Alright,” Thranduil said, tossing back his head. Thanadir looked at him sympathetically and took his hand. Thranduil’s free hand reached for Earlene’s. “Both your points are well taken. I have admitted my mistakes as best as I know how. I did and I do recognize what went wrong, and will make efforts that it not be able to happen again. I regret the hurt and pain I have caused you, Earlene. And by extension you too, Thanadir. There is another confession to make as well. I had intended that we would go away, because it was needed. But I did not plan this trip. This was Lorna’s attempt to apologize to you, meluieg, and because of the level of your ire the other day I did not mention it then. It would be wrong of me, though, to go on taking credit for her efforts. There. I have tried everything of which I know, to correct my wrongs. If there is more I can do, I am not seeing it.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes, a much happier expression on her face. “I think that was what I needed to hear. You were probably wise, not to tell me all of that until just now. There are some things a person just needs some time to get past. But…

there might be  _ one _ other thing you can do.”

 

Thanadir giggled. “Somebody wants make-up sex.”

 

Thranduil turned to his old friend, astonished. “By all the Valar, how do you even know what make-up sex _ is _ ?? You never do  _ anything _ wrong,” Thranduil said dejectedly.

 

“I watch movies,” Thanadir said, smirking. “And, I would not quite say that. I have had my moments.” He smiled up at Earlene, who shook her head and chuckled.

 

Her eyebrows raised as she further considered his comment. “Now I am going to worry about what movies you have been watching,” she grinned at Thanadir. 

 

“Not telling.”

 

Earlene laughed, and sort of sat on both of their laps at the same time, hugging them. “Valar, I love you both…”

 

*****

 

Lorna was so tired that she didn't wake until late afternoon. She was still kind of stoned, but the painkilling effect had worn off, so now she was just one big ball of sore and hair. And cats, apparently; when she shifted, one of them rolled off her back with a protesting squeak.

 

She rose with a groan, and padded into the bathroom. Her bladder would not be ignored, but she halted when she caught sight of her face, and swore. Creatively, and at great length.

 

Her face, her neck, her chest -- they were all a mass of very dark, mottled bruises. Half of her forehead was obscured by one, as was the left side of her jaw; her lower lip had swollen on that side, too, though the skin hadn’t split, because it couldn’t. Her right eye looked like someone had socked her with brass knuckles, the purple trailing into something more greenish down her cheek. She couldn’t even come up with an analogy for what the whole of it looked like; no other circumstances could create this weird pattern, which made her look like someone crossed a zombie with a blind, drunk person’s attempt at cheetah spots. A blood vessel had burst in her right eye, turning half her sclera dark red.

 

“Creepy,” she sighed. There was no way in hell she could let the kids or anyone else see her like this; once she’d had a wee, she needed to call Mairead.  _ Great,  _ she thought.  _ Make-up. Because this day wasn’t annoying enough already. _

 

*****

 

Mercifully, Ortherion asked no questions when he saw so many were absent from the lunch table, though the children did. Ratiri told his that their mam wasn’t feeling well, and they weren’t to disturb her nap. They were content to go play, and after lunch, with some trepidation, he went to check the news.

 

He was not surprised to find it was front-page on the Irish Times -- and as a Developing Situation, no less.

 

_ WHAT WE KNOW SO FAR _ , the headline read.

 

_ July 7, 2026 _

_ 9:33 AM _

 

_ Early this morning, the Stephens Green shopping centre in Dublin was taken over by a terrorist cell. A panicked call to 112 identified them as white supremacists seeking any people of colour who might be found within the centre, but no further official information has been released. _

 

_ 10:05 AM _

 

_ Witnesses report multiple injuries and fatalities due to armed terrorists. At present, the only deceased appear to be the terrorists themselves, who for reasons currently unknown opened fire on one another in the shopping centre’s food court. _

 

_ “I don’t know what happened,” says Colleen Callahan, 18. “I was hiding behind the counter in the Panda Express, and they were yelling something about ‘darkies’, and then there was all this shooting. I was too scared to look over the counter, but they were screaming, like they were terrified. Like they were scared to death of nothing.” _

 

_ 11: 16 AM _

 

_ Confirmed casualties have been sighted, as bodies are being removed.  _ There was a picture of a number of black body-bags on gurneys, and he wondered just how many more were still inside.

 

_ It is also confirmed that all fatalities are among the terrorists. _

 

Ratiri stared, and scrolled. They must have been in the food court, the little group from Eldamar, but what had they  _ done  _ \-- and  _ how _ ? If Thranduil had been with them, he could easily have played with the minds of the assholes -- did Quen and/or Kana have a similar level of control? Ratiri knew they both possessed telepathy, they were so old, but he didn't know just how strong and precise it was -- how much they could really do with it.

 

_ 12:24 PM _

 

_ It is confirmed that terrorists belonged to the white supremacist group Stormfront: Ireland. The leader, now deceased, has been identified as John Malloy, age 34. Malloy had an extensive criminal history, including sexual assault and hate crimes.  _ What was presumably the man’s mugshot accompanied this update: a surly skinhead with flat, cold blue eyes.

 

_ 12:55 PM _

 

_ “Somebody else was out there,” says Kieran Monagle, 25. “It wasn’t just the terrorists, there were other people, but I never got a good look at them. There was too much going on, and I just had a little gap between the restaurant booth and the wall, but I know there were more. It was a fight, and I swear to bloody God I heard someone yell “stop f****** shooting me’, but like they were pissed off, not hurting.” When asked if male or female, he says, “I don’t know. I could just be crazy, everything was that bad, but I swear I heard it.” _

 

_ “There were spiders,” says Amanda Meagle, 40. “I only saw them for a moment, but there were spiders. Big ones, all over one of the twats. He screamed and screamed, and that was what started the shooting.” _

 

_ Authorities suspect use of hallucinogenic gas. _

 

“Well, that's one way to try to explain it away,” Ratiri snorted. Though honestly, what else could they do?

 

_ 1:18 PM _

 

_ Investigation into the use of hallucinogens continues, as witness stories increasingly contradict one another. One, who wishes to remain anonymous, insists she saw an ‘angel’ in the midst of the fray. “I didn't see his face,” she says, “not really. But I know he was beautiful.” _

 

_ Another, who also wishes anonymity, says, “Somebody got shot in the face and nothing happened. I bloody swear it. Then things just sort of went flying. A smashed-up, bloody napkin holder landed not two feet from me.” _

 

Ratiri groaned. He didn't even want to know whose work that had been, but those things were too big for Lorna’s tiny hands, so his money was on Sharley. Quen and Kana, he was sure, would have found something likely more elegant, or at least useful.

 

_ 2:06 PM _

 

_ All bodies appear to have been removed from the centre, which will be closed until further notice. Investigation is ongoing. _

 

He shut the laptop, and wondered if he dared turn on the news. Whatever had actually gone on there -- or whatever they  _ thought  _ had gone on -- they were being tight-lipped about it.

 

With another sigh, he went to check on Lorna. She was on the phone with Mairead, holding it a little away from her ear as her sister unmistakably castigated her soundly. “Well what the hell else was I supposed to do?” she demanded. “I got used as a damn cannon ball, and I’m pretty much invulnerable. Now can you get me makeup, or can’t you?”

 

“I’ll order it off Amazon,” Mairead growled, “and have it sent to the house. Let me know when it’s there and I’ll come over and show you how to apply it. Meanwhile, don’t get shot in the bloody face anymore.”

 

“Because I so chose to do that,” Lorna said, rolling her eyes. “I”m staying away from Dublin. I'm just a bad-luck magnet when I’m in that city.”

 

“Good. Have you got a plan, until the makeup gets there?”

 

“I’ll just say I have a cold and I’m staying in bed,” she said. “I doubt anyone’ll question it. The weather’s nice, so the kids just want to be outside anyway.”

 

“You’d better hope it lasts. Get some rest, Fun Size.”

 

“Yes, Mother.”

 

When she’d hung up, she rolled her eyes. The action hurt. “I’m not kidding, allanah,” she said, wincing as she laid back on the bed, “I’m avoiding Dublin. Next time I want an outing, I’ll go to bloody Limerick. Nothing ever happens there.”

 

He couldn’t help but laugh, lying beside her. “Rest, mo chroí,” he said. “I’ll bring you some food, and then I should check on my other patients.”

 

“Give Sharley a hug for me,” she said. “I’m going to take a nice hot shower. I’ll used the tub once everyone’s gone to bed.”

 

“Good idea. Let me take a look at the rest of you?”

 

“I can’t believe I'm saying this, but no funny business, Mister,” she said, somehow pulling her shirt off without actually sitting up.

 

_ Bloody hell.  _ The bruises on her face were bad, but those on her chest and abdomen were worse; there was more purple than anything else. He should not be so fascinated by it, but when would he ever have an opportunity to see something like this again? Hopefully never. 

 

“Looks like shit, doesn’t it?” she asked, with a wry grin.

 

“Why did you rush them?” Ratiri asked, frowning with disapproval as he investigated her sternum.

 

Lorna snorted. “I didn't. Sharley’s idea’v a distraction was using me as a projectile weapon.”

 

He looked at her, and saw she was dead serious. His expression made her burst out laughing, wincing as she did.

 

“Why,” he said, “can I picture that, all too clearly?”

 

“Because you know me,” Lorna laughed, “and her. I’m fine here, allanah; go check on the others.”

 

“I think they might want some time to themselves,” he said. “I don’t know about Kana’s mental state, but I would imagine Quen will come get me if he needs attention. It might be best to keep his stress level  _ down  _ for a while.”

 

“I told Sharley they could go stay in the cottage, if they wanted.” She paused. As much as she didn't even want to think of it, she also had to confide in somebody. “I touched one’v the guns, allanah. I...shot a lot’v people. I don’t even know how many. And I'm not sorry.” She sighed. “I’m not sorry, and that worries me.”

 

“Mo chroí, there was nothing else you could have done,” he said, lying beside her. Yes, the thought of killing was rather horrifying to him, but in this instance, who could blame her? Nobody sane. 

 

“I could’ve not dropped the damn thing,” she sighed. “My fingerprints are on it. All’v ours are everywhere, but the others won’t bring up any hits in any criminal database, so far as I know.”

 

He groaned. _ I don’t even want to know what might come of this _ , he thought. “Well, look at it this way,” he said, trying to be comforting. “You’re presumed dead anyway. Maybe it will get written off.”

 

Lorna looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Do you really think we’d be that lucky?”

 

“Maybe?” he offered. “Hey, I can hope.”

 

“It does spring eternal,” she said dryly. “I don’t know how I'm going to explain the eye. Can’t hide it with makeup.”

 

Ratiri was quiet a moment. He knew she only wanted to protect the children, but they -- or at least, the twins -- were at an age now where they would work things out anyway. “Mo chroí, no makeup,” he said, coiling a strand of her hair around his fingers. “No hiding this. You don’t have to tell the kids everything, but they’re too old to shield from things.”

 

“Atia doesn’t need to be seeing me like this,” she protested. “I mean, Jesus, Ratiri, I look like a zombie. I look worse than a zombie.”

 

“And you can hug her, and tell her it will pass,” he said firmly. “We won’t be able to shield them forever, and we need to pick our battles.”

 

She was too tired and too sore to argue. “Well, I’m staying up here the next two days,” she said stubbornly. “At least. This shite needs a chance to fade a bit. And God, everything hurts. I think my  _ spleen  _ hurts.”

 

“Have a paracetamol,” Ratiri said automatically.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. Someday, he was going to realize that paracetamol was a joke in capsule form. She’d opt for some tincture, thanks so very much. Yeah, it would still hurt, but she wouldn’t care as much.

 

*****

 

Quen encountered Sharley on his way down the stairs. “Is that for Kana?” he asked hopefully. “I promised him scones but the truth is, I’m rubbish at baking. Of the two of  us, he is by far the better cook.”

 

“It is,” she said. “Is he awake?”

 

“Yes. He is hungry.”

 

“How is he, otherwise?” she asked, following him. “Lorna said we can go stay in her cottage for a while, if he needs to be away from...people.”

 

Quen nodded. “He is better than I expected but...that might not mean anything. He can have delayed reactions to stress and I am afraid that long experience tells me that is probably what will happen. The medicine he was given for pain I think is affecting him, too. And...please pardon me, I have no wish to intrude into your relationship with him but I know you have no other means of knowing these things...he can be very peculiar about where he does and does not feel safe. He will try to do whatever you ask of him...but you might want to ask him where he wants to be. I will get the door for you, and then I will occupy myself downstairs.”

 

“Thanks,” Sharley said. “If there’s ever something you think I oughtta know, tell me. I know he tries to hide things, like his anxiety. I can’t read his mind, not yet, but I can feel the...shape of it. I know what he’s feeling, just not what he’s thinking.”

 

“Even I do not know everything about him,” Quen murmured quietly before opening the door for her and allowing her to pass through. He closed it softly behind him, and walked to the stairs. “And Valar knows I have tried,” he muttered to himself.

 

**

 

“Quen, you have changed,” Maglor smiled up at her, surprised to see an unexpected person bearing food.

 

“Shapeshifting,” Sharley said, and laughed. “It’s a new talent. How’s the arm?” The Lump, who had followed her, jumped up onto the foot of the bed, curled up in an almost perfect sphere, and started purring. At least she wasn’t trying to walk on him.

 

“I cannot feel too much,” he said. “Then again, I do not move, so perhaps it is all the same.” He frowned mildly at the feline, but as it was behaving nicely, he could not legitimately complain. His enforced years around Huan had perhaps given him far more of a fondness for dogs. Either way, that was long ago. “What about you? I feel like I cannot recall much of what happened…”

 

“I’m...missing stuff, too,” she said, setting down the tray and sitting beside him. “Things are kinda blurry in places. I think we got away okay, though. The news just seems confused.” She took his hand, and squeezed it. “Where do you want to go, when you’re more -- mobile? There’s a lotta people in here, and we can go stay in Lorna’s cottage in the woods, if you feel like more privacy.”

 

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, and yet she had just said something he had not expected to hear. “You would...stay with me? You do not have to.” He took her hand. “I have nightmares sometimes, Sharley. Mostly, I am afraid that something about me will drive you away.” There. He had said it. Maybe it was the medicine in him, that had loosened his tongue more than he intended but...really, how much else could go wrong today?

 

“So do I, anymore,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. “And I dunno what you think would drive me away. I -- you know how one of my...abilities...works, right? That I can see history? I haven’t seen all of yours, but I saw a lot, and I'm not gonna go running over it.”

 

He nodded slowly. “I need to talk about something else,” he whispered, looking away. A familiar pressure was building, and right now he could not endure the weight of his guilt or his grief. “Please, may I eat?”

 

“Of course,” she said, grabbing the tray again. It had legs, so it could go over his lap. “Something else, huh? Should I tell you about when this whole household went to Yellowstone? It was...well, interesting. There were marshmallow guns that look like bows -- I think we still have those, somewhere -- and random bears, and idiot tourists.”

 

“You mean the place in America? Where the geysers are? Long ago Quen and I went to Bath, but I think it is nothing like...that.”

 

“Yeah,” she said, and sipped her tea. “It’s beautiful. I don’t think there’s any other place like it on Earth. Buffalo everywhere, and there’s always morons who think they’re tame, and try to go stand next to one to take a picture. And the geysers….” She paused. “I want to try something.” She couldn’t take his hand while he was eating, but she could touch his shoulder, and try to summon the image of the Mammoth Hot Springs, in all their weird, pale, unearthly glory, steaming gently under the sunrise. While they were comparatively simple, next to some of the things they’d seen, they were one of her favorites, just because they were so  _ weird. _ They didn't look like they should be real.

 

He almost inhaled his bite of eggs, wincing as he choked just a little. Fortunately it was very easy for him to clear his throat. “Oh…!” he was surprised and pleased. “Show me more, please!” He looked up with an expression of childlike happiness, as if one tiny piece of a very large bag of candy had just been doled out.

 

“Holy shit, that worked,” she said, half surprised. She’d hoped he’d enjoy it if it did, but she hadn’t expected that reaction, either. “Okay, let me try something else.” Calling up their trip to Artist’s Point, she shut her eyes and tried to focus on the memory as closely as she could -- the cool morning air, the sunrise sparkling on the water and turning the mist of the falls into rainbows. The scent of dry earth and pine trees, bittersweet and strong; the feel of it beneath her feet, watching while Saoirse sketched away, heedless of everything else. She’d still been full of breakfast and tea, quite content to enjoy the scenery without hurry or care.

 

Of course, eventually she’d had to be a little shit and start ‘interviewing’ people with a borrowed Irish accent; what had she done with those recordings? They’d be screamingly funny, if she could find them.

 

“That was very nice,” he smiled, struggling to get an exceedingly uncooperative tidbit of egg onto his fork. “You seem to have come into your own today, a little, though I am sorry it was for such a reason.”

 

“I just wish I knew how I did it,” she sighed. “I don’t know. It almost did itself. I mean, I made them see things -- things they were afraid of -- but I don’t know  _ how _ .”

 

_ “Well, it wasn't me,”  _ Kurt said.  _ “Don’t I wish.” _

 

“I don’t suppose you know how I did it?” she asked.

 

_ “Sorry,”  _ Sinsemilla said,  _ “but even I have no idea.” _

 

“Helpful.” Sharley shook her head. “What was after that, that...fight, if you even want to call it that...the Stranger always did it before, when it needed doing. First time I ever did it while I was me, if you get me.”

 

“Well, do you know how you breathe?” he smiled. “Some things are like that. Maybe thinking about it less could help? Either way I am very proud of you, and grateful. That all would have ended very differently, were it not for you.”

 

_ “It’s worth a shot,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

“It almost seems like a dream,” Sharley admitted. “Parts of it are clear, but others just seem totally unreal. It was like -- I could see what I was making them see, but only sort of.” She looked down at the Lump, still purring away. “I’m changing so fast it scares me,” she said. “Finding these new things -- they’re new to me, anyway, but they’re actually old things, stuff I used to be able to do -- it’s almost enough to make my head spin. It’s like I don’t know up from down half the time, but being around you is...calming. Everything’s still weirder than hell, but I don’t care as much when I’m near you.”

 

It was not an easy thing for her to admit; Sharley wasn’t the sort who talked about emotional...anything, unless it was with a child. This was not an area in which she had an experience. Not that she could remember, anyway -- though, as Tirillë, she hadn’t been broken. She probably hadn’t had any experience with  _ this  _ even then.

 

Giving up on the last pieces of egg, he took her hand again. “Thank you, for telling me that. I am happiest when I can be near you. I can see how hard it is for you to say some of these things.” He sighed. “I feel I should say something that is hard for me. I want to help you as you try to rediscover your complete self. Very badly. But what happened today...I try never to fight, because it reminds me of what I did long ago. If you have seen my past then you know I have murdered my own kin. There is guilt, and shame, and I often cannot allow myself to think on it without despair following. Sooner or later I am going to fully confront that I killed people today, and it will be very hard to keep from thinking of the other.” He held her hand against his cheek, struggling not to give in to powerful feelings of despair. “I do not know how much I can discuss what happened, because of this. Probably very little.” His last words were almost a whisper, as he blinked back tears and tried to remember to take deep breaths. Deep breaths…

 

“Hey, look at me,” she said, running her thumb over his cheekbone. “Don’t push yourself on it, okay? If you need to think about something else, we’ll talk about something else. Hell, I don’t want to think about it too much, either.” She was sure it would show up in her nightmares anyway. “And we’ll just...avoid the news. Shit, we could just stay here, if we wanted. As long as the Lump eats, and we get food somehow, there’s no reason why not.” She poked the cat with her toe; the creature let out a strange noise between a trill and a squawk, shifted, and set back to purring.

 

“That might be good just for right now,” he murmured, suddenly finding it even more difficult to think. His head fell back against the pillow, and he closed his eyes just for a moment, relishing the feel of her hand. Just for a moment…  His breathing deepened, became regular, as his face relaxed into unintended sleep.

 

Sharley smiled, and stayed put. She was tired herself, but not tired enough to sleep; she’d keep an eye on him, and keep the Lump from waking him up, should the cat decide to stir. Just now, he smelled of lavender, and peppermint; it was a pity he was far too tall to make a comfortable doll.

 

*****

 

{July 10, 2026}

 

By their third day, Earlene barely knew what to do with herself. Their hotel had a spa in addition to the fine restaurants, which included an indoor pool, professional masseuses, and a small gym with modern exercise equipment. None of this discussed the steam room or the sauna, either. She swam laps with both ellyn, only mildly dismayed that she tired before they did. This was a different kind of exercise, and felt much better to her body. Some English language novels were to be had cheaply at a used bookstore in the village, and she found herself with a copy of Umberto Eco’s  _ The Name of the Rose _ . Having seen the Papal seat at Avignon, and staying in a hotel that rested atop 12th century fortifications, her surroundings could not have been better for enjoying this cerebral and intricate literary masterpiece. Though, it was fortunate that she had a second book to read when she was in areas for ladies only, because before long she could not read it without Thanadir.

 

Thanadir had heard enough through Earlene’s thoughts as she read, and immediately became entranced by the plot. The forbidden library, the descriptions of the monks toiling at their long days in the scriptorium, the inexplicable murders amidst the Classical literature...sometimes he would cradle her in his lap while she read to him, his head resting on her shoulder or the softness of her breast. More than once, Thranduil proved to be the ruination of their time in the imagined Abbey, with his welcome and frequent seductions…

 

“‘ _ Graecum est, non legitur’,”  _ Earlene read aloud _. ‘I finished his sentence, humiliated. It is Greek to me.’ _

 

_ ‘Exactly, and you see that Bacon was right. Study! But we must not lose heart… _ .”

 

“Meldis wait,” said Thandir. “How can bacon be right about anything? It is something to eat, is it not?”

 

Earlene erupted in giggles, stopping to pepper the confused elf’s cheeks with kisses. “You are precious, my love. Francis Bacon was a philosopher that lived in the 1500’s. I think that is the only Bacon that could be under discussion.”

 

“Oh,” he said, blushing handsomely. “But did you not tell me that this story is set in the 1300s?”

 

“Er...I did say that, didn’t I? Well, _ I  _ didn’t say that, the author rather did, because Marsilius of Padua lived during the….”

 

“Oh  _ ERU, _ you two!” Thranduil said, crawling on the bed to embrace both of them. “We are in one of the beautiful places of earth and you are squabbling about Catholics and philosophers.”

 

“That is not accurate at all,” Earlene rebutted with mock indignity. “We have also been squabbling about Latin, Church doctrine almost no one remembers, and monastic life. Learned subjects for learned people.” Her smirk was tremendous. 

 

Thranduil’s eyes flared with the challenge. “I too know something about these monasteries,” he said, wickedly.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Meldis…” Thanadir tried to issue a warning, but she waved him aside.

 

“I want to hear what he knows about monasteries,” she smirked, expecting a completely ridiculous answer.   
  
“Well,” he said, moving with catlike grace, his fingers deftly unbuttoning her blouse. “I know that this would have been forbidden.”

 

In a moment, her brassiere was unclasped, allowing a warm tongue to trace to her nipple and curl around it. A soft gasp escaped her, as she felt her milk let down involuntarily. In all these years, she had never fully ceased lactating, because she had two spouses that indulged on a daily basis. What had once been for children had become a staple of their intimate lives. All of them enjoyed this, so what was the difference? Thanadir was quick to follow; even when he wished nothing further, he could be counted on to enjoy a sweet treat of any description. Especially this one.

 

“This was never going to be your intellectual addition to the discussion, was it?” she murmured, suddenly unable to protest much.

 

“I tried to warn you,” smiled Thanadir, as he returned to gently laving her breast with his tongue.

 

Leaning her head down she smoothed her hands over their heads. One flaxen, one shining brown with just a few golden highlight. Their suckling felt  _ wonderful _ . “I want to feel your skin,” she pleaded. “Both of you?” 

 

The seneschal hesitated briefly then nodded, smiling. Even he knew that though he ordinarily did not have so much interest, being away from children and the usual routines allowed for more by way of carnal enjoyments.  _ So does indolence and exercise and relaxation _ , he thought, stripping off his shirt at her behest.

 

While the ellyn indulged themselves a little more, elegant movements achieved the removal of the rest of their clothing. Thranduil was unsurprisingly already fully aroused, his manhood at attention over his abdomen. He drew both of them toward him in an embrace, as their legs splayed underneath each of them. “Thanadir, are you willing to try something different with us?” the King asked.

 

“How...different?” he asked cautiously, finding that even now he had to battle down fear of anything new that was not of his own originality.

 

Thranduil chuckled. “You have seen how Earlene pleasures me sometimes. You have never had this enjoyment, and I would be happy to offer it...while you make love to our wife.”

 

Thanadir’s eyes widened. “You would not….”

 

“No, no,” Thranduil hastened to reassure him. “I have a toy. And I have fingers. I love you dearly, but I have not felt called to join my body to yours. I believe you feel the same.”

 

Thanadir nodded, and looked down. “It is a miracle I have managed this much,” he laughed, the tension suddenly breaking and his nervousness along with it. Glancing at Earlene, he saw the gleam of intense interest that she was attempting to hide. “Well, if it were an election I would be outvoted,” he said, amused. 

 

“I don’t want you to do anything you are not comfortable with,” she admonished. “But yes, I find the idea rather exciting.”

 

“I will try,” he smiled. “Will anything hurt?” he asked Thranduil, worriedly.

 

“You will feel quite the opposite,” Thranduil smiled. “This will be very slow. When you are ready, lie on top of Earlene, and straddle her body with your legs. Be comfortable, and make sure she can reach your back and shoulders. Enjoy yourselves, and leave the rest to me.”

 

Thanadir propped himself up on his elbows, once he did as he was asked. Scented oil was drizzled onto his back after Earlene pulled his hair to one side, with little sighs of contentment escaping the elf as Earlene kneaded his shoulder and neck muscles while Thranduil’s strong hands caressed and worked all tension from his lower back. “That feels nice,” Thanadir murmured, his eyes relaxing more and more with each passing touch. He sank down gradually, until he ended up in the yoga position called the Child. The only difference was, he had Earlene for a large body pillow, and his head resting against her chest took in the steady beat of her heart while she traced patterns around all the muscles she could reach. Low moans of bliss escaped him, as Thranduil’s hands worked lower. This went on for quite some time. He felt a little alarmed, when those fingers began to smooth over places he was not accustomed to being touched, and Earlene felt him react.

 

“Shhh, meldir,” she whispered. “Do not be afraid. Tell yourself it will feel very, very good, because that is true. This will be better than chocolate, I think. Relax,” she encouraged, craning her head around to kiss him. He loved to be kissed, and this soon drew him to her. It was necessary to raise his body up, a little, to kiss her properly, and her hand took advantage of the gap between them now. Dexterous fingers traced down his chest and abdomen to caress all of him, slowly arousing him even as he became aware that the gentle pressures elsewhere had begun to feel very nice. So nice that he relaxed more, unwittingly moving back against them. 

 

Thranduil was careful to add more oil to his efforts, as Earlene’s gentle stroking became rhythmic. And the King helped a little, too; enhancing the sensations his friend felt. He was grateful for the effort Thanadir made to participate with them in a manner not inherent to his person. If nothing else he did his best to keep his gwador’s experiences positive, pleasurable. Soon Earlene was rewarded with the weight of a firm erection in her hand, and continued to feather her fingers over him with delicate, teasing motions that he could no longer ignore. Soft gasps of enjoyment punctuated his need to move in a way that increased his stimulation. It was then that he realized that something else was moving just inside of him, and that he did indeed like it very much. Yet more oil was added, and then Thranduil edged his hand forward, seeking to rub the small swelling just a little further on…

 

“ _ Sweet Eru!! _ ” the sensitive ellon gasped, even as Earlene moved to sheathe Thanadir inside of her. His look of wide-eyed wonder and complete abandonment was among the more beautiful things she had ever seen.  _ The Ecstasy of St. Teresa could not have been greater _ , Earlene felt, recalling the expression on that masterwork of marble sculpture. His rosy lips were a perfect oval, and his face described that particular pleasure that was so close to pain.

 

_ Thanadir, you are exquisite,  _ he heard by way of encouragement.  _ I want to feel your bliss, know that I am helping you to feel so good. Please let me have that, meldir. You are so beautiful…  _ in that moment she wanted to be at one with him more than anything else she could think of. This was sacred, and the love in her heart poured out toward him.

 

He felt helpless, but he did not want help. There was an understanding, that Thranduil was enhancing his experience, but how could anyone possibly mind? Nothing had ever felt this wonderful. Not his first experiences of intercourse, not chocolate, not anything could compare to the sensations commanding his body as he rocked between the heated grip of Earlene’s intimate places and the clever digit that was setting him aflame. And it did not stop, his rapture only kept increasing until tears pooled in his eyes. He did not know if he could stand much more. A cry escaped him and his lithe body shuddered, as he exploded in release. Having never been so undone, emotion swept him away. Sobs of joy escaped him as his seed surged into his wife. Thranduil felt the powerful spasms inside of the ellon’s body, and marveled at the experience. Yes, this had been arousing...it had also been a privilege. Slowly, carefully, he allowed his finger to slip away in the ongoing aftermath of the orgasm.

 

Earlene held him tightly as he cried and subsided, feeling his questions and confusions in her mind. “It has happened to me too, sometimes,” she whispered. “Crying after your climax is nothing of which to be ashamed. Your vulnerability and the sharing of your feelings are a priceless gift to me.”

 

Thanadir felt better very soon, also relaxing into the steady rubbing of his back Thranduil provided as though he were soothing one of their children. He sat up slowly, as he slipped out of Earlene’s body with a last sniff and a smile. “You were right. It was better than chocolate. But you have not had a release. Either of you,” he said, turning now to hug Thranduil in thanks.

 

“Fear not,” the King smiled, only too happy to remedy that situation. A moan of happiness followed his entrance into his wife.

 

“I do not know why,” she said, “but that feels twice as good when there has been an interruption.”

 

“Anticipation,” Thranduil replied, thrusting hard.

 

“Oh?” Earlene teased while a grunt of satisfaction slipped past her throat. “What are you anticipating?”

 

For an answer he claimed her mouth.  _ I love you, Earlene. Through all my mistakes, all my shortcomings, you have never wavered. You have given me joy and beautiful children. Companionship and warmth and reassurance. I fear that I miss the mark, in my ability to express my love in ways other than this. These have been the best moments of my life, all the days since you came to me. _

 

Her arms wrapped around him. What had started out as a lustful interlude was becoming far more emotionally involved all the way around.  _ I am not perfect either. I love you, and though I struggle sometimes, I want no other life.  _ Her heart opened to him. There were no more thoughts of crowns or mistakes or difficulties. Only desire, and love. So much love.

 

Thranduil felt the touch of a warm hand on his lower back, and the silent question from Thanadir. An offer of reciprocation.  _ Yes.  _ Warm liquid was followed by touches, and soon the King was lost to the passion of the moment. He too, had never been able to have exactly this experience, and it was ecstasy. The deep baritone groan that escaped him when his body stiffened and shuddered in release was quite possibly the sexiest thing Earlene had ever heard. At least, insofar as it could even register, as her body crushed around his arousal in climax. In a tangle of arms and legs they held each other, sleepy and satisfied. Nobody woke until an hour before dinner. Thranduil was the first to sit up groggily, followed by Thanadir. 

 

“You are ruining my asexuality,” Thanadir scowled, though he wasn’t making the best job of it.   
  


“You are telling me that you mind?” Thranduil asked, genuinely concerned. 

 

“No,” Thanadir said. “And yes. I like...how I am. I concentrate well on other things. I accomplish a great deal because thoughts about sex do not distract me. But...I also could not complain about what happened earlier without being a complete liar,” he laughed, shaking his head. “That truly was very nice.”

 

“You two are making me wish I had a prostate,” Earlene mumbled, rubbing her eyes.  _ DAMN, that had been good.  _ She stretched luxuriously. “But since that cannot happen, I think I need a shower.” Both ellyn’s eyes followed her as she sauntered naked into the bathroom, unconscious of her own appeal.

 

“There are so many times I can barely remember she is not an elleth,” Thanadir said quietly.

 

“I pray every day, about that,” Thranduil admitted. “It is a hope I cling to.”

 

“I do too,” Thanadir admitted. “I pray that they will show us mercy, for I do not know what I will otherwise do. I did not know I needed anyone but you, before. But now...and the children…”

 

“I know, meldir,” the King said, gathering him into a hug. “And that is why I pray.”

 

Earlene stood under the shower, replete. She ran her hand down her body. Her forty-eight year old body, that seemed not a day older than thirty. Thranduil had kept his promises; she had not visibly aged a day in the ten years they had been wed. Her fingers paused over her flat belly. Faeleth had been so, so hard, but some place inside of her still wanted more. When it was not miserable, it was wonderful, to feel children inside of her. She shook her head. _It is insanity even to think it, after last time. Besides, we all agreed, Faeleth was the end of it._  But when her ellyn loved her, when their seed filled her...it felt like hope, even though she knew hope was waning. _Is there something wrong with me, to still desire this? No, this used to be normal,_ she reasoned. _Women that could bore many little ones._ _I am so lucky, to have been given a body that can do it. But I am not young any longer. Or am I? Valar, I do not know. This is a ridiculous consideration, Earlene. But I still wish..._


	124. One Hundred and Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 14-15, 2026
> 
> We loooove the comments, thank you! We also loved seeing this story reach ten thousand hits, that is pretty special and we owe it all to you wonderful readers. Thank you! <3

Pat kind of hated the fact that Ratiri had to tie his tie for him, but it couldn’t be helped. It wasn't like he’d ever had any cause to learn such a thing himself.

 

“You’ll be fine,” his brother-in-law said. “You know the menu, you know how to order wine, you’ve got a suit that fits like a dream, and I know for a fact Lorna took Grania shopping the second to last time she was in Dublin in the spring. You’ll both look fabulous and get to act like rich snobs.”

 

“Well, I don’t want to be doing this for  _ my  _ next bloody birthday,” Pat grumbled.

 

“Fair enough, but it’s not your birthday, it’s Grania’s. Go comb your hair one more time and get going.”

 

Pat, grumbling, did. He had a little grey in his hair now, though not much; Lorna tried to console him by saying it make him look distinctive. Or distinguished. Something like that. Either way, he didn't buy it; he was just a man on the downhill slope of middle-age, though at least with few wrinkles to show for it yet.

 

The suit did fit quite perfectly, though -- no surprise, given Thanadir had tailored it. Paired with his jacket and some shiny shoes, he actually looked posh. It was more than a little scary.

 

He emerged into the Heart Room to find his still rather zombie-like sister holding out her car keys. “Wreck the Charger and I’ll hunt you down, but otherwise, go have fun,” she said, jangling them a little.

 

His eyebrows climbed. “You’re letting me borrow your  _ car _ ?” he asked. “Has hell frozen over?”

 

She rolled her eyes; the right one was no longer partly red, it was halfway to a sickly yellow. “Just take the keys, before I change my mind,” she said. “No food in the car, make sure you lock it, and don’t drive like...me.”

 

He grinned, and took the keys. “Thanks, baby sister,” he said, giving her a very gentle noogie. She was still sore, and moved with somewhat exaggerated care, but Saoirse had been looking after her.

 

“Don’t do anything gross!” the girl in question called, from the end of the sofa nearest the fireplace.

 

“Oh Saoirse,” Lorna sighed. “Your da hasn’t done anything gross in years, let him live a little.”

 

To his own discomfort, Pat felt himself flush right to his hairline, and escaped while he had a chance, his daughter’s  _ Eeeew, Aunt Lorna!  _ chasing him out the door.

 

He’d always wanted to drive Lorna’s car, and she’d never let him --  _ nobody  _ drove the Charger, not even Ratiri. She only even let anyone touch it if they were riding in it. Maybe this night would not be so bad after all.

 

Grania was not here quite yet -- Lorna, Lorna the Younger, was apparently driving her in on the sofa. The day after the attack on Stephens Green, Grania had called him and said they needed out of Dublin, because this was just the latest thing in a long line of bullshit, and she was afraid for their daughter’s safety on the streets. 

 

He’d asked Lorna the Elder what to do, and she had told Grania that if she wanted to move into their flats in the Halls, that was okay by everyone, and would they be needing a moving van? The result was that his daughter and the woman he hoped would one day be his girlfriend again had a permanent home in the Halls, safe away from the dangers of Dublin and all that went with them. Given that the business was largely mail-order, it wasn’t hard to move it, either; they’d set up the silk-screening machine in the Duncan-Donovan rec room.

 

The car was warmed up by the time the sofa arrived; summer it might be, but the evening was on the chilly side. When she stood, he saw she had on some kind of dark red cocktail dress beneath a black wool jacket, just a little make-up and what was unmistakably the necklace Thranduil had given Lorna the Elder so many years ago. Like him, her hair now had a little grey in it, but it had grown back thick and strong after the cancer, and the elf shampoo had left it very shiny. It hung loose, as she’d often worn it when they were younger, a little past her shoulders. The whole effect left Pat quite speechless.

 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Mam,” Lorna the Younger warned.  _ She  _ had on sweats and fuzzy slippers, and Pat got the feeling she intended to stay camped out at Eldamar until they got home. Oh, the irony of their adult daughter waiting up for them.

 

“I don’t know what you wouldn’t do, now do I?” Grania retorted. “Maybe now you’re out’v Dublin, you’ll find a boyfriend yourself.”

 

“Where, under a rock? The only people out here are either Elves, or someone I’m related to,” Lorna the Younger said. “G’wan, get out’v here. Da, don’t drive like Aunt Lorna.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Yes Mother,” he said. “All right, Grania, we’ve got the Charger, and there’s a present for you in the house, but you don’t get it until we get home.”

 

Her eyebrows rose. “Should I be worried?” 

 

“Probably not,” he said. “I didn't let anyone help me with it, so at least if it  _ does  _ go wrong, it’s only my fault.”

 

“Well, now I’m  _ really  _ scared. Let’s go eat.”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

*****

 

Lorna the Younger guided the sofa into the barn, covering it with a tarp. She rolled her eyes as she went into Eldamar, and headed for the fridge. “I want to slap both’v them upside the head,” she said. “I mean, it’s been five bloody years.  _ Five years _ . Are they just going to stay like this forever?”

 

“Hopefully not, now that you’re living so close,” her aunt said. “Though if they don’t hurry it up, we might have to do something about it.” Jesus, the poor woman really did look like a zombie: some of the mottled bruises on her face were still dark, but others had bled into greeny-yellows, joining one another until there was almost more bruise than skin. Tasty.

 

“Like what?” Lorna the Younger asked. “I mean, we could lock them in a closet, but I’m pretty sure Mam has claustrophobia.”

 

“Wouldn’t work with your da, either,” Lorna the Elder said, pouring a cup of tea. “No, we’re going to have to sit down and stage an intervention, honestly. Point out that they’re being stupid, nobody’s getting any younger, and they might as well give over and finally bloody get married. Especially now that you’ve all but moved in anyway.”

 

“I'm glad I'm out’v Dublin,” the girl said, shivering a little as she set about dishing up some leftover macaroni salad. “It’s been...scary, there, the last couple months. Just kind’v wrote it off, and didn't think about it too much, but that was a bloody wake-up call.”

 

“I hadn’t thought it was that bad, either,” her aunt said, adding sugar and cream to her tea. “That it’s that blatant -- that they’re that willing to crawl out’v their holes -- it makes me wonder what kind’v world’s left for Shane and Atia to grow up in. Chandra can pass easily, but those two…” She shook her head. “I’d thought it was bad, when I was young. And I guess it was, but not like this.”

 

“I almost wonder if this plague isn’t a good thing,” Lorna the Younger said. “Mam said I shouldn’t talk like that, because’v all the good people who’ll die, but if not in the plague, then what? Nuclear winter? World's on its way to hell in a handbasket anyway.”

 

Lorna looked at her niece, who was far too young to have such a mindset -- but on the other hand, with the world as it currently was, how could you not?

 

*****

 

Earlene smiled as she drove them home from Dublin. It had been the perfect getaway. Perfect. But that brought another consideration. “I want to say something,” she began redundantly, since obviously she was doing just that already. “Please can we not have to have something bad happen, in order to do this more? It doesn’t even have to be for so many days. Even three would be wonderful. I have never packed up and impulsively gone for short exotic holidays before, and in not so many years there won’t be the possibility.”

 

“I confess this was good for all of us, I think,” Thranduil agreed. “You are right, meluieg. Our children are a little older; the household is stable. And we have a plural marriage that is special with its own...demands. We do not talk as much as we should, relax with each other as much as we should. I would think that three or four such outings a year could be more than manageable. Thanadir, do you agree?”

 

“MmmmmHmmmm,” the seneschal answered dreamily from the back seat. “I like France. I do not mean to insult Ireland but I am not certain I can look at a basket of fish and chips the same way again, after the food we ate. And the wines…. C’est magnifique…”

 

“The good news is there is food everywhere, meldir. Though I agree that French food is among the finest. Huh. Maybe it’s time to finally get to know Julia.”

 

“Who is she? Someone in Dublin?” Thanadir asked, confused.

 

“Julia Child, the famous chef,” Earlene answered, grinning. “She published some magnificent cookbooks, but has died. Have you never heard of her?”

 

“Should I have?” asked Thanadir.

 

“Well, you will. You are about to meet The Art of French Cooking, volumes one and two, I think.”

 

“And I can eat them?”

 

“MmmmmHmmmm.”

 

“Yummy,” Thanadir smiled while Thranduil shook his head. Then again, he could not really criticize. At the end of the day, food was more necessary than sex. He just knew which he preferred, is all.

 

**

 

It was about five o’clock, when they parked in the driveway, hoping to sneak into Eldamar unnoticed. No such luck. Flannery and Kiernan were quite literally bouncing up to the windows, barking in excitement to see them. Some years back everyone had relented and installed dog doors, which saved huge amounts of hassle for potty trips if nothing else. The dogs of course alerted the children and...the rest was history. Lothiriel and Ortherion came to greet them. Luggage was dropped and arms were opened and...good grief there were more children than arms. Many hugs and kisses later, they made it into the house amidst the excited chatter. The first thing that arrested Thranduil’s attention was the sight of Maglor with his arm in a sling, though he was smiling and happy. He bent down to carry one of the items of luggage as Earlene looked at his injury, openmouthed. But this was nothing compared to the King catching sight of Lorna. Had he not been carrying Algar it was quite possible whatever was in his arms might have been dropped. Pure fear and panic crossed his face before reason took hold. Surely she would not be walking around like this if she was not well? But his eyes were not convinced. “Aunt Lorna looks like Attack of the Zombies,” his son phlegmatically observed. “Chandra said so.”

 

_ For once, Chandra may be right _ , Thranduil thought. “I love you, ion, but we should say nicer things about others,” he gently corrected. “Can you help your Nana carry her bags into the house?” The child was lowered to the ground as he approached Lorna and went down on one knee to see her better. “What in Eru’s name happened?” he asked, almost afraid to touch her.

 

She grimaced, her eyes flicking momentarily to Maglor and Sharley. As there were no children nearby, she said, “Short story, I got shot in the face. A lot. Longer story, there was a terrorist attack in Stephens Green, and Sharley, Kana, Quen and I were right in the middle’v it. Kana and Sharley got shot, too, except it actually, you know, did more than bruise them. Ratiri’s looked after it, but it needs magic attention.”

 

“His does,” Sharley said. “Mine’s fine. Plaster situation. Literally.”

 

“Give me just a moment. Extra grateful King points to anyone who can have three cups of tea waiting for us in the Heart Room in say, ten minutes.” It was obvious that no one was going to perish in that interim, so he might as well properly settle his family. This was clearly not going to be a two minute discussion. Quen moved to care for the request immediately, while Thranduil passed along the information once in his room. Thanadir and Earlene had gone to the side entrance of the house, and in the press of children had not noticed anything beyond Maglor.

 

Earlene dropped all her bags on the floor and ran out of the room to see Lorna curled up on the sofa in the Heart Room and froze, looking at her for the first time since It All had happened. “I’m so sorry,” she said, leaning down to hug her as carefully as possible. At the moment, the ugly Queen Stuff felt like it had happened ten years ago, not less than a week ago.

 

“Hey, I was the asshole,” Lorna said, wincing a little as she returned the hug. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I never do seem to be able to get over shoving my own foot down my throat, but I hope you had fun, at least. Mairead’s always going on about how nice France was.”

 

Earlene nodded her head, speechless at how bad she looked. _ She looked better when she was almost dead, for Valar’s sake. _ Quen pressed a cup of tea into her hands, for which she thanked him. Her eyes traveled back to Maglor, who appeared more chagrined than injured.  _ Deep breath, Earlene _ , she reminded herself. 

 

Thranduil and Thanadir came in behind her, with grave expressions. “First things first,” he intoned, gesturing for Thanadir to manage the tea that was offered to him. “Please come here, Kana,” the King asked.

 

Feeling extremely like an errant school-child, he did as he was asked. Thranduil held his injury, needing only moments to repair it. Maglor felt only a spreading, pleasant warmth that replaced the dull ache. “Thank you,” he said gratefully, realizing that his arm was somehow well again.

 

“Lorna, please do not ask me to look at you like this for the next several weeks.” If one more person told him about a plaster he was not certain what he was going to do.

 

Lorna’s instinct was to argue, but she knew there was no point -- plus, she really did look awful, and she’d scared Atia more than once. She was also sore as hell. Wincing a little, she rose, padding over in her stocking feet. “I’m never going to Dublin again,” she said. “Bad things happen when I do. Grania and Lorna the Younger moved into the Halls afterward.”  _ Getting shot in the face sucks, by the way,  _ she added.

 

“Doll time,” he murmured, though not so loudly that the whole room could hear. She was picked up as carefully as possible and hugged against him, much as he would carry his own daughters who were still physically not that large. This time his light flared.  _ I see glimmers of what happened. I hope I have already mentioned that I am glad you are on our side. I wish you would have told me but I understand why you did not. Bad timing all around.   _ When the brilliance abated he set her on the floor. “Good. No more zombie jokes,” he smiled.

 

She grinned, and it didn't hurt. “Thank you,” she said.  _ Sharley, Kana, and Quen are the ones I’m  _ really  _ glad are on our side. I don’t know what she did, and she doesn't, either. She and Kana have been staying out in the cottage, for the first few days, just to get some peace and quiet.  _ “I hope France was less eventful than Dublin.”

 

_ It was not eventful at all, but I am sure that was the point. However, I need to know more, if you will pardon me a moment. _

 

“Quen, would you please come to me? Will you allow me to see your memories?”

 

The ellon approached him with some nervousness. “You are my King. But...I do not know what to do? I can speak this way, but how do I…?”

 

“Just open yourself to me, then concentrate on remembering what happened as best as you can. The more detail, the more in order the events are, the easier it will be. I would like to do this with all four of you, if you are willing. I will not demand it, but I would like the clearest understanding possible.”

 

Quen nodded, and held out his hands. This was always easier with touch. 

 

A few minutes later, he had gleaned all that was possible. Thranduil could feel the strain in Quen’s mind, as he sought to recall so much detail. Even for one who was a scholar and accustomed to keen observation, this was not easy. “Anybody else?” Thranduil asked.

 

Lorna looked at Sharley, who was visibly hesitating; she’d never seen Thranduil do this before, so Lorna went first, and tried to give her a reassuring wink. She took Thranduil’s hands, and did her best -- she trusted him entirely, but trying not to blink was not easy for a human.

 

“Same as with Quen,” he reassured. “If it is easier, close your eyes. Just try to play back what you can remember as if it were a...movie.”

 

In some places, especially the beginning, that was easy. Too easy. She couldn’t keep the sheer rage she’d felt out of the memory, though she tried. The fight itself was somewhat more blurry, mostly because there had been so much going on. She’d been peripherally aware of what Sharley was doing, but Kana and Quen moved so fast it had been hard to track them even when she wasn’t getting shot in the face. Seriously, she’d thought  _ Thanadir  _ was fast, but these two had him beat.  _ I think I left my fingerprints on a gun _ , she said, but dipped back into the memory again. Sharley had looked...she didn't know what Sharley had looked like, other than not herself. Her eyes had been so bright, so wide, so...inhuman. And from what she’d seen of Kana -- of his expression -- she was damn glad Quen had put him under when he did.

 

Thranduil released her, with thanks, now more puzzled than ever at what he had seen. Lorna had fought, that much was clear, but Sharley and Maglor had done much more. He turned now to the two of them, his eyes questioning.

 

_ He can’t do that _ , she said.  _ I know he can’t. He’s too fragile, still, even though we’ve been out away from most people for a while. I’ll try, but I’m not sure how much help I can be. A lot of it’s kinda fuzzy. _

 

_ Do your best. I appreciate this,  _ he added.

 

She took his hands, shut her eyes, and...tried. Even in retrospect, she didn't know how she’d done what she did -- how she’d been able to go into their minds and find their fears, when she couldn’t actually use any kind of telepathy with anyone on her own yet. It had almost done itself, using her rather than her using it. Whatever the Stranger had known about fighting had passed to her, because it had been sheer muscle memory guiding her, until the last one -- the one she’d pulled a Khan on. That was the only bit that actually nauseated her, because that….that was too much. Even the Stranger wouldn’t have done  _ that _ .

 

_ They would have killed you without hesitation. They deserved it. You may have saved many lives, with what you did. I will have to reflect on this but...I am proud of you, Sharley. I will do anything I can to help you. And, I am going to take Kana aside privately. Not to try to do this, but to try to help him if I can. I do not want you to worry. I can see his pain, and I would never seek to harm him. _

 

_ He’s having nightmares _ , she said, honestly quite relieved to find he neither judged nor feared her.  _ We both are, but his are worse.  _ They were about more than just the mall, but she wasn’t going to say more than that. It wasn’t hers to say.

 

_ I think I can guess. How often? _

 

_ Every night, so far. I think he’s been trying to stay awake, so he doesn’t scare me. _

 

_ I would prefer if you returned to staying at Eldamar, if I may ask that. There are medicines we have that can help him. Plus, we can keep him asleep. I do not mean to intrude into your privacy, but he needs a chance to put distance between the wounds I fear were reopened. _

 

_ I’ll ask him to, and you should, too. He didn't want to stay there at first, but once he decided to give it a shot, he decided he liked it -- I think because we’re alone out there. He might listen to both of us,  _ she said, with a half-smile. Yes, he was a stubborn one.  _ I’ve been trying to show him things I remember from Yellowstone, or places like Ross Lake, to give him something else to think about. And if I bring him back, the Lump Ness Monster will distract him even more. I’ve never actually seen a cat flirt before, but she does. _

 

Thranduil smiled and nodded. What Sharley seemed to be forgetting was that Maglor now had no choice but to listen to him. But he would rather guide than demand. Theirs was a delicate situation. “Kana, would you please walk with me?” the King asked.

 

Maglor nodded, his eyes downcast, but he followed obediently. His anxiety rose, as they made their way through the forest to a quiet clearing.

 

“You are afraid,” Thranduil said gently.

 

The proud ellon nodded, feeling ashamed.

 

“No, Kana. There is no reason to feel that way. You do not fully...understand. I promised to care for you. I cannot do everything, but this I can help. I am going to embrace you, but will not do so against your will. Can you tolerate that?”

 

“Yes.” The voice struggled for control; he could hear the tremor.

 

Very slowly, Thranduil reached out and drew the ellon closer. An indescribable sensation began to move through Maglor, banishing the anxiety and the weight on his heart. “I will not ask you to remember what happened in Dublin. I know that it is too difficult. But would you consent to open your thoughts to me?”

 

_ You do not want to see what is here, my King. The things I have done… _

 

_ I am not asking in order to judge you, Kana. That is the furthest thing from my mind. And there is nothing you can show me that I have not already seen before. Please. Let me help you.  _

 

Maglor had few tenets to which his mind clung, but oaths were one of them. Had he not given his fealty, no power on earth would have caused him to consent. But because of his promises, he would force himself. The gates of his thought were thrown open, even as he sank to his knees with a pitiful cry, clutching at Thranduil much as a drowning man who flails to find a handhold on anything at all but cannot manage in spite of his desperation. Thranduil let himself be taken to his knees as well, because he would not let the ellon go. Maglor was strong, but he was stronger. And now that there was no resistance, he moved forward, muting the worst of the recollections. He felt he had no right to fully take away these memories; this was an extraordinary case. But what he felt he could safely do to assuage his mind and spirit, he did. His pain had been staggering, and Thranduil shed tears for the suffering of this one. And he prayed.  _ Valar, he is mine now to care for. Surely there is a path for him? Surely there is a way? I do not ask for his crimes to be swept aside but surely he has suffered and paid in penance? There is goodness in him. Please, hear me...please guide me. _

 

Thranduil held the taller elf while a measure of the intense grief escaped him. He would not banish it entirely; something told him not to, and there was more.... But no one with goodness still remaining deserved to live like this. Eventually Kana quieted. “Kana, your hand...your hand is in pain?” he asked, as he examined it more closely. The scarring was faint now, perhaps washed over by time, but still clear to one who was looking. Eyes widening, Thranduil understood in a flash of insight what this was. He looked up at the ellon in astonishment.

 

“That is my punishment, for my disobedience to Eönwë,” he whispered. “When the herald of Manwë declared to my brother and I that our right to possess them was forfeit. The Silmaril was more than I could endure, and while the scarring faded over the long ages, the pain never completely subsided. I have learned to manage it. To live with it. For many centuries I could not play the harp, and slowly relearned. But the rest of what you have done for me...how can you do that?” he whispered, his throat still hoarse from weeping. 

 

“I have never been entirely certain. My father had certain powers. When I became King, they manifested in me. They grew in strength, over the years. I know that my gift of healing is unusual but it has...come in handy.”

 

Kana nodded, unable to process how he felt. Or rather, how he didn’t feel. It felt like much of a heavy chain had broken away. “Thank you, my King.” He wiped his eyes. His trust had increased by leaps and bounds; it had not been a mistake to pledge himself.

 

“You are welcome. But Kana...I wish you to stay again with us at Eldamar. Your relationship with Sharley is one in which I will do my utmost not to interfere, but it is my duty to watch over you now. You experienced a...setback, and I mean to make sure that it...I mean to make sure you are cared for. I would rather not have to command you in this.”

 

Maglor smiled. The implication was quite clear. “I will do as you ask. Perhaps this is for the best. My father’s temper is buried inside of me. So is some of his stubbornness.”

 

“Then I will count myself fortunate to have your pledge,” Thranduil smiled, raising him up. “Come, we will return now.”

 

“Aran Thranduil,” Kana tentatively asked as they walked. “There is something I have been meaning to ask you. There are many children under your roof, and only Eldan has expressed a strong interest in the study of music. I wondered what your families would think about adding music formally to their curriculum. If I am to dwell here, I think it would be better for me to have occupation. When my mind is busy, it does not reflect so much on my difficulties. When we last spoke you wished me to instruct others in warfare but...”

 

“That was before I understood how fighting affects you. A time may come when we will need your skills, but it is not just yet. I like this idea, and will discuss it with the other parents here. Much will be left behind in the future, but music should not be one of them.”

 

Maglor smiled, and bowed his head.

 

**

 

Lorna the Younger stared at her aunt. She’d never actually seen Thranduil’s healing power before; he’d taken her mam aside, when he’d dealt with the cancer, so she hadn’t witnessed it herself. Now she looked at Lorna the Elder’s face, completely unmarred, without even the faintest hint of a bruise. “Holy shit,” she said.

 

“Funny, that’s almost exactly what I said, the first time I saw him do that,” Lorna the Elder said. “Even he doesn’t know how it works, or why he has it. It’s not normal for elves to have  _ that  _ kind’v healing ability, any more than they’ve got the level’v telepathy he does. I know his da had it, but I don’t know if either’v his grandparents did.” He’d never spoken of them, which made her suspect they’d either died or sailed before he was born. How far back did it go? And where did it come from? Did one of the Valar poke one of his ancestors in the brain with a stick, and go, ‘Here, have a few awesome extras’? All really old elves seemed to have telepathic abilities, but she didn't think any of them were anywhere near Thranduil’s level.

 

“And you’re like, totally healed?” her niece asked.

 

“Totally. Bruises, even that many, aren’t much to him.” Though they were still  _ something _ ; between that and Maglor’s much more serious wound, she hoped he’d rest, and not do that again for a while. She was quite grateful, but still, if it had been totally up to her, she’d have just dealt with it until it healed naturally.  _ You worry too much _ , she told herself, but she couldn’t help it. It was just what she did.

 

She was also terrible at apologies, given how often they tended to dissolve into word vomit, but sooner or later she needed to corner Earlene, and give her a proper one. Saying she’d been an asshole wasn’t exactly enough.

 

Sharley glanced at the door, simultaneously worried and relieved. If nothing else, Thranduil could hopefully fix the nightmares. Maglor didn't talk about them, and she figured she knew why: if they weren’t dredging up other nasty things from his history, she’d be very surprised. Even now, she couldn’t actually read his mind, but the shape of his emotions became clearer every day.

 

But he was, in his own way, so fragile, and even Thranduil wasn’t infallible. There was a chance, however small, that it might go...badly. If that happened, she wouldn’t have the first clue how to pick up the pieces.

 

And her own nightmares were no fun at all. Over and over, she crushed the man’s head, and the horror of it never lessened. The rest she could justify -- it had been fast, clean. Most had probably been dead before they knew what happened. That man, though...she had no excuse. She’d simply been enraged, memories she struggled so hard to repress trying to fight their way to the surface. His blood had been hot on her hands, so hot, smelling so strongly of copper she half fancied she could taste it…

 

Sharley shuddered, and when to sit beside Lorna the Elder. She couldn’t hug her doll friend in front of God and everyone, but she could sit beside her, and let the lavender of her hair act as a balm. It didn't surprise her, that she’d loved lavender Before as well. How many other things she couldn’t remember had unconsciously influenced who she was now?

 

_ Tirillë _ , she thought. The name still didn't register as ‘me’ to her; Maglor tended to use it interchangeably with what she could only think of as her real name. It wasn’t entirely alien though, either, and she didn't know how that could even work. It wasn’t her, but at the same time, it didn't totally feel like  _ not  _ her, either, and it was enough to give her a headache. Annoyingly, she was still susceptible to  _ those _ ; even yet, she felt more human than anything else.

 

She sighed, leaning against Lorna. Sooner or later, she needed to go home for a while, but she worried about leaving Maglor. Oh, he’d said he’d be fine when she did, but she didn't believe it. Not remotely. The only other person he seemed to really trust was Quen, so it wasn’t like she could ask the D&D’s to look after him. She was pretty sure he’d never regard them like she did, which made her rather sad. They’d become family to her, every bit as much as Marty had been, but they were very human. Possibly too human for him to ever really bond with. So far, the only humans he seemed really comfortable spending long periods of time around were Saoirse and Earlene, and that was possibly because the former was usually so absorbed in whatever she was drawing or painting that she rarely spoke.

 

_ “Try him around Chandra _ ,” Layla suggested,  _ “if you can ever pry her away from her brother and sister. She’s good at sitting still.” _

 

She was indeed. Hand her anything science-related and she’d sit still for ages...but, love her though Sharley did, she really was undeniably creepy, even when she wasn’t trying.  Maglor might or might not find her a restful companion. Atia was too little, and Shane too easily distracted. Ratiri, god love the poor man, still sometimes seemed to have difficulty believing that he was actually talking to  _ Maglor _ , and Maglor and Lorna were, in a couple ways at least, almost too much alike to ever be really close friends.

 

But there was also Allanah, her little sunshine girl. It was impossible not to love her. True, there might need to be limited contact at first, but Allanah was such a sweet, happy little girl -- who really wasn’t little anymore. Her smiles were contagious, her laughter even more so, and there was no guile, no artifice in her. She was what she looked to be: a smart, sunny child, still endlessly curious, always with a ready hug. She was what Sharley hoped Marty would have grown into -- and hell, Maglor had better come to love her, or there would be Problems with a capital P.

 

But all of that would have to wait. He was in no condition right now to do anything but recover, insofar as he was capable of that at this point in time. That probably meant more peace and quiet, with social interaction only when he wished. Which might be harder, back in Eldamar, but everybody knew better than to just go hammering on his door, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t eat in his room if he didn't feel like dealing with the three-ring circus.  _ She  _ rather missed it, but he had Quen to spend time with him while she was away, if he wanted.

 

Maglor re-entered the Heart Room, with Thranduil following and being handed his deferred cup of tea. Earlene was curled against Thanadir, trying to process all of these things that had apparently gone on in their absence, when she felt a gentle tugging sensation inside of her body and her eyes widened. Maglor had been looking right at her, and she saw his lips part in wonder. His expression was one of joy and envy and astonishment all at once and sure god she hoped he wouldn’t announce it to the room. Their eyes met in a moment of mutual understanding, and his head bobbed almost imperceptibly as he stifled his smile. Closing her eyes, she snuggled closer to Thanadir, while she wondered how it had been possible. They had agreed Faeleth would be her last...but the more she thought on it, the less she cared. This was a moment of pure happiness.

 

Thanadir slowly registered the thoughts that were coming from Earlene and began to stiffen. Valar, he had to at least look. It was true...he buried his nose in his tea mug, knowing that she would not thank him for behaving in such a way as to attract notice. He had never really lived down his fainting when Thaladir had been conceived; at least he was not about to make that mistake again. But the emotions of joy would not stop, and he needed to leave the room. He could go cry in happiness in private.

 

By now, Thranduil saw too, and blinked. Not here. Just, not here. “Meluieg, come to the bedroom with me for a moment? We have everyone’s presents to sort.”

 

Earlene sighed, smiling. Oh well, she had enjoyed this private wonder for about four seconds. It was probably some kind of record, with elves around. Rising, she followed him.

 

Sharley looked at Maglor, and reached for his hand.  _ You see what I see?  _ she asked, with a faint smile.  _ Are you okay? _

 

_ I do,  _ he forced himself not to smile and not make a spectacle.  _ I am very glad for them...little ones are a great joy. And Thranduil gave me a great gift. I did not know he could heal even the mind. But...I am to return to staying here for a time. I hope this does not displease you… _

 

_ I was wanting to come back, too _ , she said.  _ I miss the circus.  _ She did smile, but it was bittersweet; Thranduil could do nothing for her mind. Of that she was sure. No one person could fix something that was so badly broken.

 

Lorna watched them out of the corner of her eye, and wondered if Maglor knew how extraordinary this was. Sharley didn't touch people. She just...didn't. Allanah got all kinds of hugs and snuggles, and Lorna herself had resigned herself to being a human doll on more than one occasion, but otherwise Sharley didn't initiate contact with anyone -- and here she was, holding Maglor’s hand. She was  _ always _ holding his hand, whenever they were together. That meant more than many were likely to realize.

 

**

 

Earlene found herself enfolded in a hug by two very happy husbands. Kisses were exchanged all around. “I do not understand,” she said to them. “I thought this was not supposed to happen again. I am not complaining but...I feel confused.”

 

Thranduil hugged her. “It was  _ not _ supposed to happen. But...if I can ask...did you have thoughts of wanting to conceive? Strong ones?”

 

“Yes,” she admitted. “I feel a little guilty. Except, I don’t.”

 

“It will be hard to keep your secret this time, Earlene,” Thranduil said. “Maglor had to have seen. Sharley knows. Quen will know the next time he looks up from his magazine.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Alright. I guess it is fair play; this is life around elves and it is not exactly the first time around.”

 

Thanadir, who had stepped back a bit, now plunked on the bed. “It is happening again,” he said, pointing at her.

 

“What is...oh you have got to be kidding me,” she said. “More twins? I really am part rabbit. And I put the Brady Bunch to shame. Amateurs.” A big grin spread over her face. “Thranduil, if you know, and I am sure you do, don’t tell me what sex they are just yet or who is the father. Just once I want to enjoy a day or two of mystery.”

 

“I can give you that,” he smiled, kissing her.

 

“But what about me?” Thanadir protested, with The Eyes on maximum power. “Please do not make me wait.”

 

“Now wait a minute, he is going to give away something if you tell him. I am going to use the lavatory, and I expect you to have contained yourself when I return, meldir.”

 

He could have given himself a whiplash, so quickly did Thanadir’s head pivot toward Thranduil the moment the door was closed.

 

_ We each have sons, meldir. But this time mine was conceived first,  _ he grinned. His seneschal hurtled against him, in a very strong embrace. Had he been of lesser strength, it might have actually bruised his ribs. Instead he smiled.

 

_ I wanted a child in the ordinary way. Just once. No...Valar, or intercourse that I never knew of.  My wish was granted, when I thought it had been lost forever.  _ He could not help his crying. 

 

_ Come with me. We are going to sit in your old bedroom until your emotions can calm. I am joyful for you, Thanadir. For both of us.  _ He sat with his friend, comforting him, rubbing at his shoulder until finally his strong feelings had been released.

 

_ ** _

 

Earlene exited the lavatory to find an empty room. Shrugging, she began removing the wrapped parcels from the heavy paper bag. The perfume wafting up left little to wonder about as to the contents. Unlike Paris, Provence left fewer options for souvenirs. She sorted the wrapped and labeled posters from the numerous lavender scented candles and sachets made there. Only Lorna had anything that was not a print, candle or sachet; a single decorative pillow that depicted the  Abbaye Notre-Dame de Senanque and its  perfectly kept lavender fields. It seemed perfect for Lorna’s cottage, and the least she could do for her thoughtfulness at having planned the outing...whatever portion thereof had been her idea versus Orla’s...and it really did not matter.

 

The two ellyn returned, both with stoic faces, while Earlene tried not to roll her eyes.  _ The only reason they would have left the room is if Thanadir had a strong emotional reaction, and the only reason that would happen is that he was the father of at least one of the children. _ Thranduil was harder to read; it was possible that he was the father of one or neither.  _ Either way, Thanadir. _

 

Thranduil frowned, and Thanadir hung his head sheepishly. “I am sorry, meldis. I could not help it.”

 

“It is not that important,” she smiled, going to him and embracing him tightly. “I love your honesty, your sensitivity. I forgot that I would be leaving you in an impossible situation, with my request. Please do not apologize for having this joy. I love you, Thanadir. And you,” she beckoned Thranduil to join them. “Now, we can storm the Bastille with lavender.”

 

**

 

Prints were handed out...except they were intended more for the house than for any single occupant. Of Gordes (for the Dining Room), of the Village des Boires (for the Heart Room, because the stacked stone dwellings looked so much like their hearth). Lorna had her pillow and...after that everyone was invited to raid the vast collection of lavender products. Whereupon Thranduil cleared his throat. “We would also like to make a joyful announcement, for those of you without elven sight. We are expecting more children,” he said happily. “Their mother wishes for one day of having a surprise, so details like gender will be revealed later.” Every elf in the room laughed at this; especially Lothiriel. There was no secrecy among their people, when it came to this, and she well remembered her first conception.  _ At mealtime, with Ortherion’s parents in the room… _

 

Lorna and Ratiri glanced at one another, briefly; neither needed telepathy to know the other was worried, but they couldn’t let Earlene know that. Not when she seemed so happy. “Children?” she asked, her eyebrows raising. “Twins? Bloody Christ, what even are the odds. D’you know if these are fraternal or identical?”

 

“I do,” Thranduil smiled. “But their mother wishes not to know for a little while.”

 

Sharley, meanwhile, looked at Earlene, and facepalmed.  _ Oh good grief…  _ The woman’s ovaries had a mind of their own. To say something, or not to say something?

 

_ Is something wrong?  _  Maglor asked her, worried.

 

_ Wrong? No. Ridiculous? Yes,  _ Sharley said, and fought a groan.  _ Right  _ now  _ Earlene’s got twins. By tomorrow, it’ll be triplets. That poor woman. Should I tell her, or let it ambush her? _

 

Maglor reflected before answering.  _ Of old it was unspoken custom to allow the parents their privacy. Not to speak about the conception before they did, especially early on. While I cannot say if this is still the case since I have been away from my people for so long...my own advice would be to say nothing. I know how...I would feel. I would not wish to know because another told me. _

 

She sighed.  _ Ambush it is, then. I got so lucky, with Marty. She was just one, and while I can’t say it was fun, it coulda been a whole lot worse. Earlene never let on, just how bad her pregnancy with Faeleth was, but it was...bad. And the labor was worse. I hope this one doesn’t reach even half that level. _

 

_ Faeleth is not...ordinary,  _ Maglor commented.  _ I have often wondered but it is not my place to ask. No elfling has ever had such strength and grace at her young age. And she is peredhel. I have never seen the like. _

 

_ I’ll keep my fingers crossed. I think we all will. Just...three?  _ Three?  _ It’s a good thing we’ve got the sofa and the armchair, is all I’m gonna say. _

 

Maglor sighed. It was harder than he thought it would be; he felt surprised at his level of jealousy. They had thought there was time, to wait for children. They had wished to enjoy their marriage longer, before welcoming a little one. And then it had all crumbled to ruin. Profound sadness washed over him, and yet he had no choice but to be grateful for what he did have. Forcing his thoughts elsewhere, he accepted his little bag of lavender and inhaled deeply.

 

*****

 

Some time later, Lorna’s mobile jangled. She’d kept it close, on what she’d hoped was the off chance Pat would need something. The number, however, was unknown.

 

“Hello?” she said.

 

Pat’s incredibly sheepish voices said, “Um, I need you to come to Limerick.”

 

“Oh God, why?” she asked, sitting up straighter. “Is Grania okay?”

 

“She’s fine,” he said, more sheepishly. “We got pulled over, and I didn't have my license in my wallet. I need you to come bail us out.”

 

For a moment, she was certain she hadn’t heard right. “ _ What? _ ”

 

Pat sighed, and said, a little more quietly, “I bought a new wallet so I wouldn’t have to show my old shitty one at that restaurant, and I forgot to swap over my license, okay?”

 

Lorna digested that, and laughed so hard she nearly cried. It was just so... _ Pat _ . “Are you bloody  _ serious _ ?”

 

“ _ Yes _ , I’m serious. Now will you come get us or won’t you?”

 

Lorna held the phone away from her ear, still giggling. “All right, you lot, I've got to go bail my eejit brother out’v gaol in Limerick, and this’ll be a lot easier if I can borrow a white person to go with me.”

 

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” Lorna the Younger asked.

 

“Your da, in his infinite idiocy, bought a new wallet and didn't move his driver’s license from the old one.”

 

“Oh,  _ Da,  _ really?” Saoirse demanded, groaning.

 

“Earlene and I will go with you, Lorna,” Thranduil said, massaging his forehead. “Let us maximize our chances at success.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, still giggling. “Welcome home? At least the house is still standing.” To Pat, she said, “All right, I’ll put real pants on and come get you. Thranduil and Earlene are coming with, so I’ll actually be able to get you out.”

 

“I owe you, baby sister.”

 

“You owe all three’v us, so start thinking. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She hung up. “Be right back. I owe you, too,” she said, and darted out before they could try to tell her she didn't.

 

Earlene shook her head.  _ All aur en onnads should go like this _ , she thought, rising to find a light sweater. “There is frozen soup in containers that can be thawed and heated if the family hasn’t eaten. We never got around to discussing food. Or there’s always the Halls, if no one wants to bother. Regularly scheduled programming will return tomorrow.” At least she tried, and there was most always sliced sourdough in the house for sandwiches if desperation set in. Thanadir followed her into their room to find her wrap.

 

“I wish you were not leaving,” he whispered, holding her and sliding his hand down her belly.

 

“Well that makes two of us,” she smiled, kissing him. “I am happy for you, Thanadir. Maybe even happier for you than for me. Finally, this is what you truly wanted?” 

 

He nodded shyly. “All of my life I have felt a little...not normal, in one way or another. This let me feel like I imagine everyone else does. I made love to my wife and there will be a child. It should not be so complicated but somehow it was.”

 

“Life is like that. At least, it has been for awhile,” she smirked, kissing him on the tip of his nose. “I will miss you. Maybe we can watch something together, later? I would like that.”

 

He nodded happily. Perhaps he would try to make her cookies. If he did not burn them, she would like that, too…

 

“I should go, meldir. They are probably waiting.”

 

Thanadir gave one more peck on the lips, then turned to go and sit alone in one of the big wingback chairs. He hugged himself, closed his eyes, and smiled.

 

**

 

Lorna, in leggings and a tunic that was actually ironed, tripped downstairs, keys to Rogue One in hand. “At least it’s a memorable birthday, huh?” she said, as they went out the door -- but once she’d started Rogue One to warm it up, she looked at Earlene. “Okay, this is me being serious, with my serious face: I know your pregnancy with Faeleth sucked more than you let on, and while we won’t hover over you with this one, if we can help you with anything, you tell us, okay? Please?”

 

Earlene blinked, feeling mildly ambushed. “I appreciate it, but...Jesus, Lorna. I’ve got Thanadir over the moon in there, and Thranduil who reads my mind no matter where in hell I am. What anyone thinks I am going to manage to my detriment, I’ve no idea. But I know you have to worry because it’s what you do, but try not to. Seriously.” She hesitated. “There is a reason everything about Faeleth was difficult and...I’m not sure I’m ready to tell the world about that even now. Just trust me when I say I have a lot of reason to believe this won’t be like hers was.”

 

“Of course I worry,” Lorna said, with a half-grin. “It’s how I care. I just mean...hell, if you crave some random food, or whatever, and Thanadir’s busy. But as long as it’s not like Faeleth’s…” Rather impulsively, she hugged Earlene. “You don’t know how worried we all were. We figured that if it could be that hard even with all Thranduil’s help...yeah, we worried. Couldn’t help it.”

 

_ You still do not wish to tell her, meluieg?  _ Thranduil asked. There was a tone to the question that implied she was being a little ridiculous, to withhold the truth all these years later.

 

_ I do not. But not for the reasons you think. I feel I owe it to Thanadir to be part of discussing whether or not he wishes that known. And even more important, honestly, is...Lorna and Sharley talk. And right now I am not certain how Sharley feels concerning anything having to do with Valar. Our home has a delicate balance, Thranduil. I hesitate to upset it. In my heart I feel like when the time is right to explain our daughter, I will somehow know. Let’s be honest. Do you really understand why the Valar interfered with Faeleth? I cannot believe there is no greater purpose for her grace and strength, though for the life of me I’ve no idea what it could be or why it could matter. Just….all of that. _

 

Thranduil sighed. He wanted to be annoyed, but her reasoning was sound. And her observations valid.  _ I respect your wishes. Maybe I too am tired of keeping secrets. We all keep so many. Sometimes I wish there was more we could tell. _

 

Earlene wasn’t so sure what to say to that. Best change the subject. “Well, you know me, beet brownies. Between that and your armchair, I’m sure it will be a breeze,” she joked. Though, it was true. She couldn’t say why, but there was just such an overwhelming sense that this one would not be a disaster. Maybe it was mass delusion. Whatever.

 

Lorna released her. “The kids will be so bummed the chair’s in use again,” she said. “I’ll teach Thanadir how to maintain it, for in case we’re away in Washington.” She hopped into the car, hoisting the seat as far forward as it would go.

 

“I don’t figure I’ll need it until late spring. I’m sure it will be fine. The good news is there are lots of ways to get around. Hell pretty soon we can look at dogsleds, at the rate we are going. But speaking of worrying...um, are you okay after what went down today? We don’t talk much about what happened outside of Galway for obvious reasons, but I know that night wasn’t the easiest for you either. And it sounds like this was rather worse.”

 

“It was, and it wasn’t,” Lorna said, pulling gently out of the driveway. “That’s actually been bugging me. When I killed Von Ratched, I was out’v my mind. I actually don’t even remember all’v what I did to him, but these gobshites? I knew just what I was doing. It was killing in cold blood, but it was...easy. And I feel like it shouldn’t be so easy.”

 

Earlene frowned and opened her mouth to speak when she heard her husband.

 

  1. _Do not comment on the Von Ratched. Not a single word._



 

More bewildered, Earlene still complied. “Well...they were criminals determined to kill  _ you _ . That basically means they were rats, cockroaches and orcs. Not sure I’d let myself become too stressed about it.”

 

_ Thranduil, what she said, pardon me, is batshit crazy. Are you telling me she truly believes that?? _

 

_ It is worse than that, Earlene. But we cannot discuss it here. Please trust me. I need you to play along, rather badly. _

 

_ Very well _ . It was hard, but she did not roll her eyes or shake her head.

 

“I’m not,” Lorna said, “for all some part’v me feels like I should, a bit. We moved Grania and Lorna the Younger into the Halls the next day, and…oh.” Her eyes widened. “Oh  _ shit _ , this -- dammit,  _ I  _ can’t go in there and bail Pat out. I left fingerprints on one’v those guns  _ and  _ I’m supposed to be dead. I can’t go waltzing into a police station and expect to come out without a world’v trouble.”

 

“Well, I guess that’s why we’re here. Don’t worry about it. The day I can’t talk my way out of something this simple is the day I need to hand in my membership in the State Bar Association.”

 

“Christ, thank you,” Lorna said, sagging in relief. “That could’ve ended horribly. Not the way anyone would want to end their birthday.” They rolled through Lasg’len, the streets quiet. “So France was as good as Mairead’s always going on about? She’s always yattering about how beautiful it is when she’s drunk, I’m about ready to throw her across the sea and see if she lands there.” She’d actually drawn up plans for a really, really large slingshot one night, just for something to do.

 

“It is, and the food is better than the scenery. Not to mention how priceless it is to listen to Thranduil order things in French,” she giggled, turning back to smile admiringly at him. But before we get onto the pastry lineup, there’s something I need to know. How strict is it, the law about not carrying your license? In the States the officer can choose to run your license number and give you a break. Was this really a big deal, or is this Driving While Brown?”

 

Lorna sighed, even while wondering how long it took Thranduil to learn French. “It’s Driving While Brown...possibly. Could also be the Garda’s down on his quota for the month. They try to say there isn’t any such thing, but everyone knows there is. Still, vaguely brown man in a car that nice? No wonder they hauled him in.”

 

“Alrighty then. So anyway, this little town is really old, like, 12th century old…” Discussion of the nice things in Gordes and Avignon filled the rest of the time to the District Headquarters Garda Station on Henry Street. Right along the riverfront of the Shannon, nice. The brick three storey building with the garish blue lamp out front that screamed GARDA at night made it obvious enough where to go, and there was plenty of parking for the Garda but not for the likes of them. Finally they worked out a parking location; Thranduil and Earlene left Lorna to her own devices while they walked the distance from where they’d actually found a place to keep the car. Earlene had Pat’s driver license securely in her pocket, and waited for the officer behind the counter to acknowledge their presence. 

 

Finally the woman’s head raised up and one look was taken at obviously wealthy Earlene wearing her obviously real diamonds, on the arm of one of the best pieces of eye candy she had ever seen in her life. Sure god, maybe the night shift wasn’t going to be so bad after all tonight. She straightened the vest of her blue uniform before rising. “Yes?”

 

“Good evening,” Earlene said softly, not trying to hide that she had an American accent. “We received a call from a member of our family, Patrick Donovan, who was taken in for not being in possession of his driver license? I brought his license from home and was hoping to understand what we need to do next.”

 

The officer looked at the license, then at them. “You know’v him?” she asked.

 

“He lives in our home, yes, we know him. He was taking his lady friend on a date tonight, and forgot to put his license into his new wallet. They were going to a fancy meal, you see.”

 

_ Meluieg, they know he was driving Lorna’s car. And while that is not a crime, they are wondering if they can use him as a link to her. _

 

Earlene’s eyebrows raised. “Is he being charged with a crime?” she asked softly. “His daughter is terribly worried. You see, he lost his sister some time ago, and it has been very difficult on the family. The poor girl was very close to her aunt and she is very fearful about anything happening to her da.”

 

“Just a minute,” the officer said, taking the license with her. She could be seen speaking  to another Garda behind a series of glass walled cubicles. There was gesturing and nodding and then the man rose from his desk while the female officer returned. “We’ll release him,” she said. “You have to understand, he had a conviction long ago. With that, we have to make sure things’re legit when something isn’t as it should be.”

 

“We completely understand,” Earlene said soothingly. “It must be a very difficult job. We certainly appreciate your efforts.”

 

_ That was good, meluieg, but no more compliments. Else you will seem too… _

 

_ I can think of several suitable terms. Your point is taken  _ she said.

 

Pat heaved a sigh of relief when he was let out of the holding cell, and another when the officer brought Grania out of whatever break room she’d been stuck in. She’d drank too much bad coffee, and was now buzzing with caffeine. “Where’s --” he started, only for Grania to stomp on his foot. She was slightly quicker on the uptake, and realized why Lorna wouldn’t be in here herself. “Nevermind. Thanks, you two. I owe you.” Being in gaol again...not pleasant, and all the less so because he no longer looked like he belonged here.

 

“Hell’v an end to my birthday,” Grania said, and burst into giggles.  _ Giggles. _

 

“Where’ve you got the Charger parked?” Earlene asked. It was late enough that she wanted to make sure they returned to it without incident. “Lorna’s just two blocks over.”

 

“It’s in the car park out back,” Pat said. “Or rather, out to the side. She’ll murder me.”

 

“No, she won’t,” Grania said. “She’d only do  _ that  _ if you spilled something.”

 

“True. Saoirse’ll never let me live this down.”

 

Grania gave him a fond smile. “Pat, God love you,  _ nobody’s  _ going to let you live this down.”

 

“Wrong on all counts,” muttered Earlene. “Orla is about to get a ton of work because what needs to be dealt with is that Lorna is not supposed to exist. Talk about an identity crisis.”

 

“How did you get around that?” Grania asked. “It being Lorna’s car and all. She’s been afraid somebody’ll come looking for her, sooner or later, given her fingerprints and...that.”

 

“It’s called bullshitting, in the States,” Earlene rolled her eyes. “I used to do it professionally.”

 

“Fortunately, I don't think any’v us want to go out anywhere for awhile,” Grania sighed. “Dublin...Stephens Green was the worst, but it’s not the first. It got to where I didn't feel safe letting my Lorna go out alone. You don’t know how glad I am to be away, you two. I’m beyond bloody grateful.”

 

Earlene frowned but said nothing. It was not her place to add to the poor woman’s stresses this evening. “Well, we will follow you home. How about whichever one of us crosses the Shannon first waits for the other, then we’ll make sure we’re in sight’v each other for the trip back?”

 

Pat always had to grin a little, when a trace of the Irish crept further into Earlene’s accent. “Sounds good to me,” he said. “I’ll think up something nice to do for the pair’v you later, unless you think’v something first. I mean it, now. Don’t go saying ‘oh, nothing’. You’re family and you’ve done me a bloody great favor.”

 

“I’ll send you out for pickles and chocolate. You might as well know, we are pregnant again. Sorry, Grania, didn’t mean to crowd in on your birthday.”

 

Grania, however, was delighted. “And you carry for a year, right? He or she might well share my birthday. Knowing that’s a better present than anything I can think’v right now.”

 

“Boy or girl, or can you know that so soon?” Pat asked. He was rather more worried than Grania, mostly because she hadn’t been around enough to see how hard Earlene’s pregnancy with Faeleth was.

 

“Uh…”

 

Thranduil smoothly intervened. “Earlene wants to wait a few days before learning their sex, so I am respecting her wishes. And because our children are half-elven, Grania, most of Earlene’s pregnancies have been ten months for twins and two weeks extra when it was a single child. But, we do not celebrate the day of birth but rather the day of conception. It can be confusing,” he said charmingly.

 

“If human women could know when that happened, the world’d be a better place,” Grania said. “Jesus, when I found out I was up the yard with Lorna...I didn't take the best care’v myself, when I was younger, and I didn't find out I was up the yard until I was eight weeks in. Spent the rest’v it praying nothing’d be wrong with her.”

 

Pat, wisely, said nothing. He’d been worried as well, but he’d drowned it in a whiskey bottle. So much time lost, but at least they could try to make up for it now.

 

“It is good and bad,” Earlene said. “There is something...unsettling, about having many around you be able to know, immediately. It can feel like a whirlwind, because it is impossible to keep it private. But as you say, right away there is the chance to take better care of your health and...things. Alright you two, there’s your parking lot. We will see you soon.”

 

“See you,” Pat said, and actually opened the door for Grania. Never let it be said he couldn’t learn. When he got in the driver’s side, the engine purred to life, like a giant cat.

 

**

 

Earlene was grateful to get home, and scurried toward the house before the expected dressing down of Pat for being an eejit could occur. Though, she noted, Ailill and Calanon must have arrived home while they were out; their car was now also in the drive. One day a week now, Ailill worked at Ashford. He had received a settlement offer that allowed him to do basically anything he wanted, in exchange for dropping what would have been a slam-dunk litigation for unlawful termination. What had particularly pleased Earlene is that he had transferable rights to so many days comped stay at the Castle every year, in perpetuity. Of course any who made use of this still paid for food and other fees but...she had not minded that part, at all. Which was all to say, the boys were home from their one day a week at the School of Falconry.

 

Right now hot cocoa and husbands and snuggling were very high on her list of wants. But she still could not suppress a grin when the voices carried around the greenhouses...

 

“Grania, you go on in and let your daughter know you’re not dead,” Lorna said, eying her brother. “Pat, you’re never allowed to drive the Charger again.  _ How  _ bloody old are you? I get not wanting to have a shitty old wallet in a swanky restaurant, but Jesus bloody Christ, it’s your  _ driver’s license.  _ That’s like, the first thing you make sure you’ve got.”

 

He scratched the back of his neck, grimacing. “I was nervous,” he muttered, so low as to be barely audible.

 

Lorna grinned. “So bloody what if you were nervous?” she said, more than loudly enough. “That’s no excuse, unless you’ve got nothing but fluff between your ears. Is your head full’v...I don’t know, candyfloss and bees?”

 

Now he squirmed. “Shut  _ up _ , Fun Size,” he hissed. “Or at least keep it down.”

 

“Oh now,” she said, her eyes practically alight. “C’mon, you.” She grabbed him by the collar and hauled him into the house. “Oh Graniiiiia,” she called. “My eejit brother forgot his license because he was _ nervous.  _ Because he was taking you on a  _ date _ , even if I'm sure he was a daft twat and never told you that was what it was.”

 

Poor Pat’s eyes widened in utter panic, but both Lorna the Younger and Saoirse burst out laughing. “You two have been dancing around this for  _ five years _ ,” Lorna the Elder said. “Give over already.”

 

“Yeah,” Lorna the Younger said. “You’re slower than bloody molasses. I mean, what’re you even waiting for? Clock’s ticking.”

 

“No shit,” Saoirse muttered. “He who hesitates is lost.”

 

Lorna the Elder’s grin grew feral. She knew how unsettling it was, when the three of them ganged up on someone, especially now that Saoirse was a little older. “Don’t make us lock you in a closet. Now Pat, go get Grania’s present. Grania, sit.” She pointed at the sofa beside Lorna the Younger, and such was her tone that Grania did indeed go and sit.

 

Sharley burst into utterly silent laughter, resting her forehead against Maglor’s shoulder.  _ It’s about time, but still _ , she said, her shoulders shaking.

 

_ Eru, if that ever happens to me I will...I don’t know what I will, but it will involve a locked door and a large supply of food and drink.  _ Then again, he was trying as best he knew how…

 

_ Nobody’d do that to you _ , Sharley said.  _ Pat’s Lorna’s brother, and he drives her nuts. Them dancing around each other all this time’s been driving us  _ all  _ nuts.  _

 

Lorna actually tapped her foot while waiting for Pat to return, though she stopped short of checking the time on her mobile. She didn't actually know what he’d got Grania -- just that he was nervous about giving it to her, so it was probably something good. Knowing Pat, it was probably also something odd. He  _ was  _ a Donovan, after all.

 

Eventually, he returned, bearing a small box that had obviously been wrapped by Saoirse, since his own wrapping abilities were only marginally worse than Lorna’s. Before he handed it to Grania, though, he looked around the room. “Oh, is this meant to be public?”

 

“Yes,” Lorna said flatly. “Open it, Grania. He’s been a nervous wreck, so even if you hate it, smile.”

 

She gave Lorna a look that was distinctly nervous, but open it she did. In it was a small silver frame -- very small -- that contained not a picture, but what looked like --

 

“It’s the stub from the first movie we ever went to,” Pat said sheepishly. “ _ Jurassic Park.  _ You and I both just about bricked it when the velociraptors turned up where the kids were.”

 

Grania looked at it, and at him. “You’ve saved this, all this time?”

 

_ Pat, you SAP, _ Lorna thought.  _ I approve. _

 

“Well, you know…” He trailed off, red as the bricks of the fireplace.

 

“What he’s trying to tell you,” Lorna said, rolling her eyes, “is that he’s been in love with you since forever, but he knows he bolloxed everything up so badly he’s still too scared to say anything, even after  _ five years.  _ So for the love’v God, Grania, just kiss the man and have done with it, will you?”

 

“Oh, good Jesus,” Pat groaned, but Grania burst out laughing.

 

“Patrick Donovan, if I'd known you were a sap, I’d’ve made a move long before now. You might be an eejit, but you’re not a gobshite, and I think you and I need to take a walk.” She held out a hand, grinning very like a schoolgirl, and Lorna barely resisted the urge to cheer.

 

“Here, I'll hang onto that for you,” she said, taking the frame from Grania. “We won’t wait up.”

 

Pat’s retort was so profane it was fortunate it was in Irish, but he too couldn’t keep a very relieved smile off his face as Grania led him out of the room.

 

“Well,  _ that’s  _ sorted,” Lorna said, flopping between her nieces. “Finally.”

 

Sharley’s laughter finally gained actual sound, beyond delighted. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t actually speak. Not yet.

 

“You know Lorna,” Earlene said, “I owe you something of an apology. I wanted to slap you and Ratiri so many times for taking  _ for-ev-er _ , and I am now forced to realize that compared to Pat, you guys rode the supersonic jetliner to matrimony. Not that it’s a contest, mind you, but good  _ GRIEF _ .”

 

Lorna laughed so hard she nearly fell off the couch. “We’d never’ve been  _ that  _ bad, but if it wasn’t for Chandra and Shane, it’d’ve taken a lot longer.”

 

“Why did we make it not?” Chandra asked.

 

“Your da and I...you know, never mind,” Lorna said. “You’re too young to be hearing that.”

 

Ratiri facepalmed. He couldn’t help it. “I wish I could say she’s wrong, but she’s probably not. We were both so inept, it’s painful to look back on.”

 

Thranduil frowned.  _ I know it is not my business, Lorna, but why not tell your daughter? She is eight years old. Surely that is old enough to understand that when children are on the way, parents wish to care for them? _

 

_ It’s not that _ , she said.  _ She’s a bit too young to know that she and her brother came about because her parents got drunk and had sex before they were actually ready to, and scrambled for a proper relationship after the fact. Not something an eight-year-old needs to be hearing.  _

 

He did not agree at all with her reasoning, and reminded himself that it was not his business. He looked away, saying nothing more.

 

Lorna blinked;  _ that  _ wasn’t a usual reaction from him at all.  _ I don’t want them thinking that’s okay behavior -- I mean, with Ratiri, he was a good man, someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. A lot of people aren’t that lucky. Hell, Pat and Saoirse’s mam are a prime example. An uncertain relationship usually isn’t the best thing to bring kids into; they’ll either make it or they’ll break it, and more often than not, they break it. _

 

_ Then tell them that _ , he said. ‘ _ Children, our relationship moved ahead faster than we wanted it to because we became parents. That made us responsible for you, and affected how we grew together. Which is why it is important to be very careful, and not risk having children until you are sure about your relationship. We love you and are very fortunate to love each other. But we should have gone about our family differently.’ I am not saying you have to say that in front of the whole room but I feel strongly about refusing to answer children’s legitimate questions. I am sorry. It is still not my business, and I do not mean to pressure you. Except I do.  _ He hung his head a little, slightly appalled at himself.

 

She side-eyed him, and mentally stuck her tongue out at him, because she was a grown-up. Honest.  _ Okay,  _ she said,  _ but not in front of God and everyone. It’s something better talked about in private, especially if they’ve got...further questions.  _ Which Chandra, God help them all, just might.  _ And if it goes wrong, I'm blaming you. The retribution, it will be swift and highly annoying. _

 

_ If it goes wrong it means you did not answer the question well enough,  _ he countered. He was having none of that. _ Your husband will help you, Lorna. Though you are both shy and modest it is easier for him to explain the workings of the body. _

 

One eyebrow arched.  _ No, if Chandra starts asking inappropriate questions, I'm still blaming you,  _ she said, fighting a smile and losing.  _ Though...no, I won’t inflict retribution on you. I’ll just tell her to ask Uncle Thranduil how childbirth works.  _ Her smile turned into a grin, and she laughed before she could help it.  _ Or at the very least, I’ll tell her to drag you into the the conversation. _

 

_ Eru knows I have enough practice,  _ he sighed, smiling.  _ And I am not done yet. _

 

Lorna just laughed harder, and Ratiri sighed. “You know, when you have silent conversations, Lorna just looks insane,” he said. “So Pat and Grania are out there, hopefully finally communicating. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m tired.”

 

“Old man,” Saoirse said. “It’s only what, ten?” 

 

“Hush, teenager,” he retorted. “Your brain is currently wired arse-backward. No wonder you want to stay up all night.”

 

Earlene nuzzled against Thanadir. “Maybe no movie. Cute videos on YouTube?”

 

“Mmmm….documentary?” Thanadir countered. “History.”

 

“Archaeology.”

 

“Graeco-Roman,” Earlene insisted.

 

Thanadir frowned. “Medieval.”

 

“Castles,” they both said at the same time, laughing.

 

“See what I live with?” Thranduil said, listening to them. 

 

“This old elf is going to bed so he can stay up all night learning the lore of what you call ancient mortar mixes,” Thanadir announced happily. Earlene rolled her eyes and pulled him by the hand toward their room while he waved bye-bye to everyone in the room.

 

Sharley choked on another laugh.  _ Maglor, are you at all familiar with YouTube? _

 

_ Yes, I know what it is. I know how to use computers but I prefer books. Things I can touch with my hands. _

 

_ Well, I want to show you some videos of Washington, if you’d like. You can see it through more than just my eyes. _

 

_ In the movie room?  _ He did not mind seeing images so much on the larger screen, but staring for hours at tiny computer displays did not appeal much to him.

 

_ Sure. I can hook my laptop up to it. _

 

Maglor stood, assuming she meant now, and wandered into the next room.

 

Sharley managed not to laugh as she followed. Sometimes he could be so literal it was adorable.

 

_ Thranduil, can I talk to you?  _ Lorna asked.  _ In the Quiet Room? _

 

For an answer, he rose and took his tea with him, seating himself. The room had such a different quality, at night, when the colored glass was not illuminating the room.  _ Here we are,  _ he grinned, having a good idea of the topic on her mind. Telepathy tended to do that.

 

She followed, and sat as well, beyond relieved that movement no longer hurt like a bastard.  _ We need some kind of signal,  _ she said _ , so you can tell me to shut up before I stuff my foot in it that badly again. A word, or a phrase, or...something. My vote is ‘plokhaya belka’. It means ‘bad squirrel’ in Russian. _

 

He rolled his eyes.  _ I cannot imagine a situation in which I would not be close enough to you to speak just like this. And were I not close enough, shouting anything across a room regardless of language sounds unhelpful. I think I simply need to tell you, ‘We should stop this discussion for now before it goes badly.’ That means, I am willing to speak about it further with you once we can do so privately but for the love of Eru we need to cease speaking of it...wherever we are. But Lorna...at the risk of inflaming this topic, there is something I too would like to discuss. Earlene told me when we were on this trip that I had no perception whatsoever of your greatest strength. Can you guess what she meant? _

 

Her eyebrows rose. “First off, ‘bad squirrel’ is funnier and takes less time,” she said, though she already knew she’d lose that battle. Nevertheless, she had to try. “Second off, since when do I have any particular ‘strength’ at anything, aside from drinking, swearing, and stuffing my foot down my throat? There’s plenty I’m decent at, but unless she’s talking about my ability to not know when to shut up, no, I can’t.”

 

“Earlene told me that it is your ability to maneuver other people to get your way, when you wish to do so badly enough. She called it your superpower, and observed that you do not seem to have awareness of what you are doing. And yet when I think back on all that has transpired, I cannot disagree with her. You innately sense how to maneuver others, and you rarely lose. I was forced to admit, you did it to me too. In the future I will be more cognizant of your abilities. It is not easy, to accomplish this with me. I tip my proverbial hat to you.” He smiled, relaxed and more than a little amused. It had all worked out for the best.

 

Lorna blinked. And blinked again. Whatever she’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. “But...that’s  _ terrible _ ,” she said. “Steamrolling over people to get your own way isn’t exactly a positive trait.” It certainly wasn’t in the society she’d always lived in, anyway. “I mean, look at what it resulted in. I hurt Earlene worse than I probably ever have before, and yeah, I had a reason, but that doesn’t make it okay. I can’t ever take that back.”

 

“Terrible? Are you out of your mind?” he asked, incredulous. “Lorna, that is another word for _ Leadership _ . And it is no small compliment. Earlene did not stand there complaining about you; it was said in tones of high acknowledgement. My wife is an unusual and resilient person. Yes, she was very angry, and now she no longer cares at all. Her exact reasons for being angry are probably not what you imagine them to be. And are you really going to try to turn something you excel at as a means by which to belittle yourself?” This question was asked with more care; suddenly he was no longer jesting at all.

 

Lorna looked away. “It’s...it’s a human thing,” she said. “To us, out in the world, somebody who strong-arms their way into -- well, into getting their own way -- is an asshole nobody likes. And if she wasn’t pissed off that I’d backed her into a corner, I’d be really surprised. I was an asshole, and I maneuvered her into something she really didn't want...but dammit, I had a reason, and I was afraid if I didn't, you’d just ignore me, and it, and in twelve years we -- or at least, us humans -- would’ve wound up with a big,  _ big  _ problem. But according to Ratiri, she didn't care what anyone else might’ve thought -- not realizing, I hope, that once they were all living in the Halls with us, she’d have a lot’v reason to care.”

 

She sighed. “I’m not sorry about the result. I’m not Sharley, but somehow, I know this was the right move. I  _ am  _ sorry --  _ really  _ sorry -- that it had to come about like this. That it wasn’t something Earlene decided to do on her own. It should’ve been something positive for her, and it wasn’t, and I can’t ever undo that.”

 

“That was not your doing,” Thranduil said firmly. “That was  _ my _ doing. If you must know, Earlene was angry at you for intruding into the affairs of our Realm and nothing more. The full force of her emotion was on account of my failure to stop you. I should have ended the conversation, I should not have made any concessions involving anything at all. I am King, and I failed to be one at that moment. It will not happen again. Lorna, this was hard for me. I failed for a reason. I failed because I have wanted so much for you to take some interest in this aspect of our lives. To feel that our realities might be something we could discuss instead of avoiding because of them being repulsive to you. We live on the other side of a veil that you do not really understand because you have not wanted to. None of us were going to force you, but it did not stop us from hoping. It did not stop me, from hoping. There are times I am unsure where we are at with this, if I am to be truthful. 

 

“And just so you know, the points you raised would very much have  _ not _ been ignored. They were important and valid. But they should have been managed quite differently, and that part is fully my responsibility.”

 

Well, now she felt  _ really  _ terrible. Curling up on the sofa, she rested her chin against her knees. “I never asked because I’ve always known that if I ran up against something I disagreed with -- which would be inevitable, sooner or later -- I couldn’t hide it, and it’d hurt you, because I’d be disapproving’v something that’s the core’v who your people are. I mean, it’s no secret I’ve always believed Earlene should be your equal in everything, and it’s been hard for me to accept that  _ she  _ doesn’t, because I’ve sometimes still got problems seeing past my own hangups. 

 

“If there was more like that, I couldn’t hide it. You’d know. It’d be as bad as if I’d got up and shouted it, and...I don’t want to do that to you, Thranduil. You’re my brother-from-another-mother. I love you. I didn't want to go stomping into something I know would eventually hurt you, sooner or later. I might be an asshole, but I’d like to think I’m not  _ that  _ much’v one.” Her words were muffled by her knees. “It’s easier for me to keep silent, and avoid, because...well, you know me. Sometimes the only way to avoid trouble is to say nothing -- which I know sounds a bit rich, coming from me.”

 

“I understand your reasoning,” he said slowly, turning her words this way and that in his mind. “But how is this any different than all the things we did not say to each other before, because we feared hurting each other’s feelings? Yes, it is safe. But it also seems like a recipe for never having growth. Is there not this thing called ‘discussion, debate, and agreeing to disagree?’” He sighed. “And yet that all hinges on how much command one has of one’s emotions. Not always the easiest task, for our family.” He shrugged, and smiled crookedly. “At least we talked a little about it.”

 

She managed an answering smile. “And thaaaaat would be why I never have,” she said. “I mean, I’ve got better self-control than I once did, but I’ve never wanted to risk testing it like that, because what if I’m wrong about how good it is? What if I blow my stack and hurt one’v you for no good reason? I mean, I know it’s been ages, but still. That doesn’t mean the possibility’s not there anymore, and I don’t know if I’d ever forgive myself if I did.”

 

Unable to help it, she crawled across the sofa and hugged him. “Besides,” she added, with a slightly more genuine smile, “you just told me my superpower is badgering people until I get my way. Is that  _ really  _ a conversation you’d want to have?”

 

“Well, I see that as mixed reasoning. If you do not try to test it, how will you ever learn where you still have weaknesses? It seems to me that we have all managed to survive past...outbursts. I cannot think of a single one that did not yield some kind of positive result. And,  _ I _ am more resistant to your superpower than some. For example, your brother, and Grania.” His smirk matched his twinkling eyes.

 

Okay, she’d never once considered that anything positive had come from her rages, but...he was actually right, wasn’t he? “All right, that’s a disturbing point, but point it is,” she said. “And Pat and Grania...oh, god dammit, I did, didn’t I?” she groaned, leaning back to look up at him. “Fuck everything. Okay, I’ll make you a deal: pick something about your monarchy, just one at a time, that you think I won’t completely disagree with. If you feed things to me that way, maybe I’ll be less likely to make the entire household wish I’d never been born.”

 

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. “But maybe tomorrow. Honestly right now, Medieval castles sound more interesting than my job. On another note...Lorna, will you be able to...how to say this...draw Sharley out a little, about Kana? When you go to Washington? There are many layers of difficulty to what exists between them. I can help him better than I can help her, at least right now. I do not think she understands the depth of love he holds for her. She does not seem to understand...how our marriages are. Emotionally, I mean. I fear to be the one to say too much because...I am male. I am King. I am an elf. So many things. She needs someone to talk to.”

 

“I’ll try,” she said. “And she might well not. Understand, I mean. She’s stold me she doesn’t feel any less human than she ever has, so I think it’s harder for her to relate. The only elf marriages she’s ever seen up close are you and Earlene, which was eventually  you, Earlene, and Thanadir, and Lothiriel and Ortherion, who she’s not around that much. And yours isn’t what you’d call ordinary.”

 

He looked up, grinning. Whether it was a jab at his proclivities or simply full accuracy, it was...true. “No, I suppose it is not. Perhaps I am being a romantic, but to see the two of them find the happiness with each other from which they were sundered...it would feel like a grave injustice was righted. I...I wish I knew all of what happened, to her. To them.”

 

“They really  _ are  _ adorable, aren’t they?” Lorna said. “I wonder if he realizes just how extraordinary it is that she holds his hand all the time. I mean, you know Sharley -- if you’re not a kid, she doesn’t touch you. Ever. I mean, yeah, there’s me, but I’ve accepted the fact that I’m a doll, so it doesn’t quite count.” She sobered, though. “I hope she never knows all’v it. What might’ve been done to her...I’m not the Stranger, I don’t think the Valar abandoned her for no reason, but I can’t imagine a reason that would be worth...that. I’m thinking’v telling her to try to talk to one’v them, just to see what happens. Maybe she’d get an answer, but I can already guess why she hasn’t tried it before now.”

 

“So can I,” he agreed. “I cannot presume to understand much about our Lords and Ladies. They carry out the purpose of Eru. They have a history of not interfering...which makes their interactions with us a source of fascination, frankly. But I believe in my heart that they work for the good of our Father. Perhaps one day we will understand, but for now all I can try to do is help in what ways are available to me. And watch my newest subject court his wife. They really are adorable…and I will deny I said that if you repeat it.”

 

She snorted. “I won’t say anything. I just hope that someday, all these blessings the Valar keep bestowing on us spill over to her. We’ve all been given so much...she has Maglor back now, at least. Hopefully they can heal together.”

 

“I hope so too.”

  
  


*****

 

{July 15, 2026}

 

Earlene slept very soundly during the night, but her body was restless. Toward morning, after Thranduil had been bumped for what felt like the dozenth time that night, he finally sat up in bed, in mild frustration. Watching Earlene, his eyes saw the shimmering outline of her fae, and that of their sons. What would they name these next ones? With a minor smirk, he thought about it. He had almost tied Fëanor, for number of offspring. Between he and Thanadir, they had _beaten_ Fëanor, not that it was a contest. They would have eight children by Earlene, eight beautiful children. Every one unique, every one a blessing. He reached out his hand to trace the outlines he could see in the air with his finger. _One, two. One, two_ , he smiled more. _One, two...three?_ He gasped and rubbed his eyes. _By all the Valar…_ “She is going to kill me,” he murmured, and flopped back against the pillows, unable to believe what he had seen. He waited a minute, and sat up again. Perhaps he had been utterly mistaken. A moan escaped him. _Eru._ _Triplets. Now there is no_ almost _. I have equaled Fëanor._

 

He felt joyful, but overwhelmed. This...elves did not do this.  _ Ever _ . He silently dragged out his computer, and opened it, turning himself so that the light from the screen would not wake his bed partners. And he began to read. His eyes widened as he learned about twins. _ And twinning...that was a word? _ And older mothers, and percentages of probability for multiple births. Massaging his forehead, he understood too late that Earlene was fertility waiting to happen. Her ovaries apparently released eggs like dandelion seeds in the air. Which was of course complete exaggeration but still...he had not known that she had such high chances at having repeat multiple births and producing identical twins; he sort of assumed that Algar and Eldan were the doing of the Valar. Apparently not really… He closed the screen, feeling speechless.  _ Eru. _

 

Thanadir was the next to stir, which felt like a blessing. 

 

_ Meldir, you had best prepare yourself. Something has happened. There is another child. _

 

_ That is nice _ , the seneschal thought sleepily. 

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. Thanadir was almost worthless when first woken, during times of peace.  _ Wait for it… _

 

_ Another what??  _ Thanadir sat bolt upright, looking at still sleeping Earlene, his lips parted in astonishment.  _ But ellith cannot do this...oh dear. _

 

Thranduil smiled. He could buy Earlene those false ear points and no one would know the difference.

 

_ Tell me what I am seeing, Thranduil?  _ Thanadir pleaded.

 

_ What was the beginning of my son has become like Ithiliel and Eleniel. Identical twins. Your son is still your son. So far. Forgive me but right now I am asking the Valar to please not make it four. _

 

_ That is quite alright, I agree. Ai Thranduil, poor Earlene. I will be honest, I am overjoyed but fearful too. It will break my heart, to watch her endure as she did with Faeleth. I still have tremendous guilt, even though there was nothing I could have done otherwise except for not father the child. And my heart tells me even then it would not have mattered. _

 

_ I believe you are right about that, gwador. _

 

_ I want us to hold each other,  _ Thanadir said. He slowly worked his arm under Earlene’s back, as did Thranduil from the opposite side. Their arms entwined, with Earlene held loosely in the center. Both dozed off, enjoying this special moment.

 

_ Well this is different,  _ Earlene thought as she came to wakefulness.  _ And quite nice.  _ What she wanted was to stay still, and enjoy their warmth and the incredible coziness. But the light and noises from the kitchen told her that it was time to prepare breakfast. Sadly, she stirred, waking them.  _ “ _ Sorry,” she apologized. “If I do not get up we will be stuck with porridge only.”

 

“Earlene,” Thranduil said. “There is another child now.”

 

“You cannot mean…” One look at his face told her he most assuredly could mean. “Three of them?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Alright. Forget the mystery. Who is in there, and which of you sired them?” It was almost funny. Okay it was completely funny. But she would laugh later.  _ Riddikulus _ . Yes, that is what it was.

 

“Three sons. One is Thanadir’s. The one that is mine has become two. Identical twins and their brother.”

 

“Ten children. Ohhh, my. Well, that’s a nice round number…” she kissed each of them in turn. “I feel like I should apologize for my body. I know you weren’t expecting this either. I mean, what if they’re not done multiplying in there?”

“Then we will have more blessings,” Thanadir reassured. “I know it will be more work but...I am excited, Earlene. I love all of our children.”

 

“So do I. I just never imagined...this.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. “I am suddenly remembering the first time we talked about having one of our own. Do you remember, you asked me how I felt about  _ children _ ? Plural? Oh, our Powers must have a sense of humor, meluieg.”

 

“They probably do,” she laughed. “It has not all been easy but they have been good to me. Oh...maybe porridge will not kill anyone just once.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” said Thanadir, pulling her down to snuggle some more. They dozed off again, for the better part of the next hour.

 

**

 

Breakfast the next morning was crowded as ever, with the addition of Grania and Lorna the Younger. Lorna the elder reflected that even though this table would have done one at Downton Abbey proud, there was now no more room. If they wanted to seat more people, they’d have to build a bigger table.

 

Sharley nibbled toast, but she was so nervous she couldn’t eat much more than that. Plans for ‘leapfrogging’ had been put on hold by Dublin, since it had done a hell of a number on all of them, but especially Maglor. Today, though, she wanted to try it, if he was down with it. She was hoping for just one basic memory -- maybe the weaving room in their home. Nothing important, nothing huge -- nothing that might trigger anything overwhelming. If she could see where she’d lived when she’d been Tirillë, maybe the thought of actually  _ being  _ Tirillë wouldn’t seem so alien and wrong. Because it did. It still did.

 

Earlene and husbands came to the table late, not appearing terribly apologetic. Everything was going fine until Quen, Calanon, Lothiriel and Maerwen simultaneously dropped a utensil, with apologetic looks on their faces.  _ So much for people maybe not noticing _ . It was slightly suspicious that Maglor and Sharley did not react at all. Ortherion had the excuse of still being in the kitchen. Thanadir took one look at Thranduil and decided to intervene. “We might as well announce that we are now expecting three sons. Two identical twins and another. Son. Lots of sons,” he said, obviously still not over his own state of disbelief.

 

Lorna, unfortunately, had a sip of tea in her mouth, which naturally shot out her nose.  _ Oh, god dammit.  _ Ratiri, wide-eyed, stared at Earlene -- or rather, Earlene’s abdomen -- and thumped his poor wife on the back a few times.

 

“Earlene,” Lorna managed, “your bloody ovaries...how are they all going to, y’know, fit? I hadn’t though a baby bump the size’v the one you had with Algar and Eldan was even possible, but  _ three _ ?” 

 

Grania just smiled. “Well, you’ll be wanting loads’v baby clothes, and it just so happens Lorna here and I expanded our wares a while back. Though I'm glad you’ve got that chair and that sofa.”

 

Ratiri couldn’t help but worry, because if the triplets were even close to Algar and Eldan’s size...but there was no point in that. Not right now. What mattered was how happy these three were. “I just hope a fourth doesn’t decide to sneak in somehow.” Too late, Lorna elbowed him. Hard.

 

Earlene shot him a look that basically said that if he had just jinxed her, she might have to murder him. In the face, Irish style.

 

Chandra and Shane looked at each other. “We need more house,” he said. “I don’t want to share a room with my sister forever, and guys, you’re not going to want to share with three new kids, am I right?”

 

Thranduil looked up. “It was on my mind to speak of this for the past few months, truthfully. We do need more house. When I envisioned being blessed with children I did not envision surpassing all known elven records for progeny,” he smiled, unable to help feeling a little proud about that. “As our children grow they will want their own quarters, perhaps. Our family by choice has grown, too. Ailill and Calanon, Quen and Kana, Sharley, Lorna and Grania. I propose that everyone here who feels they might be interested in different quarters in the future begin imagining what you might like your room to be like. Those who were here know what effort it took to build this house. We can manage such an effort again, but should begin with an eye to commencing actual construction next year as soon as weather permits. We will of course need to notify Orla...but not until we have some discussions and share ideas. I hope I can ask Thanadir to lend us his architectural skills for this effort?”

 

“Of course,” the seneschal nodded, pleased to have been  remembered. 

 

“We’re happy to stay in the Halls, as long as wanted,” Grania said. “Don’t think you’ve got to rush on our account.” Though she rather liked the thought of being in a house with babies again. She’d always wanted more than one, but after Pat, she couldn't have trusted another man even if she’d been inclined to try. If only her poor daughter had any chance of finding someone -- but she had a point in saying that the only people in the general vicinity were either elves or someone she was related to. She needed to get out more.

 

“Will all three boys have one nursery?” Atia asked. “That’s a lot’v babies for one nursery. Mam says I lived with her and Da until I was big enough to move in with Chandra and Shane.”

 

“Our sons will eventually stay in my room once they are a few months’ old,” Thanadir said. “Before that time, they need to breastfeed too often to have being anywhere else make sense.” He smiled, remembering the privilege he had had to feed little Atia her first meal.

 

_ Three babies _ , Ratiri thought. Even Earlene and Thanadir between them might have a hard time keeping them fed, depending on individual appetites. Then again, Thranduil could probably take care of that, if need be. “All of them?” he asked. “How will you sleep?” Yeah, Elves didn't need as much sleep as humans, but the did still need  _ some _ .

 

“The same way as with all the others,” Thanadir smiled enigmatically. “You would be amazed how easy it is to sleep while feeding them.”

 

“Lucky,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “ _ I  _ certainly never came close. Though at least Chandra and Atia never  _ chewed _ ,” she added, glowering at her son, who grimaced.

 

“ _ Ew _ , Mam!”

 

“What?” she asked. “You did. Had to switch you to the bottle long before either’v your sisters.”

 

Sharley cringed before she could help it. Having nursed a child herself, she could imagine, all too clearly, how awful  _ that  _ would have been.  _ Ow. _

 

Earlene smiled about this. It was not a good time to bring up that having a telepathic father had its merits; none of her children had done anything like this because their father had ensured it. Plus, peredhel were simply...easier. Superkids, in their own way, to the point that she actually felt sorry for Allanah who lacked their advancement. However, Allanah herself was still very advanced, and she credited that to a combination of their family genetics, a completely nurturing environment, and being surrounded by children for whom achieving was simply normal.  _ Exposure _ , Earlene thought.  _ When a child thinks chemistry and maths,  music and hunting are the normal stuff of childhood, funny how it does not occur to them to question it. _

 

_ ** _

 

Sharley had decided to do the ‘leapfrogging’ in her own room, since it was a safe, comforting surrounding.

 

She didn't keep much in the way of clutter, but what she did have meant much to her, even if it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. She’d brought the framed drawing of Marty that Saoirse had made for her, hanging over the fireplace. Along the mantel was an assortment of things -- river-rocks from the Skykomish, some painted with mountains scenes; an incredibly large pine cone she’d found while working trail crew one day; a smaller framed drawing Allanah had made on one of the D&D’s trips to Washington. Photos of the entire family hung on the walls, which had been painted pale blue -- the one off the edge of the bed had been rendered in sunrise shades by Saoirse, over a series of rainy days when Sharley was away. It smelled, naturally, of lavender, but also of fir.

 

“Okay,” she said, wishing like hell she wasn’t so nervous. “Maglor, will you hold my hand? Hopefully it’ll ground me, if something...yeah.”

 

He took her hand without question, but felt very concerned about this. A nervous glance was directed at both his King ad Ratiri. Then again, he felt very concerned about many things that had to do with the two of them. A sigh escaped him that he tried to hide. It was a barely kept secret, that anxiety plagued him and that lately he had many more things triggering his tendencies. He averted his eyes down.

 

Sharley gave his fingers as squeeze as she sat on her bed. The duvet was something Lorna and Ratiri had bought her for Christmas a few years ago: a nebula, rendered in blue and purple and magenta. It had matching pillowcases, which just made it even better. “All right,” she said, looking up at Maglor. “We good?”

 

“To be clear,” Ratiri said, “a very simple memory -- say, her weaving room, but at a time when you were both present. The theory is that if she sees it, she can hopefully connect the occasion to her own memory of it.”

 

Maglor nodded, and closed his eyes, trying to relax and remember their past. Days he had endeavored to make himself forget, on account of the pain of remembering his lost happiness. There was one...she sat at her loom, her hands held loosely in the air as she always did when she wove. The image was of a field of flowers, and the threads danced and lifted through the air across the warp threads, creating the weft with her thought. There was no shuttle, her hands never touched the threads themselves. Her mind alone caused the fibers to lie down as she willed. It was mesmerizing to watch, and watch he did. Already a master of the harp, he did not need to mind his fingers to play music for both of them. Sometimes they would have a little contest; she would weave in time to his tempos. He might play a tune so slow that she would glare at him in annoyance, or struggle to keep up with him when his fingers flew faster than eyes could follow. But he tried to just think of her art, in time to his beautiful melodies. And how much he cherished such moments spent in her company.

 

Sharley’s breath caught. She was drawn to this, as she hadn’t yet been drawn to any real idea of her old life; to actually  _ see  _ it was quite another thing than trying to imagine. That...was that her? Maglor had said her hair was silver, but she’d never seen quite this shade...there really was almost a blue tint to it.

 

She focused on the loom, because from where she was seated in Maglor’s memory, she would have been looking at it. The line of his memory pulled at her, and she pulled at it, trying to drag her own mind into following -- but hers was slow, sluggish, and felt rather like it was being dragged through glue the entire --

 

The memory shattered, or maybe she did; either way, she was hurled into stone, to heat, to pain like she’d never imagined -- the pit in her mind sucked her down again, down into darkness filled with utter agony…

 

Sharley screamed, unaware that she did so, Maglor’s hand suddenly the only anchor she had, the only thing reminding her that this wasn't real, this was memory -- this was merely a waking nightmare, however much it tried to consume her .

 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Ratiri hissed. “Thranduil --”

 

“Sharley,” Thranduil blanched, “this is not happening. It is a memory, with no more power to harm you. Kana is here, I am here. I want you to come with us.” He did not want to send her unconscious; that was just the evasion of emotional difficulties that occurred too often under this roof. He did, however, immediately blunt her ability to believe she was experiencing pain. He wanted her to begin associating the recollections of those horrors with feeling nothing, rather than reliving the experience, and a prayer was offered that the Valar would guide his intentions. Something like this was exactly what he had feared.

 

Her grip on Maglor’s hand tightened yet further, eyes wide with panic as her heart thundered, pulse so strong it threatened to choke her. No, no,  _ no _ , this was  _ not supposed to happen _ ….

 

_ “Breathe, Sharley,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Thranduil’s right. It’s just a memory -- it can’t hurt you. Maglor, hug her, will you?” _

 

“None of it is real now, Sharley,” Maglor murmured. He was only too happy to hug her, though he had not wanted their first real embrace to be because of something like this. Did it matter? His love poured out to her, as he drew her against his strong frame, talking in whispers that he was here and that there was nothing to fear. “Come with us. We are not in Angband. We are sitting in a room, and you are surrounded by loved ones. Come with us. Angband is destroyed, its pits laid bare, its gates broken, and it is sunk beneath the ocean. It can never harm you or anyone else ever again.”

 

She latched onto him like a remora, trying to focus on the beat of his heart beneath her ear. He smelled of lavender, but also of  _ Maglor _ , and her mind followed it until she reached the surface, shuddering. She wasn’t even aware she was crying until she felt the heat of her own tears, while the voices -- even Kurt -- tried to soothe her. 

 

_ I just wanted to remember _ , she thought.  _ I just wanted  _ something _. I just… _

 

_ I am so sorry,  _ Maglor relayed to her. He had never been more sincere. He wished this could have been him. It should have been him. If anyone had deserved it, it was...not her. Then again who among those Morgoth had tormented had deserved anything they received? There were no answers.  _ You have my love, Sharley.  _ So badly, he wanted to say that differently, but feared how it would be received. How she felt about him was veiled, unclear. He knew she could not fully accept him, but he hoped she could know he would do anything in his control to help her. Because he had always loved her, and always would. There would never be another.

 

_ Do I? _ she asked, gripping him tighter.  _ Do I, or does she? I’m trying to remember her, and...and this is what happens. I know you love her, but I can’t remember  _ being  _ her. And I’m so afraid someday I -- Sharley -- won’t be enough. That you’ll miss who I’m not too much. _

 

Maglor looked at Thranduil, and their eyes locked. The King saw the plea in his eyes and the bewilderment. How could she have lived among elves for this long and understand nothing of their marriages?

“Sharley,” Thranduil said as gently as possible. “It...does not work that way. Though, I am perhaps the worst elf to speak of this to you because I have the dubious honor of having had a failed marriage. There are not words for how rare this is, among my people. It takes...unusual and spectacular effort to break marriage bonds, and I am not proud of having managed this with my first wife. What I am trying to tell you is, Kana has kept his bond to you for thousands of years because he has always loved you. Your spirit holds his heart; there never will be another. Forgive me but you are thinking...like a human.”

 

“That’s just it,” she whispered, “I still feel like a human. My...my instinct, my default, is still human. I just wanted to remember being something else. If I could remember, maybe I could figure out how to be that again. The only thing that’s the same about me  _ is  _ my spirit.”

 

_ “You still love blue,”  _ Layla pointed out, trying to be helpful.  _ “You still love the smell of lavender. There’s gotta be more in there somewhere.” _

 

“Exactly,” Maglor said. “I can feel how badly you want this but perhaps it cannot be rushed. Wounds to the spirit can be slow to heal.” Reluctantly, he loosened his grip on her just a little. It was hard to believe she had not pulled away by now, and he did not want her to feel awkward for wishing to do so.

 

“And what if this doesn't?” she asked wretchedly. “What if I never manage to remember being Tirillë without...without that happening when I do?”

 

“And what if instead of that, you do manage?” Thranduil asked. “You cannot afford to think of ‘what ifs,’ my friend. My wife could come in here and give you an entire sermon on the fruitlessness of that line of reasoning. It has not even been a few months since the Stranger lost its grip on your mind, after thousands of years. For what it is worth, I believe you are lost in understandable anxiety. And I worry that you will need guidance more expert than what we here can provide in order to navigate out of this.”

 

Sharley wondered if there was anyone on this planet capable of handling  _ that _ . Angie knew her, at least; if anybody stood a chance of helping, it was her. “So I should go home,” she said softly. “I can’t get Angie out here, not on such short notice...it might be months before she could get the time off.” The thought of that...she missed her home, and terribly, but she’d miss Maglor, too.

 

_ “Maglor, I know you’re not that up on technology, but you’re gonna need to get used to IM chats and cell phones,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

Kana blinked in confusion, and Thranduil laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I will help you. For better or worse I have become all too versed in these methods of communication. Video chat too,” he said proudly.

 

Sharley looked at Ratiri. “Will you and Lorna go with me?” she asked. “I might need help...explaining.”

 

“Of course we will,” he said. “I’m sure we’d all go, if you wanted us. You wouldn’t be able to lapse into brooding and uncertainty with us around.”

 

She smiled. “No, I wouldn’t. Thranduil, if Allanah wants to come, can she?” She always felt the need to ask, even though they’d never said no.

 

“Of course she can. I am certain many of her lessons can be managed by computer, and Ratiri will be there.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, shutting her eyes. She hadn’t made any effort to move, nor did she plan to just yet. No, she didn't remember being Tirillë; no, she didn't know Maglor as her former self had, but he was a comfort in a way few people in this world were to her. It was true that he did not make a good doll, as Allanah and Lorna did, but it was nice to be the smaller party, for once.

 

Maglor said nothing, but was losing the struggle to force his arms to loosen further. He suddenly reversed and held her tighter, closing his eyes and beginning to sway. Just as he used to hold Elrond or Elros when the were upset and wanted comforting. All of this seemed like a….mess. There was only one thing of which he was certain; he did not want this moment to end.


	125. One Hundred and Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CONTENT WARNING for memories/recollections of rape**
> 
> July 18-August 20, 2026

 

“So if I have this right,” Earlene frowned (because damn, they had too many people in this home) “we are going to need eight new bedrooms in the new addition in order to accommodate the current state of our household and children that are incubating. From our wing, Maglor, Ailill and Calanon, Ithiliel and Eleniel could move over to the new rooms, which would allow Algar and Eldan, plus Faeleth, to have their own rooms. Lorna, what’s your side got?”

 

“I’m sure Grania and Pat would like their own,” Lorna said. “Saoirse’s wanting to get some space, and I’m sure Lorna the Younger would like one. If Saoirse moves, Chandra can take her old room. Chandra doesn’t mind sharing with Atia for now, but that won’t last.”

 

“And that is honestly why I think Maerwen should take the eighth slot in the new wing. It will buy back another room for that inevitability, as well as leave you with flexibility for what to do as the children get a little older. Yes, No?”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Lorna said. “The Power of Orla can make it happen. She knows how we did stuff last time, so I’m sure she can figure out a way to speed up the process.”

 

“Then I will call her personally, and ask her to come out. Thanadir will begin designs in earnest, and we will turn her loose. I would rather see this get started now, so that we do not lose the season of mild weather.”

 

*****

 

It took two weeks to set up arrangements to get the Donovan-Duncans, Allanah, Maerwen, and Sharley to Washington, and on such short notice, there was no chance at all of them getting the same flight. It was agreed that Sharley, Allanah, Pat, and Saoirse would go first, while the Duncans, Grania, and Lorna the Younger would follow.

 

Mairead was worried somebody would recognize Lorna the Elder, despite Orla’s work, until Lorna pointed out that A.) she’d traveled just fine so far, and B.) her last (legal) driver’s license and passport had both shown a woman with largely black hair. By now it was almost entirely silver, and if she braided it, put it up, and wore a hat, her most distinguishing feature was no longer an issue. Green eyes were not uncommon, though eyes her shade were; the only real problem was her height, but there was nothing to be done about that save wear shoes with thick soles.

 

Sharley, before they left, dragged Maglor aside, plugged her number into his phone, and told him to get Thranduil to help him with the laptop. “I’ll text you when I get there,” she said. “He can explain that, too.”

The ellon looked at it as though it was an object of mystery. He answered it, and knew how to place calls. All the rest was a little fuzzy, though he had texted a few times.  He nodded; there would be a way to manage. Looking down, he was not certain what to say. Between what he should say and what he wanted to say, there was a disparity. “I will miss you,” he said softly, but with a smile. He did not wish to make leaving difficult for Tirillë. And now for the one he was not sure he should ask... “Would you allow me to kiss you on the cheek?” His face flushed in both nervousness and fear of rejection. “You do not have to agree if you would feel uncomfortable.”

 

Her eyes widened, but to her own surprise, she said, “Yes.”

 

Pure delight spread over his features, as he carefully placed a chaste kiss at the edge of her cheekbone. “I hope your travels are without trouble. I will…” he frowned, seeking the right word, “communicate with you soon.” A generally happy smile settled on his face, for he could still feel her soft skin on his lips. Right now he was a very, very content elf.

 

“Oh, Eru,” Thranduil whispered under his breath, almost in disbelief. The sight felt painful, as he watched from a small distance, to behold the appreciation Kana had for every small gesture of favor or affection granted to him. Especially knowing the reason  _ why _ Sharley could not give him more. While in the meantime, he enjoyed the gifts of his marriage and the delights of the body on a daily basis. He had to find a way to help them. He just...had to.

 

“Hopefully I’ll be better when I come back,” she said, with a little smile. “Angie’s good. And I’ll bring you back something, if I can find something interesting enough.” On impulse, she hugged him. Much of her didn't want to go, but she understood why she needed to. She was not...good, right now. Skykomish, and Angie, could hopefully give her some perspective -- could give her  _ something _ .

 

The extra affection added to his joy, as he returned her embrace. Having her in his arms...to him this was a waking dream that answered his centuries of loneliness. “I want you to bring back Sharley,” he said. “Nothing else matters to me.” He hoped that by using her modern name she could realize he loved all of her. Not only his memories. He rarely called her ‘Tirillë’ now, because of this worry.  _ I want you to be better, _ he thought to himself,  _ but for your sake, not mine _ . He did not want to say the words ‘good-bye’ or ‘farewell.’  “Until I see you next,” he said. That sounded much safer.

 

It helped, a great deal, to hear that. Lorna had told her that Thranduil had told  _ her  _ Maglor was going to love her, whether as Sharley or Tirillë. The voices had been rather insistent on that point as well -- annoyingly so, honestly -- but it was taking her time to believe it. Part of her was almost afraid to. “Until then,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze before heading off to grab her bags.

 

Lorna, who had been peeking shamelessly, thought that was just about the sweetest thing she had ever seen in her life. “All right, everyone into the commuter van,” she said. Luggage was gathered, and then they were on the road, enroute to Limerick. It would make for a slightly greater hassle, but they were going to Limerick to leave the van in a long term parking (very thrifty, compared to the airport fees) and would be taking the Eireagle bus from the City Center to the Dublin Airport. Just because they now had money, it didn’t make it right to waste it.

 

The Lump lumbered over to Maglor, looked up at him with plaintive eyes, and said, “Mrow?”

 

The tall ellon bent down to pick the creature up, staring at it in exasperation before relenting. Only now did he see that Thranduil was watching him, grinning. 

 

“The things we do to please our wives, do you not agree?” 

 

“I prefer dogs,” Maglor said helplessly. “The ones belonging to your son are magnificent. And not nearly so large as Huan. He was too much of a good thing,” he grimaced. “But he also was not mine to care for. Still,” he sighed looking at the cat. “For my wife.”

 

Thranduil laughed and clapped him gently on the back. At least this….Lump... was not as large as Tail.

 

The Lump purred like a motor on the fritz, and Ratiri tried not to laugh. “At least she doesn’t want a whole litter,” he said. “First it was one kitten. Then it was five more, plus the mother.”

 

“And Booger,” Chandra reminded him. She was dragging a small suitcase, while Atia had another. “Don’t forget Booger.”

 

The cat must have heard his name, for he came zooming in, and jumped into Ratiri’s arms.

 

“See,” Atia said to Maglor, as the cat immediately rubbed his face all over Ratiri’s, “Booger.”

 

Sensing Maglor’s bewilderment and difficult emotions at this departure, Thranduil attempted to intervene. “I wonder if I might prevail on you to outline to me how musical instruction is undertaken. I have considered your request to teach the children, and find that I would like to understand a little more of what is involved. Especially after Earlene informed me that we have enough young ones under this roof to form an orchestra. Or, we will at some point,” he said, massaging his forehead.

 

“Of course, Aran Thranduil,” he answered, immensely relieved to have a reason to set the feline down. “Where would you like to speak?” 

 

“In the Halls, actually. That is where the instruments are stored?”

 

With a deferential nod of his head, he gestured that he would follow.

 

*****

 

Two weeks had been necessary to rent out most of the rooms in the Cascadia Inn, which was by now used to being mostly booked by this giant family a few times a year. The group that got there first made sure everything was set up for when the second arrived a day later, to make things as painless as possible.

 

The D&D’s were used to planes by now -- though Lorna still took a quarter of a Xanax -- but neither Grania nor Lorna the Younger had ever been one one, and thus had the crash-course in long haul flights that Lorna the Elder had had on the way to New York.  Lorna the Younger was fairly sanguine about it, but Grania had been so nervous that Ratiri gave her half the Xanax pill.

 

It was sunny at SeaTac, and hot -- 26 degrees, and likely to climb. Climate change had continued trudging onward in the last years, with the results that even summers in Ireland were warmer, but this was a surprise, given how early in the morning it was. Ratiri was glad enough to stow their luggage and climb into the air-conditioned interior of the charter bus. While the lot of them were more tolerant to heat than they had been when they went to Yellowstone, that didn't mean they particularly enjoyed long periods of exposure to it.

 

Watching Grania and Lorna the Younger was something of a joy, though. By now, the rest of them were old hands at this, but those two mirrored all the wonder they’d had on their first trip -- especially when they reached the mountains.  _ Those  _ none of them could take for granted, no matter how many times they visited; first sight of them remained stunning.

 

Every single time, Lorna filmed their approach, and spliced it into all the videos when they got home. No matter what Thranduil had said, when she pictured the Misty Mountains, they looked like the Cascades -- hell, in the winter they were often literally wreathed in mist. And yet, every time they came, she couldn’t forget that in not terribly long, they’d never be able to come here again. 

 

But now was not the time to think of that. The bus pulled into Skykomish, and soon enough they were unloading into the Inn.

 

Atia, her hair freshly dyed blue (she, Allanah, and Sharley had all gone to the beauty shop in Baile a few days before) zoomed around like a little hummingbird, already wanting to go down and see the river. None of the adults had anywhere near the energy for  _ that  _ one, but Sharley, who met them in the cafe, assured them she’d do it.

 

She pulled Lorna aside, once the bags had been dealt with. “So, I talked to Angie a bit,” she said, “and she wanted me to ask you if you’d be willing to go in with me sometimes, if I needed. I think everybody knows I'm not the most self-aware person,” she added, with a grimace, “but you know me better than probably anyone but Thranduil, and...well, you and I have a really nasty thing in common. I know you don’t remember, but you’re still the only one who can come close to understanding.”

 

Lorna winced. She’d honestly sometimes felt guilty that Thranduil had taken her memories of Von Arsepimple, but hadn’t taken Sharley’s; it really wasn’t fair that she should be spared that but Sharley, who’d already suffered so much, couldn’t. Lorna had asked him why that was, and he’d said Sharley hadn’t wanted him trying to do such a thing in her mind when there was no way of knowing what consequences it might have. Which made a sad amount of sense -- nobody understood how her brain worked. Not even her.

 

“Of course I will,” she said, taking Sharley’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “You just tell me when.”

 

Sharley gave her one of her brief, sun-ray smiles. “Thank you,” she said, and went to grab Atia. The kids was still little enough that she could be held upside-down by her ankles, which she loved; she shrieked with laughter now, and Sharley grinned.

 

Lorna was not and never had been the praying type -- even once she’d found out that yes, there actually  _ was  _ something out there, she’d never tried addressing it. Them. She couldn’t help, even now, thinking of the Valar as a unit rather than separate entities, mostly because her only prior concept of religion was rather different than the real thing. Now, though, she couldn’t help it:  _ I don’t know if you lot, you Valar, can hear me, given all the other people in the world, but that woman deserves so much better than she’s had. Help her heal, please.  _ Almost nobody deserved the life poor Sharley had had;  _ she  _ certainly didn't.

 

But there were still many things to do, so she’d best get cracking. Allanah and Saoirse always stayed with Sharley, so their things had to be taken to her not-so-little-house -- she’d moved a few years ago, into something rather larger. It meant getting all of them into her sitting-room was no longer standing-room only, which was always a plus, especially in the winter. After they’d gone skiing or played in the snow, they’d sit by her fireplace with cups of hot cocoa…  _ Sharley’s going to need her own space _ , Lorna realized.  _ She and Maglor ought to have their own little detached house somewhere.  _ If they’d brought her cottage into the forest, she couldn’t imagine any reason they shouldn’t be able to build another one like it somewhere. Lorna had a feeling Maglor might never be comfortable in a house full of people -- of humans -- so they ought to have the option of having their own place, should they want it. 

 

That would have to wait, too, however. How this trip went would decide many things, but she’d talk to Thranduil when they got home anyway. It couldn’t hurt to have the idea in mind, even if it wasn’t put into practice right off.

 

*****

 

Thranduil’s head was reeling slightly, from the near-hour in which Maglor had outlined the tenets of music education and theory. The mathematical connections, the mind-body synergy, the overall benefits. “I truly believe that there are only two reasons I did not fade long ago,” he told the King quietly in conclusion. “The kindness of Quen, and music.”

 

“I had always thought it was something to do, to enjoy. A pastime,” Thranduil reflected, his understanding now changed. “I see that there was much of which I was unaware. Now I am more eager than ever to have this teaching for my family.” He frowned. “And yet it is my guess that the human children would benefit even more.”

 

Maglor considered this. “It is my strong guess, that the peredhel will have the quicker mastery of chosen instruments because of the inherent gifts of our people. I think I need not tell you that few are like Hîr Thanadir. But he is...I am not certain, how much of the formal theory he has learned? His is an inherent talent, a genius that simply comprehends what to do, innately. The human children...I have not interacted with so many. But out of what exposure I have had to the university students and which ones had musical training versus not...they have subtle advantages that remain with them for life. Their minds have a greater flexibility. Their spirits have a greater understanding of beauty. I would say that for your peredhel children, this teaching will be an asset. But for the young afterborn, it will be a transformative benefit.”

 

The King looked around the room. “Will we need more instruments?”

 

“It would not go amiss. More stringed instruments of all voices; the full range. Somehow you have a harpsichord but lack a piano; that is an oversight that should be remedied. Brass and woodwinds, and of course more flutes. I sense that money is not an object. With your permission I will consult with the Queen and seneschal, and submit a list?”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrow quirked. “Earlene loves  shopping for instruments, even ones she does not play. You will make her most happy, especially if she feels she can consult with you concerning their purchase.” Maglor’s face split in a radiant smile. Already he could see the rows of instruments stored along the cavern walls and along the narrow tables bordering the chamber. This would be  _ wonderful _ . Thranduil chuckled. “It does my heart good, to see you happier,” he said softly.

 

The ellon looked down, averting his eyes in a usual manner that Thranduil had come to recognize as part shyness, part submission. 

 

“There is something you would like to ask?” he prompted gently. He did not hear Maglor’s mind as he would hear a human. His thoughts did not transfer in a narrative, as they might with Earlene or Lorna. But Thranduil also knew that since Maglor had sworn fealty, he had made little if any attempt to keep him out. His emotions and impressions flowed along, for lack of better words.

 

“Yes,” he answered, though the tone was hesitant. “I was walking in your woods, some distance from here.  I found a small cavern. Not easy to see, but not truly hidden either. I wondered...I hope, someday, that Sharley can truly be my wife again. I would like so much, for us to have a place to dwell that is away from...away from…” his head dropped a little lower.

 

“Ah,” Thranduil said, now understanding. “It is difficult for you to be around the humans, and yet you fear to cause offense by saying so.”

 

“I am sorry,” Maglor replied, ashamed. “Know that I am trying. I understood that coming here meant...this. It is not even that I dislike them. It is...they are like…”

 

“There is no need to apologize, and no need to express remorse for your feelings,” the King said, placing a hand on his back. “You are not alone in this. It is why I do not have most of the elves in the Realm petitioning to live at Eldamar. Those who do were handpicked by Thanadir because of their...flexibility of thought, shall we say?”

 

“But it is not all of them,” Maglor said, still distressed. “Earlene most of the time seems as an elleth, and even Ailill is not...he spends more time in the forests and fields, than in the home.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. “Those two are not normal,” he grinned, before his visage returned to greater seriousness. “What you ask is a small thing and a great thing, all at the same time. But for you, I do not hesitate to grant this. I know the place of which you speak, and can perceive what you wish to do. In the end, your design will be more difficult to discover than the original cavern.”

 

“It will take time to do this work. It is important to me, to create this myself. Please, may I have this be only known to you?”

 

“I cannot stop your wife’s visions from ruining your surprise, but no one else need know. However, when you wish for supplies or materials, you would do well to include Thanadir in your secret. It is my law that no living wood may be cut in the forest. Vast stores of everything that could possibly be needed are in these Halls. Ask him.”

 

“Thank you, i Aran nîn,” Maglor said, grateful but more stunned than anything else. Truly, he had expected a denial.

 

“Kana,” Thranduil said softly, “I would like to ask you a question, knowing that this is very personal. Do you pray?”

 

The answer came with little delay. Maglor shook his head No. “How can I?” Only what the King had done earlier, to help his mind, even made his words possible. “I am as an insect pinned to a board. Still living, yet condemned to go nowhere until some unknown end takes me.”

 

“Because of the Oath?” Thranduil pressed, in a very soft voice.

 

Maglor nodded. “Our deed failed, and all that remains is the Darkness outside. There is nothing else for me, except what I have here in an uncertain future.”

 

“You thought to stay here, once we are called to Aman?” the King guessed.

 

“To do otherwise is to offer myself up to certain doom for my crimes and for my failures.”

 

Thranduil shook his head. “I do not believe that, Kana. The Valar are merciful. Our Father, is merciful.”

 

“Why would they show mercy to me, when I showed none to others?” The soft gray eyes came alive in sudden passion. “My King, you were not there. You did not see the innocent faces that met their deaths by my sword. My kin, that were doing none other than trying to withstand our onslaught and our disobedience to the Valar.” He shook his head in profound sorrow. “I have lived my life in regret and anguish for my deeds, but nothing can erase that I did them.”

 

“You are wrong,” Thranduil said vehemently, not completely understanding whence the words came. And yet, they were what he truly believed. “All those whose lives you took were long ago restored. You have repented of your deeds. What you have not sought is their pardon or their grace.”

 

“And what if it is  _ you _ , who are wrong? Forgive me, Aran Thranduil, but for you this is a debate. For me it is my reality. My condemnation. My fate, that I have deferred for longer than I imagined could be possible.” He sighed, and swept his hand over his face. “I have lived a half-life with some measure of peace and safety, thanks to Quen and his determination. A determination that I have never fully understood.”

 

“Then why did you come here at all?” Thranduil countered. “Why leave your comfortable existence in Oxford and live among us, in the certainty that it will be taken from you?”

 

Maglor smiled, weakly. “Because figuratively, ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’.”

 

“I do not understand,” the King said, seeing this was a reference but not one he knew.

 

“It is another way of saying, it was worth it to me to reach for a small respite of happiness even knowing its temporary nature,” he admitted. “But what I did not expect to find as the result of that decision was Tirillë.”

 

“And how does she fit into your bleak vision of your future?” Thranduil pressed. While ordinarily this would have been well outside of what he had a right to ask, he now felt somewhat compelled to see this discussion to its end.

 

“I do not know,” he said, hanging his head once again. “I am a coward, no longer with the strength to think on such things lest I succumb finally to despair.”

 

“You may have given up on yourself, but I refuse to do so.” Stubbornness and purpose both welled up in him. “You forget you are mine now, and I will not allow this. Kneel.” Thranduil’s voice was sharp, filled with command.

 

Bewildered as his thoughts swirled into confusion and incertitude, Maglor obeyed, dropping to his knees.

 

In clear tones with unmistakable dominance, he enunciated every word: “My command to you is this: From this moment on, you will consider, each day, the possibility that you are wrong. The possibility that your redemption can occur. You will allow hope into your heart. Moreover, you are a sworn subject of this Realm. When our time comes, we are commanded to lead our people home. There were no exemptions issued, and I will not stand and watch while you disobey them again.”

 

Maglor gasped in panic. “No!” he wailed. “Please! I have only survived because of remaining here! And from having driven hope far away! I do not have...I cannot...”

 

“Once again, you are wrong,” Thranduil countered. “And this is not a discussion.”

 

The head of shining dark hair seemed to crumple down as sobs tore from Maglor’s chest. Silently, Thranduil knelt next to him, pulling the ellon’s upper body against him and holding him tightly.  Words were whispered in his ear that were far softer, soothing. “I am doing for you what you cannot and will not do for yourself, because I can. Trust me, that good will come of this. I am not perfect, Kana, but in this I feel an assurance I must believe comes from our gods themselves.” 

 

They remained thus for a very long time, until Maglor could rise, weary and numb from the excess of emotion. He broke his silence at last. “I did not expect this, when I spoke my vows to you. But I have seen a little, of how you care for those bound to you. You are much like a father, to your subjects. I trusted my own father. It did not...go so well.”

 

Thranduil sighed, feeling perhaps the heaviest burden of responsibility he could recall since the elder days. He had begun this, and had no choice but to see it through. “I have had eighteen thousand years to prove that whatever else I am, I am not your father. You will either trust in that and obey me, or break your vows and continue as you have been. That much of a choice yet remains to you.”

 

“I would not be in this situation, were I an oathbreaker,” he said, a slight note of anger creeping into his speech that just as quickly vanished. “May I be dismissed?”

 

“On one condition.”

 

Maglor waited patiently to hear the next requirement, with little mind for resistance at this point.

 

“Tomorrow you will find time, to teach me a little of playing the harp. Even if it is very basic.” Maglor could not possibly know, what this request represented. Thranduil expressed interest in few pursuits. Indeed, he was not necessarily interested in this at all--but he had to be. Just as sometimes a father must take interest in the activities of their children as a show of love and support, it was the same now. He had torn down one of this ellon’s greatest defenses in the fervent hope that he knew what he was doing, and now was obligated to see it through to the other side. The other side of  _ what _ ; regarding that he was currently uncertain.

 

“Yes,” came the simple reply, before Maglor took his leave. “I will, Aran Thranduil.”

 

Thranduil watched him gracefully and silently exit the room, then wearily sat in one of the chairs intended for listeners. “Please tell me I did the right thing. Please tell me that I have not made one of the worst mistakes of my rule…” he trailed off, speaking to no one in particular. When the flaring of light appeared in front of him, he found he was too hollowed out to feel surprised at anything. It at least still registered, that he needed to show respect. He slipped from the chair to kneel. “My Lady Nienna,” he said, bowing low.

 

Apparently the Vala was not in a frame of mind for preamble. “You must know by now that we are never far.” Her words teetered in perfect balance between a question and a statement.

 

“I have noted your will expressed in many ways of late,” he answered carefully. “But I did not presume to know your customs.”

 

Uncharacteristically, the Vala laughed. “Ever the one to exercise diplomacy, Thranduil. And yet it has served you well.” The grays of her robes shimmered around hair he now saw tumbled over her shoulders, in many shades of silver. Her mein was beautiful, if one of sadness. “You did the right thing,” she answered softly in answer to his question. “Kanafinwë was not forgotten, any more than you were.”

 

A second flash of light appeared, and Thranduil’s lips parted as he beheld Oromë and again bowed low before raising his eyes again. But the great Hunter took no notice of him, turning instead to Nienna. “I hope you are not here to tell him that ‘all will be well.’ Do not presume to offer your favorite saying. Not this time.”

 

“The last son of Fëanor to walk these lands deserves the same chance of redemption as all the rest. He is still Eru’s child.” Her chin was set hard in determination. And annoyance.

 

“Aye, he is Eru’s child who has run from us as a fugitive from judgement all the days of his life. His sorrow does not prove the full measure of his heart. He knows what he should do and yet he has not done it. Does not do it. Will you deny this?”

 

“Yes, I will,” she lashed back fiercely, her eyes almost aflame as Thranduil watched in complete stupefaction. “He assigned to himself a harsher penance than anything he would have faced from us, had he the courage to approach. Is your indignation truly for his crimes, or your contempt for his crushed spirit?”

 

To this Oromë had no answer, and only glared at her. Thranduil knelt still, frozen and not daring to move or speak. All he could think was,  _ They argue? _ He did not know what he had thought they did, honestly, but somehow it was not this. 

 

Oromë laughed heartily. “Yes, we argue, Aran Thranduil of the forest.” He approached closer, raising Thranduil off his knees. “I like you. Always have. Someday, we shall have a proper discussion.” His emerald green eyes scrutinized the King; their gaze made more brilliant by them seeming to be lit from within. “Are you afraid of me?”

 

“No,” Thranduil answered honestly. He had not flinched at the Vala’s touch. “But I am struggling to...keep up.”

 

“Understandable,” the Vala acknowledged, twisting a strand of his dark unbound hair. “I will clarify, then. What you demanded of Kanafinwë was...necessary. He indeed has hope, but that hope lies on the other side of his choices. We do not see his future; Vairë refuses to tell if indeed she knows herself. Counsel him, comfort him, care for him, and when the time comes return him to us, Thranduil. But any impetus to approach us in prayer must come from him alone.”

 

Thranduil now took what felt like a terrible risk, but he had to know. “My Lord Oromë, you would see him condemned?”

 

“I would see him  _ judged _ ,” the Hunter replied.

 

There was no response Thranduil could make to this, so he lowered his eyes in acquiescence.

 

“I will go to Kanafinwë,” Nienna said pointedly to Oromë. “And you are  _ not welcome _ .” With a shimmer, her form vanished, leaving Thranduil alone with the Lord of the Forests.

 

“I congratulate you on your anticipated sons,” Oromë smiled, shrugging at the rebuke he had just received. “Your children are a delight to watch, and if I may confess I have a soft spot for little Thaladir. The hawks, the hounds, the hunting...he is a child after my own heart. I was most pleased that you liked the falconer.”

 

“Ailill?”

 

“Aye. He has a beautiful spirit, that one,” the Vala said fondly. “Alas, our time is at an end, Aran Thranduil. You have done well, with what has been entrusted to you. Blessings, until we speak again.”

 

Thranduil rose up slowly, and walked the next door over to his rooms, where Thanadir still fortunately kept wine in the sideboard. “I will only have one bottle,” he said to himself aloud. “But I think I am allowed.” Breaking the wax seal and pouring the contents into a goblet, he sat in his comfortable chair to reflect on all that he had just seen and heard. “They argue…” he whispered.

 

**

 

Maglor had retreated to his private quarters, where he could try to process the jumbled emotions that filled him. For many long minutes he sat unblinking, until at last his eyes welled with tears. “I did not want hope. And I cannot go, Aran Thranduil,” he whispered to the empty room. “For with hope comes the fear that hope will prove to be in vain. I am afraid, and I am ultimately alone, all by my own doing. Why have you done this to me? Why ensure my doom?”   
  


His eyes were closed, opening only when brilliant light flashed on his lids, startling him. “Because he loves you,” Nienna answered firmly.

 

Maglor knew who this was, and lowered his eyes. “I do not deserve to speak with you, my Lady,” he said, sliding to his knees.

 

“Neither do you deserve not to,” she declared, reaching down to gently raise his chin up to look on her. “Find courage in mercy, Makalaurë,” her words whispered, as her tears splashed on his face. On his lips. He closed his eyes as he felt her kiss on his brow, and tasted the salt of her tears. Just as suddenly, she was gone. 

 

Peace and assuredness blanketed his heart, and he felt...different. “Thank you, my Lady,” he whispered in great sincerity.

 

An urge to lie on his bed overwhelmed him, and he fell immediately into a dreamless slumber. He was not certain of the time, when he woke, and it did not seem important just now. Removing his clothes, he plaited his hair before stepping into the pleasantly warm water of the bathing pool in his room. Remaining silent, he thought carefully on everything that had happened earlier. Realization settled over him, of what he must eventually do. He was not ready yet; he did not know when he would be, and he felt sure that when the moment came he would still be afraid. But for the first time in thousands of years, a place in his heart could consider it. Feel a measure of acceptance, for that which he had long feared and dreaded. He had at the very least been granted the means to do as his King had commanded.  _ I can consider that perhaps, I am wrong _ .

  
  


*****

{July 29, 2026}

 

Sharley couldn’t remember ever being this nervous. She was practically sick with it, sweating, heart lurching -- yes, she wanted to get better, but to talk about this…

 

Lorna gave her arm a squeeze. If not for her tiny friend, she might not be able to put one foot in front of the other. They at least had a little clarity now as to what some of the things she was feeling  _ were _ , and why she might have them, but that didn't really make it any easier. She hadn’t even given Lorna, who’d gone through the same damn thing, any details; how could she give them to Angie? Angie, whom she’d known for years -- whom she’d rented a house from, and seen at the cafe. Would it change the way her friend looked at her?

 

“No,” Lorna had said, when she’d brought that up. “That was my greatest fear, for a long, long time -- that people would look at me differently. That they’d see a  _ victim _ .” She said the word with a startling amount of vitriol. “I didn't want anyone’s pity, and I didn't get it. Your Angie, you’re almost certainly not the first assault survivor she’s dealt with. Yeah, you’ll be the first’v this type, but if it makes you feel any better, I really doubt you and I are as unique as we might fear -- or hope.”

 

Sharley had shuddered, and she shuddered again. In a sense, she was worse off than Lorna in two ways: not only did she remember it, it was the only sexual experience in her entire life she could recall. Lorna had had a loving relationship before and since, but for Sharley, her entire marriage was lost in some corner of her shattered mind.

 

It was a warm, sunny day, at least; the walk to Angie’s was physically pleasant, if not mentally. Her house was a beautiful one, with a backyard that faced the river, and when Sharley and Lorna arrived, they were led not into the house, but around back. The river, low in its banks, babbled gently; the sky above was very blue, and Angie must have recently mowed her lawn, because the scent of cut grass rose sweet from the ground.

 

Cedar lawn furniture was arranged around it, with a central fire pit in the ground. It too smelled lovely, and yet Sharley still couldn’t relax. She sat stiffly on a padded glider, Lorna beside her, one arm wrapped around her.

 

Angie, her red hair in a ponytail, had about half an inch of dark, greying roots showing; she usually couldn’t get to Monroe to get her hair done often enough. She had on denim shorts and a green tank top -- nothing stiff or professional. No doubt it was calculated to put Sharley at her ease, but nothing could have, right now.

 

She all but folded in on herself, unable to speak.  _ Lorna, you need to tell her,  _ she said desperately.  _ Please. Get it over with for me. _

 

Lorna hugged her closer, and looked at Angie. “So, Sharley brought me here for a reason,” she said. “I know she told you she was raped when she emailed, but...that’s nowhere near the whole’v it. I’m here because the fucker did the same damn thing to me, years later. Thranduil took my memory’v it, but just now nobody wants to risk what would happen to Sharley, if he tried it with her, because none’v us  _ knows  _ what would happen. So she’s stuck with it, and she doesn’t have any other memories’v ever having sex, and she’s found her husband, after...well, forever. Someday she wants a love life again, but she can’t have one so long as  _ that’s  _ hanging over her head.”  _ That good enough?  _ God, it was still weird to talk to Sharley this way. It didn't help that Sharley’s telepathy was often faulty, either; there would be something they could only describe as mental static.

 

Angie, to her credit, never dropped her calm expression. “Sharley, can you speak of it?” she said. “You don’t have to yet. If you aren’t ready, you don’t need to say anything. Or you could tell me one thing, and we can talk about it a piece at a time, a little more each session.”

 

Sharley shook her head. “If I don’t do it now, I never will,” she whispered. “It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid, or at least I hope it is.”

 

“Then I’ll just ask you one more question,” Angie said. “Are you doing this for your benefit, or for his?”

 

Sharley shivered. She’d had no idea just how much she’d been trying the rest of things for Maglor’s sake and not her own, but she’d done a lot of careful thinking before she made the decision to bring this up. “Mine,” she said. “This has been my hell, ever since I remembered it. And I’ve gotta say, Angie, I dunno how I’ll ever get over it.”

 

Angie leaned forward in her chair. “Sharley, listen to me: there is no time limit on that,” she said. “Every recovery is different, just like every situation is different. Don’t sit and tell yourself that you have to work through this by a certain date. All it will do is create more anxiety, and delay your healing.”

 

She nodded, and leaned against Lorna. The lavender scent of the woman’s hair calmed her a little. “Okay,” she said, and drew a deep breath. It didn't help that much. “So, this...man...his name was Avathar, but he wasn’t a man, he was a balrog. Ancient and mostly immortal, he spent a few hundred years in the middle of humans, just kinda...fucking around. Just because he could.” 

 

Running a hand through her hair, she paused, frustrated. “I used to, when I’d have my fits, sometimes get found and put in a hospital, if they were long enough. He saw me in one one day -- he was big into medicine and experimentation and shit -- realized what I was, and basically stole me. Ran a lotta tests on me for a few years, while I was locked up in his facility, but he never knew what I  _ really  _ was. He knew I saw the future, but the Stranger kept him from finding out I wasn’t actually human. I wasn’t strong enough to escape...not then.”

 

She fell silent, and Angie didn't poke at her. Neither did Lorna, who just ran a soothing hand along her back. “He was a telepath, and a really strong one. I say he raped me, but it wasn’t like normal rape. He went into my head and made me think I was willing -- made me want him and what he did to me. There wasn’t any pain or fear, or humiliation until I eventually remembered it again. I don’t know why, either; I’d think someone like that would get off on hurting people.”

 

Angie’s face was an admirable mask of calm, but Lorna caught the horror at the back of the woman’s eyes, and prayed Sharley’s telepathy was too on the fritz to notice. “Sharley, let me tell you something,” the woman said. “There is no such thing as ‘normal’ rape. Every instance is different, because every person is different. Tell me, why do you feel humiliated?”

 

Sharley’s eyes squeezed shut. “Because he made me enjoy it,” she whispered. “Because he made me want him. I remember everything he did, and how I reacted -- it wasn’t anything weird or gross, at least, but…”

 

She couldn’t bring herself to say it, but she didn't have to; a brief, horrible flash of memory slammed into Lorna’s mind. Her own memory of the feel of that bastard’s hands was gone, but Sharley’s...dear  _ God _ .

 

Somehow, she forced herself to stay very still. If Sharley were aware this was happening, she’d clam up, and might never be able to speak of it again. This had to at least start now, even if it might not finish for years.

 

“It’s almost worse, that way,” Sharley went on. “I  _ did _ like it. He made me...in my head, he sorta...amped everything up, until I wasn’t aware of anything else. There was just...just  _ him _ , and what he made me feel, and…” Bile rose in her throat, and she was unable to continue -- fortunately, because a second memory slapped Lorna like a cold fish. Had everything been this heightened with her?  _ Ewwwww. _

 

Again Sharley was silent, and Angie said gently, “Sharley, we don’t have to continue if this is too hard for you. I don’t want you pushing yourself if you’re not ready.” Now there was worry at the back of her dark eyes.

 

Sharley shook her head, almost violently. “No,” she said. “No, I have to get this out. He made me say things to him. Made me thank him for what he was doing, except I was so...so...I could barely speak.”

 

_ That  _ memory hit Lorna, too, and her eyes widened. She tensed before she could help it, but mercifully, Sharley didn't notice. The poor woman was shivering, hands pressed against her temples, fingers tangled in her hair.

 

“How the hell am I ever supposed to move past that, Angie? How could I? I can’t think of anything like -- like  _ that _ , without remembering  _ him _ .”

 

“Sharley, look at me,” Angie said, and there wasn’t just Therapist in her tone, there was Friend. “We’ll do with this whatever we can, but don’t think of it in terms of moving past it -- not yet. The first thing I want to work on is your shame. I think you know it isn’t logical.”

 

“I do,” she said, “and that doesn’t help.” No, she could not, realistically, have fought him. No, he hadn’t even given her the chance to try. Neither of these facts were any comfort at all. “And...and the worst part, the absolute fucking  _ worst  _ part, is that I can’t regret it, because of Marty. I can’t sit there and honestly wish it hadn’t happened, because she wouldn’t have existed.”

 

Lorna hugged her a little tighter, wishing she was the one with telepathy, so she could try to comfort this poor woman. God knew she didn't have any actual  _ words _ .

 

“Many survivors who choose to keep children conceived by rape have difficulty with that,” Angie said. “But you loved Marty. You still love Marty. What you -- what we -- need to do is to separate her conception from what was done to you. Does that make any sense?”

 

Sharley shook her head.

 

“You didn't know Marty was the product of rape. You were able to love her without any association with the act that conceived her,” Angie said. “She is a separate issue entirely. When you think of your assault, don’t bring her into consideration, and when you think of her, don’t think of how she was conceived. Marty is your daughter, and you love her, and that is what you need to focus on.”

 

“Because  _ that’s  _ gonna be easy,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “And it…” She trailed off, shuddering. There was worse, so much worse she didn't know if she could bring herself to say it, because yes, it was humiliating, and she knew she should be ashamed.

 

“You’re safe, Sharley,” Lorna said softly. “Nobody here judges you. Nobody here is going to think any ill’v you at all, no matter what you have to say.”

 

Sharley swallowed. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You don’t remember what he did to you. If I ever think about it, or have nightmares about it, I...it….” She shuddered again, a small, wounded sound in her throat.

 

“Sharley, when you remember it, do you re-experience some of the physical sensations?” Angie asked gently.

 

“Yes,” Sharley whispered, hands fisting in her hair. “Yes, I do, and it’s  _ humiliating. _ ”

 

“Would you believe me if I told you it isn’t uncommon?”

 

Sharley looked up at her through tear-blurred eyes. “ _ What?”  _

 

“It’s possible for a person to climax even through rape,” Angie said gently. “Orgasm is a physiological response, and the psychological after-effects can be devastating. When you think on an experience that hurt you, you remember the pain, don’t you? If you think about Marty’s birth, you remember that it hurt?”

 

After a moment, Sharley nodded. “But...I don’t physically hurt again when I think of it. It’s not...it’s not the same.”

 

“It’s also been ten years since you gave birth,” Angie said, “while your mind has only been dealing with the memory of your rape for less than six months. Time will make it fade. You can’t control your physiological responses; your attacker forced your mind to associate his act with certain feelings, and when you recall it, your brain is going into serotonin overload. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“I still don’t want anyone to know,” Sharley said. “I can’t...I just  _ can’t _ .”

 

“Sharley,” Lorna said, “Look at me. You don’t just have two options here -- it’s not a case of ‘either I’m ashamed’v and hide it or I have to tell the whole world’. What happened to me isn’t something I tell people about, but I'm not ashamed, anymore, to talk about it with the people I love, if the situation ever calls for it. I  _ was _ , yeah -- I threw my teacup at Pat, when he first started asking too many questions -- but what you felt isn’t your fault. What you feel  _ now _ isn’t your fault. That’s all on Von Pissberry. Thranduil told me not to give the fucker the satisfaction’v feeling what he wanted me to feel, and I’ll tell the same thing to you. No, it’s not an easy thing to actually do -- trust me, I know -- but you’ve got people here who love you. We’re not going to think there’s something wrong with you because’v something you can’t help.”

 

“And what happens when Maglor finds out?” she whispered. “He’s an Elf. They don’t get...anything to do with that. If I hadn’t thought I was human, I’d be dead. What’s he gonna say, if he ever finds out I think about it and get....”

 

“Turned on?” Lorna offered. “Sharley, the elf loves you. Yes,  _ you _ , not just his memory’v who you were. He might not understand it right off, but that doesn’t mean he won’t learn how to.” She really, really hoped she was right about that, anyway; Ratiri had told her Maglor had at first assumed she must have wanted it, because of the whole ‘Maiar can’t be raped’ bit, and that was something Sharley never, ever needed to know. Yes, it had been a misunderstanding, but it would still devastate her.

 

Whatever the poor woman meant to say, it was lost when a sob tore free of her throat, sounding like it was pulled from the very depths of her soul. Lorna, wishing like hell she were taller, tried to hug Sharley a little less awkwardly. She made no attempt to shush -- just ran her hand along Sharley’s back again, trying to be a comfort so her friend could drain this poison.

 

Sharley’s weeping went on for a long, long time; by the time she was through, there were no more tears left, and she was a hoarse, snotty mess. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her nose on the hem of her shirt.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Lorna said. “Snot happens. Every time, apparently. I’m guessing you’re tired as hell right now?”

 

Wiping her nose again, Sharley nodded.

 

“Angie, could we do this again later?” Lorna asked, looking at the psychiatrist. “I think a nap might be in order.”

 

“Of course,” Angie said, rising. She gave Sharley a giant bear-hug. “I’m proud of you, Sharley. That took a lot of strength, and a lot of courage. You are a survivor, not a victim.” Leaning back, she took Sharley by the shoulders. “I’m giving you homework,” she added. “I want you to get a journal. Have you ever kept one?”

 

Sharley shook her head. 

 

“Well, I want you to get one. Get Thranduil to give you something pretty. I don’t want you to just write down what you did during each day -- write down whatever you think, or feel, that affects you each day. In time, you’ll notice patterns, and we can work from there.”

 

“Okay,” Sharley said. “Lorna...I can’t deal with anyone right now. Not while I'm such a mess.”

 

“Then let’s go for a walk,” Lorna said. “There’s this handy beautiful river we can walk next to.” She knew she’d been around Thranduil too long when she automatically looped her arm through Sharley’s.

 

*****

 

After dinner that night, Lorna went for a walk. Sharley had Allanah to keep her distracted, and Lorna wouldn’t be able to rest until Thranduil knew about the therapy session, and had the opportunity to digest it before anything happened with Maglor.

 

Ratiri had the kids out; she’d have their room to herself. Taking out her mobile, she texted Thranduil:  _ Can you videochat soon? Sharley had her first therapy session and there’s stuff you should know. _

 

**

 

In the Quiet Room at Eldamar, Thranduil’s phone jangled. He had spent much of the day thinking about yesterday. This morning. Kana had come to him privately, to disclose Nienna’s words to him, and confirm that he was doing as his King had required. Thranduil had never wanted to apologize or comfort so much in his life, as he did at that moment, but he knew he had to keep his expectations at the forefront. He spoke to the ellon with kindness, praising him, but tried not to be effusive. He endeavored to project what he did not feel like he was; a pillar of stability, spiritual strength and encouragement. Kana did not need to know his own fears and doubts; he had enough of his own with which to contend.

 

With a sigh, he read Lorna’s text.  _ Yes. Give me a moment.  _ For this, he preferred the privacy of his bedroom. They knew from practical experience that its heavy walls made it the most private place in the home, save perhaps Thanadir’s old room. Either way it mattered not, half the house was away on holiday. He opened his laptop and sat in a chair, trying to compose himself. Sharing with Lorna the things private to Kana was out of the question, even if he was struggling to process all that had transpired. The screen flickered on. “Hello, Lorna,” he said softly. “How did it go?”

 

“I think good will come’v it,” she sighed. “I guess you’d call it a breakthrough.” She sat cross-legged on the bed in her room at the Inn, tired. “I knew that poor woman was suffering, but I had no idea how much. Most’v what she’s said is private, but there’s one thing I feel like I ought to give you a head’s-up on: the biggest thing Sharley’s ashamed’v is that she can’t remember...that...without it turning her on a little. She didn't know that that’s not unusual, and she’s terrified’v Maglor ever finding it out. I told her he’d support her no matter what, but it might be easier on everyone if he’s not blindsided by it.”

 

“Maglor already has found out, Lorna. I told him. And before you become angry with me, I had to. He is not a fool; his wife had a child and he was not the father. There was little choice, from the moment Marty was first mentioned onward.”

 

Lorna massaged her forehead. “I’d figured, given he knew about Marty, that he probably knew,” she said. “Sharley knows he knows that much. What she’s scared to have him find out is that she gets turned on a little when she remembers it, because she’s so humiliated and guilty. Angie’s great, though -- I think she might’ve got through to Sharley a bit on that one. For now, though, she’s like a raw nerve.”

 

He sighed. “He is not going to care. Not remotely. He loves her, for Eru’s sake. Part of me wishes very much Earlene had known of some of these things but...it was impossible. And thoughts and beliefs like this are why I wished her to have qualified help,” he added. While to himself he was thinking,  _ what turns Sharley on is the least of Maglor’s current worries. _

 

“Bless Angie,” Lorna said, nearly sagging with relief. She’d assumed that would be the answer, but she was relieved nonetheless. “And bless Sharley, for being able to get it all out. She feels a lot’v what I felt, only worse. I didn't know how much worse. She’s...still waters run deep, with Sharley. We had dinner, and pie, and I gave her a little bit’v tincture, and now she’s got Allanah with her in her house. I think it’s a good first step, and you can tell Maglor that much, at least -- that there’s been something positive. She might tell him herself. I hope she does.”

 

“Do you think she will talk to him soon?” Thranduil inquired, hoping the answer was No. He did not relish having to communicate about something this sensitive after what had already passed between them in the last day...he had gone out on a royal limb with what he had done already; he had gambled and won. This time. He was not eager to press his luck or see how far the boundaries of the ellon’s willing submission could be stretched.

 

Lorna shook her head. “Probably not. I think she has to digest this for a while, before she tells anyone, but...she will sooner or later, and if he’s totally blindsided, she might misinterpret shock as disapproval.”

 

“You are giving me homework, then, is how we are putting it?” he grimaced.

 

“Pretty much,” she said, unconsciously mirroring the expression. “Angie gave Sharley homework, I guess it’s only fair?” 

 

She picked at the toe of her sock, wondering if she should share this. “Thranduil, she’s...projecting,” she said quietly. “She doesn’t know it, I think. Thank bloody  _ God  _ it didn't happen to Angie, but…” She fell silent. “I was feeling what she was remembering. And I don’t know what to do with that. She’d be mortified, but...help? I don’t know what to do.”

 

“I am truly sorry,” he said, blanching at what he realized she must mean, shaking his head. “Lorna…” his long eyelashes swept down as he contemplated his next words carefully. “Perhaps, though your need is lesser, you too need to talk to Angie. At the time these things happened, this kind of help was not available to you because...you could not exactly afford to go into an office and start talking about elves and balrogs. Maybe you need to see this as an opportunity, and try not to resist the feelings and mental images that will inevitably arise from your exposure to Sharley’s memories. I mean, yes, there may be discomfort, but could it not perhaps help?”

 

She raised her eyes and looked at him, with a faint, wry smile. “I guess I’d be a hypocrite if I’d encouraged her and then didn't do it myself,” she said. “My fear is...what if she somehow projects onto someone else? I mean, I doubt she will, she’s not that stressed, but...well, shit, she’d die if she did that. If anyone else knew. I don’t dare tell her  _ I  _ know -- she’d be too horrified and guilty.” After a pause, she added, “And what do I do, if it keeps happening if I go to therapy with her? I can’t tell her, Thranduil. I can’t do that to her.”

 

“Speak to Angie privately; how you do it does not matter. Inform her of what you have told me, and that you would like to see her on your own. Let her be responsible for guiding Sharley away from you being there with her as soon as possible. Perhaps she can manage this in only one more session, or part of one. It is my guess that Sharley needed you there to overcome her fears of the first experience. Maybe there is even some legitimate reason, why your ongoing presence is undesirable unless absolutely necessary. Could that work?”

 

“I’ll give it a shot,” she said. “I think Sharley will start wanting solo sessions sooner or later, now that it’s all out in the open. Jesus, I thought it’d tear her apart, trying to get it all out. Angie’s her friend, too, which I think helps.” She couldn’t help a little smile. “Thing is, you’re not the only person I’m a doll for. If she wants me with her, I can’t say no. But at least...she cried like I’ve never seen anyone cry before, but by the end’v it, she seemed...drained. Drained, but in a good way, like she’d got the poison out, or at least started to. It won’t be easy, but I think it’s possible.”

 

“It is,” he sighed. “There is something else I want to try to discuss. If I were theoretically to bring up something about my being a King because I feel there is an important reason, but I also theoretically could not tell you all of what occurred because that would be crossing several lines of confidence-breaking, do you think you could theoretically listen to what I tell you and be alright with not asking me questions I cannot rightly answer? Theoretically.”

 

Lorna eyed him, rather glad he couldn’t read her mind in that moment, because she was quite thrown. “I could theoretically do that,” she said, wondering what the hell he was about to lay out.

 

“This for the same reason you have confided in me about Sharley. Just as you believe Maglor cannot afford to be blindsided on account of what Sharley struggles with, something similar is happening on this end. Has, happened on this end. I took a great risk with him yesterday, pushing very hard to try to help regarding a certain aspect of his private struggles. When we parted, I know he was very upset. After he left, two Valar might have appeared and told me things pertaining to Maglor that I am still trying to comprehend. And then one Vala most definitely appeared to Maglor in person. Which is all to say, he is reeling right now. He will be better off for what happened, but yesterday was a terrible strain. I want you to understand that he may be...off, if she talks to him, and that it has  _ nothing _ to do with her. Unless I am much mistaken, he will not be able to discuss a word of it.” He blinked a few times. “Theoretically?”

 

Lorna groaned, and outright facepalmed. “Oh good Jesus. Well, I don’t know where Sharley stands on the Valar right now, so I maybe shouldn’t tell her the actual reason he’ll be off if she talks to him. I know she’s not like the Stranger, but just what she  _ does  _ think...I’m pretty sure I can say there’s no reverence going on there, even if there isn’t active anger. Can I theoretically tell her that I talked to you and you theoretically told me he’s just having a few problems, so if she talks to him and he’s...he’s…” she flailed her hands a little, and made a rather odd, terrified expression, “like that, it’s not her fault and has nothing to do with anything she tells him?”

 

“Yes. You can theoretically tell her that he is upset about something between he and I, which is a slight distortion as opposed to an outright deception. I would much rather have her irate with me over something she imagines is...Kingy...than pressing him to divulge what actually happened.”

 

“Thank theoretical bloody god for that,” she sighed. “Those poor two. I’m not the praying kind, but even I prayed for Sharley. She’s never, I doubt, done anything to deserve what she’s gone through. And while it might’ve escaped her so far, it hasn’t escaped  _ me  _ that one day she’ll outlive all’v us, and Maglor’s the only one she’ll have.”

 

“Something I am very keen to avoid mentioning,” he said, shaking his head. After what had transpired yesterday, he truly failed to see how any of this was going to have a happy ending. And yet he had to hope. Somehow.  _ Valar, I want more wine. _

 

“I’m seriously pondering haunting her,” Lorna said, and she wasn’t joking. “But...well, shit, the Valar have been blessing us left and right. I really hope they wouldn’t leave Sharley out in the cold. She needs Maglor. I mean, even already she does. Would they really be cruel enough to do something awful to him, knowing what it would do to her? I can’t believe that. I won’t. And I say this as someone who never has had a whole lot’v faith in anything that wasn’t another person.”

 

“I do not believe it either. But I can only trust, and hope. At the end of the day I am just an elf, for all the bells and whistles, as you might say. They have never done anything without reason. They have never done nothing, without reason. Anyway. Aside from this, are you having any fun? Allanah is well, and everyone?”

 

“Aside from that, yeah,” she said. “Allanah’s great. She likes Sharley’s bigger house better, since there’s more space for her and Saoirse to sprawl in the sitting room. We’re going on a hike tomorrow, though fuck if I can remember where. Someplace pretty, obviously, because it’s Washington.”

 

“Well, good. I think you might want to set your children to thinking about music lessons, when the time to come home nears. Before it all went to shards, Maglor was quite serious about teaching all of them, and he has explained a great deal. I think it is very important that he have a sense of purpose, for numerous reasons. Earlene has already started buying more instruments, Eru help us. Something about a bass and a cello…” he shook his head.

 

Lorna laughed. “I doubt that’ll be hard. Shane’s already practicing a little on the guitar, and if the other kids’re doing it, mine’ll want to. The joys’v herd mentality, I guess. And I can  _ finally _ , after  _ ten bloody years _ , say that Earlene and the Elves is an actual band name.”

 

The King smiled, not about to mention that Earlene played a harpsichord and was therefore unlikely to ever appear in a band. That was best left unsaid, in the midst of an otherwise productive exchange. “I should go, Lorna. I hear stirrings in the outer rooms and...I would rather not have it known that we talked just yet; I am still trying to think about everything that happened.”

 

“My lips are sealed,” she promised. “Good luck, and pet the kitties for me. Saoirse’s already worried Booger is lonely, so if you can get a picture of someone snuggling with him and send it to her, it would help.”

 

“I will manage that,” he said, managing to hide his complete lack of enthusiasm for this task with a happy smile. “Give our love to everyone, until we speak again.”

 

“I will. Take care.” She signed off, and sat very still, head bowed.

 

She understood, to an extent, Sharley’s problem. Now that she had those memories, the memories that weren’t hers, the harder she tried not to think about it, the worse it was. She needed a drink.

 

**

 

Thranduil reached to click and end the call, now staring at the blank screen. “Well, at least  _ something _ went well,” he murmured to himself. “Poor Lorna.” He paused, and looked down at the floor. “Poor all of us.”

 

*****

 

American booze, Lorna decided, was unfairly maligned -- how had she never, in all her trips here, discovered citron vodka? This stuff was  _ amazing _ , and it packed a decent punch, too. Yes, she'd resolved years ago not to drink her problems away, but this was something of a special circumstance. This was something she had to keep to herself, if at all possible. She could only imagine how Sharley would feel, if anyone else ever knew.

 

Once they'd got the kids to bed, she was determined to jump Ratiri’s bones and forget this day’s awful revelations, but of course she couldn't be that lucky. No sooner had he touched her side than she froze, bile rising in her throat.

 

“Allanah, stop,” she said, voice strained.

 

He stilled immediately, and sat up to look at her. “What's wrong?”

 

She shut shut her eyes.  _ Dammit. “ _ Sharley,” she said. “I guess going with her affected more than I thought.” It was true, and didn't betray any confidences.

 

He rolled to his side, and pulled her close. “I'm sorry, mo chroí.”

 

“It's not your fault. Didn't think it would do this to me, and you can't tell Sharley it did. She won’t want me to go with her again, even if she needs support.”  _ And yet, aren't you doing the same thing, keeping this from her?  _ a little voice asked.

 

_ No _ , she retorted.  _ Sharley’s more broken than I ever was. She's been through so, so much worse.  _ Lorna’s entire life was like paradise compared to what had been done to Sharley. She had never been tortured, had rarely been cut off from having at least one person who loved her; her first child had been lost before she could know and love her, as Sharley had Marty. Almost always, in Lorna’s life, there had been  _ someone _ : even during her nightmare childhood, she’d had her brothers and sister, and then she’d had her gang. Prison was the one bleak spot, but even then, Tatiana had looked after her. Tatiana might have been crazy, but she was a good ally. After there had been Liam, and then Mairead and Gran found her...she’d been poor in goods but blessed in people

 

But who had Sharley had? The voices? The Stranger? She’d hated the Stranger, and couldn’t talk to it anyway. Until Marty, until Skykomish, had she had anyone, ever, in all her memory? Lorna suspected not, and the thought just about broke her heart.

 

And someday, they would die -- all her human family. She’d watch them succumb to time, one by one, until only Maglor remained. The rest of the elves would go to Aman, but Lorna wasn’t surprised Sharley didn't want to, and she knew Maglor wouldn’t go without her. He had no compelling reason to want to go himself.

 

That thought hurt Lorna to the core, too, and she shut her eyes. Ratiri’s hands on her had brought forward her borrowed memories of  _ his _ hands, Von Shitweasel’s hands, and it was nearly enough to make her gag. Yeah, she needed to see Angie, too.

  
  


*****

{August 7th, 2026}

 

“Nana, something is wrong with Old Henny,” Ithiliel said, indicating what her sister held. In Eleniel’s arms was a bundle of tan colored feathers. 

 

Earlene washed her hands quickly. “Let’s go outside again, into the light, so we can see better,” she said kindly, a vague knot forming in her stomach. Once past the porch, Eleniel set Henny carefully down on the grass, where Earlene could see the hen struggling to breathe. Her hand ran down the bird’s keel to find little but bone jutting against the skin, and a gentle examination felt the swollen abdomen.  _ Shit. _ “I am so sorry,” she said compassionately, “but Henny is dying. I know you have seen how animals are killed to eat them. It is very sad, but we need to end Henny’s life in order to be kind to her. She is suffering.”

 

Ithiliel looked at her sister to see the disappointed resignation on her face. “How do you know, Nana?”

 

“Well, feel here,” she guided her daughters’ hands to the chest of the poor animal. “A healthy chicken has plenty of breast meat on either side of this bone, and she has nothing. That means she is not well, because she has lost her muscle mass. And her tummy? It is not round like that because she has fat there. Push in gently. Feel how it is almost like a water balloon?”

 

The twins nodded unhappily. 

 

“That is because there is water in there, of a kind. Fluid. The fluid is taking up room inside of her, which is why she is having trouble breathing. I am afraid it will only get worse. Probably she has cancer; the cancer makes the fluid. Henny is very old, and has lived a good life out on the grass and in our barn,” she said sympathetically. There was no way to whitewash losing pets. Or even, not-so-pets. It was always hard when animals were dying, for anyone with a heart. “I hope you are willing to let her go. It is wrong to keep an animal alive when it is in pain and has no hope of getting better.”

 

They both petted the chicken and said nothing for a minute. “We want to help.”

 

Earlene looked at her daughters searchingly. “You want to help bury her?”

 

“No, Nana,” Ithiliel said. “We want to help her die. We do not want her to be sick, and we know they do not live forever. We like the chickens, and want to know what to do to when this must be done. We should not want to care for them only when it is easy, or when they are cute. El and I like to be around the farm animals. ” 

 

That part was true...especially in the last year, more and more of their time had been spent in the barn, at the farm, in the stables. At first Earlene thought it was a way to pass time or play, but often she had answered their questions or helped them to find information online about husbandry-related questions. Word had reached her ears that they were also asking to help the farmers that worked with the horses and oxen “I am very proud of you, for being able to say that.” She held their shoulders. “That shows compassion and wisdom. I only know one way to do this of which I am confident, and there will be some blood. When you are ready, we will find Adar Thanadir or Thranduil. They can make Henny fall asleep first, and then she will truly feel nothing. She has been a very good bird. I remember when she was a chick; she has lived a very, very long time for a chicken. I will leave you for a moment so I can change clothes,” she said, bending down to kiss her children.

 

On the way inside she ran into Thranduil. “I am afraid we have a minor situation. Our daughters are going to lose their favorite chicken. They…”

 

He leaned down to kiss her. “I heard, meluieg. Do you want me to do it?”

 

“Actually, I want you to help them do what  _ they _ wish to do. They are expressing more interest in livestock. I want to support that as much as I can. Go talk with them, but please wait for me? It matters to me, to be there for them.”

 

“As you wish, Earlene.” He smiled, letting his features drop after she left to massage his forehead. Only this week could it be possible to have a family bonding experience over euthanizing an animal. He shook his head.  _ When all this has settled, I need to go away again,  _ he thought.  _ How did I ever be a King all day, every day, for all of those years?  _ The answer came back with disturbing alacrity.  _ Because all of this lunacy was not occurring, that is how.  _ With a deep sigh, he walked toward the door to sit with his daughters, passing Ailill and Calanon. “There is something I need you two to do for me,” he said calmly.

 

“Of course, Aran Thranduil.” Calanon was trying to keep his features neutral. They had just returned from their favorite hidden glade in the forest where they had enjoyed a very nice hour. A smoldering sidewise glance at his husband was all it took to make Ailill blush furiously, which Calanon loved doing more than anything. Seeing that love, and desire, oh it still made his heart leap every time...

 

Thranduil could not hear Calanon’s thoughts without intruding but Ailill’s were all too transparent, and this knowledge made the poor firion’s cheeks redden even more. The King stifled a smile. “Please find Booger. One of you pet the animal, and then when it looks suitably content, the other one of you photograph it. Then forward that image to my mobile.” He commanded this as though it were the most ordinary assignment in the world.

 

With deferential nods they each indicated their understanding, and Thranduil left out the door. To their credit, the couple made it all the way up the spiral stairs before they burst into laughter. Ah, the whims of a King...sometimes it was best not to know.

 

*****

{August 20, 2026}

 

Sharley’s therapy sessions had...not been fun. Lorna’s private sessions hadn’t, either -- not that Sharley knew anything about that, aside from the fact that she was having them.

 

Mercifully, nobody else had yet been slapped by any unwitting telepathic projection from the poor woman, and Lorna had begun to suspect it only hit  _ her _ because they concerned something both of them had in common. Sharley was also never so overwrought, when away from Angie’s backyard.

 

There was progress, of a sort. It was easier for Lorna, who’d had far more time to deal with it than Sharley, and yet ‘easy’ was a relative term. She felt like a hypocrite for trying to help Sharley through something she wasn’t over herself, though.

 

Sharley just felt drained, over and over again. Her sessions were gut-wrenching, but after each she could go home, could spend time in her house with her adoptive family. Allanah, her sunshine child, was as sunny as ever -- a balm to her raw soul. She felt more like herself here, too -- calmer, more grounded. She was still Sharley, no matter what...more...she had discovered.

 

When she texted Maglor, she never spoke of her therapy, nor of anything heavy. She sent him pictures of her house, of Skykomish, of her assorted friends. All she would say was that she was well, and getting better, though it was going to take work. The rest didn't need to get laid on him, though she knew Lorna talked to Thranduil, because duh, of course she did. Sharley knew he wouldn’t blab, though.

 

Maglor sent similar messages. He had tried the video chat once but was clearly uncomfortable and not at ease while doing so...and that was abandoned quickly in favor of emails and texts. He was lesson planning for all the kids on assorted instruments, and wanted to talk about little else, except for acknowledging Sharley’s photos and experiences. At least, the ones he knew about. Eldan of course was doing harp, because that had started the whole thing. Ithiliel and Eleniel decided they wanted keyboard, both the piano and the harpsichord. While Earlene was no Liberace, between her and Thanadir (who could of course play reasonably complex pieces well by now) they could start them learning. Algar wanted violin, Faeleth wanted flute. Allanah had not yet committed, wanting to wait until she returned, but she was vacillating between guitar (because of Lorna) and violin (because of Sharley). Thaladir had chosen recorders, even though he had been pressured somewhat to learn an orchestral instrument. The D&Ds were all still discussing it; Maglor had been firm that he wanted Shane, Chandra, Saoirse and Atia to have the extra time to think it over...and that of course meant whether or not Ratiri or Lorna wanted to participate as well.

 

This weekend, though, they were going on a brief camping trip -- though to her purist soul, it was camping only in a nominal sense. Money Creek Campground was what she and Marty had called cheater-camping: the campsite was right beside, or at least close to, where you parked your car.  _ This  _ group took up two sites: each was set up for two tents, but a fifth was pitched on as flat a bit of ground could be found on the second site. Lorna and Ratiri had one, as did Pat and Grania; all three Duncan kids were little enough to crowd into their own, leaving Saoirse and Lorna the Younger to steal the random flat bit. Allanah was with Sharley, of course; the girl unrolled her sleeping bag and set up her side of the tent with practiced ease.

 

It might be cheater-camping, but at least it was beautiful: they’d managed sites right near the creek itself, the water rushing among the rocks. Huge Douglas firs over mossy stones, and sword ferns absolutely everywhere, luxuriously green. Sharley, naturally, snapped pictures, and sent them on the Maglor. “Here, Allanah, go stand in front of the creek,” she said. “I’ll take your picture and send it to your Nana.” The sun was sparkling off the water, and it lit the girl’s hair up like a blue halo. She’d grown so much...she was probably going to be tall, like Earlene, and she was just about to enter the arms-and-legs stage. And yet, even now, she was a sunshine girl, grinning for the camera.

 

Sharley sent the picture to Earlene and Thranduil, and drew a deep breath of clean mountain air. Even now, she felt...well, human. Nothing had changed for her -- but she wondered, did she actually feel like a real human would, or did she just  _ think  _ that was what they did? She only had herself as a baseline, after all. Still, when put with what she knew of Elves or humans, she still resonated with the humans.

 

“Aunt Sharley, is  _ this  _ water any warmer?” Atia asked. She’d wanted, oh so much, to swim in the Skykomish, but even wading had numbed her feet. 

 

“Nope,” Sharley said, fighting a smile and losing. “Just as cold. Be careful on the banks -- it’s a shallow creek, but if you fall in you’ll regret it.”

 

“Why?” Atia asked. That remained her favorite word, and had been ever since she’d first learned to speak.

 

“Because you’ll be wet,” Ratiri said, grabbing her and tossing her high. “And then you’ll be cold.”

 

The girl shrieked with laughter, all the louder when he caught her and tickled her. “Chandra, Shane, help me!”

 

The twins, who had just got their tent set up, looked at one another. Sharley had occasionally wondered if they didn't have some kind of telepathy themselves, given they often seemed to know what with other was planning without the need for speech. With matching grins, they launched themselves at their father, attacking his ribs with small fingers.

 

Ratiri staggered, wheezing, and Lorna cackled, whipping out her mobile (of course). Somehow, he managed to set Atia down without dropping her, and then took off toward the creek, children at his heels.

 

“No falling in!” Sharley called, snapping a picture. It, too, she sent to Maglor, with a text saying,  _ Irish children in the not-so-wild. _

 

_ ***** _

 

Allanah was given special permission to sit up late with Saoirse and Lorna the Younger, who said she’d send her to bed once the sugar high wore off. Just watching all those kids had exhausted Sharley, so she was happy to cede that; Allanah was a good kid, and wasn’t going to go running off without the supervision of someone older than Lorna the Younger.

 

It was almost amusing, but everyone over the age of 30 turned in not long after the s’mores were eaten. It was damn chilly, too; Lorna and Ratiri had brought a big, fat, comfy bag, and wound up snuggling in it while wearing long underwear. Atia, tiniest of the children, was squarely between her brother and sister in their tent, clutching a stuffed kitty.

 

Sharley made sure to leave the tent-door a little unzipped, so Allanah could find the zipper whenever she came to bed, and crawled into her sleeping-bag. It was strange, that she now had twice the number of memories with Allanah than she had with Marty; Allanah grew and changed, but Marty would be forever five. Where had Maglor said she’d be? The Gardens of...Lórien? Sharley hoped so. Marty had always loved the outdoors, and if she could forever play... _ at least she won’t see the end of the world. _

 

It was with that thought that sleep came, more easily than it did most nights. Since this was cheater-camping, she’d actually brought a real pillow, and fell asleep with down beneath her cheek.

 

Lorna, too, zonked off in a hurry, half-sprawled across Ratiri as she usually did. He’d once likened her -- and her hair -- to a human remora, and the comparison was occasionally apt.

 

_ For once, Sharley hadn’t drugged herself to sleep. She was so tired she thought she didn't need to, but she -- and Lorna -- soon came to regret it. _

 

_ The drugs -- the tincture -- kept the nightmares at bay. Dreams of Angband, dreams of Avathar -- dreams of a history she didn't recognize, of things that slowly fitted into the puzzle that was the last eighteen thousand years of her life, the life she’d thought herself human. After that first horrible day, it hadn’t tried to dump itself on her all at once again; it came in bits and pieces, and didn't overwhelm her. _

 

_ But the nightmares...she almost liked the Angband dreams better. They were agony, yes, but pain was a clean thing. An honest thing. And those she could eventually wake from without  _ too  _ much effort, through a trick Angie had taught her. The Avathar dreams...those were different. They weren’t as distinct -- impressions, more than experiences -- and getting out of  _ them  _ was like trying to pull her way through glue, suffocating all the while. _

 

 _She knew this touch on her side, this fever-hot hand trailing over her ribs, and she tried to scream. In that memory, she’d had no will, no power, no higher thought, but she,_ Sharley _, did now, and the mind that hadn’t been aware then was horrified now. This was a blur of touch, taste, and the earthy storm-scent that haunted both her and_ _Lorna. Alien, dark, and yet at the time she’d loved it, all of it, the feel of his hands and his mouth, the unnatural heat of him a furnace as he took her, and she’d screamed herself hoarse as he drove into her, and drove her to heights she never would have felt without the aid of his mind. He kissed her like a storm, hungry and possessive, and she’d kissed him back, reveling in it. She’d been helpless, almost mindless at times, everything that made her_ her _, made her_ Sharley _, burned away, and she_ hadn’t cared _. All that mattered was that he was touching her and she was touching him, that she wanted him and he was almost ferocious in his desire for her._

 

_ In the final moments, as he thrust into her body harder, faster, she had still begged for more. When she climaxed around the part of him buried inside her body and saw stars yet again, knowing that his seed was filling her, she had thanked him for it in an outpouring of distorted babbling. He’d smirked, and kissed her, and told her she was welcome, before starting all over again.  _

 

_ How many times now had he fucked her, and let her rest, and fucked her again? She’d lost count. There was some hazy awareness that he’d taken her on every surface in her tiny prison-apartment, from the kitchen table, to the sofa, to her bed, and now to under the running water in the shower. The memory of the pleasure made her hate herself utterly, because it was the best thing she could recall happening in her life and even now some part of her desired it again. One long, drawn out, lust-soaked span of hours that she would never be able to forget in both desire and revulsion. _

 

_ If it had been consensual, with someone she cared about, it would have been wonderful, but this was a mockery, a sick, demented parody, and that was what he’d  _ wanted _ , wasn’t it? He’d wanted to take something good and twist it, distort it into such a base travesty. And oh, he’d managed it: what she’d felt had been false, and yet he’d made it seem real. It was memory, and it was entirely at war with the horror, the revulsion she felt now, churning sour in her stomach. The dichotomy was so terrible she couldn’t bear it -- it threatened to tear her mind apart and why couldn’t she WAKE UP, this was a  _ dream _ , a  _ nightmare _ , but it felt... _ he’d  _ felt…. _

 

It wasn’t Sharley’s scream that woke her up, it was Lorna’s, yanking her into the real world with a suddenness that left her reeling. She wanted to claw at her own skin, horrified, humiliated, and feeling entirely terrible for being grateful that Lorna must have had a nightmare, too.

 

The zipper of a tent opened, and there came the sound of someone being noisily sick -- very sick. It sent Sharley’s stomach roiling, but no more so than that dream, that…

 

_ “Sharley, calm down,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “It’s over. I’m going to play Ratiri and tell you to breathe.” _

 

Sharley shut her eyes, burying her face in her hands, even as flashlights came on outside the thin walls of her tent. She had to get up, had to go see what was wrong, but she couldn’t look like what she was sure she looked like.

 

_ “You,”  _ Jimmy said, shaken,  _ “need way,  _ way  _ better drugs.” _

 

In spite of everything, he pierced her skin-crawling horror, drawing something close to a smile from her. It wasn’t enough to make her  _ move  _ yet, because she couldn’t, she absolutely  _ couldn’t  _ let on about this. Not in front of everyone. She needed some manner of...of game face on, before she could face the others.

 

Lorna, spat, sicked up, spat again, and grabbed her canteen and a torch before taking off into the night, barefoot. It was  _ cold _ , very cold, but that braced her, woke her. How often did Sharley have to contend with that? And how was she still  _ sane _ , if...if  _ that  _ invaded her dreams on anything like a regular basis?

 

All things considered, Lorna was extremely glad she now knew how to cry -- seriously, out of all the wonderful gifts Thranduil had given her, this one was by far the most useful. The heat of her tears made a strange dichotomy with the chill of the air, and she took another swig of water, spitting a third time. The bitter taste of bile still lingered in her throat, and it just mingled with salt when her tears reached her lips.

 

Was that what he’d done to her? Had he turned her into that mindless...sex zombie? Oh, logically she’d known for ages that that was exactly what he’d done, but knowing it and experiencing it, even through someone else, was the most horrifying thing she’d ever known. The mere thought that he’d even touched her, let alone touched her like  _ that _ , very nearly made her sick up again.

 

She didn't have Sharley’s lingering arousal issues -- to her it was merely skin-crawling, dreadful. Sharley had no other experience, whereas Lorna had a loving relationship and healthy sex life with someone who loved her in return. No, she’d never reached the artificial heights of borderline delirium Von Asshat had managed with Sharley -- and presumably with her as well -- but the love between her and Ratiri had taken her damn close at times. It was not base, animal coupling, as that bastard’s had been: there had been a few times where what she shared with Ratiri had felt close to something holy, but always there had been as much mind, as much emotion as there was everything physical. They would laugh and tease, and she would see the love in Ratiri’s eyes, but Sharley didn't have that. Not anymore. 

 

Whatever her times with Maglor had been were now lost to her; she no longer knew what it was supposed to be like. When your only memory of sex was having your brains fucked out by a balrog who twisted your mind into a pretzel while he was at it -- when all you had to associate it with was...was  _ that _ , it was no wonder her back-brain was so confused. And no wonder her forebrain had always been so revolted by the mere idea. Even through the Stranger, some part of her must have remembered. And if there was anything on Earth that would make a sexual person loathe even the concept, it would be  _ that _ .

 

_ He’s dead _ , she thought, rage surging hot within her.  _ He’s dead and he’s rotten, and he still haunts us. Even now, all these years later, he haunts us.  _ And poor Sharley hadn’t had anywhere near the amount of time to process this as Lorna had -- no wonder she had nightmares. Between that and the fact that she still remembered it...she needed to talk to Thranduil. She needed to find some way to let him get rid of that for her.

 

Lorna heard the crunch of footsteps behind her, ferns rustling -- when their owner stumbled, and swore, she knew it was Ratiri. Normally he was far sneakier than that -- he’d been trained by elves, after all -- but it was dark and he was worried. Halting, she turned, and when he reached her she wrapped her arms around him, all but crushing his ribs. “Don’t ask, allanah,” she said. “Just hug me, okay?”

 

Bless him, he did as she asked, running a soothing hand up and down her back. He knew that she’d talk in her own time -- though in this instance, he doubted he actually  _ needed  _ to ask. He could think of only one thing that would horrify her so -- one thing that would drive her out, alone and barefoot, into this cold mountain night.

 

Eventually, he said, “Sharley had the nightmare too, mo chroí. She won’t want anyone else near her -- can you go to her?”

 

Lorna nodded. How she was to keep knowledge of this connection from Sharley, she didn't know, but it was imperative that she do. If Sharley were to know that, on top of everything else, it would shatter her. Wiping her eyes, she said, “Let’s do this. I’ll cough up some other nightmare to feed her.” She still wasn't much good as a liar, but in Sharley’s current state, it was unlikely it would matter. Someday, sooner or later, Lorna would have to fess up on that, but now was  _ not  _ the time.

 

They picked their way back to the campsite, which was now alight with torches and a Coleman lantern. The only person not readily visible was Allanah, who must have crawled into the tent they shared -- she was the only one Sharley wouldn’t drive away.

 

“Go back to bed, you lot,” Lorna ordered. “I had a bloody nightmare, and I’m assuming Sharley did, too.”

 

“But--” Pat started, but got no further.

 

Lorna paused, not even looking at him, and said, “Pat, God love you, but if you argue this I will brain you with my torch.  _ Go back to bed _ .” Said torch was a big, heavy, metal Maglight, as long as her forearm; it was not an empty threat. 

 

She didn't  bother waiting to see if he did what he was told; she just wiped her feet off and crawled into Sharley’s tent. The poor woman looked like death, Allanah in her arms in the big sleeping bag -- an Allanah who was already asleep again. Seeing as the girl’s sleeping-bag was unused, she crawled right into it, shivering. “Nightmare?” she asked softly.

 

Sharley nodded, but didn't dare speak at first. Eventually, she whispered, “It was... _ him _ . Again.”

 

Lorna winced. “Mine was, too,” she said softly, “except I was getting buried alive. Been a fear’v mine ever since I saw  _ Kill Bill. _ ” Buried alive, raped half to death...same difference, right? Right? She was going to pretend it was, just to get away with this.

 

“I’d almost prefer that,” Sharley said, still whispering. “I don't know how to make this  _ stop _ .”

 

“Sharley,” Lorna said, looking at the poor woman’s pallid face, “you need to let Thranduil help you. I know you’re afraid to let him muck around in your head, but he can take the emotion out’v a memory without taking the whole thing away.”

 

“I know,” Sharley said. “I’ve been afraid to do even that, because I’m so scared of triggering...Angband. But I can’t take much more of this.”

 

“And nobody would blame you. Sharley, just because you’re not quite human doesn’t mean you’ve got to be  _ super _ human.” Somehow, this was working. Somehow, talking to Sharley was shoving the worst of Lorna’s own horror at bay -- though she knew herself well enough to realize she was only delaying the inevitable. Still, of the two of them, she was the one who could afford to do that. Her mind was whole in a way Sharley’s most definitely was not, so she could defer falling apart for a while.

 

She paused. “Sharley,” she said carefully, “have you ever thought about talking to Vairë?” She was taking one hell of a gamble on this, but instinct told her to try.

 

Sharley snorted softly. “No,” she said flatly. “They never answered me before, so why should they now? And…” She was quiet for so long that Lorna wondered if she would say anything more, but eventually she continued. “Right now, I’m only  _ afraid _ she’d say nothing,” she said softly. “If I don't try, I won’t know for sure, but that’s better than actually trying and having my fear proven right.”

 

She ran her fingers through the sleeping Allanah’s hair. “Maybe they had some reason for leaving me in Angband,” she went on. “Maybe they couldn’t just storm his fortress to come save me. I get that. They’re not all-powerful, or infallible, and maybe it mighta just made things worse. But...I screamed, and I prayed, and always,  _ always  _ there was only silence. And after that...they had eighteen thousand years to say something -- to say  _ anything _ . I took naps sometimes, sure, for a few centuries at a go, but mostly I was awake, and nobody, not even Vairë, said a damn thing. And I don't have any reason to believe that’s changed.”

 

That aspect actually troubled Lorna immensely. The Valar were not cruel, and yet she could come up with no reason for them to abandon Sharley so utterly even after Angband. She was sure there  _ was  _ one, but what could be good enough to justify putting her through that? And why not help her now? The logic of deities was headache-inducing, and she couldn’t blame Sharley for her fear. In her place, Lorna might well fear the same. She herself had never actually  _ seen  _ a Vala, but she was literally living proof of their generosity.

 

Still, she hoped that one day her friend would be willing to try -- and that the Valar would be willing to break their silence. They’d been quite talkative to the people of Eldamar, after all; whatever non-interference clause they’d had after the War of Wrath would seem to be at an end. If they had any manner of love for Sharley at all -- and Lorna couldn’t imagine that they didn't -- they’d end her agony. Surely, by now, she’d done enough,  _ been  _ through enough -- right? Manwë had given Lorna an incredible gift essentially for free; unlike with the rest of them, it served no greater purpose that she could fathom. It was just...a gift. And if they’d given her, someone who’d done nothing of any particular note, such a thing -- surely they could give something to Sharley?

 

Poor Sharley might be too afraid to talk to Vairë, but Lorna herself might try it. If the Vala was silent, she didn't have her friend’s level of hope to be dashed. It would make her sad, but it wouldn’t shatter her.

 

Sharley was already drifting off again, so Lorna snuck back out of the tent, grabbing her torch. This time she navigated by the light of the half-moon until she was far enough away, and turned on the torch. The forest was so quiet at night, and she didn't want to risk waking the others.

 

She reached a little clearing, and looked up at the starry sky. Shivering, and feeling like a bit of an idiot, she said, “So, I’m still not that good at prayer, but Sharley’s afraid of talking to Vairë -- should I call her Lady Vairë? Sorry, like I said, I’m shit at this. Because she thinks she might not get an answer. If I encourage her to try anyway, um, will she get one? Because if not, I won’t push her any further. I’m sure you guys have reasons for not nabbing her again in the last eighteen thousand years, and I think it’d be a comfort to her to know them, whatever they are. She’s so...well, if you can see her, and I’m pretty sure that’s how this works, you know what’s going on right now. We’re doing what we can for her, but none’v us are gods.”

 

Tears burned her eyes, and she wiped them away with her sleeve. “She deserves so much better,” she added, “and I don't know how to give it to her. None’v us do. Not even Thranduil’s equipped for her level’v...of broken. The Stranger thought you’d abandoned her, but I can’t believe that. I mean, I don't know much about you lot beyond what you’ve done for all’v us, what I’ve read about, but I can’t believe you’d ever do any such thing. Sharley doesn’t either, I don't think, but she doesn’t know what  _ to  _ believe.” She swallowed, and this time wiped her nose -- damn snot. “So...um. Anyway, if you could please drop me a line, and let me know? I don't want to say anything one way or another unless I have some idea what’ll happen if she does try. I just...I just want her to be happy. We all do.”

 

She sat on a rock, drawing her knees under her chin. It was highly unlikely she’d get an actual answer, but still, maybe she would; it couldn’t hurt to wait, though she wished she’d thought to grab her boots. Even with wool socks, her feet were downright chilly, but she’d live. The horror of her nightmare still lingered at the back of her mind, but she shoved it away. She had something else to focus on, something to do. She could fall apart later.

 

From her place high above, Varda heard. Her brows knotted in a mighty frown, and she shook her head. In pity, in annoyance, in bafflement. This had to be...addressed, sooner or later. Reaching out her hand, the Star Queen sent a blazing meteor to where the mortal woman had spoken her prayer. It seared and sang, streaking over the sky in the colors of the rainbow before disappearing. And then she turned. Her journey tonight would be to the Halls of Námo, a place she tried not to frequent, but the only place Vairë was likely to be found.

 

Lorna stared. Oh. Oh...wow. There was no way that was coincidence;  _ someone  _ had let her know she’d been heard. Christ, what was going to do if one of them  _ answered?  _ She had no idea how the hell you were meant to talk to a deity. All she could hope was that she might be forgiven if she stuffed her foot down her throat. She focused on the beautiful after-image, the tail of the meteor still lingering above.

 

After a while, she realized she’d likely been put on hold, so to speak, so she said, “I'm cold, and I’m going to bed now, but...thank you for that. Thank you for letting me know you’re listening.”

 

Only the wind in the trees answered for Varda was long gone, grumbling about the necessity for another long journey. Some mortal hours later, great wings disturbed the skies. The Vala smiled, at seeing her husband’s servant. “Thank you, old friend,” she smiled, gracefully stepping onto the proffered wing. As they flew through the darkness, she admired her craft in the heavens and attempted to compose her thoughts. None of them knew quite what to do with Manartirillë, but apparently they were going to need to decide something. And yet, so many difficulties. So many...loose threads. She sighed and shook her head.  _ This is Vairë’s problem to solve, and yet it...oh, bother _ . Refusing to consider further for now, they soared through the heavens high above. This was her realm. This was where she was meant to be...

  
  


*****

 

{August 20, 2026}

 

It was a pleasant day, and the French doors stood open in their room. Earlene was sprawled on the bed, reading her screen. Articles about music education and instrument buying had been filtered through in leaps and bounds, but she had grown tired of those, and elected instead to research other heritage livestock farms around Ireland. It never hurt to see what other rare breeds they might be able to source; for awhile now she had been contemplating White Park cattle and whether or not too much diversification in the landrace breeds would be a positive or a negative. The entire concept of the nonprofit farm was going well. They had grown slowly and carefully, and under the advice of a collective of the Baile farmers were producing a good diversity of staples from meats to dairy to fresh produce in the summer growing season. 

 

Mary Kerry, Ailill’s sister, had been a godsend, helping them navigate assorted hurdles that had allowed a limited range of artisanal cheese and other cultured dairy products to be both sold and donated to area food banks. Bless her heart, Lorna had never been able to tackle these more complex administrative functions, but when it came to procuring particular single items or leaning on assorted facets of Ireland in order to get something accomplished, she had proven invaluable more than once. There were times in this country when the threat of bootlaces up a rectum apparently yielded far better results than all the polite inquiries in the world. A smile flitted across her face.  _ Whatever works _ . 

 

However. While reading, her eyes had darted up at regular intervals to behold her husband. The King husband, as opposed to the seneschal husband, who was calmly seated against pillows on the bed doing much the same as Earlene, except with far more comportment. She was restless, and constantly changing position compared to collected and calm Thanadir. But she had nothing on Thranduil, who would sit for a moment, then rise and pace. Then sit again and open his laptop, then stop again and pace some more.

 

Finally she was unable to ignore it further. “Beloved, what is causing you to be so unable to settle down? This is not like you.”

 

“Yes it is,” he answered far too quickly, which caused her to instantly focus her attention even more closely.

 

“Thranduil,  _ Lorna _ lies better than that,” she said flatly. “Now instead of wondering if something is on your mind, I am certain of it. Would you not prefer to discuss it?”

 

He turned to her with a certain measure of challenge, and she did not mistake the soft throat clearing she heard coming from Thanadir behind her. Which changed nothing. “It is to do with Maglor, but I feel it is something between a subject and his King,” he said firmly.

 

Her eyes narrowed very briefly. “Is Maglor alright?” she asked, concerned.

 

“Earlene, I have just told you it is a matter between a subject and his King. I do not feel at liberty to discuss it.”

 

“I might have accepted that answer before you put that crown on my head, O King. I am not asking you as a curious bystander. I am asking you as Maglor’s Queen. If there is something the matter that pertains to him as a subject of this Realm, then I have every right to know, unless there is something I have failed to understand about my position. If I am mistaken, I ask your pardon for my outspokenness.”

 

Her ears did not need to be elven to catch the sharp intake of air coming from Thanadir, but she ignored that in favor of focusing on Thranduil.

 

The King opened his mouth as if about to speak in indignation, only to close it. And then open it again and shake his head. Finally he looked past her, his expression transforming more to one of bafflement. Alassëa had been happy enough to  _ wear _ the crown, but had never even attempted to exercise her authority. “Thanadir? Is Earlene correct?”

 

“Yes,” the seneschal replied with soft tones. “By our law you may overrule her decisions, as the higher authority rests with you. But you technically do not have the right to withhold information from her in matters of governance. You certainly did when she was your consort, but not since her coronation.”

 

“I did not expect you to do this,” Thranduil admitted, regarding his wife. “You have always expressed such unwillingness to have authority over...elves.”

 

“I  _ told you _ I did not want this for a reason,” Earlene said. “I did not want the authority. But authority is also responsibility, and you made me responsible. The two cannot be separated.”

 

“Eru,” he whispered.

 

She shook her head. “Thranduil, I do not need to know so much as, it is obvious  _ you _ need me to know. I have watched you becoming increasingly preoccupied for days now. If you are behaving this way, it means you either have overwhelming cause for concern, or there is some aspect you cannot resolve. Is keeping it to yourself really your soundest course of action?” Her hand waved around the room. “Here we are, those who love you. And who love Maglor. I would think unburdening yourself is better than the alternative.”

 

The King stared at her, then walked to and slumped down in the chair. “I hate it when you are right.” A pause ensued. “Some weeks ago…”

 

*****


	126. One Hundred and Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 21, 2026-September 19, 2026

 

The next morning, Lorna insisted on taking Sharley back to Skykomish for the day, so that Angie could write her a scrip for something stronger than tincture. The idea was that they’d take care of that and come back in the afternoon, so that their camping trip need not be ruined. The other adults could look after the kids easily enough without them.

 

Allanah wanted to go, too, but Lorna the Younger convinced her to stay and play in the creek -- which was a damn good thing, because it meant Lorna the Elder and Sharley could talk freely.

 

“I don't know about you,” Lorna said, “but I had the night sweat from hell last night. I think I know where my nightmare came from, at least.”

 

“Why buried alive?” Sharley asked, focused on the road. Sunlight pierced through the trees, dappling the pavement.

 

“That sleeping bag is heavy, and inside the tent -- well, I'm leaving the window unzipped tonight.” She paused. “I know this is a stupid question, but are you okay?”

 

Sharley pondered lying, and knew there was no point. “I’ve been better. That was...no.”

 

“Say no more, if you don't want to,” Lorna said. “I had nightmares too, sometimes. Even though I can’t remember what he did, my mind apparently hates me, because it tried to fill in the blanks.” It was the closest to the truth she could come right now. It was still not the time to tell Sharley the whole of it, for fear the woman would die of shame. If an Ainu could even do that. Lorna knew how she’d feel, if she was in Sharley’s shoes, and...no. Not yet.

 

“What did you do, when you had them?”

 

“I got up. I walked around a bit, until it was gone. If I really had to, I watched stupid, gross videos on YouTube, to get rid’v the...feeling. Feeling’v the memory.” Which was not a lie, even -- it was just far more recent than she was implying.

 

“I hate that I feel it,” Sharley growled, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “ _I hate it._ I know Angie talks about serotonin and hormones and shit, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

 

“Just look at it as him continuing to fuck with your mind, from beyond the grave,” Lorna said. “Which is skeevy as hell, but it’s true. I would not at all be surprised if he didn't plant it like that deliberately -- didn't make sure you’d still feel it if you dreamed about it.”

 

That thought startled Sharley so much the van swerved a little. What if this really _wasn’t_ her fault? What if this wasn’t even hormones betraying her, but some last gift that kept on giving from that son of a bitch? Even the possibility was weirdly freeing. If it wasn’t even the fault of her lizard-brain, as Angie put it… “You really think that could be it?”

 

Lorna snorted. “I think it’s likely. Bad enough you remembered it -- making sure you couldn’t forget feeling it would be just like him. That extra twist’v the knife. He set the amnesia in my head with a time limit, so I’d remember it sooner or later, too. Bastard. Kind’v want to go piss on his grave again when we get home. I’d take a shit on it if I wasn’t sure I’d like, fall in the bog arse-first.”

 

Sharley said nothing, too stunned for words. The knot of anxiety in her chest eased a little, because if Lorna was right, she really didn't have any need to feel guilty. None at all. If even her subconscious wasn’t holding onto it of its own volition….

 

When they reached Skykomish, she dropped Lorna off at the Inn and headed off to Angie’s. Hopefully she didn't have work today.

 

Lorna hurried up to her room, breathing a sigh of drained relief. Now that she didn't have to keep the mask up, she let it drop as she texted Thranduil: _need videochat as soon as possible._ It was late afternoon at Eldamar right now, so hopefully he’d have a spare moment.

 

**

 

Thranduil’s mobile jangled, and nearby in the Heart Room Earlene and Thanadir’s heads both raised in query. He fished it out of his tunic pocket and frowned. “Lorna wants to videochat. Eru, those requests are never for good reasons,” he lamented.

 

“We can leave, if you wish to do that here,” Earlene offered. “Ailill and Calanon went for a late walk under the stars, the children are asleep, and...there is no one else around.”

 

Lothiriel and Ortherion had decided, with invitation, to return to life in the Halls for the next many months, before new elflings would once again require their presence in the home. Sort of an extended vacation, so they might enjoy time alone with each other. They still came most days to help with activities for the children, but it was very different than when all of their offspring were small. Faeleth had greater dexterity and strength than a certain number of grown elves; she hardly needed watching over in the physical sense. And this way most of their evenings were spent in the Dining Hall, which long since had transformed at night into a place where mortal board games, card games and hot cocoa abounded for all those less interested in sleep. Sometimes humans came from Lasg’len to join them; all were welcomed. Though, long ago Thanadir had insisted that poker could be played only for rewards of food; no gambling with actual money was permitted. Gummibärchen and jelly beans were the more popular forms of gaming currency (The ones from the Jelly Bean Factory, not the cheap knockoffs).

 

“No,” Thranduil said. “Please stay. I have an odd feeling…” Quickly, he responded, and waited for Lorna to pick up.

 

 _Oh, thank god_ , Lorna thought, with a sigh of both relief and weariness. She opened the chat. “I really wish I had better news,” she said, without preamble. “I mean, it’s not all bad. The kids are having a blast camping. They even managed to not get marshmallow everywhere when we made s’mores.”

 

Thanadir giggled. Thranduil rolled his eyes but smiled. “As you may be able to hear, I am with Thanadir and Earlene. If you wish me to ask them to leave, they take no offense; I had hoped you might not mind them listening to our conversation. And, I am pleased to hear of the achievements being made with marshmallows, but I can guess that is not what you truly want to discuss.”

 

“Hiiiii Looooorna,” came from Earlene and Thanadir, obviously seated some small distance from Thranduil.

 

That actually made her smile a little. “Hi guys. So...we’re camping, right, and Sharley...she got a nightmare about what Von Assmunch did to her, and I...got it too, and I got her back to sleep but I puked and cried and went to talk, or pray, or whatever, and there was a shooting star so I’m sure I got heard, and how should I talk to a Vala? Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to, sooner or later.” That all came out in a rush, as she picked at the toe of her sock. “And I don't want to like, offend anyone. Is it one of those things where if you look at one, your head explodes, or is that just _Raiders of the Lost Ark_? Because I don't want my head to explode. That would be gross, and then I’d be useless. And dead.”

 

Earlene looked at Thanadir, speechless, and said nothing.

 

Thranduil too was taken aback. “We will have to try that again, Lorna,” he said gently. “I cannot read your thoughts from here. Do you mean that you prayed to the Valar and saw...something? Try to slow down and tell me exactly what you remember doing and saying.”

 

Lorna drew a deep breath. “So, I’d asked Sharley, after I’d got her calmed down, if she’d ever thought about trying to talk to Vairë, and she said no, because right now she’s just _afraid_ Vairë wouldn’t answer. If she tried, and her fear got _confirmed_ , she’d just feel worse. So, I got her to sleep, and I went for a walk, and I asked if Vairë would please let me know if she’d answer Sharley, because if not, I’d stop encouraging. And there was…” She frowned, seeking memory, “I said I just want her to be happy, that we all do, and that we wish we could help her, but none’v us knows just how. And I saw the most beautiful shooting star -- Thranduil, you remember the one we saw in the woods that night? It was like that, times ten. I think Varda heard me, at least, but if Vairë or any of them ever comes to see me, what do I do? Is my head going to explode? I mean, yours didn't, but you’re an elf.”

 

“Your head will not explode,” he smiled. “Ailill has seen them too, if you recall. Earlene has had far more than that happen, though she does not recall it easily.” A sigh escaped him. “I cannot tell you exactly what to do; they do not require anything. On the occasions they have appeared to me I have knelt and bowed low, but they are my Lords and Ladies, my Kings and Queens; I show them the same reverence my own subjects show me. I would suspect that not cursing at them or in speech with them might be a good idea. But...they see us, more than I would guess we think they do. I do not think they come to criticize our every word and deed. If they communicate, there is usually a reason.”

 

Earlene flushed pink, on hearing this. Thranduil was right, her actual recollection of speaking with any of the Valar  was very hazy. She was not entirely sure she wanted a clear memory, of what amounted to an interview at the moment of her experiencing orgasm with Thanadir. _Not exactly a reverential position in which to be found…_

 

Thanadir grinned and pulled her closer. _That was their choice, not yours, meldis._ Earlene gave him a crooked smile, and nestled against him.

 

Lorna managed a nod. “Okay. Okay, hopefully I actually remember any’v that, if I do meet up with one, rather than pissing myself in sheer terror. I mean...Jesus, that nightmare…” Her eyes burned, and she wiped them with the sleeve of her flannel. “Sharley doesn’t know I’ve got some kind’v link to her brain, and I can’t tell her right _now_ , not when she’s still so…” she flailed a little “...so fucked up herself, but bloody Christ, if that happens to her often...it’s a wonder she isn’t completely insane, and...and I think that bastard did something to her. I think he made it so she’d not forget, so she’d…”

 

She couldn’t finish the sentence. She simply could not say aloud what it had felt like, even through the horror. “And I _can’t let on._ I can’t. I’m going to take Sharley to get Xanax, or whatever Angie prescribes for her, and I can’t let her know. Skykomish doesn’t have a pharmacy -- we have to drive all the way to bloody Sultan for that.”

 

This caught Earlene’s attention, and she abruptly came and sat close to Thranduil so she could be seen and heard. “Lorna, there’s something it might do good for both of you to hear. That pig would have fucked anything that he found remotely attractive, only for the fun of doing it. I never told you this, but on the day he died he made it quite plain that he would have loved a shot at me as well. He played games, and you two need to remember that. The bigger the game, the better. Don’t think you two were the only women he ever did this to. Had I to guess, that list of names would be long indeed. He was a complete and total fucker and...don’t let him win. The best thing you can do is go have a heated tumble with your husband and have the one thing he never could--an honest experience with a real lover.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw poor Thanadir blanch, as he tried to work out whether that had been a seemly thing to say or not. He was out of his depth, poor elf.

 

That drew something that was both a laugh and a quiet sob from Lorna. “I might have to get a blanket and drag him out into the woods,” she said, “or else traumatize the whole campground.” She swallowed, hard, and in a small voice added, “I just...that dream...I can’t help but wonder, is that what he did to me? I know it’s stupid, there’s no point in it, but I can’t get it out’v my head. And I can’t go driving if I take any tincture, but Sharley needs it way more than I do…”

 

Finally, something in her broke, and tears came in earnest. “He...he made her _thank him._ Did he do that to me? Did...I’d known it was bad, but not how bad, and I’ve got to get all this out now because there won’t be any time later, but Jesus bloody _Christ_ , I don't know what to do.” She curled in on herself, fingers tangled in her hair at either side of her head, unable to stop the shudders of revulsion that passed through her. “I don't know how to not keep wondering what he did to me. Every time I try to think’v something else, it comes creeping back. I never let myself think’v it, ever, but I can’t make it stop now.”

 

“LORNA DUNCAN GODDAMMIT IF I WERE THERE RIGHT NOW I WOULD BITCH SLAP YOU INTO THE NEXT CAMPGROUND,” Earlene hollered. Even Thranduil next to her sucked in air in total surprise, looking at his wife aghast. “Stop it. Stop it RIGHT NOW. This isn’t YOU. This is HIM and stop LETTING IT BE HIM.” Earlene glared, glared so hard she hoped it was ruining the display on the other end.

 

“Meluieg I…”

 

“You, be QUIET,” Earlene said to Thranduil, with fire in her eyes.

 

“God _dammit_ , Earlene, you didn't have that dream,” Lorna growled. “You weren’t there. I was...and... _and what if he did it to me? What if he did the same fucking..._ I got out’v my tent and had to sick up everything I’d eaten, because...because…” _Because she could still feel it, even though she was awake, could still feel everything Sharley felt, and it had warred with her mind to such a degree that puking was the only thing she_ could _have done._ “He wanted you but he didn't _do_ that to you. You don't have to live knowing he did Christ knows what to you, but being able to bloody well guess because’v someone else’s nightmares. _How the hell do I make myself not think’v that?_ Because let me tell you, I’ve tried, and it’s still…” Intelligible words gave out then, as she curled into a tighter ball. “Don't make me feel like I’m doing this _wrong!_ ”

 

“I tried,” Earlene said softly. “I am sorry. But I cannot make you feel anything. Only you can do that.” In a fluid motion she rose up, went for her cloak, and walked out of the house, leaving two stunned ellyn in her wake.

 

Thranduil’s face held something close to panic. “Lorna, I am sorry. She didn’t mean...oh, Valar, please…” He looked to be on the verge of tears.

 

Lorna couldn’t answer right off -- her breath came in ugly, hitching sobs, her cheeks raw and stinging with the salt of her tears. What was she going to tell Sharley, about this? About why she’d been crying? She couldn’t blame it on a nightmare about being buried alive -- Sharley knew her too well to think that would affect her like this. “Thranduil, what do I do?” she managed eventually. “What do I tell Sharley? She can’t -- I can’t --” Words gave up again, her vision sparkling as she struggled to breathe. She couldn’t do this. She just wasn’t strong enough, but she _had_ to.

 

“Lorna, I want you to close your eyes,” Thranduil asked, grasping at straws and trying to buy time. “And then I want you to hug yourself, and listen to me.” While he spoke slowly, using all the persuasive power he knew, his mobile was on his lap, out of sight of his laptop camera. “Think on all the times I have held you, and imagine that now. How I smell to you, how it feels when I hold you, the sound of my heartbeat in my chest. It is no different now; it is only that I am a little further away in body. If I were with you there, that is what we would be doing. And you would know that however bad everything feels, it would be better eventually. This will be too. It is temporary, and we will overcome it together. We all will.”  He had never felt like he was spewing blatant lies to this extent ever before. Because right now he did not know how anything was going to be overcome. All of this...Sharley, Maglor, Lorna...it felt like it was spiraling out of control, like an airship seconds from crashing and shattering. At this point he was speaking on blind faith and a fool’s hope. His message to Ratiri was now composed, and he tapped ‘send’ even as he finished speaking the last of his words to Lorna.

 

She nodded and did as instructed, as best she could. Thranduil might call her a doll, but in a way, he was, too -- perfect to hug when things went to shit, when she couldn’t string two words together without losing the third. She never had to worry that she’d stuff her foot down her throat, that she wouldn’t be able to explain some horrible thing. Her sobs slowly abated, though she had to wipe her nose so many times she was determined to just change out this flannel, because it was a mess. “I thought I was better,” she managed at last, “until... _that_ . I don't know how Sharley’s ever going to...I know this’ll be hard as hell for you, but I’m going to try to talk her into letting you look at her mind, and see if that...that _thing_ actually did do something to make her keep dreaming with this kind’v clarity. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

 

He stared back with an unfathomable expression before he remembered to at least nod in some kind of agreement. _Please, Ratiri, hurry up. Hurry hurry hurry hurry uuuuuuuuup…._ These were the thoughts that raced through his mind. He had never felt so powerless before. Thousands of kilometers away, no ability to understand her thoughts, and an increasing conviction that the Valar were punishing him for every misdeed of his life in some sort of concentrated purgatory of responsibilities he did not know how to meet.

 

Mercifully, he got his wish. _It’s going to take 25 mins. but on my way. Might take less with my driving. Grania is with me._

 

 _Twenty-five minutes...oh, Eru. Please, Father, anyone at all, I do not know what to do…_ “I am so sorry I cannot be there,” he said, the inanity of the words washing over him. It was the only thing that came to mind that was both true and safe to be spoken aloud. “And I am sorry that all this is happening.”

 

“It’s okay,” she managed, in the face of...well, everything. She grabbed one of the pillows, curling up with it in her arms. “I’m so tired, Thranduil. I slept like shite last night, after...that.. Just...talk to me until I fall asleep? How are the cats? Just...tell me about Booger, or something.”

 

He smiled. This he could do. Better than the other, anyway. “Well, Booger still follows Tail around, and yesterday the two of them were outside batting at grasshoppers. Tail damaged one, and let Booger play with it until its demise was assured. And then your Lump saw both of them, and…” he noticed that she was asleep. _Well, this is awkward,_ he thought. _Am I supposed to hang up?_

 

Lorna snoozed, oblivious, so tired she wasn’t going to stir until either Ratiri or Sharley found her.

 

Another text dinged Thranduil’s phone: _this is grania. Ratiri is driving like a maniac but we’ve got maybe 10 mins. left._

 

 _Tell him not to, because she fell asleep,_ he quickly sent. _And I am sitting here like an eejit not knowing if I should hang up our computer call. Even though I know it is silly I feel better keeping the connection until you arrive._

 

_Oh good, I didnt want to die today. Id say definitely just keep it open until we get there? He can take Sharley to get her meds and I can give Lorna some of that tincture of hers and then we just need to separate campsites I think. Ratiri says Lorna didn't have nightmares until we went camping and he thinks it’s because they were too far apart in Skykomish at night._

 

Thranduil frowned at this driving report, but he was in no position to lecture the man. Best to just respond to the rest of it. _Insofar as I know how anything works anymore...quite possibly._

 

_He says its worth a shot. Okay thank god he slowed down. Is she still asleep? We’re almost to the petrol station._

 

_Yes. She...I can only see her left arm because of how her device has slid from her grasp, but if she is awake she certainly is not moving._

 

_Okay good. Jesus Ratiri was a Polish cab driver in another life I swear 2 god._

 

Ratiri made rather a hash of parking, but the car park was largely empty at this time of day, so he didn't really care. He ran up the steps, Grania at his heels as she typed, but at least was quiet when he crept into the room. Lorna was indeed sound asleep, and he saw no reason to wake her. Strands of hair stuck to her face, glued there by tears now dried. He lifted her laptop, carefully taking it out into the hallway.

 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” he said. “We’ll look after her. Sharley will hopefully be with Angie a while, given what she has to say.”

 

“Please text me, if they are feeling better? I am worried now. I could not have imagined it would get this bad,” he said dejectedly.

 

“None of us did,” Ratiri sighed. “I’ll let you know. All you have to do is put Allanah in Sharley’s general vicinity and she feels better, and we’ve got Lorna. I’ll get lots of munchies and make her some tincture-tea, and she’ll be okay by the time we get back to the campsite. She and I will move our tent tonight, and hope that works. This is just…” he sighed. “Well. We’ll muddle through. Somehow. We always do seem to.”

 

“I know. I love you all. Until next time. I will let you attend to business.” He pushed the button on his laptop. “Goodbye,” he whispered. Closing the screen, he did not move for several minutes as he stared at the floor. The room was so quiet, that he did not notice Thanadir was still there. Most unusual, for ordinarily he would have made it his business to go to Earlene. “Meldir?”

 

“I did not want to disturb your thoughts,” the slender elf said, rising to move closer. “Thranduil, I am worried about you. All of this...it is a great deal of pressure. Very upsetting.”

 

The King disregarded these observations, countering with a question of his own. “You did not follow our wife?”

 

“No. Her last thoughts were of sitting outside on the deck outside our room. And, I am upset with how she spoke to Lorna. I am afraid I will say something...wrong. It seemed best to wait for you.” The seneschal looked down. “I have rarely heard Earlene say such ugly things. That was deeply shocking, to me.”

 

Thranduil smiled, placing an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Well, we can wait to hear what she says, but I can tell you now that I do not believe any of that was real.”

 

“What do you mean? She even spoke to you with total disrespect.” Thanadir cringed even to say the words.

 

“And therein was your clue, Thanadir. Come with me. There is no point saying this all twice.”

 

**

 

Earlene agreed to return inside, at their request. They did not need to ask the question aloud or in their minds; it was written on their faces. “I gambled and lost,” she explained without emotion. “I sincerely apologize to you, Thanadir, for running over your sensibilities. For the coarse language. It might have been more palatable had I succeeded, but I did not.”

 

“I am so confused,” Thanadir said with an air of despondence. None of this made any sense to him.

 

“I think I can explain,” Thranduil said. “Long ago, Lorna was suffering from the shock of having been violated. Earlene physically assaulted Lorna in order to use her proclivities against her. To spark her tendency to want to fight back. To prompt her inner strength to assert itself.”

 

“You…you do not mean you hit her?” Thanadir asked, incredulous.

 

“Slapped her with all of my strength, right across the face,” Earlene grinned. “Then got punched in return. She’s quick. Very quick. But it was worth it, because it broke her out of that cycle of self-pity she was mired in.” The smile faded. “It didn’t work this time. Not at all. Which in a way is a very positive thing but…”

 

“What you are telling me is, everything you said in the other room to Lorna was an act?” Thanadir asked, seeing her nod and hardly able to believe it. “But I can hear your thoughts, and you were not thinking anything like that, you…”

 

Earlene waggled her finger at him. “You are forgetting Earlene’s Instructions Regarding How To Lie, Thanadir. Acting is really a kind of lying, done for a reason. Hopefully a constructive reason. Except in this case, it did not work out that way.”

 

The seneschal shook his head, somewhat in awe of her powers of deception. “I am glad that you have never lied to me, Earlene. I can see I would be rather helpless.”

 

She chuckled, but shook her head. “I am glad too, meldir. Because even though I make it look easy, it is not. That was painful for me, made worse by the fact that it did not succeed. My heart goes out to both of them. All of them. This just….” she trailed off, thinking the word _sucks_ but electing not to say it.

 

They ended up on the bed, twined in a tangle of bodies and arms and legs, seeking comfort. Snuggling. Nobody wanted to move, or let go, and they remained this way fully clothed until the following morning. Unbeknownst to them, Irmo stood guard. He had been commanded to give them restful dreams from which they would not wake. Smiling, he knew of the goings-on in the room above this. Those two needed no restful dreams, so great was their joy in being together. His job was so much easier, amidst happiness. And next door to that room, the ellon that was such a cause for consternation among some of them slept as well. He himself pitied Maglor, and felt that the second son of Fëanor had suffered more than enough. To that one he sent dreams of soft music, and being loved. While this perhaps exceeded his orders, not even Manwë was allowed to tell him exactly how to do his work.

 

*****

 

Angie was home, thank everything, when Sharley found her; her days at the clinic in Sultan were often irregular, and she could be called in on short notice. Skykomish wasn’t the only small town along US2 that didn't have any kind of medical facilities, so occasionally they would get slammed.

 

Sharley was just...tired. The horror of her nightmare hadn’t left, but Lorna’s words had actually helped. What if it really _wasn’t_ her fault? None of it? What if it wasn’t her subconscious hanging onto that at all? In spite of her exhaustion, of the lingering nausea the nightmare inspired, she felt...lighter, almost. Certainly lighter than she ever had, after one of those.

 

Still, she wanted a prescription for something. Anything. Unlike Lorna, she actually didn't like the idea of using the tincture on a regular basis; yeah, it helped, but she also tended to eat herself into a food coma, and of course it meant she couldn’t drive, or do much of anything. And surely there was a drug that could stop, or at least blunt the dreams, right? Put her in a sleep so deep she just _couldn’t_ dream? Because whatever the cause, be they _his_ doing or her subconscious being a sadist, she couldn’t keep that up.

 

 _“Sure you can,”_ Kurt said, as Angie led her to the backyard and handed her a lemonade. _“Next time it happens, just imagine it’s Maglor.”_

 

That did it. For the first time in her remembered life, Sharley choked on her drink. Lemonade, she discovered, was not at all fun when it reached the sinuses, but she couldn’t even respond to Angie’s worried look.

 

 _“Kurt...that might actually be_ useful _,”_ Layla said, in tones of horrified fascination.

 

 _“Like, legitimately useful,”_ Jimmy added, in total disbelief.

 

Sharley couldn’t see the voices, of course, but if they’d had bodies, she could all too easily imagine Kurt wringing his hands. _“I know, guys,”_ he said, appalled with himself. _“I’m scared, too.”_

 

Not even five minutes ago, Sharley would have wondered if she’d ever be able to laugh again. That, however, made her laugh so hard she nearly cried, while Angie got her a roll of paper towels. Most of Skykomish knew about the voices, so at least she didn't seem disturbed by _that_ bit.

 

“Kurt,” Sharley manage, still laughing so hard she could barely breathe, “that...that was...good grief.”

 

 _“Well, he_ is _your husband,”_ he said defensively, _“even if you can’t remember him right now. And I’m sure I’d think he was hot if I, you know, actually had hormones. Or a body.”_

 

That just set Sharley off all over again. Concept of thinking someone was ‘hot’ still remained alien to her; Maglor was very pretty, yes, but she still didn't understand this quality of ‘hotness’ that most people seemed to. In that, she felt very akin to Thanadir and Saoirse. Still, if she could start associating...those feelings...with him instead of Avathar, it probably couldn't hurt. Then again, associating them with _Angie_ would be better than leaving them with _him._ Angie, or...or Geezer. Or anyone. Kurt, terrify her though it did, actually had a point. A valid one, no less.

 

She had, unfortunately, memorized the damn dream by now. She knew what, and where, and how many times (a thought that made her physically twitch, though at least she wasn’t tempted to puke up her lemonade); if it came back, she’d try Kurt’s suggestion. Which was not a sentence she would have ever, ever thought she’d think.

 

“I need Xanax,” she managed eventually. “Or...something. The nightmare’s not going away, though Kurt had an actually sensible idea, which makes me wonder if hell froze over when I wasn’t looking.”

 

_“Hey!”_

 

“Oh, come on, Kurt. In eighteen thousand years, that’s literally the only good piece of advice I ever remember you giving.”

 

_“That...is so not the point.”_

 

 _“I kinda think it is,”_ Layla said.

 

Angie waited patiently. Never would she have thought that a patient hearing voices was actually a _good_ thing, but these seemed to be benevolent, on the whole. They were certainly a distraction. “Tell me about the nightmare,” she said, sitting in the Adirondack chair.

 

“It was...the nightmare,” Sharley said, shrugging as she sat on the glider. “It never changes. He’s there, he does his thing, I can’t help but enjoy it...but Lorna wonders if that’s not my fault -- if he didn't do something to make it...stick, sorta.”

 

“Sharley, whether he did or not, it’s still not your fault,” Angie said. “Lizard brain, remember? That primitive part of you that isn’t necessarily concerned with emotion, just instinct? Regardless of the circumstances, he made you feel something incomparable in your life. Lizard brain still responds to those sensations, disconnected from what makes you Sharley.”

 

“See, you keep saying that, and it doesn’t make me feel any less...gross,” Sharley said. “If it actually _was_ him leaving his sticky telepathic fingers in my mind, that’s a whole other ballgame. And from everything I and everyone else knows of him, it’s exactly the sorta thing he’d do.”

 

Angie fought a sigh. Sharley was pinning much on this hope, but now was not the time to push her. That something gave her hope was encouraging, but should it be dashed, she would only be left worse off. The poor woman had been through so much, and Angie had been scrambling. Sexual assault was not her specialty, and she’d had to do much reading in a very short amount of time. So much of it was contradictory, too; the gist of it seemed to be that nobody really knew what actually worked. She could only go off what she knew of Sharley, in her attempt to tailor her therapy. “I can write you a scrip, but have you kept up with your journal?”

 

“Not every day, but most,” Sharley said, sipping lemonade (which really, really did not feel good when it came out of your sinuses. Not at all.) “It’s hard, because usually what I do to get shit outta my head is talk to the voices. Now they just want to yatter about whatever I’m writing.”

 

 _“It’s called us taking an interest,”_ Layla said helpfully.

 

“No, it’s called you being a pain in the ass,” Sharley retorted. “I can’t focus when you do that.”

 

 _“Us being a pain in the ass_ is _us taking an interest,”_ Jimmy said.

 

“You keep telling yourself that.”

 

That made Angie smile. Yes, it was bizarre, and in anyone else she would call it unhealthy, but Sharley was literally a case unto herself. “Who will take you to Sultan? Will Lorna?”

 

“Probably. She had a nightmare of her own last night, though -- dreamed she was getting buried alive. By that asshole, naturally.” She sipped more lemonade, and blew her nose on a paper towel. _Ow._

 

A whispered conversation broke out around her, which was really freaking weird, considering the voices, to her knowledge, never whispered. _“Um,”_ Layla said, _“how would you be with handling possibly psychologically scarring information right now?”_

 

“Do I even want to know?” Sharley asked.

 

“What do they say?” Angie put in.

 

“Layla wants to know how well I’d handle something that’d psychologically scar me. Maybe.”

 

One of Angie’s eyebrows rose. “Is it imperative? Will not knowing hurt someone?”

 

 _“Well, no, not right_ now _, but this might be the kinda thing she wants to hear in privacy. So to speak.”_

 

Sharley relayed that, now worried.

 

“It’s up to you, Sharley,” Angie said. “You know them better than I.”

 

“I’m probably gonna regret this,” Sharley said, setting aside her lemonade. She did not want a repeat of that little...incident. “Okay, fine, but if I want to go out and get plastered, it’s not my fault.”

 

 _“Sharley, you never go out and get plastered,”_ Sinsemilla pointed out.

 

“You never know, I might start. I’m surrounded by Irish people.”

 

 _“...Fair point. Still, it’s not a habit you should be picking up,”_ Sinsemilla said, sounding a touch like a lecturing mother.

 

Sharley rolled her eyes. “Let’s get this over with. Layla, what do I need to know?”

 

 _“Lorna didn't have a nightmare of getting buried alive last night, she had_ your _nightmare,”_ the voice said. _“We think you’re linked at the brain with that, because of...shared experience.”_

 

Okay, so it was possible to choke on actual air. Wonderful.

 

*****

 

Maglor was feeling lonely, and a little romantic when he decided to place the random call and leave a message. “I miss you, Sharley,” the soft voice filled with yearning said. “I am very busy now but I miss holding your hand. Watching your blue hair sway when you walk. Enjoying your smile when you are smiling only at me.” There was a little pause. “Sometimes now I think of you and I call you “Lee”. Can you see, the sounds are sort of the same, whether it is sharLEE or tirilLEE? Well okay, maybe it isn’t truly tirilLEE more like tirilLAY but...I do not care which name, but I miss you. And I am sure that this was the worst excuse for a proper loving message but I am terribly out of practice.” An audible sigh could be heard. “I would enjoy greatly to talk with you, Sharley. Good-bye.” *click*

 

“What in Eru’s name did I do that for?” he asked, passing his forearm over his forehead, as he smelled the pillow she used sometimes. It still had the scent of her, faintly, all these weeks later. “Kana, you are a hopeless case,” he muttered. “But what else can I be?”

 

**

 

Sharley, slightly bombed on Xanax, listened to the voicemail, yet again. By the time she’d found it, it would have been far too late at night in Ireland for her to call; if he was managing sleep, she didn't want to keep him from it. She waited until it would be about six in the morning before she called, seated in the van so she wouldn’t wake any of the others. Even if he didn't answer, she could leave a voicemail, too.

 

“Sharley?” the voice on the other end said hopefully.

 

She grinned. “Hi Maglor,” she said. “I can’t talk loud, it’s late here, but I’m glad you called. I was gonna call you -- I wanted to hear your voice.”

 

“I wanted the same,” he said quietly, closing his eyes and smiling. “How are you? Are you enjoying Washington?” he asked hopefully.

 

“I am,” she said, and in that moment it was the truth, at least. “We’re camping right now -- still in the spot where I sent you pictures of the kids. We’re going to Ross Lake in a few days and I won’t have great cell service, but I can probably still send you more things. How are you? Is the Lump keeping you company?”

 

“Oh, er, yes, she has made herself quite at home,” he obfuscated. “Though, she has a strange enjoyment of being in the sink. I suppose that is normal. Somewhere…” He frowned. It was true, the cat had made itself at home. On his clean cloak, on his coverlet, and one morning on his unbound hair. He had woken and glared at her, and received a lick on the tip of his nose for his trouble.

 

Sharley laughed, and tried to keep it down. “No, she’s weird even for a cat,” she said. “I miss you. I want to tell you everything that’s been going on --” _not_ true, but she wanted to tell him the good bits “-- but I want to do it while I can actually look at you. Allanah made a wind-chime out of sticks and feathers and little bells, and it’s the cutest little thing. It looks like fairies ought to live in it.”

 

“What has her favorite thing been, in your time there?” He knew that if nothing else, he could not go wrong by showing interest in Allanah. And truly he did like the child. She was friendly and outgoing, but also respectful and moderate. Like a child older than her years, really. There was much of Earlene in her personality, though he felt Allanah was perhaps more outgoing even than her mother. Aunt. Whatever the technical relationship was.

 

“The Iron Goat Trail,” Sharley said, wrapping her blanket a little tighter around her. It was cold, outside of her sleeping bag. “The trail I sent you pictures of, that’s along the disused railroad tracks. We’d gone there was when was four, and she remembered it more clearly than I woulda thought possible.” She paused. “I took Marty there, too, not that long before she died. I have video, somewhere. I know the rest of them think I’m nuts, or at least weird, but I like watching it. It doesn’t make me sad, like it would them, I guess. I wanted to take Allanah there...when she was little, I took her because I woulda hoped she and Marty would get along. I was just thinking last night that I’ve got twice as many memories with Allanah down than I do with Marty, probably. It’s a weird thought.”

 

“I visited her since you cannot,” Maglor said. And that also was true. “I left her a small present, and I sang for her.” He did not need to mention that he had done so out of loneliness, or because he could picture her clearest in his mind sitting in the beautiful grove talking to her lost child. Mostly he hoped his words pleased her.

 

That drew another smile from her. “She woulda loved to hear you sing,” she said. “She loved music. I bet she woulda just sat for hours, if you’d sung that long. This might sound stupid, but now that I’ve heard you, I don't sing where anyone else can hear me. You should like what religious people would think an angel ought to.”

 

“Thank you,” he smiled. “But I wish you _would_ sing. Please do not compare yourself to someone who has had far more practice. It is also an example to the children--how will they feel, if they see that adults will not sing or play music unless they feel they can be perfect? That would be...sad.”

 

She laughed a little. “True. Have the kids started their music lessons yet? Allanah still can’t make up her mind about guitar or violin. I almost hope she picks something totally unexpected.”

 

“Well, as of two weeks’ ago there is an acoustic bass. Thanadir’s sitar is still there. There is...lute, and viola. Earlene has even shown me ukelele and hammer dulcimer. But she must decide; it is a great investment of effort.”

 

“I’m sure we can get her to pick something before we get home. She’s a methodical kid; she’ll turn all the pros and cons of everything over before she does. I just hope I can get her to catch a fish at Ross Lake. There aren’t many left, but we got a few one year. I think Atia almost threw up when we cleaned it, but she was only three. She’d never seen any of the butchering on the farm yet.” Sharley grinned. “Okay, so on Saoirse’s behalf, I have to ask: is anyone paying attention to Booger?”

 

“I have seen Ailill and Calanon give her attention, and Earlene as well,” he said, trying to keep a pitch of desperation out of his voice. Few of them appreciated ClingOn, him least of all. “And of course that cat likes to play with Tail.” _Over ten thousand years of singing and I am using all my powers of voice modulation to fib about a cat._ He massaged his forehead, glad this was not a video call.

 

“Good,” Sharley said. “She misses him. She’s been doing all sorts of drawings, but there’s no point in taking pictures when we’re coming home in a few weeks. I still haven’t found anything I think you’d love enough to bring it home, but there’ll be something. Something from Washington that’s just yours.”

 

“There is only one thing from Washington I truly want, Sharley. And if she can return home with greater peace of mind and safe, then I will be the happiest elf in the forest.”

 

Sharley felt her face heat, and yet she grinned. “It’s dark here, but I’m pretty sure you just made me blush,” she said, and if she sounded a little like an idiot schoolgirl...sue her. “Working with Angie and Lorna hasn’t been fun, or easy, but...I’m better now. Better than I was, anyway. I’ve got a long way to go, but I’ve worked through some stuff I never tried to deal with before.” Well, she was _working_ through it, but she’d keep this optimistic. “So while I might not come home totally in one piece, I'm in fewer pieces now. Maybe there will be just one, after a while. I hope. I want to be able to remember...before. So you’re not stuck just telling me all the time.” She couldn't tell him she wanted to be able to want to remember kissing him. It was too cruel a thing to say just yet, when she knew damn well she couldn’t deliver.

 

“I do not mind,” he said, debating but then deciding to take the plunge. “I too have been working on...something,” he said. “Aran Thranduil has helped me to see things a little differently.” It seemed best for now to leave much else out of it, by way of explanation. “I know...it is not easy to change how we think sometimes. I mean, it was not easy for me. To change how I think, because I was thinking it for a long time and...I didn’t mean it might not be easy for you” he stammered, blushing as he felt his foot go further into his mouth. “Um, I am sorry. I am rambling.” _Dammit Kana, just be quiet!_

 

Sharley burst into quiet laughter. “It’s okay, Maglor,” she said. “I know what you mean. It’s not easy, and we’re both so...in America, we’d say we’ve both been through some shit. I’ll try to get Angie to come over to Ireland soon. She actually knows what she’s doing, when it comes to helping people heal their minds. She says we all need what she calls a support network -- people we trust, and care about, and who care about us. We’re both lucky there, I think.”

 

“We are,” he said, touching his hand to his cheeks. Even now he could taste the tears of the Vala; her gift of a spirit more at peace and not completely eaten away by guilt and despair. And yet how could he possibly speak to Sharley concerning any of that? His wife had problems enough without having to consider the scope of his own quandaries. “I do not mean this as any kind of pressure, but have you any idea when you might return?” Yes, he missed her, but the ulterior motive was also to find out how much more time he had, to work on their future home and her loom before he would have to resort to hiding his movements from her.

 

“Three weeks and four days,” she said. “Not looking forward to the flight home, but oh well. I just try to nap, if I can, but at my height even business class isn’t roomy enough. It’s probably a good thing you don't like flying, because if _I_ can’t fit, you’d hate it.”

 

“Maybe if there could be eagles?” he smiled. “Lots of leg room then. And, I will count the days. Maybe we could talk again, before you go to Ross Lake?”

 

“Lots of leg room, but you’d better hope you didn't have to use the toilet,” she said, unable to stifle a grin. “I’d like that. We’re leaving in three days, so should I call you sometime in the morning, day after tomorrow?  My morning, I mean. I won’t be able to stay up this late that night.”

 

“I would like that,” he said. “I…” Oh, he knew what he wanted to say but feared it was still too soon. “I wish I could hug you,” came out instead. “Please give the others my regards.”

 

“As Lorna so often says, I’m hugging you with my mind,” she said. “My mental hair might be in your face. Pet the Lump for me, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

 

“I will look forward to it. You have to be the one to hang up, because I cannot.”

 

“Charmer,” she said, laughing. “Bye.” She hung up, and felt lighter than before she’d called. She also felt sleepy, so she crawled into her tent, where Allanah was long since zonked, curled up in her sleeping bag, and drifted off. And this night, her dreams were only of Eldamar.

 

*****

{August 22, 2026}

 

Naturally, nobody said anything about why Lorna and Sharley had taken off, or why Ratiri and Grania had followed, so the next morning Pat had just rolled his eyes and went for a walk with Grania, leaving daughter-Lorna and Maerwen to mind the kids. He was having way too much fun introducing her to the beauty of the Cascade Mountains, and trying to pump her for information she of course wouldn’t give. All she would say was that there had been nightmares, and Sharley had wanted to see Angie, and Angie had given her a prescription to fill in a town with the weird name of Sultan. Nothing of why she and Ratiri had taken off like bats out of hell, of course.

 

“We should bring some’v these trees,” she said, looking up. The huge boughs of a Douglas fir stretched out over the sparkling waters of the creek, dark against the blue sky.

 

“Sharley already did,” he said. “I’ll show you where she’s planted them, when we get home. I’m sure she’ll bring more, though, before...then.” Now that they were closer to the end of the world, it was seeming more real, for lack of a better term. Twenty years had felt like a long while; twelve, rather less so. He didn't even want to think about what it would be like, when they really got down to the wire. “How d’you think this’ll plan out, once the clock hits midnight?”

 

It took her a moment to work out his meaning. “I think it’ll be harder than everyone expects,” she said, shaking her head. “Yeah, everybody’s been spending time in the Halls, but the villages are still _there_. There’s still electricity, and internet, and TV. The Baile people might take it harder, since it’s not like Lasg’len’s physically going there, even if it’s losing all the amenities. I think everyone only thinks they’re prepared for it.”

 

“I wish I could disagree with you,” he said, sighing. “It’s one thing to spend a week in the Halls, doing chores and taking care’v your own shite, but knowing that’ll be the rest’v your life, until you’re too old to do it? Totally different thing.”

 

They passed a truly impressive clump of ferns, and he added, “I know this sounds weird, given I didn't have any kind’v internet access until I was forty, but that might be the hardest thing to give up, you know? I mean, there’s a lot’v shite on it, and you can’t trust even half what you read in the news, but at least there _is_ news. If I want an idea’v what’s going on in...oh, Mexico, I can find out easy enough. I think the world’s going to seem a lot smaller, when we don't know what’s going on outside’v our little community.”

 

“Unless Sharley has a vision,” Grana pointed out, though she knew exactly what he meant. It was damn strange; they’d grown up without computers, let alone the internet. They weren’t like their daughter, who had been surrounded by technology all her life, even if she hadn’t actually owned much of it. She took the idea of email, of Google, for granted, whereas if you’d told Grania at age 23 that either would be possible, she’d never have believed it. When she’d first discovered what email was, her mind had been blown. The idea of being able to communicate, instantly, with someone on the other side of the world...it had been staggering. And yet their Lorna had never known a world without it, even when they’d been too poor to have the internet themselves. It was still a thing that existed.

 

“True,” he conceded, “but those don’t ever seem to be a comfort to her. Or to anyone else.”

 

“D’you think anyone’ll survive, out here? Out in the wider world?”

 

He sighed again. “Ratiri says statistically, a few will have to,” he said. “No matter what the virus is, there’s always going to be a few people who are immune -- but I think he said Sharley said it was going to be more than ninety percent that’d die.”

 

Grania shuddered. “And then this campground, this little town, will be empty,” she said softly. “It’ll be like that city in Chernobyl, and nature’ll take it back.”

 

“Yeah, but all the _people_ in Skykomish’ll be with us,” Pat said. “And someday, things’ll recover. Saoirse told me she learned in science that theory called that...Toba catastrophe? A supervolcano erupted like seventy-five thousand years ago, and created what she called a population bottleneck that might’v left only twenty-six thousand people alive in the entire bloody world. Maybe, in a few thousand years, civilization might be a thing again.”

 

“Only twenty-six thousand? Because that’s cheerful.”

 

“Oh, that’s the high estimate,” he said, grinning. “Lowest estimate’s two thousand, but Ratiri doesn’t buy that, because you need at least five thousand to not inbreed yourself into extinction.”

 

“Also cheerful,” Grania said dryly. “Let’s talk about something else. How pretty this creek is, for one thing.”

 

“Just wait until you see Ross Lake,” Pat said. “You rent your boats at this floating lodge made out’v logs, and then drive them out to wherever you want to go. Lake’s about ten miles long -- part’v it’s actually in Canada -- and there’s campsites all over. We usually pick islands because there’s less chance’v wildlife getting into things.” He was not going to say ‘bears’. There was no point in freaking her out, especially when there hadn’t been a bear sighting in years. Someway, they were going to have to start renting some of the cabins, just because all the humans were getting older. In ten years, they might not want to be sleeping on the ground, even with sleeping pads.

 

“What is it Sharley calls small animals? Critters?”

 

“Great word, isn’t it? I tell Atia she’s a critter and she tries to knock me down.”

 

Grania arched an eyebrow at him. “Tries? Last time I saw her do that, she succeeded.”

 

Pat grumbled, but couldn’t deny it. “Oh, hush. If we don't take some photos while we’re out here, Lorna might kill us, so let’s get to it.”

 

*****

 

(September 11, 2026}

 

Earlene meandered through the Halls, muddling her thoughts and seeking to be left the hell alone. Sort of. There had at least been some time on the harpsichord with no one else in the music room. Blessedly, Maglor liked to compartmentalize how he spent his time just as much as she herself did, and lately had been working on projects in the woodworking room, if the GeezerVine was to be believed. Maybe she should stop in, just to see what was happening. Besides, Maglor was British if he was...anything, and was therefore highly likely not to be thinking about...it. Finding her way and opening the door, she gave a silent nod to Geezer and Ian and received one in return. Truly, she liked those two because they understood Not Talking. They did not feel the need to vomit platitudes and niceties into perfectly quiet airspace just to make conversation. Moving past them into the rear chambers of the workspace, she noiselessly came upon the object of her interest standing with his back to her. He had made impressive progress on the loom, which caused her to ruminate while her eyes analyzed it.

 

Perhaps it was time to become far more earnest about fiber. Yes, they could hoard bolts of cloth much as the elves had already done. But wool and flax...well, best get on that, and soon. No silkworms were going to live in Ireland, and from what she’d read of cotton, that would be right out as well. Synthetics were going to vanish, and that left animal skins, furs, animal fibers, and linen. No one was going to dink with Angora rabbits, and Kashmir goats were not native to this region. It was going to be sheep, sheep, and more sheep. And flax. End of story. And they had better gain some facility with those methods sooner rather than later. Not to disparage their progress; they had shown they were capable at raising food--that was going very well. They were slowly expanding, and the purchase of most everything but pork bellies by way of meat from the outside world had halted. The elves loved the bacon, and they would be reduced to having it only as a treat soon enough; there was no need to rush that part.

 

Earlene looked on awhile more before deciding to break the silence. “Are you going to make every component yourself, Kana? Even things like the heddles?”

 

Maglor stood tall, only now realizing she was here. A passing frown seemed to indicate that it disturbed him not to have been aware of her presence. “You are very quiet, Hiril vuin,” he said softly, bowing his head to her.

 

“I was well taught,” she smiled. “And while I appreciate your respect, please call me Earlene. We share a roof, and you are family to me. I understand the formality during official functions but...this is not one of those.”

 

“As you prefer.” A long pause ensued while he kept trying to adjust a joint. He was using mortise and tenon technique, and pinning that in place with a thin dowel. And using hand tools to achieve all of this. Some minutes later, he seemed to realize he had never answered her question and stood up again. “I am sorry,” he said, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I become overly preoccupied when I work; I did not mean to be rude. The answer is, while I am able to make things such as heddles if I wish to spend hours in the forge, I decided to relent and purchase them. I will content myself with knowing that I am capable, should there be a need. But I had to consider that it is not a good use of my time.”

 

“You are very busy,” she teased. “I have seen the beginnings of your project in the forest.”

 

A deep frown spread over his face. “May I ask who told you of that?”

 

“My eyeballs,” she said drily. “I run in the forest a great deal. Everywhere. Not like I used to, but I still...get around.”

 

He rubbed his forehead. Eru, he was managing to make quite a hash of this. “Please forgive me. I am not so good with...people.”

 

“I know you are not, because in some ways neither am I. It takes one to know one. We are not so different, Kana. And having heard some of what has transpired for you, I had hoped to reach out to you in addition to admiring your woodworking skills.”

 

“Why?” he said, dejection creeping into his voice. “It would seem that my days are numbered, so to speak. I would think twice before…” he shook his head and sighed.

 

“But I have thought twice. More than that, actually. Perhaps even seven, or eight times have I pondered...your situation. I too think you are wrong, Kana. I think there is hope for you.”

 

“Earlene, how can you honestly believe that, after what I have done? After the Oath I declared? I have listened, and done what Aran Thranduil has commanded, and I have tried. Yes, it is possible that I am wrong in my beliefs. But I do not see it.”

 

The angle of her head changed, as she pondered her next words. “Well, I do. And I am a lawyer and you are a musician. Or have I missed something?”

He knocked the joint together with one decisive blow of a wooden mallet, and drove the dowel home, satisfied at last. “That much is true,” he concurred. “I am a musician. But that does not mean I understand nothing of law.”

 

“Let me ask you this, then. A man commits a crime in his youth, influenced in part to do so by close and trusted associates. He participates with them in pursuit of riches, and as a result many are killed. Some by purposeful murder, others as casualties of other actions. The man then stops his criminal behavior. Repents, and lives an ordinary life but as a fugitive from the law. Thirty years pass, and the man is now past the prime of his life. He married and had a family, gave back to the community by helping those less fortunate, and never broke another law or statute again...but one day he was recognized and apprehended to be tried for his crimes of long ago. Presuming he is found guilty, what should the judgement be against him? What is his deserved punishment, in your eyes?”

 

Kana thought, and thought. And frowned and thought some more. “I...that is very hard. I think I should wish him to have to do...something, he was responsible for loss of life and families that suffered pain. But to place a man like that in prison...what is the point? Not to keep society safe, obviously. It would make more sense to me if he were compelled to give more service to others, perhaps...it is very difficult for me to say. I would feel sorry for him, and not only because of the parallels to my own circumstance.”

 

“So, how much of what you would assign for his punishment reflects justice, and how much reflects mercy?”

 

“I….what?” Maglor’s shoulders slumped now, as he considered further. “That is even harder. They are connected together.”

 

“Kana, it _is_ hard, that is the point. It is hard to anyone thinking or feeling, to simply snap their fingers and have a formulaic response to those questions. I would think in all your long years you have seen many concepts of justice evolve. Arbitrary judgements, at the hands of ruling Kings or Queens. Judgements under a system of Parliamentary Law, that perhaps were an improvement but quite often managed to miscarry justice. Even in the United States, that likes to claim that there is ‘truth, justice, and the American Way’….” the scenario I gave you is a slight variation on a real-life case of a woman. And she was sent to jail for a very long time, because the wheels of bureaucracy demanded it. Many thought it unjust. At the very least I thought it a waste. But it is not systems like these to which you must one day submit yourself. They are the Valar, for Eru’s sake. The closest thing your people have to loving parents that watch over and guide you. I understand your fear, Kana. Everyone fears to account for their deeds. But I have complete faith that you will find justice and mercy in fair measure. Anything else is simply unthinkable.”

 

He listened to her, as tears pooled in his eyes. Her words were like pointed sticks, prodding at him, and he began to silently cry.

 

“Oh, Kana,” she said without hesitation, and hugged him around his ribs tightly. He stood close to a full foot taller than her, which felt mildly ridiculous, but like hell was she not going to emotionally support him. And at least, he did return the gesture, embracing her tightly in return. “I am always here for you. You can always talk to me about your feelings, your fears. Anything. I think you know that nothing ever goes further than myself or my husbands. You have many difficulties with which to contend, and I want you to be able to believe that you are not alone. And that includes Sharley. Don’t think for a minute I don’t understand the struggles you face I understand a little too well, actually,” she frowned, before releasing him. No, no, she hadn’t wanted to think about _that_. Not here, not now. “I will leave you be, now. I would like to stop by and see the loom from time to time, if that is alright with you. It interests me.”

 

“You are welcome here always,” he smiled, feeling oddly better before looking at her far more intently. “Today is September eleventh,” he said. “You are American.”

 

Returning his gaze levelly, she nodded her head. “It is. And I am. Was. Sometimes that part is harder to discern.” Turning, she left, before her legendary self-control could crumble. She would have to remember, Maglor was sort of like a bad phone connection; there might be a party line at any time. Not that it mattered, really; she had nothing to hide from him. On the way out she had to pass by Geezer and Ian again; they appeared to be preparing to turn chair spindles on the lathe.

 

Geezer looked up, and followed after Earlene. He had a little something inexpertly wrapped. “It’s a shitty day, today,” he said, holding it out. “Have something to play with.”

 

Earlene snorted. “Touché. And thank you.” Taking it with a little dip of her head, she continued on her way. Talking about _that_ was going to be a big Do Not Do. She probably owed it to herself to go off somewhere and think or have a cry or something, but not just yet. Sometimes these things had to ferment a little. Fester? Percolate? One of those.

 

After she left, Maglor emerged, having overheard the exchange, and looked at Geezer. “Forgive me for intruding, but...you exchange gifts, on the September eleventh? I had not heard of this custom.”

 

“It’s not really a custom,” Geezer said. “It’s just that she and I are the only Americans around right now, and it was...a bad day to be an American. Earlene, she doesn’t talk about it, but she lived through it.” He had now, finally, gotten over being totally weirded out that he was talking to _Maglor_ , someone he’d actually read about. “She’s not one for big emotional displays, usually, so I figured it’d be better to give her something to play with and let her get on with it in her own way.”

 

“Big emotional…lived through?” he trailed off, now hopelessly confused. “I am afraid I am lost. I mean no disrespect. This is a day of mourning if you are American, even after all this time?” To an elf, the twenty-five years that had elapsed were as nothing...but that was much in the span of a mortal life.

 

“Given what happened, it’d probably stay that way until it passed outta living memory, if America had that long,” Geezer said. “It was...it was bad. I only saw it on TV, and it didn't seem real. I was in this diner, and we call kept expecting someone to say it was a...I dunno, mistake, or something. Which is stupid, but when there’s something so awful you don't want to believe it, the human mind can do some weird shit.

 

“Now, I don't know a whole hell of a lot about Earlene’s life before she came to Ireland -- she don't say a whole lot -- but I know she was in Manhattan when all that went down. She saw it firsthand, and she’s…” He searched for the right words. “If she’s gonna make a big deal outta something, she wants it to be on her terms, I guess is the only way I know how to put it. Something this personal...it’s hers. We have a saying in America, that some people play their cards close to their chests, and that’s Earlene. She lets you know what she wants you to know, about how she’s feeling, and that’s all you’re gonna get.”

 

Maglor nodded, leaving the room. _Manhattan...was that not in New York City?_ He cursed his lack of attention to the details of the outer world and left to return to the cottage. There were computers anyone could use at the cottage. Then he could at least recover from his appalling ignorance, and if he hurried no one might be the wiser.

 

**

 

 _Just get it over with,_ Earlene said to herself, looking at the little drop spindle Geezer had thoughtfully made for her. _Go to the fucking cottage and get it over with._ So she did, her fleet feet making quick work of the distance from the Halls. But she took a path that would bring her around the barn, unseen by any at Eldamar. Odds were the cottage would be empty. Elves that did like to come here and use the electronics usually did so at particular intervals in the day, and this was not one of them. Silently admitting herself in through the front door, the little house indeed appeared silent and empty. Hesitating for a moment, she reached up to take down the framed photo of her friends. It still sat on the bookshelf, undisturbed, near the poster of the Freedom Tower. The book with the clippings and photos waited as well. None of these things had been disturbed, and none of these things had been moved to Eldamar years ago. There had been a reason for that. Moving to Eldamar...that was like stepping further into another life. Leaving this one behind; the cottage represented the time of transition, the time of moving away from what she had known beforehand.

 

“Well I guess I should make a proper job of this, if I’m going to wallow,” she whispered to herself, sitting down with her book and her photo. One thing was conspicuously missing, and this caused her face to darken in anger, but that passed. For now. She turned the pages slowly, and tried to decide if she really wanted to remember, when for so long all she had really wanted was to forget. The photo was balanced in her hand. There they all still were. “Alika, Mary, Dina, Steve, Parshu, Sara. You’re all still dead,” Earlene said to no one, tears pooling in her eyes. “And if I am going to be honest, part of why today is so hard is that I have to admit that I’ve started to forget about you. I don’t spend every day remembering your faces anymore. Sometimes weeks and months go by and I don’t think of you at all. That feels so terrible, but what was I supposed to do? I lived in part because a Vala none of you ever heard of wanted me for...this craziness...while you all died. There were law firms in those towers; I could have ended up just like you. Instead I came here and found not one but two wonderful husbands. And beautiful children, while all of you got your names engraved in polished stone on a memorial. A memorial millions of people visit but they don’t know your names. Not like I do.”

 

The inevitable sobs tore from her chest, as the memories came back. To not remember would have felt disrespectful, even if doing this hurt. “It seems so ironic,” she continued, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I live with immortal beings. But even they hope for things. I hope for things. Do you all have any hope? I’ve no idea. I can’t believe sometimes that all of you left me and I am still here. Now I’m Queen of the Elves. How that happened...And my one real reminder of you. My one memory, that bastard Avathar stole it. He marched in here and stole the one thing I could hold in my hand to remember that I stood there and watched all of you die. Isn’t that self-centered of me, after what he did to Lorna? Pffft forget Lorna, look what he did to Sharley, and I’m sitting here crying because he stole a lump of stone and metal. Though to be fair, he also murdered my former employer. Can’t forget that tidbit.” She shook her head, more hot tears splashing into her hands. “But it wasn’t stone and metal to me. It was all of you, and now that’s gone. You’re all gone and I’m still here.” A pause ensued as her pain continued to pour out. Her hands began to shake with rage.“I want to cut him open and start pulling his liver out all over again! Damn him! Damn him and his egotistical, self-satisfied, I-want-to-play-at-being-Morgoth-but-I-can’t-make-a-proper-job-of-it self. Oh and I forgot, ‘if I can’t control all the mortals I’ll just kill them instead.’

 

She buried her face in her hands. “Dammit, Earlene. This accomplishes nothing. Feeling sorry for the past while others around you have actual problems accomplishes _nothing_.” Slamming the book shut forcefully, she rose and turned to put everything back and froze. “Maglor.” Her throat almost squeezed shut when she saw him, just as quickly as she felt the blood drain from her face. “How long have you been here? How much of that did you…” a place inside of her started to become very angry until she saw that he was crying.

 

“I am sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out. “You came in a few seconds after I did and somehow did not see me. The look on your face, I did not wish to disturb you and then...I did not mean to listen but…” his head dropped, as he tried to regain mastery over a voice that cracked and trembled.

 

“Valar,” she muttered, walking to the sink to run cool water and splash her face clean. Several deep breaths were taken. “Just...sit down. Sit down, havo dad, whatever language you prefer, and you try to collect yourself while I try to manage my sense of embarrassment and humiliation for making a complete spectacle of myself.”

 

He could see it would be unwise to not do as he was asked, and she turned to put away her mementos. So he sat. “It was not a spectacle,” he said, his voice still uneven.

 

“Well, you are being kind,” she retorted, plunking rather unceremoniously into the other armchair. “You would think that with this not being the first time I have been caught out over talking to myself when I believed I was alone, I would have learned something. Apparently not. I am...sorry, for what you overheard. I never would have said such things had I known…”

 

“Why are you apologizing to me?” he asked, incredulous. “You went through...pardon me for how this is going to sound, but one reason I have always had difficulty forging connection with most other humans is...they cannot understand. The wars, so many dying, the losses of those dear...there is no explanation for that except…”

 

Earlene snorted. “I seem more palatable to you now, because you learned I had a front row seat at 9/11?”

 

“Truthfully? Yes.” His unvarnished candor surprised her. “That was why I liked the Professor. Professor Tolkien. He too...understood these things. His life was not untouched by great tragedy and the witnessing of many sorrows. And...Avathar. Did you really…?”

 

Her cheeks flushed pink. “I get...I am not my usual self, if I grow angry enough. I...you have to promise me that this goes no further. I do not need those I meet knowing what I am capable of doing...”

 

“I promise,” he hurried to say. “Earlene, when you told me earlier today that you wanted me to understand I am not alone...I still ask your pardon for having remained silent when you entered, but what I heard did me more good than anything else you said previously. Please do not feel... I never would have known otherwise, and it is the only thing that could have shown me know that you truly _do_ understand enough of what I have been through. Of what I have done. Of what I have...become.”

 

“Oh.” An uncomfortable silence ensued. “Would you like some tea? Because I would, if only to feel slightly less awkward. I am listening to you, and I am glad that something good could come of this. But I am still embarrassed...I still have human emotions. And I hold nothing against you. There is nothing to pardon.”

 

This caused him to smile. “ Thank you. Yes, please, to the tea. But I do not think they are human emotions. They are just...emotions.”

 

“Fair enough,” she said, moving across to the range to heat water.

 

“You called me Maglor,” he observed.

 

“I am sorry for that too. You have to understand, in my mind you began as a person from history. In the books you were called Maglor more than anything else. It has been hard; I have to remember to call you ‘Kana’. I’m actually surprised that this is the first time I have made that mistake. I was...distracted and caught off-guard.”

 

He had not considered this. “Quen and I took these forms of our names because we thought they would be the least likely to attract notice to those humans we met. ‘Quen’ might be short for ‘Quentin’ and ‘Kana’...” he rolled his eyes. “A little unusual, but less obvious than ‘Maglor’. But this is a Sindarin speaking Realm and...if you would rather call me ‘Maglor’ you are welcome to.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, pleasantly surprised. “I always liked the name. Your name, I mean. Maglor.” The kettle sang quickly, and he was handed his mug. “Tea bags here, not the good stuff.” She shrugged.

 

“I do not mind,” he answered. Another suspension of words occurred, while they each sipped their tea. Earlene breathed in the savory aroma, relishing the flavor.

 

“Are you holding up okay, with Sharley?” came the abrupt question.

 

“What do you mean?” his brow furrowed.

 

Earlene took a very deep breath. _Might as well go for the jugular._ “I mean, and please forgive the intrusive nature of what I am about to say, most women who are coping with the aftermath of rape are not able to have...normal relations, with their spouse. I also know what it is to have a partner who is unable to share the gift of marriage. What it feels like, to want that closeness with your mate but need to live without it out for love of them and because it is what circumstances require.”

 

“You do?” His eyebrows raised halfway up his forehead. “But…”

 

She waved her hand in a gesture of ‘you don’t understand.’ “Thanadir. When we were first united neither of us were...without going into unseemly details I will just offer that when we wed, we were far from wholly aware of our actions. Thanadir is asexual; he does not express intimate desire. So for many months, we did not share any. Only the emotional closeness we have  always had. Mostly I managed, because I love him. But there were times I experienced grief. Loss. Even sometimes despair, all of which I felt I had to try to hide from him.”

 

He nodded, understanding now what she was trying to say. “I am...managing,” he smiled. “Sharley is more important to me than...that. It is much as you say. I hope, very much, that it is not always as it is now. But if that is to be, it is to be. Just as you love Thanadir, I love Sharley. But...it does help to know that someone else has shared this. It is a kind of sorrow. Not for the physical pleasure but for…”

 

“Your bond. I know. It was the same for me. I could not talk about that with any of my human friends because they do not have...that. They do not know what it is to yearn to feel that consuming oneness. The other is nice but...no comparison to the connection of hearts. Of spirits.”

 

“May I ask if you have ever spoken to Sharley about these matters?”

 

“Yes, you may ask, and No, I have not. You see, before you two finally met face to face, I assumed Sharley was asexual too. Not only asexual, but sex-averse. She had zero interest in any facet of the topic. I would be happy to discuss such matters with her or anyone else; for someone who does not share much personal information I am not exactly shy about what some feel is difficult subject matter.”

 

“Good to know,” he smiled, finishing his tea. “I feel I have taken up enough of your time. And Earlene, I am sorry, about your experiences. For your losses.”

 

A wan smile came over her. “Just like I am sorry the entire First Age happened?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“Maybe this was good for both of us, Maglor. I have found that the Valar work in strange ways.”

 

“So I am coming to understand,” he said softly, helping her wash their mugs. “Thank you, for speaking with me. I have much to consider, now.”

 

“Me too. Even if part of that involves wondering how you are going to get the warp threads onto that loom, for someone who can’t remember weaving.”

 

“I could explain, but that would require another cup of tea.” He politely held the door open for her, as they left the cottage.

 

“Deal. But back at Eldamar. I hate to use bags, when there is loose-leaf.”

 

****

{September 15, 2026}

 

Lorna the Younger had never been in a speedboat before this trip, and she still wasn’t certain what she thought of them.

 

Da had taught her and Mam to drive it, and even when he was at the tiller they kept it at a reasonable pace, but the others? Not so much. The others, when the lake would grow rough and choppy in the afternoon, would take their boats out and go so fast they just jumped from crest to crest, racing each other. The kids all howled like loons, and even Saoirse got in on it. Afternoons were when Lorna either wanted to hike or stay at the campsite and vegetate.

 

 _Mornings_ were another story entirely. Normally she wasn’t much of a morning person, but when you were camping, it seemed, you couldn’t help but wake with the daylight. It was _cold_ , of course, and she’d taken to staying in her sleeping bag until she heard the sounds of a proper fire. There was tea, though, and instant eggs, which actually weren’t bad -- so long as you made yourself forget how Ortherion scrambled eggs. In the mornings, the lake was smooth as glass, and the rising sun would sheen it gold, just for a few minutes. And it was so quiet -- a different sort of quiet than you found in the woods at home, just because this was a whole lot of land with almost nobody in it. At home you always knew there were Elves all over, even if you couldn’t see them. Out here there was no one -- Sharley said September was the off-season for campers here, which was why she and Marty always went then.

 

To sit at the picnic tables in the morning, the sky above still grey before sunrise, was one of the calmest, most peaceful things Lorna had ever known. Your thoughts had to slow down out here, because the only things that went fast were the boats -- and only then if you were insane. Thankfully, Mam and Da were not. Usually.

 

They’d moved camping spots a few times, and were now on Ten-Mile Island -- so called because it was ten miles up the lake from the dam. On the beach were hundreds and hundreds of extremely tiny frogs; the kids had already eaten an entire big bucket of Red Vines, so they put some dirt, rocks, and water in it, and saw how many frogs they could catch and put in. Sharley was happy to let them, so long as all the frogs were released at the end of the day.

 

She took many pictures of Allanah with them, just because it pleased her. Marty had loved frogs, and had done just this with them -- Sharley had bought the bucket for that very reason. Some she texted to Earlene, though mostly she kept her phone off, to conserve the battery. They had a satellite phone in case of emergencies.

 

Obviously there were no showers out here, but those who were brave enough (or crazy enough, as Saoirse said) bathed in the lake. Those less insane could heat water and sponge-bathe; there were plenty of empty campsites for privacy.

 

Her dreams had been bad on and off, but she’d taken Kurt’s suggestion to heart, and done her best to think of Maglor when _that_ dream -- or its variations -- showed up. (She had no idea how long the actual Night of the Great Rape Disaster had gone on, but she dreamt of different...segments...at different times.) She didn't try imagining him in Avathar’s place -- that would be too weird, and probably impossible, and in any event she didn't think any version of her would appreciate that kind of dominance in real life. Instead she just focused on the thought of  him -- his face, what she suspected he looked like under his clothes. Nothing too far south, as Lorna might put it, but everything above the waistline, and all that lovely hair. She knew what it felt like, and it was an easy thing to focus on. That and the scent of him, rich and distinctive, safe and comforting.

 

Last night was the first she’d had in a week, and while it was the usual version of getting fucked senseless in the shower, with her forebrain she focused on Maglor. What would he taste like? She was nowhere near ready to find out in real life, but it was something to wonder about. What would it feel like to be surrounded by all that hair? His was even longer than hers, which intrigued her -- and unlike hers, it usually behaved, if he actually cared enough to make it. On the nights they’d slept beside each other to ward off nightmares, they’d both just woken up with a bunch of blue tangles in their faces. His hands were soft -- was the rest of him? One thing was for certain: if they ever _did_ do this in the shower, she didn't want him pinning her hands over her head like this. (Though pinning _his_ held a certain level of intrigue…)

 

This had been the most intense...time...out of the whole mess of Rape Night, and for once she did imagine him below the belt. He was her husband, she could probably be forgiven. In reality, the shower had been the end of the, er, festivities, mainly because that bastard made her come so hard she’d blacked out, but this time it was Maglor who filled her thoughts -- and kept filling them, even when she passed into normal sleep.

 

The next morning, she was surprisingly rested, even more so than normal -- the Xanax knocked her out pretty efficiently, but this was something different. Allanah had already crawled out of the tent, so Sharley felt entirely comfortable saying, “Kurt, I never thought I’d say this, but you were actually right. And if I didn't already know the world was gonna end, I’d be afraid it was about to.”

 

Jimmy and Layla both burst out laughing, and even Sinsemilla chuckled a little. _“Oh...fuck you,”_ Kurt said, and yet he sounded pleased.

 

That just made her laugh, too. Somebody had already taken care of the fire, and most of the others seemed to be up, by the sound of things; she didn't feel guilty for snuggling in her sleeping-bag a little longer. She also, for once, didn't feel guilty for enjoying the lingering sensations of her dream, because...Maglor. No, she wasn’t about to do anything with him in real _life_ yet, but...someday. Sooner or later. A long time from now.

 

Eventually she made herself get up, fishing her jeans out from the bottom of her sleeping bag. Once dressed, she made her way out into the chilly morning, and discovered the others already had breakfast well underway: scrambled eggs, bread toasted over the fire, and tea or cocoa. Most were still yawning, but Lorna -- Lorna the Elder -- was nowhere to be found. At first Sharley thought she was at the outhouse, but she remained conspicuously absent. She was about to ask, when Ratiri pulled her to the side.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “Lorna...whatever your dream was last night, she shared it, which I didn't think was going to happen again.” They hadn’t actually measured this new site, so their tents must have been too close together. “She looked...disturbed, and ran off, and refused to let me follow.”

 

Sharley’s eyes widened. Oh...oh dear. Before she could help it, she burst out laughing, because poor _Lorna_ . It was a far nicer dream than the original...event, but Sharley knew her tiny friend: Lorna had single-target sexuality. She was attracted to Ratiri, and that was that. She didn't even consciously seem to ignore other attractive men -- it was just how she was. Piggybacking on someone else’s dream about someone she _knew_ , someone she saw every day at home… “Well, it’s not what you think,” she managed eventually, aware everyone else was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “It wasn’t bad, but I’m sure she’s gonna find it awkward. Which way did she go?”

 

He pointed, and she took off before he could ask anything further. Oh no...and Maglor could occasionally read minds. How awkward for both of them.

 

Still giggling, the pebbles of the beach shifted under her feet as she hurried -- this early in the morning, the tiny frogs were still asleep, so she didn't need to worry about stepping on one. The island wasn’t big, but Lorna was clear around the other side of it, looking -- well, traumatized.

 

“Sorry,” Sharley called, picking her way across the rocks. The scent of the dew-damp earth was quite distinct, given the air was utterly still, and this far from the others it was all but silent, save for the gentle lapping of the lake.

 

Lorna sat on a large rock, which gave her a fantastic view of the sunrise. “Not your fault,” she said, sounding a little strained. Oh this poor woman… “I'll just move our tent. Um...well. Um.”

 

That just set Sharley off all over again, and she crawled up onto the rock herself. “You gotta admit, it was better than the alternative,” she said.

 

“Oh, definitely. I mean, Maglor’s your husband, you....you do you,” Lorna said, still unable to look at her. “ _I_ just never thought’v him that way. I mean, I’ve done a lot’v things in my life, but I can honestly say that imagining Maglor’s naked arse is _not_ one’v them.”

 

Sharley laughed so hard she almost fell off the rock. “I never did either, until last night,” she managed, through her giggles. “You can’t tell him.”

 

One of Lorna’s eyebrows arched. “I won’t have to,” she said. “Unless I avoid him until the end’v time, he’ll figure it out sooner or later. And Thranduil is never going to let me forget this. Everrrrrr.” Her left eye was actually twitching a little.

 

 _“She has a point,”_ Layla said, snickering.

 

Poor Maglor...Sharley knew that Thranduil would take something like that entirely in stride, but could Maglor? Hopefully he wouldn’t spot that any time soon; Sharley still didn't know just how much he heard and how much he didn't. “Well, he’s an Elf,” she said. “You really never noticed his ass? You notice _everyone’s_ ass. I’ve caught you looking at _Earlene’s_ ass.”

 

“Well it’s not like he ever wears anything that’d let me see it,” Lorna said, and oh good grief, she was actually _blushing_. “And don't tell Earlene this, but she’s got a great arse. I’m not into women but I’m also not blind.”

 

“You’re not into anyone whose name isn’t Ratiri,” Sharley said. Her sides ached, her eyes were watering, and she was still giggling. “I was never into anyone, and honestly, I still don't think I am, but that’s -- it was the only thing I could think of, and I wasn’t even the one who did. I mean...Kurt. _Kurt_ came up with something _useful._ I guess we’ll see where it goes.”

 

“Hopefully you can find that on your own,” Lorna said. “I’m happy you’re managing to have pervy dreams involving your husband, but I’d rather not share them. Even if he is pretty. And probably glows in the dark, because he’s an elf.”

 

Sharley dissolved into laughter again, so hard and so loud it echoed across the water. “I dunno, that sounds kinda nice.”

 

“Handy, certainly,” Lorna observed. “Don't need to turn on a light to go to the toilet at midnight. If the power cuts, you don't need a torch.”

 

Sharley pondered that, while she tried to catch her breath. “I kinda want to...I just...I’m afraid of, if I wanna, y’know, explore, or whatever…I don't want him thinking I’m a tease if I can’t follow through.”

 

Lorna looked at her. “Sharley, that elf worships the ground you walk on,” she said. “He’s not going to think you’re a tease. When we get home -- you know what? When we get home, you should talk to Earlene. She’s married to two elves; if anybody can be called an expert at it, it’s her. And she’s not shy.”

 

“Kinda figured that out when she was breastfeeding her kids all over, in front of everyone,” Sharley said, and paused. “Have you ever seen one of her bras? I haven’t, and I have to wonder how they work.”

 

That made Lorna burst out laughing. “I have,” she said, “just not for long. I don't know how she can handle having all...that...at her front, but she seems to enjoy it. _Thranduil_ certainly does. He’s so blatant about leering at her tits sometimes it’s hilarious. Then again,” she mused, “it’s kind’v hard not to at least notice. I mean, they’re _right there_. I don't hug Earlene as much as I ought just because I’m the right height to get a face full’v tit if I do.”

 

Sharley looked down the neckline of her T-shirt. She was not flat-chested like Lorna was, but her boobs were still rather small. She was a sports bra fan, which was why Earlene’s mystified her. Oh well. At least most Elf women’s boobs were, too, that she’d seen. “I’ll ask her,” she said, “even though I might be embarrassed doing it.”

 

“Don't be,” Lorna said. “Not with Earlene. She won’t tease you, or anything; that’s not how she is. She’ll just answer your questions. And she won’t stuff unwanted advice down your throat, either. She’ll just answer your questions, as best she can.”

 

Thought of that was a touch daunting, but Sharley would do it. For the first time in all her memory, she had a reason to want to.

 

*****

{September 19, 2026}

 

Once again, the flight back to Ireland was a thing of beauty and a joy forever, in that it totally wasn’t. Not at all. The shuttle ride to Limerick, to pick up the commuter van (now labeled Starbase Three) was even less so, and by the time they got home, all the kids were asleep, and half the adults were dozing. Lorna was stuck driving merely because only she and Pat were licensed to drive the damn thing, and he was sound asleep and snoring at the back. Oh, he owed her.

 

As soon as they were in the driveway, Saoirse roused herself, and when the van stopped, she was out the door in a heartbeat, yelling, “Booger! Mammy’s home!” Fortunately it wasn’t still early enough that she wouldn’t wake anyone, thank bloody God.

 

“Well, they know we’re home now,” Ratiri said dryly.

 

Earlene had woke early to start hot cocoa, setting up the children to watch cartoons in a morning treat while they waited. The deal had been, anyone who could be dressed enough to be decent and warm enough could to outside once they returned, and that had turned out to be everyone. They had all missed Allanah and their cousins, and that was that. The only thing no one factored in was what would happen when Flannery and Kiernan were awake that early and actually heard the van arrive. Oops. Well, no one was sleeping now. Earlene cringed. Ailill and Calanon would assuredly lose an hour’s sleep. Maglor was no concern, as he had been up before the children, dressed and eagerly waiting. The hounds sounded off first, and Thaladir hurried to open the door before they could scratch at the wood. And the rest was history...it was a little like watching a loosely organized stampede.

 

Hurriedly the burner was turned off, and the adults had the sense to let Maglor go first. He ran across the grass, his eyes searching for Sharley.

 

Sharley tried to grab a bag, and Lorna grabbed it right out of her hand, shoving her out the door. “Go hug your Maglor,” she ordered, with all the authority of a mother of three.

 

Sharley needed no urging; she waded through the sea of dogs and children and wrapped him in a hug that bordered on rib-crushing. “I missed you,” she said. “You’ve helped me, but I can’t tell you how yet. Just know that you have.”

 

Luggage was dragged out, but all of them paused a moment to watch the pair, because honestly, it was the sweetest damn thing in the universe, even if slightly awkward. Maglor returned the hug, lifting her off the ground briefly in an excess of enthusiasm before returning her to the ground. “Sorry,” he said contritely. “I missed you too. I have thought of this moment for days.” He drank in the sight of her greedily, and did not care that he was staring. Both of her hands were engulfed in his, and kissed.

 

“Don't be,” she said, laughing. “I found a lotta raven feathers at Ross Lake. I figure you could make something with them. And...well, I talked to Angie. A lot. She helped.”

 

 _“A lot,”_ Jimmy said, snickering.

 

 _“Can it,”_ Sinsemilla ordered. _“Touching reunion going on here.”_

 

Lorna didn't pause to watch long; naturally, all she could think of was that damn dream, and she scurried into the house almost buried in luggage, tripping over the Lump as she went.

 

“That is the cutest damn thing,” Lorna the Younger whispered to her mother. “I mean...look at them.”

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Thranduil said, catching Lorna and luggage and finding a way to hug it. Earlene stood near as well, figuring she beyond owed Lorna a better apology for their semi-disastrous last interaction.

 

Lorna squawked, and said, “Let me drop this and I’ll give you a real hug, but good Christ I had to get away. I’ll explain in a minute.”

 

“Here, let me. Least I can do,” Earlene murmured, snagging several of the bags off of her and disappearing up the stairs.

 

Thranduil looked at his wife and shook his head. “She feels very bad about your last conversation. Earlene does not often choose the wrong thing to say, but her attempt to help you when we all last chatted went badly awry. And...Eru, a lot has been going on. I am glad you are home. No need to explain,” he smirked. “I can imagine how much that would discomfit you. Downside to having a damaged Ainu in our family?” He tried to find the humor. _What else could one do?_

 

“She shouldn’t,” Lorna said. “I figured out what she was trying to do, once I woke up. It worked ten years ago, but I don't get mad as easy anymore. Never thought that’d be a bad thing.” Glancing out the door, she was horrified to feel her face heat. “And yeah, that was just a little awkward. Just a bit. I mean, I like Maglor and all, but...not something I’d choose to think about. Although…” She sighed. _I hadn’t realized there was more to that nightmare than what I’d seen the first night, but from what I gathered, there was a_ lot _more. No wonder poor Sharley’s a mess, but at least Kurt was actually useful. Which scares me._

 

 _That IS disturbing, but it is not going to stop me from getting my hug._ He opened his arms and knelt down, to make it far easier to manage that. _You know, you probably need to make a tasteful scrapbook page that is simply entitled, ‘Kurt was useful.’ In many years we all might need the laugh._

 

Lorna burst out laughing even as she hugged him. _I’ll put in Ross Lake pictures, just to confuse the shit out of everyone._ She’d been wanting this hug since Skykomish; nothing quite beat the real thing. _Though I have to say, I’ll never look at that place the same way again. Good GRIEF._ And yes, a person could probably fry eggs on her face now. Oh well.

 

_Well, think of it this way. Some people choose to watch adult videos. Yours are just involuntary, and weirder. I don’t think ill of you, Lorna. I know how hard all that is for you and...I cannot tell you how proud I am of you, for all you have managed while you were away. You do realize that the Lorna I first met would never have coped at all? I love you very much...you were magnificent._

 

She couldn’t help but grin. _I’m just glad to be home, where she’s too far away for me to get her dreams...though oh God,_ you _might. And...I have to admit, I did get really drunk when I woke up, even though I’ve tried not to in ages. I love you too, and you kept me from losing my shit even worse. But hugging a pillow isn’t as nice._ And yet, even as she thought this, she had to swat some of his hair out of her face. Oh well. Small price to pay. At least he didn't shed like a cat.

 

“Sorry,” Earlene said, reappearing while Thranduil took the rest of the bags. “I meant well but...that was...shitty. I’m sorry the whole trip was so hard. Dammit.”

 

“It’s okay,” Lorna said, releasing Thranduil so she could try to hug Earlene without getting a face full of tit (hey, at her height it really was hard). “It’s the downside’v me not getting pissed like I used to. Even five years ago it would’ve got me, but I’m too mellow now...and I can’t believe I just called myself mellow. I'm blaming jet lag.”

 

Earlene chuckled. “Well, I’m fixing makeup cinnamon French toast and bacon, and I made granola. Sort of like makeup sex, without the weirdness. Go get settled and comfortable, it’ll be ready pretty soon.” Already the smells were wafting in, since Thanadir had dutifully remained in the kitchen to monitor the frying pans.

 

Lorna choked. “Christ, you’ve got no idea...I’ll tell you all about _weirdness_ later. Good fucking grief.”

 

A silent message from Thranduil gave Earlene every idea, and she bit her cheeks to keep a straight face. “Well I’ll look forward to it,” she grinned. “I’d best keep an eye on Thanadir. He still has trouble with the bacon press.”

 

“Good luck,” Lorna said. Ratiri, lugging bags and a sleepy Atia, moved past.

 

“Earlene, I’ll give you a proper hug once this little blue-haired creature is asleep,” he said. Chandra had no such burden, and threw her arms around her aunt even while Shane hugged Thranduil.

 

“We brought stuff,” she said, and yawned hugely.

 

Saoirse came in, carrying an ecstatic Booger, who was purring and rubbing his face all over hers. It was almost like he’d been ignored, or something….

 

Thranduil stood, watching their returning family drift toward their quarters and organization, and then turned his attention back to Lorna, to mention some tidbit about the music lessons. That was when he saw what was not there a moment ago, and his face fell. “Eru, not again,” he muttered under his breath.

 

She looked at him. “What?” she asked. “You look like someone just walked over the grave you haven’t got.”

 

He took her by the hand and led her into the Heart Room where blessedly no one else was. _No one else will know unless you let on. You have just conceived again, Lorna. I will silence the other elves in the house._

 

Lorna stared at him. He wouldn’t say it if he wasn’t certain, and... _oh, good Jesus._ Wow, there were sparkles, and she couldn’t breathe --

 

Her brain, evidently deciding that was just too much, on top of everything else, refused to cooperate, and did the only thing it could do: it shut down, and took her consciousness with it.

 

Thranduil neatly caught her, his heart growing heavy. He thought for a moment what to do, to ‘control damage.’ Well, the simplest thing was...every elf in the house, including Sharley, was notified of what had happened and his request for them to keep their silence as it was her private matter. He carried her into the Quiet Room and pulled a light blanket over her. If asked, he would say she fell asleep; fair enough given that they were all exhausted from the return trip home. He would see if she would wake when breakfast was ready. With a sigh, he kissed her forehead, smoothing her hair away from her face. _Why was it always something?_


	127. One Hundred and Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sept. 19th, 2026-Oct 1, 2026  
> **minor warnings for ongoing references to memories of rape, continuation of what was mentioned in previous chapters**

Ratiri got his youngest settled snug in her bed, with her stuffed kitty. She traveled extremely well for such a young child -- but then, all of theirs had. She’d had good examples.

 

He sighed. Soon enough, she’d be old enough to be told she was adopted -- though not of the circumstances behind it. Allanah had taken it well, but Allanah was, well,  _ Allanah.  _ Nothing fazed that kid, and while Earlene wasn’t her mother, they were still related.  _ Earlene and the Elves keep getting all these children as gifts from the Valar _ , he thought.  _ Even if Atia wasn’t actually, she certainly seems as if she was. Perhaps that would be the best thing to tell her.  _ If the little girl hadn’t actually been their doing, he doubted they’d find it blasphemy to have her attributed to them. She was a gift to him and Lorna every bit as precious as the twins. Yeah, that was what they’d tell her. It was certainly better than ‘we found you in a dumpster’ -- then again, almost anything was better than  _ that _ .

 

*****

 

Lorna woke eventually, and almost wished she hadn’t.

 

Pregnant. Pregnant  _ again _ . The mere thought made her curl up under her blanket -- and yet the thought that followed was so absurd she almost laughed:  _ Earlene, your damn ovary spilled on me. _

 

What was she going to do? This one...as terrified as she was, given she was forty-nine fucking years old, she actually...part of her wanted this one. She didn't regret her abortion, and all the more so knowing what might have happened if she hadn’t got it, but she also didn't think it was a thing she could do again.

 

Still, though...a baby. At her age. She wasn’t Earlene, who seemed to be practically tailor-made for pregnancy and childbirth; even if this was just one kid, not twins, she had no idea in hell how to handle it. None. Her mind skirted Atia, though as she recalled, Atia had been fairly easy. And yet...ugh.

 

How could this have happened? Ratiri had had a vasectomy years ago, and made damn certain of his sperm count before they’d had it off without protection. He hadn’t undergone any healing by Thranduil in all that time, so what the hell went wrong?

 

_ Thranduil?  _ she asked.  _ D’you have a moment? Because I think I might be about to have a panic attack. _

 

_ I do, and you are going to have no such thing. I am coming. Breathe deeply and slowly, Lorna, as much as you hate to hear that. _

 

_ Oh no, not you, too _ , she thought, and yet it made her smile. Breathe she did, wondering just who she’d pissed off to earn all this dropped on her at once.

 

_ Yes, me too. Life here is never dull even when we wish it might be, I have learned.  _ He swept gracefully into the room and sat near her head, immediately laid a hand on her shoulder. He worried about this conversation, and how difficult it would be for him to endure.

 

Lorna had no compunction about sitting up, flailing in her blanket a little, and hugging him.  _ I’m scared _ , she said, stating the entirely obvious.  _ First question: is it where it’s supposed to be this time? _

 

_ Well, so far, but it is supposed to be in your fallopian tube right now; you have only just conceived. It will move into your womb in a matter of days. _

 

_ You can make sure it goes there? _

 

_ Yes, I could. Lorna, are you thinking of…?  _ He could not bring himself to fully ask the question, having forced himself to fear the worst.

 

_ Keeping it?  _ She sighed.  _ God help me, I am. I needed to do what I did, the last time. Now...I don't think I could do it again. Even if I’m scared half shitless, and this is  _ terrible  _ timing. Angie’s given me these steps to work through, and all these bloody hormones’ll just make it ten times worse.  _ Giving up entirely, she went to sit on his lap, still in a ball -- she wasn’t kidding; sometimes he made a good doll, too. Just a really big one.  _ And I'm blaming Earlene. She’s so fertile it just kind’v spread through osmosis. _

 

_ That is not fair and you know it,  _ Thranduil kissed the crown of her head and held her tightly.  _ But as I will not tell her about it, you go right ahead. _

 

_ I need you and her to help me gang up on Ratiri,  _ she said.  _ I just know he’s going to try that diet bullshit on me again, and I'm not doing it this time. I might not’ve hated being pregnant so much the first go-round if I hadn’t let him boss me around on food like that. But he’ll try. I know he’ll try. _ She paused.  _ You know, it’s not me Earlene’s hormones spilled on, it’s him. His vasectomy must have failed, and I know it wasn’t your doing. _

 

_ I am not sure there is anything to blame, dear one. But I think you will not have to worry about Ratiri, and it is not on account of me. There was another, who was most unhappy with his extremism. And this is not like last time, when we were all so new to each other and not living under the same kind of roof, so to speak. _

 

Lorna grinned.  _ Good. Even he can’t argue with Earlene. This...this is just  _ one _ , right? Not twins again? _

 

_ Not so far...but you do realize that is beyond my power of control, or I would not be the sire of another set of twins? While I welcome them, I did not wish this on Earlene. Earlene did not wish this, on Earlene. If it is going to happen, it will happen rather soon, though. In the next day or so, if I am not mistaken. _

 

_ I’ll just keep my fingers crossed.  _ She paused again.  _ Thranduil, I have all this stuff I'm supposed to work through, but you told me once that negative emotion is bad for a pregnancy, so...what do I do? The talks Angie and I had were hard, but they were also kind’v fascinating. Getting over...that...is like going through the stages’v grief, except I went through anger and into denial and then just sort’v...lost the thread’v it. Which, there was a lot going on, so it’s no surprise, but still. _ Her eyes squeezed shut, mainly because while she could handle that dream, that didn't make it easy.

 

_ This would be different negative emotion. Last time you carried children your great problem was with rage, uncontrolled anger. What you face now...I will still help you, Lorna. All I ask is that you pray to all the Valar not to deliver your children the same day as mine will come, because if that happens again I really will...will...I don’t know what I will but I will require one very extended vacation to recover from it. _

 

That drew an actual laugh from her, even as she groaned.  _ Oh god, that’s actually a possibility, isn’t it? Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed. The twins were early; if this stays being just one, maybe I’ll actually carry it the full nine months.  _ She hugged him a little tighter, just because, and she’d swear she heard his ribs creak.  _ Earlene says I need to not wonder what Von Dickcheese did to me, but I can’t help it. I mean, give me some way to...I don't know. Think’v something else. But Angie says not to do that, to shove it away, so what do I  _ actually  _ do? You’re not a psychiatrist but you’re older than dirt, and I’m pretty sure you know my mind better than I do by now. _

 

_ Well, what would you do if you  _ did  _ know, besides Squick about it?  _

 

_ Well, yeah,  _ she said,  _ but I’d stop wondering if it was what he’d done to Sharley. I mean, I’m pretty sure it was anyway, but...ugh. I just hope she’s far enough away in the house so I don't have her dreams again, because honestly, Thranduil, I did  _ not  _ want to think about Maglor that way. Ever. He’s pretty and all, but...no.  _ She actually twitched a little.  _ I don't know how I can ever look him in the eye again. I mean, you’d take that sort’v thing in stride, but he’s...not you. He might well be horrified. _

 

_ I do not mean this as harshly as it sounds, but...you are being ridiculous, Lorna. Almost no one else views these matters as you do, and I can say with much certainty that Maglor would do no more than feel sorry you had been inconvenienced in this manner. He is more reserved and proper than I am, but even Thanadir would not care about something like this. It is a complete non-issue everywhere except in your thoughts. _

 

_ I suppose _ , she said, and twitched again.  _ My question is...what do we do if I'm  _ not  _ far enough away, in the house? If Sharley dreams...look, the Maglor stuff is just awkward, but not  _ bad _. The rest of it...Jesus, I don't know how Sharley didn't lose her mind. I never thought I’d say this, but the Stranger did her a favor.  _

 

Even the thought made her shudder, and shut her eyes. And she didn't even have a Kurt or anyone to yatter at her to distract her.  _ I know you can take the horror out’v a memory...can you do that for me? Or would that be unhealthy?  _ As much as she didn't want him to have to see anything more of that than he already had, realistically he’d seen the whole thing by now.  _ And...look, just give me a yes or no, I don't want actual details, but is that kind’v what he did to me? The general...idea? _ At least she had nothing in her to sick up, or the mere thought might have made her.

 

Thranduil sighed heavily. “Yes, I can. And yes, he did. He had sex with you, Lorna. There are only so many variations on how to accomplish that. And before you can dwell on that for even five seconds…” He was not about to waste any time on this. The memory was pushed back as though it had occurred five thousand years ago, and was a footnote in a calculus textbook.

 

Lorna sighed with relief. She hadn’t realized how tense she was, until the tension was gone. “Thanks,” she said. “I might actually have an appetite now, and I know Earlene’s made a special breakfast. I hope you lot actually paid attention to Booger while we were away.” She knew Earlene called the poor cat ClingOn, because he was such an insistent love bug.

 

“Of course we did,” he soothed, rather relieved that she did not ask for specifics. He would not mention that they all spent most of their time in their rooms in order to simply not be available, leaving Booger and Tail to have feline bonding time. Probably Ailill and Calanon had taken the most pity on the cat, who after a day or two of not getting its way found many other amusements. He still had not told Earlene that one of her greenhouse plants had been shredded by Booger, having decided instead to compost the evidence. It was for the best.

 

“Good,” she said, and yawned. Her nap hadn’t been nearly long enough. “Well, I’m still rather freaked out to be up the yard again, but so long as it doesn’t turn into twins...I know Earlene’s had two sets and now the triplets, but Earlene’s kind’v a massive outlier there. I never sat down and calculated the odds, but I’m sure they’re astronomically low.”

 

A giggle burst out of her. “I'm glad I made another chair last summer. We might both be zooming around in them, come the finish.”

 

“Probably,” he concurred, releasing her and fluffing her hair with his fingers just as the iron triangle reverberated through the home. “And I believe it is time to breakfast. No one else will know or speak of your pregnancy until you decide to tell them, Lorna. Not even Earlene, unless you give me permission. How you go about this is up to you.”

 

She rose, and tried to half-ass fold the blanket before setting it on the sofa. “I might as well get it out’v the way,” she said. “At least that way, if Ratiri faints, you’re on hand to deal with it -- and you and Earlene can jump on him, before he even gets any ideas’v awful diets into his thick head.”

 

He shrugged and led the way toward the Dining room, pausing to kiss Earlene and give her silent warning. There was no response except a return kiss, though he could feel that she was using it to bury her smile. His hand languidly slid down to her hip, before he winked and made his way to the dining room. Next to her, Thanadir exhaled in a peculiar manner. 

 

“Meldir?” she asked, seeing the jumbled emotions on his face.

 

_ Thranduil just told me about Lorna’s decision. Last time was so hard for me, Earlene, even though I do understand that there were reasons. I was not sure how I was going to be able to cope with a different decision. I too have weaknesses, things I cannot seem to overcome. This is one of them. _

 

She looked at him with sympathy. There were many things she considered saying, but now was not the time or place. Instead she kissed him softly on the cheek, and nipped his earlobe, causing him to blush a little.  _ When in doubt, distract… _

 

Lorna still couldn’t quite look at Maglor as they sat, because seriously, sue her, but at least she had a hefty distraction. “So, apparently as’v like, half an hour ago, I'm up the yard again,” she said, and glared at Ratiri. “ _ Somebody’s  _ vasectomy failed, so I’m having another kid at forty-bloody-nine-years-old.”

 

Fortunately for him, he did not actually have a mouthful of anything; unfortunately, it meant he dropped his teacup. Right in his lap. At least it wasn’t piping hot. “Jus--wait-- _ what _ ?” he asked helplessly, even as he flailed at his crotch with a napkin. “ _ What? _ ” He paled, and Lorna hoped she wasn’t right about him fainting. “The odds of that...I mean, it does happen, but…” He trailed off, helpless.

 

“It does, and it did,” she said dryly, wincing a little. “Go and change your trousers, will you? And when you get back, we’ll talk about how you  _ aren’t  _ going to be putting me on that bloody stupid diet again.”

 

His eyes widened. “I--”

 

“ _ Go _ ,” she ordered, pointing. Go he did, mainly because he didn't fancy having all this hot liquid on his langer any longer than necessary.

 

“We’re having another little brother or sister?” Shane asked.

 

“ _ Excellent _ ,” Atia said. “I won’t be the baby anymore.”

 

Thranduil stifled a smile. 

 

Calanon spoke up, which was a rarity at the table. “We just want to say, Ailill and I would be very glad for a chance to babysit or help however we can. Obviously we will not have young ones of our own and...we can help. I helped raise many elflings, and we both love children.”

 

Earlene smiled. “I will remind you of that without hesitation, Calanon. I think with four newborns in the house we can give you plenty of baby time.” Her eyes found Thanadir, who to everyone else probably appeared completely normal. He was deliriously happy.

 

“I think we’re going to appreciate it,” Lorna said, sighing with relief. “I’m a bit old to be doing this again. Can’t do without sleep like I once did.”

 

“Another one, huh, Fun Size?” Pat asked, looking at where her midsection would be, if she wasn’t sitting at the table. “It is just  _ one _ , right?”

 

“So far,” she said, pouring tea. “I hope it stays that way. Shane and Chandra are fraternal, and I don't think identicals run on either side’v the family.”

 

“Will you be keeping this one a secret, like Atia?” Grania asked.

 

“No. I’m not...afraid, this time,” Lorna said. “Not like I was.”

 

“I was a secret?” Atia asked.

 

Lorna ruffled her hair. “You were. My little secret gift. Something tells me I won’t manage it with this one.”

 

“Just...don't turn into a hormonal mess,” Pat said. “ _ Please.  _ I know it’s a big house and all, but you’re...you.”

 

Ratiri, in dry trousers but looking no less stunned, made his way back to the table. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

 

“Aaaand I’ve broken his brain,” Lorna said. “Lovely.”

 

“Pass the bacon down to Lorna, would you?” said Earlene, nudging the platter toward Faeleth, who lifted it easily. So many comments, she was not about to make...starting with the wisdom of mentioning hormonal messes to someone who just found out they were pregnant. Oh, he was a Donovan, alright.

 

“Bacon?” Ratiri asked, rousing out of his stupor. “Lorna, you shouldn’t be --”

 

She pointed a piece at him, brandishing it like a very short sword. “ _ Nope _ ,” she said. “You don't get to do that, Ratiri. Not this time. I will eat what I damn well please, within reason.”

 

“But--”

 

“ _ Nope _ ,” she repeated, more firmly. “Earlene, back me up on this. Look at her, Ratiri. Look at all her healthy pregnancies.  _ She  _ didn't eat nothing but rabbit food the whole time.”

 

Earlene looked up, her eyes flashing. “I will personally  _ throw _ food at you if you start this, Ratiri. I go out of my way to prepare balanced and healthy meals for this family. Plenty of nutrient-dense foods from many sources. Foods high in salt, fat or sugar are a treat at this table, not steady fare. We have access to everything from milk to flour from outside of the industrial food supply. My husband can watch Lorna for any problems. I am simply not going to listen to one word of this, unless you can scientifically prove to me right now that that slice of bacon  _ I cured myself with celery salt _ is harming her.”

 

Ratiri opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He could argue with Lorna, but with Earlene? Earlene actually knew what she was talking about, when it came to food. 

 

Lorna just grinned at him, and took a happy bite of bacon. “Thank you, Earlene. I’ll put up with your smoothies, allanah, but that’s  _ it _ .” The smoothies were actually quite tasty, even if the last time he’d at first tried making her some that were way too big for her to actually drink.

 

With a sigh, Ratiri gave up, massaging his temples. Another baby. He was fifty-one years old, and they were having another baby. He was happy, but he was also as terrified as he was certain Lorna was, too.

 

Sharley burst into utterly silent laughter at his expression, resting her forehead against Maglor’s shoulder.  _ That poor man… _

 

The elf nuzzled his head against hers. He did not think Ratiri poor...he envied him to the roots of his toenails. But there was nothing to be done about that. He hoped that somehow, someday...though how this would be managed in view of his fate, he did not know. It would not be right in his eyes, to create a child only with the assurance that he or she would lose a father. None of that was anything but swirling mists, and unanswered questions.

 

Booger chose that moment to jump on Saoirse’s lap. They’d been inseparable since she got home, and fortunately the cat wasn’t a food-thief like Tail; he just wanted to sit and purr, happy to be a cuddle bug. “Okay, seriously, you guys, did  _ anyone  _ pay attention to him while I was gone?” she asked, giving half the table a very hard stare.

 

“We all gave him time,” Ailill artfully interceded. “Calanon and I played with him for hours (declining to number the hours...anything over one hour total qualified as  _ hours,  _ plural). Most nights he slept with Kana (at the foot of the bed, because he was rebuffed by a pillow fort). In fact Aran Thranduil gave assignments for spending time with the cat, so that we all gave him love.” Nods from all the Sullivan children went around the table, that much was true (they had all played in turn until their faces were spattered with cat drool and they passed the animal on to the next in mild disgust). Nobody mentioned the reason why. Thranduil looked at Ailill and marveled. His firion had come a very long way, and had just cleverly dissembled on his behalf with expert skill. All he had to do was play along…

 

“Good,” Saoirse said, still visibly suspicious. “Thank you.” She still wasn’t sure, just based on Booger’s behavior...but he really was her cat. She was his person.

 

Sharley, who could see the truth of the matter, just laughed harder, still in silence.  _ Booger  _ and  _ the Lump?  _ she asked Maglor.  _ At least you were warm while I was away. _

 

Pink came and went in mottled patterns across his cheeks, as he stared at his plate in desperation.  _ I missed you,  _ he said truthfully, declining to mention that compared to these cats, he would have missed Huan.

 

_ I missed you, too. Can we go lay down in a little while? The airport...it’s a lotta people. Hard to be around, after a while, and even in business class it’s full of strangers. I just need to unwind, and I’d do it easier if you were with me. _

 

_ I have lessons to teach in the afternoon but until then I would like nothing better,  _ he said, relishing the thought.

 

Sharley smiled.  _ Thank you. I have memories to share -- stuff I didn't text about. Some things were so pretty even pictures wouldn’t do them justice. _

 

Lorna watched them covertly, and just about melted. No, she had no telepathy, and had no idea that they were talking to each other, but it was still the sweetest thing she thought she’d ever seen. By Ratiri’s expression, he seemed to agree.

 

Ratiri, however, also had other things on his mind.  _ Thranduil, can I talk to you after breakfast? It’s about Atia. Specifically, what to do about telling Atia, and somehow getting Lorna to stop believing her own lie. I think she genuinely does believe Atia’s biologically ours, and that’s...not going to help. _

 

_ Yes.  _ Little did Ratiri know that there were things Lorna genuinely believed that were far more disturbing than this. And how he was to manage...he hoped, hoped that when the human psychiatrist came that they might speak together. On one hand, he would be taking a terrible risk; he would be admitting to the commission of what the outer world would consider to be a serious crime. On the other...his friend had a very deep and frightening problem he was unsure how to help. And right now, that vacation he wanted to take was looking better and better. He closed his eyes. Except, how was he supposed to take that vacation with Lorna now pregnant? Things could go wrong so quickly.... _ damn it. _

 

Lorna yawned hugely, blissfully unaware of the turmoil of her husband or her friend. “Earlene, this is immensely tasty and I swear it’s going to put me in a food coma any moment.” Griddlecakes, bacon, tea...it was perfect, but she was so sleepy. A flight like that...well, it was necessary, but that didn't mean it wasn’t a hassle.

 

“Me too,” Grania said, proving that yawns were contagious. “I could sleep for a week.”

 

“You’d die’v dehydration,” Saoirse pointed out. The kid still took things too literally sometimes, and Pat ruffled her hair.

 

“It’s a figure’v speech,” he said. “You eat up and take that critter to your room.”

 

“But I’m not --”  _ yawn _ “--tired.”

 

“All of you that just came home, off to bed. That’s not a request,” Earlene said kindly but firmly. “The rest of us will care for cleaning up.” Already she was on her feet, stacking dishes and consolidating platters. She and Thanadir went off to wash dishes while their assorted children began to bring items to the sink according to their strength and dexterity. 

 

Faeleth pulled out Lorna’s chair easily, staring up at her. “Nana says it is bedtime,” she smiled, before dancing off with the remains of the bacon platter.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “And nobody with half a brain argues with your Nana,” she called after the girl. “All right, you lot, you heard your aunt: upstairs.”

 

For once, none of the children argued; up they went, and she followed. Pat and Grania left next, followed by Lorna the Younger, but Saoirse was distracted with Booger.

 

“Take your Booger and go to bed,” Sharley said, poking the girl under the table with her toe.

 

“Okay,” Saoirse said, still petting her ecstatic cat as she rose. Somehow, she didn't miss a single step on her way up.

 

Sharley looked at Maglor, and took his hand.

 

**

 

Thranduil returned to the Quiet Room so Ratiri could follow, frowning ruefully that lately this room was becoming anything but quiet, in his eyes. But at least he had some minutes in which to enjoy the soothing tones of colored light.

 

Follow Ratiri did, once he’d got his children and his wife down and snoozing, surrounded by cats. “So,” he said, sitting, “I’m not sure what to do. Atia might or might not be old enough to hear this, but with the pregnancy, it might be the right time to tell her whether I like it or not, but...Lorna. Lorna took Earlene’s advice a bit too literally, I think.” Not that he was surprised; Lorna was such a horrendously bad liar that the only way she could successfully tell one was to make herself believe it.

 

“I know,” Thranduil said, grimacing. “When Earlene encouraged that, it was to help Lorna manage against the necessity to keep Atia’s origins a secret. I will be honest; our family has become rather...alarmed, that this has happened. We determined long ago that the moment Allanah asked or showed any curiosity, she would be told. But I have counseled all of my family that this is not our decision, not ours to tell. If you are asking my opinion of whether or not she should know the truth, it is an unequivocal Yes. As it stands now, Lorna has arguably deceived her already, but I fully realize it is more complex than that.”

 

Ratiri sighed. “To my knowledge, Atia’s never wondered -- and looking at Chandra, I’m not surprised.” He wanted to ask of the twins realized their Aunt Lorna was somewhat crazy, but forebore. “My only concern, aside from just how to tell her, is wondering if she’s yet capable of keeping the secret herself, from others. She’s very much like her mother in that -- can’t tell a lie to save her life, and we need to convince her why it’s necessary she do so. Which complicates things further.”

 

He ran his hands through his hair. “Thranduil, I can’t tell my adorable little daughter that her mother found her in a dumpster,” he said. “She’s  _ five _ . There’s such a thing as too much honesty, at that age. As it stands, my hope is she’ll let me get away with telling her she’s our gift from the Valar. Otherwise...I don't know what to do. You know her -- her favorite word is ‘why’.”

 

“I think much lies in the choice of words,” Thranduil said. “This is a complex problem, and I would be the first to agree that the word ‘dumpster’ needs to wait until she is an adult. There are other words though, that are still true. ‘Abandoned’ and ‘Birth mother unable to take care of you’ come to mind. You are still the parent, and still have the right to refuse further information. And as much as I dislike it, ‘That is something we will discuss when you are older’ also exists. My fear, though, is that if you continue deceiving her with comments like ‘you have your father’s hair’ or similar is that one day she will learn that those comments were diversions. Lies, by any other name. And then you will have a child that will wonder what else you have lied about, because the trust is broken. It seems far better to be told, ‘you cannot know that yet,’ than to have someone speaking falsehoods. I do not lie to my subjects. Neither do I tell them everything. Something like that.”

 

Ratiri groaned. “I know,” he said, “and yet I have no idea how to convey to a child that her mother has...something wrong with her. But I won’t be using the word ‘abandoned’ right off, just because...this might sound strange, but a child knowing they were abandoned can hit them right in the self-worth, even if they’re unaware of it. Sharley told us that her birth-mother died; if we tell her that, it’s entirely true. I just pray she won’t ask too many questions until she’s older. To know that you were abandoned -- that nobody wanted you -- can easily make a person, especially a child, wonder what’s wrong with them. Why nobody thought they were worth keeping. And yet I don't know what age would be right to tell her that, either -- or if we even should, unless she asks outright.”

 

“I fear you have two problems, Ratiri. I am not certain you can safely address Atia’s past with her until you find a way to discuss this with Lorna. Lorna, who is working through the deferred aftermath of rape and who is newly pregnant.” He shook his head, which he was almost sure was beginning to ache. “How I wish Angie could come here,” he said. “These are problems I do not feel qualified to help for fear of worsening them.”

 

“Angie’s planning to come here, later in the fall,” Ratiri said. “Emergency leave from the clinic, if she has to. I’ll email her and let her know this needs addressing, too. And Lorna...well, Atia is only five. If we defer this until next year, it will hardly kill anyone, and it would probably be better than the alternative.” Which would, he was sure, being one massive emotional meltdown on the part of his wife, which would help no one at all, up to and including the fetus. “I don't want to tell Atia without telling Lorna first, even though it might be easier. Lorna might never forgive me if I did, and Atia’s too little to understand that her mam has...issues, in some ways. But I’ll at least keep Lorna from the ‘you have your father’s eyes’ comments, if I can. She doesn’t make them often.” In fact, he struggled to remember the last time she had, after that dinner.

 

“It is true, it was only that one time,” Thranduil acknowledged. “But how to stop further statements without opening the proverbial can of worms….” his head shook. “I cannot see how.”

 

“That,” Ratiri said, an idea dawning, “actually might not be that hard. I’ll just tell her she shouldn’t say things like that because Chandra looks almost nothing like either of us, and it’s best not to risk hurting her feelings.” Which was patent nonsense; Chandra was Chandra, who rarely got her feelings hurt, and wasn’t shy about saying so when she did, but still. It could work, especially if he caught Lorna at the right moment.

 

“That could indeed...and, there is something else I must ask you. The time in which you were away was not easy here, either. Not easy for me. Is there a...I do not quite know how to say this. I had hoped to take some days and have another vacation, now that you are home, but I realize that at Lorna’s age it is riskier to be pregnant. Is there a...time period when I could safely consider leaving? And how long could I be gone? If it means I need to remain here every day until the child comes, so be it. But you know more about these things, so I am asking.”

 

Poor Thranduil...as Lorna said, being a king must royally suck at times, pun intended. “It depends a good deal upon her health,” he said. “We’ll watch her during her first trimester; if she passes through it with few to no problems, then it would probably be safe for you to leave during her second. The first is when things are most likely to go wrong; by the second, the risk of miscarriage is much lower. I think she might want you home halfway through the third, though, when she’s miserable and probably starting to get scared. At her age, and given that she’s not Earlene, the odds her birth will be premature are rather higher than they would be if she was younger.” Quite honestly, Ratiri would be relieved to have him home then, too; if she went into labor while he was away, it would be down to Ratiri and Indira to deliver, because she couldn’t go to a hospital.

 

Something occurred to him -- something highly awful. “Her skin,” he said. “Her impermeable skin...is she going to be able to give birth? Will her birth canal still dilate without your aid?”

 

“I have to assume Manwë does not intend for her gift to kill her in childbirth,” he said, for it was the only honest answer he could give.

 

“I hope you’re right,” Ratiri sighed. “Well, let’s see how her first trimester goes. So long as she has that anti-nausea cordial, she should be all right...who among your people is the strongest healer, next to you? It might be a good thing to have them stay at Eldamar while you’re away, even if only for Lorna’s peace of mind.”

 

He shook his head. “There is no other. Thanadir, but…there is no other,” he smiled. “I will wait until she is past these first twelve weeks.”  _ Right at the time when Earlene will only have weeks, if anything, before she will struggle to enjoy a vacation,  _ he thought to himself. There was nothing to be done about it. “I am going to see if they need help in the kitchen, and you should rest.”

 

“I feel like I could sleep for…” An idea occurred to Ratiri as he rose. “You know what? Why don't Lorna and I just go stay at whatever hotel you’re in? She and I have never had a holiday to ourselves -- not since Ashford, and that was our honeymoon. Almost ten bloody years ago…” Wow, that was...sad. “That way if something does go wrong, we’re in more or less the same place, and she and I can get in a romantic holiday before she’s too uncomfortable to get anything out of it.”

 

Thranduil blinked.  _ That could...actually suffice. Work out well, even… _ he stood up and hugged Ratiri. “We will think of someplace nice. Thank you.” The words were full of sincerity because  _ Valar he needed a vacation… _

 

Ratiri hugged him back. “I’ll talk to Lorna once she’s awake and coherent, but I’m sure she’d like the idea, too. Holidays with a big group are fun, but they can rarely be called restful. Ross Lake was, but that’s...different.” And even then, there were the speedboats. To be able to be somewhere and just walk, hand in hand with his wife, and not worry about any children getting into any messes...yes, it sounded nice. “Good luck with choices, but I think Lorna and I would love anywhere that wasn’t hotter than the surface of the sun.”

 

“I think we can manage that,” he smiled.

 

*****

 

Earlene had been pondering looms, in among the other things she had pondered yesterday in her exchanges with Maglor. (Second only to how much she appreciated his permission to now call him ‘Maglor’.) Weaving. What had been the name of the woman, they had met in Dublin all those years ago? Mary? Mairead? It was something like one of those. Her card was still in Earlene’s collection of such things, it was only a matter of finding it. In her estimation, they would need far more input on textile production than what Sharley did not remember...that poor woman. But there was one resource to check before going to all that trouble. 

 

“Thanadir, I need to ask you a question,” she said as they washed up the breakfast dishes.

 

“Hmmmm?”

 

_ Uh-oh. That usually meant someone was lost to a very good mood. _

 

“What if I am?” he grinned, leaning in to kiss her cheek but also tracing his tongue lightly to her ear.

 

“Not fair,” Earlene answered with a little less certainty to her voice as her insides lurched. He knew every trick, for reminding her how much she loved him and could be pitiless at using any and all of them. “My answer?”

 

“You want to know if I am skilled at textile manufacture. Whether I can advise on the practicalities of fiber preparation, processing, spinning and weaving. Something like that?” he said, the mischievous edge to his voice gone.

 

“Yes, that.”

 

“Yes and no, then. I have much familiarity with the steps involved in a theoretical sense, but I am not a weaver. Nor am I able to build a loom as Kana is doing, without extensive study. Am I correct in thinking that needs to be rectified?”

 

“I couldn’t help but consider that this is a glaring oversight in our planning process,” she admitted. “Hoarding cloth will only go so far if the supply and the skills to make more are not preserved when the time comes. It would be a rather unfortunate society, with no ability to do better than sewing together animals skins for clothing.”

 

He frowned. That would indeed be a very  _ future _ problem, but still a problem. He sighed. “It will be a great investment of time, to master a craft that we ourselves will likely have no need of, but you are correct. Someone has to do it.”

 

Earlene grinned. “There is a downside to being the resident genius, but I would be happy to begin redressing the inconvenience to you.”

 

“Oh, how?” A note of hopefulness had crept into his voice.

 

“The morning is free, and I will spend it with you in any manner of your choosing.”

 

A half-hour later, they were walking in the woods with Faeleth and Thaladir, each carrying a child that no longer needed to be carried, enjoying the morning sunshine while the two hounds ran excitedly in the distance.

 

*****

 

{Sept 28th, 2026}

 

Sharley really should not be this nervous -- she knew she was being stupid, and yet she couldn’t help it. Trying to get Earlene alone was not an easy proposition, and she really didn't want anyone else to know they were even talking about anything, let alone about what.

 

Still, she knocked on Earlene’s door, and wished she wasn’t still human enough to sweat out of anxiety.

 

“Come in,” was heard clearly enough through the heavy door. Earlene was a firm believer in, if they wanted to see you badly enough, they’d enter if invited.

 

“Do you have a minute?” Sharley asked, darting in and shutting the door behind her. “Lorna said I oughtta talk to you. About...Elves. And...marriage.”

 

Earlene chuckled, looking up from her computer. “It’s me or Ailill, I guess, and he would probably feel like a more awkward choice. Sure, ask away.” Earlene had secretly hoped that someday a conversation like this might happen, because...poor Maglor. And to be perfectly honest, she did not expect that it might be this soon. That felt hopeful, but...she never counted unhatched chicks.

 

Sharley sat in one of the wingback chairs. “So...um,” she said, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “I want to...look, I don't want to be a tease, but I want just be able to...kinda...explore? I mean, I don't even know what it’s like to kiss someone without….” She trailed off, and drew a deep breath before she looked at Earlene.

 

“I’m gonna be blunt,” she said, “all I know about sex comes from having a balrog rape-fuck my brains out. I’ve always tried to avoid seeing what other people did, I never did any, I dunno,  _ research  _ on my own, and I just want to be able to kiss my husband without making him frustrated I can’t do more than that yet.”

 

“Have you said that to Maglor, in any manner at all?” Earlene asked as gently as possible, knowing that she needed to clearly understand what was going on in the first place. Because at the moment, those waters were very muddied.

 

Sharley shook her head. “No,” she said. “We haven’t talked about...that...at all. We snuggle a lot, but that’s it. And there’s usually at least one cat involved, too.” She ran a hand through her hair again. “I didn't want to say anything until I’d gotten some advice. I don't know what my limits are, and I don't want to…” With a sigh, she looked out the window. “I don't want to go freaking out unexpectedly because he touches me in some way that brings back memories I wish I didn't have.”

 

“I think he would understand that, if you told him. He loves you very much. He may not understand the specific difficulties you are experiencing, but he thinks enough of you to not have tried to lay a finger on you in a way that is without your consent. We all noticed that he implored you, just to kiss your cheek, when you left. Even for an ellon, that is an incredible degree of forbearance. I think he understands that you are deeply troubled, and would do most anything to avoid worsening how you view him. He seems afraid, more than anything else.”

 

That drew a smile from Sharley. “I know,” she said softly. “He’s been...sweet, is the only word. Sweet, and patient, and careful, but I’m so scared sooner or later he’ll get frustrated. I mean, he won’t be able to help it, right? Elves can’t help if they get horny, and I’d feel terrible if I had to leave him like that, but I just...man, I don't know. I want to make him happy -- he makes  _ me _ happy, and I don't want to think he’s got -- what’s the expression I’m looking for?”

 

_ “Blue balls,”  _ Jimmy supplied.

 

“Right. Blue balls. Which...can they even  _ get  _ blue?”

 

Earlene would allow herself a glass of wine later, for not facepalming or outwardly reacting. “No,” she said, her voice very kind. “They do not turn blue, that is a figure of...an idiom. Okay I am going to ask you some very personal questions. I am not trying to make you uncomfortable, but I have to understand better what your...how you feel and what know you about sexual matters, or I am going to end up giving lousy advice. Do you understand that ellyn, just like human men, can have erections when they are not sexually aroused?”

 

“Well, if it wasn’t for Maglor, I’d still think the whole thing was gross,” Sharley said frankly. “But because he’s involved...it’s not gross. A little scary, sure, but it’s something I...want to be able to want. But no, I didn't know that. I thought that was just a human thing.”

 

“This is hard to express, but I’ll try,” said Earlene. “Part of having a lover, being ready for sex, is...acceptance. More than acceptance. I can completely understand why the realities of sex would seem gross when your only memory is...what it is. But just like we have labia and a vagina and menstruation and cervical mucus, they have bodies too. We cannot help what goes with the physical territory of being female; it just is. I like to think that when you own the parts department, none of the plumbing seems strange, or what it does. It’s just always been there. But a male feels the same way about themselves. For them it is a penis that has erections, testicles, semen, ejaculations. They cannot help their anatomy any more than we can help ours, and part of love for a mate of the opposite sex is being able to embrace those differences in your mind, before anyplace else. 

 

“Don’t feel like this is something that is going to happen overnight. I doubt it will, after all you have been through. But when the time comes, that can’t be ‘gross boy parts and things.’ It has to be, ‘my lover’s body that I fully love and embrace.’ I know how rejected and humiliated I would feel if my husbands were revolted by some natural function of my body that is beyond my control; they are owed that I look at them the same as they look at me, in that regard. That is part of how you will know when you are ready, I think. You won’t see anything about him as ‘gross.’ You will only understand that it is an aspect of Maglor, who you love. Does that make any kind of sense?”

 

_ “‘Mucus’ is such a nasty word,”  _ Kurt said.  _ “It’s right up there with ‘moist’. Why do gross words start with M?” _

 

“Kurt, stop helping,” Sharley said. “I…” She bit her lip, and drew her knees up under her chin. “So, okay, I was...kinda outta my mind, when...that...went on. Please don't tell anyone this, but I know what a dick feels like, but not...really what one looks like. Which is a terrible thing to say, but...well. It was that fucker.”

 

“There is this thing called the Internet,” Earlene said tentatively. “Do you want me to show you?”

 

_ “Do it,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “It’s better to do research with Earlene around.” _

 

Sharley sighed, but nodded. “I wish...hell. I still have nightmares, sometimes, about...that...but lately I’ve been thinking about Maglor when they happen, to make them less...awful. Since I can’t seem to force myself to wake up half the time. But let’s take a look at a dick, and hope it doesn’t scare me.”

 

_ “Not something you hear every day,”  _ Jimmy snickered.

 

“Jimmy…”

 

_ “Sorry.” _

 

_ “No you’re not,”  _ Layla said.

 

“Ok this is a short video that Thanadir and I have showed Thaladir; if you could keep that tidbit to yourself I’d appreciate it. We feel strongly about our children understanding how their bodies will work way before they have to wonder.” She rolled it, hoping that Sharley could weather this. “While I cannot speak for Maglor, neither of my husbands are circumcised; I would guess that elves, thank god, do not practice that. So, while no two male organs are alike, there will be some variation on what you are seeing here. Except, ellyn have no body hair. That includes pubic hair. But like with human men, the coloration of the skin of their genitals is a little darker than the rest of their body; that is completely normal. The first time I saw a penis not in a video it was...well, it feels strange; we women don’t have those. I guess I managed to recover quickly enough.” She grinned, but tried to stifle it. And was mostly successful.  _ Ah, the memories. _

 

Sharley watched the female narrator, standing in front of a row of nude men, and was a touch disturbed. “How is that woman saying all that with a straight face?”

 

_ “Trouser snake!”  _ Kurt hooted.

 

“So they...okay, I didn't know there was any such thing as a wet dream,” Sharley said, ignoring him. “Do Elves get those?”

 

“They can, yes. I’ll be blunt too...the more intercourse a male has, the less likely he is to have those, but they can happen regardless. It is as natural as waking up to your period, and I would guess probably unwelcome for anyone stuck dealing with the laundry.”

 

“So Maglor potentially has them a lot,” Sharley mused, “though if he ever did in the time we were sharing a bed because of nightmares, I wasn’t aware of it. Does…” She paused, aware she was going to sound like a complete idiot. “Does a guy really...ejaculate...every single time he has sex? Like, there’s no way around it?”

 

“If he completes the act of sex, yes. That is when the male has his greatest pleasure from intercourse; his ejaculation is the same as his orgasm. His climax. There is a way around it, which is, not allowing him to finish. But unless that is his idea, that seems rather… cruel. Not to mention, no one can one hundred percent control when their orgasm happens. Sometimes there is advance warning, other times not. And I would not be so sure Maglor has anything of the kind going on. Elves are different. When celibate for a long time, their bodies tend to back off on sexual function. It is the same for those of them who are not married. It goes along with what I guess you would call a set of spiritual gifts connected to marriage. And yet few things involving sex are set in stone.”

 

“They ejaculate when they orgasm? That explains a lot,” Sharley muttered. She stared at nothing. “Okay, here’s another thing you can’t tell anyone: I don't like what that feels like. I wish I didn't  _ know  _ it, but...it’s not a sensation I enjoy, and there’s no way to stop it without being totally cruel to Maglor?”

 

_ “Condoms,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

“Do Elves wear condoms?” Sharley asked.

 

Earlene frowned, uncertain what to say. “Before I answer that question, I’m just going to point out that I think you are making assumptions based on your bad experience. I have never once felt Thranduil ejaculate because it isn’t possible to feel it. I can feel Thanadir, because he ejaculates an unusual volume of semen and very forcefully. I have read as much as I can, and the Thanadirs of the world are very rare. Most women never, ever feel their partner’s emission. Yes, an elf can wear a condom. But Sharley...as long as this is that serious of an issue for you, I don’t think you should attempt sex. Back to that thing about accepting and cherishing his body? This is the opposite of that. This is you looking for a way to contain or minimize your revulsion for what his body does to give him pleasure. That...can’t be good.”

 

_ I apparently had another Thanadir, that way _ , Sharley thought. “I know,” she sighed. “And I don't...I’ve been trying to associate the  _ feelings  _ with Maglor, but it’s because I’m doing my best to ignore the  _ actions  _ I’m remembering. Which probably isn’t healthy, but it’s better than the alternative. If I...shit.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I wish I could dig that bastard outta the bog and set him on fire.”

 

“Your time with Angie has to have done _ some  _ good. A year ago you and I could not have had this conversation, from what I observed of you. I’m impressed you have come this far. I seriously am. But Maglor can’t be a therapy tool, past a certain point. He is a person with deep feelings. Right now, he is paying the price for what that waste of spiritual and physical space did to you. Maglor deserves better, just like you do. My guess is, Angie and you have a lot more to talk about. She knows how to help your mind heal. I’m coming from the place of, I love and care about both of you. I want to protect, both of you. I can only give you my gut feelings that while I think it is awesome you are allowing yourself to consider these things, you maybe should not be considering sex in terms of how to engineer it so it can ‘work’. And...bluvvy Jeebus...there is something else you don’t know. 

 

“When I make love to either of my husbands, something...happens. Each time, there is a reflection and strengthening of our bond of marriage. It is something spiritual, and it comes from...I don’t even know how to describe this, because I’m not completely sure I understand myself. When they climax inside of me, something about their emission binds me to them, and vice versa. I feel a warmth that spreads through my entire body, and a consuming sense of deep love and commitment to them. It is an anchor for the relationship, something that draws us together. I thought it wasn’t supposed to be able to happen with more than one male, ever. Apparently that isn’t quite true, and plural marriages are possible. Don’t even ask me, what kind of train wreck that Von Bastard introduced when he violated you. The Stranger somehow...I can’t even say what. But condoms...will keep that bond from taking place.”

 

Sharley’s eyes widened in abject horror. “Binds you…?” she whispered. “You mean…”

 

_ “That’s not what she means, Sharley,”  _ Sinsemilla said, but she didn't sound fully convinced.

 

“Am I...if I bind myself to Maglor again, am I still…?” she felt the blood drain from her face, because this she had  _ not  _ known.

 

“It’s not like that. You always were bound to him. You don’t get un-bound and have to do it all over again just because a lot of time went by. That bond, that sealing to your husband is why you were attracted to each other like a magnet to iron the moment you laid eyes on each other. If the day comes you have sex with him again, you will feel it and be drawn to him even more than you are now, and again with every time beyond that. It is a gift, and a wonderful one. And whatever happened to that Bog Bag is...gone. He, is gone. Dissipated. There is nothing left, to which to be sealed.  Anguirel took care of that. There is only Maglor.”

 

Sharley breathed a sigh of devout relief. “That’s...okay, that helps.” She rubbed her forehead. “You’re right, I’m nowhere near ready to have sex. Nowhere close. But...well, is it gonna be weird if I kiss him, just a little? Not like, tongue, or anything...not ready to try that again, not until...well, not yet.” 

 

“He is your husband. Kissing him is certainly not weird. Just...be sure you are doing that because you want to out of love for him. Not because you think you owe it to him, not because you are trying to smash down barricades the crime committed against you has created. Talk to him. I don’t think there is anything you could say to which he wouldn’t listen and try to understand. Love finds a way, when many other things fail.”

 

A little smile crossed Sharley’s lips. “I do want to,” she said. “Just...because I want to. And if things get too awkward, I'm sure the Lump will follow me. Lorna says there’s nothing more off-putting than having a cat watch you while you’re trying to get things going.”

 

“Uh, Sharley, I love Lorna but she says a lot of things not on anyone else’s planet. If I was off-put by Tail being in this room I probably never would have had children.”

 

“Does Tail stare?” Sharley asked, and actually had to fight a laugh. “She says Boo will perch on the end-table on Ratiri’s side and just sit and watch like a little furry gargoyle. If she thinks they’re doing something she disapproves of, she squeaks.”

 

“Stare, yes. Care, no. And the first rule of lovemaking is, if animals are in the room and have opinions, animals are no longer in the room….but to each his or her own,” she smirked.

 

“Good to know,” Sharley said, and now she did laugh. “Well...I guess I’ll go kiss my husband, if he’s not busy. Because...just because.”

 

“Come back anytime,” she smiled. “Earlene’s Sex Ed is always open for business.” Just then the outer door opened, and Thanadir came ambling in, looking at the newest National Geographic.

 

“Ai! I am sorry, am I interrupting anything?” 

 

“No, meldir,” Earlene answered, doing her best to stuff down thoughts about penises and ejaculation. The elf looked extremely puzzled for just a moment but dissembled well. “We were just finishing our conversation.”

 

That just made Sharley laugh harder. “Thanks, Earlene,” she said, and scurried out before Thanadir could ask...anything.

 

“Do I want to know?” Thanadir asked, embracing his wife.

 

“As long as it stays private to us, I do not see that it matters,” she answered, shaking her head as she nestled against him. “It saddens me, Thanadir. Our son knows more about how his body works than Sharley knows about...males. It is not her fault, but Valar, what a mess. I am glad, that she feels she can ask me questions.”

 

“That was how I felt when Saoirse asked me some things,” he said. “It is a strange day, when I am a good resource for anything about sex.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that. You are truthful, open. You speak with candor and do not act as if you are ashamed of your body or its functions. That is more than a great many others manage.”

 

“Hmm. I suppose. But I would rather read this magazine and kiss you, not necessarily in that order.”

 

With a smile, she yielded happily to his advances, quickly glancing at the magazine cover that screamed, “The Science of Love.” Rolling her eyes, she took it from his hands and tossed it on the bed. Right now, science could go stuff itself.

  
  


** 

 

There was perhaps an hour and a half before the evening meal, and Maglor was lying on his bed. His more proper clothing had been exchanged for a very loose fitting shirt with fabric ties in front, much as he recalled wearing from his days in Valinor. And comfortable but modest leggings. Thanadir had made the tunic for him of soft linen, as a gift, and he was most grateful to slip into it. He expected to have the time alone, and his arm was draped over his eyes as an occasional groan escaped him. It had been the first music lesson for Saoirse, just before he had returned home. He had stopped counting after the thirty-third ‘fuck,’ the fortieth ‘goddammit’ and the eighteenth ‘shit’. Every other question was ‘why?’ and she spewed needless dialogue more than she learned how to tune her cello. None of it was her fault. She had genuinely tried, and she had been visibly nervous. Terrified, even. And this did not change the fact that he was mentally and emotionally exhausted from the effort of interacting with this strange and difficult firieth when she was not busy with art supplies. Thank Eru, lessons for new learners were to be only a half-hour.

 

Sharley rapped on his door, Lump at her heels. “Housekeeping,” she said. “I have a fat cat for you.”

 

“Come in,” he said wearily, though he still managed a smile. For the life of him, what he felt like he could  _ not  _ manage was moving.

 

In she came, Lump at her heels. “Hi,” she said, sitting beside him and ruffling his hair a little. The Lump jumped up and just...sat. Like a lump.

 

“Hi,” he returned, at least realizing he should have the courtesy to move his arm off his eyes. “How was your day?” A solid attempt at producing a smile was made.

 

“Educational,” she said, “and that’s all I’m gonna say for now.” She laid down beside him, nudging the Lump out of the way. “Which kid did you have today?”

 

“Saoirse,” he replied weakly. “Eru help me, Sharley….”

 

Sharley burst out laughing, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Saoirse’s...well, she’s her. She’s a Donovan.”

 

“I just wish...even though I know she has a difficulty...the cursing…” he shook his head, and the arm went over his eyes again. “I am too old for this.”

 

“The poor kid...she tries,” Sharley said. “She just often doesn’t succeed.” She paused, while the Lump crawled up to drape over her side. “Maglor, can I kiss you? Just a little?”

 

Maglor regarded her thoughtfully, and carefully reached a hand to brush at her cheek. “Are you sure you feel ready to? I worry about you. You do not have to ask my permission to touch me in any way, though I thank you for the courtesy. And maybe I have a question of my own. Would it bother you, to hear me tell you that I love you?”

 

She grinned. “It doesn’t bother me at all,” she said, even as her heart lurched a little. To hear that...the only thing sweeter than hearing him say he loved her had been hearing Marty say it. “I always...I feel like I oughtta ask. Just to be safe. I don't want to...I dunno, startle you.” She ran her fingers through his hair -- yep, as soft as she remembered. “I’ll give you a little kiss, and then I’ll explain, okay?”

 

Rather than wait for him to respond, and thus lose her nerve, she gave him a chaste kiss, lingering only a little. It didn't stir anything she didn't want to feel yet, and she giggled a little.

 

Maglor closed his eyes and smiled. In part because his heart soared, and in part to gain control. He was a short distance from breaking down and crying, and that was not the display she needed to see just now.  _ Try to remember long ago,  _ he counseled himself.  _ Before sundering and heartache and everything that went so horribly wrong. When it was only the two of us, and our love…  _ he struggled and won, and the eyes that opened contained nothing but joy.

 

She touched his face, grinning, and kissed him again. “This isn’t scary,” she said. “Not at all. You know...I told you you’d been helping me, but I wasn’t gonna tell you why, yet, right? Um…” She looked away a moment. “If you know something kinda negative, can you handle it enough to hear the positive bit?” Her eyes found his again.

 

“I will listen to anything you have to say, Sharley. I would feel ashamed, if I ever caused you to regret speaking to me.”

 

Sharley snuggled a little closer, dislodging the Lump. “So, I still sometimes have nightmares,” she said. “About...Avathar, and what he did, and what he made me feel, but when I have them now -- and this was  _ Kurt’s  _ idea, because apparently he’s not completely useless after all --”

 

_ “Hey!”  _ Kurt protested.

 

“-- was that I think about you when they’re happening, since I can’t seem to wake myself up right away when they start. So...even though I’m dreaming...that...I think about you now. It’s not foolproof, but it mostly works.” She eyed him a little uncertainly, hoping that hearing about what had been done to her wouldn’t hurt him too much.

 

“I will not lie to you,” he smiled, speaking softly. “Someday I hope to give you much better things to think about. When you are ready. If you are ready. You need to know that even if that can never happen, it does not change my love for you. I never thought I would see you again. Ever. And now here you are. Compared to that...not much else can possibly matter.”

 

“I want to be ready, someday,” she said, relief washing through her. “I know it won’t be for a while yet, but...I dunno if they have this expression in England or not, but in America there’s a saying to the effect of ‘don't jump off the deep end until you’ve waded in the shallows’, which in our case would mean...building up, I guess, and hope that it wouldn’t be too frustrating for you until then. If you wanna extend the metaphor, sex is the deep end and I can’t swim anymore.”

 

“I think it is a little soon for you to be worrying about how to be able to have sex,” he murmured. “I belong to you, body and spirit. You may do as you wish with me. But I draw the line at doing anything because you think I wish it. That will benefit no one. You may find that I question what you seem to want to do. It will never be because I do not want you. It will be because I am concerned you are trying to push yourself too far and too fast. One does not learn to swim by risking drowning, Sharley. To carry the analogy even further.”

 

That drew another smile from her. “You’re sweet,” she said. “And you might be right too. With this...I don't know what I'm doing. Like, at all, physically or mentally. I just know that...someday, I want to be able to put my nightmares to rest because I’ve replaced them with something we’ve done. Something...pure, I guess I’d say. But you and Earlene and everyone I’ve talked to, you’re right -- I’m not ready. Not yet.” 

 

Laughing, she shook her head, but this time she kissed his forehead. “The fact that I even  _ want _ to want to isn’t something I ever thought I’d feel, though. I thought I was like Saoirse, and just had a natural aversion. Kinda nice to find otherwise.”

 

“Earlene spoke to me a little, too. She is very kind, and far more forward than I think I could ever be. But I am glad of it. I would not say this to her, but she has more leadership skill than I ever could have imagined.” He tried to sit up, and winced a little. “I think I should walk for awhile. My neck hurts. I need to better prepare myself for Saoirse. Somehow.” He sighed, rubbing at sore muscles. “Teaching her is going to be very interesting. Maybe I should ask Thanadir for help. Or advice. Or...something.”

 

“Here, roll on your front,” Sharley said. “Pretty sure I know how to give a half-decent backrub. And that might be a good idea -- asking Thanadir for help. She’s more used to him, and I think she tries to keep the language cleaner around him. Ireland’s...Ireland, though. To them, it’s not really even cursing -- it’s just part of the culture. Besides,” she added, “it could be worse. I worked on a fishing trawler in Alaska at...some point, and up there, literally every other word outta people’s mouths is ‘fuck’. Dunno how they ever manage to say anything, since it takes twice as long.”

 

He was quick enough to do as she asked, and rolled onto his belly. He continued to talk, even though it was half into his pillow. “I am just...elves by nature do not speak this way. And I have dwelled for years next to a University of very learned people. I am not completely an idiot; I heard the students use such language. But mostly we spoke with those who were very educated. When we knew the Professor...he never cursed. Never. Language meant everything to him. I may never become used to it. Every word is like fingernails on a slateboard. Eru, I am trying. I do understand, that this is common for them, but...ohhhhh that feels nice.” ‘Nice’ was a terrible choice of words; it did not nearly define the pleasure of her touch. ‘Blatantly wonderful’ would have been far more accurate, but that might also have been histrionic. He decided he would be quiet, and enjoy this.

 

Sharley laughed. Yeah, she apparently did know how to do this. “Well, I have it on good authority that Lorna has managed to make Thranduil refer to someone as a gobshite,” she said. “And by ‘good authority’ I mean the fact that I used to not be able to turn off seeing the past of absolutely everything. I am so glad I have that switch now.” She worked patiently at a rather impressive knot in his shoulder, and wondered how on Earth he’d formed one that large.

 

“Aran Thranduil possesses far more mental flexibility than I do. Of that I feel assured. I am a musician. We are notoriously sensitive and high-strung,” he smirked.

 

“True,” she said, “you guys do have a reputation to uphold. And  _ how  _ did you get this knot? It’s like a rock under your skin. Let me know if this hurts.” She gave the knot a little extra pressure, lightly massaging it in small circles, hoping to somehow ease the tension without crushing anything.

 

“That feels...ohhhh,” he murmured, not about to tell her that a little of that knot was enduring beginner children’s lessons and a lot of that knot was working on the tedious manufacture of the loom he wished to make for her. Not to mention their future home… “I appreciate this very much.”

 

“Good,” she said. “No, cat --” She had to shoo the Lump away, since the cat had evidently decided his ass would be a great place to sit. Fortunately, the animal gave up fairly easily, and contented herself with plastering against his side. Like a lump. “You’re very welcome. I don't...touch people enough, I think. There’s Allanah, and sometimes Lorna, and you. I don't feel safe touching most people, but I’ve always felt safe touching you, ever since we first met. Even well before I knew who we were to each other.”

 

“I am not too surprised...though I am sorry for your difficulties. I am wed to you; the connection of our spirits was never severed. I too did not like others to touch me, before. But it was...it was because it was too painful. It reminded me of what I had lost with you.”

 

“Someday, you should hug the kids,” she said. “Holding Allanah, when I’m upset...it makes it go away. She’s my little sunshine girl, who isn’t gonna be little for very much longer.” The knot slowly eased under her patient ministrations. “It’s funny, because in many ways she and Marty are such different people, but there’s that connection. That line, that I can’t hope to define or explain. I like to think they both have sunshine in their souls. I love all these kids, but Allanah’s my favorite.”

 

Her fingers moved on to the next knot. “You should try Chandra next, outta the human kids,” she said. “She’s good at getting lost in focusing on stuff, and she doesn’t swear too much. Really, really bright kid, too, although even I’ve gotta admit she’s a little creepy.”

 

_ “You should see her glare,”  _ Layla said.  _ “When Lorna glares, it looks like she wants to rip your face off. When Chandra does, it looks like she wants to rip it off  _ and  _ eat it.” _

 

“I am closer to Eldan, but I too like all of the children. I hope you cannot fault me too much. We are all drawn to the ones we see something else in. Eldan reminds me of...me.”

 

“He’s the one who first wanted to learn the harp, isn’t he?” Sharley asked. “Those twins...Ratiri said each one was ten pounds. Well, one was a few ounces under, but still.  _ Ten pounds.  _ And there were  _ two  _ of them. And then Earlene voluntarily went and had more...she’s just lucky. Born lucky. Even having a husband who can heal anything wouldn’t help if her body wasn’t basically built to carry kids.”

 

_ “Yeah, and then there’s poor Lorna,”  _ Sinsemilla said. 

 

Sharley winced. “No kidding. Marty wasn’t bad, but she wasn't fun, either. I’m not sure there’s a woman alive who truly  _ enjoys  _ being pregnant, though Earlene probably comes the closest...with some of them. She really, really tried to hide how hard Faeleth was on her, but everybody knew it was bad anyway.” She did not say,  _ At least Earlene wasn’t Míriel, and didn't decide to kick the bucket afterward _ , because there was such a thing as tact.

 

Maglor was not certain what to make of all that information, but there was one safe comment he felt he could add. “Eldan is why we met again, because Eldan is what caused me to decide to remain here. Who even knows how many more years it would have been, otherwise.”

 

“I don't know how we didn't meet before, honestly,” Sharley said, brushing his hair out of the way to set to work on his other shoulder. “All these years, never here at the same time...guess we’ve just gotta make up for it. And teach some children some instruments along the way.”

 

The Lump made a noise somewhere between a meow and a rasp, and she paused just enough to scritch the cat behind the ears. “Would you ever think of teaching singing lessons someday? You’d have a hell of a time getting either to admit it, but both Earlene and Lorna can sing.”

 

“I had thought to include that in all of the lessons, in some manner or other,” he mused. “Voice is its own instrument, and yet everyone has one...but perhaps I failed to make that clear enough. It probably would not be the first time.”

 

“You’re famous for being a master musician,” she said. “I think they’d be daunted to ask. I’d say, make the voice lessons private so they get less nervous.” She laughed again, her hands traveling down his spine. “Ever since Lorna met this group, she’s thought that ‘Earlene and the Elves’ would be a great name for a band. Maybe we can finally make one.”

 

“Oh dear,” Maglor chuckled. “Somehow I am not sure I can imagine Earlene...you do realize she only likes to play music written before 1790? Not exactly modern band material. And voice lessons are always private, if they are to be worthwhile. Otherwise it is choral instruction, to my way of thinking. But...I do not want others to think of me like that. I am just me, and there is much about me that is not anything to admire. I am grateful, to have been welcomed here. So I am good at something I have been doing almost since the dawn of the afterborn...I have had much time to practice. I too struggled at one time.”

 

“There’s much about all of us that’s nothing to admire,” she said, digging at another knot. “And you’re incredibly good at what you do. Trying to learn from an expert...I dunno if it’s just a human thing, but when you know the person you’re learning from is insanely more talented than you, it can be daunting. It’ll be easier for the kids, because they’re kids, and they don't think in terms like that yet.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “ ‘Expert’ is another term for, ‘someone who has already made every mistake it is possible to make.’ Nothing more. Yes, I understand what you are conveying but...I do not believe in that sort of thing. Even I am still learning.”

 

“Well, just be sure you tell them that,” she said, placing a kiss on the back of his head. “Especially Saoirse. She’s old enough now to have that problem, and I know she’s gonna have another one: she mastered drawing and painting without being taught. I’m not sure it takes too much  _ effort  _ for her to do what she does -- just time. Now she’s faced with something she doesn’t know at all, and might not have any intuitive aptitude for. It’s gonna be hard for her, and if she decides to quit, don't hold it against her. Saoirse’s...different. Even I don't really understand her. I’m not sure anyone does, all the way.”

 

“I will keep it in mind. I did not want this so much for me as for them...everyone should have music. You do not have to wind up a master to find happiness and reward from the process of it. Earlene spoke to me a great deal about music. She did not even begin to try, before coming here. She played for me, and make mistakes, but told me that she doesn’t expect to be like Thanadir or someone very skilled. She does it for her own pleasure and the challenges and the rewards, and if nothing else  _ that _ is what I hope the others can take away from their learning.”

 

“With children, it’s easier to fire them up that way, I think. Earlene’s different; she’s a bit like Thanadir, actually, in that she’ll learn just something just for the hell of it,” she said, and then laughed. “Have you ever heard of the band Judas Priest? I know you didn't pay a whole lotta attention to the human world, but they’re kinda big.”

 

“I have heard the name in passing, yes. I did not listen to much popular music, but Quen would have the radio on.”

 

“Their guitarist is the one who taught Lorna,” Sharley said. “She and her first husband were roadies, ages ago. Apparently he taught her because he thought she was, and I quote, ‘cute and bloody creepy’.” She paused a moment, though her hands didn't. “Um...if you see her avoiding you or anything, it’s not your fault, it’s mine. She and I...well, my telepathy’s still kinda wonky, obviously, and we’re a bit connected at the brain thanks to that icky thing we have in common, and when we were camping, I had one of the dreams and did my trick...but her tent was too close, so  _ she  _ had it, too. I just about died when I found out -- though I don't think I came as close as she did. Never seen that poor woman turn so red before.”

 

Maglor burst into laughter. Not a little snicker, but complete, belly-laugh laughter, that even caused a few tears to run out of his eyes. Finally he calmed and shook his head. “I am so sorry. That should not be funny and yet it just...is. Oh, my love...that is too much.”

 

His laughter carried her right along with him, because poor Lorna, but it really  _ was  _ funny. “You shoulda seen her face,” she said, giggling helplessly. “So red, and so...traumatized. Lorna, she’s kinda like an Elf in that she’s just not attracted to anyone who isn’t her husband. She said...what did she say? Something like, ‘I’ve done a lot’v things in my life, and wondering about Maglor’s arse isn’t one’v them’.” Her imitation of Lorna’s accent was a little too spot-on. “She was like a deer in the headlights, poor woman. Or...some kinda small rodent, caught in the path of an oncoming semi.”

 

“I have seen many nude ellyn, and ellith, and I cannot imagine for the life of me that our ‘arses’ can be that different, except of course by gender. For Eru’s sake, her husband has rather a shapely one. As well-formed as any ellon’s; I do not understand her aversion.”

 

Sharley laughed so hard she nearly cried, and had to pause in her ministrations simply because she was giggling too hard to continue. “All right, I’ll tell her you said that one,” she said eventually. “She’ll be pleased. But see, she wasn’t the one wondering about your arse,  _ I  _ was, and she just got kinda...dragged along for the ride, so to speak. Captive audience to all kinds of stuff she wouldn’t’ve thought on her own.”

 

_ “Nice, Sharley,”  _ Jimmy said. _ “Classy.” _

 

“Oh, hush,” she said, unconsciously slipping into Irish a moment. “And  _ I  _ was wondering because you always wear long shirts, so I had no idea, and it gave me something to...focus on. Which sounds so wrong, but whatever, it worked for me -- and apparently for her, which was why she was so disturbed.”

 

“Well if you feel you must, lift my tunic. I would say that my trousers will not leave a great deal to your imagination. Though, I....oh, Eru.” He shook his head, but his cheeks were definitely flushing pink.

 

That just made her laugh even harder, but she did in fact lift his tunic. “In as much as I’m any judge, it is a very nice arse,” she said -- just in time for the Lump to waddle up and placidly sit on it. “And apparently the cat wants to keep it warm.” She lifted the creature, who made a sound of vague protest but did not otherwise resist.

 

“Just what I always wanted,” he grumbled, nestling his head back into the pillow. If he was very fortunate, she would rub his back a little more. Her touching him in this way, with affection, soothing an aching muscle...it would be very difficult for anything to happen that could detract from this moment of pure bliss, but that rotund feline returning, slipping off his derri è re and stepping on a testicle was becoming a possibility. He brought his legs more firmly together. Safety measures, and all that, but now he was feeling relaxed, and a little sleepy, as thoughts of Saoirse melted away.

 

“Remind me, someday, to show you  _ SNL: Celebrity Jeopardy _ ,” she said, running her hand up his spine with gentle pressure. “It’s several videos, and in them, the actor playing Sean Connery has a habit of misreading one of the choices and turning it into something kinda...off. In one of them, one of the categories is ‘an album cover’, like a musical album cover, but he misreads it as ‘anal bum cover’, and then says that he’s spent five years of his life trying to invent an anal bum cover, and that failing to do so has been his greatest regret.” She did an absolutely killing imitation of the accent, which just sent all the voices laughing.

 

His eyebrow raised, which was perhaps the only thing visible since his hair had tumbled forward, obscuring part of his face. Wondering if he should be afraid mixed in with marveling at some of the things that had been said in this conversation. All in all, he supposed it was a good thing. He sighed. It was increasingly obvious, he was going to end up discovering popular culture because Sharley seemed to have an interest in such. He was fine, living in his poetry and volumes of lore, but it would probably not be enough for her. And for her happiness, he could probably even listen to Judas Priest, though there would be twitching. He had limits.

 

Laughing, Sharley brushed the hair out of his face. “Don't worry, I’m not Lorna,” she said. “I won’t go inflicting too much on you. I just know what makes me laugh, and while there’s a lot in those skits you won’t get, they’re worth it just for Sean Connery.”

 

Lightly running her fingers over his face, she added, “I thought I was happy, before I found you again, and I think that I was -- but not this happy.” And that she’d found him...she really, really didn't want to think about this, but someday, her human family was going to die, and the Elves would leave for Aman...if not for Maglor, she would have been alone again. If not for Maglor, she wouldn’t have known what she was in the first place. Nobody would have.

 

Maglor reached for her hand, delicately running his fingers over the top of it rather than taking it. “I am happy too,” he said, burying fears for his future very deeply. Fears for  _ their _ future, very deeply. He had this, and he had now, and that would not be wasted. “Before, I arguably was not really living.”

 

Sharley laid down beside him, snuggling close. The Lump protested, then went to drape over her legs, purring. “I was...and I wasn’t,” she said. “Until Skykomish, I was apart from everyone and everything -- I never settled down, never got close to anyone in all my memory. I took big long naps, if I found a place worth snoozing in. Then I found Skykomish, and then these guys, and I remembered what family was, but I never understood why I just wasn’t attracted to anybody, ever. Not even close. It never woulda occurred to me that it was because I was already married, and my spirit just went ‘nope’ to the very idea.”

 

“It is a Gift of Eru,” he whispered softly, turning over again. “I too have never looked on another with interest.” Mostly, he was scrambling for what he could possibly say, as evidence of her shattered mind was placed before him. “I think I could sleep for a short time, just now. Stay with me, if you would like.” Without moving, he closed his eyes.

 

“That,” she said, “is not a bad idea.” The Lump protested a little as she shifted, resting her head on his shoulder. And this time, she dreamt only of sunshine.

 

*****

 

{Oct. 1, 2026}

 

“We are leaving in three days,” Earlene announced to Lorna, Ratiri, Thranduil and Thanadir. “Two suites at the Villa Bordoni, rural Tuscany. Forecast temperatures of 22C-11C. Easy distance to both Siena and Florence. We will be gone for a week. There is food, wine, art, and Pretty. Four and a half hour flight, Dublin to Florence. Any questions?”

 

Lorna and Ratiri looked at one another. “Honestly, that’s about everything we could want,” she said. “Christ, I need to make a list, and check it eight times.” It was what she always did, when they traveled; it was the only way she knew of to make sure nothing was forgotten.

 

“Will my electric razor work in the sockets, is all I want to know,” he said. He’d made the mistake of not bringing his plug adapter to America at one point, and regretted it heartily.

 

“Ummm….Google?” Earlene said. There was honestly no excuse anymore, not to know something. It has been two years since keyboards became a relic in the face of speech to text technology; it was literally like Star Trek. You just had to ask the Google, it was no longer a figurative thing. And while she was generally willing to help, babysitting was not going to happen.

 

“Have I ever mentioned I hate doing that?” he asked, grimacing a little. “I keep expecting it to say ‘I’m sorry, Dave, I can’t do that’.”

 

“Nerd,” Lorna said. “Okay Google, does a plug from Ireland work in a socket from Italy?”

 

A momentary pause, and then, “Please repeat your question.”

 

She poked Ratiri. “You ask,” he said. Sometimes Google understood her, and sometimes it did not. Which was  _ still  _ better than the damn Gates -- she suspected they actively didn't like her, because she could kind of manage a proper ‘th’ sound by now...kind of. The problem was the damn ‘r’; Thanadir’s name she could manage pretty well, but pronouncing ‘th’ with an ‘r’ after it still rather eluded her.

 

Rolling his eyes, he repeated the question, and found out that yes, his razor would be fine. “Why European grids aren’t standardized, I don't know,” he said. “You never can tell. Well, as long as that’s good to go, so am I. Though I dread slightly what all these children will get up to in our absence.”

 

“Well, they will have to get up to it under the eyes of Sharley, Maglor, Ailill, Calanon, Maerwen, Lothiriel and Ortherion combined,” Earlene said emphatically, not about to dwell for one minute what would go on in their absence. She would be the first to admit that hormones were a force over her mood right now, but justly deserved. For an entire summer she had slogged through a great deal of emotional turmoil and some rather weighty matters that affected those she loved. And concerning the worst of that, Ratiri had no idea. Nor did he need to have any idea. In short, there was no way to convey to him why she had one nerve left and everyone was standing on it, probably by virtue of breathing.

 

“Well, in that case….” Lorna took Ratiri’s hand, and grinned. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted a trip like this until it was laid before her. “I guess we’re making up for lost time, allanah.”

 

“We are,” he said, pulling her close. “I just wish we’d done this years ago.” For whatever reason, child-free trips had always just seemed like something Earlene and the Elves did; it hadn’t occurred to him or Lorna that it was something they ought to do, too. He blamed the fact that their children, being human, developed slower at a cognitive level than peredhel, and thus they hadn’t felt as confident leaving them. That, and Chandra was slightly evil.

 

“I’ve emailed all of you the Villa website so you can get a feel. There is a cooking school attached to this place. I am definitely planning a day trip into Florence, maybe two. If you want to see the Uffizi Gallery with us please let me know by tomorrow morning, because I am buying tickets online in advance so we aren’t stuck in some godawful line. Um, ditto with Michelangelo’s ‘David’, come to think of it. Gigantic marble nude male in all its splendid glory, can’t miss that, can we?”

 

Maglor and Sharley immediately erupted into giggles in the back corner of the Heart Room, which at least made Earlene smile.  _ I’ll take that as a positive sign of some kind. A year ago Sharley would have left the room over that basically tasteless comment on my part.  _ And no, she did not care.

 

Ratiri couldn’t help but laugh himself. “Indeed we cannot,” he said. “I read somewhere that there’s possibly a reason such a largely perfect specimen as David has such tiny genitalia: he’s looking up. He’s looking up, presumably at Goliath, and his penis is retreating in terror.”

 

Lorna burst into what could only be described as a sporfle, even as Sharley laughed all over again. “Even if you’re not right, I'm gonna believe you are,” the poor woman said, leaning against Maglor. “That’s just too priceless  _ not  _ to believe.”

 

A frown flickered across Earlene’s face. She had looked at many photos, and ‘tiny’ was not at all what she would use as a descriptor for David’s penis. Or scrotum. Personally she thought his equipment was a pinnacle of proportion and balance.  Her thoughts roved about, until she excused herself for a moment to the kitchen.  _ If Ratiri thinks that is tiny, what in heaven’s name does that man have in the boot, so to speak?  _ From the other room, she heard Thranduil choking on something, and her lips curled up in a triumphant smile.  _ Something you’d like to share, beloved?  _ Reaching for a mug, she began to prepare some tea, grinning from ear to ear.

 

_ That would be private information,  _ came the arch reply.

 

_ You mean, that  _ would have been _ private information, since you have just managed to confirm my suspicions. _

 

_ Earlene, this is very unseemly,  _ she heard Thanadir comment.

 

_ Isn’t it, though?  _ Her fingers dunked her tea house into the piping water with an increasingly wicked grin.

 

Back in the Heart Room, both Thanadir and Thranduil were flushing nicely as they sat there, attempting to regain their composure. It did not help when Sharley traded giggles for full blown, unexplained laughter. That sent Earlene over the edge, and she now stood there, lost to how incredibly funny this was, tears rolling down her cheeks. There was only one thing for it: Go outside, and walk around on the deck before she made a complete scene. Now she could snicker to her heart’s content.

 

Lorna eyed Thranduil, already guessing she wasn’t going to get anything out of him.  _ Sharley, what’s so funny?  _ Having a secondary telepathic source of information in this house was really quite handy at times.

 

That just made Sharley laugh all the harder, but she said,  _ Earlene’s wondering what Ratiri’s got going on below the belt, if he thinks David’s wang is tiny. _

 

Quite fortunately, Lorna had deliberately not sipped her tea, because she managed to choke anyway -- on her own spit, no less -- and laugh so hard she nearly cried.  _ I’d be happy to tell her, if she wanted details. _

 

_ Oh, well now you know she’ll ask. _

 

Poor Ratiri, being the only person with no idea what the hell was going on, said, “I don't suppose anyone would care to fill me in?”

 

“Not at the moment, but maybe later,” Lorna said, patting his hand.

 

“I think I need some fresh air in the forest,” Thanadir asserted with as much dignity as he could muster. “I am certain this vacation will be lovely, and I will begin preparing lessons for the children during my absence.”

 

“Me too, without the lessons,” Thranduil added, disappearing seconds behind his seneschal. This left only Ratiri and Lorna, Sharley and Maglor.

 

Lorna still had difficulty looking at Maglor, even though she no longer avoided him entirely; she focused now on the toes of her socks. “Poor Thanadir,” she said. “Living with all’v us unseemly people. Ratiri, allanah...you’re just a bit too perfect physically. I'm sorry, but there doesn’t seem to be anything to be done about it.”

 

“You have a very well-formed arse, Ratiri,” Maglor offered candidly. “I am certain you are often mistaken for an ellon.” Eru help him, he could not resist. All his usual reservation was flying out the window because just for a few moments, something seemed actually  _ funny _ .

 

Sharley laughed so hard she nearly fell off her seat, and all the voices went with her -- largely because of the look on Lorna’s face, which was a combination of deer-in-the-headlights and horrified disbelief.

 

Poor Ratiri just twitched, and after a stunned moment said, “Thanks? Um...nobody’s confused me for an ellon, though Lorna once grabbed Thranduil’s arse thinking he was me.”

 

Lorna glowered at him. “We agreed we were never going to speak’v that ever again,” she said, eyes narrowing. “If you want to get lucky on this trip at all…”

 

“I love you?” he offered.

 

“Uh-uh. Love me with a foot rub later and you’re golden.”

 

Sharley was giggling so hard she could barely breathe, forehead rested against Maglor’s shoulder. Poor Ratiri...and poor Lorna.

 

Maglor nodded solemnly, rising. “That would be an easy mistake. Art, my friend. The world should be full of it. Music, sculpture, poetry, song.” He sighed. “Pardon me, I have just thought of some lyrics.” Patting Sharley on the hand, he left to go retrieve his notebook in his bedroom, disappearing around the corner.

 

Lorna watched him go, and looked at Sharley. “Is he going to go write a song about Ratiri’s arse?”

 

“Probably not, but I wouldn’t put it past him,” Sharley said, wiping her streaming eyes. “It’s best not to try to predict him -- he’ll surprise you when you least expect it.”

 

“Things going well with you two?”

 

“They are,” Sharley said, with a little grin. “The Lump is attached to him now, too. She likes sitting on his ass. I tell him she’s just keeping it warm.”

 

Lorna tried to picture this, and failed utterly. “Have you had any more nightmares?”

 

Her friend shrugged. “Kinda. It’s easier to pull outta them now, since I’m better at thinking about him when they first start. And I don't feel guilty about enjoying the...feelings...since it’s him I’m thinking about.” She frowned. “Though I know why I hate yoga now.”

 

“What’s wrong with yoga?” Ratiri asked. It was bad enough he’d never managed to interest Lorna in it.

 

Lorna gave him a slightly nervous look. Sharley had developed a very,  _ very  _ black sense of humor over what was done to her, but she normally only let it out around Lorna, since they had that unfortunate thing in common. What would poor Ratiri make of it?

 

“The only thing I really remember about having a yoga mat is getting fucked half unconscious on one,” Sharley said, rolling her eyes. “Because  _ that’s  _ a great association. Though I gotta say, that one’s the easiest for me to think about Maglor and get outta.”

 

Ratiri stared at her, visibly disturbed, and Lorna elbowed him. “It’s one’v the ways she’s learned to cope,” she said. “Just run with it.”

 

“If you say so,” he said. “Well...uh, someday you might look into yoga again?” he said, half-statement, half-question. “Outside. No mats involved.”

 

“I’d rather climb a tree...though right now I need to make sure that cat isn’t sitting on Maglor’s notebook. I’d never seen a cat flirt before, but I swear that’s what she’s doing.”

 

“Good luck,” Lorna said, and once she was gone, turned back to Ratiri. “I know it sounds fucked-up, but one’v the ways she trying to deal with that whole mess is by not being ashamed’v it. And that means, sometimes, cracking really dark jokes like that -- she’s been doing it around me for a while now. Trying to talk about it in any kind’v serious context just makes her curl up in total shame and leaves her all but unable to speak.”

 

“If it works for her, then good for her,” he said. “It just startled me, is all.”

 

“I’m surprised she’d do it with you around, but maybe she’s getting more used to it. Which, in that case, I should probably warn the rest’v the adults -- I know she’d not do it around the kids, but I’m not sure she won’t start with the grown-ups.”

 

It seemed like a very, very strange way of coping to Ratiri, but as he was not a woman who had been raped, he really had no concept. If it worked for her, it worked, the poor woman. “And what about you?” he asked, brushing her fringe from her eyes. “You don't speak of it.”

 

“I don't remember anything,” Lorna said, “and Thranduil took all the emotion out’v the dreams I shared with Sharley. Angie said what I need to do is allow myself to cry -- she knows I’m afraid’v dwelling on things, so she said don't think about the  _ act  _ so much as what it did to me. And I did manage to do that, the other day, for a little while. Just let it pass through.”

 

He kissed her forehead. “Good,” he said. “Still, I hope she can come out here soon.”

 

“You, me, and everyone else.”


	128. One Hundred and Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October 5-15, 2026

Lorna and Ratiri were so used to the grueling, long-haul flights to Washington and back that the trip to Italy felt like a breeze. They didn't have to bring luggage for eleven, either, which also helped quite a bit.

 

The villa Earlene had booked was a positively enchanting little place, and Lorna was so delighted, when she and Ratiri entered their suite, that she actually jumped on the bed a little. (Very soft, and it actually had a kind of half-canopy with some kind of silky, gold-and-rose pinstripe material.) The floor was a rather interesting stone pattern, and made her glad she’d brought slippers. A nice big bathroom, blue-tiled, and a little area upstairs, with two fat leather armchairs and a kind of inbuilt sofa that was just about perfect for cuddling on. Yes, she and Ratiri had rather shamelessly christened their bed, too, because...why not. It had been nice to just lounge all night and know there was nothing they actually  _ had  _ to do tomorrow.

 

Today was the Boboli gardens, and the pictures they’d seen hadn’t done the place justice. All of those had been of the gardens in spring or summer, but now, this far into autumn, they were a riot of red and orange and yellow, some of the leaves bright as fire.

 

It was a warm day, but the pair of them were rather better-adjusted to that than they had been when they went to Yellowstone, thanks mostly to all the time spent in Washington each summer. Five years ago, they would have found it unbearable, but now it was merely pleasant -- though the breeze helped with that, as well.

 

They walked now, hand in hand, down a straight path dusted with drying leaves. It was lined with trees that had been trained to arch over it, leaving it very like a tunnel; sunlight pierced through it to dapple the ground with gold, and the trees themselves were like torches, blazing orange and red and yellow. “You know,” Lorna said, “the woods are beautiful, but I forget, sometimes, that there’s more than one kind’v...kind’v natural beauty. If that makes any sense.” It sounded inane to her, but she couldn’t find better words.

 

“You mean, that it can be just as lovely when set into order?” Ratiri said.

 

“Yeah. That. I almost want to build some gardens outside the forest -- maybe around where Sharley’s been planting her fir trees or something. I know there’s still land we haven’t used for farming.”

 

“We could never do anything this big,” he said. “We’ll need that land eventually, one way or another. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t make something smaller somewhere, or so I’d think.”

 

She made a note to ask Thranduil -- later. Once they were home. This was not a trip for thinking about the future.

 

Well, not too much, anyway. She touched her stomach with her free hand, wondering a little. How had this happened? Ratiri had said vasectomies could reverse, but doing so after all this time was rare, and Thranduil hadn’t healed him since he’d got it. If only she was able to get her tubes tied...but no dice, with her impermeable skin. Having a baby at 49 was scary enough, but what if she got up the yard again at 59? What if Ratiri tried it again, and it reversed itself again?

 

_ Not something I need to be thinking about right now _ , she told herself. According to Thranduil, the embryo was exactly where it should be, now, gestating away. A little girl, so he said; poor Shane was doomed to remain the only son. At least he had male cousins to play with. Right now she just needed to focus on relaxing and having a healthy baby. She had a month and a half before the morning sickness kicked in, and maybe that same amount of time before she couldn’t see her feet. Three months wasn’t much of a bump on most women, but she was tiny. Seriously, she was so glad she’d built a second armchair-cruiser, since the sofa didn't fit in the house. The thought of her and Earlene zooming around in them was just too good for words -- especially given what had happened the last time Earlene was up the yard, and she’d always had passengers, human and animal.

 

**

 

Earlene and the ellyn were in another portion of the gardens, admiring the roses and topiary. “I like this very much,” Thanadir said. “It is artistic yet orderly. Artificial yet pleasing to the eye. There are shapes not in nature, but made from living plants. But the trees and blossoms add color and informality.” Thranduil raised an eyebrow, not having considered this aspect. 

 

“I have always admired that about you, meldir,” Thranduil said, draping his arm around his...what even were they, to each other? Technically unwed partners, shared hearts? It was so much more than ‘brother’ or even ‘gwador’ could define, at this point. They were wordless; no adjective or noun existed. “You see that which I too notice but never take the time to define or express artfully.” 

 

Thanadir smiled, flushing a little at the praise.

 

“I admire him too,” Earlene added, a gauzy scarf draped over her head to keep the sun off her face a little. “But mostly I just like topiary. Always have. But it never works unless there are large beautiful spaces like this. On a smaller scale it just looks...idiotic, really. And of course this has to be cared for, constantly. It looks effortless but I am certain this is the work of many gardeners.”

 

Thranduil reflected. “You know, though, when the time comes, when the plague is over...there will be those who are older. Perhaps those not so strong, for the labor of farming. What if we had such a place, of our own creation. There will be stresses, and a need to have an outdoor place of open air and peaceful surroundings. I agree that such a large space might not be the wisest use of open land but...surely we might have something, a place for the rejuvenation of the spirit?”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Plants make more plants,” Thanadir observed. “If we maintained even a few of these shrubberies in our greenhouses, then we could propagate more, I would think.”

 

“Did you just say shrubbery?” Earlene asked, completely amused.

 

“Well, yes, that was what they called it in the movie,” Thanadir blustered.

 

Earlene giggled. “So they did.”  _ Eru, I love this elf. He says ‘shrubberies.’ _

 

Thranduil snickered too, drawing Thanadir closer to him. “I love you, Thanadir. Keep talking about shrubberies.”

 

Confused, the old elf gave a half-smile. “I have read elsewhere that the boxwood is not too difficult to grow…”

 

**

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri. “So, supposedly this thing has a mini-hedge maze,” she said. “I’m not sure what the point’v it is, if it’s miniature, but it looked cute in the pictures I saw online.”

 

“Did you see everything in this garden on Google before we came here to see it in person?” he asked.

 

“Not  _ everything _ , but some things,” she said, grinning at him. “I want pictures. I'm sure we can Photoshop something fun into it.” God, she was going to miss Photoshop -- sooner or later, any computers they had would expire, and there would be no more photomanipulations.  _ And these gardens will overgrow, and these statues fall to ruin in time…. _

 

Yeah, nope, not thinking that. They meandered onward, under the blue, blue sky, the sun blazing. Washington State -- and specifically, Eastern Washington -- really had inured them to temperatures higher than they ever would have managed had they not gone, though once it hit thirty-five degrees, both of them were just...done. It was nowhere near that here, though; just pleasant. She was so glad they had this opportunity, because once this kid was born, it would be years before they’d be able to do it again -- and the number of years they had to do much of anything was running out.

 

_ Stop it _ , she told herself; as a distraction, she stood on her tiptoes and gave Ratiri a kiss.

 

**

 

Earlene tried to explain. “This is the place where the Bonfire of the Vanities occurred, where supporters of the priest Savonarola burned all sorts of things that were thought to be connected to vanity and sin. In 1497.”

 

“A priest like what was in  _ The Name of the Rose _ ?” Thanadir asked.

 

“Sort of. This one was a Dominican. They were preachers, and they felt called to preach and oppose heresy.”

 

“But meldis, everyone thought everything was heresy, from what you showed me.”

 

“Um...well, I actually cannot argue much with that.  _ But _ , the point is that a famous thing happened here, because that priest tried to encourage others to destroy secular art and culture, in order to have a renewal of the Christian faith.”

 

“And then what happened?” Thranduil asked, sensing that the discussion was perilously close to becoming mired in Church doctrine, of which he had heard quite enough in France. 

 

“Well, in the end both the Church and the city authorities got rather mad at him and they hanged him and burned him to death, ah, right over there, actually. See where that plaque that commemorates it is?”

 

Thanadir blanched. “That is barbaric,” he whispered, obviously upset.

 

“Many things were, back then,” Earlene agreed.

 

“But...right behind us, on the other side of the Piazza, there is that beautiful...is that a church? I have never seen such fine colors,” Thanadir admired, though he felt conflicted that such ugliness and such beauty had existed side by side. And then he remembered Fëanor, and realized maybe he did understand after all.

 

“That is the Santa Croce Basilica. Yes, a church. It was designed by the famous Brunelleschi, in part, the same man who built the amazing dome on the cathedral here. Michelangelo’s tomb is inside. I would like to see it, can we?”

 

“If we don't get a picture’v that, Saoirse’ll never forgive us,” Lorna said -- though privately, and perhaps she was biased, she thought her niece might actually be even more gifted than the great artist.

 

_ Poor Thanadir _ , Ratiri thought. It was only a mercy he hadn’t studied some aspects of human history in-depth. They were nothing if not a contradictory species. “It’s funny, how much effort we put into building things like this, back when doing so was so difficult,” he said. “People put their faith in an afterlife because they could depart this one at any time, even from an infected scratch. I suppose I could understand the appeal of an organized religion, in those circumstances. Though if they hadn’t spent so much time doing that, maybe science would have advanced far sooner than it did.” The mere fact that dissection was outlawed in many places for so very long...that people had been focused on heretics and witches, as opposed to finding out why people got sick…

 

“That comment is made all the more ironic when you figure that Galileo would have walked through this same building just as we are doing, and look what happened to him. They sent science backwards, just because they could. Maybe it sounds really odd coming from me but...I have no use for all this. Never have.” Earlene’s hand made a sweeping gesture to indicate the Church whose authority once ruled life and death for all those in the western world.

 

“Doesn’t sound odd at all,” Lorna said. “I mean, don't get me wrong, I know just about fuck-all about the Valar, but they don't demand worship. One’v the problems I always had with all the monotheistic religions was the idea’v a deity that created a whole universe and all these people specifically to worship him. Um, narcissism, much? I never could believe it. I always wanted  _ something _ worth believing in, but I didn't dare, either, because...well, hell. Look at what my life was for so long. And I’ve got to say, discovering that there not only  _ is  _ something out there, but that they’ve popped in and said ‘hi’ a few times, is still surreal to me.”

 

“Funny too when you think that the only one who  _ did  _ want to be worshipped went as bad as bad can go,” Earlene quipped.

 

“You know, that never actually occurred to me before, “ Ratiri said, “and now I feel incredibly daft. Back when I thought all of this was fiction, I’d wondered if it wasn’t Tolkien’s unconscious attempt to create a theology worth believing in. Taking the aspects of his religion that he liked and discarding the bad things, but not being aware that was just what he was doing.”

 

Earlene was having a very rare moment of willingness to express candor. “Whereas I’d never heard of it up from down until I found out about...me. More than a little weird, and yet I did not have much trouble accepting it. Though I still feel like many aspects of philosophical questions are a hopeless tangle. I always wanted to accept concepts like free will and...I really can’t believe that anymore, after what I’ve seen and done. After what has been done to me. The strangest part of all is that I simply don’t mind. I wonder if I will ever really understand, and yet I’m okay with never having an explanation if that is how it transpires. Go figure.”

 

“I think you might be a special case,” Lorna said. “I don't think the Valar bother much with the rest’v us. I had plenty’v opportunities to choose to be a shit, to be like my da...I don't think any’v them would’ve paused to give me a poke, just because there’s so many people in the world. I had to do that -- or not do it -- on my own. They needed something from you -- needed you to  _ be _ you. I think the rest’v us just kind’v...happened to be there. Right place, right time. And then Manwë was nice and gave me...what he gave me.”

 

“‘Little have the Valar ever prevailed to sway the wills of Men,’ it says somewhere in the Silmarillion. So I guess you’d be right. I guess I am classified under ‘little’? And I may never know,” Earlene grinned, but she also reflected.  _ I do not believe for a moment that Manwë was just nice to you, Lorna. Why, I cannot say, but ‘nice’ is far too simple to be the reason. _

 

“You should make a list of questions,” Ratiri said, “just in case you’re ever given the opportunity to ask them. Better to have it and not want it, than to want it and not have it. And I know I for one likely wouldn’t remember a quarter of them if I was faced with an actual, real-life, in-the-flesh Vala.”

 

_ I might just pee myself,  _ Lorna thought. She was almost afraid to get taken off figurative hold by them, in case one actually decided to talk to her -- but this was for Sharley. She could avoid pissing her own pants, if it meant she could find out whether or not she should encourage Sharley to reach out to Vairë.

 

Earlene smiled. “They are very friendly, actually. But they don’t really stand around and allow for questions, in my brief and admittedly foggy recollection. I have a feeling that if I am ever allowed to ask much it will not be when they are visiting, so to speak.”

 

Lorna rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, if one’v them turns up, can you ask about Sharley for me? They’re more likely to go to you than they are to me, since you’re...you, and I'm me. I’m surprised Varda even acknowledged me, to be honest. Made me feel a little better.”

 

“I can try but...you literally never know. They came to me when I was unconscious once and...yeah.” She paused. “Can I ask you, what about Sharley? I don’t quite understand the question.”

 

“I’m trying to get Sharley to talk to Vairë,” Lorna said, “but she’s not willing to, because right now she’s only  _ afraid  _ she wouldn’t get an answer. If she tried, and that fear was confirmed...it’d be bad. I just want to know, if she does try, will she get an answer? Because if so, I’ll keep poking at her sometimes. She…” She frowned, looking at nothing. “She’s not the Stranger, she doesn’t think they wrote her off or anything, but they never answered her, when she was in Angband. Nobody ever said anything to her, or ever has, and she’s afraid’v why.”

 

“She does realize...” Earlene said hesitantly, “that someone imprisoned in Angband could never be heard by the Valar? The Silmarillion explains pretty clearly that the fortress was literally suffused with Morgoth’s power, that it was veiled from all sight. The Valar aren’t like...not like the Bible god is supposed to be. If you read carefully there are many passages that specify that they are not all-knowing. And Morgoth was the most powerful of them all. Until he was totally cast out, anyone he took...well...they were fucked. Completely. Does she know for sure that they even knew she was in there?”

 

“I don't know,” Lorna said. “I don't think she knows that about Angband, though. Maybe if I tell her that, it’ll help some...but it still doesn’t explain why they never found her afterward. She needs to talk to Vairë, but I don't know how to convince her to. If I could just give her a concrete ‘yes, if you talk to Vairë, she’s actually going to answer you’, that might do it.”

 

Earlene said nothing further, digesting this. If nothing else, she knew that their Lords and Ladies were not djinn, able to be summoned. It was obvious that they acted when they had reason to do so, and not at other times. That being said, nothing stopped anyone from praying to them. She had not realized any of this, about Sharley.  _ I assumed that when the Stranger broke, she would...know better. That she would try to speak to them. But...maybe that is naive; this is the woman who couldn’t take the initiative to investigate what a penis looks like. In fact, yeah. Seriously shit assumption there, Earlene. I need to...think. Poor Sharley… _

 

“How cute are she and Maglor, though?” Lorna asked. “They’ve both got their scars, inside and out, but when they’re together, it’s like...you can’t help but smile, when you see them.”

 

“Them and the Lump,” Ratiri said dryly. “I think that cat is in love with him. It’s disturbing.”

 

“Sharley says the poor thing likes to go and sit on Maglor’s arse.”

 

“Of course she does,” he said, rolling his eyes.

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. Perhaps only she could be standing in front of Galileo’s tomb and have Maglor’s ass even be in the same mental space. An involuntary giggle came from Thanadir, who she had not realized was standing right behind her. Thranduil leaned down and gave her ear a seductive nibble.  _ Thanadir just laughed at unseemliness. I think you are influencing him.  _ A gasp of indignation was heard, causing her to turn quickly and take the seneschal’s hand. “Now boys,” she said softly, kissing his fingers. “This is Galileo. Let us show a little respect. Here is proof that one person can change the world.”

 

**

Earlene and Lorna stood side by side in the remarkably uncrowded Accademia Gallery, drinking in the sight of what was arguably the most famous sculpture of the Renaissance. Truly, it was hard to put into words. The difference between photos and seeing it...there wasn’t just the size (the  _ David  _ was huge). More like...how in hell did Michelangelo make the damn thing look like it was in the process of moving? A physical perfection hovered over every inch of it, and if the color would only change from marble to that of living flesh, there was little doubt it might have been a Lord of the Valar...and yet Earlene’s thoughts shifted, mischievously. A glance told her that her husbands and Ratiri were on the other side of the cordoned display. And therefore, too far away to hear her.

 

“Okay, dish. If Ratiri says  _ that _ is a tiny penis, just what’s going on with him? I mean, I’ll concede that if I were about to attack Goliath my blood might be anywhere else but in my langer, but...base size and all, I’d figure poor David could rise to the occasion just fine…?”

 

Lorna utterly failed to stifle a laugh. “Well, I’ve never, y’know, measured or anything, but proportionally, I’d say he’s maybe half that again? Big enough we’ve got to get a bit creative, or it feels more like I’m getting punched in the cervix than anything. And it was even worse when we were first together; I must’ve...adjusted...at some point. I know things down south are pretty elastic, and I hadn’t exactly been using them for the last eleven years before we met.”

 

“Damn,” Earlene said. “Ok, this next question is even more TMI, but I’ll credit myself that I don’t ask this shite too often. When you both, you know...how much of what he’s got actually fits inside of you? I mean, difficult question, because we sort of stretch and elongate as that activity goes along, but the weirdo in me now is wondering.”

 

“Depends on the position,” Lorna said, glad her poor husband was out of earshot. He’d flush like a brick if he ever knew. “We can get it in all the way if I’m on top, but I don't like always doing all the work. He’s got this weird one that it’s kind’v missionary, except my hips get angled up, so it’s kind’v a straight shot, if you take my meaning, so it’s almost all the way. He just can’t get super carried away or we both wind up unpleasantly sore the next day.” She grinned. “Though I’ve found that having to be, er, that conscious and deliberate can be even more fun than just letting go, because you’re paying attention to  _ everything _ . And while I’m always a little sore the next day, it’s not bad -- it’s more a case’v ‘well I know what I did last night’.”

 

“Huh. Well, glad it isn’t too much of a good thing. My mother always used to say ‘if you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all,’ but I’m not so sure she was right about that. Go figure. And in the meantime, I’m still going to defend  _ David _ ’s honor. Don’t care what Ratiri says, that is one well-put together set of man parts.”

 

“While I’ve admittedly only seen two, I don't think your mam was right,” Lorna said. “Ratiri and Liam weren’t the same, and not just size-wise.” She paused. She’d come rather a long way when it came to her squick-o-meter, but she suspected she still might regret this later. “Okay, spill: are elf langers any different than human?” Earlene, she was fairly sure, had never actually seen a human one in person for any reason, but there were things like, well, David.

 

“Appearance-wise? Near as I can tell from photographs, yes. They don’t have any body hair. Anywhere except the hair on their heads, if you get my meaning. Mine are both uncircumcised and I’d guess they all are that way. Otherwise, give or take issues of stamina, I’d guess they are the same.”

 

“No body hair?” Lorna said, almost wistfully. “Wouldn’t that be nice. Though at least Ratiri manscapes. He’s not willing to shave too close to any important bits, which I can’t really blame him for, but he doesn’t exactly have a jungle down under. Which is good, because I’m just not fond’v...that, on anyone. Including myself.” She snorted. “I joked about waxing once, and you should’ve seen him curl in on himself, like a sowbug balling up.”

 

Pausing, she eventually said, “I might regret asking this, but what d’you mean by stamina? Ratiri can last a while -- sometimes a bloody  _ long  _ while -- but he can’t get it up again for a few hours.”

 

“Uh, they have no...I believe the term is ‘refractory period.’ They can climax and then go at it again in seconds, if they choose to. Probably thankfully, that isn’t something they choose to do too often. Though, I can’t say I’ve ever had cause for complaint….” Earlene laughed, because now she was the one blushing a little. Oh well, she’d started this.

 

Lorna’s eyebrows climbed practically to her hairline. “I’d hope they wouldn’t too often, or you’d die’v exhaustion,” she said. “Bloody Christ. Okay, Ratiri can never know that, or he’d feel totally inadequate. Nevermind how long he can make one last, or that a man’v his age being able to get it up more than once at a go -- in some ways all human men are just a bit insecure.” She shook her head. “I thought  _ I  _ was tired afterward. If he could manage that, I’d wind up sleeping the whole’v the next day. Does that ever leave you, y’know, sore? Or do I just get that way because I’m so small?”

 

“Oh, I’ll never tell him. No need to add consternation to the household. Plus, it isn’t his fault; how could it be? Anytime I’ve gotten sore, I have Mr. Fixit if I’m too uncomfortable. Though...sometimes you just want to be reminded you had the fun? And we haven’t gone there too many times. Maybe once when we were first together (and she wasn’t  _ about _ to offer the reason why that had gone on) and another time when we were babymaking the twins? That kind’v thing is really rare just because...life. No need to carry on like that, unless it’s some extraordinary occasion. Though...and god never repeat this...I think there is a reason Ailill is always so happy. I’d guess that lad exists in a swirl of endorphins that never has a chance to go away. But as I couldn’t wish it on a nicer person, I don’t begrudge him,” she grinned.

 

Lorna smothered a laugh in her sleeve, because this was hardly the place to have a giggle-fit. “Christ, Ratiri and I, neither’v us really knew what we were doing at first -- we’d both only ever had the one relationship, and it wasn’t long -- but the things that man can do with his  _ hands _ ...well, he’s a doctor, after all. And oh, Ailill...I’m sure he and Calanon had to do a lot’v experimenting themselves, but they’re the cutest bloody thing in the world -- well, no, the second-cutest. They’ve been knocked off that pedestal by Sharley and Maglor, but they’re still adorable.”

 

She shook her head. “I just hope poor Sharley….I should warn you, she’s started making  _ really  _ dark jokes about what happened to her, around me anyway, but the other day she also dropped one in front’v Ratiri. If she ever does with you or Thranduil or Thanadir around, don't look at her weird -- it’s her way’v taking away the shame’v it. I’m not sure she ever will make one around you, but you never know.” With a sigh, she added, “It’s weird, sometimes, being the one she’ll talk to about...that. It means I’ve got someone to confide in, too, but what an awful thing to bond over. I'm glad Angie’s coming out in a few weeks.”

 

“Is she?” This was news to Earlene, but just because they all shared a roof didn’t mean every bit of news made the rounds. “Thank bloody god. I’ll stock the liquor cabinet. And don’t worry about Sharley. I can roll with it. I’d rather she dump that stuff on us than Maglor.”

 

“Same here. I know she tries not to talk about it around him, but she and I sometimes get together and eat ice cream and have crying therapy, which I guess is a thing,” Lorna said. “Angie had all kinds’v advice -- she just couldn’t get out here sooner because she can’t just drop her responsibilities and go. She had to find a temporary replacement for her job at the clinic -- though honestly, the sum’v what she’s told me is that nobody really knows what actually works, and it’s different for every person. I didn't exactly  _ mean  _ to sit on my trauma -- a lot was going on, so I just didn't have time to think about it -- but apparently that was a bad thing. I’m so afraid’v dwelling on things that I still kind’v...shove anything I’m afraid I’d dwell on away. Eating ice cream and having a little crying jag is apparently a healthy thing, every so often.”

 

“That sounds entirely normal….” Earlene could not help but notice that the boys were coming into range, so to speak. “I think our surveillance free conversation is about at an end.” She poked Lorna playfully to cause her to take note of the approach of the ellyn. “Back to the glories of sculpture.”

 

Lorna eyed the statue. “I’ve got to admit,” she said, “he’s got a fantastic arse.”

 

*****

 

Chandra was...pensive. They’d never once had the house without Aunt Earlene, Uncle Thranduil, Uncle Thanadir,  _ and  _ Mam and Da gone before, and the unaccustomed freedom of thought that provided couldn’t be let go to waste. Normally it was impossible to plan anything...less than savory, because Uncle Thranduil would know right off. And on the holidays they were gone, Mam and Da were still home, and Mam always said there was nothing Chandra could do that she hadn’t at least thought of first, so there was no point trying to outwit her. The annoying thing was that so far, she’d been right.

 

But they they were all away, and Chandra was craving chocolate. She was also craving something to  _ do _ , something that wasn’t the usual same-old, same-old -- they probably wouldn’t be allowed to walk all the way to Lasg’len, but there was always the sofa. Mam let her and Shane drive it, even though Atia was still too little.

 

_ Yep _ , she thought, rolling off the sofa. The Heart Room was currently full of kids, though they weren’t all here. “Who wants to take the sofa to the Market?” she asked. “We can get candy. It’s not raining or anything.”

 

“Meeeee!” Atia said, raising her hand and waving it.

 

“Me too,” Shane said, setting his pen into his notebook before he shut it. “Is all your pocket money where it usually is?”

 

“I hate the fact that you even  _ know  _ where it is, but yeah,” she said. “Atia, go get your money and your shoes. Who else is coming?”

 

“I want chocolate,” Allanah said. All of the children had money, leftovers from assorted outings and what not when they were given some to spend and not expected to return the change. “Did you ask a grown-up?” Algar, Faeleth and Thaladir were obviously interested in sweets, but equally interested in the answer to their sister’s question.

 

“Mam told me it was okay before she left,” Chandra said, “and Uncle Pat said it’s okay now. Shane and I can drive the sofa.”  _ Sorry, Uncle Pat _ . Still, he was the one they were least likely to go check in with, and it was well-known that Mam had taught them the fine art of Sofa Driving.

 

“Okay,” Allanah said cheerfully, sure that now all was in order. “Meet you outside, just gonna grab money for us.”

 

“Excellent,” Chandra said, and scurried to get her shoes. Mam kept the keys to all the furniture in the pantry; she grabbed the sofa’s and went out to the barn, checking the wheels and the petrol. All was good, so she fired it up and waited.

 

Shane didn't think for a moment that Chandra had actually asked Uncle Pat a damn thing, but he didn't care. He needed a break, and a little while away from any and all grown-ups. He and Chandra were both beginning to chafe at being treated like they were, well, Atia -- Atia, who followed after wearing sparkly rainbow rain boots, just because, apparently.

 

“All right,” Chandra said, “all aboard!”

 

Gleefully the kids piled onto the sofa. There was not really enough room, so Faeleth sat up top, knowing instinctively that she was stronger and more agile than her siblings or cousins. Grinning with cheer and the prospect of a sweet treat, she declared forcefully: “To Lasg’len!!”

 

“To Lasg’len!” the Duncan kids chorused, and off they went. Chandra was smart, and kept the speed slow until they were on the main road -- the sofa was, well, a  _ sofa _ , and not the most maneuverable of things.

 

It was a clear day, and chilly, the sun providing little in the way of actual warmth at this point. The scent of the forest -- wet leaves, moss, earth -- was fresh and strong, and Chandra grinned as she took them just a bit faster. She wasn’t going to go full-speed, not with all these people on it, but it was just enough to make it fun, as opposed to puttering along. 

 

They met nobody on the road, but that wasn’t any surprise; the only people who ever seemed to use this road were those coming to the house or Halls specifically.

 

“Wheee!” Atia cried. Going out, just the kids, not a grown-up in sight -- it was great. Beyond great. They could go do things, like real people. The road was uneventful on the way into town, and Aislinn’s store was very near the edge of the village. Chandra pulled up smoothly and parked the sofa neatly in the same orientation a car would occupy. Thaladir’s eyebrow arched, he was suitably impressed. But now there was candy! They crowded the doorway, all pouring in at once.

 

Chandra got a basket, and her brother and sister followed her to the candy aisle. She had to do some fast math in her head while they picked out chocolate and gummies, making sure they’d have enough to cover it all. Mam said candy was overpriced these days, but they rarely ate any, so it was a treat. That logic was fairly sound, she was sure.

 

Even with all their deliberation, it didn't actually take that long, so they took their loot up to the front register to pay. This had gone almost suspiciously well, but she’d take it.

 

“Well, off on an adventure, eh?” Aislinn asked, cocking an eyebrow at the entire group. She’d wager her meat inventory that something was amiss here; everyone knew the forest kids (their general designation in town) never came to town unaccompanied. And certainly not on a sofa. It didn’t take a lot of brains to guess that they’d gotten up to something, but they were respectful and well-behaved and doing what anyone had a right to do; buy food in a grocery. She wasn’t about to alert the town network about this. It was Lasg’len, what possible harm could they come to? 

 

“We wanted candy,” Thaladir said solemnly. “And how are you today?”

 

Aislinn’s heart melted. Everyone knew of the very mannerly, very handsome oldest son of the Elf king. Or was it the seneschal? Honestly it was better not to ask too many questions about parentage with that lot, but with the blond hair she’d figure this was Thranduil’s kid. 

 

“I am very well, thank you,” the shop owner replied. “I hope you will give my best to your mam and das and the rest of the family.”

 

“I shall,” the green-eyed child said with ridiculous but utterly cute formality. “When they get home from Italy.”

 

_ Ahhhh. Now that explains everything,  _ Aislinn smirked as she finished ringing up the purchase. She knocked ten percent off, just because they were all so damn cute, and it wasn’t like the elves weren’t the reason she had money enough in the bank for a damn nice holiday next summer. “Run off, now, and enjoy your candy!” the woman admonished merrily, chuckling as eager fingers started pulling at wrappers while the herd of them moved out the door. “Sure god they’re precious,” she muttered. Knowing that even elf kids got up to at least some shenanigans had basically made her entire day.

 

Getting their loot stowed in such a way that nothing would get squashed on the way home took a little creativity, and while they were at it, Geezer ambled over.

 

“Trip into town, huh?” he said, eying all of them, though his gaze eventually landed squarely on Chandra. If she wasn’t behind this, he’d be very surprised -- and if she’d gotten permission from anyone, he’d be even  _ more  _ surprised.

 

“Yep,” she said, meeting his gaze with clear green eyes. Oh, that one was going to be a hellion of a teenager, that much was already obvious. “Uncle Pat said we could.”

 

Geezer arched an eyebrow. “All right, even your Uncle Pat isn’t gormless enough to agree to  _ that _ ,” he said dryly. “I won’t rat you out, but next time you sneak into town, come up with something better than that.”

 

_ Shit.  _ Maybe she shouldn’t have blamed Uncle Pat -- maybe she should have said it was Aunt Grania. Oh well. Too late now. “He’s pretty gormless,” she said, wishing like hell she knew what the word actually meant. “Last week Aunt Grania gave out at him for defiling her socks, whatever the hell  _ that  _ means.”

 

Geezer tried and failed to choke back a laugh, because oh  _ Jesus _ ...there were only a few things that could mean, and none of them were good. “Point taken. Still, you get on home now.” Shaking his head, he left them to it, still chuckling.

 

Faeleth watched in horror as her older brother’s face went ashen.

 

“You  _ lied _ about us having permission? You  _ didn’t _ ask an adult?” he said to Chandra, his eyes as big as emerald saucers.

 

_ Oh, no _ . While she too was appalled, Faeleth had some sense of the relative...this wasn’t that bad, and it wasn’t their fault. Quickly, she moved to take her brother’s hand. “It’ll be ok, Thaladir,’ she whispered, trying to be soothing. Algar simply watched this unfold, his face a jumble of conflicting emotions that did not stop him from eating his chocolate bar.

 

“I asked a  _ question _ ,” Thaladir piped, his voice pitching up as it tended to do when he was agitated. Faeleth winced, knowing what was coming.

 

“Of course I did,” Chandra said. “None’v you would’ve come with me otherwise, and since you didn't know I lied, you won’t get in trouble -- it’ll just be me. Don't worry, Thaladir --  _ you  _ didn't do anything wrong.”

 

“Somehow, I doubt that’s going to comfort him,” Shane said. She wasn’t entirely right -- he and Atia would have gone anyway, but that wouldn’t have been as much fun. “C’mon, Thaladir, my sister’ll be taking the fall for it.”

 

Faeleth shot Chandra a look that would curdle new milk, as her brother predictably burst into tears, sobbing and wailing. Quickly, she put her arm around him and held him close, knowing that if they walked away from the others it would help. Allanah immediately went to his other side, and did the same, though without the nasty glare.

 

Incoherent words about being sorry and generalized grief poured out of the little boy, as his sisters tried to comfort him (at the moment with no success). When it became obvious walking was doing no good, they simply stopped, in the middle of the sidewalk. Faeleth hugged him close, trying to stifle the loudest of his sounds, while Allanah rubbed his back. They really did not need every adult nearby coming outside to see what was the matter. Both sisters kept up a stream of talk they hoped might get through to him sooner rather than later.

 

“Shouldn’ta done that,” said Algar calmly, eating his chocolate. “Not to Thaladir. He can’t...he can’t do bad things. It hurts him. He’s not like the rest’v us. He’s like Ada Thanadir. It just doesn’t work.”

 

Chandra frowned, a thought only now occurring to her. “He needs to learn, sooner or later,” she said, “because someday, somebody might tell him to do something bad, and if he’s so...so conditioned to do whatever someone tells him, it might be bad.”

 

_ Like _ you _ just did, because he trusted you?  _ Algar thought, somewhat disgusted.

 

“Look at that  _ baby _ .” The Johns, as everyone referred to them, came slinking out from behind the Market. One was ten, the other twelve -- freckle-faced, the elder was a ginger, while the younger hand sandy hair. Both had disturbingly manic blue eyes.

 

“He’s not a baby,” Chandra said flatly, “he’s just sensitive, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

“Baby,” the younger insisted. “ _ Baaaaaby _ . Do their parents wrap him up in cotton and put him in a cupboard when he cries? Little sissy.”

 

Chandra’s eyes narrowed. “You take that back,” she said. “At least his parents love him enough that they didn't give him the same name as his brothers. Either your mam was boring as fuck or she just doesn’t care about you, now does she?”

 

The elder John paled, and Shane winced. That was hitting below the belt, even for Chandra -- but picking on Thaladir was just a no-go. He  _ was  _ sensitive, and needed protecting -- he’d once heard Mam call him an adorable dandelion puff, to be sheltered from the wind.

 

“Yeah, well,  _ our  _ mam isn’t a drunken midget,” elder John fired back.

 

“Don't you call our mam a midget,” Atia said, scowling.

 

“Yeah, and at least  _ our  _ mam didn't farm us out to some other relative,” Shane added.

 

“Yeah...well, Thaladir’s still a sissy little baby,” the younger John said, at a loss for any other comeback. 

 

_ God, these two are stupid _ , Chandra thought. “And you’re bloody simple, aren't you? Take. It. Back.”

 

“Baaaaaaby,” he sneered, but his eyes widened when she launched herself at him, slugging him hard in the face.

 

“Who’s the baby now, bitch?” she asked, as he immediately burst into tears. His older brother tried to grab her, and she elbowed him sharply in the gut. “ _ Huh, you stupid little shit? Who’s the baby now?! _ ” She punched the younger John again, but he managed to squirm out from under her, his nose bleeding freely.

 

“You’re a fucking psycho,” the elder John said, dragging his brother backward and shoving him away.

 

“And yet you’re still here,” she said. “You going to run away too,  _ baby _ ?”

 

_ Oh, good Jesus _ , Shane thought. Of course she was picking a fight. Of  _ course  _ she was.

 

Elder John evidently couldn’t not take that bait, because he swung at her. His little brother, emboldened by his efforts, came running back, only for Atia to kick him square in the kneecaps.

 

“Oh, fuck everything,” Shane sighed, and dove into the fray. If nothing else, he needed to keep his twin from straight-up murdering at least one of these little shits.

 

Faeleth looked up. “By the Valar, I am never believing Chandra again,” she muttered. “Allanah, stay with Thaladir. Hug him. I’ll be back.”

 

Algar watched, not really having moved from the sofa (but having finished his chocolate). His inclination was to cut his losses by staying out of this. He certainly was not going to hit anyone. But if his leg happened to stick out at choice moments that helped one of the Johns to fall to the ground, surely no one could blame him. Then he saw Faeleth coming, a storm written on her face, and decided that nudging back further into the cushions was a better idea. Faeleth seemed different than the rest of them, though he could not say exactly why. She seemed... _ more _ .

 

“ _ STOP IT _ ,” Faeleth bellowed at all of those in the fray, with surprising depth to her voice. Each of the Johns was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and then she simply walked off. Dragging both of them, as they spluttered and cursed. Right around the corner of the market, and that was when one of them made the mistake of trying to slap at her, hard. With a single movement of her arms, she slammed both of them up against the side of the building, now that they were safely out of sight of the sidewalk. “ _ Never _ come near us to pick a fight again,” she hissed. “ _ Never _ say an unkind word to my brother again.” Two open rubbish containers stood nearby, and with another movement each of them found themselves plunged arse-first onto the reeking mess inside and pushed firmly down. With a fiery glare at their terrified faces, she released both of them and stomped off.

 

The Johns looked at each other.  _ How….how had one little girl that was not quite two thirds of their size just done that?  _

 

The Duncan kids stared, but Chandra especially. “How did you do that?” she asked. She knew all the peredhel kids were really graceful, sure, and stronger than they looked, but not  _ that  _ strong. That ought to have taken a full-grown adult to do; even Ithiliel and Eleniel, for all they were about the same height as younger John, couldn’t have done that -- not to both boys at once.

 

Faeleth looked at them searchingly, before looking away again. “I’m different,” was all she would say. “And don’t go telling everyone what you saw. You’re my family, but I don’t need everyone being afraid of me,” came the quiet request. Glancing up, she saw Allanah still with Thaladir, who had at least stopped crying near as she could tell. “I’m going to get Thaladir. We need to go.”

 

Chandra looked at her brother and little sister; they didn't need Uncle Thranduil’s telepathy to come to an agreement. “We won’t tell anyone,” she said. “Cross our hearts. And yeah, let’s get out’v here.” She eyed her scraped, bloodied knuckles, and couldn’t keep a smile off her face. Shane thought it might just be the creepiest thing he’d ever seen, and declared that he was driving home. Algar was placidly munching his next bag of candy, so he got to stay where he was, because why not?

 

Chandra was happy to let him. Her last action, before she got on the sofa, was to go over to the trash cans, peer in at the terrified boys, and smirk. “Bitches,” she said, raising her fist. Her smirk turned into a full on smile when they both flinched. “You say a word about this and I’ll make you wish you were both dead.” Before, they could respond, she turned away, and headed back to the sofa, where Thaladir was now sandwiched between his sisters.

 

Shane got the sofa out and away, and only now did Geezer approach the trash cans. He had no idea what the hell he had just seen, but that kid was too strong even for a half-Elf. And that Chandra...worried him.

 

Both the Johns, terrified and sniffling, somehow managed to struggle free of the trash cans, though they froze on sight of him. 

 

“You’re not gonna find any sympathy from me,” he said, though his voice wasn’t overly harsh. “Don't go picking fights -- especially fights you can’t win. C’mon home and get cleaned up. Chop enough wood and I won’t rat you out to your aunt.” Aurnia didn't need that shit. Not over this.

 

They looked at each other, and at him. Nodding in stereo, they both scurried off, leaving Geezer very thoughtful. Admittedly, he didn't know a great deal about peredhel in general, but he knew what he’d seen of the other kids, and they weren’t like Faeleth. None of them could have done that -- and definitely not when they were her age. 

 

Earlene hadn’t been about much when pregnant with her, but there had also been markedly fewer get-togethers that year. How hard had Faeleth been on her? She didn't seem to have ever fully recovered, and it made him wonder. A lot.

 

The sofa got back to the forest without further incident, Shane slowing well before they reached the driveway. Chandra was fully prepared to take responsibility for the whole thing, since, well, it  _ was  _ her doing. Meanwhile, there was candy; she’d just give all hers to Shane and Atia, in case her punishment was to give it all up, and just get it back later.

 

No sooner had the sofa pulled to a stop than Thalion appeared out of nowhere, his arms crossed and fury written on his face. Not five seconds behind him was Maglor, storming out of the front door of the home. Followed by Calanon, and Ortherion. “Explain,” the ellon demanded. 

 

Faeleth stood up. “We went to town to get candy. We believed we had permission to go, but found out once we were there that we did not.” Inexplicably, her eyes turned from Thalion to Maglor, and some moments of silence followed.

 

“All of you will follow me to the Halls,” Thalion said. “All of you know that you are not to leave the forest unaccompanied. We are responsible for you while your parents are gone and you deliberately evaded our oversight.”

 

The peredhel children, and Allanah, immediately stood up and remained silent. Thaladir looked about one second away from a fresh round of grief but so far kept himself together.

 

“Not Thaladir,” Calanon said sharply. “He will answer to me.”

 

“They didn't evade you,” Chandra said, holding onto suddenly terrified Atia, “ _ I  _ did. I told them Uncle Pat said we could go. They didn't know they were doing anything wrong.”

 

“Then you will learn there are consequences to leading others astray,” Thalion said in a voice that brooked no argument. “Come, now. If you do not, we will carry you.”

 

“Don't worry, Atia,” she whispered. “I’m the one who’s busted.”

 

Her little sister nodded, but took her hand.

 

“Thalion, we need to get the sofa back to the barn,” Shane said. “Can any’v you drive it?”

 

“It will be taken care of,” Calanon said. Ailill also just came out, his usually gentle face written over with unhappiness. “We are very disappointed in your choices,” he added quietly.

 

“It wasn’t their choice, it was mine,” Chandra said. “C’mon, you lot.”

 

Shane was terribly afraid that it being her choice wasn’t going to spare the rest of them. Dammit. As long as they could keep Atia out of it...he could deal with it, even if it  _ was  _ his twin’s fault, but Atia was just a kid.

 

Thaladir, Ortherion and Maglor marched the children to the Halls in silence, while Calanon brought Thaladir back inside to Eldamar with Ailill. Already he was beginning to cry again, and Calanon sat him down while Ailill prepared some cocoa. “Shhhhh, young one. You made a mistake and trusted someone who deceived you. I know this was a hard lesson to learn. You are not being blamed or held to account.”

 

Tears pooled in the green eyes as Thaladir nodded. “I didn’t believe she would ever lie to me,” he wailed, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I am so sorry. I thought we had permission…” 

 

Calanon scooped the child into his lap, and held him close. “Listen to me. This is not a lesson that you should ever have experienced from someone in your family, but it happened. I do not want you to feel sorrow, I want you to hear my words. Life is long, and all you can ever do is try to make the best choices. You will make mistakes. Sometimes because of what you did not understand, sometimes for reasons outside your control. This was both of those things. No one was harmed, you are all safe. You are very young, and this was a lesson. Learn from it; next time you will know that until you are much older, you do not leave our forest without an adult.”

 

“But someone  _ was  _ hurt,” he wailed. “Those boys...they made fun of me and Chandra hit them...and then Faeleth...and they were bleeding…”

 

The ellon’s eyes widened; Maglor had not mentioned this part except to pass along that Thaladir was blameless and filled with remorse at having been lied to. “None of that was your doing, Thaladir. You are to have some hot cocoa, and rest with us. We will hunt tomorrow, and wish to discuss with you where the hounds will do the best.”

 

A long silence ensued, with several blinks. “Really?” he whispered. “And thank you for the cocoa.”

 

“Really,” Ailill said, sitting next to him and kissing the top of his head. “I want you to believe us, Thaladir. You are not in trouble, and did nothing wrong. Leave what happened alone, and trust that everything will come out right. Your adars and nana would agree with me. I know they would.”

 

Thaladir took a sip, and also looked up at Calanon, who nodded in concurrence. “Okay.”

 

**

 

“You will work alongside Melda,” Thalion said to Chandra, catching his wife’s eyes. “She is washing all the dishes from the mid day meal, and others that need cleaning.” Silent communication brought a nod from the elleth, who stopped what she was doing to find a stepping stool. A mountain of earthenware stood in front of them, as well as a tub of sudsy water and clean running hot water that flowed from a gap in the wall. 

 

“Would you rather wash, or rinse?” Melda asked cheerfully.

 

Well, it could be much worse. “I’ll rinse, if you don't want to,” Chandra said.

 

“The rest of you come with me,” Thalion commanded, leading Faeleth, Shane, Atia and Allanah away.

 

“That’s not fair,” Chandra said flatly. “They didn't do anything wrong. Aside from believe me, anyway.” The fact that Atia began to cry helped not a whit.

 

“Many things in life are not fair, young one. But the consequences of telling lies are not among them.” With that answer, Thalion turned and ushered the others away, with Maglor now holding two of their hands.

 

Melda’s eyebrows arched. This would be...interesting. A silence ensued for awhile, before she asked the question. “Do you wish to talk about what happened?” came the gentle question to Chandra.

 

“The elves are making a deliberate decision to be unfair,” she said. “I conned the others into going to town for candy, and told them we had permission. None’v them did anything wrong, but the grown-ups have decided to punish them for believing me.  _ Why _ , I don't know.” She carefully rinsed plates. “Sure, many things in life aren’t fair, but they’re choosing to make this unfair.” Which she thought was beyond bullshit, but she was hardly going to say so to Melda, given it was her husband doing it. “Because apparently adults are arbitrary, and will abuse their power over people who don't deserve it.”

 

“You seem to feel you know a great deal about how rules should be applied, even though you knowingly broke them,” Melda ventured. This child had a regrettable attitude and quite a sense of entitlement, apparently.

 

“I expected to get punished,” Chandra said, quite honestly. “And I know the innocent shouldn’t be punished. I was the one who broke the rules, not them. They didn't do anything wrong.”

 

“Yes, they did,” Melda countered. “They were outside this forest alone, something all of you know better than to do. They all could have been harmed. Did you consider what would have happened, had a car come on the road while you were going to town? Speeding? What if you had all been struck?”

 

“Yeah, but they only went because I told them we had permission,” Chandra protested. “They wouldn’t’ve gone if not for that. I mean, especially Thaladir and Atia -- they believe what they’re told.” She carefully wiped off her stack of plates. Never let it be said she half-assed her punishments. “And there’s never any cars on that road, unless they’re coming here -- and nobody who comes here drives like an idiot. I’m just...Melda, I’m sick’v living in a damn bubble. We never go  _ anywhere  _ unless it’s A Production. In Baile the kids can just go to the shop and get candy, but we’re  _ always  _ stuck in the forest. Mam and Uncle Pat got to go wandering all over when they were my age, and didn't always have an adult breathing down the back’v their necks. And I must not be the only one who feels that way, since the others believed me so easily.”

 

“Do you know why Allanah has no father, Chandra?” Melda asked, ignoring the rest of it in favor of feeling like a greater point needed to be made.

 

“He got hit by Sean the Gobshite,” Chandra said, “but Sean’s in prison still, isn’t he? I think he was the only gobshite in Lasg’len -- or he was, until Aurnia’s nephews showed up,” she added darkly, eying her scraped knuckles.

 

“Then you know that Allanah’s father was killed by a reckless driver _ exactly where you were today _ . Nothing stopped you from asking to be accompanied to town. And it is not the only time, a collision happened on that road.” She was not about to mention that Chandra’s mother had been the cause of that, either; some things the child did not need to know. “So clearly you are not correct about there ‘never’ being cars on that road or whether people drive like an idiot. Chandra, what you do not know can cost other people their lives. Did you consider that with Aran Thranduil and your father both gone, anything at all that happened to you or the other children would be beyond our aid? Forgive me but your answers to me tell me that you were only thinking of what you wanted to do. Not any of the things that could have happened to you because you did it.”

 

“I didn't,” Chandra admitted. “Think’v it, I mean. What might’ve happened. It’s just...not being accompanied was half the point, for me anyway, and I dragged them along because...because we never get to do anything without an adult around,  _ ever _ . Even when we think it’s just us in the woods, it’s not, because there’s always the guards we just can’t see. It felt...it was fun, just being all’v us. Like we were normal kids, not the weird ones that live in the woods. I know what a lot’v kids in the village think’v us, and the worst bit is, they’re right.” She paused. “Okay,  _ most’v  _ them are right. The two Johns are eejits with three brain cells between them. I shouldn’t’ve tried to drag the little kids, though. If I was going to do it, I should’ve just done it, and not involved them.”

 

She looked around, making certain no others would hear them, and added in a whisper, “They think we’re all going to wind up weird incest-y people when we grow up, because we never spend time with anyone else.”

 

Melda did not know the word ‘incest-y,’ but she had a feeling it was nothing good. She sighed. Thalion was going to owe her the foot rub of her life, for this, and that was that. “Have you considered that maybe those in the village are envious of you? Because you have many privileges that they do not?” However much she would try to give Chandra other things to consider, she would also be passing much of this on to her husband. Some of what Chandra was expressing was understandable, and perhaps the family did not know the child felt this way.

 

“I know they’re sometimes jealous’v our house,” she said. “I can’t blame them there -- I’ve never seen one that was more interesting, even on TV. And our food’s better, too, just because it’s all fresh, but...I know they’re not jealous’v...of how isolated we are, if that’s the word I want. We never just...go places, or hardly ever. Even when it’s just a family trip, it’s still A Production. Anymore, Aunt Mairead comes here, rather than us going to Baile, so we don't even get to see  _ that  _ anymore, or hardly ever. I didn't mind it when I was little, but I guess it’s been building and I just never thought to say anything.”

 

She shifted her stack of dried plates, and started rinsing bowls. “And I mean, I love my brother and sister, and all my cousins, but I want to play with more kids than just them. I know Mam and Da have both said public school in Ireland is worse than garbage, but there’s loads’v kids there. Kids we aren’t related to.”

 

“Have you ever said this to your mother or father?” Melda asked gently.

 

Chandra shook her head. “I never really put words around it myself, until now,” she said. “It was just...something that bugged me, in the background. And I guess John and John just made it...sharper? Clearer?” It was food for thought. More than enough.

 

Melda smiled, and leaned down to speak quietly. “Rîleth is baking cookies. We will be done in perhaps a half-hour. Then we can have some with milk, if you would like that.”

 

Chandra returned the smile. “I would,” she said. “Thanks for listening, Melda. And I mean actually listening, not what a lot’v grown-ups do.”

 

“You can always come and talk to me,” Melda said. “I am most always here. You might not realize it but Maerwen would listen, too. Sometimes we live so closely with others that we don’t get to know as much of what they are like. But there is also choosing your own friends, as opposed to being limited. Then again, maybe I should not say that, because then you might not come and see me again.”

 

Chandra thought about this, and grinned.

 

**

 

Thalion’s next stop was for Shane, where he was given over to Rîniel in the dairying room. “You will work with Rîniel, until she says you may go,” the ellon said sternly. In his eyes, Shane was only harder to judge. He had not been deceived at all, and had willingly participated in duping the others. And yet the idea had not originated with him. Their laws judged a willing accomplice to be nearly as culpable. Rîniel smiled, not knowing what had happened but guessing after thousands of years of errant elflings that the child had done something. Well, churning butter was excellent work for a strong young one. It tired them out, and most of them thought it fun when they didn’t do it every day. 

 

“Oh, good,” the elleth smiled. “I shall enjoy the company. Have you made butter before, Shane?” she asked cheerfully. Thalion rolled his eyes but left them alone. It was never intended to be much of a punishment, and knowing Rîniel would end up as half a reward. Turning away, he now nodded to Maglor. “You both will go with him,” he gestured. _ Eru. Well at least they were not as bad as Legolas had been when he decided to try sneaking off…. _

 

“I’ve seen it done, but I’ve never actually tried it,” he said. This was supposed to be a punishment? Well, he’d pretend it was, if anyone asked, but it actually looked kind of fun. He just hoped Atia was okay...she really had been duped, unlike him.

 

“Butter is made from only the cream,” Rîniel explained. “And cream rises to the top of milk. We place the milk into these large jars, and then the following day I use this tool to ladle off the cream. The cream goes into this churn,” she demonstrated. “So you need to move the plunger like this, and at some point we will have butter and buttermilk. Here, you try.”

 

Shane took it, carefully. It was heavy, but that was no surprise, though he was careful as he brought it down again -- he didn't want to break the bottom of the churn, though he also doubted that was actually possible, since it was elf-made. “What do you do with all the buttermilk?” he asked. “Aunt Earlene makes buttermilk pancakes sometimes, but I know you have to wind up with way more than that, making all this butter.”

 

“It is used to make some of the breads rise, but many of us like to drink it. With some salt and seasoning, it is delicious if you are used to the taste. It also goes into sauces, dressings and soups, on account of the tangy flavor. And if we have a great deal left over, sometimes it will be taken to the pigs at the farm. It is very nutritious,” she added enthusiastically. “You are doing that just right. It can take awhile, so try to find a steady rhythm that does not leave you feeling too tired all at once. Better to go slower so you can keep on, than go too fast in the beginning.”

 

It took him a bit to find a rhythm, and there was already tension in his shoulders -- he’d be doing what Da often did at the end of the day later, and going for a soak in the big tub downstairs. Still, this was so totally not even a punishment. “How come elves don't wind up with bodybuilder muscles, from all the work you do? Is it just because you’re elves?” He would not be at all surprised if the answer was ‘yes’. Many of the differences between them and the humans seemed to be ‘because they’re elves’.

 

“I cannot answer that,” Rîniel smiled. “But I do not think we look so different than the farmers and others that work with our hands, that are not elves. Of old there were ellyn that worked the forges all day, and some of them had very muscular bodies. But that made sense, on account of the difficulty of the work.”

 

What Shane did not realize is that after the churning was done, Rîniel needed help sampling the cheeses. All the delicious cheeses….

 

**

 

Maglor brought them to the music room, carrying Atia now, who had grown quite upset. “Shhh, little one. You are not in trouble, but right now your brother and sister need to think otherwise, so they can learn from their mistakes.” 

 

Faeleth, listening to the words phlegmatically, smiled a little. “Uncle Kana, I made a mistake too. I did know better but I...forgot. It sounded like fun and I did not stop to think. I am very sorry.”

 

He sat, and regarded her. “We all make mistakes, child, and I know you will not make this one again. I am...proud of you, for what you did with those boys. You showed wisdom well beyond your years.” He frowned a little, for there was much about the incident he could not reconcile, but...he had the wits to know this was not his child and it was not his place to delve this matter.

 

Atia, still sniffling, curled into a tiny ball. “We just wanted candy,” she said. “And it’s fun, not having a grown-up there. I thought it was okay. Chandra said it was okay.”

 

Maglor hugged her close, rubbing her back. “Chandra did not tell the truth, Atia, and the reason to have a grown-up there was to protect you. You can be hurt, outside the forest. When you are much older, you will be allowed this freedom but right now you are too small. All of you. And with your parents away, we are responsible for your safety. The rule is, you do not leave the forest without an adult. No exceptions. I know you did not understand this well enough and you are not being blamed, but now you  _ do _ know. There is nothing wrong with wanting candy. One of us would have made it so you could have had candy and some fun, and still be safe. We are family, and family means we cooperate and respect each other.”

 

“Nobody’s going to kill Chandra, are they?” she asked, looking up at him. “She gets scary sometimes, but she’s still my sister. And when the Johns made Thaladir cry she went and made them sorry, and then Faeleth made them sorrier.” She could probably say that much without giving Faeleth away. “So, she’s kind’v useful in a way.”

 

“No one kills children or anyone else here,” he said, the words clenching in his chest. “We are hoping to teach Chandra why what she did was wrong, so she can learn. Melda will talk with her, while they work together. I hoped we could do something different. I wondered if you would like Faeleth to teach you a little of how she dances.”

 

Atia’s eyes widened. “Really? Faeleth, would you? Last time I tried to dance I tripped over the Lump.”

 

Maglor smiled, and placed Atia down to sit at the large harp in the center of the room. “I will play a very simple tune, so you have something to dance to. Faeleth will do the rest.”

 

With a grin, Faeleth did just that, demonstrating what to do with her feet, while she took Atia’s hand...

 

*****

 

Lorna had done her PA homework and found a wonderful little restaurant, La Bottega Del Buon Caffé. Apparently Italians liked eating dinner late -- none of the restaurants she’d cased online opened before seven in the evening. This one didn't open until 7:30, but it looked good enough to be worth the wait. The interior was lovely -- soft greys, slate blues, and lavenders, with walls either of brickwork or made up of huge shelves of wine. There were chandeliers at various intervals, but quite interesting ones -- her favorite was made of branches, and wouldn’t have looked out-of-place in Eldamar. Everywhere were tiny, twinkling fairy lights, and it gave the place a soft glow not unlike that of firelight.

 

The chairs, upholstered in pale grey, were fat and comfy (and huge; naturally, she had to hop to get up on one), the crystal real, the silverware heavy, and how any place this swanky could call itself something as simple as ‘café’...either the word meant something different here, or fine-dining restaurants were so posh you wouldn’t dare breathe in one.

 

There was something sad about being in the wine capital of the world (sorry, France) and being unable to drink much, but Ratiri, possibly fearing retribution from Earlene if he refused, told her she could taste-test a few without an issue, and have a small glass of whichever she liked best.

 

“You know,” she said, “even after ten years, part’v me’s still surprised I can afford to eat in a place like this.” She was also glad there was a tablecloth, because her feet were dangling well off the floor.

 

“Even I wouldn’t have, before I met this lot,” he said. “I could have afforded it, but...I just wouldn’t have done it. I wasted so much time, being the next best thing to a hermit.”

 

“I wasn’t much better,” she said, scanning the menu. “I mean, I got out plenty in Baile, but I hardly ever left. I went to Dublin maybe two or three times a year, if that; going to Lasg’len to help Mick was a pretty big thing for me. And to think I almost didn't do it.”

 

Ratiri looked at her, surprised. “Really?”

 

“Really,” she said, with a rueful smile. “It’d be a long time away from home -- away from the place I felt safe. It was Mairead who drove me into doing it. She told me Mick was my friend, and I’d regret it if I didn't. For once in her life, she was actually right, though don't tell her I said so. It’d just go to her head.”

 

He laughed before he could help it. “Well, I think everyone’s glad you went,” he said. “Earlene would have got the you-know-who’s identities sooner or later, but it would have been rather more difficult, and taken possibly far more time. Not to mention, finding someone to turn all their treasure into cash. None of them exactly had connections to the criminal underworld.”

 

Lorna laughed. “That’s because they’re better people than me. Or at least, than I was.”

 

**

 

“Eru, I needed this,” Thranduil said, as he leaned back in his chair. Four bottles of wine were on the table, and they were finishing the last of the delicious meal. As Thranduil progressed through the vintages, Earlene sipped here and there. Sort of like her private wine tasting. She really did not even feel like having glasses to herself; the important thing was to try them. Thanadir was trying to work his way to the bottom of an impressive zabaglione that had been served with a side of regional honeycakes. It was possible she was hitting the velociraptor stage of pregnancy, because since they arrived her appetite had spiraled to new heights, and there was not a gelato she didn’t like.

 

“I am just glad it worked out,” Earlene smiled. “I was worried that it would all sort of crumble when Lorna’s good news came about. I think...I think we need to find a way before the outer world changes to have times like this without leaving home.” Her eyebrows raised up. “Years ago, you took me to a...some random bedroom? That was not so far off the dungeons. And we had a very nice time, uninterrupted and completely overlooked. Why don’t we claim one of those rooms to have as a hideaway? If you were desperately needed, you’d still be there, but otherwise no one would know where to find us.”

 

Thanadir looked up from his dessert to stare at her. “The Irish do not seem to like the prison cells,” he smirked.

 

“Which is why proximity to them has such appeal to me, since I do not mind them at all,” Earlene grinned. “They are sort of like a force field. I’m rather fond of them.”

 

“I might be able to choose a very nice place,” the seneschal opined. “Believe it or not there are even suites of rooms down there. Some of them quite luxurious. And yet even in bygone times they were not considered to be...how do you say it…”

 

“Prime Real Estate?” Earlene ventured, which caused Thranduil to laugh.

 

“Valar help me, I love this idea,” the King grinned, thoroughly relaxed and contented. “There will come a time when going far away simply will not be possible. And yet this is an elegant solution. However, there are no thermal pools down there, just so you know. It is all too close to where the river once ran so freely.”

 

“Oh, it will run freely again,” Earlene said. “Remember how we once talked about blowing dams upstream? Orla long ago worked out how to open the spill gates, and then cause their system to go down afterward. We have begun drafting a list of critical things for her to try and achieve once the plague hits but before the grid goes down. Rendering the dams so that they simply drain gradually makes a great deal of sense, and in the middle of a major pandemic surely one wayward but serious hydrologic problem won’t attract too much notice.”

 

Thranduil blinked. “You worry me. Keep up the good work.” All of them snickered into their wine, and Thranduil did not even object when Earlene spooned some gelato into his mouth.  _ Hazelnut. That tastes good… _

  
  


*****

 

Ortherion appeared in the upstairs bedroom he and Lothiriel occupied off and on, to see her reading quietly. She looked up, smiling, only to see the unhappiness written on her husband’s face. “Do you know where the children are?” he asked, as if he did not know the difference. 

 

“They are playing in the recreation room with the Duncan children,” she replied, placing a marker in her book.

 

Ortherion said nothing for a few moments. “Please come with me, Lothiriel. We need to have a discussion with Maerwen, and it cannot wait.” Her book was laid on the table, and now she was wondering quite a lot at Ortherion’s demeanor. They walked across the bridge to the other wing of the house, where Ortherion paused for a moment to give his wife a moment to notice that the children were most assuredly  _ not _ playing in the recreation room below.

 

“Where are they?” she said, puzzled, for she had heard Thaladir’s voice below, and Calanon speaking. 

 

“That is what we need to discuss. Most of them have been taken to the Halls by Thalion, Maglor, and myself. And I have just returned.”   
  


“Thalion?” she said, now worried. For the Captain to have any involvement with the children was most irregular. “Why? What is wrong?”

 

“They are being disciplined, for having left the forest to go to town, alone, on that infernal sofa.”

 

Her eyes widened in horror. “But I just checked on them less than thirty minutes ago. They were all here and...I do not understand.”

 

He sighed. “I know you do not. And before you think I am blaming you, I am aware that the children should have been old enough not to require being surveilled constantly. And yet that this has happened that perhaps suggests otherwise.”

 

“Are they alright? Were they hurt?” Terror was creeping into her voice. To fail at the simple task of keeping the King’s children safe in their own home...it did not bear thinking about.

 

“They are fine, in that regard. But I feel like the duty to have kept this from happening fell most squarely on us, not the others. It is humiliating, that Hîr Thalion should have to be involved in this in any manner. I feel...disgraced, Lothiriel.”

 

“I am sorry,” she said to her husband, her chin beginning to tremble. 

 

“No. That does us no good, right now. Which is why we must all discuss this.” Having reached Maerwen’s door, they knocked, to find that she had been doing much the same as Lothiriel, if the book in her hand was any indication. One look at their faces wiped her smile away.

 

“What happened?” she asked, setting her book aside.

 

Ortherion related matters as Maglor had shared the with the other ellyn present. “...so while I am not casting blame at you, Maerwen, it does not change that the older Duncan children were at the root of this, and poor little Atia had the misfortune to be caught up in her siblings’ foolishness. I do not have to tell you that the children could have been….Eru,” he said, massaging his forehead. 

 

Maerwen groaned, paling. “I didn't think any of them would do such a thing,” she said. “They’ve never done anything like it, or close to it...but there are no parents home.” She massaged her forehead. “Never before have all the parents been away at once, without them. I should have realized Chandra would try to do something.”

 

Lothiriel shook her head. “You could not have foreseen this any more than I did. I would not have believed the peredhel or Allanah would go along with something like this...except that they were successfully deceived. And while they are good children, they are still just that, children. There is nothing wrong with having wanted candy, or to have an adventure. It is just that...I cannot help reeling at what I would say, what I could possibly say to their parents had one of them taken injury.”

 

“It is best not thought of,” Maerwen said, trying desperately not to do just that. “But they are safe now...what are we going to do, once they are through with their punishments? What of tomorrow?”

 

“They are not being punished. More like, they are being taught. Thalion took Chandra to Melda, in the hopes that as they worked together that Melda could both perhaps listen and instruct. How that will fare, I do not know. I am actually not certain what Thalion and Maglor fully intended, because after ensuring that the children made it there I was more or less dismissed,” said Ortherion miserably. Thalion’s ‘taking over’ was as good as saying, ‘if you cannot perform your duty, I will.’

 

Maerwen sighed. Lorna and Ratiri would not thank her for going easy on the children, but neither could she be overly hard. Poor little Atia, she was certain, was blameless anyway. “Thalion,” she said, “has never tried to watch a large group of children, all of whom have previously given no indication they would ever do such a thing, and one of whom is Chandra Duncan. If he believes he has any place to judge us there…” She shook her head. “I will send Chandra and Shane to work in the Halls each day, until their parents return. It will keep them out of mischief, and perhaps, as you say, they will learn something.”

 

“If you feel that is best,” said Lothiriel worriedly. “But...there is something I would like to say. I have no right to say it, but I trust this can stay between us? The older children are getting just that...older. And yet there are few other mortal children that ever come here. Some have come, that are Saoirse’s age, and it has not gone so well. I mean, she has not seemed happier for having had them visit. The two children with Geezer’s wife...I am sorry, they are horrid boys. The Duncan children are alone here, rarely interacting with others from the outside. When our elflings were little, they had playmates. These children have only each other. And us, and the forest. I...they do not leave this place, much. We are content to live here, but perhaps they are not?”

 

“You are very likely right,” Maerwen said. “They  _ are  _ rather isolated here, and if that was not at least partly the reason for this, I would be quite surprised. And while I know the older children care for the younger, I must wonder if they would not, at times, wish to be free of them. Chandra and Shane take Atia with them everywhere, but Atia is one little one.”

 

She thought about Lorna’s coming baby, and worried. “And now there are four new babies on the way...I will talk with Lorna and Ratiri, but I think that perhaps we need to start giving the older children the option to separate from the younger. Their ages -- both mental and physical -- are too different to always keep them in one group.”

 

“That has begun to happen a little, with the peredhel already. Ithiliel and Eleniel are forming their own interests. Mentally they are now many years ahead of Allanah, who is really more of a peer to Shane and Chandra but of very different temperament. I will be honest...the twin girls have confided some observations to me about Chandra that worry me. They do not trust her. While they love her, I think they honestly view her as a little...unstable. And it is my perception that they have kept these thoughts from Allanah. They love their sister, but especially this last year and a half I have watched them pull away and stick very closely together. It is not like...before. In fact, had the elder twins been here instead of working with Sharley at the farm today, it is my guess that this escapade would not have happened or would have involved only the Duncan children.” She massaged her forehead. “It is very hard, blending the children of the two races.” 

 

“What have they observed?” Maerwen asked. She knew that Lorna and Pat’s family had an unpleasant history of...problems, but she had never witnessed Chandra do anything that worried her. She had a bit of a penchant for mischief, yes, but she was also nine years old, and until now had never done anything serious -- that Maerwen had seen.

 

With a sigh, Lothiriel related what the twins had told them about Chandra some years back, when Quen and Kana were to come here for the first time; what Chandra believed about the two ellyn and Earlene from things they had overheard. Or thought they had overheard. As well as random smatterings of comments that just showed a lack of...normal empathy, for others outside of their family. Not to mention, Chandra’s ability to be so terribly self-assured from the vast perspective of an nine year-old human child.

 

Maerwen sighed, now more worried than ever. “And we must bring this to her parents’ attention while Lorna is newly with child,” she said. “Perhaps we really  _ do _ need to take them out into the world more -- if we had been all this time, this might never have been a problem. Perhaps she lacks empathy for those beyond our borders because she so rarely sees anyone.”

 

With a frown, she added, “I also believe she is bored. She is more intelligent than she lets on, I am sure of that, and she is already obviously brighter than most her age. She and Shane alike, and yet they have seen no problems in him?”

 

Ortherion broke in. “No, none at all. Even Thaladir enjoys Shane’s company, and you know how he is. He is Hîr Thanadir’s son in spirit, there is no question. Shane does not ever curse, whereas Chandra does, which alone causes Thaladir to not wish to be near her. Plus they are both males. But...there is another problem. None of us have the driver’s licenses, or know how to drive. I will be honest, I do not  _ want _ to know how. We will need help. But others in this home can drive. Quen, Thanadir, Ailill, even Calanon can do that now. And...perhaps none of this is for us to say, but...I would help if I knew how. We have loved these children all their lives, and it grieves me to think they are lacking.”

 

“Grania and Lorna the Younger both drive as well,” Maerwen said. “Pat spends most of his days working in the Halls, but those two run their business from Eldamar. And I would not be averse to getting one, so long as I do not have Hîril Earlene’s instructor.” Word of  _ that _ had made the rounds, naturally. “I think Lorna’s friend Orla can take care of that, though I will need lessons from someone -- and  _ not  _ from Lorna. Her driving is less terrifying, but she is still very...aggressive.”

 

“Earlene and Hîr Thanadir both are quite reasonable. As is Ailill.” Lothiriel giggled. “They  _ all _ have a reputation for reasonable driving, those that do not live in this wing of the home.”

 

“Whereas the only sane driver on this side is Grania,” Maerwen said, a little dryly. “And I have my doubts about her, if some of the things Pat has said are trustworthy. Though I wonder…” She frowned again. “I know that the Donovan family has not, historically, been a stable one. Hîr Thranduil has fixed what Lorna called the Blank in all of them, but I wonder what else lurks in their history, that none of them know about. And if any of it has perhaps been passed down to Chandra, yet not to Shane.”

 

“I do not presume to understand what is wrong with....what happened,” Lothiriel shook her head sadly. “I hear things, as I am sure you have too. It is difficult; we are family and yet I think we also know that we are not. I am a simple elleth, and those matters are beyond my understanding. I will be truthful, I am looking forward to the new elflings. Babies, I know what to do. All of these things? Not so much.”

 

“I am going to be a pessimist,” Maerwen said, “and hope all these new babies do not merely make the problem worse.”

 

Ortherion glanced at his wife nervously and took her hand, in a gesture that he hoped reassured.

 

_ ***** _

{October 10, 2026}

 

The flight home was uneventful, the drive home was uneventful. Earlene spent much of the time ruminating over the particularly amazing sexual escapades the three of them had shared the last night of their stay in Italy. There were many downsides to pregnancy, but orgasms late in the first three months were not one of them.   _ And you need to stop having children, Earlene. Seriously...it’s enough. Yes, accidents happen, but at this point I have to half pray to the Valar that I find the means to stop wishing for this because wishes aren’t always the...oh whatever. Maybe Aman needs more elves, or something. Moving right along.  _

 

She did not notice the smile Thanadir or Thranduil gave her as she looked out the window while Thranduil drove. Mostly, she was looking forward to seeing their children. Lorna and Ratiri seemed content enough, too. Oddly they had indeed not spent so much time with their friends on this trip but what little time they had was truly enjoyable. And most importantly, Thranduil seemed completely refreshed. As the one to whom everyone else looked, it was quite important that he be helped to keep balanced. She checked her mobile; having let Ailill know they had landed and were on their way back, his only reply was a smiley face.  _ Was that a good thing? Well, probably it had been quite dull in their absence. And as they were now almost home, they would know quite soon.  _

 

They drove along, winding slowly through the few streets in town, when Earlene spotted John and John and waved, only to see the two boys bolt in the opposite direction at a dead run. “What do you suppose _ that _ is about?” she murmured. “And did you see their faces? I need to talk to Geezer, they are bruised like they have been beaten.”

 

“They probably pissed off some kids in town,” Lorna said, “but it might be good to find out. Hell, maybe they snuck into the greenhouses again and one’v our kids did that. And by ‘ours’, I mean Ratiri’s and mine.”

 

_ Well that’s disturbing,  _ Earlene thought, electing to say no more. Vacation was not allowed to wear off before they even entered the front door. The usual cacophony occurred as they made their way inside, and were mobbed by children and grown persons and...everything. They made greetings, gave hugs, got settled, and within the next twenty minutes or so, adult time was underway in the Heart Room...it had nearly become an unspoken rule that when someone returned to the roost an informal meeting called “What Did We Miss” happened...they had all learned it was simply easier this way.

 

Maglor stood and spoke clearly but quietly. “As the one with the strongest mental gifts, it was decided that I would be the one to tell you of an minor unfortunate occurrence while you were away.” He sighed deeply, and related all that he had come to understand of what had gone on with the children. When he finished, he cast down his eyes. “They were our responsibility and this was our shortcoming. Even though they came to no harm, please forgive us. I think I speak for all of us who were here when I say that we feel deeply grieved at what transpired.”

 

Thranduil blinked. As did Thanadir, and Earlene.

 

Lorna groaned. “I should’ve known she’d try something,” she said, facepalming. “She’s never had all’v us away before. I’ll talk to her -- Ratiri, allanah, can you talk to Shane and Atia, and then we’ll all meet up? I'm not surprised she did it, but I want to know just  _ why _ .” Knowing that would help keep it -- or something like it -- from happening again, because she knew her daughter. Chandra just wouldn’t drag anyone with her next time she got a wild hair.

 

“I will,” he said. “Don't stress yourself, Lorna.”

 

She eyed him. “Right now you saying that is stressing me more than I bet she will,” she said pointedly.

 

Earlene had quite another thing to ponder. There was no doubt in her mind that their children were...hoodwinked.  _ But Faeleth...just, what? _ She looked at Thanadir, to see he appeared to be just as startled as she was. 

 

“I think the sensible thing to do is for us to speak to everyone involved. To tell the truth, the one I am most interested in is Melda. Most of you do not know her as Thanadir, Calanon and I do. She is a wise and insightful elleth, and if anyone could have learned something of Chandra’s mind, it would have been her. But this hardly strikes me as a crisis. You did very well, those of you here, and you would hardly be the first ones duped by a child determined to go off and have fun. That being said, your seriousness and diligence to guide each of them according to their needs are much appreciated. Please be at ease. We will hardly survive the future, if we allow ourselves to lose perspective over something this...manageable.”

 

“Lemme get your stuff,” Sharley said, taking Lorna’s bags. “Chandra’s in the greenhouse.”

 

“Thanks,” Lorna said, heading off.

 

Ratiri sighed. “I suppose it had to happen sooner or later. Where are Shane and Atia?”

 

“With Saoirse. Shane wanted to go with Chandra, but she drove him off,” Sharley said.

 

“Of course she did. That poor kid...I wish...well. We’ll see how this goes.” Off Ratiri went, and Sharley followed, lugging Lorna’s bags.

 

_ ***** _

 

{October 15, 2026}

 

Angie had no idea how Sharley and the Duncan-Donovans could make this flight a few times every year. They’d sprung and put her in business class, or she might have lost her mind.

 

It was also rather disorienting to leave in the morning and arrive in the morning, despite the flight being nearly 20 hours (including a long layover in Iceland, which was at least beautiful). She’d never traveled outside of North America before; she and Alan had gone to Canada and Alaska a few times, but those were mostly road trips. Airline time, for her, was limited.

 

Sharley met her at the airport, in the green van she recognized as the Mystery Machine. Angie was relieved to see she looked well -- they’d kept in contact, but Sharley could be very hard to read over Skype. In person, she looked rested, content -- there was light in her eyes, and a little smile always hovering over her mouth. Things were obviously going well, including whatever it was she had with Maglor (and even Sharley herself did not seem able to define just what those things might be, other than things that made her happy).

 

“So how are things?” Angie asked. “How are they really? Have you been working on your steps?”

 

“Kinda?” Sharley offered. “Sometimes Lorna and I get together and eat ice cream and cry a little, and I make really horrible jokes about what happened, but we’ve kinda...kept it to ourselves. I know she talks to Ratiri, and I tell Maglor a little, but for the most part, it’s been easier, so far, to keep it just with us -- and not just easier on  _ us _ , but easier on everyone else.” She hadn’t missed Ratiri’s shocked expression at her joke, and so hadn’t repeated one around anyone but Lorna.

 

Angie frowned. It would be difficult on the rest of them, but they needed to be able to handle hearing about it, if Sharley ever chose to express it, or it would just make the poor woman clam right up again. She couldn’t continue expressing it only to Lorna; that wasn’t going to be ultimately healthy for either of them. “You should talk to Earlene more about it, as well,” she said. “You and Lorna can help one another, but you shouldn’t be each other’s only help, in that.” She was fairly certain that Lorna was not as well as she believed herself to be: the woman had an almost pathological fear of what she referred to as ‘dwelling on things’, and so tended to ignore what should not be ignored. Apparently her sister had insisted, all the time they’d known each other, that she dwelled, and Angie would rather like to read that woman the riot act over the damage it had done.

 

Sharley, it would seem, had been good for her there: Sharley was someone she could allow herself to think about it with and not be afraid she was dwelling, because Sharley had undergone the same thing and come out even worse. If she told herself she was helping Sharley, she could allow herself to think about it without being afraid she was ‘dwelling’ (honestly, Angie really, really needed Mairead’s number, because trying to undo  _ that  _ bit of thinking was going to take a lot more work).

 

“Earlene’s pregnant,” Sharley protested. “With  _ triplets _ . She doesn't need this dropped on her head.”

 

“You should let that be her decision,” Angie said. “You’ve picked up a bad habit from Lorna -- in keeping things to yourself so much, you don't give others the choice to make the effort. Earlene is a strong woman, and an honest one. If she can’t help you with something, she’ll tell you.”

 

Sharley said nothing, but Angie knew she was turning it over. Prior to meeting this group, Sharley was often silent; she listened to everything, but she rarely spoke unless she actually had something to say.

 

Eldamar was just as she remembered it, though this time of year the trees blazed red, yellow, and gold, the colors all the brighter against the dull grey sky. The rain had tapered off while they drove from Dublin, but the air was still very damp -- rather like home.

 

She was greeted by dogs and several children -- the three Duncan kids and Allanah -- who helped her manhandle what little luggage she’d brought into the spare room. It was lovely and warm inside, and smelled of bread and herbs.

 

“Remember,” Sharley said, “don't take a nap yet or your system’ll be wonky the for the next three days. There’s plenty of kinds of tea, if you need caffeine.”

 

“Whatever you’ve got that’s strong,” Angie said, “but then I want to talk to you for a while, Sharley. I’ll talk to Lorna later, and I would like to talk to Maglor as well. I know he’s not the most trusting of outsiders, but I think it would be good to have a discussion with him as well.”

 

“I told him you would,” Sharley said, shooing the children away. “He’s ready for it.”

 

“Does he know that he can end the session at any time?” Angie asked, already unloading her clothing into the dresser.

 

“Yeah.” Sharley grinned. “I’ve kissed him a few times. No tongue or anything, but...you know. I kissed him.” She sounded as delighted as a teenager. Given what had been done to her, the fact that she could even do that much -- that she  _ wanted _ to do that much -- was immense progress. “That’s a good thing, right?”

 

“So long as you’re comfortable, it’s definitely a good thing,” Angie said. Sitting on the bed, she patted the spot beside her. “So tell me about these jokes. I’m glad that you’ve found a way to humorize it.”

 

“Well,  _ I  _ think they’re funny, but I'm not sure anyone else but Lorna does,” Sharley said dryly, sitting beside her. “I mean, we somehow wound up on the subject -- I can’t remember how -- but I said now I know why I’ve always hated yoga because I got fucked half unconscious on yoga mat. Ratiri’s expression...he didn't say anything, but I’m not sure they’re gonna want to hear it. That it might be too morbid.”

 

“Give them the chance,” Angie said firmly. “I trust you aren’t telling them around the children.”

 

“Oh, hell no,” Sharley said, twitching. “God. Absolutely not. I just -- this is the only way I can think of to make it not have any power over me anymore. It happened, and it sucks, and I don't want to be ashamed to talk about it, but I don't want to _ talk  _ talk about it -- I just want to be able to make a joke and write it off.” It helped that, now that she could think of Maglor, she no longer felt guilty for enjoying the actual sensations of the dreams. It was a strange dichotomy, thinking about her husband -- who she still viewed in a very pure light -- while dreaming about getting rape-fucked half senseless by a creature thinking of nothing but the base physical. Still, thinking of Maglor’s eyes made even the ugliness of the dreams seem cleaner. Whenever they did manage to go there -- which might still be years off, for all she knew -- she was certain he wouldn’t be like that. He’d be careful. Gentle. He’d allow her to _ participate _ , rather than just have things done  _ to  _ her. He’d make certain she’d feel valued, and loved. And if the seeds of that, of associating him with these feelings, had to be born out of what that worthless son of a bitch had done to her...then the joke was on the bastard.

 

“Well, we’ll talk with the others,” Angie said. “We can talk one-on-one if you like, or as a group. Meanwhile, I’d kill for tea.”

 

“No need to do that in this house,” Sharley said. “C’mon, I'm sure there’s leftover breakfast somewhere.”

  
  
  



	129. One Hundred and Twenty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October 15, 2026- March 28, 2027
> 
> **Warning, for therapy session involving rape recovery**

 

Angie talked to Sharley and Lorna separately, once she had been adequately caffeinated. She’d been assured there was coffee in the house, to, but that wasn’t something she wanted until she slept off the jet lag, lest she be unable to sleep it off.

 

Both women had made progress, but not as much as she would have liked. Sharley was coming to terms with it slowly, but her coping mechanisms were only partially healthy. She still leaned too heavily on Lorna, and Angie continued suggesting she bring Earlene into the fold as well. Her not wanting to speak of it to males, even Maglor, was understandable, but Earlene was human and female and, from all Angie had ever seen of her, quite psychologically resilient.

 

Lorna was better, and yet she was not. Now that Thranduil had taken the horror from her memories (and Angie honestly questioned the wisdom in that, no matter how noble his intentions; it fed into Lorna’s biggest problem) she was once again distancing herself, distracting herself, pushing it away rather than ‘dwelling’ on it. She had a persistent fear of ‘dwelling’ that Angie had eventually traced back to her sister. Her sister, whom Angie would like Words with.

 

Lorna had assured her that Mairead always meant well -- she just often sucked at the execution. Good intentions cut no ice with Angie, however, when they became actively harmful -- and Lorna’s fear of ‘dwelling’ was crippling her ability to process what had been done to her.

 

“I eat ice cream and cry, sometimes,” the tiny woman protested. “It kind’v...bleeds it off.”

 

“In time, you need to do more than bleed it off,” Angie said. “Until you do, it will always be there, and always need draining. You no longer remember the dreams with any psychological immediacy, but it sounds as though you’re still deferring thinking about the fact that something very like it was done to you. I’m going to give you homework: for the next three months, I want you to take the words ‘dwelling’ and ‘obsessing’ out of your vocabulary.”

 

“That won’t be easy,” Lorna said, wincing a little, “but I’ll give it a go.”

 

Angie smiled. “There’s more,” she said. “I want you to do the same thing I told Sharley to do: give people the chance to discover for themselves what they can or can’t handle, when it comes to speaking about this. In keeping this to yourselves, thinking you’re protecting them, you’re denying the opportunity to help.”

 

Frowning, Lorna tucked her knees under her chin. “Funny, Thranduil said something like that to me ages -- years -- ago,” she said.

 

“Thranduil,” Angie said, “is a very smart elf, and he knows you very well. It would pay to listen to his suggestions, even when they’re difficult.”

 

“I hate when you’re right,” Lorna grumbled. “I hate when  _ he’s  _ right.”

 

“Yes, well, both of us are,” Angie said. “Take those two words out of your vocabulary, and when something strikes a nerve, allow yourself to feel those feelings, and think those thoughts, and let them pass through you. Don't try to suppress them, but don't be so afraid of dwelling that you wind up doing just that. Examining what you feel and why you feel it is healthy, and if you’re afraid you’ll dwell, talk about it. And not with your sister.”

 

That drew a small laugh from Lorna. “But what do I do if someone tells me I  _ am  _ dwelling?”

 

“Ask them why they say so. What behaviors are giving them that impression -- you can’t see the whole of yourself, Lorna. No one can. But if we’re lucky, we have people in our lives we can trust to point out things that are out-of-character or unhealthy. You live in a household of people who love you -- you and Sharlely both do. Don't shut them out. I know that’s not an easy request for either of you to fulfill, but I’m certain you can.”

 

_ Oy, yay _ , Lorna thought. Still, she’d do her best. Even if it didn't work right off, surely it would eventually.

 

*****

 

Thranduil sat with his hands folded in his lap, his bearing elegant, and he was as nervous as he could recall feeling. Why, he did not know. He had met other mortals who were professionals in their disciplines, but not quite like this. Maybe it was simply that it felt very odd, disconcerting. Here he could see into the minds of others as few could, but in front of him was someone who actually knew based on the best of their scientific understanding what to do with that information. Unlike him. He reflected on the sum of things he had done for others in the realm of….mental health...and now found himself worried more than ever that perhaps he had made mistakes. Regardless, it felt much like a moment of accountability, whether or not it was meant to be one; and yet he would be the first to admit his feelings were self-imposed. This firieth seemed very kind, very...nice.

 

“All right, Thranduil,” Angie said, “the first thing I want to ask is, how are  _ you  _ bearing up? There’s a lot of mental turmoil under your roof right now, and not just from Sharley and Lorna. You have stress pressing in from multiple sides right now.”

 

“Better since we went on a holiday,” he smiled. “When I elected to make contact with the human world I did not expect that these kinds of goings-on would form the chief source of strain on me. But when you have no choice but to hear what occurs in the minds of others…” he looked away. “And I am certain that by now you have gained awareness that rape is no ordinary crime in the eyes of my people. That this happened, and seems to be the unwanted gift that will not stop giving has been very difficult to weather emotionally.”

 

“I would imagine so,” Angie said. “Especially coming from more than one source. I'm afraid that it’s unlikely to stop giving soon, though I’ve given both Sharley and Lorna coping homework. I’ve encouraged both to speak with Earlene about this, but I want to make certain Earlene could handle it just now, given that she’s pregnant. I realize that neither are likely to want to speak to a man -- or rather, a male -- yet, but they might well get there in time. My goal is for there to be a time they can speak of it without shame or guilt, because then the need to speak of it might be lesser.”

 

She sighed. “And I would very much appreciate your help with one thing. Lorna has an almost pathological fear of ‘dwelling’ that’s crippling her ability to cope in a healthy manner. This fear has its roots in her sister, and it’s so acute that she scarcely lets herself think of it at all, because she believes that doing so is dwelling. Having done that for so long is part of why her connection with Sharley’s mind hit her as hard as it did. I want to talk to her sister, and make it known that that behavior, that criticism, needs to stop, if it is in fact still ongoing.”

 

Thranduil looked away. He had reflected on the inevitability of this moment for months. Prayed about it even. Which did not make what he had to say any easier. “Angie...the problems with Lorna run deeper than you have any way of understanding. I have wrestled with whether or not I can fully disclose these matters to you because…” he looked up at her, hoping some last minute insight could tell him if this was fully safe. He did not, did NOT want to have to wipe this woman’s memory of his words if this failed but there might be no other choice. “Because what I have to tell you involves the commission of a serious crime. At least, that is how it would be judged in your world. To my eyes it was necessary justice. I need to know how deep your willingness to keep your silence runs.”

 

Well, that was...ominous. “Is anyone in present danger?” she asked. That would inform whatever she was likely to do next.

 

“No, not unless you count Lorna’s long-term well being as ‘anyone’.”

 

Angie drew a deep breath. “Very well,” she said. “Tell me, and I’ll do what I can for her.”

 

Thranduil nodded. “A little over five years ago, we were called by Ailill late at night to Galway, because his life was in danger....” He spoke carefully, relating the matter in detail. “What you need to know of how this matter ended up is that Lorna herself killed the attacker who was an established rapist. But it did not stop there. From that night forward she genuinely believes she killed  _ Von Ratched _ , even though she was fully present when the real Avathar was actually slain. No one knows of this aside from those who were present that night; Earlene, Thanadir and myself. Even Ailill never knew precisely what occurred; he was under command not to inquire for his own good. And then there is the matter of Lorna’s beliefs about her daughter Atia…” Some tears streaked down his face. “I have been so afraid for my friend, but at least she had achieved a measure of stability and happiness. The only thing I knew is that how to heal her lay beyond me. Ratiri cannot know, about the...deaths. He is ill-equipped to understand that there are evils in this world that have only one cure. I have not known what to do.”

 

Angie stared at him helplessly. These poor people...they needed a small army of psychiatrists, not just her. “Thranduil, with regard to the former, I'm going to be honest with you,” she said. “I’m not trained to deal with something of that magnitude. I’m going to have to do a lot of research before I feel comfortable even  _ suggesting  _ a course of action. For something of that totality, and that long-held, standard treatments would do more harm than good. I’m going to have to tailor something to her, once I have a clear idea how, but until then, I don't dare touch it.

 

“Atia, on the other hand, I believe I can work with. It sounds very like she has simply taken Earlene’s suggestion too much to heart, and it’s entrenched itself. Unlike with that...man, she was fully herself and aware when she found Atia, and some part of her still knows the truth. Actually  _ dealing  _ with that will be a more delicate issue, and I think it will definitely require your help. Have you seen her memory of finding Atia?”

 

“Yes,” he said miserably. “I understand, about the...other. But in my heart I believed that asking you to help heal her of her rape without your being aware of this would have been deeply unfair to your time and efforts. I should also tell you that while it is very difficult for me, a strain, I do have the ability to show memories. Share, mental images. Though it is certainly easier for me to speak of them instead.”

 

Angie sighed. “I’ve seen people shatter for far less than she has endured,” she said. “But, if you can at all manage it, it would be best for you to show her the memories, not speak of them. If she sees them, she has no means to deny it to herself. She can’t shut down and refuse to listen, as she might well do if you just told her about them. Unlike with...Avathar, part of her must know, deep down, that she did not give birth to Atia -- especially now that she’s truly pregnant again. She can’t really try to pretend she was pregnant with Atia when she’s faced once again with the real deal.”

 

She looked away, and then back at Thranduil. “And this is pure speculation, but knowing what I do of her, I will guess that part of why she has so convinced herself she gave birth to Atia is desire to be like Earlene -- Earlene, who, as she once said, handles pregnancy and childbirth like a champ. Her first true pregnancy was a nightmare; she’s said little of it, but I think it left her with some lasting trauma even she was unaware of. Her first reaction, upon learning of her last pregnancy, was sheer panic. If you want my blunt, not entirely professional opinion, based just on what I know of her as a person, believing Atia is biologically hers is her way of not feeling defective. That she’s carrying another child might ease that, especially if the pregnancy is not like the first one was.”

 

He looked up at her. “...be like Earlene?” he repeated, baffled. “But Lorna...and she said she never…” his eyes widened and his lips parted, as assorted details slotted into place. “Like when she was so angry at discovering Earlene’s forest skills…oh, Valar.” He rubbed at his forehead, never having considered this aspect of the depths of Lorna’s inferiority complex. “You do not know what it is like, to live under a roof with a wife who does not cope well with believing she is not accepted on account of what she can do, and a friend who drags herself over figurative broken glass for the ways in which she believes she does not ‘measure up’.”

 

“Your wife is an extraordinary woman, Thranduil,” Angie said, “and Lorna spent much of her life being made to feel inferior even to the ordinary. But it’s not that Lorna doesn't accept her because of what she can do -- she can’t accept herself for what she sees as her own failures. Now, she hasn’t said this to me directly, which is why I’m free to tell you -- anything she might say in future I’m bound to confidentiality over. However, I think many a more ordinary woman would feel inferior to Earlene; judging ourselves against others is, unfortunately, human nature. And equally unfortunately, she wouldn’t be doing it if she didn't love and respect Earlene so much. 

 

“And reproductive inferiority is a whole separate issue, one which I _ am _ familiar with. Many, many women blame themselves, if their pregnancies are difficult; being around someone who can handle pregnancy and childbirth with relative ease has likely just reinforced that in Lorna. It’s no wonder she’s so desperate to cling to the idea that she gave birth to Atia, but, provided this pregnancy is not so hard for her, she can replace that delusion with the real thing. Given that this is a single baby, and your lives are not in danger from an immortal sociopath, I suspect it will be easier no matter what.”

 

“Earlene experienced that after the birth of her first children, so this I do understand,” he said softly, recalling his wife’s despair. “And I did not answer your earlier question. Earlene’s pregnancies have been largely very easy for her. This is her fifth pregnancy and hopefully her last. The last one was supposed to have been the last, but...obviously here we are again. Faeleth’s was as difficult as the others were easy. Few here know the realities of how bad it was, though I know they have guessed at some of it. What they do not know is that Earlene would not have survived it without...me. I think part of why Earlene wanted this pregnancy is so that her..how do you say it, ‘last hurrah?’ would be a happier memory. So far this shows every sign of being like the easy ones; like it was for Thaladir and Algar and Eldan. My wife can have moments of being a victim to her hormones when pregnant, but ordinarily is not much affected by the goings-on of our lives.” He paused. “What I have told you about Earlene and Faeleth...please do not share that with the others.”

 

“And here I was just going to ask you if Earlene would be willing to talk to Lorna about it,” Angie said, and sighed. “Thranduil, the plain truth is that Lorna is, in some ways, physiologically inferior to Earlene, and she knows it. Yes, she’s physically stronger, but that is about all she has going for her, to her knowledge. Watching pregnancy after uneventful pregnancy has just been reinforcing that knowledge. It’s far more difficult to dispel an inferiority complex in someone when the logic behind it is actually sound. In this, Lorna isn’t wrong, and that’s what makes it worse.

 

“What she isn’t going to want to hear, but needs to, is that she’s coming from a place far more disadvantaged than Earlene. That she’s as strong and healthy as she is, is something of a miracle, given all I’ve been told about her childhood and adolescence. The problem is that simply telling her that is going to cut no ice, as we say in America; she’s going to see it as a pat on the head, as though we were making excuses for her, unless we play this right. And I will be honest -- I need to think about how to approach that before we do.”

 

Thranduil sat back, no longer seeming so elegant as he sought the comfort of the cushions behind him. “At risk of exposing you to more uncomfortable realities of our lives, I will risk telling you why Earlene will not want to speak of carrying Faeleth. I do not know what your personal beliefs are but we have...gods, if you will. We call them the Valar, the angelic powers that are supreme over our world, in the form of seven Lords and seven Ladies who reflect the facets of our Creator. Our lives are bound up in their purposes in a way that has become very active of late. The Valar are not fictions only to be read about in a holy book; they are real beings that speak with us as I am speaking with you now. They have appeared to myself, Maglor, Ailill, Calanon...and my wife. 

 

“My wife was offered an...opportunity, by two of them. That Faeleth could be ordinary, or extraordinary to serve a greater purpose but at a price to Earlene. My wife chose the latter. The cost was a great measure of my wife’s physical strength, and the nearly insurmountable difficulty of carrying and birthing her daughter. You did not know Earlene, before Faeleth. She had gained physical skills on the same level as those possessed by my people, and was at a pinnacle of what it is possible for a mortal body to achieve. That appears to have been permanently lost, transferred in part to Faeleth, though the girl appears to be even more than that can account for. Only Earlene, Thanadir and I know of any of this, though it is becoming apparent that Faeleth is...different. The other humans under our roof with the exception of Ailill do not have our same reverence for the Valar, and we have felt it best to keep all of this private. We ourselves do not understand all of...Faeleth, but accept that in time we will learn. Know. Forgive me, this is very hard to explain to an outsider, not that I wish to call you that.”

 

Angie fought a groan, and barely won. “Earlene was on par with the Elves, for a while? Thranduil, no  _ wonder  _ Lorna feels like she doesn’t measure up, physically.  _ She’s right. _ I can’t blame Earlene at all for not wanting to speak about that pregnancy; something that intense would understandably be private, even from other loved ones. Especially when there’s a child involved.” She really did not know what to make of the Valar; she’d read as many of the Tolkien books as she could get her hands on in the last few years, but she hadn’t been raised particularly religious. Her family had been the ‘go to church at Christmas’ sort, and she was still struggling with the idea that there were deities who were A.) very much real, and B.) directly intervened in people’s lives. There was faith, and then there was knowledge, and knowledge was actually a little harder, for her at least, to reconcile.

 

“Well...I will be honest, Thranduil, at the moment, I am at a loss. Just now, the only thing I can safely say is to play to Lorna’s literal strength, because I would guess that right now, just judging by how much I’ve seen her dead lift in helping Sharley, she’s the physically strongest human in this house, save maybe for her husband. It is literally the only thing she has going for her, unless she has some hidden talent she’s never demonstrated. It can be very, very difficult, being the one, for lack of a better term, ‘ordinary’ person in a house full of exceptional people. I’m not sure any of you can really understand that, given that you are all exceptional. Unless I’m wrong, Lorna’s only skills that the rest of you don't possess are mechanics and the ability to speak Russian. Have any of you ever actually sat down and thought about what that must feel like? About knowing that, almost no matter what you did, at least one -- and possibly many -- other people are going to innately be better at it, or learn it with an ease you couldn’t? 

 

“Yes, she feels inferior. From a purely objective, entirely literal, detached sense,  _ she is.  _ And no amount of telling her ‘oh, you have other strengths’ is going to wash with her unless she actually, truly  _ does  _ have some. The two she possesses aren’t enough, because if any one of you actually decided to learn either, you’d surpass her. From her perspective, all you’re doing is placating her. I know that you love her, and I suspect you genuinely don't see it for what it is -- but if it’s at all possible, you need to find something she’s genuinely always going to be better than anyone else at. Something none of you would surpass her at in a month if you chose.”

 

Thranduil looked at her blankly. Helplessly. “We are elves and...I do not know how to comment on this. Ratiri is Ratiri, and Earlene is Earlene. They invested years of their lives in pursuit of their chosen professions. Lorna’s path in life was not like this and I do not know how to alter the past she could not have. Always my people have had time on our side, and ellyn like myself, Maglor, Quen, Thanadir...I will not pretend we are not extraordinary even by the standards of our people. But...how do I say this? Even I abase myself before a Vala. Compared to them, what am I? ‘Little Thranduil,’ they call me, and they are right to do so. I do not gnash my teeth or lie awake wishing I could be them or pondering how I am not them. I am me, with strengths and limitations. I do not see Lorna as being of lesser worth somehow, because she is not us. All have some role to play. But...I am not hearing you mention the one thing that Earlene says is what Lorna does better than anyone else.” Now his chin tilted, for he was curious to see if Lorna might have mentioned it to Angie.

 

“I’m not talking education, I'm talking aptitude,” Angie said. “You’re all intuitive learners. She’s not, except for a few select things -- and the Elf-Valar comparison really isn’t going to work with her, just because she’s not an Elf and you guys aren’t Valar, and if I know Lorna, she’d find the comparison downright insulting. I’ve tried comparisons with her, and she hasn’t bought any of them.” Her ability to spot bullshit, or what she thought was bullshit, was a touch unnerving.

 

Now she smiled a little. “You mean what she calls her so-called ability to bend people to her will? She’s not proud of it, for all I’ve tried to re-frame it to her as a force of personality rather than what she currently sees it as. To be honest with you, if that’s true, I’m not surprised. I’ve seen her wrangle that entire group on their vacations. If she can be brought to see it in a positive light, and not her being, as she puts it, ‘a pushy bitch’, I think that would help her immensely. She’s said that she first discovered it because she effectively railroaded Earlene into accepting a crown -- and somehow managed to convince you to do it into the bargain. I don't know how true that is; you’d have to tell me. But that’s largely why she sees it in a negative light.”

 

“It is completely true,” Thranduil admitted. “And not one of my finer moments as King. But I am pleased that she at least told you, even if she still tries to take the things about herself that are positive and find a way to feel inferior about those too.” The tone of annoyance in his voice was unmistakable.

 

“Thranduil, she was made aware of it after she did something negative with it,” Angie said. “Of course she thinks poorly of it. She’s human. In time, that can be worked with, but she was first told of this trait after she made, or contributed to the making of, someone she loves extremely unhappy. Distancing that association is going to take work.”

 

“Then I am to blame for that,” he sighed, looking down. “I will do what I can, to make amends. For too long, I stumbled around with Lorna. And yet given our situation, I did not know where to turn for help.”

 

“It is  _ not  _ your fault,” Angie said firmly. “You fell victim to it because you didn't know it was there. When it comes to that entire situation, no one is to blame. Lorna didn't know she was doing it, and you didn't know you were falling for it. I admittedly have seen far less of you than I have of her, but in some ways you’re very similar. I think I can safely guess that you didn't see her force of personality for what it actually is because you share it. If you possess something, seeing someone else also possess it is not going to register as odd unless you’re consciously thinking about it.”

 

She drummed her fingers on her knee. “I tend to give people homework,” she said. “Yours is this: before you take a failure onto yourself, take a good, long look at it, and make sure it’s indeed entirely yours. I know that you think of yourself as a father to your people, but even parents aren’t infallible. I’m still working on convincing Lorna that not every mistake is a failure, and I’m going to suggest that you look at something from every angle before you pass judgment on yourself.”

 

Thranduil smiled. “I certainly know that I am not infallible; I have had numerous opportunities in which to explore that. I will do as you ask.”

 

“Good,” she said, returning the smile. “I know that it’s your duty to care for everyone, but ‘everyone’ includes you. Although I would really appreciate your help with Lorna’s sister. That woman has done such a well-meaning number on her head.”

 

“I will. And….Earlene has also many opinions about Mairead, in this regard. Please do not misunderstand me, she is a good-hearted woman with many commendable qualities and I like her a great deal. Which does not change that she did our Lorna no favors by the messages she reinforced in some misguided effort to protect her sister.”

 

“Sadly, family can often do the most damage, even with the noblest of intentions,” Angie said. “They can be too close to the person to properly comprehend their problems. There’s a reason doctors aren’t allowed to treat their own family members -- true objectivity is almost impossible. Which is another thing,” she added. “I may decide to put Lorna on a course of long-term medication, once she’s delivered her child, and you need to  _ not  _ let Ratiri interfere with it. I know he’ll think he knows better because he’s her husband, but he’s a pediatrician, not a psychiatrist.”

 

“You have my endorsement. While I will not claim my own state of marriage is fully normal, I at least believe that the three of us do not...enable each other. Or if we do, I would welcome it being pointed out. I will not throw stones, none of us are perfect.”

 

“I realize this is going to sound cruel,” Angie said, “but I need one more thing from you: if it’s at all possible for you to return the emotions you took from Lorna’s memories, I need you to do it. I understand why you did it, but lacking that immediacy, she has no compelling emotional reason not to do what she was doing all along: avoiding it. Avoiding it, unless Sharley leans on her, and I’ve told them both that they can’t be each other’s crutches. Not solely.”

 

“That is not possible,” he said. “I took those memories from her, of her own rape, and that cannot be undone. More recently, I dulled her reaction to Sharley’s rape, because she was using it to torment herself as I have seen her do in the past. I am not certain you understand, when Lorna does this, she then works herself into a state of agitation that she then tries to extinguish with substances. In the past she nearly killed herself, drinking too much alcohol. Since she now cannot turn to alcohol, she has used cannabis. If she cannot have either of those, she turns to me. She calls my ability to ease her difficult emotions “telepathic Xanax” and for a long time now, I have been loath to deny her because of the alternative. There is only one thing I can do. She does not recall her rape, but I do. I can show her all of it, though it would cause me no small amount of revulsion, but then I would be placing an extreme amount of trust in your ability to manage the aftermath.”

 

“I know that she used to,” Angie said. “We’ve discussed her former coping mechanisms, and why they’re unhealthy -- but right now, she’s pregnant. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. And as difficult as it might be, you need to avoid ‘telepathic xanax’ unless it’s absolutely necessary. The fact that she doesn’t remember it is why she feels justified in telling herself it’s okay to not, as she puts it, ‘dwell’.” She sighed. “I know this is unprofessional of me, but sometimes I want to shake patients’ families.

 

“What I mean to do, with the help of this household, is break the state of agitation. If she can face the cause, without completing the cycle,  _ then  _ she’ll make true progress. I know she says she’s sometimes had crying jags with ice cream and Sharley, but that’s not addressing the root problem. While I wouldn’t suggest showing her the entirety of what was done to her, even a small amount would force her to stop and truly acknowledge that yes, this happened to her. It’s not an abstract concept if she’s forced to confront it. Sharley has come very far, in managing her case: she says that while she still does have the nightmares at times, it’s become easier to pull herself out of them, and because of that, the duration has lessened. Given time, I think she’ll put them to rest entirely.”

 

“In part I do not understand,” Thranduil admitted. “In the past, and I mean the very recent past, agitation meant drugs or alcohol. And that dependence on substances, the desire for which I very much understand, is why I felt the only recourse was to remove what caused the agitation.” He gazed up at her. “How in Eru’s name am I supposed to know what to show her? The part where she begs Von Ratched to penetrate her? The part where she thanks him and demands more, as her body responds as he is forcing it to do?” He was paling visibly, and a tremor had entered his voice. “My people die, rather than face this kind of abuse. I do not mean to repulse you but I need to be told very specifically what you wish done.”

 

“That history of substance abuse is why it has to happen now, or soon,” Angie said, even as her heart broke a little. “Right now, she’s pregnant, and no matter how upset she gets, she’s not going to risk the safety of her unborn child. She’ll deal with it not for her own sake, but for the sake of her daughter.”

 

She paused. “I can’t give you specifics without violating doctor-patient confidentiality, but I can say that what you describe is very much like what was done to Sharley. Sharley’s dreams are not long, and never were; distasteful as this is, I would suggest the...aspect...in which she thanks him. I’ve talked Sharley through certain elements similar in nature.” God, she was really,  _ really  _ skirting confidentiality here. Then again, Thranduil was a telepath; it wasn’t like he wouldn’t know anyway.

 

Leaning forward, she placed her hand over Thranduil’s. “I’m sorry to ask this of you,” she said. “I’ve done quite a bit of reading, over the years, about your people. I know this is more difficult for you than it is for us, but ultimately, if Lorna consents to this, it will be for the best. I’m afraid, given all that I have learned about her, that if she isn’t forced to confront this head-on, she won’t. She’ll try, and she’ll think she’s getting somewhere, but she won’t manage it. She seems, especially from all you’ve told me, to have a very strong ability to delude herself. Just like with Atia, we’re going to have to carefully and, as gently as we can, dismantle the delusion. I’ve engaged a long-term substitute for my position in Sultan. I can stay with both of them, and we can work through it.”

 

“Then I will do as you ask, when you ask it, with her consent. I would do anything that can actually help her. Angie, while I do not say this in the sense of blaming myself...my past actions with Lorna were not only for her own benefit. I am certain you have been told that within my forest I have little ability to  _ not  _ hear human thought. It was especially bad in the early days, when only Earlene, Lorna and Ratiri were here. Now, enough humans live near me that I hear...well, constant chatter, if you will. I have gained some ability to simply ignore thoughts that are not very strong ones. Believe me, I try; there are times I would prefer not to have any of this go on. But it is that inability to shield myself that also caused me to choose as I did. I could have managed, if Lorna would have remembered and dealt with it and begun to heal. It never worked that way, though. She was so, so damaged, and she would simply be ‘stuck’. And then I would  be forced to bear the brunt of her relentless mental meanderings on whatever was the most horrifying. There was...self-preservation involved. I can endure this if I know some good can actually come of it.”

 

“At the time, you really didn't have any other choice,” Angie said. “There was no way, in those circumstances, you could have possible gotten her any professional help. You did the only thing you could do, in that situation, to preserve her sanity and yours. And on the vein of yours, it’s why I would, once we’ve worked past the initial reactions, like to take her and Sharley on a therapeutic retreat -- which is a fancy way of saying ‘rent a cottage by the seaside’. Maglor and Ratiri are welcome to come as well, if it’s something they can endure; I know Sharley worries about Maglor being forced -- or forcing himself -- to weather too much of it at one time.”

 

She drummed at her knee again. “Now, before anything goes forward, I’m going to have a long talk with Lorna, to make certain she knows exactly what she’s in for, if she does consent to this. If she’s even a little uncertain, we don't go forward. But I know that she feels it’s unfair that Sharley must deal with all her memories, while she herself has none -- and has had the immediacy taken away from those she’s acquired from Sharley. I want her to take a week to consider it, and in that time we’ll talk about the pros and cons. 

 

“However, I’m already fairly confident she’ll be in favor of it.  I just want to make certain -- and to understand why she would be willing. If it’s some kind of misplaced guilt, guilt that she’s been spared what Sharley hasn’t, that’s not a good enough reason. Unless the answer is ‘I want to do this for myself’ -- and unless she truly means that -- it’s going to have to wait. I’m sure that someday, there will come a time when she does in fact mean just that, but I’d prefer it to happen when substance abuse isn’t an option for her. That, however, is entirely down to her. If, at the end of that week, I’m not entirely convinced of her motives -- and you’ll be able to know for certain -- it will get deferred.”

 

Privately, Thranduil thought that it would be _ exactly _ misplaced guilt, but he was wise enough to know that this was not his purview. However, Maglor was. “About Maglor...” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Like you, I have ever felt a moral obligation to keep what I know of others confidential. So I am rather limited in what I can say to you. Maglor is...not well. But the reasons for that have nothing to do with truly psychological issues. His issues are...Eru, how do I say this...spiritual ones. He has problems and they are not ones you can help solve. However, that will not stop him from trying to help Sharley, when he barely has the resources to do so. He loves her, dearly. I have worried a great deal, about the realities of him having found a long-lost wife who cannot fully embrace him  _ as  _ a wife. He is weathering that well, and has great compassion for what has happened to her. But I have deep reservations about how much exposure he can manage. He will not say no to anything; he will place her needs above his regardless of the cost. I would ask you to be very careful, in light of this.”

 

“I would appreciate any information you feel comfortable giving me, as time goes on,” Angie said. “If necessary, I’ll place time limits on their contact, for the sake of both of them.” She managed a smile. “I’m a professional, I know what I'm talking about, and that’s exactly what I will say to them both.  The last thing I -- or any of us -- wants is to make anyone else unwell in the course of pursuing mental health for Sharley and Lorna.”

 

Thranduil nodded, but just then his clever mind thought of one thing. “Angie, may I ask what you actually know about Maglor?”

 

“I know what I’ve read of his life in  _ The Silmarillion _ ,” she said. “What has happened to him since then, and the toll it has taken on him, I don't know.”

 

“Then I am free to say this much: If you have read carefully, you have the means to understand what is wrong with him. You have the means to understand the nature of his unresolved difficulties. I would only plead with you not to share any of that with Sharley. She has no facility whatsoever to help him at this time, but it would not stop her from trying.”

 

“I can keep a secret,” Angie said. “Sharley, right now, is indeed in a position to help no one. She says that for now they simply spend time together, and is quite pleased by it. At present, I think they should attempt no more than that. That they are bonding is a good sign.”

 

“I would concur, though I am sure you realize that I have no control over how they use their time. There are some matters even a King must keep his nose out of.” Thranduil smiled, some mischief glinting in his eyes. Sue him, he could not resist.

 

Angie smiled. “I’m sure they’ll manage,” she said. “Sharley seems to know her own boundaries, and from all I’ve heard, Maglor respects them. And even if that weren’t the case, they are evidently rarely without a feline companion -- one which likes sitting on Maglor’s backside. I can think of few things more off-putting, in terms of animals ruining any potential mood.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrow raised. Somehow, he did not need to know that. That poor ellon. No wonder no one wanted those cats around, Maglor included. It was a sad day, when Tail was an improvement. “Um, true,” was what he managed to say aloud.

 

“Well, tonight I just want to observe everyone. I won’t talk to Lorna until she and I have both had a good night’s rest, preferably cat-free -- though she says most of them go with her at night anyway.”

 

Thranduil smiled, sensing this interview was about at an end. How the rest of it might go, he could only guess…

 

*****

 

{October 22, 2027}

 

“While obviously the choice of how to parent our children is an individual decision, it is also obvious that we live in a village, of sorts, when it comes to our children. So it is not as simple, as if we all lived individual lives. All of you are here at our Family Meeting because you are parenting the children in this home in some capacity. We all have discussed what happened when the children took the sofa to town without permission. It sounds like some information came out of it that we should discuss as a group. We all want the best for our young ones, but in spite of that desire perhaps we have not been as effective as we thought.” After this preamble, Thanadir sat down, understanding that either Lorna or Ratiri would wish to speak.

 

“I’ve spoken to Chandra,” Lorna said. “Quite a lot. She didn't stop to consider there might be any danger in what she did -- which, what a shock, she’s nine -- and she’s sorry. Why she did it...there’s a few reasons, but the core of it is that she’s tired’v never leaving the forest unless it’s, as she put it, A Production. She wants to play with kids she’s not related to -- kids her own age. Right now, the only contemporaries she has, both chronologically and mentally, are Shane and Allanah.”

 

Sighing, she paused. “And I had to tell her that while yes, I did run around doing whatever I wanted as a kid, I was also a completely dysfunctional horror-show’v a human being with a home best avoided. Because  _ that  _ was a fun conversation.”

 

“I spoke with her as well,” Ratiri said. “She was struggling to articulate things, but I heard roughly the same thing as Lorna -- though I heard a bit more, and I think we’re going to have a problem come next spring.”

 

Lorna looked at him;  _ that  _ she hadn’t heard.

 

“Chandra loves all her cousins, but she’s tired of being surrounded by small children, and having the daily household activities revolve around their wants just because there are so many of them. In this spring, there are going to be four more. Now, what I'm proposing Lorna and I do is something everyone else might consider as well: pay more attention to the older kids. Take them places on their own, no small ones along unless they want them there. Chandra is such a self-contained kid that I never realized she was having these feelings...but to be fair, I don't think she’d put any words around them herself.”

 

Lorna tried not to groan. She remembered how annoyed she’d been when Mick came along -- Mick was the only one Da wasn’t a bastard to (at first, anyway), and kind of by necessity he’d taken up all of Mam’s attention. At age four, however, she hadn’t cared about any of that; she’d simply felt ignored, as had Siobhan (Pat, being older and theoretically wiser, had known better). And now, just as her own daughter was figuring out her insecurities, here came another baby. This one plus the three Earlene was carrying… “You know what?” she said. “We need to get cracking on that new wing, or outbuilding, or whatever it is, in the spring. The older kids are going to be wanting their own rooms, but probably sooner than we’d anticipated.”

 

“I think there is another matter to consider,” Earlene said. “We have raised peredhel alongside human children and it has been more successful than I hoped for. But even at basically ten years of age, Ithiliel and Eleniel are changing rapidly. They no longer show interest in playing all the time. They have formed definite interests, things they wish to pursue and do. Already I think Allanah has started to feel left behind; those who were constant companions are suddenly more like sixteen or seventeen year-olds mentally when she is still eleven. That is a huge gap and one that is not likely to begin to close for another six or seven years. I want all of our children to be happy and individually fulfilled but as Ratiri so elegantly pointed out, there are small kids everywhere and more on the way.”

 

“Hiril vuin, we have given this some thought,” Ortherion chimed in. “If it is desirable we had an idea that those who can drive vehicles could be available to help expand the children’s world beyond the forest. Of course,” he said with chagrin, “Lothiriel and I are not among those. But I think I speak for others under this roof such as Ailill and Calanon in saying that I do not think anyone would mind, if it could help.” The man and the ellon nodded readily; they were much in accord with this idea. As was Quen, and Maerwen had a bright look of interest as well.

 

“I would love to learn to drive,” Maerwen said. “I’ve watched it so often, I’m sure I could pick it up. Lorna, I know you’ll be wanting to spend time with the little one, but we could trade on that. One of the three of us will always be available to take an older child to do some activity, without the younger ones along.”

 

“The weird -- and probably fortunate -- thing is that Chandra doesn’t seem to number Atia among the ‘little kids’,” Ratiri said. “I say fortunate because that girl worships the ground her brother and sister walk on. But Maerwen, we would love it if you learned to drive. Given how often I’m teaching this growing brood, I can’t always get away, and once Lorna has the baby, she won’t be able to, either.”

 

“Honestly, it might be good to just get Chandra, Shane, and Allanah together into their own unit, if they’d like,” Lorna added. “They’ve got age-mates to spend time with at home, and they can go out into the world...though I have no idea where they’re going to meet other kids.” She grimaced. “Chandra told me that some kid in town, though she refused to name names, thinks all the kids are going to grow up to commit incest, because they never go anywhere or spend time with anyone else. No wonder she was so freaked out.”

 

“I would dearly like to know whence that comment came,” Thranduil said, most displeased. A stormy expression came over him, since he knew that such opinions among young ones were rarely of their own originality. If such was being said, high odds were present that adults were the source of that opinion. And given the sacrifices he and all those under this roof were making to save their collective arses not so many years into the future, that sat very badly. Yet he did not know for certain, so he would withhold his ire. For now.

 

“That is not important at this time, however unseemly,” Thanadir opined. “I like the idea of providing opportunities outside the forest for the children and to what extent I am able, I too would be willing to drive. However, I feel there is another issue. It has to do also with Chandra. Forgive me, Ratiri and Lorna, if it is inappropriate to say this amongst us but my reason for doing so is because I want to invite any with different insight to comment. Thranduil and I both spoke at length with Algar and Faeleth. Thaladir was unfortunately not helpful in this regard because of his emotional outburst in the midst of what occurred in Lasg’len. It had to do with the exact words and actions the children reported Chandra using.” Very carefully, he reiterated what had happened, with Thranduil making only one tiny correction to Thanadir’s narrative. When he concluded, he said, “I am concerned about Chandra’s demeanor. Had Faeleth not intervened” (and that intervention was a whole other discussion topic he hoped to avoid but feared might not be possible) “the situation might have deteriorated quickly into one involving adult townsfolk or worse yet the constabulary. We live a life here that relies somewhat heavily on the avoidance of scrutiny. Bloodying other children’s noses, however appealing, draws attention of an unwanted kind.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes, and passed a hand over her face. “I’d hoped, when you fixed the Blank, that would be enough,” she sighed, “but we Donovans aren’t known for our mental stability, with or without the Blank. Though I doubt she’d’ve attacked anyone who wasn’t one’v the Johns -- my kids  _ hate  _ those two, which I think isn’t helped by the fact that none’v us like them, either. Even so…” She groaned, fighting not to massage her temples. “Even so, I can’t deny that there’s more than just the Blank in the Donovan family tree, and there’s every chance Chandra could’ve hit one’v the icky branches on the way down. But I’ve got no idea in hell what to do about it.”

 

“Chandra is very intelligent, Lorna, and has many aptitudes that could be developed,” Maglor said. “She strikes me, a relative outsider, as one who will not do well if not challenged in a positive manner.”

 

“And I spoke at length with Thalion and Melda,” Thranduil added. “Melda’s impression was that Chandra is given to a dangerous level of self-assurance, because at her age she lacks wisdom to go along with it. However, her ability to articulate herself once someone is actually listening to her and trying to engage her is rather impressive for one so young. She is also quick to make assumptions and act upon them. I would like to think that these are not things out of the range of what a smart, bored child will manage. But there is something I worry about a little more. This incident opened a rift, one I am not certain how to heal. Thaladir especially says he, quote, ‘will never trust Chandra again.’ Faeleth is not far behind, in this opinion. Algar is, I am afraid, rather his father’s son and is far more phlegmatic about misbehavior and mischief. Allanah was disappointed but she is Allanah, always sunny and quick to forget. But none of them were….happy, about having been lied to. It was a grievous lesson, to have someone they trusted as family do this.”

 

“Of course I’d get one with my attitude and Ratiri’s brains,” Lorna said. “Maglor, what would you recommend? Give her something she’s interested in and she’s lost for hours, but a lot’v the time nothing holds her interest for very long. It’s like she’s searching, and just isn’t finding.”

 

“And Thaladir,” Ratiri said, a touch dryly, “is seven. He’ll get over it, though I don't know what to do about this rift, either. It’s the logical consequence of what Chandra did, and I think the only thing that’s going to really heal it is time. Chandra did lie to them -- and Shane, who I know full well knew better, let her. They’re not going to get over that overnight, and I think time will tell us how to best deal with that.”

 

Thanadir blinked. Ratiri clearly knew nothing about elflings or their emotional development, but this was not the place for it. He knew Thaladir better than even his biological father. Being seven would have nothing to do with this, at it was entirely possible that time would not be nearly enough to redress this.

 

Maglor spoke. “I am afraid you are asking the wrong person, Lorna. I am good for little except music. My awareness of the outside world is poor. I know little of other pursuits. Chandra has done well enough at the guitar, practicing as she is asked to, but I do not sense that she feels passionately about it. Not yet, anyway.”

 

Quen interrupted, almost. “May I ask, what does Chandra like to do? Can you tell us what interests she  _ does _ have?”

 

“She reads,” Lorna said, “a lot, whenever she’s not out with her brother and sister. He’s turned toward more’v a literary bent, but she’s more’v a scientist...sort’v.”

 

“What Lorna means is that she’s never chosen a discipline to focus on,” Ratiri said. “She explores different interests, but she’s never settled on one for very long. For a while it was chemistry, and then it was biology...she gets bored. She’ll learn a vast amount on a subject -- especially for a child her age -- and then get bored and want to do something else. Which at her age is still fairly normal.”

 

“One of the things I meant to do is start mining used bookstores for less expensive volumes for the library in the Halls. That has to include children’s books. And books in general. Do you think she would be interested in something like that? Bookstore trawling, as I like to call it?” Earlene asked.

 

Quen smiled at this. (They had agreed they would transfer the inventory of their shop to the Halls, give or take eliminating excessive duplication.)

 

“Books  _ and  _ getting her out’v the house?” Lorna said. “I think she’d love it. Though I ought to warn you, she doesn’t read children’s books -- she’s been raiding Ratiri’s and my shelves for about two years now. She knows what Atia likes, though, so she can tell a good bit’v writing from a stupid one.”

 

Ratiri laughed. “I knew I had a smart one when, at six and a half, she said, ‘Da, kids’ books are patronizing garbage’.” She’d actually said far more than that, but most of the words had contained four letters, so he’d keep them to himself. “She’s been in charge of Atia’s reading ever since.”

 

“I read children’s books,” Earlene frowned, vaguely insulted. “Of course, they are the good ones, not  _ Captain _ bloody  _ Underpants _ .”

 

“Meldis!” Thanadir hissed, vaguely horrified.

 

Earlene blushed. “Please excuse my coarse expression. I would like to blame being pregnant, but the truth is that book and those like it deserve every word. And then some. Execrable excuse for reading material…” she muttered, glaring slightly at Thanadir. But only slightly.

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes, while Quen shook with laughter. Earlene saw and smiled, while she rubbed her hand over her abdomen. At least someone had a sense of humor.

 

“Those would be what Chandra means,” Ratiri said, fighting a laugh and losing. “Not that we ever had those in particular, but books along that vein.”

 

“Mairead, God love her, gave terrible gifts when they were little,” Lorna added. “And not only did she give us these stupid books, we had to read them to the kids, because she’d quiz them on it later. I think it got to the point where they were wondering if there was something wrong with her.”

 

Thranduil smirked at Lorna, guessing what the eventual fate of said books was. Oh well. “I think we should ask our older children as a group to think about what they are not doing that they would like to explore. There are no wrong answers. Give them a day or two to think about it. Then we could speak to each privately to see what is said, and go from there? Or does anyone have other suggestions?”

 

Usually silent Calanon detached himself (slightly) from his husband to sit up straighter. “Only to point out that sometimes young ones do not know what they want to do because of lack of having done it? There are many things to do in the forest but not all of them are what all children wish to do. Maybe there will need to be a means to connect them with information as to the possibilities? I know my comment is not terribly helpful but I remember how many times a young one has said to me, ‘I do not know what there is to do.’”

 

Thranduil raised his eyebrows. The ellon had a point.

 

“I'm sure we can come up with one,” Ratiri said. “It’s a big forest, and there are plenty of things I’m certain they’ve still never even heard of.”

 

Lorna frowned. “Yeah, well, there’s one thing you and I in particular have to figure out,” she said, “and that’s how the hell to tell our kids that being the way I was when  _ I  _ was a kid is a  _ bad thing. _ I always wanted to shield them from...that, but I think I shot all’v us in the collective foot when I did.”

 

Ratiri put his arm around her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we do have a psychiatrist in residence,” he said. “If anyone can figure out a way to get that across without forcing you to spill too many of the bad beans, it’s her.”

 

Earlene mused. “Not that I know anything about this, but one of the things I think has perhaps been an oversight is...we’ve all done this, talked about more adult topics with kids present who happened to be silent. And perhaps took that silence as some form of allowing ourselves to believe they weren’t listening to every word. Only to change the subject if they ask an actual question. I think there was some collective naivete there...I mean, if a child is present, they are listening. Probably they are listening even when they are not present, unless Thranduil knows of it to warn us.”

 

“And all’v them are precocious enough that they were probably paying attention long before we thought they were,” Lorna said, sighing. “One more thing to worry about in the future, I guess, but I’m sure we’ll manage. Meanwhile, allanah, maybe we ought to take Chandra to Limerick tomorrow,” she added, looking up at her husband. “Limerick’s safe. I’m not a bad-luck magnet there.” Nothing had ever exploded thanks to her, nor had she been mugged or shot. She liked Limerick.

 

“It sounds like a plan,” he said. “I think I can already safely say Shane won’t be interested, but Atia might.”

 

“Chandra won’t mind Atia. Atia almost doesn’t count as one’v the ‘little kids’ -- she’s just Atia.”

 

“I feel we have some ‘actionable items,’ Thranduil said. “If no one has anything else to add, I believe we can conclude this?” He looked around the room for any sign that someone might have anything to say.

 

Pat sighed. “Lorna, I’ll talk to your kids with you,” he said. “The fact that they think anything in our childhood’s worth repeating is as much my fault as it it is yours. I’ll help you clean up the mess, if it’s possible.”

 

“I’m probably going to need the help,” she said. “I just hope I can explain the concept’v a Nostalgia Filter to a pair’v nine-year-olds. Even bright nine-year-olds might find that too weird to swallow.”

 

“I don’t think you should be hard on yourself, Lorna,” quipped Thranduil. “Not for this. Yes, it would better have been said only in private, but when your childhood had few happinesses...I see nothing wrong with trying to find a few bright memories, however warped.”

 

That drew a smile from both of them. “True,” Pat said. “And I don't think we ever said the worst’v what we did around them.”

 

“I  _ know  _ we didn't,” Lorna said. “If we had, Chandra would’ve tried to duplicate it by now, and something would’ve exploded.”

 

Ratiri looked down at her. “Mo chroí...you know what, I don't want to know.”

 

“You really don't,” Pat said. “Trust me.”

 

Sharley looked from one to the other and arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. How those two had survived to adulthood, let alone past forty, she really wasn’t sure.

 

“Any more?” Thranduil asked once again.

 

No one said anything for a moment, so it was Angie who spoke. “I think you all have good ideas,” she said, snapping her notebook shut. “Lorna, Pat, I’ll help you with your children. This might not be as simple as you’d like.”

 

“Oh, joy,” Lorna sighed.

  
  


*****

 

{March 21, 2027}

 

Lorna and Earlene strode through the forest, it having been not so subtly suggested that the two of them get some fresh air. Snatching her cloak, Earlene stuck her tongue out at the ‘suggestors’ in the Heart Room, crossing her eyes at them too, since from the foyer they could not be seen. At least, not with actual eyes. Once out the door, she commented archly. “I am too an adult.” Her head was held rather regally. “I have a crown and everything, to prove it.” Which earned a snicker from her friend, but they were past all that now, enjoying the last days of winter that slowly transitioned to spring. The forest held its breath. Every bud was there, but had not yet broken; green covered the forest floor, but none of the woodland flowers had blossomed. “Funny,” Earlene said, breaking their silence. “This forest is a little like that week before you have the baby. Everything’s ready to pop but nothing’s happened yet.”

 

“I know my bladder’s ready to pop every five minutes,” Lorna grumbled, “and I’ve still go three bloody months’v this. Still, it could be loads worse.” She’d endured ‘loads worse’; while she couldn’t say this was comfortable, neither was it unbearable. “Ratiri’s had to make me this sling...thing, so I can still sort’v sleep on my stomach. It’s a bit like a hammock, but with a divet in the middle. I think the cats get more use out’v it even than I do.”

 

“That what you usually do? Stomach?” she asked. It would figure, since it was the one position she pretty much never used herself. She and Lorna were nothing if not opposites.

 

“Yeah. It’s the only way I don't lay on my hair, and I usually just kind of sprawl out on Ratiri like a cat, until I roll away at night and onto an  _ actual  _ cat. I tried sleeping on my back, but I don't think I could’ve done it even if it weren’t for the fact that it felt like my bladder was constantly being squeezed.” She wrinkled her nose. It didn't help that Angie -- meaning, Angie and Thranduil -- weren’t yet sufficiently convinced of her motives to let him do...that. The whole point was to get it done while she was still up the yard, and she only had three more months. She couldn’t be trying to deal with  _ that  _ and a newborn -- well, maybe they could ask her to, but she wouldn’t do it. Nope. Babies were...babies.

 

“Wait,” Earlene said, holding up her hand in a gesture of ‘stop’. “Do you hear that? Flute?”

 

“I do,” Lorna said. “Is that Faeleth, or Thanadir?”

 

“One way to find out,” Earlene murmured. “I will try not to go too fast.” Her body posture changing visibly in spite of her belly, she began to pick up the pace, leading the way with stealth through the paths and brush and choosing a way least likely to make noise. Mostly, she kept to the balls of her feet, lowering onto her heels only at pauses. From time to time she stopped or slowed, to allow Lorna to follow easily. Once they had come much closer, Earlene murmured very quietly. “Faeleth. And if I am not mistaken she is not alone. What….?”

 

“What is it?” Lorna whispered. Sneaking was a lot harder to do with her center of gravity so banjaxed, so she was slower than she liked. “ _ Who  _ is….”

 

Earlene’s lips parted. “Come,” she whispered very softly. “It is not as though they do not know we are here.” Very quietly and slowly they walked the rest of the distance, before entering the clearing to see her daughter playing the flute and dancing joyfully, seemingly under the tutelage of Nessa. Her laughter rang through the trees, and it filled Earlene’s heart with joy. Tulkas sat near, his merry eyes appreciating what he beheld. They were much as she remembered them in her dream, and now certain things were perhaps unavoidably clear. And yet they were still Vala, regardless of what they were doing with her daughter. Without taking her eyes from them, she knelt, and waited.

 

Lorna knew her  _ Silmarillion  _ well enough to spot Tulkas right off -- he was kind of difficult to mistake for anyone else. Nessa took her longer, as she tried to copy Earlene, but her gut didn't want to let her -- naturally, she lost her balance. At least when she swore under her breath, she did it in Irish. Maybe that...wouldn’t count, or...something. She hoped so, anyway, because...Valar.  _ Valar. Valar in the forest, playing with Faeleth,  _ like it was just a thing that they did all the time.

 

...What?

 

Earlene squeezed her eyes briefly shut, not needing to know Irish to know  _ that _ Irish, but that was as much as she would react to Lorna being...Lorna. Finally Tulkas approached, smiling. “So at last we speak again, Earlene,” he said, his eyes flickering in curiosity at the sight of Lorna.

 

“This is a better conversation, my Lord,” she said sincerely, but with mirth in her eyes.

 

An immense laugh roared from the Vala, who apparently could appreciate a joke. His face danced as he extended his hands to both of them, raising them up. “I suppose it is,” he chuckled. “You were very...accommodating,” he smiled.

 

“A deal is a deal,” Earlene said, shrugging. “You were more generous than I could have guessed.” Her eyes held those of the mighty Vala, and her words held two meanings. “She is extraordinary, and a joy to all.”

 

“Nana! Nana! Come see what Nana Nessa has taught me! A new dance, Nana!”

 

Earlene’s eyes widened, as full understanding crashed down on her, but she dissembled for the sake of Faeleth. “I would love to, iellig. Will you remember, and be able to show Ada Thanadir?” she teased her daughter, lifting her high overhead before setting her down gracefully. 

 

“Of course!” Faeleth said, as she put the flute to her lips and danced artfully through the clearing. 

 

Earlene’s face split in a grin as she watched, but she turned also to Nessa. “Thank you, my Lady. For all of this.”

 

“One day it is we who shall perhaps thank you, Earlene” the Vala said, nimbly spinning around until she ended up in her husband’s arms. When she stopped, she focused on Lorna. “You asked a question of one who is far away, Lorna. Even for us some answers are long in the coming. Vairë keeps to her work in the Halls, rarely emerging. And yet she now knows Tirillë is among you.” Tilting her head, she studied the diminutive woman with the green eyes in fascination.

 

It took Lorna’s brain a moment to kick back into something capable of creating coherent speech, because...Vala. An unexpected Vala. Her mind just was not prepared for this. “If I tell Sharley -- Tirillë -- to talk to her...will she get an answer?” she asked, unusually hesitantly. “She’s so afraid that she won’t.”

 

Nienna smiled. “Were she herself, she would know better. But she is not, through no fault of her own. It has been a most vexing circumstance. And yet the Weaver waits, for long has her maid gone missing.” Both Vala now turned to Faeleth, and Tulkas caught her amid shrieks of delight. “Until we see you again, daughter.” A kiss was placed on her brow, and the child set down. Faeleth happily bounded to her mother. Earlene scooped up the girl, and held her hand over her heart, to watch the pair shimmer and vanish. Only then did Faeleth notice tears on her mother’s cheeks.

 

“What is wrong, Nana?” the child asked.

 

“Nana is happy,” Earlene said. “But she would be happier to see you dancing. Dance home for us, and play your music. We would like that so very much.” With kisses to her cheeks, the child was set free again to go skipping off, laughing and shrieking with happiness. With a deep sigh Earlene turned to face Lorna with a weak smile. “Surprise.”

 

“Not going to lie, I was near to pissing my pants at first,” Lorna said. “It was just...not something I expected to have happen. Is running across Valar a thing in these woods?” What Nessa had said to her was as good as a ‘yes’ without actually saying the word; she’d focus on that, and try to ground herself. Given how her heart was hammering, that wasn’t so easy. 

 

Shaking herself, she scrubbed a hand over her eyes and looked back at Earlene. “So,” she said. “Faeleth. There a story there you actually want to tell, or is it a private thing with you and...well, them? Because I’ll tell you, no matter what you feel comfortable saying, that explains one hell’v a lot about your pregnancy with her.” And she could not help but lean in and add, in the barest of whispers, “Thanks for not being Míriel.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes, but smiled. “It  _ was _ private, but apparently they feel otherwise. I still do not plan to announce it to the household, but I am not stupid, people will talk. People were already talking, after what happened in town. I guess this was inevitable. I did not truly...understand...until today. I  _ definitely  _ do not know ‘why Thanadir and I.’ Nor do I know their full purpose. And no, running across them in the woods is not common, though I suspect it is for my daughter. I will not interfere. But they are like that, from what I have heard. All different, all cryptic, all unspeakably beautiful.” She paused. “I could tell you more, but...if you thought my decisions to sign up with Thranduil were impulsive and strange, you won’t think much better of me for this one. Just have to warn you.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, that’s so ten years ago,” she said. “I think we’re all older and wiser now. I'm sure you didn't go through all that for no good reason. You’re strong, but you’re not a masochist.”

 

“I  _ was _ strong,” Earlene smiled. “Past tense. They offered me that Faeleth could be like no other, but at a steep price. Or that I could just have a baby with Thanadir. In some ways it was deeply unfair to him. He never had a choice in any of it. So I guess you could say that much of my strength was taken away, and given to her. At least, that’s what I’m guessing was the case, based on what happened to me. It would seem that it is even more than that; they apparently did more than smile and wave their hands, because otherwise how she is makes no sense. She’s never made sense, it’s just that only now are others starting to see it. Doesn’t matter. I mean, look at her….” Earlene trailed off, and shrugged. “It was worth it.”

 

“Earlene, allanah, the fact that you aren’t Superwoman anymore doesn’t mean you aren’t strong,” Lorna said. “Honestly, in your shoes, I probably would’ve done the same thing. Which sounds disturbing to say, honestly, but still. I’m glad they’re keeping an eye on her, at least. It’s the old line from  _ Spider-Man  _ \-- ‘great power and great responsibility’, and all that. Better she learns it young.”

 

She rubbed her abdomen. Her own little one didn't have that much longer, for all it was going to feel like forever. If Angie didn't let Thranduil do this thing soon, it wasn’t going to get done, because...it wasn’t. “And better she learn it from the ones who gave it to her to begin with.”

 

Earlene smiled. She liked being Superwoman. She would always miss being Superwoman. But she felt it would be crass to mention that. “Well, I just hope that there are better uses than tossing the Johns into rubbish cans. But all in all, yeah. C’mon, we’re going to lose our flute music. Let’s go back. I think I owe her father a conversation.”

 

Lorna followed, and tried not to waddle. “Earlene, I need some advice,” she said. “Angie has this idea that she threw at me months ago, and then wouldn’t let me do because she -- and Thranduil -- don't think I want to do it for the right reasons.  _ I  _ know I do, so should I just turn into Pushy Bitch Lorna and say ‘shit or get off the pot’?”

 

“Um, without knowing what is under discussion, it is hard for me to say. But as an abstract concept….when someone like you wants something badly, they advocate for it. It could be viewed as a sign that you are serious about what you want. It could also be viewed otherwise. And yet if you apply the question, ‘What have you got to lose?’...well, what  _ do _ you have to lose?”

 

“Nothing, honestly. Given my hormones I'm amazed I haven’t ripped half this house to shreds more often,” Lorna snorted. “It’s a pretty big thing I’d be undertaking, but it’s either do it now or wait until this kid is at least five, so I’d rather do it now and get it over with. And honestly, Thranduil’s the one I’ve got to convince, so maybe I’ll be a pushy bitch at him.”

 

“I’ll be in the bathtub. With earbuds. Knock yourself out,” she smirked.  _ Just glad it isn’t me….. _

 

_ ***** _

{March 22, 2027}

 

Lorna was not at all looking forward to this, and yet at the same time, she was itching to get it over with.

 

It was going to suck. It was probably going to suck even more than she was prepared for, but Angie took her aside into the Quiet Room that morning and told her what she was going to see, so that it wouldn’t come as a total shock.

 

“Thranduil has told me which memory he’s returning to you,” she said. “It’s brief, but it’s very like one Sharley has, that I think you’ve seen.”

 

“Why am I not surprised the bastard wouldn’t have any creativity?” Lorna asked, even while fervently  _ glad  _ he hadn’t had any.

 

“Because rapists,” Angie said seriously, “are often very simple creatures. When you peel them down to their core, there’s nothing of any real substance there. No matter what else this...person...might have done in his life, at his core, he was a common rapist.”

 

Lorna...didn't think that was quite true, but it was something nice to believe. “Okay,” she said, sitting on the sofa, “what’ll he be showing me?”

 

Angie sat beside her, radiating calm and professionalism. “In it, Von Ratched has penetrated you, and has induced artificial orgasm in your brain. You are trying to thank him, but you have little higher consciousness, so what sounds you make are largely indistinct. He climaxes, and then he plays with your hair, and calls you beautiful. This is not long before his session with you ends.” More than that, Lorna didn't need to know, though Angie had heard rather more than she liked. The things she endured for this job...but this hadn’t been done to her. She was hearing about it as an outside party; it was going to be infinitely worse to an actual survivor.

 

Lorna’s nose wrinkled. “ _ Ew _ ,” she said, “but that actually is a lot like what I saw in Sharley’s dreams.” No, he hadn’t, in anything she’d seen, done anything with Sharley’s hair, or said much other than ‘you’re welcome’, but it wasn’t anything radically different from what she’d already experienced through her poor friend -- this was just going to be something she’d experienced herself, in person. And even she realized it was going to be a different story, psychologically.

 

“Now, within this memory, you will become aroused,” Angie said seriously. “Don't fight that feeling. What Von Ratched did to you was done with the intent of driving you to as intense an orgasm as the human brain is capable of, and what you will be remembering is not something to be ashamed of. You and I have both talked to Sharley about this, but I want to reiterate it. You had no choice in what he made you feel. He tapped into the Lizard Brain we’ve discussed with her. When that arousal manifests, let it unfold, because it will pass. It’s the memory of something that was never real to begin with.”

 

Looking away, Lorna shuddered. She’d known this, too, and done her best to prepare herself for it. Having watched Sharley torment herself over it, she at least had a good idea what to expect. “Okay,” she said.

 

“There is more I want you to do,” Angie said gently. “If you need to cry, let yourself cry. If you need to scream, allow yourself. It’s why we’re going out into your cottage -- you don't need to temper your reactions to protect anyone else. Whatever you feel, give yourself permission to feel it, and to express it. I know that can be difficult for you, Lorna, but it’s important. I’m going to ask you to speak your thoughts aloud, insofar as you’re able, to make certain you don't internalize them. I need to know if you think that’s something you can do.”

 

Lorna looked at her. “I can try,” she said. “I mean, I can’t promise you how well I’ll succeed. I've never exactly done this before.” And yet...she could. She was sure she could manage this. She’d put it off for far too long. This had happened to her ten fucking years ago; there had been a lot of time and life between then and now. Obviously she had not been defiled forever.

 

Angie smiled. “Good. Just keep in mind, the immediacy is going to overwhelm you at first. Once it’s passed, we’ll work on it further, but I don't want you trying to fight it to make it pass faster. That’s part of what you did originally, and I can’t blame you, given the wider circumstances, but you’re not faced with those circumstances now. You are safe. There’s nothing threatening you or your loved ones. Most in your life are happy and healthy, and the ones who haven’t quite reached that state are healing.”

 

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Lorna said.

 

Angie took her hand, and squeezed it a little. “Good. I’ve already spoken to Ratiri; naturally, he’s nervous, but he’s ready to be there.” Somewhat critically, he was not going to be in the room when the memory itself was delivered, but to come in immediately afterward. She didn't want him affecting Lorna’s nerves before she tried this, and he was an expressive man, even when trying not to be; if he was uncertain, she’d pick up on it, and it would feed what doubts she had. 

 

And yet, those doubts seemed few. She wanted to do this, and finally for the right reasons. The fact that she was willing to bring the full force of her personality against Thranduil had finally tipped the balance of Angie’s opinion on her fitness for it.

 

“Then let’s do this,” Lorna said firmly.

 

*****

 

Ratiri could not say he was thrilled by this idea, but after talking with Lorna and Angie, he could see why it could prove a good one. How Lorna had -- or rather, hadn’t -- dealt with the whole thing had turned out to be something like an improperly healed limb, and one which had to be broken again before it could be re-set correctly.

 

By agreement, he was to wait outside the cottage, and go in when signaled. All things considered, he wished, vaguely, that he were a smoker. At least he would have something to do with his hands to pass the time, and keep his nerves from fraying any worse than they already were.

 

Lorna fixed tea in the kitchen -- normal tea; the fact that all her tea had to be normal was part of the point of doing it now. Three cups; a fourth stood empty, waiting for Ratiri, so it wouldn’t get cold.

 

She set the tea-tray on the coffee-table and sat on the sofa beside Thranduil; Angie had one of the wingback chairs.

 

“All right, Thranduil,” the woman said, “in your own time, show Lorna this memory. I’ve warned her what she will see.”

 

Thranduil had managed to keep his hands folded in his lap, but he wondered if what he felt inside was...maybe he understood a little better, why Maglor did not want to face the Valar in judgement. To use a mortal phrase,  _ this felt like total shit _ . Like being made to do something not because he wanted to but because he had to. And yet he was being told by someone who knew more than he, this was what his tiny friend needed.  _ You are King, Thranduil. Act like one.  _ With a sigh he hoped was not detectable to others, he brought Lorna close, and pulled her hand up to touch the side of his face, doing the same to her. As best he could he prepared himself for the terrible sense of pressure that always came with doing this for one who did not share the mental gifts of elves. Then he sent it into her mind; the very thing that he had without a qualm destroyed her memory of earlier. It was brief and then he was done and he very much wanted to vomit, but he forced himself to keep his features neutral. And that required all the self-control he possessed, to control his abhorrence.

 

That...that…. _ that _ was definitely what Angie had said it would be. Lorna curled in on herself, but she had enough wherewithal not to fight the tears that came, or the nausea, made all the worse by what she’d been made to feel within the memory. She wouldn’t sick up, though, not all over her nice hardwood floor...the revulsion that crawled along her spine in horrible waves made her shudder, but she didn't sick up. 

 

He’d  _ done  _ that? Why was she surprised? She’d seen something immensely like it in Sharley’s nightmares, and...and…

 

“What are you feeling, Lorna?” Angie prompted her. “Use whatever words you have.”

 

“Like I want to be sick,” she managed, wiping at her burning, blurred eyes. “Like I want...Christ do I wish I could kill him all over again.”

 

Angie sent Thranduil a brief look.  _ I haven’t forgotten that one, don't worry. _ “Should I bring Ratiri in now?”

 

Lorna nodded, miserable, and Angie went to fetch him. Thranduil sat still, not knowing if he should look at her or not. His initial...mishandling of this was part of the reason they were all here. He did not blame himself; he agreed with Angie. What had been done was for the best at the time, but that did not change that this was deeply unpleasant for him and worse for Lorna. Mostly he did not want to do anything...wrong.

 

Lorna reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze.  _ It’s okay _ , she said, in the face of...well, everything. It was a bald-faced lie, but it was something.  _ It’s okay. _

 

He smiled weakly.  _ Uh-huh.   _ However at that moment, something came through rather loudly, some silly joke Earlene was sharing with Ailill back at the house. Both were laughing, and toasting with their teacups their hallowed status as the only two human members of the elven Realm. He smiled and shook his head.  _ Those two. _ And yet it cheered him, and provided a welcome distraction.  _ Eru, was that really a joke about how many elves does it take to screw in a lightbulb? _

 

Angie led Ratiri back into the cottage -- Ratiri, who was doing what he thought was an admirable job of looking calm and collected. He sat on Lorna’s other side, pulling her close, running his fingers over her hair. At Angie’s urging, he said nothing; just held his poor, tiny wife as she burst into real tears.

 

It had been a while since Lorna had truly sobbed, and she’d forgotten how it could be awful and a comfort at the same time. She’d been smart enough to bring a big packet of Kleenex in her coat pocket, and tried to keep her nose wiped.

 

“What do you feel now, Lorna?” Angie asked her.

 

Speech was attempted, and failed; Lorna was crying too hard to manage it.  _ Grief _ , mainly; a strange, terrible pain in her heart, and yet it was dull, not sharp. Nothing in this was any surprise to her.  _ It hurts, Thranduil _ , she said.  _ Tell her it hurts.  _ As if that was going to be any shock to anyone.

 

“She says it hurts,” Thranduil said softly.

 

“Embrace that pain, Lorna,” Angie said, while Ratiri gently rocked her. “Don't fight it. Something terrible was done to you, and you’re allowed to let it hurt you. That it hurts doesn’t make you any less strong.”

 

Lorna nodded, since she still couldn’t say anything. Yes, it hurt, and yet it was almost...there was, beneath it all, something very like relief. She’d been afraid it had been something like that, like what had been done to Sharley, and at least now that it had been confirmed, she no longer needed to torment herself with wondering. It would no longer lurk down in the depths of her mind, waiting to ambush her in her nightmares.  _ When does it stop hurting?  _ she asked.

 

“Lorna asks, when it will stop hurting?” Thranduil relayed.  _ This is rather awkward,  _ he said to himself, but kept his expression neutral.

 

“You can’t think like that, Lorna,” Angie said. “There’s no time limit on this process, no cut-off date. It will hurt as long as you need it to hurt, to heal. I know you’ve broken bones in your life, before you met Thranduil; think of this that way. It wasn’t a case of put at cast on it and all pain vanished.”

 

Sniffling, Lorna nodded again. She saw the wisdom now, in doing this while she was up the yard, because naturally, she wanted something special in her tea, and right now she couldn’t have it, no matter how much she craved it.  _ Can you die of dehydration if you cry too much? Because maybe I should have asked that. _

 

“Lorna,” Thranduil said gently. “I think you need to try to speak this aloud yourself. This is not you being unable to form coherent thoughts. I am willing to help you when you cannot articulate, but this is not that.” He looked up at Angie, worried that his words might be out of place.

 

“What is it, Lorna?” Angie asked.

 

Lorna tried to speak, but it only resulted in hitching sobs. Ratiri held her tighter, rocking her gently, and Angie didn't push.

 

“Can you die’v dehydration from crying?” she managed eventually, but through her tears and her accent, even Ratiri wasn’t entirely sure what she’d said.

 

“Can you die of dehydration from crying,” Thranduil parroted, feeling it unfair that she would have to repeat herself for being unintelligible. She had tried.

 

Angie smiled a little. “No, you can’t,” she said. “Cry all you like, but drink your tea, when you’re able. It will stave off the headache later.”

 

“What -- what do I do now?” she asked, and this time she borderline intelligible. Angie got it, anyway.

 

“You feel,” she said. “You have a bad habit of trying to bottle things up, and we’re here to make sure you can’t.”

 

Lorna sniffled, wiped her nose, and offered a very thick, “ _ Fuck. _ ”

 

“This was the point of this, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, still rocking her.

 

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Okay, even  _ she  _ couldn’t understand all of that. Thranduil looked about as miserable as she felt, so she managed to grab his hand again.  _ Don't frown. It’s okay. I’m a snotty mess, but it’s okay. _

 

“I am not frowning,” he countered.

 

_ You are on the inside. I can’t hug you _ and _ Ratiri both, I’m too small, so I’m hugging you with my mind. And you’d better like it. _ Her sobs were abating a little now, though they’d left her chest sore and her throat raw. Still, there was that drained, feeling, the relief that only tears could give -- even now, after five years, she still didn't take it for granted. Having spent so much of her life with no outlet for anything save rage, the ability to cry was almost magical.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. He of all people knew when he was frowning or not, but he had seen Lorna do this before. Further argument would achieve nothing. This was one of her ways of coping. However he did have a question for Angie: “What now?”

 

Angie looked at Lorna’s rather heavy eyes, and said, “Unless I’m very much mistaken, Lorna’s going to fall asleep fairly soon. Lorna, do you want to stay here, or do you want to go back to Eldamar?”

 

“Eldamar,” she said. She’d come back to the cottage later, when she was less...this; right now, she just wanted all her kitties. “If I can sneak in and not get seen.”

 

“You can go up the back stairs,” Thranduil said kindly. “If it is very important, I will go with you and ensure you are not noticed.”

 

Lorna nodded, wiping her eyes again. “I’d...I’d like that. I just need...I just...I need my kitties.”

 

“We’ll take you to your kitties, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, rising with her still in his arms. This was slightly awkward, given her stomach, but he’d manage. Somehow. “Angie, I don't think we’ll be needing the tea -- can you rinse the cups?”

 

“Yeah,” Angie said. “You go on ahead --  I’ll clean up here.”

 

They passed the few minutes’ walk through the forest, with Thranduil basically only ensuring that in their passage through to their own room, they were not seen or heard. Really the only risk was Saoirse, drawing in her room with the door open just now, not much of anything. And in moments they were inside. “I want you to know I am proud of you, Lorna,” Thranduil said. And it was true, he was not ‘blowing smoke’, as he heard the humans say.

 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” she said. “And thank you, Angie.”

 

“You’ve got a long road ahead of you, Lorna, but we’re all here,” Angie said. “Get some rest, with your kitties.”

 

Ratiri took her into their room and got her settled with tea, Kleenex, and yes, kitties. Lots of them, swarming around her and finding assorted place to sit -- half of them on her. The tears were still coming, but lesser now; she really  _ was  _ tired as hell, and it wasn’t long before she was asleep.

 

Ratiri, not having been born yesterday, went and got her some acetaminophen for when she woke; crying that much would leave her with a headache, and by now a few over- the-counter painkillers couldn’t do her any harm.

 

He sat beside her on the bed, while Bast came to curl up in his lap. He’d never, ever seen her cry like that, ever, and yet she’d once told him that tears were like draining poison. There was ten years’ worth of it to drain -- ten years in which she’d only partially dealt with it, and buried the rest. What he dreaded was whatever anger was to come -- Lorna no longer raged like she once did, but her anger could still be an intense thing. 

 

But, as Angie said, they were all here. Her family, her friends, her cats...in time, he was sure, she’d want to go back to the cottage, so she’d have a chance to think undisturbed by the chaos in the rest of the house. He’d just make sure everything was dusted, and the pantry stocked.

 

_ Sleep well, mo chroí. _

 

*****

{March 23-28, 2027}

 

The next few days were...not fun. Not remotely. Fortunately, Lorna had been preparing herself for that.

 

What she had  _ not  _ been prepared for was the rather disgusting head cold she woke with the morning after the memory. At first she’d thought it merely from crying so much, but no -- she remained snotty, stuffy, and sneezing almost nonstop. She had no fever, though, so she didn't feel any need to involve Thranduil and his magical band-aid abilities; a plain cold wasn’t any risk to her pregnancy. And, oddly, feeling so miserable physically was actually a kind of help. It was impossible to get  _ too  _ worked up emotionally when you couldn't stop sneezing, or your sinuses felt like cement. It also gave her a very handy excuse to stay in bed, so that those not in the know on the memory procedure didn't wonder why she was holed up for days on end.

 

Difficult as it was, she didn't try to shy away from the memory -- not that Angie would have let her if she  _ had _ tried. It helped that it was a solitary thing, no more than four minutes in length: unlike Sharley, she didn't have a whole night of...that...to work through. Also, she’d known it was a thing that had happened for the last decade, whereas Sharley had been made aware of it less than a year ago,  _ and  _ found out the daughter she loved so much had been the product of it.

 

Yes, she went through periods of anger, but much of her rage at the whole idea had been spent years ago. Just now, her anger was merely that, as opposed to the towering fury of earlier years. The cold helped keep that at bay, too; getting too pissed off just made her feel worse, physically, and drained her energy. Never, ever would she have thought she’d be glad to get mildly sick, but glad she was.

 

The toughest part for her was the same as it was for Sharley: the fact that she’d been made to enjoy it. The fact that she  _ had  _ enjoyed it, and that the horror of the memory didn't fully take that away. For all she’d tried to counsel Sharley against the guilt, she couldn’t help but feel a measure of it herself, irrational though that was -- and it made her feel like something of a hypocrite. How could she suggest something she wasn’t capable of herself? 

 

“That’s very human, Lorna,” Angie assured her. Amusingly, she had a cat on her lap, one on each arm of the armchair, and two draped across the back. “Wanting to help someone who has problems we ourselves haven’t fully addressed is normal. The hope is that in doing so, we’ll also help ourselves.”

 

Lorna blinked. She was huddled under the blankets, curled up in as much of a ball as she could -- damn stomach. At least it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been with the twins; she could walk without waddling too much (yet), and there had been no hip issues. Ratiri was fairly confident there wouldn’t be any, either; indeed, he was somewhat worried that this baby might come out small even if she went full-term. “That sounds trite and makes sense all at once,” she said, and sneezed. With her sinuses this clogged, she had to be more careful than usual to enunciate. “What’s worst is...Ratiri and I have managed some pretty, er, amazing things over the years, but none’v them ever felt like  _ that _ , because that wasn’t real. It was...it was like being drugged.”

 

“Actually, that’s a very apt analogy,” Angie said. “What he did twisted your brain chemistry -- it’s why you were able to feel things with that intensity. If I were to guess, I would say he likely triggered endorphin overload in your brain, and temporarily heightened the sensitivity of your nerves.  _ That  _ should not actually be possible, but with magic…” And even now, Angie struggled with the word. Yes, it was real, but rather like the Valar, having confirmation of that only made it more difficult, in a few ways.

 

Lorna couldn’t help but grin. She recognized the other woman’s expression all too well. “I know, right?” she said. “That was my reaction, too. I didn't believe it for a moment until I saw it in action, and even then, it took me months to wrap my brain around it properly.”

 

“It’s good to know I’m not the only one,” Angie said, with a touch of dryness. “But as for Von Ratched…” Did she dare touch this? She was going to at least brush on it. “You’ve said that you killed him, and yet you also know that Thanadir did. Would you like to talk about that?”

 

“Thanadir  _ did  _ kill him,” Lorna said, “but he came back, and just looked like someone else, so I killed him again.”

 

Well,  _ that  _ was interesting to know. It was best to leave it at that for now, but it was more food for thought. Dealing with it was going to be tricky, because that belief seemed to have given her a great deal of closure that would be undone when the delusion was unmasked. These next few days would be vital, and would affect Angie’s potential future plans for that issue quite a lot. Bursting that bubble wasn’t going to happen until she was satisfied with the state of Lorna’s mental and emotional health -- and it had to come after the Atia delusion anyway.

 

“And now you no longer have to wonder about just what happened that night,” she said, pulling away from that subject. “You so often say that you’d rather know than wonder.”

 

“I would,” Lorna said, and sneezed. “Thranduil thinks I torment myself once I do know, but I can get over that torment. I don't seem to be able to get over wondering, though, no matter how hard I try. This...this was gross, and horrifying, but at least now I  _ know _ .”

 

Her nose wrinkled. “He was different with me, I think, than he was with Sharley,” she added. “Just...from what I saw. He was more...careful...with me, I think because he thought not making me miscarry was some weird form’v mercy.” The thought tasted sour. “And I think...he only expected to have one shot at me. He was counting on Thranduil taking me into the Halls and keeping me there, whereas he assumed Sharley wasn’t going anywhere. God, did I ever tell you he sent me ‘presents’ afterward?”

 

Angie’s eyebrows rose. “No, you didn't.”

 

“Yeah,” Lorna said, and sneezed again. Twice. “Some lavender, because’v my shampoo -- and he stole one’v my favorite shirts while he was at it, the bastard. Taught me to never leave clothing lying around outside my own room. And a hairbrush, because’v that fixation with my hair -- it was actually a really beautiful antique, so I gave it to one’v the ladies in town, and just didn't let her know where it came from. And...something else, though I don't remember what now.” It must not have made enough of a skeevy impact, fortunately.

 

“And these gifts upset you?”

 

“They creeped me out,” she said. “I think he  _ wanted  _ to upset me, with these little...reminders, but it just skeeved me. And it made me hate the smell’v lavender for a while, until I got Ratiri to start using my shampoo and learned to associate it with him.”

 

“A good idea,” Angie said. “Changing the association of something negative is often of benefit.”

 

“It definitely helped with that.” She grinned, and then yawned. “And I’ve got to say, a man willing to use a floral shampoo is pretty sexy all on its own.”

 

“It certainly shows he loves you,” Angie said, rising. “Get some sleep, Lorna. We’ll talk later.”

 

“Okay,” Lorna said -- and sneezed.

 

**

 

She slept the rest of the day, and as a result she was wide awake by the time everyone else had gone to bed. It meant she could sneak downstairs to the bathroom with the big tub and have a nice long soak. With bubbles.

 

So, there had been...that. She’d been so afraid, for so long, and while it was indeed terrible, it was not as bad as she’d feared. Maybe Sharley’s memories had provided a buffer, of sorts, or been better preparation than she’d thought.

 

How many other women had he done that to, over the centuries? They were a strange, unknown sisterhood, and she hoped like hell the others had found some kind of closure, too. She and Sharley were fortunate in that they had a large, loving support group, as well as professional help. In time, they’d both be okay.

 

Meanwhile, it had happened, and she’d faced it. Lorna wasn’t kidding: she’d rather know than wonder. Now that she did, now that she could address it directly...this wasn’t going to be any fun, not for a while yet, but for the first time since the damned event had happened, she had an actual sense of hope that she’d really work past it.

 

She lingered in the tub until the water started cooling. Bundling up in her pyjamas and her wrap (she’d been liking pretty things more and more, as she edged toward whale-hood), she went to the kitchen to brew herself some chamomile tea, sneezing as she went. Ugh, this really was disgusting, and she’d gone through so much Kleenex her nose was raw, and yet it still helped. Her throat was growing scratchy, but unless she developed a fever or a cough, this would stay a Plaster situation.

 

Putting the kettle on, she at least turned away before she sneezed yet again.

 

Earlene appeared out of nowhere, surprised to see her, but managing to dissemble about that part. Some late night tea had sounded good and with Thanadir distracted in an article he was reading, she might have the five minutes necessary before he realized she was gone and started to fuss. “Can’t sleep?” she asked, knowing Lorna had been...dealing with things...but as ever she kept her nose out of it. Though Thranduil had told her what he was asked to do, so she could at least put two and two together. Her arms reached for a jar of some lemongrass chamomile concoction that was in favor these days.

 

Lorna shook her head, and sneezed. “I napped most’v today,” she said. “Just took a nice long soak, with bubbles.” Another sneeze. “I have to say, as much as this cold sucks, at least I have an honest reason for staying up in my room -- one I can actually share with my kids.”

 

“Well, there’s always movies, I guess, depending on how bad you feel,” Earlene said sympathetically. She blinked at the ‘kids’ reference. She and Lorna tended to have different ideas of what to share with their children and when, but this was something even she would hesitate to explain. Part of her wondered how naive it would be to hope her children could come of age, never understanding that rape and rapists existed...but that was not a luxury for which this world allowed. Well, there was one conversation she probably wouldn’t relish. Though, heaven help the bastard that ever tried to lay a finger on Faeleth. She genuinely could not imagine what  _ that _ outcome might be...but had a feeling it would exceed even her own creativity.

 

When the kettle shrieked, Lorna filled one of the bigger mugs with hot water, and filled a strainer full of chamomile. “Movies and cats,” she said, and turned away to sneeze again. “Christ, there’s something we might need to worry about in only a few years: we’ve both got human kids. Human kids hit puberty. Human kids usually develop some kind’v sexual interest in something. What’re we going to do when they want to date? How do we handle that? I don't want to be that mam who says ‘no dating until you’re twenty’.”

 

“No idea, in terms of likely lack of potential options for eligible males her own age,” Earlene said. “I’ve already started talking to her about sex and relationships. And the right and wrong reasons for having them. I’ve no intention of telling her what she can’t do, that rarely works anyway...and frankly with your kids? Good luck enforcing that, they’ll just sneak out on you if they want to do something bad enough. My hope is to have Allanah interested in things that take up her time that she cares about enough that boys won’t seem quite so interesting. In a perfect world I’d love to see her learn about the opposite sex by being in groups...but I definitely intend to make sure she understands everything about how her body works and theirs too before she is even twelve or thirteen. You can’t get accidentally impregnated if you thoroughly understand the consequences of going there. At that point it would be more like, stupidity and bad judgement. Let’s face it, we live in an abnormal situation with a doomsday clock ticking. Not a lot of fun for teen dating, that.”

 

“Ratiri gave Chandra and Shane a sex-ed lesson,” Lorna said, stirring the strainer. “Right now they both think it’s disgusting, but they’re also only nine. It’s Shane I worry about more -- teenage boys and their hormones. I remember what Pat was like -- when he was sixteen he’d chase anything that was female and even moderately attractive. Shane might not turn out like that himself, but if he does, it’s the same problem you’ve got with Allanah -- where’s he going to find anyone? At least, if he does, he knows how to not get her up the yard. Part’v me hopes he’s gay, because at least there wouldn’t be any unwanted pregnancies...except then his odds’v finding anyone’d be even lower, in rural Ireland. It’s not like either’v them’ll have the chance Niamh -- my niece Niamh -- did, and go find someone abroad.”

 

She couldn’t help but laugh a little, even as she sneezed. “Jesus, I showed Chandra how tampons work with that model thingy Ratiri has -- the thing that’s like half’v a body and shows all the insides? Her expression isn’t one I’ll forget in a hurry. When I got to menstrual cups, she ran away, poor kid. At least she knows they’re a thing that exist.”

 

Earlene cocked an eyebrow, considering for the first time that her own elven method of dealing with That Problem perhaps wasn’t going to be so appealing to a newly menstruating girl. She made a mental note to talk to Lothiriel about...things. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I thought adolescence kind of sucked. You body goes haywire on you, every adult is telling you stuff you don’t want to hear, and you and all your peers just want to crawl in a hole and come out when you’re sixteen or seventeen. And yet, last I checked, the process is unavoidable.”

 

“God, and that’s the thing,” Lorna sighed, “my adolescence wasn’t exactly normal. I’m counting on Ratiri to know what to do with all the normal, if there really even is such a thing, teenage problems. I hit puberty late and I lived in a warehouse; I don't know how to parent teenagers and hope they actually turn out halfway mentally stable. Fortunately their da survived it just fine, even if it might’ve been despite his parents’ best efforts. Seriously, if you ever need a good laugh, get him to impersonate them trying to give him the Talk. I laughed so hard I just about broke a rib.” The tea looked as steeped as she was patient enough to let it get, so she emptied the strainer into the bin and hunted for sugar.

 

Earlene smiled and shook her head. She very much looked askance at The Talk. To her mind, it should be The Ongoing Conversation. And yet this wasn’t the time to go into all that. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to take it as it comes. Usually I’m Miss Think It In Advance but this one has...there are too many variables, which forces me to think I will just have to try to manage whatever comes when it comes. I hope that this isn’t going to be a social disaster though, where there just aren’t enough choices or where people marry because they have to settle for someone because there are no other options. I mean, what did they do in little villages back in the day? Maybe that was just how people lived when the choices were few.”

 

Another sneeze, and Lorna added in two spoonfuls of sugar. “That’s the thing, and a big part’v why I think Chandra’s right about getting them out more: they married people they grew up with. This lot’v only grown up with each other, mostly. There’s more kids in Baile around their age, so I’m wondering if we shouldn’t just start taking them there more often, no little kids in tow. They can go and play with the other kids, meet new people.” She shook her head, sighing. “I don't mind telling you, I’m a bit concerned now, with this new one on the way. Chandra’s sick’v being around small children, and there’s about to be another one...I was four when my brother Mick was born, and sure God did I resent him at first. So did Siobhan. I want to think Chandra won’t, but she’s been...discontent...about the whole thing for a while now, and just hasn’t articulated it even to herself.”

 

She grabbed some cream --  _ real cream, heaven _ \-- out of the fridge. “I’m glad they both bonded with Atia so fast, so she wasn’t left out, but I don't mind saying, I feel a bit shitty for not spotting this, even though I know I shouldn’t. I'm not a telepath, and even Thranduil doesn’t go around digging through people’s heads to find out their underlying issues.”

 

“I know it’s a mom thing, but I wouldn’t waste your brain space on it. They’re kids, and they’re not us. It came out, it’s getting dealt with, better late than never. And a bunch of adult elves and humans alike seem willing to make an extra effort to get the older kids out into the world more. That is a luxury money can’t buy...especially when they are all as good as family. Who even knows, maybe the kids’ll make friends from other places. Honestly I’d like the world to be bigger than Baile and this town. I hope before it all winds down, we get in more people from more other places. How, I’m not sure, but...yeah.” And apparently her luck had just run out, because Thanadir came gliding into the kitchen, with what she now recognized as The Seneschal Overview. He looked innocent and sleepy, but she knew damn well he was checking up to see if she was okay. Sometimes it felt a little stifling, but she loved him too much to make an issue of it.

 

“Hi, Thanadir,” Lorna said, and sneezed. At least she didn't slosh any tea out of her mug. “And the world...well, I take my kids and Allanah to Washington a few times a year. Maybe you lot ought to come with us again. Not that there’s really any kids there, but still...you should see Sharley’s new house. We can go camping at Ross Lake, and…” Oh good Jesus, why was she crying? Why now?

 

Thanadir saw first and put his arm around her, followed by Earlene. They said nothing, but just held her, and Thanadir rubbed her back.

 

_ What is wrong with her?  _ The ellon asked.

 

_ I think she has been dealing with some issues of bad things that happened. Von Ratched, bad things. Had I to guess, she is subject to fits of sadness just now. The biggest thing is, just let her cry. We should not try to stop her emotions. _

 

The barest nod of his head showed that he understood, and so they stood there. But then of course, Thranduil emerged, stalking silently into the room, and added himself to the fray.

 

“Jesus, I’m a mess,” Lorna said, but she could only be grateful for the group hug. “Every time I think shite’s getting better…” And, of course, she sneezed. At least it was into her sleeve.

 

Thranduil hugged her with immense ulterior motives. She was spewing cold viruses everywhere and Ailill and Allanah and not to mention his wife were now being exposed to this...this...mucus generating nastiness. But he had to be somewhat careful that she not be completely well immediately…

 

Thanadir realized what he was doing, smirking mightily in approval while Lorna could not see him.

 

“You are doing fine, Lorna,” Thranduil soothed, contorting his face to stifle his own grin.

 

“Sometimes I don't feel like it. Then I sneeze on a cat, and it glares at me, and things seem a little less icky,” she said. “For like...three minutes. Maybe.” Admittedly, Bast’s expression, the last time that had happened, was so offended she’d almost laughed herself sick. “And the Lump has abandoned me for Sharley and Maglor.”

 

“These things take time, and that is what Angie tells us. So we will simply believe that she is correct, and go with it, as you like to say.” Thranduil bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Are you going to stay up?” he asked Lorna.

 

She nodded, and wiped her nose with a Kleenex. “I slept all bloody day -- I’m hoping the tea’ll help. Thought I’d get downstairs for a bit, if I could avoid turning into more’v a leaky mess than I already was.”

 

“There is always late night TV and bad movies,” Thanadir pointed out. The problem was, he was completely serious. Thranduil and Earlene had mostly cured him of staying up and watching infomercials. Mostly.

 

“I may do that,” she said, sniffling. “Sooner or later Ratiri’ll wake up and wonder where I am, but he can snooze with the kitties for now.” She actually smiled a little. “When I got up, he had four’v them sleeping on him.”

 

“I would watch a movie with you,” Thranduil said, knowing that Earlene wanted sleep more. He was tired, but felt she needed the company more than he needed sleep. “Perhaps something only we would like? I am sure you can think of something,” he teased.

 

“I never did show you the first  _ Alien  _ movie, did I?” Lorna asked, with a little grin. He was literally the only other person in the entire house likely to appreciate that one.

 

“We talked about it on the flight to New York but no, we did not watch it,” he smiled. Well, the offer had not been without risk, he mused to himself. But this he would much rather have than the nightmares that were real.

 

“I’m going to pass on that,” Earlene smiled. “And I’m going to say goodnight, too. Feeling sleep. Better take advantage while I can.” She swallowed the last of her tea, and turned toward the bedroom. It surprised no one that Thanadir followed her.

 

“G’night,” Lorna said, and brought her tea with her to the movie room. “So, did I ever tell you, Pat snuck in to see this? He was five bloody years old, and him and his mates had thought it was going to be like the silly B-movies about aliens you saw all the time -- or even like  _ Star Wars _ , more’v a space opera thing. Yeah, that didn't end well.”

 

“I could guess…” Thranduil said, shaking his head. “I can only imagine the nightmares. Honestly it is a miracle any of you survived childhood. You raised yourselves and somehow did not perish.”

 

“I’ve wondered before now if it wasn’t an actual, literal miracle’v some kind,” she said, bringing up the movie before curling up on one of the chairs. “I mean, the odds’v it would be pretty low, you’d think. Okay, now for extra fun, the man who plays Ash would go on to play Old Bilbo in the  _ Lord’v the Rings  _ movies, except he’s like younger than me in this movie.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes, but made sure she was covered comfortably in a blanket, then put his arm over her shoulder. “Roll it,” he said, as convinced about this as he was going to get.

 


	130. One Hundred and Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 24-28, 2027

 

Lorna had been armchair-cruiser bound for the last few weeks, but she actually didn't mind, because driving one around was a little too much fun. Rather like when Earlene had used it, she was rarely on it alone; if there wasn’t at least one kid and two cats, she considered it empty.

 

The house was rather more crowded, however, which meant there was a great deal of traffic. Ratiri, being a slightly evil genius, had put a ringtone on her mobile that sounded the air-raid siren for a nuclear attack; she’d put the volume up and blare it before she motored into a room, so everyone would know she was coming. It was so effective that she kind of wanted to keep doing it even after she’d had the kid. Pat said it gave him nightmares, but Pat could bloody well deal.

 

Earlene didn't use the other chair in the house, so at least there was never a furniture-cruiser-jam. The doors were so nice and wide that she could even flip out the bottom of the recliner and have plenty of room. She had to put it down at the dinner table, though, which inevitably displaced at least one cat.

 

“All right, you lot,” she said, as she pulled up to the table, “one’v you deal with this feline.” Pumpkin had jumped off the chair and now sat glaring at everyone. 

 

“Shoo,” Atia said, and chased the cat away. Naturally, given how fluffy the poor thing was, she just wound up skidding as she went.

 

Earlene said nothing. As she neared the end of this pregnancy her mood had gone completely to shit, and she could not give a reason why. This had not been a difficult pregnancy, by her standards. But the last three weeks were characterized by wanting to kill everyone, and for little provocation. Everything irritated her. A lot. And on account of that, she tried to keep to herself a great deal. It was safest to be with only those who could read her mind and had the patience to navigate what even she thought was best described as Her Bullshit. Thanadir and Thranduil both tried to be soothing, assuring her it was not her fault and that they did not mind, but that did not change that when it came to the V in Volatile? Oh yeah. She  _ owned  _ that bitch. Which is why a baleful stare followed the Pumpkin until it was out of sight.

 

Lorna had just got herself situated, stomach rumbling audibly, when...oh. Oh  _ no. _

 

“ _ Really? _ ” she growled, glaring down at her own lap. “On the fucking  _ armchair _ ? And I'm so hungry,” she added plaintively.

 

“Lorna?” Ratiri asked.

 

“My fucking water just fucking broke all over my  _ fucking chair _ ,” she snarled. “And dammit, I want dinner. I’m bloody starving.”

 

“Ah.” Well, Ratiri was all business now. “Thranduil, where should we do this?”

 

“Do what?” Thranduil said. “Why not get her a towel and let her eat her dinner in peace? It isn’t as if the child is going to come in the next half hour, and she said she wants to eat. She will surely need the food more than anything else, won’t she?”

 

“You do remember how fast Shane arrived, don't you?” Ratiri asked, even as he rose. “Greased lightning, he was.”

 

“Should I be proud’v that?” his son asked, watching Lorna worriedly.

 

“You might as well,” Ratiri said, heading off to the bathroom.

 

Lorna looked down at her stomach. “You stay put, you hear me?” she said, and grabbed a scone. “I want my damn dinner.”

 

“Mam, the baby’s not going to like...fall out, right?” Atia asked, wide-eyed.

 

“Your brother did,” Lorna muttered.

 

“ _ Ew _ , Mam!” Her littlest daughter scurried off into places unknown.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes and prepared himself for an...evening. At least they were having breakfast for dinner. There was something comforting about the idea of going into this with eggs and bacon. And yet he was not worried; he could feel what Lorna felt via his mind. There had not even been one meaningful contraction yet; he felt that eating dinner was certainly manageable. That being said, he hoped his friend did not linger. He looked at Thanadir, speaking silently through the storm clouds that hovered over their wife’s head. It was agreed that Thranduil would go with Ratiri to help with their baby, and that Thanadir would only be called in the event of a genuine emergency. Calanon and Ailill were notified that if that happened, they would be charged with staying with Earlene. She was the least likely to want to kill them; they were basically her favorites and could do little wrong in her eyes.

 

A tiny contraction rippled its way through Lorna, though what was rather more annoying was what felt like a tiny baby foot stomping on her diaphragm. Given how active this kid had been lately, she should have seen this coming, but she’d only dropped a few days ago.

 

“ _ Oof _ ,” she said, glad she’d already swallowed. “You be patient. You get your dinner after I’ve had mine.”

 

Ratiri returned, bearing several towels and a change of trousers -- some of her soft fleece ones. Somehow, using both towels and possibly sleight-of-hand, he managed to get a towel onto the chair  _ and  _ change her trousers without anyone seeing so much as her ankles.

 

“Thanks, allanah,” she said, and loaded up on more eggs. Protein, right? Eh, whatever. It was just nice not feeling like she’d wet herself.

 

“I can’t believe you’re still hungry,” Grania said. “Christ, I’d had no appetite for a week before our Lorna was born.”

 

“The day I turn away food and I haven’t got a stomach bug is the day you ought to lay me out for my coffin,” Lorna said.

 

Earlene snorted, because that kind of humor was able to penetrate her fog. She was almost full, and was already thinking about how to leave the table as soon as possible while not attracting attention. Ithiliel and Eleniel smiled, excited at the idea of seeing Lorna’s new baby. “Have you picked out a name you’d be willing to share?” Ithiliel asked politely. Privately, Earlene was very impressed at such a well-framed question. It was so hard to remember that they were only ten years old…

 

“Supri Mairead,” Lorna said, hiding a grin behind her teacup. She had looked, quite hard, for a name that meant ‘surprise’, and found none, but Ratiri had pointed out that Supri was a legitimate name on its own.

 

“Does Mairead know about this?” Pat asked.

 

“Nope. Figured I’d tell her next time I saw her and she had a sip’v something in her mouth.”

 

Sharley laughed silently. She rather wanted to be around to see that, whenever it happened.

 

Another tiny contraction -- Lorna couldn’t even properly call it a contraction, it felt more like a cramp -- worked its way from her back to her abdomen.  _ No _ , she told Supri.  _ You stay put.  _ The baby, as if hearing her, kicked again.  _ Oh, great. You’re definitely a bloody Donovan, aren’t you? _

 

_ I think you should hasten your eating, Lorna. If you are still hungry I will have another follow us with food, but I do not wish to hear your husband saying ‘I Told You So’ if we delay leaving much longer. I assume, that is, you want the pool again for giving birth? _

 

_ Probably a good idea,  _ she said, mainly because if Ratiri actually was right, she didn't want to be actually giving birth on the armchair. “Ratiri, allanah, do me up a plate, will you? And bring it to the Halls?”

 

“Let me guess,” he said, eying her, “plenty of bacon?”

 

“Exactly. Where’s the sofa? I can’t drive this through the forest.”

 

“Mam, I can get it,” Shane said, hopping off his chair. Mostly, he just wanted a chance to drive the thing again.

 

Thranduil had a dim view of anything besides carrying Lorna in his arms, but he also recognized that his friends had a borderline unnatural fondness for this device. And he would be there to ensure that her safety was not left up to a ten year-old. Ever since the incident of the children going to town on this thing, it had become somewhat tainted in his mind. “Tell me what you wish to do, Lorna,” he offered, not wishing to dictate her experience.

 

A third little contraction made itself known. “Which would get me to the Halls faster, the sofa or one’v you lot?” If this one turned out to be like Shane, she’d be lucky, but not if she gave birth halfway through the forest.

 

“Me,” Thranduil said unhesitatingly, because he could both run faster and not risk...he simply did not trust this..sofa. Thing.

 

“Okay then,” she said, standing. “Remember, allanah --  _ bacon _ .” 

 

“Yes, mo chroí,” her husband said dutifully, rolling his eyes. “Go with Thranduil.”

 

**

 

Apparently, Supri had decided to hurry up and wait, and Lorna was pacing back and forth and swearing.

 

“Kid, don't do this to me,” she groaned. Yeah, it had been nice to finish eating her dinner, but she hadn’t wanted her daughter to take her quite so literally when she said ‘stay put’. She was still only three centimeters dilated, but the cramps were coming a minute and a half apart. Was this what happened when a kid actually finished cooking all the way? Supri was close to right on time. Her father’s daughter already -- including his unwillingness to just get something over with in a hurry.

 

“Whenever you need to lay down, mo chroí, do it,” Ratiri said. He’d learned wisdom, and was not yet telling her to breathe -- he’d save that for when she was actually in the pool, and would have a harder time hitting him. “I know it’s early, but do you want to go in the pool?”

 

“Yeah,” she said. He’d brought along one of her big T-shirts, because he knew that even now Lorna, unlike Earlene, wouldn’t be willing to do this with no clothes on at all. He had proper swim trunks this time, too, and so would hopefully avoid the chafing issues that had come with the twins (even with pants on, wet denim was just not fun in certain places. Not at all).

 

“Let’s get you out of the trousers, then,” he said, helping her step out of them. She groaned again as she made her way into the bathroom, and he helped her climb into the warm water.

 

“Ugh, how did Gran do this four times?” she complained. This was rather less terrible than it had been with the twins, sure, but it wasn’t fun. Then again, she doubted childbirth ever was.

 

“I would imagine she had a wider pelvic arch, even for a small woman,” he said, lightly massaging her shoulders. This time he’d also thought to braid her hair, so it wouldn’t be floating around like an anemone -- or trying to eat anyone like Cthulhu.

 

Thranduil knocked and poked his head in. It vaguely annoyed him to have to go clothed into a perfectly good pool, but this was Lorna. He had on swim trunks and a t shirt, knowing that she would probably prefer not being in contact with his skin to the extent possible. He had even braided back his hair, since who even knew what fun would be on the road ahead. “May I come in?” 

 

“Join us,” Lorna said, trying for a grandiose wave. Unfortunately, another, stronger contraction hit her, and she winced. “I guess Supri took me seriously when I told her to stay put.”

 

The King shook his head as he hopped gracefully into the water, not even causing a splash. “No comment on the belief she is listening to you at all,” he smirked. “But in seriousness, you need to tell me now how you want to go about this. Do you want all your pain controlled,  or do you want to try this on your own? Before we go much further it would be good for me to understand what you would like in a perfect world.”

 

“Pain control,  _ please _ ,” she said. “This is like the kidney stone that never ends. If it’s at all possible for me to pop this one out without you having to muck with my hip joints, that’d be great, but if you do, you do. Not going to try to fight  _ that  _ one.”

 

“Coming right up,” he joked, moving behind her and touching her waist on either side. “I won’t be going anywhere without need. Too bad no one thought to bring the chess board.”

 

Oh, that was better. “But you don't have your iPod,” she said. “You’d just be able to read my mind and beat me in like five moves.” It was somewhat weird, feeling contractions but no pain, and yet she was hardly going to complain. She had no idea how women had done this without painkillers for thousands of years -- or why they’d been willing to do it more than once. “You know, I don't think I've ever told you this, but Eleniel, Ithiliel, and Thaladir are kind’v the elf version’v Irish twins. Except they’d be triplets.”

 

“Elf version of…? I am afraid I do not understand,” he frowned. This time, reading her mind was not helping.

 

“Back before reliable birth control, two kids born within a year were called Irish twins,” she said. “It was kind’v an insult, saying we bred like rabbits. Earlene’s carried them all longer, but same thing, really. It -- oooh, that felt weird.” A slightly bigger contraction this time. “I think I was too freaked out with the twins, what with Earlene already in labor, to really register just how  _ strange  _ this feels.”

 

“Ah, I see,” Thranduil said, not about to mention that Thaladir only came in a few days under the wire, in this regard. Lorna could think of strange things, at strange times.

 

“Mo chroí, I want to check how dilated you are,” Ratiri said, “which means I have to get your hips up out of the water for a minute.”

 

“Go for it,” she said. “I feel kind’v like a floating blimp.”

 

“Well, you’re at five centimeters,” he said encouragingly. “Two more and you can start pushing.”

 

“I learned a new word from Sharley,” she said. “Booyah. It’s like brilliant, but better. So...booyah.”

 

“Thranduil, what are you lot going to do with three babies?” Ratiri asked. “I know there are three parents, but still. That’s a lot of nappies and sleepless nights, even with Ortherion and Lothiriel.”

 

“I intend to take up Ailill and Calanon on their offer, in part. But there is no way around that the first three or four months will be unpleasant, especially for Earlene. My wife produces plenty of milk but three children at once…” he shook his head. “Yet that is what the Valar have given us. Between you and I, I very much wish this to be the last time Earlene feels she yearns for children. I too was excited about the idea of another...but three? There is too much of a good thing, just now.”

 

“Or if she does have another passing thought, the Valar don't interpret it as a wish,” Lorna said. “It’s too bad -- oh wow. What was that?” Her eyes widened at a very, very strange sensation, one she couldn’t remember from the last time.

 

“I think she’s orienting herself to come out,” Ratiri said, feeling her stomach. “Enough somersaults.”

 

“What am I at, dilation-wise?”

 

Again he had to lift her to check. “Six centimeters. Almost there.”

 

“You cannot blame the Valar for the triplets,” Thranduil said. “While it is likely that my own powers of contraception were overruled by Earlene’s heartfelt wishes, the rest was her body. My wife is dangerously fertile.” He shrugged.

 

“I still think she somehow, through whatever powers’v bloody fertility gods, managed to reverse Ratiri’s vasectomy just by...I don't know, osmosis, or something. I mean, d’you know how rarely one’v those fails, after all this time?”

 

“It’s quite rare,” her husband put in. “And I know it wasn’t your doing, since you haven’t healed me.”

 

“I wonder what ancestor we’ve got that’s responsible for Earlene’s...uterus. I just know there’s someone back in the family tree who had like eight sets’v twins or...oh. Um. Ratiri? Allanah?”

 

“If your body is telling you to push, get ready,” he said. “You’re almost there.”

 

“So Supri’s somewhere between Shane and Chandra,” she gasped. “Good to know.”

 

“Breathe, mo --

 

“I  _ am  _ breathing. And here I thought I'd get away without you saying that.”

 

Ratiri looked at Thranduil, and couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

 

Being wise, Thranduil shrugged. He was staying out of it and doing his job of making sure nothing hurt. It was safer that way.

 

“Okay, I think she wants out,” Lorna said, an edge of panic in her voice. “Ratiri, tell me I’m dilated enough, because I think she wants out  _ right now _ .”

 

He barely had time to check before her body started pushing of its own accord. “All systems go,” he said. “Push.”

 

_ “Thank you _ .” Push she did, but she didn't have to do a whole lot; now that Supri had made her mind up, she seemed determined to vacate the uterus in a hurry. It wasn’t five more minutes and Ratiri was holding the tiniest full-term baby he’d ever seen in his life.  _ Boo _ , the lightest of their cats, probably weighed more, and he could hold the little girl easily in just two hands.

 

She was tiny, and yet, when he checked her over, everything seemed to be in order -- including her lungs, as she started squalling immediately. “Impressive set of pipes,” he said, still staring at her. “And she probably wants dinner.”

 

“Let me see -- oh good Jesus, is she meant to be that small? We could fit her in a bloody shoebox.”

 

“She came out of  _ you _ , Lorna…” Thranduil smirked, enjoying this immensely. He could see the child was just fine. Though, he hoped her eyes were brown. A nice lovely brown…

 

“Fair point,” she said, while Ratiri helped her adjust her shirt so the baby could nurse. “Still, I bet I could put her in a shoebox.”

 

“No shoeboxes,” Ratiri said, kissing her forehead. “I’ll get your robe. Stay in there where it’s warm.”

 

“Yes, Doctor,” she said, watching her daughter. “Christ she’s tiny. My mam, she was what they called a seven-month or shoebox baby, because babies that were born that early were put in a shoebox near the fire or, if you had an electric oven, actually in the oven at low temperature. Incubators, before there were incubators.”

 

“People are nothing if not inventive,” Ratiri said, as he climbed out of the pool. “Oh, and Lorna?”

 

“What?” 

 

“May the Fourth be With You.”

 

She groaned, and only partly because she felt the afterbirth on its way out. “Oh dear bloody God, he’s never going to leave that off. Poor Supri.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. Even Thanadir would not come up with anything that bad, but this was not his birth experience so…  _ Ratiri, you need to check nothing is torn or not as it should be on Lorna. She cannot feel herself because I am preventing that. I would like to stop but not until I know all is well. _

 

_ On it _ , Ratiri said, draping her fluffy terry robe over a bench. “All right, mo chroí, I need to give you one more check down south.”

 

“Go for it,” she said, a little woozily. 

 

There was not, insofar as he could tell, any tearing -- unsurprising, really, given how tiny Supri was. She’d all but fallen out, once she decided to get going. “I think you’re good. I’ll get you a towel.”

 

“That...that wasn’t so bad,” Lorna said. “I mean, not fun, but...not bad. Even if I really do have the world’s tiniest baby. If she weighs even two kilos, I’d be surprised.” She had a head of wispy dark hair, though what shade it would be wouldn’t be evident until it dried. Given she was a newborn, her skin was also quite red; what her complexion would be remained a mystery.

 

Well, the show was over, as Thranduil liked to think. “Later, if you wish, I can return your body to how it was before.” One never knew when they would pipe up with that dreaded ‘plaster’ canard of which they were so fond. “I am going to return to Eldamar. I believe the sofa is still outside and...do you wish for anything before I depart?”

 

“Is it safe for me to take Supri back to Eldamar later? Will it be too cold?”

 

“She seems healthy, Thranduil, in spite of her size,” Ratiri said. “You’d know better than I if that was a good idea.”

 

His eyebrows raised. “Wrapped in a blanket or towel and held against your skin, I cannot imagine how she could become cold. Your daughter is small but there is nothing the matter with her. And, congratulations to both of you,” he smiled.

 

“Thanks for keeping the pain to a minimum,” Lorna said, while Ratiri took Supri from her. The baby was not pleased by this development, and let the world know it in no uncertain terms. Thranduil smiled and nodded.

 

“You can wait for the rest of your dinner,” he said, gently cleaning her off and wrapping her in a soft towel. Lorna came next; Thranduil was courteously not looking, so he managed to get her out of her wet shirt and into a dry one, plus PJ pants and her bathrobe, wringing her braid out in a towel.

 

“Wow, okay...yeah, woozy. Thranduil, I might just take you up on that ‘putting me back the way I was’ thing,” she said, weaving a bit on her feet. Ratiri picked her up before she could fall over.

 

“First you need to eat, and drink,” the King said, frowning at her state of being. “Do you want me to carry you out of here?”

 

“Might be a good idea,” she said, and Ratiri passed her over, picking up the unhappy Supri, who quieted as soon as she was held -- though she still glared at her father, given there was no milk forthcoming.

 

Thranduil frowned some more as he scooped Lorna into his arms. “Your baby is very hungry. I would suggest you let her eat. If you can manage that, I will close my eyes so you can...arrange yourself. There is no reason you cannot hold her against you while I carry you. There are cloths in the sideboard that you could use to cover yourself and her.”

 

“That sounds good,” she said. “God I feel weird.”

 

“Endorphins,” Ratiri said sagely. “And likely a surge of estrogen.” Still, he wasn’t entirely convinced of that -- but there had been no tearing, nor was there any bleeding. It could well be an adrenaline crash. 

 

He got everything arranged so that Supri could eat and Lorna need not flash the entire world. The baby was immediately much happier, and Lorna was just...sleepy.

 

_ I don't think there’s anything physically wrong with her, is there?  _ Ratiri asked.  _ Then again, I've never seen her after a normal birth, so maybe this is just how her body reacts. I can’t say it’s abnormal, though it’s also not common -- but then, you kept her from feeling any pain, so it wasn’t precisely a normal birth itself. _

 

Thranduil was not about to say that all Lorna’s births were completely normal; they had rather different perspectives on normality...then again that was to be expected in a world where cutting an infant out of its mother’s body was commonplace. “There is nothing the matter with her,” he insisted. He did not know the words for all these...things...but that what he had said was true...he was sure of that. He walked rapidly toward the Gates, focusing on his steps being even smoother than usual so as not to jostle mother or child.

 

“Well, hopefully Earlene’s goes this smoothly, even if it’s highly unlikely to go this fast,” Ratiri said. “I know she’s...not pleased, right now, to put it mildly.”

 

Thranduil said nothing to the perhaps unspoken question. Yes, his wife was ‘not pleased’. He had considered whether removing her from the forest, for a time, would be advisable because basically anyone who was not himself, Thanadir, or one of their children for increments of time totalling anything more than five minutes was barely tolerable to her right now. And he understood why, and it would be disloyal of him to discuss it. Even with Ratiri. There were many advantages to their semi-communal living arrangements, but the sad fact was, when you were in introvert sunken into a black mood, deeply physically uncomfortable with no choice but to wait it out and then face the prospect of doing little else than being a milk dispenser for the next four months or more...what was he supposed to say, or do? Nothing. Nothing at all. But now they were at the sofa. “Do you wish to walk or use...this?” he asked, hoping for the former but prepared for the latter.

 

Ratiri eyed the sofa. “Let’s walk,” he said. “And...Lorna’s cottage is available, should its theoretical benefit be theoretically needed.” That was all he would say, but Thranduil ought to know the offer was open.

 

“Yeah it is,” she said, a little dreamily. “And the bed’s big. And there’s no cats, or...traffic.”

 

“Thank you,” Thranduil said, knowing better even than to ask Earlene. His wife was extremely sensitive to...places. Favorite places, not favorite places, places that were not favorite yet but might be someday, places in general. Earlene could still walk, and if she wanted to be somewhere, that notion needed to originate with her or else even the mere suggestion would cause a cascade of ire. Ire he had no desire to provoke or amplify.

 

The kitchen and dining room were deserted by the time they got back to the house, and Lorna all but asleep. Supri had finished her meal and was snoozing contentedly. She didn't wake even when Thranduil transferred both onto their bed, displacing several cats (all of whom immediately surrounded both mother and daughter, giving each a thorough sniffing).

 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” Ratiri said. “I think that would have been extremely unpleasant without your help.”

 

“You are very welcome,” he said. “You know where I am if there are problems. Get some sleep, you might have three hours before she is hungry again.” All too soon that would be his reality as well...and he left to see to his own family.

 

Ratiri took Supri long enough to get a nappy on her -- which took some doing, given how small she was. They had no baby clothes little enough for her, either; the onesie he put her in was comically huge. Lorna was probably right, in guessing that Supri might not even weigh two kilos; they were going to have to get some smaller baby clothes, and fast.

 

He was tired enough that it was all he could do to finish setting up the bassinet, and set it on Lorna’s end-table. Their daughter could snooze there, safe and sound, and be near to hand when she woke for Dinner Part Two. This part he had not missed, but they’d get through it. Once he’d changed into some pyjama trousers, he all but collapsed onto the bed (and nearly squashed Midnight). He was asleep almost immediately.

 

**

 

Thranduil entered the bedroom and locked the door, seeing that Earlene was awake but staring balefully into space while Thanadir tried to sooth her with massages. He sighed, silently.  _ Meldir, the little child that was born is very tiny. They have nothing that can fit her. Can you help, even if it is just one or two items? _

 

Thanadir nodded, looking at Earlene. By unspoken signal he waited for Thranduil to change for bed (which more or less meant, disrobe) so as to take over what he was doing. With a kiss he explained why he was leaving. Neither missed the black thoughts that resulted, but she nodded her head. Logic was still alive and well, even if nothing else was. For the first time, Thranduil began to worry a little. This was unlike her, in terms of...this seemed to be far beyond an ordinary bad mood. For her to not even ask about Lorna’s baby, and resent Thanadir doing something...his Earlene was not like this. He sighed, a little uncertain what to do, except take over rubbing at her back. “Meluieg, I think we should talk a little, about how you are feeling,” he said softly. “This mood has gone on for some weeks now.”

 

Silence. What was worse was that it was more than silence. She tried very hard to hide it, but he caught that she had actually thought that he should go fuck himself. Rather than become angry, now he was worried even more. In her worst rages she had never, never thought any such thing. He decided not to comment about her thought. “Tomorrow I am going to talk to Angie, Earlene. I am worried, because this is not good for you. Or me, or Thanadir.”

 

With a surprising amount of fluidity, she rose up and left the bedroom without saying a word, and walked out the door. And across the grass and into her old cottage, where she found two folded blankets and dragged them with her into the bedroom. Shaking them out, she gingerly lowered herself onto the bed on her side, which was now the only position in which she could gain any relief from the weight of her abdomen. Right now, she wished she could just keep walking but knew that it was impossible.  _ Just leave me the fuck alone _ , was all that played through her mind, over and over. Glaring at the shaft of moonlight coming in the small window, at some point she fell asleep.

 

**

 

{May 5, 2027}

Thranduil brought Ratiri and Angie to the Quiet Room not long after daybreak. “I am sorry to disturb you like this, but last night something happened I can no longer ignore. I think it has not gone unnoticed that Earlene has been barely speaking or been willing to interact for close to three weeks now. At first I thought it was just...life, the discomforts of so many babies inside of her, the disturbance from Orla’s workers and the noise. But last night when I tried to talk to her she refused to say a word. More than that, she was thinking that she wanted me to...fuck off. And that was before she left the room to spend the night in the old cottage.  Angie, you might not know Earlene as well as we do but…” he looked helplessly up at Ratiri.

 

Angie and Ratiri looked at one another, and he nodded slightly. “Earlene appears, from my assessment, to be suffering from prenatal depression,” she said. “It’s not a condition many know about, but it’s actually quite common. The good part is that it usually eases off at birth -- the bad part is, not always. I obviously can’t prescribe her any medication right now, but there is always telepathic Xanax. It may be essential for her, as it’s always possible for this condition to worsen.”

 

“I know Earlene can be...stubborn,” Ratiri said, quite honestly surprised Earlene would think such a thing, “but she’s still logical at her core. The trick is getting her to sit down to listen in the first place -- which might take some of that telepathic Xanax right off, if she’s going to be able to do anything but walk off again.”

 

“That is just it,” Thranduil said. “She is so angry. So, so angry. And at nothing in particular; I can hear her thoughts. It is a...rage at existing. The only coherent thing I hear her say are variations on wanting to be left alone.”

 

“She can’t be allowed to,” Angie said firmly. “This kind of behavior can lead to self-harm, and not always intentionally. It’s not good for any of the babies, either. Especially at her age, carrying triplets, her blood pressure alone could cause problems.”

 

“To be slightly more blunt,” Ratiri said, “if you need to chase her down and sit on her to deliver that Xanax, you need to do it. This can actually get worse, unbelievable as that might seem. She only has a few weeks more before delivery -- I know that will be a drain on you, but there really isn’t any other choice.”

 

Thranduil shook his head. “I do not know that she has that long. This is ten full months since she conceived--as long as she carried both other sets of twins. But...you are both telling me to artificially repair her mood whether or not she wants it? Am I understanding correctly?”

 

They looked at one another. “As ethically sticky as it is, yes,” Angie said. “Right now, given the level of rage you’re describing, her health could well be in danger. Her children’s certainly could be.”

 

“Thranduil, do you remember what I was so worried about, with Lorna and the twins? Pre-eclampsia? That can be caused by high blood pressure,” Ratiri said. “Should that happen, either you’d be stucking managing it for the rest of her pregnancy, or you would have to induce her labor early. The only treatment for it is delivery of the child -- children, in this case. Earlene is not in her right mind. The best thing to do right now is, and I can’t believe I’m even saying this, give her a pre-emptive dose of Xanax and then bring her in to talk to us. Because if you don't do that beforehand, she won’t listen to a word you or I or anyone else tries to say. She’s just bolt at the first opportunity.”

 

He paused. “Also...these need to be her last children. No more pregnancies, even if she makes a half-wish in her mind -- next time, the Valar need to not run with it. She’s getting older, she’s running the risk of further complications, and she’s been pregnant more often than she hasn’t in the last ten years. There’s more to pregnancy than keeping someone physically healthy -- this time it’s prenatal, but what if it’s postnatal next time? Can you imagine how she’d feel, if she gave birth and then felt nothing for the child? She’s Earlene. She’d think she’d failed.” Quite frankly, he would have told her to stop after Faeleth, and the toll Faeleth took on her. Did she even want more  _ children? _ Or did she just want one more pregnancy? They wouldn’t know until she was rational.

 

Thranduil looked at Ratiri. “I understand your concerns. This pregnancy was not supposed to happen, but it did. But...if you value your life, do not express the thoughts you just had to Earlene.” He sighed. “I happen to agree with you. The dilemma is going to be how to ensure that she cannot conceive again. I will not sterilize her against her will. That is going too far even for me. It is a discussion that will have to happen when she can fully participate. In the meantime I will do as you ask.”

 

“Of course you couldn’t,” Ratiri sighed. “That would be far beyond unethical. But...when she is rational…” How could he put this delicately. “She needs to talk to Angie. About why she keeps wanting to get pregnant, when she has so many beautiful children already.”

 

“From what Ratiri has told me, I do have to wonder,” Angie said, and added, as delicately as she could, “does  _ she  _ want more children, or does she just know that you and Thanadir want them? Because...it would explain a few things. If it’s the latter, then perhaps you two need to sit down as well, and tell her quite firmly you want her to stop having babies.”

 

“I do not have to ask the reason, I already know what it is,” Thranduil said, looking at them both searchingly. “If I tell you, I will be revealing something my wife considers to be deeply personal. Worse than that...Ratiri, please forgive me, but in my heart I believe this is something that Earlene could bear the thought of Angie knowing but not you. I think she quite literally would come unglued, were I to tell you.”

 

“It’s all right,” Ratiri said, rising. “I live with her, it would be harder. Just let me know when I can come back.” He gave Thranduil’s shoulder a squeeze as he passed out of the room. Thranduil waited for some moments, until he knew Ratiri was out of earshot.

 

“This is not easy for me,” Thranduil said to Angie. “It is more than one thing. Earlene loves her children, and has wanted them. But Earlene also loves being pregnant. The idea of carrying a child from one of her husbands inside of her body resonates with her very deeply. I will not deny that Thanadir and I have wished for and cherished all of these children, but the difficulties are why we all agreed that Faeleth needed to be the last. And then the discussion becomes very surreal. Faeleth is not an ordinary child, and Earlene’s pregnancy with her was so difficult because she is not...Faeleth was tampered with, in some capacity. By the Valar, and with Earlene’s consent. We still do not understand their...reasons. But even more...Earlene’s children have a choice, to live as immortal elves or to have the life of humans. What perhaps no one else knows is that Earlene wants to cast aside her own humanity; it is her heart’s greatest desire to be granted the life of an elf. That is an unknown...thing...that hangs over our heads. Made worse by the fact that there is some precedent for her having a slim chance of her desire being granted. It is my guess that the last aspect of why she has wanted so many children is not only for her joy in having them, but for the idea that should she die, that a part of her will carry on in her sons and daughters. I know how that sounds. I would also point out that of all those who have ever walked this earth, my wife is having life experiences no other human has been asked to have, for reasons not yet fully understood to us. But all of what I have just said...that is the sum of it.”

 

Angie stared at him. “Thranduil,” she said, “Earlene needs therapy.  _ Badly _ . Her motives are understandable, but almost none of them are healthy. I…” She was hearing a great deal about what Earlene wanted, what Thranduil and Thanadir wanted, but so far, little about what the actual children themselves might or might not want. “I’m almost tempted to call Alan out here, too. This is…” She’d thought Lorna and Sharley were the most damaged women in the household, but if she was understanding Thranduil right, Earlene was not as stable as she’d thought. “Well, let’s deal with her depression first. Everything else needs to wait until she’s getting a full night’s sleep again.”

 

“Angie, I am afraid I must stop you. You are viewing everything I have just told you through the lens of Earlene being an ordinary human woman, living an ordinary human life. I would not blame you, if you cannot understand what it means when the Lord of the Valar consecrates a human life to himself, and sends that woman on what amounts to a long term mission to serve the will of the gods. What it means for a human to come into such close spiritual alignment with those of another race that her greatest hope is simply to be allowed to remain with them, and take on the burden of their immortality in order to walk at their side. To raise children that are extraordinary and like nothing this world has seen, all while serving as a crowned Queen of her people. There has been no one like Earlene, and there will never be another like Earlene. She has navigated every challenge given her with a grace few others would find possible, elf or mortal. She is only now having this one difficulty. You and I can agree that her current state of mind is not healthy. But to say that the sum of her motives is not healthy...how can you possibly evaluate what is or is not, when there is nothing on earth by which to compare the choices she has made, and why she made them?” He was not angry, or even upset. But it was his deep seated belief that in this, Angie was deeply in error.

 

“You’re right,” she said, “I can’t understand. I’m human, and I've lived in what I thought of as the normal human world until I met all of you. What I want you to somehow ask of her, after these children are born, is...what does  _ she _ , what does  _ Earlene _ , as her own entity -- not Queen, not the Valar’s chosen one -- but Earlene as a person, really want? She’s put so much of herself into the role she was assigned, and fulfilled it to the best of her ability, but I want to make certain she’s doing what Earlene-the-woman wants as well. 

 

“The problem with being the one and only of anything is that there’s no yardstick to measure by. Yes, if this was a purely human situation, I would consider her continual pregnancies and motives for them to be very disturbed and unhealthy, and I can’t pretend to understand the other forces at work here. I just worry that someday she’ll be too busy giving to everyone else to take care of herself as Earlene. Between two husbands, all these children, the extended household...she might be an exceptional human, but she  _ is  _ still human. The risk is in her spreading herself too thin.”

 

“I can answer that, too,” he frowned. “When she came here, Earlene told me that she chose this place to be alone somewhere quiet. To garden and have some chickens and maybe an animal that gave milk. And that she would want to spend her time reading and growing food and in other quiet pursuits. There was no intention of going anywhere, of traveling within Ireland. And that she wanted to try to find something she believed was...missing.” He looked down. “Some of that, I have helped with. Other of that...did not really go as Earlene had planned. There has been an ongoing...situation in our lives. She is an introvert but can easily behave as though she is not. She likes to be alone, apart from other people a great deal, and yet that does not mean she dislikes others. It is part of why it took me so long to realize something was wrong. And if I am to be fully honest, every time life was settling down here a little, to where we could have that time for her to find greater peace, turmoil came. I think you can see that this household has not lacked for...drama. I have done what I could but I cannot control the goings-on and difficulties of everyone under this roof. It has been...hard.”

 

“Your wife is an introvert, who came to Ireland to be alone, and now lives in a busy house and will shortly have nine children...Thranduil, you’re sitting on a powder keg,” Angie said. “Lorna has her cottage in the forest. I strongly suggest you build Earlene something similar. Somewhere she can go and be alone, and read, and have a little garden. She came to Ireland for certain things and got none of them, and it would be very wise to at least give her some illusion of what she wished for. Otherwise, in two or five or ten years, you risk something giving, and massively so.”

 

“Right when the outer world ends?” he said cynically, shaking his head. “I will try, Angie. But many factors work against that. We are fortunate to have so much help, rearing our children. I wonder how much might have gone differently, had Sharley never come to us with her vision of the future. And yet what were we to do, ignore it all and go cruising the fjords of Norway? And yet...we already discussed an idea, for a private place. Perhaps it is time to make that happen sooner.”

 

Angie sighed. He wasn’t going to want to hear this, but she had to say it. “It needs to be made to work, Thranduil,” she said. “However you have to do it -- and it needs to be a private place for  _ Earlene _ , not the three of you. She’s more than just a wife and a mother, and she needs something, even if it’s just a few days a month, entirely apart from both. I always counsel mothers to keep a part of their lives their own, because otherwise, when their children grow up, they can wind up having forgotten who they are as a person. I know that peredhel aren’t adults until they’re fifty, but still. I worry that, no matter what she might think, she risks losing her own identity in being Wife and Mother. You’re king, and Thanadir is seneschal, but I know Earlene wasn’t precisely thrilled about being queen. That’s not really a facet of identity she would want to embrace out of anything but duty.”

 

  
“That...was an unfortunate constellation of circumstances indeed,” he admitted. “Alright, point taken. But I warn you now, Earlene and Thanadir...there is something different there. There always has been. Their relationship has changed little since they wed. Those two are like...mirror images of each other, in some ways. I have seen them go all day and never exchange a word aloud or in their thoughts. And yet they coexist, and each is happier for having the presence of the other. Earlene and I are partners in intellect, in some ways. But those two have a stronger bond in a spiritual way, if that makes any sense. I will have the space you suggest created, but I will not force her to use it alone. I will merely...give an opinion that it is for her solitude.”

 

“As long as she can go there and feel she has no demands on her time, that’s what matters,” Angie said. “Meanwhile, as unpleasant as this is going to be, she needs some telepathic Xanax, and we need to have a discussion. As Ratiri says, at heart she’s a logical woman; once she’s given a chance to exercise that logic, we can talk to her properly. Though I doubt I need to tell you I’m worried about what knowing about this condition will do to her sense of self-worth. From all I’ve seen, she values her self-control and intellectual skills, and Ratiri has told me that she has a level of perfectionism that can make even problems beyond her control feel like failures to her. It has to be approached carefully, so she doesn’t immediately tell herself she’s done something wrong.”

 

“It is hard to demand someone’s time when no one knows where you are,” Thranduil smiled. “My Halls are vast. And...if I am to do this, I should go to her before she wakes. That would be easiest of all.”

 

“Probably wise,” Angie said. “Ratiri and I will be available when you need us -- I’ll be in the Heart Room.”

 

**

 

Thranduil entered the bedroom silently to see Thanadir sitting on the bed, watching Earlene sleep. He appeared to have been crying, and stealthily he moved to sit next to the ellon, embracing him. For a very long moment they held each other, while all that had been discussed was relayed to the seneschal. More tears formed in Thanadir’s eyes but he nodded in agreement, and wiped at his face with his sleeve. They shared a tender kiss, before Thranduil moved to approach Earlene’s face. Very softly, so as not to wake her, he laid his hands on her head, and Thanadir reached around to place his hands on top of Thranduil’s. Light came, and then extinguished. After a nod from Thranduil, Thanadir began to carefully rub her back, to wake her slowly

 

She blinked, then caught sight of Thranduil. And blinked some more. As memories of where she was, why she was here, and numerous other factors coalesced, she rubbed at her forehead. “I don’t know what to say, but while I am working on that there needs to be the lavatory.” It was something, just to hear her speaking in a relatively normal tone of voice again, and the blankets were pulled aside to allow her to stand up. While he would not describe Earlene as huge (she was not as large in the belly as when she had carried Ithiliel and Eleniel) there was no question that his wife was uncomfortable.

 

Most of what was passing through Earlene’s mind was some aspect of confusion and the words  _ what the hell…  _ but not much further progress was made in the time needed to drain her bladder and wash her hands. There might have been some eye rolling as well. Returning, she sat on the bed. “I seem to recall behaving somewhat badly.” A careful look at Thanadir’s face told her it was likely more than that. “For whatever I put you both through, I am sorry. Everything seems...I don’t really understand what happened except, I remember feeling angry. Really...angry.”

 

Thanadir now nestled up behind her to hold her, still saying nothing. 

 

Thranduil spoke, realizing that Thandir did not want to be the one to tell her. “Angie says you have something called prenatal depression, and that I had to do something because your anger was dangerous for both you and the babies. And that I am not to allow you to become angry again, no matter what I have to do.”

 

Earlene considered this. “So you are why I do not want to murder others for the crime of existing just now?”

 

“Something like that. Earlene...how would you feel about moving back to the Halls, until the children come? You could read, watch movies, be...alone.”

 

“Given that the first thought to flit through my mind was not wanting to go to breakfast to see the others...that might be for the best. Thranduil, I know they worry about me. And that they tell me that it is how they are, and that they need to express their concern. But there is a problem with that, and there always has been. What  _ I _ need is to not hear it. Not see it. Not feel it. I want to be ignored. If I want help I’ll ask someone. I want to be left the...I want to be left alone, and ‘alone’ doesn’t mean people popping in to check on me or tell me how they worry about me. And I know how crappy it sounds to say this because it’s selfish. It’s what I want, not what they want. But right now? I seriously don’t care what they want. If that makes me a big asshole, well, then I am one.”

 

Thanadir tried to stifle his hurt feelings at hearing this, but Earlene was not done yet.

 

“I want Thanadir. And you. And maybe my children, in measured doses. I’m not too sure about anyone else though.”   
  


“We can do that, meldis,” Thanadir said, so relieved to have made the roster. He looked up at Thranduil, who nodded.

 

“What about Angie?” Thranduil asked. “You do not have to talk to her if you do not want to,” he added.

 

Earlene stared. “I think I need a day of being kept like...this. Obviously something went wrong and I should learn some more. I will talk to her but not today, please.”

 

“Very well. Thanadir will take you to the Halls now, before the others are up and about. And I will be by to see you throughout the day. And bring your computer,” he smiled. “You and he should plan on having breakfast together; I should stay to help with the children.”

 

_ WiFi in the Halls had never sounded so good. _

 

Thanadir laughed, immense relief coursing through him. He swept her up, after wrapping her in a warm garment. “I have missed carrying you,” he whispered. “Those are happy memories for me.”

 

Earlene just smiled, before turning to Thranduil. “Thank you,” she said, knowing that he of all people was able to understand how much was in those two words. A brilliant smile from him was her answer.

 

**

 

The King stopped in at the Heart Room. “Well, that went...well.”

 

“Actually well?” Angie questioned. “Good.”

 

“She...spoke. And said she would be willing to talk with you tomorrow. I suggested that she move back to the Halls until the babies come because...she still wants to be alone more than she can be here. She was quick to want to take me up on the idea.”

 

“That’s encouraging,” Angie said. “Having her solitude...this is a big house, and a beautiful one, but there are also a lot of people here. In the Halls she doesn’t need to stay in her bedroom to avoid them.”

 

“Earlene looked surprised, when I told her what you said. But she did not seem upset. Just...contemplative.”

 

“She’s a smart woman,” Angie said. “And when she’s not being ruled by hormones and brain chemistry gone awry, she’s a very sensible one. Just tell her to relax and enjoy herself.”

 

Lorna, sleepy, stuck her head in long enough to wave and say, “Good morning.” She had her extremely tiny bundle of joy in her arms, freshly fed and changed, and it was time for tea.

 

“Morning,” Ratiri added, yawning as he followed.

 

“Hi,” Atia said, bounding into the Heart Room. “My sister’s like a doll. A really little doll.”

 

“She is,” Thranduil agreed, looking somewhat sadly at Lorna until his eyes widened at the young girl’s thoughts. This, he had not known.  _ Atia knew she was adopted? _ Oh good Eru, this was now officially ridiculous.  _ Angie, I think you should know something. I have just seen in Atia’s mind that she knows she is adopted. How, I am not certain, but I could guess children were involved. I was unaware of this before just now. _

 

Angie’s eyes widened.  _ This  _ she had not anticipated.  _ Then when Lorna gets back with her tea, you ought to just tell her. And show her, if necessary. _

 

_ I am counting on you to be the Hall Monitor,  _ Thranduil added drily. Because here came Lorna.  _ Ratiri, Angie says I should just tell Lorna about Atia. Because I have just seen that Atia already knows she is not your child by birth. _

 

Ratiri almost dropped his mug, panic surging through him.  _ What?!  _ Oh, not this, not today...how could she handle this? And yet, if not now, when?

 

He cleared his throat. “Lorna, I think there is something we are overdue to discuss. About Atia. And that she knows why you had to pretend about her, but she also knows she is adopted.” He blinked, amazed that he had actually managed to just say that aloud.

 

Lorna froze, and shut her eyes. “Fucking Christ,” she sighed, sinking down onto the sofa. “You know...I’d made myself believe. Until I got up the yard with Supri, I made myself believe I’d had Atia, too.” She couldn’t say just when the perception had started to shift, but she’d been thinking of the twins, with this pregnancy, and yet never of the pregnancy she’d convinced herself she’d had with Atia. “Earlene told me to pretend, and I pretended.” Her eyes burned, but there were no actual tears; she was still too tired for them.

 

“Atia, how did you know?” Ratiri asked, sitting and taking his daughter onto his lap.

 

“Chandra and Shane,” Atia said, entirely unconcerned. “When you taught them about where babies come from, they realized Mam had never actually been up the yard with me. Chandra asked Eleniel and Ithiliel, and they said everyone had to believe Mam had me because you’d...got me illegally? Not a legal adoption? Something like that.”

 

Angie watched closely, but said nothing yet.  _ Thranduil, what’s going on in her head? _

 

_ Her pregnancy began the shift in her perception _ , he said,  _ and now she is exhausted. Her mind is nearly...blank. There is guilt, and relief, but little else. _ He, on the other hand, was trying to evaluate what he thought of his daughters. All his children were admonished to keep the information private but he had never discussed what to do should they be  _ asked _ . And they were asked. No matter how he turned it around they were left with only two choices: tell the truth, or refuse to answer the question...which in this case would have been both as good as an answer and alienating to Chandra and Shane. Ithiliel and Eleniel were blameless in his eyes. Really, he was pleased with their choice and would probably talk to them later about this.

 

“What  _ did  _ happen to my birth mam?” Atia asked. “Chandra and Shane didn't know.”

 

“She died, allanah,” Lorna said softly, looking up at her beautiful little girl. “She died having you, but your da and I couldn’t’ve legally adopted you, because the adoption laws in this country are bloody stupid. The government would’ve taken you away, and stuck you in some foster home where you might’ve been loved, or might’ve just been kept around for the paycheck.” She couldn’t say to this sweet child that nobody would have adopted her because she was brown. Not to those big, innocent eyes. “And your birth da...was out’v the picture.” Which was...fairly true. Sharley didn't know what had happened to him. What with the way her ability worked, he literally  _ was  _ out of the picture.

 

“And if anyone we knew had known that,” Ratiri added, “it could have got very -- well, sticky. They still can’t know. And even though your mam didn't have you the normal way, she still fed you like she’s feeding Supri. You’re as close as you can be without….”

 

“Coming out’v Mam’s snatch?” his daughter offered.

 

“ _ Atia _ ,” Lorna groaned. “All right, let me guess - you got that one off Saoirse, didn't you?”

 

“...Maaaaybe.” The kid was about as good a liar as her mother, at least. “How did you feed me? I think a woman had to have a baby for her tits to work.”

 

“I am never letting you near your cousin again,” Lorna sighed. “Your Uncle Thranduil can do a lot’v things, and that’s all I’m saying. And if you go to Saoirse for any more details, you won’t get any, because she doesn’t know and doesn’t want to. And neither do you.” And yes, she grimaced a little. No, it hadn’t taken more than maybe twenty seconds, but she was never going to fondly remember the necessity of having Thranduil grab what passed for her tits.

 

Thranduil, by some miracle, did not pinch the bridge of his nose, as he talked to himself silently.  _ Honestly, would this woman ever get over this childishness? _ The answer was probably No, but still… _ Valar....no, not Valar…  _

 

Perhaps there was a better solution... _ Angie, I am not asking you to interfere. But this is not the first time one of Lorna’s children has asked a question having to do with sexuality or reproduction, only for Lorna to shut down the conversation just as she did now. I called her on it once even though it is really not my business. Earlene and I feel very strongly about maintaining open dialogue with our children about bodies and how they work. It frustrates me so much to hear this and yet I know whence it comes...Von Ratched and more besides. _

 

Angie eyed him.  _ The two questions I have to ask are, would a further answer be something appropriate for a child of six to know, and would giving that answer upset or discomfit Lorna? In an ideal world, a truly open dialogue would be good, but if the price is Lorna’s peace of mind, that’s a trickier business. I’m all for children understanding the function of the human body, but Lorna has been through much trauma. I would suggest that it be some other person who tells her what she needs to know. Trying to make, or make Lorna feel like she ought to do it, is somewhat cruel. _

 

Thranduil listened. And still did not agree, but he had asked for a reason.  _ Then I will keep my opinions to myself. Thank you for your answer. _

 

_ If I might make a suggestion, I would say, talk to Ratiri about it. He might have some insight as well. _

 

_ Of course,  _ Thranduil said. He could do that much. But henceforth, his nose was out of this. Clearly he lacked insight, and the point of learning was to not do harm.

 

“Was I tiny like Supri?”

 

“You were small, but not quite this small. Supri’s tiny even for a tiny baby.”

 

“Is she going to be short like you?”

 

“We can’t know that yet,” Ratiri said. “Not when she’s just a day.”

 

“Oh,” Atia said. “’Kay. I’m gonna go make some cocoa.” Off she scooted, and nearly ran into Chandra as she passed.

 

Thranduil looked up.  _ Ratiri, I was asked to...ask this, and then I am keeping my nose out of it. What Lorna said to Atia...it is not the first time I have heard her effectively silence one of your children when asked about sex or bodies. Earlene, Thanadir and I do not agree with this and it is therefore hard for me to keep silent, but Angie tells me that in Lorna’s case my opinions do not outweigh her level of trauma and discomfort. I am...letting you know that I see it as a problem, but will say no more about this. Forgive my intrusion. _

 

Ratiri pondered this.  _ Honestly, I think you’re both right _ , he said.  _ It’s not that Lorna doesn’t always want them to know these things, it’s that she won’t -- or can’t -- be the one to tell them. I’m not going to ask her to say anything she’s not comfortable with, but at the same time, I’d like the kids to talk to someone else who  _ is  _ comfortable with it -- mainly me, but any other adults they feel like asking. I’m not sure anything is worth pressing any buttons on Lorna’s collective trauma about the subject, but she isn’t the only one they can get answers from. If they ask why she has a hard time with it...we’ll think of something. _

 

_ I think it safe to say that any of us, elves or human, on our side of the home would honestly and tactfully answer any questions the children might have. If, that is, you are willing to allow us this. I am aware that this is a sensitive topic for some human parents, though I believe that view is...well, silly. _

 

_ You have my permission, and I’m sure you’ll have Lorna’s, too.  _ He sighed.  _ It would be silly, if it wasn’t Lorna’s history. It’s more than just sensitivity on her part. I would hope that someday she could move past it, but...recent events...being what they are, I doubt that will be any time soon. _

 

_ Maybe that is what seems so upsetting. I want so much for all this to just go away, for her. But...that isn’t fair or realistic. _

 

_ Someday,  _ Ratiri said.  _ Someday, hopefully. _

 

*****

 

Thanadir brought a tray of covered dishes with their breakfast to the room, feeling rather nostalgic about how he used to do this long ago, when life at the Halls had returned to...well, life, after Earlene’s arrival. After they un-faded. It had been so many years and yet not so many at all. He did not ask his wife to sit at the table but rather brought the tray next to the chair where she sat waiting, looking visibly less than comfortable. He filled a plate with her choices, and allowed her to eat with the plate balanced on her swollen belly. “I like this,” she said happily. “This feels nicer than sitting on the wooden chairs. Thank you, Thanadir.”

 

His relief at seeing her more normal again was palpable; her altered demeanor had frightened him. “I would do anything for you,” he said very softly, as he placed food on his own plate.

 

“I know you would. I really am sorry, for how I behaved of late. I...it feels like that was someone else. You were very kind to me and...I appreciate it.”

 

They ate in silence, enjoying each other’s company, while Thanadir pondered his next move. There was something to be said for dealing with difficult topics before they had a chance to settle. But he at least waited until she had eaten, and the dishes were cleared away.

 

“You have that look of wanting to say something, and thinking about it,” Earlene noted, as her eyes followed him.

 

“You were not supposed to perceive that,” the gentle elf smiled. “I must be slipping.”

 

“No,” Earlene answered. “There are many things no one would see in your expression but me. Or Thranduil. I have made too much of a study of watching your face, I am afraid. It is one of my oldest hobbies. Not to mention one of many things I love about you. So what is this great topic?”

 

“One that is hard for me, and yet I believe it is...true. Earlene, Faeleth was supposed to be our last child. And while I am not in the least sorry that we will have more sons, I truly believe that this  _ must _ be our last child. Children. We do not know...meldis, perhaps our prayers will be answered. But until that day comes, you are human. Almost fifty years of age. I do not wish to see you go through this again, not when you have already given more children than any elleth that ever lived.”

 

She stared at him, feeling conflicted. “There is a part of me that is going to feel sad that this is the end, Thanadir. But...I do not disagree. I did not know that I could somehow...override Thranduil’s ability to prevent me conceiving. I get the impression that this possibility was not at the forefront of his thoughts either, before this actually happened. But...if I can manage to do that, does it mean that we might make love and a stray moment of yearning could make this happen again? What am I supposed to do? Valar, I hope this does not mean condoms for the next ten years. I would not be happy about that. I want…” she blushed, somehow not wanting to have to talk about being inseminated just after breakfast.

 

“I know. I do not want that either,” Thanadir answered honestly. “I want our bond, and to be able to feel it. But...Thranduil could use his gifts to do what a human surgery would do. Part your fallopian tubes. I think before now, he would have considered it an affront to the gift of the Valar. But this is not the same anymore. Not after you have had so many babies and the chance of conceiving more could harm your health.” He held her close, allowing his words time to sink in while he stroked her hair.

 

“Are you saying he can sterilize me?” she asked pointedly.

 

“Well...yes. And plus as one of your sexual partners, he...pays attention, to those places in your body. This would be a safer method than what he has done before. And it is also something he could heal, though...I still say you have given us both more than enough blessings in this regard. Nine babies, meldis. Most elves are thrilled to have one, or two. I never dreamed of three.” He rubbed her belly, leaning forward to kiss it in a manner that was almost worshipful.

 

“Alright,” she sighed. “I cannot argue with this much common sense. Thank you for approaching this as you did. It feels...this may sound stupid, but knowing that it could be undone helps somehow. It makes it feel like...not like I am having something taken away, even though I know it is all the same thing.”

 

“No. Not stupid at all, Earlene.” He kissed her, his tongue dancing at the edges of her lips. The next several minutes were distracting enough to make her forget being pregnant. At least, until her bladder reminded. 

 

“I will start a fire in the bedroom,” he grinned, helping her up. 

 

“I don’t suppose you have given any thought to what you will name your son?” she smiled.

 

“You have not chosen anything?” he asked obliquely as he helped her to the toilet.

 

“Ideas came and went and I am fond of none of them,” she answered, wondering if it would be simpler to just sit here on the toilet until the baby arrived.  _ Think of all the time it would save… _

 

“You are not doing that,” he admonished. “Though I could understand the idea. And...I had thought of Andaer. Because he will be your last and in some ways greatest gift to me.”

 

“In what way?”  Now she felt curious.

 

“It is what I said at the time they were conceived. I made love to my wife and we are having a child. No Valar. No not remembering because we were both asleep. Do not mistake me, I cherish all of the children you have given me. But sometimes one appreciates simplicity.”

 

“Fair enough,” Earlene laughed. “And I like that name. I approve. But...I was thinking of middle names. What do you think about Ailill? I like the name a great deal and...”

 

“Yes,” Thanadir said. “I am very fond of Ailill and I like what the name means.”

 

Earlene sighed. “I wonder what he will look like…”

 

“I think we will find out soon,” the old elf said, looking carefully at her. “I think the children are dropping.”

 

**

 

{May 8, 2027)

 

Three beautiful boys, bundled in a row, having their statistics recorded. A not particularly difficult labor of seven hours from start to finish, in which Earlene felt no need of help.

 

“They weigh  _ how much _ ?” Earlene asked Ratiri, not believing she had heard correctly.

 

“One point eight, one point nine, and two kilos,” he said again. “And it’s rather sad that your smallest is the same weight as my youngest -- though if anyone’s interested, Thanadir’s son is the heaviest.”

 

“His name is Andaer Ailill,” Thanadir said proudly, looking at the child’s brown eyes as he held his son in the crook of his arm. Oddly enough, he had been born second, in between each of Thranduil’s identical sons.

 

“The firstborn of mine is Erynion Donovan,” Thranduil said, besotted. “His twin is Lancaeron Duncan.” He was looking at two little mirrors of himself. 

 

Thanadir, finally able to focus on things like the children’s appearance, gasped to see them. “Eru, Thranduil. They are Mini-Me’s.”

 

A shriek of laughter came from Earlene, who thought that was the best thing she had heard all week. Though, she did try to clap her hand over her mouth so as not to startle her sons. “Did you really just say that, Thanadir?”

 

“Yes?” the seneschal said, confused.

 

Ratiri was so touched he couldn’t even laugh. “Really?” he asked. To know that someday, there would be two peredhel in Aman bearing his and Lorna’s surnames...it pleased him more than he ever would have thought.

 

“Really,” Thranduil smiled. “Though it is Earlene that pointed out that your surnames are both also first names. It would not have occurred to me.”

 

“True -- Duncan as a first name isn’t common outside of Scotland,” Ratiri said. “Have you told Lorna? She’ll love it. Once she gets over being a weepy hormonal mess.” Yes, his poor wife had had a few...issues...in the last few days, but of the normal, postpartum, hormonal variety. At her age, it was rather to be expected, and both he and Angie told her not to fight it. It hadn’t actually sunk into depression, so both thought it best to let her be for now, and see where it went.

 

“No, we did not,” Earlene said. “We are notorious for dealing with names at 72 hours to go or less. There was no point breaking our streak. So it will be a surprise, I guess.”

 

He burst out laughing, even as he noted down weights and measurements. “Nothing wrong with that. I don't know about Ireland, but in the UK you can wait a fortnight before you register your child’s name. Just in case a few last-minute suggestions get thrown in, I guess.”

 

“No need,” Thanadir assured. “We were careful.”

 

Fussiness told Earlene that it was time to start feeding these kids. “Are you done with one of them? I thought I’d best get going before the line gets too long,” she said ruefully to Ratiri.

 

Erynion being the smallest, he was passed over first. “We,” Ratiri said, “are going to need a  _ lot  _ of tiny, tiny baby clothes. Supri’s been swimming in Atia’s old onesies -- I’ve had to cut down the nappies so they don't fall right off her.”

 

Thanadir’s face fell. “I am sorry...I altered two little sleeping dresses for Supri and then I forgot because of everything...and Earlene…”

 

“Don't worry about it,” Ratiri said. “We’ve been keeping her up in our room much of the time anyway, so she stays warm. She’s healthy, but she’s so small. Lorna will sit with her on the bed and the cats will surrounded them like a living, fuzzy blanket. That purrs.”

 

Earlene smiled, disappearing into the bedroom with Erynion.  _ How strange,  _ she thought,  _ to have had so many children and yet only now do they look exactly like their father.  _ The blue eyes stared back at her, and she wondered. Because...she didn’t quite feel like she expected to, just now. 

 

Thranduil came in right behind her. “Is everything well?” he asked carefully.

 

“Well...I don’t feel… quite right, to tell the truth. I feel a little like I don’t care. That...am I okay?” she asked, uncertain after what had happened not so long ago.

 

“Put him on your breast first, and then I am going to make sure,” the King replied. “You have been through enough, Earlene. And I am so proud of you.” He kissed her brow. They had gone through the simple procedure the night before, all touching each other’s hands while Thranduil separated her fallopian tubes. And they cried together, because it meant the end of something, even if they all had agreed it was for the best. When it was done it felt like closure. Maybe some of those feeling were surfacing only now, for her? It did not matter; either way he was not about to let her lapse back into depression. He held his wife as his son began to suckle, and felt her relax into his arms.

 

“Chip off the old block,” she murmured, leaning up to kiss him.

 

He laughed. “I resemble that comment, but I am not sorry. And now I am going to see about the others.” Returning back outside , everything seemed to be winding down... _ good _ .

 

*****

 

{May 15, 2027}

 

“I’ve become rather fond of this Guinness,” Quen said, clinking his bottle against Maglor’s. It was mid-afternoon, somewhat warm, and lessons were done for the day. While Quen did not teach music, he had offered his services in the language and literature department. He was certainly more than qualified to teach children spelling and grammar, and did so gladly. In addition, he instructed the children of the house in elven history (required for the King and seneschal’s children, optional for the others). 

 

Maglor tipped a generous swallow down his throat. “Perfect on a pleasant day, while watching others work,” he grinned. The pair felt Orla’s workers were something of an entertainment. Frankly, the construction fascinated them. At the end of the matter, it had been decided that this dwelling would have not eight living quarters, but ten. Three levels, with an immense sheltering roof that would be much like the boughs of a tree. The top floor was to have two somewhat larger units in which to stay, under the argument that the family seemed to need always more space and not less, and that a cushion of sorts would make sense. What no one said is that it was hoped that Sharley and Maglor would permanently begin sleeping together at some point, but it would have been crass to ask for a move-in date. So they just built more rooms. Why not?

 

“So...if I can ask, how have you been?” Quen ventured.

 

Maglor cocked his eyebrow. “You live with me, Quen. You see me every day. Have I seemed ailing?”

 

“You know what I mean, you insufferable elf,” Quen fired back, though his voice was laced with humor. “I worry about you, Kana. I always have. You seem happy enough, but I have known you for a very long time. Long enough to know that what appears on the surface is not always the full story.”

 

“Little escapes your keen notice,” Maglor smiled. “And my sarcasm aside, you of all deserve a decent answer. Which is, better in some ways, still struggling in others,” he admitted. “Something happened awhile ago. The King more or less...cornered me. About my problems. And then when he got through with me, Lady Nienna came.”

 

Quen sat up straighter, incredulous. “Truly?”

 

“About that, I would not jest,” Maglor said. “Ever. I know what I have to do, Quen. I expect that when we are all commanded to return to Aman that my time will be at an end. I had intended not to go but was commanded otherwise. I am slowly working on the courage needed to face this, but the Lady left me with a gift of...acceptance. Resignation. I do not intend to work against it.”

 

The scholar’s eyes widened as he read between the lines of what had been spoken. “I see,” he said softly. There was a long pause during which only more ale was sipped. “I think it will be for the best, Kana. I know what you believe, but I do not concur. I have never shared your outlook. I think when all is said and done it will prove to be a relief.”

 

“Maybe,” Maglor smiled. “But at least there are some years to enjoy before that day comes.”

 

Just at that moment, an immense glob of cob fell from the second story scaffold and landed squarely on top of an open pan of whitewash. Both elves were not terribly successful at stifling their snickering. That one of the workers let fly a truly impressive stream of invective containing many choice Irish profanities only enhanced the experience.

 

“I’ll take it,” grinned Quen, offering Maglor a second bottle.

 

*****

 

Somehow, Sharley had been talked into helping Saoirse with a mosaic. Why she had agreed to it, she didn't know, but now she was patiently scraping grout in the spring sunshine.

 

“Aunt Sharley, how come you like Maglor when you never used to like anyone?” the girl asked. “I’d thought you were like me.”

 

“I thought I was like you, too,” Sharley said, watching with fascination as the small brown fingers arranged glittering pieces of blue glass into an ocean wave. “Maglor and I are married, though. I just didn't remember him. I still don't, but I guess my spirit does? Being near him comforts me, and has even before I knew who he was. Which I wondered like hell about at first, too,” she added, with a little grin. “You know me, I hate touching people, but even when we first met I liked holding his hand.”

 

“D’you guys like, do sex now?”

 

_ “Oh, this kid,”  _ Jimmy said.  _ “Who isn’t even a kid, but still.” _

 

“Not yet,” Sharley said, not surprised by the bluntness of the question. “We’re still sorta...re-learning each other, and...well, there’s other stuff. Someday, though.”

 

“But you stay the night in his room a lot, don't you?”

 

_ “Okay, since when does she pay enough attention to the world around her to notice  _ that _?”  _ Layla asked.

 

“I do,” Sharley said, “but we just sorta...snuggle. The Lump Ness Monster’s usually there, too. She likes sitting on his ass.”

 

“Even Aunt Lorna says he has a nice arse,” Saoirse said. “Though for some reason she doesn’t like to look at him a whole lot.”

 

Sharley burst out laughing, as did all the voices. “Yeah...there’s a reason for that, but I can’t tell you what it is,” she said. “It’s kinda my fault.”

 

“You know, Maglor was how I realized I was what Uncle Thanadir calls asexual,” the girl said, adding another wave. How the hell did she do that? It was like she just twisted her fingers and beauty came out.

 

_ “...What?”  _ Kurt, Jimmy, and Layla chorused. Sharley could only echo it aloud.

 

“I realized I was like, the only non-lesbian over the age’v sixteen who didn't want in his pants and wasn’t either Aunt Lorna or Aunt Earlene,” Saoirse said. “I mean, he’s fun to draw, but...I don't know, that’s it? I’d overhear the other girls, or whoever, talking about how hot he is, and I just...don't even understand the concept. Uncle Thanadir says it’s called being asexual.”

 

_ “That is some strange and yet sound logic,”  _ Jimmy said, sounding rather impressed.

 

_ “Saoirse’s weird, but she’s not stupid by any means,”  _ Layla said.

 

_ “It’s just sad that Maglor likely wouldn’t find that funny just yet,”  _ Sinsemilla mused.  _ “He’s so attractive he made a teenage girl realize she had no sexual interest in anyone.” _

 

Sharley choked back a laugh. She was so tempted to tell him so, but Sinsemilla was right: he probably wouldn’t find the humor in it. Yet.

 

*****

 

{May 28, 2029}

 

“It’s in the woodworking room, one of the rear chambers. Past where Geezer and Ian work. You can’t miss it.” Earlene mumbled all of this in a steady stream of Tired. For the last three weeks her life had been little other than a continuous cycle of nursing babies, snatching sleep when possible, and somewhere in there eating and caring for bodily functions. And this was after she had Thanadir, Thranduil, Calanon and Ailill almost steadily at her side in intervals, holding, rocking, burping, changing nappies et cetera on her young sons. Thanadir too had resumed nursing but really his milk was not even adequate for Andaer, not to mention the Little Thranduils, as she fondly called them in her mind. It was incredibly eerie, the degree to which the two blond and blue-eyed faces looked like their father.

 

Lorna had tried helping with the nursing, since Supri was just one tiny baby, but it hadn’t worked out. Having what was basically Thranduil in grinning baby form attached to her tit had been too weird even for her, but she was able to pump some milk, at least. It wasn’t much, but it was better than a kick in the teeth, as her gran might have said.

 

“Okay,” she said, wincing a little. Poor Earlene. Mairead was now on the hunt for whatever common ancestor they had that had been the source of the unfortunate woman’s insane ovaries. (She had not yet told her sister of Supri’s middle name; that was a surprise best shared in person. If Mairead happened to be sipping tea at the time, so much the better.)

 

On her way, she ran into Geezer -- a Geezer who did not look best pleased. She’d swear the grey in his hair was spreading by the day. “You look like you want to rip someone’s head off and shit down the hole,” she said, regarding the man’s somewhat bloodthirsty expression.

 

“Sean’s outta prison,” he growled. “Well, he’s out tomorrow. I could probably handle it if it was just him, but on top of those boys...I know Thanadir’s got his hands full at the moment, but I was hoping Thalion might help me out.” He laughed a little. “Though I gotta say, both Johns’ve been a sight better-behaved after Chandra and Faeleth did their...thing.” He hadn’t yet asked anyone at Eldamar about Faeleth, and he wasn’t going to. It wasn’t any of his business, but that didn't’ mean he didn't wonder. A lot. He’d managed to get the boys to believe everyone would think they were insane if they tried to tell anyone what they’d seen (which, honestly, was entirely possible), but neither were that keen to tell anyone they’d been beaten up by two little girls.

 

“Oh dear bloody God,” Lorna said. “Is Aurnia ready for it?”

 

“I don't think so,” he said, with a shake of his his head. “Sean’s her only baby. He seems to’ve shaped up a bit after his sentence got extended, but he’s also still in prison, away from all the shit that got him into trouble in the first place. I still wanna move him in here, but I’m not so sure how the Elves’d feel about me holding somebody against their will, if it came to that.”

 

“Good question,” she said, wrinkling her nose. That was a fairly sticky dilemma, morally speaking -- on the one hand, it was for Sean’s own good, but on the other, that was a very,  _ very  _ slippery slope. “You want some advice, though? Make him want to do it. Otherwise, you’re just making him trade one prison for another, and he’s Irish. That’ll go over about as well as a balloon filled with cow shit.”

 

“How am I gonna do that?” he asked.

 

_ You supposedly have a superpower, Lorna,  _ she thought.  _ Use it. It can’t hurt to try. _ “Let me talk to him,” she said. “I know I’m not from Lasg’len, but he and I’ve got a manslaughter conviction in common, which I really hope nobody else can claim.”

 

“I’d appreciate anything,” he said, visibly relieved. “Thank you. Aurnia, she’s a strong woman, but she’s Irish -- when things get stressful, she heads for the drink more’n she should, and we’re not getting any younger.” Though he had to admit, Earlene’s Meals on Wheels program had left them both rather healthier than they might have been otherwise.

 

“You know,” Lorna said, “we do still have a therapist at Eldamar. Might do Aurnia some good to talk to her. Angie’s helped all’v us a good deal.”

 

“I just may do that.”

 

“Good luck,” she said, and made her way onward.

 

The woodworking shop smelled, naturally, like sawdust -- a sweet, clean smell, and she paused at the doorway to enjoy it. There were assorted tables and chairs, in various levels of completeness, but the loom definitely stood out.

 

It was even bigger than she’d expected -- but then, Sharley was a tall woman, even when seated. Each piece of it was beautifully sanded and finished, carved here and there with patterns so perfect they looked like machine-work, and yet she was sure Maglor had done every bit of it by hand.

 

How the thing worked was fairly obvious, but how someone could make all the beautiful patterns she’d seen in some blankets was less so. All the thread would have to be dyed in different colors to make the pattern, right? How would you know where to put the dye?

 

A bright light filled a spot on the room and in its place appeared a woman not too physically dissimilar from Sharley. She was fair in appearance, with vivid maroon colored hair. Maybe it was even leaning toward scarlet; the lighting in the Halls made it difficult to determine. She stared at Lorna, taking the figurative measure of her. “It takes a very long time to travel here,” she commented acidly. “My Lady Vairë sent me. I am Carnimíriël, and I don’t want any jokes about it either,” she glared. “You can call me Carni if you wish, I was warned that some of our names are hard for those here to pronounce. You are Tirillë’s friend?” And without a real pause she added, “Nice loom. Is it yours?”

 

Oh bloody Jesus...Lorna twitched, and just about swallowed her own tongue. Another Maia...she wondered, totally irrelevantly, if the two were sisters. Or however the hell family worked among the Maiar. “Hi,” she managed, once her heart stopped thundering quite so hard. “Um, nice to meet you. I’m Lorna. Yeah, I'm Tirillë -- Sharley’s -- friend. This isn’t my loom, it’s hers -- she just doesn’t know it yet. Maglor made it for her.” She paused half a moment. Carni...Carmine… “Are you the red threads?”

 

“How did you guess?” the woman said, glowering. “Of course Tirillë got the  _ good _ name. Her and….well, never mind. The one that sees the past, let’s just put it that way. All the rest of us? Stuck with colors, thank you very much. The jokes, the jabs. You have no idea,” she vented, rolling her eyes. “Because no matter what anyone tells you, the Valar  _ do  _ have a sense of humor. Even when a few of us wish they did not.”

 

Lorna relaxed a little. Carni seemed rather more approachable, or at the very least less terrifying. “I have no idea if this would make you feel any better or not, but Carmine is actually a legit name here,” she said. “It’s not common, but it’s not unheard’v, either. And if you’ve got to be stuck with the name, at least you’ve got a fantastic shade’v hair?” she offered. “Sharley...Tirillë...dyes hers blue. Has she had a replacement all this time? And shit, would you like some tea?” Immediately, she winced, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sorry. I’m Irish, it’s a force’v habit.” Both the cursing, and the offering of tea.

 

“No thanks. We’re not supposed to...stick around that long. You probably figured out we don’t get out much, and when we do we usually speak only to the elves. So I’ll get to it. We know Tirillë is here, and we know something is wrong. Care to elaborate on that?”

 

“Yeah, I kind’v got that impression,” Lorna said. “Tirillë...and it’s bloody weird to call her that...is afraid if she tries to talk to Vairë -- Lady Vairë -- she won’t get an answer. If I tell her she  _ will  _ get one, maybe I can get her to try, sooner or later. The poor woman’s mind got shattered into bits in Angband, and she never did really recover.” 

 

She ran her hand along the loom, wondering if she should ask this next. “One’v the things I know she wonders about...she knows nobody could’ve heard her praying or screaming while she was in Angband, but I’m sure one’v the questions she’ll have for your lady is why nobody found her after that. Just...so she knows in advance.” And yes, she really did know it was a question Sharley had, because they’d already talked about it. And Lorna had not had even any viable guesses, aside from ‘they didn't look’.

 

“How could we possibly have found her, except by blind luck?” Carni asked blankly. “She disappeared. Never prayed, never called out. Lord Manwë has his eagles, and because of them and his own gifts sees more than most. There was only silence. And then we found out through the others that she was here. Damaged and not remembering anything about herself that the ellon Maglor did not tell her. We could not know what had happened. Or the condition of her heart. You do understand, those the Dark Lord took were sometimes turned to his will. She could have returned to us but she did not…” Carni sighed. “I believe the word you have for this is, ‘fiasco.’”

 

Lorna groaned, leaning against the loom. “Oh, good Jesus...when Sharley got out’v Angband, she was...there wasn’t much left, in her mind. This thing called the Stranger, this ruthless, scary bit’v her, made her forget. Everything. She started all over a blank slate basically glued together out’v what salvageable bits were left. She didn't remember the Valar, or Aman, or even her name. The Stranger made her think she was human right up until she met Maglor.”

 

She massaged her forehead. “The Stranger believed what Morgoth must’v told it,” she added, sighing. “That the Valar had abandoned her. Whatever he did...she still can’t try to remember being Tirillë without going through the Angand memories first, and Jesus does she scream...I’d never heard anything like it, and I never want to again.”

 

“Wonderful,” Carni muttered under her breath. “Look. Of course Vairë cares about her. The place hasn’t been the same without her in thousands of your years. And between the two of us, Tirillë’s replacement might as well be color blind, because half the time she can’t manage turquoise from midnight blue from cobalt. Do you have any idea how many do-overs we’ve had, unraveling it all and...Eru, it’s been one long tapestry nightmare. And I can tell from this conversation that she isn’t coming back to work anytime soon. Which is totally depressing, but whatever. We hardly get time away; I’m only here because they’re on winter scenes right now and it’s all the snow, you see. Anyway. Manartirillë has to want to come home, if it ever is going to get straightened out, but that has to come from her. Not me, not any of the other Lords or Ladies. It’s just...how it is done. I hope she is at least a little happy...all that sounds really...bad.”

 

Lorna’s eyebrows climbed practically to her hairline. Sharley had been here for like eighteen thousand years...that was one long nightmare. “She probably wouldn’t go any time soon,” she said. “Sorry. She’s got all’v us humans for family still, and I know she’s a bit scared, knowing that she was never human, she’s actually this other thing she had no idea existed...which, I can’t blame her for.” She smiled a little. “She is happy, though, even if there’s still pain. There’s a little girl who’s as much her daughter as the real mother, and I know she won’t go anywhere so long as Allanah’s walking this Earth. 

 

“But someday...someday all’v us will die. Maybe by then she’ll have got her mind around the whole thing a little better. I’m sure she’ll’ve talked to your lady by then.”

 

Carni nodded, looking more than a little forlorn. “I will pray for her. You can tell her I came, but I doubt she will recall me if what you say is true. I will take this news back to my Lady, Lorna. You are not the same Lorna our Lord Manwë visited, are you?” she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

 

“I’ll tell her you did,” Lorna said. “It might help.” If nothing else, she could hear that the Maiar, or at least this Maia, was a bit more approachable than the Valar. “And...yeah, I am. I wasn’t awake at the time, but he’s half the reason I’m alive and talking to you right  now. And he’s the  _ only  _ reason there was anything left’v me to be healed in the first place.” She’d thanked him for it, a few times, though she hadn’t expected an acknowledgement. It was the principle of the thing.

 

“Huh,” Carni said, clearly fascinated. “Even  _ we _ heard about that one, and we don’t hear about much. Well, give her a hug from all of us. As you said, maybe someday…” her words were tinged with sadness. “Goodbye, Lorna.” With a flash, she vanished to begin the long trek home, because  _ some _ Maiar had no eagles off of whom to bum rides…

 

Lorna stared at the space she had occupied, stunned. “Did that seriously just fucking happen?” she wondered aloud.  _ Wow...okay _ . Well, it was actually nice to know the Maiar were not like the Valar, in terms of pants-crappingly terrifying. And knowing that the Stranger really had been wrong, entirely -- hopefully thought would help Sharley. Though in its way it brought its own set of problems, because she was going to have to come to terms with the fact that the thing that glued her back together is also the reason she’d been wandering Earth for so long. Angie might need to extend her stay a little.

 

Lorna made her way back to the house, turning everything over as best she could. When she reached the kitchen, she immediately made tea, and looked at Ortherion a little helplessly. “I just met Sharley’s red-thread counterpart, for Vairë’s tapestries. Apparently her replacement on the blues is a really shitty weaver.”

 

Ortherion blinked. “What?” the ellon asked helplessly. While he had been told about Sharley, there were aspects of that he found exceedingly hard to absorb. He was also quite literally the last to ever know what went on under this roof. Even he felt he was a simple elf, of best use in the service of the household. Complex intrigues were quite beyond him.

 

“The red-thread Maia,” she said. “Calls herself Carni, since I probably couldn’t pronounce her real name. I’d asked if Vairë would talk to Sharley, if Sharley tried to talk to her first, and Carni told me she would. She also basically said her replacement’s color-blind and doesn’t know her arse from a hole in the ground. Only, you know, more posh.” If she wasn’t nursing, she’d add a dash of whiskey to this tea, because that was possibly the most surreal experience of her life.

 

“I see,” said Ortherion politely, still completely lost as to what the King’s friend was talking about. Then again they lived in strange times, where ellyn of lore turned up living in their midst, and the King sired more little ones than Fëanor...it was not for him to say. “Excuse me, I must check on Lothiriel,” he smiled. It was the only means of temporary escape he could fathom.

 

_ Poor elf _ , she thought, taking her tea into the Heart Room. It would be her shift with little Supri soon, and she needed to get her thoughts in order. So. The Maiar weren’t all necessarily like Valar. That was...oddly good to know. If Sharley ever did go back to Aman, after the rest of them were dead, it wouldn’t seem  _ too _ weird. Not if there were more like Carni there.

  
  



	131. One Hundred and Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 30, 2027-June 10 2029  
> Please note that the story fast forwards two years in this chapter! :-)

 

Ailill walked and patted Andaer’s little back, still overwhelmed with honor that Thanadir and Earlene would have named any part of their son after him. As he leaned over, smelling the fresh scent of the boy, his heart filled with happiness. The child was beautiful and easy to care for, or so he told himself. Calanon watched from a nearby armchair, his eyes glancing up occasionally from his National Geographic magazine, smiling to see his husband so content. An ominous belch tore through the air, and the ellon looked up once again to see the little peredhel launching all the milk in his tummy on Ailill’s now waist-length hair. The look on his firion’s face was priceless, and Calanon laughed as he rushed to help.

 

“To think I was in the throes of romanticizing having a baby,” Ailill winced. 

 

“Let me get a towel,” the elf smiled, quickly caring for the mess. Soon Andaer was gently wiped clean, and let out a second, much smaller burp before smiling and giggling. “You might as well go up and wash your hair. The smell will be terrible, if you do not.”   
  
“How do you know?” Ailill asked with curiosity.

 

“Do you think you are the only one to ever have an infant spit up its meal onto you?” Calanon grinned. “Trust me, clean it now or we will both regret it later. And, when I have my way with you tonight I do not intend to be appreciating the scent of baby vomit.”

 

Ailill blushed. “Do you always have to do that?” he protested, helplessly squirming in anticipation at the extremely appealing thought.

 

“Yes, because you are beautiful. And I desire you. Now get moving,” the ellon teased gently, swatting his shapely behind. “And no fussing with the hawks first!” It was true, that he had a terrible weakness for enjoying the sight of Ailill’s cheeks coloring...but he was also careful to ask with regularity whether he was ever overdoing it and hurting his lover’s feelings. Their banter was fun, but only so long as they both were truly laughing. Few things mattered to him more than his husband’s emotional well-being.

 

Ailill was in the process of crossing his eyes and making faces at his lover behind the door when he ran into Thranduil, who eyed him with amusement. “Valar,” the man muttered, embarrassed to have been seen behaving as a child. Moving more rapidly he fled up the stairs, and now blushing fully red. 

 

Thranduil shook his head tiredly but chuckled, and went into the bedroom, to see Calanon rocking Andaer while his own twins slept peacefully. Thanadir had taken Earlene into his old room for a brief nap. “Another spit up?” the King asked.

 

“Yes,” Calanon smiled. “Though to be fair, it is Andaer’s first one.”

 

“Maybe Earlene should take away her breast a little sooner?” he wondered aloud. “I will have to ask Ratiri.” Ratiri, who was almost as much of a zombie as they were. And yet he had other issues. He had been made aware that this was the day the infamous Sean would be released from prison; information he had declined to mention to Earlene. Lorna was handling it, or had a plan to, and it seemed best left at that. Eru, he was tired…

 

“Please rest, my King,” Calanon said softly. “This little one is all but asleep, and then I will watch them in their baskets.”

 

Nodding, Thranduil agreed, his pride not enough to keep him from lying back on his own pillows for a few moments. He loved newborns. Loved them...this was a precious, irreplaceable time in a parent’s life. They just did not ever equal much sleep…he closed his eyes.

 

**

 

Lorna had had a long enough nap that she felt comfortable tackling Sean without actually, physically tackling him. Of course, it hadn’t occurred to her to ask Thranduil if he remembered her fucking his face up, but she hoped not, or this was going to be a whole lot harder.

 

Geezer was theoretically bringing Sean in for card night at the Halls, so she’d nab something from the kitchens meantime, and wait.

 

**

 

Geezer couldn’t say he was impressed by Sean, but he hadn’t expected to be. The kid -- who wasn’t really a kid anymore; he’d turned thirty in prison -- had immediately become a slob in his old bedroom, and didn't seem inclined to do anything but be a slug. He was a terrible example for the Johns, who were already a little too interested in their jailbird cousin.

 

Yeah, fuck that.

 

Geezer kicked the end of the kid’s bed. “Get up,” he said. “Get some real clothes on. Card night with the Elves at the Halls.”

 

“Is there booze?” Sean grunted, really not interested. “I only have a few Euros.”

 

Geezer rolled his eyes. “Yes, there’s booze, and you don't need any Euros. There’s a lotta stuff you’ve gotta hear, though, and this ain’t a negotiation. Up.”

 

“Fuck,” muttered Sean under his breath. Not a lot was to his liking since coming home. Definitely not finding mam’s home invaded by two brat kids, and extremely not her new husband...but something told him it would be a terrible idea for him to completely piss off mam’s old man. Shutting down the mobile given to him as a coming home present, he pocketed the device and hitched up his trousers to a decent altitude.

 

“Good,” Geezer said. “You’re the last here to see the Halls.” The sun was still well up as they left, the evening as warm as an Irish spring evening was ever likely to be.

 

“Halls. Is that where you are most’v the time? Whan in hell’s there to do there, anyway?” Sean grumbled, only barely managing to contain his enthusiasm.

 

“Eat, drink...play with sharp things.” If that didn't get the kids attention, he might well be hopeless. “Everybody’s been learning swords and knives and shit.”

 

“Yeah?” Sean said, with possibly the most interested tone of voice heard all week.

 

Oh, good. “Yeah. Some’re learning archery, too. The Elves, they know what they’re doing. How’s your aim?”

 

“Uh...no idea? They don’t exactly hand us weapons in prison. They’d let me do that?”

 

“Everybody’s gotta learn something,” Geezer said. “Lot went on here while you were in the joint. You go with Thalion -- he’s captain of their guard -- he’ll help you find what weapon’s best for you. And that means testing you on throwing shit, too, because if your aim’s good enough, you can learn how to throw knives.”

 

“For what?” Sean asked, baffled. “What’v they got in there besides rabbits and squirrels?”

 

Geezer hesitated. “Listen, kid, I'm shit with words,” he said. “They’ll explain it all when we get there, but...it ain’t minor. Like I said, a lot’s happened since you were away.”

 

It wasn’t long before they’d reached the edge of the forest. “You never did get in here, did you?”

 

Sean cocked an eyebrow. “We was never supposed to go near that place. Everyone knew that. And then there was...shit. Is the Elf-king gonna bust my balls for showing up to this thing? There was that, uh, party, with his wife. Jesus, she has great tits…”

 

Geezer slapped him upside the head. Hard. “You go saying shit like that, he won’t have your balls, but  _ she  _ might,” he said, and fought a grin that was downright evil. “Last man who pissed her off got gutted from his groin to his throat, so don't go pissing her off. Your mam wouldn’t be happy if you went and got your innards ripped out your first day home.” Yeah, Earlene did in fact have really nice tits, but that didn't mean the fact needed to be commented on, any more than someone needed to say that water was wet.

 

“You’re joking,” Sean said, grinning in a way that was more than a little disturbing.

 

“Dead fuckin’ serious,” Geezer said, not bothering to mention yet that Von Ratched hadn’t actually died. “I’m gonna give you a piece of advice, kid, that every smart man needs to know: never,  _ ever  _ underestimate a woman just because she’s good-looking. It can be an easy way to get shanked before you know what’s happening.”

 

Sean twitched a little, and involuntarily pressed his legs a little closer together as he walked. “Alright, fine. So what else’v I missed around here besides, you lot all are in cozy with the elves?”

 

They were well into the forest by now; if Sean tried to bolt at his next words, the Elves would catch him. “World’s gonna end in ten years,” Geezer said. “Plague. Lasg’len and a little village called Baile, we’re all gonna move into the Halls, but just about every other poor bastard in the world’s gonna die horribly.” He looked at Sean. “You can understand why we didn't want to tell you in prison.”

 

Sean looked at Geezer and was about to ask him again if he was joking, but he could already see that he at least believed that statement. “Um, okay. How in fuck you know that?”

 

“Kinda a long story,” Geezer said. “There’s a woman named Sharley, she sees the future -- Thranduil can read her mind, so he knows she’s not just crazy. Ten years ago she turned up in the forest to warn us this’d happen. She’s staying here right now, actually. She  _ is  _ kinda weird, but she’s a good woman, and came a helluva long way to tell us about it.”

 

This seemed to cause Sean to lapse into silence as he tried to process this information. “So, like, everyone out there’s gonna die and we can just go take all their shite when they don’t need it anymore?” Because that sounded like Easy Street, truth be told. What wasn’t to like? I mean sure, it was probably sad to be those other people, but...free shite?  _ Sign me up… _

 

Geezer tried not to facepalm. “Kid, what’re you gonna do with a buncha dead people’s stuff? Can’t sell it, there’s nobody to buy it. How many clothes or...whatever...d’you need? We’ve got everything and then some right here -- and once the plague’s going, nobody’s leaving anyway. Not unless they want to die out there. Sharley, she don't know how long this’ll be contagious after everyone’s dead.” He didn't actually know if this was true, but it sounded good. “Mentality like that’s what landed you in trouble in the first place.”

 

“Well I could hang and watch TV and drink everyone else’s booze, for starters,” he fired back. “Have my own place. Not have to...be able to do what I want,” he decided to wisely amend his words from  _ ‘not have to listen to you and mam _ .’

 

Geezer looked at him in sheer disbelief. “Kid...Sean...where do you think electricity comes from? Not gonna be any TV after the world ends. It’s why everybody’s trying to wean themselves off technological shit now, slowly, so it’s not a giant shock.” Had this kid fried his brain or something?

 

“‘Lectricity comes out’v the power lines,” he grumbled. “So you mean it’s like when the power goes out?”

 

Maybe he’d been been in Ireland too long, but Geezer’s automatic reaction was to say, “Oh, good Jesus. Yeah, it’s like when the power goes out. Forever. Electricity comes through the power lines from the dams that make it, and when everyone’s dead, nobody’s gonna run the dams anymore.” Thank God they were almost to the Halls. This was...damn.

 

“Well, fuck. The world’s gonna end and they had to go and ruin the good part,” he complained. “I s’pose the elves don’t give a fuck about that and live just fine sitting on their arses at home.”

 

“They’re having a lotta fun in the world as it is now, but no, they’re not gonna care much when it’s gone,” Geezer said. Thank everything, they’d reached the Gates. “Edro Ennyn Thranduil,” he said. He knew already trying to get Sean to learn Sindarin just...wasn’t going to happen. Not yet.

 

The Gate swung open noiselessly, and Sean gaped. “Thought you said they didn’t have electricity,” he said accusingly. “But they’ve got automatic door openers. Posh place. Figures.”

 

Fuck, he was getting a headache. “Magic, kid,” he said. “Magic. Word you’d better get used to, in here. Wait a minute, once we get in -- your eyes have to adjust, and we’re high up. Your mam’ll never forgive me if you walk right off the edge of some walkway your first trip here.”

 

“There ain’t no safety rails? Who built this shite?” He looked around. Pretty big waste of space, all that open area with nothing in it. Yeah it was kind’v pretty, but...kind of dim, too.

 

_ I need a drink,  _ Geezer thought.  _ Fuck it, I need a bottle.  _ “Elves don't need ’em,” he said. “I don't think they’re even capable of tripping, let alone falling off anything. C’mon -- cards’re in the Dining Hall.” He could not run into Thalion and Lorna fast enough.

 

Thanadir knew what was to happen tonight, as it was his duty to know most everything. And given how this man had treated his meldis, he felt it might be wise to oversee...things. Or at least observe. He had waited, and followed once they were inside the Gates at a discreet distance. What little he had chanced to overhear brought a deep frown to his otherwise placid face.

 

The Dining Hall had a fair number of people in it, as it often did. Geezer led Sean to a table, and noted Lorna lurking in the background. Of Thalion there was no sign, but he was sure there would be one plenty soon enough. “You learn any games while you were locked up?” he asked, opening a deck of cards. Thanadir stole up behind him silently, somewhat intent on hearing more.

 

“We had one. Weren’t allowed to play no poker. We called it Tits Up. But I suppose if Earlene’s luscious hooters are not a welcome topic, that won’t be either,” he grumbled.

 

“What did you say?” Thanadir asked, with ice in his voice.

 

Geezer gave in, and finally did facepalm. “Kid, what the hell did I just say?” he groaned. “You gotta learn to watch your mouth or somebody’ll make you wish you’d never opened it. Hi, Thanadir. Sean was just about to apologize for bein’ a gobshite.”

 

Sean glanced at the fragile-looking elf behind him and shrugged. “Um, yeah. Sorry.”

 

In a fluid motion Thandir bodily hauled Sean off of his seat and slammed him down on the table, but not roughly enough to actually hurt him. Fire was in his eyes. “You will listen to me and you will listen well. If a similar word is ever spoken by you in the elven realm in my hearing, you will answer to me and you will not like it. How dare you come here and speak of our Queen in this manner? It is most fortunate for you that I am mild-mannered.” With similar ease he flipped the man’s body right back onto the bench and stormed off.

 

“Warned you,” Geezer said, shuffling the cards. “You got anything between your ears at all? Or do you just hear what you wanna hear, and the rest of it’s just ‘blah, blah, blah’?” He was so, so tempted to wash his hands of this idiot, but he couldn’t look Aurnia in the eye again if he didn't try.

 

“Don’t see why he’s so touchy,” Sean grumbled, but with a slight tremor to his voice. “Wasn’t like I was saying something about his langer.”

 

Geezer wondered if he should even try to explain Thanadir’s addition to Earlene and Thranduil’s marriage.  _ Not right now _ , he thought. “No, you just insulted his Queen, that’s all,” he said witheringly. “You don't talk about women like that, you hear me? Earlene’s not the only one that could beat your ass to a pulp. You think your mam’d be happy, hearing you say shit like that? I mean, shit, d’you  _ like  _ making her cry? ’Cause let me tell you, she did plenty of that while you were locked up. Besides,” he added, “you ain’t ever gonna get a girlfriend, with an attitude like that.”

 

This made Sean pause. “Why not?” The terrible part was, he genuinely did not seem to understand.

 

“Because it’s wrong,” Geezer said, finally realizing just how fucked-up this kid actually was. “Would you like it if someone went around making cracks about your dick? Doubt it. It’s called basic respect for other human beings. Treat them like you want to be treated. Y’know, that kinda thing. If you wanna get along with people, you gotta put in the effort yourself or they’re gonna wonder why  _ they  _ ought to. I spent too much of my life being a bitter old asshole. Being alone because you drove everyone off...it ain’t fun.”

 

“But people here  _ do _ make cracks about my dick,” he said morosely. “Ever since the...party. And the…pants.”

 

“And it makes you feel shitty, doesn’t it?” Geezer prompted. “Why would you wanna turn around and do that to someone else? You’ve got it in you to do better than that, kid. People wouldn’t be saying anything like that if you hadn’t tried groping Earlene like a pervert. Prove you’re not that asshole anymore and they’ll stop saying shit like that.”

 

This was the equivalent of a train leaving the tracks. A deep frown came over Sean’s face as he thought about what had just been said. It was nearly painful, to watch the gears straining to turn. “I’m an asshole?” he asked Geezer, as if the thought was the brand new concept that it indeed was.

 

_ Jesus, take the goddamn wheel _ , Geezer thought. “Kid, you grope women, you steal shit, you drive drunk, I dunno that you’ve done more than one or two honest days’ work in your life...all that adds up to ‘asshole’. You don't respect anybody -- including yourself.

 

“Thing is, you don't have to stay like that. We’ve got other people here who were human disasters when they were younger, and they got outta it. If you actually wanna learn, you can. I don't think you were born an idiot, you just had bad examples and followed ’em because you were a kid who didn't have any way of knowing better.”

 

This too was sobering. “I don’t know how to be different. I always just figured people had sticks up their arses and didn’t like me. Because they didn’t like my da.”

 

“That’s because your da was a gobshite,” Geezer said seriously. “And since he was your da, you thought you oughtta be like him, because just about every lad who’s got a da wants to when they’re little. Your mam says you’ve got brains, when you actually decide to use ’em, but it’s easier to be like you are, isn’t it? Kid, what are you afraid of -- that if you try something, you’ll just fail?”

 

“I can do stuff if I want to,” he argued back, feeling initially insulted before some actual reflection set in. “I just...almost never want to. Don’t know if that’s being afraid or something else.”

 

“Maybe you oughtta sit down and give that some thought,” Geezer said. “Look, actually doing shit -- it ain’t always easy, but that just means you feel good about yourself when you’re done. You can look at whatever you did or made or whatever, and say, ‘Fuck,  _ I  _ did that. That exists because of me.’ Your mam, she said you know how to dry-stack, and we’ll be needing more and more fences as we expand the farming. You do that and start learning a weapon, you might just start thinking you don't need to be afraid of fucking up.”

 

He set the cards down. “And even if you do fuck up a few times, so what? We all do. It’s called being human. The trick is to not fuck up and then just  _ give _ up.”

 

Sean sighed. “I guess. I s’pose all this means I gotta work?” While Geezer was preparing to answer that, Thalion approached the table. “May I join you?” the ellon asked politely.

 

“Come on in, Thalion,” Geezer said. “And yeah, Sean, it means you gotta work, but work doesn’t have to mean something that’s like...I dunno, punishment, or anything. You can find something you like doing.”

 

“Even if it takes you a while,” Lorna added. “Hi, Geezer. Can I do what Thalion’s doing?”  _ Oh, please don't let Sean remember what I did to his face, s _ he thought, even as Geezer nodded.

 

“Hi,” Sean said, looking at both of them. “I’m Sean. Think I might remember you from that party,” he frowned, unsure as he looked at Lorna. “Don’t think I ever met you before,” he said, looking with some degree of intimidation at the beautiful and visibly powerful elf seated next to him.

 

“You have not,” the ellon answered. “As Geezer mentioned, I am Thalion. Nice to meet you.”

 

“We met,” Lorna said, relieved, “briefly. Geezer said you were out’v gaol today.” He looked...thoughtful. She hoped that was a good sign. “I could’ve given you some advice, though: never trust the bloody toilet wine. You’ve got no idea what’s actually in it.”

 

“Um, yeah. Saw a few blokes go to the infirmary from that and not come back for weeks. Told me enough.” In spite of himself, he had to laugh. He eyed Lorna. “You been in too?”

 

“Yep,” she said dryly. “Same reason, too -- well, not quite the same. Didn't run anybody over, but there was manslaughter involved. And I doubt men’s prison’s any more fun than women’s was.” She sobered a little. “We’ve got a shrink here named Angie. You might think about talking to her, someday. I know what goes on in those places -- sometimes you see shit you...wish you hadn’t.” She was quite sure he was capable of filling in the blanks there.

Geezer watched the two. It was easy for him to forget Lorna had done time herself, but he hoped she’d been right, earlier -- he hoped she’d be able to get through to Sean through that.

 

“Yeah. Saw some stuff I’d...rather not have. But that’s why it’s called Gaol and not Disneyland Ireland.” He looked at all of them. “We playing cards?”

 

_ Oh, kid, you’re not dodging this one forever,  _ Geezer thought. “We are,” he said. “I know you said you couldn't play poker in prison, but d’you know how?”

 

Lorna blinked. “They didn't let you play  _ poker _ ? Jesus, whoever was running your prison had a stick up their arse and then some. All we did was play poker and chess.”

 

“I know how,” Sean answered. “Warden wouldn’t go for games associated with gambling. Didn’t stop us, we just had to be clever. Howabout five card stud, deuces wild? I played that a lot before prison.”

 

The others nodded affably, and Thalion expressed willingness to be the dealer. He was an elf, no one worried about him cheating.

 

“Anyone here got cigarettes?” he asked hopefully.

 

Lorna shook her head. “No, and you don't want to start again,” she said. “In ten more years, there’s no more cigarettes, and then you’d be going through withdrawal while the world’s ending. Not my idea’v a good time.” It had been ages since she’d played poker, and she was absolute shit at it, but oh well. Chess was one thing, but her poker face was...pretty much non-existent. 

 

“Plus, can’t smoke in here anyway,” Geezer added. “Part of why it’s so bright in here is these...bioluminescent, I think is the word...critters that live on the walls. We don't know know what tobacco would do to them, and we’d all rather not find out the hard way if it’s something bad.”

 

“Well fuck,” Sean grumbled, earning a raised eyebrow from Thalion. 

 

“While we try not to comment on every instance, Sean, you will find that elves do not use curse words. And generally appreciate not hearing them either. We understand it is a habit, but we have reached a sort of compromise. We don’t make an issue of it, but our human friends try not to speak that way when we are near.”

 

Sean looked at the elf in disbelief. “You don’t chase women. Or smoke or cuss. How’re you lot even in Ireland? Please tell me you at least drink or I may’s well give it up now.”

 

Lorna and Geezer groaned in stereo. “Sean,” she said patiently, “the elves were here first. Thousands’v years before we were. Yes, they drink. They’ve got the best booze you’ll ever run across in your life -- but you really ought to be careful with that. The morning-afters...wishing you were dead isn’t the half’v it.”

 

“And nobody’s gonna give you any of it until they think they can trust you,” Geezer added. “Given what happened the last time you drank...you’d be best at the pub for a while.” And he would have a word with John about keeping the kid on a strict limit. Wouldn’t be fair to tell him no booze at all -- he’d probably go into open revolt, given he was Irish -- but if he was allowed one pint per visit, it would teach him restraint.

 

“Sean, here’s the thing,” Lorna said. “There’s life outside’v smoking and booze and drugs. I’m going to tell you right now, I doubt there’s much you’ve done that I haven’t done twice as bad, and probably more than once. I never would’ve thought life’d be any fun without all three, but it can be. It is. It’s nice to just...have a pint. Goes down a treat at the end’v a long day, and you appreciate it more because there’s not going to be five more after it.”

 

Sean looked at her incredulously. But then even he had to reflect. “I’m basically a bloody alcoholic. And I know it. Don’t really know how to stop at just one. I haven’t gone and gotten smashed since I got out, but...that’s basically a matter’v time. There’re times I want a drink, sure. But mostly I drank to get ossified. Then I wouldn’t have to think about...things. Or feel anything. I kind’v liked it better that way, except then I went and did things like...well I doubt that’s secret to anyone here.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be a matter’v time,” Lorna said. “There’s stuff you can do, when the urge hits. I throw knives, when I’m trying not to...look, let’s put in this way, I know all about trying to cope through substance abuse. Throwing something sharp, and knowing you’re good at it, can be...calming. Or if that’s not your thing, some other weapon. Thalion and Thanadir are hard teachers, but you wind up all the better for it.”

 

“The other thing you gotta do,” Geezer said, “and this ain’t easy, so don't think you’ve gotta do it all at once, is really stop and think about  _ why  _ there’s stuff you don't want to think about -- and what that stuff is. What it is you’re trying to escape by crawling into the bottom of a bottle.” He knew that in part it was probably just the Irish Virus, but alcoholics usually had a reason. Even if they weren’t always aware what it was.

 

“Sh.. Um...this is kind’v a lot, you know. Wasn’t expecting all this for a cards night.” However, Thalion had just dealt him three jacks, so his luck couldn’t be complete shite.

 

“It’s best to expect the unexpected, here,” Lorna said, grinning a little. She frowned slightly, however, when she saw her hand. A straight wasn’t  _ bad _ , but she wasn’t sure she dared swap. Oh well.

 

“No shit,” Geezer said. “Sorry,” he added to Thalion. “But seriously, it’s just better not to assume anything in this place.”

 

The ellon smiled, admiring his flush and feeling that it was quite satisfactory. All clubs. “What are you doing with your time now?” he asked Sean. “There is much to be done. We heard you know how to make walls, and over five pastures lack a way to keep the animals confined to one place.”

 

“Why do I have a feeling this is a setup?” Sean glowered.

 

“It is not a setup, to be asked to offer a valuable skill,” the ellon said archly. “We all help each other. Contribute. But if there is something more valuable taking up your time, of course we would understand.”

 

_ Well, shit.  _ Sean glowered at Geezer.

 

One of the older man’s bushy eyebrows rose, just a fraction. “Just sayin’, kid, not many people in Lasg’len know how to do dry-stack anymore,” he said. “Not like you’d just be some cog in a wheel any idiot could replace.” He knew full well that feeling like  _ that  _ was just demoralizing, and made you wonder why you should try. And he didn't particularly feel like trying to trade anything out of his full house at the moment.

 

“So, no bets?” Sean asked, not quite wanting to respond to the matter at hand just yet.

 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Thalion said. He gave everyone a sack of one cent coins; a Euro’s worth in each.

 

Sean laughed. “Playing for cents? Why not. I bet five.” he pushed his little stack to the center. “And two cards, please.”

 

The ellon obliged him, doing the same.

 

“I’ll go for five,” Lorna said, carefully stacking her coins.

 

“Same,” Geezer said, secretly glad the kid said ‘please’.

 

All the new cards were distributed; Thalion had taken none, electing to cling to… “I have a flush,” the elf said, laying out his hand.

 

“Four jacks,” Sean said with an edge of triumph. It would take one helluva stroke of luck for anyone to top  _ that _ . 

 

“Cac,” Lorna muttered, even as Geezer said, “dammit.” Both looked at Thalion and apologized in stereo. They laid out their cards, and Lorna for one wished she’d tried to trade. Oh well.

 

A thrill of happiness went through Sean, and he genuinely smiled. Not in a mean way...just, this was fun, and he rarely won anything. He looked at Geezer. “You said there was...can I get a drink here? Or am I not allowed?” 

 

Thalion looked at Geezer. They kept ale to share here, in bottles, for game night. But he would not give one without Geezer’s assent after what had been said.

 

Lorna too looked at Geezer, who nodded a fraction. “You can,” she said, “but you’ve got to come look at your flat here first. Everyone’s got one -- and Christ, let me tell you, the  _ mattresses _ ...they’re bloody amazing. Once we get back, you’ll get your pint.”

 

“Flat? I can have a flat? Of my own?” That barely registered, after years of his tiny room at mam’s…

 

“A  _ big  _ flat,” Lorna said, grinning. “C’mon. Seriously, this place is bloody unreal. I want to say you get used to it eventually, but I’ve been in and out for ten years and I’m still not.”

 

He followed the diminutive woman out of the Dining Hall, still feeling like he ought to know her from somewhere...eh, maybe she had just been around Lasg’len a lot back in the day.

 

**

 

“Think you can press him into service?” Geezer asked Thalion. 

 

The ellon but smiled broadly. “I believe if he can be made to stay here voluntarily, I can do a great many things. He is patently offensive and crass, but as I watch I am not certain any of those things are truly his fault. I believe he can be...educated?”

 

“I think he can be,” Geezer said. “I don't think he’s bad at heart -- his dad was just a waste of space, and the kid took too much after him. And I’m betting you if I can’t con him into staying, Lorna can. If nothing else, she’ll play up the ‘losers can change’ angle she knows through personal experience. Might be someone he can kinda relate to.”

 

Thalion nodded. “Another hand, while we wait for their return?” he smiled.

 

“Sounds good to me,” Geezer said. “Deal me in.”

 

**

 

Lorna knew her way to this particular flat -- it was right next door to Geezer’s, so finding it wasn’t hard. “So Sean, here’s the thing,” she said. “I know it sounds like we’re bloody railroading you, but we wouldn’t be doing it if we didn't think there was any point. I mean...I get it, what it looks like when you’re staring the prospect’v honest work in the face and wondering if you’ll succeed or just fuck it up like you’ve fucked up everything else. It’s scary, but it’s worth it, once you take the plunge.”

 

“Do you start every pep talk like this?” he asked, not sure whether to be afraid or amused.

 

She laughed. “Only when talking to someone else who got chewed up and spat out by Ireland’s so-called correctional facilities,” she said. “I know what it’s like to get out and not know what the fuck you’re going to do. But I’ll tell you this, Sean: if you set your mind to this, you’ll earn the respect’v those around you. Nobody looks down on me for what I did, and they won’t look down on you, either, once you prove they shouldn’t.”

 

He looked around at the opulent (to him) furnishings and that this flat was more space than one floor of his mam’s flat. They apparently didn’t need to cook here, because there was no kitchen. “Where’s all this come from? I mean, who said it was okay to dole out flats like a round of ales at the pub?”

 

“Thranduil,” Lorna said. “There use to be like thirty thousand people living here, so there’s loads’v empty flats. We all just kind’v start picking them out as time’s gone on.” She still rather missed her own, first little flat, but with all these children, they’d had to move twice now.

 

“He...he can’t possibly mean for me to have one of these. Not after...the stunt I pulled. He hates me, and...I probably deserve it.”

 

She arched an eyebrow. “Sean, if Thranduil hated you, you wouldn’t’ve been let in past the edg’v the forest,” she said. “He said this was okay. No, I can’t say he’s impressed by you right now, but he’s pretty good about giving second chances -- so don't blow this one.”

 

Sean said nothing for a few minutes, looking at the flat and then looking down at his own feet. “Okay.”

 

“Good,” Lorna said. “Let’s go get you your pint. If you’ve got any shit at your mam’s you want to bring, we can get that, too. I’m sure you don't want to spend any more time around the Johns than you’ve got to. Christ, those two...sad thing is, your mam might be stuck with them, too. Though -- who the fuck calls both their sons the same name? Never actually asked your mam, but that’s just...not right.”

 

“You don’t know my family,” he muttered. “‘Not right’ might be the kindest thing anyone says.”

 

“No, but I’d bet you they’re the same type mine was,” she said. “And maybe they were stupid, sure, but that doesn’t mean we have to be.”

 

This was another novel concept. “Never thought about it like that. Never thought...no one ever said I could be any better, is what I think I mean.”

 

She clapped him on the back. “I know  _ exactly  _ what you mean,” she said. “Until I met Earlene, nobody told me I could be, either. The only person in this world who’s really a hopeless case is one who can’t see themselves as being anything else...and Jesus does that sound trite. I’ve lived with a bloody therapist for too long.”

 

He paused. “What’s Earlene like?”

 

Oh, now this was interesting. “Smart,” she said. “ _ Really  _ smart. And...she cares. She helps because she wants to. When I met her...when I met her, I was a bartender, and a part-time mechanic, and I thought I was too stupid to ever be anything else. She wouldn’t let me think that -- kept handing me stuff like she assumed I could do it, and somehow, I did it. And every time I thought I couldn’t, she called bullshit. She doesn’t believe in letting a person’s past define who they are.” She did not add,  _ so don't stare at her tits next time you see her.  _ That was one he’d have to learn on his own.

 

Sean sighed, and nodded. “Alright. Back to poker.”

 

*****

 

{April 5, 2029}

 

Maglor woke in the early light, realizing that Sharley was nearby from the sound of another’s breathing. The sun’s rays could not yet penetrate through the large windows of the room they mostly shared, one of four on this storey in the newer wing of Eldamar. While he had been content enough in his old room, this one was yet nicer for it had been appointed with his tastes in mind. They had finished the earthen walls with imprints of lavender leaves, giving a lovely effect. Saoirse had insisted on adding a small mosaic into the wall; colored glass pieces embedded  to appear as a harp. In other places, bottles allowed for more light yet to come in through the walls. The space was peaceful, several feet up into the canopy of the trees. A wide deck circled the second and third storeys. Quen’s quarters were next door, and many a late afternoon had they shared time with each other in this scenic and restful place.

 

A twitching sensation from below the waist of his sleeping pants caused him to roll his eyes. He woke more often now with an arousal. Not that this had never been the case before, but the increased proximity to his wife had doubtless contributed to an increase in the awareness of that part of his body. He sighed. Perhaps he should go...take care of that on his own...but as it would involve moving, he felt disinclined just now. Not to mention...the act felt distasteful. Pleasuring himself was, to him and most other elves, an empty gratification.

 

Sharley shifted a little, and of course rolled over onto the Lump, who made a nose between a squeak and a disgruntled ‘mroowr’. The cat had firmly attached herself to the pair of them -- though at least they’d trained her not to sit on Maglor’s ass. Amusing as that had been to Sharley, she knew he didn't appreciate it anywhere near so much. “Morning,” she said muzzily. Her eyes opened, however, when she realized her husband had a slight...problem. “Need a hand?” she asked, holding hers up and wiggling her fingers. Their physical relationship had unfolded slowly and cautiously, but she’d learned she could quite enjoy giving stuff to him -- she just still had a lot of difficulty having anything done to  _ her  _ beyond kissing and snuggling. Still, at least the poor Elf didn't have go to around with chronically blue balls, as Lorna might put it.

 

“I would like that,” he smiled, trying to be encouraging. Trying to be encouraging was what he had done for over two years, now. “Thank you.” He reached for her, knowing what she would like far more than any kind of intimate caress. His hands rubbed at her shoulders and neck. Sometimes massaging, sometimes only touching the soft skin there. Really he had never strayed too far from this, or brushing his fingers over her arms or hands...he was too afraid to ruin what had developed between them. So he did not try. Ever...and yet every time she offered this, he accepted her intimate touches to him in the hopes that this might be the time he could have what he truly desired.

 

Sharley had eventually gotten up the guts to get some advice from Lorna on how to, er, give a hand -- she knew her tiny friend was totally incapable of blowjobs, but was pretty good with her fingers, so to speak. It had taken a bit of experimentation, but she was a violinist, after all -- she knew all about pressure and stroking, and enjoying the sounds her ministrations produced.

 

Angie and Lorna had between them helped her figure out why she enjoyed giving, but couldn’t yet handle receiving. With Avathar, she’d had a lot of stuff done  _ to  _ her, but she’d rarely been allowed to be an actual participant. As a result, touching Maglor, making him feel what she still wasn’t able to, was not something that had ever been tainted. And if she couldn’t give him everything he probably wanted, somewhere in his mind, she could at least grant him  _ something _ .

 

He gasped when he felt her hand on him. Never had he been an aggressive lover, but the passivity to which he now subjected himself led to new discoveries. It was little different than if he had been restrained, because he could not afford to do other than whatever it was she wished to do to him. There were times he felt uncertain as to whether this was good, or bad. He told himself, it was an improvement over the alternative; he was male. Of course he wanted sexual pleasure with his wife. And yet he also wondered if this would ever end. Three years, more or less, it had taken even to come to this point. A point they had blown past in approximately fifteen minutes, the day of their wedding. He would just not have to wonder too hard, and accept what he was given. And at the moment, what he was being given felt very nice…

 

The Lump tried to interject herself, but Sharley gave her the boot with a well-placed elbow, barely breaking her rhythm. Hey, violin player. She was good like that. And she’d even let him have the first shower, since he’d probably want it more. While she’d known males ejaculated, she’d nevertheless been quite surprised the first time she actually witnessed it -- so much so that all the voices had laughed at her. At least they were polite enough to keep quiet when she and Maglor were...experimenting, or they would have thoroughly ruined the mood.

 

As her hands continued to elicit wonderful sensations, he thought more than he should have been capable of...because to him, something was missing. Maglor wasn’t sure if he should risk asking, but...the worst she could say is No. Even he had to realize though all his paranoia, it should not hurt to ask. “Could you kiss me, while you do that?” What he was not sure she realized was that he did not just want sexual release. He could give that to himself, and probably with greater efficiency, if that was the goal. He wanted to have a sense of sharing that intimacy with her; the spiritual communion of their marital bond. It was just another thing he felt he could not discuss openly, for fear of causing her to feel bad. There were times he was so, so sorry he could not have killed Avathar himself, for what had been taken from him. Death was not enough, and sometimes he found himself wondering if Námo had that one. He would likely never know.

 

Sharley grinned. “Sure,” she said. Kissing was another thing that hadn’t been ruined -- it had been tainted a little bit, thanks to that son of a bitch, but not so much that she hadn’t been able to work through it. Nevertheless, when they’d finally progressed to French kissing, she’d been hilariously  _ terrible  _ at it. Bumped foreheads, bumped noses, clashed teeth...you name it, she’d managed it, until she got some practice in. She’d like to think she wasn’t half-bad by now, though -- and the joy of not been fully physically human meant no morning breath. Her free hand caressed the side of his face, and she leaned in to press her lips to his.

 

With a groan of happiness he felt her kiss, and involuntarily arched up into her hand. Maybe it was that he had wanted this for so long and said nothing, but the effect of it was to set him alight. His hands grabbed at the bed coverings, as he forced his body to relax when it did not want to.

 

Well, now he was reacting...yes, her kissing was still somewhat inept, but her hands were not. Her free hand traced his chest, his throat, in what to her felt more intimate than what her other hand was doing. What she loved was the closeness, the knowledge that she’d been able to make progress for his sake, even if it wasn’t all the way. Who knew what more she’d make in the future -- someday, she hoped, she could give him everything without freezing up in terror.

  
  


*****

 

{April 10, 2029}

 

“Fucking fuckitty fuck goddamn cunt taxes,” Earlene muttered under her breath. Having never relinquished her American citizenship, she was still saddled with this annual and extremely onerous (to her mind) chore. Of course she had submitted all the needed filings to her tax preparer over two months ago, but only now was she receiving a flag that because of a change to an obscure facet of the laws pertaining to investment income, her payment amount had been incorrect and she was facing a possible penalty. “Cocksucking parasitic moron pencil-pushing pinheads that ought to have their livers removed through their rectums without anesthesia,” she continued to mutter, as the paperwork spread out in front of her continued to draw ire. 

 

Thanadir had walked silently into the room between the first and second outbursts, and on hearing, quickly turned around to seek out Thranduil. He could live with being appalled; the worst part of it was  _ what was the matter? _ Few things were capable of producing such language in his wife, and he wanted to face none of them without backup. He all but tugged Thranduil out of the Heart Room.

 

“Meldir, relax,” Thranduil grinned, enveloping the worried elf in a hug. “She is having problems with her taxes. You remember, do you not, how the Master of Laketown used to get when we tried to increase the tariffs on passage through the forest each year?”

 

Thanadir stopped, and slowly a smile spread over his face, followed by an involuntary giggle. “Oh. That. Yes, I remember.”

 

Thranduil patted him on the back. “I will go see her with you.”

 

**

 

Two hours later found Earlene relaxing in the Heart Room with some unusually high octane tea, but she felt she deserved it. After studying and considering some attempted maneuvers, she came to the same reluctant conclusion as her CPA...it was simply better to pay the goddamn money and be done with it than waste potentially weeks of her life fighting over a sum that in the end would not be worth the effort. Especially when all money would amount to nothing more than numbers on a ledger in only eight more years. It really was hard to believe how quickly the time had passed. Which caused her mind to wander to other things.

 

“Maglor,” it occurred to her. “You lived in Valinor. What is it like there? What is it going to be like to live there, compared to here? I mean, obviously there will be no human technology or influence, that much is obvious. But...how did people live? Did you just...eat fruits and berries, or…” she trailed off helplessly as her imagination failed her.

 

“Are you asking me what our standard and manner of living was?” he kindly clarified.

 

“Well, yes. Maybe I am even asking how society functioned. Was there livestock husbandry? Did people specialize at things like making textiles or pottery? How were goods obtained? Things like...that.”

 

“Well,” he grinned. “I am sure you could guess that the answer to most of those questions is yes, they existed. And I think it is also safe to say that though the natural resources differed somewhat from what was available to this Realm in bygone ages, there was not so much difference in terms of how these things were managed. Yes, there were potters and weaver and bakers and fisherfolk. You must also know that there were kings and those who served under them, and that some had perhaps more luxury on account of those realities. But all were basically cared for, that I saw. It was much as it is...here. Everyone contributed something according to their skill or disposition. Some were content to be in positions of service, others like myself had the talent and circumstances to pursue a specialized gift. A few, like my father, were simply extraordinary. If you have managed among the elves here, Earlene, you will find no real difficulties in Aman.”

 

“Huh,” she replied. Not very profound, but as the question had been asked because she sought some measure of reassurance, at least she had it now. They would likely not be...living in teepees and digging for roots and tubers for survival.

 

Thranduil laughed, unable to ignore her thoughts. He leaned in to kiss her, amused. “What?” she asked, mildly irate. “It is a fair thing to wonder when all I have is the understanding that sometimes life devolves into just needing to stay alive.”

 

“I was not mocking you,” Thranduil soothed. “It is only that...with the exception of extreme disasters like the destruction of the kingdoms of Beleriand, we have always managed better than that. But you would have no way of knowing all that we have seen. So, it is indeed a fair thing to wonder, as you say.”

 

Maglor smiled, saying nothing. Personally, he thought it spoke well of her to think ahead. Was there ever such a thing as knowing enough?

 

Sharley, who was flipping through last month’s  _ National Geographic  _ on the sofa, looked up. “I wonder how much warning you’ll get, before you have to pack up and go. I hope they give you a while to say good-bye, rather than just, ‘be ready to go in five minutes’.  Not sure how I’d be able to handle that with Allanah, no matter how old she is.” It would be almost like having your parents suddenly die, except you’d also know it would be literal ages before you’d get to see them again.

 

“Say goodbye?” Maglor frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. This could be...bad.

 

“We’re not going, right?” she said, the words half a question. “I promised Earlene ages ago I’d always look after Allanah, no matter when they had to go. Poor kid’s gonna be losing literally her entire family when they go, and there’s never a good age for that to happen.” Had Earlene not said anything? But then, that had been so long ago Sharley wouldn’t be surprised if she’d forgotten. A lot of stuff had happened since then. A loooot of it.

 

Earlene looked at Thranduil, keeping her face neutral but inside of herself she felt horrified. “Sharley, that is not a promise you need to keep on account of me. Or Allanah. While that parting will be sad, it is hardly something that she will not manage. She will be an adult by then, quite possibly wed and with a family of her own. Either way, what you said when she was just a small child…”   _ shit Earlene, you can’t bring up ‘a small child you saw as a substitute for Marty’, that isn’t gonna fly…  _ she cleared her throat. “No one expects you to make decisions based on Allanah. Life has changed. A lot.”  _ Like, you have an elven husband now and he should be your first concern? _

 

Maglor struggled to modulate his voice, looking down at the floor. “I was not aware that this was a decision already made.”

 

Sharley stared at Earlene. “I’m not making it on account of you, I’m making in on account of  _ her _ ,” she said. “I lost Marty because of things outside my control. You think I could ever just drop Allanah like that? You guys, you don't have any choice, but  _ I do _ . And last time I checked, Maglor and I were staying here.” She knew he hadn’t wanted to go...they’d talked about it, even if it had been ages ago. “I mean, come on, Maglor...you want to stay, right?” Her last words were far more hesitant. Quite honestly, even if not for Allanah, Aman held no real appeal for her. She didn't remember it. Earth had been her home for eighteen thousand years. That was probably a lot longer than Aman had been.

 

“If you will excuse me, I have a lesson to prepare,” Maglor said, rising in a fluid motion. He was out the front door of Eldamar with a speed Earlene would have envied.

 

Earlene looked back at Sharley in something like disbelief.  But even she knew that this would be a good time to keep her mouth shut. Sharley had come a long way in the last two years, but she was still fundamentally...unsound, in many aspects. Arguing with her over a topic as emotionally charged as Marty and Allanah was doomed to failure. Perhaps if Angie were here, she could talk to Sharley about transference and that she was not looking at this with a view to reality, but Angie had gone home well over a year ago. She and Alan had given a great deal of themselves to help many here with their problems, and more than deserved to return to their other life while they still had one.

 

“I think I will try to find him,” Earlene said quietly, rising and leaving too. 

 

This left Thranduil and Sharley alone in the room. As much as he would rather not stir this pot, he was King and he would not take a coward’s way out. “Maglor is going to Aman,” he said, without offer of further explanation or argument.

 

“ _ Why? _ ” she asked, mystified. “When did this happen? I know -- or at least, I knew -- that he doesn’t actually want to. I’d thought the whole plan was for us to stay behind after you guys went, and live in the Halls...forever.” That was still something that was difficult for her to fathom. She had so, so many memories, and yet she didn't actually feel as old as she really was.

 

“He  _ told _ you this?” Thranduil probed, but not unkindly. “Or you saw something when you first encountered him and assumed that this was still the case?”

 

“We talked about it,” she said, “about not going. And I never knew it changed.” She hadn’t looked too closely, admittedly, because, well, why would she? “He’s never said anything to me about it. Not ever. Never talked about wanting to go, about wanting to see anyone or any place.”

 

_ “And Sharley never asked,”  _ Sinsemilla added, dread in her tone,  _ “because Aman isn’t her home, and she wouldn’t want to go anyway.”  _ What a clusterfuck...and yet none of them could have seen this coming.

 

“What he has chosen to say or not say is not my place to criticize, but this has been the case for years, Sharley. I am...sorry.”

 

“So you’re telling me I have to either abandon my husband or my daughter?” she asked, her heart sinking. No matter which she chose, it was going to shatter her -- because she was pretty sure there wasn’t any such thing as commuter traffic between Aman and Earth. “Basically, whatever I choose, I’m fucked.” The words weren’t much more than a whisper. No matter who she abandoned, she’d never be able to live with herself.

 

Thranduil closed his eyes. His forbearance was wearing very thin. “If you were able to embrace what you actually are, you would understand that as an Ainu you may go where you will. But I know you cannot do this. However there is perhaps something you can do. You have said more than once this conversation, ‘abandoning  _ your _ daughter’ in front of both Earlene and myself. Perhaps you might be able to take a moment and reflect on what that choice of words feels like to hear. And I need to leave for now, before I say anything I will later regret. Please excuse me.” Without another word or glance, he left to walk to the barn. At times like this he found he very much liked to be near the cattle, and chickens. Their untroubled thoughts were...soothing.

 

Sharley put her head in her hands. That really was horribly insensitive of her...but they’d been encouraging her relationship with Allanah for years. Earlene had flat-out  _ told  _ her she was Other Nana. Surely she could be forgiven for actually believing that... _ still insensitive,  _ she thought. But she loved that little girl like her own, and the fact that everyone seemed to be trying to...to dismiss that, to diminish it, in order to force her hand on a choice...that sat ill. Very ill.

 

As for acknowledging what she actually was -- she’d done that. She knew that she was an Ainu, but she didn't know how to...not feel human, too. For many years now, she’d almost talked to Vairë, and yet always, some instinct had warned her away from it. It wasn’t even fear, not now that she had a great many answers. It just always felt...wrong. The timing wasn’t right. That instinct was so strong that it literally stopped any words leaving her throat.

 

If Maglor left and she stayed, she’d break. If she went with him, and left her sunshine girl behind...she’d also break. She had no idea how to Ainu...maybe it was time to talk to Vairë. Maybe now, finally, it was the right time.

 

But first, she had to find Maglor. She had to comfort him, if she could, and let him know she wasn’t going to just ditch him when he left. Up she got, and struck off out into the woods.

 

**

 

Earlene ran through the forest, tracking Maglor’s path easily. Not to mention, after the first few miles she had a very good idea of where he was going, based on the direction. In the path before her light flared, and a Lady she had not yet seen appeared before her, palm held forward in a gesture of warning. As fast as she could without wrecking her knees, her steps halted and she knelt before the Vala. “My Lady...Estë?” she guessed through process of elimination. For the Vala was clad all in grey, and yet she was not Nienna.

 

A nod was given. “Let him alone, Earlene. Return whence you came.”

 

This stabbed at Earlene, for her love for Maglor was very great. Her chin trembled, but there was no real hesitation. “Yes, my Lady. I will do as you ask.” She tried very hard to hide how much this hurt, not to be able to go to him or offer him guidance. Or comfort. Standing up, she prepared to leave, when she felt herself held at the shoulders. 

 

“Be at peace, Earlene.” A kiss was given to her forehead, and some of the sense of misery left her. 

 

Earlene placed her hand over her heart, and was then allowed to leave. It took a great deal of inner strength, but she did not look back.  _ Now what?  _ Honestly what held the most appeal were her hidden chambers near the dungeons, where she could give vent to her mixed emotions in private. Turning, she disappeared silently.

 

**

 

_ She is not going to go to Aman??  _ Maglor tried to stifle hoarse sobs as his legs tracked the miles to the house he was constructing for them.  _ The house I _ was _ constructing for us _ . For what was the point, honestly? Once inside, he threw himself down onto the floor and cried from a broken heart. “This is all for nothing. What am I  _ doing _ ? All this planning, for a future that will never be? Causing her to fall in love all over again only to tear her heart to shreds when we must once again be sundered? And...what a disaster this all is, anyway. In  _ three years _ , Tirillë, all you can offer is to pleasure me with your hands. I know it is all you can do, and that is what tears my heart in half. Because I know why you are doing it...for me. Because you believe I wish for sexual release. What you cannot understand is that I want  _ you. _ I want your spirit joined to mine, our bodies and minds moving together as we share bliss. I want to feel our bond,” he wailed to the empty rooms. “The last time you touched me…for me to have to ask you to kiss me...” he shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It is not how I want anything to be, and I am too painfully reminded of how unlikely you are to ever fully heal.

 

“Oh Tirillë...better you had never laid eyes on me. You had a form of happiness without me, and you were better off. All my works have turned to ruin, and what I have done to you has been my last and greatest selfishness. And the months wear on and on, and yet you do not fully heal. You  _ cannot _ heal. Valar I would give anything, would you but help her. Heal her hurts…” He shook with misery, not noticing once again the light that appeared. 

 

“Are you sincere in your words, son of Fëanor?” Estë asked softly. “For if you offer to bargain, we are listening. I think you know the price.”

 

Maglor moved to kneel. “You would promise to heal her? To leave her whole, in mind and spirit? To undo all that was taken from her?”

 

“I have been authorized to agree to nearly any term you would name.” The Vala stood with her arms crossed, rather resenting her current assignment but having no choice. Simply being on duty during the daylight was a strain to her sensibilities; she was meant for nighttime.

 

“I ask you, to make her well,” said Maglor, not willing to glance up. “I beg you, for that. But my Lady, I have no right to bargain for anything. I have disobeyed you. I have lacked the courage to do what is right. If you offer me this, me who does not deserve this, I will willingly agree. But only because then I can do for Tirillë what I cannot do for myself. I have reaped the bitter fruits of my choices but for this, I can find the courage to make an end of it.”

 

“Done,” the Vala said. A short chain appeared in her hands, with open shackles at each end. “If you accept these bonds, it signifies your agreement to return to Valinor, and submit to judgement in exchange for what you have specified.”

 

With one last look around the room, Maglor closed his eyes and felt his hopes and dreams shatter. He held out his wrists. “Let it be done.” His head bowed as he felt the metal seal around his skin.

 

“Follow me,” Estë commanded, leading him to a tall and very sturdy tree. “Climb,” she ordered. “To the very top. And wait.”

 

He was not a wood elf, but he was still an elf. Slowly, clumsily compared to his brethren here, he ascended the tree as he had been instructed. And he waited. It was nearing dusk, and the surrounding woods grew dim. Alone now with his thoughts, he considered more what he had just done, and only then did he think of his King. In his mind, he reached out, hoping he could be heard, as more tears of sorrow streamed down his face.  _ Aran Thranduil? I fear I do not have much time. Please, care for Sharley when I am gone. _

 

_ Kana? What do you mean? Where do you think you are going?  _ Thranduil had been jolted out of reverie as he read quietly.

 

_ They offered a bargain. My surrender, for Tirillë’s healing. I accepted. _

 

_ Why now?  _ Thranduil ran his hands through his hair, feeling helpless. Sharley had been making steady progress, had been improving so much...and now this?  _ Kana, explain yourself. _

 

_ I found out she never meant to go to Aman, when I must. That means, our parting was inevitable. It was selfish of me, to have done this to her when all along I knew what fate awaited. It would have been better for her never to have seen me. At least now something good can come out of my doom. Better to end this now. This way it will not only be...a waste. _

 

_ Kana, no! It was never a waste. I will come to you.   _ Rising quickly, he bolted out the door, and began running through the woods.

 

_ No, my Lord. It is too late. Thank you, for what you did for me. For your kindness. Take care of Sharley. I love her with all my heart. And Quen, my faithful friend…  _ he could not go on, for his spirit was in tatters.

 

_ Kana, remain where you are, I am coming. I am... _ he stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. He felt the breach of his enchantments, as into his forest came the great eagle, servant of Manwë, who plucked Maglor from the treetop and sped on his way back to the heights above. He felt their connection sever, but not before he heard the ellon’s scream of terror. Dropping to his knees, he prayed in anguish. “Valar, have mercy on him. Please. He is not what he once was...please do not extinguish his light from the world. Please…”

 

Estë leaned down to place a hand on him in comfort. “This had to be, Thranduil. Let him go.”

 

“I still pray for him, my Lady, unless you forbid it,” the King said brokenly. “I have come to love him. What am I to tell his wife?”

 

“Tirillë?” Estë asked sadly, her gray raiment moving in the breeze. “She will approach us, or she will not. That decision lies with her.”

 

“But...please, Kanafinwë said she is to be healed?”

 

“That was the agreement,” the Vala said. “When we can be assembled.”

 

Thranduil buried his face in his hands, lost to grief. “Please help me. Guide my steps, gentle Lady.”

 

Filled with pity, Estë held him until she sensed he had the strength to manage on his own, kissing his brow. Thranduil thanked her, and bowed low. With enough peace in his heart to carry on, he returned to Eldamar, and sat in the Quiet Room. And he thought of his own circumstances, for Maglor was beyond his aid.  _ The irony...had I led my people to Aman those long years ago, none of this could be happening…Eru. _

 

*****

 

Where was he...where was he? They could touch minds quite well by now, and yet Sharley couldn’t find Maglor anywhere. Their range still wasn’t that great, and he’d probably been running...where would he go? She knew he had places he essentially haunted in the forest, place where he could go and be alone, and she’d always respected his secret spaces. She knew full well herself that sometimes, you just had to get away from everyone, even your loved ones. 

 

“Guys, where is he?” she asked, as she raced through the trees.

 

_ “Sharley...I don't think he’s here,”  _ Sinsemilla said in disbelief.  _ “I can’t feel him anywhere. Nowhere in the forest.” _

 

_ “Me neither,”  _ Layla said, her voice slightly tremulous.

 

“He can’t’ve just...disappeared,” Sharley said, panic rising within her. “Unless he ran outta the forest or something... _ shit.”  _ Her heart thundered, though her breathing remained even. “Maglor! Maglor, where are you? C’mon, I’ve got a solution. Maglor? I promise you, we’re not gonna get separated! Just tell me where you are!”  _ Please. Please tell me where you are. _

 

_ He is gone, Sharley,  _ said Thranduil’s voice.

 

_ Gone?  _ she asked, her heart lurching.  _ Where’d he go? I’ve got -- I figured something out. The block’s gone. I can talk to Vairë now. I can...I can commute, I'm sure I can. _

 

_ I think before I tell you that there is a discussion that should be had. There is much you have not been told. _

 

She tried to fight down her panic, because there was simply no way this could possibly be anything good. She had to sit on it, she  _ had  _ to, and yet it threatened to choke her.  _ Where are you, Thranduil? I’ll come to you. _

 

_ Eldamar.   _ Thranduil now rose and bent his thought on the most powerful elves in his Realm. Ruscion. Quen. Thalion. Thanadir. Melda. They were to come to him here, at once, for he feared this was going to be very bad indeed. And in the time he had remaining, he prayed, and he summoned also his wife. She could not be excluded from this. One after the other, he heard their promises to arrive. It would take them at most exactly four minutes to travel at a fast run. And then as an afterthought he summoned Calanon, Maerwen, Lothiriel and Ortherion as well. Though these were not renowned for their physical strength, elves were elves. He just hoped it would be enough. And then there was one more afterthought.  _ Lorna, something has happened and Sharley is going to be a dangerous mess. I am inviting you to the Heart Room, but with a warning. There will be no arguing against anything you hear, and what you hear may be very difficult to stomach. But as it concerns the Valar, I have no more say in it than anyone else. _

 

Because  _ that  _ didn't sound ominous...Lorna had been busy with laundry, but she hurried to the Heart Room. There was much she’d stomach for poor Sharley.

 

Sharley herself tore back to Eldamar, her panic growing ever greater the harder she tried to subsume it. Something in her mind was...cracking, cracking already, out of pure dread. She burst into Eldamar almost sick with fear, and found the Heart Room contained more people than she’d thought.

 

_ You should go to her, Lorna. You would be of the most comfort. I am in the unfortunate position of having to act as King, here, as much as I do not want to. _

 

“Sharley, come here,” Lorna said, drawing the poor woman over to the sofa. Christ, she wished she was taller -- trying to hug a woman who had over a foot on her was not easy. “Come here now, allanah. I don't know what’s going on, but I’m here. We’re here.”

 

Sharley wound up taking the decision half out of her hands, and hugging her like she was a doll. Lorna could hear the thunder of her heartbeat, and tried to run a soothing hand up her back. As much as she wanted to say it was okay, she already knew that would be a blatant lie.

 

“Sharley,” Thranduil began in the softest voice he could manage. “Before I will even consent to have this discussion, I have...terms. They are for your protection, because I…” He looked down. “I am left with little choice but to speak of some very harsh truths, Sharley. I love you, I love Maglor, and I love everyone in this room. But it does not change that I do not trust your stability. I require your promise that you will see this conversation to its end, and not run out of the room to try and take matters into your own hands. I will let you do as you wish  _ after _ you have heard everything, not before. And I require your consent to allow those here to keep your from leaving, if that becomes necessary. I am sorry, but I feel I have no choice.”

 

Sharley swallowed, hard, and Lorna’s grip on her tightened. “You can do this, allanah,” she said softly. “You can.”

 

After a moment, Sharley nodded. “They can,” she said. “If...if they have to, they can.”

 

Little Faeleth walked over to Sharley and took one of her hands. Thanadir had insisted on this, and Thranduil had no grounds for objection. Even though it was still hard to believe, he was more than aware that the small peredhel had strength perhaps equal to his own.

 

Thranduil nodded. “Thank you. Quen, this will begin with you. Will you please tell us about Maglor’s state of mind in all your long years together? You may be as brief or detailed as you think necessary.”

 

The ellon rose, surprised to be asked this, but he prepared to answer. “I will try to be brief. I found Maglor, wandering the shores of Middle Earth alone, as I was preparing to depart for Valinor. I am a loremaster; it was not difficult to determine who he was, though at first he was reluctant to say--understandably so. In the very beginning, you could say my curiosity was academic; what scholar would not jump at the chance to interview the last living son of Fëanor? One who was knee deep in the conflicts of the First Age, and...one who had spoken the terrible Oath. But it did not take long to understand that Maglor’s was a shattered heart. There is only one thing anyone needs to know about him. He lived in daily shame and terror of the doom of the Oath, and his flight from the justice the Valar demanded of him. His was an existence defined by despair and instability, something that has lifted meaningfully only in the few years of him dwelling here. And yet I also know that once his whereabouts were known, he has been guided to facing that which he should have faced the better part of twenty thousand years ago--his judgement before the throne of Manwë. In the past few years he found acceptance; made peace with his fate, if you will. He was prepared to do this when the time came for us to go to Aman.”

 

Thranduil watched Sharley carefully. “I know you read the same books as everyone else did, Sharley. But I question whether you gave thought to the reality of your husband being a kinslayer who has fled justice for thousands of years. I am sorry that my words must be so harsh, but it does not change that they are true.”

 

“And he’s spent thousands of years...repenting it,” she said, the words a despairing whisper. “I never thought he’d do this. I never….”

 

A spike of rage stabbed through Lorna, and she sat on it, hard. Sharley needed her right now. That was what mattered. “Go on, allanah,” she said, still rubbing the poor woman’s back.

 

“He’s been here so long, I thought he’d stay forever. He never said...he never warned me…” And something more in her mind went  _ crack _ , like a layer of ice starting to give way to spring. “I thought we’d be here forever.” Did he go because of her? Did he decide to get it over with because she wasn’t enough? Did he…

 

The King nodded, choosing for the moment to ignore Maglor’s final motives. For if he revealed those now, she would no longer hear another word he said. “This is not easy to talk about because...just as I am King, Manwë is King. Like in the outside world; laws can be disobeyed, but there is also always the chance that crimes committed will catch up to the lawbreaker. I am just as aware as you are, that Maglor repented. But it does not change that he killed, over and over and in cold blood, driven on by the Oath. And that even at the end, he defied Manwë once again by refusing to go to Valimar for judgement. To say that they are displeased with him is an understatement. Time does not erase what I have to refer to as ‘legal realities.’ He knew this, and he was being helped to find the strength to...clean up his mess, so to speak. He swore fealty to me, and I was not going to turn a blind eye to what he had left undone. He was going to travel to Aman if only because I commanded it, and then more happened besides.”

 

Lorna could sit on her temper, for Sharley’s sake. Kurt, however, had no such restrictions -- or filters.  _ “Are you fucking  _ kidding  _ me?”  _ he demanded, the words an absolute snarl.  _ “He decides to hand himself in, but he waits around just long enough for Sharley to fall in love with him again before he ditches her,  _ again _? We know why she followed him to Earth in the first place. She was pissed, and she was chasing down his wayward ass.” _

 

_ “I really, really hate to agree with Kurt,”  _ Jimmy said, “ _ but he has a fucking point. What’s she supposed to do now? Fucking look at her! We’re not the Stranger, we don't have its...glue. Come on, Thranduil -- what the fuck is she supposed to do now?! Just...shatter, all over again? Because guess what, that’s what she’s doing. We’re gluing like hell, but it won’t last.” _

 

By now, Lorna could very often hear the voices, if she was close enough to Sharley, and part of her felt terrible that they’d taken the words right out of her mouth.

 

“Kurt and Jimmy, to put this bluntly,  _ shut the hell up _ ,” Thranduil said forcefully. He wanted to glower but did not, because there was no way to separate the Voices from Sharley herself. “There is a  _ reason _ this conversation needs to be had in full and you are not helping by vomiting your emotional stomach contents without knowing the half of what is actually going on.”

 

Thanadir opened his mouth to speak, aghast, but Earlene quickly squeezed his arm, shaking her head No. If Thranduil was speaking so crassly, he had a reason, and this was not the time to worry about being the Protocol Officer.

 

“What you are not taking into account is that until Maglor faces this, he is forever condemned to living a half-life. You have no idea how broken, how damaged that ellon is. He would have perished years ago, were it not for the tireless care Quen gave to his friend. Care he gave, so that Maglor’s gifts would not disappear from this world. He has taken a punishment to himself far greater than anything I believe the Valar would have assigned, had he not denied them the chance. Blaming Maglor for his recent choices is as fair as blaming Sharley for hers. Long ago, yes, he committed crimes and disobeyed. He is no longer that person. He would have dealt with this before much longer, had things gone according to plan. But the events of today altered that, and I cannot change it. Should I ask Kurt to explain  _ why _ Maglor turned himself in, so to speak?”

 

“ _ Thranduil,”  _ Sinsemilla said, a little desperately,  _ “you really need to get to the point, because Sharley isn’t gonna be able to understand you much longer.”  _ The cracking, the fracturing, hair-fine splinters throughout the scars and wounds of the woman’s mind, growing and spreading in spite of all the four voices could do...they really weren’t the Stranger. They couldn’t stop this. By this point, they were barely slowing it down. Every time they tried to seal one over, three more appeared in its place.

 

“Fine,” Thranduil said, pinching the bridge of his nose, not heeding in the least that he was speaking to voices most others in the room could not hear. “Maglor turned himself in because he was offered what he desperately wanted to have. He offered himself in exchange for Sharley’s full healing. He has been taken to Valinor for judgement; his request is to be granted. Beyond that, you know as much as I do.”

 

Lorna’s eyes widened, but Kurt was only even more incensed.  _ “And just what in the name of mother fuck good did he think  _ that  _ was gonna do?!”  _ he demanded.  _ “What’s the point in healing her if she’s just gonna be devastated he’s gone for the rest of fucking ever?!” _

 

_ “Kurt, SHUT UP,”  _ Sinsemilla said -- though quite honestly, she was wondering the same thing. What were they going to do with Sharley?  _ “You don't know what’s gonna happen to him there. None of us do. We don't know what the Valar will do when they judge him.” _

 

_ “No,”  _ Kurt said coldly,  _ “we don't. All I do know is that if he gets condemned, and they get separated for the rest of ever, healing her won’t do a fucking bit of good. Not if she’ll just have a broken heart until the end of goddamn time.”  _ Sharley loved Maglor. Kurt did not. Sharley was the one who was the voices’ responsibility, one they’d always taken seriously, even though he and Jimmy could be, as she put it, little shits. They weren’t like her -- she was their sole person, their sole reason for existing.  _ Sharley  _ cared what happened to Maglor, very much so, but Kurt didn't give two shits except for what losing him would do to her.

 

_ “Kurt,”  _ Layla said sweetly.  _ “Stop. Helping. Just keep gluing, motherfucker.” _

 

“Kurt, if I have one wish for the future it is that someone would invent a gag for your insensitive and unhelpful self because Sharley  _ really needed to hear that piece of encouragement, _ ” Thranduil snarled, raising his voice at the end. Earlene rose, sensing he was near his limits. She laid a hand on his shoulder, speaking words no one but Thanadir could hear. A brief nod was the only thing that betrayed this communication. “I do not believe he will be condemned. I have never believed it. Our gods have ever shown mercy, but that does not mean that the demands of justice can go unfulfilled. Sharley, I promise you that if there is a means by which I can lawfully help, I will do it. Maglor is beyond our reach but not beyond our prayers.”  There was nothing else he could think of to say that would not be conjecture or wishful thinking; he truly was at the end of his knowledge. This was all there was, until something changed.

 

Lorna looked up at Sharley, and her... _ incredibly strange _ ...expression. “Thranduil,” she said, “while Sharley’s still actually here with us, what can she do? What can she do, right now, before she’s too broken to do anything?”

 

“She belongs to Vairë. For the love of Eru, this might be a very good time to pray to her,” Earlene said, though the question had not been directed at her.  _ Surely that was obvious? No, Earlene, don’t be snarky. Nothing is obvious to them or so many things might have happened differently.  _ “From what I have read, he will be tried by all the Valar, and she is one of them. It certainly cannot hurt to try.” What she did not mention was that if Maglor’s terms had been accepted, as they apparently were, Sharley would have to go to them regardless. Maybe she didn’t know up from down, but Sharley was so broken she could not imagine that only one Vala could possibly fix the mess.

 

“Sharley,” Lorna said. “Sharley, allanah, look at me. I know you’ve always thought it wasn’t the right time, but maybe that’s because now it finally is. I mean it, allanah.” She touched the poor woman’s face, drawing those mismatched eyes to hers. Whatever was behind them was breaking fast. “Do it, allanah. Come on now, just start with me. ‘Lady Vairë…’   
  


“Lady Vairë,” Sharley whispered. “I don't know what to do. Help me. Please.”  _ Help me I’m lost and everything’s breaking and oh god it  _ hurts _ it hurts so much and he’s gone and I don't know what to do Idon’tknowwhattodoohithurtsihurtsit _ hurts  _ why does it hurt I don't know what to do. _

 

Estë had perhaps spent too much time around the elves and the humans, because she desperately wished to facepalm. It was her favorite gesture, that she had observed them making. And yet she reminded herself, Valar did not do such things. It was not befitting the dignity of Eru, however tempting. Her spiritual sister had lost track of an unhallowed mess, with Tirillë. And as she was the one here, there was no choice. Entering the home, she appeared before them all. “Manartirillë.”

 

All those belonging to Thranduil in the room knelt. Calanon, Earlene and Thranduil all knew who this was from personal experience. They more than the others felt more hope, for surely of all the Powers, this Lady could help Sharley the most just now?

 

Poor Lorna was unable to kneel or do much of anything else, given she was currently still a doll. She settled on some odd, bastard combination of a wave and a salute, and looked up at Sharley. “That’s you,” she said, hoping the poor woman’s brain hadn’t smashed into bits by now.

 

Sharley looked up at this Vala, who she didn't recognize, of course. “What do I do?” she whispered, her eyes nearly blank with terror, even as all that made her  _ her _ fragmented ahead of the voices’ best efforts.

 

“I am Estë,” the Lady said with all the gentleness she could muster. “Give me your hand.”

 

Sharley did so, before Lorna could actually stop being a doll -- the poor woman’s other arm was still firmly latched around her waist. Hopefully she wouldn’t...get in trouble for that, or anything.

 

The Vala took it, and reached around Lorna to place her other hand on Tirillë’s back. It was hard to suppress a grin, because this might be considered ‘exceeding what was required,’ but...as the humans would say,  _ sue her _ . It was just as needed for one as for both, and when might such an opportunity come again? Closing her eyes, the Vala poured her healing into Tirillë. If the one called Lorna was accidentally affected by proximity, she certainly had a solid alibi. It was not yet time to fully repair what had happened to this servant, but there was no doubt of a need to...stabilize her. Else she would never manage the journey ahead, and no one would be helped by allowing her to arrive raving and emotionally incoherent into Aman. 

 

_ You have a road to travel, Manartirillë. Your Lady cannot come to you; you must go to her. I will do what I can to have you helped along the way. Do not think ill of your husband. What he did was done out of love. He acted once without considering you. This time he acted without considering himself. We will speak again. Soon.  _ Estë kissed her forehead, and released them. Her gray robes cascaded, seeming to reflect light and nuances that should not really be possible. At the last moment, she looked at Lorna and winked, before disappearing.

 

Earlene held onto Thanadir. For the first time since the mess named Sharley had arrived in their world, she felt real hope that there might be...real hope. That or she was going to become an alcoholic, take your pick…

 

Lorna blinked. That had been...she didn't know what that had been, but this was a level of...of peace...she’d never known. That she’d never thought possible. It was like being drugged, except far more pure. More pure than anything she’d ever known.

 

Sharley drew a deep breath, her eyes drifting shut a moment. “What did she mean by ‘road’?” she asked. “Anybody know what that means? That I’ve got a road to travel?” She really doubted those were idle words.

 

“We did not hear what the Lady said to you,” Thranduil answered, wondering if he could be forgiven for breaking his self-imposed drinking limit later on. “Could you tell us?”

 

“She said that...Vairë can’t come to me, I have to go to her, and that I have a road to travel. I’m not sure what that means, but I doubt she’d say ‘road’ for no reason.”

 

“The Straight Road,” Quen said. “The road to Aman and Valinor. The way home, if you will.”

 

Valinor. For the first time, the thought didn't fill her with unease. “Does anyone know where that actually is?”

 

Earlene squirmed a little. She was not really certain if it was for her to say.

 

“Yes,” Quen said. 

 

Thranduil shot the scholar a silent command not to reveal his knowledge. _ How was it they had never discussed this, when it was a topic of consequence? Then again, how was it many things were not discussed under this roof...now was not the time. _

 

“Is that  _ everything _ the Lady said?” Thranduil pressed Sharley. He could not keep her from going, but he did want to ensure she was not departing….half-baked.

 

“She said that she’d do what she could to help me along the way, and that I shouldn't be pissed at Maglor even though he acted without thinking, because he did it outta love,” she said. “But she was pretty clear when she said ‘road’, so I dunno what else she could mean.”

 

“That is what she means,” Thranduil said miserably. “I will not stop you, Sharley. But I would like to hope that you will take the time to plan for this properly. Remind yourself, of what you have forgotten. In this room sits an ellon who could tell you many things. I am afraid you will simply walk out of here with the clothes on your back. Even of old we...made preparations.”

 

“Translation: talk to Quen, and get some shit together,” Lorna said. “You know, food, water, spare clothes. Pretty sure you do still need to eat and drink a little, and nobody wants to walk around in the same stinky socks for more than two days. I’m sure somebody in one’v the villages has a backpacker’s pack you could borrow.”

 

_ “The midget has a point,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

Lorna glowered in the voice’s general direction. “Get fucked, Jimmy, unless you can come up with something useful. But yeah, like Thranduil says, preparations.”

 

Sharley sighed. “All right,” she said. “Let’s get some things together, however we’re supposed to do that. And Kurt? You and I are gonna have a discussion later that you will not enjoy.”

 

Thranduil nodded at Quen. “It is one of the islands off the coast of Ireland,” the Noldo said. “Aelfwine found it. And followed it. You are fortunate, in that sense. It really is not far away at all.”

 

Lorna blinked. “That’s...really fucking convenient,” she mused, to no one in particular. “All right, Sharley, before you do another bloody thing, we’re making a list, and we’re checking it eight times before you go anywhere. And we’re getting this lot in on it, because I don't know the half’v what you’d actually need for a journey through...wilderness, or whatever that road goes through.”

 

Sharley opened her mouth, but Lorna held up a finger to silence her. “Nope. List. I’ll get some paper, you talk to Quen.” She was up and off before anyone could say a word.

 

“I think this meeting is concluded,” Thranduil said. “Thank you all for coming.” The elves from the Halls bowed low. He could only imagine what they would make of this bizarre and disjointed exchange they had seen. Bless them, they were loyal. If nothing else they tolerated his...foibles.

 

_ “Okay, did all of that actually just happen?”  _ Layla asked.  _ “I mean...it seems like it did, but...damn.” _

 

“I’m the one who hallucinates, not you,” Sharley pointed out. Her strange sense of peace held, even when by all logic it should have shattered.

 

There was a snort.  _ “Sharley, I think by now you’ve figured out we’re not hallucinations,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

She arched an eyebrow. “Near as I can tell, you’re facets of me that broke off and turned into your own separate...thing. So you’re still hallucinations. And Thranduil...okay, so Lorna’s gonna help me get my shit together, but then what? Quen, how much do you know about that road?”

 

“I might be able to help more, with that,” Earlene said, catching the ellon’s look of gratitude for sparing him the necessity to put this into words. “It is not a normal road. It is a way open to Valinor but...I do not know what it will look like. I can tell you that it somehow passes through ordinary space, because Valinor has been removed from the circles of the world. Presumably no one can die or...fall off of it. But what little is said about the passage makes it plain that whether by sea travel as the elves of old did or otherwise, it passes through magical concealments placed to bar mortals from finding Aman. And yet some exceptions were granted, if what is written is to be believed. But how long it is, how long it takes to traverse it? No idea.”

 

“If I go there, I’m assuming I can find it,” Sharley said, “or else I wouldn’t have been told ‘road’.” The question -- and it was a somewhat awful question -- was how long it would take her, before the Valar were willing to show it to her. Or if they would even be the ones to show it.

 

“Sharley, we have a way to take you there. I promised I would help, and I will.” Thranduil looked meaningfully at Earlene, who nodded her agreement.

 

Lorna returned with a pad and pencil, and sat beside Sharley. “Meantime, list,” she said firmly. “I don't suppose any’v you have any idea how long this long road is?” she asked, glancing at the room at large.

 

“Earlene mentioned we have no way of knowing, Lorna,” Thanadir said quietly. “It stands to reason that it is not entirely...short. Of old our people needed ships for that crossing. That they did not ever depart in very small vessels says something. Maybe?”

 

“So how am I supposed to carry enough food?” Sharley asked. “I mean, if I dunno how much I’ll need, it’s probably best to take as much as possible.”

 

“You need a bike,” Lorna said, “with one’v those trailer-thingies that you can put babies in. Load it up and you’ll go faster.”

 

_ “Midget has another point,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes, and somehow, she and Sharley managed to say in stereo, “Fuck  _ off _ , Jimmy.”

 

“No,” Earlene said softly. “I mean….I think you should be cautious about bringing anything they do not have there. Things from the world of men. At least...I’m sorry, it’s just a gut feeling I have.”  _ How do I know that?  _ she asked herself, frowning. Then again, for all she had no answer to her own question, she also knew she was probably right.

 

_ “Then what the hell is she supposed to do?”  _ Jimmy asked.  _ “Unless it’s a really  _ short  _ road, she just can’t carry that much food and water. She eats and drinks and sleeps more like an Elf now, but she still does need to do all three sometimes.” _

 

“Jimmy,” Sharley said, “stop helping. Go sulk with Kurt.” Though honestly, she was wondering the same thing herself. Yeah, she needed way less in the way of resources than she’d once thought she did, but she did still need  _ some _ . The body she inhabited could die, even if her fae would go on. Unless...oh damn, what if that was the point? What if she was  _ supposed  _ to die along the way, so her fae went on?

 

_ “Ugh, you people. And here’s me thinking it was a reasonable question.” _

 

“Jimmy…” Sharley and Lorna growled.

 

_ “Fine, whatever.” _

 

“Do you ever just want to shove them in a box with...I don't know, a really scary stuffed clown?” Lorna asked.

 

“...Not until now, but it’s tempting,” Sharley said.

 

Few of the elves dismissed had actually left the room. The nannies, and Melda had returned to their duties. The others remained. “Only one ellon has ever made the passage from Valinor to Ennor,” Quen ruminated. “Glorfindel. And then of course the Istari, but Olórin never would discuss such matters. I asked Glorfindel once what he recalled, and he said that not long into his voyage he fell asleep. And that when he woke, the shores near Mithlond were in sight. I think...it is my impression that this is not about packing for a week in the wilderness. It is also a spiritual journey, to return to the Undying Lands. I do not think you need worry so much about survival. Make some preparations but mostly...you are Ainu. You will not be allowed to falter.”

 

“For so long, I’ve been afraid to,” Sharley ruminated. The peace Estë had given her held, even through such a daunting thought. “Every time I’ve thought about talking to Vairë, something warned me against it. I always put it off. I didn't even want to think about going to Valinor, because...I was afraid I wouldn’t be allowed to leave. Earth is my home. You guys are my family. But...I don't think they’ll do that. Make me stay, I mean.”

 

“I’m not sure they’re the kind to  _ make  _ you do anything,” Lorna said. “That doesn’t really seem to be their style at all.”

 

Earlene looked at Thranduil, a little worried about him. “I think it might be good to take a break from this. Much has happened today that was...difficult. We can talk again after dinner, if that is what everyone would like to do.” She tried to catch Lorna’s eye. Whatever the Vala had done for Sharley, wonderful, but Thranduil was a barely functioning mess. Though, one would have to know him very well to perceive that.

 

“That’s...probably a good idea,” Lorna said, giving Earlene a barely perceptible nod. She set her pad and pencil aside and went to give poor Thranduil a hug.  _ Look, I have peace. Take some. And I just got winked at by a Vala, which might just be the most surreal thing of my entire bloody life. That’s even weirder than the talk I had with Carni, which is really saying something. _

 

Thranduil laughed a little, but it was not exactly the laugh of a truly relaxed person. But he did hug her in return.

 

“I -- I think I’m going to go talk to Marty,” Sharley said, realizing, for the first time, that she just might, maybe, be able to actually  _ see  _ her little girl again.

 

“Okay,” Earlene said, wincing at the look on Thranduil’s face. “Dinner will be….I will ring the triangle extra loud,” she promised.

 

Lorna released the poor elf.  _ It’s going to be okay,  _ she said, looking at him quite seriously.  _ And for the first time in my life, I can say that and actually believe it. Go get a drink -- we can hold things down here.  _ She gave his hand a squeeze. If there was any way at all to transfer this strange peace by osmosis, she’d try it.  _ Come on. Telepathic Xanax in reverse. _

 

Sharley rose, and made her way out the door. What she would feel like tomorrow, she didn't know, but right now she’d been given a gift, and it was not one she wanted to waste.


	132. One Hundred and Thirty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 10-14, 2029
> 
> Thank you for the positive feedback, we appreciate it a lot. Here is the next chapter....and you're still going to think it's a cliffhanger. We will do our best to get out more, sooner, because this is an exciting section. Even we feel sorry for all of them... <3

Sharley wandered through the woods, until she reached Marty’s grave. The birch tree had grown over the years, from a sapling to a tree a good thirty feet tall, sheltered by the larger one behind it. She’d swear that the Eldest tree’s branches had parted a bit of their own accord, to let the sun reach Marty’s.

 

There were bulbs all around the grave now, bluebells and daffodils and tulips, just beginning to bloom, their colors almost glowing in the sunlight.

 

“I hope I can see you, little bug,” she said, sitting beside it, careful not to crush any of them. “The Elf who shoulda been your dad ran off like an idiot, and now I’ve gotta go to where he is. I know you’re there too, somewhere, even if ‘there’ is as big a place as I think it might be. I don't...I dunno what’s going to happen to him, but I'm gonna be there -- and if I can, I’m gonna see you. He said you’re probably in the Gardens of Lórien, which I like to think of as being where you’re dreaming. What you’re dreaming of, while you’re asleep. Either way...I’m gonna ask Vairë if I can see you, if you’re any part of her...jurisdiction, or whatever. I know all the Valar have their own thing that they do, but I’ve never really read much about the Gardens. Guess I’ll find out when I get there.”

 

*****

 

Lorna was floating on a happy bubble, and wasn’t sure who to share it with. Pat was at work, and at this hour Ratiri would be in the schoolroom. Damned responsible people. (Her own tasks had, once Supri was eating solids, become somewhat fluid; some days she was in the schoolroom; others she worked in the fields or gardens. She was too small to do Pat’s job very effectively, though that didn't stop her trying.) She needed to do...something. Something for Sharley. Something Sharley could take with her, when she went off into the unknown... _ Saoirse _ . 

 

Saoirse had taken her Leaving Cert, and was done with formal schooling. She spent most of her time now doing what she loved -- drawing, but she’d also got a fairly good handle on the cello, even if it had taken her a frustrating while. 

 

What were they they going to tell all the kids, about Maglor? That he’d suddenly gone, and nobody knew when he’d be back?  _ If  _ he’d be back? It wasn’t a conversation any of the adults were likely to look forward to. But, for now, it could wait.

 

Saoirse had moved into the new wing when it was built, which meant she had to cross the sky-bridge. Her new room was more or less an even bigger version of her old one, with enough room to have a proper studio. The walls were painted with landscapes from both Washington and Yellowstone, the ceiling an accurate, painstaking rendering of the night sky, which had taken the girl the better part of the first summer she’d lived there. (What had really made it was when Lorna had put her electrical engineering studies to good use, and found a way to wire up tiny lightbulbs into the brightest stars. Crawling around above the ceiling hadn’t been any great fun, but at least the wing was so new there hadn’t been spiders.)

 

The door was open a crack, as it often was -- Booger liked to come and go, and Saoirse wasn’t willing to get an actual cat flap installed, because of...reasons. Lorna knocked softly, and entered when her niece gave her a distracted, “Come in.”

 

“Saoirse, allanah, I need you to do me a favor,” Lorna said. Unsurprisingly, the girl was sitting on her bed, sketching. “I know you’re grand at calligraphy, and I need you to do me up something in a pretty font.”

 

“Sure,” Saoirse said. “What’s it for?” 

 

“A tattoo, hopefully,” Lorna said. “If not that, then just something to carry. Your Aunt Sharley’s got to go away for a bit -- that’s all I really know, so don't go asking me questions. I’m sure it’ll all get explained tonight, when everyone’s there.”

 

Saoirse eyed her warily, automatically poised to ask anyway, but Lorna held up a finger. “Calligraphy, Saoirse. Calligraphy now, explanation later.”

 

“What d’you want it to say?” Saoirse asked, subsiding, but grudgingly. “And how big?”

 

Lorna sat down. “Tá grá agat,” she said. “In letters...oh, about a half-inch high.”

 

Her niece blinked. “You are loved?” she said.

 

“Yep. So that she knows she is, no matter where she goes -- and nope, no questions. I’m not the one you should be asking anyway.” Part of her pitied what Thranduil was going to have to deal with later, but she was just not the one to be explaining this. Whatever system of justice that Valar used, and whatever might be waiting for Sharley when she went to Aman, were not things Lorna could do much more than guess at. And it was better all the kids get information from a reliable source first go, rather than something half-baked from her that would have to get clarified later.

 

“You owe me,” Saoirse grumbled. “Are you high?” Aunt Lorna looked a little...weird. Too calm. Too...almost floaty. 

 

Lorna flicked her ear. “No. Yes. I don't know. I got given a massive whammy’v...peace...from a Vala who  _ winked  _ at me. I don't know up from down right now.” She was entirely sure giving her the same thing Sharley had gotten was not strictly in Estë’s job description, too. While she wasn’t quite sure why two Vala had given her gifts, she was hardly going to question it.

 

Saoirse stared at her. “Okay, you’re explaining that one later, after all the other stuff,” she said, rising to grab her calligraphy supplies.

 

“I wish I  _ had  _ an explanation, other than ‘the Valar are nice and I was right there’,” Lorna said, shaking her head a little helplessly. “I think Estë did it because she could. Just because I was with Sharley so, why not?”

 

“I...wish I had any fucking idea what to make’v that, Aunt Lorna,” Saoirse said, but it was almost absently; she was already at work with her pens. How she could do such precise lettering without even penciling it out first, Lorna had no idea, but manage it she did. Beauty always flowed from her small fingertips, seemingly without effort.

 

“You and me both, kiddo,” Lorna said. “You and me both.”

 

*****

 

Earlene decided that tonight’s meal was going to be quite simple, even if it amounted to noodles and toasties. Taking one look at her husband while silently catching the eye of the other one, a plan was formed that needed no elaboration even in thought. Thanadir took one hand, and Earlene the other, and they quietly informed him that they were all going to the Halls. He was to grieved in spirit to resist much, and the walk through the forest gave him some opportunity to reflect on all that had transpired. While he was happy for Lorna, the Lady’s gift to him had not been nearly as consuming, and he could guess why. Whatever was provided to Sharley was surely many times greater than what he had received...and yet he did not begrudge his friend. So little peace had been hers, and she had deserved so much better.

 

Tears streaked down Thranduil’s cheeks at times, as Maglor’s final words echoed in his mind. A part of him felt like a colossal failure, though he could never have guessed this would come to pass. Thanadir guided them through obscure and deserted passages until the came to the King’s quarters. He brought them to the bedroom and insisted Thranduil sit there. Examining him studiously, he turned and left the room with a nod at Earlene.

 

“Do I even want to know?” he said raggedly. 

 

“You need help and you need to feel loved. This day would have been hard on anyone, nevermind that you feel responsible for both of them. I am...it tore my heart, when the Lady turned me away from following him.”

 

“What?” Thranduil said. He had not realized this...so much was lost now, in the wash of human voices he spent so much time working to ignore or tune out.

 

“The Lady Estë stopped me in the forest when I was following Maglor. She said I was to return whence I came. To leave him be. I did not want to but...I will not disobey them.”

 

“I did not know,” he said, reaching for her. “I love Maglor. Care about him. I  _ know _ there is much good in him. I want so badly for him to find mercy, Earlene. And yet a part of me is very much afraid. I have not often allowed myself to think on who he was. What he did. It served no purpose, in my eyes, to dredge up that for which he had repented. I know he is not blameless, and yet much about his case is...filled with extenuating circumstances. And yet I am not among his judges, and perhaps I see him with eyes lacking insight.”

 

“No. I have felt the same. There are cases like this in criminal law, among humans. Those who do terrible things and evade justice for a very long time. Living as fugitives from the law, hoping they will not be caught and prosecuted.”

 

“What usually happens?” Thranduil asked. Just then, Thanadir entered, bearing a tray with two bottles of wine and two goblets. He watched while the ellon poured the goblet full and handed it to him.

 

“Drink,” Thanadir said, frowning as he saw Thranduil hesitate. “I am going to join you,” the seneschal said. “Even I feel that wine is in order after what happened today.” He pressed the goblet into his hands, kissing him tenderly as he did so. “I love you, Thranduil. And I am so sorry that this unfolded as it did. You did very well, with Sharley. Better than I could have.”

 

“What Thanadir said,” echoed Earlene. “I have tried but she remains...opaque, to me. I have never been able to feel close to her, though not for lack of trying. I would have been lost, trying to talk to her like that.”

 

Thranduil drank deeply, on seeing that Thanadir had not been joking. “Be careful, meldir. You are not as practiced at this as I am,” he tried to tease. And only then did he realize Earlene had nothing. She seemed to sense his thought, for her lips found his, as her tongue slipped past his teeth.

 

“I have my ways,” she murmured, coming back to kiss him again. 

 

The next fifteen minutes were admittedly a little blurry. There was more wine, and more wine after that. And kisses from both of them, and disrobing too. And Earlene’s mouth giving attention to a part of him that she had not attended to in quite this manner for awhile now. And all the while hands that had to be Thanadir’s were softly touching him in other places. Kisses to his throat, delicate fingers tracing over his neck. Something about Earlene licking  and gently biting at his own nipples, before resuming what she was doing. (At least, he was fairly certain it was Earlene. In the low light Thanadir’s hair could be very difficult to tell from hers. It was...just a guess.) He was drawn out and teased mercilessly until he was aching for relief, and still there was more wine, and more touches. When he found himself begging half insensibly, only then did she oblige him, straddling him and using her strong legs to their full advantage. Though after a time, she began to tire.

 

“I used to be so strong for this,” she lamented, as her leg muscles demanded that she do something different. Like, nothing at all.

 

“I think I can take it from here,” Thranduil gasped. He was now so hard he almost hurt, and he felt desperate to ease himself. It took only seconds, to trade positions with her, and in a passionate frenzy he spent himself inside of his wife with a guttural yell. Panting, and once again crying, he sank down on her inviting body as every suppressed emotion lurched to the surface. He felt Thanadir behind him, pulling and turning him a little, and holding him. This allowed Earlene to both breathe normally, and  embrace him from the front. In the arms of the two who loved him most, he allowed his distress to drain away. Amidst tender kisses and caresses finally he quieted, and they both guided him into the pool.

 

“I will bring more wine,” Thanadir said, returning momentarily once he had fully disrobed and offered Thranduil another goblet.

 

“Meldir….I cannot keep drinking. I have had probably too much already. I made a promise…”

 

“You made a promise and I have been serving you. And counting. I know how much you have had and I am telling you, you may have one more. Accept what comfort you can find now, Thranduil. Tomorrow and the next few days will doubtless bring more difficulty.” Thanadir’s open sincerity was not to be ignored, it would seem.

 

“I hate it when you are right,” the King said, accepting the drink. “I just...the plague, and Sharley, and eight more years and...Eru what am I going to do if she…”

 

“Ah ah ah,” Earlene stopped him, waggling her finger. “Nope. You are what-iffing. And yes, that is a word now. You may not do that. It is pointless and will only bring you needless grief.”

 

“What-iffing?” Thanadir repeated, obviously deeply amused.

 

“That is what I said,” she retorted. 

 

Thranduil noted long ago that when his wife became very determined in arguing about a given matter, she would unconsciously thrust out her breasts. And it was happening now. “What-iffing, meldir. I will endorse this new word by royal decree, if necessary,” the King said. Never mind that now Thranduil could not remove his eyes from her tempting charms.

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes, missing none of this. “I humbly offer my apologies, my Lord,” he said drily, not at all certain Thranduil was catching the nuance in his voice.

 

“Accepted.”

 

Now Thanadir was  _ sure _ he was not. With a sigh, he placed his arm over Thranduil’s shoulder while Earlene did the same on the opposite side. A minute later, they were all embracing each other in the pleasantly warm water. Here, there was peace. Even if it was only for awhile.

 

*****

 

{Meanwhile in Valinor. Outside of Valimar.}

 

The eagle deposited Maglor unhurt in body on the mound of Ezellohar, where he moaned softly to feel firm ground beneath him after his passage. He had been startled, and afraid, but after a time tried to force himself to relax. His extended limbs became cramped and uncomfortable, caught in the firm grip of the bird’s talons, and yet he had not dared shift much for fear that he would be released and allowed to fall to his death. He discovered that in spite of his despair, he still wished to live. So having no choice, he endured the flight, closing his eyes and trying not to look. Ithil passed high above, and he faced downward; little there was to see but dark and mists. But now he felt green grass, and knew he was somewhere. He could guess, where, as he raised himself up on his elbows to see the shining city lit not so far away.  _ Valimar. _ It took him many minutes to rise fully, so stiff did he feel. Not to mention, disoriented and a little dizzy...but at least his chain was generously long; it did not prevent all free use of his arms. With a sigh of resignation, he took a single step forward.

 

“Stop, son of Fëanor,” a voice commanded in the dark.

 

Maglor froze, not having perceived that another was nearby. Knowing where he was, however, he dropped to his knees.

 

“Do you remember me, Maglor?”

 

The voice was still familiar, even if he could not see who spoke. “You are the Herald of the Eldest King, my Lord,” the elf answered in a muted voice. “Witness to the last of my crimes.”

 

“Your memory holds,” the Herald said, laying hold of the chain that bound him. “You are to come with me.”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” Maglor said. His tone was soft, his spirit beaten down, as he rose to his feet. He still could not perceive Eönwë, but did his best to follow in the direction he was pulled. And quite soon he saw the bulky shadow looming up, a darker field against the night sky. He knew what this was, too. His heart beat furiously in his chest, in fear.

 

“Go inside,” the Herald prompted. 

 

Still Maglor’s feet moved forward into the massive ring, but now dread slowed his steps. He caught sight of the Great King over all other kings. The Lord he had chosen to disobey, driven on by the terrible Oath. Swallowing, he trembled, almost grateful when a pressure on his back kept him placing one foot in front of the other. Finally he was close enough, and the pressure behind him ceased. Again, he dropped to his knees. “My Lord Manwë,” he whispered.

 

“So  _ now _ I am your Lord? Maglor, Kanafinwë, Makalaurë, son of Fëanor?”

 

Maglor winced, to hear both the rebuke and his father’s name. “My sins are many, and for what time is yet granted to me I will not fail to speak to you with reverence. Reverence from which I never should have strayed.”

 

“And yet in all this long time only today would you call to us in prayer,” Manwë said, his arms folded over his chest in ire.   
  
“I could not,” he said, choking on his words. “There is no hope for me. I have lived in fear, and despair. And pain, for I bore the punishment of my transgression. How could I pray, after the things I have done? I suffered, as I deserved to.” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I would tell you of my regrets and my sorrows, if I could imagine that anyone could want to hear them. I have slain Eru’s children. I acted with pride and foolishness, and reaped what I have sown.”

 

The Vala was unappeased. “Still prideful, I see, to tell me what there is and what there is not. What else would you say, if you could imagine anyone wanted to hear your words, Maglor?”

 

The harsh words fell on Maglor’s heart like a dagger, but it only added to the recriminations he doubtless deserved. He stumbled, in his speech. “I...I did not mean to show pride, my Lord. I do not understand…”  He dropped his head.   _ I will not try to beg off from my guilt. _

 

Manwë frowned. “You will remain here, until it is time to explain more. And then we must wait, for the others to return.”

 

“As you wish it, my Lord.”

 

The hand of Manwë took hold of Maglor’s chin, drawing his face upward. He studied the gray eyes, and the stricken expression. The tear-streaked cheeks glinted in the moon’s light. For the first time he gauged the ellon’s heart, and saw the pain, torment, and brokenness. And saw the first glimmer, that he was no longer fully sound in mind. “I am told you swore your service to Thranduil. Why?”

 

“Because it would have been wrong to stay under his roof without supporting his rule, my Lord.”

 

“But you were not always with him. You came there recently, and risked revealing yourself to us. Why?”

 

“At first it was to visit. To meet with other elves. Elves I had not known existed. But after...because of little Eldan. I promised to teach him to play the harp. I…” pain twisted his face as he remembered the small elfling who he would now see no more.

 

“You made yourself vulnerable to discovery, to teach a child music?” the Vala asked, his expression and tone unreadable.

 

Maglor considered the question, and for a moment his despair suspended as he thought about the young son of Thanadir. “I did not consider it in that way, my Lord. It was not in my thoughts to evade you, because except in fear and regret you were...not in my thoughts. If you had seen Eldan’s face, how badly he wished to learn...all of Hîr Thanadir’s children are beautiful. I could only think to assuage his tears; he wanted to have something only I could give.”

 

Manwë’s lips parted, as a slight frown came over his face. This was not going to be simple. “You will stay here,” Maglor was told. “And rest.” With a touch, the elf fell forward, insensible, only to have the weight of his body held by forces unseen. With a nod to his servant, the Lord turned to leave.

 

*****

 

True to Earlene’s intention, dinner was indeed toasties. Ham and cheese toasties, with a barley beef soup...thing...because it was easy and involved using already prepared stock and dumping in grains and seasonings. With the time that saved, and Thanadir’s help, chocolate chip cookies were also baked...there were bound to be upset children and adults alike, and cookies made most things better. Ortherion and Ailill helped too, dutifully assembling and frying the sandwiches, and adding them to the warm oven one by one as they were completed. Ailill leaned over to kiss Earlene on the cheek in sympathy; Calanon told him all that had transpired and...he felt awful for all of them. He had liked Maglor very much and...it hurt.

 

There was no fanciness tonight. The usual soup tureen sat idle in favor of serving it straight off the cart and into bowls that were passed down to all those who wanted them. The trays of toasties hit the table in similar fashion. Thranduil, bless his heart, had made a basic green salad after seeing the composition of the meal though no one had asked him. Such as it was, they were all eating, with one chair noticeably empty. And sadly for the King, his peace did not last past the first bite of his salad. 

 

“Where is Uncle Maglor?” Eldan asked, turning his eyes toward Quen, and then his Adars. 

 

Thranduil was just about to speak when Thanadir reached a hand to silence him. “He had to go away, ionneg. We are going to talk about that when everyone has finished eating their dinner.”

 

With a hitch in his breath, Thranduil realized how close he had come to telling them everything right now...and how stupid that would have been. He was not ashamed to take Thanadir’s hand in turn, and squeeze it in gratitude.

 

“Peaceful thoughts, Thranduil,” Lorna said. “It’ll be okay. Somehow.”

 

Chandra looked at her mother, suspicious. Mam seemed too...calm. It was creepy. It wasn’t just her thought thought so, either; she could tell Uncle Pat was weirded out as well.  _ Chandra  _ at least had more tact than to actually say anything, though, which was more than could be said for her uncle.

 

“All right, Fun Size, what’re you on?” he demanded, pointing his fork at her.

 

“Nothing,” she said, almost dreamily, and stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m just...calm. And you’ll find out why that is later, too, so shut your gob and eat your dinner.”

 

“Okay, it sounds so weird to hear you say that without sounding annoyed,” Lorna the Younger said.

 

Sharley said nothing. Her peace was...different. She couldn’t put words into it -- it, or anything else. She ate her toasties, and wondered how long it would be before she could come home, once she’d gone to Aman. What would happen to Maglor, and to her.

 

“How were lessons today?” Earlene asked, desperate for something to fill the awkward silence.

 

“We performed dissections today,” Ratiri said. “Which was mess, and which nobody will be discussing at dinner,” he added, with a slightly pointed look at Chandra, who just arched one ginger eyebrow.

 

“And I learned that the English language is a mongrel bastard that makes no sense,” Atia added.

 

Ratiri’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

 

“Um...nobody?” Atia offered, even as she glanced at her mother. Hey, Lorna had actually done  _ something  _ with her time immediately after breakfast.

 

Quen sighed. “We will be learning why that is  _ not _ the case, next lesson,” the ellon said archly. 

 

Thranduil regarded him. He had just lost his best friend of almost fifteen thousand years and yet he seemed to be holding up very well. Maybe he would ask to speak with him. But not today.

 

Atia looked from Quen to her mother, who really did look way too calm. What was going  _ on  _ here? Uncle Thranduil, Aunt Earlene, and Uncle Thanadir all looked stressed to hell, in their own way, Aunt Sharley wasn’t saying anything, and Mam, no matter what she said, was fucking high.  _ Grown-ups. _

 

“She is not high, Atia,” Thranduil said. “She has received a rare gift, and I for one am happy for her.” He could cope with the first three false accusations, but enough was enough.

 

“A gift?” Atia asked. “What kind’v gift?”

 

“A good one,” Lorna said, ruffling her hair. “I’ll explain it later. I just wish I could share it.” She’d been afraid that it would wear off, that her fear and worry would come crashing down again, but so far, it had held.  _ I’m going to corner you later, Thranduil, and hug the shit out of you, and you’re going to take whatever of this you can by osmosis. I’m a doll, dammit. It’s what I'm good for. Right now I’m like a doll full of endorphins and...rainbows. _

 

_ And I am glad for you, dear one. But it does not work that way, as much as you would like it to. A Vala’s gift is just that, and it is not...transferable. Trust me, I will manage. It is what I do. You, however, are getting to appreciate at last what most take for granted. Just...enjoy it. And let me enjoy that you are enjoying it. _

 

_ Then can I at least give you a regular hug later? I talked to Sharley, and I’m going to take her to get a tattoo. I want to put together a little...kit, for her. With stuff from us, to take with her when she goes. _

 

He smiled, and forced himself to nod. This was Lorna’s way of...coping, and it would be wrong of him to rain on her proverbial parade. He knew that of all the humans here besides Earlene and Ailill, Ratiri and Lorna had the closest grasp of spiritual matters. And yet...closest was not close. That they appreciated as much as they did was quite a lot, and yet...he knew that it was still abstract for them, and always probably would be. When Lorna had shown him of her meeting with Carnimíriel, he had to smile. While he did not pretend to know the Valar and Maiar, it did not...surprise him. Not after his own experience of Nienna and Oromë arguing.  _ That _ had shown him that they were very...real, despite their loftiness and grandeur. For what favors they had been granted, he was thankful.

 

None of the kids could figure out what was up, but dinner was dinner, and it was tasty. Nevertheless, they -- and the adults -- were more curious than ever. Explanations could not be long deferred.

 

Sighing, and of no mood to eat cookies (though he waited for the children to have theirs) Thranduil stood at the head of the table. “I am not going to pretend that the news I have is happy. It is not. There is only a little that we know for certain and much at which we can only guess. Some here are aware that Maglor, who we all love very much, made some very poor choices in the past, long ago. I will not go into all of the details or we would be here all night; I will only say that Maglor killed many, against the laws of both our people and the laws of the Valar. He also directly disobeyed the Valar on more than one occasion. The last of his disobedience was in running away from facing his crimes. Instead of going to the Valar to ask for pardon, he fled. He was a fugitive from justice, if you want to think of it that way. Since he came here to us, we have been helping him to prepare for facing the inevitable.

 

“It is not like the outside world, where facing judgement means certain punishment. The Valar are righteous and merciful, and can know things we cannot. And yet Maglor made his case more complicated by his long years of refusal. Earlier today something happened, and for reasons that do not need to be disclosed to everyone here, Maglor gave himself up to the Valar. He has been taken away to Valinor. We knew this would happen someday, but believed that it would wait until we all traveled there together. Years in the future. Sharley is going to go search for answers. Answers, and maybe help. As I said, there is much we do not know. But it is why Maglor is gone from our midst. We are all very sad and upset and worried, but for now all we can do is pray for him. I am sure there are questions, and I will try to answer.”

 

All four Duncan children stared at him, and then at one another. “When’s he coming home?” Shane asked. “Do you know?”

 

“We know nothing,” Thranduil answered honestly if...obliquely. Because the real question was  _ if  _ Maglor was ever coming home, not  _ when _ .

 

“Aunt Sharley, how long will  _ you  _ be gone?” Saoirse asked. “Aunt Lorna said stuff happened, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was because she said she’d suck at it if she tried, basically.”

 

“Can we go with you?” Atia added. “For, uh, moral support?”

 

“I don't know,” Sharley said, “and I don't think that’s how it works. I have to go alone.”

 

“But...you’re coming back, right?” Supri asked.

 

Sharley glanced at Allanah. “Yes, I’m coming back,” she said, “but I can’t say when. I don't know yet.”

 

Thanadir thought better of telling Atia that mortals did not go to Valinor. She was a small child and it would only upset her. However, he did notice something else. Eldan’s chin was trembling, and he was fighting back tears. Without hesitation he rose to comfort his son but before he could walk that far, Thaladir was already leading him away by the hand, with an arm around his brother’s shoulder. Earlene saw and thanked the Valar for the thousandth time for her sensitive and caring son. All her children were loved in her heart, but Thaladir held a special place for being so much like her beloved meldir. Because you could instill temperance in a rowdy child, but it was far harder to teach empathy and compassion. Those were qualities that both father and son shared in abundance. That did not stop it from being painful when she heard Eldan’s faint sobs from across the house.  _ Dammit _ . At least Thanadir was with him.

 

“When d’you have to go?” Chandra asked, wide-eyed. Aunt Sharley couldn’t just... _ leave.  _ It was bad enough Maglor had left, but what about everyone in Skykomish? What about her house? What about…?

 

Lorna wrapped her arm around her daughter. “It’ll be all right, Chandra,” she said. “There’s a lot we don't know, but it’ll be all right.”

 

Chandra was not yet so old that she didn't want to believe her mother, and yet it was...hard. So hard.

 

“Those are the wisest words anyone will say here tonight,” Thranduil said softly. “I do not often speak of our...spiritual realities, but they exist. There is a place for faith, and that justice exists with mercy. It is not a simple thing, to have that kind of trust and hope when things seem dark. And yet that is what is being asked of us. We will need each other, and we will need to believe in hope.”

 

Quen stood up as well. “I just want to add to what Thranduil said, if I may. I love Maglor. I have given much of my life to be at his side and support him through what he has endured. In all that long time I did not go mad _ because _ I believed that there was hope for him. I never gave up, even though we could hardly ever speak of his circumstances without him descending into despair. And I will not go mad with grief now, because I have spent my life chronicling the dealings of the Valar with our people. I believe he still has hope, and to that I will keep until something else is told to me by one of the Lords or Ladies themselves. I will pray for him and I hope I am not alone.”

 

“Which means, eat your biscuits, and don't worry,” Lorna said, pulling her distraught daughter closer. Chandra did not do well with sudden, surprise changes; she’d need some extra care, especially once Sharley had gone, too. “You know what Geezer says: don't borrow trouble…”

 

“...because the interest is too high,” Chandra finished. “I know. But...it’s hard.”

 

Lorna wished like hell this gift was at least a little transferrable, because her poor children… “What I want everyone to do is make something, okay? We’re going to put together a little care package for your aunt Sharley, while she’s in Aman.”

 

“Like what?” Algar asked, confused. Adars and Nana had told him that they would travel there someday and leave most everything behind. Did Auntie Lorna mean like, make lembas for Sharley?

 

“Like a picture, or a craft -- something small, so it’s easy to carry,” Lorna said.

 

“Okay,” the boy answered. He would make lembas. And he’d get Eldan to do that too, so his brother could be less sad. Maybe they’d stamp harps and their initials on it too. Because lembas was small, and Aunt Sharley needed to eat, so then it could be good for more than one thing. Yes, that made sense.

 

Atia looked at Supri. Somewhat hilariously, her younger sister hadn’t escaped the Donovan facial features, though her hair and eyes were the same shade as Aunt Earlene’s. Neither said a word, but both nodded. They didn't have something to  _ make _ , but something they’d  _ already  _ made ages ago, just not with the intent of sending Aunt Sharley off into who-knew-what with it. “Mam, can we go do...that?” Atia asked.

 

Lorna nodded, and both girls dashed for the stairs. After a moment, Shane followed, but Chandra stayed put, unable yet to leave her mother’s side.

 

Erynion and Lancaeron stared at each other unhappily. They were not so gifted, at creativity, showing an early aptitude for physical skills but caring little for much else. Andaer, so different from them, already looked as though he might be plotting something. Both identical twins leaned to catch his eye in eerie synchronicity, their blue eyes twin pools of sorrow. Andaer smiled and gave a subtle nod of his head. He would share his idea with his brothers, as always. They loved each other, and he was rarely without their company. (Unbeknownst to any others, a few of the village children that had chanced to see them at festivals had named them Golden Oreo, because Andaer was often seen sandwiched between his twin brothers. It would fortunately be some time before this would ever come to light.)

 

“I am sure all the children will think of something, but everyone should hurry,” Earlene admonished. “I think Aunt Sharley will want to leave quite soon.”  And she had a sinking feeling that little would be the same, once she was gone. With a glance at Thranduil, who nodded gratefully as he left the room, she sat down to despondently nibble at her cookie.

 

******

{April 11, 2029}

 

Lorna took Sharley to Limerick to get her tattoo. It was a bit closer than Dublin, and even now, nothing had actually gone wrong for her (or anyone with her) here. She’d done some research on shops -- honestly, how she’d lived before Google, she didn't know -- and they drove out there the next day.

 

She’d been afraid that her gift of peace had been a temporary one, and was both surprised and pleased to find it was still there when she woke. No, she was no longer almost euphoric with it, but it was there. Was this what normal people felt like? People who didn't worry by nature? It was...extraordinary. She didn't even mind the traffic, though she still sped where she could, the Charger’s engine purring. It was just that now she was no longer tempted to speed nearly as fast.

 

Sharley looked at her. Sometimes she thought she could see what Lorna and Ratiri might have been like in another life, another universe -- for years she’d thought it had to be nonsense, because she hadn’t thought Lorna could ever be capable of the peace the other one held. The peace her Lorna did now. So she saw those flashes, and she...wondered.

 

And wondering was a help just now. It meant her mind couldn’t travel too often to Maglor -- or more specifically, what might be happening to him. She didn't believe the Valar would torment or harm him, but at this point, all it would take to drive him to complete despair might well just be leaving him alone.  _ Why did he have to do this?  _ she thought.  _ Why now, like this?  _ They could have talked, could have made plans...if only he’d thought. If only  _ she’d  _ thought, and realized she could effectively...commute. Yes, he’d still have to face the Valar, but -- not like this. Not alone.

 

“I wonder when I get to go,” she found herself saying, as Lorna pulled off at the Limerick exit. “I want to, and yet I don't. I’m gonna be walking into the unknown, and I don't know when I’ll be able to come back. And even now, part of me’s afraid. Because what am I gonna do if they condemn him….”

 

_ “Nothing’s happened yet,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Everyone involved is immortal. I doubt they do shit in a hurry in Aman.” _

 

And of course, that was an entirely different fear. What if this took decades? Would she come home to find that her human family had aged -- or worse, died -- in her absence?

 

Lorna reached over to give her shoulder a squeeze. “It’ll be all right, allanah,” she said. “I’m still shocked I can say that and actually mean it, but I do.”

 

_ You do in the other place, too,  _ Sharley thought,  _ and you’re usually right. So I’ll try to believe that now. _

 

When they reached the tattoo parlor, they found only one other customer waiting. Lorna had been smart, and booked an actual appointment, so that Sharley could get in right off. It was no surprise that the woman didn't flinch when the words, in their lovely font, were etched along her forearm. Her skin was so pale that they stood out starkly, and this artist was good enough that they expelled little ink. Once they were through, it was wrapped in plastic wrap and taped securely, and Lorna assured the artist  _ and  _ the cashier that she knew how to properly take care of a healing tattoo.

 

“Now every time you get uncertain,” she said, once they were back in the Charger. “Every time you start to feel lost, or depressed, or...anything, you look at that, and you remember how many people love you. How many’v us are at home, thinking’v you. Whatever happens, and whatever you see or hear or find there, you know that we love you.”

 

*****

{April 12, 2029}

 

Sharley...was pretty much ready to go. She had a backpacker’s pack (borrowed from Big Jamie) with food and water -- including the lembas the triplets had made. Good boots, her Army coat, a toothbrush just in case (she still sometimes felt the need to use one, even though Maglor had always insisted she didn't need to), her cell phone (in case she was allowed to take pictures in Aman) and assorted other bits and pieces they thought she might need along the way, including toilet paper. Lorna had also presented her with a small, slim volume that proved to have dozens of photographs neatly glued onto its heavy pages -- holidays, vacations, just random photos snapped around Eldamar and Skykomish. It too resided in her pack.

 

She couldn’t leave, though, without a goodbye to her sunshine girl. Allanah would be fine -- she had her mom and both her dads, but that didn't mean Sharley wasn’t going to miss her like hell. In her wallet, encased in one of the battered plastic sleeves meant to hold photos, was one of her at Ross Lake, age eight, prouding holding up a fish she’d caught and grinning a gap-toothed grin. Though she looked nothing like Marty, their smiles were the same. The picture lived beside one of her lost daughter.

 

At this time of day, the kids were likely to be in the school room, so it was there Sharley went. She found Quen patiently explaining to Atia why English (or many other modern tongues) was not in fact a mongrel bastard of a language, while Ratiri had set the younger children fraction problems involving cookies.

 

Allanah was doing something on one of the computers, fortunately without the others around, and Sharley went to pull up a chair. “Hey, kiddo,” she said. “I can’t really call you that anymore, can I? Not now that you’re thirteen.”

 

Allanah rolled her eyes but smiled. She had learned many of her adopted mother’s unspoken evasions over time, and found this one to be the most effective when yes, something annoyed, but politeness demanded not letting on about that. A glance up and down caught something in Sharley’s demeanor. “So...you’re going soon...aren’t you.” Privately she wished  _ she _ could go, because what was happening to Uncle Maglor was sad. Some of her brothers were very upset, especially Eldan. And the triplets only knew that everyone was sad even though they tried to hide it, which made them sad too. “You’re gonna be careful?”

 

“I am,” Sharley said. “I don't know when I’ll be back, but I’ll come back when I can.” She pulled Allanah into a hug. “My big sunshine girl...you’ve grown up so fast. I won’t even be able to call you a girl much longer -- I’ll blink and you’ll be a grown woman. Don't grow up  _ too  _ much until I get back.”

 

Allanah snorted, tossing her blue hair back out of her face. “I’ll work hard on that,” she grinned. “Not.” But then her face grew serious. “I hope you find out things that help you over there. Things that can make you happy again.”

 

“Me too,” Sharley said, leaning back to look at her. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “And if I can bring back souvenirs, I will. Even if it’s just...I dunno, a pretty rock, or something.” She brushed a loose strand of hair out of the girl’s face. “And if you are grown up by the time I get back, be a sunshine woman. You’ve always been a sunshine girl. I love you like you’re my own, and I’m glad your naneth gave me the chance to.”

 

Allanah tilted her head, smiling. “Naneth is different. But she says all our family is different. Was different. Our biological family, I mean.” She paused. “I don’t really want anything. Except for maybe you to come back as all of you, not just part of you. That, I would like to hear about. And see you weave something that isn’t a belt,” she teased.

 

Sharley burst out laughing. “Well, if I learn anything new there, I’ll make everyone a...poncho, or something. You guys _ are _ different, in the best way. Finding all of you was one of the best things to happen to me in what I remember of the last eighteen thousand years, so, you know, keep that in mind.” She kissed Allanah’s forehead. “I’ll try to come home in one piece. I don't remember what that’s even like, so it ought to get interesting. You look after everyone while I'm away.” She stood, and wished she didn't need to go.

 

“You’ll be okay. Nana thinks everything will be okay. And Nana is usually right. Sometimes I think she knows more than Adar. Don’t tell him I said that” she laughed.

 

“Your nana,” Sharley said, “is a very, very smart woman. Be sure you give Lorna and Ratiri especially hugs. And Chandra -- she’s having the hardest time. Just...all the D&D’s. Hugs. And I’ll be back when I can, hopefully in one piece.”

 

“‘Kay. Can you remember...can you thank them, for us? For me?” Allanah said, once again very serious. “Especially Vairë, because I don’t think she really hears us, here.”

 

“I can,” Sharley said. “What for?”

 

Allanah looked away. “You are...what you are because of her. That is what Nana thinks, anyway. And if you weren’t what you are, we would have died when the plague comes. I don’t expect to live forever but dying at twenty? That’d suck. And it’s what would have happened. I wouldn’t have been here. I’d be off at some university or whatever and that would have been that. Probably the same for Chandra and Shane too. Don’t even know what would happen to my brothers and sisters. Maybe they’d have been ok from being half-elf but...maybe not? Either way, we have a future because of her. I just want her to know we are thankful. I, am thankful.”

 

“I think you’re right,” Sharley said softly. “She is why I’m what I am. And I’ll thank her, for you and everyone.” With a grin, she added, “Dying at twenty would in fact suck. You’d better live a long, long time, my girl.” She gave Allanah another kiss to the forehead. “Meanwhile, keep being you. I’ll come back when I can.” She had to get out of here before she turned into a weepy mess, so out she went, pausing only to say, “And pet the Lump. She’ll need it.”

 

Allanah laughed and waved good-bye. Poor Lump. Maybe Ailill and Calanon would feel sympathetic.

 

Sharley went to find Lorna, and try to get a little of that peace-by-osmosis. Hers wasn’t holding nearly as well as her tiny friend’s, but that was probably no great surprise. And she’d give the Lump one more pet, too.

 

*****

 

They took the commuter van out to Doolin and the ferry landing, based on a strong hunch they were about to confirm or deny. Earlene, Thranduil, Thanadir, Lorna and Ratiri accompanied Sharley on this excursion...which seemed fitting. The original five that had met her the same day she stumbled into the forest, all those years ago.  Earlene glanced around nervously...singing in front of others had never appealed to her, and this was no exception. Thanadir understood, and took her hand to walk her some distance away. It equally did not help that no one beyond he and Thranduil knew anything about...this. “Go ahead, meldis. I will help you.”

 

“Alright,” she said, looking at him, as they began the words of the chant. Softly at first, then with growing strength.  _ Fanuilos, Heryn aglar….rîn athar, annun aearath… _

 

Thanadir turned her, to see the brilliant distortion, and guided her to walk toward it. Where it tracked would tell them all they needed to know. And as they had long suspected, it framed a direct line to Inis Mor, looming far ahead over the ocean. She stopped singing. “I guess we at least know our first stop,” she said, still somewhat in disbelief of this. There was still a possibility that it was one of the other Aran Islands, or even some point beyond...but there was no way to be sure without starting somewhere. They returned to the others. “Six ferry tickets it is,” Thanadir announced softly.

 

Lorna and Ratiri looked at one another. They hadn’t known what to expect from this, and they doubted Sharley had, either; each took one of her hands, and held them while the tickets were purchased. The poor woman looked paler even than normal, and Lorna wished, so much, she didn't have to do this alone. Sharley had been alone so very long as it was...hopefully Estë could take care of her along the way, since she was going to some place she no longer remembered, as alien to her as the surface of the moon.

 

“You look at your tattoo,” she said, once they were on the ferry, “and you remember. There won’t be a day that goes by that we won’t be thinking’v you.”

 

Earlene insisted at the bicycle rental that at least one of them be a tandem, else it was going to be difficult to return Sharley’s if their hunch was correct. In the end they decided to just go with three tandems; it saved hassle. As a precaution, Earlene had also reserved lodging for all six of them near the ferry. Even if they hurried this could take much of the day and the last thing anyone wanted was to be caught here with nowhere to rest if all their guesses went to hell. 

 

Naturally, this meant Lorna had all kinds of fun; she wound up just sitting behind Ratiri like a useless lump, hoping she didn't look as stupid as she felt. Ratiri wisely said nothing, but Sharley had to smother a grin.  _ That  _ was one hell of a mental image to take with her along the way -- and yeah, she pulled out the cell phone she’d shortly have no use for and took a picture.

 

Thranduil chuckled from his position behind Sharley. He had no problem allowing her to steer and enjoy the sights they had already appreciated here on their vacation of so long ago; it was certainly easy for him to power the contraption. This time they did not try to linger, but Earlene thought it might cheer Sharley to have ice cream so that is exactly what they did. From time to time she would sing, softly, to check the distortion. Thanadir was the first to realize. “Dún Aonghasa,” he murmured to Thranduil, who squinted ahead into the distance and nodded. In a way, it made a great deal of...sense. An ancient place, serving an ancient purpose.

 

Sharley’s palms began to sweat, even as a not-unpleasant anticipation grew within her chest. She felt vaguely like she might be sick, and yet that wasn’t wholly unpleasant, either, and how did  _ that  _ make sense? “Thranduil, I dunno if I’m elated or terrified. I think I’m gonna go with both.”

 

“Look at it this way,” he said gently. “You told me once you used to make trails to earn your way. You are doing something like that for us, now. We too must walk this same path, Sharley. Only, not for awhile. I think we have deferred discovering the Straight Road for...I cannot honestly say why. There was always something else to do, there would always be time later? And yet we have had the means for years now, but did nothing with that gift. It is time that this ceased being a mystery. I do not know if it helps you, but I have no fear to walk the Road, once our time comes. You should not either. This was your home, for as long as Yavanna completed her creation before the awakening of our kind. It is only that you do not remember.”

 

That made her laugh a little. “I wonder if I was building trails for more than one reason,” she said. “You’ll look after them for me, won’t you? The D&D’s? I dunno how long I’ll be gone, or if I’ll be able to...send mail, but I doubt it. If I can, though, I will.”

 

Thranduil chuckled. “I would remind you they were my responsibility before they were yours,” he poked gently. “And I do not think it works that way. It is Valinor, Sharley. The Sacred Lands. Even in the days of Beleriand there was no...post office. Do not worry about us. Focus on whatever it is that you need to do.”

 

“Whatever it is I  _ do  _ need to do, exactly,” she sighed. “I hope somebody tells me once I’m there.”

 

_ “I think what you really need to hope is that you don't have a  _ bunch  _ of people telling you what to do,”  _ Layla said. 

 

_ “Pretty sure that’s not how it works,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “She’s Vairë’s. Vairë probably has the final say on it.” _

 

“How far are we now?” Sharley asked.

 

“Not far, if we are correct in our guess. We are going to Dún Aonghasa,” Thanadir said. “And if we are incorrect, we go from there.”

 

“Fingers crossed,” she said, and did just that.

 

Lorna, meanwhile, felt like ever more of an idiot, with her feet dangling so uselessly. Oh well. She was short. It wasn’t like there was anything she could do about it, dammit.

 

Thranduil debated pointing out to her that she did not have to really pedal the bicycle, but felt that might go badly. Instead he suggested they continue on. It took just a little more time to arrive at the prehistoric ruin, but then there was something they had not thought about. Other tourists.

 

“See how softly you can sing and still see the guidance, Earlene,” Thanadir suggested. 

 

“The same guidance all the others can see too?” she said, her eyebrows raised. 

 

Thanadir frowned. “True. And yet we have a solution to that.” He beckoned Thranduil over and explained the...problem.

 

The King walked onto the grounds and took count of how many were here, and deemed the number not unmanageable. “I will stand where you can see me while you figure this out. When you see my arms cross over my chest, it is a signal that all you do will go unnoticed by the others. And Lorna, Ratiri...I apologize, this may cause you to not see either, but it would make it a great deal easier for me while we narrow this down?”

 

They glanced at one another, disappointed, but oh well. “Hey, if we can’t, we can’t,” she said. “As long as nobody who isn’t supposed to does, either, that’s what matters.”

 

“This should only be temporary. If you want, stand with me. You will not see the distortion or hear their music, but you will see where Earlene and Thanadir walk.”

 

Well, that was far better than nothing. They took up residence on either side of Thranduil. Sharley stood beside Lorna, watching in mingled curiosity and trepidation.

 

He crossed his arms, and Earlene began to sing again, feeling utterly ridiculous.  _ Wonderful, I am a human metal detector, or something….  _ Not that she did not appreciate this great honor. But in practicality, using it felt a little silly. 

 

There was a portal in the fortification, that opened toward the edge of the coast where years of erosion had consumed some of the original building. The shimmer moved right through it, and they followed, only to have it disappear. Earlene scanned the vista of the ocean in front of her, confused. Together, with Thanadir holding onto her, they leaned over the sheer cliff to look down at the sea crashing onto the rocks...but it was gone. “Are you as confused as I am?” she asked helplessly.

 

“Sing again,” he admonished, pulling her away from the edge, only to chuckle a moment later. “Meldis, look.” The doorway through which they had just passed...there it was. Now almost irritated, she walked in again, to see the scintillating colors move back through the doorway and remain there. Turning around again, they were once again at the portal…. _ just, what?  _

 

“I don’t get it,” Earlene said to Thranduil. “It’s the portal, but there is nothing THERE in the portal. What am I missing?” Thanadir stood there helplessly, just as flummoxed. “Um, ideas, anyone?”

 

“Has it got to be a certain time’v day?” Lorna asked, thinking of Erebor and Durin’s Day. “Or, god forbid, a certain time’v  _ year _ ?”

 

Earlene frowned. Was there a puzzle, somewhere in all of this? She sat down on some of the tumbled stones, trying to think. “Thranduil figured this out, some of it, earlier because of the words of the chant. But….?”

 

“There is one thing,” Thanadir offered. “The second line.  _ Calad ammen, i reniar.  _ A light, to us who wander here. A _ light _ .” 

 

“You want us to wait for the sunset?” Earlene asked, suddenly more than a little glad of the ice cream stop.

 

“We are here, and here is clearly where we need to be,” Thanadir said. “To leave without testing the theory would make about as much sense as….as….”

 

“It just wouldn’t make sense?” Earlene smiled. “I guess we’ve nothing to lose, except an early dinner.”

 

Of course there would be some trick to it. Of  _ course  _ there would. They longer they had to wait, the more nervous Sharley became, even when Lorna took her hand and squeezed it. Ratiri, ever sensible, had packed a lot of home-made protein bars, and passed them out -- half to give himself something to do, because he was getting nervous, too, and he wasn’t even the one going anywhere.

 

“Oh, the skills parenting gives a person,” Earlene grinned. “Portable food.”

 

“One can never go wrong with protein bars,” he said, returning the grin. “Provided they’re not the garbage you buy in the store, with god knows what in it.”

 

“Rat droppings, probably,” Lorna said. “Among other things.”

 

**

 

Sharley paced, unable to stay still. It should have occurred to her that this would be more difficult, but it had not, and she found herself wishing for a drop of Lorna’s tincture -- which said quite a bit. Usually she was more than happy to avoid it.

 

Thranduil frowned, but spoke in the most persuasive voice he had. “Sharley, you do realize this makes sense? Because if there was not a catch, about a hundred thousand tourists a year would be on their way to Valinor. And clearly that would be quite unacceptable. Everything will be fine. Even were the path to be obvious, somehow, you could not afford to disappear from view in front of a dozen sightseers. It would just make...no sense. At all. That is not how they work. Try to have patience; your worrying cannot accomplish anything except make you anxious.”

 

“I know,” she said. “I just wish I woulda thought about it before now. I was so worked up about going that I didn't even stop to think that there would be much...trickiness...involved with getting on my way. I dunno if I’m ready for this.”

 

_ “Yeah, you are,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “It’ll be okay, Sharley. Just eat your snack.” _

 

“Yeah, listen to the smart one,” Lorna said. “She knows what she’s on about.’’

 

_ “Hey!”  _ Layla, Kurt, and Jimmy cried in unison.

 

Thranduil glared and hoped that by some power in Arda that those voices would all be reintegrated. Especially Kurt. Kurt could be integrated into any offal pile that might chance to be nearby, as far as he was concerned. Only one of them did anything worthwhile, and it was his guess that the others represented nothing beside self-doubt, self-hatred and probably a few other things besides. He had started reading books about psychology after Angie left; he couldn’t help it. The subject was very interesting, though he felt fairly convinced that Freud was a gobshite.

 

“You’ll be fine,” Earlene echoed, oblivious to her husband’s internal dialogue. “Besides, it’s not long to wait now. The sun is getting lower in the sky, and people are leaving.”

 

Lorna wrapped Sharley in what she hoped was a calming hug. “It’ll be all right, allanah,” she said. “Lorna says so, and Lorna has the power to bend people to her will.”

 

That made Sharley laugh. “I wish you could bend the universe to your will. I wish I could be certain of anything except the plague, at this point.”

 

The last person departed the area, giving the six of them curious glances at the fact that they apparently were lingering for no reason, but kept on their way. Soon that person was receding in the distance, bicycling down the winding road. They waited and waited, until Thanadir noticed that the rays of the westering sun were now shining through the portal. “Meldis, sing again. Hurry!”

 

Earlene stood up, still feeling...peculiar, and started the chant yet again. Something inside of her felt very different, this time. She stopped half-assing it, forgetting everything and everyone around her as she truly sang from her heart. It felt like...she was someone else. A collective gasp was heard around her as the other side, the exit...changed. Every color of the rainbow surrounded what was very definitely a road. A road that very clearly ascended slowly into the sky itself, arcing into the distance in burnished colors. It was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen, and they had seen a quite a lot.

 

“Earlene, I believe you can stop now,” Thranduil whispered. She did, and the Road remained. Shimmering, wide and inviting in a way that was hard to refuse. 

 

_ I feel like I want to go now, Thranduil. It...pulls. _

 

_ I feel it too, but it rests with me to know that this is not our time, meluieg. Even if a part of my heart is breaking to know that I must wait. I never thought I could feel like this… _

 

Earlene forced herself to take a deep breath and summoned much of her self-discipline.  _ Dammit. _

 

Lorna stared, wide-eyed, and sagged against Ratiri, who was none too steady himself. Neither one of them had known what to expect, but this was not it. Not at all. “Bloody Christ,” she whispered.

 

Sharley swallowed, and gripped Lorna’s hand a little harder. Her tiny friend looked up at her with those green, green eyes, now twin wells of a peace Sharley wished to draw of off forever.

 

“Go on, allanah,” she said. “It’ll be all right. You do what you need to do.”

 

Sharley grabbed her and hugged her, actually lifting her a little off the ground. “Take care of everyone, until I get back.”

 

Lorna  _ eeped  _ a bit, but hugged her back just as fiercely. “I will.”

 

Earlene hugged Sharley, but had no words for her. Anything she would manage to say would be too paltry or more than she could bear to hear...so silence was best.

 

“Blessings go with you,” offered Thanadir, giving her a very proper hug. But Earlene noticed, it was  much longer embrace than he would give to anyone else.

 

Thranduil was last, and did what he could to send her on the way with the one thing he did have. Courage. He carefully lifted her chin so that she had to look into his eyes. “You came to us for reasons you yourself did not fully understand. Go now, knowing that you are assured of finding the answers that have eluded you. We will speak again.” He kissed her on the forehead, and then stepped deliberately away. “Go,” he said, both as an encouragement and a command. No, she did not have to do anything he told her to. But he hoped that the part of her that knew what needed doing would heed his words.

 

**

 

Sharley drew a deep breath, and stepped onto the shimmering road. Now that she was here, her nerves calmed again -- though not completely. She knew that she should remember this place, and yet nothing was familiar. It was beauty without context, alien, though she knew it shouldn’t be.

 

What was going to happen to her, if her memory was restored? Would she even know who she was? Who  _ would  _ she be? Part of why she had accepted, but not been able to embrace, being a Maia, was because she was...Sharley. She felt mostly human. Save for a few nasty exceptions, she’d  _ liked  _ being Sharley. Manatirillë was part of her, sure, but even with Angie’s counseling, it had been hard to see that in anything more than an abstract sense. What she knew of Tirillë came from Maglor, from Maglor’s perspective.

 

The road shimmered, alight beneath her feet in a dizzying array of deep, luminescent colors, and she wondered. How could she...integrate them, herself and Tirillë? What would happen when ‘Tirillë’  _ was  _ another true facet of herself?

 

_ Don't let this change me utterly,  _ she thought.  _ Don't let Tirillë murder Sharley. _

 

Sharley had so much experience, so much memory...it had taken her years to sort through it, but she realized that she’d spent most of her time on Earth in various parts of North America. She’d napped for centuries at a time, when she found a handy enough cave; when she was awake, she wandered the wilderness, hunting when she needed to, and making clothes from the hides without remembering how she knew to. Her winters were spent in what became Mexico, and the southwest of America; in the summer, she roamed as she saw fit.

 

And eventually, after one nap in the Cascades, she’d woken up to find people. People who were confused as shit to find her, though not as confused as she was to find them. She’d all but forgotten what other people even looked like, and these didn't look quite like her. She couldn’t speak to them, nor they to her, but after what seemed to be hours of arguing, they led her back to their village. 

 

There she ate, and worked, and lived, and in time learned their language -- but she never aged, while around her those who had been children seemed to turn into grey-haired old men and women almost overnight. They had started calling her Spirit; after a century and a half, she became Ancient One. They didn't mind that she was broken, that she heard things no one else could. They simply took care of her, and loved her, generation after generation.

 

Eventually, her itching foot had taken her onward, and the tribe had passed her over to another; a century after that sent her to a third. In time, she made repeated rounds of the entire continent, and the descendants of those she’d known centuries ago knew who she was, when she found them again. It never occurred to her to wonder why they aged and died and she did not.

 

And then she began to realize she  _ couldn’t  _ die.

 

Before the strangers came, there was a plague that ran up and down the eastern coast of North America. What it was, she didn't know, but it wiped out whole communities, and she could do nothing to stop it. She tried, but if she’d ever had any gift for healing, she didn't remember it now. All around her they died, and then the strangers came. The strangers, who spoke no language any of them knew. 

 

Not that she’d been able to bring herself to care. She’d made her way back from the east, heartsick and horrified, and had crawled into a cave in her favorite mountain, and there slept for centuries. When she woke, the world had changed much, with new things both beautiful and terrible.

 

Yes, she liked being Sharley. There had been pain, but there had also been joy, and she didn't want to lose herself, when she remembered being Tirillë again. She wanted to be both.

 

Her mind tried to drift to Maglor, and she yanked it back. That way lay madness -- she knew nothing right now, and until she knew  _ something _ , it wasn’t safe to think of him. And yet...what would happen, if he were condemned? If he were taken from her again? Kurt, damn him, was right...all the healing in the universe wouldn’t be worth shit if they were parted forever. She would just...break. All over again.

 

_ “Come on, Sharley,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Not right now.” _

 

Sharley ignored her. What would they do to him, her poor Maglor? Yes, he had done some horrendous things out of misplaced trust and loyalty to a father she was fairly certain Tirillë had wound up loathing, but he’d been punishing himself now for so long. He’d been the only one, out of all of those brothers, to basically go ‘guys, this oath is bullshit either way, we might as well damn ourselves  _ not  _ following it and stop killing everyone.’ Shit, he’d raised Elrond, after Elrond’s mother chose a Silmaril over her children and left them to be slaughtered. (Sharley had Issues with Elwing, though she was also aware she was only seeing one side of the story. Still, the fact that neither parent even tried to go back for the twins  _ ever _ really didn't look good.) Elrond was one of the crucial reasons why Sauron had lost... _ oh, let that help. Let all of that help. Please, whoever’s listening.  _

 

It felt so, so odd, trying to pray to the people who might well condemn her husband to...to she didn't know what. How could she pray for the help of those who might doom him? And yet, what else was there to pray to? Given when she’d read, Eru didn't really interfere; so far as she knew, he’d done it only twice. But what did that leave? She’d never been a religious woman, exactly, though something about the various tribes’ spiritual beliefs had always resonated. For her to pray to the Valar to have mercy on Maglor seemed...pointless. They would do what they would do, and she doubted anything she might say or do would influence them one way or the other. And  _ damn  _ was that depressing.

 

_ I’m powerless,  _ she thought. She’d been powerless before; she’d hated it then, and she’d hated it now. The difference was that this time, she wasn’t the one facing torment. She didn't want to believe the Valar would torture Maglor, but the word ‘condemn’ hardly suggested anything nice.

 

_ “Sharley, stop thinking,”  _ Sinsemilla ordered.  _ “Just look around you.” _

 

It was rather hard  _ not  _ to look around her. There was the shimmering road, and then there was empty space, the sky a splash of vivid nebulae. If only she could truly appreciate it.

 

_ “Take a picture,”  _ Layla whispered.  _ “And then like, shove your phone down your shirt. You’ve gotta try to get some photos back home.” _

 

Okay, Layla actually had a point, so Sharley took out her phone. Unsurprisingly, there was no signal, but she shot a few pictures anyway, and hoped her SIM card wouldn’t get wiped or something on the way back out. And yes, she did in fact shove her phone down her shirt.

 

She walked on for… who knew how long. Day and night were not normal anymore. There were just colors. So many colors. What she knew for certain was, she slept twice, and then she started walking again, for the third time. Walking and walking. Until there was something in the distance. A figure? Maybe? It looked like a woman…

 

“Tirillë? That you?  _ FINALLY _ . Are you just trying to run my arse off, or what? You owe me so many fruit drinks you’re gonna be weaving into the next age just to pay me off.” All that was strewn out in a verbal torrent as the improbable redhead ground to a halt in front of her. “See those?” she glared, pointing at her feet. “Do I look like I have boots on? Because seriously, I needed some. This was supposed to be my vacation but oh, I got tricked again. ‘Let’s send Carni, she falls for everything,’” the woman rattled on in a mocking singsong. “Well SOME VACATION. So...you okay and everything?”

 

Sharley blinked, completely and utterly thrown. Lorna had told her all about her meeting with Carni, and how the Maia hadn’t been at all what she’d been expecting. “Why don't you have boots?” she found herself asking. “And...I don't know. Right now I’m kinda stuck between awe and existential dread.”

 

Carni leaned in, taking a closer look at her. Her eyes. “Eru, what even happened to you?” the Maia said, her voice in hushed tones. “Your eyes aren’t even blue now. How messed up is that? That’s the first thing I’d have them straighten out. You know Malikon was always jealous as hell and now she’s gonna say you’re trying to horn in on her color. Nice hair though. I missed you, Tirillë. Dammit. None of it has been the same without you, and I don’t just mean thousands of mortal years of crap shades of blue, either. We never knew why you left. We never knew...anything.” The strange woman threw her arms out in a hug, clearly elated to see her long-lost friend.

 

Sharley found herself hugging Carni back on sheer reflex, wide-eyed. “...Um. I don't know most of what happened to me, but I wish I didn't know what little I  _ do  _ remember. It was...bad. My mind got smashed into tiny bits, and I’ve spent about eighteen thousand years getting it kinda put back together.”

 

_ “Sharley, do Maiar drink coffee?”  _ Layla asked, a little worried.  _ “Or tea? Can they get caffeine highs?” _

 

“Now how would I know that?” Sharley asked, rolling her eyes. “Who is Malikon? I...don't remember anything. At all. I just know what Maglor’s told me over the years. Every time I tried to remember anything before Angband, I just got shoved back into remembering  _ it  _ instead, so I just kinda...stopped trying, after a while.”

 

“That sounds bad,” Carni said, before she shrugged. “Malikon handles the amber colored threads. And all the other colors that I like to call puke yellow to baby poop brown. She’s always been a little touchy, ya know? Personally I think she has green envy, but whatever.” She paused for a time, and appeared to be thinking. “You don’t remember  _ anything _ ? Not even the time we thought Námo was being a little uppity and wove him into one of the tapestries without any robes on? None of that? Then again maybe it’s good you  _ don’t _ remember that one. We kinda got in a lot of trouble over that but I still say he deserved it for being such a grouch. I mean just because he has to deal with whiny dead elves all day...but that’s what he’s the Vala of. He should be better than all that, right?”

 

Sharley’s eyebrows climbed nearly to her hairline. “We did that?” she asked. “Seriously?”

 

_ “Maybe this place isn’t gonna seem so weird and alien after all,”  _ Layla said.

 

_ “Yeah, this kinda explains why you’re...you,”  _ Jimmy added, snickering.

 

_ “Hey Carni, are  _ all  _ the...weavers, or whatever, like you guys?”  _ Layla asked.

 

“They...well, meet the voices,” Sharley said, waving her hand vaguely at the air around her. “They’ve been with me since Angband. I’d say you get used to them, but...you really don't.”

 

“Huh. They kind of sound like...us. The Colors, I mean. They have names?” Carni asked.

 

“Guys, sound off,” Sharley said.

 

_ “I’m Layla.” _

 

_ “And I’m Jimmy.” _

 

_ “I’m Sinsemilla, and Sharley regards me as the only sane one.” _

 

_ “Hey!”  _

 

“That last one was Kurt,” Sharley said. “He’s had exactly one good idea in eighteen thousand years, so we just kinda try to ignore him.”

 

_ “Yeah, but it was a  _ really good  _ idea,”  _ he protested.

 

“He will get along just great with Morë. * _ You know, black threads _ *” Carni whispered none too softly. “No one likes her much. She’s always in a mood.”

 

“Are all the colors like...we are?” Sharley asked.

 

“Like what?” Carni asked, obviously with no idea of what that meant.

 

“Like...us. Going off on tangents and generally...not sounding like what I’d expected?” Sharley offered. “Lorna said you threw her for a loop, in a good way. She hadn’t thought anyone in Aman wouldn’t be like...some stately dignified person, or whatever. I was afraid I was gonna wind up feeling lost and alone surrounded by people in dresses worth more than my house, or...something.”

 

“Um, well, that would be everyone but us. Probably. Yes. Okay since you have forgotten it all or whatever happened, some Maiar are attached to a given Vala. Not all, or there couldn’t have been dragons and balrogs and all that fun stuff. Though, I guess Morgoth technically was a Vala but we all stopped calling him that like, ages ago, because he was a sawed-off poopyhead. Anyway. So the Maiar that are attached to a Vala, like us, we have...abilities. Skills. Attributes. Talents. Thingys, that we do. So those of us that are actually Vairë’s weavers, yeah, we’re all a little like this because our Lady is a little like this. Okay maybe she is a  _ lot _ like this, but don’t tell her I said that, okay? I think there is a reason I got sent on a vacation. And out of those Maiar with a Vala, maybe one or two will be really special. Like, Manwë has Eönwë? He has others too, like the eagles and stuff, but no one is higher on his food chain than his Herald. Know what I mean? Just like you and Vanwatirillë. You’re not the only Tirillë, in case you didn’t remember that either. But we call her Vanwa, and you got called Tirillë more. Anyway. Like that. Understand?”

 

“I think so?” Sharley offered. “It’s kinda good to know Vairë’s like...us. I thought...doesn’t everybody do what I do, though? See the future? I thought that was how we worked.”

 

_ “There was a balrog on Earth until not that long ago,”  _ Jimmy said.  _ “There’s still some Elves there, and they killed him. And a few other people helped.” _

 

_ “And then they cut him into pieces and threw him in a bog,”  _ Layla added,  _ “and Lorna pissed on his corpse, and then later Sharley went and did, too. Well, where his corpse woulda been before it got sucked into the bog.” _

 

Sharley facepalmed. “ _ Anyway _ , aren’t we all like me?”

 

“Um, no,” Carni said. “Did they really just say that? You know what, I don’t want to know. Wasn’t my department; we don’t deal with stuff that happens in Ennor since Círdan sailed. Anyway. We are  _ not _ all like you, there are only two of you. Two like you, I mean. You see the future. Vanwa sees the past. Each direction is open fully only to each of you two, plus the Lady herself. And between you and me? Vairë has not been exactly happy about the extra workload since you up and vanished. It’s kind of sucked, what with that and the craptastic blue hues. I really kinda felt sorry for her. But to answer your question….you were one of the two most special. You were...one of two Eönwës, to our Lady. The rest of us just have colors, or shades. Like Vanwa, she has the yellows too. The pretty ones, not the baby-puke ones. Think flowers, not vomit. You’ll get the idea.”

 

“She sees it in...flashes, like I do?” Sharley asked. “I mean, I can see the history of something I’m looking at, but I’m guessing it’s not the same thing. And while I don't remember leaving, I’m pretty sure I just meant to go grab my husband and drag his ass back home. Dunno why else I woulda gone. How many of us  _ are  _ there?”

 

Carni riffled her fingers through her long tresses, shaking them out. “No. She does what you do. What you did, because who even  _ knows _ what you do now. She can want to see anything that happened in the past and then she just...looks. It is given to her to see...whatever it was. But it’s...she doesn’t just have the whole universe flood into her mind. She has to actually look. You were more important because you looked  _ ahead _ . Vanwa is more like...fact checking. When we had to make sure something was what we thought it was. Námo doesn’t want bogus tapestries everywhere, and if one is wrong...Eru, you have not heard a dead elf moan until you’ve heard one hacked off that their tapestry is wrong. Trust me, it’s ugly.” She shuddered just for emphasis. “How many...um, lots? I mean sure, there are us main ones, that have an entire color and all the shades within it. But some Maia just do shades. Special shades. Like the pinks in roses or the green color the sea can be on a calm day. I...I never counted how many of us there are. Maybe I should have, but you’re the first one ever to ask.”

 

Unease curled through Sharley. “Are...are they gonna make me stay, once I’m there?” she asked. “Because...the plan was kinda to go back to Earth again. I’ve got people there. Family, and friends. They’ve helped stick me back together since I remembered Angband and...other stuff. I’ve got a whole book full of pictures of them, actually, in all their weirdness and glory.”

 

She paused a moment. “And how do you know English so well?”

 

Carni grinned. “Lorna. I pulled it out of her head, they said you’d forgotten Quenya and Vanyarin and we won’t even discuss Valarin. Of course, some of the words are obviously not fit for servants of Eru, so those I discarded. But her vocabulary and knowledge of the language are handy enough. Why?” she asked worriedly. “Am I doing it wrong?”

 

“Not at all,” Sharley said, and burst out laughing. “But that explains a lot. Though by throwing out the swear words you probably lost a quarter of her vocabulary. And that’s not even getting into her ‘nicknames’. I’ve learned Sindarin, but not a whole lotta Quenya. Just some bits Maglor’s taught me over the last few years. Okay, so tell me: have you called anyone a gobshite yet?”

 

Carni blanched, horrified. “We do not speak like that,” she whispered. “We weavers are peculiar but...that would cause great offense,” she tried to explain evenly.

 

“Come spend your next vacation in Ireland,” Sharley said, grinning. “And I can’t control what the voices say, FYI. They’re kinda their own entity. Though I’m hoping they’ll behave themselves,” she added pointedly, glaring at the air around her. “Yes,  _ Kurt _ , that means you.”

 

_ “Damn you're no fun,”  _ he groused.

 

“See what I mean?”

 

Carni looked at her with a tilted head. “I would warn your Kurt that things have a way of going badly for those who defy what little the Lords and Ladies ask of us. This is not Ennorath, to which we are going. These are the Undying Lands, and it is a privilege to dwell there. Or visit, since I did not answer your question. I  _ cannot _ answer your question. But...they are not...jailors. And you are not an elf. I know that our Lady will want you to stay, but that is between you and her. From what I heard, you are not here just on a sightseeing tour. Everyone...heard about Maglor, by yesterday at the latest. I am always the last to know everything, and that is when I was told by messenger, to come here and meet you.”

 

Sharley sighed. “Yeah, I'm here because my husband is a noble idiot,” she said. “I wish we coulda talked about this. He just...decided to turn himself in without telling anyone, and it’s kinda my fault, but...I woulda gone with him. I didn't want him doing this on his own. He’s close to as broken as I am, just in a different way. Dunno if he’s even mentally fit to stand any kinda trial, or...whatever’s gonna happen to him.”

 

Carni shook her head vehemently. “Doesn’t work that way. You would not have been able to go with him, so it is for the best that you did not try. How to put this... Maglor not only got himself in a cow pasture after a rain, he got into Manwë’s pasture. He needs to face up to what he did.  _ Not _ doing that is why he is in a mess in the first place. But...they are merciful, Sharley. I’m...not supposed to talk about this, because of not upsetting you. Vairë has a whole lot of things to show you and...things, and I’m not gonna stuff my toenails down my esophagus by rattling on about matters that need to wait.”

 

“Toenails down your...now I  _ know  _ you got Lorna’s vocabulary,” Sharley said. “I just...he’s my husband, and he’s made himself pay so much already, and...I’ve been so happy, since I found him again. As happy as I was when I had Marty. I don't...I dunno what I’ll do, if…”

 

_ “Sharley, there’s no point in worrying about it right now,”  _ Sinsemilla said gently.  _ “Wait until you can talk to Vairë.” _

 

Sharley drew a deep breath. “Easy for you to say,” she muttered.

 

_ “No, it’s not. Because what happens to you, happens to us.” _

 

Carni looked at her sympathetically. “Tirillë, the biggest difference between you and I right now is that I  _ know _ . I know the Lords and Ladies, and I know that they exist to guide and to teach, not to...punish or destroy. They are reflections of our Father Eru. If you could remember, you would know this too. You  _ will _ remember. And then you will understand. In the meantime, it is as your voice says. There truly is no point worrying about it.”

 

Sharley looked away for a moment. “Is it wrong that I’m kinda afraid to? I’m not sure who I’ll be, once I remember being Tirillë. Who I’ll become.  _ What  _ I’ll become. I still feel mostly human -- I just don't need to eat or sleep as much. I’m more like an Elf now, that way.”

 

“It might be...not the best, in the sense that you are so much more than you can understand yourself to be. You have no idea what you were like, that much I can see. All I can say is, you are the last creature in Arda who should have to be afraid of being made whole. Just...stuff that thinking down a deep hole, okay? Because it’s a total crock. Sorry to be blunt, but...seriously.”

 

Sharley laughed, and looked back at her. “The fact that I don't understand is kinda what scares me,” she said. After a pause, she added, “So...how far are the Gardens of Lórien from where we’re going? And...would I be able to go there?”

 

“Not terribly far, no. We are all on the Other Side, facing the Outer Sea. Anyone can go there. Gotta warn you, it’s...different. You shouldn’t go until they...fix you.”

 

Finally, Sharley’s heart lurched with something like anticipation. “But once I’m...fixed, I can go? I can see my daughter?”

 

“Daughter?” Carni frowned, before wondering if this was one of those things she wasn’t supposed to butt into. Because sure as Anor rose every morning, Tirillë didn’t have a kid when she left. “Um, you could go anytime. I’m just telling you as a friend, go afterward. How you are now...I think you’d get lost.”

 

_ “Because that doesn’t sound cryptic and worrisome,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

_ “I think that’s the point, Jimmy,”  _ Layla snorted.

 

“Yeah, my daughter,” Sharley said. “Her name’s Marty, and I still dunno how she died, given what I am, and what…” She sighed. Angie and Lorna had finally gotten it through her head that she didn't need to be ashamed of this. “That balrog the Elves killed? Yeah, he’d kept me prisoner for a while. His big schtick was mental powers, and he had too much fun trying to figure out what I was, and how I did what I did. The Stranger, it was this part of me that survived after Angband, and it even managed to trick  _ him  _ into thinking I was human -- but it wasn’t strong enough to overpower him and get me out. And one night he…” Another sigh. “He got into my head and and did...other stuff. Of the rapey variety. That he made me enjoy. And then the Stranger killed like thirty people and got me out, and made me forget, but I got Marty outta it, so...you know, silver linings. Never knew who her dad was, while she was alive, and I didn't care. She was my sunshine girl.”

 

She pulled her wallet out of her pocket, and flipped to the picture. “Her eyes were like mine, see?”

 

“Well that explains one thing,” Carni said softly. “There are few crimes that are unforgivable in the eyes of the Valar. We wondered why his spirit was rejected. They barely even discussed it. Um, I am so sorry.” While she looked at the photo, she could take a guess at why the little one had been allowed to perish. Her fae was safe, where no stain of that...thing...could ever taint it again. But...Eru, what a horrible story.

 

“Oh, I wasn’t the only person he did that to,” Sharley said grimly. “He did it to Lorna, and who knows how many others. I hope whatever passed for his fae got...dissolved, or...something. Because, seriously, gross. Lorna and I went through a whole lotta therapy and ice cream. And weed tea. And tissues. And there were lots of cats involved.”

 

“That is as good a way of putting it as any. He is a houseless spirit now, impotent. Useless. I cannot imagine such a degradation, but he brought that on himself.”

 

_ “Hehe, she said ‘impotent’,”  _ Kurt snickered.

 

_ “Oh my  _ god _ , Kurt, really?”  _ Layla asked, pained.

 

_ “No, he’s right,”  _ Jimmy said.  _ “Somebody had to say it.” _

 

Sharley burst out laughing. “At least I can’t ever say these four are boring.”

 

“Perhaps that is another word to delete,” Carni said. Anything that The Kurt liked should probably be discarded just on principle.

 

_ “But it’s a legitimate word!”  _ he protested.  _ “It’s not a swearword, it’s just a word that has several meanings, one of them hilarious.” _

 

“See what I put up with?” Sharley asked. “And yet I’d miss them if they were gone. Well, I might not miss Kurt that much.”

 

“I can see why,” Carni said acidly.

 

“So how far out are we? I’m not even sure how much time’s passed since I left Ireland. I hope everyone’s okay back there.”

 

“Why wouldn’t they be?” her redheaded companion asked, genuinely not understanding.

 

“They’re worried about me,” Sharley said. “They don't know when I’ll be home. I've leaned on them for years now, when I needed support, and none of them could come with me.”

 

“Why do I think you are worrying to worry?” Carni pointed out gently. “And, we are not so far from the island. Thankfully you were most of the way here already.” And that was true, for in the distance something besides swirling colors could be seen. It looked like...land.

 

“I worry because I love them,” Sharley said. “And that’s a relief. Trying to have a wee off the side of the road is...interesting.”

 

“Oh. That. Right. Well let’s just hurry along then. Plenty of deserted shoreline…”

 

That just made Sharley laugh again. “Good to know. Do we still need to take care of all that, when we’re in our...normal state?” A horrifying thought occurred to her. “Oh damn, we can  _ eat _ , right? Crap, sorry about the ‘damn’, but can we?” She’d spent so much time around her tiny Irish friend that policing her own language might get...interesting...in the days to come.

 

“While we keep bodies, yes. We don’t have to keep them, but the elves...it is easier on them to see us as something like they are. Otherwise we’re what, disembodied voices that just babble out of thin air?” Her eyebrow raised. “Um, oops. No disrespect intended. Except maybe to Kurt; I already don’t care about him.”

 

_ “Sharley can be a voice, just like us?”  _ Layla asked, stunned.  _ “Really?” _

 

That...sounded waaaay too weird right now. Way too weird. 

 

_ “So, does that me we can have bodies?”  _ Jimmy asked.

 

“Please tell me the answer is no,” Sharley said.

 

“Not touching that one,” Carni shook her head. “Not at aaaaaaaaaaaall. C’mon, we’re as good as here.”  What was unending road quickly dissolved around them and in minutes they were standing again on solid land. Land, with the fresh smell and the sound of the ocean not far away. “Welcome to Tol Eressëa,” she said with a sweeping gesture. A few glances around later, a grimace formed over her face. “There is a place we can stay not far off. It’s going to be dark soon, and we’ll have to get the ferry tomorrow. They don’t leave this late.”

 

Sharley’s eyes widened, because that was not a categorical ‘no’. Oh dear. “What are the ferries like?” she asked, looking around. “Because I’m betting they’re not like the ones I’m used to.” She didn't think she’d ever smelled air this pure, even deep into the Cascades. No hint or taint of pollution had ever touched this, she was sure.

 

“Ships. Not very big ships. They take passengers for hire, because it’s something that needs doing. They have sails. Not...rowboats.”

 

Sharley’s brow furrowed. “Passengers for hire? How many people come and go? It’s not like there’s much Aman-Earth traffic.”

 

“Elves live here, silly. And elves live on the mainland as well. This is Aman; the part of this land where most of the Eldar make their homes. See those mountains in the distance, the ones you can’t miss? Those are the Pelori. The Valar live behind them in their cities and realms. So do some elves that serve them, but not the majority. Most are down here, either on the main coast or inland. Aman is a very big place.”

 

“So...what do people do here, when they’re not working? I mean, I’m assuming work for people that aren’t us is like, farming and crafting and stuff. I know Maglor was big into harp making, and his mom made all sorts of things, but is there anything like money, or do you just….what’s the word…?

 

_ “Barter?”  _ Sinsemilla offered.

 

“Yeah. That.”

 

“Yes. Sort of. There is barter. There is also just...asking, and receiving gifts. I am not fully certain what life is like in Ennorath, but here there is no taint of sin. No one has it in mind to be greedy or to seek to hoard more than they need. Whatever each one likes best and has talent for, that is what they do. One who is a farmer might ask his neighbors who are not farmers for help at certain times. And they are wise to do so, because he or she shares that food with them. The one who brings joy when they write poems and music is provided for by those who...make clothing or furniture. Everyone offers something, everyone needs something. Those who practice artistry also often turn some of their time to practical pursuits. For example, the singer might also be the candlemaker. The one who plays the lute might also be a baker. Kind of like...that. And most here have a little garden, and some goats and chickens or cows or...what have you. They do for themselves, as much as they can. It is hard to explain but you’ll see. It all works out fine, because no one takes advantage.”

 

“I wish that would work on Earth,” Sharley said. “We’re gonna have to try to do something like that after the plague, so I’ll study how this actually works and try to get it through everyone’s heads back home.” She shuddered a little. “What’s coming...it’s gonna be bad.  _ Really  _ bad. What I saw...we’re all gonna seal ourselves up in the Halls until it passes, and if I’ve got some example to take back of how everyone here does it, maybe that’ll help.”

 

Carni looked at her sadly but said nothing. Unless the Afterborn had changed a great deal, that would be asking quite a lot. At least, from what she understood of the disposition of some of them and how easily they could be swayed. Either way, it was a good thing about which to Shut It. “Look, there. There is the House That Is Home. We can stay there.”

 

“The House That Is Home,” Sharley repeated, grinning. “I like that. We call the one in the forest Eldamar.” Though now that she thought about it, shouldn’t it be Elven  _ and  _ Human Home?

 

Carni smiled and frowned, having next to no idea what Tirillë was talking about...that might happen a great deal, until they traveled to Vairë.  _ Eh, whatever. _ They made their way forward though the durable grasses and succulent plants that grew in abundance at the sea-shore. The outlines of a faint path were visible, little used, that Carni followed. At one time it was well-trodden but it had been quite infrequent now, that any sought the Road for any reason, and most were Ainur that came and went in silence and secrecy. At last they arrived at the door. This dwelling had two storeys, and porches all around. Comfortable chairs and cushioned wooden sofas lined the three sides of the house that faced the ocean. Flowering plants grew happily in pots, kept moist by the mists and damp that came in the early hours. The home was built largely of stone, but cleverly wrought wooden timbers were in place as well. Were they cedar? It was difficult to tell in the dimming light. The redhead knocked firmly against the wooden door, and it was not long before a beautiful elleth with silver hair opened the door in greeting.

 

“Mae govannen, Celebrían,” Carni said in greeting, but now in Sindarin. “I hope we might impose on you and Elrond for lodging. This is Manartirillë, but she is also called Sharley now.”

 

Lovely blue eyes scanned both of them and her face lit in a welcoming smile. “Of course,” she said, opening the door wide and gesturing for them to enter. “You know you are always welcome here.” Celebrían turned her head. “Elrond,” came the musical call. “We have guests….”

 


	133. One Hundred and Thirty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 15-18, 2029

 

Sharley’s eyes widened. Celebrían. Elrond’s wife.

 

_ “Holy shit.” _

 

_ “KURT!”  _ the other three chorused.

 

_ “What?”  _ he asked.  _ “I slipped up, okay?” _

 

“Hi,” Sharley said, before casting a pained look at Carni. “I hope everyone can be patient with him, for a bit. We’ve spent most of the last twenty years around Irish people, and as far as profanity goes, Lorna’s not exactly an outlier. We might not catch everything before it comes out, at first.”

 

Celebrían smiled at Carni, not understanding a word of the foreign tongue. “Tolo. Mann madatham.” (Come. We will eat.) She glanced around. They seemed to have only one bag but this was not surprising; the Ainur tended not to travel with material items. “Elladan! Elrohir! Nethail sevim.” (We have guests.)

 

In short order two handsome and identical faces appeared in the entry room, inviting to show them their sleeping rooms and bringing ewers of warm water. Basins and cleaning cloths were already in those rooms. “Aphado,” (follow) they said in stereo. Their grey eyes were curious yet they did not stare; they were familiar enough with travelers in general. And lately they had seen Carni more than once. Elladan smiled, wondering what  _ this _ was about.

 

Sindarin. Right. Fortunately Sharley had studied it over the years -- sometimes formally, sometimes not -- so she had a pretty decent command of it right now. With a glance at Carni, she did as bidden, and hoped baths would be a thing in the future. Maybe the form she wore right now was just optional, but she didn't know how to keep it from getting dirty.

 

Each was taken to a small but comfortable sleeping room with bed, small table, oil lamp, chair and a sideboard. Cheerful curtains that were hard to discern in the dim light promised colorful decoration come morning. Everything in the tiny space was elegant and obviously made with great artistry, including the bed coverlet. Neither of them could know it, but the great insignia embroidered into it was the seal of Elrond’s house in Imladris of old. Many linens inside the home still bore this fond reminder by bygone days. It was Elladan that brought Sharley to her room, leaving the ceramic ewer of lightly steaming water on the sideboard, where linens and a fresh soap cake were ready for use. Dried herbs in jars scented the space with mint and lavender and bergamot. With a smile and a bow of his head, he retreated just as his mother was poking her head in the door. “We will eat within this hour, but you have time to refresh yourself. Do not hurry. You are welcome anywhere in our home.” Vanishing before anyone had a chance to respond, her hand pulled the door closed.

 

Even a stand-up wash, as the Irish called it, was lovely. Once Sharley dried off, she looked around her curiously. Knowing that every single beautiful thing in here was made by hand...well, Elves, she knew, were patient, and they literally had forever to make things. How many years must that bedcover have taken? She couldn’t recognize the material, but it was thick and heavy and very soft, the embroidery on it -- some of which looked like actual gold -- almost solid. Sharley liked to think she was a patient person, but something this ornate was totally beyond her.

 

There were spare clothes in her pack, so she dug them out now -- underwear, socks, and a leggings-and-tunic combo of the sort Lorna favored. Leggings were warm, and you could roll them into a smaller space than jeans. They were black, so they matched (slightly scuffed) boots, while the tunic was actually an oversized sweater almost the same shade of blue as her hair. Given it was, well, a sweater, it didn't matter that it had spent the last few days wadded up at the bottom of her pack.

 

The little book of photos Lorna had sent here was stuffed against the side, and she took it out now, sitting on her bed to flip through it. Oh, she hoped they were okay back home -- that they weren’t sad or worried about her.  _ Maglor  _ was the one who really needed their thoughts and prayers, but she was sure he was getting them, too.

 

The book held scores of pictures, but a few of them made her pause, determined to take the book to dinner. There were a number of Maglor with the children, usually conducting them through little concerts -- they were some of the sweetest pictures Sharley had ever seen, and Elrond might enjoy seeing what his long-lost foster father was up to. Had been up to.

 

“I wonder if I’ll be allowed to see him,” she said aloud.

 

_ “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “I mean, can you really be sure you could control your reactions around him?” _

 

The answer to that, unfortunately, was ‘no’, and she sighed. Once dressed, she and her book headed out in search of people.

 

Her first encounter was with El...something. They were identical twins, how was anyone supposed to figure that out? Carni’s voice could be heard from the rooms ahead, maybe the kitchen? The...whoever he was...paid her no regard other than a smile, for he was busy carrying firewood to another room. Following the voices led her to what was indeed a kitchen. A large wood cookstove was in full use, with multiple pots of simmering things and what smelled a great deal like bread aromas wafting around as well. Catching sight of her, the former Elflord smiled. “Welcome, Tirillë. I am Elrond. Carni is known to us but I have never met you before.” His grey eyes were the same as his sons’; it was easy to see whence they received their physical features. He was dressed in leggings and a tunic; a rough spun apron protected his clothing. And he was very much the one doing the cooking; he tumbled a variety of chopped vegetables into whatever it was that the largest pot contained.

 

“Hi,” Sharley said, at least remembering the traditional Elven greeting gesture. “I didn't understand the name of your home when Carni told me, but I think now I do. It’s not the Last Homely House, it’s kind of the first one now, once you’re past the road.” She was pretty sure her accent with Sindarin wasn’t  _ too  _ bad, unlike poor Lorna (who still, after all these years, was barely intelligible).

 

“Yes,” he smiled. “You are returning to the Halls of Námo?” he asked by way of making conversation.

 

“I am,” she said. “I just wish I remembered...anything. All I know it’s that they’re beautiful and I used to work there.”

 

_ “And apparently wove him naked into a tapestry,”  _ Jimmy snickered.

 

Oh, Sharley was so,  _ so  _ glad they were speaking in English. “Sorry about them,” she said. “There are four of them that follow me around, but at least you can’t understand them. Trust me, it’s better that way. They can be beyond annoying.”

 

“Them...forgive me, what ‘them’?” Elrond’s brow furrowed into a frown.

 

Her eyebrows rose. “You can’t hear them? Well, that’s...fortunate. My mind sort of got...shattered, ages ago, and they’re the result of that. They’re four voices that follow me and chatter. Thranduil and Maglor can hear them, so I just thought every Elf could, but the rest were too polite to say anything.”

 

“Thranduil? Maglor?” he almost dropped his wooden spoon. “You know of them?”

 

“I live with Thranduil, on and off,” she said. “Maglor did too, until he moved in permanently. I have pictures, if you want to see any of them at some point.”

 

Elrond’s eyes were wide with eagerness. “I would like that a great deal. Are they well? We never heard word, not for ages and ages…” He paused, and frowned again. “How in Eru’s name is Maglor with Thranduil??”

 

“Thranduil is,” Sharley said, wincing a little. “Maglor  _ was _ , until he decided to turn himself into the Valar without consulting anyone else. It’s why I’m here. He’d wound up with Thranduil because Earlene, Thranduil’s wife, literally found him in a book shop.” It was probably best not to mention anything about the whole ‘plural marriage’ business. “Oh yeah, Thranduil married a human, twelve years ago. They have ten kids, two dogs, and a twenty-pound cat who’s a food thief.” She no longer knew what weight scale Sindarin used; she’d have to ask Carni later.

 

“So Maglor finally did it,” Elrond smiled. “That does my heart good to hear.” Why she would think he needed to consult anyone was more than a little bizarre, but, as he barely knew her he would refrain from comment. “Ten children?” At this, Elrond chuckled. “Legolas had best be well into his cups, before ever he is told that piece of news. Do they all look like their father?”

 

Sharley didn't know why he’d be smiling, unless he had no idea. “I’m not so sure it is,” she said softly. “Not with the way he did it. I don't know what will happen to him, and I’m so scared to find out.” 

 

This comment was both baffling and disturbing, and Elrond’s gut instinct was to politely pretend as though he had not heard her speak it.

 

She shook herself. “Four of them do,” she said. “The rest look more like Earlene, or Earlene’s family.” Yes, that was technically a small lie, since some of them had Thanadir’s features, but sue her. That really was not her secret to reveal. “One of them is actually Earlene’s niece, that they adopted after her brother died. Now there’s two sets of twins and one set of triplets.”

 

Elrond’s smile widened, to hear this news. “How many of our people are left, back there?” he asked. “And will they ever come? Do you know?”

 

“A little over two hundred,” she said. “And they’re all coming here, eventually -- we just dunno when yet. I hope they at least get a little warning, and not just ‘drop your stuff, we’re gone in five minutes’. That wouldn’t be good for any of them, but Lorna would just be...shattered. Completely.”

 

“Two hundred?” Elrond stirred the stew, clearly...thinking, before he dropped in some handfuls of grain. “I am now very glad I asked. As you might have guessed, this is where those coming off the Road end up. And that is why we have ever been here, to welcome and aid travelers. Later on we were simply too fond of this place to leave. But for that number, even we will have to make preparation. The house can sleep thirty persons, besides our family. So as you can see, this gives a chance to make...arrangements. And yet it seems we have time.” Who this Lorna was, he had zero idea, but it seemed best to humor Tirillë.

 

“Earlene’s coming, too,” Sharley said, wondering what he was cooking. “And Ailill, he swore fealty to Thranduil.” And no, she was absolutely not going to clarify that -- it was yet another thing that was just not her secret to reveal. “The rest of the humans will stay in the Halls, and my  _ hope  _ is that Maglor and I will, too. Earth -- Ennorath -- is my home, and has been for eighteen thousand years.” After a small, thoughtful pause, she added, “Where can you put two hundred people? Because I’d better warn them to bring tents.”

 

A smile spread over his face “Do not worry. With respect, that is my task not yours. We are not the only residents of this island; there are many of us. All newcomers will be provided for, and they will not need to live like houseless wanderers once they arrive.” He paused in his stirring to peek into one of the doors near the firebox. Grabbing a thick pad, he slid out a metal tray and tapped the golden brown loaves. Obviously pleased, he brought them out entirely, setting them on a wooden sideboard to cool. In a moment he would transfer them to racks, but not just yet. Elrohir returned now into the kitchen, bearing a large metal pail from which he now poured milk into pans, working quickly and efficiently. Apparently reminded of something, Elrond now turned to a nearby earthenware vessel, and scooped generous amounts of...milky whatever it was...into his stew.

 

“I always worry a little,” she said, laughing. “I’ve never seen stew like this made in the Halls before. Is this your own recipe?”

 

“Yes. It is my attempt to duplicate what our cooks in Imladris made long ago that tasted so good. Celebrí tells me it is very close. Of course I never know if she is saying that to be kind or because it is really true,” he grinned. “I found that once I could stop being an Elflord in all but name, that I enjoyed cooking a great deal.”

 

“I think Thranduil’s enjoyed not having to be king in the same way he once was,” Sharley said. “At least, his life is never boring.” Another pause, and then, “What do you mean, when you say you’re glad Maglor turned himself in? Because...he might well be condemned to I don't even know what. I came here hoping to intercede with the Valar over it. I don't...he’s punished himself so much already, and...I just found him again. If they take him away forever...” she trailed off. The Maglor he was now was not the ellon he’d been, all those ages ago.

 

Elrond looked at her searchingly. “Nobody can intercede for him, Tirillë, surely you…”

 

“Aaaaaand I think that’s really all that needs to be said in this conversation,” Carni interjected forcefully. “Elrond, sorry, I’ll explain later. What you don’t know is that you are speaking to Maglor’s wife, that he left behind so long ago. And right now, she doesn’t really understand who she is, or really much of anything you or I think of as reality. What she needs to  _ know _ ,” the Maia said with equal emphasis, “is what she has already been told. That there is hope for Maglor, and if there is any problem here it is that he waited far too long to do the right thing and that it is  _ good _ that he has been hauled off to Valimar.”

 

Elrond looked at Carni, clearly speechless, but he recovered quickly. “Forgive me. I knew...none of this. It seems best I not meddle in matters I do not understand.” Looking down, and now with an unreadable expression, he continued to poke at his stew.

 

Sharley ran a hand over her braid, wretched. “Carni, did I waste my time coming here? Is my presence or absence gonna make one bit of difference?”

 

_ I don’t get paid enough for this...this...cesspool of hassles,  _ Carni’s mind concluded.  _ I mean, I don’t get paid at all, but that is beside the point…  _ “Tirillë, forgive me too, but what you don’t understand about anything here could go up one side of the Pelori and down the other. That isn’t your fault, and you are  _ not _ wasting your time. Now stop this needless fretting, wait until we return to the Lady, or so help me I will steal every bottle of sleeping draught in this house and dump it into your stew bowl. And don’t think I don’t know where they are hidden, either.” Her arms were folded over her chest as she glowered.

 

Elrond glanced up surreptitiously. “Never argue with redheads. Doesn’t go well,” he murmured as quietly as possible.

 

Sharley stared at her. “You,” she said, “ _ really  _ need to hang out with Lorna some more. You two would get along so well it’s scary.”

 

_ “Yeah, or the combination would break the universe,”  _ Layla pointed out.

 

“...True. And I learned not to argue with redheads ages ago.” Mairead was a kind woman, but she could be truly formidable when she chose. Chandra likewise was a bit of a...spitfire, but she was also a Donovan.

 

“Good,” Carni said, unfolding her arms. “Now I’m gonna make myself useful and set the table, and save Celebrían a little work. Six of us, Elrond, or are there more?”

 

“Just six. Though, it is a shame; you missed Galadriel and Celeborn by only three days. They returned to the mainland after a two week holiday here. It was quite nice.”

 

Carni smiled. “Glad to hear it. Maybe I’ll manage another time.”

 

*****

 

Sharley brought out her little book of photos before dinner, and flipped through until she found one Elrond might appreciate the most: Lorna had taken it while standing behind all the children during one of their concerts, while Maglor faced the camera, conducting them. His face was open, relaxed -- happy. Once she’d found it, she handed the book to Elrond. “He’s been giving all the kids music lessons,” she said. “They each picked an instrument. Not surprisingly, most of them are string instruments.”

 

“That is wonderful, that he found music again. He would sing to us, when we were little. I have never forgotten it. Eru, he had a voice like none other.” Celebrían rolled her eyes and smiled. She had heard many stories, over their years together…

 

“He really does,” Sharley said. “We couldn’t get him to sing in front of the whole group very often, but he sang to me a lot.” Laughing, she flipped to another photo -- this was Maglor lying reading a magazine, the Lump happily snoozing on his backside. “I swear this cat is in love with him.”

 

Elrond looked at the photo, then Sharley, then the photo. Everyone knew Maglor did not care for cats, to put it mildly. “He must love you very much,” was what he decided to say aloud. 

 

“He put up with a lot, for me.” She flipped through until she found the lovely one of Land Whale Earlene sitting on the motorized armchair, surrounded by children and cats, with Calanon and the hawk in the background and Sharley herself kneeling to one side. “This is Earlene -- she was pregnant with two very large babies at the time, and by the end of it, she could barely walk. Lorna built her this motorized armchair so she could still get around without being carried.”

 

“Oh, my,” Elrond chuckled. “Oh my. We remember the joys of twins and...he has identical twin daughters?” He felt a pang of sadness, for the girls were very beautiful. And they looked a great deal like Arwen did, when she was a young elfling.

 

“He does,” Sharley said. “And another little girl, plus five more boys. What that picture doesn’t show is immediately what happened afterward -- the hawk screeched, the cat panicked, all the kids fell off the chair, and Earlene’s smoothie -- which is a kind of thick drink -- wound up all over Lorna. It was certainly, um, memorable.”

 

She hunted down another one that had made her laugh, simply because it most definitely showed how much humanity had changed Thranduil: it was a still from the video Mairead had shot of the disastrous dinner party. In it, he was holding a terrified Saoirse over his head like a gymnast, while a bloodthirsty Lorna scaled his side like a tree. Thranduil himself just looked disturbed. “And the Elvenking has moved with the times,” she said, grinning a little. “The kid is Saoirse, and the woman who looks like she wants to murder her is Lorna. There were cats stealing food, children pulling cats’ tails, and what you don't see is the fact that Saoirse escaped, Thranduil tripped over a cat, and then he and Lorna got in an argument over whose fault it was. And Earlene looked like she wanted to murder everyone.”

 

Elrond made a mental note to interview Thranduil at length once they arrived. The Thranduil he knew would never had been seen in such a circumstance...it was possible he was in need of assistance. 

 

“What I don't have a picture of is him blowing up part of Dublin,” she said, “though to be fair, that was an accident. Still, I'm not sure Aman is ready for this group, so...you know. They ought to start trying, before these guys show up and give everyone the shock of their lives.”

 

“Indeed,” said Elrond, whose voice had taken on a strained quality, to those that knew him. Honestly, he was close to speechless. “And dinner is served.” Perhaps he had seen enough pictures.

 

**

 

Later, when Carni was sure from the lack of sounds behind Sharley’s door that she was asleep, the Maia quietly made her way to the sitting room, where she knew the family would be gathered in front of the fire, conversing, knitting, or...whatever. They looked up, surprised to see her. With a half-smile she sat down. “So...about earlier. I’m sorry for the outburst in the kitchen , but there was no other way you could possibly understand this. And I couldn’t very well just explain it all with her standing right there. In some ways, I don’t know more than you do. But from what I gather, this is what occurred…”

 

For the next thirty minutes, Carni spoke slowly and carefully about the things that she knew happened to her her friend, and at the things she only guessed. “...so as you can see, this is a mess, and it is a mess only our Lords and Ladies can hope to repair.”

 

“Valar,” Elrond said, his face pale now as he looked worriedly at his wife. Though she was healed now, some things could never entirely be forgotten. And it was rare, here, for such shocking news to reach their ears. “For what it is worth, from everything you describe, I think the last thing she should do is go to Valimar. In her current state of...well, ignorance...she might make everything far worse.”

 

“On that, we agree. Just out of curiosity...everyone knows that Maglor raised you. Was he always this pigheaded?”

 

Elrond laughed. “Maglor was always...Maglor. In the days of my youth, I remember his love, and his constancy. He was a good father to us. And I am not ashamed to call him that, whatever else happened later. But the few times, in the years when I was not so young, before I reached some level of maturity...I tried to talk to him. Tried to...ask, the more difficult questions. And each time I was gently but firmly rebuffed until even persistent little Elrond stopped asking.” His wife smiled to see her husband’s self-deprecating humor. “Elros and I left Maglor and Maedhros, when we were old enough to understand some of the...wider issues, though it tore our hearts to pieces to do so. For the irony is, they taught us reverence for the Valar. Maglor especially spared nothing of teaching us of their light and wisdom. I guess you could say, we did as he said, not as he did. Our hearts told us to distance ourselves from the two brothers, though it was with great sorrow that we did this.  As you know the world was a dangerous place in those days, and we made our way through it as best we could.” 

 

“I will take that as a Yes, however nicely you frame the answer,” Carni chuckled. “Well, I should rest myself. I feel better for having explained the...peculiarities. Thank you all, for your hospitality.” With gestures of parting, the Maia returned to her room. 

 

Down below, Celebrían watched her husband’s face carefully. “You are going to go to him, aren’t you?” she asked softly. 

 

“Someone should,” he answered. “I will always owe him my life. If the only thing it adds to his cause are my prayers, then that will be something. I have a feeling that he will not be...well. And it is something I can do that his wife apparently cannot.”

 

“Very well,” sighed Celebrían. “I will have food prepared early for a journey to the mainland. Which means, I too should rest.” With kisses to her husband and sons, she retired to their bedroom.

 

*****

 

Elrond led them on the long walk to the quays and the ferry on the west side of the island, for he too apparently was heading for the mainland. It was early yet, but daylight was growing strong though it would still be at least an hour before the rays of sun rose over the tall mountains.

 

Sharley had actually slept last night, which surprised her. Packing again took maybe five minutes, and she was wide awake when they reached the ferry. 

 

They boarded, along with other elves from the island. Maybe only eight persons, all totaled. And when the light reached a certain place on a pole erected at the pier, the crew cast off the mooring lines and set sail. Carni smiled. “I love the ferry. Never get tired of the water. So peaceful.”

 

“I lived in a place with ferries,” Sharley said, “though they weren’t anything like this one. The air here is...pure, more than anywhere on Earth. No pollution.”

 

“What were they like?” Elrond asked, curious.

 

“Just about everything on Earth either runs off electricity --” the word was in English, so she sought a better comparison “-- which is kind of like...generated and controlled lightning, or fossil fuels, which are made from the remains of very ancient beasts. So the ferries don't need wind or sails, and they’re made out of metal.”

 

Elrond shook his head. “That is difficult for me to imagine. Something that sinks made into something that floats? And yet it must be the case.”

 

“Honestly, I'm not really sure how it works -- but then, airplanes fly, and they’re made of metal. It’s all science I never studied.”

 

Elrond caught Carni’s eye and her slight warning shake of the head. He gave only the faintest of smiles in response, realizing that more questions could only lead to a need for headache remedy. Favorable winds sped them on their way, and about an hour of light conversation with the other passengers later they reached the mainland, and could not help but notice that Elrond kept to the road to Tirion, just as they were doing.

 

Sharley tried not to gape like a tourist, and really, really wished she dared bring out her cell phone and take some pictures. It was so green, so alive -- so pure. Even the buildings seemed to fit with the landscape, rather than try to tame it. “Is all Aman like this? I don't mean the landscape, I mean...does it all feel like this?” She wished she could find better words, but sadly, she wasn’t sure there  _ were _ words for what this place really felt like.

 

“I think so?” answered Elrond, not being entirely certain what was being asked. They were near to the path that would ascend through the Calacirya, the gap in the mountains that led to the plain of Valinor. He was not able to inquire further, for the shadow of great wings circled overhead. The elf stopped, backing away when it became plain the great eagle was landing.

 

_ “Holy  _ shit _!”  _ Kurt yelped.

 

_ “KURT!” _

 

_ “Sorry, but...but…” _

 

For once, Sharley couldn’t blame him. Oh, she’d read about the Great Eagles, Manwë’s birds, but reading about them and seeing one in the flesh were two very, very different things. This one was bigger than any passenger jet she’d ever seen -- how much would such a creature have to eat and drink, just to sustain itself?

 

Elrond bowed deeply, wondering what all was going on lately, but said nothing. The eagle turned its head to fix Carni with its eye.  _ I was sent to bear you to the Halls of Námo.  _ A single blink followed, as the eye did not remove itself from staring at her.

 

“Well that’s lovely!” Carni smiled, bowing low. “We get to save a lotta walking. C’mon Sharley, up you go. Thorondor’s posse doesn’t have all day. Well okay maybe they do, but they aren’t known for their patience.” She began tugging Sharley toward the bird, that was obligingly lowering the first joint of its wing to the ground. “Go up, don’t yank on their feathers, and get situated.”

 

“How do I do that?” Sharley asked, wondering just where she was supposed to grab that _ wasn’t  _ covered in feathers. Very, very gingerly she tried scaling the wing, grateful she’d spent all that time with Elves and their inhuman grace.

 

“Here, do like I do.” Carni demonstrated a polite nod of her head to the bird, and then confidently (but carefully) walked up the feathered slope until she could seat herself comfortably on his (her?) back. Then, she wriggled to bury part of herself underneath the body feathers, while still having the feather shafts for handholds. “You can  _ use _ the feathers, just don’t  _ yank _ the feathers.”

 

Okay, that Sharley could do -- could, and did. “Does it get cold up high?” she asked, mimicking Carni. The feathers would probably at least a bit warm.

 

“Depends? I don’t think so, it’s always warm here more than anything  ooooh hang on eeeeeeeeelse.” Okay so that came out very badly, but she knew from the stifled shriek she heard behind her that Sharley was at least along for the ride. Carni remembered to turn and wave at poor Elrond. She had every guess as to where  _ he _ was going.  _ Appointment. Uh-huh. Sure. _

 

Unsurprisingly, this was not remotely like an airplane. It was wonderful, and it was terrifying, and all things considered, Sharley was rather glad that falling off wouldn’t kill her -- though it would probably hurt like a bastard. Somebody was going to have to teach her how to...discorporate, or whatever it was Maia did when they became disembodied voices.

 

The wind tore at her hair, and she was glad she’d braided it back. It also tugged at her backpack until she figured out how to get the thing under control, doing her level best not to tug on any feathers while she was at it.

 

_ “Just how big do you want to bet this bird’s shits are?”  _ Kurt asked.

 

“Kurt…” she growled.

 

_ “Sorry. But still, how much do you want to guess it -- he -- she -- whatever -- poops?” _

 

_ “I’d rather not guess at all,”  _ Sinsemilla said severely.  _ “Hush, you. Watch the scenery.”  _ Oh damn, she sounded so much like Lorna it was kind of scary.

 

“Okay seriously? The bird is not a bird. It is also one of the Ainur, and so help me if that thing inside of you doesn’t shut up I will personally find a way to beat the...keep it QUIET,” Carni hissed.

 

“Carni,  _ I don't know how _ ,” Sharley hissed back, panicking a little. “I don't have any control over him, or any of them. Believe me, if I knew a way to shut him up, I woulda done it ages ago...but if you’re the only one who knows English, at least nobody else can understand him, I hope?”

 

A keening cry from the eagle left them both wondering the answer to that question for the rest of the way across the plains. “Okay sorry,” Carni said, even though she was not sorry. Vairë would  _ definitely _ be given her two cents about quashing the crass...whatever it was...that existed inside of Tirillë, because that was the kind of thing that was not going to help her one tiny bit. “That is Tirion, city of the Noldor, below us,” she said, hoping to change the subject with some grace. Silently, she asked the eagle to turn south now rather than later. For very obvious reasons, she did not want Sharley to catch sight of Valimar. It would do the poor thing no good at all.

 

“It’s gorgeous,” Sharley said, and was, all things considered, grateful she didn't have a fear of heights. “How many Elves live there?”

 

“Wow, you are asking the wrong person,” Carni said. “Lots? I mean...I really have no idea. We’re not exactly the Department of Statistics, in the Tapestry Hall. Ya know?”

 

“You have no idea how weird it is, hearing a term like ‘Department of Statistics’ coming from a Maia,” Sharley said. “One who’s a real Maia, as opposed to one who feels like human.”

 

“You can thank your friend for that. I was in a hurry to grab English. Maybe next time I’ll make a better grab. I am beginning to think I did not choose the most scholarly mind; is that what you are trying to tell me?”

 

“Yes and no,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “Lorna’s good at what she does, but she’s no English major. It’s mostly that that’s such a very Earth term, and I wouldn’t expect to find anyone using it in...here. Human governments are kinda their own special beast, and I’m sure are totally different than anything here.”

 

“Um…Government? Is that like, who told who what to do? _ ” Maybe I don’t want to go there…  _

 

“Exactly,” Sharley said. “We’ve been hammering one out for the humans, for after the end of the world. It’s been an interesting process, just because we get to...start over. Without all the baggage of a government’s history. I don't know that that’s ever really happened since government became a thing.”

 

“I am sorry,” Carni said. “That sounds like being stuck with chamber pot duty.”

 

“It was pretty bad at first, but we kinda got there eventually. Whether that’ll sustain itself once our population’s past six thousand is another story, but at least we can start off good.” She shook her head. “Poor Lorna. She has zero idea what’s in store for her. Sometimes, seeing the future is terrible, but others, I just laugh myself sick.”

 

Carni worried more, the more she heard. It would be a great relief, to deliver Sharley to their Lady. Not that it was anyone’s fault, but nothing could have prepared her for just how badly off-kilter her poor compatriot had become. With a sigh, she tried to think of what else to say as the eagle sped on. For awhile she lapsed into silence, thinking, but soon enough she could make out the dimmer surroundings of the western shore. “Look,” she finally said. “Down there. You asked where the Gardens of Irmo are; that is the edge of them ahead and a little to the right. And of course ahead and to the left, that is our destination.” The light grey stone of a massive complex of buildings in the distance seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. Maybe it was not so big, but from this height it certainly looked that way.

 

“Why would I get lost in the gardens, if I go in as I am now?” Sharley asked. The assertion had puzzled her, and it still did. Would it make her hallucinate?

 

“Irmo is the Master of Dreams,” Carni answered carefully. “And Desires. I would fear for your ability to ever want to return. Though, it is possible Estë would drag you out herself. She has become very...embroiled with some developments of late. But right now that Lady is not here. I repeat, you do not want to go in there now. Go in later. The Gardens are not going anywhere.”

 

“Dreams...oh.  _ Oh _ . Um...right.” Though Sharley no longer suffered from many nightmares, they did still sometimes happen...though she doubted any Master of Dreams would give her any nightmares. Still, it was probably best not messed with. “Nevermind.”

 

Finally the eagle descended in a lazy arc. Several lazy arcs, actually, which gave more than a view of the seemingly endless Halls of Mandos. A figure or two could be seen outside, leaning against the massive pillars supporting the entrance portico. And the bird landed, allowing them to disembark much the reverse of how they had gotten on in the first place. With a deep bow, Carni placed her hand over her heart, nudging Sharley to do the same. “Trust me, you want to be nice to them. He just saved us about a week of walking.” Ruffling all its feathers, the eagle took off with a mighty leap into the air, and winged out of sight. 

 

“Well  _ look _ who comes cruising back in style,” another female figure said. She was beautiful, but had crabbiness written all over her face. “You got feather fuzz in my water.” Scowling, she looked down into her goblet and tossed the contents aside in disgust. “Oh well. I suppose break time is over,  _ Miss Red _ has returned.”

 

“Nice to see you too, Morë. I missed you bunches and bunches,” Carni responded, rolling her eyes. “C’mon,” she gestured to Sharley. “Let’s go inside where everyone is  _ more cheerful _ .” Muttering other things under her breath, she headed to the massive gates and blew kisses at the two ellyn standing guard, who winked at her in return. “Gatekeepers,” he said with a nod of her head back in their direction. “Really sweet lads. Sorry about Morë. But, I warned you.”

 

“Why is she so...that?” Sharley asked softly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met anyone that cranky -- even Earlene and Lorna in the throes of pregnancy-induced hormones had never looked or sounded quite so sour.

 

“She wasn’t always like that. You’ve gotta realize, when the dark times were happening...if I were going to put it simply, nice things have nice colors. Sky and plants and sunshine and people. Evil deeds and evil beings...well those are dark. Black. She had to weave a thousand Morgoths and a million orcs and too many Doors of Night. And battles at night and pyres and...it changed her. I think she is bitter that it all even happened. Not completely sure. No one was ever really close to her even before, and now no one wants to be. We aren’t trying to be mean, it’s just that...we all have our things to do, and the rest of us would rather enjoy ourselves and have a little fun, right? She can’t really seem to. And whatever her problem is, it’s bigger than I can solve.”

 

“She,” Sharley said, “needs...tincture. I’ll have to send some marijuana and a recipe back when I go home. It certainly helped me, when I needed it the most -- maybe it would cheer her up, at least temporarily.” She felt a shocking, sudden pang of homesickness, and wondered how, or why. This place was immense, and beautiful...and so alien.

 

This statement was added to the List of Incomprehensible Utterances, and Carni walked forward. “These are the Halls of Námo, which, derp. They go off  _ that way _ (she pointed straight ahead into a distance that seemed to not end). But we go off  _ this way _ (she guided Sharley to the left and up a wide carven staircase, so pretty it might have been marble). “And then toward the one doorway, can’t miss it even at night…” she paced ahead to double doors that were still large but nothing like the main entrance. “And this is the Hall of Vairë,” she said, a note of fierce pride in her voice. “I know you don’t remember it, but welcome home anyway.”

 

The sight inside was... _ were there words? _ Carni asked herself as she smiled. From ceiling high above to floor below, the long tapestries hung. Some in completion, awaiting moving to the Halls of Námo, while others were partially done or needing certain scenes or embroidery. But none of them were... normal. They were woven to look lifelike, as if television screens were somehow flexible fabric that billowed in the gentle puffs of air that moved through the tall, narrow open windows. The room was filled with light and color and looms and threads and it was so very beautiful.

 

Sharley stared. Once upon a time, she’d worked in this place -- once upon a time, she’d evidently been as good a weaver as those who were at work now.  _ That  _ was a touch difficult to believe, given that so far the only projects she hadn’t fucked up on the loom Maglor gave her were belts. Nevertheless, she’d make her belts, and he’d play his harp… She swallowed, hard, not willing to think about that right now. “It’s gorgeous,” she breathed. It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen...but it wasn’t home.

 

At that moment an exasperated voice broke the peaceful silence. “For the love of Eru and his Holy Name, Luinë!! _OH NOT AGAIN….HOW CAN ANYONE WRECK SKY BLUE??_ By Manwë, do you not go outside to _LOOK UP AT THE HEAVENS??_ _This is the eighth time this year and the solar cycle is only beginning!!”_  A tall figure at the other end of the Hall was towering over one of the looms, her hands on her hips. Complete annoyance riddled her countenance. “Go take a vacation!! At least a week!!”

 

A small voice was heard amidst the dead silence for all the looms had been stilled. “But Lady, I just came back from a vacation.”

 

“GO TAKE ANOTHER ONE!” Vairë hollered. “GO!! And while you are gone,  _ LOOK UP!! _ ”

 

A sniffling sound was heard, and the wretched Maia (who wore blue ribbons  _ in _ her hair but did not  _ have _ blue hair)  hurried in a shuffling run out of the Hall. Carni quickly pulled Sharley back out of the main aisle, toward the wall, where they were most likely to remain unnoticed.

 

“Oh, man,” Carni said very quietly. “Sorry you had to hear that. That was, uh, your replacement.” Yes, Carni actually did press the palm of her hand to her forehead.

 

“I was only ever supposed to have one shaaaaaaaaaaade,” Luinë wailed as her feet took her outside of the entrance doors.

 

Sharley winced. “I’ve been gone for eighteen thousand years,” she said. “You couldn’t find  _ anybody _ who could handle all the blues?”

 

Carni sighed. “This isn’t a job Bozo the Clown can do, Tirillë. You were the best of us. Luinë is right, poor thing. She was only ever supposed to have cobalt. Cobalt, she can not make a total hash of. Everything else...well, c’mon. Let’s see how bad it is. The sight of you will at least make the Lady feel better. Two weeks ago she started to get a headache. And the bad thing about that? Vala can’t  _ get _ headaches.”

 

Sharley snorted. “And here Maglor made me a loom I suck with still,” she said, shaking her head. “Seriously, you don't even want to know what happened when I tried to make a blanket.” So maybe that poor woman wasn’t supposed to have more than one hue...it had still been  _ eighteen thousand years _ . Things must not change here much. “Why’s she getting a headache? Or rather, why did she start getting one two weeks ago? All this shi-- er, stuff hadn’t started yet...had it?”

 

“Started yet? You mean your stuff? No, it had nothing to do with all of  _ that _ . It was the five tapestries that need a do-over because Luinë got to each of them after-hours. She thought she’d catch up from being gone from her last vacation. I mean, here,  _ look _ .” Carni pointed up after she had piloted Sharley to a section of the building where five enormous panels were hanging in ignominy.

 

Sharley winced. Oh good grief… “Can Maia be color-blind?” she asked, quite seriously. “Because this looks like she has some kinda color-blindness.” There was an ocean the same shade as the sky, and a lake that looked absolutely violet. No daytime sky she’d ever seen had looked quite so...cobalt, either. And here -- this one had a river that was the same primary hue as the pictures a small child might draw.

 

“No idea,” Carni said, shaking her head. “All I know is, that’s more of a pain to fix than if it’d never been done wrong in the first place. But, we’ve been spotted,” she chuckled.

 

“Tiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllë!!” Vairë shrieked in happiness, running over. The Lady was as lovely as her creations. Her hair was silver, and yet it was not. It shimmered with every imaginable color as if it was...fiber optic, or something. Her eyes only were ‘normal;’ a true silver color. And her raiment matched her hair; a silver tunic was against her skin, elaborately embroidered with gold threads, while her robe held threads of every color. She radiated happiness and vitality, and immediately scooped up Sharley in a hug while Carni stood back and grinned.

 

Sharley let out a slight, startled  _ eep _ , but found herself hugging back. Already she could tell Vairë was not like Estë, nor any of the other Valar the assorted residents of Eldamar seemed to have seen...well, that was a relief. “Hi,” she said, having no idea what else to say.

 

“You poor thing,” Vairë said, already sensing how very...bad...it was. “Thank you, Carni. Sorry about the outburst but Holy Eru, one can only take so much. I’ll go talk to her later, when I’ve calmed down. A week later,” she added ruefully, with a sigh. “You see what I’ve had to live with, since I lost you?” But a smile just as quickly replaced the frown. “Come with me. You have waited long enough and it is time you had your answers.”

 

*****

 

{a day prior...}

 

“Wake, son of Fëanor,” Manwë commanded, laying a hand on him. He had been slightly tempted to let the ellon fall on his face, but at the last moment reached out to arrest his fall, lowering him gently to the ground.

 

Stiff limbs protested, as Maglor tried to shake off the sleep in which he had been held. For a moment, he had no idea where he was, but that altered quickly, when his eyes opened to see the mirrored surface under his hands. With a knot that formed quickly in his stomach and a rush of fear, he struggled to bring his knees underneath him. The Vala watched him, working to remain dispassionate and remind himself that the treatment being dealt out was more than deserved.

 

“My Lord?” the elf said, not raising his eyes. The fear in his voice was pitiful to behold, but Manwë had steeled himself against this day for a very long time. Maglor had been warned, of the consequences. Justice demanded he experience some of them.

 

“You are being informed at this time of how the proceedings will unfold, Kanafinwë. It is our law that you understand these matters and have opportunity to prepare.”

 

Maglor did not know how to respond to this, except to feel his heart fill with recrimination for his many wrongs. And yet some form of acknowledgement seemed necessary.  “Yes, my Lord.” There, that at least showed he had been listening.

 

The Great Lord frowned, but elected to continue. “Word will go out to the other Lords and Ladies of your arrival. Time will be provided to you, to prepare your defense. Then we will convene. A list of the charges against you will be read, here in the Ring. And then, we will deliberate your deeds and your heart. You will hear our viewpoint, and you will present your own. When all has been said, we will deliver our judgement. Do you understand?”

 

“I understand, my Lord,” Maglor said slowly. “But there will be no need for that. I have no intention of defending myself. How can I, when what I have done has no excuse? I will not worsen my crimes by attempting to beg off or minimize them. That is all…I...” he shuddered, and could not continue. He knew what he had done, and had wallowed for countless thousands of hours in the regret of those memories.

 

The Vala’s frown now deepened. “You have a right to defend yourself, son of Fëanor. To explain the reasons for your actions as you saw them at the time. To describe why you felt and believed as you did. To reveal…”

 

“Please, my Lord. I cannot...do that. Let it be done to me, as you deem befits my sins. I only beg you to care for Tirillë, as was promised.” At the mention of her name, tears streamed down his cheeks and misery washed over him. And then his mind was lost to further consideration, as pain and grief consumed him. Sobs wracked his frame, as his hands knotted into his long hair. He hoped it all happened soon. There was nothing else, and he wished that he could be extinguished. But he feared worse than that...to be put outside, surrounded with everlasting dark, left for eternity to pay for his transgressions. 

 

Manwë’s eyes widened, to perceive the crumbling of the ellon’s mind. Centuries of fear and guilt and despair had eroded his reason, and in spite of his promises to himself he felt moved to pity. He knelt, and laid a hand on him to bring sleep once again. With a gesture to silent Eönwë, Maglor’s limbs were stretched out into a resting position. A flick of the Vala’s hand lifted the body from the hard surface of the Ring, leaving him once again suspended. “I did not expect this,” the Vala said softly to his Herald. “This is not a suit for pardon. This is a wish for destruction. His crimes were many, but not so different than those of his brothers that wait with Námo. What am I to do, when he refuses to aid his own case?”

 

“Is this not another form of disobedience?” the Herald asked, pondering what he had seen and heard.

 

“No. This is despair, beyond hope or reason. His mind is unsound.”

 

“Perhaps another could advocate for him?” Eönwë offered. “His mother? His grandfather?”

 

Manwë shook his head. “No. Neither Nerdanel or Finwë. I have my reasons.”

 

Eönwë glanced at his Lord, and elected to remain silent. He had learned that it was better to allow the Vala to...think, and pose his own solutions. “As you wish, Master” he said humbly, as he saw the sign of his dismissal. This was going to be...difficult. Very difficult, and with no obvious resolution. Sighing, he left to continue with his other duties. A single backward glance showed the Vala staring down at the elf; staring, and frowning. Eönwë remembered all the words exchanged so long ago, and yearned that much could have been different.

 

*****

 

Vairë led her past many chambers until at last pointing at the doorway of the next one. “In here,” she said warmly. “I knew once they told me you were found and that all was not well, that this day would come. I have spent much of my time removing what is in here from my husband’s hallways, so that you could look on them both in privacy and without having to walk half the length of Valinor through his realm...it is a very big place.

 

“Lady...I’ve gotta admit, I’m afraid to,” Sharley said. “Kinda. I’m not sure who I’ll...who I’ll be, once I remember. I’ve tried, but every time I do, I just remember Angband instead.”

 

“No such record is here, Tirillë. We never knew what became of you. I, never knew what became of you. And if I may...word has reached me of what your husband did. You will not leave this place as you are now. You will be restored, soon. But what is in this room will show you that you are not what you understand yourself to be. It will at least give you something, until those of us who are needed in one place for your healing can convene. Some of the others are in Ennorath, at Manwë’s bidding.”

 

“Is...is there anything I can do, for Maglor?” Sharley asked softly. “I’ve been happy, the last few years -- happier than I ever remember being, except with Marty. And I…”

 

Again, the fear surged in her heart.  _ “Sharley, not now,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “You’ve got something good to focus on right now. Don't be afraid.” _

 

“She loves saying that,” Sharley sighed, “as if it’s gonna do any actual good.” Drawing a deep breath, she added, “Okay. Okay, I can do this.” She was actually kind of glad the whole thing wasn’t happening at once, or it might overwhelm her.

 

“You cannot do anything for him in the sense you are thinking,” Vairë answered. “But...I have become aware of a...problem. And whatever you do, keep this to yourself, this is supposed to be...Vala only...stuff. Word went out, and I received the message only hours prior to your arrival. Maglor is...not entirely right in the head, apparently. Not sound, in his reasoning. He is refusing to defend himself. But that is  _ not _ how the proceedings are supposed to go. It is not how they have  _ ever _ gone. The Herald of Manwë, a being of the greatest wisdom and common sense, suggested to his Lord that someone might be appointed to speak for Maglor. A few suggestions were made and summarily rejected. I can tell you right now, any of his family will not be considered. For all your worry and fear, I hope you realize he has a mother. A grandfather, who is a mighty Elflord. And brothers, that have been given life again. And yet none of these will do. I...have no answers, and yet you lived with him for the last many solar cycles, if what I am told is correct.”

 

“He’s not…?” A sudden, shockingly violent stab of rage pierced through her, so intense it almost scared her. She drew another deep breath, forcing it into calm. “He’s not defending himself. He’s abandoning all of his loved ones -- he’s wilfully making certain that all of us lose him. I’m not the only one who’ll get...get gutted, if...if something happens to him. There’s a house full of people back home who were devastated when he just...up and left, even though everyone realizes he didn't mean for it to be that sudden.”

 

She started pacing before she even realized what she was doing. “Yeah, that is such bullsh-- crap. I  _ did _ live with him,  _ and  _ I lived with a truly amazing lawyer, and if he won’t defend himself, would it be -- could I bring her in, to act as his counsel? I know that’s...really weird, and irregular, because mortals just don't come here, but if nobody else is allowed to do it, can we?” Damn that ellon, she wanted to slap him. Did he not realize how much he was loved, by their entire family? Did he not realize that the fact that he was so loved gave him almost a duty to defend himself? She couldn’t go home and tell Eldan, with his big, sad eyes, that his beloved teacher had deliberately sought to get himself...destroyed, or...whatever. “This isn’t just about him, or me. And if there is any way I can help him fail at his attempts to sabotage himself, please, Lady, tell me how.”

 

“A mortal?” Vairë shook her head. “I do not see how that could  _ ever _ be allowed. That is beyond irregular. There have been mortals here, yes, but so rare…” she trailed off.

 

“She’s not just a normal mortal,” Sharley said, fighting despair. “You guys have been poking at her so much for years that I’m not sure  _ what _ she really is anymore. She’s Earlene, Thranduil’s wife.”

 

“Thranduil...we are not discussing Manwë’s firieth, are we?” Vairë asked, her eyebrows raising.

 

“One and the same,” Sharley said, still not daring to hope. “She used to prosecute and defend for a living, before she became Queen of the Woodland Realm. If given the chance, she’d defend Maglor whether he wanted her to or not.”

 

“Reeeaaaaallly….” Vairë drawled, a look of utter amusement crossing over her features. “Well now. That changes things dramatically.” She chuckled, almost forgetting. “I believe I have a message to send, and I wish to send it now. That being said...Tirillë, there is much you have forgotten and do not understand. If you knew, you would not speak as you do. Your fears, in my opinion, are needless. That is all I will say. Now if you will excuse me, you have tapestries to see. I have a message to write. If you have forgotten all that is here, I will explain to you that to see each one you need only take it by your hand. I set them in order as best as I could.” She walked to a different stack of them, to demonstrate. “I hold it, to see.” Her hand reached out to take the corner of the fabric, and the images on it began to move. “And when I am done, I cast it upward.” A flick of her wrist sent it up where it went toward the ceiling and remained, in apparent defiance of gravity. “Like so. I will be back soon. I am sure you will have many questions.”

 

Sharley nodded, and went to the first of the tapestries. It showed what she’d read of in  _ The Silmarillion _ : the forming of the universe through the music of the Valar. Watching the stars form was beyond fascinating, the universe coalescing into something recognizable.

 

And then came the Maiar, some attached to one Vala or another, though seemingly of greater or lesser strength. How  _ weird  _ it was, knowing she’d never been exactly ‘born’, never had a childhood. Maglor had told her what she’d once looked like, but still, seeing herself with silvery hair and blue eyes -- even if they did still seem heterochromatic -- was weirder still.

 

One thing became obvious in fairly short order: she’d been every bit as weird as the rest of the crew she’d seen so far. Actually, even stranger, given she’d had to get a handle on the whole ‘future-seeing’ thing. She’d been phenomenal at her job and kind of a disaster outside of it, and never got out until Vairë basically started making her. And eventually, at one party she’d been forced to attend, she’d spotted a young, dark-haired musician with the loveliest voice she’d ever heard.

 

It was strange, too, because while all Elves seemed to look like they were hovering somewhere in their thirties for all of eternity, Maglor looked so much younger in this tapestry. There was no pain in his expression, no weariness or regret. His grey eyes were brilliant, a clear light in them that was absent now. This Maglor had not yet sworn the Oath -- not yet seen and done such terrible things.

 

Amusingly, he’d been almost as awkward as she was, when they spoke -- something she later learned was quite unusual for him. He’d been so bashful that she’d wound up doing most of the pursuing in their relationship, which made her  _ and  _ all the voices crack up. Never, ever would any of them have thought Sharley could be romantically aggressive, but oh, she had been. In point of fact, she’d been the one to propose, though nobody outside of them and Vairë actually knew that.

 

Though sadly, she had to skip over certain...aspects...of their marriage, even marveling that  _ that  _ would be included at all. This meant there were some gaps in the first years of their lives together, but she saw the memory Maglor had given her, the time they’d tried leapfrogging -- herself at her loom, while he played the harp.

 

And they’d been so  _ happy _ . She’d have to leave home for weeks at a time, sure, to go to work, but she’d put in enough overtime that she could go home for weeks on end, too. They were young and stupid and naive, and as happy as two people ever could have been, by the look of things.

 

She’d been at work when Maglor sailed off to fulfill the Oath, when he’d participated in the first Kinslaying. From the look of it, she hadn’t known about that at the time -- she’d just thought he’d sailed off with his father (who she was pretty sure she hadn’t liked), so she’d grumbled, thrown some shit together, and gone marching across the Grinding Ice, determined to drag his ass home. 

 

The last, the very last of the tapestries, showed her how she’d been caught. The so-called attempt at parlay with those in Morgoth’s service; the same debacle that resulted in the capture of Maedhros, and she’d stumbled right into the middle of the battle. She’d known so little of fighting then -- only what Maglor had taught her -- so it was no wonder she’d gotten nabbed so fast.

 

Sharley stepped back, eying the tapestries. So. That was...her. Tirillë. What she’d once been, and what was still locked away somewhere in her mind. The Stranger couldn’t have wiped those memories; they were just buried beneath so much trauma.

 

“So,” she said, a little helplessly, “ _ now _ what?”

 

**

 

Vairë found her quills, ink, and parchment. For a moment she sat at her desk and pondered.  _ How to phrase this _ ... and then waved a hand in the air. The quill moved on its own, dipping elegantly into the inkstand and blotting itself before forming the letters in accordance with her thought. 

 

_ My Lord Manwë. I give heartfelt thanks to you, for the speedy return of Manartirillë by eagle. I rejoice to have my maid home, though I can see that this will not be more than a temporary visit. For now. She is very broken, my Lord, and I plead for her healing to take place soon. Which brings me to another matter. I read your news concerning Maglor son of Fëanor. I will do as you bid. But if I may offer? If you yet seek someone to plead in his defense, do I not see that his former queen and your chosen Earlene, wife of Thranduil and Thanadir, could not be a better appointment to this task?  _

 

Vairë smiled and left it at that. It needed no explaining that what she ‘saw’ meant more than it did coming from anyone else. The small message was rolled tightly, and she walked to her window. A melodious call was issued skyward, and not many moments afterward a beautiful dove descended. It was much larger than those on earth, with silvery plumage displayed as it strutted and preened on her hand. She affixed the message to its leg carefully with a thong. “To our Lord Manwë,” she told the creature, holding it well out of the window. Immediately the bird took flight, and headed to the northeast.

 

With a mischievous grin, she watched it fly away. “Well, that’s done.”

 

**

 

{April 17, 2029}

 

_ What a day.  _ Earlene crawled into bed, emotionally more than physically tired. A very rare thing happened..she began to seduce Thanadir. For all the time of their union, it had always been more than a little important in her eyes, to allow him the freedom to decide when he wished to have intimate contact with her. Just...because. It felt like the loving and respectful thing to do. Something was different, tonight, something she would only later understand. “I need you,” she whispered as she kissed him. “Please…”

 

He seemed surprised, but one look at her expression caused him to lose interest in his book.  _ Treasure Island _ could wait. “Is something wrong, meldis?” he asked tenderly, even as he drew her against him. 

 

“Not that I know of? But I cannot stop the feelings I am having.”

 

“Shhh….” he answered, silencing her with a kiss. There were none of their occasional games or oddities. No Thranduil in the room, to transform their encounter into an adventurous escapade. Just them, making love in a way that felt much like it had their first time, but with none of the nervousness or fear. Her arms wrapped around him, relishing every kiss and every thrust deep inside of her. His body, shared with her own...it was ecstasy, and she found herself memorizing every detail of their lovemaking. When they finished, and the spurting warmth of his seed filled her, she cried as she had done long ago. There was a sense of dread, of loss, creeping over her that she could not understand. Thanadir became worried, and held her tightly, lulling her into an artificial sleep as she clung to him.

 

When Thranduil returned an hour later, the old elf related what had happened. Thranduil did not know what to say. The past few days had not been any fun. Half the house was in something resembling mourning, between the loss of Maglor and Sharley…and he had no insight to offer regarding this strange occurrence.

 

**

 

Lorna had had something of a difficult time with poor Chandra. All the children missed Sharley and Maglor, but the rest of them were able to cry it out. Chandra didn't have her mother’s former inability to cry, but it was an effort for her. Things festered, and as a result, Lorna had been taking her out for long walks and tree-climbs, trying to wear her out enough to sleep.

 

“I’m not sure what to do, allanah,” she said, the night after the third day of Sharley’s departure. “My gut says trying to take her somewhere right now for a distraction would be a bad idea. She’s not like the other kids. She doesn’t have...middle gears.”

 

“Do you think Maglor will be released?” Ratiri asked, pulling her closer. The Lump was curled up between them; even  _ she  _ seemed to be grieving.

 

She shrugged sadly. “I don't know. I just know that if he’s not, if Sharley comes home alone, Kurt will actually be right for once. It’ll break her.” 

 

“And a houseful of children will learn the hard way what mourning is,” he sighed. “I wish it wasn’t a lesson they had to learn so young.”

 

“I hope it’s one they won’t have to learn, yet. I’m not used to hoping for things, allanah; it’s bloody weird, and yet now I actually have hope.” The fact that the peace Estë had given her even yet held was the only reason she’d been able to comfort her children. “For the first time in my life, I can say ‘everything will be all right’ and actually somewhat believe it.”

 

“I hope you’re right,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I’m going to be Agent Mulder -- I want to believe.”

 

**

 

Earlene dreamed, in a deep slumber.

 

_ Hello Earlene,  _ Irmo said. The radiant Vala stood before her, resplendent in embroidered robes of deep purples and violets. His hair was as the rays of moonlight, his eyes a dreamy violet that matched his robes.

 

_ My Lord. Please, let this not be the announcement of another child… _

 

_ No,  _ the Vala chuckled.  _ Not that. I am sent to ask you a question. You will have time to answer, but not much. I come to you on behalf of your Lord and mine. Maglor refuses to speak in his own defense, and Manwë asks if you would undertake this obligation. I will caution, you will not find this an easy task. If you are willing, be at the ancient oak called Eldest near Thranduil’s Halls at the noon hour tomorrow. _

 

_ My Lord, you are telling me Maglor needs a…legal counsel? _

 

_ Very much so.  _

 

_ I feel I must speak of this with my husbands first. But for my part, I am willing. _

 

_ We thought you might be,  _ the Vala smiled.  _ Until we next meet, Earlene.  _ With that, she slept on until morning.

 

**

{April 18, 2029}

 

Rubbing her eyes, she woke, and blinked. And blinked some more. “Oh, Eru,” she said aloud sitting up. Both Thranduil and Thanadir roused. 

 

“Meluieg?”

 

“I had a dream,” she said, now feeling afraid. “But I do not believe it was a dream at all, for Irmo spoke to me.”

 

Only a matter of seconds was needed to see her memories. Thranduil looked away, and closed his eyes. “I will not stop you.”

 

“That doesn’t feel like a rousing endorsement,” she said gently. “And...I feel afraid. I have hardly spent a single night of my time in this Realm without one or both of you at my side. Especially at night. To leave…” because she had definitely noted, it was  _ her _ and not  _ them _ that was being asked.

 

Thanadir spoke, but did not try to hide the grief in his voice. “I do not feel there is a choice, Earlene. He is our responsibility. He pledged his fealty to Thranduil. And by extension to you. Though he has been taken from us, our obligation to him is not dissolved. You are being given an unprecedented chance to help someone who apparently cannot help himself. For my part, I give my free blessing. I will miss you, meldis. You are the other half of my spirit. But you must do this. I do not think you could live with yourself if you chose otherwise. Just as I could not, if I prevented you.”

 

“I want to say so many cuss words right now,” she said miserably.

 

“I want to say them too,” Thranduil agreed. “But as usual I cannot disagree with Thanadir’s observations. This feels bitter for me, Earlene. I have long lived with the pathology that all my subjects are my sole responsibility. Yet in this instance you can accomplish what I cannot. That is not often a position in which I find myself. But my selfishness aside...you must go. At least I have assurance you are not being taken from me permanently.”

 

“Which raises another question...I do not feel I can ask, how long will this take? I am agreeing or disagreeing, and this is Manwë who has asked. Yes, I am given a choice, but...I remember what Angie said, I am supposed to consider what I want. But Angie does not understand things like this. I am not going to say No to a Vala. Especially one who holds our future in his hands.”

 

“You know as well as I not to think of it that way, Earlene,” Thanadir said softly. “This is not a...scorecard.”

 

“Maybe not. But how can I know that one day I will plead for a great gift, and not be willing to do what is asked of me? I cannot. No part of me could feel that it is...right.”

 

“I understand.” Thanadir held her tightly. “Please let Ortherion cook breakfast. If you must go so soon, I would spend every possible minute with you. Please?”

 

“I feel the same,” Thranduil said. “We only have a few hours.”

 

**

 

All of them walked slowly through the forest. There had been no school lessons since Sharley left; the household had been too upset and they were not so dumb as to believe that children or adults could possibly give a good effort in view of what had happened to their family. Faeleth led the way, dancing. Erynion, Lancaeron and Andaer were held in the arms of their parents. Ithiliel and Eleniel walked on either side of their mother, stunned and yet supportive. Allanah walked next to Ithiliel, feeling sad and fiercely proud all at the same time. She would probably bawl her head off later, but right now? Her Nana, her  _ smart _ Nana, was going to help both Sharley and Maglor. Thaladir looked very grim, and Algar helped Eldan. Of all their children, Eldan was the most seriously affected; his love of Maglor was second only to his love for his parents and he was simply devastated.  Thanadir knew this, which is why his one spare hand held Eldan’s. 

 

Earlene had her best courtroom expression on her face. She had said her good-byes to them, children and husbands alike. Not knowing what was permitted, she took nothing with her but the clothes on her back. A single photo of her husbands and children, taken not long after the triplets were born, was in one of the pockets of her cloak. If it was somehow wrong to have this, she would hand it over later on. And for the life of her, she did not understand why they were here. Last she had checked, the Eldest Tree held no secret entrance to the Straight Road, no TARDIS, and definitely no transporters from Star Trek. They were there on time, when the skies darkened overhead. The biggest eagle they could have ever imagined descended, and with mighty strokes of its wings perched in the upper branches of the twisted tree. When it craned its head down and fixed its eye on her, Earlene heard one word in her mind:

 

_ Manwë. _

 

She swallowed hard. A hand nudged her forward; she would never know if it was Thranduil or Thanadir. Either way she was grateful for this, because otherwise her feet would have refused to do anything but remain rooted in place.  _ Just...do it, Earlene. Go.   _ Something deep inside of her took over, and not for the last time she gave thanks for the Ice Queen. She was still there, even if this persona did not like to come out of retirement. She did not hesitate or look back, but elegantly scaled the tree and easily found her way to the bird’s back.  _ I love you. I love all of you...so much. Thranduil, Thanadir, take care of each other...  _ Her head turned away so they would not see her cry, and either way it did not matter. The eagle lurched into the sky, taking her toward an unknown land.

 

*****

 

Lorna had gone to town earlier in the day, figuring for once she’d give all the kids some candy and fizzy drinks not made at home. Ratiri had stayed with them, and Saoirse had set them all to drawing things. The problem was that the poor girl kept having to disappear and cry. She’d spent almost as much time with Sharley as Allanah had, and Maglor had been so patient at teaching her the cello, when she’d been convinced she’d never manage it.

 

“Why do things have to change?” she asked, blowing her nose. She’d retreated to her room again, and Lorna had followed her.

 

“That’s the way’v the world,” Lorna sighed. “But not all changes are bad, and just because they’ve gone for now doesn’t mean they’ve gone for good. The Valar aren’t cruel, allanah. They’re not going to do anything horrible to Maglor.”

 

“But they might keep him there,” Saoirse said. “And if they do, Aunt Sharley will...I don't know what, but it won’t be good.”

 

“I don't think that they will,” Lorna said. “Not forever. I just….don't believe it. But come on -- you’re old enough now that you can have a drop’v tincture, though just one.” Should she be enabling substance abuse in a seventeen-year-old? It was hardly ‘abuse’ if it was once, and she really was worried about Saoirse’s mental state. Telepathic Xanax was a no-go, and she knew Ratiri would hesitate to give Saoirse the real thing.

 

Back to the main house they went, and found the rest of the Duncan kids eating their snacks in the Heart Room. Lorna went to fix some tea, and wondered where the Sullivans had got off to.

 

Thranduil and Thanadir came through the front door. Eleniel and Ithiliel were crying though they tried not to. Allanah was not any better, and followed her sisters to their new room so they could bawl in private with each other. Yes they were at different ages mentally, but in this, they were the first of Earlene’s children. The ones with the most years to be with their mother. Thaladir too was sobbing. Algar was stoic, Eldan was a complete mess, and the triplets were upset because the others were upset. Faeleth was completely fine, and was trying to comfort her siblings as best she could. With a helpless glance Thanadir spoke silently to Thranduil, who nodded. All of the little ones that wanted were ushered into their bedroom, to sit on their big bed in a big pile of children and Thanadir. They climbed into his lap, on his legs, against his chest. He was a fully colonized elf, but he did not mind. They comforted him, just as much as he was trying to comfort them.

 

Lorna stared, wide-eyed, and set the kettle aside. What in the shit…? Normally, she wouldn’t have followed, because obviously this was some kind of family...something, but where was Earlene?

 

So yes, she followed, unease curling through her. Nothing physical could have happened, or Thranduil would have healed it, so...what was it? She rapped on the bedroom door.

 

Thranduil opened it, and gestured for her to enter.  _ Before you have to ask, Earlene has been taken to Valinor. There was very little time by way of warning. Apparently Maglor needed a...lawyer. _

 

Lorna blinked, her every mental gear grinding to a screeching halt. Had she really just heard that? Oh God, she  _ had _ . “...What?” she asked helplessly.  _ All right, please, tell me what happened. In detail.  _ And, because she was her, she hugged him. Hard.

 

_ Sit on the bed and find a child to hug. I will tell you, like this. They are very upset and do not need to have it said twice. Last night, Earlene was visited by Irmo, in her dreams….and we have all just returned from watching the great Eagle bear her away. Everything happened...so fast. _

 

Lorna stared at him, and tried very hard not to visibly react as she pulled Erynion onto her lap, wrapping him in a hug.  _ Jesus bloody Christ...just like that?  _ Well, when the Valar wanted something done, evidently they didn't mess about, but...all these children. All these children, who had just so suddenly lost their mother, and Christ only knew when she’d see them again, or they her. And Thranduil and Thanadir...she knew how she’d feel, if Ratiri were suddenly called away.  _ Well...shit.  _ What were they meant to do now, besides wait? How could they wait? It wasn’t like they had a choice, but still. All these poor kids…

 

_ I feel much the same, but I have ten children who need the parents left to them. I hope  she is home soon but...but I should not worry about ‘what-ifs;’ Earlene would not like that. I am sorry, because I fear this will be yet another shock for your half of our home as well. _

 

_ Worrying about what-ifs is my job _ , she said.  _ Ratiri and I can handle our kids, I hope. It’s Chandra and Saoirse I worry about, but Pat and Grania’ll do what they can for Saoirse. Meanwhile, your kids’ve got two parents, but they’ve also got aunts and uncles who can deal with the mundane shite so you can spend more time with them. _

 

_ We will manage, somehow. There have been far worse things to manage, in life, and perhaps she will not be gone very long.  _ His mental voice held more cheer and hope than he actually felt.

 

Lorna didn't buy that cheer for a second, but she’d let him have it.  _ We’ll all keep our fingers crossed,  _ she said, hugging Erynion a little tighter.  _ I’m guessing you want to keep this news inside the forest, for now? _

 

_ I would like to wait two weeks. If there is no word then, I think it fair to inform the others. Honestly, it will be less than that, because she will be absent at our next Council meeting. So at least they will learn before any others. And then what happens will...happen. _

 

_ Oh, bloody Christ...the Council meeting.  _ Lorna fought an urge to massage her temples.  _ That’s going to be a clusterfuck. Whoever takes her temporary place’ll have a hell’v a time’v it, just because they’re not Earlene. Nobody’ll get trusted like she is. _

 

Thranduil sighed and shook his head.  _ Wonderful. _

 

*****

 

Little had reference in the world to which Earlene was accustomed, but her spirit had long been prepared to accept that which should not have been able to be. The great Eagle flew through what could only be described as a series of shimmering, visual distortions that were very beautiful to look upon. At least, what of them her eyes could see, for she had some cognizance that perhaps elven eyes or those of the Ainur might perceive far more. One aspect she would recall, however strangely, was that it never seemed other than temperate. Her cloak was clutched around her; every stitch of clothing adorning her body was sewn by Thanadir. She had not chosen to dress in her finery, but rather in the simple garb of the woodland guards. His arms could not be around her now, nor could Thranduil’s; only these gifts of Thanadir’s hands, her necklace, and her rings of marriage could provide any tangible connection to her husbands.

 

Whether by blessing or by long acceptance of the will of the Valar, she found herself less agitated than would have been guessed.  _ This was not what I envisioned, as to coming here. Not at all. This is both going to the world I left behind and the world that lies ahead, all at the same time, and I have no suitable adjectives for such a juxtaposition of opposites. How am I supposed to do this? How can I be I sanctified to the Lord of the Valar, and yet I am to... argue against him? That seems terrifyingly disrespectful. What do I truly know of the laws of the Valar? Are there libraries filled with codices one might read and understand? I cannot speak Valarin. Nor can I understand the language of the Noldor.  _ She sighed as the eagle carried her further and further away from...everything.  _ Do your best, Earlene, for now you are as far out of the United States Federal District Court in Manhattan as it is possible to be. Oh, this would be so funny, except for that it is truly not… _

 

_ ** _

 

When Thorondir landed in a flurry of his mighty wings part of her could only think,  _ if only Ailill could see this.  _ For the flight of the great bird was much like that of his diminutive kin; he skimmed low along the trees and verdant meadows beneath them before alighting in a wide open area outside a magnificent city, the likes of which had no comparison on her world. The beauty of the buildings was staggering; for gold, gleaming in the sunshine glinted everywhere. On rooftops, on the crenellations of the city walls, on its gates. She saw that she was not far from a mound, where even now two blackened vestiges remained. Her hand flew to her mouth, as wonder, disbelief and sorrow stabbed through her, and yet it was more important that she thank the one who had carried her here. It was easy, to gracefully descend from the leading edge of his wing, and a deep curtsey of thanks was given, with her hand over her heart afterward. “Annon allen,” she said, though she did not expect to be understood.

 

With a tilt of his head that might have been a nod of acknowledgement or nothing at all, the eagle stepped some distance away from her before taking flight again, while Earlene watched in awe. It was not every day one saw a living creature of this size, for on earth there were none.  _ Is a blue whale this large? No idea. _

 

“Welcome, Earlene,” she heard in her own tongue. One spoke to her in appearance like an ellon, but obviously not of the Eldar. His hair was silver, his eyes grey , and his raiment was very fair and given to shades of blue. Curtseying deeply again, she kept her eyes lowered. It stood to reason that everyone she met here would be deserving of honor; right now she was about as high up on the food chain as the janitor in the courthouse. A fair hand raised her up quickly. “While I thank you for your reverence, there is no need. I am Eönwë, Herald of Manwë, and have been told why you have come. I am to instruct you, in our customs.” He regarded her. “Though perhaps you wish to ask questions of me, first?” 

 

Her eyes scanned everything near her. “I am outside of Valimar, and that is where the Trees once gave their light?” she asked quietly. 

 

“Yes,” he said sadly. “At the bidding of the Ladies who could not heal their hurts, it remains thus. So we do not forget,” he added. 

 

“May I go there, and look?” she asked, not certain why she wanted this.

 

Eönwë appeared surprised, but indicated for her to follow.  The blackened remains showed that the trees had been large, so large...for that was the one thing that Ruscion and Thranduil had not ever been able to convey. She closed her eyes, kneeling, to reach out and touch the ruined stump, trying to align her memory of what she had seen each Yule with what was in front of her. “This was Telperion?” she asked, her voice beginning to tremble.

 

“Yes,” Eönwë answered, feeling more puzzled by the minute at this mortal female.

 

She did not allow herself to break down into the sobbing that wanted to pour from her heart. What could she possibly add to the grief that must have been felt here?  _ Nothing.  _ But that did not stop her eyes pooling with tears that splashed onto the ruination before her. Gaining command of her emotions, she held her hand over her heart as she rose, and turned toward her guide.

 

“Thank you,” she said, not ashamed of the moisture that lingered on her eyelashes. Her eyes roved some more, until they fell on a great domed structure. “That is Máhanaxar?” Her voice was soft as it asked the question.

 

“Yes, and that is where we must go. Come.” She followed him willingly, her cloak almost too stifling. It was not Ireland; it was warm here. Temperate, and quite pleasant without a heavy cloak. But right now that cloak was all she had of Thanadir save a thin band of gold, and she would not remove it. Her compromise was to cast most of the fabric back over her shoulders, relying on the heavy clasps over her breasts to keep it in place. Eönwë continued to speak. “The Circle is a place of council, of judgement, and of restraint. It responds according to the will of its Master, who is both my Lord and yours,” the herald smiled. “You should understand that during trials of judgement, none uninvited may enter the circle. Others may listen from the colonnades, but any speech they might utter cannot penetrate to disrupt.”

 

“What do you mean by restraint, if I may ask?” This part made little sense to her.

 

“I think that will become obvious momentarily,” he answered. The entrance was through a promenade, revealing that the structure was not unlike a domed St. Peter’s Square at the Vatican. Largely protected from the elements, but open-sided on account of the colonnade. There were thrones of great beauty. Each was different, and two were placed such that a crescent indentation in the dome overhead allowed them to be open to the sky. As these seemed grander and in the most prominent position, she guessed these were for the King and Queen. But that was not what most caught her attention. A lone figure lay suspended in the center, a fall of dark hair obscuring his face.

 

Earlene looked at Eönwë. She did not need to ask who that was. “Please may I go to him?”

 

“Yes, but he is held in sleep. If you touch him, you will wake him.”

 

Hurrying over, she saw that this was the case. Though he was suspended a little above the ground, he was sound asleep. Reaching out, she felt some kind of force near his body, and withdrew her hand. And she saw that his wrists were bound; connected by a short chain. Her head jerked up. “Why must he be held like this? Why the chain?”

 

“It was the command of Manwë, lest Maglor lose courage and try to depart before he is tried. He defied what was commanded of him for a very long time,” Eönwë said calmly.

 

“He will not lose courage,” she said with conviction. “I do not know if I may plead on his behalf, but I would trust him with my life. Is there nothing that can be done? Could he...could he be released into my custody?”

 

A much deeper voice came from behind her. “I would agree to a compromise, if you are so certain.” The tone held seriousness and amusement all at once. 

 

Earlene turned to look, and saw what she guessed she might. One glance was all that was necessary, before she knelt and placed her hand over her heart. “My Lord,” she said, unable to help but feel mildly amused at how much practice she had at this. 

 

“Queen of the Woodland Realm, and daughter of Men who has so willingly served my purposes,” Manwë said, stepping closer. A hand appeared under her eyes. “Please rise. And since I see that you will not presume, look on me.”

 

Taking the proffered fingers with less disbelief than she would have thought possible, the touch took her breath away. He was warmth and power, serenity and storm all at once.  _ So far above me,  _ she thought with humility as she released her grip. “If I will not presume it is because I do not wish to be disrespectful. And, while it has all been very strange for me, I have not minded, my Lord. More than ‘not minded’. My life has been extraordinary, and it seems it is you I must thank.”

 

The King’s head tilted, as his electric blue eyes shimmered and a smile played over his face. “You must realize, Earlene, that had you been of the same disposition as this ellon, we would not be having this conversation. He had much, and chose to use it in disobedience and unrighteousness. While you did not lack, for your kind, you suffered grievous wounds to your spirit and yet remained malleable. Willing. Modest. You have denied us nothing, even when it was at a cost to you.”

 

She bit her lip. Oh, how badly she wished to plead for many things. And yet that was not why she was here, and this was not the time for that. None of this was about  _ her _ . “And yet, my Lord,” she said with great respect, “since it is my understanding that I am here to defend him when he will not defend himself, he has suffered for those mistakes he freely confesses. Suffered in mind, spirit, and body, for countless lifetimes of my kind. I do not deny that he committed the crimes of which he is accused. Neither does he. But I do argue that the passage of time can temper what constitutes justice. I would ask you to free him, until the time of his trial.”

 

Manwë considered, seeing what she wanted for herself very clearly but for which she would not ask, and marveled at her restraint. And her humility, since her heart was not hidden from him. And yet she was correct, it was not why she was here, and this was not the time. “I will release him to your oversight. He is not to go further from the city than the Ezellohar is distant from the walls. But his bonds must remain.”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” Earlene acknowledged, trying to hide her disappointment.

 

“You are displeased?” Manwë asked, curious more than offended. He expected further argument about the shackles.

 

“I had hoped to walk in the Gardens of Vána if it is permitted, my Lord. And those lie beyond the boundary you specified.”

 

Manwë stared at her. “Then you may take him there as well. He is not to leave your proximity, except for what propriety requires.”

 

She bowed her head, her hand held over her heart.

 

The Lord of the Valar continued: “You may take him forth from this place. Walk in the gardens if you wish. When you return to the city Eönwë will find you, and show you where you will dwell. I should warn you, in agreeing to come here...we do not act in haste, Earlene. We have learned not to do so. You will be here longer than you anticipate, I am afraid.”

 

Her eyes flared slightly, but she said nothing, because it could serve no purpose. “Yes, my Lord.” Turning, she knelt down next to Maglor, and laid a hand on him. He began to collapse against her, but woke and pulled back somewhat. That and, Earlene half caught him. “Maglor, it is Earlene. Can you stand?”

 

He looked up at her in confusion. “Hiril vuin? What are you doing here? How, are you here?”

 

“I was permitted to come. For lack of better words, it seems you would not speak on your own behalf and therefore needed a... lawyer.” With a slight groan Maglor looked up to see that Eönwë and Manwë were near, and quickly bowed his head as he tried to make sense of his swirling mind. “You are allowed now to come with me. Unless continuing to sleep is preferable, that is.”

 

“Thank you, my Lord,” Maglor said softly, knowing whence this concession had come. 

 

Manwë gave a sharp nod. He watched the tall ellon struggle to his feet with her aid, and stiffly try to follow the elegant woman, who was physically indistinguishable from the Eldar that lived among them. She walked with their same bearing and grace. “Watch over them,” Manwë instructed Eönwë. “I would know, of what they speak.”

 

Eönwë nodded. “As you wish it, my King.”

 

** 

 

“While I am proud of you for facing up to this, I worry about why you made this decision, Maglor. Forgive me, but what I was told sounded fatalistic.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked. He had insisted on carrying her cloak for her in the warm sunshine, and she did not blame him. Not that many were about, but the long folds of cloth  gave him a means to hide that he was shackled. Earlene was not about to begrudge him some small measure of dignity.

 

“It has never truly penetrated your depression and despair that you still had hope.  _ That _ is what I mean. You still do, have hope. It is the lesson Thranduil was trying to drive home in the only way he knew how, when he commanded you to try to change your thinking. Do you know how extraordinary it was, for him to have done that? But it was the only way he could think to reach you.”

 

“I did not believe he was correct. I only agreed to consider that I was incorrect; and as you pointed out, I was commanded to.”

 

Earlene stopped walking, and placed her fists on her hips. “Maglor, forgive me, but you are being a stubborn ass. And being a stubborn ass is part of what landed you in this circumstance in the first place. You may be a renowned son of Fëanor, gifted with music to the envy of many, but what you comprehend of law and justice fits on the head of one of your tuning pegs.”

 

He stared at her, shocked, but no anger came into his eyes. He looked heavenward, taking in the skies above, and began to reflect. He was standing outside Valimar, shackled, and walking with a mortal woman into whose charge he had been given. A mortal woman renowned for her wits and perception. Who had gained the implicit trust of a great Elvenking, and who was the chosen of the Lord of the Valar. And she was trying to tell him something, and he was not listening. That being said, no one aside from Thranduil and perhaps the Lady Nienna had tried to tell him anything in such a pointed manner. Not since he had been of a disposition to listen, anyway. His head dropped. “I have lived in a fog of my own convictions for a very long time,” he quietly admitted. “Quen tried, at times, but more than anything he feared to send me further into despair. So mostly he cared for me, as if I was an oversensitive child. Which I suppose is not far from the truth. I will try to listen, Earlene, with an open heart. I owe you that much. I do not see what hope I could have...but then that is why we are having this discussion,” he admitted, with self-effacing humor.

 

“That is appreciated,” she said. “But here we are at the Gardens of Vána, a sight I never expected to see. Perhaps we might discuss such weighty topics a little later, and enjoy what is here now.” 

 

“But you knew you were to come to Aman someday,” Maglor asked, puzzled. “Why would you never expect to see this?”

 

Earlene laughed. “Because here is in Aman, but all of Aman is not here, silly. ‘Going to Aman’ is as vague as ‘going to the United States.’ If you were told the latter, would you automatically expect you were headed to San Francisco? Not really. At least, not really to my way of thinking. I am Afterborn. To set foot on these lands at all is the highest privilege; I would never have presumed to be permitted to see Valimar.”

 

Maglor blinked at her. “To be honest I forget you are not an elf, much of the time.”

 

She gave a crooked smile. “To be honest, so do I. And yet in all the ways that matter most, I am not,” came the soft comment.

 

In that moment, Maglor understood. Understood what she wanted, in the depths of her heart, and he turned away in sorrow. He would pray for her, gladly, except he did not believe his prayers would be heard. “There are roses here,” he said, catching sight of the colors in the distance. “Come with me, and I will tell you the story of my mother’s garden, when my brothers and I were little.”

 

He held out his arm courteously, and she took it, sighing inside of herself. In that moment, she missed Thranduil terribly. And Thanadir, and the children. And everyone else in the house that she called family. Blinking back tears, she walked on, glad for the moment that she did not need to watch her steps. The absurdity of her circumstance washed over her, but there was nothing for it. 

 

“I think you know mother’s name is Nerdanel. Mother is a strong elleth, given to the same interests as most of the rest of my family, for she too came from those who delighted in working with metals. Labor at the forge was as known to her as to my father, though she made far different use of it. And yet that was not her only interest. We had a garden, that father enclosed with a beautiful fence of wrought metals. It shone in the light of the Trees, reflecting many hues. But inside were her roses, and other flowers. I remember how large the blossoms were, and how fragrant. There were white, red, many shades of pink. Some were in mixed hues of yellows, and one even was a bluish tone. I think she loved these as much as she loved father, and us. There were always blossoms in the house. It was something that was hers, and something she could turn to when escape was needed from the demands of caring for four young sons. Once each year, grandmother and grandfather would have a family dinner.” 

 

“Finwë and Indis?” Earlene asked, not knowing who else it could possibly be but feeling a need to make certain. There were times it still seemed strange to realize that this ellon was a form of living history.

 

“Yes,” Maglor answered, smiling. “One of the things mother would do is bring flowers, for the table, at grandmother’s request. So perhaps three days before this event, concerning which we children were oblivious, my brothers and I had the clever notion that we wished to make our Nana happy by decorating all the home with the flowers we saw she loved so much. We brought a basket, and pulled the petals off of every rose, thinking we were accomplishing a great thing. Then once they were gathered, we took them and made pathways all through our home, leaving trails. It was very pretty, all the different colors,” he grinned, shaking his head. “Mother and father returned indoors at the same time to see this. Mother burst into tears and father roared with laughter, but when he saw us about to cry he quickly stopped, and explained that Nana’s reaction was on account of how happy she was to see what we had done. And later she told us the same, and we felt as though we were the best elflings in all Aman.” He looked sidewise at Earlene. “No elleth should bear seven sons and no daughters,” he grinned. “Mother loved us, but it was too much.”

 

Earlene could not help but chuckle. “Then I will be grateful that my own sons are far more reserved in their ambitions to please me,” she smiled. “And yet five is not so far from seven.”

 

Maglor glanced at her. “I am...very envious, of you. Was, very envious of you, for I fear my time is at an end. I wished so much for a child. So did Tirillë. And yet we both believed we had time, all the time in Eru’s creation. We missed out on this happiness, and it has been a sorrow to me. You do not know the gift you gave my spirit, to bring me into your home, and allow me to be as another parent to your young ones. It has been among my great happinesses, these last years. Thank you, Earlene, for the joy your generosity has afforded me.”

 

“I will accept your thanks, if you will agree to stop talking like that,” she said, crossing her arms. “You have hope, Maglor. Do not require me to kick your shins in order to drive that point home.” She had released her hold on his arm, and now stood with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him.

 

He somehow had no doubt she would actually make good on that threat. “Forgive me,” he said softly. “It is just...so much easier to expect the worst. When I do not hope, I cannot be disappointed. Disappointed like I am certain I disappointed our Lords and Ladies. I am nothing but a fearful wretch, Earlene, no matter how much you wish to think better of me.”

 

Without warning, Earlene’s booted foot lashed out and struck Maglor’s leg. Goddammit she could not do this to her King, but no such prohibition existed here.

 

“Ow!” he exclaimed, grabbing at his injury, and managing to stumble. He was, after all, still stiff and a little disoriented from so many days held in sleep. He looked up at her, astonished.

 

“Do you want to keep talking?” Earlene asked, with a clearly displeased expression on her face.

 

“No,” he answered meekly. “Perhaps...it might be best for me to rest, if I am allowed that.”

 

“Perhaps it might help  _ clear your mind, _ ” she said sternly, though the barest smile lingered on her face.

 

Intimidated, he nodded compliantly and walked with her back to the gates of Valimar. Not far inside, they were met by Eönwë as promised. They followed him through the city streets until they came to a golden door that bore a particular heraldic device, and were shown inside. The lodging was simple and yet comfortably appointed. Most of the decor was in some shade of blue, and this first room was a large place to rest. There were two couches, with pillows and a low table between them. A table with chairs that could seat four persons, and a bowl of fruits on top of it. Oil lamps that could be lit in the evening. Windows high above, and gauzy curtains. Many wall hangings there were, all of fabrics. Shelves and books, and paper and writing materials ( _ Eru, were those quills? Those were quills… _ ), and in one corner what appeared to be a sideboard holding earthenware plates of assorted sizes and drinking bowls. There was a pitcher and basin as well.

 

A room with a washtub large enough for bathing, a spigot with a pump handle, and a screened off place for sanitary needs was in one small room. The others were obvious; two bedrooms, each with a bed large enough for one person, a small table and a chair. Blankets of various thickness were on the couches and chairs also, and yet Earlene had the impression that it did not ever get terribly cold here. A...cottage of sorts, and apparently one they were to share for...however long this took.

 

“Thank you,” Earlene said gratefully to the Herald. She guessed that food of some kind would be given to them, as there was no proper kitchen in sight. Or perhaps they were meant to eat the fruit alone; who knew what the custom was here? Certainly not her.

 

“An elleth will bring you provisions for meals each day. Provided you obey the stipulations of our Lord, the city is open to you as are the places outside already specified. Have you any questions?”

 

“One, if I may, please. I was brought here to speak on Maglor’s behalf and yet I lack understanding of the laws and rules of the Lords and Ladies. Is there a means by which I can educate myself?”

 

Eönwë smiled. “The volumes on the shelf detail much that you will find useful.”

 

With a deep bow of her head, Earlene thanked him a second time, whereupon the Herald left them alone. Curious, she walked to look at the books. Her eyes widened. Every one of them was in Quenya. She looked at the books, and Maglor, and the books again and sighed deeply. It seemed there was little choice.

 

*****


	134. One Hundred and Thirty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 18-June 8, 2029. Begins where the previous chapter left off.

 

There were plenty of children for Lorna to hug -- so many that she wasn’t sure who else to grab.  _ Somehow _ , Thanadir had managed to get all three of his bio-kids plus Thaladir; Eleniel and Ithiliel wound up with Thranduil sandwiched between them. Sadly, Lorna was tiny, and could only hug one other person, so that person was Allanah. All of them were going to need comfort, after this, and Thranduil and Thanadir were only two people.

 

_ Cake,  _ she thought.  _ I’m putting in an order for a Mairead cake.  _ No, it was hardly going to ease the temporary loss of their mother, but tasty cake was still tasty cake. Shit, they were going to have to be kept busy eventually, too, once the worst of the shock and the pain wore off -- though not with schoolwork, unless it was what they actually wanted to do. Some of them might benefit from such structured, focused activity, but others might need walks in the woods, or toys...playing their instruments was likely a no-go, since it would just remind them of Maglor’s absence.

 

But all of that would have to wait. For now, they were all stunned, and hurting, and no words of comfort she might say would take away from the fact that their mother had abruptly been taken from them, and that nobody knew when she might return. If there was one thing Angie had taught her, it was not to fight negative emotions, but to allow them to pass through you. 

 

_ It’ll be okay,  _ she said, grabbing Thranduil’s hand and squeezing it lightly.  _ I know I always say that when things go to shit, but now I actually believe it. I might know fuck-all about the Valar, but I know they’re not cruel. I am totally, one hundred percent sure they’ll send Earlene home once the trial’s over. Just remember: she’s the one who’s supposed to lead you to Aman someday. Can’t do that if she’s already there. Beidh gach rud go maith. _

 

Oh, how she wished she could share Estë’s gift with them. She wished she could give them even a little of it. Because while she was completely stunned, she also had a firm, unshakeable belief that all would be well. And that was such a departure from, well, normal her that she felt a little like she was on drugs -- just good ones. Positive ones.

 

Thranduil sighed.  _ Yes, it will be fine. It is decidedly not fine at the moment, however. They just need a little time; it was very sudden for them. I honestly think the best thing you could do right now to help us is explain what has happened to your side of the home. This will be one more thing for them, I am afraid, but right now my priority has to be helping the littlest children find their way forward. It will not help to wait until the next meal and then drop this at the dinner table. I know that Earlene will return. The issue, is, we know nothing and have no means to find out. So really the problem is...when. And I believe that will be made plain soon too. I would say that if she has not returned in a few weeks we will know this will be more difficult than we feared. But I am not ready to discuss that scenario yet and neither are they. I do know one thing. Neither Sharley or Earlene is going to want to hear that everything went to ruin in their absence, and I intend to give them that much. We need some time to grieve this separation, but I am not going to watch weeks on end of everyone behaving as though this house is in mourning. We will move forward as an extended family, whatever the difficulty. _

 

_ Chandra and Saoirse aren’t very well-off already _ , Lorna said.  _ It’s Chandra especially I worry about. The other four all have some sort’v natural equanimity, but I told Ratiri the other night that Chandra has no middle gears, and poor Saoirse...is Saoirse. Let Ratiri and I take care’v dinner tonight,  _ she added.  _ At the very least, we can do that, and can for the foreseeable future if it’ll make things easier for you. You and Thanadir might have your hands full enough as it is. _ Especially given how young the triplets were...well. There were enough adults to get them through it, and hopefully Thranduil was right about knowing more soon.

 

Out of nowhere, Eleniel spoke; the three oldest girls had silently entered the room after gaining some mastery over their emotions. “Me and Allanah and Ith want to try and cook some of the meals while Nana is gone. She taught us how to make lots of things. If Ada Thanadir would help us we could do breakfast or dinner. It wouldn’t be as good as Nana’s but...we want to.” 

 

Thranduil heard this, and looked at Lorna with his eyebrow quirked.  _ What do you think? Let them try? It might be a way for them to not...to focus on something else. _

 

_ If it helps them, let them go right on ahead _ , she said.  _ Ratiri and I can pick up if they get tired of it, because I really doubt they’re going to want to handle three meals a day, every day. Otherwise, if it’s what they want, they might as well do it.  _ She wasn’t sure how many ‘some of the meals’ were actually going to be, but she she, Ratiri, and their kids could take up the slack, so they didn't feel obligated.

 

“That would be wonderful, daughters. I know we would appreciate it very much.” Thranduil said, rubbing their backs.

 

“I will help you,” Thanadir smiled. “Between the four of us I think we can manage some nice things. Not everything your mother cooked was extremely elaborate.”

 

“Do you want your Uncle Ratiri and I to cook tonight?” Lorna asked. “You know that if he’s helping me, it’ll actually be good, and you four can work out some meal plans’v your own.”

 

“Yes,” said Ithiliel. “We could use a little time to, um, prepare. How about we try for breakfast tomorrow, to start? Breakfast isn’t so hard.”

 

“That sounds good to me,” Lorna said. “Meanwhile, could I interest anyone in some cocoa?”  _ Possibly adult cocoa?  _ she added to Thranduil.  _...And that sounds a lot dirtier than I meant it to. Sorry. _

 

“Would you like hot cocoa, children? Thanadir?”

 

Thaladir managed to nod from behind one of the folds in Thanadir’s tunic, whereas the triplets suddenly looked as though they never had a Nana to lose. Thranduil chuckled. “I think that is a Yes all around.”  _ You can make Thanadir’s a little stiffer too. I think he could use it, though he will not say Yes if you ask him. Just...do it. _

 

_ Can do.  _ “All right, next question: who wants marshmallows?”

 

Everyone but Thranduil raised their hand, causing even the saddest child to burst into giggles. “Adar, how come you never like anything sweet?” Algar asked.

 

“Well. That is because sweetness can only be had by one person in a family. And your Nana and Ada Thanadir decided to split it, evenly. Because I did not need any. That is why.” He said this with great seriousness.

 

“Don’t believe you, Adar,” Algar giggled. “Nana says you say Kingy Things.”

 

Thranduil blinked.  _ Damn.  _ “Well, I am King,” He grinned at his son, who now looked a little less sure of himself.

 

“But in this case, he’s using it because he hasn’t got a better explanation,” Lorna said, barely resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him. “All right. Hot cocoa all around.” She managed to ooch her way off the bed, and decided her kids weren't going to get told anything until they’d had at least one cup. With marshmallows.

 

Thranduil was considering sticking his tongue out at Lorna until Thanadir cleared his throat.

 

_ Double damn. _

 

_ I heard that,  _ Thanadir smiled.

 

_ Oops,  _ frowned Thranduil. He shrugged, and decided that tickling children was a good idea.

 

**

 

Hot cocoa on such a scale was a rather serious undertaking, but fortunately, Ratiri found her when she was halfway through. She let him in on their newest bit of Bad, which actually made him facepalm.

 

“And nobody knows yet how long she’ll be gone,” he sighed. “Chandra is going to...Chandra.”

 

“I know,” Lorna said grimly. The poor kid just did not handle change well -- Saoirse didn't either, but Saoirse was...Saoirse. She had her own problems. Fortunately, there was Pat, whenever Pat actually got home -- she was pretty sure he liked to look in on the wood shop after work, and possibly have a beer.

 

Thanadir was the first one in, looking hopeful. “Would it help if one of us talked to her? It must be hard not thinking...more like an elf. In this case,” he added hurriedly, his cheeks flushing. “I did not mean to imply that there is anything wrong with not thinking like an elf. I….” he rubbed his forehead. “I should not talk right now.”

 

“It’s okay, Thanadir,” Lorna said, and handed him a mug -- the first of the high-octane mugs. Yes, there were plenty of marshmallows on top. “We know what you mean, and actually, it might help. It would definitely help if you were to talk to Saoirse -- out’v everyone on your side’v the house, I think you understand her best. Chandra...I’m going to email Angie. I know she can’t just drop everything and get out here, but she might be able to give us some advice.”

 

Thanadir thought for a moment while he sipped his cocoa, which was wonderful. “What about...sometimes Thranduil does...video chat? I have never had someone to speak with far away, so I have not ever done it. But would it not be close to as good as her being here?”

 

“It might be close to,” Lorna said, ladling out another mug of cocoa. “And if it’s morning there, it’s afternoon here, so nobody’s trying to talk at insane hours. Ratiri, allanah, get me a tray, will you?” Given that they were in the cupboard above the fridge, it was far easier if he did it. “Actually, get me two.”

 

Trays were fetched, and cocoa was ladled out with industrial thoroughness, all but one cup with a thick froth of marshmallow on top. The one without had a stiff helping of vodka in it.

 

Thranduil sidled in after first ensuring all the children had theirs, and enjoyed his Adult Cocoa. Thank Eru, the triplets were old enough to do things like drink and use utensils on their own. What this would be like were they human children, he did not wish to consider. “You know, we need a distiller. Ireland. Potatoes. Surely this cannot be too difficult?”

 

“We’ve already got one,” Lorna said, adding a dash of vodka to her own cocoa. “His name is Big Jamie. I can do it myself, actually, if I had the equipment. It’s not hard to build, though an industrial-sized one would be tougher.”

 

“I am not certain I wish to support the Alcoholism of the Future,” he teased. “But a steady supply for moments like this? That would not go amiss.”

 

“And I can make poitín,” she said. “For the moments that’re...really like this. I think nothing else’ll be quite like  _ this  _ until the plague hits.”

 

“I hope not, anyway,” Ratiri muttered. His dad had always said that bad things came in threes...what was going to be next?

 

Thranduil overheard the thought, and shuddered a little.  _ Valar, please. This has been hard enough. Spare us any more for the time being.  _ He never knew when they were listening. But it could not hurt to ask.

 

*****

 

Sharley had spent the last few days wandering the weaving halls, trying not to worry, and feeling somewhat homesick.

 

The rest of the weavers, she’d discovered, were rather like Carni, so that had been a comfort -- but they kept addressing her as Tirillë, and talking about things and experiences she no longer remembered. The tapestries on her former life had been fairly comprehensive, but they hadn’t included everything. It felt like this entire thing was a movie she’d wandered into halfway through.

 

She missed her home, and her family, and even the Lump. She missed Maglor so terribly she scarcely dared think about him. Instead she tried to turn her mind to Skykomish, to her little house, and her friends. Last night she’d taken out her little book of photos and cried, and even Kurt, for once, had actually tried to be soothing. He was so awful at it that it somehow wound up helping. Listening to him so very awkwardly saying things like “there, there” had been so surreal it had jolted her right out of her sadness.

 

One thing she could not complain about here were the baths -- they were like the ones at the Halls, only even better. After a nice long soak, she combed and braided her hair and went to look at the tapestries again. She would have thought such a repetitive thing would get monotonous in a hurry, but the things they produced were so beautiful that she didn't think it could ever get boring.

 

Just now she watched Carni. Even with all she’d absorbed by osmosis from Saoirse over the years, she’d never imagined there were this many shades of red. Maybe, once she knew how to weave again, she could teach Saoirse.

 

_ How  _ they did this was even more interesting. Maglor had said that it was all telekinetic, but even seeing it in her own tapestry hadn’t done the process justice. This couldn’t have been possible without the aid of magic; not even an Elf’s hands could have managed it.

 

She was, however, beginning to wonder if her poor replacement actually was legitimately colorblind -- and if so, how one would go about testing or treating that in a Maia. Unfortunately, Sharley herself was of no help with the shades, since this was all entirely beyond her.

 

She took a few steps closer to Carni’s skeins, and --  _ thud. _

 

_ This was the Halls -- she’d know them anywhere, even if she wasn’t familiar with this particular area. Here was Lorna, looking somewhat incongruous in leggings and a dark green-and-black flannel shirt, Melian’s crown glittering atop her hair. _

 

_ “Oh, I'm sure you think this is hilarious,” she said, glowering, and took the crown off to set it on a low table. Where was this? There were so many rooms that seemed similar -- this had to be a meeting-room, or something. “Well guess what, it’s not.” _

 

If the voices had actual bodies, they would have winced.  _ “Shit,”  _ Kurt said, and hoped that for once he could be forgiven. It had been a while since this had happened, and they always worried.

 

**

 

Carni gasped and left off her weaving. She did not have to worry for the Lady was not far away. “Eru, this is a mess,” Vairë muttered where only Carni could hear her. Fortunately those around them were absorbed enough in their tasks that the incident went unnoticed. The Vala bore the unconscious woman away to her chambers and laid her on the bed, smoothing her hair from her face. She whispered, speaking aloud. “This should not have happened, little one. Ever. When you  _ see _ it is not supposed to be like….this. I have seen now all that has happened to you, and why. And if my chance comes, I will never forgive him for this. He did not deserve mercy the first time, but they would not listen to me. And yet it is just as far beyond me as it is you. He will find his own deeds will come to an end. And thanks to you, we have prepared a rather special surprise for him…” With a kiss, Vairë left her to rest, perceiving that it was all she could do for the time being.

 

_ “Lady Vairë,”  _ Sinsemilla called,  _ “can you...can you guys really fix her? Completely fix her?” _

 

Vairë looked back at Sharley’s sleeping form. “We can do anything that Eru has not reserved to himself, and this is not one of them,” she replied, frowning. “You were not supposed to be. And yet here you are.”

 

_ “What does that mean?”  _ Layla asked.  _ “Are we -- are gonna die, when she’s fixed?” _

 

The Vala tilted her head. “Not unless Tirillë wishes it. Surely you know, you are her and she is you.”

 

_ “She keeps trying to tell us we aren’t real,”  _ Sinsemilla explained.  _ “But we’ve been...ourselves...for so long now. We’ve protected her from her memories, along with the Stranger. Not that we ever liked that thing, but we couldn’t have glued her back together without it.” _

 

_ “Wait,”  _ Kurt said.  _ “Wait, oh shi--” _

 

_ “KURT!”  _ the other three cried. 

 

_ “But...I don't want to just...stop existing,”  _ he said, audibly terrified.

 

_ “Then stop being...you,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Anyway, it’s been so long that we think of ourselves as us, and Sharley as Sharley. But the only one of us she’s ever wished would just go away is Kurt. Hence his panic.” _

 

Vairë did not feel terribly sympathetic toward Kurt. Not after what Carni had related to her of admonitions, expectations, and transgressions. In her opinion, Kurt had no place in the mind of an Ainu. And yet… “Then I suggest he talk most respectfully to Tirillë about his future prospects,” the Vala said, before turning with a sweep of her robes to depart the room.

 

_ Sharley was aware of none of this, fortunately -- instead she watching some of the funniest shit she’d ever seen. Lorna was like a pissed-off squirrel, grumbling about crowns and leadership and certain Elvenkings who were far too amused by her situation. A truly angry Lorna was rather terrifying, but an annoyed one was just hilarious. Thranduil seemed to agree, if his extremely poorly-concealed smirk was any indication. _

 

_ “You do know what this means, right?” she fumed. “It means I actually have to  _ wear  _ the damn thing. Like, at times other than Halloween or a costume party. How am I supposed to explain that to the villagers? I can’t very well tell them the truth or there’s no point in wearing it in the first place.” _

 

_ “We’ll think of something,” Thranduil said. _

 

_ Her eyes narrowed. “Why does that sentence make me nervous?” _

 

_ Unheard by the two in the room, Jimmy snickered.  _ “Because you know him,”  _ he said. _

 

_ “It shouldn’t,” Thranduil said, a little too innocently. “But if you must have a reason, we could tell them that I asked you to wear it to make myself, Thanadir, and the children feel better in their mother’s absence. Few could argue with that, even if they did think it...strange.” _

 

“Okay, that’s actually a really good point,”  _ Layla said. _

 

“He’s a smart Elf,”  _ Jimmy pointed out. _ “He just sometimes enjoys being a little shit.”

 

“No, Lorna’s the little shit,”  _ Kurt said.  _ “He’s the big shit, just because...tall.”

 

_ Lorna sighed. “I wish that didn't make sense,” she said. “Fine. But no teasing me, and that includes from the kids.” _

 

_ Sharley wandered out into the Halls. She was pretty sure this wasn’t  _ too  _ far in the future, if Earlene was still away, but it was far enough that the little family was no longer reeling from her loss. _

 

“If you had to go thud, I wish you coulda seen the outcome of Maglor’s trial,”  _ Layla grumbled. _

 

_ “Yeah, well, that would actually be  _ useful _ ,” Sharley muttered. “And we can’t have that, now can we?” While she had seen a few massively important things -- some personal, some not, and one very much bigger than her -- most of what she witnessed was, well, fluff. Silly little things like this, of no real use in the grand scheme. _

 

_ But then, maybe this  _ would  _ be of use. Lorna needed to get used to having that thing on her head, and people needed to adjust to seeing it there. No, they weren’t going to have a legit monarchy in the strict sense of the word, but that crown, and this tiny little person, were going to have more weight than she realized -- or than she’d want. _

 

_ Sharley meandered out through the front gates, into a midsummer afternoon. To be in the forest again, surrounded by the scent of sun-warmed trees and clean earth, moss and the bittersweet air of the sword ferns she’d brought from Washington...no, it was not the amazing Halls of Vairë, but it was beautiful. It was home. Sharley had had many homes over the millennia, but this one was...special.  _

 

_ She made her way to Eldamar, which was awash with sunshine, the shadows of leaves dappling the ground. The front door was open, allowing dogs and cats and children to roam freely, and she rested her hand on the doorframe as she stepped -- _

 

The vision shattered, leaving her once again in the present. In the present, and this beautiful place -- a place so very alien. A place filled with people who loved the person she had once been, who were so kind to her now but who kept slipping up and mentioning things she often had no memory of. Tirillë had been bright and silly and naive; Sharley was none of those things. Even knowing the whole of her history only helped so far. Yeah, it filled in a lot of blanks, but it had been many, many centuries since she had been that innocent. The other weavers were as she had been, and she just didn't fit.

 

“I want to go home,” she whispered, curling into a ball. “I don't belong here.” Her whole purpose in coming here had been to aid Maglor, which she wasn’t going to be allowed to do. Oh, eventually she’d get ‘fixed’, but she didn't know just what that meant. All she did know was that she missed her home, her family -- her sunshine girl. She missed the cats, and the hawks with their demented-baby cries, and the mornings she went and sat beside Marty’s grave. Would she be allowed to see Marty, once she was...fixed?

 

Would that even be a good idea?

 

_ “Sharley, it’ll be all right,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “It’s hard and too much right now, but it won’t be forever. Vairë told you not to worry, and if anyone would be able to say that and mean it, it’s her.” _

 

Sinsemilla was right. Sharley believed that, even if she had faith in so little at this point. No matter what, Vairë wouldn’t steer her wrong.

 

*****

 

Maglor read and translated as best he could. Which was better than anyone else was going to do; given that he represented the sole woodland population of those who could understand Quenya and English fluently. Okay maybe there was Ailill too, and Quen, but they were both regrettably far away. 

 

Mostly Earlene had to listen. It was all she could do, because looking at indices and references was basically an impossibility. That she could read Tengwar did her no good since in Quenya many of the characters were assigned different sounds; even the mode of writing was different, and it was frustrating beyond belief. She made them tea, so Maglor would not choke from the sheer volume of reading aloud he was undertaking. At the end of each day she would have to stop him, once he began growing hoarse. What maddened her was, these books were not really _ that _ useful. It was passages, here and there, randomly interspersed throughout all of them that seemed to matter. From time to time something would catch her attention, and she might ask him to repeat what he had translated so that she could make note of it. 

 

There were no codices of laws or rules; only...precedent. A thousand little nuggets of precedent, as to the thinking and judgements of the Lords and Ladies over long stretches of years concerning matters both great and small. Their reasoning was consistent, fair, merciful, and even sought to aid those who transgressed by guiding their feet back to a narrower path. This insight strengthened her hope. But the days of this wore on, leaving both mentally fatigued. Sometimes they would walk the streets of Valimar in order to give Maglor a respite from the tedium and her own thoughts some time to percolate and settle. Sometimes he would offer her his arm, and at other times he seemed to forget her presence, slipping off into silent reflections of his own. They were housemates who did not prefer to be housemates, much like two companions set adrift by chance on an ocean of uncertainty. 

 

Nights were the hardest. There were times Earlene could not sleep, and heard Maglor weeping next door in his room in the late hours. And while a part of her felt moved to comfort him...her heart told her not to. There were many times when she wept herself, in loneliness and yearning for her husbands and children. When she would take out the photograph she had of them by the faint light of the oil lamp, and recall what blessings they gave to her before they were parted. 

 

Her time in Valinor had forced awareness that for nearly every day of her life in the Woodland Realm, she enjoyed sexual contact with one or both of her partners. The sudden loss of that was beyond difficult. She gained some skill at imagining their touch and pleasuring herself, just to...get by. But it was not the same and in some ways left her feeling more sad and empty than if she simply did without. And yet deferring this kind of gratification left her feeling physically wanting and irritable. For Maglor’s sake, she tried to...maintain herself. The last thing he needed to add to his woes was a human female who was an utter bitch because she was not getting laid enough. At all. Something like that.

 

And as the days wore on with no hint of any of the proceedings even being set on whatever passed for a calendar here, her thoughts drifted often to Thranduil. Thanadir, she did not worry about in a sexual sense; he would be content in that regard though she knew he would miss her emotionally more than Thranduil. But if she was having this much trouble bereft of sexual release with a mate, what he must be enduring?... _ Eru, let them find a way.  _ There were times she had given Thranduil and Thanadir...thought, over the years. Neither of them had a preference for males; of that much Earlene felt certain. And yet, barriers had slowly broken down. In the beginning they would only each touch  _ her _ in a sexual manner; contact with each other was almost exaggeratedly platonic. Over time though, they had slowly stopped viewing each other in a context of “most of their bodies” versus “penis and scrotum and other erogenous zones.” They had each touched each other’s intimate areas somewhat in a limited fashion, to enhance the pleasure of the other when engaged in intercourse with her.

 

_ I know what I hope they do. And I equally hope they realize that I would not only not mind, I would encourage it.  _ Sex and spirituality were a complex issue, in marriage with an elf. Or elves. While there always, always was a spiritual component, there were times when the main goal was obviously the experience of pleasure. Relief. There were also times she wondered (a lot) if her own ability to eschew alcohol or other common means of stress relief had anything to do with, for lack of better words, all the sex. Her brain was bathed in endorphins daily from the love and physical delights she experienced in her marriage. And while maybe she (and especially Thranduil) were something of a running joke to those around them...well, she never really wanted or needed to get ossified or seek out steady doses of marijuana just to face reality. Maybe the pleasures of sex were her drug...and if that was the case, Earlene was not about to feel apologetic for it. And Thranduil...he had abandoned heavy drinking, but she had also gone far out of her way to ensure that he never lacked sexual release with her nearly any time he wanted. It seemed as though it had to have helped, because he was a very needy ellon in this regard. His difficult past and its ongoing consequences were never too far from her awareness.

 

All of this was randomly swirling through her mind one day when she was out walking with Maglor. Perhaps they had been here for two weeks? Who even knew? They had not kept count, and nothing really seemed to mark the passage of time. Valimar was a beautiful city, and from time to time Earlene would ask Maglor to help her speak to one of the other elves that lived and worked here. Most acted in the role of domestic service, for just as in any large group of people, someone had to be laundering and preparing food and...suchlike. Apparently the entire continent...not tithed, but tithing was the closest comparison she could find. Anyone who could manage sent some of their surplus here, in gratitude for blessings received. And there were festivals; at least one big one a year, she learned. Though, they had managed to miss that; it occurred prior to their arrival. But Maglor did not like these interactions. It amplified his embarrassment, to be seen in bonds. He accepted this as an aspect of his punishment or...however it was he thought about all of this; Earlene was still working on his perceptions a great deal. 

 

Worries were developing on her part, though. She was trying to convince him that he had hope, and yet the shackles on his wrists were internalized by Maglor as evidence of his doomed status. Earlene did not tell him the reason Manwë had left his chains on, out of fear of overstepping her bounds. She had asked once and been denied, and did not dare to ask again. 

 

Whatever day this was, they had enough of walking and both were growing hungry, so their steps turned homeward.

 

**

 

“You have observed them for half a cycle of the moon. What can you tell me of Maglor? Of what does he speak?” The Great Lord asked this of his Herald.

 

Eönwë paused, wishing to speak carefully. “He has learned humility, except for one thing, and I genuinely do not know whether...I wanted to believe his apparent wish for his own doom was yet prideful. And yet the firieth called him a...please forgive me...a ‘stubborn ass’ and actually kicked him when he continued to speak from a place of despair. She is trying to make him understand. And yet he genuinely cannot seem to. I have come to conclude the same as you told me earlier. He has spent too long lost to gloom and it is now all he knows. That he would never reoffend in the manner of his original crimes; of that I am certain. He would willingly accept any humiliation you chose to heap on him without resistance. When he came here, I felt righteous anger for his past transgressions and wished to see him suffer. I now realize that nothing short of inflicting extreme physical torments on him could exceed what he has already done to himself...and that is not our way. 

 

“But this did not answer your question. They speak sometimes of family. He will tell her an occasional tale of his childhood or memories of happier times. They rarely speak of their life in Ennorath. Mostly she requires him to read the books and materials given to them, in translation. She makes notes. Sometimes they walk through the city but they seem to converse little. I do not gain the sense that they speak of much else besides these matters of jurisprudence. It is my belief that Earlene is controlling him very carefully, to buoy his spirits while trying to learn useful knowledge. She fears to speak of anything that might cause him to think of his losses of friends and family, even though it means never mentioning her own family or those dear to her.”

 

Manwë stood up from his beautifully upholstered chair and looked out from the window of his chambers, located in one of the taller towers of the city. “Do you know who was just here?” he asked.

 

“No, my Lord.”

 

“Elrond. Elrond came, to plead on his behalf. And to beg to be allowed to speak with him.”

 

Quite surprised, Eönwë bowed his head in acknowledgement but did not respond. He did not know  _ how _ , to respond.

 

“Since you are too proper and reverent as always to inquire, I gave my consent,” the Lord said, with a sidewise glance at his servant and a very subtle smile.

 

“That was kind and merciful of you, my King,” Eönwë replied humbly.

 

Manwë shook his head. “My resolve is already being tested, Eönwë. He has hardly been here, and already I am being moved to pity. But I swore after the betrayal of Melko that I would never be so quick to underestimate the hearts of those who turned to evil deeds again. I will not be fooled twice.”

 

“You approved that the Ambarussa be returned to their mother,” Eönwë reminded gently. “And for some time you have considered releasing Maedhros as well, for the repentance of his heart. Despite of your pronouncements of long ago, it is your privilege to countermand your own decrees.”

 

“Aye, it is true... I have wavered long on the matter of the other sons now resting with Námo. Only upon their father, am I determined to maintain my wrath... and yet even his time is short. As always, you have given me more to consider, loyal one. Thank you.”

 

Eönwë held his hand reverently over his heart and bowed deeply. But there was a little smile, too.

 

**

 

Earlene listlessly bit into her apple slice. The food they were given she prepared into a luncheon;  bread and cheese, some fruits. Nuts, and a kind of wine that was delicious and something she could drink without being sent into orbit. It tasted cool, and clear, with a hint of sweetness and nectar. Whatever it was, she wished she had the recipe. There were also some cooked fishes, meant to be eaten cold. Neither her or Maglor spoke as they ate; it was fair to say that a pall of diffuse unhappiness was spreading through the little dwelling. A knock on the door interrupted all that, and Earlene rose to answer after guessing that Maglor would not wish to. He made this quite obvious by disappearing into his room and closing the door, leaving his meal half-finished.

 

Opening, she found an ellon who was unknown to her. “Aiya,” she said uncertainly...even she had had to manage learning how to say something as basic as the equivalent of ‘hello’.

 

“Mae govannen,” the ellon returned with a warm smile.

 

_ Oh thank Eru,  _ she thought. “Mae govannen,” she returned far more happily. “Im Earlene eston...a…?”

 

“Elrond.”

 

_ Oh my.  _ Immediately she held the door open and gestured for him to enter, her eyes very wide with surprise. “I welcome you here. But I imagine I am not the one you wish to see,” she smiled. “I hope you can help him.”

 

“I met Tirillë,” he explained very quietly. “When they came to the island. What I learned disturbed me greatly.”

 

“They?” Earlene asked in an equally low volume, her eyebrow raised.

 

“She came with Carnimíriel, one of Vairë’s other weavers,” he explained.

 

“Bless Eru, that woman needs all the help she can get. But I am certain you saw that much for yourself, unless a great deal changed.”

 

“It did not change. And...forgive me, I heard your name. You are Thranduil’s wife? His Queen?” Elrond asked, wishing to not assume.

 

“In all my splendid glory,” Earlene said, with a roll of her eyes. “You will forgive me in turn, if I seem disinclined to flaunt titles from another world before an Elflord of your reputation. But...and again, forgive me...I am not only Thranduil’s wife. It was the will of the Valar that I...have more than one sanctioned mate. I am also Thanadir’s wife. The King’s seneschal. And I am sorry, for the ruination of your sensibilities.” She paused, passing her hand over her forehead in a pained gesture. “There is a great deal of that going on, at home.”

 

“A plural marriage?” Elrond asked, his eyebrows at his hairline. Oh, he knew of Thanadir, alright. Who did not, who had any connection to Thranduil...or Erestor?

 

“Yes, and there is more besides. We are being...we are to be held up as examples, to some future purpose, when we arrive here in coming years. They wished this of us, and we did not...refuse.”

 

“Can you tell me...examples of what?” he asked, very curious. Yes, he was a little shocked, but he immediately could perceive there was no deception in this firieth’s words. This was perhaps an entirely new development.

 

“My deduction is, examples of what is approved of as accepted love. That relationships need no longer be only limited to that of a male and a female. They also blessed the union of two males; an ellon of our Realm and a firion. They are very happy together, though it was more difficult for those of our community to accept their relationship than it was our own. And yet it is now… ‘old news’, as we might say back home. They have been wed for years.”

 

“Oh my, that is very interesting,” Elrond said, smiling. “Do you know if they said anything precisely about this? The Lords and Ladies, I mean.”

 

“Yes.”  _ Who could possibly forget those words?  _ “Nienna, Estë and Irmo appeared to the couple. Their names are Calanon and Ailill. Nienna told them ‘further purpose comes to the will of Eru. You will guide many to the end of much suffering.’ I feel confident in what I relate to you, for my husband could see their memories.”

 

“May I sit?” Elrond asked, feeling suddenly unbalanced. 

 

“Of course you may,” Earlene bit her lip. “I am sorry, if I have distressed you.”

 

“No,” he said. “You do not understand. This is welcome news. Because some I care for deeply would, if permitted, find relief from a long and hopeless situation. And yet I must seek further guidance.”

 

“Just...be careful,” she cautioned. “Their endorsement came with a warning. A warning to be careful, discreet, or risk an extreme amount of scorn from their fellow elves. And indeed this was not easy to navigate. We...it basically became a matter of royal decree. They all had to be told what had happened, and why. And some struggled a great deal with acceptance. I imagine it will be no different here, and maybe...far worse.”

 

Elrond smiled. “Fear not. I believe if nothing else, I have gained a reputation for prudence.”

 

“Very much so,” Earlene smiled. “I am honored, to speak with you. And having taken enough of your time, please allow me to…” she gestured toward the room. Leaning forward, she whispered in barely audible words why Maglor had retreated...and that if he had any power to intercede regarding the shackles, he would have a large measure of her gratitude.

 

“I will do what I can,” the ellon whispered.

 

With a nod, she rose, to knock on the door. “Maglor, there is someone here to see you.”

 

“I do not wish to be seen,” he answered miserably.

 

“Yes, you do, and this is not a request,” Earlene fired back. 

 

The ellon squeezed his eyes shut and did as she required, emerging. 

 

“I will leave you alone and do what I can to not listen,” she said, taking him by the hand. 

 

But he did not seem to care in the least, for he had frozen in place and his eyes welled with tears. “Elrond…” he whispered.

 

Earlene retreated to her room, and as quietly as she could manage, prayed. And cried.

 

*****

 

{May 1, 2029}

 

“More milk, Thaladir. See how thick the batter still is?” Eleniel asked very nicely.

 

The blond, green-eyed boy sighed. “It is so hard to know this.”

 

His father’s arm came around his shoulder. “Do not despair, son. I too have trouble with anything involving flour. I just...do. But it will make sense eventually. I am very proud of you, for trying so hard.”

 

Thaladir beamed quietly, and leaned into Thanadir’s touch. It had not been an easy few weeks, but they had worked hard to develop a routine. In some ways, it was bringing them all closer together, not that any of them really wished to admit it. Nobody truly realized just how much Earlene did, for the home and family. Filling that empty space was a big challenge, but for love of her and each other, they all were trying. Faeleth was dancing around the kitchen and Thaladir sighed about that too. Sometimes living with his sister was like being in the same space with a loose music box ballerina, but he did love her. Especially when she danced over to him, and gave a big hug and a kiss to his cheek. It made him smile.

 

**

 

Chandra...did not know what to do. Shane had all but abandoned her for Thaladir, Saoirse lost herself in her art, Supri was a toddler, and Atia wandered the forest from dawn ‘til dusk.

 

Mam was trying, but even Mam could only help so much. Chandra needed something, but she wasn’t sure what it was. Her mind was like a raw nerve, and nothing would soothe it. She’d tried drawing, she’d tried reading and watching  _ Doctor Who _ \-- she’d even tried Mam’s method of cleaning things and swearing. Nothing worked. Things had changed, and changed for the worse. Nobody knew when their aunts or uncle were coming home -- or  _ if  _ Maglor was coming home.

 

She lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight filtered in through her window, splashing a big silvery square on her wall. It was well after midnight, but sleep was nowhere to be found.

 

_ Fuck it _ , she thought. Uncle Thranduil was probably asleep -- nobody would notice if she snuck out, so she put on warmer PJ trousers, shoes, and her coat, and did just that. The moonlight was bright enough that she didn't need a torch to find her way to Mam’s cottage.

 

They’d spent a lot of time out here, over the years, and it was where Mam now stashed most of her alcohol, to make sure none of the little kids got into it. Chandra knew exactly where she kept it, though, and there wasn’t any lock on the cupboard. She never bothered locking the cottage door, either, because, well, why would she? Nobody was going to break in, not out here.

 

Chandra turned on the kitchen light and sat on the floor, pulling bottle after bottle out of the cupboard. Mam and Da had let her and Shane taste-test some stuff over the years, and all of it had ranged from gross to revolting. Still, she wasn’t very big; it wouldn’t take much at all to mellow her out. The rum was a pretty color, so she’d try it. 

 

There was an assortment of shot glasses in another cupboard, so she poured herself a shot and cautiously sipped. “How can grown-ups like this shit?” she muttered. It tasted  _ terrible _ , but there was a kind of...warmth to it. She’d seen people on TV knock back shots in one swallow, but she had no idea how anyone could stand it. It was no wonder when Mam and Da made drinks, they were mixed with something else that actually tasted good.

 

It was chilly in here, but she didn't want to draw attention by lighting a fire. Instead she grabbed the afghan off the back of the sofa and sat, eventually finishing her shot. The next one she tried was poitín, which she’d heard Mam describe as hellfire in liquid form. 

 

It was so gross she couldn’t even handle more than one sip, but Fireball whiskey was actually pretty good. It tasted like cinnamon, and she managed a shot and a half before she started feeling  _ really  _ tipsy. It was a nice feeling -- fuzzy, warm, without a worry or care. So long as she got home before morning (and brushed her teeth, because she was sure her breath stank) nobody needed to know she’d done this, and she could come out and do it again later.

 

The floor rocked under her a little as she stood, and she giggled as she carefully put everything back as it had been, washing her shot glass and putting it away. She stumbled her way back to the house, trying to be as quiet as she could, and climbed back up the side of the wall until she reached her window. Yeah, everything felt better now, and she could actually sleep.

 

*****

 

{May 2, 2029}

 

Lorna wasn’t too worried when Chandra wouldn’t go down to breakfast -- sometimes, she didn't want to be around that many people early in the morning. Lorna just made sure she got some oatmeal, toast, and juice in the morning, so she at least had breakfast.

 

Her daughter came down for lunch, at least, looking tired; when had she finally fallen asleep last night? Lorna and Ratiri both knew she’d been having problems there, but she was simply too young to be given any kind of medication. If it went on much longer, they were going to have to ask Thranduil to start putting her to sleep at night. She was quiet as she sat beside Atia, but there was so much noise it would be easy not to notice.

 

_ That poor kid,  _ Lorna thought. She really didn't know what to do. She’d been trying to keep Chandra distracted, but it was kind of hard to find an activity that didn't remind her of at least one of their absent family members.

 

Thranduil caught a stray thought from the child and internally felt a great deal of alarm, though he said nothing and did not let on. He determined immediately that he would be watching Chandra very carefully, even if it meant he needed to stay up quite late. If it was what he feared, this could be...quite bad.

 

Because the Sullivan kids had made breakfast, Lorna and Ratiri had put together toasted subway sandwiches -- which weren’t the same thing as toasties, since it meant each one could be individualized. There was everything from salami and ham to BLT’s to more vegetarian options; hopefully whenever Earlene came home, they could honestly say they’d tried to keep the kids’ diets as healthy as possible without sending them into open revolt. None of them had her skills, when it came to making healthy food truly appealing. Their one attempt at salad night had been a disaster that had yet to be repeated, because Lorna wasn’t the only one who disliked a salad that was boring. They’d all known Earlene was a highly skilled cook, but none of them had realized just  _ how  _ skilled until she wasn’t there anymore.

 

Ithiliel looked at Eleniel and they shared a nod. Neither one of them needed to say aloud,  _ time to learn about other kinds of food besides breakfast.  _ Allanah guessed what her sisters were thinking and grinned, before asking Quen some random question about the book he had assigned her to read. She had also learned her mother’s art of distraction…

 

**

{May 5, 2029}

 

Chandra snuck out again that night, out to the cottage. This time she’d be smart and stop after two shots, so she didn't wake up with a stomach that felt like it was going to go into revolt. She’d tried playing her guitar that day, and it only reminded her that Uncle Maglor was gone, and might be gone forever. How did other people handle this, this loss? It would help if they had any clue in hell when Aunt Earlene was coming home, but there was no word yet from anyone in Aman -- which Chandra was afraid had to be a bad sign.

 

Still, it was nice to be out here, away from everyone else. Away from the Sullivan kids, who were somehow managing to deal with this far, far better than she was. Mam had pointed out that they were half elf, and where thus a little better-equipped for sudden shocks, but that just made Chandra feel worse. Well, she had her way of dealing, too, but tonight she was a lot more careful. Before she had anything to drink she made some toast, then nursed a shot, rinse, repeat. It left her feeling nicely floaty but not completely drunk, and she crept home wreathed in a sense of warm well-being.

 

**

{May 6, 2029}

 

Thranduil waited until after breakfast to launch his plan, since the necessity to talk to Chandra had now become obvious. Once she was back in her room and...occupied, he silently walked to their wing of the home and stopped in the doorway, trying to decide if there was any means by which to make himself less physically intimidating. Rolling his eyes, he decided that as he could not help his height or his bearing, there was not much choice. “Hello, Chandra. I think we should talk. I will not insult your intelligence as to the topic.”

 

Chandra looked at him, wide-eyed. “... _ Fuck.  _ Why? It’s not like I'm doing  _ much _ .” She’d been so sure he’d been asleep, dammit.

 

“I am worried about you. I can understand why you want to drink, but...you are very young and are making risky choices. I would rather see you turn to others and ask for help, rather than drinking your problems away. Because I can tell you, drinking does not solve problems, it only creates new and bigger ones.” His voice was soft. “Can I sit down?” He chose to ignore the not-entirely-encouraging initial response.

 

Chandra nodded and hugged her legs, resting her chin on her knees. “Nothing else makes me feel better,” she said. “What help? What other help  _ is  _ there? Mam keeps trying to keep us distracted with stuff, but everything just reminds me that one’v them are gone. Shane’s with Thaladir and Atia’s off doing her own thing in the forest. I can’t sleep at night but Da says I’m too young for anything but antihistamines, and even those don't work. And Mam, she’s...different,” she added quietly. “It’s good different, but it’s another damn  _ change  _ that nobody asked for. And I don't know why I'm the only one who seems bothered by it all.”

 

“Well, for starters, you do realize by now that most any elf can cause a person to fall asleep?” He tilted his head. “Or perhaps you do not. And we are not the only option. The point is, you do not know because you did not ask. Chandra, there is help. We have Angie, and we have each other. Your parents are both concerned. And...change is part of life, and will happen all of your years. People can come and go. Situations, can come and go. It may be that you need extra learning to understand how to manage change. But alcohol will only bring you trouble.”

 

“I didn't want to ask,” Chandra said glumly. “Nobody else needs help like this. I’m not even the one who's mam got dragged off out’v nowhere, but I'm the mess. I don't want to be the mess. Every other bloody adult on this side’v the house drinks when they’re upset -- well, Mam doesn’t much, but I know she used to. I didn't -- I don't -- want anybody else knowing I’m...that I’m the mess. I was just going to deal with it.”

 

“Well, you aren’t,” he said softly. “And what you don’t know is, no one that  _ you see _ needs help like this. There are others that cry themselves to sleep every night and I do not only mean children. Chandra, forgive me, but you have a...habit of taking what little information is available to you, assuming it is a universal truth, and then acting on your own according to what you think you know. That is dangerous. And because I love you, I am not going to stand by and watch you become habituated to alcohol. Your family has a serious problem with substance abuse, and this is exactly how it starts. It is not your fault, but we are going to find a better way. I think you know that I will have to talk to your parents about this, and you are  _ not _ going to be in trouble.”

 

Chandra shut her eyes. “Mam and Uncle Pat got to do it,” she whispered. “I know they did, even if they don't talk about it. And I don't...I love Mam, but I'm tired of her trying to come up with ‘activities’. They don't help. They’re just one more thing I have to pretend over, but I don't want to tell her that because I know it’ll hurt her feelings. I don't...I don't know what to do, and I’m scared nobody else will, either. I mean, I love Da, too, but if he tries to give me breathing exercises, I might just have to throw something at him,” she added, sounding a touch less depressed. “Are you sure I won’t get in trouble?”

 

“Your mam and Pat are lucky they are alive, Chandra,” he said flatly. “Your mother has almost died from drinking. ‘Getting to do it’ is not something you want to strive for. If what they are trying to do is not working, then that is what we all need to know. And you are not going to get in trouble. I may not be King over any Irish but I like to think I have some pull in what happens in this home. I live very close to your room. If you think you will not be able to sleep tonight, I will make sure that you do, and without alcohol involved. I would gladly sit here all night, if that is what it takes to keep you away from that. Do you feel okay right now? Or not really?”

 

She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Not really,” she said. “I haven’t felt okay in ages. But...Mam almost died? When?” She knew there was such a thing as alcohol poisoning, but she was pretty sure you had to drink a  _ lot  _ to get there.

 

“When you were a baby. I saved her life, and I have no intention of having to save yours. You are a very gifted learner, Chandra. Later perhaps there are some things you should read about, on the computer. But for right now...I hope you can trust that I would not lie to you or ever try to make up speeches to keep you from something that was not a real danger. I would rather hear that you are galloping standing up on my fastest horse through the woods, than starting to drink. It would be far safer. I am going to hug you now, and for some time you will feel better, emotionally. You will not care as much, about the things that make you sad. And then soon we will all talk about what we can do that will be a more permanent solution. You can always come to me if you feel you cannot cope and like you will try to sneak alcohol...though that is just substituting one thing for another. But I will not ruin your health, unlike what is in those bottles,” he smiled, and reached for her.

 

It made him...sad. This was just far too young and yet...Lorna had probably started this even younger, and with zero guidance.

 

Chandra let him hug her, and burst into tears. “I didn't want anybody worrying about me,” she said. “I just want to...to deal with it. Allanah and the twins just...do stuff. They cook, they take care’v the little kids, and here I am just the lump’v uselessness that can’t cope for shit. I know your kids’re having a hard time, too, but look at them, then look at me. I just feel like I’m...I’m bloody lacking.” Yeah, she was probably smarter, but what good did that do her? She was all intellect and no sense.

 

“Chandra, who even cares about them? I mean, I do, of course, they are my children. They are them, and you are you, and you are all different. Is Thaladir lacking, because he cries the easiest when difficulties come? I do not think so. He is the kindest and most sensitive of my children. You are much like your mother. And...I do not mean this in an unkind way, but your family has some significant difficulties. The Donovans endured things no one should have to. That tends to not vanish in one generation. Here, I will promise you something. I cannot tell you everything I know, because some things are private to your mother and I will not break her confidences. But if you have questions about feelings, your family...I will answer you as honestly as I am able. Even if it means nagging at her for permission to tell you things I think you deserve to know when she thinks too much of protecting you. No parent is perfect. We all do our best and hope somehow that we are doing a good enough job.”

 

That drew a watery smile from her. “Would you? Mam, she doesn’t say a whole lot -- and when she does, it’s usually because she’s slipped up. I know our grandda was a gobshite, and you probably blew up Mam’s old house for a reason -- yeah, I know about that,” she added. “Saoirse told us ages ago. But...because Mam and Uncle Pat  _ don't  _ talk about it, it just means we have to wonder. I know shit was bad, but with Mam, especially after she ran away, it’s like she was...free. There was her and the gang and that was all that mattered.”

 

“I know. And I will talk to her about that too. Please know that she meant well. Her every thought has been to have your life be different than hers. And yet sometimes even though we try, we manage the opposite of what we intended.”

 

“I guess,” Chandra said, mainly because she wasn’t sure what  _ to  _ say to that. She was a kid; it wasn’t like she had any experience there. “Uncle Thranduil, when is Aunt Earlene coming home? Have we got any idea yet? I know Maglor and Aunt Sharley might be later, but...well, shit. I wish we knew something.  _ Anything _ .”

 

“I do not know, Chandra. I cannot follow her at this time without risking being unable to return. So I must wait. But I know she is fine, and with Maglor in a general sense. I am sorry, I too wish I knew more.”

 

**

 

“....and so that is all of what I just discussed with Chandra,” Thranduil said calmly, looking at Lorna and Ratiri.

 

Ratiri stared at him, while Lorna pinched the bridge of her nose. Jesus. Jesus bloody Christ, she’d hoped… “I’d hoped they’d escape this,” she said. “That none’v them would go like...we’ve tried to make sure their lives were better. That they wouldn’t want to. Poor Chandra...that girl really is my daughter, trying to hide things.” She scrubbed a hand over her face, wondering what to do. “I need to call Angie. That poor kid needs help’v a kind none’v us here can give her. I’m no manner’v decent example, and neither is Pat. I quit doing that because I almost died, and he never really has quit.”

 

“I think that would be a very good start,” the King encouraged.

 

“Meanwhile, we need to figure out what to do for her that will actually work,” Ratiri said. “One of Chandra’s problems is that she’s both incredibly intelligent and easily bored. We also have to find something that doesn’t remind her so starkly of any of our three missing family members, which negates quite a number of ideas. I’m wonder if it’s time to take her to Baile, if she’d be interested.”

 

“It’s not a bad idea, if she’s up for it,” Lorna said.

 

“I like the idea,” said Thranduil, “with the caveat that I cannot keep my promises to her if she is an hour removed. Part of me almost wonders if we should...get out of here for a few days. But then there is the aforementioned issue of The Big Production. And our triplets are younger than I would prefer to leave alone for long. Though...hm. It is difficult.”

 

“Let’s see how Chandra handles the next few days,” Lorna said. “I could just take her to Baile for a day trip, even, or a few day trips. It might be a good way to test the waters and see how well she’d do on a trip further away from home.”

 

“And I,” Ratiri said, “would not want to even  _ try  _ to handle The Big Production without Earlene. It sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

 

Lorna pondered. “You know what? I think Chandra’s huge problem is that she’s intellectually way, way beyond her years, but emotionally, she’s still twelve. Not that it’s a problem I know how to solve yet.”

 

“So...here is one question. I would feel comfortable leaving all the children younger than Thaladir here, as long as they stayed in the Halls, in the custody of their caretakers for two days. Perhaps Thanadir would stay behind as well. Part of me wonders if we should consider an outing just with the eldest of our children. Then it is not a Big Production. Would you feel content to leave Atia and Supri with Maerwen? Or others of your family? And yet Chandra specified not being happy that she was being supplied with a series of very obvious distractions. All of this just points back to Angie,” he said, with a note of defeat in his voice.

 

“I think Atia and Supri could handle that,” Lorna said. “But I would want to talk to Angie before firming anything up.”

 

“Part of the problem, I think,” Ratiri said, “is that she’s something of the odd one out, among all the kids. She’s not really like any one of the other children. She and Atia have always been close, but there’s enough of an age gap there that there’s...distance, now, between them. And I'm not sure if there’s anything to be done about that. Chandra is Chandra; we can’t ask her to pretend to be like something else just to fit in better.”

 

Thranduil considered this. “More than one of our children are...well, odd. But the difference is, I think, all the odd ones have a certain autonomy. Thaladir has his hunting and the dogs. Eldan now will hardly leave his harp; he has become more dedicated not less, after the initial shock of Maglor’s removal dissipated. And Faeleth is...Faeleth. Even Algar, who previously showed no discernible aptitude except for physical coordination, is now suddenly obsessed with his Nana’s greenhouses and how to care for the plants. I wish Chandra had something to call her own. But what that is…” he looked at them a little helplessly. “I need to go check on my brood but...if you do speak with Angie I would very much like to know what she says.”

 

“I wish she did, too,” Lorna said, and sighed. “Hopefully we can introduce her to...something. But I’ll let you know what Angie says, though it’ll be a while before we can call.”

 

“I will see you at the next meal, if not sooner,” he smiled, leaving their room. He shook his head. Children...great joys and great worries…

 

**

 

The King returned to his room for a time, wishing for some time to think. He slipped out of his clothes, thinking some time in the pool would help. Over and over in the water, he kept thinking about Chandra and what all this might have led to, had he not had exalted powers of spying, for lack of better words. Maybe it was a normal part of being near children, but he found himself doing something rather Lorna-like (or to be fair, ‘Lorna-like prior to a few weeks ago’) and worrying. Earlene had not returned. There was no word. And he worried about that too, however ridiculous he told himself he was being. He felt very...tense. 

 

Deciding this was an exercise in futility, he stepped out and wrapped a towel around himself, and curled up instead on the bed. It was a pleasant morning, quite warm, and he found himself reaching for Earlene’s pillow, where her scent still lingered. Without meaning to, his mind turned easily to how badly he missed her. All of her. And his reward for these thoughts was an aching arousal. Feeling sad and dismayed, this seemed more like insult to injury. He sighed and tried to...ignore himself. When Alassëa...dismissed him...this experience had been his as well. Long weeks of need, that eventually faded away when those needs were not met. He preferred not to face the emptiness of pleasuring himself; that only prolonged the inevitable.   _ Just another thing to which to look forward _ , he thought darkly.

 

Thanadir came in through the French Doors, closing them behind him. “Are you alright?” the ellon asked, concerned.

 

“Yes and no,” Thranduil said, not moving. “There have been more problems with Chandra.”

 

The seneschal approached, sensing there had to be more. And that was when he saw that Earlene’s pillow was being clutched to his chest. That, he understood, for he had done the same many times already. “You are feeling that she is not going to return soon,” he guessed, seating himself against Thranduil’s back, rubbing his skin soothingly. 

 

The blond head nodded, but the lack of answer caused Thanadir to peek over his body to see his face. The towel kept the King’s modesty (if they even had such a thing, at this point), but it was not difficult to observe that he was crying and that he was aroused. Not being oblivious to Thranduil’s libido after all these years, Thanadir pursed his lips, thinking carefully. And searching his own...limits. Finally he spoke. “Will you let me help you?” he asked, as kindly as possible. 

 

“How?” Thranduil asked, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. “Unless you have Galadriel’s mirror, or a Valarin newspaper to tell us what is happening….” he trailed off, shaking his head.

 

“That is not what I meant,” the older elf said, as he carefully laid a hand on Thranduil’s erection. “I do not have a need for this. For me it is...an added pleasure. But you do. Need this, I mean. I have...hands. And I am no longer afraid like I once was. We are not wed to each other, but I love you as well. With my whole heart. I have always loved you, and it costs me little to give you something I think you should not try to do without.”

 

Thranduil blinked, not sure he was hearing this. It was difficult, but he forced himself to look at Thanadir. Truly  _ look  _ at him, in order to try to gauge if this was something he was offering out of...he was not sure what. The hazel eyes were soft, calm, and full of love and concern.

 

Finally he answered. “I am not sure what it says about me, but the truth is I do not have the willpower to decline your offer.”

 

With a nod, Thanadir reached for something out of sight.

 

“I miss her, Thanadir. I am afraid, about how long this might go on.”

 

“I know, because I am too,” he said, gently tugging the towel free while he unbuttoned his tunic. “Thranduil, I will need you, too, in the days to come. Not quite in this same way, I do not think, but in my heart I know she would tell us to turn to each other. I believe it is more than that; I think she will be grieved to learn that we did not. Maybe there is more I would like to talk about later. Not now. For now, I am going to lie down next to you. I will kiss you, and you may imagine anything you wish. Close your eyes.”

 

Thranduil did as he was asked. His entire body shuddered, as he felt a hand spread warm lubricant all over his arousal, and he moaned into the kiss when that hand grasped him gently but firmly and began to pleasure him. At the same time he wondered what on earth his life had become, he could not stop himself thrusting into that dextrous warmth, grateful beyond words for what he was being given. 

 

“Let your emotions go,” was whispered between kisses. “Do not hold back.”

 

Not three minutes later he climaxed, and cried more in his worry and fear as they held each other. But afterward, he felt more peace than he had all week. And there was...more. Thanadir had prepared himself for the possibility, and was not unduly surprised when Thranduil’s emotions and wants sparked his own. Their kissing continued first in tender reassurance before deepening into desire, until soft moans were heard coming from Thanadir. The seneschal’s trousers were visibly bulging.

 

“I am sorry,” apologized Thranduil, who now broke away, realizing the effect he was having. “I...this always seems to happen around me, but for Earlene it was not a problem...oh meldir, please pardon this. I am surely the only ellon in history who has...what do I even call this, ‘contagious desire’? I do not mean to take advantage of you, and surely...I am.”

 

Thanadir paused, his soft eyes following the play of regret on Thranduil’s face. “I love you, Thranduil. I knew this might happen; it is not as if I have not experienced this with you many times already. The mental gifts you possess are very powerful ones; you cannot help it, any more than I can help being as I am. I would not have offered, if I did not accept this about you.”

 

“What are you telling me, Thanadir? You are asking me to…?”

 

“Give me release, like I have given to you. Love me, unless...you do not wish to.” 

 

Nodding slowly, the King considered the body before him, and unlaced Thanadir’s trousers in order to free him. “I wish to,” were the only words to escape him as he carefully removed remaining clothing. Thanadir watched his motions, his hazel eyes filled with trust and devotion. And for perhaps the first time Thranduil saw with a moment of perfect clarity, that this was not an ellon lying next to him. Rather, this was his lifelong friend, companion; the most beautiful spirit he had ever known alongside that of Earlene. His loved one.  _ What difference did it make, in what form his spirit was housed? Male, female, did it truly even matter? _  He lowered his head to kiss those lips again, as his hand caressed further down, wondering at new thoughts and feelings that seeped into his awareness. Or, were they truly new? Or was it that because of Earlene, it had previously been easy never to consciously consider them? His own body was visibly eager for more attention. He very cautiously straddled his partner to bring their arousals together, carefully watching for any sign of disapproval or rejection of his actions. With Thranduil’s thoughts being silently transparent, Thanadir smiled and reached again for the bottle of lubricant. Their fingers interlaced around their paired shafts; movement against each other brought exquisitely pleasurable sensations.

 

“I would not have thought of this,” Thanadir gasped, liking it very much as he thrust into their shared grasp. “I….oh…!!” Their pace increased and...at the end of it, two satisfied ellyn whose breathing was slowly returning to normal sat in the warm water of the pool.

 

“You have changed a great deal, meldir,” Thranduil whispered, half in awe. He could not resist covering his partner’s cheeks and chest with soft kisses, as he cleaned both their bodies in the warm water. Love and care had now transformed to adoration.

 

Thandir shook his head and smiled, radiant from the attention and a sense of being cherished. “I like to think of it more as, I have learned. And grown.” He shyly kissed Thranduil’s cheek, eventually resting his head against the taller ellon’s shoulder. 

 

Somewhat dazed, Thranduil relaxed in the water, holding Thanadir’s hand and wondering... _ did all that really just happen? _

 

_ Yes, it did. And I love you. _

 

His grip on the slender fingers tightened, a little.  _ I love you also. But...what do we do now? _

 

_ I am not going anywhere, Thranduil. We will...find our way. _

 

_ Together? _

 

Thanadir lifted his head to move the flaxen hair aside, and kiss his King’s cheek once more.  _ Together. _

 

**

 

{June 8, 2029}

 

Angie had arrived at Eldamar two days before, seriously wondering if she and Alan should just move. This poor household needed more help than her vacation time could give it.

 

She’d spent the previous month talking over video chat with Lorna and Ratiri, Thranduil and Thanadir, trying to form a game plan. The Sullivan children seemed to be coping, but Chandra...something had to be done about Chandra.

 

Lorna had been taking her on day trips to Baile, which seemed to be helping. She spent time with her aunt and uncle, and her older cousins, and seemed to find it a relief. Having spoken to her several times over the video chat, Angie had come to an unfortunate conclusion: the child just wasn’t meant to live in such a large household. Her temperament was all wrong for it, but she likewise couldn’t be trusted on her own just now. Angie’s recommendation had been to take her out to stay at the cottage a few nights a week, with one of her parents there to make certain she didn't get into any illicit substances. (Though the first thing Lorna had done was take all her booze and put it into her flat at the Halls, for safekeeping.)

 

As for finding the girl a Thing, that was still ongoing, and might remain ongoing for some time. However, she was not the only one Angie needed to talk to; rising early her second day, she went to corner whichever Elf happened to be in the kitchen.

 

Thanadir was looking forlornly at the stove range, sighing. Which was not helping him choose a breakfast menu. And he certainly was not about to try biscuits without someone to help him; Ortherion was not downstairs yet. Perhaps he could manage griddlecakes, with fruit?

 

“Need any help?” Angie asked. Bless the group, they’d laid in a supply of coffee before she came; tea just didn't do it for her.

 

“I lack skill with biscuits,” the elf said forlornly. “So I am going to try griddlecakes instead. It is very strange to have to make these decisions without Earlene. Still. But there must be breakfast so…” He shrugged and smiled crookedly. “You just arrived here. You should at least recover from your travel first, but thank you for the offer.”

 

She quirked an eyebrow, as if to say,  _ nice try _ . “I can make biscuits,” she said. “Kyle at the cafe taught me, and he’s pretty good. Besides, Thanadir, I want to know how you’re doing -- how  _ you  _ are doing, not Thranduil or the children. I’ll talk to them later.”

 

The ellon blinked. “Well, I miss my wife very much. Sometimes I cry. But I have Thranduil, though it is not quite...the same. I try to spend time doing things I find restful, but there are many children that need attention and have questions. In theory I still have duties at the Halls. It is difficult not knowing when she will return but since I cannot know, I try my best to keep going. Is that...wrong?”

 

“No, Thanadir,” Angie said, as her coffee percolated, “that’s very healthy. You do have a lot of things on your plate, as we say back home, but if you’re building in time for self-care amidst them, that’s a good thing. And while Lorna and Ratiri have their hands full at the moment, I know Saoirse could help with the children, if you wanted her to. She loves them, and I believe it could do both of them some good.” Saoirse missed Sharley and Earlene terribly, and Maglor only a little less so; keeping her busy was a good thing, too.

 

Thanadir grew quiet. “Please do not take this the wrong way. I care about Saoirse very much. But she has never learned to control her language and she is still very impulsive. I would of course accept her help if the need was great. But if it is avoidable...some of our children prefer not to spend time with Saoirse and Chandra on account of their speech. I will not force them to be with those they feel less comfortable around.”

 

Angie didn't frown, but only because she’d been trained not to. “Here, can you show me where all the ingredients are?” How to put this delicately… “I can’t share private information, but if there’s some other way you could give Saoirse something to do, it would help. She isn’t taking this well, and her father says she’s withdrawing even more than usual. He’s worried.” And poor Chandra...no wonder she felt alienated. What to do with her was another question entirely.

 

“Oh. Well, there is much work to do. It is summer, there are many tasks on the farm. Animals to care for, food to be processed. There are jobs in the Halls too. The kitchens always need help. And while none of the elves wish to hear cursing, the adults have a far better ability to turn a blind eye than the children,” Thanadir explained.

 

“That’s not quite what I mean,” Angie said, stirring some cream into her coffee. “She needs to feel like she’s helping the family directly. Even if it’s something as simple as cleaning house. I know that it’s difficult for your people to be around those who curse, but in avoiding Saoirse you’re effectively punishing her for something she can’t help. She’s not capable of fully filtering her speech. The children don't need to be dealing with that right now, no, but...well, keep that in mind. It’s not Saoirse’s fault that she can’t weigh all of her words before she speaks them.”

 

“Oh. I am sorry, I did not understand.” He cleared his throat, and frowned, trying to think. “There are the meals. And each family cleans its own wing, and we share cleaning the common spaces; there is a chart. It goes by month. See it, hanging over there? That tells who cares for the Heart and Quiet Rooms, the front lavatories, classroom and Dining Room. Right now only Algar is solely working to help in the greenhouses and he is still quite young. That is rather a lot of work but at least he is trying.” Some more thinking occurred, and he shook his head. “Those are the main needs of the family at Eldamar. Everything else pertains to the Halls or the Farm.”

 

“I’ll talk to Saoirse about maybe taking some extra cleaning shifts,” Angie said. “That leaves Chandra, but she isn’t ready to work with anyone on anything at the moment. It’s good that all of your children are keeping themselves busy, at least, and that they’ve found things they’re good at and they enjoy.”

 

“This is the easier part of half-elven children, when they grow so quickly in mind and body,” Thanadir smiled. “Wait until they are twenty with many years to go before reaching maturity.”

 

“ _ That  _ will get sticky,” Angie said. “Right now isn’t the optimal time, but...later...you should sit them down and talk about that. All of your children have at least one Duncan child in their immediate age-range, and it might be better they understand what those differences will mean before they become problems.”

 

Thanadir looked at Angie in complete bafflement. “Talk to them about...how they will grow versus humans? They have known about that since they were very young. Or did you mean something else?”

 

“Something else,” she said. “Yes, they know the differences physically, but have any of you ever sat down and talked with them about the fact that the Duncan children will be treated as adults long before they will? That the Duncans will be allowed to date, while they won’t? These are things that should be dealt with before that time comes.”

 

_ How to put this politely... _ Thanadir blinked again. “They understand that,” he said carefully. “But...it is not a question of ‘allowed.’ They will not wish to.” Thanadir did not want to be insulting, but he feared there was a...gap in comprehension about elven realities.

 

“They’re half human, Thanadir,” Angie said. “I wouldn’t be so entirely sure. But even so, I think their academic understanding of the differences might come under strain when the time comes for the Duncans to take their place in the adult world, and they’re still considered what, adolescents at the very most? Just...be aware that there could be problems. Not that it will be an issue for some time yet, and there are more immediate concerns. Do you think someone will eventually tell you when Earlene will return? I know the Valar have been in contact with your group quite frequently, over the last few years.” And yes, that was still damn surreal.

 

“I have no means by which to know that, about Earlene.” He did not understand why...well, he often did not understand a great many things about humans that were not Earlene. And regarding the children...well, in ten or fifteen years, they would know? “And I did not tell you where the ingredients are. This drawer contains milled flour, and the salt, baking powder and sugar are here in this cabinet. There is rendered lard in the freezer and it can be cut into the proper weights.”

 

“Have you thought about who will take her place on the Council, if her absence is an extended one?” Angie asked, busily assembling ingredients. She could make biscuits with her eyes closed by now.

 

“That is the King’s decision,” Thanadir said. “But as there are only three real options, the choices are Calanon, Ailill and Quen. If he has decided, he has not informed me. But Earlene has now been gone over a month. We must plan for not having any idea of when she will return.”

 

Angie wasn’t going to address that one -- not with Thanadir. Lorna and Thranduil were the ones she needed to discuss it with, before she left. “It sounds like you’re doing the right thing so far,” she said, pausing to sip her coffee before starting in on the dough. “I’ll be spending a lot of time with Chandra, but if you need any help or just someone to listen, let me know.”

 

This caused Thanadir to think. “Do you like  _ Star Trek _ ?” he asked hopefully.

 

Well, that was a bit surprising, but this was Thanadir. It was best to expect the unexpected. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

 

Chandra, her red hair a wild tangle, came shuffling into the kitchen very like a zombie, yawning behind her hand. “I’m going to be a goddamn geographer,” she said sleepily, heading for the fridge. “A geographer-anthropologist. Ooh, orange juice.” Pouring herself a glass, she zombie-shuffled her way back out again.

 

Thanadir blinked, and smiled weakly. “The Original Series or Next Generation? Or maybe Deep Space Nine? Voyager?”

 

Angie blinked as well.  _ This household…  _ “You know what? Original Series.”

 

*****

 

“We are going to leave in the early morning for the Lake of Lórellin... Sharley.” Vairë had learned in the past many days that Tirillë preferred this other name, and out of consideration for her difficulties tried to remember to call her that much of the time. “The others have agreed to come help you there.”

 

Sharley’s eyes widened. She’d known this was coming, and yet it still surprised her. “Lady Vairë, I don't know if I’m excited or terrified,” she said. “They’re coming all this way?” She had, by now, seen a map of Aman, and knew this wasn’t just a quick detour.

 

Vairë chuckled. “Do not feel sorry for them. In the other world I think you might call this a ‘working holiday.’  All of us go to the Gardens of Irmo to find rest and respite.” What she was not about to say was, that those who were requested were all too eager to have a break before having to tackle the unpleasantness of Maglor’s judgement. Even Manwë himself was eager for some time among the mists and gardens and fountains. Of course, the actual...ceremony, or whatever they were calling it would have to be at night. Irmo and Estë were not known for their fondness of Anor.

 

Sharley laughed. “A working holiday? I like it. Carni...she told me that I needed to not try to go in before I got fixed, in case I got lost in dreams. Once I am, though...my daughter’s in there. Would they let me see her?”

 

Vairë frowned. Carni had...told her about this. “I have no objection. But you will need to ask Irmo. Many are...in there. The realm of Lórien is vast, and I do not pretend to know all of his gardens. I only know that there are places for children, yet I have never been. He would know.”

 

“Oh...oh, I hope he says yes,” Sharley said. “I know a lotta people seem to think I should be horrified by Marty, because of where she came from, but I never knew that while she was alive. She was my sunshine girl, and she’s  _ still  _ my sunshine girl, no matter how I...got her. I can’t stop loving her just because I know that now. She was sweet and pure and wonderful.”

 

“You misunderstand me,” Vairë smiled. “He will not deny you. I meant that he is the only hope of knowing where anyone actually  _ is _ . The gardens are huge.”

 

A smile crossed Sharley’s face again. “Well, in that case…” Hope of a sort she’d never felt before leapt within her, because she’d been so afraid she’d never see her little girl again. Her beautiful little sunshine girl, whose death still puzzled her, but it wasn’t a thing she was willing to dwell on. It had happened. There was no undoing it; she might be able to see history, but she couldn’t change it.

 

“Rest now, as best you can,” the Lady recommended. “For we will walk during the day, but will also be up much of the night.”

 

“I’ll try,” Sharley said, uncertain how she would manage.

 

_ “We’ll make sure she sleeps,”  _ Sinsemilla promised.

 

**

 

Daylight was waning, when they turned onto the paths that led into the Realm of Irmo and came under the perfume of many flowering trees. Many silvery willows swayed in the gentle breeze, and cool flagstones marked their way. On, and on they walked, seeing others here, and there. Nothing seemed contrived, nor did the scenery appear too wild . A controlled loveliness, was perhaps the way to say it. The moon was already in the sky as the stars began to emerge, and it was then that the silver trees reflected the cool light. Luminous insects floated lazily amidst the foliage, and birdsong of the many nightingales began to trill melodies in the distance. A heavy enchantment of peace lay over the very air. 

 

“I do not come here often enough,” the Lady said. “And I should.”

 

“It’s beautiful,” Sharley breathed. ‘Beautiful’ was an understatement; she wasn’t sure there was any word in any language that could do this place justice. It was like nothing else she’d ever seen, in all her eighteen thousand years on Earth. “I can understand how I could get lost in here, and never want to leave.”

 

_ “How can something like this exist?”  _ Layla asked, from somewhere far up ahead.

 

_ “Because Eru,”  _ Sinsemilla said,  _ “and because Valar. And I really wish Saoirse could see this, because the paintings she would produce would be amazing.”  _ They could try to describe it to her, when they got home, but no description could possibly be enough. Sharley, once she was able to properly weave again, would try to capture it -- but they’d inspected all the thread in the Halls, and realized that it itself was imbued with magic.

 

And somewhere in this lovely place was Marty. She’d spent all these years hoping her sleeping girl was dreaming of somewhere nice, and this was better than she ever could have imagined. Knowing they would be parted again was painful, but the knowledge that her soul, her fae, was safe and protected and presumably happy, would make that parting bearable. Her sunshine girl wouldn’t have to watch the world around them die in only eight years.

 

Their steps moved them deeper into the gardens, where the emerging stars overhead hung like white gems. Varda’s heavens did not appear here as they did on Earth; they seemed closer. Brighter. Larger. Their light was clear and pure in a way not possible outside of the land of the Valar, and as all light from Anor faded away, new colors and hues could be seen in the silver landscape. They passed fountains. Not little fountains, like one might find in someone’s yard, but immense ones closer to those in the great estates of Europe--and yet even that description was a poor approximation. Their sprays sparkled in the pale light and made music as they fell...in ponds, against rocks, over mossy paths. It was impossible not to feel a sense of rest and...this entire place might as well have had Xanax circulating in the very air.

 

“Definitely coming here more often,” murmured Vairë, as she indicated a path to their right. “The island is this way.”

 

“Who takes care of these?” Sharley asked, gawking like a tourist and not ashamed of it in the least. “Does it stay so beautiful on its own?” She wouldn’t be surprised, given that this was Aman, where just about anything seemed possible.  She’d never seen so much delicate phosphorescence, and she could see why this place was called a garden of dreams. It was almost too beautiful to be real.

 

Irmo, and Estë, and Ainur who are to them as you are to me,” the Vala answered. “Perhaps you heard of Melian? She belongs to Estë, and returned to her work after the passing of Elu Thingol, as he was known in Beleriand. Or Elwë, as he is better known here.”

 

“I've read about Melian, yeah,” Sharley said. “There’s a book, it’s called  _ The Silmarillion,  _ that’s basically the history of the First Age as told to a human writer by Maglor and Quen. She had the only really safe place for a while.” Laughing a little, she shook her head. “Thranduil gave Lorna Melian’s crown, but didn't tell her what it it was. When somebody pointed it out, her head just about exploded.”

 

Vairë laughed. “I would imagine finding oneself with an enchanted artifact would be...there are few mortals who managed the possession of such items. Hopefully the Elvenking chose wisely.”

 

“She’ll want it, later, after the end of the world. Well, no,” Sharley clarified, “she  _ won’t  _ want it, but that’s why she has to have it. There aren’t many I’d trust not to abuse whatever power they’re given, but someone who doesn’t actually want it...though, what does it do? I didn't realize it was enchanted.”

 

“Oh? Well then that is even more interesting. Part of me is tempted to let you find out, but...there are more important matters. Its wearer cannot be deceived. Melian ruled her people in dark times, when the lies of Morgoth issued everywhere. Her crown and the Girdle she wove kept darkness at bay, for a time.”

 

Sharley’s eyes widened. Okay,  _ that  _ she had not expected...but it kind of explained what she’d seen in her vision.

 

_ “So, it’s like a really gorgeous lie detector?”  _ Layla asked.  _ “Wow. Poor Lorna, though. She’s actually going to have to wear it.”  _

 

“She’d kinda afraid of...breaking it, somehow,” Sharley explained. “Which is dumb, but it’s a beautiful thing that looks really delicate, and usually anything human-made would be very fragile. Even I sometimes have a hard time remembering that the things the Elves make are made to last. I don't...I don't know how this is, but even though I've had eighteen thousand years worth of memory on Earth, I don't know how to...to feel like a Maia. Is this...is me getting fixed gonna be...overwhelming?”

 

“‘Overwhelming’ is something that happens because you are broken, Tirillë,” the Vala said quietly. “You could hardly be more different than you actually...are. You think, feel, and behave as if you are one of the Afterborn. You are not.”

 

“It’s funny,” she said. “I know I'm broken, but I don't….I guess it’s because I don't remember ever being anything else. I’ve started feeling different, physically, but not by a whole lot. I need less sleep, but I still like to get it. I’ve never had human aches or pains. But the Stranger made me think I was human for so long that it’s hard to imagine being anything else. Not...with the way I am right now.”

 

“Well, that is about to be remedied, and it is long overdue. This way. The island is in the lake, but the lake is not deep. Your clothing will dry quickly, once there.” Vairë stepped daintily down from the shore and into the placid waters that mirrored the firmament overhead. The surface of the water rippled with stars that moved, and this too was surpassingly lovely. More birdsong filled the air now, and more luciferous insects that might have been moths fluttered past.

 

The water was cool, but not cold -- rather like stepping into a swimming pool on a warm day. Sharley stared at the flitting insects in unbridled wonder, and questioned why anyone would ever leave this place if not for duty. “Lady Vairë, I just have one question...can I keep the voices? They can be a pain, but they’ve been with me so long, and I’m not sure what I’d do without them. Even Kurt, annoying as he is -- though if it were at all possible to get a mute button on him, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

 

“Tirillë,” she explained gently. “They were never...there. They are a part of you. Aspects of you, and you have somehow created this...independent dialogue with each of them. Whether they stay or go is really up to you, but your belief that you have no control over them...that is the fallacy. The _ are  _ you, and you do on some level decide whether they speak or not. If you want them, use them to keep talking to yourself. If you tire of them...well they never were something else in the first place. They have ever been perception, dear one.”

 

_ “Shit,”  _ Kurt muttered.

 

_ “KURT!”  _ the other three had this chorus down to a science by now.

 

“ _ Kurt  _ is part of me?” Sharley asked, genuinely horrified. “Oh...oh. Okay.” She did not know what to do with that particular piece of information. That Sinsemilla and Layla were part of her was a nice thought, and even Jimmy -- he could be a bit juvenile and obnoxious, sure, but Kurt was something else entirely. His existence did not say anything good about her.

 

“Worry about that later,” Vairë soothed. “Come. The others are waiting. We will do what is needed, and then if I am not mistaken I heard something about a feast…” She led the way onto Estë’s Island, and they immediately disappeared under the dense night of groves of trees. And yet there was still light, for delicate blossoms glowed faintly at their feet, lighting the paths. Finally they arrived at a clearing; Estë herself presided and Irmo stood near. But they were not alone.

 

Sharley’s eyes widened, because she hadn’t expected quite this many Valar in one place. It was a bit...overwhelming. Still, instinct led her to bow her head, without her conscious thought having to prod her.

 

“Welcome, Manartirillë,” Manwë said kindly. “We are aware of what has been lost to you. Including that you cannot recall our names. “I am Manwë. The Lady next to me is Vána. You have met Estë. Her husband Irmo stands next to her. Then Nienna. Lastly, husband to your own Lady, Námo.” Manwë regarded her carefully. “We are grieved, by what you endured, and it is our obligation to right the wrongs done to you. Is there anything you have to say? For you will leave this place fully restored, and the hurts done to you will have no further power over your spirit.”

 

While it was possible there were things she wanted to say, her mind was utterly blanking. What wound up coming out was, “Will it hurt?”

 

Námo closed his eyes at hearing this, and sighed deeply. He bore a heavier burden in this than the others, and his burdens were never shared. “No.” He held out his hand to his brother, and each of them in turn took the hands of their wives. Irmo, Estë, Námo, Vairë formed an unbroken circle around them. In the space between each couple, Manwë and Vána reached in a hand, each to a different shoulder, while the others brought their joined hands to her arms and back. Manwë inclined his head, and they raised their voices in song. The words were in their own language, Valarin, and sounded like no other speech heard elsewhere. Realizing at the last moment that while this would not be painful it  _ would _ be incredibly disconcerting, Vairë sent her maid into a waking sleep, and left it to Irmo to fill her mind with some immeasurably pleasant recollection.

 

_ Whatever was happening to her, it was Marty she saw now -- Marty with her white-blonde hair, in the little patchwork dress that had eventually gone to Allanah. It was a hot summer day, and her little girl was four years old, splashing in the sparkling Skykomish. She’d found a frog that she’d carefully set aside, and they’d drawn pictures in the mud with sticks. Her daughter’s laughter was like music, like the sweetest of bells, her mismatched eyes alight with simple glee.  _

 

_ She shrieked in delight and scrambled up the bank as Sharley tried to grab her, fingers bent on tickling, the scent of the sun-warmed grass mingling with that of cotton and soft child-hair. _

 

_ But the memory shifted, ghosting away from the familiar and into something she only now recognized. Music, music such as she’d never heard in all her life, surrounding her, passing through her. As yet she had no name; she was a being of thought, but with no memory, for she was newly created. The world the music created unfolded before her -- the world that had yet to be. _

 

_ She watched stars fill the heavens, watched Varda and her meteors, and Yavanna, with the Lamps. Ulmo with the waters. It was as though the whole universe was pouring into her head, and yet it wasn’t overwhelming.  _

 

_ And it was oddly comforting to remember that even the Valar didn't know precisely why she was...what she was, why she could see as most of the other handmaids couldn’t. Maybe, someday, Eru would say something, but Sharley wouldn’t at all mind even if he didn't. _

 

_ Sharlely. Tirillë. For the first time, she truly felt like both. Until now, ‘Tirillë’ had been an abstract concept, a name that didn't belong to her, but she truly  _ remembered  _ Tirillë now, remembered _ being _ her. Why had she been afraid she would lose being Sharley, in remembering Tirillë? They were one and the same, because there was much about Tirillë that Sharley would never be. Tirillë had been young and silly, innocent and naive; Sharley was none of those things.  _ Sharley  _ was far older, and had seen so, so much more -- the evils of the world as well as the good. But Tirillë had in her an optimism that they hadn’t felt since leaving Aman, and in Tirillë there was none of the vague, constant sorrow that had so defined Sharley.  She was a creature of joy, and that joy Sharley did recognize, for she’d shared it all too briefly with Marty. Tirillë was so free with her laughter, with her affection, her eyes and her mind unclouded by torment and despair. She loved without fear or reserve, and one of the things her old self and her new one had in common was the delight they could take in small, simple things. _

 

_ And oh, what was this feeling? This strange, wonderful,  _ disturbing  _ feeling? It was like nothing she remembered, and yet she knew that she ought to. Some part of her half-recognized the ghost of it, but she had no context. There was something nearly euphoric in it, heady and dizzying and so beautiful it brought tears to her eyes. But what  _ was  _ it? _

 

“You’re whole, Sharley,”  _ Sinsemilla said gently.  _ “Sharley and Tirillë. Sharlerillë. You need a third name. This is what it’s like to not be broken.”

 

“Eru be praised,” Vairë smiled. “Now did I see grapes and cucumber sandwiches?” she asked Estë hopefully, whereupon Námo shook his head and laughed

 

*****

 

{June 16, 2029}

 

Thanadir finished his tea and conversation with his housemates. “I need to check the children, and say good night,” he said by way of excusing himself. Once upstairs in the new wing where Eleniel and Ithiliel now stayed, he could not help but notice that Ailill and Calanon’s door stood ajar. Conversation floated outward...

 

“You are worried about this too much, nîth vain. You will do fine. Besides, this is only temporary,” Calanon tried to assert.

 

“You do not understand,” the man said, exasperated. “This is important, Cal. A great honor, even if I do know that I am being asked only to fill a chair. I want to help, do my best. I worry the others will not like me or take me seriously. I am...nervous. Is that really so hard to comprehend?” Anxiety poured out in waves from the poor, agitated firion.

 

“No, it is not,” Calanon sighed. “I am sorry, Ailill. What about if we…”

 

The seneschal smiled and made his way further to his daughters’ room on the other corner. This coming week would be the first council meeting with Ailill officially replacing Earlene. They were not happy, about the need to replace Earlene. But what would happen...would happen.

  
  
  



	135. One Hundred and Thirty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 17, 2030 - July 3, 2030 please note, time has moved forward about one year!
> 
>  
> 
> **thank you _so much_ to our reader Miki who pointed out that we published the wrong chapter. This is the correct chapter; hopefully a new email will be sent out and we didn't make too big of a hash of it. Sorry!**

 

Sharley couldn’t really move. She wasn’t wholly aware that she was even breathing. Before, she’d thought that the ghost-images of the past she saw were overwhelming, but this was a whole other level. Not until now did she realize how drastically the Stranger must have hobbled her senses, or that that hobbling had lingered even after the Stranger was no more, but quite suddenly it was like she could see and hear and smell  _ everything _ . Everything, all at once, and it was beautiful and disorienting, and so dizzying she actually sat on the grass, staring at the stars. They were even brighter now, with her new (old?) eyes, a mass of diamonds against black velvet. 

 

Words vied within her, all seeking to be expressed until they canceled one another out; what emerged, eventually, was, “ _ Whoa. _ ”

 

_ “Aaaand she’s gone,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

“You may need a little while to adjust,” Estë said kindly, offering her a plate of food. “You have been very limited, on account of what went wrong.”

 

“This is how we always see?” Sharley asked, a little faintly. She took the plate on auto-pilot, and said, “Thank you” just as automatically.

 

_ “It was the Stranger, wasn’t it?”  _ Jimmy growled.  _ “We hated that thing, but it was also the only thing that kept Sharley-Tirillë together after...after.” _

 

“I thought the way I saw the past was overwhelming,” she said, ignoring him. “I got headaches every time I met an Elf. This is...so much more.”

 

“Yes. The Eldar are no different, in this regard.” Estë chose to ignore the voice.

 

Sharley dragged her gaze from the stars, so she could look at the Vala. “I had no idea how sad I was,” she said. “Not until it was gone. I thought...even when I was happy, there was sorrow under it. Is this what we’re supposed to feel like?”

 

“Yes,” Nienna said, worriedly seeing that it might be time to take over the discussion. Estë was very kind but could become a little exasperated and...this one was going to need an extra measure of sympathy. Estë was often better suited to things like...keeping people asleep. “This is normal. It might be easier to think of it this way: If you thought or believed or felt it before, sadly, probably something was...distorted, or wrong.” 

 

“I hope that doesn’t mean I was loving people wrong,” Sharley said, and paused.

 

_ “Kurt, don't EVEN _ ,” Sinsemilla warned.

 

_ “Wasn’t gonna.” _

 

_ “Yeah, right.” _

 

Sharley facepalmed. “So, Lady Vairë says I can control these guys if I want to, but I'm not sure how. I like them. I’d be lonely without them, but that doesn’t mean I want them -- and by ‘them’ I mean ‘Kurt’ -- embarrassing me in front of other people.”

 

“Will them to silence,” Nienna commanded. “All of them, or some of them. But you must realize...at home, Thranduil heard you. Maglor or Quen or even Thanadir could listen if they chose. Henceforth if Thranduil hears you, that will be at your choosing. You have to wish to allow others in, Tirillë. In Aman, all Eldar are capable of speaking only with thought. Yet it is considered impolite to...listen in, uninvited. Ainur are a little different; we all tend to be a little more open with each other. It is our way. But we can still keep each other out, if we choose. Communicating by thought is a gift, not a requirement.”

 

Will them to silence… “Kurt?” Sharley said. “Mute.”

 

Silence. Wonder of wonders,  _ silence. _

 

She grinned, delighted, and then winced. “I know,” she said. “I felt sorry for Thranduil, being stuck listening to these guys all the time, but he said he enjoyed it. That I was like a one-person party. Maglor and I...my telepathy was always a little wonky, but he and I would practice. I could read him fairly well, if I tried, but I think I was too broken to do more than that.” 

 

“Marriage mates are...different,” Nienna pointed out. “Anyone married to an elf, even one of the Afterborn, will have a thought-speaking connection. It is one of the gifts of being wed. Had you not been damaged, there would have been no impediment to communicating with your husband in this manner.”

 

She glanced up at the stars again, fascinated. “Is there any way I can keep you from hearing the voices, without blocking them from me, too? Because I know most people aren’t gonna find them...amusing.”

 

_ “Before you do that, Sharley, because I know you won’t ask...Lady Nienna, there’s something in Sharley’s past that’s kinda been poisoning her...one particular personal relationship,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “She’s tried to heal from it as best she can, but she couldn’t do that perfectly while she was still so broken.” _

 

“That is dissolved. There is a...she will always know that certain deeds occurred. But they no longer hold any power over her mind or her emotions. They can no longer affect her. We do not believe in...erasing memories. We are Ainur. Only Eru could hold such power over us. And we are given the gift of healing. That is what the Lady Estë does, that is the facet of our Father that she embodies. She has fully healed that which festered and was unsound. These things can grieve you no more.”

 

Finally, Sharley actually ate something, and discovered that even her  _ taste buds  _ were more sensitive. This simple cucumber sandwich was the best thing she’d ever eaten. “Part of me is almost afraid I’ll wake up,” she admitted, “but this is all too real to be a dream. I think...I think it’s gonna take me awhile to figure out who I am now.” The question was, how long would Maglor’s trial be? And what was she supposed to do if...if he lost, or...whatever?

 

_ Don't think about it _ , she ordered herself. Of course that was impossible now that she’d thought of it, but finally, something twigged -- something Vairë had said, what felt like ages ago. It was difficult to measure time, in Aman. If anyone could see how this was going to play out beforehand, it was her, and…

 

_ Marty. Marty, in Ireland.  _ Sharley had seen with her own eyes that Marty would someday be reborn, and it wasn’t like she was going to have children with anyone else. It was Maglor or it was no one, and she was pretty sure even Maiar couldn’t pull off a Virgin Mary and just...produce a child with no father. “There’s one thing I know already,” she added, running her hand over the grass. It was softer the velvet beneath her fingers. “I didn't think anyone could be this blessed. I never woulda imagined I’d be given so much, so...thank you. All of you.”

 

“You are welcome,” Nienna said. “But it is only what never should have been lost in the first place.”

 

From a short distance away, Manwë paused in his eating. He was considering many things.

 

*****

 

Sharley hadn’t thought this island could get any more beautiful, but when Irmo led her through the Gardens, she realized how wrong she’d been. Within it, scaling low walls and fountains, was some plant like ivy -- the leaves were dark green, but every single, hair-fine vein glittered with a paler luminescence. Starry white flowers bordered the paths, shining faintly with their own radiance, their scent sweet and unidentifiable. Each blade of grass was limned with silver in the moonlight, rustling slightly with the passage of an errant breeze. 

 

She began to understand what Vairë mean when she said the Gardens were huge; if she hadn’t been following Irmo, she could have gotten lost very easily, and yet she might not have minded. This was the kind of place a person could linger in forever, if they weren’t careful.

 

They passed many Elves, most of whom seemed lost in their own pursuits. Those who noticed them bowed as they passed, and it made her think. Back home, she’d thought the idea of bowing rather silly, mostly because she couldn’t imagine anyone she’d want to bow to, but here, with the Valar, it was just...natural. It was a sign of respect that one didn't have to consciously think about giving, so there was nothing awkward in it.

 

There were no children, though -- not until they reached a grove of huge willows. And they were  _ huge  _ willows, far larger than anything she’d ever seen on Earth; there, they probably couldn’t get this big. Each weeping branch glowed slightly, so slightly that she couldn’t tell if it was the moonlight or something innate, while the moths and what looked like fireflies floated lazily through the air.

 

When they passed through the trailing boughs, her breath caught in her throat. Each tree held a truly impressive treehouse, connected by high walkways. One of them looked to be half the size of Eldamar, its roof thatched with living moss. The windows held no glass, so far as she could see, but it wasn’t as though they needed it in this place, and golden light spilled through them.

 

The sound of children singing came from the branches overhead, and Irmo smiled. “Many children rest here,” he explained. “They live in loose families, with Maiar to care for them. It is near to their time of rest, but you may go be with your daughter. There is room for all. Come, her tree is this way.”

 

It was not entirely simple to see in the dimmer light, but some trees had spiral walkways that circled upward, formed from an abundant overgrowth of vining plants that had long since had frail tendrils solidify into woody growth. An elephant could walk this path, so strong were the living supports. More arboreal paths could now be seen in the form of  rope bridges, that went off into the distance toward other tree trunks, but Irmo paid these no mind. They ascended to the house overhead, lit by the warm glow of many lamps. A series of bed boxes lined all the walls of this basically circular dwelling, leaving the remaining floor space open. Plush carpets and furs made the floor soft and comfortable, and immense volumes of pillows in cheerful fabrics were strewn absolutely everywhere. A Maia in male form was telling the children a story, and roughly two dozen little ones were paying rapt attention to the tale. Which was something about a rabbit family, but that was beside the point.

 

Sharley spotted Marty easily, even in the lower light, and froze. “I’d hoped, all this time, that she was someplace like this,” she said softly. “That while she slept, she dreamed of something beautiful. This is more than I ever coulda imagined for her...and while I miss her so much it hurts sometimes, she’s safe here. She won’t...she won’t see everything end, on Earth.”

 

“I think you should go sit with her,” Irmo encouraged. “Do not be surprised if she is very...phlegmatic, about seeing you. The children have the restfulness of these gardens in their very spirits; nothing can agitate or cause them to feel difficult emotions here. The storyteller is Olórë, he will show you where you also can sleep once the little ones to go bed. You may stay as long as you feel you need to, Tirillë. But if I may, it would be...to your benefit, to return to Vairë’s Halls. Only there will you regain the fullest sense of yourself.”

 

“As much as I'd love to stay for ages, I know I shouldn’t,” she said. “I’ll treasure what time I do spend here. Thank you, for giving me this. I think I could face anything, once I’ve held her again.”

 

_ “Go on,”  _ Sinsemilla urged, and go she did, picking her way around the edges of the room so as not to disturb the storyteller. Marty sat at the outer edge, hugging a stuffed kitty that looked remarkably like the toy she’d had on Earth -- Bug had been its name. Sharley still had Bug, but this one was soft and new, not threadbare like the poor, well-loved animal at home.

 

“Hi there, little bug,” Sharley said softly, sitting beside her. “I missed you.”

 

Marty looked at her, those big, mismatched eyes still so full of innocence. “Hi Mama. Look, it’s Other Bug.” She held the stuffed animal out, but Sharley pulled both it and girl into her arms. Marty cuddled close, just as she always had in life, and it was the most wonderful, beautiful, exquisitely painful thing Sharley had ever known. Maybe now, finally, she could let go of her lingering, lurking grief -- now that she had seen with her own eyes the place her daughter lived, how well she was looked after.

 

Her fingers carded gently through Marty’s soft child-hair, still smelling of sunshine. Marty had been her reason for living, and losing her had nearly been Sharley’s destruction -- yet she’d carried on, even without knowing the ultimate fate of her little sunshine girl.

 

It wasn’t long at all before Marty’s breathing started to slow, evening out as she fell asleep. How many times had Sharley held her like this? How often had this sweet little girl fallen asleep in her mother’s arms? More times than Sharley could count. She’d never, ever thought she’d be able to do this again, and her eyes burned with tears of happiness. She felt as though the whole universe had been handed to her on a platter, all the good things she’d ever imagined all at once.

 

From across the room Irmo spoke one last time.  _ I think you understand now, nothing stops you traveling here when you wish; it is a privilege of being of our race. Though as you can see it is a...bit of a walk. I share your joy, and bid you farewell for now. Give Marty a kiss for me.  _ The Vala smiled and left to tend to his many other obligations.

 

_ Thank you,  _ Sharley said, rocking her daughter very slightly. To be able to -- to commute, as it were, to come see Marty again, was almost more than she could hope for. Yes, it  _ was  _ a bit of a walk, but it was worth it. And knowing Marty was safe, was happy, was shielded from the rest of the universe and all of its ugliness, would make being apart from her easier. And that safety would be even more of a thing to treasure, in not very long at all.

 

The story was concluded, and only now did Olórë notice Sharley; he waved happily in greeting, and began helping any of the little ones that needed his assistance toward their beds. One was quite young, an elfling that could not have been even a year and a half old, and this one he took by the hand off toward her own place. She smiled, and walked with her fingers in her mouth.

 

Sharley rose, Marty still sound asleep in her arms, and followed him. “I’m not sure where to put this little one,” she said softly. “Thank you, for giving her this stuffed kitty. She had one just like it, before.”

 

“Marty made that,” Olórë smiled. “And her sleeping space is over here.”

 

“I’m glad she remembered,” Sharley said. “Thanks.” She bore her slumbering daughter toward the little...alcove, was the only word she could think to assign it. There were three walls, and a patchwork curtain that looked very like Marty’s old dress -- they were even cotton. Behind it was the bed, but also shelves, shelves that looked like they’d been made of soaked and bent twigs rather than carved. They held an assortment of little items: marbles, jacks, a slingshot, a handful of pretty, polished stones. 

 

The quilt was patchwork too, of course, and she set Marty down onto it before taking off her slippers. The kid always had slept like the dead once she was out for the night, and didn't stir when Sharley picked her up again and wrapped the quilt around both of them. She was far too tall to lie down, but she could sit on the bed and lean against the wall, Marty safe and sound in her arms. Knowing that she could come back in the future -- that this didn't need to be her one and only chance to see her daughter -- made her almost deliriously happy. Things were going to be okay.

 

*****

 

Elrond did not hesitate to embrace his foster father, ignoring the shackles. He lacked Maglor’s considerable height, and simply did the same as when he was quite small; he ducked under one of his arms in order to hug his waist tightly. “I missed you, Ada,” he whispered.

 

Tears streamed down Maglor’s beautiful face. “I am sorry that you have to see me like this,” he said. “I am ashamed.”

 

“I am not,” Elrond said fiercely, for he was no longer a weak elfling. “I am proud of you. More proud than I have ever been. I have prayed for this for thousands of years, and now my prayer is answered.”

 

To this, Maglor had no answer, so he searched for something else to say. “I heard of your deeds, for Pengolodh was the one who found me and has cared for me all these long years. It is I who am proud of you. Learning of your valiant and generous heart was one of the greatest happinesses of my life.”

 

“I was sorry, to hear of Maedhros,” Elrond said, lowering his eyes and searching for Maglor’s hand. He was allowed to stretch out the palm, and see the remains of the painful scar that lingered. “I was sorry for all of it.”

 

A grim nod greeted his words. Maglor paused, struggling, but finally he managed to speak. “Please forgive me. Forgive me for denying you someone of worth, to raise you in the years before you were fully grown. Forgive me for the ruination I helped bring upon your family. For the many ways in which I wronged you. There have been more moments of regret than there are stars I can see in the heavens.”

 

Elrond stared at him, flummoxed. “Of  _ course  _ I forgive you. I would have  _ died _ , without you. But...how is it you can ask this of me, and refuse to ask it of our Lords and Ladies? Why is there a mortal woman in the next room, torn from her family in order to be here to speak in your stead? What is wrong?”

 

Maglor hung his head in shame, only now releasing Elrond from his confinement within his shackled arms. “My sins against our powers are so much greater. I had so many more warnings and chances to do what is right. How can I actually stand before them when I chose the hateful Oath over every admonition they gave me?” He shook his head in despair. “If there is anything I failed to do wrong, aside from the love I gave to you and Elros, I would like to know what it was.”

 

Elrond stood back, and took the measure of him. “For a moment, put all that aside. Everything you just said. If you had to choose between being forgiven and being destroyed, would you want to be forgiven? Or would you prefer your time under the sun and stars to be extinguished?”

 

“I want to be forgiven,” the gray eyes answered in full honesty. “More than anything. But I have no hope of it.”

 

“You are wrong,” Elrond said obstinately.

 

Earlene, now unable to not hear their conversation, had dried her eyes and emerged from her room. Her arms were crossed and she was glowering at him with all the intensity of one of Ailill’s hawks pondering how to dismember its prey. “Keep talking,” she said, her voice laden with warning.

 

Maglor saw her, and now looked almost terrified. “I am sorry. I did not mean…”

 

“ _ YES YOU DID _ ,” Earlene said, her voice dripping with wrath. “You  _ did _ mean it. You mean it every time you stand there and say that you have no hope when absolutely everyone informs you that you  _ do _ . And apparently you will not be content to set aside your stubborn pride until you guarantee your own destruction. You have a wife that loves you. A house full of children that worship you. A friend that has given the last fifteen thousand odd years of his life to guard and guide and care for you when he could have been sipping wine in Valinor, and yet  _ you will not stop _ until you bring every one of their hearts to sorrow. And I am not mentioning the heartbreak you will give to Thranduil and I and...Elrond here, and everyone else that has come to love you. I could about kill you myself right now, Maglor. Why can you not just SAY IT? It is  _ three words _ , for Eru’s sake.”

 

Elrond blanched. He had heard the wrath of Erestor but this was equal to or greater than that.

 

“Say what?” Maglor said, genuinely baffled.

 

“ _ Valar, forgive me _ ,” Earlene hissed. “Say it, Maglor. Kneel and  _ SAY IT _ .”

 

A tiny battle of wills began that was over before it could truly get underway. The tall ellon sank to his knees and touched his hands to the floor. “Valar forgive me!” he cried out in a loud voice, before his body was wracked with sorrow. 

 

Earlene, feeling suddenly drained and dizzy, needed to sit before she fell. “Please help him,” she whispered to Elrond, cradling her head in her hands. 

 

The peredhel knelt and gathered Maglor in his arms, comforting and rocking him until he quieted.

 

Not far away, Manwë heard, and closed his eyes tightly. A half-minute after, his shoulders slumped. He sat at his desk, writing a message before Eönwë was summoned. “Send this to Námo,” he instructed. “Maedhros is to be released.”

 

*****

 

{June 17, 2030}

 

Thranduil woke as he often did, in Thanadir’s arms. With a silent prayer of thanks for this, he kissed the sleeping ellon’s forehead carefully. While he probably should not, he was still King and indulged himself by ensuring that his seneschal would sleep on a little later undisturbed. He no longer could afford to be so hands-off, and saunter out to eat the morning meal when it suited him...there was simply too much to do and his children needed as much attention as possible. Earlene had been gone well over a year now, leaving an empty space no one entirely knew how to manage. They had filled that void as best they could, each in their own way. They knew Earlene was well. They knew there must be a reason she was still absent, though no one could fathom what it might be. 

 

With a smile and a comforting hand to Ortherion’s shoulder, he greeted the faithful ellon, and they quickly agreed on a simpler meal of toasted bread with jam and butter, sliced breakfast meat, fresh fruit and scrambled eggs. Ailill came tracking down the fire pole, with Calanon in close pursuit; they were having one of their morning games. All these years later, they were still openly affectionate, still very much in love and their antics never failed to bring a smile. Clattering into the kitchen, laughing, they pulled up short and asked how they could help. Ortherion grinned and put them in charge of cracking the mountain of egg flats awaiting attention.

 

The King now turned his steps upstairs; he or Thanadir liked to be the ones to wake their triplets, who turned three last month. It was perhaps one of Thranduil’s greatest sorrows that Earlene was missing these years of the last children she would bear, though of course he never spoke that aloud. Not even to Thanadir. They both tried to focus on the positive. Yes, there were moments when each broke down completely to the other, and when they needed to speak of their inner feelings they did. None of this had been easy, and they imagined that wherever Earlene was in the Undying Lands, she was not having fun either. Both never wavered in the belief that they were loved by their wife. 

 

When the children were awake and hugged and kissed and dressing themselves, he felt it permissible to return downstairs; Lothiriel would be along in moments to help them with the rest of their preparations for the day. His last stop was to wake Thanadir. Months ago he had learned, three minutes’ spent embracing and giving affection to his partner (months ago they had given up pretending it was otherwise, in private) would leave the old elf in a far better frame of mind for the rest of the day. So unless an emergency occurred, that was what he did. And just as Thanadir finished dressing, the triangle rang. “Another day, meldir.”

 

The seneschal put on a brave smile, as they shared a last kiss. “Another day.”

 

**

 

Angie had pondered the best way to go about this the entire time she’d been back in Skykomish. This was yet another situation entirely outside of her experience, so she’d done a great deal of reading about substance abuse passed down through families, and brushed up on her knowledge of addictive personalities. Lorna had told her a very great deal about the Donovan siblings’ childhoods, enough so that it was very easy to understand  _ why  _ they’d turn to drugs and alcohol, but it was more than just social conditioning. Their father had been an alcoholic; there was very likely a genetic component there, too. The fact that the Irish in general seemed to have a genetic predisposition to the disease probably didn't help.

 

In the end, she’d decided the best, most practical way to do this with any hope of actual success was to just get the entire group of afflicted members in one place, and confront them at the same time. They couldn’t try to deny it when looking at all the others with the same problem -- well, they could, but it wouldn’t work. And maybe it would make them feel less alone, and hopefully a little less defensive. 

 

Meanwhile, she and Alan were both looking for permanent replacements for their jobs at the Sultan clinic. She couldn’t keep leaving her position for months at a time, and she really wanted his help. He wasn’t a psychiatrist, but he did have basic psychiatric training -- and unlike Ratiri, he wasn’t too close to see all the issues.

 

They agreed to meet at night, after the younger children had already been put to bed. Dinner was over, the kitchen cleaned up, and everybody had eaten some highly delicious pie for dessert. If nothing else, the sugar buzz might make this slightly less painful. Slightly. She’d asked Thranduil to come with them as well, because Lorna was not the only Donovan who was, as she might put it, shite at using her words. A telepath could come in very handy.

 

Thranduil was glad this was happening, and yet he had a significant degree of apprehension because while Lorna might have been permanently altered by Estë’s gift, Pat and Saoirse and Lorna the Younger most certainly had not been. Well, what would happen, would happen. This was in some ways long overdue, and better now then when the plague came.

 

“I’ve called you all together because it’s time to address a problem,” Angie said. “Or rather, an affliction. Every member of the Donovan clan currently present has a problem with coping with negative emotions and situations by substance abuse.”

 

Predictably, there was chorus of protests, but Angie had watched Thranduil over the years. She’d learned that sometimes you could make people shut up simply by standing and silently staring.

 

“Lorna,” she said, when the hubbub died down a little, “and Pat, you’ve both abused drugs and alcohol since you were children. Yes, neither of you has done it to anywhere near the extent as you did in your teens and twenties, but I know that both of you cope by either drinking alcohol, or making tea with tincture of marijuana. Lorna the Younger, you drink to excess when upset. Chandra  _ tried  _ to develop the same habit, but fortunately Thranduil managed to help her before it could develop. None of you can be allowed to sit and think this is isolated only to you. It’s not just unhealthy, it’s dangerous.”

 

“There is more,” Thranduil said quietly, determined not to lose this chance. “I did not intervene because she is of legal age in this land as an adult. When Earlene and Sharley departed, Saoirse was distressed. Lorna began supplying her with the tincture. She has used it daily since the first time it was given to her.”

 

Angie’s eyes didn't quite widen, but it was only her training that stopped her. Pat, however, facepalmed. Actually, literally facepalmed.

 

“Oi, Fun Size...really?” he groaned.

 

“What else was I supposed to do?” Lorna asked. “She’s too young for Xanax, and Thranduil can’t keep giving her the telepathic kind. At least the tincture’s not ruining her liver.”

 

“Yeah, but…” Pat started.

 

“Says the man who I know for a fact started smoking it when he was twelve,” Lorna said. “Xanax is habit-forming. Weed’s not, except maybe psychologically.”

 

“So what’re  _ you  _ doing about...all’v it?” he demanded.

 

She sighed. “I got poked in the brain by a Vala -- I don't  _ need _ to do anything about it anymore, or I’d be right there with Saoirse.”

 

“And I don't drink that bloody much,” Lorna the Younger interjected. “I’m not going through a fifth every night. I just have one or two drinks.”

 

“Or three,” her mother muttered.

 

“A person doesn’t have to drink to excess to be abusing alcohol,” Angie said. “Dependency doesn’t hinge on quantity. I want you all to tell me: why do you feel like you need these substances to cope?”

 

“Because what else is there?” Lorna the Younger demanded. “Pills? Breathing exercises?” and yes, she shot a glare at Ratiri. That poor man was just never going to live that down. 

 

“I hate to admit this, but nothing else makes it feel better,” Pat said. “I’ve been on antidepressants. They don't work. You’ve got to be able to just...shut your brain off, before it can get going. Otherwise you’ll go spare.”

 

Lorna rubbed her forehead. “This entire bloody family doesn’t have middle gears,” she said. “Either we’re grand or we’re freaking out, but I’m with Pat: what else is there? This got dealt with  _ for  _ me. It’s not like I can give any advice, except for maybe ‘hope a nice Vala is hanging around and is willing to poke you with a happy stick’.”

 

Pat arched an eyebrow. “Dammit, Lorna. That’s what she said.”

 

“The entire family has never seen the need to learn anything different, I would argue,” Thranduil opined. “There are many reasons why this took so long to discuss. I think you would agree, Lorna?”

 

“I would,” she said. “When it’s all you know, and nothing else has ever worked...avoiding reality’s tempting. When you get handed something you don't know what to do with, it can seem like the only thing you can do with it is drop it and run. Christ knows I’ve done it my whole life. But Thranduil, it’s not just ‘never seen the need to learn’, it’s being unable to imagine anything else that would work. It’s like Pat says -- there’s only so many things that’ll shut a person’s brain off and make it all just...stop.”

 

Angie glanced at Thranduil, then back to Lorna. “You’ve looked into things?”

 

“I have,” Lorna said. “We have, Pat and I both. So far it’s mostly been yoga and  _ breathing exercises _ .” Yes, she glared at Ratiri, too. Angie wondered just what the poor man had done, to make everyone who spoke the words say them with such distaste. And even with all her training, it was so, so hard not to laugh at Lorna’s expression.

 

“I’d like to talk to all of you individually,” she said. “Think of it as...inpatient therapy. There isn’t going to be any ‘one size fits all’ solution to this problem, but for now, I’m giving you homework: I want you to think,  _ really  _ think about what would happen if you didn't turn to these substances, and what exactly you’re trying to prevent by taking them. Write it all down -- you don't have to show it to anyone, but sometimes getting your thoughts out on paper can clarify them.” Beyond that, Thranduil knew them all far better than she did; he could best advise on anything more personal.

 

“What about Saoirse? She is not here,” Thranduil observed. In some ways he was more worried about her, because she wasn’t travelling with a full set of gears in the first place, if he could use a mechanical analogy.

 

“I want Pat, Lorna, and I to talk to her,” Angie said. “If you would come with us, I would appreciate it.” Honestly, a smaller group might work better for Saoirse than this big meeting. Something this size could have overwhelmed her.

 

Lorna winced a little.  _ That  _ wasn’t going to be fun, considering she was basically her niece’s dealer; she was going to look like a rank bloody hypocrite. “Angie, if we take that away, what can we give her? Saoirse’s...not quite like the rest’v us, and I’m afraid if we take away this means for her to cope, she’ll turn to something worse when we’re not looking.”

 

“I don't want you to take it away,” Angie said. “It’s not harming her, and you’re right: without that outlet, she might well turn to something worse. What I want to talk to her about is your family history of dependency, and that this can’t be a permanent solution. Right now, things are too stressful for her to endure without aid, but they won’t be forever.”

 

Well, that was a relief. Lorna would have felt like a right gobshite if she’d had to go to her niece and say, ‘Here, this thing I gave you? I have to take it away now’.

 

“It will be okay, Lorna,” Thranduil offered. “And in the end we will all be stronger for this. In fact I think we should pay more than the usual attention to how we are helped by this process. I do not believe you are the only family among those who will join us in the not so distant future with this difficulty.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure’v that,” she said. “I don't know why, but there’s a drunk in every family, and often more than one.”

 

“From what I’ve been reading, it’s partially genetic,” Angie said. “Like the Native Americans, the Irish are predisposed toward alcoholism to a degree not found in other populations. Why that is, I haven’t discovered, but I’ll keep looking.”

 

She looked at this group, and hoped she could do this. She was in so far over her head, and had been for ages now, but unless they could find another psychiatrist, she was all they had. And much of this was beyond the scope of her experience. All the reading in the world couldn’t arm her for everything.  _ Don't let me fuck this up _ , she said, to anyone who might be listening. Angie knew how much harm a psychiatrist could do if they miscalculated a treatment, and she’d never tried treating anyone this damaged besides Sharley, let alone a whole family.  _ I'm just a small-town shrink. Please don't let me make this worse instead of better. _

 

*****

 

The next day was the sweetest thing Sharley had ever known.

 

Marty was as she’d always been -- a sweet ray of sunshine, giggling when Sharley chased her through the gardens. Sooner or later she’d get caught, and tickled, shrieking with laughter.

 

There was a creek in the garden, and she led Sharley to it, where they caught tadpoles in the sparkling water. The sunlight made her white-blonde hair glow -- though Sharley would swear there was a hint of pale silver to it now.

 

“Mama, remember when I found the frog?” Marty asked, as she inspected the grassy bank. “The one in Skykomish?”

 

“I do,” Sharley said, splashing her bare feet a little in the creek. It was cool, but not cold, like the lake around the island. “I made sure he always had something to eat after...after.”

 

“There’s one here, too.” Though the girl had rolled up her trouser legs, they were still damp, her feet muddy, and the sight was too adorable for words. “See?”

 

Sharley moved behind her, and saw that there was indeed a frog -- a big, fat one, sitting contentedly in what looked like a house woven out of grass. It obligingly croaked for them. “Does he have a name?”

 

“We just call him Froggy. It’s easier that way.”

 

She looked down at the crown of Marty’s head. As much as she missed her daughter, and as much as she wished she could take the girl with her, she realized that just now, this was the best place Marty could be. She was happy, and loved, and safe. No fear or pain could touch her here; she was protected from the perils and evils of Earth. Yes, Sharley missed her, but when it came to her little girl’s well-being, she could do no better anywhere else.

 

Marty looked up at her, big, mismatched eyes filled with innocence. “Mama, how long can you stay?”

 

“I have to leave tomorrow, little bug,” Sharley said, picking her up, “but I’ll come back. Now that I know where you are, I can come visit.” 

 

“Good. It’s fun here, but it’s more fun with you.” There was no wistfulness in her tone, but that was a good thing. Sharley would rather Marty  _ not  _ miss her when she was gone.

 

“It’s more fun for me, too,” she said, carrying her daughter up the bank. “Let’s get a snack.” Her heart swelled with love for this tiny girl, her sunshine child, pure and sweet as a summer morning. She wished, so much, that she could stay longer -- but she really did need to get back to Vairë, and re-learn how to be a Maia. The shift in her senses alone was enormous, and she was certain there was far more to it than that. This day was her respite, and she would cherish it while it lasted.

 

*****

 

{July 3, 2030}

 

A rather urgent knocking woke Thanadir, followed by Thranduil’s groggy realization that it was Allanah, and that she was distressed. Both ellyn disentangled themselves somewhat comically from each other as Thranduil raced to put on sleeping pants and a robe while Thanadir grabbed for a tunic. In all their years, never had Allanah sought them out like this and they were worried...though as Thranduil began to hear her thoughts in greater order, he blinked.  _ Oh dear. _

 

_ Meldir, we must be very kind to her. Allanah has begun her menstruation and is unsure what to do. _

 

_ And I am supposed to know?  _ The seneschal answered with a hint of panic.

 

_ Well, as we have both seen a great deal more of this function with our wife than this child ever has, yes, you ARE supposed to know. Now find your usual unflappability and open the door, for Eru’s sake. _

 

Grumbling something about asexuality and bodily functions, Thanadir turned the lock while Thranduil rolled his eyes. Someone just might get a spanking later, even if he did mean the fun kind.

 

Allanah marched into the room. “Okay. Nana’s not here. There is blood all over my underclothes. We talked about this many times but Nana didn’t mention how much this  hurts. And while we  _ talked _ about the products women can use I don’t HAVE any of those. What do I do? This is a mess. Do I seriously have to deal with this every month? They couldn’t come up with something better??” Her hands were on her hips, and in that moment a frightening vision of the extended human Sullivan family at some holiday gathering came over Thranduil. In his mind they all were arguing at once, with all the women present looking exactly like this….he found himself shuddering.  Valar help anyone that ran afoul of the women of Earlene’s line…

 

Thanadir appeared to be bereft of speech in the face of this onslaught, and looked helplessly at Thranduil, though he did have the sense to give Allanah a hug. It also kept her from seeing his face and the hopeless confusion written all over it. 

 

Thranduil determined he would have his revenge later. In the meantime, he smiled and talked in a soothing manner. “Lorna has tampons, and I would be happy to get you some. There is also the cordial we use. And Earlene has mentioned other sanitary products, but I am afraid they were included along with phrases that were not exactly rousing endorsements. And come here to me, I can erase your discomfort while we discuss this.”

 

Allanah marched over to him, surprised at the level of her...well, she felt like a bitch, is how Aunt Lorna would probably say it. Thranduil chuckled.

 

“That is normal, and not your fault at all. Your body can do many amazing things, but at the price of moods caused by the hormones inside of you.” He gave her a big hug, pulling her onto his lap until she giggled.

 

“That feels better,” she said, relieved. And now she snuggled against him, twirling his hair in her fingers as she liked to do. “Ada...I don’t want those things. I want whatever Nana uses. Nana doesn’t put up with nonsense, and this is nonsense. She said the elves have something.”

 

“Yes, we do,” Thranduil answered. “It is a medicine, that she drinks. But I have to warn you, it makes a mess. It will make all of the lining of your womb come out very quickly, and it will feel strange...but not hurt.”

 

Allanah considered this. “Is it worse than gutting a sheep?”

 

Thanadir looked on in disbelief. “No,” he said, for he actually knew the answer to that question. Eru, she was her mother’s daughter. “It is not worse.”

 

“Lorna also has...they are very thin absorbent pads that you can wear on your underpants. You might like to try those, for afterward?” Thranduil asked.

 

“Yeah...ok. Those sound ok. I’ll do that,” Allanah replied, feeling encouraged about the prospect of this advent of womanhood not totally sucking.

 

Thranduil tried to steel himself. “There is one other matter, that is a little...delicate. Did your Nana ever explain what you have to do, once the medicine is taken?”  _ Valar, please...do not make me explain this to my own daughter….please…. _

 

Allanah laughed. “Um, yeah. Something sexual or something...else. I don’t think either one of us wants to talk about the first one, Ada. Is the ‘something else’ less embarrassing? Please tell me it is; you have me feeling halfway like this might not be the worst day ever…” she batted her beautiful blue eyes at him, and made him laugh. Right now, however far away she was, he loved his wife more than there were words. Her insistence on openness with her children had just saved him worlds of grief… “It is,” he grinned. “I think we will survive the ‘something else’ conversation. It is simple. Where you were feeling your cramps?”

 

Allanah pointed to a region rather far south, at which Thranduil nodded. “Those cramps were your womb contracting. So after you drink the medicine, you need to massage there.” He demonstrated on her arm, pressing in with the heel of his hand in circular motions. “Like that, except...there. You will be happiest if you do this in the shower or the tub. The warm water will help and the mess can go somewhere else. And Ada Thanadir has the medicine here; he will get it for you.”

 

Relieved to finally be able to be useful, Thanadir scuttled off to the lavatory where such things were kept in a cabinet. 

 

Allanah frowned. “What if...I can’t do it right?” Because  _ that _ wouldn’t be awful…

 

“I think you will do fine,” Thranduil said. “But if you have trouble, you can call to me in your mind. Lothiriel can help you, I can help you...whoever you feel happiest about. Do you think that would be good?”

 

“A plan and an alternate plan. I like it,” she smiled. “Thank you, Ada. Do I...do I have to get the things from Aunt Lorna?”

 

“No,” the King smiled. “Ada Thanadir will go to Aunt Lorna and ask for panty liners for you. And he will leave them on your bed, if you are in the bathing room. Won’t you, meldir?” the words were spoken in honeyed tones.

 

“I will?” the old elf asked, mildly panicked, until he saw that there was no escape. “Yes, of course, I will,” came out in a more convincing tone, as he handed Allanah the bottle of cordial. “Drink the whole thing,” he added, trying to be encouraging.

 

Allanah smelled the contents cautiously, then tasted a little of it. It didn’t surprise her that it was wonderful; the elves seemed to have everything be nice and not nasty. She finished the small amount, and looked at them expectantly. “Go on up now, Thranduil encouraged. “You will do fine, and you will feel afterward as if nothing happened. Mostly. If you have any problems I will help you.”

 

“K,’” she smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Love you, Ada.”

 

Thanadir got the same, which caused him to smile, even as he saw Thranduil scowl at him now that Allanah’s back was turned. And once the door was closed again.

 

“I will remind you that you have a daughter of your own issue, meldir. And we will be making sure you are more practiced at understanding her feminine needs well before she needs this same advice.” Thranduil’s arms were crossed. 

 

“But...I don’t  _ have _ those parts,” he pleaded. “Thranduil, please. I barely know what to do with the parts I  _ do _ have.”

 

“And yet you have proven that you are an able learner, once you are interested, Thanadir,” he said, in kinder tones. “I understand your discomfort, for I feel it too. But what matters more is that she is  _ our daughter _ , and this is a...milestone, in the life of a female. All I ask is that you make a greater effort, for Allanah is only the first of our daughters to experience this.”

 

“I will,” Thanadir said morosely. “I am sorry. I did not mean to be a...useless.”

 

“You are not useless. Right after you go obtain her pantyliners, anyway.”

 

“I might need a kiss,” Thanadir pointed out hopefully.

 

They both laughed as their lips met and they hugged each other in shared affection. They were managing. Sometimes just barely, but that was better than the alternative.

 

**

 

Thanadir stewed about this in his room for a full five minutes because...he was not looking forward to this. Finally an idea occurred. In his neat handwriting, he wrote down what was wanted, and procured a small bag. Now he only had to give Lorna a note, telling that this was what was wanted. Happy with his solution, he set off for the west wing of the home and knocked softly at Lorna’s door.

 

Lorna was already up and showered and dressed, though her hair was still wrapped in a towel. Ratiri had gone off to take Chandra on a day trip to Baile, so she had some time to just relax. “Hi, Thanadir,” she said, when she answered the door. “Everything okay?” He rarely ventured into this side of the house.

 

He handed Lorna the note, and the bag. However after doing this, he reconsidered that perhaps this too was awkward, without further explanation. “Allanah has begun menstruating, and asked if she might please have some of ...those. We will be better prepared next time and obtain some for her.” Hopefully, that...explained. Thanadir now tried to smile pleasantly.

 

Poor Thanadir...Lorna didn't laugh, but only because he looked so uncomfortable already. “Sure,” she said. “Come on in, I’ll get some things together. Does she need any tampons?” Maybe, if she stayed matter-of-fact about it, it would make things a little easier on him. Earlene, being Earlene, had probably already educated Allanah on how to use them. “And if she has the kind’v questions you and Thranduil can’t answer, given you’re not women, tell her she can come talk to me.”

 

“Thank you,” Thanadir said sincerely. “Fortunately her mother seems to have talked to her at great length about...this. Allanah wished to use the elven medicine like her mother does. She only wanted these for...the rest of the day. Just in case of...things.” His cheeks were flushing pink, and he knew it. “I am sorry, I am not very good at this, but I am trying. And I will certainly tell her what you said.”

 

Lorna was so surprised that she almost fumbled the box of pads. Wasn’t Allanah a little...young...for that? But then, the girl was fourteen. She’d probably done some solo exploration before now -- but that would have been private. How embarrassing, to have your da’s  _ know  _ you’d had to do...that. “It’s all right,” she said. “I think every da ever’s had a difficult time with it. Poor Pat was so awkward I thought he’d die.” She put a stack of the pads into the bag.

 

“Thank you so much. I will leave these in her room.” He paused. “She was just a little baby yesterday, wasn’t she? I remember the day we all held her for the first time, in New York…” He sighed, shaking his head, and hurried off.

 

Lorna watched him go, a little helpless. Normally she’d stay out of it, but Earlene was gone, and Thranduil and Thanadir were neither human nor female. She wasn’t certain either were going to understand how potentially humiliating using that cordial could be for a young girl. The last thing in the world on most women’s minds at that time of the month was anything sexual; it was a bit hard to be interested when you were bloated and crampy and generally miserable, which was why she’d never tried to use it again herself.

 

Well. Breakfast would be soon, and she’d see about cornering Thranduil, if that was at all possible. Tampons were a viable alternative, if Allanah needed them, and Lorna could tell her things that neither of her fathers were likely to have any idea about (neither of them would have any clue how to know when it was time to change a tampon before things flooded down south, or that it was actually possible to get the damn thing in kind of crooked. And that was apart from not getting it in far enough, and having it chafe and burn and generally feel ouchy.)

 

Allanah came to breakfast seeming to be a great deal happier, and hugged Thranduil on her way to her porridge. That earned a smile from him. Thanadir did not mind that he was overlooked this once; it was only fair. Plans for the day were soon being discussed, and what passed for normal living these days marched on ahead.

 

Lorna was rather relieved to see that Allanah didn't seem to have any lingering awkwardness over...that. But then, Earlene was hardly a prude; no doubt she’d explained the mechanics of rubbing one off as soon as Allanah started hitting puberty. No Irish shame or guilt to taint the idea. And if the girl could manage  _ that  _ at this time of the month...more power to her.

 

Thranduil could not help but overhear Lorna’s thoughts and frowned, but decided it was perhaps better to leave that one alone. His daughter was cared for and that was all that mattered. Sipping the last of his tea, he thought he might see how the crops were progressing at the farm…

 

She couldn’t help but wonder how the hell the girl  _ did  _ manage that, though, however much she didn't want to. Cramps and the crimson waterfall were about the least arousing things on the face of the Earth, because the Communists didn't believe in allowing anyone to feel even half-decent, let alone... _ that _ . Earlene was different -- she was a grown woman with a healthy sex drive. (Then again, so was Lorna, and that was just a big no-go for her.) Chandra would probably be reaching this point sooner rather than later, and that was just not a talk she wanted to have. At all.

 

Thranduil could stand it no longer.  _ For your information, Allanah did not pleasure herself, so nothing of the sort was managed. She understands that that is one of the ways to use the medicine, but was understandably not interested. Which was quite fine by me. _

 

Lorna stared at him.  _ One of the ways? You mean there’s  _ more  _ than one? I thought it was ‘rub one off or it doesn’t work’. _

 

_ Well of course there are other ways! We are elves, it is not...customary, for an unwed elleth to do...that to...herself. Our sexual lives are not the same as those of humans; we do not seek arousal in the absence of progress toward marriage. Surely Ratiri explained this? Because I know Earlene told him. _

 

_ No,  _ she said, her eyes narrowing.  _ No, he didn't. You mean I’ve been dealing with this for TWELVE FUCKING YEARS because my idiot husband forgot to say anything?! That I was stuck on the rag during Yellowstone, on our trips to Washington, and I didn't need to be?! _

 

Thranduil blinked.  _ You...tend to dislike speaking about body functions or intimacy. We all thought that how the cordial worked was distasteful to you, when you never wished to use it again. We were hardly going to force our remedies upon you. ‘Need to be’ is...relative. I thought you preferred the products humans use. Valar. The important thing is that the womb be encouraged to cleanse itself completely. That can also be done by external massage, using the hands over the lower abdomen to encourage the organ to...empty. That is the same thing a sexual climax accomplishes. I am sorry. I truly did not know you were unaware. _

 

_ THAT particular method is beyond gross to me,  _ she said,  _ but I didn't know there was any other way. It’s not your fault you didn't know I didn't know -- why would you? But NO WOMAN IN HER RIGHT BLOODY MIND would prefer those damn products, and Ratiri of all people ought to have known that about me. Earlene told him about the...massage thing? You’re sure she did? _ If her husband was about to be a dead man, she wanted to make entirely certain that he deserved it.

 

_ I have a rather clear memory of the conversation, it was just prior to your wedding. But...surely you realize he did not intentionally not tell you? _

 

_ It doesn’t make him malicious, it just makes him stupid _ , she said, with a mental growl (which was honestly somewhat impressive).  _ I’ve complained about this for twelve. Fucking. Years. Not to any’v you -- the rest’v you wouldn’t have any reason at all to suspect...anything. But Ratiri? He’s dealt with the cramps, the heating pads, the bloating, the eating acetaminophen like candy. And unless he is the dumbest motherfucker on the face of this Earth…  _ It really, really didn't help that the PMS heralding her own imminent fall to the Communists was well underway. The fact that tiny mini-cramps were poking at her back didn't, either.  _ He’s a dead man. _ In one sense, the cramps were fortunate -- knowing what would shortly follow was the only reason she didn't drive to Baile and make him wish he’d never been born.

 

_ Does this mean you want the cordial?  _ Thranduil asked, feeling somewhat adrift.

 

_ YES,  _ she said, eyes narrowed.  _ Yes, it very much does.  _ If nothing else, sitting on a towel would give her further opportunity to plot her husband’s doom.

 

_ Alright. Come with me. I am going to explain this in no-squick, unable to be misunderstood communication, but not here. It is in our room. But...please do not kill anyone. We are running short on capable adults in this house, it would be a shame to lose another.  _ He was taking a risk. She would laugh, or throw something. One never knew.

 

Lorna tidied up her plate.  _ Oh, I'll just make him wish he was dead _ , she said, with a little too much vim. “All right, you lot,” she said to her children, sounding far more cheerful, “go on outside and enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.”

 

“’Kay,” they chorused.

 

She bore her plate into the kitchen, setting it beside the sink.  _ All right. Let’s do this. _

 

**

 

After Lorna departed their bedroom, Thranduil found his mobile. 

 

_ To Ratiri: Strongly recommend returning with level 9 Make Wife Happy presents. Condition Red. *send* _

 

_ To Thranduil: Uh-oh. Why am I trying to avoid spousal murder? _

 

_ To Ratiri: Quote ‘TWELVE FUCKING YEARS” of menstrual cycles in which she did not take our cordial because you never told her there was more than one manner in which to use it. *send* _

 

_ To Thranduil: Oh. Oh god. The fact that I forgot is going to cut no ice with her at all. Oh no. I need level 20 Presents, and I don't even know what those ARE. I forgot and she’s spent a few days every few months hating the world and everything in it.  _

 

_ To Thranduil: she’s going to kill me isn’t she? _

 

_ To Ratiri: Something might have been said to that effect. *send* _

 

_ To Thranduil: I don't care how calm she is now, she might actually mean it. Shit. Should I get her a kitten? You can’t want to kill anyone when you’re holding a kitten. It’s not possible. _

 

Thranduil stared at the device. He wanted another cat in this house like he wanted a hole in the head. They were fine, until the family left them all here. And they they were not fine. Tail was quite enough. Eru, what was he supposed to say?   _ No good deed goes unpunished, is what Earlene would say...maybe I should have stayed out of this.  _ But no, that was not...kind. 

 

_ To Ratiri: It is true that a kitten would restore maximum favor. There is also cake, and alcohol. Beyond that, I cannot help you…*send* _

 

_ To Ratiri: Please find a kitten that is not weird.*send* _

 

_ To Thranduil: I’ll be safe and go with all three. I’ll try to find the least weird kitten available. _

 

His last transmission was the ever-handy thumbs-up icon. And it was time to move along to the Halls, before anything else could go amiss...

 

*****

 

Elrond had lingered in the city for two days before setting out to return home to Tol Eressëa. Earlene was very glad of making his acquaintance, as she reflected on his visit in a moment of solitude while Maglor rested. The Elflord departed five days ago. And while she had not asked for his counsel, he offered kind words and awareness of her own difficulties. Part of her worried that she had let on, for a great effort had been made to keep her sorrows private. But then Earlene gave greater thought to whom she was considering. It would have been the same as trying to hide from Thranduil, probably, and therefore nearly impossible. And yet there was little by way of a solution to her circumstances; Elrond too acknowledged that this was something to be endured. 

 

Her head craned over to look at the far wall; they were nearly to the end of the materials in the bookcase. In fact, four volumes only remained, and then...she did not know what.

 

There was a candle-warmer here which allowed them to have tea and she made some, guessing that Maglor would rise soon. He often rested at this time of the day, so she was careful to keep quiet. To her surprise, a soft knock was heard on the outer door, causing her to frown. It was early, but perhaps this was the elleth who usually brought food and drink for the evening meal? Earlene opened the door to see...it was absolutely not the elleth in question. The visitor was a heavily built, sturdy elleth who seemed vaguely familiar and yet not. With her were three ellyn. All tall, all rather striking, and one astonishingly so. He had ruddy hair that fell to his waist, grey eyes and...Earlene’s own eyes widened as understanding washed over her. “Mae govannen,” she said very softly, gesturing for them to please come inside and sit. Only the tallest ellon returned her greeting, the red-haired one. “Anírolir Maglor?” (you wish to see Maglor?). All of them nodded, after looking first at the tallest one. 

 

_ This is becoming too surreal,  _ Earlene decided. Her temperament was not quite even, these days, though she did the best she could while being fully aware that she was floundering in a place with customs to which she was at best oblivious. With a smile and a nod, she tapped softly at Maglor’s door. “May I please come in?” she asked through the slight opening.

 

“Yes,” she heard from a weary voice.

 

Entering and closing the door behind her, she sat at the edge of his bed. His tall form was curled up on his side, with his legs tucked up and ankles crossed.

 

“We have guests,” she said, smoothing the hair back from his face.

 

He paused for a moment. “Do I want to know?”

 

“I think so. I will ask your forgiveness now, for I know so little of the customs here. I pray I was not rude in any way. Unless I am mistaken, your mother and some of your brothers are the ones waiting for you.”

 

His eyes widened as he looked at her helplessly. “Please, do not leave me alone. I do not...I…”

 

“She is your mother, Maglor,” Earlene said firmly, rising to give him room to stand. “I will stay as near as you wish, and if you wish me to leave later I will do so readily. Come now. She has surely waited a very long time for this moment.”

 

Nodding dumbly, the ellon rose, and Earlene quickly helped him by combing the lightly tangled ends of his hair for him. 

 

“Please go first,” he begged.

 

Earlene nodded, understanding his trepidation. If she had learned nothing else in their time together, it was a confirmation that they were both hopeless introverts, and that even good surprises could be difficult. She walked out ahead of him, leading him gently by the elbow. A strangled cry tore from Nerdanel, as she rose and ran to her son. Out of respect, Earlene stepped away and retreated to one of the available places, to sit with the rest of the family. Maedhros watched her, open curiosity on his face. “I am called Maedhros,” he said quietly, pointing to himself. “Amrod, and Amras.” Gestures indicated his younger brothers. 

 

“Earlene,” she said, imitating. Nothing she could add to that piece of information would make sense anyway. Neither did she wish to be the one to tell him he was one of the most identifiable elves of the First Age, because that would be impolite. Maglor would have to explain it. When Nerdanel stopped crying, she became very animated, speaking rapidly and dragging her son to sit next to her, barely leaving poor Maglor a chance to wave at his brothers. This was amusing, and Earlene smiled to watch her. The struggle, for Earlene, was to keep her thoughts lighthearted and in the present. A part of her very much wanted to dwell on what this elleth had suffered. And yet she seemed strong, so strong. Unbreakable, like the metals over which she was renowned for having mastery. Her eyes wandered to the Ambarussa, and then to Maedhros. Now that she could see Nerdanel, her mind was able to gauge which features in the brothers came from their mother. And when all was taken into account, she realized how true it must be that their father would have been an ellon of surpassing physical beauty. If Maglor was perfection, his older brother was perhaps more so. He towered over his mother and therefore Earlene as well, all while having perfect symmetry of form and feature. Maedhros even appeared to be taller than Maglor, which was saying a great deal.

 

As they jabbered away in Quenya, Earlene’s thoughts began to drift as she considered why the family was here. And  _ that _ they were here…

 

“My mother wishes to know your children’s names, since she will not believe me,” Maglor said, breaking into her reflections. 

 

Blinking, she looked at Nerdanel, and went to her room to retrieve the photograph of her family. Then she began to answer, pointing to each child in turn. “Allanah, Eleniel, Ithiliel, Thaladir, Eldan, Algar, Faeleth, Erynion, Andaer, and Lancaeron,” Earlene smiled. “But Thranduil has Legolas as well, who I have never met.”

 

Nerdanel’s face broke into a smile at hearing this, though Earlene did not understand exactly why.

 

“She is happy because she has always had to put up with holding a record for bearing children, and you are a mother of more little ones than she is,” Maglor explained.

 

This brought a smile and a laugh, not to mention a blush at her own not-so-small awareness of Thranduil having equaled Fëanor in the category of siring offspring. “Then I am pleased she does not feel I have diminished her achievements.” Rising, Earlene realized she could pour them the tea that was made a few minutes ago. It surprised her, when Maedhros offered to help the moment he perceived what she was doing.

 

He was very curious about this firieth. Who she was, why she was here. That she wore a priceless necklace even by elven estimation intrigued him...because it was so obviously made by Dwarves. Earlene did not mind his tall shadow, as she continued to consider his presence here. And that was when the epiphany came, just at the moment she set more water on the diminutive burner to slowly heat.  _ Oh, there was hope for Maglor, alright. Not only hope, there was assured victory. _ Carefully she handed six drinking bowls to Maedrhos, and now decided he was quite possibly the most beautiful sight in all of creation.

 

**

 

“Firieth,” Maedhros said, both making a statement and asking a question. 

 

Earlene smirked and nodded.

 

“An man theled hí?” (For what purpose are you here?), he pressed.

 

This question was not so easy to answer elegantly, and she discovered something else. The Fëanorians could possess an astonishing intensity, if the degree to which Maedhros’ force of personality exuded itself in her direction was any indication. Fortunately, Earlene was no stranger to this tactic.

 

“Bereth Aran Thranduil Oropherion en Eryn Lasgalen,” she explained unflinchingly, gesturing to herself. “And he is my friend, my subject, and in need of help.”

 

The grey eyes blinked at her. “You are my brother’s Queen?” He was clearly unsure if the language of the Sindar had drifted during the long years of his confinement. Perhaps he misunderstood.

 

Earlene smiled again. “Mi Ennorath.” (On Earth).

 

“Is my brother interrogating you?” Maglor asked from across the room.

 

“There may have been an attempt,” she answered him, amused. “But I am a lawyer, Maglor. For all his powers of persuasion, that effort was doomed.”

 

“He cannot help himself. That is just...him.”

 

Earlene shrugged, but could not help thinking that it would be greatly entertaining to get into an argument with this tall redhead. Glancing up at Maedhros, she picked up the teapot. “Lais,” she smiled, while Maglor chuckled. Maedhros sensed he was the subject of something humorous, and scowled at his brother, but only for a moment. Then the smile returned.  _ This family. So much could have been different. Should have been different. And yet had it been otherwise, I doubt I ever could have met them…. _

 

_ ** _

 

“How is it you are here?” Maglor asked Maedhros. The time for niceties had ended, and their discussion was moving into matters that actually needed addressing.

 

“Brother, I would think that would be obvious,” the redhead answered. “I was held in accountability for my crimes for a very long time, and was granted mercy by our King. I was only just restored. Word was sent to mother, and our brothers. They met me, not long after I was once again feeling grass beneath my feet and seeing the sky overhead.” His eyes bored into Maglor’s. “Eternity would not have been enough, for my sentence, were it a question of punishment. I think you know that. But it was about more than that.”

 

“What do you mean?” Maglor asked, translating all of this for Earlene.

 

“I mean there is justice, and there is mercy. And they are not the same. Brother, are you sorry, for what we did? Do I even need to ask?”

 

“No, you do not. I have lived with the regrets. Every day, until there was almost nothing else left. And...mother, please forgive me. I should have known better. A part of me  _ did _ know better. What you must have suffered, on account of our deeds...there are not enough words for apologizing but I offer them anyway.”

 

Earlene watched, silent, in morbid fascination. This was so deeply personal; it felt more than a little odd to see and hear this...and yet every word of it was valuable, and now she felt convinced that their appearance here was no random accident.

 

Nerdanel rose, her eyes full of a mother’s love. “We are a strong family. You perhaps do not know that I returned to live with my father, once your father Fëanor departed. None of that was easy, Maglor. I lost my whole world, when he took all of you and demanded what he did. He would not hear my counsel. I still struggle with it. The ellon I married was not the ellon that destroyed himself and my sons. I may never fully understand; but either way long ago I left the matter with Estë. I had to go; I traveled there alone to Irmo’s realm and remained for many years, when the return to life in my Atar’s home still left me grieving. Amrod and Amras were returned to me some time ago. I have less hope, from the word that has reached me concerning your other brothers. Apparently their hearts and spirits struggle more to heal from their wrongs. And...your father. I do not know if I  _ want _ to see him, if I am to be honest. It would depend on many things, and I was given the gift of placing those questions far from my waking thoughts. To be in the same room with the four of you, that is more than I ever dreamed of in the days after you departed Aman. You have my forgiveness, Maglor, and my love. Do not I of all people understand my husband’s powers of persuasion and intimidation? I do not excuse your choices or your deeds, but I can appreciate better than most the trap into which you fell.”

 

Once again, Maglor cried, as he held onto his mother. “I wish none of it had ever happened,” he choked out bitterly. “Nothing could ever have been worth what we did to others, and what was done to us.”

 

“On that we fully agree,” said Maedhros, still marveling at the restoration of his lost hand, which he now laid on Maglor’s shoulder. “It was not worth it. Knowing Morgoth was defeated...that might have been worth it a little. But we...that all perhaps could have happened so differently, had we done as we were commanded. We cannot sit here and speak of what might have happened, little brother. We can only resolve never to repeat such terrible mistakes.”

 

“I did that long ago, but I kept on making other ones,” Maglor said. “And so here I am.”

 

A knock came at the door, and Earlene rose and opened it yet again. Bowing deeply, she admitted Manwë’s Herald.

 

“The time allowed has passed,” he said to the family quietly.

 

“Then we must leave,” Maedhros said as he stood up, not about to set one toenail against what had been granted to him. “Please convey our deep appreciation for this privilege,” he said humbly.

 

Eönwë inclined his head, but looked curiously from Maglor to Maedhros. “Perhaps in your joy, you overlooked something?” the Herald prompted in a kind tone of voice.

 

“I did,” Maedhros smiled sheepishly. Reaching into his tunic pocket, he withdrew something on a slender chain, and then took his brother’s hands. He unlocked one shackle, then the other, until Maglor’s wrists were freed. He then handed the key and the chain to Eönwë before facing his sibling one last time. “Brother, listen to me. Do not stop asking for forgiveness. Do not stop asking for pardon. To refuse is a form of pride, and misplaced pride is why you are here. If you listen to nothing else I ever tell you, please hear me now.” And without another word he kissed Maglor’s forehead, and walked out the door. Nerdanel hugged and kissed him fiercely. She said nothing, for she would not issue any words of parting to her son. 

 

His twin brothers hugged him as well. “You may never hear us say this again,” Amras said. “Do what Maedhros says.” With a twinkle in his eye, Amrod nodded; their dislike of being in accord with their eldest brother concerning anything at all was somewhat legendary in the family. And just a moment later, all of them were gone. Earlene immediately started clearing away the drinking bowls. That way, she would not stand there and say to Maglor,  _ I told you so. _

 

_ ***** _

 

Ratiri had been forced to explain his problem to Mairead and Chandra, both of whom called him an idiot  _ and  _ completely doomed.

 

“Ratiri, there’s buggering up, and then there’s  _ buggering up _ ,” his sister-in-law said. “I mean,  _ honestly _ .”

 

“Almost every vacation, Da,” Chandra added, with a little too much relish in her voice. “Almost every bloody vacation we’ve taken, the Communists came storming, and this whole time there was something Mam could’ve done? Da, I love you, but she really is going to kill you.”

 

“Oh no she won’t,” Mairead said grimly. “She’ll just make him  _ wish  _ he was dead.”

 

Poor Ratiri looked desperately from one to the other. “Mairead, I will owe you whatever favor you want in the future if you’ll bake me a cake,” he said. “Meanwhile, I have to go get a kitten. A really cute kitten, and preferably one that isn’t weird.”

 

Mairead arched an eyebrow. “Ratiri, it’s a  _ cat _ ,” she said. “They’re all weird. Fine, I’ll bake a cake and save your arse, but I'm not forgetting about the favor. Chandra, d’you want cake-duty or kitten-duty?”

 

“As much as I want kitten-duty, Da’s got to do that himself,” the girl said. “Otherwise Mam won’t appreciate it as much. Go find a furball, Da. A calico -- we haven’t really got one’v those yet. Boo’s more’v a tortie.”

 

“Thank you,” he sad fervently. “I’ll see what I can find.”

 

He dashed out to the Bronco (a.k.a. Base Station Two), hoping he could find the cutest kitten that ever lived. It was a long drive to Limerick, and he would try not to contemplate his certain doom during that time.

 

The thing was, he’d forgotten. He’d genuinely forgotten, what with the wedding and honeymoon and all -- but why hadn’t he told her about the other option right off? He couldn’t remember now. Probably it call came down to pre-wedding panic, but that would cut about as much ice with Lorna as a chocolate hacksaw. 

 

And honestly, given what he’d watched her go through with her periods over the years, he couldn’t even blame her. Once cramps got placed on the ‘Plaster’ section of the Chart, she’d had to go back to handling them the normal, human way, with painkillers and a heating pad. They were irregular, and they usually didn't last more than five or six days, but the just before and first day (or first two days) after were inevitably some variation of awful. In the two years she’d been delighted to find them tapering off, hoping that the menopause would do its thing...oh dear. 

 

Yeah, if he didn't get a kitten, he was a dead man. Not just a kitten, but a kitten so cute its cuteness could distort the fabric of time and space.

 

**

 

Back in Baile, Mairead rolled her eyes as she assembled cake ingredients.

 

“Aunt Mairead, is Mam _ really _ going to make Da wish he was dead?” Chandra asked, hunting down the whisk.

 

“She just might,” her aunt said. “You’ll understand why once you start riding the cotton pony yourself.”

 

“ _ Ew _ , Aunt Mairead!” Chandra cried, wrinkling her nose. “And I thought falling to the Communists was bad.”

 

“Oh, I’ve got more,” Mairead said cheerfully. “Most’v them courtesy’v your mam, I might add. Surfing the Crimson Tide. Shark Week. Mudslide in Crotch Canyon.”

 

“Oh God, Aunt Mairead, stop,” Chandra groaned, cringing. “You got all those off Mam?”

 

With a grin that was downright evil, Mairead said, “No, the worst came from my gran. She called it ‘Dracula’s Teabag’.”

 

It took Chandra a moment to work that one out, and once she had, she ran off with a disgusted shriek, twitching a little.

 

Mairead burst out laughing, knowing it was immature and not caring in the least. That had pretty much been her reaction, the first time Gran trotted that one out, just because it was the last thing she’d ever have expected. Yeah, Gran had been every bit as profane as Lorna -- had taught Lorna some of what she knew, even -- but that was a whole other level.

 

“Dracula’s teabag,” she muttered, snickering as she mixed dough.

 

**

 

Ratiri kept glancing at his mobile as he drove, but it sat silent on the passenger’s seat. He went in terror that it would ring, or chime with a dozen texts in rapid succession, but Lorna was worryingly silent. For the first time, he cursed the calm that Estë had given her; before, he could have predicted her temper. It usually involved shouting, but nothing more, and it burned like wildfire: searing hot, yes, but over in a matter of minutes. She’d never been...crafty, before. She’d never sat on that anger and...and  _ plotted _ , and he was entirely sure that was what she was doing. The thought of a Lorna who could put forethought into her revenge was a legitimately terrifying one.

 

He was sweating bullets by the time he reached Limerick, but put on a nice, calm front before he went into the shelter. If they saw he was desperate, they’d think he was weird, and refuse to give him any animal.

 

It was a large shelter, so there were a lot of cats to look at, and the sight of them eased him a bit. The problem was that there were so many kittens it was hard to choose -- apparently, three litters had been brought in at roughly the same time, and their chorus of tiny mews was honestly rather funny.

 

A tiny calico sat at the front of one cage, staring up at him with big blue eyes. It wasn’t making any noise at all, oddly, and it didn't react when he spoke to it. Not until he wiggled his fingers did it reach out one itty-bitty paw to touch him.  _ Then  _ it squeaked out the softest of meows, and he knew that this was it. No matter how nuclear Lorna’s wrath grew before he got home, there was no way she’d be able to sustain it when faced with this kitten.

 

“I should warn you,” the young employee said, when he indicated the kitten, “that one’s deaf. Had a couple people pass her up because’v it.” He sounded genuinely apologetic.

 

“How could anyone do that?” Ratiri asked, mystified. “I’ll take her. How anyone could pass up a kitten this cute, I can’t imagine.”  _ Sorry, Thranduil,  _ he thought.  _ But deaf doesn’t necessarily mean weird, and...this kitten. Just look at this kitten. _

 

“You’d be surprised,” the lad said. “She’s fixed, and she’s got all her shots. You know how to take care of a cat?”

 

“Oh yes,” Ratiri said. “We have a few, but there’s always room for another.” That sounded inane but hopefully reassuring. “Do you sell carriers?” He really didn't want to drive for several hours with the poor thing in a cardboard carton.

 

“We’ve got some in the back, yeah,” the lad said. “You want a little bed, too?”

 

_ Why not.  _ “Sure. And a toy, to keep her busy.”

 

Carrier, bed, and kitten were duly paid for, and he sat and petted the little creature for a few minutes in the Bronco before carefully putting her into the carrier. The bed was squished into it, so she had a nice comfy place to rest, and the carrier itself was big enough for her to walk around, should she choose. He took a picture of the kitten, carefully fastened it to the seat with the seatbelt, and fired it off in a text before he left.

 

_ To Thranduil: Found this kitten. She’s adorable and doesn’t seem weird. _

 

“Not weird, just deaf,” he muttered. Fortunately, she seemed content to curl up and sleep for most of the drive, purring occasionally.

 

By the time he reached Baile, Mairead’s cake was baked and beautifully frosted, with the words ‘I’m Sorry I’m A Gobshite’ rendered a calligraphy that would have done Thanadir proud.

 

“Don't you dare drop it,” she warned. “Let’s see this kitten.”

 

The kitten was duly produced, and watching both her and Chandra utterly melt made him hope it would have the same effect on Lorna. “Chandra, hold the cake,” he said. “I’ll buckle up the kitten. Maybe I’ll survive tonight after all.”

 

“What’s her name?” his daughter asked.

 

“That’s up to your mam. I just hope she doesn’t call her something like ‘Ratiri’s Salvation’.”

 

“Assuming she actually does save your arse,” Chandra snickered. “Sorry, Da, but...seriously.” She dissolved into laughter, and he glared at her.

 

“You think I don't know how serious this is?” he grumbled.

 

“You’re a dude, of course you don't. Mam’s told me all sorts’v shite about what it’s like, so I know what to expect. I had to hear the words ‘sneeze’ and ‘crimson waterfall’ in the same sentence. Do you know what that’s like, Da?  _ Do you? _ ”

 

Ratiri winced. His poor daughter. “Well, if your mam does kill me, at least don't let her do vile things to my corpse.”

 

“I promise nothing.”

 

“Traitor.”

 

**

 

Lorna, cramp-and-period-free, sat in the Heart Room and nursing an Irish Coffee. She’d been planning her vengeance all day, and Thranduil, wise elf, had left her to it. What she’d settled on was harmless yet suitably disgusting, and was nothing she hadn’t had to go through every month and a half or so for the last twelve bloody years.  _ Heh. Bloody. Literally. _

 

She heard the Bronco pull into the driveway, heralded by baying hounds. A smile that could only be called evil crossed her face, and she sipped her coffee.

 

Thranduil glanced at Lorna nervously on his way to his room. Perhaps this storm was best weathered with Thanadir nearby. They could hold each other, and give thanks they were not female.

 

Chandra, wisely, came into the house first, and did  _ not  _ yell ‘Cake!’ This was Mam’s cake, to be shared only with whom she wanted to. Which was probably most everybody, but still. It went onto the counter, and she carried her backpack into the Heart Room. “Mam, there’s cake,” she said. “Aunt Mairead made one so you wouldn’t murder Da in the face.”

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “Who said anything about the  _ face _ ?”

 

Chandra’s eyes widened. “You know what, I'm just going to...go now. Somewhere else.” Off she went, the smart girl, socks slipping and sliding over the floor.

 

Ratiri almost groaned with disappointment as his daughter zoomed off.  _ Thranduil, can you send Thanadir out here, if he’s willing to go? Lorna thinks he’s a cinnamon roll, she won’t kill me in front of him. _

 

_ We are staying out of this unless we hear evidence of bodily harm. If that is the case, we can move very quickly, I assure you.  _ Thranduil answered, holding Thanadir’s hand as they sat next to each other on the bed. He did this so, so rarely, but he felt that they were owed a ringside seat to this, er, whatever it was going to be.  Stifling a giggle, Thanadir leaned against Thranduil’s shoulder and waited while the two of them blatantly eavesdropped from the safety of their room. It was a little like a horror movie. One did not wish to watch, and yet one could not avert one’s eyes…

 

_ If she somehow kills me before you get out here, I’m haunting you,  _ Ratiri said sourly. He should not be this nervous to face Lorna, given that she had, in their fourteen years together, failed to do anything actually horrible to him, but he was. Oh, he was. As Sharley might say, he’d really screwed the pooch on this one.

 

He set the cat carrier down on the counter beside the cake (Earlene was not around to shoot him for it) and took out the kitten. It had fallen asleep again, and yawned when he picked it up, purring. The sight of the little thing ought to melt anyone’s heart, and certainly Lorna’s, given she was such a cat lover.

 

He found Lorna in the Heart Room, sitting on the sofa with a mug beside her, hands folded and fingers steepled together, looking so very much like a tiny Bond villain it was kind of terrifying. The slight quirk of her eyebrow was scarier still, and he eyed her mug, in case she should decide to throw it at him.

 

“I got you something,” he said, holding out the kitten like the peace offering she was. The little creature squeaked, and yawned again.

 

As he’d hoped, some of the ire left Lorna’s eyes, and she made grabby-hands. The kitten immediately cuddled up against her, purring -- but when she looked up at him again, some of that evil glint remained. “So,” she said. “There’s something you neglected to tell me for  _ twelve bloody years.  _ Twelve years’v me spending my first days after the Communists invade curled up with the heating pad, miserable, bloated to hell. Twelve years’v having to sleep with a damn towel under me the first night, because even the heavy-duty pads weren’t enough and I didn't want our bed looking like someone had been slaughtered in it.  _ Twelve years’v our shower looking like that hallway from  _ The Shining _ , Ratiri _ , and you just what, _ never thought? _ ”

 

Her tone suggested that the truth was dangerous, but a lie even more so. Basically, he was fucked. “I...forgot,” he said, knowing how lame that sounded. “What with the wedding and all.”

 

“I don't think you did,” she said, a sharper edge to her voice. “Tell me, Ratiri, why you never told me the other was an option the first day we tried this. Why you only gave me half the information Earlene gave you? Because the only thing  _ I  _ can think’v is that you were too eager to get the good stuff started early to be bothered with the non-icky way.”

 

Thanadir’s eyes widened and he gasped, for Thranduil had not told him all but the most basic details. “He is sooooooooo busted,” the seneschal whispered, in complete disbelief. “I am useless but even I am not  _ that _ useless.”

 

Chuckling, Thranduil kissed him on the cheek. “I will keep you. But I think this can only become more entertaining.”

 

Ratiri’s eyes widened. “What?! No, Lorna, I swear that wasn’t it,” he said fervently. “Earlene told me that...the way we did it...was a lot faster than the other. And...we didn't have a whole lot of time, remember?”

 

“Oh, I would’ve made time,” she said, her eyebrow arching again. “If it would’ve spared me  _ that _ , I would’ve found it somehow.” The kitten purred, cuddling under her chin, and she stroked its soft fur. “Don't worry, Ratiri, I’ve already had half my revenge. You’ll know it when you find it. And you’ll smell it first.”

 

He paled a little, because he couldn’t imagine what she meant, but he knew it was bad, because...Lorna. “Is it dangerous?”

 

“No,” she said serenely, “just disgusting. And you owe me all the footrubs for the next decade.”

 

“Footrubs I can do. Um. Where should I look for this smelly...something?”

 

“Your dresser drawer. Try not to vomit.”

 

Well, now he was  _ really  _ worried. Off he hurried, while Lorna stroked the kitten.

 

“Yes, little one, your da’s about to be very, very grossed out.” She couldn't justify actual property damage, but what she did do was rather more fitting anyway. Many a pair of her knickers had been ruined by the Communists, so she’d taken her sopping towel, wrapped all of Ratiri’s shorts in it, put it in the shower, and  _ squeezed _ . The entire mess had then gone back into the dresser, where it no doubt already smelled.

 

A very faint cry of disgust reached her, and she cackled. Oh, vengeance, it was a sweet, sweet thing. “Your da gets to clean that up, and then maybe --  _ maybe  _ \-- I won’t make him sleep on the couch.”

 

“Blessed Valar, that is disgusting!” Thanadir quailed. There was a long pause during which Thranduil rubbed his back and tried very hard not to chuckle. “Suddenly I understand that I did not appreciate Earlene enough, Thranduil,” he said mournfully.

 

“Sometimes there is nothing quite like perspective,” the King agreed. “On the other hand, if we go out now and make tea for ourselves, the odds are very good Lorna will give us cake.”

 

“Mairead cake?” Thanadir asked cautiously.

 

“One and the same. But I must warn you, it has an unseemly word written on it.”

 

The old elf though for a moment. “But if I am given a slice I will not see it, isn’t that right?” 

 

Thranduil shook his head, and made sure to land a well-aimed swat on someone’s behind as they both left the room. Thanadir did not appear repentant in the least.

 

Lorna took her new feline companion, still purring, into the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a large cake box, and she managed to get it open one-handed. This kitten really was adorable, and when she saw what was written on the cake, she couldn’t help but laugh. She wondered how badly Mairead had torn into him over the whole thing, and wished there was film of it.

 

“All right, little one, let’s see if your mam can handle all this one-handed, because you’re just too cute to put down.”

 

Thanadir began to innocently make tea for himself and Thranduil, missing Earlene’s cookies for the five hundredth time. He tried to make some but...they were not very good. Sometimes Ortherion helped him and they would turn out a little better, but...still not the same. “The kitten is very pretty,” he said diplomatically, looking at the small creature Lorna held.

 

“Isn’t she? I’ll have to think up a name. And I'll even give you a piece’v cake that doesn’t have ‘gobshite’ written on it, if you’d like,” she said, hunting down a knife. The kitten perched on her shoulder, nuzzling into her braid.

 

“He would like that,” Thranduil said, rolling his eyes. “I will have you know that I refused Ratiri’s pleas to be in the room with him out of both cowardice and a desire for an appearance of neutrality,” he smirked. “But mostly I was just happy you were not mad at me.”

 

“ _ You  _ didn't know any better,” she said, grabbing three plates. “For all you knew, my idiot husband wasn’t actually an idiot, and I was just weird. And to think’v all the bloody  _ money  _ I’ve wasted over the years...d’you know how much all that stuff costs? It’s robbery. I mean, yeah, I know we can afford it, but still. I’d rather spend money on something...anything...else, rather than what it takes to fight off the Communists.” She just barely caught herself in time to avoid saying something that would surely send poor Thanadir red; he likely would not at all appreciate the prison term for tampons, which was ‘fanny plugs’. Best let him enjoy his cake.

 

Thanadir had never before considered that elven cordial had an economic impact. His eyebrow raised, as he ate his cake. Was it wrong to be happy Ratiri was in trouble, if he was given cake because of it? Hm.

 

Cake was served, tea was brewed, and the kitten was just cute in general. “You know,” Lorna said, after savoring a bite of cake, “I think I like this whole calm thing. It means I can really plot my revenge, and not just go break something.”

 

“I do not think that was quite what the Lady had in mind,” Thranduil said cautiously, eating his cake. “And yet, it is nice to see you...more balanced.” He sipped his tea, and thought of how much had...changed. For all of them.

 

“But it’s a nice side-effect,” she said, and grinned. “And it’s...nice, being more balanced. I have to wonder, is this what normal people feel like?”

 

“Yes,” Thranduil answered, shrugging. “Of course people have a range of emotions, but this is how most go through life.”

 

“...Huh,” she said, and ate another bite of cake. “It’s nice. I mean, before, even though I’d learn to control what I  _ did _ with my temper, I still wanted to bash people’s faces in. I mean, hell, you had to be aware’v at least a few’v the times I plotted murders I never actually meant to commit.”

 

Ratiri, grimacing, entered the kitchen just in time to hear that, and shuffled away from her rather nervously as he grabbed a plastic garbage sack from under the sink. Lorna gave him a sunny, truly terrifying smile, and he scarpered.

 

Her smile didn't last long, however, as her memory of  _ why  _ she’d never gone to Thranduil for help with her periods in any sense resurfaced. Quite suddenly, nothing was funny; the cake ceased to be interesting, and she very nearly put the kitten down. “Every bloody problem I’ve had with the Communists goes back to him,” she sighed. “Years ago, Thranduil, when you had your problems with...overtaxing yourself...I realized you’d spent far more on me than on anyone else, and when I said so, Ratiri made some offhand comment about that being on top’v things like taking care’v cramps. I’m sure he didn't do it on purpose, but he made me feel like I’d be the most selfish bitch in the universe if I asked you to deal with something so trivial.”

 

She paced the kitchen, kitten snuggled in the crook of her arm. “And then -- and  _ then _ , on bloody top’v it, he wouldn’t give me the good drugs for the cramps. Said with my history’v addiction, he didn't want to risk it. So I was stuck being  _ fucking miserable  _ for the first day or two, all because my  _ fucking husband  _ was a  _ fucking thoughtless IDIOT, _ ” she snarled.

 

Lorna paused, and drew a deep breath, searching for her newfound calm. For once, she wasn’t finding it, and she was somewhat appalled to find herself near tears. What the fuck? The PMS had gone with everything else, or so she’d thought. Maybe...maybe it was because Ratiri seemed...not consciously dismissive, but dismissive nonetheless. She’d been miserable, and he’d basically just said ‘here, paracetamol and heating pad, that’s all you need so it’s all you’re going to get’. And even though he hadn’t meant to, he’d made her feel like going to Thranduil for it would make her a selfish cow.

 

Thanadir’s eyes widened, at what Lorna was saying aloud. This was too much for him and…

 

_ Go, meldir. You will not weather this conversation well and will only find yourself in the line of fire for no good reason. Enjoy the rest of your cake in our room, and read a book. I will join you when I am able. _

 

With something terribly close to a mental whimper, he did as he was asked, knowing deep down this was for the best...though he felt like a coward for deserting his King.

 

_ You have fought other battles. Leave this one to me. _

 

With a soft sigh, the seneschal scuttled off with his cake. On the way out, he could not help but notice that an unclaimed slice sat on the counter. Hopefully he could be forgiven. It was the stress...a deft hand snatched the plate as he passed by and shuffled off into their room.

 

Thranduil regarded his friend, uncertain what to say in response. That she was hell-bent on looking for something or someone to blame besides herself was fairly obvious, and yet pointing that out just now would help nothing. “I am sorry for how upsetting this all has been,” he said softly. It was true, and made no judgemental statements about...well, anything, really.

 

She wiped her eyes with her free hand. “Thranduil...you don't get it,” she said, just as softly. “Women...doctors don't want to listen to us. Ratiri didn't listen to me. He never has, with this. It was just...just ‘heating pad and paracetamol, and too bad if that doesn’t work, because I’m not giving you anything else’, basically. And I know he didn't do it on purpose, but...there’s a certain expectation that this is just shit women have to deal with. And that my own goddamn husband wouldn’t…” Shaking her head, she wiped her eyes again. “And I know he didn't mean to make me feel like shit about the thought’v going to you. I know that. But the fact remains that he did, and…” Finally she just gave up, and let the tears come.  _ Why  _ they’d come, she wasn’t fully sure, but there was no point in fighting them.

 

“Two things,” he said, putting down his cake plate and drawing her to him. “First...Ratiri is not the only doctor. You could have talked to Indira and you still can. Maybe it would be better, to have someone to whom you are not this close overseeing your medical needs; I have read that most physicians do not care for their own family members because of...things like this. Second...I would have helped you with the worst of it, Lorna. You both made me promise to abide by that chart, and I agreed though I did not want to. You may never have considered it, but it felt many times as though what I was being told was ‘we don’t trust you to know how to use your own gift any longer, so we are going to decide that for you.’ I know you meant it out of love, and it was important to you, so I gave my word. I have never been happy about it, just like you now are not happy about this. There are actions and consequences in the strangest places, Lorna. Good intentions can often go...awry.”

 

She wrapped her free arm around him, careful not to crush the kitten. “I always hesitated to go to anyone else,” she said. “I mean, it’s stupid, but I know Ratiri would be...offended, I guess, if I did. I know he had to fight with Angie over the meds she prescribed me. And...I know you would’ve helped me, and I would’ve felt like the most self-absorbed asshole in the universe for asking you. I haven’t forgotten how much’v that...the fact that you were drained was on my account. All the little things, and the big ones, and the really huge one.”

 

The kitten squeak-meowed, and sniffed at Thranduil’s hair. “I didn't...I didn't realize it’d seem to you like we didn't trust you. I know...I know for my part, I was afraid you’d keep giving, even if it hurt you. You were so...so out’v it at the time that I’m not sure you know how afraid we were. How afraid I was. I didn't want to contribute to that happening again...but bloody Ratiri made sure I couldn’t deal with it any other way, too. I mean, you’ve got to have felt what cramps are like, through Earlene. And I don't know about her, but I don't call it ‘the crimson waterfall’ for no reason. And the fact that he just forgot to tell me about the other way that cordial works...well, if that doesn’t say ‘I don't care enough to remember’, I'm not sure what it  _ does  _ say.”

 

“I know what Earlene has felt,” he said, “which is why I wondered a great deal at your choices.” He shook his head, grimacing. “Lorna, you have to appreciate, I am not in the best position, here. I am your friend. I am Ratiri’s friend. This is your marriage with him; not a place I have business interfering and which...there is still lingering awkwardness, from long ago. So as your friend, I am going to tell you that you are making assumptions about his motives because you are hurt and angry. You ceded control of your health care to your husband and now that is having unwelcome outcomes. You can choose to cast blame and remain angry, but it is my advice to you that you will do the best if you focus your thought more on how you wish the future to be, than belaboring a past that now cannot be changed. I fear it would be unwise for me to say much more.”

 

“I’m not sure forgetting to tell me about...that...actually has a motive,” she said softly. “It just seems to say that he didn't care enough about the whole thing to even remember it. And I could be wrong, but...I doubt it.”

 

The kitten crawled back up her shoulder, and under her braid. “And I know this sounds awful and reactionary, but right now, I feel a whole lot like taking away any medical control he might have over me. It’s gone...wrong, or almost wrong, too many times. Maybe I won’t feel this way later, but something tells me I will. And I think it might be smart if I spent the night in the cottage.” There was simply no way that, in her state, any conversation with Ratiri would go at all well. She kept clothes and a toothbrush at the cottage; she’d just bring some cat food and be golden. Thought of talking to anyone, but especially to Ratiri, just wasn’t to be borne. She was tired, and she was sad.

 

“It is not meant to be an excuse, but...we have been under stress for a long time now, Lorna. It does not explain everything. None of us are perfect and…” his hand rubbed against his forehead. “And I should shut up because I am not helping. I love you, and I hope you know I am here for you. That I am worried about being seen as interfering is not as important to me as, I care about you and want you to find a way through this.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “If you need to talk more you know where I am...but I also cannot help but think of talking to Angie.”

 

“Poor Angie,” Lorna said. “Someday, we’re going to break her. I love you, too, and...interfere, if you feel like you ought to. Fuck Ratiri and everything he has to say. I’ll just start seeing Indira, and if he doesn’t like it, he can piss off...and this is why I need to go to the cottage. None’v that’s productive. Given how calm I’ve been until now, the fact that I want to flay him is really not a good sign, so...cottage. Hopefully I’ll be a little more rational and less hurt in the morning.”

 

“Cottage,” he agreed, realizing that further conversation would only contribute to the problem, not help. “I will wish you a good rest. And now I want a hug.”

 

A hug he got -- given that the kitten was on her shoulder, she didn't worry about squishing it. “Make sure there’s still some cake left for me tomorrow, will you? And don't let Ratiri have any.” It was a decent-sized cake, but there were a lot of people in the house now, so it could get eaten up in a hurry even if everyone only had a tiny bit.

 

“I have a better solution. We will place it in Thanadir’s craft room. Then only you will be able to distribute it tomorrow. And I will tell him he may not have more unless you give it to him,” he added. Lorna might not have noticed the pilfering of the slice, but he most certainly had.

 

“Poor Thanadir,” she said, and managed a smile. “Thank you, Thranduil. I’ll let you know how I am in the morning.” She gave his hand a squeeze, and wondered if she ought to carry the kitten in the carrier or not.

 

*****

{July 10, 2030}

 

Thranduil stood, having the responsibility tonight of chairing the Council Meeting. The meeting was called to order and…

 

“With regard to roll call, as the leader of the Elven delegation to this Council, I wish to announce that Ailill Kerry will be replacing Earlene Sullivan until such time as she is returned to us. We promised ourselves that we would continue on for a minimum of a month, to see if we could carry on as we were. Earnene is not here, nor do we know when she will be here, and it is my choice to have the only other human subject of my Realm in her stead. Are there comments or concerns?” He gazed around the table, unsure if any would say anything. While technically he was not required to ask for any manner of feedback, it still seemed appropriate to do so.

 

Ailill sat with impressive composure, for Ailill. Gone was the uncertain demeanor so often seen, and in its place was the Head of Ireland’s School of Falconry that so few knew. Thranduil had every confidence that he was well suited to this (hopefully temporary) duty. What he was not sure about at all was whether the poor firion would be given a real chance by many of the others.

 

The lot of them looked at one another. Most of them knew Ailill at least in passing, after all this time; he was a solid lad with some deadly birds. None of them had any  _ objections _ , per se. 

 

“He’ll be doing all that Earlene normally does?” Big Jamie asked. Sure, Ailill was a bright lad, but Earlene was... _ Earlene _ . She wasn’t just bright, she had a mind like a steel trap, as his gran would have said.

 

“I am not a lawyer,” answered Ailill. “I do not have those qualifications. But I am still the head of Ireland’s School of Falconry. I have employees, I supervise, teach, deal with the ordinary matters of operating what passes for a small business that is in connection with a demanding clientele. It is those kinds of abilities that I can offer, plus my place within the elven realm.”

 

It was hard to argue with those qualifications, honestly. “In that case, welcome to the madhouse,” Mairead said. “You get used to it eventually.”

 

“I wish I could argue with any’v that, but I can’t,” Orla said.

 

Ailill smiled, and saw out of the corner of his eye Thranduil’s subtle nod of approval. 

 

“Next is the Treasurer’s Report, which I believe is to include the newest data on the numbers that have taken up permanent residence with us…Jack?”

 

“In round numbers, we have two hundred permanent residents now. Almost all of those are adults, who have either found occupation on the support staff in the Halls, or in some capacity connected to the farm. In fact, production has expanded in the last two years on account of the extra labor and...we have been able to acquire three new parcels of land in the last two years as well. When that land is fit to place into production, we will be able to consider expanding production further. And...there is an addendum here from Mary Kerry, Ailill’s sister if I’m not mistaken, with a report on profits from the sale of specialty cheeses and butters from our dairy as well as volumes of whole milk donated to charitable food organizations.” He passed around the sheaves of papers to all at the table.

 

“Pat’s got working schedules for the new people, too,” Lorna said. “He says so far they’re running fine. Everyone’s on rotation, so they can all learn to do the different jobs. So far the elves’ve been patient at teaching them, so nobody’s really got too frustrated to stand it. The only real bone’v contention’s been the shared bathing, so they’ve been knocking up portable screens for privacy.” She knew the elves thought humans were mental that way, but she just didn't see that changing, ever.

 

Thalion managed to keep a straight face. Barely. Thranduil would have to remember to congratulate him later for his forbearance. When the opportunity to talk about something new presented itself, the warrior chimed in. “I wish to discuss the construction of observation platforms for future defensive needs,” he stated. “Our land holdings are growing wider, and eventually we will need the ability to surveil the lands near to us to the extent possible. ‘Lookouts’, is how they are now called, I believe. And I have learned that you have advanced optical devices. Binoculars, spotting scopes and the like. Devices that would be effective even when electricity is gone.”

 

“Damn good idea,” Geezer said. “They’ve got some fancy ones now, and it’s not like we can’t afford to get a bunch and hoard what we don't need at the moment. But Thranduil, would you be okay with putting platforms in the woods? I know you’re not big on people doing anything to the trees, but the platforms really oughtta be concealed. Anybody up high and out in the open...it’s just asking to get shot by a sniper, if there’s gonna be any such thing after the end. There aren’t a whole lotta gun owners in Ireland, sure, but that doesn’t mean some criminal element won’t have sniper rifles when everything goes to hell.”

 

He drummed his fingers on the table. “I know they make hunting blinds that’re supposed to be temporary, so we might not have to actually build anything in the trees, but the downside’s that a stiff wind’d blow ’em over in a heartbeat.”

 

“You have many towers in the modern world constructed of modular pieces of steel that reach very high into the air. Use of similar technique would provide for weather resistance as well as ease of replacing damaged components. I speak of the structures used to convey electricity, raise assorted signal producing devices into the air...that sort of thing.”

 

“Orla, you think you can do that without stomping everything on the forest floor to shi -- er, stomping it?” Geezer asked.

 

“Maybe. Thalion, show me where you want to put them, and I’ll let you know if I can raise them without doing any damage to the ground and undergrowth,” Orla said.

 

“You misunderstand me,” he replied. “We require these for outside of the forest, not in it. In the future, what if attackers come to our fields and farms as they have done in the past? We have livestock on pasture, crops...very attractive to those without our resources and either way it is the course of wisdom to know who approaches us before they can arrive.”

 

“You know,” Geezer said, “you raise another good point: none of us are familiar with...with raiders, or anything. We oughtta do some drills, sooner or later, about what to do if somebody does come after us. Right now, we don't really know.” He did have some hazy memories of fields and villages destroyed in Vietnam, but they were very hazy, and he didn't want to examine them. Not at all.

 

Thanadir raised his head from his writing. “I would offer that the man...Sean? The one who builds the walls of stone? More must apprentice with him; his is one of the most valuable skills at this point in time. Because those walls can also be defensive, making advancement by those who would plunder very difficult. This country does not lack for rocks,” he said, earning chuckles all around the table. “In the realms of men in ages past, they made use of...everyone able-bodied served a partial military function. They learned to scout. To watch. To be eyes and ears, concerning what happened on their borders. If any did approach, there were measures in place by which to quickly notify those with fighting skills. This permits for a far greater participation as well as reduced pressure on those serving as fighters, who should not also bear the sole burden of guarding.”

 

“I’d volunteer those damn cousins of his,” Geezer muttered. “And that’s another thing, with the fighters -- we’ve got a lotta people who’re trained to fight, but looking at all of ’em, all the humans, I’d say next to none of ’em could actually kill someone and live with it. Not gonna lie, the first time I killed a man I pissed my pants. Yeah, I was seventeen, but still. There’s a difference between putting an arrow in a target and one between some bastard’s eyes, and in my opinion, almost nobody’s ready for that yet.”

 

Ratiri stared at him, deeply troubled, but said nothing. That was not his purview, and it wasn’t like he didn't have enough problems of his own to be getting on with.

 

“Have to say, I agree with Geezer,” Shane said. “I won’t like, either: I honestly don't know how I’d feel after I looked someone in the eye and killed them. Even if it was somebody who deserved it...I can’t say. I’d like to think I could do it and sleep fine at night, but I don't know.” Yeah, he’d killed a man when he was younger, but...he was younger, and it had been half an accident. He hadn’t killed the bastard in cold blood. Gunning -- arrow-ing -- someone down would be different, and he was honest enough with himself to be unsure what he’d feel.

 

“All who serve Aran Thranduil are capable of this,” Thalion said quietly. “But it will not be enough. Not if we are met with a much larger force. You must decide for yourself which life matters more to you; that of your loved ones and your community or those who would without hesitation kill you in order to have what is yours. That it is difficult, I do not deny. And yet it is necessary.”

 

“It ain’t...always quite that simple,” Geezer said. “Especially not when you weren’t raised to be a warrior, or...anything like that.  _ Killing  _ someone ain’t all that hard, but...living with yourself later…” He stared into the middle distance, unseeing. “First man I killed woulda shot me in a heartbeat. I had to drop him, or he’d’ve dropped me, no question about it. But all I could think about, that night, was that he’d been a living, breathing human, and I ended that.  _ Why?  _ Why was he trying to kill me? Was he desperate? Did he listen to somebody else’s lies? Or was he like me, and didn't even want to be there to begin with? There aren’t many humans who’re truly, totally evil. And even though I learned how to live with it, I never stopped wondering why.”

 

“We come from a time when orcs and evil men and other creatures of darkness were our enemies,” Thranduil said. “Your analysis makes sense to me in the context of your modern wars, Geezer, and I have respect for your words. But what you will face in the future here will be different. You will not face a conscripted army, you will face those who want to take. Not ask, but take. Those who do ask, we can help. Consider adding to our community. None of my people would advocate a lack of compassion to those who come seeking aid; it has ever been the way of elves to help good-hearted ones in need. You will face orcs who wear the faces of men, for I have seen that they yet exist in your world. And they know only one kind of justice. I...do not know entirely how to help you with this. It is a state of mind, and perhaps you are right in that not everyone can achieve it. I did not mean for our meeting to take this turn, and am uncertain what more should be said at this time.”

 

“Thalion, I think you and I oughtta talk,” Geezer said. “Maybe we can come up with some kinda training between us. Then we can find the best candidates to test it out on.”

 

“I’d sign on,” Shane said.

 

“Me too,” Orla added.

 

Lorna...probably would, too, but later. She still wasn’t in a good enough frame of mind to make a decision like that.

 

“Hell, I’m in, too,” Mairead said.

 

Big Jamie winced. “Well, now we’re in for it,” he muttered. He wasn’t joking, either; he’d known Mairead since they were children, and she was the sort of person who wasn’t violent, right up until they were. It went with the hair, he supposed.

 

Thalion nodded curtly, and looked to his King.

 

“If there is no further new business, I would consider this an excellent place to conclude this meeting. Thalion, we would like to see further specifications on your proposed towers. Materials. Please confer with Orla, concerning this. Geezer and Thalion, you are in charge of the...other. And next meeting, I would like to see an inventory report concerning library acquisitions as well as where we are at with medical supplies...we appear to be on track with our proverbial hoarding but that is no substitute for itemized lists,” he smiled. “Thank you all for coming.”

 

**

 

Lorna cornered Indira immediately after the meeting, and took her aside, so the whole world wouldn’t know what they were talking about.

 

“Doc, I need you to go back to being my doc again,” she said.

 

Indira’s eyes widened. “Why?” she asked. “What happened?”

 

How to put this in a way that didn't sound overly awful… “Ratiri has proved to not have enough objectivity where his family is concerned,” Lorna said. She still was not really over the revelations of a week ago; the anger was long gone, but the sadness and the hurt persisted. The days were normal -- she went about her assorted tasks, and let herself be bounced like a pinball from job to job, as needed -- but she still spent her nights at the cottage. She just...didn't want to share a room with Ratiri. Not now. Not yet. They’d spoken, but not about anything important; the younger kids had no idea anything was up, though the twins had guessed.

 

Indira didn't quite wince, but she came close. There were so very many things that could mean, and none of them were good. “Of course I can take you back,” she said. “Is there anything pressing you need at the moment?”

 

Was there? Not really, at least that she could think of. “No,” Lorna said. “But...just for the future. I’ll take the children to you, too, if there’s ever any reason to need to.”

 

That made Indira’s eyes widen a little further. Whatever had happened, it was... _ bad.  _ She knew Lorna quite well: for the tiny woman to just be sad, not angry, really wasn’t a good sign. At all. “Then just give me a call,” she said.

 

Lorna nodded, and headed off, and Indira made a beeline for her cousin. “Ratiri Malcolm Duncan, what did you  _ do _ ?” she demanded.

 

He watched Lorna go, somewhat stricken. “I fucked up,” he sighed. “There were...multiple fuckups. A cascade of them. And I don't know how to...how to  _ un _ -fuck it up.”

 

Indira groaned. “Some things just take time,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk, and you can tell me what happened, and I’ll see if I can help you.”


	136. One Hundred and Thirty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> January 5, 2032 - October 31, 2032. Please pay attention to dates, there is a lot of moving around in this one!
> 
> Also, we hope you like it...the amount of time spent crafting this particular chapter was nothing short of tremendous. So much thought and discussion went in, because it is pivotal to what follows--it is arguably one of the most important ones in the entire story. Enjoy.

Pat could stand it no longer.

 

 _Something_ was up with Lorna and Ratiri -- he could see it, even if nobody else could (or wanted to). It wasn’t just that she’d gone and stayed in the cottage every night for almost a bloody fortnight in July, or that she’d been visibly depressed. Oh no. Once she’d moved back in, and no longer seemed depressed, everything looked normal -- except for the fact that she never touched Ratiri, nor did he touch her, though he looked as though he wanted to. They were normally affectionate to the point of being disgusting, so the shift in behavior was noticeable.

 

That had been bad enough, but it had gone on, and _on_ , and now it was bloody _January_. The two of them were friendly enough, sure, but they just...didn't touch each other, and when Lorna wasn’t looking, Ratiri gave her looks that were downright pathetic, and Pat was at the end of his rope.

 

He cornered Lorna one day in the greenhouse, before he went to work. She was picking fruit trees, and humming to herself, though she paused when he approached.

 

“All right, Fun Size,” he said, without preamble, “what’s up with you and Ratiri?”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing up with me and Ratiri,” she said, “and even if there was, last I checked, it’s none’v your fucking business.”

 

He almost recoiled. He’d expected her to be annoyed, but there was a level of venom in her voice that he hadn’t heard in a long time. “You’re my baby sister,” he said, “and you’re not happy, so yeah, I think it is my fucking business.”

 

“I’m content,” she said, and she meant it. Estë’s gift had reasserted itself, and dissipated her sadness. Maybe she wasn’t thrilled with her life right now, but that just meant she was right there along with half the rest of the household.

 

“Lorna…”

 

“God _dammit_ , Pat, will you just _leave it?_ ” she demanded. “Everything’s _fine_. Now fuck off and go to work.”

 

He decided that leaving would be the wisest course of action, but he meant to talk to Thranduil later. This just...wasn’t right. At all.

 

Lorna shook her head, her calm restoring. No, this wasn’t perfect, but it was hardly horrible. She and Ratiri were...flatmates, basically. They amicably shared a room and a bathroom and a bed, though there hadn’t been any sex since before the whole...mess. Her libido had just been...gone. And yet she really didn't miss it.

 

The problem was that she had no one to really talk to about this. Everyone she knew would just wind up pissed at Ratiri, which would solve nothing. Videochatting with Angie hadn’t really helped. Things had evened out. She couldn’t ask for anything more.

 

**

 

“Have you seen Algar, Lorna?” Thranduil asked, smiling at the substantial amount of lemons in her basket. These trees had succeeded beyond anyone’s guess, and he knew that Ithiliel and Eleniel and Allanah would turn some of these into the lemon meringue pies to which Earlene had introduced them. Not to mention, some of the juice would be frozen for lemonade in the summer. Nothing went to waste; even the peels were used to make cleaning solution for their home. “I worry that he does not study enough, he spends so much time working among the plants.”

 

Lorna laughed. “He was out here earlier, actually, making sure I was doing this right,” she said. “I’m glad he’s got so into this. It’s good for the kids to have their own hobbies.”

 

“His mother will certainly appreciate it to no end, when she…” he trailed off, thinking better of mentioning her absence, for his own sake. Looking down for a moment, he wondered if he should say something. He was forced apart from his own partner by circumstance, and yet Lorna had hers and was just….wasting time. “Lorna, do you not want to repair what has gone wrong, between you and Ratiri?” he asked quietly. “It is not my business but...this is not what a marriage is meant to be.” He could not help but thinking that he had exponentially more intimacy with Thanadir at this moment in time, and they were not yet fully joined.

 

She dropped her pruners, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Repair it, _how_?” she asked, looking at him. “We get along. We take care’v the kids. It’s not like I’ve intentionally cut sex off, Thranduil. I just don't want it, and it’s not like you can force that. Not if you’re a woman, anyway.” She sighed. “Look, I just...I still don't trust him. And I’m not interested in fucking someone I don't trust.”

 

“You cannot seriously stand there and tell me that this is about sex, Lorna. That has zero to do with this. This is about two people who have not even attempted to discuss the hurt feelings that led to this chasm between you. You are coexisting. And you have been ever since the day Allanah began menstruating. That was what triggered all of this.”

 

She looked up at him, sadness in her eyes. “I’ll be honest with you, Thranduil,” she said quietly. “I don't trust myself to handle that discussion rationally, and I really don't want to hear his excuses. I don't think there’s any way that conversation would do anything but make things worse. I mean, I'm calmer now. I’m a lot calmer, but I’m not...I’m not sure that would be enough. And I don't want to go ripping that scab open if nothing good can come’v it. I don't trust him. I don't know how to _make_ myself trust him.” And the sad thing was, some deep part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to. Look what had come of trusting him already. Twelve years of needless misery. Her old prescription for hydrocodone had run out, and since she was presumed dead, she couldn’t exactly go to her gynecologist to get more. Shane refused to give her the good drugs, and she knew that if she called Indira, Indira would just call Ratiri and want to know why the fuck he wasn’t giving his wife the good stuff. Yeah, theoretically she could go score something from some street dealer, but she wasn’t _completely_ stupid; Christ knew what was actually in that shit. Everybody would have given out at her for that, and justifiably so. Desperate did not equal insane.

 

Thranduil stared at her, almost completely unable to process this level of...everything. He wondered now why she did not seek to dissolve their marriage, if this was how bad matters were. And yet she could not or would not even have a discussion with Ratiri; there was little enough to be said to that. “Then, I am sorry,” he said quietly. To him this seemed tragically ridiculous but, it was not his relationship. He thanked Eru that neither Thanadir or Earlene would ever shut down on him in such a manner and that they had more forgiving hearts, for he had made worse mistakes than this and yet had their love. “I must find my son,” he said, turning and leaving.

 

Lorna wiped her eyes, and sat under the tree. Some time spent playing with the fallen leaves was calming, at least.

 

**

{January 6, 2032}

 

In his craft room, Thanadir sat happily sewing, the needle and bobbin on Lorna’s gran’s old treadle machine making a reassuring clacking noise. He was feeling hopeful today, that Earlene must come home eventually, and thought he would make her some pretty clothing. Maybe it was foolish, but it let him feel like he could do something for her. It had been so long, and...this was what he had, at the moment.

 

Lorna, still soundly depressed from her conversation with Thranduil the day before, knocked on the door, cradling her mug of tea. She really didn't have the energy to go deal with anyone else right now.

 

“Come in,” Thanadir said softly, thinking it must be one of the children. He did not look up from his work, for he was almost done with this seam…

 

“Hi, Thanadir,” she said, creeping in. The sound of her Gran’s old machine was oddly soothing in its familiarity.

 

“Hello, Lorna,” he smiled before asking politely, “how are you?”

 

“I’ve been better,” she sighed, pulling up a chair. Bless Thanadir for being...Thanadir. “Thought I might watch you work for a while, if you don't mind.”

 

“I do not. Mind. But this is not very exciting. I am making a tunic for Earlene because...I miss her,” he said quietly.

 

“I miss her, too,” Lorna said. Her own problems seemed downright petty, compared to what the Sullivans were going through. “At least we can make sure everything’s good and together for when she gets home.”

 

Thanadir smiled weakly. “To the extent possible.”

 

She wanted to say something, but nothing came out. She just started fucking crying, _again._ God, she’d been okay. _They’d_ been okay, and then fucking _Pat_ … “Sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Kind’v a mess today.”

 

He stopped the treadle immediately and reached to pull her toward him. When she did not resist, he pulled her onto his lap as he had seen Thranduil do so many times, and held her. Thranduil had clarified some of what was...wrong, though not in great detail. That matters had changed quite a lot between Lorna and Ratiri; even he had noticed. Everyone noticed. It just was not spoken of. “I will listen, if you wish to speak. If not, I will hold you.”

 

Lorna wrapped her arms around him, and let herself cry. “I don't know what to do,” she said. “I don't know how to talk to Ratiri and make sure I don't...that I don't wind up like I used to be. I don't trust him, and...shit, Thanadir, it still hurts. It’s not just that he _somehow_ managed to forget the cordial thing every single time I had a period, it’s...I don't know how to explain this, really, given that you’re neither female nor human, but doctors tend to be dismissive’v what women go through with periods. And in my case, my doctor was also my husband. He wouldn’t give me any painkillers stronger than acetaminophen, even though my cramps were horrible. And I think that’s the worst’v it, honestly -- he didn't care enough to listen to me.” She paused. “That sounds wrong. I don't mean he didn't care about _me_ , I mean...too many men just expect a woman has to endure the nasty parts’v having a period. And to have one’v them be my own husband...sucks. It hurts. He saw how bad they were, and...well, he didn't do anything. And yeah, that’s...not good. Not a good feeling. Ugh, I can’t use my words.”

 

Thanadir listened, and could not help but hear in her words how he must have caused Earlene to feel after their marriage. His new wife had needed something from him, and he was...afraid. And he did not understand, and she willingly allowed him to exist in a place of comfort that did not require him to consider her point of view. Or her needs. And he had known better. On some level, he knew that all was not well. But it had been so much easier to look the other way, than to cope with something uncomfortable that he did not understand...and if he was to be honest, did not want to understand. “I would imagine it is not,” he agreed, having to consider anew what pain he must have created in his wife. Someone he thought he loved, very much. “But...people that love each other can make mistakes. Really big mistakes, that they do not mean to. I have made some. I guess the difference is that Earlene understood my ignorance, and forgave me. I do not think Ratiri meant to do this, Lorna. At all. I know he loves you. There are just times when...the biggest mistake we make is that something inside of us cannot be honest about what it is we are seeing in front of us.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes, and felt vaguely bad that her tears were creating a wet patch on his tunic. “Of course she forgave your ignorance, Thanadir,” she said. “You’re not human. Nobody could expect you to be able to handle a relationship with a human without screwing up somewhere. But...Ratiri’s human. More than that, he’s a bloody doctor. No, he didn't mean to do it...he was just so thoughtless, and so dismissive’v what I went through….that’s the other thing that hurts. It was right in front’v his face. It wasn’t like he didn't know it was happening. I can only guess that...God, I don't even know. I don't know, and for once I’m afraid to ask, because I can think’v a few nasty answers. Chief among them being he just expected me to deal with this because I'm a woman. I don't want to think that’v him. I really don't, and honestly, I don't think he’d consciously realize it if that was the case. He’s not an assh -- he’s not malicious.”

 

“It is kind of you to make excuses for me,” he murmured against her head. “But what I did has nothing to do with being an elf and everything to do with not wishing to truly acknowledge my wife’s needs as a person. I was thoughtless and dismissive too, though I saw every day that something was not right.” He sighed. “I cannot answer your question, Lorna. The only one who can is Ratiri. You must talk to him and seek answers, or choose not to and have matters remain the same. I do not know of any other options.”

 

“I can’t let matters stay the same,” she sighed. “Not when I’m being badgered about them. I just...Thanadir, I’m not mad right now, but I’m so afraid I’d get mad, if we talked. I don't want to do that. I don't want to be the way I was. And depending on what he’d say...I wish Angie was here. I can’t have this conversation alone. I just...I can’t. I haven’t really been able to talk to anyone, because everyone I know would just rip Ratiri a new one, which would help, well, nothing. I mean, I’ve talked to Angie a few times over video chat, but that didn't do a whole lot’v good.”

 

“Why can she not come here?” Thanadir asked, puzzled.

 

“She can’t just leave her job and her patients on no notice,” Lorna said. “She’s been looking for a permanent replacement, but not many people want to work in a small-town clinic in the middle’v nowhere. Eventually she and Alan want to move here, but they can’t leave their employers in the lurch.”

 

“I think Thranduil would do this, if you asked him. Help you have the conversation. I would help you, if it is what you want. But I know you are closer to my...to Thranduil.” He blushed a little, having almost said more than he meant to.

 

She looked up at him, wiping her eyes. “To your Thranduil?” she asked. “Have you two broadened your relationship, with Earlene away?”

 

“Yes,” the elf said; it was not in him to lie. Not about anything, and certainly not about this. “We have become much closer.”

 

That made her smile. “Good,” she said. “This house needs some more happiness in it. Earlene’ll be glad, when she gets home.”

 

Thanadir nodded shyly. “I hope so.”

 

“I know she will,” Lorna said. “She loves you both. She’d want you to grow closer.”

 

An extra hug was given, before the seneschal set her on her feet. “Thank you for not...minding,” he said, not certain how else to say it. “You cannot know what it means to find acceptance. And...I hope that somehow you find your way through what has happened. I will pray for you.” The sincerity in his eyes was obvious.

 

“If you and Thranduil are happy, that’s what matters,” she said. “I’m sure anyone would say the same, though I’ll keep it to myself if you want me to.” With a sigh, she added, “I’ll ask Thranduil if he’ll help me out, with Ratiri. One way or another, this has got to end, I guess.”

 

“That might be best,” Thanadir answered, to all of it.

 

*****

{January 8, 2032}

 

Thranduil sat with Lorna. They had agreed to have this discussion in the privacy of the cottage, where if it all went to proverbial shite at least there would still be...the entire household of Eldamar would not know what happened. “I will sit here, and be supportive,” he clarified. “But it is not my intention to participate unless Lorna asks me to in thought or aloud.” He looked at Ratiri and Lorna in turn, and waited.

 

Lorna looked at him, slightly panicked. She should have asked for a mediator...oh well. She curled up in one of the fat armchairs, knees under her chin, and prayed she wasn’t going to lose her shit. She didn't _feel_ like she was going to, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Looking at Ratiri, she said, “All right, I get that you somehow forgot about the cordial all these years, but why did you never give me anything for it? You knew how bad it was, so why did you just leave me like that?” She managed to mostly keep the belligerence out of her tone...somehow.

 

Ratiri ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. She wasn’t going to like this answer, even less than he liked giving it. He’d had to think, long and hard (and God knew he’d had plenty of time) about why he’d been able to forget the cordial, let alone why he’d left her with nothing but paracetamol and a heating pad, and was not happy when he figured it out. Yeah, it could be a problem doctors had, but he’d thought he was somewhat more enlightened. _Thranduil, please be ready to keep her from murdering me_ , he said, before he dared say anything.

 

The Elvenking looked up at him, puzzled, but gave a nod.

 

Really, the fact that Ratiri was legitimately afraid did not say anything at all good. “I thought….” Oh, dragging the words out was harder even than he’d expected, “...menstruation isn’t a comfortable process. And...I wasn’t thinking. I was…” For once in his life, he was the one struggling to use his words.

 

That was pretty much exactly what Lorna had expected, and for a moment, just one, a surge of raged passed through her, shocking in its intensity. It passed, however, as suddenly as it had come, and just left her...sad. Tired, and sad. “So basically, you’re like every other bloody idiot male on the planet,” she sighed. “Nice. I don't trust you right now, Ratiri, and I don't know how to fix that. I wish I did, but I just...I don't. I can’t. And I’m not sure what to do. I don't think you’d fuck me over like that again, but...I don't know how to fix this.”

 

Thranduil cocked his eyebrow, hoping that he was not an idiot male. He did not think he was...but one never knew, apparently.

 

Quite honestly, Ratiri didn't, either. How did one regain someone’s trust? He’d never been in this situation before -- this, or any like it. Her sadness worried him, too; if she couldn’t even get pissed off, things were still bad. “I wouldn’t,” he said. “Fuck you over, I mean, but I understand why you can’t believe that.” Were their positions reversed, he might say the same. “I wish Angie lived here already.”

 

“We’re going to wind up breaking Angie,” Lorna sighed, her words muffled by her knees. “She’s the one who’ll have a drinking problem, once she lives here. Thranduil, help. Just...help?”

 

“All I can tell you is that this is the same thing as forgiveness, Lorna. We all make mistakes. You choose to forgive or you do not. There is no way for another to prove that you should be willing or able to trust them. It does not work that way.”

 

“Yeah, well, maybe this is just one’v those things I don't understand,” she sighed, wiping her eyes on her sleeves. “I can’t help but think’v all the holidays I spent stuck with...well, with that. All the shite that got ruined, and I don't just mean my knickers. I don't know how to -- how to stop that. I mean, you know what Yellowstone was like, you were close enough to me half the time. And it hurts, and it makes me sad, because it’s not like we’ve got that many more chances for a holiday that _won’t_ suck because’v it. Which is stupid, I know, but...oh, hell.”

 

She stared at the floor. “You had no reason to keep me from the good drugs, you know. I’d had a hydrocodone prescription for years before I met you, but you just didn't bloody trust me, did you? ‘Oh, we can’t go giving the former junkie anything that’ll actually work, even though she’s been taking it for ages already.’ I just...who the fuck do you think you _are_ , that you’ve got any right to make that call?” _Breathe, Lorna,_ she told herself, fighting a rise of ire. That had infuriated her for _years_ \-- not that it had done any good.

 

Why, exactly, had she tolerated that as long as she had? Why hadn’t she ripped his face off the first time he denied her? The old her would have, the Lorna she’d been before everyone civilized her. How sad was it, that that Lorna would have actually managed something she couldn’t now? She was two seconds away from getting up and walking right out that door -- the problem was, if she did, it would be final. This wasn’t about _periods_ , it was about...it was about her husband being an imperious jackass who didn't trust her, who thought he had the right to dictate her medical care, and her being too weak-willed to metaphorically bludgeon him out of it. Just now, she hated who she’d become. Fifteen years ago, she wouldn’t have let that stand for more than thirty seconds, and look what she’d let him get away with. _The me’v twenty years ago’d be ashamed’v me now. That me would’ve slapped him into next Wednesday for daring to distrust me about a fucking painkiller._

 

Ratiri winced, but she held up her hand, forestalling anything he might say. If he tried to feed her another excuse, she might just scream.

 

Thranduil schooled his expression into one of nothing at all, other than listening, but this latest revelation deeply disturbed him. There were so, so many times when Lorna had gone off ‘half-baked’ in the past, but this was not one of them, for the man’s thoughts told him that his friend’s accusations were fully on target this time. _Eru, what had the man been thinking, and how could he himself not have seen this sooner? This was nothing short of an unjust punishment leveled at the heart of Lorna’s successes with her personal growth and...Valar, this was a mess._ “I am going to make myself into a liar for asking this but...Ratiri, even though your thoughts are not hidden from me, I must ask. How could you have so little empathy for someone else’s physical discomfort when you are a physician? I...do not understand. Is this because you are not female?” Thranduil genuinely felt as though he must be missing information, for no wed ellon would ever dismiss this process in their mate.

 

Ratiri stared at him, stunned. He’d never thought of it that way, and yet oh God, that was exactly what it was. And the only honest answer he could give...really didn't look good. Not even to him. “Because….” he sighed. “Because I bought into Western society’s views about menstruation. Like almost every other idiot man. Though to be honest with you, it’s pervasive even in medical school, but...in the eyes of Western society, especially Western male society, a period is just something to be endured. I hesitated to give Lorna opioids because of her...history. Normal treatment is paracetamol and heat, and I…” God, this just sounded worse and worse. He was the product of his environment, and not self-aware enough to realize that.

 

That, of course, did not help Lorna in the least. Yeah, it was what she’d expected, but she cried anyway. Because apparently that was what she did now, instead of getting seriously pissed off. It was less destructive, and yet messier. Snot. Ew.

 

Ratiri wanted to go to her. He really, really did, but even he knew that would be about as welcome as an incipient root canal. Sighing, he shut his eyes. _Thranduil, please hug Lorna._ He’d made his wife cry; he couldn’t be the one to comfort her.

 

Thranduil reached to take his friend into his arms, and held onto her. And he kept silent, because saying that he had been asked to do this could...he did not know how she would react.

 

Lorna felt like something of an idiot for crying, and yet she couldn’t help it. In the grand scheme of things, this was nothing, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t been expecting it. Still, it hurt, and if Angie had taught her anything, it was to not try to subsume her emotions, but to let them pass through her. How this was to pass through, she didn't know...maybe she needed some tincture. This seemed to be too much even for Estë’s gift to handle.

 

“For whatever little it’s worth, Lorna, I'm sorry,” Ratiri said.

 

In this miserable moment, with all these thoughts of wrecked holidays, wrecked knickers, and one set of wrecked sheets, it was worth less than nothing. Still, she nodded, because what else could she do? He’d never actually understand. He was male, he literally couldn’t. Sure, she could punch him in the bollocks, but that wouldn’t be the same, and she just wasn’t that mean. Not anymore. Although actually...oh. _Oh._

 

_Thranduil, before I trot this idea out there, will you tell me if it’s cruel? It’s not...damaging, or anything._

 

_That is not exactly an inspiring preamble, but I am listening._

 

 _There’s these thingies, these machines that’ve been used to simulate cramps and childbirth in men. I want to get one, and hook Ratiri up to it, so that he can genuinely_ know _why I’m so upset._

 

That brought a frown. _I think you could just as easily ask him if he would be willing to experience...that. You should not do that without his consent regardless._

 

 _Well, yeah, I know_ , she said. _But I wanted to run it past you before I ask._

 

_It is my opinion that pain is pain. To not be able to ‘understand’ pain on account of gender...to me it is ridiculous. He either knows what it is to physically hurt or he does not. However, not everyone does. And yet he was shot once, I would think he comprehends._

 

_Period cramps aren’t like getting shot. That’s...well, different..they go on. And on. And on. If he comprehended, he’d have given me some damn Vicodin._

 

_What you do in this regard is your choice. But I can tell you now that if it takes what you are suggesting to create empathy in your husband, you have greater problems._

 

 _Right now, I have no idea where his empathy level is actually at_ , she said, _and I know you don't usually talk about what you see in other people’s heads. I know he feels guilty, yeah. Empathy? Not so sure._

 

Thranduil remained silent; even were he inclined to reveal what was in Ratiri’s mind at this exact moment the problem was...Ratiri was not the issue just now. Whether Lorna had any capacity to move on from this, was more pertinent.

 

“Ratiri, I have an idea,” she said. “If you say yes to it now, you can back out later, once we’re not...well, like this.”

 

The poor man was not sure he liked the sound of that. “Oh?”

 

“I want to get one’v those thingies that simulates cramps, and make you wear it for an hour. Then you’d actually sort’v understand what I went through for twelve years.”

 

That...actually was not nearly as bad as what he’d feared. And though he would never confess this aloud, there was a certain morbid curiosity about the idea, though he also feared it might make him feel even more guilty. Still, he could think of little other better way to gain empathy for something than to experience it himself...and he couldn’t think of any other way to remove the barrier between him and Lorna. He knew by now that part of why she always insisted on doing something for an apology -- cooking, or whatever -- was because she considered the words ‘I’m sorry’ on their own to be empty. “Deal,” he said. “If we can somehow find one on...Amazon, or...something.”

 

Thranduil waited a moment, and when nothing more was said, he tried to prompt them just a little further. “Is there any more either of you have to add?” he asked in very neutral tones.

 

“I want some tincture,” Lorna said.

 

“And you bloody Donovans are rubbing off on me, because I want a drink,” Ratiri sighed. “I’ll go for a walk instead.”

 

“And if I'm smart, I’ll...pick fruit, or something.” The idea held no appeal at all. Honestly, she didn't want to move. Thranduil gave good hugs.

 

Thranduil was not about to endorse consuming substances, and there was apparently nothing left to be said… “I think I need to check on our triplets and...I am happy you were able to talk. I love you both,” he said, torn between wanting to help his friends and a strong desire to be somewhere else because their discussion had taken a turn that was...too peculiar, in his eyes. “The cheesemakers need help,” he hinted, hoping that Earlene’s lemon trees would not all become denuded at once. The fruit stored better on the tree, and no one had time to process so many lemons today.

 

“I can make cheese,” Lorna said, rising and giving him a hug. “Thanks for helping with this.”

 

“What she said,” Ratiri said, rising as well. And he and Lorna were still instinctively on the same page; she stepped back so he could hug Thranduil himself.

 

The King returned their embraces and...hoped, that what was broken between them could be repaired. He did not relish the thought of living out their days together like...this.

 

“I’ll bake you some biscuits later,” Lorna promised, and headed out into the forest, feeling lighter than she had in months.

 

Once she was gone, Ratiri looked at Thranduil. “Don't tell her this, but I'm partly doing this out of curiosity,” he said.

 

“I will not,” he replied in a strained voice. With a quick smile he hoped did not come off as judgemental, he hastened off.

 

****

{January 10, 2032}

 

Trying to buy one of those simulators, Lorna discovered, was both stupidly expensive and time-consuming to actually acquire. The _alternative_ , however, merely took a trip to Limerick; it was far easier and cheaper to get a battery-operated stimulation unit, normally used for things like screwed-up muscles. Given that it was something they could have a legitimate use for later, she didn't feel quite so bad for ditching out on her tasks for half a day.

 

By now she was far from the only one, too; the more people moved in, the more pinballs there became, free-floating labor that could be sent wherever an extra hand was needed at any given time. She was too small for many jobs --she couldn’t haul enough wood at any one time to make it worth anyone’s while, given how big the wheelbarrows were -- but she fit great into tight spaces. Liam had jokingly called her storage-compatible, and he hadn’t exactly been wrong. (Lorna the Younger was, too, but while she wasn’t precisely claustrophobic, she was close, and nobody was mean enough to ask her to do something that would freak her out so much.)

 

At any rate, there were enough of them that Lorna felt comfortable begging off for half a day, and Google had told her last night exactly where she needed to go. Picking up the thing itself was the work of a moment, and while she was there, she grabbed a literal basket full of batteries. They’d all been doing that for ages now, and storing them. Yeah, the lad at the register looked at her like she was out of her mind, but oh well.

 

She got lunch on the way home, so that she could use her allotted lunchtime at home to test the thing out; while she wanted Ratiri to understand what she’d gone through, she didn't want to crank it up so that it was worse than hers had ever been. She also wanted to make sure it was actually going to feel like real cramps, since if it didn't, the whole point was moot. Being a smart monkey, she’d looked up where the electrodes had to go on the abdomen, and then she laid back on the bed and turned the unit on. Some fiddling was needed with the dial, since at first it just felt tingly and weird, but...oh. _Ow._

 

“Fuck,” she groaned. Yeah, this was just about right, and yet at this setting it wasn’t close to where she’d been on the first day. Could Ratiri even _handle_ it that high? He was a healthy man who wasn’t exactly accustomed to pain. This was meant to be an object lesson, not flat-out torture. She dialed it back a little, so that it was more like what she felt on the second or, if she was really unlucky, third day. Switching the thing off, she sighed. It brought back memories and unpleasant emotions she’d rather not think about. Instead, she put the unit in a cupboard away from the cats, put her boots back on, and went to churn butter, thinking idly that all the pinball workers needed some kind of badge, or armband, or...something.

 

**

Ratiri ate dinner that night uncertain if he was eager or unnerved. He did not anticipate this being any fun at all, but he was certainly curious.

 

That, and Thranduil’s assertion that he had lacked empathy badly rattled him. He’d always thought he was, and tried to be, an empathetic person, but Thranduil had been entirely right. In this, he had...failed, and that bothered him immensely. The fact that he’d taken all of Lorna’s other physical issues seriously just made the lack in this area even worse. He was _that_ asshole, and it was not a comfortable realization. And he still, even now, did not know why he’d forgotten the second method of using the cordial. Searching his mind gave him no real answer, and that too bothered him.

 

So yes, he did view this as a sort of penance, but the scientist in him was also intrigued by the prospect, however unpleasant it would be. It wasn’t like it was something he’d ever experienced before.

 

And, too...he knew how Lorna worked. How she and apologies worked. Her gran had taught her that talk was cheap, and was better if backed up by something solid -- usually a baked good. Back in her gran’s day, biscuits and pastries had been luxury items; if you gave someone biscuits with your apology, they _knew_ you were sorry. And even now, when baked things were easily acquired, the symbol of making it was what mattered. It was why she cooked breakfast, rather than just going to Mairead for a cake. It was something tangible that she’d put time and thought and effort into, and this, to him, seemed to be somewhat the same. It was all well and good for him to apologize, and say it wouldn’t happen again -- of course it wouldn’t, whether he kept that promise or not. The situation had been taken out of his hands.

 

Yeah, it was a type of penance, for his sake as much as hers. He didn't like what he’d realized about himself. And if he could comprehend, even a bit, what Lorna had actually gone through, it would be a good thing to reflect on when he next found his empathy lacking over...whatever.

 

“Thranduil, Calanon and I want to ask something,” Ailill spoke up in the middle of the meal. “We have been talking about the problem with the pastures, because we hunt over there and see how slow the work is for the man...I think Sean, is his name? He is the only one. Could we have your consent to learn what he does, and help do that work when we have the time?”

 

The King raised his head from the soup he was about to sip, and lowered his spoon, looking at Thanadir. They were asking for this on their personal time...he did not want especially Ailill to work himself into the ground. And yet there was a need and this could lead to further interest from others… “I think that would be a very good idea, as long as you ensure you are not worn out from too many tasks. It is my understanding that the work is very heavy. Tiring, I mean.”

 

Ailill glanced at Calanon, who wore quite a smirk. “I do not think that would be allowed to happen,” he said quietly, gazing with love at his husband who was not-so-secretly protective of his well-being.

 

Even Thanadir could not help but smile. “Go arrange this, with my approval,” Thranduil said, returning to his soup immensely pleased to see those that took initiative.

 

“You know, I might help, if you don't mind,” Lorna the Younger said. “There’s only so many shirts to make in a day, and I ought to get outside. I’m too short for a lot’v the farm equipment, but I can haul stuff around.” And quite honestly, she didn't want to let the Donovan side down, strength-wise. Da like to say that they were short, but dense, so they could haul shite larger people couldn’t. Hers and her aunt’s only real limitations were their height, which, sadly, did discount a lot.

 

“We do not mind at all,” Calanon said. “I cannot say at what hour it might be, but when we return the hawks to our room, we will find you?”

 

“That sounds good,” she said. “Making T-shirts doesn’t exactly have to go on a schedule, after all.” And honestly, if Mam was doing that, she wasn’t trying to do other work. Sure, her mam was healthy, but she was also almost sixty years old, and not a Donovan. She didn't need to be doing heavy work, but that wouldn’t stop her trying, if she felt she had to.

 

**

 

Ratiri’s apprehension grew slightly as he and Lorna retreated to their room, and yet his curiosity did, too. _Only a scientist_ , he thought, shaking his head. Only a scientist could have such a mental juxtaposition.

 

“All right, now I want you to _tell me_ if this is too much,” Lorna said firmly. “I mean it. If you can’t handle it...this isn’t meant to be torture. If you can’t deal with it, we’ll turn it off.”

 

He tried not to let his pride be insulted by that, and yet he felt the warning probably wasn’t without merit. Having watched her try contorting into all sorts of positions to try to alleviate the cramps...well. He’d feel like a complete twat if he tapped out, though. “Okay.”

 

“Go on and lay down. I tested this on myself earlier, so I’m not just putting you through some other awful thing that doesn’t feel anything like cramps.” She fetched the little kit from the bathroom, shoo’ing away all the curious kitties. By now, as they’d aged, the Lump was not the only fat one; Pumpkin looked practically spherical, given how long her fur was. Her legs were all but lost in the fluff, so she looked rather like a poofy ball with feet, a face, and a tail.

 

Lay Ratiri did, pulling his shirt up, and wondered what the hell he’d got himself into. The electrodes were somewhat chilly as she applied them -- one worryingly close to his groin, but he trusted her not to try to zap his langer off.

 

“All right,” she said, and now _she_ looked a little worried. Was she afraid he couldn’t deal with this? That it would prove too much for him? In spite of himself, his pride really _was_ insulted. It was stupid, sure, but that didn't stop it.

 

“Go for it,” he said.

 

Wincing, she did, turning the little dial.

 

He let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled cry. It was a little bit like gas pains, but _so much worse_ . No wonder she tended to curl into a ball -- he found himself doing that on instinct, as though it might actually ease anything. Oh good _God_ …

 

Lorna, watching him, seriously questioned the wisdom of this. She hadn’t expected him to react like _that_ , and certainly not on such a comparatively low setting. Pushing it to anything higher would just be abject cruelty, and she dialed it down again.

 

“Is _that_ what that feels like?” he asked, staring at her.

 

“Um...sort’v,” she admitted. “That’s not bad, comparatively.”

 

“ _Comparatively?_ ” he asked, incredulous. “Compared to what?”

 

Oh, good Jesus… “Compared to Day One. That’s about Day Four. I think you get it now.”

 

Ratiri looked at her, and at his abdomen, and then at the thing in her hands. “What’s Day One like?”

 

She sighed. “If Day Four did that to you, I’m not joking when I say Day One might make you piss yourself. I didn't plan this in the hopes’v making you wish you were dead.” To be perfectly honest, most women would consider Day Four to be not that bad. Painful, sure, but not horrendously so; an annoyance rather than agony. And if it did _that_ to Ratiri, she didn't want to know what Day One would do. If he had any sense, he wouldn’t want to, either.

 

“Give me Day One,” he said.

 

“I...no,” she said. “Ratiri, if you think this was bad, Day One would count as legitimate torture. And while I’ve been pissed at you, at no point have I actually wanted to torture you.” He wasn’t normally the sort to be macho, but she suspected there was at least a little machismo behind this.

 

“You did say you wanted me to understand,” he pointed out.

 

“Yeah, well...you sort’v do now, don't you?” she said. “It hurts, and…” Ugh, might as well just say it. “You can’t handle pain like a woman, okay? If such a low...dose...did that to you, giving you the full one wouldn’t make you understand what we go through, because you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

 

Now he looked downright offended. “Day One,” he insisted.

 

“And if you scream your bloody lungs out, and half the house comes running, what am I meant to say?” she demanded. “‘Oh, my husband wants me to torture him with electrodes’. Because _that’ll_ go over great.”

 

“Just tell them it was my idea,” he said. “It would be the truth. Now just give me Day One.”

 

Lorna winced. She was not looking forward to explaining this, and she knew she was going to have to. “I’ll not give it to you, but you can do it,” she said, handing him the control. “Day One is right at this mark -- _don't_ go beyond it.”

 

Wisely, she ran and grabbed the wastebin out of the bathroom. While she herself had never sicked up from cramps, she knew it could happen, and this was probably going to be pain on a scale he’d rarely, if ever, felt before. She wasn’t sure he’d ever been kicked in the bollocks, so this might be a completely new level of Ow.

 

With a deep breath, he turned the dial, and screamed. Actually _screamed_. It felt like someone was trying to gut him from the inside out, and with a rusty knife, no less -- and it didn't stop, or even ebb. Instinctively he tried to curl up again, fighting nausea. Black sparkles were actually dancing in front of his eyes, his head spinning, and Lorna snatched the controller out of his hand, shutting it off. He lay panting, sweaty, and wondered just in the name of all fuck had just happened to him.

 

Thanadir rose to his feet in the Heart Room at the sound, preparing to dash off to help, when Thranduil caught his hand. “This is not something you can help,” the King said, not looking up from his National Geographic.

 

“But…” the seneschal said helplessly, though he did not physically resist.

 

“Ratiri is trying to experience a menstrual period.”

 

Blinking, the old elf wondered why everything in their home had to be so...odd. Looking down at Thranduil, he sighed and returned to his seat. Because it did not escape him that he was part of the Odd, and that the Odd only became Odder with time.

 

Ratiri, shuddering, looking up at Lorna. “That…”

 

“Was Day One,” she said, pulling the electrodes off his abdomen before he could try to do that to himself again. “If I was really unlucky, it was Day Two. Just be glad I didn't get a rag wet and make you hold it between your legs.” Jesus, her poor husband...he looked traumatized. Actually, legitimately traumatized. And that had not been the point of this whole exercise.

 

“That...is what that felt like,” he said -- it was both a statement and a question.

 

“It is,” she said, and took the whole apparatus away before he could...grab it from her, or...something. “Now do you understand why I’ve been so upset all this time?”

 

“I’m surprised you don't want to murder me,” he said, and meant it. She’d gone through that for _twelve years?_ No, she didn't get a period every month, but still. That was horrendous.

 

That drew a small laugh from her. “I won’t lie, the thought crossed my mind once or twice. But...you get it now. Sort’v.”

 

He sat up, grabbed her, and pulled her down into a hug. “I am so, so sorry,” he said into her hair, ignoring her slight _eep_ of surprise. “I’m so sorry.”

 

To his relief, she hugged him back. “We are going on holiday, somewhere,” she said firmly, “and I’m taking some’v that cordial with me, because I want one, just _one_ where the Communists haven’t invaded and made it suck.” Somehow, and she had no idea how this was even possible, her period had shown up _every single time_ she’d gone on holiday, starting with New York. Every. Single. Fucking. One. She’d probably only escaped it when they went to Italy because she’d already been up the yard.

 

“Where?” he asked.

 

“This summer, Ross Lake. This spring...I don't know. We’ll think’v something. Christ do I wish I could just get a hysterectomy, but I know no doctor would do it unless there was something bloody wrong with my stupid uterus, and that’s even _if_ I could actually have the surgery.” Orla, Big Jamie’s wife, had got lucky, if one could call it that: she’d developed a very large cyst on her uterus not long after Aislinn, her youngest, was born. It meant she didn't have any trouble finding someone to get the blasted thing out. The only thing wrong with Lorna’s, though, was the fact that it hated her. But at least, with the cordial, she could head it off before it could do anything too nasty to her. She just wished, so much, that it hadn’t taken twelve years to reach this point.

 

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Absolutely anywhere.”

 

*****

{March 20, 2032}

 

Moonlight streamed through the doors; the hour was late and neither ellon could sleep. Thanadir reached for Thranduil, brushing his hand down the muscled chest. In seconds he was drawn closer, enfolded in a warm embrace. Thanadir initiated a tender kiss, that was the first of many. “Can we talk?” Thanadir asked in a soft whisper.

 

“You know the answer to that,” Thranduil smiled, peppering his cheek with soft kisses, as his hands kneaded Thanadir’s shoulders. Appreciative moans of enjoyment were easy to elicit, this way.

 

Thanadir felt a firm arousal against his belly, and brought his hand to the small of Thranduil’s back, drawing him tightly against his own body as he felt his own member swell in response. “Thranduil, what...are we, to each other now? Nothing is the same as it was when Earlene left the forest. All this time together and...the only thing we have not done with each other is finalize the act of marriage, if we are to be honest. My love for you has changed. Grown. But I am also confused. Confused about whether this is genuine, or because emotional and physical need has brought us here. Confused about whether Earlene is ever returning. And if she is, and if we lose her again someday...then what? I know you do not prefer males. I am supposed to prefer no one at all, and yet night after night I participate willingly. I feel...more than a little...lost, while at the same time knowing in my heart that I love you deeply.” His words were completed by kisses to the skin at Thranduil’s throat, and an attempt to snuggle closer to the reassurance of his warmth.

 

“Oh, _this_ conversation,” Thranduil teased gently, returning the affection. “Well, I too lack what I would call...perfect clarity. But Thanadir...my attachment to you is genuine. My love, is...real. Not simply that I have a lustful disposition and that you have been kind enough to meet my physical needs in our wife’s absence. I could not live with myself were I using you, in such a way. But then, where does that leave us? Or maybe I should ask a different question. Are you asking me because you desire to fully bond with me?”

 

“Maybe? In part? I do not yet know if that is our fate, but if it is, I wish to be awake this time,” Thanadir poked fun at himself. “I would be honored to be yours. But…” Thanadir hesitated to say more, feeling suddenly awkward.

 

“But you are thinking of going to Aman, and wondering how that decision will feel when confronted with the realities of being two wed males when for almost all the rest of our people this will be a thing unheard of?” Thranduil guessed.

 

Thanadir nodded. “And then I feel like a complete hypocrite. I am more than content to give and receive pleasure between us, but I hesitate to take the final step and publicly acknowledge our relationship. I wonder if I am a coward. Why can I not be like Ailill and Calanon, who have the courage to embrace their love fully?”

 

“I could face the others,” Thranduil said. “In some ways I am past caring, what others think. A failed marriage, wed to an ellon, wed to a mortal, in a plural marriage….really, meldir, what scandal can I fail to achieve?” He snorted. “I no longer think on those things, except for concern regarding how it could affect you. Or Earlene. She is coming back to us, Thanadir. I know she is. If only because she has a role here in the future. But some of the rest of it--Valar, there is so much we cannot know. And, a part of me feels too...if we are to wed, I...I would like her to be present. Not to simply come home to...us.”

 

Thanadir nodded “I ask myself sometimes, how in Eru’s name this has all happened to me. I have tried to be very honest. Do you remember all those years ago, when I was punished for the disaster with Erestor, and you found me in my rooms? In despair?”

 

Thranduil sighed. “That is not something I am ever going to forget, Thanadir. That was very...my heart was torn, that day.”

 

“I am sorry,” the seneschal apologized. “I do not mention it to cause pain. But rather because it was the first time I came to understand what your touch meant to me. Thinking on that and all of the affection I shared with Earlene...I have tried to understand what is even the difference, in expressions of love.”

 

“I am not fully certain I am following?”

 

“No, it is me, not expressing this well,” Thanadir said. “I mean...why is it so different whether I brush my fingertips across your cheek...or your arousal?” His demonstration caused Thranduil to sharply breathe in. “Either way I am only touching you. And yet it is not the same. There was a time when I felt afraid of being touched intimately. Even by Earlene. And yet slowly, everything came to be different. Touching has not changed, so...that means I have changed. And I am still not explaining well,” he laughed, shaking his head.

 

“I think I understand, though I too lack words. Meldir, let me say this much. I have no gift of foresight but...I believe our time will come. It makes more sense to me, not to rush headlong into a serious decision that cannot be undone. We are in a sanctified relationship with our wife, who is temporarily not here. Our pleasure with each other is with love, and respect. None of our Lords or Ladies have appeared to admonish us. Given all that...I love you. I have always loved you, and perhaps it has taken all that has befallen us to understand the gift your spirit has been to me. I have come to understand that it is what is inside of you, that I love. Whether you are housed in form that is male or female has come to seem inconsequential to me. What is most important to me is that you have peace of mind, and heart. Yes, I enjoy our physical intimacies. But I have managed before, and can manage again without them if you find that our activities cause you difficulty.”

 

Thanadir shook his head. “You have told me how you feel, and I have done the same. I do not disagree with you. It sounds like we feel...the same. I miss her. So much. And I fear for what would have become of me, if I did not have you. And then…” he choked, as tears filled his eyes. “I am afraid of the future, Thranduil. I have wed a mortal, and I imagine the pain of that loss and do not know how I will go on. If I have you, I at least will not fade…”

 

“No, meldir, no...do not think of this. Please? Have faith with me. Have faith that we will not be treated so cruelly.”

 

“I am trying,” the old elf whispered. “And I am sorry, for my feelings. It has just been...so hard.”

 

“I know,” Thranduil soothed, holding him tightly, cherishing the warmth of his soft skin. “I know. You asked me what we are to each other. How would you feel about an extremely irregular betrothal?”

 

“How do you mean?” Thanadir whispered.

 

“I mean, I will pledge to you that one day I intend to seal our commitment, if that is your desire as well. But custom is to wait a year. Make an announcement. Yet from what we have just spoken, we may feel a need to walk a longer road.”

 

Thanadir hesitated. “I love you Thranduil. Unreservedly. But I had wanted marriage for children...not sex. With you, I am able to have intimacy in a way I cannot on my own but...I am still me. And...I pray this does not offend you...I want the three of us. I might want the two of us, but I am still trying to understand the totality of my feelings. I do not want to promise something this serious only to find I have misunderstood my heart.”

 

“You do not offend me. I love you more, for your honesty. What we call ourselves is not important to me. I only wish to make it plain that for my part, I offer you this commitment.”

 

Nothing was said, but Thanadir tilted his head, and captured his lips in a sweet and tender kiss full of love.

 

*****

 

Sharley’s new (old?) eyes fascinated her.

 

When she’d been “human”, their wonky, uneven Technicolor hues didn't really register, because how often did a person stare at their own eyes? Yeah, they were rather different from what most people had, but heterochromia was actually not _that_ uncommon -- she’d just had a somewhat extreme case of it. But while she hadn’t given them undue thought, the difference was still startling: the heterochromia was still there, but now it was all in shades of blue, from navy to cobalt to sky, the distribution still weird and uneven. She didn't mind that, though, just because if it had been neat and even it would have been kind of creepy.

 

What she’d been having a difficult time of was shapeshifting, for lack of a better word. Carni had told her that Maia wore bodies as a matter of convenience, which meant they could alter them as they saw fit. How to discorporate entirely was still beyond Sharley, but she played with the hue of her skin until she no longer blended in with snow; ironically, she looked more human now.

 

The hair was the really fun bit. She’d usually kept it about halfway down her back -- long enough to braid or wear in a ponytail, but not so long that it was a pain in the ass to maintain. She’d always wished the had the patience -- and the hair dye -- to wear it like Earlene did, but it would have been too much hassle. Now, though, she could make it blue without dye, and keep it whatever length she felt like. (She’d tested it out Lorna-length one day, and wondered how the hell her tiny friend managed it. Even held back in a braid, it got in the way of everything; she’d very nearly woven it into a tapestry.)

 

And the _weaving_...she’d been worried she’d have to re-learn it, but the knowledge was innate, and came back to her at once. Admittedly, she screwed up on the telekinesis a bit the first few times, but once she got the hang of it, it became second nature. She didn't dare do it much, however, for fear that they’d try to talk her into staying. For now, her home was still on Earth. The family that had brought her in, that had taken such good care of her, was on Earth. Her other sunshine girl, who would all too soon be a sunshine woman, was as well.

 

If there was one thing that grieved her about leaving Marty in the beautiful Gardens, it was that her little girl had never had the chance to grow up -- and never would, so long as she stayed there. She’d be forever five years old, and yet there were far worse fates. To Sharley’s mind at least, it was better an eternal childhood without fear or grief than adulthood saturated with both. Until the world was worth bringing Marty back into, it was better she stay where she was, and _as_ she was. The Maiar that cared for the children genuinely loved them. She wasn’t leaving her daughter to indifferent caretakers, like some kind of human orphanage; from all she’d seen in her night and day in the Gardens, they loved the children like their own. As much as she wanted her little bug to meet the rest of her family, Marty was better off just where she was. _Whatever nightmare’s coming_ , Sharley thought, _she’s safe away. It won’t touch her -- she’ll never even know it’s happening. She’ll laugh and play and snuggle into her bed-box at night, rather than watch the world dying all around her._

 

Too many children, Sharley knew, would not be so lucky. The kids of Baile and Lasg’len would be safe in the Halls when things started going to shit, but they’d still know what was going on. They’d know everyone outside was dying, that the world they’d always lived in would never exist again, but Marty would be well away, oblivious.

 

There was one thing that had to be done, though, before Sharley went home -- she had to do it here, because she wanted Vairë’s guidance. Even yet, she didn't know the precise date the plague began; ‘sometime in early June’ wasn’t good enough. Apparently she could see things with precision now, but she wanted to make doubly sure that she was doing it right. Thousands of lives depended on it.

 

 _“Eight years,”_ Layla said. _“It seems like a blink and then the world will just...end. All of it.”_

 

“I know,” Sharley murmured. She hadn’t actually seen the Black Death, having been on the wrong continent, but she’d seen what smallpox had done to the indigenous population of North America. Lacking any immunity to it, it had destroyed whole civilizations -- but this time, there would be no invaders to take their place. It would be the end for all but what, ten percent of humanity, if even that? And out of those ten percent, there would be a number who couldn’t survive without civilization as they knew it -- or who wouldn’t want to. Survivors would prey on survivors, and she could only be glad that they’d have a lot harder time doing that in Ireland, given its relative lack of weapons. And even the guns held by the Army or criminals had a finite amount of ammunition.

 

Well. Time to go find Vairë, and hope her Lady had a spare moment. The Vala was in one of the storage rooms, whisking through an astonishing amount of tapestries as if she was sorting an inventory. When Sharley came, she flung her arms high in exasperation and all of them lurched up to the ceiling. This was a ploy, because under no circumstances did the Lady wish for Tirillë to see the subject matter of these tapestries. They had been requested of her, for the proceedings concerning Maglor were to begin the very next day. “Ah, Tirillë. It is always nicer to see you than the eternal records we keep. Do you need something?”

 

Sharley smiled. “A little help, if I can get it,” she said. “I need to know the exact date this plague starts, so I can make sure everyone who’s supposed to be in the Halls is actually there beforehand.”

 

Vairë grimaced. And sighed. “For this, I will aid you,” the Lady said. “But, this also raises another matter of which I wished to speak. I would counsel you to be...exceedingly cautious, about what you choose to reveal of your visions henceforth. It will not be like before. No more falling flat on your face and being lost to dreams for days, with the Elvenking a captive audience to your thoughts. The power to look forward anywhere in time rests with you, but it is a frightening one, Tirillë. One filled with great peril. There is a reason there is only one of you. Vanwatirillë is similar, yes, but your gift is far more dangerous. It is not only better not to speak of it, unless you are certain you can keep what you learn to yourself, it is better not to look in the first place. Foreknowledge is a terrible responsibility.”

 

Sharley sighed as well. “While it’ll be nice to not go thud and be outta it for days...seeing the future was scary anyway, because half the time I didn't understand what I saw until after it happened. I mean, I kinda already kept most of it to myself -- the only reason Thranduil knows some of it is because neither of us could help it. I know I always wished I could control it, because there’s some things...I’m glad I saw _this_ coming, but...how will I know when to use it, and when not to?”

 

Vairë assessed her very carefully. “Come with me,” she asked, departing the room and making for another of the nameless doors in her Hall. “Most of the other maids here do not even know this room exists,” the Lady said quietly. Drawing a delicate chain up from the folds of her clothing, Sharley could see that it held a single golden key, that was now used to unlock the door, that Vairë closed behind them. This was a long, relatively narrow room, and a single great tapestry was hung that stretched its gossamer threads from floor to ceiling. “This is the Tapestry of Possibilities,” she explained. “And perhaps the single most perilous object in all of Valinor. For unlike all the other tapestries that record what was, this one shows what might have been.”

 

Seeing that Tirillë appeared to not understand, the Lady cast her arms wide, the fabric filled at once with a series of images. The entire panel filled with images, and the first one seemed innocuous enough. “The Lump, sitting on Maglor’s...posterior?” Sharley asked, amused.

 

“Yes,” Vairë answered. “And you moved her off, and you two talked, and cuddled, and you went to sleep. A lovely afternoon which I am certain you remember fondly?”

 

“I do,” Sharley said, with a little smile. “That cat...I swear that cat’s in love with him. And his backside.” Mercifully, she remembered not to say ‘arse’; Lorna really had rubbed off on her to an appalling degree.

 

“At the risk of treading on your sensibilities, I will reveal to you that your husband really does not care for cats, and tolerates them out of love for you. _This_ ,” she said pointedly, reaching toward the threads to alter them with motions of her fingers, “is what happens when we alter what happens at this point in time.” As they watched, Sharley now did not remove the feline from her preferred seat. Maglor twitched roughly, dislodging the cat.

 

_“What did you do that for?” Sharley could be seen to mouth as the vision moved forward._

_Maglor shrugged. “I don’t like that” (he seemed to say)._

_An argument erupted of spectacular proportions, causing Maglor to run from the room into the woods. Scenes and images flew by...Maglor refusing to return to his room, hiding in the anonymous depths of the Halls...Algar missing his music lesson because Maglor was absent...Algar leaving to play in the woods and falling out of one of the trees, breaking his ankle…_

 

“And that is how much can change because I altered just a few threads,” the Lady explained. “Revealing the future to others is a form of altering threads, because the future is ever in motion. It is fluid. Sometimes, a timeline can remain stable. Other times…” she shook her head. “Dangerous.”

 

Of course, some irreverent part of her thought, _He doesn’t like the Lump?_ The rest of her got the point, though. “Lady, how can I know the difference? How can I know when to say something, and when to keep my mouth shut? There might come a time when I should say something, but...is there any way for me to know?”

 

 _“I didn't realize there could be a tapestry like that,”_ Layla mused, mostly to herself. _“Sharley sometimes does that, but it usually doesn’t work.”_

 

“Therein lies the problem,” Vairë said. “There is no way to know. You were created to be... _here_ , Tirillë. For this purpose. And while I do not require that of you, I can only emphasize that what you are was never meant to be abroad in the world. Just as it is with me...you may have observed by now that of all the Valar, I am the least likely to ever depart my own Realm. I do not mind, for this is how I complete the will of Eru; we do not always perceive our Father’s designs. And yet even damaged, out in the world...you achieved good things. You helped. You made a difference. I do not try to see all ends, for I am more concerned with recordkeeping, you might say. It is my husband, who bears the true burden, for his is the knowledge of...everything. But...you get the point,” she sighed, wiping the tapestry with a flick of her wrist. “Now...I have a task which will occupy me for most of three days, and will be unavailable. But I hoped, so very much, that you could do something for me.”

 

 _“Carni wishes they got out a little more,”_ Jimmy said. _“I think she thinks that’s why everyone’s kinda weird.”_

 

“Jimmy!”

 

_“Oops. Sorry.”_

 

“He needs a mute button, too,” Sharley muttered. “I’ll try not to look ahead, back on Earth. I think that mighta been the one benefit of having it the way I did -- I had no choice. The rest of it I coulda done without, though.”

 

She watched the tapestry rise again, and wondered if it was the same telekinesis the weavers used that made that work. “And sure, I can do something. I mean, if it’s something I know how to do.”

 

“Oh, it is,” Vairë smiled as she locked the door securely behind them. “Could you possibly fix the _FREAKISH MESS THAT LUINË MADE OF THE BLUES??_ ” The Lady cleared her throat, smiling sweetly. “Sorry about that, I should not raise my voice. You know, stress, and all…”

 

Sharley’s eyebrows rose. “That poor woman...Maia...you know. I’ll see what I can do with it, but you know, I think she might actually be color-blind, if that’s possible for a Maia. I mean, I can’t imagine how she’d weave a cobalt sky unless that was actually how she saw it.”

 

“Well, that may be the case. I will hope that someday you return to me, if only for completely selfish reasons,” the Vala grinned, before her face fell. “Sadly, there is no solution to not knowing cobalt from sky blue, because Ainur are not supposed to be….oh, bother. Anyway, my dear...on the mortal calendar, sixth of June, 2037. That is the date the sickness will be loosed into the world.”

 

“June sixth? That’s Lorna’s birthday,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “Big ‘happy birthday’ there. I do know that it only takes about three weeks to wipe out the entire world...and New York...I don't suppose there’s any way for me to forget New York, is there? Because a week in that tomb was a week too long.”

 

 _“Seriously, it was bad,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“Worse than anything else we’ve ever seen, and that’s really saying something. Sharley’s visions were always a little too...real.”_

 

 _“It’s not going to be a place anyone with a sense of smell will want to be, that’s for sure,”_ Kurt said.

 

“Try the Haudh-en-Ndengin,” Vairë said acidly. “And forgive me, work awaits. Have fun holding down the castle…” she said as she flitted off down the hallway, hand waving in the air cheerfully.

 

 _“Did...did she just make a_ Princess Bride _joke, or was than an accident?”_ Layla asked.

 

“Probably an accident, but you never know,” Sharley said, shaking her head and following. Blues. She could do the blues. She could also possibly _sing_ the blues, but she doubted that would be overly appreciated here.

 

*****

 

They were to present themselves at Máhanaxar in less than an hour, and Earlene was trying to calm herself, because she utterly did not know how to help her charge. In the last three days since Maedhros freed him of his bonds by Manwë’s concession, Maglor had been in a turmoil of wrestling with his brother’s words. That he had been trying with all his heart to heed the warning given him, she had little doubt. Because the space they shared was so small, she knew he prayed alone at night; hearing him was unavoidable and though he did not know it, many were the occasions she too knelt to add her own petitions to his. And now today, his crimes were to be read. If she had to assign it a purpose, this ritual would fall under ‘procedural.’ But Earlene guessed it was more than that. Were this an ordinary place, perhaps it would be just that, a dry litany of the deeds of which the defendant was accused. And yet the things that she had heard read in the volumes given to them seemed to indicate something else. They were the Powers; they saw. All of them did not see everything, but certain of them most assuredly did, and when they were commanded to speak by Manwë….it occurred to her that this could exceed anything she would consider ordinary.

 

 _I hope I can...rise to this. I have to,_ she told herself. And yet there was a reason she had not chosen to pursue criminal law. Her own world was calculating, and in some ways far more devoid of emotion. Colder. It just so happened that she was the coldest of all...and yet that was a carefully crafted persona. One that no longer truly reflected her heart, and yet it was how she...did legality. Her prayer was that she would be able to find some truthful demeanor that could hold up to these extraordinary demands. The Ice Queen had been born for a reason; someone utterly dispassionate did a better job than anyone else. Nothing slipped one’s notice. The entire game board fell under easy oversight, without distraction or distortion. There was only one thorny problem here: _Law has always been a game to me, and yet this is not a game. This is Maglor’s future._

 

**

 

Maglor knelt in the center of the Ring, and Earlene stood at his side. Near enough to reach out and touch his shoulder if need be, but instinct told her that she was not to try to shield him from...it was her guess that this would be horrendously difficult, emotionally, for him. And as they waited, her mind drifted to her own deeds. What it had felt like, to kill another thinking person. She was not sorry, all these years later. There had been slight regret, but not remorse. If the Valar told her she was wrong, she would seek to learn and make over her thinking. But to take a life when the other party was innocent, or worse yet simply acting out of loyalty to the Valar...what a mess of bad choices her friend had made. Yet she still blamed Fëanor, because no father should be capable of spending his sons so lightly.

 

**

 

Earlene desperately tried to cling to her resolve, and her belief that she could make some kind of a difference, when the words of the Doom of the Noldor were recited:

 

“Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman...and those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret…”

 

The words well-remembered burned through Maglor’s spirit, for this had indeed been his fate. His head bowed further, as his tears fell.

 

Next Oromë stood, whose efforts on behalf of the elves had saved so many. It fell to him to read aloud the list of those Maglor had slain unrighteously. He held open a scroll, and watched Maglor as he read. And yet it was so much worse than that. Vairë had been required to produce her tapestries. And every killing, every face, every elf that met Maglor’s sword, knives, or bare hands was shown to all present. “Melenwa,” Oromë read. “Velca.” Earlene inwardly blanched. Somehow she had not expected that there would be ellith on this list. “Arqueno, Ulalion. Istalon.” The names mounted past her counting, for she stopped sincerely trying after twenty. Perhaps it had been forty? Almost forty? This was...bad. But still Oromë was not finished. “Urhina, Aireleniel.” It was all she could do to maintain her composure, though now her heart beat so hard in her chest it physically hurt. For these last two were children, dying in the flames of the ships Maglor had set afire at his father’s command. The tapestries did not produce sound, for which she was eternally grateful, but she did not need that to know that these little ones screamed in agony before the smoke and the heat overcame them.

 

“No…” she heard next to her, as her own heart wrenched. “Oh please, no…”

 

 

There had never been a sense of being this lost. This...having every part of her surroundings be out of her control...except for what had happened on one fateful day in her own life.  This was not a list of crimes, this was a waking torture. And there was no respite. Some part of her found the strength to reach out and take Maglor’s shoulder, gripping it firmly, because she felt herself slipping away under the horror of what she was being made to witness. It was the last thing she remembered.

 

“ _ENOUGH OF THIS_ ,” Nienna roared, rising from her throne. Sparks flew from her eyes, for it was by her will that both Earlene and Maglor were rendered insensible. “We have never done this before. Maglor already lives in despair from the guilt of his heart. He was encouraged to plead to us, to pray for forgiveness and he has begun to do so. He has obeyed all that we have asked of him here, and _this_ is what is done? This is not justice, this is punishment akin to torment. And what did the mortal do, to deserve being required to look on this? This is _you_ ,” she spat, pointing at Oromë. “Long have you desired to see Maglor’s downfall. Tell me, did you tell Vairë to what use you would put her tapestries? My Lord Manwë,” she entreated. “Please tell me this does not meet with your approval.”

 

Varda rose also, before her husband could have a moment to answer, and raised her chin. “I too am grievously displeased. I would have it clarified, are we seeking to render judgement or is this Ring now where the devices of Morgoth are now to be shown?”

 

“ _HOW DARE YOU!_ ” shouted Oromë, growing hot with anger and pointing at Maglor. “He performed these deeds! Every one of them! And now you declare to me that every murder, every cry of pain and fear, every stream of elven blood spilled now counts as having lesser merit than _his sensibilities_? When for all this time he lived on and refused our summons?”

 

“And _that_ is what is truly at issue in your heart, is it not, my friend?” Námo spoke from above his elegant and steepled fingers. “It cannot be the list of his crimes, for if that were true, why is Maedhros now giving thanks under the heavens for his newly granted freedom? For his deeds were exactly the same as his brother’s save in this one regard: Every one of them save Maglor came to me. Surely I do not have to remind you that I spoke their Doom?”

 

Oromë looked around the circle, realizing that he had at best a few neutral faces and far too many disapproving ones looking back at him. Tulkas now walked to him. “We understand your passionate feelings. Of all of us, none cared about the Firstborn than did you. None tried so desperately to aid them, as you. And ever has your wrath fallen on those who would harm them. But...our Queen is right. This is not our way. And even if it somehow were, I tell you now, no punishment would ever be enough to quench your desire for vengeance. The torment of one life can never repay the loss of so many slain. That is why Eru granted us to understand mercy. For our Father yet loves him. We are tasked with guiding him back to that light, and ensuring his steps cannot falter. It is not given to us to crush a repentant heart.”

 

Manwë had also descended. “Take your seat, Oromë. This has been a trial for all of us, in spirit.”

 

Numbly, the Vala bowed deeply, and did as he was asked. Vána reached out her hand to Oromë in pity. This had eaten away at him for far too long and enough was enough. If this had to happen in order to illuminate that there was a deeper problem, perhaps it was for the best, though, as she saw the crumpled figures prone on the ground, she sighed and shook her head. This was going...badly.

 

Manwë now turned to all of them. “I decree these proceedings erased,” he commanded. “They are only to remember that the list of crimes was read aloud. Nothing more. Three days’ hence we will discuss this and seek to judge his case. What has happened tonight does not leave this circle.” He looked meaningfully at Estë who bowed her head, and suppressed a sigh as she prepared to do her Lord’s bidding. These daytime obligations were going to be the ruination of her.

 

**

 

Earlene awoke in her bed, and frowned. Because something about this was not right, and yet the more she tried to deduce it, the more any perception of what bothered her eluded her analysis. _Three days_ , they said. _His case would be officially heard in three days. They were as prepared as possible? This was good, right? This could be over with soon?_ And still, she frowned.

 

*****

 

{October 31, 2032}

 

This Halloween was meant to be bigger and better than ever, but mostly because those of Eldamar were trying to fill the hole that Earlene’s absence left. Sharley and Maglor had been there a few times over the years, but Earlene had always been a constant, and each holiday without her just became more difficult.

 

Ratiri had been at a loss for himself, but Lorna had decided to cheer Thranduil up by actually wearing that crown of hers. Finding an excuse hadn’t taken long, either, given they’d been watching _The Princess Bride_ again; as a result, he was done up in Wesley’s Dread Pirate Roberts black, complete with mask, while Thanadir had helped Lorna put together something like Buttercup’s red dress (though with fancier ornamentation, because this was Thanadir).

 

All of the Duncan kids had got theirs done well in advance, and Chandra’s in particular delighted Ratiri: he’d introduced her and Shane to _The X-Files_ , and she’d decided to go as Dana Scully, folding her hair up into something approximating a bob. Shane, for once going along with a theme, was dressed up as an alien, complete with a mask that probably wouldn’t stay on very long. Given the theme, though, they were _royal_ Scully and alien, dressed up in vaguely fantasy-esque outfits. Chandra had even rolled her eyes and let herself be put in a dress.

 

Supri and Atia were zombie princesses, with the latter informing the former of just how you had to move when  you were a zombie. She spoke with all the authority of one who had managed to sneak-watch _Dawn of the Dead_ at age seven.

 

Saoirse and Lorna the Younger had dressed like identical twins, and the effect was, quite frankly, creepy as fuck. Even Pat tried to avoid them, though Grania took many pictures. (The poor man was at least glad he got to be Inigo Montoya.)

 

Thanadir was dressed as the Bishop, and Thranduil had found a wig and (obviously with Thanadir’s help) created a halfway passable rendition of Count Rugen, complete with glove with a 6th finger sewn on and lovely sword not at all like the one with which he actually fought. Of course the slightly unfortunate reality was that while “I’m Being Repressed!” was nowhere in sight this evening, “MAWWIAGE. MAWWWIAGE IV WHAAA BWINGS UFF TOGEVVAH, TODAAAAY” was its replacement. And the seneschal nailed it. He’d found the gray wig, he had the Bishop’s miter and robes, even the crosier. And predictably, he was having far too much fun talking about “VVVHAT DWEAM WIFFFIN A DWEAAAM” to anyone who would listen.

 

The ellyn of the forest guard had decided unanimously that they were going as The Brute Squad, whereas the Sullivan children wished to be peasants. Except for Faeleth, who was determined to be the woman who shouted “Boo! Boo!” and recited the monologue about the Queen of Putrescence (her enunciation was frankly impressive). And somewhere in there, some of the hounds were turned into costumed gryffons and absolutely nobody understood what that was about.

 

Given there were only so many parts in the movie, and many, many guests, the princess theme had just sort of...expanded. Mairead had come as Maid Marian, with Kevin as Robin Hood; the former had taken loads of pictures, of course, and just about laughed herself sick at Thanadir’s deadpan impression.

 

Lorna, however, took one look at Thranduil’s wig and said, “Okay, after this, never wear that again. Ever. It’s just... _so wrong._ ” Admittedly, it meant that for once his hair matched his eyebrows, but still. Just... _wrong_.

 

“Well we cannot _all_ get to be Buttercup,” he retorted. “Then again I do have blond hair...but I feel I have enough of a reputation for peculiarities as it is. Dignity of the monarchy, and all that. I probably should not try to show up in the most perfect pair of breasts ever invented.” That statement was accompanied by a colossal smirk.

 

“Okay, that actually would’ve been amazing and hilarious,” she said, even while Ratiri choked on a laugh behind her. “And now I'm never getting the mental image out’v my head, I might add.” With a slightly evil smirk of her own (because let’s face it, they hadn’t had a squick-off in a while), she added, “You probably have better tits than mine anyway, so...just borrow one’v Earlene’s bras.”

 

Ratiri gave up, laughing so hard he actually had to sit down. Saoirse shook her head at him, but already had a potential drawing of Uncle Thranduil dressed up as a princess floating around in her head. Maybe she’d give it to Aunt Lorna for Christmas.

 

Lorna the Younger looked at her cousin. “Okay, I know what you’re thinking, and I want to see it when it’s done.”

 

“Can do.”

 

“I do not have _tits_ ,” Thranduil glowered. “I have a chest, thank you very much.” He stomped off to go find himself an ale.

 

Lorna cackled. _Same difference. If it’s bigger than mine, you’ve got better tits._ Did she...did she actually _win_ that? For once in her bloody life… Inordinately pleased, she headed for the wine, her poor breathless husband still laughing as he followed.

 

Thranduil very darkly thought that Ithiliel when she was four years old probably then qualified, but he was not about to say something so spiteful. He would just _think_ it. He would think it, and he would find an ale. Two ales, because now he was annoyed, and thinking about breasts, and Earlene was gone, and even he was _not_ so hopeless or depraved that he was going to stare at Allanah under any circumstances...Allanah, who now sported her Nana’s voluptuous figure at not quite sixteen years of age. Clearly _that_ ran in the family. And while he loved Thanadir dearly, there were certain charms an ellon lacked entirely. _Dammit._

 

Mairead didn't know what Lorna and Ratiri were laughing at so hard, and decided she didn't want to. It was probably safer that way. She had all four of her own brood to look after, two of whom now had small broods of their own -- Shannon had accrued two children and a deadbeat ex who tended to quit his jobs as soon as support enforcement caught up with him, and Niamh, who had a toddler with that lovely boyfriend (now husband) of hers. John and Kevin Junior were now on the clock, when it came to producing a significant other; pretty soon it would be now or never.

 

Siobhan, naturally, had come as a rather slutty princess, complete with Shane as Prince Not-So-Charming. For a woman pushing fifty, she still looked fantastic, which he appreciated a little too openly (and would have said that the best pair of tits in the kingdom belonged to his wife, thanks so much). The delicate pink of her gown just didn't work quite so well with the neckline, or the slit up the side, or the very incongruous pair of black leather hooker-heels, but...it was Siobhan.

 

Lorna wormed her way over to find Big Jamie, who naturally was passing out booze like water. “All right, so how many expats are we looking at here?” she asked. If anyone would know, it would be him.

 

“Rough estimate? About two hundred, give or take. I passed out the sign-up sheet, but I’m sure not everyone actually used it.” They’d been trying to keep track of who came and went, and eventually came to stay; those outside were settling their affairs and moving before it came down too close to the wire.

 

“That’s not too bad. Nice tights,” she added, snickering.

 

“They were my Orla’s idea,” he scowled. “She blackmailed me into them.”

 

Lorna made a mental note to ask what on Earth he wouldn’t want known, that he’d be willing to dress up as a Merry Man with what looked like actual nylons. Good grief.

 

Thanadir glided by, saying something like “Bwess uff awlll” on his way to the food table, with his eyebrows most definitely raising at the patent unseemliness of the tights. Faeleth, dancing along behind him, stopped, pointed, and said “Boo! Boo!” before giggling and dancing away behind her father. Ada always knew where the cupcakes were.

 

Siobhan choked on her cocktail, unfortunately spraying it right on her passing sister. Molly let out a sound of utter disgust, wiping at her face with the trailing purple sleeve of her gown. “Jesus, Siobhan, you’re _how_ old?”

 

“Don't even ask,” Shane said, slapping his poor wife on the back. “Follow Thanadir and you’ll understand.”

 

“I’m a bit afraid to,” she said.

 

“Wise, yet not much fun,” Lorna said. She couldn’t see a damn thing through this growing crowd, so she clambered up onto the makeshift bar, searching for her children. She worried, just a little, about Chandra potentially getting into something of an alcoholic nature; the kid had been good about staying away from it, but with it right in front of her face...well. It was best to keep an eye out.

 

“Oi, Princess, off my bar,” Big Jamie said, flailing at her with a beer-scented cloth.

 

“Fuck off,” she said cheerfully...ah, there was Chandra. Good, Niamh had her -- Niamh, who was wearing one of those weird, conical hats with a floof of tulle on the end. The lilac color really didn't go that well with her hair, but whatever. She’d keep Chandra out of trouble. “My daughter’s not getting drunk, thank Christ, but I’ve still got three others that could be getting into mischief.”

 

“They’re your kids,” Orla -- gang-Orla -- said, meandering over. Lorna had wondered if they’d get her into a dress, and the answer was...sort of. It was kind of a princess-y tunic, with leggings and biker boots, and a plastic crown of the sort you found in cheap costume stores. It had what looked like a piece of fluffy feather boa stuck to it. “If at least one’v them’s not, they’re doing it wrong. And shame on you, Jamie -- she’s not princess, she’s Queen’v the Squirrel Mafia.” Meaning of her nickname had made the rounds ages ago, and she wasn’t sure if she was amused or exasperated. Possibly both.

 

“You can’t be queen’v a mafia,” Lorna said, watching her two younger daughters dart through the crowd with a load of cupcakes. “You’re a...don? Dona? Something like that?”

 

“Not with that thing on your head,” Siobhan said, smirking. “Queen’v the Squirrel Mafia.”

 

“I know where you sleep,” Lorna warned, her eyes narrowing.

 

“I have traps,” Siobhan said blandly.

 

Big Jamie, Lorna, and Orla all eyed her slightly askance. “You know what, I don't want to know,” he said. “I really don't.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Orla said, collecting an ale and scooting for freedom.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lorna said, hopping off the bar. “I think I need to go rescue my husband from some dizzy bitch who looks like she’s about ready to start drooling.” An expat, obviously, and not one Lorna had ever seen before -- there were more and more of those coming in lately. Given that most humans didn't know about elves and their wedding rings, both she and Ratiri had also had human ones made, for occasions just such as this -- they were a very obvious, rather gaudy symbol that they were taken, ’kay thanks bye. His was plainly visible on his finger, but it wasn’t stopping whoever-this-was.

 

“You have fun there, Queen’v the Squirrel Mafia!” Siobhan called after her, and she silently vowed something worse than murder later.

 

“I have a deep and abiding interest in pain,” Thranduil said with eerily accurate inflections as he plunked down shamelessly next to Ratiri and cocked an eyebrow at him.

 

“Are you presently writing the definitive work on the subject?” Ratiri asked, grateful for the interruption. This young woman was...forward, and he had no idea how to deal with it. If only she knew he was probably old enough to be her father...this whole ‘slowed aging’ thing had its drawbacks.

 

The woman blinked at them both, before realizing they must be quoting something. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Sheila -- my uncle’s the giant sack’v cheer known as Donal.”

 

“Well, that certainly _is_ worth sympathy,” Thranduil said with gravity. “Donal was the officiant at our civil ceremony,” Thranduil clarified. “You remember, the festive occasion you wisely chose to avoid so that you could cook us such a fine repast?” he reminded Ratiri

 

“And I'm not ashamed that I did it,” Ratiri said. “I’ve heard stories about that man.”

 

“Yeah, well, not all’v them,” Sheila growled. “You know he didn't tell my mam about this? She’s his bloody sister, but she had to hear about it through Molly. Mam and I and my brother’ve been staying at Old Orla’s inn, and the first thing Mam did was go into the magistrate’s office and fetch him a slap so hard I bet his ears are still ringing.”

 

Ratiri stared at her. “He didn't tell any of you? Nothing?”

 

“Bloody nothing.” She knocked back the rest of her drink; it was her third inside of half an hour. “She told him that if he came to this party, he’d best stay out’v her way if he knew what was good for him.”

 

Ratiri looked at Thranduil, rather appalled. It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone would fail to inform their relatives out of...out of _spite_ . _Should I just sic Lorna on him? She won’t hurt him, she’ll just find some underhanded way of making him_ wish _he was dead._ No, he still hadn’t forgotten what she’d done to all of his shorts. He’d wound up having to buy all new ones.

 

Thranduil’s demeanor shifted entirely from frivolous partygoer to Elvenking. “I wish to make certain I understand this beyond any doubt,” he said with deadly calm. “Are you telling me that Donal has deliberately withheld information from those connected to Baile by which they can take the shelter offered in these Halls when the time comes?” Only Ratiri would have had the exposure to know just how angry Thranduil was at this exact moment, his wrath stayed only by the necessity for confirmation beyond all doubt.

 

“Yep,” Sheila said, staring somewhat mournfully at her empty glass. “He and Mam fell out years ago, after Granddad died. I was just a kid then, but I never did like him. He’s the kind’v grubby little shit who counts all change out in pence. Mam says he hated that she made him cash her out on her share’v Granddad’s house, whatever that even means.”

 

Ratiri looked at Thranduil, and hoped that Donal was not about to suffer the full wrath of the Elvenking in front of God and everyone. In _private_ , now, that would be another story…

 

Lorna, fortunately, had arrived just in time to hear that last bit. _Oh, shit...Thranduil, let me do this. They’ll expect it from me._ Not that she expected him to listen to her for even half a second, but still...in this case, better the wrath Baile knew than the wrath it didn't. She did, however, pause long enough to pass by, grab Sheila’s empty, and pressed her ale into the poor girl’s hand before anyone knew what was happening. _Just tell me where he is._

 

“I do not know where he is. Because if I find out where he is, he will know what I think of someone with NO RIGHT as good as KILLING another person _AND IF HE FALLS OFF AN ARCHWAY WHILE HE IS HEARING IT I WILL NOT FEEL IN THE LEAST SORRY_. Which is why I am going to walk to the stable now, and take a moment, and Valar help him if you have not found him before I return,” Thranduil hissed, as close to enraged as anyone had ever seen him. Rising, he stormed off, deliberately shutting out awareness of the mortals around him. He needed to leave here. Now.

 

“Oh, good Jesus,” Lorna groaned. Damage control. She hopped up onto the table, and let out an ear-splitting wolf-whistle to gain everyone’s attention. “So, that’s Thranduil being really pissed off because he found out something nasty about our favorite gobshite Donal. He’s not going to kill anyone, he’s just _really_ angry, so leave him alone. This young lady -- Sheila? Sheila here can fill you all in.”

 

She hopped down and hurried off, because while she doubted Thranduil would _actually_ kill Donal, she wouldn’t be surprised if he hurt the bastard. A lot. And possibly not physically; the things he could do with this telepathy might well be...eek.

 

Thanadir looked up at Lorna’s words, and immediately hurried off, having just caught Thranduil’s exit from the room out of the corner of his eye.

 

Of course she tripped over her damn dress as she went, but she thought she might have an idea where he’d gone. Maybe. He was enough of a wet blanket that he’d likely already decided to steal some food and leave -- and given the Gates were open, he could actually do it.

 

“God bloody dammit, you little _twat_ ,” she growled, stalking out into the chilly night. The moon was full, so she could see quite easily. _Thranduil, will you throw up the forest enchantments, so that gobshite can’t get out? That way if I find him, I can make him very unhappy._

 

 _DONE_ , came an immediate and positively venomous response.

 

Jesus, she wished Earlene was here. In all the years she’d known Thranduil, she’d never, ever seen him even close to this angry before. Thanadir could probably calm him down some, but not like Earlene (and not just because Earlene had the Hypnoboobies, whose power could not be denied).

 

If it wasn’t for this _damn_ dress, she could have been a lot sneakier; as it was, she wound up basically hiking the skirt up to her waist, grateful she had leggings on underneath. She wasn’t as silent as she liked, but still far too quiet for Donal (who was dressed as some kind of demented squire) to hear.

 

She spotted him, and she paused. Estë had given her a wonderful gift -- one that had brought her a kind of balance and calm she couldn’t even have imagined before. In her anger, she’d largely become subtle, not obvious and violent...and yet looking at the back of Donal’s fat (literally and figuratively) head made something...shift. Dropping her skirt, she watched him wander -- a sight that would have been funny under any other circumstances, since _she_ wasn’t under the enchantments, and was thus fully aware he was going in literal circles.

 

 _And now what?_ she asked herself. Even she, whose temper was infamous, couldn’t get away with doing anything _too_ horrible to him...but that didn't mean she couldn’t scare the literal piss out of him.

 

Out of habit, she always had a knife in her boot. Silently, silently she slipped it out, and crept up as quietly as she was able behind him. Seizing his collar with one hand, she pressed the tip of the knife right over his kidney with the other.

 

 _“Boo_ ,” she hissed.

 

Donal shrieked like a mashed cat, trying to run, but his silly-looking doublet was made of better stuff than it looked like.

 

“I’m going to let you go, Donal,” she said, “and you’re going to get out’v here, because while _I_ won’t gut you, I can’t promise you Thranduil’ll have the same mercy. You’ve pissed him off, you twat, and that is _not_ a good idea. If you think I’m scary when I’m angry, I haven’t got a bloody patch on him.”

 

“What?!” he yelped. “Why? What’ve I done?”

 

“It’s more like what you _didn't_ do,” she said, releasing him and giving him a good shove. “We were just talking to Sheila. You know, your niece, who you _didn't tell about the plague?_ What were you bloody _thinking_ ? You haven’t got any fucking right to keep that information from bloody anyone! Who the fuck d’you think you _are_ , you miserable streak’v _piss_?!” Okay, apparently Estë’s gift wasn’t a cure-all. Who knew?

 

“Her mother left Baile,” he said, eying her warily, and yet there was the faintest undertone of a sneer in his voice. “If she wanted to go so badly, she could bloody well stay gone.”

 

Lorna stared at him, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Sure, Donal was a miserable little pissant, but nobody, not even her, would have thought him capable of _this_. This was...this wasn’t just ugly and petty, it was downright evil.

 

She looked at the knife in her hand, and knew, in a brief moment of clarity, that she couldn’t use it. Not on him. If she killed him, if she even hurt him with it, it wouldn’t just be _her_ arse on the line. “Donal,” she said softly, “did you really just say that? Am I really hearing you right? You were willing to let your sister, and your niece and nephew, bloody _die_ because you’re a greedy, spiteful little shit?! You answer that very, _very_ bloody carefully.”

 

“Or what?” he asked. “You’ll hit me? You still haven’t changed, have you? Fancy house, rich husband...you’re still just Lorna bloody Donovan, aren’t you? I haven’t got to answer to you.”

 

There were so, so many things she could have said to that, and yet she could give voice to none of them. Wrath of a sort she hadn’t felt in many, many years surged through her -- she wanted to take this crown and gouge his eyes right out of his smug face, wanted to punch him until he swallowed his own teeth… She _wanted_ , so badly she could taste it -- if she was going to be accused of the crime, she might as well commit it, right?

 

“Not sure why you’d say that, Donal,” she said, almost dreamily. “You know what happens when Lorna bloody Donovan gets angry...I killed my da, you little pissant. You’re not worth that, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make you fucking _suffer_ ,” she added, almost snarling. She had her knife, and she had her fingernails, and she’d carve this bastard’s face off like a fucking _turkey --_

 

He must have seen she meant it, for he paled, and staggered backward. “Lorna--”

 

“Lorna _what_ , Donal?” she growled.  “You say I’m just what I always was -- _let’s fucking find out_.”

 

_LORNA. He is orc-brains DONAL. And utterly not worth it. Please, think a moment. Right now, he is in deep trouble. If you do as you wish, it will be your loss. Make him pay--the right way. Before all of those who should judge his behavior. Please?_

 

Lorna shuddered. Nobody would hurt him, nobody would make him _suffer_...not the same way. Not the… Her eyes widened. “You think the worst thing that I can do to you is hurt you,” she whispered, dropping the knife. “I don't think so, Donal.” She grabbed his arm, yanking him forward and twisting it up behind his back. “March, you worthless cunt, or I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.” They were not at all far from what remained of the Enchanted River; it didn't take long at all to force him to its banks, though he lumbered like a drunken ox. Spinning him around, she gave him a truly savage grin before shoving him backward.

 

He shrieked as he fell, but landed on his back -- he wasn’t going to drown, although he might freeze if he didn't get fished out sooner or later. “I can more than hurt you, Donal,” she said softly. “I can make you wish you were dead. Fuck that -- I can make them doom you.” She’d never really brought her so-called superpower to bear on anything important before, but in this case...she’d abuse it, if she had to. But she doubted she’d need to.

 

She bowed her head, and pinched the bridge of her nose. The son of a bitch, he was right. She hated it, and hated him, but he was right. She still _was_ just what she’d always been -- if not for Thranduil, Christ only knew what she would have done. _Fancy house, rich husband, beautiful family, and I’m still just Lorna fucking Donovan._

 

It had been many years now since she’d wanted to go crawl into the bottom of a bottle and stay there, but who the fuck was she kidding. It had always been just a matter of time, hadn’t it? It always was, with her. The veneer always broke sooner or later, every fucking time.

 

 _Fuck this._ Going back to the party was just...no. There was plenty to drink at home, though. A drink or six and a good cry, and she might feel better. Maybe. She probably couldn’t feel worse, at any rate.

 

From the trees above, Calanon had looked down and watched. He did not like the things the man had said to Lorna, at all, and right now had no particular inclination to help aid him; he had more than earned some time in the cold water. What worried him more was the look he had just seen on her face, one which he had seen many times before. Something was wrong, and it was not only the unkindness of the words that had just been exchanged. Silently he descended, so he could observe her a little better. He did not wish to intrude but...he would not ignore someone in his own family home that was hurting.

 

Lorna made it back to the path, and stalked as quietly as she could in such a ridiculously long dress. The house was unlocked, of course, so she let herself in and headed straight for her bedroom. They didn't keep alcohol out in the house anymore, but she had a bottle of Fireball that she kept under the bed, just in case she and Ratiri ever wanted a drink in the evening.

 

She hauled it out onto the deck, sitting on the swinging bench and staring up at the moon through the half-bare branches. How sad was this, her sitting with a bottle of booze, in a stupid princess dress and a crown she had no right to have? _Just...fuck everything._ The whiskey burned, almost as much as her blurring eyes.

 

“That man was unkind to you,” said Calanon, dropping in from the roof as lightly as a feather. “You are upset.”

 

Fortunately, Lorna had already swallowed her mouthful of whiskey, or things might have been far worse. “That man’s a fucking gobshite,” she said, “but he’s not wrong. He’s not wrong, and Christ I wish I could...I don't even know.” She sighed, and took another pull off the bottle.

 

“Of course he is wrong,” Calanon retorted, sitting down next to her despite the lack of invitation. “You should not allow such a one to affect your feelings.”

 

“He’s really not, as much as I wish he was,” she said, and, after taking another swig, automatically handed over the bottle. Never let it beside she didn't share. “You don't know me, Calanon, not really. You don't know what I always was. I keep trying to pretend I’m...that I’m better, but I’m not. If Thranduil hadn’t said anything, I might’ve beat that gobshite’s face in...just like I always did before. Get pissed, get violent. ‘Watch out for Lorna, she’ll bite your ear off if you look at her funny’.”

 

“Maybe. Most I have met, even elves, would be sorely pressed to not lash out after such a thing was said. We are not all like Hîr Thanadir, with such powers of self-discipline. But I have known you for some time now, and I fail to see how he is anyone worth listening to. For I have heard some things about him, from those I know would not be untruthful. You are far better of an individual, Lorna. Do you think our King is friends with just anyone?”

 

“I think he’s going to be so bloody disappointed in me,” she said, wiping her eyes on her trailing sleeves. “Again. Even now, I get pissed off...Calanon, I seem to lash out over everything, or nearly everything. I’ve done it my whole life, and every time I think I’m better, that I’m...that I’m not just bloody Lorna Donovan, something comes and makes sure I break _that_ illusion. Just has to remind me that even after all this time, it’s a fucking veneer and that’s it.” She didn't even want to think about Thranduil’s expression, or what he must think of her right now. That _yet again_ she almost lost her shit. He might not say anything, but...she’d know anyway.

 

“Well then he will have to be disappointed in both of us, because I walked off and left Donal lying in the water,” the ellon said, stretching and looking vaguely pleased about that course of action. “I think you are placing too much emphasis on something that did not actually happen. And, what you are saying is simply not true. I have watched you for a very long time. Seen the many considerate things you do for others. Noticed how hard you have worked to help Aran Thranduil and Hîr Thanadir with the children on account of Earlene being gone. That is not a veneer. What I think is that you are feeling determined to run yourself down and do not wish to hear anything different.”

 

She looked at him, more than a little incredulously. “You left him there?” she asked, and a watery giggle escaped through her tears. “Maybe he’ll get frostbite on his arse...and I wish I hadn’t thought about Donal’s arse,” she added, grimacing. Seeing as Calanon seemed to have no use for the bottle, she took it back and took another swig. “The thing is...Calanon, if not for Thranduil, it would’ve happened. I would’ve done something...well, unpleasant, at the very least, and horrendous at worst. When it comes down to it, I still haven’t got the self-control God gave a...a rabbit.”

 

“Uh-huh,” the elf said with obvious skepticism. “Or perhaps you have not had so many chances to practice it? Did you imagine that such just happens overnight? I have heard a little of how you were forced to live as a young one. I would say it is a miracle you have any at all.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you do not also know that I am infinitely stubborn, that you have had enough of that to drink, and that I think we should walk in the forest and talk rather than sit here. You will feel better.”

 

At the moment, Lorna honestly couldn’t think of the ratio of how many chances she’d had to those she’d blown. Her head was swimming a little, so she passed the bottle back. “Calanon, that’s just it,” she said, wiping her eyes again. “I don't want my bloody background being some...some kind’v excuse, you know?” He was a blurry outline through her tears. “I’ve had so many variations’v ‘it’s a miracle you’re not worse’, over the years. The fact that I could never keep up with Earlene physically got blamed on childhood malnourishment. That I was so uneducated got blamed on me having such terrible dyslexia for so long. Baile...I love my family and my village to bits, but they made so many excuses for me, and...I wish I wasn’t like this,” she said softly.

 

“No,” Calanon said flatly. “You are comparing yourself to others. And you are deriving your sense of worth from those comparisons. Both of those things are mistakes, and will rob you of joy. You are a child of Eru, Lorna. You have worth in the eyes of our Father. In the eyes of the Valar. You have worth in my eyes. Stop clinging to the other, because none of that exists in any kind of truth.”

 

Lorna wiped her eyes again, and her nose. “Doesn’t everyone do that?” she asked. “Compare themselves to others? Calanon, you’re an elf. You’re a guard, and you’re good at it. You’re not…” She struggled for the right words. “Maybe this isn’t how it works with elves, but with humans...I think some’v us were just put here to make the exceptional people look even better. I mean...I try not to think’v it this way, but sometimes it’s hard, knowing there isn’t a single thing that at least one person you live with couldn’t do better than you. That no matter what, you’re always, _always_ going to be second-rate to someone -- and someone you love, no less.”

 

“Everyone does _not_ do that, because it is dangerous. Lorna, do you not think I could do the same as you are trying to do? Shall I reflect on how I cannot play a musical instrument like Maglor or Hîr Thanadir? Or that I am not as physically powerful as my King? Perhaps I should consider that I cannot command with the skill of Thalion, or that Ailill knows more about the history of the elven people than I. Quen can write better, and knows many more languages. In fact, I could name every elf in our Realm and and tell you some manner in which they possess a gift or skill that I do not. And I do not care, Lorna. I am Calanon, and no one else is. I am loved, I love others, and I am content. Why should I be otherwise? Or perhaps you should explain to me now why I should feel badly about myself, because I am nothing special?”

 

That made her pause. Given that elves were so physically superior to humans, it hadn’t occurred to her that they might think about the disparity among themselves -- or not think about it, as the case might be. “No,” she said, “but unless I’m really wrong, you never did...the shit I did. You weren’t the way I was. The way I still am. When I get angry...I hurt people. I _want_ to hurt people.” Thranduil had, long ago, accused her of liking it, and though she’d denied it at the time...who the fuck was she kidding? “I’ve done some terrible things, Calanon, and usually for no good reason. You probably don't want to rip the face off someone who annoys you.”

 

“That is true,” he said. “But it does not change that I like you. And that I do not like Donal.”

 

Somehow, that actually made her smile. “I’m glad you like me, Calanon. And between you, me, and the forest, if it’s at all within my ability to persuade people and make my case, I’m going to do my best to make sure Donal’s out in the world when the plague hits, and chokes to death all alone.”

 

He nodded. “Donal is an orc, my friend. I have had to learn, they are still here in the world though their outward appearance has changed. Such ones are not...they have no decency and do not deserve a place among us. While I wish it were otherwise, every elf knows though bitter experience that this is true. I was young, when they came to burn our forest. But I have not forgotten them, and never will.”

 

“That was the Battle Under the Trees, wasn’t it?” she asked. “I think’v some’v what you lot’v all lived through, and it makes my own problems seem...tiny. And yet in not that long, we’ll all be living through horrible shite. And if something as stupid as _Donal_ makes me want to lose my shit, how am I going to handle it then?” She gave him her best version of the Sad Eyes, rather forgetting that she just looked like a serial killer. “Can I have the bottle back?”

 

“Why, so you can get drunk?” he countered, arching his eyebrows. “And have something else to regret later when you are thinking with greater clarity?”

 

“....Yeah, pretty much,” she said. “I haven’t done this in years, I might as well make a good job’v it now that I’ve got started.” Sighing, she wiped her eyes again. “And now that I’ve been crying, I can’t bloody go anywhere, or people will want to _know_ why I’ve been crying...if we go for a walk, can you tell anyone who asks to piss off? I mean, politely?”

 

“Hmm, then it is good that I am here to ruin your intentions. And, I can do better than that. You need a hug.” He opened his arms to her, doubting that she would refuse. If he had confidence in one thing about himself, it was that he could be terribly persuasive...there were advantages to appearing very cute and innocent, even by elven standards.

 

Lorna had come a long way from the person who hated touching, well, anyone; she let him hug her, and hugged him back. “I’m going to hate myself tomorrow,” she said. “I don't want to tell anyone else about...that, and I'm so afraid Thranduil’ll make me. I just bet it’ll be a case’v ‘use your words’, or...something. And that just...it makes me tired just thinking about it. The looks I'll get. What everyone’ll think’v me... _again._ ”

 

Calanon smiled, because now he could use what small gift of healing all elves had to help her feel just a little better. Not appear as though she had been crying.  “We will not worry about that, because I doubt very much that Aran Thranduil has ever made you do anything. You are not his to command, how could he? So we will divest ourselves of that notion.” Releasing her, he still kept hold of the bottle of alcohol. “Now we will walk, but this will stay here. You do not need it.” With a cautious sniff at the neck of the bottle, he wrinkled his nose and capped it again. “Besides, if one is going to over-imbibe, surely it should not be cinnamon. That seems wrong, somehow.”

 

“Well, no,” she admitted, “he’s never _made_ me do anything, but you’d be surprised how effective he is at the Sad Eyes. Which really shouldn’t be possible, but oh well. And don't knock Fireball until you’ve tried some,” she added, arching an eyebrow. “It burns. In the good way.”

 

“I believe you,” the elf smirked. “But I am married to Ailill. I think I know all about Sad Eyes.”

 

“He’s probably epic at them, isn’t he?” Lorna asked. Quite honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if Ailill’s were second only to Thanadir’s.

 

“Yes. And between you and I, I let him think they work. Sometimes. I like to keep him guessing.” Calanon guessed this relatively harmless tidbit might cheer her up and...even if Ailill heard later, it was likely nothing he had not figured out by now anyway. The mere idea made Calanon grin.

 

That actually made her laugh. “I won’t tell if you don't,” she said. “It’s always good to keep them on their toes.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

**

 

As Lorna and Calanon strolled through the woods, she remembered to say, _Thranduil, you might want to tell somebody to go get him sooner or later. We freeze to death pretty easily._

 

 _Hmpf,_ came through loud and clear. _It will be taken care of. Please return to our guests._

 

Thranduil breathed deeply, still seeking to calm himself. He felt proud of Lorna. Not to mention...no, he did not wish to think about this just now. A gentle hand came around his shoulder.

 

“Are you alright?” Thanadir asked very softly, concerned.

 

Thranduil nodded, with a forced smile on his face. “Come with me? We have a cleanup on Aisle Seven.”

 

Cocking his eyebrow, Thanadir agreed, though he was not entirely certain what he had just signed on for. Did it matter?

 

Thranduil paused long enough to remove two leather leads from their place on the tack room wall.

 

 _Why am I reasonably convinced that we are not returning to our bedroom for fun time?_ The question was asked gently; it was Thanadir’s attempt at humor. And it worked.

 

Thranduil snickered. _Maybe later. Perhaps you should not give me ideas, tonight. No, this is to keep the waters of the river off of us. River. More like, rivulet._

 

 _Someday it will be restored,_ the seneschal soothed. _Have patience._

 

_**_

 

Donal was dragged to dry land, without undue care, and since he was quite wet. Soaked. There was a downed limb nearby, and soon Thranduil felt far more cheerful when the execrable man was being carried out of the forest much as if he was a deer carcass. The two ellyn made reasonably quick work out of delivering him to his own car (communication with Lorna gained them that information) just outside the eastern border of the forest. Thranduil started the engine while Thanadir untied the thongs around Donal’s wrists and ankles, mildly annoyed that two perfectly good lead lines were now damp and would need oiling. Donal was then placed on top of the bonnet. Assuming the engine was decently maintained, the heat would keep him from freezing. Too much. Right now, it was better than he deserved.

 

Thranduil looked wistfully at the leather lines, then at Thanadir. So tempting, and yet they had guests. “Come, meldir. Back to our party.”

 

When Lorna eventually returned to the Dining Hall, Ratiri eyed her. The fact that she wasn’t covered in blood was probably a good sign. “Is our favorite gobshite still breathing?” he asked tentatively.

 

“Breathing?” Lorna asked. “Oh yes. Very much so. And he still has all his fingers and toes, before you ask.” She grabbed a can of Guinness, and the smirk she gave him when she opened it was one of the most terrifying things he’d ever seen. The revenge of post-Estë Lorna was a lot more disturbing than it had ever been when she was a tiny rage-monster.

 

“Do I want to ask?” Pat had come up behind her, an ale of his own in his hand.

 

“Probably not,” she said. “But that’s okay. You’ll all know by tomorrow.”

 

Thranduil and Thanadir returned. “We had a vewwwy nice waaaaawk,” the Bishop uttered solemnly, trying to lighten the mood.

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure you did,” she said. “Everything’s...tidy?”

 

“He is on the bonnet of his car with the engine running,” Thranduil said laconically. “Assuming someone does not steal his vehicle and lose him in the process, I do not believe he will freeze. Tonight.” A hard edge lingered in his voice.

 

“Yeah, well, I’ve got every bloody intention’v paying Kevin Junior to go paintball his house, just so you know,” she said. “And for Christ’s sake, will you take that bloody wig off? It’s not natural. Your eyebrows and your hair shouldn’t be the same bloody color.”

 

Pat choked on his ale, laughing and hacking in equal measure. “She’s kind’v got a point,” he muttered, between coughs.

 

“It is my _costume_ ,” he growled. “A blond Count Rugen is utterly ridiculous. Even I know that.”

 

“Yeah, but...it’s freaking me out. And your real hair’s way better anyway. And...seriously, it’s creepy.”

 

Pat just laughed harder, but Ratiri rolled his eyes. “Mo chroí...have a drink.”

 

“I’ve got one.”

 

“Then keep drinking it.”

 

“Hush, you. I've held off on grabbing your arse in front’v God and everyone, but get enough’v this in me and I make no promises.” She meant it, too.

 

At that moment Quen strolled by. He had chosen to dress up as Robin Hood and made quite a dashing figure, give or take whether anyone thought the thief in question had long dark hair. But he had on enough green and wore a bow strung over his back so, it worked. And he seemed completely amused by a public discussion of ‘arse grabbing.’ Fortunately for him, the ellith in the household were not above sharing amusing tidbits of past misadventures, so he had heard all about _that_ one…

 

“Nobody’s grabbing anybody’s arse,” Pat said, glowering at her. “I’m sure there’s children around here somewhere who’d be...scarred.”

 

“That,” Lorna said, tipping back her Guinness, “has to be the _lamest_ justification I’ve ever heard. You should go stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done.”

 

“Why’s your brother going to the corner?” Molly asked.

 

“Because he’s an eejit who sounds like an old man.” And, just to be a little shit, Lorna did in fact grab Ratiri’s arse. Just not hard.

 

“I should have seen that coming,” he sighed, defeated.

 

“If you didn't want people grabbing it, you shouldn’t have such a nice one.”

 

Thanadir looked at Lorna blankly, and wondered if Thranduil thought he had a nice arse. Or if he genuinely wanted to know. He would have to reflect on this.

 

“What’s this about Pat being an old man and Ratiri’s arse?” Grania, her tiara a little askew, made her way over. Her face was definitely rather red; this wasn’t her first drink of the evening.

 

Lorna the Younger, trailing her, grimaced. “Yeah, that’s not a sentence I ever thought I’d hear. But you get used to shite like that,” she added, looking at the tall young man beside her. He was a good-looking sort, with dark blond hair and brown eyes, though something of a beanpole. “You lot, this is Declan. He’s Big Jamie’s nephew, out from America.”

 

“Hi,” he said, giving a slightly awkward wave.

 

“Hello, and welcome,” Thranduil said, giving Lorna a brief but deliberate hug, and deciding he should try to recover his pre-Donal equilibrium. “Where in America?”

 

“Idaho,” the man said, and his accent really was very heavily American. He also had the frighteningly white teeth common to the breed. “Have to admit, I didn't believe Uncle Jamie at first.”

 

“It _does_ sound a bit mad,” Lorna said, eying him appraisingly. She hoped poor Lorna the Younger wouldn’t get her heart set and then have him turn out to be a gobshite. Her niece was over thirty and still had nobody, but that could just mean she’d fall for the first half-decent stranger. “What did you do for work?”

 

“Kind of a home business, really. Not as successful as the T-shirts.”

 

Thranduil’s expression did not change, but he gained a sudden ill feeling about this man. It was not much of an answer to a fairly simple question.

 

“What does that mean?” Thanadir asked innocently. “Do you sell craft work?”

 

“Kind of,” Declan said. “Bath salts, that sort of thing. There’s a big market for that kind of stuff in America.”

 

Lorna blinked, and wondered if someone had slipped her...something. There was a strange, faint, reddish...light...around the kid. What in the _shit_?

 

“Do they smell nice?” Grania asked.

 

“Yeah,” Declan said. “People love sniffing them.”

 

The light flared incrementally brighter, and she eyed her can of Guinness. This lad was…

 

“You’re lying,” she found herself saying, and stared at him -- well, the light around him -- hard. “Bath salts -- sure, if you want to call the shite someone snorts ‘bath salts’, but that’s stretching it. You’ve got a bloody meth lab out...out in the forest, where there’s just you and the crazy survivalists.”

 

The lad froze. “What?” he asked.

 

“You’re _lying_ ,” Lorna repeated, eying him. “And your mam doesn’t know.”

 

“Fun Size, what’re you on about?” Pat asked uneasily. The expression on his sister’s face was...well, he didn't know what it was, but it was downright unsettling.

 

“Leave her be, Pat.” Thranduil was completely intrigued. Valar, his little present was turning out to be quite interesting...and while he did not need this on account of his own gifts, one day she most assuredly would. _Ah Melian, I never would have guessed. No wonder the elflings could get away with nothing around you._ He suppressed a grin.

 

“Um...I think I should go,” Declan said, and tried to ooch away.

 

“Go and what?” she asked. “Yes, you should go, because you’ve just dropped another bloody headache onto my plate...and that metaphor made a lot more sense in my head.” Great. Now they had one person they definitely wanted to banish, and another who they _probably_ did. _I need another drink. I'm losing my mind._

 

 _You are not losing your mind and you certainly do not need another drink. Think, Lorna._ Thranduil arched his eyebrows and stared at her.

 

 _Think about what?_ she asked, a little desperately. _I’m seeing shite that’s not there and I’m convinced this kid’s a meth dealer._

 

Declan used this opportunity to leg it elsewhere, because this was not what he’d signed on for. Nope.

 

_He is indeed a meth dealer. Now keep thinking._

 

 _What?!_ She stared after the kid, and was ready to head after him when she staggered slightly. The crown on her head shifted, and she glanced upward. _Oh, you are fucking_ kidding _me. I thought it was just...pretty._ It was so light that she tended to forget she was wearing it.

 

 _Language, language,_ he teased. Sort of. While he did not intend to be Thanadir, there were times… _I did not know, Lorna. But Melian was not ordinary. This does not surprise me, and it explains many recollections from long ago. Use it wisely. And if I may advise, ‘wisely’ might include who if anyone to confide in, about this. I will not control how you choose to use this gift. I only encourage you to reflect carefully before taking any action._

 

Lorna glowered at him. _I’ve got more language where that came from_ , she said. _Jesus, I’m not sure I want to tell_ anyone _about this, except maybe Ratiri. And...I need air. Or a sit-down. Or...something._

 

_The stables? I like to pet the horses and oxen. And they never mind a carrot or an apple._

 

 _Sounds good._ “Ratiri, Pat, I’m going for a walk. Don't follow me unless you want a boot to the arse.”

 

They stared after her as they left, shaking their heads. Lorna was...odd. Sometimes, it was best to just let her get on with it.

 

*****

 

Maglor watched Earlene sitting on the couch and staring into space, and grimaced. “Would you care to go for a walk?” he asked.

 

She had to consider for a moment. “I know you do not like walking in the city, and we have seen the gardens so many times that you are starting to name the plants.”

 

He winced a little, because...that was true. “I do not mind the city so much now,”  he said. “Now that I am not in chains. It was...hard, to be seen like that, not that I feel I deserved different.”

 

Still Earlene hesitated. The truth was, there was still a sense of...something was not right.

 

“Earlene, what is the matter?” he asked, not realizing it was the first time since her arrival here that he had ever inquired about her well-being.

 

“It’s...I…” she felt at a loss, because now she feared her observations might upset him. He had been unusually calm the last day or two. Maglor came to sit next to her, and offered his hand in a show of support. With a sigh, she placed her hand in his, somewhat marveling that it was even larger than Thranduil’s. “I feel like something was done to me. Like I do not recall something I should.”

 

“Then perhaps it was both of us, for I have felt the same.”

 

“But it does not bother you?” she asked. “You do not wonder?”

 

“At this point...no. I have accepted that I am theirs, to be done with according to their will, Earlene. I am hoping, I have begged to be forgiven and pardoned, and I will continue to do so. And...I have not thanked you, for coming here to help me. Whatever does happen, whatever the outcome for me, I want you to know that I am grateful.” His clear grey eyes looked down on her.

 

“You would be grateful even if the outcome is unfavorable for you?” That did not sound right, but then again her thoughts had lacked occasional clarity since the...not remembering.

 

“Yes. For I owe it to you that I learned the lessons I believe they wanted me to grasp. I was being stubborn and prideful still, though I did not see it. I am trying. Trying and praying, to do better.”

 

She thought about this for quite awhile, and decided that if he was experiencing this same sense, that it stood to reason that the Valar had removed their memories. And while she did not understand why they could possibly have cause to do this… “I will let it go.” A snort erupted. “I am almost being like Lorna. Always, she had to know things. But…” her words fell away into silence.

 

Maglor’s eyebrows raised. This marked the first time Earlene had mentioned anyone or anything having to do with life before she was brought here, something at which he only now began to wonder. “I miss them, Earlene. Everyone back home. I hope you will tell them I loved them. What I had in your home was the one bright star in uncounted years of despair. And Sharley...I hope by some power in Arda that she can find happiness and be whole.”

 

Earlene looked ahead, knowing that Sharley’s whereabouts were likely more interesting than her own, at this point. That Sharley had left on the Straight Road, had seen Elrond and been taken further on...he would not learn of it from her. Maglor had only very recently begun to exist in the place to which so many had tried to guide him, and any risk of triggering a setback was too great, in her eyes. “I think I would like to go for a walk after all, if you are still willing?”

 

Maglor smiled, and Earlene studied his face, recalling the first time she laid eyes on him...so withdrawn, and with his long hair an utter and unkempt disaster. He was surpassingly beautiful, and gaining a measure of spiritual restoration had made him even more so. A part of her was glad, that this was drawing to a close. Not just for herself, but for him as well. Though a small measure of fear still lingered...

 

Some of the many bells in Valimar were ringing, as they stepped outside into the always pleasant sunshine. “Is there any place special you would like to see?” Maglor asked courteously.

 

“Maybe the bell towers?” Earlene suggested. The architecture in that part of the city was especially lovely, near a collection of silver-domed buildings, and the towers themselves were open for those wishing to ascend and enjoy the view.

 

“Alright. Maybe after we could visit the rose garden, and the lake?” he suggested.

 

“Yes,” Earlene smiled. Part of her now wished to ask where exactly he had lived in these lands when he was younger. Formenos was a guess but...with Sharley? Those questions would have to wait, perhaps a very long time. If ever. She took his offered arm, wishing so much that he was one of her husbands. Or better yet, both of them. And yet he probably wished she was Sharley. They both were having to make the best of it.

 

*****

 

Manwë sat on his throne, earnestly desiring that the events of today would unfold in a better manner than their last proceeding. Oromë had come to him afterward, pleading for pardon. They both agreed that he had need of restoration in the Realm of Irmo and Estë, to which he readily assented. And so today he sat on his throne, subdued and of another disposition entirely. Nienna too had spoken to him long and earnestly of what had come to pass, for she too acknowledged her burden--of all of them, she had advocated for Melkor’s pardon so long ago. Her mercy had helped bring ruin on them all--and yet this did not mean that mercy itself was at fault.

 

Mandos spoke. “Your crimes were detailed when last we met, Maglor son of Fëanor. Now is the time when we discuss these deeds, and sound the depths of your spirit. And hear your own words, or those of the one assigned to speak on your behalf.”

 

Again, Maglor knelt in humility. “I will hide nothing, my Lord. Nor can I defend my crimes or blame them on the actions of my father. I kneel before you as one who has lost the right to anything for myself. When I came here I had not intended to speak in my defense. It is still very difficult, but I have learned that this too is not your will. So I can say now that I have found enough courage to beg your forgiveness for that which seems unforgivable, and your pardon for what in my own eyes is unpardonable. I have hope in my heart, but not expectations. I am not the ellon I once was, and would now give much that my spirit had never opposed your commands.”

 

“What would you do, with our pardon?” Varda wanted to know.

 

Maglor cast his eyes down. “Whatever you would permit, Lady. But if you are asking what I would desire? To return to my wife, and the children. To teach the young ones music.”

 

Varda’s eyebrow arched, and she asked nothing further.

 

“And yet there is the matter of the Oath,” Yavanna noted with bitterness in her voice.

 

Earlene looked down to see that Maglor nodded, and hung his head. “The Oath is nullified,” she said in a clear voice, and all eyes turned to look at her in open curiosity.

 

“Explain,” Yavanna commanded.

 

Taking a very deep breath, she stepped away from Maglor to walk freely, for this had ever been her custom when expounding on matters of law. “With deep respect, my Lords and Ladies, he swore his father’s Oath. It compelled him to pursue with vengeance Valar, fallen Ainur, the Eldar, the Afterborn, and every sentient creature great or small who should keep a Silmaril from them. And yet as we speak, all three of those hallowed jewels are kept. And have been kept, but by none of those things cited in the Oath. Please correct me if I am in error, but the Earth keeps a Silmaril. And the Air keeps a Silmaril. And the Water keeps a Silmaril. I stand in the presence of those who are Lords and Ladies of those elements of Arda, but are not those elements themselves. The Oath says nothing, of what to do _should no living creature_ possess the jewels. Maedhros possessed a Silmaril, and placed it into the Earth with his death. Maglor placed a Silmaril into the sea, in his torment. The remaining one was lifted beyond reach, where its light may yet be seen. And you yourselves terminated the right of the sons of Fëanor to possess a Silmaril. The Oath no longer is an oath; it is a paradox. And a paradox cannot by its nature be fulfilled or unfulfilled. It is a logical fallacy and therefore is nullified.”

 

Mandos blinked, and his gaze found that of Manwë. There were long minutes of silence, while Earlene quietly returned to Maglor’s side. He continued to kneel, but was obviously frozen in thought, trying to work out over and over what she had said, but finding that he was unable to reach a conclusion. His brow was furrowed, as he became more and more confused.

 

“If this is the case,” Tulkas said, who was not even about to bend his mind attempting to consider this statement (being matter-of-fact, he had always felt this Oath was granted too much supremacy), “then what remains is the judgement of his character? What does he deserve? What is just?”

 

“And what is merciful?” Nienna inserted forcefully.

 

Earlene stepped forward again. “If I may?” she asked.

 

Manwë massaged his forehead, and waved his consent for Earlene to continue.

 

“I must point out that in the time before Maglor followed his father to ruin, another came here to this city and sued for pardon. Melkor. And that pardon was granted, in the mistaken belief that Melkor had repented of his evil. He had not. His unchaining was a well-intentioned action but one that proved to be a grave error. And yet all that came afterward, the sins and crimes of Fëanor and his sons, were a direct result of that mistake. Had Melkor never been freed, Finwë could not have been murdered. The gems never could have been stolen from Formenos. No Oath would have been spoken.

 

“Maglor sinned, grievously. But he did not sin in a vacuum. His real crime was a foolish pride and a misplaced love for a father whose deeds were far worse than his own. And yet all in creation, great and small...who but Eru is perfect?” Earlene paused, to look on Maglor’s tear-streaked face. “By your power and the design of Eru, every hurt he caused has been healed. Every life he took restored. Except his own. His pain remains, and his life continues under the shadow of grief and weariness from which he cannot escape except by your mercy. Please…”  She had to stop speaking; for the first time in her life her impartiality was failing. That and...there was nothing further she could add. No other brilliant observations she could bring to this discussion. Returning again to Maglor, she laid a hand on his shoulder, and felt him cover it with his own. His body trembled, and who could fault him?

 

Eönwë hardly dared to move, as he slowly allowed his eyes to travel the Ring, and take the measure of the countenances there. All of them were looking down. Or up, in the case of Varda. That meant, they were all in silent reflection. If anyone had more to ask, or add, that would be spoken aloud. But the judgement of each of them individually, that would be silent, communicated to Manwë alone. Then the Lord of all of them would render his decision.

 

Earlene too studied those around her, though, having no frame of reference did not help. Aulë appeared...bored, honestly, as did Nessa. Oromë radiated defeat, whereas Irmo and Námo had thoughtfulness etched on their features. Estë actually yawned, which caused her to blink, and all the remaining ladies seemed to have a compassionate disposition. Tulkas seemed uncomfortable, Ulmo amused, and Manwë himself...unreadable.

 

An eternity might have passed, before Manwë spoke. “Maglor son of Fëanor, hear now your judgement. Your case was difficult, in our eyes. We give our pardon for your crimes, but there is a restriction. You are exiled from Aman, in consequence for the extent of your long disobedience, until the world changes. You will be given two weeks as a concession to your family, now and once every seven Earth years thereafter, out of regard for your mother who bore you. Then you will be returned, with Earlene, to the King you have pledged to serve. When it is their time to depart, you will remain in Ennor, at our will and to serve our purposes. The Oath is declared dissolved. You are free to go where you will, until the time of your return.”

 

A cry of joy and gratitude rose from Maglor, as he physically felt the burden of his anguish lift from him, and the pain depart from his hand. The hand he held up now, to see that the scar had vanished and been replaced with perfect skin. “Thank you,” he repeated over and over, his heart overflowing with happiness. “Thank you…”

 

Many of the Lords and Ladies filed out now, having matters to which to attend. And to her vague surprise, Nerdanel and Maglor’s brothers filed in. Elrond, too. That was when Earlene recalled what had been told to her about Máhanaxar...there had been a gallery; just not one anyone inside here could know about. Smiling, and stepping back, she watched them for just a moment and then took the chance to slip away. For who even knows how long, she had been required to remain near Maglor and now she was free. This was over and it was done and he had gained a second chance at life and now she desperately wanted to be alone. With the speed that she still had, her legs covered the short distance to Ezellohar, where she could sit near the remains of the Trees, out of sight of the Ring. And she cried. From relief, from the weeks of stress, and from this place that reminded her of the relentless hurts dealt to all that was beautiful and good in the world. Unthinkingly, her hand reached out to touch the blackened remains of Laurelin while she tried to regain both her equilibrium and the ability to accept that this trial was over now. But she was not to remain undisturbed.

 

“This is the second time you have come here, the moment you had the freedom to choose your own path, and yet you did not once bring Maglor to this place. Why?”

Manwë stood near her, and on hearing his voice Earlene moved so as to kneel before him, trying to dry her eyes.

 

“I would have given back the jewels,” she whispered. “I would have given anything, to see their light again. But...that is me.”

 

“You have seen a memory of the Trees…” Manwë realized.

 

“Yes,” she said, beginning to cry again. “Please forgive my emotions. I am...only human.”

 

The Vala sat next to her, taking her hand. The difficult feelings were driven away, replaced by strength. “Much has been asked of you, and a great deal of it was asked by me. What would you ask for yourself, Queen of Eryn Lasgalen?”

 

Earlene’s eyes were haunted, and she looked away. “All this time, my Lord, I have relentlessly pressed Maglor to not fear to plead on his own behalf. And yet now I am filled with the same reluctance. My desires must be laid bare to you, but if you require me to speak them aloud, I plead that I might have the life of my husbands and children. That I might take up the trials of being bound to this world, and of enduring at their sides. That I might forsake my own humanity and be one with the only beings with whom I have ever felt a sense of belonging.”

 

Manwë looked out toward the gardens. “I know that you are fully aware that you request an exceptional gift. One that comes at a high price. Just as you are fully aware that you do not ask for that which has not already been granted before.” He chuckled. “That is the marvelous thing about you, Earlene, that has allowed you to serve me so well. Such a mind…but coupled with such humility.” His head turned again, to look at her fully. “I will grant it, and what it will mean for you will become plain in time. A caution, though. You would be wise to keep the knowledge of this from others, where possible. At least, while you still call Earth your home. Many feel they would wish the life of the Eldar, who have given no serious consideration to what that truly entails.”

 

“Thank you, my Lord. This is a great sorrow that you have replaced with joy.”

 

“Might I make a suggestion?” Manwë asked, smiling.

 

“Of course you may, you are King.” Earlene smiled, feeling the greatest burden of her existence lifting from her heart and mind.

 

“You see the pathway in the distance, that leads to the west? Four days of walking, but far fewer days of running, will take you to the Gardens of Irmo. You would do well, to avail yourself of the chance to spend time there. And...if I am not mistaken, I may be able to secure you better transportation. Can you ride a horse?”

 

It was impossible to stop; Earlene burst into laughter. “Yes, my Lord. I can ride a horse.”

 

**

 

Citing a need to care for personal matters, Earlene took her leave of Maglor and his family, starting out with her cloak toward the western gate of Valimar, but she did not advance very far.

 

“Earlene, might I speak to you for a moment?” came from behind her. Turning, she saw that it was Elrond, and bowed her head to him.

 

He laughed. “I am no longer Lord of Imladris, such courtesies are not necessary. But thank you. You are very polite.”

 

Smiling, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I live in a functioning Elven Realm. Mostly. Though I am Queen there is still a King and...there are times it is simpler to show deference first and ask questions later.”

 

“Not to mention, safer,” he smiled. “I can see that you have a destination, so I will try to be brief, or perhaps I may walk with you?”

 

“I would enjoy your company. I would have liked to have conversed much more with you when you visited us. But I have been consumed with Maglor’s well-being.”

 

Elrond held up a hand and shook his head. “It spoke well of you. While I can I would like to thank you for what you did on his behalf. I confess I was in sheer envy; what I would not have given, to have had you with me in Imladris as a counselor.”

 

Her eyebrows shot up quite high. “You had the most esteemed elven mind of record at your side. A mind that to this day Thranduil regrets the loss of. Surely I would not have made a difference?” she teased.

 

His head dipped in mirthful assent. “That...is some of what I wished to discuss. As you might guess, I am yet a close friend of Erestor. I take it that you...know?”

 

“Of the disaster between Erestor and Thanadir? Oh yes, I know. That was...obviously, I was not there to see it, but that was the first pebbles at the top of a rockslide. The repercussions of that event came to a...fruition of sorts, really only about at the time I was carrying my first child. Ordinarily I could not share something so personal, but I will make an exception here, for Thanadir himself has spoken of the day he must see Erestor again. He was deeply stricken, and has carried guilt for his actions for a very long time. I suppose everyone knows of what he did, and judges him according to that. Which is terribly sad, because there is no kinder, gentler elf. I am blessed to be his. I wish you could know the Thanadir I know.”

 

“It would seem that someday I will, and...hearing this does me good. My friend has long wondered what he did, to earn such treatment. Erestor is a kind and sensitive soul. When he is not arguing some point of debate, anyway. He has carried the pain of not knowing for a very long time, and I had hoped you might shed some light on this for me.”

 

Earlene nodded. “You are a Healer,” she recalled, frowning. “There are healers in the world of men now, where I am from. Medicine is very advanced, beyond anything I can easily describe in a short time. We count among our closest friends a human healer, a doctor--that is how they are called. He and I separately noticed that Thanadir is...different. I can best explain it as...the name we have for it is Asperger’s Syndrome. It describes a constellation of behaviors that indicates a mental difference, and occurs in the mortal population. I must emphasize that it is not a sickness...only a difference...but a difference that leaves a visible behavioral pattern.

 

“Thanadir displays exceptional intelligence. Even for an elf, he can excel at nearly anything to which he turns his thought because he is able to focus his mind to the exclusion of all else. At the same time, he lacks comprehension of certain emotional realities others take for granted. One hallmark of his difference is an intense, ungovernable fear of change and loss. Those who are like this cope with their world by keeping it ordered, immutable. Because of this and certain realities of his early life, Erestor seemed to Thanadir at that time as a threat to his very existence. I know this sounds far-fetched to us who are not this way, but he had to be helped to understand that this is a real shortcoming of his exceptional mind, something outside of his control and which is not his fault. For years, he felt intense shame at not understanding what could have driven him to do such a thing. That action...well, it is not an exaggeration to say that it shattered his world. He was disciplined for his transgression but at the time neither he or Thranduil had any means by which to understand the cause. To me it was...tragic, for Thanadir suffered and so did Erestor.

 

“My husband has accepted help and counsel, and learned coping skills. It took time, patience and love. I do not think the same thing could happen again and...the experience of delving into this difficulty of his is part of what caused Thranduil, Thanadir and I to grow so close. Thanadir was assigned to be my guardian and caretaker almost immediately after I wed Thranduil. In time I came to love him, for we have many things in common--though not the Asperger’s. Near as I can tell, Thanadir is unique out of all of your people; there is not another elf like him.”  His lack of sexual expression would not be mentioned in this conversation. She owed him that much, and that was...too personal.

 

All the time she spoke, Elrond had watched her carefully, and fully believed that this was the truth as she understood it. “That is...extraordinary. And not something anyone could ever have understood.”

 

“No. It is poorly understood even in my world, and those with this difference are often treated cruelly. All I can tell you is, he will seek Erestor’s forgiveness, when he is able. I know he will. I would guess that in his mind it is the greatest fault he has ever committed.”

 

Elrond absorbed all of this. “If I were to tell this to Erestor...may I?”

 

“I would not have told you these things, if I did not believe you could use this knowledge to some good. Thanadir would not want another to go on in fear and doubt if it could be helped. That being said, he is a very private and sensitive ellon, who hurts more than most if he believes he a subject of scorn. At least, when he is not out there being fearless and steadfast. He is many improbable things, rolled into one elf.”

 

“How strange,” he said. “For I have used those same words to describe Erestor. Thank you, Earlene. I will look forward to when we may speak again.”

 

Her head tilted. “Maglor has permission to return every so often. Perhaps I will write, in the hope he can bear messages.”

 

The peredhel’s eyebrows raised, and he smiled. “I would like that...and now I will take my leave.”

 

Earlene gave their gesture of parting, and moved on her way, hoping that something she just said could help. And not hurt. That was the thing about information; once set free it could not easily be contained.

 

A white steed stood in the distance; a perfect specimen of rippling muscles and exquisite form. Slowly, she approached, realizing that he did not seem...ordinary. Tentatively she held out her hand, rather than presume to approach the proud stallion.

 

“That is Nahar,” a nearby voice said. “I have had enough of trials. You will ride before me, and we shall speak of hunting. And your children. And the falconer who lives in your forest. And hounds. Proper subjects, fit for conversation.”

 

Earlene saw that Oromë was the speaker and curtsied deeply. Frankly, she was tired of trials too. “Yes, my Lord,” she smiled.

 

*****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We would like to profusely thank Alystraea/Annamare for permission to use her artwork "Maglor Haunted" to illustrate this chapter. It was not a commission but once we saw it we really hoped we could use it, because it so perfectly fit the scene in the Reading of Charges. If you don't know the work of this talented artist, please look her up on DeviantArt. You can also subscribe to her here on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222103/chapters/25074147


	137. One Hundred and Thirty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 2, 2032

Vairë lingered briefly to speak with Manwë before they departed, and received approval. With a smile, she was soon with the eagle that consented to carry the Feantúri and their wives back to their own Realms. Which meant that a short time later, she was whispering in the ear of the mighty bird, who agreed to wait.

 

The Lady hastened inside, to find Tirillë and speak to her. “There is little time. The trial is over, and Maglor is pardoned. You may go to him; he waits in Valimar. An eagle will bear you if you go to it now. Otherwise, there is only your feet.”

 

Sharley froze, and her eyes widened. Far too many words fought to be spoken, but none of them found a way out; all she did was squee, and throw her arms around Vairë. “ThankyousomuchIfixedalltheblues,” she said, and then dashed out.

 

Vairë chuckled. “Until we meet again, dear one.” She glanced now at the tapestry, and the cowering figure of Luinë. “Come here,” the Lady beckoned, this time with kindness. “We are going to do this together, henceforth. You are not to work alone. When we work, there will be corrected tapestries for you to look at. You are not to weave without ensuring that another has helped you with the color. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Lady,” Luinë whispered. With a great sigh, she hoped Tirillë did not stay away too long.

 

**

 

The eagle landed shortly thereafter at Ezellohar, and allowed Sharley to disembark before preparing to wing away to the mountains above where it made its home.

 

“Thank you,” she called, waving. As she headed for the city gates, she felt she might float off into the sky all on her own, she was that relieved.

 

Eönwë chanced to pass by, and saw her approaching. “Manartirillë?” he asked, incredulous.

 

It took memory a moment to catch up, and even then, she was hesitant. “Eönwë?” she hazarded. He _looked_ like the Maia she’d once known, but she had to make sure. Sorting through all these memories had been an...interesting business, and remained an ongoing process. “I’m looking for Maglor. He’s...somewhere here?”

 

“Yes. And, yes. I will take you. He is in the dwelling that was shared with Earlene in her time here. But she has already departed with the Lord Oromë.”

 

That was somewhat disappointing -- she’d been hoping to talk to Earlene, but the poor woman probably wanted a break. “Thanks,” she said. “I remember everything now, but not...always in the right order, if that makes any sense. It was a lot to have dumped into my head all at once.”

 

“I heard a little about what happened. I am so sorry and...blessings, that you have been restored to us.” The Herald laid his hand over his heart in sincerity.

 

“And I really do feel blessed,” she said. “I didn't realize how...broken I was, until I was fixed. Which I guess is a good thing, or I mighta lost what was left of my mind.”

 

“This way,” Eönwë smiled, guiding her down the streets that blazed with the colors of precious metals. Soon enough they were at the door. “This is the device of our Lord Manwë, and these homes are for his use.” He indicated the symbol on the door, and knocked. The door opened, and Maglor stood there. It was fairly obvious that he had been crying. “Tirillë?” he whispered, incredulous.

 

“I will leave you,” Eönwë said, wisely departing immediately.

 

Sharley launched herself at him, in a hug so fierce she practically knocked him over. “You,” she said, all but squeezing the breath out of him, “are going on a _leash_ , Mister. And not in the fun way.”

 

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Are you...Tirillë are you well?” the hope in his eyes was pitiful to behold.

 

She leaned back to look at him. “As well as I'm ever gonna be,” she said, grinning up at him. “Are you...are you okay, though? Nobody ever talked about...anything...when I was around, and I figured out pretty fast that I shouldn’t ask.”

 

He looked down and paled. “This was very hard, my time here, but no less so than it needed to be. I was granted mercy but...please forgive me, I am not ready to talk about this yet.” Even as he said the words, tears welled in his eyes.

 

“Hey,” she said gently, tucking his hair behind his ear, “don't say anything more until you _are_ ready, okay? It’s not something you’ve gotta spill if you don't want to -- not ever, if you just can’t.”

 

Maglor nodded, fighting to regain his composure. “It is some hours before mealtime, but I can make tea?” he offered.

 

“Tea sounds wonderful,” she said, taking his hand when she released him. She wasn’t sure when she’d be ready to let it go, honestly. Maybe never. “And I think my poor replacement is color-blind, if that’s even possible.” Her fingers twined through his -- honestly, his hand made hers look small -- and she ran her thumb over his knuckles.

 

With a smile, he looked down at her. “May I kiss you?” he asked, out of force of habit.

 

“You don't need to ask anymore,” she said, “but it’s nice of you to anyway.”

 

The lack of full comprehension was written all over his mein, but he carefully kissed her lips and hugged her. Though when he tried to break away, she did not release his hand. “I...while I am content to make tea later, I cannot do so with one hand,” he said kindly.

 

Sharley arched one (dark blue) eyebrow. “Fair point,” she said, and wrapped her arm around his waist instead. “But I’m not leaving you unless you need to go to the bathroom or something. I’ve missed you so much.”

 

“I missed you also,” he said, unable on some level to believe that this day had...this was most everything he had never let himself dream about, and it was so hard to comprehend that this was real. That the long nightmare was over. It was too soon, for such thoughts to settle in. The tea was brewed and served. “Tirillë,” he said carefully, sitting next to her, “I am only here for a short time. I was pardoned, but I was also banished. I am to be sent back to the Halls, to Thranduil. With Earlene. And there I must remain, to serve the Valar beyond the time when the others leave to come here. I hope this does not...ruin whatever you have found here. I may not return ‘until the world changes,’ they said.”

 

“That was where I wanted to go anyway,” she said. “Aman is beautiful, Maglor, but it’s not home anymore. Home is the forest, and Eldamar, and our human and Elf families. I was…” She sighed. “I’m too changed, now, even with all my memories, and my brain glued back together. I was naive and innocent when I worked in the Halls, and I’m neither now. As much as I’ve come to love the other weavers, it’s like there’s a barrier there. And I know it comes from spending eighteen thousand years with a mind like scrambled eggs, thinking I was human.”

 

 _“And even once the Woodland Realm comes here, Allanah’s still on Earth,”_ Sinsemilla added. _“And the D &D’s, and...everyone.” _

 

“I understand,” he said. “But you must realize that my family is here. My mother. Maedhros has been freed. Amrod and Amras. If I am permitted one day, I will want to return. I accept this justice for my crimes but...home is where you make it, Tirillë. I have had many.”

 

“We don't have to go home right off, do we?” Sharley asked. “At the very least, I hope you -- we -- can spend some time with your family. And...I know what you mean,” she said softly. “I’ve had many, too. There’s that human saying, ‘home is where the heart is’.”

 

“I am granted one week, and then I am to depart. My family still lingers in the city, as does Elrond, who traveled her to plead on my behalf. Twice. But when Manwë sends me, I must return.”

 

“I showed Elrond some pictures of you with the kids,” Sharley said. “Lorna sent me with a little mini-photo album, because of course she did. Your family can see where you’re going, at least, and know that it’s somewhere good. It can...ease the mind, knowing someone you love is in a good place, if you just have to be parted from them.”

 

Nodding, he smiled. “It will not be easy for them to understand, photos or not. They do not comprehend that world. It does not matter. At least my mother will have three of my brothers. It is more than she had before.”

 

“I can’t blame them,” she said. “The two worlds are...well, they’re different. I’d like to talk to your family, though, if I could. I remember them, but that was...so long ago, now. I’m re-learning...well, everything.” She smiled. “I got to see Marty. She’s happy and loved and safe, and I can go home with a lighter heart, knowing where she is.”

 

“I am happy for you,” he said sincerely, leaning in to kiss her cheek again. “The Gardens are beautiful.”

 

“‘Beautiful’ doesn’t do them justice,” Sharley said, laughing a little. “I can’t think of any word in any language that would.” She paused, and then said, “You could give me a real kiss now. I actually remember having an...an unpolluted libido.”

 

 _“Poetic, Sharley,”_ Kurt muttered.

 

“Kurt?” she said sweetly, “mute. Because apparently I can do that now.”

 

Maglor looked down. “I...what?” he asked, confused because that made no sense at all to him. But there was something he did wish to say. “I have appreciated how hard you tried to give me happiness...I do not want anything from now on that you also do not truly want. It would be better that way. And if I have misunderstood...I do not want to make mistakes, Tirillë. I am happy, but still...uncertain. So much has happened.”

 

With another arch of her eyebrow, she set aside her teacup, and took his right from his hand. “Maglor,” she said patiently. “Laurë. You missed the two most important words: unpolluted libido.” That was the only warning he got, before she tackled him against the back of his chair. “Admittedly I have to re-learn...everything, and I’m not really sure how much I’ll get wrong, but this is what I mean when I say ‘real kiss’.” And if it was a bit forceful, and unpracticed, she made up for it in sheer enthusiasm.

 

His eyes opened wide in shock, but they did not remain that way for long as he quickly responded to her, still barely able to believe this. “I need to know how far you mean this to go, Tirillë,’ he panted, feeling his desire spiking. “I do not wish to lose all restraint if you do not…”

 

“Oh Laurë...I can’t promise I won’t be crap at this, but I wouldn’t start it if I didn't mean to follow through,” Sharley said. “Though I’ve read this can be painful if you haven’t in awhile, so...let’s be careful. I know I'm a Maia and all, but I still don't have much control over my...physical form, so to speak.” Basically, she hoped this wasn’t going to be a Lorna and Ratiri situation, where Tab A and Slot B had to be approached very carefully, lest there be pain.

 

“I would never hurt you,” he said, his expression aghast at the mere thought. “And...it has been many years, but I have not...forgotten.” Tea was forsaken as he lifted her easily and carried her to his little room. Blessedly, while the bed was not large neither was it absurdly small. He laid her down carefully, and seemed to have little difficulty taking initiative. Leaning over her, he gently but thoroughly began to kiss her as he once did. Little soft kisses, on her cheeks and neck. Light nibbles at her ear. And this time when he kissed her lips, a lightly darting tongue asked silent permission for more.

 

Sharley giggled, and took the hint; even with all her memories back, it took her a moment to get it right -- and if her nose bumped his a little, oh well. Being able to _enjoy_ this -- to feel desire without shame or horror -- was more amazing than she thought she could ever communicate. It was just her, and Maglor, and the fact that he tasted like sweet tea. With a happy sigh she carded her fingers through his hair, and wondered if she was the luckiest being in the entire universe right now.

 

After some time at this, Maglor stopped, sat up, and quickly stripped off his tunic. And then he very slowly began to lift hers off as well, giving every opportunity for her to stop him of she wished. When the offending garment was gone at last, his expression turned mischievous. Her shoulder received a quick peck, and then quickly she found herself on her tummy, with his large hands rubbing at her back. Expertly he pressed his thumbs into the tender muscles behind her shoulder blades, feeling carefully to see what she seemed to enjoy most. And of course he leaned down to nibble at an ear on occasion, because it was there.

 

Ohhhh, that felt...she’d forgotten how good that felt. And it was fascinating, wanting this for her own sake. Before, she’d liked snuggling, sure, but she’d never been tempted to do this, to touch or kiss because _she_ wanted to. She’d forgotten how to want, during her eighteen thousand-year road trip across North America. “Is this always this nice?” she asked, marveling at the softness of his hands against her.

 

He laughed, but not unkindly. “Most would say this is not even the good part,” he grinned, loosening the laces of his leggings. “But the rest goes better with the clothes off.” He slipped out of the trousers, leaving the room for a moment to borrow a light blanket that was in the room Earlene had used. To him it was quite warm here but...perhaps she would feel more comfortable covered. This still seemed so strange, after the years and years of...he shook his head to himself, not about to start on those thoughts. He was both surprised and pleased to see that she had removed all of her garments, and shook out the thin blanket with a flourish, draping it over both of them as he hastened to join her before the billowing fabric could settle over them. Maglor smiled at her now, filled with pure joy, and pulled her against him in a hug. Bare skin to bare skin, with his hands freely able to roam unencumbered along her back and shoulders, waist, sliding down along the edges of her hips. His fingers lingered over the tender muscles just above her lower pelvic bones; places that could become sore from long hours of sitting and weaving. He took the time to rub those gently, relishing the enjoyment of the contact with his wife, before a return to kissing her seemed like a more appealing idea.

 

So appealing was it, as he took his time enjoying every part of her, that he finally heard a note of protest. “Laurë...there is careful, and then there is...I’m not sure I’m gonna get much more ready…”

 

A beautiful smile graced Maglor’s features. “Never let it be said that I was discourteous to my wife in this regard,” he kissed her again. As if they were plucking on harp strings, his fingers teased their way down her body to touch her womanhood, which was more than ready to feel him. “Oh! I see…well, I will begin like this, and then we will find what pleases you?” He raised up to move between her legs, and carefully positioned himself. “This must be strange, after so long...I will move very slowly. Relax and think of wanting me. As much as I want you. I am so grateful, Tirillë. So grateful that we can be together again in love and freedom.”

 

Incrementally he moved forward, with almost imperceptible slowness. A strange sensation of building pressure blended into a feeling of fullness, a blissful heat. A sense came over her that there was no further resistance to his advancement within her body; strong hands at his hips pulled him all the way inside. Joy not before seen spread over him, as he groaned softly from the pleasure. Forgetting himself, he sought to kiss her again and again, hardly noticing when their bodies connected with long forgotten memories to move of their own accord. Such love...such enjoyment...Maglor refused to hurry, determined to give her every delight. Every motion he recalled Tirillë appreciating, every caress he felt would add to her pleasure; nothing was spared.

 

Wow...okay, _wow_ , this was so much better than Sharley remembered. In her distant memories he’d touched her like this, and she’d touched him, but it had been so, so long that she’d forgotten just what it really felt like. Her rational thought fuzzed a little at the edges, because there wasn’t any room for it; the scent and feel and taste of him was almost too much.

 

Slow, deep but gentle thrusts inside of her, driving her relentlessly on to greater and greater passion until neither could endure more...he forced his eyes to stay open as he felt her climax begin around him, triggering his own release. Tears came, as the long yearned-for bond to his mate tore through him, powerful in its reaffirmation. “I love you,  Tirillë,” his strained voice managed to say. He had wanted this, for countless years, and today it felt as though every blessing long withheld was granted him as a feast on a platter. He held her to him, so tightly, as his release continued. Surely he was the happiest ellon in all of creation, and he thanked the Valar and Eru from the depths of his being.

 

“I love you, too,” she managed, wondering if her heart should be pounding this hard when her body was technically hers to control. She didn't know, but she rather liked it. Her fingers twined in his hair, her other hand stroking up and down his back. “Can we...can we do that again after dinner?”

 

His eyes sparkled. “We can do that until neither of us can walk, if you wish,” came the mischievous answer. “Though mother would probably appreciate it if we would spend some time with my family.” He paused. “Before she left here, your Lady gave us a gift.”

Opening his hand, he showed that two rings had mysteriously appeared. “I kept mine, all these years, though I have not worn it. I was waiting for….this. Yours was lost, but she has given another.” Deftly he took the smaller one, and slipped it onto Sharley’s finger.

 

 _“That’s so sweet I think I might vomit,”_ Jimmy said.

 

“Jimmy? Shut up. Laurë...I remember why I call you that, now,” she said, running her thumb over it. “And I’m glad you still have yours, even if mine’s...well, gone. A new ring for a new me.” She kissed him lightly, and slid his own ring onto his finger. “I’m still trying to figure out who I am now,” she added. “I’m Tirillë, and I'm Sharley, but there’s more of me that’s neither. You’ll have to help me work it out...and only you get to call me Tirillë, when we’re not here. I need a third name, somehow.”

 

“We have time,” he said, already becoming aroused again at the feel of her underneath him. He nipped at her earlobe. “Plenty of time.”

 

*****

 

Oromë guided Earlene into the gardens. He had proven to be an affable companion, and she greatly enjoyed his tales of hunting and...really, everything. More to her surprise was his admission of why he also traveled here. She felt humbled, at the shining example of one so mighty--who could in turn admit fault and the need to adjust his thinking. In her eyes, this elevated the Lords and Ladies, and did not diminish them in the least; perfection belonged to Eru alone and even the pinnacles of His creation still were learning.

 

Shortly thereafter,  Oromë and Earlene parted ways. Wandering, her paths took her under dense canopies of trees. Why she was here was not altogether clear, but it was a garden and peaceful and...did any of the rest matter? Manwë had granted her petition. She no longer had to know that her children would watch her die, or that her husbands would grieve her passing in the blink of an eye. And the daylight was waning, now. Were there fruit trees here? Either way, she probably would not be made to starve, so she kept strolling. Eventually she was found by another.

 

“You have just arrived,” the elleth (that she suspected was a Maia) stated in a pleasant voice.

 

“Yes,” answered Earlene, noticing that she was being looked at with great curiosity. “Am I...is there something the matter?”

 

“You are changing,” came the reply. “That has not happened in a very long time.”

 

She held out her hands, looking at them. They looked the same. As did her feet. Perhaps it was one of those things that she was not meant to understand very well.

 

“Not that way,” the other smiled. “The life of the Eldar is entering you. But...you were not usual to begin with, were you?”

 

“I do not know what I am. Was.” Earlene sighed. “I cannot answer the question.”

 

“Well either way, come. You still must eat and then you will want rest.”

 

Nodding, Earlene followed. Real rest had eluded her for weeks, here. There was worry, and Maglor. Despair, and Maglor. Analysis and fretting and difficult wrestling with tattered emotions, and Maglor. Her efforts had been given gladly, but she felt deeply weary. Brightening, she saw the simple meal of wine and fruit. Bread and cheese. Gratefully she gave thanks for far more than the food, then turned to her companion. “What is your name, please?”

 

The fair one shook her head. “We do not give our names, those of us in Irmo’s service. Only those who care for the children. For if you knew them, it could affect the Dreaming.”

 

This made little sense to her, but Earlene ate, and after was shown a place to rest; a bed of the softest mosses. The nightingales sang, and soon she was lost to slumber.

 

**

 

_For weeks she had yearned for this sight...home, and her children and husbands. Her friends. But...something was wrong, with Kiernan. He did not run out to greet her baying, but walked very stiffly. Thaladir came running out after his dog but...how was he so tall now? And her son ignored her...what was the matter? Her hand reached for the door handle, but instead her arm passed through followed by the rest of her. Mairead was there in the kitchen, and she had straightened and tinted her hair. No wait, that was not Mairead at all--that was Allanah. Tall, and with a shockingly appealing appearance. Her hair was long, almost to her waist, and it fell loose over modest clothing that covered what was obviously a voluptuous but still willowy womanly figure. Her little girl was so very beautiful... And here was Shane now, peeling fruit for breakfast. He still was not so tall but telltale peach fuzz lingered around his upper lip. And now a child came into the kitchen...was this...this was her son? But she could not tell which, whether this was Lancaeron or Erynion, and either way he was impossibly tall for not having reached his first year. He idly read a book while he moved through the kitchen, greeting Shane and giving his sister a hug._

 

_Where were any of the adults? Wait, here was Thranduil now, and why was everyone crying? Faeleth was carrying Kiernan, and something was truly wrong. Thaladir was sobbing...and that was when the sickening realization struck her that her son was losing his beloved dog, his companion for his entire life. A howl of pain tore through her to see Thaladir hurting like this...how could any of this be happening? And now Thanadir came running, to hold Thaladir. She thrashed in her sleep, trying to wake. This is all wrong...I only left two months ago. Three, at the most? But she could not wake…_

 

Irmo stood over her, filled with sorrow, and he looked at his wife pleadingly. “After all she has done for us, there is no other way?”

 

Estë shook her head sadly. “Her mind must have a chance to prepare. It will be bad enough even with this. And...the dream is only a small taste, husband. She has asked for the life of the Eldar, and being one of the Firstborn means to watch all that you love change and pass away before your eyes. Earlene knows this, but it is not in the nature of her mortal mind to fully understand. This is one of the changes that must come upon her. For now there is pain, but this will prevent something far worse. There is a reason this is so rarely granted; for most it would be a recipe for destruction.”

 

_Now there was Lorna, and Ratiri. They at least looked the same, and Lorna seemed irritable about something. That meant that not every aspect of life had fallen into abnormality. And Calanon and Ailill...same there too. Ithiel and Eleniel were in the fields, guiding the oxen as they pulled the plowshare...they did not seem so much different?_

 

_Then the vision changed, to nighttime. Thanadir was in bed, with Thranduil. He seemed sad, and began to cry...oh, my poor meldir...Thranduil was there, reaching to comfort him, and then they...really? Um, wow. Would not have guessed this much would happen...but...damn, that’s just a slight turn-on…_

 

Irmo chuckled. “At least there will be one change that will bring no difficulty.”

 

His wife grinned. “Apparently. And yet...I wish I knew how to advise the two ellyn. Moving quickly will not help. Neither will delaying. I have overheard that the mortals have a saying: ‘Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.’ And that is already the place at which they have arrived.” Estë paused. “You will give her something nice, too, will you not? Something for the peace of her heart, and not only this exposure to what she has lost?”

 

“Yes,” Irmo nodded. “There is a reason I am doing this first. The rest of her time will be spent among the fountains. There are other elves here with whom she must speak, and one of those discussions will not be easy.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Maedhros was not the only one kept long in the Halls of Mandos to be recently freed. There is another.”

 

“And conversations like this are why I am grateful I have ones of my own to whom I must tend.” Estë kissed Irmo tenderly. “Until later, beloved.”

 

**

 

Earlene woke in the mid-morning light, permeated by sadness. _What...was that? I thought those who came here received dreams and rest, not nightmares._ She shook her head, and unplaited her braid in order to comb it with her fingers. Probably it had just been some random mental vomit. The past many weeks after all had been stressful and...her arms stretched upward, as high as could be reached. _My body feels...good. Better than before._ Not that it had usually felt bad, but this was even nicer. A sense of strength was returning to her...how her body felt before Faeleth. Shaking out her hair some more, she felt that perhaps it would be best left loose today. And maybe...was there a place one was supposed to care for personal needs? Shrugging, she found her way into some dense vegetation. Plenty of sticks were everywhere and...well, at least if this was not how one was meant to take care of necessary business, no harm would be done.

 

Not so far away was a stream in which to wash face and hands...well at least that was better. And now she caught sight of a pathway, and followed it.

 

Everything here appeared so beautiful, and as she meandered, the heartaches of her dreams seemed to vanish away though they were not forgotten. In the distance she heard the tinkling of splashing water and decided to investigate; this caused her to emerge into a clearing of particular beauty. A great circular fountain graced the center of this space, overhung on one edge by a massive silver willow whose leaves shone in the sunlight. Flowers and low growing grasses were underfoot, and paths in geometric shapes that invited one to walk along them were laid in with what seemed to be brickwork of some kind...though many building materials had been used here of which Earlene did not feel certain. So entrancing was all of this that at first she did not see the lone figure seated at the edge of the fountain. An involuntary gasp escaped her. “Thranduil?” she called out hopefully, wondering if her reason was departing from her in this blessed place.

 

The ellon looked up immediately, but this was not her husband. He stood, his simple light gray robes giving her a better view of his build and features.  Fascinated, she approached closer. The physical resemblance was uncanny; the same hair and eyes. And dark eyebrows and lashes. The same powerful body, though it was possible that he was just an inch shorter? His eyes were riveted on her, as well, drawn immediately to the necklace at her throat. They widened; the recognition was obvious. And then she froze, as it crashed over her who this had to be. The smile left her face, replaced immediately with searing disapproval. He saw, lowered his gaze, and sat once again.

 

Earlene did not remove her eyes from him, while she tried to think. She had just argued the case of an ellon who had murdered dozens of people and helped to return his steps to a straight path. Her arms had embraced his brother, who had murdered dozens of _other_ elves and been forgiven. That he was here meant that he was no longer being held to account for his evil deeds. And yet there was a central problem. _I lack information._ At the moment, the obligation to be fair and balanced was sitting very poorly indeed...but instinctively she knew it was not her place to condemn what the Valar had pardoned.

 

“You are Oropher,” she spoke aloud.

 

“Yes,” he answered, not looking at her.

 

“Do you know who I am?”

 

Now she earned a glance from the sea-blue eyes. “No. But you called my son’s name, and you wear one of the heirlooms of our house. So I would infer that you are my daughter-in-law.”

 

“Yes. I am Earlene, wife of Thranduil.” He nodded, and said no more. Earlene watched, and watched, and watched. The silence continued. “I have wondered about this moment for a very long time,” she said finally. “I expected it to come someday, but not here. Thranduil and I have spoken of what it would be like, for him to see you again. And for me to meet you.” This caused him to look up, surprised. “If encountering you here is to have any positive outcome at all, I need to know why,” she demanded flatly. “I need to know what under Anor was going through your head that you could treat your own flesh and blood as you did. What entitled you to terrorize your family and your household. What caused you to be one of a handful of ellyn in all the history of your people that was so utterly morally bankrupt? I will listen to you, if you speak now. I cannot promise I will do so again if you choose to remain silent.”

 

His head lifted to meet her eyes again. “Well, clearly you are not afraid of me,” he said with a crooked half-smile.

 

“No,” Earlene said, crossing her arms. “Most are afraid of me, not the other way around.”

 

Oropher’s eyebrows arched, taking the measure of her more carefully. This was no Lothamîr, standing before him. “Then I see my son has chosen well.”

 

Her head tilted. “That is a far longer story to tell, but either way you are not answering my questions.”

 

His face now regarded the fountain as he spoke. “It is a normal response, to the knowledge that the listener will not like what is said,” he replied softly. “For I have asked myself those questions for ages. I was kept by Námo, for...a very long time, and have only just been restored. I can tell you that I suffered from rage. That in many ways my reason was absent. There were twisted notions of imagining that I needed to make my son strong. Adequate. But all of those are some kind of excuse, are they not? If you are looking to understand how I could have done these things, then you must join me in regret and a search to explain that which can have no explanation. I can tell you that I am sorry...so terribly sorry. The Valar have forgiven me but I know that my family may never do the same, and I have no one to blame but myself for that consequence. Would you please tell me, is Thranduil well? Is he happy? Does he have children of his own?”

 

What was she to make of this? What was _anyone_ to make of this? Earlene reflected further, choosing to ignore his questions for the moment. “Let me try a different question, then. When did your anger begin, and why? Did you despise that poor little boy from the moment of his birth, or was there something else?”

 

A look of great discomfort and pain settled over the former king’s face. “It went further back than that,” he whispered. “There was a...I lay with my wife, the eve before a great battle. In Beleriand of old. My beloved father, Phéren, was killed the next day, and I returned home to find that my wife was with child. I was consumed by grief...and resentment. That was how it began, and I was never right again. It is still no excuse. I doubt it is even a reason.”

 

Earlene blinked. _Am I looking at an ellon healed of a profound mental illness? I would call bullsh*t on that but...I have seen too much here. Too much, and I know that anything can go wrong. Everything, can go wrong. But what he did to Thranduil…_ She decided to sit. Not close to him, but not that far away, either. “You hurt him terribly. He has lived every day of his life wishing he could understand why you despised him as you did. Wondering at what the reason could be for your hateful abuse. But I see now that there was no reason. No reason except the darkness that filled your heart and mind. But...yes, he is well. He is King over the remnant of his people; we live yet in what was once Eryn Galen.”

 

“You do?” Oropher said, cheering up for a moment. “Then Sauron…”

 

“Defeated, countless ages ago. The Ring of Power was cut from his hand at the Siege of Mordor. He fell, but rose again before the Ring was destroyed. Your son led his people through all of that after you fell, with Thanadir at his side, and lingered on in Ennor.”

 

“Thanadir…”

 

“You have many grandchildren,” Earlene continued, pity moving her to bring out her photograph of their family and show it to him. “I am not Thranduil’s first wife. First there was Legolas, whose mother is Alassëa. I believe that somewhere, he walks these shores, for he sailed long ago. And this is our family now. First came Eleniel and Ithiliel. Thaladir. Algar and Erynion and Lancaeron. He is a wonderful husband and father. And King. I am proud to stand at his side.” She found herself not wishing to digress into their marital oddities. If he wondered at the children that were unnamed, or their obvious physical likeness to Thanadir, those thoughts were kept to himself.

 

“Then he did what I could not,” Oropher said, falling silent for a time. “Do you think he could ever forgive me, Earlene? For what I have done to him?”

 

For many minutes she studied the face that was so familiar and yet so different. “That is not for me to promise...but if you are asking me if he is capable? Yes, he is. His heart is large and generous. He will come here someday, to Aman. We all will. The only advice I can offer you is to become someone worth forgiving. You have time.”

 

He nodded slowly. “Thank you, that you would speak with me. You are...unusual.”

 

Earlene stood up and smiled crookedly. “So they tell me. Farewell for now, Oropher. I will pray for you.” Without another word, she left him. When she had walked as far as she could easily manage, a grassy knoll with dappled shade and flowers caught her eye. Little yellow flowers, everywhere. They seemed so cheerful. She _needed_ cheerful, and felt mentally weary. Stretching out, she was soon asleep.

 

Two ellyn came strolling by. One had golden hair, the other raven-dark. They walked close together, their arms brushing. “I have never seen her before,” the dark-haired one said. “And yet...how strange. I recognize the device on her necklace.”

 

“Oh?” Glorfindel said.

 

Erestor glanced up at his friend nervously and thought better of supplying the information. “Then again...perhaps I am mistaken. Her appearance is quite beautiful, amidst the celandines like that,” he teased.

 

“She is wed,” Glorfindel pointed out, with a slight touch of jealousy at Erestor’s interest. “And clearly wishes to rest undisturbed.”

 

“Indeed.” The two continued on their way, but Erestor could not help but take one backward glance. Inside of himself, he wondered greatly.

 

**

 

Somehow Earlene slept the day away, and it was almost sundown when she woke. Opening an eye, the most charming insect she had ever seen was buzzing around the celandine not far from her eyeball. Iridescent scales covered its abdomen and translucent wings reflected many colors. A determined but somewhat ill-shaped proboscis prodded at the hapless blossom, achieving...something or other...before moving on to the next. Sitting up, she rubbed at her eyes.

 

“Oropher,” she muttered. “Because _that_ happened. Well, at least Lorna isn’t here. She would have tried to drown him in the fountain and…” the very factual thought suddenly made her flop back in the grass, howling with laughter. It was probably incredibly good that Valinor was consecrated apart, because it assuredly was not ready for the Donovans. “I miss everyone…” Earlene trailed off. “So much. I even miss Saoirse cussing all the time, not that I would admit that if pressed.”

 

“You do not have to be ashamed of finding such things amusing, Earlene,” Irmo said, appearing unexpectedly. “Though it is appreciated that you understand that such speech is not permitted here.”

 

She smiled up at him, moving to kneel. “My husband feels they are unseemly, my Lord.”

 

“Ah, but which husband?” Irmo asked drily.

 

Earlene laughed again, accepting the hand he offered to raise her up. “Good point, my Lord.”

 

“You did well, with Oropher,” the Vala said, his tone growing more serious. “He will need much guidance. He has been healed but there is still much to overcome.”

 

Nodding, she looked down. “It is...difficult. I am a wife. And a mother.”

 

A hand was laid on her shoulder. “You have not eaten or had refreshment today. The time remaining to you here grows short, and I would have you see one other. Marty.”

 

“Sharley’s daughter?” Earlene’s eyebrows raised. “Well...that might be less...morbid...than...if it is your wish, of course my Lord.”

 

Irmo chuckled. “Exactly. I merely wish you to have your meal with the child. It is time someone saw her as she is, and not only through the lens of her mother’s thoughts.”

 

**

 

“Marty, this is Earlene. A friend of your mother. She is to eat with you this evening,” Irmo explained.

 

The little girl looked up. “You know Mama? Hi. I forgot to show Mama the other frog while she was here, but I could show you if you want. After dinner, I mean.”

 

“Yes, I do. I live with your Mama, in the other place. And I like frogs. My daughter liked frogs when she was little too. Hers was named Froggy,” Earlene smiled. Yes, a great deal like younger Allanah…

 

Marty beamed. “That’s what ours is called,” she said. “Can you stay long? Mama said she had to go back to the other place, but that she’d come visit me.” Her voice lowered. “Mama kinda needs looking after sometimes. Can you do that for me please?”

 

“I cannot stay,” Earlene said truthfully. “I have to go back soon too. But someday I will return. And...your Mama got fixed. It’s not like before. She has lots of friends to watch over her, and she is all better. And she has a husband now. A beautiful elf who loves her and will take good care of her. But I will be there too, so I will watch. For you.”

 

“Thank you,” Marty said, and threw her arms around Earlene in the kind of unreserved hug of which only small children are capable. “And I made Mama something, if you could bring it to her?” Big, mismatched eyes, so like her mother’s, stared up at Earlene.

 

“Of course I will. But I hope it will fit in my pockets,” she grinned.

 

“If I fold it up it might,” Marty said seriously. “I drew Mama and Froggy. Except Froggy looks kinda weird, but he looks kinda weird in real life, too.” She eyed Earlene curiously. “Is your daughter the other sunshine girl? Mama said there was me, and now there’s a second one. And that maybe someday we’ll take over the world and there will be sunshine all over.”

 

“Yes. At least, I am pretty sure. Her name is Allanah, and your Mama likes her very much. And since the other place needs much more sunshine, I am glad that she is there. Did you know the old you is in our forest, and is a tree now?” Earlene asked. “It is very tall and beautiful.” She hungrily helped herself to the bread and fruit that was provided. Butter too, and some steamed vegetables. Part of her wondered how exactly food even came to be here, but the course of wisdom was to not question warm fresh bread under any circumstances.

 

Marty’s eyes widened. “I’m a tree?” she asked. “...Whoa. I didn't think people could be trees.” She took a piece of bread herself, and conscientiously chewed and swallowed before adding, “You’re not the same as Mama and the other grown-ups, are you? You’re kinda like the others we see sometimes, the Elves.”

 

“Yes. At least, I think so,” answered Earlene. “I was given a special gift, so maybe I’m still in-between a little. But your Mama is different, either way.”

 

“Mama and her voices. I heard them sometimes, before. Kurt swore a lot,” Marty said solemnly. “I’ll be right back -- I’m gonna go get Mama’s present. And Froggy.” Off she zoomed, hair flying. When she returned, it was much more carefully; under one arm was a roll of paper, and in her hands was a very, very large, very calm frog. He said _ribbit_ on cue, and stayed beside Marty when the girl sat. “See? Froggy.”

 

“That is a very nice froggy,” Earlene admired, watching the amphibian’s eyes track between herself and the child. “In our forest, the froggies live under a bridge that goes over what used to be the river. But now it is where frogs live in their frog houses.”

 

At that moment Olórë walked by, and did a double take, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “You will remember to return Froggy home, won’t you, Marty?” he asked kindly.

 

“I will,” the girl promised. “Do you have lots of froggies? We have a few, but not too many. They’re so big they need a lot to eat.”

 

The frog looked up at Earlene, its beady eyes seeming to agree. _Ribbit._

 

Marty set her drawing on the table, and carefully rinsed her hands before taking another piece of bread. The frog, naturally, abided.

 

Soon it was time for stories, and Marty said good-bye. Earlene carefully placed the rolled picture into her cloak, and gave the child a hug. As she watched the girl skip off toward her treehouse, frog in hands, wondering if her time here could become any more surreal, Irmo met her once again. “It is time, Earlene. I will guide you back to the entrance of the Gardens. Manwë’s eagle waits to return you to your home.”

 

Ever after her memories of the loveliness that she passed by, the trees and the blossoms under starlight...there would almost be no point talking about them to anyone who could not read her thoughts. Some things were an impossible beauty. When they emerged, Irmo placed his kiss on her brow. “Until we speak again,” the Vala said simply. Yes, the eagle was there, and so were Sharley and Maglor, who looked radiantly happy together. Knowing not to cause the eagle to wait, she hastened up, awkwardly greeting the others.

 

“Hi,” came out. Because Earlene was at a total loss what else to say.

 

“Hi,” Sharley said, and pulled her into a surprise hug. “Time to go home, huh?”

 

Earlene returned the embrace, slightly taken aback. “Yeah. And it’s...weird. I never kept track of how long we were here...but I thought maybe a little over two months? But...you’re okay now?”

 

“I think you might be right, but I’m not sure,” Sharley said, releasing her. “The days kinda blurred together in the Halls. I fixed all my poor replacement’s mistakes, and I think that took a while.” She reached out to take Maglor’s hand. “And yeah, I'm okay now. Still kinda trying to sort things out in my own head, but I’ll get there. And Kurt has a mute button now.”

 

The other three voices snickered.

 

“But you...are different,” Sharley added, eying her closely. “Dunno how, but...you are.”

 

“Yes,” Maglor started, though he was interrupted for a minute or two when the eagle took flight and ascended. “As I was saying, yes, you have…”

 

“I know,” Earlene said. “Except not completely. I’m supposed to halfway try to keep a lid on it, for the humans, though obviously some are going to not be able to avoid seeing. That was what Manwë advised. I was offered the chance to ask for what I wanted. And I wanted to not lose my family someday. I wanted to stay with the Elves in a very permanent sense, if you get my meaning...though I...they didn’t tell me what exact form that would take. I mean, I don’t think my ears are going to grow points. But...no idea, honestly. I wasn’t about to be picky.”

 

“I won’t tell if you don't,” Sharley said, incredibly relieved. She hadn’t wanted to think about what would happen to that entire family, should Earlene age and die. They’d never have gotten over it, ever. “I just hope somebody took care of the Lump while we were away.” She arched her eyebrow at Maglor when she said that, because he still hadn’t admitted to disliking the poor cat.

 

Earlene bit her lip, remembering the dream. The very, very vivid dream that would not go away. “I...I probably shouldn’t say this because I don’t know up from down but...I had a dream, in the Gardens. It won’t leave my mind. The Lump wasn’t the problem. It was...Thaladir. Both of his dogs had to be...they were gone. But it makes no sense, because...they were fine, we were just there. I really want to believe it was just a random nightmare.” What she was not mentioning was that in the dream all of the children were older. Much too old…

 

“Gone?” Sharley asked, turning to look at her. “You mean -- d’you mean they were dead?” There weren’t really dangerous animals in the forest, and it wasn’t like anybody ever drove out there...unless it was a holiday. She really, really hoped nobody had hit Thaladir’s dogs.

 

 _“Ask her if there was anything else,”_ Sinsemilla said uneasily.

 

“Sinsemilla wants to know if there was anything else.”

 

“Yes,” Earlene said miserably. “I am trying so, so hard not to be irrational about this, but it doesn’t mean I’ve been able to stop thinking about it. In the dream, Flannery was just...already gone. And Kiernan was...dying. Faeleth was carrying him, and Thaladir was beside himself and Thranduil had to...make the dog go to sleep. But...Thaladir was older. So was Faeleth. And so was Allanah, she looked like me for Eru’s sake, but with red hair. And one of my young twins wasn’t young, and...I can’t remember all of it, but it scared me. The only thing normal in the whole dream was, Lorna was irritable about something.”

 

Sharley stared at her. “Oh, I hope that doesn’t mean what I’m afraid it does,” she said, and yet snorted. “At least the world wasn't entirely off its axis, if Lorna was annoyed. But...I never even thought of this, but does time in Aman pass at the same rate as on Earth?”

 

That thought had not occurred to Earlene at all. But she had to laugh. “Don’t tell Lorna, but I thought the same thing about her. Well...all I have to say is...if the worst turns out to be true, I’m going to go into serious introvert mode but at the same time...what is anyone supposed to do about it? Nothing. And yet I still really, really, really want to be completely wrong.”

 

Maglor was silent, as a knot settled in his stomach. Because in a way, this was all on account of him. More than ‘a way’...but maybe it was as she said. Maybe it was all nothing more than a dream.

 

 _“If we had fingers, we’d keep them crossed,”_ Layla said.

 

“Well, we’ll know in not that long,” Sharley said uneasily. “You go into introvert mode and I’ll...I dunno, I’ll distract them somehow. But I think this one here’s gonna want some time away from the herd too, huh?” she added, squeezing Maglor’s hand.

 

“I need to talk to my King,” he said softly. “And after that I want to live a quiet life and teach music. At least, while I can. And I want you,” he said, cuddling Sharley against him.

 

*****

 

The eagle perched in the Eldest tree, and Earlene thanked it as she slid off its wing and onto the branches with practiced ease. Pausing, she turned around. “I almost forgot something,” she said, but it was half a ruse to make certain Sharley was alright walking on the limbs--asking aloud might have been insulting.

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. “And then you remembered it?” she asked, with a half-grin.

 

“Pretty much,” Earlene laughed. To her eyes, they seemed to be managing fine. “But I’ll give it to you on the ground so I don’t scuff it up. I should have told you, Irmo wanted me to meet Marty. And I apologize, but my head hasn’t been quite right.”

 

Sharley’s eyes widened, and she almost missed a step. “You saw Marty? You met my little bug? I know I’m her mama and I'm biased and all that, but isn’t she the cutest little thing in the fucking world?” She blinked. “Oh, it’s so nice to be able to swear again. I mean, not that I swear a whole lot, but trying to watch my mouth all that time was...a chore.”

 

Earlene grinned. Not swearing had been no particular burden for her. Talking to Valar was...there might as well have been AntiSwear sprayed in a fine mist from overhead. There was just no desire whatsoever. “Sorry. I’m a mom, and my _own_ kids are the cutest in the world. That’s in the rules somewhere. But yes, she is adorable, and I met Other Froggy, and….this is for you.” She handed Sharley the rolled up drawing.

 

“Other Froggy,” Sharley said, laughing. “More like Giant Froggy.” She unrolled the drawing, her feet finding the branches almost of their own accord -- but she paused when she saw what it was.

 

Marty had drawn her standing in the creek, holding aforesaid Froggy. It was simple, and yet quite good for a five-year-old, the sky patiently colored rather than scribbled-in, each blade of grass its own dash of colored pencil. “Oh damn, I’m framing this,” she said. For once, her heart didn't clench at seeing something of her daughter’s. Knowing -- having seen -- where Marty was, and knowing that she could go and visit again, kept the old pain at bay.

 

“I told her she was a tree, here,” Earlene said, pointing to the tall grave marker. “I think she liked that.” Landing nimbly on the forest floor, she looked around slowly, almost in disbelief that she was now here. And not there.

 

“Of course she did,” Sharley said, laughing and shaking her head a little.

 

**

 

{November 2, 2032}

 

Thranduil had just spooned porridge into his mouth and was chewing it absently, when he...heard. His spoon fell from his hand, clattering on his plate and attracting the instant notice of everyone at the table. His eyes widened.

 

“Thranduil?” Thanadir asked, worried.

 

The King rose. “She is back. All of them. They are back!” His chair was shoved aside with no grace whatsoever, as he grabbed his twin sons who he knew could not run so fast on their own. Chaos ensued as breakfast was abandoned, and the entire household at Eldamar streamed out the front door.

 

“Holy shit,” Lorna said, as she nearly got trampled by children who were, by now, mostly taller than she was. She wound up using Ratiri as a shield as they surged past, followed by cats, who probably just wanted to see what the commotion was.

 

Thanadir, completely bewildered, picked up Andaer. “Ada, what is happening?” the little boy asked, confused.

 

“Your Nana has come home,” he told his son, near tears.

 

The child frowned. “Oh.”

 

**

 

Children, small and not-so-small, made a beeline for the approaching trio; the only reason Lorna and Ratiri didn't was because there were too many kids in the way. _Saoirse_ , however, had no such compunction; she was hot on the heels of her cousins.

 

“It’s a bit like a shark feeding frenzy, isn’t it?” Lorna asked, a little perturbed. They all looked...well. Calm. Rested. Nowhere was there sadness, or regret. She just hoped they wouldn’t come to regret having missed so much time with their families.

 

Earlene looked on her approaching family and had never felt both this elated and this devastated all at the same time. She managed a weak smile toward Sharley and Maglor before transforming her face into a mask of complete happiness for the sake of her family, and hoped that she could maintain it. And seconds later she was in Thranduil’s arms, her face buried in his blond hair while she squeezed her eyes tightly shut to block out the grief that threatened to race through her. He understood, instantly.

 

 _I am so sorry,_ she said to him alone. _So, so sorry.  I did not know, I had no way to know..._

 

 _It was not your fault,_ he replied, helping her as best he could. _There was no other choice, meluieg. Do not lose your joy, or take away theirs._ Her lips met his in a fierce kiss that could not linger. Not with ten children and another husband. This was...impossibly too many people…

 

Sharley’s eyes traveled the crowd, and she realized with a sinking feeling that Earlene’s dream had been true. All the kids had grown so, so much...Allanah was barely recognizable as the gangling pret-teen she’d left. Eleniel and Ithiliel, and Thaladir -- damn, Thaladir was all but unrecognizable, too.

 

Though, none of the peredhel kids looked quite as radically different as Chandra and Shane. Both were much taller, and Shane at least looked halfway grown up; Chandra, it would seem, was going to take after her mother, who had looked childlike right up until she hit forty. Atia had hit the arms-and-legs period, and Supri...Supri had been a toddler, last time Sharley had seen her.

 

At least Saoirse looked the same, as did Lorna and Ratiri. Bless the Donovans for just...not aging.

 

 _“Um,”_ Kurt said. _“Not to state the fucking obvious, but time in Aman must be a lot slower than it is here.”_

 

“Three and a half years, I think,” Sharley said, her eyes darting over the assorted histories of this mob.

 

Earlene did the best she could to greet and comfort the younger children. Faeleth was fine, seemingly unflappable. Eldan, Aglar, Thaladir, they were visibly upset. And Lancaeron, Erynion and Andaer...they looked at her as though she was the total stranger that she now actually was. It hurt, deeply, but she understood. Her oldest twins lingered back, understanding that their younger siblings needed her more. They would have their time soon enough. And Allanah, being smarter than the rest in some ways, walked to Sharley, giving her a light hug that lingered. “Hi, Uncle Maglor,” she smiled up at him, while leaning in closer to both. “What _happened_?” she asked pointedly. “Short version.”

 

“You grew up while we were away, is what happened,” Sharley said. “Short version from my end: Vairë gave me back my memory, the Valar fixed...well, _me_...and Maglor and I kinda got married all over again.” She held up her hand, with its ring that glinted in the sunlight. “Oh, and I saw Marty.”

 

“Congratulations,” Allanah said, and she meant it. “On all of those things.” But, she was nowhere near satisfied. “And that took _three and a half years_?”

 

“Evidently, time passes differently in Aman,” Sharley said, “which nobody warned us about. We were there about two months, give or take. I’m not sure how long it actually was, in Aman-time, but something like that.”

 

“Ah. And therein lies the answer.” Allanah shook her head sadly. “Well, there is nothing to be done about it, but I’m so glad you’re back.” Her eye fixed on Maglor. “Uncle Maglor, Eldan won’t say anything to you, but he needs you. Bad. He won’t let on, what your leaving did to him. I know you had to go but...please, I hope you can give him attention. And there’s stuff I need to tell you about the D&Ds but not here. Later, when things’ve settled. I’d better try to help Andaer. That’s a mess too, the triplets hardly remember Nana.”

 

“You’re definitely your nana’s daughter,” Sharley said approvingly. _Somebody_ had to be the household Earlene while Earlene was away. “You do what you need to do, ki -- dammit, I can’t call you that anymore. You know what I mean.”

 

With a smile and a great sigh, Allanah gave both of them another hug at the same time, and returned to the fray.

 

And last, Earlene turned to Thanadir, studying his beautiful eyes for a moment and wanting to drown in them. She touched her forehead to his. _There is too much to say, but all of it is about what my heart has endured apart from you._

 

 _I know,_ he answered. _For I have been the same._ Their foreheads pressed together before they embraced each other tightly and exchanged a chaste but lingering kiss.

 

Breaking away, Earlene tried to smile. It would all have to settle, somehow. Somehow.

 

Sharley ooched her way through the children until she reached Lorna and Ratiri, hugging them both in turn. The twins came next, and it was Chandra who paused, looking up at her.

 

“Your eyes are different,” she said. “All blue, now.”

 

“Yeah, apparently even that changed when my brain got smushed,” Sharley said. “This is what they’re supposed to be. Which I had no idea about.”

 

“What’s that?” Atia asked, pointing at the paper in her hand.

 

“Marty made me this,” she said. “I got to see her, when I was there.”

 

Lorna’s eyebrows shot up. “Holy shit, really? She’s in Aman?”

 

“In the Gardens of Lórien,” Sharley said. “They’re...I don't even have words for what they are. There’s a lotta little children that live there, with Maiar to take care of them, and it’s...a kid couldn’t ask for a better place to live. And knowing that she’s there -- that I can visit her again -- it means I don't have to miss her as much. I know what she’s dreaming, now, while she sleeps. Earlene met her, too.”

 

“Christ I'm happy for you,” Lorna said, pulling her into another hug. “Maglor, the kids’ve kept on practicing with their instruments, though not as much as they ought to, except Eldan. For the rest, they missed you too much for a while to even try.”

 

“It just was a reminder that you were gone,” Chandra said, “for a while, anyway. Then we started doing little concerts, just like we did with you.”

 

The ellon nodded, having difficulty believing that he was here, and that his ordeal was over. Quen approached at his side, and laid a hand on his shoulder, gripping it. Maglor covered it with his own, and gave a look of joyful gratitude that told his friend all he really needed to know. Quen saw the ring of marriage on his finger and smiled. The rest would wait until there was just the two of them.

 

“You guys are staying here, right?” Shane added, his green, green eyes tracking from one to the other.

 

“Yes,” Maglor said softly. “I am not going anywhere.” He glanced up at Thranduil, who gazed at him across the sea of family members. A nod indicated that they would speak...at some point. Understandably, not now.

 

“Good,” Atia said, attack-hugging him before zooming off. There were too many people out here.

 

“We missed you so much,” Saoirse said, finally making her way through the press. She had the Lump in her arms -- a Lump who had gotten even fatter over the years, and who broke into ecstatic purrs as she was handed to Sharley, who hugged her close. “This thing missed you especially.”

 

“I missed it, too,” Sharley said, petting the poor creature. “Did you look after her?”

 

“We did,” Chandra said, “and then Da got Mam a kitten so she wouldn’t murder him, and the kitten got attached to the Lump, so at least she had a buddy.”

 

Sharley looked from Lorna to Ratiri. “All right, this I have to hear.”

 

“ _Someone_ never told me there was more than one way to use the elves’ period cure,” Lorna said, glowering at her poor husband. “So I spent twelve years’v our holidays losing to the Communists. I found this out through Thranduil, who I think was just glad I wasn’t pissed at him, too.”

 

“You’re...are you serious?” Sharley looked at Ratiri, incredulous. “Kitten or no kitten, you’re lucky she didn't _castrate_ you over that.”

 

“I had my revenge, and then we did an experiment that...well, clarified a few things,” Lorna said. She still couldn’t believe he’d gone so far up the dial, so to speak, he’d taken her object lesson and turned it into self-punishment.

 

“Oh, Ratiri.” Sharley shook her head. “You are so lucky she loves you.”

 

The poor man just groaned, and made an entirely graceless escape.

 

Maglor appeared very uncomfortable upon overhearing this, murmured something about Eldan, and also scampered off with pink faintly tinting his cheeks.

 

Sharley looked at Lorna, and they both burst out laughing. Apparently males were males, no matter what their species.

 

“So you’re really all right now?” Lorna asked, inspecting her friend’s eyes. God but that was strange -- she’d got so used to the heterochromia the way it was that it was jarring now, and yet it made her seem far more...balanced.

 

“I’m still working things out, but yeah,” Sharley said. “I mean, it wasn’t a ‘wave a magic wand and I’m a hundred percent’. The Valar fixed all damage, and healed the trauma, but I’m not who I used to be. I’m trying to figure out who I am _now_.” She grinned. “Though I’ve gotta say, having a libido is actually a lot of fun.”

 

Lorna tried not to laugh, and utterly failed. “Yes, yes it is,” she said. “So long as you can shut those voices’v yours up.”

 

 _“She has a ‘mute’ button now,”_ Kurt said glumly.

 

“Handy,” Lorna said. “Here, let me see that picture’v yours.”

 

Sharley handed it over. “I’m still gonna miss her,” she said, “but not so bad, because now I can go see her sometimes, even if it kinda is a hell of a walk. And...I used to always hope she was somewhere nice, while she slept -- that she was dreaming of something good. Now I know what that something is. I couldn’t ask for a better place for her.”

 

Lorna looked at the picture, which really was pretty good, and then back up at Sharley. It wasn’t just the color of her eyes that had changed -- there was no longer any sorrow behind them. The poor woman was finally at peace. More than that, she was happy.

 

**

 

Because Lorna was Lorna, and always kept her mobile on her in case of potential photograph opportunities, Orla was able to get ahold of her quite easily. Still, she was damned distracted when she answered.

 

“Unless it’s important, I’ll call you back,” she said, ducking into the dining room. “Earlene, Sharley, and Maglor finally got home, and to them they’ve only been gone like two months.”

 

For once in her life, Orla was actually derailed. “What?!”

 

“Our missing persons are home,” Lorna said patiently. “We’ve all missed the hell out’v them, so unless this is an actual emergency, you’ve got five seconds to convince me not to hang up.”

 

“Okay, one, I want details,” Orla said. “Lots of them. Two, I finally found your fucking sister.”

 

Lorna almost dropped the phone. “You...what?” she asked. “You found Siobhan? You’re sure?”

 

“Unless there’s another Siobhan who looks exactly like a damn Donovan, yes, I’m sure,” Orla said. “She’s been living in America, which is why I couldn’t find her. Got married, got divorced, came back here with a grown daughter -- _also_ divorced -- and two grandkids. Something got fucked up with her citizenship, so she told the US government to _get_ fucked, and dragged her family here under the Right’v Return.”

 

Lorna sat before she could fall, grateful for all these nice dining-room chairs. She could say nothing, however, for close to a minute.

 

“You still there, Fun Size?”

 

“I...yeah,” she managed. “Is there more?”

 

“Bad news is, she’s struggled with addiction on and off --”

 

“Still a Donovan there,” Lorna muttered.

 

“-- and she’s got a record for possession, theft, and assault.”

 

“ _Also_ a Donovan there.”

 

“Good news is that she got her act together after she ditched her gobshite husband. She’s also a Discordian, though I had to look up what that even is,” Orla said.

 

“A what?”

 

“A Discordian. It’s some kinda religion in America, where they worship the Greek goddess Eris because’v...chaos, or something. Look up the Principia Discordia -- it’s pretty funny, and I can see the appeal.”

 

“She’s not like...weird about it, is she?” Lorna asked. One never knew, with converts…

 

Orla paused. “About that? No. But I think she _is_ pretty weird, and not in the same way you and Pat are. We always joked about you frying your brain on drugs, but I think Siobhan actually did, a bit.”

 

“Brilliant,” Lorna sighed. “Well, where is she?”

 

“Dublin. Right now she’s got the lot’v them crammed into one hotel room.”

 

“Oh, good Jesus. All right...well, let me go grab at least some’v the rest’v this lot.” Lorna rose, and made her way back to the main group. “Oi, Pat! Orla found our sister. Apparently she’s even more’v a weirdo than we are.”

 

Thranduil looked up, concerned about the timing. “Details?” he asked cautiously. _Because if they did not involve bombing his newly reunited family with weirdness, that could be a very good thing…_

 

“Well, she’s a Donovan, so she’s a reformed criminal,” Lorna said. “She’s got her daughter and two grandkids with her from the States, and she follows some religion called Discordianism.”

 

“Wait, _really_?” Sharley asked. “Okay, that is wonderful, and I want to meet her.”

 

“A daughter _and_ two grandkids?” Pat asked. “Do I even want to know what they look like?”

 

“Orla, d’you know what this daughter and these grandkids look like?” Lorna asked.

 

Orla snorted. “Donovans, what the fuck else? Your family genetics just get creepier and creepier.”

 

“Apparently we have more clones.”

 

“Valar,” Thranduil said, feeling that it was perhaps time to try to rescue Earlene from her frail grasp on pretending that she was fine.

 

Lorna cackled, but Orla interrupted her. “What d’you want to do, Fun Size?”

 

“Um...shit.” Dragging them out to Eldamar made the most sense, but what with Earlene, Sharley, and Maglor just home -- Earlene especially -- that might not be such a good idea. Then again, the house did have three wings by now, but… “Shit. Well, okay, Pat and I and maybe a few others’ll go out there and see her, and...figure shit out from there. But don't let her know we’re coming.”

 

“Why not?” Orla asked.

 

“So she doesn’t try to run.”

 

“Um...okay. I'm going to pretend that statement wasn’t strangely creepy. I’ll text you the address.”

 

“Good.”

 

**

 

Earlene walked into the kitchen and looked at it blankly. As close as she had come to food preparation in weeks on end was the most basic of actions, in order to care for Maglor. Because anything that she could do to not remind him of his shackles was a kindness, and so she had not allowed him to do anything but eat his food until the day Maedhros had set him free of those.  At the moment, she had zero interest in cooking. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Thanadir had been watching her carefully, and there was a great deal he wanted to know. All of it would have to wait for later, and after waiting so long this was very frustrating. So was something else. With deliberation, she returned to the Heart Room. “In case no one here noticed, I am wearing the same clothes in which I left for Valinor. That is going to change immediately. Because while there are many ways of keeping clean there, showers are not one of them. So please excuse me.” That was justification for disappearing that should need no further explanation.

 

“She’s right,” Sharley said, watching her go. “Baths are great and all, but a shower’s a shower. Whoever wants lunch, come in the kitchen and help me make it so I don't burn anything down.” She was actually a pretty good cook, but this was an excuse to get as many children to follow her as she could.

 

“For a start, don't have Mam help you,” Atia said, ducking her mother’s grab.

 

Thanadir could stand it no longer, and followed Earlene into their bedroom. Thranduil held back for the sake of the children, knowing that his partner had different needs. Her cloak had hardly been laid aside when he was standing next to her. “You took good care of it,” he said quietly, fingering the heavy fabric.

 

“That was not too difficult,” she grimaced. “I did not understand that Valimar is a very warm place compared to here. So most of the time it stayed in my room in the house we were provided.” She paused. “Maybe ‘cottage’ would be a better word. ‘House’ implies something more spacious, not that I am complaining.”

 

“We?” Thanadir asked, confused.

 

“We.” She sighed, as her fingers began unbuttoning the outer garments. “All of about five minutes after my arrival, I was taken to Máhanaxar, where Maglor was imprisoned in a sort of...suspended animation.”

 

(Earlene felt terribly glad of all the science fiction films they had watched together, because knowing that term was suddenly incredibly useful)

 

“I am so glad you can share my thoughts, meldir, else I would go mad trying to explain what all of this looked like or was. Maglor was released into my custody and Manwë required him to live under a sort of...house arrest. So Maglor and I lived together in this little...place. And it was like house arrest for me, too, because he was not permitted to be out of my sight except for reasons of propriety. It was not fun, meldir. The days wore on and...there were very few bright spots in the entire time. Forgive me, I do not mean to sound as though I am complaining but I had very little joy. I missed you both. And all our children and friends... so much it...hurt. I know it must have been the same here, and you had to look after the children...and now I return to find I have been gone for so very long...I am so sorry, for how hard it must have been.”

 

Thanadir looked down. “We had each other,” he said awkwardly.

 

She grinned, catching at his chin. “Do not fear, Thanadir. I think I already know. It is what I _hoped_ would happen, for both your sakes. If anything I am just...jealous I could not be here with you.”

 

“I am certain that will get discussed later,” he said with a hint of chagrin though now he smiled too. “But meldis...you are not the same, and I am worried.”

 

“I know. But that part is the least of our problems. Can I ask, what is not the same, to you?” Since the Valar had set her a puzzle, it seemed only fair to at least try to figure it out. Thanadir helped take away her outer garment and tunic, while she worked at the lacings on her trousers and boots.

 

“Well...that you now seem to be an elf without tips to your ears, would be the main point of concern,” he said.

 

“Not of concern.” The boots were tugged off, and she slipped out of the rest of the clothing. “That only means that all is well. The Lord of the Valar granted my petition, Thanadir. I have been given the same life that you and Thranduil have. We will not be parted. It was all I have wanted, to remain with you both, and with our children. But I am not to mention that to those who cannot already see it; that was what Lord Manwë advised me to do. I am disinclined to ignore his admonitions.”

 

Thanadir stared back at her, speechless at this news. “You are not more….something? Emotional? _SOMETHING_?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch.

 

She shook her head. “Take your clothes off and join me. You need some understanding of what has happened; that this is among the least bizarre of the things that have befallen me. And then I can hold you.”

 

Nodding dumbly, he did as he was asked, and joined her under the stream of heated water. Suppressing a sob of relief to hold his body against hers, she shared her memories. In the end, he had to take a washcloth and clean her skin for her, as she could not let go of him...he came to realize the reasons why she was badly unsettled and barely able to pretend that she had come home unchanged.

 

“I love you, meldis,” he said, giving what reassurance he could. “I will do what I can to help.” Nodding against him, she continued to hold on. Weeks and weeks of missing him...that were really years and years. _What did anyone do with that understanding?_

 

**

 

In the end, it was Lorna, Pat, Ratiri, Grania, Lorna the Younger, and Saoirse who drove to Dublin. Orla texted all the information she had: Siobhan had married one Mark Vichon in 2000, and had her only child, a daughter named Eris, six months later...hey, her birthday was four days ago. Nice. Eris had two children -- twins, of fucking course -- born in 2017. Poor woman, being a teen mom had to have sucked, and now she had twins in a foreign country? And they were in _one_ hotel room? If nothing else, they were getting upgraded, and Siobhan was going to shut up and like it.

 

There was a picture of Eris’s passport, and yeah, she was a damn Donovan all right -- complete with the eyes, oh god. Her two children were practically clones, though at least they’d got the hazel eyes that didn't automatically equal blank. The fact that Ratiri’s genetics had managed to override the Donovans as much as it did was becoming more and more impressive.

 

As for the kids’ names -- oh good Jesus. Oh no. Oh, oh _no_. Lorna laughed so hard she nearly cried. This was too fucking priceless: Eris’s children were named Belladonna and Samwise.

 

“What?” Pat asked.

 

“I think we have a Tolkien fan on our hands,” she gasped, still giggling, “but not an elf fan, a _hobbit_ fan.” She passed the phone over, and Pat groaned.

 

“Too bad there aren’t any’v them still running around,” he said, and dissolved into laughter himself. “Well, they’re in for a shock, once it’s safe to bring them home.”

 

“Yeah, Earlene’ll need some time, I think,” Lorna said, wiping her eyes. Her sides already ached. “This is...okay. Well then.”

 

“Lemme see,” Saoirse said, leaning over the back seat. “Hey Lorna, Eris is like your age. And oh no, more teenagers.”

 

“As she says from the ripe old age of twenty-one,” Lorna the Younger said. “Damn, teen mom. That must’v sucked.”

 

“And her da was a gobshite,” Lorna the Elder said. “Went to prison, got out, was a gobshite, and at least Siobhan wised up and dumped his arse. He sounds like a charming piece’v work.”

 

“She did pick the shite ones,” Pat said, shaking his head. “If they were good-looking enough, she didn't care about the rest.”

 

That sounded...so strange, to Ratiri, given it was the polar opposite of Lorna. But then, Pat had spent much of his younger years chasing anything with tits, so maybe Lorna was just the outlier of the family.

 

“Where’s the husband now?” Grania asked.

 

“Prison,” Saoirse said, scrolling through the phone. “Nice. Armed robbery _and_ assault and battery. Of an undercover cop.”

 

“Genius,” Pat said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Yeah, even _I_ never managed that one,” Lorna muttered. She’d assaulted a whole lot of people, but never a cop, because that was just...stupid. Beyond stupid.

 

Since Ratiri was at the wheel, they managed to both make good time and drive like sane people. He actually parked like a responsible human, too, which was more than could be said for either Pat or Lorna half the time.

 

The Charleville Lodge was actually a really cute little place, and the price was dirt bloody cheap -- but it wasn’t someplace you’d want four people jammed into one room. There was a double bed and a single, so somebody was on the floor, and Lorna was betting it was poor Samwise. It had to suck, being the only lad in a room full of girls.

 

From the outside, the building was made of beautiful red brick, not new but not ancient, either. An Irish flag hung from a long pole, dangling over some flower-pots that she was sure were pretty in the summer, though right now they were bare. And there were...why were there _Dobermans_ sitting on the front step? They were quite friendly-looking Dobermans, but still. It seemed a bit...weird. Then again, a woman who named her daughter after the Greek goddess of chaos probably welcomed ‘weird’.

 

The Dobermans gave them curious sniffs as they passed, but nothing more. The lobby only had a few people in it at present, and the desk clerk did a slight double-take when he saw them. They were well-used to that by now, especially when it was both Lornas and Saoirse. The only downside of Lorna the Elder’s hair was that it now made her visibly the odd one out, but they were still a trio of short women with nearly identical facial features and extremely green eyes.

 

“Can I...help you?” the poor man asked. He looked young -- mid-twenties at most -- sandy-haired, freckle-faced, and looking rather as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

 

“We’re here to see Siobhan Donovan,” Lorna said. “She’s in room four.”

 

“Who should I say is calling?” he asked, giving the three of them a slightly helpless look.

 

“Lorna and Pat. She’ll know what you mean.”

 

“What if she doesn’t want to see us?” Pat asked uneasily, while the lad dialed. “What if she’s afraid we’re...like we used to be?”

 

“I guess we’ll find out,” Lorna said. Honestly, that thought hadn’t occurred to her, and she wished it hadn’t occurred to her brother, either.

 

The lad, receiver at his ear, looked at them. “Um...what do you mean, ma’am?” he asked nervously. “They’re a man and a woman, they look like twins, with two younger women who also look like twins...I’m sorry? Er...no. Not, um, not...as such. I’m not...I'm not really sure what you mean, but...no? Not that I can see.”

 

Lorna and Pat looked at each other, and wondered what the hell that was about. The poor lad looked like he was about to pop a vein in his forehead.

 

“She says she’ll meet you in the cafe,” he said, hanging up the phone with visible relief.

 

The little group looked at one another, and Lorna shrugged. “Let’s go,” she said.

 

The White Moose Cafe, they found, was a homey little place, with black-and-white tiles and both two- and four-top tables. It was semi-crowded, but they still managed to pull two four-top tables together.

 

Given breakfast had been interrupted and not properly resumed for any of them, they were all starving; at least the cafe would make some money off the group hogging two tables. Tea was ordered all around, and then Pat took a proper look at the menu and burst out laughing.

 

“All our food is cooked to order,” he read. “This can take time. If you want fast food, there’s a McDonalds in Phibsborough village. If you venture into the village I’d strongly advise that you carry some form of handheld weapon and wear a good helmet’v some sort.”

 

“Oh, that’s got nothing on what their website says,” Lorna said, scrolling on her mobile. “‘The White Moose Cafe is located in the Phibsborough area of Dublin 7. While the area sometimes resembles a scene from the night of the living dead, you’ve nothing really to worry about as 85% of cafe visitors make it home alive. As long as you don’t make eye contact with the locals you’ll be grand’. How much d’you want to bet whoever runs this place either grew up here, or somewhere like we did?”

 

“It’s not a bet I’d take,” he snorted, already liking this place. He had no opportunity to say more, however, because Siobhan appeared.

 

And it could only be Siobhan. She was still very much a Donovan in looks -- the same eerily similar face, taller than Lorna though shorter than Pat, her eyes the same shade of hazel as his. There was a little grey in her black hair, which was done up in a bun and held in place with some kind of wooden pin. Her clothing was...not what either would have expected: mid-length tie-dye skirt, leggings, black hiking boots, and a soft black cashmere sweater. Far more feminine, even in an odd way, than the Siobhan they remembered. Small, dangling moonstone earrings, a delicate silver nose-ring, three necklaces of various lengths, and rings on every finger...Siobhan really had turned into some kind of New Age something-or-other.

 

“You are fucking kidding me,” she said, and thereby destroyed the image. Her eyes traveled from Lorna to Pat, and then to both her nieces, widening slightly. “Just... _what_?”

 

“C’mon and sit down,” Pat said, waving her over. “There’s tea, and we’ll be ordering soon. We’ve been looking for you for bloody ever.”

 

“He means it, too,” Lorna added.

 

Siobhan shook her head. “How did you find me _now_?” she asked, pulling up a chair. She looked tired, but then, she’d just arrived from America.

 

“I’ve got a friend who’s very good at finding things and people,” Lorna said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

 

Her sister arched and eyebrow. “I’m going to pretend that isn’t entirely bloody creepy.” There was actually a hint, just a tiny hint, of American in her accent, though none of them had any way of identifying just where. “I _just got here._ ”

 

“And my friend’s _really good_ at finding people,” Lorna retorted. “And fuck having four’v you in one room -- I'm getting you a second one, and you’re going to shut up and like it. Pat and I here, we’ve landed good jobs, we can afford it, and the two’v us can sit on you if you argue too hard.”

 

Ratiri facepalmed, but wisely said nothing. Lorna the Younger and Saoirse both laughed, however.

 

“She probably means it,” Saoirse said. “I’m Saoirse -- that one there’s my da.”

 

“Mine, too,” Lorna the Younger said. “I’m the other Lorna.”

 

Siobhan looked at all of them, still with an air of slight disbelief. “How…” she started, but trailed off.

 

Lorna glanced at her brother. There were all sorts of things that one word might mean, so she decided to go with the most obvious. “We were both eejits, then we straightened out and had families. This gorgeous specimen here is my husband, Ratiri.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, trying very hard not to laugh.

 

“And this lovely lady is Grania,” Pat added. “Lorna and Ratiri’v got more children at home, but the Mystery Machine only holds so many.”

 

“Mystery…?” Siobhan asked, a touch helplessly.

 

“Green van,” Lorna said. “Not the point. The point is, are you here for good or what?”

 

They were interrupted by the waiter, and an assortment of orders were placed. The poor woman gave them the same stare of disbelief they were all used to by now, and shook her head as she headed off.

 

“I am,” Siobhan said, and sighed. “America’s just too...much, now. I woke up one day and realized I wanted to go home. Brought my daughter and her kids with me, because none’v us really felt like there was anywhere else we wanted to live. I was half thinking’v trying to find you lot, but I was also kind’v afraid to, because...well, you know what we were all like, back then. If the rest’v you still were...I didn't want to know.”

 

Lorna and Pat looked at each other. “For a long time, we didn't look, either, for the same reason,” he said. “Lorna and I found each other by total bloody accident. We started hunting for you and Mick a few years later, but Mick’s still MIA. He’s probably abroad, too, and trying to find someone named Michael Donovan...well, it’s not exactly a rare name.”

 

“No kidding,” Siobhan sighed. “Well, I’m -- we’re -- here now, and all’v our shite. I _thought_ I had a place all lined up, but the fucking landlord lost -- or maybe “lost” -- all our paperwork and rented the bloody place out from under us.”

 

Lorna glanced at Pat. “Where at?”

 

“Ballingarry,” Siobhan said. “Little house at the edge’v town, but with a big garage so I could work. Now I'm not sure what in fuck I’m going to do.”

 

“What kind’v work d’you do?” Grania asked.

 

“Crafts. Wooden things, mainly -- spoons, hair picks, earrings, shite like that.” She laughed. “I started off doing chainsaw art, if you can believe that.”

 

“What?” Saoirse asked, immediately intrigued.

 

“ _No,”_ Pat said at once.

 

The girl stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re no fun, Da.”

 

“I’m a da. That’s my job.”

 

“He’s not wrong,” Ratiri interjected, “and how on Earth did you get into _chainsaw art_?”

 

Siobhan smirked. “On a dare, how else?” she said. “I was young and stupid, and did it because I got told I couldn’t. The smaller shite’s more fun.” She pulled the pick out of her hair, and it fell down to her waist. There was more grey in it than there appeared to be when it was held back -- surprise, surprise. She handed the pick to Lorna, who inspected it.

 

It was good -- really good, sanded to silk-smoothness, and polished with...something. At the end was carved an astonishingly intricate Celtic knot, the spaces within filled with some kind of darker varnish. “You do this by hand?” she asked, handing it to Pat.

 

“All’v it,” her sister said. “That’s a simple one. It’s not something you get rich at, but I get by. Eris, my daughter, she’s a tattoo artist, which I know there isn’t much call for in a small village. Her living with me was only meant to be temporary.”

 

Again, the other two Donovan siblings exchanged a glance, and they didn't need telepathy to know what the other was thinking. Siobhan at least had a useful skill, and Eris could probably be trained in something. And a woman who would name her children after hobbits… Long ago, Thranduil had left introducing new people to Lorna’s discretion. Even if Siobhan hadn’t been her sister, Lorna would think she was somebody who _ought_ to get brought in.

 

Not today, though. Today was a day of massive upheaval, and taking them to Eldamar just yet would be a bad idea. However, there was Mairead, and Baile -- if nothing else, they could give Old Orla some business for once.

 

“Are you paid up through tonight?” she asked.

 

“I am,” Siobhan said, “and you’re not bloody upgrading me.”

 

“Um, yeah we are,” Pat said.

 

“We are, but then I want you to come with us -- there’s a little village called Baile, where our other sister lives,” Lorna added. “There’s an inn there, too, and you can meet everyone. I lived there myself for years.”

 

Siobhan went still. “We have another sister?” she asked softly.

 

“We do,” Pat said. “We didn't know about her, and she didn't know about us, until Lorna here was pushing thirty.”

 

“She doesn't look anything like us, either,” Lorna the Younger said. “She’s tall and pale and ginger. Our cousin -- Aunt Lorna and Uncle Ratiri’s daughter -- looks like they stole her from Aunt Mairead.”

 

“And she makes the best cake in the entire universe,” Saoirse added. “Even Aunt Earlene can’t beat her there.”

 

Siobhan looked from Lorna to Ratiri, and back again. “ _You two_ had a pale ginger? You actually broke the Donovan gene code?”

 

“Well, she’s got the eyes,” Lorna said, “and the face, but otherwise, we did. Her brother didn't, though he’s already taller than any’v us ever got. And we adopted a little girl, and had another -- though that one’s got Earlene, our cousin’s, eyes and hair.”

 

“Since when the fuck do we have a cousin?”

 

“She’s a second cousin once removed, or...something,” Pat said. “Not that you’d know it to look at her. Whatever branch’v the Donovans hit us must’v splintered off after her time.”

 

Food was delivered, and for some time they were too busy enjoying eating to say much more. The food was definitely worth the location, even if the portions were so huge they’d all be leaving with takeaway boxes.

 

Lorna excused herself to go to the bathroom, where she texted Thranduil: _Operation Siobhan is a go. We’ll take them to Baile tomorrow, and they can stay there until everything at home’s settled down enough for them to meet the rest of us. Siobhan’s a woodworker, with a daughter who’s a tattoo artist and grandchildren named Belladonna and Samwise. I think they’ll fit in just fine._

 

Grinning, she headed back out. Hopefully, she’d be meeting the rest of Siobhan’s family soon.

 

*****

 

All thirteen of them were piled on the fortunately large bed in their parents’ room, because it was plain that the children, young and old, deserved answers.

 

“So you were gone so long because...you weren’t gone long, to you, but time moves different in the Blessed Lands?” Ithiliel asked carefully, wanting to make certain she understood.

 

“Yes,” Earlene said. “And you will never know how sorry I am, for that. To me I was gone less than three months. Maybe more like seven weeks, though to be honest I did not try to keep count. I was warned that it would take a long time but I had no way of knowing that this was what Lord Manwë meant.”

 

“Why’d you have to go?” Andaer asked, anger in his voice. “Why’d you leave us?”

 

“I explained to you, son, that Uncle Maglor needed help, because he did things that were bad a long time ago. He could not help himself like your Nana could,” Thanadir tried again, though his patience was wearing thin.

 

“Still don’t see why,” Andaer said obstinately.

 

Earlene’s heart tore to see how upset her little boy was. “Son, Maglor is our family. And we love him. I love him. And he might not ever have come home without our help. We do not abandon those we love when they are in trouble, and he was in very big trouble. And the Lord Manwë was the one who asked me to come. When a Vala asks, it is like a parent asking because it is something that is for the best for everyone. The right thing is to do what is wanted of us. Even if the only reason for me leaving was that Lord Manwë wanted it, that is enough reason. Adults sometimes have to do things we would prefer not to. I _wanted_ to stay home with my family. I love every one of you. This was not a choice, Andaer. Can you understand that?”

 

Stubbornness still lingered on his face, and Earlene reached for him and held him close. “I am so sorry, for the time I could not have with you. I was very sad much of the time I was there, Andaer. I hope you can forgive me someday, for being gone.”

 

Thaladir was very close to having a meltdown on account of his brother’s behavior, and Thanadir knew this. He held him close, murmuring in his ear.

 

Lancaeron and Erynion crawled to either side of their brother, hugging him too. “Can’t you see how bad Nana feels, ‘Daer?” Erynion asked. “Tell her it’s ok.”

 

Earlene hugged all three of her youngest close. “Do you think maybe it could be okay tomorrow, or later this week?” she asked Andaer, more than a little surprised at what was happening. Then again, maybe it was not so surprising at all. Thanadir’s biological children were incredibly sensitive, much like their father. And no one knew what the explanation was for Thaladir’s temperament...that was just...an act of the Valar, or something.

 

“Later this week,” Andaer murmured, clinging to her now.

 

“Good,” she said, kissing him many times. “Because I will not be happy, until I know that you are not upset with me for being gone.” Her tone was kind, but both of her husbands knew that her words were not in jest.

 

“Nana why did it take even that long? In Valinor, I mean?” Allanah wanted to know.

 

“I am...I cannot fully answer that without telling things Maglor might not want known,” she said softly. “When a person commits a crime and there is a legal proceeding, whether it is here or in front of the Valar...nothing remains hidden. A person is left with no privacy and no pride. Maglor is a good ellon, but there were difficulties for him. Struggles, because of his past. Things the Valar wanted to be very sure he fully understood. And sometimes when we are sad or hurting, understanding is not easy. That is all I can really say. At least, without his consent.”

 

“Fair enough,” Allanah said. “That at least tells me, it wasn’t just this simple thing.”

 

“No. Not at all.”

 

“Is there anything you can tell us about what it’s like there?” Thaladir wanted to know.

 

“Well, I learned that Aunt Lorna will never be able to go there,” she said, her eyes full of mischief. “And not only because she is human.”

 

“Why?” Eleniel asked.

 

“The Valar do not permit cursing there, because Aman is holy to them.”

 

Snickers and chuckles and outright laughter issued forth, as everyone digested this.

 

“I knew it!” Thaladir said triumphantly. “I knew there was someplace that seemliness mattered!” Clearly, someone was very happy now, armed with this new tidbit of information.

 

Thanadir smiled. “I have created a monster, but I am not sorry,” he laughed, hugging his son close.

 

“I wonder if we can speak more of this tomorrow?” Thranduil asked the family. “Your Nana will not say it, but she is tired.”

 

Good night hugs and kisses were given, and Ithiliel, Eleniel and Allanah offered to see the triplets to bed, knowing that their parents wanted adult time. And just like that, they were alone at last.

 

“Is this where I mention that I owe you the bedroom favor of your choice for pulling that one off?” she smiled at Thranduil.

 

He laughed. “No, you do not. That was just a husband realizing that his wife has done her utmost to survive a trying day. For this time yesterday, in your own time, you were in the Gardens of Irmo. That would be quite a transition for anyone. I hope you can forgive my shameless mining of your thoughts, Earlene,” he said softly.

 

“Forgive? I’ve been counting on it. Which also means that...you know. And I am so sorry. I did my best with him but…”

 

“Why are you sorry?” Thranduil asked. “I now know that my father was simply profoundly mentally ill. It was never about me. It was never about anything but him being...that.”

 

Thanadir blinked, now understanding the cryptic reference. “You saw Oropher.”

 

“I did,” Earlene said. “I thought he was Thranduil. You look so much alike. Only his facial features are not quite the same, and I think you are a little taller? But...more importantly, I hope what I said was what you would have wanted me to, Thranduil. We only ever spoke about this once, a very long time ago and...after all that has happened, in my heart I believed you would not deny him your forgiveness if he were to plead for it.”

 

The seneschal’s eyes widened and he moved to hold Thranduil, wrapping his arms around him from behind. The King reached to hold onto Thanadir’s hands. “I would forgive him. If the Valar have, I have no right to do otherwise. What I am not so certain of is whether I can ever find it in my heart to love him.”

 

“That, he would have to earn, beloved. He was only just released from Námo’s keeping. From what you told me, he certainly has work to do with your mother, if she will even have him. I did not ask after her at all; it did not occur to me. I will be honest, I wanted to remove myself from that conversation as quickly as I could without giving insult. But I did feel sorry enough for him to show him a photo of our family. Or maybe that wasn’t it at all, and I wanted him to know how much you have that he does not. I am still not sure.”

 

“I am not certain I could have spoken to him at all,” Thanadir murmured into the crook of Thranduil’s neck. “I bear too much ill-will.”

 

“That was more or less my first thought too.” Earlene carded her fingers through her hair. “And yet I had to cope with the awareness that I had just given every effort of my mind to assist a son of Fëanor who was guilty of terrible crimes. Deeds far worse than I had let myself originally understand. And then when Maedhros came with Nerdanel and the Ambarussa...here I was, knee-deep in and drinking tea with those who had committed the worst transgressions in the history of the Elven peoples, and the Valar had pardoned them. What right do I have to judge Oropher, in the midst of all that? I gave up, Thanadir. I had to. The Lords and Ladies know more than I ever will. They are greater. I now understand with completeness that they are not there to punish, except when it can lead to the learning of some lesson or the healing of a wayward heart. In my profession we would have called it ‘going along with the program.’ And...if nothing else, I know that I can never go astray by doing what they ask. Whereas to do otherwise...risky at best, disastrous at worst.”

 

Thranduil snorted, turning his head to kiss Thanadir in a manner that promised more. “I can see that...your time there has left you changed, meluieg, and I do not only mean the gift you have been given. We, have been given. In a way you have gone ahead and brought back insight we otherwise would not have had. We will be discussing your experiences in Valinor for a very long time, I think. And it may take just as long to relate all that has happened here, in your absence.”

 

Earlene grinned, seeing how the two of them were looking at each other. “It may take long to relate, but it takes no time at all to see what has changed,” she smirked, before she asked a question in a much softer tone of voice “Have you wed?” The only mystery remaining in her mind was exactly how far they had taken their relationship.

 

“No,” Thanadir answered, chagrined. “Not...yet. It seems I too have become very good at splitting hairs, as you would say.”

 

“I think you know that I welcome whatever you choose, and that it is your decision. Mostly I am glad that you have not let yourselves suffer in my absence.”

 

“Like you have?” Thranduil asked pointedly.

 

“I had to manage, but I was not happy. No one in that house was happy,” she grimaced.

 

“How...what was that like, to have to dwell so closely with him?” Thanadir asked, genuinely curious.

 

“If you really want to know? It was mostly a polite version of hell. It was being mother and jailor and counselor and guard and guide. It was a tremendous drain emotionally and...do not get me wrong. I love Maglor. I would do it all again for him, without hesitation. But he went there a broken mess and it took a great deal of effort to un-break him, and for much of the time the outcome for him was uncertain. It was long days of tedium, and…do we have to talk about this?”

 

“No, we do not,” Thanadir said, now seeing the flood of her memories. “I am sorry. I wanted to believe that everything in Valinor was wonderful. That you were having...fun, somehow.”

 

“It _is_ wonderful, Thanadir. Just not when you are required to be within ten feet of someone deep in despair, every minute for weeks, while that one is on trial for their future. But I cannot complain. I was given a gift beyond all price, for having done what was asked of me. I will not lose you. You will not lose me. That is worth nearly everything, in my eyes.”

 

Thranduil gathered her into his arms now. “Your fae is no longer human, meluieg. But nothing about the rest of you looks different. Have you...tested yourself?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Your physicality, for lack of better words. Your strength or...things like that,” Thanadir clarified.

 

“Not in the way you are asking. I feel very good now, in my body. If I were to guess, I am at least what I was before Faeleth was conceived. But I have not tried lifting the furniture or running the forest; there has been no opportunity.”

 

“Mmmm. Then I have something to look forward to,” Thanadir said, reaching around Thranduil to enfold her as well.

 

Kissing began, as did roaming hands and the removal of clothing. Earlene was fascinated, to see that Thanadir quickly became aroused and that he unhesitatingly caressed Thranduil. It was fair to say, she was unable to remove her eyes from the sight of it.

 

“Does this bother you, meldis?” he asked, hesitating.

 

“Only if you mean ‘bother’ in the sense of ‘extremely arousing,’” she quipped back. “I am not sure what it says about me, but please don’t stop?”

 

Thanadir blinked, and blushed a little. “I thought that you might not mind,” he admitted. “But I did not expect that degree of endorsement.”

 

“Really? Why? Because you are both male?”

 

The old elf nodded; their current activity somewhat at odds with his beautiful doe-eyed innocence of expression.

 

“I love you both. Your bodies are something I desire. To see you making love to each other...that is incredibly erotic. It is a deeper expression of how I have always known you feel about each other and...I have not had sex since the day I left here.”

 

“I think we need to do something about that last part, meldir, and stop talking for awhile.” Thranduil regarded her. “I have an idea.”

 

He could have all the ideas he wanted, for how the next hour unfolded. Part of her wondered how they had figured out to do half of these things, but then it occurred to her--Ailill and Calanon. Thranduil had been an unavoidable audience to their marital realities for years now and had managed to gain an entirely different skill set, to phrase it delicately. Later on, exhausted from pleasure and almost delirious with the happiness of being reunited, Earlene closed her eyes, almost asleep. Too much had happened, and it would need to settle in. But at least there was this, to make it a little easier.

 

*****


	138. One Hundred and Thirty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 6, 3032
> 
> For everyone who really wanted another chapter and asked for it <3

Mairead had taken the sudden appearance of another sibling, a niece, and a grand-niece and -nephew in stride, just as Lorna had expected.

 

Admittedly, Siobhan had been a bit of a surprise, given that in some ways she was quite different from Lorna and Pat, but there were enough similarities that it wasn’t _too_ jarring. Eris, on the other hand…Eris had purple hair, a nose ring, a lip ring, two eyebrow rings, full-sleeve tattoos, and was one of the sweetest, most caring people either Lorna or Mairead had ever met. The truly hilarious thing was that a number of her tattoos were Tolkien-related; on her right upper bicep was a beautiful rendering of the door to Bilbo’s hobbit-hole, complete with some flowers and paving-stones in front of it.

 

Belladonna and Samwise, both thirteen, more commonly went by Donna and Sam. (Why asked why Donna, and not Bella, the girl had said there were too many Bellas at her school, and she really didn't want to deal with all the _Twilight_ jokes that were constantly leveled at them.) It hadn’t occurred to Mairead that sharing a name with a famous person, fictional or otherwise, could easily suck.

 

Donna seemed to be a mostly even-tempered kid who liked to read and write fanfiction -- thankfully, her fandoms of choice were not Tolkien-related, or that could have wound up _really_ weird. Her mother, it turned out, also wrote fic, and while some of _it_ fell into Tolkien’s fandoms, it was fairly innocuous stuff, and mostly about hobbits. Given her height, it was not that surprising, either; she was, incredibly, actually a touch shorter than Lorna.

 

“Her da was a shortarse, too,” was Siobhan’s dismissive explanation. “Poor thing never had a chance.”

 

Sam won Lorna’s heart immediately with his interest in mechanics. He seemed a touch hyperactive, too, but fortunately he was also easily entertained. He was not, however, overly thrilled by Ireland’s weather; the family had lived in Eastern Oregon, which, rather like Eastern Washington, was not exactly prone to dampness. Irish November being what it was, it meant he was happier to stay inside.

 

The little family had been staying at Old Orla’s inn, but today those of Eldamar had deemed it a good time for a visit. Poor Earlene had had such a shock that everyone had agreed it was best she have time to relax and adjust. Sharley and Ratiri had largely been taking care of the cooking, while Lorna worked as auxiliary, so that all the Sullivan brood could spend more time together. Lorna couldn’t -- and didn't want to -- imagine how horrible it would be, to have missed three and a half years of her children’s lives. No matter what age they were, they changed so very fast…

 

But they were ready for company now, so the Donovans piled into the Mystery Machine. They were given no warning as to what they’d find, mainly because they were less likely to think the other Donovans were insane if they weren’t told ahead of time.

 

“Why Eldamar?” Eris asked. “That means ‘Elvenhome’, right?”

 

“And here I thought you were into hobbits,” Lorna said, amused.

 

“I am,” her niece said, “but Bilbo was into Elves, so I kind of studied them by osmosis.” It was so, so strange, hearing an American accent coming from a Donovan, but at least she sounded similar to the people of Skykomish.

 

“Ah. Well, yes, it does. You’re not the only one in the family with an interest in, er, Tolkien.” It really was too bad that there weren’t any hobbits running around. Thranduil had met Bilbo, at least, and Lorna hoped he was ready to be interrogated about that. Eris was so cheerful and outgoing that she probably wouldn’t be able to help it.

 

“Sweet.”

 

“Is it any warmer there?” Sam asked.

 

“It is inside,” Lorna said. “Outside, not so much. Welcome to Ireland, kid. At least we do usually get some snow in the winter, but otherwise, there’s a reason we keep our homes so cozy.”

 

“Well, shit.”

 

“Yeah, the other thing -- there’s a lot’v little kids around, so try not to swear too much. I mean, they’re kind’v used to it, but still. Nobody’ll mind too much if you slip up, but still, it’s best avoided,” Lorna said. Even she and Pat had managed to mostly curb it around the children; Saoirse, poor girl, was just never going to succeed there, but everyone understood that Saoirse was a bit different.

 

“We’ll try,” Donna said, sounding a little dubious. “We always got in trouble for it at school, so that just made us swear even more.”

 

“You’re definitely Donovans,” Lorna muttered. “It’s probably a good thing we all got separated, or else we might’ve taken over the world, and called it a bastard while we did it.”

 

Rain started when they were halfway there -- big, fat drops that splatted on the windscreen, striking loud on the roof. Lorna flipped on the wipers, tensing just a little; even after all these years, she really didn't like driving on the motorway in the rain. It wasn’t just the accident in Dublin, after all -- the wreck that had killed Liam had been on a disgusting March night. She was glad enough to reach Eldamar.

 

No sooner had they pulled into the driveway than sheet-lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, momentarily blinding her. Now _that_ was bloody weird, and then some, because thunderstorms in most of Ireland were pretty rare. She certainly couldn’t remember ever having one in November; if they happened at all, it was likely to be in August. _Then again, the weather’s been bloody screwy for ages now,_ she thought, as thunder rumbled through the sky.

 

“Apparently the world needed to know the Donovans’ve landed,” she said. “Everybody make a run for it, but don't trip.”

 

Run they did, through the sheeting rain, the kids shrieking with laughter. They burst in through the front door, rain driving after them, and Lorna shut it as soon as she could. “Donovans ahoy!” she called.

 

“Holy shit,” Donna said, and immediately winced. “Sorry. But this place is beautiful.”

 

“I’d hope so,” Lorna said. “It took us two years to build. Come on, you lot, give me your coats.” Even their assortment of outerwear was a somewhat amusing contrast: in short order she was handed a long jacket of patchwork wool, another of black leather, and two small hoodies covered in iron-on patches. They’d got just damp enough that she laid them out in the Quiet Room, and hoped no cats would decide they’d make nice beds.

 

Earlene had been feeling in an off and on Fuck It mood since coming home. Somewhere between having actually lived in Valinor for a time, coping with the loss of three and a half years’ of her children’s lives, and beginning to process that she had been granted the life of the Eldar against all improbability, petty things like outsiders figuring out elves were here just did not register. The day had been cold and uncomfortable, and so she was dressed in her elven guard clothing. Because that was warm and comfortable, and therefore was what she was wearing. Thanadir looked at her garments when they began cooking the meal and decided against commenting. He valued the peace of their bedroom, and had come into increasing awareness that she was coping with a form of grief that was best not exacerbated.

 

An immense Dublin coddle was in the oven, but she was calling generalized BS on what the Irish traditionally did to vegetables.

 

The rest of the Donovan-Duncans were already assembled in the Heart Room, and came out to lead them in. When they passed through the kitchen, Lorna said, “Earlene, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Earlene. Don't bother her while she’s cooking.”

 

“Hi,” they all said, more or less at once, as Lorna dragged them through. Annoying poor Earlene was not high on her list of goals for today. Earlene glanced up with her best welcoming smile and waved, grateful that Lorna (however blunt) knew that much about her.

 

“You say it took you two years to build this place?” Siobhan asked, looking around.

 

“It did. We did a lot’v it ourselves -- my mate Orla took care’v the basic structure, the plumbing, and the wiring, but otherwise, it was us,” Lorna said.

 

“How many is ‘us’?” Eris asked.

 

“That...you’ll find out in a minute. Meanwhile, come sit where it’s warm.”

 

Sharley, Maglor at her side, was seated in one of the chairs near the wall -- she knew that he wasn’t big on crowds, but there were more D’s to add to the D&D’s, and she wanted to meet them all before dinner. He could vanish for a while, and have some time to himself before then.

 

 _“God_ damn _that is creepy,”_ was Kurt’s pronouncement.

 

“It kinda is,” Sharley muttered, rather intrigued. She hadn’t thought it was possible for so many members of one family to look so terrifyingly similar, but this new group of Donovans could, except for the variance in eye color, be clones of the others. “Their gene game must be crazy strong.” She gave Maglor’s hand a squeeze, and his cheek a kiss, and rose to put a buffer between him and the fray, so he could make his way over in his own time.

 

“I keep wondering how many more Donovans we’ll find,” she said.

 

“Guys, this is Sharley,” Lorna said. “Sharley, this is Siobhan, Eris, Donna, and Sam.”

 

“Hi,” the said, again in almost unison, the twins staring openly. It wasn’t every day you saw a six-foot-tall woman with long blue hair, after all.

 

Maglor gazed on these strange humans and was not sure what to think. But as a harp was nearby, he began playing it idly; this felt far safer than doing more than waving at the newcomers. They were probably nice, it was just that...there had been a great many changes to his life, very quickly, and those were needing to settle. He began to pluck out the Swallowtail Jig, but with exaggerated slowness. He did not want everyone to start dancing; that would just jangle his nerves.

 

Donna looked up, drawn by the music. She’d always wanted to learn an instrument, but her stupid tiny Donovan hands hadn’t let her manage piano, and they couldn’t afford to buy her a smaller-sized guitar that wasn’t a piece of shit. Harps were pretty though, and she drifted over to the player -- who was also pretty, though definitely an adult. “Hi,” she said. “You’re really good at that.”

 

“Thank you,” Maglor said politely, immediately amused. “I teach music here.” He wondered if he was looking at a future pupil.

 

“What could I learn how to play with such tiny hands?” she asked, holding one up and wiggling her fingers.

 

“Harp, violin, guitar, recorder, piccolo, trumpet, hammer dulcimer, percussion...off the top of my head. “I feel certain there are others, if I had more time to think,” he smiled, picking up the pace of his playing a little.

 

Her eyes widened. “You can play _all_ of those?” she asked. “I kind of wanted to learn guitar, but all the ones we would afford were too big, and kids’ guitars in America are shi-- er, crappy.”

 

His eyebrow arched at the near-expletive, but he answered. “I have a working ability with most instruments, but harp and voice are my specialties, if you want to think of it that way. We have properly sized guitars here. Chandra learned, and has outgrown her first guitar. Lorna plays guitar very well. So does Thanadir.”

 

“Aunt Lorna plays guitar?” Donna asked. She’d never mentioned that yet. “I don't think I’ve met Thanadir yet, but...if it’s okay with everyone, I’d like to learn. We’re trying to keep Mam from making us go to school as long as we can, because normal school...let’s not talk about that. Like, at all. Ever.”

 

Maglor frowned. “No one here goes to normal school. But there is school. Education is important. And music is one subject.”

 

“You mean, like home school?” she asked. “Sam and me, we love _learning_ shi-- stuff, but school in America is a joke, and Gran says it’s not really any better here. In America all they do is stuff something into your head long enough for you to take the test, then don't care that you forget it right away because they’re stuffing something else in two days later. It’s horrible. And _boring._ You guys don't do tests, do you? You actually, you know, _learn_ stuff?”

 

Maglor felt this might be a wise time to deflect further questions. “We learn...stuff,” he said, stopping his playing. “But if you wish to know more, ask any of the children who live here. Or Saoirse; she could tell you.”

 

Donna looked at her cousin, eyes narrowing. “I’m gonna,” she said. “It was nice meeting you, er...sorry, I didn't get your name.”

 

“I have more than one name, but most here call me Maglor,” he smiled, trying to remind himself to be friendly. “It is nice to meet you as well.”

 

“Cool.” Donna gave him a thumb’s-up, and scurried off to grab Saoirse.

 

Lorna made sure drinks were given to the adults, and fizzy drinks to the kids, while Sharley made the rounds and then returned to Maglor.

 

“That was nice of you,” she said, kissing his cheek again. “D’you want to rest, before dinner?”

 

He nodded, nuzzling her. ‘Rest’ was often a euphemism for ‘get away from people who were not Earlene, Thanadir, Thranduil, Quen or Tirillë’, but that did not need to be clarified. “I will hear the triangle,” he promised, easily scaling the pole to the second story and the walkway to their shared bedroom.

 

Donna grabbed both Saoirse and Chandra, pulling them aside. “Maglor says you guys do school that isn’t shitty,” she said. “How does that work?”

 

The two cousins looked at each other. “We learn stuff,” Saoirse said. “Just...how to do things, from different people.”

 

“Is there testing?”

 

“Um...not really,” Chandra said. “We just study something until we know it. Da does math and science, Quen and sometimes Mam do English, and she always does the Irish...Maglor’s got music, and Aunt Earlene sometimes lets us help in the kitchen, but we’ve got to be careful. That’s like, her zone.”

 

Donna understood that one. Neither of them ever set foot in Gran’s workshop unless she told them they could. “D’you think they’d let us go to school here? Sam and me?”

 

“Probably,” Chandra said.

 

“We’ll talk to your mam,” Saoirse added. “Seriously, public school in Ireland’s total shit, too. All I really learned how to do was hit people.”

 

“Funny, so did Donna,” Sam said. “The only useful stuff we’ve ever learned has all been outside of school.”

 

Lorna wondered where the rest of the household was, and assumed at least some of them were spying from various angles. The prospect of even more Donovans might have been a bit...alarming.

 

“Meldis, I think it is done,” Thanadir opined, kissing the back of her neck. She might never realize what it meant to him, just to be standing here in the kitchen with her again. Then again if the way she closed her eyes, sighed, and leaned back into him was any indication...maybe she did.

 

“I will get the coddle. You slice the bread, the salad is already on the trolley. The potatoes are cooling, and the spotted dick is steaming. And the vegetables should be cool enough to transfer to the serving platter.”

 

Ortherion was busy with the vegetables, and...in moments Thanadir was ringing the triangle. Ailill and Calanon were away tonight, thankfully, else the table would be crowded beyond endurance.

 

“That means dinner,” Lorna said. They’d already worked out place settings, and both Atia and Supri had decided to drag out a card table and eat at that, or they’d all be bashing elbows. The kept it well out of the way while the herd filed in, the newest round of Donovans inspecting everything with interest.

 

“Oh Jesus that smells divine,” Siobhan said, inhaling. “Haven’t had anything that smells that good since what...last Christmas?” she asked, looking at Eris.

 

“Yep. We finally successfully deep-fried a turkey.”

 

Lorna choked on a laugh. “Mention that around Mairead sometime,” she said. “We had our own, er, experience with that, years ago.”

 

“No Kevin stories,” Earlene admonished. “It’s bad luck while anything’s still cooking, and I’ve no intention of letting the spotted dick fall under the Curse of Kevin.”

 

“True,” Ratiri said. “The man is the bane of all things culinary...when he’s at home. The sad thing is that the man is a chef, and when he’s at work, and he has the right equipment, he’s amazing.”

 

“Not buying it,” Earlene said. “If a man can’t manage his equipment, well, that’s a personal problem.” Yes, she just said that. And she was not about to apologize.

 

“That’s what she said,” Lorna, Pat, and Siobhan all said at once.

 

“Oh, _God_ ,” Ratiri groaned. “Now look what you’ve started.”

 

“I had to behave myself for weeks under trying circumstances,” she shot back with a grin that was positively terrifying. “Just ask Sharley. We deserve a break today.”

 

Thranduil stood up smoothly and kissed her cheek, no doubt murmuring something in her ear at the same time. Earlene’s smile did not diminish but she was seen to give a slight nod.

 

All four of the new Donovans eyed him, and each other, and Lorna didn't need telepathy to realize that he must seem quite...familiar. Well, Lorna the Younger had recognized him; it was only a matter of time before someone else did. And yet they were also not insane, so no doubt they were telling themselves it was just some kind of crazy coincidence. Some guy who looked a whole lot like Thranduil and decided to run with it, because of...reasons.

 

“Ask me what?” Sharley asked, entering the dining room with Maglor in tow. Wisely, they’d arranged the seating so that he could be at the far end of the table, with Sharley to his left and no one to his right. Never let it be said that the household wasn’t attentive to the needs of their more sensitive members.

 

“Why Earlene’s making double entendres,” Pat said. “I’m guessing it’s got something to do with...where you lot were.”

 

“Probably,” Sharley said. “I had the easy part. And the fact that I can say that is kinda sad, all things considered.”

 

Earlene shrugged. “It’s all good. But enough about that. Where were you lot in the States?” she asked. “I’m from New York.”

 

“Oregon,” Siobhan said. “Klamath Falls. That whole area was originally settled by the Irish, back in the time’v the Famine. My gobshi -- well, my ex, he wanted to pretend he was a sheep rancher, but he was really just a drunk that liked to play with sheep. Which...sounds a lot worse than it was.”

 

“Nice, Gran,” Sam snickered. “It’s so much...drier...there,” he added. “Ireland’s more like the west side.”

 

“Oregon?” Sharley asked. “I used to live -- still sorta do live, sometimes -- in Washington.” One of the first things she’d had to do, once she got Maglor settled, was call Angie and let her know that they were all home safe, so that Angie could let the rest of Skykomish know. Fortunately, her house was still her house, and she needed to get back to it eventually. Right now, however, Maglor needed her, and she felt like staying right where she was.

 

“Do they call the west side up there the Dark Side?” he asked.

 

“Actually, they do. I know Ireland’s grey and wet right now, but it’s not like this always.”

 

“Sounds like you’re more from Geezer’s neck of the woods,” Earlene quipped, feeling vaguely sad that once again, no one was from the east coast.

 

“Geezer’s the bloke with the woodworking, right?” Siobhan asked.

 

“He is,” Lorna said, as dishes were passed around. “He works in the Halls.”

 

“Halls?” Eris asked, her eyes again traveling to Thranduil -- there was a strange war of suspicion and disbelief in them, and Lorna fought the urge to grin.

 

“The Halls,” she repeated serenely. “Just...the Halls.”

 

Siobhan looked from her daughter, to her sister, to Thranduil, and finally to Earlene. “Where did you come from in New York, Earlene?” She’d keep this going while Eris did some...thinking.

 

“The City, for all practical purposes. But gran had a farm in upstate, and that was a big influence on me. I packed it up, retired, and moved here in 2016. You might not know this, but we’re distant relatives. We share great-grandparents. Or something like that, to this day I still get it mixed up. Eíthne and Padraig Donovan, were their names.”

 

Both Siobhan and Eris blinked, startled. “2016? You’ll have to forgive me, but you must be older than you look, am I right, if you retired here?” Earlene looked forty at the most -- sure, Lorna did, too, but the Donovans all aged at a crawl. In Siobhan’s (possibly slightly racist) experience, white people usually didn't age so slowly.

 

  
“I’m fifty-four,” Earlene said, uncaring about who knew that. “But I’ve always looked younger.” That she had help in that department that was now of a permanent nature did not need mentioning. “And I retired quite early, considering.”

 

Siobhan’s eyebrows climbed. “Fifty-bloody-four? Shi -- crap, sorry, it’s just...that’s a bit’v a surprise.” And she had all these children...Lorna had told her there were two sets of twins and a set of triplets. Multiple births obviously ran in the family, all things considered.

 

“Says the woman who’s supposedly pushing sixty,” Lorna said dryly.

 

“Well, you escaped the Donovan Genetic Cloning, at least,” Eris said. “Must’v come in after your time.”

 

“Pretty sure that came after the line split,” she said. “Though, I’ve always wondered a little about Thaladir’s eyes. We’ll never figure it out, like as not, though Thranduil says Legolas has the same eye color. Heck if I know,” she said.

 

All four Donovans looked at Thranduil with a unison that was honestly a little terrifying -- three sets of hazel eyes and one pair of green practically dissecting him where he sat. “Lorna, cad a chiallaíonn sí i focáil fuilteach?”  Siobhan asked. “An bhfuil sí ag iarraidh a insint dúinn go bhfuil sí pósta i ndáiríre le rí elf, nó an bhfuil sé ar chineál éigin de lucht leanúna imithe ró-fhada?” _Lorna, what in bloody fuck does she mean? Is she trying to tell us she’s actually married to an elf king, or is he some kind of fan gone too far?”_

 

Lorna laughed so hard she nearly choked. This never got old. “Is é an rud fíor, Siobhan, agus labhraíonn sé Gaeilge freisin, mar sin tá sé beagán gan pointí.” _He’s the real thing, Siobhan, and he also speaks Irish, so this is a bit pointless._

 

Eris spoke rather less Irish than her mother, so she only caught about two words out of three, but she said, “Are you fu-- er, kidding me? Are you actually...you’re for real?” Her eyes took very sharp measure of him, searching for some sign she was wrong -- some human-like tell -- and found none.

 

Thranduil’s cerulean eyes calmly returned her gaze, full of amusement. Lorna was correct; this never did become old.

 

“He is,” Lorna said. “ _They_ are. Thanadir’s an elf, too, and Maglor there.”

 

Eris’s head whipped around with such speed it was a wonder she didn't get whiplash. “...Holy shit,” she said, and then facepalmed. “Sorry. But...seriously. Wow. That explains the harp, huh?”

 

“He said we could learn, if you let us,” Donna piped up. She didn't know who Maglor was -- she just knew he was really, really good at playing the harp.

 

Earlene groaned and rolled her eyes. “Someone _might’ve mentioned_ that they hadn’t been told about us,” she said. There was a slight glare, but...she was largely past caring about this dog and pony show either. “Sorry. Yes, you have made it to the Woodland Realm, complete with Elvenking, seneschal, and the most gifted musician of the Noldor. Card night is on Tuesday, quilting is Thursday, and bonus points if you enjoy fresh dairy. Welcome to our corner of the world.”

 

Thranduil grimaced, a little worried. “Earlene has a keen sense of humor, which we hope you can appreciate. Our family has undergone some recent difficulties and...we do want you to know you are welcome, here. It is my fault, for neglecting to inform my wife that you did not know we were elves.”

 

“And we didn't say anything beforehand because, who would believe us?” Lorna said. “I mean, if I’d told you lot in the car ‘oh, we’re going to the Woodland Realm to meet the Elvenking and his family’, you’d’ve thought I’d lost it.”

 

“Or that it was some massive joke,” Siobhan said. “And not a funny one at that. I want the story behind this, Fun Size, and I want it in detail, over a drink or five.”

 

Lorna sighed, and massaged her forehead. “It’s a long one, and I don't want to be having it tonight.”

 

“She’s right,” Pat said. “It can’t be rushed.”

 

Eris stared at her plate, her mind whirring. This was...all too much, and the only thing she could think to do was knock back her drink at one go. “You know what?” she said, a little unsteadily, “I need the bathroom. Be right back.” Off she went, before she could start hyperventilating.

 

“She does that,” Siobhan said. “Just...Jesus. Lorna...what am I even meant to _do_ with that?”

 

“Eat your dinner. We’ll give you the tour later,” Lorna said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes and barely winning.

 

“Is she ill?” Thranduil asked in a manner that he hoped did not seem too dramatic.

 

“She’ll be fine,” Siobhan said. “Sometimes she just gets...overwhelmed, and needs to go de-stress for a moment. The thing is...she’s a huge fan’v hobbits. _Huge_ fan. She’s got tattoos and everything. Finding out you’re real...it’s going to be a bit much for her.” It was obviously a bit much for Siobhan as well, but she was older, and rallied easier.

 

“But there are no hobbits here,” Thanadir said, baffled. “We have not see one since…” he frowned, struggling.

 

“The Battle of the Five Armies?” Earlene offered.

 

“Yes. That,” Thandir confirmed. “Bilbo.”

 

“She named us Belladonna and Samwise,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Hobbit fan. Though at least I didn't get called Frodo, or I would’ve spent all my time at school punching people in self-defense.”

 

Earlene decided this would be a wise time to not recite her children’s names. “No one here will care,” she said. “I think those are nice names, and I would think twice before annoying anyone named Belladonna.”

 

Donna grinned. “Gran always sings me the Stevie Nicks song,” she said. “And at least there weren’t six of me in every class, like the Kaitlyns.”

 

That just made Lorna think of the trio of Madison’s friends, and she fought a laugh. She wasn’t surprised that they’d never come back -- although Snowdrop, the only reasonable one, had at least kept in touch. They exchanged Christmas cards, and always sent a picture of Allanah along with theirs.

 

Thanadir, ever being Thanadir, changed the discussion somewhat. “What of your children’s schooling?” he wanted to know. Maglor said nothing but for the first time he actually looked away from his plate for a meaningful amount of time, curious about this as well after speaking to one of them.

 

“Eris and I aren’t sure yet,” Siobhan said. “Public school in America is worse than useless, but from what I’ve been reading, it’s not much better in Ireland than it was when I was their age.”

 

Lorna chose not to mention that her sister had dropped _out_ of school at that age. Some things could stay private.

 

“Gran, all these guys home-school,” Donna said. “Can we do that? Please?”

 

“Yeah, I don't want to go to another school where they make fun of my name and I have to kick them,” Sam added.

 

Somehow, Pat and Lorna didn't laugh. Somehow. It was a real effort.

 

The seneschal shook his head. “You misunderstand me. Surely you will stay with us and your children will be taught here? I am asking, when can they begin their instruction? There are six of us at this table that are the principal teachers, and I am sure I speak for all when I say that we wish to be organized for them.”

 

Siobhan blinked, completely thrown. “You want us to move in?” she asked, looking somewhat helplessly at Lorna.

 

“That was the eventual idea, yeah,” her sister said. “I mean, there’s not exactly any tattoo parlors around, but it’s not _that_ bad’v a drive to Limerick, and we’ve got use for your skills. And I don't mean the chainsaw art.”

 

Chandra stared at her aunt. “ _Chainsaw art?_ ”

 

“Not right now, allanah,” Lorna said.

 

“Damn.”

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

 

Siobhan opened her mouth, then closed it again, her eyes traveling the table. “Well, I don't think I need to ask Eris, who ought to be back out here any minute,” she said, a little helplessly. “Just...wow.”

 

“Yeah, well, there’s more to be telling you, but we don't need to have it all out at the dinner table,” Lorna said. “As for you two, you’ll love school here, because it’s not like what you know’v as school at all. You actually learn things.”

 

“And it’s fun,” Saoirse said. She was the only one of them who had any knowledge of public school and all its suckiness. “It’s like, they take school, but throw out all the boring, annoying parts.”

 

Eris, looking a little pale, finally reappeared.

 

“Hey Mam, they want us to move in,” Donna said cheerfully. “And teach us stuff. That’s not boring.”

 

Eris sank into her chair, looking as helpless as her mother. “That’s...a lot to take in.”

 

Lorna grinned. “Just wait until you see the Halls. You want to talk about ‘a lot to take in’...”

 

“You mean, like, the actual Halls, from the actual book?” her poor niece asked.

 

“The very same.”

 

Ratiri shook his head, and couldn’t suppress a grin. “That was pretty much my reaction, Eris,” he said. “Nerds of the Tolkien world, unite.” He did not actually try for a fist-bump, at least. That would have just been too painful to witness.

 

“How do you think Tolkien knew there _were_ Halls?” Quen asked, mischievously. This caused Maglor to chuckle openly and clap his hand over his mouth, flushing charmingly pink.

 

 _Have I ever told you how adorable you are?_ Sharley asked, taking his free hand.

 

Eris stared at him. “You met him, didn't you?” she asked. “You told him all’v that…”

 

 _d_ Maglor said, grinning openly at his wife.

 

“Guilty,” Quen said aloud, extremely amused. He still had not shed his British accent, and Earlene still found his every word entirely charming to hang upon. He could talk all day, as far as she was concerned.

 

 _As long as you’re aware,_ Sharley said, kissing his cheek.

 

 _“Those two are so cute I might be sick,”_ Jimmy whispered, right in Lorna’s ear.

 

“Oh, what was he like?” Eris asked, eyes bright. “I mean, I’ve read he did some mad stuff, like chase a neighbor dressed up as a Saxon warrior.”

 

“Kind, but with a sense of humor,” Maglor answered, with more force of opinion than he was usually heard to offer. “Morally upright in the extreme; a man of deep faith and convictions. And possessed of a nearly bottomless intelligence. He had a mind worthy of the most learned of elves, in my opinion. I loved him; he was a blazing star that passed before my eyes.”

 

Most at the table blinked; it was so, so rare for Maglor to speak in this manner. Quen smiled. “What my friend means is, the Professor was an extraordinary individual, and we both feel privileged to have known him and called him a friend,” he added quietly. “I am called Quen here but you might know me better as Pengolodh, one of the Loremasters of Tol Eressëa.”

 

Siobhan looked at her daughter. “Breathe, Eris,” she ordered.

 

“Oh bloody hell,” Lorna muttered. Because they needed another person telling everyone to breathe.

 

“Those books changed my life,” Eris said, though there was in fact a slight wheeze to her voice. “Mam read me _The Hobbit_ when I was a kid, and I read _The Lord of the Rings_ and _The Silmarillion_ when I was older. They’re kind of why I didn't turn out to be a hellion of a teenager like she did.”

 

“Thanks,” Siobhan said dryly. “Donna, go get your Mam’s inhaler.”

 

“On it.” Off the girl scooted, sliding on her socks.

 

“I’m not kidding,” Eris said. “If you two are the ones that got all those stories written, I owe you so, so much.”

 

“Are you ill?” asked Thranduil, worried. He was not certain what he was seeing…

 

“Asthma,” Siobhan said, as Donna zoomed back in with the inhaler. “She’ll be fine in a minute. Sometimes happens to her when she’s a bit, er, overwhelmed.”

 

Eris took a puff off the inhaler, and drew a proper breath. “Thanks, sweetie.”

 

“I’ll leave it here,” Donna said, hopping back up onto her chair.

 

“It was bad, when I was a kid,” Eris said. “I’ve mostly grown out of it, but sometimes it crops up.”

 

Thranduil looked at Ratiri. _Is that serious? Or is this...she cannot breathe properly…?_

 

 _Asthma can be anything from mild to extremely serious,_ Ratiri said. _I can’t tell you what hers is, just based off this and her own testimony, so to speak. But if she actively needs an inhaler, it’s not a good sign._

 

 _I do not want to intrude but...will you find out if she needs my help?_ he asked plaintively, not at all able to evaluate the seriousness of this...or lack thereof.

 

“Eris, how often does this crop up, and what brings it on?” Ratiri asked.

 

“God, it depends,” the woman said, thoughtful. “I mean, I can go months without a problem, and then have five attacks in a week. Stress and surprises are what usually bring it on, although allergy season doesn’t help.”

 

“Have you ever been hospitalized?”

 

She glanced at her children. “Not for a couple years now, but yeah. The inhaler usually takes care of it.” As if to give lie to that, she wheezed again, and took a second hit.

 

“Hold it in, Eris,” Siobhan said, sounding quite used to this by now. “Count’v four.”

 

Her daughter came oh-so-close to giving her a very rude gesture, stopped only at the last minute.

 

 _While it’s something I think she could live with, it’s not healthy, and if she were ever to lose access to that inhaler, she could have a rather large problem_ , Ratiri said, eying the poor woman with concern.

 

_Then...perhaps when we do not seem so new and strange...I hope you can help me heal her. While I can see this is not an emergency, neither should this be left to linger into the plague. Better soon, than a liability later._

 

 _You’re entirely right,_ Ratiri said. _Do you want me to tell her you can heal her, or would you rather sneak it?_ He was pretty sure Thranduil had done some sneak-healing over the years, but he could just pretend otherwise.

 

 _I need her permission at least once,_ he said, trying to stifle a smirk. _I think perhaps not tonight at the table, lest it worsen her symptoms. But later, when you feel it is appropriate...yes._

 

 _Then I’ll talk to her after dinner, if she’s calm enough,_ Ratiri said. _We’ll see how she deals with things from here._

 

“So,” Eris said, once her breathing had calmed, “there’s tattoo parlors in Limerick?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Pat said. “And we could train you in something else on your off-days. But the story behind that’s for another time.”

 

“Way to whet her appetite, Pat,” Grania said, rolling her eyes. “Sure, let’s dangle that out there and then not follow through.”

 

“She has a point, Da,” Lorna the Younger added.

 

Lorna the Elder fought a sigh. She was going to have to lay this one out on at least Siobhan later tonight, but at least she had Pat for backup there. How weird it was, having all three of them now…

 

“This...it almost seems too good to be true,” Siobhan said. “I mean...things like this just don't happen to people like us.”

 

“That was what I thought, at first,” Lorna said.

 

Pat took a long swig of wine. “Me too. There’s loads’v us Donovans now, Siobhan, that aren’t what we were.” He grinned. “Ask Lorna later what happened to our old house.”

 

Lorna none-too-discreetly kicked him under the table, glowering. “Pat?” she said. “Stop helping.”

 

 _“Your brother can’t keep his mouth shut for shit, can he?”_ Jimmy asked.

 

Oh, good Jesus...now she knew what Sharley must feel like, being unable to respond for fear of looking like a lunatic.

 

“Jimmy,” Sharley said, “knock it off. Don't ask,” she added, when the four newest Donovans looked at her. “It’s a long story.”

 

Thranduil openly glowered at Pat, not at all happy with the Dublin Incident having been trotted out for no good reason, in his estimation. Frankly, he agreed with Jimmy, right now.

 

Once again, Thanadir was tenaciously disapproving of frivolous talk. “Tattoo artist. That means you possess fine motor coordination, and good dexterity. Are you skilled at writing?” he wanted to know of Eris.

 

“You mean like, calligraphy?” she asked. “Yeah. I got a book as a kid and taught myself all kinds of stuff.”

 

“Excellent,” Thanadir noted, and Quen looked unaccountably pleased at learning this as well. “I do not suppose you have learned our lettering? The Tengwar?”

 

She shook her head. “I tried, but it was kind of beyond me. No offense, but to me so much of it looks the same.”

 

Lorna didn't laugh, but it was a real effort. She’d thought pretty much the exact same thing, even after Thranduil dealt with her dyslexia.

 

Thanadir smiled, and just nodded. He would massage his forehead later. Earlene reached her leg under the table to rub at his calf by way of reassurance, stifling the desire to laugh.

 

“We all told Father that,” Maglor said. “It changed nothing. But once you learn them...well, it is undeniably a form of perfection, the progression of the shapes and sounds.”

 

“Lorna, you managed to learn them?” Siobhan asked. When her sister nodded, she said, “If your aunt can do it, you can.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Lorna muttered.

 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Siobhan said. “You always did have trouble, and if you can do it, so can she.”

 

Earlene was speechless. This was not meant to sound as it did, but this did not change what it absolutely sounded like. “The Fëanorian letters are very difficult for anyone not raised with them, and are not easy for some who were. They _do_ all look alike, until great effort is put into making that otherwise,” she said rather forcefully. “I think whether Lorna learned them or not has no bearing at all on learning them.”

 

“I agree,” said Thanadir with equal emphasis. “I could not learn them. Not for years. And I am an elf.”

 

“Neither could Caranthir,” quipped Maglor, earning a raised eyebrow from Quen. “If you ever see him please do not tell him I told you that,” he hastened to add. A look of guilt came over his face at the mere thought of his volatile and quick-tempered sibling ever learning of this familial transgression.

 

Ratiri’s eyebrows rose at this new piece of Fëanorian information, but he said nothing.

 

“I guess I don't feel so bad, then,” Eris said. “It’s really pretty, don't get me wrong, I just couldn’t get more than a few right. At least, I think they were right.”

 

“We all learned Sindarin,” Atia said. “Or, we’re learning it. And Mam’s name means ‘asleep’ in Quenya. Just...because, I guess.”

 

“‘Asleep’?” Donna asked. “That’s actually kinda cool.”

 

Thranduil glanced at his friend, who did not seem other than...insulted and annoyed, not that he blamed her. He did not know what to do, to help. This cancer of comparing herself to others was bad enough, and when her own well-intentioned but utterly tactless family managed to worsen it...he had never known how to stop this, and Eru did he wish it were otherwise.

 

Lorna looked at him, arched an eyebrow, and gave him half of a rather humorless smile. Her family was...her family. None of them, including her, had anything like real tact. “You’ll be learning Irish, too,” she said to her niece and nephew. “It’s part’v the curriculum for homeschooling here.”

 

“Really?” Sam asked. “Awesome. I wanted to take Spanish, but the class was full up, so they stuck me in German. Which is not only really hard, but pretty useless in America. If I’d learn Spanish, I actually could’ve done something with it outside school.”

 

“Irish is pretty hard, too,” Lorna warned, “but you’ve got a lot’v people around you that speak it.”

 

 _Germany,_ Earlene blinked. _I want to go on a vacation. A vacation from the vacation I never wanted exactly._ However she was in no mood to argue about the merits of assorted languages now. The unfortunate comment had somewhat soured her mood, and it seemed altogether better to lapse back into silence.

 

“After dinner, we can take you to the Halls,” Pat said. “You and I and Lorna need to do some catching up anyway...although we need someone who can actually open the Gates,” he added, looking at Ratiri.

 

That made Lorna laugh. By now, both she and Pat could manage ‘th’ on some words; Thanadir’s name worked just fine, but because Thranduil’s had a consonant after the sound, they still couldn’t do it. For some reason, words with a vowel following the ‘th’ -- ‘that’, ‘the’, ‘those’, etc. -- were a lot easier than anything with a consonant. ‘Through’ still came out as ‘t’rough’, but ‘thorough’ they could handle.

 

“I can do that,” her husband said. “I’m sure this lot can get Supri to bed on time.”

 

Sharley nodded, smiling, as did Maglor when he was nudged. Everyone was so glad Uncle Maglor was home at last.

 

“Can I have the story about the guy on your trail crew who ran out of food and wound up drinking squeeze butter?” Supri asked eagerly.

 

Sharley laughed. “You can indeed,” she said.

 

Eris stared at her. “ _I_ want to hear that story someday,” she said.

 

Maglor smiled crookedly. Perhaps he would sit this one out; it sounded revolting… fortunately by then Earlene was already dishing out a very orangey flavored spotted dick with a cream sauce and...nothing else seemed to matter.

 

*****

 

{November 7, 2032. Midmorning.}

 

Everyone had dispersed to their scheduled activities, yet Earlene noticed that Maglor made no effort to leave the Heart Room. Though, he was riffling through a very large stack of sheet music, so perhaps he had a lesson later on. She smiled fondly while she watched him, thankful to no end that his return had been nothing short of a miracle for Eldan, who had of all her children suffered the most in their prolonged absence. In some ways; she was hesitant to assert that. That was her assessment based on what she actually knew at this moment of her sons and daughters, would be a safer statement. And yet the longer her eyes remained on him, the more a query of sorts was forming. “Maglor, may I ask you a question?”

 

“Of course, Hiril vuin,” he replied, wondering why she would even ask. He felt he owed her his life and his happiness; there was little he would not do for her without hesitation, so greatly did he feel his indebtedness.

 

“Have you had trouble, adjusting, since returning here?”

 

Careful thought was given and...this society was the only home he had known now, for countless years. While he had loved seeing his mother, brothers, Elrond...Aman felt a little like something from a past dream more than a reality that he craved. And yet he tried to consider the question from her viewpoint. “Not in the sense that you might be,” he replied kindly. “But Earlene...no mortal has ever been taken to the Undying Lands and returned. In fact...no one has returned at all, save Glorfindel. Only the Ainur may come and go with impunity. I would think it would be an extraordinary mental strain, to accomplish what you did. You will ever have my gratitude.”

 

 _Then that would be a No,_ Earlene thought glumly, though she did not permit her outward expression to change in any way. Nodding with false cheer, she thanked him and retreated to their bedroom, where she found an armchair and the comforting warmth of the rocket heater in the room. Sinking into it, she sighed. It felt wrong, to be like this. _You were not supposed to show your gratitude for a mighty and priceless gift by moping around, feeling disconnected or otherwise experiencing some element of struggle_ . But all of those things were happening, for her, and she did not know quite why or what to do. _I am fresh out of self-help books to guide recently transformed elf-mortals. Mortal-elves? Heck if I know._ Yes, there was a part of her that was happy. Deliriously so. And yet the sensation of being ‘unplugged’ worse than usual would not dissipate.

 

*****

 

Siobhan and Family were following Pat on his daily rounds, later to be introduced to Geezer, but Lorna went for a walk. She had a few things on her mind to wrestle with, and they were best dealt with alone. So naturally, alone was not what she got.

 

Now that Sharley had her telepathy under control, Lorna shouldn’t be able to hear her voices anymore. She’d only ever been able to hear them in the first place because they’d bonded over balrog-rape; by now she should be deaf to them again, and yet she reeeally was not. According to Sinsemilla and Layla, they could still pop up and say ‘hi’ because that link between the women still existed -- it was just dormant. Sharley had explained that they were, in effect, not-quite-autonomous entities, rather like split personalities. It made as much sense as anything else -- not that that was saying much, anymore.

 

It was Sinsemilla who joined her today, as she walked through the rather sodden forest. The sun was out this morning, at least, though if it was above ten degrees, she’d be very surprised. Her breath rose in clouds, and she remembered how, when they were kids, the four Donovan siblings had pretended they were smoking cigarettes on chilly mornings. _Oh, how times change._

 

 _“So, Siobhan,”_ Sinsemilla said, from somewhere near her right. _“I know you got annoyed at her last night. I think everyone did.”_

 

“She didn't mean anything by it,” Lorna said. “We’re just a family with no tact. What I’m wrestling with is...all I did was get annoyed. Up until bloody _Donal_ , I hadn’t been anything worse than annoyed in three and a half years. I’m...different, and it’s definitely not a bad thing, but...I’m awfully old to be trying to adjust. I never had much chance to think’v it, before those three came home.” She and all the rest of them had been trying to look after a group of children who had lost a mother, or an aunt, or an uncle/teacher. There hadn’t been a whole lot of time for introspection. Even during her bad time with Ratiri, there hadn’t really been _rage_ , though; she’d been sad, and withdrawn, but she hadn’t given out at him. (Though quite honestly, maybe the not giving out, the lack of rage, just made the whole mess last longer. If there was one good thing about her temper, it was that it blew like a volcano and then was over. Evidently, sadness could linger.)

 

 _“I think Estë gave you more than she thought she did,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“I mean, I think it was kind of a random impulse...you were there, Sharley was there, including you was easy.”_

 

“You might well be right,” Lorna said. “It’s so strange, having...equilibrium. Balance. Feeling like a normal person, except I’m starting to wonder if there’s more to it than just that. I can...well, the only way I can put it is that I can think in ways I couldn’t, before. It’s like my mind’s slowed down some, but not in a bad way. If that makes any sense.” She was talking to a disembodied voice, and wondering if something made sense. What even was her life?

 

 _“No, it does.”_ Sinsemilla paused. _“Tell me something, Lorna: just how much of your life have you spent feeling powerless?”_

 

That made Lorna stop in her tracks. “What?”

 

_“You think there’s always someone better than you at everything. You think Earlene and Ratiri and Thandir and Thranduil are all better than you, somehow -- you can’t tell me that doesn’t make you feel powerless.”_

 

 _That_ was not...well, it was not how she’d ever thought of it. “Well...shit. I don't know.”

 

 _“You were meant to be stronger, Lorna. I can’t tell you anything more than that, but your life and your fate took a really shitty left turn. You_ are _strong...I guess I should say you were meant to be powerful. I think what Estë’s done is maybe give you what you shoulda had, if the thread of your fate hadn’t gone...wonky.”_

 

“Well, hell, now you’ve got to tell me more,” Lorna said, wondering just what in fuck that meant.

 

 _“I can’t. I don't know that much, and I can’t tell you what I_ do _know. My point is, I think this is what you were supposed to be all along. What you shoulda become ages ago. No, Lorna, you’re not graceful like an Elf, you’re not some weird-ass supergenius like your husband or Thranduil or Thanadir, but you know what you can do, that I’m not sure even Thranduil can?”_

 

“If it’s about my so-called superpower, don't remind me,” she said dryly.

 

 _“It sorta is. Lorna, Thranduil can inspire his people -- hell, any people -- by his presence, sure. He’s a king, he’s got the majesty thing on lockdown, but Lorna, the thing is, you can basically get someone to do what you want by making them think it was_ their idea. _You’re tiny and common and you can do basically the same thing, only even creepier, if you really think about it. How many times have you done that in your life, without meaning to?”_

 

“I’m not sure I even want to sit down and think about that,” Lorna said, and meant it.

 

 _“Orla told you that you turning up influenced the whole gang,”_ Sinsemilla said, but Lorna held up a hand.

 

“Wait, how the _hell_ d’you know that?”

 

_“Sharley can read your mind, Lorna. So can I.”_

 

“Because _that’s_ not creepy.”

 

 _“Yeah, well, anyway, you do sort of have this ability to wrap people around your finger without realizing it. You’re your own kinda powerful, Lorna Saoirse Donovan. No, you can’t cook like Earlene, you can’t do math like Ratiri or...well, half the shit Thanadir does that_ nobody _else can do...but they can’t do this. Even Thranduil doesn't do it in quite the same way. People know they’re obeying him, but how many of them d’you think know they’re obeying_ you _? How many do_ you _know are obeying you? I can’t tell you more than that, but...well, maybe some things echo throughout...no, shouldn’t say that, either. My point is, you have a gift, with great power comes great responsibility, yadda yadda, you get my drift.”_

 

“Do I?” Lorna asked, somewhat thrown by that last bit. “Well, fuck, Sinsemilla. Just...fuck.”

 

_“Pretty much. Don't let all your instincts from who you used to be hold you back. It’s like the thing with the tripping, remember? How you’d done it for so long that even once it was fixed, you kept doing it because you thought you were supposed to?”_

 

Lorna grimaced. Because finding _that_ out hadn’t been embarrassing. “I’m not...well, I’m not sure how to do that,” she said. “How can I counteract an instinct? I mean...it’s instinct.”

 

 _“Thaaat...I’m not so sure of, yet,”_ the voice said. _“I’ll think about it, but for now, just explore all this stuff that’s not familiar. Talk to Ratiri. Talk to Thranduil. Talk to Sharley, whenever she gets a moment. Right now she’s stuck to Maglor like glue.”_

 

“Poor both’v them,” Lorna said. Sharley had said very little of Aman, except for meeting Marty, and Lorna had a feeling she knew little herself of what had gone on with Maglor and Earlene. “She ought to stay stuck to him as long as they both need.” How fucked-up was it, that talking with what amounted to a hallucination with sapience had done her more good than almost all of her talks with...well, everyone...in the last ten years? Maybe because Sinsemilla wasn’t too close. There was no latent fear that the voice was just saying what she wanted to hear, to placate her or make her feel better about herself with no actual basis.

 

Yes, she’d always feared that a little, with the others, on some deep level. Part of her had always been afraid they, even subconsciously, were giving her a kind of pat on the head. It wasn't fair of her, and yet it had always been there, very deep at the back of her mind -- so deep she’d only realized its existence fairly recently. But Sinsemilla...was a voice. She had no other personal investment in Lorna, or in Lorna’s life.

 

 _“If nothing else, burn this into your head,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“Thranduil is tall and powerful and, let’s face it, pretty. It’s no wonder he manages to grab people’s attention and hold it; hell, he kinda can’t help it. They call a certain type of presence ‘commanding’ for a reason; people do what he says because he motivates them. You’re tiny and cute and, until you get that glare like you want to rip someone’s face off, seemingly harmless. You’ve gotten_ him _to do what you wanted, with neither of you even aware of it -- you’re like, the sneaky soldier that gets behind enemy lines, and most of the time they don't even know what you’re doing.”_

 

That...was sort of disturbing, actually, but she knew what the voice meant. Thranduil, when he wanted to be, was kind of the definition of ‘commanding presence’; she’d seen it in his interactions with the other elves. If he really _really_ wanted to, he could probably get away with commanding the Irish...once. He’d get them to do whatever it was, but the fallout would be so disastrous that she couldn’t imagine any situation that would make him do it -- but he probably _could_ do it. Most people didn't see him as she did, her giant zombie brother-from-another-mother. (She wondered if he knew, yet, what ‘brat nezhiti’ meant.) She, however, had always been a sneaky little shit, and yet got similar results, through an even more insidious fashion.

 

 _I probably shouldn’t be proud of that,_ she thought, _and yet I kind of am. Which is more than likely totally wrong, but I don't care._ Looking up at the patches of blue, blue sky between the leaves, and wondered. Was she truly powerful, in some way? Some bizarre, totally opaque way? Sinsemilla had no reason to lie to her, no instinct nor wish to spare her from any harsh truths like the others. It was food for thought of a type she’d never yet been handed. She’d metaphorically chew on it for a while.

 

Sinsemilla said no more, but she was thoughtful. Sharley had Maglor now; she only  needed them part-time anymore, as she navigated all her newly-rediscovered senses. She was whole, for the first time in eighteen thousand years. Lorna had healed much, but she was still so fractured in so many ways, with fault lines that even yet ran deep.

 

The voices had been formed as caretakers. Yes, even Kurt. They’d come into being because Sharley was too shattered to have even a prayer of functioning. It was their only purpose, their prime reason for existing, and Sharley didn't really _need_ them anymore. She liked them, and liked getting their input on all these new things she was discovering, but  they no longer needed to protect her formerly fragile sanity. It was a large part of why they followed Lorna so often, even though they didn't always speak to her: their host, their mother, no longer required their services, and to be quite honest, they were _bored._ Bored, and at loose ends.

 

But there was always Lorna. The tiny woman wasn’t and never had been anywhere near as broken as Sharley, but she was nevertheless damaged -- and even many of the mental and spiritual wounds that had healed over the years had left scars. Thranduil no longer had the time to attend to them as he once did, and Sharley had her hands full with Maglor; they were the only two who had the ability to deal with this. Even that psychiatrist, helpful as she was, couldn’t actually handle this particular mess. It took telepathy to see all the scars, all the cracks -- and it took a certain level of power to actually heal them.

 

And the rest of her family really was just plain too close. Even Thranduil wasn’t going to be able to help but see her, in many ways, as just what she’d always been before Estë had a go at her. None of them could see the totality of what had been done -- of what had shifted within Lorna.

 

Maybe, just maybe, the voices had a new project.

 

Thranduil was the only other one who could hear them -- well, the only one who’d be likely to interfere -- so Sinsemilla would have a chat with him. She’d caution him against do anything silly, like telling Lorna not to listen to them. _Someone_ had to do this, and he had ten children and a wife who was still reeling from both newfound immortality and the shock of missing three and a half years’ of her children’s lives; if the voices didn't help Lorna, she’d be floundering on her own, unaware of the depths of the changes within her, or of what she could do with them.

 

Yeah, they had a new project. A tiny, squirrel-like project.

 

*****

{November 11, 2032}

 

“I’m sorry for asking you into our bedroom but...it was this or the greenhouse,” Earlene said to Sharley and Maglor. They were offered the armchairs, whereas Thranduil and Thanadir sat on the edge of the bed. Feeling restless, Earlene paced around while she spoke. “I’ll just out with it. Coming back here has been hard for me. And after a week and a half of trying to understand why, at least some of it boils down to not feeling like I am able to tell anyone besides my husbands what happened in Valinor. Maglor, the unavoidable truth is that my time was bound to your time there, almost literally. I owe you a duty to keep your privacy, to not broadcast what transpired there without your consent. It isn’t just the human half of the household; a lot of it is my own children. Andaer is doing better but he is still resentful because he doesn’t really understand why I had to go. Maybe there is no fixing that; he is still very young. But what I want to know is, do either of you intend to tell your story? I don’t know even know what happened to Sharley. I don’t have to know. I’m just...trying to find my way through having lost three and a half years in the lives of my husbands and children, and right now I’m really not making the best job of it.” It was necessary to just stop talking, because of the tears welling in her eyes. “And do not EVEN sit there and look at my emotional state and make a decision because of that. I am asking to know what you truly feel.”

 

Maglor listened to Earlene, and his first instinct was to reel with shame. Shame for having caught up yet another innocent person in the disaster he had made of his life.

 

 _No, Maglor. She will not thank you for that. I know it is hard, but try to think of your answer to her actual question. I know my wife, and she wants to know exactly what she is asking aloud,_ Thranduil counseled silently.

 

A faint nod of Maglor’s dark head could be seen. “Truthfully, Earlene, I have not even told my wife what happened. But…I know myself. Given the opportunity, I will just never speak of it. I think it is obvious that my greatest talent is in not coping and moving on. After all that has happened, I have to admit this about myself. And there is pride, too. Not wishing others to know the state to which I was reduced. But in my heart I know that this does not serve me well. I know that it would be for the best for me to confess all that happened, though a part of me fears for the children to know just what I did. Even I did not know all of what I did, until I was confronted with the totality.” He shook his head, color draining from his face. “I do not want to be the cause of any further suffering on the part of another, but I may need help finding the courage to do this.”

 

Sharley wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. She hadn’t pressed him about his experiences, because she didn't want to stir up whatever trauma had gone on. “What d’you need, Laurë? Because...I don't see why you’d need to talk about the whole of it. If it would hurt you _or_ the kids -- well, maybe you oughtta generalize. Tell them that people died because of what you and your brothers did, but leave it at that. You’ve been so good at torturing yourself, all these years; it’s time to learn how to forgive yourself, like the Valar forgave you.”

 

She looked at Earlene. “I can talk about what happened to me, easy. I mean, some of it was weird, but all of it was good...although I think my replacement actually is legit colorblind, somehow. Anyway, I’d answer any questions anybody might have.”

 

Maglor shook his head. “I love you, Tirillë...but in this you do not understand. And a part of me fears that you will not understand. You love me, and want to think the best of me. What you say about me is true, but is only a piece of a much larger picture. I needed what they did to me, though I did not understand...until after I understood. Earlene _did_ understand, and her entire time there was an immense struggle to lead my feet back to a straighter path. It is not about torturing myself; it is about...honesty.”

 

“You’re right,” she said, taking his hand, “I don't understand. I can’t, unless you tell me...or you could let me look, if the telling’s too hard.” She deliberately hadn’t looked at his history in Aman, out of respect for his privacy. Using her telepathy wasn’t exactly second-nature anyway, so it hadn’t been hard. “And if you let me, and if you give me leave to talk to any of the kids, for...whatever reason, we get get poor Earlene off this metaphorical meathook she’s got stabbed through her...and that metaphor got away from me. Oops.”

 

 _“Nice, Sharley,”_ Jimmy snickered. As he wasn’t Kurt, she didn't feel the need to mute him.

 

“You are my wife, and I trust you. My difficulty comes from having seen how you were before. I know it is not the same now that They have healed you, but I am still adjusting. Please...look. And Aran Thranduil, if you have a means to look for Hîr Thanadir and wish to do so, please. If I am going to manage this I would at least like nothing to be hidden from those of you in this room. Quen I can tell on my own, because...he is Quen.”

 

“I’m still adjusting, too, honestly, but in a good way.” She’d spent an entire morning, while Maglor was giving lessons, just walking through the woods. They were so familiar to her by now, and yet, with her new eyes, so very different. “It’ll be okay.” She brought his hand up and kissed the back of it, and focused.

 

What she saw was...heartbreaking. Her poor Laurë, so sunk in his despair that he did all he could to sabotage himself -- that had enraged her at the time, but now there was only sorrow. He owed Earlene his freedom _and_ his sanity; watching her verbally bludgeon him into asking for forgiveness was painful, and yet Sharley knew she was the only one who could have done it. Even Quen might not have managed it. The agony of spirit he’d suffered, and yet the lightness of absolution at the end…

 

Her eyes blurred with tears as she pulled him down so she could kiss his forehead. He could heal from this, she was sure, with time; in doing what he’d put off for so long, he could finally heal. “I love you,” she said, certain he needed to hear the words aloud.

 

Tears streaked down Maglor’s face again, as he nodded and held Sharley’s hand to his lips, kissing it. Thanadir’s lips were parted as Thranduil helped the images and memories stream through the seneschal’s mind. It was what Earlene had shown, yes, but from a different point of view. He really did not have a good context for this, unless it was the value of not transgressing in the first place; something concerning which he felt familiar enough.

 

“I had not realized Elrond was there,” Thanadir said softly, which caused Earlene’s eyes to widen. She’d forgotten about...that. A questioning look came from Thanadir at the same time she buried the memory of her discussion with the former Elflord.

 

 _I will tell you everything, but please not now,_ Earlene said to him. To both of them. Confused but trusting, Thanadir gave the barest nod of his head while Thranduil...hoped, Thanadir would not become upset at what he would learn. Aloud she said “He was. He came more than once, and I will ever be grateful for his visits. It is my belief that his intercession was what caused Manwë to permit the removal of Maglor’s bonds.”

 

“I did not understand why they chained me,” Maglor said. “Unless it was to further emphasize my circumstances.”

 

“That was my guess, but I believe it was meant to teach more than to punish,” Earlene replied softly, not seeing any point to telling him the full truth--that he was not trusted at first to remain in custody. “Though, I am sorry about it. I did not tell you at the time, but I tried. I begged for their removal when I arrived but I was denied. I did not press the issue. And yet perhaps Elrond did,” she mused.

 

“Oh damn,” Sharley groaned, “and here the first thing I said to you was that I was gonna put you on a leash. That must’ve sounded _horrible_.” Trying to pull him into her arms wasn’t easy, given how much taller than her he was, but she tried anyway. Of all the insensitive...that was Kurt-level awful.

 

“That did not bother me,” he smiled. “And you had no way of knowing. It was not so bad,” he said, only now realizing some things. “You prepared all the food so that I would not have to try while I was shackled, didn’t you?” His grey eyes locked onto Earlene’s as he asked the question.

 

“You were hurting enough. It was a small thing,” she replied. But there was a smile, because it was nice that he had noticed. He had not noticed much at all, when they were in Valimar.

 

Sharley hadn’t really tried out her telepathy on anyone but Maglor yet, but she attempted it now with another. _Thank you, Earlene_ , she said, _for saving him, in more ways than one. Thank you for getting him off...and wow, that sounded bad--_

 

 _“That’s what she said,”_ Kurt snickered, and for once she let him, because she really had walked right into that one.

 

 _but you know what I mean -- and for taking care of him, mind and body and spirit. You’re the reason he’s free, but you’re also the biggest reason why he’s sane. I owe you more than I can ever repay -- and don't be like your damn husband, and try to tell me I_ don't _owe you. You lost three and a half years of your life because I asked Vairë if you were the one who would be allowed to be Maglor’s lawyer. I can’t ever give them back, but dammit, I can try to do_ something. And in fact, an idea tickled at the back of her mind. It wasn’t useful, but it would certainly be beautiful.

 

Aloud, she said, “I had it a lot easier -- well, a lot better. There’s not really any way to describe the Halls of Vairë. They’re huge, and the tapestries-in-project are in rows, with a weaver at each. And damn are they beautiful. I’d wondered why Elrond seemed pretty unfazed by how clear and detailed photographs were, until I saw the tapestries -- somehow, they’re like gigantic photographs. I mean, even with magic involved, that was pretty mind-blowing.”

 

She ran her fingers absently through Maglor’s hair. “And I got my memory back, and I got my brain fixed, and I helped my poor replacement fix all the tapestries she’d screwed up while I was away. I’m not kidding, I think she’s color-blind. Nobody would weave a violet sky unless that was actually what they saw.

 

“And I got to see Marty,” she added softly. “I think that was the greatest gift in a whole load of gifts. To really _know_ where she is, and to know how perfect it is for a child...yeah, I miss her, and I wish she could be with me, but she’s so happy there. So safe and loved. Given what’s gonna happen to the world in not much time, I’m glad she’s there, away from it.”

 

Leaning against Maglor, she laughed. “Oh, and I found out the exact day the plague starts. It’ll be the worst birthday present Lorna’s ever had.” She had also taken a look at _how_ it would start, but, mindful of Vairë’s warning, she’d keep that one to herself. Telling the others wouldn’t change the outcome, and she doubted many were curious about it anyway. Those that _were_ curious...still didn't need to know (she knew Ratiri would be fascinated, but still. Nope.) It was the only look into the future she’d taken, too, because she was hardly going to forget Vairë’s warning about that, either. If one of the Valar gave you advice, it was best to heed it, no matter what your own curiosity.

 

 _But I will be like my husband,_ Earlene smiled. _Sharley, I may be Maglor’s Queen by...well, we won’t discuss that...but I too love him. Just not like you do, obviously. It was something I could do and...it will straighten out in the end. It just isn’t straight right now. I don’t need...thank yous. All I will ever need is the look on his face when he was pardoned. I mean it. I don’t even think meeting each of my children for the first time is ever going to compare to that. It isn’t every day that I can help someone whose thinking is just all screwed up get to where they actually need to be. It’s not usually My Thing, which made it a privilege. Just...be good to each other._

 

Sharley grinned. _Well, you’re getting my thank-you anyway. And at least I won’t be like Kurt, and tell you that you have to like it. I’m whole again, and it’s partly because of you. And I’ll never stop being grateful for this one here._ She ran her fingers through Maglor’s hair again.

 

 _See, that’s the wonderful thing about me. You are Ainu, and I am by nature inclined to do as you ask when it doesn’t conflict with...anything else. So lucky you, I_ will _like it. And we have to stop this before I start laughing._ Earlene kept a straight face, but her eyes twinkled a little more than before. Aloud she commented, “Did you just say the plague starts on Lorna’s birthday?” Because _that_ wouldn’t be typical.

 

“I did,” Sharley said. “It’ll be the end of the world as we know it, but she’ll feel fine. And Jimmy, don't you dare start singing.”

 

_“You never let me have any fun.”_

 

“We can get one last Mairead cake,” Thanadir noted, looking on the bright side. “Made in Baile, I mean. Maybe?”

 

“If she wants to,” Sharley said. “Everybody’ll have to be moved by then, though. By June fifth, we need to go into lockdown mode for at least the rest of the summer.”

 

“Please let’s talk about this at some...later time. But back to the original conversation...Maglor, I don’t want to just go narrating everything to anyone I can think of. And I don’t think most of our children are ready to hear the unvarnished reality of all that was said and done. I want to know if I can have your permission to talk about it, if I feel there is a need. To be completely honest, I am not certain what it is I am even thinking about right now; there is only an awareness that feeling like I cannot talk is weighing me down.”

 

“You have it, Earlene,” Maglor replied. “For my part, if those in this room know, and Quen...that is who I would want to know everything. But I do not intend to hide my past or try to erase what I have done. I will always live with my choices...just not like a heavy weight around my neck. I will not waste the gift of having been forgiven.”

 

Sharley kissed his temple. “I’m not sure we could waste anything,” she said. “What we’ve been given...not many people get a second chance like this. Dunno about you, but I wake up feeling like every day is a gift. Well, you know.” She didn't sleep every night, but she’d slept a few times since they got back.

 

“I need to think more of...that,” Earlene murmured. “Thank you both, for the conversation. I will not be mentioning the plague date...that one is in your keeping.” While speaking, she looked over at Thranduil, who nodded his agreement. Sharley and Maglor departed along with Thranduil, leaving her alone with Thanadir. Her thoughts were just turning to consider all that had been said when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

 

“What was this conversation with Elrond?” Thanadir wanted to know, the beginnings of agitation in his eyes.

 

**

 

“He wanted to talk about Erestor, and...you. I did not refuse.”

 

“Will you show me?” Thanadir asked, in a very strange tone of voice.

 

“You are my husband, of course I will.” Accuracy of memory was not usually a problem for her; she tended to remember conversations quite clearly even before her...change.

He was quiet for a few moments. “I cannot believe you would tell another such personal things about me,” he said, his words filled with accusation.

 

Earlene blinked, extremely surprised. “Then I ask you to forgive me. I did what I thought was best in the belief that I could help you. I meant what I said--you told me you would ask Erestor to pardon you. Making him suffer for who knows how many more years in doubt and grief did not strike me as something you would want. And you were rather too far away to ask directly.”

 

“What else did you say about me?” he demanded, outright anger in his voice.

 

“Nothing. There was only one conversation and I have just related every word to you.”

 

He put a hand to his forehead, shrinking away from her touch. “I trusted you,” he said, before he swiftly left the room via the French doors to the outside.

 

“Did that really just happen?” Earlene asked herself in vague tones of disbelief, too taken aback to know what to do. Going somewhere to be alone, and think--that sounded like an excellent start.

 

**

 

Sinsemilla had, like the rest of them, been lurking for this conversation -- mainly to make sure Kurt and/or Jimmy didn't intrude by being...them. Poor Earlene -- Sharley was having an interesting time adjusting to her changes, but they weren't really _changes._ For Earlene, she’d gone from being human to being, well, _some_ kind of immortal, and it probably felt weird as hell -- on top of having missed three and a half years of her family’s lives. While she could theoretically hear them now, Sinsemilla was quite sure she wouldn’t welcome their help, however dubious it might be.

 

So she followed Thranduil out, leaving Earlene and Thanadir to it. She usually liked to hang out to the right of Sharley, so it was his right she gravitated toward now. _“Pssst,”_ she said. _“Hey kid, do you like muffins?”_

 

“Yes,” answered Thranduil reflexively. “Wait. Which muffins are under discussion?”

 

The poor voice couldn’t help it -- she cackled. _“Just..muffins in general. Of any sort, form, or function.”_

 

 _I believe I already answered the question, then,_ Thranduil said, rolling his eyes.

 

 _“Hey, it could be worse -- I could be Kurt,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“So, Lorna’s gonna kinda be our second project, since Sharley doesn’t need us so much anymore. Don't go telling her not to listen to us, okay? She needs help, and we’re detached enough to give it to her. She’s changed in ways none of you have seen.”_

 

Thranduil looked at Sharley. “Do you know what she is talking about?” the elf asked helplessly. Because honestly, he had more than a few concerns regarding what had just been said.

 

“Estë,” Sharley said. “What Estë really, fully did. It wasn’t just calm.”

 

 _“Yeah, it’s not that simple,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“You guys, you’ve all been busy and distracted and...well, stuff...and with her, it’s like when she still had shitty balance, you know? Her brain had been fixed, but she didn't_ know _it, so she kept tripping. You guys keep treating her and expecting her to act like she always did before Estë, because you’re too close.”_

 

 _“She kinda almost doesn’t trust praise she gets from you guys,”_ Layla added, _“because she’s afraid you’re subconsciously...going easy on her, or something, because you love her. She knows we don't have that attachment, so she actually stopped and listened to Sinsemilla the other day.”_

 

 _“I put it in words she hadn’t heard before,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“I didn't tell her not to feel bad about herself, I asked her how long she’d felt powerless. That stopped her dead in her tracks.”_

 

“Eru,” whispered Thranduil. “I love Lorna but...there are times that I feel nothing I could do or say would matter. And...maybe you are right. There has been strain, for a long time. Maybe I am not the best choice for helping. I...I will not interfere. There are times if I wonder whether or not my ability to help has reached a limit, if I am to be completely honest.”

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. “You feel nothing you could do or say would matter? Thranduil, you’ve done more for that woman than anyone on Earth. Look at where she was when you met her, and look at where she is now. You’re gonna have your hands full pretty quick, but at some point, sit down and think about the last three years. Think about how she’s reacted -- or _hasn’t_ reacted. Sinsemilla’s right -- you’re too close, but you’ve also had a hell of a time of it for the last three and a half years.”

 

 _“Yeah, you haven’t seen it because you couldn’t,”_ Sinsemilla added, _“and you have ten children, a wife who’s still trying to adjust to being a...a_ being _with almost no precedent, and new people. Lorna will still want to talk to you, Thranduil, and get your advice, because she loves you. She trusts you. But we’ll take care of her.”_

 

 _“There’s so much she’s not aware of,”_ Jimmy added. _“It’s like the balance thing. We’re not sure Estë actually knew just what she was giving.”_

 

“I meant that nothing I can say or do seems to make her see her own worth,” he clarified. “I will be the first one to admit...these last years have just been about hanging on. About helping the children, more than anything else. We hawve all been in a struggle, to help our family be stable in the middle of quite a lot of instability. I have not paid attention to Lorna. Not like I once did. I am not happy about that, but we have all just...you know.”

 

 _“You just didn't know the right words,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“But she was a lot more sure of herself already, thanks to you, than she was before she met all you guys. And...don't take this the wrong way, because it’s everyone, not just you, but you look at her and you still see someone who’s broken. She’s cracked and scarred and fractured, sure, but someday, when you actually have some time -- which you might not for a while, I’m sure -- take a good look at her.”_

 

 _“And no shit you didn't pay attention to her,”_ Layla added. _“You’re only one person, and there were what, fourteen kids to deal with, between you and the D &D’s? _ Everyone _was paying attention to them, because they were the ones that needed it. Don't feel bad that you don't have...I dunno, two brains to go around, or...something.”_

 

“Maybe it will have a chance to get better now,” Thranduil said, suddenly becoming aware of something going not well at all back in his bedroom.

 

 _“Oh, we’re good at fixing things,”_ Sinsemilla said.

 

“She’s not wrong,” Sharley put in.

 

_“But, can I tell her she can come talk to you without it being an imposition on your time? Because she’s not gonna want to risk that.”_

 

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is what I mean. We have been very close friends for how long, and she would worry about _imposing on my time_? This kind of thinking threatens to steal my sanity at times.” He made a growling noise of annoyance and recovered himself. “Of course you can tell her that.”

 

“Thranduil,” Sharley said, trying not to roll her eyes, “if I may? Your wife, who has been missing for _three and a half years_ , just got home. It’s not unreasonable to think you’re gonna want and need to spend your time with your family. It has nothing to do with her undervaluing herself, and everything to do with her not wanting to be _rude_. There’s one of you, ten of your kids, plus your wife and husband. It’s called basic math.”

 

“No,” he answered. “I am capable of informing someone if I do not have time. Just as I must inform you of this right now, for something has come up. But when nothing is said it takes away the chance to make that decision for myself, as to whether I have time or not. If that is rude in the human world, then…” he shook his head. “I am sorry but I must continue this discussion at another time. Please excuse me.” He turned to follow Earlene, knowing that it would be more advisable to give Thanadir time to think.

 

Sharley watched him go, and shook her head. “He doesn’t see it, does he?”

 

 _“Nope,”_ Jimmy said. _“I don't think he does at all.”_

 

 _“For someone who can read minds...oh well. He’s been distracted, and stressed, but still,”_ Sinsemilla sighed. _“If he honestly thinks he wouldn’t make time, even to his own detriment…”_

 

“No shit,” Sharley said. For Lorna, he’d make the time, no matter what it did to him -- and Lorna knew it. “We need to talk to her about it anyway, though, and tell her what he said. Because he has a point. It’s still a weakness, with her, holding back outta...some weird need to protect people. And I'm pretty sure that’s just a residual from pre-Estë.”

 

_“Well, we’ll figure it out.”_

 

“I am the least qualified to comment here,” Maglor said softly, “but I will offer one thing. Thranduil is a King. My father was a king, as was my grandfather. All they _do_ is manage their time, for everyone wants and needs their attention. He may not understand all of what you are trying to communicate to him, but he does know how to do his duty. He is right in that he of all people can be trusted to prioritize his time. He just demonstrated it, by leaving to attend to something he feels is more important.”

 

“Good point,” Sharley said. “This all goes back to...Sinsemilla, ask her about her grandmother. A whole lotta this traces back to her gran, and what that woman taught her about manners -- and what she interpreted it as.”

 

 _“What d’you mean?”_ Sinsemilla asked.

 

“Lorna’s got an almost pathological fear of being selfish -- more specifically, that she’s being selfish and everyone else is too polite to tell her she’s being a jackass. It leads to shit like this. Talk to her about why. She took something her gran said and kinda...twisted it, without meaning to, because she had no idea what manners even were, and her gran was pretty shit at using her words.”

 

 _“This oughtta get interesting,”_ Sinsemilla sighed.

 

*****

 

Earlene wandered the path to the Halls in no particular hurry, for it gave more time to think. Weirdly, she had not been back here since her departure and...maybe it was more than overdue just for that reason alone. She was, after all, supposed to be Queen and now that she was no longer...her palm pressed against her forehead, blocking that thought out. Once inside, she stopped to look in the Dining Hall, where the usual between-meals meanderings were going on. She bowed out quickly, not wanting to be observed. An even quicker peek into the kitchens, however, did not go in the same manner. Waiting at the entrance, he eyes widened. There were humans in here; and rather a lot of them. And one or five extra elves, and they were prepping and cooking mountains of produce. Bafflement gave way to realizing, this must be the ongoing result of the ‘meals on wheels’ idea that had apparently grown and taken on a life of its own. With chagrin, she realized that reading three and a half years’ worth of council meeting notes was something that she would be required to tackle. Soon. The mere thought of that caused her to pull away from the entrance, but not before sharp-eyed Melda caught sight of her

 

“Hiril vuin, are you alright?” the ellith asked, concerned. “We were told of your return, and I welcome you.”

 

Earlene smiled weakly, knowing that an attempt to fool Melda would be worthless at best. “It has been a difficult transition. You see, time moves differently in the Blessed Realm. I was only gone for perhaps seven weeks, according to what I knew of life there.”

 

Melda’s eyes flickered over her. “Then I see that much has changed,” she said in an awed tone of voice. “You...desired this?” A sweep of her hand indicated that they were not discussing the length of her stay in Valinor.

 

“I did. And I am thankful with all my heart. I was told that it would be best if other humans do not know, Melda. To the extent possible. I know that the news will spread through the Halls. I hope I can entrust you to ensure that this extra piece of information goes along with it? It is not my wish, but was the counsel of our Lord Manwë.”

 

“Of course, my Queen,” she said quietly, taking her leave. The dishes stopped for no one. And as she retraced her steps to her workstation, Melda wondered if the emotion she felt was elation or sorrow. Perhaps both.

 

Departing now for the path to the dungeon, Earlene soon found herself passing the wine cellars. _I wonder…_ helping herself to a bottle of some nondescript but patently elven vintage, she continued on to her private hideaway. Carefully she uncorked the bottle, and poured the tiniest splash into the bowl, regarding it. The simplest thing would be to dip in her finger, taste, and wait. Though Thranduil had mentioned testing her physical attributes, she doubted that this was quite what he had in mind. And yet, what finer test could there actually be than whether or not she could consume this wine?

 

The flavor was just as lovely as she recalled, but while waiting, her thoughts drifted to Thanadir. _I have changed, more than I realized. There was a time that I would be in tears, for what he said to me. But after Maglor, after the trial...this is a misunderstanding. Or a flare-up of emotions. My love for him remains, and I believe that he loves me too, but has been hurt by surprise and fear. We will talk, and eventually it will be better. It seems impossible to be deeply rattled over something so objectively trivial after the weight of what happened at Máhanaxar. And that drop of wine did not do a bloody thing. Maybe another drop?_

 

The door opened and closed, admitting a grinning Thranduil. “You might as well enjoy your bowl, meluieg. Perhaps I might join you?”

 

“Oops, busted,” Earlene said drily, but with humor, gesturing for him to help himself. “It was a last-minute idea, if that is any consolation. I should have asked you first, but I had a strong hunch it would make no difference.”

 

“It will not,” he said softly, pouring her bowl full as well as one for himself. “You are one of us now, wife. And in many ways...no one could be better suited, but I can see there are still difficulties for you. It must feel strange, to be...on the other side?”

 

They scooted so as to sit up on the bed, propped up against the many pillows, where she gratefully accepted the bowl, taking a real sip. “Well, this will be a side benefit I did not have in mind,” she smiled. “There really is nothing like this, though I guess it will not affect me as it did before?”

 

“It will not. Mortal wine will...you will still be able to appreciate its flavor, but it will be to you as drinking water. Most all of their alcoholic beverages will, except for the very strongest of their distilled liquors. But as you never cared too much about alcohol in the first place…” he shrugged.

 

“I doubt I will miss anything. And, there is this.” Earlene groaned. “Valar, do not tell Lorna. She might never forgive me for being able to drink it now. Honestly, I do not know how long we can keep her from deducing what has happened to me. Maybe in the short run, but for all the years remaining? That will be...difficult.”

 

“Perhaps not as difficult as you think,” Thranduil opined, leaning to kiss her, chuckling about the comment concerning the wine. His little friend would indeed frown in a measure of envy, concerning this. “She has ever been so occupied with seeing you as being on a pinnacle, it is genuinely possible she will not be able to perceive a difference. You were very close to an elf in skills and mannerisms beforehand. I would guess that when it is all tested out, we will find that you have greater overall strength and...little else. At least, not until the long years of living on begin to reshape your mind in ways that are subtle. It will take you time to accept that reality...but you will find that time is all of what we have.”

 

“I asked for this to have my family, and...I will have all of you. At least, if Thanadir elects to forgive me, I will have all of you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I did not mean to hurt him, and yet I have. Do you think I erred, Thranduil? Did I misjudge the situation so very badly? I could not bear that his name is known in Aman attached only to scorn on account of what happened with Erestor. Was I wrong to trust Elrond?”

 

“You were not wrong,” he said, draining his bowl and reaching for her. “You spoke with the heart of a wife and mother. Thanadir was surprised, and panicked. He never could have envisioned this possibility, so it is not one to which he gave thought. And therein lies the problem, I believe.”

 

“Should I have gone after him? A part of me wants to, even now.”

 

“I think we both know you would not find him without my help, and...we have taken a course of not interfering in each other’s relationships. The situation would need to be a great deal more serious before I would willingly intervene.”

 

Earlene nodded. “I do not blame you. And...after what has passed between you, he is now also your lover. It is best to keep out of it, as they say. But if he is not back by the evening meal, I hope you will go to him on your own. Just to be there, for him.”

 

“Maybe in awhile. I have known him a very long time and another hour would do him good. That will be enough time for him to see his way forward, or to begin growing frustrated with his inability to reason his way through this.”

 

She set her half-consumed bowl aside to hold onto him, the warmth of the wine pleasantly coursing through her. A few kisses, and it was as if she had never left...except something was different here, too. He took her hard, harder than she could ever recall before, and she could not get enough of him. His light flared, and in a mental whirl of very strong emotions, she felt the same in herself. This was….there were not words, for what this was, as they strained against each other and reached fulfilment and shuddered from the bliss of their bond. With her thoughts reeling, Earlene tried to process what all that just was.

 

“Do you remember me telling you once,” Thranduil panted as he fought for air, “about love between elves?”

 

Nodding against his chest as she clung to him in the aftermath of her enjoyment was all she could manage. _And this was…?_

 

 _That,_ answered her husband, who now rolled to lie next to her.

 

“But...Thanadir never…”

 

“Thanadir is Thanadir, meluieg. Different.”

 

“Oh, my.” Rather than even attempt to think on this further, Earlene curled up against him and felt herself dozing off.

 

**

 

Thranduil came upon Thanadir at the site of his old childhood home. He carried a heavy cloak, which he wrapped around the seated elf, for it was November and the air was growing cold as the day waned. Thranduil sat next to him, and said nothing but flipped his own cloak around his partner as well, hugging him close. The ellon was shivering, he realized, both with cold and anxiety. Very slowly, he pulled Thanadir into his lap, until the brown hair was resting on his shoulder. It needed the better part of five minutes, before he felt arms wrap around his chest, as he snuggled into the offered warmth.

 

 _I hurt,_ Thanadir began.

 

_I know, meldir, and I am sorry. I love you._

 

They sat in silence for many minutes, with Thranduil rubbing Thanadir’s back.

 

_How could she do that to me? I feel...betrayed._

 

_That was the furthest thing from her mind. She was trying to help you. And...I believe she made the right decision, Thanadir. I will not criticize your feelings, but know that Earlene acted out of deep love for you, and a desire to keep you from being hurt._

 

_By making me out to be a...by telling the things about me that are my most personal details to someone who is a complete stranger?_

 

Thranduil held his love tighter, rocking him, unable to avoid kissing his cheek. _You met Elrond once or twice, meldir, in very formal circumstances. So I do not blame you for your comment. But I know him somewhat better. And I suspect in her brief time there, Earlene saw what I know to be the case. There is no more loving, wise, and true-hearted elf than the former Lord of Imladris. His compassion is legendary. I think you are aware of this, but are not considering it because of your current emotions. He is seeking to heal something that happened long ago and apparently still has the power to affect Erestor. I will not believe that he would lie to Earlene, or said what he did in order to extract information from her that he would put to ill use. Do you mean to tell me that it is your wish that Erestor continue to suffer from what you said to him so long ago, until you could address this in person, in your own way?_

 

Thanadir had no answer for this. Or rather, the answer was one he did not wish to speak aloud. He burst into tears, sobbing. It was not often that he had to think, in his life now, of the shame of that horrible memory. Because it was all in the past. Finding out the degree to which it was not…perhaps this was the real source of his turmoil. The sun was not far from setting, and they were a long distance from Eldamar. Thranduil elected to carry him toward the Halls, where a hot meal awaited if he did not feel able to see Earlene or the others at dinner; he knew that Earlene had awoken with many other things on her mind and returned to their home. And if he changed his mind, then...it was not so much farther to walk.

 

_*****_

 

Maerwen had not, at first, understood why Lorna had called their pool of free-floating laborers ‘pinballs’. Her only context for the word ‘pin’ had been those used in sewing, until Lorna bought a pinball machine, which now lived in the Duncan-Donovan recreational room. Given how their group was bounced from task to task, it was an apt metaphor (and the machine was so much fun she’d spent a full week playing it after everyone else went to bed, with the sound turned off).

 

Her old task had effectively been taken over, since most of those now living in the Halls took care of their own fireplaces -- the only exceptions being those who were physically incapable -- so it was only natural that she’d become a pinball. Supri still occasionally needed attending, but so rarely now that Maerwen was free to be bounced around.

 

Today she’d pulled kitchen duty. They were in the last stages of jam-making, a process which had been slowly going on since September; the blackberry preserves were the final batch, once the other seasonal fruits had been taken care of. How the humans made jam was fascinating, since it wasn’t quite the same way the Elves did. They had nothing like the glass Mason jars with their rather cunning screw-on lids, which made the hot work of the making itself more interesting.

 

She had wondered, years ago, how the firith could manage anything when they lacked Elven strength and stamina, and the answer, she’d discovered, was tools. All kinds of tools, electrified or not, capable of producing works of such perfection that they actually prized things imperfectly made by hand. Glass-working was hardly unknown to the Eldar, but it would have taken years to produce jars of this number and uniformity. Apparently, in human factories, they took minutes. (And she found herself calling them ‘human’ now, far more often than ‘firith’. Using their own term for themselves seemed...fitting.)

 

Mairead and Melda seemed to be supervising, and it was somewhat painful, looking at the woman. She was in her sixties now, and while she had aged little -- according to Lorna, those with hair of her color often looked young longer than many -- there were still more lines around her face, and grey threaded through her hair. Even if she lived as long as her grandmother, that would not be long at all, to the Eldar.

 

Maerwen shook herself. Such thoughts were of aid to no one, least of all herself. She grabbed an apron and went to wade into the fray, but paused when she saw Eris.

 

The heat of the kitchen had led the tiny woman (why were the Donovans all so tiny?) to shed her outer shirt, leaving a purple garment that Lorna called a vest-top. Both of her arms were covered from shoulder to wrist in gorgeous pictures -- tattoos, surely. Maerwen had seen Lorna’s, but Lorna’s were simple words; the elleth had had no idea one could do such fascinating images.

 

She drifted over, trying not to openly stare as she filled a bowl with blackberries and set to mashing. “I didn't know you could do that,” she blurted. “The...pictures. Do they hurt?”

 

“They do,” Eris said, grinning, “but it’s worth it.”

 

“Did you do all of these at once?” How could she have moved her arms, if she had?

 

Eris snorted. “Oh hell no. I had all this done over about ten years. It’s not just a case of ‘get it done and that’s it’ -- you’ve got to take care of them afterward, until they heal.”

 

“How long do they take?” Maerwen asked, mashing away.

 

“Depends on the size, and the level of detail. This one--” she tapped the round, green door that took up much of her upper left arm “--took about three hours, just because of the shading.” And indeed, it looked very like a painting, with the surrounding grass and flowers, and the few paving-stones at the bottom. It was beautiful -- they all were, now that Maerwen really looked -- so beautiful.

 

 _I want one_ , she thought. What she wanted it to _be_ , she was not yet sure, but she wanted one. Thought of having something lovely etched into her skin for all time...yes, she liked the idea, and she liked it very much. Would the King allow her to? She would see if Lorna would help her ask. “And this is what you do for work?”

 

“Usually. I’ll see if there’s anybody hiring in Limerick -- it’s kind of a drive, but tattoo artists can work some weird hours, so at least I might not hit too much traffic.”

 

 _Yes, I want one_. Once Eris had employment, Maerwen wanted to be her...customer, that was the word. Perhaps Saoirse could design her something.

 

*****

 

Earlene had told Thranduil she would stay at the cottage, so as to give Thanadir the ability to sleep in his own bed without the conflict of seeing her. She left Eldamar early, deciding that she would do something completely different and eat at the pub. Why not? Before she departed, though, she lit the wood stove, ensuring a roaring fire was underway in it that she damped down a fair amount before heading to the barn for her bicycle. Her bicycle that had not been used in Eru knew how long? It was no great surprise when both tires were flat...something that could be dealt with another day. It was just as simple to run, flinging back the heavy cloak after the first quarter mile or so. If running had been easy before Faeleth, it was doubly so now. The reality of what had been done for her settled in more and more each day, and so did her expanding sense of gratitude...which made her current unhappy circumstances with her husband all the more surreal.

 

Entering the pub, all the usual crew were there, including Aurnia and Geezer. And...Sean. John coughed up a pint of Guinness, and took her order for fish and chips, and they beckoned her over. _Well….alright, why not_ , she thought. It had been told to her that Sean had changed a great deal, and of all people she was not about to hold grudges.

 

“We heard you were back,” Aurnia said meekly, looking at her with bafflement. Did this woman _never_ age?

 

“Yes. I’m back. I was gone about seven weeks,” Earlene said, grimacing. “Time moves differently in the Blessed Realm. So--aa lot happened while I was away. But, I’m making the best of it. Even if it has just occurred me how many council meeting minutes I need to read to catch up before...then again, I’m sure Ailill is doing a fine job.”

  
  


“Once we got everyone to trust him,” Geezer said. “That sounds wrong. I mean, once we got everyone to get over the fact that he’s not you. They trusted him fine, but he wasn’t you. Took some effort, but we got there.”

 

“Poor lad...though I can’t really call him that anymore, can I? He has grown a great deal. I’m glad, though. To me he is another one of my sons. I would be incredibly put out, to find he hadn’t been given a fair chance. But I’ve got to get back into the swing of it eventually.” She sighed, taking a nice pull on her ale, realizing sadly it would do absolutely nothing besides quench her thirst now. Oh well. “Aurnia, how have you been keeping busy? Still sewing?”

 

“Aye,” she said proudly. “I think you might’ve heard we lost Mailladh about a year ago. But...she had a good run, and went out on her own terms, cussing and drinking to the last.”

 

“I didn’t know,” Earlene said, her eyes wide. “I’m...sorry. She was a good woman.” And now her gaze turned to Sean, who she had been ignoring. “I’ve heard much about you, too. I want you to know that I’m happy for you, that your life has straightened out. And maybe you need to hear it from me...I don’t think about the accident that killed Aidan. My brother was a human waste of space and if Karma came in the form of you driving drunk, I don’t hold it against you.”

 

“Thank you,” breathed Sean, caught badly off-guard by the comment.

 

“Catches up with everyone in the end,” Geezer said seriously. “Even if it’s in...weird forms.” And honestly, Sean going to prison was maybe the best thing that could have happened to him, given he was forced to dry out and get off...whatever the hell else he’d been on.

 

Sean blushed, and nodded. “I was a complete piece of shite, Earlene. Especially to you. And I’ve never told you that I am sorry, but I am saying it now. I just hope it isn’t too late.”

 

“It is not too late, and it’s appreciated. I don’t hold onto grudges Sean, unless someone has proven they deserve it. From what I’ve been told, you’ve done very well. Earned quite a fine reputation. Surely, that must be better than how things were before.” Her fish and chips were delivered by John, earning him a thank-you and smile. Though, she looked sadly at the browned chips. They’d been left in the fryer a little too long but...poor man, at least the fish looked done to a perfection, and as that was the main event… with a shrug she began to eat her food while Geezer and Aurnia began waxing poetic about some woodworking and quilt project the two of them were hatching for the holidays. Earlene finished her meal and drink, and thanked them for the company. It was now fully dark out, and she elected to walk home under the stars, both to kill time and enjoy the evening. “I miss the sky in Valinor,” she murmured to herself, giving a prayer of thanks to the Valar that she had ever been allowed the experience. Maybe that was another reason for the difficulty of adjusting...she had genuinely loved being there (except for the parts she had hated).

 

The cottage was beyond toasty, and...in a weird way, this seemed like old times. Very old times. She had dropped some magazines here, and the old television and connections were still here...why not. She made herself some sweet tea, flopped onto the sofa after getting all the cushions just right, and decided to watch something… maybe something old. “Ooooh, _Metropolis_ ,” she said, considering the film…”this is more than a hundred years old, now. Amazing…but I am not sure a silent is going to work. _Black Swan_ ...why not? I liked that one. No, wait... _Much Ado About Nothing_. Oh, yes.”

 

The time rolled by, with her thoroughly absorbed in the tragedy of false accusation (oh, the irony!) and Earlene dabbed at her eyes as the movie made her cry, especially when Claudio admitted his grievous wrong against Hero. And that was when she felt herself being taken and held by Thanadir. The sight of him elicited a whimper from her, as she paused the movie. His face was calm, but his hazel eyes were sad. “I am so sorry, to have hurt you,” she spoke, wrapping her arms around him. “I do not know how to make it right.”

 

Thanadir held onto her, consumed with guilt. “It was not you,” he murmured. “It was me. Thranduil explained, what you did for me. What you tried to do. I did not understand, and now wish I could take back the words I said to you. I am the one who is sorry.”

 

“You were not expecting that to have happened, and you were in shock. I do not hold it against you. I am only glad you are here with me now. I love you, husband. I would do anything for you. Anything, to help or protect you.” For a long time, they held onto each other, exchanging endearments only they could hear, as their fingers ran through each other’s hair.

 

“Please come and sleep with us,” he begged. “Please do not stay here.”

 

“As you wish, Thanadir. But...can I finish watching the movie? It is not far from the end.”

 

“Okay. Can I stay with you while you do?”

 

“Nothing would make me happier.”

 

“Nothing?” he leaned in to kiss her neck.

 

“You are not being fair. You know I cannot resist you. I love you too much, beautiful elf.”

 

“Lucky for me,” he smiled, holding her close. “I will behave myself.”

 

“Of all the words I never expected to hear...Thranduil has affected you, meldir.”

 

“I have not resisted,” he smirked, now nibbling on the edge of her ear. He was not at all behaving himself.

 

“Ohhhh...forget the movie. I know how it ends; everyone gets married and is happy. Take me home, meldir.” Turning, she kissed him soundly, rolling her eyes to herself. _Much Ado About Nothing_.


	139. One Hundred and Thirty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 13-30, 2032
> 
> **Chapter Warning for Violence, a killing**
> 
> Note to Readers: We are trying to make improvements in syncing Google Docs with AO3's formatting. Naturally, we are failing. So please do not mind that the calendar dates are all shouting at you, we know. There is a reason it happened, and I'll try to fix it but...on the writing end it allows us to navigate the document better. Ah, technology. Always helping and killing us all at the same time...Sorry for the funky visuals.

 

# {November 13, 2032}

 

It was currently English day at school, so Ratiri felt he could duck out for a while. He was...tired.

 

Though he’d hidden it from everyone but Thranduil, he’d gone through bouts of depression ever since the Great Menstruation Incident -- especially since his discussion with Thranduil and Lorna. A thorough search of his own thoughts and motivations hadn’t turned up anything compelling; why he hadn’t trusted her with the hydrocodone was not a question he could answer. All he _did_ know was that he’d made his wife miserable for over a decade -- and she didn't know that he knew she sometimes came close to tears when she had to use the period cure, because it just brought all of _that_ back to the foreground. He’d failed, and badly, and he still, most of a year later, didn't know why.

 

But it wasn’t like ‘why’ actually mattered -- the outcome was the same no matter what. Lorna had forgiven him, though he didn't think she realized that she never talked to him about menstruation or anything to do with it. She dealt with the cordial on her own without comment; the only reason he even knew when she had one of her increasingly irregular cycles was laundry day. It was almost like she was hiding it from him, whether she knew it or not.

 

Yeah, she’d forgiven him, but he had yet to forgive himself. The fact that he still didn't know why just made it worse on him, and it wasn’t like he could confide in anyone -- they’d judge him terribly, and rightfully so. Indira had called him up and verbally flayed him, and Lorna hadn’t even given her any details. The mere fact that his wife had transferred her family’s medical care to someone else looked...bad. Very bad.

 

He stepped out the back door, into the cold damp air. He thought, now, that he could understand why substance abuse would appeal to some people, but he was not one of them. What he really needed was an antidepressant, and yet he felt he didn't deserve one. This was his penance, though the mere fact that he thought so meant he really needed to talk to Angie. Lorna was right -- they were going to drive that poor woman to drink.

 

**

 

Lorna always thought she’d got past the whole...mess...with Ratiri, and then the Communists showed up and said ‘hi’, and she was forced to think about it all over again. The fact that she inevitably had PMS didn't really help matters. More than once she’d taken the cordial, gone to sit in the shower under a warm spray, and cried a little. Being reminded of how poorly her husband had thought of her, how poorly, in this one thing, he’d treated her...well, it would have sucked anyway, but when in the grip of PMS, it was just that much worse.

 

She shouldn’t be thinking about it anymore, after all this time. It was done, it was in the past, she had this cordial now, so what did it matter? What did any of it matter? It was _over_ , or so she kept telling herself.

 

 _“Lorna, you’re allowed to feel,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“It’s not holding a grudge, no matter what you seem to think. Your feelings are valid. It’s not just the talk with Ratiri and Thranduil. This is something you’ve been trying to ignore for twelve years -- of course you’re not over it yet. Let yourself be sad, and angry. You have to bleed it off by degrees, no pun intended, or it’ll fester. You_ know _this about yourself: if you shove it away, and if you don't deal with it, it just festers. Now, I’m gonna sound like every disgusting self-help counselor ever, but repeat after me: I’m allowed to feel.”_

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. Sometimes, the voices were a help, but others, they were a pain in the ass.

 

 _“Do I need to get the others in here, and have them start singing ‘It’s a Small World After All’?”_ Sinsemilla asked. It was not an empty threat, either; they’d actually done that once. _“Say it: I'm allowed to feel.”_

 

“I’m allowed to feel,” Lorna said, rolling her eyes again. “Yeah, I'm allowed to feel like a soppy mess. I didn't used to fall apart like a fucking... _this._ ”

 

 _“No, you punched people until they stopped moving,”_ Sinsemilla said dryly. _“Because that’s_ so _much healthier.”_

 

“Made _me_ feel better,” she muttered, massaging at her abdomen.

 

 _“Yeah, for like an hour. Then you went and got shitfaced. This is what normal people do, Lorna. They get upset, they cry, they_ let themselves feel _, and that lets them work through it. Theoretically.”_ None of the voices were pleased by what was going on with Ratiri, but he couldn’t hear them.

 

“If you want the honest truth, crying like this makes me feel weak, okay?” Lorna said. “I shouldn’t have to do this.”

 

 _“No, you should just take it all and jam it into a box at the bottom of your mind, so it can sit and putrefy like a dead rat,”_ the voice said. _“You’re not weak, Lorna, and punching people instead of crying didn't make you strong._ Scary _, sure, but not strong.”_

 

Lorna’s eyebrows rose. “Putrefy like a dead rat? You’ve been listening to Kurt for too long.”

 

_“Yeah, well, my point stands. Cry and get that uterine ooze outta you, and then go have a donut. Shane’s been baking.”_

 

Now _that_ might be worth it. Her son was a far better cook than she’d ever been, and he actually seemed to enjoy it. Still… “Uterine ooze? Really?”

 

_“You can’t say it’s not apt.”_

 

That really was not something Lorna could dispute, so she didn't try.

 

_“You gonna talk to Thranduil later?”_

 

“If I can get him alone.” She and all the voices had had a very long and rather interesting talk about a whole lot of shit, much of which she wanted to talk to Thranduil about. She’d never thought she’d be using ‘cultural differences’ as anything other than a way to reconcile something that made her uncomfortable, but she actually was now.

 

_“Good. You need to, before you can talk yourself outta it.”_

 

Lorna stuck her tongue out in Sinsemilla’s general direction. Because she was an adult. Honest.

 

**

 

Once clean, dry, and period-free, Lorna combed out and braided her damp hair before heading in search of Thranduil. This time of day, he could be anywhere, and might or might not even be in the house, but she prowled anyway, shuffling in her slippers. One of the things she had made certain of was that all the female pinballs had days off when they had their periods, should the time away be needed, so she didn't have to go back to work herself.

 

 _“We’ll prompt you, if you need it,”_ Layla assured her.

 

“Yeah, that's what I’m afraid’v,” Lorna muttered. Pickles, her tiny deaf kitty, skittered after her, and she picked the cat up and tucked her into her robe. It was weird -- Ratiri had gotten her the cat in an attempt to avoid getting murdered, and yet she didn't associate the little fuzzball with that at all. Big green eyes blinked up at her as she made her way into the Heart Room.

 

“Aur vaer, Lorna,” Thranduil said, looking up from his computer tablet to smile at her. All was not well, but at least for him it was. For a change. Thanadir had moved past his troubles with Earlene, and he had the peace of knowing that his family was well. “Something on your mind?”

 

“The voices and I had a good talk,” she said, hopping up onto the sofa beside him. Pickles let out a strange chirping sound; since she couldn’t hear, she had never learned to meow like the other cats, and instead made a very odd assortment of chirps and squawks. “A couple’v them, actually. Sinsemilla’s like Angie, but with no filter.”

 

_“Thank you.”_

 

“And are you happy with what they have told you?” he asked, setting down his device to give her his full attention.

 

“I think I learned a lot,” she said, sitting cross-legged. Pickles, naturally, had to go sniff Thranduil. “They’re good at pulling up shit out’v the cesspit that is my mind.”

 

 _“You said it, not me,”_ Kurt said.

 

“Actually, you _did_ say it, but whatever. Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she went on. “So, you get annoyed by me doing what you think is me undervaluing myself when I’m trying not to be rude, right? That and I’m taking the choice away from you, which Layla _will not shut up about._ ”

 

_“What? I thought you needed to know.”_

 

“Oh, trust me, I’m more than aware,” Lorna growled. “Anyway, am I right there?”

 

“Well, it has been an ongoing source of unhappiness for me, in our time together, but I have done what I can to accept it. What choice have I had? It has not been more important than counting you as my friend. But yes, I do not like it.” The large blue eyes studied her, wondering where this was going. And finding that curiously, he was not really sure. Hm. Who knew the voices could make life more interesting than usual?

 

“Well, you know how I always used to say ‘cultural differences’ whenever some conflict came up between human and elf society? Yeah, turns out this is the same thing, though Sinsemilla had to go spelunking in my brain to work that one out.”

 

 _“I love the word ‘spelunking’,”_ Kurt said. _“It sounds like it should be dirty, but it’s not.”_

 

“Kurt? Stop helping. Now I know part’v why Sharley was so…” Lorna flailed a little. “ _Anyway_. My whole idea’v what’s rude and what’s not comes from what my gran taught me, and what she taught me is, you don't just go barging in on someone’s time. Don't assume they’ll drop everything for you, unless they’re your immediate family -- then they’ve got to whether they like it or not. Now, you might be my brother-from-another-mother, but you’re also a man with two spouses and ten kids, and can you understand why I’d hesitate? Because I know that you’d make time for me, even if it was bad for you.”

 

 _“Maglor pointed out that that’s what kings do, but try thumping_ that _into her head,”_ Sinsemilla said. If she’d had eyes, no doubt they’d be rolling. _“Sharley had it dead to right when she said Lorna’s got this pathological fear of being a selfish jackass everyone’s too polite to say ‘no’ to. And it comes from her fucking up what her gran taught her.”_

 

 _“So it’s literally cultural differences,”_ Layla added.

 

“Maglor is not wrong, Lorna. I have always known that you had...beliefs, about how to be, that seemed strange to me. They have caused problems more than once between us, unfortunately. But, there is one problem. You _are_ my family. Even according to your own reckoning. Earlene is related to you, however distantly. And that makes you my something cousin or other by marriage. Last I checked, that is still family. And even were this not the case, you are my chosen family, and I love you. I would rather you try to be a selfish jackass and let me work out on my own whether I am able to accommodate that at any given time. Believe it or not, I do say No, if the need is great enough.”

 

“See, that’s it,” she said, leaning over to give him a hug. “You’ve never said ‘no’ to me, so can you blame me for worrying that you never would? I’ve got...Gran used to talk about ‘takers’ -- people that just took from others until they were drained, sort’v thing. I guess I’ve always worried about being one’v those, given how much you lot have given me over the years. I didn't want to go taking any more than I deserved.”

 

 _“Which is nonsense, and we had all kinds of fun telling her so,”_ Jimmy added. _“The great thing about not having a body is that she can’t throw things at us.”_

 

“Jimmy, you’re really not helping, either,” Lorna sighed. “Anyway, I didn't realize that was what I was doing, or what I was thinking. Well, no, that’s not quite right -- I did to an extent, I just didn't realize how deep it ran. You have to know by now that I like giving back, when I can, and how could I ever give back as much as you’ve given me? I couldn’t. So I was afraid I’d just be...taking.”

 

 _“That wasn’t all her gran, though,”_ Sinsemilla added. _“That was how she grew up. You didn't take more than you could give. You repaid people. Not in...not in the sense that you were indebted to them, but because when nobody has anything, you_ don't _take if you can’t give back.”_

 

“Basically, I'm a gigantic mess, but like that’s any news,” Lorna said, giving him a slight grin.

 

He reached to hug her. “You might not spend time thinking of how far you have come, but I do. And yes, I can blame you for worrying. Just because I have not ever said No to you...has it occurred to you that you have never asked at a time when there was a conflict? You just have to trust me, Lorna, that I can manage these things. It is what I do. I am not the same either, as those early days. My family has grown and they do draw off far more of my attention than when it was just the five of us. Eru, can you remember when we would have meals together and there simply was no one else? Just you and me, Ratiri and Earlene and Thanadir? It seems so long ago and yet it has only been a blink.”

 

“...Fair point,” she said. “And trust me, these four assholes haven’t let up about how far I’ve come. Driving me a bit mental, honestly.” She gave him one of her rib-squeezing hugs -- seriously, she needed to stop doing that, lest she break a human the next time she hugged one -- while Pickles investigated his hair. “Sometimes I can barely remember when it was just the five’v us. We all wound up with more children than we’d planned on, and now it’s like a zoo. I love it, though I know Chandra doesn’t -- I think the only reason she hasn’t moved into the Halls is that school’s easier to get to here, and her room has windows.”

 

She sighed. “I’ll try not to do that anymore,” she added. “The...shite I’ve learned about dealing with other people. I’ll try not to hold back for what I think is your sake, but I can’t promise I’ll be grand at it right off, so don't get pissed if I fuck it up, okay?”

 

“When have I ever?” he teased, grabbing her and giving her a noogie. Albeit a very gentle one.

 

She let out a sound that was somewhere between a squawk and an eep, flailing. Pickles was having none of it, and scampered off. “No fair, brat nezhiti!” she yelped.

 

“Totally fair,” he laughed, eyes sparkling. “But I will make you tea, since you have not yet had any. And then maybe you will allow me to talk about something that has been on my mind as well. What kind of tea do you wish?”

 

“Oolong,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him. “Is this something I’m going to need to be holding a cat for?”

 

“Depends,” he said as he moved into the kitchen to prepare her drink, where he simply raised his voice to still be heard around the hearth. “The keywords would be Donal and Declan.”

 

“Oh _no_ ,” she groaned. “What’re we going to do about them? I mean, the Council’s got to decide, but what options do we even have? All we can really do is banish them, I’d think, but while nobody’d miss Donal, Declan’s got family that actually loves him.”

 

Thranduil handed her the tea, still thankful for that wonderful on-demand boiling water. “Donal has crossed a line with me that I do not see him having the capacity or desire to un-cross. Declan is...another matter. But the point is, it will be the first time since we have formed the Council that someone will be...judged, for lack of better words. I do not have the right to unilaterally condemn Donal. Neither do you. Which is why I am wondering, how you feel this will go? It is on the next meeting agenda, unsurprisingly. I have not spoken of this to Earlene. She is not on the Council officially at the moment, and...I had not wanted to trouble her with this. Not yet, anyway.”

 

“I think I can safely say, Donal’ll get condemned no matter what,” Lorna said, sipping her tea. “If it’s got out that he did that -- and I’m sure it has, Baile being Baile -- there won’t be any problem getting rid’v him. He’s got no friends, and his only family...well, you met Sheila. She’s not going to care, nor is her mam.”

 

She drummed her fingers on her knee, while Pickles climbed up onto her shoulder. “Declan...I’m not sure what they’ll want to do with him, to be honest. He’s an expat, but he’s got family in Baile. The fact that he’s lied already doesn’t look good to anyone, and especially since he was lying about making meth. I think they’ll want to...to haul him to court, basically, and find out more about him.”

 

“And you have Melian’s crown,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “‘Find out more’ should pose no problem for you, regardless whether I am present.”

 

Lorna groaned, and somehow managed to facepalm with a cat on her shoulder. “And how in God’s name would I explain the crown?” she asked. “Unless I were to, I don't know, wear a turban or something, I can’t exactly hide it -- and if anyone saw me wearing it, they’d be too busy being confused to say much other than, ‘Why the hell are you wearing a crown, Lorna?’ Which wouldn’t exactly help.”

 

 _“Say you lost a bet,”_ Layla suggested.

 

“A turban would be ridiculous. We live by ourselves and lead quirky lives. I love what Layla just said. It is not an ostentatious ornament, and is quite beautiful. You could ask Earlene to wear her own crown, making up some silly story. I guarantee you that in the space of a few weeks no one would bat an eye about it; it would simply be something you wear. Besides, you are only balking at it because you yourself are not comfortable with it. Just...own it, Lorna. Yes you will earn a few questions, and then you will never hear anything ever again.”

 

“Did you actually just say ‘own it’?” she asked, her eyebrows climbing. “Humanity has completely corrupted you. Okay, I’ll do it, but yeah I’m not comfortable with it -- I’ve read _The Silmarillion._ I know who Melian is. Thought’v wearing her crown is a bit nerve-wracking.”

 

 _“Don't ask Earlene to wear hers,”_ Kurt added. _“I don't wanna be gross or anything --”_

 

 _“Um, yes you do, Kurt,”_ Layla interjected. _“It’s what you do.”_

 

 _“Fuck off, Layla. What I’m_ saying _is that Baile and Lasg’len wouldn’t think twice, but you really don't want the kinda confusion two women wearing crowns could cause among the expats. Do I need to elaborate?”_

 

“Possibly,” Lorna said, while equally uncertain she wanted to know.

 

_“All right, I’ll be blunt: two women in crowns could make the expats think you’re all fucking. Especially since there’s already a plural marriage.”_

 

Lorna couldn’t help it -- she actually gagged a little. At least, for once, she wasn’t eating or drinking anything. Pickles let out a trill of protest, and hopped down to the floor.

 

 _“Just saying,”_ Kurt said, not at all apologetic.

 

“Kurt, so help me…” Thranduil said, rubbing his forehead. “That is...disgusting.”

 

_“So are humans.”_

 

“Hey!” Lorna said. “It’s not like any’v the locals wouldn’t have a slap or two to say to that.”

 

_“Yeah, well, be aware.”_

 

 _“I really hate to say this, but he might have a point,”_ Jimmy said. _“Humans_ are _disgusting. We saw a whole lot, riding with Sharley over the years. Most of them seemed driven by their libidos. It was confusing.”_

 

 _“And sometimes pretty hilarious,”_ Kurt added. _“The lengths some of them would go to...kinda glad we don't have bodies, because it means, no hormones.”_

 

 _“Both of those idiots have a point,”_ Sinsemilla said, sounding slightly weary. _“You are all, objectively, attractive people. Human nature being what it is…Siobhan is hardly the only person in the world with an, er, active imagination. She’s worse than many, sure, but she’s not the only one. Add in the fact that most of the expats don't actually understand how Thranduil’s telepathy works...well, you do the math.”_

 

“Because I so needed to hear that,” Lorna said, grimacing.

 

Thranduil froze. Would it just make it worse, were he and Thanadir to finalize their commitment? The last thing he needed was to have everyone pointing at them and speculating about what went on in their bedroom. Even though it mostly already _was_ going on...but until they married there was still Plausible Deniability. _And yet what a horrid reason around which to make decisions._ Just...how was anyone supposed to know what to do, with the way humans apparently thought?

 

 _“Thranduil, everyone already thinks you and Thanadir are married,”_ Sinsemilla said gently. _“Plural marriage, among Western humans, usually means all the participants are involved with each other. It’s usually called ‘polyamory’. So if you were to come out and say you were married...everyone would probably say some variation of ‘duh.’”_

 

Thranduil looked at Lorna helplessly. “Sorry about that,” he said meekly. “This has all been...I have only not wished to make anything worse. Especially for Thanadir.”

 

“Don't worry about it,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “And...I think she might actually be right. When we -- Ratiri and I -- explained your marriage, we said you were both married to Earlene, but I don't know that we ever really said you and Thanadir _weren’t_ married to each other. And curiosity abhors a vacuum, or...something. It would be natural for them to just assume you were a true...triad?” ‘Threesome’ had too many purely sexual connotations.

 

Unseen by them, Thanadir had been standing at the entrance to the room. He could not hear the voices, but he could certainly hear the rest of the conversation. Backing away, he continued to the kitchen, to try to begin to process what he had just overheard.

 

“Well that is, ah, food for thought,” Thranduil said, blushing lightly. “There are times I wonder if the Valar are laughing,” he said, shaking his head. “And yet there are greater problems in the world. What I will take away from this is that I will not ask Earlene to wear her crown,” he chuckled, staring up at the ceiling.

 

“Are you _blushing?_ ” Lorna asked, and whipped her mobile out of her pocket before he could blink. Yes, she was getting a picture of this. “And I’m sure she’ll be able to wear it once everything settles, provided she actually wants to. She looks like she was born to wear it, not that I’ve ever told her so.” With a grin that could only be described as ‘shit-eating’, she tucked the phone back into her pocket, and sipped her tea.

 

“I will tell everyone you photoshopped it,” he glared. “Or however it is you call it when you alter photographs.” He stuck his tongue out at her. Because he was the Elvenking. Really, he was.

 

Whipping the mobile back out, she took a picture of _that_ , too. “Yeah, but _I’ll_ know it’s real,” she retorted, and stuck her tongue out in turn.

 

 _“And yet you both call yourselves adults,”_ Sinsemilla said dryly.

 

“Only when we have to,” Lorna said.

 

“What she said,” Thranduil said, smirking. Fortunately, the triangle rang, saving them from further ability to degenerate.

 

*****

 

This was their fourth lesson since his return to the forest. “I am so proud of you, Eldan,” Maglor said. Your learning is...you have done so very well in my long absence.” He studied the elfling carefully. Twelve years old now, and still very reserved. The boy looked down at his shoes at the compliment, and it was obvious that something was still very wrong. “Come here to me, young one,” Maglor asked, having an idea what was the matter.

 

Eldan obediently tilted the harp forward and went to his teacher, who took him into his arms. “I am so sorry that I left. So sorry that I had to be apart from you. I cannot imagine how hard that must have been, when I did not say even good-bye. But that is in the past now, and I am not going anywhere, except once every seven years I may visit my mother and brothers. When I do that, I will seem to be gone for maybe three months, here. I have not quite worked it out yet, the time difference. But we will not be parted again for such a long time until all of you are called to Aman. You will be much older when that happens, and we will definitely say good-bye to each other. Can you forgive me, for having had to leave?”

 

The head nodded, but tears were not far behind, as the long months of grief and sadness poured out of the boy. Maglor held him tightly, and tears fell from his own eyes. Earlene had been right--he was so loved by those here. More than he could possibly have allowed himself to understand, beforehand. “I missed you,” the small voice wailed, as the child hugged him.

 

“I know. And I missed you too, more than I can say. But we are together now, and by the mercy of the Valar I am able to still teach you. And be your friend.”

 

At that last statement, Eldan’s hands closed in tighter around his ribs. “I love you,” came the words.

 

Maglor closed his eyes, not having heard this since Elrond and Elros. What it had meant, to be called ‘Ada’ by Elrond, both long ago and recently… “I love you too, Eldan. I would like to hear one more song, if you feel you can manage?” He helped the boy dry his tears, and kissed his cheeks. A much happier young one returned to the harp, and began to play to the effusive praise and occasional correction of his instructor.

 

**

 

Sharley met Maglor in the music hall, once Eldan’s lesson was through. The kid looked a whole lot better now; there were smiles where there had been none before. She’d overheard her husband’s conversation with the boy, and it made her smile. All these children were good for him, and he for them.

 

“I think someone’s glad you’re home,” she said, rising on her tiptoes to kiss her husband’s cheek.

 

“Two someones,” he corrected, returning her kiss in a better fashion and hugging her close.  “It is hard for me to explain to you what I had, and lost, with Elrond and Elros. And what it means to have that back again, with the children here.” He hesitated to express his hope for a child of their own. The desire was there, very strong…

 

“I can kinda understand,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I had a kid, too. It’s never the same thing, but what matters is that you love them, and they love you. It’s the sweetest thing in the world.”

 

He nodded, wondering if she truly did know what it was like. What it was like to have to send those you loved on their way so that they would be free of the stain of...you. To love children so much, and have to turn away. His eyes closed, as he squeezed them shut against the terrible memories. _No,_ he reminded himself. _That was the past. The Valar have restored to you a future._ He released her, even as he wondered too if they would ever have their own. Not being stupid, he noticed that she did not speak of it. Nor was she with child. Right now, so newly returned, he did not feel brave enough to have this discussion. And yet if not now, when? “Algar will be here soon for his lesson. But...do you desire a child with me, Tirillë? Nothing holds us back, now. At least, nothing about me.”

 

“The world’s basically gonna end in five years,” she pointed out. “That’s a bad time to have a small child running around -- even one that mentally ages faster than human kids. I want one, too, but the timing’s just wrong right now. Once the new society in the Halls is stable, I’d feel a lot more comfortable bringing a kid into it. Because you know it’s gonna be chaos at first, no matter how well-prepared we think we are.”

 

She sighed. “Plus, I want to talk to Melian first, if I can -- she’s the only other Maia who had a child, so I want to ask her if it works any differently for us than it does for Elves. I mean, we only have bodies because we _want_ to, as weird as that still is to me. If I’m smart, I oughtta find out if there’s anything special I need to do to make sure I have a healthy kid. With Marty, I was more or less physically human -- just a human who didn't age. I’m different now, in ways I still don't fully understand.”

 

Whenever they got around to it, she wanted to make sure they’d do it right -- and while they weren’t the _first_ ones to do this, even the idea of being the second was a bit nerve-wracking. She was still re-learning how to Maia, a little more each day, and she wanted the advice of the one who’d already done this. That entailed another visit to Aman, but she wasn’t ready to be that far away from her husband yet -- nor, she was sure, would he be happy to have her away for what would months on end on Earth. She could wait a year or two, and still have plenty of time to go and get back well before the plague hit; by then, the thought of being parted for so long on his end wouldn’t send anxiety twisting through her.

 

Keeping his face neutral, Maglor smiled. Though, the comment worried him… ‘ _more or less physically human?_ ’ That wasn’t even _possible,_ and while he wondered what on earth she believed to be true, he had no desire to disrupt their current harmony by sounding the potentially dangerous topic of her dead daughter. It was halfway expected, something like this; and...it was true that by their customs elves did not bring forth children in times of strife. This plague might not amount to open warfare (then again, who was to say it would not?). The knowledge did not change the sense of disappointment, even though in his heart he knew she was correct. If he was to be honest, he had been denied life for so long--real life--that now a part of him wanted everything. But it was not to be, and he would accept this with humility. And not overlook his blessings, for the young one that had just left here... _of course Eldan loves his father and mother. Yet he looks at me differently, with a special love in his eyes. That alone is a blessing without price._ What mattered most was that his cherished wife was with him once more. Looking at her face, he felt overwhelmed by desire. “I wish very much that lessons were cancelled, right now.” He placed each of his hands on the outer edges of her shoulders, with a husky tone and the expression that told, _nothing on earth was more appealing than his Tirillë..._

 

“Good afternoon, Uncle Maglor,” Algar’s childish voice piped. His violin case was in one hand, a folder of sheet music in the other, as Algar greeted him. With shoulders slumping, Maglor shot a look of purest want that screamed ‘later’, and followed Algar into the room, doing his best to move his thoughts back to more appropriate topics. Eldan’s brother, so different than his twin, calmly took out his instrument and arranged his music. Of all the children, though of course it was too early to tell, Algar seemed the most like the King himself. Phlegmatic, not easily rattled. So different than the exquisitely sensitive oldest of Thanadir’s children. Seeing that perhaps Maglor still was in conversation with Sharley, he took a seat and patiently waited while checking that his strings were in tune.

 

“I’ll meet you afterward, shall I?” she asked, giving him a grin and a peck to the cheek. “I don't have anything pressing…”

 

“You do now,” he said with complete sincerity. “But alas. Standards. Etiquette.” His eyes sparkled. “I will see you soon.”

 

“You know, I _do_ have an apartment here,” she said, her little grin turning a touch evil. “So much closer than walking back to Eldamar. What time is your lesson over?” Yes, she’d been having an immense amount of fun, rediscovering a healthy love life -- possibly even more than he had.

 

“Less than an hour. I will find you,” he said quietly, realizing that Algar’s eyes were trained intently upon him. With a final peck to her cheek and a sigh audible only to her, he turned away to pretend he was a music teacher.

 

Sharley laughed, and was rather glad Kurt wasn’t around to ruin the moment. She gave him a wink, and headed off.

 

*****

 

It was after dinner, and Thanadir had been quiet much of the day, churning in his mind what he had overheard this morning. And after a great deal of thought, he had some idea of what was bothering him most, and no means by which he could understand what to do about it. But...there was one he could talk to, hopefully, who might have some insight…

 

“Calanon, could I speak with you privately?” the seneschal asked, following the other ellon and Ailill as they left the table.

 

“Of course, Hîr Thanadir. I will follow you wherever you wish.” With a kiss, he told Ailill he would find him later on, watching with a smile as his husband retreated. Ailill’s hair was much longer now, and Calanon loved the sight of it as it swayed with each step…

 

Thanadir saw their obvious love, still so strong, and sighed. Right now, he felt like the worst relationship failure imaginable. Once in the safety of his craft room, he waved his friend to a chair. _His friend_ , he thought ruefully, _with whom he should have perhaps made far more effort to cultivate an actual friendship._ They had more in common than not, and...oh, _bother_. Seating himself, he sighed. “There is no easy way for me to talk about this, so I will try to be very blunt. I need...help. Advice. Something…” His usual facade was abandoned, allowing Calanon to see the distress and worry that was most always hidden.

 

“I would do anything for you I could, Hîr vuin,” Calanon replied, understanding immediately that this was likely a personal matter.

 

“Then start by just calling me Thanadir,” the seneschal smiled wanly. “I have ever appreciated your propriety and your respect, but...this is not a matter of state. Mostly. Sort of. Valar…” his head hung down, as he struggled with the topic at hand.

 

Calanon tilted his head, desiring very much to alleviate Thanadir’s agitation. “Then perhaps I should say instead that I care about you very much, and would listen to whatever you have to tell me, and keep it in confidence if that is your wish. Or at least, as much confidence as I am able. Ailill does not fully share my ability to communicate with him via thought, but there are times it is easy to make a mistake,” he said with chagrin.

 

Thanadir’s hand waved. “Believe me, I am used to...that. We both wed mortals. I trust your discretion. I...you are the only other ellon who comes close to being in the circumstances in which I find myself. It is quite simple. I am wed to Earlene, as is Thranduil. But we are not wed to each other. Not….yet. But I would be false to tell you that our relationship is not progressing to that end. I already...know, somehow, that sooner or later all of us will be equally connected to the other.” His eyes looked up, full of trepidation.

 

“When I first heard of your relationship with Ailill, I was...taken aback. But from the moment Thranduil showed me your memories, of the words of our Powers, I never had a second consideration. Males with males is common enough in the human world, even if it is new among us. But...I feel afraid, Calanon. Afraid of what others will think, both human and elf. It is not that I am ashamed to declare my love for Thranduil, I am not. It is the….sex. It is the idea that we will be looked at, the leaders of what is left of our people, and that what happens in our bed will be a topic of speculation. Discussion. Maybe worse. I think it is well enough known that I have lived my life being very concerned with matters of propriety, and I am at a complete loss with how to manage...this. Me. Us.”

 

Calanon’s lips parted, for he had not known. Not considered. It was none of his business, and he simply had no opinion except that he loved and revered both of them. His King and seneschal had been fixtures, for lack of better words, all the days of his existence.

 

“May I ask you a question?” Calanon inquired.

 

“Yes.”

 

“When you look at Ailill and I, do you think the same? Do you see our love and spend time wondering what we do in our bed to give each other pleasure? Or do you simply see us as married in the same way you would, say, Thalion and Melda?”

 

Thanadir had to pause. “It is not in my nature, to think about sex. I am different than many. My answer would have to be, I am intellectually aware that you have marital relations. But no, I do not spend my time considering your intimate life. I simply assume that you have one, because you are wed. Just as I assume that for all who are wed. Is that wrong?”

 

“No. There is no wrong or right answer. Just me seeking to understand your thoughts. I had some of these concerns pass through my mind early on. How could I not? I was a little afraid, but not too much. The King counseled me, the Valar warned me. We were discreet, not flaunting our love publicly. I did not mind that; it was no burden. But in the end...Thanadir, forgive me, but I think perhaps you are trying to make something complicated which is really very simple.”

 

“How do you mean?” The older elf felt thoroughly baffled.

 

“I mean--it is hopeless. You cannot expect that you will please everyone, elf and mortal alike. Our own people have a new understanding of these matters. I am not ignorant; I know that some struggled a great deal with our union and yet in time, we have become more or less ordinary in their view. And as for the humans...you have seen the outside world. Each of them is prejudiced...or not. Accepting...or not. What I am trying to say is, this is beyond your control. In my way of thinking, the only thing you need be concerned with is prayer to our Lords and Ladies, and the yearning of your heart. And the feelings of your partners, of course. Really, when all else is spoken for, what else actually matters?”

 

Thanadir blinked. “You mean...I should not consider what is or is not seemly and do what my spirit moves me to?”

 

“I would not have thought to say it in those words, but...in this case, yes. What is seemly is when our hearts are drawn to our mates, and pledging ourselves to that one in love and commitment before Eru. In your case, you are blessed to find this with more than one. What of it? The Valar have guided you to this place for a reason, surely? Whatever their reasons are, that they have blessed my marriage is enough for me. I trust them, and will always try to do their will.”

 

“I did not think of any of it this way,” Thanadir said softly. “Thank you, for being willing to speak with me about your private life. I am in your debt.”

 

“No, Thanadir,” Calanon smiled. “I have been in your debt in so many ways. This is a small repayment. And, I will take my leave of you if there is nothing more?”

 

“Nothing more,” Thanadir echoed. Both stood and clasped their forearms together, as was common to the guards. Calanon left, and Thanadir sat down once again, to think in further reflection.

 

*****

# {November 14, 2032}

 

It was very early on a Saturday morning, and Ratiri hadn’t slept well. Not that that was unusual, anymore.

 

Lorna was still sound asleep when he woke, one arm and one leg slung over him, with Pickles curled up against her stomach. He tried not to wake her as he rose, hunting down pyjama pants and his robe. He’d shower later, once she was up; given it was her day off, she probably wouldn’t rise for a while yet.

 

Down he went, intent on tea. Last night he’d broken down and emailed Angie, though he hadn’t really given her details; _that_ could wait until they actually spoke. He just...he didn't know what to _do_. Lorna couldn’t lie to save her life -- she genuinely didn't hold this against him, and somehow that made it worse. She didn't hold it against him, and yet, consciously or not, she all but hid everything to do with menstruation from him. He knew her well enough to understand why, too: he’d hurt her terribly, and once wounded enough, she wasn’t the sort to leave herself open to a repeat.

 

It was so early that the kitchen was as yet empty, so he fixed himself some tea and went to sit in the Heart Room. The cats at least were still happy with him, and soon enough he was surrounded by purring fluffballs.

 

Thranduil came first out of his bedroom, wearing sleeping pants and a heavy robe that concealed a thin tunic. He was barefoot as he most always was, padding noiselessly like a great cat. Soon the smells of coffee came from the kitchen; the Elvenking had developed a fondness for this on the weekends. Just a little sugar, and plenty of cream. It took little time to make in the French press, and soon he joined Ratiri. Perhaps this was overdue. The man’s pain had not been hidden from him, but his heart had told him to wait until Ratiri fully realized that he needed help. Stubbornness of a kind was what had gotten him into this mess, and there was something to be said for waiting until a person was more...malleable, before trying to assist.

 

“I think that both ‘Good Morning’ and ‘How are you today’ will not go over so well,” Thranduil said as he sipped his coffee. “Did you want to talk about it?” The words were as soft and inviting as he knew how to make them.

 

“Yes,” Ratiri sighed, “and no. I’ve been searching myself for months now, and I still don't know why I was so...so adamant about not giving Lorna the hydrocodone. Or why I assumed…” He pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not sure how I let her go on like that as long as I did. Why it was that one thing I just didn't take seriously. I don't dare talk to _her_ about it -- I don't want to upset her, and I’m so afraid I would.” In all honesty, he hadn’t dared talk to _anyone_ , because he knew the judgment he’d get -- judgment he deserved.

 

“I will not pretend I was not mildly disappointed in what came to pass,” Thranduil said carefully. “But no more than that, and it is in the past. Do not think for a minute that I have not made spectacular blunders in my marriage. I have, and it is only my good fortune that Earlene forgives generously. It was a mistake, Ratiri, not something you are supposed to use as a truncheon against yourself for the rest of your days. I have learned something from my wife. That what matters is learning what went wrong so as not to repeat the mistake. What you are doing...forgive me, but this was Maglor’s reasoning, before he was pardoned. It did no one any good, him especially. I am here, and I am certainly willing to listen.”

 

“This was a blunder that went on for twelve years,” Ratiri said wretchedly, while Boo swiped at his hair. “She hides it from me, now. The whole...process, and everything to do with it, and thinks I don't know. That’s something abused children do -- if they’ve been hurt because of something, they hide it so they can’t be hurt again. And I'm all but positive she doesn’t really know she’s doing it.”

 

“Well, Lorna is a separate subject, at the moment,” Thranduil opined. “I have a theory about what happened, to you. Because something like it happens to me. Earlene says I become ‘Larger Than Life.’ That is her polite term for, I become too full of myself and begin speaking and behaving from a place of overweening self-confidence and assuredness. It is not too difficult to see whence it comes; look at my day job. But...you in your own way are not so different, Ratiri. A physician holds power, and is looked up to in your world. Just as I am in mine. It is not so difficult to see how it can all go to one’s head, as they say.”

 

That...made far too much sense. Far, _far_ too much. Ratiri shut his eyes, and groaned. “God, you’re probably right,” he said. “I’m sure you are. And the fact that I felt completely useless until we made the Chart can’t have helped at all. I got given power, and of course the first thing I did was essentially punish my wife for...existing, and menstruating. Hippocrates would throw something at me.”

 

“Maybe. Hippocrates did not have to cope with living with elves and preparing for a coming plague in a house with more children than one has fingers on two hands,” the King noted morosely. “Which goes back to square one. We all make mistakes, Ratiri. The question is, what will we do about them? You have the privilege of living with someone who made one of the biggest mistakes under the sun. There is your example of what not to do, and what to do, all at the same time. Might as well make use of that.” He looked cautiously at Ratiri’s face as he sipped (he was incredibly fond of this Columbian blend, for what it was worth. Medium roast.), concerned that perhaps he was pushing too hard.

 

Ratiri managed a slight smile, though there wasn’t any humor in it. “We didn't have half so many kids then,” he said. “Do you...do you mean, with your first wife?” Of course he’d wondered, but he was hardly going to _ask_ , because that would be inexcusably rude and invasive.

 

Thranduil stifled a laugh. “Oh dear. Well, I had been referring to Maglor, quite honestly, but yes, there is the mess with my first wife. And I do not mind speaking of my marriage to Alassëa, if it would help you, though the reasons that marriage failed fall equally on both of our shoulders. But seriously...there are mistakes and there are _mistakes_ . I am proud of Maglor, prouder than I can say, because he finally gained the courage to take care of addressing the wrongs for which he was responsible. He overcame his despair, at great cost. He is an example for all of us in what not to do, and what _to_ do. That is what I meant.”

 

Ratiri’s face burned, and he fought an urge to go hide behind the other side of the couch. “I’m not quite sure what my equivalent of standing before the Valar in judgment would be, though,” he said. “Lorna’s healed. I don't want to reopen that wound...but she thinks I don't know that she cries over it sometimes. I don't know if she’s less sneaky than she was, or I’m just more attuned to her, but she does, and I know it. And I don't know what to do, or if _I_ should be the one to do anything.”

 

“Do not be embarrassed, Ratiri. And just so you know, being judged was not what required Maglor’s courage. Understanding the errors in his thinking on the way to that moment...that was what required his whole heart. I bring this up because I am worried about you. You have fallen into depression, and I am hoping you will understand that seeking help is the right thing to do. You have already begun, and I very much hope you continue. I think Angie, as always, will know what to do. If nothing else, she has a skill at bringing people to talk honestly because she is a neutral party. As much as I would like to be the one to help you both with this...I am too close to the problem because I am too close to both of you. I would be afraid that my judgement is clouded, and that I would make a mistake.”

 

Boo hopped up onto the back of the couch, and started assiduously grooming Ratiri’s tangled hair. He grabbed the cat, settling her back onto his lap. “I realized, yesterday, that I hadn’t addressed my depression as a way of punishing myself,” he admitted. “ _That_ is beyond unhealthy, though I worry that one day we’ll prove too much for the poor woman. Some of the problems we’ve dumped on her...she’s used to working with the problems of small-town people. What she’s wound up being handed by all of us -- it’s like somebody laying out a patient who needed heart surgery and telling me to have at it with...I don't know, a steak knife and a stapler. Yeah, technically the training is there, but could I do it, with such little experience, and nowhere near the right tools? We need to get her something nice.” It was hard to remember, sometimes, that humans were still human.

 

“What we need are more like her,” Thranduil said, worried for this poor woman as well. They were so far beyond A Bit Much, it wasn’t funny sometimes. And just when one problem seemed resolved, two or three more seemed to sprout in its place. “But, it does me good to see that you are trying, Ratiri. I hope you know you can talk to me at any time. Even if all I can do is listen. Thanadir would feel the same. We all would. Life is hard enough without feeling isolated.”

 

“With all the new expats coming in, we’ll find one sooner or later,” Ratiri said. “I just prefer Angie because I know her. Not all psychiatrists are created equal; some are good, but some are terrible.” He stroked Boo, who purred like a chainsaw. “Thank you, Thranduil. And thank you for making Lorna laugh -- she showed me a picture she took of you yesterday, sticking out your tongue. She also told me about your worries about Thanadir, and what he will think of others already assuming you’re married. I know he’s Thanadir, and that he likely will anyway, but he shouldn’t. She’s right; I’m not sure we ever specifically stated that you and he weren’t married.”

 

Thanadir chose that moment to come shuffling in, and sat next to Thranduil, taking his hand. “It does not matter,” the seneschal said. “I have realized some things and...I will find my way. What others think is not your fault, one way or another.” He smiled at Thranduil, hoping he sounded more assured than he felt. He was trying, very hard.

 

“Indeed it’s not,” Ratiri said, sipping his tea. Poor Thanadir could be, in his own way, as sensitive as his foster-son -- he just hid it better. “But I don't think you need to worry, in any case. Baile and Lasg’len have probably thought that for ages, so they’ll just let the expats in on it, without making it a big deal.” He was not going to mention that there were more Siobhans out there, of varying levels of perversion; Thanadir really didn't need to know that at least a few of those people would probably go home and...imagine things. That was just how humans worked.

 

Thranduil correctly read Thanadir’s expression, and put his arm over his shoulder, hugging him close. Clearly they were perhaps overdue to have another conversation, but not right now. “When is Angie going to be able to come and stay, do you know?”

 

“She’s found someone to fill her position,” Ratiri said, “though Alan’s still looking for someone. I know she has a few...anxieties...about permanently moving, and she’ll miss Washington. She’ll just have to go back with us on holiday sometimes.” He couldn’t imagine what it would be like, being forced to leave your home forever -- she’d grown up in Skykomish. Yes, the Halls and the forest were beautiful, but they weren’t Washington. He’d left Scotland of his own volition; if something had forced him out, he might feel quite differently about it.

 

“Well, that is something. For us, though not for her. It is….hard, and yet necessity would have driven her here in the end. I will have to make an extra effort to keep an eye on her well being. She has given us much,” he said quietly. “Are you going to be well enough, to make it through the day? I can help you. Change your mood from what it is now, give you relief. Do not just simply tell me it is not important enough. There is not a need to suffer.”

 

“I admit, I’d feel like a hypocrite,” Ratiri said, staring into the fire. “There was no need for Lorna to suffer, either, and yet she did, because I’m an asshole.”

 

Boo chirped, as if in agreement.

 

“Thanks, cat. I know punishing myself over it isn’t healthy, but…” He sighed, and looked at Thranduil. “The temptation is there anyway. I essentially got drunk on power as the only doctor in residence, and look what I put her through. A very large part of me thinks I deserve this. She...doesn’t know this, but I’ve tried that device again. The one that mimics cramps. I think there is a need for me to suffer, even though I know, I _know_ it’s not healthy.”

 

“That is worse than not healthy, Ratiri. That is self-harm,” Thanadir said, looking at him. “I have done the same to myself before, and it was wrong. I understand, but if for no other reason than what you have just said, I hope you will accept the help Thranduil offers. Your thinking is not at all right, if this is the case.”

 

Ratiri shut his eyes for a moment. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, and I’ll try to...I don't know, at least do something productive with it.”

 

Moving to Ratiri, Thranduil folded him into a hug, seeing that without being asked Thanadir was going to his opposite side. The King smiled; Thanadir had always been compassionate. Earlene almost walked into the room before catching sight of what was happening and immediately corrected course for the kitchen. If it was what she hoped it was, then, _GOOD_ , because Ratiri had been moping more than she had. And while she had heard bits and pieces about what all had happened...there was not enough of her fully present to help right now. So she was glad that someone could. Seeing that Thranduil had made coffee, she decided to do the same, the smell was heavenly. Tea would go on for eternity. Coffee….no guarantees.

 

“Thank you,” Ratiri said, immeasurably relieved. “I hope that Angie will get back to me today, though I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t. I know that Lorna at least has been talking to Sharley’s voices -- I’m glad they can do her some good, but I’d think it would feel too much like losing my mind.”

 

“I hope so too,” Thranduil said. “And...I mean it, I am here if you need to talk. And I do not mean to the voices,” he grinned.

 

That brought a genuine smile to Ratiri’s face. “Once I’ve talked to Angie, I think I’ll talk to you,” he said. “Get your advice. This is...this is kind of outside my experience.”

 

Boo chirped again, uncertain which lap to sit on now, and he scratched her behind the ears. “Lorna can keep the voices. I’ve overheard her talking to them a few times, and their style of therapy does not sound like something I would enjoy.”

 

“They are not known for their tact,” Thranduil smiled.

 

“I’m certainly not sorry I can’t hear Kurt,” Ratiri said dryly.

 

 _“Hey!”_ the voice in question said. Lorna slept a lot, and the voices didn't, and he at least got bored. _“Just for that, I’m gonna get Sharley to give us a line into your brain.”_

 

 _“And_ how _are you gonna do that?”_ Layla asked. _“Like she’d deliberately inflict you on anyone else.”_

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. “I hope you can excuse me. I think I should help my wife prepare breakfast now.” And he hoped to Mount Taniquetil and back

that Sharley knew what she was doing when she chose to preserve...them. The Voices.

 

 _“She didn't preserve us,”_ Layla said. _“She couldn’t have gotten rid of us if she wanted to. Well, maybe she coulda, but it woulda been really hard, and like...what’s the word for when you kill your children?”_

 

 _“Filicide,”_ Sinsemilla offered.

 

_“Yeah. That. Anyway, we just want to help. That’s kinda our entire purpose.”_

 

It had not occurred to Thranduil that the voices could hear him, apart from Sharley....Eru. He did not say a word, and came up behind his wife to see if he might coax her into making oat muffins with enough kisses and ear nibbles. The kind with dried fruits in the batter. Because, muffins. Yes, he liked muffins.

 

*****

# {November 17, 2032}

 

Possibly nobody in Eldamar was looking forward to this Council meeting. The general topic had been sent out in advance to all the members, so it wouldn’t be a giant shock when they were all gathered.

 

Lorna wasn’t worried that Donal would be anything but booted; he had no friends to begin with, but what he’d done this time was beyond the pale. What she _did_ worry about was how the hell they were to carry that out, exactly; in theory, it just meant making sure he didn't enter the forest, but this was _Donal._ She was entirely certain he wouldn’t make it that easy.

 

And then there was Declan. He’d got off on entirely the wrong foot -- lying right off, and especially about what he had, really didn't look good. With him, at least, Thranduil could look at, and discover if he was worth trying to reform. If so, they could try; it had worked with Sean, after all. If not, though...the kid did have family. Family who weren’t going to be pleased by the thought of him staying out in the world and dying.

 

The question would be, what would they do if he wasn’t willing to let Thranduil look? Yeah, she had Melian’s crown, but she had little idea how it worked -- and was obviously not very good at hiding the fact that it _was_ working. She also still felt rather uneasy about wearing the thing, considering its original owner; she’d never yet worn it outside of a costume party, and part of her thought she shouldn’t.

 

 _You of all people shouldn’t be judging someone based on something like drugs,_ she thought, as she braided her hair.

 

“I never _lied_ about it,” she muttered. “And I sure as hell never cooked meth.” She had not, in point of fact, actually sold drugs -- she’d just done a lot of them. A _lot_ of them. So many that now, at age fifty-five, she could look back and wonder how she wasn’t dead.

 

She headed downstairs, cats at her heels. They were going to want cats, in the future, but they needed to be able to spay them and take care of fleas and things. Surely the elves could figure that out.

 

Earlene emerged first from their bedroom, wearing her crown. Since her return, reconciling herself to her station was one of the many changes that had occurred internally. It was not something she wished to embrace even when forced to under the blanket of her mortality, but now that matters had altered...so had a transformation in perception. Thanadir had plaited her hair to minimize its appearance, so that the ornament was more subtle than it otherwise might be. Thranduil, however, followed wearing his diadem. Earlene had not seen him wear this since they first met, and she wondered if Lorna had ever seen this alternate symbol of his office. Even Thanadir, last to emerge, bore his circlet and gem. Ailill clattered down the stairs, and on catching sight of them, was at a loss for words, and bowed his head to them. Mostly because he could not help himself; yes, he knew the rules but…

 

Thranduil laughed, giving the baffled man a half-hug. “It is on account of the relatively serious nature of the agenda tonight, Ailill. There is no need to--but it is appreciated.” Everyone was dressed nicely but somewhat formally, of the elven delegation. Earlene ignored the humorous moment going on behind her to walk straight to Lorna. “So yesterday evening was my marathon catch-up session on all that has transpired. Donal. You. Are you _kidding me_?” The words were spoken in complete disgust and disbelief, and the general hope that this was all some kind of bad joke.

 

“I wish I was,” Lorna sighed. Well, she’d stand out nicely, in her crown and flannel tunic. The rest of them looked...majestic, for lack of a better word. “I knew he was a gobshite, but I didn't think even he’d stoop so low as to try to let his bloody family _die_ just because... _because_ he’s a gobshite.”

 

Earlene studied her friend’s face carefully. “I am not going to speak tonight, because I am not actually on the Council at this time. I am pressing my luck by insisting on auditing but...I am not ready to rejoin just yet. Soon. But our side is in agreement about what must happen to him. They are prepared to explain how they would enforce a banishment, and what last-moment chance for redemption could still be held out to him. But otherwise...I hope the others are able to understand that this is exactly why the community must have rules. It...it is obscene, that anyone could do that. It is nothing short of attempted murder, in my eyes. And I’ll shut up now, so we can start walking.” Tugging her cloak around her tightly, she rolled her eyes in exasperation and made for the front door of Eldamar and the darkness outside.

 

Lorna shrugged into her green wool coat, which after all these years actually counted as vintage (and wasn’t _that_ a depressing thought). Ratiri joined her -- and, bastard that he was, took a picture of her with her crown on. She scowled at him, and flipped her hood up.

 

This late in the year, full darkness had all but fallen -- and it was certainly dark within the forest. The elves didn't need a torch, and because they literally glowed in the dark (a fact which even now made her laugh), it wasn’t hard for she and Ratiri to follow.

 

 _Did you ever tell Earlene any Irish Boyfriend jokes?_ she asked, fighting a grin and losing. Yes, the elves were pretty, but they were so relentlessly _white_ that she just couldn’t even.

 

 _No, but I am fairly certain YOU did, long ago,_ Thranduil smirked.

 

 _...Dammit, I think I did_ , she said, and just barely resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Because she was an adult. Really.

 

She was so preoccupied with not getting her hood snared on anything that she didn't at first notice that the elves weren’t the only walking flashlights. Earlene, too, had a subtle...not quite glow, but close...about her. It wasn’t the same as the elves’, but it sure as hell wasn’t anything human, and Lorna cast a startled glance at Ratiri, wondering if he’d spotted it yet.

 

_Thranduil...if I ask what the hell that’s about, what are the odds of you actually telling me?_

 

_I...Earlene’s discretion in this matter was at the behest of Manwë. We are not fully certain what has happened to Earlene. But--she has been granted not to be parted from us and granted the life of the Eldar. The Lord of the Valar asked her what she wished for most, and that was her request._

 

 _Manwë, huh? Good on both’v them. I won’t say anything, and if someone asks, I’ll just play dumb_. Another glance up at Ratiri told her he’d spotted it, too, if the slight widening of his eyes was any indication. They’d have to talk it over later, in private.

 

Earlene kept noting the glances darted at her by Thanadir, who appeared beyond handsome in his more formal clothes. Too handsome. They both did, leaving her not wondering much about how decompression from this meeting would happen...if Donal did not manage to ruin even that by the fact of his sorry existence. _Is something the matter, Thanadir?_ She had to ask.

 

_You look very beautiful, wearing the crown. I hope it is not offensive, to tell you that._

 

Earlene smiled, trying to see the stars through the trees overhead. _No. It is not, and...thank you, meldir. I feel much the same about both of you._

 

The warm smile caught out of the corner of her eye turned into an elegant hand grasping her own.

 

**

 

Earlene cocked her eyebrow at finding that Thanadir was chairing this particular meeting. _Well that ought to improve the orderliness_. She seated herself between Thanadir and Thranduil, her chair deliberately pushed well back from the table. This was, in part, to assess Ailill.

 

“Nice headgear,” Big Jamie said, when Lorna took her coat off. “What’s the occasion?”

 

“I lost a bet,” she grumbled, glowering at him. “Shut up, we’ve got a meeting to...have.”

 

Orla eyed her. “What bet?”

 

“Thranduil bet me I couldn’t go a whole day without swearing. Needless to say, I lost.”

 

Shane didn't bother trying to hide his laughter, though he reined it in soon enough. The subject of this meeting wasn’t funny in the slightest, after all.

 

“The meeting is called to order at 6:30pm,” Thanadir intoned. “All councilmembers are present. While it is a slight breach of formality, I will risk this by pointing out that Earlene is returned to us and is auditing this meeting, but is not currently a member of the Council. But I am certain I am not alone in wishing to welcome her home.” He turned to gesture to her.

 

Earlene waved to the room good-naturedly. “It is good to be back, and please do not let me be a disruption,” she smiled.

 

With a nod, Thanadir continued. “We have only one item of business this evening, on account of the seriousness of the matter. It is the judicial proceeding concerning the action of Donal of Baile, who is accused by numerous witnesses of the crime of attempting to deny an entitled family member from sheltering with us once the plague arrives. The floor is open to discussion on this matter,” he gestured to all around the table, taking his seat.

 

Lorna rose. “I’m not sure I even need to ask what everyone from Baile wants to do,” she said, “but I’m going to anyway. It’s my suggestion that Donal be banished.”

 

Big Jamie looked at Mairead. “We talked it over, back in the village,” he said. “Our faction’s in agreement.”

 

“Us too,” Shane added, gesturing to Orla and Niamh. Technically, Niamh didn't get a say, but still.

 

Privately, Geezer thought they ought to ship him off to the wilds of Russia and dump him there, but that was hardly feasible.

 

“We wish him banished,” Thranduil said, more heavily now that his ire had cooled. “And yet even so, I am willing to propose a means by which he can have a last chance. Which is that if he seeks pardon before it is too late, that his heart would be searched to see if he has changed. Five years is a long time, and though I feel doubtful given what I have seen in him, I am aware that banishment is a deferred death sentence.”

 

“So are we,” Mairead said. “And while I can all but guarantee he’ll only seek pardon to save his own skin, and not actually regret anything, I’d agree to your proposition.”

 

“And me,” Big Jamie said. He’d known Donal all his life, and knew that the very idea was pointless, but still. It ought to be done, just so they could say that they did.

 

Indira sighed. “Donal is...Donal. We spoke of what it would mean for him, if he were banished. We also spoke of the trouble he could cause, without ever setting foot in the forest. What would you say to wiping his memory of all of this, if you had to?”

 

Lorna blinked, startled. She hadn’t considered that he’d try to fuck them over in the outside world, but he was just the kind of pissant who would -- and who, in his job as magistrate, actually could. _Or we could just shoot him in the head_ , she thought, and was somewhat appalled.

 

“Pardon me, because all of you seem to know this individual whereas I do not,” Ailill said. “But do you mean to infer that this man, once told of an unfavorable judgement-- even one that would include a provision for mercy--would try to violate the agreement to keep secrecy?”

 

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Mairead said. “Now, if you give him that ‘provision for mercy’, he’d lie like a rug if he thought it would get him back in the door, but I don't think that man’s capable’v actual remorse. I've known him all his life. He was a miserable little bastard as a kid, and he’s a miserable little bastard now. I know we maybe ought to give him that chance, just so that we can say we did, but I’d be bloody surprised if he was genuine in taking it.”

 

“And there’s always a very healthy chance he won’t even do that,” Big Jamie added. “He’s always wanted to be the big cheese -- it’s why he works the magistrate in Baile. Makes him feel powerful. Thought’v giving that up...well, he might not do it. And if he doesn’t, yeah, I could easily see him trying to fu -- to make trouble with the outside world.”

 

Thalion frowned deeply. “I see a problem. If his memory is erased, he can never know that he must repent of his...of being how he is. And yet he also cannot be permitted to bring harm on all of us. I would like to know of my King...what have you seen in his heart? Is there any hope?”

 

Thranduil looked at Thalion full in the eye, weighing his words before answering. “It was my assessment that his spirit is blacker than that of an orc.”

 

Thalion nodded, and cast his eyes down, clearly upset.

 

“Some people are just born with something missing,” Shane said. “Sounds like he’s one’v them.”

 

“He is,” Mairead said. “Trust me. This memory thing...how would it work? Could you selectively erase stuff, or would you be wiping the last fifteen years? Not that anyone’d be likely to care either way, but still.”

 

“I can erase only the memory of us. But is there no way to remove him from your community?  I am guessing not, but I must at least ask. His mere existence will represent a risk. One slip of the tongue in his presence, and suddenly we have the same problem all over again,” Thranduil noted with dismay.

 

“I know you lot are compulsively honest, and all that,” Orla said thoughtfully, “but I could ruin his life fairly easily, if I just plant a few...things...and then send in an anonymous tip. But I don't know if you’d be okay with that.”

 

“It seems to me it would be almost kinder to do away with him entirely, as to do that,” Thranduil said, shaking his head. “Besides, would we not still risk that he would perceive the source of his misery, and turn on us with even greater malice?”

 

“Nobody in Baile would know how to hack anything,” Mairead said. “He couldn’t go blaming anything on us, and I'm sure he’s pissed off loads’v people outside the village.”

 

“Are we talking about sending a man to prison based on false charges, or because of real wrongdoing?” Thanadir frowned. “If we are even considering the former, I am sorry, but our behavior would be as bad as what we are condemning.”

 

“I can always see if I can dig up something real,” Orla said, privately entirely disagreeing. “Otherwise...hell, I don't know. We’ve got to get rid’v him somehow.”

 

“I might have a better idea,” Lorna said thoughtfully. “It’s hardly justice, at least at first, but if he ‘won’ the lottery, you know he’d be out’v Baile in a hot second. If he forgets everything about it and goes to live somewhere warm, the problem’ll take care’v itself in five years.”

 

Geezer rolled his eyes. “Why the hell don't we just shoot him, rather than go to all this trouble? He’s a rat in the woodpile.” Part of him couldn’t believe he was saying that, but still. From all he was hearing about this bastard, he wasn’t worth more effort than that.

 

Privately, Earlene one hundred percent agreed with Geezer. Her choice would be to either kill him outright or imprison him in the Halls, something she was basically glad she had no current right to mention. It would be one thing if this man had any redeeming value; apparently he did not. And they had already killed such as Donal. What was one more? And yet she somehow doubted they had the stomach for it, so instead the rotten miscreant would go free, and they would not have heard the last of him for the time being. Even Orla needed a little time to act.

 

“ _Kill_ him?” Mairead asked, staring at Geezer.

 

“He’ll be dead in five years anyway,” the man said dismissively. “From what Ratiri said of how this thing kills, we’d be doing him a favor.”

 

“He has a point,” Ratiri said, and yet he was repelled. It was...practical. Very practical, and sure, it was something they’d probably have to get used to eventually, but they sure as hell weren’t used to it _now_.

 

Mairead, Big Jamie, and Indira all looked at one another, and then at Lorna. Lorna and Indira hadn’t known him as long as Mairead and Big Jamie, but they knew what he was. “And just what the hell are we to tell Baile and Lasg’len?” Mairead asked. “Because...to those who don't know Donal like we do, it won’t look good. At all.”

 

“Who says we have to tell them anything?” Lorna asked. “If he dies, it’s not like anyone’ll ask many questions.”

 

 _“Sure they will,”_ Kurt said. _“They’ll ask if it was messy, or if it hurt.”_

 

 _“Kurt, you are not helping,”_ Sinsemilla said wearily.

 

“He would never be found,” Thranduil said. “He would simply disappear. While I do not like to dwell on such unpleasantness, we have guarded this forest for thousands of years. That has not always meant a happy ending for evildoers who came here.”

 

Again, exchanged glances. “I know this is easy for me to say,” Shane said, “since I don't really know the bastard, but I say, kill him.”

 

“Same here,” Lorna said, surprised she _could_ say it with such conviction. But then, there was an ugly, personal element to it, one she ought to be ashamed of -- one she certainly wasn’t about to voice.

 

Mairead rubbed her temples. “Whatever we decide, we’d best do it tonight, huh?”

 

“I’ve no use for another bloody gobsh-- person with no redeeming characteristics now or in our future,” John said sourly. “This bloke was offered the chance to be _saved_ , fer God’s sake. He’s not only gonna treat that like dirt, he might try’n expose us, or work against us, after what he did? Bog him, is what he deserves in my opinion.” Bartenders saw many things, and it was pretty damn rare that anything good ever came out of the likes of what Thranduil said he was. If the Elf King wanted him gone, it was enough for him.

 

“Well, we haven’t actually offered it to him, but there’s not really any point in doing it,” Big Jamie said. “I can’t believe I'm saying this, but yeah, let’s just kill him.”

 

“ _Don't_ bog him,” Ratiri said. “Bodies dumped in bogs don't decompose. It’s why peat-harvesters sometimes find five-thousand-year-old corpses with their internal organs still intact.”

 

Lorna’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. Ohhhh that could get...bad. _So_ bad. “How many people still harvest peat?” she asked, surprised at how even her voice was.

 

“I...don't actually know,” he said. He really, really did not like the thought of just murdering someone, but...well, he didn't have any better ideas. And he _hated_ that. Donal was a bastard, sure, but he was still a human...technically. But their other options weren’t exactly feasible.

 

“Bogs will not be necessary. I have a very large forest,” the King said, looking meaningfully at Thanadir. “I know that the weight of this choice, if it is decided upon, will fall more heavily on you.” He gestured at all of the humans seated at the table. “I am offering the elves to undertake...the deed, should this be what is voted upon.”

 

 _Ewww_ , Lorna thought. Somehow, the idea of having Donal’s rotting corpse polluting the forest was just too gross for words. “All right,” she said, “let’s take a vote. Everyone in favor of killing Donal, raise your hand.”

 

All the Baile contingent did, as did Shane, Orla, and Mick. Lorna raised hers, and knew she should be ashamed at the satisfaction she took in it.

 

Ratiri hesitated, and yet ultimately raised his. Would he feel guilty over this later? Probably. But that would be later. Of the Lasg’len people, all but Bridie did the same.

 

“I know he needs to go,” Bridie blurted out. “I just can’t...I’m sorry. Maybe count me as abstaining, rather than voting against.”

 

“Then the matter is voted on, fifteen in favor,” Thanadir noted, giving Bridie a nod of acknowledgement. “If I may...there is the small matter of the public nature of the minutes for this Council. Surely due to the sensitivity of what has been decided, according to Irish law, we must not--how do we deal with something that must remain secret?” he asked the room. “Do we have a provision for...this kind of thing?”

 

“Honestly, I don't think we do,” Mairead said. “Niamh?”

 

“I don't think so, either,” the woman said, “but we’d better make one, because I’ve got to put _something_ in these minutes. A few people do actually read them.”

 

“Earlene, you’d best know how to do this,” Big Jamie said. “I know you’re technically auditing, but I think you’re the only one who can actually decide on a precedent.”

 

“We could vote in a rule about judicial proceedings being conducted in secret because of the nature of what is discussed and a need for privacy. But honestly? What is going on is that we are forming a government which will not have legitimate authority until the outer world dissolves. Right now what we are doing is operating a star chamber, for lack of better words. I am not apologetic about that; this is our collective future. As much as it pains me to suggest this, with the consent of everyone in this room, I recommend that officially this meeting not have happened. Trot out some bogus statement that too many fell ill and we did not have a quorum, and that we sat around and ate cookies. The actual minutes will be destroyed. Then there is no evidence this highly illegal proceeding--in the eyes of Irish law--ever took place. There is never going to be a good time to have transparency about this, which does not change that it is necessary.”

 

“Best idea I can think’v,” Niamh said. “And I’d love some actual biscuits, if anyone’s got any.”

 

“Hold up,” Mairead said. “All our families know we went to this meeting, healthy, and Thranduil’s...Thranduil. Trying to fake sick when you know him doesn’t quite work.”

 

“So say you got a flat on the way here,” Lorna said. “You three carpooled, right?”

 

“We did,” Big Jamie said. “And that’d work.”

 

Earlene grimaced. “I...might be able to offer an alternative. We could talk on for a few more minutes and...we could say that we discussed inventories that I can actually supply information concerning and...argued about whether to reinstate me. But...Ailill, I do not wish to…”

 

“No, Earlene,” the man said. “I knew it was temporary. I was here in your absence, that is all. I gladly relinquish my place to you, if that is what would help this situation, with Thranduil’s consent.” A glance at his King showed a nod of agreement.

 

“Then...we could bury the actual agenda in favor of those items?” she offered to the room. Eru, this was totally irregular, but so was voting on murdering someone.

 

“John, I don't suppose we could get a pint, before we head off?” Shane asked. The fact that this was necessary didn't mean he was thrilled by it.

 

“Could use one myself,” Orla said.

 

Lorna said nothing, but was somewhat troubled by how _pleased_ she was. She should not be happy about this, dammit, and yet she thought of Donal’s little piggy eyes, as he accused her of _being still just Lorna bloody Donovan_ , and she couldn’t help it. Though she still didn't like the thought of him rotting in the forest. He’d probably poison the trees around him. Maybe they could rent a wood chipper…

 

 _The forest is full of the corpses of those far worse than Donal,_ Thranduil said. _Do not trouble your thoughts about his final resting place._

 

She looked at him. _It IS? Well, Christ, now I'll be having nightmares about zombies. Thanks._

 

 _“We’d tell you if the zombies were coming,”_ Layla said, trying to be helpful. _“Hey, at least Avathar didn't start a zombie apocalypse. That would_ really _be the gift that kept on giving.”_

 

Sometimes, Lorna wondered how Sharley had ever kept a straight face. Good _grief._

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. _Zombies. Ridiculous_. “There is one thing remaining to be discussed, if I may. Do you wish us to take him in Baile, or lure him to the forest? And do you have any rules on when the sentence is carried out?”

 

“It might be best to take him in Baile. If anyone knows he was on his way here...but then, how the hell would we even _do_ that?” Mairead asked. “Let’s lure him out here, sooner rather than later.” _Before any of us lose our nerve._

 

“I have abilities that you do not,” Thranduil said kindly. “There is no need for you to do the luring. I only need to ensure I am not transgressing what you believed would happen. Leave the rest to me.”

 

Mairead nodded. “And this might be chickenshit’v me -- sorry, Thanadir -- but...I don't want to know what you do, or where he goes.”

 

“Can’t say I do, either,” Big Jamie sighed.

 

“You will not,” the King said. “In fact, henceforth, there is nothing else to discuss beside that you will need a new employee in your government office quite soon. We all never had this conversation and...none of it ever happened. Niamh, Thanadir, I take it you can take a few moments and confer on some very brief and facetious minutes?”

 

Thanadir nodded immediately, folding the real minutes and stuffing them deep into his surcoat pockets and bringing forth a clean sheet of paper. “Then I will simply say that this meeting has reviewed food inventories of grains, and that Earlene has replaced Ailill as a representative of the Elven Realm. Otherwise we are adjourned, give or take if I could please have a few minutes with you, Earlene and Niamh?”

 

She nodded. “Sure. Shane, save me a pint.”

 

“We’ve got all sorts at the house, if John doesn’t want to go opening the pub up again,” Lorna said. _Thranduil, I am never going to be able to walk through the woods alone at night again, without expecting a damn zombie to come lurching out from behind a tree._ Seriously, bloody zombies...she’d snuck in to see _Day of the Dead_ when she was eight and had wound up traumatized.

 

 _That is utter nonsense. Not even the devices of Morgoth had...those. You need to worry about orcs and trolls and things that at least existed at one time. Then it would be sensible,_ he insisted, smiling.

 

 _Um, excuse me, wights?_ she offered. _Sure, they didn't try to eat people..._ that we know’v. _Who’s to say they didn't do a little brain-snackage when no one was looking?_

 

_Because they were like wraiths, and wraiths have no need of food. Honestly, you need to choose different films._

 

 _Just for that, I'm going to sit on you and make you watch_ Shaun of the Dead _. It’s a classic anyway._

 

Thranduil chuckled, and shook his head. _Only you, Lorna._

 

*****

 

They returned to their room at Eldamar silently, knowing that their youngest children would already have been put to bed by Ailill, Calanon or the nanny elves. Allanah was long past the age where she wanted intruders into her bedroom before sleep, which was another vague sadness for Earlene...she had missed the last wisps of her childhood in the time she was away. She was now just shy of her sixteenth birthday. Earlene remembered her own well...somehow, that year was a magic turning point that signaled the final hurtling toward adulthood. Thoughts of hobbies and whiling time away had turned more earnestly toward ‘what do I want to do with my life’ and the decision to focus herself more on academics to the exclusion of most other pursuits. Allanah had taken quite a left turn just a few short weeks ago, almost immediately after her mother’s return. In fact, Earlene realized with no small degree of guilt that Allanah had probably desired this for a while now, and had deferred expressing her wish because of the extra duties she had undertaken for the household; there wasn’t the time.

 

_“Ada Thanadir, I want to learn the forge. Everything. I have read all that I could find, about this. I am tall now, and...this is what I want to do…”_

 

Looking at her daughter, who was poised to be a little taller and possibly more powerful than she herself was by adulthood, Earlene did not think the request was a joke. Clearly, her biological mother Madison had contributed a robust physique to Allanah’s profile...and Allanah had a mind for science, having already shown leanings toward chemistry. If metallurgy was what she desired to pursue, she had the build for it and would possess a badly needed skill for their future. Of course Thanadir had responded with an affirmative hug, and they had begun the very next day…

 

Earlene shook her head out of her runaway train of thought to realize that Thanadir had helped Thranduil out of his outer garments, and was now glued to him rather like a barnacle. Not entirely sure what she was seeing, she elected to wait, and watch. Thranduil gently lifted the other elf’s chin, bringing their lips together first in a chaste kiss, but one that Thanadir quickly deepened. _And god if this isn’t the most erotic thing I have ever seen_ , passed through her carefully muddled thoughts. Though, another thing had become apparent. Now, she could close off her mind to them, if she chose. Which mostly she did not, but they hardly needed to know that at the moment they were better than an internet video. Forcing herself to breathe, she turned her eyes away and at least occupied herself with undressing and removing her braids. And crown.

 

The kisses behind her had turned into needy moans, confirming her suspicion that donning night clothes would be at best a silly waste of time. Instead she grabbed a robe. Warm, but much easier to leave off. Combing out her hair and braiding it for bed gave her a few more minutes to watch them. Their desire for each other was obvious, which left her feeling confused. _Why on earth do they not take each other?_ It made no sense, and yet there must be some kind of reason.

 

Breaking away from each other, breathless and aroused, both now turned their attention to her, inviting her to join them. Happy to comply, she quickly found herself the center of attention. And yet in a complete departure from her usual lust, she found she could not divert her mind from wondering about...them.

 

“Meldis, what is wrong?” Thanadir asked softly, coming up from suckling at her breasts that still gave some milk, peppering kisses up her chest and neck.

 

“Nothing is wrong but...I cannot...I promised myself I would not ask, that what is between you two is just that...but I do not understand. And I wonder so much, when your love is so plain to see...why do you not wed with each other?” Earlene bit her lip. “You do not have to answer. Really I should not have asked that.”

 

“No. We are wed to you, and it is a reasonable question,” the seneschal said softly, looking down. “The last time Thranduil and I discussed this, it was many months ago. He offered me a betrothal, and I was the one who wished to wait. There were...things I did not understand, Earlene. Things about myself, and fears. You were gone, and a part of me worried, was afraid that my turning to Thranduil was only to fill the emptiness of your leaving, even as I knew that this was not the case. But knowing did not stop a doubt from nagging at me. Marriage is forever; I do not think I need to tell you this. And I was thinking of the future. Entering Aman, wed to another male. That frightened me too. But the worst part of all was….our future together. That you would die in just a few short years, and then it would be he and I. I owe it to you, Thranduil, to be sure of my love for you alone, apart from what I feel from Earlene. This is what I wanted to say to you…”

 

Thranduil held him. “Meldir, you do not owe me explanations...I listened to your words, and I hope I have not pressured you.”

 

Thanadir’s finger came up with alacrity, silencing Thranduil. “No. I talk. You listen,” the elf said with uncharacteristic insistence. Taking the hand attached to the finger in his own and kissing it, Thranduil smiled and bowed his head. Smiling at his tiny victory, the seneschal continued. “What I was saying is, I have thought a great deal more. Had some conversations with Calanon, that helped me to clarify my feelings. And now I have overheard some things that perhaps I was not meant to...what you and Lorna were discussing this morning,” he said. “Thranduil, I no longer know what I am waiting for, either. My love for you will not diminish. And yet some part of me still feels as if I need time before we...that. But I now can promise myself in marriage to you, if it is still your wish to have me.” He looked into Thranduil’s eyes as he spoke these things, but now lowered his gaze in shyness. Earlene thought her heart might stop, for the sweetness of this moment...and more was to come.

 

Reaching across to draw Thanadir to him, he delicately kissed the smooth cheeks before their lips joined. “I will have you, Thanadir. Gladly. You have cared for my needs out of a loving heart for over three years. This is not about wanting your body, for me. If you had told me some years ago that I would ever consider coupling with another male, I would not have believed you. Yet I too have learned. Learned that I no longer care about the form in which your spirit is housed. All my life, meldir, you have guarded and guided me. I know that I do not want to consider my life without you at my side. Any more, I find that what I want is to be sealed to you. Not for the sex, but _for you_. If there was a way to achieve this without asking more of you, I would gladly do it.”

 

“We both know it does not work that way, Thranduil,” Thanadir said, their foreheads touching. “And...that is not what I want. If we are to marry, I know what it is I am embracing. I accept all of you.”

 

Thranduil smiled, and gently pushed him back a little to see his face. “Do you wish to wear rings of betrothal, Thanadir?”

 

Earlene blinked, as did the older elf, caught by surprise. “Oh, there is the question! I will not be ashamed of my love for you. Those in our home apparently already believed we were much further down this road. And presumably any on the outside that know of our plural marriage think the same. I...do not know what to do...but my heart tells me to follow the example set by Ailill and Calanon. Yes, I will wear your ring unless you desire not to.”

 

Thranduil smiled, and walked to a little box of trinkets private to him, returning with two silver rings. One, he slipped on the seneschal’s finger with a kiss, while Thanadir gawked in surprise. “You had these already?” Flushed with happiness, he slid the matching ring onto Thranduil’s finger where it was kissed tenderly.

 

“I am a King. I am supposed to be prepared for all contingencies,” Thranduil teased.

 

Thanadir chuckled, suitably chastened. “Does this mean we wait a year, or…?” sudden confusion swept over him, as he pondered that they had gone about much of this ‘arse-backwards,’ as Lorna might say.

 

“We wait until you are certain beyond any doubt, meldir, and ask to join with me. I am prepared to leave this in your keeping, whether it is tomorrow or ten years from now. I do not need dates and ceremonies. Only the knowledge of your love, and I have had that all along.”

 

Earlene blinked back tears at having been privileged to watch this. “I love you both, so much,” she whispered, otherwise at a loss for words.

 

“That we are all together again, is my greatest happiness,” Thanadir said. “I never thought this could be, but I am not complete without both of you.”

  
Earlene directed a smouldering grin at Thranduil, who raised his eyebrows at the clear... _was that an invitation, or a challenge?_ before Earlene proceeded to ravish an unsuspecting Thanadir. Better to enjoy themselves now, for she could guess what tomorrow might hold.

 

*****

# {November 18, 2032}

 

Thranduil had announced to the household at breakfast that he and Thanadir were in the process of formalizing their relationship. Which was to say, he grinned and held up their hands with the silver rings. Who it surprised and who it did not, he decided to ignore (Because as Ailill and the other elves in the home were the only ones caught off guard; well, that said enough). This was quickly followed by informing that the three of them would be going out to a dinner in celebration out in the world. Everyone did seem to be genuinely happy, which made him feel good in turn. There were times when even a King felt some small need for the approval of others; perhaps only now was he so thoroughly aware of what it would have meant, had he not shielded Ailill and Calanon from any possibility of derision all those years ago.

 

Calanon especially caught Thanadir’s eye, and gave him a brilliant smile of shared joy. While the circumstance of his King was not quite the same as his own, he...understood.

 

“You mean it wasn’t formal already?” Pat asked. Between the rings and the bracelets, he’d thought they were all covered by now.

 

Earlene glanced at both her husbands and decided to rescue them. Clearing her throat, she answered, “They are both married to me. Not to each other. That will be...rectified, at some point in the future.” There. That was as delicately as she could put it without discussing gay sex at the table.

 

“...Huh,” Pat said. “Did not know that.”

 

“Yeah, I thought you were all already married,” Saoirse said. Great, now there would be even _more_ sex in this house. Thank bloody God she lived in the other wing. Even knowing it was going on sometimes got gross.

 

“So does everyone else,” Lorna said, “which is a good thing.”

 

Thranduil debated the wisdom of telling Saoirse that there would be nothing more happening than already _did_ happen; it would only be of a slightly different nature but...no, that would be a terrible idea. “I understand Angie is coming soon, this time for good?” he asked softly, deciding a change of subject was in order.

 

“This trip isn’t _quite_ for good,” Ratiri said. “Alan still doesn’t have a replacement at his clinic, but he seems to be close to getting one, and they’re trying to finish deciding what to bring when they move. They don't exactly need furniture, but I know there are some heirlooms they’d like to ship.”

 

“Christ, that won’t leave many in Skykomish, will it?” Pat asked.

 

“It won’t,” Lorna said. “There’s some running the petrol station, and some running the Inn, but for the most part, I’d say about three-quarters are here now.”

 

Sharley didn't want to mention that more than a few of them were homesick, for all they were dealing with it. She spent a lot of time with them, while Maglor was teaching his music lessons, and with many, it was the same story: they’d lived in the little town for all or most of their lives. Moving _anywhere_ would have been a shock, but almost halfway around the world? The entire fabric of their lives had been picked apart, and they were working to re-weave it. She had an idea, though -- she’d need to talk to Thranduil, Orla, and John about it, but life in Skykomish had revolved around the cafe, and there was no cafe. John’s menu was pretty much limited to pub sandwiches and greasy fries, since unlike Big Jamie, he didn't have a wife who was an amazing cook. If there was any way at all to set up an American diner...so long as they didn't serve any alcohol, they wouldn’t be taking away any of John’s business. This being Ireland, everybody would probably have dinner in the diner and then go to the pub for drinks. While it wouldn’t be  Skykomish, it would at least be familiar.

 

Thranduil liked the idea, himself. _A diner. Why not?_

 

**

 

While not dressed ‘suit and tie nice,’ the three of them were nonetheless looking quite smart when they left to go to their dinner, destination undisclosed. All of them were buried in expensive yet attractive wool, which gave warmth on the chilly November late afternoon. If anyone wondered that they were leaving at 3:30 in the afternoon for dinner, they kept it to themselves. After all, if they were eating at some posh place in Dublin it made complete sense; they’d need all that time to navigate the M7. They were not able to escape Lorna, however, who lurked at the door to Eldamar in order to make note of the occasion. To live here was to be scrapbooked; that was simply how it worked.

 

However, they did not go to Dublin at all. Parking in a hidden place where next to no one was likely to spot their car, they followed Thranduil silently as he began the walk to the Baile Registrar’s Office. Thranduil exerted his power; they were all unseen by all human eyes, and no other elves were in Baile; this made their movements ghostlike. Nearing the building, he realized that it was just as he hoped. The office would close in another thirteen minutes, and the last two people besides Donal were in there now. A young couple was trying to arrange their wedding day and Donal was in his full glory, giving them the hardest time possible and bringing the bride-to-be nearly to tears. Exactly two minutes later, both stormed out with angry faces, and the poor firieth was heard to spit “ _that gobshite_ ” as she walked away.

 

The opened door gave them the opportunity to slip inside easily, where Thanadir and Earlene stood to one side and waited in complete silence. And waited. Until it was exactly one minute to closing and he had every confidence no one else would come. It did not surprise Thranduil when Donal walked to the outside door and locked it anyway. No matter.

 

“You are not yet done today, Donal,” Thranduil said quietly. “It will be necessary to register a death.”

 

“A death?” the man asked. He should have heard of it, if someone in Baile had snuffed it, and not from this Elvenking. Did nobody who lived in this bloody village have anything between their ears at all?

 

“You misunderstand me. It has not happened yet. But it is about to. It is left to me to tell you that you have been judged and sentenced by the Council for the crime you have committed, in deliberately trying to deny a family member who is entitled to my future protection their opportunity.”

 

Donal stared at him. “You _what_?” he demanded. “You can’t do that, you or your Council.” He was too arrogant, too assured of his own moral superiority, to actually be afraid. “This is still Ireland, Mister Thranduil. Plague hasn’t hit yet, so you’ve got no right to so much as touch me.”

 

“And yet it never occurred to you that I more than have the power, did it? ‘Can’ means, ‘to be able to.’ I am more than able to. The sad part is that I was the one who voiced offering you a chance at mercy. The original decision was that you would be banished from our society, and left outside to die, in payment for your transgression. For we are very much a government; the only authority that will matter in five short years. However your reputation preceded you, so I will very much be touching you.”

 

“If I'm not part’v _your_ society, you’ve got no bloody right to even be here,” Donal snapped, though a tiny knot of fear uncoiled within him. He was not blind, nor stupid; he knew how strong the Elves were. “Banish me, if you’re so determined -- I’ll ride this out somewhere -- but I never signed on to your society. I'm not under your jurisdiction.”

 

Thranduil cocked his eyebrow. “You know of us. That _makes_ you under our jurisdiction. You have come to my Halls. Occupied quarters. And yet I hardly need to be arguing with you. Your heart is black as night; you do not deserve a chance at a future, for I can see you would remain as poisonous and spiteful as you are now. We had such as you in my world of old, and you will be dealt with in the same manner.”

 

Donal’s eyes flickered to the phone, but he realized it was no use; this mad Elvenking could kill him long before the constabulary could get here. “Sod all’v you,” he said, rising and darting for the door.

 

At that moment Donal was struck blind. Thranduil told himself probably should not be toying with the man like this, but the more he behaved badly the less he could resist heaping a small amount of retribution on him. He might have had the tiniest chance to exit, but as he had already locked the door against himself…

 

“Cooperate, and I will allow you to keep your reason long enough that I might ask you one last time--why are you like this? Why, for all of your years, did it bring you joy to heap sorrow on everyone you encountered? Even begin to cry out for help, and it will be the end of you.”

 

Donal swallowed a yelp, but barely. “The world needs order,” he said, his voice unsteady with fear, “and it’s got to be earned. Break that order and...you don't deserve forgiveness. There’s some in this village I couldn’t get rid’v, for all I should’ve. If there was any real justice in society, they’d all be behind bars, where they bloody well belong.”

 

“Then why did you breach that order by trying to deny your own sister the opportunity to be saved?” he pressed. “There _was_ order. Everyone else agreed to the rules. Everyone else cooperated. You never spoke a word of objection to our plans and efforts, and were more than content to avail yourself of the benefits. How is it you are not the same as those you condemn?”

 

“She cheated me,” he said, sweating. “She’s a cheat and a liar. No society needs someone like that.”

 

“Because your sister required you to abide by the terms of an ordinary transaction of inheritance, something common to your society?” Thranduil asked in disbelief. “ _Cheating_ would have been your failure to pay your sister her share of her rightful inheritance from your grandfather. Surely you have been told you cannot deceive me, who can read your thoughts as if they were one of your forms to be filled out?”

 

“She only did it to spite me,” Donal said. “She didn't need the money, she just wanted to make sure _I_ didn't get the house. I wanted to let it out, but nooo, she didn't want the bloody bother.”

 

“You are lying, Donal,” Thranduil said softly. “And what is worse, you appear to now believe your own lies.”

 

Earlene took Thanadir’s hand, looking at the seneschal with an unhappy grimace. He squeezed hers in return, and in reassurance.

 

“I’m _not_ lying,” he insisted, rage spiking up through his fear -- the kind of self-assured, self-righteous rage that had sustained him through all this benighted village’s tauntings. “She packed up and left Baile as soon as she turned twenty. What right does a worthless bitch like that have to come crawling home at the first sign’v danger?”

 

“You are beyond help,” Thranduil said, his voice laced with sadness. “Which makes this--at least now I am certain. Nothing will hurt anymore, Donal,” he said softly, weaving his voice deep into the man’s mind, seeping into his thoughts, taking away his will. “Unlock the door with the keys in your pocket, now, and then put your hand on my arm.”

 

A hazy feeling of warm well-being suffused Donal’s mind, and he did as asked, for once in his life utterly tranquil. Thranduil watched as the man felt for the right one, inserting it into the lock and turning it. Once they were all outside, none of them visible to anyone, he had Donal lock the door behind him. “Now you will walk alongside me,” he said soothingly, as he guided the man into the back seat of their equally imperceptible car, and buckled him in before going round to the other side. Anyone watching would have seen or heard...nothing at all.

 

Thanadir and Earlene climbed in and closed the doors as quietly as possible. Now they would turn toward Limerick. They drove for perhaps three-quarters of an hour before pulling off in a rugged, deserted area. Copses of huge bushes crowded either side of the road. “You have what you need?” asked Thranduil, and Earlene nodded in affirmation. The King would remain with the car, in order to ensure that it did not exist to the sight of others. “You will go with these two, Donal. They will help you the rest of the way.”

 

Thanadir led the man by the arm, and Earlene removed a small bundle of cotton coveralls from the seat next to her, stepping into them daintily and zipping them up to protect her clothing. With a wan smile to her husband and a curt nod, she followed Thanadir and Donal into the thick brush with a large bottle of water, careful not to scratch her face...though honestly, did it matter? There was no need to go in far. With a shared look of mild sadness between them, Earlene nodded to Thanadir, who laid a deep sleep on the man and held him as he crumpled to the ground. Earlene rolled Donal onto his belly, and removed her knife from her boot. Each pair of the great vessels of his neck she quickly laid open, with her stepping swiftly back from the jets of streaming bright red blood. Both watched dispassionately for a half-minute or so while the initially powerful surges reduced in intensity. Then Thanadir raised him up slowly by his ankles and held him. There was nothing else to do but wait, and from time to time she wet and rubbed at the cuts to keep them bleeding. One minute, two...Earlene nodded a second time to the seneschal, who lowered him down completely so that Earlene could listen for a heartbeat. There was none to be found. “One exsanguination, done.”

 

Cradling Donal so that any residual blood would stay well away from Thanadir’s clothes, they re-emerged from the brush. It was the work of seconds to remove her overclothing while Thranduil opened the boot of the car. Earlene wound her garment folded longwise around his neck and head in many wraps (though it was hardly necessary) and shut the trunk after Donal’s corpse was placed inside. She brushed a stray leaf or two from Thanadir’s cashmere sweater. And so they left.

 

“At least you tried to see if there was any chance this was a mistake,” she said to Thranduil softly as they drove on toward Limerick and their dinner.

 

“Yes,” he said, smiling at his wife. “It does not bother you, does it? Not even a little. None of the other humans are like you, Earlene. Not even Lorna, who I once thought might be able to manage this better. Er, wait. What I meant was…” _ugh, it is still hard to remember what has changed._

 

She laughed. “It might be easier if you just keep on forgetting about what has happened to me. We are less likely to slip up, that way. But to answer your question...no, it does not. This was a decision, and I believe it will not be the first of its kind. I am able to immerse my mind more in different realities. I took no joy in this. I also fully believe it was necessary.” Earlene paused. “Do you think Lorna will ever get help with what happened to her, Thranduil? That she still probably believes she murdered Avathar a second time?”

 

“I risked telling Angie some time ago. The ball is not in my court, as you say.”

 

“Oh dear,” said Thanadir. “Really? That...happened, from when we…?”

 

“It did, meldir. And it is part of why I was somewhat insistent about only us caring for this matter. I never wish to harm her like that again. Maybe there will come a time but...Lorna has had much to work through.”

 

 _That’s the understatement of the year,_ Earlene thought idly, before Thanadir wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Well, at least we will enjoy a nice dinner.”

 

“Dinner and then Monty Python?” Thanadir grinned.

 

“What...do you mean…?” asked Thranduil, flummoxed though slightly worried at the expression on his intended’s face.

 

“ _Bring out yer dead!_ ” the old elf said in perfect imitation.

 

Thranduil groaned and Earlene burst into laughter about which she should probably feel ashamed. “Oh, meldir. Sooooooo bad. So incredibly bad….”

 

“Then why are you laughing?” he asked sneaking a kiss to her cheek.

 

“Because it is funny,” Thranduil said, unable to stifle a smile.   _Eru. What even was his life now?_

  


*****

# {November 18, 2032}

 

Lorna had largely given up her old habit of drinking every time she was troubled, but in this case she thought she would be forgiven for having one or two. These were rather...unique circumstances.

 

Mairead and Big Jamie had come over again, though Indira had had to work. It was well after dinner now, and they sat in the Donovans’ rec room, warmed by the rocket heater. It had a large wrap-around sofa, soft and squashy and covered in quilts (mostly made by the Quilting Club, purchased so the ladies could have some mad money). An assortment of throw rugs were lined around the bottom of it, found in various places, while the walls were painted with frescoes of Yellowstone and Ross Lake. There was the pinball machine, of course, and the are where the kids’ assorted instruments were stored when not in use, and Lorna’s weight-training apparatus, which Big Jamie privately thought looked like it was meant to be a torture device.

 

The tall, rather hideous red tie-dye lamp that had once lived in Pat’s tiny sitting-room had found a home in here, and both atop the walls and festooned from the ceiling were multicolored Christmas lights. It was a stoner’s dream-room, essentially; Lorna even had a blacklight that she rarely turned on.

 

“So,” she said, taking a sip off a bottle of her incredibly expensive whiskey before passing it on. “Donal. I’m way, _way_ too happy he’ll be dying.”

 

“To be totally honest, I'm not exactly sorry,” Mairead said, taking a sip and handing the bottle to Big Jamie. “He’s been a thorn in the side’v Baile his whole life, and...well, shouldn’t I at least be a _little_ sorry?”

 

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Big Jamie said. “I mean, he’s a gobshite, but he’s still a human. Shouldn’t I feel _something_?”

 

Lorna took the bottle back. “ _I_ feel something,” she said, after another sip. “I’m so happy I could dance, and sure God that’s got to be wrong. I shouldn’t be glad we have to kill someone, even if that someone _is_ a total bastard.” Von Ratched had been different. Von Ratched wasn’t human -- and though Donal had been a pissant as long as he’d been alive, he’d never murdered or raped anybody. He was just an asshole.

 

“He’s been more’v a jackass to you than he has to us,” Mairead pointed out, taking the bottle. “Judgmental little shit. He was always the sort to want to kick someone when they were down, though he was too much of a chickenshit to do it physically. And I don't think he ever did forgive you for lamping him out in the pub.”

 

“He went down like a shot duck,” Lorna said, the memory a fond one. “Never did know why he didn't try to bring me up on charges, though.”

 

“I threatened to kill him,” Big Jamie said, entirely seriously.

 

She stared at him. “You what?”

 

“Threatened to kill him,” he said, shrugging as he sipped. “Evidently, he believed me.”

 

“Jamie, that’s one’v the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me...which is really wrong, come to think’v it.” Lorna took the bottle back, and stretched out her legs, cracking her ankles. She wondered if they’d draw it out...Earlene had certainly had her fun with the one lad on Murder Night, to a degree that squicked even Lorna. As horrible as Donal was, she hoped they’d just get it over with and have done. “You know, on Halloween, he told me I was still just Lorna bloody Donovan, and I came so close, _so close_ to making him pay for it, but...I didn't. Well, I sort’v did -- I dropped him into the Enchanted Creek. The elves fished him out eventually.”

 

Mairead snorted, grateful she’d already swallowed her sip. “Too bad his bollocks didn't freeze off,” she said. “Sure, you’re Lorna bloody Donovan -- that’s not an insult. You’re Lorna bloody Donovan with a home and a family, and all these balls’v fluff you call cats.”

 

“Oi, no insulting my kitties,” she said, but she was warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Sure enough, Boo came skittering in, squeaking insistently. “Now you’ve done it.”

 

“Oh no,” Mairead said, rolling her eyes. The cat hopped up onto her lap and squeak-howled right in her face. “Your breath is _rank_ , cat.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Lorna said, rolling her eyes. “She’s a _cat_. Kind’v goes with the territory.” She took another sip, and grabbed Boo, when Midnight came padding in, purring her rusty purr. While she didn't look quite so spherical as Pumpkin, she was pretty close, with a fluffy tail as wide as her body. She hopped up onto Big Jamie’s lap and immediately started kneading his stomach.

 

“How much does this thing weigh?” he groaned, trying to get the creature to just sit down.

 

“A stone and a half, last time we weighed her. Go on and pet her or she’ll never settle down.”

 

He did so, and his hand was almost lost in all the fuzz. Nice.

 

“I wonder how many more times we’ll have to do this,” Mairead said, staring at nothing. “Have somebody killed. God forbid, kill someone ourselves. I know there’s good odds we’ll have to, in the future. Someday, after the plague, I’m sure some gobshite or another’ll find us, and we’ll have to do this or worse. The fact that it doesn’t feel wrong is probably wrong.”

 

“Maybe, but it’s useful,” Lorna said. “I’d rather this than the other. Can you imagine being too sensitive to do what’s necessary?”

 

“I can,” Big Jamie said, “and I'd rather not. I know there’s some in Baile who’d find this awful, no matter how much they hate the bastard. And they won’t be able to hold onto that...that mindset, once the world ends.”

 

“Worry about it later,” Lorna said. “Geezer, he’s got this saying: don't borrow trouble when the interest is so high.”

 

“Good one,” Mairead said, and sipped again.

 

“More pressingly for _me_ is that fact that there’s apparently all sorts’v bodies buried in the forest. You know how hard it’ll be for me to go for a walk at night, now? I’ll be looking for a zombie behind every bloody tree.”

 

Big Jamie laughed. “Only you, Lorna.”

 

“Actually, not necessarily _only_ her,” Mairead muttered. Hey, she’d seen _Dawn of the Dead_ far too young in life.

 

“Layla said we’re just lucky Von Asshair didn't make a zombie apocalypse,” Lorna said. “I’m sure he would’ve, if he could’ve.”

 

Mairead eyed her, even as Pumpkin hopped up onto her lap. “Layla, as in one’v Sharley’s voices?”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Yes, _that_ Layla. You’d be surprised how helpful they can be, when they’re not driving me halfway round the bend.”

 

 _“Hey!”_ Kurt said.

 

 _“It’s not like you can deny it,”_ Sinsemilla said dryly.

 

“It doesn’t...bother you?” Mairead asked.

 

“What, them? Sometimes they get annoying, but I kind’v like them,” Lorna said, sipping. “I can’t say they’re not entertaining. I don't know how Sharley kept a straight face as often as she did. Kurt might be a little shit, but he’s a _funny_ little shit.”

 

 _“Don't feed his ego,”_ Sinsemilla said.

 

 _“Don't listen to her,”_ Kurt insisted. _“Feed me, Seymour.”_

 

 _“Oh, good grief,”_ Sinsemilla sighed. _“Now look what you’ve started.”_

 

Lorna just grinned.

 

*****

 

# {November 30, 2032}

 

Angie ought to be used to this flight by now, but she still wasn’t. The D&D’s always made sure she flew business class (Aer Lingus didn't have a first class), so at least she didn't have a crick in her neck, but still. Twenty hours was twenty hours.

 

She didn't have much luggage, at least; ages ago, Lorna had insisted on taking her shopping, so she could have clothes and things to keep at Eldamar. There was plenty of furniture both here and in the Halls, so she and Alan wouldn’t have to worry about shipping or buying their own -- there was just her grandmother’s old mahogany hutch, her mother’s china, and the big, handmade trunk he’d inherited from his grandfather.

 

Honestly, she wasn’t sure what she thought of moving. It was better to do it now than later, but...she loved Skykomish. She’d lived there her whole life. The forest here was gorgeous, sure, but she would no longer be able to sit in her backyard and watch the river. There would no longer be snowy winters, unless the climate shifted drastically. Irish mountains were not like the Cascades; she’d be leaving their craggy, tree-covered slopes. Going back for vacations -- it just wouldn’t be the same.

 

Then again, Skykomish already wasn’t the same. A number had moved early, so to speak; those that remained did so in order to still keep some semblance of a working town. No, it wasn’t exactly a tourist hotspot, but the Inn did plenty of business in the winter, and if it was suddenly abandoned, people would ask questions. Questions of a sort they really didn't need.

 

 _I’m awfully old to be adjusting to such a change of life_ , she thought, as she collected her bag. It would no doubt help, once Alan was out here, too.

 

Ratiri was quite easy to spot, even through the crowd, so she wormed her way toward him. Unsurprisingly, Lorna was there, too, and took Angie’s bag. “Let’s get you home,” she said. “There’s tea and cake waiting, and then you can crash.”

 

“Thank you,” Angie said fervently. The weather, when they got outside, was wet and cold and miserable, and she thought of the first, light skiff of snow on the ground in Skykomish. It would be some weeks yet before it set in in earnest, but still. _Stop it_ , she told herself. _It is what it is._ Nevertheless, she’d had Alan prescribe her some lithium, just to be safe. She didn't need a strong antidepressant, but a mood stabilizer was a big help.

 

The inside of the sedan (Rogue One, Ratiri called it) was nice and warm, at least, and smelled faintly of lavender. She’d been quite interested to find out why Sharley had always been so partial to it; so much about the woman made a great deal of sense now.

 

Lorna glanced in the rearview mirror, rather amused to find Angie had drifted off in the backseat. Poor woman. At least she had a nice soft bed to look forward to, and a number of friendly kitties. The lot of them were quite determined to take care of her, given how much they’d dumped on her over the years; even among all the expats, she was the only fully licensed, experienced psychiatrist they’d found. _Students_ , sure, and some doctors and nurses of assorted specialties, but as yet, no other psychiatrists.

 

But even if they found another, Ratiri had said they could be such a crapshoot, quality-wise; Angie was a good egg, who actually listened and came up with helpful suggestions, but there were others out there who ignored what their clients were actually saying, and either tried to outright manipulate them or just stick them on lots of pills and call it good. “Some,” he’d said, “are just in it for the money.” Such people wouldn’t do well in their new society on any level, whether they plied their trade or not.

 

So yeah, they needed to take care of Angie, because if they broke her, everyone was fucked. Hopefully it would help that they had gently badgered her into personalizing the spare room she stayed in, so that it wouldn’t be like living in a hotel; it was far easier on everyone, including her, if she stayed at Eldamar rather than the Halls. Yeah, it was only a twenty-minute walk, but if there was an emergency, twenty minutes could be far too long -- and even if there _wasn’t_ an emergency, it was still a shitty walk to make on a wet, cold Irish day.

 

The disgusting nature of Irish November had meant all the pinballs had less to do, too. There were so many of them by now that that there were more of them than there were tasks, so they’d worked out a rather complex system for relieving each other and any of the regular workers who wanted a break. The last thing Lorna wanted was for any of the workers to come to regard their jobs as an unpleasant chore; there had been far too much of that in the outer world already. She -- and all of them -- wanted the phrase ‘the daily grind’ to die with the rest of outer society. Yes, the work was hard, but it was also rewarding, and she wanted it to stay that way.

 

Lorna hadn’t realized that she was one of a very few people who had genuinely _enjoyed_ their job before moving here. Work at Jamie’s had occasionally been exasperating, sure, but on the whole, it had been fun. She’d never sighed and counted down the days until her days off, or woken up thinking, _ugh, work._ The number of people who had been stuck with jobs they’d disliked or outright hated was appalling, and she and Pat (who also dealt with many pinballs) were determined to make sure that didn't follow them into their new society. _Pat_ knew all about being stuck in a job one disliked for lack of any other options.

 

But in the meantime, there was poor Angie, whose cake and tea might have to be saved until after she’d had a nice long nap. She was rather fond of Pumpkin, so the fluffball would just be placed in the room with her, to do what fluffballs did. At least she wasn’t one who drooled...


	140. One Hundred and Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 7-25, 2032
> 
> Dear readers...a few chapters back it was pointed out to us that we made a mistake in our dates. After lots of back and forth...we fixed the inconsistency BUT from here on out in the story, Earlene was gone in Valinor not for 2.5 years, but 3.5 years. This was the only way to repair the error without making us want to tear our hair out and bash our skulls against a wall. We are sorry for the mistake but...we are sadly not Thanadir, or Erestor, who definitely would have caught this. We give the Thanadir Award for Excellence to our reader Mademoiselle_X, who brought the error to our attention!

 

Thranduil sat in the Heart Room after breakfast, having brought Thanadir an extra cup of hot cocoa. It was arguable that he was growing...mushy, is what Earlene called it. But he found that more and more, simple things like those hazel eyes lighting up when a treat or small favor was given meant more to him now. _Did I just not care, before?_ He found himself wondering. That he had a tendency toward obliviousness when it came to the smaller details of life….that was probably true. It had ever been his lot to worry about the big things, and let the minutiae sort out with those somewhere else in their hierarchy. And yet for years, Earlene and Thanadir had made more of a fuss about those little things. Certainly, he had watched them, and thought it cute. Only now did he see that it was really more than that. Kissing Thanadir on the forehead, and seating himself between Earlene and his seneschal, he wondered a few things.

 

 _Has anything been said to either of you regarding Donal’s disappearance?_ he asked, kissing Earlene on the cheek while seeming to open his computer.

 

_No/No, came back in stereo._

 

 _Interesting_ , he thought, but gave it no further mind. Not when there were weather reports on the latest catastrophic storms to hit the continent. Weather, weather. It was always the weather, and always worsening most everywhere. So far, they had ridden the crest, adjusting their crops and varieties according to need. Earlene and their oldest twins had spent many hours researching plants more tolerant of both heat and cold, and there were the greenhouses--though a year back, some horrific winds blew that made him very glad they had paid Orla for her well-engineered work and not tried to cobble something together on their own. They were so much more fortunate than many others. Earlene had followed reports with dismay...the eastern seaboard of America, the southern states...many had simply given up, in the face of hurricane after tornado after destructive storm. Not to mention rising sea levels...and that was just one place. The problems were no longer able to be ignored, and yet the time for doing anything about them had been just that. Ignored. It was too late to change the...change.

 

“It is December now,” Earlene announced. “Today I am going to start making holiday cookies. Are either of you free to help me? Or should I say, help our sons help me?”

 

Thranduil felt torn. On one hand, this meant delicate orange and yuzu biscotti filled with tempting nuts for his morning coffee, and those delightful little teacakes that were not too sweet. It also meant chocolate everywhere, and his seneschal on a sugar buzz that would last until the New Year. Oh well, there was nothing else for it, he was a father. “I will help,” he said to her with a smile.

 

Earlene leaned forward to see Thanadir’s nearly maniacal grin. “I will take that as two Yes.” Somehow, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and turned her attention to her vast collection of recipes.

 

“Can I help, too?” Shane asked. He’d taken a shine to baking, even if  he was somewhat paranoid to be using the kitchen at all. Hey, he wasn’t stupid; he knew his aunt, and how his aunt felt about it.

 

“Of course you can,” Thanadir answered, surprised but pleased. “I believe she means to start after lunch. Maybe we can make the cutout and press cookies first, Earlene?” This of course had _nothing_ to do with the fact that he loved to decorate (and eat all the cutout cookies and pressed ones that were not perfect). Earlene looked up and nodded, grinning at Shane. Lovely boy, who had his priorities straight.

 

 _Thranduil, where did Donal get...stuck?_ Lorna asked. _Because wherever it is, I’d like to avoid it. I hope he doesn’t poison the trees._

 

 _I do not know. Caring for that matter was delegated. You can rest assured you will never find it,_ he smiled, hoping she would drop the matter. He had no intention of spending the time needed to hunt down the one assigned, and who was assigned in turn, on and on. Or at least, he strongly preferred to do other things. Like help with cookies.

 

_As long as he doesn’t rise from the bloody grave...yes, I’ve had nightmares. Sue me._

 

Angie watched them all. They seemed much...calmer, now, than they’d ever been during her previous visits. Oh, she’d had a long talk with Ratiri about his mishap, and there was still the ongoing substance-abuse problem, but beyond that, they seemed relaxed. Happy. It was a nice change.

 

Thranduil looked up at her suddenly, and quickly averted his eyes. _Oh, if the poor woman only knew the half of it._ “When will you make biscotti?” he said to no one in particular, hoping to divert attention from his impulsive choice to make eye contact.

 

“Those take a lot of oven time, so, probably not until tomorrow,” Earlene murmured. “You want the orange-cranberry ones again this year?”

 

“Mmmmmm-hmmm,” the King smiled.

 

 _“Are you gonna make muffins?”_ Sinsemilla asked, unable to help herself. Sometimes, Kurt rubbed off on even her.

 

Lorna groaned, and actually facepalmed. She’d had to watch those videos all over again, just because, and was reminded of how very demented they were. “Sinsemilla...no.”

 

Angie looked at her. She knew that Lorna heard Sharley’s voices, but she rarely addressed them directly when anyone else was around.

 

“Do I even wanna know?” Sharley asked.

 

“No,” Lorna said at once. “I’ll show you later.”

 

 _“Don't you like BRAN muffins?”_ Kurt put in.

 

“Actually, no, I don't. Does _anyone_ like bran muffins?”

 

“I like bran muffins,” the King said, perturbed at having to respond affirmatively to anything Kurt asked. “Earlene makes them with shredded coconut, sultanas, cranberries and other nice things; they are quite delicious.”

 

“Does it even count as a bran muffin, if there’s actual tasty stuff in it?” Lorna asked.

 

 _“I’d say so,”_ Kurt snickered.

 

“Earlene can make anything tasty,” Pat said. “Possibly even…I don't know, Soylent Green.”

 

“ _It’s made’v PEOPLE!_ ” Eris snickered.

 

“Don't even ask,” Lorna warned the younger children.

 

Earlene looked up, realizing that both of those speaking….could not know. Would not know. _But honestly, ewww. Then again…_ “It worked for the Donner Party,” she quipped. _Bombs away..._

 

“Ooooh, we learned about that in school,” Donna said. “And I read this book, _Alive_ , about a Chilean rugby team that crashed in the Andes and had to eat their dead people.”

 

“Not just after breakfast, for Christ’s sake,” Siobhan said. “I read that book, too.”

 

“But it was really interesting, how they made tools and how they tried to cook--”

 

“Donna. Allanah. _Hush_.” She sounded so identical to Lorna when she said ‘hush’ that it was disturbing.

 

Earlene started to speak again, utterly feeling like being a shit, when… “Meldis…” was said with a warning tone.

 

“Party Pooper,” Earlene fired back, but in a pleasant tone of voice.

 

Lorna grinned into her tea, while Siobhan fought an urge to roll her eyes.

 

Sharley looked at Thranduil. _Angie’s used to hearing from you, telepathically,_ she said. _Can you ask her if she’d be willing to talk to me about the voices -- about loaning them over to her?_

 

Thranduil looked up and explained to Angie in slightly longer form what all was possible these days given Sharley’s healing, and saw the woman nod in assent--which surely Sharley had also observed.

 

In truth, Angie was curious. She’d heard Sharley interact with the voices for years, and they seemed to be as amusing as they were irritating. Lorna also seemed to find them...interesting, and certainly helpful. And if they could aid her in dealing with the mess that was Murder Night, she was all for it. _Thranduil, when we do deal with that, I'd like you to be there,_ she said. _The voices can’t restrain Lorna, and I’m nowhere near stupid enough to try._

 

_I will be there when you wish. If I have proved nothing else, it is that holding Lorna lies within my capabilities._

 

 _Good. Thank you. I say we try this in the cottage, just to keep it away from other people. It could be...well, it’s Lorna, who knows what it could be._ All the reading in the world couldn’t prepare her for whatever that tiny woman might do, once this delusion was broken.

 

_You will have Sharley there as well?_

 

_Yeah. She doesn’t intend to do much unless she has to, but she’ll be there._

 

Sharley was...pondering. She knew of at least a dozen ways this could go south, and she wondered if taking a peek at how this turned out would be a good idea...but Vairë had warned her. It wasn’t something to be done lightly, and yet would this be a good time to do it? Lorna was...well, this might well break her, for a while. If she hadn’t done such a number on the asshole, it might not, but she really had gone to town on the poor dude. Yeah, he’d been a rapist asshole, but still. Not many people actually deserved to have their face cut up like that, let alone have their throat ripped out. Just...ew. Sure, the Stranger had done all kinds of nasty shit, but it was...well, it was the Stranger. Not human.

 

Thranduil sighed. He hoped his sigh was inaudible. Poor Lorna, and yet this could not go on forever. _Why was it always something_?

 

“I think we will do both sugar cookies and gingerbread,” Earlene murmured. “And the real question is, do I have enough meringue powder for royal icing?” Murmuring, she rose to check her ingredients stores.

 

 _“If it wasn’t something,”_ Layla whispered to him quietly, _“if it wasn’t something, it would be nothing, and that would be boring as shit.”_

 

Sharley heard that, and choked on her tea a little. Oh Layla.

 

“So Lorna, I’d like to talk to you in the cottage tomorrow,” Angie said. “It’s nice and private.”

 

Lorna wasn’t sure she wanted to know why, but she’d go with it. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll bring sandwiches.”

 

 _T minus twenty four, and counting,_ thought Thranduil with sympathy _. Sometimes it was necessary to try and find the humor…._

 

“You can take some biscuits,” Shane said. “As long as Atia doesn’t get into them first.”

 

Said Atia stuck her tongue out at him, but said nothing. Very smugly.

 

“Good luck with that,” Earlene said drily. “These need decorating, and you have to fight Thanadir for all the mistakes.”

 

“Hey!” the elf protested, until everyone in the house simply stared at him. “Well, someone has to eat them,” he said meekly.

 

“I’ll fight for like...one,” Shane said, too lazy to do more than that.

 

Earlene grinned, but kept her silence.

 

*****

{December 8, 2032}

 

Lorna made sure the cottage was nice and toasty before everyone arrived, and brewed a big pot of tea. Cream and sugar were both available in plenty, and some of Shane’s biscuits. Sandwiches had not happened, as she had not been foolish enough to try to get in Earlene’s way in the kitchen, but biscuits went better with tea anyway.

 

Sharley had gone with her, but Angie arrived later. Getting used to the voices had been...interesting. Sharley had at least bullied them into letting her get a good night’s rest, but she was still somewhat...disturbed. Kurt was...well, he was Kurt. That was the only way to describe him.

 

Lorna got her furnished with tea, and was rather grateful they had enough armchairs to go with the sofa, lest somebody have to sit on the kitchen table.

 

Thranduil came last, finding a place between Lorna and the door. More than a little, he felt sorry for her. After all their household had been through, she should be able to sniff out something like an intervention similar to a rat catching a whiff of peanut butter. Hopefully they had the good sense to eat _first_ , not after.

 

“So, are we here for any particular reason?” Lorna asked, passing out the tea. The biscuits went on the coffee-table, in a big pile.

 

 _“Yeah,”_ Kurt said, before anyone else could stop him. _“It’s about--”_

 

“Kurt? Mute,” Sharley said. Good fucking grief… “Yeah, there is, but eat a damn cookie first.”

 

“That is not exactly setting my mind at ease,” Lorna said. “Not remotely, actually.”

 

 _“It’s okay, Lorna,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“It’ll be all right.”_

 

“Also not helping,” Lorna sighed. “People hardly ever say that when they actually mean it.”

 

“She means it,” Sharley assured her. “Lorna, this is about the night you all went out to save Ailill from the homophobes.”

 

“The night I killed Von Ratched again?” she said. “What about it?”

 

Sharley and Angie winced in sync. “Thranduil, would you like to say something?” Sharley asked. _It doesn’t have to be_ that _thing, but Angie wants her in the right mindspace, or something._

 

“Lorna, Von Ratched was killed once _for all time_ on Old Lasg’len Road by the sword Anguirel, the only thing that _could_ kill him in all this world. You were there, I was there, Earlene was there. Thanadir and Ratiri and Earlene were all shot. You did not kill Von Ratched the night we went to save Ailill, because he was dead. Dead, dismembered, and disposed of, after you...wee’d on his remains in the bog,” he said softly.

 

“Yeah,” Lorna said, sipping her tea, “and then I killed him again. What’s your point?”

 

 _“Lorna, no you didn't,”_ Sinsemilla said gently. _“His name was Jack. He was a rapist, and a general...gobshite...and you were so fucked-up in the head after the whole mess that morning that you kinda...snapped.”_

 

“Um, no,” Lorna said. “That was Von bloody Ratched. We sort’v established this, didn't we?” she asked Thranduil.

 

“No, Lorna, we have not. Something happened to your mind that night that I could not foresee or prevent. Sinsemilla has told you the truth. I have told you the truth. You killed an ordinary man that night, as did we all. We killed six men that all were some of the worst of humanity. Rapists, murderers, and all six of them meant to cut Ailill to ribbons. And they were not going to stop, had we not ended their lives. I ordered their deaths, and you elected to kill one of them yourself. His name was indeed Jack. The only place Von Ratched existed that night was in your mind, because as I just explained, he died once and for all time when Anguirel drained his spirit. He did not come back; there is no such thing as killing someone ‘again’. I am so sorry. I love you, and for a very long time I have been very worried about this. Afraid to confront you, lest I cause an irreparable problem.”

 

Lorna stared at him. Yeah, she’d killed Von Ratched that night, because who else would it have been?

 

 _“Lorna, your mind was twisted into a pretzel and then you got told it was a murder mission,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“You couldn’t handle it. Something snapped. The man was just...some random monster.”_

 

All right, that was just about enough. Lorna was up and out of her chair so fast she nearly dropped her teacup. Fuck this bullshit.

 

Like lightning, she found herself seated in Thranduil’s lap, held gently but inescapably. “I cannot let you leave like this, Lorna. You are a danger to yourself right now. I am sorry.” There was a measure of grief in his voice. He had hoped, so much, that it would not be...this.

 

 _“Lorna,”_ Sinsemilla said, _“stop fighting. Just...you know, somewhere in you, that he wasn’t Von Ratched. You know that.”_

 

“God _dammit_ ,” Lorna snarled, “what the fuck is wrong with all’v you?”

 

“Nothing, Lorna,” Angie said. “This is the truth.”

 

Sharley knew that Lorna simply couldn’t get this from Thranduil. It would not end well if she did, but Thranduil was not the only telepath in this room. She went to sit beside the poor woman, who wasn’t struggling half so much as any of them might have thought. “Lorna, stop,” she said gently. “You aren’t gonna like this, but the truth’s better than a lie, no matter how ugly it is.”

 

She didn't drag up the details -- that would be too much. She just pulled the man’s face from Lorna’s memory, ridding her of the delusion her overstressed mind had coughed up. Dark eyes replaced pale, and sandy hair replaced blond. “This was the man you killed. He was a multiple rapist, a domestic abuser, a thief, and a homophobe who meant to violate Ailill in the worst fucking way. He was one of six -- Thranduil and Thanadir killed two, Earlene had one, and you had Jack. He deserved to die, Lorna. You don't have to feel bad that you killed him.”

 

The poor woman’s mind was under too much strain as it was, but this had to be done. _“You were right to kill him,”_ Sinsemilla concurred. _“We don't know for sure what he might have done, but it probably wouldn’t have been anything good.”_

 

“He woulda just found another Ailill,” Sharley said. “They all woulda. One who didn't have anyone to save him. They’d’ve found someone who didn't have anyone to save him, and done what they were gonna do to him, or worse. You _know_ what they had planned for him.” She paused, and took a calculated gamble. “Dammit, Lorna, _you know what it is to be raped._ Those fuckers woulda done that to others, just with...with a _thing_ and not a dick. _He had to die_.”

 

“ _NOT THE WAY I FUCKING KILLED HIM, HE DIDN'T!_ ” Lorna screeched, and tried her best to launch herself at Sharley. “God _dammit,_ we weren’t supposed to kill _ANYONE. That is not what I fucking signed on for when I got behind that wheel!_ ”

 

“That is also not true, Lorna. I explained to you halfway to Galway that there was a strong possibility that we would kill that night. That is why there were tarps, in your van. For the bodies. And that is why I admonished you _not to participate_ if you even _thought_ it might cause a mental or spiritual difficulty for you afterward. Some part of you chose to do this, and I believe it was because of what had happened earlier that day. Your brother learned you had been raped, when you did not want him to. You...lost it. And then that very night, this happened. You are right, you didn’t sign on to kill anyone. You were willing to drive us, and I will be eternally grateful for your skills that night. But the rest of what you are saying is a distortion.” Thranduil’s voice was as kind as possible, but unwavering. He was not about to back down from the truth now; he had been there, and his memory was flawless.

 

She turned to him. “ _You_ told me...you said, _halfway there_ , that you didn't mean for any’v them to leave alive, or something like that. I thought we were just going to beat the shite out’v some people, not _murder_ them. I couldn’t -- shit, I couldn’t do anything else, not by then. Not after fucking _Pat_ , and his fucking inability to just _SHUT THE FUCK UP._ He didn't need to know that. He _shouldn’t_ have known that. _Nobody_ should’ve. _”_

 

“Lorna,” Sharley said, touching her hair. “You went into something unprepared, with your mind already...upheaved...and took your rage out on someone who deserved it. This was years ago now. You did not do anything wrong. Nobody did, that night, except the assholes who got killed. You weren’t exactly in an ideal frame of mind to be doing that, but you did what had to be done.”

 

“No, I didn't,” Lorna said. “I sliced up some bastard’s face and I _ripped his fucking throat out,_ and on what fucking _planet_ is that ‘what had to be done?!”

 

“It is war, Lorna. It is war, and they were enemies. What is really going on here is that you do not wish to confront the brutality with which he was killed. So I will simply tell you, it was no less than he deserved.”

 

“It’s _not war_ ,” she hissed. “It’s not. They were the kind’v gobshites I’d beat up out back’v a pub, and god dammit, I thought that was all we were going to do. I didn't know I was driving the fucking murder van until we were halfway there.”

 

“It _is_ war, Lorna,” Sharley said. “You know what they woulda done.”

 

“That doesn’t make what I did right,” Lorna whispered. “That doesn’t...if I had to do it, I should’ve...I should’ve done what Thranduil and Thanadir did. I shouldn’t’ve...Sharley, you know what I did, I know you’ve seen it. You know…” Words gave up at that point, as her tear ducts belatedly realized they had an actual function.

 

Thranduil spoke silently to both Angie and Sharley. _I have reached my limit with this discussion, and can say no more that would be in any way helpful. I had my own obligations that night, and one person’s frame of mind is not going to erase eighteen thousand years of knowing what it is I have fought. I am sorry. I will remain here to hold her, but it is better that I now keep silent._

 

 _That’s what she needs right now,_ Angie said, trying not to let on that for once, her professional detachment was close to failing. _The delusion’s broken. She’s accepted what’s happened, but it’s overwhelming her right now. Just let her cry._

 

Cry Lorna did, while Sinsemilla whispered soothing nothings at her. Sharley, drained, sat back in her armchair. Poor Lorna...she’d gone out anticipating something fun; beating up someone who deserved it. What had actually _happened_ ... _Thranduil, you’re gonna need her in things like this in the future, but you’ve gotta give her warning first. She needs to learn how to do this, though for fuck’s sake not right now. If it hadn’t been for Pat that morning, that...mess...wouldn’t have happened. While it’s probably best she told him, shit did he have awful timing._ Not that the poor man could possibly have known what would come later, but still.

 

 _Perhaps we should talk about this later, in private. I have my own concerns about this now, but I will hear what it is you have to say,_ he said, absently rubbing Lorna’s back. He had misjudged this. So, so badly. It had been a serious mistake, not to have put her in the vehicle with Ailill to prevent her from participating.

 

 _I did this and I can’t ever tell Ratiri_ , Lorna thought, despair eating at her. She’d never told him she’d killed Von Ratched again, just because...she wasn't sure why. It had never occurred to her. But this, now...she couldn’t tell him. He’d never forgive her. At the very least, he’d never look at her the same way again -- but how could she look at _herself_ the same way? No matter how much of a shit that man had been, she’d tortured him before she killed him. Thranduil, Thanadir, they’d just broken necks and had done with it. What Earlene had done was...ew, but she hadn’t taken her time about it. She’d done this, this horrible thing, and she _couldn’t tell anyone._ Not her husband, not her siblings...Jesus, she’d all but bathed in the asshole’s blood. What had she called it? Her baptism? She’d been free of Von Ratched then, she’d had her revenge and her..her…

 

 _Why couldn’t you let me keep my delusion?_ she asked sadly.

 

 _I think you just answered your own question, dear one._ Thranduil tried to keep his mental voice as level as possible.

 

 _I was happy with it,_ she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. _What I did to that lad...it was okay, when it was Von Ratched, but...I tortured him. I didn't just kill him, I...how do I live with this? With what I did with those knives? If I’d...if I’d done what you did, what Thanadir did, that would be okay, but I_ didn't _. I made a mess, and I enjoyed it, and God, Thranduil, there’s no way that’s right. You’ve never -- never done that, have you? Enjoyed killing someone like I did?_ She felt...lost, and he was the only anchor she had.

 

 _For you to not be feeling this way, I now wish I had torn all of them limb from limb and left them to bleed out on the sand._ He pinched the bridge of his nose. _Lorna, I cannot count those I have killed. If I did not do as you did, it was because I had not the luxury of the time in which to do it. And, there is something I wonder if you have ever understood. Every time you ever went out to ‘just beat someone up’ you risked murdering them. There is no means by which to ensure that any kind of assault will not have repercussions far beyond what you intend at the outset. It is the risk of violence, and why I have never deployed it without reason. I will be honest, my mind can barely process that you are willing to seriously assault another, beat them to a bloody pulp, but as long as you do not kill that one, all is well in your mind. Had I realized this nuance, I would never have allowed you to participate. I feel as though I made a grievous mistake that has damaged you._

 

She looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes. _If it makes you feel any better, you’d’ve had to knock me out to stop me,_ she said, wiping her nose again. _I mean, I guess it was sort’v...inevitable I’d’ve done something, but…_ a sad attempt at a smile crossed her lips. _If someone dies because I beat them up, it’s manslaughter. Which wouldn’t make any sense to you, I know, but it was...there’s...when you grow up like I did, you need someone to look down on, and everyone looked down on murderers. It was just...what you did. It’s why I don't kill people, or didn't. But...you’d really do what I did, if you had the time?_ There was something...it wasn’t quite hope, but it was something akin to it. If she could feel even a small measure less of this self-loathing, she’d take it -- and if Thranduil would have done what she had, given the time, she wouldn’t feel _quite_ so wretched.

 

_You will not see it this way, because you do not belong to me. To me it is not murder. I am Ailill’s King, Lorna, and I defend my own. That was an act of aggression against one of my own just as surely as if those men had come to my Gates. Where one of mine is in the world matters not to me. My vengeance will fall where I deem it must, because I am the highest authority here. I do not acknowledge the rules of the outer world except to ‘play nice.’ I was here first, and I am not a murderer. I have never taken a life without reason. You helped save one of my own, and I will never forget it. Do with that what you will._

 

 _I’m your sister-from-another-mister,_ she said. _That’s...kinda belonging?_ Her sobs were dying down now, and she was just...tired. So tired. _Shane...that’s what he did. He told me when it was okay, and when it wasn’t, but I never killed anybody until that night. Not on purpose, I mean. Thranduil, I can’t tell Ratiri about this. There’s no way he’d understand. And...I’ll be honest, that’s the hardest thing, right now._

 

“You have me. You have Sharley. And Earlene and Thanadir and Angie too. What do you feel like you need, Lorna?” How to help her, he was not fully sure.

 

 _Angie’ll kill me for this, but I need a hug and a drink. Or, like, a bottle. Or five._ Just at the moment, she settled for hugging him so hard she was pretty sure she heard his ribs creak. _I’ve never had to keep a secret this big before. I can’t, on my own._

 

He hugged her tightly. “Why don’t you say this to Angie?” he coaxed gently.

 

“Angie, I want a drink,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I want a load’v drinks. All the drinks. All’v them in the world.”

 

Angie, by now, had her mask of professionalism back. “Lorna, that won’t help you in the long run,” she said. “You know it’s a terrible coping mechanism, but in this case, I would say that one couldn’t hurt.” Yes, it _was_ terrible, but she’d just been through a horrible experience she couldn’t share with half the people she loved.

 

“...How big’v one?”

 

“A normal-sized one,” Angie said. “One mixed drink, in an ordinary glass. And if I have to prescribe you something, to see you through the aftermath of this, I will.”

 

“I am not a doctor, but that is the most sensible solution I’ve heard in awhile,” Thranduil said to Lorna, giving her a very slow motion noogie. Very gentle. Very slow. But unmistakably showing a lack of adult behavior.

 

She let out an _eep_ and flailed slightly. “Keep that up and I’ll never tell you what ‘brat nezhiti’ means,” she said, but couldn’t help a smile. It was a watery smile, but it was there nonetheless.

 

 _“We could tell you,”_ Layla said.

 

Lorna cast a glare in the voice’s general direction. “Don't you dare.”

 

Thranduil just smirked. “Now what do we do?” he asked of Angie and Sharley.

 

“First, we get her a drink,” Sharley said, rising. “Then, I think we could all benefit from a nice walk in the forest. It’s not raining right now, at least.”

 

 _She needs to be in a frame of mind to be around other people again, before she goes home,_ Angie said. _She’s going to have to keep this secret from the rest of her family, for now, and that’s going to take a lot of emotional energy. I agree with Sharley -- let’s go for a walk, and see how she does._

 

“Do you want to ride on my shoulders?” he offered, just to cement the not-adulting.

 

That brought a real smile from her. “As long as I’m not going to hit my head on every branch we pass under,” she said, rising with some difficulty. She’d brought a bottle of Fireball back to the cottage, and hidden it under the mattress in the master bedroom. Mixed with some Coke, it was passable, though there wasn’t much ice in the tray. “Anybody else want one?”

 

“No thanks,” Sharley and Angie said, almost in unison.

 

Thranduil sat on the floor so she could climb aboard, once she had her drink. “No boo-boos,” he affirmed, smiling, as the four of them sauntered off into the forest.

 

*****

{December 11, 2032}

 

The low dose of Xanax Angie had prescribed Lorna helped quite a bit in the next days, and if she went to Thranduil more often than normal for hugs, it was doubtful many noticed. Earlene and Thanadir would have even if he hadn’t told them what had happened, but since she usually ambushed him in out-of-the-way places, nobody else was likely to.

 

Sharley, however, was troubled. Ever since the Valar had fixed her, she could no longer see the history of anyone or anything, distant or recent. She’d only been able to in the first place because her brain had basically been scrambled eggs, and her ability had...cross-wired, for lack of a better term. And while she’d been quite happy when Thranduil gave her a means to control it, she found she really didn't like losing it entirely. The longer she went without it, the more it felt like losing a limb...and the day of Lorna’s intervention had just made it worse.

 

Reading the past in Lorna’s mind was quite different from reading her history as an outsider. The human memory was fallible, and easily bent -- obviously, or this wouldn't have been a problem in the first place. Once upon a time, Sharley would have been able to see everything. _Everything_. Now that was gone, and she was left with an ability she’d been heavily cautioned against using. No, Vairë hadn’t outright _told_ her not to, but when a Vala warned you to be careful about something, it was best to listen. There had been a purpose to looking at exactly _how_ the world ended, but she really couldn’t justify just...trawling the future.

 

She and Sinsemilla had had a good long talk about that one, because it really _was_ troubling, in its way, and literally nobody in this house was going to understand. The closest thing would be Thranduil losing his telepathy, but given that he’d never actually done that, he wouldn’t get it. To have her mind whole again was a blessing beyond measure, and yet she couldn’t help a sense of loss. Eighteen thousand years of seeing the history of everything was a long time even by Maia standards. A year was nowhere near enough time to get used to it, and never had it seemed more dire than Lorna’s...intervention.

 

Yellowstone in particular had stuck with her -- seeing the ghost of the fire overlaying the restored forest, the phantom heat and the remembrance of smoke. She didn't just see, she _felt_ , and that was lost to her now. Forever.

 

There was, however, one thing she could do, a thing suggested by Layla. Her memory now was no longer flawed, and her ability to weave wasn’t tied to Vairë’s Halls. She didn't have the magic threads the other weavers used, but the Elves had very good ones. So she would sit at her loom, in the D&D’s warm common room, and weave her memories of the past. Though her and Maglor’s bedroom was large, they were running out of space to put them.   

 

Given that the workload was drastically reduced in the winter, Saoirse often had time to sit and watch her, usually while drawing something herself. Weaving fascinated the girl -- honestly, she was a young woman now -- as did Sharley’s ability with it. That much of that ability was magic didn't seem to deter her in the least.

 

There had been practice-runs, lots of them, but now it was time for Yellowstone. Even the eruption of Mount St. Helens hadn’t been so complicated, because it hadn’t required quite so many hues. Sometimes she used the shuttle, but others she stitched by hand, both as a focus and to make sure the tiny details were right. It acted as a kind of focus -- and, because she could see out the window to the wet, dreary, _cold_ Irish December, she could be grateful to be inside.

 

Today, though, it looked like it might snow, so much so that she risked a tiny peek into the immediate future -- checking on the weather could hardly hurt, and she saw there would indeed be snow by the afternoon. The weather had been so insane in the last five years that honestly, one never knew what was going to happen; somehow, though the general temperature of the Earth had warmed, winters were a crapshoot. Some years there was next to no snow, and others they were buried, seemingly without rhyme or reason. Angie and the other former Skykomish people, she knew, would be happy to see some. When one was used to living in Snow Land in the winter, nearly endless clouds and rain could get...disheartening, and Lorna was not the only one currently using the aid of psychiatric medicine.

 

Hopefully, the Council would go for her idea about the diner. There was an empty building that had once, thirty-odd years ago, been a restaurant; there hadn’t been enough clientele to keep it going, given how small a village Lasg’len was, but it was still there. It would need a hell of a lot of _work_ , sure, but life in Skykomish really had revolved around the cafe, and the Dining Hall just was not a substitute. Her people were struggling, and she didn't know how else to help them. All the kitchen shit was already there, stove and oven and prep spaces -- it just needed care and cleaning, and probably some re-wiring -- so it wasn’t like they’d have to outfit the whole thing from scratch. The booths and chairs were a lost cause, and it was in need of paint and new flooring ( _desperately_ in need of new flooring; that carpet was like a 1980’s reject), but it would mean that by the time the last from Skykomish came, it would be there, already up and running. And honestly, the decor of the real cafe was so simple that it probably would be neither hard nor expensive to duplicate it in the Cascadia Cafe 2.0. If designed right, they could keep using it after the world ended, too; they just needed stoves and ovens that could also be heated by wood, and a fireplace.

 

 _“And American food’ll be good for them,”_ Layla said, hovering at her right shoulder.

 

“It will.” Earlene cooked fantastic American food on occasion, but those who lived in the Halls were often deprived, unless some of them were on kitchen duty. Elven food and Irish were both very good, but they weren’t like home.

 

 _“Yeah, all that’s missing’ll be the mountains,”_ Kurt said. He was behaving...suspiciously well, honestly, and Sharley wondered what he was up to.

 

“I’ve got an idea for that,” she said. “Saoirse, I don't need it yet, and might not for a while, but you remember what the mountains look like from the Cascadia Cafe, right?”

 

“ _Duh_ ,” the girl said. “You want me to paint them?”

 

“I will, hopefully. I have an idea, I just have to get your aunt and uncle to move it through the Council.” And no, she was not at all above asking Lorna to use her superpower. The people of Skykomish were hers to take care of, and though they didn't complain, she knew just how many were desperately homesick. Summer vacations almost seemed to make it worse for some. The Halls would become home, in time, but that didn't mean they couldn’t grease the wheels to get it there, so to speak.

 

“Make sure Aunt Lorna wears her crown,” Saoirse said. “It weirded everyone out. Maybe they’ll still be too weirded out to protest.”

 

 _“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,”_ Layla said. _“And she does look kinda...almost creepy in it.”_

 

Sharley knew what she meant. Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir had ‘majestic’ on lockdown. Crowns looked natural on them; they projected authority as naturally as breathing, tall and beautiful and regal. Lorna was tiny, and nobody could accuse her of being either regal or majestic, and somehow, an Elven crown managed to make her look more like a fae of dubious morality, who just happened to have a penchant for flannel. Yeah, it was creepy.

 

 _Later_ , Sharley thought. _Bring it up later._

 

**

 

“I want to talk to you both,” Earlene began in the pool early one morning. “Allanah’s birthday is coming up quite soon. She is turning seventeen, which for human children...at least in here...it is an end of childhood, with the full rights of being a legal adult just around the corner. Allanah has been a wonderful daughter, never giving us a whisper of trouble. I do not know if you understand how rare that can be, for a young person to always be amiable and never veer from a straight path. I want this to be special for her, and...I am not quite sure how. But I think I want it to involve something very big. Perhaps a vacation that we take her on, just her, to someplace of her choosing. Like me, I don’t think that she cares so much for material things, but it is also customary for a father to bestow his daughter’s first piece of jewelry. At least, if he has the means, and you most certainly do. I would know what you think about this?”

 

Thranduil blinked, and Thanadir was not too far behind. _Deer in the headlights_ , Earlene thought…

 

Finally the King cleared his throat. “What sort of jewelry?” he asked, realizing that his two eldest biological daughters were not far behind...and were half-human.

 

“Something delicate. Pretty. A necklace, something not at all like the one I wear….perhaps something more resembling what you gifted Lorna so long ago. I would suggest rubies to match her hair or sapphires to match her eyes. Diamonds are good. It should be something she would feel she could wear every day, which means, not something so ostentatious it could only be for a special occasion. The most important thing is that you should choose it from your heart. You are the only father she will ever have. Both of you. She does not remember the days when Thanadir was not fully involved in the fabric of our lives. Whether or not you realize it, you both are the biggest influence she will ever have on what kind of a mate she chooses, her self-esteem...many things. I am just so grateful that you have both been wonderful fathers to our children. I have known many women who did _not_ have wonderful fathers, and they struggled in their personal lives because of the lasting effects of not having had a good example of what it means to be a man.”

 

“I am a good example of that?” Thanadir asked baffled, not quite able to frame this thought.

 

“One of the best,” Thranduil said, leaning in to kiss him. Earlene was not far behind, wrapping her arms around him. It was somehow convenient, that she could tuck her head under Thanadir’s chin if she just bent her knees in a certain way. Everyone sort of fit together nicely.

 

“Oh.” But the old elf looked pleased, and smiled.

 

“Anyway,” Earlene continued, insisting on tracking back onto the subject at hand. “Give it thought. Christmas Day will be here before you know it. I will of course find her other, smaller gifts. I vowed when she was little that she would not grow up a spoiled brat on account of the money Aidan left to her. But now...she has exactly four and a half years in which to enjoy any of it, and I am not going to deny her the opportunity to experience what she can.” With a peck to each of their cheeks, she glided back out into the kitchen to prepare for her next round of holiday cookie baking.

 

“Why does that last part worry me?” Thanadir asked softly.

 

“What, the cookies or the enjoying Aidan’s money?” Thranduil asked.

 

“The latter.”

 

“Because you know our wife?”

 

*****

 

{December 25, 2032}

 

“Happy seventeenth birthday, daughter,” Earlene said, hugging her eldest. “I am more proud of you than I can say.” With a kiss to her cheek, she backed away and grinned. “And you are taller than I am now.”

 

The lunch table was filled with delighted faces. Of course the meal had been whatever Allanah wanted, and like any sensible teenager she chose pizzas. While Earlene supervised generating the crust for the mass quantity of delicate pies that would come out of the oven, Thranduil and Thanadir and Shane dutifully undertook the not inconsiderable task of preparing all the choices (tomato or pesto garlic cream sauce) and Algar helped as well; he was in charge of the smaller toppings like capers and sliced olives. Faeleth helped by gliding seemingly everywhere, keeping items washed and the kitchen orderly. All in all the magnificent meal was enjoyed by the whole family, and now it was time for her to open what seemed to be like a veritable mountain of presents.

 

“I...there are so many…” the slender redhead said, more than a little overwhelmed. Yes, her family had always given nice gifts to make her birthday special, but this was ridiculous.

 

“You are only seventeen once,” Thranduil said, also giving a bear hug and a kiss to the cheek before whisking her high into the air by her waist just as he did when she was a small child, earning a scream of surprise and delighted giggles. Hugging him on the way down, he did not have to say it. She would always be his little girl.

 

“Where do I start?” Allanah asked, modest like her mother.

 

“We made you something,” Atia said, dragging Supri forward. The younger girl handed her cousin a present that was...sort of well-wrapped. It could have been worse, anyway. “Well, each of us made one.”

 

Inside were slippers made of wool, which she was told was from Icelandic breed sheep. “Oh…..thank you both, these are so nice!” bending down, she hugged the two of them in appreciation. “And just in time for the coldest weather, too!”

 

They hugged her back, and scurried off.

 

The presents from Pat, Grania, and Lorna the Younger all came in the form of a big bag of smaller presents: gift cards to Dublin department stores (though _not_ in Stephens Green), including an offer from Lorna the Younger to take both her and Earlene out to get makeup, should they so desire. The Lorna in question didn't wear much except on special occasions, but what she had was good quality. There were warm socks, and a flannel nightshirt with the O’Sullivan pattern silk-screened onto it.

 

“Oh Nana, That would be so much fun. Can we?” the hopefulness danced in her eyes. She had not experimented much with cosmetics, though she knew her mother wore some on special occasions. Seeing Earlene nod and smile brought out a “Yessssss!” that caused everyone in the room to chuckle.

 

Next she chose a very small box, curious what could be in it. It was from her Nana. She involuntarily sucked in air, when she saw the brilliant emerald set into a delicate weave of mithril.

 

“It is meant for your pinkie finger,” Earlene said softly.

 

In disbelief, she slid it onto her finger; the fit was perfect.

 

“Tough enough to wear no matter what you are doing,” her mother smiled, knowing that Allanah had been taking her studies with Thanadir very seriously and had already graduated to making simple things like hoofpicks and hooks. Effusive thank-yous followed.

 

“Now whose do I choose?” she asked, blushing a little at being the center of so much attention.

 

“Us and Saoirse made this for you,” Chandra said, bringing over a large, squashy package. “Admittedly, she had the hard bit, but still.”

 

There was a compulsion to squeeze and shake the package, just to be able to guess--but that was a failure. Giving up and tearing it open, her eyes widened with sheer clothing lust. Shaking out a cloak and gracefully draping it over her shoulders, the happiness on her face was unmistakable. The fabric was mostly black velvet, with embroidery that matched her hair in designs that were suitably elven. The coppery threads shimmered as the fabric moved...it was...beautiful.

 

“Ooooh, Earlene said, blatantly envious. “Nana might beg to borrow that, from time to time.”

 

From the Siobhan branch of the Donovan family came an assortment of hair ornaments of carven wood, accented with metal or agate -- Siobhan’s handiwork. The twins had made her bracelets of thin silver (their Gran knew a bit about that herself, and had taught them what she knew), while Eris, who had turned out to be a champion knitter, made her gloves of soft, deep green cashmere.

 

“Thank you,” Allanah said. “Thank you everyone, so much.”

 

“Oh, we are not done yet,” Thanadir said, handing her a box that was...small, but not tiny. “This is from both Thranduil and I.”

 

Almost afraid, Allanah opened it to find a mithril necklace. It was delicate in the extreme, a chain made up of what appeared to be leaves. And every individual leaf was scattered through with tiny emeralds. It did not scream ‘wealth’ so much as ‘artistry,’ and was one of the loveliest things she had ever seen.

 

Thranduil lifted it from the box to place it around her neck. _You have given me great joy, daughter, and soon you will begin going out into the world more. Doing things, enjoying your freedom. While it is your choice, I would like it if you would always wear this, but especially when you are outside of our forest. It does far more than simply grace your beauty. I can explain more later._ Clasping it firmly, he kissed her once again as she blinked back tears.

 

“There is more, underneath the velvet,” Thanadir prompted her.

 

And there she found two earrings that matched the necklace, and was rendered speechless. Thanadir understood, and hugged her while murmuring sentiments of his own in her ear. Except his were designed to lighten her mood, and whatever it was he said made her laugh.

 

“All right, so I apologize that I had to steal some’v your laundry to measure this, but I did,” Lorna said, passing over another squashy package. “Ratiri and I put this together, and somehow kept the kitties away.” Pumpkin, who was curled up in a ball of fluff on Ratiri’s lap, made a slightly disgruntled sound.

 

Earlene looked at the cat and wondered if the other half of the house was ever going to restrict the obvious feline overfeeding going on...but it was not her place to say. The damn cat was as round as its name implied….but she was distracted to see that Allanah had a patchwork robe in warm, heavy velvet. Good as a bathrobe or, from the looks of it, just a robe in general. “Ooooh, that is really pretty, Aunt Lorna,” she commented, smiling to see that Ailill seemed genuinely envious of this item. Now she knew what to get him next year.

 

Sharley brought hers forward -- it was actually two packages, one large and one quite a bit larger. “I learned how to make something more than a belt,” she said. “Something for my sunshine girl who turned into a sunshine woman.”

 

Within the smaller package was a cloak, long and warm and very soft. It looked to be black, but she’d woven in hair-fine threads of the same shimmery thread Saoirse had embroidered the tunic with. When moved in any way, it looked as though a sunrise rippled across the morning sky, a fiery orb that rose or fell depending on how the fabric shifted. Yes, she’d put magic into it. Vairë would probably forgive her.

 

Allanah engulfed Sharley in a hug. This was...obviously she had been raised with reverence for the Ainur. And when all the great changes happened, and Sharley and her Nana had to go to Aman, her Adars had not kept what was occurring a secret from her. They deemed her to be of a disposition and maturity such that they felt she deserved to know much of the full truth. Many of the long months had been spent reflecting on the strange chance that this immortal (though odd) being had latched onto...her. Her, who by contrast was...nothing, really. This gift was priceless, and Allanah knew it. Though, maturity or not, it was difficult to process that she had these kinds of blessings. Her biological mother and father might be gone--and it had not escaped her attention that no one ever spoke of him--but in their stead was a powerful Elvenking, and a Maia who loved her, not to mention her own aunt-turned-mother. It seemed to her, while she would have liked to have known her real parents, a far greater grace was now hers.

 

“I wish I hadn’t missed the last of your childhood,” Sharley said, hugging her back, “but I'm so proud of who you’ve become. Of who you’re still becoming. You’re a wonderful woman, Allanah Sullivan.” She kissed the girl’s forehead -- yes, she’d grown quite a bit, but she still wasn’t quite as tall as Sharley. “The bigger package is a blanket for your bed, that I hope might remind you of the Cascades, once we can’t go back again.”

 

Out of all the D&D’s, only Saoirse wasn’t surprised by Sharley’s creation, for she’d been lurking in the background while it was being made, sketching away. Once the shape of it became more obvious, she’d asked a thousand and one questions, only half of which Sharley could actually answer.

 

“This is from four of us,” Ailill said, presenting a package of rather peculiar dimension. “Calanon, Quen, and Maglor.”

 

Allanah laughed. “I won’t be guessing what this is too easily,” she said, baffled, tugging at the strings that bound the wrappings. Once they fell open, she stood transfixed, to bring out the polished bow of yew, intricately carved. There was a quiver, and a good two dozen arrows that went with this. She simply stared at the weapon, not really able to believe this was for her.

 

“They asked me what you were best at,” Thanadir said softly. “And you have excelled with the bow and made no mention of it to anyone. You have earned this, Allanah. Care for it well.”

 

“I...thank you, uncles. I hardly know what to say or how to thank you. This is…”

 

“Do not worry about what to say, Allanah,” Thaladir blurted out. “Go shoot something.”

 

The entire room erupted in laughter. The young peredhel was nothing if not practical.

 

“He has a point,” Sharley said. “Well, you’re seventeen now. It seems like you were just a baby the last time I blinked.”

 

“That’s not just because you’re...as old as you are,” Lorna said. “I feel the same way. Kids grow and change so fast that all of a sudden they’re not kids anymore. Allanah, your name might mean ‘little dear one’, but you’re not little any longer.”

 

“I suppose not,”Allanah grinned. “It’s not my fault?” Yes, she had heard this before. All of the children had.

 

“There is another gift,” Calanon said quietly. “It is from all of your siblings, from really everyone in the household; everyone contributed a little. But it cannot come inside.”

The youngest triplets were now visibly bouncing in place on the laps they had colonized, so great was their excitement. They were young enough that it was still asking a great deal of them, to keep a secret.

 

“I made sure it was a mmmmmffff” Lancaeron started to say, before both Erynion and Andaer silenced their brother by hands around his mouth while they smiled innocently.

This caused Allanah to shake with laughter, going to kiss her brothers.

 

“I think we should go see it then, so I do not strain your endurance any longer.” _More presents? How was this even possible? I have never had so many nice things in all my life…_  It really did feel more than a little overwhelming. The entire lot of them walked outside, where Thalion was holding the reins of a stunning white mare, and offering them to her. All the air absolutely left her lungs. “For me?” Allanah could hardly breathe. She had not only done well with the bow, but had excelled in learning equestrian skills--proving to be a fearless yet prudent rider.

 

“For you,” Thanadir said, kissing the crown of her head. “She is an Irish Sport Horse of very good lineage. We hoped you might be willing to let us have her be mother to some foals. But she is yours, and if you do not want that we would abide by your wishes. Would you like to ride her for awhile?”

 

“Valar, yes,” the girl whispered, still in utter disbelief. This was the kind of horse you looked at in magazines, or on the Internet, so perfectly groomed that she gleamed. But still the girl remembered to turn to everyone. “This is the best day of my whole life,” Allanah said, knuckling tears away. “Thank you so much. Thank you everybody…”

 

“Go on then,” Thanadir nudged, knowing that it was all too much right now. He did not dare mention that there was yet one more gift, a private one from just her parents. That could wait until later. With flawless technique she sprang up with her hands on the withers, mounting in a fluid motion with the same grace as her mother. “What is her name, Ada?”

 

“Aine. Just return her to the stables when you two are done with your ride.”

 

Earlene sensibly offered Allanah the cloak Sharley had given her; it was much too cold to ride without something extra. With a smile the size of the forest, Allanah and Aine walked off into the nearby trees.

 

Lorna shivered, plastering herself against Sharley’s side. It had snowed on the twelfth, then thawed, then snowed again, and Sharley reflected that she needed to make her tiny friend a coat or cloak as well.

 

Allanah looked so natural on that horse, like some ancient Celtic warrior-goddess. Under the leaden sky, her hair was as bright as a flame, and the shifting, shimmering sunrise and sunset on her cloak all but glowed.

 

Lorna, being Lorna, brought out her mobile and took a picture, but Saoirse committed the scene to memory. The Uncles and Aunt Earlene would get a painting for their birthday/anniversary, because that made one hell of a striking image.

 

“I’m going to go back inside,” Earlene said, knowing there was now a full meal to start working on. “Thank you, everyone, for making this so special for her.”

 

Lorna, shivering, said, “I’ll join you. She’s a wonderful girl, and she deserves it all and more so.”

 

The household filed back in, and Earlene immediately switched her mind to what came next, because it was a very big...thing. “Alright, back to the fire, those who were tending it. Calanon, Ailill, Maglor, Quen, Ratiri, Pat...I’m going to need a bed of coals inside of the hour and I know there is a supply of ale out there even you can’t vanquish.” Yes, she had decided to let this play out along gender lines, because _why not_? The centerpiece of tonight’s meal was a whole, spit-roasted lamb that had been butchered and prepared earlier this week over at the farm. A substantial extra butcher’s block had been wheeled into the kitchen just before the opening of the gifts, to allow some of the chill to come off of the carcass before it was time to prep it. A mountain of garlic cloves stood ready, with piles of rosemary, oregano, day-old bread, parsley, olive oil and bottles of wine.

 

Pouring herself a very generous goblet of the liquid ingredient, Earlene took an appreciative swallow before closing her eyes. _Lamb. Turkeys. Stuffings. Salad. Mashed potatoes and turnips. Cranberry jelly. Pies are already made. Rolls. Two kinds of vegetable. Yes, I can do this._

“Shane, Thanadir, I wondered if you would help me prepare the lamb? Lorna and Sharley, I’m going to need a mountain of potatoes and turnips peeled. Anyone I’m not mentioning, the vegetables for the main course, roasted cauliflower and spiced carrots, those also will need cutting and peeling. There are workstations all along the countertops near the window, with knives, peelers, bowls and cutting boards ready. Any questions?”

 

“Oh good, something I can’t fuck up,” Lorna said, grabbing a peeler.

 

“I think we’re good,” Chandra said, glancing at Atia. The pair of them would handle the carrots, just...because.

 

Sharley, being wise, dragged in a couple of chairs from the dining room, and pulled the baskets of spuds and turnips out of the way, so that she and Lorna could peel without risking getting stepped on.

 

“Peeling potatoes reminds me’v my gran,” Lorna said, as she set to work. While her cooking skills were dubious, she did know how to peel a potato. “I’d broken my leg in the accident that killed Liam, so there wasn’t a whole lot I could do, but I helped her around the cottage, and one’v the first things she taught me to do was peel potatoes. The number’v times I nicked my fingers at first…” She laughed. “I’d bleed on the potato and she’d tell me to just dig out the bloody bit and throw it away.”

 

“Well, she was Irish,” Sharley said, grinning. “Of course she wasn’t gonna waste a potato.”

 

“Thank god you didn’t have any blood-borne illnesses,” Earlene snorted, as she indicated to Shane and Thanadir what to do. At prescribed intervals, everywhere there was decent muscles mass on the lamb, they were using their thin knives to part the muscle (with the fibers, not against!) to make just enough room to slip slice after slice of garlic clove directly into the meat itself. “Else I could just see the whole house coming down with something awful. Blood on food...actually, blood anywhere.” A note of generalized shuddering ran through her voice.

 

“It would’ve cooked out, I’d think,” Lorna said. “Blood’s not something I’d want in my food, but Christ knows I bit enough people when I was younger -- and no, young lady, that does not mean you get to,” she added, pointing the peeler at Chandra, who suddenly looked very interested. “I was an eejit. You’re theoretically smarter than that.”

 

“Yeah, theoretically,” Atia muttered, laughing when her sister elbowed her in the side.

 

“My god, weren’t you worried about getting hepatitis? Or worse yet, HIV? People’s blood that you don’t know is...well, Russian roulette comes to mind,” Earlene asked, shaking her head as she expertly parted the pieces of muscle. The garlic and oregano were already taking over her senses. It was wonderful...and another sip of wine made it more so. Strangely enough, she actually did not mind at all that the wine could not affect her. The flavor was just enjoyed so much, and now she could drink it without consequence.

 

“I didn't know what hepatitis even was, then,” Lorna said. “And all we knew about HIV was you got it from sharing needles or fu-- sleeping around.” Wow, that had been close. “Because, you can’t get HIV by swallowing it, unless you’ve got, I don't know, a canker sore or something.”

 

“It doesn’t take a canker sore,” Sharley said. “Even a little tiny cut in your gum would do it.”

 

“What she said,” Earlene. “Not to mention if there was a lesion in your esophagus or….too risky for my tastes.”

 

“But...I _liked_ biting people,” Lorna said wistfully. “I won’t go into why or I’ll put you all off your dinner, but...it was like, my signature thing, in the gang. I bit. Hard. And not in the fun way.”

 

“ _Ew_ , Mam!” Chandra said, wrinkling her nose.

 

“What? I said it _wasn’t_ in the fun way.”

 

Her daughter glowered at her. “That implies that there _is_ a fun way. Just...no.”

 

 _Meldis, do I want to know what ‘the fun way’ is?_ Thanadir’s soft yet slightly confused eyes found hers.

 

_Have we somehow not done that? Hm. It just means, biting your partner during intimacy as part of the enjoyment, but not so hard as to truly hurt anyone. Not everyone likes it. I will confess to exploring this a little with Thranduil. But part of their reason for wanting to do it is to leave marks and bruising...it has never really appealed to me, to have the sexual equivalent of writing ‘I was here’ on my mate. And with elves...the bruises fade very quickly. Did you want to try?_

 

_Maybe? I have to think about this. I am trying to get past liking biting people._

 

_We both are, meldir. Have some wine. It really is rather nice. Dry, but fruity._

 

Quirking an eyebrow, he went to wash his hands and find himself a glass.

 

 _Biting, hmm?_ Sharley thought. She and Maglor had not tried _that_ yet, and she knew that he’d never ask. If _she_ asked, however, she wondered what he’d say. Having a guilt-free, shame-free love life was far too much fun, and they’d been exploring all sorts of...interesting...things. He was a gentle and chivalrous lover by nature, but quite happy to indulge her curiosities.

 

Chandra just grimaced. She understood Saoirse a lot better than she did anyone else; she still found the very idea of any kind of sexual relationship distasteful at best, and gross beyond words at worst. And unlike Saoirse, she didn't even want to steal a child. Cats were fine by her.

 

The Lump lumbered in, sniffed everyone, and came to rest by Sharley’s feet, rubbing her head against the woman’s leg with an expression of adoration. “This cat is in love with my husband,” she said. “That’s the only explanation. Well, at least, she’s in love with his backside.”

 

Lorna was not going to say that Maglor actually did have a rather nice arse. Nope. Not gonna.

 

“I’m sure he loves that,” Earlene said, the words drawled out with utter dry sarcasm. It had not taken long to realize that out of their extended family, Calanon was the one who actually really liked cats quite a lot. Maglor and Quen were utterly indifferent, so of course the cats chose Maglor.

 

Sharley laughed. “I’ve trained her out of sleeping _on_ his ass, but she still likes curling up next to him...there. And purring.” Sure enough, that cat currently sounded like a motorboat on the fritz.

 

Earlene smiled by way of a response, and felt vaguely glad that Tail had always remained sensible about these things. Yes, he wanted affection. Sometimes. But he rarely tried to take over the bed at night, preferring his private fleece that was over the mass of their rocket heater (and invariably the warmest place in the room.) Honestly, given what happened most evenings and every morning, it was for the best.

 

A knock sounded at the front door, and Lorna set her potato aside to answer it. Unsurprisingly, it was the O’Reilley army -- Mairead and Kevin, plus all four of their children, and children’s spouses/partners (Kevin Junior was the only one still single) plus three grandchildren, all age six or under.

 

“C’mon in, all’v you.” Christ but it was cold out there, and Lorna was damn glad of their nice warm house.

 

Watching them enter was rather like standing out of the way of a stampede of bison, and it only grew more amusing when Mairead automatically told everyone to take their shoes off. Lorna, Chandra, Atia, and Supri took an assortment of coats, most of which had to go in the Quiet Room.

 

“All right, Earlene, you’ve got more helpers,” she called.

 

“Hi Auntie Lorna.” Niamh’s daughter, Bridie, was about three, an adorable little muppet with her mother’s curly ginger hair and her father’s soft brown eyes. Mathéo still looked disturbingly like Thanadir, and Niamh still didn't seem to notice.

 

“Now haven’t you got taller,” Lorna said, picking the girl up. “You’ll be as tall as your mam in no time at all.”

 

“Her mam could use a drink,” Niamh said, even as Mairead all but elbowed her way into the kitchen.

 

“Okay, Earlene, point me at something. Sure God doesn’t that smell amazing.”

 

“There are workstations for all the vegetables that need sorting. The turkeys are salted and drained but we need to start on the herb paste for the cavity and the outside. Food processor and pile of raw herbs are in the corner where the vegetable people are working and...you’ll have to share the olive oil with us, but we’ve got about 15 more minutes before we’re ready to oil the lamb and get the cavity stuffed. But if you could deal with the turkeys and the stuffing that’d be a lot...I don’t stuff the birds themselves. All males of drinking age are outside prepping the coal bed for the spit. On the downside, it’s hotter than hell dealing with that and it’s going to be hours of work to trade off. On the upside, there’s three kegs of Guinness that were full a half hour ago.”

 

“You’ve got a Scot out there, and a load’v Irishmen -- I’d count on them being dry in an hour,” Mairead said, washing her hands so she could dive right in. Niamh followed, though Shannon took little Bridie and both her children on to the Heart Room. Atia followed, leaving Niamh to take over seasoning duty. Mathéo, because he really was Thanadir in human form, took over for Chandra, who scooted for freedom.

 

Lorna got Niamh her asked-for drink, as well as one for herself -- she’d forgotten how monotonous peeling potatoes could be, after a while, and a rum and Coke made it a bit more tolerable.

 

“True enough, which is why there are four elves making sure it doesn’t all go south. And probably Thanadir and Thranduil will get in on that eventually...where is Thranduil, anyway?...he was going to make sure everyone had things to drink…”

 

“I am here, meluieg,” the King said, appearing from who-knows-where. _I have brought you our wine. All I ask is that you keep it high up where no one can know._

 

_Oh Eru, is that wise? But...you know where the little...the wire things that have baubles on them, that I use to put around the wine stems so we can all keep straight whose drink is whose? Please find the one for me with the gaudy candy cane. Hopefully that will prevent you needing to, uh, intervene because someone else drank it._

 

 _As you wish,_ he smiled, gliding along to do as she asked.

 

Earlene remembered something else. “Mairead, when you manage to navigate that, would I be pushing my luck to turn the brioche rolls over to you? The dough is rising now...you know how crazy sticky that stuff is until the butter goes in.”

 

“Pass that over to Kevin,” she said. “Believe it or not, he’s competent when he’s not at home.”

 

“I love you, too,” the poor man said dryly.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m never letting you live that barbecue down,” she said. “I’m sure Grania and Lorna the Younger thought we were all mental.”

 

“It did give us some fair warning,” the latter said, breezing through in search of juice for all the kids.

 

“There is sparkling apple juice on the serving cart just outside the back door,” Earlene said. “It made sense to use the Refrigerator of the Great Outdoors. And….alright Kevin, the recipe’s right there with the rising vat of dough. And the baking tins. Good luck.”  She hoped to hell Mairead knew what she was about; they didn’t have enough leftover loaves for this many people if it all went to shite.

 

Kevin set to it, while Lorna the Younger fetched a sippy-cup for for Shannon’s youngest, who had somehow managed to drop hers and crack it getting out of the van. The fact that her cousin was forty and had a three-year-old gave her some hope, since it meant she wasn’t going to be too old to have kids before she could sneeze. That Aunt Lorna had had her twins at 39 helped...but she still needed either a guy, a turkey-baster, or an orphan. At least she wasn't like Saoirse, and had no burning desire to outright steal a kid. (She was not without hope of a dumpster baby of her own, as terrible as that sounded.)

 

Lorna the elder shivered a little as she sat down, and wondered why the hell she was still so susceptible to cold. Carrying Supri had actually made it a little worse, to her annoyance; usually she got around it by dint of thermal undershirts and fleece-lined leggings, but she hadn’t anticipated all this going outside with no coat on.

 

“I’m making you a cloak,” Sharley said. “Hell, I oughtta just make everyone cloaks. I know how to make them extra warm, too. Magic, it’s useful stuff.”

 

“How does it work?” Lorna asked.

 

“I wish I knew. If it involves threads, yarns, or fibers, I’m golden, but I really don't know the mechanics of it. I never thought to ask Vairë.” She actually a list going, to which was added every question she wished she’d asked as they occurred to her, so that she could take it with her the next time she went to Aman. At this rate, it would be as long as she was tall by the time she went.

 

“Christ, how much time has it taken you to plan this?” Mairead asked Earlene. “I don't think there’s been anything this big in Baile since...hell, I don't remember when. There’s loads’v big families, or were, but I don't think any’v us ever got quite _this_ ambitious.”

 

“Well,” Earlene considered, as she removed her oiled hands from the lamb while directing Thanadir and Shane where to place the herbs and pieces of bread inside of the chest cavity, “I had to come up with _something_. I mean, this isn’t Christmas dinner, it’s a bloody festival, by any other name. This household is so far beyond two turkeys being enough that there really aren’t words. If I would have known what the future would hold, I would have just completely changed the house design and installed a full-on commercial kitchen. Right around the time Lorna the Younger and Grania moved over it just...it just…” Earlene dropped off, shrugging helplessly. Just then, there was another knock on the door...and someone besides her was going to have to deal with it.

 

Sharley rose, ooching her way to open the door and let whoever it was in.

 

“Your family wound up bigger than I think anyone anticipated,” Mairead said. “You’ve got ten children, Lorna’s got four, plus Pat and his family, Ailill and Calanon, Sharley and Maglor...I hope everyone’s done having babies, or you’ll need a fourth wing.”

 

“I’m done!” Lorna said, raising her hand. Not only had she had Thranduil sterilize her as he’d done Earlene, Ratiri got another vasectomy. Any baby that dared show up after this had better be the second bloody coming of bloody Jesus.

 

“Well I had more than my fair share,” Earlene mumbled, rolling her eyes. Just then Faeleth danced past, informing that Allanah had returned from her ride and Ailill’s sister had arrived. “Mary Kerry...now there’s someone I haven’t seen in much too long,” she said with a smile.

 

Sharley ushered them all into the house, and grinned at the sight of Allanah’s cloak. Honestly, she needed to make all of them cloaks like this. It took a while, and it wasn't easy, but it was worth it in the end. Her sunshine woman...oh, how she wished Allanah and Marty could have met. Someday Marty would come back to Earth, somehow -- but probably waaaay far in the future, if the state of the forest had been any indication.

 

Quickly washing her hands, Earlene gave Ailill’s sister a big hug. “Happy Christmas, Mary,” she said with a big grin. “I haven’t seen you in what feels like forever.”

 

“I heard a little about what happened,” Mary said. “My brother shares all the news that he’s allowed to, I suspect,” she winked.

 

“Didn’t your mam come?” Earlene asked, looking around hopefully.

 

Mary’s face fell a little. “Mam died a year ago. I’m sure Ailill didn’t want to trouble you with that, after everything. Heart attack, when she was at work. It came out of nowhere, and there was nothing to be done.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Earlene said, hugging her again. “And your father? That must have been hard for him.”

 

Snorting, the woman shook her head. “He went three months before she did. Same bloody thing, if you can believe it. As much as I hate to say this about my parents...they were far past being out of love with each other. The two’v them decided about two years after the changes Ailill forced that they’d just stay together on paper. Both on account of their business, which would’ve been a nightmare to dissolve, and how stupidly hard it is to get a divorce in this country. So there’s the irony--the lot of it is willed to us three siblings. Obviously Ailill has no interest. I barely do. And my brother John has no prayer of affording buying us out. Solicitors for John’ve been trying to come up with something but...the whole thing’s banjanxed, if you ask me.”

 

“Oh, wow…Um, damn. I’m even sorrier. Well, you need wine, and you need to be comfortable, and your brother is outside with the other males in charge of cooking this beastie. Unless you’d rather have Guinness? That’s outside, with lots of glasses and markers to write your name.”

 

Mary laughed, surveying the magnitude of the preparations. “You’ve more than enough going on here...I’ll get warm, then go bother that handsome brother of mine,” she joked. “The Guinness sounds more to my taste.”

 

Lorna looked at her rather massive pile of potatoes. “Um, Earlene, how many more’v these d’you want me to do?” she asked. She wasn’t quite sure when exactly she’d managed to peel this many, but it had happened, and now she had a basket full.

 

“That’ll do, thanks so much! I don’t suppose I can talk you into having a drink first, then coming back, cutting all those potatoes in half, then getting a kettle of water going to boil?”

 

“You had me at the word ‘drink’,” Lorna said, and headed out back for a Guinness. “I hope at least one’v you’s still sober enough to turn the spit by the end’v this,” she said, kissing Ratiri’s cheek.

 

“Did you hear that?” Ratiri asked the group of males, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “We’ve been slandered.”

 

“Aunt Lorna slanders everyone,” John pointed out. “It’s kind’v what she does.” And yes, his glass was almost empty, and he had a foam mustache.

 

“I am still perfectly fine,” Ailill said quietly, trying to not attract too much attention. Which was hard, because his sister was more or less attached to him like a remora, much to the amusement of Calanon. The elf bore her no ill will, understanding that now her brother was all she had in this world. In fact, in another moment he just might go to the other side of her and hug her like that as well. She was a wonderful woman, and he was glad that at least one person in his husband’s family had never failed him.

 

“That’s because you’re the responsible one,” Lorna said. “Unlike my other bloody nephew -- Kevin, how many is that now?”

 

“One and a half,” he said, a little guiltily.

 

“Pace yourself. I mean it.”

 

“You sound like Mam,” John said, shuddering a little.

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. “You take that back.”

 

“What?” he said. “It’s true.”

 

She set down her cup. “Take it back, or so help me…”

 

“So help you, what?” he asked, and immediately regretted it. “Um...sorry?”

 

Not for nothing had Lorna been living with elves for fifteen years; she had his cup out of his hand in about a blink, grabbing it in the same moment that she poked him in the stomach. She danced off with both cups, grinning.

 

Maglor quirked an eyebrow and shook his head. Clearly someone needed to take charge of this circus. “Those of you who can bear the heat of the fire, we need to start breaking up the logs and spreading the bed of coals under the spit. It should be an even rectangle; it is important that it not be shaped like the eye of a cat. Earlene has thoughtfully placed chalk lines where the borders roughly need to be. Anyone who foolishly tries to turn this into an opportunity for bravado will find themselves answering to me. The rakes and shovels are against the house.”

 

The general banter quieted then, for they were not used to hearing mild-mannered Maglor speak with this kind of authority. Quen smiled, for her knew there was far more to his friend than was usually revealed. No one had the High Kingship, even for a brief time, and emerged unchanged.

 

Ratiri did not have a fanboy moment, though it was a near thing. John, still mourning the loss of his drink, figured he probably ought to actually do something before he got another one. “No burns,” Ratiri ordered. “You know Mairead will want to be the one who deals with them, so just...don't.”

 

Both O’Reilly men twitched a little. No, they did not, in fact, want their mam tending to any burns, or anything else. She fussed like a hen, and it was embarrassing as all hell.

 

Lorna, bearing her two cups, went triumphant back to the kitchen, setting one on each side of her chair before grabbing a paring knife.

 

“Don't you go cutting your finger off,” Mairead warned.

 

“Oh, come on, that was _one time_ ,”  Lorna groused. “And it was barely a cut.”

 

“If by ‘barely’ you mean ‘the whole length of your bloody pointer’,” her sister said, shaking her head. “How she managed that, neither Gran nor I could figure out.”

 

Sharley eyed the two drinks, and a curl of sadness passed through her -- once, she could have known exactly how that had come about without the bother of asking. All she would have had to do would be to look at Lorna’s history, but no more.

 

Earlene took a worthy swallow of wine--the real wine--and carefully returned her glass to the upper shelves of the pantry, where in theory next to no one could even notice it, much less drink it. Shane had done a masterful job stitching the cavity shut with twine, and this lamb was as lemoned, oiled, herbed and garlicked as it was likely to be. Now was the time to bring it outdoors for the others to get it on the spit. “I am counting on you, meldir, not to let the inmates run the asylum,” she said to Thanadir, leaning in to nuzzle at him.

 

The old elf grinned. Spitting game was indeed on his long list of peculiar talents. The two of them carefully wheeled the prepared lamb onto the porch, where she was relieved to see Maglor managing the coals. “Alright, this is where I wash my hands of it, beyond occasional nosiness and unsolicited comments,” she smiled. A quick sweep of those present showed that the ellyn looked eager and the men looked intrigued. _Well, this will be open roasting 101, because assuredly this will not be the last time,_ she thought sadly.

 

“It smells amazing, and it’s not even cooked,” Ratiri said. “You’re a food wizard, Earlene.”

 

She flashed him a brilliant smile before disappearing into the house, because, well, she still did not trust Kevin and her next priority was ensuring he wasn’t making a hash of the brioche. To her pleased semi-surprise, he was not. Actually, for the moment everything was under control, and she determined to sit for just a few moments and enjoy her wine.

 

Lorna, because she was not an idiot (no matter what her sister might think), had all the potatoes halved in relatively short order. She also had both her and her nephew’s drinks downed in little longer, just because it was Christmas, dammit. She was going to enjoy her booze.

 

Sharley finished up with the turnips and headed outside to give her husband a kiss. Because they were in company, she didn't pull a Lorna and grab his arse -- though she thought about it pretty hard. She’d never particularly noticed the backsides of anyone, but Lorna had an appreciation for them, and something of that had...filtered over, so to speak. Sharley certainly admired _one_ arse, anyway, even more so than the Lump did.

 

“You are contemplating mischief,” Maglor declared with conviction, as he held and kissed her in return, keeping her from being too close to the searing coals out of courtesy. “As is half of our roasting crew, I fear.”

 

“Of course I am,” she said, grinning up at him. “It’s Christmas in Ireland. That’s half the point.”

 

“She’s not wrong,” Kevin called.

 

“Sadly, indeed she is not,” Ratiri added.

 

“Earlene says this has to turn for _five hours_?” Sharley asked, eying the coals. That sounded unbearably boring, even with the addition of alcohol.

 

“Up to,” Maglor explained. “There was a time when this was the only way meat was prepared for large gatherings. As with anything, it is cooked until it is done. If we are fortunate, it will not need the entire time. The coals cannot be controlled like an oven can, so there is something of an art to it.”

 

“The pub in the village I grew up in, in Scotland,” Ratiri said, “it was a really old Georgian pub that once had a dog turnspit. The wooden wheel’s still there, though it’s been decoration for the last three hundred years. Evidently there was once a particular breed of dog meant just for that, but they fell out of use when the dogs proved to be too...messy...in the kitchen.”

 

“And by that, d’you mean they’d have a wee on the floor?” Kevin Junior asked.

 

“That’s exactly what I mean. And because I'm an adult, I won’t add anything more.” He had a very Lorna-like urge to stick his tongue out, but he’d forebear. He hadn’t had nearly enough to drink yet.

 

“Spit-dogs,” Ailill said in a tone of deep disgust. “It was horrible, what was done to them. How they were treated, and bred. I for one am rather glad they are gone. The whole thing was barbaric.”

 

“It was a time period not generally known for its kindness toward animals,” Ratiri said. “Or to many people, for that matter. But then, England. They were barbarians to everyone, including their own.”

 

“You sound like an Irishman,” John said. “You’ve gone native.”

 

“Oh, let’s be realistic,” Sharley said, “everyone was horrible to everyone else, back then. The rich people just ate better.”

 

Kevin Junior snorted. “Yeah, and all the rich were English.”

 

“He has a point,” Ratiri said.

 

“Except the rich Germans and the rich French,” Maglor noted, a tiny hint of ire in his voice that at this point only Quen could possibly have perceived. _And before them the rich Romans, and then the Saxons and then the Normans and before any of them the rich ones from the North, the brutal invaders._ He had seen all of it, and did not believe that benevolence or coldheartedness began and ended with a national border, for he had been the recipient of both.

 

“Neither had a particularly great foothold in Scotland or Ireland,” Ratiri said. “It wasn’t until after the Second World War, but by then things were well on their way to something approaching equality. And while that’s never truly happened -- and probably never would, human nature being what it is -- it’s certainly far better than it was in the days of the turn-spit dogs. For all people liked to complain about ‘nanny state’, at least the UK has plenty of safety nets for the poor.” No, they were hardly ideal, but nobody starved.

 

**

 

Earlene put her feet up, enjoying the pleasant heat of the fire on her toes. There was one spot on the bench seat that surrounded the chimney where she could do this, and have it be not too hot and not too cold. She sipped her wine, enjoying the sweet taste and the few moments of relative quiet. Mostly, she was replaying her daughter’s birthday celebration in her mind, smiling in happiness at how well everything had gone. And the last present still waited. It would be placed up in her bedroom, just when they were about to eat, to ensure that she would not see it before she retired this evening. Finally draining the last swallow, she returned to the kitchen, placing her glass in an out of the way corner. It was doubtful Thranduil would bring more of the elven wine--in fact, having it near so many humans made her nervous--but she might as well keep her glass. There would be more ordinary wine at the meal, and there were enough dishes to wash already. Seeing that the food preparations were under control, she began to do just that, grabbing two clean dishtowels to attach to her apron, and beginning to tackle the items needing cleaning from the preparations.

 

Lorna, done with both potatoes and drinks, decided to make certain her children weren’t doing something horrible. There was a nearly-empty wine glass on the counter, looking lonely, so she grabbed it and tipped back the tiny bit lingering in the hollow at the very base, deftly setting it aside as she continued on.

 

It hit her like a lorry, and she actually staggered. Oh good Jesus, elf wine...if Earlene wanted to hide the fact that she was something other than human, she really _really_ needed to try harder… Halfway into the dining room, Lorna burst into a fit of giggles, utterly forgetting her errand for a moment. Oh God, now she wanted cake. Was there cake? She didn't think there was. Dammit.

 

Thranduil came sauntering through the kitchen, his own glass in hand, kissing Earlene as he made his way toward the manly men doing manly things. Grinning, he watched the motley gathering of elves and men through the window. It was...charming, really, to see this. The closer the time came, the more he appreciated these simple joys.

 

Lorna was still giggling when Chandra found her, took one look at her, and stalked into the kitchen. “Who got Mam high?” she demanded.

 

“ _Hush_ , you!” Lorna called, in something approximating a whisper-yell.

 

His enjoyment of the moment shattered, Thranduil walked toward the girl to see what she meant, exactly. They had thought the same of Lorna after Estë’s gift was given, so he was not exactly quick to believe these reports. However, when his entrance provoked a fresh round of giggles out of Lorna, he suddenly felt inclined to pay a great deal more attention. “Lorna?” he asked in query.

 

She beckoned him over, and stage-whispered, “If Earlene’s got the good wine, she needs to share with the whole class,” she said, and burst into another fit of giggles. “It’s not fair otherwise.”

 

Thranduil blinked, not believing this could have happened. “You drank from her empty glass?” He could see the memory, but just could not comprehend that anyone would do this.

 

“Well, _duh_ ,” she said. “It was there, and there was a drop or two left. Waste not, want not. I didn't realize she had the good stuff,” she added, in a slightly lower whisper.

 

What a disaster….and it could have been worse yet. “I cannot leave you like this,” he said. “Not with all these people here.”

 

“Noooo don't make me sober,” she pleaded. “This is too fun to give up.”

 

 _“Re-negotiate,”_ Jimmy said. _“Thranduil, if you sober her up now, give her a little bit later, when she can be a giggly idiot and enjoy it.”_

 

“Okay for one, Jimmy, fuck you, but for two, Thranduil, can we do that? Because I’m nice and happy now.” She couldn’t do the Sad Eyes worth a damn, but she could sit there and be tiny and aggressively adorable.

 

“I must, Lorna. You cannot be seen like this. It will have a very bad outcome.” He had his own Sad Eyes, and by all the Valar, he was using them now.

 

Lorna poked him. “Stop looking like a sad zombie and promise you’ll give me more later,” she said. “And give me a fucking hug while you’re at it. If I’ve got to sober up, I want a hug.”

 

“I have always been willing to give the wine to you. Supervised. That was our agreement long ago,” he sighed, pulling her into his arms. Never mind that if he had not brought it up in ages on account of...other problems...well, he had his reasons.

 

“Then it can be supervised later. For now, hug.” And yes, she have him one of the rib-creaking kind. “Last time I tried to give Pat a real hug he swears I popped one’v his ribs out’v place. I need to not hug humans like I hug you. I'll break them.”

 

“Probably a good idea,” he agreed, already starting the process of removing the wine’s effects. He would deserve the tongue-lashing he was probably in for later, from his wife and betrothed. _But honestly, drinking out of another’s glass??_

 

“Hey, so I totally should’ve put this in the stipulations, but can I curl your hair? Like, a little? Just to see what it did? I know Lorna the Younger’s got a curling iron.”

 

“Two conditions,” he retorted swiftly, his eyes narrowing. “One, that you are fully sober when you do this. Two, neither you, anybody else, or any other form of animate life or inanimate object takes any photographs of it.”

 

“No pictures?” she asked. “Okay, fine. No pictures.” That didn't mean she couldn’t try to draw it later...or have Saoirse do it, since her drawing skills were limited to drafting.

 

“ _You_ are a handful,” he admonished, feeling that she should be back to normal by now.

 

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m small, I have to be.” She eyed his hair, and wondered. Christ, she’d been talking to her sister too much (though to be fair, Sharley had also said it was criminal he didn't want to dye it any odd colors, since he wouldn’t have to bleach it first).

 

“Why do I have the feeling this bargain will still go ill?” An eyebrow raised. “And in the future, you should not drink out of others’ glasses. After what Thanadir did with your thermos, honestly.”

 

“Because you’re smart,” she said, “and you know me.” Lacking the wine’s happy glow was kind of a bummer, honestly, but that was what rum was for. Rum was just nowhere near as tasty. “And poor Thanadir hated what it got him, but I love what it got me, even if I didn't get to keep it very long. You know, for ages, I wanted to get you two stoned and take you to a laser show, but if he’s any indication, you’d _eat_ the laser show.”

 

Now he was not so certain that all the wine was gone after all. Her tolerances were different, perhaps he had not considered this. In his estimation she still was not thinking clearly. Shame on him, he hugged her again for utterly ulterior purposes, as he tried again to root out the very last of the vintage. Eru, if he did not do this properly, she would probably try to jump the coals under the spit.

 

“I’ll take a second hug, but I don't trust it,” she said. “You can’t leave a tiny bit? Just a little?”

 

 _“It’s all gone already,”_ Jimmy said. _“Lorna’s just weird.”_

 

“Watch it, you, or I’ll get Sharley to hit you with the mute button.” Just to be a little shit, she refused to let go. Yes, she was technically in adult, but right now she was at one with her inner five-year-old.

 

“Fine. Then you can come with me to check on the lamb. Do you you have any idea what my wife will do if the main course comes to grief? For I do, and I assuredly do not wish to see it.”

 

“If it isn’t something to do with your eyebrows, I’ll be very disappointed,” Lorna said seriously.

 

 _“You know, Ratiri’s eyebrows are about as wide,”_ Layla observed.

 

“Yeah, but Ratiri’s...Ratiri. And his match his hair.” Though on the other hand, that wig at Halloween had freaked her _right_ out, because...no. Wrong.

 

Thranduil, by now immune to comments about his eyebrows, merely rolled his eyes and made for the back door.

 

**

 

Wisely, Earlene had thought to borrow an immense earthenware platter from the Halls, because that was what would be required, to hold the finished lamb. When all thermometer readings were as they should be, ellyn at each end with heavy felt mats to protect their hands against the heat carefully lifted the spit off its forks and laid the roasted animal carefully on the platter, lowering it carefully so that it could be properly oriented on its side. This was pretty much the signal that dinner was served, and Ailill was placed in charge of ringing the triangle. With some chagrin, he remembered the first time he had been asked to do this, and had been utterly clueless concerning how to use one of the world’s simplest percussion instruments. Mairead, bless her Irish heart, had done a fabulous job of marshalling the various people who had foolishly agreed to help cook, and one by one the dishes went out to the dining room.

 

Two immense bowls of buttered mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables with a cheese and herb-butter sauce, respectively, were chased by gravy boats and turkeys that were on platters of their own. Pans of stuffing. Bowls of cranberry sauce, and three mountainous cloth-covered baskets of brioche sallied forth as well, followed by the guest of honor, guided by no fewer than four of the men on its sturdy trolley back into the house and into the Dining Room, where every smart person was hurrying to find a place to sit. Bowls filled with farm butter, salt and pepper were liberally distributed all along the tabletop, where pretty pale green beeswax candles had been freshly lit. Thranduil, Maglor, and Ratiri were chosen to carve the meats, and Calanon and Pat were elected to help ferry smaller platters of meat onto the table. No one had the heart to assign Thanadir a task that would cause him to delay eating.

 

Earlene, Lorna, Mairead and Grania busied themselves pouring more wine or sparkling apple juice for all those seated. Everyone was informed that no matter how much they liked Guinness, they would enjoy wine at the meal like civilized alcoholics, dammit. Fortunately, those were Mairead’s words, but Earlene could not help almost choking on her laughter when she heard it.

 

Ratiri was quite glad to have a turkey rather than the lamb -- turkey he could manage with his eyes shut, but lamb? That would have been embarrassing. His dad had taught him the perfect way to carve long, long ago, at the pub, and he automatically separated white meat from dark, out of habit.

 

The smallest children had done all the running around they wanted, so they actually sat at the table fairly calmly, though they stared with round eyes at all the food -- far more than any of them had ever seen at one table.

 

“You know,” Lorna said, eying it all, “someday, we’ll overload this thing, and it’ll just collapse.”

 

“No it won’t,” Siobhan said, rapping it with her knuckles. “Solid oak, this is. You could probably drop a car on it and not do much more than dent it.”

 

“ _No_ ,” Lorna said, seeing the curiosity in her brother’s eyes. “Grania, poke him.”

 

Grania happily did so, while Saoirse tried to stifle a laugh and failed. She wasn’t actually drooling at the scent of the lamb, but it was a very, very near thing.

 

Thranduil smiled, knowing that at least for this particular query, there was no real risk of anyone actually trying it. Which could not be said for _every_ query. It took perhaps ten or fifteen minutes but soon platters of everything were everywhere, and children that needed help were having their plates filled with all manner of savory food. Even though she was still not very tall, it made good sense to let Faeleth take some of the trays of meat to the table; she was indisputably more than strong enough and it was nearly impossible that she would stumble. Plus, who did not like to see their food brought by a completely charming little girl? Allanah was to sit tonight between Earlene and Thranduil, in further acknowledgement of her special birthday, with Thanadir to the right of Earlene. Finally, everyone was able to get down to the business of eating. And it was wonderful.

 

Pat knew already that most of them would wind up taking walks later, or they’d keel over. Grania was trying to keep him to a decent diet, in terms of moderation, but he was going to stuff himself silly, and she was just going to have to let him. It was Christmas, dammit.

 

Sharley looked at Maglor. “So, we’ve kinda got an announcement,” she said. “We want to do a kinda...vow renewal...sometime in the next year, with all of you guys. Our thought’s to do it on the anniversary of the day we found each other again.” She’d talked to both Angie and Lorna about that, because she knew that vow renewals were a thing, but not what they entailed. They’d coughed up something simple but nice, and the wedding vows would be spoken in English, so everyone could understand them.

 

“That sounds beautiful,” said Allanah happily.

 

“You’ll have all the help you want,” Earlene grinned. “Maybe more than you want.” The soft smile on Maglor’s face was wonderful to see, though a part of her really would love to know what he thought of this. It was not terribly...ordinary, for elves.

 

“Translation: _no_ , Mairead. We’ll be wanting one’v your cakes, but leave these two to do what they want,” Lorna said.

 

Mairead didn't glower at her little sister, but it was a near thing.

 

“Even if the weather doesn’t hold, we could have it in the Halls,” Sharley said, kissing her husband’s cheek, “but I’m hoping we can have outside, in the forest.”

 

“Irish weather being what it is, I’d plan more firmly for the Halls,” Grania said. “And if we’re lucky enough to have decent weather, the outdoors can be a backup plan.”

 

 _“She has a point,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“This really is a damp island.”_

 

 _“I was gonna go with ‘ moist’,”_ Kurt said, snickering.

 

“Kurt?” Lorna said. “Shut it.” She knew she was not the only person who really didn't like the word ‘moist’.

 

“Mute, Kurt,” Sharley said, highly pleased that she could do so. “And I’ll do that. I know May here can go either way.”

 

“Sometimes within the space’v fifteen minutes,” Siobhan said. She’d forgotten just how damp Ireland was, too, but unlike her daughter and grandchildren, she actually enjoyed it -- all the more so because now, she wasn’t living in some dilapidated shithole, like all the other places she’d lived in Ireland. Now she had a beautiful flat, where she could sit in front of a nice, toasty fire, and know that the misery of an Irish winter was firmly outside.

 

“Well you just let us know how we can help, when you get that far,” Allanah said. By now she had seen enough of social occasions in the Halls to understand that to the elves, any excuse was a good one to have a party. She was really quite glad that Ada had turned out to be Thranduil and not...like one of those stuffy Lórien elves. They probably had no idea how to throw a party, in the Golden Wood. Thranduil stifled a snort at catching this passing thought of his daughter’s...for intelligent young lady that she was, that assessment was quite accurate. Celeborn never would have managed this life of theirs that was occasionally more like a circus.

 

“Will do,” Sharley said, as everyone dished up. Pat...well, the man must have a hollow leg. She was used to seeing Thanadir eat enough food for three people, but Thanadir was an Elf. That was only to be expected.

 

As soon as he took a bite of the lamb, Pat thought he’d died and gone to culinary heaven. The scent of it cooking had been driving him mad, but it was well worth it. Beside him, the sound Grania made stopped just short of being obscene; when he looked at her, she had her eyes closed, smiling.

 

“Jesus that’s amazing,” she said. “Worth all the effort.”

 

“Mam that was...almost gross,” Lorna the Younger said, shaking her head. Parents. Ew.

 

Earlene, while partially agreeing with that sentiment, recognized appreciation when she heard it. And given the effort they’d gone to to roast the poor creature, she’d take it. “On behalf of the entire crew responsible for making it happen, thank you,” she said. “And I want to add in, because they won’t say it themselves, that Ithiliel and Eleniel were responsible for bringing that animal off the pasture and doing everything to make it into what rolled into our kitchen. It was fabulously skilled work and we are very proud of them.”

 

The twins blushed but smiled, still looking very young to unpracticed eyes that did not realize they were only a year younger than Allanah. Their forms were still far more childlike, but no one who knew them underestimated their abilities.

 

“You guys should use the fleece to line a coat, if you don't already do that,” Eris said. “Sheepskin coats are great against the cold.” She was rather impressed they could do such a thing at all -- but they were, in a sense, farm kids. They didn't have the squeamishness others might.

 

Donna really wanted to ask what they’d done with the guts, but this was dinner. Mam wouldn’t be happy if she did, and when Mam wasn’t happy, _nobody_ was happy. She’d ask later, and hopefully get all the literally gory details.

 

Thranduil arched his eyebrows, debating the wisdom of just answering the question. They might not find it too entertaining, though...the intestines were cleaned and used for sausage casing. Liver, kidneys, were placed into other foods or served as a part of mealtime. Brains were used by the tanners.  The fleeces were indeed saved, prepared, and were being sewn together as they accumulated to create a hoard of warm bed coverings for the many who would arrive. Bones were used to make stock, and afterward dried and pulverized to amend the soil. Anything that was left was fed to the dogs. He was at least grateful no one was discussing it now; at least a few here would definitely not appreciate that.

 

Ithiliel and Eleniel smiled and nodded, seeing the wisdom of not turning the conversation in this direction, though they caught Allanah’s eyes and shared a big grin. She knew what was involved. Heck, she had learned alongside them, and was just as good at it...but she spent most of her spare time now learning to craft with metals at Thanadir’s side.

 

“And the sad thing is, there won’t even be any leftovers,” Eris said, eying the group. When she was little, after her idiot dad left (or Mam left him; she still wasn’t totally clear on that) they’d always had the leftovers of Christmas Eve for Christmas Dinner, and the day after that.

 

“I’d say there might be leftover cake, but I’m not that stupid,” Mairead said, shaking her head. Bless Thanadir, but he could probably eat an entire cake by himself. He’d _regret_ it, sure, but he could probably do it. She’d actually sat down with Doc Barry and tried to figure out how he could eat that much, and they’d come to the conclusion that Ratiri was right: the Elf’s stomach really was a TARDIS.

 

In a rare departure from his usual rules, Thranduil silently informed his betrothed that his stomach was once again the subject of fascination on the part of the humans.

 

A faint blush crept over the seneschal’s cheeks to hear this, and naturally Earlene quirked an eyebrow as well. _Well just for that I am going to start serving dessert._ She had always dealt somewhat poorly with anything or anyone that might make Thanadir self-conscious about his appetite. _There is Mairead cake, and I made a special pie as a surprise for you, meldir. Chocolate silk. I will get you a nice slice of each._

 

Thanadir looked up at Thranduil rather bashfully, his eyes bearing the message, _I did not say anything._

 

Thranduil rose and went to help Earlene serve everyone. Bending down, he kissed the crown of Thanadir’s head. _You did not have to. I love you just as you are, Thanadir. Do not change._

 

“Dessert,” Earlene said aloud. “The choices are chocolate silk pie, pumpkin pie, and Mairead’s cakes. We will go around the table starting with Thanadir, and I already know what he would like. So when Thanadir gets his dessert, the next person please call out to me what you would like, and if you choose pumpkin pie, whether or not you want sweetened whipped cream on top.”

 

Never had the room gone so silent, so quickly.

 

Lorna all but forced Siobhan, Eris, and the twins to try out Mairead’s cake, as they’d never had any before. The rest of the assorted D&D’s split between cake and pie (with whipped cream, of course).

 

“Laurë, you haven’t tried one of Mairead’s cakes yet,” Sharley said. “They’re even better than Elf cooking. Any Elf cooking I’ve ever seen, anyway. Hell, they’re better than anything we ever ate in Aman.”

 

“May the Valar forgive me, anything is better than what we ate in Aman,” Earlene grinned. “We were fed and never went hungry at all but...let’s just say there was no such thing as dessert.”

 

Maglor chuckled at this and gave Earlene a grateful glance. He had not thought of this at the time, because of far weightier concerns occupying his thoughts, but...that was very much true.

 

“I will have the cake, then,” he said softly. “What flavor is it?”

 

“The cake’s chocolate, with cherries baked in,” Mairead said. “Buttercream chocolate frosting.”

 

“We’re pretty sure Mairead sold her soul to the baking gods,” Pat said. “Whoever they might be.”

 

“Oi, shut it,” his sister-in-law said. “If I ever sold anyone’s soul, it wouldn’t be my own.”

 

“Da said that when you were kids, you told Siobhan -- Baile’s Siobhan,” Shannon clarified, “that you’d sell her kidneys to Guatemalan drug lords. She said you didn't know any, so you said you’d find some, just because.”

 

Poor Kevin winced as his wife glowered at him. “And how old was she, when you told her this?”

 

“Twelve, I think?” Shannon offered.

 

Lorna didn't facepalm, but it was a near thing. Poor Kevin just...his filter was nowhere near as bad as hers, but he always had had a tendency to say shit around his kids he probably shouldn’t.

 

“Tsk. Busted,” Thanadir said absentmindedly as he took a forkful of cake, relishing every bite. “This is wonderful, Mairead. And so is the pie, meldis. Thank you both so much for making these.” Given that he was speaking in trancelike tones, no one doubted his sincerity.

 

The word ‘busted’ coming out of Thanadir’s mouth made most of the Donovan-Duncans at least giggle, because this was Thanadir, and he sounded way too posh to use it.

 

“I’m just glad it can be appreciated,” Mairead said, and was quite happy to see her newest sister and her family enjoying it with expressions close to bliss. Yeah, it was gran’s recipe, and there was a reason no one else had it -- though she ought to give it to Earlene already. Earlene was family, after all, and Gran had told her to give it to family that could actually make it work.

 

“Here, try this.” Yes, Sharley was the kind of person who was totally happy to feed her husband a forkful of cake. At least there was a _fork_ , and not fingers.

 

“Mmmm.” While Maglor had never been particularly enamored with chocolate before, it was possible he might be making an exception. “This is _very_ good.” His clear grey eyes raised to Mairead, to compliment her artistry.

 

“Like music, except it is...cake,” Thanadir noted, clearly feeling particularly poetic tonight.

 

“Thank you,” Mairead said, privately thinking Sharley and Maglor were about the sweetest fucking thing she’d ever seen.

 

“I have to admit, any time any of us wants to apologize for something, we go to Mairead for cake,” Pat said. “It’s hard to stay mad while you’re eating it. Or to remember why you were mad in the first place.”

 

Saoirse looked at him. “You never give _me_ cake when I’m mad at you.”

 

“That’s because I know you won’t do something horrible to me if I don't,” he said.

 

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, just wait.”

 

“What your da meant to say,” Earlene interjected smoothly, looking Saoirse in the eye, “is that he is your _da_ , who raised you and changed your nappies and loved you every minute since you were born. Fathers and mothers should never have to have a cake buyout. That’s in the rules.” This utter nonsense was spoken with great finality, so much so that even though Thranduil knew better, he almost wanted to see these Rules for himself.

 

“But he buys everyone _else_ out,” Saoirse said.

 

“That’s because he knows the rest’v us aren’t forgiving like you,” Lorna said, and couldn’t believe those words had actually come out of her mouth. Not that Saoirse was one to hold a grudge, but she could get pissed off like all the rest of the Donovans.

 

Saoirse stared at her. “Aunt Lorna, are you drunk?” she asked, entirely seriously.

 

“Not yet. Eat your bloody cake, and Pat...good luck.”

 

“He’ll be fine,” Grania said. “Trust me.”

 

Earlene shrugged to Pat; she had tried. However long it might take to eat dinner, it never took long to eat dessert, and there was something more for the evening that needed to happen. She was very aware that Ailill and Calanon’s eyes had darted toward her about once every twenty seconds, waiting for her signal. Now that she saw most everyone either had an empty plate before them or were taking their last bites, she stood up to make an announcement. “One more special thing is happening tonight, and now that our meal is eaten, we’d like to ask everyone to find their way to the Heart Room. Ortherion is warming the eggnog; there are high octane and alcohol-free versions in the kitchen to ladle out if anyone wants one last little treat. And if I might ask for the younger ones to please take the seats around the hearth first, so our guests have the softer seats?”

 

Now everyone was completely curious. Tradition was, everyone go into the Movie Room to watch _A Christmas Story_. In fact, for the last few minutes favorite Ralphie quotes had been heard slowly gaining momentum, and now no one understood what was happening. However, all the children did as they were asked, most of them stopping in the kitchen to get their eggnog. Finally, finally, Earlene gave The Nod to Ailill, and both he and his husband disappeared.

 

Finally everyone was assembled, and Earlene spoke again. “While Sharley, Maglor and I were away from home for so long, I know there were hardships here. I wish all of them could have been avoided, but one bothered me more than many of the others.” A glance up revealed that Ailill was lingering in the doorway, with a ‘thumbs-up’ signal.

 

Turning, she sought out her son Thaladir, and asked him to stand next to her, taking his hand. “This is for you, son,” she said, bending down to kiss the cheek of the completely baffled peredhel. Though still not anywhere near what his full stature would be, he had grown, and was now as tall as Lorna.

 

Ailill and Calanon entered the room now, each bearing a puppy, and walked to Thaladir to kneel down. Both of the boy’s hands instantly flew to cover his mouth as his eyes widened in disbelief. But this did not last long, for already the little ones were wagging and yipping and trying to lick his face. Earlene sat down. She did not make a sound, but tears were running down her cheeks. And a quick look around the room told her, she was not alone.

 

Lorna had her mobile out in about point five seconds, filming what was swiftly turning out to be too adorable for words. It had been two bad, bad days when Flannery and Kiernan had to be put to sleep, and all the worse on poor Thaladir, who had essentially grown up with them. Losing a furry friend was hard at any age, but that? The poor kid had been almost inconsolable.

 

Sharley leaned against Maglor, and wondered if she’d ever seen joy so pure on a child older than age four. Thaladir, in that moment, was a sunshine child, too, all but radiant in his delight.

 

“They are Flannery’s descendants,” Ailill said softly, bending down to hug and kiss his favorite Sullivan.

 

“Thank you,” Thaladir barely whispered, unable to say more. Earlene knelt down next to her oldest son. She considered saying something to him silently, but thought better of it. Instead, she hugged him. It said the same thing.

 

Oh Jesus, wasn’t that precious...Mairead was not a terribly sentimental woman, but she was not ashamed to be shedding a few tears at that moment.

 

Pickles had escaped the feline round-up before dinner, and had spent the bulk of it snoozing under the couch. Only now did she wake and crawl out, blinking sleepily, and meandered over to the Weird New Things. What were they?

 

Both pups immediately began wagging furiously; at first Thaladir did not see the cat, but once he did, he had the good sense to keep them held so that they could not bowl Pickles over. “Adar, will you explain to them, please?” The request was directed at either of the ellyn who bore that title. Smiling, each elf took a pup and...enlightened them. Looking incredibly disappointed that this apparently was not prey, they now were much calmer. Though, Thaladir wisely held onto them still, because otherwise those noses would be all but up poor Pickles’ rear end. Where all the best sniffs were....if you were a dog, anyway.

 

Pickles did some sniffing of her own, and then jumped up onto the back of the couch to launch herself at Lorna, who barely caught her. “It’s a Christmas miracle,” she said. “The cat likes the dogs.”

 

“And Nana and Maglor and Sharley are home, and...puppies,” Thaladir said softly. Every head in the room nodded at this, as Thaladir’s brothers and sisters began creeping forward to pet the new arrivals. To a one, his siblings were thrilled for him. None of them had liked seeing their brother so sad.

 

Supri looked up at her mother. “ _Now_ can we watch Ralphie?”

 

Lorna fought the urge to facepalm. “In a moment.”

 

“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid,” Maglor deadpanned.

 

Ratiri choked on a laugh, because of all the things he’d never expect to hear _Maglor_ say...he loved these people. He really, really did.

 

Supri looked up at him. “How will I find out if I will or not, if I don't have the chance?” she asked, with an innocence her parents knew was patently false. She was a devious little squirt.

 

To this Maglor had no answer, but Quen was fit to be tied, over in the corner laughing. Of all the things….

 

“I double dog dare everyone to get into the next room,” Thranduil said drily. When Thanadir looked at him with complete surprise, he shrugged and leaned in to kiss him chastely on the lips. _Even I have learned, if you can’t beat them, join them._

 

Earlene snorted. “Maybe it is just me, but this feels like the best Christmas ever.”

 

**

 

It was late, now. The movie was fun, the mountain of dishes had been cleaned and put away (Ortherion was not interested in watching Ralphie this year), and the food was out of reach of any cats. Their guests had just left, and Thaladir was taking his new puppies outside to go potty (waking them up first had been necessary). Allanah was tired, happy and tired; this had been the single best day of her entire life--she had meant every word, when she said that. Really, her head was still reeling. All those gifts, her own beautiful horse…Valar it was too much. Closing the door to her room, she saw right away in the soft light that there was a card on her pillow and frowned. _What on earth could this be? First, I’m changing and getting ready for bed._ About five minutes later, with her long hair neatly in a loose braid, she snuggled under the heavy covers and looked at the envelope. It was from her parents. Half-excited and half-afraid (the day had already been overwhelmingly nice), she opened it and extracted the card inside. It was probably for the best that she was alone, because all the air felt sucked out of her lungs. The message even contained an admonition, not to run downstairs and thank them, but just….to think.

 

It was another gift. A trip, to any location on planet Earth, with the parent of her choosing as a travel companion. _Anywhere_ . _Valar, thank you….for giving me the best family anyone has ever had._ She read the card over and over, finally placing it back in the envelope, and switching off the light. However sleep did not come for a long time, while her imagination wandered...

 


	141. One Hundred and Forty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> January 4-12, 2033

 

{January 4, 2033}

 

Thranduil, Thanadir, Earlene and Thalion were in their places early for the first Council meeting of the new year, talking quietly (or for the most part, silently) amongst themselves. Thalion had opinions concerning how the weapons training was faring (barely adequate), Earlene was ruminating about whether their livestock profile was diversified enough, and Thanadir simply wanted to take notes. While the holidays had been fun, in his eyes it was more than time to move beyond seasonal celebration and return to orderliness. Thranduil patted him on the hand. Being far more in tune with Irish realities, he felt it would be progress if more than half of the attendees tonight were entirely sober and free of what Earlene called ‘hangovers.’

 

Geezer wished anybody but him was chairing this meeting. He was not a man prone to hangovers, but Christ was he nursing a good one now. Black coffee and toast had not helped, and neither had the acetaminophen Aurnia gave him.

 

He was handling it, though he’d be handling it a whole lot better if everyone was just stop fucking _shouting._ “If you people don't _shut up_ , I swear I'm gonna jam a boot up every human ass at this table,” he growled.

 

 _“Can we watch?”_ Jimmy asked, mercifully unheard by most of them.

 

“Had a bit too much, did you?” Lorna asked. “I sympathize.” She was dealing with a small headache herself, though nothing near what she suspected he was feeling.

 

“Apparently,” Geezer said dryly. “All right, _one at a time._ ”

 

“Are you asking for the first order of business?” Thanadir asked (softly, for Thranduil had told him to speak at low volume) but he was confused because the usual order of things had not been mentioned. A glance up at Niamh saw her suppressing a smile while looking directly at him. Still puzzled, the elf was at least able to perceive that something about this was funny to his human counterpart.

 

“I am,” Geezer said, sounding somewhat more amenable. “Thank you, Thanadir. You’re gonna have to forgive me if I forget some sh-- stuff.”

 

Now Niamh was smiling even more.

 

 _Thanadir, note the time the meeting began as well as those present. No one is absent. And that it is a quorum. Assume that whatever is said next is the first item of Old Business._ Thranduil took pity, knowing that if he did not make an end run around Geezer’s circumstances, the situation could only deteriorate. Rapidly. Now feeling content, the seneschal’s pen began to move across the paper.

 

Lorna sighed, not wanting to bring this up, but knowing it had to get done. “Declan,” he said, glancing at Big Jamie. “What’re we doing to do about Declan? Kid lied about being a meth maker, but he’s not Donal. He’s just young and stupid, or so I suspect, but the fact remains that he lied. Earlene, you know more about court than anyone here -- sorry, Niamh --”

 

“No, you’re not wrong,” Niamh said.

 

“-- so what would you suggest?”

 

Earlene blinked. “Well, ah...there are reasons it really can’t be viewed in that context at all. When Declan said those things, he had no idea that lying mattered. He certainly was not under oath to tell the truth, so really the only standard he can be criticized for violating in terms of lying is the one of common decency. We are all, I am sure, guilty of telling lies about things we would rather not have come to light. The real issue, in my eyes, is that we know that we have someone of a moral character so low that he is willing to manufacture and distribute a highly addictive drug whose only merit is getting people high, never mind that it is destructive on every level to those who will use it. Doesn’t this fall into that chart we made of the steps by which people could try to be rehabilitated? If he is sincerely willing to turn around from this, well…?” her hands raised slightly to indicate, ‘haven’t we already worked this out?’

 

“It does,” Shane said, “but we’ve never actually used that chart before, and this’ll be a big precedent, so we’ve got to do it right. Thranduil, if somebody gives you permission, you can look deeper than surface thoughts right? Without risking hurt the person, I mean?”

 

“Yes. But a part of me feels it is vaguely tragic, for me to intervene in this way. I….it had not occurred to me before now, that my very existence acts as something of a good behavior motivator. I never meant for this to be the case. What we really want are those who do what is right because it is the right thing to do--and yet perhaps that is asking too much,” he mused aloud. “Why would you want me to look? Presumably anyone who knows of my gift would be rather motivated to not have anything I could find?”

 

“We want to ask him some questions,” Indira said, “but we need to make certain he does not lie when he answers them. If he will give consent to have you do this, we can be certain of getting actual, honest answers.”

 

“And as great as it’d be to have nothing but people who want to do right for right’s sake,” Geezer added, “that just ain’t how human nature works. My suggestion? Give his brain a picking, and then...put him on probation, kinda. He’s proven we can’t trust him, so give him the chance to prove that we can in the future.”

 

Big Jamie said nothing, because he was beyond troubled. He’d barely met his nephew, but his sister was a wreck and a half at the thought her her son possibly getting booted at the end of the world. He and Indira had tried to set her at ease on that, but to no avail.

 

“I will do as I am asked to, in this regard. But, I do not know if you are aware. Now that matters have settled somewhat, though I am perhaps the strongest telepath within the forest, I am not the only one. There are two, well, really there are four, if I wish to be picky, who have the ability to see the thoughts of others. Unlike me, none of the others have this ability permanently activated inside of the forest. Perhaps this will prove useful some day, especially once we must depart.”

 

“Four?” Mick asked.

 

“Sharley and Maglor,” Lorna said, “and Quen. At least, I think Quen? I know he’s old enough, but Sharley needs a lot’v practice. A _lot’v_ it. We can talk pretty easily, but I’m not sure she’s got any idea at all how to really dig in and read someone’s mind -- and if you could hurt someone doing that, she probably could, too.”

 

“Honestly, there’s so much she still doesn’t know, isn’t there?” Ratiri asked.

 

“Yeah. But she’s not willing to go back to Aman just yet -- not when it’d mean Maglor’d be on his own for the better part’v a year at least. And I can’t say I blame her.” After what the poor elf had been through...he needed his Sharley, for now.

 

“Not that it is strictly my business, but where is Declan now and how do you plan to go about this?” Thranduil asked. “Will all of you interview him? Some of you? It almost seems that some kind of more formal judicial system needs to be enacted.”

 

“Declan’s in Baile,” Big Jamie said, “with my sister and my niece.”

 

“This’d be a pain in the arse,” Lorna said, “but I’d like to bring him up before the Council for an interview, if Earlene thinks that’d be a good idea. You’re right, we need a judicial system, but out’v all’v us, only Niamh’s got any idea how to set one up.”

 

“More like half’v one,” Niamh piped up. “I did as well as I did by mostly staying _off_ the radar, not working in the spotlight. Lots’v paperwork, not much court time.”

 

A moment of careful consideration was underway, because Earlene had been at quite a distance from practicing criminal law. “Well, I can cobble together some basics, but there would be decisions to make. Things like, everyone has a right to a trial...but we--and please do not put this in the notes you are taking--already bypassed that for Donal. It is supposed to be of an impartial jury of the accused’s peers, but a lot has gone wrong with that setup. Probably anyone who is a relative of the accused should abstain from voting. Usually there is a judge, to oversee the proceedings. None of those things have to be specifically incorporated, but we would probably do well to assure everyone that there is basic fairness to how this proceeds.”

 

 _Donal_ , Lorna thought. They’d needed to do what they’d done, and yet she hoped they hadn’t set a dangerous precedent, with him. “Then I say we at least knock up something rudimentary, and then call Declan in.” She _could_ , if she felt like it, just wear the crown and interrogate him -- the problem was that if she did that, she couldn’t explain how she’d discovered it all without giving away the secret of the crown, and thus rendering it pointless. Everyone with anything to hide would just run away when they saw her wearing it.

 

“That’d work,” said Jack. “I...I don’t know how everyone else feels, but Donal happened because he was a threat to all of us. To everything, in a way that was just not going to be able to be averted. Something had to’ve been wrong with that poor bastard. I hope to God we never have to do anything like that again. It sure as hell can’t become a habit.”

 

“No,” Ratiri said, “it can’t. With Donal, it was the best out of a lot of bad choices, but it can’t become a...a thing. We can’t just start killing people….well. Hopefully, Donal was the only Donal.” They couldn’t just kill everyone they thought was a danger to them, without due process...that would make them no better than the type of government they all hated. But with Donal, there had been no other viable option, and that just made it harder. All Ratiri could do was tell himself they’d ultimately spared the man a very gruesome death in five years, and leave it at that.

 

“So he will be asked to come here at the next Council meeting or will this be a separate occasion?” Thanadir wanted to know.

 

The group looked at one another. “I’d vote next meeting,” Geezer said. “Kill two birds with one stone. Jamie, he’s your nephew -- you talk to him, and see what he says about letting Thranduil take a deeper peek into his brain-meat. We’ll figure it out from there.”

 

Jimmy sporfled. _“Brain-meat?”_ he asked. _“Okay, I’m remembering that one.”_

 

So was Lorna, honestly. “I’ll second that.”

 

“And I,” Big Jamie sighed, “will third it.”

 

Thanadir looked up, puzzled.

 

 _Meldir, disregard that no one made a motion initially. Record it as though they did this,_ Earlene encouraged. Robert’s Rules of Order were best trod on lightly, with this group.

 

Visibly brightening, Thanadir navigated past his procedural roadblock while Thranduil and Earlene exchanged a brief glance that amounted to, ‘isn’t he adorable?’

 

“There,” Geezer said, wishing he had a beer. “Motion passed. Let’s move on.”

 

Earlene cleared her throat. “We left off discussion concerning whether or not we should construct extra storage facilities outside of the Halls. Since our original inventory began taking shape, possible future needs have been mentioned, all of which hinge on an ability to shape raw metals. Or to be blunt, the ability to cast metals. There were many inventions prevalent in the nineteenth century that represent a significant advance over manufacturing out of lumber. Everything from coffee grinders to wool carders existed then, mostly made from cast metals. Our libraries now contain drawings and detailed illustrations of how those were made...but we lack the ability to create such devices. Yes, we have a forge, but that is limited to only certain types of metalwork. We would need a smelter, which creates at best an unholy stench.

 

“We need to discuss how far we are willing to go in terms of having technologies that will pollute--to an extent--in the interest of being able to create machinery that can be operated by wind or animal or human power. In fact, if I may...we have gone a great distance down this road without answering a central question. Yes, we have the resources to enjoy the use of many modern devices and advances well after the plague strikes. But the distant future...is this going to strive to be an industrial society once again, with all the ills that brought on mankind? Or do we move forward with the understanding that eventually we will need to address a return to living in a manner in harmony with our surroundings? What is an acceptable level of harm to the environment and to our health, in order to have these advancements?”

 

The entire room looked at one another; Shane, Orla, Niamh, and Lorna had a brief, silent conversation of expressions.

 

“We’d need a vote,” Lorna said. “If it was down to me, I wouldn’t want to be industrial like we are now. I won’t lie, electricity would be nice, but it’s not like we’d die without it.”

 

“I kind’v assumed we’d be just...doing what everyone’s doing right now, here,” Mairead said; that anything else was an option had never occurred to her.

 

“I will say one thing,” Ratiri said, “though I know it’s really not practical to go to such effort for one thing, but if there was any way at all for me to have an even slightly modern lab...I’ll operate at 1920’s level if I have to, but if there’s some means of making medicine more effective after the Elves have gone...but I understand if that’s not reason enough.” He didn't _like_ it, no, but he understood.

 

“I’m not sure you’re coming at this from the right direction,” Bridie said thoughtfully. “We need to stop focusing on having things, and we need to start focusing, while there is still time, on recruiting the people with the skills that make those things possible. If you want to have a laboratory, you need a glassblower and a damn good one at that. If you want to have medicines, it seems to me a qualified microbiologist and chemist and maybe some other kind of scientist I’m not considering needs to be in on that. We already have the knowledge of those sciences squared away in books. But anyone who’s ever worked with a recent graduate green out of university knows it isn’t worth sh-- it isn’t worth anything compared to the people who actually did this stuff for a job.”

 

“Well, we’ve got another doctor, a heart surgeon, and an EMT so far, but Sharley says there’s two chemists who’ll be moving in sooner or later. Their daughter just got her psychiatry degree, too, so Angie won’t be alone,” Lorna said. “Alan’ll be here, too, one’v these days -- I think he and Angie’re coming here for good in a fortnight.”

 

“I doubt we’re going to pull a microbiologist out of Skykomish,” Ratiri said, “but it’s worth checking to see if either of our chemists knows a trustworthy one.”

 

“What about the smelter question?” Mick asked flatly. “My two cents? If we can’t make it in the forge just...do without. Okay maybe a small smelter like they used in some Roman village or whatever, but...I don’t wanna survive now only to see all of what’s in beautiful places like this go to shite again. Er, sorry. Go to...oh, you know what I mean,” he growled.

 

Earlene privately agreed with Mick, but it wasn’t going to be her world with which to deal. None of the elves said anything, for the same reasons Earlene was remaining silent.

 

“Gonna have to agree with Mick,” Geezer said, rubbing his forehead. “Wha’d we even _need_ one for? We’ve got all kinds of tools, and we can make more in the forge. Unless we’re lookin’ to build cars, I don't see what the point would be.”

 

“Me neither,” Orla said. _She_ at least wasn’t hung over, but just because she’d been chugging water all day yesterday.

 

Mairead drummed her fingers on the table. “Now, I can’t say I know fu -- er, much about smelting or anything to do with it, but I _do_ know what the Industrial Revolution did to England. No thanks.”

 

“Boilers,” Earlene tossed out, because playing devil’s advocate was something she did well. “If you want to use steam power, you need to be able to manufacture an enclosed metal vessel of significant size. That cannot be done without the ability to cast metals. I happen to _agree_ with going without, I just want to mention that there is another side to it.”

 

“Dammit, and we _are_ gonna want steam,” Geezer said. “Who says we’ve gotta set up a smelter _here_ , though? I mean, could we put one somewhere else?”

 

“We could, but the q uestion is, would it be worth it?” Orla asked. “That’d be a hell’v a lot of work, not to mention hiding it from the government.”

 

Ratiri looked at Orla. “I need steam for my autoclave, don't I?”

 

“You do,” she said, “but you don't need a giant boiler. Get Lorna and Big Jamie to set you something up -- they’re good at stills, and it’s the same principle.”

 

“A pressure cooker does the same thing,” Earlene said quietly, not wanting to sound like an insufferable know-it-all.

 

Orla didn't roll her eyes, but it was close. “But that’s not as much fun,” she said. “And if we can’t have fun after the end’v the world, what’s the fucking point? Sorry, Thanadir.”

 

Earlene saw Orla’s expression, and decided that her contribution to tonight’s meeting was at an end. _I should’ve just shut up._

 

“So yes or no on the damn smelter?” John growled. He’d had a few tourists in the pub last night and was still grumpy about it. The eejits had the nerve to say his cooking was greasy, and they could pretty much go **** themselves, as far as he was concerned. Knowing Thranduil could hear him, he was trying not to cuss too much in his head.

 

“We don't know yet,” Orla said, looking around.

 

“For now, I'm going to say a tentative ‘no’,” Lorna said, “unless we find somewhere else to put one that could realistically be managed. Which I doubt.”

 

“There’s got to be some way to make a boiler-equivalent without one,” Orla said. “Somehow. It’ll give me something to research and think about, if nothing else.”

 

“Maybe this is me just being an eejit,” Mairead said, “but could there not be any way to...I don't know, try to sort’v adapt some bits’v smelting, if it’s possible to do within the forge? Modify the equipment into something that can actually do even a little?”

 

Eyes turned to Thanadir, whose lips parted at the question. “Well...the principles are different,” he tried to explain. “Forging works with metal that is still solid. Smelting needs much higher temperatures, because the metal is being liquefied. It is not necessarily hard to do this on a small scale but to make the bigger devices you have out there in the world…” he shook his head. “I have read in books, what it is humans can do now. Metallurgy is its own science, and is not as simple as just melting metal and pouring it into a mold. Unless that metal is from a preexisting formula, like melting down raw steel to make another thing.”

 

“Raw steel?” Shane said. “I could get my hands on it, though I don't know how much at once. We’re all kind’v missing the point here, I think -- we just need to reinvent smelting.”

 

“Because it’s totally that easy,” Orla said, and now she did roll her eyes.

 

“It’s not, but hell, we don't need to be doing it practically the same way it’s been done since the bloody Victorian era,” he said. “We wouldn’t need to be doing it on a huge scale. We’d need a boiler for what, the hospital? If we made even three’v them, that might be enough.”

 

Thranduil wanted to suggest buying a boiler, surely such things were for sale? But something told him to keep out of this.

 

“So we’re _not_ voting on the bloody smelter tonight?” John pressed, clearly wanting off of this subject.

 

“We’re not,” Lorna said. “I motion that we all do some research, and if anything comes’v what we find, bring it here and cough it up next meeting. And if we haven’t got anything, it’s just stock up on bloody boilers like we’ve been doing with everything else.”

 

“And hope we’ve got some way to fix them when they break,” Shane said. “If we can do some kind’v combination’v forging and small-scale smelting, it’s better than nothing, _and_ we won’t turn the area into a toxic wasteland.”

 

“Good,” Mairead said. “Now please say there’s something else on the agenda.”

 

“I’ve been talking with Sharley,” Lorna said. “She wants to get the Skykomish people to gut that empty restaurant in the village, and basically make the Cascadia Cafe 2.0. It’ll be all up and running by the time the rest get here.”

 

“Just how much gutting are we talking?” Orla asked.

 

Lorna wrinkled her nose. She and Sharley had taken a look at the place, and had not been impressed. “Full-scale vivisection, probably. There’s a whole family’v tradesmen that’v come from Skykomish, so they could do most’v the work -- though we’d want you to put a big fireplace in, so they could still cook once the power’s gone.”

 

“They’re having a hard time,” Indira said, “aren’t they?”

 

“They are,” Lorna sighed. “Most’v them’v lived all their lives in one tiny town, and now we’ve got them halfway across the world, adapting to an entirely different lifestyle, with nothing familiar except each other. Sharley thinks it’ll give them something to do, and bond over, and have a good end result. Baile, and Lasg’len, we’re human too, sure, but we’re Irish. We’re in our own land, but right now they’re half a village on an alien shore.”

 

Earlene said nothing, and wondered who was financing this idea. Yet in the end, did it matter?

 

Thanadir looked up at her, only now aware that his wife’s mood had plummeted, though her facial expression remained unchanged. “May I ask where the funding will come from?” the elf asked politely, knowing that Earlene would not.

 

“Wherever we can grab it,” Lorna said. “Ratiri and I _might_ be able to swing it on our own, but we can’t be sure until we see just how bad it really is on the inside. And the people that came here, they sold their houses and things….I think, anyway. I think some just straight-up abandoned their homes.”

 

“Will you prepare a budget to do this?” the seneschal pressed, easily picking the thoughts out of his wife’s mind.

 

Earlene looked up at her husband. _You do not have to do this, meldir. This is going to be their thing. I am not sure the questions will make a difference. It will happen regardless._

 

_You do not wish me to ask?_

 

_If you ask, ask because you wish to know. Not on my behalf._

 

Thranduil heard the exchange, of course. He would probably offer financial help. But he would like to see...organization. Not like the t-shirt sales. Which meant, for now he would keep his own counsel.

 

“Once we actually can,” Lorna said. “Orla, will you come with us, when we do look? You’d know way better than Sharley or I.”

 

“Sure,” Orla said. “A contractor’d just cheat you, but if you get your family’v tradesmen to come out and inspect with us, I’ll get you a rough budget.”

 

Thranduil decided to offer silent guidance. _Geezer, you may wish to see if anyone has anything else...for us this meeting has been fairly successful._

 

“Does anybody have anything else, or can we adjourn?”

 

The humans all looked at one another, and gave a collective shrug. “I think we’re good,” Lorna said. “That’s enough to be getting on with.”

 

Earlene pretended to look through her notes as though they were completely fascinating, until a hand appeared in front of her. It was Thranduil’s, bearing one of Mairead’s cupcakes. Smiling, she thanked him and took it but instinctively looked up to see if Thanadir had some.

 

_Do not worry, I gave him three. If I am going to marry him, I have certainly ascertained that much._

 

Snorting, she peeled the paper back. _Ohhhh….spice cake with vanilla frosting._ “Mairead, you’re a saint,” she said quite audibly. As far as she was concerned this was the high point of the evening.

 

“And it’s good to hear it,” Mairead said, working her way through the crowd. “I’ve forgot to tell you, but all the time you were gone, I was working on trying to adapt some’v my recipes to ingredients we’ll actually have, after the end’v the world.”

 

“Like, after the sugar finally runs out?” Earlene asked thoughtfully. There was a lot one could do with honey, but it just wasn’t the same…

 

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to work out what we can use besides honey and syrup,” Mairead said. “Maple sugar works for some things, but it’s not going to taste quite right with others.”

 

“No, it doesn’t, and no matter what it’ll be a scarce supply. I mean...those trees don’t grow here, do they? I thought they needed colder places than this. Sure as hell sugar cane isn’t going to happen. Personally I think we should hoard sugar. Right now it’s just so cheap, and while it can get weird it never exactly goes bad, I don’t think?”

 

“They don't, and I doubt they’d be happy anyway, but Sharley’s willing to try a few and see how they do,” Mairead said. “And trust me, we’ve been hoarding sugar for years now...you’ve got two’v those huge storage rooms full’v nothing but bagged sugar, and we’re almost done with a third.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Earlene grinned. “And maybe by then we’ll manage to get good honey supplies going. I think if we’re careful it’ll last a long time.” However at the thought of it, she snatched another cupcake. “There are times I feel sorry for the bees in Aman. A world without enough sweetener...that’s just wrong.”

 

“It really is,” Mairead said. “D’you know if there are maple trees anywhere in Aman? Lorna said Sharley said it’s pretty warm, but she also didn't go many places.” It sounded, in point of fact, like the Irish would roast.

 

“I didn’t see any, but, I was in Valinor,” Earlene replied. Now sugar cane might perhaps have a chance of growing there; it certainly was warmer... _oh give it up, Earlene. You will eat what you eat and be grateful for it._ “And it was warm. Much warmer than here.”

 

“Is there really never any winter?” Mairead asked. “Because Christ wouldn’t that be nice.”

 

Earlene shook her head. “I wasn’t there long enough to know, and I didn’t ask. I guess I’ll find out eventually. And you know what, I am going to have a third cupcake. Just because. Thanadir doesn’t get to have all the fun.”

 

“Go for it,” Mairead said, grinning. “He’s a lovely one, Thanadir, but even though he’s an Elf, I sometimes worry he’ll be the first ever Elf to get diabetes.”

 

“Oh dear. Well, let’s hope not,” she said. _It sure as hell isn’t going to stop me,_ she mused, finally starting to feel better.

 

*****

{January 11, 2033}

 

“Share your thoughts with me, Thanadir,” Thranduil coaxed, stroking the soft hair. It had been a long day, and Earlene was yet tucking in children or perhaps conversing with them. As their older girls grew, the time before bed was a chance for them to converse privately with their mother, uninterrupted. And at times, those conversations could be long indeed. Which was all to say, their wife might return in minutes or hours...and the seneschal looked pensive.

 

Words were not forthcoming quickly, but the ellon’s head leaned into his touch, and reached to kiss the palm of his hand. “I want to go away again. The three of us. I have wanted this since Earlene returned, but it would not have been fair to our children, to just whisk her away when she was gone for so long.”

 

“Is there more than that on your mind?” Thranduil asked quietly. “I hope you know that you can discuss anything with me.”

 

A tired but still mirthful laugh escaped the seneschal. “I do. I know it now, anyway. I remember for how many ages I felt very differently. But you will be my...husband...at some point. So yes, I know.” There was a substantial pause. “Is it...bad, that I am still having trouble with that word? Husband? I love you, Thranduil. You truly have my heart without reservation. But some small part of me, beyond the much larger part of me that never expected to marry, still...I have some kind of mental block because of you being male. And...I feel ashamed to think this, because I _love_ you, but…” A sigh of exasperation came out, for the subject felt a little more distressing than in the beginning.

 

“You are not alone, meldir. I have wrestled with the same. All I can really do is share the one thing I have definitely identified, though I do not know if it will help. I realized some time ago, I am really not attracted to males. At all. But I am attracted to _you_. To your spirit. I want to be one with you, but not exactly in the same way as Earlene. It is hard for me also to find the right words. I am not...oh, Eru. This is just not easy to explain.”

 

“That you are having difficulty strangely makes me feel much better,” Thanadir said, nestling more closely against him. “What you said...that is how I feel also. But it is made worse for me in that I do not feel attracted to anyone, physically. Even now...I know that Earlene’s body is beautiful. I know because it has been explained to me, that Earlene’s figure is one most would consider strikingly appealing. And she _is_ appealing. But not because of her full breasts or her pretty face. It is because she is...Earlene.”

 

“Perhaps in saying that, you bring me a little closer still,” Thranduil mused. “It is not a secret that I have a generous measure of lust toward her, in addition to love. Or maybe it is better to say that my lust for her is part of my love for her. But with you...I touch you, and...there is something about the physical contact with you that...it…” Another pause ensued, as he struggled to form words. “I find I just yearn to be at one with you, Thanadir. To have the assurance of your love and nearness. To feel your love expressed to me with more than words.” Without being aware, he had incrementally tightened his hold on the other elf as he struggled to speak his feelings as honestly as he knew how. “But it never begins as, I see you and I feel physical desire for you.”

 

Thanadir blinked, taking all of this in, even as he relished being held so close. He had never thought of this, but Thranduil’s strength was...oddly appealing. For someone so very capable as he himself was, he felt an extra measure of safety in these arms. “I think you know by now that my ability to participate with you sexually comes a great deal from...you. Your desire for love and comfort and physical release sweeps over me, allowing me to experience sensations that otherwise I would not. In the beginning this almost frightened me. I wondered if I would lose myself in...you. But I no longer feel that way or worry about this. You have shown me care and respect, always. I know that I am not just...a body, to you. You loved me in your own way long before any of this.”

 

“I did. I am only sorry that all of these things had to befall us before I could realize that. I have always loved you, it is true. But it was a narrow love. One that really could not allow me to see you fully. I missed out on so much. Truly you are wonderful, Thanadir. I count myself endlessly fortunate to have your heart.”

 

The brown hair below his chin turned back and forth as Thanadir shook his head. “You, fortunate? What do you think it feels like for the son of the poorest Silvan elves imaginable to find himself betrothed to a great King? That...is not supposed to ever happen. But it somehow did, for me. That or the Valar have some greater purpose in this, and I should not flatter myself,” Thanadir jested, poking fun.

 

“Maybe.” The rumble of humor came through the King’s chest. “Valar or not, I am happy with the outcome. I lack nothing, and feel very blessed.”

 

A huge sigh escaped from Thanadir as he hugged Thranduil close to him. “I love you.”

 

“And I you.”

 

**

 

“Nana, how did you know Adar Thranduil was the one for you?” Allanah asked. Very recently, questions that had obviously been on her mind for a very long time started to be voiced. Maybe it had been turning seventeen that emboldened her to begin asking a few of them.

 

“Oh dear, _that_ question,” Earlene smiled, sighing. “You are not a child any more, Allanah. While I might not have wanted to answer this even a few years ago, I think I should now...but I hope you understand that the answers are given in confidence. There are things about how I joined to your father that Lorna still does not know. Or Ratiri or really anyone else under this roof except Thanadir. In time I will tell your sisters if they ask, but their path will be different from yours, I think.”

 

“You mean, they will not want to know about boys and relationships for a long time?”

 

“Something like that. No one knows exactly how your siblings will grow toward maturity because there are no true peredhel to ask. But it is my guess that they will be far more as elves than humans. And if that proves in error, well, we will address that when it happens.”

 

“Does your initial answer mean that your relationship with Adar did not begin so well?”

 

Earlene sighed, settling in comfortably. This might not be a short discussion. “That is not really the right word. The honest truth was, I was a thirty-eight year old virgin who had never even been kissed by a man. I worked hard all my life, first in school then as a lawyer. I reached the top but I paid a steep price to do that. I really did not...live, Allanah. I had few friends and even fewer things I would call hobbies. My life was work; cooking and seeing the ballet were about all I made room for on the side. What other socializing I did usually was a subset of work. So by the time I retired and moved to Ireland….well, the first thing I did was go to sleep in my bed and have a vivid dream about the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life, and...he seduced me.”

 

Allanah’s eyes widened. “Ohhhhhhhh seriously?” she asked, her eyes wide in disbelief.

 

“Afraid so,” Earlene blushed. “Even now it seems strange to admit that someone as intellectually oriented as me could fall victim so easily to her own sex drive but...physical and mental desire are a powerful thing, Allanah. The history books are full of very smart and sensible people that went against their usual natures when a chance to fulfill their desire for physical love was at hand. It was a little more...complicated in my case. Thranduil was using his gifts as the Elvenking to press his advantage mightily, but I made it simple enough for him to succeed. I want you to understand, both he and I have changed a great deal since those early days. He believed that certain actions were justified back then, and he would not feel the same about them now. It is not a lie to say that loving him came easily to me...I think I was meant for him. Nothing about my love life has been exactly normal.”

 

“Meant for him?” The keen blue eyes tilted to look at her mother.

 

“Well, Lord Manwë as good as said that I was...placed in this position for a reason. Groomed for it, if you will. Because _that_ still doesn’t feel weird, at times. But if that is what the Valar wish...I have been content, with my life, though not all of it has been easy.”

 

“Wow. So maybe you are not really the best person to ask that question of, then.” Allanah seemed vaguely disappointed.

 

“Wouldn’t that depend at least in part on why you are asking?” Earlene countered, smiling.

 

“True,” Allanah grinned, rising to the challenge. “I...well it isn’t like I’m interested in boys or a boy or...any of that yet. I mean, who is there to even be interested _in_? But... I  find myself wondering about relationships, being curious. I know I haven’t seen much of the outer world, Nana, but...I see some movies. I read the news, and books. It seems like love is an...an overly easy place to make a disaster of one’s life. If it ever happens for me, I don’t want to do that. I want to be happy, like you and Adas seem to be. Though, maybe just one husband would be enough. Not sure I could handle two.”

 

“That just means you are sane. And for what it is worth--while I love Thanadir with all my heart, that was something that I suspect the Valar had a hand in as well. We did not choose to marry with our eyes wide open and good grief this is still hard to talk about. Oh, you might as well know, the other adults in the house do. All three of us shared the same bed, and Thanadir and I accidentally made love while I was ninety percent asleep and he was about ninety-eight percent the same way. I thought he was Thranduil. Neither of us knew what we had done until we had to confront that our spirits were bound to each other, and that I carried one of his sons. It was a ...total mess, honestly.”

 

“I had no idea,” she whispered. “But I was still so young. It...I never even thought to ask; to me it was as though you had always had both of them as your husband.”

 

“Then I did my job halfway right,” Earlene said, brushing back a lock of her beautiful red hair. “That is not the sort of thing with which young ones should be burdened.”

 

“You know, thank you,” Allanah quipped. “That would have been...well, impossible to understand, when I was little.”

 

“It was barely possible as an adult,” Earlene mused. “But it worked out in the end. And yet none of that really answers your question. The thing is, you probably could ask a hundred different people about relationships and get as many opinions. It is harder for women, too. As much as I hate to say that, I believe it is true.”

 

“Why? What do you mean?”

 

“Just...biology. If we pair up with a man, and choose to have sex with him, we are the ones who run the risk of having a child from that decision. Men in theory are held to account but...reality is very different. Just ask any single mother who struggled to raise their child after whoever he was ran out on her. Not that it only happens to women; we have Pat here. He had to raise Saoirse alone because he chose badly. But then again...when heavy drinking and drugs are part of how a person is using their time, odds are no good will come of it.”

 

Allanah laughed. “Nana, now you sound like Thaladir.”

 

“True, but that is one of Thaladir’s better sayings because a great deal of the time he is right about that.”

 

There was a slight lull. “Is sex _really_ that good?”

 

“To me it is,” Earlene grinned. “But I have already told you that sex with an elf is not the same as with a man. And never having had a man for a lover, I am the last person who can answer that question. Out there in the world, people can choose other partners if they feel they must. I see it as...unusual rewards but unusual limitations too. I am happy with what has befallen me. There is no shame in wanting sex; for most people it is a powerful urge. But it requires that one be prepared to accept a number of potential consequences.”

 

“You mean besides maybe getting pregnant?”

 

“Yes. I can only tell you my experience but...it is the most intimate exchange it is possible to have with another being. My first time with Thranduil...it was...it felt like giving myself away to him. I was not the same after, because he...left a mark on my spirit. My psyche, if you will. It was very special and I now realize that I would have been hurt, so badly, had our relationship not grown and become permanent. I think what I am trying to say is, it should be the beginning of something that you have reason to expect will last. Not like...going shopping and trying on an item of clothing. It is true that there are women and men both out there who would say different, who seek only sexual pleasure and do not factor in these other considerations.”

 

“But you don’t agree?” Allanah was listening very intently.

 

“For a person of my disposition, it would be wiser to give full weight to the circumstances in which this kind of closeness is shared. You see, for me my marriage is a...protection of sorts. I am curious by nature, willing to be open to new ideas. I think if I were out in the world, I could see myself perhaps being moved to experiment outside of a single relationship. And I equally feel that this curiosity would not end well for me. There would be hurt. As it is, my needs and desires are met in a way that brings me only love and reward. I am not tempted to do anything differently. I am grateful for my circumstances. And...you know that it is not necessary to have a partner to experience sexual pleasure. While less enjoyable alone, it has a tremendous advantage. You will always like who you had sex with when you wake up the next day,” she grinned.

 

“I never would have thought of that,” Allanah laughed, turning around what she had heard. “Thank you for talking to me about things like this, Nana. And making the answers so easy to hear. Shane told Thaladir that he can’t really ask Lorna about this kind of stuff. Like, without it becoming really awkward really fast. I am glad that I can.”

 

“Me too,” she said, hugging her daughter. “You can ask me anything. Always. I wish my life had been a little less weird so that I could give better answers, but I will certainly always try.”

 

“Was your Nana the same way? You could talk to her?”

 

“Yes. I might not have asked the same questions but...she was just free about talking about that or anything else in general. I almost didn’t have to ask, so much as she just sort of...narrated. And every now and then I might have a question about what she said.” She rose up to leave the room.

 

“That could be both good, and bad, I bet….” Allanah trailed off.

 

“Exactly,” Earlene chuckled.

 

“Too much information,” both mother and daughter chorused together, blowing each other kisses. Smiling, Earlene made her way downstairs.

 

*****

 

Ages ago, Lorna and Ratiri had graduated to experimenting with actual bondage, once they discovered the term “switching” -- through Siobhan, naturally. Neither one of them could be called anything like submissive people, but getting tied up for part of the festivities had proven rather fun. Implementing things like feathers and silk had proven even more so. At one point Ratiri had tried using one of the cats’ fluffy toys, but that had just made both of them sneeze.

 

It was her turn to be the one restrained, and Ratiri made doubly sure to lock the door. While it was unlikely anybody would try bursting in, they did have two relatively young children whose rooms were not far, and who did, at times, have nightmares.  (There had been one unfortunately memorable occasion where Supri had had a terrible one, and Lorna had been forced to leave her poor husband tied to the bed for a good half-hour while she got their daughter back to sleep.)

 

They also always made sure the fire was well-built-up, because otherwise Lorna tended to get rather chilly if she was the one not doing the majority of the moving. It was nearly midnight now, and the room was nice and toasty; they’d always waited until rather late, so as to theoretically spare Thranduil any knowledge of what they were up to. Sure, with this many people in the house now, he might not even notice, but still.  Better not to risk it.

 

Given that both of them were quite strong people, they’d been smart and invested in leather restraints ( _not_ got through Siobhan, who would never have let them live it down; Ratiri had got quite an education one day while looking through fetish sites on his mobile outside of the forest. Some of that looked...no. There was adventurous, and then there was...that.) They’d also discovered that neither one of them was particularly thrilled by having their feet bound -- in Lorna’s case, she was so short, and their bed so wide, that it was downright uncomfortable -- but that just meant they had to learn how to hold still on their own. It was an interesting exercise in self-control, even if they both usually lost it eventually.

 

This night they were in no hurry. They undressed each other slowly, their kisses deep but without urgency. One surprising thing that had come with the years was how nice it became to simply draw things out, without trying to rush too fast to the main event. By now they knew every inch of each other, and yet re-exploration never grew old. Lorna knew that in many long-term relationships, sex eventually became a ‘meh’, but she and Ratiri never took one another for granted. Neither simply expected sex at the end of any given, ho-hum day; they’d spend the day appreciating each other in simple ways, through light touches or kisses or even just hugs, so that by night the anticipation was already building. (Ratiri, not being a stupid man, had done quite a bit of research into the complexity of female sexuality; unlike many a man, he knew that for most women, desire for sex was about seventy percent emotional and mental, especially in a long-term relationship. Lorna had quite a healthy libido, and he wanted to help her keep it.)

 

He unwound her braid, and sat her on the bed to run a comb through it. It was softer than silk beneath his fingers; when it was his turn to be tied down, she often used this  in place of some other toy, drawing it over his arms and his chest.

 

Lorna purred, because she loved having her hair played with, so much so that she was more than happy to pause and let him do it. Unlike many people, he actually knew how to brush long hair properly, and he was willing to take his time at it.

 

Eventually, she turned and knocked him onto his back, kissing him breathless. Yeah, she had to get in her measure of dominance, before she was stuck and at his mercy. Even now, she couldn’t hope to define the taste of him -- it was rich, with a hint of spice, but mostly it was just _Ratiri_.

 

“Aggressive little squirrel, aren’t you?” he asked, rolling her beneath him.

 

She burst out laughing. “Yeah, so I told Siobhan that her family’s now part’v the Squirrel Mafia. She took it surprisingly well. Apparently all’v them hoard food, too. Nice to know that habit got passed on.”

 

“Of course it did,” he said, rolling his eyes as he secured one of her wrists in a leather restraint. They’d actually had to reinforce them a little, because apparently the way leather was cured these days wasn’t meant to stand up to a truly strong person. Lorna looked tiny, but she was made up of very dense muscle -- so much so that she was shockingly heavy for one so small. Though she’d gotten older, she never had quite got over the physical inferiority issues she’d been left with years ago: she was never going to be as fast or as agile as Earlene and the elves, but she’d made up for it with strength training. She’d already been surprisingly strong to begin with, but their rec room now held several different weight-training apparati, which she used fairly religiously. As a result, she was the physically strongest human in the house aside from him, and he only had her beat by sheer advantage of mass.

 

So they’d reinforced the restraints, and just not told any of the Elves why they were messing about with them in the Halls. Bondage was just not something he could imagine even occurring to most Elves anyway. ( _Most_ Elves. He really didn't want to know what Earlene and Husbands might get up to in their spare time, but he could guess anyway.)

 

Lorna had surprised herself with how much she’d actually come to enjoy this -- mostly because, rather surprisingly, the one who was tied down was actually the one with the most control over things. Sure, the other one was the one actually _doing_ things, but the one who was tied down got to dictate what did and didn't get done. Yeah, at first she’d found the thought so absurd she couldn’t stop giggling, but feathers, silk, and warmed-up, homemade massage oils had brought her around to the idea quite swiftly.

 

Ratiri grinned, his hair falling around her like a curtain as he bent his head to kiss her. His hands traveled her arms, down her sides, the pressure just a little too firm to tickle. His right continued its trip south, and she inhaled sharply when it reached its destination. _Oh, good Jesus, he’s only got better at that with age…_

 

“Ratiri, allanah, either get on with it or ease off,” she groaned.

 

“Get on with it?” he asked, nipping at her right beneath her jaw. “Oh, just wait. There’s something new for us to try.”

 

He rose, and vanished into the bathroom. When he returned, he bore a small bowl of something that smelled wonderfully like vanilla. It was warm and smooth and felt absolutely heavenly when he drizzled it over her body, massaging and licking and occasionally nipping at her until she was about ready to test the restraints to their limits if he didn't actually get on with it.

 

“One more thing,” he said, rising again, and laughed at her outright snarl of frustration. “You’ll like this, mo chroí. I promise.”

 

“I’ll take this wait out on you later,” she warned, “and with bloody interest.” She was so turned on she thought she might explode, and yet he didn't hurry when he went back to the bathroom. At least she got a lovely view of his bare arse to distract herself with.

 

The tap turned on...and then there was a thud. A rather heavy thud.

 

“Ratiri?” she called. “Allanah, what was that?”

 

There came no answer, and the tap poured on.

 

“Ratiri? _Ratiri?_ ” Lorna pulled on the restraints, worry squeezing at her heart. The leather creaked and groaned, but held fast. “God dammit, Ratiri, answer me. _Answer me._ ” _Dammit_ . She reefed harder, and the bedpost creaked, but that was all. Shit. _Shit._ Her husband wasn’t responding, she was tied to her bed, naked, and covered in massage oil, and the door was locked. _Fuck._

 

She really did _not_ want to call Thranduil in this situation. Like, at all. However, she still had a healthy telepathic link to Sharley -- Sharley, who was quite strong in her own right, and who could probably break the door down. _Sharley,_ she said desperately. _Sharley, allanah, I REALLY need some help._ Even more desperately, she grabbed the duvet with her feet, trying to kick it up so that she could at least cover the important bits.

 

No answer. Oh, fuck everything… _Sharley. Sharley. Earth to Sharley._

 

Nothing. Either she was asleep, or she was too occupied with her own husband to register any outside thoughts.

 

“Ratiri!” she called. “Oh bloody hell, you get out here!”

 

The bedposts creaked again, but they were too damn solid -- even an elf might not have been able to break them. Oh...fuck everything. Just... _everything_ . At least another kick got the duvet halfway up her abdomen, so this wouldn’t be _completely_ humiliating. _Thranduil, please be awake. Ratiri needs help, and I can’t give it to him. You’ll have to break the bloody door down._ Whatever was up with her poor husband, Thranduil could deal with it...but he’d have to walk in on this mess first. At least Ratiri was hardly going to care that he’d be seen with no clothes on; the man had no shame in that respect. And maybe she could get the bloody duvet up a little higher in the meantime. _This is the last bloody time we do this. Ever._ They could go back to just holding things without restraints.

 

Another kick shifted the duvet a little bit more, but not quite ‘more’ enough, and she gave an even harder yank on the damned restraints. Unfortunately, something went ‘pop’ in her shoulder, and... _no, seriously, fuck EVERYTHING._ She knew that feeling all too well, and her head fell back against the pillows with a groan. Just...no.

 

_I am coming. And while I know this will fall on deaf ears, please try not to be distressed. I am not going to tease you or make fun. But I am going to enter through your balcony, as this will cause far less damage as well as not make a racket._

 

On the one hand, that was a much better idea than busting the door down. On the other hand, their bed wasn’t far from that door, so... _argh. Okay_ , she said, and kicked at the duvet again. _Um...I think I dislocated my shoulder. A bit._ There was still no sound from the bathroom save the tap, which was not helping her mental state in the slightest.

 

_You have. But I think we both are more worried about Ratiri, so I will see him first. Not that I wish to ignore you but...priorities._

 

The next moment the door was opening, and in quite a blur of something with blond hair going by, Thranduil was at Ratiri’s side. There was some bruising, from his fall, but he was unhurt. If he had to guess, this was fainting. He carefully lifted him out of the bathroom and placed him on the bed. Averting his eyes, since he knew Lorna would prefer that, he undid one of the restraints--the one on the side of her undamaged shoulder. “He will be fine,” came the reassurance. “This was nothing serious.”

 

“What happened?” she asked, even as she snatched the duvet up under her chin. The massage oil was getting cold and tacky, and the fabric stuck unpleasantly, but oh well. Coverage was coverage. “He’s never just keeled over like that before. Is he getting sick, or...something?” Yes, her face could have fried eggs, but she was too relieved to feel _completely_ mortified. Just mostly.

 

“He would know the words better than I but I think perhaps he was not hydrated enough and...he basically fainted. The worst that happened is he will have a bruise where he fell,  on his shoulder and maybe a little place on his head.” Walking around the bed, he undid the other restraint, thinking that they had collectively never tried this because they never had to; either of them could restrain Earlene just with their hands alone and have their fun that way. A moment later her shoulder clicked into place. “I will leave now; he will probably appreciate you waking him and not me.” There was just a small pause. “Do not be embarrassed, Lorna. We have our fun too, and there is nothing to worry about. I am just glad he is well.” He decided that ‘enjoy the rest of your evening’ or ‘rest well’ were best left unsaid, in view of the circumstances. Without a backward glance, he was out the doors to the balcony and...okay it was _slightly_ nifty that him hopping over the railing looked like a scene from an old Batman movie but not nearly nifty enough.

 

Lorna facepalmed. Hard. Now that she knew her husband was okay, it was safe for her to be annoyed at him. “Dehydrated?” she muttered, glowering at his unconscious form. “The doctor was dehydrated. The _doctor_ was _dehydrated_ , so I had to call poor bloody Thranduil in, _while I was tied to a fucking bed,_ to make sure the _doctor_ hadn’t just had a...a stroke, or something.”

 

With a groan of mingled frustration and humiliation, she rolled off the other side of the bed and went to wash the massage oil off in the shower. This evening was officially a bust...and to make it worse, she was still kind of horny. Well, she still had her old trusty vibrator to deal with _that_ issue, at least….

 

“Never again,” she muttered, scrubbing with a loofah. “Never, ever again.”

 

*****

 

{January 12, 2033}

 

The cold, even inside the home, was breathtaking. Thranduil rose alone, donning a heavy robe but first choosing heavy leggings and a warm sweater for underneath it. He could not have his family waking to this. First he added fuel to the rocket heater in their own room, grimacing that Earlene was sound asleep and yet wrapped around Thanadir like one of those clinging sea creatures. Their wife was rarely cold but apparently she was now. He could see his breath, for Eru’s sake, this was ridiculous. As an additional measure, the heavy fabric curtains were drawn shut over the French doors, to help keep heat inside of the room.

 

Next he went to the Heart Room, where the fire was little but scattered embers. In moments, this problem was amended. Next came the smaller hearth in the Dining Room. This one actually had a wood stove chamber incorporated into it, and had considerable ability to produce radiant heat once it was lit for long enough. This too he started up, and spent the next twenty minutes drifting back and forth between these locations until he was satisfied that roaring fires were underway in both places.

 

They had a clever little device in the Dining Room; a little fan that Lorna had designed and Thanadir had made. The heat that would rise from the stovetop would cause the blades to spin, thereby helping to circulate the air. And while it would do nothing for the D&D’s bedrooms, it would at least help marginally with warmth for the upper storey of their lodging. He only hoped that all of them had added enough twigs to their rocket heaters before bed last night; he pitied anyone who had let theirs go entirely out. To be certain, he also made a check of all the childrens’ rooms in the household. Thaladir’s was the only one that needed attention, but given that his son was buried under his hounds and blankets, he was hardly going to freeze.

 

Now he returned to his own room, slipping gratefully into the blissful warmth of the others. Earlene, barely awake but feeling the chill on his skin, somehow hauled him on top of her before depositing him between herself and Thanadir, whereupon those on either side of him sought to warm his cooler extremities. _Eru, this was nice…_ Closing his eyes, he drifted back to sleep for a little while longer.

 

When he woke next, Earlene was gone, and he was alone with Thanadir. _Still very nice_ . He thought more about what Thanadir had asked last night. That they go away for awhile. Perhaps they would discuss it later with Earlene. Always she seemed to find them such nice places...but he wondered how they would both feel about not leaving Ireland. _Only four more years, and a few months_ , he thought with regret. Now that it is so much closer, it feels as though it will practically be tomorrow. And they had not traveled as much as he had once hoped they would. Children had been chosen over seeing the world, not that he would change a thing. He sighed, hearing a particularly loud clang in the kitchen (a puppy had tipped the empty water bowl). Probably he should get up.

 

“Going somewhere?” Thanadir murmured sleepily.

 

“I had thought about it,” Thranduil said, trying hard to ignore his Morning Problem.

 

“Want ten minutes,” came the partially coherent response as his partner burrowed under the covers.

 

“Ohhhhh,” the King gasped, nearly helpless against what was being done to him by a very talented mouth. “Er...oh, what is ten minutes…?” covers flipped further up as both of them disappeared under the heavy bedclothes.

 

**

 

Earlene thanked whoever (she suspected her husband, version 1.0) had gotten these fires lit. Ovens came on for frittatas, just because this was an excuse to run the oven. And waffles. With syrup and whipped cream, because JEEEEEBUS it was cold outside, and they needed carbohydrates to fortify against this undesirable state of affairs. In spite of the warmth in the kitchen she was bundled in wool clothing, and felt better when Ortherion had on the same, arriving in from the Halls.

 

“Good morning, Earlene,” he said politely. “It is terribly cold outside.”

 

 _Okay if a real live wood- elf is saying this, it has to be bad._ _Someone should probably check the greenhouses..._ but then again Orla had backup heaters in them so...at least in theory, that was all good. Time passed, the triangle rang, and it did not escape her attention that both her mates looked a little too pleased when they finally appeared. _Those two. They just need to...get it over with,_ she thought with a sigh. But, not her business. Her business was warm maple syrup and whipped butter, and goddammit she was going to mind her business. She followed Ortherion in with heated pitchers full of wonderful things to pour on waffles, while assorted cold-looking people made their way to the table. Another trolley came behind, with steaming coffee, steeping teapots, and hot cocoa.

 

Shane, Chandra, and Saoirse, all well bundled in fleece pyjama pants and heavy dressing-gowns, shuffled their way into the kitchen. Aunt Sharley had taught them all a trick to keep their rocket heaters at least somewhat warm on really cold nights, but the hallways, not so much. Booger scurried after his mama, but scampered into the Heart Room.

 

“Hey guys, look,” Chandra said, pointing out the window. A few flakes of snow were just beginning to fall, the sky dark as lead.

 

“Yesssss,” Lorna the Younger said, as she came up behind them. If it was this cold and snowy, it meant nobody was getting any work done outside; they could all find indoor things to do. Things that involved sitting near a fire.

 

“The joys of climate change,” Sharley muttered, rather glad that the cold didn't affect her quite as it did the others. She still _felt_ it, but not so acutely. She had a shivering Lump in her arms, wrapped up in her bathrobe.

 

“El, we’d better go to the stables today. No way are the animals going out to pasture in this; there’s going to be ridiculous stall cleaning needing to happen.” Ithiliel, as always, had her mind on the livestock.

 

Eleniel eyed the snow morosely. “Yeah. I agree. After we eat we’d better get the forecast for the next three days. No one said anything about this.”

 

“Figures,” Ithiliel answered her sister. “Oh well. Nothing else for it.”

 

Earlene noted with immeasurable pride that her daughters already sounded like farmers with far more years under their hats.

 

“Dress warm,” Sharley said, bearing the Lump into the Heart Room and setting her on the sofa. Booger, naturally, knocked her down and started grooming her head, because that cat was just a love bug and a half. “I can go out, too, if you want some help,” she added, when she returned. “Get everything done faster.”

 

 _“Lorna and Ratiri had an issue last night,”_ Layla whispered. _“Now they’re both really embarrassed, so try to distract them, whenever the hell they get downstairs. It wasn’t a fight or anything, but...well, she’ll tell you if she feels like it.”_

 

Oh dear. Because _that_ wasn’t ominous or anything. The thundering descent of the household clowder heralded the imminent arrival of at least a few Donovans -- Atia and Supri, shivering, skated into the kitchen on their stocking feet, and each plastered herself against either of Sharley’s sides.

 

**

 

Lorna woke half frozen. Because she’d thrown off their nasty, sticky duvet last night, it had left them with only sheets and three blankets; if they hadn't had the room so warm before they went to bed, it would have been even worse.

 

They were surrounded by cats, at least -- cats that stirred as soon as she did, and all zoomed out the door as soon as she let them.

 

 _Brrrr._ Jesus. Ratiri was still out, so she folded the blankets up over him before adding more wood to the heater, pulling on some heavy fleece trousers and a flannel over her nightshirt. Adding her dressing gown and Aran Islands wrap helped, as did her fuzzy slippers.

 

When she glanced out the window, and saw how very dark the sky was, she groaned. After such a mortifying night, she’d hoped to escape to work on something, but on a snow day, the pinballs would be fighting over finding something to do. Maybe she could go see if Geezer and the lads -- well, pensioners -- needed help. They liked her, both because she was strong, and because her tiny little hands could be quite useful for delicate work.

 

God, _how_ was she to face Thranduil, after last night? Because good fucking _grief_ , that was just...no. And while Estë’s gift had gone a long way to easing both misery and sadness, it apparently didn't cover abject mortification. Joy.

 

She had some rather impressive bruises on her wrists, too, though they didn't actually hurt. Probably a good thing it was so cold, because long sleeves were a must. Jesus did she wish she’d never even brought the idea of bondage up with Ratiri -- because of course it just had to have been her idea.

 

“Oh, fuck everything,” she muttered. Part of her wanted, oh so very much, to have a shot or three before she went downstairs, but she knew better. She didn't _want_ to know better, but she did anyway.

 

“Why is it so cold in here?” Ratiri groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Where’s the duvet?”

 

“On the floor,” she said. “It’s going to go in the wash, because it got all manky from cold massage oil. Because _somebody_ let himself get dehydrated and keel over while I was tied to the bloody bed,” she added, glowering at him. “I had to call Thranduil, Ratiri. _Thranduil._ You went _thud_ and I was terrified you’d had a bloody stroke, but since I was tied to the goddamn bed, I had no way to check, so Thranduil came and dealt with...everything.” She wasn’t even going to mention her shoulder.

 

Ratiri’s eyes widened. “I...I fainted from dehydration?” Oh God, that was embarrassing. _Beyond_ embarrassing. He was a doctor; he of all people should know better.

 

“Yeah,” she said, arching an eyebrow, “you did. And fortunately we have a duvet, and I have a lot of hair, or I might just have to murder you.” Even she couldn’t help but see the humor in the situation, but still. “How did you get dehydrated, though?” she added, in a softer tone. “Has that ever happened to you before? Thranduil says you’re not sick, but...well.”

 

Ratiri sat up, shivering, and hunted down both flannel trousers and a heavy jumper. “It hasn’t, which is why I’m so embarrassed,” he said, pulling on a pair of heavy socks. “I’m sorry, mo chroí.” Unlike Lorna, he didn't care that Thranduil had seen him without a stitch on, but he didn't have Lorna’s...history.

 

“Yeah, well, you owe me,” she said, wrapping her arms around him when he pulled her into a hug. “You owe me _so much._ There are _people_ downstairs. _People_ , and as much as I want a drink or seven, I can’t have one.”

 

“I can bring you breakfast up here,” he said, “but everyone would want to know why.”

 

“Which is exactly why I have to go down,” she sighed. “I’m telling you, allanah, there are times I like our living situation, and others I really don't. Because we live with a house full’v nosy people, even if they never actually ask. If that makes any sense.”

 

“It does. Well, I’ll just have to be nice and obnoxious this morning, won’t I?”

 

Lorna looked up at him. “Allanah, you can only be obnoxious when you’re not trying,” she said, “and even then, it’s a damn rare thing. Just...be you.”

 

Down they went, amid a clowder of kitties, and discovered that most of the household was already there, quite conveniently busy talking to one another. It was something of a relief...though if Lorna hid a little behind Ratiri, she doubted anyone would notice. And if they did, she’d just say she was cold, and he was large and warm.

 

Thanadir was ecstatic to see so many of his favorites on the table, and leaned over to kiss Earlene in gratitude. A real kiss, not just a peck on the cheek. Which is when she caught a lingering flavor and could not help but smile, though no comment was made of any description. “Can Ailill please have some hot cocoa?” Calanon asked with unusual insistence in his voice. “He is too cold.”

 

Thranduil immediately stood up, to pour the beverage. “Bring him in front of the hearth in the other room, Calanon. You will make a plate for him in a little while.”

 

 _How did he get this chilled?_ Thranduil asked the ellon, not wishing to make a scene.

 

_I do not know, my Lord. I mean, Thranduil. He was warm enough when we were in bed together, but somehow between rising, dressing and coming down here he became like this._

 

_We will figure it out. Right now I just wish him to be warmed. He is not to do outdoor work today. In fact, except to return to your rooms he stays indoors today._

 

 _I will ensure it,_ Calanon answered, still baffled as to what was wrong.

Thranduil left and snagged a heavy blanket for Ailill’s lap, and instructed him to drink a dose of miruvor. An elf held each of his hands, to help the warmth transfer faster. _Well, at least poor Lorna should not be the center of attention, thanks to this,_ he noted ruefully.

 

“Nana, is Ailill okay?” Thaladir asked worriedly.

 

“You Adar is with him,” Earlene answered serenely. “That means yes, he is okay.”

Thanadir nodded at what he would call irrefutable logic, but worried glances still made the rounds of the table. Ailill was loved by all.

 

Ratiri cast a worried glance at Ailill. If it had been as cold in the rest of the house as it was down here, it wouldn’t surprise him if the poor lad -- who wasn’t really a ‘lad’ anymore, but it was hard not to think of him that way -- had actually got hypothermia. And _that_ was...worrisome, but he’d try to belay worrying until he knew exactly what had happened. Ailill was no longer what anyone might call weedy; no, he was hardly a bodybuilder, but there was muscle to his slenderness now.

 

Sharley cast a glance at Maglor, and wished, for the thousandth time, that she could still look at someone and see their past. Even now, being unable to do that was occasionally like running into an invisible wall, and she wasn’t sure when she was going to get used to it.

 

Thranduil looked up, puzzled. There was nothing obvious, and yet something felt...not right. “Calanon, he has this cocoa to drink. Please make him a nice plate of food, and for yourself as well. You can both eat in here if you wish, but it will take him a while to feel thoroughly warm. Ailill, are you starting to feel a little better?”

 

“Yes. Thank you” the man answered, shivering less. “I am sorry for interrupting your meal...I don’t know what happened to me. Though...lately it has seemed like I am getting cold so easily. This was the worst time, is all. I thought it was just the weather.”

 

Thranduil liked the sound of this even less, but did not let on. “I will help Calanon, and then eat. I do not want you to burn up, but you are to remain here until you are without question completely...toasty...again.”

 

“Yes, Thranduil.” Ailill hardly felt in a mood to resist what he was being told to do, even were he so inclined. And soon enough, Thranduil returned to his place.

 

“I made you a plate and covered it,” Thanadir said to the King, “so it might stay warm”. Retrieving a trivet and placing it in front of Thranduil, the seneschal used hot pads to bring the food he had kept on top of the firebox of the room’s stove. “Just be careful of the plate, it might be quite hot.”

 

This was such a thoughtful gesture, and a sincere smile of appreciation came over him. That his waffles were still warm; somehow that meant a great deal, this morning.

 

Ratiri frowned. For Lorna to always be chilly in the winter made sense; she was tiny. Even she, however, never got _that_ cold, and Ailill was a healthy, active, young-ish man, with a very well-balanced diet. Thranduil would have spotted anything blatantly wrong, but maybe it was something lesser, something more recent -- a thyroid problem, perhaps. _Thranduil, you could spot the difference between a healthy human thyroid and one with an imbalance, right?_ Sure, he’d probably never had any cause to pay attention before, but it wasn’t hard to compare, given how many other humans were here.

 

_I fully intend to eat first, but I wanted to talk with you. There is something wrong, but I do not know where to look. You very likely do. He is not in immediate danger but...this will require your help. Else it will take me so, so long. I still do not know all your words for structures in the body because I have not taken the time to learn. But I think together we could arrive at an answer soon? He has informed me that this is not only today, that he has been feeling cold very easily._

 

Already Ratiri was compiling a list of questions for the poor kid. Who wasn’t a kid. _Between the two of us, I doubt it will take long,_ he said. _If it’s as I suspect, you can use my thyroid as an example of a healthy one, but I’ll have to ask him a number of questions._

 

Lorna looked up at him, and thought she was probably correct in guessing he’d be headed off with Thranduil and Ailill soon enough. Hopefully to the Heart Room, which was probably the warmest place right now -- _and_ there were lots of little furry hot-water bottles with legs.

 

Earlene shamelessly ate an extra serving of waffles with cream because _damn, these tasted great_.

 

_I want us to have some time to discuss something later this morning, Earlene. You too, Thanadir. Thanadir wants to go away. On a holiday. My only request is...I wondered if you could be happy finding someplace inside of Ireland. First I have to care for Ailill with Ratiri but...that is the topic._

 

 _Of course/I would like that_ echoed inside of his mind.

 

Thranduil sighed, not feeling ashamed of stuffing himself just this once. _Good._

 

“Well, what’s everyone’s plans for the day?” Pat asked. “Can’t say I relish the thought’v walking to the Halls by myself.”

 

“I’m not sure you’ll be walking anywhere, Da,” Saoirse said, peering out the window. “Or if you do, you might not be coming back.” The snow was falling thick and heavy now -- so heavy it was difficult to see the trees across the yard.

 

“I’m sure I’ll live,” he said. “I at least have to go make sure everything’s running smoothly on my end, then I’ll come back.”

 

“Good,” Grania said. “It’s the perfect kind’v a day to curl up in front’v a fire.”

 

“That it is. With a cat,” Sharley added, grinning up at Maglor. She had done her best, ever since they’d come home, to at least keep the Lump on _her_ side of the bed, but still. The cat loved him.

 

Lorna kind of wanted to escape, but to do what? Shit, maybe she’d just go for a walk. The other pinballs would beat her to any available tasks long before she could reach the Halls.

 

“We are going after we change,” Eleniel said as she picked up her cleared plate and utensils. “Since that is where the stables are.” Nodding, Ithiliel did the same. Sometimes watching them was eerie, like...stereophonic movement.

 

“Lots of wool,” Earlene admonished, because it was a Thing Mothers Said.

 

“Yes, Nana,” Eleniel giggled. For one so young, she understood maternal quirks quite well.

 

“What she said,” Grania said. “Lorna, you saying home?”

 

“I am,” her daughter said. “Can’t work on any kind’v construction in that.”

 

“Will you come build a snowman with us?” Atia asked.

 

“Maybe once there’s enough snow.” Lorna the Younger looked dubiously out the window.

 

“I’ll go with you for a while, Pat,” Lorna the Elder said. She needed to be...elsewhere. Even if there wasn’t any work to steal, she’d be out of the house.

 

“Wear your wrap,” Ratiri ordered, and winced when she poked him in the ribs. “And don't leave me stuck with these cats _all_ day, please? Please? They’re not going to want to go outside and I can’t blame them.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll think about it.”

 

In ten minutes, those who were leaving left, colorful bundles of wool dotting the landscape. Allanah went as well, because nowhere was warmer than the forge, and there were projects she wished to try. There was something entirely liberating about being done with the mandatory curriculum for the Irish educational system. With her Leaving Certificate behind her, she most certainly still studied...subjects she wished to and that she found useful. She had four more years to take advantage of numerous online university level courses and intended to do just that, before the curtain fell on their way of life.

 

Earlene watched her three oldest children trudge off through the snow and felt so glad of her decision to be a mother. And now to return the assorted chaos known as Their House, on a day everyone would want to stay home. There would need to be a good lunch, that much was assured.

 

**

 

Thranduil returned now with Ratiri in tow, clearing away plates and cups while questions were asked and Calanon hovered. He would not be so unkind as to order a spouse away; probably the ellon would settle down momentarily.

 

“Tell me -- tell us -- Ailill, what else have you been feeling, aside from unusually cold?” Ratiri asked. “And how long has this been going on?”

 

“When it started is easy...when the weather began getting cold this year. I have never been impervious to winter weather, but I could always manage to wear enough layers to be basically fine. This season though, it just seemed harder. I also have felt a little more tired, I think. But, I second guess myself a lot about whether I’m imagining all that. I’m about forty years old now, but that doesn’t seem like it’s enough to matter? Plus what do I know?”

 

“I’d like to run some blood tests,” Ratiri said. “It could be a number of things, and while I’m suspecting it’s a thyroid issue, I’d rather find out as soon as I can. If you have a problem with needles, Calanon can distract you.”

 

“I don’t,” Ailill said softly. “Do what you need to, and thank you for helping me.”

 

A frown passed over Thranduil’s face.   _Ratiri, Calanon tells me that he has noticed that Ailill seems weaker lately, too. That he struggles with physical activities that not so many months ago were not a problem, and that he simply seems to have lost condition for no apparent reason. He did not think about it until these questions were being asked._

 

 _In that case, I definitely want to run tests,_ Ratiri said. “You’re very welcome,” he said aloud. “That’s my job. I just need a few samples, and I’ll have Lorna take them to Indira. Unfortunately, since I don't have an actual practice, I can’t send them to a proper lab myself.” The Mystery Machine had good winter tires, and it wasn’t like his poor wife was going to be in any tearing hurry to get home. _Thranduil, it might be hypopituitarism. Which is equally not fun, but you might be able to rule out a few causes yourself. If he has any form of cancer, you’d know, I think?_

 

_If it is very small, maybe not. I mean, yes, I could look and look but...in the interest of our agreement I would rather try to conserve my energy for this since he is not in great danger. If you tell me exactly where to go, my efforts can be so much more...easier on me. To me, if waiting just a few days can yield this information, it will be quite helpful._

 

 _We should know, hopefully within three or four days,_ Ratiri said. _The snow being what it is, the real thing that will take time is transporting it._ “You say put and stay warm, Ailill. I’ll be right back.” Taking blood in the kitchen wasn’t his idea of a sterile environment, but Ailill needed to stay warm, and alcohol wipes existed for a reason.

 

He fetched a needle, several vials, a swab, and a cotton ball, a box of sticky gauze in the pocket of his robe. “All right, how are you with needles?” he asked, when he returned. He was already opening a box of rubber gloves.

 

“I’m fine, Ratiri,” Ailill reassured again. “I have had to do veterinary work on my birds. I don’t...faint, or anything. I wouldn’t be much of a falconer if I couldn’t handle being punctured on a routine basis.”

 

“True enough,” Ratiri said, tearing open the swab-packet. “All right, pick an arm and roll your sleeve up.” He wasn’t precisely worried, because even a pituitary tumor was often benign, but still.

 

Calanon, no longer able to stop himself, began exposing Ailill’s left arm, knowing that his love was not able to use both hands equally well like he could. He pushed the fabric up past his elbow, while Thranduil looked on, smiling at the ellon’s love.

 

“Thank you, Calanon,” Ratiri said, fighting a grin and losing. Fortunately, Ailill had veins like fire hoses; even before he’d tied off the upper arm, it was easy to spot a good one. Having done this thousands of times, with thousands of children, he knew how to get this over and done with in a hurry; once he had his samples, he had the puncture wound cotton-ball’d and gauzed in place. “I’m sorry I don't have any fun Band-Aids, but the kids tend to steal them. I’ll call Lorna and have her come back.” Honestly, it would probably be good for her to get out of the house for a while, the poor woman.

 

“Um, quite all right,” Ailill laughed. “These always just stop bleeding in a few seconds anyway, I never quite understood the fuss with the band-aids. But...she is going to drive in _this_ weather? Can’t this...wait?”

 

“Always better to keep a puncture clean, no matter how minor. And while it could possibly wait, I’m afraid that if she doesn’t go now, she won’t be able to later. If the weather gets too disgusting for her to come back, she can stay with Mairead until the storm passes.”

 

“Let them do their thing, Ailill,” Thranduil admonished. “And now that you feel warmer, I want you to remain this way. Show your husband...movies, or something. We will keep you warm and fed. There are puppies to colonize your lap. Or cats, whichever you prefer.”

 

“Yes, Thranduil,” he replied obediently. Between the King and Calanon, any other response would be courting disaster.

 

Calanon smiled. “Come. I will see to your comfort and you will introduce me to something suitably ridiculous that I will enjoy.”

 

Thranduil smiled and shook his head. For now, this incident was managed.

 

*****

 

Lorna was _more_ than happy to have an excuse to get out of the forest, though her chilled fingers could barely answer her mobile when Ratiri called. Three little tubes, each with a red rubber cap, were carefully wrapped in paper towels, which were in turn wrapped in tinfoil, and placed in a shoebox that had been floating around her and Ratiri’s room (it made a good cat bed for some of the smaller kitties). The Mystery Machine had good tires, but she also had chains for it, that she’d practiced putting on and taking off enough times that she ought to be able to do it in the snow without _too_ much trouble.

 

 _“Famous last words,”_ Jimmy snickered.

 

“Fuck off,” she said cheerfully. Oh, she could go be humiliated in peace, without Thranduil rolling his eyes and telling her she didn't need to be. That was of no help whatsoever, thanks so much. “You have to stay here, don't you? You can’t go that far from Sharley?”

 

 _“No, we can’t,”_  he grumbled. They might have taken Lorna on as a project, but they were still ultimately Sharley’s -- she was their mother, and outside of the forest, they were fairly closely tethered to her.

 

“Except Sharley’s going with you.”

 

Lorna twitched; she already wanted bells for every elf in the house, but she was ready to get Sharley one, too. She’d always been quieter than quiet, but somehow it seemed even worse now. “You are?” she asked. “Why? I’ll have to drive like a snail. It’s not like we can go car sledding.” Twenty-five years ago, she’d probably have done just that, but she was older, and while she might not be much wiser, she did at least have a lot more common sense.

 

“Restless,” Sharley said. Maglor had been seized with the urge to write a song, and she liked to leave him alone while he did that, so he didn't get distracted. The Lump was happy to hang out in the Heart Room with the rest of the cats, so she wouldn’t be bothering him, either. And honestly, she just wasn’t used to staying in one place for very long, even now; even when she’d lived in Skykomish, she’d still gone skiing, or snowshoeing. Getting out for a bit would be good for her.

 

“If you say so,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “Allanah, I'll call once I’ve got there.”

 

“Good,” her husband said, kissing her forehead. “Sharley, make sure she drives safe.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes, and Sharley’s only answer was laughter.

 

The interior of the Mystery Machine was like a meat locker, but the cabin heater was a good one, and the defroster set to work on the windows. Having Sharley along was actually something of a blessing; Lorna was so short that she would have had to drag a stool around to brush the snow off the hood and the windscreen, but Sharley had no such problem.

 

“You got your winter kit?”

 

“Too bloody right I do.” Back in Skykomish, Sharley had always kept a winter emergency kit in her van: hand warmers, a plastic poncho, a rolled-up plastic sheet (lying on it would beat lying in the snow, if the tire-chains weren’t cooperating), road flares, a silvery emergency blanket, a headlamp, and a big roll of parachute cord, just...because. Lorna had added a few woolen blankets, also just because. While she had never been a Girl Guide, Mairead had, and some of it had rubbed off over the years.

 

“Then off we go.” The shoebox was riding on Sharley’s lap, just to be on the safe side.

 

One of the things Lorna liked about riding with Sharley was that her friend had quite a wide range of musical tastes, and would listen to just about anything. Normally she tried to tailor her music choices around whoever was in the van with her, which could get...difficult. Thranduil was the only one who knew this, but by and large, Lorna _hated_ classical music. She liked orchestral things, sure, but that tended more toward what you heard in film trailers. Problem was that, for the most part, classical was the preference of both Earlene and Thanadir, but since both seemed content to drive with no music at all, it was a decent enough compromise.

 

Sharley, however, was perfectly happy to listen to Dio, and they pulled out of the driveway to the strains of _Rainbow in the Dark_.

 

“Christ, I’ve hardly ever seen it snow like this,” Lorna muttered, as they cruised slowly through Lasg’len. Unsurprisingly, nobody was out and about, though the pub seemed to be fairly packed for so early in the day. “When I was a kid, this was like a once-in-ten-years kind’v thing.” She turned on the headlamps, and the windscreen wipers up a notch.

 

“Climate’s a weird thing,” Sharley said. “Back in the nineteen-twenties, Washington got a lot of snow, and Greenlake would freeze so hard you could drive a car on it. Even Lake Washington, which is a lot deeper, would freeze enough to skate on. We came off a six-hundred-year cooling period last century. Granted, the Year Without a Summer didn't help.”

 

“What was that?” Lorna asked, as they crept toward the motorway.

 

Sharley cracked her neck. “I didn't know what it was called at the time, but in eighteen-fifteen, a big Dutch volcano erupted and kinda fucked over the climate. There  was this...I can only call it dry fog, that turned the sky red. Screened the sun so much that it was _cold_...I was living in what would be Washington then, too, and wound up confused as all shit when it snowed in June. I hadn’t been awake very long, so I had no idea what had happened until a lot later.”

 

It was so weird, hearing Sharley talk so matter-of-factly about things that happened over two hundred years ago --  things she’d witnessed, lived through. Even now, it could be hard to remember just what she actually was, even with the subtle changes in her appearance. They’d all got used to the changes in her eyes fairly early on, and unless she’d decided to play with the length and shade of her hair on any given day, she looked pretty much like she always had.

 

“Do things feel differently now?” Lorna asked her. “I know that you see a lot more than you used to, but has cold changed?”

 

“It has,” Sharley said, “and it hasn’t. I’m still definitely aware of it, and I’d way rather be outside in this weather in a coat than a T-shirt, but it doesn’t...bother me, I guess. It never did as much as it does other people, but it did used to be more unpleasant. Perception plays a pretty big role in a lotta things, I think. I thought I was human, so I felt things more like a human would.” Right down to having a fucking period -- not that she would mention that to Lorna, given it had been a rather sensitive subject a while back. Not having to have one now was...wonderful, honestly.

 

“Christ, don't I wish,” her tiny friend grumbled. Traffic on the freeway was worse than either had hoped, mostly because the snow had started falling once a lot of people were already on the road. “Before I had the twins, I never much cared what the temperature was, but now I get cold so bloody easily that it’s almost disgraceful.” She did not, however, get cold like Ailill had been this morning, and she wondered what the hell was wrong with the poor kid -- who wasn’t a kid, but still. He still looked young. Hopefully Doc Barry would be able to get these to Dublin through this mess.

 

“You’re tiny,” Sharley said. “It had to happen sooner or later. You’ve got a lotta muscle, but not exactly much in the way of insulation. And what’s this idiot behind you doing?”

 

“Tailgating, like an eejit.” It was true that Ireland didn't usually get a whole lot of snow, but there was still a thing called common sense, and this gobshite didn't seem to have any. Given that he was driving a Prius, and she was driving the next best thing to a tank, she was not the one who’d come away with car damage if he rear-ended her. Moron. “I don't mind driving in the snow, but it’s all these other muppets that worry me.”

 

 _“So, Lorna,”_ Jimmy said, a little too much glee in his tone, _“you gonna tell Sharley what happened last night?”_

 

“Sharley, will you mute him, please? Him and Kurt?” Lorna was highly disconcerted to feel her face heat.

 

Bless her, Sharley did just that, but her mismatched eyes were undeniably curious. “Can I ask?”

 

“ _Nope_. Well, you can, but I’ll not answer. And bloody Jesus, will you look at that?” The further they went, the more cars they saw on the side of the road, emergency lights flashing. There were way too many who still didn't buy studded snow tires, stubbornly refusing to believe that actual winter was a thing that happened -- it was true that they were bloody expensive, but not as expensive has having your car pulled out of a ditch by a tow truck. Not to mention, they saved you having to sit in your car and shiver, or stand outside and flail your free arm while you shouted into your mobile, as if that was actually going to do any good. Over a quarter into the new millennium and mobile reception was still shit through half of Ireland.

 

“You thinking of staying at Mairead’s?” Sharley asked.

 

“The thought had crossed my mind. I’m just glad we’re not headed toward Dublin.” _That_ side of the motorway was bumper-to-bumper, creeping along at maybe five kilometers an hour, if that. Given that that was the direction they’d be taking home...no thank you. “At the very least, I’d like to stay at Big Jamie’s a bit. These poor bastards were probably well away from home when this started; I doubt anyone’ll be close behind them, on a day like this -- oh, fuck _off_.” It was all she could do not to lay on the horn. Like a sane person, she’d left a decent-sized gap between her and the car ahead, and some blind gombeen had decided merge into it -- merge, and keep slipping sideways, tires spinning uselessly as the frantic driver tried to correct.

 

“Turn _into_ the skid, you moron!” Lorna growled. She was too close to him, but if she tried to slow, the tool behind her would run right into her back end.

 

As it turned out, there was no need; the little Ford in front of them just kept drifting left, until it slid right off the edge of the motorway -- and right into a classic Dodge Dart. Darts being what they were, _it_ was fine, but the front left panel of the Ford crumpled like an accordion.

 

What happened next was fascinating in the same way as a trainwreck. The Prius swerved, the driver no doubt trying to get a better look -- rather pointless, given that the snow was falling so hard there was little to see but the glow of headlamps and two drivers, gesturing wildly. Naturally, the moron behind the wheel realized his mistake far too late, and promptly joined the pair he’d been gawking at.

 

“Oh, good Jesus,” she sighed. If the loud _crunch_ was any indication, the Prius hadn’t fared any better than the Ford, but the Dart was probably totally fine...and the Mystery Machine was more than capable of pulling someone out of the ditch. “We’re kind’v morally obligated to help those eejits, aren’t we?”

 

“Kinda,” Sharley said. “We’re not obligated to _take_ them anywhere, though. Get that boat outta the ditch and let them deal with it.” Assuming all three cars had more than one person in them, they couldn’t legally take them all anywhere anyway.

 

 _“Unless somebody’s hurt,”_ Sinsemilla pointed out. _“We’d all be assholes if we left an injured person.”_

 

“True,” Lorna said, and sighed again. With an admittedly theatrical roll of her eyes, she signaled and pulled over. “Here, put that box under a blanket, will you? We can’t let it freeze, but it can’t get too warm, either.” At least she had that big first aid kit, for all she hoped she wouldn’t need it.

 

The cold, when she hopped out of the car, was like being slapped with a dead fish, and she was bloody glad she’d worn her wrap as well as her wool coat; it and the coat’s hood at least kept her head warm, and her soft, fur-lined leather gloves (a present from Thanadir) meant her fingers were nice and toasty. Still, her breath rose in clouds, and between it and the heavy snowfall, it was hard to know what she was looking at.

 

“Everyone okay here?” she called, shivering. There was a slight breeze -- very slight, but just enough that it crept up her legs from beneath the hem of her coat.

 

A groan told her the answer was possibly ‘no’. Wonderful. The dome light was on inside the Dart, and she winced when she saw a woman and two small children. Another woman, presumably the driver, was so busy shouting at the eejit who’d been behind the wheel of the Ford that she probably didn't hear.

 

“Oi!” Lorna tried again. “Lady, is this one yours?” She rapped on the hood of the Dart. “Because if it’s in halfway decent shape, I can tow you out.”

 

“I’ve got no bloody idea,” the woman said, glaring at the man Lorna presumed was the driver of the Ford. “Side looks fine, but I'm not a mechanic.”

 

“Lucky for you, I am,” Lorna said. _Sharley bring me the headlamp and the plastic sheet, will you._ “Darts’re tough old beasts. This one’s what, a ’78?” In the dim light, it was difficult to tell, but it looked to be a dark maroon.

 

“Yeah,” the woman said, “it is.” She was a tall woman, and broad, in a black hoodie, hands stuffed in her pockets, shivering.

 

“You get on back in, and I’ll let you know what I find,” Lorna said, trying to sound professional. She was glad she carried the plastic, because lying down in the snow in her wool coat would have just...sucked.

 

“What about _my_ car?” the Ford driver asked. His voice sounded young-ish, though between the collar of his ski coat and his stocking hat, she could see little of his face.

 

“Lad, look at it,” she said, spreading out the plastic. “It’s a write-off. Have you rang for a tow truck yet?”

 

“...No.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Then get on with it, will you?” Those bloody new cars...oh, they _said_ the fact that they crumpled like tin cans was a safety feature, and in one sense it was -- but they’d gone too far with it. Even a minor bump could total them.

 

He grumbled, but went to do just that, and Lorna put on the headlamp while Sharley spread out the plastic. The snow was falling heavier than ever, stinging where it hit Lorna’s face, and she pulled her wrap over her mouth and nose as she peered under the Dart. _Well, shit._ The left front tie rod was visibly bent; she flicked at it, and wondered what idiot had installed what felt like an aluminum tie-rod on such a heavy car. Nice.

 

 _“I take it they’re not getting on the road again in this?”_ Layla asked.

 

“Nope,” Lorna sighed. “Dammit.” She and Sharley couldn’t just leave -- not when there were two little kids in the car.

 

She rose, and knocked on the driver’s-side window. “You’re not going anywhere in this thing,” she said, when the woman rolled down the window. “Tie rod’s fucked. Where are you headed?” Jesus, the oldest of those kids couldn’t be any more than five, while she’d peg the younger about about three.

 

“Kildare.” The woman had pushed her hood back, revealing a head full of frizzy blonde curls. She looked like she was in her early-to-mid thirties, her face red with cold and, so Lorna suspected, anger.

 

“I can’t get you to Kildare, but I can get you to Baile,” Lorna said. “There’s a pub with some hot food, and if you can’t get a tow-truck tonight, there’s a little inn as well.”

 

The driver looked at the passenger -- a woman of about the same age, with startlingly blue eyes and a bob haircut dyed jet black. If the two of them decided to be stubborn, Lorna could hardly force them -- but this was no weather to be trying to ride out in a parked car.

 

Sharley, coming up behind Lorna, frowned. This would technically be an abuse of her telepathy, but only technically -- she was, after all, using it to save four people’s lives. Probably. It was totally understandable that these two women wouldn’t want to take their kids and just go off with some stranger, but in this case, there wasn’t a whole lot of choice.

 

“All right,” the blonde said. “I’m Colleen, and this one’s my wife, Fiona.”

 

“Grand to meet you both,” Lorna said. “I’m Lorna, and this one’s Sharley. If you’ve got anything you want to bring, grab it. Mystery Machine’s nice and warm.”

 

“Mystery Machine?” Fiona asked. Her accent was distinctly Northern -- Belfast, maybe.

 

“It’s what she calls her van, because it’s green,” Sharley said, even as she realized _Scooby-Doo_ was well before this pair’s time.

 

“What about me?” the lad asked, while Lorna shook off the plastic sheet. “I can’t get through to anyone.”

 

“Yeah, us either.” The dipshit in the Prius had on a light sport coat and slacks -- why the hell had he been _leaving_ Dublin? He must have had a passenger still in the car, too, smart enough not to stand in the snow like an eejit.

 

Lorna looked at Sharley, whose hair seemed to be the only bright point outside of the headlamps on the cars. _Let’s take them,_ the other woman said, rolling her eyes.

 

“All right, you lot, in the van. There’s not quite enough seats, but at this point, who gives a shit? I doubt we’ll get pulled over.”

 

It didn't take long to get the group loaded into the van, and Lorna draped her wrap around the two little girls. The seats weren’t equipped for carseats, but oh well.

 

Merging back onto the motorway wasn’t as bad, just because traffic had thinned out; presumably, this was the tail end of the herd that had left Dublin before the snow got going in earnest. Yeah, they were definitely stopping at the pub; this was perfect weather for biscuits and an Irish coffee.

 

Her unexpected passengers chattered in the back -- the lad with the Ford kept hitting redial on his mobile, as though that was actually going to do anything. Depending on how big this storm was, emergency services might be stretched to the breaking point

 

And the sad thing, the thing Lorna didn't like admitting even to herself, was that it was kind of exciting. People were probably getting hurt out there -- she shouldn’t find this fun, and yet part of her, the part that was still the lunatic teenager who’d lived in a warehouse, was enjoying this. Even though one of passengers was a gobshite in a sport coat, with a combover.

 

 _“I’ll never understand human men who try to hide that they’re going bald,”_ Jimmy said. _“It’s just...sad. Embrace it, dude.”_

 

 _“Human men can get hung up on some of the weirdest stuff,”_ Layla said. _“Human women can, too, just...not as much. I think way fewer women are wrapped up in the size of their tits than men are with the size of their trouser snakes.”_

 

Oh, how Lorna wished she could respond. ‘Trouser snake’...oh Layla. Sharley was pinching the bridge of her nose, trying so very hard not to laugh.

 

“How long is this storm meant to last?” Fiona asked. The children were between her and Colleen, by now nice and warm.

 

“The damn weather station’s not even caught up to the fact that it’s _happening_ yet,” the woman from the Prius grumbled, tapping at her mobile. It was a tiny thing, compared to Lorna’s dinosaur of a Samsung -- Lorna had hung onto hers because she used it even more as a camera than she did as a phone -- and actually projected information like a hologram. Mobiles like that were fun novelties, but so buggy and impractical that few people actually had one. The status-conscious and the uber-nerdy were about it.

 

“Of course they haven’t,” Colleen grumbled. “God forbid they do anything useful. Wasn’t any prediction.”

 

“Is there ever, anymore?” Ford Lad grumbled, shivering.

 

“Oh, what in bloody fuck?” Lorna muttered. A jackknifed lorry sprawled across the motorway, emergency lights flashing fruitlessly. A few bright sparks had tried to get around it off the shoulder, and only got stuck themselves. It must have just happened, though, for there wasn’t a whole lot of traffic ahead of them.

 

 _“Well, shit,”_ Jimmy said. _“Now what?”_

 

Lorna glanced at Sharley. The motorway was icy as hell right now, but if they put the chains on, she could probably get around the eejits...could she at least try to shift the lorry enough to open a lane? The engine could handle it, but she wasn’t sure the van’s frame could. If her bumper fell off, she was going to be really fucking embarrassed.

 

Sharley grinned at her. “Let’s try it,” she said. “If you lose a bumper, you lose a bumper, but you’ve done so much on this thing that I bet you won’t.”

 

Lorna looked at the lorry, and the snowflakes falling thick and heavy, and grinned. “Fuck it. You lot, stay put and I’ll leave the heat on. Sharley, help me with the chains, will you?”

 

“What’re you doing?” Colleen asked, alarmed.

 

“Getting that thing out’v the way.” Lorna hopped out, shivering, and went to grab the chains from the very back. The cabin heater would keep things more or less warm, though it was really only the kids she worried about -- and the kids were the only ones who didn't seem worried about _anything_.

 

Bless Thanadir, these gloves allowed her to unroll and drape the chains with little effort, checking on Sharley as she did. She was glad as hell she’d practiced this so often, because it meant she could get them on and secured in less than a minute.

 

“All right, everyone, we’re going to do a little very gentle off-roading,” she said, wiping the snow off her face. There wasn’t much of a gap between the cars that had tried and failed to circle around the lorry, but that didn't matter; none had dared go too far out.

 

“Off-roading?” Combover Man said. “Wait--”

 

“ _Hush_ , you,” she said. “I know what I'm doing.”

 

 _“Do you?”_ Layla asked.

 

“...Mostly,” Lorna muttered under her breath. The chains gripped the snow, at least, when she carefully pulled off the motorway, ooching just as carefully around the mass of stalled cars. Her lovely Detroit purred, and she grinned. Even if she did lose her bumper, at least she’d have a story to tell.

 

“What’re you going to do?” Fiona asked, even as the two little girls tried to peer out the window.

 

“Try to shift that lorry.” Easy, carefully, and back up onto the motorway they went. “You lot just stay put.”

 

“But--” Combover Man tried again.

 

“ _Hush_. C’mon, Sharley, help me out.” Because she was her, she had a nylon tow-strap, but she also had a roll of steel cable, complete with hook. It was long, too, though not long enough; even fully stretched out, she had to back the Mystery Machine up until it was far closer to the lorry than she actually liked. At least the driver had levered himself out the door, and stood shivering.

 

“In the van,” Lorna ordered. “I can’t get this upright, but I might be able to get it out’v the way.”

 

“But--” he started.

 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, will you just get in the bloody van?! If I hear the word ‘but’ one more time, somebody’ll be feeling my boot up their arse. _Go_.”

 

Go he did, while she eyed his bumper, wondering where the hell to attach the hook. Fuck it, she was going to have to try to fasten it somewhere on his undercarriage, and hope nothing broke. If it _did_...well, at least she could say she tried.

 

Sharley, being taller, managed to wrap and hook the cable firmly around the front axle, standing to hold it taut while Lorna clambered back into the Mystery Machine

 

“You really think this’ll work?” Colleen asked, trying to restrain her curious elder daughter.

 

“Eh, we’ll find out.” Lorna eased the van into first, moving forward very slowly and very carefully, until she felt the cable pull taut. _We good back there?_

 

 _I think so. Go for it._ Sharley, on a whim, book out her cell phone  and started filming, just for the hell of it.

 

“Please don't rip my lorry up,” the driver said, wincing as the engine revved.

 

“It’ll survive, or it won’t,” Lorna said. “Either way, it won’t be in the middle’v the motorway.”

 

 _“We hope,”_ Jimmy muttered.

 

 _“I don't,”_ Kurt piped up. He’d love it if the truck came apart _and_ stayed stuck, because he was home.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes, but said nothing. That was only to be expected from Kurt. She inched forward, the idling engine shifting to a low growl as she fed it a little more petrol. The chains still gripped firm, and behind them, she felt the lorry shift on the ice. _Yes_. Still careful, still slow, but the engine growled a little louder as they inched forward, straining against the weight of the lorry.

 

 _You’re good,_ Sharley said. _Keep going._ She was honestly somewhat surprised this was actually working, but the Mystery Machine really was a beast. The truck groaned a little as it shifted across the ice, but shift it did, swinging ever-so-slowly until the outer lane was clear.

 

The groaning grew louder just as the tires crossed the line, but before Sharley could say a thing, the axle she’d hooked the cable to ripped free with a tearing shriek of metal.

 

It was only Maia reflexes that kept it from landing right on Sharley; she ducked and dodged and was well out of harm’s way when it went skidding after the Mystery Machine. Slow though the van was going, the axle caught up in a hurry, crashing into the back bumper without so much as denting it.

 

“...Oops,” Lorna said, glancing in the side mirror. “Well, at least it’s out’v the way.”

 

The poor driver let out a strangled, half-squawk, half-groan as he watched his lorry smack up against the concrete barrier. “I’ve got a load’v beef in there.”

 

“Well, it’s not like it’s going to thaw,” Colleen offered. “Not in this.”

 

“I still shouldn’t leave it.”

 

“What, you’d rather sit in the middle’v the motorway and freeze?” Lorna asked.

 

Sharley opened the back doors, and set the coil of cable up against the side. “Your van’s stronger than a semi,” she said. “I’m not surprised, but I’m kinda scared.”

 

Lorna glanced at all the cars still stuck on the side of the road, and sighed. She couldn’t in good conscience leave them there -- especially not now that they’d seen the towing capacity of her van. “Oh, fuck everything.”

 

**

 

Two hours later -- two long, cold hours -- they had as many cars as they could actually get pulled back onto the motorway, as well as five more passengers whose vehicles remained stuck. Given the range in ages of their passengers -- the youngest was three, while they oldest was sixty-one -- it was somewhat difficult to find music they all knew, but eventually there was an amateur choir belting their way through _Eye of the Tiger_ while the heater blasted.

 

“ _It's the eye of the tiger_

_It's the thrill of the fight_

_Rising up to the challenge of our rival_

_And the last known survivor_

_Stalks his prey in the night_

_And he's watching us all with the eye of the tiger,_ ”

 

According to Lorna’s mobile, it was fifteen below -- only marginally warmer than it had been this morning. They crept along while the engine purred, the snow falling ever heavier. They’d had a few impressive snowstorms over the years, but this was ridiculous. This just didn't _happen_ in Ireland -- not to this level.

 

“Call Ratiri, will you?” she said, passing her mobile to Sharley. “We might be staying the night in Baile, unless they need us for whatever reason.” She couldn’t imagine anything pressing enough, but given that it was this household, you never knew. He probably wouldn’t answer, but at least they could leave him a voicemail.

 

Sharley didn't bother turning down the stereo, mainly because this voicemail would be far more amusing if she left it as it was. “Ratiri, we still haven’t made it to Baile yet,” she said. “We did tow a semi off the freeway, though, and we’ve got thirteen passengers we kinda had to pick up.”

 

In the background, still in chorus, at a very healthy volume, there came,

 

“ _Rising up, straight to the top_

_Had the guts, got the glory_

_Went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop_

_Just a man and his will to survive_ ,”

 

“We’re having a sing-along,” she added. “In case you couldn’t tell. Pet the kitties for us.”

 

“Ohhhh, what the fuck is this?” There was a Garda panda car tipped onto its side, siren klaxons still whirling yellow. Lorna was so, _so_ tempted to just leave it -- and its driver -- but there was no way she could actually justify that. “Dammit.” She slowed, but before she could come to a stop, a second Garda car came screaming down the motorway, _far_ too fast, siren blaring. “Jesus bloody--” She swerved, tires struggling for purchase on the ice, and just _barely_ avoided a collision with the eejit...who instead crashed into the first panda car. Brilliant.

 

Sharley turned down the volume, and she and Lorna looked at each other. If someone had actually wound up injured in that… “Let’s go see,” Lorna said heavily. “You know the drill, you lot: stay here, stay warm.”

 

There was a collective, “But--”

 

“What did I say I’d do to the next person who used that word?”

 

“...Sorry.”

 

The snow was ankle-deep on her now, dry and squeaky, and the sky actually seemed a bit _darker_. This was fucking lunacy. “Everyone all right in there?” she called, still uncertain as to just how many people ‘everyone’ might be. Worryingly, there was no response. The first car was empty -- its driver must have decided to ditch it and walk -- but the one that hit it held two Gardaí, both of whom had been squarely punched in the face by the car’s airbags. The driver didn't look any older than twenty-five, if even that, which sort of explained the reckless speed. He was blinking hard, and wiping at his bleeding nose.

 

Lorna looked at Sharley, and rolled her eyes before opening the car door. “Come on, lad,” she said, hauling him out. “You can’t stay here -- we’ll get you to the doctor. Go on now, get in the van.”

 

 _“That sounds kinda wrong,”_ Kurt said. _“Yes, lad, get in the van. There’s candy in there.”_

 

She bit her cheek, hard, to keep from bursting out laughing. Fucking _Kurt_ … As soon as Sharley had hustled the eejit off, she did laugh, just because she couldn’t help it. “Kurt, stop helping,” she muttered, moving her way around to the passenger’s side. Oh….

 

“Oh, good Jesus.” It was impossible to tell the age or gender of the passenger, because they’d slammed their head against the door window so hard it actually cracked the glass into a fine spiderweb. Christ, she shouldn’t even be trying to _move_ this person, given she had neither the equipment nor the knowledge -- her first aid kit contained neither a neck brace nor a backboard, and if this poor bastard had some kind of neck or back injury, she could well risk paralyzing them.

 

But what the hell else could she do? No ambulance was going to make it through this mess, and whoever this person was, they’d probably rather not freeze to death.

 

Sharley edged her way down the bank, and only now did Lorna see that she wasn’t walking _through_ the snow, but _on_ it. “Can you...not do that? I mean, it’s kind’v noticeable.”

 

“Actually, I don't think I have a choice,” Sharley said, grimacing a little. “It just kinda...happens.”

 

Well, it was dark and dumping, so maybe nobody would notice. “Help me with this door, will you? I don't want this poor fucker falling out as soon as it’s opened.”

 

Opening it at all was something of a challenge, given how badly warped the car’s frame was. The passenger proved to be a slightly older man, likely somewhere in his thirties. He too had a bloody nose, but his temple was also bleeding freely, and Lorna grimaced. “Please tell me you can at least tell if he’s hurt anywhere else or not.” No, Sharley wasn’t Thranduil, but she was a freaking Maia; if an elf could do it, surely she ought to be able to as well? Nobody could heal quite like he did, but...well, shit.

 

Sharley pressed her fingers along the man’s neck, feeling for fractures, but sensed none. She had no idea how she was even supposed to just know if he was hurt, but she’d give it a shot anyway. “What the hell are we gonna do if he is?”

 

“I...don't know. Cross that bridge later. In like...five minutes.”

 

“Great.” She touched the poor man’s head, fingers skating over sandy hair to the wound at his temple. It actually wasn’t very big, from what she could tell; a gash of maybe half an inch, but bleeding as head wounds always bled. But there was….what was this? Something beneath the skin, something a human wouldn’t be able to feel -- it wasn’t just the lovely goose egg he was rapidly forming. Concussion. He had a concussion, though she wasn’t sure how she knew that. She traced over the phantom line of it, and her eyes widened when a very faint light flared beneath her fingers.

 

 _“Okay, what in this shit?”_ Kurt asked flatly.

 

 _“She’s a Maia, genius,”_ Jimmy said, and if he’d had a body, he’d probably be rolling his eyes. _“Apparently that comes with a few extras.”_

 

“How did you do that?” Lorna asked, staring at her.

 

“I wish I fucking knew,” Sharley said. It had just...happened. It certainly hadn’t been a conscious decision, considering she hadn’t exactly been aware it was even an option. But it did make a certain amount of sense, no matter how surprising it was. It would have made more sense, however, if she’d actually, you know, done in on _purpose._ Something to ask Maglor and Thranduil about, apparently. “Let’s get him in the van. Damn do I wish human booze actually did something for me.”

 

“You can have all the elf wine in the world when we get home.”

 

*****

 

Everything in the Irish Times was, naturally, all about the record snowstorm, and the havoc it was playing throughout much of Ireland. Amid the woes of power cuts and car wrecks, there was a video, shot off the mobile of a stranded passenger on the M7. The snow was falling thick and heavy, but there was obviously a jackknifed lorry blocking the entirety of the motorway.

 

The camera zoomed in as a tall woman with long blue hair dragged something out and hooked it to the lorry -- something already attached to a huge, green, full-sized van. A very tiny woman, who looked more like a mobile coat, checked it and then hurried back to the van.

 

“This won’t end well,” the camera’s holder, a young man, muttered, as the van’s tail lights blinked to life. “She’ll tear the back right off that thing before she shifts it.”

 

The van’s engine growled, a puff of black smoke belching from the tailpipe as it crept forward. The cable went taut, the engine revved higher, and the blue-haired woman got the hell out of the way.

 

“Oh, no _bleep_ way,” the cameraman said. “You’ve got to be _bleeeep_ me.” The lorry shifted, metal groaning and scraping across the ice, while the van’s engine revved. It wasn’t just the fact that the van was towing an eighteen-wheel lorry, it was the fact that it sounded like it had swallowed Satan, and was in the process of digesting him.

 

**

 

“Valar, she’s doing it again,” Earlene shouted at the top of her fairly impressive lungs to whoever might be listening. “Irish Times, on the M7. Different car, same Lorna,” she hollered.

 

Slowly they filtered into the room, if only to see what the racket was about; Earlene so rarely shouted. Rather than try to explain, Earlene simply turned the screen around and ran the video clip on ‘repeat.’ Making sure that Pat and Ratiri had the best eyeful.

 

Pat burst out laughing, while Ratiri groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course she is. I knew that van was stupidly overpowered, and now I have proof.”

 

“Catch a screengrab’v that, can you?” Pat asked, still snickering. “My Lorna can print it out and frame it. And look at it this way, Ratiri: at least she isn’t kicking anyone.”

 

“True,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “It’s unlikely to end in either tears or vomit.”

 

Thanadir appeared, watching the screen in morbid fascination. “If you had told me, fifteen thousand years ago, that I would one day live under a roof where that sentence could be possible, I would not have believed you. And somehow I now find that I would not trade it for any reason.”

 

Calanon peered over Thanadir’s shoulder, standing on his toes, for they were the same height. “Well said, Hîr vuin. I feel the same.” The two ellyn looked at each other, and burst into unstoppable laughter while the rest of the room was treated to a rare sight.

 

“What am I missing??” Ailill demanded from the other room, feeling left out.  
  
“Let me explain,” Earlene exclaimed, jumping up and speaking in her best Inigo Montoya accent. “No.  There is too much. Let me sum up.” Taking her laptop, she moved to the other room. And behind her, two elves had not stopped laughing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork in this chapter was a commission created by Kapriss for our story, and can be found at this link on DeviantArt in its final incarnation:  
> https://img00.deviantart.net/367d/i/2018/151/8/d/thranduil_earlene_and_thanadirfinal_by_annellspethraven-dcd42ho.png


	142. One Hundred and Forty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> January 15-25, 2033
> 
> Dear readers, we didn't really realize we'd lagged so long in publishing...so here is another one to make up for our tardiness :-) Oops...

 

{Meanwhile in Aman--Tol Eressëa}

 

A knock sounded on the door of the House That is Home, and Elrohir being closest hurried to open it and receive their guests. “Glorfindel! Erestor! Oh, it is wonderful to see you!” The pair of longtime friends smiled in turn to see the ellon they once had struggled to help raise. Twice a year they came to stay with their former Lord and Lady and his sons, and for the pair of them it tended to be the highlight of their days together.

 

For together is what they always were; after Erestor’s failed attempt to dwell in Eryn Lasgalen, the brokenhearted ellon had arrived back in Imladris just days before Glorfindel intended to depart for the Havens on one of the last ships. It would not be _the_ last ship; Elrond’s sons, Celeborn, and others of lesser fame stayed on  in order to support and care for the dwindling numbers of elves...and yet one by one, they were leaving these shores for Aman.

 

Glorfindel burned with rage to hear of the treatment his friend Erestor had received. But that anger was not directed at Thranduil. No, his ire was clearly focused on the (in his estimation) worthless ellon who had been the cause of Erestor’s misery. At a time when everyone was so busy making preparations for departure, hours had been spent consoling and comforting his friend, whose tenuous self-esteem in the realm of interpersonal relationships had always been a source of struggle. For all Erestor’s talent and genius, he had long seen himself as unlovable and unlikable, and this encounter had done so, so much damage by way of reinforcing that negative perception. Glorfindel and Elrond were perhaps the only two pillars of support that held back those creeping drifts of melancholy.

 

Glorfindel insisted Erestor sail with him, and Erestor was in no emotional condition to resist. If there were times at night during the weeks’ long journey through the lands of Arnor and Eriador when their fellow travelers noticed the two of them by their campfire, Erestor held in Glorfindel’s arms while he quietly cried out his grief, no one dared say a word to the mighty warrior--for that description ever fit Glorfindel. He had some inches on Thranduil, and towered over his smaller and far more slender--but surprisingly athletic-- friend. It was not so much that Erestor was tiny or frail; he was not. It was just that by contrast, his companion was gifted with unusual physical presence. Which is why most everyone hesitated to move him to wrath. But there were no such emotions on display tonight. The handsome faces were written over with happiness to be here, and were quickly ushered inside. “You know where your rooms are,” Elrohir smirked at each of them cheekily.

 

“And just for _that_ you will carry their knapsacks upstairs for them and light the lamps in their rooms,” Celebrían fumed at her errant younger twin, who had not known his mother was so near.

 

“Oops,” Elrohir smiled again, doing as his mother asked, but obviously not in the least repentant.

 

With a kiss to each of their cheeks and a hug, Celebrían gave a noise of exasperation. “Still an elfling, some of the time,” she huffed, but her eye twinkled in humor.

 

“I think hoping to see some of that is part of why we come here,” Glorfindel grinned, loving the good-natured verbal sparring entertainment the twins inevitably provided.

 

“Then you are in the right place,” she said, shaking her head. “When you get settled, Elrond is in the kitchen. He has been fussing all day, wanting your welcome dinner to be very special. Something about stew and buttered pasta…” with a wave, she drifted back to her numerous chores, leaving them to follow Elrohir up to their rooms.

 

Erestor entered the room in which he always stayed, to see the small lamp lit against the twilight, and placed into its protective iron holder that would keep anything or anyone from accidentally knocking it over. “Finally,” he breathed with delight, unable to stop himself from hugging one of the pillows on his bed and opening the window to peek out and hear the waves crashing into the nearby shoreline. He loved it here, and always wished they could stay longer. But their work on the mainland required attention, and they could only usually have these two holidays in the year. Erestor supervised a vast library of archives across the sea at Alqualondë, and was busily employed for his talents transcribing, creating manuscripts, and teaching.

 

Glorfindel worked in the same city, but from their shared home. He was skilled at preparing food, and at many domestic crafts. Oddly enough, more than anything he preferred the art of candlemaking. Tapers, votives, and sometimes fancier carven pillars were all within his reach, and these were of course a welcome and necessary commodity for the local community. Nearby farmers were more than happy to bring him their surplus tallow and grain, and have it come back to them in the form of candles and golden loaves. But sometimes when Erestor returned home it was not to a place of rest and peace--he would see his housemate in a flurry of activity and do his best to sneak into his room unseen and close the door. His day was already filled with people and bustle and he often yearned for greater tranquility. And yet, he felt he had no right to complain about anything inside their home, when Glorfindel kept him fed and clothed and able to pursue his own talents in comfort. Which was why the moist salt breeze that blew against his skin brought such great happiness. Here, there was no rushing about. Only peace, and the steady pace of life.

 

The meal was delectable, and they quickly settled into their daily pattern under Elrond’s roof. Evenings were always everyone’s favorite; when they all could have enough time to sit and catch up on the news of each other’s lives.

 

“So what new things have happened for the House of Elrond?” Erestor asked his friends, feeling replete, warm, and immeasurably contented.

 

“Compared to usual, just about everything,” Elrond smiled, hoping that the sum of his tidings would be well-received. “Though, what I am about to tell you should be kept in confidence. One day two Maiar stayed with us. Some of Lady Vairë’s. And one of them was the long-lost wife of Maglor. She brought word of the happenings in Ennor.”

 

“What??” Glorfindel asked, uncertain he had heard correctly. “Maglor, Fëanor’s son?”

 

“The same. After a countless span of years, he and Pengolodh made their way to Thranduil, and after a time Maglor gave himself up for his long-deferred judgement. He had found his wife, badly damaged in mind and spirit, in Ennor. She was also with Thranduil.”

 

“So that is what happened to Pengolodh,” Erestor added softly. “I have never stopped wondering if somehow he found his way to Námo or...it was as if he vanished. I never dreamed he had remained in Ennor.”

 

Elrond nodded in acknowledgement of this comment, but continued. “I traveled to Valimar, to speak with Maglor. He was there with...with Thranduil and Thanadir’s wife.” Celebrían glanced nervously at Elrond, knowing what he hoped this conversation would accomplish.

 

Glorfindel shook his head, whereas Erestor had simply gone intensely quiet. “Excuse me, you said Thranduil _and_ Thanadir’s wife.” The second name had been spoken with an intense note of derision. “That cannot be.”

 

“It cannot, but it nonetheless is. Her name is Earlene. They have been granted a...no that is not even the right way to say it. They were actively maneuvered into a marriage of two ellyn to one firieth. The Valar themselves did this. They have been wed for over ten years, and have many offspring.”

 

“We all knew his first marriage was dissolved. But Thranduil married a mortal?” Erestor broke his silence to ask Elrond out of the abundance of his disbelief.

 

“Well, both of them did. But I met her, and...she is mortal no longer. When I last saw her, the life of the Eldar was just entering her.”

 

“Wait a moment,” Erestor said, frowning deeply. “What was her appearance?”

 

“Entirely like an elleth. Fair of face, perhaps up to Celebrían’s chin in height, with hair the color of my own. Brown eyes, and dressed in the garb of the Woodland Realm, though bearing a valuable necklace of adamants that I believe is an heirloom of Thranduil’s house. The only other remarkable thing about her is her rings of marriage, for she wears two on her finger. Two thin bands of gold, where ordinarily one would be. Why?” Elrond asked, curious.

 

“I just...wondered,” said Erestor, not entirely being truthful. For now he knew that this was the one they had seen, sleeping in Irmo’s gardens, and his heart felt heavier for having missed the chance to speak with the wife of Thranduil. That she was also the wife of... _him_...he would need time to digest. He could also feel Glorfindel’s eyes boring into him, and wished to say no more.

 

“That is extraordinary,” Glorfindel admitted. “Though I pity her connection to Thranduil’s seneschal.” He refused to speak Thanadir’s name aloud a second time if he could possibly avoid it.

 

“There was more,” Elrond continued, noting his friend’s adverse reactions. “Much more.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Earlene knew of what had passed between her mate and Erestor, and took the time to tell me that there was an explanation after all, for what happened. Though, it is an explanation I wonder if either of you will find believable. She especially hoped you, Erestor, would find some comfort in hearing that Thanadir has suffered long years of pain and remorse for his words to you, and intends to seek your forgiveness when his time comes. For they are to be recalled to Aman. All of them, now living under Thranduil’s authority, are living their last days in Middle-Earth. Only Maglor and his wife will not return at the time of the summons; this was Maglor’s punishment for his long disobedience.”

 

“Better the seneschal had kept his mouth shut in the first place,” Glorfindel growled.

 

“From what I was told, he would be the first to agree with you, old friend. Thanadir apparently is...not like all other elves. Earlene says he has a syndrome, that is also found in the human population. A mental difference that has granted him both extreme intelligence and serious difficulties with his emotional awareness and comprehension. And that because of this...condition...Erestor’s arrival caused Thanadir to be riddled with unmanageable fear and anxiety that escalated, spilling over into his regrettable words. She told me that he is ordinarily the kindest and gentlest of ellyn; someone deeply loved, and that they have all worked long and hard to assist him with his...uniqueness.”

 

“Orc dung,” Glorfindel spat, his eyes afire. “She was giving a prepared speech.”

 

“It has been long since I ruled an elven realm,” Elrond responded calmly as Elladan and Elrohir grew increasingly nervous at the direction the conversation was taking. “But it is still left to me to see into the minds and hearts of others. And as she did not resist my doing so, I can say with finality that Earlene spoke every word with full sincerity.”

 

“Then she is not terribly intelligent.” Glorfindel’s anger simmered just under the surface, and he was not about to let this go. Erestor had begun to tremble involuntarily, though he was making every effort to hide it.

 

Again, Elrond responded only with level kindness. “Well, Earlene was brought to Valimar to be Maglor’s legal counsel, because he initially refused to speak on his own behalf. I stood there and watched while in the ring of Máhanaxar she stood fearlessly before all twelve of the assembled Valar to sway them to a favorable judgement. She...I am sorry, my friend, you were not there to hear. Her mind surely rivals that of Erestor himself. I have never heard the like. For Eru’s sake, she proved to them why they must declare the Oath of Fëanor nullified. No, I cannot agree with you. I would say she is astonishingly intelligent.”

 

To this Glorfindel could not retort, but his feelings had not abated. “It is still my intention that Thanadir of Eryn Lasgalen will feel my anger, when the chance comes,” he said with finality.

 

“Glorfindel, please,” a soft voice pleaded, as a hand reached to touch the strong forearm. “Please do not speak this way.” Erestor was visibly blinking back tears.

 

Only now did Glorfindel seem to notice his friend’s emotional state, which shattered his consternation. “I am sorry, gwador. I did not mean to upset you,” he apologized with surprising tenderness, given his tone of voice just a moment ago. He covered Erestor’s hand briefly with his own, before reluctantly removing it. He could see Erestor’s struggle, and now felt guilt for his harsh words...however much they truly expressed his intention.

 

“There is still more,” Elrond continued, viewing for the thousandth time the obvious love that could not be expressed between them. “Earlene told me that the Valar also brought together two males that eventually wed, blessing their union. It was told to them that change would come to the will of Eru, and they would be an example that would end suffering, though no more was clarified than that.”

 

“What?” whispered the blond ellon, not believing he had heard correctly.

 

“You heard me. Earlene explained that an ellon wed a firion who had pledged himself to Thranduil’s service. That they are much in love and had been very happy together, especially once Thranduil managed to help the thinking of his people adjust to this new reality.” Elrond stretched and yawned. “I hope you will forgive me. There are other bits of little news to share, but I will save those for breakfast. It has been a long day and these bones need rest,” he joked, offering his hand to his wife as he said good-night. The entire family took the hint and in seconds, a stunned Glorfindel and Erestor were left alone in their chairs nearest the fire.

 

As the couple walked upstairs to their rooms, Celebrían smiled and nuzzled her husband. _You have lost none of your skills, my Lord,_ she said, her hand slipping down his strong back.

 

 _You are too kind,_ the clear grey eyes smiled back at her. He was only trying to help end some of that suffering a little sooner. Before he departed Valimar he sought to speak with Lord Manwë himself, and the consent for such a relationship had been confirmed--with the same strict admonitions as to discretion.

 

**

 

Erestor knelt to be nearer the fire, unable now to control either his shaking body or his roiling emotions. His mind and body were now as unsettled as they had been calm earlier, and he hoped the extra warmth might help. It did not take long for the arms of his companion to come around him, and draw him against the broad chest. Tears came from the smaller elf, who was thoroughly overwrought by all he had heard tonight.

 

“Shhhhh. I promised you long ago I would always stay with you and care for you, Erestor. That you would never face your pain alone ever again, until the day comes when you no longer have need of me. I am here with you.”

 

It was true. The promise had been given, and never broken, and since they had stepped on the shores of Aman not a day of Erestor’s life had been spent without Glorfindel in it. He had always needed him. _Did not believe he could live without him_ , would be a better way to say it. And yet there had always been another question. Another question that could never be asked, because of fear. “But why did you do it?” Erestor whispered. “Why consign your life to watching over me when you could have….you are famous, Glorfindel. Admired and renowned among all our people. You could have gone anywhere. Done anything. I have not thanked you enough for what you have given me, because it is not possible. But always I have wondered at the goodness in your heart, toward me.”

 

“Do you really not know?” the words were whispered so very quietly into his companion’s ear.

 

Erestor’s body now trembled uncontrollably. “I cannot be certain of what you have never told me.” And yet even as the response tumbled forth, he knew. He had always known, somehow, but it was never spoken aloud. For what would have been the end of it? “I am sorry. I did not mean...oh, Glorfindel. Please just hold me.”

 

“I am.” He tried to soothe his friend. Glorfindel was sure that there was more to say. From both of them. But the news of Thanadir alone was more than enough to shake Erestor to his core. The other...one thing at a time. And while a small part of him smarted to hear what had been said, his companion’s arms held him so tightly. Yes, there was more. Later, they would speak. But not just now. “I am taking you to your bed,” Glorfindel said kindly but firmly. “You should rest.”

 

Glorfindel received no answer, and after a few minutes more by the fire he carried Erestor up to his room as though he weighed nothing. A still-trembling ellon was helped into his sleeping clothes and tucked in warmly. And that is when he saw the miruvor at the side table near the bed. Silently thanking Elrond for his foresight, a measured dose was poured out that Glorfindel insisted Erestor drink. Immediately the brunt of the difficult emotions were removed, and a sigh of relief was heard. “Please stay with me, Glorfindel,” a voice full of fear asked. “Please do not leave me alone this night.”

 

The larger ellon hesitated, but not for too long. “I will stay. But I need my own night clothes. Will you trust me to change and return to you?”

 

“I have always trusted you,” Erestor whispered. “A trust I have never regretted.”

 

“Then I will be back momentarily.” With a kiss to Erestor’s brow he disappeared, returning fully clothed in loose-fitting garments before snuffing out the lamp and slipping under the bedcovers in vague disbelief that he was doing this.

 

“Please hold me,” came the small voice whose owner faced away from him. “I feel so overwhelmed.”

 

“I know you do, dear one,” Glorfindel said, as he instinctively reached to pull Erestor against his chest. “I am here, nothing can harm you.”

 

The finely-formed fingers of the dark-haired elf found Glorfindel’s hand where it held his chest, and clasped it, seeking to entwine their fingers. The gesture of need and affection sent his heart soaring, and gave him the strength to say something else. “Erestor, neither of us likes to speak about Thanadir. I become angry, and you end up filled with hurtful thoughts that you have never fully left in the past. Though, I know you have tried. You might need to talk more about this, and I promise I will do what is necessary so that I do not interject my own emotions into the discussion. But...I hope you can understand now why I too struggle. I believe that witnessing the long years of your pain and grief were harder on me than even...dying. In all other ways I could protect you, care for you. But this hurt I could not fully assuage, and that has sat very poorly with me.”

 

“What if what Elrond said is true, Glorfindel? What if Thanadir did not say those words because of anything about me, but him? What if this was nothing more than the most terrible mistake ever?” Erestor wanted to believe this, so badly. With as much intensity as Glorfindel wished not to.

 

The golden ellon sighed and summoned all his strength and wisdom for his next words, pushing aside his own wants. “Then perhaps it will be a means for you to find the closure that has so long eluded you,” he said, kissing the crown of Erestor’s head. What he kept to himself is that he very much intended for his hands to find the other ellon’s body. Probably he would not resort to actual violence, in spite of what he threatened from time to time. But there would be words, for the thousands of years of suffering he had watched this beautiful elf endure--for what in his mind was still no good reason whatsoever. Erestor deserved that much.

 

“Sleep now, Erestor. I will not leave you. Now more than ever.” If his words held two meanings, that would be for his clever friend to ascertain.

 

Erestor’s head nodded. “I do not know what I could have done to deserve you,” he whispered humbly, meaning every word. “Posto vae, Glorfindel.” (Rest well) And that was when the golden elf felt the chaste and reverent kiss, as soft lips pressed against the backs of the strong fingers. Never, in all their time together, had the dark beauty done this. No more was said, but emotional exhaustion claimed him soon afterward. Glorfindel lay awake a long time, relishing to hold this precious being in his arms. He was glad that Erestor had faded so quickly into sleep, because then he could not feel how Glorfindel’s heart thundered in his chest in hope and yearning.  Not knowing what else to do, he began to pray for guidance, and for wisdom. It was very late when his blue eyes finally closed, and he fell into reverie.

  


*****

{January 15, 2033}

 

Allanah knocked on her parents’ bedroom door, and waited to be invited in; it was not so long after breakfast and probably they were conversing or changing clothes for the day’s activities.

 

“Come in,” Thanadir said happily, buttoning one of his warmer tunics, holding the door wide for her. “Is everything alright, Allanah?”

 

“It is,” she smiled, a little shyly. “I wanted to talk to all of you...I have thought about it for weeks now. Your gift to me, I mean. Of the trip anywhere, which is...I still feel very overwhelmed. But I know now what I would like to do. If it is okay, that is.”

 

“I cannot imagine it not being okay,” Earlene said kindly, putting her arm around her daughter. “The entire point of it was to let you do...well, most anything, really.”

 

“Okay then...Ada Thranduil, I want you to be the one to go with me, if you would…”

 

The King looked up, his attention fully focused, because this was unexpected. When they discussed this, there was somehow a nearly automatic assumption that Allanah would choose Earlene. His lips parted in surprise, but he recovered quickly. “I would be honored, Allanah. And where is it we are going?”

 

“I want to go to Africa, Ada. I want to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, and see the animals that live on the Serengeti plain below. I want to see Zanzibar. There are safari tours, you see, that let people do all these things led by those who...arrange these sorts of...outings. I want to do more research to be very sure about the choice of company, and I hoped Nana might help me with that…” she looked up hopefully at her mother, who simply hugged her.

 

“I will help you. And I am so proud of you. I truly had no idea what you would choose, but...I cannot tell you how much I approve of this.” And privately, she wondered if Thranduil had any idea what he was in for….really, she envied him a little. But now that she knew, he was in her eyes clearly the wisest choice. Both to have this experience, and to keep their daughter safe.

 

“I had just wanted to...tell you, and thank you. And I wondered when we were to go? This seems like something to begin planning very soon.” Allanah clearly had just arrived on cloud nine.

 

“I will have some time later today, and I will help you with that too,” Earlene grinned. With hugs to all of them, Allanah floated out of the room to go to her projects.

 

“What is a Zanzibar?” Thanadir asked, confused.

 

“Oh meldir. You will see, and much more besides,” Earlene said, kissing him soundly. “It is a place.”

 

“Africa?” Thranduil said, in a very small voice.

 

“Africa,” Earlene said with finality. “Pretend it is a diplomatic excursion, it will help.”

 

“Help,” echoed Thranduil numbly.

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes, and finished with his buttons.

 

“What about our own holiday?” Earlene asked. “We never did end up discussing it, the other day, because we live in this house. But I found a place, that I hope will please you both.”

 

“What is it?” Thanadir asked eagerly.

 

“If I tell you that it is someplace beautiful and relaxing, that you will absolutely love it, and that I chose it with you in mind, can I keep it a secret, Thanadir?”

 

“Maaaaaybe? How many days can we stay?” asked Thanadir, trying hard to rein in the Sad Eyes.

 

Earlene looked at Thranduil in inquiry. “Ah, since we….er...we will not really be _so_ far from here...ah...would four nights please you, meldir?” the King asked hopefully.

 

“I would like that very much,” the seneschal said, the hazel eyes sparkling in anticipation.

 

“Then I will plan this for anytime that they can fit us in after two weeks from now. Does that work?”

 

Nods came back at her, Thranduil obviously still stunned about Africa.

 

“Consider it done.”

 

*****

 

Lorna, Sharley, lab results, and a very large cake made their slow way back to Lasg’len. The snow had stopped by the morning of the thirteenth, and the motorways plowed and sanded by the fourteenth, but they wanted to wait until the labs got emailed Doc Barry. The doc printed them all out and gave them as a hard copy, along with forwarding the email to Ratiri.

 

It had been odd, for Lorna, sleeping over in Mairead’s house -- all the more so because in four and a half years, it would be abandoned forever. All of Baile would be. She’d known that all along, of course, but hadn’t given it overly much thought until quite recently.

 

She didn't want to think about it right now, either -- though she knew she was going to have to talk to Angie, and soon, because they were _all_ going to have this problem, to one degree or another. And right now, their only psychiatrists were poor Angie and a freshly graduated Skykomish woman whose name escaped Lorna at the moment. Wonderful.

 

She shook herself as they pulled into the driveway, and nearly fell on her arse when she got out of the van -- of course she’d stepped right onto a rather large, frozen puddle. It was three in the afternoon; surely she could get away with some high-octane cocoa, after a drive like that.

 

Sharley grabbed the cake, since she was actually sure-footed on the ice. By now she knew the household well enough to yell, “Cake!” as soon as she’d gotten it into the kitchen.

 

“And other shit!” Lorna added, kicking the snow off her boot at the door. “Not literal shit, but...you know.”

 

The screen was blaring at decent volume from a movie someone was watching; a quick peek revealed that Ailill was bundled up in there watching movies; at the moment Calanon was not with him. Thanadir, however, was, and quickly appeared at the sound of the word ‘cake’.

 

“I would like the cake,” he teased. “The other, well, that remains to be seen.”

 

“Ratiri’s the one who gets the other,” Lorna said. “I know Doc Barry sent him an email this morning, but I also know he probably didn't check it, so I’ve got the paper copy for him.”

 

Sharley, quite wise, got down a whole stack of plates. “How’s Ailill?”

 

“He is doing well. Thranduil has not permitted him to do anything but rest and…” he lowered his voice. “Between you and I, I think Thranduil likes to have an excuse to coddle him,” he grinned. “So I have helped Calanon take the birds out each day, which I have rather enjoyed. But perhaps it was also wise, because it has taken little for Ailil to grow cold if he is _not_ coddled. I hope Ratiri can help him?”

 

Lorna returned his grin. “Ailill’s the sort you just kind’v...want to coddle,” she said. “And while I don't know just what these test results say, they can’t be that dire, or Doc Barry would’ve called Ratiri right off.” She set the envelope on the counter, and as soon as Sharley had dished out Thanadir a piece of cake, she stole one for herself. “Kid still needs some meat on his bones, though. See if he’ll eat a big slice’v this.”

 

“I do not think his physique can change, Lorna,” Thanadir smiled. “Any more than mine can. Certainly we could try to nudge him toward obesity, but his body will not otherwise look different; he has had a great deal of physical conditioning. Before this happened he was passably strong and quite fit for a human.”

 

“He’s still skinny,” she said, rolling her eyes, but she laughed as she did so. “And you can’t change because you’re an elf. Which is so not fair, by the way.” She cut Ailill a big slice anyway, because anyone who could refuse a Mairead cake was probably dead. “Where’s Ratiri? Is it science day at school?”

 

“I thought he was upstairs, actually,” Thanadir replied, happy to see the slices piling onto the plates. “Ailill has sort of been using the classroom, and no one seemed to mind taking extra lessons in other subjects for a few days with the weather being so bad.”

 

“I’m sure they didn't,” Lorna said dryly. Chandra loved math and science, but her other three, not so much. Donna liked science, just not math, and Sam wasn’t fond of either, though he did okay at both. “Sharley, get him down here, will you? He won’t hear me if I yell. Is Thranduil in with Ailill?”

 

“Yes. It is very unusual for us to watch movies in the middle of the day, but…” he shrugged. “It was sort of an excuse for a date,” he grinned, picking up the cake slices. “If you cut a piece for Thranduil, maybe make it half this size. He lacks understanding of cake.”

 

“No, he lacks apprecation’v cake,” Lorna said, and thought she might just die from how fucking adorable the mere idea of them on a date was.

 

“Ratiri’s on his way,” Sharley said. “I hope the Lump didn't eat Maglor while I was away.” She took both her cake and Thranduil’s and followed after Thanadir. Ratiri caught up just as they reached the media room.

 

“Here you go,” Lorna said, stuffing the papers into his hands. “There’s cake in the kitchen, but read that first.” He had orange fuzz all over his jumper -- Pumpkin must have been using him for a cat bed.

 

The poor man rolled his eyes, but flipped through the pages. Low RBC count, but iron through the ceiling, TSH levels down in the toilet… “Anemia,” he said, as they went into the media room. “Ailill, I believe you’re anemic.”

 

“Anemic? But...I eat plenty of meat. And Earlene cooks so many meals on iron cookware...how?”

 

“You have an overabundance of iron,” Ratiri said, “and it’s inhibiting your pituitary gland’s production of TSH, so your thyroid function is low. For whatever reason, your bone marrow isn’t making enough red blood cells. Thranduil, is that something you can identify, within his body?”

 

“I can now,” he replied gratefully. “I would not have known to look there.” Thranduil stood up, to move to the same row of sofa on which Ailill was sitting to place his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I think you will not object if I try to heal this problem?”

 

“No...am I...do I do anything?”

 

“Just move forward so I can hold you,” Thranduil chuckled. “And perhaps we need to remove some of these layers of blankets, if I am to manage that.”

 

Flushing charmingly pink with mild embarrassment, Ailill cast off the layers until his clothing could be seen and tentatively leaned away from the seat.

 

 _This poor man,_ Thranduil thought. He was often confused, if a bird of prey was not involved. Reaching, he pulled him close and felt Ailill’s arms wrap loosely around his waist. Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind and began to focus on what might not be right.

 

“Relax, Ailill,” Lorna said. “Thranduil gives great hugs.”

 

Ailill snorted, but did indeed relax more into the embrace, indulging himself to actually hold on to the King.

 

Thranduil saw that here indeed was the problem, but why it was happening, exactly, eluded him. Fortunately, he did not need to understand to the level of molecules and atoms for his gifts to function. Concentrating, he began to send his energy into the man’s bones, smiling just a little when he felt Thanadir’s hands on his shoulders. This took a little longer than some things, but less time than others. Slowly, he released Ailill after his light faded. “Ratiri, how long will it take the other problems to correct themselves? I did not drive out the extra iron. Nor did I deal with all the rest of it. Not intentionally, anyway. But his bones will now do what they should. And yet...something tells me this should be watched to make sure it stays as it ought to. I do not know why it happened in the first place.”

 

“The cause of aplastic anemia isn’t really known,” Ratiri said. “It’s theorized it can be an autoimmune disease. Ailill’s somewhat old for an autoimmune disorder to show such noticeable symptoms, but it’s not unheard-of. I think it’s definitely something to keep an eye on.” Which brought up an interesting question: just what could Thranduil do for an autoimmune disease? How would he heal it? They might have to find out.

 

“As for the extra iron, I can perform a phlebotomy, and drain some blood -- bloodletting is actually good for something, believe it or not -- and then we need to cut some of the iron out of your diet, Ailill. Excessive dietary iron is one of the few contributing factors that make any sense, for you.”

 

Ailill frowned, trying to understand, but this was beyond what he really knew without looking up more information. “I will do what you tell me to,” he offered, assuming that this was what Thranduil wanted.

 

Thranduil placed his hand on Ailill’s shoulder, but spoke to Ratiri. “Would it satisfy you if I asked Earlene to prepare iron-poor foods for him the next few days, and you can take some of his blood if you wish? Maybe he could be re-tested several days from now, to see what has changed?”

 

Just then Calanon appeared at the entrance to the room, worry written all over his features. Ailill held out his arms for his husband. “Don’t worry, Cal. They are making me better.”

 

“That sounds good,” Ratiri said. “As long as it doesn’t snow like that again, it ought to take less time to get a result, too.”

 

“It was mad out there,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “I wound up hauling fifteen bloody people to Baile with me -- allanah, I sent you the picture from the pub.” The entire lot of them, including the garda with a concussion, had sat in front of the fire at Big Jamie’s, trying to sing a song in Irish and of course fucking it up every other line.

 

“You did,” her husband said dryly. “You also made the evening news.”

 

“I know,” she grimaced. “Mairead printed out a still from that video for me. I guess it can hang up next to me kicking that slag in the snatch at Ashford.”

 

Thanadir had just eaten a piece of cake and now inhaled some of it, and began coughing. Thranduil stifled a glare because it would do no good at all...honestly, his intended really was not meant for this world, in some ways. He would like Aman, where the sound waves would be free from all taint of unseemliness. Patting his back firmly, he waited while the offending bit was coughed away. “Better?” he asked softly, while the elf nodded. “Would you like more cake?” More nodding. Smiling, Thranduil went to cut him a little more. But just a little; dinner was not so far off.

 

“Sorry, Thanadir,” Lorna said. “Still, I probably have to do that. Ailill, you wrap up again -- Ratiri, should he wrap up again?”

 

“Yes,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “You still need to rest a while, Ailill. Calanon can keep you company.”

 

Thanadir returned to his original seat, deciding that he would still like to see the rest of the movie. It was a very old one, called Madame Curie. About science, and it was very interesting. And there was nothing unseemly in it. Thranduil brought him more cake, and was rewarded with a heartfelt kiss.

 

Earlene peeked in, to see the two couples, and thought she just might lose it from the cuteness infesting the room...especially Calanon, who was fastidiously wrapping up Ailill in blankets while the hapless man looked on adoringly. Smiling, she went looking for her tablet to think about dinner recipes.

 

Lorna and Sharley looked at one another, grinned, and headed off, Ratiri not far behind. There were kitties that needed attention, and then they just needed to find something to do. It was too late in the day to get much started, but they’d figure something out.

 

After considering a moment, Earlene returned to the room, before the movie could get going again. “Ailill? Well, all of you, really...there is something that has been on my mind since Christmas, and I wanted to bring it up before it is too late. Your sister Mary told me about what happened to your parents, and, I am sorry for your loss and my ignorance of what happened. But I want to ask you...Ailill, how do you think you and Mary would feel about buying out your brother John, of your parents company, and not the other way around? If I understood correctly, he is facing having to either dissolve or sell off your parents’ business in order to pay you what you are due. You are heirs of a great deal of forested land and apparently thousands of head of producing dairy cattle. Surely there could be some merit to acquiring that? Especially given that Mary is ‘on board’, so to speak?”

 

A grimace came over Ailill’s face at the mere mention of his brother, and a heavy sigh escaped him. Struggling a little against the swaddling in which Calanon had managed to wrap him, he turned to face Thranduil. “Is this your wish, my King?” he asked softly.

 

Thranduil simply stared. “This is...the first I considered it. How many hectares did you say this is?”

 

“Well,” Ailill frowned, “we’d have to get Mary in here to know for certain, but years ago it was several thousand hectares. It’s a lot, as opposed to a little. I am sorry to not know more; as you can see I have kept myself deliberately ignorant. To be honest, I am...I expected to be disinherited. I am still trying to cope with the knowledge that any of it is mine. As you can see, I have not thought about it.”

 

“Most of what I am asking you both is whether you would support meeting with Mary to discuss this. But it has to be at your initiation, Thranduil. My main thought here lies with all of those producing animals, that without being protected will all perish when their caretakers do. There is time yet, to turn this to our advantage, though that it is a modern, mechanized dairy could become very interesting very quickly once the power is lost. It would be...an undertaking...unless we can somehow bring in everyone. Plan in

advance. Perhaps convert the entire business to being energy independent?”

 

“If I may be so bold,” Thanadir offered, “I think it would be foolish not to at least discuss it further with Mary, who seems to know far more facts and details. No offense, Ailill.”

 

“None taken, Hîr vuin. It is true,” said Ailill. “I know too little. But if it is your wish, Thranduil, of course I will speak with Mary. Maybe she would be willing to divert from the farm and come visit her convalescing brother,” he smiled ruefully.

 

“Do this,” Thranduil instructed. “Thanadir is correct. Perhaps invite her to lunch, as soon as may be arranged, and we can speak afterward?”

 

“I will bring your mobile,” Calanon smiled, guessing what Ailill would wish next. “Stay here.”

 

“I do not think you have a choice,” Earlene noted with her eyebrow quirked. “I have seen mummies wrapped less well.”

 

“Thanks,” Ailill said drily, but he was not very good at pretending to be grumpy.

 

“Anytime,” grinned Earlene, who now went to work on the next meal in earnest.

 

*****

 

{meanwhile in Aman--Alqualondë}

 

Erestor approached the heavy carven door of his home, walking up the flagstone path bordered by flowers, as he did every late afternoon except for days off from the library. The scholar rubbed his eyes, weary from the long hours of reading and writing. And yet by morning, he would be eager for more, for knowledge given and received defined his vocation just as much now as in long ages past. Stopping, he noted that some of the bright golden flowers seemed to want for water, and took a moment to fill a watering can from the hand pump at the center of the small garden. Smiling, he sprinkled the thirsty plants. He would chide his housemate about this, but in awhile. First he wished to wind down and relax.

 

A crash of metal pans and an unhappy outburst jangled his ears and his nerves, and a sigh escaped him. _Probably he is baking again_ , Erestor thought. This surmise was bolstered by the rich smells of bread beginning to waft out the window. And perhaps there was another smell...was that cake? Quiche? Whatever it was, his tummy now betrayed him as it growled mutinously. “I fed you something at the noon hour,” he frowned, looking down at his midsection. It was widely known that he would often become too occupied in his work to remember to eat; he just preferred to ignore that part.

 

Sharp ears heard the comment. “Is that you, Erestor?” A happy voice spoke from inside, and his chance for solitude evaporated along with it.

 

A smile crept onto his face. For all he often wished he had a little more peace and time alone in his hours off, the alternative was unthinkable. “Yes, I am home. Greetings to you, Glorfindel. How was your day?”

 

“Quite wonderful,” smiled the handsome elf, cheered to see his friend. “I baked you a special dinner. I hope you are hungry.”

 

“Is there something to celebrate?” Erestor asked, puzzled.

 

“Only that we were gifted several pounds of fine honey, and that I wished to make you a treat. Orange-honey almond cake for dessert, and a pie of egg, mushrooms, dry tomatoes and cheese for our dinner. Oh and a roast fowl, I almost forgot. One of the farms I trade with for tallow apparently had a plump hen not smart enough to keep a feed sack from falling on top of her.”

 

“Oh dear...the poor thing!” Erestor lamented. He had a soft spot for all animals and immediately felt pity.

 

“Well, she is poor no longer, because she is stuffed with butter, garlic, vegetables and dried bread.”

 

Laughing in spite of himself, the dark elf shook his head. “It is kind of you, to take such good care of an old and grumpy scholar.”

 

Glorfindel smirked. “Maybe you would be less grumpy if you ate more of my good food. Did you remember to eat your lunch today?” His arms were crossed across his impressive chest, asking as though he were taking an errant schoolboy to task.

 

“Yes, it so happens I did,” Erestor fired back, just as his stomach growled loudly. _Valar, you are not cooperating_ , he silently chided his midsection once again.

 

“ _All_ of your lunch?” pressed Glorfindel.

 

“Well...I…” like most elves of good moral reputation, Erestor was not skilled in the art of deception. “I…” he hung his head, realizing it was pointless.

 

“I think you answered my question,” chuckled his friend, though his voice softened. “Go, refresh yourself and rest. We will eat soon, but you have a little time. Would you like some wine?”

 

“Please. I would like that.” A quick glance up showed that his friend was done speaking for the moment, so he continued on to his room, where he closed the door. Removing his heavy outer robes, a much lighter one that would not be too warm in their well-heated home was donned, and he poured some water from the ewer on his dresser into the basin there. With a washing cloth, he wiped the dust from his face and hands, appreciating that a drop of two of lavender oil had been placed in the water. He knew how fortunate he was. Always, always, small gestures of kindness were afforded to him by his friend that he felt he hardly deserved and certainly did not know how to repay. And yet he did what he could.

 

Glorfindel was a skilled candlemaker, and so on one occasion Erestor turned his archives upside down seeking plants that might be used as colorants for the wax. And then he spent hours finely grinding root of turmeric for golden yellow coloring, and parsley for green, making a present of these powders to his friend. He had never seen Glorfindel so happy, for then he could make wax celandine flowers to affix to some of his candles. Other times he would manage to acquire a new plant not yet in their garden that had yellow blossoms; another favorite. Things like...that. There was even his comical attempt at making baking mitts. He learned to crochet in order to do this, but never quite recovered from the embarrassment of not being able to puzzle out the stitches needed to finish his project. An elleth elsewhere in the city who had masterful skills in this craft took pity on him and helped. “Oh well,” he mumbled, shaking his head at the memory. “I tried my best. I am just not meant to be very useful too distant from a scholar’s desk.”

 

His steps eventually took him to the large open kitchen/workroom that dominated their home, where his glass of wine waited for him. _Why are you so nice to me?_ Erestor idly wondered for the hundred thousandth time. He doubted he would ever understand, but for his friend’s care and steadfast loyalty, he was enduringly grateful. When the delectable meal was served, he felt speechless; this was a feast. “Thank you, Glorfindel.”

 

The other ellon heard the thanks and pleased surprise in his longtime friend’s voice, and it was all the reward he needed. That and the brilliant smile that suddenly graced his face as he caught sight of all the food. “There is extra honey for your bread now, just as you like it.” Erestor had an insatiable sweet tooth, which probably made it all the better that desserts were a treat to be had only when there was sweetener at hand…

 

An hour later, the stomach that formerly growled was distended in discomfort. “Ooooooooh. That was so good...and I ate too much...oh Glorfindel...why does your cooking have to be so good?” Erestor groaned, unable to regret how much he had eaten. “Eru, I do not know if I can move.”

 

Chuckling heartily, the very strong former warrior simply scooped his friend into his arms and in a blink had him lying comfortably on one of their sofas, propped up with pillows. “Now you do not have to move, and can repay me by telling me of your day while I put away the food. What you wrote or copied. Anything, really, as long as it does not involve bread, wax or tallow.”

 

“Fair enough,” moaned the dark-haired elf softly. “It was a treatise on growing peaches, and the recommended means of pruning them just after summer harvest…”

 

Glorfindel did not actually care about peaches. What he did know is that if Erestor spoke about what he did that day instead of brooding in his room, that it would help him feel better. More cheerful, and animated. And insisting on this, by one means or another, helped his friend greatly. So he did it.

 

“Are you excited to be going to Elrond’s soon?”

 

“I think about it every day,” Erestor said with uncharacteristic eagerness. “I so wish that somehow our house could be nearer to theirs. After all these years I still miss them when we are not together. I miss Imladris.”

 

“Sometimes so do I,” the golden elf lamented. “But there are not enough farmers on the island to keep me supplied with tallow,” he said sadly. “And I like the work I have chosen.”

 

“As do I,” Erestor agreed, equally forlorn. “Tol Eressëa has no need of a manuscript collection or a scholar.”

 

“Besides, maybe if we could be there all the time it would seem less special.” Glorfindel was not convincing even himself, but felt like he had to try to find something positive.

 

“Maybe,” Erestor murmured, but only because he did not wish to be disagreeable. Taking another deep breath, he resumed narrating about the peach trees.

 

*****

 

{January 16, 2033}

 

There was more snow that morning, though this was of the wet variety that tended to turn the ground into mud more than anything else. Sharley didn't quite understand it, but according to everything she’d read online, nobody else did, either -- including the people who got paid to. If winters continued like this, maybe a few maple trees wouldn’t hate it after all.

 

The Lump padded after her and Maglor as they made their way to the dining room, where half the house was already assembled. It smelled like pancakes today, with the usual, welcome scent of both tea and coffee.

 

The D&D’s had found their places, the adults yawning and sipping some manner of caffeinated beverage. It was kind of weird, but though Sharley didn't actually _need_ caffeine, she certainly enjoyed it. More perception, probably.

 

“I don't know what I’m going to find for all these poor bloody pinballs to do,” Lorna said. “They need to get hobbies. Somehow.”

 

“Read-alouds,” Ratiri said. “We’re all so used to hearing something in the background -- TV, music, what have you -- that sitting and doing something in silence just feels wrong. If a big group gathers together and someone reads out loud while they all do...something...it might help.”

 

“Yeah, but how many people are actually _good_ at reading aloud?” Pat asked. “I mean, I read just find, but if you try to ask me to do it out loud, I sound like a four-year-old.”

 

“Mam can,” Lorna the Younger said, “but I can’t. I’ve got the same problem.”

 

“What about podcasts?” offered Earlene. “There are so many, and lots are educational.”

 

“Now there’s a good idea,” Ratiri said. “I’ve got a load downloaded already, but I’m sure we can get more.”

 

Sharley laughed as she sat. “Jessie, one of the Skykomish women, said Mary cornered her at the pub and tried to browbeat her into joining the Quilting Club. Jessie’s a plumber. She was beyond uninterested, but only managed to escape because Aurnia came to her rescue.”

 

“Maybe I should go to the meetings again,” Thanadir mused. “But those cats…” He shook his head. “They are all very old now, and they drool even more.”

 

“I can’t believe they’re -- oh.” Sharley’s eyes widened. “Ohhh what the fuck was that?” Something had...happened, something within her -- something weird and new, like a piece had been taken out of her innards, but not her _physical_ innards, just...ghost innards? She looked up at Maglor, and then at Thranduil. “What the hell just happened?”

 

Thranduil smiled and immediately prepared to silence Thanadir should the need arise, firmly grasping his hand, though he need not have bothered. A beatific glow was spreading over the ellon’s face, whereas Maglor’s expression was indescribable as he reached to take Sharley’s hand. Earlene looked again at Thanadir, then Maglor, and asked her, “Did it feel like part of you just tugged away to somewhere else?”

 

“It...yeah?” Sharley offered, gripping her husband’s hand like a lifeline. “It was weird, and kind of creepy.”

 

“It does feel strange,” Earlene agreed. “I’m sure the others can correct me if I’m wrong, but that is how I always knew when I conceived my children. I think, I hope, Congratulations, Sharley and Maglor.”

 

That Thranduil did not contradict her at all spoke loudest.

 

Sharley stared at her. “ _What?!_ ” she said, a little helplessly. “Conceived...but we were gonna wait on a kid. I didn't want to be having a little one running around right when the world ended. I thought we could control this...right?” she asked, looking at Maglor.

 

Earlene chuckled. “Hate to tell you this, but it’s not really that controllable. It’s...there are times when I wonder if the Valar have a hand in when it happens, because…” she shrugged. “I’m still no expert, but my beautiful youngest sons are tribute to that bit of erroneous assumption.” Lancaeron, Erynion and Andaer all looked up and grinned, as if on cue. Having been generally the darlings of the house as the youngest (and in some ways arguably cutest) elflings, they had made the most of their situation.

 

“Well...well... _shit_ ,” Sharley said. “I was gonna put off going back to Aman for a while, but if I’ve got a bun in the oven, I want to talk to Melian. I don't even know how long my pregnancy’ll last….” This was a little overwhelming. Just a touch. “At least I probably don't need to worry about miscarrying, I’m assuming.” She gave Maglor a look that was equal parts hope and sheer terror. So apparently this feeling was the same no matter what species you were. Good to know.

 

“Tirillë…” he turned to her with the most worried eyes she had ever seen. “You are not happy?”

 

“I’m happy and I’m scared shitless all at once,” she said. “Which is stupid. I’ve done this before, but my brain was such scrambled eggs then that I don't actually remember it that well. I had morning sickness for a while, I know that, and...your timing is terrible,” she said to her abdomen. “You’d better be the cutest fucking kid that ever lived, you hear me?” Her abdomen, naturally, said nothing, though her stomach growled.

 

“They tend to show up as a surprise,” Lorna said, glancing at her youngest daughter, “but it’ll be okay, Sharley. You’ve got a load’v people who can make sure your little one doesn't get into any trouble while the world falls apart.”

 

The steady stream of coarse words and expressions of displeasure were mounting in Maglor’s ears and had taken their toll. “Please excuse me,” Maglor said, slipping his hand from her grasp leaving the table. He had hoped for this all of his life, and had just heard multiple curse words and...he could not cope with this. Not in front of everyone. Leaving before his eyes could flood with tears, he vanished through the doors to the kitchen in a split second.

 

Earlene and Thanadir, both somewhat cringing at Sharley’s choice of words, had some idea of what was happening, but looked straight ahead at their plates. It really was a….difficulty, about their household, that such intensely personal moments almost invariably ended up being for public consumption at a time when perhaps they really should not be. Earlene bit her lip, now wondering if she had made a serious mistake by not taking Sharley out of the room to tell her privately.

 

_It was not you, meluieg. Do not become sad. They just need to...talk._

 

Nodding, Earlene tried to take a deep breath and focus on filling her plate.

 

Sharley stared after Maglor, appetite now gone. “If he didn't want a kid, he coulda just said so,” she muttered, feeling rather like she’d been punched in the chest. She was scared enough already, and her husband just went and walked away...maybe she needed a walk herself.

 

“Sharley, I would like it if you would come with me, please,” Thranduil asked softly, also leaving the Dining Room and hoping she would follow. _That was not something that should have been said aloud, for Eru’s sake..._

 

Numbly, Sharley did, hand running over her abdomen. She wasn’t ready for this, but she’d better get ready in a hurry, and hope Maglor got behind the idea sooner or later. He’d said he wanted a child, but his reaction sure didn't seem to bear that out.

 

“May I?” Thranduil’s arm came around her shoulder lightly, but waited for her permission before letting it settle.

 

She leaned against him, wrapping her arm around his back, sadness settling over her like a blanket. “What the hell was that?” she asked softly. “He said he wanted a kid. We talked about it, and I thought it wasn’t the right time yet -- we were gonna wait until society in the Halls settled down after the plague, but he said he wanted one, so why ...what was that?”

 

“I usually would not interfere like this, but I am doing so because this is only going to worsen if I do not. Your husband wants a child more than anything, Sharley. But unfortunately you were not prepared for what Earlene said to you, and out of what you said I am afraid only the curse words and the expressions of doubt and regret registered in his mind. He believes you are repulsed to find yourself with child, maybe even angry with him, and he feels devastated. I do not know if you understand how poorly most of my people fare with hearing bad language, and Maglor is one of the most sensitive. He avoids many of the humans, in part because they cannot control their speech. Myself, Maerwen...we are very great exceptions to the rule, in this. I am sorry, I do not mean it as criticism. But you could not have misunderstood his reaction more, just as he greatly misunderstood yours.” He held her soothingly, rubbing the outside of her arm. “And it did not help that this was in front of...god and everyone, as Lorna might say.”

 

“He thinks I'm _mad_ at him?” she asked, horrified. “Oh damn...I’m not mad, and I’m not repulsed, I’m just...I’m scared. I’m not ready. And…” _And I can’t really use my pregnancy with Marty as a yardstick_ , she said. _Marty was the kid of two Ainu. I don't know...anything. I don't know how long I’ll carry this one, or what the birth will be like, or if there’s anything special I need to do…_ She suspected that the only thing that kept her from having an outright panic attack was the fact that she wasn’t human.

 

“Sharley...remember who you are,” Thranduil coaxed gently. “There is no need for you to fear anything at all. You are very surprised, and you are unsettled. I am going to help you with that, and I want you to close your eyes and just try to relax. Think of a time when you had not a care in the world. Did you not tell me you went to Irmo’s Gardens? Think about being there…” he pushed the agitation back that was inside of her, daring anyone to come to him mentioning ‘plasters.’ Because this was not how anyone should feel on the day they learned they were to welcome a little one. And yet...he worried that Sharley had come home from Valinor much too soon, though he understood why she had done so.

 

Shut her eyes she did, and thought of that beautiful treehouse, and the little creek with Froggy. Marty, so happy and safe and loved; yeah, she missed her little girl, but Marty couldn’t be in a better place right now. “I was gonna put this off for a reason,” she said. “This is a bad time to be bringing a kid into the world -- I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep her safe, when everything goes to hell.” How she knew the baby was a ‘her’, she didn't know, but she was quite sure of it. “I wanted...what every parent wants. For their kid to have a good, stable, safe life -- and it won’t be long before stability gets tossed out the window. I wanted everything to be as close to perfect for her as it could be, and we live in such an uncertain world as it is, let alone what’s coming in four and a half years.”

 

“This child is peredhel, Sharley. While four years is yet young, it really...is not. And your child is peredhel in the other direction, so to speak. We are not talking about a human child.”

 

“I know,” she sighed. “I know I shouldn’t be afraid, but I am. I guess I know what Lorna felt, when the twins...happened. What Earlene felt, when the triplets did. Maybe it’s just a female thing, no matter what.” She paused. “Do you know where Maglor went?”

 

“To your room. But...I have to warn you, he is crying. I am sorry,” he said, kissing the crown of her head. “I hope you can believe me; your child simply...has nothing to fear. Go talk to him,” he smiled. “He will be alright, once he understands.”

 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” she said, and went off to find her poor husband.

 

The Lump was sitting outside the closed door, looking pathetic, and scooted inside once Sharley opened it. She found Maglor seated on the bed, face buried in his hands with elbows resting on his knees, so she sat beside him, wrapping her arm round him. “Thranduil said you think I’m mad at you,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder. “I’m not mad, I’m scared. This was a giant shock, and it’s not the world I wanted to bring a kid into right now, but I'm not mad, or unhappy.”

 

He could not speak, but he turned his body toward hers, and pulled her into a hug.

 

_Sharley, please excuse me...Earlene says to tell you, if or when you wish food, you are to just say so and a tray will be brought to your room so you may eat in private. Food will be kept warm for you._

 

 _Thanks, Thranduil,_ she said. _It might be a while._ “I know it’ll be okay,” she said, lightly rubbing Maglor’s back, “but yeah, it’s a...well, surprise. She’s gonna be a little girl, I’m sure. And if we’re lucky, she’ll have your hair.” She lightly ran her fingers through his, almost like petting a cat.

 

 _“Just don't do what Lorna and Ratiri did,”_ Sinsemilla said.

 

It took Sharley a moment, and then she laughed. “You want to know why Supri is named Supri? She was a surprise. We won’t be that mean.”

 

“I do not understand,” he whispered, his usually strong voice trembling. “Why did you speak as you did when you were told of the child, if you are not angry?” Tears still streaked his cheeks.

 

“Because I was stunned,” she said. “And scared. People don't just swear when they’re angry, you know. I try not to curse around you, but when something startles me that badly...I’ve lived around humans for a long, long time. I kinda...absorbed that.”

 

 _“You know, there’s been research that swearing when you hurt yourself actually make it hurt less,”_ Layla offered. _“And it helps people with stutters not stutter. So...it’s not totally useless.”_ She was helping. Honest.

 

Maglor glared. Not at Sharley, just...glared. The hard set of his jaw spoke enough about what he thought of the response, though he said nothing aloud. Closing his eyes and taking two slow deep breaths, he struggled to say what he felt actually did matter. “I apologize to you, for leaving the table. I was losing control of my emotions and was afraid. What I do need to tell you is that this is the happiest day of my life; something I have yearned for is being granted to me. To us. Please forgive me for my...display. A child...this is all I have ever wanted, for us.” He pressed a kiss against each of her cheeks, and then finally one on her lips.

 

She chose to ignore his reaction to Layla’s explanation -- after all, she had her own irritants and dislikes, and some of them no doubt seemed as petty to him as this did to her. They’d both been around humans for thousands of years, but quite different _types_ of humans. He’d been around upper-class graduate students (when he’d been near humans at all), while she’d been among laborers, vagrants, and occasionally actual sailors. By now, if she actually wanted to, she could probably out-swear ten Irish people -- even if one of those people was Lorna. Unlike the Irish, however, she didn't particularly want to. To her, it was not an art form.

 

“Guess we both wig out a little when we’re afraid,” she said. “It’s okay. We’re…” Okay, now it was _really_ hard not to swear, because sometimes cursing was for emphasis, bitch. “We’re having a baby. A _baby._ ” She took his hand, guiding it down to her abdomen. Yeah, the kid was probably little more than a fertilized egg at the moment, but _still_. “And I’m sure she’s a girl. Dunno how I am, but I am.” No matter what the girl’s coloring or features, she was going to wind up tall. Marty had her mother’s eyes, so maybe this one would, too, but she really did hope she had Maglor’s lovely black hair. (Where the hell Marty’s white-blonde hair had come from, she had no idea, unless it was trying to replicate her mother’s natural silver and got stuck halfway.)

 

But talking to Melian was imperative, before the kid was actually born. To Sharley’s knowledge, Lúthien was the only ever ‘peredhel from the other direction’, as Thranduil had put it; it wasn’t just pregnancy Sharley wanted to know about, but how but this little one would develop once she was born. Was Thranduil right, and this one would develop more rapidly physically than a human or even peredhel child, rather than more slowly? Something in her doubted it, for no reason she could define. She hoped that she was right, because your children were only children once.

 

Though…what would she have done, if Marty had lived, and had still looked like a five-year-old at age ten? The Stranger could control a lot, but it couldn’t have controlled _that_. That train of thought twitched to an unwelcome branch-line, as she wondered, yet again, how in the hell Marty -- child of two Ainur, for all Sharley didn't like thinking about that bit -- had died. She shouldn’t have been susceptible to appendicitis, or any other human illness...another thing to ask, when she went to Aman.

 

Maglor held her tighter, and now kissed her in earnest, the emotions that were truly his surging to the forefront. But these were not sexual expression...they felt more like...veneration. “My wife...our baby…” new tears sprang to his eyes. “Valar, thank you…”  Not since the moment of hearing Manwë’s pardon had he experienced receiving a thing so longed for, and his mind floated in complete bliss.

 

Now this was more like it...Sharley kissed him back, her fears and shock crowded away by joy. Yeah, this was bad timing, but so what? Women had had and raised kids in all kinds of situations, some even worse than this. And if this one mentally aged faster than human kids, like the other peredhel, she’d at least have some memories of the world as it was, before everything went to hell. “Our baby,” she repeated, when she came up for air. “I hope she has your hair.”

 

 _“You might not be so grateful when the morning sickness kicks in,”_ Jimmy said dryly. _“You’d think Maiar would be immune to it, but nope. Chunks flying.”_

 

“So help me…” Maglor growled, forcing down the words that would describe what he wanted to do to Jimmy, if only Jimmy existed in a manner that allowed for something to be done to him...the frustration and growing irritation in his voice left nothing to doubt.

 

“Jimmy?” Sharley said. “Mute. Go bug Lorna.” She’d apologize to Lorna later, possibly with something sweet and/or alcoholic. “Ignore him. Yeah, even Maiar can barf, but it doesn’t last long. I’ll just keep a bucket by the bed...oh man, do you have a problem with listening to people be sick?” It was not, in all her memory, something that had ever come up in their marriage, because vomiting wasn’t exactly something Maiar or Elves did.

 

“You will not have that problem past the first time it presents itself, because there is an elven medicine for it,” Maglor said, now trying to drive the irritation from his voice. He knew that his wife’s...entourage...was not entirely under her control, and was trying to do as she asked. “I would be very surprised if Earlene and even Lorna have not made use of it. Perhaps you can ask them. And regardless of what happens to you, I will care for you, Sharley. It will not be like...” he took another deep breath again, because acknowledging or even thinking in any manner about the fact that she had been impregnated by...that...thrice-cursed spawn of Morgoth...was something he could still barely allow himself to consider. “It will not be like last time.” A strain was in his voice, as he spoke the last words.

 

“I had some help, with Marty,” Sharley said, wondering what was wrong now. “There’s charities and things, in Washington, so I wasn’t _totally_ alone, but...I'm glad this one will actually have a dad. An Adar. I know you’ll be a great one, you’re so good with all these kids already.” Hopefully that would soothe him a little, the poor ellon. She wasn’t quite sure what was wrong, but surely talking about fatherhood would help, right?

 

Maglor seemed...frozen, unable to speak. Thranduil, Thanadir and Ratiri had made it so plain, on that day years before, that he could not ever speak ill of Marty. And he did have nothing against the poor child; she was an innocent; in no way responsible for what had happened to create her. But the rage, the burning sense of what was stolen from him...he had nowhere to place this. Nowhere to send the anger and the pain that this had ever happened at all, and like it or not every time the word ‘Marty’ was spoken... _why did this day have to be so hard?_

 

A knock came on the door -- Angie, Sharley realized, and rose to let her in.

 

Angie was having something of a dilemma. Doctors were not supposed to grow attached to their patients, but in this case, how could she not? Even before she’d moved into Eldamar, she’d come to know all of its inhabitants, some of them quite well. Maglor was not among that number, but she still knew him -- and she didn't have Sharley’s blind spot when it came to Marty. She could only hope that her ability to treat all these people wouldn’t be compromised by the fact that they were now her friends.

 

“That was something of a surprise, wasn’t it?” she asked, grabbing one of the armchairs. “It’s my job to ask how you’re doing -- how you’re both doing,” she added, with a significant look at Maglor. Should he choose to read her mind, he’d know what she meant.

 

“Um, you could say that again,” Sharley said, laughing a little. “I’m not really freaked out now, though. This wasn’t how I woulda planned it, but oh well -- we’ll make it work. Like Lorna said, it’s not like we won’t have help, once the time comes. This little one’ll be safe, no matter what happens, and that’s what really matters. That she can be safe as well as loved.”

 

Maglor looked up at Angie. _They told me I should never speak of it. Never say anything ill about Marty, and that if I did, Sharley would...that it would go poorly between us._

 

 _‘Poorly’ is an understatement,_ Angie said calmly, _but it’s not Marty herself that upsets you, is it? If you’re going to speak of it -- and I would recommend that you do, sooner rather than later -- don't talk about Marty herself, but about the circumstances that created her. Is it the fact that Sharley was violated what hurts and angers you the most?_

 

_You wish for me to speak of this aloud? I can do as you ask._

 

_I think that you should. This isn’t a burden you should have to carry, but that doesn’t mean you have to bring Marty herself into it, either. Middle ground, as we say. I should warn you that Sharley might not really understand why it should upset you, since it didn't happen to you -- she doesn’t know a great deal about males. Have patience with her confusion._

 

_I will do as you ask but...you have to help me. I cannot...I do not know how to begin this discussion, and I am afraid._

 

 _I can do that. That’s my job._ She gave him a small smile, and said aloud, “Sharley, there’s something that you and Maglor need to discuss. He’s been hesitant to bring it up to you, but the fact that you were raped bothers him immensely. It’s sadness, and anger, and it’s not unusual.”

 

Sharley blinked. “Huh?” she asked, looking from her husband to Angie. “But...what? It didn't...it happened to me, not him.”

 

“You were angry, weren’t you, when you found out what had been done to Lorna?” Angie prodded. “Angry on her behalf. For Maglor, it’s the same. He loves you, and the thought of you being hurt, hurts him. It’s a natural consequence of loving someone.”

 

Sharley looked back at Maglor. “Is she...do you?”

 

He nodded, struggling to even contain the emotions that played across his face, and was not really managing. Tears welled in his eyes. And yes, he was still afraid to say anything, because he believed that if he started talking about how much this had hurt, still hurt, that he might not understand when to stop before he said something he could not withdraw.

 

 _Oh, Maglor_. Sharley touched his face, brushing his hair back. She was pretty sure that saying she was so beyond over it herself really wouldn’t help at all, but… “What can I do?” she asked. “How can I help you? I don't...you shouldn’t have to feel this. It’s in the past, and I...I got healed, but I don't know how to heal you of it.”

 

Maglor looked to Angie, who nodded in encouragement, and took a shaky breath before he began to speak. “Before I say anything else, I need you to understand that I have nothing against Marty. She was an innocent child that was beautiful and I know how very much you loved her. But she is something different, for me, who never knew her. And…” he struggled visibly to find words, as more tears streaked down his face. “There are times, when you speak of her, that it is very painful for me to hear. I do not know if you understand that I carry the burden of what I wish would have been, instead of what...was.” It was the best he could possibly manage, he only hoped it had been good enough. Trying to be this honest, while not taking any missteps...it was painful in and of itself.

 

Sharley froze, trying to process this. It made so much sense, and yet she never would have thought of it. But… “Love, Maglor. I love her, present tense. And…” She hadn’t understood, and she still wasn’t sure she did, because she just wasn’t capable of stepping back from the fact that Marty was, well, _Marty._ Trying to reconcile herself to how Marty had been created had been really, really fucking hard, but it hadn’t occurred to her that her husband wouldn’t be able to reconcile it at all. Sinsemilla had once told her that  Marty was her glaring blind spot, and she hadn’t known what that meant at the time. “I don't...you’re gonna have to tell me what to do, because right now, I have no idea. I’m not like Thranduil, I can’t really heal...anything. What can I do for you?”

 

He shook his head No, not looking at her. He had already taken a misstep just by choosing the wrong verb tense. This was too risky and….no.

 

Oh, Sharley… _I’m going to warn you, Maglor, this might upset her, but it’s necessary._ “I think,” Angie said gently, “that what he is trying to say is that hearing about Marty is a reminder of how she came to be. You had five years to love her, five years where you had no idea how she was conceived, but Maglor knows only what you’ve told him. He didn't catch frogs with her, or sled, or hike. Everything that you have, all the things that make you love your little girl so much, aren’t there for him. And even knowing how much you love her isn’t enough to banish the knowledge of her conception. Maglor, if I’m right, nod, will you please?” The poor man -- Elf -- was on the verge of shutting down utterly.

 

And Maglor did nod, slowly and carefully, still not able to look at either of them.

 

Sharley...really didn't know what to do with that. It too made sense; the logic behind it was entirely understandable, and yet part of her was hurt anyway. She couldn’t at all blame him for that reaction, but it hurt. A lot. “So...I just need to...not talk about her?” she asked softly, tensing.

 

 _Maglor, I need you to use your words with me, if not with Sharley,_ Angie said. _I can speak for you, but only if I know what to say._

 

_She is going to be angry with me for feeling this way. Always, it is Marty this and Marty that. Please understand that I meant what I said, I do not blame Marty. But my wife was raped by something that never should have existed in the first place. The child we should have had together was instead...his. I know she does not think of it this way, but I cannot help that I do. He stole everything from me, that to which he had no right. I know I too am to blame, for ever leaving in the first place and making this colossal and painful disaster of both our lives. By the blessings of the Valar, at least that much is behind us. I am...male, Angie. I love my wife. Want to protect my wife. The rage I feel, at what happened...I mostly cannot allow myself to ever think on it. But every mention of Marty taps around the defenses I have tried to keep in place so that I do not speak of this. It is not fair, to ask her never to talk about the child she loved. Loves. I have no answers, except to continue on as I have done. I fear that it is bad enough that this was mentioned at all. I am not completely oblivious, I can hear the hurt in her voice. She will feel like I am...against her, somehow._

 

Well, this was a nice minefield...there was much of that that could absolutely not be said aloud, ever. Perhaps, however, something could be taken from it. “Not ‘never’,” she said. “But I would be sparing with it, Sharley. Sometimes, all we can do is compromise. It hurts Maglor to hear of her, but it would hurt you to never speak of her. You’ve shared a lot about Marty with him now, but even if hearing about her wasn’t painful to him, he’s not a mother. He wouldn’t understand much of what you mean anyway. You have Lorna and Earlene to talk to -- Earlene, as I understand it, actually _met_ Marty.”

 

Sharley nodded, though she couldn’t speak yet. “I can do that,” she said eventually, resting her head in her hands. It was fair. It was right. And yet it still hurt. That might take a little while to get over.

 

“I am sorry,” Maglor said. “I would feel differently if I could. Since the day I met you here in this time I have done as I was told and never spoken of this. I….I am sorry, Tirillë.” It was all he could offer.

 

“Don't be sorry,” she said, taking his hand. “We can’t help what we feel. That’s just...people.” She couldn’t quite keep the sorrow out of her voice, but a large measure of it was sorrow at the fact that he’d been feeling like this all along, and hadn’t been able to say anything. If he’d tried, before she was fixed, it would have ended...badly, to say the least. She couldn’t have handled it back then, when she was still so broken.

 

“I think a walk might help you both,” Angie said.

 

Maglor nodded and rose, their hands still firmly entwined. “I love you,” he said, even as he vaguely wondered how she could not hate him, for this.

 

“I love you, too,” Sharley said, resting her head against his shoulder when she rose. It was the only surety she had right now. This was pretty horrendous emotional upheaval, but the love she had for him was her anchor.

 

With a nod of gratitude to Angie, Maglor managed a weak smile, as he paused to drape a heavy cloak over his wife’s shoulders, and then one for himself. They exited their quarters and descended to the forest below. It was at least not raining.

  


*****

 

{January 24, 2033}

 

Orla had actually had a great deal of fun assembling the materials to revamp Lasg’len’s failed diner. The goal was to make it look as much like the Cascadia Inn as possible, so she’d been given a list and made it happen.

 

The bulk of the work itself was being done by the displaced Skykomish residents, who were glad of something to do. In the depths of winter (which this year seemed to vacillate between snowy and wet) there were only basically maintenance tasks to complete: cooking, laundry, churning, taking care of the livestock. It meant that, given how everyone swapped tasks on schedule, there was a lot of free time, and few of their old ways of filling it applied. They could go to the cottage if they wanted wifi, and to charge their electronics, but that was about it, so new things had to be found. There was only so much reading many of them could do.

 

And _daylight._ Angie had had a confab with Sharley about it, and pointed out that these people had lived most or all of their lives in the mountains, out in the fresh air, beneath the sky. The Halls were beautiful, but the lack of windows was having a surprisingly negative psychological effect; Sharley hadn’t realized that the insomnia and anxiety the former residents felt was related to anything other than being uprooted to the other side of the world, but they all seemed to perk up once she got them out into town on a regular basis. Yeah, the walk was kind of gross when it was raining, but none of them really cared much. It wasn’t like Washington lacked for rain.

 

The first thing Orla had done was knock out part of the north wall and build a fireplace quite big enough to spit-roast an animal, since that was the sort of thing that needed a contractor to make. It was river-rock, and several of the stones brought from Skykomish as keepsakes found their way into it. It meant they could have a nice toasty fire while they ripped out that hideous carpet -- a task that involved opening some of the windows, because the mildew was _awful_.

 

“Okay,” Sharley said, as she rolled up a long section, grimacing at the mold that transferred onto her hands, “this place started up in what, two thousand three?”

 

“It did,” John said. He’d brought them all some sandwiches and chips, and a few pints of ale. “Went under in twenty-twelve.”

 

“Then why the hell does this carpet look straight outta nineteen eighty-five?” It really did, too; it was grimy and dark with twenty years of damp, but it had once been dark blue, with a rather hideous pattern of what looked like pink and green lasers. It wouldn’t have looked out-of-place in an arcade.

 

“Because Andy -- he’s the one that owned it; he emigrated for Australia when it closed -- got it secondhand off someone,” John said, rolling his eyes. “Which I'm not sure was quite legal.”

 

“That...explains a hell of a lot,” she said, eying the monstrosity. “Yeah, we’re putting down hardwood. Or at least, we’re putting down Pergo.” Cheaper and easier than hardwood, according to Orla, and it was actually more durable, if you took care of it. She was tempted to take all of this out back and just burn it, except it was so riddled with mold she doubted a flame would catch. At least Ratiri wasn’t around to pester her about heavy lifting; the poor man didn't seem to be able to help it, but still. He was like a mother hen, and it would be annoying if it wasn’t so hilarious.

 

“Sharley, I think there’s been mice or something nesting in the oven,” David called, his voice echoing through the kitchen.

 

“Of course there have,” Sharley muttered. Oh well. They were going to have to convert all the appliances somehow, since it would only be another four and a half years before electricity would be a thing of the past.

 

Bridie hadn't been able to stay, but she’d brought them a forty-year-old boom box and a mix of 80’s cassettes, for their listening enjoyment. Evidently she’d been a big fan of American rock as a kid, and they were all benefiting from it now. When John left, Lorna cranked it, and it wasn’t long before fourteen people were singing, in assorted vocal ranges and varying degrees of accuracy, Whitesnake’s _Here I Go Again_.

 

Jessie Stein, plumber extraordinaire, was examining what passed for this building's. Unsurprisingly , it was shot to hell, but it was worst in the kitchen -- some utter moron had poured _grease_ down the drain, and over the years it had all but fossilized. It was actually kind of impressive, in a horrifying, utterly pain-in-the-ass sort of way. Snaking it just wasn't an option; she was going to have to replace the entire section of pipe.

 

“Are we sure the guy who owned this place didn't make it fail as, like, a tax scheme?” her brother asked. Owen had wanted to go into plumbing, but at six foot two, it just wasn't practical. (Jessie was hardly tiny, but neither was she tall.) All four Stein siblings had the same dark hair and hazel eyes, along with a sturdy build practically designed for construction work.

 

“Not that I know’v,” Lorna said. “Why?” She’d been steaming the rather hideous wallpaper off, and it had left her fringe a fuzzy mess.

 

“Because this wiring looks like half of it was done but a drunk squirrel,” he said. “There's no way it was approved by any code inspector.”

 

“How much work are we talking here?” Sharley asked.

 

“I'll let you know.”

 

“Because _that's_ encouraging,” JD muttered. “Then again, small village.” He stared at the walls, frowning. Drywall was not his thing; they were going to need some of Orla’s people for that. Still, at least the actual _structure_ was sound. The damp hadn't warped anything. Yeah, Gary could supervise, but the man was pushing eighty. He couldn’t do much in the way of work himself.

 

“Small village with no tourism,” Sharley added, finishing up with the carpet. “Who’s gonna know something's not up to code?”

 

“Good point,” Owen said. “Though they'd find out once something burned down. Sort of a miracle this place didn't.”

 

“Don't jinx us,” Sharley said, shoving the carpet out the door. Hauling it to the Dumpster didn't take long, though tiny, dry snowflakes were falling. They’d gone through a brief thaw, and then it froze up again -- quite unlike Ireland as she’d ever seen it. Climate change really was a roll of the dice. “We’ve gotta try to get this done before planting time.” Once farming started gearing up in the spring, they’d all have a lot less free time to come deal with this. All these guys were between their early 20’s or early 40’s, and exactly the strong, durable kind of pinball in high demand when everything ramped up.

 

“What are we not jinxing?” David asked. He was little more than a lad, Sheila’s son, and he had a dust mask over his mouth and nose. His sandy hair was filled with debris from the cabinets in the kitchen, and he bore a ShopVac full of dust and dessicated rodent shit in hands encased with bright yellow rubber gloves. He’d been muttering about Hantavirus for the last half an hour.

 

“This place burning down,” Owen said, staring at the ShopVac. “God, get that out of here. For all we know it’s got plague.”

 

“There’s no plague in Ireland,” Sharley said, slicing at the next strip of carpet with a box cutter. “Or rabies.”

 

Saheli, shivering slightly, threw another chunk of wood on the fire. She’d lived all her life in Washington State, and the last twelve years in Skykomish in particular; she ought to be used to a cold, damp climate, and yet Ireland seemed even damper than the city she’d grown up in. At least it smelled better than Auburn, which was often called the Armpit of Washington State. (The residents always retorted with ‘well at least we’re not Tacoma.’) “That’s a relief. What else isn’t here?”

 

“Hantavirus, probably,” Lorna said. Both she and Ratiri had been happy when Saheli and her family had moved into the Halls; it was nice to have other people around who weren’t blindingly white, and while Saheli and Parvat were only in their early 40’s, they got along well anyway. “There hasn’t been any true wilderness in Ireland for centuries. All that shite’s never managed a foothold here.” At least, she thought that was the case. It sounded as good as anything else.

 

A strong scent of bleach wafted out from the bathroom, where Savannah, David’s 19-year-old sister, was scrubbing the floor and swearing. “We’ll need a new sink _and_ a new toilet,” she called. “I don't even want to fucking _touch_ this thing.”

 

“We oughtta put in a composting toilet,” Sharley said. Saheli dodged out of her way as she rolled up the next segment of carpet, grimacing a little at the mildew. Hauling up the roll wasn’t difficult at all, and Sharley wondered if the Stranger had somehow been limiting her physical strength...except even after it was gone, she hadn’t felt this strong before she went to Aman. Another thing to ask Vairë about.

 

“Yeah, what’re we going to do about water, once the PUD no longer exists?” Jessie asked, wrinkling her nose at the bleach.

 

“I want to sink a well,” Lorna said. “Won’t be able to have an electric pump, so it’ll be a bit’v a pain in the ass, but we can make it work.” She watched Jessie line up the syllables, and fought a laugh. Some of the Skykomish people could understand her fairly decently -- mostly those associated with the Inn and cafe, since she’d seen them most often -- but a lot of them had some issues. She tried to speak as slowly and clearly as she could without actively sounding patronizing.

 

“It’s not like we won’t all be strong enough long before then,” the younger woman said.

 

The tape flipped, and the strains of _Dancing in the Dark_ issued from the speakers. Lorna grinned, and when Sharley came back in, she grabbed the tall woman’s pale hand. “I get up in the evening, and I ain’t got nothing to say,” she sang, pulling Sharley into almost a waltz. “I come home in the morning, go to bed feeling the same way.”

 

“I ain’t nothing but tired,” Sharley took up, grinning. It did Lorna good, to see her smile like that; even now, it remained a novelty. “Man, I’m just tired and bored with myself.”

 

Lorna joined her in singing, “Hey there baby, I could use just a little help.”

 

The song was before the time of even the oldest of the Skykomish people present, but not that much more, and their parents must have been Springsteen fans, for they all got in on the chorus:

 

“ _You can’t start a fire,_

_You can’t start a fire without a spark_

_This gun’s for hire_

_Even if we’re just dancin’ in the dark”_

 

“Message keeps getting clearer,” Lorna sang, hopping up onto one of the ruinous booths -- the maroon pleather was cracked in a score of places. Up here, she was as tall as Sharley. “Radio’s on, and I’m movin’ round the place.”

 

“Take a look in the mirror,” Sharley returned, “wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face.”

 

“Man, I ain’t gettin’ nowhere.” Lorna _eeped_ a little as Sharley lifted her like a ballet dancer, but recovered a moment later. “I’m just living in a dump like this.”

 

“There’s something happening somewhere,” Sharley managed, even though she was laughing a little. “Baby, I just know there is.”

 

Again, in chorus:

 

_“You can’t start a fire,_

_You can’t start a fire without a spark_

_This gun’s for hire_

_Even if we’re just dancing in the dark.”_

 

It was so _weird_ , Jessie thought, watching Sharley -- good-weird, but still weird. Jessie had been just a kid when the odd woman showed up at the Ranger Station with a baby not quite a year old; general consensus was that she was mentally ill, but still a good woman, and the Pruitts had often watched little Marty while Sharley worked in the summer. Once Marty turned three, however, Sharley took her out to the trails, and half the town had gone in fear of something terrible happening to the kid. The sad irony was that something eventually had, but not what they were afraid of.

 

It took a while for them to figure out she was something other than just crazy -- or other than just human. Given that she lived in the bunkhouse for so long, they only really saw her at the diner, and after Marty died, she was just...sad. It was a sadness buried behind everything else, but it was always there, in her mismatched eyes -- and God, it was _really_ weird seeing them not match in a different way now. There was something...Mom had called it something gently broken in her, something you couldn’t help but notice. Charlotte, after one too many at the bar one night, said it was like you could see the cracks in her soul.

 

But there weren’t any cracks now. Sharley was whole, and happy, and now the fact that she didn't fucking age actually made sense. She also had a smokin’ hot husband (Jessie was pretty sure JD would forgive her for noticing, especially since she’d caught JD scoping out Maglor _himself_ once), and could apparently weave stuff with her mind. _Her mind._ Just...what.

 

A little of Jessie’s good humor faded, though, when she looked at the grimy Plywood where the carpet had once been. Sharley had gained all the happiness she’d been deserving for apparently literal ages, but Skykomish was a fiction now, and soon to be not even that. The only time any of the Stein siblings had lived away from town was when they learned their various trades, and even _that_ had been hard; they’d studied at VoTech, and Kirkland had been an unpleasant shock, with all its people and traffic and lack of mountains. They’d all gone back to Skykomish, and never wanted to leave the mountains again; being forced to leave...sucked, honestly.

 

They were all beyond grateful that they’d be surviving this coming plague (and _that_ was another thing they were still getting used to), but there was no denying this first year had been a hard adjustment. The fact that only a little more than half the town was here yet didn't help -- in a place as tiny as Skykomish, everyone knew everyone, and if they didn't see each other every day, it was at least twice a week.

 

The Halls were gorgeous beyond anything any of them could have imagined, but there were times Jessie missed the little house she and JD had shared. They’d just put new carpet in when the bomb about the plague was dropped, and they’d sit by the fireplace on long winter evenings, watching something on Netflix while their two cats snoozed in the warmth. (And getting animals into Ireland had _not_ been fun; while it was understandable they wouldn’t want to let in some critter with a disease, it was still a nightmare, and it had taken the poor cats a good six months to get over the experience.)

 

The lack of Netflix she’d gotten used to, though the lack of electricity had taken rather longer -- she hadn’t realized how very much she’d taken it for granted. She’d taken a whole lot for granted, much of which she felt quite guilty for missing -- and she knew she wasn’t the only one. It felt _wrong_ to have such a hard time adjusting when they’d been given this chance, and this home, and yet many of them were.

 

What she _hadn’t_ gotten used to -- what none of them had -- was the fact that there was no cafe, or any equivalent of one. The Dining Hall just wasn’t the same, or even close. And Sharley obviously knew that, or this wouldn’t be happening now. What it would become after the end of the world was not a question they could answer just yet, but there were a lot of fields, and in the summer, it could be just as nice to come here for dinner after a long day as it could the Halls.

 

She was brought out of her musings when JD grabbed her hand, dragging her into an extremely uncoordinated dance. “You can’t start a fire, sitting round cryin’ over a broken heart,” he sang, slightly off-key. Sharley and Lorna sort of overrode him at least.

 

Jessie joined in with all the rest of them:

 

“ _This gun's for hire_

_Even if we're just dancing in the dark_

_You can't start a fire worrying about your little world falling apart_

_This gun's for hire_

_Even if we're just dancing in the dark_

_Even if we're just dancing in the dark_

_Even if we're just dancing in the dark_

_Even if we're just dancing in the dark.”_

 

It was good -- it was _wonderful_ \-- it was the first time she could recall being truly _happy_ here, the first time she started to think that maybe it could actually be home. And looking at her brothers, at JD, at Saheli and Savannah and David, it seemed she wasn’t the only one who thought so. They’d never live in the mountains again, but that didn't mean it wasn’t still Skykomish. Jessie’s mom liked to say that ‘home was where the heart was’, and now...if they could keep their community, even in the middle of this larger one, it would do so much for all of them. Their hearts could settle.

 

Would they miss the mountains, and the river? Yeah, probably. Did that mean they wouldn’t be happy here, too? No, it did not. Not at all. Jessie was certain she wasn’t the only one who’d been feeling like there was something squeezing her heart, and she was also certain she wasn’t the only one that was feeling it ease.

 

Maerwen came in, bearing a large basket, and even over the stink of bleach it was possible to smell the mouthwatering aroma of fresh bread that issued from it. She suspected the others knew just how fascinated she was by the humans, and chose to humor her; she’d been wildly curious about the whole venture ever since Sharley first proposed it. She’d spent so much time at the cafe in the Inn over the years that she was one of a very few elves who knew how human restaurants worked, and she quite liked the idea of this one continuing in a slightly different form. The pub was all well and good, but...none of the elves would ever say this, but poor John’s menu, even limited as it was, really was not very good. It was very salty, and oily, and...heavy.

 

But the cafe in Skykomish served human food of a sort Hiril Earlene seldom if ever did. It too could be oily, but in a somewhat more pleasant way; as Ratiri had put it, it wasn’t food that made him think he could hear his arteries clanging shut. Maerwen had had to go look up what that even meant.

 

“Maerwen!” Lorna cried. “You’re a bloody saint. All right, you lot, wash your hands.” The tiny woman grinned up at her. There was a streak of... _something_...across the bridge of her nose, her braid was a mess, and her hands were indeed filthy. Most of the others had on gloves, Maerwen noticed, but they didn't make rubber gloves small enough for Lorna’s child-sized hands.

 

“Food?” JD asked. “Food! You really _are_ a saint, Maerwen.” He and all the others trooped outside to wash their hands with bottled water, drying them off on the one clean towel left. John’s sandwiches hadn’t lasted long, and the fries were...well. Kyle could do better. A lot better. And nobody baked bread quite like the Elves.

 

The only halfway sanitary things to sit on were the tables, so sit they did, dialing the music down. Half the younger Skykomish crew had never even _seen_ a cassette before, and honestly, Sharley was kind of amazed this one had lasted as long as it had. Close to fifty years was a long time.

 

Lorna had explained the concept of saints to Maerwen eventually, after she (and Pat, and Grania, and just about every other Irish person) had called her one. She wasn’t certain how providing food could elevate someone to that status, but she was pretty certain Ireland’s main faith put a large emphasis on bread. Bread that apparently was supposed to turn into the body of their Lord-in-human-form at the time of eating. She’d asked Lorna how that wasn’t cannibalism, and Lorna had stared at her for a good five minutes, totally unable to answer. Thus far, nobody else had, either.

 

Bread was distributed, and Maerwen sat beside Sharley, watching the group. The odor of the bleach was dreadful, half the wallpaper was still hanging in strips on the walls, and yet she hadn’t seen any of the humans from Skykomish look so pleased since before they’d arrived. It had, she knew, been somewhat difficult to get this idea through the Council, but surely it could only turn out to be a good thing. The smiles she saw now were real, not forced or sad. Not every bit of the human world would die when the outside did.

 

There were, she knew, some in the Halls who wondered why the humans didn't simply embrace the Elven way of life, but she did not. She was glad that they hadn’t; they were not Eldar, they were human. Hiril Earlene and Ailill were different; they were drawn to the life of the Eldar. Hiril Earlene was no longer _human_ at all, though if any knew what she actually was now, none were saying. All anyone really needed to know on that matter was that the Woodland Realm would not lose its Queen to the ravages of time, and they were to say nothing to any who could not see the change for themselves.

 

But the rest of them...yes, they were adapting to life among Elves, but she understood why they wanted to keep something of their own culture, their own world. One day the Elves would leave; what was left of the world would once again be only humans (and Sharley and Maglor). They would still need to know how to be...what they were. What they _really_ were. They were, for a while at least, going to be the last functioning society in Ennor, the last bastion of humanity; while they needed to know what the Eldar knew about survival, they also needed to know how to still be themselves. The precedent they set, in the first years after the plague, would decide the course of their future. It needed to be a _human_ precedent, not ‘humans pretending to be Elves’.

 

Maerwen rubbed her leg, only half-consciously. Aran Thranduil had told her a tattoo was a personal choice, so she’d gone to Eris’s shop (and hadn’t _that_ been an education) and got one. It was a Celtic Tree of Life, with the word ‘cuimhnigh’ above, and ‘teaghlaigh’ below -- the Irish words for ‘remember family’. It was on her leg so that no one else could see it; she’d pondered putting it on her arm, until Sharley pointed out that it was rather warm in Aman, so sleeveless dresses were common. On her leg, just above her knee, _she_ could see it, although it would be upside-down to anyone else.

 

In truth, she wasn’t sure what she thought of going to Aman. The Valar had summoned them, and one did not even try to gainsay the Lords and Ladies. Sharley had said that the Undying Lands were beautiful, but they sounded very...alien. The Woodland Realm, with its mists and rain, was all Maerwen had ever really known. Their holidays to America had been relatively brief, all things considered, and Washington was not unlike the Woodland Realm in weather and forest.

 

And now that she was out of the Halls, out of the forest, away from all other Elves, she could acknowledge it: they had been summoned to Aman, and she didn't want to go. She’d been enjoying the rather egalitarian free-for-all of human society; unlike any of the Eldar, they didn't seem to have any real social hierarchy. There had been no class barrier to keep her from bonding with the D&D’s, whereas she never would have dreamt of trying with Aran Thranduil and his family. He was her King, and Hiril Earlene was her Queen, and Hîr Thanadir was their husband and Seneschal. One just didn't... _do_ that. True familiarity was simply not an option, nor would any sane Elf try to make it one. They were set apart unto themselves, and that was exactly as it should be.

 

But the D&D’s were so very...human. If it even occurred to them that she had once been something like a servant, they certainly didn't care. She was one of them who just happened to have pointed ears. They were warm and loving and cheerfully vulgar, and so unlike any Elven family that had likely ever lived.

 

**

 

“Are you sure it is alright to ride into town?” Allanah asked, a little worried.

 

“Well, I am sure that it is not forbidden. And while that is not quite the same thing, it is close enough. Though I probably should check. You might require a class H placard on the flank of your horse, and perhaps a large “N” displayed on the back of your cloak because you have not been riding on the streets of Ireland for more than two years.”

 

“Nana, only you could find a way to turn that question into something about the Irish Driver Licensing Authority.”

 

“It’s a gift!” teased Earlene.

 

“I think it is too many years practicing law and too many more living amongst elves,” her daughter retorted. “They have affected you.”

 

“Well I certainly hope so,” she smiled, lightly dismounting and wrapping her reins around the nearby lamppost loosely. “Let’s go see what they’ve managed!”

 

A moment later found both of them inside, witnessing the… “Valar,” Allanah exclaimed. “This is…..”

 

“I agree,” Earlene mumbled.

 

“But I haven’t even chosen an adjective.”

 

“Did you need to?”

 

“True….” looking around, Allanah found she could not disagree with her mother. No, not in the least…

 

“Oi, come on in, you two!” Lorna called, waving them over and turning down the music. “Believe it or not, it looked worse an hour ago, but look at this fireplace.” _It_ at least was a thing of beauty, though it made the rest of it look all the shabbier.

 

“There’s bread, too,” Sharley said, pointing at Maerwen, who inclined her head a little.

 

“We ate,” Allanah explained. “We came to bring you cookies. Well, and go for a ride, I can’t lie about the motivations involved. They are still a little warm.”

 

And sure enough, from out of a bag came one of those ingenious food storage devices Earlene had found that was perfect for keeping volumes of cookies from getting crushed. No, she never would call them biscuits, and felt vaguely proud that in this, her daughter had stuck to her American heritage.

 

“Oh man, cookies,” JD said, more than happy to keep eating. “You guys are the best.”

 

“I can’t get over how pretty Allanah’s hair is,” Jessie said. Not seeing the D&D’s and their accompanying Allanah for two years in a row had been...weird. The girl had grown up and they’d missed it -- all the Duncan kids had aged, too, but not as noticeably. They hadn’t reached young adulthood when nobody was looking -- physically, anyway. Chandra might only be a year behind Allanah, but she still looked a good deal younger.

 

Allanah smiled at the compliment, but quickly turned her observations to the project. “The fireplace is beautiful,” came the admiring sentiment. “What is the next big project? Or does that more or less describe the entire place? This is...a lot.”

 

“It’s more or less the entire place,” Sharley said, grimacing a little. “Fortunately we’ve got our Stein family of handymen and woman. The first real order is ripping out...everything...and decontaminating it. There’s colonies of mold here that look like something outta Chernobyl. Once that’s done, we can deal with the wiring, and Jessie can do...whatever it is she’s gotta do with the plumbing.”

 

“Replace at least half of it, is my guess,” the woman said, savoring a cookie. “And we’re gonna have Orla fix us up with some equipment that’ll convert over when electricity isn’t a thing anymore. We’ll be at this for the rest of the winter and probably into early spring, but we ought to have it done before planting time.”

 

“Bleach!” mother and daughter grinned at each other. Though neither shied away from hard work, they felt equally glad that they were not involved in...this. It would be lovely, undoubtedly, but...they would bring cookies and other treats. That much they could do, to make this job a little more pleasant. “We should not stay,” Allanah said, “but we wanted to see.”

 

“If we are very lucky our horses have not added to what is on the sidewalk, if you know what I mean,” Earlene smiled.

 

“Thanks for stopping by,” Lorna said, hugging them both. “And for the biscuits. Hopefully next time you’re out here, it won’t look like...this.”

 

“Oh, it won’t,” Jessie said darkly, glaring at the walls. The words were more threat than promise.

 

With a good-natured wave, both women exited and resumed their wanderings.

 

“Hope no one gets that...what d’you call it, when you get sick from breathing mold?” Allanah asked.

 

“Sick,” Earlene joked. Yes, she was in rare form today but this was really fun, to be out with one of her children.

 

“Nana! Not helping! I’m going to tell Ada Thanadir on you.”

 

 _Uh-oh_. “Oh….fine. But I hope you can bring them some cookies while we are away.”

 

“I think we can manage. I will bring the triplets, they would love to ride. Besides, I know just what cookies I want to make.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Blond Oreos.”

 

“Oh sweet Valar….”

 

“They know, Nana, and they think it is funny. Do not worry. I would never hurt their feelings.”

 

“I know. I am just worried, because it becomes plainer every day you have somehow inherited my sense of humor.”

 

Allanah turned and gave a wicked grin, before digging in her heels and asking the beautiful mare (now named Nimroch) to speed up now that they were beyond the asphalt road.

 

“Oh I don’t think so,” Earlene said softly, with a gleam in her eye, just before giving chase.

 

*****

 

{Jan 25, 2033}

 

“We will be back in four days,” Earlene explained to Calanon, Lothiriel, Ortherion, Ailill and Allanah. “I know that between the five of you the younger ones will all be fine. Just...try to remind Faeleth to come in for meals,” she admonished, looking hopefully at Calanon. Their special daughter was sometimes better described as domestically feral. School had proven to be...almost ludicrous. There was intelligent, there was peredhel, there was Thanadir, and then there was whatever in all the circles of Arda that the Valar had done to their daughter. Ten minutes or so was necessary to absorb what it took her siblings several hours to master. Now at eleven years old...it had become apparent that her path was one she herself knew. They loved her, fed her, interacted with her, and left her a great deal to the teaching of the Lord and Lady they guessed were just as much her parents as they were. How that worked, no idea...but it was so far from ordinary that there really weren’t words.

 

“We will be alright, Nana, Adars. Please go enjoy yourselves.” Allanah worked hard to suppress her smile, at seeing her parents fussing.

 

“If anything serious occurs, you are to go to Maglor with it,” Thranduil admonished, receiving formal bows of assent, and a dip of her head from Allanah. Which is when Thanadir elbowed him, with a beatific smile on his face.

 

 _You are lucky I am deeply in love with you,_ growled Thranduil, though they both knew he did not mean a word of it.

 

 _I know._ Thanadir continued to smile.

 

“We are going now,” Earlene said. There were times she did not know if she was married to them or parenting them. Without a backward glance, she grabbed her bag and the car keys, while everyone else assembled fought for all they were worth to keep a straight face.

 

**

 

“Are we going to Ashford?” Thanadir asked with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. Today he was placed into the front passenger seat, where Thranduil might better enjoy rubbing his neck and shoulders. Earlene glanced over with a generally mysterious gaze.

 

“Yes, and no,” came the reply.

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes. “I would say that I liked you better when you were human, except...you really are no different,” he laughed to himself. “Do elves sound like this to everyone?” he wondered.

 

“Yes, and no,” Thranduil answered, earning an appreciative belly laugh from his wife.

 

“Well played, my Lord. Well played.” Earlene was enjoying herself immensely.

 

“Well if you can be like an elf, I shall try to be like you,” Thanadir said, rising to the challenge. “If we are not going _to_ Ashford, but we are not _not_ going to Ashford, then I infer that it means, we are going near Ashford. _Toward_ Ashford, though whether before or beyond it remains to be seen. Am I right?”

 

“You are, husband” Earlene said, quite pleased with him. “And to reward your brilliant mind, I will tell you that it is the latter. We are going to a place beyond. It will take...perhaps an additional thirty to forty-five minutes’ extra travel.”

 

“Will you tell me more?” he pleaded, the Sad Eyes dialed up considerably.

 

“Now see what you have done?” Thranduil teased her. “He is pulling out all of the stops.”

 

“And it is working, as it always does,” Earlene observed acidly. “You win, Thanadir. We are going to Castle Ballynahinch, a historian’s dream, and a lovely place in a rugged and beautiful setting. I hope you will be pleased,” she added softly.

 

“I will be, Earlene.” He took her hand, gazing at her adoringly. “This means a great deal to me. Just us, the time alone...thank you.”

 

**

 

They had the one-bedroom suite. She had considered booking the larger two bedroom suite, but as the only purpose would have been to have the hotel staff wondering a little instead of wondering a lot…..nah. Earlene had come to enjoy this far too much. Three people with the same surname, all weirdly attractive and youthful in appearance, clearly well-heeled, equally clearly not native Irish...oh, it was fun.

 

 _Shame on you, meluieg,_ Thranduil teased again. _And here I thought you could not see into the minds of others._

 

_Well, I really cannot, except for you two, but...I do not require telepathy to deduce what they are thinking. I cannot help it._

 

_I know. It is just funny to see you behaving like...well, me._

 

_Uh-oh._

 

The clerk at the admissions desk cleared his throat politely when Earlene, due to her silent conversation, had held the fountain pen for several moments while failing to sign her name.

 

“The signature, Earlene?” Thanadir suggested politely.

 

“Oh, of course,” she smiled. “Don’t turn fifty,” she told the clerk solemnly. “Does bad things to the memory.”

 

 _Fifty?_ Thranduil heard the clerk say to himself. _She can’t be a day over thirty-five, if that._ “The Riverside Suite,” he said, handing her two sets of key cards. “Please enjoy your stay.”

 

They had few bags that were easily managed, and maneuvered it so that Thanadir would by necessity be the first to enter the rooms. “Oh!” the old elf exclaimed. “Ohhhhhh!”

 

“Must be chocolate somewhere in the room,” Thranduil teased.

 

“I heard that,” Thanadir said, not caring in the least. “Look at how beautiful this is. I just want to sit, and look out the window.”

 

‘Riverside’ was not a euphemism. Outside of a large picture window the tranquil Owenmore River meandered through the Connemara countryside. Not in the distance, but so close that Earlene hoped they never worried much about floodwaters in this part of their country. A glance around told her that this establishment would absolutely meet expectations...truly it was lovely, and it just seemed relaxing in a way that far grander Ashford did not. That the dining here was said to be superb; well, Thanadir still needed some surprises. But first their belongings. Everything was neatly put away, with the exception of a small case containing items of bedroom interest, that they would be able to keep private against when housekeeping came. That included some soft, tightly woven cloths that could cover even their very large bed at home. Yes, they were adventurous...in a tidy sort of way.

 

“It is just one o’clock now,” Earlene noted, shaking out the last shirt so that it would not wrinkle in the closet. “In an hour we have reservations for high tea, since I know you did not have lunch, meldir.”

 

“The kind where there are all the little foods to eat?” Thanadir asked, hardly daring to hope.

 

“The same,” said Thranduil, walking to embrace him and place a soft kiss on those lips. When one led to another, Earlene shamelessly stared, because… _did these two have any idea how erotic it was, to watch them love each other?_ This was only heightened by knowing what it felt like to be kissed in this way by each of them in turn. There was no envy in her, or jealousy or sense of being excluded. She was _included_ , and now privileged to stand back and watch as the two she loved most in the world expressed that same intensity toward each other. When their affection did not stop, it was not necessary to ask. Silently, she cast the cloth across the bed so that it was ready for them, and slowly pulled off her boots as the play of kisses and caresses unfolded between them.  Gradually, they made their way toward the bed, hands delving into the other’s clothing and unfastening trousers and shirts. Her own body was responding to the show, vigorously, but she chose not to move.

 

All the clothes were off, and now Earlene saw how they generally chose to satisfy each other; mouths and exploring fingers that gave each of them the same pleasure. _I still want a prostate,_ she opined to herself, but at least one privilege was afforded to her; through their mental bond, she could feel what they did. And still she let herself look on, and ache. This felt...electric, and she did not wish it to stop. Mesmerized, lips parted, she watched their positions shift. Thanadir lay back, raising his knees, offering himself. _Was he…? Were they going to…?_  Their erections rubbed together, and Thranduil aligned himself to enter his betrothed...but suddenly Thanadir froze, gripping his lover’s arms. Something passed silently between them, and Thranduil immediately shifted, smiling and cradling Thanadir in his arms, kissing him softly in reassurance.

 

 _Earlene,_ she heard, startled out of her wits. _Please join us…_ it was both of them, asking. Somewhat shakily, she slipped out of her clothing, and did what seemed to come most naturally. Kneeling and bending forward to take Thanadir into her mouth, she began to bleed off the not inconsiderable lust that had accumulated from her most enjoyable voyeurism, while the old elf moaned softly. But she was interrupted.

 

 _What seems like a very long time ago, I asked if you wished to try this._ Fingers brushed across a different place in her nether regions than was usually touched. _Yes. Please, yes. I know you will not let it hurt._

 

Thranduil’s rigid member penetrated her vaginally, stroking her deeply. Powerfully, but with care.  Her eyes widened as his touches to her other entrance made her gasp, even as his languid thrusts continued. And it built, and built. _Maybe I don’t need a prostate_ . _All the saints I don’t believe in, and Jeebus too...why did I wait so long to do this?_ When she was nearing her limits, she felt Thranduil leave her body, and prepare to enter it differently. This was...strange, very strange, but...nice, strange. All this time, Thanadir had been the happy recipient of her near-insensible attentions, as she channeled the pleasure she was receiving to him. But now she had stopped, transfixed to feel this peculiar invasion. The warmth of Thranduil’s body against her bottom told that he was fully inside of her and he gently and carefully began to move. Very slowly. But that was not to be all.

 

Thanadir slipped underneath her, claiming the place from which Thranduil had recently departed. This was….this was...speech left her, for how good this felt. All three of them, together. Both of them, inside of her. _I like this, very much,_ she heard from Thanadir. _I can feel you, Thranduil. Moving against me…_ Whatever else was going on, this seemed to inflame Thanadir more than was usually possible, Thranduil or no Thranduil.

 

Earlene helplessly took the delight of his suddenly furious lovemaking, while Thranduil had mostly pulled back, and was teasing himself against the strong muscle at her entrance. Waiting, waiting...until he felt her climax begin, and he plunged back deeply inside, gasping from an excess of sexual bliss. The extra warmth of Thanadir’s copious seed spurt into her, and she did the only thing that made any sense in that moment. Her teeth bit into the flesh of his shoulder, over the collarbone, and hung on for dear life while bliss tore through the rest of her. They strained, they pushed, they writhed against each other for most of the next minute until something like a collapse and a tipping over of all three of them occurred.

 

Like jelly in Thranduil’s arms, her elbow draped over her eyes. “What even _was_ that?” Earlene whispered. “And can elves pass out from doing that too many times? Blessed Valar that was….”

 

“Incredible,” Thanadir finished, too stunned to move. “And this is coming from the one who does not care about sex.”

 

“You just keep on not caring,” Earlene murmured, patting his chest. “I don’t mind one bit. And...I am sorry, meldir, I did not mean to bite you so hard.” The angry red mark was quite visible.

 

“Did you bite me? That was the fun way?” he asked, looking quite fetching in his dazed state. “I did not feel it.”

 

Thranduil, his hair now thoroughly tousled, peeked over Earlene’s shoulder. “I love you both, so much,” he smiled, his merry eyes at peace. “So much that I will get the hot water running for us to clean ourselves, so that we are presentable for tea.”

 

Thanadir laughed. They were all rather...dewy and glowing, just now. “This is going to be a wonderful holiday,” he said. “I just know it.”

 

*****

 

{Meanwhile in Aman--Tol Eressëa}

 

In the morning they woke, not having moved from how they fell asleep. Erestor almost cried again, but this time from joy. He woke in the arms of his truest friend, and it was unimaginably wonderful. He lowered his head once again to kiss the hand that still held his.

 

“Good morning, Erestor,” the blond whispered, his voice laced with humor.

 

“I did not mean to wake you.” Erestor apologized as he turned to face Glorfindel. He immediately began to consider the idea of anyone else in the house learning they had spent the night together, and felt chagrined at his weakness.

 

“I was awake,” the blond protested, his eyes full of love. He had more to say now, though he still felt he should not speak in plain terms. “Erestor, please...try not to be afraid. Trust Elrond, and trust me. So badly, I want your happiness and peace of mind. And for you to see yourself as I do.”

 

Erestor lowered his gaze. He understood what was being obliquely referred to, the thing neither of them could yet openly discuss. “I wish I did not have so many problems, Glorfindel. I can only imagine the difficulties I have caused you over the years.” The chocolate-brown eyes framed by enviably long lashes closed in regret.

 

“You do not have problems, dear one. Only fears, and doubts. If I could slay them for you, I would,” the golden elf said with sadness in his mein.

 

The imagery was not lost on Erestor, as he rested his head against Glorfindel’s chest to hear the strong heart beating. “Glorfindel...what I said last night...I feel very badly. I _do_ know why you have cared for me. But I am afraid. I truly do not deserve you...which does not change that I could not live without you.”

 

“You have me, Erestor. You have always had me. Will it help, if I say it first?”

 

“Please wait,” whispered the dark elf. “Please, just a little more time. I need to hear what else Elrond knows. I need to be sure, Glorfindel. For if I speak the words and then cannot act on them, I am afraid my heart will break all over again.”

 

“Then I will do as you ask.” While Glorfindel felt sure Elrond would never be so careless as to reveal information of this magnitude unless he was fully certain, Erestor was right. Wisdom demanded a little more patience. “Do you feel ready to rise and help with breakfast?”

 

Erestor nodded. “Whatever else happens, Glorfindel, thank you. Thank you with all my heart for being my friend and constant companion. I could not have hoped for better. You have meant everything, to me.”

 

Now it was Glorfindel’s turn to blink back tears. “No. Thank you, for allowing it. Every day spent at your side has been my privilege.”

 

Though Erestor could not see how, he did not argue but instead reached to hug his friend. Afterward he rose to dress, and Glorfindel slipped silently into his own room to do the same.

 

When Glorfindel emerged, Erestor’s door stood open; his smooth baritone could be heard speaking in the kitchen below. So he proceeded down the stairs to the same place, his golden hair brushed to a fine sheen as it fell to his waist. Today he left it loose; there was no wax or dough to accidentally be mashed into the burnished strands. “Good morning!” he greeted the household, so excited to be here. “Can I do anything to help?”

 

“I am finishing the batter for griddle cakes, but I wonder if you would mind making us scrambled eggs?” Elrond indicated the brimming basket of colorful eggs on the countertop. Erestor was already seated with steaming coffee in his hands; a treat that could always be counted on for their visits. His eyes brightened visibly when Glorfindel entered the room.

 

“Did you both sleep well?” Celebrían asked, so glad to see them both again.

 

“I think we did,” Erestor replied diplomatically. “At least, I did. I cannot recall the last time I rested in such peace.”

 

Fighting to keep a blush of happiness from his cheeks, Glorfindel began cracking the eggs into a bowl, four at a time.

 

“Show off,” teased Elladan, as he set the pail full of fresh milk down into the sink, to pour it off slowly into the clean ceramic jugs through a fine mesh cloth.

 

“Wait,” Erestor said, his sharp eyes tracking the volume of milk. “Have you added many more goats? You never had this much milk before?”

 

“We have a little milk-cow now,” Elladan said, smiling. “Later today you will come with me and meet her, Erestor. She is very sweet, and you will love her. Her name is Brown, and she loves for someone to scratch between her eyes and around her ears.”

 

“I would like that very much.” The dark eyes sparkled in delight.

 

Elrond laughed heartily. “How times have changed, my friends! Could you see us in Imladris, looking forward to milking the cow? And yet I am very happy, here. Though soon I will have to begin preparations,” he sighed.

 

“Preparations for what?” Glorfindel glanced up with interest, already beating the eggs with a whisk.

 

“Well, for Thranduil and his people. They will come, sooner than not. Over two hundred of them will require a place to go, and this house can lodge only a fraction of that number. And they will come more or less all at once, from what I was told. I was grateful to know; it will give time to make ready for them.”

 

Erestor considered. “What about the caves above Alqualondë?”

 

“The ones in the cliffs?” Glorfindel asked, incredulously. “But...they are natural caves. No water source, no amenities...they would take a great deal of effort to convert to a proper home. Homes.”

 

“True,” sighed Erestor. “And they live in the woods. But...where are they to go? The nearest forest lands are hundreds of leagues to the south. Is that where the others from Eryn Lasgalen went?”

 

“To my knowledge, no. The forests, most of those belong to Lord Oromë. It is my belief that with the slow passing of years they dispersed to the many settlements and were assimilated into assorted occupations. Do you recall Galion, Thranduil’s butler? He went north, to raise grapes for wine.”

 

“But surely some might have gone to the inland forests in the north? The ones on the other side of the Pelori?” Glorfindel frowned.

 

“Same problem,” Erestor countered. “Thranduil’s people enjoyed a very high standard of living, but they did it by working as a unit. They can hardly be asked to relocate en masse where there is no food and shelter. At least in those caves there is access to the farms below. And the fisheries, and…”

 

“It is my guess they will want to stay together,” Elrond cut in, his enthusiasm obvious. “Many of them have never known other than life under Thranduil’s care.”

 

“Then you are really discussing finding a place in which to prepare for an entire community to live,” the former Counselor mused. “From scratch, for they will have only the same few possessions we all had, when we came here. And from what I infer, they will not sail in ships but will walk the Straight Road. Probably bringing only what each can carry.”

 

Glorfindel might be surprised to find his friend so interested in this matter, were it not for the fact that he had not forgotten how much Erestor loved to solve problems for Elrond. Any problems at all. He had missed this, if the gleam in his eyes was any indication.

 

“I see you have your usual keen grasp of the situation,” Elrond teased the dark ellon. “I will not attempt to deceive you, Erestor. Your advice and ideas would be much appreciated. Especially if you can provide me with a location or a means to succeed. I can manage temporary housing here on the island well enough for their number...but they will not be content to stay, I would think.”

 

“I will do what I can,” Erestor replied. “This...interests me. And it has been a long while since I had a challenge of this kind.” Glorfindel could have his opinions, but he was not convinced that the caves above the city were as unsuitable as his friend believed. They were, after all, in part composed of sandstone, not that he expected Glorfindel to be familiar with nuances of geology. That meant they were relatively malleable. He would investigate on his own, soon. But certainly not until this vacation was over.

 

**

 

Late morning found them walking with Elrond along the edges of the island, strolling the little-trodden but still visible path to the Straight Road. That is, if ‘path’ could still be used as a descriptor; ‘game trail’ seemed a little more appropriate. He guessed what his friends might be wishing to know, but respect required waiting for them to ask. Quite enough forcing of information upon them had occurred last night. The wait was shorter than he anticipated.

 

“Elrond, what you told us yestereve,” Erestor began quietly. “About the two...males...that joined in marriage. This has not been included, ever, in our laws or customs. While I do not wish to doubt you…”

 

“While you do not wish to doubt me you are being prudent. Being sure.” The grey eyes raised to engage Erestor’s gaze.

 

For just a few moments, the stare was returned impassively, before the dark head lowered in capitulation. “Yes,” he admitted. Glorfindel had been right. This was Elrond, who above all deserved his trust.

 

“I too had to be sure,” came the answer. “I would not have told this to you lightly. I approached the Lord Manwë in Valimar, while I had the opportunity. As you know, he is not often away from his home on Taniquetil. What he said to me confirmed what Earlene spoke. All of it. Yes, such a union is permitted. And the admonitions for discretion were issued alongside that consent.”

 

“Why the restriction?” Glorfindel wondered. “Is not a deed either lawful, or a crime? Does...I do not fully understand.”

 

Elrond turned his attention now to the very valid question. “Were I to hazard a guess, this has to do with...timing, and perception. It is a very great change, to how our people have lived. Some will struggle with it, and perhaps this is meant to begin very slowly. I cannot fully surmise their purpose, except to believe that our Father has seen that more than one kind of love exists, and in his mercy is allowing that love to at last be expressed. At least, in private. For now. I would guess that the insistence on discretion is as much for the protection of those who join together as it is to breach the sensibilities of those who will learn of this in time.”

 

“And...in your home, Elrond? What are your feelings on this? Do your wife and sons...would they be…” Glorfindel floundered, searching for the right words.

 

“I would never seek to scorn the heartfelt love of another,” Elrond said, arching his eyebrow. “Nor would any of my family. Do you still need me to speak as though we are talking about a subject of abstract philosophical interest, or is it enough to know that you are my two dearest and most cherished friends, and that I have wanted nothing but your happiness for longer than I can count the years?”

 

“Point taken,” Erestor said, smiling and stealing a glance up at Glorfindel. “And, thank you.”

 

“You are welcome,” the former Elflord said, stopping now at the end of the road, whose rainbow patterns of light left the island and arched slowly into the eastern sky. “I never tire of looking at it. So beautiful. I find I now long for those from the other side to return.” _Such a span of time later, and still they waited for all their people to join them._ For it was forbidden, once an elf set foot on these shores, to return to the world on the other side. Maglor was now apparently the one exception to this law. And yet Elrond wondered, so much... _what had become of the world of men?_ _Did any of Imladris still survive?_ A part of him did not wish to know. He lost so much, because of Middle-Earth, and would obey the Powers who commanded him and all the others here to remain. “Did I mention that Maedhros was released from Námo’s keeping?” he asked them both, only now recalling this tidbit. “I was able to see both of them. He and Maglor, I mean.”

 

“That must have been very special for you,” Erestor noted with deep compassion. This reminded him, he and Glorfindel were not the only ones needing to consider discretion. There were few with whom Elrond had chosen to share the truth of his enduring love for his foster-fathers. There were yet some who would...struggle to understand. No, it was not as simple as ‘lawful and unlawful.’ The opinions and feelings of others were ever-present.

 

“It was,” murmured Elrond, who was surprised and pleased when each of his friends took a position at his side, and brought their arms around his shoulders. “It was.”

 


	143. One Hundred Forty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thanks to a young lad named Spencer, I have learned that all my chapter titles are WRONG. Because I have a literature degree, and don't know what a grade-schooler does. All who wish to share in my grammatical mortification can check this out: https://english.stackexchange.com/questions/84517/three-hundred-forty-two-or-three-hundred-and-forty-two
> 
> The mistakes will be added to the list of things to correct in Version 2.0  
> OOPS. And yes, the headings font size is still an ever-loving disaster, because I still can't figure out Docs. *hides head in shame*
> 
> January 26-30, 2033

 

# {January 26, 2033}

 

Sharley had been somewhat amused to find that, once word of her pregnancy got out, hardly anyone wanted to let her do any real work. Nevermind that she was a god damn Maia, and thus pretty much impervious to miscarriage, or that she was stronger even than almost all the Elves, or that even human women weren’t invalids when they were pregnant -- no, she was baking one in the oven, so apparently she was suddenly made of china.

 

At least the Skykomish people knew better, and those of Eldamar. _They_ let her get on with it, trusting her to not somehow lose her pregnancy by sneezing. They also respected the fact that this wasn’t the first time she’d done this, thanks so much...though it had brought up some awkward questions.

 

She hadn’t been able to remember Marty’s father, but since there was so much else she didn't remember, those she’d known in Skykomish hadn’t thought it was weird. Now that she had all her memories back, a few people had asked...for a while. Angie must have said something, because the inquiries had stopped. It put Sharley in kind of a weird position, because she’d be willing to answer questions (no matter that she really didn't want to), but there was Maglor. Maglor, who was still hurt by all of...that. Who’d been hurt all this time, and she hadn’t known. _He_ was probably the real reason Angie had told everyone to zip it, if indeed that was what she had done. The thought that this had been eating at him for the better part of four years...it bothered her immensely, and all the more so because there was nothing she could really do save not talk about Marty. And that too hurt. It seemed that, so far as her first little girl was concerned, one of them was going to be in pain over it.

 

Which why Sharley had arranged to meet with Angie, while Maglor was busy with music lessons. The diner was coming along nicely, and could spare her; dealing with trying to help anyone else was more hassle than it would be worth for anyone. Angie was organizing a new practice -- and was going to have more patients than she could realistically handle -- so Sharley...made an appointment, more or less.

 

“I’ll be glad as hell when Juana shows up,” Angie said bluntly, sitting. She’d set up her ‘office’ the living-room of the apartment she’d been given in the Halls, and had been pretty canny about it. The furniture was mostly Elven, but she had some very human quilts draped over the sofa and chairs, with an equally human (though very nice) coffee-table of dark walnut, which matched the rest of the furniture nicely. Probably most important, psychologically speaking, she’d gotten Lorna to build her an LED light -- and she was not the only one who had done so. For most, it was a sheer matter of practicality; human eyesight being what it was, many had to light a wasteful number of oil lamps or candles to be able to read or craft comfortably. Lorna was still trying to perfect it, but once she had, there would be evening classes in how to make them.

 

“I don't think I ever met Juana,” Sharley said, sitting on the sofa.

 

Angie took residence in one of the armchairs. “You met her sister-in-law, once. Jasmine, she’s Jason’s little sister. She and her husband Manuel, they’re both chemists, and Juana’s just out of college at UW with a psychiatry degree. Poor woman’ll be tossed off the deep end, in this place.” Angie herself had been lucky, and been able to ease into a part-time practice before going full time. She certainly hadn’t been dropped into such a sink-or-swim situation, and she’d have to help Juana, insofar as she actually could. “But you didn't come here to talk about psychiatrists.”

 

“No, I didn't,” Sharley sighed. “It’s about Marty. Of freaking course. Marty, and Maglor. I had no idea he felt that way, and yeah, I feel like shit now, for putting him through that all this time.”

 

“He did it because he loves you,” Angie pointed out.

 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I was hurting him,” Sharley said. “I was hurting him, and I didn't know it, and...that’s not right.”

 

“Has he said anything more about it?”

 

She shook her head. “No, and I haven’t asked. If he wants to talk about it, he will -- I’m not gonna poke him over it.” She sighed again, and picked at the hem of her shirt. “I get why it bugs him. I really do, but at the same time, it hurts. I love him, and I love Marty, but he doesn’t know her, and probably never will. I dunno if Elves are allowed into that part of the Gardens, but I’m a hundred percent sure I wouldn’t be allowed to...to take video of her, or anything. Mortals just aren’t supposed to go to Aman. There’s been...three, I think, including Earlene, and it wouldn’t be fair, to show them this beautiful place they can never go.”

 

And she honestly...she wasn’t sure what she thought of that. Elves and Dwarves, they knew where they went when they died, but why weren’t humans allowed to? She was sure that there was a reason, but because they _didn't_ know, they tried to fill that void without any surety. They weren’t told there even was an afterlife, or any kind of deities. They were left blind to anything that wasn’t Earth, and yeah, Sharley wondered why. From the perspective of someone who had spent a very long time among them -- time in which she’d thought she _was_ one -- it didn't seem fair that they alone should be so thoroughly left in the dark. It didn't, and yet what the hell did she know? Next to nothing. No doubt that was part of whatever plan Eru had, and she was hardly qualified to argue with it. She doubted even Manwë was.

 

“Have you talked to Lorna and Earlene?”

 

“A bit, yeah,” Sharley said. “Earlene’s harder to nail down, given she’s got all those kids _and_ two husbands, which kinda sucks. She’s _met_ Marty, after all. But I’ve been sharing some memories with Lorna, and she’s got more in common with me than Earlene does, in one way. She lost a pregnancy, in the wreck that killed her husband.”

 

The more Angie heard about Lorna’s life, the more she wondered how the tiny woman wasn’t insane, let alone how more-or-less well-adjusted she was. “While I'm sorry for her, I’m glad you can talk to one another.”

 

Sharley stared into the fire. “Lorna, she doesn’t care where Marty came from,” she said softly. “I know Maglor does, for all he’s never come out and said it, and I guess I can’t blame him. Lorna says it’s a guy thing, and even though I don't get it, I respect that it _is_ a thing. But it can be hard, sometimes.”

 

This was the kind of thing that made professional detachment...difficult. Angie couldn’t let Sharley become more of a friend than she already was, or they risked compromising her treatment, but things like this made Angie want to treat her more as a friend. “Finding a balance won’t be easy,” she said. “It will take time, and work on both your parts, but you love one another, and want to keep each other happy and healthy.” The trouble being that, while Maglor had been pardoned, he was still not what anyone might call mentally healthy. He had seen, and endured, and done things that had left lasting mental and emotional scars, and unlike Sharley, he hadn’t been healed of them. Angie hadn’t yet asked him about his history, or his trial, because that was not a wound she wished to poke so soon. Even for a human, it would still be fresh in one’s mind, but for an Elf? It hadn’t even been quite five months yet, and that was half a blink to an Elf, if even that.

 

“I know,” Sharley said. “And I know he wouldn't like that I’m worried about hurting him again, but I _am_. After all he’s been through -- I mean yeah, I went through some utterly horrendous shit, too, but I got healed in mind. None of it has any hold over me anymore, so it’s not even close to the same thing.”

 

“Does it bother you, what he did?” Angie asked, watching her closely.

 

Sharley frowned. “No,” she said. “Which I'm pretty sure is fucked-up and wrong, but...he’s not that person anymore. He wouldn’t have done a any of it if not for his dad, who really was a persuasive bastard. Fëanor could come damn near close to hypnotizing people when he spoke; it’s why he talked so many people into going with him. Into killing their own people. All those boys loved and venerated their father, and while the decision had been Maglor’s own, I don't believe he ever woulda gone on without...prodding.”

 

And for all Lorna liked to call the Silmarils magic light bulbs, now that Sharley had her memory back, she knew they were far more than that. They weren’t, honestly, that much unlike the One Ring: no, they weren’t evil in any way, but they had the ability to sink desire for themselves into people’s minds. Until she got her memories back, she hadn’t understood why everyone and their dog -- literally -- had wanted them enough to slaughter to get them. For that, Sharley was almost tempted to say they _were_ evil, and just weren’t designed to be so. Nothing that was truly good could cause such misery and bloodshed. Desire to possess them was almost like a kind of cancer of the soul.

 

Not that she’d ever be telling Maglor that. After everything he went through to get even one of the damn things, that would be nothing short of abject cruelty. Nevertheless, having thought it, it wouldn’t leave her mind. His actions were all his own, and yet...and yet she couldn’t shake the thought that he, and just about every other person who had come into contact with the Silmarils, had almost been -- been mind-whammied, as Lorna might say. They didn't take away free will, but that didn't mean they hadn’t influenced it.

 

And, now that Sharley could remember, she knew that she had never liked them. They were incomparably beautiful, containing the last of the light of the Two Trees, and yet she’d been almost repelled by them, though she hadn’t known why. Now that she was much older, and rather wiser, she thought she did.

 

Yavanna had created the Two Trees for the benefit of all, their radiance shared with the world. Fëanor had taken it, and concentrated it, and crafted its housing for himself, possessive and covetous. And Sharley wondered, now, if granting him that light had been the wisest of ideas; it had been made by the Valar, and Fëanor, no matter how skilled or mighty he was, was still, at the end of the day, an Elf. He was not, perhaps, made to be so closely exposed to it -- maybe none of the Elves were. It was almost like a kind of spiritual radiation, eroding sense and wisdom. Thingol had started out a wise King, but after long-term exposure to the Silmaril...well, look at what had happened. Lúthien and Beren had escaped its influence, but they were a very small minority.

 

“While I don't think you should try to initiate a full discussion yet,” Angie said, “I think you should tell him that you’re willing to listen, if and when he decides he’s ready to talk about it. It’s not like you don't already know most of it, anyway.”

 

This was true. Sharley hadn’t seen every detail of the Kinslayings, but she was hardly ignorant of her husband’s actions; when she’d still been able to see history, she’d seen a great deal of his. He had killed his own people, more than once. He had also raised and loved two children abandoned by their parents, both of whom had gone on to do extraordinary things, and had become the people that they were because of his teachings. (She still, even with what she now knew about the addictive power of the Silmarils, wasn’t very impressed by Elwing. And while that might be easy for her to say, given she’d been so immune to them, she was nevertheless unimpressed.)

 

“You’re right enough there,” she said aloud. “We’ll get there. I'm not thrilled about the idea of leaving him for any length of time, even though I know he’s got people to look after him. A week in Aman is four months here, if I’ve got my math right.” She still kind of mourned the fact that she’d missed the last of Allanah’s childhood. Her sunshine girl had become a sunshine woman, and she’d missed the change.

 

She touched her stomach. It was still far too early for her to register much of anything, but there was something that would be a baby in her womb. When she went to Aman, she’d visit Marty, and tell her little girl she was going to have a sister. A sister who, like Allanah, would get to grow up. The only downside to Marty’s life in those beautiful Gardens was the fact that she was going to be forever five years old. But there were certainly far worse things.

 

“Quen will keep him distracted,” Angie said, “and all the children. Thranduil, Earlene, and Thanadir know him well enough by now, too. He won’t lack for company and support.”

 

“I know,” Sharley said. “And it’s the only reason I’m willing to leave him at all right now. He’s been through so much, and I know the Lump isn’t the greatest company.” That poor cat...she loved him immensely, but Maglor was just not a cat person. It was why she’d tried to keep the cat on _her_ side of the bed, because she was extremely fond of the fat little monstrosity. While she didn't dislike dogs, she preferred the feline contingency.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Angie said. “Now, let’s talk about this diner.”

  

*****

 

# {January 28, 2033}

 

Earlene had not stopped at booking them for the high tea on the first day of their stay, but rather they went to this every day, just to see Thanadir’s delight in the abundance of little treats. Besides, this was Thanadir, it was hardly anything that would amount to more than a light snack for him.

 

Thranduil noted the changes in himself, too...finding that what might have previously been a minor annoyance at his seneschal’s proclivities had changed in his eyes to become a delight. His love took such joy in simple (albeit sophisticated) sensual temptations.

 

On the third day, as the server arrived with their third course of Little Things On Plates That Were Sweet, Thanadir felt somewhat bold. “Excuse me, please...we have never stayed here before, and this seems such a special place. Did...was the owner someone important, or...what was this place used for long ago? Forgive my ignorance, I am not from this area.” The charming smile and sincere words (not to mention the unplaceable accent) seemed to lend credence to his question, as the woman tilted her head.

 

And here Colleen had been expecting a dull day. “It’s had many owners,” she said, “but the most famous is Grace O’Malley, the Pirate Queen. She was chieftain’v the Ó Máille clan, back in the sixteenth century -- only woman who could say that, in those days. She harassed the English so much they put a price on her head, until their Elizabeth told them to ‘leave that poor old woman alone’. So Grace kept on pirating, she was just subtler about it.

 

“And then there was Richard Martin, who owned it in the nineteenth century. He got called, throughout his life, Humanity Dick, Nimble Dick, and Hair-Trigger Dick, and you’d not believe the number’v Americans who’ve thought that’s the funniest thing they’ve heard in Ireland. He introduced the first legislature against cruelty to animals, but he also liked to duel.” She grinned. “Someone asked him, right before he died, why he was so hard on people but so kind to animals, and he said, ‘Did you ever see an ox with a pistol?’”

 

“Ox with a pistol?” Thanadir echoed, taking a moment to work out what was meant.

 

Earlene was having a somewhat more difficult time keeping a straight face concerning Nimble Dick, and thanked all the Powers that Kurt was nowhere near this table. “That’s quite a storied history,” she commented, not wishing to admit that yes, it was pretty high on the humor scale.

 

“Oh, it gets even more interesting,” Colleen said. “After the Martins lost the place, it was bought by a Maharaja from India: Ranjitsinhji, also known as the Prince’v Cricketers. This was in nineteen twenty-four, I think. His family was really, _really_ rich, and he discovered Ireland through playing cricket and fell in love with the place. When he’d come to stay, he’d do things like buy really expensive luxury cars -- five motorcars, two limos, and three smaller cars, and when he went back to India in the fall, he’d just give them away to people living in the parish. Ireland back then was a good deal more racist than it is now, but all the locals and his people got along grand.”

 

“Maharaja?” Thanadir said, vaguely not able to believe this and wondering if the woman was spinning tales to poke fun at him.

 

 _This is all true, meldir. She is not jesting; the history of this place is extraordinary._ He seemed encouraged by this.

 

“Did anything else happen?” the old elf inquired. It was, after all, a very good story. And if it was true, so much the better.

 

“Nothing quite as interesting,” Colleen said. “Once he’d passed on -- and when he did, nobody believed it at first, because he’d died on April Fool’s Day -- the castle passed to the Tourist Board. There’s been loads’v celebrities that stayed here, over the years, but no more Indian royalty.”

 

“Really…” Thranduil commented, a mighty smirk coming over his features. “Perhaps we can find some for you.”

 

Earlene quirked her eyebrow but decided not to ask. Oh yes, she knew better. Yes, she did.

 

**

 

# {January 29, 2033}

 

“Why are we going here?” Thanadir whispered softly into her ear, not wishing to offend the man operating the fishing boat. Earlene had signed them up for the offered ‘Island and Lobster Experience’ on a whim. She wanted to see some of wild Connemara, and felt that this would let them see the most of it without walking for hours or bicycling in the unpredictable winter weather.

 

“A chance to see a part of Ireland we otherwise will not, and to learn about a place that humans have not had the greatest success maintaining a presence. Inishlacken, the island we are approaching, was abandoned at one time after having been lived on for about eighty years. And while people live here again now, artists and whatnot...something tells me it is much how we will _all_ live again, and rather soon.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Thranduil put an arm around his love, lowering his head to speak as well. “Earlene feels that there is likely something to be learned from even improbable experiences,” he murmured. “So think of this as a….mild adventure that may or may not teach us something new.”

 

“An experiment?” asked the seneschal.

 

“More or less,” smiled the King, kissing the side of his cheek.

 

An appreciative smile crept over the ellon’s face. “I love you,” he said with raw sincerity.

 

“And I you.”

 

Earlene could hear this exchange in her mind as well as with her more sensitive ears, and...wondered. “So...can I ask about something that is none of my business whatsoever?” The wind whipped at a stray lock of her hair that refused to stay confined to her braid, but at least it rendered their conversation completely private.

 

“I think I can guess,” Thranduil replied. “You want to know why we did not go through with it, the other day, when it looked very much as if we were about to?”

 

She blushed a little, feeling horribly nosy. There was no other word for such an intrusive question. “You do not have to answ--” this time it was Thanadir’s finger, silencing her.

 

“It was me, meldis. I...had a very strong experience of feeling like I was ready. That it was what I wanted. But just at the last moment, I felt fear. Not of the act but of whether it was truly the right time. It is...my struggle, I guess you could say. Thranduil is generous enough to tolerate my….being me.

 

“It is not ‘tolerating,’ Thandir. I love you, and want very much that this be something your heart rejoices in. To know that you went along in doubt or uncertainty--please, do not do that to either of us.”

 

“I am trying as best I know how,” the smaller elf said, with a plea in his eyes. “Nothing about me is hidden from you.”

 

“I know you are, and I am beyond content. Please do not let the discussion cause you to think otherwise, or bring you distress. I only wished to answer Earlene’s question. She deserves to know, even though she believes she does not.”

 

“That is not entirely fair,” she chided Thranduil gently. “I do not in the sense that Thanadir allows you and I a private life together. You allow me one with him as well. I want to offer the same reasonable and fair courtesy to both of you.”

 

“I will agree that we can discuss this more at another time, but, here we are at the island. Let us hear what our guide has to tell us.” With a loving and kind expression, he offered his hand to Earlene to hold.

 

**

 

They carefully picked their way through the boggy, rocky, treacherous ground as they walked the edges of the island. More or less they were aimed at an abandoned...was it a farmstead, in the distance? Stone walls (and stone in general) dotted the landscape absolutely everywhere. “Nineteen-eighty, was when the last one left. Whole place was abandoned for years on end. Then some sold; new ones bought. Artists’n whatnot. There’s easier places to live and yet...it’s got character.”

 

“Oodles,” Earlene said, taking in the windswept grasses. “Could we see one of the stone ruins? I mean, walk over to one?”

 

“Aye,” their affable guide smiled. On the way here, two lobsters caught in one of his traps promised to be their extremely memorable dinner. “Mind where you step.”

 

“This is the same as what Sean does,” Thanadir commented, giving a sweeping gesture meant to encompass the walls, doorways, and the raised walls at each end of the massive dwelling.

 

“But on quite a greater scale of difficulty,” Thranduil noted. The size of some of the stones incorporated into the wall would be no laughing matter for a human man. Men. These structures must have required great effort to construct...and yet what caught his attention was not that they were in ruins. It was how much of the structures had endured.

 

“All it needs are roof trusses, thatch, and for the flooring to be re-established,” Thanadir noted with interest. “Otherwise the stone parts have not been damaged in the least...”

 

“I see we think the same. This could prove….valuable. See? Discovery,” Thranduil smirked.

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. While she knew perfectly well what they were plotting, she could hardly fault them. Or refrain from thinking how much better those houses could have been, had there been adequate lumber to outfit their interiors better. After all, they had a future to plan. Sue her.

 

*****

 

# {January 30, 2033}

 

“We just returned and you are leaving?” Earlene asked, amused. “Well...please give me at least an hour. I have been long preparing a letter to Elrond, I do hope you can deliver it to him for me?”

 

“I can,” Sharley said. “I’ve got rollerblades, too, so maybe it’ll take me less time to get there.” She also had a little photo album Lorna had made up for her, consisting mostly of Maglor and the stuff he did in Eldamar and the Halls -- teaching the kids was the biggest subject, since he smiled so often. And yes, there was one of him and the Lump, where he looked...patient. Saoirse had made a drawing of Maglor and Eldan; Shane had knocked together a primer to translate Tengwar to the Roman alphabet, and included one of their old Sindarin-English primers.

 

Earlene had her own...well, perhaps ‘packet’ was a better term. There were fewer photos, but better ones, that she had worked on carefully. A beautiful one of her and Allanah, standing next to Nimroch. Ailill and Calanon, the hawks, and Thaladir with his new hound pups Flynn and Glenda. Ithiliel and Eleniel with their father, then another with her, Thanadir and their three biological children. One of their entire Sullivan family inside of Eldamar, and one of Quen and Maglor; the former with a scroll and the latter seated with his harp. And lastly, what she hoped was her pièce de résistance; Thanadir, alone, surrounded by a sea of holiday cookies with as much beauty of expression and radiance of spirit as she had ever captured in an image. The smallest of these was what Earlene would have called a 5”x7” in the states. And of course there was a long letter to the former Elflord. Earlene dictated the content, but it was written in Thanadir’s hand; she did not fully trust her written Sindarin and preferred that someone far more expert do the inscribing.

 

A little while later found Earlene driving Sharley to Doolin, thinking that it would allow them time to talk (and shaking her head at the fact that she had just driven _from_ here, for all intents and purposes...but this was important). The precious packet had already been handed over. “So….” Earlene began as they wound along the roads toward County Galway. “Confidential-ish conversation time. What I am sending...from before, you knew about the mess with Thanadir and Erestor, right?”

 

“Kinda,” Sharley said. “I saw it in Thanadir’s history, but Elves have so _much_ history that I didn't really get to focus on it. I know it was...bad.”

 

“Yeah. And...when I was there, Elrond and I talked a few times. But it was only when I was leaving Valimar to go to stay in Irmo’s gardens...that’s when Elrond very nicely cornered me about this whole thing with Thanadir and Erestor. I didn’t even try to be confidential. I spilled like a squeaking rat, because if I cannot trust Elrond I don’t know who can be trusted. I told him everything, including some pretty personal stuff about Thanadir that you...already know or you don’t. The photos in here...every one of them that depicts our family is some attempt on my part to cast him in a better light. To hopefully show any who might see them that Thanadir isn’t some kind of monster. Us all going back there...it’s going to be a reckoning for him; I know it is. And while it is his mess to clean up, so to speak, I have to try to help if I can. It about killed me to learn that his whole reputation on the other side appears to be defined by what happened with Erestor.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sharley said. “He and  Maglor get along great, which is an automatic point in his favor with Elrond, I’d think. Maybe, by the time you guys go, we’ll have managed to change public opinion at least a little.” Elves, she knew, could be stubborn, and though few held grudges, they were more than capable of it. She had never looked into the future, to see just when the Elves would have to leave, nor did she want to. It was likely not something she’d be able to keep to herself, so she just didn't do it.

 

“I don’t really want you to...do...anything. I just want you to know what happened so that if you somehow find yourself being asked questions, you have a broader understanding of why that might be the case. I have no intention of trying to manipulate anyone; these folks are all too smart and I give them more credit. I just...I love Thanadir, and of course I want to try. I want them to know the ellon I know, not the person who screwed up horribly once a zillion years ago. But that’s the problem. Elves have long memories and...I don’t understand that part. Not yet,” she murmured.

 

“Yes, yes they do,” Sharley said. “And you’d think that’d mean they’d move on from nasty things, but nope, sometimes they dwell. Oh damn,” she said, “some Elves are like Lorna. That’s...kinda terrifying. I think the problem, though, isn’t necessarily that their memories are long, but that they’re _Elves_. I dunno any Maiar who’ve ever held a grudge, and you’re like...the Elf human, so maybe you’ll never have to get that bit.”

 

“I’ve never been the grudge-holding type. Or the dwelling type..I’ve seen people who are, and...I don’t mean this against Lorna, but god it’s the biggest waste of emotional energy ever. I had the luxury of not growing up like she did, though, and more besides. But yeah, they can obsess on things, no doubt about it. Some worse than others. And...I don’t know Erestor. Don’t know a single thing about him except that he is completely brilliant, possibly to the point of making Thanadir seem dim by comparison. I guess if I am really lucky, he has some capacity to forgive. I would give a great deal, to at least know that Thanadir will have a chance of making it right.”

 

“And to be fair, Lorna doesn’t really do that as much as she thinks she does -- or at all, really, anymore. But with Thanadir….I know Elves don't understand Asperger’s, but I might be able to talk about it with Elrond.” She shook her head. “I’ve gotta admit, though, even the thought of there being someone who could make Thanadir seem dim is kinda scary.”

 

“I did tell Elrond about the Asperger’s  but...I had just a few minutes to talk, so how much did I really get across? No idea. And in case you hadn’t noticed, your husband is rather a genius. He just focuses it all on music, whereas Thanadir is a little more broadly spread. I imagine there are quite a few extraordinary elves. Your father-in-law comes to mind...what he could have done if he’d hung onto his sanity and sound reasoning...who even knows?”

 

“Maglor really is an almost daunting genius,” Sharley said. “As for Fëanor...between you and me, I’m not sure he was ever really _sane_. Utterly brilliant, and the most skilled craftsman that’s ever lived, but you know that saying about the line between genius and insanity. He was a...special, special person, let me put it that way, and all his sons idolized him -- much good did it do any of them, in the end.”

 

“Mmmm...not sure I agree. My unknowable question is, what would have happened with him in the absence of Melko? I think he started out fine, but somewhere along the line became a poster boy for a Greek tragedy. Hubris. Intelligence and power without humility...terrible combination.”

 

“I want to say he would have been ultimately okay,” Sharley said, “but to be honest, I don't know. I don't think so. His resentment of his half-brothers, of Indis...it was a poison in its own right, separate from Melko. He was...well, look at Oropher. Some Elves are just damaged. And the way he looked at the Silmarils….” She shook her head. “He loved them more than his family. He led his sons, his brothers...well. I think there can be such a thing as too much genius. In his case, it seemed like he had so much because anything resembling legitimate empathy got thrown out the window when he was conceived.”

 

“Well...I’m sorry, but...Míriel...I don’t like to make a habit of judging those I’ve not met but...who goes and _dies_ rather than be with her husband and child? I mean, seriously? There was not another way to deal with her issue like...maybe not have sex again? I just...that whole thing...sorry, but Fëanor got sold down the river kind’v out the gate.”

 

“I’ve wondered about her myself,” Sharley said. “It’s not something that was ever really talked about, so I don't know much of anything, but I have to wonder if they really gave much thought to other options. Fëanor mighta turned out a whole lot different, if his mother had lived, but for her to not just die, but be so weary she didn't want to return to the world, ever? Something happened there, but I doubt anyone’ll ever really know what. Huh,” she said, thoughtful, “I wonder if she’s anywhere I might run into her. I know she’s back out in Aman, or was -- but I don't mean to be there more than a week. I know you guys’ll look after Maglor, but that doesn’t mean I like the thought of leaving him that long.”

 

“Maglor? He will be fine,” Earlene assured. “He is an introvert, Sharley. We like to be left alone.”

 

“I know,” she said, with a rueful smile. “It just hasn’t been long at all since he went through something really traumatic, and apparently I’m already in maternal worry mode. Great.”

 

“I’ll keep an eye on him. Maybe even talk with him some. We have not had a really good conversation about...all that...for some time now. I like to think I have earned the ability to be nosier than most,” she smiled pausing, before her eyebrow raised. “Maternal worry? You are spending too much time absorbing Lorna.”

 

“He and I haven’t really talked about it, either, but that’s mostly because I haven’t asked yet,” Sharley said. “I figured I’d wait a while before I opened that jar of bees, since I wasn’t there for it like you were. If he can talk to you, I’d feel safer asking him about it myself.” She laughed. “Lorna doesn’t quite understand how much of her mind I've read at times, without actually meaning to. She...broadcasts. Loudly. Sometimes when I really wish she didn't, too, because there are things about her sex life I do _not_ need to know. Then again, I made her dream about Maglor’s ass, so I guess it’s only fair.”

 

 _“We could tell you anyway,”_ Kurt said.

 

She glared at the ceiling. “Don't even.”

 

“I would be sincerely surprised to think it can outdo the antics in our wing of the house,” Earlene said drily. “And you are making me rather glad that at this point, my telepathy is limited to my husbands. I rather hope it stays that way, honestly. And don’t worry, if nothing else I think I have managed to gain some rapport with your spouse. And if I do not, Thranduil does. I never wanted to believe this Queen nonsense could be good for much but...there were times I think it helped. I’ve learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure it did help. This is...weird, for me,” Sharley said, “because I’ve lived so long in Aman _and_ so long on Earth. I’ve lived with a monarchical hierarchy, and the kinda free-for-all not-quite-democracy of the tribes of North America, then of American society in general. I can understand how comforting it can be, to listen to your lord or lady, but also how great it is to not have anyone above you. It’s not something I’ve been able to reconcile all the way, because they’re such radically different things.

 

“I think Maglor likes _having_ a King a whole lot more than he liked _being_ one, and even if he was telling himself he didn't deserve hope, blah blah, I think he was probably grateful that he was pretty much forced to listen to you, whether he wanted to or not. If he was obeying his Queen, it was okay. Ish.”

 

“I was exploiting that as much as I dared, given that over there I am the Queen of Exactly Nothing,” she said. “But...I didn’t make my career with no ability to badger people into giving me what I want. I really can be seventeen kinds of bitch if I have to.” Earlene slowed down suddenly to a crawl, as a flock of sheep appeared on the roadway ahead. “Huh. That’s interesting, about all the governments. I guess...I deal well with hierarchies. I can be at the top, or the bottom. I really don’t care _where_ I am as long as it is an ordered, defined system. Arbitrary stuff? Not so good. Having to do what someone says, if their orders are subject to change on a whim? _Really bad._ Good leaders are easy to follow. Bad leaders? Well, we can remember the Cheeto.”

 

“Poor Námo.” Sharley shook her head. “I dunno how long mortal souls hang out in the Halls of Mandos before they move on, but even five minutes would be too much. Not even sure I want to know what Námo made of the Cheeto.

 

“And...it’s weird. I deal well with _one_ hierarchy. I serve Vairë, and though no other Vala’s ever needed my help, I’d serve them, too. Anyone else, it has to be on my own terms. I never swore official vows to Vairë, but I didn't have to -- my whole purpose for existing was to serve her. It’s why I dunno that verbal vows would...well, mean much, to me. I had a really interesting talk with Lorna about it, a while back. That poor woman wouldn’t do well as anything but a leader, funnily enough, which is why she’ll get stuck as one. And you can sit back and laugh at her, because... _because_.”

 

“Oh, I will be savoring the assorted ironies, don’t worry. She won’t see it this way, but it’s what she _should_ end up doing. The woman can out-badger a badger, and that’s what you do with that skill. You lead, and you make it work. I just hope that in time she comes into the self-confidence to understand...she is so much better than the day I first met her. But she still doesn’t fully believe in herself. Not like she could. Maybe in time…”

 

“Give her time. Trust me. What Estë did -- I think it was just done on a whim, but it’ll have lasting consequences of the good kind. Which is good, because _I_ sure as hell don't want to have to deal with it, and Maglor and I are staying in the Halls until the end of the world.” She paused. “I kinda feel bad about this, but I'm glad we weren’t allowed to stay in Aman, because I didn't want to. It’s not home anymore, not for me...but Maglor’s been all but cut off from his whole family. A visit every seven years isn’t much...although it will be by their standards. Didn't stop to think of it that way before.”

 

“Well…” Earlene suddenly thought better of pointing out that someday all of those now there would be...gone. “You can go back and forth at will. That is something, really...the next time I return, that will be...it. For me...it tore my heart to leave. I will miss everyone here, terribly, when the time comes. I will not resist returning. It...I wonder if you realize how much just taking these letters back and forth will help us...it is the only chance we have to prepare for our future there. I’m very grateful.”

 

“Oh, I have some idea,” Sharley said. “And I know everyone still on Earth will be glad I can play mailman once you’ve all gone. It’ll make that parting not quite so horrible.” She sighed, and stared at the westering sun -- something she could actually do now, which was just weird. “Aman is beautiful, but I’m not the same person I was when I lived there. I was young and silly and naive -- I didn't have a care in the universe, and for so long, everything was beautiful. I’d never seen evil. Now, though...all the time I spent in the  Hall of Weavers, I was homesick. I’m too different to be happy there again.”

 

Nodding, Earlene drove on, but their conversation lapsed into silence. She wanted to ask, did Sharley feel...were it her, she would probably feel an obligation of duty to return to her work. However,  she was not arrogant enough to assume she should second-guess one of the Ainur. Odd though Sharley still seemed sometimes, she deserved respect and past a certain point, Earlene believed she had no right to press for answers. They reached the ferry parking at mid-afternoon, as planned, leaving about fifteen minutes prior to the last departure for Inis Mor. “You’re sure you’ve got everything? Your stuff, bike, skates, plenty of money to pay for lodging when you return?”

 

“I do,” Sharley said. “I’ll see if the ice cream shop will hang onto my bike for me. If I throw enough money at them, they probably will.” In the interest of not standing out _too_ much, she’d temporarily shortened her hair and put on a stocking hat. Yeah, she was still unusually tall for a woman, but she wasn’t actually sure how to mess with her own height yet.

 

“Hopefully you get back through at a decent time’v day, too,” Earlene said, not liking the idea of Sharley having to walk Inis Mor in shite weather at night; there was not exactly a lot of lodging on the island after dark and on a whim.

 

“Man, me too. I’ve got a nice big flashlight, but I’d rather not need to use it.” Then again, she also didn't want to be appearing out of nowhere at high noon, either. “I hope there’s some way to knowing what time it is before I leave the Straight Road.”

 

“That...would be too easy,” Earlene smiled, offering her a parting hug. “You should probably get aboard...it wouldn’t do to miss the boat.”

 

“No, it wouldn’t.” Sharley returned the hug, and gathered all her crap together. “I’ll call you when I get back. Pet the Lump for me -- I know Maglor doesn’t like her that much.”

 

“I think Tail will let me,” she teased. That poor Lump cat...needed to be on a goddamn diet, honestly. _Hmmm_. “We’ll keep her company.”

 

“Good. A week in Aman is like four months here, so you’ll know when to keep your phone on you.” Sharley, bike, and backpack dashed for the ferry, ooching their way into an unoccupied spot. At this time of year, that wasn’t hard; January was hardly peak tourist season, so she had the ferry mostly to herself.

 

She wasn’t sure what she felt about going back to Aman so soon, and she _really_ wasn’t sure just what she was going to say to Melian; that was going to take a level of diplomacy she’d never yet had to exercise. But she’d get to see Marty again, and Vairë, and all the Weavers.

 

“And if you guys don't behave yourselves, you’re getting muted,” she said under her breath. “And that mostly means _you_ , Kurt.”

 

 _“I’m wounded,”_ he said, sounding anything but. _“Fine, fine. But honestly, you maybe oughtta mute me in advance, considering I fucking swear every five fucking minutes.”_

 

Sharley didn't facepalm, but it was a very near thing. Sadly, the little idiot had a point.

 

There were actually a few more people on the island, or at least at the ice cream shop. They were in fact quite willing to hang onto her bike in exchange for a hundred euro (given as a tip once she’d bought a cone). It was vanilla caramel, and she savored it the rest of the way.

 

When she reached the appointed place, she paused. Despite the fact that she’d seen this done once before, she wasn’t totally sure it would work again, but she put on her rollerblades and sang anyway. “Fanuilos, heryn aglar, rîn athar annun aearath.”

 

The air shimmered, rippling like an aurora, and the iridescent rainbow road spread out before her. Drawing a deep breath, she skated on.

 

*****

 

# {Meanwhile in Aman-Tol Eressëa}

 

“Do you think you are ready to talk more now?” whispered Glorfindel into the perfectly shaped ear under his lips. Erestor had shyly asked if his friend would sleep with him again. The memory of being held all night burned brightly in his mind, and now he wondered if he would beg for this every time he went to bed.

 

“Yes,” Erestor said, turning over to face the other elf,  who deftly caught an errant strand of his black hair, to tuck it behind an ear he could not help but caress with his fingertips. “What...do we do now?”

 

“Well...I think there is a question that needs answering. My happiness has been with you, Erestor. That we live together, share a home, that I see you every day...I believed it was as close as I ever could come to a desire I could not allow myself to consider, even as it ever tapped at the edges of my mind.  I believed I could not have you in light and honor, because it was not done. I also would never have sought to ruin your chances at happiness elsewhere, or bring both of us to sin and shame. But now...”

 

Erestor shook his head. “You have done everything for me, Glorfindel; I will not require you to say it first. I love you. I do not know when or how the change took place, for I too did not allow myself to consider that there could ever be...like what is between an elleth and an ellon, between us. Yet sometime during the long years...I knew. Knew what it would do to me, if you ever left me. If I could not see your face when I emerged from my room each morning, or hear your voice when I returned home each late afternoon.”

 

“I love you also,” the blond whispered, his voice laden with emotion. “But there is still a question. Do you love me in the way that would move you to want to marry me, Erestor? Would you be my mate?”

 

“Yes,” the scholar answered without hesitation. “Though...we could not...no one could know. We could only be wed inside the walls of our home, and here. I could not walk the avenues of Alqualondë with you and hold your hand, or receive a chaste kiss from you even on our doorstep. We will not be able to wear rings of marriage, as all the rest of our people do, because of the obvious questions that others would ask. There would be...sacrifices. Ones I would make willingly, in order to be yours.”

 

“It would not be forever,” Glorfindel breathed huskily, as a desire he had never before felt within himself stirred.

 

“No, it would not be…” Erestor agreed, as he too slowly succumbed to the same sensations.  Very slowly, he closed the distance between them until his mouth was separated from Glorfindel’s by mere streams of air. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, before the powerful arm came up to cradle the back of his head and warm lips descended. A groan released from the deepest places within the dark elf; a soft sound he had not known he was able to produce. He yielded to the lips and tongue that gently asked for more, as a tender hand now explored every contour of his face and neck. The kiss endured, freeing new emotions and a fire deep within, until Erestor had to break away, nearly breathless. For he had felt another part of his body stirring as well. Glorfinel’s strong arm pulled their bodies against each other, revealing that he was not alone. Through their clothing, their arousals pressed against each other for the first time and the sense of want burned.

 

“I barely know what to do,” Erestor confessed. “I...the only things I know about intimacy are what I saw once in a book propriety should have kept me from reading. But...I would speak vows to you first, Glorfindel. You are...this is what you also want? Here, now? Soon I will lose my self-control, if we keep on as we are doing.”

 

“Forgive me,” the blond whispered, chagrined. “I did not know these feelings would...I did not know it would be like this. I am sorry. I would have the Valar hear my pledge to you as well.”

 

“No. No being sorry.” With surprising dexterity and strength from one of such a slender form, Erestor sat up, captured both of Glorfindel’s hands in his own, and took a deep breath. “I, Erestor, give you my heart, my spirit, and my love, Glorfindel. I call on our father Eru and the Valar as witness to my oath. From this moment forward, I take you as my wedded mate for all time, through what joys and sorrows will befall us. My body I give to you, and I place all that I am in your keeping. I promise to consider your needs first, and to care for our love.” Every word was said with trembling, so intensely felt were the emotions behind them. Unashamed of the tears that rolled down his cheeks as he spoke, Erestor knew only Glorfindel’s warmth, and togetherness in the dark.

 

With a beautiful smile, Glorfindel received the promises as balm to his spirit and matched Erestor’s posture. He doubted he could match the elegance of Erestor’s pledge, but he did not entirely lack in expressive ability. “I, Glorfindel, vow that my life belongs to you, from this moment forward. Whatever my body and spirit can provide; all of it is yours, Erestor. I ask Eru and the Valar to hear my promise, that I swear myself to you forevermore. My love for you will not fail, and you will be the light in which I walk. Always, I will care for you.”

 

Their foreheads touched, as each reeled from what the other had spoken. “My Glorfindel,” Erestor whispered. “Truly mine. I never believed...never thought…”

 

Soft kisses fell. “Yours, but not fully. You are not forgetting, that something else must happen first?” The correction was gentle, full of warmth.

 

Nodding a little nervously, Erestor’s hands moved from holding Glorfindel to freeing the ties on his sleeping clothes. He might be a barely knowledgeable virgin, but even he comprehended that nakedness was required for what came next. “Please help me, Glorfindel,” he asked his new husband. “I...do not really know how to go about this, with both of us being...male.”

 

Fortunately, the years of Glorfindel’s experience in warfare had permitted him a greater access to information he was not supposed to possess. When one fought alongside men, one...heard things. Many things. Some of an extremely explicit nature. And one overheard conversation, very long ago, was about to prove most...helpful. “I do,” he replied. “Do not be afraid, my love.” Glorfindel had seen what Erestor had not noticed; a small container of oil and a shallow dish at the bedside. If there were any doubts about Elrond’s words earlier in the day, seeing this considerate offering erased all of them. “This act is meant to give pleasure.” To emphasize that point, he claimed Erestor’s lips once again as he drew their bodies together, smiling as he heard the gasp of surprise. For now bare skin met skin, and the dark elf had never imagined such a feeling. “Touch me,” the blond encouraged. “Explore my body, as I will yours.”

 

Fingers that moved so, so delicately did as they were asked to. Already, Erestor’s eyes were closed against the riot of sensations flooding his mind. The heat rising from the broad chest, the solid muscles, the sculpted abdomen...everything about his new husband’s body was intoxicating. And...proportionately larger. When the fingers found and curled around his mate’s erection for the first time, his eyes flew open even in the bare shadows of moonlight that gave some tiny illumination to the room. His husband was...very large.   _How…?_ Now, he felt a little afraid.

 

“You will take me, when we get that far.” Glorfindel whispered, guessing what Erestor might be thinking. Erestor’s arousal was a delight in his hand, but there was little doubt that simply by virtue of being the proportionately larger ellon, he possessed the greater endowment. While they might find a way to reverse roles in time, he would not hurt Erestor when it was obvious that he would suffer less for being the recipient.

 

The smaller elf’s heart soared with love to hear this. “Thank you...I...I just assumed it would be the other way around. I am not...you have always taken the lead in most of what we have done together. I will do my best to please you.”

 

The strong arms hugged Erestor so tightly. Glorfindel felt he did not care so much about whether this went perfectly in their inexperience...what mattered was their love. They kissed and caressed, until the desire to mate could no longer be ignored. “There is oil in a container at the bedside. Pour some into the dish, and coat your fingers. You will need to apply it to...me. You must prepare my body.”

 

A little confused but able to follow directions, Erestor did as he was asked, noting that Glorfindel had a large cloth that he was placing underneath his bottom. Then it dawned on him; this would help keep the bed linens clean.

 

“Use as much as you can, without creating a mess. It will help both of us.” Willing himself to relax, Glorfindel raised his legs up and soon felt the first touch of Erestor’s hands. An involuntary shudder ran through his large frame.

 

“Am I hurting you?” Erestor asked worriedly.

 

“No,” came the quick answer. “No, it feels very good. I am feeling a little overcome, Erestor. Soon, I will be yours. I _want_ to be yours. Do you...understand? You must use your fingers to gradually…”

 

“I do.” The words were filled with love. This seemed so...strange. To touch another in this place, and yet...this was what their bodies allowed for. And he did know that at least between males, human males, this is what ...was done. In the old world. He massaged carefully, encouraged by the soft noises of appreciation rewarding him. Finally, one finger slipped inside. Slowly, so carefully, Erestor began to imitate the motion of intercourse, until he encountered... something... _Was that supposed to be there?_

 

“What was that?” gasped Glorfindel. “Oh please, do that again. Oh Valar…”

 

“You mean this?” Erestor asked, now intrigued as his finger glided once again over the little swelling. The sharp intake of air and whimper of delight provided his answer. “That feels good to you?” He wanted to make certain he understood.

 

“ ‘Good’ is far too poor a word,” his companion breathed. His arousal burned, ached for relief. “More fingers,” he pleaded. “I can barely stand this. What you are doing to me?...Erestor…more...”

 

A little worried but trying to comply with the increasingly desperate requests, he watched and listened as his husband dissolved into ragged breathing and quiet pleas. It was...extremely erotic, and he too yearned to join their bodies.

 

“I do not think there is any more to be gained,” Glorfindel finally whispered hoarsely, fighting not to flail in response to the ecstasy assaulting his body. “Take me, Erestor, please. Just...go slowly. And remember the oil.”

 

Barely able to manage preparing himself in such a state of arousal, he stretched over Glorfindel’s large frame, feeling the powerful legs loosely encircle his waist. Holding himself in what he hoped was the proper place, he asked one last time to be very sure. “You are ready?” There was a note of fear. “I am afraid I will hurt you,” he whispered.

 

“It is a risk I am willing to accept. Please. Please...this is a torment, to feel you against me like that.”

 

“Alright,” Erestor whispered, tentatively pushing forward as slowly as he knew how. So slowly…

 

Glorfindel focused on one thing...relaxing and pushing against the incremental invasion. Surprised and pleased, he found that there was no pain. _That_ , he guessed, _would probably come tomorrow…_

 

Erestor floated in wispy clouds of disbelief, as he felt himself slide inside a warm and moist heat, the like of which... _incomparable_. At first he encountered resistance, but then only smoothness...this was Glorfindel. His mate. His body, buried in that of his mate. For a long moment, he lay on the heated form, lost in the closeness, until insistent hands moved to his hips. Asking for motion, guiding him. Out a little, and in. Out a little more, and in again. With a stifled moan, he quickly learned to push against the place inside of Glorfindel that gave him such pleasure. “Please kiss me.”

 

Most everything past this point dissolved into a blur. Tongues roamed down silken necks, lips caressed. Giving himself over to Glorfindel’s direction, Erestor plunged in with little restraint, over and over, driven on by both demanding hands and desire so intense that it commanded all his reason. Without warning, his husband stiffened beneath him. Warmth erupted against his belly, even as the pulsing all around his tormented member forced him to bury himself into the broad chest. This stifled the sounds that threatened too much noise, in the otherwise silent house. They whispered each other’s names, as Erestor especially shook with the force of his climax. In seconds they felt it; their bond, surging through both of them, uniting their spirits. Neither would ever be free again, of yearning for the other. Neither wanted anything else...and both gave way to tears while locked in each other’s embrace.

 

“Valar, I love you,” Glorfindel finally whispered, for he was the first to regain any real power of speech. “I love you. Oh, Erestor...finally mine. I thank all the Valar, for this blessing.”

 

Erestor was radiant; his inner light flared. Glorfindel thought he had never seen anything as lovely as this. Raising himself up, Erestor looked in wonder at the seed clinging to both their bellies. Feeling curious, he tentatively tasted, only for his eyes to open wide. “Sweet Valar, you are...you are a dessert!” The next taste was not tentative at all, and then the long black braid simply was flipped back over his shoulders so his agile tongue could begin seeking every drop of this new ambrosia. _Would the new delights of their union never end?_

 

“Now wait a minute,” protested Glorfindel quietly, charmed by Erestor’s antics. A finger darted in, to swipe through what still remained on his mate. “Oh. Oh my. That...tastes good.” _Was it supposed to taste good?_ No one had ever said anything about this...and there was exactly nobody he could ask. He felt Erestor slipping from his body, and mischievously decided there was only one way to have his fair share. “My turn.” With alacrity, Glorfindel held the lithe body fast, while his own tongue made short work of what remained. Stifled giggles accompanied his foraging across the smooth belly; Erestor was ticklish, it would seem.  A wicked grin appeared. _Good to know…_

 

Eventually they settled into each other’s arms. “Just to know I will always have this…” Erestor whispered. “Thank you, so much.”

 

_You are welcome, love. This was the single happiest night of my long life, and one I will never forget._

 

_Wait. We have never done this. Are you trying to do this? I am not. Trying, I mean. What is this?_

 

_Well, we did just complete the act of marriage. I thought this was one of those things that went...that was included in the package. That this will now be very easy, for us to speak this way if we wish it._

 

_How is it I did not know of this?_

 

_Erestor. Obviously, you did not read that book._

 

_Well what book was it? Now I wish to know._

 

_I...cannot say. I learned mostly by having ears. Among soldiers...people talk. And when they think no one is listening, one hears much._

 

 _That is how you knew what to do?_ Erestor guessed.

 

_Yes. I sincerely hoped that it was sound information._

 

_The results were entirely satisfactory. We will learn together. I want you in the same way, Glorfindel. But I think I will need time before I can manage your...size._

 

_Would you let me pleasure you? This would be a little...different._

 

_Something else you overheard?_

 

_Well, yes._

 

_I gave myself to you. So logically, the answer is Yes._

 

_Hm. I will keep that in mind. But first, lie back as I did. And permit me to have my way with you. Do not plan on much sleep, tonight._

 

Erestor sighed with happiness. His heart soared in a place he had never flown before, and he was not eager to descend to earth.

*****

 

# {Meanwhile in Aman--The Straight Road to Tol Eressëa}

 

Rollerblades, Sharley realized, made this a _lot_ faster. What had seemed to take several days before now took little more than one, so far as she could actually tell. She zoomed right along, humming to herself, watching what looked very much like the rest of the universe shifting around her. The wheels of the rollerblades made a rather satisfying sound on the road, too -- something she might not have noticed before her senses were broadened.

 

She reached Tol Eressëa at sunrise, and slung her rollerblades over her shoulder as she made her way to the House That Is Home. How strange it was, to come here when not half out of her mind with dread -- she could properly appreciate the beauty of it now, in a way she hadn’t been able to on her first visit. If one could even call that a ‘visit’. Breathing in the fresh, clean air, she knocked on the front door.

 

**

 

“What was that?” whispered Erestor groggily, jolting awake.

 

“The better question is, what time is it?” groaned Glorfindel softly. His body ached. Badly. And while he would not trade a moment of it for anything, this did not change that he hurt in places he had never hurt before.

 

“I think it is late. Past breakfast,” Erestor said, his voice tinged with agitation.

 

“Do not worry, love. No one will fault us. I think Elrond knew we would bind ourselves.”

 

“He did?” The black hair was completely and beautifully mussed.

 

“Well, the container of oil did not fly itself up the stairs and into this room,” Glorfindel smirked, while he watched Erestor’s cheeks blush several shades of crimson. “Eru, you are beautiful,” he said, grimacing while he leaned forward to capture the rosy lips.

 

“Thank you. And I love you, husband. But please, can we not go downstairs and temper the spectacle we are creating?” he pleaded.

 

“Of course. Anything for you.”

 

With a gasp of discomfort, Glorfindel struggled out of bed. Erestor’s face transformed with worry. “You are hurt…” he trailed off, feeling terribly guilty. “I am so sorry. I should have been gentler.”

 

“Did you hear me complaining at any time?” the blond asked pointedly. “Please, Erestor. I have survived worse than this. Much, much, worse,” he shook his head, smiling beautifully.

 

The dark ellon’s lips curled in a smile, as he realized he was being completely ridiculous. “No. No, I did not. I hope we will...get used to each other,” he said softly, as he pulled on his tunic and made some attempt to undo and comb through the ravaged remnants of his braid. A few extra moments were needed, while Glorfindel returned to his room for fresh clothing. But eventually they descended, to hear what the were certain was the voice of a stranger. Blinking, they saw a...she had blue hair.

 

“Good morning,” Erestor said, to the kitchen in general and the new guest in particular.

 

“Ah, the dead have risen,” Elrohir smirked, earning a swat to his posterior from his mother and a glare from his father. “Sorry,” he said, obviously not sorry.

 

“We kept breakfast warm for you,” Celebrían offered. “If you are hungry?”

 

“Famished,” Glorfindel said guiltily. “And please forgive me,” he said, turning to the unknown...elleth? “I am Glorfindel. This is Erestor.”

 

Oh, wow...wasn’t this fortunate, or so she hoped. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Tirillë -- Lord Elrond’s my foster-son-in-law.” She just barely remembered to give her Maia name, but it was the one she ought to use in Aman. “Good to meet you both.”

 

 _“Nice, Sharley,”_ Jimmy snickered. Kurt, fortunately, was muted.

 

“Son-in-law?” frowned a temporarily baffled Erestor, whose eyes suddenly widened. “You are the wife of Maglor?”

 

“I am. I’m only back here for a week, but I’m going to have a baby, and I have a lotta questions. Maiar don't usually have children, so there’s a few things I want to know.” Marty, her lovely little girl...she’d been different. And Sharley didn't want to risk having whatever had happened to her happen to this one.

 

“Congratulations to both of you, Tirillë.” Elrond unhesitatingly enfolded her into a hug. “Your husband must be so pleased! This is...I know he will be a good father,” he assured, his smile from ear to ear.

 

Sharley hugged him back. “Thanks,” she said. “We’d planned on waiting, but I guess this little one had other ideas. Maglor’s just about over the moon. I brought some stuff -- Lorna made me another book of photos, and it’s mostly just him being...him. With the kids and their music, and working on our little house, and...well, stuff.”

 

“My friends, come and see,” Elrond invited. “They have some means of capturing images as clear as real life.” Opening the album, with everyone crowded around, their guests saw photographs for the first time.

 

“Those are magnificent,” Glorfindel admired. “That is Maglor? These are of places in Thranduil’s Halls?”

 

“They are,” Sharley said. “Maglor teaches all the kids music -- this kid’s Lorna and Ratiri’s youngest, Supri. She just started learning the violin last year, and he’s so good with her. Every time she gets frustrated, he just has her rest, and then walks her through it again. I’ve never seen anyone more patient.” And if she sounded a little sappy...he was her husband, and she loved him. Sue her.

 

“Who are these others...are they elflings?” Erestor asked, enchanted. Always, Erestor had loved little ones.

 

“Some are peredhel, some are firith,” Sharley said. “These two with the red hair, they’re both mortal -- this taller one is Earlene’s, Thranduil’s wife’s, niece, that they adopted. The other one’s Lorna and Ratiri’s. This little one, though, she’s Faeleth -- she’s Earlene and Thanadir’s.” She pointed to a small girl with brown hair and rather vivid hazel eyes, playing a flute. “Though Faeleth’s kinda peredhel and something extra. The Valar told Earlene she had the choice to let the kid be born something more than she would otherwise, but at a cost.”

 

“What do you mean?” Elrond asked, curious. “A cost?” Erestor found his eyes riveted to the photograph of this child, who clearly was not ordinary. It came through the image, even, that she appeared strangely blessed.

 

“Earlene, when she was mortal, was about as close to physically being an Elf as any mortal could be,” Sharley said, “and carrying Faeleth took that away and then some. It was close to what Míriel went through, honestly, and she was prone to numbness and weakness in her limbs, and balance troubles at times, until she came here and got made into...whatever it is she is now. An immortal firieth.” Shaking her head, she added, “She was told not to say anything to anyone who couldn’t see it for themselves -- meaning anyone who wasn’t an Elf, I think -- but now, like Elves, she glows in the dark a little. Lorna and Ratiri figured out something was up not three days later, so now she has to just not go out at night when there’s humans around.”

 

“I will have to write her and ask...more,” Elrond noted diplomatically. While at least Tirillë could speak sanely now, it was still somewhat difficult to navigate her torrent of description about matters concerning whose parameters he had to make educated guesses. But he knew of Earlene, for he had seen himself that the life of the Eldar was granted to her. This only confirmed it. He glanced with a smile at Erestor and Glorfindel, hoping they could...tread water.

 

“Oh, Earlene sent letters,” Sharley said, digging through her pack. “Actually, she sent a whole package of stuff, though I don't know what all’s in it. Oh, and Saoirse -- if you look at the next picture, she’s the girl with the cello -- she drew you this.” Carefully framed was a beautiful colored pencil rendering of Maglor seated at his harp, Eldan sat before him as he taught the boy a new song. Saoirse had somewhat amplified the normal golden glow of the room into something that seemed almost heavenly.

 

“That is truly beautiful,” Glorfindel murmured. “This is another of..Earlene’s children?”

 

“Yeah,” Sharley said. “Eldan. He’s hers and Thanadir’s. The poor woman’s had two sets of twins and and set of triplets, so she’s got ten kids now. Eldan missed Maglor the most of all of them while he was...away; that kid practically worships him.” She passed the packet to Elrond.

 

Reasoning that it likely contained no state secrets, Elrond tugged open the strings binding it. There was a folded letter of significant thickness and many pages, so he decided that he could set this aside. There was also a fine leather pouch of significant size, full of...something. More images were in here...much finer ones.

 

“Thranduil,” gasped Erestor, to see the portrait of the Elvenking and his Queen. Now he knew beyond any shred of doubt that he had beheld Earlene.

 

“I have seen her,” Glorfindel said slowly, trying to recall. It took a moment for him to remember...and with a frown he...realized. Studying Erestor’s face, he noted clear elements of guilt, as his mate averted his eyes. _Hm._ Well, Erestor was going nowhere.

 

“That is Earlene,” smiled Elrond, turning to the next photo, looking up at Sharley. “If memory serves, this is Thanadir, is it not? Who apparently really enjoys...what are all those things??”

 

“Cookies,” Sharley said, grinning. “They’re a human -- firith -- sweet treat. Earlene introduced the Elves to them, but Thanadir’s the most, um, appreciative. Honestly, the Elves back home have kinda been ruined by all the human food they’ve discovered. Bacon, refined sugar, poitín -- that last one’s human alcohol so potent it can actually make some of the Elves a little tipsy. The old recipes used to send people blind. But Thanadir can make some of the most beautiful decorations on the cookies with the icing, and usually does, for holidays. I think he just likes helping because he gets to eat the rejects. Elf or not, I have no idea how he can eat as much as he does.” There was no easy way to explain what a TARDIS was, but the idea that his stomach was bigger on the inside was honestly the only one that made sense.

 

Glorfindel blinked, struggling. The image in the photo was not the one in his memory but still...this was the despised Thanadir. Erestor was simply...transfixed. His nemesis looked so different from the face in his memory. So different. Elrond saw, which is why he made light conversation with Tirillë in order to delay turning to the next photo. “So hopefully they travel with a supply of sweetener,” quipped Elrond. He noted Celebrían’s curiosity at what a mortal kitchen looked like...so similar and yet so different… and slowly he turned to the rest of the photos.

 

“Actually, that’s one of the things we’ve been planning,” Sharley admitted. “In three and a half years, most of the world will die in a plague, and we’ve been planning how to survive and move on for the last seventeen years. Whatever we come up with is probably what Earlene will take to Aman, when they go.” She sighed. “I could know when they go, but I don't want to look. I think it’s easier if I don't know, because if I did, I couldn’t tell anyone. Lady Vairë was pretty...insistent...about keeping things to myself. So if they do have to go not long after the plague, the rest of us need to know what we’re doing.”

 

Elrond nodded. “Who are these two ellyn? And the child? Those are beautiful birds, but they keep them captive?”

 

“This is Ailill and Calanon,” she said. “Ailill’s actually mortal, though you wouldn’t know it on first glance. They got married sometime back -- around Yule about thirteen years ago. The hawks are his -- they’re hunting birds, so I wouldn’t say they were captive, precisely. If they wanted to fly away and never come back, they could. The child is Thaladir, Earlene and Thranduil’s son, who somehow wound up more like Thanadir than either of his birth parents. He loves hunting, and those dogs are his.” She could easily see the pair adopting a child someday.

 

“So they are the male pairing of which Earlene spoke?” Elrond wished to be fully certain.

 

“They are, and they’re beyond adorable,” Sharley said. “Apparently three Vala appeared to them to bless their union, and it scared half the life out of them, they were that surprised.”

 

“Who would not be?” Erestor mused aloud, shaking his head, raising his eyes to his brand-new husband, smiling. He caught a slightly strange look in Glorfindel’s eyes, and...wait, he had forgotten. There was a way to speak privately now, though they were not alone.

 

_Have I done something to displease you?_

 

 _You saw Earlene before._ We _saw Earlene before. Why did you try to hide this from me?_

 

_I feared to upset you, that day. I know how you feel about Thanadir, Glorfindel. And why. I did not want to cause conflict between us._

 

The ellon nodded slowly. _But you guessed she had a connection to the Woodland Realm when we saw her?_

 

_Yes. Her necklace, it bears the symbol of Thranduil’s house._

 

_Alright. Thank you for being truthful. I am certain we will speak more later._

 

Erestor nodded subtly, but then lowered his eyes, now saddened. If he was being thanked for telling the truth, that was not particularly encouraging.

 

“No one with any sense,” Sharley said. “Even I’d jump. There seems to be a fair bit of that going around, though; these two and the royal trio are meant to be examples that times are changing for Elven society. What was once taboo no longer is; the next step is that Thranduil and Thanadir are betrothed now. I’m not sure what else will happen, and I’m not gonna look. Things can unfold without being spied on -- not by me, anyway.”

 

“Thranduil will wed an ellon?” Glorfindel asked in a remarkably pinched voice for someone who spoke in a natural baritone.

 

“Surprised me, too,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Especially given his, er, _appreciation_ for the female form. He doesn’t even bother trying to be subtle about admiring Earlene physically, but he and Thanadir are betrothed nonetheless. And given that Thanadir’s asexual -- he doesn’t physically desire _anyone_ \-- it’s even stranger. But it’s obvious they love each other, which is all that really counts.”

 

“Thanadir is…? does not…? but he has fathered…?” Erestor suddenly felt very dizzy, and off-balance. He felt himself swiftly gripped by Glorfindel and guided into a chair.

 

“I think Erestor should eat the breakfast you mentioned,” Glorfindel said firmly, not withdrawing his hands.

 

After a mighty glare at Elrohir from his mother, the twin meekly found some baking mitts, to serve Erestor his food. Stunned, the dark elf tried to absorb the things he had just been told but could not. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with his husband and pull the covers over his head. _It was….not fair, somehow. Was that it?_ A huge sigh escaped him.

 

Sharley fought a frown. She’d known Aman wasn’t prepared for this group, but she hadn’t realized how unprepared it really was. That had to change, or coming to Aman would not feel like a good thing at all; even if they weren’t outright ostracized, the stares and whispers would be bad enough. Aman needed some sort of warning, if this wasn’t going to turn into a total mess as soon as they arrived. This was certainly a decent start, even if poor Glorfindel and Erestor looked like she’d slapped them with a fish.

 

Glancing up at Tirillë with some trepidation, Glorfindel weighed what he had just heard against the needs of his husband who was in an emotional state of shock. She seemed to be completely accepting and supportive of unions of males, but could her silence be trusted? Counted on? They had only met her a few minutes ago, for Eru’s sake. They had not even been able to share their joining with their friends and hosts...and yet one more glance at Erestor, now trembling, dictated his choice. Placing his arm around his mate’s shoulders, he drew him close, speaking soothingly for him alone to hear, while coaxing him to take small bites of the food.

 

Elrond, who simply already knew without needing to be told, prepared Erestor a calming tea with a generous portion of cream and sweetener, to help settle him. He too pulled up a chair on the opposite side, and placed his hand on Erestor’s forearm. “You are loved here, Erestor. You and Glorfindel are loved. This was a very big step, that you have taken. Do not dwell on the news from beyond our shores...this will all be well in the end.”

 

“I know,” Erestor whispered. “It is just...so hard, sometimes.”

 

Elrond rose, kissing the crown of the dark head, and gestured to the others to leave the couple in the kitchen, to eat in some privacy. Inviting Sharley to follow the family to the opposite end of the home, only then did he speak. “I want to apologize for my friends...your timing...they only just learned of what is now permitted. And unless I am completely mistaken, they wed each other last night. They were not prepared to hear your news; they have carried the burden of unrequitable love for a very long time. Life is...not the same here, as what it apparently is back in the other world.”

 

“It’s alright,” Sharley said. “It was...hard, at first, for Ailill and Calanon. Thranduil told them to keep it to themselves outside of our home, for fear of others’ reactions. And there was some contention over it at first, among the Elves who weren’t used to humans and human ways, but they got over it. Though I’ve gotta say...I lived on Ennorath for a long, long time, and I’ve never understood why anyone would have a problem with it to begin with. It’s not like it’s hurting anyone, so why should it matter?”

 

 _“It probably hurts if they’re not careful,”_ Layla pointed out. Pain was an abstract concept to the voices, who, after all, couldn’t feel it.

 

“Then you understand, that...carry this news home, by all means...but when they come here...well, you saw Glorfindel’s face. They are afraid. And while I will not presume to tell Thranduil how to manage his arrival...they will not want others here to know about them.” Elrond snorted. “There is a terrible, mischievous part of me that can only envision anyone at all criticizing Thranduil for taking a husband. The Elvenking I knew simply would not tolerate it. I wonder, have you ever seen him truly moved to wrath? A dragon would quail, and it would be right to do so.”

 

“Their union is theirs to announce,” Sharley said. “Nobody’ll get ahead of them, there. And while I've never seen Thranduil that angry in person, I’ve seen it in his history.” She grinned. “There’s a saying on Ennorath, ‘I pity the fool’, taken from a character in a story. I pity the fool who sets Thranduil off over any of the...differences...his people have picked up from close contact with humanity. And I doubt there’s a single one that hasn’t been influenced at least a little, because humanity’s contagious. I went native ages ago, literally, and Thranduil...hoo boy. He’s still the Elvenking, but he’s the Elvenking with broadened interests. Who blew up Lorna’s house.”

 

She paused. “How much...what do you know about Oropher?” she asked carefully.

 

“I knew him in the sense of, I met him,” Elrond answered. “We...I was in the service of the High King, Ereinion, when Oropher ruled his people. It was not a happy time. Sauron was rising to power, we were working together for our very existence. I...saw him perish, before the Gates of Mordor. I do not wish to speak ill of another ruler, but his pride cost both him and many of his people their lives. His son was left to pick up the pieces of what remained. Why?”

 

Sharley hesitated. On the one hand, Thranduil would not thank her for sharing this, but on the other, if there was any Elf in all of Aman who could keep a secret, it was Elrond. “I’m telling you this in confidence,” she said. “Whether you share it with your wife and kids is up to your discretion. The day Oropher died was one of the happiest days of Thranduil’s life. When he was a child, Oropher would beat him so badly he couldn’t get outta bed for three days. That...marked Thranduil, for a long, long time; it took him thousands of years to work through his rage. But in the end, I think it’s made him more mentally flexible, though I’d never say _that_ to him. It’s given him a unique sense of justice, that’s for sure, and it ultimately informed how he wound up approaching humans outside of Earlene.”

 

Unseen, Glorfindel had appeared inside the entrance of the room to overhear all of this, and was rendered just as speechless as Elrond. No one had ever imagined...that. No one was _capable_ , of imagining anything like it. “I had no idea,” Elrond said in a soft undertone. “Our people should not be capable of such as this.”

 

“Nobody did,” Sharley said. “Nobody but his mother, and Thanadir, and those who served the King’s family. And his mother...I dunno much about her, other than the fact that, for whatever reason, she didn't stand up to Oropher until it was pretty much too late. Thanadir had to pick up the pieces there, and glue them back together as best he could. And yeah, weather Thranduil’s rages. I didn't see all of them, but some of what I did see...between you and me, if it wasn’t for Thanadir, I think Thranduil mighta wound up something like Oropher. When your main examples of parents are a horrible person and a doormat, it’s too easy to turn out that way yourself, unless you’ve got a better influence.”

 

“I see I did not know my neighbor as well as I imagined,” Elrond said, while Glorfindel simply blinked on in stunned silence. Looking down, the golden ellon had the sudden perception that his request could wait, and that his presence at this moment was possibly an intrusion. Noiselessly he withdrew. Erestor could delay a little while, to have some miruvor, and in the meantime he would return to his mate’s side. “And perhaps now I see that I do not know him at all,” Elrond wondered. “What you have shown me of his circumstances...he has changed a great deal, it would seem. I knew him as aloof but fair-minded, and possessed of an immeasurable force of personality. He...wore his crown well, and demanded the respect that was his due.”

 

“He’s changed a lot,” Sharley said, “and for the better. The force of personality is very much still there, but within his home, he gets to just be Thranduil. He figured out pretty fast that he couldn’t treat the human world the way he did his own kingdom, or all his attempts to interact with it woulda sank like a stone. The humans of Ennorath have no real monarchies anymore, and in Ireland, where the Woodland Realm is, the people have an overt loathing of the very idea -- their own monarchs oppressed and murdered and starved them for centuries, and for all humans don't live that long, they sure have long memories. He had to...well, bluntly, get over himself, and once he did, he wound up with an ever-expanding human family that love him and treat him as one of their own.”

 

She sighed. “I’m telling you this because, though all the Elves and Earlene and Alill want to come to Aman, I think they’re gonna find it a shock, and I want _someone_ to understand -- someone to be ready for this different Thranduil, without being stunned by him. Even if it’s just you and your family, he’ll have someone. And since they’ll all be landing pretty much literally on your doorstep, it’s a good way to start their life in Aman.”

 

“I appreciate your trust,” Elrond said humbly. “I have yet to read the letter that was sent to me. I hope that I can write a reply, and send it with you on your return to the other side?”

 

“You can,” she said. “I’ll be in Aman for a week. My goal is to start a...mail service, for lack of a better word, to prepare Aman for the Woodland Realm, and the Woodland Realm for Aman.” Shaking her head, she couldn’t help but smile. “And the fact that I can keep doing that even after they come here will help. A lot. Their human family will be devastated enough when they have to leave, but at least this way everyone can still keep in touch. Maglor’s allowed to return to Aman for a week every seven Ennorath years, to visit his family, so we’ll be doing that, too.”

 

“I am certain I will look forward to seeing both of you, when those occasions come. But….you say Ennorath years. Are they not just...years?” That detail seemed to make no sense.

 

Sharley grimaced. “Earlene, Maglor, and I found out the hard way that time in Aman passes a lot more slowly than it does in Ennorath. The several weeks of his trial was two and a half years back there. It’s why I’m not staying more than a week: that’ll be four months on Ennorath, if my math is right, and I don't want to leave Maglor any longer than that. He’s doing well, but even so.”

 

“But…” Elrond mused. “That means for us, he will come quite often, all things considered. “The Valar were very kind, to give this blessing to Nerdanel. She...endured much.”

 

“That she did,” Sharley said dryly, and would say no more than that. “It will be quite often for you, but it’ll give all of us time to make presents and things. I’m gonna have to ask Lady Vairë how much I’m allowed to bring in with me, especially once the Woodland Realm has moved to Aman. I know their human family will want to make and send gifts.”

 

Elrond gazed helplessly at Celebrían. She and their sons had listened in thoughtful silence all this while. None of them had any answer to that question. They just kept a home for travelers...all of these kinds of questions were beyond them. “Perhaps I should go read the letter,” he murmured.

 

“Enjoy it,” Sharley said. “I think I’ll go for a walk. As much as I love Ennorath, the sky here is like nothing I’ve seen anywhere else.”

 

“There will be another meal around the noon hour,” Elladan offered.

 

“And I need to see to Glorfindel and Erestor,” Elrond said. “Even though it may be just us as family, I believe that there is something to celebrate.”

 

“You mean they…” Elrohir asked hopefully.

 

“I am fairly certain they did not oversleep breakfast ‘just because,’” Elrond smiled. “But we should let this news come from them. And, _no teasing_ , you two. You cannot know what they have endured, or how fearful they are to have taken this step. They need our love now more than ever.”

 

“We will, Ada,” Elladan assured. Even he had limits, though he did not blame his family for not trusting that he knew where to stop.

 

“I’ll be back in time,” Sharley promised. “Tell them I say congratulations.” She smiled, and rose, wishing oh-so-much that she could take photos. Hopefully, at the very least, she’d be allowed to take letters home.

  



	144. One Hundred Forty-Four

{February 14, 2033}

 

Ailill woke from an uneasy sleep not long after sunrise, and tried his best to return to slumber. But...no success. Slowly, so slowly, he extricated himself from his entanglement with Calanon, to sit up. Rubbing his eyes, he did as he always did, and surveyed the room. That was when his heart fell through his chest. “No….” he breathed in barely a whisper, as he rushed across the cool floor. Fion lay lifeless, at the base of his perch, nothing more than a frail bundle of feathers. Carefully, he picked up the hawk. Already cold, already stiff. At first, he tried to reason with himself. Fion had been very old. It was true that Harris hawks could live long, in the care of a human. And this bird had been his constant companion since he was sixteen years old. Sixteen. That was...a lifetime ago. Almost twenty-five years. Everything had happened, and then some, since then. But in that moment, none of it mattered. His forefinger gently stroked the wing that would never take to the skies again. This little half-kilo of bird had spanned what of his existence he considered to be worthwhile, and now he was...gone.

 

This was not unexpected, but nothing about knowing that made this moment any easier, as his chin trembled with grief. Tears ran, and many far more unwelcome thoughts came along with it. He glanced at his still-sleeping husband in misery, but did not wake him. Silently, he dressed against the cold of the winter morning, and reverently took the small body in his hands. He owed it to Fion to see him buried someplace beautiful; just the two of them. They had lived together, and that was how they should part. Just the two of them. That and, this would just be easier...alone. Departing the warm room, Ailill moved toward the groves of the forest where he could most easily remember Fion gracefully skimming the ground, his elegant beauty undiminished.

 

** 

 

As the family began to assemble for breakfast, Calanon was visibly unsettled, for Ailill was gone and had not returned. He had left no note, and was too far away to hear...and he never did this. Thranduil took the ellon aside, and spoke quietly into his ear. Calanon had noticed that Fion was gone, but this was not the news he expected.  With several nods, he listened as Thranduil shared things about his husband that he would not otherwise have been able to perceive, and for which he was entirely grateful. When Ailill did finally come to the table, late, Calanon took his hand, holding it firmly.

 

_ I love you with all my heart, and I am so, so terribly sorry. _

 

Ailill nodded; holding the hand in return was all he could manage right now. He ate in silence, grateful that his somber mood seemed to be more or less unanimous at the table. It was a  bitingly cold morning; no one had much to say. Which is why it was not a welcome reminder, when Earlene came to him as he brought his plate to the kitchen sink and spoke. “The meeting with Mary is in an hour, about your parents’ company. Do you feel ready?” That something was wrong, she could tell, but had little idea what.

 

“Sure,” he answered, trying to breathe some life into his reply. It was not Earlene’s fault that he couldn’t give two rat poops about his parents’ company. Nor had he ever. In his eyes, all that he had belonged to his King, and that included his portion of the inheritance. He just. Did. Not. Care. Even as he knew, this was an important matter of business and he could not afford to express such cavalier feelings. This mattered to Earlene, and might matter to their collective future--he had to do his best. “I will be ready. Where did you wish to meet?” A level but dull gaze met that of his Queen.

 

“I thought the dining room,” Earlene answered. “It will be cleared and clean shortly.”

 

“Of course, Hiril vuin. I will be there.”

 

“Ailill,” Earlene said flatly. “What is the matter?”

 

“Meluieg, come with me,” Thranduil demanded, appearing from nowhere. 

 

Lips parted in surprise, she nonetheless did as he asked without question. And half a minute later, there was only one response. “Well…” she pressed her palm to her face and looked at Thranduil. “You know, what do you  _ do _ ? You really don’t swear. Everything I really want to say right now is unseemly and...I am trying to lose the habit of reacting with bad language. What do you do when you learn about something that causes a spike in feelings of frustration? I so rarely hear you say anything at all?”

 

The King laughed softly, drawing her near. “I am thousands of years old, Earlene. There comes a time when so, so many things stack up in the long years of memory. I am both glad and sorry to say that you will experience this too. It will not feel the same to you as it does now, after the passage of much time. For lack of better words, you will not care.”

 

“Well, then...is this meeting a bad idea? Should we cancel it, after what you have told me?”

 

“No. Give Ailill more credit. He is grieving, but he of all people understands that life cannot stop because of what has happened, when this same thing happens every day a thousand times over. He will manage.”

 

“Alright. And, I did not mean to imply that…”

 

“I know you did not. I apologize, for my poorly chosen words.”

 

Leaning up, she kissed her husband tenderly. “Then I will worry about washing dishes and a clean table.” Earlene passed Ailill, who lingered in a corner of the kitchen, and hugged him too. “I love you dearly,” were her only words, with a kiss to his cheek. Calanon looked on approvingly, and murmured his thanks when she donned an apron and began to dry dishes he had just rinsed.

 

**

 

“...so on behalf of Thranduil, myself, and Thanadir that is essentially my question to both of you,” Earlene concluded, having outlined her reasoning to Mary Kerry and Ailill. “Within the parameters I’ve mentioned, Mary, you’d be asked to direct Kerry Land and Timber. The Woodland Realm would bankroll the buyout of your brother John, as long as it is anywhere near fair market value. We would ask you to oversee the enterprise, but only in a hands-off sense unless you wished for different. In a perfect world, we would hire John to continue in his current position for compensation at least the equal of whatever it is he is bringing in now.”

 

Mary exhaled, looking at Ailill. “Well, I’ve some comments, but...I’m slightly unable to focus on this based on, I can see something’s off with my brother. Ailill, are you alright?” Clearly, she was worried about the sudden and deep unhappiness visible on his face.

 

His head raised up. “Look, Mary. I lost Fion this morning. I don’t want to get into it, I know he was just a bird. I’m here, I’ll be alright, this just isn’t the best day.”

 

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I...I just need to know you’re okay. Hope you can manage it; you’re the only brother I really have because...John is John.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s…”

 

“Ailill, shut up,” Mary said lovingly. The dichotomy earned glances of amusement from the elven faction. “I get it. And he wasn’t just  _ a _ bird, he was  _ your _ bird. And, moving right along.”

 

“I have always liked you,” Calanon said approvingly, earning a glare from his husband and a huge grin from Mary herself.

 

“Alright as I was  _ saying _ ,” Mary emphasized with mock exasperation… “Yes, I support this. You all take care of me, and I owe you that I’m going to live past forty. If what happened to my parents can have a good outcome for all’v us, I’m behind it. But there’s still John, who can be more’n a bit’v an arse. But fortunately, John is married to my saint’v a sister-in-law, Chloe, who has more than a little sway with that thick head’v his. Lorna knows her too, from all’v the work with the homeless they did when you were first launching the farm. The real question is...is there any way to turn my brother around and bring him in? Because if there is, that’d solve loads’v problems. I know John’s been a gobsh-- a jerk, but Ailill...I know this does you exactly no good at all after how he’s treated you. But he’s...different, since da died. I think he just never had a set of, erm, he never had the courage to stand up to da. He might’ve been different to you, if da had too.”

 

“Well that makes me feel loads better,” Ailill breathed, shaking his head. “Look, I think it’s no secret I don’t care about any’v this. But if it is my King’s wish that I care about it, then it just became the most important thing in the world to me. Just...treat me like I will fully endorse whatever needs to be done to make this happen. I’ll happily sign my interest in this over to what you want to do. But I’ll also grovel to be left out of this as much as can be managed. I doubt I really need to explain, Mary?”

 

“You do not,” she told her brother softly, not ever having let go of his hand. “So...I will contact John, and tell him to get his damn solicitors together or what have you. But before I do, sure god I’m going to talk to Chloe first and tell her what’s going on. If you trust me, that is,” she said to the assembled elves.

 

“Sounds sane to me,” Earlene said. “Either way, pretty sure we’ll need our own solicitors to draft a proposal. And...Mary, are there...this company must have officers. Directors,  secretaries, and others with a vested interest in maintaining the status quo. How much is your brother going to be under the influence of the people in question?”

 

“Depends,” Mary answered. “These were people da handpicked. Longtime friends. And...forgive me, but I can guess you are extremely wealthy. And while I don’t like to see wealth wasted, I am equally aware that enough of it in the right pockets can make nearly anything work smoothly. After all...just four more years…”

 

“Then we are at least agreeing to see if we can move forward,” Thranduil said. “Perhaps the next meeting needs to be in a more formal setting, such as the offices over at the farmstead.” Heaven knew those had grown and expanded, taking up some of the upper storey of the immense retrofitted barn that also functioned as feed storage and even temporary animal housing.

 

“I’ll get it set up,” Mary said with an air of determination. “The nonprofit’s doing well, there’s no reason he can’t at least listen. It isn’t like he’s got loads’v options just now, either. He’ll get out here, and we’ll see what might come’v it.”

 

“You’re a saint, Mary,” her brother grinned, his fingers now twiddling with hers.

 

“Oh, hush, you,” she smirked.

 

Thranduil already felt pleased. Somehow, this was all...a good sign.

 

*****

 

{Meanwhile in Aman - Tol Eressëa}

 

Elrond first found more miruvor before he returned to his own kitchen, where he found Glorfindel quietly fussing over Erestor. Standing for a moment, watching--he had no doubt about how matters stood between Glorfindel and Erestor, and his heart soared. Sitting across from them this time, he handed the small cup to Erestor. “Drink, my friend, it will help.”

 

“I am sorry, Elrond,” the scholar said contritely, accepting the offered cup.

 

“For what?” How it had saddened him, to see the implosion of Erestor’s confidence so long ago, after witnessing the many years of his brilliant and forceful personality. His dear friend was a weakened vessel, one that Glorfindel’s strength alone had held together for so long. Today had perhaps caused a few more cracks in the ceramic. The terrible problem was, these were easy to create but so slow to mend.

 

“For...not being as I once was,” Erestor admitted, ashamed. 

 

“I think you know that I do not want or need such apologies. Centuries of faithful service, you gave to me. Do you think I will turn from you, because you now bear some scars? You are my family, Erestor. Always, you have my love.”

 

The dark head nodded, as Glorfindel petted the long strands of hair that fell between his shoulder blades. “You have my love as well,” the blond said, earning a smile.

 

“I just wish I were not so easily shaken. So much news, so much in such a short span of time…so many...changes.”

 

“Is it hearing so much news about Thanadir that is bothering you?” Elrond prompted gently.

 

“Some?” Erestor said, as a tremor crept into his voice. “It is also…” the brown eyes looked up to Glorfindel’s blue ones, struggling.

 

“That you have wed?” Elrond asked gently. All the kindness that could be summoned were in those few words.

 

Glorfindel shook his head, smiling. “Of course you knew. All this time and still there are few secrets from you. We owe our happiness to you, Elrond.”

 

“I love Glorfindel,” Erestor said in a very soft voice. “And yet this must be kept a secret. It is hard, to hear that other males may have their marriage openly and we cannot. But then I think that perhaps there are others like us, who do not even know that this mercy can be sought.”

 

“In time,” Elrond said confidently. “Do not forget, they endured similar. I have never seen change come easily. I want you both to know you are fully supported here. Tonight I will cook you a wedding feast, the best I can manage. My heart is filled with joy, to know you are united. May the Valar bless you.” The smiles and thanks were what he most wished to see.

 

“Will you read the letter?” Glorfindel asked, curious. “Not that it is my business.” He found that it was becoming harder to maintain his opinions about Thranduil’s seneschal. And yet the more he learned, the less anything made sense.

 

“Will it disturb you to hear it?” Elrond countered. He certainly did not expect anything secretive, but Erestor had been quite affected by all of Tirillë’s pronouncements.

 

“I will manage,” Erestor smiled. “And if I do not, you have my consent to send me to bed. Which I am aware is hardly a punishment.”

 

Now they knew he was feeling better; he was making jokes. Momentarily Elrond procured Earlene’s packet. “Let me see...greetings from Earlene and by extension Thranduil and Thanadir and all the household at Eldamar...which is what they have named the large dwelling they share with human friends and family.” He took a closer look at the script, which was very familiar. “Earlene speaks and writes Sindarin, of course, but Thanadir is penning this letter for her because he will not make the mistakes she will...she wishes me to know that unless something unanticipated happens, the number eventually arriving here will be two hundred and twenty-four. Here is a list with names, as well as who is wed to whom and therefore how many of their number are couples. Except for of course they themselves, a trio. Hm.

 

“Preparations for this coming plague; they have a very large farming enterprise. Ai! and this is interesting, she informs that the other end of the Straight Road also terminates on an island, and that it takes about two hours of the day traveling in a swift mechanical conveyance of their world known as a ‘car,’ plus another hour and a quarter on a ferry to reach the island in question. That rather adds to the challenge of their return. Then there is much about each of their children, a question regarding useful occupations recommended to learn in addition to the trades being already explored...it seems they have some kind of access to nearly limitless knowledge, at least until this plague comes...there are many items of smaller note; anecdotes...and then here is an envelope addressed to me; I recognize Thranduil’s hand.”  This he opened, and frowned to see a second, smaller envelope inside. “This...is addressed to you, Erestor,” he said softly.

 

“Me? The King wrote to me?”

 

“It would seem so,” Elrond replied, wondering greatly.

 

With an entirely interested Glorfindel looking on, Erestor saw that it was closed by a strange clear adhesive on the outer envelope, with an adhered seal of some kind in the form of a lovely picture. Everything about it was peculiar; the medium was something bright white and smooth, and once his clever fingers had worked it open he saw that there was a single sheet of equally geometric...whatever this was (for it was not parchment, or the paper they made of reeds), inside. Folded neatly. He began to read, to himself. 

 

_ Lord Erestor, it is my greatest hope that this finds you well after our unfortunate parting so many long ages past. I have never forgotten you, and neither has one close to me. I think I need not elaborate. The Valar willing, we will see each other again. As I am sure you now know if this letter has reached you, we are commanded to seek the shores of Aman when summoned. What came to pass long ago grieves me still, but I have not suffered as has my seneschal. If I may ask for one concession, by your good will, I plead with you to read what is below. I have asked him to write in his own words. -Thranduil _

 

Erestor folded back the paper in hands that began to tremble. “Glorfindel, would you do something for me?”

 

“Anything, love,” the blond answered tenderly.

 

“Hold me, please. And Elrond, please, read to me the part after Thranduil’s signature. Else I will not otherwise have the courage to hear it. You are my two closest friends in all this world.”

 

Giving his agreement, Elrond quickly saw what was the matter. “The second part of this is from Thanadir,” he explained to Glorfindel, both to inform and to warn. With a sigh of resignation the golden head nodded in assent; he was being asked to control his emotions regardless of what would be read here. That obligation was made easier when Erestor’s hands gently curled around his forearms in a gesture of total trust, as he looked to Glorfindel for strength. The strong elf’s heart melted, as he tenderly kissed the side of his precious husband’s head in reassurance. Clearing his throat, Elrond read:

 

_ “Lord Erestor, long have I prayed for both of us. For you, because of what my words that day must have done, in forcing you away from us. For me, to ever find some possibility of redemption for my actions. I never believed I would have the opportunity. But then Earlene returned, and I learned that there was a chance that I might write something that could find its way to you. More grievous to me was to learn that I caused you lasting harm. For so long I could barely live with having driven you off, knowing at heart that you were a good ellon. Earlene especially told me that I had to forgive myself, if I was ever to understand what went so badly wrong inside of me and heal. _

 

_ It is hard to know how much to say, or how little, but I will try. For thousands of years, I could not understand why I would feel as I did, that from time to time would cause me to treat others in the same inexcusable manner I once treated you. A thousand apologies would not be enough to convey my regret, or inform you of the depths of my failures. You were not the only one affected by my grievous shortcomings, but now I must live with the assurance that I have caused you more pain and grief than anyone. Could I see you in person, I would kneel at your feet and beg you to forgive me for the wrongs I inflicted on you. I would accept any penance you wish to name. My words were cruel and untruthful; I was justly punished for the crime against both you and my King. You did nothing; the fault was all mine. Your own achievements, brilliance and perfection stabbed at the heart of my insecurities, fears, weaknesses--though I had no awareness of this, so long ago. Only because of meeting Earlene did a door to understanding open for me. I have learned that I am different, but I do not mean this as an excuse. I have tried to better myself, tried to ensure that I will avoid triggering the irrational fears inside of me that cause me to act out. I know this does nothing to erase the injury I caused. I am so sorry, Erestor. I drove you away when I should have extended friendship. If you could not bear the sight of me I would know why, but that does not erase my obligation to redress my sin against you. I have ever been deeply ashamed of my actions that day. If I am very fortunate, one day you will permit me to speak these words to you myself. Should I be further blessed, perhaps the time might come when I earn your pardon. -Thanadir _

 

_ P.S. I never changed the library. I learned to use your classification system. It was the only means by which I felt I could remind myself of what should have been. _

 

Elrond closed his eyes, at the end of the letter. It was as Earlene had said; these were not the words of a wicked heart. While he still did not claim to fully understand, surely this had indeed been a terrible, terrible mistake. Raising his head, he studied the faces of his friends. Erestor’s head rested against his husband’s chest; some tears had fallen. But there was not the grief he feared. If anything, there was a sense of peace over him. Glorfindel was somewhat harder to read. His eyes were open, fixed on nothing in particular, and if there was an internal struggle occurring anywhere, it was here. While he had always understood the former warrior’s need to protect and shelter his friend, he hoped for everyone’s sake that Glorfindel’s own wisdom might reassert itself in time. It would be a mistake, to believe that Erestor had been the only one whose reason had been skewed by what had transpired. Had he not learned, from how the corners his own mind turned when Celebrían found it necessary to part from him, leaving him alone in Imladris for thousands of years? Grief and pain carved deep ruts into the thinking of otherwise balanced and sensible minds. They were as water, slowly forming indelible channels that could not simply be erased in a day or at the hearing of a few words.

 

“Are you well, Erestor?” Elrond asked softly, feeling this was the better place to begin.

 

The head nodded, and tears were brushed aside. “Could you please fold it, and put it away for me? Thank you, for reading.” The sound of Erestor’s voice seemed to jar Glorfindel from his own reverie. Whatever his own feelings were, he said nothing. 

 

Knowing better than to try to further the discussion just now, Elrond did as had been requested. At least the sense was upon him that the road to resolution was now open. His friend had answers, something...something to hold in his hand. Something  _ tangible. _ In the meantime, he could and would pray. “There are other materials here,” he noted. “This letter from Thranduil…” he read for a moment, and his eyes widened. “Glorfindel, open the leather pouch, but be careful not to spill its contents,” Elrond asked, his eyebrows raised very high as he continued to read. Glorfindel did so, and gasped softly.

 

“There is a very great number of fine gems in here. I do not want to know the value of this,” the ellon breathed.

 

“Thranduil entrusts that to me as an initial payment for the costs of whatever may be incurred by way of preparing for his people,” Elrond frowned. “And yet we do not use money as it was known in the old world.”

 

“Gems of this kind still have great value even in trade,” Glorfindel countered, marveling at the small hoard. “It is a generous concession and one which may help a great many things. But what else is there?”

 

“There is a...well, I am not fully certain what this...oh wait, here is a note. It is from Pengolodh! Ai! So many names,” Elrond said excitedly. “He sends greetings, and explains that the humans among whom they live speak a tongue called ‘English,’ and that all of the Eldar have learned it to a greater or lesser degree. These are basic instructional materials, for….” he chuckled. “For our academic interest and edification. They were prepared by one of the human children, a young man by the name of Shane, as a gift to us.”

 

Erestor’s head snapped up. “May I see those?”

 

Glorfindel obligingly nudged the document to Erestor’s delicate hands. Always, he had admired the dextrous fingers, capable of mastering the tiniest motions of pen or brush. And yet those same hands could wield a blade to equally frightening effect. What he lacked in sheer power, he made up for with terrifying accuracy of coordination. Seeing that his love was feeling well enough, he carefully relaxed his hold to allow him to move freely. Three minutes later, as the brown eyes eagerly scanned all of the pages, Glorfindel looked up, smiling. “I might as well help you cook, Elrond. I believe we have lost him.”

 

With great happiness, Elrond silently agreed. “I fear you are correct. Walk with me, friend. On a hunch, I ordered a dressed lamb from the neighboring farm. If we leave now, we can be back here before too long. We will bring them two rounds of Elrohir’s aged cheese, in return.”

 

“Just a beast of burden, am I?” Glorfindel teased, uncaring. Erestor would be fine. Probably, Erestor would not  _ move, _ the entire time they were gone. With a kiss to his mate’s head, Glorfindel quietly departed. When the door closed, Erestor looked up, and reached across to take Thanadir’s letter. “Valar, thank you…” he whispered, slipping it into an inner pocket of his vest. With a soft smile, he returned to his reading as the burden of grief and uncertainty lifted at last. This time, he did not expect it to return. He would write a reply. But not today.

 

**

 

{Aman - Alqualondë to the Halls of Vairë}

 

It had been a few hundred years since Sharley had been on a horse, and she was remembering now why she liked cars so much better. This one was a beautiful animal, a grey mare with a coat that shined like silver in the sun, but Sharley’s thighs burned, and her ass hurt, and after over a half day’s flat-out gallop, she wasn’t appreciating the beauty half as much. 

 

Still, the mare kept going like a champ, and she made sure to give her a good rub-down and a long drink when they finally reached the Halls. The stables were big and airy and clean, with Elves to care for the horses, but this one had done Sharley such a solid that she deserved some personal attention. “You’ve earned your dinner today, and then some,” she said, filling the mare’s feed trough. “You go on ahead and just relax, and enjoy yourself.” 

 

Giving the mare a scratch between the ears, she left to wash her hands and try to make herself look like a little less of a mess. Though she’d braided her hair before she left the ferry, it had all come loose during her ride, and she tried to tame it a little before she actually made it to the Halls. The clothes she had on were a combination of Elven and human: a deep blue Elf tunic with the sleeves cut off (modified by Thanadir, of course) along with black human leggings and boots. Oh well. She’d been riding all day, they’d have to forgive her.

 

It was so strange -- strange in a good way -- to mount these massive steps without being bogged down with terror. Still, she found she couldn’t quite remember which way to go at first, and did some staring before she worked it out. 

 

_ “I wonder if Morë is still cranky,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

_ “Hush, you.”  _ Sinsemilla sounded so much like Lorna that it was scary.  _ “If you had to look at nothing but evil and ugliness, over and over, you’d be cranky, too.” _

 

“You’re back,” a voice behind her said, that turned out to belong to Lüine. “It is nice to see you.” The poor dear looked less terrorized that the last time she had been seen, if not exactly what one would define as gushing with happiness.

 

“It’s good to see you, too, Lüine,” Sharley said. “I’m not back for long, but I needed to see Lady Vairë about a few things.”

 

“I’m sure she will be glad to see you,” the hapless creature said, clearly at a loss for making conversation. “I hope you will excuse me, my break is over. I should return to work.”

 

“Good luck,” Sharley said. She felt rather bad that she couldn’t just, well, commute to work for a while, but time in here passed at such a different rate, and there was so much to do back home...that, and the D&D’s were human. Mortal. Their days were numbered, and even though that number might be pretty high, it didn't mean she wanted to waste years at a time that she could have had with them.

 

She passed through the Halls, watching the other weavers. That was another thing -- she enjoyed weaving quite a bit, but she wasn't at a point where she’d want to do it all day. Not yet, but maybe not ever.

 

“It is nice to see you,” Lüine said timidly, as she waved shyly and returned to her loom, leaving Sharley to her own business.

 

“Hey Tirillë!” Carni waved excitedly. “If you’re looking for the Lady she is in one of the back rooms…”

 

“Hi Carni,” Sharley said, grinning. “All right, I have a question, before I go bother the Lady...how can we make it so we don't get saddle-sore? Because I really am, but I know I shouldn’t be, and I’d like to  _ not  _ be.”

 

“Ummm….don’t be?” Carni answered helplessly. “I mean...we’re spirits. It’s all in our heads, how we gather a body around ourselves? Something like that?”

 

“See, I know that, and yet I'm not good at it,” Sharley sighed. “I can change my hair around, easy, but telling myself my...backside...shouldn’t be sore just isn’t working. I should ask if I’d be allowed to bring a mountain bike back and forth.” They didn't create any sort of pollution, after all, though maybe rubber would be a no-go.

 

Carni smiled, at a complete loss for what to say. If only she understood half the things that came out of Tirillë’s mouth, that would be something. But she had rather resigned herself to that probably not being in the realm of possibility. “You’ll get there, I’m sure of it. I always find that it helps to tell myself that my body doesn’t really exist unless I want it to. But then I start thinking and...I don’t have time for this. Gotta big raft of flowers to do today and...well...roses, you know? Hate to mess those up…” with a shrug, she began to direct her shuttle back and forth as the loom resumed clicking away.

 

“Good luck,” Sharley said, moving onward. She’d tried some flowers herself, and they were indeed tricky things. She kept going until she reached what she thought of as Vairë’s room, and knocked on the door.

 

“Come in, Tirillë, I’m just checking over some finished pieces before they go to cheer the Halls of Gloom. I mean, Halls of Doom. Silly me,” the Vala grinned, flinging the door open with a thought. “Have a nice ride?”

 

“Sure, let’s say that,” Sharley said, grinning. “Carni didn't seem able to explain how to make my backside not hurt from all that time on a horse. I’d forgotten how much of a literal pain that could be.”

 

_ “Yeah, sometimes not having a body is a  _ good  _ thing,”  _ Layla said.

 

“Focus on it, Tirillë,” Vairë explained. “It does  _ not _ hurt. You already know how to change the appearance of your form. This is not terribly different. Stop accepting that you have a body that is somehow human in its experiences. You do not actually have a body, except for...this is like clothes. I am wearing clothes. So are you.” As if to prove the point, she disappeared into a blazing radiance of white light. “This is what we are. Everything else is the illusion.” In a blink she was back to her ordinary appearance, flicking another tapestry toward the lofty ceiling overhead.

 

Sharley twitched a little. She’d been in a physical body for so long that the idea of shedding it was...alien. “So basically, I need to strip,” she said. “I’ll practice that...later.” Instead, she actually grabbed her own ass and silently ordered it not to hurt anymore, before trying to pretend it no longer existed.

 

“Holy….” fortunately, she caught herself before she could finish that sentence. “That actually worked. Wow. I still have a lot to re-learn, but I’ve been playing a little, mostly with my hair. I’m honestly kinda afraid to try anything more drastic, in case I get...stuck, and can’t figure out how to get un-stuck.”

 

“It is not possible, unless you believe it to be so,” the Vala answered. “And therein I would guess lies the root of many of your challenges. Congratulations to you and Maglor for your daughter. I imagine he is very happy?”

 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Sharley said. “I was thinking, a while back, about perception, and...well. Maglor’s over the moon, and I’m getting there...I’m just nervous. We’d planned to wait, so I dunno how this even happened, but there’s stuff I want to know, before I have this one.” She touched her abdomen as she spoke, still somewhat awed that there was a tiny life growing inside her again.

 

“You do not know how it happened?” Vairë’s eyebrows had climbed quite high and her smirk matched. “Last I checked, when male and female love each other…” Yes, she was teasing. And No, she could not resist.

 

Sharley actually facepalmed. Hard. She knew she had to be blushing like a brick, too, but oh well. “You know what I mean,” she said. “We’d been using whatever innate birth control it is Elves and Maia have, and I guess it failed.” Shoving her hair back, she looked up again. “I don't like the thought of having a three-year-old right when the world ends, but we’ll figure it out.”

 

“It failed because you wanted it to, dear. Did not Earlene explain to you? Both parties must firmly be against the conception. If, as I suspect was the case for you, one partner openly years or a child, and the other wavers even on occasion...well…” A gesture toward her abdomen resulted. “There you have it.”

 

“Earlene had said something like that,” Sharley said, giving her abdomen an accusatory look. “But I’d figured it was just because she was human, and tended to get pregnant if she sneezed. I...well, I kinda want to talk to Melian, if she’d be willing to talk to me,” she added. “Marty, as much as I’d rather not think of it this way, had two Ainur for parents. This little one’s gonna be a peredhel, and as far as I know, Melian’s the only other person who’s ever given birth to a Maia-Elf kid -- but I know she and her husband aren’t exactly Maglor’s biggest fans, to put it mildly.”

 

“Perhaps not, and yet that should not be your chief concern,” Vairë frowned. “Maglor was forgiven.”

 

“He was, but...that doesn’t mean I shouldn't be as tactful as I can be,” Sharley said. “Because what he did -- what all of them did -- affected Melian and Thingol, and that wasn’t just...erased...after his trial. If I can even explain what I mean. I don't want to just go stomping in and basically say, ‘Hey, I’m the wife of one of those guys you hated, can you tell me how to handle having his kid?’”

 

_ “Sharley, you’re not Lorna,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Even you’re not  _ that  _ bad.” _

 

_ “Usually,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

“That is not what I meant,” Vairë said. “You should at least consider what  _ happened _ to their child, and choose your words with care.”

 

“That would be the other worry. I mean, I lost a kid, but she’s still  _ somewhere _ ,” Sharley said. “She’s not outta my reach forever. I can only imagine what that must be like -- it must hurt even now, after all these Ages. And I wouldn’t ask, if I didn't feel like I needed to.”

 

She absently rubbed her abdomen. “And...I didn't know this, but every time I talked about Marty, it was upsetting Maglor, so I stopped talking about her, but that’s hard on  _ me. _ I wish they could meet, but I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t be allowed. I know there’s places Elves can’t go in the Gardens.”

 

_ “At least you can stop in and tell her she’s gonna have a little sister,”  _ Layla said encouragingly.

 

“True.” That drew a smile. “She’d like that, I think.”

 

“You intended to visit Marty again?”

 

“Yeah,” Sharley said. “Dunno when I’ll be able to get back again as anything more than the mail service, so I thought I’d look in on my little bug, and tell her she’ll be a big sister.” Even if she would eventually be a  _ little  _ big sister, when this young one grew up.

 

Vairë hesitated. “I know this will be unwelcome but...do not go to the Children’s Garden on this visit, Tirillë. Please just...trust me. Right now, focus only on yourself, and the needs of your unborn little one. Last occasion you were here, you left sooner than was best for you. I know why you did it, and why you for similar reasons will not remain long this visit either. Spend your time the most wisely.”

 

Sharley’s smile faded. Seeing Marty was the the thing she’d most looked forward to about coming to Aman again -- seeing her, and telling her she’d be a big sister. It was part of why she’d planned on a week, honestly, because Eru only knew when she’d be able to be anything more than mail service again. Once she’d had this little one, she wouldn’t be going anywhere until she and Maglor got to come back for their visit; she could hardly leave their daughter behind to go on her own, but neither could she take the child and leave Maglor alone. After the plague, even getting to Inis Mor would be both difficult and time-consuming; there wouldn’t be any more straight shots down the highway.

 

_ Seven years isn’t that long _ , she told herself, though her heart sank anyway.  _ Especially not with how old you are.  _ It ought to feel like a blink, but her mind had spent so long thinking it was human that it did not, in this moment, feel like a blink at all.

 

_ Yeah, but look at it this way,  _ she thought.  _ Next time you come, Marty can actually  _ meet _ her little sister, and her sister can meet her. This one will be half-Maia, so hopefully she can go to the Gardens. _

 

_ “Lady Vairë,”  _ Sinsemilla asked gently, rather worried when Sharley didn't speak,  _ “maybe you can’t give us any details or anything, but is Marty okay?” _

 

_ Marty is in the care of the Powers of this World. How can she possibly be any more alright?  _ The Vala turned patient but vaguely incredulous eyes toward the source of the voice.

 

_ “I dunno, but I think Sharley maybe needed to actually hear that,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Sometimes we...remind her, if we feel like she needs it.” _

 

“By which she means they sometimes smother me,” Sharley said, shaking herself. “Well. I’m not at all looking forward to trying to talk to Melian and Thingol. I dunno how they expect another Maia to act, but...probably not like me. I don't remember ever meeting Melian, either.” Like most of the Weavers, she’d rarely gotten out much; she’d had to be all but dragged even to parties, and many of the other Maiar thought the Weavers were really weird. They were usually too polite to  _ say  _ so, but they thought it.

 

“While your silent observations may not be misplaced,” the Vala said, “I will remind you again: Do not forget who you are, Tirillë. You are one of two second in power only to myself. You outrank both of them, if you wish to look at it this way, and both owe you their respect if not their reverence. Whatever Elwë was in times gone by, he is now but one of the Eldar who dwells with his wife in Estë’s realm. He is a king no longer, though neither does he lack wisdom and exposure to the sorrows his life can bring. You too readily see yourself as ordinary when you are anything but. Do you pay no attention to those you live with, in the other world? You could command Thranduil himself, if you chose, and he would obey you. I know why you behave as you do, and it speaks well of you. Neither does it erase who and what you are, even if you wish it to.”

 

_ That  _ startled her badly. Sharley never would have thought that technically, she actually could command Thranduil, because she could think of absolutely no situation in which she’d want or need to. Yes, she was far older than he was, but she’d never ruled anything, nor commanded an army; until she went to chase after Maglor, she’d spent half her time at her loom in the Halls, and the other half with her husband, in their peaceful little home. Then there was Angband, which even now she wouldn’t think about much (though at least she  _ could _ , now, without freaking out), followed by eighteen thousand years of either wandering or napping. When it came to commanding and leadership, he was the one who knew what he was doing.

 

“I do forget,” she said. “I spent eighteen thousand years as no one in particular, and in Eldamar -- the home we live in in Ennorath -- we’re all just family, without rank or title, really.”

 

_ “You didn't spend all that time as ‘no one in particular’,”  _ Sinsemilla reminded her.  _ “You were Spirit, and then you were Ancient One. And you got passed around from tribe to tribe like some kind of friendly ghost.” _

 

_ “Or non-brain-eating zombie,”  _ Jimmy offered, trying to be helpful.

 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Jimmy. I think part of it is, Lady Vairë, I’ve taken your advice seriously -- I’ve only looked at the future once since we got back home, and that was to see just how the plague would start. And since I don't use my ability much, it’s kinda...I dunno, it’s not that I forget I have it so much as it just doesn’t cross my mind as often. I weave a lot, but just pretty things.”

 

Running her hand over her hair, she added, “And there’s one thing that’s taken some getting used to, something I’d like your advice on: I can’t see history anymore, since my brain got fixed, and that’s...it’s weird. I didn't like it when I  _ had  _ to see it, but now that I don't have the option anymore, it sometimes feels like an invisible limb got cut off. Dunno what to do about that, or if I just have to wait for it to go away in time.”

 

“You never should have had that...Tirillë,” she said softly, placing her arm around Sharley’s shoulders. “There is a reason there are two of you, beautiful one. Neither of you are...me. It is more knowledge than you were created to bear. You cannot remain whole. Had Vanwatirillë your gift of looking forward, she could not function--it is too much. Eru made us for our purposes, whether Vala or Maia. You must understand, the Dark One did this to you. It was never meant to be.”

 

Sharley leaned against her, and could only nod. “It was more than I could deal with, a lotta the time,” she said. “There were big chunks of time I just...avoided people, but Thranduil had built me a switch, basically, so I could turn it on and off. I had no idea how broken I actually was, but it’s...strange. It’s been the only hard thing to get used to -- the rest, like my senses, it’s been weird, sure, but fun.” She smiled. “When we got home, when Maglor would be teaching music lessons, I’d wander the forest, and just...stare. Stare, and breathe, and touch, because it was like I was seeing it all for the first time. And the way things  _ taste  _ now...Earlene’s a fantastic cook anyway, but with how I can taste things? I could sit and eat all day. I could be worse than Thanadir, if I wasn’t careful.

 

_ “You might be anyway, in a few months,”  _ Layla pointed out.  _ “You had pregnancy munchies with Marty.” _

 

“That I did.” She shook her head. “I don't even know how long I’ll carry this one, can you believe that? I know with Elves it’s a year, and I’m  _ pretty  _ sure it was with Marty, too, but will it be different with a kid that’s half-Elf, half-Maia? Somebody knows, but it’s not me.”

 

“I think you can count on something between Earlene and an elleth. Not less than ten months, not more than a year. This, of all questions, would be good to ask of Melian.” She did not mention that it could be whatever Tirillë wished, within those parameters. Bearing a child was special. No point interfering too much…

 

Sharley laughed. “I’d hope not more than a year. Carrying Marty wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t a barrel of laughs, either, come the end. Because I’m...if this one gets big, I can kinda...shift myself around her, can’t I? Not just make myself taller, but...broader?” It sounded like it was the kind of thing she ought to be able to do. The question was, did she dare try?

 

_ “The other thing she’s gotta ask is, will this kid develope at the same rate as a human-Elf peredhel, or something different?”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “We’ve been reduced to a reminder service. It’s just wonderful.” _

 

Vairë balked at this. “Why does it matter to know?” came the curious question. Melian could of course relate this answer as it pertained to Lúthien, but...Earlene and Thranduil had done quite well, simply letting their children be what they would be.

 

“Well...shouldn’t I?” Sharley asked, surprised. “It would be the smart thing to do right? I mean, since the world’s basically gonna end, and all. I’m just trying to be a responsible parent, since for so long with Marty I just kinda flew by the seat of my pants.”

 

“Well, you can choose to look ahead. Or ask Melian. Either decision lies with you, if you feel it is important. I may be a Vala, but no wise person tells another how to parent their child,” she smiled.

 

Now Sharley was second-guessing herself. “Gotta say, this was so much easier when I didn't know what I was, and the Stranger had my brain scrambled,” she said, unable to help laughing a little. “I didn't worry about anything then except whether or not the kid came out with all her limbs and digits. No end-of-the-world scenarios in sight. I’ve been -- well, I’ve hesitated to look ahead, because of what you said. Finding out how the plague started, that wouldn’t hurt anything, and it put my curiosity to rest.” She absolutely was not going to tell  _ Lady Vairë  _ that Lorna had taken her out to the bog so she could spit in the approximate area Avathar’s corpse had been disposed of. Nope. Nevertheless, it had been satisfying.

 

“And I also kinda need to ask...I want to start being a mail service between Ennorath and Aman, but I need to know what I’d be allowed to bring in. I kinda want here to be ready for the Woodland Realm, when they show up, and for them to be ready for Aman. Outta everyone that's coming, only Earlene and Ruscion have ever been here before, and she was, um, busy. I want to try to make it less of a shock for both sides, if I can, but I also don't want to go bringing in what I shouldn’t.”

 

“This...honestly this is perhaps best answered by Lord Manwë,” the Lady said, pinching the bridge of her nose briefly. “I think you have seen in your time here, we have not tried to use our knowledge to achieve the industry seen in Ennor. A steep price has been paid for those advances. And yet not all of their inventions have been evil. The problem is when there must be destruction of what is good and untainted in order to possess these things. It can be a slippery slope. I will not tell you not to use a bicycle or your skates to traverse the Straight Road. And yet some of the metals are specialized, not known here. Many if not all of the materials on those devices are products of industrialization. It might be wise not to stir envy of that which everyone has lived happily without for thousands of years. There are times no one knows something is missing until they see it. Use wisdom, Tirillë. Not all that seems to be good is, and yet all Eru’s creation is blessed with the desire to invent and create.”

 

“I’d probably better ask him,” Sharley said. If she wasn’t going to see Marty, at least she’d have the time. “If I don't, what I'm afraid of is the Woodland Realm showing up here, and nobody knowing how to relate to them as they are now. They’ve been exposed to all sorts of things nobody in Aman has ever even imagined, and I could all too easily see some of them feeling like they have to minimize themselves and their experiences when they’re around other Elves who have no idea what the -- what they’re talking about. What I may do is, once I’ve talked to Lord Manwë, sit down and make a list of things that didn't take industrialization to make.”

 

Vairë sighed.  _ This poor thing...she means so well and yet she cannot seem to grasp… _ “Their coming here must unfold as it will, Tirillë,” she said, trying to be gentle. “They have a purpose to fulfill, and...this is hard for me to say. I know you wish to help. That you can carry messages to and fro is more than they could have hoped for, really. And in some ways, they have a much clearer grasp of what is needed than you do. You spent many years confused. Not knowing what you were. They had no such difficulty. Thranduil recognizes that he is paying a penance for his long years of refusal, and he accepts this. You...you have a purpose. A single purpose. You are choosing not to fulfill it and I will not demand differently of you, not after what you have endured. I think you know that should you wish to spend time with us here, you are ever welcome. But since you have chosen to be elsewhere...there are limits to how much you can help them. That was not...your reason for being. Perhaps you would do better to ask them what they wish, rather than try to pave the way for them by means not needed or wanted. And...I am sorry to say this. I do not mean the words to sound harsh, but it falls to me to speak them.”

 

Sharley shut her eyes. “I just...I feel so useless, at times,” she sighed. “If it wasn’t for the fact that time on Ennorath passes so much faster, it would be easier for me to...to commute to work, so to speak, but this week here will be  _ four months  _ there. Four months my husband’s got to go through without me -- and yeah, it’s his punishment, I know -- and four months I don't see the rest of my family. The D&D’s, they’re human. They’ve only got a limited time in Ennorath, and I don't want to miss out on a lotta it. And once I have this baby, it’d be even harder, except on the week Maglor is allowed to visit his family every seven years. Otherwise, she’ll be missing one or the other of her parents for months on end.”

 

Vairë said nothing, but left her hand on her charge’s shoulder. There were no perfect solutions to the morass of her wants, limitations, and circumstances. As with each free creature of Eru, she would have to choose what was most important to her and act accordingly.

 

_ “Lady Vairë, this might sound like a stupid question, but I’ve gotta ask it anyway,”  _ Layla said.  _ “Is there any way Sharley can sorta...work from home? I mean, I can’t see how there could be, but what do I know?” _

 

“I do not know how to do that,” she said sadly. “Not when we work interactively here. We would have to move my husband’s realm to Ennor and that will never happen.”

 

“He and everyone in the Halls would hate it there,” Sharley said. “Haaaate it. It’ll work out. That’s what Sinsemilla always says, anyway, and she’s usually right.” Man, this was not turning out at all as she’d hoped. Crap. Hopefully talking to Melian and Elwë wouldn’t prove similarly disappointing, but either way, she ought to do it. Maybe she wouldn’t be spending a week after all. The thought was...somewhat disheartening.

 

“I wish I could make this seem…” Vairë shook her head. “I would rather be truthful with you than watch you work at cross-purposes. I know this is hard, seeking to find how you fit into this life you were never quite meant to have. And yet I should not interfere too much, because you are meant to find your own path.” It saddened her a little, to realize that she could not and should not just reach in and...create clarity. It would not be right, or ultimately kind. How was anyone supposed to mentor someone who barely  _ could _ be mentored? And yet the one who stood the best chance of guiding her was her own husband. Hopefully, in time, they would find balance.

 

“I’d rather you be truthful, too,” Sharley said, a little ruefully. “It saves trouble in the end, no matter how uncomfortable it is at the time.” She paused, and looked up at Vairë. “You know, the Stranger coughed up a whole lotta false memories, when it made me think I was human -- and let me tell, the amount of control it had over not just  _ my  _ perception, but that of another fr --  _ Ainu _ , kinda scares me -- but it gave me a few memories of a mother, and she was based a lot on you, I think. No matter what He Who Shall Not Be Named made the thing believe, you were still its basis for ‘mom’.”

 

_ “Did you really just make a  _ Harry Potter  _ reference?”  _ Jimmy asked.  _ “I’m telling Thanadir.” _

 

_ “Thanadir can’t hear us,”  _ Layla pointed out.

 

_ “Fine, I’ll tell Thranduil, and  _ he  _ can tell Thanadir.” _

 

“For all practical purposes I am your mother, though I would not use that word,” the Vala smiled. “That goes for all of you here. All the colors. We are a family.” She looked away for a moment. “Will you go on now to Estë’s Realm, or will you remain a little while?”

 

“I can stay a little while,” Sharley said. “And...did I leave any clothes here? Because I probably shouldn’t show up wanting to talk to Melian looking like this.”

 

“Tirillë…” Vairë smirked, wondering how many times she would have to say it. She tapped the side of her head.

 

“What?” Sharley asked, confused.

 

_ “I’m pretty sure you can tweak with your clothes like you can with your body,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

Sharley blinked. “Wait,  _ really? _ ” Admittedly, she hadn’t sorted through all of her memories of the stuff she could do yet, but...wow. “Okay, I can just about handle tweaking with my hair. Clothes are...help? Please?” Yes, she sounded pathetic. Sue her.

 

“Come with me,” the Vala smiled, returning to the main Tapestry Hall.  “Morë, a moment please?”

 

The sulky raven-haired one approached immediately, bowing her head to the Lady. 

 

“Morë, please put on a black tunic and leggings, and a dark blue mantle.”

 

Frowning, Morë blinked at the request, but said nothing. Seconds later there was a brief visual disturbance, and her dress was simply...other. 

 

“Now a white gown and a rose-red cloak.”

 

“But Lady,” she whined…

 

Vairë stood tall, crossed her arms and arched her eyebrows.

 

With a visible grimace, another disturbance briefly flared and Morë stood in utterly cheerful and feminine clothing, looking completely mortified. Snickers were heard here and there around the Hall. 

 

“Next one to laugh gets tapestry-hanging duty,” the Lady announced, some anger in her tone. The room fell utterly silent. Looking around with one last glare, Vairë turned to Morë again. “Return to what you prefer now, and thank you,” she said kindly.

 

Gratefully, Morë was clad all in black again in an instant, and after another bow of acknowledgement, returned to her loom.

 

“It is will, Tirillë. Made real by the force of your intentions and the embracing of your true self. There is no other way I can explain it.”

 

“It’s not gonna hurt the baby if I do this, I'm assuming,” Sharley said.

 

_ “Obviously not, or Lady Vairë wouldn’t be suggesting it,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Give it a try.” _

 

That involved actually thinking up something she wanted to wear, and at the moment her mind was blanking. It didn't help that this was in the middle of the freaking Weaving Hall, in front of everyone...something comfy for riding in, but pretty, and that would actually go with her hair. She loved the blue, but it was pretty difficult to color-match to it -- though rather easier now that she could alter the shade at will. Shutting her eyes, she sure as hell hoped she was coming up with a sleeveless, midnight blue tunic with some silver sparkly...somethings. 

 

Something... _ shifted _ , something she could put no name to, and when she opened her eyes, there was indeed a sleeveless, midnight-blue tunic with sparkly somethings. Damn.

 

_ “Holy--”  _ Jimmy started.

 

“MUTE, Jimmy!” she said desperately, eyes widening.  _ That  _ had been a close one -- not that she could blame him. “Okay. So...that’s a thing. Good to know. Anything else I should...do?” Just for the hell of it, she ran her hands over her still slightly tangled hair, and felt it soften and untangle beneath her fingers. Okay,  _ that  _ was useful; back home, she’d been so busy playing with color and length that she hadn’t tried anything else.

 

“Well, I think you have the idea,” the Lady smiled. “I know you are not here to work. But should you feel like lending a hand, Carni is just finishing one that has a particularly difficult combination of sky colors, and Luinë has been finally getting a little self-confidence with the new rules...I hate to overtax her…”

 

“I can do that,” Sharley said. “Just show me the way.”

 

*****

{Feb 16, 2033}

 

“You have hardly tried out your skills since you returned from Valinor,” Thanadir pointed out as they dried dishes together. 

 

“What of it?” Earlene retorted gently. “I feel better than I ever did...before. Even  _ before _ before. And we have been busy. For Eru’s sake, tomorrow is Thaladir’s birthday, and then four more birthdays a few days’ after.

 

“Five,” Thanadir emphasized.

 

“What five?”

 

“Five birthdays. Try though you might, I have not forgotten that you birthed your first twins on your own birthday.”

 

“I am over fifty years of age, meldir. A human lady is entitled to stop counting long before then.”

 

“You are not really going to try to make that work with me, are you?” Now the seneschal’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he most definitely had The Look.

 

“I thought we agreed years ago that we were not going to emphasize adult celebrations so much, in favor of focusing on the children.” Earlene refused to back down, though she could sense that her footing was slipping.

 

Now a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You may have been among the great in your profession, meldis, but I am Thanadir.”

 

The unstoppable force had just announced its intention, and the object would have to ponder quite swiftly if she was immovable. Fortunately, that was not a hard decision. “You are indeed,” she grinned. “And thankfully, at this moment I am less interested in being Earlene than in remembering that I love you.”

 

Thanadir smiled radiantly, and not only because he loved to win. His love blazed for his wife. “Come with me into the forest,” he coaxed. “Do not worry about tomorrow. Thaladir will be happy with whatever you do, and I have been preparing his present for a very long time.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I will tell you, but only if you come with me.”

 

“You are incorrigible, Thanadir.”

 

“I certainly hope so.”

 

Thranduil had looked up from his reading, enjoying their banter. He loved their life, and meant to savor every moment of this four year paradise they had remaining to them, before it all dissolved into something far less enjoyable.

 

**

 

Changed, and on their doorstep, Earlene mentally prepared herself for whatever fresh hell her beautiful and occasionally thorny husband might be concocting. Whatever this was seemed important to him, so, indulging him would do no harm. However, her suspicion pitched higher when she saw Faeleth waiting for them, with a similarly beatific expression. At the moment, a father-daughter clone expression grinned at her, and it disturbed. “Why do I have a feeling this is ‘torment Nana’ time?”

 

Faeleth giggled merrily, hugging her father’s waist.

 

“Because you know me,” Thanadir said without guile, looking down adoringly at his daughter. “Go on, you know what to do,” he smiled.

 

“Okay, Ada.” In almost a blur, she was off dancing toward the trees. Earlene often wondered if she was seeing the shades of Lúthien in her daughter, for she rarely used ordinary locomotion, preferring to dance and play her flute as she moved about. And in her case, it took no more time than walking or running, so why not? 

 

“Well, are you going to make me guess, husband?”

 

“No,” the ellon laughed. “I am resuming your training, for it has been a very long time since you learned anything new.”

 

“Well, I admit I could sharpen up my shooting or my sword work, but...you are speaking as though I missed something.”

 

“Not a big something, but an important one. You perfected eluding others, meldis. But you never learned how to track. Not beyond the basics. How to pursue someone who has gone on ahead and locate them just on what signs remain of their passage.”

 

A mighty frown creased her brow, because this was true--but only sort of. “And I will be a disgrace to my position if I fail to master all of the woodland skills?” she asked softly.

 

“Nothing so dire,” he laughed, until his smile faded away. “But in earnest...look at the future. All of us will be helping protect them, until they learn to do this for themselves.” He gestured with a nod toward the human half of the house. “I thought you might wish to...lack nothing.”

 

“You make your point as always.” The news became far easier to digest when he pulled her into a hug and rubbed her back. What she would  _ rather _ do all day was what they were doing right now.

 

“I will make it worth your while,” he tempted.

 

“You do not need to bribe me, silly elf. But knowing there is something...well, I will look forward to whatever it is.”

 

“Good. Now, try to track her. You already have some skill; I asked her to help because it will be much harder to follow her than a human. I will help and teach, if you run into a difficulty.”

 

With a nod and a sigh, she focused on not trampling on her daughter’s path through the grasses, and set off.

 

**

 

“You did well, meldis. Very well. You lost her track only twice and...frankly, I am favorably impressed. Can I ask how you knew what you did?”

 

“Thalion,” Earlene answered, smiling at the praise. “I asked him to teach me how to elude you. But...he taught be to elude you by explaining to me how you were tracking me in the first place. So...while it is true that I have not practiced the skills he taught me about, I remembered all of that which he told me to pay attention.”

 

“We will practice more, another time,” he smiled. “And I think our daughter has found something that interests her.”

 

“Ah, yes. Maglor’s project. Is he in there?”

 

“Well, she certainly is, and she is speaking with someone.”

 

**

 

“Uncle Maglor, what is this? Don’t you like it at Eldamar?”

 

“Of course I do, dear Faeleth,” he said, seating himself for a moment. “This is going to be...you can keep a secret, can you not?”

 

“Mmmm-hmmm,” the little girl said, her brilliant hazel eyes blinking. “I know lots of secrets.”

 

Somehow, he did not doubt it. “Well, this is going to be an extra home for Sharley and I. We will still live at Eldamar, but just as Lorna has a second home we will have one as well.”

 

“You have a lot to do, Uncle Maglor. Do you want help?”

 

The ellon opened his mouth to say No but closed it again.  _ Did he? _ “I had thought this would be something I did alone. But your question makes me wonder if I should reconsider.”

 

“I wish you would,” said Earlene, moving into the interior of the cavern.

 

“Earlene, Thanadir,” Maglor said, rising out of respect. “Welcome to my project that will outlast Ennorath,” he said drily.

 

“But it doesn’t have to, Uncle Maglor. If others could help you it could be done real soon. And you’re going to be an Adar.”

 

Maglor blinked, looking up at Earlene and Thanadir. They both smiled beatifically and shrugged at their daughter’s words, which hardly needed clarification.

 

“Maglor, there is no one who would not jump at the chance to work on this for you. For you and for Sharley. She has done much good for all of us,” Thanadir encouraged. Earlene nodded, but she had motives of her own.  _ I know an introvert when I see one, and a project that would bring him into more contact with others here. He has been either with Sharley, a music student, or alone since we returned. I think it is time for a little more progress. _

 

Thanadir raised his eyebrows. “Come, Faeleth. Show me where you dance in the woods now.”

 

“Okay Adar. You want to see Adar Tulkas and Nana Nessa?”

 

The ellon blinked and smiled wanly at Maglor. “That would be lovely,” he smiled. “Yes.”

 

As they moved off Earlene turned her attention back to Maglor. “May your child be entirely boring, by contrast,” she smiled.

 

“Was she in earnest?” Maglor whispered.

 

“While I cannot fully answer your question as to exactly what her words mean, yes, she is in earnest. The Lord and Lady wanted...this, and I consented.”

 

“And I thought my circumstances were unusual,” he said wryly. 

 

“They were, it is just that I am very competitive.”

 

This sent him collapsing into his chair in laughter. That was when she realized, she was not certain she had ever seen him truly laugh.  _ Well, this will not do. _ “How have you been doing, Maglor? We really have not talked in awhile. Not since I was busy, um, maladjusting to my return home.”

 

“I am mostly well, Earlene. I am so happy with Tirillë. So happy. I love every minute with her, but she is still struggling to understand herself. At all. And if I am to be honest, while I know I will have many happy years while all of you are yet here...it will be hard for me when you leave. I will feel the weight of my punishment, but I will manage. I do not forget how grateful I am to not have been given a much worse judgement.”

 

“And is there more?” she pressed, smiling. “Our home can be an interesting place in which to...settle.” 

 

“Well, I am both elated and a little frightened about our elfling. But...there are times I am not sure I fit in so well. At the house, I mean.”

 

“How much time do you spend with Quen, now? You know, the ellon you lived alongside every day of your life for thousands of years? The one who knows you better than anyone?” An innocent smile accompanied her question.

 

“Point taken, Hiril vuin,” he chuckled. “You are much like me in some ways, I perceive.”

 

“I will only comment that it takes one to know one. My family is a built-in social club but...Maglor, if elves are who you feel more comfortable around, then do not be shy about spending your time in our part of the house. We welcome you with open arms. Marriage does not necessarily mean being glued together. It is okay to have different friends and different interests. But it is also good just to not always seek to be alone. I have the same tendencies as you, to wall myself off. Sometimes it has been a problem. I like you too much not to want to keep an eye on you.”

 

“It is appreciated. You know me well also, Earlene. You have seen me in a very...bad way, and helped me. I will never forget it. There are easier things in this world, than trying to reason with a son of Fëanor.”

 

“Hm. Lucky for you, I like challenges. I will leave you be, and go find my daughter and husband...but please consider my words. You are loved, Maglor. Precious. Never forget that.” Rising, and placing a kiss on the crown of his head, she just as swiftly left. Maglor watched her go, and then his eyes traveled around the room, considering many things.

 

*****

{Feb 19, 2033}

 

The ground had thawed, and that meant stone-gathering time. Dammit.

 

Lorna (the Younger) occasionally wondered why the hell she’d volunteered for this. Oh, it was just fine in the  _ summer _ , when the weather was at least passably warm, and if it rained, it didn't tend to linger long. Winter was another story entirely. So long as the ground was frozen, they were off the hook; they could just sort what they’d already dug up, keeping warm by a portable brazier. Now, however, things had thawed, which meant they were back to hunting, and prying things up with a rather useful but oddly-named tool called a batwing hoe. Boo-fucking-yah.

 

At least she had a nice, long wool coat, and Thanadir had custom-made her some leather gloves, since no clothing line made decent gloves in size child. It meant her fingers didn't go completely numb when prying at the stones, nor did anything nick or scrape them. Nevertheless, she swore to herself as she worked, waiting to see who else would turn up.

 

Ailill and Calanon came, with Algar walking between them. He had not wished to study today and so had chose to work. And clearly he was his father’s son, because by Calanon’s estimation, he had the physique of an elfling a good five years older than his actual age. Thranduil’s strength and the beginnings of his build were already evident. “Today we will mind our words,” the ellon reminded. “This work is difficult for humans. Cold, tiring. We will remember not to make light of the task in front of those who struggle more?”

 

Algar refrained from rolling his eyes and instead nodded respectfully to the elder elf. So he might brag a  _ teensy _ bit.  _ It was only that one time, honestly _ . Then again, further thought recalled his father’s lecture on account of ‘just that one time,’ and he decided against any antics.

 

Sean, the wise man, showed up with a giant Thermos of tea and a bag of small metal cups. If kept near the brazier, it meant they could have a tea break at some point before heading in for lunch -- and while he wished he could say it was his idea, it was his mam’s. Of course. He gave the Elves and Ailill a wave, and tried not to laugh when Lorna the Younger’s voice carried through the misty morning air. Her aunt had taught her to swear in Russian, so that she could curse all she liked and none of the Elves would know what she was saying, and she was in fine form today. 

 

_ Cal, why is Lorna swearing in Russian?  _ Ailill asked his mate.

 

_ How do you know she is swearing? _

 

_ Cal, I may not have telepathy, but swearing sounds like swearing regardless what language it is said in. _

 

_ Hm. This is true. But unfortunately I cannot answer that. _

 

“Huh,” Ailill said aloud, to no one in particular.

 

“I swear, the rocks breed in the winter,” Lorna said, finally prying her target out of the ground. It was bigger than she’d thought, and while she barely resisted the urge to spit on it, she did not resist the urge to glare. “Prizda.”

 

Sean would be lying if he said he hadn’t tried to look up some of what she said, but between the differences in the alphabet and her accent, it had been a hopeless cause. “I think every farmer says that,” he said. “No matter how many you think you’ve pried out, there’s always more.” He was smarter, by now, than to ask if she needed help lifting it. If he’d learned anything about the Donovans, aside from the fact that three of them were fellow jailbird fuckups, it was that they didn't take well to what they thought was any kind of pity. That, and short people could be kind of scary when they were pissed.

 

Lorna hauled the rock into her cart, and eyed the hole. And if she made a face at it, nobody commented.

 

“We brought our tools,” Ailill said to Sean and Lorna, waving a greeting. We’ll just start on the other corner, and work our way to you, I guess, unless you want something else?”

 

“Fine by me,” Sean smiled. “They’re rocks. I’m sure not gonna try to manage it.”

 

This earned a snort of appreciation from Calanon, who grinned and set off toward the opposite field corner. In moments, the three of them were walking the grid pattern person over person, searching for stones.

 

“You have to wonder how people did this, back before modern medicine,” Lorna said. She’d found a smaller stone this time, one which was giving her far less trouble, even if she  _ did  _ have to half hack it out of the moss. “Before knee and shoulder surgeries, and all that govno.” Yes, Russian. It was as good a language for cursing as Irish, and that was saying something.

 

“They all died by the time they were sixty,” Sean said. “Or hell, they turned into...there was that stuff people got addicted to, back in the 1800’s. Painkiller.”

 

“Laudanum?” she offered.

 

“Yeah. That.”

 

“It’s no wonder.” Her stone came out of the earth with a tearing rip of uprooted moss. “My uncle Ratiri said it was opium dissolved into brandy. It’s a chertov miracle  _ everyone  _ wasn’t addicted to that govno.” 

 

Sean stepped back as her next stone went into the cart. “What’re we going to do, once the Elves leave?” he wondered. “How will we fix a blown-out shoulder or...whatever?”

 

“Depends, I guess,” she said, as he set to work on a rather oddly wedge-shaped rock that was realistically probably going nowhere. “I don't know what all goes into fixing rotator cuffs or whatever, but maybe that can still be done? New hip joint or whatever, not a chance in hell. But we can take better care’v ourselves than we did back then. If somebody fucks their shoulder up, they haven’t got to just keep working with it that way. They can go do something else and hope it heals.” She eyed the rock. “And will you bloody leave that --  you’d need a crowbar to get that one out’v the ground.” 

 

His pride didn't want to, but he left it anyway, and he followed her as she pulled the cart. He’d swear they’d totally cleared this field last fall, and the fall before that, and the one before that….

 

**

 

“Algar is going to be the death of me,” Ailill muttered. “I happen to have just enough pride left to not be beaten by a...how old is he?”

 

“Ah, he is...hm let me think. Well is he not a little younger than our marriage? Or the same age? We came together when Earlene carried him.”

 

“So you are telling me that I am being humiliated by a twelve year-old? Something like that?” Ailill sighed.

 

Calanon leaned in so that there was no chance of him being overheard. “You forget that I am going to reward you for your efforts today. I thought first a nice massage, with the heater in our room burning brightly…”

 

“Alright, alright,” Ailill blushed furiously. “I will be humiliated.”

 

“Good man,” the ellon smirked, enjoying once again the reddening cheeks. Eru, he loved it when his husband blushed… “He is Aran Thranduil’s son, Ailill. Do not feel bad. This was somewhat...inevitable. Look at it this way, you are still older than he is.”

 

Ailill managed a grin, but his thought was somewhat more somber.  _ Until I am not _ .

 

**

 

“Would you look at that freaking kid?” Lorna asked, eying Algar. “I realize he’s an Elf, but  _ still _ . As if I needed another reminder I'm not twenty-five anymore.”

 

Sean snorted. “Wait until you hit forty. I wasted twenty-five being an eejit.”

 

“You and everyone else in Ireland.” They only paused once they had a cartful of rocks, and then, by silent consensus, decided it was time for a tea break. The sun was well overhead, filtered though it was through the mist, and she waved at Ailill across the field. “Oi! Tea’s on, fellow human!” She’d shed her coat and put it aside, but she’d be wanting it again before the break was over, she was sure.

 

The three ambled over, whereupon even Algar was happy enough to accept a cup. “Were there any you could not easily remove?” Calanon asked politely. “Algar and I could try, and save someone else the work, if it would be helpful.”

 

“There’s one,” Lorna said, inhaling her tea before sipping. “You’d need a stronger tool than any’v us have got right now, though. Either that or spend an hour digging, trying to figure out how far down it goes.” Her back would not thank her for that, nor, she was sure, would Sean’s. “For all I know, it’s part’v the bedrock’v bloody Ireland.”

 

Sean didn't quite choke on his tea, but it was a near thing. When he’d first met Lorna, her somewhat terrifying resemblance to her aunt had creeped him right out -- because for some reason he couldn’t define, Lorna the Elder made him downright nervous -- but that had eased over the months. And it was nice to be around...well, not-Elves, every now and again. He was too much on his guard with them, sometimes, always watching what he said or did, but he’d fast figured out that Donovans were a whole other story -- all of them, not just the jailbirds.

 

“After our tea we will try. It will move or not,” Calanon smiled, watching the humans closely. Or rather, the ones to whom he was not wed. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company. So fascinated was he, that he did not notice the King’s son had finished his tea quickly and had wandered over, unable to resist the desire to test himself against the Rock of Gibraltar in the middle of the field. And as breaks often do, more tea was poured. So how long have you been learning this now? The walls you have constructed are very well done. Your work is making quite a difference.” Ailill, already tired, simply leaned against his lover’s legs and sipped his tea, wishing that it was lunch time.

 

“Doubt anyone here remembers old Mailladh from the village? She’s passed on some years now. She had a brother, Jack. He ran a farm not so far out of town, back in the day. T’was he that taught me how to do this. It wasn’t anything special to him, just another thing he needed to know how to do. Wasn’t till a lot later I realized how few knew how to drystack.”

 

“I think you were the only one out’v all the humans, to start with,” Lorna said. “Aunt Lorna says nobody in Baile could do anything more than half-arsed mend a stone fence, let alone build a new one.”

 

Sean was somewhat distressed to feel his face heat; he probably looked like a goddamn dark-haired tomato. Fucking brilliant. Even now, though, he wasn’t really used to compliments. “Yeah, well, Mam kind’v made me,” he said. “Said it’d be good for me. I never thought I’d actually use it.”

 

“At least you came into this knowing  _ something _ ,” she said ruefully. “I knew how to hold my liquor and work a bunch’v shitty, dead-end jobs that didn't take more than two brain cells. And while this is a lot harder than making T-shirts, it’s not without a kind’v satisfaction. Even if I do sometimes dream about rocks.”

 

Her unnerving green eyes looked a bit less unnerving when she smiled, and Sean realized he might just be in trouble. Big trouble.

 

A stifled cry of pain startled them from their conversation, as suddenly everyone realized Algar was not with them and was, in fact, motionless against the small stone. Calanon raced to the young peredhel’s side, where it did not take a scholar of Quen’s ability to assess what had happened. Ailill was not terribly far behind his husband, and arrived in time to hear Calanon ask kindly what was the matter. “Something inside me hurts. And feels...really strange. I know what you are going to say, Calanon. I am sorry.” There was no cocky self-assurance on the young face now. Only fear. And now was not the time for recriminations. 

 

“I think our work time with you is at an end, lamentably,” Calanon said. “We will return after lunch to help you, but we need to take Algar to his father.” Ailill said nothing, knowing that Calanon was giving him an out. He felt embarrassed at wanting to take it.  _  Nîth vain, you were ill not so long ago. If it will help you, I will insist on your return. _

 

_ No, I...I will just go with you. Do not worry about me, Algar is rather more important. _

 

“We will see you in a few hours,” Calanon said, looking up at the sky. “That is, if Ireland is not Ireland.”

 

Lorna glanced eastward; sure enough, clouds were massing. “It’ll probably be Ireland,” she said. “It’s February. We’ll get what we can done out here, and then find somewhere warmer. Take care’v that lad.” He was going to get a scolding from Thranduil  _ and  _ Calanon, probably, but it was how the young learned.

 

The trio left, and she shook her head. “Good to know it’s not just us humans who can fuck up like that. You want to get back out there, before those clouds get here?”

 

“Not really,” Sean said, “but I’ll do it anyway.” He watched her rise, pulling her gloves back on, and realized that yeah, he was a bit fucked. Even if he dared say anything, he had nothing to recommend himself, and her family was fucking terrifying. Assuming she even did something other than laugh in his face at the idea of...well,  _ something _ ...the first time he upset her, he’d find himself dismembered by her da  _ and  _ both aunts. Hell, for all he knew, she was gay; in all the time she’d lived in the forest, he didn't think she'd ever seen a guy.

 

What did he have going for him? Well, he wasn’t a bad-looking guy. He had all his hair, and he was in good shape -- he’d better be, given all the fucking rocks he shifted about. He didn't drink too much anymore. Somehow, that didn't seem like it would be anywhere near enough. Some people thought seven years wasn’t much of an age gap, but others thought it was a huge one, and he had no idea which side of the fence she’d be on about that, either.

 

No, he wasn’t going to say anything. He didn't need to be making any bigger a fool of himself than he already had all his life.

  
  


**

 

“Where does it hurt?” Thranduil asked Algar, annoyed but refusing to show his irritation to his son. Who was young, and learning. The boy looked around, a little embarrassed. “Down here, Adar,” Algar answered, his cheeks reddening as he pointed to his groin. Ailill’s eyes widened, and he withdrew as quickly as he could in order to spare the boy any added emotional discomfort. Involuntarily, he felt a twinge from his own nether regions. He really should not have to worry, his King could surely care for the injury but... _ maybe it is not the worst thing in the world that no one would ever see me trying to do something too hard for my physically.  _

Unseen by Ailill, both Calanon and Thranduil smiled. Ailill was precious to both of them, whether he realized it or not. “The humans call this a ‘hernia,’ son,” Thranduil explained. “You strained so hard trying to pick up the rock that some of your insides were unable to be kept inside, and were forced outside of the part of your body where they belong. Now, what I wish to impress on you that in humans this can happen because of a weakness in their body muscles. You, however, do not have this problem. Though your Nana is human, your physical form is basically elven. So I cannot emphasize enough that it takes extraordinary exertion to manage to injure yourself in a manner like this.”

 

“And _ I _ cannot emphasize enough that this is an abuse of your body and not something I  _ ever _ wish to see from you again, Algar,” Thanadir said, with no sign of softness or humor on his face. “You are old enough not to be so foolish.”

 

The brown eyes clouded with tears. “I am sorry, Adars. Please do not be angry with me.” Thranduil kept a hand on his son’s shoulder, but said nothing to contradict his seneschal. For this was how he himself had been helped and corrected, and nothing was more powerful than the perceived disappointment of the ellon standing next to him.

 

Thanadir did not coddle him or respond to his request. “I will expect that you will make a wiser choice next time, son.” This time, though, his tone was much softer, and he laid an arm around the boy’s shoulder.

 

“Lie back, son. I am going to heal this injury,” Thranduil said, at seeing the subtle nod from Thanadir. A minute later, Algar was hugging both of his fathers, before being sent to wash for the noon meal.

 

Watching the boy leave the room, Thranduil smiled. “Does it feel like you are raising me all over again?” he asked softly. 

 

“A little,” Thanadir grinned. “It reminds me of some of your tendencies, when you were quite young. He has your strength. And obtuseness and stubbornness and determination. But there are problems  that he is not having to face because he is  _ not _ you, thank Eru.” He did not feel it necessary to elaborate; they both knew exactly what was meant.

 

Enfolding Thanadir into an embrace, he kissed his forehead softly. “Thank Eru.”

 

*****

 

{Meanwhile in Aman--Estë’s Island on the Lake of Lórellin}

 

Sharley had been advised to follow the song of the nightingale if she wanted to find Melian, but she had to find it first. Coming to this gorgeous island was somewhat bittersweet, for she’d wanted to see Marty again on this trip, but Marty was beyond her reach. 

 

Still, it was lovely, and it gave her some ideas for things to weave. In spite of her sadness, the peace of the island seeped into her very bones as she walked beneath the early morning sun. The grass was soft beneath her bare feet, and she savored the purity of the air until she caught the first notes of the nightingale’s song. (The sad thing was that she had to stop and consciously remember just what a nightingale sounded like; they weren’t exactly native to Washington State, nor to most of the places she’d wandered outside of it.)

 

She traced the notes as they got louder, but hesitated when she found their source. Yes, perhaps she was an incredibly powerful Maia, but that didn't mean she had to be rude and interrupt somebody’s song.

 

“You are looking for someone,” a tall and soft-spoken ellon asked from out of nowhere--and yet he did not stand so close as to be imposing. Silver hair flowed just past his waist, and piercing blue eyes rested on her.

 

Sharley had never actually met Elwë, but she knew his general description. “I am,” she said. “My name is Tirillë, and I’d like to talk to your wife, but I don't want to interrupt her. She sings beautifully.”

 

“This way.” He turned from her with an air of one who expects to be followed, and paced silently through the trees, weaving among them in the general direction of the birdsong. 

 

Finally in a clearing, a tall woman covered in a light mantle of red could be seen, standing still and touching one of the trees, while a mass of nightingales flittered around her. If she had any awareness of the birds’ movements, nothing about her calm behavior betrayed this. Whether she had finished whatever her purpose was, or whether she was aware that her husband brought a guest, she now turned and faced both of them, reaching for her husband’s hand with a languid gesture. “My Lady told us you might come,” her rich voice said. “And so you have.”

 

“So I have,” Sharley said. “Did she tell you why?” See, Melian looked like a proper Maia. Sharley well remembered how weird the Weavers were, compared to the rest of them, and she’d only gotten weirder in the last eighteen thousand years -- by Maia standards, anyway.

 

Melian shook her head No, but smiled. “Here we are healers. The future is--well, that is your department.” At this, a soft smile came over Elwë’s mien. The sum of his years had not robbed him of all humor.

 

That drew a smile from Sharley, though at the same time, this made her need to choose her next words with even greater care. “I need advice,” she said, and unconsciously touched her abdomen. “I’m gonna have a child, but I've never had a peredhel baby, and...well, I doubt I’ll get in trouble for telling you that most of Ennorath is going to die in four years, so I’m wondering what this child will be like when that happens. I don't even know how long I’ll carry this one before she’s born.”

 

_ “Just lay it all out there, why don't you?”  _ Jimmy said, and she did her best to ignore him.

 

“So you are asking me about Lúthien, then?” came the question, as her eyes tracked up high into the trees. The motion was subtle, slow, but it was unmistakable that Elwë now moved closer to his wife. Whether it was to comfort her, or himself; that remained to be seen.

 

“I am,” Sharley said, half apologetically. “I know it might be difficult to talk about, and I’m sorry if it is -- there are just a few things I need to know.” Mercifully, the rest of the voices kept quiet without her having to say anything. (Kurt was already muted, as Sharley was not stupid.)

 

“I carried Lúthien inside of me for eighteen cycles of the moon. And...had I known what would later come to pass, perhaps I would have thought differently...but that was trial enough that I only wished to conceive once.”

 

Elwë blushed a little, at this reminder of his wife’s pregnancy. She had reminded him, frequently enough in the later months, that he had best cherish their daughter as though she were a jewel beyond price. But that was long ago...“Your husband is Makalaurë of the House of Finwë, is he not?” Elwë asked. “Also called Maglor?”

 

Well, she couldn’t say she hadn’t seen this coming. Eighteen cycles of the moon, though?  _ A year and a half?  _ Just...this was going to suck. “He is,” she said. “I know you have no reason to like him, and very large reason to hate him, but...well, think about this kid, not him, please?” She kind of hated herself for having to say that, but there was no getting around what Maglor had done, even if he’d ultimately been pardoned.

 

“You misunderstand my reason for asking,” Elwë said, with no ire in his eyes. “In order to answer your question it is necessary to understand that you are wed to an ellon and...to an extent, what kind. Maglor is strong, of noble blood. The grandson of Finwë, who walked once alongside me. Your child will be...well, at three years of age, Lúthien was this tall, was she not?” he asked Melian.

 

Frowning, Melian struggled to recall memories long set aside. “That...seems right? We had little contact with the children of other races, and yet Lúthien was taller than elflings her age. But...look at us, we are taller than most of the Eldar.”

 

“There was none so tall as I,” Elwë explained, unsure if their guest understood this. Estë had explained that there was much that might be...confused or not remembered.

 

“Maglor’s currently the tallest in the Woodland Realm, though not by a whole lot,” Sharley said. “I know I’m on the short side, for a Maia. This is what I sorta...defaulted at, when I forgot what I was, and I haven’t felt comfortable trying to change it yet. Did Lúthien develop mentally around the same rate as an elf child?”

 

Melian looked up at her husband, a little at a loss of how to say this. “Yes,” she began slowly.

 

“And yet No,” Elwë frowned. “To us that is a peculiar question. Develop mentally? When she could play an instrument, or when she could dance? When first she read or could recite a poem? Our daughter was like an elfling, for she was an elfling, and yet she was extraordinary as well. A...special grace rested upon her. An unusual beauty of body and spirit. It is not easy to explain.”

 

“It’s a human saying,” Sharley said. “Sorry. I hope that...maybe mine will have some memories, then, of the world the way it is now. Though I’m not sure I hope she’s old enough to understand what’s gonna happen to it.”

 

“Why do you not bring your child here, if you are concerned about Ennor failing?” Melian asked, genuinely puzzled. “Why return there at all?”

 

There were a whole load of reasons there, but probably only one they were going to really understand. “Maglor’s punishment was to be exiled to Ennorath until the Second Music,” Sharley said. “He gets to come and visit his family for one week outta every seven Ennorath years, but otherwise, he has to stay there. We’re living -- Thranduil and two hundred or so of his people are still there, and we’re living with them. They’re supposed to come home at some point, but they haven’t been told when, and I haven’t looked.”

 

“You mean that some Eldar still live there?” she repeated in her own words. “We do not know the elf of whom you speak.”

 

“There are some, yeah,” Sharley said. “Thranduil, he’s King of the Woodland Realm. Most of his people sailed, but a few of them stayed, so he stayed with them. They Faded for a long time, but made contact with the human world not quite eighteen years ago.” Sure, that was one way to put it. ‘Made contact’ of a very specific sort.

 

Both Melian and Elwë seemed disturbed by this mention of humans, and said nothing. Her explanation, unfortunately, enlightened neither of them.

 

“But that’s why I can’t just have this kid here and keep her here,” Sharley said, realizing this was going right over their heads. “I can’t do that to Maglor. And I have friends there. Humans who are like my family. I thought I  _ was  _ human, for a long,  _ long  _ time -- a pretty broken human, at that -- and they took care of me. I couldn’t leave them, especially when I know they’ll be leaving me all too soon.” None of them had talked about that yet, and she hoped nobody wanted to any time soon, because she sure as hell didn't.

 

“You live among humans? And elves?” Elwë asked, wishing to be certain he understood.

 

“I do.  _ We _ do, and we’re bringing in oh, five, six thousand more humans before the end of the world,” Sharley said. “There was one last balrog that nobody here knew about, and he set things in motion so that in another four years, a plague will wipe out most of the humans. The Woodland Realm might wind up being the last functioning society left, after that, and since the Woodland Elves will be coming here at some point, the humans and Maglor and I will still have the Halls.”

 

Melian darted her eyes to her husband, who closed his as if against a painful memory, before she looked away from him. “Be careful,” she whispered, in a voice that was barely audible.

 

“About what?” Sharley asked. Should she not have mentioned Avathar, even if not by name?

 

“I made a choice once, Tirillë. I am as you are, one of the Ainur. And I gave my heart to an ellon and chose to leave my service to the Ladies Estë and Vána. I lived as an elf, among elves. And in time, my wisdom...left me. I forgot who I was. What I was--the truths of Eru, of which we are meant to be a living reminder. I lost my way, and when it mattered most, I did not speak out for what I knew to be right. I did not speak out against my mate, who had fallen to errors of pride and arrogance. You see, I can speak of these things for we have both left all this in the past. But we paid a great price. For many years, I walked alone. Our people that I abandoned were destroyed. Our daughter is lost to us until all things change and maybe beyond; we cannot know. There is danger, in your choice, though you may not see it. I cannot tell you what to do, but as you are here before us…” No further words came, as their foreheads touched in grief. What was displayed was not the sharp, stabbing grief of new pain, but rather the weary reconciliation of dulled acceptance. After a long and awkward moment, they seemed to recall they were not alone. “Is there more you would know of us?” Melian asked softly, with as much kindness as she could place into her words.

 

Sharley stared at her, a chill creeping through her veins even under the warmth of the morning sun. “I...didn't make the choice,” she found herself saying. “It was...it’s a long story, but it was made for me. I literally forgot who and what I was, and I remember the ‘who’ now, but I’m still trying to work out the ‘what’. I…” Oh, she wished she’d never come to Aman. At least Glorfindel and Erestor had profited from it.

 

“Please do not take my wife’s words as a censure,” Elwë said quietly. “She only hopes to spare you what we endured. We give you our blessing. Please convey our words to your husband. We hope for your happiness, and may our next meeting find you gifted with many tales of joy. There is nothing like the love of children.” Though it was subtle and difficult to perceive, he blinked back tears.

 

“I know,” Sharley said, and her grief, her frustration spilling over as her vision blurred. “I know. I had a daughter, a kid I didn't have willingly, but I loved her, I  _ still  _ love her, and part of why I came to Aman was to see her, but I  _ can’t _ . She’s in Irmo’s Gardens, I've been there, and I can’t go now, and…” Her voice gave out, and she gave up; yes, tears hurt, literally, but she needed it right now. “Right now I almost wish I’d never remembered.”

 

_ “Sharley, don't say that,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Coming here won’t always be like this. Next time you come, you and Maglor bring the sprog, and the sprog can see Marty. If you hadn’t remembered, you and Maglor would still be all but platonic bed-buddies. You were broken, Sharley, and you’re not now, and I think sometimes you can’t handle that.” _

 

“Will you stay with us, until nightfall?” Melian invited, worried at the response she was seeing.

 

“The Lady can come to you then, when she wakes. You should not leave the Gardens with your spirit feeling such hurt.” Elwë’s words were compassionate, his voice tender.

 

Sharley nodded. “Thank you,” she choked out, wiping her eyes on the hem of her tunic. “This is just...so hard, sometimes. Just...the longer I’m here, the more I feel like I was never supposed to exist. That what I am now shouldn’t...shouldn’t be.” She was entirely sure none of them -- not Melian, not Vairë, not any of them -- realized that what they were saying sounded like ‘you’re wrong, you shouldn’t be like this, so stop being like it.’ They would never intend such a thing, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help hearing that anyway. She was Tirillë, but she was  _ Sharley _ , too, and it felt sometimes like nobody connected to Aman but Maglor wanted Sharley to exist.

 

“We have hurt you,” Melian said, sadly. “Please forgive us. We…”

 

“We cannot understand what happened to you, and we have spoken with words not helpful to you. This was not our intention.” Elwë shook his head. “Sometimes sorrows find us even here, but here they are also quickly banished. Beloved, will you not sing for her?”

 

Feeling like it was the least she could do, the melody began, and Melian sent her nightingales to alight on Sharley’s arms and shoulders, lending their voices to her song.

The sound drained Sharley’s tension as nothing else could have, the purity of it easing her frustrated sorrow. Things would be well, she knew, in time. And Eru knew she had plenty of that.

 

**

 

Vairë stood with Námo, looking on. They could do this when they chose, link arms and see anything at all. Only to the two of them was this gift given; the knowledge of all that passed, and all that would come to be. For nothing was hidden from Námo. “Did we do the right thing?” she asked, leaning into her husband’s embrace.

 

“Remember, wife,” he kissed her forehead. “The right thing is rarely the easy thing. Our Father Eru teaches us patience.”

 

Even as she nodded her assent, this answer did not erase that Vairë felt weary. Every moment of coping with Tirillë and what had gone so badly wrong...it was a reminder. A reminder of a truth not easy to bear, however necessary. With a sigh, she sank further into his arms. Here, there was healing.


	145. One Hundred Forty-Five

{February 20, 2033}

 

“Nana, can we talk to you?” Ithiliel and Eleniel had appeared out of nowhere in the early morning, already dressed for work, their hair pinned up in braids that wore like crowns--but were also the most sensible for being under woolen hats against the cold.

 

“I certainly hope so,” Earlene teased. “And happy birthday.”

 

“That is what we wanted to talk to you about.” The blue eyes that were carbon copies of Thranduil’s looked back at her out of faces so similar otherwise to her own.

 

“Oh?” she asked kindly.

 

Ithiliel looked down. “We know you might have made a fuss because of this being a big deal birthday for…”

 

“For most kids,” picked up Eleniel. “But...Nana we don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings but to us it is a little stupid. We...is it too late to ask that this not be some kind of production? Honestly all we really want to have is some nice cake to eat. Not a big party and...all that. Not like what Allanah had, though we know that it’s different for her. She is seventeen, that...matters more.”

 

“I see,” Earlene said. “Well, the good news is, there was going to be nicer than usual food at lunch, and a cake at dinner, but weeks ago Chandra and Shane got to Lorna with much the same request. So I think you do not need to worry.”

 

“Oh thank the Valar,” they said, smacking their hands against each other’s in a general expression of victory. “We are sorry, though. We should have said this sooner but…”

 

“But you both work very hard and have your projects and this was the last thing on your mind?”

 

“Something like that,” they answered in stereo, grinning, preparing to leave.

 

“Wait just a moment,” Earlene asked. “This raises another question. You are half human. You already have your Leaving Certificates, you can do whatever you wish this time next year, in the outer world. Truthfully, that would be the birthday we would...well, you saw what we did for Allanah, because it is a time of coming of age. And the world outside is running out of time, girls. I will not force you to go out there and explore or...do...whatever if you do not wish to. But keep it in mind, and maybe next December we can revisit this discussion, so your Adars and I know how you feel?”

 

Looking at each other, they both nodded. “We talk about that sometimes,” Ithiliel confessed. “Right now...we are not sure. The vacations you have taken us on are nice, we enjoyed every one...but right now all we really want to do is work with the animals.” Eleniel nodded, agreeing fully with every word. 

 

“Alright. But there is time in which maybe you will have different thoughts. I only urge you to consider that the animals are going nowhere, while the rest of the planet most certainly is, and there are many wonders.”

 

“We know,” they chorused. “But...there are also YouTube videos, which is why it seems hard to want to go to all the bother to see those places when we can get much of the idea from home.”

 

Earlene shrugged, defeated. “Breakfast is in about an hour and a half,” she reminded, as she shooed them away, knowing they wanted to dash over to help Rîniel at the barn. The elleth was assuredly milking the ButterWhichevers right now. 

 

“We’ll bring back fresh milk,” they promised, as their voices retreated out the front door of Eldamar.

 

“I’m sure you will,” Earlene murmured, watching them retreat with a sigh. Well, now the day had just become much less complicated. She had thought to do an elaborate dinner, but the four kids would be happier with pizza than roast beef. With a shrug, she began rearranging her view of the day. Fortunately, nothing that was said would stop her from frosting the very large sheet cakes that had cooled overnight in Thanadir’s craft room.

 

Shane, dressed in day clothes save for his boots, came bombing in through the kitchen. His hair and coat were damp; he’d been out hauling wood for all the rocket heaters. Things had frozen again, but lightly, so he was hoping that would be it for the winter. “Aunt Earlene, is there a muffin or something I could grab? My stomach’s trying to eat itself.”

 

Taking down a day-old loaf of her multi-grain bread, Earlene sliced three generously thick pieces and had them in the toaster in very short order. “Butter’s in the cabinet, and the fruit preserves are right next to it. When these come up you can have those, and there is fruit too.” She regarded him with a grin, since he was now some inches taller than her. “I like it now that you can reach the fruit bowl.”

 

He grinned, a little ruefully. “Mam’s never let us forget what happened the first time we got into that thing by ourselves,” he said, and fetched both condiments and a plate. “She was so afraid we were going to turn out short, like her and...every other Donovan. Da’s genetics came through, I guess.” Honestly, he’d kind of like to  _ stop  _ growing now. He knew how hard it was for Da to find human clothes; Uncle Thanadir usually had to alter them. “Did the twins talk to you about their birthday?”

 

“The lack thereof? Yes, it was mentioned. Now I’m down to cake and pizza at dinner, but I am still open to requests. But not past nine this morning.” She paused from both her little joke and assembling griddle-cake batter. “In seriousness though, I’ve never believed in making someone’s birthday into something they don’t want. The girls are right about that much. Don’t ever worry that I will try to cram something down your throats to make myself happy...if the people being celebrated are left  _ un _ happy, it really seems kind’v...dumb.”

 

“You should’ve seen Chandra, when Da asked what she wanted to do,” he said, laughing. “I think she’ll go for pizza and cake. Christ knows I will.” The toast popped up, and he fetched it with some alacrity. “Chandra said she wanted a day to do whatever she felt like. Turns out ‘what she feels like’ is working on the diner, then spending an afternoon with the cats.”

 

Earlene frowned. _ If that was the case, was anyone getting enough time off? Because coming from a sixteen year-old, that actually sounded...really bad _ . “Is there anything else you want to eat? Seriously, toasties at lunch? I’m happy to make it. I just need to know sooner than later.”

 

“Toasties sound amazing. I’m bloody bummed they’ll be harder to make, once the power’s off for good.” He fixed himself some tea while he spoke, and Chandra, in sweatpants, a hoodie, and slippers, came in from the further wing. 

 

“You’ve already been outside?” she asked. “Bit mental, you are.” She poked her brother in the side, and stole a piece of his toast. “Good morning, Aunt Earlene.”

 

“Good morning,” Earlene replied, also frowning ever so briefly at the toast theft. “And happy birthday.” It was hard for her to understand, completely, but Chandra...tended to grate on her, and she routinely forced herself to let whatever it was go by the wayside. It was cumulative little things, like stealing toast from her brother who had been polite enough to  _ ask _ for the damn toast. A low-level undercurrent of being...prickly. Rarely anything to be legitimately upset about, but always...like walking around with a burr in one’s sock. Not harmful, but always annoying. And as it was her birthday, nothing was going to be said.

 

“Thanks. And toasties sound amazing, by the way,” she added. “Shane, are you coming out to the diner today? I know we’ve still got a bit before Aunt Sharley gets home, but I want her to be able to just walk in and see it all finished.”

 

“I might do,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Mam’s going out there, too, so make sure she doesn’t overdo it, okay? I know she likes to pretend she’s not fifty-five, but she is.”

 

“And yet you’d never know it,” Chandra said, shaking her head. “She’s a Donovan, Shane. She’ll be fine, but I’ll keep an eye on her anyway.”

 

“Well, you can bribe her with a menu of the toasties at lunch and pizza and cake at dinner, so tell her if she doesn’t want to miss grease and cheese she’d best make it for the meals. If we can get her stuffed at lunch she’s less likely to overdo it.” Earlene smiled. Thanadir might have superpowers, and Lorna and Thranduil, but she ruled the Food Coma.  _ I am half-tempted to put my crown on _ , she thought smugly.

 

“That’ll do it and then some,” Chandra said, pouring herself some hot water for tea. “Saoirse’s doing sketches for the mural on the wall. Aunt Earlene, if you ever get a spare moment, you should come see the diner again -- it’s so much better now. New floor, new wiring, new lighting. The bench seats are going in today, and Orla designed them to have these drawers underneath, so we can store tools and...well, whatever other little shit we can think of, for after the power’s off for good.”

 

“Well, if Thanadir can help me get the pizza dough going on time, then maybe I could do that after lunch…pizza isn’t hard so much as time consuming, unless….wait. If you two told me what kind of pizza is your favorite, I could limit what we make to two kinds instead of the toppings free-for-all we usually do. That is where most of the time goes, prepping all that stuff. Requests? Or would you rather have it the other way...it’s your birthday, not going to tinker with it if you’d prefer the other.” Of course she was conveniently not mentioning that it was  _ her _ birthday as well. So well had she hidden this over the years, if anyone remembered but Thanadir it was news to her. And that was only because he was a sneaky elf without the decency to forget these things.

 

The twins looked at one another. “The meatier, the better,” Shane said. “Sausage, pepperoni, bacon...whatever you’ve got handy.”

 

“What he said,” Chandra added, filling the tea-strainer. “I wish...hell, I wish Aunt Sharley was here.” That was the only present she really wanted. Aunt Sharley was one of a very few people with whom Chandra had what one might call an uncomplicated relationship, but time in Aman ran so differently… “I hope she’s getting whatever all it is she needs there.”

 

“Me too,” Earlene said sincerely, though...honestly, she had some doubts.  _ Poor Sharley. _ And yet...no one could possibly go wrong at Elrond’s; a place she very much looked forward to seeing herself one day. “We have cured meats, but...I hope ham might be ok instead of pepperoni...then again Aislinn might have some. Don’t worry, I’ll do my best. Only meat, nothing else?”

 

Again, the looked at one another. “Ham is good,” Chandra said. “I can look at the store while I'm in town, but ham’s good if Aislinn doesn’t have any. And...cheese.”

 

“Lots’v cheese,” Shane added. “And sauce.”

 

“That extra rich sauce you make,” Chandra put in.

 

“That plus cake is perfect,” he said. “Are you ever going to drink that, or just steep it forever?”

 

“ _ Hush _ , you,” Chandra said, emptying the tea-strainer and rinsing it off. “Pet the cats for me while I’m out.” She poked her brother again, and was off.

 

“Well that helps,” Earlene smiled. “But first, breakfast.”

 

**

 

The zen of griddle-cakes. Pancakes. Flapjacks. So many names, all the same fluffy goodness. Especially when there was plenty of sourdough, and a little vanilla to add some complexity. And today, there was cinnamon too.  _ Because I feel like it.  _ Earlene watched the quickbreads bubbling, at one with the world.

 

_ Good morning meldis, happy birthday. You snuck out of bed very early this morning.  _ Elven teeth had a very firm hold on the ridge of her ear.

 

_ Did I?  _ she countered, knowing full well what Thanadir was doing (and not minding in the least).

 

_ It will not work,  _ he retorted.

 

_ But if it is my birthday, I should get to do as I wish. Those are the rules. _

 

_ What rules?  _ Thanadir asked, his mental tone now slightly less confident.  _ I never was informed of any rules. _

 

_ That is because they are the unwritten rules of birthdays. Mortals just know these things. _

 

_ Are you being truthful with me, or deceiving me to get your way?  _ Now he moved to her side, his eyes wide with a plaintive question.

 

_ Oh, he is good,  _ Earlene thought.  _ Both, Thanadir.  _

 

_ But...that is a contradiction. They cannot both be the case. _

 

Earlene flipped the cakes at precisely the right time, to hear them land again on the griddle with a satisfying sizzle.

 

“Not entirely true. Because in this case, the concept of ‘the rules’ is an amorphous one. Birthday traditions are so wide and varied that they are basically anything someone wishes them to be.”

 

“Oh,” he said, an expression of profound disappointment coming over his face.

 

“No,” Earlene said at once in response to his change in demeanor. “I am not good at...I cannot stand to see you unhappy, Thanadir. If there is something you want, something you planned, please do it. It means so much more to me that you be content. I can already tell that my words have interfered with something.”

 

“But you just said…”

 

_ Oh, dammit... _ Swiftly she flipped the cakes off the griddle; they were on the ragged verge of being over-browned.

 

“I just said that I get to do whatever I want for my birthday, and what I want is to see you smile, and see whatever it is you have planned in that clever mind of yours. I might also want a kiss, before the griddle overheats from not having batter on it.”

 

His features softened and he obligingly kissed her on the cheek.

 

A smile that was for him alone broke out on her face. “I love you so much I am close to burning breakfast over you. I hope you realize what a high compliment that is.”

 

Genuine warmth returned to his expression, and he placed his hands at her waist. “I will pour the batter.”

 

**

 

After the meal, he led her by the hand back into their room, where a wrapped box waited for her on the bed. “For me?” she asked, wishing to be sure.

 

Thanadir nodded eagerly. “Open it, please?”

 

She almost hated to do that, so prettily was it wrapped. Even so, shaking the box a little proved irresistible. The contents were fabric, were she to guess. Finally the paper was teased off, and the lid of a box removed. “Oh, Thanadir…” Earlene was rendered speechless. He had made her a dress, but this was like nothing else. To begin with, it was made of silk, in many layers that moved and shimmered. Considering the value of the fabrics alone caused her to inwardly wince a little. There were numerous shades of green that called to mind the myriad leaves of their forest home, but the dominant hue was emerald. Truly, this was fit for a Woodland ruler.

 

“I made it for your crown,” he explained. “So you have something to wear befitting that you are my Queen.”

 

For long moments Earlene stared searchingly into his soft hazel eyes, smoothing back his brown hair. Such purity, such honest love. “I will treasure this, and wear it with honor. Not because it is beautiful, which it is, but because you made it for me. Thank you so much.” Her arms slipped around his stalwart form, and her heart smiled at the incredibly thoughtful gift.

 

“Thanadir is not alone in having something for you,” Thranduil said, having silently entered. He now embraced both of them. “Mine is here.” 

 

“Thank you, Thranduil,” she smiled, reaching to receive his kiss. This was certainly unexpected. From the shape of the wooden box, jewelry was her first guess, though what she needed or where she could possibly even put it was news to her. With some regularity, she did wear the few pieces she had accepted from him, so as to be able to appreciate them. Opening the lid revealed a necklace that would match both dress and crown, a beautiful and delicate one of emeralds. “Ohhh. This is...thank you,” she smiled, admiring it. But...Earlene looked up at him, the unspoken question hovering in her thought.  _ How can I wear this when…?  _ Absently, her hand reached up to feel the heavy necklace of diamonds that was at this point a part of her person.

 

“That is what I wished to speak with you about,” he said, gently raising his hand to touch the gems at her throat. “I have required this of you since the day I placed these jewels around your neck. In all this time you have never complained or even made mention of it. I think I myself became so used to the sight that I...forgot. But everything is different now. You are one of us, and can defend yourself as well as any elf. I would like it, Earlene, if you still wore the jewels of Lasg’len in the outer world as an added measure of safety. And yet it is a place we so rarely go, really. The point is, I withdraw my command for you to always wear this.” Reaching around, he unclasped the peculiar mechanism and removed the necklace. 

 

Blinking in surprise, she felt her skin. Having the diamonds gone was an extremely unnerving sensation.

 

“May I?” the King asked, holding up his new gift.

 

Earlene nodded, still somewhat at a loss for words as the lovely object (with a very simple yet sturdy clasp) slid around her neck. She was unable to resist caressing his hand while he attached it. Finding the mirror, she smiled. Truly, it was exquisite...though she found herself now staring at the diamond necklace that he had placed in her hand. Holding it up, she turned it this way and that, not really ever having had much chance to see it from any other view than in a mirror. Frowning, she turned to him. “You really must show me how to fasten and unfasten it? I have never known how.”

 

Thanadir pinched the bridge of his nose and grinned, while Thranduil blushed faintly. Clearing his throat, he demonstrated. “Like this.” Behind him, Thanadir was now giggling and received a glare from Thranduil, but Earlene could not help but see it as Thanadir did. They were more than a little absurd, sometimes. She too found his laughter contagious, and started herself when she could not easily manage the interlocking clasp the first time. Or the second.

 

“Valar,” Thranduil laughed, giving up and remembering the occasions he had given his first wife gifts of gems. “Oh, how times have changed.”

 

“Indeed. So if I model the beautiful dress Thanadir made me in order to admire how your gifts compliment each other, do I get anything else for my birthday?” The question was posed in the most sultry and inviting tones imaginable.

 

“I think something could possibly be managed,” Thranduil drawled, the corners of his mouth curling up.

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes. “That means, someone ought to lock the door.”

 

*****

 

Ireland, Joe decided, wasn’t bad.

 

Oh, he’d thought his mom was crazy, when she dragged him here for what she thought was a funeral -- who the hell crossed an ocean to go to the funeral of someone they hadn’t seen in thirty years? He’d thought the entire village of Baile was even crazier when they talked about some world-ending plague...but then they’d met Elves.  _ Elves _ . Elves, with their beautiful Halls that sadly lacked both windows and electricity, and he’d freely admit he’d gone through withdrawal at first. Much of his time off work had been spent at the pub; apparently the Elves had worked out something with John, the owner, to keep a tab open for all the expatriates who wanted a drink but didn't have a whole lot of money. None of them could get paid legally for their work, but there was a system set up so they could get driven to Dublin or Limerick and basically shop through one of the natives. Given that most of them hadn’t been able to bring a whole lot with them, it helped. A lot.

 

And he’d been lucky, in a sense, though he hadn’t thought so at the time. His girlfriend of eight years had left him for another man, which left him single, alone, and deeply depressed at thirty-four. All his other friends were married or in long-term relationships, and being the lone single person in a gathering was weird and uncomfortable, so he’d started staying home much of the time. It at least meant he didn't have to worry about trying to figure out who to tell in Sydney’s family -- because she had a lot of it. Aunts, uncles, cousins, their spouses and children...it would have been a nightmare, because one thing Aunt Anne had stressed was that they couldn’t be letting in everyone and their dog.

 

Still, it was a downer, and relocating from America hadn’t exactly helped at first. Adjusting to a lack of electricity hadn’t, either, nor had the whole ‘shared bathing’ thing; they’d set up movable stalls, but it was still an….adjustment, to put it mildly.

 

But then this diner came along. All of a sudden, he could work with power tools again, and feel like he was actually  _ competent  _ at something -- because he, like most of the rest of them, was learning how the Elves did things from scratch, basically, which meant at first they all floundered like idiots. He knew where he was, if you gave him a drill. Churning butter? Not so much. (Although it did make him think of that Weird Al song, so it wasn’t totally bad.)

 

Earlene stormed in the door. Given that here time here was the tightest (because, cake filling) she wanted to make the most of her visit. With a big smile and eyes full of curiosity, she began to walk around, relishing these few moments she would have to observe alone before enthusiastic participants would begin bombarding her with more information than she likely wished to hear, not that she blamed them. And the others were just moments behind.

 

“Bit different, isn’t it?” Lorna asked, grinning. The horrendous carpet was long-gone, replaced by highly durable (and easy-to-lay) Pergo flooring. New lighting fixtures lined the walls -- they were rather clever little things, being lanterns that were for now wired, but could be easily converted to candles once the juice was permanently off, complete with small mirrors behind them to augment the light. There was the fireplace, of course, which was blazing merrily; the goal was to not have to use any kind of forced air, if that was at all possible.

 

She blinked somewhat at the conspicuous lack of that horrendously tacky necklace that poor Earlene had been saddled with for so long. Lorna had never actually said what she really thought of the thing, and had tried to even keep the thought to herself, but it really  _ was  _ tacky, and overly ostentatious, and just...well, however that had come to be, she was glad Earlene was no longer stuck with the awful thing. The fact that it had been so conspicuous in comparison to her normal clothing, human or Elven, had just made it worse.

 

“The kitchen’s the real thing’v beauty,” Chandra added. She had a rather large box of tools that she meant to give to Jessie, who was in the last stages of dealing with the plumbing.

 

Joe would admit it -- he stared. He’d seen Earlene before, and knew she was the Elf king’s wife (and queen, because duh), but who was the smaller woman? She was  _ tiny _ , and for all her hair was silver, her face didn't look much older than he was. When she pointed at the two-foot-tall wood paneling that ran around the room, he saw no wedding ring on her left hand. 

 

Well. Okay then.

 

“Compared to my last visit, it’s...entirely obvious how hard you have been working. And even were my eyeballs left at Eldamar, it is clean now. It _ smells _ clean. And like...construction, and things that are not mildew and rotting appointments. Really good work. But now I want to see the kitchen, and have some appliance envy.”

 

“Come see,” Lorna said, grinning. “It’s been the worst’v it, but also the most interesting. Orla’s had fun, at least.” She led Earlene back into the kitchen, which had been all but gutted. The tile in the floor was unsalvageable, so it got ripped and replaced, with better countertops and a huge sink. “We sank a well, and we’re hooking up a hand-pump, but most’v the water’ll come from a rain-barrel cistern. It’ll get boiled over the stove -- and here, check this out.” The grill and stove were a gas range, but when she opened the steel doors beneath them, it revealed that the whole thing could come out. Under it was what would be used as a fire-pit, for actual flame cooking.

 

The door squeaked, however, and she frowned. “That’s not right.”

 

“It’s new,” Joe said, seeing his opening. “Not enough oil, probably.”

 

Earlene turned her attention to the speaker, who interrupted her thought to ask the condition of the subflooring. He was not anyone she recalled seeing before, exactly. “Forgive me, I have not met you. I am Earlene. And you are…?”

 

“Oh, hi,” he said. “Sorry. I’m Joe Doyle -- Anne from the Baile beauty parlor’s my aunt.”

 

“Good to meet you, Joe,” Lorna said. “I haven’t seen you out here before, either.” He did have some resemblance to Anne, actually, though his hair was rather darker even than her natural sandy shade. 

 

“We must not have been out here at the same time,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”

 

“This mop does stand out a bit.” She grabbed the end of her braid, eying it. “I ought to’ve put it up.”

 

Earlene quirked her eyebrow but kept her face expressionless.  _ Oh, dear. Divert, divert. _ “Nice to meet you, Joe,” she said politely, then very deliberately returned her attention to Lorna. “I take it the subflooring was fine, else you would have done further removal?”

 

“We did have to rip up some’v the kitchen,” she said. “The main room was surprisingly okay, though. We scrubbed the whole thing with bleach, just to make sure we got all the mildew.”

 

Joe, not wanting to stand there like a completely creepy weirdo, busied himself pretending to tighten screws on the oven hood. “How often are you out here?” he asked, careful to include both of them in the question.

 

“I’m out here when I’ve got a spare moment,” Lorna said, shutting the grill door. “Earlene’s usually got stuff to do. Here, take a look at the brick oven.”

 

“Nice!” Earlene admired. “Lots of room for the fuel, and designed so that you can run it for a lot of food or a little. There are times I wish we’d made ours a little bigger at the house, honestly, but...the thing already takes up more than its fair share of real estate. Oh and not to change the subject, but the kids told you about cake and pizza tonight, right?”

 

Lorna laughed. “That they did. While I'm glad they didn't want a big party, I wish there could’ve been something like what we did for Allanah. I’m holding out hope Atia’ll want something more...birthday-ish.”

 

“Atia actually  _ needs  _ a Sweet Sixteen party!” Chandra called, as she passed the doorway.

 

Kids? Was Lorna divorced? And Sweet Sixteen...oh man, had the poor woman been like, a teen mom? Or like...a really early 20’s mom? God, that must have sucked.

 

“I didn't know they did those in Ireland,” Joe said. “They always seemed like such an American thing, from when sixteen actually meant a kid was close to being an adult.” Anymore, you weren’t properly considered an  _ adult _ , in a social sense, until you were fucking twenty-five.

 

“They’re not too normal,” Lorna said. “Earlene kind’v imported the custom into our household.”

 

“I am American,” Earlene explained, feeling some measure of pity for poor Joe here. He had no idea he had just booked passage on the Relationship Hindenburg. Neither was he going to be allowed to hijack the conversation into which he had not actually been invited. But, back to Lorna. “I want you to know I talked to the twins this morning. Mine, not yours. Wait, that description does no good, does it? Damn. Starting over. I talked with Ithiliel and Eleniel about next year, because all things being equal, that is when we very much intend to make more of a fuss. And to think about what they really want, because their opportunities to explore the outer world are falling away as the clock ticks. I will revisit the conversation with them probably in the first days of Rhîw. And see what they think about it then.”

 

“It’s a good idea,” Lorna said. “I know mine, right now, are just so set on Yellowstone...Sharley’s helped us make some arrangements in advance, so we can spend the whole summer there. She really wants to sleep in the lodge, now that it doesn’t smell like smoke. I know Chandra will want to go wherever we’re willing to take her, though. I had no idea there was any such thing as a geographer until she told me she wanted to be one, but it’s kept her off the drink, so I’ll take it.”

 

Joe blinked. Well, this  _ was  _ Ireland; drunken teenagers probably weren’t that weird. Still, it startled him enough to drop his screwdriver.

 

“Best not lose that under the oven, you’ll never find it again,” Lorna said, grabbing it before it could roll away.

 

“Thanks,” he said, taking it from her. Her hands were so tiny that he wondered how she ever did anything with them, but obviously she managed. “What do you do for work, when you’re not out here?” He wasn’t actually going ask how she managed work with hands that small. He might not be Casanova, but he wasn’t an idiot.

 

“A little bit’v everything,” she said. “I’m the original pinball. It’s given me more opportunity to get out there than many can say, that’s for sure. Not as much to do in the winter.”

 

Earlene looked on, deciding that bringing down the airship might be the kindest course of action. Sooner, not later. Lorna was oblivious, and this poor man was not going to manage to understand. But how…? Oh.  _ Oh.  _

 

“Sure god, Lorna, I don’t think I’ve ever taken a look at how small your fingers are. I mean, what size even is your wedding ring? I think mine must be a...well I don’t know but I think they are huge by comparison.” Meaningfully, she held her right index finger near the same digit on Lorna’s hand, sliding one of the two thin bands off most of the way. “Yours could go swimming, couldn’t they? And dammit, I’m almost out of time, I need to get back and work on the cakes.”

 

“Good luck,” Lorna said. “And yeah, Ratiri said he had to get Thanadir to re-size this for me, because’v my damn tiny child-hands -- my words, not his. I bet I could fit yours on my thumb, maybe.”

 

She was actually married? God, that was...really a downer. Was wearing wedding rings on that finger an Irish thing, or an Elf one? Aunt Anne wore hers like normal...well, shit. Joe knew when to beat a retreat, so retreat he did.

 

“Will do,” Earlene said, watching with vague sadness as poor Joe slunk away. “Well, we just ruined Joe’s day. Alas. Catch you at home tonight, have a good one.” Her last words flowed absently off her tongue and she was gone in a flash as was often her habit.

 

Lorna blinked. They had? How? He’d seemed to be doing okay. She’d have to ask Earlene what the hell that meant later.

 

*****

 

{Somewhere in Aman. The plains of Valinor}

 

The warmth of golden sunlight beat down on Sharley’s shoulders, and calmed her. No, this trip wasn’t at all what she’d wanted, but she’d given Glorfindel and Erestor some peace, and she knew things about her pregnancy and what this child would be like that she hadn’t known before. It hadn’t been an entire waste.

 

And she definitely had to admit, this glorious eternal summer was a hell of a lot better than the damp, dreary, grey Irish winter she’d left behind. Cold didn't affect her like it did humans, but wet feet sucked no matter what species you were, as did having rain drip down the back of your neck. She did a lot of the outside jobs, too, just so the squishy  _ homo sapiens  _ could stay a little warmer.

 

She rode now through green fields, letting the mare amble; the poor creature had had to gallop like anything to get her to Vairë’s Halls, and deserved a chance to take in the scenery. Sharley was going home a few days early, so she could afford a little time to just meander. Her mind wandered, too.

 

Would she ever want to live in a land where it was always summer? Probably not. The mists and chill of Ireland could get old, sure, but she wouldn’t want to give them up forever, and she really loved snow. From what she remembered, all of Aman was like this, and while it was gorgeous, she wouldn’t want it full-time. When she’d lived here before, before she went after Maglor, she hadn’t known what mist nor snow even were, and thus hadn’t known what she was missing out on.

 

And how ironic was it that she, a being who had been literally designed to sit indoors at a loom, was happiest outside? She did enjoy weaving, but on a sunny day, she wanted to be out under open sky.

 

In the distance a lone elf worked. It was kind of hard to say at what. Maybe something was being harvested into a cart? Wagon? Were it not the only non-bird or animal activity, it would not have merited any particular notice. Whoever it was bent down and, something was the matter. A cry of pain followed, the horse drawing the cart panicked and ran toward the forest, and the elf did not rise from the ground.  _ Well, shit. _

 

Sharley brought the horse to a gallop, hurrying off into the field. This poor dude looked Silvan, unless her eyes greatly deceived her, so she spoke in Sindarin when she knelt beside him and said, “What happened?”

 

“A bolt had come loose on the cart, and I was trying to make a temporary repair. But I slipped and cut myself, and my horse ran. The wheel went over my leg. I am afraid it is broken.” He looked up at her wonderingly, only now realizing she was not an elf. His head bowed to her. “I am Tawarthion, of the Woodland elves, my Lady.”

 

Okay, she was probably never going to get used to being bowed to and called ‘my Lady’. Nope. “I’m Tirillë,” she said. “Also called Sharley, and I think you’re right about the leg. Unfortunately, I don't think there’s anything I can make a splint outta, but I’ve got a horse you can ride.” Because she could actually do this now, she touched his forehead and gave him a shot of telepathic painkiller. “Woodland Elves, huh? You mean, from the former Woodland Realm on Ennorath?”

 

“Yes,” he answered, surprised. “Aran Thranduil was once my King. Our King. The Lord Oromë was kind enough to provide us a place to dwell inside his forests. Some thousands of us live there, and we farm these outer lands to provide additional food. It is...very kind of you, to help me.”

 

“No decent person’d leave you like that, I’d hope,” she said, helping him to his feet. He was taller than her, but he could still lean on her easily, and the mare obligingly trotted up. “I live in what’s left of the Woodland Realm on Ennorath. I know your king well. How many of you are there in your community?”

 

“Ah…” the ellon frowned. “I am sorry, I am not one who can say exactly? If you would accept our hospitality in thanks for your help, I am certain Legolas could tell you. He cares for us; oversees...everything, really.”

 

Sharley was rather delighted to hear Legolas was with them, despite the fact that there was really nowhere else he could be. “I could at the very least use a snack,” she said, helping him up onto the horse. “I’m not in any great hurry. Which way? Down the road, or across the field?”

 

“The way the horse went,” he said ruefully. “Into the forest.”

 

“Well, at least you know he’s going home,” she said, and grinned. “The rest of the Woodland Realm’s coming here eventually, though I don't know when. Lord Manwë told Thranduil they’ve stayed away long enough, so they’ll be in Aman sooner or later.” Now was not, she thought, the time to talk about Earlene, or Thanadir, or nine peredhel kids of various ages and temperaments. This poor guy probably wouldn’t know what to make of any of it.

 

“They are?” His eyes widened. “That is unexpected,” he said softly. “I very much hope you can speak with Legolas. We have not had word of Aran Thranduil in a very long time.”

 

“And I'm sure Thranduil would like to hear what’s going on with Legolas,” Sharley said, guiding the horse across the field, toward the woods. “I can take back letters, if anyone wants to write some. I’m doing a kind of mail service between Ennorath and Aman -- or at least, Tol Eressëa -- already anyway.”

 

“Do you know Thalion?” the ellon asked, still in more than a little disbelief at her news. He was also trying to work out how it was that one of the Blessed Ones dwelled in Ennor.

 

“I do,” she said. “And Melda, and Calanon, and Lothiriel and Ortherion and Maerwen...I've talked to most of the Elves, even if I don't know them all well.” She was not going to mention Maerwen’s tattoo. Nope. These Elves might not know what a tattoo even was.

 

“Are they well?” he asked, his eyes gleaming fondly. “Thalion was my Captain, for in those days I was one of the Woodland guard. And I certainly know Calanon and Ortherion, my fellow comrades-at-arms.”

 

“They’re all well. Enjoying life, honestly. They’ve made contact with the mortal world again, so it’s been interesting on both sides.” She didn't want to say much more until they were in a big group, so she didn't have to say it twice. “There’s a lot to tell.”

 

They walked on together in silence, with Tawarthion indicating the path to the Healer’s. Many of them seemed to dwell in something like a small yurt, with homes that were built around the trunk of a large, living tree. All structures had one thing in common; a large roof overhanging a smaller footprint. They were not so different from Eldamar. Branches and other straight pieces of trees made framework, while something like earth or cob filled in the gaps. The homes were visually attractive and did not detract from the appearance of the forest. Some elves apparently lived in flets, also, for here and there ropes descended from the heights above, and what looked like treehouses were in the canopies above. “Here,” he indicated the rather large structure. “If you could help me inside, they will care for me,” he asked, wincing as he slid carefully off of the mare’s back. “I am so very grateful,” he told her. “I would have been sitting there for a long time, had you not been riding by.”

 

She pulled his arm over her shoulder, and had him lean against her as she helped him to the door. “I’ve seen broken bones,” she said. “They’re not fun, even for an Elf. Let’s get you patched up, and then I’ll see if your horse actually did come home, or if he’s off munching on someone else’s crops.” She couldn’t help but grin at him. Farming had been fairly alien to her, until the Woodland Realm had taken it up, and it could be interesting and aggravating in equal measure.

 

Opening the door caused bells to tinkle, immediately summoning a Healer. In this case it was an elleth, one of stunning beauty. Blond hair, and emerald green eyes similar to Lorna’s. She was dressed in simple but attractive garb, wearing a pale blue sash across her tunic that Sharley would later learn denoted a qualified Healer. “Tawarthion, not again!” she scolded, but with kindness in her voice.

 

“I am afraid so, Alassëa, but it was an accident. This is Lady Tirillë, who happened upon me just after I was hurt. She brought me here. And she lives in Ennor, with Aran Thranduil. She has news of all our friends,” he smiled with simple innocence.

 

“My Lady,” she bowed her head as well. “Could I ask you to help me bring him to one of the cots? There I can care for him. And perhaps you would also allow me a moment to speak with you, if you have news of those across the sea.” Her manner was polite, but had an immediate note of strain to which the other elf was oblivious.

 

Sharley just about choked on her own spit. Alassëa? One-time  _ Queen  _ Alassëa? Okay this was...surprising. “Please don't call me ‘my Lady’,” she said, helping the poor Elf to a cot -- even as she wondered what ‘not again’ meant. “Kinda makes me uncomfortable, and the ‘why’ is a long story. He’s got a cut on his arm, too, but it’s not a deep one.” A broken leg was beyond her, she was sure, but she might be able to deal with the cut.

 

Now the poor elleth simply looked baffled. “I am sorry. I did not mean to offend.” Expertly she placed a clean cloth over the wound, and had the ellon lie back against comfortable cushions, elevating his damaged leg with great care. “Drink this, Tawathion, and lie still. I think you are quite experienced at this by now,” she teased. “When it has had a moment to ease your pain, I will care for your injuries. I will return shortly, and will not be out of hearing.”

 

Accepting the cup gratefully, he was eager enough to follow instructions, sighing in relief as his discomfort began to abate. Yes, he was here far too often of late. No, it was not his fault. Agriculture happened.

 

“If I might please have a moment,” she said to Sharley, looking at her with untroubled eyes, as she walked ahead to leave the room and return outdoors. When she saw that she was followed, she smiled with only a hint of nervousness. “Perhaps you realize who I am. Or not?”

 

“I know,” Sharley said gently, still trying not to betray her surprise. This was not the spoiled elleth in Thranduil’s history; it would seem that she, like he, eventually grew up at some point. Perhaps not being a queen anymore had given her an...awakening, of sorts. Whatever the reason, Sharley could not tell the elleth before her that Thranduil had a new wife, a husband, and ten kids. Just...no.

 

_ “I wonder what happened,”  _ Layla said, audibly fascinated.

 

“I need to know what happened.” Alassëa sighed heavily. “Please? With the exception of my son, none of them here know. They believe that I am still wed to Thranduil. Only a matter of weeks ago, Oropher found his way to us. My son had never met his grandfather, who died in Ennor long before I wed his father. He brought news that Thranduil has taken a new wife. This was when I learned that he obviously found out our bond had been dissolved. And that they will return here to Aman before terribly much longer. I hoped you would do me the courtesy of telling me just how great the shock will be. I am not ashamed of what I have done, nor do I regret my actions. I am, however, wondering if keeping my silence for all this time was wise, or whether I should continue to do so.”

 

_ “Oh, good Jesus,”  _ Sinsemilla said, sounding so very like Lorna.

 

Sharley weighed the risk, and thought,  _ screw it.  _ “It’s gonna be a really,  _ really  _ big shock,” she said, “but not just because Thranduil remarried. This group that’s coming, they’ve been...well, they’ve been exposed to a lotta things none of you have any concept of, because it’s all stuff the mortals have invented since you left. They have a lotta mortal friends, and we live with some, and it’s -- well, it’s influenced some things. The whole thing is a really long story.” She didn't want to tell this elleth that her ex-husband found out their bond was broken because he had sex with a mortal woman to un-fade himself, and realized after the fact that they were married. It looked a lot worse than it actually was.

 

“I see,” she said. “May I be blunt and ask you if my son now has siblings? I am not proud of how Legolas had to discover the extent to which I left his father, though it was no secret that we did not part on good terms.”

 

Sharley fought a wince. “Er...ten of them,” she said. “Though one’s adopted. Earlene, Thranduil’s second wife, she’s had two sets of twins and a set of triplets.” She likewise was not going to mention that not all of those siblings were biological. She had a feeling Alassëa’s head would explode if she mentioned where Thanadir figured into that marriage.

 

A sharp intake of air accompanied an expression of complete surprise. No sound escaped her as for a long moment she thought, before raising her eyes to Sharley’s. “He married a human,” came the conclusion. “But Oropher said she was an elf.” A look of open curiosity was now directed at Sharley.

 

“She  _ was _ human,” Sharley said. “Now she’s...well, we don't really know what she is, other than immortal. She kinda...Lord Manwë basically sent her to him. He orchestrated the whole thing to a degree I’m uncertain of, for reasons I also don't fully know. She’s done some things for the Valar, and they granted her wish to become immortal.” She smiled a little. “She defended my husband, when he stood trial before the Valar, and was too broken in mind to defend himself.”

 

Alassëa attempted to digest this. “Is Thranduil happy?”

 

“He is,” Sharley said. “He...grew up, for lack of a better term, once his horizons were broadened. I…” She paused, and weighed the benefits of her next words. “I was...broken, a long while ago, and I used to be able to see the histories of whoever I met, whether I wanted to or not. When I met him, I saw yours. And if it’s any comfort to you, whatever went wrong behind the scenes with you two, you did good with Legolas. And kids are kinda what matter the most, if you’ve got any.”

 

“Then Earlene did what I could not,” she said, but with no hint of bitterness in her voice, now turning her attention more fully to the clearly unusual Ainu before her. “You are from the Lady Vairë?”

 

“I am,” Sharley said. “I don't manage to get over here much, though. My husband, Maglor, he’s been exiled to Ennorath, so I don't like leaving him -- and time here passes so much more slowly than it does there. I’ll only be here for a week, but it’s four months there.”

 

_ “And I wonder why that is,”  _ Sinsemilla said thoughtfully. _ “You’d think it would be the other way around, right?” _

 

“I will confess that curiosity causes me to wish I could ask more, but I have a patient. My son, while not taking a ruling title, serves the elves here much as a king would, but without the trappings. He is a very kind ellon and will welcome you. Most definitely, he would appreciate news of those left behind. If you continue along this pathway you will come to a dwelling similar in construction to this one. On the door you will see a birch tree in winter--if you know the emblem of the royal household, then you know what symbol I mean. That is Legolas’ home, and there are guest cottages nearby. He would be very glad to see you.”

 

“Good luck,” Sharley said. “We can talk more later.” With a wave, she left Alassëa to her patient, and went house-hunting. It didn't take her long at all to find the house the elleth spoke of, and she automatically rapped on the door, not wanting to just barge on in -- because no matter how exalted these people seemed to think she was, some things were just rude.

 

A pale-haired ellon that matched her height opened the door, his green eyes and kind face studying her before he bowed his head. “I am honored; my name is Legolas. What may I do for you?”

 

“I’m Tirillë,” Sharley said, and it was somewhat interesting, how giving that name was only natural in Aman. “I was just speaking to your mother. I’ve got news of your father, and everyone else still left in the Woodland Realm on Ennorath. I live there, normally.”

 

His lips parted in complete surprise, and with his hand over his heart, he opened the door to her. “Please come in. I hope I may offer the hospitality of our people, if you are traveling?”

 

“I am,” she said. “I left my horse out by the healer’s house, but I can see her following me. Can someone look after her? We’ve been going slowly, but still, I'm sure she could use some food and water.”

 

“Of course, forgive me.” He issued a keening whistle, and quickly enough another ellon appeared from somewhere above.

 

“Please, would you care for our guest’s horse?”

 

“Yes. She will be housed at the stable.” With a cheerful smile, the mare was invited to follow, the elf chatting happily to her all the while.

 

“I am not usually so forgetful,” Legolas smiled in mild embarrassment. “Lately news of my father seems to be coming from unexpected places. How is he? For I have missed him greatly.”

 

“I’m usually not, either,” Sharley said. “I’m not used to horses. I walk a lot, back on Earth.” No, she was not going to mention cars. That would be an explanation that would take all day. “He’s well. Really well. If I’d known I was gonna see you, I woulda had him write you a letter, but I didn't know where any of the Woodland Realm had moved to, or that so many of you were still together. I do a kinda mail service between here and Tol Eressëa, so if you want, I can take something to him, and bring back a reply next time I come.” And she was so grateful she could take a bicycle on the Straight Road. A mountain bike was even faster than roller blades.

 

“I am glad to hear it,” he smiled eagerly. “I met my grandfather recently and…” a frown crossed his face. “He told me some things that were difficult to hear, honestly. But I was glad of it. Otherwise we would not have understood…” he stopped abruptly. “Do you know?” he asked softly.

 

“I know everything,” she said, just as softly. “I saw it, for all I wish I hadn’t, and I’ve wondered, a great deal, about your grandfather. For one of your people to go so very, very wrong...Earlene said he was basically crazy, to put it bluntly, but…” She shook her head. “I was crazy, too, and I never did that to my kid. The Valar let him out, so he must have learned, yet I still wonder.”

 

The expression on Legolas’ face was not readable; he very much had his father’s ability of not revealing his inner thoughts if he did not wish to. “It is not given to us to hold past sins against those who have been in the care of Lord Námo,” he said softly. “I will not pretend I can understand. My father loved me. Cherished me, as did my mother and...is Hîr Thanadir still with him?” he smiled.

 

“He is,” Sharley said. “And your father, he talks about you. All the little firsts you had, when you were young -- your first hunt, your first weapons lessons.” She wasn’t going to drop the plural marriage bomb on this poor Elf. Elrond was one thing, but Legolas was Thranduil’s son. That was news that should come from them.

 

“My father has a second wife, I was told. And I have new siblings?”

 

“Ten,” she said, and grinned. “Though one’s adopted. One of your little brothers, Thaladir, he looks just like you, though he’s so much like his namesake it’s alternately scary and hilarious at times. He’s got two hunting dogs, and he and Calanon and Ailill --  Ailill’s mortal -- go hunting in the forest with hounds and hawks.” While she probably ought to mention Calanon and Ailill’s relationship, this moment was not the best time.

 

“I have a brother named Thaladir?” his face lit up with laughter. “Oh, this is precious. Please, tell me all their names, describe them to me? Wait, this I must write, allow me to get my tablet!” Swiftly he procured a framed board in which a flat mass of clay was kept always moist by an oilcloth. Wiping the surface smooth with the edge of a stylus, he made a brief note and eagerly awaited what more he would hear…

 

**

 

Sharley woke the next morning to a basin of steaming water and a fresh cloth, a breakfast invitation, and a fascinating collection of letters--though the form was not quite what she had in mind. Apparently writing materials were scarce in this part of Valinor, for messages were written on everything from pieces of fabric to a kind of paper that seemed to be made from mixed plant fibers. Scrolls, little rolls of cloth, even one message on a very thin slice of wood was given to her.

 

She tried not to stare, even while realizing that if they weren’t hoarding paper back home, they needed to start, and right now. “I’ll bring your replies to Lord Elrond,” she said, grateful that at least none of them were written on anything breakable. “He can send word to you, and someone can come get them.”

 

“We are very appreciative, of this,” Alassëa said, seeing the happiness in her son’s eyes. Last to approach was a tall ellon whose resemblance to Thranduil was unmistakable. He met her eyes only for a moment, before looking away in shame. His unsteady hand held out a letter sealed with wax. 

 

Legolas saw this, and moved with obvious pity, laid his hand on his grandfather’s arm. “What my mother said. Please extend to all our kin our love and greetings, and our wish to see them soon,” he said softly. “We were honored that you could stay with us, Tirillë.”

 

“I’m glad that I got to meet you,” Sharley said, tucking Oropher’s letter into the bag she’d been given, though she had many carefully-hidden misgivings. On impulse, on instinct, she added, “Would you walk with me, to the main road, just us?”

 

Legolas agreed, and the others dispersed to their assorted tasks. “There is more you wished to say?” he guessed.

 

“There is,” she said, and wondered if there was anything even halfway delicate way to say this. Probably not. “The Valar have wanted to...make examples, outta the people still living on Ennorath, that things are changing. Things that were banned, aren’t now. Two of those things are relationships: Calanon’s married to a firion name Ailill, and your stepmother is also married to Thanadir, at the same time as your father. The two of them aren’t married yet, but they might be by the time I get home.

 

“I know this is shocking to you, because it definitely was for the other Elves back home, but this is what the Valar want. And once the rest get here...well, even those who think they haven’t been affected by contact with modern Ennorath might seem a little...weird.”

 

_ “Nice, Sharley,”  _ Kurt muttered.

 

_ “Oh, like you coulda done any better,”  _ Layla said witheringly.

 

Legolas blinked. “My father...shares a wife with Thanadir?” He had to make sure he heard correctly. “And...you cannot mean to say that my father intends to…..wed his seneschal?” The words came out in very small tones indeed. The shock on his face was very visible.

 

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Sharley said gently. “Sooner or later they’ll get around to it. It was...difficult, at first, for all of them, because this marriage wasn’t their idea. There was a lotta love there, but it was only romantic between your father and Earlene, to start with. The Valar just kinda...took that to the next level.” When in doubt, remind everyone -- even if in this case ‘everyone’ was just Legolas -- that the Valar were behind this, which made it okay.

 

_ “I think you broke his brain,”  _ Kurt snickered.

 

Sinsemilla sighed.  _ “Kurt? Shut it. This is a big thing for him, and I'm glad he can’t hear us.” _

 

Legolas swallowed hard. “Thank you for telling me. As hard as it is for me to hear it, or understand, you have done me a great favor in allowing me...time. The Lords and Ladies pass through here, on occasion, and I will seek their guidance. This will not be easy for some of the others to hear, but if it is the will of our rulers, we will find a way.” He paused, looking down. “My love for my father and Thanadir is undiminished, though I cannot pretend to understand. I do not know Earlene, but I am sure I will have that privilege in time. If nothing else, please tell them that I love them. I will adjust to what you have said. It is just so….”

 

“So much?” she offered. “I know. Trust me,  _ they  _ know, and while they might not thank me for telling you before they could, I figure maybe you oughtta be used to the idea by the time they get here.”

 

“Perhaps. Father ever did like things done his own way. And yet as I try to imagine the King I knew coping with half of these things you have told me...I would guess I will find him changed. It matters not. He is my father, and above all I have missed him.”

 

“He is changed,” Sharley said, “but it’s for the better. He’s...open, now. He laughs, and he jokes, and...well, you’ll see. I’m sure your letter will make his year.” And Oropher’s might break it.  _ That  _ one was going to be given to him in private, so that he could choose to share even its existence with only those he chose to. That might well be only Earlene and Thanadir.

 

“Next you are going to tell me he has fun,” Legolas teased, happy yet slightly at a loss to imagine this new version of his regal sire.

 

She fought a grin. “Can I show you something? Can I give you a memory?”

 

He tilted his head. “My mental gifts were never strong like my father’s. But I suspect yours are? Yes, I would...see.”

 

“Mine are indeed,” she said, and somehow managed not to laugh. What she gave him was not something she herself had actually been present for, but she’d seen the video: the dinner Earlene had given years ago, the dinner for Mairead and Big Jamie and their families. Cats, stolen food, terrified Saoirse --  _ I don't want to be broomed, I need an adult!  _ \-- bloodthirsty Lorna, more cats, and an argument. A very childish argument, culminating with the Elvenking sticking out his tongue. “Your father does, in fact, have fun.”

 

Legolas’ eyes shone with happiness. “My father allowing mortals to climb all over him? Well. That certainly makes your point,” he chuckled, before an expression of pure mischief came over his face. “I will keep you no longer. But...I will leave you to wonder, who taught the cats such bad manners?” With a bow and a smile, he retraced his steps toward the woods, singing merrily.

 

Shaking her head, Sharley laughed, and hopped up onto her mare. This trip was not for nothing after all.

 

*****

 

{Aman-Tol Eressëa-The House That Is Home)

 

“You have not spoken about the letter that...Thanadir...sent you,” Glorfindel hazarded one early morning as their time remaining at Elrond’s home dwindled. “You have seemed the happiest I have seen you in a very long time. I hope you know that now especially...Erestor, I would do anything I could for you. For years now my feelings toward him have been no secret but...I too heard that letter. And while it cannot erase every last unkind thought or emotion in my heart, I yet have regard for Thranduil when I had little for his second-in-command. The Elvenking I knew would never resort to a deception, in having Thanadir send what he wrote. It is not the way of our people. I do not want what you perceive are my attitudes interfering with whatever it is you wish to do. However it is you want to respond, or not respond.”

 

Erestor snuggled closer to him, still lost in the simple enjoyments of waking next to a lover, feeling the touch of his skin, the reassurance of such closeness and being held in those powerful arms. “I love you,” the dark-haired beauty murmured, his heart warmed at the words. “And I hope you can believe that if I have been happier, that it has far more to do with you than Thanadir. But it is true; a terrible weight is off my shoulders now. There is something else, too. I cannot help but think about one thing he wrote. About...friendship. Glorfindel, I have never said this to you. Not aloud, anyway, that I am aware of.” Erestor changed his position now, to be able to look at his mate while he spoke. The slender fingers grasped his husband’s forearms. “Of all the hurts I suffered, the worst was that over and over in my mind, I felt the sting of rejection from an ellon who I had hoped to befriend. From everything I had heard, we were so much alike. Scholarly. Intelligent, and please forgive the implied arrogance of that word. Given to problem-solving and diverse interests. And I tried so hard, to be inoffensive and to please him. That maybe things could change, in the future...that means more to me than I can say.”

 

Eyeing him, Glorfindel studied him very carefully. “Erestor, I am going to ask a question, and I want your complete honesty. Not what you think I might wish to hear. Did you begin to have feelings for Thanadir of a romantic nature, back then? Consider carefully, for I know much has changed and the degree to which we could not allow ourselves to consider such matters so long ago. Or not so long ago, as the case may be.”

 

Pain crossed the other elf’s face. “I will answer, but--Glorfindel, this is the second time that you have admonished me to be truthful toward you. I will acknowledge that there were occasions before we married in which I withheld information from you I believed would bring you to anger. But I have never lied to you or told you any kind of deliberate falsehood. It hurts me, a great deal, when you speak to me as though I have done otherwise.”

 

The blue eyes blinked, and lowered. “Please forgive me. Your words are correct, and I cannot blame you for what you did not tell me. You were not under an obligation to me in those years, though I wish to somehow overlook that. I was not thinking. That was a terrible thing to imply, and imply is exactly what I have done.”

 

Soft lips pressed against his. “I do not hold it against you. I just want it to…”

 

“Stop. I will stop. You have every right to expect my trust. I am very sorry.”

 

“Shhhh. The answer to your question is, No, I did not have those kinds of feelings for Thanadir, though I would indeed be lying if I told you that his mein was not pleasing to me. His face is very beautiful, when it is not scowling in disapproval or anger. But he is not the one for me, Glorfindel. I have that right here; how could Thanadir possibly compare to you? There is much I confess I do not understand about what I have been told about that aspect of him...how he lacks desire for his mates and yet is both wed and betrothed... either way it is hardly my business. I had just hoped that one day we might be friends, as I wish could have happened so long ago...but if it had, everything would have been different. Everything.”

 

“I promised you I would not interfere. I will do more than that; I will support you when the time comes. But for now, I will ask for something too. You will write to him?”

 

“Yes, I had meant to. I only wanted to allow some days for my thoughts to settle before doing so.”

 

“Will you assign a penance to him? I distinctly recall him offering this.”

 

“To do such a thing is not my way; I think you know that. He has suffered too.”

 

“Then when you have finished your letter, leave a place for me to write to him as well. For I have no such limitations. If, that is, you trust me.”

 

A flicker of fear passed over Erestor’s eyes, but in the end he nodded his assent. “I will do as you ask.”

 

“You will not regret it,” the golden elf reassured, as he began to caress Erestor with fingers that had become mysteriously slicked with oil.

 

An involuntary moan escaped the smaller elf, who had experienced more each day since they wed what those fingers could do to him. “I can think of something else I would not regret,” he whispered, squirming to feel his husband’s touches more easily. “Please? I yearn for you, Glorfindel. Even if it hurts. I want to be yours.” Fortunately, another unobtrusive yet helpful gift of Elrond had been an abundant supply of the salve for healing and dulling pain...wherever that pain might be.

 

While Glorfindel silently pondered this request, he did not stop what he was doing to pleasure his mate. It was not as if he did not also desire to take his husband’s body, but he still feared hurting Erestor. “I will consent to  _ try _ ,” he finally answered. “On the condition that you open yourself to me while we join together so that I can know if I am hurting you too much. Eventually, we will manage, love. But I will not subject you to agony in order to do this.”

 

“Alright, I agree,” Erestor said, already lost to his own enjoyments…leaning back, he welcomed his lover into his mind.

 

**

 

An hour later, both ellyn had dressed. Erestor glowed with joy, but felt quite sore even with generous use of the salve. Glorfindel darted worried looks at his mate, who moved very slowly as they descended the stairs.

 

“I wanted this, and I am not sorry,” he whispered. “You cannot know what that meant, to have had you inside of me.”

 

The temptation to retort that he absolutely knew, on account of their mental connection, was quashed down hard. Instead Glorfindel only smiled. “I am glad to have pleased you.”

 

“You did more than that,” Erestor said, stopping on the step above to more easily look into his husband’s eyes. “It felt...right. Truly right. It...that is what I want,” he pleaded.

 

Nodding, Glorfindel smiled crookedly as he looked down. “I know what you mean, for I felt it too. But I hope there will be times when we can...switch…”

 

Arms flew around his neck. “Whenever you wish. Anything you wish. You have made me so happy…” tears threatened to fall from between the long lashes.

 

“None of that,” whispered and soothed an equally contented elf. He held Erestor tightly against him, rocking him gently from side to side. “No tears, love. We will eat breakfast, enjoy our time with the family. You can write your letter, if you wish to do that...though I think it should be soon. Tirillë has been gone for some days; you will not be pleased to have to rush through it should she return suddenly.”

 

“How well you know me,” Erestor said softly, sobering. “Your advice is noted. Besides, I think activity of any other nature today may be best...deferred.”

 

Glorfindel chuckled. “Our people heal quickly. In time, your body will grow used to mine. Everything is still very new.”

 

With a chaste kiss filled with love, Erestor continued his uncomfortable descent of the stairs, smiling radiantly.  _ Thanadir. Thanadir who? _

 

That morning at breakfast, no one failed to notice the dark elf’s fully transformed demeanor. Glorfindel looked on, replete with contentment. His beloved was blossoming, after so many years in a prison of his own making...and his heart sang to see it. After, Erestor removed himself to where Elrond’s writing-desk was, and spent quite some time alone, composing a letter. And when he finished, he came to Glorfindel. It was his choice to allow his husband to read what he had written, but not to know what Glorfindel would add. His heart was at peace now, and he had no desire to disturb it.

 

**

 

The ferry ride to Tol Eressëa was calm and uneventful, but Sharley was nevertheless starving by the time she reached the House That Is Home. Maybe Maia didn't need to eat, or maybe not -- either way, she quite enjoyed it, and would enjoy it even more if it had happened five minutes ago.

 

Evening was falling, the sun slipping below the western horizon even as she walked the path to the house, lugging her mailbag. She needed a backpack, and a good one; maybe Big Jamie would give her his as a permanent loan. When she reached the door, she knocked smartly.

 

“Oh! Welcome,” Elrohir said happily. “You have arrived at a perfect time for the next meal. May I take your things to your room? I will find warm water…” Hardly did he wait for an answer, but he was already dashing up the stairs to the room in which she had stayed last time with her pack, running some audible monologue about clean towels and lazy brothers.  Celebrían peeked from around the dining area. “Ooooh, you are back! Come in, there is wine tonight. Or perhaps you wish to refresh yourself?”

 

“While I’d love to wash my face, I'm still hungry,” Sharley said, laughing a little. “I’ll do that bit later. I’m lugging home a lot more mail than I’d anticipated.” She patted the leather satchel.

 

“Do I wish to know?” Elrond smiled, welcoming her with their gesture of greeting even as he eyed the bulging satchel. Glorfindel and Erestor were not far behind. Everyone seemed genuinely pleased to see her again.

 

Sharley returned the gesture. “I found Legolas,” she said with a grin. “Well, I found one of his people, with a broken leg, and  _ then  _ I found him. Dunno just how many, but there’s a few thousand from the Woodland Realm living in Lord Oromë’s forest. They farm the lands outside of it, and they all wrote me letters to take back with me. I guess paper isn’t really a thing here, is it?” It made sense, given the complete lack of paper mills, and yet it still came as a surprise.

 

“There is paper,” Erestor explained kindly. “But it is a skilled process requiring many elves working together. Most all discarded fabric and clothing makes its way to the papermakers, to be returned to the community as paper. But in the interior of Valinor, life is more...primitive. They do not come as often to trade for the finer goods available in Aman. Probably you saw some interesting writing materials?” If nothing else, this ellon appeared to be far happier than the first time she visited.

 

“One of the letters is on a piece of wood,” she said, setting her satchel aside. “I was half expecting someone to ask if they could write on my arm. That’s something we’re gonna have to learn how to make, back on Ennorath...and something I might study, the next time I’m here. Whenever that will be.”

 

“But you must know how to make it,” Erestor queried, puzzled. “The letters you delivered to us were written on the finest paper I have ever beheld.”

 

“We didn't make that ourselves,” Sharley said. “We bought it. There are big -- we call them mills, I don't think there’s an equivalent word in Sindarin. They make lots and lots of paper, and sell it to people. The problem is that the way some of them work causes pollution...which is another word you don't have. It means that it can damage the land around it, if the manufacturer...the people who make it...aren’t careful.”

 

_ “Are you just now realizing how many words Sindarin doesn’t have? That’s gonna be interesting for the rest of them, when they finally come here,”  _ Sinsemilla observed.

 

“Ai, I did not understand,” Erestor said. “It sounds like there is much on the other side of which we do not know. And...Glorfindel? The letter?”

 

Nodding, the fair-haired elf threaded past them with surprising grace, given his size, to return with a sealed letter. Letters. “Elrond, I presumed to take the liberty of including your own letters?” Glorfindel verified.

 

Nodding, Elrond smiled. “Now you have all our correspondence. And it is time to eat. Potato and lamb pie, lentil stew, and roasted vegetables with bread.”

 

“And the cake he is trying not to mention for dessert, on account of it being the last night before Glorfindel and Erestor must return home,” Elladan whispered none-too-quietly. 

 

Celebían glowered in his direction and swatted his rear end with her towel. “They did not get this from me,” she said, pursuing Elrond. “Or mother.”

 

“We blamed Lindir,” the twins chorused, earning open laughter from the newly wed couple.

 

“Only because poor Lindir is not here to defend himself,” countered Glorfindel. “I have heard you blame Gildor, Mithrandir, myself and even poor little Bilbo Baggins, over the spans of time.”

 

To this Elladan had no response, so he smiled innocently and pretended not to hear his former teacher.

 

Sharley eyed Glorfindel, and wondered if she was looking at the actual source of the twins’ mischief. “Cake sounds amazing,” she said. “And don't worry, Erestor, there’s so much you don't know, but Lady Vairë warned me not to talk about it too much, in case any of you get jealous over something that would be bad for the environment to make here. Ennorath has some wonderful things, but a lot of them come at a price that I doubt any here would consider worth paying.”

 

“Oh dear,” Glorfindel said softly. “Now you are in for it.” He pretended to have a pressing need to follow Elrond, while in a flash she found Erestor’s willowy but intent form parked in front of her.

 

“But now I must know,” he asked, clearly filled with curiosity. “I promise you I will not act on anything you tell me, but what is so different?” He had that look about him, not dissimilar to Thanadir on a bender to learn something new.

 

Sharley stared at him, and weighed what Vairë had said against what looked like Erestor’s own fucking version of the Thanadir Eyes. Who was she to fight against that? If Vairë took her to task over it later, she’d just grab Erestor, hold him out, and say ‘You resist that face.’ It wasn’t possible.  _ Námo  _ probably couldn’t resist those eyes, so she’d give him one thing.

 

“This is a cell phone,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket. She’d had it turned off while in Aman, but she turned it on now. “In a way, it’s not unlike a Palantír, except it’s little and you can carry it everywhere. I could talk to someone on the other side of the world with it.” She pulled up her picture gallery -- this most recent shots were the kids being goofballs in the classroom -- and handed the phone to him. “With it I can access the sum of human knowledge, but at a price.”

 

“I will be careful,” he assured her, his fingers already in disbelief at the precise smoothness of the metal and the lit images from within. “It is not magical,” he stated more than asked. “But it must have a power source?”

 

“It does,” she said, and she had to grin at his enthusiasm. She just had to. “It’s called a battery, that stores energy. On Ennorath the humans run everything off something called electricity, which is kinda like artificial, controlled lightning. It charges the battery, but eventually you have to give it more electricity. And the problem with electricity is how it’s generated -- or used to be, it’s better now.

 

“Over a century ago, when electricity was first made, it was made from burning coal, which is a black substance that makes a lot of harsh, sometimes poisonous smoke. It fouled the air, and poisoned the land and water. Eighty-odd years ago, that smoke killed nearly twelve thousand people in one city. We don't use coal anymore, or any of the other  _ really  _ nasty things, but making electricity still damages the land. So it’s a good thing, but unless you could get around that part, it wouldn’t be allowed in Aman.” She laughed. “Here, let me see it for a moment.”

 

Erestor offered the device back to her on his flat, open palm.

 

She scrolled through her music playlists, searching for something Elves might enjoy. Enya -- he’d have to like Enya, surely. On impulse, she picked the song called ‘Lothlórien’, and hit play. Speakers had come a long, long way from the tinny-sounding little nothings of twenty years ago; this was rich and clear, and loud enough to be appreciable without being deafening. “See? I’ve got so much music on this I could listen to it for a solid month without turning it off.” She handed it back to him.

 

His long eyelashes blinked at what he saw, and heard. “What did you mean, access the sum of knowledge? You can ask it questions?”

 

“I can, but it won’t work here,” Sharley said. “On Ennorath there’s something called the Internet, and I...don't honestly know how to explain it. It’s...it too runs off of electricity, but...well, here, let me see it again.” She took the phone, and brought up her last notes -- it was a shopping list, but it had the keyboard at the bottom. “This is the the Roman alphabet, but if I want to ask a question, I type it into the internet, into what’s called a search engine, and it will find me results. All the information is stored in what are called servers, and phones can access it -- but only on Ennorath, because the things that make it possible to access it are there, but not here.”

 

“A, b, c, d, e,” Erestor recited carefully, not making nearly as many errors in pronunciation as one would think. “I am learning English?” (which came out a bit more like, ee am lurhneeng Iingleesh). The soft brown eyes looked at her expectantly. “Did I pronounce any of it right?”

 

Sharley stared at him. He’d had that manual for what,  _ five days _ ? She knew Elves learned fast, but good grief. “‘Am learning’ was pretty close. Here, it’s ‘I am learning English.” She was careful to pronounce it clearly. “And the fact that you’ve got this far, in so short a time as I’ve been here...wow. That’s amazing.”

 

_ “Thanadir 2.0, with a little less weirdness and not quite so effective Puss in Boots eyes,”  _ was Layla’s assessment. Somehow, Sharley didn't laugh.

 

“I know you are leaving soon,” came the full-on pleading, “but if you would read the English examples in the manual to me aloud, even once, it would mean a great deal to me.” 

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Glorfindel shot back. “I should have known your peril,” he apologized to Tirillë, hugging his mate close. “Never leave a scholar alone with new learning,” he grinned. “But in seriousness, you must torment poor Tirillë after the meal, Erestor. It is time to eat, and much love has gone into its making.”

 

An impish smirk came over the former counselor’s fair face, as he smiled innocently at Sharley and allowed himself to be led off to the dining room. “Had to try,” he said to her honestly, and with a big smile.

 

_ “Oh damn, he’s just like Thanadir there, too,”  _ Jimmy said.  _ “Thanadir does it on purpose. He so does.” _

 

_ “Of course he does,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Nobody’s that innocent and angelic. Nobody.” _

 

Sharley just laughed, and followed. She smelled food, and her stomach certainly felt human enough, because it was growling like that insanely overpowered engine in Lorna’s van.

 

Elrond said a blessing, and swiftly the food was served. The House that Is Home, had never seemed like such a good choice of name.

 

*****

{May 20, 2033}

 

It was cold and misty  when Sharley left the Straight Road, and she, like an idiot, didn't have a coat. Skating down the bumpy road was no fun at all, but she didn't even want to pause long enough to get her skates off. Not until she reached the ice cream shop, shivering, did she swap them for sandals, hop on the ferry, call Earlene, and then shiver some more until Earlene arrived. And if she was still shivering when she got into the house, at least she had warm PJ pants waiting.

 

Once she was properly dressed in flannel pants and slippers, she hauled her mailbag out into the Heart Room. The only thing she left in her own room, in her dresser drawer, was Oropher’s letter. “Mail’s here!”

 

“Aunt Sharley!” She found herself all but tackled by a Chandra, who had appeared all but out of nowhere. “You need to see the diner. You  _ need  _ to. It’s a thing of beauty. Saoirse’s started in on the mural.”

 

“How long was I gone?” She’d come home a day early, but she wasn’t sure what that meant, math-wise.

 

“About three and a half months?”

 

“And that’s three and a half months not knocked off my pregnancy,” she sighed. “I’ll be carrying this kid for a  _ year and a half _ , so my husband had better be ready for it.”

 

Earlene went to her own room to change, because all her outerwear felt basically soggy in spite of having run the heater from Doolin to their driveway. Sharley had been quiet on the way home, and that much made sense; living in their house meant needing to repeat oneself far too many times. Whatever the news was, it could wait, so instead she provided general tidbits of what had gone on while she was away. Leaving out, of course, the surprise Maglor had prepared for her. That one was not hers to tell. Finally, she was free of what seemed like her damp sweater, exchanged for an entirely different sweater. Jumper. Whatever. She was still American, dammit. Feeling like indulging in an afternoon cup of coffee, she fixed two before leaving the kitchen to see what all the fuss was in the Heart Room; it was a given Thranduil would want some as well. Ah, hell. Now she had to make tea for Thanadir. Life was complicated.

 

Those of the Duncan-Donovans who were currently in the house came migrating into the Heart Room: Lorna, Ratiri, Supri, and Atia had been in the school room, along with Sam and Donna. Chandra was actually just passing through, but the dairy could live without her for now, and Grania eventually emerged from the D&D’s common room.

 

“Mail?” Lorna asked.

 

“Mail,” Sharley affirmed. “I’ll lay the whole thing out once we’re all here. And I need to get a better bag, if I’m gonna do this on a semi-regular basis. And a mountain bike. Vairë said a bike is okay, since I’m only taking it to Tol Eressëa and back.”

 

“Well, how was it?” Earlene asked, figuring that was a suitably open-ended question, as she handed her husbands their beverages. Thranduil looked particularly pleased to see it was coffee, just as he liked it. Drowned in cream, and just enough sugar to counter the bitterness.

 

“Well, it started off a giant disappointment,” Sharley sighed. “I didn't get to see Marty, and I found out I’m gonna be pregnant for a  _ year and a fucking half _ , and yes, that deserves the f-bomb I couldn’t drop in Aman. Melian basically said there’s a reason Lúthien was an only child, so...yay. But, on my way back, I ran across an Elf who’d broken a leg -- that’s not the good part, by the way,” she added, for clarification. “The good part is that he lives in a settlement of Woodland Elves. Run by Legolas.” 

 

She couldn’t help but grin at Thranduil. “This? My mailbag? Letters. Lots of them. And apparently paper isn’t really a thing that far in, as Elrond says, because I’ve got things written on fabric and even wood.” No, she was not going to mention Alassëa -- not now, and possibly not for a long time to come.

 

Thranduil’s eyes studied Sharley, sifting this news. And waiting to hear more. He had long wondered how certain matters might unfold, had had a feeling that many of his surmises were about to be altered. Significantly. Calanon, however, had no such reserve.

“You found our people? Saw the Prince? How are they, are they happy and well?” he asked with youthful eagerness.

 

“I did, and they are,” she said. “They live on the edge of Oromë’s forest, and farm outside it. I dunno just how many there are, but the Elf I talked to said there’s a few thousand. Legolas wanted to know what’s going on here, so I told him -- I think he’s really curious about his siblings, especially Thaladir. The two of them look so alike it’s honestly kind of creepy,” she added. “It’s like Thaladir’s his Mini-Me. He runs the settlement, but he doesn’t have a title.”  _ He already knew you were married, Thranduil, so I just went with it. _

 

A slight nod from the King on an otherwise impassive face was his acknowledgement. His communication from Sharley was allowed to flow to his partners, who betrayed nothing by their expressions. 

 

_ That can only mean… _

 

_ I know meluieg. I am waiting. Please say nothing, and just...allow this to unfold.  _

 

_ As you wish,  _ Earlene acceded. Which did not stop her from thinking that Valinor must be a rather livelier place than she had known. She had ridden past the Lord’s forests before him on Nahar, and had some idea of the region in question--and of its vastness. Still, of all the odds...and yet it was wonderful, to know their whereabouts.

 

Sharley emptied the bag onto the coffee table. It was a hopeless jumble, but she recognized the envelope -- if one could call it that -- that Legolas had given her, and handed it to Thranduil. “I told them I’d bring back all the replies on my next mail run to Tol Eressëa, and Elrond can send word so someone can go get them all.”

 

There was another, rather nicer envelope that went to Thanadir. “This is from Erestor,” she said. “Who was totally fascinated by my cell phone, I might add. Vairë had warned me about talking too much about Earth, but he has his own version of the Thanadir Eyes. I had no resistance. Oh!” With a grin, she dug out aforesaid phone. “I took a family photo, with Erestor and Glorfindel in it.” And yes, she eyed Ratiri as she said that.

 

Ratiri’s eyes widened, and if he wasn’t a man approaching sixty, he might well have pulled a Lorna and squeed. His inner fanboy was, even yet, not dead, and he hurried over to see, all but dragging Lorna with him. “Are you going to print and frame it?”

 

“Yes,” Lorna said for her, “she is. Because wow.”

 

Sharley laughed. “You shoulda seen Erestor’s reaction to video. But Thanadir, his Sad Eyes are no match for yours. You still reign supreme there.” The fact that the video she’d showed Erestor was one she’s shot of the cats just made it better.

 

Thanadir smiled to dissemble as best he could, but inside of himself he was gripped by fear. He had not expected a reply so soon. He had prepared himself for no reply at all. The letter had already disappeared inside his tunic pocket. Stretching casually, Thranduil placed his arm across Thanadir’s shoulders in what appeared as a gesture of ordinary affection, but was meant to be far more. For him, too, this was unexpected. 

 

“I was hoping that Elrond might have answered?” Thranduil asked, able to summon better eagerness for this. What his son might have to say, that he would have to face later. And certainly not here.

 

“Oh, right. I’ve got so many things…” Sharley dug again, until she found the other nice envelope, and handed it to Earlene, just so she’d have an envelope of her own. “Calanon, you’ve got some stuff in here too, and Lothiriel and Ortherion and Maerwen. Thalion’s got a bunch of things, but all the guard do, too. Oh nice, Thalion’s got the one written on wood.”

 

Earlene took it, though she could see it was addressed to her husband, so she placed it in Thranduil’s free hand. And all the while, she pondered what assorted things had been said. Finally the cell phone came to her, and she beheld the images of the rest of the elves besides Elrond.  _ So that is what the twins look like, and Celebrían, whose name indeed suits her well. All of them, are so beautiful. So that is Glorfindel....  _ Here, her eyes had to linger and admire a little more, because she was neither blind nor dead. What little description had been given of him in the books was a woeful injustice; he was stunningly...stunningly unfair, is what he was. Erestor too was lovely, a dark-haired elf with flawless skin and coloring who reminded her very much of Thanadir in build and bearing. Yes, the printout needed to happen. This photo was a collection of luminaries. 

 

Carefully, she passed it along to Thranduil, who chuckled. “They all look the same. Which is not a surprise in the least.” Handing the phone to Thanadir, only he knew that he held his love’s shoulder more tightly. 

 

Thanadir shook his head. “No thank you. I will look, but not now. Later.” 

 

Understanding, Thranduil passed it to the row behind him.

 

“Well, it’ll be a while before I go back, so you’ve all got time to write some replies,” Sharley said. “I need a mountain bike.”

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Lorna said, “about how you’re to get to Inis Mor after the end’v the world, when the motorways’ll be useless and there’s no more petrol. I want to build you an autogyro.”

 

“You mean, like that thing from the second  _ Mad Max  _ movie?” Sharley asked. “I love it already.”

 

“Can I help?” Sam asked.

 

“You can indeed,” Lorna said. “It’ll be an interesting project, and something more challenging than a mobile armchair.”

 

Earlene pondered a lightweight aircraft over the distance between the mainland and the island and decided to keep her Nopes to herself. There were things called sailboats, that could not fall out of the sky, and they seemed quite a lot safer. Though there was little doubt that this sea crossing, however minimal, was an unfortunate inconvenience.  _ God they needed a pocket of people to survive on the coast. They just...did. _ “Do you want more coffee?” Earlene asked Thranduil, now wanting an excuse to get up more than anything else. There was weirdness to ponder, and unread letters about which to wonder. Thranduil shook his head No, though he smiled up at her.

 

“I will help you,” Thanadir said, equally desperate to leave the room. It did not really matter to him than no one needed help making coffee.

 

Sharley pondered. She wasn’t going to dump the existence of Oropher’s letter on Thranduil  _ quite  _ yet -- not when the mere existence of Legolas’s seemed to have thrown him. Soon, though, she’d give it to him, and pray that its contents wouldn’t infuriate and/or grieve him. While she was pretty sure he was past being infuriated, that did not mean he couldn’t be grieved.

 

And she had to think on Oropher herself, because she still didn't know what to make of him. That he had repented was blatantly obvious, but that didn't change what he’d done, and she didn't know  _ why  _ he’d done it -- not really.

 

_ “Sharley, don't sit on that,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

_ Why not?  _ she asked, unwilling to speak aloud.

 

_ “Because it won’t end well.” _

 

_ And here I thought  _ I  _ was the one who saw the future. Fine.  _ To Thranduil, she said,  _ I have another letter, that I wanted to give you in private. Your dad wrote to you, too. I’m gonna send a pre-emptive doll your way, for a drive-by hugging. _

 

Expressionless eyes continued to stare back at her, now that he was hearing this. One of these days Earlene was going to be wrong, he was just not certain he wished to ever see it. Something about all of this did not feel right. And yet he was used enough to that.  _ Wait, and see _ , he told himself.

 

Lorna blinked, confused by what Sharley told her, but shrugged and ran with it.  _ I’m supposed to give you a drive-by hug,  _ she said, doing just that -- yes, a proper rib-squeezing hug.  _ I don't know why, but whyever it is, you’ve been hugged.  _ As it was in fact a drive-by hugging, she didn't linger, but went to pick up the Lump, who was staring pathetically at Sharley. “This has missed you.”

 

Sharley took the cat, who purred ecstatically, a ball of fur with ears and a tail.

 

_ So much for trying to have that cat lose some weight,  _ Thranduil thought morosely. “Welcome home, Sharley,” Thranduil said softly, as he decided to rise himself. Right now, he wished to be alone. “It is good to see you back safe.” With that, he sipped his coffee with his usual elegance as he left the room.

 

Poor Thranduil...that was a lot to take in, but he had not one, but two spouses who loved him. When it came time for him to want company again, they’d be there for him. She herself wanted her own spouse, because she’d discovered she didn't sleep as well without him beside her. “I’m gonna go hug Maglor,” she said. “I’ll take this thing with me, and just keep her on my side of the bed.”

 

“Go for it,” Lorna said. “I’ll look up plans for an autogyro.”

 

Off Sharley went, cat tucked under her arm, still purring away. When she entered the room, she sat, feline on her lap, and said, “You’ve got a cat. And a me. And I’m gonna be pregnant for a year and a half. That’s just not fair.” And the scary thing was, evidently she did it twice, because sooner or later she got Marty back...somehow. It looked to be pretty far in the future.

 

“I am sorry,” he said contritely. “Except...how can I be, when I so badly want the result? I will do everything for you that I can. I have been told a great deal about the care Earlene’s husbands gave to her. I promise, I will do no less if that is what you want and need.”

 

“I kinda got the impression that Melian made Thingol hate life, by the end of it,” she said, while the Lump purred. “So you might legit be sorry later, for which I apologize in advance.” She paused, and weighed the fact that Maglor didn't like hearing about Marty against her own sadness at being unable to see her first child. Fuck it. “I didn't get to see Marty,” she said. “I know she’s a hard subject for you and all, but that hurt. She was half the reason I wanted to go. I didn't really ask why I shouldn’t, because it was Vairë who told me not to.” And when a Vala told you not to do something, you’d best not ask too many questions. It was funny really; all her supposedly human life, she’d been what Geezer might call an ornery little shit, prone to disobeying anyone she didn't want to listen to, but now she knew why: she’d been created to obey an actual, literal god. Nobody else stood a chance against her loyalty to Vairë, even if she didn't remember it for so very long. Even if the Stranger tried so hard to erase it, as she was certain the thing had. Her Lady was more than ‘boss’, she was also, in a way Sharley had only understood once she’d thought she was human for so long, ‘mama’. Marty had shown Sharley what a mother-child bond was, and though it wasn’t the exact same thing among Vairë and the Weavers, it was near enough as made no difference, as far as she was concerned.

 

Maglor looked at her, and felt genuine pity. It would be like...going to see his family for his one chance seven years’ hence, and finding no one at home. “I am truly sorry,” he said, opening his arms to her. “You must feel so disappointed.”

 

Sharley snuggled against him, Lump on her lap. “If it wasn’t for the fact that I found the Woodland Realm 2.0, and that Glorfindel and Erestor are free to act on their feelings, I woulda thought the whole trip was a waste,” she said. With a wry smile, she added, “I kinda wish I  _ didn't  _ know how long this pregnancy’s gonna last. I thought the idea of a year was bad, but a year and a half? At least I’m tall. I probably won’t need those motorized armchairs, unless this one decides to get huge.” It was still difficult to believe there was a tiny new life inside her, even though she could actually feel its presence.

 

“I think of anyone here Earlene has the best hope of being someone you can talk to. I will never know what it is to have a female’s body,” he chuckled, hugging her to him. “But I am certainly glad you have one.” Kisses peppered down the side of her cheek. “I was well enough while you were gone. But I missed you. I am so glad you are back here, with me. So I can do this.”

 

Sharley giggled. She actually  _ giggled _ . She wasn’t going to tell him she’d been a bit worried about how he’d fare on his own, even though he was hardly  _ on  _ his own. “I missed you, too. I discovered I don't sleep as well when you’re not next to me.”

 

“Well, I do not wish to overwhelm you now that you are newly home. But when you feel you have recovered yourself, I made something for you. A present. That is how I kept myself busy, when I did not have duties,” he smiled happily. “Truthfully, I am partly glad you are back because now I can do something else,” he grinned, his hand wandering to where he knew he would feel nothing for a long while, on her belly. He did not care. The mere idea of it… “But how awful of me!” he suddenly realized. “How is Elrond? And...did I hear you say Glorfindel and Erestor? I do not know them personally but certainly everyone has heard of the one the Valar blessed. They...do you mean they wed? Really?”

 

His expression made her burst out laughing. “A present, huh? That I have to see, in a bit. And Elrond’s good -- his whole family are, and I’m embarrassed to say I still can’t tell his sons apart. Glorfindel and Erestor did indeed marry. Finding out about Ailill and Calanon led them to actually admit how they feel about each other -- they’ve been living with one another for I don't know how long already. I took a family photo of them.” She pulled her phone out of her shirt pocket and pulled it up. “See what I mean, about the twins? They even  _ sound  _ identical.” Ithiliel and Eleniel were identical twins too, of course, but Ithiliel’s voice was a touch lower.

 

“Maybe when you know them better?” he smiled, nuzzling her. “I never told this to anyone but...the first time I came here, those two took one look at me and led me away. They were much smaller than now. I did not care for my appearance then, and my hair was...I am not certain what to call it, except long, braided, and who even knew when the last time was the braids had been done. They sat me down in their little chairs in their bedroom and just...dealt with that mess. I cannot even say what that did to me. That Earlene and Thranduil would not care that their beautiful daughters were alone with...me. And that these two little girls treated me so kindly. I have never forgotten it...and what on earth does that have to do at all with Ellandan and Elrohir? Oh dear.”

He thought for a moment. “They are not wed, Elrond’s twins?”

 

“Eleniel and Ithiliel are their mama’s kids,” Sharley said. “You give them what they want because they just kinda worm their way in and act like there’s no way you wouldn’t let them do whatever it is they’re after. And it works.” That sounded like the sweetest, most adorable thing Sharley had ever heard of, and oh, she wished she could have seen it. “This family, they kinda take you in before you realize what’s happening. At least, that happened with me. My original plan, sixteen years ago, was to drop off this warning, then come back maybe once or twice before the end of the world. Look how  _ that  _ ended, long before I even found you.”

 

_ “They’re like quicksand, except not shitty,”  _ Kurt said, so relieved he could finally swear.

 

_ “Though they could be awfully lethal,”  _ Layla mused.

 

“Anyway, I don't think Elladan nor Elrohir are married. I didn't see any wives, anyway.”

 

“Kurt, shut up,” Maglor said, while his facial expression did not change at all. He was not remotely interested in what Kurt thought about...well, anything, really. “What would you like to do? Rest? Me rub your feet or back? Play music for you? You are with child, and your doting husband wishes to do something to please you.” The words were said with his usual self-deprecation, and just a little mischief behind his smile.

 

Grinning, Sharley kissed his temple. “A backrub sounds wonderful,” she said. “I’ve spent more time on a horse the last week than I had in I don't even remember how long, and though I can kinda deal with my own soreness, I’m not good at it yet. It keeps coming back when I’m not paying attention.”

 

“Oh, that,” he smiled. “Well. I have just the thing.” Though he did not much need it, the work of finishing their home had left him with a few aches here and there, and he did not attempt to argue with the insistence that he take and make use of the supply of elven salve for such things. “Though if you want to enjoy this most, perhaps we should get you out of those clothes. I promise to behave myself. At least, for a generous length of time.”

 

“Misbehave all you want later,” she said, setting Lump aside so she could strip her shirt off. “As long as I get a back rub, I’m even happier. I think I figured out why I stayed at this height, too, even though I’m short for an Elf, let alone a Maia.”

 

“Oh? I always thought your stature quite perfect,” he said, not hiding his admiration of the current view.

 

“I was taller, before,” she said, wriggling out of her pants. “Not by a whole lot, but some. I’d thought settling on this height because it was realistic for a human, even if I’m taller than most women. I think gravity had something to do with it, too...more height and more muscle compressing my spine, back before I realized I could take care of pain myself.” She laughed as she lay down. “At least the Stranger wasn’t a  _ total  _ dick, or I’d have wound up Lorna-sized. Have you noticed that poor woman doesn’t go too close to you when you’re standing? She’s half worried she’ll get stepped on.” Maybe she ought to try a day at Lorna’s height, for the novelty of it.

 

“I would never step on her!” Maglor exclaimed with surprising vehemence. “I look where I am walking, and I certainly value her well-being just as any other person’s.” He paused, frowning. “I have seen it, you know, in the outer world. How people behave. Quen always used to think I paid no attention to much of anything...though to be fair, I suppose I often did not, when my mood was gloomy. Males especially, though I dislike to say it. They carry on as though anyone of lesser stature does not exist or worse, does not matter. That is reprehensible, on so many levels. As if height is a measure of worth…”

 

Sharley rolled over and stroked the bridge of his nose, smiling. “I did say  _ half  _ afraid,” she said. “Humans can have irrational worries, and knowing they’re irrational doesn’t always help. And people of lesser stature...I’ve seen that myself. They get assumed to be weak, easy targets, easily dismissed. It’s no wonder Lorna was such a belligerent little critter for most of her life -- it was the only way not to get get bowled over at best, or shanked at worst. It explains a lot about all the Donovans, actually,” she mused. “I know you’re not close to them like I am, and you probably never will be, but I appreciate that you don't mind that they’re family to me. You and they are too different to really love one another, but I’ve got you both.”

 

Maglor smiled weakly. “I am just...glad, that you are accepting of this. I worry often, that you might think I am…” he ran his fingers through his hair. “No single word quite captures what I wish to say. I like them, and very much care about them. But they are not Earlene, or Ailill, who have taken unusual steps to open themselves to and embrace elven ways. I think I have been an elf too long, and I am not Aran Thranduil. Somehow he has truly spanned a divide in a way I am not certain I can. For me it is how it...feels, to be near others. There is comfort, and familiarity, in being with other elves. The years I was completely alone were very hard on me. I have been so happy, to once again live among my own people. I never was a very good pretend-human, though there have been some humans I forgot were not elves. I only did not wish to offend.”

 

“The D&D’s are very human,” she said, “and outta all the Elves in the Woodland Realm, I think only Thranduil, Thanadir, and Maerwen have got total equanimity with them. I thought I  _ was _ human for so long that I still feel more comfortable with them than the Elves a lotta the time. Rediscovering what I really am has been a little easier, knowing they’re still there if I need them.” The Lump sniffed at her hair. “And especially, with what I remembered of Angband… the older Donovans didn't go through anything  _ near  _ that, but their dad used to beat them all bloody, so they can kinda understand in a way none of the other humans can manage.” She wasn’t going to bring up Oropher; that was Thranduil’s to tell, or not. Especially after this letter, care would be needed in that department. Great care.

 

“That is...awful,” he said, sighing. “And maybe another part of it...my own...deeds...were so, so unusual among my people. But out there…they are barbaric to one another. And often for no other reason than pleasure or the expression of evil. I would rather just ignore all of it, and play my harp. But enough of such talk. Lie on your belly, and try to relax.”

 

Sharley did so, displacing the Lump. “If you want a lot of the human dichotomy in a nutshell,” she said, petting the cat, “look at Saoirse. Cusses like a longshoreman, but can produce works of art even I’ve rarely seen equaled. Did I ever tell you you’re why she figured out she’s asexual?”

 

“Uh, given that I did not know this about her, I would say not. That is to say, No.”

 

Laughing, Sharley said, “When she was sixteen, she realized she was one of very, very few women who view you in a purely aesthetic sense. The other two are Earlene and Lorna, but they’re adults and married. She thought it meant there was something wrong with her, until she talked to Thanadir. You’re so pretty you made a teenage girl realize she isn’t attracted to anyone -- because if you couldn’t manage it, certainly nobody else was gonna.”

 

Maglor shook his head. “It is another difficulty of...humans,” he said. “The tendency to experience attraction based on appearance. You have seen my father, though I know you did not care for him. Compared to him I am but a cave troll...I am afraid that elves are less attuned to this, for we all seem beautiful to each other, though for different reasons. And once we form a bond...well, you know. We do not think in those terms, for we are hardly capable. And from what I have seen, I thank Eru often that this is the case. Though I do not well understand Saoirse, if she is content I would say it is no one’s business save her own.”

 

“You are  _ not  _ a cave troll, Mister. And Thranduil did,” she said dryly. “But he’s a bit...different, there. Just wait until you see him blatantly leering at Earlene’s chest. He doesn't even try to be subtle. I know Earlene isn’t a hundred percent blind to some men, but she sees them like Saoirse does. Like walking art. And Lorna is possibly the weirdest human I’ve ever met, with that: she’s attracted to exactly one person, and that person is Ratiri.” 

 

She laughed. “She likes to say she’s bad for Thranduil’s ego, because she’s literally the only straight human woman he’s ever met who genuinely isn’t attracted to him. And the fact that she’s not attracted to  _ you  _ just made our shared dream all the more awkward for her, poor woman. I’ve never seen anyone blush like that in my life.”

 

“Humans are simply...strange to me. They are ashamed of their bodies, but their culture is steeped in the desire for sex. There are myriad natural functions that embarrass them, though every one of them has a body. They praise youth and beauty, but do not see the beauty of age and wisdom. I will not presume to criticize my King for enjoying the sight of his wife, for I do the same. But as I am no longer a King, I do not take the liberty of being so bold in my observations.” He smiled, unable to help himself.

 

“You,” she said, “have manners. And tact. He’s lucky Earlene doesn't mind. But the shame thing...it’s one thing we’ve talked about breaking, when everything starts over after the plague. The shame, the obsession with sex -- the fact that sex somehow became venerated and rendered filthy at the same time. But part of it isn’t just shame, you know. There’s a level of vulnerability in having no clothing on. Hell, one of the most common human stress dreams is to dream that you’re somewhere with no clothes on. 

 

“They’ve tried raising the kids to know better, and Allanah and the peredhel do, but I think Chandra and Shane took too much after that mama, that way. All those kids have, for all she tried not to let her own stuff affect them. I think it might take a generation for that to really work.”

 

“Having no clothes is cold. Vulnerable? What is vulnerable, about it? Unless you mean that clothing also can protect from injury. I certainly would not wish to use certain woodworking tools with...well, some body parts are best not left dangling loose for certain tasks, it is as simple as that. Clothes can be very beautiful. They enhance the loveliness of the form Eru gave us. Add color, and artistry. But not in this world. Here, more than anything else they cover, and hide. Were it otherwise, there would be more choice as to wearing them. Or not.”

 

Sharley pondered how to phrase this. “There are certain things some humans do to other humans that are harder to do if they’ve got clothes on,” she said. “Lorna’s tried not to pass her issues onto her kids, but hers run...really deep. She was in prison as a young woman, and when she was in the showers, she saw another woman get violated. Humans can...I love them, but some of them really can be horrendous.”

 

Maglor closed his eyes, on hearing this. “And yet clothes would not have helped in the end,” he said gently, sighing. “This topic has turned unpleasant as well. Perhaps we should not talk, for a time. If it is not about flowers or the stars above, can we avoid discussing it?” he pleaded.

 

“We can indeed,” she said, sitting up and kissing his forehead. “I will pet this cat, and you can rub my back, and I can just be happy I’m home. I know it wasn’t nearly as long for me as it was for you, but I missed you.”

 

He leaned down to kiss her back, smiling to feel the smooth skin. “I hoped so.” With great delight, his hands began to trace the muscles of her back. And there was salve, and silence. 

 

**

 

Thanadir had followed Earlene into the kitchen, but he certainly was not helping her. He stood silent, his eyes wide, staring at nothing.

 

_ Talk to me, Thanadir. You are overwhelmed on account of the letter? _

 

An unusually long pause followed her question, causing more of a frown as she added some cream and sugar to her coffee, thanking their on-demand hot water tap for about the thousandth time.

 

_ He was not supposed to write back. Certainly not this soon. How could this happen? _ The poor elf’s mental tone alone was reaching a fevered pitch of nervousness, something all the more difficult to behold in someone who almost always was so self-assured.

 

Earlene sipped her coffee, placing a hand on his arm as she studied him. This was when it dawned on her, just how bad this must have been for Thanadir. Somehow she had imagined that while it had assuredly been bad in the past, that this was just that, left in the past. The depths to which that was an incorrect assessment now revealed themselves in every facet of his demeanor. He had not asked for help, writing to Erestor, and she did not offer. However he had asked her to review it, which was itself unusual. It warmed her heart, that in his own way Thranduil had given what assistance he could, in a plea for it to be read at all. The lawyer in her had raised an eyebrow at Thanadir’s offer for a penance; it was the only aspect of his sentiments she had questioned. 

 

‘ _ You realize,’  _ she had told him months ago,  _ ‘that every chance exists you will be held to this?’  _ That alone should have warned her of the effect of this to his psyche, for it was the opposite of the Thanadir she knew to open himself to that level of vulnerability. Not when by nature he could be so dominant, so ascendant. And yet he had bowed his head and insisted on it, and that he would see to any forfeit asked of him.

 

_ I think we both know, that any answers to that question like as not are in the letter,  _ Earlene told him as gently as she could.  _ I am here for you in any way I might support you, meldir. You have only to tell me what you want. _

 

_ I want to read it and yet I do not. And yet if I do not, my mind will have no rest. I wish I knew… _

 

_ Knew what? _

 

“How bad it is,” he whispered. “Would you read it first, and tell me? It would...help. I would know what to expect. If I am going to be told to drown myself on the way to Aman it would be better to at least have the chance to prepare.”

 

“It will not say that,” Thranduil said quietly, but with confidence. “And besides I would not allow it.” Hugging him close, he kissed the side of Thanadir’s head. “Have faith, Thanadir. You have both of us. We will see you through this, whatever is in that letter.”

 

“I love you both,” he said, needing every bit of the strength that love gave to him. “This would be so hard without you.” Thanadir held tightly to both of them until another thought crossed his mind. “Oh, no! I am so sorry, how selfish of me! Legolas wrote to you, and I did not even remember…” the shorter ellon looked up into Thranduil’s unreadable eyes. “I am not the only one likely a little worried.” A hand tentatively reached up to touch Thranduil’s cheek. “I know how you are, my Lord. That you will prefer to be alone, to see what is written. Please know that I am here, and that I love you. I hope that you will not carry your burdens alone.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes closed, as he held Thanadir against him. “It is more than that. Oropher is with them too. In Valinor. There is a letter, though Sharley has not yet given it to me. It is my instinct that she is trying to shield me from...I am not certain what. But I believe I am not being told all there is to know.”

 

“Give it time,” Earlene encouraged softly. “I do not know everything, but as a woman, as one woman to another, how she was on our way home from Doolin...that journey did not go as she hoped. Something went...wrong. I do not pretend to know what, nor did I try to pry. But whatever she has said or not...please understand, I think she has her own private struggles just now.”

 

Thranduil blinked. This, he had not considered...and he of all knew how easy it could be, to become mired solely in one’s own point of view and personal concerns. Bringing his arm around her as well, he kissed her also. “I will remember what you have said. But Thanadir is right, I wish to read this alone. You have my promise, I will share what I learn when I have had the time to consider what is here.”

 

In a less usual gesture which held fairly clear symbolism, Earlene kissed the back of his hand, before leaning her face into his open palm. “I love you.”

 

With a brief caress to each of their cheeks, he turned and departed.

 

**

 

“Here,” Thanadir said, once they were in their bedroom, and the door locked. The envelope was withdrawn, and given to Earlene, whose eyes were arrested by the sheer perfection of the script. “I know,” Thanadir whispered, perceiving her thought. “He has incomparable skill. You had best prepare yourself for the actual letter,” he joked, smiling wanly.

 

“Lie on the bed,” she suggested. “Make yourself comfortable. I am guessing you would like me to sit just far enough away so that you cannot read over my shoulder, so I will stay here, facing you.” Climbing onto the bed, she sat cross-legged facing him once her shoes were off. 

 

“Let me rub your feet?” he asked. “It will help me feel less anxious.”

 

“You hardly need to make that offer twice,” she murmured.

 

“But I did not make it twice. I made it once.”

 

“It is a figure of speech, meldir. An idiom. Maybe it would be better if I said that I would enjoy the touch of your hands very much. Alright, let’s do this,” she sighed, carefully breaking the seal. Immediately after unfolding it, she recognized that the letter was completed in a different script, but elected to not take the time to solve that riddle just now. Her brow furrowed, concentrating to read the Sindarin...though the lettering as perfect as a computer might produce certainly made her task easier.

 

_ “Hîr Thanadir, by chance your letter came directly to me, for I had just arrived at Elrond’s home not long before Tirillë herself. I needed some days to reflect prior to responding. Your words affected me deeply, but you have no means of understanding why. _

 

_ I believe it would be unfair to both of us, for me to minimize the price I paid for your rejection of me so long ago. It is true that I was a capable counselor; I am yet a regarded scholar. But I also have ever seen myself as unlikable. I have been called many things when no one believed I was near enough to listen, and hearing those confirmations of how others viewed me--aloof, stern, gruff, severe, solemn, unfriendly--ever eroded at my sense of worth. I have never wished to be perceived this way; it is an accident of my coloring and that I am by nature withdrawn. What passed between us was...I was unable to recover, for I never understood what I could have done to offend you so. It was too easy for me to conclude that I must truly be as awful as so many seemed to believe. _

 

_ Lost to grief, I sailed west at the insistence of my friend Glorfindel, who has watched over me for all this time. Despite everything that I suffered, I find myself in the improbable position of owing to you, in part, my present happiness. You will hear soon enough that because of the news that made its way to us from your wife, that Glorfindel and I have wed. We made a home together in Alqualondë, where we lived as chaste companions because...I think I need not explain that nothing else was possible. I do not yet truly understand what happened in your world, or the full intention of our Powers. But the gift of having my mate is beyond price, and I understand that you too were...brought to similar circumstances and that you are betrothed to Aran Thranduil. I offer my blessings and my sincere wishes for your happiness. The same, toward you and your wife, who I now realize I saw once, sleeping in the Gardens of Irmo. I regret that I missed the chance to speak with her, but matters unfold as they must. And so many beautiful children...the Valar have surely blessed you. _

 

_ Regarding the rest...it is not in me, to add to the pain of another. I forgive you, Thanadir. Someday, I still hope to speak to you in more than just a letter. I will not scorn you. It required courage for you to write to me, and in doing so you provided answers that restored some measure of my peace of mind. Apparently we each struggle with that which is hidden from others. I imagine it will be some time before any further exchange of this kind can occur. I have offered to help Elrond secure a home for you on these shores. I will keep careful records when I commence my investigations, and if Elrond and Aran Thranduil will it, perhaps this is not the last matter we will have to discuss. With sincere regard, -Erestor _

 

Now, the script changed to one slightly harder to read but still legible:

 

_ Lord Thanadir. With Erestor’s knowledge and permission, I am adding to his reply, though he wishes not to know what I have written. Prior to the receipt of your letter, it had long been my intention to call you to account for the sufferings of Erestor, should I ever have met you again. He is a sensitive and gentle ellon, whereas I am quite different. Your letter to him has caused greater change for the good than he has admitted to you, and for this I am thankful. Much, though not all, of my ire toward you is appeased. For I am the one to whom it fell to pick up what pieces remained, after your treatment of him left him a fragile shadow of a once confident and great mind. He forgives more readily than I. He will not assign you a penalty but I have no such difficulty; indeed I claim the right to it, for your actions affected my life as surely and profoundly as his. _

 

_ When the time comes, I task you with offering him your friendship. Yes, you have apologized, and that is something. But it does not erase the harm you have done to a beautiful spirit. He sees that you have a family, with offspring and every happiness denied to him all of his long life until mere days ago. I know that your way has not been without trials, but my concern is far greater for my husband. If earning my forgiveness in honor means something to you, then work to truly undo the damage you wrought. Give him the opportunity for the one thing he ever actually hoped for, from you--friendship with one he saw as a peer and with whom he believed he had common interests. If you try your best and are not well-matched to each other, that is another matter. I will not insist on something that suits neither of you. But for your having made the earnest effort, then, I will be reconciled with you as well. -Glorfindel _

 

This was not at all what Earlene expected.  _ Surprises all around _ . Glorfindel was clearly...someone who would have made a good attorney. His demand held an elegance of wisdom, strength and compassion and...that she felt favorably impressed would be an understatement.

 

“Well?” pleaded Thanadir, who studied her face intently.

 

“What do you wish to know? A summary? It is not bad, Thanadir. Not by any definition of bad I know, anyway. But I believe the letter will still affect you. Perhaps a great deal. That part might be...bad.”

 

“That makes no sense,” he replied, distressed. “Yes. A summary.”

 

“In a nutshell? Erestor forgives you, and asks for nothing. Glorfindel does not forgive you quite yet, and assigns you the penance you offered. That when the time comes, you do your very best to befriend Erestor.”

 

“What?! Glorfindel? What does Glorfindel have to do with any of this?”

 

“It would seem that Glorfindel is Erestor’s husband now,” Earlene said gently. “But before that, he was the one who took care of Erestor. The impression I have is, it was something like how Quen took care of Maglor, until it could be more.”

 

“But...why...I do not understand, Earlene. Erestor left, went to Aman. Did something happen to him?”

 

“Thanadir…” Earlene placed her hand over his, where it gripped her foot tightly. “ _ You _ happened to him. To Erestor. And therefore, to both of them. This went far beyond you running Erestor off from Thranduil’s Halls. I will help you, with what you might not understand, but I think you need to read this for yourself. Please promise me one thing, though.”

 

“What?”

 

“That you will not run out of here on me. Do not make me chase you through the forest.”

 

“Then it is bad,” he whispered, looking away as his shoulders dropped in defeat. “I will do as you ask.”

 

Handing him the letter, she changed her position to sit next to him. A minute later, it was as she feared. A deep sound of pain tore through him, as he held onto her and cried. His thoughts were as she knew they would be. The future appeared bright indeed, but his ability to now bear the full knowledge of what his actions had done...this would not be easy. Not easy at all.

 


	146. One Hundred Forty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 15, 2033

{May 15, 2033}

 

 _I was afraid this was going to be a bad idea,_ Earlene said silently to Thranduil. The King had returned yesterday evening, skipping dinner at the house in favor of something in the Halls or nothing at all; she had no idea. Her hands had been full with Thanadir, who had rapidly slipped into a depression. It was not the first time she had seen this in him, but for how long this could easily be hidden from others… _I have no way to explain to him that if he cannot dissemble better, he risks everyone here finding out about all this before he really wishes to share it._

 

Thranduil continued to pay attention only to his eggs, not particularly responding to her comments, though he did give Thanadir a cursory glance. The elf had taken two pancakes and some fruit, and was struggling to eat even those. _Might as well strap a flashing red light to his forehead_ … With a careful sigh Earlene realized, this might be all on her shoulders. Her husbands were not really in any position to help each other. This was something quite new. At least, for her. Well, she wasn’t about to draw any attention to the seneschal’s lack of appetite; there was always the possibility that others at the table simply were not paying attention. Clearing her plate, she was not far behind Lorna in the short line to wash and dry her earthenware. They were trying something new, lately. Instead of two people doing all the dishes, there was an experiment with having soapy water, a place to rinse and towels to dry; each person cleaned and put away their own things. So far, it was doing quite well. So far.

 

Given that a number of their dishes were her gran’s china, Lorna was quite careful. “So, I saw that Joe lad yesterday, and I'd forgot to ask, how did we ruin his day, when we were in the diner?”

 

Earlene blinked at her. “He was hitting on you, because he thought you were available. The moment wedding rings and husbands came up, he blasted off like a Titan rocket. I felt vaguely sorry for him, but better he get tipped off sooner than after he had enough time to really dig himself a hole and be embarrassed.”

 

Lorna blinked back at her. “...Huh,” she said, thrown. “Why the hell would he do that? I don't think I’ve ever been hit on before.” _Nobody_ hit on her. Even _Ratiri_ hadn’t ever hit on her.

 

“Well, the usual reason is, a man is looking for someone to date and thinks you are attractive? He was decent enough about it. I’d take it as a compliment, honestly. I know we’re both, uh, well-preserved, but it’s something to be past fifty and still be able to turn a bloke’s head.”

 

“Kind’v flattered I’d turn anyone’s head at any age,” Lorna mused. “Poor lad, I hope he finds somebody.” She glanced around, and saw there was no one. “So, Sharley didn't get to see Marty, when she went to Aman. I’m going to keep her busy with an autogyro, when Maglor’s working. They look surprisingly simple.”

 

“Better you than me. I’m shite at all that kind of thing, but I admire people who can build useful items. Takes a certain kind of thought process, and mine is not suited for that application. If Sharley’s good at it too, more power to her.”

 

“She follows directions well,” Lorna said. “I taught her how to change her brakes, years ago, and her hands are bigger than mine...then again, whose aren’t? _Atia_ has bigger hands than I do.” She flapped her fingers once she’d dried her plate, and added, more quietly, “How’s Thranduil? Sharley wouldn’t tell me why I needed to give him a hug, but I’m guessing it’s nothing good, so...is he okay? Or will he _be_ okay?”

 

“He will. It goes with the King thing. Thranduil is the person no one else tells what to do. And when something hits him that is difficult to put somewhere, he needs time to go through his own process of evaluation. Alone, which is how he has ever managed his challenges. He knows what resources he has, and that he is loved.” She shook her head. “I’m married to him, and even I won’t go trying to force my way into his space before he is ready. It’s not what he needs. At least, that’s my perception of what I’ve seen. But I don’t think I’m wrong, not when Thanadir in so many words does the same thing. If Thanadir doesn’t know him, who does?” Her shoulders shrugged. _Besides, Thranduil is hardly the one I am worried about,_ she thought to herself.

 

“Well, whenever you think he’s ready for a hug, tell him he’s got one waiting, okay?” Lorna said. She hated the fact that there was nothing she could do -- which would make building an autogyro an even better idea. She and Sharley could keep busy, possibly with the Lump.

 

“I will. He might even hear me thinking it,” she smiled. Her husband, when he was overwhelmed, shut others out of his mental space. Unless she were to make forceful demands, well, it would be hard to tell if Houston was reaching the orbiting ISS.

 

Lorna dried off the last of her silverware. “I just feel bloody terrible for Sharley,” she sighed. “I know seeing Marty was the main reason she actually _wanted_ to go to Aman. She knew she ought to, but seeing Marty was the main attraction.”

 

“It’s harder for her,” Earlene said, not sure how to mention her surmises without being offensive. Or whether they should be expressed at all... _probably not_. “It’s a different set of realities, and those realities are now not what she is used to any longer.”

 

“She’s adjusting, but it’s been a slow process. There’s more there, I know there is, that she hasn’t said yet -- maybe not even to Maglor.” Lorna frowned. “I know she thinks that the only reason the trip wasn’t a waste is because’v finding Legolas. Otherwise...well. _Something_ happened, but I won’t poke her over it.”

 

“She is of the Ainur,” Earlene said simply. “That is probably for the best.”

 

“Well, I’ll keep her busy...and myself, come to that. I'm taking Chandra to stay up in Baile for a little while tomorrow -- there’s a few empty houses now, so she won’t have to deal with Mairead.” She sighed. “Angie told me years ago Chandra shouldn’t be living in a house with this many people, but she could hardly live on her own. At least she’s old enough now to have her own space.”

 

“Can’t say I blame her,” Earlene said, shaking her head. “When all this began, it was just going to be the five of us and our kids. And then life happened, and family happened, and my uterus happened. There are times I miss the days when I could cook for five of us.” She sighed. “Five of us...oh well. Time moves along, and not always in the direction we imagine, eh?”

 

“Doesn’t it ever,” Lorna snorted. “I think the great exodus might be beginning, though. Lorna the Younger’s moved, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Shane did, too, now that he’s got his Leaving Cert. Saoirse won’t, for the same reason Ratiri and I won’t -- windows. Natural light. Angie’s trying to work out some way to light people’s flats that’ll keep them from going spare if they can’t get outside for days on end. I think Pat would move, if not for Grania. She’s got that T-shirt thing still, and she needs electricity for part’v it.”

 

“You know,” Earlene frowned, “not remotely telling you what to do but have you considered just selling that business? Cashing it out and unloading it? I mean...it was great, but of all the things we need people to learn for the future, silk-screening probably isn’t one of them. At some point it has to fold; we’ve four years left. Just a thought.”

 

“I’ve thought’v it,” Lorna said, and sighed again. “So far I've kept on because’v Grania. She’s not a Donovan -- she’s in her sixties, and she’s not exactly physically robust, but I know she’d push herself if she felt like she had to. We’d need to find her some other...low impact...job that wasn’t sewing. She’d learn sewing, yeah, but she’d hate it. Woodworking smaller objects, maybe?” Sewing involved sitting still for long periods of time, whereas with a silk screening machine, there was still plenty of moving around. Not to mention, running a treadle machine was actually a lot of work, if you did it for any length of time.

 

Maybe Siobhan could take her on as an apprentice. She’d adapted her skillset, and started making more practical things as well as novelties like hair sticks. Wooden bowls were far sturdier than china or clay, and they were going to need a shitload of them someday, so she’d been churning them out -- but always with a little decoration carved into them. Siobhan helped some, on her days off, and some of the pinballs were being trained -- but it was a skill, and like all skills, took some time to learn.

 

“Why not let her see what she likes best?  There are more food processing jobs than anyone can count.  But no matter what she chooses, she has to know when to lay off.  There's a difference between not being lazy and overdoing it for your age and health. And this reminds me.  How much time are people taking off, as a rule? When Chandra wanted to spend her birthday with a day off to work at the diner, that worried me.”

 

“It kind’v depends on the task, but we’ve been trying to do a four-day work week,” Lorna said. “It’s a bit hard to go by ‘work-week’ anymore, because the nature’v the jobs’re different. What’s happening a lot’v the time is that people just keep on working anyway, because otherwise they’d get bored. Not everyone likes playing cards, and we’re still discovering hobbies that don't require electricity. So far everyone has hated the idea of embroidery, but we’ve got some knitters.

 

“And Chandra...she wanted to get that diner done, before Sharley got home. Sharley...gets her, in a way I sometimes think even Ratiri and I don't always. Kid’s even worse than me with her words, but she can _do_ shit, so that’s what she does.”

 

Earlene considered. What did people do in the evenings, but read, play games,  some craft, or...music, maybe? Spin yarn? As she tidied up the kitchen, Thanadir brought his plate at last,  which he silently washed and dried. _Uh-oh. Divert_ . “Are you ready for our lesson?” she asked him aloud. _Smile and nod, Thanadir. Please, just go along with me._  

 

“Okay,” he answered.  “I mean, yes. I need…” he wandered off mid-sentence.

 

“Poor elf.  I think he is a little preoccupied.” _Fail, Earlene. Just, fail._

 

“Because’v Thranduil?” Lorna asked, watching him retreat. She’d never seen the poor elf so... _off_ before.

 

Earlene did not want to lie. She really did not. _Jeebus._ “No,” she said,  honesty winning out. “Something private to him. Sorry.” Tossing out tidbits that could then not be explained was...less than fun.

 

“I almost think Sharley came home with more secrets than answers,” Lorna said. “Jesus, and you’ve got both’v them to look after...if you need any’v Ratiri’s or my really fancy whiskey, just say the word.”

 

“Thanks,” she grinned,  even as it occurred to her what a total waste that would be,  for her to drink it. “It'll settle out, eventually. He just needs some time. And...I think I’d better go keep him on track. Talk to you later,” she smiled with what she hoped was confidence.

 

“Good luck,” Lorna said, wiping down the counters. “I’ll go use the printer in the cottage.” She needed it, to print the plans for her autogyro. The model was called ‘honey bee’, which pleased her more than it ought to.

 

“Have fun.” Her parting comment given, her steps took her quickly to their room, where she found Thanadir in Thranduil’s arms, his face written over in misery. But what seemed more peculiar was the King himself. Like a marble angel, something from the Renaissance. His face was beautiful, but it was a cold beauty. Mostly, she wondered if she was helping or intruding. After all, this particular problem was older than human civilization. Could she really expect to make a difference? But one look at Thanadir’s expression.. _.I have to try_. Silently, she moved to a chair, sat, and waited.

 

**

 

 _Thranduil, if now’s a good time, I have something for you_ , Sharley said. Maglor had gone off to lessons, and she sat on their bed, staring at the drawing of Marty Saoirse had made her so long ago now.

 

Thranduil blinked, from across the house, determined to say no more than necessary and just short of angry that he had been made to wait. _If you could please slide it under the door to our room, it would be appreciated,_ he said with forced yet still elegant politeness.

 

 _Can do._ All things considered, she was glad Lorna had plans for them today. Off she went, moving through a house now nearly empty for the day, and slid the letter as bidden before heading off. If she kept busy, she could try to break down all Melian had said to her, a bit at a time, so that it wouldn’t overwhelm her with something close to despair again.

 

Curious, Thanadir saw the letter and detached himself just long enough to retrieve it; Thranduil remained impassive. Instantly the seneschal recognized the script, and walked to place it in Thranduil’s hand. Their eyes met, as they spoke silently. What Earlene saw next almost made her cry. The King’s head lowered to rest on Thanadir’s shoulder, as the smaller elf held him very tightly. For a moment the mask was down, and Thranduil let the pain he felt appear on his face, while out of nowhere Thanadir became the one to project strength. They lingered this way, until touching foreheads and parting from each other. Then the mask returned. But before he left, Thranduil walked to his wife, knelt down and kissed her on the cheek, and squeezed her hand, before he left her alone with Thanadir. Thanadir who stood there, but did not move.

 

“I think we should go for a walk,” Earlene said softly. It was a warm day already, and promised to be pleasant. With a deep sigh, he assented and took her hand.

 

**

 

“You have walked me all over our forest,” Thanadir noted, though his heart warmed to know why Earlene had done this.

 

“Don’t forget up and down, too, we climbed at least a dozen trees.”

 

“So we did,” he acknowledged with a smile, some of the weight on his heart temporarily lifting.

 

“I am going to heat up a plate of cookies for you, and make you cocoa. Do you think you would like that?”

 

“Yes,” came the answer, though he revealed no intention of letting go of her. That was fine. She would rather he be a ClingOn than on the verge of despair. Amused, Earlene moved slowly around the kitchen, with her elven remora securely adhered to her side.

 

Soon they were seated in the Heart Room, enjoying the rarity of it being completely empty in the later afternoon. Earlene had fixed a cup for herself, too, but had not taken any when Thranduil appeared in the doorway, his expression one of defeat. He seated himself so that Thanadir was between them. In sympathy, she offered him her untouched cocoa. At first he appeared about to refuse, when an audible sigh escaped and he accepted the mug. “Thank you both, for giving me time. And tolerating my mercurial behavior of the past many hours. The sum of the news has been both joyous and not, all at the same time.”

 

Earlene and Thanadir watched him in silence, knowing he would continue when he felt ready. “From what I can piece together, my father made his way from where you spoke to him, Earlene, to the settlement of those he used to rule. Legolas writes that he is barely functional, mired in sorrow and shame, and that they are trying to help him find a place among them.” He sighed. “A very long time ago, Alassëa found this group of woodland elves and made her home there. Not as queen, and barely as my wife, though that is what she was believed to be. Apparently she told no one that she dissolved our bond, thinking that rather than case a stir, I might never come to these shores and it would therefore never need to be said. However, my father meeting Earlene somewhat altered that plan. Legolas himself only recently learned his parents are no longer married. Alassëa is a healer now, a very skilled one. They live simply but well enough, farming, hunting and foraging in the woods. He cares for them but they have no King save for perhaps the Lord Oromë in whose forests they dwell. My son is very excited to learn of his many siblings, and has made it clear that he still holds great love for me in his heart.” At this, Earlene heard a relief and happiness in his voice seldom equalled. “You also, Thanadir. He looks forward to meeting you, Earlene. Legolas ever had a kind heart.”

 

Both his listeners nodded speechlessly, for what was one to say to any of that?

 

“My father’s communication was somewhat brief. He is sorry, so sorry. He does not expect me to forgive him but hopes that nevertheless he might one day plead for this. And that though he felt he did not deserve to write me, his conscience would not allow him to miss an opportunity to begin redressing what he believes can never be repaired.”

 

Unnoticed, Thanadir’s chin began to tremble, and silent tears fell. He too had despised Oropher. But did he not feel now, so acutely, these same emotions? A terrible wrong was inflicted on another, somewhere out of the depths of a flawed mind, and it was not possible to see how the damage done could ever be erased? That he even had to admit to a commonality with Oropher was a heavy blow to one who had otherwise tried so hard to live a blameless life. Finally a hitch in his breathing betrayed his tears to Earlene, who wrapped her arms around him.

 

“It is not the same, meldir,” she whispered.

 

“Of course it is the same!” he snapped back vehemently. “He committed crimes over a span of some years, that left lasting scars. I managed instead one grievous crime, that had a result entirely like...that. I ruined the life of another, Earlene. That much was made completely obvious. And I now must find some way to live with the pain of it, and make it right.” He looked up at Thranduil, rapidly losing all control of his emotions. “There were so many times, when I wished you had just left me imprisoned. I did not deserve your mercy then, and I feel like I deserve it less now. I do not know how to live with this. I can understand how your father must feel,” he said softly. “Though I wish so much that I did not.”

 

“You would have faded to Námo,” Thanadir,” the King said, stricken. “I was so afraid that you were going to anyway, no matter what I did. And then to learn, all these years later--it was not your fault, meldir. There was a reason.”

 

“We now know there was a reason for what your father did, too,” Thanadir pushed back, tears streaming down his face, his voice raised with the strain of his words. “And what good does it do you? What good does it do poor Erestor?”

 

“Eru,” Thranduil answered, his arm around Thanadir as well. For at the moment, he had no answer to this.

 

Lorna had spent a blissfully ignorant morning with Sharley -- first printing out the schematics of her autogyro, and then calling metalyards and parts dealers all over Ireland in search of the necessary supplies. For this, she refused to pay for something until she’d held it in her hands, and seen its quality for herself.

 

They’d come back to the house in search of tea, and in that moment Sharley could have slapped everyone, but most especially herself, for not making sure they weren’t going to walk in on something they shouldn’t. Just...motherfucker...she was sorely, sorely tempted to just excise all of that from Lorna’s mind, but that would be horrendous and awful and just...no. Was it too much to hope Lorna hadn’t heard that?

 

Lorna, unfortunately, had in fact heard that. She’d heard it, though she didn't fully register it at first, because how could Thanadir be saying something like that? Oropher had been a miserable shithead, but Thanadir was Thanadir, and what the fuck did he mean, Thranduil should have left him locked up? That would mean Thranduil had done that, that he’d done exactly the kind of sickening bullshit human monarchs pulled. Had he? Why? Revulsion washed through her, and yet part of her, the part of her that was Lorna, not merely her instincts, her experiences, shoved at it, because she didn't want it, she didn't want this -- this paradigm, the inability to fight the surge of her own thoughts and emotions, she didn't want it --

 

Sharley stared down at her, and wondered if her mind had just broken. Would it be so bad a thing, to pull this out of her head? This dichotomy, this war within her mind, was like nothing Sharley had actually seen before. She was about thirty seconds away from just knocking the poor woman out.

 

She had no chance, though; Lorna hurried forward with a speed a little too impressive for one so tiny. Sharley grabbed at the threads of her shirt, since thread was as yet the only thing she could manipulate with her mind, but the flannel was old, worn, and the collar came off.

 

 _“Oh, fuck everything,”_ Jimmy grumbled. _“Nice, guys, I think you broke Lorna’s brain.”_

 

Sharley was not entirely sure he was wrong, either. She couldn’t get a lock on more than three thoughts at a time, and those would break and vanish and join up with others. Whatever the fuck was going on in the poor woman’s head, it was not what Sharley -- or possibly even Lorna herself -- would have expected. Her eyes were wide, but there was so much churning in them that they looked more like glass than anything belonging to a living human.

 

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Earlene said, as she immediately perceived that all the foregoing had just been overheard. _Just spiffy._ But right now, nothing mattered to her but Thanadir, who was sobbing uncontrollably. Using some of her not inconsiderable strength, she bodily pulled at the weeping elf, forcing him to hold her and be held in return. Thranduil would have to deal with Lorna, who--Earlene had sympathy concerning this blow to her psyche, but some part of her guessed that one day this outcome would be nearly inevitable. Secrets had a way of not remaining secrets forever, and the dungeon cells had existed because they were used. _I still like it down there_ , she thought, her eyes narrowing.

 

“Somebody want to say something slightly more constructive?” Sharley asked. She had the collar of Lorna’s shirt in her hand. “Would it be horrible if I knocked her out? Because this is kinda tearing at her.” She itched, so much, to just touch her poor tiny friend and let her drop...but that wouldn’t help, in the end, and she knew it. _I’m not gonna say anything to poor Thanadir, but Earlene, Lorna can never know about your own stint down there. Nobody can. No human._

 

Earlene refused to respond to Sharley’s words. Her personal opinion of this topic was one of vast disdain, and...it did not change that this was not exactly news. And she still did not care, because her only concern was her distraught husband.

 

Lorna was staring at Thranduil, but she couldn’t say anything. Her mind was too full, though even she wasn’t sure what of -- it was turmoil, a maelstrom of emotion she had no name for. She searched his face, though for what, even she didn't know.

 

Thranduil, for his part, had idly wondered how he would ever manage to navigate this, and felt that maybe it was finally time for at least part of this charade to end. While he was sorry for her emotions, he saw this much as his wife did. As any of their people would. Lorna did not understand, perhaps she did not wish to understand, and if she was determined to keep her former point of view there was little he could do about it. Strangely enough, perhaps it was just as well this was happening now, in the middle of so many things that his family deemed far more important. He would only spend so much time explaining or defending matters within his authority--from fifteen thousand years ago. “That would be a very slippery slope, Sharley. There is a reason I have not, though so many times it would have been the easier course of action. It is an abuse of our gifts.”

 

“I know it would be,” she said grimly. “Dunno if you’re getting anything outta her head that I’m not, but I want to try something, okay? Will you let me take you into Lorna’s mind? She wants to understand. I've got that much, but I’m not sure just how well she’s hearing anything.”

 

“I do not understand exactly what you intend, but, you have my consent. At least, I think you do.” Hopefully he had not just agreed to something completely undesirable.

 

Sharley all but picked Lorna up to set her on the couch, and sat beside her. “This’ll be easier if we’re touching...and Kurt, don't fucking even.” She took Lorna’s hand, and Thranduil’s, and...pulled.

 

_Lorna’s inner landscape was weird, and yet it made sense. Sharley herself had imprisoned the Stranger in a desolation of black stone, but she was not, after a moment, surprised at where Lorna’s mind had retreated. This pale forest, slightly luminous against the black sky, was not the real forest she’d lingered in after her accident, but it was a place that was at once familiar and inhuman._

 

_She sat in the silvery grass, barefoot, and Sharley, holding Thranduil’s hand, went to sit before her._

 

_“It’s better to not ask how this works,” she said. “I’m sure I knew once, though I haven’t remembered it yet. All right, Lorna, gimme a word. Just one.”_

 

_Lorna looked up -- at her, and then at Thranduil. “Why?” she asked softly._

 

_Well, it was a word, Sharley supposed. The mere fact that this was her reaction, rather than something more...Lorna...was almost more worrisome than it was a relief. Sharley wondered if Estë had fully thought her gift through, before giving it to Lorna._

 

_“Why what?” Thranduil countered, not about to answer the wrong question when especially now, it paid to be very sure. Though, his voice was even and  his tone kindly._

 

_“Why would you lock Thanadir up?” she asked. “I know back then you didn't know he was...different, but...he’s Thanadir. Why did whatever he did get him locked up?”_

 

_Sharley wanted to be encouraged by this, but there was still too much turmoil in the thoughts outside of this little sanctuary, and she had no idea which way the chips would fall._

 

_“Because Thanadir committed a crime, and being taken into custody is one of the consequences at a King’s discretion.”_

 

_Now this was interesting...there was a surge of something hot and ugly at those words, and yet it was subsumed almost instantly, lost in the storm._

 

_“But what did he do, that could be so bad?” Lorna asked. “I mean...he’s Thanadir. The Seneschal’v Seemliness, Earlene calls him, and she’s not exactly wrong.”_

 

_“No one knew what Thanadir did in all my Realm, except he and I, and our wife. I will only say that it was serious enough that I could have ordered him banished, but I would not have. For even then, I loved him. I will only say that it was not a small matter. It was very bad.”_

 

_Lorna shut her eyes, fingers trailing over the grass. “I don't understand, Thranduil,” she said. “Help me. Make me, because I don't, and I don't know how to on my own. What happened -- not what did Thanadir do, but once he got...arrested...what happened?”_

 

_“My guards were ordered not to harm him; he accompanied them willingly. He was brought to a cell, and given extra food, many blankets. They went untouched. For three days he did not eat or move except to care for life’s necessities, and finally I went to him and had one of the most painful conversations of our long years together. For neither of us could understand what had compelled him to act as he had. He was removed to his room, under what I suppose you would call house arrest. And still he would not eat. He was beginning to fade, under the weight of his transgression. We made...an agreement, and he was required to remain in his rooms for a month. Eating, keeping warm, and doing at least some things to please himself. After the time passed he resumed his duties, under a great burden of shame. For though others did not know what he had done, they knew it was bad enough to merit a fairly extraordinary penalty. This matter has never ended, though it was fifteen thousand years ago. But its days are numbered, for better or worse.”_

 

_Again there was that surge of something vicious and ugly, and again it went...somewhere. Out into the morass._

 

_Lorna opened her eyes, looking at him. “You didn't try to talk to him the day he got...arrested?” She almost choked on the word, but not quite, and rested her chin on her knees. It was warm here. Calm. All but silent. They were all alone in this entire world._

 

_“That would have fared poorly for both of us, as I was enraged at the time. What he did deeply harmed another, and it was left to me to deal with the aftermath. It was also not the first time this transgression had occurred, though it was assuredly the most egregious instance. And while I love you, I have already revealed more than is proper. Thanadir deserves some privacy, unless he chooses to share this with you himself.”_

 

_To that, Lorna said nothing, because she wasn’t what sure to say. She was rather more at sea, in this moment, than she could ever remember being. “I’m not sure what to do with that,” she said. “I actually...don't know what I think. This was fifteen thousand years ago?” It was a span of time she could barely conceive of, and yet both he and Thanadir were much older even than that._

 

 _“Oh shit, we_ did _break her,” Jimmy said._

 

_“Jimmy?” Sharley sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Mute. Thranduil, hug her before she manages to go into vapor lock even this far into her mind.”_

 

_Thranduil did just that, wishing that somehow there was not so much...distortion, concerning this topic. Yes, elves could and did imprison. But not like the humans did, with no regard for so many things. In his eyes it was certainly preferable to...Donal._

 

_Lorna hugged him back, wondering how long her mind would take to -- to do whatever it was going to do. “Thranduil, I hate that,” she said, “but I don't want to hate it. I don't want to...I want to be able to think what I want to think, and...does that make any sense? It’s like...I can’t help my instincts, but there’s...oh, fuck. There’s got to be some way I can deal with them, right?”_

 

_“In this, I do not know how to help. This topic has ever been a...landmine, between us. We do not use prison as your kind does. Probably you could find many here, who passed a few hours in a cell at one time or another. I do not think you could find anyone who minded, and some I think have found it to be an enduring subject of amusement, though I would possibly not include Thanadir among them.  It was an aspect of how order and discipline were maintained, of old. Knowing what I do now, about Thanadir, I would have chosen differently. But I did not know, and neither did he. You are a victim of your experiences. But in this, he is not. He would not understand why you take exception to this, at all. We have different views, Lorna. Beyond that, I cannot offer more._

 

_Lorna shook her head. “That’s not what I mean,” she said. “This, this is just...it’s one thing I’ve had to fight myself over, because…”_

 

_“Because you’re you, and she doesn’t want to just go off on you,” Sharley said, seeing the poor woman just wasn’t going to manage it on her own. “What she means, what she wants, is to know how to do this again, without it sucking so fucking much. Am I right, Lorna?”_

 

_There was a little nod, and, “I can’t do this more than once. This...sitting on shit, on what I feel because I don't want to feel it. But I don't know how to make it work otherwise.” Yes, she was nice and miserable, and she felt a bit sick, because this was new to her. Once upon a time she’d been good at hating herself, but never, then or now, had she fought with herself quite like this._

 

_“Sharley could re-wire your brain,” Layla said helpfully._

 

_“No,” Sharley said flatly, “no, I could not. Hush.”_

 

_“It is perspectives, Lorna. If you feel you must give out at me for being a King who owns a dungeon, then I suppose you must. This is very difficult for me; your thoughts are a jumble that I am struggling to disentangle. Maybe I should ask you, what would make you feel better?” Eru, he was confused._

 

 _“But I don't_ want _to want to give out at you,” she said. “Does that make any sense? I don't want to be like...well, like I’ve always been, but I_ am _me, so what I guess I really want to do is be able to control that without my brain halfway breaking, like I’m pretty sure it’s trying to do right now.”_

 

_“I could tell you, then, do not be that way. But then I might have to give Thanadir the same advice. For he is struggling with a very similar emotion. He is choosing to let a difficult thing have power over him, because it feels easier for him to hurt right now than to do otherwise. Human or elf, some matters are difficult, Lorna.”_

 

_“Deep shite like this is why I used to get drunk,” she grumbled. “I can’t just ‘not be that way’. That’s not how humans work -- I wish it was that easy.”_

 

_“She’s not wrong,” Sharley said. “Lorna, do you need to stay in here for a while? I can get you -- the real you -- upstairs with the cats, if you need to hang out in here for a bit.”_

 

_Lorna nodded, but when she spoke, it was to Thranduil. “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, out...there,” she said, “but I’m going to tell you that this is me hugging you now, since you won’t want one later. Okay?” And if his ribs creaked a little under the force of her hug, hopefully he’d forgive her._

 

_“Okay,” he said, smiling. It might not be entirely pretty, but neither would it be horrendously ugly. He could lay at least this one fear to rest._

 

_“All right, Lorna, I’m gonna make you snooze for a minute,” Sharley said. “Thranduil, I can take you outta here, whenever you’re ready.” She really wished she knew how she knew to do this. It was probably an interesting process._

 

_“I think now might be good,” he said, still in the midst of some difficult feelings about Sharley he would rather keep private. Especially right now._

 

_“Snooze, Lorna.” Sharley touched her temple, and she curled up in the grass. Carefully, Maia and Elf exited the pale forest, out into the real world._

 

“That was fucking weird, but not nonproductive,” she said. Lorna, who was indeed snoozing, leaned against her.

 

Earlene resisted the urge to glare, for Thanadir had just quieted, and his head was buried in the crook of her neck. Her hand smoothed his hair, over and over. While she herself did not find ‘crying it out’ to be the most pleasant thing, sometimes crying until nothing could hurt again for awhile was not just the best solution; it was the only solution. What bothered her more is that she did not have a clear idea of how to help him, except to chip away at his guilt much as she had done once before. I mean, in a way, wasn’t it better now? For the first time, he had something he could plan to do. Befriend Erestor, surely that was not the most onerous assignment in the world? Plus...Erestor freely forgave him. That had to mean something, and she intended to make sure of it.

 

“I am sorry,” Thanadir whispered. “I have caused more problems.”

 

“No, meldir. You have not,” Thranduil said firmly. “But I would like it if we would return to our room.”

 

Nodding compliantly, he let himself be led off, with a guilty glance at Sharley and Lorna.

 

“Thank you for helping,” Thranduil told Sharley with full honesty. Whatever his own struggles at the moment, this would have gone much worse had she not been there. Maybe part of it was also...it was disconcerting, in a way. He had always been the greatest power inside this forest, save when the Valar made their appearances. That was no longer the case, and it was...strange. Then again, what was not, these days?

 

“Thank _you_ ,” Sharley said, just as honestly. “I couldn’t’ve done this without you. I’ll take this one upstairs, and sit with her until she wakes up.” She looked down at the crown of Lorna’s head. “I love Lorna, but she is really, really weird in some ways. Ways even she doesn’t understand.”

 

Thranduil did not wish to agree aloud, for that seemed as though it would be...impolite, somehow. Sometimes a smile was best. “Until dinner,” he said softly, following Earlene and Thanadir. Once inside, he looked carefully at the deflated ellon. “May I read the letter from Erestor?” he asked Thanadir.

 

“Of course you may,” came a barely audible answer, as Earlene pointed to where it sat on the shelf Thanadir had appropriated for his own things.

 

Once the King finished examining the missive, his eyebrows raised. _Impressive_ , was the first word that came to mind. He also recognized, woven in the pages, the answer to his own problems. Erestor, a beautiful soul, had found happiness. And Glorfindel’s admonition...life in Aman was certainly going to be interesting indeed. He had not yet had the chance to inform them of Elrond’s letter, or the efforts Erestor intended to make on their behalf. There was little doubt in his mind that the two could become friends, if this debacle could be left behind them. _And what of you yourself, and your own...issue?_ He wondered to himself. Though, he knew the answer. He had always known the answer. His father had been purged of his sins, and repented. No, that did not precisely help him in any meaningful way. But he had lived, and found joy, family and friendship while Oropher knew only the care of Námo; his father’s struggles were only beginning. Erestor had shown the way. He did not have to love his father, but neither would he add to his difficulties. Shaking his head, he emerged from reverie to return his attention to Thanadir.

 

“He would not want this, meldir,” Thranduil observed. “He told you of his forgiveness to bring an end to your pain, not a renewal of your suffering. You must find another way.”

 

“How?” Thanadir asked, trembling involuntarily in Earlene’s arms.

 

“Thanadir, if you accept what Glorfindel has laid upon you, you are destined, in a manner of speaking, to be Erestor’s friend,” Earlene observed. “And while I only know of him through the words of this letter and what has been told to me, I like him already. Find a way to do something for Erestor . You already heard that he was interested in our world; his own writing expresses that he does not understand life here. Give something of yourself besides your misery and desire to punish yourself all over again. Why not keep a journal for him? Detail life here, this world, for one who will never know it. You can draw and therefore even illustrate it. I am told he is a scholar. Surely a document such as this would be treasured, and a far better use of your time? Then you will already be working to fulfil your obligation.”

 

The seneschal blinked, while Thranduil simply stared, awed at their wife’s insight. This would not have occurred to him, and really was an excellent suggestion. “I could…yes, I could do that,” Thanadir admitted. “But it still does not erase that this hurts. All this long time, I knew that what I had done was a disgrace to my King, and very improper. But I never guessed it could have done this to Erestor. Affected him, so badly. He seemed so...flawless.”

 

Earlene quickly moved to keep what ground they had gained. “Well, he already answered that too, Thanadir. Neither of you are quite what you appear to be on the outside. I think all of us know that our intellectual achievements do not equate to emotional strength of every description. All of us have vulnerabilities, and unbeknownst to you, what happened struck at the heart of his. But if I may hazard--he perceives that you did not intend this. And I will say it again; he did not tell you what he did in a wish for you to suffer, but for you to understand. Even Glorfindel...yes, his expression is stern, but I would expect nothing less from someone protecting the welfare of their loved one. Certainly, no one wishes you the kind of grief  you will assign to yourself if you are allowed to.” Her next words were spoken with great gentleness. “We already agreed, it did no good the first time. Nothing has changed, except that you have learned something not easy to hear.”

 

Now Thanadir slumped into Thranduil’s hold, drained. “I will not win this,” he murmured. “You will not let me, with your understanding of these things that I do not realize as clearly.”

 

“That is not a bad thing, this time,” Thranduil soothed, fading him gradually into sleep. “For you are loved, and will never be alone again. We will help you. All of this is going to be well in the end, meldir. If only because we will make sure of it.” Finally Thanadir’s hand relaxed into slumber, from where it had curled around Earlene’s wrist.

 

“That was kind of you,” she said to Thranduil. “He will be far better off for sleeping, if only for a little while.”

 

“I believe you helped far more. Giving him something to do, something creative...I hope he actually pursues this. While I am glad that the end of this matter is finally on the horizon, I do not want him to carry this weight from now until our summons. You are right. The Erestor I met would never have wanted this for him.”

 

“Isn’t it funny, though? When we hear someone has changed--I mean, let us say somehow that Aidan had lived. Lived, and stopped being a complete waste of emotional space. Turned around, sincerely apologized for everything he did. Would I have still wanted to feel a sense of justice? Recompense? You see, that is the problem with our human thinking. We cannot decide what it is we really want--to see the guilty punished, or to see the sinner repentant. When they exist side by side, two opposite desires wrestle against each other, and it is not always left clear which is the winner.” Her eyes tracked his face, for while she was not attempting to sermonize, neither was she ignorant of the impact his having to think on Oropher would create.

 

“I do not want to see him suffer. My father, I mean, since I know you too well not to realize that our discussion has moved on,” he smiled. “Nothing is gained. Were I to be handed a rod, and given the chance to beat him bloody--what could the point possibly be? No, the one thing that is wanted is the same as your own wish, and it is the one thing that can never be. That it had never happened in the first place.”

 

Earlene lowered her gaze. “Ouch. And the arrow hits its mark,” she said softly. “I want you to know that I am proud of you, more proud than I can say. You are steadfast, and show wisdom where others might not be able. You were blessed with great strength, but you have used it well, Thranduil. I love you for it. Perhaps I do not tell you often enough, how highly I regard you for this and the many other good qualities you display.”

The slight coloring of his cheeks brought a smile to her face. No, she probably did not say it enough, but there was time to do better.

 

“Well, I have had help.” His hand reached to caress her cheek. “A great deal of it.”

 

Earlene found herself grinning. “I cannot help but think of a lonely room, down past the dungeons, and what I wish we might do there.”

 

A broad smile came over his face. “Race you.”

 

“Deal.”

 

*****

 

Sharley got Lorna up into her room, and wondered what the hell she was going to do now.

 

The cats, naturally, swarmed their human mother as she lay on the bed, sound asleep. It was kind of creepy, actually, but cats were cats. Bast, the weirdo, went and curled around the top of Lorna’s head like a hat.

 

The fact that she wanted to fight her own nature was a good idea in theory, but in practice? In practice, Sharley had no idea how to keep...this...from being the outcome every time she tried. She knew Lorna well enough to know that the poor woman wasn’t going to manage this on her own. If not for Estë, she wouldn’t have made it this far in the first place.

 

Thranduil had possibly guided her as far as she could go, under her own power. What he perhaps didn't realize, given they had a few of the same issues, were the ways in which she was damaged that he didn't share -- or at the least, didn't understand them. Eru love him, but he was male, and there were some things about the female psyche that he just couldn’t understand.

 

 _“Will she let you interfere?”_ Layla asked, as Sharley sat on the bed.

 

“I hope so,” she said. “I wouldn’t blame her at all if she didn't just yet, considering how new I am at this whole telepathy thing, but I hope sooner or later she does.” She leaned forward and scratched the Lump behind the ears; the cat shut her eyes and purred happily.

 

For years now, Lorna had been there for her -- all the D&D’s had, but Lorna had taken on some bastard combination of motherhood, sisterhood, and general caretaker. Sharley hadn’t been able to help her, to pay her back, but maybe she could, now. Lorna and Thranduil between them had managed to heal the worst of the breaks within her soul, but the scars remained, crisscrossing through her mind. Whether she realized it or not, she still tried to hide them, and perhaps that was wrong. Perhaps hiding them, fighting them, just made fighting the uglier parts of her mind even harder.

 

She slept on, and wandered the forest within her mind, calmer now. She was tiny, her education was spotty at best, and the brutal truth was that she couldn’t hope to compete intellectually with most of the household, and yet through the cracks in her fae shone a light so bright it sometimes hurt to look at. What might she have become, if not for her father? They’d never know, because no matter how much Thranduil managed to extend her lifespan, she wouldn’t live long enough to recover wholly. Maybe she never could, even if given the time.

 

And yes, Sharley pitied her. She’d seen how her tiny friend had tied her own mind in knots, all those years ago -- had tried to force herself to understand and accept things she just wasn’t okay with, refusing to believe that she possibly never would be. Maybe she ought to have learned from that -- but then, maybe she wasn’t capable of it. Did anyone ever really understand themselves? Sharley certainly didn't, and especially not right now.

 

“Kintsugi,” she said softly, tracing the air just above Lorna’s face. She could see the cracks in the poor woman’s fae, and there was one that ran from her hairline, diagonally down over her nose all the way to the left side of her jaw.

 

 _“Huh?”_ Kurt asked.

 

 _“It’s Japanese, isn’t it?”_ Sinsemilla said. _“Repairing broken bowls and things with gold glue, so the break is part of the art, not something to be hidden.”_

 

“Exactly. Once Lorna wakes up, we’re gonna have a long, long talk. For now, I’d better go walk with her.”

 

**

 

Lorna eventually woke, and realized she was still exhausted. A moment later, she also realized she’d wound up in her own bed, covered in cats.

 

Sharley sat in one of the big wingback chairs in front of the fireplace, playing with her mobile while the Lump purred on her lap. What had she done, and how? Perhaps more importantly, did Lorna really want the answer to that question?

 

“You better?” Sharley asked, looking up. It was still a surprise, sometimes, to see the difference in her eyes.

 

“Sure, let’s say that’s a thing,” Lorna said, rolling over. She nearly squished Boo, who squeaked in protest. “What the hell even was that?”

 

Sharley put her mobile aside. “You,” she said, rising. “You trying to fight yourself. Lorna, I have an idea, so hear me out, okay?”

 

“Why does that make me nervous?” Lorna asked, of no one in particular. “Okay.” She struggled to sit up even as Sharley sat beside her.

 

“You can’t fight what you are, Lorna,” Sharley said bluntly. “Well, you can, but that’ll be the result. I want you to let me help you.”

 

“How?” Lorna wished she could protest that assertion, but she couldn’t. She really couldn’t.

 

“I want to put a kinda...speedbump, in your mind,” Sharley said. “It’ll give you a moment, when you get hit with something like, well, that. I can’t stop your instinct, and I don't know that you could, either -- but I could give you more of a chance to deal with it than you had today. I know what it is you’re looking for, even if you can’t actually articulate it.”

 

“Because what else is new there,” Lorna muttered. “What d’you mean, a speedbump?” Thranduil had never mentioned such a thing was possible, but Thranduil had never lived as a human. He hadn’t even known what a speedbump was until sixteen years ago.

 

“It’ll be a...not a barrier, but just a low kinda ring around your instincts,” Sharley said, poking her forehead lightly. “Something like this happens again, those instincts, that natural reaction, they’ll have to get over that barrier before they can do anything else. It’ll give you some time -- possibly not a lotta time, but time -- to cut in some sanity filters. At the very least, you’ll be able to go for a little walk without saying or doing something you and everyone else would regret.”

 

Lorna frowned. If she did that, people would think she just couldn’t handle stuff, and thus wouldn’t tell her.

 

“Bullshit.” Sharley’s eyes gleamed. “No, they won’t. Dunno if you or anyone else realizes this, Lorna, but in trying not to let them think you can’t hack it, you’re not healing right.” The problem was that the poor woman was not wrong. The rest of them did, or used to, not tell her things because they feared her reaction -- which made her try to sit on any reaction at all.

 

Somewhat predictably, Lorna rolled her eyes. “I’m not doing any such thing,” she said.

 

“You are,” Sharley said gently, and traced the phantom line of her fae’s crack. It was almost like lightning, hair-fine in places, nearly as wide as Lorna’s pinky in others. Did the Elves see fae like this, or was it an Ainur thing? Not a question she needed to be asking right now. “You’re still broken in too many places, Kintsugi,” she added, deciding on impulse that this was Lorna’s new nickname. It wasn’t insulting like ‘Little Squirrel’, but it would have to do. “We all bear our scars. Don't be ashamed of yours, and don't hide them. Not anymore.”

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “Sharley, allanah, you’ve turned into a cryptic sort’v bastard, haven’t you? You’re lucky I love you.”

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s part of the job description,” Sharley said. “Go talk to Thranduil. I know you’ll want his advice, before you decide whether or not you want to let me poke in your brain.”

 

“I hope I’m not going to regret this.” Lorna displaced the rest of the cats, and smoothed her hair back from her face. “Where is he?”

 

“Down in the Quiet Room. Good luck.”

 

Down Lorna went, wondering what time it was -- late afternoon at the very earliest, which meant just about everyone was still out of the house. She stopped by the kitchen long enough to grab some tea, and went to rap on the entryway of the Quiet Room. “Hey kid, d’you like muffins?”

 

“No. Today I do not like muffins. Or cookies or cake. In fact, I am rather hoping there is no dessert tonight, but I think I smell chicken casserole. And bread baking.” His voice was deadpan neutral, but the corners of his mouth smiled. “How are you doing?”

 

“You hope there’s no dessert?” she asked, with mock effrontery. “That’s it, we need a breadstick duel,” she added, as she came and sat beside him. “I’m...weird. I’m not sure what Sharley did, exactly, and I didn't want to ask for details, because I'm not sure she really knows. She’s got an idea she wants to try, but I wanted your advice first.”

 

He sighed, skimming off her recent memories. “I am not certain you will find it helpful. Sharley is...something different than I am. I always hesitated to be other than very conservative in helping you in this manner, because I felt you had the right to...self- determination. I wanted to fix what was broken, not make you over as I thought you should be. I can be arrogant, but it must never reach to that extent. And yet I also agree with Sharley...in spite of all the time, the help from a Vala...you may not be able to progress more without further help. Part of me wonders if you should not be asking Angie her opinion, but then comes the caveat that too much about our lives here exceed the scope of her training. At the end of it all, there are two things of which you should be certain. That you want this, and that you accept this is likely a permanent change. That, I think, will give you your answer.”

 

“I’m glad you were like that,” Lorna said, curling up on the sofa and resting her chin on her knees. “That you let me deal with shit. but...I think you’re right. I don't know that I could...go any further, gain any ground, on my own. I mean hell, it took Estë essentially poking me in the brain to get me as far as I’ve already come. And…”

 

She picked at the toes of her socks. They were rainbow striped, a gift from Saoirse. “I can’t do that again. Fight my own...self...like that. Not on my own. If that’s what happens when I try, I just couldn’t do it without help. Angie, she doesn’t really understand telepathy, for all she’s been around it off and on. And she doesn’t...I think, with some of what’s broken, it’s always been that way. I was born like that. And if she can help me fix it with a little...extra effort, I kind’v feel like I ought to let her. Except I’m also kind’v nervous, because she’s not you.”

 

“You have time,” he said. “Nothing says this has to be today, unless you wish it to be.” Part of him wished he could say more, but he did not dare. In the natural order of things, he owed Sharley his reverence. And yet at the same time...Eru forgive him, she still was not entirely any kind of normal Ainu...and this is what gave him pause.

 

“I don't want it to be,” Lorna said, “but...what the hell happens when something sets me off? I mean, that could’ve, and I'm surprised it didn't. What happens if the next thing is too much, and I go off like bloody Krakatoa? I've tried so, so fucking hard not to do that, and it’s been easier since Estë, but...dammit, sometimes I want to just go be a hermit in my cottage.” It was easy for Sharley to tell her not to be ashamed she was mess of psychic scars -- Sharley herself was fixed, now. Back to what she should have been all along.

 

“I wish I could tell you what to do, but I cannot, Lorna. This you must decide for yourself. Think on it.” He already knew what she would choose, but she needed to discover that for herself. It would be wrong, to make it easy for her to merely do what someone else wanted.

 

“If she can help me, it’d be almost irresponsible not to let her,” she said, and sighed. “She’s in no hurry, so I can take as long as I like, but…” Lorna touched the line along her face, and wondered just what Sharley saw there. “Ugh. Fuck it. How’re you?” Now she looked up at him, determined to shove her shit aside for now, and deal with it in bite-sized increments later. It would keep, as her gran might say.

 

“I am well. Thanadir is feeling better, and I have had some time to think. And digest the news from the other side, as I suppose we are calling it. It was very nice, to have word from my son after so long.”

 

“You should ask Sharley more, about talking to him,” she said. “Just because that’s got to be almost as good as reading something he wrote. And it might do her some good, too -- Vairë didn't let her see Marty, and she hasn’t said much about talking to Melian, which kinda worries me, honestly. Makes me wonder if something got said there she didn't like to hear.”

 

Thranduil regarded her carefully. “You might as well know, my first wife and my father are with Legolas now. Unlike our last conversation, this is my own personal...stuff...and it therefore is mine to share. It would seem,” he raised his eyes to admire the colors in the stained glass, “that even though our arrival is some time distant, what little connection we have made with those in Aman and Valinor are already causing little upheavals. Something tells me that it is preferable to have the landslide occur in increments, rather than half the mountain falling away at once,” he smiled, shaking his head. A not so tiny part of him wondered just what havoc their advent would wreak on all that had gone before.

 

Lorna could not help the fact that her first thought was _poor Legolas,_ though at least she had the grace to not actually say it out loud. “Ouch,” she said instead. “Well, considering that Elrond’s family, Glorfindel, and Erestor now know what a mobile phone is, I’m guessing that’s just the beginning’v the upheavals.” Thranduil’s ex was Legolas’s mother, so it was only natural she’d be living with him, but Oropher? _Really?_ Well, familial duty did seem to be a pretty big thing among Elves, but still. “Just watch,” she added, with a small grin, “by the time you get there, nothing you do could surprise them.”

 

“I will confess...I am both grateful, and impressed at your forbearance on the subject of my father. Lorna, I can guess it will carry little weight with you, but he is not the same now. What you were not told is that Earlene met with him, a very short time after he was released from Námo’s keeping. That means, he is healed of what drove him to behave as he did. But he does remember, and is filled with shame and regret. He is no burden to my son, except that he is trying to find a means to manage and carry the weight of his past deeds. I would guess it is not much different than the pain Maglor endured. I do not envy him his current circumstances.”

 

She was quiet a moment, casting for words even as she took his hand. “If you can forgive him, I’m glad for you,” she said at last, “but please don't hold it against me that I can’t. With humans...sometimes, regret isn’t enough. It doesn’t undo the damage.” She sighed, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “But that’s humans, and you’re not human, and if you can find any kind’v peace with this, I’d be happy.”

 

“I have little real choice,” he smiled, “but I find I do not mind. We have no right to hold judgement against those the Valar have pardoned. I will forgive him, just as I am grateful Maglor was forgiven. Just as I am grateful for...all those, who need to be forgiven for their mistakes.” He frowned. “Do you know, I still think you are confusing forgiveness with atonement?” he asked quietly. “They are not the same.” How different they were was playing out even now under this roof; for while Thanadir had Erestor’s forgiveness, he very much had to atone for his actions in Glorfindel’s eyes.

 

“Aren’t they?” Lorna asked. “I mean, I kind’v know that. I know that...well, to a lot’v us humans, atonement doesn’t always earn forgiveness. Sometimes, it’s not enough, because what’s been done can’t be undone, and with us humans -- well, I think that can be harder for us to forgive.” She rested her cheek against the back of the couch. “I just know that if my own da came crawling toward me, apologizing and begging for forgiveness, I’d probably bash his head in all over again. Which I know isn’t healthy, but...well, I never claimed to be a well-balanced individual.”

 

“No, it cannot be undone. And yet...how would any of us feel to know we had erred, and badly, with no possibility of recovery? Ever? How would we have felt if we were to learn that the Valar would not forgive Maglor, in spite of the good that was still in him? My father did tell me that he was sorry beyond words, even as he does not expect to be forgiven. He did not turn away from his one chance to express remorse. Say what you will, that took courage. He was...mentally ill, for lack of better words. Something happened to his mind from which he did not recover.” Thranduil shrugged. “I do not know if I can ever love him. But I will not add to his suffering. He will find quite enough of it all on his own.”

 

“You’re a better person than I am,” she said softly. “Didn't I tell you once you’re one’v the best people I’ve ever met? Whatever comes’v this, and however long it takes…” She wouldn’t actually say Oropher didn't deserve Thranduil’s love, not out loud, because she recognized that she was, in her own way, a little too biased against the whole situation. She couldn’t look at it with any kind of detachment. “If it brings you peace, it’s worth it.”

 

Could she do that, feel that, if she was in his place? She already knew the answer to that one. Even now, the ugly side of her temper still lurked, and if her repentant father tried to send her an apology note, she'd burn it. Thranduil had an...equanimity...that she lacked, an emotional stability she wouldn’t live long enough to achieve. And if it could help him have closure, she’d be grateful for it. Oropher aside, Thranduil deserved some peace of mind.

 

Perceiving her thought, he smiled. “I have felt better since Earlene told me what he said. Though it should not matter, learning that there was some reason for his crimes beyond hating me...weirdly, that meant something. When there are reasons...it makes it all seem slightly less awful. I cannot help but wonder...what if your father had a brain tumor? Or some equally severe biological pathology that caused his behavior? No, your experience would not have changed. But you would at least know it was never about you. I...this is hard to put into words. Something like that. And it is foolish of me to speak this way, when we can never know. I am sorry. I have found myself thinking of many strange things, of late.”

 

Lorna turned that over in her mind. “You’ve had many strange things happen in your life, in the last few years,” she said. “If my da...maybe this makes me a terrible person, but even if he’d had something wrong with him, I wouldn’t care. I think about what it was like to patch up Pat in that tiny bathroom, and...but my da wasn’t Oropher. You said your da was a good king, even if he was a shite father. My da was just shit at everything. Though honestly, I’m not surprised it was some brand’v crazy, with your da -- that’s just so rare for Elves. I mean, in all the reading I’ve ever done, I’ve never read’v another who went like that. Did he say what caused it? Because if he’d been a gobshite all his life, your mam probably never would’ve married him.”

 

“He...apparently I was conceived in a time of war, which is against our customs. I certainly have no means by which to discover how _that_ was allowed to transpire. There was a battle, and in it his own beloved father was slaughtered. He returned to my mother to learn of her pregnancy and snapped. I do not pretend to understand. Actually, neither did he. He only was able to mark this as the time when something unrecoverable affected his psyche, for of course Earlene asked him the same question.”

 

“Hopefully he figures it out someday,” Lorna said, ooching over to give him a one-armed hug. “Hopefully before you guys make that final crossing. At the very least, it might make meeting up with him a little bit less awkward.” She didn't even want to think about that, though. Whenever they finally left, she hoped she’d be long dead. “Are you going to write him back?”

 

“Probably, though I am not sorry I will have a very long time to ponder the contents of that message. Fortunately there are many other things to think on, thanks to Elrond. Do you know, it seems they are a little excited, about it all. It is something new, when there has not been anything much of note for, well, what amounts to forever. When one lives so long, new things are...there is value in novelty. It is a byproduct of our circumstances, I think.”

 

“Sharley said Erestor just about went squee when she showed him her mobile,” she said, laughing a little. “Said she’d tried explaining the downsides’v manufacturing them, but he was having too much fun with it. You know, I realise you can’t bring anything that might be polluting into Aman, but who’s to say you couldn’t build some kind’v wind farm? We’ve got to get the rest’v ours up pretty soon, but they’re non-polluting and don't require a whole lot in the way’v technology. We should make a list’v things for Sharley to ask, next time she’s there.” The fact that she and Maglor would be traveling all that way through the dead world, with a small child...it unsettled her a little, but it wasn’t like they couldn’t take care of themselves.

 

“Trust me, that is already a runaway train,” he said drily. “You do not know Erestor. Imagine the intelligence of Thanadir merged with the tenacity of Pat, and you will have a small idea. Remembering what to ask will not be the issue. Keeping up with all that transpires, that will be...well again, we have time.”

 

Lorna stared at him. “All right, that’s an unholy bloody combination,” she said. “And a kind’v terrifying one. Maybe Shane needs to make more shite for him -- more books, or what have you.” She grinned. “Maybe we can teach him Irish.” Granted, that would mean Sharley needed to learn, too, if pronunciation was ever to be a thing. And Saoirse could send more drawings, and they could do more scrapbooks, and… “Apropos’v nothing, I never did curl your hair.”

 

“Slow down, dear one,” he laughed. “I can tell you now that Erestor would like more materials--in English--to learn. Elrond said he memorized the entire pamphlet in three days, though Sharley needed to correct his pronunciation. And we must be careful, unless Sharley is somehow going to be packing crates with her down the Straight Road. She will have much to carry, as matters now stand, and I am afraid I must insist on correspondence with Elrond having some priority. For that is our future, and I must grasp at what opportunities are afforded to us.” A snort escaped him. “You realize, only Ailill and I will know Irish, there? I hate to think of the full repository of a cultural heritage resting with the two of us, but...well, Ireland will still be here, where it is actually going to be useful.”

 

“Ireland’s here for now,” she said, “but in ten thousand years? Well, at least you will still know it. Sharley’s going to need a really good quality backpack, and a mountain bike.” She poked his arm. “And I notice you ignoring your hair, and the idea’v curling it. C’mon, one’v these days. It’d make Thanadir and Earlene smile.” Yes, she was not above busting out the big guns, so to speak.

 

“Do not think you are successfully hiding that you will find some scheme by which to make a record of this,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her, before his voice softened. “Just...please...do not completely humiliate me.”

 

“I promise you I’ll turn out all my pockets, so you can tell I haven’t got a mobile or anything,” she said. “And nobody needs to even know it happened, other than those two, because I’m sure it’d get a smile or two. And I promise I won’t make you look like a girl.” Perhaps she’d been around her own children for too long, because she automatically made the ‘cross my heart’ gesture. “Even if you would totally make a pretty woman. I’m sorry, you just would.”

 

Unfortunately for him, the thought of cheering up Thanadir was beyond appealing right now, after the terrible day his poor love had endured. “Alright,” he sighed. “Earlene is preparing dinner and will be for awhile. How long will this take, and where am I to go?”

 

Lorna grinned. “I’d say half an hour at most, and if we do this in your bathroom, nobody’ll see you go through the house. I just need to go steal Lorna the Younger’s curling iron. She’s not home, she’ll never know.” There was probably something sad in the fact that this delighted her more than anything else had in ages.

 

“Alright, but Thanadir is sleeping in our room. Could we use his craft room, or old bedroom?”

 

“Indeed we can,” Lorna said, and somehow did not squee. “Seriously, Mairead has not shut up about your hair for the last sixteen years. I might never be able to tell her I got to mess with it and she didn't, but _I’ll_ know.” And the thought, however petty, would keep her warm.

 

“I will wait for you in there,” he sighed, wondering how he got himself into these things.

 

Lorna happily scurried off, fetching both of her niece’s curling irons (why did she have two? One was what Lorna thought of as normal-sized, while the other was a big monster that probably produced waves rather than curls.) Those, plus a paddle-brush, a few hair clips, some hairspray, and a hand mirror went into an old pillowcase, and she all but skipped to Thanadir’s old bedroom. Even if she could never share this with anyone, she was still beyond pleased. “Hey kid, do you still not like muffins?” she asked, sticking her head through the doorway.

 

“Oh just get in here,” he groused. “Enough with the accursed muffins.” And no, he was not going to admit to her that anything originating with the voices was automatic annoyance fodder; she hardly needed more ammunition.

 

She didn't cackle, but it was a near thing. What she did do was plug in both curling irons and set them on Thanadir’s old bedside table. “Okay, you need to sit facing away from me, because I can’t really reach your hair if you’re standing up.” Damn tall people. It helped quite a bit, though, that she had Siobhan and Eris as well as Pat and Lorna the Younger with her in Tiny Land. Saoirse wasn’t exactly tall herself.

 

“Does this chair work?” he inquired, noting with a small sense of panic that there were no mirrors in Thanadir’s room. Valar, hopefully he had hair left when this was done.

 

“It does,” Lorna said, taking up her paddle-brush. She pulled the hand-mirror out as well, and set it on the bed. “Okay, just relax. I’ve watched Mairead do this dozens’v times.”

 

“Okay.” He tried to keep his voice steady. _For Thanadir_ , he reminded himself. _To cheer up Thanadir with something ridiculous._ Other than that, he was not at all reassured by the verb ‘watched.’ As opposed to ‘have done’.

 

Lorna set to with the hairbrush -- not that there was much to do. She’d thought that elves’ fabulous hair was down to hair products, but Thranduil’s was softer than hers had ever been, and it was just wasted on him, because he never did anything with it.

 

She sectioned up his hair as she’d seen Mairead do, piling three-quarters of it up onto his head with clips so she could deal with the bottom layer. The faster she did this, the less time he had to freak out over it. “Should I ask Mairead to make a cake?” she asked, combing, spritzing with some hairspray, and then loosely winding a wide section of hair around the big iron. “I’m sure Thanadir’d love something sweet.” No matter what had gone wrong, the poor elf loved his sugar.

 

“I hate to bother her all the time, but you know the answer to the latter. Of course he would like something sweet. I will never understand it, but then again I do not have to.”

 

“She loves Thanadir,” Lorna said, finger-combing the curl. It was in fact big and round, and she managed to turn it into something more like a wave. “She’d make him a cake. Christ, I’ve never forgot the time he spread sugar all over his French toast. Maybe I ought to do that for breakfast soon.” Curl number two was curled, cooled, and combed, and she started on the next. She remembered Mairead saying not to wind them all in the same direction, so she didn't, and it wasn’t long at all before she had the second layer of hair down, and was hard at work on it.

 

“Do I want to know what this is doing?” he asked helplessly.

 

“Nothing bad,” she promised, moving around to deal with the sides of his hair. Yes, she added a little volume with the hairspray, but not much. Just enough to make the curls have some body. “Mairead tried to curl my hair once. Even with the hairspray, it fell out in about fifteen minutes, and mind you, it was almost as long then as it is now. Took her hours.” At least she could look half-assed professional when she used the curling iron, thanks mainly to watching her sister. Once she’d finger-combed the next section, she held it up. “See? It’s not a spiral, girly curl.”

 

“Okay,” he said, wondering what a ‘girly curl’ would….no. Just, no, especially as he caught the thoughts in her mind. “Why do you do this at all?” he asked, baffled. Earlene never made her hair curly, that he had seen. “I have never seen anyone here do this before. At least, I do not believe I have.”

 

“A lot’v women aren’t happy with the hair they’re born with,” Lorna said, taking down another section. “If it’s curly, they want it straight, and if it’s straight, they want it curly. I'm glad mine’s straight, because I couldn’t have it this long otherwise. I don't know why Lorna the Younger’s got these, though, because I’ve never seen her use them, either. She does use the hairspray, but these? No idea.” Yes, this was coming together nicely, and even though Thranduil had a lot of hair, she still had it done in fairly short order.

 

Grinning, she finger-combed the last curl, and handed him the hand mirror. “See? I didn't give you something embarrassing. Though you’d be such a pretty woman I kind of want to poke you, because that’s just not fair.” He was honestly lucky his complexion was all wrong for her makeup. Not that he needed mascara anyway, the lucky bastard. _Why_ did he and Thanadir have such good eyelashes? Was it an Elf thing? If so, it wasn’t fair. At all.

 

The results of her handiwork were loose, almost natural waves and curls, though she’d added a few smaller ones here and there, and then combed them into something smoother. It was certainly a departure from his normal stick-straight hair, and she found herself wishing they had like, a really large dress. An evening gown, with pearls.

 

“I may be marrying a male, but I do not think I am ready for that. Now or later,” he said as her thoughts filtered to him, shaking his head. “No Hedwig.” But he smiled. “If this does not cheer Thanadir up, nothing will. He will not expect this.”

 

“You definitely don't need Hedwig’s makeup,” Lorna said. “I know it was the 80’s -- early 90’s -- but still. Just...no.” She unplugged the irons and left them to cool, and gathered the rest of her materials back into the pillowcase. “Go show him, and let me know if it worked.” And yes, she had to stand a moment more and admire her handwork, and then wonder if Lorna the Younger would let her try this. Her niece’s hair was a little longer than Thranduil's, but it could probably work.

 

“See you at dinner,” he smiled, feeling encouraged. It had not been so bad after all. After accompanying her to the hallway, he retreated and moved through the hidden door that only the three of them knew connected the rooms.

 

Thanadir was still sleeping, but a little stir here and there indicated that he would wake imminently. Seating himself at Thanadir’s hip, he waited, smiling to himself. Soon his love blinked, then blinked again, becoming aware that he was not alone but still under a heavy daze of sleep.

 

The seneschal raised his head and abject terror seized him. “Glorfindel!” he breathed, shrinking back in panic, before he blinked again. And again. “Oh Eru,” he moaned, now flopped back on the bed before rising up one more time, blushing furiously. “What did you--? No, why did you--?” Thranduil did not answer, but smiled patiently, not a little chagrined to have been mistaken for a rather different ellon. Finally, giggles erupted from the seneschal, as Thranduil continued to smirk, gathering Thanadir in his arms.

 

“I take it you are pleased to see that I am not a different Elflord?” he teased.

 

“I am a great fool, is what I am,” Thanadir answered, hugging him. And still occasionally erupting in giggles. “I do not always do so well, when first I wake.”

 

“No, you do not,” Thranduil agreed, kissing him. “I hope you forgive me. It was not my intention to startle you but rather to amuse.”

 

“I got there in the end,” Thanadir admitted, “And--forgive me too, for like this, your hair is much like Glorfindel’s, though of course the color is wrong.”

 

The door opened quickly. “Dinner is…” Earlene did not finish her sentence, for she had frozen in morbid fascination. “Uh. Dinner…” Thanadir now resumed giggling. “You look a little like Glorfindel, and it’s creepy,” she murmured. Thanadir giggled harder.

 

“I do not,” Thranduil protested, now thoroughly enjoying himself. “His eyes are a different blue. Different face. His hair is golden. He is also taller. Built more heavily.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrow quirked at the blow-by-blow description, while Thanadir did something else. He pulled Thranduil into a kiss full of need that was very, very-- _daaaaaamn_. “Alright, I’ve got a chicken casserole out there, and I’m going back to it before you two can steam something besides the dumplings. And salad, and roasted vegetables with pine nuts and asiago. If I am very lucky, I will see you soon.” Turning, she fled before she could become drawn into the vortex.

 

Thanadir did not stop for awhile, but finally diminished his affections, charmingly unaware of the level of arousal he had engendered in his partner; his thoughts were consumed with the many considerations the day had brought. “More tonight?” he asked Thranduil. “Please?”

 

“Whatever you wish,” the King agreed, knowing that he now needed to find a very long cardigan. With a smile, he realized that at least his need would be addressed at some point. Thanadir unwittingly created great anticipation, more often than he probably realized.

 

“Leave the hair?” Thanadir asked hopefully.

 

Laughing uproariously, he nodded. “Why not.” _Oh, Lorna. If you only knew…._

 

**

 

Lorna was extremely pleased when she got all the kids down to the table, trying not to grin like an idiot. If only she could tell Mairead -- the jealousy would be hilarious. But then, they probably wouldn’t get a cake if she did, so it was just as well.

 

The fact that neither Thranduil nor Thanadir had yet made their presences known hopefully meant that the hair had done its duty, and made Thanadir laugh. _Something_ needed to, the poor Elf.

 

“Mam, you look a little too pleased with yourself,” Shane said.

 

“Hush, you,” she said, poking him. “Eat a dumpling.”

 

Pat, Grania, Lorna the Younger, and Saoirse appeared, along with Sam and Donna, followed shortly thereafter by Ratiri.

 

“All right, allanah,” Lorna said, pointing her fork at him. “Declan. We need a solution to him already. Poor Big Jamie’s been going just about spare, his sister’s that out’v her mind with worry. What do we do with the kid?”

 

“My suggestion is probation,” her husband said. It had been his suggestion at the last two meetings, but thus far, nobody could come to a consensus, and thus the lad stood in limbo. Whatever they did, it was going to set a precedent, and he suspected half of them were so afraid of fucking it up that they didn't dare do anything to begin with. He was fairly sure Geezer was ready to murder just about everyone. “Complete with probation officer to follow him everywhere in the Halls. It won’t be a fun job, but maybe it can rotate? As long as none of the officers are people who know him.”

 

“Wait,” said Earlene. “We have three elves and a Sharley that are strong telepaths. And maybe Declan knows about one of them, because mention of the rest of it should not ever be leaving this house. Thranduil, if he pays attention, knows everything that goes on inside his Realm. So why does someone have to waste that kind’v time following someone around? I mean, sorry, but if I’m on my last chance before getting kicked out into the world to die in a few years, I’m sure not looking for an unused broom closet to make drugs in that no one here will consider buying anyway. Am I off base?”

 

“We just want to watch him,” Ratiri said. “If that’s possible without having someone tailing him, it would work. It’s just that if he’s willing to lie about that, who knows what else he might try? Yeah, he’d get caught, but it would still be a pain in the arse.”

 

“I could have one of the voices trail him,” Sharley said. “He wouldn’t be able to hear whichever it was, but I’d know in a hurry if he did something stupid.”

 

“Good point,” Lorna said. “Sounds like the easiest solution, but we somehow have to get that past the Council without anyone having an aneurysm at knowing just what the voices can actually do.”

 

 _“I’m not sure if we should be flattered or insulted,”_ Jimmy said.

 

 _“It’s probably best to go with both,”_ Sinsemilla said, and if she’d had eyes, they’d be rolling.

 

“Seriously? At the risk of, um, lack of full disclosure, that we have that could be just immensely handy in the future. Everyone who comes here knows there is _an_ elf with telepathic ability. In my opinion, no one needs to know that there are more. It’s insurance. I for one would never advocate its abuse, but to give away an advantage that could help the safety and well-being of the community….ah, why would we do that, exactly? And this is the uptight lawyer talking…” Earlene opined.

 

“Because we have to tell them something,” Sharley said. “It’s all well and good to say ‘oh, Thranduil can keep an eye on him’ when they know we’ve got hundreds of other humans in here, so keeping an eye on a single one would both be hard and utterly suck.”

 

“But Sharley, none of them know how it works,” Earlene emphasized. “For all they know, Thranduil has de facto omniscience. And, every elf in this Realm reports to Thanadir or Thranduil. I am not trying to be argumentative; I genuinely do not know how burdening someone with babysitting someone under suspicion would be truly helpful or effective, is all.”

 

Lorna groaned, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shane knows,” she said. “He asked me, ages ago, how Thranduil’s telepathy works, and like an idiot I told him what I knew. And if he knows, so does the rest of the gang. And if they know, Mairead might, too. Maybe we don't need a dedicated probation officer...but in the future, we’ll need them. I didn't want to bring this up until I was done knocking it together, but I’ve got ideas to suggest for the crime and punishment aspect, once we’re all in here for good, and most’v them consist of probation. Whatever we do with Declan, we’ll be setting a precedent.”

 

She glanced at Sharley. “It kind’v got out, in Baile and Lasg’len, just what you are,” she said. “While you were away. If you’d be willing to put the fear’v Sharley into him, and just let him know you’ll be watching from a distance, that might work.”

 

The poor woman rolled her eyes. “If I have to.”

 

Earlene frowned. “I’m not too concerned about the gang, or Mairead. They don’t go blabbing, that I’ve ever seen. But I think we should be more...close, about saying much more than is already known. Is that realistic, or are too many cats already out of their bags? And I don’t blame you, Lorna. When all this started how could we even have imagined we’d end up here? It’s all gone like a demented sci-fi plot.”

 

“Oooh, sci-fi?” Thanadir said, seating himself. Clearly, the elf had heard something interesting to him. Earlene smirked, took one look at Thranduil and realized, what Thanadir began had not been finished. Yet. And she loved Thranduil for it; no matter what his level of physical desire, he always deferred unhesitatingly to Thanadir’s wishes--and it was the sweetest thing ever.

 

“We might be able to get away with that,” Lorna said. “Won’t know until we try. As long as it’s stayed within that group, maybe we can keep it that way.” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe the questions I got asked about you elves,” she added, looking at Thranduil and Thanadir. “You especially, Thranduil. I got the normal sort -- eating and sleeping requirements, that kind’v thing -- but Shane wanted to know if you had any special coping mechanisms for being surrounded by humans all the time. And that was back when it was just three’v us. I told him it was a trade secret.” _And I am so glad you kept the hairdo_ , she added, grinning.

 

“Lorna, what’ve you done?” Pat demanded, eying Thranduil’s hair. God dammit, he’d spent enough time in the last decade and a half questioning his bloody sexuality, and this was not helping. Not at all.

 

Grania must have all but read his mind, because she elbowed him in the side, arched an eyebrow, and said, “Don't blame you at all.”

 

“Thranduil was nice enough to let me play with his hair,” Lorna said. “He promised I could after he had to sober me up at Christmas. Doesn’t it look brilliant?”

 

“It does,” Lorna the Younger said. “I’m bloody jealous. Did you use my curling irons? Because I can’t get it to do that.”

 

“Hairspray,” her aunt said sagely. “Thranduil, does this mean I can take a picture of you? Please?” The Sad Eyes (or more accurately, the Serial Killer Eyes) were in full effect.

 

“No,” Earlene said flatly. “You can take a picture of him from the back, where his face can’t be seen. It’s bad enough that he looks so much like Glorfindel that I am twitching. It’s disturbing.”

 

Thanadir looked at her adoringly.

 

Sharley glanced at Saoirse, and reflected that nobody needed to take a picture of anything to get one out of it later. Her little adopted niece could no doubt produce something wonderful, which Sharley would frame, and then send to Aman, when everyone finally left.

 

“So admittedly, I’ve only seen a picture of Glorfindel,” Ratiri said, “but I don't think they look so very alike. Glorfindel’s hair isn’t as pale, and facially they’re quite distinct.”

 

Donna, meanwhile, just muttered something about how it wasn’t fair even Elf guys were prettier than most human women. Sam snickered, and kicked her, and she glowered at him.

 

“Just the hair, Ratiri. Only the hair.” Earlene muttered, not really sure she wanted the comment overheard.

 

“I am pretty?” Calanon asked Ailill, now completely confused. The man looked back at his flawlessly androgynous, very desirable husband (neither of those elements being by means of anything Calanon could control) and immediately blushed pink.

 

“I would use the word ‘beautiful,’” Ailill answered, trying to salvage the situation. “But either way it would be a compliment to the elegance of  your fair appearance.”

 

Quen looked up, eyebrow raised. _That was quite a good save_ , he thought approvingly.

 

Because Donna was not Gran, she had enough tact to not say that when she’d first met Calanon, she’d thought he was a lady Elf. With some of them it was just so hard to tell sometimes, until they spoke.

 

Sharley looked at Maglor, and smiled a little. Personally, she thought she’d gotten the most beautiful out of all of them, with a mind and spirit every bit as lovely as his body.

 

Maglor felt his wife’s eyes on him, and managed to control everything but the faintest tinging of color. Eru, this subject needed to change before every ellon at the table ended up mortified. “I do not mind helping you with your judicial problem,” he volunteered. “I am easily ignored, believe it or not, and I know how to follow others without being noticed. I do not wish to be kept on wild goose chases, but if there is an individual about whom you are truly concerned, I am willing to monitor that one.”

 

 _Thank god_ , Earlene thought, feeling sorry for dear Calanon--who was still quite obviously processing what had been said. The poor ellon. He was indeed unusually beautiful among his fellow wood-elves.

 

“It’d be a help, and no mistake,” Lorna said, even as she wondered how in the hell anyone could possibly ignore Maglor. He was even taller than Thranduil, for Christ’s sake, and, well, pretty. Admittedly, Donna was right: all elves were pretty, but still. Maglor kind of...stood out, even among them. “We could tell the Council we’ve got literal eyes on this kid, until he proves he’s no longer a lying liar who lies. Granted, his mam and Big Jamie’v probably been making him regret ever being born, so we might not have much work to do on that score. Nobody can shout like an Irish person.”

 

“Not even a Scot,” Ratiri muttered.

 

“I like the idea,” Thanadir approved. “To many you appear to be a music instructor and musician, while far fewer know the full range of your talents.”

 

“Hiding in plain sight,” Earlene approved.

 

“Thank you, Maglor,” Thranduil smiled. “This may just be one headache that has found its aspirin.”

 

“Thank bloody God,” Lorna said. “And Thranduil, you really need to let me do that to your hair again, if only so Mairead can die’v jealousy. I’m not kidding, when she first met you, she would not shut up about your hair, and wondering if she could ever convince you to donate it. Now she can get green with envy.” She said it with far too much relish for a woman of almost fifty-five.

 

“Mature, Fun Size,” Pat said, rolling his eyes.

 

“You know it.” She raised her glass in a mock toast.

 

“Eru,” Thranduil whispered, refusing to answer, while Thanadir smiled about something or other, but darted occasional glances at him. What no one else saw, with the seneschal’s hand under the table, was that tonight his thumb played constantly against his ring of betrothal, back and forth. Back and forth.

 

Earlene decided she had had enough of her husband’s hair being the center of attention. “Tonight there is some ice cream, and a new type of cookie I was working on, for those wanting it.” Which turned out to be a variant on a Dutch waffle cookie, with a dark chocolate sauce. It was worth it, as always, to see Thanadir’s face brighten--he deserved something after the day he’d had.

 

“Oooh cookies,” Sam said. “Can we have some cookies on ice cream?”

 

“Good idea,” Atia said. She was still kind of wigged out by Uncle Thranduil’s hair, but she was getting used to it. Sort of. Ice cream always helped, with these kinds of challenges.

 

**

 

“The cookies were amazing, meldis,” Thanadir said lazily, from the pool.

 

Earlene had encouraged him to be a little spoiled, tonight. Honestly, she had worried. A lot. Her beloved mate had cried so much today, and it had not been pleasant for her to see him hurting. But now, all seemed better. He was talking about cookies; this was practically a full recovery with enhancements. _Pile it on_ , she thought, joining him and reaching for some of the--it was not exactly soap; more of a cleansing oil really. But it smelled wonderful and she began to work it into his shoulders and neck, diffusing the smells of mint and lavender through the room.

 

Further comment originated from Thranduil on the bed, while Thanadir held very still and moaned softly with enjoyment. “They were indeed nice, meluieg. The chocolate sauce was intense, rich, but not really sweet. The ice cream had a wonderful vanilla custard flavor. The cookies had a hint of some kind of filling, and...so crispy. Though it sounded simple, it was really quite appealing. I do not know if you noticed but Quen is also not always too fond of very sugary foods, and he took an extra serving. That was high praise indeed.”

 

She paused in her ministrations to Thanadir; her strong fingers worked the tension out of the delicate muscles at the edge of his throat. “Thranduil, while I thank you...both of you...that is easily the largest single collection of words you have ever spoken about one of my desserts in the History of Us.” A measure of incredulity suffused her tone.

 

“That is practically pillow talk,” Thanadir murmured, casting an unusually sultry glance at Thranduil.

 

“No kidding,” Earlene continued, oblivious. “Now I feel almost...challenged. Sweets that are not so sweet.”

 

“I especially liked the chocolate sauce,” Thanadir added on. “The texture was like silk, and every taste lingered.” He turned to kiss her, dallying as he claimed her lips while being more relaxed than she had seen him all day. “Earlene, I am enjoying your touches, but would you mind if I left the water?”

 

“No, of course not.” Who could possibly mind the chance to use this wonderful stuff on her own skin?  Not her. Mint, and lavender, and maybe a hint of rose. She hardly noticed, whilst drying off some moments later, that Thanadir had already climbed on the bed where Thranduil was reading.

 

“Where were we, earlier?” Thanadir asked, carding his fingers through the King’s hair. He found it to be quite attractive, like this.

 

Looking up from the news, Thranduil smiled, a little surprised. He was long used to Thanadir’s more random expressions of physical interest. If nothing else, it had taught him greater self-regulation. He and Earlene...he struggled to think of an occasion on which they had ever refused each other and...no, no success there. But with Thanadir’s needs being so different...well, not that he ever took Earlene’s eagerness for granted, Thanadir’s offerings could not help being a little more special. His hand reached, drawing the ellon he loved nearer. “It does me good, to see you feeling better,” Thranduil whispered in a voice full of tender care as he met Thanadir’s lips. They kissed slowly, gently. Earlene saw, and without being noticed moved Thranduil’s computer away, with a mind bent on joining this entirely appealing activity.

 

Finding more oil, she carefully warmed it in her hands before beginning to knead at Thanadir’s shoulders, pressing deeply in the areas that still felt sore to him. He sighed in bliss at this attention, even as his thoughts were more consumed with Thranduil in something of a swirl of... _oh. Oh, my._ Earlene’s eyes widened, as she understood what he intended to do. _Would you prefer I withdraw, Thanadir?_

 

_No, meldis. My love is also for you. Please stay, though I thank you for asking._

 

Earlene’s hands traveled down to a different place, where enough practice had brought her formidable skill at pleasuring her mates. A sharp intake of air accompanied even the first light touches of her experienced fingers, that promised Thanadir so much more to come.

 

Unfulfilled from earlier, Thranduil felt himself rapidly carried away by Thanadir’s unexpected advances. The kisses became greedier, more insistent, and his arousal ached. But there was more. The desire to connect was strong, stronger than it ever had been. He knew he must to break away, for a moment, and regain his composure before he became carried away to someplace his lover did not wish. A hand came against Thanadir’s chest, asking to pause. “I love you,” the King whispered. “So much.”

 

“I love you also,” Thanadir answered, his eyes full of reverence. “From this night forward, in the sight of our Father Eru, I commit my life to you. My love, and my spirit, to wed with you if you will have me. I am finally ready, Thranduil. Much has been made clear to me, and I want this. I want you. There will be no changing my mind. Not this time.”

 

Earlene remained silent, her hand resting lightly on the seneschal’s lower back. It was beautiful to hear the unscripted words that had been denied to her and Thanadir, and yet witnessing this felt like closure.

 

“Now?” The King whispered, stunned, not having seen this coming. “Truly? You are certain?” The yearning and hope could not be kept entirely from his voice.

 

Thanadir nodded, smiling and caressing the side of his face.

 

Thranduil thought only for a moment. “My cherished mate, I place my spirit and body in your keeping as your wedded husband. Let Eru our Father bless my love for you. Always I will care for you, Thanadir. I am yours, as you are mine in the bonds of marriage. May the Valar watch over, guide and bless our lives together.”

 

Tears streaked both their cheeks, as Earlene’s heart filled with joy at their promises to each other. Already Thanadir had begun to recline, to offer his body for the act that would seal them to each other.

 

Thranduil frowned slightly. “Meldir, wait. Ever have you acceded to me, because of our roles. I would set aside our offices. I want to know if it would please you, to have me instead?”

 

Thanadir shook his head. “Sometime, but not this time. Please? I need this, from you. For you have been my strength when my own failed.”

 

“Can I not say the same?” Thranduil replied, with a kind smile. “But it will be as you wish, Thanadir. It will always be as you wish, if it is in me to give it. All our lives together you have served me. Done for me. I find now that what I want most is to give to you. I love you.”

  
Leaning up into more kisses, Thanadir reclined and drew up his knees, providing Earlene with quite a palette on which her able fingers might dabble. They kissed, lost in each other’s thoughts of love, while unobtrusively she added to their pleasure and prepared them for each other. She could feel each one of their minds. Hear, each one of them, and the experience of their love intoxicated her as well. When their only remaining thought was of the need to unite their bodies, her hands, feather soft in their touches, had already ensured their readiness. Her beautiful brown-haired mate writhed under the intensity of Thranduil’s shared desire, coming undone with the promise of the bond that would twine their bodies and spirits. Thanadir cried silently, to at last relinquish all of himself to one he loved so much. All the fear, all the doubt ever wrapped into their long lives together dissolved as he was taken not by fingers, or toys, but heated flesh that stroked his first dart of ecstasy. Gently, carefully, Thranduil pushed in, burying his length. “Are you alright?” he asked, worried.

 

“I like this,” the old elf whispered. “Your body feels good. Very good,” he affirmed, pulling his lover into a kiss.

 

Earlene rested her hand on the King’s back, moving with his sinuous form. Her own ache of arousal was at a pitch, as their pleasure flooded through her mind. Slowly, refusing to hurry, Thranduil drove Thanadir on toward the completion of their bond with measured thrusts that made each moment one of blinding enjoyment. Soft cries escaped the smaller elf, when a given motion or caress felt especially good. Thanadir was flushed, eyes glazed with desire, love--and total submission. Something about this lodged in Earlene’s thought, filed away for consideration some other time. The King’s concern was somewhat different; much of his focus aimed only at ensuring his mate’s sense of safety and enjoyment.

 

How he did it, she had no idea, but Thranduil heaped pleasure on Thanadir until his breath came only in short hitches and ceaseless moans. He had always had more control over his climax than she herself did, and unerringly used this bedroom skill to satisfy her deeply. In the same way, he did not cease his efforts until Thanadir shuddered and exploded in a powerful orgasm that drove Earlene’s untended body to a fevered pitch of arousal. Unexpectedly his hand reached over, even as with a groan Thranduil released himself deep inside the precious ellon beneath him. A single touch caused her too to peak. Their marriage bond bloomed throughout and sealed their spirits-- hers along with theirs.

 

No one moved, for many moments. Thranduil lay on top of his new husband, held tightly. Each glowed with light, Thanadir radiated joy, and Earlene simply reeled from the physical and mental sensations while curled against them both,  thanking the Powers for their blessings. Thanadir was the first to speak. “Thank you,” he whispered into the ear that rested so close to his lips. “Thank you for loving me, my Lord. My life has been spent at your side, but--” Poor Thanadir was crying again, Earlene realized. At least this time it was from joy.

 

“All of it has been a blessing,” Thranduil answered, kissing the tears away. “You, have been a blessing. Do you ever stop to think, in that willing heart of yours, what would have become of me without you? I, for one, do not wish to consider it. Neither of us expected this, meldir, but now we will never be parted. From each other, or our wife. Much was asked of us, but for this assurance, I deem all of it to have been a small price indeed.”

 

“I love you both,” Earlene added, her hand smoothing over their bare skin. “Thank you, for including me. That was beautiful.”

 

“I wanted you here, meldis. It is hard sometimes to find words, but we three truly are one now. Each of us belonging equally to the other two. There is no one else like...us. That used to frighten me, but no longer.”

 

“I too wanted this, meluieg,” Thranduil said softly. “This marks the end of any divisions between us. From now until Eru decides otherwise, we walk forward as one.”

 

Thranduil raised himself up, drawing Thanadir along with him and placing him against the many pillows as though he might somehow break. Earlene, noticing their chests glistening with Thanadir’s seed, fluidly moved to bring a damp cloth wrung out with warm water. Gently, she began to clean them, earning smiles. Leaning in, Thranduil kissed Thanadir again, and she could not blame him. The seneschal’s appearance was so, so lovely; she had to steal a kiss, just to have a little of his radiance for herself. “What changed?” Thranduil asked, curious. “Why tonight?” His fingers reached up, to carefully card through the silken hair and pull some of it behind his mate’s ear.

 

“Many things,” the elf admitted. “All of the things you both said to me, when I was so troubled earlier. But also, when I learned of Erestor joining with Glorfindel I felt ashamed of my fears and reluctance. They are in much more difficulty than I, and did not hesitate, apparently, to express their commitment to each other. I had to get my head on straight, and admit what really matters to me. And then when I woke…” he blushed to a deep rose color. “After I realized you were not someone else who would possibly wish to do me harm...you are indeed so very beautiful, Thranduil. I confess that the arrangement of your hair caused something of a response. I do not think I have ever felt this way before. There was desire, and yearning.”

 

Blinking at what he had been told, Thranduil tried to stifle a smile and failed.

 

“So basically, his hair being styled like this turns you on, as we humans would say?” Earlene wanted to be sure, now wondering if she should borrow that curling iron herself.

 

“Is that bad?” Thanadir whispered, now blushing crimson. “I mean, of course I like it when it falls straight as well. But there was something about this...”

 

“It is not bad, and I am flattered,” the King laughed, kissing him again. “But for Eru’s sake, do not tell Lorna. I am not certain I could ever live this down, and it is enough that there will probably be...I do not know what, but rest assured that somehow this will appear in visual form before we have seen the end of it.”

 

“Doubtless,” Earlene said acidly, hoping to hell that at least the collective sense existed not to upload anything to social media. What a meme _that_ might end up being.

 

“Either way, there is one other matter to care for,” Thranduil said, taking Thanadir’s hand. “It is time for a different ring.” He worked the silver band off of the long finger.

 

“You have them?” Thanadir asked, surprised. “But, no one else works with jewelry. How did you…?”

 

“No one else but you and our clever daughter, you mean? Allanah did a great deal of reading when I asked her. She was the first to admit she would not know how to make them from molten metal, but sizing them and engraving our names was not beyond her skill. I thought she did a very good job, and it means more to me that she did the work rather than a mortal jeweler. Earlene, would you hand me the little box on the shelf?”

 

A moment later, the gold bands were set in place, amidst more kisses.

 

“I hardly know what to do,” Thranduil admitted. “I did not expect this to happen tonight. Usually I am the one planning the surprises.”

 

Thanadir looked up in disbelief. “It is our wedding night and YOU do not know what to do?”

 

“But I thought...I did not think you would want to--”

 

“It is our _WEDDING NIGHT_ ,” Thanadir repeated adamantly. And indignantly.

 

Shaking with laughter, Earlene rose to light candles and extinguish electric lights.

 

“I know what to do after all,” Thranduil said, looking at Earlene thoughtfully. “Thanadir, would you have me, that I might give the same to our wife? I expect that at times we will pair off, but especially tonight, I would have us all be joined as one.”

 

Earlene refrained from audibly displaying her enthusiasm for this idea out of consideration for Thanadir; remaining silent, she waited to hear his response.

  


“It would be my honor,” he whispered, touching Thranduil’s face with reverence. To her surprise, Thanadir’s kiss-swollen lips turned to her, capturing her mouth with alacrity. Her lips widened to admit his tongue, feeling his insistence as another hot mouth licked between her legs. _Valar, where did this come from?_ And yet she found she could not care. Some minutes later, it became apparent that Thanadir had not neglected to inform himself of the skills required for this new facet of married life. At first he attended to Earlene, covering her with kisses until Thranduil entered her with a drawn out groan of pleasure. Then he moved around, and slowly the delicate fingers found other pursuits, until Thranduil became overwhelmed, gasping softly as he felt his body carefully breached by his new husband’s arousal. He could not deny the many times he had experienced these sensations at a distance--as the sometimes helpless mental captive of Calanon’s lovemaking to Ailill. Now, this belonged to him too, though he had for so long never expected this would be the case. He set aside wondering how he could still not feel attracted to other males, and yet shudder to the core of his being to be taken in this manner by the one whose spirit he loved.

 

Thranduil gave himself over to this intense pleasure while Earlene felt his mental struggle to retain any sense of control; she greedily took his hard but erratic plunges into her body. Earlene studied his face, drinking in the ecstasy that passed over his face--and the conflict, as his usually dominant nature floundered. _Let go, Thranduil. You have not seen this side of Thanadir, except at a distance, but I have. Do not try to control your body. Surrender; let him master you. You will not regret it._

 

For a moment Thranduil opened his glassy eyes, regarding Earlene with a flicker of doubt, just before the head bobbed down in acquiescence. As if sensing the opportunity for which he would not ask, Thanadir grasped his lover’s hips more firmly. Relentlessly, he pushed rhythmically but so very gently, massaging that small bundle of nerves with the head of his member. The seneschal smiled, to hear the King’s vocalizations come in a ragged torrent as he assumed full control of their lovemaking. This once their roles were reversed, and he ruled his King. Earlene found herself being bitten, just hard enough to sting but not break her skin. Thranduil could not help it; the sensations overtaxed his mind.

 

To hear his proud lord whimper, begging for more of what he could give, brought a smile to the soft hazel eyes. Those orbs held great love as from time to time they met Earlene’s, yet an occasional gleam of dominance flitted through as well. Earlene was the first to follow her own advice, as her body flared afire before the spasms in her loins commenced.

 

“I love you both,” Thanadir whispered, as he felt the body around him quiver with the ecstasy of release. With a few last deep thrusts, the old elf took his pleasure. Thranduil felt the jets of copious seed as a sense of added heat inside of him. His eyes widened; he knew Earlene took great delight in Thanadir’s abundant emissions, but this was his first experience of it in his own body. What had he ever done to deserve this, two such extraordinary beings that embraced him in all his imperfections?

 

“But you are not imperfect,” Earlene murmured, reeling in the rosy afterglow of this particularly sacred joining. “You are perfect for me, both of you.”

 

“And you are perfect in your love and acceptance of us,” Thanadir added, peppering kisses down the smooth back. “I am not the easiest person to love, and I know it. But you loved me. Both of you, have cherished me as I am.”

 

“There is no one else like us.” Earlene thoughtfully echoed what the seneschal had observed earlier.

 

“No one,” agreed Thanadir, slipping out of his King and moving to kiss Earlene tenderly.

 

“Definitely no one,” Thranduil confirmed as he raised up just enough to kiss and lick gently at the rosy nipple; the full breast so temptingly close to him.

 

Earlene laughed, tousling his hair; arching her back brought her breast to his mouth. He suckled a moment, before he looked at Earlene and then at Thanadir. “Huh,” he smirked, turning his attention (and his tongue) to the much smaller nipples on the sculpted chest.

 

“Hey. Share,” Earlene admonished, not understanding how she could not have thought of this after so many years. Raising up a little, she latched on to the other side.

 

“So much for having no idea what to do.” Thanadir smiled radiantly while his partners lavished tender affection and attention on him. Earlene’s hands moved around him, and exploring fingers kneaded at the muscles behind his shoulder blades. Thranduil caught on to what their wife was doing, and reached his own hand to begin massaging Thanadir’s scalp, grinning to hear a moan of happiness escape his new husband. Under the spell of Thranduil’s ever-present desire, arousal already began anew in Thanadir--there would be little sleep tonight.

  
  



	147. One Hundred Forty-Seven

{May 20, 2033}

“Um, Geezer? Wondered if I could have a word? It’s OK if Ian hears. Isn’t like what I want to ask is exactly a state secret,” Sean muttered miserably, trailing off especially at the last part.

 

 _Uh-oh_ , Geezer thought, setting aside his lathe. “Shoot, kid.” Sean was far too old to be called ‘kid’, but habit was habit. “What’s on your mind?”

 

He ran his hands through his hair with more than a little agitation. “It’s about….ok, so we all know I fucked it up. And I’ve tried to do better. You all’v helped me to straighten out and be a...person. At least, I think it’s better? I hope? I’ve kind’v started to like Lorna. The younger one, I mean. The one who is single, and works with me a lot. And I think she might like me too, at least a little. But...I don’t think she _knows_. About all the shite I pulled, the things I said about Earlene. And Christ, she’s a Donovan. They’re…” he cast his gaze about helplessly, scrambling for a suitable word. “They’re not the sort to abide fuckups. That’s what I mean. Soon as they get wind’v this, it’s all gonna come out and I’ll not have even a chance. Can...can you tell me what in hell I can do? I’ve gotta un-fuck it up, and...shit, I don’t know if it even can be. I’m…fucked.” With a heavy sigh, he dropped into a chair, watching with morbid fascination as Ian carefully planed down a chair-back. At least the old man hadn’t burst into laughter, that was maybe something?

 

Geezer stared for a moment, helpless. He was the last person in the _world_ qualified to give advice on women, especially since he’d had to have it pointed out to him that Aurnia was interested in him. And the kid just had to pick a _Donovan_...Geezer liked them all, sure, but they were somewhat...intense...people. At least the younger Lorna seemed the calmest of the whole group. “Well, first off, she probably does know,” he said, trying to sound kind. “Gossip travels, in a place like this. Obviously she don't care, though, if she’s willing to work and talk to you in the first place. You’ve gotta keep in mind, the Donovans ain’t exactly pure as driven snow -- no, none of them ever groped somebody that I know of, but they weren’t exactly well-adjusted citizens, either.”

 

He looked at Aurnia, still helpless. She was a woman; she’d have a better idea what the younger Lorna might actually make of all this.

 

Aurnia stood up, her hands folded cautiously. “I know I’m your mam, but...I’m going to try to answer what you asked as a woman. Not your... mam. Pretend I’m someone else. The thing is, women want a bloke who’s got a set of balls. And sometimes that means just going and apologizing for what went wrong. No, you can’t take it back or make it so it never happened. But like...it shows you care about what someone else feels. That it matters to you that you bolloxed the whole thing, and at least want to own up to that part. I know it sounds dumb, but it’s more than I ever heard out’v your da, God rest his soul. It ain’t much, but it’s a place to start.” With an affectionate rub of Geezer’s shoulder, she returned to her sandpaper just like conversations of this kind happened every day.

 

“Listen to your mam,” Geezer said, giving her a smile. “She’s a hell of a lot smarter about this than I could ever be. Past time you went and had that conversation anyway, but she’s right -- it’ll look good, and it’ll get this off your chest.” He shook his head. “And if you had to pick a Donovan, at least you picked the sane one.”

 

“I heard that!” Siobhan called from across the hall.

 

“I know,” he called back. “You gonna keep this to yourself?” The woman had fucking bat-ears, he’d swear. Then again, two grandkids.

 

“It’ll be like I never heard a thing.”

 

“So...I’ve already talked to Earlene. Christ help me, the king and Thanadir?” He groaned audibly. “God, why didn’t I know he was married to her, too, and there I said that about her….her….assets...right in front of him. Shit,” he breathed. “But I guess you’re right. And I can’t even go in drunk,” he lamented. However the bemoaning rapidly turned into a glare when he saw Ian’s shoulders bobbing in silent laughter. “It’s not _all_ my fault,” he said indignantly. “Why does Earlene have to be so beautiful? I mean, throw me a bone, here.”

 

“I did try to warn you,” Geezer said, shaking his head, and burst out laughing. “Kid, it’s kinda impossible not to notice the woman’s rack, but you’re not supposed to _stare_ , let alone comment. She can’t help it, any more than Short Stuff over there can help being tiny.”

 

“Oi, fuck you!” Siobhan called, and cheerfully gave him the finger. Ian had stopped trying, and was openly laughing now. He had passed the point of pretending.

 

“ _Anyway_ , they’re all reasonable people. Just go and say you’re sorry you were a gobshite. No need to make a production outta it, but don't rush it, either.” Though, and he would never say this aloud, Geezer had to wonder how a man so admiring of Earlene’s _assets_ wound up attracted to a Donovan woman, all of whom were built like pixies.

 

“Rumor has it they all really like coffee. The good stuff, not that cheap freeze-dried shite,” Siobhan piped up happily, cackling unabashedly after saying it.

 

“Well, fuck my life,” Sean breathed, turning to leave. He knew fuck-all about coffee. Americans. Of course, it couldn’t be good Irish tea grown someplace unpronounceable, like proper people drank. At least there was the Internet.

 

*****

 

{later that night, after dinner--Heart Room}

 

Thanadir had a brand new, fairly large bound book full of blank pages that he was busy scratching away at, while leaning happily against Thranduil. Not quite folio-sized, but certainly larger than standard letter dimensions. Earlene noted a slight bulge in his midsection, which was confirmation that she had done her job properly. In fact, the entire household was in assorted versions of gastric bliss, filling the Heart Room to capacity, each currently occupied with some silent pursuit. Children were using willing adult knees as cushions, scattered here and there around the hearth and sofa sections. Tonight had been a slow-cooker butter chicken, courtesy of the redoubtable New York Times recipe collection. This Asian-themed dish had swallowed several fowl into its maw, and the result had been that the entire family had overeaten. There were zero leftovers. Nil. Nada. This was the culinary version of winning first prize at the fair, and she was feeling quite pleased with herself, as she debated an authentic chile con carne recipe against one for a truly rich macaroni and cheese…

 

Pat, who had had Grania coat his back in some kind of liniment the Elves made, was dozing happily, but Midnight woke him by jumping up onto his stomach -- she was well over a stone, and had pointy cat feet, and he was too busy wheezing to even swear. Not that the cat cared; she just flopped on his midsection and purred.

 

“Lorna, deal with this, will you?” he asked, when he finally could.

 

“Nope,” his sister said. She was knitting, and somehow, all the cats were actually letting her. Not fair.

 

Grumbling, he sat up properly, which sent the hapless feline rolling down onto his lap. He tried looking to Thranduil for support, but paused when he noticed some new bling on the Elf’s hand. Yeah, Thranduil wore a few rings, but he usually didn't change them up -- and this was a second gold band on his right index finger, where there had been only one before. The silver one on his left hand was missing, which seemed even stranger; unless he’d somehow married a third person?

 

“Yes?” Thranduil asked, amused, and not about to let that Feline Poster Child for Companion Animal Obesity onto his lap.

 

“Your bling has changed,” Pat said, wincing as Midnight clambered up onto his shoulder and started grooming his hair.

 

Lorna glanced at Thranduil, as did Ratiri. “Oh, you finally sealed the deal?” she asked. “Good on you. I should get a cake from Mairead.”

 

“Huh?” Pat asked.

 

His sister rolled her eyes. “Thranduil and Thanadir weren’t actually married, contrary to what damn near everyone’s been thinking all this time,” she said. “Now they actually are. Hence the rings.” _Thranduil, did my hairdo have something to do with this? Did turning you into a Vidal Sassoon model finally sway Thanadir?_

 

Oh, Eru. It was not easy to fight the color from creeping onto his cheeks, but he mostly managed. _It was not the reason. But he liked it very much. Call it an...enhancement._  “What she said,” Thranduil said aloud, not wishing to embarrass Thanadir. They had not actually discussed announcements, or whatnot. In fact if anything, their union had gone undeclared, since it was as Lorna said--everyone thought they were wed long ago.

 

Lorna grinned, but somehow didn't laugh outright. _You’re welcome,_ she said, eying his very faint blush. Oh, she wished it would show up if she took a picture, but she doubted it.

 

“You know,” Sharley said, looking up at Maglor, “our celebration’s coming up pretty quick -- why don't you guys join in? Earlene, Thanadir, you never got a party, if I’m recalling correctly, and you and Thanadir, Thranduil, you can just get in on it without telling anyone it’s not an anniversary.”

 

“Really?” Thanadir said quietly, interested enough to stop his writing. “We would not be intruding?” His politeness was clearly at open war with his level of obvious want. There had been precious few times in his life that an actual celebration had had anything to do with him.

 

“Not at all,” Sharley said. “The more, the merrier.”

 

“I’ll make sure it’s a nice _big_ cake,” Lorna said, knowing that Thanadir could probably eat a whole one by himself, if given enough time. He needed to be able to gorge himself on sugar to his heart’s content, the precious cinnamon roll that he was.

 

“What’re you writing, Uncle Thanadir?” Saoirse asked, looking up from her sketchbook. He often wrote in the evenings, but not like this. Not so much, nor did he seem so...almost agitated.

 

“It is a project that I...need to do,” he said, hesitantly. “About how we live here. To explain it, to someone who lives in Aman.”

 

“A project? Like homework? I know Shane made that glossary thingy.”

 

“And I'm working on a new one,” her cousin added, typing away at his laptop.

 

“Something like that,” he replied, a little dejectedly. “It is for the same one. For Erestor.”

 

“He’s the one that was so fascinated by Sharley’s mobile, was he?” Siobhan asked. Though she and Eris usually ate dinner in the Halls, they often came to Eldamar in the evening, to spend time with the family. Given that Donna and Sam lived here, it was the only time they were likely to see them, at least on a school night.

 

“He was,” Sharley said, grinning. “I felt sorry I couldn’t leave it with him.”

 

“Are you writing about Eldamar, Uncle Thanadir? I could draw some pictures for you to send.” It kind of annoyed Saoirse, that mortals weren’t allowed to go to Aman -- but Aunt Sharley had said that you couldn’t swear there, so even if she _could_ go, she’d have to, like put duct tape over her mouth or something.

 

“Partly,” he answered. “More about how meeting and becoming friends with humans has changed our life. The things you have taught us. The inventions to which you have exposed us.”

 

“You mean like cars, and the internet, and bacon?” the girl pressed. “I know some’v the kitchen Elves think bacon’s the best out’v all’v it.”

 

Thanadir blinked, trying to navigate this discussion. “More like….yes, internet. No bacon. Yes, electric lights and stoves and universities. He is a scholar and I am trying to think of what would...what would most interest him.”

 

“I’m pretty sure bacon would interest him,” Saoirse said, grinning. “Umm...is he an artist? Because we’ve got colored pencils and shi -- stuff, that might not be a thing in Aman. And markers. Can’t forget those. I'm not sure you could explain Photoshop, though, unless you wanted to fill that whole book explaining computers first.”

 

Lorna pondered sending a copy of Earlene and Thranduil’s wedding photo, with the T-Rex, just to be a little shit.

 

“I do not know,” Thanadir answered, becoming bewildered. “I do not know him. That is why I am having to...guess.”

 

“Then how come you’re the one making it?” Saoirse asked. “Doesn’t seem quite fair, sticking you with that if you don't know him.”

 

“Because I have to,” he said very softly. “I have to try to…”

 

“Thanadir, you do not have to talk about it,” Earlene interjected forcefully, already kicking herself for not having headed this off sooner. _Dammit._

 

“But…” he hung his head. “Maybe it is time I stopped hiding this.”

 

The assorted humans cast somewhat uneasy glances at one another, though Sharley winced. She at least had a pretty good guess what was coming.

 

“Only if you _want_ to, Uncle Thanadir,” Saoirse said, trying to sound encouraging. “Aunt Earlene’s right, you don't actually have to do...whatever it is you don't want to do.”

 

He looked up, the Sad Eyes not at all fabricated. This did not require an act. “I hurt another ellon, a long time ago. I knew it was wrong, but I lied, and I was as cruel and horrible as I could manage to be, because I did not want him to be here. I placed Thranduil in a terrible predicament, embarrassed the Realm, risked the safety of the other elf and those who guarded him, and hurt someone who could not endure being hurt. I did not exactly mean to do this; I felt threatened and everything about me ran away with my emotions. But that did not change the outcome or the damage I did. His name is Erestor, and thanks to Earlene and Sharley I have a chance to begin to right my wrong. You see, you all know me here and think well of me. But in Aman, I am known only as the ellon who treated the brilliant Erestor so badly that he was never the same again. I am not so perfect as I seem,” he whispered, ashamed.

 

The room was silent, except for the crackle of the flames in the hearth. Earlene and Thranduil were the first to move closer to him, and place their arms around him in a show of support. But only a second later, Maglor rose and knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. He understood, only too well.

 

“Uncle Thanadir, nobody’s perfect,” Saoirse said, as gently as she could. “I mean, I think everybody in here -- every human, anyway -- has done shi -- crap like that. Hell, when I was a kid I told another girl she was a cu -- a bad word, and told her nobody’d miss her if she went and played in traffic.” She was actually pretty sure that was the same girl she’d threatened to murder in her sleep, but even she knew that little detail wouldn’t help.

 

“Saoirse’s right,” Ratiri said, looking at Thranduil. “You’ve seen what happens when humans feel threatened, or irrational. I know you’re an Elf, but in this, with all of us humans, you’re in good company.” He still, all these years later, kicked himself for ever having any feelings of jealousy over Thranduil. It was all, when you got down to it, insecurity -- and given what they now knew of Thanadir, entirely understandable.

 

“You’re doing the right thing,” Lorna added. “You’re moving forward, and trying to fix this, right? That’s all you can do.” That poor Elf. He wasn’t human, and so couldn’t really understand that that was a very human failing.

 

“I...I am trying. But it hurts, to know that I did this to someone else. He did not deserve this. He did not deserve...me. And I know I cannot think about it this way, which is why I am trying to do something constructive. But…”

 

“But there are few worse feelings in this world than knowing you have done wrongs that can never truly be made right, and having to live with that consequence,” Maglor finished for him, carefully taking his hand. “Hîr Thanadir, whether you want to believe it or not, it required humility and courage to speak of this to all of us. I feel that of all here, few can match my sins, though it is not a contest. And yet I have learned that the Valar are merciful, and so are our fellow elves. We are left with hope, and for this I have been grateful. It will be right in the end, for you. I know it will.” With a deep bow and a kiss to the back of Thanadir’s hand, he rose and returned to his seat.

 

Angie remained silent, grateful Alan had gone to read. That poor Elf...this was beyond her, and yet if he wanted help outside of his spouses, she’d give it to him. She just had to ask Thranduil _how_.

 

“Thanadir, if there’s anything I’ve learned in my life,” Sharley said slowly, “it’s that trying not to think of something just makes it worse. There’s pain in this, I know, but don't fight it. Let it pass through you. You learn to live with it, until you can heal.”

 

“I’m with Sharley on that,” Lorna said, rising to give him a somewhat awkward hug, given he was sitting down. “You’ve seen what I do, when I try to not think’v something. It’s not healthy. Make your book, and be constructive, but let it hurt. Which I know sounds bloody weird, but it really does help.”

 

“And we can help with the book, if you want,” Donna said. “Since you don't know what he likes, why don't you put in a little of everything?”

 

The elf blinked, leaning in toward Thranduil and Earlene while still hanging on to Lorna. “Letting it hurt is not a problem,” he said. “I have been capably doing that for fifteen thousand years. I will work on the book but...from what I was told, Erestor has not made many friends. He is shy, and has been thought...he has not had many to care about him or make him feel welcome. That is what I am trying to do. Help him to feel differently. I need to do my project on my own, but if you truly wish to, I cannot believe he would mind learning about life here. Proper life,” he cautioned. “He...please, no unseemliness.”

 

Earlene could not help herself, she almost burst out laughing. Instead she buried her head in Thanadir’s shoulder, which was the only means to salvage the situation.

 

“I think his idea is a good one,” Thranduil said. “I did not expect you to tell of this, Thanadir. But I am very proud of you for doing so. We are family, and will help you as best we can.”

 

Lorna released him, and somehow fought the urge to pat him on the head. “How about everyone runs their ideas through Ratiri, before he presents them to Thanadir?” she suggested, glancing at the room. Ratiri had a far better grasp on ‘seemly’ than any of the Donovans probably ever would.

 

“Well, shit,” Saoirse muttered. Surely there had to be _something_ that could be contributed, something art-related.

 

Ratiri pinched the bridge of his nose. Yes, he would be vetting everything before Thanadir so much as saw it.

 

“May I suggest cats?” Grania asked. “Would they even know what a cat is, in Aman? I know they weren’t a thing for elves here, prior to Tail.” Tail, who was snoozing along the back of the couch, looking very like a rug.

 

“Saoirse, do up a comic, or whatever they’re called now,” Lorna suggested. “Graphic novels, whatever. Do one about life in Eldamar, and just don't swear in the captions.”

 

“You’ve got a while to work on one,” Sharley said. “Maglor and I won’t be going to Aman for seven years.”

 

The young woman’s face lit up.

 

“My god, that’s genius, Lorna,” Earlene said. “The chicken tikka disaster could fill up a chapter all on its own. And remember the time Saoirse did the popcorn? --Sorry, Saoirse, but it was kind’v funny.”

 

“No it wasn’t,” Ailill whined, only to be elbowed by Calanon.

 

“He means, he thinks it is a wonderful idea,” the ellon insisted. “It should be chapter two.”

 

Saoirse glowered at her father, who winced. “Kernels and oil, he said,” she said balefully. “Kernels and oil, so that’s what I used, and look what happened.”

 

“It’s something your da would’ve done,” Lorna said, snickering.

 

Siobhan snorted. “Look at this way, Saoirse: you never burnt your own eyebrows off. Ask your da how he did that someday.”

 

“Traitor!”

 

“ _Hush_ , you.”

 

“Will you guys help me write stuff out into stories?” Saoirse asked, looking mainly at Earlene and the Elves. “I should do that before I draw anything. And Da,” she added, “you are so explaining that later.”

 

Her poor father facepalmed.

 

“Is there even a Sindarin word for popcorn?” Earlene wondered aloud.

 

Ailill thought, and frowned. He craned his neck over to look at Quen, who he generally felt to be an authority on matters of language.

 

“Uh…Pengolodh will derive a suitable noun and get back to you?” he answered in his charming British accent, causing Earlene to snort with laughter.

 

“Guess that answers that,” Earlene smirked.

 

“We should send some to Aman,” Ratiri said. “That and some oil. It’s vaguely healthy, or can be.”

 

“They have oil in Aman, for cooking,” Maglor interjected. “But not popcorn.”

 

Saoirse grabbed her sketchbook, flipped to an empty page, and wrote ‘chicken tikka’ followed by ‘popcorn’.  “Okay, what else?”

 

“Your Uncle Thanadir first learning how to use my gran’s old sewing machine,” Lorna said. “If only I’d found it that interesting, Gran might not’v rolled her eyes so often.”

 

Saoirse wrote ‘sewing machine’. “Okay, what else? Again?”

 

“Lorna and Ratiri’s wedding in the Halls, and the kids that almost caught the throne on fire,” Earlene quipped. “Of course, you were a little young then. But I’m sure you could get enough versions of it to improvise.”

 

“People jumping the bonfire at Halloween,” Pat added. “But _not_ your lunatic aunt here.”

 

Said lunatic stuck her tongue out at him. “That lamb we roasted for Christmas last year,” Lorna said. “And everyone at the table.”

 

“The Christmas tree, too,” Atia added. “With the _Enterprise_ on top.”

 

“Uncle Thanadir in his House Elf hat,” Supri said, grinning.

 

Ratiri laughed. “And Maerwen’s first driving lesson.”

 

The poor elleth didn't facepalm, but she came close. She’d almost hit the side of the barn on her way out, because she’d been an eejit and insisted on trying to learn on a manual transmission.

 

Saoirse scribbled busily, tongue between her teeth. “And lots’v Yellowstone shit...sorry. Yellowstone stuff.”

 

Earlene nuzzled Thanadir. “I want a portrait of you with your S.P.E.W. hat, your Star Trek Science Officer pin, and your emblem of the Royal Household. That is my absolute favorite,” she smiled.

 

“Oh, Eru,” Thranduil groaned. “We are supposed to be a monarchy.”

 

“We are a _good_ monarchy,” Earlene retorted. “If more kings paid attention to Star Trek, the world might not be such a shambles.”

 

Oddly enough, no one could find a suitable argument to this, though a few of those present did make the effort. Thanadir gave Thranduil a guilty look. “I am sorry,” he said contritely. Unfortunately, that he was wearing his Ravenclaw tee shirt at that exact moment did not help.

 

“And besides, it’s not a monarchy inside’v Eldamar,” Shane pointed out. “Eldamar’s like...Switzerland. Neutral. Or something like that.”

 

“At least someone’s been paying attention in History,” Ratiri muttered.

 

“Well, it’s not a monarchy, but the monarchy is here,” Earlene mused. “Sort’v like, all oranges are fruit but not all fruit are oranges. We still are what we are, we just...it’s kind’v like Cornish Pixies. We keep them in the jar until we are someplace else.”

 

Thanadir frowned. “Meldis, I am not sure that was the best analogy.”

 

“Well, we aren’t blast-ended skrewts, and certainly we are not acromantulas.”

 

Maglor and Quen were shaking with laughter over in the corner. Not much by way of popular culture had crossed Maglor’s notice in the years of his isolation, but apparently Harry Potter books had penetrated the veil.

 

Saoirse had left off writing, and was now sketching her aunt and uncles -- Aunt Earlene looking thoughtful, Uncle Thanadir perturbed, and Uncle Thranduil like he wanted to facepalm, but didn't want to do it in front of everyone. Yeah, Eldamar was more interesting than any plain old monarchy any day. _No offense, Uncle Thranduil. You know what I mean._

 

Uncle Thranduil sighed. Mightily. But he hugged Thanadir close and kissed his cheek in spite of it all. And he smiled at Saoirse, because what else could he do? It was all true.

 

_It is okay, beloved. The monarchy used to be vanilla and now it is...spumoni._

 

Thranduil blinked, and Thanadir stared at her. _What is spumoni?_

 

**

 

 _Thranduil, I’ve got something more to tell you, but I think it might be better told in private,_ Sharley said. _It’s about Legolas._

 

 _Here or elsewhere?_ Now, he felt worried. And yet, Legolas had not said anything in his letter...

 

_Possibly elsewhere? It’s nothing bad, but it’s kinda surprising._

 

 _Would our room be alright? Unless you object, please follow me._ He murmured apologies to Thanadir, who he was depriving of a backrest, and went thataway.

 

Sharley followed, trailed by the Lump, who she picked up as they went. Once inside, she got right to the point. “I told Legolas about your marriage,” she said. “I was gonna wait, and let you do it, but I thought it might be easier on both of you if it wasn’t a shock. He won’t tell anyone else yet -- he wants to talk to a Vala first -- but he said to tell you that he loves and respects you and Thanadir both, and he’s happy for you.”

 

“I see,” Thranduil said softly. “Well, it is the truth; I cannot fault you. Maybe you should hear this from me,” he sighed, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “I am not proud of what has happened concerning my marital circumstances. Nor am I ashamed. I will enter Aman expecting to be treated exactly like any other wed ellon, though I am not naive to how difficult it will be for many to accept our family. I know that I will have to project strength, but that is not a struggle for me. I do not relish upending the sensibilities of others, but I also will not apologize for being the cause of it. None of this was my idea, but now that I am here I will not pretend I wish it to be otherwise.”

 

“I think he’ll wind up helping, with that,” she said, taking up residence in one of the wing chairs, Lump on her lap. “Between that, and Glorfindel and Erestor, it might not be so weird when you go...though, and you probably already know this, your ex lives with Legolas, too. Surprised the hell outta me, I have to say, just because that’s not what I was expecting. Aman...it’s interesting.” She just wished her personal errands hadn’t been so disappointing, but at least she’d found the Woodland Realm 2.0.

 

“Well, my son knows, Elrond knows, apparently those of that household and their closest friends…” he shrugged. “It certainly will be interesting.”

 

“And probably a whole lot more so, once I get more mail taken back and forth,” she said, grinning a little. “Vairë okayed me to do that, as long as it wasn’t anything polluting...though she also told me not to bring anything that would make anyone who lives there envious, and then I went and showed Erestor my cell phone. I stand by that, though, because he has his own damn version of the Thanadir Eyes. I didn't stand a chance.”

 

“I could imagine,” Thranduil chuckled. He still wondered, what it might have been like had Erestor remained and Thanadir been...different. But as there was never going to be any means by which to know that ‘what-if’, it was a pointless query.

 

“The two of them could take over the world, if they worked together,” she said, shaking her head. “And his delight at it...it probably isn’t any secret by now that my trip wasn’t what I’d hoped it’d be. Not at all. I wasn’t allowed to see Marty, and Melian and Thingol gave me what I’m sure they thought was good advice, but didn't exactly help. This might sound terrible, but I’m glad it’ll be another six months before I have to go back.”

 

 _“But Marty can see her sister,”_ Sinsemilla reminded her. _“That’s something.”_

 

“I know,” Sharley said, sighing. “That helps, and yet it doesn’t.”

 

“Were not _allowed_?” Thranduil asked, frowning at this choice of words. “That sounds very...peculiar. That was exactly what you were told?”

 

“No,” she said, scratching the Lump behind the ears, “but it was as good as. Vairë told me not to, and you don't just disobey a Vala. Not if you have any sense, anyway. I thought it sounded weird, too, but even though I remember everything about Aman, that doesn’t mean I understand it. She’s _Vairë_ , and I didn't feel comfortable asking questions.” Again, Vala. Not exactly her place to be doing that.

 

She sighed. “All I do know is that while I knew I _needed_ to go, Marty was why I _wanted_ to go. Add in that I apparently didn't stay there long enough last time, and Melian saying some stuff that did nothing but make me feel shitty, even with the best of intentions...if it wasn’t for finding Legolas, for Erestor and Glorfindel, I’d’ve wished I’d never gone.”

 

Something about this made no sense to him, and while he very much could understand the compulsion not to question a Vala...there was missing information here. And it disturbed him, very much, to hear from an Ainu that the thought of Valinor was somehow borderline abhorrent...well, that brought on outright dismay. Earlene had told both he and Thanadir, how difficult it was for her to leave, how strong the desire had been to remain in the Blessed Realm, for all that she missed them--and Earlene was basically mortal at this time. Something was...very wrong. His instinct was to try to ask questions, but not offer anything that could be construed as criticism...and quite possibly, to speak privately with Maglor about this. “I might understand more if you could tell me her exact words, but I am sorry that you had to forego seeing your daughter. I am certain the Lady had a reason, though. Our Powers guide us for our benefit, not our harm,” he tried to encourage quietly.

 

Sharley shut her eyes, calling up Vairë’s exact words -- not hard to do, with her Maia memory. “‘I know this will be unwelcome but...do not go to the Children’s Garden on this visit, Tirillë. Please just...trust me. Right now, focus only on yourself, and the needs of your unborn little one. Last occasion you were here, you left sooner than was best for you. I know why you did it, and why you for similar reasons will not remain long this visit either. Spend your time the most wisely,’” she said. “It’s why I went to talk to Melian, to ask about Lúthien, as tactfully as I possibly could. I wanted to know how long I’d be carrying this one, and what her development would be like.

 

“She told me what she could, and it helped, but then she told me not to forget what I was, not to ‘go native’, as it were, and that...bugged me,” she added. “A lot. I _already_ forgot what I was -- I _already_ went native. Horse was let outta that barn thousands of years ago, and I’m having to re-learn as I go along. I think she blames herself for everything that happened, that went wrong. She and Thingol...they’re almost tragic. Even now, so wounded, so almost broken...I know she meant well, and she couldn’t’ve known what it sounded like to me, but it didn't help.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes found a fixed point across the room, staring blankly. _Going native_ . An interesting choice of words, but the concept was one with which he himself had struggled. A few times, he had crossed a line. Probably the most egregiously when he had caused the explosion in Dublin. And it had been a lesson. Yes, he walked a fine line, but he also knew what he was. _What_ he was, and with the exception of a few momentary lapses, had remained bound to his obligations. While he could very much understand Sharley’s view in all of this, he wondered if she perceived the line at all. Just as it had been between her and her Lady, so it was between him and Sharley. He was of the Eldar, and it was not his place to criticize or comment. And yet, she had a mate. This would require...thought. A great deal of thought. “I wish your time there could have been happier, for you,” he deferred. “While I know it does not help you, I still offer my thanks that you have been willing to bear messages.”

 

Now she smiled. “I’m glad I could do it,” she said. “I’m glad I found Legolas. He’s a good kid, and a good ruler, even without a title. They’re all doing well there -- well, except the poor guy who led me to the settlement in the first place. Broke his leg farming, so I put him on my horse and got him back to his village.”

 

That made her outright laugh. “I’d forgotten what it was like, going on a long horseback ride. I had to ask Carni, one of the other Weavers, how to make my ass not sore, while remembering not to call it an ass.” The term was so ubiquitous that it almost wasn’t swearing on Earth, but it definitely would be in Aman. It was kind of funny; she was not usually a profane woman, but somehow, being in a place where cursing wasn’t allowed was difficult. “Her advice was ‘don't let it’, which wasn’t exactly helpful. Vairë managed it a lot better, but even so, I was still a little sore. I think, like a lotta these Maiar things, it’ll just take practice.”

 

 _Practice you really will not have, living here,_ he thought sadly. And yet it was not for him to say; what else was she supposed to do? Though, he stepped back. _Perhaps there is a reason for this, too. All things reveal themselves in time._ “Well, we are glad you are back. And it was very kind, your offer of sharing your celebration with us. I might have protested, but not after seeing Thanadir’s face,” he smiled, shrugging. “I find it hard to deny him anything, these days. And since he asks for so little, doubly so.”

 

“You two deserve it,” Sharley said. “Thanadir’s gone through enough, in the last few weeks, and you were nice enough to let Lorna play with your hair. That’s earned a party, and possibly a Mairead cake. There’s all sorts of relationships in this house, so we oughtta celebrate them.”

 

“True enough,” he agreed. “And I will consider it right after I manage to digest this meal.”

 

*****

 

{May 28, 2033}

 

The eating of the food was underway, Thanadir’s plate was full, and everyone truly appeared happy. Earlene, Thanadir and Thranduil stole away to a table that for the moment was all to themselves, and Earlene scrutinized the food Mairead and Big Jamie had provided for the occasion. Sharley had shut her down right after they were invited to be guests of honor last week, saying that if she was one of the beneficiaries, no way in hell was she going to cook all day. Since her initial attempt to protest fell on deaf ears, all that remained was admiring the food. And admirable it was indeed; individual shepherd’s pies were not something she would have relished tackling for this number of people. Yet they had managed, and the mashed potatoes that had been piped on the top were browned perfectly.

 

Thranduil seemed equally happy, and was not even intending to comment that Thanadir had taken two cookies for his dinner plate in spite of the monstrous sheet cake that had been baked for dessert. “You know, I thought I might take this rare, few calm moments to tell you both of Elrond’s letter. Every time I have had an opportunity it has flitted away just as swiftly.”

 

“You did say he had written,” Earlene recalled. “I guess too many of the other letters that came were more distracting.” A nervous glance was darted at Thanadir, whose celebration she did not wish to mar. But if he cared, he certainly was not showing it. Instead, he was admiring a forkful of pea and bacon salad.

 

“You really have to try this, meldis,” he said, giving no indication he had even heard the King. “The flavor is…”  No adjective was to follow; he simply sighed and kept eating while Thranduil watched him in disbelief.

 

“That is wonderful, Thanadir,” Earlene patted his hand. “I am happy you like it. But you were saying, Thranduil?” She smirked at Thranduil. Yes, Thanadir was utterly predictable--but adorable.

“What I was saying was--”

 

“Sorry, coming through.” Ratiri, looking slightly harassed, bore a plate of cake in each hand. “How is everybody doing?”

 

“Wonderful,” Earlene smoothly responded, ignoring the look of disbelief from Thranduil that this attempt to tell of the letter had been railroaded yet again. “But I’m guessing you’re not?”

 

“Oh, I can’t complain,” he said, even as he peered back the way he came. “Though if you see Mairead, I was never here. Hopefully the presents will distract her.”

 

Earlene leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “You can hardly saunter in, drop a hint like that, and not elaborate. Dish.” Thranduil looked on wonderingly as the sweetest smile appeared on her face.

 

“She’s trying to convince me to convince Lorna to cut off some hair,” he said. “You know as well as I do how well _that_ would go over -- and so does Mairead, which is why she wants _me_ to do it. So I’m hiding until I can get this cake to Lorna, and then we can both hide.”

 

The smile was replaced by a frown. “Um, there’s this word called ‘No’?”

 

“All that earns you is a lecture about split ends, according to Lorna,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Mairead’s bored, she’s got to badger someone. If we can divert her to someone else...well, I wouldn’t mind.”

 

“We’re all far too old to be dealing with something this silly,” Earlene insisted, not about to get sucked into it. “And I am not about to move until this shepherd’s pie has been properly appreciated. Did you get one? Because they’re marvelous, and you should eat. Thanadir recommends the peas, he’s over there having a, um, solid moment of culinary appreciation.” There were still things one did not say about Thanadir, and references to orgasms were among them.

 

Ratiri didn't laugh, but he couldn’t help a smile. “Lorna and I already had one,” he said. “I told her not to eat too many if she wanted any room for cake, because I knew it was better to get to that sooner rather than later.” One never did know if everyone was actually going to get a slice of a Mairead cake -- not in a party setting, anyway. “All the presents are ready, right?”

 

“As far as I know it’s just the really grandiose present,” Earlene said, lowering her voice. “But yes, it’s hidden in the barn, completely bundled, and waiting to be presented. I thought Geezer and Siobhan should get to bring it out since they did most of the work. Thanadir wants Allanah to attach the mobile, and the smaller gifts are already wrapped and tucked in the sleeping area.”

 

“There’s some baby things, too,” he said. “Lorna said this one didn't need to be starting off with a dozen children’s hand-me-downs, so there’s booties and things. When are we bringing them out?” That would distract Mairead and then some. He’d seen the object when it was still in progress, and it would distract anyone.

 

“I’d guess after people have eaten? I mean, that’s kind’v how parties flow?” Earlene was wondering if a different matter was also on Ratiri’s mind because this was just...odd. Or maybe after all these years he was turning into Lorna. By osmosis, or something.

 

Thranduil smiled, that peculiar smile he could display on occasion. “I have one better. Tell her that if she leaves Lorna alone, she can trim my hair. But only if not another word about Lorna’s is said.” If what his tiny friend had said previously was accurate, the chance to run her fingers through his hair ought to be Mairead’s Holy Grail of Cosmetology.

 

Ratiri stared at him, nearly fumbling his cake. _That_ was...unexpected. “I’m certain that will work,” he said, wondering if he could get a picture of Mairead’s face when he said it. Lorna was sure to have her mobile on her. “Thank you, Thranduil.” He hurried off, still balancing cake, much more at ease.

 

Thanadir shot Thranduil a querying stare.

 

The King shrugged, laying his hand affectionately on Thanadir’s shoulder. “It is a little long right now, and certainly it will grow. And it is a small price to pay for being able to tell you that in Elrond’s letter, he discussed a proposal Erestor made. Erestor and Glorfindel have dwelled for a very long time in Aqualondë, which is of course near the sea. But there are unoccupied caves above the city, that he feels could be converted in the interim to suitable dwellings for all of our people. Elrond liked the idea and basically stated that he and Erestor would work together to evaluate the suitability of the site and simply...take care of it, if it was deemed a sound project. I have often idly wondered how we were to manage to stay together as a people. While I do not know what life there is like, I can guess that lodging for two hundred and twenty odd elves is not something just waiting to be occupied.”

 

Thanadir chewed thoughtfully. “To continue dwelling as we always have, in caverns? That would be wonderful.”

 

“I love the sea-shore,” Earlene smiled. “Though, I imagined that some of our number might wish to return to parents or family or...who even knows what. And yet I am equally certain a core of individuals will wish to remain with us even there. Maybe?”

 

“That was my guess,” Thranduil opined. “Maybe. While there is even one of them, I will not abandon my agreement to care for my people. And yet what they wish; that will be unknown for a very long time.” Just then he eyed Lorna beelining in their direction. “At least I finally got to say it,” he said helplessly, but with a smile.

 

“Are you actually going to let Mairead trim your hair?” she asked, wide-eyed. At least Ratiri had managed to get her her cake. She had a blob of frosting on her upper lip.

 

“Trim yes, take off eight inches--no,” he smiled. “It’s just hair. It grows back.”

 

“That wasn’t what you said the time Legolas spilt--” Thanadir was cut off by a glare from Thranduil.

 

“That is not the same thing at all,” the King huffed.

 

Lorna’s eyebrows rose. “Was there a child-related mishap involving your hair?” The worst thing her own had done was chew on hers.

 

“He was very small,” Thranduil said archly. “But...yes. Go on, Thanadir, I can see how much you wish to tell it.”

 

The elf’s face lit up with happiness. “He was holding Legolas high up over his shoulder, and standing somewhat close to a candle-stand with many tapers. Legolas reached out and tipped it so that the wax could drip right onto Thranduil’s hair and...at the end of it it was simply easier to cut much of it away. He had not known he was doing wrong, but once he learned he could not stop giggling. It was...very cute,” Thanadir said, lost in the memory.

 

“Oh _no_ ,” Lorna said, eying Thranduil’s hair. “Oh, that’s awful. And you couldn’t even freeze it and try to break it apart that way.” That was little short of criminal, honestly. “Don't tell Mairead that or she might cry.” And she was only pretty sure she was kidding.

 

“We tried to melt it out with cloth and clothes irons, and much of it was removed, but there was this...we could not get it all out,” the seneschal explained.

 

“It is just hair,” Thranduil said. “It wasn’t worth that level of hassle. I would have been more upset had it happened to my horse, honestly. It would take forever for his mane to grow out if something tore it.” He ignored Lorna’s look of incredulity.

 

“See, if you’d been able to, you should’ve frozen it,” she said, cringing a little at the thought of trying to melt wax already in the hair. She’d been around Mairead too long. “It’s never just hair. Not when it’s like yours, anyway. Elves won the genetic jackpot there, you lucky...people.” She didn't actually say ‘you lucky bastards’, but she thought it.

 

“Well we will have to agree to disagree on that,” Thranduil shook his head. “Hair grows back and is almost purely ornamental. And we did not have freezers or ice save in winter. No one would have thought of this, and given that it happened in the springtime, that was rather too long to wait.”

 

“At least it did grow back. Mairead will probably die’v happiness if you let her trim it, so thank you for throwing your hair under the bus to get her off my case.” She gave him a hug, carefully not to actually get cake all over him. “When’s present time? I can’t wait to see the look on their faces.”

 

“Looks like Geezer and Siobhan are bringing it in now,” Earlene observed, feeling fairly determined to take care of what she saw as more important; she already knew what the present was. “Thranduil, do you want cake? I know Thanadir does,” she smiled.

 

“Small piece, please?” Thranduil pleaded.

 

One look at Thanadir caused her to burst into laughter; Earlene bent down to kiss him. “I love you,” she grinned, leaving to seek cake.

 

Lorna had gifts of her own to give, but they were stored upstairs for now; Ratiri could bring them down later. “Oi, Sharley, there’s a thing for you -- go see Geezer and my sister.”

 

Sharley, who had been enjoying the last of her shepherd’s pie, looked at Maglor. “I’m trying not to be nervous.”

 

“Do not be,” he said, kissing her cheek. “These are our friends.”

 

 _“That doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be at least a little afraid,”_ Jimmy said.

 

“ _Hush_ , you,” Sharley said, rolling her eyes and looping her arm through Maglor’s. “Should we go see?”

 

He nodded, and she led him toward the center of the tables, the lawn smelling sweet beneath their feet; the kids had just mowed it yesterday. Whatever Geezer and Siobhan had, it was big, and currently draped in a patchwork quilt.

 

Eris scooted ahead of her mother and cleared the dishes away from one unused table. Once the object was set upon it, Siobhan whipped the quilt away, and gestured with all the theatricality of a game show host. “Tadaaa.”

 

Sharley stared. It was a cradle, as beautifully crafted as everything else Geezer made -- birch, if she wasn’t mistaken, sanding silky-smooth and coated in a soft, blonde finish. The left side was carved with vines and leaves that looked like Siobhan’s work, with flowers that she’d actually gilded in silver that shone in the sunlight.

 

What really set it apart, however, was the half-harp built into the right side of it. It was perfect for a baby to play with -- and, given this girl would be Maglor’s, she’d probably start coming up with little songs before she could talk.

 

“But wait, there’s more,” Siobhan said, grinning. “Thranduil, Earlene, and Thanadir came up with this.” She produced, from seemingly nowhere, a gorgeous mobile that glittered with -- oh good grief, were those _actual_ sapphires and amethysts? They sparkled in the sun, flashing a rainbow in shades of blue.

 

 _“Holy shit,”_ Layla said, as Sharley reached out to touch the beautiful thing. It was so soft, and her eyes blurred with tears. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “You guys...it’s gorgeous.”

 

“You needed something like it,” Siobhan said, folding her in a hug. “That baby’s da being who he is, we figured we couldn’t start her too early with a harp. If she’s anything like the peredhel kids, she’ll be wanting a bigger one by the time she’s six months old.”

 

“It’s gorgeous,” Sharley said, when she was released. She touched the mobile, and wondered if any child ever born had had such a cradle.

 

“Figured you oughtta have something like it,” Geezer said. None of them knew the whole of Sharley’s history, but they all knew there was a lot of shit in it. They’d wanted her to have something beautiful -- especially since she’d had next to nothing for her first child.

 

Earlene sidled up. “Allanah won’t tell you, because she is too modest, but she and Thanadir worked together setting those gems. Of course we credit Thranduil for letting us use them, but it meant a lot to her to do as much of the work as she could under Thanadir’s tutelage. I’m quite proud of her, she’s...well I can’t think of any other female blacksmiths offhand, and she is amazingly good at somehow making the metal in these elegant little scrollwork...whatevertheyares.” Yes, she was going to stand here and admire her daughter’s handiwork, because it was gorgeous. Sue her.

 

“She really is,” Sharley said, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “Where is she?”

 

“Um...good question. Oh! No wonder I didn’t see her, she’s right by Mairead. All the red sort of blended together; it’s not normal to not be able to find Allanah in a crowd,” Earlene smiled.

 

“Gingers unite,” Sharley said, and made her way over to give her almost-daughter a hug. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I love it, and I love you.”

 

“I’m just glad you like it,” Allanah beamed. “Make sure you give Ada Thanadir a hug too, he had to put up with teaching me how to do it. He really is a saint…”

 

“He’s Thanadir,” Sharley said, as though it explained everything -- which it pretty much did. Nevertheless, she went and gave him a hug, too.

 

“I don't think anyone has ever had a more beautiful cradle. I can’t wait to put her in it.” and she was pretty sure by the time she’d been pregnant a year, she’d _really_  want to put her little one in it.

 

“We all really enjoyed making it and--why is Auntie Mairead playing with Ada Thranduil’s hair?”

 

Sharley eyed the pair. “I don't know, but I'm betting there’s either a bargain or a lost bet involved.”

 

Allanah blinked. “Nana says sometimes ignorance is best.”

 

“In this case, I think she might be right.” Though no doubt she’d hear about it from Lorna later. “I think Mairead’s a bit sad she doesn’t get to dye my hair anymore, so she’s hunting for something else.”

 

“Hope she doesn’t make Ada Thranduil’s hair blue. That would be...well...yeah.”

 

“Somehow,” Sharley said, trying to picture that and failing, “I doubt that. Which is honesty a shame, since he’s got the perfect hair for dyeing, but I can’t see him making any bet or bargain that would risk _that_.”

 

 _“You might not be able to picture it, but I can,”_ Jimmy snickered. _“She could dye it blue and curl it like Lorna did.”_

 

“Um, neither can I,” Allanah said, frowning. Ada’s hair was beautiful, and coloring it would be wrong, somehow.

 

“You think we should rescue him?” He didn't seem to mind what was going on, but still.

 

“You mean how we have a deep need to ask him an important question about our upcoming vacations right now because it can’t wait?” Allanah grinned.

 

Sharley laughed. “Exactly. And if nothing else, we can throw Mairead at poor Thanadir. She adores him.”

 

From across the tables, Thranduil fixed his eyes on both of them, his eyebrow raised as a lovely smirk formed on his lips. Mairead was nattering away about a thousand miles an hour about his hair, while Earlene looked on in total disbelief. _Well do not just discuss it, hurry,_ they both heard.

 

*****

 

“I have something to show you, Tirillë,” Maglor said. “I know it was hard for you, returning when your trip did not go as planned. But I made something for you, and since we were having the party, I saved it for today. And when I say I made it, I mean with help. Otherwise it would have taken too long.”

 

Sharley looked up. “Now this I have to see,” she said, smiling. “Just being here’s been making me feel better, after being so disappointed.”

 

“Walk with me.”

 

**

 

“This began a long time ago. Before I...left,” Maglor explained. Most everyone at Eldamar helped. At first I wanted to do it all on my own, because it was for you. But Earlene pointed out that I was perhaps being unwise. As usual, she was right. We completed this only the week before you returned home. It still needs to be made into more of a home, but...it is for when the plague comes, and so many more will live here. So we can have our privacy. Aran Thranduil gave his permission.”

 

“It pays to listen to Earlene,” Sharley said. What she did not say was that sometimes she suspected the woman was wiser than both her husbands combined, simply by dint of being female. “I love the thought of a little place of our own. I know living in such a crowded house as Eldamar can get hard on you at times, and even I like some peace and quiet.” She took his hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was ridiculous how much she’d missed him, even though she’d only been gone less than a week, from her perspective. Maglor calmed her simply by being present; her whirling thoughts slowed into something more pleasant.

 

“Go inside,” he said, pushing the heavy-planked door inward. Some clever soul had stained the wood shades of blue, so that in the right light it almost called to mind a body of placid water. The effect was lovely. “I hope you like it.”

 

Sharley looked around, delighted. It was a relatively small cavern, the floors hardwood rather than the native stone. In the main room was a low sofa, perfect for stretching out on, long enough that both of them and their future child could sit comfortably. When she ran her hand over it, it seemed to be made of felted wool, in a deep blue shade.

 

Tapestries and assorted other wall-hangings covered much of the chilly stone of the walls; that would do much to keep it warm, especially in the winter. Some she recognized as Elven work, woven with forest scenes, while others were more obviously human -- one was blue, subtly mottled with darker blue and purple tie-dye, with a tribal stylized orca silkscreened onto it. Between them were glass lamps; when lit, the room would be bright and cozy. There were a few natural windows, too, into which Maglor had put irregular panes of glass, letting in what of the sunlight passed down through the trees.

 

She turned to Maglor, pulled him close, and kissed him. “I love it,” she said. There was even a small loom, and a small harp. “Show me around?”

 

He laughed. “There is very little ‘around,’ I am afraid. ‘Cozy’ is a kind term for the size of this little getaway. We have what you see here; a means to pump fresh water. The stove against the wall will provide heat and there is a small cook-top for heating a small meal that can be prepared in one pot. It is not really meant as a place we can live and never go to the Halls to eat. But,” he said happily, “this little cavern is hidden mere steps from the stable entrance to the Halls. Even in rather bad weather, a quick moment’s run will have us in the vast tunnel that runs under the King’s Halls. So we are nearby and yet not. I am afraid there is only a chamber pot for...necessities. Or the forest itself,” he grinned. “And the bedroom is just that, with drawers built into the bed frame to hold some items of clothing. I had hoped you might weave things to make this nicer.”

 

“I have done my business many a time in a forest,” she said, grinning. “I’d love to weave some things. And I’d love to stay here, very soon. After our party, we can come and have some privacy.” And she let him work out just what she meant by that, though she doubted it would take him long.

 

A most appealing blush and smile spread over his face. “I did place some blankets in the drawers under the bed,” he grinned. “Though, I did not wish to choose linens for it without you. Lorna said that women liked to do these things, and something was said about shopping. I sensed I might be in trouble, were I to interfere.” His gray eyes sparkled, for his own skill with fabric extended only as far as the polishing cloths used for his instruments.

 

“Lorna’s right,” Sharley said. “But I won’t make you go with me. That kinda shopping is usually fairly agonizing for a guy. You can just reap the benefits when I’m done.”

 

 _“Who knew Egyptian cotton was even a thing?”_ Sinsemilla asked. Right up until Sharley moved into her little house in Skykomish, she'd never had decent bedding; if it was warm, that was all she cared about. Nice sheets, though...there was quite a bit to be said for them.

 

“Not me, that's for sure,” she said. “And I won’t even bring the Lump.”

 

“I do not think she would be as happy, here,” he said quietly. “She believes home is Eldamar. And, while I hope you find it enjoyable, thank you. I would rather be placed back in chains than go shopping.” He was not joking. At all--though, the corners of his mouth turned up, because even he realized this was ridiculous.

 

“Given what happened last time you went shopping with me, I kinda can’t blame you,” she said, and kissed him again. “That can be some kinda girls’ day, because Earlene’s the only one I really trust to help me pick out good-quality...anything.” She loved Lorna, she really did, but her tiny friend was rather like her: if it was soft and warm, she didn't care about anything else. Maglor would probably appreciate something finer, though.

 

“I love you,” he smiled, reaching into his tunic to procure a small notebook and a writing implement. “I was told that if I brought this out just now, you would like to make a list of things to procure. And Hîr Thanadir loaned me this.” A very human measuring tape came out of an entirely different pocket. “And it just so happens that I left some wine here, and two drinking cups.”

 

“You’ve thought of everything,” she said. “It’s one of about nine thousand things I love about you. And honestly, I think the wine’s the best bet first, since then I’ll be able to think of more things to write down.” Linens, dishes (because she was sure there weren’t enough, even if there were any at all), maybe some warm couch-blankets for winter...yeah, she and Maglor weren’t terribly affected by a chill, but they'd have a baby at some point in the future. What felt like the very distant future, although she’d probably carried Marty just as long, and the Stranger just hadn’t let her realize it.

 

“I can make more furniture,” he explained, pouring the wine and handing her a cup. “But I prefer an uncluttered room. Perhaps you do too. Mostly I wished you to make this into what will please you most; my preferences were taken almost too much into account in our room at Eldamar. It is only fair that this place be as you wish it.”

 

“We’ve got the cradle,” she said, taking the cup and sipping. “And maybe we’ll want a rocking chair. Otherwise, I like it. It’ll be nice and cozy in the winter, with a fire going, and our little one hopefully not crying too much. Earlene’s assorted peredhel kids didn't cry that much, from what I saw, so hopefully ours won’t, either.” Marty hadn’t; it had been one of the reasons she’d been dubbed a sunshine child so early on. It must be a peredhel thing.

 

“My brothers were the same, except when we caused their tears,” he smiled at the memory. “Elven children are rarely troubled.”

 

“Kinda glad this one’s not a twin, then,” Sharley said, rubbing her abdomen. She did that a lot, despite the fact that it was far too early to actually feel anything. “I’ve seen the crap Chandra and Shane got up to together, when they were younger. At least this little one won’t have anyone to fight with.” Yet. She wasn’t going to tell Maglor that someday Marty would be reborn, just because ‘someday’ was probably a long ways off, given all the trees she’d seen in her vision. Thought of going through a year-and-a-half long pregnancy twice was not a pleasant one, but it would be worth it.

 

“You know, it’s funny, now that I think about it -- I don't know what it’s like to have a parent,” she added. “Not like you do. Vairë’s mother to all us Weavers, but we were never children. We never grew up. You’ll have to help me with this little one, because my memories of the childhood I thought I had were all false.”

 

“I loved my parents. I still love my parents,” he said, looking away. “I do not love what my father became, but he was not always thus. Our child will have a large family, though they be on another shore. I was not fortunate enough to try to find out the fate of my grandfather, uncles or cousins. But surely you recall, the House of Finwë is not small.”

 

“We’ll find out in seven years, won’t we?” she asked, wrapping an arm around his waist. “We’re gonna have to work out how to get to Inis Mor then, too, but we have a while to think. Lorna and I are building an autogyro for my solo trips, but the three of us will need...something else. I would say horses, but horses need rest, and I’m not sure we’d be allowed to take them on the Straight Road.” Somehow, she thought the idea of horse poop on that lovely road would be frowned upon, and that was an unfortunate byproduct of the animals.

 

Maglor tried very hard to suppress his laughter. “Six and a half years,” he corrected with a smile. “And all travelers need rest. Horses rest when their riders do. There are likely boats in Galway or elsewhere along the coast. I know how to sail a small craft. Really it is not that far, and if it worries you, I can work out a more careful plan ahead of the...plague.” He paused. “It is still very hard for me to believe it will happen, not that I doubt you. It is just--” his head shook in dismay.

 

“I’m glad you know how to sail, because _I_ don't,” she said. “We need to have more people learn that, somehow.” She’d gone trekking across the Helcaraxë when she chased after him, so long ago; sailing was alien to her. She’d worked on a fishing trawler at one point, but that wasn’t remotely the same thing.

 

She tucked some hair behind his ear. “You don't want to believe it, do you?” she asked. “Honestly, I can’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to, if I hadn’t seen it for myself. You know what I’m most glad about, though? When I see the future now, I _can_ inhabit it, but I don't _have_ to. Before, I was wandering through it, unseen, for however long the vision lasted, unable to wake myself up. Which could be nice, or could be a nightmare, depending.” She’d seen enough of the plague already, and was damn glad she didn't need to see any more of it.

 

“I have seen enough very bad things. I think it is less about being unwilling to believe and more about...being tired of the necessity. Yet that changes nothing, except my determination to enjoy what of this world remains enjoyable until that time.”

 

“Will you be okay, when I go to Yellowstone?” she asked. “I mean, I know you will be, but...will you be? I’ll send you pictures, and videos, and mail home...whatever fun things I find.”

 

“I have a full life here,” he smiled. “I am sorry, that I am so reluctant to see other places. To travel. But I am glad you are not like this. What I would like?” he said wistfully. “Thaladir told me there are small devices that record video easily. I would like to see what you see, the things you enjoy most. I am certain it is very beautiful there. For me, it is enough. Quen will be here, as will all the children. And I really need to start calling him Pengolodh, I notice of late he is beginning to use his other name more and more. Anyway. That is what I would like, and of course I will miss you.”

 

Sharley grinned. “There’s so much I can film, and show you,” she said. “Not just the geysers, and the wildlife, but where I fought the fire...over forty years ago now. Damn. It was amazing, and terrifying, and beautiful, in an odd way.” She only mourned the fact that their child would never see it -- or if she did, it would be centuries or even millennia in the future, when travel was possible again. And who knew what the park would be like then, given how much it changed even from day to day, let alone year to year. “I’ll miss you, too, but we can text and talk. There are a lotta people in this world who don't like to travel, but that just means that those of us who do need to bring things home to them.”

 

She shook her head, and sipped her wine. “I was a nomad, most of my time here. I’d stay in one place sometimes for years at a time, but others I’d wander all over North America for decades on end -- not that it had a name, back then. The tribes called me Ancient One, and just kinda...passed me along, from one to the next, all across the continent. It’s kinda funny, really; I was made to sit inside at a loom all day, but I’m happiest outdoors.” Weaving grounded her, and she could lose herself in it easily, but she wouldn’t want to do it all day. It was something she enjoyed all the more because she _didn't_ do it all the time.

 

“Whereas I wandered, for so long. To be indoors, safe, comfortable...cared for...I confess I have never moved past my associations with how I forced myself to live before Pengolodh found me. That is perhaps another thing...much happened, when we reunited, and without meaning to I stopped spending as much time with my friend to whom I arguably owe my existence. While it was understandable, this is an oversight I do not wish to continue. I do not love him as I love you, but I do love him. I need to be a better friend.”

 

“Then have fun with him,” Sharley said. “Do guy things. Guy Elf things. Pet the Lump. I know you’re not fond of her, but she loves you, and I love her _and_ you. Somehow, that all works.”

 

 _“Nice, Sharley,”_ Kurt muttered.

 

“Shut it,” she said automatically. “You’ll have fun, and get close again.”

 

“We already talked about what we could do for Erestor, and have an idea. It will take time; I think I will be quite busy. But enough of that, for now.” He leaned down, and placed the most delicate nibbles with his teeth along the edge of her ear. “I think we can better spend our time otherwise than discussing the dry topics of lore.”

 

Sharley giggled. Yes, she actually giggled. “Have something in mind, did you?” she asked, draining her wineglass. The sweetness of the alcohol warmed her, and some absent part of her was glad she could actually have a drink even though she was cooking a bun in the oven.

 

“Only when you have something written on your list,” he teased mercilessly, now breathing heavily along the smooth skin behind her ear and moving down her neck. “I cannot be accused of contributing to delinquency.”

 

“Of course you can’t,” she said, the dryness of her words undone by the fact that she tilted her head to give him better access to her neck. He was making her unable to think of much of anything to write down. Eventually, she managed something. “There. Hand-towels. You are no longer contributing to delinquency, so don't stop that.” Yes, her toes were curling a little in her boots, and she grinned. “Please tell me there’s actual blankets on that bed, or this is getting relocated to Eldamar.”

 

“Who needs a bed?” he asked saucily. “Sheets, pillows, coverlets. Rugs, canopies, decorative fabrics,” came the murmured words, as his roving hands ensured nothing further could possibly be written. “Cushions.”

 

They did not return to Eldamar save in time for dinner. Slightly disheveled, and with a pitifully short list. It was most fortunate, that they no longer lived in the main wings of the house…

*****

 

{June 6, 2033}

 

“You are sure you want this, Lorna?” Thranduil asked one final time, needing to hear it.

 

“I am,” she said. “I know myself. I know I can’t do it on my own, no matter how much I want to. There’s only so many times I can bash my head against a brick wall, before I accept that I’m not going to knock it down on my own.”

 

Ratiri blinked, trying to sort that out on his own, and gave up. _He_ had plenty of misgivings about this, but Sharley had impressed upon him that he absolutely could not interfere with it. Lacking telepathy, all he could do was be there for his wife.

 

“Okay,” Sharley said. They were doing this in Lorna and Ratiri’s room, seated on the floor -- she’d thought it best for it to happen in a place safe and familiar. “Ratiri, you sit close, but don't touch her. Thranduil, you sit close to me, will you?” She hoped to not need his help, but honestly, she wanted him there just in case. Just in case she somehow fucked this up.

 

“I will do as you ask,” Thranduil replied. This was...her party, as they might say. He just hoped she had the playlist clearly in mind.

 

“All right, Lorna,” Sharley said, taking the woman’s tiny hands. “You have your anchor place?”

 

“I do.” It had taken her a while to figure out what the hell to _use_ as her place; it had to be somewhere she felt safe, but also somewhere that was personal, so in the end she went with her cottage, where it had once stood outside Baile. It smelled of baking bread, as it always had when her gran was alive, and a fire crackled in the stove. It was the first place she’d ever been in her life that she really, truly felt safe in.

 

“Good. What I’m gonna do with this speedbump is, if you hear something that’ll fuck your mind up, it’ll toss you temporarily back here and into what here feels like.” She tapped Lorna’s forehead. “It’ll give you the time to either work with it or, if it’s a really bad reaction, get out before you can say something everyone’ll regret later.”

 

“Go for it,” Lorna said, drawing a deep breath.

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. “Not quite. Thranduil, will you do a check-in on her anchor place? You should be able to follow her thoughts pretty easy.”

 

This was...beyond his understanding of mental alterations, but, as places went...yes, that was indeed Lorna’s cottage. It was calm here, for his little friend, and apparently this was what was wanted? “I see nothing out of order.” He just hoped he was correct, about that.

 

“Awesome. Relax, Lorna, if you can.”

 

Yeah, that probably wasn’t going to happen, but she’d give it a shot. Lorna was used to having Thranduil in her head, but Sharley felt rather different. Maybe it was like a telepathic fingerprint, and no two were alike; either way, it was...weird. Not unpleasant, but weird.

 

_How Sharley knew to do this, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was because she knew Lorna’s mind so well by now, but that didn't explain why she worked with places in the mind, rather than specific memories. Someday, she’d have to ask Vairë, because she couldn’t remember learning this._

 

 _Lorna’s anchor space, her safe place, was one of the strongest things in an already very strong -- some might say pigheaded -- mind, and it was where Sharley put the first of her anchors. Four more surrounded it, a long ways out from the cottage, strong and sturdy. Nobody short of Von Assclown, as Lorna called him, would be shifting_ them _._

 

_“Okay, Lorna, just hold still.”_

 

_“Working on that. Why?”_

 

_“Because this might feel a little strange.”_

 

‘Strange’ didn't quite do it justice; it felt like her entire brain had just sneezed, like a wave was rippling through it, and her eyes snapped open. “What the actual --”

 

_“It’s okay. Just go with it. I’m almost done.”_

 

“I’d hope so.” She stared rather helplessly at Ratiri, and then at Thranduil. “My brain itches.”

 

Sharley smiled, coming back to herself. “That’ll go away...I think.”

 

Lorna’s eyebrows shot up. “You _think_?”

 

 _“She’s just messing with you,”_ Sinsemilla said, for once sounding rather disapproving. _“You’ll be fine.”_

 

Only now did Ratiri dare move, scooting across the floor to look at his wife. She looked -- well, like Lorna. Same as ever.

 

The King blinked. All was still here, and...well, they would find out the next time something interesting transpired, that much was plain. “See? No problems,” he said lightly, trying to add reassurance when in fact he was dissembling mightily, for he was just as lost as the rest of them. Telepathy did not always make any difference.

 

“Hopefully I won’t have to test this very soon,” Lorna said, fighting an urge to scratch her head. True to Sinsemilla’s words, though, the itching sensation was already fading.

 

Ratiri eyed Sharley, and wondered. That she could do this made him downright uneasy; yeah, Thranduil had daunting mental powers, but he’d also been using them for tens of thousands of years. For almost twenty millennia, Sharley had forgotten hers, and she’d only remembered them quite recently. He didn't want to think of the damage her inexperience might do, with the best of intentions. Though he didn't want to admit it, there were times that the person she was now, Sharley and Tirillë, worried him -- and he could never say it, because it would crush her.

 

“No kidding. C’mon, I think Earlene made cookies. If we give her the sad eyes, she might give us some.”

 

 _“Not you, Lorna,”_ Jimmy said. _“You still look like a serial killer when you try.”_

 

Lorna stuck her tongue out in the voice’s general direction. Because she was an adult, honest.

 

“Do not eat too many; I thought we were going to all go eat after this shop-a -thon, as my wife is calling it,” Thranduil protested.

 

“We are,” Sharley said. “But I’ve discovered I can have close to a Thanadir-appetite, and Lorna probably will, too, after we walk around a department store for ages.”

 

“Better you than me,” Ratiri said. He was going with Thranduil and Thanadir to do, as Sharley put it, boy things -- in this case, a rock-climbing gym, the one he’d looked up for Lorna so long ago. Dinner would be far more romantic if he didn't die of boredom looking at sheets first.

 

Thranduil smiled. He had every intention of enjoying the three of them trolling the entire establishment. For though Ratiri still was mortal, his body was that of one twenty years younger. Chiseled, fit, and about to be wearing a fitted tee shirt just as he and Thanadir would be. Yes, he was awful; Valar forgive him, he would not be able to have these amusements in Aman and the clock was ticking. “Then make certain that clothes are at hand for the cooler evening,” he advised. “My family and I will meet you in the foyer in twenty minutes?”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Lorna said, giving Sharley a hug. “Earlene talked me into wearing something nice, since it’s my birthday.” Her tone was rather too dire for her actual words, but still...dressing up. At least, given their first activity, it could hardly be anything too fancy (which was just as well, as the only really ‘fancy’ clothes she owned were her wedding lehengas and her great-great aunt’s flapper dress). Sharley, displaying a rather lovely talent, had called up a black tunic with silver sparkles out of thin air.

 

“And you will be lovely,” Ratiri said. “Leave your hair down?”

 

“Only because I love you,” she said, rising and poking him on the nose. There was a reason she usually kept it braided, after all; it tended to try to eat things, up to and including small children.

 

Shaking her head, Sharley vacated. This ought to get...interesting.

 

**

 

“It’s nice, they’ve got so much more shopping in Limerick now,” Earlene opined, soaking up the gratuitous neck rub Thanadir was dishing out. “I mean, nothing against Dublin, but the time to drive all that way kind’v...well...yeah. This is so much closer.”

 

“And it smells better,” Lorna said. Dublin was hardly a polluted city, but it was still more so than Limerick -- though Limerick, if it had enough time, would have wound up just as bad.

 

At least the traffic wasn’t too awful this time of the afternoon -- or at least, no worse than usual. Ireland was a more crowded place now, though not by as huge a percentage as one might have expected. The birth rate had dropped steadily since the turn of the millennium; most couples had no more than two children, and there were plenty who had no kids at all. It meant the population was aging, but it wasn’t like that would be a problem for very much longer.

 

“Well, I've got my list,” Sharley said, with a little smile. She’d eventually managed to finish it, once Maglor stopped...distracting...her. Not that she’d minded the distraction in the least. “Are you guys going to actually get any exercise done, or just make sure everyone else in the gym trips and runs into things because they’re too busy staring at you?”

 

“I am going to climb the ro--...” Thanadir said, his words dropping off as his husband’s patently shameless thoughts came filtering through his mind. “The rocks,” he finished, now contemplating how to combat unseemliness. “ _WE_ , will be going to climb the rocks,” he said with a stronger measure of emphasis, now openly glaring at Thranduil, whose innocent smile certainly was not fooling him one bit. _Eru, it was like having a new elfling, sometimes._

 

Ratiri tried not to laugh. He really, really did, and failed utterly. “Climbing will happen somewhere in there,” he said, and only laughed harder when his wife caught his eye in the rear-view mirror.

 

“I want pictures,” she said, as she merged toward the off-ramp. “And if at least one person doesn’t run into a wall, you aren’t doing it right.”

 

“You are not helping,” Thanadir grumbled, feeling stymied by his natural regard for birthday frivolity. Lorna was permitted. Thranduil, not so much.

 

“I’m sorry, Thanadir,” she said, slowing once they were on the offramp. _Thranduil, I’m not kidding -- I want pictures. At least one._

 

The sun was shining, for now, as she navigated the busy streets. The last time she’d come out here with Pat, he’d marveled at the changes -- the good and the bad. Incredibly, his old pub was still there, but his council estate had been razed and rebuilt.

 

“Meet you ladies once you text us to come get you?” Thranduil asked politely.

 

“Sounds good to me,” Lorna said, pulling over. “All right, let’s shop.” She had to run a comb through her hair once she got out of the car, because of course it had already started to tangle, but on well.

 

Sharley was rather get out, all things considered; the Mystery Machine was roomy, but still. She knew that Lorna was working to convert it to run on biofuel, on the off chance they should need to tow something after the end of the world (the fact that she’d successfully towed a semi with it was a healthy sign it could probably drag just about anything).

 

“To the rock climbing, gentlemen,” Thranduil grinned, tossing his light blazer over his arm while Thanadir rolled his eyes. “Ready, dad?” he joked to Ratiri. For all Ratiri was still an excellent specimen, his salt and pepper hair and their perpetual appearance of about 30-35 years of age rather made them look a motley group.

 

“Behave yourselves, children,” Ratiri said, fighting a grin and losing. “I’m entirely sure you’ll both make fools out of me, but so be it.” He was a very competent climber of trees, but he was also human; he lacked the grace inherent to the Elves and every movement they made.

 

**

 

“So the bed is super-king, right?” Earlene frowned, failing to see how it could be anything else. Maglor made Thranduil appear short, and that took some doing. But it also limited the choices of linens, because of course all the best selection was always for king; the next size down. “Throw me a bone, here. Are we looking for solids, prints…?”

 

“Super King, and while I know Maglor would probably like solids, I’d love a good print, if we could find one that’s interesting,” Sharley said. “One set in blue, but another in red, just so he looks at me funny.”

 

“Always pays to keep the husband on his toes,” Lorna said sagely. She didn't actually _need_ linens, but that didn't mean she wouldn’t like some. Somehow, they tended to go through towels like tissue paper, and she had no idea why. Partly it was cats, but otherwise, it was like the dryer ate them. (And oh, she was not looking forward to not having a dryer, mainly because there were going to be five thousand people needing somewhere to hang their laundry to dry, and a means of keeping their own stuff together and in one place.) “Okay Earlene, you’re the one who understands quality versus price here.”

 

“Thread count,” she answered. “But are we thinking flannel at all? I mean, this is Ireland. And, um, anything less than 220 thread count is basically Nope, though I think the numbers here are 1200 and 1800 thread count here on account of metric. Believe it or not, I’ve not shopped for sheets in all this time because, Thanadir, and the elves don’t bother with fitted sheets. They just pin the flat ones, and it works for me.”

 

“Definitely flannel,” Sharley said. “Two sets, maybe, since Ireland’s so chilly so much of the year. It’ll be easy to heat in there, but I bet the temperature will also go down in a hurry once the fire’s burned low.”

 

Lorna was eying a set too far above her head for her to read the packaging. They were a lovely, cheery red, the perfect thing to look at on a dreary, Irish winter day. “What about these?”

 

Sharley grabbed them. 1800 thread count, flannel… “Earlene, take a look at these and tell me if they’re as good as I think they are,” she said, handing the plastic bag to her. There was a zipper at the top, so it could be easily opened. “You know, it’s funny -- the weather in Aman was absolutely gorgeous, and a nice change from an Irish winter, and yet I found myself missing the chill and the mists by the end of my trip.”

 

“You’ve lived in Rain Land for too long,” Lorna said, laughing. Western Washington, she knew from experience, could be just as bad as Ireland. “What was it you said about Seattle?”

 

“City bitches if it rains too much, but they also bitch if it’s sunny for too long,” Sharley said. “Which is most of that half of the state, really.”

 

Earlene felt the fabric, but her mobile device came out a second later. Reality meant nothing, these days. Numerous positive reviews, however, meant everything. Stepping back so as not to be obnoxious, she spoke the product name into the device and then rejoined them, knowing the result would be up in moments. “At least New York would have the decency to cram its worst weather into a few months a year,” she quipped. “Though any more, all those floods...I wonder if I’d have bugged out even if I lived there still. From the looks of it, a lot’v people have left even if it is the Big Apple.”

 

“I can’t blame them,” Lorna said, eying some black, silky sheets. Sure, they’d show cat fuzz like nobody’s business, but they felt so _soft_ … “Floods there, hurricanes all over the South, tornadoes...it’s no wonder the West Coast’s population shot up so high. It’s one’v the few places left in the whole bloody country that doesn’t risk getting wiped off the map once a year.”

 

“I wish that wasn’t so true,” Sharley said, inspecting Lorna’s sheets.

 

Sarah Andrews, salesclerk extraordinaire (no seriously, she’d earned that title when she was named Employee of the Month last month) wondered if she ought to approach this trio. They were certainly an _interesting_ trio, too, so striking and yet all so different. One of them sounded very American, but the other, the tall brunette, had an accent that suggested she’d been in Ireland for quite some time now. “Can I help you ladies with anything?”

 

Sharley and Lorna both looked at Earlene, because she was the one who spoke the lingo.

 

“Well, we want very high quality super-king sheets. Flannel and ordinary cotton, two sets each. Blues and reds preferred, prints ok if not obnoxious; the husband has to be happy with the linens as well. Paying what it costs for quality is fine, paying and then having faulty seams or pilling after the first wash will most certainly not be fine. Can you help us?” Earlene really did not mean to be obnoxious, but the twitch at the corner of Saran Andrews’ eye was sadly unmistakable.

 

“Of course I can,” the poor woman said, rallying. “The brand you’re holding is a good one, but these are even finer.” She picked up another set of red sheets, the flannel even softer. The name was rather pretentious -- Sangria, which had nothing to do with flannel _or_ sheets -- but they  made up for it in quality. “They’re also wrinkle-free.”

 

“You know, I’ve always wondered why anyone would care about wrinkles in sheets,” Lorna said. “Unless they’re big enough to be painful to sleep on.”

 

“I used to just be happy I _had_ sheets,” Sharley said. Yeah, these felt soft, all right. “Okay, so this and a blue one, and then I guess cotton.”

 

“Did you have any particular qualities in mind?” Sarah asked.

 

“Um...soft?” Sharley offered. “Not sure what else there is.”

 

Sarah cast a glance at the brunette, who was obviously the only one who knew what she was talking about. “Well, this set won’t pill or bunch, and they’re color-safe for a hot-water wash.”

 

“Excellent. They want a heavily woven fabric. Resistant to kitty claws and things little ones can decide to do with linens. And after we are done with sheets, perhaps you could direct us to your best goose down pillows.”

 

Watching Earlene, Lorna thought, was kind of fascinating. This poor sales lady obviously didn't know what hit her, but she went with it anyway. The woman gamely led them on, though all she said went right over Lorna’s head. Evidently the set she was looking at would not do well under cat claws, which was a bummer, but oh well. This other set was apparently kitty-okay.

 

Sharley let the whole thing wash over her, disturbed by the variations in sheets. _Sheets_. You put them on the bed and slept on them. Why were there so many?

 

Pillows, now -- pillows she could get behind, and it was all she could do not to laugh when Lorna shamelessly hugged one. “I want two’v these,” she said happily. “Ratiri’ll love them.”

 

“So will the cats,” Sharley said, testing one herself. Oh, this was nice. Maglor would approve.

 

“How d’you suppose the lads’re getting on?” Lorna asked. “Or rather, how d’you suppose the rest’v the gym’s getting on having to look at the lot’v them?” If at least one person hadn’t at least tripped, she’d be very surprised. She’d certainly be disappointed. As much as admitting Thranduil had an arse as nice as Ratiri’s made her twitch, the fact remained that he did, and they were probably dealing with staring women, and making some men question their sexuality. Hell, Thanadir was so pretty and androgynous she was sure a few _had_ to be.

 

“I think the real question is, have they managed to get in any actual climbing, or are they too busy fending off admirers?” Sharley said.

 

**

 

 _Why are they all looking at me?_ Thanadir asked his mate silently. _I climbed the wall. Expeditiously and with excellent form, in spite of this absurd...thing...we are being required to wear._ His lithe form arced somewhat backward, seeking to move sideways now that he was at the top of the wall.

 

 _Because you are beautiful to them,_ Thranduil smiled. _Remember? Earlene explained this to you. You are very attractive, in their eyes. In my eyes too,_ he grinned.

 

 _So you and Earlene tell me,_ he smiled. _Though I do not see it._

 

 _They see it,_ the King smiled. _And even Ratiri, though he is too polite to ever say so._

 

_Really?_

 

 _Really._ Thranduil smoothly sprang across to take a handhold near Thanadir, the better to annoy him. Just a little--out of love. Below, a solid dozen patrons and employees ogled the sight to which they were being treated, the gorgeous long-haired men that were the ultimate eye candy. Their every movement had more commonality with the grace of a great cat than a human athlete; self assurance rife with each of their movements. Fitted but tasteful clothing revealed rippling muscles and perfect but contrasting physiques.

 

In truth, Ratiri felt slightly self-conscious, and all the more so because Thranduil and Thanadir were being, well, Elves, the impossibly graceful bastards. He was hardly clumsy himself; he could scale these climbing-walls with surety, but not like they could. There was no nimble jumping from handhold to handhold for him. That, and the number of women staring at his arse, though thanks to Lorna he was mostly immune to it. They could stare all they liked, so long as nobody tried to grab.

 

Still, this was quite novel, and more interesting, in its way, than climbing trees. It took an entirely different kind of focus -- though not quite _enough_ focus. _Thranduil, you’re a telepath,_ he said. _Please explain to me the female fixation with the arse. Because all of ours are getting stared at, and I wish I knew why._

 

 _You are asking the only ellon in the history of elvenkind who has a breast fixation to explain that?_ Thranduil grinned openly. _Loveliness of form, and perhaps the desire to imagine what it would be like to touch as opposed to just look. Though to be clear, I admire the form of many women, but I have only ever desired to touch my own wife. Thank Eru. To be honest, I am beyond grateful I am an elf. The alternative, I do not wish to consider. Good grief. I hope I would not be one of those awful men, were I human. Admiring is one thing, making another feel uncomfortable is entirely different._

 

Ratiri arched an eyebrow. _Fair point,_ he said, pondering the next handhold. _While I'm hardly blind, I've never wanted to touch anyone who wasn’t Lorna._ He doubted he’d ever made any other women uncomfortable, but they’d certainly discomfited _him_ many a time -- especially the expatriates, who hadn’t met him before, and thus didn't know he was married. He’d also felt strangely guilty, at times, for admiring other women, even though Lorna told him it just meant he was a living, breathing, heterosexual man who wasn’t a weirdo like her. (The one time he’d really dared express this, she'd started pointing out pretty women and saying, under her breath, things like, ‘She has nice tits, allanah. Appreciate them. They’re there.’ It had been _mortifying_ , despite the fact that no one had overheard them.) _Though at least I'm not poor Pat, who still sometimes has a hard time looking at Earlene._

 

_I love both Lorna and Pat, but Valar, they are peculiar in this regard even as mortals go. There is nothing wrong with appreciating. Even elves appreciate. Except Thanadir, because he is Thanadir and does not have the same desires. But those who look and admire far exceed those who do not._

 

A woman at the base of the wall was certainly _appreciating_ all of them, though she blushed and looked away when Ratiri caught her eye. _I know why Lorna’s that way, and I think it’s Pat’s weird attempt at being chivalrous, or...something. Lorna says he was a skirt-chaser when he was young, and this might be his weird way of making up for it. Also, look at that woman below us -- I’ve never seen anyone blush like that before._ He was actually a little worried for her blood pressure.

 

 _She is lonely, and wishes for what none of us can provide. While I feel sorry for such, it is hardly my problem to solve. Or yours._ Thranduil frowned. _Have you never worn a ring of marriage in the human style? That is why she looks at you more. Thanadir and I do; his especially is worn solely to declare his ineligibility._

 

Oh, no...that poor woman. _I haven’t,_ Ratiri said, and fought a groan. _We so rarely go anywhere that I’ve never thought about it -- although I should have, after than man hit on Lorna a few months ago. Are there any other likely-looking men in this place she could get diverted to?_ Everyone in here was well fit, after all.

 

Thanadir heard enough of Thranduil’s side of this conversation to understand what was happening, and nimbly descended, wishing for about the tenth time that this forsaken climbing harness that checked his movements was gone. He marched straight to the woman in question. “We are all married. Unavailable. Your staring is making us uncomfortable. We would appreciate it, if you would stop looking.”

 

The poor woman’s mouth opened to speak, and closed again just as swiftly. Blushing deep red, she fled toward the women’s locker room. Thanadir, feeling like he had been entirely productive, rejoined them. “I dislike this harness,” he grumbled again. “I do not need it. Not to mention it...chafes.” He crossed his arms in silent protest while Thranduil simply stared at him. “What?”

 

Thranduil had no idea how to tell his love that he had just behaved in a manner that was appallingly socially unacceptable. “Perhaps we could try the last wall. For me? And then we can move along and do something else if you wish.”

 

Sighing, Thanadir quickly acquiesced. “Hands only?” he glanced sidewise at Thranduil.

 

With a hearty laugh, the King nodded. “Fair enough.”

 

Ratiri pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no way Thanadir could understand just how cruel and humiliating that had been, but that poor woman couldn’t just get left like that. He rappelled down the rock face, and nabbed the nearest woman. “There’s a woman who just went into the locker room -- short, brunette -- can you ask if she’d talk to me? I'm afraid one of my friends was a bit harsh with her.”

 

“I noticed,” this woman -- and she really did have an impressive head of curly blonde hair -- said dryly. “Yeah, I’ll go get her, but I doubt she’ll come out far.”

 

“I’ll go with you.” What exactly was he to say to this poor woman? Yes, he was married. They all were. Yes, he had been a touch uncomfortable, but this was still theoretically a free country; hell, hadn’t he and Thranduil just been talking about how there was nothing wrong with admiration of another’s form? -- and poor Thanadir had just humiliated her in front of God and everyone. He could never be _told_ that, either, or it would hurt him, but Ratiri had no idea what explanation he could give for his actions now. Still, he couldn’t let this stand -- this woman didn't know Thanadir, or that the Elf had Asperger’s. She no doubt thought he was just an asshole, and Ratiri couldn’t let that stand, either. Thanadir was...Thanadir. He couldn’t help it. Not that that might make this mortified woman feel any better.

 

Already at the top of the wall, Thanadir’s eyes narrowed, under the suspicion that his husband had let him win. But those were not the thoughts he was getting at all... _did I do something wrong? I thought you both wished for her to go away._

 

Elegantly, Thranduil flipped himself up to sit next to the seneschal. _We did with that, only we did not quite have that solution in mind. The woman was annoying, yes, but according to custom she was not doing anything wrong, meldir._

 

 _I said too much?_ he guessed, uncertain.

 

_Not too much. More like, it would have been something perhaps better ignored than addressed. You did not know. You meant well._

 

 _I made a great blunder and now you are trying to spare my feelings?_ The questioning eyes looked at him, full of trust.

 

Thranduil hesitated only for a moment. _Yes._

 

For just a moment, Thanadir lowered his gaze. _I am sorry. I will ask next time, before I act. Should I apologize to the firieth?_

 

 _No. Let Ratiri care for this. It is only a small thing._ Not caring who saw, he leaned over to kiss Thanadir’s cheek, noticing that at this sight one onlooker made a face and left, while all the rest became more intrigued. Thanadir perceived his thought, and was finding this new insight into Thranduil’s mind to be a vast source of previously hidden information. Grinning mischievously, he leaned over and tastefully but thoroughly kissed him on the lips, before descending the wall, while Thranduil stared, stunned. Lately, Thanadir was full of surprises…

 

Unsurprisingly, the woman who emerged from the locker room had obviously been crying, and Ratiri winced. “I’m sorry about my friend,” he said. “He has Asperger’s, so he can be...bad with people. I don't wear a traditional wedding ring, so you had no way of knowing I was married.” That was a situation that would be rectified shortly, however. Mistakes like this didn't need to be made again.

 

“Asperger’s?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “My mam used to say that was just an excuse people used for being an asshole. I never believed her, but now I wonder.” Well, she wouldn’t be Irish if she wasn't angry as well as humiliated.

 

Ratiri sighed. “I know it’s hard,” he said, “but he can’t help it. He doesn't know what the things he says sound like, sometimes. We’re heading out of here soon, so you don't have to deal with it again.”

 

“No, I just have to deal with the gym full’v people who saw that,” she said miserably. “Fuck it. Fitness is overrated anyway. One’v my mates works at a pub -- I’ll go there and eat some greasy chips and feel better in a heartbeat.”

 

He winced, because that was a terrible attitude to have, but whatever made her feel better. “Good luck,” he said, and left her to it.

 

“Yeah, lad, you might want to put a ring on that finger,” the blonde said -- which was somewhat hilarious, considering if she was even forty, he’d eat his own shoe. “World isn’t safe for a man as pretty as you, without one.” She actually tipped him a wink as she left for one of the furthest walls.

 

Well, now he needed a drink. Hopefully the ladies were having a less eventful time.

 

“I am sorry, Ratiri,” Thanadir said, when his friend returned. “I made a mistake. Again.” He smiled crookedly. “I apologize for causing you to have to apologize for me.” Both of them were divested of their equipment, having rather out-climbed the climbing wall.

 

“It’s all right,” Ratiri said. “But I told her we’d give her back the gym, so it’s just as well we’re on our way out.” He was quite relieved to get out of his own equipment, as it didn't just chafe, it pinched in places he wasn’t fond of having pinched.

 

“Now what?” Thranduil mused, as they left the facility with who even knew how much time to kill before the women were done.

 

“I’m not sure what else is near here,” Ratiri said, pulling out his mobile. He didn't want to run into that poor woman if she did go to the pub, so _that_ was right out. “Says here there’s a temporary gallery of modern art -- which I’m guessing is garbage like that OOF painting in New York -- and...what? Someone’s staging Stephen King’s book _Misery_ as a two-man play.”

 

“That does not...sound appealing,” Thanadir said. “Surely we can find our own misery?”

 

Just then Thranduil’s mobile jangled. “The women ask us to meet them at the entrance to the store,” he frowned. “They need help carrying their purchases.”

 

“That makes no sense,” Thanadir said. “They are all very strong.”

 

“I do not know the answer, meldir, but I have been married long enough to know that it is best simply to do as I am asked. Much trouble can be saved, with wives, in this way.”

 

“Really?” the older elf asked again, wondering how he functioned before his new

bond allowed him so much more insight into Thranduil’s world view.

 

“Really,” Ratiri confirmed. “It’s best, and usually easiest, although not always. If they can’t carry such light purchases, it means there must be a lot of them. Pillows, or...something. Things that are light, but big and awkward.”

 

“Oh.” With a shrug, Thanadir set off toward the store, setting a jaunty pace.

 

“Eru,” Thranduil shook his head. “He is a complete handful sometimes, but I love him in a way I never expected to. Life can be very strange. Now if I can only keep up with him.”

 

“Life is certainly never dull, with Thanadir around,” Ratiri said, laughing a little. “I wish I’d thought of a wedding ring ages ago. Lorna told me Earlene told her a man had been hitting on her because she wasn’t wearing a normal wedding ring, so I should’ve dealt with it then.” The fact that poor Lorna had had to be _told_ someone was hitting on her was both adorable and kind of pathetic.

 

“It is hardly a requirement for life,” Thranduil observed acidly. “Just a slight preventer of unwanted attention. Earlene and I discussed removing our original rings that we exchanged but decided in the end that it would be better to keep wearing all of them. Simpler that way.”

 

“It kind of _is_ a requirement, though,” Ratiri said. “At least, if one wants to avoid...misconceptions. Places like gyms and pubs are where people go, quite often, to meet other people. As much as I love Lorna’s and my Elven rings, I think we’d best get something resembling human ones as well. Which is easy for me, but her hands are so small that she either needs a child’s ring, or simply one that’s been drastically re-sized. I didn't know this until she told me about the man at the diner, but her ring size is _three and a half_.”

 

“Remind Thanadir once we return. There are many simple golden rings in the vault; it would not be difficult to find something. Or whatever you wish to have; it hardly matters. You can...indulge yourselves. And...I see Earlene and Sharley, but where is Lorna?”

 

“I can see her feet under that wad of bags and pillows, I think,” Ratiri said, choking back a laugh. He could already imagine her glower, and yet oh that was adorable. Yeah, those tiny little boots were Lorna’s all right -- and even if he hadn’t been able to tell, the muffled swearing emitting from the pile would have confirmed it.

 

“The lads’re here,” Earlene said to Lorna. “We’ve got help now, you can quit cussing up the pillows. It was a great sale, don’t jinx it.” Ainu or not, Sharley was lightly elbowed for laughing audibly.

 

“That’s true,” Sharley said, “but Lorna is also buried in bedding. Ratiri, help your wife before she suffocates.”

 

Ratiri did just that, snickering slightly. Once he’d taken two bags of pillows, Lorna’s face was actually visible, glaring at him.

 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” she said. “I left my hair down for you, and it tried to eat a piece’v lingerie. And not even a pretty piece, either. There was... _pink._ A pink _feather boa_ , no less. As _trim_.” They’d decided, on a whim, to see if they couldn’t find something nice and slinky for Sharley to use as a nightgown, since she tended toward the Lorna ‘T-shirt and boxers’ combo. In the end they’d come up with long, silky, sky-blue creation -- actually long enough for such a tall woman, which was a rarity in a department store.

 

Ratiri inadvertently pictured Lorna in something trimmed with fluffy pink feathers, and immediately wished he hadn’t, because it was all he could do not to burst out laughing. The fact that his mental-image Lorna was scowling like thunder really didn't help. He loved his tiny little wife dearly, but she was not built for lingerie of any sort, pretty or otherwise. Sprites were not meant for sexy human underwear.

 

With a smile and a kiss, Earlene shamelessly loaded the bulkiest items into Thranduil and Thanadir’s arms, knowing they could manage better than anyone. In order to keep up her ruse that probably was not really a ruse, she just took a sensible stack of more compact linens, leaving Ratiri to cope with a lightweight but still completely ponderous bag or two of pillows, and Lorna and Sharley could mop up what anyone dropped. “It’s Ireland, “ she noted, “so let’s get this lot into the van before Limerick can decide to literally rain all over our parade. And how was the rock climbing?”

 

Thranduil smiled. “I had fun.”

 

After a deep sigh, Thanadir spoke. “I am afraid I made another grave social blunder, but that aside, it was okay. I would rather climb things that are real, and, my mistake had to do with others staring at us. I did not realize it was okay for firith to stare at Ratiri’s….arse.” A definite pinkening of his cheeks accompanied the last word, which he had never entirely settled on as regards its level of seemliness. Or unseemliness.

 

Lorna tried not to laugh, but it was a fruitless effort. “Ratiri’s arse is a thing’v beauty,” she said. “Kind’v like Earlene’s, er, endowments, it’s hard not to notice if he’s in the right trousers -- or climbing shorts.” Because they were in public, she did not actually grab aforesaid arse, but she thought about it really hard.

 

Ratiri felt his face heat. “Yeah, well, I think the lack of traditional wedding ring had something to do with it, too,” he said. “We’d both better get one -- Thranduil said we should just take a look in the vault when we get home. It’s only fair to any potential...admirers.”

 

“You’ve got a point,” Sharley said, eying her own hand. Granted, she had yet to be hit on by anyone or anything, but she knew how intimidating she was. _Maglor_ , on the other hand...granted, he rarely left the forest, but it still might be a good idea.

 

“I’ve never been one for wearing a bunch of rings,” Earlene said, “but in this case the benefits outweigh the mild inconvenience.” Their purchases finally were crammed into the rear parts of the Mystery Machine and they were free. “Well, where to for the birthday girl?”

 

_You love it when it is not your birthday, Earlene?_

 

_Yes, Thanadir. Yes I do. It’s all the same fun without feeling like the center of attention._

 

“Um...somewhere with good cake and booze,” Lorna said. “Somewhere with tables big enough for all you tall people, too. Cake and good alcohol might make me forget I’m fifty-bloody-six.”

 

“Um, well, here is this place called RiverDisco,” Earlene said, frowning at her mobile. “And as much as the name makes me cringe, it’s got great reviews for food, and there are desserts too. Booze is a given.”

 

Lorna cringed. “River _Disco?_ Oh good Jesus, that’s trashy on two fronts. It’s kind’v impressive, honestly.”

 

“Howso?” Ratiri asked. Yes, it was a pretty bad pun, but still.

 

“‘Doing the Riverdance’ means committing suicide in the Shannon,” she said. “Michael Flatley had one hell’v a sense’v humor, back in the day.”

 

Her husband groaned. “The food had better be worth it. Is it close enough for a walk, or should we drive?”

 

“Drive,” Thanadir opined. Lorna was with them, and that meant the probability of some random disaster needing an expedient departure had increased by several percentage points. Earlene was about to protest, until she caught his reasoning.

 

“What Thanadir said,” Earlene sighed, knowing he was all too correct.

 

“Given it’s my birthday, someone else gets to drive home,” Lorna said, grinning. “For once I can have a proper drink.”

 

“Or five,” Ratiri muttered.

 

The look she gave him radiated false innocence. “You said it, not me.”

 

It wasn’t that far of a drive, and GPS made sure she didn't get hopelessly lost. Parking wasn’t _too_ bad, though, mostly owing to the fact that it was a weeknight. “All right, you lot, everyone run -- I think it looks like rain.” Naturally, her hair got stuck in the seatbelt when she tried to unhook it, and she growled a little. Ratiri owed her for this one.

 

Inside the door, they found themselves in what surely was a strange, Irish alternate universe. Audible (but not overwhelmingly loud) 70’s music played on the sound system. The decor was just...indescribable, but if Earlene had to try, she would have gone with ‘pub collides with egg chairs, shag carpets, and lava lamps; rust and avocado green once again rule supreme’. When the host came to greet them cheerfully in an honest to god two-piece lime green leisure suit with a white satin shirt, the effect was complete. She had to turn away and lean her head against Thanadir’s shoulder in order to avoid a complete loss of composure.

 

“We would like a table for six?” the King said seamlessly, not letting on that anything at all was the matter. Then again, he had been able to sit out the Seventies. Which seemed vaguely unfair.

 

“Of course,” the host said, eying the little group curiously. He led them to a table closest to one of the big windows, away from the noise of the bar; most of them looked too old to be wanting to flail on the dance floor like the younger clientele.

 

Lorna leaned over to Ratiri. “Are you having childhood flashbacks?” she asked. Her own home hadn’t been anywhere near this nice or fashionable, of course, but she’d snuck into her share of movies.

 

“I am,” he said, staring at the shag carpet in vague horror. “Although now I kind of want a lava lamp. I had one as a kid.”

 

Once they’d been seated, Sharley said, “I thought the Seventies were the most confusing thing I’d ever seen, and then the Eighties happened. You can tell just how much of this was designed specifically to entertain stoners.”

 

“It’s like a bad dream, revisited,” Earlene muttered. “But I guess it made some people happy; retro for both the 70’s and 80’s is still popular.”

 

“What was wrong with it?” Thanadir asked, completely confused.

 

Earlene stared back at her husband. How did one even begin to elaborate on that horror that was the 70’s, on the tails of a perfectly good decade of flower children and patchouli? “Well, it was….” even erudite Earlene struggled for the words. “It was very flashy. It was a time when sexual mores of the previous era were dissolving at an accelerated rate. Many people had found a measure of economic prosperity, and a constellation of cultural trends emerged that in retrospect, made no sense whatsoever. Like, anyone thinking that rust and avocado green were good colors for home furnishings. Hell, this is really difficult. Can anyone else take a stab at it?” Her eyes alighted on Sharley and the Duncans.

 

“The Seventies were both tacky and unseemly,” Ratiri said. “Basic manners began to fall by the wayside, both clothing and home decor became bizarrely hideous, and the _music_...I would say we should expose you to disco, Thanadir, but I’m nowhere near that cruel.”

 

“I’m a bit young to be remembering it,” Lorna said. “I just remember the Eighties, which in some ways were even worse.”

 

“I just remember the first time I saw anyone try to mimic that John Travolta dance,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “I couldn’t understand. At all. I mean, there had been some really stupid dance crazes for hundreds of years, but that one was the worst -- up until the Macarena, anyway.”

 

“Is it sad I’m glad I was too high to even know that was a thing?” Lorna asked. “Because I really am.”

 

“Yes,” Thanadir said firmly, but he was smiling. The waitress came to take orders for drinks, and the ellyn stared back blankly.

 

“Strawberry daquiri, tequila sunrise, cosmopolitan,” Earlene said, pointing to each of her husbands and herself, smiling politely. She was so, so tempted to order a ‘between the sheets’ just to see the look on Thanadir’s face, but from the sound of it his afternoon had been interesting enough.

 

 _You are at risk of needing some discipline, meldis,_ came the silent reprimand.

 

_What? I could also have ordered you a fuzzy navel and a sex on the beach. I thought I was being entirely appropriate. You cannot hold my thoughts against me._

 

_Mmmmm, can’t I?_

 

_You can’t get away with that any more, you know. We are equal in strength and endurance._

 

_You are showing a shocking lack of imagination, if you believe that would stop me._

 

Earlene’s eyebrow raised, though she said nothing by way of reply, knowing that he would not forget, and be more riled by the quirky smile leveled at him instead.  

 

“I’ll take a mojito, double shot,” Lorna said, and glanced at Ratiri, who went with a New York Manhattan. Okay, apparently _he_ wasn’t driving home tonight.

 

Sharley eyed the menu. Most alcohol didn't do a thing for her; even Elf wine, she’d discovered, barely gave her a buzz. In the end, she settled on something called a blueberry bombshell, mostly because she’d never heard of it before.

 

The waitress headed off, wondering just what sort of table she’d been assigned.

 

“Fifty-six. When we met you were not quite forty, if my memory serves. Do you plan on celebrating besides this? Or will the Yellowstone excursion wrap that up for you?” Earlene grasped Thanadir’s hand under the table, and was now idly playing with his fingers.

 

“Christ, that seems like ages ago,” Lorna said. “I think Yellowstone’ll do it. I'm glad Supri’s old enough that she’ll remember it, though I’ll probably be making at least five scrapbooks anyway. It just...even now, it seems strange to think that in hardly any time at all, there won’t be any more people in Yellowstone.”

 

“Seems more real, doesn’t it?” Sharley asked. “Don't think about it. Right now, enjoy your birthday.”

 

“Yeah, as I crawl ever closer to legitimate middle age,” she grumbled.

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. “You’re sitting at a table with two Elves who are at least eighteen thousand years old, and me, who’s practically as old as the universe. You were saying?”

 

 _“Nice one, Sharley,”_ Jimmy said. _“Didn't you once tell me never to talk about a lady’s age?”_

 

 _“That was me, genius,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“And that still stands. It’s not nice.”_

 

 _“Since when is Lorna a lady?”_ Layla asked, genuinely confused.

 

Lorna dissolved into laughter before she could help it. Say what she might about the voices, at least they were never dull. Nor, in this case, was Layla wrong.

 

Thranduil’s lips pressed into a thin line, but thank Eru the drinks were here. “To our dear friend Lorna,” he interjected, earning a glare from the waitress who was still trying to distribute the cocktails. “What a difference you have made in all of our lives, dear friend. I wish you a very happy birthday.” Glasses clinked, and the waitress lost her scowl.

 

Lorna grinned, and ducked her head a little. Even now, she felt somewhat awkward when she got compliments. “Yeah, well, that’s gone both ways,” she said, sipping her drink. “If it wasn’t for you lot, I’d probably still be working at the pub, living in my little cottage, not going anywhere. Stagnating. Last seventeen years haven’t always been easy, but they’ve been the best’v my life.”

 

Ratiri leaned over and kissed her temple, and then flailed a little when her hair tried to wrap around his arm.

 

“I did try to tell you it was Cthulhu,” she said, picking at it. “You ought to know that, given how often you wake up tangled in it.”

 

“Make him pay for it later,” Sharley advised. “In the fun way or not.”

 

Earlene blinked. All these years later, she still did not understand it. Having long hair was one thing. Long hair that could not be managed unless braided or pinned up? That was too-long-hair, but each his own. Hers reached to exactly the top of her pelvis, in the back, and no further would it ever go if she had any say about it. And most always, it was worn straight or with ornamental braids or twists only at the sides. Only for rampaging in the forest, would she French braid it or similar. Secretly, she thought of this as Lara Croft mode, though it would never be spoken aloud. Thranduil and Thanadir did about the same, choosing a length somewhat shorter than hers. Both had hair a little below their shoulder blades, give or take, but she had seen both of them place scissors in the hands of another, once it got out of hand. Then again…. “Maybe you need a static electricity discharger,” she wondered aloud. “Your hair has to do that for a reason, but physics wasn’t exactly my strong suit.”

 

“Actually, you might be right,” Ratiri said. “The texture of it is so fine that it would be something of a static-magnet.”

 

“It’s why I don't leave it down that often,” Lorna said, finally freeing his arm. “I may have to get one off Amazon.” What was by far the most amusing were snowy winter days, if the air was actually halfway dry: her fringe tended to stand on end until she brushed it into submission, sometimes spritzing it with water for good measure.

 

“I still don't know why you don't braid it at night,” Ratiri said, sipping his drink and eying the menu. The names of the foods were...interesting, in that almost all of them contained some kind of truly cringe-worthy pun.

 

“If I do, I wake up with bumps in it,” she said. “And if I do _that_ , they turn into big poofs when I brush it. No thanks. And please tell me I’m not actually looking at a dish called a ‘Thunder Down Under’?” For whatever reason, the dish itself was oysters. What they had to do with thunder or Australia, she had no idea, but popular slang had long since passed her by.

 

“Dunno, but I’m tempted,” Sharley said. “Haven’t had decent oysters in a while, and at least Ireland’s got fresh seafood.”

 

“The Heavy Milker?” Earlene read, and, that was all she could manage, for she began laughing. No, it did not matter that this was a cheese dish served in a puff pastry. The mirth had begun.

 

Ratiri choked on his Manhattan, wheezing slightly, and Lorna thumped him on the back a few times, glad that for once it wasn’t _her_ inhaling her own drink.

 

“See, at least Cheeseburger in Paradise actually makes sense,” she said.

 

“Unlike the Gut Grizzler,” Sharley said dubiously. “Not exactly an appetizing name.” The dish itself looked decent -- some kind of taco salad-type thing -- but what a thing to call it.

 

“Better than the Gut _Buster_ ,” Lorna said. “It sounds like something that would make you explode from gas, which isn’t exactly something I want from my dinner.” It was in actuality a hickory-smoked hamburger, but still. With a name like that, no thanks.

 

“My Pink Tacos?” Earlene whispered, disbelieving. She could roll with humor with the best of them, but this was just...gross. Never mind that these were salmon tacos served in a crispy fried tortilla made with tomato, thus the color. “Who can actually order this stuff? Any’v it?”

 

“Do I like tacos?” Thanadir asked, absently.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened visibly. Maybe he would have to do far better research, prior to future outings. “For the purposes of this discussion, yes, you would like them,” the King answered. And that was all he would say. Earlene looked up at him with newfound admiration, because this was even exceeding what the Ice Queen could ignore.

 

Sharley and Ratiri managed to say nothing, but Lorna shook with silent laughter. “And yet it’s somehow better than the Toilet Breaker,” she managed. She didn't want to be shitting a literal brick, thanks so much. “All right, anyone who can’t say any’v these out loud, just tell me what you want. I’ve got no shame.”

 

“Fortunately,” Ratiri said, his face burning as he contemplated some kind of kebab called the Penetrator. Oh dear.

 

“You’re hired,” Thranduil said immediately. “For Earlene would like the tacos, and absolutely will not say it, Thanadir would like the kebabs, and I will have the cheese pastry with a salad.” Oh yes, the gauntlet was now thrown down.

 

“What is wrong with pink tacos?” Thanadir asked, genuinely confused at this point. Earlene gently placed her hand against his cheek and spoke to him silently. Seconds later he was approximately the same color as his strawberry daquiri. “Oh,” he whispered. “We are never bringing the children here.”

 

After consultation with Ratiri and Sharley, Lorna waited for the waitress to return. When the woman did, pad in hand, Lorna didn't bat an eyelash. “We want a Heavy Milker, two Penetrators, a Pink Taco, a Gut Buster, and a Cheeseburger in Paradise. And how you haven’t been sued by Jimmy Buffet’s estate, I don't know.”

 

“Oh, we have,” the waitress said, scribbling furiously. “Came to a settlement years ago. All right, it’ll be out presently.”

 

When she’d gone, Lorna gave the table a serene smile. Ratiri, however, laughed so hard he nearly cried.

 

“Thank you, Lorna,” Earlene said. And she meant it. About three more cosmopolitans might be chasing this one, for all the good it would do her. _Wait. Maybe this is a marketing plan; mortify the patrons so much that they need another drink to survive the ordeal of ordering food. Hm._

 

“You are very welcome,” Lorna said, sipping her drink with blatantly false primness. It only made Ratiri laugh even harder, while Sharley patted him gingerly on the back, looking slightly worried for his sanity.

 

“Another cosmo, please,” Earlene said to their server as she did a flyby. “Anyone else?”

 

“Mojito, please,” Lorna said. Ratiri was still working on -- meaning, savoring -- his Manhattan, but Sharley went for another Blueberry Bombshell, which was a beautifully sweet concoction Thanadir would probably enjoy.

 

“I want to try to make that thing again,” she said. “That drink. It’s like drinking candy.”

 

“Can I have one?” Thanadir asked, still accustomed to asking for things in the outside world. It was utterly charming.

 

“Two, Blueberry Bombshells,” Earlene said, as Thranduil smiled at him indulgently. He was still enjoying his own beverage, and rather wanted his salad more. “And where are the restrooms, here?” she wanted to know.

 

“Go back to the entrance, then off to your right. They’re easy to see from the dance floor; a marked hallway.”

 

A smile of thanks accompanied other considerations. _Bathroom, then drink? Or drink, then bathroom...the latter, I think…_ Still it was difficult to remember sometimes, her body no longer behaved like that of a human. Three trips to the restroom on a night out were a thing of the past. _Valar be praised…_

 

Food started to arrive, while Earlene was away, and Lorna wondered just how long it would take everyone to get used to a less varied diet. As it stood, they could meet everyone’s nutritional requirements, but salmon and oysters would be a thing of the past. Even if they managed a cattle herd, beef would be a luxury in such a relatively sizeable population, and everyday sweeteners would be reduced to honey, sugar beets, and birch syrup. The Western world had been spoiled when it came to food for decades, which would probably bite them in the ass, even temporarily, once the world ended.

 

And the end started on her _birthday_. Of all the days it could have started on, it just had to be her birthday, and she probably wouldn’t even have the option of getting really, really drunk, either. Maybe she’d have to go out on the day before, and piss on Von Testiclewart’s boggy grave one more time.

 

 _“You still have that pee-thingy Earlene gave you,”_ Sinsemilla said, trying to sound helpful. _“It wouldn’t be hard, and if it would make you feel better, you might as well.”_

 

 _“I’m surprised anything grows in that spot, you and Sharley have whizzed on it so often,”_ Jimmy mused.

 

Honestly, Lorna would have been, too, if she hadn’t been aware that bogs did have very, very slight currents. And she hadn’t had nearly enough to drink, if _that_ was what was on her mind.

 

Thranduil massaged his forehead. Perhaps another drink...but for all the awful names, his food was quite good. Earlene explained that it was multiple kinds of cheese, very rich. Which made the salad such a lovely compliment. Determined to ignore the voices, he focused instead on his meal.

 

“Great, I get my food and now I need to go visit the toilet,” Lorna said, her drink abruptly making itself known in her bladder. “Allanah, no eating my food.”

 

“Of course not,” he said, only to steal a bite as soon as she was away. “Have to keep her on her toes,” he explained.

 

There were a fair number of people in here now, and apparently her hair wanted to eat all of them. She grabbed it, twisted it into a rope, and tied it into a knot at the back of her head -- it wouldn’t stay for long, but it would do the trick for a moment. The other thing about having hair that long was the need to wrap it around her neck when she went and had wee, unless she wanted to wee _on_ it.

 

The bathroom was as terrifyingly 70’s as the rest of the place -- rusty tile, white stalls, some rather disturbing art hanging here and there. Rather amusingly, there were also little shelves beneath the mirrors, presumably to set makeup on while refreshing it.

 

The flush of a toilet was another thing they were all going to miss in not that much time. There was nothing wrong with the toilets in the Halls, aside from the fact that a cold draft was never nice against one’s arse, but still. It was a sound associated with modern Earth, a very _human_ sound...yeah, she definitely needed another drink.

 

Once she’d got her hands washed, she headed back out. ABBA was insistently telling the dance floor to turn the beat around, at a rather impressive volume -- apparently the disco-goers had had plenty to drink, since half of them were flailing rather than dancing.

 

She wormed her way through the press of others on their way to the toilets, only to get slammed right into by someone -- someone far taller than her, carrying a tray that narrowly missed hitting her in the head. She, it, and its bearer all crashed to the ground, though she managed to roll against the wall before anyone could actually step on her.

 

At the sound of the breaking glass, Thanadir glanced up. “My next plate of cookies says that somehow poor Lorna was involved in that. I should go check on her.”

 

“No, let me,” Thranduil insisted. Because his husband was probably correct, but had already indicated multiple times today that his social skills were perhaps not up to the task, however well-intentioned he meant to be. Walking toward the restrooms soon revealed that Thanadir was not wrong. “Oh, Lorna. Please do not take out Limerick too. We have already lost Dublin,” he joked, his sheer size and physical presence causing the less than helpful people (who to be fair were at least trying to pick up broken glass) to move aside. He offered his hand to extricate her.

 

“It wasn’t me,” she protested, grabbing his hand and hauling herself to her feet. “You all right there, mate?”

 

The poor waiter looked slightly dazed, and more than slightly helpless. “I am,” he said, eying Thranduil nervously. “I didn't see her before I turned around.”

 

“Yeah, well, don't go running off just yet,” she said, carefully unwinding some hair from around his arm. It really was a remora, and she was investing in a damn static gun ASAP. “Otherwise you’ll be dragging me with you.”

 

Thranduil helped with the hair mess, not able to argue with Earlene’s silent assessment. This was just...if she would only cut off about twenty centimeters, it really would be more manageable...and the sun might fail to rise in the morning, too. “You are unhurt?” he asked aloud.

 

“Amazingly, yes,” she said. “Knock wood, but my Dublin luck didn't follow me here.”

 

“Did you come from Dublin?” the poor lad asked. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and the man with her was, so hopefully she was single? She looked too young to have hair that white, so maybe she dyed it…

 

“Not for a long time now,” she said. “Now I live in the middle’v nowhere, and I like it loads better. Cheers, mate.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “I will hope that the paper towel dispenser did not reach out its tentacles to accost you.” Yes, she was fun to tease, and he had earned the right.

 

“It didn't,” she said. “I was on my way back.” She picked her way around the broken glass, leaving the poor lad to watch her go.

 

“Is she single?”

 

“Married, four children, and we do not count how many cats,” Thranduil smiled, shrugging. “Sorry.”

 

“All the good ones are.” Dejectedly, he finished clearing up the broken glass.

 

Lorna made her way back to the table, and Ratiri looked at her with concern. “You all right?”

 

“I’m good,” she said, sitting and sipping her mojito. “If that’s the worst thing that happens, I’ll count myself lucky.”

 

Kurt snickered. _“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame,”_ he sang, sounding disturbingly like Bon Jovi.

 

 _“You give love a bad name,”_ Jimmy and Layla chorused.

 

 _“I'm so not continuing that,”_ Sinsemilla said flatly.

 

“Guys, do I even want to know?” Sharley asked.

 

 _“That guy was hitting on Lorna and she didn't know it,”_ Sinsemilla said.

 

That made Lorna choke on her drink. “Wait, what?”

 

 _“He was hitting on you, or he was trying to,”_ Sinsemilla said again. _“He didn't get much chance.”_

 

“Unfortunately true,” Thranduil smiled, seating himself. “I regret to inform you he was most disappointed upon learning of your lack of availability.”

 

Lorna blinked. “That’s it, we definitely need human wedding rings,” she said to Ratiri.

 

 _“Be glad you’re oblivious to it,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“Oblivious is better than uncomfortable.”_

 

“Very true.”

 

“Well,” said Earlene, hating to admit that the pink tacos had been excellent. “That calls for another cosmo. But before that can happen...remind me again who all is going to Yellowstone? All these vacations are coming up pretty fast, I think it’s a good time to get this all straight.”

 

“Our family, Pat’s family, Siobhan’s family, Sharley here, and Maerwen,” Lorna said. “All the accommodations are arranged. We’ll spend some time at the Lodge, then move all over the park. That was the excuse I used to get Grania to sell off the T-shirt business, too. She doesn’t yet know there’s more than one motive, and I still don't know what she physically can and can’t do for a job, but this holiday’ll give us a better idea’v that.”

 

“She’s not a Donovan, but she seems to think she has to keep up with them,” Ratiri explained. “Despite the fact that she’s sixty-two.”

 

“Maybe this is something else for the Council,” Earlene mused. “I gave a lot of thought about how to deal with slackers, because I’m from America. I gave far less consideration to the Irish, who have too good of a work ethic. There is a big difference between being lazy and respecting the limits of an aging body. We’re going to have to help them work that out, somehow.” Yes, her eyes drifted to Ratiri.

 

“That’ll be fun,” he said, draining the last of his drink. “The Irish are as pigheaded as the Scottish, in that. The trick will be giving them easier work without letting them know that’s what you’re actually doing, if that makes any sense.”

 

“Because you haven’t lived until you’d dealt with a pensioner who thinks they’re being condescended to,” Lorna sighed. “Grania’s not that old, but she’s old enough that she shouldn’t be doing what Pat and I do. The Donovans, we’re kind’v freaks’v nature. I should ask if she’d like to help Siobhan, though.”

 

Earlene frowned. “You’re fifty-six, I’m fifty-four. I need to ask a question. How do people see me? Because it could mean a lot if I, or you too Lorna, for that matter, made a point of saying things like, ‘I’m getting tired, it’s time to knock off for the day’. Or, ‘I’m not thirty any longer, I need to go do lighter work now.’ I think you’re right about not condescending. But what about setting the example by behavior?”

 

“To be totally honest, they wonder about you,” Lorna said. “Ratiri and I, we’ve at least gone grey or started going there, but you’ve not really changed all in seventeen years. And the Donovans, we age at a snail’s pace anyway -- everyone can see that -- but you’ve not even got a grey hair. I think they think Thranduil’s got something to do with that, but I've never wanted to confirm or deny.” And, if that faint glow they’d seen in the forest was any indication, people were going to _keep_ wondering. Thranduil had drastically slowed Lorna and Ratiri’s aging, but time had not utterly stopped for them -- Ratiri’s hair was proof of that.

 

“As for me...they’d think I was full’v it, because they’ve got two other Donovans to look at. I could tell Pat to knock back on his own work hours, at least. Siobhan’s work is only hard at intervals, but it might be a good example for Geezer and the other pensioners.” Not that Geezer ever seemed to need to slow down. The man was in his bloody late seventies and he was like the goddamn Energizer bunny.

 

“I’ll add it to the agenda,” Earlene said. “Because respecting your body to avoid injury and needless pain...it’s a common sense thing that not everyone’s going to have common sense about.”

 

“Indeed they won’t,” Ratiri said dryly. “Though that brings up another thing. Part of why people work so much is because otherwise, unless they go on one of the field trips out into the world, they’re bored. Not everyone enjoys playing cards, walks in the forest are only nice in decent weather, and we’re going through books as fast as we can obtain them. It doesn’t help that there are so many varying tastes in books among this group.” They had everything from history buffs and biography lovers to people who devoured trashy romance novels by the dozen.

 

“There’s some who’ve taken up knitting, or whittling, but we need to cough up a few more ideas,” Lorna added. “As a society, we’ve become so bloody dependent on outside shite to entertain us that we’ve got to re-learn how to entertain ourselves, which means trying out a few things before we settle on the right one. What I want to do is round up any humans willing to teach music, and start music lessons for whoever’s interested. There won’t be any but what we make, after the end.” She was _not_ going to drop that on poor Maglor, who would hate the world and everything in it, but surely she was not the only musician among the humans. Sharley could teach violin, right? And her kids were pretty adept by now, especially the twins.

 

 _“I’d say try putting on plays, but this is Ireland,”_ Jimmy said. _“Sooner or later, someone would get shanked.”_

 

“Shanked? No,” Lorna said. “But sooner or later there probably would be a fight, verbal or physical. Besides, I can’t see many’v that lot making even half-decent actors.”

 

“You know, in Elizabethan times, many people thought tomatoes were poisonous,” Ratiri said, “so when they would throw them at performers they thought were making a bad job of it, they were trying to _kill the actors_.”

 

“The things you know, allanah,” Lorna said, patting him fondly on the shoulder.

 

“That sounds very wasteful,” Thanadir frowned, already browsing the dessert menu until suddenly his eyes widened in happiness. “Ooooh, look, triple chocolate decadence cake! And another one with lemon….”

 

Thranduil met Earlene’s eyes, and they both hugged the ellon they both loved so much. “We will get you both,” he said, smiling. “Lorna’s birthday deserves no less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is indeed a real two-man play of Misery. I (Spam) saw it years ago, and it’s surprisingly good.
> 
> The writers would like to thank Kaprriss for her amazing artwork of Sharley and Maglor, belatedly added to this chapter where it actually belongs. Because, we can't draw worth a darn...


	148. One Hundred Forty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 7 - July 1, 2033
> 
> Thank you to reader Mademoiselle_X for keeping us on schedule! >.> . :-D

_ {June 7, 2033} _

 

Chandra woke, stretched, and smiled. Every morning, she took a moment to lie in her bed and realize that she was  _ alone.  _ There was nobody and nothing in this house save her and Midnight, who had been sent with her to keep her company.

 

She poked the cat, who was currently curled up in a ball of fluff beside her pillow, and rose to make tea. The kitchen was empty save for her, and she could turn on some music while she fried eggs. This house was one of many that had been abandoned as more and more of the Baile people moved into the Halls, and while it was pretty small, it was perfect for her.

 

_ I wish I could build my own little house in the woods,  _ she thought, as she put the kettle on. Failing that, she wondered if she could put in some kind of basic kitchen in her flat in the Halls -- even if it was just a little stove, it would be great. It would mean she wouldn’t have to be around people for every meal.

 

A glance out the window showed high clouds that looked like they wanted to burn off. Maybe she'd go for a walk after she’d eaten, before she settled down to work for the day. These woods here weren’t nearly as beautiful as the forest, but in them, she was  _ alone _ . There weren’t any unseen Elves standing guard.

 

She hummed along to her stereo as she hunted for a pan. It was so nice to be able to listen to music without needing headphones -- to be able to sing along with it with no one around to comment. That would have been impossible in Eldamar, because even though it was pretty soundproof, she liked her music loud. Now she even danced as she rummaged through the fridge for a carton of eggs (Mam had sent them from Eldamar, as no daughter of hers would be eating store-bought eggs, thanks so much).

 

It was odd, really. Chandra loved her big, sprawling family, but she hadn’t realized, as she grew older, how much she  _ hated  _ living there -- hated having  _ every single meal  _ at a table with nineteen other people, everyone talking, talking,  _ talking  _ at cross-purposes, so you couldn’t have an actual conversation with anyone. Eldamar was many things -- easily the most beautiful house she’d ever seen, for one -- but calm it most definitely was not. For a house as huge as it was, it sure did feel awfully fucking crowded. It was only a wonder that she was the only one who seemed to really mind it. Even Maglor handled it better than she did, and he was one of the most introverted people she knew.

 

Yeah, she loved her family, but she preferred them in smaller doses. She enjoyed being able to actually cook something -- the kitchen at Eldamar was off-limits to most people, and she knew Aunt Earlene didn't like her, so she’d never bothered trying to use it. Which was honestly kind of fucked-up, because theoretically it ought to be  _ everyone’s  _ kitchen, but Chandra was not stupid enough to argue. She knew a losing battle when she saw one.

 

But it didn't matter now. She had her own kitchen, and she’d keep it, until right before the end. Hopefully she'd be at least somewhat close to attaining her goal, too. Her education as a geographer was going to be completely useless in not too long, so she’d switched over from studying societies, histories, and cultures, to documenting them. The expats had brought in rather more racial diversity than they would have had otherwise, but not a whole hell of a lot. Chandra had interviewed most of the racial and ethnic outliers, and discovered that for many of them, their families had been in America for so long that they’d lost touch with their ancestral heritage. So not a whole lot of use there.

 

But there was that lovely little thing called the internet. She glanced at her laptop as she cracked an egg, letting it sizzle on the pan. What she’d been doing for the last few months was research, research, and research some more, then boiling it down to something more easily digestible by the average person. Once done, she’d take it to the copy shop in Kildare (who by now probably wondered if her whole family was insane), get it printed, laminated, and stick it in a binder. Hopefully Uncle Thanadir could find some shelf space in the library, because she already had twelve binders, and had no intention of stopping. 

 

What was it going to be like, once the power and the internet were off forever? Probably more of a shock than most people thought. Those living in the Halls were used to not having either, but they could still charge their electronics at the cottage, and use its wifi on a rotating basis. Electricity, technology -- the modern world was still  _ there _ , even if they rarely left the forest. Once it was gone, gone for good, that was probably going to be a very different story. Chandra already knew she herself would go through that shock, but at least she had enough time to prepare herself for it.

 

Flipping the eggs, she popped in some toast. She’d asked Mam and Da what it was like, growing up in a pre-internet, technologically primitive, analog society, and both had said the world seemed a lot smaller. Obviously Mam’s upbringing hadn’t exactly been conventional, but Da’s house and family had been stable; he’d said that back then, the only news you got was what you saw on TV or read in the newspaper, so the affairs of the outer world were rarely a concern (the outlier there was the Soviet Union, which was the bogeyman for the Western world. Mam had once pointed out that the word ‘soviet’  _ meant  _ ‘union’, so basically everyone was calling it ‘union union’.)

 

It would be strange for Chandra, child of the digital age, to live in a world even smaller than that -- it would be strange for a whole lot of people, probably everyone age thirty or younger. But then, it was probably for the best that they not know what was going on outside, once the plague struck. While she couldn’t deny she was somewhat morbidly curious as to its effects, she definitely wasn’t curious enough to want to see them in person.

 

Midnight finally deigned to grace the kitchen with her presence, meow-screaming like she was starving. Chandra rolled her eyes and put some dry food down, which the cat practically inhaled. She’d  _ seen  _ the animal catch mice before, but apparently Midnight was too lazy to want to exclusively hunt for food. No wonder she was such a lardass.

 

She needed to get her shit together. They were leaving for Yellowstone on the tenth, and they wouldn’t be coming back until the middle of September. Her little geographer soul was quite happy, and she had plenty of batteries and chargers for her cameras. Several spiral notebooks had been dedicated to different subjects: Flora, Fauna, and People-Watching. People from all over the world went to Yellowstone, after all, and you never knew who you might meet.

 

“Help me finish my lists, cat,” she said, booping Midnight’s nose. “Then I’ve got to get you back to Eldamar. Ailill and Calanon’ll have to give you lot attention while we’re away.”

 

The cat chirped at her, and she reflected that they’d all been around Pickles too long. “Back atcha, kitty.”

 

*****

 

Lorna was still absorbing tea in the Heart Room when Ratiri said, “Allanah, aren’t you going on holiday somewhere this summer? Nobody’s said much about it.”

 

Allanah looked up from her comparison of digital recording devices, surprised. Like most of the younger persons in a crowded home, she was...well, used to being ignored, when they were all assembled in the communal spaces doing this or that. “Yes.” It was necessary to clear her throat, and fight down a little bit of a blush. It hadn’t really felt...okay, somehow, to go around proclaiming what she had chosen for her gift. For someone who had never gone anywhere or done anything of note it felt a little over the top, no pun intended. And as it was more than a little bit of a big deal, she also didn’t want to come off as a braggart. “Um, my Adar Thranduil is going with me. We’re going to, ah, Tanzania. I wanted to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. And...see the animals.” Well that was just totally unsuccessful; she could feel her cheeks halfway on fire. And it so very much wasn’t helping, that the Toto song Nana had shared with her was now earworming through her brain. Thranduil smiled, just a little, and shook his head. To him his daughter’s worries were all very quaint.

 

Kilimanjaro? That was...well, surprising. “You’ll definitely be wanting a few things before you go,” Ratiri said. “An anti-malarial vaccine and some diamox. Kilimanjaro is a tall mountain, and once you get past fourteen thousand feet, altitude sickness can be an issue. I know you could handle that all on your own, Thranduil, but there’s no point in draining yourself when there are other options.”

 

Allanah looked at her father. It was true that they already talked about this between them and decided that yes, he could manage it, but maybe Uncle Ratiri had a point? And yet it was Adar’s decision.

 

Thranduil looked up from his reading, and considered. “The medicines are safe? Or reasonably so?” If there was one thing they had all come to understand, it was that most mortal remedies had both the desired effect and...something else.

 

“So long as Allanah isn’t allergic to sulphides -- and I don't think she is, based on the medical records from her infancy -- the diamox shouldn’t harm her at all,” Ratiri said. “Alaxin, the antimalarial, could cause an upset stomach or dizziness, but the odds are only about fifteen percent. Oh, and vivid dreams, although what constitutes ‘vivid’ varies from person to person.”

 

“That doesn’t sound too bad?” Allanah asked Thranduil.

 

“No, it does not, but ultimately it is your decision. I will deal with whichever you prefer,” he smiled.

 

“I think I’d like to try the medicines.” They had all come to view their father as a resource not to be squandered, though they tried to keep him from having to hear it in their thoughts. Oops. His brilliant blue eyes met hers; she grinned crookedly at him. He seemed to appreciate her consideration more than take exception, so that much was good.

 

“Probably wise,” Ratiri said, “especially because while you’re young and strong, Allanah, there’s every chance someone else in your group will be a twat who thinks he’s He-Man and gives himself altitude sickness, and then your ada is going to have to decide what to do. I wish that wasn’t so likely, Thranduil, but it’s best to be prepared for it.”

 

Thranduil frowned, not having considered this. “How do I learn more about how this works, this illness?”

 

“While normally I would not recommend WebMD, in this case, it would be helpful,” Ratiri grinned

 

Thranduil chuckled and shook his head. Some impressions were universal, apparently.

 

*****

######  _ {June 11, 2033} _

 

It had been so many years since they’d taken a trip to Yellowstone that Lorna had forgotten just what a nightmare it had been their first day in Washington.

 

Sharley had flown ahead, and done a massive Costco run that she stored in her old house. They needed four caravans this time, too, because one for each family just wasn’t enough (and honestly, almost no one wanted to share with Pat, especially after the Great Farting Disaster of the first trip). 

 

Poor Sharley had texted Lorna to tell her how strange it was, being back in Skykomish, given that the town was all but depopulated. At least she wasn’t the only one who’d gone; the Stein siblings were going back to help shut up all the houses no longer in use, but save a few for others who might return for a vacation before the end.

 

Once the assorted Donovan-Duncans (and honestly, they really were just Donovans, given Ratiri had been absorbed into their mass, like they were the Borg) arrived in the little town, harassed, hot, and bearing too much luggage, Lorna saw just what she meant. Skykomish had never exactly been Metropolis, but now it felt...empty. Creepy. Knowing that most of the beautiful houses along the river were abandoned, and that the only businesses left open were the cafe, the petrol station, and the market -- yeah, it was creepy, but it was also sad. The world was going to die, but this little town would go before it did.

 

The cafe was the same, at least, though understandably quiet. Since it had next to no clientele anymore, Sharley had been funneling in enough money for it to stay open, and the Inn did pretty brisk business in the winter. Nobody from the outside had actually asked any questions, or seemed to realize the town was all but empty, so they were doing something right.

 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it hit Chandra the hardest. The poor girl still didn't deal with change very well, especially if it was not of her own doing, and Lorna wondered how in the hell she was going to handle the plague. Sure, she was aware it was coming -- had been aware for most of her life -- but that didn't mean it wasn’t going to hit her hard anyway.

 

“Have you got all your notebooks?” Best to drag her mind to something else, if possible.

 

“Yeah,” Chandra said, shaking herself. “They’re in my backpack, and my camera. Mam, I…”

 

“I know, allanah,” Lorna said, wrapping her arm around her daughter. The girl was so tall now -- taller than Earlene, though not quite so tall as Sharley. “It’s hard, and I won’t lie -- it’ll get harder, but that’s why we’ve all got each other.”

 

“I want...Mam, I want to live in the mountains for a while, if I can,” Chandra said. “Someday, I mean. Once the plague hits, nobody’ll be moving anywhere else ever again.”

 

Lorna didn't like the idea of  _ that  _ at all, considering how ill-equipped for, well,  _ life  _ her daughter could be. “Ask around, at Yellowstone,” she said, not wanting to brush the poor girl off. “See what options you’ve got. Meanwhile, we’d best help your aunt.” They’d followed Earlene’s example and covered all the seats and beds in old white sheets, though it was almost a shame to do it. Since they were going to be staying in the things for three months, they’d splurged and rented the really, really nice ones; yeah, it was staggeringly expensive, but money wasn’t going to be worth shit in four years, so they might as well spend it.

 

Sharley had bought everything she’d gotten on their first trip, and then multiplied it by five: they’d have to leave the park to get more groceries, so she and Lorna had decided it would be best to stock up on everything they could realistically fit before they got there. Real dishes and silverware, since paper plates and plastic cutlery would just be wasteful, along with everything from box dinners to frozen fruit for smoothies (Earlene had gotten them all addicted, dammit). Getting it stowed was an exercise in creativity, and Lorna wound up getting out of the way, so the tall people could put things in the upper cupboards.

 

She walked across the yard and into Sharley’s house, leaning against the doorframe. Yeah, she understood what Chandra was feeling, all right -- there was next to nothing in here now. All the pictures, the decorations, were now in Sharley and Maglor’s room at Eldamar -- even the  _ couch  _ had gone, and now rested against one bedroom wall, quilt and all. Sharley had told her Maglor put up with it because the Lump had taken a shine to sitting on it, rather than on his ass.

 

This was such a  _ cute  _ house, and with a lovely view of the mountains. Its big windows actually weren’t very heat-efficient, but it had shutters for winter, and a nice big river-rock fireplace. If only it -- it and all these houses, and the Inn -- could be dismantled and moved, but that would be too much of an undertaking even for Orla. It hurt a little, knowing the mountains would reclaim this little town in a few decades.

 

_ And if it hurts now, how the hell bad is it going to be when everything ends for real?  _ It was not a pleasant question, but it was one their resident shrinks (which at this point meant Angie and Juana, who was somehow related to the Skykomish people) had been pondering for quite a while now. Lorna would happily leave them to it.

 

“I know,” Sharley said, coming up behind her. “It’s best to not think about it, really. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in eighteen thousand years of wandering, it’s that places change and fade, but you find new ones. Nothing in this world ever stays the same.”

 

“I’m not sure if that's comforting or depressing,” Lorna mused.

 

It took two solid hours to get everything loaded, and it was only mid-afternoon, so the whole herd of them took a walk along the river, which babbled and burbled as it had for centuries, and would continue doing so for centuries more. Lorna was not the only one who took hundreds of pictures, either; Sharley shot snaps of just about everything, and texted the best of them to Maglor. She’d promised to keep him regularly updated on what she was doing -- and, possibly more importantly, what she was seeing.

 

To her utter delight, the little frog house she and  Marty had built over twenty years ago was still nestled on the riverbank -- moreover, it had an actual frog sitting placidly inside, no doubt a descendant of the original Froggy. She took a picture of it and texted it to Maglor, along with,  _ Our daughter will have to build her own frog house under the bridge. I think there’s probably room for one more. _ It made her so happy to know that Marty had another frog house, and even more happy that it looked rather like this one. Yes, she was still sad she hadn’t gotten to see her little girl on her last trip to Aman, but she was nevertheless glad Marty was somewhere safe and loved.

 

She touched her abdomen, still amazed there was a little life growing inside of her. With Marty, she hadn’t worked out she was pregnant until she was close to what she’d thought was her second trimester, and by then the signs were obvious. Now, though...it was fascinating, and daunting. The Stranger had forced her to believe her pregnancy with Marty had been nine months, not a year and a half, which still disturbed her a little. (Unless, of course, it had actually been shorter; she didn't like to consider the fact that Marty had been a different sort of being than this child.)

 

Maglor had said it wasn’t Elf custom to think up names before a child was born, because you didn't know what the kid was going to be like  _ until  _ they were born, but she couldn’t help it. They daughter would have a mother-name and a father-name, like all the Noldor, and she wanted hers to be something from Earth. (Perhaps it was blasphemy to say it, but Valarin really was not a phonetically pretty language, and wouldn’t make for good naming fodder.) Ireland had been good to her, so she was thinking something Irish, or at least Gaelic -- something that would go well with whatever Quenya name Maglor chose. 

 

“I’m hungry,” Supri called. “Can we have pie?”

 

“We can have  _ dinner _ soon,” Lorna said firmly. “Pie comes after dinner.”

 

“Aw, dammit.”

 

Both Lorna and Ratiri facepalmed in tandem.

 

**

 

All the remaining Skykomish residents -- the precious few of them -- gathered in the cafe for dinner. Apparently most of them ate their meals there anyway, for the company. The Pruitts, one branch of the Paswans, the Ardens, and the Davisons were pretty much it. The little place was full tonight, however, given it was the Duncan-Donovans plus the four Stein siblings.

 

For Charlotte, it was somewhat bittersweet. She understood the logic in having most of the town move to Ireland well before the plague, but that didn't make being one of the few who stayed any easier. Going to bed each night, knowing most of the houses were empty, and would stay empty until they fell apart...yeah, it was hard, and it was no wonder they all gathered here more often than not. Bethany and Jason, the husband-wife team who were what passed for Skykomish’s law enforcement, had even less to do than they’d had when the town was a proper town; they went hiking a lot, and kept the lawns mowed so it looked like people still lived there. Skykomish was on its last legs, and it was impossible to ignore that.

 

But it was good to have more people here, at least. All the Donovan kids (and really, they were all Donovans, no matter what Ratiri’s last name actually was) had grown so much -- damn, Chandra and Shane had been what, three, when they first came through? Now they were sixteen, and it made Charlotte feel old. She’d steadfastly ignored her fiftieth birthday a few years back, but it was impossible to ignore it when looking at this brood.

 

_ They  _ had changed, but the weird thing was that Ratiri and Lorna really hadn’t. Lorna made sense, to an extent, given that both her brother and her sister looked a lot younger than they were, but Ratiri? The man was sixty years old, yet he didn't look a day over forty -- and a good forty at that. His hair had some grey in it, sure, but there were precious few lines on his face, and they were all very fine.

 

Though quite honestly, now that Charlotte looked at Lorna and Pat (and Siobhan, because apparently there weren’t enough tiny, slightly creepy Irish people in the world), she did look younger than they did, even though her hair had gone silver years ago. She’d looked damn young for her age when they first came to town thirteen years ago, but it had made sense, then; being able to pass for someone in their thirties when you were really in your forties wasn’t unduly remarkable, but she’d aged so very, very slowly. Pat and Siobhan did at least have some lines on their faces, but Lorna’s were restricted to crow’s-feet that showed up when she laughed. How the hell could that be? Elf medicine, or...something? And could it be shared?

 

“Mam,  _ now  _ can I have pie?” Supri asked plaintively. She’d put away half of a ham and cheese sandwich and a sliced apple, which was pretty good for a six-year-old, so Lorna relented and let her order a slice of cherry pie. She was torn between wanting her youngest to experience as many different kinds of food as she could before the end of the world, or trying to keep her from getting her hopes up so far as culinary variety after the plague. Cherries were a finicky crop that didn't do well in a place as damp and chilly as Ireland; they had a few trees in the greenhouses, sure, but that would just mean they’d be a delicacy reserved for Yule, or some other holiday.

 

_ “Oh, just enjoy some pie,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “The world’s not over yet, so savor the cherries while you can.” _

 

Far be it for Lorna to argue -- she had some damn cherry pie.

 

*****

######  _ {June 12, 2033} _

 

Sharley took a picture of the inside of her RV once they had it packed, and texted it to Maglor. The thing was like a mobile, luxury hotel room, honestly, with not one but  _ two  _ slideouts -- one of them was even shaped like a bay window. The floor was dark linoleum that looked like surprisingly realistic tile (and would weather well over three months of foot traffic), with plush, sage-green couches, a Lay-Z-Boy, small but serviceable dining table, and a fully-functioning kitchen. The countertops even looked like granite, though they were actually some kind of Formica.

 

The master bedroom was the kicker. Sure, she’d be sharing it with Saoirse, but still: it actually had carpet, with a full-sized closet, dresser, and an actual damn flat-screen TV on one wall. Laughing, she shot pictures of that, too, and sent them on. 

 

_ To Maglor: We’re not exactly roughing it. And to think I used to just have a dome tent and a mummy-bag. _

 

Tonight would be the first night most of them would be spending in the RV’s, to get used to them, but she intended to sleep in her house one last time. No, it had no bed, but they had bedrolls (and tents, in case anyone wanted to go off camping somewhere else in the park). She was somewhat sad Allanah wasn’t with them, but Allanah was off on her own adventure -- Sharley had looked up Kilimanjaro, discovered there was no snow on it, and decided Ernest Hemingway was full of shit. Saoirse would be with her, though, and Chandra.

 

Chandra, who was beginning to worry her. Somehow, she managed to be the most prickly and yet the most sensitive of all the Duncan kids -- she was ridiculously smart, and yet kind of a disaster with people. Somewhat like Tirillë had been -- the only real difference was that when Sharley was Tirillë, she was far too naive to be prickly. She’d been phenomenal at weaving, and terrible at pretty much...well, everything else. Regaining all her memories had also made her remember that, no matter how well she got along with the other weavers, there was always a slight barrier there, too -- she was the only one of them who could do what she did. Chandra was the only kid in the household who had next to nothing in common with the rest of them -- or thought she didn't, anyway. In her own way, she was nearly as sensitive as Thaladir; she just dealt with it vastly differently. Her sensitivity was much further beneath the surface, and like her mother had been for so long, she dealt with negativity by getting angry.

 

Something had to be done with that, sooner or later. Her living apart was great for now, but she only had another three years to do it. They were going to have to consult Angie, because that kid needed ways of coping that didn't involve getting pissed off and avoiding people (though at least getting pissed off was better than getting falling-down drunk). The Halls might be big, but it was still going to be a whole lot harder to evade all humans so utterly.

 

But those were not thoughts for right now. Right now, she would cheat, just a bit, and give the poor girl a little brush of telepathic Xanax, so that she could enjoy one more night in this little house. Yeah, the world was going to end, but that didn't mean they needed to dwell on it right now.

 

*****

######  _ {June 13, 2033} _

 

The drive to Yellowstone was downright surreal. To Lorna, it didn't seem that long at all since they’d gone the first time, and yet so much along the way was different. Small towns had grown to larger towns, some of which had spread and joined like some kind of amoeba, sprawling through what was once empty countryside. It was strange, too, since she’d read the U.S. birthrate had been going down steadily for years, as the cost of living kept family sizes smaller than they’d been in her generation.

 

At first it seemed strange, and almost wrong, not having the Sullivan clan with them. Yeah, the Duncan-Donovans had taken many trips to Washington on their own over the years, but this was Yellowstone. Big difference.

 

All the adults took turns driving, so she had time to update her Google Photos album -- she’d finally learned how to not spam people’s mailboxes with a billion photos. Although most software had gone voice-to-text years ago, those programs tended to not get along with your average Irish accent very well, and she wasn’t the only one who’d found them more trouble than they were worth; she just typed all her little messages for each picture, and sent the link to the album to Earlene, Thanadir, and Thranduil, the last of whom could look once he and Allanah got home from Kilimanjaro. (And if they didn't take enough photos, she would give them the Sad Face until the end of time. The real one, not the serial-killer one.)

 

Once again they ran into the insect swarm, so of course she took some pictures, and put the most interesting (meaning, the most disgusting) in the album, with a little note say  _ I still wonder how the hell anyone could ever live here. Gross. _

 

Sharley got a lovely photo of one of the things eating another one, and texted it to Maglor.  _ So glad we don't have these in Ireland. I have no idea what evolutionary purpose insect cannibalism serves. _

 

_ To Sharley: Be grateful they aren’t oak processionary moth caterpillars. Because breaking out in hives serves no purpose either. _

 

_ To Maglor: I’m not sure I want to know. I miss you, but I wouldn’t wish these bugs on you. One got stuck in Supri’s hair and you’d swear she was being murdered.  _ Attached was a picture of a little tear-streaked face rendered somewhat happier by the giant milkshake clutched in the girl’s small hands.

 

_ To Sharley: Quen agrees with me that most insects are devices of Morgoth. _

 

Lorna got a nice shot of Maerwen driving, her expression set and determined as she navigated one of Montana’s 80-mile-per-hour motorways. Away from the forest, she could wear shorts, and show off her beautiful tattoo -- honestly, she seemed human in a way even Thranduil didn't, and Lorna mused that she was almost like the Elf equivalent of Earlene, so fascinated by the other side. With her brown hair pulled up into two sloppy buns (and just enough of a fringe to hide the tips of her ears), a black, vintage  _ X-Files  _ vest top, cut-off jeans shorts, flip-flops, and aviator sunglasses, nobody would ever guess she was anything other than an improbably attractive human, and it delighted Lorna far more than it ought to. That was a photo she kept out of the album, though; if Maerwen wanted to play human on this trip, it didn't need to be broadcast back home.

 

Most of the way through Montana they found themselves trapped in a dust storm, so heavy they had to pull off onto the side of the motorway.  _ That  _ was not something they’d ever encountered in America before, but apparently it was just one of the joys of climate change. All they could do was make sure the windows were shut and any vents leading to the outside closed, and watch the pale brown cloud envelope them. It was so thick that they couldn’t even see the speed limit sign that hadn’t been more than a dozen yards from them.

 

_ To Maglor: Crazy dust storm. Never seen anything like it, and I don't know how long it will last. Fortunately the RV’s are nice and big and we’ve all got radios, but this is nuts. I haven’t read about any droughts in the US but there must have been one. Saoirse says that at least there aren’t any f****** cannibal bugs, so it could be worse. _

 

_ To Sharley: Drive safely. Quen and I worked the last three days on our manuscript for Erestor. Did you know they had dust storms on the Silk Road in ancient times? Neither did I, and dust sounds all bad. At least you are not riding camels. I love you. _

 

_ To Maglor: Right now we’re not driving anywhere. I would hate to try to ride out a dust storm without being in a car, and I’ve heard camels are bastards that will kick you. Are you putting pictures in the manuscript? And since I know Saoirse will ask, how is Booger? I love you too. _

 

_ To Sharley: Quen says no pictures because he isn’t going to ‘bloody illustrate all of human civilization.’ Though there might be some of copies of older engravings. We are aiming for 19th century lithograph, not 21st century printout off the Internet; this is Erestor. Booger is wonderful. _

 

_ To Maglor: You’ve definitely got your work cut out for you there. Can  you take a picture of Booger sooner or later and send it to me? I'll show it to Saoirse so she doesn’t worry. That cat is her baby. Also pet the Lump, or at least poke her. _

 

_ To Maglor: Also be sure to tell Thranduil he needs to pretend he needs sunscreen or people will look at him weird. Sinsemilla says he also needs to be careful about letting anyone see him at night, but he probably already knows that. _

 

_ To Sharley: I’ll get right on that. I love you. :-D _

 

_ To Maglor: I love you too :D _

 

She should probably not find the fact that Maglor used emoticons as endearing as she did, but she did. She really, really did.

 

Eventually they managed to move onward, though the delay meant it was well after dark by the time they reached the park. Their first campsite was actually a little ways outside the west entrance -- Lorna hadn’t wanted to just repeat all the places they’d been the first time, and the Yellowstone Holiday RV Campground was as lovely in person as it was on the internet. It sat beside Hegben Lake, which just now was so smooth it was like a mirror for the billions of stars massed diamond-bright overhead. She’d thought she remembered how beautiful it was, until she saw the real thing all over again.

 

Getting the power and water lines hooked up to the caravans wasn’t a whole lot of fun in the dark, but they managed it (after much fumbling and cursing) and then it was time for dinner. After a drive like that, nobody much felt like cooking, so they made sandwiches and Lorna resolved to never tell Earlene all the terribly unhealthy shit they piled on them.

 

Eris had bought a very, very nice camera in anticipation of this trip, and now set it up on her tripod to take some extended exposure shots of the night sky. Although she and her kids had grown up in America, they’d never been to Yellowstone or anywhere near it.

 

Saoirse, torch in hand, wandered the shoreline. Out of all her cousins, she was the only one who’d been old enough to properly remember their first trip here, and she wondered if even three months was enough time to see everything there was to see. It was a huge park, and by the time they went home, she’d have dozens of fresh paintings living in her head, just waiting to be set free. Fortunately the Halls were really, really big, too, so it wasn’t like she’d run out of room.

 

Three months. She could scarcely conceive of it; it would be by far the longest time she’d ever been away from home, but Aunt Sharley had assured her Booger was being taken care of. Maglor had sent a picture of Booger and the Lump snuggling on the couch in his and Aunt Sharley’s room, so at least he had company. (Da had drawn the line at her asking to FaceTime the cat.)

 

Back then, she’d barely been aware of the fact that the world was eventually going to end -- and even then, seventeen years had seemed like  _ forever _ . Four years...seemed like a whole lot less. In the future, the pictures and paintings and souvenirs they brought home with them would be all the survivors would ever know of Yellowstone. It was a thought too weird and unpleasant to contemplate, so she meandered back to the caravans for s’mores.

 

*****

######  _ {June 14, 2033} _

 

Sharley woke at dawn to a roiling stomach, and the unwelcome discovery that she’d forgotten her anti-nausea cordial in Skykomish. At least she made it  _ outside  _ before she sicked up. Fucking great. She’d had morning sickness with Marty, too, for a while; it would pass, but meanwhile, she wasn’t going to be having any fun at all.

 

She puked again, and the sound drew a bleary-eyed Eris out into the chill. “Morning sickness?” she asked, yawning. “Here, gimme your arms.”

 

Bewildered, Sharley did, and the tiny woman took hold of her right wrist. “I had it bad, with the twins,” Eris explained, as she sought the P6 acupressure point. “This worked for me, so I could avoid taking a bunch of drugs with fuck knows what in them.”

 

She lightly massaged the area on the inside of Sharley’s wrist, and Sharley was surprised to find the nausea started to abate. After a few minutes, Eris switched to the left wrist, and the rest of it passed. “Sometimes I feel like I missed out on too much, spending all my time in North America,” she mused. “Not that China or Europe were exactly options back then. Damn, when I first saw Europeans…” She shook her head.

 

“What happened?” Eris asked.

 

“They were  _ filthy _ ,” Sharley said. “Every tribe I ever lived with, people did their best to keep clean. They washed as regularly as they were able, but the Europeans? I went through  _ one  _ town of white people and just about lost my lunch. They reeked to high heaven, and what was worse were the ones dressed up in fancy clothes. The contrast between the pretty clothing and how disgustingly dirty they were was almost too much.”

 

“How come only one?”

 

Sharley sighed. “A man there tried to get...impolite, shall we say. I couldn’t understand his language, but I didn't need to. He got grabby, and I accidentally broke his neck. Kinda put me off Europeans for a long, long time.”

 

Eris winced. “You were a warrior?”

 

“No,” Sharley said, sighing again, “and yes. I wasn’t built to be one, and I don't like it, but I can be, if I have to.” She had never  _ wanted  _ to be one, but Avathar, and some of the things he had said to her in Angband... _ she  _ hadn’t remembered them, but evidently the Stranger had, for it drove her to learn to fight. The thought that she was going to have to in the future was not a pleasant one, but she was even stronger and more durable than an Elf, if not by much. She could not, in good conscience, sit on the sidelines and let others risk death when she was truly immortal. Even Thranduil would die if he was shot in the head -- not that that was likely -- but she supposedly wouldn’t. Her physical body was apparently a matter of convenience...which ought to mean she shouldn’t have to deal with morning sickness, honestly, and yet telling herself not to be nauseous was about as much use as a fart in a windstorm, as Lorna might say.

 

“Not sure any of us are gonna  _ like  _ it,” Eris said, still massaging her wrist, “but I’d worry about the ones that did, honestly.”

 

Sharley would too, and the worst part was that if they got someone like that, all they could do was watch whoever it was  _ really really closely _ , and hope he or she didn't snap and do something awful. Living in such a small, closed society was going to get...interesting, especially the first time someone committed a serious crime.

 

Lorna, yawning, emerged from her caravan with a steaming mug of tea. She’d wrapped up in a blanket, and looked a bit like a burrito with a face and one tiny hand, which raised the mug in a sleepy salute. “Did I hear someone sicking up?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Sharley said, grimacing. “This actually works, though.”

 

“Well, if it doesn’t keep working, let me know,” Eris said, releasing her wrist. “You think you could handle some toast?”

 

“I’m willing to try it.” It might actually help, even.

 

Eris headed back into the caravan, and Sharley turned to look at the sunrise. The fact that she could look _ at  _ the sun still boggled her at times; it was one of the few things that were very firm reminders that she wasn’t actually human. To have that lovely golden glow simply shine in her sight, rather than searing her vision...it was interesting, at least.

 

“Bog chertovski,” Lorna growled, setting aside her mug with a scowl like thunder. Despite the fact that she was a tiny woman wrapped in a patchwork quilt, at the moment she looked quite bloodthirsty. “I knew it. I  _ fucking  _ knew it. You go on ahead and drink my tea, allanah; I’ll be a bit.”

 

She stalked into the RV, scowling like thunder, leaving a rather mystified Sharley to steal her mug. “Just...what?” she asked, of no one in particular.

 

_ “She’s on vacation,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “It means the Communists have just invaded. She’ll probably be in the shower for a while -- it usually takes about twenty minutes for her to, uh, get it all out.” _

 

Sharley winced. When she’d thought she was human, she’d occasionally --  _ very  _ occasionally -- menstruated, but her periods had been brief and light. Poor Lorna was not so lucky...though worse than that, if she had hers, at least a few of the other women would sync up. Oh dear. It would not be the first time, but generally they weren’t dealing with a very limited number of bathrooms while they were at it. And she couldn’t even text Maglor this tidbit, because she was a hundred percent sure he wouldn’t want to know.

 

**

 

Lorna was still hogging the shower when most of the others woke, which meant everyone stationed in the Enterprise had to go use the bathrooms in the other caravans. After the drive they’d had, nobody was anxious to rush off and do anything, but there was plenty to keep them occupied right here: both boats and bicycles could be rented, and there were shops that sold all kinds of fishing gear. All the human adults were older now, and didn't want to jump into gear so fast this time around. They had three months, so it wasn’t like they had to rush anything.

 

Sharley brought her camera with her, when she took the Duncan kids out fishing. She’d said she’d send Maglor pictures, and she intended to keep her word. Already she’d caught a gorgeous one of the sunrise, the sky salmon and gold, the sunlight glittering off a lake as smooth as glass. He would, she knew, find the scenery pictures far more interesting than anything with her family in it, but he was getting a few of those as well.

 

**

 

_ To Maglor: Check your email. _

 

_ quingi _ [ _ @gmail.com _ ](mailto:____@gmail.com)

 

_ Subject: Photos _

 

_ Here’s today’s first batch :D _

 

Within the album was the photograph of the sunrise, with the caption:  _ I took this one this morning. I forgot my anti-nausea cordial so I woke up sick as a dog, but Eris knows this acupressure trick that works almost as well. It means I was up early enough to see the sunrise. _

 

Next was a closeup of the shoreline, the water sparkling in the sunlight. She’d taken it simply because of the way the light shone when it filtered through the water, rendering everything below it rippling green.  _ Unsurprisingly the water is really really cold. Shane fell out of the boat not far from shore, and we basically had to strip him to his skivvies before we got him back to the RV’s, so he wouldn’t get hypothermia. Fortunately the kid has no shame.  _ And yes, there was a photo of the poor boy, wrapped in a blanket, so pale his lips were white, holding a very large mug of tea.

 

Third in line was a photograph of a marmot, a fat, furry little thing whose coat so matched the color of the shoreline that human eyes might have missed it. It was leaned over the edge of the rocks, having a morning drink from the lake.  _ We have to be careful not to leave any food lying around outside the RV’s, or critters might get into it. Last time we were here we had a marshmallow fight, and wound up with a bear in our camp. It startled Lorna, and she startled it, and fortunately we didn't see it again. _

 

After that one came several shots of the trees far back from the shore, their buds just now unfurling into tiny leaves.  _ Spring comes really late in Yellowstone -- they can still get snow this time of year, and in the morning it’s COLD. Even I think it’s cold. _

 

Beyond that photograph were two of Supri, grinning a gap-toothed grin and holding up a long fishing line that contained five rainbow trout.  _ Normally the fishing here isn’t so good, so we got lucky. We need to teach our daughter to fish, while it’s still an option (although I thought poor Supri was going to lose her lunch when I taught her how to gut them. It wasn’t even the gutting itself, it was that I whacked their heads on the side of the boat until they died.) But we had fish for dinner (a tiny little bit of fish, given how many of us there are). _

 

Lastly came four night-shots: one of their fire against the backdrop of the starry sky, two of the sky itself, and one of a marshmallow that flamed blue in the dark.  _ It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen stars this beautiful anywhere outside of Yellowstone. I wonder if the sky will be this lovely in Ireland after there aren’t any more humans to make light pollution, and I can’t decide if the thought is a good or a bad one. _

 

_ Everybody’s had a nice rest, and tomorrow we’re going into the park to Geyserville (which isn’t what it’s called, but it totally should be, since it has some of the most beautiful geysers in the park). Last time we were here we were kind of on a mission to see as much as we could in 10 days, but we can take our time now. I love you, and please pet the kitties. If you can, get someone to take a picture of Booger so I can show Saoirse. (Did I mention I love you? Because I do.) _

 

_ ***** _

 

“Is she having a good time?” Quen asked. The slightly dreamy, faraway gaze was usually a good indication that Kana was having some kind of communication with his wife. After all the years of living with someone who was nearly always dour, this was a welcome change.

 

“That obvious?” Maglor asked his friend sheepishly, grinning when he smirked and nodded. “Well, yes, from the sound of it. There is a photo here of some fish whose heads she reportedly bashed in, that the little one caught. And a few other decent ones; Shane apparently fell in the lake.” His voice suddenly reduced in enthusiasm. “And she wants another picture of that...cat.”

 

Quen snorted into his beer. “Alright. I’m taking matters into my own hands, on that cat business. You and I are going to finish our ales like civilized people, and then we are going into the house. We’re going to grab that overstuffed sausage casing, and take it to all different spots in the house; we’ll make sort of a round of the place. You’re going to take a picture at each one. We’ll even do things like put her on dining room chairs or whatnot; anything to show her in different locations. At the end of twenty minutes we’re going to have plenty of these things, and you can dole them out every time this comes up.”

 

Maglor looked up at him and smiled. “I think I love you.”

 

Roaring with laughter, they clinked their bottles together in a decidedly unscholarly manner.

 

**

 

imblue@gmail.com

 

_ Dear Sharley, so lovely to hear you’re having such a nice holiday. There have been far fewer lessons since your group left, so I have been learning a bit taking outings with Ailill and Calanon. It occurred to me a while ago that someday they will leave, and if their skills are not to be lost, someone needs to learn them. And as it involves being alone and wandering around for hours, I felt I was rather the perfect candidate. Quen has joined me on many of those occasions, and is tasking himself with recording the things Ailill teaches us, even though I suppose the same information on falconry exists in other publications. _

 

_ Other than that, not so much has been noteworthy, unless a small tidbit about that Sean fellow from the village matters. You know, Aurnia’s lad. He stopped by twice. The first time was to ask about Lorna (the younger one, Pat’s daughter). He was so awkward he rather reminded me of myself, standing there hat in hand. Two days after he knocked a second time, because he’d quite forgotten to inquire the first time around when she would return. Ah, romance. I do love to see it when I’m not the one looking so terribly adrift :-) _

 

_ Love you very much and please find attached a photo of the Booger. Cat, not an actual...spot of unwanted mucus. They are all doing quite well. _

 

_ Yours, Laurë _

 

_ ** _

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. Sean, huh? She wondered if Lorna the Younger was actually aware of that, or if she was as clueless as her aunt.

 

_ To:  _ [ _ quinqi@gmail.com _ ](mailto:quinqi@gmail.com)

 

_ Subject: Sean, huh? _

 

_ I might sit on that and see if Lorna the Younger actually says anything. If she’s anything like her aunt, she’s clueless. Thank you for the pictures of the kitties. _

 

_ I love you, _

_ Sharlerillë _

 

_ ** _ ***

######  _ {June 17, 2033} _

 

quingi [ @gmail.com ](mailto:____@gmail.com)

 

_ Subject: More photos _

 

_ Sorry it’s been a couple days, but we did a lot and some of our older humans (well, mostly Grania) got worn out. I took a bunch of pictures, but I won’t spam you with them. These are some of the best. _

 

The first was of a pool that looked rather like a strange, uneven red blob, steaming gently in the morning light. The green of the pine trees beyond it only made the color all the more jarring.  _ When we were here last time, Thaladir said this had to be a device of Morgoth. Lorna thought it looked rather like what happens to a woman’s skivvies at a certain time of the month. Honestly, they’re both right, and we all sort of figured that this might be what gave Peter Jackson his inspiration for the Eye in the Lord of the Rings movies. The red is caused by some kind of bacteria. _

 

Second came a long, uneven line of steam-plumes, all reaching at least a hundred feet in the air. They almost glowed in the sunlight.  _ This is new, apparently. There’s some kind of crack in the earth that’s letting it escape, and for a while they actually closed this section of the trail. They actually have to do that a lot in different places, because the ground changes from day to day. _

 

The next wasn’t a geyser at all, but an extremely fat chipmunk that had come bounding down the trail, part of what looked like a scone stuffed in its mouth. The expression on its little furry face was one of fierce concentration.  _ You really do have to watch the critters here. They can be pretty bold about stealing your food. There’s always the risk that people deliberately feed them, in spite of all the signs, but that wasn’t the case here: we could hear some woman up ahead of us grumbling about getting her breakfast stolen. _

 

Fourth came three shots of a beautiful geyser in shades of vivid green.  _ This is the aptly named Emerald Geyser. A few years ago some idiot lost his foot trying to wade out into the shallows of it -- burned it so bad he wound up having to get it amputated. There have been a lot of morons over the years who think trying to ‘hot-pot’ in one of these things is a good idea, in spite of all the warning signs. Last time we were here some stupid parents encouraged their kid to go walking off the trail. He burned his foot too, but not as bad. I thought Ratiri was going to murder the parents. _

 

The next group all showed a tall geyser in various stages of eruption, misty and steamy as it shot hundreds of feet into the air. A delicate rainbow shone in the mist, the camera having been at just the perfect angle; another picture was not of the geyser at all, but of the Donovan clan watching it. Sharley had been standing behind them, and the main focus of the picture was the tourist couple eying the lot of them with expressions that managed to be both disbelieving and deeply unsettled.  _ This is the most famous geyser in the whole park, Old Faithful, called that because it erupts at regular intervals. It used to be once an hour, but now it’s about once every two and a half. It’s so hot that you don't want to stand too close to it when it erupts. And with that last one, I have never before seen people with the equivalent of the o.O emoji before. _

 

Another group held even more, all of the same massive shingled structure.  _ I was one of the people that saved this from burning down in 1988. We’re actually going to stay here tomorrow night, because I always wanted to sleep in it when it didn't stink like smoke. I showed my memory of it to Saoirse and she was up all night drawing this.  _ ‘This’ was a gorgeous colored pencil rendering of the building, curls of steam rising from the soaked roof, a dark silhouette of flaming trees and a sky that glowed red. How the girl could make something look photorealistic with only colored pencils was a mystery for the ages, but it would be a blessing after the end of the world.

 

_ I love you. Pet the Booger and the Lump for me. _

 

_ (still love you) _

_ Sharlerillë _

 

_ ***** _

 

“And that’s what she had to say,” Maglor concluded to Quen, handing the tablet to him so he could see the photos.

 

“Pet the Booger and the Lump,” he quoted. “I would say that could be read as a singular expression, meaning that one laying of the hand on either animal will fulfill the technicality of the requirement,” Quen mused.

 

Chuckling, Maglor’s face broke out in a beautiful smile. “I owe you my life and yet you are such a very bad influence, Pengolodh. Tsk tsk, leading me astray with such attractive and devious reasoning.”

 

“You know you love it,” Quen shot back. “And you haven’t called me Pengolodh in about five hundred years.”

 

“To be fair, I rarely did call you Pengolodh. We used Pen, which was nice and sort of fit in well with the whole Elizabethan patois.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Quen nodded. “I really do not miss the codpieces,” he lamented. “Half of the challenge was just in trying to dress whilst still retaining some shards of self-respect.”

 

“Don’t miss the roughspun, either,” Maglor groused. “And yet we managed. Always doing something with writing, and music. Always skating by. But I did like calling you Pen. In some ways it suits you better, I think.”

 

“Quen, Pen. They both rhyme. What really is the difference?”

 

Maglor’s countenance took on an air of contemplation. “I do not truly have a good answer to that, except that I suppose I have moved away from our names in Quenya. It matters not, and if you prefer it I will use it gladly. It is, after all, your name and your opinion matters.”

 

“Ah, but in this I have no opinion, except that if it pleases you, I certainly do not object. Now write back to your lady, before you can become distracted.”

 

“Do I get a second ale if I cooperate?”

 

“Why not? This new stout is rather tasty.”

 

**

 

[ imblue@gmail.com ](mailto:imblue@gmail.com)

 

_ Dear Sharley, we are enjoying an ale, and I have shared your photos with Quen. Who I quite possibly will take to calling Pen. We shall see. I cannot say we are doing much here today, since much of our conversation has been reminiscing upon the clothing we wore (and disliked) of five hundred years ago.  _

 

_ Thaladir’s hounds caught a rabbit, though even he felt that eating it afterward was questionable. We chalked that one up to a hunt that was rewarding to the animals more than the stew-pot. Otherwise, the only thing of note is that Thranduil and Allanah are visibly preparing for their upcoming trip. A great many objects are laid out in the Quiet Room but I am hardly going to complain.  _

 

_ We liked the photos best that showed the peculiar places, it certainly seems strange. I am happy to hear you were able to stay in that lovely building, I have never seen the like. I am sorry, that I cannot do better and travel with you. There are times I feel a bit regretful about that but...if we are both happy with what we are doing then I guess it is less important, give or take that I miss you. _

 

_ Love, Laurë _

 

_ ps the cats are fine _

 

_ ** _

 

Sharley grinned, and shook her head.

 

_ To:  _ [ _ quinqi@gmail.com _ ](mailto:quinqi@gmail.com)

 

_ Subject: Home _

 

_ Tell Quen I will call him whatever he wants to be called. I’m glad things are going well at home, even if there’s a little upheaval. At least the hounds had fun? Even hounds trained by Elves can’t be perfect. _

 

_ Don't feel bad that you can’t travel well -- a lot of people can’t. Even after all these years, Lorna has to take part of a Xanax to handle the flight. I can just send you all kinds of pictures, and I’ve started a little box of stuff to take home. I miss you, but I would rather you be where you feel safe. That means more to me than anything. _

 

_ Love, _

_ Sharlerillë (I can’t help it, it’s too much fun to type) _

 

*****

######  _ {June 19, 2033} _

 

Fishing Bridge Campground was going to be their base of operations for the next month, mainly because it was the only RV site that had water and power hookups. They had portable generators (which had  _ not  _ been cheap; each was a little over a thousand dollars), but petrol was so expensive and such a pain in the ass to get that those were for later.

 

It really was nice to be able to take things a little more leisurely than they had their first time around. Lorna, Ratiri, and Pat were all older, and enjoyed savoring their tea and oatmeal in the morning. They sat outside on their camp chairs, watching the sunrise, wrapped up against the morning chill.

 

Lorna found herself savoring the scent of the place, too. Pine trees had their own specific smell, almost bittersweet, and not something one was going to find in damp Ireland. Combined with sweet grass and the peculiar aroma of dew on stone, she’d only smelled anything like it at Ross Lake, and she wished she could somehow bottle it. It was impossible to forget that this place would, in so little time at all, return to the wild again.

 

Supri sat huddled in a blanket, the rising sun throwing her profile into stark relief. Sharley took a picture, and sent it to Maglor.

 

_ To Maglor: I know you like the pictures of stuff more than of people, but I must be nesting, because I keep seeing reasons to take pictures of Supri. Once ours is born we need to take her camping at least once. Proper tents and sleeping bags, that kind of thing. _

 

Today's activity was not one Lorna looked forward to, though all the others did. Shane had somehow talked them all into the idea of going whitewater rafting, and while Lorna was no longer afraid of water, that didn't mean she _ liked _ it. Everybody would be wearing life jackets, too, so she couldn’t even use the ‘I can’t swim’ excuse and beg off. She’d extracted the promise of the world’s best backrub from Ratiri later.

 

Swimsuits evidently weren’t the thing on this little adventure -- shorts and T-shirts or vest tops were the way to go, which was totally fine by her. She didn't even own a swimsuit, and never had -- nor did she want to. 

 

“Look at it this way, mo chroí,” Ratiri said, helping her pin her braid up, “you’ll get your revenge day after tomorrow, when we go zip lining.” He knew for a fact that his son was not a fan of heights, and had kept most of his training with the Elves firmly on the ground.

 

“I don't know if even that’s enough to make up for how cold I’m sure this water is.” So soon after winter, it didn't bear thinking about -- though at least, given they were going on the one o’clock trip, it ought to be warm enough  _ out  _ of the water. “I’m just glad we’ve got plenty’v hot cocoa.” If nothing else, three hours in an icy river would give her a greater appreciation of a campfire and a big blanket.

 

They all piled into Voyager, and started the rather long drive to West Yellowstone. The traffic, naturally, wound up pretty bad by the time they were halfway there, and Lorna didn't even want to know what it would be like a month from now, when tourist season was in full swing. Maybe they needed to all get bicycles, and bypass it that way. A massive caravan was hardly an ideal vehicle for this, but there were so many of them that they’d have to rent three cars.

 

Both Sharley and Eris took a great number of pictures along the way -- Eris of the scenery, the caravan, and the family, while Sharley focused more on just the scenery, and uploaded the best shots to her Google album. She’d decided the best thing to do would be to email them all to Maglor once a week, and just talk to him via text in between times -- otherwise his inbox would get spammed to hell and back.

 

“I really wish waterproof cameras weren’t so expensive,” Eris griped. “Not that I’d dare take one rafting anyway.”

 

“Considering a few of us are probably going to scream like little girls, that’s likely for the best,” Lorna said. ‘A few of us’ definitely included her and Pat, but possibly also Grania and Eris. (Siobhan had packed Eris’ inhaler, just to be safe.)

 

**

 

Even the biggest rafts did not look anywhere near large enough, to Lorna’s blatant dismay. Supri stared, rounded-eyed, but the twins and Atia were all enthusiasm personified.

 

Nevertheless, Lorna made sure everyone’s life jackets were nice and snug, and kept Supri close. The girl seemed to be somewhat reassured by the fact that she was sandwiched between her parents, though she still clung to the straps of their life jackets.

 

“It’s okay, allanah,” Lorna said, stroking her daughter’s hair. “See the lady behind us? She’s a professional, she does this every day, and these things we’re wearing would keep us on top of the water if they had to. And it’s okay to scream if you’re scared, because I know I will.”

 

“If you’re scared, why are you doing this?” Supri asked, staring up at her with big, innocent eyes.

 

“Because it would make your brother happy,” Lorna said. “And every now and again, we  _ should  _ do something that scares us. You never know -- it could turn out to be something you really enjoy, but you’ll never know if you don't try it.”

 

Supri gave the water a highly dubious look, and it was all Lorna could do not to laugh.

 

Shane, Chandra, and Atia were all in their raft, along with Maerwen and Sharley. The elleth had tied a bandana over her hair, covering her ears handily. Lorna had always been fascinated that Elves didn't tan, no matter how much time they spent in the sun -- it meant that right now, the poor Elf was practically blinding to look at. Even Chandra wasn’t that pale, and Sharley, they’d discovered, could alter the shade of her skin at will. It wasn’t difficult for her to make her look like she’d spent plenty of time outside.

 

“All right, everybody,” their guide said. She was a young woman, early twenties or so, with a ponytail of sun-bleached hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt. “Grab your oars, and we’ll be on our way.”   
  


For the sake of her daughter, Lorna tried not to look utterly terrified as they paddled out. This section of river was smooth, at least, and the sun that beat down on them was quite warm. It drew out the scent of the raft’s rubber, an odd but not unpleasant smell. Her heart didn't need to be pounding like this just yet, so she tried to will it to slow.

 

It was not, at first, so bad. The current was gentle; all their guide had them do was occasionally course-correct to keep them centered, and Pat devoutly hoped it would stay this way for a while. He would really rather avoid screaming like a little girl, and he knew that once they hit real rapids, that was pretty much inevitable. Like both Lorna and Siobhan, he’d never learned to swim, and was not terribly pleased to be out in the middle of a large body of water. Lifejacket or no lifejacket, it was just not his idea of a good time.

 

Going by Grania’s expression, she did not agree. Her dark hair was long now, thanks to living in a house surrounded by long-haired people, and currently held back in a braid, while her face and arms had a slight sunburn, in spite of all the sunblock she’d put on yesterday.  _ She  _ paddled with glee, and eyed the distant rapids with relish. 

 

Both his daughters did as well, but at least Siobhan seemed every bit as nervous as he was. It was Impoverished Child Syndrome: none of them had ever had the opportunity to learn as kids, and then they’d been too busy as adults to ever find the time. Add in the fact that he could feel how cold this was even through the floor of the raft...eek.

 

He did shriek a little when they hit the rapids, though it was mostly because that unfortunately frigid water came sloshing over the sides. At least he wasn’t the only one;  Lorna and Siobhan did, too, as did what sounded like half the kids. Grania, on the other hand, held her oar over her head and let out some weird kind of battle-yell, which made him lean away from her a little.

 

His stomach lurched as they went over a particularly large rock, the bow -- if one could even call it that -- temporarily submerging. Of course that just sprayed them with even more icy water, that felt rather like a slap to the face. It woke him up, if nothing else, though he couldn’t stop the, “Oh  _ shit _ , we’re not going over  _ that _ , are we?!” that emerged when another, even bigger rock approached. He fully understood why they called it  _ white  _ water, which was something he’d wondered a bit along the way here.

 

“Pat, what is it?” Lorna called from behind him, her words trailing off into a shriek as her raft went over the edge, too.

 

“It’s bigger! It’s fucking bigger! No no  _ nononono _ \--”

 

His words were all but cut off by Grania, who was laughing hysterically. His elder daughter wasn’t much better, though Saoirse was leaning so far over the side he was afraid she’d fall out. 

 

“Da, there was a fish!” she said. “It went over with us.”

 

“Dude, see if you can grab it,” Sam said over his shoulder. His words were all but drowned out when they went sailing over the larger boulder, landing in the churning water below with a splash that soaked whatever had still been dry.

 

Pat clung to his oar, as if it would somehow do him any good. He wasn’t any use at all at following the directions of their guide, though he tried to make a decent showing when Grania poked him. Granted, this mostly consisted of him flailing, but at least it looked like he was trying. Sort of.

 

“I don't want to be broomed, I need an adult!” Saoirse cried, and then burst into giggles. She didn't stop even when water sloshed over the sides and splashed her right in the face.

 

“Mam, I want to do this for a job,” Chandra said, as the river evened out into something a little less intense. Her clothes were soaked, her fringe dripped into her eyes, she was absolutely  _ freezing _ , and yet she was so exhilarated that none of that mattered. She was on a little rubber raft, rushing through churning water, surrounded by family. If it got any better than this, she wasn’t sure how.

 

The river narrowed, water channeling into a funnel that sent them zooming along at probably twenty-five kilometers an hour. Lorna the Younger and Saoirse shrieked with glee when they went surging over a series of massive boulders, while Pat fought not to be sick. He just couldn’t handle having his seat drop away from him, over and over. Even the calm stretches weren’t nearly long enough; they were usually just enough for him to catch his breath. All things considered, he was glad he hadn’t eaten too much for breakfast.

 

Supri, still wedged firmly between her parents, threw up her hands and yelled, “ _ Wheeeeeeee! _ ” as they all but vaulted off another boulder. Mam was right -- this was way more fun than she would have ever thought it would be.

 

**

 

They’d been smart, and all brought dry clothes to change into in Voyager. Many also bundled up in blankets, while Ratiri made tea.

 

“Mam, are there rivers in Ireland where we can do that?” Supri asked. Her wet hair was a mess, her eyes dancing with happiness

 

“We need to start you in geography lessons, if you can ask that question,” Lorna said. “Yes, there are. We can go do that again at home.”  _ Within the next four years, anyway _ . At least her youngest would get to live our her childhood in this world, even if it would end not long after she turned ten. 

 

Chandra turned that over in her head. Da had made sure to take all the kids swimming when they were little; she knew how, and could strengthen her skills easily enough. That had been so much fun, and if it was a thing in Ireland, too, maybe she could do it as a job next summer. Aunt Orla could get her a driving license sometime between now and then, and she could work out something with the household for use of a car. It could be completely lethal, and it could be something that was hers. The thought made her smile as she sipped her tea.

 

*****

######  _ {June 20, 2033} _

 

“Your trip starts in ten days. We are meeting with John and Chloe Kerry, plus Mary, Ailill and assorted lawyers tomorrow at ten in the morning. And you said you wanted to meet with Thalion and Thanadir this afternoon. I believe those are the highlights?” Earlene smiled, knowing that this trip to Africa was approaching with all the subtlety of a herd of elephants plowing through the Savannah.

 

“You are laughing at me,” Thranduil accused Earlene as he stared helplessly at his duffel bag. 

 

“Only a little bit,” Earlene teased back. “Knowing how much you are like a fish out of water at the prospect of this, I took the liberty of researching everything you will need, purchasing it for you, and setting it aside in a box. Even though you will have no need of things like malaria pills and painkillers, they are included anyway since it is best to be fully prepared and pretend to act as though you are not an elf with mystical powers.”

 

“Really?” Thranduil asked, a note of hope suffusing his soft baritone. Because that wasn’t incredibly sexy.

 

“Really.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and kissed the crown of his head, leaning in to smell him and take the tiniest nibble on the tip of his ear. “I even found two pairs of high powered binoculars for you and Allanah, and even though you don’t need it, all your clothing is UV-protection rated so you won’t have to drown yourselves in sunscreen. I even found something light but modest in the event you need to sleep in close proximity to your daughter. You’re all set; if you had to go in five minutes I could have you packed. I’m hoping you were both serious about wanting to risk that your solar chargers can keep your devices powered.”

 

“Our daughter is not Lorna,” the King retorted gently. “She will not be taking images of every single thing, I would hope. And I do not expect to be on the Internet every night. In fact, I do not expect to be on the Internet at all.”

 

“Fair enough. This is going to be strange, for me. It will be the longest I have been parted from you...well, I cannot really say that, can I? Not after Valinor. But it will be the first time I have remained home while you have gone elsewhere.”

 

“You will have Thanadir, meluieg. And I will be stepping far, far outside of my comfort zone to escort my daughter on something almost unimaginable to me. This is like imagining a journey to the lands south of Harad of old. Who knows, maybe these are those same lands? The earth has changed so much, it would seem.”

 

“Mmmm. I envy you, in a way. I would like to see these places, and yet I would not.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, as a female, those are...those are not what I consider to be the safest places. Which is why I am glad it is you who are going. I feel that short of something barely imaginable, you can protect Allanah in ways that I cannot, even with what has been granted to me now. It is...they are cultural realities that just exist in other parts of the world.”

 

Thranduil frowned. “I have the feeling that I would be wise to spend the time between now and then educating myself more as to what I am likely to encounter instead of just going along with this?” 

 

“I think so. You will have better context for what you encounter, if nothing else. You enjoy science and geography, also; why not learn about the climate zones and plants and animals you are likely to see?”

 

“Why not…?” Thranduil mused, reaching for his tablet.

 

*****

 

######  _ {June 21, 2033} _

 

“You will never guess who spoke to us, Earlene,” Thanadir said, returning from an early trip to the Halls.

 

“Truer words were never uttered,” she grinned. “You know I cannot work with no hints whatsoever.”

 

“Oh. Yes. Well, it was Sean. He apologized to both Thranduil and myself for his past disrespect of you and by extension, both of us. I confess I am rather impressed that he would...how does one say it…”

 

“Try to make a better showing for himself?” Earlene offered.

 

Thanadir pondered for a moment, coming behind her to encircle her waist and nuzzle at her neck. “Something like that. I did not expect someone so steeped in bad behavior to be able to change.”

 

“It is never guaranteed, but sometimes people can surprise you. I am glad, to hear it. He apologized to me some time ago. And yet his life would have been so much easier had he never adopted such atrocious manners in the first place.”

 

“It was difficult not to give into the urge to damage him. Just a little,” Thanadir admitted. 

 

“You? Why Thanadir, that is positively romantic of you.”

 

“You do not believe I would want to defend your honor?” the seneschal asked, his tone becoming somewhat agitated.

 

“Ah-ah,” she corrected, stirring the scrambling eggs. “I said no such thing. It is that you usually seem disposed to be gentle. Trust me, I am well aware that you have another side to you. Your complexity is much of why I love you. There is no one else like you.” Turning, she kissed him full on the mouth, not caring that her spatula was in dangerous proximity to his loose hair.

 

Blinking, he was perplexed into silence. Thranduil, from his vantage point just outside the kitchen, marveled at how well she could maneuver Thanadir and chuckled to himself. “I feel as though I am missing out,” he added, deciding to aid his wife’s cause, capturing Thanadir’s mouth for himself. When he was released from the second kiss, the seneschal sighed happily and began to slice fruit without being asked while Thranduil winked at Earlene. Oh, they all very much deserved each other, but it was in good fun.

 

**

 

All were assembled at the large Dining Room table that could serve double duty as a conference table. The solicitors for John Kerry seemed vaguely out of their element as they stared at the strange magnificence that was Eldamar. Niamh had come from Dublin, and sat between Ailill and Mary; they had all covered every possible outcome and the opinions pertaining thereto ahead of time. Ailill clearly did not want to be there, Calanon appeared to be enjoying holding his husband’s hand just to watch John’s reaction (‘unable to keep from looking’, summed it up nicely), and Thranduil seemed to be generally amused.

 

“Da wouldn’t have wanted this,” John said, in a voice so uncertain that everyone there wondered who he was trying to convince.

 

“Well mam would have, and you know it,” Mary growled. “And I’m questioning more and more whether we’re truly here about business or unresolved family issues.” Her eyes bored into John’s. 

 

“Maybe you’re right,” he fired back, his own view fixed on Ailill, who flushed involuntarily at the perceived jab.

 

Ailill was within seconds of storming out of the room when he heard the voice in his head.  _ Stay, Ailill, and try to contain your emotions. Your brother is not saying what you imagine he is. He is confused, and ashamed of his treatment of you. Please, give him a chance? If you leave the room you may never have this opportunity again. _

 

Ailill’s gaze lowered to focus on his hand, held tightly by Calanon’s.  _ As you wish, my Lord. _

 

“I want to talk to my brother and sister privately,” John said. “Outside.” His solicitors appeared to be unprepared for this request, whereas Niamh simply smiled. If nothing else, she appreciated that when it mattered, Thranduil did not hesitate to leverage his powers to an advantage. And success here would be an advantage indeed; enough sustainably farmed timberland to rebuild a home for every survivor, if it came down to that. Their own resource to manage.

 

Ailill communicated silently with Calanon that he would be alright, and rose from the table to follow his sister. They walked out the double doors, exiting between the home and the greenhouse. Abruptly Mary wheeled and came to a stop, her arms crossed. “Talk away,” she said to John. “But I’ll tell you now, if there’s going to be one word spoken against Ailill, this discussion is over.”

 

“But I…” John tried to begin.

 

“Don’t think I’ve not noticed the way you stared the entire time at Ailill and Calanon,” she fumed. “Don’t think I don’t remember every word you and da said about him at the office, either. In fact, you’ve got a helluva lotta--”

 

“Mary,” Ailill interrupted, placing a hand on his sister’s arm. “Let him talk. I won’t stand here and take abuse, I promise you. But I want to hear what he has to say.”

 

John appeared somewhat relieved. “I wanted to apologize, for all those things I’ve said,” he began again. “Chloe’s been...well she has been unrelenting in her insistence that da’s always been in the wrong on this. It wasn’t easy for me to see, because all I ever heard was the other side of the story. And it’s been brought more and more to my attention that I’ve treated you horribly for a long time.”

 

“Try,  _ forever _ ,” Mary growled, still glaring at John.

 

“Alright, forever,” John said, facing Ailill. “If you can’t forgive me, I understand. But I am telling you now that I am sorry, and if it’s not too late I’d like to start over. This offer, you’re proposing. You both seem to know these people, to trust and like them. I don’t know them at all, and though the solicitors in there would tell me not to admit it, your offer was fair. Their offer, is fair, is more what I guess I mean. I think when I am confronted with needing to place mam and da’s life’s work on the chopping block to buy you out versus the chance to keep it in the family and administer it together, with my brother and sister, that is something I can’t afford to ignore. Thoughts?”

 

Ailill stared at his brother for a long time, saying nothing until the silence wore on uncomfortably. “If you’ve had such a change of heart why did it take you all this time to say what you did? Why here, why now? Why should I believe you, after all the things you’ve said both to my face and behind my back?”

 

_ Ailill. Your brother is speaking the truth as he believes it to be.  _

 

Closing his eyes, a deep sigh escaped him as he silently acknowledged Thranduil’s words. There were times he wished he were not under obligation to do as he was directed. This was one of them. Even though he knew deep down that how he felt was not...right.

 

“Because it meant something to me to say this to you in person, Ailill. I know I can’t just erase what I’ve done. Or take back the words. I truly am sorry. I wanted to tell you…”

 

“Tell me what?” Ailill demanded.

 

Mary looked back and forth between her two brothers. Ailill was a little taller, John more heavily built. John looked every inch an accountant and manager; clean cut and with wire-rimmed glasses. Ailill was...Ailill, his long hair flowing down to his waist, some of it held back from his face in the simple braiding style of the Woodland Elves. They could not be more different, and yet their faces shared an obvious heritage. 

 

“That I wish I had been a stronger person, able to think better for myself. Able to understand that da just...was wrong. I know that everything I’m saying isn’t doing you much good, but I don’t know where else to begin.”

 

Ailill stared at him some more. “You know that even if you come on board, I’ll not have anything to do with it. My interest is basically that of my employer, as far as I’m concerned.”

 

“That’s your choice,” John said. “But...Ailill, that’s millions of Euros worth of an interest. I want you to be sure you understand what you’re ignoring?”

 

Ailill shrugged, but then his expression changed again as more was silently spoken to him. “Alright,” he answered aloud, which caused John to frown at the non sequitur.

 

Mary smiled, amused. “He’s not talking to you,” she guessed shrewdly, causing Ailill to look up and smile. “What? I haven’t been here all this time to eat my lunch,” she grinned.

 

“Fair enough,” Ailill conceded.

 

“Um, have I missed something?” John asked.

 

“Yes, and no,” Thranduil said, arriving around the bend of the greenhouse. “I am deciding that I have heard enough to give you a further opportunity.” 

 

John noticed that both his sister and brother showed this tall blond man polite deference of the kind that could not merely be bought; his brother actually was bowing his head, though the motion was subtle.

 

“What?” John said, hopelessly confused.

 

_ I am more than merely an employer,  _ the man heard in his mind.  _ And if your heart is like that of your brother and sister, you too can have a future among us.  _

 

Frozen with surprise, he stood still, and continued to listen.

 

**

 

“So I have been an even bigger idiot than I imagined,” John said quietly while the solicitors remained in the other room, hashing out the exact details of the agreement.

 

“Something like that,” Chloe said, holding his hand. “I for one really hoped you would come around, but you had to get there on your own. No one else could make that happen.”

 

John now looked up to see that Calanon had rejoined Ailill. He took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology as well,” he said to the elf, uncertain whether to extend his hand or not. “Please forgive me for insulting you, and for my failure to behave like a decent person.” 

 

“I accept your apology,” Calanon replied in his charming accent. His eyes were merry, which generally meant that he felt unperturbed. “I hope this means the beginning of you having a real family; you and your brother and sister. It seems like there is much to...do over. I think you should hug your brother,” he said quietly, earning a sharp intake of air from his mate. 

 

Ailill fired something between a plea and a glare at Calanon, even while he knew that protest would be useless. The elf smiled innocently, while Thranduil watched all of this from a discreet distance and chuckled to himself. Oh, he most definitely appreciated Calanon, and wondered if Thalion was aware of half the guile this ellon could manage. John smiled weakly and opened his arms, seeing that Ailill would not refuse the gesture.

 

“Oh come on, hug him like you mean it!” Chloe stamped her foot. Mary grinned evilly, and seconded the motion.

 

“Suddenly I feel scrutinized,” John said to Ailill, who could not help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

 

“Good,” Ailill teased back, not fully ready to abandon all of his resentments.

 

“That’s fair,” his brother returned, hugging him tightly. “All I ask is for a chance to try to make it right with you. I really do mean that. Please, Ailill, even though I know I don’t deserve it.” They broke away from each other.

 

“Alright,” Ailill said softly. “Besides, I’m not sure I have a say in the matter.” He smiled at his husband.

 

“You do not,” Calanon replied cheerfully, sidling over to wrap an arm around his waist. 

 

Mary did the same, on the other side.

 

A huge sigh came from Ailill. “Elves.”

 

*****

 

_ {June 21, 2033} _

 

Yesterday had been a day of relaxation and gentle hiking, a much-needed breather between rafting and ziplining.

 

It had turned out that there was a whole lot more available than just ziplining: it was a full-on park, with several different massive structures made of ropes, nets, platforms, and strange bridges. One look at them made Lorna vow to ask Thranduil if anything similar could be set up in the forest -- she took a dozen photos with her mobile. Maybe, after all these years, she’d actually set up a damn zip line. There had to be some way of doing something like this that wouldn’t harm any of the trees.

 

The helmets made all of them arch an eyebrow, since most had been running around in trees with Elves for quite a while now. Shane, Grania, Supri, and Siobhan were all firm ground-dwellers, but the rest of them had at least a little tree-training; some, like Atia, were extremely good at running even on slender branches.

 

“All right, you lot,” Lorna said, adjusting Supri’s helmet. “Remember: don't be doing anything  _ too  _ impressive. And if anybody asks, say we’re part’v an acrobatic troupe back in Ireland.” She highly doubted most people would know there really weren’t any such things in Ireland anymore -- well, there probably were, but they didn't look like the D&D’s. 

 

Sharley had taken a number of pictures of trees and wildlife on their way here, to send to Maglor; now she took some of the family. Maerwen looked rather baffled by her helmet, while the D&D’s continued to look unnervingly alike (something several people quite obviously noticed, too, as there was more than one double-take).

 

They’d arrived at opening time, so they were some of the first in line to be let in. It seemed to be basically a free-for-all -- everybody was meant to go wherever they felt like it, and hopefully not run anyone over in the process.

 

Atia eyed the nearest net -- a huge thing that led up to a round platform. She didn't know just what Mam meant by ‘too impressive’, so she did what her instincts told her to do, and lightly leapt her way up, the fat ropes creaking slightly beneath her feet. Her other instinct was to take her shoes off, as she always did at home, but evidently you couldn’t do that here.

 

She darted over a rope bridge, feet flying as she hopped from plank to plank. Could they have one of these at home? Would Uncle Thranduil let them build one? Atia was entirely willing to sit there and be aggressively cute if she had to. She was still just young enough to pull that off. 

 

Lorna sighed, watching her daughter move with all the agility that could only belong to someone trained by Elves. Oh well -- there was no point in spoiling the girl’s fun, and it wasn’t like they’d see any of these people ever again anyway.

 

Chandra grinned. She could hardly let her little sister zip around like an acrobat on her own; after poking Shane, she took off up the net herself. There was a long pole, large enough around that it looked rather like a spar on a ship’s mast, and she all but danced across it. Yeah, there was a guide-rope she was theoretically meant to clip herself through, but that would be a waste of time and freedom of movement.

 

“Fuck it,” Saoirse said, laughing as she followed her cousin. It turned into something of a free-for-all after that; even Grania, who had little experience with (or interest in) climbing went up the nets.

 

Sharley lingered back long enough to shoot some video, and take some pictures of her family putting all the other climbers to shame. Because why the hell not -- the world was going to end in four years. They were only going to be able to do this particular thing once. 

 

And yes, there was a long, proper zipline, too -- Lorna happily hooked herself to it, and even more happily squeed the whole length of it.

 

*****

 

#####  {June 22, 2033}

 

That morning, Lorna woke very early, and realized in short order that she felt like shit. Tired, achy, with sinuses that felt like they were packed with cement.  _ Wonderful. _

 

Fortunately, they’d planned for such an eventuality, and had zinc tablets and Dayquil in plenty. Still, she sneezed as she downed some of the sickly-sweet liquid, and again when she put the kettle on.

 

A sneeze from the loft bed made her look up. Atia and Supri slept there, and both looked down at her, pale and bleary-eyed. “Hi Mam,” Supri said -- and sneezed.

 

**

 

Sharley hadn’t really slept that night -- she needed so much less than her human family that she’d gone for a walk in the chilly night, taking dozens of pictures for Maglor. The moon was full, and it rendered everything in shades of silver. At one point she’d run across a Great Horned Owl, and felt absurdly like a Disney princess as she coaxed the massive bird to land on a lower branch. He posed for her with all the vanity of a fashion model, and she laughed silently as she took picture after picture.

 

When she returned to the RV at dawn, it was to find three decidedly sick young women and one sleepy elleth. Maerwen was already busy making tea, while Lorna the Younger, Saoirse and Chandra formed their own orchestra of sneezes.

 

_ “It’s the same in the other RV’s,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Whitewater rafting plus a day around a bunch of other germ-carrying tourists equals one hell of a head cold.” _

 

“Beautiful,” Sharley sighed. Well, if the had to be sick, at least they could do it in luxury RV’s. And at least they’d be in the park for three months, so they could afford to just be sick, rather than try to force themselves to power through it to save time.

 

Shaking her head, she uploaded her pictures to her Google album. The favorites went into an email for Maglor.

 

_ To:  _ [ _ quinqi@gmail.com _ ](mailto:quinqi@gmail.com)

 

_ Subject: Owls and viruses, yay _

 

_ Hi Laurë, _

 

_ We went rafting and climbing and last night an owl flirted with me. I took a lot of pictures of him, he was beautiful, and he posed like a model. I got back to the RV’s this morning and discovered everybody but Maerwen and I has a nasty head cold. Oops. At least I haven’t had any more problems with morning sickness, so that’s one less thing to worry about. _

 

_ How is everyone at Eldamar? Have you heard anything from Thranduil and Allanah? I showed Saoirse the pictures of Booger, so she’s happy he’s okay. Right now I hear her somehow managing to sneeze and swear at the same time. I didn't think it was possible to sneeze out the f-word, but apparently it is. You learn something new every day. _

 

_ Can you call me? I love you, and I miss you, and I’d like to hear your voice. _

 

_ Love, _

_ Sharlerillë _

 

**

 

*ring tone of Enya song*

 

Sharley looked down at her cell phone, and grinned when she saw the number. “Hello, I love you, won’t you tell me your name?” she asked, laughing. “Hi Laurë. How are you?”

 

“I am well, Sharley. Though I hope I am not in trouble for not being Jim Morrison this morning?” His voice held a smile. While never arrogant, he was one of the few that could lay honest claim to being more attractive...and he knew it, and would sometimes playfully leverage that.

 

That made her laugh harder. “You’re better than Jim Morrison,” she said, shaking her head. “May he rest in peace, but you’re prettier and you sound even better.”

 

In the background, Lorna the Younger let out an especially loud sneeze, and Sharley winced. “Yeah, so everyone’s sick,” she said. “Can you at least pet Booger, so I can tell poor Saoirse you did? Sneezing is...weird. I never realized that I didn't do it back...before.”

 

“Pet her right now?” he asked, a tone of laziness in his voice. “I have to get out of bed and go find her?” The plaintive whining was dialed to ten.

 

She rolled her eyes, but grinned nonetheless. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “if you promise you’ll do it at some point today, I won’t be a liar when I tell the poor kid you did it.” The Lump must be sticking to the sofa, if he could be in such a good mood. “I’m not sure how long everyone will be like this. I can’t heal like Thranduil -- not even close. I hope everything’s calmer at Eldamar, at least.”

 

He heaved a great sigh. “All right, you win, I shall brave the night air of Ireland for my fairest lady,” he quipped in his charming British accent. At least he could sneak a mug of tea, if he had to cross to the main house. What Sharley probably was not realizing is that he did not have much of today left; they were rather on different time zones, but putting down his book would hardly kill him. “I am not sure you should even try, unless they are in very bad straits,” he advised, knowing that she had a tendency to want to extend herself for her friends.

 

“I love it when you sound like something out of a high-class movie,” Sharley said. “And I won’t, unless one of them gets really sick. I’m just glad we’ve got plenty of time for them to  _ be  _ sick.”

 

Within the RV, Saoirse sneezed again, and swore in what sounded like Russian.

 

“I wish I knew why they get sick and we don't. As if it wasn’t bad enough their lives are so short to begin with, they have to spend a lot of it sneezing their brains out.” She moved a little further from the vehicle, so that Maglor wouldn’t hear anything else poor Saoirse said.

 

“Viruses and bacteria, unfortunately, and the lack of the same kind of fae,” he answered kindly. “But I know this is not news. I hope they feel better soon,” he said; it was the only polite thing one could say. “Everyone here is well; Allanah has been reading a great deal about her upcoming trip and so I have introduced my own form of corruption and introduced her to the writings of David Livingstone. And for the love of Eru, please do not say ‘Dr. Livingstone, I presume.’”

 

“You have no idea how much I want to, now,” she said. “I should warn you, probably half of these people will be wanting a zip line course in the trees, but I figure we can put one in the Douglas firs we planted outside the original forest border. Watching all the other humans gawk at them was so much more entertaining than it shoulda been. They’re not as good as Elves, obviously, but they were miles ahead of everyone else in the strength and balance department.”

 

_ “The sprog might like one, too,”  _ Layla whispered.

 

“Layla, you’ve been around Lorna too long,” Sharley said. “And yet she has a point. Our daughter could have a lot of fun with...well, the thing I sent you pictures of.”

 

Maglor laughed. “I am staying out of that discussion; I may only be a Noldorin elf but even I know how elves would probably view one of those were it in their area of influence. No daughter of ours would need one,” he said softly. Thranduil, also in the kitchen, stared at Maglor with raised eyebrows. When he was silently informed of the discussion, the Elvenking rolled his eyes and shook his head, stalking off with his own tea. Well. At least he had been right about that much. “Ah look. Here is the cat in question, charmingly named after adhered globs of mucus. And I have now petted it, and woken it out of a sound sleep, and thusly have I discharged my solemn duty.”

 

Sharley burst out laughing. “Thank you for that,” she said. “It’ll make Saoirse feel better. I’m just happy to hear your voice. And I know it’s not custom to think up names for baby before it’s born, but I kinda can’t help it. Not that I’ve narrowed it down to anything like a solid choice.”

 

Maglor sighed inaudibly, knowing that she probably indeed could not help it. And wondering how much of how different she was from elves had to do with her long time away from Valinor, or was it the company she kept? Still, what was he to do? She was already very sensitive to any suggestion that she wasn’t ‘right’ as she was.  Sometimes it was hard, to see the many changes. This version of her was so much more...out and about, into things. Tirillë of old simply would not have had this many topics of discussion. She wove. He played. Theirs had been a strange companionship with silence and strong attraction at its core. Now theirs was a strange companionship with chattering and baby names. And yet it was far better than the alternative. “And?” he asked, knowing she wished to speak of this.

 

“So far, I just know what I want it to mean,” she said. “I want something that means ‘gift’, but I might want something else once she’s actually born. And I’ll also want it to sound good with whatever father-name you give her.” She smiled a little, rubbing her flat abdomen. “I hope she has your hair. I could cheat and look at her in the future, but I don't want to. I wouldn’t even if Vairë hadn’t warned me not to use my ability for no good reason.”

 

“But your hair is far lovelier than mine,” he protested, imagining a little girl with silvery hair. “So many have hair like mine. And yet it does not matter; I will love her regardless. Besides, hair is enough of a discussion in my family tree.”

 

“Yours is like...like midnight silk, if that doesn’t sound too flowery,” she said. “But it really doesn’t matter. She’ll be ours. I wish it wasn’t going to take so long for her to finish...cooking, so to speak. I mean, a year and a half…” Yes, she was whining a little. She was going to be pregnant for 18 months. It was warranted.

 

“I am sorry, for that part,” he said, sincerely. He would gladly share that burden, were it only possible. “I promise I will do my best to make it easier for you.”

 

“Just sing to me,” Sharley said, “and play your harp. If nothing else, it will distract me from whatever ridiculousness my body gets up to. Everything else in the world vanishes, when you sing, and I can’t believe nobody figured out who you were long before you met Earlene and Thanadir. No human could sound like you.”

 

Somebody swore within the RV, and it wasn’t Saoirse. “I hate to say this, but I should probably go soon. I think someone’s sneezing their brain out.”

 

Maglor held the handset out a little, because the sound had been...truly uncivilized. “I am sorry for them; and perhaps you are correct. Please give greetings to them from all the household and...I hope they recover soon. I love you, Sharley.” His words were wistful...there were time it would be so nice, if he could just snap his fingers and be elsewhere. Like what Thanadir had explained about Star Trek, but without the disturbing thought of being disassembled into molecules.

 

“I will,” she said, wincing at the sound of someone blowing their nose. “I love you too, Laurë. I’ll send you and Quen more pictures -- or does he want to be called Pen now?”

 

“Ah, I believe we are in a transition of sorts, on that,” he grinned. “To be announced, I think. Of late I have been switching back and forth.”

 

“In that case, I’ll call him Quen until he wants it otherwise,” Sharley said. “I’m glad to hear your voice. I’ll have to call you more often -- though once everyone else has stopped sneezing.”

 

“Alright.” The warmth in his voice seemed to reach through the phone. “I love you; have a good day there.”

 

“I love you, too,” she said, smiling. “Have a good...what time is it there? Evening?”

 

“Yes, about seven o’clock.”

 

“In that case, have a good evening, and tell everyone I say hi.”

 

“I will. Love you, Sharley.” And because he knew someone would have to do it, he reluctantly tapped the screen to end the call, or they might still be saying good-byes an hour hence.

 

Maglor now wandered into the Heart Room, where Quen wrote something in one of his notebooks. Their King read; Thanadir contentedly leaned into his shoulder, using him for a backrest of sorts. On his opposite side, Earlene did more or less the same. Always Thanadir worked on his project for Erestor, while Earlene pondered recipes.

 

“Thought you went to bed to read?” Quen asked, smirking.

 

“Had to pet the mucus glob,” Maglor answered drily, earning an instant chortle from Earlene. Thranduil’s eyes tracked over to them, and he did not try to hide his smile. “And now I shall attempt to return to the shores of Zanzibar.”

 

“You are reading of where we are going?” the King inquired.

 

“Not exactly, my Lord.” With all the humans gone, un-royal etiquette was rather back out the window, and Thranduil had given up correcting them. “I am reading an account of well over one hundred years ago. The first explorer to cross Africa from the east coast to the west.” 

 

“I suppose it is full of thrilling exploits of fighting lions and evading hostile tribes?” Thranduil smiled.

 

“No, Lord” Maglor grinned. “The lions aren’t what you need to worry about. It’s the hippopotami.”

 

“No one uses that plural now,” Quen corrected. “They say hippopotamuses.”

 

“Which is incredibly cumbersome,” Earlene opined.

 

Maglor smirked at his friend, who crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

 

Earlene rolled her eyes. So much for the pre-eminent scholar of the elven people.

 

Thranduil shook his head, completely amused.

 

Everyone sighed.

  
  


*****

######  _ {July 1, 2033} _

 

“Oh Ada, look at it!” Allanah had just caught sight of the great mountain they would be climbing, and grasped Thranduil’s hand, pointing out the window. Throughout most of their long series of flights here (Dublin to Manchester, then Qatar, then...here) the elf had courteously insisted that his daughter keep to the window seat; this holiday was a gift to her, and from time to time she pointed out this or that as they traversed the earth from so high above. Thranduil obligingly leaned over, his thoughts interrupted. Perhaps he should have researched more, because his first response was...to blink.  _ Eru, it is tall. They were going to walk to the top of that? _ Well, he was an elf, and they would manage; he had a mortal daughter to look after. And if she could do this, he certainly could. But it was all too obvious, why it was called ‘the roof of Africa.’

 

Thranduil had felt more than a little distracted at the Arabic writing everywhere, which intrigued him. What disturbed more, unfortunately, was that once again Earlene had been correct. Allanah looked older than her years on account of her physical attributes, whereas he looked like he might possibly be pushing thirty-five, by human estimation. The two of them made a striking couple, and they bore no physical resemblance to each other. And no matter how often the words “father” and “daughter” were used, fully ninety percent of those they encountered assumed that they were carnally involved with each other. However, his daughter did not need to know this or many other things of which he would likely come to an awareness.

 

“It is very beautiful, and I have never seen anything like it,” he smiled. She had taken his hand. Unlike her mother, who was completely unflappable when it came to air travel, Allanah still felt some nervousness about aircraft landing. But soon they were on the ground, their duffel bags and daypacks on hand. Before they departed Eldamar, Earlene had taken both of them aside for a mandatory ‘this is your gear’ extended lecture and he was not so foolish as to disregard it. Thanadir approved so much of the organization that he sat and listened too, even though he was staying home.  _ Oh, Thanadir. _ He still had to stifle a grin at the send-off he received, though he was not certain what it said about him that both his spouses worried as much as they did about his ability to survive three weeks without sex. Well, his reputation did precede him. Though, he was reasonably certain he would be fine for the first week just based on the memories. His thumb rubbed against his two wedding bands.

 

Really, the next part was uneventful. They were met and driven to one of the local hotels, where they met their guides. Their gear was approved, they listened to an orientation about their climb, and Thranduil was instantly and hopelessly fascinated by the truly black skin of their hosts in this country. Compared to these, Ratiri was nearly as pale as he was. He thought them quite beautiful, with their brilliantly white teeth against flawless ebony skin. It was just as amusing to realize that his own and Allanah’s coloration were just as odd to them. They had never seen a pale one quite so pale and with long hair, and Allanah’s flaming mane was something unusual as well.

 

“I am working very hard to remember all the things I read,” Allanah whispered to him.

 

_ If you wish, Allanah, we can speak this way instead, and then you can keep your privacy. _

 

_ I forget about that, Ada. If you do not mind? There are so many things to keep in mind. About meeting people, and not offering to do anything with your left hand, and...the customs are so different, compared to home. _

 

_ I know. They are, but everyone has customs different from elves. At least no one is contemplating eating you. _

 

_ What?? _

 

_ Some that have seen me wonder if I am an albino. There are those who believe albino persons have magic that can be captured by eating their flesh. Albinos are killed here, for their body parts. _

 

_ Please tell me you are joking. _

 

_ I am not joking, however, no one is going to succeed at any such attempt. Plus my eyebrows are ruining their interest, once they get a good enough look at me. Your Aunt Lorna would be very pleased. _

 

_ Ada, we all know she is a little weird that way. _

 

_ True. Perhaps we should go for a walk? _

 

_ ***** _

 

_ “You miss him,” Thanadir said softly, seeing that Earlene was not really reading in bed but rather staring at her screen while darting numerous glances at the place in the bed Thranduil usually occupied.  _

 

_ “Yes.” _

 

_ “You are worried, also.” _

 

_ Earlene found her upper and lower incisors pushing against each other. “Yes.” _

 

_ “My questions are unwelcome,” the old elf added. “I am sorry. I did not mean to intrude.” _

 

_ Her eyes tracked across the room in disbelief. “How is it that with only three simple questions you can manage to leave me feeling angry, defensive, and guilty all at once?” _

 

_ “Talent?” Thanadir asked, now worried himself.  _

 

_ “Seriously? This is a game, to you?”  _

 

_ “Earlene, please, I did not mean for us to end up arguing, I was only…” _

 

Earlene sat bolt upright in bed, rubbing her eyes and completely unsettled.  _ Where in hell did  _ that _ dream come from, _ she wondered miserably. In the dark she could see the faint glow of Thanadir’s skin; he slept peacefully, unaware of the nonexistent annoyance he had just caused his wife in her dreams.  _ Lord Irmo is either off duty tonight or his sense of humor is becoming somewhat unfathomable. Shit.  _

 

There was basically zero chance she could return to sleep just now, so she carefully slid out from under the bedcovers and donned her robe. She might have borrowed the one Lorna made for Allanah while her daughter was away. Might have. Shuffling into the kitchen, she debated making something to drink. It would have to be tea, since hot cocoa for herself was too much bother and newfangled elf or not, coffee at this hour seemed like a bad idea. Well, there were some bags of chai, that would be nice, and she could pour a little milk in there. Some sugar was added and all that was put together to steep while she shuffled aimlessly out of the kitchen, not sure what to do. Reading was out, as was staring at the embers in the Heart Room.  _ It’s July, for Eru’s sake, why are we even having a fire anyway? _

 

Tea and Earlene decided to walk outside, where in typical Irish fashion the moon was veiled by clouds. The words she heard next were very faint, but definitely there.

 

“Can’t you sleep either, Nana?”

 

Turning, she scanned for where the voice might be coming from. After a few moments without success, the voice spoke again.

 

“The roof.”

 

Now her vision craned upwards, to see...well, it was Ithiliel or Eleniel, but discerning which exceeded her sharpened vision in this low light. “Want company?” she asked softly.

 

“Sure.”

 

Earlene contemplated how to get up to the roof, since doing so was actually not something she had ever tried. Her pride did not wish to allow her to ask how to manage it, but she was saved the trouble. Her daughter walked around to their back porch, where she reached out her hand. “I can hold your drink.” The rest was obvious enough; a simple hop from the handrail to the roof let her ascend.

 

“Thanks,” she smiled, allowing Ithiliel to lead.

 

“I like to sit here,” her daughter indicated, resuming her perch. “And watch the moon.”

 

“So that name worked out after all?” Earlene teased lightly.

 

“I think so. Why’d you and adar pick that, anyway?”

 

“When I went into labor, your father carried me to the Halls; all of you were born in our rooms there. It was a night much like this, with the moon and stars overhead. I had procrastinated thinking about names because I wanted to meet you both first.”

 

“And why Morríghan?”

 

Silence fell over Earlene for a time. “It was not easy, to bring you into the world. Your father had to intervene quite a lot. I’m sure you’ve read about the legends of her. I liked the idea of naming you for someone not to be trifled with.”

 

“But Eleniel came out OK?”

 

“Yes. OK for my first baby; I can’t lie to you, having a baby is not the easiest thing physically for most anyone. But my body decided it was time to quit cooperating after your sister came out, unfortunately.”

 

“How come you never mentioned this before?”

 

Earlene shrugged. “It was hardly your fault. And as it was unpleasant, there didn’t seem to be much point to saying something that might make you feel bad.”

 

Ithiliel seemed to weigh this, as her eyes tracked the clouds that passed before the moon. “But you had other babies, so it couldn’t have been too bad?”

 

“Yes and, I wanted more babies. I am unfortunately very good at creating children; I apparently have one of those bodies that has a relatively easy time of it. You and Faeleth were the only ones that were any difficulty at all, though maybe it would be best if you did not share that with her. She still seems a little young to me, for talking about such things.”

 

“And I am not?” Ithiliel smirked. “We look at ourselves, Nana, compared to Allanah. We might be half-human, but we look like children still. Allanah looked full-grown at sixteen; we...do not.”

 

“Well...you are half-human, and though I can see that you will not be wishing to have a baby four years from now on account of how your body is growing, it is not too young for me to be honest with you about the realities of life as a female. And I am sorry, for the relative slowness of your development. We did not know what would happen for our children, aside from guesses. I think I need not point out that in all creation, you are the first children of an elven father and a human mother. But it is obvious that for the most part, you are growing as elflings do. I think it will be a long time, by comparison to Allanah, before you reach maturity.”

 

“We are certainly not going to choose to be human, Nana. We already know that much. If we have to wait until fifty or a hundred to be grown, we will manage just fine. The cows don’t care, and neither do the horses. We do not wish to trade our continued existence for being grown at twenty.”

 

“I was hoping you would have that sort of practicality to your reasoning,” Earlene smiled. “I do not blame you in the least.”

 

“You never wanted to stay human, did you?” Ithiliel mused.

 

“Well, for a long time I was not under the impression that I would have a choice, though the hope that the Valar might one day listen to my plea was buried in the back of my mind. When it is all you know, you do not consider anything else. I am very fortunate, to have been granted what...happened. But no, from the time I first knew of elves onward, everything about me wanted to be...them. I often feel like I don’t fit in anywhere; I have lived my life with a foot in each world since the day I met your father.”

 

“I feel like we had it easier than you did,” her daughter reflected. “On account of Adar giving us his heritage, and with it a choice. I think if there had been no plague about to happen or whatever, maybe we would have wished to leave here at some point. Study at a university or maybe even travel. But now? Why would we bother? It’s just one big ‘doing our thing’ until it is time to leave here. We have so little in common with any of the humans but Allanah. She is like us, Nana.”

 

“She sort of is, isn’t she,” Earlene fretted. “I probably should not be saying this to you but...I do not know what I am going to do, when we have to leave. Leave her here. It is the one, last, great unresolved problem of my existence, that I will go somewhere my eldest daughter cannot follow.”

 

“Nana, do you really think you are the only one affected by that?” Ithiliel asked, a soft but determined voice in the darkness.

 

“I…” Earlene’s mouth hung open. “I am a foolish person who has been used to thinking of you as a child for too long. I am sorry. That was completely unfair. Of course I am not the only one, and I should not have said that. I tend to become a little distraught, when I start thinking about it, so I don’t. Think about it,” she said miserably, feeling that a rather magnificent series of faux pas had just escaped her lips.

 

“Don’t worry, Nana. We are working on it.”

 

“How can you...what?”

 

“Just trust me. Trust us. Eleniel and I don’t just walk oxen around all day. You have done more than enough for us, Nana. For everyone.”

 

“Is this one of those things where I don’t want to know?”

 

“Something like that. I will only say that there is nothing inappropriate afoot; you do not need to fear that we are doing anything wrong, in this.”

 

“You sound like me,” Earlene murmured.

 

“I will take that as a compliment. But it is late now, and I am finally feeling sleepy. I will say good-night.” Rising, she kissed Earlene on the cheek and hugged her in a long embrace.

 

“Good night,” Earlene hugged Ithiliel in return, still taken by the dissonance of an human adult-like mind housed in the body of one who still seemed as an barely pubescent teen. She lingered on the roof awhile longer, her eyes raised to behold the works of Varda. Blinking, the memories washed over her of the Valarin Queen, incomparable in beauty and majesty, whose voice she had barely heard speak. How far above her those great ones were, and in all the sea of humanity, how much she had lived her life at their mercy--and generosity. It was the kind of thing that threatened to bring all cognition to a screeching halt, because no matter how advanced her intellect, there really was no understanding it or them. “I have no right to ask for more. But my daughter sees clearly; I do not want to be parted from Allanah. Please, if you could allow our family to remain together, I would be very thankful. And as a mother, I pray that my daughters are not up to anything...unseemly. You have not ever led me astray; your will sees farther than what I can understand. ” 

 

Heaving a big sigh, she rose, and descended to return to bed. The rising humidity of the wee hours brought a slight chill to the outdoors, and slipping in next to Thanadir’s blissful warmth felt not unlike coming near to a cozy fire on a winter’s evening. Best of all, she had completely moved beyond the emotional fallout of the argument she and Thanadir never actually had. He stirred, reaching for her, and pulled her against him until she was captive in his strong arms. Her body molded against his perfectly; from somewhere in sleep his kissed her forehead and murmured something that probably was ‘meldis’, (were she to guess). Drifting off, she now wondered...was he still stronger than her? They had not tried to explore that since she had changed.  _ Hm. Maybe sometime. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	149. One Hundred Forty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 2 - September 6, 2033
> 
> And, why yes, Ann still can't get the formatting right on the dates! *sigh*
> 
> Happy Mother's Day, to those of you where this is celebrated today <3

 

#  {July 2, 2033}

 

Allanah woke early, as a creeping sense of disbelief came over her. One eye opened to register the mosquito netting surrounding her bed in the hotel room.  _ I’m really here. In Africa.  _ For someone who had really not been to too many places on the earth (and none anywhere one might deem exotic) this was a waking dream. It brought excitement, to pass by others and hear them speaking in Swahili. Many of the words she had learned at home, and could smile when she heard “Asante,”  “Karibu,” or “Habari yako.” It took a laughing correction or two, but she even managed “Nzuri”. And today she knew she would hear “Safari njema,”--have a good journey.  _ Oh, what was the point, there would be no more sleep.  _ Sitting up as silently as possible, she remembered not to move the netting--it was early, and she wore no mosquito repellent yet. Then again, she was taking an anti-malarial medicine, did it matter, honestly? _ Probably not _ .

 

A glance across the room revealed the fair form of the only father she had ever known, sort of. Early on she had realized that their family was different. Really different. It had never been fully possible to register that Adar was so different than her, who of all the humans on earth called a powerful Elvenking ‘father.’ He had never really seemed like an elf, any more than Nana did. All her life, she had asked questions and been given honest answers. Guidance, humor, love and affection. Not everyone had those things, and she knew how fortunate she’d been. The day had come when she had asked her mother about her biological father. That had been truly disappointing to hear, but also something she ultimately found to be positive. What would have happened to her if  _ he _ would have raised her?  _ Yuck _ , came to mind, and that was one of the kinder adjectives one might choose to use. So instead of a selfish skirt-chaser with a penchant for blurting out hurtful things, this very beautiful being had cared enough to raise her as his own. Legally and on paper and...everything. And now he was getting dragged along to Africa.

 

A blue eye opened, and Thranduil smiled. “It was never anything other than a joy, Allanah. You have been someone most would dream of having for a child.”

 

“Not fair, Adar. I never know when you are really asleep.” 

 

He twisted to lie on his side, grinning. “I cannot help it. I do not need as much sleep as humans do unless something has happened to me, and your mother insisted I begin this trip well-rested.”

 

“Well I think I am quite done resting, so I guess it’s time to dress and inflict my awful Swahili on some unsuspecting native.”

 

“At least you are trying; I would guess it is more than many will have bothered to do.”

 

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Let’s organize our things. I cannot believe how much Nana found out about, that we might need.”

 

“Ah, but that is what your Nana does. Between her and Thanadir, the world is not safe.”

 

“I’m going to tell on you,” she teased.

 

“You may,” he retorted with humor. “But being a King has its advantages.”

 

“Shall I call you ‘Simba’?”

 

He laughed. “Point taken, young lady. Let us find breakfast.”

 

**

 

_ There is the sign, Adar. We are really doing this. I almost can’t believe it.  _ Allanah’s inner voice held tangible excitement.

 

Despite his generally phlegmatic demeanor, the fascination of this undertaking could not help but begin to seep through. While they were driven by their guides from dust-strewn streets of Moshi to the beginning of the trailhead where they met the full complement of their porters, Thranduil could not help but glance up repeatedly at their objective. And, he...observed. Their fellow climbers, the employees of the outfitter they had paid for this excursion, and more. ‘ _ Kilimanjaro National Park _ ,’ the sign declared in yellow letters. ‘ _ Lemosho Gate. Elevation 2100M. Vegetation zone: Montane Forest _ ’  “This is not Yellowstone,” Thranduil mused quietly. He dressed comfortably in a tee shirt and khaki trousers that cleverly could convert into short pants if he wished them to. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail that covered his ears, and he wore a similar hat to Allanah’s. For him it was a requirement, to appear to need the same equipment as the others. He drew the line at needing to use walking poles, but encouraged his daughter to do so. Earlene had pointed out to him that he might be able to assist those who came less prepared, with items he did not need.

 

**

 

The brown-painted sign read ‘Lemosho Route,’ and the first day traversing it delighted Thranduil. An elf, walking through a forest so far away from his own that there were no adequate words. Not one tree or shrub proved familiar--except for having taken Earlene’s advice, and studied to be able to identify many of the species. Everything was simply very pleasant. For him. And perhaps only him. “It is warm, Da,” Allanah remembered to say, smiling. They both knew she might slip at times, but at least the attempt would be made to call him something not in Sindarin. So ‘Da’ or ‘Fion’ it was, as best as could be managed. Surrounded by the others in their group of twelve or so (it seemed superfluous to count the porters, who had walked this path so many times that for them it seemed familiar, like the route to and from his Halls).

 

But by mid-day, he felt a surprise. One of their cohorts had altered how his trousers were worn and... _ what exactly is that, Allanah? _

 

_ Oh. Those are artificial legs, the kind that I have seen athletes wear.  Prosthetics. Something happened to him, and his legs were amputated. The prosthetics are far better than in ages past, though I would guess having them is still not easy. I have read that those devices cause endless difficulty for those who need them. _

 

Thranduil said nothing but raised his eyebrows.  _ Why would someone without limbs wish to do this?  _ Already he could absorb that for everyone but him, this would be an significant physical challenge...and who knew, perhaps even he would struggle. Elf or no, he still possessed a body that required oxygen and to his knowledge none of his people had ever been tested against this particular difficulty. Shaking his head, he continued on.  _ Rainforest... _

 

*****

 

#  {July 4, 2033--Yellowstone National Park}

 

All things considered, Maerwen was quite glad they’d decided to fork out for such nice RV’s, because if they had to have head colds, at least they could do it in comfort. She and Sharley made sure everyone had tea and soup, and took turns taking each RV to the dumping station. The pair of them also had long, philosophical conversations on the roofs at night, which included wondering why mortals were susceptible to bacteria and viruses and the Eldar were not.

 

It was certainly odd for Maerwen. Both instinct and training were to venerate any of the Ainur or Valar, but she had known Sharley for many years now -- many years in which they had suspected she was Ainu, but never had any confirmation. She did not speak or act in any manner an Ainu might be expected to, nor even like an Elf. She had grown more thoughtful, and the shift in her senses made her act in ways less than human, but she was still  _ Sharley _ . Instinctive reverence warred with long familiarity, and with the fact that Sharley was part of this sprawling family.

 

In the end, Maerwen tried to sit on it, for Sharley’s sake. Nobody might number her among the wise, but she knew that Sharley would not appreciate reverence or veneration -- it would only make things awkward. She contented herself with assisting, and loaning what minor healing ability she had.

 

Most of the D&D’s recovered just fine on their own; once the cold reached the cough stage, they weren’t happy, but neither were they direly ill. Supri, however, started wheezing in a way Ratiri didn't like, and Eris had a full-on asthma attack. Between Maerwen, Sharley, and her medicine, she was fine, and Supri got what Sharley called an immune-system boost. The term meant nothing to Maerwen, but so long as it worked, that was all that really mattered.

 

They had pondered going to the Fourth of July Parade in Jackson Hole, but several still felt too unpleasant to want to do much but lie in the sun on beach chairs until they got too hot. As curious as Maerwen was about this parade, she did not mind missing the crowds that would surely be there.

 

The morning was just beginning to warm, and Lorna half-sat, half-lay in a beach chair, reading Supri a book. Sam and Donna sat nearby, playing chess (badly, apparently; Lorna had taught them, but neither had any aptitude for it), while Saoirse, naturally, drew. Shane was inside the Enterprise, writing something, while Sharley put together that week’s email to Maglor.

 

Chandra, pale and still coughing slightly, emerged from the Enterprise. She looked troubled, and Maerwen hopped off the roof of the caravan to follow her toward the lake. Though the air was warmer, she still wore one of her mother’s flannels, her red hair all but glowing in the sunlight.

 

Maerwen said nothing, but easily caught up to the girl. Chandra was the sort who would speak in her own good time; Maerwen had known her all her life, and knew how to be patient.

 

Only once they were past the edge of the campground, out into the trees, did the poor girl say anything. Shaking her head, she stared out across the water, already growing choppy. “They’re all going to die,” she whispered. “Everyone we meet, they’re all going to die in four years. Less than four, now. I can hardly stand to look at new people now, and they’re everywhere -- the people at the zipline place, our guide for the whitewater rafting. By this time in four years they’ll all be dead -- and the ones who survive might well wish they were.”

 

Maerwen wrapped her arm around Chandra. “I wish I could keep the hurt from you,” she said, as the girl leaned against her. She was so tall, now. “Perhaps we need some time away from the crowds, if that’s possible.”

 

“There’s a trail,” Chandra said, watching the sunlight sparkle on the low waves. “It’s called Avalanche Peak -- it’s only four and a half miles, so a good day hike. But...I kind’ve want to go alone,” she added, more quietly. “Not with...well, everyone.”

 

She didn't want to be A Production, Maerwen realized. “Will you wait a few days, until you are stronger?”

 

The girl nodded. “Maybe this is only bugging me so much because we’ve all been sick, but...well, it has.”

 

“Talk to your mam, too.” Maerwen gave her shoulders a squeeze. “You’re too much like her, in one respect: you don't want to take up too much of someone else’s time. She’s your mother, Chandra; you children are her first priority, even though you and your brother are nearly adults.” Poor Chandra was rather too like her mother in several ways, and none of them were of any benefit to her. Perhaps it would do her good, if Sharley were to let her in on the voices. They’d helped Lorna more than a little.

 

*****

#  {July 6, 2033}

 

Chandra waited a couple days to talk to her mam, mostly because there was so little privacy or opportunity. Maerwen must have said something, though, for after breakfast, Mam nabbed her and took her for a walk.

 

It was early enough that nobody else was really about, the air still so chilly their breath rose in pale clouds. For a while they walked in silence, until they reached the shore of the lake, and listened a while to the gentle lap of water against the rocks.

 

“Did Maerwen tell you what was up with me?” Chandra asked, staring out at the far shore.

 

“No,” Mam said gently, taking her hand. “Just that something  _ was  _ up, but I’d spotted that myself. It’s the people, isn’t it?”

 

Chandra supposed she shouldn’t be surprised -- not much got past Mam. “Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s hard for me to look at them, let alone talk to them, knowing what’s coming. I mean, I can tell myself that statistically some’v them will survive, but that doesn’t really help. How fucking awful would it be, to be the only survivor in a huge area’v dead people? To be maybe the only person out’v everyone you know who survived? Whoever lives, they’ll be surrounded by the dead. They’ll have to scavenge, and given this is America, sooner or later they’ll have to deal with some kind’v heavily-armed enemy.”

 

“I actually kind’v doubt that,” Lorna said. “What disaster movies don't tell you is that petrol actually goes bad after not much time at all. Why do you think we aren’t using any modern farm equipment at all back home? After that first year, there won’t be any cars or motorcycles or...anything.”

 

“...I’m not sure if that’s comforting or not,” Chandra said. “Mainly because, if there’s no modern  farm equipment, how the hell many people outside the forest are going to know how to farm? The survivors might wish they’d died, too.”

 

Lorna wished she knew what to say. Her daughter was right, and yet hearing that would be of no comfort. She herself was not blind to the fact that the lives of everyone they met had an expiration date, but she was better able to distance herself from it. She’d realized years ago that poor Chandra even fewer middle gears than the rest of the Donovans, which was  _ really  _ saying something -- and not anything good. She belonged in a nice, quiet research lab somewhere, living in a nice, quiet home with cats. Only the latter was an option, and even it wouldn’t be in four years. At least she could have her own flat in the Halls.

 

Of course, being constantly in the company of others right now was probably stressing her out, whether she knew it or not. She’d had three months of living on her own, with only Midnight for company, and now she was sharing a caravan with both her parents and her youngest sister. She loved her family, but that that didn't mean being around them 24/7 wasn’t wearing -- especially given they’d all been sick.

 

“Would it be okay if I wanted to go for a solo day hike?” she asked. “Now that we all feel better.”

 

Lorna tried not to wince. The thought made her nervous, but Chandra was sixteen; any human who tried to tangle with her while she was on her own would regret it, and she had bear spray. “Take your mobile,” she said, looking up at her daughter. “I’d feel better if you had it. Where are you wanting to go?”

 

“There’s a trail not far from here, called Avalanche Peak,” Chandra said, scuffing at the dirt with the toe of her boot. “It’s not quite five miles, but it’s steep going up, apparently. Good thing I'm in good shape.”

 

Shaking her head, Lorna kissed her cheek. “I’m making you some sandwiches, but you can go. Take pictures while you’re at it.”

 

Chandra rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her mouth. “How many albums are you going to get out’v this?”

 

“Probably at least twenty,” Lorna said, grinning. “Each’v you kids’ll get one’v your own, and that's just to start.”

 

“Mam, I love you dearly, but you're a menace with the scrapbooks,” her daughter said, really smiling now.

 

“Eh, blame your aunt Mairead. It's her fault.”

 

“I'll be sure to poke her once we get home.”

 

**

 

Sam and Donna were both recovered enough to want to actually  _ do  _ something, but their mother was on a strict regimen of being a couch potato (Uncle Ratiri’s orders), and Gran didn't want to leave Mam. Aunt Sharley agrees to take them on a walk around the lake, to see what there was to see. It was hot, but they could always go wading if they felt like it, and she made sure they each carried a canteen.

 

They weren’t alone, but neither was the shoreline unduly crowded. Lots of people in shorts and sandals, with many a wide-brimmed sun hat. Sharley couldn’t blame poor Chandra for her reaction; she herself had to forcibly not think about just what would happen to all these people in just under four years. She was old enough to be able to accept that there were some things she just couldn’t do -- saving the world wasn’t possible, and she couldn’t beat herself up over that. She, however, had eighteen thousand years’ worth of experience on this planet, whereas Chandra only had sixteen. They could only hope none of the other teenagers dwelled on it.

 

Up ahead of them stood a rather interesting little group of people -- a herd of about twenty Girl Scouts in their uniforms, supervised by two middle-aged women with very bad sunburns. The girls were watching a younger woman in a black and red sundress, with a black straw hat on her head, their expressions distinctly gleeful. “So what do you do if you get someone with their head ripped off?” one girl asked. She was missing both her front teeth. “Like, if a bear got them?”

 

“Stitch the head back on and hope the family will let Grandma wear a scarf,” the woman in black said. “Depending on the skin texture, we might be able to hide it with latex gum tinted to match the complexion, but then you have to hope no one looks too close.”

 

Sharley blinked, thrown. Sam and Donna looked at her, and the girls, and the woman, who seemed far too cheerful for someone talking about hiding a decapitation. Unlike the rest of the group, she had neither suntan nor sunburn; she was very pale, and her shoulder-length hair was heavy, dark, and almost as shiny as an Elf’s, which was kind of impressive, honestly.

 

“Do people really shit themselves when they die?” another girl asked, prompting one of the older women to say, “ _ Susan! _ ” as though that would do any good.

 

“If there was anything in their colon when they died, yes,” the woman in black said. “All the muscles relax when you die --  _ all _ of them, including your bladder and your rectum. So yes, you’ll wet yourself, too.”

 

“Excellent,” the girl, Susan, said, with a little too much relish.

 

Perhaps it was wrong of her, but Sharley did a quick search of the woman in black’s mind, and discovered two things: one, her name was Wednesday, which was way more awesome than it ought to be, and two, that she ran a small funeral home in California.  _ Very  _ small; it was her, her husband, and two friends.

 

_ “Um, Sharley, are you thinking what we’re thinking?”  _ Layla asked.

 

Sharley was indeed thinking what they were thinking. Humans were still going to die, after the end of the world, and currently they had nobody -- not from Baile, nor Lasg’len, or expats, nor Dublin -- who was at all equipped to handle what happened once somebody  _ did  _ die. Could any of them currently handle washing and dressing a body, even if it wasn’t someone they knew? She really, really doubted it. Modern humanity had become so removed from death and everything to do with it, and it only now occurred to her that that would be a huge problem without...help.   
  


“Did Henry the Eighth actually explode after he died?” Sam asked, and the curiosity in his voice was almost worrisome.

 

“He did,” the woman -- Wednesday -- said, with a happy smile. “It was a combination of trying to jam him into a coffin that was too small and a buildup of decomposition gases in his stomach. William the Conqueror exploded, too.”

 

“But if all your muscles are relaxed, how do you not like, fart it out?” 

 

“You actually do pass gas once you’re dead, but the buildup tends to be a pretty rapid process, once it gets going.”

 

Donna wondered if exploding was just something kings did, because they were kings. Henry the Eighth had been an absolute bastard, and while she didn't know if William the Conqueror had been or not, she doubted anyone with ‘the Conqueror’ in their title had been a terribly nice guy.

 

_ Sharley  _ was wondering just how to approach this Wednesday. She wanted Lorna to meet the woman, since _ technically  _ Lorna was the only one who’d been given carte blanche permission to bring people in. A deeper look into Wednesday’s mind showed that her RV was right next door to Voyager, which made things rather easier, at least in theory.

 

Susan, the little Grim Reaper of the Girl Scouts, raised her hand again. “Is it true people can still think after they’ve had their heads chopped off?”

 

“ _ Ew _ ,” one of the other little girls muttered, grimacing.

 

Wednesday shrugged. “Eh...maybe. There’s some evidence to support it, but it’s not like it’s anything that’s going to be tested any time soon. There are reports that a number of severed heads in the French Revolution opened their eyes or tried to speak for a few moments after their executions.”

 

_ Yeah, we definitely need this one _ , Sharley thought. Anybody who could look that happy while talking about decapitation could probably handle what was coming in four years.

 

To the consternation of both Girl Scout monitors, the girls dragged Wednesday off for further questioning, and Donna utterly failed to choke back a laugh.

 

**

 

Lorna was highly interested in this mortician lady, but was at first uncertain just what excuse they were going to use, to go knock on her caravan door. Watching Siobhan fail at using their rather cheap can opener gave her the perfect idea.

 

“Gimme that,” she said, snatching it out of her sister’s hands. The fact that it broke in half so easily was kind of pathetic.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Just wait a minute, I'll be right back.”

 

_ “What’re you gonna do if Mortician Lady doesn’t have a can opener?”  _ Layla asked.

 

Lorna paused at the caravan’s door. “...Shit. Um. We’ll see.  C’mon, kid, come and be cute.” She grabbed Supri, hefting her under one arm. The girl shrieked with laughter, flailing ineffectually as her mother hauled her across grass. Mortician Lady’s caravan looked rather normal, all things considered; it wasn’t a luxury model like their beasts, but it was certainly nice enough. Warm light spilled from the windows, which, now that she looked a little closer, had little spiderweb decals on them.

 

She rapped on the door, and the woman who answered it could only be Mortician Lady -- Sharley had said her name was Wednesday, which was hilariously appropriate, but Sam and Donna kept referring to her as Mortician Lady, and thus did Lorna mentally assign her. “Hi” she said, holding up her half a can opener. “Please tell me you’ve got one’v these we can borrow.” She did her best to mute her accent enough for an American to have a hope of understanding her.

 

“Mam, put me  _ down _ ,” Supri said, still flailing. “I’m not cute, I’m scary!”

 

Wednesday look at her, and at the squirming six-year-old. Her eyes were dark blue, and they widened as she laughed. “Some of the scariest things are cute,” she said. “Yeah, I've got one. Come on in.”

 

Only now did Lorna set down her daughter, who glowered at her through her fringe. She’d have to let the kid have an extra s’more later. “My niece and nephew said you were answering all sorts’v questions earlier,” she said. “I hadn’t heard Henry the Eighth exploded. Serves him right, the bastard.” She looked around curiously; this caravan wasn’t new, but neither was it ancient, the wood paneling on the cupboards and walls actually tasteful rather than tacky. There were little potted plants -- one very healthy-looking miniature hosta, and one extremely sickly Boston fern -- on the kitchen counter.

 

“I love it when kids get curious about death,” Wednesday said, rooting through her cutlery drawer. “They’re Donna and Sam, right?” She didn't know who else they could be, considering they both had an unnerving resemblance to this woman and her daughter.

 

“They are. I’m Lorna, and this one’s Supri -- Supri, allanah, don't poke the plant.”

 

“Will it bite?”

 

“Probably not, but you never know.”

 

The man at the back end of the caravan laughed. Lorna hadn’t spotted him right off, because he was laying down on the sofa, but it was still fairly unforgivable on her part. Thanadir would be disappointed. When he sat up, she saw he had on a faded black Iron Maiden T-shirt, and knew instantly that they’d get along just fine. Both of these two looked so young -- early thirties at the very most -- and she wondered just how long they could actually have been in business. How long did it take to become a mortician?

 

“Nah, you’d need a Venus fly trap for that,” he said. “They tickle when they bite.”

 

Supri looked up at her mother, wide-eyed. “Mam, can we get some? How big are they?”

 

“Tiny,” Lorna said, ruffling her hair. “And sure, we can get some.”

 

“You’re going to have to forgive my stupid American ears,” Wednesday said, still rooting through the drawer, “but you’re Irish, not Scottish, right?”

 

That Americans could confuse the two was somewhat bemusing to Lorna, but she probably couldn’t tell one American accent from another, unless they were really strong. “We are. Well, most’v us; my sister’s kid and grandkids were born in America, and our friend Sharley.”

 

“You should come have cocoa and s’mores with us,” Supri said, with a child’s unselfconscious enthusiasm. “I want to hear about exploding corpses.”

 

“How many of you are there?” Wednesday asked, finally fishing the can opener out of the drawer. They were both so  _ tiny _ , as had the twins been -- Wednesday wasn’t exactly tall herself, but she towered over Lorna.

 

“Sixteen,” Lorna said, grinning. “And before you ask, yes, eleven’v us look scarily identical. The Donovan gene game is a strong one.”

 

Wednesday glanced at her boyfriend, and Lorna could tell she was relieved she hadn’t had to ask. The Donovans were kind of a genetic anomaly, and by now they were all used to the stares when they were out in a group. (When they’d eaten in the Old Faithful Inn’s dining-room, they’d gone a step further, and had all the green-eyed people sit at one end of the table. Five people had looked at them and tripped, and a group of teenagers eyed them and scurried off.)

 

“Give us like ten minutes and we’ll get something together to go with the s’mores,” Wednesday said, handing Lorna the can opener.

 

**

 

While Lorna was away, Sharley sat on the roof of Voyager, looking up at the stars and wondering how to best approach this.

 

There was always a chance this wouldn’t work -- that Wednesday and her husband wouldn’t be able to handle hearing about Elves and the end of the world -- and that their memory of the conversation would have to be erased. The problem was that Sharley didn't actually know how to do that. She’d never asked Thranduil, because she’d never thought she’d need to know how, and what the hell would happen to these two if she got it wrong? It didn't bear thinking about. 

 

That left her with the problem of how to get them to Ireland, though. No sane people would go halfway around the world to see others they’d just met, after all. “Guys, what would the ethics be of kinda...poking them in the brain enough to want to go to Ireland? I don't know what’d happen if I tried to wipe their memories on my own, and I’d rather not find out.”

 

_ “Yeah, we wouldn’t either,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “It’s kinda sticky, but a lot less sticky than trying to wipe their minds and, like, leaving them vegetables.” _

 

_ “No shit,”  _ Jimmy put in.  _ “I say go for it.” _

 

_ “What does it even involve?”  _ Layla asked.

 

Sharley pondered. “Not much,” she said. “It shouldn’t be hard. They look like people who like to travel anyway, or they wouldn’t be in Yellowstone. I just need to kinda...make them like the sound of Irish voices so much they want to go themselves.” 

 

_ “That...actually sounds like a good idea,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Simple, elegant, and minimally invasive.” _

 

That drew a smile from Sharley. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

 

**

 

Neither Wednesday nor Kyle really knew what to make of this group.

 

The Donovan family did indeed look terrifyingly alike -- even the redheaded girl, Chandra, and little Supri, for all their complexions were different. Such strong facial resemblance was as interesting as it was disturbing, but the fact that most of them were so short just made it even weirder.

 

Wednesday had never traveled outside of North America, but maybe she and Kyle needed to take a trip overseas. They’d thought about Europe for years, but Europe was expensive -- but they weren’t getting any younger, and if they didn't go soon, they’d never go at all. A Christmas trip sounded great.

 

It was a great idea. She was glad she’d had it.

 

*****

 

#####  {July 6, 2033}

 

Allanah woke, in the early hours. Despite that she had tolerated the Diamox well, needing to relieve herself at least once at night was a medication-generated necessity. But who could possibly complain, when the night sky above was made of a million diamonds that seemed close enough to reach out and touch? And as always, her father courteously rose with her. The facilities for taking care of business were provided, but far from elegant (anything called ‘toilet tent’ was uninspiring), and though every single person that journeyed with them proved entirely upstanding, Earlene had given him a great deal of education on how a seventeen year old human female who had never explored sexuality might feel about the possibility of being accidentally disturbed while using the toilet. So he walked most of the way with her, to ensure she would not cope with...that. Though honestly, she had more of her mother in her than he guessed Earlene realized. Seventeen or not, Allanah had a remarkable degree of ...presence. 

 

Raising his head to the starry dome above, he found it hard not to wonder if this was a small taste of the beauty his people had appreciated in the years when their race was young. While the illumination cast a different light, leaving the colors of the flora less defined, no doubt existed in his thought that should he need to, he could happily dwell under a sky of stars.

 

_ It is beautiful, isn’t it, Ada?  _ Allanah took his hand; he was the one truly familiar thing in this mesmerizing but alien land.

 

_ Yes. Even though I read about all of this, I am not certain I could have understood this place without the experience of it. A rainforest transitioning into heathers towering overhead--this landscape appears something like the places in Scotland past which Ratiri drove me once. _

 

Allanah grinned.  _ Aunt Lorna would have died down below from the heat, and I think even Uncle Ratiri would not have been too happy. It is very warm here, to their way of thinking. _

 

_ You have not seemed to mind,  _ he smiled.

 

_ I might have but there was a light wind. It cooled me off and thus did not seem so bad. And since we walk slowly, that is not the hard part. But even then, I could tell we climbed higher. And it seemed worth it, to see the peak of the mountain under the bright moonlight. This is as opposite your forest as anything I could possibly imagine. _

 

_ Is that part of why you chose this place?  _ Thranduil asked.

 

_ Maybe a little?  _ She mused, wistful.  _ I thought about China. And then I really thought about South America, to see something like Machu Picchu. But this was a chance to see a land that is in some ways still untamed. Europeans came here and raised hell, but give or take the destruction of far too much wildlife...well, you don’t exactly see malls in downtown Moshi? I wanted to see a place where it was a little like it is at home, where we have a connection to the forest. Can you feel how much these people love their land, how they are part of it? For all the things that have gone wrong here on account of colonialism...I wanted to experience something like this. And it was not going to be in Europe. _

 

_ I will confess,  _ he teased, placing his arm over her shoulder as they watched the stars,  _ I wondered what your reasoning had been when on day three we crossed what seemed like an eternal field of rocks.  _

 

_ High desert, the Shira plateau. I liked it because all day I looked at the clouds and we were above them. And there was no airplane, that was just...us. _

 

_ And how many photos did you take? Will Lorna be happy? _

 

_ No photos, just video. I have been moving very slowly when I film, so that I can get stills later on. I think she will like the ones of us near the Lava Tower. And the Barranco Wall. But I did not film too much there because… _

 

_ Gray rocks. But I think it was a harder day for you?  _

 

_ Yes. I most always feel out of breath now, when we are climbing. And honestly, here it is just outright harder to breathe.  But that is why I wished to take this route; I have never done anything like this and I did not want to be miserable. Five days up and down seemed utterly lacking prudence. And I wanted to appreciate being here, not just plough through and barely survive it. _

 

_ You are doing as well or better as the others here. I am very proud of you; the planning was done very carefully and you chose a personal challenge. You have come to be much more like an elf in ways that would benefit anyone. _

 

_ I had a good example to follow.  _ For many moments nothing was said.  _ Adar, can I talk to you about something not easy for me to ask? _

 

His daughter did not need to ask, for he could see.  _ We will pray, for this is not ours to demand. But...spend the time in between examining your heart and mind very carefully. It will be among the biggest choices you could make, if it is ultimately permitted. They have blessed us, Allanah. In my heart I know whatever the outcome, we will be guided to what is best for all. _

 

_ Thank you. There are times I do not know what is...right now I feel like I do not wish to be parted from what I know and love. I could manage if I stayed. I could manage a lot of things. But my heart seems to lie elsewhere. I know I am still young but it does not change that I have a sense of not wishing to be separated from my family for any reason. I hope that they might have some pity on me. _

 

Thranduil did not answer but instead hugged her against him. He hoped so too.

 

Across the camp, the porters sat. Some needed no sleep past a few hours here and there; others preferred the time to themselves, appreciating their birthright; this privileged working life at the rooftop of their continent--that allowed them to earn very well for their families.

 

“Je! Unaona moja ya rangi?” (Do you see the pale one?) whispered Zane.

 

“Yote haya ni ya rangi” (They are all pale), chuckled Jabari merrily.

 

Zane grinned and elbowed his friend sharply. “Unajua nini ninamaanisha” (You know what I mean).

 

“Ndiyo” (Yes). Jabari sighed. Oh yes, he had seen. They all had, for they were not blind, as these foreigners seemed to be. “Yeye ni...kitu kingine.” (He is...something different than.)

 

*****

 

{July 8, 2033} 

 

Thranduil kept near Allanah incessantly now, and worried. He was managing, in the very thin air, though even he felt a measure of strain. But his daughter, all the humans within his range of thought...they were suffering. Many had lost their acuity of thought. All of them, him excepted, struggled to do only two things: breathe, and place one foot in front of the other. They had been woken in the dark; one hand on his daughter’s arm had ensured her warmth in the night as well as that she slept. All around them, the others were struggling from both the physical effort of the cimb and the thin air. Cold weather gear on, headlamps affixed; and now even he no longer disparaged the use of the walking poles...not so much because he was fighting the same battle as the humans around him, but because wisdom dictated conserving his strength. 

 

While they walked over the snow encrusted ice, he gained a new respect. The determination around him was not anything he could have understood. All of these people were putting themselves through a form of torment not for loved ones, or in defense of something they held dear. All of this was on account of wanting to prove to themselves that they could, or simply because this was very difficult. Earlene had said something about this once, and he had not understood the totality of what she meant. And yet here their daughter was breathing through her mouth as she had been for hours now, straining for air. Compared to one or two, Allanah was doing incredibly well. Briefly they stopped, and he looked to the east. The second peak of Kilimanjaro loomed, blocking the golden orb of the rising sun that lit the cobalt sky. They each drank, and his daughter smiled at him as she caught his eye.  _ Even for you this is a little hard? _

 

_ More than a little,  _ he grinned _. I too need air, but I am faring better. Which is why I am somewhat in awe of what you and the others are enduring. _

 

They resumed, and blessedly the terrain flattened for a time. No one mentioned that this part of the mountain would be covered with ash, that would allow their feet to slip backward halfway for some of the steps they took. And took and took and took, for five and one-half hours, until they reached Stella point. And Allanah burst into laughter. The garish, hobbit-paint-job worthy kelly green and yellow sign screamed, ‘CONGRATULATIONS! You are now at STELLA POINT Alt. 5739M A.M.S.L. TANZANIA World Heritage Site www.tanzaniaparks.com’

 

_ Adar, even the top of Africa has websites. _

 

Thranduil read the sign too, and did a very human thing. Facepalm. And Allanah was running the camera when he did it. Because he was in a very good mood she even coaxed him to remove his hat and sunglasses for a moment to pose near the sign; his hair made an eerie contrast to the garish colors. And behind Allanah, Zane and Jabari smiled and looked at each other knowingly...but this time they were close enough for the Elvenking to hear their thoughts.  _ Hmmmm. _

 

Walking on a few hundred feet, taking their time ( _ poli, poli _ was heard for the thousandth time from their guides--slow, slow), they stood together now, looking up. This was the last stage, the summit and the famed glacier at the top were just ahead. “I still do not understand why, exactly,” he told his daughter. “To go through so much…” he glanced over to the amputee who had struggled through this entire trek, and lightly shook his head.

 

She placed both hands on his shoulders, speaking quietly so no others could hear. “Ada, it is as simple as this: You see Uhuru peak, just ahead. If you cannot understand, then you could descend the mountain right now, content not to have stood on the very top. After all, it is only one hundred and fifty-six meters higher. Inconsequential, after climbing all this way.”

 

Thranduil blinked, and...he did understand after all, for there was no means by which he would voluntarily turn back now. His face broke out in a smile, and Allanah’s along with it. “Run?” she asked. “We can do it.”

 

He knew that if his wife were here, this exact thing would be occurring. It was mad, exhilarating, and at the end of their sprint they were deliriously happy, hugging each other and gasping for air at the base of yet another… “By all the Valar, why are these signs so ugly?” he asked the heavens above.

 

More giggles erupted. “I do not know, but thank you so much. For coming here with me and...everything.”

 

Thranduil hugged her in return. “No, thank you. I never would have done this. I never would have wanted to, or realized why such things could be important. And still there is more to see. Now we should take about a thousand pictures so that I do not have to listen to Lorna complaining.” Hats came off, obliging fellow climbers took many photos of them with assorted devices, before they took more of each other. The glacier. The clouds. The glacier and the clouds and each other. The roof of this entire unimaginably large continent. The others were moving out now; they still had to descend a treacherous and icy slope, so the hats and the...everything, went back on. For just a few moments, he stood at the summit’s edge, looking west over the Serengeti so very far below, through the clouds, and wondered for a moment if this was what the Lord Manwë saw. It felt like being someplace the likes of him was never meant to be...and that did not change that here he stood.

 

**

 

The Inner Ash Cone, they called it, but Allanah had learned quite a lot more. And while they were here, dammit, they were going to go see it and take photos. The mountain had three peaks, not one; they had just stood on the highest which bore the name ‘Kibo.’ Also were the lesser Mawenzi and Shira. “You see, Kibo has a crater, and a crater inside of  _ that _ crater; the Reusch crater. Inside of this second one is the Ash Pit. Which sounds so much like something that should have been in Mordor. A hundred and twenty-one meters across, it is a mess of shale and boulders that rolled their way inside.” She paused. “On second thought, maybe it is more like the mighty Sarlacc in Star Wars,” she chattered away. “And the best part, Ada, is that Reusch was a Christian missionary that found a leopard frozen near here in the snow and cut off its ear as a souvenir.”

 

The Elvenking frowned, trying to process this and failing. Probably Thanadir would have had a better appreciation for the movie reference, and no one he knew at all could fathom keeping a leopard ear. “That sounds awful, and would smell bad,” he commented.

 

Allanah shrugged. “That came to be part of a famous story by a writer named Hemingway.”

 

“The ear?”

 

“Well no, the whole leopard, actually.”

 

Thranduil sighed.

 

*****

 

{July 11, 2033}

 

“Oh my goooooooooooood” could be heard coming from the shower in their lodging in Arusha at Onsea House. This was the transition to their safari, as well as the first hot shower since they began their climb of the mountain. As quaint and interesting as the coffee plantations had been that they passed by, little more mattered than scraping off the grime of 8 days of not bathing. Thranduil chuckled, to hear the expressions of bliss from his usually reserved daughter. Of course, he had courteously insisted she bathe first; he could manage to wait another hour. And there were devices to charge, and wifi and...he could try to communicate with home.

 

_ Thranduil to Thanadir/Earlene: _ We are off the mountain, all is well. Allanah is showering.

 

_ Thanadir: _ I miss you. Was it hard for Allanah?

 

_ Thranduil: _ Meldir, it was hard even for me. Apparently our sort need oxygen too.

 

_ Thanadir: _ Was the view good from up there?

 

Thranduil stared at the screen, knowing that any answer he might return in a text message would be hopelessly inadequate. 

 

_ Thranduil: _ Yes. And, I love you. Have the children been well? And you and Earlene?

 

_ Earlene: _ The Realm is still intact and the house is standing. I call it success. I am well except for missing you both. Where are you?

 

Thranduil laughed heartily. Apparently their standards had dropped off indeed. Then again, no news was good news; that was a mortal saying of which he approved.

 

_ Thranduil: _ Arusha. When we leave here tomorrow we will return to being out of range, we will start the safari and I cannot say if there will be signal. Maybe?

 

_ Earlene: _ Are you managing? I am :-D

 

Now Thranduil howled. Oh, dear. He had not considered that without him around, Thanadir’s interest would be...sporadic at best.

 

_ Thranduil _ : Believe it or not, I am. Something about gasping for oxygen and living in the great outdoors.

 

_ Thanadir: _ Wait, what?

 

Chuckling, he tried to think of how to rescue his wife. 

 

_ Thranduil: _ I will be sending a photo or two just so you have something, hang on…

 

_ Earlene: _ I am so proud of you both...and by all the Valar, that is the best they could do for a sign up there? It looks like a village of hobbits was let loose with paint cans.

 

Tears were now streaking down Thranduil’s face, he was laughing so hard. Allanah appeared out of the shower, towels wrapped around her body and hair. “Adar, is everything alright?”

 

“Yes, it is. Here, come text your mother and Thanadir. They did not like the signs on the mountain either.”

 

Allanah rolled her eyes and in her best sarcastic voice said, “I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro and all I could talk about were the elevation markers.”

 

“Everyone needs a hobby.”

 

“Who told you that?” Allanah challenged.

 

“Your mother,” Thranduil smirked.

 

Allanah’s eyes narrowed as she rubbed her flaming red hair dry. “Hmpf.”

 

*****

 

“Well, it is nice to know they are having a good time,” Earlene said, returning from the greenhouse where she had been harvesting odds and ends for tonight’s dinner. The smile fell from her face when she saw Thanadir’s best glare leveled at her. “What?” It had been so long since she had beheld this particular scowl that it was frankly rather unnerving. 

 

“You are  _ managing _ ?” he huffed.

 

“You are not angry about that, are you? I was...it was to Thranduil, meldir. Private to the three of us. I was teasing him, not you.”

 

“That is hardly what it feels like, now that I understand what you must have meant.”

 

_ Well, shit. _ Earlene heaved a sigh. “I...it was not my intention for you to feel slighted. But obviously that did not work out, so, please pardon me.”

 

“You are just saying that to pacify me.”

 

“You’re joking,” she said flatly, having reached her limit of concession for this exact moment. “I just apologized to you out of regard for your feelings when I do not feel I did anything wrong, and now you are trying to make me wrong about that too?” The vegetables and herbs went on the countertop with a sort of ‘whump’ sound, allowing her to now place her hands on her hips in generalized ire. While all the while feeling eerily like this borderline argument was her dream of a couple of weeks ago, version 2.0.

 

“I am not trying to make you wrong about anything. That is not necessary, because you  _ are _ wrong,” he retorted, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“You know, I no longer have to put up with this on any level, Thanadir. You are no longer stronger than me, you can no longer hide better than me, nor can you do much of anything to me. I was allowed to be on an equal playing field with you, so don’t give me the Scowling Seneschal routine and think that it is going to work this time. I love you, and we are supposed to be able to talk about disagreements rationally like adults, without you trying to bully me with your ‘Thanadir is right and Earlene is wrong by virtue of the fact that you are Thanadir.’”

 

His eyes flared in challenge. “You think so?”

 

“Yes, I rather do.”

 

They stared at each other, taking each other’s measure. 

 

“And how do you propose we settle this?” he asked, not about to budge.

 

Earlene elected to take another huge risk. This was the equivalent of betting all one’s chips on a poker hand believed to have a greater than 85% chance of winning. “We go out in the woods one half hour from now. The object is to take down and capture the other. Each of us is allowed a coil of rope, no weapons. Honor system. Neither of us is allowed to remain in a single location for more than five minutes. Nothing can be employed that is designed to cause intentional bodily harm; otherwise there are no limits. A physical and intellectual match. With a time limit of three hours. If neither succeeds, we agree to defer this disagreement until a later suitable time.”

 

“You said you never wished to be tied up again, and I promised to abide by that,” he countered. “And what does either of us gain by this? What does the victor achieve?”

 

“I withdraw my earlier request and release you from your promise. And, submission,” she hissed at him. “The admission that one has beaten the other in a fair contest, and the deference expected from the outcome.”

 

“Is there a time limit on the results?” he asked warily.

 

She thought for a moment. “Six weeks.”

 

“I accept,” he smirked, storming off.

 

Earlene watched him go, shaking her head in disbelief. “Because I know-a something you do not,” she whispered to herself in her best Inigo Montoya accent. Under no circumstances would she be cocky about her chances; Thanadir was very, very good. She simply had one ace up her proverbial sleeve that might or might not work. But  _ goddammit _ he needed to be taken down a peg...the first stop was their bedroom, to change her clothes. The second stop was the barn. It had hung there for the longest time but had gone unremarked, gathering dust. Taking it down from the peg, she rearranged the rope into a more ordinary looking coil--and really hoped she still retained her skill at this.

 

**

 

“Well? How do we begin this?” he asked. 

 

It was a given that they hid their thoughts from each other, but her eyes narrowed. If Thanadir had one fault, it was his bottomless self-assurance in the face of anyone but Thranduil. Which was a polite way of saying, the elf could be really quite arrogant when he got on a roll. “Coin toss. Winner gets a three minute head start.”

 

Thanadir wavered for a moment. “What is a coin toss?”

 

Her eyes were hard as she looked back at him. “So you don’t know  _ everything _ ? It means, a coin is flipped into the air. While it is aloft, the person chooses what face up the coin will be when caught or allowed to fall on the ground; heads or tails. If the choice matches what the coin does, then it is a ‘win.’ Do you wish me to demonstrate once?”

 

“No,” he said irritably. “That is simple.”

 

“Good then, you call it.” She procured a Euro from her pocket and flipped it high in the air. 

 

“Heads,” he called.

 

“Tails,” Earlene announced, allowing it to fall on the ground lest she be accused of interfering. “You lose. I get the three minute start.” Turning on her heel, she ran away through the trees.

 

“It won’t help you,” he whispered, but even as he said the words, he wondered. Was he doing it again? The coil went over his shoulder, as he tried to think.  _ I had a right to be upset, _ he reasoned.  _ It was not right of her to poke fun at me for how I am. But...was I overreacting? That has happened before. Maybe you are just upset, because Thranduil is gone for so long? You have not been apart from him in...you have never been apart from him.  _ His chin began to quiver a little.  _ Was this about to be another mess? _ And now either way Earlene was...not pleased with him. But he was the one who had made a fuss and now what else was he to do? It was hardly in him to back down; he had accepted the challenge. Nor could he cope with the idea of deliberately losing. Honestly he did not want to cope with losing at all.  _ I wish I could think before I react sometimes. Has it been three minutes? _

 

_ ** _

 

Every footfall, she did her damnedest to find a rock or a stump to land on wherever possible. Anything, to mask her passage and buy her some time to practice. Sadly, he knew all her favorite trees, so none of those would work. Or would they? He would actually expect her to not do the stunningly obvious; it would not be like her. What  _ would _ be like her would be to run like a bat out of hell to get as far away as possible from him. This whole thing was a calculated risk; he would anticipate a drawn-out contest with perhaps a lot of chasing around and tracking; it was the totality of what they had done with each other in training or just goofing around to test their skills.  _ Might as well go for broke. Go big or go home,  _ she grimaced, taking the coil off. She had three precious minutes and needed to make use of them. This particular tree wasn’t even off the track, making it a completely absurd choice for a hiding spot. But it did have something unusual; a clear drop to the ground as well as a good chance that he might come this way. Widening the loop, she tried to channel her thirteen year-old self, and began to spin the lariat. Left, right, left, right, up, down. Yes, he muscle memory was still there.

 

And unbelievably, here came Thanadir. Nothing could be this easy, could it?  _ Reel it in, Earlene. Even if you manage to catch him, you’re in for a fight. You’ll have to pull him down and get his legs fast or you’re screwed; you never did test out if he still is stronger than you...and he is very strong. But you can do this. Focus. Just pretend he is a calf.  A big, brown-haired calf... _

 

In a fluid motion, the lariat flew over Thanadir’s upper body, tightening hard and perfectly just above his elbows. Jerking with all her strength upward, he was pulled off his feet even as she jumped off the branch overhead, knocking him down hard. More loops spun around one raised ankle and the wrist she had managed to wrench roughly behind his back. He fought back like a demon, now that he understood what was happening, trying to get a hold on her with his one free hand. It was imperative to pin that last free arm, so she did what she felt was necessary and landed all her weight with her knee right on his shoulder blade, knocking the wind out of him for a second time and giving the split second necessary to force his free arm behind his back. In just a moment, he was effectively hog-tied and after securing her knot, she stood up, involuntarily shaking from the stress and sheer audacity of what she had just done.

 

Thanadir was not moving. “Are you hurt?” she asked, trying to master her voice.

 

“No,” came back in a barely audible whisper. 

 

“Do you admit defeat?”

 

Silence.  _ Shit _ . She hated to be a bitch, but making a point needed to be...making a point. “I asked you a question, Thanadir. Do you admit defeat?”

 

He turned his head away from her and tested the rope with one last struggle. “Yes,” che finally answered in a very small voice.

 

Only now did it occur to her, what else may have been going on here.  _ Double shit _ . But... _ of all the goddamn times for Thranduil to be in the middle of Africa _ . “I am going to free you, in the expectation that you will uphold our agreement.”

 

Silence. About the last thing in the world she worried about was the idea of Thanadir going back on his word, so off the stiff rope came, until he was unbound. And still he did not move, except to extend his leg. Moving around him, she crouched down to pull his hair back from his face, and saw tears.  _ I was afraid of this.  _ “Come here,” she said softly, pulling him up into her arms. “It will be alright.”

 

“I am sorry,” he shook his head. “I still cannot seem to…”

 

“No, not here,” she said, hugging him close. “I did not realize until too late either. I think we should walk back home when you feel ready. I love you.”

 

He nodded, still holding onto her; a few moments later she helped him to his feet, then brushed the tears from his cheeks. “What is that?” he asked dully, defeat etched into every word.

 

“It is called a lariat. Something used in America to catch livestock.” She laced her fingers into his, smiling a little when he disentangled them to offer her his arm instead. With a very deep sigh, he followed her gentle pull on him.

 

**

 

They entered their bedroom via the French doors, to avoid the house even though there were few enough in it just now. Thanadir sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

 

“Look at me,” Earlene insisted, sitting next to him. 

 

With difficulty, the elf raised his eyes. They were filled with disappointment, and regret. 

 

“I love you,” she repeated, opening herself to him. “No harm was done. And we both learned something. I know how hard you will want to be on yourself, but you must try not to let that win out. Will you be able to manage that?”

 

He averted his eyes, nodding. Earlene slipped her arms around him, moving to hold him close. “Let me in? Please?” His mental barrier fell, and their thoughts met; his sorrow and regret mingled with her calm reassurance. “Everything will be alright.”

 

“How can you know that?” 

 

“Because I love you, Thanadir. And Thranduil loves you. You are not alone any more. Your struggle is our struggle, and we will not leave you to cope with your difficulties on your own.”

 

“I still feel ashamed,” he whispered, anguished. “After everything that has happened. After Erestor and...you, and all the hurt I have given and received, how is it that I cannot seem to learn? What hope is there for me, Earlene, if I cannot stop making the same mistake?”

 

“But you did learn. You caught yourself, sooner than ever before. That is new. And, would you undress to expose your back to me?”

 

He wanted to ask why, and remembered the price of his loss. Submission. He had no grounds to argue or protest reasonable requests, and maybe not even unreasonable ones; he had agreed to this. Nodding slowly, he removed his vest and tunic. 

 

“Boots too. And if you would loosen the lacings on your breeches, and lie down on your belly.”

 

Numbly, he did as he was told. Earlene mixed some oils, and brought a bowl over to the bed, coating her hands well after moving his hair well aside. Gently, thoroughly, she began to rub this into his skin, pressing into the muscles.

 

“You are massaging me?” he asked in disbelief. “After what I just did, why??”

 

“Why not? You are my mate, and I wish to touch you. Is that so strange?”

 

“No,” he whispered. He knew perfectly well what she was doing, and her insistence on treating him kindly almost made him feel worse. 

 

Earlene did not cease her efforts, and considered the lean and wiry frame underneath her hands, and how very much she loved this elf. Her husband. Was it an inescapable circumstance, that the same attributes that made him unique among their kind caused him such difficulty? She did not think so. In time, he could gain better insight.

 

“Do you really believe that?” he asked softly, aware of her thoughts. 

 

“Yes. Not every kind of change can come all at once, Thanadir. Think of some of the things Thranduil and I have struggled with, about me not feeling listened to when he did listen to Lorna. That happened more than once, but each time taught us something. And I know these were mistakes. That all seems very normal to me, because I am human. Was human. I still don’t know what I am. But the point is, sometimes we have to try more than once to overcome long-standing behaviors. You face even more of a challenge. I know you are trying, and I have faith in you.” Her hands continued to caress his back.

 

He considered her words, and leaned up on his elbows, turning to her. “Thank you, meldis. I will keep on, and hope I do better next time.”

 

“Will it upset you if I tell you I think you are a bit sexy, like this?” she asked, unable to keep from nuzzling him.

 

“No,” he laughed. “Not upset. I do not understand what you see, but I accepted that a long time ago.” Thanadir paused. “What is sexy to you?” 

 

“I have enjoyed being submissive to you. It can be...exciting, in a way. Trying the other way around is...this could be interesting.” Leaning down, she nipped gently at the edge of his ear.

 

“Oh dear,” Thanadir murmured, only now considering this new dimension of his current predicament.

 

Earlene grinned from ear to ear. “Sit up please. And kiss me.”

 

*****

 

#  {July 23, 2033}

 

_ To:  _ [ _ quingi@gmail.com _ ](mailto:quinqi@gmail.com)

 

_ Subject: Photos and stuff _

 

_ Hi Laurë, _

 

_ We went to the Mammoth Hot Springs today -- the terrace things that Saoirse says look like someone decided to boil the moon. Grania’s birthday was the 14th, so Shane made a cake that we all decorated. I included a picture, but don't show Earlene, it’s embarrassing. Tasted good, at least. _

 

_ We also met two people Lorna and I decided we’re going to need in the future. Modern Western humans are pretty detached from death and everything to do with it, and these two run an alternative mortuary. Whenever people inevitably start dying in the Halls, of old age or whatever, these two can help the rest of them handle it the way people did right up until about the 1950’s -- to let themselves grieve, and accept that death is going to happen no matter what, rather than fear it and ignore it like everyone does now. Sam and Donna love them already, because they know so much creepy trivia (did you know Henry the Eighth’s corpse exploded? Because I didn't.) _

 

_ I didn't actually tell either of them about the plague and all that, because I don't know how to safely wipe someone’s memory if I have to, so I planted a desire to travel to Ireland into their minds. We might have guests at Christmas. _

 

_ How is everyone? Are you and Quen/Pen enjoying having fewer people in the house? And did Sean ever come over again? Lorna the Younger is totally clueless as to why he’d ask, so he’d better step up his game if he wants to get anywhere. Woman’s almost as dense as her aunt in that department, and that’s just sad. I miss you, and that Lump, so hug her for me. And of course Saoirse wants to know how Booger is. _

 

_ I miss you, and I love you :D _

 

_ -Sharlerillë _

 

**

 

Maglor read the email. And blinked. And read the email again, and closed his eyes. This...required consultation.

 

**

 

“Aran Thranduil, might I speak with you?” Maglor asked softly, finding that his sovereign was in the Quiet Room.

 

“Of course, please sit.” Thranduil patted the cushion. He still was reintegrating his mind from having been somewhere so utterly different such a short time ago. The colors in here, from the window...Ireland might have green but the colors of the sky in Africa; the sunrises and sunsets...he was sure there never would be the like again for him. 

 

“I...this is awkward for me but I hoped to speak with you about...my wife. She sent me this email.” Maglor offered up his screen tablet.

 

The King read, his brows knitting. While several thoughts of his own had formed right away, he waited to hear what Maglor would say, looking at him in inquiry.

 

“I love Sharley. Tirillë. But I worry, too. She has more power than anyone here but an encompassing naivete about the use of it. My wife was not meant to exist in this world and yet here she is, and has become so disconnected from her origins that the mere idea of dwelling where she actually belongs is anathema to her. I take responsibility for much of what happened, but it does not change that I do not know how to speak to her about this and similar matters without saying something she will perceive as a personal rejection,” he concluded miserably.

 

“Then it is not just me,” Thranduil said softly. “I have wished to speak to you about exactly this for some time but felt I was exceeding all bounds of propriety by doing so.”

 

Maglor smiled crookedly. “Would you allow me to know your concerns?”

 

“She is a higher order of being than me. Or you. Someone I should revere, honor. Obey, even. But she is not...right in her thinking. I credit her, for how much she loves and cares for her human friends but it is almost a form of…”

 

“Clinging to pretending she is something she is not?” Maglor finished. “I have seen the same and I too am uncertain what to do. I am old but just an elf; an elf who has veered badly off course at that. But what I fear the most is...she has great depth of feeling and a good heart. One of the best. And I feel helpless because there is no way to speak about any of this with her and not have it seem to be saying, ‘Sharley, you’re wrong. You’re doing it wrong, you need to be something else.”

 

“I know,” Thranduil said morosely. “Maglor, in this--I am not your King. I am another elf who formerly was the greatest power in this forest, save the Valar that come and go as they wish. Your words echo my own thoughts. I do not know how to bring this up, but that she does not understand that this is...wrong...bothers me a great deal.”

 

“She means well,” Maglor offered hopelessly.

 

“But does not understand the ethics of using her gifts,” Thranduil said, knowing that he too had not precisely been perfect in this department. And yet for all his failures...he had always operated within the confines of a set of well-defined, self-imposed rules. He was not certain Sharley had any such thing.

 

*****

 

#  {Meanwhile in Valinor--Halls of Vairë}

 

A knock came to Vairë’s door.  “Come in,” she said absently. A particularly long tapestry that detailed Glorfindel and Erestor’s marriage had just reached completion, and she would be damned if this one was going to be placed in her husband’s Halls unless it was perfect in every way. That meant checking the blues with a proverbial magnification glass…

 

“Good day, wife,” came the smooth baritone voice. 

 

_ Really? _ He never came here unless there was a fiasco. “My Lord,” she smiled, bowing her head lightly to him. “What impending disaster brings you here this fine day?” Námo was actually quite handsome, once one looked past the dark coloring of his hair and eyes. Alabaster skin, midnight blue robes, and always an ethereal quality to his entire being. And even though their tasks were so different, she loved him. If nothing else, they shared an appreciation of irony. Maybe they even relished a good predicament or two. That he was smiling a little at the corners of his mouth at least let her know that this was not a ‘Manwë-is-incensed’ level problem.

 

“I am afraid that will be for you to determine, dear one. It seems we need to discuss your Tirillë.”

 

_ Uh-oh. _ “Is this something about Maglor?” she asked hopefully.

 

“No, Maglor has been a model of obedience and humility. Tirillë, however, has been tinkering with the mortals in ways that are entirely questionable. First she was intent on erasing a mortal memory without consent, but Thranduil persuaded her against that action. Then she altered the thought process of another, admittedly with good intentions and not so different than what Thranduil has done--except, Thranduil knows his limitations. And today, she manipulated a random mortal stranger by planting a foreign desire to act in a certain manner. So your word choice is magnificent; you have a powerful servant loose elsewhere who is seemingly oblivious to the risks of her actions.”

 

“I’m sure she means well,” Vairë countered, hating it when he was right. And he was  _ always _ right. 

 

“Yes. Well, the road to the Void is paved with good intentions, is it not?” he smiled. “If she will not remain here, this is your mess to clean up, unfortunately. That leaves one choice, as I see it.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “Can you at least ask our Lord for an eagle?”

 

“It will cost you,” he grinned.

 

“What?”

 

“Romantic dinner. No interruptions.”

 

She laughed. “Fine. But in your Halls, not here. That pretty chamber, where the moonlight comes in. And no Fëanor!” 

 

“Deal,” he chuckled. “Eagle, tomorrow afternoon. Dinner, tonight.”

 

They gave each other a peck on the lips, knowing there would be plenty of time later on. Once he departed, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling overhead. “Because  _ this _ won’t be weird,” the Vala muttered.

 

**

 

#  {September 2, 2033}

 

The knock fell heavily on the door of Eldamar, which seemed….odd. No one ever knocked. “Who might that be?” Thanadir asked, holding up his rolling pin. They were just in the middle of cooking tortillas for lunch burritos; Thanadir was rolling out the little balls of dough into large circles and Earlene was in charge of the griddle. Between the two of them, they could make a fairly rapid production out of it. 

 

“No idea, beloved, but you will have to answer the door; an ignored tortilla is an incinerated tortilla.”

 

He smiled at this truth; there was a reason he was not on griddle duty. Just because of that one instance when he had been sure there was enough time to sneak off to use the toilet… Her gentle humor was appreciated; all these weeks later he still was struggling with both his defeat at her hands and the fact that the contest had ever occurred in the first place. They had all discussed it with Thranduil after his return from Africa, and decided to call it a Mini-Relapse. More than anything they praised him for having had some self-awareness of what might be occurring within him; it was the first time he had ever stopped to consider this earlier on in one of his...episodes. And none of them had considered that being apart from Thranduil for so long would be a significant stress on him...but none of that hindsight exactly made him feel good about himself just now.

 

Not thinking to place the rolling pin on the countertop, Thanadir walked to the door, his hair charmingly pulled back and held by a wooden clip of sorts that Eris had given him as a gift. It came in very handy for confining his hair when they prepared food; Earlene did the same with her own hair and generally insisted that hair be managed so that it could not wind up in batters, doughs and god forbid, casseroles. Pulling the door open, his lips slackened, and eyes widened in disbelief before he dropped to his knees and bowed his head, blushing furiously and wondering if his life had become some elven form of karma. Even though that could not possibly be the case.

 

Vairë laughed musically. “Ah, none of that, dear Thanadir. You are loved, and I hopefully am in time for lunch.” A strong hand reached to lift him back to his feet.

 

“Y-yes Lady,” he stammered, feeling incredibly un-seneschal like at this exact moment. “Please come in.” 

 

Earlene noted that both hounds skittered down the spiral stairs and did not bark or whine. This was enough of an eyebrow-raiser that she shut off the burner and flipped the tortilla off the griddle, walking out of the kitchen before her eyes too widened.

 

“Ah-ah please, no,” the Lady scolded gently, catching Earlene’s elbow before she could manage to kneel as well. “I thank you, but really we must move beyond that, for I am here to impose on you mightily.”

 

“Lady, you are a...Lady, you may do whatever you wish,” Earlene said helplessly. “How may we serve you?”

 

“Well, lunch smells quite wonderful, if I may? You see, I am here to see Sharley. And I am afraid I will be staying for as long as need be.”

 

“We have bedrooms and clothing; you are welcome, or if you prefer to lodge in Thranduil’s Halls?”

 

“No, here is where Sharley lives with Maglor, yes?”

 

Thanadir nodded, still deeply in shock.

 

“Then this is perfect. Please, go on with whatever you were doing, I hope you can forgive my unannounced visit.”

 

“There is nothing to forgive, Lady,” Earlene smiled. “I hope you like salsa.”

  
  


*****

 

#  {September 6, 2033}

 

None of the Duncan-Donovans knew quite what to think, when they exited the airport in Dublin. It was seven in the evening, the sky leaden and car park puddled with rainwater. Those three months had been it -- they’d never go back to Yellowstone, probably. The Doomsday Clock was approaching midnight and didn't even know it; who knew how many future trips they could take anywhere?

 

Saoirse had a head filled with paintings waiting to happen, and they all had souvenirs, including many seeds. Some would grow well in the forest, while others might need a greenhouse to be truly happy. Either way, they were pieces of that beautiful place -- reminders for the future.

 

Once they’d loaded everything into the shuttle that would take them to Limerick, Chandra stared out the window. Dublin, in all its rainy glory, whizzed by outside the window, droplets beading and streaking on the glass. She had never quite managed to forget the fact that everyone they met would die in less than four years, and it had left her drained in a way none of the others quite were. Mam and Aunt Sharley had stuck with her, at least, and she’d gone off on her own several times, enjoying the beauty of the park without being faced with...well, the future.

 

Shane elbowed her. “You okay?” Once he was pried away from Algar and Thaladir, he was actually a pretty good brother -- like he’d been when they were younger, and had spent all their time chasing after Atia.

 

“I am,” she said. “It’s just...when we were kids, the end’v the world seems ages away. We’re getting down to the wire now, and it just gets more and more...real. Every time I think I’ve made peace with it, something pops up to remind me no, no I actually haven’t.”

 

Shane looked at his sister. She could be so prickly, but he knew why -- and he didn't know what to do about it. Chandra felt things with an acuity he didn't understand; she couldn’t distance herself, or put things from her mind. “That just means you aren’t an asshole,” he said. “You going to go back to Baile for a while?”

 

“Yeah,” she sighed.

 

“You mind if Atia and I come with you?”

 

Chandra looked at him, surprised. “You’d want to?”

 

The disbelief in her voice made him wince. Maybe he’d been falling down on brother-duty...Chandra wasn’t like other people, and not in the same way Saoirse was. Hanging out with Thaladir and Algar was easier, but that didn't make hanging out with them  _ all  _ the time right. They weren’t his brothers; someday, they’d go to Aman, and wouldn’t need him looking after them. Not that Algar really needed looking after, but still. “Yeah, I would. Atia, you want to go to Baile for a while?”

 

“Hell yeah!” their little sister called.

 

“The Small One has spoken.” It was kind of hilarious, because although Atia wasn’t biologically a Donovan, she wasn’t much bigger than one. She was right between Aunt Siobhan and Uncle Pat in height, still in the arms-and-legs stage of early adolescence.

 

“I heard that!”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. She was glad Shane and Atia were doing this, though; she wanted to go and spend some time in Baile herself, but that would mean taking Supri, because the poor kid still sometimes had nightmares and needed Mam. Their trips would have to be shorter, because Supri would start school soon -- she already knew how to read, but was too fidgety to sit still for very long, so they’d see how  _ that  _ would go.

 

It grieved her, too, that that was the last time any of them would ever see Yellowstone in this life. They could probably squeeze in one or two more trips to Ross Lake, and then that too would be over. How were they all going to cope, once the world ended, with knowing that travel would never again be possible? It was one thing to not  _ want  _ to, and quite another to not be  _ able  _ to. She’d gained a taste for it -- they all had -- and yet they needed to reconcile themselves to the fact that in not very long, nobody would be going anywhere. Even  _ Baile  _ would be out of reach -- not that there would be anything to see there.

 

_ I wish it need not have happened in my time _ , she thought, recalling Gandalf’s quote from  _ The Fellowship of the Ring.  _ Had Tolkien only known….  _ So do all who live in such times. But it is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. _

 

_ “It’s too bad Tolkien could never have come here,”  _ Layla said.  _ “It would have made his lifetime.” _

 

“I think seeing what was to come would break his heart,” Lorna murmured.

 

Pat got nominated to drive the commuter van back to Eldamar. Grania was snoozing, using his jacket as a pillow; he knew she was as glad to be home as he was. Yellowstone was beautiful, but it would be good to be back in their own bed -- though tonight they would probably crash in the house, because he didn't feel like walking to the Halls in this weather, and he doubted she did, either. They were both in their sixties now; Lorna the Younger could handle that walk, but he didn't want to.

 

It started raining in earnest when they were on the motorway, but at least there wasn’t  _ too  _ much traffic; it meant they got home at about 9:30. It was fully dark now, the wind was rising -- maybe a storm had followed them across the Atlantic.

 

“I vote we leave the stuff,” Siobhan said wearily. “Jesus it’s sheeting out there.”

 

“Ew, yeah it is.” Eris’s nose wrinkled as she watched the water sluice down the windows.

 

“I swear it always does this when we come home from holiday,” Saoirse grumbled. 

 

Ratiri wondered if that was maybe a sign, and decided he’d rather not think about it. He picked up his youngest daughter, knowing she’d probably only slip and faceplant if she tried to run across the wet yard. “We should at least grab the bag with the toiletries.”

 

“On it.” Lorna had tied a green ribbon alongside the pink one, so she’d know which case held them all. “All right, everybody in.”

 

They surged across the lawn like a tide, a whole bunch of tiny humans, a few tall ones, an Elf, and a Maia, splashing and shrieking a little at how cold the rain was. Pat would swear there were little bits of hail in it.

 

“We have landed!” Lorna called, as soon as they burst into the house. “Just in time for the skies to piss on us, of bloody course.”

 

Pickles must have kitty radar, because she couldn’t have heard them come in, and yet she scurried across the floor, squeaking and chirping the whole way. Booger thundered after her, and all but leapt into Saoirse’s arms, purring like a motor on the fritz.

 

“Tea,” Pat said, fumbling his shoes off before all but zombie-ing his way into the kitchen. Even in business class, airline tea just wasn’t great.

 

Sharley just wanted to hunt down her husband. Okay, her husband  _ and  _ her fat cat, but in that order.

 

Thranduil appeared around the corner from the Heart Room, beaming. And smirking. It sort of vacillated between the two. “Welcome home,” his sonorous voice declared. That was the last thing anyone could say until Flynn and Glenda stopped barking, but it also caused all the Sullivan children in this wing of the home to empty out of their rooms to say Hello. Usually Thranduil allowed the dogs twenty odd seconds of expressing themselves before demanding that they cease and desist. “We missed you.”

 

“We missed you, too,” Lorna said, hugging him. “Did you and Allanah have fun in Africa? Did you take pictures?”

 

Ratiri rolled his eyes, because of course she’d ask about pictures. “We had fun, but it’s good to be home.”

 

“Yeah it is,” Grania said, yawning. “Christ, listen to me. I’m getting too old for twenty-hour flights.”

 

“Is Maglor in our room?” Sharley asked, even as her eyes found Allanah. “I want stories, Allanah. I want to know what my sunshine woman got up to.”

 

“Almost nineteen thousand feet,” Allanah smiled. “It’s too much to talk about in one minute or even one night. I have a...I made a video to show everyone, maybe later when everyone’s recovered. Maglor is in the Heart Room with...well, we have a special houseguest.”

 

Thranduil nodded, smirking even more.

 

Lorna eyed him warily. That smirk was not an expression she was ever going to trust.  _ I’m not sure I want to know, but I’m equally sure I’ll find out. _

 

“Then I will say hi to them as well,” Sharley said, and gave Allanah a quick hug before scooting for the Heart Room on her stocking feet. “Lump!” The cat had come lumbering down the spiral staircase, and she snatched the creature up, hugging her close and listening to her purr.

 

Maglor had risen, understanding the commotion for what it was, and threaded his way through to embrace and kiss his wife.  _  Welcome home, I have missed you very much. I do not wish you to be startled; there is someone here to see you. Your Lady is in the other room. And I do not mean tonight only; she is our houseguest until further notice. _

 

Sharley hefted the Lump up onto her shoulder so she could give Maglor a proper hug. She’d missed sleeping beside him so much, but he’d been safe here.  _ I missed you, too, but what on Earth is my Lady doing here?  _ She gave him a kiss that was mostly chaste, because she knew he’d be mortified by anything less proper in semi-public. Had Vairë decided to take a vacation? And come  _ here _ ?

 

_ We do not exactly know, but she has been very enjoyable company,  _ he admitted.  _ And she seems to be greatly enjoying the food, so…  _ he shrugged helplessly.

 

_ Of course she is -- it’s Earlene’s cooking. I hope it’s not blasphemy to say that I doubt any better could be found even in Aman.  _ She took his hand, and led him into the Heart Room, Lump still cradled in her other arm, purring ecstatically.

 

Vairë had managed to do a solid job of toning down her innate otherworldliness, but it was basically impossible for her to appear as an ordinary elf; her radiance could not fully be diminished. She rose to greet Sharley. “Welcome home, Tirillë,” her musical voice lilted.  _ I know you have many questions, and they will be answered when you are refreshed. Mostly I have come because you cannot be where I am and...there are many things that need discussion. Plus I am very much enjoying this Internet that you have. _

 

Sharley passed the Lump to Maglor so she could go and hug her Lady. “It’s good to be home.”  _ Is everything okay? I mean, I hope you’re here for a good reason, a happy one. And the Internet is way too much fun, but stay away from certain parts of it. _ Some of the things to be found there...the Valar really didn't need to be seeing that. They didn't need to know it _ existed _ .

 

_ I am Vairë, dear one. Do not worry about me. And yes, everything is well enough. I am here for you, and that to me is a good reason. _

 

_ How long have you been here? Have you met all the kitties?  _ Yes, Sharley knew she was being inane, but she’d been thrown for a loop here. For all she’d hoped Vairë would one day take a trip to Earth, she’d never, ever imagined it would actually  _ happen _ .

 

“Oi, Sharley, you ran off before Pat could get your tea order,” Lorna said, shivering. That fire looked wonderful, and she gave Pickles a scratch behind the ear. “We -- oh. Hi. Thranduil didn't say we had company.” This woman looked rather like an Elf, but by now she knew all the native Elves, so to speak. Had they found someone else while the D&D’s were away? And why hadn’t Thranduil said anything? Oh right, because he was Thranduil, and a troll.

 

Thanadir rose, placing a hand on Lorna’s shoulder. “Try not to be too startled. That is the Lady Vairë. She is visiting us.” Yes, he knew his King and Lorna kept up these games, but he would not be so unkind as to let Lorna have an embarrassing reaction. Really, it was not fair. Though come to think of it, no matter what Lorna did next at least she would not be kneeling with a rolling pin in her hand.

 

Lorna stared at him, wide-eyed. They had a Vala in their sitting-room.  _ Sharley’s  _ Vala was visiting Eldamar. Just...what? “I’m going to murder him in the face,” she whispered, turning her stare to Vairë. Her mind utterly blanked on what you were supposed to do when faced with a Vala, so she executed some kind of bastard bow and salute -- except she saluted with the hand holding Pickles, who did not appreciate it in the slightest.

 

Sharley rolled her eyes. “My Lady, this is Lorna. Lorna, this is my Lady, and I will help you murder Thranduil, but only a little. I don't want to know what Earlene would do to us if we went all the way.”

 

Kurt had kept suspiciously silent, though for good reason -- he would rather not grab Vairë’s attention. At this, however, he couldn’t help himself.  _ “That’s what she said.” _

 

“ _ Kurt, _ ” Sharley and Lorna said in unison.

 

Thranduil leaned against the hearth, his arm around Allanah, grinning. Allanah elbowed him. She could not read her father’s thought, but knew enough to see he had teased Lorna. “You are terrible, Ada,” she chided, unable to help grinning as well when she saw that Vairë quite obviously found the whole situation just as funny as did her father.

 

“I really am,” he murmured. “I cannot help it.”

 

“Do not hold it much against him,” Vairë said to Lorna. “And do not mind me, insofar as that is possible for you. This is unusual and I am imposing quite a lot. You must understand, my weavers and I are a little different. We have a far less lofty sense of decorum. Practical jokes are not unheard of in my Halls. I am afraid I have regaled Thranduil with one tale too many these past days.”

 

Over in the corner, Maglor and Pen chuckled, agreeing with her and bobbing their heads.

 

“Carni kind’v threw me for a loop,” Lorna said, trying to calm her nerves. She had to intercept Ratiri before he got in here, though, or he would fanboy to an embarrassing degree. “Actually, meeting her explained a hell’v a lot about Sharley. And shit, we’re not supposed to swear...I give up.” She didn't actually facepalm, but that was just because she had a cat in her arms.

 

Sharley hugged her.  _ I’m sorry to say you’ll hear a lot of cursing here sooner or later. The Irish are kinda like that, and no matter how hard they try, they tend to slip up...oh, and Saoirse, one of the women here, she’s kinda...different...in the head, so she really  _ can’t _ help but swear. She tries not to, and we all just ignore it when she messes up, because she doesn’t really have any control over it.  _ She had no idea how to explain Asperger’s to a Vala, or this particular aspect of Irish culture. When you lived in a holy place where no one cursed, and where everyone (so far as she knew) was neurotypical, it might well seem odd at the very least.

 

_ I will manage,  _ the Lady smirked.  _ I have never felt quite as strongly about this particular issue as the others, and I am not unaware of mortal proclivities. I also realize that the rest of your household will find my presence here...a little unnerving? We might as well get this over with, as they say. _

 

Sharley grinned.  _ I should warn you about Lorna's husband, Ratiri. He read the stories Maglor told to a mortal man, who wrote them into many books. Knowing there is a Vala in the house might melt his brain a little. If he stares and can't speak, that's why. _

 

_ Ah. And yet I am not the first to come? To hear tell of it, this place is more traveled than the streets of Valimar. _

 

_ You'll be the first he's actually met. I'm not sure he knows about the others.  _ Sharley somehow didn't laugh. Somehow. Lorna had probably told him about Nessa and Tulkas, but maybe not.

 

_ Well. Now I feel a bit mischievous, if I do say so myself. He is nearby? _

 

Sharley scanned carefully.  _ He’s still in the kitchen. _ She wondered if she ought to be nervous.

 

The Vala rose, shuffling her way into the kitchen, reaching nonchalantly for one of the tins of tea. Earlene had recommended African rooibos, and at the moment she was rather partial to it. “Hello,” she said to Ratiri by way of friendly greeting.

 

Ratiri was almost half-asleep, but when he heard the unfamiliar voice, he woke up with a vengeance. The woman he found himself confronted with wasn’t human, but nor was she an Elf...she was beautiful, and ethereal, and he found himself momentarily hypnotized. Was she another Maia? “Hello,” he said, and automatically took down two mugs. “Do you...do you know Thranduil? Or...Sharley?” Lorna had told him about Carni, and how baffling that Maia had been. She had not mentioned Carni being this tall, however; this woman had a solid six inches on him.

 

“Yes, I do. Both of them. I don’t suppose you have a favorite tea?” she asked, genuinely interested, even as she measured out the African leaves into the tea ball. “Because this type is really wonderful, but I am curious what everyone in the house prefers. I’ll be staying a little while, and I’m always on the lookout for which to try next.” She added the hot water to her mug, approving thoroughly of this marvelous human device of on-demand boiling water.

 

“Masala chai,” he said, still looking at her curiously. “It was my mother’s favorite.” He had to hunt down the little jar of raw sugar he preferred. “All right, I might sound a like an idiot, but are you one of Sharley’s...friends? One of the weavers? Lorna, my wife, met one of the others a while back. Carni, the...red one.”

 

Vairë smiled. “Yes, I am one of the weavers. Or perhaps it is better to say, I am  _ the _ Weaver. There is no need to fret about me, though I know it is difficult. Think of me as an unusual sort of den mother, and you’d have the right idea. Does that help?” Her scintillating eyes sparkled with mischief and good humor. No, no stuffiness for her. Life was too interesting to be that prim; that was Varda’s provenance.

 

Ratiri’s eyes widened, and the sugar jar fell from suddenly nerveless fingers. The Weaver.  _ Vairë _ . Sharley’s Lady. What on  _ Earth _ was she -- why was she here?  _ How  _ was she here?  _ He was looking at an actual Vala. There was a Vala in the kitchen. Asking about tea.  _ For someone who had grown up believing in pretty much nothing, to be faced by an actual, literal, living deity...he sought for words, and found none. 

 

_ “Aaaaand I think he’s broken,”  _ Layla said.

 

“Come back to earth,” Vairë smiled, waving her hand back and forth in front of his eyes. “I am here to visit Sharley, and I flew in by eagle, because the Straight Road and I don’t get along. I find sudden long walks cause foot discomfort, don’t you?” she bobbed the tea ball inside the mug. “Yes, we are different, but the same Father made me that made you.”

 

He blinked, brain screeching back into gear. “I...yes, I do,” he said, glancing down at the shards of glass and spilled sugar. Earlene would kill him if he didn't clean that up. “How...um...how long will you be here?” He still couldn’t get past  _ Vala. Kitchen.  _ Sharley had told them about Vairë, sure, but he never would have thought they would  _ meet  _ her. 

 

Lorna didn't quite facepalm, but she followed Vairë anyway, knowing Ratiri was probably going to go into mental vapor-lock once he realized who she was. The crash of glass pretty much confirmed that, and she winced.

 

_ “Yeah, you might want to go save him,”  _ Layla said.  _ “And maybe get a broom.” _

 

Now she  _ did _ facepalm, but she got the broom anyway. “Ratiri, allanah, breathe,” she said, patting his arm. “And ooch over, but don't step on the glass.”

 

Bless him, he did as he was told, and she swept up both fragments and sugar. Hopefully he wouldn’t stay like this for too long, but she couldn’t blame him; Vairë was...well, she wasn’t like anything or anyone else they’d ever met.

 

Vairë sighed and rolled her eyes, and got him down another glass and spooned his sugar into it. “Oh dear. Well. We’ll just try that again, shall we?” she grinned. “Masala chai, you said?” Hopefully the poor man could manage to re-engage his higher functions soon; she was not Estë, for pity’s sake.

 

“Yes,” he said, when Lorna poked him in the back with the broom handle. “It’s from India. Sorry, I just...had a moment.”

 

“It’s what he does,” Lorna said, patting him on the shoulder. “Give her your tea, allanah.”

 

At least he knew how to follow orders; he fetched the little jar, and, under direction, also managed to get the cream from the pantry. “Do you know how long you’ll be staying?”

 

“No,” she smiled. “Who knows when this chance will come again? I have never had cause to leave Valinor. The others, they can roam freely. What I do requires being in one place. I suppose you could call this an overdue vacation.” Her iridescent eyes sparkled, and appeared thoroughly happy to be...on holiday.

 

“I can’t imagine you’d need any help from us, but if you do, say something, please?” Lorna found herself saying, even as she disposed of the broken glass. “Allanah, make the tea.” She caught Vairë’s eye and shook her head.  _ Men _ . “I hope the cats haven’t been making your life a misery.”

 

“Nothing can make my life a misery. At least not since the Morgoth and Sauron mess got mopped up. And come to think of it, maybe a few other things besides but...well just listen to me, going on and on. Thank you, though. Everyone here is very nice, even the cats. You know, they were quite disappointed you were gone so long. Something about not being able to get food in little bags off the shelf. Perhaps you know what they meant?”

 

Lorna choked, grateful she hadn’t actually sipped any of her own tea. “Those little...you can talk to them?” Thranduil knew what they were thinking, sort of, but she didn't think he could read their thoughts so exactly.

 

“Let me guess,” Ratiri said, shaking himself, “Booger was the worst of them?” No, he hadn’t forgotten the poor cat getting his head stuck in a bag of mixed nuts.

 

“The black and white one? You have to understand, the names by which you call them mean nothing to your cats. And yes, I can...communicate with them, though ‘talk’ is not the most accurate word I think.”

 

“Yeah,” Lorna said. “The one with the black dot on his nose. The other black and white one is the Lump, but she’s more Sharley’s cat now.”

 

“If they’re raiding your snacks, it’s no wonder they’re so fat,” Ratiri grumbled. “Do they -- do they have names for themselves?”

 

“Not in the way you are asking. They think of each other in terms of visual and olfactory information, the same as they do for you. They do not have a vocabulary as you would understand it. They live in a world of senses.”

 

Lorna poked Ratiri again, to get him to finish making his damn tea. “Well, I’ll have to hide my snacks better, the fuzzy little bastards...sorry.” She managed to stop herself from facepalming, but barely. “That, uh, happens around here. I’m sorry in advance, because I know I’ll do it again.” She eyed Vairë, and felt even smaller than ever. She’d thought Maglor was too tall, but Vairë had to be what, a full two feet taller than her? Thranduil had called her a little squirrel, and she kind of felt like one.

 

“Do not worry,” the Vala said. “I am a guest in your home, not the other way around. I appreciate that you try, for my sake. And I am sorry, about my height. Many elves are close to this stature and...I have just kept this form for such a long time. The others move in and out of their physical forms quite a lot; I have little need. Yet I think you know, height is not the true measure of anyone. I am going to rejoin the others now. We will speak more; you need rest now. You are very weary. Good night, sleep well.” Sipping her way out of the kitchen, she rejoined the others.

 

Ratiri looked at Lorna, who looked at him. “Breathe, allanah,” she said. “Finish making your tea, and let’s go to bed. We can find out more about this tomorrow, when we’ve both got working brains.”

 

It took him a moment to get moving, but move he did. She badgered him gently up the stairs, cats at their heels.

 

Sharley grinned as Vairë entered the Heart Room.  _ Poor Ratiri...he’ll survive. _

 

Vairë flashed a grin, and resumed her seat next to Maglor, whose soft features indicated nothing other than contentment. In his eyes, the Lady was one who had pardoned his crimes; he was forever grateful. Quietly, he leaned over to show Quen (who had been called Pen a great deal more of late) a passage from the book on which they were conferring; something about their project for Erestor. Thranduil had resumed his seat, leaning against Thanadir; Allanah had taken up a floor cushion using Thanadir for a backrest. 

 

Faeleth made an appearance and had spent some time snuggling on her mother’s lap, but a gleam came into her eye once the Vala had seated herself. The child slid gracefully off and glided her way to the Vairë’s knees, looking up in silent communication. A moment later she was curled up in Vairë’s lap; the two held each other’s eyes. To any onlooker it was obvious that a conversation was occurring, and Thranduil noted with both interest and wonder that he was not privy to any of it. Of all his children, only Faeleth could silence her thoughts to him at will...but he had already guessed that this was somehow...part of how it would be, with her. Shrugging to himself, he returned to reading the news...that now included keeping tabs on events in Tanzania. He had added two unlikely correspondents to his list of those they had met out in the world and hoped to save in the end. Still it thoroughly amused him, that Zane and Jabari had smartphones and email addresses.

 

*****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The seemingly abrupt return from Africa in this chapter is not what it appears to be, more is to follow, for those who might feel like that was a really odd transition. As you might guess, the time that went into researching this climb vastly exceeded how much text we wrote. A great deal is online about what it looks like to ascend Kilimanjaro. Youtube offers a plethora of videos posted by those who climbed the Lemosho route (and all the other routes!). If you have time, we really recommend it, because climbing this mountain is no joke. Here is one series that gives a pretty good sense of what is written: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q2WkPavsfzU The reference to the double amputee who summited is taken from real life; Kyle Maynard is the man who accomplished this. Thank you as always for reading our story! <3


	150. Chapter One Hundred Fifty

{September 7, 2033}

 

Both Lorna and Ratiri slept like the dead, and woke the next morning to find the clouds had given way to sun.

 

Well, Lorna noticed; she stirred first, and found Ratiri still passed out, Midnight sprawled across his chest like a little furry blanket. How could he sleep with the cat’s whiskers tickling his chin, she had no idea, but he was managing it somehow.

 

The other six were ranged around the bed -- Pickles was curled up against her side -- and she scowled. No wonder the little monsters were so fat...and no wonder she always seemed to run out of nibbles before she ought to. She was going to get a little chest, with a lock, and these fluffy bastards could start hunting if they wanted extra food.

 

She poked Ratiri, who, to her amusement, automatically scritched Midnight behind the ears before he’d even opened his eyes. “We have a Vala in the house,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep.

 

“That we do,” she said. “And we both made utter tits’v ourselves, but I think we could be forgiven. I still need to do something annoying to Thranduil, for not warning me. I would’ve warned _you_ , but I think she was trolling you.”

 

He groaned. “I do, too. Though I feel rather less nervous being in a house with a Vala willing to troll people than I would be with one who wasn’t.”

 

Lorna knew what he meant. If one had to share a roof with an inconceivably powerful being, it was better that that being have a sense of humor. “I wonder why she’s really here,” she said, stroking Pickles. The cat purred like lawnmower. “She says it’s because Sharley can’t go where she is, so she has to be where Sharley is, but I wonder if there’s more to it than that.”

 

“We might or might not find out,” Ratiri said. Sharley was quite open with them, but this might be something she’d want to keep to herself. It was a Maia Thing, something separate from her life with the D&D’s. They knew that she was still trying to work out a balance there, in a way that didn't leave her feeling like two separate people.

 

“Well, we won’t know one way or the other until we go down for breakfast, but I want a shower first.” Lorna forced herself to sit up, dislodging Pumpkin from her hip.

 

He arched an eyebrow. “Would you mind sharing that shower?” They’d gone _three months_ almost entirely without sex -- they’d managed once in the Cascadia Inn before they left Skykomish, once the night before they went home, and a few times in the caravan, but their youngest daughter’s ears were so sharp they didn't dare more than that. On their last attempt, they’d both frozen when they heard small feet pattering around in the kitchen, which had rather effectively killed the mood. _They_ weren’t loud, but their mattress was not precisely quiet, which made it all the more nerve-wracking. While it was true their sex life had slowed down somewhat as they’d gotten older (and, truth be told, the Bondage Incident had also contributed), they usually still managed two or three times a week (mostly depending on how tired one or both were at the end of any given day).

 

With a smirk, she said, “You’d better make it worth my while.”

 

*****

 

Maglor woke the following morning with a vague but pleasant ache lingering in his lower back. Which had perhaps not been worked in quite such a fashion since Sharley left for Yellowstone in the first place. While he had hoped to make love to his wife after she had rested, he was rather unprepared for being worked like a prize stallion. Not that he was complaining. Not. At. All. He blinked, his eyes bleary. Today could be...interesting. He and the other elves in the house knew why the Lady was here, and they were not about to utter a word.

 

Sharley stretched, and snuggled close to him. There was a warm lump pressed against her back that could only be, well, _the_ Lump. “I missed you,” she said, kissing the tip of her husband’s nose. “It was beautiful and wonderful and I'm glad we went, but I missed you, and I’m happy we’re home.” Apparently pregnancy hormones really were a thing, even for Maiar, because even she was surprised at the, er, vigor with which she’d shown him just how happy she really was.

 

She needed to get up, and see if there was anything her Lady required (because she didn't care that this wasn’t Aman, Vairë was her Lady, dammit, and seeing to her was kind of half of Sharley’s job). “So why is my Lady here?”

 

_Dammit._ Maglor smiled and did his level best to appear cheerful. “None of us are fully certain what she wishes to say to you. We are elves, Sharley. She is a Vala. We...cannot presume to meddle even in small ways,” he attempted to evade, praying to the aforementioned Vala that he not end up in grievous trouble with his wife for what amounted to extremely creative deception.

 

“She hasn’t said anything?” Sharley asked, finding that somewhat strange.

 

_“More to the point, what_ has _she said?”_ Sinsemilla asked.

 

“I am sorry, I will not answer,” he said softly. “It is not my place, even though you are my wife. You must ask your Lady. I am not about to disobey any of them, even in small ways. Not after what they did for me.”

 

“Now you’re making me nervous,” she said, but kissed his forehead. “I’ll ask her myself.” She really _was_ nervous, too; either Vairë hadn’t told any of them, or the reason was something so bad she didn't want any of them telling Sharley. “But that means I want you to pay extra attention to this cat.” She reached behind her, grabbed the Lump, and hauled the hapless creature up onto her stomach. The cat purred happily, and drooled rather a lot.

 

Maglor reached out tentatively and skritched its head, doing his damnedest to conceal that he would really rather not. Maybe he should get one of those hounds for himself… Realizing she had made a comment, he smiled and remembered to respond. “That would be best.”

 

“Good. You might have to keep paying attention to this critter for a while, if Vairë needs me for anything...I dunno, anything.” She shifted the cat off of her abdomen and rose, stretching again. Oh, it had been nice to be in her own bed.

 

“Alright,” Maglor agreed, considering it a relatively small price to pay for getting off that easily. He worried about how Sharley would...take...what he understood of the reason for the Lady’s visit but after the sum of his experiences, sheer terror of displeasing the Lords or Ladies in any way overruled even this. It was another...difficulty, of sorts. He actually liked Vairë a great deal and had appreciated learning more about her...but he did not forget her station...and his.

 

Sharley gently ruffled his hair before she cadged a quick shower, grateful to put on clothes she hadn’t seen in three months -- soft fleece trousers and a warm, even softer black tunic-slash-sweatshirt Thanadir had made for her. The great thing about being a Maia was that she could get her hair brushed and dry in an instant, so it was good to go by the time she reached the dining room.

 

The Lady had made her appearance much as she always did, very shortly after Earlene and Thanadir rose and began preparing breakfast. Ortherion came sometimes, but other mornings he had other assignments; with their youngest child at ten years it hardly made sense for him to divert all his time to the household at Eldamar. Slowly he was re-integrating with the guard, but his newfound kitchen abilities also qualified him without reservation to work at skilled positions in the kitchens in the Halls. In fact, when the bakers found out what he could do...Thalion was quick to hear about their demands for at least equal time.

 

On the first day this happened, Earlene felt mildly adrift, but she quickly learned that for whatever reason, Vairë had an interest in how they managed food in their home. And cooking. So she and Thanadir explained what they could about….well, everything, really. By the third day they no longer felt quite so stressed; Vairë certainly went out of her way to set them both at ease. Her greatest interest was in breakfast baked goods; eggs and potatoes and bacon seemed of lesser interest in her eyes...and Earlene was not about to question though she felt it was somewhere between endearing and amusing. Today the lady was turned loose on apple banana muffins...with crumble top...and that was how that was going.

 

When Sharley entered the kitchen, she shuffled across the floor to give Vairë a hug. The fact that the Stranger had used her Lady as its template for her false memories of a mother had...shifted, somewhat, the way Sharley regarded her. Before, she hadn’t known what it was to be a mother, and had observed them only at a distance; she understood the process rather better now, and saw Vairë in a maternal capacity she hadn’t, before. “Good morning, my Lady,” she said, listening to the little patter of multiple cat feet come skittering in behind her.

 

Sinsemilla took the scene in, sighed, and beat Kurt to the punch: _“Hey kid, d’you like muffins?”_ Someone had to keep the little sod quiet, for his own good -- and if she didn't ask it, he’d pipe up.

 

“As long as they’re not bran muffins!” Lorna called from the upper level.

 

Vairë frowned, and wished Sharley a good morning, her spatula full of batter. “Earlene said bran was healthful. Why is it objectionable?” she wanted to know, for she had included some in her recipe. Thanadir looked up, puzzled, shook his head and refocused his attention on the scrambled eggs. It was safer that way.

 

Sharley laughed. “If bran muffins are poorly made, they’re not very appetizing,” she said, shooing the cats away. She could only imagine what Earlene must be thinking, having so many of the little monsters in the kitchen, but it was no great wonder they seemed to love Vairë. “You have to understand, Earlene is an unusually amazing cook, here. A lotta the food available outside...well, with some of it, the less said, the better.” Somehow, she managed to get all the cats but Pickles at least out of the immediate area of traffic; Pickles, being rather less rotund, darted around her and went to sit at Vairë’s feet, purring.

 

“Why are these creatures so….round?” the Vala now wanted to know. There was another here, that was not like this. “Are they a special kind?”

 

That made Sharley _and_ the voices laugh. “I’m not sure any of us actually knows,” she said. “They’re not supposed to be that fat. Well, at their age, they probably would be a little anyway, and they’re fluffy, so they look rounder than they actually are. I know they’re not catching mice.” She mock-glowered down at Pickles, who stared up at her with big kitty eyes and said, “Mrow?”

 

“Is that one being a monstrosity?” Lorna asked as she entered the kitchen, only to stop up short when she spotted Vairë. “Oh. Hi. Good morning.” She was still too slightly blitzed from her earlier shower activities to feel _too_ awkward, though. “I can, uh, take that, if you want me to.” She pointed at the cat.

 

“It might be a good idea,” Sharley said, picking up the creature and passing her over. Pickles was not pleased at being separated from Vairë, but Lorna was a decent second.

 

This seemed to satisfy the Lady. “Good morning, Lorna. I hope you like my muffins. Today is apple-banana crumble.”

 

“That sounds amazing,” Lorna said, shifting the cat to sit on her shoulder. Naturally, Pickles started grooming her hair.

 

A strangled cough issued from thin air, followed by furious, almost sub-audible whispering from three different sources. _Well, shit,_ Lorna thought. _Kurt. Sharley needs to hit that mute button pronto._

 

“Oh good,” Vairë smiled. “I have liked all the foods here, but muffins are now my favorite. I think breakfast in Valinor might not be the same, quite soon.”

 

Kurt actually _whimpered_ from the effort of keeping quiet, and Lorna had a feeling that if they’d had bodies of any kind, the other three would be dog-piling him right about now. “I’m sure Earlene can adapt recipes,” she said, her eyes traveling to the vague space over Sharley’s shoulder where she suspected Kurt was lurking.

 

Poor Sharley looked ready to facepalm, but busied herself assembling the household’s various teas.

 

Finally, Kurt could take no more. _“I’m a blueberry muffin,”_ he said. _“Come on, eat me.”_

 

Now Sharley _did_ facepalm, Lorna utterly failed to hold back her laughter, and Ratiri entered the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said, giving Vairë a vaguely Japanese bow, “and I don't think I want to know. Lorna, can you pass me the chai?”

 

His giggling wife did so, and shuffled out of the kitchen before she could make matters worse.

 

Thranduil appeared around the corner. “Why does it deeply worry me that Kurt and one of the Powers of this world are within three meters of each other?” he asked the population of the kitchen. “And, good morning to all. I hope I need not mention, Kurt, that the tolerance level for inappropriate anything is set at zero?” Ordinarily he would ignore as he always did, but as some sort of technical head of this household, he saw it as his duty to see to the comfort of his guests. _All and any, guests._

 

_“For the love of everything, stop handing me ammunition,”_ the poor voice implored. _“It’s just. Too. Easy.”_

 

Sharley rolled her eyes. “Kurt?” she said. “Mute.” It never lasted, for whatever reason, but for now she could spare both him and them any further...shenanigans. “Anyway.”

 

“There are times I wonder what it would be like, to hear them,” Ratiri said, letting his tea steep. “Others, I’m grateful I can’t.”

 

“Strangely enough I have no curiosity whatsoever,” Earlene smirked. Though, now she did hear them, albeit through Thranduil when he was paying them any mind and they were opened to each other. Her opinion remained at ‘thanks but no thanks.’

 

Thanadir shot her a sidewise glance and smiled in that way perhaps only his mates could perceive. “The council meeting is in three days, is it not?” Anything to change the subject. It was unfortunate, not to have a greater buffer from when the Donovans returned home, but with two council members having been gone for so long, the backlog was significant. No one really wanted to do much of anything with Lorna away; thus, three months and no meetings.

 

Ratiri winced. “Is there? Lorna will be...thrilled. Except not.” She’d had a good morning, at least, which hopefully would help...and he abruptly realized that at least three people in the room would have caught that thought. He felt his face heat, and sipped his tea. “Did anything happen while we were away? How has Declan been?”

 

“A model of good behavior, according to Maglor,” Thranduil said, brewing coffee for himself and Earlene. “And everything was suitably quiet, at least in terms of the household. The farm, as I understand it, is mulling over how to handle transitioning the Kerry holdings to entirely different cattle breeds without completely disrupting the operation. And the agenda backlog has grown in your absence; thus, the meeting.” He was not about to mention Thanadir and Earlene’s...episode. That was no one else’s business.

 

“Oh, no,” Ratiri groaned. “All right, I’ll warn her what’s coming. Things tend to go better if she’s not blindsided,” he added, with a somewhat pointed look at Thranduil. _He_ hadn’t been warned, sure, but there hadn’t exactly been time; poor Lorna, on the other hand...well, she’d said that Thanadir at least had the courtesy to let her know there was an actual Vala in their sitting-room. _I feel compelled to tell you she’s planning to do something annoying to you, though I doubt you needed the warning._

 

Thranduil grinned broadly. He knew, and Lorna and Ratiri did not, that Mairead was baking a special cake. Tonight’s meeting would double as a welcome-back party. Because he could annoy too...he was getting the hang of this ‘brother’ routine. And from behind placing batter into the muffin tins, Vairë watched, listened and observed.

 

_“It’s times like this I wish we could eat popcorn,”_ Jimmy sighed. Whatever came of this, it ought to be...entertaining, at the very least.

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. Jimmy, loath though she was to admit it, was probably right. _You were an only child for far too long,_ she said, but she couldn’t keep a grin from her face. _Don't forget, there’s two other Donovan siblings at her disposal. Though Pat might wind up on your side._

 

Thranduil turned his gaze on Sharley and smiled. _I have commanded armies. I rather think sheer possibility of strategy is on my side. I have multiple unfair advantages and like a good brother, intend to leverage all of them._ The unflappable dignity of his bearing as he sipped his coffee only made the assertion that much more amusing.

 

She laughed so hard she all but choked on her tea. He did in fact have multiple unfair advantages, but he didn't quite have _all_ of them -- not that she was about to point that out. She would only interfere if she thought something might turn out too humiliating for poor Lorna. _Touche._

 

Ratiri looked from one to the other. “I don't want to know,” he said, “and I’m vacating the premises before I can somehow find out.” Out he went, tea in hand, cats scampering after him.

 

“You’ve missed us, haven’t you?” Sharley asked, still giggling.

 

Maglor and Quen appeared, to make tea. “The cat fell asleep,” he exaggerated preemptively. “And yes, we did.” He met Thranduil’s eyes with a hint of a knowing glance before giving a slight bow of his head. Never able to completely shed his formality, that was just...Maglor.

 

Sharley set down her tea long enough to hug him, and give him a kiss on the cheek. “We brought home so many souvenirs,” she said. “We’ll pass them out...sooner or later. Well, I say _souvenirs_ , but they’re mostly things we found in the park, rather than bought. Lady Vairë, Yellowstone is probably the most amazing place on Ennorath. I wish we could have brought home more, but there’s only so much a person can carry.”

 

Vairë paused, to study her thoughts. “There were places like this once, of old. Gone, now, under Ulmo’s waters. It is a strange beauty, is it not?”

 

“It is. It’s almost -- well, it’s kinda a comfort, knowing that it’ll go on long after humanity...isn’t there anymore.” Perhaps she’d been around Chandra too long, but by the end, she too had been finding it difficult to be around so many whose lives she knew would end in less than four years.

 

Supri, yawning, shuffled into the kitchen, and paused. Mam had said there was someone very special staying here right now, and she had to make certain to be on her best behavior. Right now she was so sleepy, however, that she just waved, and said, “Hi. You’re really pretty. You have better hair than my mam’s.”

 

Jimmy and Layla dissolved into snickers, unable to smother them. The kid was...precious, and that was a supreme compliment, from her.

 

Vairë closed the door on the oven, and turned to the child, crouching down. Though the youngest peredhel were of similar age, this one was somehow more...delicate. This was the first mortal child she had encountered here. “Hello. I am called Vairë. What is your name?”

 

“I’m Supri,” the girl said. “That’s a pretty name. Mam said you’re from where Auntie Sharley originally came from.” Vairë was even prettier than the elves, and Supri wouldn’t have thought that was actually possible. And she was like a giant, but in a good way, like Da and Uncle Thranduil and Uncle Maglor were. Supri herself was quite small for her age, but most of the Donovans were tiny.

 

“Yes, I usually dwell in Valinor. But now I am visiting here. Would you like some hot cocoa?”

 

“Yes please,” Supri said, suddenly feeling shy. She scooted over to hug Auntie Sharley’s leg.

 

Sharley laughed, and picked the girl up. She really was so very small, especially compared to the triplets -- which was kind of amusing, given how tiny they’d all been when they were born. It didn't feel like she weighed more than two Lumps put together. “Your mam and da are in the Heart Room, I think,” she said. “Why don't you take your cocoa and go sit by the fire? All the kitties are there.”

 

Supri nodded, still watching Vairë. She was pretty sure she’d heard the name before, actually, but she was still too sleepy to think on it further.

 

**

###  {September 10, 2033}

 

Vairë seemed to appear out of nowhere, to Angie, as she admired the smell of Earlene’s blossoming citrus--right now, this particular greenhouse was a treat to the senses, alive with scent and the buzzing of the bees busy pollinating the trees. Perhaps she had appeared out of nowhere; that was hardly outside of the Vala’s ability. “I should like to speak with you more about Tirillë, please? I believe I have seen enough of the normal interactions of the household to have understanding of the...dynamic, I believe is the word you would use. It is time to begin a dialogue with her, but as we have already discussed, the point of this is to teach not to...accuse.”

 

Angie jumped, but at least she didn't shriek (this time). It had been quite strange for her at first, sharing a house with Vairë; she’d gone from being basically an agnostic to living with a literal deity. To say it had been disconcerting would be an understatement. “I think you’re right,” she said. “I would suggest that we bring in Lorna, though. The D&D’s, as Sharley -- Tirillë -- calls them, are the main reason she hangs onto her humanity so hard. We’ve always been her friends, in Skykomish, but that family sort of folded her into them almost immediately when they met. If Lorna’s on our side, it will make it easier for Sharley -- or at least, harder for her to protest.”

 

“As much as I wish this were not necessary, I equally cannot disagree,” Vairë grimaced. “I did not have a wish to keep her with me against her will, but it is clear that I must remain here until something has changed. She is very sensitive, but she is also very...dangerous, as matters now stand.”

 

Angie shuddered a little, because she knew _exactly_ how that would have ended, and no one would have been happy. “I think, between all of us, we can get her there. What she needs, before anything else, is reassurance that her human family will still be there if she embraces the whole of who and what she is. She’s spent too long relying on them, and not enough time _not_ relying on them, and…” She sighed. “They loved her when she was broken -- loved her without reserve or expectation of anything in return. That means a lot, to her. Once we’ve tackled that, we can move on and address the real, um, problems.”

 

“Then I think later on a walk in the woods will be in order,” the Lady said, pausing. “I have some idea of how awkward and outside your experience these interactions with me have been. Probably few of my...cohorts...have an awareness of the degree to which other belief systems have shaped human perceptions of us. You have probably realized by now, I am not our Creator; just one of his creations albeit a mighty one. I am but a facet of a greater whole; with a purpose. Just as Tirillë has a purpose, though she has chosen for now to abandon it. This is not about trying to remake her into what she once was but...our Father made those of us with greater gifts to fulfill a needed purpose. The closer in alignment she is to her own purpose, the greater contentment and happiness she will feel. Right now she utterly cannot see that; it is for her sake and everyone else’s that this must change.” The peculiar and multi-hued eyes regarded Angie carefully, hoping that she was speaking in terms that might capture some distillation of a truth that exceeded mortal experience.

 

“I’ll admit, this has been...peculiar,” Angie said, “but my whole life has been, ever since I met the Elves. Experience is an evolving thing, even if at times I feel like I’m scrambling to keep up.” She sighed again. “If things were different, I think she’d...commute to work, so to speak, but the passage of time is so radically different between Earth and Aman, her husband lives in exile, and her mortal family are, well, mortal. I know the thought of leaving them for months or years on end isn’t one she can endure, but -- well, the brutal truth is that they won’t forever be around to hold her here. And once her child is born, that too should help...in theory. She wouldn’t want to part Maglor from the kid for very long, nor would she want to leave their daughter without her for any real length of time. Not until the girl is older, at any rate.”

 

She ran a hand through her hair, and reflected idly that Mairead needed to do her roots again. “What do we need to do, to get her closer into alignment with that -- that purpose? Once we have her over the fear that she’ll lose her family if she embraces her actual self, how far can she go while still being here?”

 

“There...is an assignment I could give her. Nothing is recorded in the Halls of my husband of what transpires here. Perhaps that should change,” the Vala mused. “As you note, there are...nearly insurmountable difficulties, of her working in Valinor. At least for now; I myself have chosen not to look at her future. And yet here she sits...yes, I rather like this notion. So to answer your question, she can go all the way.”

 

Kurt should not have been listening. He just...should not have, and yet he couldn’t stay away. All the voices were curious as to just what Sharley’s Lady was really doing on Earth, and had been blatantly spying -- until now, they’d all managed to keep remarkably quiet. Kurt, however, simply couldn’t resist being handed something like that. _“That’s what she said,”_ he snickered.

 

Angie groaned, but at least she didn't do anything as unprofessional as facepalm. She thought about it pretty hard, though.

 

_“KURT!”_ the other three cried, beyond exasperated.

 

The Vala turned on the origin of the voice, incensed. She stepped away from Angie; from the scaffolding above, spiders in droves descended to her outstretched hand, hovering just above it. Already, the outlines of a...well, a ball of sorts, for lack of better words, about the size of a grapefruit, except this one was rapidly being made of spider-silk as dozens upon dozens of them busily filled in each gap, running and dodging crazily over each other. The speed at which this took place was...amazing. “You were warned, and still you persist in this insolence. You forget who I am, strange creature. But I think now you will remember.” In the blink of an eye, Vairë sped the ball of silk at Kurt, capturing him through the last remaining opening. The spiders sealed it more tightly shut, before scuttling back up to high overhead, and drawing the ball up and away, until it rested some five meters in the air. A stream of invective issued from Kurt’s prison, directed at the Lady. “Still cannot learn, can you?” she muttered, now pointing a finger at the ball high overhead. Silence. Vairë smiled and returned her attention to Angie. “Sorry about that. I do not ask for any form of reverence, though it is allowed to me. But I insist upon common decency. And _that_ ,” she pointed upward, “does little but the opposite.”

 

Angie had given up all pretense of professionality and all but scrambled backward. She wasn’t precisely afraid of spiders, but she was far from fond of them, and watching that many essentially swarm Vairë’s hand was just too much. Her heart thundered, even as part of her tried not to laugh at Kurt, who was easily the most annoying of all the voices. Wide-eyed, she shook herself.

 

“Er, about that -- did anyone warn you about Saoirse?” she asked, swallowing hard. “She’s rather profane, but she has Asperger’s -- it’s something of a difference of the mind -- so she can’t help it. She tries, at least.” Oh, what was Vairë going to do with _all_ the D&D’s? No, most of them weren’t habitually profane anymore, but startle them and...well. Pat, Grania, and the younger Lorna had moved out to the Halls, Chandra lived in Baile now, but that still left Saoirse and poor Lorna the Elder, who did fine until she was either startled or injured in some way. Perhaps she could at least keep it to Irish.

 

“I knew before I came here. And there is a vast difference between use of this language and use of this language directed at another. This is not Valinor,” the Lady added, mirth in her eyes. “I am the first one to appreciate a good joke, but _that_ is not funny.” Looking up, she smiled grimly. “I hope the spiders did not alarm you too much. It interests me that so many here fear them, and yet they too are weavers.”

 

“I don't know about anyone else,” Angie said, “but it’s the way they move. Too many legs. That and they’re all venomous, to one degree or another.” She sighed with relief. “And...thank you, for forbearing with the D&D’s. In Ireland it’s as much a cultural thing as it is anything else, and it’s been a bit of a, um, learning process for them. How, er, how long is he going to be stuck in...that?” Sharley might well come looking for him eventually, though she’d probably laugh at his predicament.

 

“There is no need to thank me. It would hardly be polite to barge into the home of another and make demands that are at the ragged edge of possibility. And, that is up to him,” she said mysteriously. Because he was stuck there until he apologized and asked politely to be freed, which might occur to him in a few weeks or so. Or not at all; either way was quite fine in her estimation.

 

“Sharley remains disturbed that he apparently started out as an aspect of her,” Angie said, shaking her head. “But if we bring Lorna in, we can all go for a walk and try to guide her, as gently as we can. I think she has to know, somewhere deep down, that all is not as it should be.”

 

“She is not considering Angband,” Vairë said. “We could not penetrate the shadows Melkor wove around it in the days of his power. But we all knew what we found when we laid bare its pits. It does not surprise me at all. And, yes. Perhaps after lunchtime?”

 

“She’s told me some of what happened to her there,” Angie said, trying not to twitch. “It doesn’t bother her anymore, but sometimes she feels the need to talk about it. That Avathar was...well. Lunch sounds like a good idea -- the Irish aren’t wrong when they say most things seem better with a full stomach.” She shook her head. “Avathar continually tried to sway her to Morgoth’s side, but even once she’d been convinced you had all abandoned her, she wouldn’t go. I’m not sure she’s really sat down and thought about the fact that no, she wasn’t able to free herself entirely on her own, but she resisted everything they did to her, for however long she was there.”

 

“She has not thought about a great many things,” the Lady noted, reaching for the greenhouse doors. “And therein lies much of the problem.”

 

**

 

Angie cornered Lorna after lunch, dragging her out to the greenhouse. Given that Lorna had just found out about the Council meeting, and was rather annoyed, this wasn’t terribly hard.

 

“Vairë and I need to talk to you,” Angie said, “and then you need to help us talk to Sharley.”

 

“I was wondering when we’d find out what was up with that,” Lorna said, worry stirring within her. “Is it bad?”

 

Angie shook her head. “No, not bad. Just...well, you’ll see. It’s easier if Vairë explains it.”

 

Somehow, that didn't fill Lorna with huge amounts of confidence. Nevertheless, go she did, out into the chilly Irish afternoon. At least the greenhouse was somewhat warmer. The Lady was inside, arms crossed over her breasts, staring up with a grin that nobody sane would ever wish leveled at them. Following her gaze led to noticing a particularly large orb weaver high overhead  that was busily decorating a large….large….thing. “Lovely, isn’t it?” Vairë asked, on seeing the diminutive woman. She also took a seat on the lone bench that was inside, not wishing to tower over Lorna.

 

Lorna eyed the...thing… twitching a little at the size of the spider. “It’s a word one might use,” she said, shuffling well away from where the thing was hanging. Oh, she doubted it would drop on her head, but she’d rather make sure anyway. “Angie said we need to talk to Sharley?” It was amusing, even if it pained her, that even seated Vairë was taller than she was. Sharley had once offered that she was on the short side for a Maia, and apparently she wasn’t exaggerating.

 

_“It’s Kurt,”_ Layla whispered. _“In the ball, it’s Kurt.”_

 

Thaaaat would explain the very muffled swearing. Well, he’d probably deserved it, the idiot.

 

“I will ‘out with it,’ as is apparently the saying. Sharley’s need to cling to such a...human outlook...is commendable in some respects and yet unfortunately is equally a liability that cannot continue. She is dangerous, this way, to herself and others. At the moment her ability to reason from the point of view of who and what she actually is has become hopelessly impaired. The humans under this roof know that they are humans. The elves know that they are elves. And you have one ainu living here that does not understand what it means to be of her race, and therefore cannot behave with the innate understanding and wisdom that would ordinarily guide our choices and actions.

 

“The best way I can say this is, Thranduil considers you his closest friend aside from his mates; he loves you. And yet he never started pretending he was human in order to love you; he meets you from the place of understanding that you have differences and similarities and all of those things have allowed you to still have a very strong bond. But Sharley’s situation is not the same, not at all. Are you aware that in Yellowstone, she met a human she decided would be useful to your future plans here for a surviving society, and decided that she should plant a desire in that individual’s mind to come to Ireland?”

 

Lorna absorbed this, and facepalmed. “Oh, good Jesus...no, I didn't know that,” she sighed. “I can guess why, and who, but even so. What do we -- what do we do, then, to help her?”

 

“Angie feels that one of the reasons Sharley cannot fully embrace herself as she is stems from a fear of losing your family as….family. Especially you. It is true that she spent a great long while believing she was human, but...at this point in time that is not valid. A lack of guidance, her inability to remain in Valinor and a persistent...forgive me, a persistent influence of the thinking of human companions is preventing her from gaining the proper insight. I do not mean to disparage anything about you. Especially you; I have seen the progress you have made in spite of your limited years. Such change in a single individual is remarkable. But it does not change that Sharley is another form of life altogether, and one vested with great power. Too great, to be a figurative ‘loose cannon.’”

 

“She’s afraid...oh goddammit, that poor woman. Wait, shit, swearing -- okay, let’s try this again,” Lorna sighed, shutting her eyes. “Lady Vairë, I think I can also tell you part’v why she does that: she loves us, yeah, but it’s more than that. We took care’v her when everyone -- including her -- thought she was a broken human with a gift she couldn’t explain.”

 

She paused, and paced, searching for an even halfway diplomatic way to say this. Then she realized Vairë could read her mind, and gave up. “Okay, at the risk’v sounding awful, we sort’v...we need to work out just what exactly is in this for _Sharley_. It’s something she has to do, yeah, but we’ve got to find a way to make her _want_ to. Thranduil’s never forgotten what he is, but Sharley has to re-learn it in a way I don't think she’s stopped to consider.” Shaking her head, she couldn’t help but smile. “I helped teach Thranduil about humanity. We have to re-teach Sharley what it is to be a Maia, once I’ve got it through her head that my family isn’t going to just drop her like a hot potato if she does. That poor woman.”

 

“Well, that part is arguably a bit more of my department. But as for wanting to...it will feel hurtful to her to hear of all this, because there is little doubt in my mind that at first she will be unable to see it as I do or as the other Maiar do, even. She will believe she is being told she is ‘wrong’ or ‘inadequate’. And to make that worse, in a sense that is true. But only in that it is not what Eru intended, to turn aside from expressing ourselves as we genuinely are. And the danger. You would not hand one of your children a dangerous weapon, out of the knowledge that they do not possess the reasoning to use it properly. And yet that is very much what I have here. I know that she means well, and believes she is acting for good. Which does not change that some questionable reasoning is being deployed.”

 

“The fact that she means so well just makes it worse,” Angie said. “It would be one thing if she was somehow abusing this power of hers, but she just wants to help. And yet so much damage has been done throughout history, by people who only want to help.”

 

Lorna frowned, still pacing (though she made certain to stay away from the spider ball, because seriously, _ew_ ). “I think we have to frame this differently -- that’s how you say it, Angie, right? Frame it? We can’t say anything that might make her think she’s something ‘wrong’, but what if we just say she’s _not_ being everything she should be? That there isn’t actually anything wrong with who she is -- that she’s just still not embracing the whole’v herself? If we can convince her that us humans aren’t going to abandon her for exploring the rest’v what she is, maybe we can actually talk her into wanting to do it.” And she herself was going to be stuck being a doll. She just knew it. Oh well. At least she was good for something.

 

Vairë frowned. “I would be aware that this is...a form of deception,” she sighed. “And yet if I am not the one speaking the words, I can...manage. We do not like to be less than truthful, and yet some truths are too damaging to hear.” Oh, did she ever know _that one._

 

“Is it really, though?” Lorna asked. “The problem’s with what she’s doing, not who she is at her core. And even if it is...I know Thranduil’s done that with me, especially at first, when I was still...well, what I used to be. Sometimes brutal honesty can be just that -- too brutal.” She looked from Vairë to Angie, and back again. “What d’you need from me?”

 

Angie too looked at Vairë; it was probably best she go first, and Angie would add anything that might be needed. Vairë smiled. “I need to to do what you do best. Be yourself.”

 

Lorna really hoped Vairë knew what she was getting herself into, there -- but then, Vairë was a Vala. That probably went with the territory. “Then should we get Sharley? If she’s not with Maglor, she’s probably in our common room, weaving something.”

 

“No time like the present,” Vairë quipped. “Would you be willing to do that, let her know we would all like to take a walk? Angie and I can wait outside on the deck.”

 

“Can do,” Lorna said, and scooted off before she could second-guess herself. “Sinsemilla, where’s Sharley?”

 

_“You called it,”_ the voice said. _“She’s in the common room, but she’s not weaving yet. She’s just organizing her shit, in case Vairë wants to see her work.”_

 

Well, that was a relief. Lorna had to dodge a few cats along the way, as well as her son (currently baking some kind of chocolate-chip biscuit in the kitchen; from the sound of it, his twin was in the pantry) but she managed to make it without incident, and grabbed Sharley by the hand.

 

“Your Lady wants us to go for a walk,” she said. “C’mon. We’ll just shut the door so the cats can’t wreck your threads.”

 

Sharley looked down at the disorganized mess, but her Lady was her Lady -- if Vairë wanted her to go for a walk, go she would. “All right.” A pause and a thought, and her stocking feet were suddenly wearing the kind of boots Lorna favored.

 

“God that’s just not fair,” Lorna sighed, and led her out to the deck. “She has been found.”

 

Sharley felt the need to hug Vairë again, just...because. “Is there anywhere in particular you want to go?” she asked. “The whole forest’s beautiful. Actually….” She paused, and bit her lip, looking from Angie to Lorna. “Would you...d’you want to see Marty’s grave?”

 

_Please say yes or this will get off on the wrong foot before we’ve got started,_ Lorna said desperately. _I’m sure you know what that kid means to her. We’ll...make it work somehow._

 

“Yes,” Vairë answered, electing to take the advice given. Even if restraint was needed on her part to avoid a very mortal gesture because...had she realized it was this bad? Dwelling on a gravesite when her real child in Irmo’s care had been seen and touched? This...disturbed.

 

Sharley smiled, and led them on. “I spent a lotta time there, before I knew just where Marty was,” she said. “To me, she was sleeping, and I hoped she was dreaming of somewhere nice. Knowing she really _is_ somewhere nice -- beyond nice -- has helped so much. I mean, I wish I could have her, sure, but she’s safe. I don't have to wonder anymore.”

 

Lorna glanced at Angie, who glanced back, but neither said anything immediately. When Lorna did speak, she said, “Have you thought’v a name for your new little one?”

 

“Not yet,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “That’s not how names work, with the Elves. I know I want her mother-name to be something Gaelic, but I won’t be able to actually pick one until I've met her, if you get my drift.”

 

_Well, that much is encouraging_ , Vairë thought to herself, enjoying the views of the forest. She felt a little sad for the elves, being recalled from here. It was easy to see why they had remained for so very long. There were times she personally wondered about the wisdom of the command, and yet if it came from Manwë chances were it came from an even higher authority. What unsettled more were the occasions she had tried to look to the distant future of this group and encountered a barrier. That was new, and yet...she had not wished to speak of it yet to the others. Perhaps later on.

 

“I had some terrible morning sickness at first in Yellowstone,” Sharley added. “Eris, Lorna’s niece, taught me a trick to get rid of it. And I’ve had terrible heartburn, which I’ve read can mean this one will be born with a lotta hair.”

 

They reached Marty’s grave, beneath the massive tree. The birch had grown over the years, shading the grave itself; just now the leaves of both made them glow like torches. “Knowing she was sleeping here was what made me able to reconcile coming to live here forever, at first. I had to be where she was, before I actually knew where she _really_ was.”

 

Vala or not, this was incredibly awkward. But it was also perhaps the price to be paid for the decision she had been forced to make. They, had been forced to make. Had they not left her alone, to experience what she would and come to this point, everything would have been different; the fate of humankind would have altered, irrevocably and for the worse. The discomfort of hearing such words did not weigh much, against what Sharley had endured out in the world.

 

“Have you felt your little one move at all, yet?” Lorna asked. Given how stretched-out Sharley’s pregnancy would be, she had no idea when that might be expected to start.

 

“Not yet. I think I’ve got months yet before that’ll happen.” Sharley rubbed her stomach, and wondered if she was imagining the very slight roundness there. Probably, but still. It was nice to dream. “What else d’you want to see?”

 

Vairë darted a glance at Angie and elected to attempt to take charge before this situation could flounder further. “This tree over here.” The giant oak was indicated, and she seated herself in one of the lower branches. “I wanted to come into the forest less to see that which is in it and more to have a chance to speak about the reason for my being here. Which ultimately is to help you in ways that have not been possible, Sharley,” she began.

 

“What d’you mean?” Sharley asked, hopping up to sit beside her. Angie joined them, though poor Lorna had to take a running leap to swing herself up. She sat to Sharley’s other side.

 

_Should I say anything?_ she asked Vairë.

 

_Let me try something first._ “Well, how do you see yourself, Sharley? Who and what are you?” Vairë asked, her voice suffused with kindness.

 

“Um...I don't know,” Sharley said, after a thoughtful pause. “I’m me. I’m Sharley and Tirillë -- I was signing my emails to Maglor as ‘Sharlerillë’, just because. I’ve got a husband and family I love, and a baby on the way. Otherwise...that’s about it? I mean, I’m sure if I actually sat and thought, there would be more.” She was a bit thrown for a loop, but not in a bad way. “Why?”

 

“Because that is not a fulfilment of your potential. Not even close, dear one. And the not knowing is part of why that is the case.”

 

Sharley frowned, but Lorna swooped in. “I think what she means is that there’s more to you than what you’ve been so far,” she said, wrapping her arm around Sharley’s waist. “There’s all this stuff you could do and learn now, in addition to who you already are.” And if she put the slightest emphasis on ‘addition’ as she looked at Sharley...well, sue her. “You’ve not really done much with your gifts. You’ve made us all some beautiful cloaks, and you gave me the speedbump, but what else?”

 

That made Sharley relax, albeit incrementally. “Well...I’m not supposed to use it, really,” she said, turning to Vairë. “I did once, just to see how exactly the plague started, but it’s not something to...to play with.”

 

Vairë shook her head. “My words to you were that you should be extremely cautious concerning _what you choose to reveal to others of your foresight,_ Sharley. I never said you were not supposed to do the very thing for which you were created.”

 

Sharley felt herself flush. “And I kinda -- well, I figured it would be better to just not do it, really. I mean, if I see something I want to reveal and really shouldn’t, it’d just eat at me. So I just...haven’t used it, except for the plague thing.”

 

_Lady Vairë, am I going to be totally off-base if I encourage Sharley to mess about with it a little?_ Lorna asked. Hey, it sounded like a good idea to her, but she was also human, so what the hell did she know? When in doubt, ask the actual deity.

 

_She has no need to practice this, any more than she needs to practice blinking. This is innate to her; she has to deliberately will_ not _looking._ The iridescent eyes met Lorna’s with a rather helpless expression.

 

_Which she must be doing on instinct, because I really don't think she’s doing it on purpose._ Lorna looked up at Sharley. “Well, you’ve got your Lady right here, for a while. If ever there was an opportunity to -- hell, to explore that part’v you, this is it. I don't think it’s something you should just...ignore. There’s so much more to you that you aren’t really doing much with, and it could be so bloody much fun. You haven’t got to worry about anything going wrong now if you do.”

 

Sharley sighed. She had to admit, part of why she hadn’t done much of anything -- including even playing with her own appearance to any real degree -- was because there was nobody who could fix it if she fucked it up. “To what purpose?” she asked, looking down at her tiny friend. “I don't want to risk messing anything up, if I look ahead and can’t keep my mouth shut.”

 

“You can’t let fear’v what might go wrong stop you from trying something,” Lorna said, arching an eyebrow. “And yes, I realize the irony’v this coming from _me_ , but you’d be looking at the future, not committing grand theft auto.”

 

Angie choked a little, because yes, she’d heard _that_ story.

 

Sharley looked at Vairë. “Is she right?” She loved Lorna dearly, but the poor woman was not always on the same page as the sensible world.

 

“In this case, yes. Sharley, the hard truth is, you are poised to make very dangerous mistakes, and you will make them if you do not branch out and embrace all of yourself. Not just the few parts you have managed to reconcile on your own.”

 

“What sorta mistakes?” Sharley asked, uneasy.

 

“Wednesday,” Lorna said, feeling oddly like she needed to take some of the fall for this. Better to have Sharley upset with her than with Vairë. “In Yellowstone.”

 

Sharley blinked. “That was a mistake?” she asked, looking at her Lady. “I wanted to bring them in on...well, this, but I'm not Thranduil -- I wouldn’t know how to erase someone’s memory if I had to without possibly hurting them, but I also didn't know how else to get them out to Ireland.”

 

Lorna winced. The thing was, on the surface, it did sound logical. There was sense to it. The problem was the fact that doing so was tromping through an ethical minefield and setting off half of it.

 

Vairë remained calm. Somehow. “Sharley, it is the same as when you wished to erase Lorna’s memory when she overheard Thanadir mention that he had been imprisoned. Thranduil stopped you, because he understands that it is wrong to modify the mind of a good person without their consent. It is tampering with the free will of another. He is very powerful, but with very rare exception never acts outside of a careful ethical framework that has some absolute boundaries.”

 

Lorna blinked, because okay, she hadn’t known about _that_ , and it was something to be filed away for later. Yeah, part of her almost wished Sharley had done just that, but it would have been wrong on so many levels.

 

There was so much Sharley could say to that -- _look at what he’d done to Earlene at first, and what he’d later done to that asshole driving instructor_ \-- but nothing came out. She drew a deep breath, forcing calm on herself. “Thranduil did a whole lot more than that to Earlene, at first,” she said at last. “And more than once. I just...I’m not seeing the difference.”

 

_Thranduil knew what he was doing,_ Lorna thought, though in all honesty, that didn't exactly make it sound any better. _He wasn’t going in and poking at stuff willy-nilly._ And every single bit of that sentence sounded dirty...oops. “The difference is that he’s not the same person now,” she said aloud. “The Thranduil that did that knew fuck-all about humans -- shit, sorry Lady Vairë -- and didn't know what he was doing was...ethically sticky. You know all about us. You meant well, but that doesn’t mean you should’ve done it. Which, you know me -- story’v my life, too.” Perhaps the best way to keep the poor woman from feeling attacked was to remind her that others around her were far greater fuck-ups. The big difference was that Lorna didn't have the ability to inadvertently melt someone’s brain.

 

Sharley sighed, and shut her eyes, and Lorna hugged her. Hard. “So what should I have done?” she asked. “I didn't want to risk hurting her by trying to wipe her memory if I had to. I thought this was the only thing I _could_ do.”

 

“In this case, get her name and leave it for later. Or nothing at all,” Vairë said softly. “Lorna is right, in what she says. And, there are things you do not fully understand about Thranduil and Earlene. I asked them to reveal all their feelings and memories to me. Both did so willingly. There were considerable differences between these two instances.”

 

Oh, Sharley was well aware of that one. Thranduil had used Earlene and thought of her like a pet. All she’d done was --

 

_“Sharley, stop it. Stop it, and breathe,”_ Sinsemilla ordered her. _“This is Vairë. You trust her. You love her. No one is attacking you here.”_

 

_No, we’re not,_ Lorna said, hugging her tighter. _Please, just listen. Don't be me. You know how I get, when I think someone’s poking at me. We all love you, Sharley. We’re not trying to hurt you, or make you feel like you’re awful. Please just be still for a minute, okay? I know I sound like my bloody husband, but be still, and breathe._

 

Sharley nodded, and did just that. “But...I needed to do something,” she said after a moment, looking up at Vairë. “We’ll need them later, I know we will. Right now we don't have anyone else like them, and I don't think...well. It doesn’t matter. I won’t do it again.” Which left her feeling sad, and more than a touch useless.

 

Lorna was not a telepath of any sort, but she knew Sharley, and she knew just what this felt like. “There’s loads’v other shite for you to do,” she said firmly. “You learn how to do it, and how to do it right, and the rest’v us’ll still be here. Listen to your Lady. She’s the one out’v everyone here that actually knows what she’s on about.”

 

Vairë shook her head once again. “Sharley, this isn’t about not wanting you to do it again-- or not. This is about you being able to understand _what is okay to do_. You were not made to be a caged bird, but every bird needs to understand how to fly. I am here to help you, until this makes some sense all the way around. And so are your friends here, who in many ways understand you better than I do. Together, we can manage this.” She learned forward to hug Sharley. “Trust that everything will be fine.”

 

Lorna released her poor friend, so she could return her Lady’s hug. “I do,” Sharley whispered, her eyes squeezed shut as she held onto the closest thing to a mother a Maia could ever have. “I do trust you. I'm just...I know this sounds stupid, but I’m scared. I’m scared of what I’ll lose.”

 

“Well, it won’t be us,” Lorna said, poking her in the back. “Not all the Donovans are human, or are you forgetting Thranduil? We’re like the Borg, allanah. Once we’ve assimilated you, we don't let go, so don't let _that_ thought hold you back. Learn everything there is to know about who and what you are, and then come back for tea. It’s not an either/or thing.”

 

Sharley laughed a little, but it was unsteady, and tears burned at her eyes.

 

Vairë kept her arm over Sharley’s shoulder. “Tea really does sound like an excellent idea just now,” the Vala opined.

 

**

 

Sharley and Vairë went off on their own after tea, and Lorna was glad enough of the opportunity to sit on the sofa in the Heart Room, basking in the warmth of the fire with the kitties. She wasn’t looking forward to this Council meeting tonight, but with any luck, it wouldn’t involve much.

 

Ratiri was laying down on the other side of the sofa, reading something or another, and Thranduil sait -- well, lounged -- in one of the fat chairs near the fireplace. She wasn’t sure what he was doing until he fired a paper airplane at her -- naturally, since he was a bloody elf, it got her right in the forehead.

 

“What’s this?” she asked, picking it up before any of the cats could try to eat it.

 

“Tonight’s agenda. You’re chairing it tonight, aren’t you?”

 

Lorna froze. “ _What?_ ” she asked, unfolding the paper -- not exactly easy, since Pickles had stood up enough to try to gnaw the bottom corners. “But we just bloody got home!”

 

“And you’ve missed out on a great deal,” Thranduil said, with the faintest arch of an eyebrow.

 

“Oh, good Jesus…” She had what, three hours to get this ready? It wasn’t a small agenda, either; four separate points, and she knew fuck-all about the first of them. Apparently they’d acquired land and cattle from Ailill’s brother (and she’d love to hear how _that_ had happened, given that last she’d known, he was still a gobshite), which nobody yet knew what to do with. _She_ certainly had no idea -- yeah, she’d done a great deal of work with the farm over the years, but most of that was with horses, not cattle.

 

Dealing with chronic ailments, like Eris’s asthma, she could defer to Ratiri and Doc Barry. It was a good idea, fixing them slowly over time, so Thranduil didn't get drained -- and probably not one difficult to deal with. Ditto using the existing health system to screen for other issues. The problem with _that_ was that a number of the expats had no legal identity in Ireland, which was a thing that would have to get lobbed at poor Orla.

 

She scanned further down the paper, and her eyebrows rose. Well, this ought to get interesting...is made a lot of sense, and yet it could prove somewhat divisive. If people went for it, it could also create some practical issues, because it would mean there could be a metric arseload of babies and toddlers running about when the plague happened. It would be safer for any women who wanted kids to have them now, while they still had access to modern medical care, but Lorna personally wasn’t sure it was a great idea for a whole bunch to do it at once. Especially since the Halls weren’t exactly childproof to begin with.

 

Ugh, she couldn’t even read the fourth one yet. “Ratiri, allanah, I need help,” she said, holding the paper up over her head. “Take a look at this, will you?”

 

He sat up enough to take it from her, and swore under his breath. She was pretty sure it was in Urdu, too. “Well, some of us have already been doing this, formally or not,” he said. “I’ve been in the latter category, and need to move into the former.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Continuing education for all our medical personnel,” he explained. “Ever since Faeleth’s birth, I’ve done a lot of informal reading on obstetrics and midwifery, but I haven’t had time to attend proper classes. I ought to take some -- all of our medical branch should, while the classes are still there.”

 

“We’ll find someone to take over teaching your subjects at the school,” Lorna promised. They had more and more children _to_ teach, and while they’d acquired some teachers as well, they’d had to be re-trained. Not only were standards different in different parts of the world, their curriculum had axed most ‘fluff’ topics, and become more tailored to each individual student’s preferences and aptitudes. The fluff was still optional, but there was no point in forcing kids to learn what year William the Conqueror landed in England, or how long it would take two vehicles traveling at different times and different speeds would reach one destination; what they really _needed_ were people who knew how to plant, to make butter, to cook without electricity. The maths they taught were practical, not theoretical, and anyone who was interested in learning _that_ could study in their own time. (Unsurprisingly, so far, nobody had. Not even the twins -- Chandra had studied what was necessary to fuel her scientific curiosity, but she had no interest in maths purely for maths’ sake.)

 

Ratiri would be quite relieved, honestly. It had been one thing when it was just the household’s children, but now? Now there were almost thirty kids under the age of fifteen, and that number was only going to grow. He was good with children, but he was not a teacher, and his style of teaching didn't work nearly so well with children who weren’t exceptionally intelligent.

 

He sighed. “I’ll handle the ‘babies’ issue if you figure out what to ask Orla, to get the expats something like legal ID. We don't need to go in _entirely_ unprepared.”

 

“I’m sure we can cough something up in the next three hours,” Lorna said, giving Thranduil a blatant hairy eyeball. “Seeing as we didn't have any more warning than that, everyone had better forgive us.”

 

“Oh, I am certain it will be fine,” he said absently, not looking up from his tablet. Neither Ratiri or Lorna noticed the furtive glances or the smirks that briefly appeared on his face when neither were looking.

 

**

 

By five-thirty, Lorna was downright harassed, with a rather haphazard folder of paper stuffed together. She and Ratiri were running behind, too, so she fired up the sofa and they zoomed to the Halls. At least it wasn’t raining, though when the sun set, the temperature plummeted; her face was downright numb by they time they made it inside. (And yes, Ratiri _still_ had to open the Gates. She wondered if they would ever forgive her for pissing outside of them that one time.)

 

She cornered Earlene before everyone could formally sit down. “For Christ’s sake, fill me in on this cattle thing,” she said, low. “I’ve got the rest at least half-arsed handled, but...they’re cows. Not my forte.”

 

“You mean the idea of transitioning the commercial breeds to heritage ones, like what we are using at the farm?” Earlene asked, thinking it commendable yet interesting that Lorna was so interested in the agenda items.

 

“Yeah.” Lorna sighed. “Thranduil didn't give me any bloody warning I was chairing this thing, the bastard. I’ve had three hours to try to get my shite together, but neither Ratiri nor I knows a damn thing about cows.”

 

“Chairing? What do you mean? He’s the one chairing it, not you. Maybe you misread something?”

 

Lorna’s eyes narrowed. “No, indeed I didn't,” she growled. “He told me I was chairing this. I know he’s your husband, Earlene, but I’m going to bloody murder him in the eyebrows.” _Thranduil, you are going to pay for this. I don't know how yet, but you will pay._ It was a good thing he couldn’t actually see her expression, because it was disturbingly bloodthirsty.

 

Shane, seemingly oblivious, glanced at Big Jamie. “So, this meeting’s doubling as a welcome-home party, you two,” he said, tossing a wadded napkin at Ratiri. “We’ll get the poitín out in a minute.”

 

“The cake’s on its way, too,” Mairead added, and wondered why her little sister looked ready to rip someone’s face off. Thranduil had mentioned winding her up over something, but had neglected to say just how he intended to accomplish that (and nobody had asked, figuring plausible deniability was a good thing.)

 

_Wait, what?_ Lorna’s train of thought screeched as it jumped onto a branch line. As soon as she had a chance, she was going to noogie Thranduil into submission. Oh, he’d adapted to brotherhood, all right -- that was a little shit move worthy of Pat.

 

Orla bit the inside of her cheek. Poor Lorna, but messing with her was too much fun. She barely even noticed when Thalion, carrying a huge tray of nibbles, snuck through the door behind her.

 

Ratiri facepalmed. It was all he could do. They’d been played like a fiddle, and he had to admire the elegance of it, even though part of him was feeling very Lorna-like and wanted to flick Thranduil between the eyes a few dozen times. _Well done,_ he said. _Aggravating as all hell, but well done._ He did not share what he was certain was his wife’s thirst for revenge, but he made a silent resolution to run anything supposedly official that Thranduil might say past Thanadir in the future. Saving himself an eye strain headache was always a good thing.

 

Thranduil breezed into the room, all smiles. “I can see that our full quota of members is present, so will the secretaries please note the time of this meeting’s commencement and the names of those present--when food and drink permit? No rush.” A chuckle ran around the room because as Thranduil spoke, Thanadir was precisely halfway through one of Big Jamie’s cocktail sandwiches. The seneschal did not even bother to appear chagrined, but merely shrugged and reached for an extra slice of cake. “And welcome back, Lorna and Ratiri. We have had a long summer vacation without you.” More chuckles, and the Elvenking (and frankly half the table) was so obviously enjoying his thorough victory over Lorna. Oh yes, there would be more later on, but in the meantime this had been utterly worth it.

 

Lorna, because she was an adult, stuck her tongue out at him, and contented herself with stealing a slice of cake. _Oh, just you wait,_ she said. _You’ll pay for that one. You’re lucky I love you or you’d have to sleep with one eye open._ Her attempt at menace was rather undone by the fact that she was fighting laughter.

 

_“You’ll totally have help,”_ Layla whispered to her.

 

“All right, everyone get something to eat before we get started,” Mairead said. “It’s good to have you back, Fun Size, Ratiri. Somehow, things aren’t nearly as entertaining with you away.”

 

“We missed you, too,” Lorna said, though she couldn’t help but make another face at Thranduil. Just because. “And I hope somebody else knows anything at all about these bloody cows, because _I_ don't, and I’ll be perfectly honest -- I’m not that interested. Cattle are huge, and less cooperative than horses.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes and shook her head, but smiled. Fortunately that was rather down the agenda list.

 

“Cows come later,” Thranduil smirked. “First are three separate items of a medical nature, submitted by Indira. One: The planned healing of all those diagnosed with known chronic ailments prior to the onset of the plague. Two: The necessity of continuing education and cross-training for all those currently possessing medical qualifications, including those schooled at assisting in childbirth. And Three: The notion that couples interested in bearing children do so now, while additional safeguards exist, rather than after the plague alters access to modern medicine. We will examine these in order, and, if I may prevail on Indira to lead this discussion?”

 

Indira rose. She’d managed to subsume her need to laugh at her hapless cousin’s far more understated reaction to their little welcome-home prank, though she was not immune to the glower Lorna gave her. “We need to make a list of everyone who currently lives in the Halls or in either village,” she said. “Everyone with ailments such as asthma or arthritis need to have them healed before the plague, but in stages -- we can’t drain Thranduil. I know there are more expats coming in all the time, so it would help if those who know the newcomers could add them to the list as well.”

 

“What counts as a ‘chronic ailment’?” Big Jamie asked. “Aside from asthma and arthritis, I mean.”

 

“We can make a list,” Indira said, “but anyone who has one probably already knows about it.”

 

“We need to get together with the other medical staff,” Ratiri said. “We really should cross-train as well as take continuing education courses, and it might be good if we could do at least a few of them together.” They needed to get a feel for how they would all work together, before they had to do it for real.

 

“What about finding out who’s sick in the first place?” Geezer asked. “Everyone for the most part has access to the health services here. Has everyone had a… do you call them checkups, here?”

 

“Everyone with a legal ID could get a wellness exam, easily,” Indira said. “The problem is that many of our expats don't.”

 

“I’ll work on that,” Orla said. She already knew how much of a headache _that_ was going to be, given how many of them there were.

 

“I can do a basic exam at my surgery,” Indira added, “but they would need identification for blood testing. And given how many of us there are, and the fact that the surgery only has three exam rooms, it’s not feasible for us to do it all ourselves.”

 

“Orla, how long does it take to knock a fake ID together?” Mairead asked.

 

Orla sighed, and ate some cake. “For a basic one? Not long. The problem isn’t just that we need so many’v them, though -- the problem is that I can’t go flooding the system with several thousand fake ID’s in a short amount’v time.”

 

“We need another means of doing this, if it’s just to run blood work. Have we no one affiliated with a university such that this could be laundered under the guise of an academic study?” Earlene asked.

 

“Nuala’s brother Tom’s a researcher at Trinity’s med school,” Indira said. “Well, I say ‘researcher’; he works for one. He could probably do it, but he’d be screwed if he got caught.”

 

“Would it matter so much, if he did?” Lorna asked. “He’ll be losing his job in three and a half years anyway.”

 

“It would,” Ratiri said, “to him. But there has to be some private lab we could pay. Some lab that won’t want a huge backlog of paperwork proving a person is who they say they are.”

 

“I’ll see what I can find,” Indira said. She couldn’t think of anything off the top of her head, but she knew they were out there. “As for further training, I’ve been looking at that, and thinking that it shouldn’t just be us professionals -- anyone interested in nursing or midwifery ought to get in on this as well, and at least find out if they’ve got the constitution for it.”

 

“I would agree that we cannot have enough help for all concerns of this nature. We do not wish to find ourselves with a large population for which to care and far too few individuals who can provide the most basic level of care,” Thranduil opined, completely relaxed and demonstrating an enviable command of managing chairperson duties.

 

“Talking women into having babies in a hurry might need its own bloody meeting,” Mairead said. It was a sticky proposition that would take some thought, that was for sure. “Anyway, what is this about cattle?” Thranduil really did seem quite pleased with himself, but he’d earned it. Poor Lorna.

 

Thranduil smiled, but only a little. “It is not ‘talking into’ so much as ‘you may wish to consider this particular reality in your decision making,’ he noted. ‘They will be the ones faced with bearing children once we no longer have hospitals and...modern medicine. I think all of us here know just how much can go wrong, when little ones come.” Silence swept over the table, because...the topic was awkward, frightening, and had touched most of those present in one form or another. Fortunately, he did not allow this moment to continue. “But yes, cows. I think Thalion, who has been devoting a certain portion of time familiarizing himself with realities pertaining to dairy production was prepared to comment?”

 

The blond ellon smiled and bowed his head politely to his King, before turning to the others. “This pertains to the holdings that once belonged to the Kerry family, Ailill’s family, but were purchased….” He paused. “Perhaps it is better to say, an arrangement was reached. Regardless, this included an eight-hundred cow dairy operation; very large. All of the cows in question are modern commercial breeds being managed according to standard practices in the outer world. It is ordinary to only keep these creatures for a relatively short period of time; they are then sent on to be slaughtered and then they are replaced by a younger animal. These animals will not be practical or...anything, really, once the plague comes.

 

“It is the advice of those skilled with cattle that the dairy operation be downsized into a much different business model; one that will in the course of the next few years replace the commercial breeds with the kind that have the resilience to fare better in the changing conditions in which we will find ourselves. We also need to consider our final estimated population against how many producing animals we will have; once we no longer have a means of selling milk to the outer world we will only want to make use of what our own population needs for milk, cheese and butter. This is a large investment of time and resources yet it is also a very important source of food that will allow for continuity of our diet. That is the sum of what is to occur; I was asked to find whether there were questions or comments from this council.”

 

That was rather a lot for all of them, considering none of them had any experience as dairy farmers. “The only thing I can think of at present is the need to ensure none of them carry bovine tuberculosis,” Indira said. “Beyond that, I think it’s best left to the experts.” If any cattle _did_ have the disease, it could still be treated while antibiotics existed, and once it was gone, it shouldn’t prove a problem, or so she hoped.

 

Thalion looked around the room, and saw that no one else intended to comment, so he gave a nod of acknowledgement to Indira and looked expectantly back at Thranduil.

 

“Well,” the King mused, “if no one has any new business to raise, it would seem we are nearly ready to eat and drink more?”

 

“Best to not let this cake go to waste,” Orla said, diving in.

 

“And it’d go down even better with some poitín,” Geezer added. He’d had the hardest damn time not laughing at Lorna at first...poor woman was too much fun to troll. “Food and booze. Best way to end a meeting.”

 

Thranduil raised his hand. “Please note that the meeting is ended at six forty three please,” he asked those taking notes. “And someone pass me down the poitín?” That gained a complete laugh from the entire table. Even resistant and seemly Thanadir actually chortled. Surely, this was worth a separate note somewhere...

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow, ate the last of her piece of cake, and rose to give Thranduil a hug-slash-noogie. _I love you, but I’m still going to make you pay for this._

 

_Of course you are,_ the King grinned. He walked over, and bent down to hug her into the back of her own chair. _You keep telling yourself that._ He ruffled her hair as he stepped back. Yes, he was having fun. That did not mean he was so foolish as to stay within easy reach.

 

She stuck her tongue out at him before she went for a shot of poitín. He seemed to forget that she had _one_ weapon at her disposal, but she’d let him keep on forgetting it until she thought up exactly what she wanted to do. As much as she wanted her vengeance to involve cats, that would be too obvious.

 

“Please tell me the house will still be standing,” Ratiri said, when she sat back down beside him.

 

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” she said airily. “I haven’t planned a thing.”

 

He eyed her. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

 

Shane just shook his head, and knocked back a shot. Poor Lorna, it wasn’t her fault she was so much fun to annoy, but she just...was. She was tiny, and the faces she made when she was irritated were too hilarious for words. The fact that Thranduil played practical jokes like this went a long way to sort of...humanize him, for lack of a better word, to the newer people who were weirded out by the whole idea of an Elvenking. Yes, he was tall and ancient and inhumanly pretty, but he could be as much of a little shit as any human could be. He might or might not know just how much good that did.

 

Earlene stood, and went to speak more with Thalion, while resting her hand on Thanadir’s shoulder. He would rather eat cake than discuss cows, and she would rather keep a hand on him until she was certain everyone had had a slice; Mairead cake was not safe from her husband. Not one bit. Oh, she could see that Thranduil had just managed some kind of magnificent trolling of Lorna that they would all probably later regret...but for now, so what. Thranduil caught her eye and winked. Yes, it was good to have everyone home.

 

**

 

Once half the household was off to the Council meeting, Sharley felt there was a little more time to actually have a talk with Vairë. She still felt...well, honestly rather drained, and rather than head for the Heart Room or Quiet Room, she led her Lady to the Donovans’ common room. It was nice and empty, given the Duncan kids were currently out, and Pat, Grania, and Lorna the Younger had moved to the Halls.

 

She fed some wood into the rocket heater and plugged in the assorted Christmas lights. “Maglor wouldn’t say anything, when I asked him why you were here,” she said, sitting on the sofa.

 

“Because I insisted he not, just as I did Thranduil,” Vairë answered. “They have been in a...predicament of sorts, for some time. One I felt needed to be alleviated.”

 

“A predicament?” Sharley echoed. “Howso?” Maglor had never said anything of it, though he was hardly obligated to tell her everything.

 

“Because they know you cannot see their circumstance. There are many points of view, Tirillë. They both find themselves able to observe that you are very powerful and only minimally aware of...yourself. They are both elven; of a different race, not at all the same as you or I. They understand that you do not behave as...what you are, and it creates difficulty for them in certain ways. Your husband loves you, but he does not know how to help you. How to address this with you. And he is right, in this. It is not his problem to solve; his role is to be your mate. And yet each of them in their own way is powerful, and they have understanding of the proper use of that power. And of their place in the world, for lack of better words.”

 

Sharley went still. A mingling of anger and hurt jagged through her, and it was all she could do not to rise and run. Were this anyone else but her Lady, she would have been gone in a heartbeat. Who was Thranduil to say what she should or shouldn’t behave like? He’d never known Maia or Vala before her. And Maglor...that hurt, and it hurt a lot. “So,” she said slowly, “they think I'm wrong, don't they? That I should…” _that I should just be what I was, and not what I am now?_ Maglor loved her, though, and she knew it -- loved who she’d become, not just who she was...right? But if he did, why -- why this? She wondered, in that moment, if anyone but her voices would ever think she was actually good enough as she was.

 

Vairë sighed. “Dear one, your response is why they kept their silence. What they do or do not think is immaterial; the have a right to whatever is in their own minds. There is no easy way for me to say this to you; you do not know what you do not know. That is the magnitude of what you do not perceive, Tirillë.”

 

Sharley sighed, and looked at her loom. It was tidy, waiting for her, if she could summon the interest to do anything with it. “But...Lady Vairë, you know me. You know how I was before, how...I’m not _that_ different. And I know Thranduil can’t see that, since he never met me, but Maglor…” She bit the inside of her cheek, frowning. “I’ve always been a disaster of a Maia, and he knew that. I don't…” She had a very Lorna-like urge to swear, mostly brought on by the fact that her husband and one of her close friends thought she was...lacking. The knowledge wearied her. “My Lady, can I go for a walk? I’m not sure I’m in the right headspace to be productive right now. I ought to find Kurt, before he can annoy anyone else too badly.”

 

“You may, but not to wander around finding reasons to be depressed. You are not a disaster, Sharley, but neither were you ever meant to exist outside of Valinor. Yet here you are, and if here you will be, you must learn to rise to the demands of being in this place. It is not a choice, and it is why I am going nowhere until we have succeeded together. And I will save you time, I have imprisoned Kurt. He is hanging from the uppermost framework of the greenhouse with the citrus trees.” She smiled as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world to mention.

 

Sharley’s eyebrows rose -- as did her spirits, slightly. “Oh dear. Was he...well, was he being _him_? Because I know he can be vulgar and annoying, but somehow he never stays muted.” She shook her head. “He can be aggravating, and at times he can be downright disgusting, but I remember where he came from, so I can’t be _that_ annoyed. When Avathar would...um, he’d get a little too grope-y, sometimes, and Kurt made it all seem ridiculous. He’d mock Avathar, and take as much of the horror out of it as he could.”

 

_“Yeah, but he still deserves to be in a spider ball,”_ Jimmy snickered. _“There’s a difference between something vulgar and some of the shi -- er, the stuff he’s said around Lady Vairë. Maybe he’s actually learned his lesson.”_

 

_“Jimmy, he’s_ Kurt _,”_ Layla said. _“He’s not capable of that.”_

 

Sharley facepalmed. “ _Anyway._ I’ll get to where I need to be eventually, but right now I’m no use and I know it. I need a walk and more tea.” And as sad as it made her, she needed to not see her husband for a while.

 

Vairë let her go. Later she would speak with Maglor. She might even...commandeer him elsewhere, just to mitigate his awareness of Tirillë’s current and blatantly human frame of mind. While he was not her proverbial problem, neither did she wish to add to his difficulties. Besides, the walk. Well, that could get...interesting.

 

**

 

Full darkness had fallen by now, and the air was quite chilly, but Sharley didn't mind. She'd never been very sensitive to temperature extremes when she thought she was human, but now she was even less so.

 

The wet leaves squeaked beneath her boots as she walked, headed nowhere in particular. The problem with this whole thing -- what made it feel even worse -- was that Vairë was right. She was a Vala, of _course_ she was right. Somehow, it made Maglor’s doubt hurt no less.

 

The thing was, she’d always been something of a failure at being a Maia. It was why she’d so rarely left the Weaver’s Halls -- why she’d had to be all but dragged to the party where she’d met her husband. Merely learning to be what she had once been would be more than a bit useless; she had, it seemed, to learn to be something new. The thought was as disheartening as it was terrifying. _I’m not sitting in the Halls all day anymore_ , she thought. _Being a walking disaster is a lot more dangerous now._ And yet, even if Maglor wasn’t banished to Earth, she still had no desire to go back to sitting in the Halls all day, weaving. She’d seen too much of what lay beyond them. There was no ugliness in Aman, no stain; now that she had seen both, she realized that one needed them to make the beauty seem all the lovelier. Summer was all the nicer when you could remember the cold of winter.

 

“I think I understand Lorna better now,” she muttered aloud. Lorna had told her that, back in the early days of her association with this group, she’d occasionally wanted to run back to Baile -- to the safety of the life she’d always known, where she didn't feel judged or lacking. She’d had to tell herself that safer was not always better, and that change, however scary, hard, and occasionally depressing as it might be, _was_ ultimately better. Sharley had a long time to get there herself, and yet somehow it didn't feel like it. Would she know, when she did? Had Lorna known? Did anyone _ever_ know?

 

_Vairë will tell me._ That thought at least was somewhat liberating -- she didn't need to worry about whether or not she’d know it when she made it.

 

“Why are you worrying about all that, Aunt Sharley?” A quizzical expression appeared as Faeleth swung over the branch on which she had sat, unseen, and now hung upside-down--unconcernedly, by her bent knees draped over said branch. “Don’t you know all that is small stuff?”

 

Sharley jumped a little, and kicked herself for not registering the child was there. “It’s not to me,” she said. “Not right now, anyway. There are….” How much could she tell Faeleth? The girl was precocious, even for a peredhel, but she was still a child. “There are things I was doing that I didn't realize were dangerous.” The rest of it, especially her hurt at Maglor, should stay private. This girl didn't need to know how depressing this day had been.

 

“I know,” Faeleth said, reflective. “But you shouldn’t be mad at Uncle Maglor. There’s nothing else he could have done, and he loves you.”

 

Sharley stilled, and blinked. She hadn’t said anything of that aloud, but how under Anor could Faeleth, a peredhel, have read her mind? Even _Thranduil_ couldn’t do that without her allowing it. “I’m not mad,” she said. “I’m sad. Sometimes emotions don't make sense, but that doesn’t make them less valid.” Angie and Lorna had conspired to thump that into her head, when she was dealing with the...Avathar mess...and Sinsemilla only reinforced it.

 

“Sad is a form of mad, Aunt Sharley,” Faeleth opined carefully. “They are two sides to being hurt, and are not very different at all. Of course your feelings are okay. But Nana says feelings are from what we think we see, not always from what is real. You have trouble seeing right now, Auntie. But it will get better. Nana says that is why Vairë has come to you.”

 

_I haven’t been paying enough attention to this one_ , Sharley thought, eying the girl closely. “Your nana is a very smart woman,” she said. “But right now, so many things feel wrong. Sometimes it’s hard not to want to...to run. Overcoming that want takes a kinda effort I’m not so used to.”

 

“Not Nana, _Nana_ ,”Faeleth said, shaking her head. “She says you have lost your joy, because you have forgotten how to dance.”

 

“She means me,” Nessa said, suddenly standing behind Sharley. “And she is quite correct, though the words she chooses to explain are...sadly limited.”

 

Sharley twitched again, though at least she didn't swear; she turned and bowed her head. She knew that Lorna and Earlene had run into Nessa and Tulkas in the forest, but that was years ago -- the idea that either Vala had stuck around would not have occurred to her. “I’ve forgotten a lotta things,” she said, looking at Nessa with eyes full of sadness. “I guess I didn't know how many. I thought I was helping, but I wasn’t. I thought a lotta things, and it’s -- it’s hard, hearing what my Lady’s had to say since I got home.”

 

Nessa smiled at these words but turned her attention to Faeleth. “Daughter, how often do you dance?”

 

“Every day, Nana,” Faeleth grinned.

 

“And how often do you fall down?”

 

“Oh, lots. If I’m trying to do something really hard, maybe even lots and lots. But dancing is too much fun, Nana. I didn’t think I should mind it.”

 

“That is quite right, you should not,” Nessa said, reaching to kiss Faeleth on the forehead as she continued to hang in such an improbable position. This elicited a merry giggle.

 

“Come, Faeleth, now we will run. Swifter than the deer. I will give you a little head start, and see if I can catch you!”

 

With a shriek of happiness, the child darted off at blinding speed, disappearing almost instantly into the forest. “Do you see?” Nessa tilted her head, smiling at Sharley, before turning and bounding in pursuit, her unkempt but beautiful golden hair streaking behind her.

 

Sharley watched them both go, and shook her head. Obviously she hadn’t been paying anything like close enough attention, if she was only _now_ spotting this. _Did_ she see? She certainly thought she might. Whether or not she could hold to it, and not get dragged down into depression again, remained to be seen -- but she could try. In the end, that was all anyone could do.

 

_Dancing_ , she though, and snorted quietly. She’d met Maglor because she’d been avoiding dancing; she had never been among the most graceful of the Maiar. Sit her before a loom and she was golden, but when it came to anything else she was...serviceable at best. Perhaps it was no wonder she was having such a hard time now. She was at once more and less than she’d ever been.

 

Nevertheless, she wasn’t ready to talk to Maglor, or Thranduil. She could cut the latter a little more slack than the former, but it still hurt. For now she would walk in the chilly, damp night, and focus only on what was around her. Fear and uncertainty could go hang until morning.

 

**

 

“Forgive me, Lady, but do you know where Tirllë has gone? I thought she might return by now.” Maglor had found Vairë in the Heart Room, using one of the electronic tablets.

 

“I am afraid she may not return anytime soon,” Vairë explained. “I spoke of some pointed realities today, and...she is upset now with you and Thranduil exactly as you feared might happen. I am sorry, for this, but deemed it necessary she know the truths many here hide from her about how she is perceived.”

 

“This is all my doing,” Maglor whispered, eyes downcast. “That she remains here, that she had so many difficulties. I am still so sorry.”

 

The Lady sighed. “I will be blunt with you too, son of Fëanor. What good has it ever done you, to continue shouldering these burdens? You were pardoned by all of us. It is true that a punishment came with it, but even were that not the case, still all of this would be happening to her. She will...snap out of it, is I believe how you express this? And were she not flailing, there would be no ‘it’ out of which to snap. Just as there is no repairing this problem, without causing a few more. She needs to know, Maglor. Trust me, in this. I have known her for far longer.”

 

“Yes, Lady,” Maglor answered obediently. “I will do my best.” The problem was, his best was all but assuredly not going to be good enough. Keeping his eyes cast down, he withdrew from the room. Vairë frowned and shook her head. She would find some help for him; others would make there way here soon enough.

 

*****

 

“So this was the start of our safari, the plane ride to Mahale National Park on Lake Tanganyika. Uncles Maglor and Pen, I know that you would have read a great deal about this place from the writings of David Livingstone and Henry Stanley, the renowned nineteenth century explorers. We stayed in Greystoke’s Camp after a boat ride of about forty minutes up the lake, where being able to swim, explore and observe wild chimpanzees was...what we did. We were surrounded by the Mahale mountains. And it was..beautiful.” Her eyes darted to Thranduil, who smiled back at her. If for no other reason, their trip had drawn him closer to his eldest daughter; they had a shared experience unique to only them...one he would not trade for anything.

 

“Looks a bit like Paradise, honestly,” Siobhan said. “Like the kind’v place you couldn’t be in a hurry in, because you wouldn’t want to.” It looked like the water had to be a hell of a lot warmer than frigid Lake Hebgen or Yellowstone Lake. In Allanah’s footage, it rippled in the sunlight, shimmering like jewels.

 

“God, no kidding,” Pat said. He wondered if it would be possible for places like that to somehow survive the plague -- they were far from any major population centers, after all.

 

“Next we were transported to Katavi National Park, to see animals of the wetlands and plains. Water buffalo, hippos, lions, crocodiles, leopards, giraffe, birds and vegetation.”

 

“It’s like a proper _National Geographic_ trip,” Lorna said, highly pleased by how many photos had been shot. There were animals she was familiar with -- lions, leopards, hippos -- but also some that were rather a surprise. Of especial interest was a small, iridescent bird of green and blue and purple, its eyes an alarming orange, and what looked like a pale, furry bat with a bright orange snout, ears, and wings.

 

Saoirse mentally cataloged all the unusual critters, filing them away to be drawn later.

 

“How hot was it?” Atia asked. “I mean, I know it had to’ve been hot, it’s bloody Africa, but just how did you handle it?”

 

“Good clothes. The mountain was one thing, up high it was freezing. But nights on the Serengeti were pleasant. Sometimes we went for walks but...honestly I am not sure any of you would have liked it there, on account of the heat.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Ratiri said. The D&D’s were all better-acclimated to hotter temperatures than they had been on the first trip to Yellowstone, all those years ago, but even Eastern Washington was not Africa. There was also usually air conditioning available _somewhere_ in Eastern Washington, which he highly doubted was a feature at all common even in automobiles in rural Tanzania.

 

“Beho Beho camp, Selous Game Reserve is the oldest and largest game reserve in Tanzania, created by the former German colonial rulers. We were taken by jeep from our airstrip to the Rufiji river which is really...large. This area at one time saw a great deal of hunting and poaching. There are exceptionally large numbers of giraffe, and it was a chance to view how a major river functions as an ecosystem...and it could not have been more different than seeing the Shannon in Limerick. We enjoyed the animals but this was meant to be mostly a break from how hard the mountain climb had been...it is very nice in the reserve!”

 

“Jesus, colonists actually did something good?” Lorna the Younger asked, more than slightly dubious. Giraffes were one of those animals that didn't look real to her.

 

“Thranduil, you remember when the giraffe in the New York City Zoo licked your face?” Lorna the Elder asked, unable to help herself. “It looks like it had to be so _calm_ there.”

 

Pat looked at her, and at Thranduil, and barely smothered a laugh. He could picture that all too clearly.

 

“Yes, I remember,” the King answered, smiling.

 

Allanah rolled her eyes and kept on. “We stayed at an island called Vamizi which...was just a beautiful place, with only places to swim and enjoy. White sand beaches, and lots and lots of snorkeling. I couldn’t take pictures under the water but there were coral reefs, and they were beautiful. After this was a day to see Zanzibar, which does not have the nicest history. It was once a center of slavery and...many really horrible things went on there that I’d really rather not know about, but they happened. However because of seeing this, David Livingstone started a crusade to have colonies connected to England put a stop to this. Eventually it worked, so it made a little difference but….not even going to get into all that,” she said. They were not here to discuss the ugly story of human trafficking.

 

“And our last slide, one that adar took.” It showed Allanah, nose to nose with a massive male lion. No cages, no bars.

 

Earlene’s head whipped around to look at Thranduil.

 

Lorna’s eyes widened. “Jesus fuck, Thranduil, what were you on about, letting her do that?” she asked. “Were you in its head or something, keeping it from eating her face off?”

 

Both Pat and Ratiri cringed, because they could picture that scenario all too well. One bite and Allanah would have been a goner, but surely Thranduil had been dealing with the animal...somehow. Right?

 

Grania shook her head. It was a good thing Earlene wasn’t Irish, because any Irish woman who saw such a photo with their child in it would have fetched Thranduil such a slap his ears would ring for the next week.

 

“There was no ‘let’” Thranduil replied quietly. “All through this trip, if Allanah needed to relieve herself, I accompanied her to be somewhere nearby, to guard her. And on this one occasion, she was being hunted. Yes, I was most definitely in its head, for both our safety. It did not alter that once I was there, this photograph was a possibility. Our guides never saw this lion, never knew. As we did not wish it shot, we declined to mention anything about it. It left just as it came, through the tall grasses. Say what you will, they are magnificent.”

 

_I suppose it was a good thing she was already going to have a piss,_ Lorna thought, shaking her head. “I’d’ve probably died’v heart failure,” she said.

 

Sharley looked at the photo, and at Allanah, and a chill crept through her. She never had, since she discovered what she really was, liked to think about the fact that her sunshine girl was mortal, and would one day be parted from her forever. The thought that she could all too easily have died on this trip if not for Thranduil was...no. It wasn’t to be thought of.

 

Allanah merely looked back at her father, and they exchanged another knowing grin. Yes, things had changed. Earlene observed all of this and considered the new father-daughter relationship. More than anything, it made her feel a sense of pride. In so many ways, Allanah would be the last true Sullivan. If only her parents, and gran, could have seen the young woman Aidan’s little girl had become. Whoever would have guessed?--Not her.


	151. One Hundred Fifty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers, Ann here. Awhile ago, Spam published the first of her M books on amazon.com [The Curse of M](https://www.amazon.com/Curse-Universe-Book-Stevie-Barry-ebook/dp/B0777XSYH8/ref=la_B077BNR9K6_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1520876140&sr=1-1). This E book costs less than half your average mocha at Starbuck's and is essentially the origin of many of the characters in this fanfic. I have to point out, without the M stories, _At the Edge of Lasg'len_ would have been no more than an 20 chapter smut story instead of this amazing evolution. Please consider supporting her writing by buying a copy. Shameless plug, on/off.

{December 20, 2033}

 

Ever since September’s Council meeting, Lorna had been...pondering. Unfortunately for Thranduil, Estë had given her the ability to play the long game, rather than seeking immediate (and predictable) retribution.

 

She kept her thoughts in Russian, and only gave it real consideration when she was away from the house; there were so many humans here now that Thranduil wasn’t going to automatically pick her thoughts out of the growing mental ether.

 

It was a random Google search that gave her the idea. She’d been looking up retro Christmas ornaments, but the little suggestion box under the search bar (because she refused to use the voice commands, dammit; they still had such a hard time with her accent that it was all too often an exercise in frustration) held the words ‘retro Christmas trends’. She clicked on it on a whim, and smiled like the Grinch. 

 

_ Oh yes,  _ she thought, cackling so hard she scared away half the cats.  _ Thranduil, you’re doomed. _

 

Of course, she had to bring Sharley in on this. Unlike Thanadir, Thranduil wasn’t likely to eat himself into a food coma, and she personally had no other means of knocking him out. What she  _ did  _ have was Sharley, who thought the idea was hilarious, and who was more than willing to pitch in.

 

“He’ll get you back for that somehow,” she’d warned, over mugs of cocoa at the diner. It was such a perfect replica of the cafe in Skykomish it was downright unnerving.

 

“He’s lucky I don't curl his hair into the bargain,” Lorna retorted. In truth, she had actually considered it, but she knew  _ that  _ would be taking her life in her hands. (She could, however, get Saoirse to draw a picture with both. She’d hang it over their mantle, and laugh herself sick every time she saw it.)

 

Picking a time was slightly more difficult, since catching him alone was practically impossible. The kids were all far too old to go to bed early, and he, Earlene, and Thanadir tended to all retire at the same time. She  _ could  _ always ask to talk to him alone in the Quiet Room, but she really didn't want to -- solo discussions were something that shouldn’t be mixed up with a practical joke.

 

_ “You’re going to have to get Earlene and Thanadir in on this,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Either that or knock them both out, too, and they haven’t done anything to deserve it.” _

 

No, indeed they had not. Earlene probably wouldn’t have gone along with Thranduil’s ruse, had she known about it, and Thanadir  _ definitely  _ wouldn’t have. The problem was that as soon as they were told, Thranduil would know, too...

 

_ “Not necessarily,”  _ Layla said.  _ “Their minds aren’t freeways -- they can block Thranduil if they feel like it.” _

 

“In that case, fuck it. I’m cornering Earlene.” Provided the house didn't burn down, she doubted Earlene would mind if her husband sported fancy eyebrows for an evening. Really,  _ really  _ fancy. There was glitter and everything.

 

And so, when they’d gotten back to the house, Lorna had assembled all her...ingredients...before she went to hunt Earlene down. Not that there was a great deal of hunting to be done; it wasn’t yet time for dinner, which meant Earlene was probably in the kitchen.

 

Sharley scooted into her room before she could do anything further. “I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “One that doesn’t involve letting E&T in on this  _ or  _ me actually knocking Thranduil out.”

 

_ “We decided doing that was kinda skeevy,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “But if Sharley keeps him asleep after he’s passed out on his own,  _ that’s  _ another story.” _

 

_ “But don't actually let Thanadir and Earlene know,”  _ Layla added.  _ “Call that fancy restaurant you and Thranduil went to in Dublin that one time and order a table for two, then tell Earlene you won some kinda contest, but you know she and Thanadir are more into food than you and Ratiri are. It’s true.” _

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek. “I don't enter contests, though.”

 

_ “Say Mairead entered you in for you.” _

 

Now  _ that  _ was plausible. Lorna, however, was an absolutely shit liar even now; she’d give the game away in a heartbeat if she tried to do this herself. “Sharley, allanah, can you go run this past Earlene? She’ll call bullshit if I do it, and she’d be right.”

 

She had a point. “Okay, you call the restaurant. If Earlene asks why I’m talking to her and not you, I'll just say the Communists decided to invade with no warning, so you just stick around up here until they’ve gone.”

 

Lorna cackled. “Just about the only thing they’re good for, even if in this case they’re not really here. All right, go for it, and I’ll get the Elf wine once they’re out’v here.”

 

Sharley went down the fire pole, and, naturally, found Earlene in the kitchen. Fortunately, no dinner had actually been started. “So, Mairead entered Lorna into this foodie thingy and she won a dinner at some posh restaurant, but she doesn’t want to go into Dublin and reservations were already made,” she said. “Dublin and her don't get along that well anymore, and the Communists have come knocking, so do you and Thanadir want to go?”

 

Earlene blinked, trying to digest this. On one hand, it sounded quite nice; she and Thanadir rarely dined out together unless they were on holiday. And...if it was a win, she did not need to ask about Thranduil; these things were always for two. “Well, I’d like to, but I really should ask Thranduil,” she said. “I hate to just assume, and what if he and Thanadir would--”

 

“Meluieg, I think you should go, though I appreciate your courtesy,” said Thranduil who had appeared out of nowhere. “You both appreciate food more than I do. Please, take him, and enjoy yourselves. I would like to see you have a respite from...your kingdom,” he grinned, waving his hand to indicate the kitchen.

 

“That bad?” Earlene asked, deflated. She knew she had a bit of a reputation for being particular but…

 

“Do not worry,” he kissed her on the brow. “I am teasing you. Mostly.”

 

Earlene huffed at him in annoyance, but still embraced him. “You win.”

 

“Good,” Thranduil said, smiling at Sharley.

 

“We can figure out dinner on our own,” Sharley said. “You two go enjoy yourselves, and I promise I'll make sure the kitchen is in one piece when you get home.”

 

“Are we making food tonight?” Shane asked, scooting through on his stocking feet.

 

“We are indeed. Go get your sisters, it’s toastie time.” Yeah, they weren’t that healthy, but oh well. They only had a few years where they could still be properly made.

 

She sighed. It had taken her ages to get anything like a baby bump, but she sure as hell had one now, and the sprog had evidently decided to take up gymnastics while she was at it. Sharley couldn’t say this pregnancy had been miserable, or even really very uncomfortable, but she was just... _ tired  _ of it. She wanted her body back, but she had over six months yet to go -- she certainly understood why Melian had stopped at one. This was honestly just annoying, especially since she had to pee what seemed like every five minutes. Maia or not, there didn't seem to be any way around that one.

 

Earlene could hear that Thanadir was playing the flute in what had been his bedroom, and went to tell him the good news and to make ready. They were in the car within the hour; Earlene insisted on driving them there if only so she could trade off and relax more on their way home. Thanadir was more than amenable; his wife was still adjusting to new realities and would be doing so for a very long time. Like with Sharley, the totality of her former perceptions would wear off only slowly with time and experience.

 

Sharley and the Duncan kids had a toastie assembly line going in fairly short order, and were busily frying bacon for a BLT variety when Lorna came sliding down the pole.

 

“False alarm on the you-know-what,” she said, figuring Sharley could keep Thranduil from figuring out the Communists were all a ruse. “Thranduil, can we get out some Elf wine? Pleeeeease?”

 

He tilted his head, smiling. “Alright. Just you? I suppose I should offer some to those who can drink it…”

 

“I”d love a glass,” Sharley said, grinning as she turned the bacon.

 

“Mam, can Chandra and I have a taste?” Shane asked. “We’re nearly seventeen.”

 

Lorna eyed them both. “ _ One  _ taste.” Chandra had, so far as she knew, never tried to get into the hard stuff after Thranduil busted her years ago, so she might as well have a tiny bit. “Seriously, one’s about all you need, unless you want to be completely off your face.”

 

Thranduil returned and found one of the carafes to mix the wine with water for Lorna in...enough measure for her to more than enjoy herself. As Maglor and Pengolodh (they had by now almost completely transitioned to using this and ‘Pen’ with him) came in, they were offered the actual wine if they wished it; ditto with Calanon and Sharley. And of course Vairë; presumably it could not affect them at all.

 

Lorna took two glasses, very carefully measured a drop of wine into each, and handed them to the twins. “Add some water, and then  _ sip _ ,” she said. “Very slowly. It’d be criminal to waste it and you’re less likely to go blind.”

 

“She’s exaggerating,” Sharley said. “You won’t go blind, you’ll just fall over.”  _ Go ahead and drink, Lorna -- I can sober you up when I need to.  _ Because the only thing that could make revenge better was revenge while kind of drunk.

 

Chandra did as bidden, and carefully sipped. “Holy sh--”

 

Shane clapped a hand over her mouth before she could finish, and jerked his head in Vairë’s general direction. Oops. Still, this stuff was  _ amazing _ . Sweet, but not too sweet, and rich even with how diluted it was.  _ Damn. _

 

“You good?” he asked, and she gave him a thumb’s-up.

 

“It’s so not fair,” Lorna said, sipping herself. “This wonderful stuff, and it’d poison us humans if we drank it straight. Big Jamie’s been trying to come up with something that tastes even close to as good, but no luck so far.”

 

“Earlene said it reminds her of syrup that happens to be wildly alcoholic,” Thranduil offered, earning grins from the other elves at the table.

 

“Could I try what Lorna is having?” Ailill asked, curious. “If I may?” He looked to Calanon for guidance, realizing that there was obviously something about the beverage.

 

“Yes,” Thranduil answered, indicating the carafe. “Were I to guess, one glass will render you happily useless for the rest of the evening, and two and upward will leave you needing my intervention the following morning for a splitting headache.”

 

“One,” smiled Calanon, reaching to fill it for Ailill. This could be...quite interesting. They were getting ready to celebrate their anniversary soon, after all…

 

“Definitely one,” Lorna said, and burst into a fit of giggles with the second sip. “Earlene and I snuck our way into this once, years ago, and the morning-after was so awful we wished we were dead. That was the first time Thanadir watched  _ Monty Python and the Holy Grail  _ with us, and he had no idea we were locked out’v our bins the whole time.”

 

“The Irish really do have the best euphemisms for being drunk,” Sharley mused. It took so much of this to do anything to her that she wasn’t even going to try; she’d just enjoy the taste of it.

 

“Of course we do,” Chandra said. “It’s because we are, half the time.” Her face was flushed even redder than her hair, and yet she managed to remember to turn the bacon.

 

“This is…” Shane tried to speak, but his words dissolved into laughter, and his two younger sisters looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

 

“I think  _ we’re  _ finishing dinner,” Atia said, sticking her tongue out. “Move it, both’v you. Go be drunk giants somewhere else.”

 

Thranduil smiled at Vairë and shrugged. Just more ‘Eldamar, in living color.’ Maglor saw this, and could not help but laugh, shaking his head.

 

Fortunately, the kitchen had all the wonderful, built-in stools, because it meant Atia and Supri could keep things in hand until their father arrived on the scene. “All right, everyone under one hundred and sixty centimeters, out of the way.”

 

That sent Supri scooting, though she waved at Vairë before she went, and grabbed Pickles along the way.

 

Sharley kept an eye on the level of wine in Thranduil’s glass, and tried not to smirk. Oh, this would be lovely, and she would take pictures. Not that she’d tell him.

 

Faeleth looked up at Sharley, then to Lorna, with a frown. She did not like what they were planning, not one bit. It was not fair, Ada Thranduil did not know and was outnumbered. However the next eyes she met were Vairë’s, which held hers briefly. With a nod and a crooked smile, she turned back to her meal, wondering sometimes about the state of the world under their roof. While it still felt a little disloyal, if Aunt Vairë said this was okay, she would let it be.

 

Both twins were giggling helplessly by the time all the food had made it out, sitting on the kitchen floor out of the way. Ratiri, shaking his head, fixed himself a watered-down glass as well, and wondered just why Sharley was watching Thranduil like a hawk. He really didn't want to know, however; with this group, plausible deniability was always a good thing. 

 

“Does everyone have their presents wrapped and under the tree?” Sharley asked, unable to hold back a smirk. “Wrapped and decorated? Because you can’t have too many Christmas decorations.”

 

Lorna laughed so hard she nearly cried, her thoughts such an odd morass of English, Irish, and Russian that Sharley didn't need to do much to obfuscate them.

 

“I do,” Ailill smiled. He was feeling particularly pleased with himself. Months ago he had given Earlene a list of potential items he might like to obtain for Calanon but left her to choose which, in order to preserve the surprise for his mate. “I wonder what I got you?” he smirked at his husband.

 

Calanon rolled his eyes, but leaned his head down to quickly nuzzle Ailill’s shoulder in a quick and tasteful show of affection.

 

“Me too,” echoed Thranduil. He felt he had rather outdone himself this year, quite honestly, and especially smirked at Lorna.

 

Lorna could not help but smirk back, because his gift was going to be a touch...interesting, and she’d arranged its creation in pieces, so he wouldn’t be able to see exactly what it was in her thoughts. He might or might not want to hang it on the wall, when all was through.

 

Ratiri looked at her, and looked at Thranduil, and took another sip of his drink. “As long as the house stays standing,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Given it’s those two, that’s a genuine worry,” he added, mostly to Vairë.

 

“Hey!” Lorna cried. “That was  _ one time _ , and it was an accident.” Still, memory of the fireball made her giggle all over again, because she definitely hadn’t been expecting it.

 

Thranduil blushed just a little, and shrugged his shoulders again, smiling at the Vala. “We all make mistakes from time to time,” he offered.

 

“That was totally  _ not  _ a mistake,” Lorna said, pointing her fork at him. “Most cathartic day  _ ever _ . And then there was tasty food, which just made it better.”

 

“Mo chroí, at least you can appreciate the simple things. Even if they’re of the incendiary variety.”

 

Sharley shook her head. She loved these people. She really did. Life was going to be so, so hard when the Elves left, and there would be no more evenings like this, bantering over alcohol and food. As yet, she hadn’t looked to the future, to see when the Elves would go -- she found she’d rather not know, at least not yet. She only hoped it would be a long, long time hence.

 

Her eyes met Vairë’s, and she hoped her Lady could understand, by now, why she wished to stay here. She’d seen and endured and done too much to be content to live in somewhere as perfect and without stain as Aman -- had waded through so much darkness she’d nearly drowned in it. 

 

_ “I’m pretty sure you sorta did drown,”  _ Layla said,  _ “but if you want to go with the metaphor, you kinda had the Mammalian Diving Reflex.” _

 

_ “What’s that?”  _ Jimmy asked.

 

“It’s where if you drown in cold enough water, you don't  _ actually  _ drown, because the cold slows your system down so much you can be revived later,” Lorna said. “In theory, anyway.”

 

“Listening to you talk to the voices is like listening to one half of an extremely strange phone call,” Ratiri said. “But you’re right, in theory it does work.”

 

Vairë returned the gaze, smiling mysteriously. Sharley had been doing better, much better, since her arrival. She was not there yet, but progress had been definite. While she would not choose it for herself, it made sense enough to her, why her servant did not wish to return. Her servant who really was no longer her servant at all; after long millennia without her, she had simply taken over Tirillë’s higher functions herself. And even she could not see all ends; who knew what Eru had in store for them in the long stretches of time. Even the Valar did not know everything.

 

The table was cleared, and Thranduil rose, apparently about to occupy himself elsewhere.

 

With a touch to the back of Lorna’s head, Sharley sobered her up. Ratiri took one look at both of them and scooted for freedom, not wanting to be involved in this in the least.

 

The twins, still tipsy, attempted to start a load of dishes; Atia, with an extremely put-upon sigh, stayed behind to make sure they didn't ruin anything. If they somehow wrecked the kitchen floor, Aunt Earlene might skin them.

 

“Thranduil, if you go and read early, I will call you a boring old man until the end’v time,” Lorna said. “At least go sit by the fire with the rest’v us.”

 

“Can I sit with you and read then?” he asked, his eyes merry. He had looked forward to some time alone, honestly, but he was also rarely invited specifically to stay. And it was so close to Yule. Why not?

 

Lorna, because she was Lorna, made grabby-hands, then disappeared into the Heart Room. He’d had enough to drink that he’d probably be nice and sleepy soon enough. “We’ve got loads’v new books,” she called. “Chandra and I went library-hopping yesterday and bought all sorts. There’s one on the history’v Chernobyl you might get a kick out’v.” She wanted it when he was done, too.

 

“The place that still has radiation so badly?” he queried, having heard of this. He accepted the book with interest and sat down.

 

“Here, have another,” Sharley said, setting another glass of wine down on the arm of his chair.

 

“Yeah, the very one,” Lorna said. “I was just a kid when that happened, but I remember hearing about it.” It was not lost on her that eventually, the whole world would look like Pripyat, but that was not a thought to dwell on. “Been fascinated by radiation ever since. Apparently if it’s strong enough, you can actually taste it. It’s metallic.”

 

A somewhat sobering thought occurred to Ratiri: there were still a whole lot of nuclear plants in the world. The population was going to die off really, really fast. Realistically, at least a few of those were going to go China Syndrome, and he hoped to hell none of them were anywhere near Ireland.

 

“Fun fact,” Sharley said, pouring herself another drink, too. “The Ukraine imported two American bison, back in the 90’s, hoping they’d breed, I guess. The female ran away, and who knows what happened to her.”  _ Maglor, you might as well see if he wants the rest of the bottle. Better him than the rest of us. _

 

Maglor nodded and dutifully rose to retrieve the item in question, so as to refill his King’s glass when there was room.

 

Thranduil had little idea how to comment on the bison, so he opened the book and began to skim and take in the many photos, sipping the wine all the while.

 

Lorna hid her smirk behind a cup of cocoa (bless Ratiri), reading through the latest  _ National Geographic  _ when Pickles lounged on her lap. In the kitchen, the twins still giggled, but as nothing sounded like it was breaking or splashing overly much, she wasn’t worried.

 

Sharley went to sit with her husband, the Lump naturally joining them. The cat was marginally slimmer now -- Lorna had told her what Vairë had said about them raiding her snacks, and shown her the lockable chest that now contained them all -- but so far, none of the cats were any less lazy.

 

The evening whiled on, and Thranduil began to feel as though he had lingered long enough, especially when he reached the end of the (frankly disturbing) book. “Time for rest,” he explained. “I wish you all a good evening.” Draining the last bit of wine that Maglor had naively supplied, he returned his glass to the kitchen, grinning and rolling his eyes at the continued antics of Shane and Chandra. He had not seen Chandra this filled with laughter...well, quite possibly ever. Eh, it was holiday time. Whatever worked. He wished them good night as well, and retreated to the sanctuary of their bedroom. Looking at the empty space with a sigh, he knew it would be some hours before his mates returned home. Nothing else for it; he changed into his sleeping pants and donned a warm tunic, before crawling under the covers. Soon enough, hair fanned out like a beautiful halo, he fell asleep.

 

_ Jesus, is he asleep yet?  _ Lorna asked, in slight disbelief. Yeah, she knew he could drink a lot, but he’d gone through the better part of a bottle on his own and still seemed mostly sober.

 

Sharley paused, searching.  _ Yeah, he’s asleep. Get your stuff, and I’ll get a camera. Do you have that finishing spray stuff? _

 

_ Yep.  _ There wasn’t a whole lot of it left, but it had kept the zombie-makeup firmly on Supri’s little face last Halloween.

 

Lorna darted upstairs, while Ratiri shook his head. “I don't want to know,” he said. “I really, really don't.”

 

“Probably not,” Sharley said, grinning. “But you’ll find out eventually.”  _ My Lady, there’s nothing wrong with me  _ keeping  _ Thranduil asleep, right? He conked out on his own. _

 

Vairë smiled. “I am in no position to criticize,” she grinned. “But from what I have seen of Thranduil, this will not be the end of the matter, for you or Lorna.” Her eyes positively sparkled with suppressed mischief.

 

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not,” Sharley said. “Thranduil was an only child, growing up. Sibling prank wars are good for him, and he needs to know he doesn’t have  _ all  _ the advantages over poor Lorna.”

 

Lorna, who was not feeling remotely poor at the moment, managed to slide down the pole one-handed. “Okay, c’mon,” she said, giggling slightly. “We just have to keep the cats out.” Tail would give the whole thing away, if he decided to be a fluffy menace.

 

Shaking her head, Sharley went with her, and carefully kept Thranduil deep in dreamland while Lorna sat cross-legged and fished through her little plastic box. 

 

_ Do I even want to know?  _ Sharley asked.

 

_ I’m going all-out on these bastards _ , Lorna said. She pulled out a little jar of hair gel, two paint brushes, a toothbrush, a small container of multicolored sequins and stars, and a jar of green glitter.  _ I've got so much eyebrow to work with that I might as well. _

 

With great, great effort, Sharley smothered a laugh as her tiny friend set to work. What was worrisome was that she seemed to have practiced this already, but it couldn’t have been on Ratiri. Thranduil had enough eyebrow that they could actually be sculpted to look rather like a horizontal Christmas tree, the gel holding the glitter and sequins in place like glue.

 

_ “That is so perfect, and yet so,  _ so  _ disturbing,”  _ Kurt said, when she stood up to survey her handiwork. Sharley, naturally, started snapping away with her phone’s camera.

 

_ I know. I love it. Now let’s get the hell out’v here before Earlene and Thanadir get home. _ Lorna packed up her box of goodies and hurried out, Sharley behind her.

 

Not until they were in the Heart Room did she dare giggle, and then she laughed so hard she nearly cried. “After eighteen bloody years,  _ finally _ ,” she managed at last, flopping onto the sofa.

 

“Mo chroí...don't burn the house down,” Ratiri sighed. He really didn't want to know what Thranduil was going to do in retaliation, but he was quite sure they’d all find out in a hurry.

 

“The sad thing is that he’s got Estë to thank for that,” Lorna said, while Pickles jumped up to knead her stomach. “I never could’ve played the long game, before she gave me her unexpected gift.”

 

Sharley wondered if that Lady had stopped to consider what she was doing, before poking Lorna in the brain. It seemed as though it had been an impulse decision, and it had certainly had some...weird side-effects.

 

Maglor looked up and frowned. “Do I want to know?”

 

“No,” they answered in stereo. 

 

With a helpless look at Ratiri, he shook his head and returned to his book while Pen smiled.

 

**

 

Earlene was helped out of the car on their return home; Thanadir was ever the gentleman. Gentle-elf. Whatever. Standing on terra firma, she looped her arms around his neck to kiss him once again. They had done this much of the way home. Dinner had been delicious and romantic in the extreme, and they were both feeling rather teenager-ish about the other just now, murmuring endearments and snuggling as often as possible. “Bedtime,” Thanadir whispered, stealing another kiss. And truly, nothing sounded better than being in bed, cuddled between her husbands. Or cuddled on the side of a husband. Really, it was all good.

 

To avoid any chance of setting off the hounds they went into their bedroom via the French doors, being careful to make no noise as they continued their affection and began undressing each other.  _ Do you think Thranduil locked the door? _

 

_ I will check, meldis. No, he did not. But it is locked now. _

 

_ Good,  _ Earlene smiled, slipping into a warm night-tunic. 

 

_ You are wearing clothing to bed?  _ He sounded disappointed.

 

_ If that is an invitation, off it comes,  _ Earlene replied eagerly.

 

_ I think it is,  _ Thanadir voiced with some shyness.  _ I know that I would very much like to feel your skin against mine. And perhaps it will lead to more? _

 

_ I understand, and, fair enough.  _ Removing the garment and tossing it to the end of the bed, she drew back the covers on their side of the bed and climbed in, with Thanadir close behind. Moments later he had climbed on top of Earlene, the better to kiss her, when he happened to glance over at his sleeping husband and nearly choked. He sat bolt upright.

 

_ Thanadir, what is wrong?  _ Earlene had never seen him behave this way. He did not answer, but sat up, straddling her and pointing at Thranduil, his eyes wide.

 

Earlene nudged up onto her elbows, thankful for her flexibility, and saw what had so disturbed Thanadir. Her eyes narrowed.  _ This is quite simple, meldir. That is called ‘Lorna was here’. And...now I begin to wonder if we were sent off on a ruse, just to make this possible. Of all the ridiculous… _

 

_ He looks like a Christmas tree, Earlene. Without the Starship Enterprise. Are we to leave him like this? _

 

_ Ensure he does not wake,  _ she insisted. Next, she gingerly reached over to gently touch what had been done to his eyebrows.  _ The only way to do anything about this is to rouse him and go find solvents. This will not be easy to remove, as I am certain it was meant to be. It is not going to harm him. Perhaps we should allow him to decide for himself, in the morning.  _ She paused.  _ Are your sensibilities hopelessly ruined? _

 

Thanadir blinked in the dim light of the room.  _ I will confess that the sight of this is...I cannot un-see this, meldis. It is terribly unseemly.  _

 

_ I know it is, beloved, _ she tried to soothe.  _ Here. Lie next to me, and perhaps we can just hold each other.  _ Already a storm of annoyance was brewing in Earlene, because this little joke had like as not cost her a chance to have Thanadir make love to her. And that was just not okay.

 

_ Meldis? Are you alright?  _

 

_ Yes, love. Just a little miffed. Let me rub your back, and perhaps we will both fall asleep.  _

 

With a sigh of contentment, the seneschal molded tightly against Earlene. She could feel Thanadir’s soft genitals against her when their legs entwined, and her frown deepened. Soon his regular breathing told her he slept, while her loins were on fire with unfulfilled want. Just. Not. Okay.

 

At least an hour ticked by, with sleep feeling hopeless. Earlene carefully, inch by inch, disentangled herself from Thanadir, knowing that any hope for relief rested on her other side. Her hand began to caress Thranduil through his sleeping pants, and soon  her efforts were rewarded by a pulsing arousal as well as soft grunts of encouragement. He never needed to entirely wake; some variation on this was not at all uncommon for them. A gentle tug of his arm let her know that her advances were wanted, and deft fingers undid the ties that freed his manhood. Carefully so as not to wake Thanadir she climbed onto her husband and straddled him, pushing her incredibly ready body down onto his erection with a sign of relief. Another grunt of satisfaction rumbled from him, as well as a slight bucking of his hips. Cuddled together, they strained against one another in a rhythm that suited both until each achieved release. Thranduil, who had never fully awakened, fell deeper into sleep, whereas Earlene crawled back toward Thanadir, at last able to sigh with contentment and drift off herself.

  
And she still was not about to forget one bit of what had gone on here tonight of an unfavorable nature.

 

**

 

In the morning they all woke. Or perhaps it would be better to say, Thranduil woke with each of his spouses lying on either side of him, mirror images of the other. Propped up on one elbow, spare hand resting on his chest, watching him in morbid fascination. It took very little time to see in their minds just what was so interesting. Thanadir leaned forward cautiously to kiss him on the lips, withdrawing just as slowly as though he somehow might have utterly transformed along with his new decorations.

 

Thranduil chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Meldir, I am hardly going to bite you. I am still myself.”

 

“It is still unseemly,” Thanadir murmured.

 

“It’s goddamn awful, is what it is,” Earlene murmured, earning a raised eyebrow from Thanadir. “Sorry, meldir,” she added contritely, which did not in the least change her opinion.

 

Silence held over the three of them for a moment. “This means war,” they said in unison, breaking out in laughter afterwards. Embracing each of them, Thranduil sat up. “I see three potential courses of action, at this moment…”

 

**

 

A perfectly ordinary-appearing Thranduil came out of his room at his usual time, to join those in the Dining Room. “Good morning,” he said as always, before seating himself. Close behind him followed Thanadir with a tray of steaming waffles, and Ortherion with the cart that held eggs, porridge, and their other usual fare. Earlene bore two large jugs of heated syrup, which she distributed in intervals on the long table. It did not escape her attention that Lorna’s gaze was riveted on Thranduil, which is why she had no notice of the pure ire with which Earlene regarded her before a mask of neutrality dropped over her mein before she took her seat.

 

Lorna kept an admirably straight face, but her eyes danced as she regarded Thranduil’s perfectly clean eyebrows -- how he’d gotten all the glitter out, she didn't know. That stuff was called rave herpes for a reason.

 

What she was  _ not  _ aware of, though Sharley certainly was, was that there was a fine layer of static surrounding her thoughts. The voices had all glommed onto her brain, for the time being, providing a certain measure of interference. Sharley herself was highly reluctant to get directly involved -- it was why she’d been willing to keep Thranduil asleep, but only after he’d  _ fallen _ asleep on his own -- but the voices could do as they pleased, within reason. Without their aid, poor Lorna would have no chance at all, but they could at least make sure Thranduil didn't have  _ all  _ the advantages.

 

Ratiri looked at his wife, and her little Cheshire smile, and decided that maybe today would be a good day to go look into continuing education classes -- in the diner. Well away from the house. He didn't know exactly what she’d done, but he had an idea, and he wanted to know no more than that.

 

Thanadir served himself up his usual large portion of food, and silently regarded Lorna, frowning when casual attempts to hear her on his part did not bring expected results. Something was...amiss. And through him, Earlene perceived the same. Narrowing her eyes, she regarded Sharley. And then her eyes caught those of the Lady Vairë, whose lips bore an undeniable smirk. The calculations began in Earlene’s mind, which Thanadir followed with raised eyebrows. He and Earlene spent much of the rest of the meal in silent discussion, punctuated only by an occasional and seemingly random chuckle from Thranduil. Well. This certainly would be interesting.

 

_ Sharley, do I want to know?  _ Lorna asked.

 

Sharley gave a minute shake of her head.  _ It wouldn’t be fair, if I got too involved in this,  _ she said.  _ There’s no winning when you play against someone who sees the future. I’ll help you sometimes, but only with...well, things like last night. Thranduil fell asleep naturally. I won’t make anyone do anything, but if you manage something on your own and need help, I might do it.  _ She smirked a little.  _ The voices, on the other hand, are already doing you a solid. They can’t keep Thranduil out if he really pushes hard, but for casual inspection, you’re golden. _

 

_ “Oh, the places I could go with that,”  _ Kurt lamented.  _ “You know what I'd be saying, and what I’d be saying it about.” _

 

Both Sharley and Lorna rolled their eyes. Yes, they did, because Kurt was nothing if not predictable.  _ Would I know it, if he tried? _

 

_ You’d feel it, but there wouldn’t be anything you or they could do about it. Your only real option would be to leg it outta the forest. _

 

They lived at the edge. She could probably manage that.

 

*****

###  {December 27, 2033}

 

Sean stood outside Lorna the Younger’s flat door in the Halls. *knock knock knock*.

 

Lorna had been quite happy to sleep in her own bed again, and had spent all the time since their return appreciating it. It meant she tended to eat breakfast and read there, too, until she absolutely had to go to work. This meant that when her door was unexpectedly knocked on, she was in fleece pyjama trousers, a giant Forest Service sweatshirt she’d borrowed from Sharley, and fluffy slippers. Hopefully she wasn’t about to raise some poor Elf’s eyebrows.

 

“Coming!” she called, shuffling her way through her sitting room. “Careful, I think a cat might get you.” Yes, she’d gotten a few of her own since they got home: two huge fluffballs who were rather more adept at catching rodents than any of her aunt and uncle’s brood.

 

She opened the door, and was rather surprised to find Sean. It was their day off, so she would have figured he’d be lounging around, too. “Hi.”

 

He held up a bouquet of flowers he’d begged from Earlene out of the hothouses; Thanadir had been kind enough to arrange them artfully and wrap them up. “For you,” he beamed. “I wondered if you had just a minute?”

 

Lorna blinked, incredibly surprised, because where on  _ Earth  _ had this come from?! “Uh, sure,” she said, taking the flowers. They were quite lovely, at least. “Come on in. I think I've got something I can use for a vase.”

 

“Great,” he said happily, more than a little amused at her choice of clothing. Eh, it wasn’t so different than what mam liked to wear when she’d nothing else going on. Looking around the room, he saw that it was pleasant. Not ridiculously organized, but generally clean. Home-like. Mam had warned him off any woman that kept her flat looking like a dumpster or a homeless encampment, but this was nothing of the sort. He waited politely, not wishing to make his offer while she was bustling around not paying mind to anything but the flowers.

 

Lorna didn't have a proper vase, but she did have an empty pitcher that had held the better part of a batch of margaritas last night; after a thorough rinsing, it did nicely, and she carefully set it up on the mantle where her cats couldn’t get at it.

 

Speaking of said cats, both of them were circling Sean like sharks, sniffing him curiously. At least they weren’t like her aunt’s cats, and wouldn’t attempt to climb him. “You want anything to drink?” she asked, struggling not to feel somewhat awkward. She wasn’t sure why he’d brought flowers, but Mam always had said she was dense as lead, so it was possible he’d been trying to toss out signals and she’d been oblivious.

 

“No thank you, I know you weren’t expecting me. I wanted to ask if next week, when we have our day off then, if you’d like to go to dinner and the cinema? There’s a new Star Trek movie coming out, and it’s playing in Limerick.” He looked up at her hopefully.

 

“Um...okay,” she said, rather wide-eyed. “What time? And d’you have a place in mind? Because there’s this restaurant my aunt told me about that’s so horrendous it’s kind’v amazing.” It was years before both of their times, sure, but she’d seen plenty of 70’s shite on TV, and she was sure Sean had, too.

 

“D’you mean RiverDisco? We could do that,” he answered eagerly. “That’d be grand. How about I come by here at four? Plenty of time then to drive there, eat and all that before the show?”

 

“That sounds great,” she said, still trying desperately to keep up. She apparently needed more tea, even though it was three in the afternoon. “Yeah, RiverDisco. It’s the worst pun in the world, and apparently the names’v all the dishes are either perverted, bad puns, or both.”

 

“Great, then, I’ll look forward to it. I’m going to eat in the Dining Hall tonight at five, there’s card games later on tonight,” he fished, wondering if she would pick up on the (to him) obvious invitation as he rose to leave.

 

“Um...I’ll see you there,” Lorna said, hoping she didn't look like a complete deer-in-the-headlights. “I’ll even leave the cats at home.” Both of them looked at her and chirped.

 

“Sounds good,” he said. “See you tomorrow, if not sooner,” he hinted, but did not linger to wait for an answer. Because she was a Donovan, and that apparently meant being denser than lead about anything having to do with relationships.

 

Lorna watched him go, and once she’d shut the door, she leaned against it, wondering what the fuck had just happened. One thing was for sure: there was no way he’d arranged those flowers himself. That was Thanadir’s work, so maybe she’d ask  _ him  _ what was up with that. A lad only gave someone flowers for two reasons, and given nobody had died (she hoped not, anyway), she doubted it was the second one. “Okay,” she said aloud, to her purring cats, “I’m just...going to go with that, and see what happens.”

 

**

 

After about twenty minutes of dithering and drinking tea, Lorna put on some actual clothing (even if that just meant swapping her PJ pants out for leggings) and went to hunt down her aunt -- specifically, Aunt Siobhan. Aunt Lorna had been about as clueless about dating matters as Da, which was pretty pathetic and not at all helpful. 

 

The woodworking hall had more people in it now, and Aunt Siobhan was no longer the  only one under age eighty. Classes had been taught, mostly by all the pensioners, so that all kinds of shit was now being churned out -- farm implements, butter churns, even dishes. It made the hall smell sweetly of sawdust, the chilly damp kept away by braziers scattered throughout the work stations.

 

Her aunt was in her usual space, patiently sanding the inside of a very large bowl. Of course she was covered in dust and fine wood shavings, her hair struggling to come loose from its bun atop her head, but she seemed calm as ever. That was a weird,  _ weird  _ thing, coming from a Donovan.

 

“You look a bit frazzled,” she said, without actually looking up from her work.

 

“How-- you know what, never mind.” She leaned in closer, and said, quietly, “Sean brought me flowers and asked me to the next  _ Star Trek  _ movie, and am I right in thinking that’s a date? I mean, I don't think anyone’s died, so the flowers aren’t for that.”

 

Siobhan stared at her. Both Pat and Lorna the Elder had been appallingly inept in matters of romance, and it would seem Lorna the Younger might be just as bad -- only  _ might  _ be, since she at least recognized the possibility that yes, when a lad gave you flowers and asked you to a film, it was in fact a date. “You are,” she said. “Lads don't hand out flowers for no reason. Wear something nice, but not so nice that he’ll think you’ll put out after the first date.”

 

Her niece blushed absolutely scarlet, and Siobhan wondered just how much experience she even had in that area. According to Grania, she’d had a boyfriend once, very briefly, in her teens -- the experience had been disappointing enough that she’d never cared to date ever since, being a bit too picky. (Though, as Grania said, better too picky than too tolerant. Siobhan knew  _ that  _ from personal experience.)

 

“Go on, away with you. Your other aunt might have something that’d fit the bill, clothing-wise.”

 

Off the younger woman scampered, leaving Siobhan to shake her head. Sean seemed a decent sort, for all he’d once been an utter loser -- good work ethic, kind in a rough-edged way, and rather easy on the eyes. Sure, he was seven years Lorna the Younger’s senior, but they lived in a forest where Elves had married humans, and that was a way more extreme age gap. “Hope this goes well,” she muttered.  _ And I hope Sean knows there’s a whole family of Donovans waiting to thump him if he breaks her heart. _

 

*****

 

###  {March 1, 2034}

 

Sharley flopped on the sofa in the Heart Room, sighing. She was now sure she fully understood why Melian had stopped at just one kid, because this just... _ sucked _ . Her feet and ankles were so swollen she couldn’t wear real shoes, she had to constantly will away a backache, and she wanted to eat everything. Absolutely everything.

 

And yet part of her felt ashamed, because she knew what Lorna and Earlene had gone through -- what she was feeling had nothing on that. Sure, she’d taken to driving around the house on the armchair half the time, but that was mostly to stay off her swollen feet. Unlike it had been for them, it was hardly a necessity.

 

No, there weren’t any complications, and yet it sucked anyway, because it seemed like it would never. Freaking.  _ End.  _ She still had another three months of this, too, if her pregnancy continued to be like Melian’s.

 

It didn't help that the only one of the voices she usually had at her disposal was Kurt. The other three were continuing to run interference on Lorna’s thoughts, waiting for Thranduil to make his move -- because he would, sooner or later, once he thought Lorna’s guard was down. Sharley didn't need to use her gift to know  _ that _ .

 

She glanced up at the mantle, and Lorna’s gift to Thranduil. Sharley had pointed out that the Bad Elf Award was too big and heavy to be hauled to Aman, so Lorna had re-cast it in smaller form, out of aluminum rather than steel. She’d added the symbol of his house, and arranged all the different...parts...into something rather more aesthetically pleasing than the original, which had looked like a stoner’s attempt at modern art. The base of it was light, hollow resin that looked rather like the forest floor, complete with a stencil of fallen leaves painted in autumn colors (Lorna had learned much from Saoirse over the years, even if she’d never be anywhere near as talented as her niece). There was room for more stuff, too, because there would inevitably be some.

 

_ “He’s gonna have all kinds of fun explaining that in Aman,”  _ Kurt said.

 

“Do you honestly think he’d bother?” Sharley asked. “You know he’d let people wonder.”

 

The front door opened, and soon Lorna’s voice issued from the kitchen: “Oi, food’s up! Pie ought to still be warm, but we can nuke it if we have to. Come on and deal with this while I get Malen’kiy some water.” 

 

Sharley fought a laugh as she hauled herself to her feet. Thranduil’s Christmas gift to Lorna had been one of the tiniest full-size ponies any of them had ever seen -- the perfect size for someone so small. All their horses were far too big for her to comfortably ride, so she rarely did, but now that she had Malen’kiy, she rode the pony every day she was home (if she was away in Baile with Chandra, Saoirse or Lorna the Younger took care of that task, so the animal got plenty of exercise). Sharley remembered enough Russian to know that ‘Malen’kiy’ meant ‘small’, which at least was fitting.

 

On the island-counter was a plastic cooler, and inside it were all the goodies Lorna had brought from the diner: a big, hickory-smoked cheeseburger, a Thermos of hot chocolate, and half of a deliciously warm strawberry-rhubarb pie.  _ American food _ , Sharley thought, grinning. She loved going out to the diner, but thanks to her stupid swollen feet, walking there wasn’t to be thought of, and she didn't like borrowing horses now that plowing had begun.

 

_ “You know,”  _ Layla said thoughtfully,  _ “strawberries and rhubarb would both love it in Aman. If the recipe could be adapted to use honey instead of sugar as a sweetener, Vairë could take even more recipes back with her.”  _ Ever since her Lady had shown interest in muffins, Sharley had been compiling ‘safe’ recipes -- meaning those that could be easily made in Aman, without requiring things that could cause jealousy by their lack of existence outside of Ennor. Everything involving refined sugar had to be tweaked with, though, to use either honey or birch syrup -- fortunately, they had a minor culinary goddess named Earlene, who seemed to have taken it as a challenge.

 

As if Sharley’s thoughts had summoned her, Vairë entered the kitchen, cats at her heels. “Lorna brought me food,” Sharley said, opening the pie container and fetching two plates. “I was just thinking that both of these ingredients -- they’re a fruit and a vegetable -- would like it in Aman. This kind of pie is best served hot, but it’s good cold, too.”

 

_ “Don't forget the whipped cream,”  _ Layla added.

 

“Ah, right.” Sharley fetched the can. It was homemade whipped cream, of course, but Geezer had worked out a way to put it in a pressurized can that was almost the same as the store-bought stuff.

 

“That,” the Lady said, pointing. “That is not unknown. But it takes so much honey to make edible that few make use of it,” she smirked. “Do you know that long ago it was used for jokes? Elflings would try to convince their friends it was celery, and to eat it raw.” She chuckled at the recollection.

 

Sharley burst out laughing. “Human kids do that, too,” she said. “And there has gotta be some way of making a sweetener other than honey or birch syrup. We have sugar beets here, but processing them to get sugar is a bit of a nightmare. Aman is the right climate to grow sugar cane, but that might be a bit much to be importing from Earth.” Even yet, she wasn’t sure how to gauge what would be all right and what would be considered too much outside interference.

 

“Most elves do not favor sweet foods,” Vairë smiled. “They are an occasional treat.” Not to mention, they had been more than fine through all the ages of time without refined sugar. Surely they would continue to manage.

 

“I’d love to figure it out, if only for Thanadir’s sake,” Sharley said. “He’s too adorable for words, when he discovers a new treat.” The baby chose that moment to kick her, hard, and she nearly choked on her cocoa. “And this little one has decided I don't need that silly thing called ‘sleep’ anymore,” she said, rubbing her stomach. “I think she wants out, but she’s still got three months. Marty was just as bad, but the Stranger tricked me into thinking it was only nine months, not eighteen. If it even  _ was  _ eighteen.” Even yet she didn't like to think about it, but the fact remained that Marty’s father had been another Maia, and thus her first pregnancy had not necessarily been just like her second.

 

She paused. She’d never yet asked this question, but she had to now. “How...how is Marty? I mean, I’m sure she’s good, considering where she is, but is she...she’s still playing and all that, right?” it would be five and a half years yet before Maglor could visit his family, and she wasn’t going to go without him, so it would be that long before her firstborn could meet her second.

 

Vairë frowned but only slightly. “She is fine. Why would she not be?”

 

“I’m just sad that I didn't get to see her, the last time I was in Aman,” Sharley said. “And I admit, I've wondered why, a few times.” It wasn’t her place to be questioning the advice of her Lady, but that didn't mean she didn't wonder.

 

“In the workings of time all things come to light,” Vairë answered cryptically, and in a tone that suggested further inquiry would be equally fruitless.

 

Sharley smiled, and shook her head. In some ways, Valar and Eldar were little different. “Well, I just hope this one has Maglor’s hair. If my heartburn is any indication, she’ll be born with plenty of it.”

 

“At least she probably won’t be huge,” Lorna said, scooting in and washing her hands. “I don't know just what Ratiri had to do to Earlene, to deliver Faeleth -- you know how he is about doctor-patient confidentiality -- but I know it was pretty bloody drastic. But you could rearrange your own innards without somebody needing to touch your snatch...oh good Jesus, I am so sorry, Lady Vairë.” Yes, she facepalmed. Yes, her hands were still wet, which only led her to swear again -- though at least this time it was in Russian, so hopefully it didn't count.

 

Sharley laughed so hard she nearly lost her footing, because poor Lorna’s expression was beyond priceless -- she wouldn’t have thought anyone could look appalled, horrified, and humiliated all at once.

 

Vairë just grinned, and shook her head. It really was a bit...sad, honestly, but...some mortals apparently could not help themselves and there were more important issues in the world.

 

“Lorna, I love you dearly,” Sharley giggled, “but you really need to eat some pie.”

 

_ “By which she means, put something in your mouth so you don't stuff your foot down your throat,”  _ Jimmy said helpfully.

 

_ “I. Hate. All. Of. You,”  _ Kurt said, in tones of deepest despair. He had passed over so, so many beautiful things in the last months, had swallowed many a retort, but he really didn't want to be stuck in a spider ball again. That had been...no. The voices shouldn’t be able to feel anything, given that they had no bodies, but that had  _ tickled.  _

 

“We love you too, Kurt,” Lorna said, before doing as suggested and ensuring she couldn’t say anything more.

 

“Now, now, Kurt,” Vairë said. After what Sharley had mentioned of his initial role in her life, she had felt somewhat more kindly disposed toward him. But only a little. “You have been doing so well, just keep watching that you don’t bite off more than you can swallow.”

 

Poor Kurt spluttered, and let out a sound very like a sob of frustration that faded into the distance, as though he were actually fleeing.

 

Sharley burst out laughing all over again. That poor voice…

 

**

 

“It’s not far off now, almost-adar,” Pen teased Maglor as they clinked bottles of ale together, enjoying a temperate spring afternoon.

 

“No, it is not,” Maglor answered softly, a smile on his face. “It feels like a dream sometimes, still, Pen. It’s hard to explain, really. I’d completely given up; there was no chance this could ever happen for me, and then it did. I only wish it were not so miserable for Tirillë.”

 

“Isn’t some of that the...ongoing struggle, though?” Pen asked carefully.

 

Maglor shrugged. “Maybe? It’s hard to tell. She has learned a great deal, with the Lady’s help, but I do not know that she will ever fully shed her mortally influenced view of many matters. Perhaps she is not meant to. Either way, I have done what I can to help her in what areas she has allowed me. Beyond that...I still dare say nothing, and perhaps that is yet for the best.”

 

Pen’s eyebrow raised. “Things have stayed good since that little rough patch back in the autumn, have they not?”

 

“Yes. That...did not last long, and I want to thank you again for all you did for me at that time. I will admit, when it is time for you and the others to leave…” he trailed off, his words choking in his throat until he could take a few deep breaths. “It will be hard for me, but I will have Tirillë and our daughter. My sentence was just; I will not protest it.”

 

Pen looked at the beautiful face that had just contorted in sorrow before it could recover, and then shifted his gaze into the distance. In his heart, there was something he knew he needed to address. Perhaps this had just given that nudge by which to make up his mind. But that was for later. “So how has it gone with the references to...the first child? I know that bothered you a great deal earlier.”

 

“Still does,” Maglor said, shaking his head. “I just try not to show it, because what is she supposed to do? None of it was her fault.”

 

“Do you think you understand why it is still hard for you?” Pen asked gently.

 

Slowly, Maglor nodded, taking a long draw on his ale. “I think it is just basic...passion. Jealousy. I wanted a child with her, badly. But we waited. And then everything happened, and when I found out that it had happened without me...it just felt like poison in my veins,” he whispered. “We are a family of strong feelings, Pen. Though I was among the calmest of my siblings, my blood can still boil. It is why I try so hard to stay away from anything that...I think you know.”

 

“I do, old friend. You have much to look forward to, and I hope you will let me watch the little one from time to time. We were not here, when Earlene’s triplets were very little and it has been forever and an age since I have seen a new elfling.”

 

Maglor’s face now transformed into one bearing a besotted grin. He sighed in happiness. “You will not go lacking, I promise. If I told you half of what we got up to when we were very young...my poor mother.”

 

“Oh well do tell,” Pen said, sensing a rare opportunity to learn some new stories. 

 

“Well apparently when I was very little, I liked to chew on Maedhros’ hair…”

 

**

 

“Aran Thranduil, may I speak with you?” Pen asked, finding the King alone later in the Heart Room. 

 

“Yes, of course,” Thranduil answered, indicating for him to be seated, and sitting up somewhat straighter. It struck Pen how even for an elf, Thranduil always carried himself with profound dignity. Even when he slouched, he slouched regally. Really, he was not altogether sure how he managed it, but at all times his King had an impressive presence. And Thranduil sensed quickly, whatever the reason for Pengolodh’s visit, the subject was not an easy one for him. “I am listening,” he encouraged softly.

 

With a crooked smile, Pen nodded, meeting Thranduil’s eyes with difficulty. “Lord, I have been giving a great deal of consideration to some future realities and...the Lady Vairë is among us now, but who knows for how much longer. I wish to petition the Valar that when the time comes, I be permitted to remain here with Maglor. I know what I am asking. But I cannot even bring this petition without first receiving your consent. I will not disobey...you, or our Powers,” he said humbly. “But I have watched over Maglor all these many ages, and find that even the idea of needing to part from him…” Tears filled his eyes that he wiped away quickly in frustration. “Please.”

 

Thranduil looked at Quen, speechless at both the request and the self-sacrifice being demonstrated. Were it anyone else, his next questions would be to determine whether this proposed action had truly been thought through to all possible ends. But it was not just anyone; this was one renowned for being....well, Earlene-like. He answered slowly. “My command is on account of their command. I give my consent for you to try, Pengolodh; I admire the depth of your loyalty to him. If you can obtain their consent, you shall have mine.”

 

Pen nodded his head. “That saying, ‘we are in this together.’ It is something like...that. My heart tells me he will need someone of his own people. Someone who understands him. That being the only elf left in these lands will be more than he can bear. I will make my request to the Lords and Ladies, and abide by their decision. Thank you.” His eyes were filled with gratitude, as he bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart, withdrawing.

 

“You are welcome,” the King whispered to the now empty room.

 

*****

 

###  {April 17, 2034}  

 

“Where is Lorna?” Thranduil asked absently at lunch one day.

 

“Oh, she went to Baile to pick up Atia,” Earlene said. “But I’m pretty sure they will be back here before dinner. Tonight is the second kid’s card night in the Dining Hall after the evening meal, which honestly should have been thought of a long time ago.” Which was true enough; while games ranging from poker to cribbage had gone on two or three times a week now for years now, but only recently did anyone think to set up tables so that children could do similar, with games like Go Fish or...other age-appropriate card, board or word games. It eliminated needing to have child care, let everyone interact better, and seemed to be instantly popular. While there were not legions of children living in the Halls, there were enough, and amusements that could carry into the future were appreciated.

 

“Well that’s nice,” Thranduil said approvingly.

 

“We’re helping,” Lancaeron piped up, pleased to have been asked to be welcoming and to teach the games to other children if need be.

 

“All of us,” added Andaer.

 

“Nana said there will be cookies,” Erynion added hopefully.

 

“Chocolate chip,” Andaer sighed in bliss, in that moment looking so much like Thanadir that every face at the table stifled a grin.

 

“That is right, ion nîn,” Earlene affirmed. “And any who wish to help with that, I am going to help the bakers work on those at four o’clock. Strong backs for mixing the dough are needed just as much as agile hands for portioning  onto the baking sheets. Cookies for several hundred is no joke.” With a sweet smile, she batted her eyes in the general direction of Maglor, Pen and Calanon, who laughed and grinned. Both bowed their heads in acquiescence to the strong and not-too-subtle hint. 

 

Thranduil smiled and shook his head. Never a dull moment.

 

“Shane will be sorry he missed it,” Ratiri said. “Mairead’s got him helping Kevin do...something-or-other. The man refuses to slow down.” The elder O’Reilly’s remained in Baile, for the most part -- the beauty parlor remained open for the sake of natives and expats alike, and Kevin continued to amass things like sugar and spices wholesale. The problem was that the man was pushing seventy and didn't want to admit it. “I can lend a hand, though.”

 

“Thank you, that’d help a lot,” Thaladir quipped. Ailill and Calanon insisted they collectively do more than hunt, and so he too had been learning more about all things having to do with food. With his flaxen hair as long as his father’s now, it was easy to see shades of his appearance at maturity; though young he was already a handsome lad.

 

Atia was quite happy to clamber out of the Charger as soon as it was stopped in the driveway, because  _ biscuits _ . She didn't like baking as much as Shane did, but it was still pretty fun -- especially when you got to eat the rejects. She’d just learned very young to keep some of them away from Uncle Thanadir, or he’d go after them like an Elven Hoover.

 

She skittered into the house and fixed herself some tea -- she had a little bit of a sore throat from running errands in the cold all morning. As ever, she was grateful they’d put in all the stools and things for Mam, because she was beginning to think she wasn’t going to get any taller; she might not be biologically a Donovan, but she wasn’t even quite as tall as Saoirse. At least Supri was also still tinier than tiny.

 

“Mam says there’s going to be biscuits,” she said. “Is everybody helping?”

 

“Yeah,” Supri said. She got to help this year, too, even if it was just with measuring. “But we have to send some to Shane and Chandra or Shane might….” She looked at Vairë, and didn't finish the sentence. Something told her Sharley’s Lady didn't need to hear that her brother would shit a brick if he didn't get any biscuits.

 

“Well, once you’re done with lunch, Atia, why don't you help clean up the kitchen? Your aunt can get whatever she needs sorted without worrying about the dishes,” Ratiri said.

 

Atia, sipping tea, gave him a thumb’s-up. 

 

**

 

Ratiri wound up regretting his offer of help, but he was hardly about to go back on it.

 

The problem was that, while Elves were tall, few of them were quite as tall as he was -- which meant many of the kitchen counters were the wrong height for him to use comfortably. One of them was perfect, but he was not the only person trying to use it, which mean there had been a few knocked elbows along the way.

 

It also didn't help that Lorna, Siobhan, Eris, Lorna the Younger, and Saoirse were all involved in the proceedings, because it meant he and every other tall person who wasn’t an Elf had to try to avoid tripping over them. Geezer had crafted this weird, wheeled stool-thing that could lock into place as needed, and they kept passing it back and forth, which was yet another thing to dodge.

 

Atia had just grabbed an empty crate, and spent half her time brewing tea for the rest of the bakers. She wasn’t strong enough to continually mix butter, sugar, and flour in the big mixer like Mam did, but she could make a mean pot of tea -- which also meant she got to play with the funny, giant iron kettle that had apparently been her great-grandmother’s. It hung over the fire on a metal pole, and when she wanted water, she swung it out and tipped the kettle with a stick until it filled the pot. The thing was so stupidly oversized that Supri could probably take a bath in it, but that just made it all the more fun.

 

Eventually, dinner got started, the Elves moving seamlessly around the bakers. Atia wondered if any of them knew her mam had once crawled in one of those ovens to see if she’d fit -- Atia herself had tried it, but she’d been smart and picked one that was actually clean. 

 

All through this, her little hands were in and out of everything. Mixing salad here, arranging sliced fruit there, bringing the dishes to the long tables and the same with the elven sporks with which they ate. She’d conscientiously washed them before she touched any food, but that would prove to have been completely fruitless. She was already a little virus machine, shedding everywhere she went.

 

**

{April 20, 2034}

 

Earlene noticed at breakfast that something was amiss, but only because she happened to be staring at the section of the table where Lorna sat, still pondering when to launch her revenge for the Christmas Eyebrows. Oh yes, she and Thanadir had Phase One planned, now that months had gone by and no one was on alert nearly as much. And as Phase One was merely designed to be playfully annoying, it didn’t amount to much except a proverbial shot over the bow. The more she watched Atia, the more she frowned, and finally she could stand it no longer. “Atia, are you having trouble swallowing?” Earlene asked as kindly as possible, after witnessing the fifteenth definite grimace from the child.

 

“Um...no?” Atia offered, except… “Maybe? I just have a sore throat.”

 

Lorna brushed her daughter’s fringe back, and laid a wrist on her forehead. “You’re a bit warm,” she said. “Once your da’s done massacring my razor, he can take a look at you.” Poor Ratiri’s electric razor had broken yesterday -- Pumpkin knocked it off the bathroom counter -- so he’d been reduced to stealing one of hers. Considering his facial hair was less ‘beard’ than ‘pelt’, shaving it was something of an ordeal each morning. 

 

“I don't feel  _ that  _ gross,” Atia protested.

 

“I don't care,” Lorna said firmly. “I’m getting you some acetaminophen, and you’ll do as your da tells you. If you’re not very sick, I’d rather keep you that way.”

 

“But  _ Maaaam _ ,” the girl said. “I was going to go back to Baile today.”

 

“And give your brother and sister your germs? I don't think so. If I have to knock you down and stick cats all over you, I will.”

 

Supri giggled, then grimaced herself. “Mam, my throat hurts a little, too,” she said. 

 

Lorna looked at Earlene. “I suppose it had to be something,” she said. “We’d best make sure the other school kids haven’t come down with anything.”

 

Earlene’s eyebrow raised. “Does anyone else at this table think they might have a sore throat or a fever?” she asked loudly enough to disturb the many sub-conversations that could and did occur.

 

Sheepishly Ailill raised his hand. “Maybe just a little? It’s that thing where I think my throat feels scratchy but I also wonder if I’m just imagining it?”

 

Nodding, she saw no other responses. “I guess we just keep an eye on it? You too, Ailill?” Which was a moot point--now that Calanon knew, Ailill would have no chance of escaping scrutiny. All these years later, the two of them were still so adorable together. Earlene looked back to Lorna and shrugged; she would ask Thranduil but he too was absent. This was his morning to have a meeting with Thalion and he had long since gone to the Halls.

 

Sam and Donna looked at each other. “I kinda have a sore throat,” he said. “Not much of one, though. Just kinda like...when you sleep with your mouth open, and the cold air gives you one.”

 

“All right, you lot finish your breakfasts and I’ll make a big pot’v honey-lemon tea,” Lorna said. It was rare that a cold virus really showed up in their little closed society, but the downside was that when one actually did, it tore through their population like shit through a goose.

 

“I’ll do it, Lorna,” Sharley said, rising. “Have Ratiri take a look at them when he’s downstairs.”

 

“Have a look at what?” Ratiri asked. He was still rubbing his face as he entered the dining-room, wishing Lorna’s shaving cream didn't smell like freesia. 

 

“We’ve got a load’v sore throats this morning,” Lorna said, “and I think Atia’s got a bit’v a fever.”

 

Ratiri picked up an unused butter-knife, and used the hilt as a makeshift tongue-depressor. Shining the flashlight app of Lorna’s mobile down his daughter’s throat, he found it a little red and swollen, but nothing severe. “Here, wipe your hand off.” He pulled up the thermometer app (and the fact that such a thing existed continued to delight him) and had her press her thumb onto it. “Thirty-seven point seven...you’re staying home today, missy, and no arguing.”

 

Atia stuck her tongue out at him, but he somehow managed to avoid rolling his eyes as he went around the table, using a fresh butter knife each time. The results were all the same: mild fever, slightly inflamed throat. “I know this doesn’t feel like much, but it might be best to stick around home today anyway, you lot,” he said. “If you haven’t passed it on already, we might as well not start now.”

 

“I’ll look after them,” Sharley said. Now that it was getting so close to it, she was in nesting mode -- it distracted her a little from the monstrous discomfort of her ankles, and the heartburn that grew ever more annoying.

 

“Movie day,” Calanon murmured into Ailill’s ear, which caused him to blush. That was a euphemism for, lie swaddled in bed and be waited on hand and foot. There were times he felt certain Calanon went much too far, but he also knew his husband’s stubbornness and...he might as well argue with a red light in Dublin. The elf always managed to get his way.

 

Lorna grinned, even as she got her daughters sat down again. Those two were too precious for words.

 

She ducked out long enough to call the twins, to let them know Atia was staying home for a couple days, onto to find both of them were under the weather, too.

 

“Yeah, we’re just sitting around watching crap TV and drinking tea,” Chandra said. “Midnight and Bast are keeping us company.”

 

“You’re taking acetaminophen, right?” Lorna asked.

 

She fancied she could  _ hear  _ Chandra roll her eyes. “Yes, Mam. And we’ve got slippers, so our feet aren’t cold. We’ll be fine -- look after Supri and Atia. Atia especially, you know what she’s like.”

 

Unfortunately, Lorna did. The kid did not do well with enforced inactivity, even when she felt awful. “I hope you didn't just jinx me.”

 

“Good luck, Mam. Love you.”

 

“Love you, too. Poke your brother for me.” She hung up, and frowned. Her own throat was a touch sore, but that was what honey-lemon tea was for. Her gran swore by it for a reason.

 

**

 

###  {April 22, 2034}

 

It was early morning, and fortunately the three of them had concluded their affections with each other and were caring for the finishing touches of their dress when a knock came on their bedroom door. Thranduil frowned, realizing that it had to be one of the elves or Sharley, because he could not hear who it might be. Or perhaps it was better to say, he was not making the effort to ascertain that when it was just as simple to open the door.

 

Calanon stood there, head bowed. “Please forgive the intrusion, Aran Thranduil, but I hoped you would come look at Ailill. He woke this morning thirsty and unable to swallow without considerable pain. And I think he has a fever now.”

 

Thranduil blinked and frowned, nodding, and gestured for Calanon to lead the way. Up the stair they went, and out to the new addition which was no longer new; years ago it had jokingly been dubbed ‘the satellite.’ And so it was that he found Ailill in bed, patently miserable and with a definite fever. The King sat at the bedside, touching his cheeks. “Your throat hurts, and you feel unwell?” Ailill nodded his head and tried to swallow, causing Thranduil’s eyes to widen. “Your throat hurts a great deal,” he added, to which he received another nod. “I will care for this. But before I do I would like Ratiri to see you. Something is not usual about this. Can you hang on for a few more minutes?”

Again, a nod, while Thranduil rose to head to the other wing of Eldamar. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” he muttered aloud to no one as he strode to Lorna and Ratiri’s room and knocked.

 

Ratiri was just about to open it anyway. Currently in his bed he had one very sick wife and two sick children, surrounded by cats. “I’m assuming you don't have good news,” he said, eying Thranduil. “I know what this is, unfortunately. Who else has it?”

 

“Ailill, that I know of. At this moment. This is a...disease? He has blisters inside of his mouth; they are very painful.” The name in Ratiri’s mind meant nothing to him and therefore required explanation.

 

“The colloquial name is hand, foot, and mouth disease,” he said. “It’s not usually serious, but it’s extremely contagious. It probably came home with Atia, but I’m damned if I can figure out where she picked it up to begin with.” He sighed. “Ailill is awake? I should take a look at him -- I can show you what to look for, if you see others who are ill. Blisters in the throat are just the first symptom. It’s probably too much to hope this got confined to the house.”

 

Sharley, bearing a pot of honey-lemon tea, tiptoed past him, and gave him what she hoped was an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

 

A few moments later saw Ratiri peering into Ailill’s mouth, which was a spectacularly raw mess of red blistered areas on his throat and tongue. Some of these had alarming whitish patches and frankly, if this was ‘not serious’ Thranduil hated to ask what was. “It is as you thought?” he asked the physician.

 

“It is,” Ratiri said, and had Ailill press his thumb to his mobile. He frowned at what he saw. “And Ailill’s fever is higher than I would like for a man his age.” He looked at Thranduil. “The blisters in the throat are the first stage. Later the rash spreads to the hands and face, and sometimes the feet -- hence the name. It can last anywhere from a few days to a fortnight, and it’s horrendously contagious. We need to see if it’s shown up in the Halls, and if so, we have to institute a quarantine as soon as possible.” The disease  _ usually  _ wasn’t serious, but the more people caught it, the more likely it was that someone would come down with it in a dangerous way.

 

Thranduil looked down, carding his hand through his hair. “Ailill I will heal. For the rest...I would strongly suggest that at the very least I give the same to Lorna; there will need to be organization. Competent help, if you will. After that, I will place myself at your disposal. I cannot manage the entire current population of the Halls. But...I can feel Ailill’s pain, and it seems very bad to me. I hope that if the others are like this, that something can be done.”

 

“There’s acetaminophen, Lidocaine spray, and the honey-lemon tea,” Ratiri said.  “And I believe we have some clove oil, which will do in a pinch.” The only problem was that there was a finite amount of all of that stuff, so they had to contain this, if they could. “All right, let’s do this. I can leave Lorna to deal with everything on this end once she’s healed, and then we need to go to the Halls.”

 

Thranduil nodded, and without hesitation sat down to take Ailill into his arms. There was no embarrassment or hesitation from the man this time, who was at the moment profoundly miserable. A moment of great empathy ensued; mortals endured a great deal and he could help so very few of them. Moments later he left Ailill with instructions to still rest for several hours, knowing he had slept little during the night...and moved on to Lorna.

 

Lorna was not at all a happy camper, and all the more so because she couldn’t even swear. Her throat hurt so badly she was trying to avoid swallowing, let alone speaking, and she rather wished she knew sign language.  _ I hate everything _ , she said, knowing she looked pathetic and not caring in the least.  _ Absolutely everything. _

 

_ I know you do,  _ Thranduil said, letting himself into the room after two sharp warning knocks.  _ But we are about to fix that. Come here,  _ he offered, plunking down next to her and deliberately scattering cats and opening his arms.

 

_ Life sucks when you can’t even swear _ , she said, crawling over to hug him. Pickles chirped in protest, and Atia picked up the poor feline and handed her to Supri. Neither of them felt as awful as their mother looked, at least.

 

_ I will be certain to tell Thanadir,  _ he teased, as his light flared just a little. Now that he was close enough to pay attention to the children better, he wondered if this was just worse for the adults that contracted it? For the children were at best ‘somewhat uncomfortable’ versus what had been their mother’s abject misery up to a moment ago.

 

Lorna sighed with relief.  _ Thank you.  _ For once, she was not going to say a word about plasters. “All right, you two, drink your tea and pet your kitties,” she said. “I’m assuming you two are off to the Halls?” she asked, looking from Thranduil to Ratiri.

 

“We are,” Ratiri said, and sighed. “Can you hold things down on this end?”

 

“I can. Good luck, and if you need anything, I’ve got my mobile.”

 

“I do not believe it will be ‘if,’ dear one. I think we are looking at ‘when,’ and ‘when’ might not be far off at all.” He shook his head. Several hundred sick Irish being told they were under quarantine by an Elvenking and a Scotsman. Even he knew where this was headed.

 

“True. If you need someone to yell at everyone, you know I’m good at it.”

 

“I’m calling Indira,” Ratiri said, kissing her on the forehead. He had to blow kisses at his daughters, however, because he didn't need to be coming down with this too. “She can help, and bring some supplies.”

 

“I’ll call Chandra,” Lorna said. “She said she and Shane both felt sick, so I’ll let them know what they’ve actually got, and tell them to take it easy.”

 

“Have Mairead drop off food. To the porch. No contact,” Thranduil said. “If this is not already loose in Baile, Eru, let us keep it that way.”

 

**

 

“In order to contain the spread of this illness, those inside of these Halls will be under quarantine, in order to successfully identify and treat those who are sickest. Otherwise this stands to spread easily into the outlying communities, many of whom are populated by seniors and those more vulnerable to becoming seriously ill,” Thranduil pronounced to the Dining Hall, where all but the very sickest and those caring for them were assembled. Grumbles and glares aplenty were roiling through the room, and the King gave a sidewise look to Ratiri and Indira.  _ This could be...interesting _ , he told them silently.

 

“This isn’t a joke, people,” Ratiri said.  _ Thranduil, please call Lorna. I’d rather have her and not need her than need her and not have her.  _ “No, this is not normally a serious illness, but ‘not normally’ does not mean ‘never’. Ailill and Lorna were both very sick this morning, and Thranduil can’t go healing every single person who becomes that ill. Better to contain it before it becomes dire.”

 

“How long’ve we got to stay cooped up?” John asked. “I mean, we’ve all go jobs to do.”

 

“If you haven’t developed symptoms within six days, you probably aren’t going to,” Indira said. “The Elves and those living outside of the Halls can take care of the work until this passes. It won’t be any fun, but we can do it.”

 

“If it’s just a sore throat and an itchy rash, can’t we just keep on?” Mick asked.

 

Ratiri fought a sigh. “The rash doesn’t itch, Mick, it hurts, and no, you can’t just ‘keep on’. Anyone infected needs to rest and stay hydrated, so that a mild case doesn’t become a severe one.”

 

_ She is coming,  _ Thranduil mentioned to Ratiri. 

 

Next, Thanadir made an attempt to continue informing their population: “Hand sanitizer is being distributed, but we cannot emphasize enough the importance of regular handwashing. The virus is present in the blisters that form, and in sneezes and coughs.” For the sake of comportment, he decided not to mention that it was also in feces because...no. “We wish to do the best possible job of keeping surfaces like door handles, and everything to do with the Dining Hall clean. Anyone who cannot drink water normally on account of throat pain needs to seek extra help. Someone will be here in the Dining Hall at all times to coordinate extra care. Otherwise, fluids, rest, and medicine for the fever are how to care for yourselves and family members.” He blinked, to see the generalized surliness that seemed to radiate from those he was trying to educate. 

 

_ You are doing well, meldir. Try not to react to them,  _ Thranduil advised, knowing that the beginnings of a frown were forming on his seneschal’s face.

 

Lorna, slightly out-of-breath thanks to her sprint from the Gates, skidded into the Dining Hall. Sharley was moving rather more sedately behind her, scowling; she’d driven the sofa to the Halls, but even this little amount of walking made her poor swollen feet let her know in no uncertain terms how much they hated her.

 

“All right, you lot, I realize this sucks, but it’s what it is, so bloody deal with it,” Lorna said, glowering at the lot of them. “I woke up this morning so sick I couldn’t even swear. D’you know how much that sucks?  _ Do you?  _ This isn’t a head cold, where you just snot all over everything and that’s it.”

 

“Isn’t a quarantine kind’v dire, though?” Shane asked. He didn't even live in the Halls full-time; he and Siobhan spent their days off here, since he was still handling gems and money for the Elves. “It’s a rash, a fever, and a sore throat, for Christ’s sake.”

 

Lorna looked at Ratiri, who was as exasperated as she’d ever seen him. “Yeah, and it’s one that’ll make you wish you were dead if you get a bad dose,” she said. “It hits older people harder than children, it’s contagious as all hell, and there’s no bloody point courting it when it’d be easy enough to stay in your damn flat for a while. Christ, I know your wife could keep you entertained, as nauseating as the thought is.”

 

Indira tried and failed to choke back a laugh.

 

“But--” Mick tried.

 

“Bloody Jesus, Mick, have you got anything at all between your ears, or are you deaf?” Lorna demanded. “ _ No _ .”

 

“You don't even know what I was going to say,” he protested.

 

She scowled at him. “I don't need to.  _ No _ . The next person who says anything other than ‘Okay, sounds great, I’ll do that’ is going to get my boot so far up their arse they’ll be sicking up shoelaces.” She tapped one highly polished Doc Marten on the floor for emphasis.

 

“Well,” Thranduil smiled. “Now that that’s settled, perhaps we can move on and find out how many meals will need to be served to those too sick to come here to eat? I believe Thanadir is prepared to take a count, if everyone could hold up the correct number of fingers for those who require this?”

 

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Vairë strode in, and came to stand still not terribly far from either Lorna or Sharley. She had been listening to the proceedings with interest. Thranduil acknowledged her arrival with a noticeable bow of deference, as did Thanadir and every elf present.

 

None of the humans in the house had told anyone else of Vairë’s arrival, and it seemed none of the Elves had, either, because almost all of them looking at her with curious incomprehension --  _ almost  _ all. Shane choked on his tea, and Geezer somehow managed to choke on his own spit.

 

_ Thranduil, please tell me there isn’t a Vala in the Dining Hall _ . Geezer couldn’t be sure just which one this was, but she wasn’t a human or an Elf, nor did she seem like Sharley.  _ There’s totally a Vala in the Dining Hall, isn’t there? _

 

“Uh...sure,” Shane said, staring openly at Vairë. He was pretty sure she was Vairë, anyway. “How are we going to make sure we don't have people who’re already sick making food for everyone else? Is it something the Elves’ll be doing on their own?”

 

“Yes,” Thanadir answered. “For the next many days, only elves will prepare food. Obviously our meal program to outlying areas will be disrupted. The variety of dishes served may be reduced to assist with the added workload, but no one will go hungry. Those who usually receive food prepared here will be...informed. It is the best we can do, if we are to contain this.” 

 

Vairë continued to study those in the room, intrigued by how few seemed to have an awareness of who she was. It did not offend her; the Valar had by choice had very few dealings with mortals. And yet the chance to see so many of them, close at hand, was not to be missed. They fascinated her, in both their resilience and their frailty, and yet were children of Eru just the same.

 

“Can we trade books, or anything?” Niamh asked. “If we’re not sicker than dogs, we’ll need to do something or go spare.”

 

Siobhan leaned over to Shane. “All right, which one is she?” she whispered, her eyes riveted on the beautiful figure not far behind Sharley.

 

“I think she’s Vairë, but I’m not a hundred percent sure,” he whispered back. “Vairë’s the one Sharley works for, according to Lorna, so it makes the most sense.”

 

“I would recommend not,” Ratiri said. “Books are fomites -- they can carry the virus. We can distribute books from Eldamar, though, and one of us can go out for crossword puzzles and the like.”

 

Siobhan Donovan glanced at Eris. Her daughter didn't have the most robust health in the world -- at least, not like the rest of the Donovans -- and she had to wonder if it would be best to send Eris to stay with Mairead while this lasted. “Is there any way for you to know who’s already been exposed?”

 

“Everyone’s probably been exposed,” Ratiri said. “It’s just a matter of who develops symptoms and who doesn’t -- because not everyone who has it will actually get sick. They’ll just pass it on to other people.”

 

“Because  _ that’s  _ just grand,” Mick muttered. He had so much work to do, what with the farming really ready to start, and he was all but useless in here. Sure, Lorna could do his job, but that would just mean she wasn’t doing  _ her  _ job.

 

“How bad does someone have to get, before you’ll heal them?” Niamh asked. “When do we call for help?”

 

Ratiri glanced between Thranduil and Indira. “Anyone who has a fever of forty degrees, send for help immediately,” he said. “If swallowing becomes too difficult to ingest fluids, or if breathing becomes labored. It’s better safe than sorry: if you’re with someone who seems to be unduly sick, one of the medical staff can come and take a look. If it’s dire, then we’ll ask Thranduil for help.” Unfortunately, their unaffected ‘medical staff’ consisted of him, Indira, and Nuala. He did not foresee any of them getting a great deal of sleep for the next week.

 

“Who even are you people, telling us what to do?” shouted out a man in his mid-30’s, with an obvious American accent. “We were promised that the Elf-king wouldn’t make rules for us.”

 

“He’s not making rules, you bloody twat,” Lorna retorted. “These three --” she indicated Ratiri, Indira, and Nuala “-- are the doctors. You know, the people who actually know about diseases, unlike your ignorant arse? I’m just the pushy bitch who’ll jam something unpleasant in a place you don't want anything jammed, so shut your bloody gob or I'll shut it for you.”

 

He blinked, and she realized he probably hadn’t understood half of that. “Them, doctors,” she tried again. “Me, pushy bitch. You, shut your gob.”

 

A ripple of laughter ran around the room, to his evident confusion.

 

Vairë walked forward to stand behind Lorna; with her height Lorna was but an ornament in front of her radiance. She turned her multifaceted eyes to the man who had spoken. “I am curious. Why is it you wish to act contrary to what is in your own best interest?” If anyone in the room had somehow labored under the delusion that this being was human or elf, the ethereal quality of her voice should have dispelled it. Assuming, at least, that the listener was free of mind-altering substances. Her gaze remained fixed expectantly on the man.

 

“And who in hell are  _ you _ ?” he retorted, even as the quaver in his voice revealed that some of his bravado was fading.

 

“I am Vairë. The Weaver, in your tongue. Are you incapable of answering my question?” The curiosity in her tone was quite sincere. 

 

“Weaver….what?” the man said, utterly befuddled.

 

“You came to live among elves and do not know me?” she asked, amused. “Interesting.” Perhaps this one was...mentally deficient; she had read that this was a possibility, among them in this later age of Arda. By now Lorna was looking up at her, and the Lady responded to the small woman with a shrug and a grin, obviously amused to no end.

 

_ Well, at least you’ll have some...entertaining...stories to take back with you,  _ Lorna offered.  _ Meanwhile, I think we need to set up Elf 101 classes, once this thing has passed. _

 

“I  _ knew  _ it,” Shane whispered. Why had she come to Earth, though? What with all he’d read, the Valar had gone back to Aman after the War of Wrath, and never returned. It made him uneasy, but he knew already he wasn’t going to get answers out of anyone who lived at Eldamar.

 

“She weaves the history of the world, kid,” Geezer said. “Into tapestries in the Halls of Mandos. Read a damn book.”

 

“We can get someone to help you with the big words,” Lorna added. She just couldn’t help it. Yeah, she’d struggled in places with some of the Histories, but that was what a bloody dictionary was for. 

 

Sharley gave up and facepalmed. Whatever she was about to say, however, morphed into a very surprised, very human, “ _ Shit. _ ” Perhaps she could be forgiven though, because she only said ‘shit’ because there came a very strange  _ pop _ , and it felt like she’d pissed her pants. Oh, she recognized  _ that _ , all right… “Uh, guys, my water just broke,” she said, slightly panicked. “Um...can one of you…”

 

“Sharley, call Maglor,” Lorna ordered. “Where d’you want to have this kid? The pool in Thranduil and Earlene’s bathroom’s great, if you’re not sure.”

 

“Um...yeah,” Sharley said, staring at the spreading puddle on the floor.  _ Maglor, my water just broke in front of the entire population of the Halls. You might want to get here soon.  _ No, she hadn’t felt any contractions, but Marty had come out in a hurry, once she’d decided it was time to get on with things.

 

“Come along,” Vairë said kindly, offering Sharley her hand. Elves were already coming with a mop; it was simpler to not draw more attention; not that many had noticed. Or rather; fewer  _ would _ have noticed were it not for the outburst, but it was a tad late for that.

 

“I believe this meeting is concluded, if you would be so kind as to raise hands and remain still for Thanadir to take his count? Thank you for your attendance,” Thranduil said levelly, wondering just how much...further education...some of those under his roof needed. A great deal, apparently. He allowed himself the very human indulgence of rolling his eyes behind a hand that shielded them from sight, because another little one was on its way in the midst of an inopportune time. At least the baby would be immune to the current malaise.

 

Lorna and the med staff helped Thanadir take over, while Sharley took Vairë’s hand, and tried not to squeeze it too hard. Oh dear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers (part two!) we belatedly added something that maybe all of you have not seen to chapter 147. A portrait we commissioned of Sharley and Maglor from the artist Kapriss; some of you know her from DeviantArt. We were quite thrilled with the outcome, and another artwork is currently under commission--one of Earlene, Thranduil and Thanadir. We will publish it when it is released; having art for the story is certainly appreciated. Thanks again for your support! <3


	152. One Hundred Fifty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 23 - May 24, 2034
> 
> Notes: While not (in theory) trigger material, this chapter rates pretty high on the emotional upset scale. 
> 
> We are thrilled to be able to share the completed portrait of Thranduil, Earlene and Thanadir with you. It is now embedded in its home in chapter 141, or at DeviantArt: https://annellspethraven.deviantart.com/art/Thranduil-Earlene-and-ThanadirFinal-747618972 The version 1.0 of this commission is also at Kapriss' page: https://www.deviantart.com/art/Thanadir-Earlene-and-Thranduil-747013090 
> 
> We would also like to thank Agent of Entropy for taking on the major chore of helping us to proofread these chapters for mistakes and typos--it's a big job and much appreciated!

{April 23-24, 2034}

 

_ I’ve done this before,  _ Sharley thought, as her Lady led her to Thranduil and Earlene’s room (and of course she knew where it was, she was Vairë),  _ so why am I so freaked out? _

 

_ “Because you’re in labor,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “That tends to be scary for just about any mother of any race, at first.”  _ Earlene was something of an outlier, honestly; most other mothers had at least a few minutes of existential terror when their water broke. 

 

_ “Just remember, Marty was fine,”  _ Layla added,  _ “and you thought you were human when you had her. You’ll get to meet this little one soon, and figure out her name.” _

 

“Right,” Sharley said, drawing a deep breath to center herself. This panicky reaction was instinct, sure, but she didn't need it. If she told herself that often enough, she might truly believe it.

 

“Remember who you are, Tirillë,” he Lady admonished quietly. “There is nothing whatsoever about which to have concern.” The tone was quite absolute in its finality. Of late, Vairë had been applying much more pressure, to emphasize Sharley’s non-human state of being. Sooner rather than later she needed to be able to return, and felt they were rather running out of time to achieve the basic goals her husband and the others would require for her servant to remain safely at large in the world. There were two alternatives, and she did not relish the idea of either one of them. Which made it imperative that this nonsense stop.

 

“I know, my Lady,” Sharley said, drawing another deep breath. “That just...startled me. She’s a bit early, and of all the places I’d wish my water  _ wouldn’t  _ break, in front of the entire population of the Halls is definitely it.” A cramp worked its way through her, and she sighed. “I have no idea how to keep that from hurting, either.” She probably could if she focused hard enough, but if she focused that hard, she’d forget how to walk.

 

“Yes, you do,” Vairë demanded. “Remember who you are.”

 

“Even  _ Melian  _ hated giving birth, my Lady,” Sharley protested. She’d gotten better about the whole...Maia thing, as she could only call it; her lapses into what Sinsemilla referred to as ‘human thinking’ had grown few over the last months, but this was childbirth. If it had sucked for Melian, that had nothing to do with feeling like a human. It sucked for everyone who wasn’t named Earlene.

 

She tried to focus on the next cramp, to separate the physical action from the pain it produced. “She told me there was a reason Lúthien was an only child, and inferred that Thingol was lucky she didn't make him hate being born.” Another deep breath, slow, inhale and exhale.

 

“I know their story,” Vairë smiled, “and in far greater detail. Nice try. You are fine, and will continue to be fine. Ah look, and here is the soon-to-be father.” 

 

Maglor caught up with them, excitement sparkling in his eyes, and quickly caught her other hand, kissing her fingers. This was much nicer than looking at humans with blisters.

 

“All right,” Sharley said, giving him a smile before glancing down at her abdomen, “in theory, I can do what Thranduil did when Lorna had her twins, and just sorta...un-knit everything in that general area, but how will I know if I need to? I don't think this one’s overly big, but…” She’d been high as the stars when she gave birth to Marty -- she wasn’t sure what they’d injected her with, but it meant she didn't remember a great deal about the, uh, process itself.

 

“I will help you,” Thranduil said quietly. “As will your husband. But...you should not need to do anything, Sharley. You are of the Ainur.”

 

Vairë rolled her eyes, managing to not say aloud ‘what he said.’

 

On their arrival at Thranduil’s quarters, Earlene already waited, having been warned to prepare. Towels were poolside in abundance, as was a clean soft robe. “I will return with water and food,” she said, leaving as they entered. Some items were already here; it was usually suspected that anyone wishing to give birth would do so here...but the child was certainly arriving earlier than anticipated.

 

Sharley was quite happy to will away her wet, chilly jeans and knickers, and sighed with relief when she stepped into the pool. “I may be Ainur,” she said, “but this is somewhat...new. Do I let my body just do what it wants?” She drew in another breath, easing a contraction rather than letting it rip through her like a hacksaw. After all, since she’d been pregnant, she hadn’t done a great deal of experimentation with her physical form. Most of her forays into her innate magic (aside from her weaving the events of the world, which had started out...interesting) involved things like transmutation, or calling up clothing out of the ether.

 

“Start with that,” advised Vairë. 

 

“She seems to be on the hurried side,” Thranduil said. “Your cervix is dilating very quickly. When that is complete you should feel a fairly overwhelming need to push the child out of your body.”

 

Sharley nodded, and let herself float. This really was a nice pool -- maybe she and Maglor would have to explore the flat they had here. She’d never really stayed in it. “I can’t say I’m unhappy Melian’s pregnancy didn't  _ totally  _ line up with mine,” she said, her eyes widening slightly at the feeling of another, stronger contraction. She managed to keep the pain at bay, but good  _ grief  _ did that feel...odd. “Not having to handle another two months of this can only be a good thing.” She reached out for Maglor’s hand, wanting him to be in close for this -- she knew how much he’d wanted a child, for so very, very long.

 

He had uncaringly stripped off his clothing in order to join his wife, facing her and murmuring encouraging endearments while rubbing her back for her. Vairë stood poolside, and Thranduil made do with having changed quickly into the swim apparel that he kept here for just this reason. There was, at the moment, no need to do more than monitor, so he sat with his calves swinging in the warm water, behind Sharley. Earlene liked to sit for these events, but then again...his wife had used a variety of contortions while birthing their children. He glanced up at her; she had unobtrusively seated herself on one of the benches, wishing to be available if she could answer any questions; Eru knew she had gone through the process just a few times.

 

Sharley did as instructed, and just floated for a while, letting her body do what it would. Her little one was shifting around, the contractions regular but strengthening, and then -- her eyes widened.  _ Okay, body…  _ Quite without her willing it, an enormous contraction shuddered through her, and she pushed almost without thinking about what she was doing. “Er….” she said, and had to fight the urge to grab at anything down south. “I think our daughter just decided to come out and say hi.”

 

Maglor caught their daughter, whisking her up out of the water, and blinked back tears. “Hello, little one,” he whispered, bringing her right away to her mother.  Thranduil and Earlene were exchanging besotted grins from their respective positions, whereas Vairë appeared immensely pleased. Yes, Tirillë could manage with some...nudging from time to time.

 

“I  _ knew  _ you were gonna have a full head of hair,” Sharley said, staring down at the little girl in utter fascination. “And it’s just like your ada’s.” It clung to the baby’s head and face in wet wisps, and Sharley brushed some of it back. “Look at how beautiful she is. Look at how  _ small  _ she is.” One tiny little hand wrapped around Sharley’s forefinger -- and then the baby opened her eyes.

 

Sharley froze, speechless; Kurt, however, managed a strangled,  _ “What in the --”  _ before the other three silenced him...somehow.

 

This baby had Maglor’s hair, but Marty’s eyes. It wasn’t just the same shades of blue and green and brown, it was the exact same configuration -- but striated with a steely grey that matched her father’s.

 

_ “Um...what?”  _ Layla whispered.

 

“Silence,” Vairë commanded the voices. Turning to Sharley, she knelt down at the poolside. “Offer your daughter your breast, Tirillë,” she gently reminded.

 

Gently, Sharley shifted her hair and her shirt, and let her beautiful little one have her first meal. She might be early, but she certainly had a healthy appetite.  _ My Lady,  _ Sharley said slowly,  _ her eyes are just like Marty’s.  _ It was a statement and a question all at once.

 

_ Is that not interesting? She is your daughter, after all. And her father’s daughter,  _ Vairë noted. And the last part had what she could have sworn was extra emphasis placed on the words.

 

Sharley looked down at those beautiful striations of grey, at the silky hair that was Maglor’s shade of midnight.  _ Yes she is,  _ she said.   _ And I wonder, had I gone to Irmo’s Gardens, would Marty have been gone? I know you might not answer that one, my Lady, but I wonder anyway.  _ She would say nothing of her suspicion to Maglor -- let him enjoy their daughter as she was now, before anything else.

 

_ Dear one, I will give you only these words of advice: It is now time to cease looking to the past, and what was. From this moment forward is only the future, and the child you now have with your husband Maglor. I can say no more.  _

 

_ The child who shoulda been Maglor’s to begin with,  _ Sharley said, more to herself than anyone else. “Laurë, do you have a father-name for her? I have no idea on a mother-name yet.”

 

“I am thinking about Anna,” he answered in soft tones. “It is a human name but of course it means something else in our tongue. She is the greatest gift I have ever received, next to you and the pardon I was granted.”

 

“Anna. Anna Magloriel,” Sharley said, just as softly. “Anna Corwin, in the human world, for however long it’s left.”

 

The big eyes watched her, and then tracked to Maglor. She was so fair, just like her father -- paler now than Sharley kept her own complexion. She’d be beautiful -- she was already beautiful -- and she’d know everything they could possibly show her of the world, while it was still there for her to see it. “And of course my water broke in front of literally everyone.”

 

_ “Eh, you can tease her about it when she’s older,”  _ Layla said.  _ “She wanted to make a grand entrance.” _

 

“Congratulations, you both,” Earlene said, finally speaking. “And clearly you are not remembering that it happened to me at the dinner table in front of the entire family. Don’t feel too bad. They come when they want to, nothing to be done about it. She is beautiful.”

 

Little Anna must have eaten her fill, because she yawned and immediately fell asleep. “You did that so many times, Earlene. I’m not sure I could again, mostly because it just goes on...and on...and on…” Sharley laughed. “At least Anna has many, many cousins.” 

 

She looked up at Maglor. “Can we take her back to the house? I want to put her to sleep in her cradle. I want to just watch her for the next year.”  _ We have a baby,  _ she said, still utterly blitzed.  _ We have a baby. She’s here,  _ finally _. _

 

Thranduil chuckled. “First you must finish delivering,” he teased. “You are not done yet. We can cut the cord now; then you must give up a placenta.”

 

“I have a basket for you,” Earlene said. “Nappies, food to last into tomorrow. It might be just as well to get away from this plague pit, until things return to normal. I expect tempers around here will be...strained.”

 

“Measurements first, meluieg,” Thranduil admonished. “Length, weight, all that. I am certain Ratiri will appreciate having the information. Though part of me cannot fathom the need, I suppose it still would be best to have a Certificate of Birth.”

 

“If we ever want to go outside of Ireland, she needs a legal identity,” Sharley said, kissing the baby’s forehead before tenderly passing her to Maglor. She had to focus to figure out how to get the placenta out in a hurry, and it felt...well, extremely odd...but at least she managed it. “And I feel bad for not being able to help with all this...I’ll at least try to keep an eye on things at the house, so nobody needs to worry about it.”

 

“Allanah has everything managed,” Earlene said. “You just worry about the three of you. Four of you,” she smiled, nodding to the Lady.

 

Allanah needed to meet Anna. Her sunshine girl who was no longer a girl should meet her little not-actually-sister...who was possibly also her older not-actually-sister. “Let’s take her home,” she said to Maglor. “Well, that home. Once this mess is over, and once little Anna’s been in the world a bit longer, we should go stay in the little house.” For the first few days, she wanted to keep the baby in a house with running water for dealing with diapers. Plus, cats and an actual toilet.

 

“Of course,” Maglor answered, still vaguely unable to believe this was happening to him. His child. After all these long years of his life, a child, with his wife. Later he would pray, and cry his eyes out. But not just now.

 

*****

 

{May 20, 2034}

 

“Are you sure you have everything?” Earlene fussed.

 

“Meldis, we are only going for a week and it is not to Dagorlad. We will be fine,” Thanadir assured, though it did not stop him from repeatedly claiming sweet little kisses from her lips.

 

“Now now, Thanadir,” Thranduil chided. “Save some of those for me, and be good enough to leave our wife not in a hopeless state of lust at the moment of our departure.”

 

“But I was not being lusty,” the seneschal said, abashed.

 

Earlene could not help but burst into laughter. “That is because you do not know your own power of appeal, Thanadir. And I love you for it. He is teasing you. Mostly. I cannot help that I would always like more from you, but I am an adult. I can manage.” Rising up on her toes, she kissed the end of his nose, and nuzzled his cheek on the way down for good measure. Now he wore a silly grin on his face, for her words had flattered him a great deal. All the more so because he knew she was not exaggerating.

 

“Should I bring you anything?” he asked.

 

“No,” Earlene shook her head. “Just some memories of the Forest of Dean, and whether or not you are the only person wearing a Harry Potter scarf.”

 

“I can do that,” Thanadir agreed, not seeing that Thranduil rolled his eyes and shook his head. For Thanadir was indeed trussed up in his Ravenclaw scarf, which accented his eyes rather handsomely.

 

“Have fun holding down the castle,” Thranduil said, somewhat more practically.

 

“I will. I promise there will be a Realm for you to return to, my King,” she grinned, hoping very much that she was not wrong about that. This would be the first time ever that she was ‘on her own’ so to speak, and she did feel just a little nervous.

 

“You will do fine,” Thranduil reassured. “You have Maglor and Quen, even Thalion should you need advice. I cannot imagine, now that the accursed virus is gone from the Halls, that anything of consequence could possibly happen.”

 

Earlene blinked at him. And said nothing, but resolved to knock on some wood at the earliest opportunity.

 

“Alright, we will see you in a week.” Kisses were exchanged, car doors were closed, and she watched the loves of her life leave their driveway. With an immense sigh, she looked heavenward. “What could possibly go wrong?”

 

**

 

It had taken Sharley three days to decide on Anna’s mother-name, and it sounded rather like her father-name: ‘Annwn’ was Gaelic (Welsh, specifically) for ‘otherworld’. She hadn’t yet told Maglor  _ why  _ she wanted that name, and neither one of them had bothered figuring out how something spelled ‘Annwn’ would be pronounced ‘Annoon’, because the Welsh language used a double helping of consonants and it was best not to ask questions. The girl was their Gift of the Otherworld, after all; that was what mattered.

 

Annwn’s development had been a touch astonishing, and Sharley wondered how much of her perceptions of Marty’s childhood had been warped by the Stranger. At not quite a month old, the baby was rolling on her own, and trying to inchworm (which could get quite hilarious when any of the cats were in the room, because they inspected her like she was some strange form of new, hairless cat). She couldn’t yet sit up unaided, but she’d sit on either of her parents’ laps, giggling and making strange...noises. It wasn’t quite babbling, but Sharley had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before that began in earnest.

 

And she had such beautiful, silky dark hair, just like her ada’s. Sharley had to resist the urge to braid theirs together and take a picture of it. Between that and her highly suspicious eyes, Sharley felt like she was walking in a dreamland -- her husband, and the daughter that should have been his, given back to her. To them.

 

“You know, kiddo, life is a lot easier when you stop eating  _ before  _ you’re about to sick up,” she said, tossing her soiled shirt in the laundry basket. Annwn just giggled, and burped.

 

“Mother would watch, and take her breast away before my brothers had a chance to get completely full,” Maglor explained. “She would wait for a time, perhaps a quarter hour, and then offer more. And most of the time it turned out they did not wish more. She told me that she made this mistake with Maedhros repeatedly before it occurred to her to try something else with me.” Grinning besottedly, he tickled his daughter’s chin. “But what does ada know, exactly? He does not have breasts. He just likes the ones your nana has, very much.”

 

Annwn giggled, appearing to agree.

 

Sharley burst out laughing. “I’ll have to give that a try,” she said, tugging on a different tunic. She’d made this one, too; it had extra thick fabric at the chest, because she still hadn’t yet learned to gauge when to stop her milk at exactly the right moment. That she could do so at all was something she knew many human women would envy. “I think this little one just likes to keep us on our toes.” She ruffled Annwn’s hair, so silky-soft. “So, I know this is neither an Elven custom nor an Ainur, so it will sound odd, but hear me out.” She sat on the bed, pulling her daughter onto her lap. “I want to ask Allanah if she’ll stand as godmother. It’s totally ceremonial, because obviously neither you nor I are going to die, but Allanah was my not-actually-daughter, when she was little. She still is -- she’s just an independent young woman who doesn’t actually need parents anymore.”

 

_ “Allanah gave Sharley a lotta happiness, before she found you again,”  _ Sinsemilla added, hoping that would help.  _ “And someday the rest of the family will go to Aman, but Allanah will still be here. Hopefully it might make her feel more...I guess I want to say more tightly bound to the family.” _

 

Maglor said nothing, at first. The truth was, Pen observed many things, and both of them discussed his insights openly. It was exceedingly obvious to them that Allanah had as much interest in the other humans in the realm as...he himself did. And yet this was obviously something his wife was not prepared to hear. Was this really his business? The answer to that was a resounding ‘No.’ Allanah was young, but she was old enough to speak for herself. “I am not particularly comfortable with this, but neither will I stand in your way. If this is important to you, go ahead.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, cursing his general impulse to be so honest.

 

Sharley had been bracing herself for something like that; she was glad he hadn’t argued with it, honestly. “It is,” she said, even as Annwn made a grab for her father’s hair. “I think Allanah would be a good influence, too, even though she’s human and Annwn’s rather unique, even for a peredhel. They’re sunshine children, and those know no bounds of race.”

 

Moving behind Sharley seemed safer just now; it made it easier to hide the vague worry that crept over his features. Sharley seemed to still think Allanah was...Allanah of three or four years prior. Really, that was not the case. A few rare times he had stopped into the forges, to see what she would work on either alone or with Thanadir. And as he stood in an out of the way corner, observing, it boggled his mind to see what looked so much like his own mother. Give or take the red hair. But the focus, the burn of creative energy, the passion for the hammer and anvil and glowing metal, the sheen of her skin and the absolute focus as she worked… ‘eerie’ hardly even began to sum up the similarities. He believed his wife had it all wrong, at this point. Allanah was not sunshine--she was fire.

 

Annwn burbled, burped, and tried to sick up again, but Sharley and her spit-up towel were faster. “I can already tell you’ll be a handful, won’t you?” she asked, kissing the crown of her daughter’s head. “I don't know what we’re going to do when she’s fully mobile...which could well be in another month.” 

 

The Lump, who was now not quite so lump-like, waddled over, sniffing at Annwn’s little knitted booties. “Look, Laurë -- our two children like each other.” She turned to look at him and burst out laughing, because she knew exactly what he actually thought of the Lump -- he was just a good husband, and tolerated the cat for her sake. The Lump  _ adored  _ Annwn, however, and would act like a living, furry hot-water bottle. It at least meant his backside was now entirely safe.

 

Maglor snorted; he’d been ‘outed’ quite some time ago, but took it in good humor. Reaching for their daughter, he began to pat her on the back, before failure to burp her could lead to any more expulsions of her latest meal. All of this was wonderful, and elflings grew so fast. He intended to savor every moment.

 

**

 

Ratiri spent much of the late afternoon in the Heart Room, tallying up the numbers from their unfortunate outbreak.

 

They never had figured out how the hell Atia contracted it to begin with, but it burned its way through two-thirds of the Halls’ population, and left even the Elves exhausted by the end of it. It was a somewhat sobering demonstration of just how fast, and how horribly, something could spread amongst them -- but it made sense. The air was largely recycled, and people tended to gather in large groups after work for something to do. Should the plague ever make it in, they’d be doomed; fortunately, Sharley knew it down to the day, so they could have everything locked up before it even hit Ireland.

 

They’d gone through more supplies than they’d anticipated, too, in spite of everyone’s efforts to use them wisely, and that too was sobering. All the assorted medical staff -- including those who had been ill, but recovered -- had gathered together to knock up more realistic lists of what would be needed, and in what amounts.

 

Last week they’d had an ‘after-meeting’ after dinner, to talk about just what had gone wrong, and how. The conclusion had been that children shouldn’t be allowed to cook -- Atia hadn’t realized she was ill, but an adult might have. And any adult on the kitchen roster who even thought they might have a sniffle, scratchy throat or beginnings of a fever was to beg off. Better safe than sorry, as this had so aptly demonstrated.

 

Well. They should have their supplies re-stocked within the week, but they were going to buy far more than that. Even he and Indira had badly underestimated the need, but at least they’d discovered this while the supplies were still available.

 

All in all, he was looking forward to dinner. He could officially file this mess, and they could chalk the whole thing up to experience.

 

*****

 

{May 23, 2034}

 

Sighing, Earlene watched the flames crackling in the clay oven in the kitchen. Tonight’s meal was a conservative take on Italian calzones, which basically meant that the cured meats were chosen for milder flavors as the spectrum of possibilities went. Trays of fresh vegetables and a simple salad would accompany the main course, which was for all practical purposes a pizza with a different spatial configuration. All the perfectly risen and assembled masterpieces stood ready; Ithiliel and Eleniel stood on either side of her, equally mesmerized by the flames. Given that Shane was absent today in addition to Thanadir, they had offered to help her wrangle this slightly more time-consuming meal.

 

“I don’t really like adars being gone,” Eleniel opined. “If I am going to be honestly selfish. Selfishly honest. One of those.”

 

“I am afraid I cannot disagree one little bit,” their mother said, another sigh escaping. “And yet I have been on many little trips with one or the other or both of them, and should not whine now that it is their turn to enjoy some nice time alone. Just remember, whining is like using the restroom. It happens inevitably, but no one wishes to see it or know about it.”

 

Ithiliel tilted her head to look at her mother in vague disbelief. “Nana, do you make these things up on the spot, or are these little nuggets a family tradition?”

 

Earlene snorted. “A little of both. But in this case...I may not be a native, but I am part Irish. And something very close to that is what your great-grandmother used to say, with far more vulgar word choices.”

 

Eleniel shook her head. “Why am I not surprised?”

 

“Because you live here?” Earlene grinned.

 

The twins smirked at each other wickedly. “Absolutely,” they answered in stereo.

 

“That’s my girls,” Earlene approved. “Now someone poke that fire, and add one more decent sized piece of wood. We’re close to ready to bake the calzones.”

 

**

 

Watching the faces at the table when dinner rolled out amused Earlene to no end. Their noses told them ‘pizza,’ but their eyes completely confused them, and she stifled a smile when Lorna caught sight of the large bowl of salad.  _ That poor woman, it was a wonder she didn’t just...plug up. _ Anyway.

 

“It seems so empty,” Siobhan said. She and Eris had come out for dinner, given so many were away -- and yet it wasn’t really that many. Chandra and Shane were gone more often than not these days, but to have Thranduil and Thanadir away as well, and Sharley and Maglor off spending time with their little one, the extra space at the table seemed vast.

 

“It just means we’re not all knocking elbows, Aunt Siobhan,” Supri said. “Mam said we were going to have to cut the table in half and add an extra piece if we kept getting more people.”

 

Siobhan looked at her sister in blatant horror. “Cut this beautiful work’v art?”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Oh, hush, it’s not like I'd actually do it. Earlene, these are bloody amazing, whatever they are.”

 

“They’re calzones, you uncultured savage,” Pat said, and winced when Grania kicked him under the table. They’d come out with Siobhan -- partially to keep people company, but mostly because they missed Earlene’s cooking.

 

Earlene grinned, and kept her head down except to say “thank you” and take a rather large helping of salad. After looking at her plate, cocking an eyebrow, and meeting eyes with Allanah, they by unspoken agreement decided to split one of the calzones between them. The had admittedly been made with...well, the Ailills of the world in mind (he was busy inhaling his). 

 

“A bunch’v us had training with Uncle Geezer and Thalion today,” Atia said. She still marveled that Uncle Geezer, who had to be pushing ninety, was as active and strong as he was -- Mam said it was because he was that kind of old person that got harder as they aged, like fossilized wood, whatever that even meant. “We were talking about how after...things end...there might be people we’d have to kill. Invaders, or whatever. I said I don't know if I could do it or not, but...have any of you ever killed anyone?”

 

Now, Earlene did look up. And in a reflex that was pure instinct to protect Lorna, spoke even though this was not her child. “Atia, honey, I know you don’t know this, but that is a subject we don’t talk about at the dinner table, please.”

 

“...Oh,” Atia said. “Sorry.”

 

“You won’t have to kill anyone, Atia,” Ratiri said. “We have enough people who want to be warriors.” They had enough Elven warriors already, but there were plenty of humans who had gone in for it willingly as well.

 

“Ratiri, allanah, we’re still at the dinner table,” Lorna said, keeping herself as relaxed as she could.

 

He winced. “Right. Sorry. Did you learn anything else?”

 

“Geezer said it was possible to light a fart on fire, but that none of us were ever to try it.”

 

Pat choked on a bite of calzone, and both Lorna and Siobhan burst out laughing. He’d tried that very thing at age ten, and wound up lighting his pants on fire. “Not one word,” he managed, once Ratiri had thumped him on the back.

 

The sisters looked at one another, and, as one, said, “ _ Oh God, it burns!” _

 

“I hate both’v you.”

 

“That...would also be a banned topic at the table,” Earlene smiled, her patience wearing a little thin. To a one, the Sullivan children bore expressions ranging from appalled (Thaladir) to mildly amused but knowing better than to show it (Algar), to general disbelief (Andaer). “And, might I please have the platter of sliced vegetables?”

 

Lorna and Siobhan somehow contained their snickering, while Eris rolled her eyes and passed along the veggies. 

 

“Hopefully a  _ better  _ topic,” Lorna said, “is that I found the exact year and model’v car’v that couple that went on the 26-year road trip.”

 

“Huh?” Sam asked.

 

“This was back at the end’v the last century up through about 2016, I think,” she said. “This German couple had a 1988 Mercedes G-Wagon -- shut it, I know -- and they drove it over five hundred thousand kilometers, on five continents. The car just kept going and going, so I got one, and I’m going to convert it for biofuel.”

 

Ratiri shook his head. “Only you, mo chroí. One of these days Mick won’t give you any more garage space.”

 

“Like that would ever happen.”

 

**

 

Dishes done, later on those who wished to be had made their way into the Heart Room. Absent her spouses, Allanah sat next to Earlene, or rather, Allanah and Earlene were using each other as backrests. Allanah was busy contemplating arrowhead designs and what was known about the technology of them, for lack of better words. Not to mention, much larger bolt heads designed to be used with a sort of...crossbow-like heavier ballistic device that she, Thanadir, Orla and Thalion had been kicking around for awhile now. Her skills had improved considerably, and more precisely crafted objects were now within her reach.

 

Her mother, for her part, was idly flipping between recipe ideas, news, and information about the Forest of Dean; where Thanadir and Thranduil seemed to be having a lovely holiday. They’d sent on a few pictures, but she’d ordered them not to waste much of their time contacting home. They were staying in a rustic but luxurious lodging, and spending their days on the scenic attractions both in and around the forest--as if an elf  _ needed _ an attraction, beyond finding him or herself among trees. They were both sorely missed, but would be back here soon enough. 

 

At her feet, Ailill sat next to Calanon as usual, not minding that Earlene used him for a footrest. Thaladir leaned up against Calanon’s knees, while Pengolodh busily did...whatever it is he usually worked on with Maglor. Lorna and Ratiri, Pat and Grania, Siobhan and Eris plus Atia were also scattered here and there around the room while the fire pleasantly crackled.

 

Atia looked up from her book, regarding Aunt Earlene thoughtfully. “We’re not at the table anymore,” she said curiously. “Can I ask now if anybody’s killed anyone?”

 

Lorna went still. The question wasn’t directed at her specifically, so she wasn’t going to answer it.

 

Ailill snorted, and in a moment of complete absentmindedness murmured “Derp.”

 

Earlene’s head jerked up, as she assessed what had just happened, weighing the possibilities.

 

“Have you, Ailill?” Atia asked, and wondered when he would have had the time. He and Calanon were together so much, and they really only left the forest to go work at Ashford.

 

Ailill now realized what he had said, and flushed deeply. Calanon’s eyebrows arched about to his hairline, while he watched his love (who was now in deeply over his head) begin to stammer. “N-no, but…” he looked at Earlene.

 

_ Well, shit and fuck and a few other choice words besides.  _ Taking an even breath, Earlene sat up a little straighter. “He has not. I have.” Her tone was level, dignified. Atia did not understand, Earlene knew, and the subject the girl had tried to broach earlier was one that could not hide under a rock forever.  _ But goddammit, why now, with Thranduil gone? _ There was little choice but to remember that she was the Queen of this Realm, and forge on ahead.

 

“I am sorry,” Ailill whispered, panic written on his face.

 

“Do not worry,” Earlene said to him authoritatively. “That is an order.”

 

Ratiri was so busy staring at her he didn't notice Lorna freeze beside him. “Earlene, what are you talking about?” he asked. “When on Earth did you kill someone?” He knew she’d gone after Von Craptastic -- twice -- but he was a  _ balrog _ . All she’d done was slow him down.

 

Now she sat up fully straight. “I think my answer was plain enough. And, not someone. Someones, plural. I do not live by the laws of the outer world, remember?” Her tone was still fully level, but it held an element of...immovability.

 

“Then whose law do you live by?” Ratiri demanded, incredulous. “I mean, I know, Thranduil’s, but...you can’t just go around  _ killing  _ people. Why would you even…”

 

“Some fuckers need killing,” Siobhan said. She would have happily murdered her ex without a second thought. “Let the woman talk, Ratiri. Jesus.”

 

Lorna didn't look at her husband, because she knew already where this was going. “Does it even matter?”

 

“Actually,  _ does  _ it?” Atia asked, looking at her aunt with renewed curiosity.

 

“In defense of those who serve this Realm, yes, I have killed people. And yes, it matters. Killing for no reason is wrong. And that does not change that sometimes there are reasons to kill. The outer world has a different set of...thoughts, on the matter. I am sworn to live by the laws of this Realm and the judgements of its King. And that is what I do. There are times when that has meant killing someone.”

 

Atia sat up. “What -- Da, shut it -- what happened?”

 

“Atia--” he started.

 

“Ratiri, for Christ’s sake,  _ shut it, _ ” Siobhan said. “You know fuck-all about what happened, so let her talk.”

 

Lorna was ready to bolt -- she was ready to make some excuse, however inane, and run to the other end of the forest if she had to.

 

“Atia, these are not things I am at liberty to discuss with you beyond generalities. It has to suffice to say that these were people that were intent on doing very bad things, and had already done very bad things. And who would continue to do bad things in the future. There are times when there is a choice between defending someone you love, and the well-being of people who do not deserve to live. What Geezer tried to teach you is that in the future, there will be hard choices to make. I am one of those who will fight to defend all those here, because I am able to do so. I am required, to do so. I hope that answers your question.”

 

“I feel like I don't even know you,” Ratiri said. “What could possibly be so bad, that you’d feel like you needed to  _ kill  _ someone?”

 

Lorna wanted, so, so much, to say  _ Donal _ , but that was a Council secret, dammit. “Jesus, allanah, will you give over? I killed all those people at the mall, remember?”

 

“That was different,” he said, looking down at her. “They were actively trying to murder you.”

 

_ “Yeah, because Sharley used you as a projectile weapon,”  _ Jimmy said. He was pondering getting Sharley, but Sharley was enjoying herself elsewhere, and Ratiri was just...well. He’d get over it.

 

Earlene shook her head, eyebrow raised at Ratiri. “First, I have no need to justify myself to you. You had little problem watching Von Ratched be slaughtered in front of you. Are you really so incapable of imagining that there are those who can be intent on grievously harming another?”

 

“Von Ratched was a  _ balrog _ ,” Ratiri said. “He would have killed all of us, or worse.”

 

“Mam, you killed people at a mall?” Atia asked, wide-eyed.

 

“Atia, sweetheart, not now,” Lorna sighed. A dull, thumping headache was already developing behind her left eye.

 

Earlene was far from done. “Yes, Ratiri, he was a balrog. Intent on killing people. Just like those at the mall were men, intent on killing people. There are people, intent on killing people, and there are times when killing them first is the only solution. Are you really that obtuse? Or when marauders come to the forest on some future occasion wishing to kill all of us for what we have here, should we just throw open the gates and line ourselves up for them?” It might have been better if Earlene’s voice revealed that she was agitated, or even annoyed, but the Ice Queen was quite at home just now. Thaladir and Allanah sat and listened to this, wondering what by all the Valar Ratiri’s problem was; he was making very little sense in their estimation. What their mother asserted was beyond obvious.

 

“Was anybody trying to storm this forest, and nobody told the rest of us?” Ratiri asked, incredulous. “Did you really go out into the world,  _ out there _ , and kill someone?”

 

“She did it for me!” Ailill blurted out, before Calanon could stop him. “They were going to kill me…” his face looked stricken.

 

Earlene resisted strong urges to massage her forehead. “Calanon, please take Ailill out of here to your room. Comfort him. He does not need to be listening to this. I will come later.” The ellon nodded and immediately complied.

 

“I did not mean to… I am so sorry…” Ailill gasped, starting to cry.

 

“Go, Ailill,” Earlene said, kissing him on the cheek. “Listen to your husband. And leave this with me.” While Calanon pulled his mate along as best as could be managed, Earlene glowered at Ratiri. “Well, great job. Thanks for that. I’m sure that did him a world of good.” Her voice dripped sarcasm; she was becoming more appalled with Ratiri by the moment.

 

He stared at her. He remembered that night all too well -- the night Lorna had driven Earlene, Thranduil, and Thanadir to pick up Ailill, who was being targeted by homophobes. It was the first time Lorna had driven on the motorway since her accident, and they’d come home so late he’d been sound asleep. “You killed them?” he asked, and turned to Lorna. “They  _ killed  _ those...men? Why didn't you ever tell me?”

 

“Why the fuck  _ would  _ I, Ratiri?” she demanded, rising. “I don't tell you fucking  _ everything.  _ You weren’t there.”

 

“Yeah, and  _ you were _ . Didn't you try to say anything?”

 

“Um, guys…” Atia said, but Siobhan grabbed her and hustled her over.

 

“Thaladir, would you do me a favor and take Atia somewhere else?” she asked. “Please?”

 

“No, Ratiri, I didn't,” Lorna snapped. “They were bastards. They weren’t going to kill Ailill right away. They were going to rape him up the arse with a bloody  _ tire-iron _ , so yes, we killed them. I thought one’v them was bloody Von Ratched, and  _ I killed him.  _ Will you fucking  _ leave off  _ already?!”

 

“How dare you,” Earlene spat at Ratiri. “How dare you stand there with your judgement and your sanctimony over something you were not present to witness, not there to have to...manage. Why didn’t she ever tell you?  _ Really _ ?? Might it have anything to do with the fact that you stand there in your self-entitled privilege to not get your hands dirty but condemn those of us who actually needed to  _ do something  _ to protect our loved ones? You are the most rank hypocrite I have ever heard speak. I’ve honestly no idea how you even have the gall to stand there and say even one word to Lorna.”

 

“You didn't have to  _ kill them _ ,” Ratiri said, his eyes traveling from one woman to the other.

 

“No shit,” Pat said. “Christ, Lorna, whatever happened to just beating somebody senseless and having done with it? I was always afraid you’d kill somebody, but that was  when you had that thing in your head.”

 

“Oh, you’re a fine one to talk,” Siobhan snorted. “Give over, will you? She killed a homophobe. Big fucking deal.” She moved around the sofa to stand beside her sister, who evidently needed the support, if her brother and husband were both going to be gobshites about it. “I’d’ve done the world a favor if I'd shanked Mark. Some fuckers need killing.”

 

“Pengolodh,” Earlene said aloud. 

 

The ellon looked at her immediately, and recognized a particular signal. He cleared his throat, and turned to Ratiri before sending the thought to his mind.  _ My Queen wishes me to say to you, ‘you had no problem voting for Donal’s execution.’ _

 

Earlene knew the exact moment when Ratiri heard the silent transmission, because his eyes flared. Sweetly, she added aloud. “And who do you think took care of that little obligation, dear Ratiri? Batman, perhaps? Tell me again why you aren’t the worst hypocrite to walk this earth. Please? Because I truly want to hear it.” Her voice dripped icicles, and by now she had walked to place her hand on Lorna’s shoulder and draw her close. They usually were not terribly affectionate with each other, but at this moment, Ratiri was on very dangerous ground with Earlene if one more word was said to Lorna.

 

“That was different,” he said, though he was rather badly thrown; he was on shakier soil here, and he knew it. “That had to happen, and the Elves are warriors. They have been for thousands of years.”

 

“So what, Earlene and I should’ve just sat back in the van and let Thranduil and Thanadir kill everyone?” Lorna asked. “Jesus, are you even listening to yourself?”

 

“Tell me something, Lorna,” he said, “did you kill...whoever that was...in cold blood, or did you lose your temper, and then bloodshed happened?”

 

Lorna’s eyes widened, and wrath boiled up through all her attempts at calm. “How fucking  _ dare you? _ ” she demanded. “What the hell is  _ wrong  _ with you?”

 

“Answer the question,” Pat said. His expression was one she could at first put no name to -- she’d never seen him wear it before. “Did you lose your shit on...whoever? Did  you ever actually change, or are you still that... _ that? _ ”

 

Before Lorna could do or say a thing, Siobhan was suddenly no longer beside her; Siobhan’s fist was too busy connecting with Pat’s face for anyone to get a word in edgewise. He staggered backward, tripping over the edge of the sofa, dragging down three magazines and a half-empty teacup in the process.

 

“Donovans,” Ratiri spat, eying Siobhan, and then Lorna. “You can’t change, can you?”

 

Earlene was edging toward the loss of her legendary self-control. “There is only one person in this room who has not changed, Ratiri Duncan, and it’s not Lorna. I am so deeply unimpressed with you right now that I struggle for words to express it. ‘That’s different,’” Earlene  imitated his words that had been so often heard tonight in a mocking singsong voice. “I know better than to stand here and argue with sheer idiocy. Get out. Get out of here, because you do not deserve this woman or to be under this roof. Lorna has more courage in her little finger than you have in the sum of you. You pathetic hypocrite. ‘You didn’t have to kill him’,” she continued to mock. “‘Elves are warriors.’ What a tidy pile of pretense, coming from someone with terribly interesting principles where killing is concerned. I’ll be sure and tell Geezer about elven warriors; he needs a laugh.” 

 

Pengolodh stood up now, sensing that this conversation was possibly moving onto dangerous ground. While he trusted Earlene, he also knew that she was a new Queen and a new...other things.  “I think you should leave now,” the ellon said to Ratiri and Pat, just in case the tenuousness of their current position was not stunningly obvious.

 

Grania had managed to drag Siobhan away from Pat, by the judicious use of a hand on the arm and a, “Look, he’s a gobshite but for Christ’s sake don't break his face, will you?”

 

“He’s no fun to hit anyway,” Siobhan muttered, wiping her scraped knuckles on her skirt. Pat, nose bleeding freely, glared at both of his sisters before he stalked out.

 

“I know I missed part’v that, but I doubt it matters much,” Grania said, scooting around the sofa to hug Lorna. “He’s an eejit, and so’s that one. You’ve lived in an ivory fucking tower, Ratiri.”

 

Shaking his head, he stormed off, but paused at the door. “It never was the Blank, Lorna, was it,” he said, snatching his coat. “It was always just you.”

 

“Over my dead body,” Earlene muttered, letting Lorna go and following to where Ratiri had just vanished, projecting loudly in the knowledge that he could still hear her: “Remember, Ratiri Duncan. Karma’s a bitch, and she knows where you live.” 

 

She returned almost immediately, regarding her small friend and replacing her arm around her shoulder. “Alright, so that happened. I hope you’ve got the good sense not to listen to two words of the oral diarrhea that just leaked out of both’v their mouths.” Pen, sensing this might be a good time to retreat, did so. Allanah had already fled the room at some undetermined point, not that Earlene blamed either of them.

 

Siobhan watched Lorna with growing worry. She looked like someone had shanked her in the kidney, and no wonder -- out of all the fucking things those bastards could have said, they just had to say  _ that _ . And of course this had to happen when Thranduil was Christ knew where. “Earlene, I kind’v think we need Sharley,” she said. “Fun Size, don't you go thinking you’re going to run off and drink yourself stupid. They’re a pair’v cunts and they’re not worth it.”

 

Lorna looked at her. “No,” she said softly, flatly, “they’re not. And that’s the problem.” She shook her head. “It’s never enough, is it? No matter how much I change, it’s never good enough for  _ somebody. _ I’m starting to wonder why I should even fucking  _ try _ .” But that  _ Pat  _ of all people...Grania was right, Ratiri lived in an ivory tower, and that he’d managed to stay there all these years was partly her fault. Pat, on the other hand, should have fucking known better.

 

Before she could blink, Siobhan was in front of her. “You listen to me, you little runt,” she said, “when the fuck was the last time someone told you that you were enough as you were? Because you  _ are _ , dammit. Our brother’s an idiot, and the less I say’v your fucking husband right now, the better. Apparently the pretty ones really are all as dumb as a bag’v hammers.”

 

Grania, in spite of everything, snorted. If Pat thought he’d be welcome in their flat tonight, he had another bloody thing coming...oh Christ, they’d go and blab this all over the Halls, she just knew it. It’d be everybody’s business by morning.

 

“I can’t stay here,” Lorna whispered, looking at the wreck of the Heart Room. She doubted Ratiri would be back tonight, but she still couldn’t possibly sleep in that bedroom -- she couldn’t sleep in this house. “I -- I can’t be here. Not now.”

 

“Sharley,” Siobhan said to Earlene, pointing at Lorna. “It’s Sharley or vodka, and Sharley’s healthier.”

 

“Go get her,” Earlene demanded of Grania, bodily dragging Lorna to the sofa with her, and plunking her down. She placed a hand on each shoulder, and heaved a big sigh, locking eyes with her. “Lorna, we’ve known each other a long time. I’m going to say something to you now in the knowledge that you may not be able to hear it. Or you might want to deck me, hard to say. 

 

“I know you, and I know how much you struggle with not thinking enough of yourself. ‘Self-esteem,’ if I’m not going to mince words. Those two just said a bunch’v things that were aimed straight for your gearbox. And that they said it, knowing what they do about you, brings just that much more shame down on their heads. They were words meant to hurt, Lorna, because they are words that you still have a hard time believing aren’t true. But they  _ aren’t _ true; not one fucking thing that got said was anything other than a load’v shite. And this is where some part of your brain has to engage. Yes, it hurts. It hurts bad. But only you can give it full power over you. Don’t buy into it, Lorna. Not when it’s the garbage that it is. Just, goddammit.” 

 

Earlene pulled Lorna into a hug, knowing that the odds of any of that having made it through were poor indeed. But she had to try. She had to try, and after that she could ponder what it might take for her to ever look at Ratiri Duncan in the same way ever again. Pat she was disappointed in, but Pat had been abused. Lacked a good education. Had his own struggles and emotional difficulties. But Ratiri? In him Earlene saw only an elitist snob who thought himself some lofty arbiter of his own brand of fantasy morality. And given the number of years during which their future had hung over his head, he had about zero excuses for such a deliberate disconnect from reality. She might have been able to acknowledge his Hippocratic Oath--if he had not voted for Donal’s death. In that moment he crossed a line, which made his tonight’s actions exponentially more reprehensible.

 

Lorna leaned against Earlene, all but lost in her own shock. “Then why do I want to run them both over with the Mystery Machine?” she asked. The way they’d looked at her, both of them...she was never going to forget that. It was never going to go away. “Ratiri in his fucking ivory tower --  _ that  _ I understand, but Pat? Pat grew up the same way I did.  _ He should fucking know better. _ ”

 

“Yes, he should,” Siobhan growled, watching Grania hurry out of the room. “Listen to me, Fun Size, because I'll say it again: some fuckers need killing. Pat ought to know that. He  _ did  _ know that, before the world fucking civilized him.” In one way at least, their mindset of their youth might have been better.

 

Grania had no idea where the hell Sharley was, but she was pretty sure the voices did. She couldn’t actually hear them, so she felt rather silly when she said, “Will one of you get Sharley, please? We kind’v...need her. Now.”

 

Off Sinsemilla went, into the chilly night.

 

“Oh, wanting to run them over is completely normal,” Earlene quipped, rubbing her back. “I personally was fantasizing about stringing both of them up a tree by their ankles and poking at them with sharp sticks, but that’s just a difference in preferences between you and I. And...I can answer your question. Pat is going to wrap his head around his fuckup a lot sooner than Ratiri is. This is just Pat, never having thought this through and believing what he does about fighting and beating people up versus killing them. He’s going to calm down, have this get through his head, and crawl back because he’ll know he fucked it up but good. Ratiri...well there are a lot fewer excuses there, but that’s not my department right now. In the end, Lorna, they’ve both just screwed themselves up to the armpits without lube. They’ve nowhere else to go, and...I don’t envy either of them when this is all said and done. Fuck them. Worry about you, right now. Can you go stay with Chandra and Shane, or Mairead? And do you want us to keep Atia and Supri here?”

 

“They can both drive off a cliff for all I care,” Lorna said softly, and was disturbed to find that she meant it. She meant every bloody word of it, and she stared at her hands, almost dreamily. They’d been bathed in red, three times now -- Von Ratched, the men in the mall, and the man who was not who she had thought he was. That night, she’d thought it a kind of baptism, freeing her from Von Asshat and all he’d done to her. That delusion had been beautiful, and losing it had been hard, and now her husband and brother had the gall to tell her what she’d done was wrong when  _ they hadn’t been there. _

 

“No,” she said. “No, Atia saw at least part’v that. I can stay with Chandra and Shane, and...and they can stay with Mairead. We can all be in one place, and Ratiri...Ratiri can go die.”

 

Siobhan stared at her, and then at Earlene. “Ooookay,” she said, “I’m going to Baile with you.”

 

Sharley stalked into the room, her expression a brewing storm. Sinsemilla had just fed her a narrative that set her blood absolutely boiling, but the targets of her wrath had taken the Mystery Machine and left the forest. Perhaps that was a good thing, because in that moment her control was...not so absolute. Fighting more human feelings was, just now, a real effort.

 

Her face smoothed out, however, when she knelt in front of Lorna. This little woman had taken care of her since they day they met, loved her in a way no one else on Earth ever had. She was the closest thing to a mother Sharley had ever had on Earth, and that Ratiri and Pat could do that to her...it was just as well they were away.

 

“Lorna, I want to give you some telepathic Xanax,” she said, worried by what she saw in her tiny friend’s eyes. There was something not quite stable in their depths.

 

Lorna nodded, though she didn't speak, but Sharley counted that as good enough. She took Lorna’s hands, and sent a peace she herself didn't feel through the connection.  _ It’ll be okay, Lorna. Somehow. _

 

_ “Even if we have to do some nasty shit to two idiots,”  _ Kurt said, liking the idea a little too much.

 

_ “Kurt, you’re not helping,”  _ Sinsemilla sighed.  _ “I mean, I know you never try, but stop it.” _

 

“I’ll pack some clothes, and get the kids ready,” Siobhan said. “I can drive them, so you’ve got a bit to...do whatever.”

 

Lorna nodded, again. They could get whatever they missed later on, but for now, Lorna needed to get out of this house.

 

“I was always good enough, in Baile,” she murmured. “And maybe that wasn’t the best thing, but there was never...there was never this.”

 

“Trust me,” Sharley said darkly, “there won’t be again.”

 

“Maglor,” Earlene said, wheeling on the ellon who had just entered with his daughter. “Stay here with Lorna for a moment. Sharley. Siobhan. With me, please.” Without waiting for an answer, she walked out around into the kitchen, and out the back door to the porch where they could not be overheard. The moment the door closed, she started in.

 

“Both of you. You’re going with her, and you have a job to do that you’re not going to like. Reality is, the dust is going to settle from this sooner or later and there will be a plague. All of us, and that includes Pat and Ratiri, will be living inside this forest and in this community. She’s doing it again, this ‘not good enough’ bullshit. I tried to talk to her about it; Sharley, you can see my mind, so look now and see what I told her. You two cannot afford to feed her Pat this or Ratiri that or they can both go die or do the other thing. You’ve got to rise above that, right away, for her sake, because she can’t afford to go down this track to the depth that she’ll want to. I’m sending Angie to Baile first thing tomorrow; you both get to head off her wanting to believe a bunch of crap tonight. I wish you luck, but we all have to think about the long-term realities here.” Earlene blinked at both of them, especially Sharley. Who might not be one hundred percent on the Ainur wavelength, but of whom she had especially high expectations right now. Because there was no damn choice.

 

“She heard you,” Sharley sighed. “She’s just not capable of listening yet. Once she’s slept, maybe...but Earlene, if she doesn't give me permission to help her as much as I’m able to --” she tapped her temple “-- I can’t do it. I can’t go in and mess around in her head without her consent, no matter how dire the need is.”

 

“You won’t have to,” Siobhan said, eying Earlene. Yeah, she could see why this woman was Queen of the Elves, all right. “I know Lorna. Once she’s come down off this a bit, she’ll want help.” She’d want it because she’d be afraid she couldn’t hack life without it.

 

“There’s one more thing,” Sharley said. “Annwn. I don't want to deprive Maglor of her, but he wouldn’t handle dealing with this, and in a strange place at that. The problem is that she needs to eat.” The fact that she herself would be deprived of her daughter did not please her in the least, but that could wait.

 

“What Siobhan said,” Earlene answered. “You absolutely cannot do any of those things, but you still can follow Lorna around and keep her safe. You can sit on her, for that matter. And I’m calling Thranduil because...he can do what neither of us can, in some ways. There’s no choice. Leave Annwn here; you need to focus totally on Lorna. There’s no cause to worry, I still have milk. I had to share a small house with Maglor for weeks on end; we will manage one infant between us. Everything else we can deal with by mobile; let’s get back in there before your husband ends up at a total loss.” Still Earlene did not wait for an answer, but pulled the door open again and shooed them both back through.

 

“Come on, Fun Size,” Siobhan said briskly. “Let’s get you some clothes --”

 

Sharley shook her head.  _ Don't bring her upstairs to her room,  _ she said.  _ She doesn’t need to be looking at that right now. Just pack her some stuff and help me catch at least one cat _ . She knew Bast and Midnight were with Chandra and Shane, but Pickles at least should go, too.

 

“Or not. You stay put, I’ll get things together.”

 

Sharley sat beside Lorna, but looked at Maglor.  _ We have a Situation,  _ she said.  _ Pat and Ratiri just did their level best to destroy Lorna here, and Siobhan and I need to go try to put the pieces back together in Lorna’s old village until Thranduil gets home.  _ She hated the fact that he and Thanadir had to be called home from their vacation after only three days...yet one more thing to be pissed about.

 

_ I will manage,  _ he said, though he looked a bit lost.  _ But...our daughter? _

 

_ I’m leaving her with you,  _ Sharley said, and sighed.  _ Earlene can help you; Eru knows she’s got experience. I’m going to try to come home at night, if I can, when Lorna’s asleep. I know what she needs to be in the future, Laurë. I can’t let her break, and I love her and owe her too much to even risk it. _

 

“Maglor, if you’ll come with me, we can get a few things sorted,” Earlene asked kindly. The list of people she needed to see and communicate with tonight was bloating far more than she wished it to. Which meant, she was already pondering how to delegate some of this. Once she had Maglor out of the room with the baby, she narrated multiple orders in his direction, not the least of which was to summon Pengolodh. Both so he could inform Maglor of what had transpired from a more objective perspective, and to task him with going to the Halls to speak with Angie on her behalf. She still needed to see both Ailill and two of her own children plus call her husbands.  _ Because this was going to be so much fun... _

 

Siobhan, with all the experience of a mother and grandmother, managed to pack up Lorna and both daughters inside of fifteen minutes, catch and crate both Boo and Pickles, and even wash and disinfect her scraped-up hand. She hadn’t meant to catch Pat in the teeth, but evidently she had.

 

“Aunt Siobhan, what’s going on?” Atia asked. She was pale, and wide-eyed, and Siobhan winced. “Why’s Da…?”

 

“Your da and your uncle have swanned off into the night,” she said. “We’re taking your mam to Baile. They had a really huge fight, and we need to wait for the dust to settle before we can do anything else. Your mam’s horribly upset, so I'm going to take you two, and your aunt Sharley’ll take your mam.”

 

“Where did Da go?” Supri asked.

 

Siobhan sighed. “I don't know, allanah. I do know he’ll be back.” She didn't add,  _ because he has no choice _ . That was the worst of this -- Earlene was right. They really  _ would  _ have to all occupy the same not-terribly-large area, no matter how this fell out.

 

Both girls looked at one another, and she hurried them along before they could think on it any further. Ratiri was someone else’s problem --  _ Pat  _ was her issue, and god bloody help him if she got her hands on him any time soon. No Donovan had any right to judge someone on the outcome of a fight. But for luck and chance, any one of them could have wound up killing someone. Hell, Lorna  _ had _ , long ago; they had her to thank for their lack of a da, after all.

 

Sharley had hit Lorna with possibly too high a dose of telepathic Xanax -- she was all but zombified, and needed help getting into her shoes and coat.  _ I must need practice at this,  _ she said to Maglor, striving for some humor.  _ Will you tell my Lady where I’ve gone? _

 

“Of course,” Maglor replied aloud, still trying to puzzle out the magnitude of the present stupidity even after having had the benefit of Pengolodh’s memories. He sighed. “Will you be able to...stay above this?” he asked gently, knowing that Sharley still had...struggles. “I worry about you.”

 

“I will,” she said, and sighed herself. “I have no choice. This needs to get done, and without Thranduil, I’m the only one who can do it.” She managed a smile. “It’s amazing what can be accomplished, when one has no other option...though in the future, I think I really do need to go easier on the telepathic Xanax.” She looked down at Lorna, whose eyes were actually somewhat glazed.

 

“Better too much than too little,” Grania said, “and it’s not like it’ll hurt her.”

 

Siobhan and daughters and came thundering down the stairs, bags in tow. Two yowling cats in carriers followed.

 

“Laurë, I know your feelings on the Lump, so just let her spend time with Annwn,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “She’ll be pleased.”  _ And your backside will remain safe. _

 

He rolled his eyes. He had been High King of the Noldor, however briefly--he could manage a bloody cat. “Just be safe,” he admonished, still wondering where on earth the ridiculous phrase ‘telepathic Xanax’ had originated. Then again, some questions were better left unasked, in this house. He walked them out to their vehicle, knowing that Earlene wished him present when she called Thranduil, as a nod to her lesser experience. Though, he did not disagree with her perception that the King needed to be informed; this was fairly...serious. Regrettably. He carefully bobbled Annwn in his arms, soothed by her delightful baby scent.

 

Sharley got Lorna loaded into the Charger -- and she  _ knew  _ she’d gone overboard on the Xanax, when Lorna didn't protest her driving it -- and went to say goodbye to her husband and daughter. “You’ll be good for your ada, won’t you?” she asked, kissing the little girl’s forehead. “You’re always such a good girl. You hug that Lump for me, and keep her warm.”

 

Annwn giggled, and sucked on her fingers.

 

Sharley kissed Maglor’s cheek. “I love you. I’ll be home soon.”

 

“We’ll be fine, we have Earlene,” he frowned, taking in Lorna’s appearance. “Just focus on...things,” he said helplessly, leaning down to chastely peck her lips.  _ You have your work cut out for you. _

 

_ Yes I do,  _ she said.  _ Poor Lorna’s a very damaged woman, even now, and they just went and kicked her right in a very deep, old scar.  _ “Can you tell Earlene I’ll call when I’ve got...anything to report?” she said. “And please let me know what Thranduil says. We ought to be in Baile in about forty-five minutes.” If anybody could  _ really  _ handle this, it was her brother-from-another-mother -- the brother who  _ hadn’t  _ let her down.

 

“Will do. I am fairly certain Earlene is going to call Shane next, so with any luck they will know and not need a huge debriefing. Go now, before she...recovers,” he whispered to his wife. Lorna’s reverie would only last for so long.

 

Sharley gave him one more kiss, and then she was off. The Charger’s engine purred, and she thought a moment before putting on any music. Lorna liked her metal, and she liked it loud, and she had a whole playlist of Dio’s full discography. “You wanna be a rainbow in the dark?” she asked, grinning.

 

Lorna looked at her. “Sure,” she said dreamily.

 

Off they went, bass thumping, into the darkness.

 

**

 

Thranduil placed his mobile down, drumming his fingers on a nearby table. Pure annoyance coursed through every fiber of his being, while Thanadir looked on from where he was quietly reading on the bed. He vacillated between half-wishing his wife had hauled Ratiri off to a dungeon cell and the knowledge that however appealing, that would ultimately be unhelpful. This was at best a small taste of the assorted idiocies to which he would doubtless be treated as time wore on. That he and Thanadir could not even have peace together for one week beggared belief, but Earlene had done right to tell him. This was...Lorna, and what had transpired would devastate her. 

 

Rising with a heavy sigh, Thranduil went to Thanadir. “Meldir, I am so sorry, but there has been an emergency at home. We must return.”

 

“Oh,” Thanadir said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. But duty was duty. “Then I will pack up our things.”

 

Thranduil stopped him, holding him tightly. “We will return and enjoy the rest of our time here. That is a promise. I am unwilling to lose out on that with you.”

 

Thanadir hugged him back, smiling now. “I love you.”

 

While the seneschal busied himself, Thranduil...reflected. He had always guessed this particular topic might one day prove to be a powder keg. Hopefully this was the last occasion of its kind; they were rather running out of time in which to have these childish episodes disrupt their lives. Soon enough the humans would be made to understand what real problems were, and if they could not do better than this, there would be trouble indeed.

 

*****

 

{May 24, 2034}

 

Sharley had sat up all night with Lorna, making sure she slept.

 

It had turned out to be Lorna  _ and  _ Chandra, because of course the girl had been absolutely livid; Sharley had eventually gotten her to agree to being knocked out, too, and only then because nobody knew where the hell Ratiri and Pat had gone. There would be no murdering of either of them.

 

Shane, as might have been expected, was a little...not calmer, precisely, but less likely to fly off the handle. He’d made a pact with Sharley and Siobhan, to make sure his mother and sister didn't go to Jamie’s and just drink absolutely everything in the whole building. It had been years since either had done such a thing, but it had also been years since anything this awful had happened.

 

They were both still well out when Siobhan busied herself making breakfast, shooing Shane out of the kitchen with an order to “go distract those damn fuzzballs”. Neither Pickles nor Boo had appreciated being relocated, and had spent the night plastered to Lorna’s sides, but now they were awake and about and into everything.

 

Sharley didn't dare go outside, even thinking Lorna was asleep; she and Shane sat outside the bedroom door to talk.  _ Is Da coming home?  _ he asked.

 

She sighed.  _ He has to. That’s the problem -- however this pans out, we all have to live together in some capacity. So even though I know you want to murder both of them -- and believe me, you’re not alone -- you can’t go saying things like that in front of your mother and your sister. It won’t help anything, because it would just feed into their anger. _

 

Shane shook his head.  _ I thought they were both better than that. _

 

_ So did I,  _ she said.  _ So did your mother. But maybe this is a lesson they had to learn, before the end. Maybe a whole lotta people need to learn it. _

 

He stared at the floor. The carpet was a hideous 70’s relic, brown and lime green, and worn by the passage of many feet.  _ So what do we do now? _

 

_ I’m staying here until your uncle Thranduil gets back,  _ she said.  _ I’m keeping your mother and your sister calm, so they can work through this in stages, without it overwhelming them. Beyond that...we’ll see what happens.  _ She had not yet looked at the future, because she knew all too well she’d probably be tempted to change it -- and she wasn’t sure if she yet had the control not to. When it was something this personal, she didn't trust her own objectivity.

 

**

 

Angie yawned, and sipped her coffee. She hadn’t intended to be up and on the road this early, but Earlene had hit her with some highly unwelcome news last night, and she’d figured it would be best to get out there as early as possible the next day. She could have slapped both Ratiri and Pat into next week, if she thought it would do any good. Poor Lorna...this was going to get ugly, if it wasn’t already.

 

In the passenger’s seat, Jessie snoozed. Angie had known Chandra was going to have Issues with a capital I, and she got along well with Jessie, who was about as calm and even-keeled an individual as one was ever likely to find. Even so, she too had expressed an urge to do something rather awful to the two missing men. It was probably a good thing they’d left the forest, or God knew what would have happened to them.

 

In all the time Angie had visited Ireland, she’d only been to Baile once before. It didn't feel quite as empty as Skykomish, because it wasn’t -- perhaps a little under half the population still lived there at least part-time, so it didn't come across as a ghost town just yet.

 

“It’s cute,” Jessie said, when she woke. “Bigger than Lasg’len, too, isn’t it?”

 

“It is, though not by a whole lot. Baile’s got about five hundred people, but Lasg’len’s got...oh hell, not that many. I don't know, anymore.”

 

The house Chandra had chosen was on the small side, but at least it was two storeys. Already people were obviously awake; there were lights on in the kitchen, and two cats in the window, staring out like furry statues. “Okay, now remember: we have to keep them out of the pub. This family’s history of substance abuse is off the charts, and both Lorna and Chandra have struggled with it personally.”

 

Jessie winced. She’d heard quite a bit about the Donovans over the years, and their history; this was probably going to be even more of a challenge than they expected. “But Sharley’s doing what she can, right?”

 

“She is,” Angie said, pulling up against the curb, “but she can’t do everything, and she can’t keep them...telepathically drugged...forever.” The fact that Sharley, their Sharley, could do that...it remained bizarre. More than bizarre, honestly.

 

“How do we distract them?”

 

Angie smiled a little, even if there wasn’t much humor in it. “Ages ago, Lorna talked about building an autogyro,” she said. “I’ve got the parts in the back of the truck, and Baile still has an auto shop. Sharley’ll keep her busy.”

 

Jessie stared at her. “In the words of the Irish, oh, good Jesus.”

 

**

 

“We are going to Baile,” Thranduil told Thanadir after they departed the ferry at Dublin.

 

“Alright,” the seneschal acknowledged, knowing that this was not a matter for discussion. They had traveled through the night and it was still dark, but he did not question Thranduil. At the proper exit, he pulled off the M7. Silence held between them until they neared the village. “Where to exactly?” Thanadir finally asked.

 

“We are going to where Shane and Chandra live. Just a street over from Mairead’s,” the King answered softly. They alighted soon enough, and noiselessly alerted Sharley inside to their arrival.

 

Sharley left Siobhan drowsing in the kitchen, and tiptoed her way through the house to let them in.  _ Sorry we had to disrupt your vacation,  _ she said, and sighed.  _ I’ve got her asleep right now. Needless to say, she’s a mess. _

 

Thanadir looked around and went to the kitchen to prepare tea. In Ireland, the means to do so was a given. Thranduil forged on ahead, pausing only to divest himself of his heavy cardigan that he had worn in the car; Thanadir preferred driving in a car that was not overly warm. Entering the bedroom, he found that Lorna indeed slept. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he drew her into his arms and spent time...looking. Asleep like this, her mind was unresisting, letting him see what he needed to. He sighed deeply. This could not transpire, as it so often had in the past. It just...could not. This was not about her marriage with Ratiri or her relationship with her children or any of it--only the unacceptability of her own tendencies toward self-destructive behavior. Suddenly, he had an idea. Something that had worked before.

 

_ Sharley, please come in here,  _ he asked.

 

Sharley went, and sat beside him.  _ I’m not sure what to do _ , she said,  _ aside from keep her dosed on telepathic Xanax until the worst of this works itself out. You should wake her up and let her know you’re here, though. I think she’d appreciate it. _

 

_ No. This requires far more than that. What you did last year, when she overheard that Thanadir had been imprisoned. To be able to speak with an aspect of her mind sundered from the thoughts and feeling she will have if wakened; that is what I need. This falling apart because someone speaks hurtful words to her cannot continue, Sharley. In three years we are going to have real problems with which to contend. We are all running out of time in which to indulge in the less helpful emotions of humanity. This is more than Lorna’s insecurities; this is the stability of the future. I think I need not explain what I mean. _

 

_ Thranduil, this is a bit more than ‘someone speaking hurtful words’,  _ she said.  _ This was her husband and her brother trying to destroy her. I can bring you in to her mental cottage, and we can talk there, but this is...something different. I know how I would feel, in her place.  _ And before -- before Vairë worked with her so much -- she wasn’t sure she’d react much better.

 

_ Sharley…  _ Thranduil took a deep breath, knowing that his next words were a risk. He spoke as gently as he was able.  _ That you can understand her point of view so well speaks highly of your compassion...and is part of the problem. Remember who you are,  _ he insisted.  _ No one tried to destroy anyone; two angry and thoughtless men spoke many words from their own places of foolishness and pride. Their words had nothing to do with Lorna, though they were meant to hurt. You are confusing their problems with her problems, and this is a problem in which she cannot afford to indulge. Your Lady would tell you as much, were she here. I hope, very much, that you can see the distinction. This matters, a great deal. And if not...better I leave now. _

 

Sharley had to swallow a great deal of anger. Her Lady got to tell her to remember who she was, but nobody else had that right. It was a moment before she responded, and only when she had full equanimity back.  _ You weren’t there, Thranduil,  _ she said.  _ They said exactly what they knew would hurt the most. This isn’t like if -- oh, Angie, were to say such things to her. You know how rarely she trusts, and this was two of the people she loves and trusts the most in all the world turning on her. We’ll need to take extra care with this, to not make her feel as though we’re...dismissing it. Diminishing its importance to her. She needs to heal around it, because no matter what happens, we’ll all be together in that forest in three years whether anyone likes it or not, but this could well irrevocably alter her life. We have to keep that in mind, in helping her. _

 

Thranduil regarded her, hiding his disappointment. They were speaking at cross-purposes.  _ You were not there either, Sharley,  _ he reminded.  _ Am I wrong, that what you know of this incident you took from Lorna’s mind and the voices only? _

 

_ You’re not,  _ she said, and sighed.  _ But you can’t lose sight of who it was that said this to her. This wasn’t Mick, or Geezer. No, she can’t do as she would have in the past. She can’t go drink herself to death, or get stoned into oblivion, but neither is this something, I think, that will simply pass and all will return to normal. We may well have to guide her into a wholly altered life, because it’s possible she’ll never take Ratiri back. This could have consequences in a way nothing else yet has. _

 

Looking at a fixed point across the room, Thranduil considered. None of this was going to work; Sharley was sitting here disgorging the stunningly obvious in his direction, as if he had not known Lorna for longer and would not somehow be aware of all of these things. If all she could do was assume he meant to trample through Lorna’s mind like a bull in a china shop, this was moot. Sharley had latched onto Lorna far too much; there was a great deal of wishing to defend Lorna’s sensibilities but little objectivity. Perhaps a chance to speak to his friend without interference would come at a later time. There was really only one thing he could do.

 

_ This will...not work, Sharley. I can let her know that I am here when she wakes, and that she is loved. Angie will be here within a few hours. _

 

_ I'll give you some privacy,  _ Sharley said, willing her own frustration into calm. They weren't communicating right, but it would wait.

 

Thranduil did little but hold his diminutive friend, rocking her in his arms much like he would one of his own children. He also allowed his thoughts to wander--over how tired he was of all of it sometimes, but how great rewards had come of it too. In the end it was just...family. He had experienced some conflicts with Earlene that were very hard on both of them. Thanadir too was not immune to difficulties, and neither was he. Lorna had at least enjoyed many happy years. While he hoped that this would not signal the end of her union with her husband, he too recognized that as a very real possibility. Ratiri knew who Lorna was and had said such things anyway; that was his bed to lie in now. Into her mind he softly hummed songs of the elves; it was all he could really think of to do. After a very long time he laid her back down, covered her warmly, and returned to the outer room. 

 

Thanadir rose immediately to warm his tea, bringing it and sitting next to him, draping a comforting arm around his shoulder. Thranduil’s mind had been open to him, and he could easily guess perhaps all had not gone as hoped.

 

“What should we do? Sharley asked. “I've never done this before, Thranduil. I was supposed to just hold the fort down until you got here, but...what do you want to do?”

 

Thranduil looked up from his tea mug, at a near total loss. He did not understand Sharley, and it was not his place to try to, at this point. Thanadir laid a hand on his arm and spoke first.

 

“I think what he would have liked to do is intervene before Lorna can really...get rolling, as the humans say. Try to reason with the part of her mind that knows better than to believe that which is not true. I am like Lorna, in some ways,” he said softly. “When I am presented with a very painful emotional difficulty, I want very badly to believe that I am worthless. Hopeless. That nothing I have done to better myself has been enough, and that nothing ever can help. I want to give up. After so many years I know that I cannot give up, but it is still very hard. Earlene and Thranduil help by talking to that part of me, strengthening it, so that it can win the internal argument. Pain from being hurt never vanishes, Sharley, but I see the way forward. Am I right?” the seneschal asked Thranduil. The King did not answer aloud, but nodded. 

 

“How do we do that?” Sharley asked. “Or rather, how do you do that? I don't know her mind like you do, Thranduil, but at least I can keep her asleep for now. You’re...well, you’re her brother-from-another-mother. You’re the one she needs.”

 

“Just...talking. Like what was done before. That’s all we did. Talk. I too can keep her asleep. What I do not know how to do is...what you did. The...place, in her mind. That is beyond me, and it was comfortable for her,” he answered quietly.

 

“I can bring you in there,” she said, “and I can leave you to talk alone, if you’d like. It might be easier on her if it’s just you, honestly.” The last thing they needed was for Lorna to feel overwhelmed -- or rather, any more so than she did already.

 

“You are certain you feel...alright about it?” he asked. It felt very important just now not to be...forcing anything on anyone. Thanadir looked off to the side,  but his hand reflexively rubbed at Thranduil’s back.

 

“I want her to be well, Thranduil,” Sharley said. “You’re the best one to take care of her right now. Yes, I’m all right with it.”

 

Turning to Thanadir, whose hand he caught and kissed the back of, Thranduil rose, patting his husband on the shoulder. With a sigh, Thanadir procured his mobile from the depths of his vest, and began to play a silly game to while away the time. He returned to the bedroom, holding the door for Sharley, and picked up Lorna once again, nodding when he was ready.

 

_ Sharley led him into the cottage, warm and smelling sweetly of lavender. It was a sunny summer day outside, a golden, lazy morning. _

 

_ Even within her own mind, Lorna slept, kept so deeply under that she couldn’t dream. She was curled up on her sofa, one fat cushion under her head, her grandmother’s afghan draped over her. _

 

_ “She’ll wake when you want her to,” Sharley said. “And  you should be able to leave when you wish.” She vanished out the door, into the sunshine. _

 

_ Thranduil walked over and lifted her up, enough to substitute his lap for the big fat pillow. He smoothed her hair away from her face, until she started to blink. He kept his silence, giving her some time to become aware of him. _

 

_ It took Lorna a moment to register...much of anything, and once she had, she blinked back tears. “Fuck everything,” she whispered. Her misery was so great she couldn’t even summon any real rage. Yet. _

 

_ He hugged her and kissed the crown of her head. “Even me?” he teased. “And here I though we didn’t have that kind of relationship.” _

 

_ “Eeeew,” she said, and in spite of everything, she giggled, just once. “I don't...I don't know what to do.” She shifted enough to hug him back. “I don't care how terrible it makes me, right now I wish I could run them both over and leave them in the middle’v the road.” She was so depressed that she only half meant it, though. _

 

_ “Well. Earlene wanted hang them up by their toes, you want run them over, and I was toying with giving them to Vanya for immersion in the lye vat. Wonder whose would be least messy? Probably Earlene’s,” he mused, chuckling at the gleam in her eye. “But there is only one thing you have to do, and that is keep belief in one of your favorite principles. With a little modification, of course.” Yes, he was being deliberately cryptic, in the hopes of engaging her. _

 

_ Her brow furrowed. “Which one?” she asked. “I’ve got a lot, and not all’v them are healthy.” Right now, the one at the forefront of her beleaguered mind was the one about cutting toxic people out of your life. _

 

_ “Well, you sort of already said it. Instead of ‘fuck everything,’ how about just ‘fuck that?’ Lorna, this is different than anything that has ever happened to you before. Do you know why? And it isn’t just that those you trusted turned on you so very badly. There is more.” _

 

_ “Is there?” she asked softly, shutting her eyes. “It’s been a long, long time since anyone’s been that cruel to me -- and never anyone I actually gave a damn about. This is...I know I shouldn’t want this, but I want to just go drink myself into oblivion, because then at least there wouldn’t be...this. I wouldn’t feel like this.” Quite honestly, she hoped both of them got hit by a bus. _

 

_ “It’s ok to want that..but not ok to do that,” he said, rocking her in his arms. “And I will just tell you. In everything that has happened to you of this nature in the time I have known you...some less-than-ideal choice on your part contributed at least in part to the outcome. This time, not so. Lorna, this is fully, one hundred percent ‘on them,’ as they say. You did not do a whisper of a hint of anything wrong. It was unfair, nasty, stupid and...I have always been completely honest with you even when it was hard on both of us. While I hate to resort to coarse language, this was complete and utter bullshit. I will do everything in my power to help you, and right now my view of your brother and husband are dim indeed, though I believe my wife is once again right. I too do not believe they set out to be cruel. But in their stupidity, the outcome was the same.” _

 

_ That actually drew a little smile from her. “Pretty sure all that bullshit about periods was all on Ratiri, too,” she said, but her eyes burned. “If they didn't mean to be cruel, why would they say that? I never took either’v them for stupid men, and that was the worst fucking thing…” She fell silent, and blinked her blurry eyes. “Ratiri said it was never the Blank, it was always just me.” And Christ did that hurt, but it also sent anger that was almost welcome stirring through her. _

 

_ “Dear one, I care not what Ratiri thinks. Ratiri has demonstrated today that his thinking leaves a great deal to be desired. I am more concerned with what you think, and whether you believe that. The other, I can unfortunately answer: All of us can be stupid. I was stupid when I ruined your bridal shower, Lorna. I was stupid when I jeopardized my marriage with Earlene, a time or two. All of us can make spectacular mistakes. A time will come, sooner or later, when both of them realize the error of their thinking. But that will not erase the harm that was done. Right now I am not concerned about them; they both made very poor choices. But back to you. Do you believe what he said?” _

 

_ Lorna curled into a ball, her head rested against his shoulder. “You didn't know any better, with the bridal shower,” she said softly. “It was dumb, it wasn’t you actively trying to be a dick. This...I don't want to believe it. I don't want to, but I don't know. I thought I knew a whole lot’v things that apparently aren’t true.” She’d thought her husband and her brother weren’t complete assholes, for one thing. “Can we throw them out? I mean, until the plague hits, then they have to come back, but I’d love to be rid’v them both until then.” _

 

_ “I cannot unilaterally promise that. I can, however, tell you that before I allow them to remain unchallenged inside my forest, they will have to answer for their behavior to Earlene, Thanadir and I. If how I conduct the defense of my subjects is indeed so odious to them, the question remains regarding why either would wish to be housed under my proverbial roof. I will not leave either of them without means, nor will I tolerate their presence with the attitudes they expressed today.” _

 

_ “I thought they were smarter than that,” she whispered, and now the tears came freely. “I thought they were  _ better  _ than that. Have I wasted the last eighteen fucking years’v my life?” She shook her head. “Thranduil, how can I go back to that house, even if he doesn’t come home? I can’t...there’s too much’v Ratiri in there, and I can’t do it.” _

 

_ “Time is never a waste, Lorna. My years with Alasseä were not a waste...but perhaps they were a lesson. I am going to try to tell you a few things that will not be easy to work with, but you must. Your marriage may be over. And it may not be over. Your relationship with your brother may be permanently damaged. And it may not be thus. It may be too difficult for you to return to Eldamar, or, you may find that taking different quarters and having your friends and family still around you is a comfort. All of these things are too soon to tell, dear one. You hurt right now, and justly so. But you have hurt before, badly, and moved past that pain. You will do the same with this--in time. Many love you, many will stop at nothing to help you. I am sorry, so sorry, that this happened, but you will not cope with it alone.” _

 

_ “I can’t...even thinking about the future’s almost too much,” she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Sooner or later we all have to live in the forest, and I just...it hurts, Thranduil. Everything was fine and then it wasn’t, and I’ve got four bloody children, one’v who’s still young -- it’s not just me, it’s them. They’ll be suffering for this too, and all because their father’s a bloody waste’v humanity. If it wasn’t for them, I’d wish I'd never fucking  _ met  _ him.” There was a snarl in her voice now, as the heat of anger built within her. _

 

_ She leaned back enough to look up at him. “How can I move past this, though? This...there isn’t any going back from it, and…” She shook her head. “What am I to do, if I can’t go drink myself into oblivion? Sooner or later I'll wake up, and all’v this will  _ really  _ hurt.” _

 

_ “Lorna. This is not the first time. Nor the second time. How did you get past it the other times? You were helped to get past your passionate emotions and the pain that came with them, and think, and find your own strength. This is no different. Life hurts, dear one. Being an elf does not leave me immune to that reality. Angie is going to come, and Sharley will not leave you. You will get past this as we all do. As best as we can.” _

 

_ “The first, I had Ratiri,” she said, wiping her eyes again. “The second, sure, it was his fault, but he’d just been an eejit, he hadn’t been….I could handle this, if it was anyone but him. It’s been so long since I even slept alone -- he was always there, even when we were on the outs.” She shook her head. “At least I’ve got all those cats.” Yes, it sounded pathetic, but they really were something of a comfort. They were huge, and fluffy, and snuggly. “I might...I might need a flat in the Halls, if I don't stay in the cottage. A flat that was never mine and his. _

 

_ “And Sharley...Sharlely has a baby, and a husband. She shouldn’t stay with me. She’s got more important things to be thinking’v. All children grow up too fast, but especially peredhel.” _

 

_ “You are not really going to argue with me, are you?” he asked, amused. “I am right more of the time, I am older, and I am certainly more stubborn. I am right about this, Lorna,” he said with all seriousness. “Stop trying to rationalize why all of these things cannot be managed. They can be. This happens, to elves and men alike. Every day. And all but the weakest endure. You are not weak. Besides, I do not wish to have to have Thanadir sit on you, there are so many other things he really ought to be doing. But, priorities, dear one...I will do what I must.” _

 

_ “You elves are so heavy he’d snap me in half,” she said, but with a little smile. She couldn’t see how anything would ever really be  _ good  _ again, though. There was  _ okay _ , there was  _ getting by _ , but no matter what came of this, her life as she’d known of it was over. Her children’s were, too. “So what do I do right now? What do I do when I wake up, and want to go to Jamie’s and empty his top shelf?” She shook her head, but could find no further words. _

 

_ “That will not be happening; you clearly have not seen the front room. But you could begin by realizing that drinking yourself to death has not yet solved any of your problems. If blacking out is what you wish to do, several of us can oblige you, but that too will not help you. Your life is not over, just as my life was not over when my wife left me. I had a son who needed a father. You are not alone, not with four children. And you will have to face Ratiri sooner or later, Lorna. He will come crawling back; I know him. The question you need to answer with help from Angie is, ‘then what’?” _

 

_ “I have four children, two’v whom will be terribly hurt by this,” she sighed. “Especially Supri, she’s so young. How do I handle this? I have to tell them the truth, but is it fair for me to make them hate their father? Sure, he’s fucking worthless, but...to me, not necessarily to them. And...honestly, right now, if he came crawling back, I'd tell him to go play on the M7.” Fresh tears filled her eyes, because she never, ever would have thought she’d say that of the man she’d thought she’d married. Not until yesterday had she had even a glimmer of a suspicion he was...that. _

 

_ “Lorna, this too is not new. You are still conflating the person with their mistakes. If I recall correctly, he once was terribly jealous of the relationship you and I have and said a very hurtful thing. This is not particularly less idiotic, just more...grand in its scope. He is not worthless. You should perhaps allow another to tell your children what occurred, someone with more objectivity. Truth can be highly subjective. And for the record, all of your children will struggle with this, though Shane will fare the best.” _

 

_ “Back then he was...jealous, and insecure,” she sighed. “This was just him being a piece’v shit, but I do think it’s better someone who isn’t me talks to them about it. Chandra...Christ, she’ll take this hard. So hard. She might need Angie even more than I do.” Supri was young, and Atia pretty well-balanced for her age, but Chandra was...Chandra, the poor girl. _

 

_ “No, no,” Thranduil disagreed. “Back then he was jealous, and insecure. Now he is elitist, and arrogant. But just as he had to learn why he was wrong then, he will have to do the same now. We all have our flaws, dear one. We have already discussed how easy it is for someone in a position of power to be too prideful, and this is what has happened to Ratiri though he does not yet see it. He thinks too highly of what he believes he understands, not perceiving that his vision is distorted by narrow experience and, forgive me, a large helping of privilege. He will move past this, too. It does not make him a piece of shit, tempting though it is to oversimplify it in such a way. Yes, Chandra will have great difficulty--but she already has many, Lorna. We both know this. You know these things happen, but you are too angry to wish to see it. I understand that, and so it will be for a time. It does not change that I love you, and, forget Ratiri. For now. That is the best advice I can give you.” _

 

_ “Will you help me with her?” Lorna asked. “I’m not...I’m not in a place to be any use to anyone just now, and she’ll need help. She’s not equipped to handle...big things. Bad things. She feels everything too intensely, and I wish I knew why, or what to do about it. However much I want to go drink myself senseless, at least I can avoid doing it. I’d be so worried about her, given she’s so young and...and inexperienced.” _

 

_ “I can try, but Lorna, I think we both realize not all is ideal within Chandra. It is perhaps more than time that the professionals here take a serious look at her. But she has to be a willing participant in that process. She is of age, and none of us can do anything without her consent. That is where you come in; you are the single greatest influence on her choices right now.” _

 

_ Lorna sighed. “I’ll try,” she said. “I think Yellowstone showed her she’s got more troubles than she realizes. Of course, now that  _ Ratiri’s  _ not here, maybe we can try her on some actual bloody medication. Every time I suggested it he did nothing but bitch and whine and say ‘but she’s too yoooooung’.” She snorted. “No, I’m not angry. Of course not.” _

 

_ “The marvelous news is, he has no more say in the matter. And you are well within your rights to suggest that he butt out of weighing in on treating his family members. Chandra has problems, Lorna; we all can see it. She suffers. Suggest she see Angie, and leave him out of it; it is not his decision.” _

 

_ “Oh, trust me, I will,” she said. “And I’ll try to keep her here. I think it’s easier for her, not living in such a crowded house -- hell, I know it is. If she can...if  _ we  _ can learn to manage here, before the world ends, maybe we can take it back with us when it’s time to go.” She just wished the thought was not so wearying. _

 

_ “One step at a time, Lorna. Can you try to remember that?” He squeezed her a little harder, feeling pleased with how their discussion had gone. It was as good as one could hope, under the circumstances. _

 

_ “I can try,” she said softly, “but I don't know how well I'll be able to do it, once I'm awake in the real world. Once I'm actually feeling all’v this.” She sighed. “You’re a good brother, Thranduil. Way better than the other one.” _

 

_ “We will begin again, before the memory of this is entirely forgotten. And I will still be here. When you are ready, you can wake. Until then, I will squeeze you because I actually am awake, and am shamelessly enjoying the snuggling.” _

 

_ That actually made her laugh. “I’m a doll,” she said. “I’ve accepted it. I should probably wake up now, too. I’m not going to get any more ready, and I might chicken out if I don't.” _

 

_ “That’s my Lorna,” he smiled kissing her forehead to gently wake her. If possible, he wanted her to transition slowly, so the memory of their conversation would linger. “Stay with it, Lorna,” he murmured soothingly. “Remember as much as you can, as you slowly leave sleep behind.” _

 

Lorna surfaced to consciousness very gradually, feeling warm and safe, and vaguely aware there was a cat on her feet. “Now what?” she murmured. “Chandra?” It was hitting her already -- the pain, the anger held at bay by sleep -- but it wouldn’t get her yet. She had Thranduil, and at least one cat -- no, two cats, because she was pretty sure she could hear Bast snoring.

 

Thranduil could do a far more refined job of keeping her emotions at bay, and for now, he did not mind. They could worry about feelings once her reason had a far stronger grip on the...situation. “No,” he said softly. “You first. Chandra second. She is not up yet, whereas you are about to be.”

 

“But I'm  _ warm _ ,” she whined, quite unashamed to do so. “And there are kitties, and I don't…”  _ I don't have to think.  _ Awake, lacking the cocoon of her dreaming, memory of the previous night was making itself known with a clarity she  _ really  _ didn't want. It was enough to make her curl in on herself, shifting poor Midnight right off her feet.

 

“And reality strikes,” he sighed, stroking her hair. “I wish it were easier.”

 

“You probably don't want me having any special tea, huh?” she asked, shutting her eyes. “Because I'd give someone’s left kidney for a cup.”

 

_ “Whose left kidney, though?”  _ Layla asked curiously.

 

“Ratiri’s, for a start,” Lorna grumbled. “I’d use Pat’s right one for something else.” She paused. “Where are we?”

 

“Chandra’s,” he answered, not showing any sign of ceasing to squeeze her. Clearly, he was enjoying the excuse immensely.

 

_ And it’s probably only been overnight…  _ “Wait a minute, you and Thanadir were on holiday,” she said. “Fucking Christ, you had to get dragged home into this bullshit…” She hugged him back, giving one of the rib-crushing variety. “Sorry you had to get called back to this... _ this _ .”

 

“Mmm, but you are not the one who should be apologizing for that, dear one. You are my family and you needed me. That is all there is. Nothing else merits consideration.”

 

“I’m sorry anyway,” she said stubbornly, because she was her. “Hopefully you can go finish it up sooner or later. You two never get to go anywhere just on your own.”

 

_ “Speaking of family, Siobhan totally slugged Pat last night,”  _ Jimmy said gleefully.  _ “It was awesome. Pity nobody hit Ratiri before he could keep running his mouth.” _

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “No shit. And poor Ailill, he might -- he might need help. He wasn’t thinking when he brought the whole thing up to begin with, and I'm sure he feels awful, poor lad.”

 

“I already know everything that happened. I have an Earlene and a Maglor, remember?” he admonished Jimmy. “And I would not worry too much. I am aware of what Earlene said to Ratiri. Give it time. Ailill is cared for. Though, I am quite displeased with Ratiri on account of that as well. Quite the tally he is racking up for himself, I would say?” he asked, openly smirking.

 

“I wonder if he’ll ever dare come back,” she said, and wondered, with a horrible pang, if she even wanted him to. Maybe her life would be easier if he just...vanished. “Thranduil, you have to help me. Just...help me make a list, of what to do right now. If I have steps to follow, maybe I can do this.” The thought hurt -- even the idea of getting up was almost too much to be borne -- but she had children. She couldn’t leave them to Sharley.

 

“Have you a writing tablet, or your mobile?” he asked, reasoning that this was a good idea, really. “I can get it if you tell me where. You might as well keep warm.  Shall I have Sharley or Thanadir bring tea?”

 

“I have...if Sharley brought my satchel, my mobile should be in it,” she said, struggling to remember everything that had happened last night. “She kind’v overdid it on the telepathic Xanax, I think. And...Christ, tea sounds good.” It sounded better than the alternative, which was No Tea. If she had to do this...oh god, she wished she didn't have to do this. “This shit is why I spent so long not getting close to anyone.”

 

“Well, I had different reasons but...me too, I suppose. And yet my life is richer for having let others in, however much pain came along with it. They go together, sadly. I know which I would choose, had I to start over.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at her and ruffled her hair. “Even you and I have had our ups and downs. That is the way of it. Did you know that even the Valar argue? Quite heatedly, too. I learned that once, and thought it most enlightening.”

 

Lorna stared at him. “They  _ do _ ?” she asked. “That...damn. I have a really hard time picturing that, but I've only ever met...oh hell, I've met three now.” That was honestly somewhat disturbing, because how many humans could say they’d talked to  _ one  _ Vala, let alone three? And while she hadn’t actually  _ met  _ Manwë, she’d apparently at least been in the same room. “You and I never had downs this low. That one fight we got in wasn’t like...it wasn’t this. Even the thought’v getting up, of dealing with the world, with everything the way it is right now...I'm tired already, Thranduil, and I just woke up.” And if her voice sounded very small...sue her.

 

“That is because you are depressed. It is to be expected, after such treatment. You will rest, and be cared for. I know you will not recall each word of what we discussed while you still slept. What matters most is that we will get through this together. You have family that loves you, and regardless what happens with Pat or Ratiri, that cannot change. Ah, and here is Thanadir, with tea.” 

 

On cue, a tap from the door preceded the aforementioned elf, still wearing his Ravenclaw scarf and looking perpetually twenty-five with a big smile on his face. “Hello, Lorna. I am sorry for all the….all the…” he took a big breath, handing her the mug. “Bullshit.”

 

In spite of absolutely everything, Lorna burst out laughing as she took the mug. “Thanadir, I love you,” she said, her eyes dancing. “You said an unseemly word for me. Don't think I don't know how big’v a deal that is.” She sipped her tea -- two spoons of sugar and plenty of milk, just as she liked it -- while a somewhat disgruntled Midnight settled over her feet again.

 

_ There are not words for the favors I will bestow on you for that,  _ Thranduil silently told his mate. Grinning, Thanadir waved good-bye and left the room. Probably he would at least get cookies out of it…

 

“For the record, I had nothing to do with that. He loves you too,” Thranduil smiled.

 

“Something had to get him to swear, sooner or later,” Lorna said, shaking her head. She was still smiling a little, because even though this hurt, it was reassuring to  know there were plenty of people who actually did love her. “It only took what, almost eighteen years?”

 

The thought saddened her, because the first time she’d ever heard Thanadir say ‘gobshite’ was when they were trying to dictate a letter from Pat to Grania. Grania...Christ, she must be having a time of it, given Pat had swanned off, too. And Saoirse...there were too many those two gobshites had hurt, just because they were...they were  _ gobshites. _ “But there should be a list.”

 

Poor Lorna. She was not remembering what he had asked earlier...no matter. “Sip your tea. I will be right back.” His own mobile was in his garment in the outer room, so he would fetch that.

 

“Now. A list. Number one: We will get through this together. Would you like to try for a number two?”

 

“Thranduil, you’re a little shit, and I love you for it,” she said, shaking her head. “I need to have this tea, and get up, and...I need...I don't even know if I should feed my kids before I drop this on them. I don't know what they saw or were told last night, even.”

 

“Would you like me to tell them with you there?” he looked at her levelly. “Alternatively, Sharley is right outside, and would likely be able to explain that quite well.”

 

“Honestly, it might be better if you both do it,” Lorna said. “Because she can handle Chandra, and handling Chandra is enough for one person. I’m afraid -- in my state, I’m not sure what I'd say, but I know it wouldn’t help.” So much of her wanted to tell her children that their father was a worthless piece of trash, but that wouldn’t do them any good.

 

“No, that would not be a wise thing to say,” Thranduil said, hugging her again but careful not to spill her tea. “It is not true, and you know it.”

 

“It’s hard for me to believe right now,” she said quietly, wrapping her free arm around him so she could sip her tea. “Which is why it definitely can’t be me. I’m sure Chandra will have all sorts’v shit  _ she  _ wants to say, but just...let her get it out, please? Once she’s vented, she’ll feel better. Then maybe I’ll be able to talk to her without...yeah.  You know.”

 

“Which is why we will wait for Angie,” he said quietly. “Regarding the other two, do not confuse ‘worthless trash’ with ‘elitist arrogance’ that all too soon will come crashing down. For all Ratiri’s brilliance, he fails to explore other points of view, and thinks too highly of what he thinks he knows. This has not been the first time this has gotten him in trouble; it is merely that he has managed a grander magnitude this time. We all have flaws, Lorna. I include myself in that.”

 

“The rest’v us at least try to get better,” she sighed. “At least we acknowledge we’ve  _ got  _ flaws. All right, so what should I do for Chandra today? She’ll have it the worst, and she’ll be the most, um, urgent case. Supri and Atia don't tend to act out like she can.”

 

“Nothing,” Thranduil said, quite sincere. “Except convince your daughter to work with the professionals. This is why you have a Sharley here. And Eru forbid, a Mairead one block over. Nothing will happen, even if I have to earn another weld on the Bad Elf Award,” he sighed.

 

Lorna groaned. “Oh, good Jesus, she’ll murder the pair’v them if she ever sees them again,” she said. “And I’m not actually exaggerating there. But Mairead can deal with Chandra, too. I hope we aren’t about to break poor Angie.” Especially since she was entirely certain Saoirse was going to need some help, too. There was too much she wasn’t going to understand -- all she’d be able to focus on was the fact that her father was a dick and then ran off.

 

“How about for number two we try to reframe the problem?” he teased gently. “This is very temporary, Lorna. I have seen much in my long life. Pat and Ratiri will give much to only feel what you feel now, sooner than you think. It is...almost inevitable. Did you hear what Earlene said to Ratiri, when he was leaving?”

 

She arched an eyebrow. “Reframe? Now I know you’ve been talking to Angie too much. No, I didn't hear. Between Siobhan lamping Pat and just...well, it was a clusterfuck, so I didn't hear.”

 

“Reframe is a good word,” he insisted, poking her in the upper arm for emphasis. “Just because I am ancient and creaky, I too can learn new things. Angie has been a very educational person with whom to converse. And what Earlene said was, ‘Remember, Ratiri Duncan. Karma is a bitch and she knows where you live.’ Why? Because my wife sees the same thing I do. He is going to fall, Lorna. Hard. It is how these things always are.”

 

“Ancient and creaky?” she said. “You wouldn’t be able to creak if your life depended on it.”

 

_ “That’s what she said,”  _ Kurt snickered.

 

Lorna sighed. “I walked right into that one. Anyway. I hope he doesn’t come to Baile once he’s fallen, because I don't want a bloody thing to do with him right now. Or…” Or possibly ever. She didn't know if she was too hurt or too angry, but right now...well, she had tea. And a cat. A very fluffy cat, who had stretched out and was currently yawning. “D’you know, Vairë said these little shits were raiding all my snacks, and that was why they were so fat? Yeah, I'm talking about you.” Midnight merely trilled.

 

“That is your decision; I will not try to sway you either way, Lorna. And... perhaps you would like Sharley to come in?”

 

Lorna nodded. “Yeah. I know I do need to talk to Chandra pretty soon, though, and I’d like to have one or the other’v you there, so you can tell me what’s going on in her head if I need to know. She’s just about as bad as me at using her words.”

 

“It’s a gift,” teased Thranduil, kissing the crown of her head. “More tea?”

 


	153. One Hundred Fifty-Three

{May 24, 2034}

 

Pat woke to a raging morning-after, and a face that felt like, well, he’d been slugged. 

 

Pain radiated out from his nose, which he had vague memories of Ratiri setting last night -- Siobhan hadn’t forgotten how to punch, it would seem. It had nothing on the queasy thumping of his head, though, and he wondered exactly how much he’d drank last night. Too much for a man of his age, certainly

 

When he finally dared open his eyes, the dull glare of light through the gap in the motel room curtains seemed to sear right into his brain. On the other bed, Ratiri was still completely unconscious, feet dangling over the edge of the mattress and face mashed into his pillow. 

 

_ Oh, good Jesus.  _ Pat was the veteran of many a morning-after, and by now had it down to a system: go into bathroom, don't turn light on, shut the door most of the way, and sit in the cool darkness of the tub while drinking glass after glass of water. He only wished he had some acetaminophen, or anything like it; alas, he’d have to wait and see if simple hydration did the trick.

 

In the cold, sober light -- dimness -- of day, he started to wonder just what in fuck they’d actually done. That Lorna could sink so low...she’d been out with  _ that  _ group. Specifically, she’d been out with Thranduil, the other brother. Pat knew the kind of little sister she was -- she wanted to help. She could be easily swayed, especially when her blood was up. Maybe...maybe this wasn’t her fault.

 

He sipped water, and wondered, ever more uneasily, what was going on with her now. If she was okay. It wasn’t like they’d gone off and left her alone….

 

_ Of course she’s not okay, you eejit,  _ he thought.  _ She’s Lorna. On what planet would she  _ ever _ be all right, after that? _

 

“Doesn’t matter,” he whispered to himself. He drained his glass, and poured another at the sink.

 

_ Then have you stopped to think about the fact that your other sister broke your nose, your wife probably wants nothing to do with you, and Christ even knows about your daughters? And that’s to say nothing of Earlene, or what Thranduil and Thanadir will do, when they come...you’re in deep shit, Patrick Donovan. For all you know, they won’t let you back in. _

 

The thought made him freeze. Would they do that? He didn't want to think it -- but then, he hadn’t thought his sister and his adoptive brother were cold-blooded murderers, either. Yeah, Thranduil had killed a whole lot of people in  _ war _ , just like Lorna had shot those bastards in Stephen’s Green, but in both cases, those had been situations where the other people were actively trying to kill them first. Battle was battle. Terrorists were terrorists. It wasn’t -- it wasn’t the  _ same _ , dammit.

 

But that whole group had straight-up murdered who knew how many people, and that made Pat wonder if he and Ratiri would even be allowed back inside the forest. Oh, they had not thought this through…

 

After three glasses of water, he crept out into the hotel room and grabbed the phone. Of course he’d left his mobile in Eldamar, but he had Grania’s number memorized. With trembling hands, he punched it in, and winced at the volume of the ringer.

 

He hadn’t known if she’d answer, but the moment he heard her ‘Hello?’ he hung up again. Oh good bloody god, what was he going to do? Saoirse wouldn’t know what to do, or to make of this; he’d have to hope Grania would guide her.

 

Good fucking grief. Should he wake Ratiri? Would that do any good? Would  _ anything  _ do any good?

 

_ Fuck everything. _

 

He looked up when he heard Ratiri stir, and mumble something unintelligible. He must have woken, because he swore under his breath, and after a moment rolled over and rubbed his face.

 

“We’re a bit fucked, Ratiri,” Pat groaned. “More than a bit, maybe. What do we do?”

 

It took a moment for coherent thought to surface through the mental glue that was Ratiri’s mind. When it had, he swore again.

 

Never, ever would he have guessed that, of those he lived with. He certainly wouldn’t have thought his own  _ wife  _ capable of that...except he had. He’d feared it, at first, before he knew -- or thought he knew -- her well enough to believe the days of the worst of her temper were behind her. Because he didn't believe for a moment she could have killed...whoever that was...in cold blood; that wasn’t how Lorna worked. She’d lost her temper,  _ again _ , and this time straight-up murdered a man. A man who could, unless he was armed with a gun, do her no actual harm -- after eighteen years of training and building her strength, he doubted there was a human out there who was any match for her, and certainly not scummy criminals.

 

Yes, she had killed people -- she didn't know how many -- in the shopping center. They’d been actively trying to kill  _ her  _ (partly because Sharley had used her as a projectile weapon, good grief), and would have shot god knew how many others. For all Earlene mocked him for saying so, it was  _ different _ .

 

And she must have known it was wrong, because she’d never told him. She’d sat on that for what, sixteen years? Sixteen years, and she’d never breathed a word, even after the shopping center shooting. Had she killed other people he didn't know about? Had  _ all  _ of them? Because  _ Earlene  _ of all people...yes, she’d brutalized Von Ratched, but Von Ratched had set out to torment and then kill them all. Christ, he’d raped Lorna. He was a powerful, immortal monster, not some small-time criminal who, however odious his attempted actions, probably would have learned from a severe beating.

 

_ If it wasn’t Ailill, it would have been someone else,  _ a small voice whispered in his mind.  _ Someone who didn't have anyone to come to their rescue. Hell, maybe he wasn’t the first. _

 

Ratiri scowled. The voice sounded like Lorna, and okay, maybe it had a point -- that might well not have been the first time those gobshites had tried anything, but a severe enough bludgeoning could have served as a future deterrent. What right did those four have, to decide who deserved life, and who deserved death? Hadn’t Gandalf himself said something about not being too hasty to deal out death in judgment?

 

He had no mental energy to spare for Pat’s worries -- not yet. He needed a nap, and then at least three cups of strong black coffee.

 

*****

 

Earlene blinked, bleary-eyed. Wearily she trudged her way into the water. Knowing that Thanadir and Thranduil were returning helped and yet...it did not. She now admired her King so very much for his calm ability to...run the kindergarten. It wasn’t that she was incapable, but were she to guess, she was far less immune to the very human emotions. Ones like disgust, annoyance, exasperation, irritation, impatience and a general feeling of being harried, might be on that list. After pinning her hair up and sitting for a moment, a sigh escaped. This wasn’t working. And really this was silly, because quite soon Maglor would be here; Annwn needed to eat.  _ Screw this. _ Splashing water at least on her face and rubbing at her eyes, she dressed in something that would cooperate with nursing while minimally scandalizing poor Maglor. He was not really around during the Free Breasts Era, and given how short-term her need to do this was likely to be, she might try to spare him the full glory. Maybe. She could still be quite stubborn about these notions.

 

A knock came on the door, and Maglor was invited in. “Good morning,” she said, patting his arm. “Did she sleep alright?” 

 

“Fed and changed once,” he smiled, yawning. “Otherwise, yes.”

 

Already Annwn was fussing, so Earlene undid her blouse much of the way down while Maglor averted his eyes. Earlene laughed, taking the child. “Oh, we really do have to talk, my friend. You need to not worry about that; I am a running joke in this house.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused. 

 

“I breastfed ten children, Maglor. And I certainly did not care after, oh, week three with Allanah who saw me do it. Wait. No, that’s not right. It was probably week one. What I am trying to say is, no one under this roof, except possibly you and Pen, do not know what my breasts look like. And that goes for about most of the Realm, too. I do not believe in covering up, it is why the body parts are there. For children to eat.” She seated herself, and soon the baby was happily helping herself. “Did you know that Thanadir can do this too?”

 

“He what?” Maglor asked, uncertain he had heard correctly. 

 

“You heard me right. Men can lactate. You have all the same equipment, just not as many of the right hormones as females. It took some focused effort, but in response to enough suckling from Thaladir, when he was an infant, his body began to produce some milk. Though I should tell you, he does not wish this widely known. But he would not mind me informing you of it.”

 

“He did not get...breasts?” Maglor asked, curious but also mildly taken aback.

 

“No,” she laughed. “Nor did he produce that much milk. But it was enough to give me a break from having to wake quite so often in the night to feed. And it meant a great deal to him to bond so closely with our son. In other cultures it is common for men to allow infants to suckle. It is quite natural.”

 

“You are full of surprises, Earlene,” he smiled. “Would it be too forward of me to ask how you are faring, after last night? That was...unfortunate. That was a very ignorant stance that those two took, and I...was surprised anyone living here could be possessed of such foolishness.”

 

“It is not forward at all. You are my friend, Maglor, and someone I am grateful I can talk with. I did not want the responsibility of being Queen but I have it regardless. I would guess you can relate?” she asked with a smirk.

 

“Yes, I...rather can,” he chuckled, rubbing his daughter’s tiny back with his long fingers.

 

“I am alright but I realized this morning, I can manage the problems well enough. What is harder is to be...I think ‘imperturbable’ is the word I want. I would prefer to remain more aloof from having personal emotions about what needs to be done. But maybe that is not entirely possible? Thranduil always seems rather difficult to ruffle and yet…” she trailed off.

 

“I think you know the expression ‘it is lonely at the top?’” he replied. “A ruler is looked to. You are expected to be parent, problem-solver, example, pillar of strength, wise counselor, and many other dubiously realistic expectations those under you hope to have fulfilled. You are on the right track, Earlene. You project those attributes to those needing to see them, and in privacy can afford to be seen as ordinary. It is no different than what I saw grandfather do, or any of the rest of us, when it was our turn to bear such responsibilities.”

 

“Oddly, that makes me feel better. Nothing like the confirmation of observations that feel uncertain.”

 

“Glad to help,” Maglor smiled, inclining his head. 

 

Soon enough, the little tummy was full, and Earlene reassembled herself. “I’ll not be far from the house today, if out of it at all, just on principle. Right now Sharley has the most important duty.”

 

Maglor took Annwn, placing her against his shoulder with a generously large spit-up cloth just in case. Earlene saw that and grinned. “Been having a lot of that?” Maglor nodded. 

 

“I’ll pay attention and make sure not to overfeed her, then. Better she eat more often and less than lose her meals because of too much in the little tummy,” she cooed. “Thank you, for letting me do this. I miss it, greatly. This time of their lives is just wonderful.”

 

Maglor thanked her and withdrew, wondering if he had ever seen anyone quite so enthusiastic about breastfeeding. Well, probably not, but he was grateful for it at the moment. 

 

Next was starting breakfast, then...Ailill. Nothing could afford to be terribly elaborate this morning, nor did that even make sense. At least six of their ordinary complement of their house would be gone, today required simplicity. Biscuit sandwiches, and fruit. The dough was made, the eggs whisked. Cheese sliced, bacon laid out to bake to perfection. Now she could take a break. Going up to the second floor, she knocked softly. Calanon opened, and motioned her in with a bow. Ailill sat on the edge of the bed, wiping away tears. “Sweetheart, what is wrong?” Earlene sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulder.

 

“Aran Thranduil will be so disappointed in me,” he choked out. “My big mouth--everything that happened last night is my fault. I am so s-sorry.” 

 

“Ailill, there is no need for this,” Earlene said. “None of it was your fault.”

 

“Y-yes it was,” he sobbed.

 

Quick as a flash, she stood up and grabbed his jaw firmly. “Ailill, are you going to argue with me?” Her eyes bored into his as Calanon, standing back out of sight with an innocent air of indifference, looked entirely pleased.

 

“No, Earlene.” His shoulders slumped.

 

“Good. Because there is much you do not know about this particular problem, Ailill. I cannot explain to you, but you may have done everyone a great favor by your accidental words though it does not seem that way just now. Time will tell. Either way, no one is disappointed, and nothing is your fault. I would not lie to you, ever. Try then, to breathe deeply and smile. You are dearly loved.” Now Calanon did come over, offering a dampened cloth with which to blot at his eyes. He mouthed the words ‘Thank you’ while Ailill was still distracted. “I will see you at breakfast,” she said, kissing Ailill on the top of the head. “If you have time, I would not say no to help, with breakfast.”

 

**

 

The table was somber, this morning. News had spread to all of Earlene’s children via Thaladir; their support was obvious from the extra hugs she received from each and every one of them. Perhaps most affirming was that even little Lancaeron hugged her waist, and murmured, “we are all very proud of you, Nana.” Sometimes it was the little things that made the hassles worthwhile. 

 

Ailill had recovered himself somewhere into the halfway point of slicing fruit, and was now in a far better humor. While she didn’t feel entirely possessed of a robust appetite, Earlene at least was able to eat a square meal. “Maglor, I would like to go to the Halls for awhile this morning. To consult with Geezer and perhaps Thalion about a few matters.” What those matters were was obvious enough. “Perhaps we could go together, in case the baby becomes hungry?” 

 

“Yes,” he agreed. “If Eldan can spend some time away from other obligations this morning, perhaps we could be in the music room?”

 

Earlene pondered this for a moment, seeing that Eldan obviously wanted to do this very badly. “Then if you do not object, can I take Annwn with me? I still have my baby slings; I can then carry her with me so that you have your hands free. You are very talented but I would gather even you prefer two hands on your harp.”

 

Pen grinned, seeing that his friend was still working out the finer points of managing a little one alone. “Ah, yes. This is true,” he blushed, as he glanced down at his daughter who at the moment occupied the crook of one arm. Earlene had a thousand times his experience with babies, and he knew it.

 

“Then that’s settled,” she said. 

 

Algar looked extremely thoughtful. With the Donovans completely absent from the table, there was a rare opportunity for discussion and no one really minded the next question. “Nana, will Uncles Ratiri and Pat come back here?”

 

Regarding her son thoughtfully, Earlene sipped her tea. “I cannot say for certain. Eventually, anyone wishing to survive will have no choice but to return here. And your father will return soon; this has arguably become a matter that would be something for him to decide on.”

 

“What do you mean?” Algar asked. “Decide on what?”

 

“Well,” she answered slowly, “I will answer that with the understanding that this discussion is private to this family who serves our King. If Ratiri and Pat have such strong moral objections to how this Realm conducts the defense of its people, well, it begs the question of whether or not they should be trying to live in its midst. But that is not for me to decide; it will rest with Aran Thranduil.”

 

“But Nana, you are Queen. What would you decide?” Algar pressed.

 

“I would decide to allow them to return when they could show respect for the decisions of its King. You must understand, ion. The humans here, with the exception of myself and Ailill, are exempt from our laws and our way of doing things. And yet for the most part we live in harmony, because we have agreed to a kind of separation; we each stay out of each other’s business when it comes to affairs of governance and other important matters. What Ratiri and Pat could not understand last night, in the abundance of their highly emotional reaction, was that this was one thousand percent a matter of our government’s jurisdiction. There is a great deal that Ratiri does not understand, because he has never thought to ask with an open mind. And we will leave it at that. Ratiri and Pat are both still good people that have made an unfortunately large mistake they may or may not discern. Time will tell.”

 

This seemed to satisfy Algar, but now Thaladir angrily stabbed at his eggs; his green eyes flashed with irritation. “It was incredibly unseemly,” he growled.

 

“Yes it was, but when emotions run high that is often the case. The trick is to not get sucked into other people’s drama, ion. Let it go. It seems very bad now, but this will pass. Everything does.”

 

Blinking, Thaladir considered this, and nodded respectfully. Lady Vairë ate, and listened with interest to what was being said. The latest development in the household was yielding quite a lot of...insight.

 

This morning would never end.

 

**

 

Once everything was narrated to Geezer, Earlene concluded with “and that’s where it’s at. Just thought you ought to be forewarned.”

 

He stared at her, sanding-block still in his hands. “You’re not fuckin’ kidding, are you?” he asked. “Jesus fucking -- all right, I’m exempting you from this, so don't get me wrong, but why are brainy people so fucking stupid in some ways? And as for Pat, I’d’ve figured he’d know better, but it sounds like his head’s jammed up his ass as far as Ratiri’s.”

 

Shaking his head, he set down the block. “All right, what’re we gonna do about it? Because one way or another, those two’ll come back here eventually. We knew Pat had done something stupid, just because Grania came back looking like she wanted to stab someone in the spleen, and Siobhan never came back all.”

 

“Well, much as I hate to stick you with the impossible assignment, it’s my guess that sooner or later he will fall from that ivory tower he’s lived in and have one hell of a problem on his hands. At this point, I’m just Earlene the Ripper; he won’t listen to a word from me. You, on the other hand, have a chance. And you’re not an elf. Where he even came up with the particular set of nonsense he clings to I’ve no idea but...I am not ashamed of anything I’ve done. He wasn’t there; Thranduil saw that each and every one of those men that night were the worst of the worst. But I doubt he’ll care; instead he’ll go on and on about how we didn’t have the right. Ratiri would spend all day trying to help a pack of orcs, Geezer. He doesn’t get it. At all. Maybe he never will; I don’t know.” She shrugged. “This has festered for a long time. Better it blow up now than before it’s all too late.”

 

“Oh, he’ll learn,” Geezer said darkly. “You leave that to me. Him  _ and  _ Pat, who’s the bigger disappointment in my eyes. They think killing people’s an Elf thing, that it’s not something us humans’re supposed to do...they’ve got another fuckin’ thing coming. Sometimes you’ve gotta kill someone, whether you want to or not, because you can’t goddamn let them live.”

 

He stared at his current project -- a bench for the garden they were building outside the western border of the forest. “What’re you gonna do, once I’m done with them? I dunno if they’ll run off again, or if one of them will. I’d’ve thought Ratiri’d stick around, given he’s got two kids in this forest. And I know you know her better than I do, but if I was you, I'd set up the cottage for whenever Lorna and the kids come back.”

 

“I’ll know more later. I will be very surprised if Thranduil isn’t with her right now. But yes, I think a room just opened up at Eldamar. Maybe several. When Thranduil returns I’ll have details explained to Thalion as well. This will annoy him, but he needs to be aware that potentially these two aren’t the only idiots possessed of these beliefs.” Earlene shook her head. “The part that gets me here is, what do they think the military training was for, something to do in gym class? It’s just...yeah.” She massaged her temples just as Annwn began to fuss. “Time to take this one to listen to her adar’s beautiful music and have her mid-morning snack.”

 

“Good luck,” he said. “I’ll try to figure out which boot needs to go up what ass first. Because I’m sure they ain’t the only ones who’ll be thinking like that, but they’re gonna be the last who react  _ this  _ way.” A pause, and then, “And with Lorna...make her mad. I know her type -- you let her sink into depression and she’ll never get outta it.”

 

“Well, that is why Eru made us with two feet, I suppose,” Earlene grinned. “Hopefully the cadre of those who went to help Lorna will figure out something.”

 

**

 

Siobhan made sure Lorna got fed, and gave her a quarter of a Xanax, and yet she couldn’t sit still.

 

The sun rose golden over the horizon, and she walked the empty streets, hands stuffed in her pockets. How many times had she done this, once her leg had healed after the accident that cost her Liam? She’d walked through town, and through her gran’s woods, trying to make sense of all that had happened.

 

She didn't think there  _ was  _ any way to make sense of this mess, because it was so...so ridiculous. All she did know was that there was no way she could ever sleep in her own bedroom again -- even that beautiful house might be more than she could handle. She’d been so happy, and then  _ that  _ happened. That, out of nowhere. In the space of one evening, her world had been knocked off its axis -- and whatever came of the whole mess, it would never be the same again. There was no going back.

 

She had so, so many things to do, and the thought of doing even one wearied her. Her daughters, especially her eldest, didn’t have the life experience to handle this -- nor would Supri be able to understand that her father was a judgmental prick.  _ Chandra  _ would, all too well, which would be its own problem.

 

_ Welcome to the adult world, Lorna,  _ she thought.  _ Fuck, I always knew it was a trap. _

 

“I was always enough, here,” she said aloud, to no one. “Yeah, I had my problems, but what I was was enough for the people I loved. Nobody ever looked at me like those two bastards did.” 

 

Grief welled up within her, and she sat on it, hard, letting her anger buoy her. If she fell into  _ that _ pit, she didn't know if she’d ever get out again.

 

“You  _ are  _ enough.” 

 

Lorna jumped, flailed, and would have smacked Sharley, had the woman not been able to dodge. “Jesus...dammit, Sharley, I'm getting you a bell,” she said, shaking herself. “Now that I've just about pissed out all the tea I drank…”

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. “Nice try. You  _ are  _ enough, just as you are, and I’m not gonna stop pestering you until you actually believe it.”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes, and kicked at a rock that had come loose from Old Orla’s low garden-wall. Her family had lived in Baile for over two hundred years, and probably mercifully, the old lady had already passed on. Trying to adapt to life after the plague might have been too much for someone her age. “Fine. I  _ am  _ good enough, and just can’t see it that way right now. Happy?”

 

Sharley snorted. “Uh, no,” she said, wrapping an arm around Lorna’s shoulders. “I won’t be happy until you actually do believe it...and this is way too awkward. Hang on a minute.” Now that Annwn was born, she was no longer afraid to experiment with her own body --

 

_ “That’s what she said,”  _ Kurt muttered, right on cue.

 

“Fuck off, Kurt.” She wasn’t afraid to change things up anymore, and with some focus, she managed to shift both self  _ and  _ clothes, until --

 

“Jesus bloody -- what the  _ fuck _ , Sharley?” Lorna yelped, staring at her in something like horror. “Oh god, that is so,  _ so  _ wrong.”

 

“Is it, though?” Sharley asked, and cackled much as Lorna often did, for she was now the same height as her tiny friend -- and oh good grief was it strange. “Is this how the world always looks, from your perspective?” She looked down at one booted foot, and marveled at how short a distance it actually was.

 

Lorna twitched. Sharley was like a child-version of herself, but not actually a child... _ so,  _ so  _ wrong.  _ “Pretty much, yeah,” she said.

 

“No wonder you were always so annoyed.” Sharley tried to imagine having to go through life like this, and thought it was only a miracle her poor friend hadn’t murdered someone before she hit the age of thirty.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be like, Vairë-sized?” 

 

She shrugged. “Probably close. I used to be taller, but not by a whole lot; I think I was about Thranduil’s height, or a little shorter. I’m guessing the Stranger settled on six feet because it was the upper end of plausible for a human woman, but it’s what I’m most comfortable at now.” She didn't like  _ this  _ at all, but it was certainly distracting poor Lorna, who looked at her with the expression usually worn by people who’ve just witnessed a five-car pileup on the freeway.

 

_ “Holy shit, Sharley, change it back,”  _ Kurt said, clearly agitated.  _ “Lorna’s right, that is so fucking wrong.” _

 

_ “I think it’s fun,”  _ Layla said, though she didn't sound quite certain about that.

 

“Can you make me tall?” Now  _ that  _ would be a distraction worth having.

 

Sharley shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, eying her own tiny hands. How did Lorna get anything  _ done _ ? “I wish that was how it worked, but it isn’t. I can only control me, not other people.”

 

“Will Annwn be able to do that?” Lorna asked, still staring in fascinated horror.

 

“You know, I'm not sure,” Sharley said, still staring at her hands. “Lúthien did have some control over her physical form -- she grew her hair out very long in a hurry, but if she ever did anything more drastic, I never heard of it. If Annwn can, I hope she doesn’t figure it out until she’s older.”

 

She paused. She felt the need to confide this in  _ someone _ , and it would give Lorna something else to focus on. “Annwn is Marty.”

 

Lorna tripped over her own feet. “ _ What?”  _

 

“Annwn is Marty, returned to me,” Sharley repeated. “I’m sure of it. Maglor should have been her father, and now he is.”

 

“How…?” Lorna could only stare.

 

“C’mon, keep moving,” Sharley said, snaring her arm. “It isn’t just that she looks identical to Marty as a baby, just with dark hair -- or that her eyes are exactly the same, except for lines of grey like Maglor’s. She’s...she’s a sunshine girl, and her grin, her laugh...she’s Marty, Lorna, and I can’t tell anyone. Maglor doesn’t need to know her as anyone but Annwn, and I'm not sure anybody but you would really understand.” Lorna might have lost her first child before she could even be born, but she knew what it was to lose one. No one else in their circle could say the same.

 

“And…” She paused. “And it would explain why Vairë told me not to go see Marty, the last time I was in Aman. I was pregnant then; if I’d gone to the Gardens of Irmo, she wouldn’t have been there.”

 

“Jesus,” Lorna whispered. “That’s...that’s one hell’v a gift, if you’re right.” And a stroke of genius on the part of the Valar. Marty would never have stopped haunting Sharley -- even knowing where her daughter was wouldn’t have been enough, eventually, because the girl would never grow or age. That she would have that chance now...after everything Sharley had gone through, the poor woman deserved it.

 

“I know,” Sharley said softly. “I have Maglor, and now my daughter is  _ our  _ daughter, like she always shoulda been. But you can’t tell him that -- he doesn’t need to know she was ever anyone but Annwn.”

 

Lorna thought she could understand that one quite well. Knowing what Marty had come from...it was heartbreaking, and he hadn’t spent years surrounded by Marty’s memory. He didn't really know, probably, the joy Marty had given Sharley. “D’you think she’ll remember anything, from...before?”

 

“I dunno,” Sharley said. “I don't think anything like her has ever happened before. Children who go into Irmo’s Gardens are too young to ever be reborn, I think. They just stay there. Elves don't get reborn, just...re-housed, I guess you’d call it, in adult bodies.”

 

“At least they don't have to go through puberty again,” Lorna snorted. “Not that it seems to be that bad for them in the first place, if Eleniel and Ithiliel are any indication.”

 

Sharley smirked. “They haven’t gone through it yet,” she said, “but no, it’s not bad anyway. I’ll bring her out here for a day trip, so she can meet everyone in Baile.” She doubted Maglor would want to go, and she certainly wouldn’t try to make the poor ellon. He was better off at Eldamar, with Pen. She only hoped he wasn’t totally scandalized by Earlene’s breastfeeding practices (she couldn’t bring herself to do that, and not only because she enjoyed feeding Annwn in private, for the bonding experience. Nobody saw her boobs but Maglor.)

 

“How does that work -- your breastfeeding?” Lorna asked. “Can you just like, turn off the tap when they’re not in use? Because Christ that’d be a neat trick.”

 

Sharley halted. She hadn’t said any of that, in thought or in speech. “Why do you say that?”

 

Lorna stumbled to a halt as well. “Because’v Earlene, and her breastfeeding...what?” Sharley’s expression was...quite odd. Ever since she’d taken to working with Vairë, she more and more often wore what they’d come to call the Maia Look: it was like she was dissecting something down to its very atoms.

 

“Lorna, I never actually said that to you,” she said. “Did you hear it?”

 

“Um...shit,” Lorna said, staring at her. “No, I didn't. I just kind’v...knew?”

 

Well, that was...possibly unsettling. Perhaps they were more connected at the brain than Sharley had ever suspected, a thought that bore...contemplation.  _ You wanted a distraction,  _ she thought.  _ You’ve got one.  _ She would definitely be asking Vairë about this, when she returned to the forest.

 

**

 

Chandra woke up royally pissed off. This was not normal for her anymore, which just made it worse.

 

She’d brought a lot of her things from Eldamar, including all her bedding, so she curled up under her duvet for a moment, scowling at the faded wallpaper. All she needed were one of the guns Geezer sometimes talked about, her father, and her uncle, and the problem would be over.

 

“Christ, I should check on Mam,” she sighed. At least Aunt Sharley could do the telepathic Xanax thing, too, and she’d sent Chandra to sleep last night. Mam, though...Jesus, how was she to get through this at all? She and Da had always been so cute together it was kind of disgusting, and then he went and did  _ this _ ...and then there were Atia and Supri.  _ I hope you trip in front of a train, Da. _

 

It was with that thought that she rose, and hunted down fuzzy PJ pants, slippers, and the lovely warm robe Aunt Sharley had woven for her last Christmas. Her long hair was a wild tangle, so she snatched up her comb on her way out to the front room.

 

An eyebrow had raised the moment her thoughts began...voicing themselves. Quickly making a mug of tea, by the time Chandra walked into the room, an elegant hand was holding out tea to her, attached to one Elvenking. “For you,” he said softly, knowing to tread carefully with Chandra.

 

She twitched, and nearly tripped over her own slippers. “Thanks,” she said, and sighed with relief when she took the mug. If Uncle Thranduil was here, Mam would be okay. “Obviously you heard about the...clusterfuck. I wish I could run Da over with the bus Mam stole as a teenager, and reverse it over Uncle Pat.”

 

“I know,” Thranduil answered, patting her on the shoulder. “None of us are exactly pleased.”

 

“I am sorry for all the bullshit,” Thanadir said brightly, reasoning that it had made Lorna very happy to hear this. Thranduil turned and blinked at him.

 

“Wrong thing to say?” Thanadir whispered, now very worried.

 

“Not at all, meldir. You are full of surprises, today.” He turned back to Chandra and smiled, shrugging.

 

Chandra choked on her tea, snorting a good bit of it right out of her nose. “Oh Christ, it  _ burns _ ,” she wheezed. “Uncle Thanadir, I did not expect that, but thank you.” Thank bloody god this wasn’t actually her carpet. Oops. “Where’s Mam? Is she okay?”

 

Thanadir rose immediately to bring her a paper towel. “Walking with Sharley,” Thranduil answered. “She is doing well enough at the moment, and I would say that we are all very intent on keeping it that way. I will tell you the same as I did her, Chandra. This will pass. Your father and uncle made a terrible and foolish mistake; they will have many difficulties on account of this. People make mistakes. Your mother has weathered far more than this, and will manage this as well.”

 

“Thanks,” Chandra said, wiping her face with the paper towel before kneeling to dab at the carpet. “Da and Uncle Pat can both go die mad about it. Aunt Siobhan said what they said to her last night -- they might as well’ve kicked her in the gut. Just...fucking hell, at least the other people Mam lost  _ died _ , they didn't turn into giant gobshites who each ought to get a boot jammed up their arse.”

 

“Do not worry. Earlene got in a few kicks of her own. And unlike what was said to your mother, what Earlene leveled at them was true. This is not a usual circumstance, Chandra. Rarely in a disagreement is one party all in the right or in the wrong. However this time, I am afraid the lines are quite clear. Your father and uncle will face many consequences, from this.”

 

Chandra sipped what was left of her tea, and moved to the sofa. It was old, but fat and soft. “That doesn’t do Mam any good,” she said, staring into the depths of her mug. “Or Atia, or Supri...nothing’ll change what happened, and why did either’v them have to open their goddamn mouths? Who the hell do they think they  _ are _ ?” Tears stung in her eyes, and she wiped them on her sleeve, looking up at her uncle. “Mam’s been through so much shit in her life already, and now there’s...there’s  _ this _ . Yeah, she’ll weather it, but that’s just...weathering. It’s not being happy, or even content.”

 

“I am curious, Chandra. I am very old. Many thing have happened to me. How is it that I am not insane, or filled with despair? I will give a hint, the answer has nothing to do with being an elf, for I experience the same emotions as humans. Care to try and guess?”

 

Her mam would have said it was because he was a stubborn little shit, but she was pretty sure that wouldn’t go over that great with Uncle Thanadir in the room. “Because you’ve got a lot’v time to get over things?”

 

Thranduil laughed heartily. “The guess you did not voice aloud might be a little part of it. But no, it is neither of those things. Sometimes I have had to get over things quickly. More quickly than I would have preferred. It is that I have seen, over and over, that we do not know the future. There is no such thing as being able to say, ‘this or that is going to be the outcome of a given problem.’ It is not possible, no matter how much we might want to think so when hurt and anger are at their worst. I do not ask you not to have your feelings, for I too share them. Just please try to remember that assuming your mother’s ability to have a happy life is ended now is not something any of us can say will be the case. I intend very much to make sure it is not going to be the case at all, and I am not alone.” He gave her a half hug, and kissed the crown of her head, and then went to make more tea for himself.

 

“What he said,” Thanadir added, reflectively. “He is not wrong about that, though there were times in my life I could not see it.”

 

“So what do we do now?” Chandra asked, blinking her burning eyes. “I don't...Uncle Thanadir, shit happens and I just want to  _ move _ , to just go and keep on going until...I don't know. I just want to walk until I find the end’v the world, and then grab a nice big bottle’v something a hundred proof and drink it until I can’t remember my own name.”

 

“Then what?” Thanadir asked, genuinely curious. “After you wake up very sick, I mean. Does it help?”

 

She shrugged. “At least, if I feel sick physically, I’ve got less energy to devote to being miserable mentally. It’s like if you get a cold when you’re depressed, or...something like that.” None of them had ever had the flu for more than a few hours, so she couldn’t have said if it was the same with that.

 

“Oh!” Thanadir nodded, smiling. “You are depressed. I began to die, once; I remember. Yes, it is as you say. But that is not how to manage, if you wish to live. It means a person needs help. I...needed help,” he remembered, no longer exactly talking to her.

 

Chandra stared at him. “Began to -- you started Fading? Jesus fuck, Uncle Thanadir. Did you get good help, or just like...okay help?” She’d once overheard Da say that Uncle Thanadir had some Elf version of Asperger’s, which was why people cut him some slack when he said things that sounded...odd.

 

“Well…” he pondered.

 

“I think I can answer that,” Thranduil said. “At the time it was okay help, because it was...me. I did not understand what Thanadir needed or how to help him, but I did everything I could think of to help him wish to continue. It was really only after Earlene came into our lives, and your father; that was when we learned so much more about...Thanadir. Then it became….”

 

“Really good help,” Thanadir finished. “I still have difficult emotional burdens but I know that I am not alone. I have help. Support. Family. Just like Lorna, and you. None of us are alone, Chandra. But sometimes we have to make ourselves remember that.”

 

Nobody could ever accuse Chandra of being an effusive human being. Normally the only things she really hugged were cats, but she set her tea aside and went to hug Thanadir. “I’m shitty support,” she said, “but I try. I just...I’m shitty with people. Hell, I half moved out here because nobody at home likes me, and I got sick’v it.”

 

“We are all very different, under that roof,” Thranduil said. “You are not disliked, Chandra. What you perceive is something else, but now is not the time to discuss that. I understand why you needed to be here. The house wears on Earlene, Maglor, and others at times too. I do not blame you.”

 

Chandra released Thanadir, and retrieved her tea. “It’s so huge, you wouldn’t think it’d be crowded,” she said, curling up on the sofa. “Will you guys look after Atia and Supri, if they ever go back? I know they love it there, they might want to sooner or later, but Supri’s little, and Atia’s...kind’v young, for her age.” Poor Atia...according to Aunt Siobhan, it was her innocent questioning that had been the first rock in the landslide. Hopefully she didn't figure that out.

 

“Of course we will. We all have to go back eventually, Chandra.” Thranduil sighed. “What a mess, but this was bound to happen eventually.”

 

“It didn't have to happen,” she said, staring into her mug. “If my uncle wasn’t a hypocrite, and my da wasn’t so high and mighty he thought his shit didn't stink, none’v this’d be a problem. Uncle Pat grew up the same as Mam did, so I don't know where  _ this  _ came from. Da just thinks he’s better than everyone because...he exists.”

 

“Sometimes the only way people move beyond foolish beliefs is to hit the bottom, Chandra. They cannot see it until they are forced to see matters through a different lens. I feel fairly confident in saying that before long, both will realize their mistake. We all make mistakes, Chandra. Give it time, you will too. It is how we learn and grow. Objectively, it did not have to happen, that is true. But to expect that someone will be perfect their whole life long...that is rare indeed.” 

 

“And meanwhile, they hurt everyone around them,” she said. “I hope I don't ever screw up  _ that  _ bad.” Looking up at him, she asked, “What happens, when they come crawling back?”

 

“Are you asking me? For that is the only view I can really answer; my own. They will have to face me. And my wife, and Thanadir. Nothing can be hidden from me. And it will have to be determined whether they can return or whether it would serve everyone best, for some time to come, for them to dwell elsewhere. This is a serious issue, in my eyes. It runs far deeper than the hurt given to your mother, which is bad enough.”

 

“As long as they pay for it,” she said, with a thoughtfulness that was almost chilling. “As long as Mam’s okay. I hope it takes them a long time to come back, but it probably won’t, huh?”

 

“Hard to say, but I would imagine that it will not take long to realize that their actions were immensely regrettable.” Thranduil tilted her head. “How do you think they should ‘pay for it’?”

 

“I think something should hurt them as badly as they hurt Mam,” she said. “I think the people they love -- if they actually really love anyone but themselves -- should make them feel worthless. They should get back exactly what they gave.” She scowled. “Nobody makes my mam cry and gets away with it. Not even my da.” Mam, Atia, Supri...Shane was pissed, but he coped better than the rest of them put together. Da and Uncle Pat made everybody hurt, so yeah, they should suffer, too. It was only fair.

 

“You and Glorfindel would get along very well,” Thanadir said softly. “For that is what he did to me. My punishment is that I have to give what I took.” His gaze seemed far away just now, and he returned to sit on the sofa. Thranduil blinked, only now seeing the parallel. His lips parted a little. And he had no idea what to say, or if to say anything at all.

 

Chandra turned to him. “You mean, the book you’re making for Aunt Sharley to take to Aman?” They’d all helped Saoirse write the graphic novel that was going to go with the next mail run. “Uncle Thanadir, you had...you were afraid, when that happened, right? With Erestor? You weren’t like Da and Uncle Pat. They were just...nasty, because they’re assholes.” She wished she had any way with words at all, but her uncle’s situation was quite different. He  _ did  _ have certain mental problems, hadn’t even known such things existed at the time, and because of them had been terrified he was going to be replaced. He wasn’t, so far as she knew, riding a superiority complex so high he was practically touching outer space.

 

Thanadir shook his head, smiling weakly. “No, Chandra. I  _ was _ nasty. Horrible. In that moment, I was trying to hurt Erestor. What I did was very wrong, and that I now know I suffer from added difficulties compared to some others does not excuse my behavior. It does not matter, that I was sorry almost right away for my words. The damage was done, and I ruined the well-being of a good person. It was the same. I would give much, to undo my mistake, and I am serving the same kind of judgement you wish for your father and uncle. It is not unjust, and yet we all would rather that I had never made this error in the first place. I think before it is all over, they will end up...just like me.”

 

Chandra set aside her tea. “Uncle Thanadir, I don't believe you would’ve done it at all, if it wasn’t for the...the added difficulties,” she said seriously. “If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t’ve been afraid you’d get replaced. You’re too good a person to just do that to someone for no reason, and yeah, your reason was all in your own mind, but you couldn’t help that. You didn't put that fear there.”

 

Thanadir shook his head sadly. “You say that because you want to think well of me, and because you do not know me as fully as my marriage mates do. There are times something…” he grasped for the right words… “something happens in my mind that drives me to try to lord it over another. It is part of what is wrong with me; fear is not the only problem. Not a year ago, I tried to...I tried to assert myself over Earlene. This is not something that only happened thousands of years ago, Chandra. This is a flaw in me that I struggle with. I have gotten better, learned more what to look for and when it might happen. Good people are not immune to very big problems. And...your father is the same, though I know you do not wish to believe that right now.” He wiped tears away from his eyes. This was not easy for him to admit to someone outside of his closest confidants, but his pride was worth less than Chandra’s difficulties. If his story could help her, then his struggles were perhaps not in vain.

 

That was...damn. Chandra struggled to process that, and sipped her tea. Her first thought was to wonder how the hell Aunt Earlene had left him  _ mobile  _ after that, but the rest...Jesus. “Angie would poke you if she heard you say there was something wrong with you,” she said, after a long pause. She had a really, really hard time imagining Uncle Thanadir being as he said he was, but he was hardly going to lie to her.

 

Setting aside her tea, she hugged him again. “It’s not...it’s not that I don't want to believe it’v Da, or at least that’s not just it. You’re...different, Uncle Thanadir. I think the word’s ‘neuroatypical’. Da isn’t. He’s never struggled like you had to...and I had no idea it was that bad for you. I’d thought it was something way far in the past.”

 

“He will not mind me telling you, if he has said this much. Earlene did not leave him mobile,” Thranduil grinned.

 

Thanadir snorted, but smiled, before burying his face in his hands. “I think the human expression is, she handed me my...rear end...on a plate.”

 

“Do you know, you have just said something rather important, Chandra,” Thranduil mused. “Your father never struggled. That...matters. A great deal. Because the luxury to have never had to wrestle with difficulties produces someone who lacks understanding of certain realities the rest of us take for granted.”

 

Chandra stared at Thanadir. “Okay, one, I want that story, and two...I never thought about it until now, but unfortunately, for all I don't actually want to defend him, he did struggle for a while. Katherine.” She made a face. “Though I don't know what Uncle Pat’s excuse is, since I know how he and Mam grew up.”

 

“I can answer that,” Thranduil said, grinning at Thanadir’s groan and blush. His poor husband really did not want to have to tell that particular tale. “Your uncle grew up believing that certain things were true. One of those things is that no matter what you did, if you hadn’t murdered someone, you could still think that you were better than the worst of the worst. In his mind, it is not possible to sink lower. He never took the time to re-think those beliefs in light of what the realities of our future will be, among other...issues. And regarding your father and the loss of his first wife...that is the thing, Chandra. He experienced grief and loss, but never completed the steps needed to come out of that process a healthy person. Shutting down and isolating oneself for over a decade is not the same as healing and moving forward with a different kind of strength.”

 

“So basically, Uncle Pat’s just an idiot,” she said. “All right, that I can buy. I still want to punch him, because he’s an idiot, but I get it.” She laughed. “I kind’v wish I could’ve seen Aunt Siobhan punch him. She said it was like being ten all over again.” She didn't understand how siblings could actually physically fight, but she hadn’t grown up like her mam did. As for her father...she’d never thought about it that way, but it made sense. Hell, maybe that had contributed to...this. She wasn’t going to cut him any slack over it, though, because he wasn’t like Mam -- he’d grown up with effective, healthy coping skills.

 

“Yes. Idiot. I am certain Siobhan left an impression,” Thranduil shook his head. “Probably she broke a bone or two as well.”

 

Chandra burst out laughing. “She hits like a Donovan. Probably better than a Donovan anymore, if she’s been training with everyone else.” She sighed. “Okay, that still leaves us with Mam, and what to do about her. Because Mam is like me, and will go hide if she feels like she has to.”

 

“You can run but you can’t hide,” Thanadir quipped from the sofa. 

 

“No more late night television, meldir. Honestly,” Thranduil frowned. “I think what he means is, she will not find that to be terribly successful. I am old, and stubborn. Sharley is older and…” he gestured, looking for a suitable world.

 

“A minor deity?” Thanadir offered.

 

“Close enough,” Thranduil agreed. “Oh and Angie is coming here. And Jessie. So really…”

 

“Lorna is outnumbered. And I can still sit on her,” Thanadir said smugly.

 

Jessie was coming? Well, there was a bright spot. Chandra eyed her uncle closely, wondering exactly what would happen if he tried to sit on Mam. It might be worth watching. “And Aunt Sharley has the voices, but they can’t follow Mam out here like they do in the forest. Though given Kurt’s...Kurt, that might be a good thing.”

 

“No argument from me,” Thranduil groused, taking his seat once again.

 

Chandra sighed. “Okay, let’s do this,” she said. “But by now you know just how well I cope with change, so...fair warning. I can’t promise I’m always gonna be...okay.” Yes, a bit of Aunt Sharley had crept into her accent. It had wormed its way into a lot of people’s.

 

Speak -- well, think -- of the devil, her aunt and her mam both came walking up the front, path, and --

 

“Okay, what in the  _ shit _ ?” Chandra breathed, staring in fascinated horror. When the pair came in through the front door, she shook her head. “Aunt Sharley, that is so, so,  _ so  _ wrong.”

 

“Funny, that’s what I said,” her mother muttered.

 

“It certainly feels...odd,” her aunt said, staring at her own tiny hands. “I have new respect for how much energy your mam must expend a day, just trying to keep up with other people.”

 

Mam poked her in the side. “Just for that, I’m not putting any sugar in your tea.”

 

Sharley glanced at Thranduil. _ So, something rather...interesting… has happened,  _ she said.  _ Something I'd like your advice on.  _ She might technically be a more powerful telepath than he was, but he had vastly more experience.

 

_ Do tell,  _ he answered, stifling a smile.

 

_ Lorna read my mind,  _ she said, taking up residence in a fat armchair while the Lorna in question went into the kitchen.  _ Sorta. She knew what I was thinking, anyway, even if she didn't know the details. I knew we were connected at the brain, but I didn't think it was  _ that  _ strong -- and I really didn't think I broadcast that strongly. _

 

Lorna, once she’d put the kettle on, returned to the sitting-room, and gave her daughter a hug. Chandra looked better than she’d hoped for, but Thranduil and Thanadir were good like that.

 

_ That is...your creation within her, Sharley. Mortals not within a marriage bond with one of us have no intrinsic ability in this regard. I...cannot recommend allowing it to go further than it already has, but perhaps it would be better to discuss this with your Lady. It is not my place to tell you what to do in this regard or any other. _

 

_ I’m gonna have to,  _ Sharley sighed.  _ I didn't do this on purpose, but I almost wonder if it will help Lorna, right now. It’s certainly distracting, and she could use a distraction.  _ If Vairë could teach them some kind of block, so that Lorna need not be at the mercy of any potential stray thought...that would be a good thing. At present, Sharley had no idea how to totally shut it down, and she thought perhaps even her Lady might have to give it some thought, because she doubted this had ever happened before.

 

Thranduil nodded, worried. Humans were not...accustomed to the burden that telepathy could bring; it was much for those of them who had adjusted to the existence of his own mental radar...but for his thoughts to be open to them, unfettered, could only be...he really could not think about it. With a vast sense of relief, he realized Angie was approaching the door; seconds later the knock came.

 

Sharley rose to answer it, and discovered that Jessie too had come. Both of them looked somewhat weary, and she could only imagine how they’d scrambled to prepare for this.

 

“I’ll make more tea,” Lorna said, rising. “You go on and sit down, you two.”

 

Angie watched Lorna carefully, and looked at Chandra before turning her eyes to Thranduil.  _ How is everything? _

 

_ Stable for the moment, but this will be a struggle. We have been trying to appeal to reason and keep the tendency toward viciously angry emotions at a minimum. And...I had a discussion earlier with Lorna, about Chandra. I think we all know something is not right within her mind; I worry for her more than Lorna. I only just now learned that Ratiri is the one who has flatly discourage the use of medications you have that could help treat or isolate the problem. This...displeased me. Chandra is an adult now and she needs help more than even her mother. _

 

Angie fought the urge to roll her eyes, because that thought process of Ratiri’s had always annoyed her.  _ Ratiri is of the group of doctors who were trained to think that nobody under eighteen should be given any kind of medication, lest it somehow harm their growing brains. Later research and experience proved that to be, if you’ll excuse me, bullshit, but perhaps he was afraid to give something to someone whose family history is as...interesting...as the Donovans. It doesn’t excuse it, but it could explain it. _

 

_ I’ve suspected for a long time now that Chandra’s problem is at least partly organic. She was raised in a stable, loving environment, even if the size of your household was not ideal for someone of her temperament. Her problems are not learned behavior, although a few of her attitudes were informed by her environment. As Lorna puts it, she has no middle gears, and I think trying her on medication would be a good starting point.  _ Poor Chandra was too much of an introvert to live in a household as full as Eldamar, and while Angie fully understood why she hadn’t been allowed to live on her own sooner, it was still unfortunate she hadn’t been able to. If she could have moved to her mother’s cottage at fourteen or so, it might have done her a world of good -- but after those episodes with the alcohol, it wasn’t an option.

 

_ This is much like what I encountered with Ailill earlier when he had a complex health problem. I can help, I can heal...but I hesitate to do so when I cannot perceive the mechanism of the problem. It is like...it is not ideal. She cannot go into the future with this liability. At least...I do not wish her to. _

 

_ No, she can’t,  _ Angie said, watching Jessie go to sit beside the poor girl.  _ Especially not with the future being what it is. I suspect there’s a whole lot more lurking in the Donovan family tree than just the Blank, and that she might have been unlucky enough to inherit some other thing. Lorna told me she had great difficulty, at times, in Yellowstone, because unlike the rest of them, she couldn't shut out the fact that she knew everyone she met was going to die horribly in four years. This is not an ideal situation in which to teach her the magnitude of coping skills she needs, but if she wants to learn them, I think she can. _

 

_ Chandra said something earlier that gave me pause; she mentioned her father’s loss of his first wife. If you consider it, Angie, Ratiri has no middle gear either. I think he proved that well enough last night. He is either utterly calm and rational, or maniacally not in control of himself. I have never seen him ‘only a little upset.’ That may be worth considering. _

 

_ That makes way too much sense,  _ Sharley put in.  _ He’s said he just emotionally shut down for fifteen years, and isolated himself when he wasn’t at work. And from what he’s said of his parents, neither of them had middle gears, either -- either they were screaming at each other, or so affectionate it kinda made him sick. _

 

_ So it very well could be genetic on both sides,  _ Angie said, fighting a sigh, _ and Chandra was the child unlucky enough to inherit it. _

 

Lorna came out with two mugs of tea, handing one to Angie and one to Jessie, who was talking softly with Chandra. If either girl was aware of the three-way telepathic conversation, they weren’t letting on.

 

*****

 

{May 27, 2034}

 

Pat broke first, and went back to the forest.

 

Ratiri didn't try to stop him; he knew there was no point. What sort of reception Pat thought he’d get, he didn't know, but he was well within his right to go chance it. 

 

Ratiri himself was not...there. His mind was such a morass of anger, disappointment, pain, and a growing fear. Once the worst of his rage wore off, he started to realize the enormity of what he’d done, so he did the only thing he could do: he drank. A lot.

 

It helped, just as it had after he lost Katherine. In taking away his ability to feel -- or even think coherently -- it left him hollow. It also often left him sick, but that was a small price to pay for the emptying of his thoughts.

 

He lay on the bed in his cheap hotel, staring at a water-stain on the ceiling. Pat had taken the Mystery Machine back to the forest, but Ratiri had more than enough money for a cab, should he need one. For now, he was close enough to a pub that it wasn’t necessary; he went, ate, drank himself stupid, went back to the motel and slept it off, rinse, repeat. This way, he couldn’t consider the future, or wonder what he was to do even tomorrow.

 

**

 

Pat was not surprised when Lorna didn't answer her phone. However, neither did Siobhan, nor Grania, nor his eldest daughter. Eris was likewise a bust. After some hesitation, he tried Sharley, but she didn't answer, either.

 

He felt horribly sick to his stomach, and he wasn’t sure if it was guilt, fear, hangover, or all three, but his need to make sure his sister was even still alive drove him on like a half-crazed thing. All he could think of was that he’d looked after her all their childhood, and then he’d gone and done  _ that _ . She wasn’t...she wasn’t normal -- not that any of the Donovans were -- but she was worse. It hadn’t just been the Blank with her, though he hadn’t realized it at the time. Chandra had taken after her, even if none of them seemed to realize it, and oh god, what would he do if she wasn’t okay? What would he do if she’d...if she’d  _ done  _ something? If she’d done herself an injury, or worse? Thranduil wouldn’t let her, sure, but only if he was around to stop it, and he and Thanadir were out of town. Out of the country, even.

 

The Mystery Machine came to a halt in the driveway, and he fumbled to unbuckle the seatbelt. With a sigh, he entered the front door, wishing his head hurt less.

 

Thranduil was the first to come around the corner, followed by Thanadir and Earlene. Calanon stood behind them. And not a one of them appeared to be pleased to see him.

 

“Is Lorna here?” Pat asked. “I’m sorry now, and I’m sure I’ll be sorrier in the future, but is she okay?”

 

“Four days after, and suddenly now you care?” Thranduil asked archly. “Lorna is safe, which is all you need to know. Until you justify to me why you should live among us when my laws and judgements apparently offend you so, it would be best for you to depart.” Earlene, Thranduil and Thanadir had essentially dispassionate expressions, whereas Calanon behind them was openly glowering but said nothing.

 

Pat...Pat had feared that, and yet expected it. He had no answer, no justification, because the foremost thought in his mind was to wonder what ‘safe’ meant. ‘Safe’ didn't necessarily mean ‘well’. “She’s in Baile, isn’t she?” His voice was unsteady, and he found himself quailing beneath their expressions.

 

“I will go in order,” Thranduil said, with a measure of menace in his tone. “Of course she is not well; you rather ensured that, did you not? Lorna made it abundantly clear she has no wish to see you, which is why I have no intention of informing you of her whereabouts. Your sister is safe, as I already said, Patrick Donovan. She will not harm herself, she is being cared for as are all of those affected by your outburst. I repeat, you should go. Go, and spend the time reflecting and not in the bottom of a bottle, if you can manage it. Only then will there be anything to discuss.”

 

Pat flinched. He’d never, ever seen Thranduil like this, and it was fucking  _ terrifying _ . He wouldn’t have tried to hang around even if he’d wanted to -- not with that look bent on him -- but he had somewhere he needed to be.

 

Out the door he went, gunning the Mystery Machine’s engine to life and backing out of the driveway. His hands were unsteady as he shifted, and he shuddered.

 

Back inside, Thranduil shook his head.

 

“Well spoken, my King,” Earlene murmured, finding no means whatsoever by which she would have thought to improve what he had told Pat. Calanon, mollified, returned to Ailill in the Heart Room, where he already wore an anxious expression.

 

“He is going to go to Baile,” Thranduil said morosely. “So much for hopes of a quiet evening. I am going to warn them; I will send Shane a message. That man Patrick has an amazing capacity for not listening to counsel.”

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes. This would probably become...ugly.

 

**

 

Shane facepalmed. Hard.

 

Atia and Supri were helping Aunt Mairead bake one of her cakes (this was apparently mainly so they could eat the batter in the process) so at least they’d be out of the way. What the hell was Uncle Pat  _ thinking _ ? Why would he come to Baile, after...well, all of that? Shane could see not wanting to stick around a house containing a pissed-off Uncle Thranduil, but Jesus bloody Christ.

 

Well, he couldn’t tell Mam this, or Chandra. Aunt Sharley, Angie, and Jessie had managed to distract them with long walks through the woods, tea, and way too many biscuits, and nobody needed Uncle Pat fucking  _ that  _ up. Maybe Aunt Siobhan and Aunt Mairead -- no, not Aunt Mairead, she’d try to run Pat over with her Explorer. Aunt Siobhan it was, then.

 

And at least Uncle Pat didn't actually know where he and Chandra were staying, and so wouldn’t know where Mam was. They just needed to get him out of town before he could make A Scene.

 

The day was sunny, if not terribly warm, and he squinted as he headed out into the empty streets. He was really glad Baile wasn’t as deserted as Skykomish was; it would have just been too much, and made Mam even worse off. Anyone in connection with a business still lived here, but enough others remained to make sure the village still felt lived-in. 

 

He navigated the quiet streets until he reached  Main Street, crossing it to get to the pub. Aunt Siobhan had gone for a pint, and he wanted one for himself just now. The pub was mostly empty, with just a few sitting at the bar and two tables occupied, so at least she was easy to spot. (Seriously though, why was the Donovan DNA game so strong? Why? Sure, he and Chandra were the freak tall people, but even they had the Donovan facial features and the green eyes.)

 

“We have a problem,” he said, flopping onto a stool beside her. “An annoying one, so for Christ’s sake, Big Jamie, gimme a pint, will you?”

 

Big Jamie eyed him. “Depends on the problem,” he said. He knew all about Donovan coping mechanisms -- Siobhan at least seemed to have hers under control -- and he didn't want to go contribute to creating another alcoholic.

 

“Uncle Pat’s on his way to Baile.”

 

Big Jamie grabbed him a pint glass and filled it.

 

Aunt Siobhan growled. “Eejit. I’d say he ought to know better, but obviously doesn’t know shit right now. Well, your mam’s not at your aunt’s, so he won’t find her there. I supposed I ought to warn Mairead, just so she doesn’t wind up totally surprised and murder him on pure reflex.” She drained the last of her drink and hopped off the stool, stalking out the door.

 

Shane pulled out his mobile again, and rang his uncle Thranduil. He needed more information.

 

**

 

“Hello, Shane,” Thranduil said. “Sorry about the bad news.”

 

“I wish I could say I can’t believe it, but I can,” Shane sighed. “Aunt Siobhan’s gone to warn Aunt Mairead. What happened? We’re going to try to head him off before Mam can find out he’s in town, but what’re we going to be dealing with?”

 

“He is agitated. Not thinking clearly. Basically he is suddenly panicking about your mother’s welfare after three days of drinking like a fish. I barred him from returning here until he could explain himself. He was told that your mother was safe and cared for, and that she did not wish to see him. So of course he is coming anyway. If he does indeed find her, tell me. I considered following him but...I will come if this does not end well.”

 

“It really won’t end well if Aunt Mairead gets her hands on him,” Shane grumbled. “Did he say anything about Da? Because if  _ he  _ turns up, somebody might actually die.”

 

“No. But...suffice it to say he will not be turning up.” Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose. He was so, so tempted to relate that Ratiri had not surfaced from the bottle long enough to think about that or anything else but...he had his ethics to mind, and this circumstance did not dismiss that entirely.

 

“Of fucking course not,” Shane growled. “All right, well, sod him. I’ll let you know what happens, one way or the other. Aunt Sharley, Angie, and Jessie’ve got Mam and Chandra handled, for now, but Mam’s feeling guilty Aunt Sharley’s here and not home with her baby, so I don't know what to tell her, there. Neither does Aunt Sharley, really.”

 

“Well, we have to make the best of the situation, and at the moment, no one is willing to risk that your mother will not have further needs. Especially if nonsense like this continues.” He sighed. “I will talk to everyone here. Perhaps something can be...managed.”

 

“Angie’s trying her and Chandra on some meds, but they haven’t been on them long enough for us to know what they’re actually going to do,” Shane said, and sipped his pint. “Mam’s on some kind’v heavy-duty stuff called Lexapro, and Chandra’s on...what did Angie call it...Lamotrigine. They’re both mood-stabilisers, whatever those even are. She says it’s too early to really tell with either, but Mam’s getting, um, spacy. Which is apparently a common side-effect.” 

 

He sipped his pint again, and snorted. “This morning she put the milk in the cupboard and the cereal in the fridge when she made breakfast. And for Christ’s sake don't tell Aunt Earlene Mam’s eating cereal.” He could only imagine what his aunt would make of that.

 

“Trust me, Earlene will not care. There are far more important matters,” Thranduil said. “Keep me informed, though I am fairly certain we will see each other before long. And...good luck.”

 

“We might need it,” Shane said. “Thanks, Uncle Thranduil. I’ll let you know what the fallout is.”

 

“Why am I all too afraid that will be the most accurate choice of word?” he sighed. “Alright. Until later.” He disconnected the call, shaking his head. “Pat, you eejit,” he muttered under his breath.

 

**

 

Pat drove to Baile rather faster than he ought to, hands still trembling as they gripped the wheel. He had to go to Baile -- going anywhere else simply wasn’t to be thought of. If Lorna was there, so was Siobhan. And if they were both there….

 

It had always been them, the Donovan kids against the world, because god knew it was against them. He’d looked after them all, as best he could, and he’d betrayed his little sister in the worst way -- and in doing so, he’d betrayed Siobhan as well. They’d all argued among themselves, sure, especially growing up, but that had been, well,  _ arguing _ . Lorna had stripped the hide off him verbally a few times, when he tried to butt in when he wasn’t wanted, but it hadn’t been like that. She’d told him to get fucked, not torn into who he was as a person; the worst thing she’d ever called him was a gobshite (perhaps the most  _ creative  _ was cuntnugget. He’d saved that one and used it in later life.)

 

The point was, even at her worst, she’d never come close to this. None of them had, not even the time they locked Mick in the back shed with the spiders. This was...this was Da-worthy, as much as that made him cringe. It might not have been a physical blow, but it was just as bad.

 

And what of Grania, of his Lorna and Saoirse? Would they look at him the same way Thranduil, Earlene, and Thanadir had, or would it be even worse? Given nobody had answered their phone, he suspected the answer was ‘worse’.

 

_ One thing at a time, Pat.  _ Thranduil wanted an answer, but he wouldn’t have one to give until he’d made sure Lorna was okay -- or however okay she could be, right now. Maybe she’d pull a Siobhan, and punch him; if she broke his face, maybe he wouldn’t feel quite so wretched. She could break both his legs too, if she wanted.

 

His fear and guilt had churned into something outright toxic in his gut, so intense that he nearly had to pull off the motorway to be sick. Once he’d gone off the Kildare exit, he did just that, spitting bile onto the pavement while the sun beat warm on the back of his head.  _ Jesus _ .

 

There was a bottle of stale, warm water behind the passenger’s seat, and he swigged and spat with it before he got on the road again. He’d do this, and then...he didn't know what. He couldn’t see that far ahead. Go try to figure out what in the name of mother fuck he was to tell Thranduil. 

 

He grimaced when he reached Baile, the picturesque little village spread out before him. You’d never know over half its population had gone; it was the kind of place that was sleepy to begin with.

 

His stomach roiled again as he pulled into the street that led to Mairead’s house, out past the edge of town. Was he even going to be able to speak? Did he  _ need  _ to? Let Lorna vent her anger like a Donovan -- he didn't need to say anything to let her pummel him senseless.

 

But wait, what? Ther Charger wasn’t at Mairead’s -- it was out front of a small, weathered house, the siding painted a faded dark blue. It took his blearly mind a moment to figure out why, but the hatchback Shane and Chandra shared was parked beside it. This must be Chandra’s home base.  _ Okay, I'm not  _ completely  _ braindead. _

 

Pulling up out front, he set the brake and killed the engine, his hand trembling so badly when he tried to extract the key that he nearly broke it off in the ignition.

 

**

 

Angie heard the distinctive rumble of the Mystery Machine’s insanely overpowered engine approach, but at first thought it would head for Mairead’s house. When it halted outside of Chandra’s, it was all she could do not to let out a stream of highly unprofessional words.

 

Shane had warned her of Pat’s intentions, and she and Sharley had managed to at least bundle Lorna back into the kitchen, where they were attempting to bake cookies -- emphasis on ‘attempting’, because neither was familiar with this house’s geriatric oven, and the kitchen really was too small for two people. Sharley remained Lorna-sized (and dear  _ god  _ did that still seem so wrong) and it was still too small.

 

Jessie had pried Chandra out of the house, at least; they’d gone for a walk in the woods near where Lorna’s cottage used to reside, so she wouldn’t be around to witness...whatever the fuck might happen, if they didn't head Pat off at the pass.

 

Angie hurried out the front door, shutting it as quietly as she could. Pat looked...well, he looked like shit. He had three days’ worth of stubble on his face, his eyes were somehow both red-rimmed  _ and  _ bloodshot.  _ Donovans _ . Angie was fond of them all, but hand them a personal crisis and they fell apart.

 

“Pat, you can’t go in,” she said firmly. “Lorna’s doing more or less okay, but she  _ won’t  _ be if she lays eyes on you.”

 

“I need her to hit me,” Pat said, of course utterly ignoring her. He even sounded awful, and she wondered how much he’d been drinking in the last days. Probably more than the human liver would happily take.

 

Angie stared at him. “That’s not going to happen, Pat,” she said, shifting so she stood in his way. “You can’t be here.” 

 

“I can’t be anywhere else,” he said, shaking his head. Yeah, he smelled like booze, all right, with a faint whiff of cigarette smoke -- it was illegal to smoke in pubs in Ireland, so he must have been in some back-alley nightmare of a dive. “I’ve got...there’s nowhere else to go. I fucked up, and I hurt my sister, and I bloody well need to apologize to her.”

 

“Pat, she doesn’t want to see you,” she said. “This won’t end well and you know it.” 

 

“Well, I’m here now,” he said, his tone utterly bleak. “All she’s got to do is hit me and she’ll feel better. Worked when we were kids, anyway.” He managed a small, sad smile, because he had no idea what else to do. She really would feel better if she hit him, though -- or at least kicked him a little.

 

_ Oh, good Jesus…  _ She might have once, but she wasn’t that person anymore. She might get temporary solace out of hurting him in this moment, but she’d feel terrible later. “Pat, I’m only going to say this one more time,” Angie said. “Go. Get in your van, and head back to the forest. I'm sure there are plenty of people there who are pissed off at you, but I’m equally sure you can work with that.” 

 

Pat sighed. “I can’t go back until I’ve got an answer to the question Thranduil posed me,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I haven’t got one yet. I probably won’t until I’ve let Lorna...hit me, or kick me, or do whatever she needs to do to feel better. I fucked up, Angie. I fucked up bad, and I’m going to try to fix it.” He was just a bit too fast, easily weaving his way around her.

 

As there was no one around to hear her, Angie did not feel at all guilty about saying, “Oh, for fuck’s  _ sake _ ,” before she followed him. She had officially been in Ireland too long.

 

In the kitchen, Sharley’s eyes widened. If she’d thought he’d be so persistent, she’d have gone herself… “Lorna stay here,” she said, sounding as serene as she could. She had to navigate around some of their mess to leave the kitchen, but at least nothing fell over.

 

“Oh, like  _ hell _ ,” Lorna growled, blinding rage searing through her. She vaulted over the kitchen counter, landing somewhat ungracefully in front of her no-longer-giant-sized friend. She had a whole lot more experience of being short than Sharley did, and was thus better at maneuvering. The kitchen-table was on the other side of the counter, and she used it as a drunken springboard to overtake Sharley, nearly knocking them both over in the process.

 

“Lorna--”

 

The house was so small that she reached the front door before Sharley could actually overtake her, wrenching it open to find Pat and Angie arguing on the other side. Well, Pat was arguing; Angie was somehow managing to stay calm and collected as she attempted to get him to leave.

 

“You utter  _ bastard, _ ” Lorna snarled. Oh, she itched to hit him, but god dammit, she wasn’t that person anymore. Siobhan had already broken his nose anyway, so it wasn’t like there was much more she could do. “You get off my front porch, you complete piece’v  _ shit _ .”

 

She shoved him, hard, even as Sharley grabbed her around the waist and bodily dragged her backward. “Dammit, Sharley, put me  _ down _ !”

 

“Nope,” Sharley said. Shifting her form back to her normal height had been a somewhat imperfect process, given the speed with which she’d had to do it, and it meant her clothing didn't shift with her, so she looked rather like a scarecrow. “Not gonna happen.”

 

The rest seemed to happen in slow motion -- Pat staggered backward, Angie made a fruitless grab for him, and he went stumbling back down the front steps. To Lorna’s utter horror, he just kept going, landing on the front walk with a  _ crack  _ far, far too much like another she’d once heard, almost forty years ago.

 

It was sunset then, a hot summer sunset on an evening that smelled like sea and pollution. Their front walk had been cracked, the lawn nothing more than dead grass and moss, but her father had lain so like that when he fell, his blood and his brains leaking out onto the pavement. She’d screamed drug-addled defiance into the night back then; now she simply screamed in horror --

 

Sharley did not actually have permission to do this, but at this point she was afraid for Lorna’s mental health, and so severed her consciousness. Thranduil had, she knew, done the same thing once, many years ago, so hopefully that meant it wasn’t somehow ethically awful. 

 

_ “Well, this is a clusterfuck and a half,”  _ Kurt muttered.  _ “Look at him bleed, though.” _

 

_ “Ew, Kurt. Stop helping.” _

 

“Thranduil’s gonna shout at me,” she sighed. “Or at least, give me a stern lecture, and I totally deserve it.”

 

**

 

“How did this happen when you were warned of his coming?” Thranduil said. “I do not understand. There were four of you, not including Lorna, versus one discombobulated human male?” His tone was not unkind so much as...uncomprehending.

 

“We didn't move the Charger,” Sharley sighed. “I woulda, except you know how Lorna is with that car -- short of searching her mind for the location of the keys, I woulda only known if I’d asked her, and then she woulda found out about Pat. We were hoping he’d go to Mairead’s, since he didn't actually know where Chandra was living.”

 

“I thought that was where he was headed,” Shane said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was going to deal with him before Aunt Mairead could get her hands on him.”

 

“I should have tried to restrain him,” Angie said, “but I didn't think he’d try to get around me that fast. I didn't think he  _ could _ .”

 

He shook his head. “What is done, is done. And now what? Do we know how badly he is injured?”

 

“I stabilised him, insofar as I could,” Sharley said. “My healing abilities are fairly minor, but I made certain he wasn’t gonna die, at least. Siobhan called from the hospital and said that he has a skull fracture, and that he’s lucky he didn't wind up like their father. He’ll be in there a while, they think.” He was not, so far, even awake. Time would tell.

 

“If I hadn’t been playing at being tiny, I could have caught Lorna,” she sighed. “I let my spatial awareness get thrown off by the change in height.”

 

“And now what do we do about Lorna?” he looked at Angie. “Had I known this would happen, so help me I would have simply had Thanadir sit on him.”

 

Earlene raised an eyebrow, and bodily dragged Maglor into the increasingly crowded room, nudging the bewildered ellon to go see his wife. Babies made everything better.

“Forgive the intrusion,” she said. “But remind me again why being here is somehow better than Lorna being in her gran’s cottage in the forest? What stops Ratiri from pulling a similar stunt? If we’ve not heard a word from him in all this time, I give you three guesses how he has been spending his time, and two do not count.”

 

Annwn reached for her mother, and Sharley took her, holding her close as she leaned over the kiss Maglor on the cheek. “Because her cottage is in the forest,” she said, “and the forest will probably remind her too much of Ratiri just yet. You’ve got a point, though...what  _ would  _ stop him from showing up here?”

 

“The thought of facing his children,” Angie said. “Baile is a kind of psychological safe zone for Lorna, though after this, it might well not be. If she’s going to go back to the forest, it needs to be her idea -- or at least, she needs to think it is. Tricking her, or manipulating her...that’s so ethically sticky I would hesitate to do it. Is there any compelling need to bring her back?”

 

“To my mind, yes there is,” Earlene said without apology. “She can be protected there. Buffered there by the two who can do the most to keep her stable and who are the closest to her. I don’t buy that the forest reminds her of Ratiri. Hell if that’s true,  _ Baile _ should remind her of Ratiri; they met here. We need something like this happening twice like we need holes in our heads. Just my...two cents. Sorry. I don’t mean to be so outspoken, it’s just that....goddammit none of this should ever have happened in the first place, because right now Earlene needs to state the obvious and please pardon my language,” came out all in one fell swoop. Maglor raised an eyebrow but smiled more than anything else. Even he could see that this was a...mess.

 

Thought of that happening more than once made Angie shudder a little. As environment went, she thought the forest  _ would  _ be somewhat more negative, simply because Lorna lived in Baile for eleven years before she met Ratiri -- but, when weighed against the possibility of a repeat of this mess, it was definitely the lesser of two evils.

 

Sharley frowned, even as she cuddled Annwn. “I could get her to go home,” she said, “but it would go against everything I am, in addition to just being...well, the only word for it is ‘shitty’. Thranduil, I think it might be easier if you just asked her.” She looked at him. “You’re the brother who didn't let her down. If you asked, and gave her a game plan, I think she’d do it.”

 

“There is no need to resort to that. I believe she can see reason. I too would not use my abilities against her. Not for this. But what Earlene says...it is practical. However. She will not consent to this unless Shane and Chandra urge her to; it will matter that they are cared for. So before she wakes, that is the first thing to be settled.”

 

“I think she ought to,” Shane said. “It’s not like Chandra and I don't have a car, and we’ve got Aunt Mairead.”

 

“Jessie’s agreed to stay for a while, too,” Angie said. “And I can come back and forth.”

 

“Who’s doing what now?” Chandra asked, coming through the front door just in time to hear that.

 

“We’re trying to convince your mother to go back to the forest,” Angie said. “There’s been...a bit of a situation.”

 

“Come here,” Sharley said, shifting Annwn into one arm so she could reach out to Chandra. “Let me show you.”

 

It didn't take long at all, and the poor girl groaned. “Oh, fucking hell. Yeah, it’s better to get Mam back to the bloody forest, and maybe we should move houses. It’s not like there aren’t a load more available.”

 

“Well, then, as I will refuse to take no for an answer, I would say that this is settled. There is only one more thing to discuss. Which is, I want to be as assured as possible that Chandra and Shane cannot have this happen to them. Can you promise me that wherever you go, that your cars are left in such a place as to make it impossible to determine your whereabouts? That would help a great deal. I do not wish to assign a guard to you, but if it becomes necessary I will not hesitate to do so.”

 

“We don't really need a car for much in Baile anyway,” Shane said, “so that won’t be hard.”

 

“The problem is, Da knows about this house,” Chandra sighed. “Man, I really  _ like  _ this house. I know there’s loads’v others, but the fact that I have to move because my da might be as much’v an eejit gobshite as my uncle does not please me at all.”

 

Jessie choked on a laugh, because she sounded so much like an Elf at that last bit, and yet she was...Chandra.

 

“Well hopefully, this will be a temporary circumstance,” Thranduil said. “But I would feel far better knowing you cannot be easily found. Unless, of course, seeing your father is something you wish to do.”

 

“Fuck no,” the twins chorused. “We can pick a house at the other end of the village -- not that that’s saying a whole lot -- and just park the cars out back. At this point, it doesn’t matter if we tear up someone’s lawn,” Shane added.

 

“Alright,” Earlene said. “Let’s decide how we are doing this as regards cars and people and...everything.”

 

*****

 

{May 30, 2034}

 

Ratiri had learned how to nurse a drink, maintaining a steady low buzz rather than getting completely soused. It meant he could drink all day, and thus still avoid that pesky thing called ‘thinking’.

 

He hadn’t heard from Pat, and he wondered if that was a good sign, or a bad one. He’d actually hazarded calling the man’s mobile, but the battery must have been dead. Either that or someone had taken the phone from him.

 

In any event, it was eight in the evening, and he’d been drinking and nibbling on pub sandwiches since eleven that morning. He’d actually managed a shower that morning, though lacking a razor, his stubble was threatening to turn into a rather frightening beard. His motel room had a complimentary razor, but he hadn’t felt like using it.

 

“Rough week?” the barkeep finally decided to ask. This bloke had gotten thrown out, or he was Brian Boru.

 

“Beyond rough,” Ratiri said. “Drinking’s better than thinking, at this point.”

 

“Maybe. Much as it’s good for my till, it won’t work forever. Just saying. Were you with her a long time?”

 

“Eighteen years,” Ratiri sighed, draining the last of his pint. What the hell, might as well go for broke. “Then I found out she killed someone.”

 

“Yeah? How’d that play out? She find out you were with another lady?”

 

He wondered if the barman actually believed him, if that was his reaction, or lack of one. “No,” he said, with a slightly bitter attempt at a smile, “no, she killed a man, years ago. He was going to hurt a friend of ours, but she didn't have to kill anyone. She knows how to fight -- she could have just left the man a mess.”

 

“Whaddya mean, ‘going to hurt someone?’ Like, he had it coming to him and she got in the middle’v it?”

 

“He was one of a group of homophobes,” Ratiri sighed. “They’d abducted one of our friends, and they were going to do -- well, something unspeakable to him. She and three of our other friends chased them down and killed them all. They could have just beaten them, but they killed them.”

 

The man stopped wiping the bar with the towel and looked Ratiri dead in the eye. “You’re...joking, right? Lad, that’s not killing, that’s doing Mother Erin a fekkin’  _ favor _ .”

 

Ratiri stared at him. “ _ Murdering  _ someone? They didn't have any right to decide whether those men lived or died. We don't live in a world of vigilantes.”

 

“Just a world where it’s ok for homophobes to ruin some poor man’s life because he exists, eh? I’ve got some news for you. My brother’s gay. He can’t walk now, because’v what a bunch’v men exactly like that did to him one night. I don’t know what kind of perfect little privileged world you come from, but the rest’v us have to see those we love victimized by gobshites that don’t deserve to live. You think the government keeps a lid on that? That things’re just? What justice does my brother get, eh? Wish I knew who your woman was so I could personally thank her.” His eyes blazed into Ratiri’s with thinly concealed anger.

 

“God, no, of  _ course _ that wouldn’t have been okay,” Ratiri said, appalled. “But that’s why the world has prisons. Killing people without due process...that’s how you get dictators.”  _ Killing without due process,  _ he thought.  _ You mean, like we did to Donal? _

 

_ Oh, shut up.  _ He tried to force the thought away. He hadn’t be happy about  _ that  _ either, and yet, like an idiot, he’d gone along with it.

 

“Whatever. Hope if something ever happens to you or yours, you have someone to clean up your messes for you. You know, so those pretty hands’v yours can stay nice an’ clean. Finish your drink. We’re closed.”

 

Ratiri couldn’t believe this -- well, no, he could. It was Ireland. He didn't finish his drink; he paid and left, and wondered if this entire fucking country was insane.

 

The night was chilly, with a fine, misty rain that cast halos around the streetlights. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, letting the water drip from his hair. He wished that none of this had ever happened -- he wished this was some kind of horrible nightmare, that he’d wake drenched in cold sweat, to find Lorna asleep beside him and cats all around them.

 

He  _ missed  _ her. Even with everything, he’d finally had to admit he missed her so much it hurt. He’d wake in the night and instinctively reach for her, and the space beside him was cold and empty. There was only his nondescript motel room, with is hard mattress and dripping faucets. His children were gone, out of his reach; life as he’d known it was over.

 

And in not much time, life as everyone else had ever known it would be over, too. Life  _ itself  _ would be over, and he’d be faced with a choice: return to the forest, which might or might not even let him past the borders, or hoard food and hole up somewhere to wait the plague out. He honestly wasn’t sure which option was worse, at this point.

 

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice it until it was too late. There were four or five of the -- young lads, maybe in their early twenties, pasty-faced from sitting in pubs or basements too many hours of the day. They were all skinny little weasels, too, and he wondered what in hell they thought they were doing, closing in on a man of his build.

 

“Oi, you, give us your wallet,” one of them said -- possibly the ringleader. He had hair as red as Chandra’s, but his eyes were a fishy, bloodshot blue.

 

“Do I look like I have any money?” Ratiri asked. “Piss off.” The whole lot of them smelled even more boozy than he did.

 

“I said --”

 

“I don't  _ care  _ what you said, you miserable little shit,” Ratiri growled. “ _ Piss. Off. _ ”

 

It was only his training with the Elves that allowed him, in his somewhat drunken state, to register the knife that was suddenly in the hand of the man to his right -- the shortest of an already not exactly large group. Years of training led him to move on instinct -- he snatched the lad’s arm and twisted, hard. The knife fell from the lad’s suddenly nerveless fingers, and a distinctive  _ crack  _ grated on Ratiri’s eardrums.

 

A howl followed shortly thereafter, and he rolled his eyes. Apparently wannabe street toughs never changed, no matter what decade it was. “Go home, little boys,” he said. “It’s a bad night to be out.”

 

If they’d had any sense, they’d have done what they were told, but that breed was not precisely known for it. One shoved him, another tried to kick him, and his fragile hold on his fraying tempter snapped. Whirling, he grabbed the man behind him, lifted him with the ease of long training practice, and hurled him at a nearby dumpster.

 

That should have been it. He hadn’t thrown the idiot  _ that  _ hard; he should have come away from it with a broken arm at the very, very worst. But that wasn’t what happened. It wasn’t, and what  _ did  _ happen would haunt Ratiri for years to come.

 

The lad hit the dumpster head-first, so hard the sound of the impact was nauseatingly loud -- so loud it all but drowned out the crack of breaking bone, and oh no, oh  _ no,  _ necks should not bend that way--

 

“Bloody Christ, you lunatic!” Fish Eyes yelped. The rest of them scarpered in a hurry, leaving Ratiri alone with his unintended victim. The lad’s lifeless eyes stared unblinking into the rain, and Ratiri felt the bottom drop out of his world.


	154. One Hundred Fifty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Ann and I are benevolent writers, we decided not to make you wait another week.

{May 20, 2034}

Geezer had been cranky all damn day, and it didn't show any signs of easing. By now it was common knowledge that Pat had at least driven through the village, and had probably stopped in at Eldamar -- but there was no sign of Ratiri. Geezer knew him well enough to know that the stubborn bastard might not come home on his own, and meanwhile might do something of the epically stupid variety. And so, after dinner he took a trip to Eldamar.

 

“Anybody home?” he asked, knocking on the door. The baying of hounds told him that at least _someone_ was.

 

Ailill, being closest, answered the door. “Please come in,” he invited. “It’s nice to see you!” Ailill was always pleasant and sweet-tempered, never having a harsh word for anyone but himself. “They are all in the Heart Room. Can I bring you tea?”

 

“Good to see you too, kid,” Geezer said. “And tea sounds great, if it’s no trouble.” He’d gone most of his life a black-coffee drinker, but Aurnia had eventually won him over to the tea side of life.

 

The fact that they were _all_ in the Heart Room worried him a bit, but hell, that was what Thranduil’s telepathy was for. He didn't need to be dumping this on everyone at once.

 

What he saw when he entered almost made him laugh. It wasn’t just the household, it was all the critters -- dogs, cats, even a few kittens that had come from god only knew where. “Hey, all. Thranduil, can I talk to you a minute?”

 

“Yes,” the King said, rising easily from his position between Earlene and Thanadir. It was vaguely hilarious, how both of them murmured ‘hi Geezer’ and waved, only to scoot back against each other and close the gap, now using each other as backrests without seeming to skip a beat on either of their individual projects. Thranduil smiled at them and rolled his eyes, gesturing to the Quiet Room. “I see you are feeling ambitious?” he smirked.

 

“That’s one word for it,” Geezer grumbled, headed where he was gestured. “Somebody’s gotta go get him before he does something else he can’t undo. If I had to guess I'd say by now he’s just too damn afraid to admit to himself he was wrong, because of what it’d do to...him, honestly. All of him. Dunno just what’s wrong, but somebody’s gotta find out, and maybe it oughtta be someone human. Harder for him to ignore me, or write me off -- but I oughtta go with an Elf, too.” He shook his head. “Ratiri’s not normally a stupid man. I’ve gotta wonder what the hell was up with him before this. _Something_ has to have been going on in his head.”

 

“That is entirely possible,” Thranduil pondered, not having had a moment in which to consider this previously. “While I am not fully...unsympathetic...to his struggles, they pale in comparison to the mess his behavior has left in its wake. And I will make my position plain; the killing of those men on that night long ago was under my direction, and with very good reason. If he objects so strenuously to decisions I made as ruler and protector of my people, I am forced to question what kind of future he has here among us. At the very least his words to Lorna, my wife and Ailill were appallingly ignorant and without regard for...well, anything. You are showing more generosity than I am currently willing to display; without a full and sincere apology, he is not particularly welcome here.”

 

“I’ve had more experience of human stupidity than you have,” Geezer said grimly. “And Ratiri ain’t the first of that particular type I’ve ever met. Upset their worldview too much and they lose their goddamn sense, but he can get brought back from it. Like I said, he’s not normally a stupid man, so...I wonder.”

 

An uneasy thought occurred to him. “This really _is_ so not like him...was he depressed or something, before this? I can’t imagine he’d lose his shit like that if he was...well, himself.” Be judgemental, sure, but not like _that_. That was like someone else entirely.

 

“I would have to look at him carefully to know that,” Thranduil answered. “I do not make a habit of surveilling the minds of others.”

 

“Would you be willing to?” Geezer asked. “I’m gonna be blunt here, Thranduil: if he said all that shit when he was in the middle of a depressive...I dunno what they’re called. Episode. Fit. Whatever. Anyway, if he _was_ , that kinda...complicates shit. A lot. And if you’re not okay with doing that yourself, given this is all pretty damn personal to you, I might ask Sharley to do it. This is something we need to know, or we all run the risk of looking like giant assholes.”

 

“Yes, I would,” Thranduil replied. “But...Geezer, what I am about to say will be blunt, but I think it needs to be said. When we formed this society, I was well aware that it would mean--the comparison would be, if you owned a large house somewhere that you shared with just your immediate family. And you met others in need, and you invited them in. Not only invited them in, but decided to sacrifice most of the customs of your family life for the comfort of your new guests. In short, you willingly agreed to allow what is yours to largely be taken over. That is something of the way my people view our current arrangement, though I emphasize that there is no resentment on account of it. However, there are limits to what the guests can be allowed to do. Lines that cannot be crossed. This still is my proverbial house. Everything that happens rests at my feet; if an action is taken, I am the reason why.

 

“I defended Ailill’s life that night. Not Ailill as my good friend, but Ailill as someone bound to me by oaths that we hold sacred. So when Ratiri said what he said, in my eyes he was not speaking to Lorna and Earlene, though they were the ones who bore the brunt of it. He spoke against me, loudly and rudely, while living under my literal roof. I do not want to complicate this situation any more than it already is, but some affronts cannot be ignored. I am King here, and it is my duty to protect my people as I see fit. Otherwise I might as well lead the elves to Aman tomorrow, and leave everyone here to do as they prefer. Can you understand my position at all?”

 

“I can,” the old man sighed. “Depressed or not, Ratiri fucked up, and he fucked up bad. But if he _is_ depressed, getting him to the point where he can honestly own up to it isn’t gonna be as simple as someone planting a boot up his ass. I _know_ you and him aren’t on the same page about who, in his mind, he was insulting -- that’s one thing I’ve gotta get through his head sooner or later. I can all but guarantee you that if you were on his mind at all, you were at the back of it. Fortunately, we’ve got Angie, who’s better at this shit than I could ever be. Once she gets him on some meds, maybe we can work with him. He’s gotta understand where you’re coming from before he can do anything else.”

 

He paused. “How’s Lorna doing?” Ailill had his husband to support him; it wasn’t his spouse who’d gone off on him like a damn landmine. Word was that Lorna was living in her cottage in the woods, with the household visiting her to keep her company and Angie staying there more often than not. More than that, nobody knew.

 

“As well as can be expected. Better than that, really, give or take Pat’s stupidity. I can tell you now that she has no desire to see Ratiri. He made a...mess of that.”

 

Geezer snorted. “What a shock. One thing I think we’ve gotta prepare him for is the possibility his marriage is over. I know Lorna loves him, but that...there’s no going back from that, and I know _her_ type, too. Hurt them and they just...retreat, so whatever it was can’t hurt them again. Though, kinda speaking of that -- Ratiri being a mess means he couldn’t function on the Council. I think we’re gonna have to replace him, if we want to get anything done.”

 

Thranduil’s eyebrow raised. “Well,” he said slowly, “this cannot come from me for obvious reasons but...Ailill has already served. He is human. And while he is bound to me, he is also a native Irishman from outside Baile or Lasg’len. If it would be acceptable to the others that he serve, with the understanding that on some votes he may wish to abstain due to conflict of interest, he certainly would be an easy solution. I agree with you; for a long time to come, Ratiri will be unsuitable thanks to what has transpired.”

 

“I can raise it, at the next meeting,” Geezer said. “Ailill’s the only one everyone’d accept, probably. We worked with him for three and a half years -- we know he’s reliable. And I really doubt anyone’d be sorry to see Ratiri booted right now, but especially not Lorna. Though...I gotta wonder about Indira,” he sighed. “I think she’s got more sense, but he _is_ her family. Only blood family she’s got left, aside from the kids. Might be we oughtta talk to her about it first, in case there’s some kinda conflict of interest there. Though shit, is _Lorna_ gonna be in any fit state to deal with Council stuff?”

 

“We will find out. I will speak to her soon. Honestly, I would like to ask her to sit out this next one, and use the meeting to...rid ourselves of him. It pains me to even have to discuss this; I am aware that this conversation is entirely inappropriate. Yet I find I cannot care, at the moment. I am more than a little exasperated at the energy that is being wasted on this. I need not tell you of all people that in the not so distant future, such matters will be laughably unimportant. We will have...real problems. I do not need to minimize the pain of those affected but...you fought in war. I think you understand what I mean.”

 

“Might be for the best, honestly,” Geezer said. “And I do, but at the same time...it’s a human thing. I was good at it, but look what it did to me, and I don't mean physically. I was a god damn wreck of a human being, before I came here. Ratiri and Pat might be a sign we need to do some more...I guess I’d say ‘inspecting’, and then psychological training. Once word of this whole shitstorm gets out, we’ll have a better idea of who needs a boot and who doesn’t, before the end of the world.”

 

He ran a hand through his hair. “And look at it this way -- probably the only worse thing that coulda happened to Lorna would be losing one of her kids. If she’s made it through this and come out half-assed sane, she’d make it through anything.”

 

“She will, if only because she will not be allowed to do anything else,” Thranduil grinned crookedly. “This was not her fault in any way.”

 

“Why do I have a feeling life in that cottage has been...interesting?” Geezer asked. “Once we get Ratiri back, we’ll just have to make sure he knows he’s not allowed within her sight. Which I'm sure ain’t gonna help him at all, but it is what it is.”

 

“Where do you intend to keep him, Geezer? He is not wanted under this roof, at the moment. I have a vested interest in ensuring he cannot cross paths with Lorna. The Halls are large; he used to have a flat there. I do not wish him left homeless, but neither do I particularly want him in my forest.”

 

“Either we can stash him in the Halls, or -- hell, he could go live at Aurnia’s old place,” Geezer said. “Living in the forest _or_ the Halls might be more than he could handle for a while, because you can bet he might be getting the stinkeye from...well, everyone. He earned it, but that won’t make it any easier on him. Though...what the hell happened to Pat? Grania knows _something_ , but not much, and she’s not sharing.” Talk about another relationship that was at the very least extremely strained…

 

The heavy eyebrow raised. “He showed up in Baile against orders and a minor altercation ensued. He is now in Dublin hospital with a skull fracture.”

 

Geezer stared at him. “Are you -- Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he groaned. “ _Donovans_ . You know a family’s fucked-up when _Lorna’s_ the stable one. Siobhan, she’s pretty close, but she’s got her...moments.” The amount of rage that woman could vent on a chair was disturbing -- though not so much so as the fact that five minutes later, she was totally fine. “Well, I’ll think about what to do with Pat once he’s back, once I’ve talked to Angie. Might be he won’t be able to be left on his own, as much as I don't even want to think about it.”

 

A mighty frown creased Thranduil’s brow. “Do you have a plan for that eventuality?”

 

“That depends a whole lot on Grania,” he said, “and what Grania’s willing to do. I know she’s left the forest at least once, so she probably went to Dublin. Even if she’s willing to take him on, though, she does work, and she’s not gonna want to give that up, so he’d need a...a daytime babysitter.” He shook his head. “I can’t be as pissed at him as I am at Ratiri. Yeah, he’s an idiot, but he’s not coming from the same background -- and he actually came back, for all he was a god damn moron about it. Doesn’t change what he did, but...he’s not like Ratiri.”

 

“Agreed,” Thranduil said. “And what is it you wish from me, in all of this?” he smiled.

 

“Right now, I just need to know where Ratiri is, and to borrow an Elf,” Geezer said. “A fast-acting sedative wouldn’t go amiss, because there’s every chance the idiot won’t come back willingly.” Geezer was a strong man for his age, but Ratiri was six-foot-six and built mostly of muscle. Poor bastard would wind up getting road burn on his ass if he had to be dragged out to the car. “Shit, right, I need a car, too.”

 

Thranduil thought for a moment. _Calanon, please come to the Quiet Room._ A moment later the ellon appeared, bowing his head to Thranduil. “My Lord?” he asked politely.

 

“Drive Geezer to the place I instruct. He is going to...apprehend...Ratiri. You are to render him unconscious if that is what is needed to ensure his cooperation, and otherwise to help Geezer as needed. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Aran Thranduil,” he answered brightly. The sudden enthusiasm on the elf’s face seemed mildly disturbing.

 

“No hurting him,” Geezer said, rather unnerved, “no matter how tempting it is. He’s probably so much of a mess it’d be pathetic anyway.”

 

“I would never exceed my King’s commands,” Calanon said, slightly taken aback at the insinuation. “But it does not mean I cannot enjoy carrying them out.”

 

Geezer laughed, deep and rusty. “No, no it doesn’t,” he said. “All right, let’s get him home and dump him in his flat for now. I can keep watch over him until he wakes up.”

 

“I will return in a moment,” Calanon said. “Allow me to gather my things.”

 

Thranduil gave Geezer a ‘I hope you know what you are doing,’ smile and concluded with, “You have my mobile number.”

 

“Hopefully I won’t be needing it. C’mon, Calanon. Let’s get this over with.”

 

**

 

Ratiri had no idea what to do, but his feet took him back to his motel room. Numbly, he took a shower, and finally shaved. The cheap little razor left raw patches on his skin, but he didn't care.

 

He’d been a hypocrite about Donal, but he wouldn't be one now. He’d killed a man, even if not on purpose -- a man who could not have done him any serious harm. His life had not been in jeopardy. The only right thing he could do would be to turn himself in, but he hadn’t wanted to look like a homeless man while he was at it. Shirt, pants, and socks had all been washed in the bathtub the night before, and while his jeans had been worn for a week solid, they didn't look dirty.

 

In his hands, his mobile sat useless; the battery had long since died, and he hadn’t brought the charger. Should he write a note? The thought was absurd, and yet he felt he ought to do _something_ before he just handed himself over to the authorities.

 

Someone knocked on his door, and on auto-pilot he rose, wondering if someone had figured him out. When he opened it, however, he found Geezer and Calanon.

 

Geezer stared at him. “Christ, you look like shit,” he said, pushing his way into the room without the bother of asking permission. Ratiri really did, too; shadows smudged under his bloodshot eyes, his cheeks slightly hollow. He had the look of a man who’d been drinking his meals. “Get your shoes on, you’re coming with us.”

 

The man blinked, not fully comprehending, and Geezer sighed. “Calanon, why don't you do your thing, and spare us all the aggravation?” Arguing this would take more effort than it was actually worth.

 

“With pleasure,” the elf answered, easily gliding around behind the man, who did not appear to comprehend their presence. A moment later, he was asleep on the bed. “I cannot do as Aran Thranduil does, Geezer. I can carry him from here but we will be seen. Ideas?”

 

“It’s late enough that I doubt anybody’d care, but I’ll back the car up close to the door anyway. Thank Christ he’s on the ground floor.”

 

Quickly enough he was packed into the rear of Ailill’s car, which was challenging with his height, but they were hardly worried about much except fitting him in there in some capacity. As they drove away, Calanon found his curiosity growing. “What will you do with him?” the elf asked.

 

“Take him to the Halls and sit with him until he wakes up,” Geezer said. “Though I want Thranduil or Sharley to take a look at his head. Dunno what the hell he’s been doing in the last week, beyond the obvious, but it’d be good to find out where he’s at before we’ve gotta deal with him being conscious.”

 

He shook his head as they pulled out of the parking lot. “I get what it’s like, not wanting to kill people,” he said. “I really do, and I get that it can be hard to accept that it’s necessary, but sometimes it _is_. I don't hold with going out hunting someone for shits and giggles, but when it’s self-defense, or defending somebody else? Sometimes you’ve gotta do it, and these two need to learn that lesson, sooner rather than later.”

 

“He hurt Ailill terribly with his words,” Calanon said after a pause. “Ratiri was not there. That was the worst night of Ailill’s life; I have seen his memories. I believe what the men would have done to him would have killed him. What Ratiri said made my husband feel like those criminals mattered more than he did, to his way of thinking. Ailill tries to forget but it is very hard for him to comprehend that someone could say to Earlene and Lorna what he did…in his eyes those that came that night were his saviors.” he shook his head. “It is difficult for me to discuss because I am emotionally involved.”

 

“Oh, he’ll answer for that,” Geezer said grimly. “He’ll answer for a whole lotta shit, once he’s in any fit state to do it. Someone like Ratiri, he don't know what it’s like to be physically threatened, really. Only a goddamn moron would try to attack a man his size, but Ailill was so...well, he was fragile, before he started training with you Elves. Fragile, and pretty, and just the type those kinds of bastards would target. They never go after anyone who could really fight back.

 

“And yeah, it’s gonna be hard for you, Calanon, because you _are_ close. It’s why me and some of the others’re gonna deal with Ratiri for now. We’re just outside of it enough that it ain’t so...personal. We’ve gotta keep him away from Earlene for his own safety, and from Lorna because...well, I dunno what she’d do, but I doubt anyone wants to find out.”

 

Calanon shook his head. “Earlene would not harm him over this. She could have done that the night it happened. But she is no more pleased with him than any of us are. Treating our Queen as he did was completely unacceptable. Earlene is...brave. Able to do what needs doing in defense of others. I am sorry, Ratiri is a complete idiot.”

 

“Not gonna hear any argument from me there,” Geezer snorted. “But that might not be all he is. Just so you know, I’m gonna propose Ailill replace Ratiri on the Council -- he might want some warning of that. Everybody’s worked with him already, so it shouldn't be a hard transition. Not sure what we’re gonna do if Lorna has to sit out more than one meeting, though.”

 

“I will tell him,” Calanon said. To the other, he had no answer. “How will you...get through to him? He would not listen to reason earlier. He did not want to really hear anything Earlene or Lorna tried to say.”

 

“That was a week ago,” Geezer said, as they eased onto the freeway. “He’s had time to think, and realize how screwed he is. I’ve gotta know where he is, mentally, before I know if I can tell him he’s an idiot or not. Dunno just how to handle this just yet, but I’ll find out. I might be old, and my memory might be Swiss cheese about my younger years, but I remember boot camp -- it was just as much mental as it was physical.

 

“I’m gonna get some of the warriors to talk to him, too. He’s got a pretty warped idea of how life in the future’s gonna work, if he thinks what those four did is so awful. See if Sharley’ll talk to him, too, because there’s no way she went eighteen thousand years without having to fight somebody.”

 

“I almost did,” Calanon laughed. “I have brought down an enemy or two, but I was born at a time that allowed me to miss fighting in the last wars. But my training is my training; the time in between has not changed my knowledge of certain realities. We have had to kill humans, in the long time span between. Some have come to the forest. Bad people. If Aran Thranduil judged them not fit to live, well…” he shrugged. “That was that. He has always defended the townsfolk from such, if they wandered into our Realm.”

 

“What in hell would people, bad or otherwise, be looking for in a big, dense forest?” Geezer asked. He couldn’t say he was _surprised_ by that, given how long the forest had sat there, but still.

 

“Oh, many things,” Calanon replied. “Game to hunt, shelter from pursuing enemies, a hideout safe from the eyes of the outer world to use as a base of operations. A place in which to kill or abuse others, away from any possibility of help. Those innocents who were hungry or in some kind of need were fed and cared for. Later their memories of us would be taken, and they were left outside the forest with an impulse not to return. Aran Thranduil would cause them to feel afraid at the idea of the woods. Those who came to commit evil...I think I need not explain, they never emerged again.”

 

“I’m guessing some of them wound up settling in Lasg’len, since I know a lotta them were kinda afraid to enter the forest even once they knew it was okay,” Geezer said. “Though I’ve gotta wonder if something stuck with _someone_ , given the town’s named ‘Lasg’len’. Ain’t exactly Irish.”

 

“No. Perhaps it was an echo of a memory. We knew that it was called this, but never knew who, or why. It was long ago, in human years.”

 

“And back before people wrote much down, a whole lot got lost.” He glanced at Ratiri’s inert form in the rearview mirror. “He gonna stay out like that?”

 

“I will keep him that way until he is delivered to where you wish him. Then you will have perhaps an hour, unless you choose to shake him awake sooner. Or kick him awake. It is all the same to me,” he grinned mischievously. “Sleeping spells are just that; they do not last. But if the individual is weary, they will continue to slumber.”

 

Geezer shook his head. “As tempting as it’d be to kick him awake, then I’d have to deal with him, and I need some Irish coffee before I’ll want to do that. Christ knows when he last slept, as opposed to passing out.”

 

He shook his head as he wove around a minivan. “Hate to say this, but I doubt he’ll be the last person who’ll have a problem with our...new realities,” he said. “I don't just mean the killing, I mean the fact that the modern world won’t be there anymore. Right now it’s easy, living as we do, because they can still go out where there’s electricity and internet and all that other shit. There’s too many that just aren’t...they’re not used to doing without. Ailill, he grew up in a modern house, sure, but he’s adapted in a way I’m not sure a whole lotta other people actually have. And it’s gonna suck.

 

“It’s the poor people, the ones that are used to not having much, that’ll do better, but how the hell many of those do we actually have? Not a lot. Lorna, she’s got something she says to herself, when things get stressful: ‘The cold is outside’. I can understand what she means, because you only really get it when you haven’t had an inside to go to. You don't value it unless you haven’t had it.”

 

Calanon considered this. “It is true that it will not be easy, but what choice will we have? To our eyes, the humans are being given much. Food, shelter, clothing, protection. The other things...those were luxuries and not truly needed. They come to terms with that or they do not,” he shrugged. “Ailill too will be unhappy to lose these; he loves his electronic devices. But at heart he understands they do not matter. I suppose it is perspective, and how much each one decides to prepare their mind for this eventuality.”

 

“Oh, they all know it,” Geezer said. “Don't get me wrong. Problem is, I think a lotta _them_ think they’re more ready for it than they actually are. Lotta them don't even go out further than Lasg’len much anymore, but they still know the world’s there if they really wanted to. Once it’s gone, and they know damn near everybody out there’s dead…”

 

He made it around a dawdling semi, and merged back. “I ain’t a shrink, but even I can tell you that knowing everyone outside the forest’s dead is gonna wig people out, and some worse than others. So just, y’know, be aware...people might get weird for a while, once it really sinks in.”

 

Calanon sighed. “I am glad that there is really only one human I need to understand,” he smiled. “That keeps me busy enough.”

 

Geezer laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, we don't understand each other, either. Hell, lotta us don't even understand ourselves that great, or we wouldn’t need people like Angie.”

 

Considering this Calanon frowned. Did he understand himself? He believed so. Life was not so complicated; he did as Aran Thranduil asked, helped his fellow elves, and enjoyed the rest of the time cherishing his mate and caring for their obligations. Great contentment and happiness was his. Perhaps he was wrong, and there were things about which to be anxious and miserable? But that seemed completely...stupid. Well, for now, he would keep on as he was; it had worked for a very long time. Shrugging, he watched the miles go by, basically glad that the one in the back seat would not be his problem for much longer.

 

**

 

“What is it you wish me to do?” Thranduil asked, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked at the unaware form of Ratiri, just as displeased by the sight as he thought he might be. Angie, next to him, was amused at his very human posture, but wisely chose to say nothing.

 

“Just take a look at his head and tell me what I'm gonna be working with,” Geezer said. “I mean, I know he’s a mess, that’s obvious, but if there’s any details you can give me to work with, that’d be great.”

 

Thranduil bent over and placed a hand on his forehead, closing his own eyes. Immediately an eyebrow cocked up rather high. Some moments later he straightened. “Earlene has a saying, ‘you can’t make this stuff up,’ he said, in his oddly lilting formal accent. “I will sum up. He has been drowning his mind in alcohol to avoid considering what happened. He does not know what befell Pat. Earlier tonight he told a barkeep what Lorna had done, and the man became very angry with him and asked him to leave the premises. He was set upon by a gang of youths and while defending himself killed one of them unintentionally. Then he returned to the place you found him, determined to turn himself in to the Gardaí.” Thranduil shook his head. “He is hardly what I would call rational, just now.”

 

Geezer stared at him, as did Angie. “Well...fuck a goddamn duck,” he said. “That...shit, no, he wouldn’t be rational, would he? Dunno how much good _I_ can do, if he’s like that. Would it be safe for you to...I dunno, bring him back to being rational? Or could you even do that without like, melting his brain?”

 

Angie fought a snort. Oh Ratiri… “Exactly how drunk was he, when he told this barkeep that?”

 

“Not,” Thranduil said, shaking his head, “though he had been consuming a great amount throughout the week. He has been working overtime to avoid pondering what went wrong and trying to cling for his justifications for his behavior. While being utterly miserable at the loss of his wife and family.”

 

Angie frowned. For him to admit such a thing to a complete stranger _without_ being drunk… “I would strongly suggest, when we’re through here, leaving a guard in the flat with him,” she said. “If he’s depressed enough to say something like that, I think he might need a suicide watch -- or at least, someone to make certain he doesn’t harm himself, intentionally or otherwise. Once he’s awake, I’ll give him an interview to ascertain his level of depression, because he’s probably going to need something for it. Something other than alcohol.” _And someone to make sure he takes it._

 

She shook her head. She had to try to set aside her personal anger at the man, if she was to be of any use in this situation; it was not a mindset she could allow if she wanted to bring him back to being something like a functional human. _This is why psychiatrists don't treat their friends_ , she thought, and yet she’d had no choice; they all had to do what they had to do. She’d been doing her best to avoid growing overly close to those she was just now meeting, but when it came to the D&D’s, the damage had been done, so to speak, and it made this more than a little difficult now.

 

Maybe Sharley ought to speak with him, too. In a sense, she was somewhat...beyond anger now, or at least of the human variety. Ratiri needed _something_ , but it was too soon yet to know what -- he wasn't going to get anywhere if he was too depressed to think straight.  Angie had too much personal stake in it. Perhaps Thranduil did, too. Sharley was getting more and more like Vairë, however, in her own way. “Thranduil, you ought to wake him. Let’s get this over with.”

 

“Very well. Ratiri will not be able to see me or otherwise be aware of my presence in this room. Nothing will change for either of you. Speak using your mind, if you need to tell me something, and I will do the same,” he instructed. Once he saw them nod, he leaned forward to touch Ratiri’s face, and then stepped back and out of the way.

 

 _Damn good idea,_ Geezer thought. This wouldn’t be any use if Ratiri just pissed himself from being faced with an angry Elvenking -- and while the man might be an idiot in some ways, he knew enough to be afraid of pissed-off Thranduil.

 

Ratiri opened his eyes, but did not at first seem to know where he was -- understandable, given he’d been basically knocked out and abducted. How the hell did someone that smart do something that stupid? Were brainiac people really just dense when it came to interpersonal shit? It probably had to come out _somewhere_.

 

“Ratiri, do you know where you are?” Angie asked.

 

The man blinked and swallowed, but at first said nothing. After a few moments of confusion, his eyes cleared. “Angie?”

 

“Yes, Ratiri.” Looking at him, she couldn’t be as annoyed; however much he’d pissed her off, it would, in that moment, be like kicking a puppy. Annoyance could be saved for later, when he was in any condition to deal with it.

 

“Angie...Angie, I did something terrible,” he whispered, his voice sounding like sandpaper. “I did something horrible...he wasn’t even much more than a lad, I don't think.”

 

 _Oh, Christ,_ Geezer thought. Yeah, he was going to have his work cut out for him with this one.

 

“Keep talking, Ratiri,” she said. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

 

His bloodshot eyes shut. “I said...Angie, the things I said...I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be in this place.”

 

Angie glanced at Thranduil. _I guess it’s a start,_ she said. _Yes, I need to put him on medication, and yes, he needs a guard, for the time being._

 

“And what would you do, if we set you outside the forest?” Geezer asked. “Because if you think we’re gonna let you go turn yourself in because you accidentally killed some street punk who tried to mug you, think again.”

 

Ratiri only now seemed to notice him. “But…”

 

“ _Nope_ ,” Geezer said. “Use your brain -- even if you go to prison, where the hell d’you think you’ll still be when the plague hits? Either you’ll sweat your life out, or you’ll fuckin’ starve to death in a cage, surrounded by corpses -- unless you’ve got a cellmate you can chow down on.”

 

Angie grimaced, and yet made no effort to stop him. This was, perhaps, just what Ratiri needed.

 

“Not to mention, you live in a forest full of goddamn Elves,” the old man went on. “Shit, you live in a house full of them. We don't need that attention here. No, you’re staying right here -- if not in the Halls, then in Lasg’len, but you’re not going anywhere else.”

 

“What will you do, Ratiri, if we leave you alone in here?” Angie asked. His responses were still...off. Slow, and she wondered just how much alcohol he’d actually imbibed over the course of the last week. It was actually possible, albeit not common, to give oneself brain damage that way.

 

“I…”

 

Angie turned worried eyes on Thranduil. _What is he thinking right now? Is he thinking anything?_

 

_Excessive guilt. Remorse, that he hurt his wife. The belief he should not be here in the Halls. Wishing that he had never said what he did to Earlene and Lorna. Afraid, of what will happen to him. The emotions are quite extreme._

 

 _That may be a positive sign._ She hoped so, anyway. If it was the first stages of him letting go of his harmful belief system, it could be. If not...well, they would see. _If you could please put him back to sleep, I'll give him a sedative to keep him that way._

 

_Geezer, Angie wants me to return him to sleep. Have you anything to add before I do this?_

 

_Not right now. Don't want to hit him too hard before he’s ready for it, or it won’t do any good. Once he’s had rest, and we can force some actual food into him, he might be in shape to listen to what he needs to hear._

 

 _Very well._ With a touch, Thranduil did as he had been asked. “Now what?” he asked aloud.

 

“I want to put him on a low dose of Xanax,” Angie said. “Enough to blunt the extremity of his emotions, so he can actually think.” Xanax had its own effects on clarity of thought, but better that than...this.

 

“And once he’s in a better state, I’m gonna do...whatever it is I have to,” Geezer added. “He’s gonna wrap his head around a few realities.”

 

“I want him to speak with Sharley as well,” Angie said. “And Juana, though Juana has very little practical experience -- and everything she has, she’s gained from here. I...I have to admit, my objectivity is compromised, in this. Sharley, though -- she’s different now, thanks to Vairë, and I think she _could_ be a bit more objective.”

 

“I got no idea about Pat,” Geezer said. “And I won’t have one until he’s brought home.”

 

“I will caution you, Angie. Where Lorna is concerned, Sharley still struggles to separate the emotions she feels from their connection from her higher reasoning, for lack of better words. She has advanced a great deal, since the Lady came to stay with us but there can still be times…” he trailed off, reasoning that she of all ought to understand what was meant.

 

Angie sighed. “I know,” she said, “but Juana is very inexperienced -- she’d only just graduated before she came here -- and I think this case might be beyond her. I _know_ it is. Sharley has Vairë to guide her, but the rest of us...well, it’s too easy for humans to want revenge rather than justice. And I'm sorry, but you’re just too intimidating when you’re angry.”

 

“I thought I was perfectly calm,” Thranduil smiled. “But yes, I understand. My brand of authority is not helpful at this moment. He is very...depressed.”

 

With a slightly tired laugh, Angie shook her head. “You, Earlene, and Thanadir _do_ need to express your disapproval, but once he’s ready to process it -- otherwise, it will just do more harm than good.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “There is a reason I remained unseen. Please realize I have nothing personally against Ratiri, but I too am appalled by his actions. I take it we want one of my guards to remain here with him? Hérion is on his way now. You should tell me clearly what he is to do or not do.”

 

“I know Elves are good at being unobtrusive,” Angie said. “Tell him to just be in here and watch Ratiri, but not speak unless spoken to, or interfere unless it looks like Ratiri is going to do something harmful. If some kind of attempt at harm _does_ happen, put him back to sleep and send for me, so I can give him another sedative.” She sighed. “And I think this goes without saying, but the fact that he’s in the Halls is one that does not need to get back to Lorna.”

 

“How bad is this, can he relieve himself in privacy? Do we need to check the room for sharp objects?” the King asked, wishing he did not need to.

 

“He can use the bathroom in private,” she said. “Sharp objects...I would say yes, just to be safe. While I don't believe he would be that serious about a suicide attempt at this point, I’d rather not risk it.”

 

“It saddens me that we are having this conversation,” Thranduil said. “I will check the lavatory. If you could divide the outer room and this bedroom; look in drawers, cabinets, on shelves please…”

 

**

 

“How did you find your adventure?” Vairë asked Sharley. The Vala never seemed to be affected by the goings-on around her. Her features indicated neutrality or amusement, but rarely anything different. Only Kurt had created an exception to that rule, and this was best forgotten.

 

“Poor Lorna,” Sharley sighed. “She’s doing as well as might be hoped, and I have to admit, seeing Baile for a few days was nice -- I just wish it had been under different circumstances, and that I could have taken Annwn.” She rolled her eyes. “But don't get me started on Lorna’s brother. That was not a complication anyone needed, though at least I learned a valuable lesson: if I want to be short again, I need to practice moving in a smaller body.”

 

 _“Yeah, that was kinda...fail,”_ Layla said. _“Sorry, but it was.”_

 

“I see,” Vairë said, smothering a broad grin. “Sorry. I know it’s not funny, except...it was.”

 

Sharley facepalmed. “It was pathetic, is what it was. I actually misjudged the length of my own arms. It’s what I get for never having altered my form that drastically, I guess.” She paused bouncing Annwn on her lap. Her daughter’s beautiful dark hair was glossy in the sunlight. “My Lady, something happened -- something I don't understand, and don't know what, if anything, to do about.”

 

 _“Lorna read Sharley’s mind,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“Passively, but she did it nonetheless. None of us are quite sure how, though we can guess it’s the result of the connection they already have.”_

 

“And as much as it weirds me out, I almost wonder if it’s not a good thing,” Sharley added. “It’s certainly kept the poor woman distracted, which she needs right now.”

 

Vairë stifled a deep sigh. “Sharley, Lorna is a human. And humans are not meant to have anything like this, with the exception of the few that have wed elves. And even then their privilege does not extend to hearing their elven mate; only in the ease of conversation with one of the Firstborn. Did Lorna tell you she wants or needs this?” Vaire gently probed.

 

“That’s just it, my Lady: it happened somehow, even though she’s human, without harming her,” Sharley said. “But...no, she hasn’t said anything of it, other than ‘well this is bloody weird’. And yet...I wonder if it’s happened for a reason.”

 

“It has most definitely happened for a reason,” Vairë said with infinite patience. “A very obvious one.”

 

“That’s not quite what I mean,” Sharley said dryly, “but what I also don't know is how to...wall it off. It can’t be left open like that; it would be too weird for both of us. I’m not sure something like this has ever really happened before, so I don't know what to do.”

 

“Right now, nothing. Lorna needs to...settle more, before that can be managed. Thranduil can do something about this, and so can I; something will be managed before I depart.”

 

“Poor Lorna.” Sharley shook her head, even as Annwn tried to chew on her hair. “I haven’t looked at the future of all of...this. I decided it was best if I not look at the future of those in my life, because I’m still uncertain yet if I could resist the temptation to attempt to change some negative outcome. I can distance myself, but -- not all the way. Not yet.” Perhaps not ever, or at least not as long as this family was alive.

 

“Probably wise, then,” Vairë agreed. “What we do requires objectivity. A dispassionate viewpoint. There is a reason I live where I do. Until now I have never interacted in a meaningful fashion with those whose futures I can know. It is far easier to remain aloof.”

 

“Perhaps, my Lady, but I would never be happy to be aloof,” Sharley said. “Not anymore. I lived among humans for tens of thousand of years, loved them and watched them grow old and die, over and over, never wondering why I didn't. It’s painful, and yet I would rather it than the alternative. I think their lives burn so brightly because they’re extinguished all too soon.”

 

“That is your decision to make,” the Lady answered. “However I think we need to discuss some parenting skills. You have chosen to involve yourself deeply in Lorna’s life. It is not normal or intended for one of the Ainur to have this kind of relationship with a human being. It is your responsibility to ensure that your desire to help her does not turn into inadvertent harm.”

 

“You mean, not meddle too much?” Sharley asked. “That’s the thing: at first, it wasn’t on purpose. I didn't mean to lean on her as heavily as I did; the connection between our minds wasn’t deliberate. Right now, the temptation to meddle is...well, it’s been difficult to resist, especially now that she’s back in the forest. It’s hard on her, being here, but she returned for Thranduil and I. I’ve spent less time with her since we’ve come home, but we all hesitate to leave her alone.”

 

“And yet what are you actually accomplishing, by doing so?”

 

“Her husband wounded her, very deeply -- as did her brother. We want to remind her she is loved, and keep her from falling into despair. When she was younger, her methods of coping with negative experiences were...not healthy, and though it’s been many years since she’s done that, we’d like to make certain she doesn’t feel the temptation.”

 

“And how will she ever know she has succeeded, if you do this for her? Did she ask you to?”

 

That made Sharley pause. “She’s asked both Thranduil and I to stay at times,” she said, “but at others, told us to go… do our own thing. Her sister will stay with her, and Maerwen has as well.”

 

“And the times she has been calmed using gifts she does not have? Did she ask for those? I do not mean to worry at you, Sharley; I am hoping that you are able to see a very important distinction between how you interact with her versus Thranduil.”

 

“Half the time, no,” Sharley sighed. “The first night, not at all, but she wasn’t in any condition to ask for anything. Otherwise…”

 

 _“Well, shit,”_ Kurt muttered. _“Crap, sorry Lady Vairë. But...you know.”_

 

Vairë tried to make her next words as gentle as possible. “The humans have a saying, Tirillë. ‘Helicopter parent.’ All of us grow through struggle. Else we do not grow at all.”

 

Out of all the things that could be said to that, it was the most inane that came out of Sharley’s mouth: “My Lady, how do you know what a helicopter parent is?”

 

Vairë smiled. “Internet.”

 

If Sinsemilla had had a body, she might have facepalmed. _“Sharley, what you need to do is find the balance,”_ she said. _“Lorna’s got more support than you. She’s got all four of us, too, for what good Kurt does --”_

 

_“Hey!”_

 

_“--and Thranduil hears her all the time. If something went too wrong, he’d know. She’s not gonna fall apart if you look away for thirty seconds.”_

 

 _“She’s also not gonna somehow drink herself into a coma, even if she was really tempted to,”_ Layla said. _“Does Annwn need to turn into a fussy baby to keep you distracted?”_

 

Sharley looked down at her daughter, who so rarely fussed, and even then only long enough to get her diaper changed or her tummy filled. She was a sunshine child, always smiling...again. “She doesn’t know how to fuss,” she said. “Not unless she’s uncomfortable. I have to admit, I did have rather a hard time distancing myself from anger at Ratiri and Pat, that first night. It took some meditation, because I knew I would be separated from Laurë and Annwn because of this, and I didn't know for how long. She’ll only be a baby once, after all.”

 

“And won’t you be a handful once you can crawl and walk, little one?” the Lady asked, booping her on the nose.

 

“I’m just glad everyone in this house is used to small, energetic children,” Sharley laughed. “And usually more than one at a time. Hopefully that will mean Annwn won’t be _too_ much of a handful.”

 

The Lump trundled up and sniffed at Annwn’s little booted feet. If ever a cat could be said to smile, this one was. “Oh, you should see it, my Lady -- at night, when Annwn sleeps, she hugs this one like a big stuffed animal.”

 

“Sooner or later she will end up with a dog. I hope you are ready,” Vairë grinned.

 

“I’m hoping against hope it won’t be a _big_ dog, but I know it will be,” Sharley said, laughing. “Laurë has put up with my fat cat, I can put up with a giant dog -- so long as it stays off the bed.” She didn't mind dogs, until they tried to get dirty feet where dirty feet should not be. Thaladir’s were very affectionate and sweet, but she was just more of a cat person.

 

The Lady smirked, and said nothing. Nothing at all.

 

*****

 

# {June 7, 2034}

 

A knock on the door turned out to be Thranduil, who let himself in after ensuring Lorna was dressed. “I brought you muffins. And you can even have them, if the voices make no jokes about it.”

 

“Shut it, the four’v you,” Lorna said, glowering at the air. “Kettle’s still hot -- d’you want some tea?”

 

“This time I will decline, as I just had quite a lot at breakfast, but thank you. I stopped by because we should discuss some...evolving realities.”

 

“Why do I not like the sound’v that?” she asked, displacing Pumpkin from the sofa as she gestured him to sit. She’d been...okay, in the last couple weeks. She had her meds, and she kept busy, usually far out in the fields. Sure, she avoided people, because she had no desire to answer nosy questions -- because she was damn certain at least some of that shit had gotten around by now. It would have had to, when Pat and Ratiri failed to do their jobs for more than three days.

 

“Well, you should know that Ratiri has been removed from the council and replaced with Ailill. It is a...permanent appointment. Earlene and I abstained from the vote because of conflict of interest, and in spite of the absences and abstentions it carried unanimously among the remaining councilmembers. The council needs to be able to function, and it was deemed by rather emphatic discussion that this was in the best interests of all.” He waited to hear her response.

 

Lorna sighed. As with everything that reminded her of her former...existence, this both saddened and angered her. “It _is_ the best option,” she said, scowling at her muffin. “We don't need dead weight.” Once upon a time, she and Ratiri had planned for these meetings together, and laughed or complained about them afterward, depending on how they’d gone. The fact that that was over...it was odd, because she’d still be happy if she never laid eyes on him again, and yet there was so much she grieved. “But I have to say, Thranduil, I don't know how much use I’ll be myself. I'm getting by, but...well, that’s about it.”

 

“That may be, but you can still participate. It would be better for you to have something to do besides sit in here and stare at the walls. And there is more. Your brother will likely be released from the hospital within the next five days, assuming his improvement continues.”

 

“Jesus, Pat,” Lorna said, as one of her four new kittens clambered up onto the sofa. They’d been a present from the household, and her older cats had, after much sniffing, more or less adopted them. “I can’t be angry at him now, after that. I mean, bloody Christ, I shoved him, and…” She shook her head. “It was too much like Da, Thranduil, even in those few moments I had before Sharley knocked me out. It was too….” She distracted herself with the kitten, which started chewing on her braid.

 

“It is another thing that will not profit you to dwell upon, dear one,” Thranduil said. “It was unfortunate, and I know you will think about it for some time to come. That is to be expected. What I fear is you taking this up as something with which to bludgeon yourself because it will help you to feel bad.” He reached across to smooth her hair. Worry enough was written in his eyes.

 

“It’s hard not to,” she sighed. “It’s part’v why I try to just keep busy. I know exactly how easily that could’ve killed him. I think it’s why half of you lot gave me these little monsters.” The kitten squeaked when she shifted it, and its brothers and sisters came thundering across the floor on tiny paws. “And I can’t think more than a day ahead at a time. If I do, it just…” She had to blink back tears. “It reminds me’v everything that’s gone, now.”

 

“We talked about this before, though you do not recall it,” he said softly. “You do not know what is gone, or not gone. I have been with you through many a time such as this, Lorna. And though you did not see how it could possibly smooth out and ever get better, it did. Joy returned, though sometimes it was with change. This time is no different. Try to stop thinking in the same patterns. Only one being in this forest...okay _two_ beings in this forest...can know the outcome, and thank Eru they are not telling.”

 

She gave up and wiped her eyes. “But I _do_ know what’s gone,” she said. “My bloody marriage. Even if I somehow forgave Ratiri -- and I don't think I want to, because why should I -- I'd never trust him again. There’s no going back from that. If that’s what he thinks, then...not that it matters, given he’s still fucked off god knows where. You know Supri cries at night, and asks when her da’s coming home? Every time she does that I want to do to him what I did to Pat, except on purpose.”

 

“If that is what you believe, then that is what will be,” he said simply.

 

“It’s what’s best,” she said. “Supri’s...you know, I _might_ be able to forgive that shit if it was just me he’d walked out on, but we have four children, and one’v them’s a very young child. If he cared about her -- about any’v them -- he wouldn’t’ve just swanned off without a forwarding address.” She’d spent a couple nights at Mairead’s house, until it was determined that Supri could go back to the cottage, and not being able to tell her daughter where her father had fucked off to...well, it was a good thing she had the meds. They kept her from getting actually enraged.

 

Thranduil shook his head. “You mean, he would not have just swanned off if he had been capable of doing otherwise, do you not?” His gaze leveled against hers.

 

“He would’ve come back,” she said. “Or he would’ve at least called _someone_ so his six-year-old daughter didn't wonder if he was dead somewhere. Even I at my worst would never’ve done that to the kids. She asks why he left, and I can hardly tell her it’s because he’s a hypocritical gobshite -- I just tell her I don't know.”

 

For a few moments, Thranduil looked up to the ceiling, before lowering his eyes again. “He has not contacted you because he was not able. Had I known his whereabouts mattered to you, I would have told you. You must lay the blame for this at my feet; I have known that since the day Pat came to Baile. We, I, took you at your word of not wishing to have any contact with him.”

 

Her eyebrows rose. “They don't matter to _me_ at all,” she said, “but they do to Supri. Can’t blame you for not knowing that, it’s not like I ever said. If I can at least tell her where he is, maybe she won’t cry so much.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask what ‘not capable’ meant, but she wondered if he’d somehow pulled a Pat.

 

“I...do not think that would be wise. It might be simpler to say he is somewhere receiving special help for his problems, and that he needs to get...better.”

 

“It’s better than what I've had to give her, which is nothing,” Lorna said. “Jessie’s been staying with Shane and Chandra still, so they’re both doing well enough. Chandra’s been down here twice, but it’s harder on her, I think. Reminds her too much’v Ratiri, but since she’s doing okay in Baile, I’m not worried. I think Atia’s having so much fun living with Mairead that she doesn’t actually want to come home.”

 

 _“Eat your muffin and tell him, Lorna,”_ Sinsemilla prodded.

 

She rolled her eyes, nibbled her muffin, and said, “I don't know what to do about working anywhere around...people. I don't have the energy to deal with the questions, or the looks, or any’v it, but I'm going to have to sooner or later, so I’d better figure _something_ out. I just don't know what, other than stronger meds.”

 

“What happened to telling others to sod off? Oh, wait. Maybe it was the other. You Irish have too many colorful ways of telling someone to go away.”

 

Lorna choked on a laugh, and partly on her muffin. “You know what I mean,” she said. “Sooner or later’ll be common knowledge my husband ran out on me. What I worry about is what happens when they find out why -- are we going to have dozens more people pitching a shit fit over the idea? Because nobody needs that headache.”

 

“No, we all need that headache, and we need it now,” he said in all seriousness. “This is something that has festered for some time. Hung over our collective heads. Geezer...I do not want to agitate you by discussing things that will upset you, but suffice to say this just became everyone’s business for a reason. This nonsense will get sorted once and for all; we cannot afford this after the plague. Another thing you perhaps do not realize is that I will not permit either of those two the freedom of my Realm until they justify their actions to myself, Earlene and Thanadir. At the moment, they are barred. Ratiri could not have returned if he wished to.”

 

“I hate it when you’re right,” she sighed, and jumped a little when her mobile jangled. At least it wasn't Ratiri -- though she wasn't sure why Siobhan would be ringing her. “Hello?”

 

Her sister didn't respond at first. “Lorna,” she said eventually, “there’s...look, there’s been complications. With Pat, I mean.”

 

Lorna scowled. “What sort?” she asked, even as guilt pricked her. How could she be pissed and guilty at the same time?

 

“The MRSA sort,” Siobhan said. “Lorna, he’s bloody got it in his brain. The doctors are talking about scraping his skull, or some weird shite like that. It sounds nasty, and I really doubt it’s safe.” She sounded weary, but underneath it, she actually sounded scared.

 

A little sliver of ice worked its way into Lorna’s abdomen as she looked up at Thranduil, wide-eyed. “Hate to ask this,” she said, only half aware just what was coming out of her mouth, “but can you go make sure my brother doesn’t die, please? Because...MRSA is bad. Really bad, and even worse if it’s in your brain.”

 

Probably it was the longest that Thranduil had ever stared at Lorna after she had made a request of him. In the end, he knew it was no good. There was next to nothing he would refuse her, and even then he would have to have an airtight reason for doing so. This was not one of those circumstances. “Yes,” he said, trying to keep weariness from his voice. Eru forgive his thought, this was such a clusterfuck.

 

“Thranduil and I will meet you there,” Lorna promised her sister. “Try to make sure there aren’t a billion people around.”

 

“I will,” Siobhan said, and rang off.

 

Lorna set her mobile down, and drew a long, slow breath. “Well... _shit_ ,” she said, and stared at him helplessly for a moment. “I know you’re as pissed at him as I am, but look at it this way -- you can probably get an apology out’v him while you’re at it? Which is maybe the lamest thing I could say, but...MRSA’s lethal, and if it’s in the brain…” She sighed. “And he’s in hospital because I put him there, Thranduil. He wouldn’t be there if not for me.”

 

“I know, dear one. But I have one condition. I drive, you give me directions. Non-negotiable.” He folded his arms over his chest, but his eyes held a kind expression.

 

She eyed him. “How good are you with a manual? Because if you’re going to save my brother’s life, you’ve earned the right to drive the Charger.” Even if he did destroy the clutch, it wasn't like she couldn’t replace it.

 

“I have used a manual transmission before, and I will be careful. That being said, I may not start out perfectly.”

 

“That’s okay,” she said, scrambling for her boots and her messenger bag. “There’s plenty’v back roads before we get to the motorway.” She handed him the keys, and hugged him. He knew what it meant, that she was letting him drive the Charger -- the last person she’d allowed to drive it was poor Pat, on Grania’s birthday.

 

Once they were in the car, Thranduil engaged the clutch very carefully in the low gears so as not to disturb Lorna’s sensibilities. Unsurprisingly the car was well-maintained and the clutch was set at just the right height, so after the fourth stop he felt fairly confident in his shifting. No, he could not drive as well as Lorna, but he also was not the one who was upset and utterly agitated. “I want you to try to relax,” he said to her. “Even if all you do is laugh at me for telling you that.”

 

She managed a slightly watery laugh. “Jesus, Thranduil...well, at least he’s not in the same hospital I was, when I got in the wreck,” she said. “Thank god for small favors, I guess. Just...Thranduil, he’s only in hospital because I put him there, and now he’s got bloody MRSA.” And yet, even as she spoke, she took a picture of him driving with her mobile -- mainly so she could later prove she’d actually let him do it. Even in times of crisis, it seemed, she had an ability to think of the utterly irrelevant.

 

“No,” he argued. “He put himself there by being a total eejit and doing the polar opposite of what at least five people told him not to. Do not even think you get sole credit for this, and certainly random bacteria, however nasty, have nothing to do with you.” His chin tilted up in that charmingly authoritative manner that occurred whenever he decided he was right.

 

“He didn't push himself,” she argued. “I’ll grant you, the MRSA wasn't me, but...Jesus, I’m pissed as hell at him, but he’s my older brother. That kind’v seems...totally unimportant, now. I’d rather he keep pissing me off by being alive and obnoxious, for a long, long time to come.” All right, he wasn't going to utterly destroy the clutch before they got there. That was a good sign.

 

“Am I doing well enough not to annoy you?” Thranduil  asked, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile.

 

“...Yes,” she said, and tried not to poke him. “Siobhan’ll be so jealous you drove the Charger. She’s always wanted to.”

 

“Well, I shall have to add a notch to my crown or something,” he said drily, but the blue eyes darted a mirthful glance at her. As long as he could keep her talking, he felt this drive might be largely successful.

 

**

 

Because Lorna was supposed to be dead, Siobhan came and met them at the doors, rather than make her try to deal with the triage desk. She was pale and tense, the inside of her lower lip slightly raw from gnawing on it.

 

“I’d heard’v MRSA,” she said wretchedly, “but I never thought...he hadn’t got surgery or anything. They’re not sure _how_ he got it.”

 

“How’s Grania?” Lorna asked.

 

“Not well,” her sister said. “I mean, she tries to put up a good front, but she’s a mess anyway, and all I can do is get her drunk.”

 

“Well, she _is_ a Donovan by marriage,” Lorna said, looking at Thranduil as she shook her head. “Guess our coping mechanisms work for her, too. Calm down, Siobhan. It’ll be all right now.”

 

“How many people are near him?” Thranduil wanted to know.

 

“Right now there’s a nurse with him,” Siobhan said. “I told them to hold off on any procedures, but I don't know how much longer I can manage that.”

 

“I either have to make her not see, or make her forget what she sees, or someone has to get her out of the room long enough for me to work. Suggestions?”

 

“I don't think any’v us could fake it well enough to get her out’v the room without raising suspicion...and Jesus, my inner Kurt just said ‘that’s what she said’,” Lorna said, fighting the urge to facepalm. “Can you make her not see? And I’ll just make sure you get...shit, you’re not into Mairead cakes that much. I could give Thanadir a cake and you could enjoy his enjoyment?”

 

“Eru,” Thranduil laughed, knowing what the nature of this trade-off would end up being. “Very well. Shall we?”

 

“Lorna, I should warn you, he looks...kind’v not good,” Siobhan said. “They shaved half his head. He’s going to be bloody pissed when he’s himself again.”

 

“Oh no…” Pat was a Donovan; they were all quite attached to their hair. “Well, it’s not like he didn't earn it? Christ, listen to me…”

 

“Fun Size, sometimes I can’t even,” Siobhan said, as she led her sister and Thranduil to her brother’s room. Poor Pat was conscious, but so doped on painkillers that he was only marginally aware.

 

Lorna winced, because he did indeed look like hell. Too pale, dark shadows underneath his eyes (which were absolutely glazed with whatever was in that IV line)...

 

Grania glommed onto her out of nowhere, as ninja-sneaky as any Elf. She said nothing, but she was shivering, and Lorna folded her into a hug. “It’s all right now,” she whispered.

 

“I do not care if you have to pretend you are having a miscarriage, no one comes into this room,” he told Lorna. “I have great faith in your powers of theatricality.”

 

“I’ll remember you said that,” she said. Fortunately, the nurse had exited just as they entered, so she shut the door, drawing the curtain. Grania followed her to peek around the edge, watching for anyone who looked likely to invade. “I wish these doors had bloody locks.”

 

“Lorna, it’s a hospital,” Siobhan said. “That would be useless.”

 

“Not right now, it wouldn’t,” Lorna retorted.

 

“Shush,” Thranduil murmured, feeling an interesting combination of complete annoyance and sympathy. _For Lorna,_ he reminded himself. Then he took Pat into his arms, mindful of the needles and tubes everywhere. Closing his eyes, he did...what he did. His brow furrowed with the need to maintain awareness of others in the room, and quickly it became apparent that this infection was all throughout the man’s body. _Maybe next time he will listen to what he is told, the eejit._ This would require considerable effort, and then the effort to hide how much effort it had been. He could lean on Earlene and Thanadir to help him--later. His light shone very brightly; hopefully no one else was seeing it who should not be.

 

Siobhan alone had never seen this before; she knew of Thranduil’s healing abilities, but only by reputation. “Bloody Christ,” she said. “Wish you could somehow...bottle that and sell it. That’s just…” She clapped a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be all right now? He already looks less shite.” _Disoriented_ , yeah, but no longer like he was about to breathe his last at any moment.

 

“The sickness is gone,” Thranduil said. “He will have had a miraculous recovery. None of us can possibly imagine what has happened. I will sit so that Lorna and Grania can see him but...she and I probably should not stay long. I do not want his sudden health connected to us having been seen in the hospital.”

 

“I’ll tell the staff Grania and I did a Discordian healing ceremony over him,” Siobhan said. “Hail Eris.”

 

Pat blinked. “Hail bloody Eris,” he mumbled, before his eyes cleared, and eventually landed on Thranduil. “Owe you,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “And owe you an apology. I’m sorry I was such an...such a gobshite. I don't know what in hell got into me, not that that’s any manner’v excuse at all. How did I get here?”

 

“You went to go see Lorna when you were told not to,” Siobhan said, not quite able to keep the sheer relief out of her voice. “You know what happens when you poke her and she doesn’t want to be poked.” Lorna could never know just how close he had actually come to joining their father. Never ever.

 

“What she said,” Thranduil smiled. “I accept your apology.” He somehow doubted that he and Pat had similar understandings of what had been so wrong about what had happened. And yet, this was not the time to delve into any of that.

 

“Lorna, get your arse in here so our brother can grovel,” Siobhan said. “Grania, come hug your eejit husband.”

 

Grania needed no second urging, but Lorna hesitated a moment. She was mad at Pat -- she didn't want to _stop_ being mad at Pat -- and yet she also felt guilty as all hell, and grateful he was still going to be around for her to be mad at. It was a confusing, conflicting sea of emotion, and she wasn't sure what to do with it.

 

“So…” she said. “You’re not dying. That’s a plus.”

 

“You had MRSA,” Siobhan clarified. “Hence, Thranduil, who we owe a drink or five.”

 

Pat’s eyes widened. “I had…? Jesus Christ. I know what that is…” He shivered a little, his arms tightening a bit as he hugged Grania. “Fun Size, come here, will you? Grania, allanah, I can’t do this properly with your hair in my face.”

 

Grania sat back up, slightly flustered, but he gave her hand a squeeze.

 

Lorna approached, uncertain if she wanted to or not. She wanted Pat to be healthy and safe, but looking at him...it was hard right now. “Pat, if you say this, you’d better bloody _mean_ it,” she said. He’d hurt her, terribly, and then she’d nearly killed him...she had no right to be angry with him now, and yet some of it lingered.

 

Her brother snorted. “Lorna, when in my entire fucking life have I _ever_ apologized for something I didn't want to?” he asked. “I was a gobshite and worse, and if I could go back in time and kick myself before I could get started, I’d do it. I’m sure I can come up with something better than this once my head doesn’t feel like it’s full’v bees, but there’s that for a start.”

 

It was such a very _Donovan_ sort of apology that Lorna couldn’t help but laugh. “Pat, you’re an asshole,” she said, even as she hugged him. “And I’m still mad at you, but I love you anyway. Don't die. Once you’re home, there’s plenty’v conversations we’ll need to have, but for now, you’re making a miraculous recovery and they’ll probably let you out soon. Thranduil and I probably ought to sneak away, though.”

 

Suddenly Thranduil knew how to set Pat more at ease, whether he deserved it or no. After they said their good-lucks and were heading for the door, he turned for a brief moment and looked at Pat. _She let me drive the Charger,_ he smiled, giving a little wave before he and Lorna disappeared.

 

Pat stared at their swiftly-retreating forms, stunned. So far as he knew, he and now Thranduil were the only people his little sister had ever allowed to drive her precious car… “He’s the brother that’s not in the doghouse,” he groaned, flopping back on the bed.

 

**

 

Lorna, feeling so much lighter, caught Thranduil in a sideways hug. “Thank you,” she said. _Seriously, I owe you better than a cake. I owe you...hell, you think’v something you’d want, since baked goods seem to be all I know. Baked goods, booze, and hugs._

 

“Hmmm. Well, I will think of something.” Thranduil ruffled her hair. “In the meantime, seeing Thanadir happy will have to do.” Which, to be fair, was worth quite a lot in his estimation.

 

“And meanwhile, you’ve got bragging rights,” she said. “Nobody gets to drive my car. I never even let _Ratiri_ drive my car. In Lorna-Land that’s about as big a deal as you can get.”

 

“I will keep that in mind. I suppose it is something like having been allowed to ride my elk.” He ruminated on this, trying to recall if anyone ever had been given this permission. Perhaps Legolas? Hm. This would require thought, and perhaps a conversation with Thanadir.

 

“If you want, you can drive home,” she offered, holding out the keys. “I know most people don't like my driving much anyway.”

 

“Very well,” he chuckled. “But do not expect me to drive quite as quickly as on the way home. That was a concession to the state of your nerves.”

 

“If you really feel like driving a muscle car like a granny...well, you’re the driver,” she said, though she thought it a crying shame he didn't want to gun the accelerator at least once. “Don't let me interfere with your Charger experience.” She couldn’t help but laugh as she said it, just because of how absurd it sounded. Her brother was not going to die. She could stay mad at him for a while yet, because he’d be okay...and he’d had half his head shaved, the poor bastard.

 

“Good answer,” he smirked. Once he started the engine, he allowed it to warm up for a few moments, floored it, allowed it to idle again, and then moved the transmission into gear and drove away. “Happy?”

 

“Very,” she said, grinning at him. “Best brother-from-another-mother ever. Hell, best brother, period. Seriously, I owe you a big one. Another big one.”

 

Thranduil said nothing, and only smiled. Oh yes, he would think of something. Something that would be good for her, and therefore wildly unpopular. All that was required was some time to ponder. The drive home was otherwise uneventful, give or take that he enjoyed that his friend now felt so much happier now. There would come a time when he could no longer listen to her singing her most interesting musical selections. He sighed inaudibly. Life would go on as it always did, but it would lose a little luster without Lorna in it. Shaking off such thoughts, he pulled carefully into their driveway and handed her back her keys. “Back in Kansas,” he told her. Earlene said that, from time to time.

 

Lorna snorted. “At least there’s no tornados,” she said. “C’mon, there’s still muffins leftover. Help me eat them before Supri gets home and decides to inhale them all. How a  kid that tiny can eat as much as she does is beyond me.”

 

“What _kind_ of muffins?” he asked.

 

She glanced around, wondering if Kurt was about. “If you brought me a bran muffin, you can have it,” she said. “Did you ever see the videos that’re behind Kurt’s obsession with muffins?”

 

“Maaaaaaaybe,” he smirked, refusing to admit to it just yet.

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” she said, leading him through the forest. The kittens were quite happy to see them both, squeaking up a storm -- and fortunately had not got into the cupboards. The muffins were safe. “You want me to heat it up?”

 

“Yes please. Shall I make us tea?”

 

“That’d be lovely, thanks,” she said, picking up a kitten before it could try to climb his leg. With the oven on low the muffins would only have to sit for a moment. “Christ, “I wonder, d’you think it’d be a good idea to just like, make an announcement about the whole thing, rather than let it pass through the grapevine and mutate Christ knows how many times?” It would utterly suck, sure, but it might be the best idea.

 

“Too late,” he grinned. “Grania.”

 

Lorna facepalmed. Hard. “God love the fucking Irish, but we just can’t keep something to ourselves, can we?” she asked. “All right, well, at least it’s out’v the way. I just...I hate this, Thranduil. I hate everything about it, for all I'm trying to get used to it. There are times I forget I’m pissed, and then I'm just sad.”

 

She laughed slightly. “You know what the hardest part is, about being out here? No wifi. How pathetic is that? I grew up in a house that didn't have _electricity_ half the time, and then in a warehouse, and yet now I’m bitching because there’s no wifi.” It wasn’t as bad when someone was staying with her, obviously, but when she was alone...yeah, then it actually kind of sucked.

 

“I will make a bargain with you,” he said, eyeing her carefully. “In exchange for a promise to do your utmost to stop thinking fatalistically and negatively about the possible outcomes of this mess with your family. To work with Angie to realize that no matter what comes of this, you will still have a fulfilling life with those who love you dearly. To do the best you can to be positive. That is what I want for having helped your brother, and it is also the price of Wifi.”

 

She stared at him, and turned the idea over in her mind. God damn him and his positivity -- and goddamn the fact that he could remind her of this adorable fucking kitten currently chewing on her thumb. “We have wifi out here?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “We have _wifi_ , and nobody ever told me? That’s it.” She set both kitten and muffin aside (the former started gnawing on the latter) and attack-noogie’d him. “Just because you’re the good brother doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

 

“Mmmm mmmm,” he waggled his finger at her. “ _We_ , do not have wifi. _I_ , have wifi. Wifi I am offering to share with you. I will have you know that I hand out the password to my vault more readily. I doubt I need mention that if this gets out to anyone, I will erase your memory of it. And theirs too. Seriously, there is a reason it has been kept a secret; I cannot afford to have the bandwidth reduced; it exists so that I can be contacted by mobile even when deep within my Halls. It was an emergency measure.”

 

“Fine,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “But don't think I'll forget you waited a week to volunteer this information, Mister. And just for that, I’m sticking this kitten on you.” She snatched up the little tabby and did just that, letting it sit right under his chin.

 

“A week? Try years. Besides, this is only a concession to your fragile emotional state. Usually I would just show up with a skein of yarn and knitting needles, plus a few of those stress balls they hand out to the senior citizens.” He was having far, far too much fun right now.

 

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Years?” she said. “ _Years?!_ We’ve had wifi in this forest for _years_ , and I'm just now hearing about it? Oh, that’s it.” She snatched up the other three kittens and set them at random on Thranduil’s person, before Pumpkin came sailing up like a giant fluffy orange cloud, fuzzing everything as she made her determined way to Thranduil’s lap, where she flopped. And yes, she flopped on a kitten.

 

“Ah ah ah, naughty folk who behave poorly do not get wifi access,” he teased. “Besides, what part of ‘secret’ have you not been understanding? This is wifi that no one can use, Lorna. That is the point of the thing. E-mer-gen-cies. I do not use it. Neither does Earlene or Thanadir. It is and always has been off-limits. Internet access is for Eldamar and the cottage. Even this is temporary, and because you are...you. Or perhaps I should reconsider?”

 

“You are so lucky it’s not Christmas,” she said, barely resisting the urge to poke him in the eyebrow. Instead she hugged him, insofar as she could with all those cats in the way. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone else about it.”

 

“Good Lorna,” he rumbled, hugging her back. Would that all negotiations in his life had gone this easily.

 

“ _Hush_ , you,” she said. “You know, there’s a saying in Russian: ‘I kogda ja podumal, čto dostig dna, snizu kto-to postučal’. It means, ‘When I thought I reached the bottom, I heard someone knocking from below’. I think you lot are the ones who knock.” And she was absolutely, one hundred percent certain he would not get the _Breaking Bad_ reference, which was fine by her.

 

“You know, there is something else I need to say to you, before I leave you to your downloads,” he murmured into her hair while rocking her a little from side to side, much as he did Allanah when she was very young. “I know you want to think that people will look askance at you because your husband ran out on you, as you put it. But you are very wrong. You have to see, dear one, most everyone understands with perfect clarity that what Ratiri and Pat did they did against all of us. This was not a rejection of you as a person but of a necessary underpinning of our society here and all that we have worked together to achieve. Oh, yes, perhaps an assorted few have privately harbored similar beliefs, but managed to keep such notions to themselves. But this...it was never truly about you, Lorna.”

 

She digested this as her hug tightened a bit, though not quite to rib-creaking levels. “Is it wrong that that actually helps?” she asked. “It feels like it should be. I probably shouldn’t be glad my husband and my brother were idiotic dicks to _everyone_ , even if it was by proxy to most’v them.” And that was honestly even sadder than she’d thought.

 

“Let me put it this way. Had only Earlene been in the room that night, had you been elsewhere...the outcome would have been the same. You were merely a convenient target by your presence and your involvement in the original...episode. While I deeply regret what you are now enduring...this almost had to happen, Lorna. Can you seriously imagine this taking place after the plague strikes? Our time for having this sort of foolishness occur is waning. Valar willing, this will be the last instance of its kind before...before.”

 

Lorna twitched, because as horrendous as this was, it would have been disastrous after the plague. At least Pat and Ratiri had had somewhere to scarper to; after the plague, anywhere they went would be full of corpses, and they’d be all but impossible to find. “Christ, no kidding,” she said. “Well, it’s something the whole load’v them’ll be dealing with now, but I’m going to guess there won’t be many -- if any -- as extreme as Ratiri and Pat. Americans tend to be a bit more okay with -- I guess I’d call it personal justice, and as for the rest’v these Irish, I’d say few would have a truly large problem with it. We didn't just go out looking for someone to stab, after all.

 

“I do have to wonder why Siobhan took it so well, though. She grew up the same way we did, after all -- maybe America rubbed off on her.”

 

“It is because Siobhan has pragmatic common sense that your husband does not,” Thranduil asserted, releasing her. “Lorna, this will end up numbering among their greatest regrets. Before it is over, you will pity them in equal measure to your anger, while being fully aware that they brought this on themselves.”

 

“I already pity Pat,” she sighed. “I mean, I’m still a bit pissed, and I don't want to deal with him, but...Christ, he’s paid and then some. It’s hard to stay really angry at someone when you bloody near killed them.” She shook her head. “And...well, like I said, at the end’v it all, he’s still my brother. I can’t hate him.”

 

“There is no need to hate anyone. That being said, actions have consequences.”

 

“Maybe ‘hate’ is the wrong word,” she mused, as the tabby crawled under her braid. “More like, the temptation to write him off isn’t there. With Ratiri...he hurt me too much, and right now I’ve got no reason to give him the chance to ever do that again. Supri still wants him in her life, and Atia might, but right now -- he doesn’t deserve my forgiveness, and he’s not going to get it until he’s paid for it. Maybe not even then, if I’m honest with myself. And if that makes me a terrible person, in just this one thing, I’m willing to wear it. Never in my entire fucking life have I felt that betrayed.” And if her eyes burned a little, she could probably be forgiven.

 

“It is your decision,” Thranduil acknowledged. Lorna and a capacity to forgive were still barely acquainted with one another, and this was hardly the time to push or even discuss that issue. “You have my support.”

 

She sighed. “Just...let me know when he’s home, will you -- if he’s in any condition to see Supri, anyway. I don't want her around him if he’s a wreck, but I’ll not keep them from one another.” They could see each other through Siobhan, who could also keep an eye on him. If her little daughter wanted him, and if it would make things more stable for the girl, then so be it. Lorna had tried to be very careful not to let Supri know just how very upset she was with Ratiri, because it wasn’t her daughter’s fault, nor was it her problem.

 

*****

 

{June 12, 2034}

 

Grania was so filled with annoyance, pity, and relief that she wasn’t certain which was stronger -- honestly, it changed from hour to hour.

 

She’d known Pat was an eejit, but good _grief --_ she’d credited him with at least _some_ sense. Was she happy that that lot had needed to kill multiple people? No, of course not. That didn't change the fact that doing so had done the world a favor, and made sure the bastards couldn’t do what they’d wanted to do to Ailill to some other poor soul who didn't have anyone to rescue them. It was bloody awful, but that didn't mean there hadn’t been a need.

 

The doctors thought he might be fit to be released in a day or two, once they’d made absolutely certain there was no trace of MRSA left. It had been all both women could do to keep it to themselves, when incredulous doctors and nurses examined him. Siobhan held steadfast that it was her prayers to Eris, and somehow Grania kept a straight face.

 

He was sound asleep now, however, and Grania and Siobhan sat watching him. “You know,” Siobhan said quietly, “I’ve got to wonder if he’d’ve gone that spare if it wasn’t for Ratiri -- if they weren’t feeding off each other.”

 

“I’ve wondered the same thing,” Grania said, just as quietly. “Pat, he can have a temper on him, but generally he leaves if something pisses him off. He goes somewhere else to calm down -- just where, I'm not sure, and I’ve never asked. If it wasn’t for Ratiri, he might’ve done just that.” He’d still have been a nightmare to deal with, sure, but it wouldn’t have been _this_. There at least would have been a chance to talk to him about it later, once he’d got over the worst of it. Sure, it might have ended just as badly, but she and Siobhan could have had the opportunity to work on him. Either way, they’d never know now.

 

Siobhan snorted. “We’re not exactly stable people, us Donovans,” she said. “All’v us had to work at it, and we’ll probably never be perfect at it, even if we had a thousand years to try. I’ve lost it a time or five since we moved here, but always -- well, within reason. It’s why I got into chainsaw art; it was a constructive way to destroy something. That Pat could go like this, after all this time...it worries me, Grania. World hasn’t even ended yet. If _this_ can make him do that, what in bloody hell will what’s coming do to the rest’v us?”

 

“It’s not just the Donovans I'm worried about, there,” Grania said softly. “We think we’re ready, mentally, but are we really? It’s a good thing we’ve been storing up psychiatric medicine for the last seventeen years, that’s all I'm going to say.”

 

“We won’t know until it happens,” Siobhan said. “We’ll be needing a load’v distractions, I think, if we don't want others going apeshit. I definitely won’t want to be thinking about what’ll be going on...outside.”

 

*****

 

“All that staying in that cottage isn’t good for Aunt Lorna,” Thaladir huffed, crossing his arms. “She needs to quit holing up in there.”

 

“As opposed to what?” Faeleth asked. For once she was actually in a mood to study something, even if she was reading her book while hanging upside down off the sofa back. Their sister did little in an ordinary fashion.

 

“What about going hunting? Calanon and Ailill and I are going. Why do we not all go, and make a proper job of it? Lorna has her own pony. Allanah has her horse; we could borrow two or three more and all go out with the hounds and everything,” he said.

 

Algar and Eldan looked at each other. “I’d have to ask Uncle Maglor for permission to miss my lesson,” Eldan fretted.

 

“Which you never do, Eldan. He will not mind, especially if you let him know soon. We couldn’t manage this until early afternoon anyway,” Algar countered. “C’mon. You practice harp so much you too rarely get out. You are half-elven. What kind of elf never looks at a tree?”

 

“Oh, fine,” Eldan grumped, knowing his twin was right. “Count me in, as long as Maglor says yes.”

 

“We want to go too,” Lancaeron said. “We can ride.”

 

Erynion and Andaer nodded. “We are small enough to go three on one horse,” the latter noted. “We’ve done it before.”

 

“We need to figure all this out. Someone needs to go to the Halls and find Uncle Maglor, beg someone to ready the horses, and we need to ask Allanah too; she could be in the middle of something.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Faeleth said, flipping gracefully onto her feet. “I can run fastest.” No one was about to dispute that, plus everyone loved her and probably their chances would be better at charming the ellyn who minded the horses. “I’ll be back before lunch. If I succeed, I’ll have a lot of horses in tow.”

 

“Only Aunt Lorna’s needs a saddle,” Thaladir reminded.

 

“Were you going to include us in this grand scheme?” Calanon asked, coming down the stairs to eavesdrop on the better part of this. “And were you going to ask Aunt Lorna?” he queried, grinning.

 

“Valar no, Uncle Calanon. That would just give her time to think of why not to go.”

 

Laughing uproariously, he grinned. “I will go with Faeleth. That is a lot of horses to bring back here even for one so agile. I like the way you think, Thaladir. Do not tell Ailill,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I want to see the look on his face.”

 

**

 

Thaladir knocked on Lorna’s door, quite firmly. The others were a little way around the cottage, so as to not be stunningly obvious. Only he and the triplets were there on her doorstep, since it was widely acknowledged that the trio had a mesmerizing effect of cuteness on most adults and were therefore helpful at strategic maneuvering of grown-ups.

 

Lorna, who had managed to both successfully bake _and_ keep four kittens off the counter, opened the door and blinked in surprise. She had never actually seen any of the peredhel kids out this far, though that didn't mean they weren’t about. “Hi, you lot,” she said. “You want some biscuits? I made some that smell like they’re more than just edible.” Thaladir might still look younger than he was, but by now he’d outstripped her in height.

 

“No thank you, Aunt Lorna,” he said politely. “This is an abduction. You are coming with us. You spend too much time in here.” All three of the triplets looked up at her solemnly and nodded on cue.

 

She blinked again, rather thrown. “I think this might be the politest attempt at abduction in the history’v ever,” she said. “And where were you planning on abducting me to?”

 

“Adar would not like an unseemly abduction, Aunt Lorna,” Thaladir said with complete seriousness. “And...it sort’v depends on the noses. I never know where I am going either. But the dogs do,” he smiled reassuringly.

 

She had a feeling Thranduil would find an unseemly abduction hilarious, but Thanadir most certainly would not, and Thaladir was nothing if not like his second father. “You want to take me hunting?” she asked. “Thaladir, I’ve never done that. I might just slow you down.”

 

“You will not,” came the confident answer. “It’s fun. And look, you’re dressed perfectly.” Once again, the three heads of his brothers nodded in perfect synchronicity, on cue.

 

Oh, good Jesus...they were so _cute,_ it was just bloody unfair. “All right, you lot,” she said, resigned. “Well, come on in and have a biscuit while I get my boots on, at least. I’m sure the kittens’ll want to say hi.”

 

“Okay,” the triplets answered. Lorna did not see Thaladir turn and give the thumbs-up signal to his siblings, or another sign following it that meant ‘wait a moment.’ The four youths went inside, first checking that their shoes had no debris to track. In a moment the four of them were smugly munching their cookie, not feeling too terribly sorry for their siblings outside that were missing out. He happened to know Nana was making a good dessert tonight; no one would suffer.

 

Lorna, utterly bemused, got her boots on (and pulled a kitten out of one of them). They were too young yet to be allowed out into the forest, but there was a plethora of cat toys to keep them busy while she was away -- and if all else failed, Pumpkin and Pickles could herd them. “So are you hoping to get any particular animal today?” She knew very little about how it worked, aside from the fact that hawks and hounds were involved; she’d always let Ailill, Calanon, and any other children that went along get on with it.

 

“Rabbits, ‘cause the others taste gross,” Lancaeron answered. Even he knew that one.

 

“Your Aunt Sharley fed me squirrel jerky once,” she said, shaking her head. “Had to ask. All right, lead the way.”

 

Lead the way they did, and Calanon stood happily at the head of her saddled and bridled pony. “Do you need help to get in the saddle?” he asked. Having been warned about both Lorna and the voices, he was wise enough not to ask ‘do you need help mounting her.’ It was simply better not to risk it.

 

“I think I’m good, thanks,” she said, swinging herself up and across the pony’s back. “Malen’kiy here might have a hard time keeping up with the bigger horses over a long distance, though. She and I are both limited by the length’v our legs.” She gave the pony a fond scratch behind the ears. They could both go far, but they couldn’t go very fast.

 

“No need to worry, they know not to go faster than you,” Allanah grinned. The prospect of this outing was too much fun to pass up. Plus, she could share her horse with Faeleth that way.

 

Today Ailill was working with two younger birds acquired within the last few years; Thia was expected to keel off her perch any day and Diana had passed on some time ago. The names this time were much simpler; Skye and Ladye,  still Harris hawks. All of them crossed out of the forest and toward the farming acreage, to see what could be found in the long fields and copses of trees and bushes. As Ireland went in the middle of spring, the day could not have been more perfect. The hawks were flying high, when the clear cry of Flynn sounded that he had a scent. Not fifteen meters away a large jackrabbit broke from some tall grasses, and the chase was on. “After them, Aunt Lorna,” Thaladir said happily, knowing that the pony knew what to do just as well or better.

 

 _Oh dear_ , she thought, but after she went, her pony’s sturdy legs and sure feet finding their own way. She -- or at least, her thighs -- would probably regret this later, but it was good for Malen’kiy, at least, to get some proper exercise. Walks around the forest weren’t enough.

 

Glenda was right behind, as the two dogs tore after the rabbit, that zigged and zagged for all it was worth, trying to head toward more vegetation. The bunny was very, very fast, but few creatures are as motivated to flee as one at risk of becoming dinner. And then it happened; the dogs became confused and lost the scent trail temporarily while the rabbit very visibly kept dashing into the distance. Faeleth rolled her eyes and vaulted off the horse. “C’mon! The rabbit’s going that way!” and off she went, as fleet of foot as the horses, for the most part. Everyone liked this, and decided to follow Faeleth instead.

 

Malen’kiy evidently really did not want to be left behind, apparently, because she thundered after the horses, sturdy little hooves eating up the ground. Watching little Faeleth, who was not so little anymore, she had to wonder. Yeah, the kids were peredhel, and inhumanly graceful and all that, but Faeleth was...something else.

 

The others dragged back a little, wanting Lorna to be closest to the front. Finally, the dogs had realized the party was going elsewhere and quickly corrected their error; soon enough their singing cries could be heard coming up behind and then passing the horses as they quite literally tore through the green field. With a laugh, once Faeleth realized they were back on track, she...well it was hard to describe, exactly, but she reached for Allanah’s outstretched arm and easily somehow returned herself to the horse’s back. Whatever they called the maneuver, it was obvious enough this was something long-practiced between them.

 

Where had it gone? Lorna’s eyes sought it, and then -- oh, there it was, running for its furry little life. She was surprised it hadn’t dropped dead of terror, like sheep occasionally did. The sun was warm on her face as Malen’kiy thundered along, quite loud for such a small pony, the wind tugging at both mane and braid. Why had she never done this before? Well, okay, on a larger horse it wouldn’t have been so much fun, but still.

 

And then the rabbit...vanished. The cause of this was the great big hole into which the creature had plunged out of sight. Both hounds were currently trying to shove their heads into it at the same time, baying all the while. Which...was pretty damn funny. “Flynn! Glenda! That won’t work,” Thaladir tried to tell them, as most everyone dismounted (because it was time to do that, and why not?)

 

“Come on now, the pair’v you,” Lorna said, parting the undergrowth in an attempt to see just where the rabbit had gone. Short of sending one of the triplets down there, they weren’t getting anywhere near the critter. “I think he’s lived to be chased another day. We’ll just have to find something else for dinner.” It had been a while since she’d been near enough the ground to enjoy the sweet scent of slightly damp earth (because it was Ireland, of course it was slightly damp), and she found it calming. Malen’kiy meandered up behind her and started munching away at a deer fern.

 

“Oh no,” Ailill muttered. Lorna did not know her danger, but he did. Racing over, without warning he hoisted her up to sit on the edge of his shoulder, just in the nick of time. For where Lorna had been, a shower of dirt over a meter tall erupted from underneath the dogs, and all over the face and neck of her poor pony. He backed away quickly from the dogs. “I am sorry about that,” Ailill apologized, setting her back down. “I just know that they….that,” he smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think they can help themselves.”

 

Lorna yelped, swore -- though at least she did it in Russian -- and eventually burst out laughing. “Do they think it’ll do them any good?” she asked, brushing off poor Malen’kiy’s face and mane. “Pretty sure that rabbit’s well beyond their reach, unless they feel like trying to dig to China.”

 

“Well...it’s a bit like Irish in a pub fight,” Ailill said. “They’re hounds and...they have to give it a go, just on principle.” He now lowered his voice, and made a pretense of needing to fiddle with his boot so as to be down at her height. “I...I just wanted to say, I’m so sorry about what’s going on for you. About what happened. I don’t know if I ever personally thanked you for what you did for me that night. It meant the world to me, Lorna. I just...wanted you to know how grateful I am even if others...think like they do,” he said awkwardly.

 

She reached out and hugged him, knowing he had to have gone through hell himself over this. “I’d do it all again, no matter what certain other gobshites might have to say about it,” she said, quiet but fierce. “Those other gobshites can...well, they can go do things that aren’t fit for these children to hear. What _matters_ is that we got you back safe and unharmed, and those bastards can never hurt anyone again.”

 

“My exact thoughts,” he agreed, hugging her back. “I hope you know how many of us are behind you. Which is pretty much to say, everyone.” He quickly wiped the back of his hand across his eyes so that the tear or two that had formed would not be seen. This was a fun outing, and he needed to keep a grip. Rising up, he forced a smile. “Ok, so we lost the rabbit. Let’s all get on the horses and try again. How about….thataway?” he pointed.

 

After an other half-hour of pleasant walking, they gave chase again, and the hawks made a beautiful show of  swooping down on...something...a bit in the distance. They all had the fun of racing up to it with the dogs to find...one large rat.

 

“Yummy,” frowned Thaladir.

 

“You can have Nana cook that one,” grinned Faeleth.

 

Eldan and Algar dismounted, just to watch in morbid fascination. Even the dogs didn’t want to eat that, but the hawks had no such compunction.

 

“Ewwwwwwww,” said the triplets in stereo.

 

Lorna eyed the children, and decided some gentle trolling was in order. “Rats taste like chicken,” she said. “In China, they’re a delicacy.” Both things were true, though she only knew one of them through actual experience. And she decided in short order that there was little quite as disturbing as watching a raptor tear apart a rodent.

 

“Wait,” Thaladir said, looking at her with raised eyebrows. “So we should try to get a bunch’v them for Nana to cook up? I just didn’t like the how the tails look, but if they’re good…”

 

Ailill’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and he turned away before he could double over in laughter. Thaladir, Valar bless him, was a complete literalist.

 

“We’re in Ireland, not China, lad,” Lorna said gently, “and I think, if we brought your nana a bunch’v rats to cook, it wouldn’t end well. Or at least, not for me.” She could picture Earlene’s expression all too clearly, and it was not one she wanted aimed at her. Ever.

 

“But…” Thaladir breathed, now baffled.

 

“Perhaps we can discuss it with your Nana later,” Calanon suggested. “We would not be able to get enough of them today. Aunt Lorna is not used to riding for hours and we do not want to make her regret coming out with us. If we return now everyone will have had enough exercise and fun. Besides, the first rat is...well…” he gestured to what was at this point most definitely Rat Bits.

 

“Oh. Well...alright, Uncle Calanon. Good idea.” With a glance at Lorna he grinned, and went to check on his dogs.

 

Lorna fought an urge to facepalm. Oh well, maybe Earlene still felt sorry enough for her to let her get away with it. “It was fun, you lot,” she said. “Thank you for abducting me, which is not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.”

 

 _“It does sound a bit weird,”_ Layla conceded.

 

“Would you want to come with us again?” Allanah asked, trying hard to keep any eagerness out of her voice. Aunt Lorna did not need extra pressures right now.

 

“You know, I think I will,” Lorna said. “Granted, that depends on how my thighs feel later...it’s been too long since I’ve had a proper ride on this one.” She gently rubbed Malen’kiy’s nose.

 

 _“That’s what she said,”_ Kurt snickered.

 

Lorna didn't respond to him, but she reflected that sooner or later, she needed to go get herself a battery-operated friend. Lack of a certain something in her life was not helping her mental state.

 

“Thanadir gave me a salve once,” Ailill said. “It does wonders to help with being sore from exercise you’re not used to. Want me to find some and bring it to the cottage?”

 

“Christ, that’d be lovely,” she said. “Speaking’v the cottage, I’ve got biscuits and kittens there, if anyone’s interested in either.”

 

“Some of us can come,” Faeleth said, realizing Lorna would like the company and eyeing her older siblings. Probably most of them would need to care for the horses and other critters, but the three of them could definitely eat cookies.

 

**

 

“You must be really mad at them,” Algar said bluntly, looking and sounding a great deal like Thranduil in that moment while he took in the furnishings of the cottage. “We all kind’v are.”

 

“Oh, I am,” Lorna said, piling biscuits (still somewhat warm) onto a plate. They were chocolate-chip, Mairead’s recipe, and they’d come out pretty well -- no, they weren’t as good as Earlene’s, but none would be. “It’s why I’m living here, with Supri. This place has only ever been mine, ever since my gran left it to me.”

 

The little tuxedo kitten made a jump for her braid, so she picked him up and set him on her shoulder. “We all learn to deal, though. We have to, even when it’s hard.” And oh, was it ever hard at night, when things were quiet...having wifi helped, but once she’d put Supri to bed, it was just her and the feline contingency.

 

“Adar says there are different kinds of strength,” Faeleth said. “Strength because you need to be strong, strength because others need you to be strong, and strength for when the first two are elusive.” Her eyes held Lorna’s in a way that was odd, for her supposed years. “I hope you know that we miss you at the house. It’s not the same without you there and you don’t have to be lonely here. We could move the furniture around. You could live in different rooms or even a different wing of the house. It doesn’t have to remind you of them if you don’t want it to.” Then, just as suddenly, the intensity faded and what appeared to be an ordinary child reached for and happily bit into a cookie.

 

Lorna watched her closely. She’d never asked Earlene any questions about Faeleth, figuring it was Earlene’s business only, but maybe it was time. “It sounds like something your adar would say,” she said. “I’ll...I’ll come for dinner, Faeleth. More than that...I think it’s too soon. I’ll see how a visit goes.” Right now, it was the third kind of strength she was stuck with, given she didn't seem to be much good at the other two. Few actually needed her; right now it was just Supri, who she was making do for. More than that would have to come with time.

 

“Are you playing your guitar, Aunt Lorna?” Eldan asked.

 

“...You know, it’s been a while,” she said, surprised. “I haven’t since everything...happened. That’s almost criminal.”

 

 _“Yes, but is it a_ smooth _criminal?”_ Jimmy asked.

 

 _“Obviously, or she woulda noticed it by now,”_ Layla said witheringly.

 

Faeleth’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. “Then you should,” her brother insisted. “Uncle Maglor says music is how he survived. Music and friends. It helps me if I feel sad.”

 

“I might just take a trip to the music room later,” Lorna said, picking up the tabby kitten before it could chew through her shoelaces. “I was practicing piano, too, before everything went to he-- to bits.” She was tempted to ask Maglor for advice there, because this was a kind of sadness she wasn’t familiar with. When she’d lost Liam, it had been to death, which was a very different thing than what had happened now. The kind of grief that came with death was rather different than that which came with betrayal.

 

“Adar says it is worse,” Faeleth opined again. “That betrayal is worse. That is why we are all very unhappy about what happened.”

 

Algar looked at his sister, realizing that she was...choosing to be awfully forthright but that Lorna might not...know. “She is never wrong about things like that, Aunt Lorna,” Algar said. “Sometimes the people we care about just end up behaving…”

 

“Very regrettably,” Eldan finished for his twin.

 

“Even if they didn’t set out to be that way in the first place,” Faeleth emphasized. “Things can go wrong inside of people and we hope that at some point they go right again. But it doesn’t always work out that way. That is why sometimes others need to be our strength.”

 

Lorna looked at Faeleth, her eyes so very much like Thanadir’s, only far more intense. “It _is_ worse,” she said quietly. “Much worse.” How long had this girl been able to read minds? Had she been Thranduil’s birth-daughter, it would have made sense, but Thanadir’s mental abilities were not, so far as she knew, really any greater than an ordinary Elf’s. “Ask your adar what he did to get over it, will you please? I could use some advice.”

 

“He went on because he knew he was right in the sight of Eru,” Faeleth explained. “Melkor was his brother but betrayed all of them. And then they thought he had gotten better, changed his ways. But he didn’t, and that was very bitter. He was betrayed twice. And there are times when you just have to deal with the fact that other people make bad decisions. But Aunt Lorna, I do not think Uncles Pat and Ratiri are like that. Honestly, they are both just eejits. We all think they will come around, because Uncle Geezer is…”

 

“Going to put his bootlaces where the sun does not shine?” Algar finished, trying to rescue his sister. He fared better with unseemliness, of the three of them.

 

“Yes, that,” the girl said brightly. “So really, you just need to wait this out and decide what makes you happy, Aunt Lorna. And in the meantime, there is Nana’s food. I heard Aunt Mairead say food makes everything better as long as you can keep it down.”

 

Lorna laughed so hard she nearly cried, setting down both the kittens. “Well, she’s not wrong,” she said. Mairead and Gran had all but force-fed her after Liam died, until she got enough of an appetite back to actually find food interesting. “I’m glad you lot abducted me, and I'm glad you came back here for biscuits. I’ll...I’ll see about coming around for dinner. I know Supri’d love to see you all, and eat something other than my cooking, poor girl.”

 

“We really wish you would,” Eldan said. “We could play music after dinner. That would be nice, and I know others would like it too. I learned some Irish songs?” he tossed out hopefully.

 

Lorna smiled -- a real smile, without the pain that had haunted her the last fortnight. “I’d love it.”

 

**

 

Geezer was getting worried.

 

The meds Angie had given Ratiri seemed to have left him lucid, at least, and apparently rational, but Geezer had rarely ever seen anyone so depressed. Hell, it wasn’t depression -- it was a grief so profound it was kind of awkward to watch. He was pretty sure Ratiri knew, by now, how deeply he’d fucked up -- and just as sure he had no idea what to do about it.

 

The man had been badgered into a stand-up wash, at least, and had shaved a few times, but he seemed indifferent to his clothes or surroundings. He ate, sure, but not much, and he had to be prodded into it. How the hell did a man his age fall apart like this? Or rather, how had he gone this long without it happening before now?

 

“You just gonna sit in this room forever?” Geezer finally asked, shoving a sandwich on a plate at him across the coffee-table.

 

“I…” Unsurprisingly, he ignored the sandwich. “I don't know. Does it matter?”

 

“It oughtta,” Geezer said. “It oughtta matter to _you_. Now eat your damn sandwich.” No one could have called him a man who was good at being delicate, but he tried, in his own way, to help.

 

“I’ve sinned too grievously, Geezer,” Ratiri said, staring into the fire. It would have sounded pretentious if he hadn’t been so visibly sunk in despair, like a dinosaur in a tar pit. “There is nothing for me out there, and nothing I could do that would be of any use.”

 

Geezer was tempted to kick him, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Ratiri was...shit, he didn't have words for what Ratiri was, other than ‘utterly shitty’. What kind of person sat there and basically forced themselves to keep being miserable?

 

Problem was, his fear of dealing with people outside the room wasn’t invalid -- most were pissed at him. They were, he knew it, and he knew he deserved it, and Geezer didn't know what the hell to do about it. “You’re a doctor, Ratiri,” he tried. “We don't have a whole lotta those.”

 

“And who would want me to look at them?” Ratiri asked. “Who would go to me, rather than Indira, or Alan, or Ben?”

 

Shit, he had a point. Man wasn’t in any fit mental state to be anyone’s doctor anyway right now. “You were teaching, right? Teaching the kids?”

 

“Again, who would want me? No one, and I can’t blame them. I know what I did, Geezer. I know why I can’t -- why I won’t -- ever really be forgiven. I should just go.”

 

“Yeah, nope,” Geezer sighed, and finally shoved the fucking sandwich into Ratiri’s hands. “Will you just eat that goddamn thing already? Look, we’ve gotta find you _something_ to do.”

 

“Why?” Ratiri asked, not looking as he set the sandwich down. “Nobody wants me here, Geezer. After what I did, they’re never going to.”

 

Geezer eyed him. In another person, he might have been willing to dismiss that as melodrama, but Ratiri believed every goddamn word of it. It didn't take a telepath to see that. Angie definitely needed to up his meds, and he needed to talk to someone a lot more qualified than Geezer. Angie was out, and he personally was afraid Juana had been too influenced by Angie’s opinions. Didn't they have _anyone_ who wasn't totally compromised? Anyone but Sharley? It was probably going to have to be Sharley, unless there was someone else hiding in the shadows he didn't know about.

 

“Ratiri, plenty of people here have fucked up, and they’ve fucked up bad,” he said. “They were sorry, and they got forgiven. That’s...shit, that’s just how life works.”

 

Ratiri was silent a moment, staring into the fire. “It isn’t just that” he said at last. “It’s that lad I killed. I read something in a book once -- I no longer remember the book, nor the exact line, but it was something like ‘no matter how bad the man you kill is, there’s someone, somewhere, who loves him.’ I can’t help but wonder, did that lad have a mother, who was already worried about the path in life he was taking? Who had been afraid, all along, that this would be his fate -- killed by someone in a back alley? Who is grieving now, for what I did?”

 

 _Well...shit._ Geezer stared at him at a total loss. The truth was, he’d had those exact thoughts himself in the early days of his tour in Vietnam. The first boy he’d killed, probably no older than he was --- even boot camp hadn’t been preparation enough, because he hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place. That was so long ago now that he no longer remembered precisely how he’d gotten over that, but he’d done it somehow.

 

“Ratiri, that’s the risk that kind takes,” he said. “There’s always the chance they’ll try to mug the wrong person. Yeah, they might not expect that to be a problem if they’re in a group, but you ain’t exactly...exactly…” He struggled for the word. “You ain’t physically deceptive. You’re a six and a half foot wall of muscle -- anybody dumb enough to tangle with you oughtta know what they’re in for.” It would take a group of stupid, drunken kids to think that was a good idea in the first place.

 

Yeah, he needed Sharley. She didn't strike him as the kind who would ever want to be violent, but she wandered the earth for eighteen thousand years -- there was no way she hadn’t _had_ to be, at some point. She was another person who’d been a warrior not because she wanted to be, but because there was no other real option. And she probably would have done just what Ratiri had to wrap his head around: defensive fighting. Protecting whatever people she had. Nobody had sent, or would ever send, either of them to fight someone whose only crimes were being useful pawns -- or to satisfy someone else’s greed. Their future would not be Vietnam.


	155. One Hundred Fifty-Five

{June 9, 2034}

 

Dinner was over; some of the peredhel were tuning assorted instruments. Maglor had one of his smaller harps and was fussing with a string that displeased him, and Lorna scanned around the room for the dozenth time. It really was a little hard to believe. 

 

After Lorna’s day with the children, apparently Faeleth had marched home with her brothers, and after gaining permission from Thranduil, Thanadir and Earlene, she’d torn through the house. The massive sofa that used to be the centerpiece of the Heart Room had been moved into the space near the dining table (which was also in a different location and orientation now). That first night the children had brought out different coverlets to simply bury the cushions under colorful fabrics, but afterward, Thanadir went to work. Once Earlene explained to them that completely rearranging the visual appearance of a space could help with circumstances like what Lorna faced, of associating too many things with Ratiri, he elected to stay up all night and reupholster the sofa entirely. By morning what had been the ochre colored fabric that matched the clays and woods of the Heart Room was now a rich damask in a variety of greens with an occasional splash of dusky rose. New blankets were there now too, in matching shades. In short, nothing looked anything like it did before. 

 

Even Maglor and Pen helped; they took it upon themselves to remove all the old furnishings from the Heart Room; new furniture was brought in and completely and reconfigured around the room. Large poufs and floor cushions were scattered among cushioned chairs and attractive tables; Earlene splurged and went to Dublin for a brand new and expensive woolen carpet. Only the lamps were retained, and even then the lampshades had all been given to Saoirse with a request to paint them or otherwise render them into something new. Within two days each of them had gorgeous airbrushed nature scenes that came to life when the lights were turned on. The effect was charming, and the consensus was to comment that this was probably about ten years overdue.

 

Eldan sat next to Maglor at his own harp, and chided at Lorna. “Make sure your guitar is tuned, Aunt Lorna. We want you to teach us something. One of your songs.” Maglor looked up and grinned. He had taken on the role of playing complex harmonies to whatever was thrown at him, and was much enjoying the fun of the new tunes. Even he could not know every song ever written, and Irish traditionals had never been much on his radar--before now.

 

Lorna was beyond touched that they’d go to all this effort -- and here she’d been hoping they’d just rearrange the furniture bit. The Heart Room looked like an entirely different place, and it helped, quite a bit.

 

“All right, you lot,” she said, half listening as she tuned her poor, neglected guitar, “Supri already knows this one. It’s two jigs and a Drowsy Maggie, because even our dances have to have some odd names. Maglor, you’d be first in this with your harp.” She plucked out the tune on her guitar, trusting him to pick it up; to him it would seem downright simple. One by one she ran through the little group’s instruments, whistling so the flutists would know their notes. Given that they had multiples on several instruments, they were just going to have to keep up with each other.

 

Once she was satisfied they had the order right, she said, “Let’s do this.”

 

Earlene and Thranduil held hands, just...enjoying. And smirking a little, because they had gone in for something that they hoped would cheer Lorna up even further. The tunes were wonderful, and after perhaps a half hour they all decided to take a break. That was when Thaladir snuck in with the case his father had asked him to bring from its hiding place.

 

“That was wonderful,” said Earlene. “Lorna, we thought it time you took it up a notch. This is for you.” The mysterious case was placed on the other side of the sofa where it was now in full view of the musicians. Maglor did not even bother stifling a huge smile.

 

Curious, Lorna carefully set aside her guitar, taking the case back where she sat before she opened it. Her eyebrows climbed. “God damn,” she said. “I’ve seen these, but I’ve never played one before.” It was an Irish Bouzouki, originally a Greek instrument adapted by somebody in the 1970’s. This one had eight strings instead of six, and she tried to remember what they sounded like as she tuned it, carefully plucking each string. It came with a fret bar clamp, which she fiddled with a bit.

 

Figuring how to properly hold it took a moment, just because it was so much wider than her guitar; sitting and playing it probably wasn’t going to be an option, but it had a very handy strap. She ran through the frets, getting a feel for each, and decided to go for broke. ‘Cúchulainn’ was a bloody difficult song, but she’d see if she could pull it off. Her fingers flew over the strings, which were rather easier to press than her Fender’s -- and while the neck was longer, it was not so much so that it tripped her up. She was used to having to compensate anyway, thanks to her tiny hands.

 

“I think she is managing,” Earlene leaned in and told Thranduil, enjoying it all very much.

 

“Indeed,” he smiled. Right now, this was all going better than he could have hoped for, with Lorna. And yet a part of him still felt sorry, though none of this was his doing. He knew the pain of realizing in hindsight that he had been partly responsible for ruining a relationship...and the feeling that he had lost everything. And yet..look at it. Now he knew that Alassëa lived beyond the Sundering Seas, apparently content and happy leading a vastly different life. Just as he, too, had found renewed purpose and love. There could be happiness and fulfilment beyond a failed marriage. And yet Ratiri was not an evil person or even a truly bad one. Just someone who was really...unsound. But Valar help him, Ratiri had always been part of this because Lorna was. Lorna was his...real friend. Her mate had been accepted because he was just that.

 

Earlene’s eyebrow raised.  _ Huh. _ That was a sobering thought and yet...it was true. So many of these other people were in their lives because of Lorna. Take away Lorna, and the connection was suddenly very weak by comparison. That felt...awful, but did not change that it was also quite real. That had to do with emotional realities, and shared commonalities; at the end of the day, why were any two people attracted to each other either for friendship or more? She sighed. Heavy thoughts like that needed to just wait, because right now there was music. And family.

 

Sharley did not listen in on others’ thoughts, but occasionally a stray one would brush against her mind. This one...troubled her immensely. She had met Lorna and Ratiri at the same time, and come to love them both; yes, she’d been angry at Ratiri, but she feared the others were quite ready to write him off. Neither could she blame them, precisely, given all he’d said, but still...he needed help, and she thought that, just perhaps, she was the only one who cared to give it. The only one who wasn’t too caught up in the immediacy of the entire mess, thanks to the perspective she’d gained from her time with Vairë. Ratiri’s depression meant something to her, even if it didn't to them.

 

She would go and see him tomorrow, and see what might be done.

 

**

 

Lying in bed later that night, Thranduil’s eyes were closed. A smile drifted over his face, as he recalled the lovely holiday he’d had with Thanadir that had been interrupted so unfortunately. Their second night there he had managed to deliciously pleasure his husband and the memory of it burned brightly. He could not help himself; the mental image of Thanadir’s beautiful face unraveled with expressions only he or Earlene ever had the privilege to witness was not something he could set aside. Earlene was right; his seneschal possessed a rare beauty of spirit and mind. Such gorgeous hazel eyes whose depths were like…

 

_ I hate to tell you this but your thoughts are leaking all over the room, and you are definitely causing problems,  _ Earlene admonished, eyeing him. Lately she had been reading the collected works of Herman Melville, and was finding that Thranduil’s lust and ‘Billy Budd’ were clashing rather egregiously. 

 

Thanadir...blinked, with lips parted. The idea that anyone would view him in this way, even one of his mates, still felt foreign to him. So he lingered somewhere between incomprehension and deepest appreciation that he was loved and desired that much. 

 

_ Sorry,  _ the King returned, though he was not really that sorry at all.  _ I will try to do better. But it is hard. He is so lovely. _

 

Now Earlene lowered her book, and looked at Thanadir’s expression of nearly angelic innocence.  _ He really is,  _ she readily agreed.  _ Like a great beauty in an artistic masterwork. _

 

Blinking again, Thanadir turned his head. “I am right here,” he chided, turning the soft eyes toward them. “And you are making me feel self-conscious.”

 

She grinned. “Because we cannot stop admiring you? Or because of the degree to which we are overwhelmed by your stellar attributes and cannot stop pondering our good fortune?” Earlene picked up his hand to kiss his fingertips. “I almost think you need to be between us tonight, meldir, so we can share you properly.”

 

“You are flattering me,” the suspicious elf accused.

 

“No,” Thranduil said. “Flattery is insincere, and I meant every word.”

 

“Oh, Thanadir,” Earlene said, moving adroitly to his other side. “You are completely adorable.” Herman Melville was abandoned, as she snuggled against him, wrapping her arms around his midsection.

 

“Completely,” agreed Thranduil, mirroring her movements.

 

“Is this a bad time to ask about Ratiri?” the seneschal asked, now thoroughly pinned by his partners’ limbs around him every which way.

 

“Well that was a mood-killer,” Earlene grumbled, giving her love a peck on the cheek nevertheless. 

 

“I do not believe I have ever lost an erection faster,” Thranduil mused aloud. 

 

“Oh honestly,” Thanadir said, but even he had to laugh. “But...really. I know we are all upset with him but...is he okay?”

 

Everyone sat up against the pillows now, since this was obviously going to wind up a serious discussion. “Honestly...no,” Thranduil said. “He is...well, I am not Angie, but if he is not in a profound depression, then I have learned nothing. His outlook is so negative that Lorna by contrast is a pillar of radiant sunshine. I am forcing myself to stay aloof. You see...he will apologize now, but...not from the place I had hoped. I did not realize how deeply unstable he is. It is so bad that it makes...how you were after Erestor seem completely balanced; please forgive me the comparison, meldir.”

 

“That is…” Thanadir now felt very worried.

 

“Not good and yet somehow not unexpected either,” Earlene concluded for him. “How did we not realize this about him sooner?”

 

“Because he hid it very, very well. Not just from us, but from himself too.”

 

Thanadir sighed. “And that is the worst kind of problem to solve.”

 

*****

 

{June 10, 2034}

 

Sharley had pondered this problem all night, even while she fed and changed Annwn, and rocked the girl back to sleep. She wanted her Lady’s advice, because for all she thought she was doing the right thing, if one had a Vala to ask, it was best to ask one.

 

She found Vairë in the greenhouses. Amusingly, the spider-ball that had imprisoned Kurt still hung from one rafter, an object of fascinated revulsion for many of the schoolchildren. “I have a thought, my Lady, if you’d listen,” she said, eying the thing. The fact that nobody had knocked it down yet surprised her -- but then, perhaps no one wanted to find out what else might be inside of it.

 

“Certainly,” said Vaire, appreciating the smell of the orange blossoms that filled the dome. No one could blame her for spending a great deal of time here.

 

“It’s about Ratiri,” Sharley said. “And things I have...overheard. The man is broken in mind in a way none of us saw coming, and I get the feeling -- my Lady, I’m afraid everyone else is way too willing to write him off, just because he came into this through Lorna and doesn’t have the same connection with them she does. He’s been completely stupid, sure, but he’s not evil, and he took care of me as much as Lorna did, back when I thought I was just a broken human.

 

“I want to help him, if he’ll allow it. I want to look into his mind, and see if I can discover exactly where this came from. It...well, it seems wrong, that he should be left to suffer because everyone’s angry at him.” Yes, she had been, too -- very much so, at first -- but she could look at it from enough of a distance now that she pitied him. He’d been a fool and a half, but she was removed enough that she actually wanted to aid him. “And while I think it’s a sound idea, I figured it would be best to make sure.”

 

“How is it you are so certain that that is what everyone intends to do?” she asked, sitting on a bench now, and wondering if Námo would plant one or two of these trees in the courtyard…

 

“I’m not,” Sharley said, joining her. “I greatly hope I’m wrong, and that what I overheard is only passing observation. What I'm more certain of is that I’m the only one who wants to help Ratiri for his own sake. He has reparations to make -- to Earlene, Thranduil, Thanadir and to Lorna -- but at this moment, I don't believe anyone cares what happens to him after that. He’s been appallingly ignorant and arrogant, and I don't blame everyone for wanting to slap him, but he needs help from someone who actually  _ wants _ to help him. Geezer’s been staying with him, but Geezer is human.”

 

Vairë shrugged. “You already know that if he gives you consent for this, you can do as you wish. It is kind of you. I can tell you now that Thranduil would help him on principle...but as you say, ‘for his own sake.’ You may indeed be right about that part. I would not assume no one cares what happens to him. I would guess it is more like...each responds to another’s plight based on their own perceptions. When your Maglor came to us, some of the Valar were more preoccupied with demanding punishment; others felt he had more than endured enough and that what became of him mattered more than the long span of his misdeeds. All creatures of free will behave this way; each according to who they already are. If you are moved to act in this manner, it is not for me to say.”

 

“I think, right now, everyone here is more preoccupied with demanding punishment,” Sharley sighed. “And yet his apology isn’t gonna mean a whole lot if he’s still a wreck of a human when he gives it. He’s only going to be able to make anything like real restitution once he’s closer to something like himself again.” She shook her head. “Lorna says that words are easy; they only mean something when you can back them up. Right now, words are all he’d be able to give.”

 

“Thranduil sees deeper than that, and he is quite far from being Lorna,” the Vala said, amused. “Do you understand his position, Sharley? That at the end of the day this is an issue of civility and principle on which Thranduil cannot afford to appear to waver?”

 

“Oh, I know, my Lady,” Sharley said. “This is a precedent that has to be set in stone. He can’t be lenient on poor Ratiri. What I caught last night, though -- they’re all detaching from him very easily. It won’t do him any good if he’s only eventually helped out of duty. At least his youngest child still loves him, because she’s too young to understand everything that happened.” And thank Eru Lorna had tried to keep it all away from Supri, rather than taint her daughter’s mind in revenge.

 

“What you caught?” the Lady raised an eyebrow. “That sounds...I fear you are drawing conclusions based on very little actual information. I do not think Thranduil ordinarily leaves his mind open for casual viewing. I think you should talk to him, and be certain. Our ability to communicate via the mind can be very useful. It can also be extremely misleading, if the other individual did not intend to make their thoughts known.”

 

“No, he doesn’t,” Sharley said, “and I try not to listen. It’s only rarely that anything jumps out at me. I’ll speak to him, and see what he says.”

 

“You will not find it easy to help him,” she said kindly. “Ratiri, I mean.”

 

“Oh, I'm sure of that,” Sharley sighed. “I’m uncertain how much help I can give him at all, but I need to try. Even if it doesn’t work, at least I  _ did  _ try, and he had the opportunity.”

 

Vairë nodded, and returned to the orange trees.

 

**

 

Sharley’s talk with Thranduil had not dissuaded her from her course of action; she was somewhat less concerned than she had been, but she still thought it would be best if she did this herself. She didn't know just how aware Thranduil actually was of Ratiri’s current state, but the voices had kept an eye on him for her. Him and poor Geezer, who was doing the best an old soldier could actually do with a man in Ratiri’s condition.

 

She made her silent way through the Gates, traversing the warren of corridors until she reached the little flat. His was not one with its own private pool, which meant Geezer had had to badger him into going to the public baths in the middle of the night, when nobody would be about.

 

“Thank fucking god,” was Geezer’s greeting, as he let her in through the door. “Getting to the point where I dunno what else I can do.”

 

“Hopefully you’ll be able to do more once I’ve worked with him a bit,” she said. “He’s in the living-room?”

 

“Yeah. C’mon, I’ll get some tea.”

 

Sharley moved through the flat, and winced when she spotted Ratiri. He looked worse than the voices had described him -- she wondered just how much weight he’d lost, because his cheeks were outright hollow. At least he’d combed his hair, and it looked like he’d shaved yesterday.

 

“Ratiri,” she said, sitting beside him on the sofa, “look at me. I want to help you, but you need to give me your permission.”

 

It took him a moment to look at her. “Why?” There was no light at all in his grey eyes, which was just... _ wrong _ .

 

“Because you’re my friend,” she said. “You’re part of my family, and I love you, and I don't want you throwing your life away. Yes, you made a mistake. That doesn’t mean everything is over for you.”

 

“I’ve made more than one mistake,” he said, so softly she could barely hear him.

 

_ “Fucking hell, this dude’s almost done,”  _ Kurt said.

 

Sharley ignored him. “Ratiri, will you let me give you some telepathic Xanax?” she asked. “I need to talk to you, and you need to be able to listen, and if you sit there and think you need to punish yourself by saying ‘no’, I swear to Eru I’ll knock you over and flick you between the eyes until you yell for mercy.”

 

_ That  _ was so ridiculous it seemed to pierce through the fog, and he nodded. Taking his hand, she willed peace into his mind -- and tried not to overdo it, like she’d done with Lorna. This wouldn’t be any use at all if he was just a different kind of zombie.

 

He blinked, his eyes clearing, but before he could speak, she held up a finger. “Nope, not  yet. First off, I want to get something outta the way. That kid in the alley’s haunting you, right?”

 

He nodded. “Geezer says it shouldn’t, but --”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

His head snapped up, and he stared at her. “What?”

 

“Bullshit,” she said evenly. “You killed somebody and you feel like shit over it. What is it Angie’s always saying? Our feelings are valid. You don't ignore that, you find a way to move on from it. I’ve had to do it, over and over. Sure, it’s hard, but you can do it, because the alternative’s losing your mind. Which I've also done, so don't argue.”

 

“But…”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “What part of ‘don't argue’ wasn’t clear?” she asked, and pondered. “Ratiri, I want to show you something. I know you think what you did was so horrible, but I’ve done worse -- much worse. Will you let me show you what the Stranger did to the staff in Avathar’s facility? And before you say ‘oh, but they were bad guys’, a number of them weren’t. Most of them had no idea what he was doing, and sure as hell none of them knew what he was. I killed them, and I learned how to live with it, and you can, too.”

 

“You...may,” he said, and she searched his eyes for some sign that he truly meant it, and wasn’t just humoring her. Perhaps her telepathic Xanax had actually done some good, because he seemed sincere.

 

“Then give me your hand.” She didn't actually need to touch him to show this to him, but she wanted to keep two fingers -- literally -- on his pulse. His hand was chilly, and she was determined that before she left, he was going to actually eat an entire damn sandwich.

 

_ The Stranger had hesitated, all these months, and in its hesitation Sharley had paid a terrible price. She would never remember it, at least; it could ensure that, if little else. She would forget, and once it was through here, she would be free. _

 

_ It had been careful not to let any of the mortals know just how much stronger than them Sharley actually was -- it had kept a great deal hidden, because the only thing worse than everyone thinking she was a human with an odd gift would be them actually knowing the truth. Then again, from all it had seen, very few of those who worked in this place knew what it was Avathar truly did. One of the nurses, two of the other doctors, and a lab technician; the rest believed they worked in a place that was private, but not so unusual. _

 

_ Her hair was still wet from the last….time, in the shower, but it was no matter. A cold would hardly kill Sharley, but nevertheless it was unpleasant, chilly against her back where the dampness wicked through the cheap cotton of her shirt. She would need civilian clothes before she went, lest someone mistake her for an escaped mental patient and return her to Avathar. _

 

_ The Stranger had had to play at unconsciousness until the night-nurse came in to check on Sharley, and then it had snapped the woman’s neck with an efficiency taught to Sharley centuries ago, by a Sioux warrior who always killed as cleanly as he could. _

 

_ The nurse had a key-card clipped to her pocket, and the Stranger took it, sneaking out into the hallway. It would have taken her shoes, if it had thought they’d fit, but the nurse was at least six inches shorter than Sharley, with smaller feet. _

 

_ The corridor was empty, though that was unsurprising; it was so late at night it was early in the morning, and that meant the Stranger could unlock a supply-closet, searching for a weapon. There was little enough to be found, but an IV stand was better than nothing. All it had to do was bash the base of it against the floor a few times to snap it off -- and chip the tile while it was at it. _

 

_ It had been prepared for the fact that its actions would be overheard. This was a rather high-security “facility”, and it was not long before guards came running. One of them had pulled out some kind of walkie-talkie from his belt, and the Stranger knocked it from his hand before skewering him through the throat with the jagged end of the pole. _

 

_ Blood sprayed, though not far enough to do much more than mist Sharley’s hands and forearms. Somebody -- not a guard, a nurse -- shrieked, and the Stranger whipped around, bashing her over the head with the pole. There was a hideous crack, and the screaming stopped, the nurse dropping like a sack of lead. _

 

_ The second guard caught the pole through the eye, and oh, there was so much more blood, running in rivers down his face as he twitched. The third, rather smarter, tried to run, but the Stranger couldn’t allow that -- his neck too snapped with an efficient  _ crack  _ beneath her hands. It was the sound of kindling snapping, and nothing more. _

 

_ Down they went, one by one, either fleeing, trying to call for help, or both. The Stranger stole the boots and coat off a guard, but nobody’s pants would fit Sharley. Perhaps they would need to raid the employees’ locker-room, if there was such a thing. _

 

_ The last man -- the very last was the only one the Stranger refused to merely kill. He was one of Avathar’s minions, one of his technicians of torture, and the Stranger slammed him into the wall of his empty lab. Sharley’s knee dug into his gut, driving the breath from him, but he nevertheless tried to scream when the Stranger seized his head between Sharley’s hands and  _ squeezed _. The crunch and crack of his skull as it caved beneath Sharley’s palms, the sudden, hot wash of blood, gave the Stranger a seldom-felt satisfaction. _

 

_ “No more,” it whispered, and quite calmly rinsed Sharley’s hands at the sink before eying him critically. He was the right height, though rather more heavily-built than Sharley -- still, his trousers would likely work. _

 

_ And so, in clothing not her own, mind still slumbering in the wake of her rape, the Stranger left the mess it had wrought, right out the front door. The New York night was cold, with a misty-fine rain that settled chill on Sharley’s face, and yet it was a clean thing. _

 

_ They had to go somewhere -- had to hide, because Avathar would hear of this, sooner rather than later. This was a city filled with the lost, however; deliberately losing oneself should not be overly difficult. _

 

_ The Stranger looked down at Sharley’s hands, clean now. One day, it would be Avathar’s blood that stained them. _

 

Sharley guided Ratiri back to the surface. “Most of those people I killed were blameless,” she said gently. “Yes, it was the Stranger that did it, but the Stranger was just another aspect of me. I had to come to terms with that, Ratiri, and you can, too.” And then, just maybe, he’d be ready to face what he’d done before that. He’d  _ acknowledged  _ it to himself, but he had yet to face it.

 

“How did you do it?” he asked softly.

 

“I accepted that I couldn't change the past,” she said, “and that I didn't need to. You didn't seek out that boy to kill him, Ratiri. You didn't even see him on the street and say ‘I want to break his neck, let’s do it’. He was one of a group intent on mugging you, you defended yourself, and he died. 

 

“You don't have a lifelong history of regret, so you can’t understand, really, can you? You’ve lost loved ones, but you’ve been fortunate enough to not fuck up horribly until now. You can get through this, Ratiri, if you actually  _ want  _ to -- you’ve got me, and you’ve got Geezer. You let us do our thing, you hear me?”

 

To her profound relief, he finally,  _ finally  _ broke, and actually wept. “We can do this,” she said, rubbing his back. “Trust me. I can see the future.”

 

**

 

“Siobhan and Grania are retrieving Pat from hospital today,” Thranduil informed both Earlene and Thanadir after breakfast in private.

 

“Oh? I suppose he is doing much better,” Earlene noted inanely, feeling like she needed to say something about a subject that still held mixed feelings for her.

 

“I am not certain about  _ much _ better,” the King smiled crookedly. “But yes, better. Better than Ratiri, by quite a stretch. Yet I suspect Pat will need quite some time to fully recover from his injury.”

 

“Fair enough,” Thanadir intoned unhappily, still wishing none of this had ever happened. “Is there anything we are to do? With Ratiri, I mean.”

 

“Wait, and see,” Earlene said. “I could not have envisioned that anyone could be so affected by this. As ugly as it was, it was still just words; I fear for his resilience. It is as if he...he...do you know, I think I should have a discussion with Maglor about this. Then again, perhaps Sharley already has. He knows something about living with regrets.”

 

“Ah,” Thranduil frowned. “Are you sure that is the best idea? Maglor still struggles. And he did not really  _ live _ with his regrets, Earlene. He would be the first one to tell you that. What he managed was much more akin to barely existing. Plus, right now, he is quite occupied with his daughter.”

 

“That is...right,” she acknowledged, rubbing her forehead. “Bad idea.”

 

“I am watching, meluieg. But from afar.” His strong hands came around to rub at her shoulders. “You have done very well, with all of this.”

 

“Have I?” she mused. “Sometimes I wonder if it ought to worry me that this has bothered me so little. I have been...rather emotionally aloof from the whole thing.”

 

“You are coping as you know how. As your former career taught you. It is a valuable skill in a leader.”

 

Thanadir hugged her. “Maybe we can cope some more and bake a nice cake for tonight?”

 

Earlene could not help it, she burst into laughter, pulling him in tighter. This just never ended. “We are going to ruin Aman.”

 

“What did I say?” Thanadir asked, uncomprehending.

 

“Nothing at all, beloved,” Thranduil answered, kissing him on the cheek and drinking in his innocent expression. “Cake sounds lovely.”

 

**

 

Once Ratiri had drained all his mental poison through weeping, Sharley forced him to eat a sandwich and drink some water before she left him to his reflections. Now that that  was out of the way, he could actually face the other half of his problem -- the half that had come first. Once  _ that  _ was out of the way, they’d need a address what the hell had caused him to fall apart like this in the first place. Realizing he’d been a complete dick should not have done this to him; there was something under the surface there, and they needed to figure out what it was before the world ended. Once  _ that  _ had happened, there would be no time for it.

 

She promised Ratiri she would check on him later, and clapped Geezer on the shoulder as she left. “I’ve done what I can, for now,” she said. “See if you can get him talking, about anything at all.”

 

“I owe you one,” the old man said. “Maybe I'll get him a cat. Having something else to take care of might help.”

 

“You could well be right.” Having the kittens had done Lorna good, after all. Sharley would have to look into it, and see what kitties could be found.

 

Off she went, and hoped some new inspiration would occur to her.

 

Geezer shook his head, and went to sit with Ratiri, who was once again staring into the fire. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked.

 

Ratiri sighed. “My perspective has been...rather shifted,” he said. “I’ve lost sight of...possibly everything, honestly, and I don't know how to find it again. I think I have to, though, before I can do anything else.” The magnitude of his fuckup was such that he couldn’t simply march out there and blithely apologize, as if he were saying sorry for using the last of the milk. If there was one thing he had learned from Lorna over the years, it was that an apology should  _ mean  _ something. He knew this was partly her grandmother’s influence, but it was perhaps more than that -- whatever the reason, she considered the words ‘I’m sorry’ on their own to be utterly worthless, and it had somewhat rubbed off on him. Either back it up with something tangible, or don't say it at all.

 

Geezer frowned. “You wanna tell me more about that? I’m not an Elf, I can’t know what that means to you.”

 

“I was an arrogant bastard,” Ratiri said simply, still staring at the fire. “I insulted four people I love dearly, passed judgment on something I wasn’t there for -- and knew less than fuck-all about -- and...and I wounded my wife in the worst way possible. I was a jackass, and I was so convinced I was right that I couldn’t listen to anything else.” And he’d dragged poor Pat along for the ride -- because he was entirely certain his brother-in-law wouldn’t have been half so vicious if not for him.

 

“Well...I’m guessing you don’t know any of this, so I’ll try and just lay it out. You’re on sort of a...Thranduil’s exact words are, ‘you are denied the freedom of the Realm until you see fit to explain why you should continue here or are able to live elsewhere.’ He means, you’re stuck more or less with an elf babysitter until you apologize to Thranduil, Earlene and Thanadir, or Angie says you’re well enough to live in town.” A mighty sigh escaped him. He was getting way too old for this shit.

 

Only now did Ratiri look at him. “Geezer...I’m  _ not  _ fit to continue here,” he said. “I’m surprised he’s let me into the Halls at all, to be honest. I can’t apologize to them and have it be worth a damn until I’ve sorted all of this out -- until I’ve done that, the words ‘I’m sorry’ are merely...well, words. I owe them too much to just throw that out there lightly and expect it to truly mean anything.”

 

The grizzled eyebrows knitted almost together. “Kid, don’t take this the wrong way, but right now you’re talking like a bad imitation of Lorna. Do you even understand why Thranduil’s pissed at you?”

 

“Because I was a sanctimonious asshole who insulted the four of them for doing something I personally found abhorrent,” Ratiri sighed. “Something I wasn’t present for, and was incapable of looking at through any lense but my own. I did more than just insult them, Geezer -- that’s too light a word for what I said to all of them, but especially to Lorna. I was judgmental and deliberately cruel, and all sorts of other things I’d thought myself incapable of. And then, lest anyone forget, I walked out, and didn't come back until you made me.”

 

“Shit I was afraid of that,” Geezer muttered, looking up at him, and running his hand down his beard. “No, no, and no. Ok I’m shit at this, but I’m gonna try. When they went out that night, to rescue Ailill...well, Ailill’s Thranduil’s subject. One of his own, just like Earlene is. And in his world, if you touch someone who belongs to him, you’ve as good as poked Thranduil himself in the eye. So when they went out and did what they did, they all saw that as doing what their King wanted done. Period. Maybe not Lorna, not gonna speak for her, but she was there because Thranduil asked her to be. So when you flamed off at Earlene and Lorna, you said in so many words, ‘Thranduil, your decisions were shit and you had no right to do any of what got done. Your being a King means nothing to me, if that’s how you act.’ You crossed the line of their...government, so to speak. Kid--newsflash. Thranduil has killed lots of humans, over the years. And he’s had his reason for every goddamn one of them. Rapists, murderers, thieves. You don’t have to like it, but...shit Ratiri, this is the real world. And it’s the world we’re gonna be living in, incredibly soon.”

 

Ratiri’s brows furrowed. “Geezer, I don't  _ care _ about their government,” he said. “No, that sounds harsh. What I mean is, that had no bearing on my anger, or why I acted as I did. It was worse -- it was personal. It wasn’t that they’d gone to rescue Ailill -- they had to do that -- it was that they killed the men, rather than beat them up. I was so, so convinced I had the moral high ground there, so convinced that I had to be  _ right _ ...it was appalling. My mother would have slapped me senseless if she could have heard it. What those men were had no bearing on it at the time, for all it should have; I was so busy thinking I was superior that the reality of the situation meant nothing, when it had actually meant everything. I just saw what I had always believed -- that killing was wrong -- and refused to see anything else. To see what actually happened, and why they’d done it.”

 

He sighed, and stared at his empty plate. “Why should they forgive me? What have I done to deserve it? Nothing. And two short words -- just saying ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough. It doesn’t erase the things I said. I can never take those back.”

 

“Kid…”  _ Jesus fucking Christ, there wasn’t enough booze in Lasg’len to deal with this. _ “I know you don’t have your marbles in order just yet but...are you listening to yourself? Because you’re still making this all about you. It’s not, at this point. If you give a shit about having hurt them, you hafta care about their point of view; it’s what matters to them. And I’m calling bullshit, Ratiri. They don’t think like that at all. Do I have to drag Maglor’s ass in here, so you can sit there and tell him about who deserves to be forgiven and who doesn’t?”

 

“Maglor  _ earned  _ it,” Ratiri said. “He spent thousands of years quietly doing good things, for all he was so broken. What have I done? Sat in here and been...and been half-crazy, honestly. The most I’ve accomplished in the last I don't know how long is bathing and shaving.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Sharley’s telepathic Xanax was wearing off fast. “As for how to force myself to care about something that is currently meaningless to me, when I feel so guilty -- if you figure that out, let me know. All I can think is that I hurt people --  _ people _ , not some government. People I love as family.”

 

A flare of light appeared behind both of them, to reveal a tall Lady clad in grey, with hair of silver and white. Her arms were held crossed over her breasts, while the many shades of her robes shimmered in the low light. Eyes that glowed like the halo of a full moon regarded both of them, but especially Ratiri. “Maglor did not earn it,” she finally said. “What good things do you think he did? I am most curious.”

 

Ratiri jerked in his seat, though at least he did not actually swear -- and he  _ did  _ remember to bow his head. “He shared his gifts,” he said. “He shared the history of his people with one extraordinary man, and in doing so brought delight to millions of people. He made the household’s children happy, and he loved Sharley, even when she was broken. It’s true he did no  _ great  _ things, my Lady, but the small things spread far and wide. Perhaps the greatest thing we can do in this life is also the simplest: make others happy. And he did that, which is far more than can be said for me at this moment.”

 

“And you truly imagine that anything other than his own self-interest at the time was involved in that decision?” she asked, amused.

 

Now he looked up at her. “I do, my Lady. I don't think he chose to teach Eldan the harp purely for his own amusement. I don't think he loved Sharley only for his own sake. He was broken, my Lady, but I can’t see him as so wholly self-absorbed as that.” Maglor had been in a great deal of pain, and that did tend to make one on the selfish side, but that could not have been the whole of him. It wasn’t the whole of anyone.

 

Nienna shook her head. “You are seeing him as you wish to, Ratiri Duncan, so as to frame a story in your mind to justify your own despair. There is much you do not understand about Maglor--or yourself. The question is, do you have the desire to heal and move forward, or would you prefer to dwell in the labyrinth of these mistaken beliefs and broken ideals that will keep you exactly where you are right now? Only you can know this.” Her words were soft, lilting; the tone far more soothing than the words themselves.

 

“You think  _ real hard  _ before you answer that question,” Geezer added, all but glaring at him. “My Lady, this one’s got a bad problem of doing stupid stuff to punish himself when he feels like he deserves it. Ratiri, you think about it or I’ll plant my boot up your -- somewhere you won’t like.”

 

Ratiri shut his eyes. “My Lady --

 

“If your next words contain the words ‘don't’ or ‘deserve’, in any capacity, boot’s going somewhere unpleasant,” Geezer warned.

 

“My Lady, how can I do that? The wrongs I’ve committed against my friends, but especially against my wife -- how can I ever move forward from that?” He didn't quite dare say he didn't deserve to, because he wasn’t sure Geezer was kidding.

 

“You decide if the motivations and actions that gave offense are something from which you can repent. You ensure you understand the others’ viewpoint. And you ask to be forgiven. In this, Ratiri, I will speak plainly. The standards your wife adheres to in this regard...they do not have our approval. That is not how forgiveness works; it is a twisted reasoning to which she clings that cannot acknowledge mercy or compassion. Even Manwë and Oromë, two among us who concern themselves far more with judgement and punishment, would not endorse her thinking. It is her choice, born of extreme abuse and hardship; we do not interfere, but it will not aid Lorna in the long run. Neither will it help you...unless remaining like this is your goal.”

 

“Which, again, kid -- boot, ass. Sorry, my Lady,” Geezer said.

 

Did Ratiri wish to remain as he was? It was...possible, because he had a habit of punishing himself when he felt he deserved it. “Even if they forgave me, how could they ever trust me again?” he asked softly.  _ Nobody  _ would; the consequences of his own arrogant stupidity would haunt him, possibly for years to come. From what he had done, there was no fully going back -- he had changed things, and he wondered if he had the strength to endure what he had brought upon himself. “I don't want to remain like this, my Lady, but I don't know if I'm strong enough to bear what awaits me from all of the others.” Earlene and the Elves might not hold it against him, but the humans sure as hell would, and he couldn’t blame them for it.

 

“That is their difficulty to work out,” Nienna said, seating herself gracefully in the remaining chair. “As you already know, there will be consequences for your words and actions. Your task is to better yourself; they will do what they will do. As for the strength to endure the scorn of others--that is a function of your own pride. There are many around you that could tell you how to manage it. Have you never considered Maglor? Thanadir? Those two carry far greater weights than yours. At the moment, Child of Eru, your mind is very ill. Your reasoning badly skewed. With all of it, you can be helped--if you are willing to receive it and lay aside the glass house of your own convictions.” At this point she rose, to walk to Ratiri and lay a hand on his shoulder. He was too far lost in his own griefs to consider the rather significant implications of this conversation. But that was for another time.

 

“My judgment is obviously more than suspect,” he said, twitching in surprise again as she touched him. He felt an instinct to bow his head again, so he did just that. “I will take whatever guidance I’m given, and hope that in time I can trust my own mind again. And...I’ll ask Sharley, if it would be something Maglor would be willing to talk about.” Thanadir was one of those most angry at him; that was probably better not approached for some time yet. And pride...how could he have any left, after what he’d done? Even if Thranduil forgave him, and let him live in the forest, he might be better off in the village. He could find some manner of work, surely.

 

Geezer eyed Ratiri, and wondered just when the fact that  _ a Vala  _ had come to speak with him would really sink in. She was a bit dazzling, to be sure, but this was not exactly anybody’s kind of normal.

 

“That is a good place to begin,” Nienna encouraged, knowing how much he did not understand. She bent down, kissing the top of his head; a few of her tears splashed on his cheek. “You should rest awhile, now. When you wake, there will be much to consider.” He slumped in the chair, where she easily lifted and placed his sleeping form on the bed. Now she turned her attention to Geezer. “Scorn from others is understandable. Scorn without limits is a tragedy. I am aware that Lorna has the most influence here, but surely something can be done? Not even the Valar are perfect,” she noted. “Only our Father Eru.”

 

“I’ll talk to Lorna, my Lady,” he said, somewhat stunned that she was addressing him -- he had no idea why any Vala should interfere in this at all, but he was sure she had her reasons. “She ain’t happy with him, but she’s not cruel. In the eyes of all the humans, she’s got the most right to be angry at him, so if she tells everyone to not be  _ too  _ hard on him, they oughtta listen.” He sighed. “From all I can gather, she doesn’t wish any  _ ill _ on him -- she doesn’t wish anything to do with him at all, which might be all the worse for him later. But that’s all in the future -- he’s got a lot to deal with before then. It’s...I dunno why you came to him and I'm not gonna ask, because I know it ain’t my business, but it’s kind of you, and I just want you to know I'm grateful.” And no matter how mad Lorna was at Ratiri, the fact that  _ Nienna  _ had been involved, and had asked this of him, would probably help. She had a lot of respect for the Valar, and she wasn’t likely to go against the request of one.

 

Nienna inclined her head. “This goes beyond the present circumstance,” she said. “If you all are to succeed at forging something anew out of the remains of your world, it will require more than supplies and defensive strategies. Justice must be tempered with compassion, and exist alongside mercy. Else nothing changes in the end.” With a wan smile, she faded to translucence, until she was gone.

 

Geezer eyed the sleeping Ratiri, and sagged against the wall. “So,” he said aloud, to no one in particular, “ _ that  _ just happened.”

 

**

 

The voices relayed all of this to Sharley, who sat beneath the huge tree with Annwn. She didn't find it morbid; Marty’s grave didn't actually look like a grave, so it wouldn’t leave any disturbing impressions on Annwn’s mind. It was just a smaller tree sheltered by a larger one, with daffodils and crocus in bloom beneath it.

 

What to do...she had to approach part of this very carefully with Lorna. That her tiny friend would tell everyone to not go  _ too  _ hard on Ratiri would be a given, considering who it was that wished it, and Sharley sensed it might be at least a few days yet before Ratiri was even in any shape mentally to have a proper conversation with Thranduil. She wished she could watch his reaction, when he woke and it occurred to him to wonder what the fuck a  _ Vala  _ had been doing talking to him. Geezer would have to give her the play-by-play later, because she was sure it would be amusing.

 

But what to do with Lorna….

 

Sharley  _ knew  _ Lorna -- in some ways, she thought she understood her even better than Thranduil did, because the human mind was not as alien to her as it was to him. She’d spent eighteen thousand years believing she  _ was  _ human, and realized that there were some things Elven minds could do that humans would, at the very least, struggle with. Lorna, damaged as she was, would struggle even more.

 

Like it or not now, Thranduil’s extension of their lifespans meant they could likely long outlive the rest of their family -- possibly even their children. Once the Elves left, Sharley, Maglor, and Annwn would be their only constants, and Maglor was never going be best buds with any of the humans. It just wasn’t how he was. The two of them were going to have to do a little more than merely be cordial, though Sharley had her doubts that Lorna would actually take him  _ back  _ any time soon. Still, if the two could eventually be friends, it could only be a good thing.

 

All of that had to wait until Ratiri was something like stable, however. Once he’d actually achieved stability, they’d still have to take it slowly -- put the two of them together in a large group, for a limited amount of time, until Lorna no longer wanted to run away because it hurt so much. At least they had a few years yet before the plague.

 

The  _ children  _ were another story entirely. Supri still loved her father, and Atia, with some coaxing, could probably be brought round; right now she was having so much fun in Baile that she probably wasn't thinking a whole lot about either parent. Shane and Chandra, though --  _ especially  _ Chandra -- could be far stickier, so it was just as well they could stay in Baile for a while. Chandra was coping better than any of them might have hoped, but it would be best to not to upset the apple cart there. Apparently she, Jessie, formerly-little Orla, and occasionally Atia had formed their own little squad, and would go to Limerick or Dublin to the movies. They had to leave Atia when they went to pubs, but Jessie and Orla made sure Chandra didn't drink to excess when they did. It was not a balance Sharley wanted to disrupt without a compelling reason, and right now she did not have one.

 

Lorna chose that moment to wander by -- she’d been out in the woods more often when she wasn’t at work, rather than holed up in her cottage. “Sinsemilla said Nienna was in talk to Ratiri today,” Sharley called.

 

Lorna froze, and stared at her.  _ Nienna?  _ A  _ Vala  _ had gone to talk to Ratiri? Part of her was vaguely worried by that, though the rest of her could not have said why. “...Oooookay,” she said, honestly not sure at all what she thought of that.

 

“Just thought you oughtta know.”

 

“...Riiight.” Lorna hurried on before she could be drawn into an actual conversation about that. Just now, Ratiri was not a subject she wanted to think about, even if there  _ was _ a Vala involved. Nope. The very word ‘Ratiri’ still meant nothing but pain.

 

**

 

Not knowing where else to go, Lorna found herself headed for the Halls, and the Music Room. (And yes, she had to have a guard open the Gates for her, dammit.) She’d taken up piano in the time Sharley had been away, and had tried to keep up with it in the years since, but the only piano was in the Halls.

 

Nobody tried to say anything other than ‘hello’ to her as she went by, which remained something of a relief; not having to tell people to fuck off was always a good thing. It meant she could make her way to the music room in relative peace, and there find the piano.

 

It was, by now, something of a running joke that while she hated classical music, she loved orchestral scores and movie soundtracks. Chopin did nothing for her, but score the  _ Pirates of the Caribbean  _ theme for a piano and she was all over it. Poor Earlene at least never commented, though Lorna wondered what on Earth she actually thought of it.

 

Cracking her knuckles, she ran through a few scales. With hands as small as hers, she’d had to train herself a little differently, which had involved watching no small number of YouTube videos.

 

Maglor came in quietly, as he always did, smiling to see her playing. He could wait to practice; he had meant to polish the wood on three of the harps and that would take awhile.

 

Lorna did not at first notice she wasn’t alone; she had to concentrate a lot more on the piano than she did on any kind of stringed instrument. It wasn’t until she paused to flex her hands that she registered Maglor’s presence. “Hi,” she said.

 

“Hello, Lorna,” he smiled, appearing to be in a better than usual humor. Then again, having a few hours’ break from an infant, even the cutest one ever, could do that to a parent.

 

“I saw Sharley and Annwn in the woods,” she said, and neglected to mention that it was near Marty’s grave. She knew he had...issues...with the subject of Marty, which she could not entirely blame him for. “She said...she said Nienna had been to see Ratiri. I don't know what to think’v that.”

 

“Ohhh,” Maglor said, stopping his methodical circular motions over the soundbox of his harp.  “He must be very bad off. I was, when she came to me. That was very kind of her; I have never heard of such a thing, honestly. I hope it...helped him. What a mess.” His head shook sorrowfully. Difficult memories marred the usually beautiful face for a brief moment.

 

“I didn't ask Sharley why,” Lorna admitted. “He’s...not something I can think about right now, not easily, but I didn't realize he was that bad off, either. Still, that a Vala would intervene...I’m not sure if I should be worried or not.”

 

“Nienna tends not to appear because a person is doing fine,” he smiled crookedly. “And she has never to my knowledge appeared to a mortal alone, ever. I am sure she had her reasons.”

 

“I’m surprised she’d appear to a mortal at all,” she said. “I always read they didn't interfere with us much...but I’m one to talk, given what Manwë gave me. My gran would say we’re living in strange days, except she’d add a few curse words in there for flavoring.”

 

Maglor nodded, and smiled wider, not knowing entirely how to respond. Feeling slightly awkward, he dabbed a little more oil on his polishing cloth.

 

“I was talking to Faeleth a few days ago,” Lorna blurted. “There’s more to that girl than I ever paid attention to, that’s for bloody sure. I mean, all the peredhel are exceptional, but she’s...she’s something else. Anway, it came up that the pain’v losing someone isn’t as bad as the pain’v being  _ betrayed  _ by someone, and that...Christ it’s true, and I don't know what to do with it.”

 

She stared down at the toes of her boots. “I was married, before,” she said softly. “I watched my husband die, and it was the worst moment’v my entire bloody life. When I met Ratiri, I'd thought I'd never love anyone again, and it took me a long while to trust him enough -- it would’ve taken longer if the twins hadn’t happened, thanks to Elf wine. And now…” She shook her head. “It does hurt worse, now. I do all right during the day, but I still cry at night, and part’v me hates him for ruining everything.”

 

“There were times I felt that way about my father,” Maglor admitted. “Mostly I only could blame myself. I do not condone what Ratiri did, Lorna. But I have to pity him. Few have made worse mistakes than I. What he did is nothing, by comparison to me. As much as I understand that some mistakes must be paid for, I cannot wish anyone to live under the burden of despair I experienced. I should have died, so many times. Only Pengolodh kept me alive, and I am not certain that much of my time on earth could be called living. I think you know that the only way remaining is...forward.” He had stopped polishing again; Lorna had his full attention.

 

“I can pity my brother,” she sighed, “and not just because I could easily’ve killed him. I can’t pity Ratiri. Not yet.” She paused. “Unless I’ve got it really wrong, you didn't do any’v what you did out’v...out’v pure malice. You went with your da, and you swore that Oath, but in nothing I ever read were you cruel to someone out’v nothing but spite. I’d thought Ratiri was better than that.” And that, honestly, was what hurt the most; she’d thought he really  _ was  _ better than that.

 

“For all the difference it made, no, I did not. But…you thought he was better than that?” Maglor inquired, leaning into the harp. “Better than what? You mean you thought him incapable of saying the wrong thing in a moment of anger?”

 

“Anybody can say the wrong thing,” she said, looking up at him, “but that...I’m not a good person, Maglor. Not really. I’ve got to work at it, and that -- that’s the kind of thing  _ I _ would’ve done, once upon a time. I used to hit below the belt like that, and becoming better...it’s not been an easy road. Ratiri, he was  _ already _ better than that, or should’ve been. He’s not meant to be like me. He was always better than I was.”

 

Maglor’s head shook, but only slightly. “That is...an impossible standard, Lorna. No one is supposed to be anything; we are all who we are. The sum of our strengths and weaknesses. But I understand, in a way. I felt like Sharley put me on something of a pedestal as well, about what I had done. I am not certain she wished to see me as I saw myself. As many others did. As our Lords and Ladies did. It can be...hard.”

 

“I didn't see you like you saw yourself,” Lorna said. “I saw you as...in a few ways, not that different from me. You’d done bad things in your past that you regretted, and you wanted to be better. People like Ratiri...it’s not an effort for them, and they’re not...I don't know how to put it. Maybe I was expecting too much’v him, but that didn't make it hurt any less. He’s one’v the reasons I’ve tried to be a better person, so having him do  _ that _ ...I’ll admit, that first day afterward, I wondered why I should even bother, because obviously I was never going to be good enough for  _ somebody.  _ Fortunately, your wife can be persuasive. And annoying.”

 

Maglor stared at Lorna. “‘Not an effort?’ Lorna...how can you possibly know anything about what it is or is not, for another? Forgive me, but this is seeing others as you wish to see them. Not as they really are. I did more than just bad things; I slaughtered innocents. Ellyn, ellith, elflings even, though the little ones were not intentional. I knew I was doing wrong, just as when I disobeyed Eönwë’s admonishments. All in pursuit of my father’s hateful Oath. Though I was forgiven, though the damage of my crimes was erased, I will never undo what I did. Through Pengolodh, I saw what happened that evening between all of you. Your husband did not plan for any of this; he was caught up in a self-righteous tirade. I planned everything I did, Lorna. And yet you are inclined to excuse my deeds but condemn his. I am...not able to agree with your assessment, even as I feel your hurt. For which I am very sorry.” The quality of his voice was modulated throughout, kind. It was not easy to speak so directly to her, and yet he felt someone had to say it.

 

Lorna turned this over in her mind. Much as she wanted to argue, his words deserved her consideration. “You’ve given me some food for thought, Maglor,” she said at last. She still had no pity for Ratiri, because she had no pity for herself, when she’d been that stupid. Nevertheless, she hadn’t thought of it that way -- never thought she was unintentionally asking too much of him, in a sense.

 

“I try,” he shrugged. “I know I am not the easiest person to engage in conversation, but...I have no pride left, Lorna. I learned the hard way what it is to be wrong about absolutely everything, and I pray daily to our Lords and Ladies that I never entertain such a closed mind again. Ratiri needs to learn this. There is a kind of pride that keeps a person from seeing what is obvious to others. And the worst part is that it masquerades as humility. Hopefully, in time, he will see.”

 

“Hopefully,” she repeated softly. “It’ll be hard on everyone if he doesn’t. He’s got Sharley looking after him, and Geezer, though god help him there. I doubt that old man’d hesitate to boot him in the -- well, you know what I mean.” She shook her head. “Thank you for listening. Sometimes...there are times I don't want to talk to the others, because I can guess what they’ll say. I can’t anticipate from you, can I?” she added, with a faint smile.

 

“Well. I would not be much of a Fëanorian if you could, now would I? I have to keep up appearances,” he grinned. “And I liked what you were playing on the piano. That is from a film?”

 

She laughed. “Of course you do, and it is. I can’t imagine what poor Earlene must think’v my musical taste, but I love film scores, and I love adapting them. It’s more’v a challenge than just playing what somebody else got into perfect order long before I was born.”

 

“You should play more. Perhaps we need a piano at Eldamar. At least a small one. I think at one time we meant to acquire one, and then life happened.”

 

“Life has a tendency to do that,” she said dryly, “especially when ours has so many people in it. I’m sure Thanadir could figure out where to put one -- if he can’t, nobody can.”

 

“True enough,” the ellon chuckled, resuming his polishing.

 

*****

 

#  {June 11, 2034}

 

Pat made no protest when Grania and Siobhan got him out of the car at the Lasg’len-side entrance to the forest, though he did tense once they’d stepped within its bounds. He said nothing at all, in fact, but that wasn’t terribly surprising; the doctor had given him a rather powerful painkiller before they left, to see him through the trip home -- a rather more powerful painkiller than he needed. Both women suspected it was as much to dope him as to deal with his injury, because otherwise he was a rather obnoxious patient who just wanted  _ out _ . His eyes were heavy-lidded and sleepy, and Grania hoped like hell he’d take a nap once they were back at their flat, so she and Siobhan could finish firming up their plan. They knew that Rainion was behind them in case they needed assistance, though they didn't actually see him; Thranduil had said that he’d be helping out until Pat was in any condition to act like a human again. He still had a few memory problems, though the doctor was confident those would resolve on their own.

 

Both of them had jobs to do, but they’d decided they’d trade off on watching him, for as long as he actually needed to be watched. Sure, he seemed better, but that didn't mean he wouldn’t go run off trying to talk to Lorna again. Nobody needed that, least of all Pat. Rainion was near in case Pat did something klutzy like trip and fall, but he was mostly unfamiliar to Pat.

 

There weren’t many people about, even once they’d gone in through the stable-entrance; the few that were paid them little mind. It meant they could get Pat safe into his own room, and once he’d got his boots off, Grania bundled him off for a nap with their family cat.

 

“I,” she said, once she was sure he was asleep, “need a drink.”

 

“Me too,” Siobhan sighed. “And I think we’ll need a load more before this is through.”

 

**

 

Lorna kicked around the idea of going to see Pat, dithering terribly.

 

On the one hand, she was still angry at him. He’d turned on her in the worst way, betrayed her terribly in a sense she would never have thought him capable of -- but on the other, she’d nearly killed him. No matter what he’d done beforehand, that was not something she could simply ignore. And he  _ had  _ apologized, even if she was a hundred percent certain he was drugged when he did it.

 

Yes, dithered, but he was still her brother. She loved him, even if she currently often wanted to pimp-slap him, and sure god hadn’t he paid enough already. She didn't  _ need  _ to pimp-slap him; karma had done that for her. And yet she hesitated, for no reason she could fathom.

 

_ “He’s not gonna be a dick to you again, Lorna,”  _ Layla said.  _ “He’s done there.” _

 

Lorna sighed, and flopped on her sofa. She nearly landed on a kitten. “I know,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m ready to see what  _ I  _ did to  _ him _ , as cowardly as that is.”

 

_ “That wasn’t your fault.” _

 

“I shoved him,” she said. “He didn't trip on his own, I shoved him. He fell because’v something I did, so how is that  _ not  _ my fault? Look, I can’t talk about this anymore right now, okay?”

 

_ “Okay,”  _ Sinsemilla said, in tones of warning she hoped the others would heed.

 

Lorna rose to open the windows, letting in the fresh spring air. She’d been thinking about what Maglor had said earlier --  _ was  _ she being unfair on Ratiri? And did it really, in the end, actually matter? No matter why he’d said it, say it he had. Her gran had always said that if you did something shitty, it almost never mattered  _ why  _ you’d done it, because the result was the same. The damage was done, regardless of the motive; god knew she knew that well enough, from the perspective of the one who’d all too often done the damage. Gran had forever been telling her that words spoken in anger or even carelessness could leave wounds that lasted longer than any bruise, and she wasn’t wrong.

 

“So what am I to do about it, you lot?” she murmured to the kittens. The little calico currently hung from her braid. They all had to live in the same forest. In just under three years, nobody was going anywhere ever again, so they had to work out something somehow. Lorna had no desire to constantly fight with either of them; the Halls and forest were large enough that they didn't ever have to actually  _ meet  _ anywhere, and right now, that sounded more appealing than anything else. She didn't think she could look at either of them without seeing nothing but how they’d been that night, and that...wasn’t going to help anyone.

 

What currently didn't help her specifically was the fact that, until a few weeks ago, she’d had quite an active and healthy sex life. No, she and Ratiri hadn’t gone at it quite as often as they’d done when they were younger, but they’d still managed several days a week, and she was rather feeling the lack of it now. She’d acquired a battery-operated ‘friend’ that she only used late at night, when she hoped Thranduil was asleep. With so many humans in the forest now, it wasn’t an automatic given that he was going to hear her mind -- and especially not with her being out in the cottage -- but even so. Thought that he even might peripherally pick up on...that...was just too skeevy for words, so she and her friend only had any fun together after midnight.

 

Well. The future would happen, and she had to see Pat sooner or later, so she might was well wrap her brain around the idea now. Somehow. No matter how he’d wronged her, she’d almost killed him. When it came to the arsehole ledger, she was rather more deeply in the red.

 

**

 

Sharley got Annwn fed and changed while Maglor was away at his lessons, and they went back out for a walk in the forest. She remembered vividly going to work with a backpack on her back, and Marty strapped in a carrier to her front; she’d always joked that at least the weight tried to balance out. Now she cradled Annwn in her arms, while her daughter took in the world with wide, mismatched eyes.

 

_ “You know, Maglor’s going to figure out about her sooner or later,”  _ Jimmy said.  _ “He’s seen pictures of Marty, and he’s not stupid. Their hair might be different, and Annwn’s got some of his grey in her eyes, but her face is completely identical to Marty’s at that age. Once she gets older, it’ll get even more noticeable.” _

 

Sharley frowned. The thought was not lost on her, but she hadn’t dared take down her photos of Marty, because he’d sure as hell notice  _ that _ , and she couldn’t lie to him if he asked. He had such trouble with the idea of Marty that she hadn’t wanted him to know that Annwn was Marty reborn, but Jimmy, annoying as he could be, was not wrong.

 

_ “You have to stop trying to shelter him, Sharley,”  _ Sinsemilla said, gently but firmly.  _ “Yeah, he’s suffered a lot, and no, he wasn’t healed like you were, but he doesn’t need to be treated with kid gloves -- especially not where his family is concerned.” _

 

That drew Sharley up short, halting her in her tracks. She glanced upward; though they couldn’t be seen, she could feel where the Elven guards kept watch. This was not a conversation she wanted anyone else listening in on, so she switched to Valarin before she said, “What do you mean?”

 

_ “You try to protect him from things,”  _ Sinsemilla said,  _ “and at first, that wasn’t a bad idea. He’d been through hell. Now, though...now he’s recovered, and you can’t protect him from things that might hurt him. If something does, it does, but he’s a grown ellon who was once High King, for fuck’s sake. It’s okay if he figures out his daughter was Marty; hell, he’s got a right to know it.” _

 

“I just don't want knowing that to taint Annwn for him,” Sharley signed.

 

_ “I don't think it will,”  _ Layla said.  _ “I mean, yeah, if he’d found out that first day, then maybe you’d’ve had a problem, but he’s had time to love her unreservedly. Knowing she’s lived before shouldn’t bug him now -- or at least, not much, and he’d get over it. Sinsemilla’s right -- you’ve gotta let him live his life, not shield him.” _

 

_ “I’m always right,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “If it makes you feel any better, he spent a long time trying shield you, too, but you’re both beyond that now. He’ll work out about Annwn in his own time; when he does, talk to him.” _

 

Sharley sighed. Sinsemilla usually  _ was  _ right, so she’d just wait to see when Maglor worked it out. Perhaps it helped, that Annwn’s hair was just like his, and that he could see the striations of his own grey eyes in hers. Honestly, once Sharley had found out who Marty’s biological father was, she’d been utterly baffled as to where the girl’s looks had come from, because she didn't really resemble either one of them. She’d had her mother’s eyes, in a sense, but her face and the shade of her hair were entirely her own. Avathar had been nowhere near  _ that  _ blond, and while Sharley’s natural hair was quite pale, it was silvery rather than tow-colored. The shape of Marty’s eyes, her nose, her mouth -- they were all hers, and hers alone, and it was the same with Annwn.

 

“Well, we’ll handle it when it happens,” she said, and kissed her daughter’s forehead.

 

*****

 

“I asked you here because before much longer I must return to my own realm,” Vairë announced candidly. “There is something I feel should be brought into the open. Something you will never discuss on your own, because of beliefs each of you has.”

 

Maglor glanced at Thranduil, who blinked back at the Lady who had just spoken. That neither of them looked at Sharley but immediately felt a tad nervous was telling.

 

Vairë chuckled. “Yes. And that is exactly what I am referring to. Elves revere the Ainur, and out of that regard will hardly speak a word of criticism. And in this case, there is an Ainur who does not even perceive what the other two are doing. This needs to cease, or the three of you will never work together as well as you otherwise might.”

 

Thranduil, for all his usual collectedness, continued to blink but said no words of dispute; one did not argue with a Vala.

 

“Elvenking, your humility is noted. I am giving you my permission to express yourself frankly. To speak as you would to another elf. Openly. This will not work if you feel compelled to show me reverence as one of your subjects does to you.”

 

“Yes, Lady,” Thranduil smiled, realizing he was outmaneuvered. “As you wish.”

 

Now Maglor was left blinking, and Vairë laughed harder. “I can take a guess that Tirillë is wondering what on earth we are discussing?”

 

“A bit,” Sharley said, and fought the urge to facepalm. It had not occurred to her that neither of them would chew her out over anything because she was Ainur and they were Eldar. As the Irish would say,  _ oh good Jesus. _

 

“You cannot afford to view it thus, Tirillë,” Vairë gently admonished. “You need to remember...you are the outlier here, not them. I am here to help them wrap their minds around the need for this to be an exception to the rule. At least, I think so. For one issue here is that once a choice is made, you cannot have it both ways. You cannot expect them to treat you as just anyone, just another ordinary friend or elf, but then at other times demand their honor. Or take insult because they are ‘only’ elves and do not have a right to speak to you as I do. Which is all to say, do you know how it is you wish to be treated?”

 

“My Lady, I would never want my family to honor me,” Sharley said, completely aghast. “It doesn’t matter than I’m Ainur and they’re not -- they’re my  _ family _ . I’d be beyond uncomfortable if any of them tried to ‘honor’ me, just because...they know me. I know them. We’ve been living around one another, on and off, for almost twenty years. If there’s something they think I need to hear, I'd much rather they tell me.” She was not infallible or anywhere close to it, and if nobody was willing to tell her she was messing something up, sooner or later it wouldn't end well.

 

Maglor and Thranduil met each other’s eyes, with a measure of trepidation, but both understood what was being told to them. “As you wish,” Thranduil said. “Though it is strange for me, and...difficult. But I am capable of following directions,” he smiled crookedly. “As is Maglor.”

 

“While I can’t promise you I might not get a bit annoyed,” Sharley said, “I  _ can  _ promise I'll always listen. There’s much I'm still learning.”

 

Annwn burbled, tugging on her hair. “And so will this little one.”

 

Vairë chuckled. “I do not think anyone is worried about her.”

 

The discussion was causing Thranduil to reflect. “Sharley,” he began, “matters will become more interesting, after the outer world falls. My duties are my duties but  will help in what ways I can. I do not think it is any secret that Lorna will need more assistance. I think we could work together better than apart.”

 

Sharley sighed. All three of them -- her, Ratiri, and Pat -- would, but Thranduil had no use for the men just now, not that she could blame him. “Yes, she will. She cries at night, not that she wants anyone to know about it. You know her better than I do -- you’d best know how to handle that.”

 

“It is very difficult, to encourage Lorna to...adopt a different paradigm. I do not blame her at all for being sad and angry. But her insistence on these…” he made circular gestures with his hand, “...these belief systems. Her borderline incapability of forgiving others. It is her right to be however she chooses, and yet her choices guarantee a great deal of personal turmoil and misery. To be as she is requires a great deal of emotional energy, and yet she has never known any other way and fears to let go of what she feels has served her well.” He shook his head as he said the words. Being angry had its uses. But after enough time even he had come to realize, those uses were few.

 

“She puts way, way too much stock in the things her gran told her,” Sharley said. “And they do make sense, to anyone who wasn’t raised to know any better. But I can tell you one thing, about her problems with forgiveness: I’ve seen deeper into her mind than you have, and found something she doesn’t actually consciously remember. Her belief that verbal apologies on their own are worthless isn’t  _ just  _ her gran’s influence -- her father would constantly promise her mother things would change, only to go back on it. Between the two, it’s no wonder she’s so convinced forgiveness has to be earned, and apologies have to be...to be backed up by something. Poor woman’s come a long way, but she’s still really damaged, and this isn’t helping.”

 

“No, but there is another thing. Lorna has little ability to differentiate a pattern of behavior from an occasional mistake. It would be like me treating Earlene as though she were my father, over the very few times she and I came into some kind of conflict. Of course any objective observer could realize that there is no comparison; it would be ludicrous. But Lorna cannot see the difference. Which is why Ratiri may as well have--well, never mind. I think my point is plain enough.”

 

“It’s an artifact of her childhood, I think,” Sharley sighed. “Once something hurts her, she’s terrified of giving it the chance to hurt her again -- because part of her is a hundred percent sure it’s going to. Laurë, you had a talk with her, didn't you? About the fact that she had Ratiri up on a pedestal? I know she’s at least given that a lot of thought.”

 

“I did,” Maglor admitted. “I was more trying to impart that she held him to an impossible standard. Perhaps the Blessed Ones could be so perfect as she expected him to be, but few elves or mortals could manage so much.”

 

“She’s been turning that one over, when she can’t sleep. The problem, I think, with the way she’s got her temper controlled now is that she never just...lets it out. She never blows, and I think she’s still kinda like a volcano in a way -- she’s gotta get it out  _ somehow _ , or it’s not going anywhere.” She sighed. “Honestly, as much as it’ll suck for everyone involved, I think sooner or later we need to just stick her and Ratiri in a room and let her rip him to shreds.”

 

“Wonderful,” Thranduil said drily. “Catatonic depression, part two, coming right up. Ratiri is a mess, and that the Lady blessed him with a visit only made that mess slightly easier to endure.”

 

“He’s better off than you might think,” Sharley said, “though not by much. And honestly, it would be better for her to rip him to pieces than for him to see she’s doing more or less fine without him.” Indeed, she was doing  _ so  _ well that Sharley was quite surprised; even accounting for the fact that yeah, sometimes she cried at night, she was rather okay. “Thing is, we’ve gotta find some way to make it so every time she looks at him, she doesn’t just see that night, and I’m not sure yet how to do it. We’ll get there eventually.”

 

“Lorna needs to understand that her happiness does not come from her relationship with him, Sharley. It is good, in some respects, that she is finding a full life on her own. And yet she would be happier could she resolve this,” Thranduil opined sadly.

 

“It is,” Sharley said, “but they kinda do need to resolve this, because of their extended lifespans. There might come a time when she’s outlived everyone else -- even her kids -- and you guys are gone. That’s gonna leave her with Ratiri and I as the only people close to her -- and I’m not sure poor Ratiri would do half so well without her. At least, not when everyone’s on her side, and he’s got nobody but Geezer and I.”

 

“And yet this discounts the possibility of making other friends between now and then,” Thranduil pointed out.

 

“He’s gonna have a really hard time living this down,” Sharley said. “Lorna let it be known that she doesn’t want anyone giving him too much...grief,” oh, last second word swap there, “but that doesn’t necessarily mean many people are gonna want to be his friend any time soon...or that the ones who do will want it for the right reasons.”

 

_ “Huh?”  _ Layla asked.

 

Sharley sighed. “The man is profoundly depressed,” she said. “He’s depressed, and it could all too easily look like we’re kicking him while he’s down, if you get my drift. Like we’re punishing him when he’s in no condition to make restitution. The humans who live here might or might not understand the actual enormity of this, because they think like people who lived in a democracy for ages. He could wind up with half of them on his side, and half of them wishing he’d fuck off and stay gone. That and...what is he gonna do, once he’s better enough to do anything? Sooner or later he’s gotta find out he’s off the Council, and he has a point when he says nobody’s gonna want him as their doctor.”

 

“Perhaps Thanadir will have some ideas,” Thranduil said. 

 

“I too know something about being unwanted,” Maglor said softly. “I will try to...think.”

 

Sharley reached out and give his hand a squeeze. “Would you be willing to talk to him, at some point? He needs to speak to someone other than Geezer and I, and I think talking to you might help.”

 

“Yes. I do not know how much good I can do but...I would not leave him to just suffer alone, if I could help. I am not the most social creature but...I will try,” Maglor promised.

 

“That is very kind of you,” Thranduil approved. “Just as it was kind of Lady Vairë to insist on this discussion. You are right, Lady. It would not otherwise have occurred.”

 

Vairë nodded in his direction, appearing pleased. 

 

“Ma!” Annwn said, giggling. She could make distinct sounds now, though she had yet to say any actual words; at least she hadn’t taken after Chandra and Shane, and started baaaa-ing like a sheep. Her little smile looked so much like Marty it was painful, her mismatched eyes all but glowing with innocent glee.

 

“Ma, indeed,” Sharley said, kissing her forehead.

 

Maglor pouted and held his arms out, making grabby-hands. “Don’t forget Da,” he protested, smiling besottedly at his daughter.

 

“Da!” she said, and Sharley almost melted when she made grabby-hands in return. Carefully she passed her daughter over, so Annwn could work her magic on her father. “Da!”

 

“One more letter and she’ll have ‘ada’,” Sharley laughed.

 

“If I pretend to be Irish, I’m already there,” he smiled, poking his nose into her tummy and kissing her cheeks...his beautiful little girl. Thranduil looked at Vairë with unvarnished gratitude. Seeing such happiness where once had been only misery...it was wonderful, for him. And a welcome reminder that many things ended up well in the end.

 

“This is true,” Sharley said, watching their little girl grab at her ada’s hair. “Just wait until she starts walking on her own. We’ll be wanting to put her on a leash, she’ll be that much of a ninja.”

 

_ “Nah, put a bell on her,”  _ Layla said.  _ “Like a cat. Put on one the Lump too and she’ll love it.” _

 

“I think our conversation was successful,” the Vala smiled. “Now for bigger and better things.”

 

**

 

“I would like another sofa in the Heart Room,” Thanadir murmured one night, while he worked on his manuscript for Erestor while others played music softly. 

 

“I think I would too,” Earlene admitted. “Though perhaps one that is not such a monster. What about a...what do you call those things...a sectional. The kind that curve in a U or L shape and can seat several people.”

 

“You can show me pictures?” Thanadir asked her.

 

“Sure can,” Earlene smiled, knowing that her talented husband would probably have one made within the week, just because. “We can always order one too, you know.”

 

“I do,” Thanadir admitted, but he was too deeply involved in whatever it was he was writing to comment further. Shrugging, Earlene turned back to her latest point of cultural interest; the role of weaving in assorted ancient traditions around the globe.

 

Supri, sprawled on a poof, looked up from her coloring book. “Aunt Earlene, what do American kids call their mams? Because I’ve heard ‘mom’ and ‘mommy’, just like we’ve got ‘mam’ and ‘mum’. And how come you add an extra d at the end of Da? It’s more work to write.”

 

Lorna snorted into her cocoa, giggling so hard her shoulders shook. Oh, this kid…

 

“Well, that’s...really hard, Supri. America is made up of a ridiculous number of races and cultures. Just off the top of my head, “Pa, papa, dad, father, dada, daddy, pops for the father and for mother, mom, mommy, mammy, mummy, ma, mama...and that is for kids that are mostly Anglo. That doesn’t even touch kids whose families hail more recently from other places. We’d be here for hours if I tried to find all of them for you. I’m just happy for Nana.”

 

“That’s...a whole lot more than Ireland,” Supri said, wide-eyed. “A  _ lot  _ more.”

 

Annwn, giggling, looked up at Sharley. “Mama!” she cried. “Mama, Mama, Mama!” 

 

Sharley froze, because oh, she  _ knew  _ that word in that voice. She snatched her little girl up and kissed her cheeks, even as Annwn giggled and repeated “Mama!” as though she had only now remembered the word. Perhaps she had -- perhaps it had been buried in her mind, waiting for someone or something to tease it out. Her mismatched eyes danced with glee, and Sharley’s own blurred with tears.

 

Lorna glanced at Earlene, and at Sharley, and said nothing. Well.  _ This  _ could get interesting.

 

Earlene began to ponder the assorted things she knew; her memory of Marty’s piping voice in Irmo’s garden was still quite clear. While she had been of the understanding that dead children were not restored to life...well, who even knew what the rules were, anymore, after the sum of what she had seen? If it was indeed the original child, then it was a very gracious concession from the Valar; she hoped Sharley realized how rare this must be. Then again after what the poor creature had endured, if anyone deserved it…

 

Thranduil caught her thoughts and raised an eyebrow. They regarded each other for a moment before shrugging, a gesture unlikely to be perceived by anyone else. It was, or it was not. Either way a beautiful little girl was in the room, and everyone was happy about it. Which was certainly a nice respite from so much of what had gone on of late.

 

“So I guess sometimes in America they just add an extra letter to Mam and Da?” Supri mused. “I guess it makes sense. How come Nana sounds so much like Mama when they’re totally different languages, though?”

 

“Nana is like ‘mam’,” Lorna said. “‘Naneth’ is more formal, like ‘mother’. It’s like ‘ada’ is like ‘da’, but ‘adar’ is ‘father’. As for why...it’s a language where the word ‘tail’ means ‘feet’. If anyone knows the answer to that, it’s not me.”

 

“Ada!” Annwn cried, still giggling. “Mama, Ada!”

 

_ Oh, good Jesus that’s adorable,  _ Lorna thought.

 

Thanadir’s head lifted from his writing, and a misty-eyed expression came over him, as he appreciated the scene with lips parted. Earlene sighed. She could bear children until the end of time, and Thanadir would never have enough of such sweet little moments with young ones. Then again, who could? Maglor appeared to be entranced, grinning from ear to ear while he encouraged Annwn to hold onto his finger. Ah, it was the little things…

 

Annwn regarded her father’s finger, and apparently decided it needed more thorough investigate, because she tried gumming at it until Sharley tickled her. “No eating your ada,” she said. “Cannibalism is not okay.”

 

“Ada?” the little girl asked, looking at her father.

 

“We don't eat our adas because we love them,” Sharley said.

 

_ “There are so, so many places I could go with that,”  _ Kurt sighed, sounding physically pained.

 

_ “Don't you dare,”  _ Sinsemilla warned.

 

_ “Wasn’t gonna,”  _ he said petulantly,  _ “but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t, or that I don't really want to.” _

 

“Mama?” Annwn queried.

 

“You must need second dinner.”

 

“No, Mama,” Annwn said solemnly.

 

“Uh-oh,” Lorna said. “She’s learned the dreaded n-word. That was Supri’s favorite.” Atia’s had been ‘why’, and Chandra’s, god love her, had been ‘fuck’. At least Shane’s had been a more respectable (if occasionally baffling) ‘barbarian.’

 

Faeleth breezed into the room, swiftly managing to displace Thanadir’s book in his attentions, snuggling onto her father’s lap for a few moments. Whatever silent communication transpired was enough to cause Thanadir to remove his writing materials and accompany his daughter out the door and into the evening twilight. Earlene smiled but knew better than to ask. Faeleth was...Faeleth.

 

Annwn reached for her father, and Sharley passed the little girl over to Maglor. She looked at him with such adoration it made Sharley’s heart clench, because he should have had this all along. At least he had it now.

 

“Ada,” Annwn said, poking his face with her tiny fingers.

 

He began to hum to her, a melody only he knew. The happiness that came from his simple joy filled the room...and in some ways made what was now missing from their midst starker by contrast. Thranduil eyed Lorna...and wondered.

 

*****

 

{July 10, 2034}

 

Earlene believed the siesta, a concept limited to certain countries (none of which were named Ireland), was foolishly underrated. A short while after the lunch meal, some indulgence in dozing on the bed was underway. Little effort had been needed to introduce her husbands to the benefits of this idea. Take most of an hour, digest, snooze maybe, and think. Reflect on this or that, perhaps even share quiet conversation. They all liked it, and it afforded an extra chance to cuddle with each other.

 

“Are you awake, Thranduil?” she asked quietly.

 

“Mmmm hmmm.” One blue eye opened with a little smirk.

 

“Well, at the risk of this question being annoying….how is it that we are going on seven weeks into this debacle Ratiri and he has not seen fit to issue a simple apology? The delay alone is starting to feel insulting. And yet I am sure you know things that I do not. For which I am all ears.”

 

Thranduil sighed.  _ So much for the restful component of this time of day _ . “Do you want the kind and diplomatic answer or the bitingly cynical one?” he returned.

 

Thanadir raised up. “I want to hear what bitingly cynical even sounds like,” he said, nestling his head into Earlene’s bosom. Her breasts did make rather good pillows.

 

Stifling laughter at the sight of his love, he decided to oblige. “The succinct answer is, Ratiri is still too mentally ill and also needs larger…” he could not say it. Even though it was just the three of them, he could not.

 

“Larger what?” Thanadir asked, baffled.

 

“Testicles. Balls,” Earlene finished. “He means, Ratiri is too afraid to talk to us. At least, on some level.”

 

Thranduil watched.  _ Wait for it…  _ Sure enough, Thanadir frowned and his hand traveled down to cup his own testicles.

 

The soft doe-eyes looked up at Earlene. “I really do not understand. If mine were too small I would not be able to…?”

 

“Ah, Thanadir...that one is a long story mired in colloquialisms and gender stereotypes. Probably we should talk about it later. Your male parts are completely adequate. Not to mention attractive.” Earlene patted his head soothingly, even as she elbowed Thranduil who she could see was smothering his laughter.

 

“You are making fun of me,” the seneschal accused his husband.    
  
“No, meldir. But I was enjoying your precious innocence. And your seemliness.”

 

“Oh. Well then. I suppose it is alright,” he relented, nuzzling further into Earlene’s breasts.

 

Earlene wondered if it was too early for wine.

 

**

 

“I will be leaving sometime within the next two weeks, as time is reckoned here,” Vairë told Sharley privately that evening. “It is my belief that you have learned a great deal. You are ready to stand on your own, Tirillë. I am quite proud of the transition you have managed to make. I have not said this to you before because I did not wish to cloud your thought, but…”  The Vala now smiled at her warmly. “It never entirely mattered to me, what your progress was or was not, in resolving how to manage returning to awareness of your true self. What gave me such happiness was your willing spirit, and your tenacity toward wishing to do right. In the end, it is all any of us have. We Valar are also not perfect. We are fallible, and bear heavy responsibilities. All of the Ainur were charged with expressing the perfection of our Father to the rest of his creation, but Blessed Eru tasked the Valar much more so than the rest. Success and failure have many definitions, and the one I prefer takes into account the love and humility in each of us to whom Eru gave free will. If ever you are not certain what to do, let that guide you. Many of those with whom you dwell are upright and faithful. You will not lack for support or guidance, should you feel the need. And if something seems truly dire; well, you know where I live.” Her smile remained as mischievous as ever.

 

“I’ll miss you, my Lady,” Sharley said. “We all will. You’ve helped me so much -- I don't feel adrift like I did. I don't feel torn into two different things anymore, which...well, you know how much I did.” She grinned. “And I’m sure I’ll be bringing you lots of presents on my mail-runs in the future. This household doesn’t forget people, even if it’s never gonna see them again.”

 

An enigmatic smile appeared on Vairë’s face worthy of the Mona Lisa. “I shall look forward to it.”

 

“I’ll make sure nobody sends you anything weird,” Sharley promised, and hugged her. “Thank you, my Lady, for being here. For helping me.”

 

“It was my pleasure, Tirillë. This was…” she waved her hand and bit her lip. The words were rather elusive. “This was entirely enlightening. None of us have ever paid much heed to the Afterborn. I feel now that this was perhaps a mistake. I have learned a great deal in my time here, and will be reflecting on my experiences for some time to come.”

 

Sharley stepped back in time to pick up Pickles, who came trotting in. “I don't suppose you’d want a cat?” she asked. “I’m sure we’ve got a spare one.” A feline would either drive the other Weavers mental, or keep them too distracted by playing with it to do their jobs. “And...there’s a lot to them that you don't know, until you’ve lived among them. Humans, I mean.”

 

Vairë stared at the cat. “You like these creatures a great deal, do you not?” the Vala asked, as if seriously considering the offer.

 

“I love them,” Sharley said, skritching the cat under the chin. The animal purred appreciatively. “This one’s Lorna’s, but we’ve got others needing homes.”

 

“What is their lifespan?” An elegant finger reached out to rub at the top of Pumpkin’s head.

 

“They can live to be in their twenties, if they’re lucky,” Sharley said. “If an animal doesn’t eat them, which isn’t an issue in the forest. Every so often you get a total outlier -- I think the world’s oldest cat lived to be thirty-eight -- but that’s rare. Lotta ours are getting up there in years.”

 

“I will consider it,” Vairë told her. “I have to admit, part of me wants to just to see the expression that would alight on my husband’s face.”

 

Sharley tried not to laugh at that mental image, and utterly failed. “Annwn would tell you to take one,” she said. “She and the Lump are all but attached at the hip. I think that cat is her little furry sister. And perhaps Lord Námo would enjoy one that wasn't a drooler.”

 

“I do not suppose there is a black one?” Vairë raised one eyebrow.

 

“We have a couple, actually,” Sharley said. “Midnight’s old, but Lorna raised some kittens recently, and one of them’s a little black short-haired kitty.”

 

“I wish to think on it a little longer, but I think I might like this. I can think of at least one of our family who would do well with some cheer. I doubt I need name names.”

 

“And she would like a black one, I’m sure,” Sharley said, grinning. “I’ll catch the little critter -- I think her name is Soot -- and you can meet her. See if she’d do well with She Who Need Not Be Named.” Poor Morë. It wasn't her fault she had to see so many horrible things day in and day out, but she didn't make socializing with her terribly easy -- or pleasant. Maybe a kitty would help.

 

“Very good. And I should add--I do not expect to leave tomorrow, but I have no knowledge of when an eagle will come for me. If there are any letters I can bring to Valinor, I would be glad to. I cannot say how long they will need to make it to Aman, but they would certainly arrive sooner than your next planned visit to us,” Vairë noted.

 

“We should ask Thranduil and Thanadir, at least,” Sharley said, “and I’m sure Laurë will have something for his mother and brothers.”

 

“Gather it as soon as possible; I cannot take mail for the entire realm. But for those in this household, I think it is quite reasonable.”

 

Sharley laughed. “Mail and a kitten,” she said. “Sounds like a plan.”


	156. One Hundred Fifty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {October 15-31, 2034}

(October 15, 2034}

 

Halfway through July, Angie had ordered Ratiri moved to a flat in Lasg’len, mainly because she worried about what a total lack of daylight would do to him after a while. He lived now in Aurnia’s old home, and rarely left it; she or Sharley or Siobhan brought him food, and Supri visited him regularly. Atia had at least spoken to him on the phone, though she hadn’t come down from Baile -- unfortunately, from Shane and Chandra came no word at all. Angie wasn’t surprised by this, however, and neither was Ratiri.

 

She knew that he would resist formal sessions -- it was one of the stubborn problems he was as yet unaware he had -- so instead they met up for tea every other day. One of the kittens Lorna had raised had gone to Ratiri, once they were old enough to be separated from their mother; having something to take care of seemed to give him a focus.

 

Sharley remained somewhat worried about him, and so did Angie, honestly. He’d retreated to such a degree that even Sharley was having a tough time sorting it all out. Thanks to Nienna, he seemed able to bear the weight of his mistakes and grief, but not to work his way out from beneath them.

 

So Angie had tea with him, and tried to work out why he seemed to be, in his own way, as convinced of his need for punishment as Lorna was. For a man who was normally quite eloquent, it was not proving easy.

 

They sat now in fat armchairs in the living-room, the half-grown kitten -- a grey fluffball aptly named Puff -- curled up on Ratiri’s lap. “How did your household deal with conflict, when you were growing up?” she asked. She knew next to nothing of Ratiri’s upbringing, save for the fact that he was an only child whose parents were well-meaning but...odd. Loving, but far from normal.

 

He snorted, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Mam and Dad fought like demons,” he said, “and then five minutes later, the air was clear.”

 

“And what did you do?” It was rather interesting -- and telling -- that he seemed to find this trait endearing, rather than upsetting or obnoxious.

 

“I went for walks. I’ve never had much of a temper -- I only ever got in one schoolyard fight, even. Mam used to say at least one of us was reasonable.”

 

Angie wondered exactly how lonely he must have been as a boy -- the only child of two parents who clearly couldn’t resolve conflict in a healthy way, and mixed-race in the 1980’s to boot. Their talks had painted a picture for her of someone who had, until he met Lorna and the Elves, spent the bulk of his life emotionally isolated. He’d had his wife for only three years, all told; his parents had both died not long after she did. And because they’d died while he was still comparatively young, he’d never sat down and seen their dynamic for what it really was. He viewed their relationship through rose-tinted glasses, and addressing that would have to be done with care.

 

At least he had made acquaintances with two of the expatriates, a couple from Guatemala who wove all sorts of things out of various fibers -- baskets, mats, and god knew what else. The wife, Angelica, had been born of a Guatemalan father and Irish mother who’d emigrated from Baile after qualifying as a nurse. Her husband Lalo was a mestizo, a word that was apparently a Spanish catch-all term describing someone of mixed race (which was close to half the entire population). Both were in their 40’s, without children or extended family save for Angelica’s mother Maureen -- a tall spitfire of a woman whose accent was a rather fascinating mix of Irish and Guatemalan, and who tended to lapse into Spanish when she was angry.

 

Either they didn't understand the depth of Ratiri’s transgressions, or they simply didn't care -- given that both had only middling proficiency in English, it might well be the former. They’d been teaching him bits and pieces of both Spanish and Lalo’s Mayan dialect (which, rather amusingly to anyone who’d spent any time in Ireland, was called ‘Mam’), as well as how to weave assorted things. It got him out of the house, at least a little -- a very little. More often than not, they came to him. Indira did as well, when she had spare time, but he tried avoiding her when he could.

 

“Didn't it bother you, when they fought?” Angie asked. “Most children would find that distressing, or at least annoying.”

 

“That was just...them,” he said, shrugging. “They were never really vicious -- the volume was high, but they never really called one another names or anything. The worst Mam ever did was call Dad ‘gaddha’, which means ‘donkey’ in Urdu. Dad called her a ‘wee dram’, which is basically ‘small drink’ -- meaning she was little and harsh when she wanted to be. Basically like Lorna calling me an eejit -- it was as affectionate as it was insulting, and it wasn’t like their fights ever lasted long. It was like Krakatoa -- huge, yeah, but once it was over, it was fully over.”

 

His dejection when he said Lorna’s name was almost indescribable, but what hardly anyone knew was that Lorna was almost as unhappy. She had a far better support system than he did, but even so, Sharley had said she didn't think her tiny friend could handle being on her own for too many more months. Angie had been informed that she could never allow Lorna to know that she knew this, but that Lorna still cried sometimes at night, even if she was fine during the day.  _ That  _ was not something Angie knew how to tackle yet, because Donovans were Donovans, and if the world wasn’t going to end, she really would write a treatise on them. They were such a bizarre combination of strength, stubbornness,  a highly specialized crippling inferiority, more pride than was good for anyone, and a level of clannishness that was honestly a bit staggering.

 

They were also either completely fine or utter messes, and  _ that  _ at least was a trait Ratiri was proving to share. Angie didn't think he’d learned it from them, either; she was pretty certain this capacity had always been there. Indira was, sadly, of no use there; she hadn’t really seen him often once they were both past childhood.

 

All these musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, which, from the dull and disinterested expression Ratiri bore, was not an expected visitor.

 

Angie rose to open it, since he didn't look likely to, and she wondered how many others he’d ignored. Who she found on the other side of it surprised her greatly, however. “Thranduil,” she said, trying not to stare.

 

“I knew you would be here,” he said, too softly to be overheard. His eyes averted downward for a moment. “It is apparent to me that whatever my original demands, that the situation has moved past all of that. He will never come to me, either for his own good or for mine. I believe I have made my point, and, no one need know of this visit. If you feel this is a terrible idea, I will leave. But I hoped that with your help we could have a conversation that is long overdue.”

 

“At this point, I doubt it could hurt,” she said, just as softly. “I’ve learned a few things about Ratiri that explain a great deal, and it’s all the worse because he can’t see it himself.”

 

Nodding, Thranduil easily gleaned her thoughts, and felt surprised. He had never paid Ratiri’s descriptions of his family much mind, though he had caught glancing memories here and there. It sat ill, to think that perhaps his real commonality with Lorna was spectacular family dysfunction. For all his own parents had been a sad disappointment, at least from a human viewpoint they were a reasonably standard brand of awful.

 

Drawing a deep breath, he entered the room. “Hello, Ratiri,” came the simple words. He had dressed plainly to come here, just a very ordinary pair of leggings and an attractive tunic whose only ornaments were embroidery in the same color as the fabric. His sleeves were rolled part way up his forearm; to him it was still a warm time of day even though autumn was well underway.

 

Ratiri looked up, his eyes widening. He hadn’t expected Thranduil -- or anyone else -- to seek him out here, and the sudden weight of his grief nearly crushed him where he sat. Puff, sensing his distress, nuzzled at his face, nicely fuzzing the front of his shirt.  _ I’m sorry, Thranduil. I’m sorry for everything. _

 

“I know you are,” the King answered aloud, taking the liberty of sitting down. “This has spiraled far beyond a simple disagreement. I thought it more than time we cleared the air. We were friends, Ratiri. And yet you are not well. I have been placed in a very bad position by all of this, but your welfare has become too much of a concern. This has gone on for nearly half a year.”

 

“And it might go on forever,” Ratiri said, staring down at the cat. “Until the plague, when we all have to move into the Halls, and then I don't know what I’ll do.”

 

“What do you mean by that, Ratiri?” Angie asked, even though she knew full well.

 

“I can’t show my face out there,” he said. “They know what I did, what I said. They know I’m not what I thought I was, or what  _ they  _ thought I was.”

 

“Do you not think this is a bit much, given that this was an argument over whether someone was a murderer? These were words said in anger, and yet you are behaving as though you have committed Maglor’s crimes.”

 

“I’m supposed to be rational, Thranduil,” Ratiri said, while Puff headbutted him. “I’m not supposed to...everyone knows what I said to Lorna, to Earlene. Do you really think anyone’s going to let me live down the words I threw at my wife? This is Ireland, and Baile has been Lorna’s village since she was twenty-eight years old. Indira visits me, but I know the rest of them will never let this go. I doubt Lorna will, either. I hit her...I hit her in the worst possible way, and I did it deliberately.” At least they need never know the things he’d thought afterward.

 

“So in your estimation your life should be over because you misspoke on one occasion? The Valar themselves do not hold themselves to so high a standard. Why do you feel you must?” Thranduil found this to be--even Maglor had not been this bad, and that ellon had been very far gone indeed.

 

“Because  _ someone has to _ ,” Ratiri said, in a flare of ire and self-loathing. “Look at the humans we live with, Thranduil.  _ Someone  _ has to be the rational one, and it’s not going to be anyone else. I was always -- all my life, I was always the calm one, the one who thought before he spoke, and then I went and did  _ that _ .”

 

“So what?” the elf asked in disbelief. “Are you even listening to yourself? Since when were you elected to be super-person? We all make mistakes. Human. Elf. Even Ainur. You made one, finally. Welcome to the world all the rest of us live in.”

 

“I’ve made mistakes, Thranduil, but I wasn’t meant to make this one,” Ratiri said bleakly. “I wasn’t meant to be so...so vicious. I didn't just get angry, I didn't just yell -- you know what I said. Even Lorna, in any rage she’s ever had, has never said anything even a quarter so horrible to me.”

 

“Yes, she most certainly has,” the King tossed back. “Thank Eru one of us has a memory. Or is this where you believe whatever you wish to, and nothing anyone says in an attempt to penetrate the fog you have woven around your mind can possibly penetrate?” Bleakly, he was recalling something Earlene had said once.  _ You cannot make sense of Crazy. _

 

“What has she ever said that struck at me so much as a person?” he asked. “Nothing. She won’t forgive me for this. Neither will anyone else in her family. And I really doubt any of the Elves who know of what I said to Earlene will ever look at me the same way again.”

 

“They were not pleased to learn of your rudeness, just as I was not either.” Did Ratiri really think he was somehow more stubborn than the last Elvenking? “That being said, they are just as capable as I am of hearing an apology and moving on. As matters are meant to be. I hate to disappoint you, but you will not use any of my people as a whip with which to lash yourself.”

 

“Ratiri,” Angie said, “you haven’t done the unforgivable. Why do you believe that  you have?”

 

“Because I’ve proven I can’t be trusted,” Ratiri said, wondering why neither of them seemed to understand this. “If I can’t keep my head in such a non-emergency, how can I be expected to do so when something goes  _ really  _ wrong? I’m not a Donovan, I don't just... _ go  _ like that. They’re expected to...to lose their shit, if I may be so vulgar, but I did  _ that  _ over something that should have been no issue. I didn't just give out at Lorna and Earlene, I  _ left for a fortnight.  _ I might have stayed gone, had Geezer and Calanon not had the sense to come fetch me. Why would anyone ever trust me with anything of substance ever again, after that?”

 

“I do not know. Why would I put my child in the arms of the son of Fëanor?” Thranduil countered, looking at Angie. Exasperated or not, he had no intention of giving on on this.

 

“He’s got you there,” Angie said. “Ratiri, just because you were always the calm one when your parents fought doesn’t mean you’re expected to be the calm one  _ all  _ the time. People blow up. I've done it, I’m sure Thranduil’s done it -- it’s not even only part of being human, it’s part of being a person. Sapient life forms have tempers, and those don't always manifest at the right time. One might argue there’s  _ no  _ right time.”

 

“And how many of those humans out there do you think are going to think the same way?” Ratiri asked, more bleak than ever. “If they want a doctor, they’ll go to Indira or Alan or Ben. Trust me. Is anyone going to want me back as a teacher? On the Council? Of course not.”

 

Angie tried not to sigh, because when it came to the Council, he had a valid point. The rest of it, though… “Ratiri, we have almost two thousand people and only four GP’s, of which you are one,” she pointed out. “As to the teaching...Thranduil, you’ll have to take that one.”

 

“As you are now, no. Nobody I can think of would wish to hear this kind of--” he gesticulated into the air “-- rampant proclamation of unworthiness. You do not believe me? Just ask Maglor. Even the Valar would not listen to his nonsense. Why would any of us want to?” Thranduil leaned his head into the steepled fingers of one hand, making it abundantly clear that to him, Ratiri’s line of reasoning was worthless.

 

_ Thranduil, you might want to have Maglor come talk to him,  _ Angie said.  _ And possibly slap him, if necessary. I can’t do it myself, it’s too unprofessional.  _ Though she would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted to.

 

Ratiri sighed. He did not, in all honesty, know how to be any other way right now -- not when only one of his children would even see him. Two of them despised him, and his wife...might not even think of herself as his wife anymore. He had little reason to care for anything in and of himself; Supri, at the moment, was the only thing that kept him going. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll...do what I can.” The thought was almost incomprehensible, but what other choice did he really have? Angie was right -- just now they only had four general practitioners, including him. There were, among the expats, a disproportionate number of utterly useless former jobs, and not nearly enough that were worth keeping; the sheer number of accountants, computer analysts, and assorted other former wage-slaves was staggering. Even with those they were training as medics, they needed more doctors.

 

“That is better,” Thranduil said. “Now what?” The last question was directed at Angie. Yes, Maglor would come. But how in all this time had the man made so little progress toward basic reality?

 

“We were talking about Ratiri’s parents, before you arrived,” she said. “I think they have a great deal to do with what’s going on now.”

 

A brief jag of anger stabbed through Ratiri, though it was gone almost as soon as it came. That Angie would be so cliche as to want to talk about his parents, as if he had them to blame...well, he’d laugh, if he felt like laughing about anything. “There was nothing wrong with my parents,” he said, staring down at Puff, who stared back. “They weren’t unusual, so far as parents went, except for the fact that one of them was Indian.”

 

“Neither were mine,” Thranduil retorted drily. “They were entirely normal, except one of them was full Sindar.”

 

Now Ratiri looked up at him. “Your father was a monster,” he said. “Unless I’m much mistaken, he was quite an aberration, as far as Elven fathers go.”

 

“I am glad you can realize that grown individuals who explode in anger are an aberration,” the King returned calmly. “And not reflective of how well-adjusted persons express themselves.”

 

“My parents were not like your father,” Ratiri said. “From all Lorna’s said of him, Oropher was a cruel, hateful bastard who didn't love anyone but himself. My parents loved each other and me, and I don't think they were ever  _ cruel  _ to much of anyone. Certainly never to me, or to each other.”

 

“Yes. It is perfectly acceptable to require a young child to be the figure of calm in a family, because the adults cannot. Silly me.” If anything, Thranduil appeared bored.

 

“Nobody required anything of me but myself,” Ratiri said, his frustration mounting. “They never used me against each other -- they never dragged me into their arguments. They loved me, and supported me, and sure, they yelled, but everyone else’s parents did, too. It was  _ Scotland.  _ I got off lucky, compared to lot of the lads at school.” His parents never hit him, beyond a few spankings when he was very small. He never had bruises to hide, like so many other boys he went to school with.

 

“Well then at least we know where  _ that _ came from,”  the ellon remarked, now observing his fingertips. “I am certain you all believed that you were a loving family. The difference between you and I is that I know what one actually looks like. My family was not loving. Lorna’s family, was not loving. Your family, whether you wish to believe it or not, was not loving. And that is much of why you both find yourselves in your present circumstances. Lorna knows why her family was worthless. Just as I know the same about the family of my childhood. You do not see it,” he shook his head sadly. “Perhaps in time you will.”

 

“Your father beat you senseless,” Ratiri said, and now his ire was truly rising. “Lorna’s father beat all of his children. My dad never laid a hand on me. Neither of them ever told me I was worthless, like her father did -- they never degraded me at all. Whatever I wanted to do, they supported me -- you expect me to believe my family was not loving, was worthless, because my my parents  _ yelled  _ at each other?”

 

There was much Angie could say to that, but she kept quiet. Thranduil was handling this on his own, if not in quite the manner she would have done; she’d let him get on with it, rather than confuse Ratiri...yet.

 

“There is another difference between you and I. I am not disagreeing with anything you are saying about my parents. I, however, am an adult ellon with eighteen thousand years of seeing life unfold before me. And I can see all of your memories with perfect clarity, and not through the eyes of a child.” With that, he rose, gave Angie a crooked smile only she could see, and left the home without another word. While ordinarily he would call his own behavior unacceptable, there was a reason for it. This time, it was critical to deny Ratiri having the last word. He would leave him, stuck on the last thing he had said. And pick up the pieces later. At this point, honestly, what was the difference?

 

Angie fought a highly unprofessional urge to facepalm. She thought she knew why Thranduil had done as he had, but that still left her stuck dealing with the aftermath. “Ratiri, if you go for that disgusting alcohol I know you have fermenting in the cupboard, I’ll be very annoyed with you,” she said. She was not pleased that Lalo had shared some kind of home-brewed... _ something _ ...with Ratiri, but she could hardly forbid it. She was his psychiatrist, not his keeper.

 

“The family I had is more or less lost to me,” he growled, ignoring her as he set down Puff, “and now Thranduil wants me to believe the one I grew up with was...was as bad as  _ his _ ? As  _ Lorna’s _ ? My parents were odd, but they weren’t like Oropher, or...whatever the hell Lorna’s father’s name was.” Hell, Lalo and Angelica bickered all the time in Spanish, and he’d heard Mairead and Kevin shout at one another far more than once. Thranduil, it would seem, was quite...sheltered...when it came to human marriage and all its variations.

 

_ “Oh, for fuck’s sake,”  _ Layla sighed. Maybe Sharley needed to have at him over this one. She at least could read his mind, which was more than poor Angie could do.

 

In the living-room, once she was sure Ratiri couldn’t see her, Angie gave in and facepalmed. Hard. “Ratiri,” she called, “we still need to talk.”

 

**

 

Almost exactly five minutes later, there was no knock, and the tall form of Maglor entered the room, followed by Pengolodh. Both seated themselves, and noted that neither human present seemed aware of why they were there. “I was instructed to come here. And…” he frowned, hesitating. “And make sense.”

 

Angie blinked at him, utterly thrown. “That was all you were told?” It certainly made no sense to  _ her _ , but that was Thranduil for you. “Did -- was anything said of why?”

 

“Because my King wanted me to come here,” Maglor answered, perplexed. “That is usually reason enough?” He looked at Ratiri, not wishing to ignore him. “You look unwell. How are you?”

 

“I’ve been better,” Ratiri said. “Would either of you like a drink? It takes some getting used to, but it’s not bad.”

 

“Thranduil and Ratiri just had a disagreement over the nature of Ratiri’s parents,” Angie clarified, or tried to. “Thranduil thinks they were abusive, but Ratiri disagrees.”

 

“Thranduil,” Ratiri said, “tried to tell me that my loving-if-loud parents were as horrendous as his utter bastard of a father. I took a rather dim view of this.”

 

“Oh?” Maglor said, surprised. “Well, parents can have many aspects. And, forgive me, but I can see that those were not Thranduil’s exact words at all. Oropher was many things, but now he is trying as best as he can to make amends. I sincerely doubt Thranduil would ever refer to his father like that.”

 

“He did not, indeed, use those exact words,” Ratiri said, sipping his incredibly bitter drink. “He said that his parents had been worthless, and inferred that mine were as well. Whatever Oropher is now, he was, if you’ll forgive me, a complete piece of shit as a father, and his mother was a doormat -- though she likely had no choice in the matter. My parents were never cruel, to me or to each other. My father was not Oropher, nor was he Lorna’s father, who was every bit as bad. My mother certainly was not a doormat. They yelled at one another. It was Scotland.  _ Everyone’s  _ parents yelled. It didn't mean they didn't love each other, or me.”

 

Maglor frowned. “He  _ said _ they were worthless? Or did he rather imply that some aspect of how you were raised left you damaged?”

 

“He said...what did he say, exactly? He said that Lorna knows her family was worthless, and that he knows...that the family of his was as well, but that I don't see it about mine. If I’m to take something else away from that, I’m uncertain what it is.”

 

“Maybe he was trying to tell you that love is not always enough, Ratiri,” came the soft answer after a reflective pause. “My father loved me dearly. He loved all of us. And yet in hindsight, there was much that was not...optimal. My mother was strong. Forceful. They did not ever bitterly argue in front of us that we ever saw. In the end it did not matter; we had been convinced that something was normal when it utterly was not.”

 

Ratiri turned this over. “I know only what I've read of your family,” he said, after a moment, “but it sounded as though your father had something he loved more than you or your mother, at the end of things. My parents...there was never anything before me, in their minds. They defended me, when I was small and couldn’t defend myself. My mother went head-to-head against my first wife’s mother, who hated that her daughter was marrying ‘one of those brown people’, as she put it. I was a happy child at home, if not away from it.”

 

Pen’s eyes met Maglor’s, and they both had to stifle a smile before the latter spoke again. “Ratiri...think about it. What you read about my father came from...where? And that information was taken at a time previous to me reaching some rather important understandings. I am not talking about what my father was at the end of things, but rather at the beginning of me. But my words make some sense to you, or they do not.” His thought now turned to Angie.  _ I do not fully understand why I am here, except that I know he needs help. Yet I am getting nowhere that I can see. Help? _

 

“I admit, it’s...difficult for me to picture your father, as he must have been when you were a child,” Ratiri said, and it was very true; his only mental image of Fëanor was of someone so intense they’d be exhausting to be around. “Almost impossible, if I’m to be honest.”

 

_ Oh, you’re getting somewhere,  _ Angie said, watching Ratiri.  _ He’s thinking about what’s coming out of his mouth, at least. He’ll have to digest this for a while, I’m sure -- would you see if Pen can sneak in and pour the rest of that disgusting liquor down the sink, while Ratiri’s distracted? He’ll digest this a whole lot better if his head doesn’t feel like it’s full of bees. _

 

_ With pleasure,  _ Maglor responded. Only seconds later, Pen feigned needing the loo. Maglor’s attention returned to Ratiri. “I learned too late that whatever it is we grow up experiencing, that becomes some kind of normal, for us. Sometimes, we are fortunate enough to have other influences come in to nudge us away from that perception. Like how Aran Thranduil had Hîr Thanadir, but I know that those lessons were not taught overnight. Even so, it is a constant struggle to keep perspective. At least, it is for me. My father had many good qualities, and a few that proved to be my undoing. A day does not pass that I do not question myself, work to ensure that the hard lessons I learned from my mistakes are not forgotten. None of us are perfect, me least of all.”

 

“I’ve had…I haven’t been able to trust my perspective for some time now,” Ratiri said quietly. “My family, save my youngest daughter, are effectively lost to me, and now it seems like Thranduil wanted to wreck my faith in those who are lost permanently. I don't...it’s wearying.” Maglor had a wife and a daughter who loved him dearly; Ratiri’s own wife clearly wanted nothing to do with him, as did his two eldest children. Atia...it was too soon to know. She was obviously having a good time in Baile, at least. “Does it ever get any easier? Right now...well.”

 

“It does, but not when one is like this,” came the candid answer. “I do not mean to sound obnoxious but...I have been where you are now. In despair. It clouded my mind to the point where I could not see what others did. Could not see that I did have hope. That I was valued, loved. That there was a future for me. I could tell you that you are doing the exact same thing, but I know you cannot believe it, just as I was unable to.  I did not see how my pride was causing me to be so certain that my realities were true when...they were not. I was brought very low indeed, before I could see my mistakes. I hope that you do not do the same.”

 

“You’re right,” Ratiri sighed. “I can’t see it. I know that I can still be useful, but at the risk of sounding maudlin, there is exactly one person whose love I feel truly assured of: Supri. My middle daughter seems fine without me, my eldest children despise me, and I don't know what my wife is doing, but I’m assuming she’s not the wreck I am.”

 

“Sharley would poke you, to hear you say that,” Angie said. “ _ She  _ still loves you -- why do you think she’s been so insistent about helping you? It’s not because she doesn’t have anything else to do.”

 

A frown came over Maglor’s face, as it did Pen’s. “I cannot sit here and say ‘I love you,’ it is not in my nature to express that sentiment easily. But any of the elves would help you, Ratiri. Myself included. Forgive me again for the advantage I have over you, but you are suspicious of our sincerity. Not understanding that we can simply hear an apology and move on.” He shook his head. “I like your wife, very much, but I am afraid you have adopted some of her worst ideas. She has many beliefs that do not serve her well. You would do better to learn to stand on your own, and then worry about reconciling with her. It does no good to seek support from someone unable to offer it due to their own difficulties.”

 

Ratiri shut his eyes. “Oh god, I have, haven’t I?” he groaned. “The Donovans, they are contagious. I will be honest with you, Maglor: just now, I don't have the energy to stand on my own. That may take a little time.”

 

He nodded. “You are very depressed. I hope you are accepting what treatments are available to you; there is no shame in needing help. No one I know overcomes grave difficulties alone.”

 

“I just wish mine were not so wholly of my own doing,” Ratiri sighed. “I will...see what I can do, in the future. I can’t promise anything more than that.”

 

_ Is there any more I can do, now?  _ Maglor asked Angie.  _ We will visit again but I think I should go. _

 

_ I think you’ve done all that can be done,  _ she said.  _ The rest is up to Ratiri. Thank you, for what you’ve said. _

 

“We will visit again,” Maglor said as he rose. Waiting a moment, deciding on whether to share something or not, he appeared to freeze in place, a little. Finally his mind was made up. “I will tell you what Aran Thranduil required me to do, when I was at my worst. He insisted I be willing to consider that I was wrong about my prospects. That there might be hope for me. I did not want to see it. But he was right, and I was not. I will leave you with that thought. Until next time, take care.”

 

“Good day, Ratiri,” Pengolodh said cheerfully, with sincerity, as he followed Maglor out.

 

“For the record, I didn't know that was coming,” Angie said. “He has a point, however. It’s the same thing as what I would call ‘reframing’.”

 

“I know it is,” Ratiri sighed. “I’ll try.” So long as his family remained out of reach, however, he wasn’t sure how well he’d succeed.

 

**

 

{October 20, 2034} 

 

Music was over for the evening; it was getting rather late. The younger peredhel children had drifted off to their rooms in the last hour if not to bed; it was no secret that many of them stayed up later reading or conversing with siblings. As long as they rested enough, their parents did not interfere. A diminished number, therefore, had settled into the Heart Room. Thranduil busied himself with the news, Maglor and Pen were doing whatever they did, and Earlene was simply enjoying a rare moment of resting in Thanadir’s arms. For once, he was not writing in his book. Which started her thinking, and caused her to sit up more. “What is it, that you two are working on?” Earlene asked Maglor and Pen. “You are always conferring on something or other but if it is a project for Erestor, it must be a rather large one.”

 

Pengolodh raised his head from notes he was taking. “It is,” he grinned. “We are trying to describe the evolution of western human thought as expressed by those who were considered great thinkers. Right now we are working on Machiavelli.”

 

“Oh.” Well, that was unexpected. “You cannot just send him...well, of course you cannot,” she murmured, answering her own question. 

 

“You see the problem,” Pen smiled. “Though much is already written, nothing is written that would make sense to an elf who has lived little among humans. Not to mention the disparity in vocabulary. English is a complex language, so we are having to write some of the most critical content in both English and whichever Elvish tongue we deem best suited to the thought.”

 

“And how  _ are _ you explaining Machiavelli?” she wanted to know. After all, his works were a study in what the writer considered to be a great ruler; they dealt with governance. And they did not take a very kind view of human nature, even on a good day.

 

“Well, we summarize each concept very simply,” Maglor elaborated. “And then we go on to provide what we consider to be the most important quotes in English, of course. We translate those as best we can into Elvish. And then after a great deal of discussion, we offer our own observations on the idea itself. For of course many of the notions were products of their time in history; we attempt to provide that context. Later on we review our work, discuss it some more, and then move onto whatever or whoever is next. But to answer your question, for Machiavelli we chose to say in brief that his idea was, ‘the end justifies the means.’ And that he considered humans to be selfish, wicked, aggressive, stupid, and ambitious malcontents. And that on account of this, a ruler must seek the well-being of the state he or she governs by any means necessary.”

 

Earlene blinked. “Well, that does rather sum it up,” she admitted. 

 

Thranduil raised his head. “That sounds awful. Really??”

 

“Really,” Pen and Maglor echoed together.

 

“I always thought Machiavelli was a miserable bastard, until I read that there’s some people who think  _ The Prince  _ was one big satire,” Lorna said. She was lying on one of the poofs, feet resting against the arm of the sofa. “That it was him insulting the Medici family and getting away with it because they took it seriously. Apparently the argument about that’s been going on for almost two hundred years now.”

 

“Whether it is or not, it had a kinda...well, negative influence, shall we say,” Sharley said, shaking her head. Annwn, dozing, snuggled closer to her mother. “People like that -- and hell, there still are some -- make me not totally unhappy this plague’s on its way.”

 

_ “Because that’s not depressing,”  _ Jimmy muttered.

 

“I wonder what’ll happen, out there,” Lorna said, cracking her toes. “Some people’ll survive, and sooner or later they’ll form societies, but just what’ll those societies be like?”

 

“I’m glad you don't need to find out.” Sharley would know, though. She’d been weaving the events of the outer world for months now, and the Elves had had to find somewhere for her to hang her tapestries. Most of them were fairly boring, however; she only displayed ones where something actually interesting had happened. They were going to pile up over the ages, but that was a problem for later.

 

“But surely ideas such as this were a product of some centuries past, when societies were not as evolved as now?” Thranduil pressed.

 

“You’d like to think so, but, no,” Earlene replied. “One of Machiavelli’s most frequently attributed notions was that the ‘appearance of virtue’ was more important than actually being virtuous. The well-known American President Kennedy had a father who proudly expressed that ‘it does not matter what you actually are. It matters what people  _ think  _ you are.’ So...maybe the packaging changed, but that sort of political deception has been alive and well ever since, to my mind.”

 

“Wonderful,” Thranduil answered drily, while at the same time pondering how easy it might have been for he himself to have taken this path at one time. There was something to be said for rejecting that kind of arrogance.

 

“Until people figure out who you really are, and somebody shoots you,” Lorna mused. “I mean, his own son got assassinated. Sons. So often, it was just a matter’v time before you pissed the wrong person off.”

 

“Poor Erestor,” Earlene murmured. “I wonder if he is ready for half of the story of humans.”

 

“He is a scholar,” Pen smiled. “He will manage.”

 

“If he needs something less depressing, we could always send him a select history of cat memes,” Sharley said, even as the Lump hopped up onto the couch to snuggle with Annwn.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Grumpy Cat, in all his various forms.”

 

“ _ Grumpy Cat was a she,”  _ Layla said helpfully.

 

“Either way.”

 

**

 

Ratiri hesitated a moment before he crossed the border of the forest, and hesitated again once he was inside of it. Having spent the last few days mulling over Maglor’s words, he’d decided it was time to get this out of the way -- even if he did go get drunk later. Thought of entering the home that was no longer his home was a painful one, but it had to happen sooner or later.

 

Thranduil wondered just how much the evening was about to be ruined, and yet this had to happen. Some debate ran through his head about warning the room, but that would only cause Lorna to flee and further avoid this encounter. He would do nothing, and let whatever would happen unfold.

 

Ratiri pondered knocking, and then decided that would be utterly ridiculous.  _ Thranduil, can I talk to you, Earlene, and Thanadir?  _ God knew how many of the others, including assorted children, might still be up and about. He did not need an audience for this.

 

_ Yes. We will meet you in the Quiet Room.  _ Silently asking his partners, they rose and left the room; Thranduil simply said “Please excuse us for a moment” before following.

 

Being back inside this house was...a lot more painful even than Ratiri had expected. He couldn’t help but remember the building of it, how fun and exasperating it had been in equal measure, and the sense of accomplishment they’d all felt once something was completed. He sat on the sofa in the Quiet Room, head in his hands, and fought a surprising amount of despair.

 

Thanadir was first into the room, feeling a mix of anger and compassion. He was not happy with how long Earlene had been left without the decency of an apology, even as he recognized how Ratiri must feel. But even he had pushed himself to write what he had to Erestor, despite the pain of it. There were times when what was right had to overrule what was easy, and yet did he not know now that each individual carried their own burdens?  So a compromise appeared. His visage was stern, but not the ugly scowl it could have shown. Earlene simply...stood. She was beyond needing to make an issue of this, knowing only that for greater reasons the words still needed to be spoken. Thranduil wordlessly gestured for his mates to also seat themselves, knowing that it was half a miracle Ratiri had come at all.

 

“I'm sorry,” Ratiri said, his voice weighted with depression. Oh, this was so much more painful than he’d imagined it would be...faced with all he’d lost, and by his own stupidity, it was all he could do to say anything. “I’m…” He wouldn’t admit it was incipient tears that choked at his throat. Nope.

 

Earlene looked at Thranduil, having seen more than enough. “Please, may I?” she asked Thranduil. With just a slight hesitation, he nodded his assent. She moved to sit next to Ratiri, and pulled him into a hug. Always Earlene had been physically strong for a woman, but now it was not possible to resist her. “Stop fighting it,” she told him quietly. “It’s not the battle you want to win.”

 

At first, Ratiri tensed, because he had no idea why in god’s name she’d want to hug him -- but after a moment he gave up, and hugged her back. It was over -- everything was over. He’d wrecked his own life, but at least he had apologized for his misdeeds. “I’ve already lost,” he said, swallowing hard. “I’ve lost…” He’d lost everything save his youngest daughter, and try though he had to keep Maglor’s words in mind -- that perhaps things weren’t so hopeless as he feared -- it was all but impossible for him to actually believe, now that he was sitting in this house that was no longer his home. That would never  _ be  _ his home, because if Lorna ever decided to live here again, there was no way she would allow him to.

 

_ Maglor, please come to the Quiet Room,  _ Thranduil beckoned. Apparently this was another occasion that would require reinforcements. “You do not know that, Ratiri. Yes, she is...Lorna. But you do not see the future.”

 

_ I’m afraid I don't have to,  _ Ratiri said.  _ It isn't just Lorna, it’s the twins. It’s Mairead. It’s  _ Baile _. Maglor told me to have hope, but I can’t right now.  _ Not when this hurt so shockingly much.

 

“And that is when you need it the most,” Maglor rumbled in his rich baritone voice. “This is hard for the same reason it was hard for me, Ratiri. I know why you have put off dealing with this, but the delay is also part of your difficulty at this point in time. Deferring the inevitable sounds like a good idea when you are convinced of the poor outcome you are certain will occur if you act.” He knelt down in front of the man on one knee, to place an arm on his shoulder. “There is no mistake you have made that I have not already made first,” he sympathized.

 

After a moment, Ratiri looked up at him. “You never drove Sharley off,” he said quietly. “You were never cruel to her. You didn't...that’s a mistake you’ve never made.”

 

Lorna, by now, was wondering where the hell everyone had gone, and why. With a sigh, she hauled herself to her feet, padding barefoot through the Heart Room.

 

_ “Are you gonna just...let her go like that?”  _ Kurt asked.

 

“Has to happen sooner or later,” Sharley said, though she did not look forward to this. Hefting Annwn -- who was by now the size of an average three-year-old -- she rose as well, quite certain she was going to have to run interference on this.

 

“You do not know what I did to Sharley,” Maglor corrected. “If you do not know the extent of my cruelty, it is because you have not heard our full story. But that is not what is under discussion here, whether I or another have matched you mistake for mistake. I can say with confidence that my sins outstrip yours. Please, it is not even a contest. Do you know what I had to do, before the Valar would consent to forgive me? Of course you do not, for no one has told you. It was the hardest thing of all; if you do not believe me ask Earlene. I had to forgive myself, for in my pride I clung to my need to punish myself above all other things. Just as you are still doing now. Nothing can change until you move past this. Not for you, not for your family.”

 

Lorna couldn’t see Ratiri until she’d actually entered the room, and she froze. Pain and anger and something she couldn’t name surged through her, but she bit down on her words before she could speak any of them. He’d probably come to say something. “Oh,” she said, after a moment. “It’s you.” Her voice was surprisingly level, and even more surprisingly calm, considering she wasn’t certain if she wanted to run away or slug him in the face. She was so torn between the two urges that she stayed still.

 

Sharley hurried up behind her, more than ready to grab her tiny friend with her free arm if necessary, and haul her off just like she would Annwn.

 

Ratiri stared. He was entirely sure Lorna was not aware of the hurt her expression betrayed, or she’d be doing a better job of masking it. “Lorna,” he said, and swallowed hard. “Lorna, do you -- what do you want of me?” he asked softly.

 

Her eyes narrowed. “What do I want?” she repeated. “What I  _ want  _ is for this to’ve never happened! I want you to not have fucking  _ ruined everything  _ by being a judgmental shithead! I want you to have grown a fucking pair months ago, and come and talked to me like a goddamn  _ man _ !”

 

“Okay, that’s about enough.” Lorna would be pissed as hell later, but Sharley had no qualms about knocking her out via telepathy, catching her deftly before she could actually hit the floor. “Lorna and I are gonna go...somewhere else.”

 

Thranduil reacted faster than Sharley, causing Ratiri’s hearing to fade before the second sentence was spoken. While usually he would call this an ethics violation, right now he would willingly shoulder whatever cosmic demerits he would incur for his action. Anything, not to add to the man’s dangerous level of despair. Once Lorna was gone, he restored Ratiri’s senses. “That needed to happen,” he asserted. “You are not the only one who has been avoiding moving on.”

 

“I should go,” Ratiri said softly. He didn't know what had just happened, but  _ something  _ had -- and it probably was not something he wanted to know about.

 

“You may do as you wish, now,” Thranduil said. “Access to the forest is yours once again. Though I can guess why you will likely choose not to dwell here.”

 

“I will walk you to your home,” Maglor insisted. Because like hell was Ratiri going to go home and drink his way to oblivion, even if it meant sending him to sleep once they reached town.

 

Ratiri only nodded as he rose, despair engulfing him. He’d follow Maglor, at least, if only because he didn't know what else to do. He couldn’t stay here. Aurnia’s old home was serving him as well as anything else was likely to.

 

_ Aran Thranduil, please tell Sharley that I may not return until tomorrow. I do not believe it is safe or wise to leave him alone in this condition. There is a place to sleep there, and a sofa.  _

 

_ I am sending Pengolodh with you.  _ Thranduil made it plain this was a statement, not a question. Wisely, Maglor only bowed his head and grabbed his cloak as he exited, aware that his friend was not far behind them under the starry skies.   
  
**

 

“Mama, Lorna mad?” Annwn asked, watching her mother haul her auntie into her and Ada’s bedroom.

 

“She’s not mad, little bug, she’s sad,” Sharley said, “which on Lorna looks like the same thing.” Perhaps it was an abuse of her power, keeping Lorna asleep for now, but she didn't care; Lorna needed to nap until she had her shit together.

 

Angie would have to go to Ratiri later; Maglor might need her as backup. Sharley herself needed her and Thranduil for this one, since she didn't relish trying to deal with it on her own. “I’m gonna put Auntie Lorna on the bed -- can you and the Lump keep her warm for a minute?”

 

“Yeah, Mama.” To Sharley’s amusement, her daughter coaxed the cat to lie against Lorna’s left side, then curled up on Lorna’s right. “Not a bug.”

 

“Yes you are,” Sharley said, poking the end of her nose. “You’re my little bug.”  _ All right, Thranduil,  _ she said,  _ not sure what to do with Lorna, except keep her snoozing. _

 

_ I think she needs to talk,  _ came the reply.  _ May we presume to let ourselves into your room? _

 

_ Come on in,  _ Sharley said.  _ There’s also a toddler and a really fat cat.  _ Though honestly, the Lump wasn’t  _ that  _ fat anymore. Less a land whale and more of a blimp.

 

Thranduil did just that, seating himself; Angie who stole in with him took a spot unobtrusively in the corner. “Hello, little peg,” he said, tickling Annwn’s cheek, and grinned when the child’s face lit up before turning his attention to Sharley. “I do not think it wise to let her have even a second to dwell on this. Just as when it happened in the first place.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Sharley sighed, and touched Lorna’s forehead. The little woman woke at once.

 

Lorna glanced at Annwn, and her rather expletive-filled tirade screeched to a halt before it could actually pass her lips. Small ones did not need to be hearing...that.  _ I hope he’s gone,  _ she said, to everyone who was not Annwn.

 

“He is,” Thranduil noted. “For the record, he heard nothing you said beyond the first sentence, down there. I take responsibility for that.”

 

Lorna didn't bother trying to hide her disappointment in that. “It was things he needed to hear,” she said, skritching the Lump’s head. The cat purred like a rusty chainsaw.

 

“He really didn't,” Sharley said. “Trust me, I think he already knew.”

 

“Then why did he  _ ask _ ?” At least, with Annwn around, Lorna couldn't just give in and give out at the entire universe.

 

“Because the man is a masochist,” Sharley said. “He wants to punish himself. It’s what he’s been doing for months.”

 

“I did not block his ability to hear your words because I wanted to deprive you of your revenge, Lorna,” Thranduil said. “He is dangerously unwell. As in, he is at risk for suicide. These last months have been a battle for all of us that are trying to prevent that, and forgive me, I did not need you making our task even more difficult.”

 

Lorna looked up at him. “He’s  _ that bad _ ?”

 

“He is, in fact, that bad,” Sharley said. “He was worse, for a while. I know you’re angry with him, Lorna, and upset, but I don't think even you want him offing himself.”

 

“No,” she sighed, “I don't. I…” She glanced at Annwn.  _ I’ll admit, not that I'm sure you two don't already know, I want him to be punished, but I don't want him  _ dead _. I don't want...well. It looks like he’s paying for it, at least. _

 

“And how much is enough?” Thranduil asked, curious. He half-hoped she did not have an answer.

 

“Until he knows what I felt like,” Lorna said, staring down at the Lump.  _ Until he hurts like I hurt. _

 

“He sorta already does,” Sharley said, knowing she wasn’t going to want to hear it and saying it anyway. “He’s been beating himself up for months.”

 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Lorna said, “given he didn't have the ba -- the guts to come apologize to anyone. Doubt he would’ve apologized to _ me  _ at all, if I hadn’t followed Maglor.”  _ Fuck him. I hope he stays outside the goddamn forest.  _ She tried, so hard, to ignore how much that hurt -- to force that pain down, and blanket it with anger. She had to tell herself he wasn’t worth her pain. The alternative was to feel it, and that...wouldn’t end well.

 

“Lorna, think about it. He has been a wreck since day one of this. How exactly was he supposed to climb out of the hole of a profound mental illness to apologize to you, knowing you would behave exactly as you did tonight? He may as well have just ended it all; his mind could not survive that. I love you, dear one, but you cannot have it both ways.”

 

Lorna utterly hated that he had a point. “Well...now what?” she asked, shutting her eyes. She was so tired of this shit, and yet it didn't look like it was ever going to end. She lived in her little cottage in the woods, because the beautiful mini-studio flat that had been hers and Ratiri’s was far too painful to live in now. The only reason she could even be in this house at all was that the Heart Room looked nothing at all like it once had, and...when she thought of it, when she thought of how things had gone so badly wrong, she wanted to hit Ratiri. Hard. A lot.

 

“You are going to have to decide what you want, out of all of this,” Thranduil pointed out. “Beating him senseless? A divorce? Being friends? Reconciling? Being permanent enemies who never speak with one another? ‘What next’ is up to you, Lorna. But you should choose carefully. This has already gone on for nearly half of a year. I would say that you are doing well enough, except that I know it is a mask that you wear. You are not happy. Neither are you making any progress toward some manner of closure. If you wish it to end, unfortunately, you need to answer your own question.”

 

“I don't know,” she admitted. “I don't know what I want, other than for this to have never happened in the first place. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at him without just seeing...what he said, what he looked like. I have a hard time’v it with Pat, even now, and Pat’s my brother. I just...hell, I don't  _ know _ .”

 

Sharley looked at Thranduil, because this was about what she had expected...and she didn't know what to do about it. Not at all.

 

“Well, there is no means by which to accomplish that, Lorna. It cannot be un-done. My greater concern is why you have no ability to move beyond emotional hurts.” Thranduil reached out, to smooth her hair from her face. “That is not normal, Lorna, to be so stuck like this. So unable to allow others their own imperfections. I used to think you had a strange inability to forgive, but now I am not so certain.”

 

“What does that mean?” she asked, genuinely nonplussed. “That you’re not sure that’s what it is -- what d’you mean?”

 

“What I mean is, I now wonder if it is something else. This has been a problem for you all along; that if someone hurts you your tendency is to write them off. But this goes beyond merely holding a grudge or wishing to see someone punished in return. You are...paralyzed, with no idea how to move forward or help yourself. Whereas any of the rest of us would simply decide to accept an apology, and pick up where we left off.”

 

“It is,” Angie said from her place in the corner. “Something else. And I am utterly torn between how I am supposed to help a patient with this as a mental health professional, and the realities of a situation where Elves and Maiar and the end of the world are part of the same discussion.”

 

“Thranduil, give me a hug,” Lorna said, making grabby-hands. “Angie, just lay it on me. We might as well get out’v the way, before I throw my hands up and just go drink myself stupid somewhere.”

 

“I’d sit on you if you tried,” Sharley said.

 

“And I’d bite you if you did,” Lorna retorted, glowering.

 

_ “That’s what she said,”  _ Kurt snickered.

 

_ “Actually, it’s kinda what both of them said,”  _ Layla said.

 

“Layla, don't encourage him,” Sharley said, sighing.

 

Angie’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Basically, Lorna, tonight brings us to a place that I was afraid you might arrive at but somehow hoped we could bypass. Your beliefs, your feelings; you are a poster child for what commonly happens to a victim of protracted childhood abuse. You might believe that you hold all of these convictions and troubles ‘just because.’ That isn’t the case. All of this, from your inability to know what you want to your inability to have any empathy for what your husband is experiencing, is a direct product of what being abused created within you. Thranduil is right; this isn’t just you having a problem with forgiveness. This is your brain having been hijacked before you ever even knew what was happening.” She stared up at the ceiling. “And somewhere, a medical ethics board would like to put my head on a platter.”

 

Lorna stared at her, trying to sort that one out. “You mean the fact that my da was a piece’v shit is why...well, is behind all’v this? I mean, he was a right bastard, but why should that affect me not knowing if I want my husband back, or if I want to jam my boot up his arse?” She winced, and glanced at Annwn; fortunately, the girl was so occupied with the Lump she did not appear to have heard.

 

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said Sharley -- as if she actually knew what she was talking about, given she’d never technically  _ been  _ a child. Still, she’d known a lot of them, at least.

 

“For two reasons. Your experiences with your father taught you to believe that others cannot be trusted once they have faltered toward you in any way, and, because of your early family dynamic you never developed the capacity to make judgments based in logical reasoning. Your feelings time and again overwhelm your decision-making skills. So, sustaining a relationship is a very difficult prospect for you. You were never taught to function as an adult.”

 

“So I was actually right when I said I failed at adulting,” Lorna sighed, resting her chin on her knees. “Great. I don't -- I genuinely don't get how you can just ‘decide’ to accept someone’s apology, and have it be like nothing ever happened. I mean...no part’v that computes with me, and it’s not because I don't want it to. It’s as alien as...I don't know, Quenya.”

 

“And that leads us to part two,” Angie muttered, watching as Thranduil tightened his grip on the diminutive woman a little. “Part of your inability to reason revolves around the belief that you are wretchedly incompetent, a failure; that somehow any of this is your fault. It’s the other half of the behavioral profile, that profound sense of inferiority you drag around with you. Of course you don’t understand how to accept an apology; your mind is trained to believe things such as, if you were to accept an apology it would somehow mean that the offense never happened. You’re right, it is as good as Quenya, because to your mind--rooted in trauma--I am quite literally speaking a foreign language. And the reason me saying all of this to you is so wrong is because in your situation, there is a huge risk of you simply doing what I tell you to do--not because you have come to realize the difference, but because you do not trust your own judgement and are looking for someone else’s beliefs to replace your own. Something you deem better, more workable. But this can take years, Lorna. Years and years. We do not have years and years.”

 

“Well...so, what the fuck do I do?” Lorna asked, looking from her to Sharley, and then to Thranduil. “I’m kind’v old to be learning new shite -- new ways’v thinking, or...whatever. Jesus, I turned fifty-seven in June, didn't I?”

 

_ “Nobody wanted to remind you,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

“I appreciate it, believe me,” Lorna said dryly. “Um...well, is this where you telepaths poke around in my head a little?”

 

“Preferably not,” Sharley said. “Not unless we have to, anyway. Vairë cautioned me pretty heavily against tweaking with your mind.”

 

“What she said,” Thranduil added. “If this is ever to amount to anything, it cannot be us making you over into some sort of robot that we deem thinks properly. It does not work that way, nor should it. Thanadir helped me with these same problems by correcting my thinking as often as he saw a need, until one day I no longer needed him to tell me. I simply...heard his words in my mind, stopping me when I wanted to believe in something that was...out there.”

 

“And disappointing Thanadir would be like kicking a kitten,” Lorna said. “But...how long did that take you, Thranduil? How many years went by before ‘one day’ happened?” Given how slowly she was aging, she figured she might well make it past a hundred and twenty or so, but would that be enough time?

 

“Not as long as you might think,” the King answered. “In the beginning, I heard a great deal. But as time went on, it became less frequent. Sometimes something would happen, and I would lapse backwards. Sometimes I would do well for many years, and then fall back into my old thinking, especially if something hurt me or was difficult. Not, mind you, that I would admit that outwardly, but somehow he always knew.” A smile ghosted across his face. “I am not certain one ever reaches perfection, with this,” he admitted. “But to at least be able to discern nonsense from reason...not that long.”

 

The thought sounded...utterly exhausting, honestly. “So...what do I do right now? I mean, this shit with Ratiri has to go somewhere sooner or later, and I still don't know what I want to do. Well, right now I’d love a drink.”

 

“No,” Sharley said. “Again, I'll sit on you.”

 

Annwn eyed her mother, wondering. “Mama, Lorna  _ ow _ .” What she meant was that if her mama should actually sit on her aunt, her poor aunt would get squished.

 

“And then I’d want another drink,” Lorna said.

 

“That would be more of the ineffective, self-destructive coping mechanisms,” Angie said, noticing the onset of throbbing in her head. “Nothing about drinking, or weed, or any other substance is ever going to help you function.”

 

“Why do you like that so much, anyway?” Sharley asked her, curious.

 

Lorna sighed. “It’s not that I like it, so much,” she said, “as that it makes me not care. Nothing sucks when you’re drunk or high. Nothing hurts, though I can’t say nothing pisses me off if I’ve had a few too many.”

 

“And yet eventually sobriety has to intrude,” Thranduil mused. Eru knew he had found solace in the bottom of a bottle too many times himself.

 

“Unfortunately, it does,” Lorna said. “I’ve tried all sorts’v other shite -- I’ve tried throwing knives and all that, but it wasn’t until Estë gave me a drive-by brain-poking that I actually had anything like peace. And even that’s hard to maintain now, sometimes. Like the last six months.” She did all right during the day, but she’d learned to take something to make herself sleep at night, or else she lay awake and cried.

 

“Lorna...I have read many books about psychology over the years because they interested me. But they also taught me something, too. There were times I read things that informed me better about my past behaviors and decisions. Maybe if you did the same? It might help you and Angie to speak the same language, so to speak. Probably this is not at all how it is usually done, but then what has been, in our collective situation?” He looked up at Angie, questioningly. Just because it sounded good to him did not actually mean anything.

 

“Actually, that's a good idea,” she said. “I’ll download some books, and loan you others I already have, Lorna.”

 

_ “And I’ll go with you tonight, since I know you’ll want someone to talk to while you read,”  _ Sinsemilla added.

 

“Kurt will  _ not  _ go,” Sharley said. “His brand of ‘help’ isn’t needed right now.”

 

_ “I'm so unappreciated,”  _ the voice lamented.

 

“Kurt, you’re as appreciated as a kidney infection,” Lorna said, rolling her eyes.

 

_ “Aw, thank you.” _

 

“Anyway,” Angie said, “are you going to be all right alone in your cottage?”

 

“I...sure?” Lorna didn't sound convinced, even to herself. “I don't want to go to the Halls.”

 

“Stay here,” Sharley said. “Maglor’s out for the night. We can read through some of this crap together.”

 

“I think that means I am walking you back home again,” Thranduil mentioned to Angie.  _ And I am certain my spouses would happily offer to share a drink after this evening’s events, if that would not be wildly inappropriate,  _ he added silently.

 

“It beats walking in the dark,” she said.  _ And I don't care of it makes me a hypocrite, I would just as happily accept one. _

 

“I will say good-night then,” Thranduil said, squeezing Lorna as hard as he dared, and kissing the top of her head. “You two have fun with books. And that….cat.”

 

Lorna squeezed him back. “Goodnight,” she said. “Here, the Lump says good-night as well.” Sure enough, the cat lumbered over and headbutted his hand, demanding pets.

 

“Cat, you’re an attention-...thing,” Sharley said, barely catching herself. Little Annwns had big ears, and she didn't want a repeat of Allanah’s early attempts at speech. Maglor would utterly die.

 

“Thing,” her daughter said solemnly. “Lump thing.”

 

“Close enough.”

 

**

 

Late morning, Thanadir tossed salad while Earlene prepared a variety of items that would go on top--cubed ham, hard-cooked eggs, bacon pieces, olives, diced vegetables, cubed cheese--plus some overly indulgent cream dressings that she would usually eschew except the day was cold and something more decadent seemed in order. The more substantial salad was meant as the counterpoint to a relatively basic soup of beef bone broth and barley; something warming for the unseasonably frigid weather. Looking up, they both saw Maglor tiredly dragging in, with Pen behind him. Thanadir’s lips pressed together disapprovingly. “Sit!” he ordered both of them, ushering them bodily in front of the fire, and returning moments later with steaming tea. “Thank you, for what you both did,” he said softly. He could only imagine how much fun they had not had. “Lunch will be quite soon,” he added, before returning to help his wife.

 

Sharley, Annwn in tow, followed shortly thereafter. That morning they’d left Lorna and the Lump sound asleep, and it would seem both were still well under -- reading until four in the morning apparently wiped Lorna out. 

 

“Ada, Froggy,” Annwn said, grinning. “There’s Froggy.”

 

“We found the frogs under the bridge,” Sharley said. “We’re gonna build a frog house.”

 

Maglor took his daughter into his arms, his face breaking into a smile to see both of them. Pen rescued his tea mug, so that he could cuddle his child properly. “That will be a very lucky frog family,” he murmured sleepily, nuzzling her growing hair as his eyes closed. 

 

‘Long night’ Pen mouthed to her, pointing at Maglor. And it had been indeed. Ratiri had been restless and...difficult. When he woke was worse than keeping him asleep in the first place; they left only when Angie arrived to order them home for some rest.

 

“Why don't you and your ada take a little nap?” Sharley asked Annwn, who nodded.  _ See if he can sleep for a while,  _ she said.  _ I’ll see what Earlene’s up to in the kitchen. _

 

Pen nodded.  _ Shouldn’t be a problem,  _ he noted as he watched his friend beginning to doze.

 

“So how’d it go last night?” Earlene asked Sharley quietly, having picked up rather a lot from Thranduil once he finally made it to bed.

 

“Angie loaded us down with a lotta reading,” Sharley said. “It was interesting, and some of it was depressing. I think Lorna feels kinda daunted, and honestly, I can’t blame her. I mean, I knew the poor woman was damaged, but I didn't know just what ‘damaged’ actually meant.”

 

“I almost feel kind of bad,” Earlene said. “I’ve seen all those things in Lorna but I never knew enough about how it all works to realize it was all tied into her family. I mean some of it, sure, that seemed obvious. But other parts...no, I wouldn’t have guessed that. I just hope she can...want to deal with it. It can’t feel good, to rarely have a sense of harmony that doesn’t come from a mind-altering substance.”

 

“She was doing a lot better, prior to this...mess,” Sharley said. “Estë’s gift had her pretty leveled out. And honestly, the fact that she hasn’t gone on a bender at any point in the last six months is kinda telling on its own, but...yeah, I know she finds the thought of trying to deal with it all exhausting. She’s also wondering if she can even do it in the first place.”

 

“And yet neither she or Ratiri really has a lot of choice. The sad thing is...maybe it really  _ is _ too much for both of them just now. Maybe they should call it quits until later. Sometimes you don’t understand what you’ve lost until it’s gone. Really gone, not just at the edge of your existence. Then again, like I even know what I’m talking about,” she shook her head. “I just know that ordinary reasoning has a hard time getting through to her, not that it’s her fault.” Next to her, Thanadir blinked. These things Earlene was suggesting felt deeply shocking; he could not imagine ‘calling it quits.’ And yet he knew enough to hold his tongue, and wait until he could ask her and receive a complete answer.

 

Sharley shook her head. “If they do that now, they’ll never get back together, and they’ll both be miserable,” she said. “I dunno what it’ll take, other than a lotta work. Lorna wants to get better, but right now she still doesn’t know what she wants from Ratiri. She’s pissed, she’s hurt, and she’s also lonely, so only time will tell on that one.”

 

“Polarized feelings. Not exactly surprising, I’m afraid. There are times I just wish I could...loan her my brain. I wish she could see that other people think so differently. Easier said than done, though.”

 

“She could have, once,” Sharley said. “She was reading my mind for a bit -- passively, but still. Vairë severed the connection before she left, and I almost wonder if that’s a bad thing. I know humans and Ainur aren’t supposed to be connected like that, but it coulda given Lorna a...template, I guess is the word I want. Something she could feel, not just take on faith.”

 

“I could see how that could be...all good and all bad,” Earlene pondered. “It’s different for me now, but I try to think of if I’d had that kind of connection to Thranduil earlier on and...I...don’t think it would have been wise. It didn’t belong to...that set of realities.”

 

“Whereas Lorna just needs a different reality,” Sharley sighed, “and I have no idea how to explain it to her. I was never a child. I didn't have parents of any kind, though I’ve seen a lotta both over the millennia. How does someone explain healthy coping mechanisms, though? Lorna said what we were talking about made no more sense than Quenya, and Angie said she was pretty much right, there. I just worry because for a long time, Ratiri was Lorna’s biggest supporter, the one she turned to, and now she doesn’t have him, and at the moment doesn’t want him. Not sure how this is gonna play out, and I don't want to look.”

 

“Well, the one question I can maybe answer,” Earlene returned, waving her cutting knife in the air. “People have feelings, and they have logical reasoning concerning what’s the best course of action. What to actually do usually occurs somewhere between those two places. But Lorna might never have even known to operate on anything but feelings. How the thought of something makes her feel. She can’t get past that, so she can’t consider anything else. Explaining the thought process someone else uses, in detail, might have to be what happens.”

 

“And she’s fifty-seven,” Sharley sighed. “That’s kinda old for a human to be doing this, which oughtta make it even more...fun. You think maybe we’ll have to just walk her through it, a step at a time, once something actually happens? Because something’s gonna, sooner or later, and she’ll need to know what to do. I just hope one of us is around when it does.”

 

“You can’t afford to think like that,” she admonished. “Fifty-seven is nothing when she might live to be a hundred and twenty. Who even knows? The point is, that’s defeatist. Even ten or twenty years is a long time; you can’t go into it even considering that this is late in the game.”

 

Sharley really didn't like the thought that she might  _ only  _ live to be a hundred and twenty. The fact that her human family would all die someday was not one she liked to dwell on. “It might actually be easier for her if we drag all three of them in on it,” she said. “They’re all a mess, thanks to how they were brought up. The fact that they all managed to come as far as they have is kinda a miracle, but they’ve got so far to to, and if they’re all trying to do it together, at least they won’t feel so alone. And Kurt, if you say ‘that’s what she said’, I'm gonna stick you back in the spider ball.” Yes, the thing was still there; even now, nobody seemed to want to go near it.

 

“From the sound of it, it’s a shame they can’t add Ratiri to that session, but, probably a lousy idea just now.” She finished cubing the last of the cheeses and had mixed together a buttermilk salad creme. “Well, that about takes care of lunch, I think.”

 

“Yeeeeah, probably,” Sharley said. “Laurë’s taking a nap in the Heart Room, and I’m not sure I want to wake him, so let’s just save him some for later if he doesn’t turn up on his own.”

 

“Perhaps today we will not ring the triangle,” Thanadir offered. “I will walk through the house, and simply tell everyone the food is ready.” 

 

Earlene smiled at him, and kissed him on the cheek. And counted her good fortune.

 

**

 

{October 23, 2034}

 

Tonight was another soup night, and Lorna clearly wanted something to do. Shrugging, Earlene gave her potatoes to dice that technically could have been dealt with in the food processor, but, that would have defeated the purpose. So, dicing away she was, over the gigantic cutting board Thanadir had made of mixed hardwoods. “How’s it going for you?” Earlene ventured cautiously.

 

Lorna snorted. “Apparently I got brain-damaged as a kid,” she said, slicing away, “and not even because I hit my head so many times. Did you know being abused as a child can actually, physically affect your brain? Because  _ I  _ didn't.”

 

_ “There are so many places I could go with that,”  _ Kurt said. 

 

_ “Don't you dare, or I'll get Sharley to put you back in the spider-ball,”  _ Sinsemilla warned.

 

“Oh, that,” Earlene answered. “Neuroscience is an amazing thing. It’s sad in a way, that they’ve only got a few more years to discover stuff for our benefit, before it all goes to hell for who knows how long. Then again if we could just get rid of crap parents that abuse their kids, we wouldn’t need to know about brain damage. But yeah, our minds can be changed by the things that happen to us. Especially so young.”

 

“It’s a bit disheartening, as well as creepy,” Lorna said. “But it also explains a hell’v a lot. I'm just bloody glad there wasn’t any, you know, pervert stuff in there, too. Apparently survivors’v  _ that  _ have it even worse. Unsurprisingly.”

 

“Knowing helps; at least it did for me. Dealing with it was somewhat more difficult,” Earlene frowned. “I mean, my problems were different, obviously. But it helped me to know that other people had the same issues.”

 

“I’m thinking about bringing Siobhan and Pat in on this,” Lorna said. “As weird as shite still is with Pat half the time, the pair’v them had the same childhood I did. It might help all’v us if we deal with it together -- bit harder to feel like a complete failure at everything if you’re with other people in the same damn boat.”

 

“Well, you’re not one, so, yeah, why not?” Earlene’s eyebrows arched. It would bet truly nice if her friend could be helped with...The Complex.

 

Lorna tried not to roll her eyes. “Yeah,  _ that  _ thing,” she said. “Apparently my whole inferiority...thing...is a more direct result’v my da being a shit than I'd thought. I don't know where all’v us humans go when we die, but wherever he is, I hope he’s in a cage, and someone’s poking at him with a pointy stick every time he tries to fall asleep.”

 

_ “That’s...almost worryingly specific,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

“I guess you’ll have to take it up with Eru,” Earlene smiled, masking her thought that it would be far better for Lorna to just...let it go.

 

“Hopefully not for a long while yet, and then all three’v us can have a go at him.” She sighed, and stilled. “It ought to be four’v us, but Orla’s had no luck finding Mick, our younger brother. If he’s not dead already, he’ll die out there in three years. I’ve tried not to think about it, but reading all’v that has made me think about our childhood in a way I never have before, and I can’t help but think’v him, too.”

 

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up on being able to beat people up in the afterlife, if Valinor is any indication,” Earlene chided with what she hoped was humor. “And, sorry about your brother.” What else did one say to that?

 

“Surely  _ something  _ nasty has to happen to bad humans,” Lorna said. “I do hope, anyway. And...well, it’s something I'll have to talk about with Siobhan and Pat, I guess. Mick, I mean. The odds that all four’v us actually straightened out are pretty bloody low, but still. It’s hard, not knowing.”

 

Earlene shrugged. “Maybe it’s like for elves, and you just can’t get away until you’re not the same person that could do those things again. I...have no idea. Eru just doesn’t strike me as the revenge type.”

 

_ And you probably never will know,  _ Lorna thought. Nobody had ever brought it up, but it was pretty common knowledge among the humans closest to Earlene that she wasn’t actually one anymore. It just wasn’t something anybody talked about. “On the one hand, that’s probably a relief,” she said aloud, “but on the other...I really want to poke my da with a pointy stick, dammit. Possibly while it’s on fire. I know Angie would say that isn’t healthy, blah blah, but Angie’s not the one who just found out she’s legit brain-damaged. Though I can’t wait to see the look on Siobhan’s face when I tell her she is, too.” Because she was an adult. Honest.

 

“Huh,” Earlene answered, because...there was no way she was going to get roped into why that thinking was ridiculous, thank you very much. “I think some nice baking powder biscuits are in order.”

 

“I can do those,” Thanadir said excitedly. It was true, he was now the Biscuit Meister. Now if they could only get him onto yeast breads with the same success--preferably before they had to leave for Aman--they would really be getting somewhere.

 

“That would be lovely. I think if we do a quadruple batch that will be enough.”

 

Lorna paused, and looked at the tall elf. “Thanadir,” she said slowly, “would you be willing to go talk to Ratiri sometime? Yeah,  _ I _ still want to kick him in the kidney, but it might do him some good to talk to you. He needs more than Sharley, Angie, and Maglor.” She wasn’t quite sure how she could both worry about him and want to jam her boot up his arse, but somehow she was managing it.

 

“Yes,” he answered. “But...I am not sure how well he will listen to me. He believes many strange things and...if no one else can convince him he is being ridiculous I am not certain what difference I can make.”

 

“No one else has the Thanadir Eyes,” she said. “You know how effective they are as weapons. Just sit there and look sad at him. Maybe hold his cat while you’re at it.” She knew he had the fluffy grey kitten, which at last viewing had looked much like a poofball with a face.

 

“I did not think of that,” the ellon pondered. “Huh.”

 

“You do best with that one when you want something,” Earlene observed, grinning. “Why not try to get him to come to the Halloween party? You know he’ll try to beg off and stay home.”

 

“Huh,” said Thanadir again. “Maybe we need a group theme. Like all superheroes or movie characters. He could be the Invisible Man; no one would know who he was.”

 

“Oooooh,” Earlene said. “I could be Bride of Frankenstein.”

 

“But meldis, I do not want to be Frankenstein. I would rather be Dracula.”

 

“You would?” Now this was new.  _ And possibly mildly kinky. _

 

“Of course. I could wear a tuxedo and a cape and…” the Sad Eyes turned on her full force.

 

“Oh, fine. Vampire thrall it is,” Earlene rolled her eyes. “Yeah, why not. It’ll be my nod to helping Ratiri.”

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow. “I think Thranduil would probably love it if you went as Wonder Woman,” she said, and did not, because she valued her life, add,  _ hypnoboobies.  _ She wondered who on Earth she could possibly go as, given she didn't precisely look like, well, any superhero she could think of off the top of her head. Oh, for Sharley’s shapeshifting powers…

 

“Oh, not to worry. Didn’t you see the old  _ Dracula _ film with Gary Oldman in it? Trust me, I remember a few of the women that nibbled on Jonathan Harker all night. Everyone will be perfectly happy.” Earlene smirked, already planning to use her charms to best advantage. Though, she’d need fangs from somewhere. One thing at a time.

 

“I’m still not sure...Thanadir, do you lot have any like, war-hammers in your armory? I know they’re not an elf weapon, but I figure I could tweak some armor and be Lady Thor.” No, she wasn’t blonde, but her hair had gone silver ages ago, so it was close enough. As much as she’d love to go for Wonder Woman herself, she had a sad lack of cleavage to put in that corset/bustier/whatever the fuck it was, and she didn't want to hassle with dyeing her hair.

 

“No but...there are hammers in the forge? You can borrow one as long as you promise not to use it on Ratiri,” he said with full sincerity.

 

“Can I make it look like  _ Thor’s  _ hammer?” she asked. “And I'd never hit Ratiri with a hammer. Kick him somewhere unpleasant, maybe, but I wouldn’t hit him with an actual object that could do actual harm.”

 

“Why don’t you ask Saoirse to paint it for you?” he suggested. 

 

“Allanah can bring one back here tomorrow,” Earlene pointed out. “Well. It sounds like that’s settled.”

 

“I’ll see if I can get the twins to come back for it,” Lorna said, “but with Chandra...it’s iffy. If she sticks with her squad all night, it might go okay.” 

 

**

 

{October 31, 2034}

 

Three days before, they knew bad weather threatened the attendance of their annual celebration in the Halls, and that is why it was deemed far safer to begin the festivities early in the day. As in, two o’clock in the afternoon. That allowed everyone coming to arrive in daylight; it was made plain that any who wished should come earlier yet. Halloween fell on a Saturday, and if the travel conditions were best on Friday night, they early arrivals were welcome. Record cold for the calendar date, as well as possibly some manner of precipitation was forecast--and no one at all was happy about it, but there was little to be done.

 

Everyone coming from outside Lasg’len was to park at the farm; the elves and others would be making use of wagons that would make continual circuits from the farm to the stables, and back again. Abundant heavy fleeces and woolen blankets waited in those conveyances, for especially the older ones and children to wrap up against the cold. Any and all old-timers were muttering nonstop about not just ‘fierce’ weather, but ‘godforsaken fierce,’ which was apparently a more recent upgrade to the Irish lists of atmospheric classifications. And, for the record, the new phrase was considered to be a worse place on the gradient than ‘four seasons in a day’ or ‘wet rain.’ 

 

Eldamar had been abandoned after breakfast on Saturday morning, because the house family agreed all around that wandering back and forth in cold bad enough to affect elves was a terrible idea, so costumes and all, everyone moved on to the Halls for the next twenty-four hours. Excitement ran fairly high. Thanadir was prepared to execute a stunning Count Dracula, whereas Thranduil elected to match them as a (tasteful) Vlad the Impaler. Mairead had been consulted for how to turn his hair temporarily black, and in the end it was deemed far safer to just use a wig. Earlene was one of the Vampire Brides, and given that the theme was anything to do with cinema characters, all sorts of ideas were planned. There was a certain amount of excitement, as both Maglor and Pengolodh had been working (with help from Thanadir) on the best replica they could manage of how they appeared in the finery of the First Age. 

 

The peredhel had chosen a variety of characters, from comic book’s Phoenix (Allanah) to Fred and George Weasley (Erynion and Lancaeron). Really there were too many to count, and the day promised to be replete with the usual food, drink, and entertainment. No particular dramas had been planned; enough stress had occurred this last summer that a normal party seemed like the best idea, especially in view of the crappy forecast. The caverns, Valar be praised, were most always the same temperature. Cool, but cool was not the same as arse-freezing bloody Arctic outside.

 

Sharley had dressed Annwn up as little Rogue, complete with a white streak in her hair and a miniature version of the character’s green coat from the first movie. The tiny gloves would keep her hands warm, though they’d probably get lost in a hurry. She herself had decided to roll with the whole ‘shapeshifter’ thing, and was going as Loki -- yes, dude-Loki, armor, male voice, and all. 

 

She hadn’t actually consulted with Lorna on it, but upon finding out Lorna was going as Lady Thor, she’d sat her tiny friend down and painted silver lines over all the cracks in her fae -- she wasn’t going to tell anyone  _ why _ , either. If asked, she’d just say it she was copying the look he wound up with at the end of the third movie, and that would be that. Somehow (probably with Thanadir’s help) she’d managed to put together a breastplate and Thor’s odd leather kilt-thing, over the top of black leggings and boots. The hammer she carried wasn't actually that large, but she was so tiny that it looked enormous.

 

“We ready?” she asked, as she helped Supri adjust her costume. She’d taken all the Donovan females to her and Maglor’s quarters in the Halls, for last-minute adjustments, but everyone was just about done. 

 

“Almost,” Saoirse said. Her makeup was possibly the creepiest damn thing Sharley had ever seen on a human face -- she’d gone as the Other Mother from  _ Coraline _ , which had entailed painting her face dead-white before tracing black veins along her skin, and effectively  _ gluing  _ giant buttons over her eyes. It meant she couldn’t see well at all, so Supri was going to lead her around -- naturally, Supri herself was Coraline, complete with blue hair.

 

“Buttons, Mama,” Annwn said, eying Saoirse with a combination of dubiousness and fascination.

 

“Buttons, indeed. Chandra, are you really even gonna bother with heels?” The girl was, for the second time in her life, going as Dana Scully -- this time, however, she wasn’t a zombie. Mairead had somehow rolled up her long red hair into a fake bob, and she’d gotten a black pantsuit from somewhere.

 

“Nope,” Chandra said. “With all due respect to Gillian Anderson and her apparent ankles’v steel, I’ve got boots.” She sounded so at ease, and Sharley could only hope it would last.

 

Out they went, to find the others. People were already eating and drinking, and Sharley fought a grin. She’d give a cookie to the first person who figured out she was...well, her.

 

Earlene had learned a lesson from her one other somewhat scandalous costume choice, and that was to be a little more cautious as to how she presented the proverbial package. So this time, since the Vampire Bride was wearing several yards of nearly transparent lacy, gauzy fabric, a beige full-length bodysuit was worn under the garments. This way, she could honestly say that she wasn’t naked underneath; it would just look as though she was. Hypocrisy at its finest, or something like that. Though, she did a complete double-take when her oldest daughters stopped by their quarters first, dressed as the Grady twins from  _ The Shining _ . They both grinned at her, and flounced their blue and pink dresses and....wow, that was spooky. Especially when they both said “Come and play with us, mummy.”

 

“Okay now stop that,” Earlene chided. “No scaring the really little children.”

 

“Forever and ever and ever,” they both grinned. “We know, Nana. Do not worry.” They both disappeared with alarming speed.

 

Thranduil stood behind her. “They did not get that from me,” he teased. 

 

“The hell they did not, my Lord,” Earlene glared, unable to stifle a laugh. “I vote we share equal blame.”

 

“Fair enough, my impudent bride,” he said, nuzzling her. 

 

“Guilty,” came the reply, as she pulled him into a kiss. 

 

“None of that,” Thanadir admonished. “You will muss your makeup, and I still worry about those fangs.”

 

“You have fangs too,” Earlene protested.

 

“But I am not the one who is likely to end up...do I really need to spell it out?” he asked, mildly exasperated.

 

“Spoilsport,” she grumbled, enjoying how much Thranduil was laughing. It was good to just...laugh. It made her realize that for a long time now, the problems in their larger family had taken much of the easygoing humor out of daily life and that was...it sucked. “Anyway, I am ready when you both are, and I am drinking Cosmopolitans tonight, I don’t care what looks John gives me.”

 

“Why?” Thanadir asked.

 

“They are red. It’s all part of the costume. Vampires don’t drink Guinness.”

 

“Ewwwwww,” the seneschal grimaced, finally catching on, and Earlene rolled her eyes.  _ Wonderful, now he was a seemly vampire. _ It was going to be a long day.

 

**

 

Sharley knew when Ratiri approached the Halls, so she did her best to distract everyone and let him slip in unnoticed, should he choose to do so at all -- Thanadir had extracted a promise from him of coming to the Halls, but that didn't mean the poor man was actually going to mingle at the party. He needed to realize he wasn’t thought of as some awful villain, but perhaps now was too soon. At least he could be back here, for a bit.

 

Supri patiently led Saoirse to the cupcakes, which were as plentiful as they were every year. Mairead had made most of them, and her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of Sharley -- she was one of a very few outside of the household that knew about Sharley’s shapeshifting abilities, thanks mostly to her disastrous attempt at being Lorna-sized. Sharley merely arched an eyebrow, and tried not to give it all away by laughing.

 

When she caught sight of Earlene, the other eyebrow went up.  _ You like tormenting all men and half the women here, don't you?  _ she asked.  _ You know how pathetic it is, watching all these poor guys try not to stare? _

 

_ I can’t help it,  _ Earlene grinned.  _ All of my adult life I had to act and dress like a prude because, lawyer in New York City. I never even let myself feel pretty, because it was unprofessional. Maybe the pathetic part is how much I love knowing that my husband will stare at me the whole time. If someone else gets a thrill, I guess that’s a side bonus. But just so you know, there is a bodysuit under this, that’s not...me. Just the outline of me. _

 

Sharley bit the inside of her cheek.  _ I know that now, but  _ they _ don't,  _ she said, glancing at poor John, who was carefully looking somewhere to Earlene’s left. She doubted his somewhat red face was solely the result of booze -- not this early in the evening. To her intense amusement, Siobhan wasn’t bothering to hide her appreciation, though Shane elbowed her in the side and told her to not be so bloody obvious.

 

“If she didn't want people staring, she wouldn’t’ve worn it,” Siobhan retorted. “You’re not a woman, you don't understand these things.”

 

“Men don't, you know,” Sharley said, in a deadpan-perfect imitation of Tom Hiddleston’s voice.

 

Lorna choked on her drink, because she hadn’t known  _ that  _ was part of Sharley’s bag of tricks. Mimicking an accent was one thing, but she sounded just like the man.

 

Siobhan and Shane exchanged a glance, and Lorna didn't need telepathy to know they were wondering who the fuck this actually was. If it wasn’t for the fact that the actual Tom Hiddleston was now in his fifties, Lorna wouldn’t blame them for wondering.

 

A lovely pair of ladies entered the room dressed in the style of the 1950’s and… “Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Earlene said, fascinated, while Mairead and Thanadir both grinned shamelessly. “Lucy and Ethel? But...that cannot be…”

 

“Calanon and Ailill,” the old elf grinned. “They put a great deal of work into that. Magnificent, isn’t it?”

 

“I’ll say,” Earlene gaped. Yes, obviously they were wigs but...the makeup, the dresses, even the pumps on their feet--and good grief, were those the outfits from the episode where they shopped for designer dresses in Paris? What made it worse was that Calanon was far better looking than Ethel Mertz any day of the week. Truly, they were stealing the show.

 

“It’s so not fair when you find a lad that’s prettier than you are,” Lorna sighed, shaking her head. Elves were Elves, they were all superhumanly gorgeous, but Ailill was drop-dead gorgeous as Lucy. No man should have legs that nice. He needed to donate them to a woman.

 

“I know,” Siobhan-the-sister said, as she ambled over with a cup of highly alcoholic punch. She’d come as Xena, Warrior Princess, and had made up for her deficiency in the boob department by stuffing the front of her breastplate with two brown balloons.

 

“You do realize at least one of those is going to wind up popped by the end of the evening, right?” Lorna asked.

 

“Oh, she knows,” Pat said, coming up behind her. “She’s looking forward to lamping out whoever does it.” Someone had talked him into coming as Harry Potter, glasses, Gryffindor scarf, and all.

 

“Ooooooh Harry Potter,” Thanadir smiled, forgetting that he now had fangs. He leaned forward to look at Pat’s ensemble and the effect was completely disturbing. His long hair had been coiffed back into more of an Interview With The Vampiresque queue, and cosmetics carefully applied to give him an even more disturbingly inhuman skin tone. Earlene had bought him contact lenses that gave his eyes an eerie iridescence and...Earlene could not help but laugh at Pat’s expression. “You look wonderful!” Thanadir complimented, entirely oblivious to his own appearance.

 

“You too,” Pat said, fighting an urge to lean away. At least it made it easier not to stare at Earlene, for all some vague instinct told him he ought to be running away in the opposite direction.

 

“Okay, it’s so not fair that the one night I dress up as a hobbit, the Elves dress up as vampires,” Eris complained. She was indeed dressed as Bilbo, complete with a rather good wig -- the problem was that her feet were encased in furry slippers. It rather undid the entire effect.

 

“You’re already a hobbit,” Lorna said. “Nice feet.”

 

“Where is my husband?” Sharley asked, still in Loki’s voice, which just made the entire Donovan contingent burst out laughing. “I feel the need to troll people.”

 

“He’s over there, and good luck with that,” Thranduil waved his hand. “Elflords are un-trollable.”

 

“Oh, wow,” Earlene said, temporarily at a loss for words. He was a glimpse of something she would never otherwise see. Beautifully embroidered elven robes flowed to the ground, as the golden star of the House of Fëanor blazed at his throat. A circlet of gold bound his hair back and the effect was incredible. Pengolodh was not far behind, decked out as the scholar of Gondolin that he once was. They were a sort of living history. “Time for a drink,” she muttered, moving off to bother John.

 

“Goddamn,” Lorna muttered, staring. She recognized that star, and she’d bet she wasn’t the only one. He and Pen looked somewhat jarring next to Sharley!Loki, but whatever. Annwn was cute as a button, of course, and reached for her Ada as soon as they were close enough.

 

“All right, who’s Loki, and why is he holding Sharley’s kid?” Shane demanded.

 

“You will find out the answers to both’v those questions in time,” Lorna said, while the Donovan Herd burst out laughing again. “Good costume, isn’t it?”

 

“Scary good. I want to know how he’s doing it.”

 

“Starts with an ‘m’,” Lorna said, and with that left him to find a drink.

 

Time flew by, the Dining Hall had warmed with the press of bodies, in stark contrast to the increasing chill outside the cavern walls. Out of concern, Thalion (who amusingly had dressed himself as a rather stunning Batman to Melda’s Catwoman) completely reassigned the patrols for the rest of the day. Shifts were reduced to thirty minutes at a time, patrols were only near the Halls themselves and not the usual wide sweeps of the border, and the ellyn driving the wagons to transport their guests were asked to trade off after each circuit, to limit the amount of time anyone spent in the bitter cold. A healthy breeze made for a wind chill and...elves were not often seen shivering, but today’s weather managed it. The last time anyone had checked, the thermometer read -15C, and the reading continued to fall.

 

A wide variety of musicians now existed in their society, meaning that those who wished to play for awhile could move in and out of those playing the traditional (and by now well-known) dance tunes, lessening the burden on any given individual to supply those wanting to dance.

 

“Oh, they aren’t,” Earlene said to Thanadir, who much to her enjoyment had remained at her side almost exclusively and had been paying her a great deal of attention. 

Whether he was acting ‘in character’ or genuinely trying to raise her own temperature a few notches could not be determined, but the impish expressions from him made a strong argument for the latter.

 

“Aren’t what?” he wanted to know.

 

“Look. Lucy and Ethel. Those two are actually going to dance like that.”

 

“Oh my,” Thanadir exclaimed. “Come with me. This I have to see. Up close.” Working their way through the throng of happy revelers, they made their way to where Ailill and Calanon were somehow dancing a reel in those outfits and...those shoes.

 

_ I couldn’t do that in pumps if I tried, and I’m a woman, _ Earlene said in disbelief.  _ They aren’t very big heels, but still… _

 

_ This is impressive, _ Thanadir admitted. They both recognized the futility of trying to speak aloud in the midst of so much other noise that now included the stomping of enthusiastic feet onto the perfectly planed stone floor.

 

_ Does Ailill seem pale to you?  _ Earlene asked, getting no further, for Ailill stopped dancing and seemed to crumble to the floor.

 

_ Oh no, not again,  _ Thanadir said. In tandem both of them moved forward; though Calanon was quite near to him he had not yet registered what had happened. For the sake of appearance, Earlene made a shield of her body against the others dancing, giving Thanadir a moment to pick up Ailill and swiftly remove him. Many of those around laughed, believing that this was part of Thanadir’s Dracula act; to pretend to be carrying off the damsel in distress. To be fair, the vast majority of those at the party had no idea that Lucy was Ailill, so convincing was their dress and makeup. He really did seem to be a very tall female to all appearances. However, a worried Ethel paid the others no mind, now that he realized what had happened. Sadly, what would otherwise have been a hilarious skit was not really funny at all.

 

_ Thranduil,  _ Earlene called out.  _ You are needed. We are taking Ailill to their rooms in the Halls. _

 

Across the room, Vlad the Impaler sighed. He had rather been having a good time, following Lorna and occasionally poking her (gently) with his blunted spear tip, because her attempts to swing back at him with her hammer were hilarious.  _ I am coming,  _ he answered. Aloud, he muttered to himself, “Why is it always  _ something _ ?”

 

“Because it’s this group,” Lorna said, following him. “If it wasn’t something, it’d be nothing, and that’d be boring.”

 

_ “You totally stole that from me,”  _ Layla said.

 

“It was a good thing to steal. What happened to Ailill?”

 

_ I do not yet know, except that he collapsed. Fainted. Passed out. Right now you know as much as I do, but I am going to them. Want to come with me? I have a feeling this will end up...involved. Everything seems to go that way, anymore,  _ he said despondently.

 

_ I might as well,  _ Lorna said, wincing. Poor Ailill -- he’d been dancing too well for this to have been a case of too much booze too early in the afternoon. Was he wearing a girdle? Could that have done it? He didn't need one, but she had no idea just how far he and Calanon might have taken their costumes.

 

“Where are you off to?” Mairead asked. For some damn reason, she’d decided to dress up Little Orphan Annie. The effect was...utterly disturbing.

 

“Don't pass this on, but Ailill’s ill,” Lorna said. “Thranduil’s going to check on him, and I’m going to be generally annoying.”

 

“Good luck with that. I'll try to keep on eye on shite while you’re gone.”

 

Earlene was not certain she had ever been in their rooms before; clearly Thranduil had assigned among the nicer quarters available to Ailill early on; it made far more sense for Calanon to move in than for the pair of them to utilize Calanon’s much smaller and far more ordinary quarters elsewhere. As with all the household at Eldamar, they did not use these rooms often, so while they were immaculate and comfortable, they lacked many of the couple’s more personal belongings. Though, the lack of the distinctive odor of hawks was no loss, in her estimation. While the birds perched at Eldamar were kept very, very clean, they still brought the smell of birds with them. Thranduil approached Ailill, who laid on the bed, waking him. Poor Ailill appeared thoroughly confused.

 

“How do you feel, nîth vain? Perhaps a little unwell?”

 

“I...hadn’t thought so, but…”

 

“But you are weary, and you do not know why,” Thranduil finished, while Calanon frowned. “I think you may be having a recurrence of your former problem, but you are in no danger. I would like Ratiri to look at you.”

 

Ailill stiffened, and Calanon immediately appeared unhappy. “Aran Thranduil, is there no one else? Please do not be upset with Ailill, but he has not forgotten Ratiri’s words that night. Neither have I. Ailill will not be comfortable, to see him again. He never apologized for what he said.”

 

Thranduil sighed deeply, his head bowed for a moment. “I am going to ask for your forbearance and your pardon, on his behalf,” the King said slowly. “Believe me, he is sorry. He does not realize he offended you, and for that I will take responsibility. I cannot demand this of you, but I am asking it.”

 

Ailill and Calanon’s eyes met in silent exchange; Ailill spoke first. “I will do as you wish. I too have made mistakes, and you have forgiven me. Though, it is...hard. Calanon agrees also,” he added.

 

“Thank you,” Thranduil said, grateful that Ailill’s Irishness was apparently of a far less stubborn variety than many others. “I...someone needs to bring Ratiri,” he pointed out. “He will need his medical supplies.”

 

“I can go,” Thanadir offered.

 

Lorna fought the urge to facepalm. “I’ll get him,” she said, “just tell me where he is.” Ailill’s reaction was so totally the opposite of what hers would have been that she honestly needed to duck out a moment anyway.

 

“He is in County Sligo, Balleygawley,” Thanadir answered.

 

“He is  _ where _ ?” Earlene demanded.

 

“Oh. That is my fault, meluieg. You see, it began as a joke that stuck. The residential sections of the caverns were humorously assigned the names of counties in Ireland, usually on the whim of whoever occupied a given area first. Individual doors use the town names within those...counties. I confess, as an organizational system it has worked quite nicely, and it has added an element of entertainment and solidarity to the community here.”

 

“That’s...actually really clever,” Earlene admitted. “Sorry for the outburst, I was just worried you’d lost your minds. And that would be why it says Killarney on your door,” she realized.

 

“Welcome to County Kerry,” Ailill joked. “We’re upscale here. Sligo, well….” he shrugged. It was not his problem, if Ratiri was living somewhere much akin to Calanon’s former dwelling.

 

Lorna was not looking forward to this, but she was honestly surprised Ratiri had come to the Halls at all -- Thanadir and/or Sharley had probably had a hand with that. Why he would come and not go to the party was not a question she could answer, but oh well.

 

_ “You’re not actually gonna hit him with the hammer, are you?”  _ Layla asked.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “For the last bloody time, no I’m not,” she groused. “You lot, you all act like I’m the same as I was when I was forty, and I’m tired’v it. I might hit  _ Thranduil  _ with it, but only a bit.”

 

It took a while for her to reach Balleygawley, and she gave a perfunctory knock on the door before she said, “Ratiri, Ailill’s sick again -- Thranduil wants you to come and see him.”

 

For a moment, there was not response. “I’ll be there in a minute,” Ratiri said at last. “Where is he?” 

 

“County Kerry,” Lorna said, and realized he probably was not going to come out until she’d gone. Brilliant. Hefting her hammer over her shoulder, she headed back, shaking her head. They were all adults here. Honest.

 

“He’s on his way,” she said, setting the hammer aside once she was through the door. She’d get Thranduil later, once he’d had a bit - or more than a bit -- to drink.

 

“I really don’t feel that bad,” Ailill tried, even though he knew it was probably useless.

 

“Really?” Calanon asked, eyebrow arching. With the blond wig and red lips, the effect was frighteningly Ethel-like.

 

“I had to try,” Lucy said, batting his fake eyelashes.

 

“You two stole the show this evening,” Earlene laughed. “How did you ever decide on this? I grew up on  _ I Love Lucy _ reruns, but I wouldn’t have expected you to even know who she is, Ailill.”

 

“Oh, I knew,” the man grinned. “And I started showing them to Calanon. He was hooked after the Candy Factory episode. This was actually his idea.”

 

Calanon flashed a lovely smile. 

 

“Okay, am I the only one who is totally disturbed that he looks prettier than Ethel by miles?” Earlene asked.

 

“It’s not just you,” Lorna said, and did not add that she was disturbed by just how beautiful both of them were as women. It wasn’t fair, dammit.

 

Were he not going into that room in a professional capacity, Ratiri probably couldn’t have done it at all -- but they wanted a doctor, and doctor he was, so he pulled the tatters of his training around him as he passed through the door. 

 

He’d detoured to their little infirmary first, packing up a thermometer, penlight, and phlebotomy kit. If this needed a blood sample, he would happily take it to Dublin tonight.

 

“Thank you for coming,” Thranduil said mildly. “I think it may be the anemia difficulty again, but I wanted you to see him first.”

 

“If you’re right, we might need to think about adjusting the household diet,” Ratiri said. “Ailill, how long have you been feeling under the weather?”

 

“That’s just it, I wasn’t. I mean maybe I’ve felt a little sluggish lately? But it’s so cold outside, and...I really didn’t feel bad. Until we were dancing, and then suddenly I didn’t feel good and was lightheaded. Like, I couldn’t catch my breath. I didn’t have time, I guess I just…” he shrugged. It was hard to admit that he fainted, even though that was obviously what had happened. “Though, I think I am getting a little headache,” he noted, knowing that failure to disclose anything would not endear him to anyone nearby.

 

Ratiri ran the thermometer over Ailill’s forehead. “Well, you don't have a fever,” he said. “Given you have a history of aplastic anemia, I’d like to take a blood sample -- I can get it down to Dublin this evening, and we should have the results back by tomorrow.”

 

“You’re joking,” Earlene said. “Can’t it wait? The weather’s a nightmare out there, it’s freezing. It’s  _ beyond _ freezing,” she corrected.

 

“I’d rather it not,” Ratiri said, and not only because he would love an excuse to get out of here. “For all we know, the weather will be worse tomorrow. Rogue One has winter tires, and there’s chains, on the off chance it should snow.”

 

“You are not going alone,” Thranduil admonished, sounding very much like the den father in that moment.

 

“I will go,” Calanon said. “This is for Ailill. Please just give me some moments to remove this costume.”

 

“There goes Ethel,” Earlene sighed. Yes, Calanon was the best eye candy she had seen today, it could not be helped. Just then a sharp bite was felt on her neck and her eyes flew open. 

 

Thranduil howled with laughter. “Someone thinks you need a distraction,” he smirked.

 

“Fair enough,” Earlene rolled her eyes, nuzzling her handsome Count.  _ Forgive me. My attention will not wander again. _

 

_ I too think Calanon is beautiful. But I also cannot help feeling a little jealous. _

 

_ You have nothing to fear,  _ she smiled, settling into his embrace. What astonished her was that she felt an arousal pressed into her backside. And this was Thanadir?

 

“I think we are all settled enough. Ailill, I would like you to rest for a little while,” Thranduil said, noting the new romantic development with interest. “I will return within the hour and we will...fix what needs fixing.”

 

The man nodded, more amused at all the fuss than anything else. Thranduil shook out a blanket to spread over Lucy, grinning. “Well, shall we?” he gestured to Lorna and company.

 

“I think we shall,” Lorna said, trying not to scowl at Earlene and Thanadir. It wasn’t  _ their  _ fault she’d hadn’t had sex in six months, but the fact remained that she hadn’t. She needed another drink.

 

Ratiri swiftly took a blood sample, and ordered Ailill to drink plenty of water. “I’ll deal with my costume as well, and meet Calanon back here.” He was gone before anyone could say anything.

 

Thanadir exited out the door, and wordlessly did not take Earlene in the direction of the party. “Pardon us, there is something I left in our rooms,” the seneschal called back to a Thranduil who knew perfectly well what he wanted in their rooms.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes. “Lucky bastards,” she muttered, poking Thranduil with her hammer before heading out in search of booze and cupcakes. Angie had put her on Lexapro, which had dampened her libido a bit, but there was still enough there that being reminded there were people with happy sex lives was...irksome.

 

Thranduil very much elected to be a bad friend and join his mates. Ordinarily he might make a snarky comment, but this was Lorna and sex and...silence seemed advisable. For once, Kurt could take over. He hurried through the passageways, realizing that Dracula was already doing more than biting, and feeling determined not to be left out. If this was going to be the outcome of Thanadir and costumes, he would begin finding far more excuses to dress up in the future.

  
  



	157. One Hundred Fifty-Seven

Lorna got herself both a cupcake and a very large mug of some concoction coughed up by Big Jamie (he assured her the main ingredient was poitín, which was all that really mattered). Everybody else and their fucking fulfilling sex lives...ugh.

 

She grabbed a second cupcake to bring back to Ailill -- both to babysit him, and to ask him a few questions. Was he actually that okay with dealing with Ratiri, or was he just doing it because Thranduil told him to? It could be either or, honestly.

 

She rapped in his door. “Housekeeping!” she called, in a high-pitched voice. “I have cupcakes.”

 

“Come in?” Ailill called, not really wishing to move. However, he had not been tired enough to sleep, so instead he spent the time lying here, warm under the blanket, feeling slightly ridiculous and wishing he could not always end up feeling like a frail little snowflake. Basically, he was indulging himself in a little emotional wallowing, since his mate would not tolerate even such thoughts, could he get wind of them. Calanon had relentlessly badgered him in their years together to think better of himself but...he could still cling to his familiar doubts, when no one else was around to hear.

 

“You can officially say you ate something,” Lorna said, handing him the cupcake before flopping onto the chair. Trying to juggle the hammer, two cupcakes, and a big cup of booze was not easy, but at least she didn't wind up wearing all of it.

 

“Thank you,” he said, surprised, nudging himself to sit up higher against the pillows. Annoyingly, his panty hose did not allow him a very good grip on the bedcover. “You know, dressing up like this was kind’v an education,” he frowned. “I don’t know how women wore this stuff. I mean, nylon stockings? These things’re a nightmare, and we won’t even discuss the bra.”

 

“Nylons are evil, and high heels were invented by a sadist,” Lorna said. “I wore both once, and never again. All right, I have to ask -- did you shave your legs?”

 

“Yes,” he blushed. “But...I don’t mean to be too personal, but I do anyway. Calanon likes it, and…” he shrugged. “It’s harmless, so I don’t mind. We live in Ireland, it’s not like I’m going to go around in bloody short pants, it’s never warm enough.”

 

“Indeed it’s not, and that is bizarrely adorable,” Lorna said. “You know, we’ve got a whole big room full’v disposable razors now, for after...well, the end? Because even then, there’s a load’v us that won’t want hairy legs.” Or hairy anywhere else, not that she needed to make him blush. “So...were you really as okay with Ratiri as you seemed, or did you just say it because’v Thranduil?”

 

Ailill grimaced a little, not expecting the question. “I meant what I said. It’s not exactly easy. I can’t really forget what he said that night, and how it made me feel. How it still makes me feel, if I’m to be brutally honest. Ratiri was a complete asshole that night, sorry if I’m being offensive. But…” he looked away. “That isn’t all of it. I’ve screwed up too in my life. Some of it was even with Thranduil; I don’t think I need to explain that I made him promises I want to keep. And when I made those mistakes, I felt like a wreck, but I went to him and he forgave me. So...it’s like I know the other side of the coin too. What it feels like to want to straighten out your mess, and being afraid the other person won’t let you. Thranduil wasn’t like that to me. He was...fair. And it made me trust and love him more. I’ve been exposed to a lot’v people in my life who had no compassion at all. It means a lot to me to know that I gave myself over to someone who does. I’m not always the best at explaining things but...something like that. If Thranduil says Ratiri is sorry, it’s enough for me. Otherwise I’d be a bloody hypocrite.”

 

Lorna sighed. “Then you’re a better person than I am,” she said, so dejected she took a hefty swig off her drink. “Bloody Jesus, this isn’t poitín, it’s paint-thinner. It hasn’t...it’s not enough for me, that Ratiri’s sorry. And maybe that’s wrong’v me, but I can’t look at him without thinking’v nothing but what he said that night. And then I want to hit him with something, though at least not with that hammer. More like...I don't know, a baguette.”

 

“Yeah but, what’s he supposed to do?” Ailill asked. “He can’t make it not happen. It’s not so much anything about being a better person it’s just...I mean otherwise, isn’t everyone else perma-fucked? If you don’t give others some way to make it right, how do you get on with anyone? Or did you mean if you whacked him with the baguette that’d make it right?” Hell, what did he know, she might mean exactly that.

 

“I don't know’v how he could make it right,” she said, and knocked back more of her drink. “Whacking him with a baguette wouldn’t fix anything, but it’d make me feel better for a bit. Angie, she thinks all the child abuse when I was a kid is why I don't know what I do or don't want -- or at least, why what I’ve got so far is so contradictory -- and she’s probably right, but that doesn’t really help.”

 

“Ohhh,” Ailill said. “So you’re going to divorce him?” he asked sympathetically. “I mean right now, it’s Ireland. But in just a few short years, when that’s all gone,” he waved his hand. “The Council pretty much agreed that divorce can happen after a simple waiting period and ensuring children are properly cared for. You could just move along.”

 

She shook her head. “That’s just it -- I don't know if I want a divorce. Everything was so good, before he went and ruined it...I told him what I wanted was for this not to’ve happened in the first place, but it did, and now I don't know what to do. I mean, I managed to forgive my bloody brother, but he’s...my brother. And the thing is, Pat, he grew up in the same house I did -- it was a nightmare. My da used to beat the shit out’v all’v us, and that was just the start. Ratiri, his parents loved him, and while he didn't grow up rich, he never ate an actual rat -- don't ask. Pat dared me to, the bastard, and I was hungry enough to do it.” She had not actually been kidding, when she teased the kids about rats the way they went hunting.

 

“So you just keep living in no-man’s land? That...sounds hard. But...what do his parents have to do with anything?”

 

“I do,” she sighed. “And I guess what I mean is, Pat and I weren’t raised to be...functional human beings. We had to learn on our own, and even yet we’re not that great at it. Ratiri doesn’t have any such excuse. He was actually brought up to be civilized, whereas my siblings and I weren’t really brought up at all.”

 

Ailill frowned as he paused from licking some of the frosting off of the cupcake, made all the more amusing given how much he still looked like Lucy. “Wait. I thought you two met here. How d’you actually even know any’v that? I mean, okay you met my folks, by some twist’v life. I was brought up to be civilized. So I don’t get to make mistakes on account’v it?”

 

“I know what he’s told me,” she said. “His parents were over-the-top personalities, but they loved him. They weren’t like yours, god rest your mam -- they loved him as he was. He says they always wanted him to do what  _ he  _ wanted to do, without feeling like they were pressuring him.” Ailill really was lucky she couldn’t fish her mobile out of her kilt without moving more than she actually wanted to, or this would be immortalized.

 

He shrugged. “I don’t know shite about it and it’s not really my place to say. But what if I told you the same about  _ my _ mam and da, without you ever having had the chance to meet them? Just pointing out that you might be making some huge assumptions. Or you could be spot on. I’ve no bloody idea.”

 

Lorna regarded him curiously. If he’d said the same about his parents, he’d be lying -- Ratiri wasn’t the lying type. “Huh,” she said. “Well, if I am, I’m assuming based off all he’s told me for seventeen years. Either way, I still don't know what to do. Angie thinks I’ve got a lot’v work to do before I’ll be able to figure out anything...because _ that _ sounds like so much fun. To be honest, I’m not sure just how well I'm ultimately going to do at it. Which I can’t let Angie or Sharley know, but...well.” She drained the last of her drink, and grimaced. Jesus did that burn.

 

“It’s not easy, pulling out of the shite parents do to your head. I didn’t grow up like you did, but I can understand that part of it. I’ve been pretty lucky, that way. I found someone who’ll put a boot up my arse before he’ll listen to me run myself down. I wish you the best, and I hope you can figure something out soon. The world’s not going to get easier from here,” he reflected.

 

Lorna snorted. “At least my da never tried to pretend he was anything else,” she said. “In a way, you had it worse. It’s like I told Thranduil once -- at least mine had the grace to be as shit on the outside as they were on the inside. Though I have to say,” she added, giggling, “Calanon makes a much prettier woman than Ratiri would. Looking at the pair’v you, it’s not fair. You’re prettier as women than a load’v women are.”

 

Laughing, Ailill blushed. “We’re poking fun at ourselves, with this,” he admitted. “Neither of us get strong marks in the ‘looks masculine’ department. I can’t help it, it’s just what I got stuck with. Hell I’m pushing forty-five and I still can’t grow a beard or a mustache that looks different than one of those balding Mexican hairless dogs. What can I say?”

 

“You can say facial hair is overrated anyway,” she said, grinning. “Elves in general don't look masculine, but there’s nothing wrong with that. It can just make us female folk feel a bit insecure when you’ve got better legs than we do. Seriously, it’s not fair.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Okay, so you can’t tell anyone I told you this, because practically nobody knows, but when Earlene, Thranduil, Thanadir, and I went to New York City years ago, she and Thanadir got mugged in Central Park at night. They did some...nasty things to the muggers, who reported them to the police -- but they’d thought Thanadir was a woman in the dark, and the newspaper the next day had this big headline that said AMAZONS’ REVENGE. I still have it somewhere.”

 

“Oh dear. Now that would be a mistake,” he laughed, imagining. “I can only imagine what happened to those bastards.”

 

“Two words,” Lorna said, “ruptured testicles.”

 

_ “Eeeew,”  _ Kurt said.  _ “That had to hurt.” _

 

Involuntarily, Ailill gasped and crossed his legs under the blanket. “Damn,” he whispered. 

 

“That was my reaction, and I don't even  _ have  _ those,” she said. “D’you want any more water? I can grab another cupcake if you’d like, provided there’s any left out there.”

 

“No thank you, I will be fine. I think Thranduil will return here soon anyway; it seems like it has been awhile. Maybe when I am functional again I can get back to the party. Give or take Ethel,” he smiled, shaking his head.

 

“Oh, I'm sure he will,” Lorna said sourly. “And I’m sure he’ll just be  _ smiling _ , the lucky bastard. If you’re lucky, you’ll get Ethel back before it’s too late.”

 

Ailill waved good-bye to her retreating form, not really having any idea what Lorna was talking about.  _ Why wouldn’t _ Thranduil be smiling? He smiled all of the time. And...too late for what? It seemed better not to ask, honestly.

 

**

 

Ratiri shed his costume, leaving himself clad in soft black trousers and a black shirt. He had an old coat in the closet of his and Lorna’s flat, but he really didn't want to go get it; once the heater was on in the car, he’d be fine.

 

He carefully packed his samples up and headed to the car, meeting up with Calanon along the way. Soon enough they were on the road, the Honda’s heater blasting.

 

Calanon had said nothing extra to the man, remembering the promise he had given his King. But as mile after mile wore on, the silence broken by nothing but the heater or the passing of cars...well, this was surely going to be pure tedium. As the kilometers passed by, he began to wonder if Ratiri would drive clear to Dublin without uttering a word.

 

It had been so long since Ratiri had driven anywhere but within Lasg’len that he almost found himself with highway hypnosis in no time. The motorway was icy, all right, but not overly crowded; the worst of the traffic was going in the other direction.

 

Rather belatedly, he remembered he had an actual passenger. “Ailill says this was sudden, but have you seen any other signs that he might be unwell?”

 

“I wondered if you would recall that I am here,” Calanon said bluntly but cheerfully. “No, there were not. I pay very close attention to him, and it is as he told you. Maybe the last few days he was a little slower than usual but even I have felt this bitter cold. I thought the same as he did, that it was this unusually awful weather.” Calanon wore woolen trousers now, of heavy cloth, that fitted closely to his slender legs. An even heavier garment much like a peacoat was now unbuttoned, with the heat so high in the car, but the elf had a scarf as well--and had greatly wondered at Ratiri’s lack of similar clothing. “I am very old, and I can recall few times that were quite like this.”

 

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Ratiri sighed. “I’ve lived alone for so long that I’m not used to being around...other people, really. Just my cat.” Puff, who was no doubt happily shedding all over his pillow, the little monster. “If this is aplastic anemia again -- and it most likely is -- you’ll have to talk to Earlene about changing the household’s diet a bit. So long as this cold holds on, he might well continue to feel unwell when Thranduil isn’t around. If you have to, make him sit down and put all the cats on him.” He missed the cats. He missed his room, and his bed -- missed curling up with Lorna on cold mornings not wanting to get out of bed to poke up the fire in the rocket heater.

 

Calanon stared, and thought carefully before speaking. “You have been in difficulty,” he both stated and asked. “Because of what happened. All this time?”

 

“Yes,” Ratiri said, not seeing any reason to downplay it. “Yes, I have. Angie and Sharley keep me company, and try to help. My youngest daughter sees me regularly, and I have a cat.”

 

The ellon was not sure what to say. On one hand, he had been very angry with Ratiri. However it appeared quite obvious that his circumstances had become very adverse on account of his actions. All he had wanted was an apology to Ailill...but now it seemed as though it would be heaping misery on someone already struggling. And all of it, Ratiri had brought on himself. “I do not know what to say,” came the honest response after some reflection.

 

“There’s not really anything  _ to  _ say,” Ratiri said. “I sinned, and I’m paying for it, and I’ll keep paying for it.” Possibly forever. “If I’m fortunate, my middle daughter will visit me. I know she’s down here from Baile for the holiday.”

 

Again, a long quiet ensued. “I too was angry at you. For your words, and what they did to Ailill. But Aran Thranduil said you apologized. I do not understand why you have to ‘keep paying for it.’ That is not how it works.”

 

“It is among humans,” Ratiri said, dejected. “Or at least, it is among humans as damaged as my family. My wife was...very badly abused, as a child, and I hurt her terribly. People who grow up like she did...if something hurts them, they retreat, so it can’t hurt them again. I know she doesn’t hate me, but that’s all I can say for certain.”

 

“So because she was abused, you think that means she is allowed to abuse you in turn? How long does that go on for?” Calanon’s light brown eyes gleamed in the oncoming headlights of traffic passing in the other direction.

 

“She’s not abusing me, she’s ignoring me,” Ratiri said. “As are my two eldest children. Chandra already lived in Baile most of the time, but now Shane lives with her, and Atia has spent much time with her aunt Mairead.” He shook his head. “I almost wish they would abuse me. At least it would mean they acknowledged my existence.”

 

“It is the same thing,” the elf argued. “If you have apologized for your actions with sincerity and this is still the treatment you are being given, that is wrong. And cruel. That meets any definition of abuse. Morgoth was given a greater chance of gaining pardon. I am sorry for what has happened to your family, but I hope you consider that few exist who can bear up under your circumstance. There comes a time when you must find resolution or accept that you have done all you can and move on.”

 

Ratiri smiled, grim and humorless. “I haven’t apologized to Lorna yet,” he said. “I’m a coward, Calanon, and I know my wife well enough that I don't want to deal with the probable result if I tried. She’ll tear me to shreds. With the rest of them, I insulted their law, and their character, but Lorna I...well. I knew exactly what would hurt the most, and I went there.”

 

“Then correct your mistake. If you cannot speak to her, write her a letter,” Calanon insisted. “Then you will know that you have done the right thing and made an effort. That is your task. How the other party behaves is their choice. Your concern is to control what lies within your control, and do your best to repair your transgression honorably. For all else, only Vairë can say.”

 

_ Write her a letter…  _ Why had he not thought of that?  _ Because you didn't want to.  _ Which was true enough...any thought about his family brought him pain. “I think I’ll do that,” he said. “At least I will be able to say I tried, even if it does feel vaguely cowardly.”

 

“It is cowardly,” Calanon affirmed. “And yet if it is as you say, and you have reason to know that any attempt at speaking in person will be forcefully rejected, you are left with no real alternative. I do not think I need tell you that you should not have delayed so long. Were you mine….mmmm mmmm mmmm,” the elf said, shaking his head and waggling his finger at the sum of this folly. And yet at no time did his voice gain menace or anything other than bright cheer, as if he talked about this sort of thing all the time. “This never would have seen such a delay.” The long, graceful fingers steepled in the moonlight, as he pondered that Ailill never would have come to such a pass. He would have ensured it.

 

“I saw little point in doing otherwise,” Ratiri said, merging around a dawdling minivan -- two hyperactive children pressed their faces to the windows as they passed, waving. “I saw little point in...anything, really. If it wasn’t for Geezer, Sharley, and Angie, I might have just given up and walked into traffic.” Granted, he would have had to find traffic first, but still.

 

“That is because you are not thinking clearly,” the elf continued to happily narrate. “You are gifted with great intelligence, and have studied how to help heal others. Many of us could not hope to do as well. And yet at the moment your mind cannot help you.”

 

“It can’t help me, and the only person I can help right now is Ailill -- even if it’s just by taking this blood sample to be tested,” Ratiri said. “I won’t lie, I was glad of an excuse to get out of there. Thanadir conned me into going to the Halls as the Invisible Man, so no one would recognize me, but there aren’t exactly even many Elves my height, let alone humans.”

 

“But you were not at the party,” Calanon noted. “Or if you were there, you were very well hidden.”

 

That drew another grim smile. “I promised Thanadir I would go to the  _ Halls _ ,” he said. “I never promised I would attend the party. I wouldn’t have gone at all, except Thanadir has the unique ability to look like a kicked kitten when he wants to. He shamelessly manipulated me.”

 

“He will do a better job, next time,” Calanon arched his eyebrows. “Pardon my asking, but do you not wish to feel better than you do now?”

 

“I do,” Ratiri said, “and yet I have to fight the belief that I don't actually deserve to.”

 

“That is ridiculous,” Calanon retorted.

 

“I know,” Ratiri said. “That doesn’t change the fact that part of me believes it. I’m going to be in limbo until I write that letter. After that...well, who knows.”

 

“What would you do to help one of your own patients, were they as you are now?” the ellon pressed, not about to accept this non-committal response.

 

“I would urge them to seek psychiatric treatment,” Ratiri said. “Which I’m already doing, though not, initially, because I actually wanted it. Geezer, Sharley, and Angie refused to allow me to give up. And Sharley is surprisingly heavy -- at one point, she knocked me flat on my front and sat on my back, so I wouldn’t have any choice but to listen to Angie.”

 

“Good,” Calanon chuckled. “I like that already. She is a good person.” Lapsing back into silence, the signs of nearing Dublin appeared. Lights, lots of lights, as tended to be the case around cities. Ratiri appeared to know where he was going, so no offer was made to help him navigate.

 

Traffic in the city was as bad as could be expected, but it still didn't take  _ that  _ long to reach the lab that Ratiri knew Indira used for her blood tests. Dropping off the sample took no more than five minutes and some paperwork, and then they were back out on the road. He was not unhappy that the icy conditions were growing worse, because it just meant they’d have to be even more careful on their way home, and thus kill even more time. “I don't like thinking about the fact that in less than three years, that city will be dead and silent,” he said. “Angie’s told me she has a number of people on medications for that very reason. It can be difficult not to, and my guess is that that will only grow worse as the clock winds down.”

 

“I think it will be strange even for us,” the elf admitted. “We have seen many expressions of the world of men come and go, but none will be so dramatic as this. And because of your technology, we have interacted with that world more than ever could have been possible before. But it is our lot, to watch as all things around us change, while we ourselves remain the same. Or, mostly the same,” he corrected.

 

“Whereas none of us could have ever anticipated this would happen, before Sharley arrived in the forest,” Ratiri said. “We have all sorts of fiction that involves the near-extinction of humanity, but it’s not something any of us would ever have believed could be real. Were it not for the fact that Avathar was a balrog, this wouldn’t be happening at all -- I saw the virus through a vision of Sharley’s, and it wouldn’t be possible without magic.”

 

“All the more reason for you to do your best to heal your spirit,” Calanon opined. “Life is a gift that will be taken from so many. For whatever reason, you will continue on. I do not believe that this is all random chance. Not when the Valar have been so involved with all of us.”

 

Ratiri wondered if he should tell Calanon about Nienna. Something warned him against it. “I never thought of it that way,” he said. “I haven’t been able to.”

 

“Now you can,” he rattled on. “Ailill tells me sometimes that I am too much. Am I?” he wanted to know.

 

Ratiri laughed. It was hoarse, because it had been so long since he’d done it. “Maybe,” he said, “but that’s not a bad thing. You have a certain persistence that’s different from Geezer, Sharley, and Angie’s. Geezer actually has threatened to, as he put it, jam his boot up my ass. At least you didn't actually say it.”

 

“I am married to a male. It might not be a joke,” Calanon answered airily, enjoying the view out the window.

 

“As a physician,” Ratiri said, entirely deadpan, “I should advise you against using any kind of footwear as a sex toy. No amount of lube would help.”

 

Bursting into laughter, the merry elf enjoyed the response. “I  _ knew _ you could lift your spirits a little. You just lifted mine. That was a good one. And no, I have never actually done that,” he said, his voice returning to a normal tone. “I cherish my husband; I would never hurt him. That being said, he has been subjected to many of my speeches over the years. You can ask him. He probably even has some nicknames for me he has managed to hide. I wonder what they might be?” he mused.

 

“Whatever they are, I’m certain you’ll never know,” Ratiri said. “Oh -- well, shit.” Hail pounded down onto the car, pinging off the hood and crackling light against the windscreen. He flicked on the wipers. “They’d better save you some food and booze, back at the Halls, because this might take a while.”

 

“Just do your best,” Calanon soothed as best as he was able, feeling a sudden trepidation. He was not used to quite this level of awfulness from the weather, and was not about to distract Ratiri. He knew from Ailill that it was very important to let the driver concentrate, especially in bad conditions. “If there is anything I can do to help, tell me, otherwise I will be quiet.”

 

“Try not to get too bored,” Ratiri said, slowing yet further; they were probably only going 50 kilometers an hour now. At least everyone around them was driving relatively sensibly, too; it kept it at annoying, rather than nerve-wracking.

 

Looking toward their traffic lanes, Calanon noted that all seemed well enough in spite of the winds blowing disturbingly, helping to sheet hail against their car. Abrupt movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention; his head snapped around to see something from the oncoming lanes, across the median, moving toward them. “Ratiri…” he tried to warn, but it was already too late. The huge lorry, skating toward them uncontrollably over the iced ground, was already upon them. There was shaking and noise. And then pain.

 

For some moments, the stunned elf tried to register what had happened. The windows were shattered into an opaque mosaic. Some large chunks of them were just missing. The icy outside air tore through what had been the cozy warmth of the interior. His leg hurt, a great deal. A trembling hand reached to touch his face; a warm trickle of blood ran down his cheek from who even knew where. Blinking, he tried to think of what to do. His mobile was inside his coat pocket. Before anything else, he would call Aran Thranduil. It did not escape him that others would come, and...he was an elf. Though he had human identification, he did not relish explaining his ears should they be seen. He had to call, his hands were trembling too much to send a message and at the moment he could not think clearly enough to remember that the device could write the words for him.  

 

Placing the call, he glanced over to Ratiri, who was not moving. A hand placed on his back moved as he breathed; the man was at least alive.

 

“Calanon?” came the baritone voice.

 

“Aran Thranduil,” he began, trying his best to steady his words. “Something hit us, in the car. Ratiri is alive but does not move. I too am injured, though I think not badly. Maybe broken bones. We left Dublin I think most of an hour ago. What are your instructions?”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened. This was...bad. “I will track the location of your phone. Hang up and do what you can for Ratiri. Someone will already have called Emergency Services. Keep your mobile with you; I will find you. Probably you will be taken to the hospital in Dublin.” 

 

“Do I allow them to help me?” Calanon asked, having never been in such a predicament. 

 

Hesitating a moment, Thranduil considered. “If you are in pain, then yes. I will bring Ailill; we will manage what we need to afterward, if it comes to that.”

 

“I will do as you ask,” were the last words before the call dropped. 

 

“This is why I no longer drink enough to enjoy myself,” Thranduil muttered, pocketing his mobile, before sending his thoughts out to Ailill, Sharley, Lorna, Earlene, and Thanadir. Unfortunately, their party was over.

 

**

 

“We have to go to Dublin, and you are the best driver,” Thranduil said, waiting for Sharley to arrive before he told Lorna why he had summoned her. “Ratiri and Calanon were in an accident.”

 

Lorna’s eyes widened. “Jesus, how bad?” she asked, automatically shedding her armor. She doubted he’d look so grave if it was minor, but still.

 

Sharley handed her both coat and the keys to the Mystery Machine. She said nothing, but if she gave Lorna a brush of telepathic Xanax...sue her.

 

“I do not know. Calanon said he is alive but not moving. Just promise me you will be careful. Earlene and Thanadir, I wish you to stay here, and for Sharley, Lorna and Ailill to go with me. Perhaps Sharley, you would allow Earlene to mind Annwn?”

 

“Of course,” Sharley said. “She can keep Maglor company.”

 

Lorna hurried out to the Mystery Machine, firing up the engine and cranking on the heater. What the hell did ‘alive but not moving’ mean?  _ Calanon’s not a doctor _ , she told herself,  _ that’s all he’s likely to know. _

 

 _That is exactly what he means,_ Thranduil answered. _He was breathing._ _Try to stay calm_.

 

_ Working on it.  _ And she was -- her hands were quite steady as she flicked on the headlamps and wipers. Once they were all loaded, she pulled out into the hail, and tried to sit on a terrible sense of dread.

 

“Earlene and Thanadir will track Calanon’s mobile, as will I,” he said. “But it stands to reason, they will end up at A&E in Dublin. So off we go.”

 

“Ratiri doesn’t drive like an eejit when the weather’s gone to shite,” Lorna said, navigating through the empty village. It was a bit creepy, honestly, and the glow of the streetlamps cast weird halos in the hail. “This wasn’t his fault, I’m bloody sure’v it.”

 

_ Thranduil, poke her, will you?  _ Sharley asked from the backseat.  _ Break her outta this. _

 

“No obsessing,” Thranduil said, quite literally poking her. “There is no point until we know more.”

 

“If I didn't need both hands, I would so do something unpleasant to you,” she said, glowering.

 

_ “Oh, come on, you really just handed me that?”  _ Kurt said.

 

“ _ Mute _ , Kurt,” Sharley ordered. “Since Ratiri’s not here to do it, I’m gonna tell you to breathe, and don't drive like...you.”

 

“Christ, both’v you…” The hail grew harder once they’d reached the motorway, the wind rising with it; they’d have to be careful Ratiri and Calanon weren’t the only wreck.  _ Alive but not moving…  _ well, ‘alive’ was a good start.

 

**

 

Calanon returned his mobile to his coat and tried to think. Valar, he knew what to do in the forest, but this?  _ What would you do if that was Ailill?  _ He asked himself, and suddenly the answer was obvious. Ratiri had not dressed for being outside, and he was hurt. Though the car was in assorted states of crumpled, he could still reach him. And he had better ability to endure the cold than the human. Glad now of how much he had overdressed, he slid painfully out of his heavy woolen coat and placed it over the man’s back, tucking it around him as best he could. He knew that he should not move him, that his head could be injured. Other than that, aside from trussing up his own head and neck better in his long scarf, there was little else he could do, except pray. He felt the bite of the cold much more now, but hoped that his coat could keep Ratiri from dying of the cold. Already he heard a siren in the distance, and closed his eyes, to try and regain his composure. He felt sure he was not mortally injured, but that was more than he could know about the one next to him.

 

Some time later the sirens came closer, there were people outside the car. Arms wearing heavy clothing reached in near him, causing him to shrink away. They broke the glass remaining on the window near him outward, so that he was soon confronted with a woman. He did not hesitate. “I am hurt but my friend is much worse. He breathes but is not awake. Can you please help him?”

 

“We’ll take care of him,” she said. “We’ll have to cut you both out of the car, though, so stay still. Where does it hurt, exactly? Tell me what you remember.” She had a penlight in her hand in moments, and shined it into both of his eyes. Beautiful brown eyes, and all the prettier with that makeup. His pupils were the same size, at least, and reacted normally. Colleen had worked many a night shift, but it wasn’t often she ran across a patient so striking.

 

“My leg hurts, below my knee. I would guess it is broken, maybe more than one place. I cannot seem to move it much on account of what happened to the car. And...I am not certain. The weather was very bad, and I looked up to see another vehicle, maybe a big lorry, skidding toward us from the other side of the motorway. There was no time to try to avoid it. Then it was a jumble, and here we are. Oh and my friend is a doctor, I do not know if that matters.”

 

“It’s good to know,” she said, just to keep him talking. He seemed lucid, at least, give or take being rather chatty. “Can you wiggle your fingers and your toes?”

 

“Yes,” Calanon answered, showing her the fingers and able to feel his toes. “But doing that hurts a great deal, on the leg that is not right.”

 

“The good thing is that you can do it, but I still want you to hold as still as possible,” she said. “I’m going to step back, and we’re going to cut you out of the car.”

 

“What do you mean?” the elf asked, alarmed.

 

“We have a machine,” the woman answered, wondering if he was foreign from his accent. “It will not touch you, but it will take the door off so we can get you out’v there. Alright?”

 

Calanon nodded, struggling to master his fear.

 

_ Poor lad, probably never been away from mam much,  _ the worker thought.  _ Looks all of twenty-two. _

 

Calanon saw Ratiri taken away first; the man never woke up. Himself; he was belted to a bed on wheels, covered with warm blankets. Something was put around his leg so he could not move, and more hands touched him, different machines he did not understand were...maybe they recorded something? They asked if he would accept medicine for pain and he agreed, and then there was moving, moving. He closed his eyes while he could, trying to ignore his leg until he felt the medicine begin to help. This was easily the strangest thing that had ever happened to him in all his long life.

 

**

 

Lorna had a very, very hard time not just flooring the accelerator to get around all the assorted thumb-up-their-arse drivers that seemed to have decided this was a great night for a drive. For far too long, she got stuck behind some little Mazda that futzed along at thirty kilometers an hour -- sure, the hail was bad, but not  _ that  _ bad.

 

“Oh, fuck you,” she growled, passing the idiot as soon as she could. The Mystery Machine’s tires gripped the ice in a way she doubt anyone else’s did, because hers were slightly modified -- and quite illegal, given they’d tear the shit out of the road in dry weather. The way she figured it, the world was going to end in three years, so who cared?

 

The Honda’s tires were similarly tweaked, which was how she  _ really  _ knew it hadn’t been Ratiri’s fault. Short of a flash flood, there was just no way he’d run into anyone else. “So, I'm legally dead,” she said. “You’re gonna have to get me back there, one’v you -- I can’t go showing them my ID and saying ‘Yeah, he’s my husband and I’m not a zombie’.”

 

“We can take care of that,” Thranduil smiled. “Ailill and Calanon wed legally, so, as much as I wish this were not happening, Ailill has every right to be there, at least. We will simply have to be quiet, and a little patient. But we will...do what needs doing. Fortunately I am no stranger to smuggling people out of hospitals if the need arises.”

 

That drew a little smile from her. “I hope to Christ neither’v them’s  _ that  _ bad off.” Surely, if it had been something dire, Calanon would have said something besides  _ alive, but not moving _ . Elves didn't go into shock, right? He wouldn’t have like, under-reported?

 

_ “Chill, Lorna,”  _ Jimmy said.  _ “Run that Prius the Third off the road, I know you hate those things.” _

 

“Jimmy, stop helping,” Sharley ordered. “Lorna, keep driving  _ sensibly _ . The next voice that says anything stupid is spending a month in the spider-ball.”

 

Silence. Slightly terrified silence.

 

“Good.”

 

Traffic slowed, and up ahead each side of the motorway was down to one lane. A jackknifed lorry had been dragged onto the median, and even through the hail Lorna could see the wreck of the Honda -- Rogue One was no more. Just how bad it was, she couldn’t tell, but if it had been hit by a vehicle that big and that heavy...her stomach sank.

 

_ Keep driving, Lorna,  _ Sharley said.  _ Just keep going. And while I won’t tell you to run the Prius the Third off the road, I’ll tell you that you can at least imagine doing it. _

 

“I think Earlene needs a new car,” Thranduil said softly, now more worried. Calanon was brave, and able, but he had sounded scared.

 

“Please, what did Calanon say, exactly?” Ailill asked, swallowing hard at the sight of the wreck.

 

Thranduil winced, having temporarily forgotten his so-quiet subject in the back seat. “That he thought his leg was broken, that it hurt. And that...he really did not say much, Ailill. He wanted instructions, and I did not speak with him for long. I wanted him to not have to talk to me, but help Ratiri as best he could.”

 

“Thank you,” Ailill said softly, looking down.

 

“I will tell you the same thing,” Thranduil said, extending his hand. “Try not to worry.”

 

Ailill took the offered hand and nodded, closing his eyes, fighting back tears.  _ I know. And I am sorry, to be so weak. But...I cannot live without him. He is my entire life. _

 

_ No, he is not, Ailill, and I forbid you to think on this. Calanon is not going to Námo today.  _

 

Ailill wanted so badly to begin sobbing, but in the next second somehow he did not. Something outside of himself forced him to take deep, calming breaths, until he felt a different kind of strength.  _ Thank you,  _ he said, ashamed of his behavior.

 

_ You are welcome, and you are not to feel badly, either. Your loving heart is much of why I too cherish you, Ailill. I know that goes for your mate as well. _

 

With a colossal sigh, Ailill released Thranduil’s hand, and continued to stare at the godawful weather.

 

Lorna glanced in the rearview mirror. “Ailill, as the only other squishy human in this car, I have to ask you -- do you mind getting to the hospital a bit faster? Because I can, weather or no weather.”

 

“I know you can drive batshit crazy, Lorna,” Ailill said dully. “I just do not want us to have two accidents in one evening.” He paused. “Oh no! I am so sorry, Aran Thranduil. Please excuse my…”

 

A hand came up in warning. “I am not Thanadir, Ailill. I heard nothing. That is an order.”

 

“Okay,” Ailill said meekly. And it was the cutest thing ever.

 

“I don't mean batshit crazy, Ailill, I just mean a little more...aggressive.” And with that, she did in fact get around the goddamn Prius the Third (though she did not actually run it off the road), and wove a fast, gentle, inexorable way toward Dublin. It wasn’t even Motorway Pinball, either; she could easily have plowed through it like it was the Red Sea, and left nothing but vehicular carnage in her wake.

 

_ “You are way too in love with your car,”  _ Kurt observed.

 

“ _ Spider-ball, Kurt,”  _ Sharley growled.

 

He made a sound that was very like  _ eep _ , and no more was heard from him.

 

The hail mercifully let up some once they reached Dublin, but by then it was fully dark, and the wind was worse than ever. At least she found a space in the underground car park, so they wouldn’t have to walk out in that mess; it was cold enough as it was.

 

**

 

Calanon, having never been inside a human medical facility, was ill-prepared for being wheeled into the bright lights and bustle in A&E. Lightheaded now from what he was given for pain, he blinked in confusion at the surroundings. However, being indoors also meant a final respite from the merciless cold, for which he felt grateful. He was asked questions for which he hardly had answers, until he remembered that an EHIC card was in his wallet. Years ago it had been determined that any of the elves who would spend time in the outer world should have one along with their human identities, exactly in the unlikely event of an occurrence just such as this. After he told them where to procure that, no one bothered him for a time. He was moved to a bed curtained off from many other beds, and wondered if Ratiri was behind another one of them. 

 

That was when it occurred to him to text Ailill. His King had said that his husband was coming, and right then any form of reassurance in this strange place would be most welcome. 

 

_ *Are you there, Ailill? _

 

_ *Yes, are you okay?? _

 

_ *Not exactly but I certainly will survive. I broke my leg. That I know of. I feel so floaty. _

 

_ *Did they give you something for pain? _

 

_ *They said they were. Where are you? I wish you were here. _

 

Ailill blinked. “It is Calanon,” he said aloud to everyone in the car. “He is at the hospital.” * _ Are you afraid? _

 

_ *Maybe? I am trying not to be. I don’t understand anything around me. _

 

_ *Where are you? _

 

_ *In a hospital? _

 

_ *I know that, precious, WHICH hospital? _

 

_ *How am I supposed to...wait... _

 

Ailill laughed with relief. Calanon was indeed not going to perish.

 

“Tell him Thranduil tracked his phone,” Sharley said. “He doesn’t need to be worrying about it.”

 

* _ Never mind, the others know where you are. Cork University Hospital. _

 

_ *Oh OK. They dress funny in here. Everyone is wearing pyjamas.  _

 

Thranduil laughed, from the front seat. “It is nice to know that nothing affects his disposition. Ever since he was very young, he always was a merry one. More so than average, of the wood elves.”

 

“What are we going to do if they say he needs surgery?” Ailill asked.

 

Thranduil frowned. That could be...too interesting. “Hope he does not,” came the answer. “I am afraid your medicines could harm him; not to even discuss that his body would not respond normally to...anything. We will be there soon, and with luck they will not have gotten that far.”

 

“Then let’s get in there before they can do anything to him,” Lorna said, hopping out of the van. Anxiety fluttered in her gut like a rabid squirrel, and she shivered as she hurried across the parking garage.

 

“Slow down, Kintsugi,” Sharley said, catching her up. “Calm down.”

 

_ “What she said,”  _ Sinsemilla added.  _ “Sharley’ll get you through -- you don't need to try to pretend  you’re not ‘dead’.” _

 

They wove their way easily to A&E, where Ailill quickly enough was allowed back to see Calanon. Thranduil, who no other could discern, followed him. Few things had felt as good in Calanon’s life as reaching up to hug his husband.

 

“I love you,” Ailill said, frowning. “You have a cut on your forehead, and are a mess. I am going to clean that up.”

 

“I lie here wounded and all you can do is remark on my appearance?” Calanon grinned.

 

“Yes. Your makeup is smudged, too. Did they say what is wrong with you?”

 

_ His leg is broken in three places, below his knee. I think they can repair this with a cast. Let them treat him, but obviously do not consent to any operations. Refuse to stay here as a patient, either. I must go and find out what the case is with Ratiri. _

 

_ I am sorry I cannot tell you more, Aran Thranduil,  _ Calanon answered, feeling somehow responsible.

 

_ None of this is your fault. I am relieved that you are not seriously hurt.  _ Bending over, he kissed Calanon’s forehead, before smiling and weaving his way to find Lorna. 

 

_ Thranduil, where is he?  _ Lorna asked.  _ If I ask, they’ll want to know who I am, and why I want to know, and I’m dead, remember? _

 

_ You are overthinking this. No one knows who you are. All you need say is that you are his wife. No one is going to care, and if they somehow do, I will ensure they suddenly will lose interest. _

 

_ Chill, Lorna,  _ Sharley said, giving her shoulder a squeeze -- there was no telepathic Xanax in it, just a gesture of comfort.

 

_ That is so easy for you to say,  _ Lorna said sourly, but she flagged down an orderly headed to the triage desk. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice steadier than her hands, “my husband’s been brought to this hospital -- he and our friend were in a car wreck on the M7. His name’s Ratiri Duncan -- where is he?”

 

The man looked at her, and blinked, and she realized belatedly she still had the better part of her costume on, including the lightning face-paint. Fuck it. “Let me see,” he said, leaning over the desk. Scrolling through the patient names, he added, “he’s in emergency surgery at the moment.”

 

“What?!” Lorna asked, the blood draining from her face. “Why? Why does he need surgery?”

 

Sharley gave her shoulder another gentle squeeze, and this time there  _ was  _ some telepathic Xanax in it. She was going to need a Bad Maia Award at this rate.

 

_ He does not know, Lorna. It is not in the computer. Ask him if someone could please come and explain. _

 

Rather more calmly, Lorna did just that -- though her exact words were, “For Christ’s sake, please tell me there’s somebody who knows what they’re on about.”

 

Looking up, the man nodded. “Let me ask.” Another call was made, a mumbled exchange ensued, and he hung up. “One of the attending doctors will come out to see you as soon as he is able. It might be a few minutes, we’re seeing a lot’v patients coming in.”

 

“Night like this, I’m not surprised,” she said. “Thanks, mate.”

 

They found a place a little out-of-the-way, so they weren’t blocking the triage desk, until a doctor who looked about twelve found them. She was a tall woman with dark eyes and auburn hair, her face as much freckle as it was skin. “You’re here for Ratiri Duncan?”

 

“We are,” Lorna said. “What happened to him?”

 

“We don’t fully know, honestly. But he’s in surgery because he must have experienced head trauma. He came in with signs of severe intracranial pressure. That means, his brain is swelling, dangerously. That pressure needs to be relieved right away. I won’t lie, it is a very serious injury, but he came here right away and the cold outside may even have helped him. We are doing the best we can.”

 

“What -- what’re the odds he’ll be okay?” Lorna asked, her eyes widening. “I mean, I know right now you can’t really tell, but just at this moment, what does it look like?”

 

The doctor stared helplessly. “We really cannot say. It completely depends on what damage the brain received. There is a very good chance part of his skull will be removed to relieve the pressure. He will be kept in intensive care afterward, while medications are given to reduce the swelling and prevent infection. But these cases have to be taken one stage at a time; we will know more when we see the surgical outcome. I am...sorry, I know this isn’t good news.”

 

Anxiety surged again. “Is there -- where can we wait?”

 

“There is a surgery waiting room down the hall and to your left.” The doctor hesitated a moment, considering saying more, and decided against it.

 

Lorna made her way there, and when they’d reached it, she turned to Thranduil and Sharley. “I’m going to call Mairead,” she said. “She can pick up Calanon, but I’m staying here.”

 

“I think we should discuss this first, Lorna,” Thranduil said. “I agree some combination of us needs to remain here until he is out of surgery, but I could hear what the would not say to you aloud. This is very serious. He might not wake for days or weeks afterward. He...may not survive the procedure.”

 

Icy dread wound around her heart. “You can fix it though, right?” she asked. “I mean, you could -- you could like, sneak into the operating room, or...or something?” Her voice nearly gave out before she could finish her sentence. He’d healed her, and she was as good as dead.

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened, and he turned to Sharley.  _ You need to know,  _ he said, opening his mind to her without warning.  _ When I first met Earlene, I was almost immeasurably powerful. I had barely used the magic innate in me for millennia. And then many things happened. Most of them were named Lorna, not that I begrudge that in any way. We did not know, then, that I could be...depleted. Thanadir restored me, over time, and we have been careful ever since. But I am not as I was, when my contact with humans began. To do as she asks, to interfere in a surgery where his brain is exposed...I cannot, Sharley. If I err I could kill him. He must survive the surgery on his own. Then, later, when I can get him alone, I can help. But this...I fear she will not understand. _

 

Sharley went still. How in Eru’s name could they make Lorna understand that, without making her feel like that depletion was totally her fault? She’d never survive the guilt.  _ Well...shit. Would it help if you weren’t alone? If Thanadir or Maglor came? Once Ratiri’s out of the surgery, you could at least keep him from dying, right? _ She glanced at Lorna, who was pale and wide-eyed.

 

_ It would help. Only Ailill and Calanon are here and...that too is impossible, at the moment. I need Ratiri relatively alone. The more things I have to contend with at once the greater the difficulty. We are not in my forest. So much about this is as far from ideal as it could possibly be. _

 

_ Okay, let me try this.  _ “Lorna, look at me,” Sharley said, and her tiny friend turned to her.  _ Call Mairead, and tell her to bring Thanadir and Maglor. Thranduil can’t go into the operating room -- he can’t hide and heal at the same time, not this far away from the forest. Once Ratiri’s outta surgery, and once Thranduil’s got help, then he can do something. _

 

Lorna turned her eyes to Thranduil.  _ Is she right?  _ she asked.  _ Is she...is she right? _

 

_ Lorna...yes. I am powerful but I have limits. I believe he would be in more danger from an ill-advised attempt on my part than he is at the moment. I am not able to just go in there and fix everything. I do not have the strength. _

 

Lorna drew a deep breath, and shut her eyes for a moment.  _ Okay,  _ she said.  _ I’ll call Mairead -- you tell Ailill and Calanon she can give them a lift home. _

 

“There is more. Do not call her yet, Calanon is going nowhere until he is treated and it will take time. The weather is no better out there and...honestly I would rather seek lodging in Dublin than risk more of our family on the road tonight. I think you need to consider informing your older children of what has happened. They are adults.”

 

“But...but you’ll need Maglor and Thanadir once Ratiri’s out’v surgery, right?” she asked, hand still in her pocket. “Shouldn’t -- shouldn’t we get them here tonight? I can tell Mairead to have the twins call me.”

 

Sharley wasn’t sure that was such a great idea, but they weren’t her kids, and Thranduil was right -- they were adults. Technically. “I’d be careful with that, if I was you,” she said. “They’re  _ your _ kids. If they felt the need, they’d steal one of the cars and come down here. It’d be like the sofa, times ten.”

 

“The truth is, there is nothing anyone can do except sit here and wait. And...I am much against asking others to drive here tonight. It is blatantly dangerous on the motorway. I only meant that the children have a right to know that their father has been in an accident. Hopefully they will decide to stay where they are until we know more.” He left out that these same children at the moment despised their father, which did not make this situation any easier.

 

Lorna ran a hand through her hair. Christ. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll wait, but...well, Jesus, Thranduil, what the hell am I supposed to do right  _ now _ ?”

 

“All we can do is wait,” Sharley said. She could always take a look to see how this turned out -- but if the outcome was negative, she’d have to somehow keep that from Lorna. Lorna, who could read her way too well, and would know if she was upset.

 

_ “Go to the Operating Room”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Go give the surgeons’ brains a listen, and see what they’re thinking.” _

 

That was actually a really good idea. Sharley could literally disembody, after all… “I’ll be right back.”

 

“Well. Here we are,” Thranduil said. “Since telling you that worrying will help nothing and will do no good, what shall we talk about? We are going to be here awhile. This is not a quick operation.”

 

“Will we be able to take him home, once you and Thanadir and Maglor have had a go a at him?” she asked, pacing. “I mean, hospitals, shit...they’re awful. He needs to not -- he needs to not be in here any longer than he’s absolutely got to.”

 

“Lorna, I cannot promise that when I know so little. I am under obligation to not make anything worse. For Eru’s sake, he may have a piece of his skull gone.” Right now her emotionally-fueled insistence was not particularly fun. At all.

 

She ran a hand through her hair again. “Give me something to focus on,” she said. “Please. Just...anything.”

 

“Find Earlene a new car?” he teased, trying to find the humor in a less than wonderful circumstance.

 

“Poor Rogue One...it had a good run, at least. We’ll have to see if we can find a similar model, and I’ll work it over.” She still had little respect for much about modern cars. There was simply too much in them that could break, too many little things could go wrong -- which she knew manufacturers counted on, the bastards. Built-in obsolescence hadn’t gone away, either, but she made sure  _ their  _ cars were made to last.

 

_ Well, he’s not immediately going to die,  _ Sharley sent.  _ He’s smack in the middle of surgery, and they don't know how it’s gonna turn out, but he’s not about to give up yet. _

 

Some of the nervous tension melted away from Thranduil, who expected to be blamed should the worst happen.  _ Thank you,  _ he told her.  _ That helps. _

 

“She might like a newer Honda,” he countered. “We do not seem to use the vehicles heavily, and I think Earlene enjoys some of those things that are likely to break.”

 

“Blasphemy,” Lorna said, even as she sighed with a small amount of relief. “Utter blasphemy, but if she wants a newer one, I’ll see what I can do about making it not a complete piece’v shit. And if it was made after about nineteen-ninety, it’s probably a piece’v shit.”

 

_ “You are such a car snob,”  _ Kurt said.

 

“Yes, but that is your opinion, who likes to tinker and work on things. My wife simply likes to be comfortable. She once told me, ‘I just want it to work and be clean and comfortable. I was a lawyer, not a ranch hand.’ I think one car that suits those kinds of tastes in all of our fleet is not too much to ask.”

 

“Okay,” she said, still pacing, “but I hope you know, it’s like fingernails over the chalkboard’v my soul.”

 

“Lorna, you are so odd,” Sharley said, sneaking up behind her and scaring half the life out of her. She wasn’t going to mention how horrible Ratiri had looked on that operating table, or that he had two surgeons working on him. There were some things her tiny friend just didn't need to know yet.

 

She glanced at Thranduil.  _ Sooner or later, we need to make her to go sleep,  _ she said.  _ Even once Ratiri’s outta the Operating Room, he’s got a long while to be in post-op before anyone can see him. _

 

_ I know. I think I should see about lodging, too. I am not going to ask any others to risk themselves coming here. Sharley, nothing about this is going to be easy. It was one thing to disappear a dying Lorna from a hospital once long ago. But I have concerns about just spiriting Ratiri out of here. Lorna disappears, and now so does her ‘surviving spouse’? And I do not think I need to mention...a few hours ago she could barely stand the sight of him. A part of me deeply wonders if giving her time to appreciate what she has almost lost would not be...wiser, in some ways. _

 

Sharley eyed her small friend, who was still pacing.  _ Yeah, this is gonna suck,  _ she said,  _ and I agree about not spiriting Ratiri out -- but that doesn’t mean we can’t accelerate his healing somewhat, right? I can at least loan energy, even if I’m not great at healing myself. But...I don't think we should manipulate Lorna like that. She’s patched things up with Pat, and she’ll probably patch things up with Ratiri, but if we deliberately leave him in here longer than we have to on her account, she’ll be...displeased. To say the least. _ Reconciling Lorna and Ratiri wouldn’t be worth a damn if it just drove a wedge between her and the others.

 

_ I would never use him as a pawn in that manner. However...a lot about this openly frightens me, though I do not want to admit that to her. Brains are...harder. That he is already having a mortal procedure to help him...that I cannot know the nature of his injuries until later...she has come to view me as nearly godlike and the truth is, I am far less so than when she first met me. There is a real question as to where he is safer and...I believe that will need evaluating on an as-it-comes basis. Just because she wants this or that for him...this time I may not be able to supply that and have it be in his best interests. I think too I need to call Indira. But...in the morning. I do not want to cause others to come here at the risk of their lives. _

 

_ We’ll have to tell them all something,  _ Sharley said.  _ We all suddenly left, and we’re not going home tonight -- that’ll worry some people. Poor Lorna...you dragged her back from death, and there’s no way to explain it to her why you can’t do it again without making her feel awful. _

 

Lorna paced, and paced, and Sharley fought the urge to shake her head.

 

_ She’s gonna want to stay here tonight, and there’s no point in it, so once he’s outta surgery, we should take her to a hotel or something. Wherever it is Ailill and Calanon are going to. Maybe we can try to...prepare her, for the fact that brains are brains, and the fact that you’re not a magical healing god -- no matter what you once were. _

 

_ I wish I could lie, sometimes. Tell her something not true, to deflect from this. But I cannot. I try hard, to conserve what power I have against greater needs like this one but...I healed Ailill today of his recurring disorder. I had no way to guess that this would happen and...the sad truth is, I am not good for everything and it would be better if they learned sooner rather than later that I am not the solution to all problems. Only...some of them. _

 

_ This is a hard lesson, but at least it’s one they’ll learn,  _ Sharley said, catching Lorna on her next pass and hugging her.  _ Meanwhile, we just need to give this one lots of hugs. _

 

Time whiled by, and eventually Thranduil’s mobile jangled. He thought it might be one of his spouses, but it was not. Ailill wondered where they were, as Calanon was being sent off. “I have to go collect Ailill and Calanon,” he said. “I will return soon.”

 

Return he did, with one very cheerful and discombobulated elf that had been sent home with a short-term supply of pain medication. “Look, it’s green!” Calanon announced happily to the rest of them, grinning as he pointed to his cast. 

 

Ailill stayed close by to ensure he did not walk off his own crutches, while crossing his eyes and making a silent gesture that translated well enough as ‘loopy.’ It took him a moment to realize that Lorna looked far more put-out than she had earlier. “Is there any news?” Ailill asked soberly, helping his husband sit on a chair and providing his own lap by which to elevate his broken leg--newly placed in a cast.

 

“He’s in surgery,” Lorna sighed, hugging Sharley. “He’s got brain swelling -- they might have to take out a bloody piece’v his skull. A piece’v bone, for fuck’s sake…”

 

“Pack it in, Lorna,” Sharley said, gently rubbing her back. “We’ve just gotta wait. Calanon, you look like you’re pretty happy, at least.” Elves high on painkillers were as amusing as humans were.

 

“I’m floaty,” he announced happily, gazing adoringly at Ailill, who still bore traces of his red lipstick and the false eyelashes. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

 

Ailill blushed ten shades of red. “That bloody does it, can someone mind him while I get this stuff off my face? Yes, I’m queer and it’s Halloween, it doesn’t mean I need to keep putting on a show.”

 

“Awwwww,” protested his husband. “But you looked so cute with the…”

 

“Oh Valar, will you be quiet?” Ailill huffed, pressing his hand over Calanon’s mouth in desperation.

 

Thranduil could not help but laugh. “I will watch over him. I take it the leg is supposed to be elevated?”

 

“They said he needs that to keep the swelling down,” Ailill affirmed. “Though I am tempted…”

 

“Off with you,” waved Thranduil. “Or I will tell them what you looked so cute with.”

 

Ailill scurried away.

 

Lorna tried to pace again, and Sharley let her. “We need to look into getting a hotel for tonight. It sounds like we ought to get our cheerful friend here somewhere safe, before the meds wear off.”

 

_ “At least somebody’s enjoying this evening,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

Layla snorted.  _ “Tasteful, Jimmy.” _

 

Lorna looked up at Sharley. “Hotel?” she asked. “We can’t just  _ leave. _ ”

 

“Lorna, he’s not going home tonight,” Sharley said, “or any time soon. There’s no point staying here all night, since he’s not gonna wake up. We need to get some food and have a conversation, once he’s outta surgery and resting.”

 

“What she said,” Thranduil added. “As soon as Ailill returns, that is going to be his job. Closely followed by trying to figure out who, if anyone, should come here tomorrow.”

 

“Well...Thanadir and Maglor, right?” Lorna asked, looking from him to Sharley.

 

“That’s one of the things we’ve gotta talk about,” Sharley said. “We’re gonna take care of him, Lorna, but we all need to be on the same page, and right now we’re not -- but this isn’t the place to hash it out,” she added, when Lorna opened her mouth again. “You want to go to sleep for a while? I’ll wake you up once there’s anything to wake up for.”

 

“I...yeah,” Lorna sighed, and didn't resist when Sharley led her to the one padded bench -- the rest of the seats were chairs. 

 

“You just take a little nap,” Sharley said, once she’d laid down. A brush of her temple and she was out like a light.

 

“Better you than me,” Thranduil muttered, shaking his head. “She is using her superpower. Or trying to.”

 

“I don't think she’s doing it on purpose,” Sharley said, brushing Lorna’s bangs out of her face. “If she was, it might be working better. Poor woman…”  _ Though now is probably the wrong time to tell you that she drove us down here while she was well over the legal limit. Oops. _

 

_ I knew. Just as I know she has an unreal tolerance and could still be safer than most who are cold sober. _

 

_ The joys of the Irish _ , Sharley said, shaking her head.  _ Ratiri might resist help later, because he’s weird. We might have to sit on him -- gently. Very gently. _

 

_ Maybe. Sharley, I am wondering if we have not been too soft on him. I have just learned through the mental vomit coming from Calanon via Ailill, that Calanon harangued him relentlessly on their drive here. And that it appeared to be doing quite a lot of good. Maybe we have been coming at this all wrong, using kid gloves. Maybe he really does need a boot up his...rear end...just not the kind Lorna would give him. _

 

Sharley considered this.  _ You could well be right,  _ she said.  _ Even Geezer’s gone fairly easy on him -- for Geezer, anyway. He’s not the same kinda encouraging as Calanon. Calanon’s Mister Cheerful, whereas Geezer’s...Geezer. _

 

_ Calanon has an odd ability to state moral truths without it appearing to be the haranguing that it would be coming from anyone else. He genuinely speaks without artifice, and it is why he has been so perfect for Ailill--who desperately needs someone to be on his case, much of the time. It has given me a great deal to consider. _

 

_ I hope he doesn’t mind being borrowed a bit,  _ she said.  _ If he’s gotten such good results outta Ratiri, he’d be a good one to have in reserve. _

 

_ Let us hope there is a Ratiri with which to work, when this is over,   _ he said morosely.

 

She was quiet a moment.  _ What’s the worst-case scenario, here?  _ she asked.  _ Assuming he survives this, and we can take him home in the first place. _

 

_ I am not a doctor, but there is this thing called the Internet. I suggest you and I start doing some reading while she sleeps. We will learn more there than speaking with anyone here. They are programmed not to frighten patients’ families by providing all the possible scenarios. The sheer irony of this for me is that Earlene’s brother was a neurosurgeon. _

 

_ Of course he was,  _ she sighed.  _ Let’s get to researching, then, and Ailill can figure out the hotel when he gets back. _

 

**

 

“Oooh so comfy,” Calanon said, bouncing on the bed while Ailill tried to still him. 

 

“No, love. When that medication wears off you will not be happy you were bouncing.”

 

“Awwww,” Calanon protested while Ailill laughed. This was some alternate universe of role reversal. He glanced over at his King, a little embarrassed.

 

“Do not worry,” Thranduil smiled. “You both bring me a great deal of joy. I know he is not all in his right mind, at the moment.” He sobered. “Ailill, I want to heal him. But I am afraid to use any more of my strength in case something unforeseen happens to Ratiri. And yet this weighs heavily on me.”

 

“No,” Ailill said softly. “He would want it this way.”

 

“What do I want?” Calanon queried, slurring his words a little.

 

“Food, love. We are going to get you some food.”

 

“Oh,” he said, lying back. “So floaty.”

 

Rolling his eyes, he smiled at Thranduil again. “Do you want me to go out for something, Lord? Or…?”

 

“No. I want you in bed with him, for this all started from you being taken ill and though you will not tell me, I am aware you are tiring. I thought we should order room service, and all eat in here. The women can join us. Then we could converse about what to do next.”

 

“As you wish,” Ailill replied, looking a little like a young lad caught in the cookie jar. He slipped out of his jeans, rather glad he had on very substantial briefs, and started to slip into bed until he saw Thranduil’s expression of amusement. Looking down, he realized to his horror that he had worn his ‘two peas in a pod’ undergarments today, purple ones bedecked with lots of hearts and cutesy lime green peas everywhere. “Oh, Eru,” he blushed crimson. “Please do not tell the ladies,” he begged.

 

“Not a word,” Thranduil solemnly promised.

 

**

 

There wasn’t a whole lot to get settled in Lorna and Sharley’s room, but Lorna at least washed the makeup and paint off of her face. Her buzz was wearing off fast, and she was hungry and fighting dread with every step she took.

 

“I’m not going to like this conversation, am I?” she asked.

 

“Probably not,” Sharley said, figuring there was no point in lying, “but you’ve got us. We’ll figure this out.” She knocked on the lads’ door.

 

Thranduil opened. “The food should be here any minute. I took the liberty of ordering plenty and hoping much of it tastes good enough.”

 

“Calanon okay?” Lorna asked, ooching her way through the door. Calanon did indeed look quite okay, still buzzed on his painkillers. At least someone was happy.

 

“You know, it’s too bad you couldn’t have shown up in A&E as Ethel,” Sharley said, shaking her head. “Woulda made their night.”

 

“It was enough that I had to explain the makeup,” Ailill said, rolling his eyes. “But there was another bloke down there in a Deadpool getup, drunk off his...his ...really drunk. Walked out of the bar and into a car. So they had their entertainment.”

 

Sharley’s eyebrows climbed. “Wish I coulda seen that,” she said.

 

_ “Talk about a picture Saoirse needs to draw,”  _ Jimmy said, and snickered.

 

“So...what’re we going to do about Ratiri, tomorrow?” Lorna asked, fidgeting as she looked from Thranduil to Sharley, and back again. “We want to get Maglor and Thanadir down tomorrow, don't we? So they can be like, batteries, or however that works?”

 

Sharley glanced at Thranduil.  _ You go first, and I’ll follow through. _

 

Thranduil raised his head and met her piercing green eyes, as much as he preferred not to. “It cannot work that way this time, Lorna. There are a number of considerations that add up to that Ratiri is going to have to remain under care here for some time before I can afford to intervene.”

 

“But...why not?” Lorna asked, bewildered. “I mean, you fixed me, even if it took just about everyone in the Halls. Can’t the three’v you stabilize him enough to get him home, and then...do your thing?”

 

“There’s a few reasons for that,” Sharley said. “One of them being that you mighta been a bag of blood and squished organs, but you didn't have any holes in your head. Everything was internal. Ratiri, he had a whole chunk of his skull taken out -- this is his brain potentially being fucked up, and even Thranduil doesn’t want to just go charging on in there.”

 

“Thranduil, is she right?”

 

“Yes, she is right, and there is far more. Lorna, you were given up for dead. You were not going to survive; you had been put in a room to wait until you passed. I was able to do what I did and get you out of there because you were being so wonderfully ignored. Ratiri will not be that way. He will be in the intensive care unit, watched like a hawk and hooked to about a dozen monitors. I guarantee you if he disappears, it will be on the front page of the Irish Times and quite possibly bring the outer world down on our heads. Not to mention, at that point, his connection to the other person to have disappeared from a Dublin hospital, his spouse, just might gain notice. There will be a time for me to intervene; when the opportunity arises for him to have a ‘miraculous improvement’ in his condition and depart the facility via ordinary means.”

 

Lorna sank onto one of the beds, staring at her hands for a moment. “I’m supposed to be dead,” she said, “so how can I stay with him, if he has to stay in hospital? And -- and how long is he going to have to be here?”

 

“To the second one, we’re not sure yet,” Sharley said. “He’s not going home in a week, let’s just put it that way.”

 

“I do not know the policy, but it is quite possible that you will not be permitted to stay with him all the time; there may be rules about what hours you can be there. And Lorna...if he does wake, he will have the right to decide who can be there. He may not be ready to see much of you.”

 

“Okay first off, fuck those rules,” she said, “and second off...goddammit, I hate it when you’re right. Have I ever mentioned that?”

 

_ “Once or twice,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “Or, you know, a dozen times.” _

 

“Thanks, Sinsemilla.” Lorna rolled her eyes. “Well, he’s going to need  _ someone  _ here when he’s awake, so he doesn't think we went and forgot about him.”

 

“I think it would be a good time for you to talk to your oldest children and come to some decisions. Ratiri will not reject his children. I know he will not,” Thranduil noted.

 

“No, he won’t,” she said. “Shane won’t reject him, and I don't think Chandra will, either. She’s had enough support that she’s...okay, at least. Annoyed, sure, but she  _ is  _ my daughter.” 

 

“You let me deal with Chandra,” Sharley said. “She might talk more to me because I’m...well, not you.”

 

A knock came at the door just when Calanon started to echo “Not yooooooouuuuuu,” in a tuneful singsong voice, leading Ailill to clap his hand over his lover’s mouth.

 

“Sorry,” Ailill said, chagrined, followed by “Ouch!” when Calanon bit him with a dopey smile on his face.

 

“It is just as well,” Thranduil said, making a mental note to switch the ellon over to their own herbs for pain as soon as they returned home. “The food is here.”

 

*****

 

{November 1, 2034}

 

Sharley did not actually have  _ too  _ much trouble conning Lorna into going home the next day. The doctors had said that Ratiri was stable, and unlikely to wake that day; Lorna would have stayed anyway, had Sharley not pointed out that this was not news that should be delivered to the kids over the phone.

 

“I hate it when Thranduil’s right, but I hate it when  _ you’re  _ right, too,” the tiny woman grumbled. “Will you help me tell them? Because they’re going to want to know the same thing I did -- why Thranduil can’t do with him what he did with me.”

 

“We can,” Sharley said, pulling her into a hug. “You’re worried about Chandra?”

 

“Yes, I'm bloody worried about Chandra,” Lorna said, as they plunged out into the cold.  _ Brrr… _ Ireland was not supposed to get this bloody frigid. The sky was clear as crystal, the wintry sun pale. “I think I know exactly what she’ll be feeling -- it’ll be what I felt with Pat.” Her fingers, already numb, fumbled the key as she opened the Mystery Machine’s door to let Ailill and Thranduil bundle Calanon inside. “She’ll still be angry, and she’ll feel guilty as hell for it, because even at my angriest with Pat, I never actually wanted to  _ hurt  _ him. And Chandra, for all she can be cold, won’t be wishing actual ill on her da.”

 

_ “What about Shane?”  _ Sinsemilla asked, as they all clambered inside. Lorna fired up the engine and turned the heater on, though it would be a minute before it actually started blasting hot air.

 

“Shane’s got better equanimity, but I don't think he will in this,” Lorna sighed. “Chandra was -- is -- pissed, but I think Shane might well have half written his da off. The guilt there...I know it’ll be huge, because Christ knows it’s eating at me.”

 

“When are we eeeeeeeeeating?” Calanon wanted to know. 

 

“Shhhhh, love,” Ailill said, cradling him and wondering at what the human painkillers were doing to him, exactly. “We are going back to Eldamar; I will make sure you can eat something.”

 

“Leg still hurts, Ailill,” he murmured.

 

“I know. It was from the walking. You will be better once we are home.”

 

“Mmmm,” Calanon grunted, nestling against his mate and nodding back into slumber.

 

“Why is he affected like this, Aran Thranduil?” Ailill asked. “These tablets would never do this much to a human. At least, I don’t think they would?”

 

Thranduil smiled, masking how ill at ease he felt that Calanon was suffering at all. “I cannot say, except that we know medicines do not seem to affect us the same way, necessarily. There is no way to know except to try them. Perhaps for him they are much stronger?”

 

Ailill nodded; the explanation was as good as anything.

 

“What’s he on, and what’s the dose?” Lorna asked. “Because they totally could do that much to a human, depending. There’s a reason a lot’v people take opioids to get high.” She was not going to mention that she had done so once or twice herself -- but only once or twice. They hadn’t been her thing, which was why she’d been so angry at Ratiri for refusing her them...Christ, that seemed so stupid, now. That she’d been that angry for that long….

 

“Um…” he fished in his pocket for the tablets. “Hydrocodone/paracetamol, take two as needed for pain every four to six hours, do not take more than ten in a twenty-four hour period?”

 

“Hydrocodone?” she asked, as they made it to a stoplight. “Yeah, that could do it. It doesn’t affect everyone that way, but some people do have that reaction. It shouldn’t harm him unless he OD’s, and I doubt an Elf could even  _ do  _ that.”

 

“But let’s not find out anyway,” Sharley added. The streets were eerily empty for this time of day; evidently, most were sane enough to stay at home after an ice storm like that. The main roads had been sanded, but the side-streets were skating-rinks. At least it meant they made it to the freeway without incident. “We should store those pills, though, just in case.”

 

“He will be given our own medicine, once we return,” Thranduil said. “This should be the last time he needs them.”

 

They had the motorway practically to themselves, though Lorna drove carefully anyway. They passed several sanding trucks, and she wondered, inanely, where they got all the sand. If she wondered, she didn't have to think about anything else.

 

_ He’s going to be so annoyed they shaved his hair.  _ The thought came out of nowhere. All Ratiri’s beautiful thick hair had been shaved off so the surgeons could work; it would take years for it to grow back as it was. He’d look so...so _ wrong _ , lying motionless, hooked up to all those machines. There was no way in hell she’d be taking Atia and Supri to see him when he was like that, but it might be good for Chandra and Shane to go. They were adults, more or less; they could probably handle it.

 

“How much do I tell Atia and Supri?” she found herself asking. “Atia’s thirteen, sure, but she’s a  _ young  _ thirteen, emotionally, and Supri’s only seven.”

 

“I would tell her the truth, but keep it simple. Their father was in an accident. His brain is hurt and he had to have an operation. Everyone is doing their best to help him,” Thranduil answered.

 

“And that we don't know when he’ll be able to come home,” Sharley added. “Better they know that now than later.”

 

_ “We might want to get Indira in on this, too,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “She’s a doctor, she can explain things we can’t.” _

 

“Good idea. I don't want either’v them seeing him yet, though -- not when he’s hooked up to all’v those tubes and things, with all his hair shaved off. It’d do nothing but give them both nightmares, but I don't know what to tell them if they do want to.”

 

“Say that he’s not awake, and he wouldn’t want them seeing him in the hospital when he couldn’t talk to them,” Sharley said. “It’s probably even true.”

 

“Be truthful about things like his hair,” Thranduil said. “Better they be prepared for that than not. But there is probably no need to mention the rest of it unless they ask for more details. How they react to what you do say will tell you much of what you should or should not add.”

 

Lorna drew a deep breath. “All right,” she said. “I can do this.” The utterly horrendous -- and yet  _ useful _ \-- thing was that, had they not been estranged, she might well have been too distressed to function. She was used to functioning, more or less, on her own already; it wasn’t like her living emotional crutch had been abruptly yanked from beneath her. She had the equanimity to help her children, no matter how hard that might get.

 

“I think Mairead should know, and Indira too,” Thranduil mentioned. “And...it is up to you to decide who else, though soon enough everyone will know.”

 

“Christ, that’s...well, shit,” she sighed. “Everybody’s going to wonder where he’s gone sooner or later, so I might as well just tell everyone and get it out’v the bloody way. I won’t want to be repeating that story over and over.” Doing so might send her off screaming into the night, which...no thanks. “And...he’s going to want a hat, once he comes home. It’ll be cold, he’ll need something to keep his head warm.”

 

Sharley watched her with concern as they exited the freeway. Lorna might think she could do this, but could she really? She was a strong little critter, but Sharley knew how she’d feel if it was Maglor -- granted, Maglor wouldn’t be in half as much danger, but still. When they got home, she’d hand Lorna Annwn, and let her daughter’s cuteness proximity do it’s thing. If the Lump was also there, so much the better.

 

**

 

Earlene relaxed in the Heart Room, in complete bliss at the opportunity to nurse Sharley’s child. True to form, Maglor had given up caring about the sight of Earlene’s breasts, and was busy reading Montaigne. Thanadir certainly did not care; he was sitting with his feet tucked underneath her still scribbling in his book, though he rose when he heard the arrivals. “I will see how they are,” he said. “Stay there, she is almost finished I think.”

 

Earlene nodded; she needed no extra convincing. Though, the arrival of so many people would probably distract the child from wanting more milk anyway.

 

Lorna drew a deep breath once she’d parked the van.  _ Guys, I’m going to….I need help with this,  _ she said.

 

Sharley leaned forward and gave her shoulder a squeeze.  _ We’ve got your back. I’ll even make you an Irish coffee later. _

 

That made Lorna smile, albeit briefly.  _ I’ll hold you to that. _ She opened the door, and hopped out into the cold. She wanted a shower -- a really hot one -- and then...and then she didn't know what. She had to feed her cats, but she didn't want to be alone in the cottage, either.

 

Thanadir arrived, took one look at Calanon, and scooped him up to carry him into the house.

 

“Hîr Thanadar,” the elf protested. “I cans walkies.” Ailill shook his head. Rolling his eyes, Thanadir began walking back to the house as Calanon burrowed his face into his cardigan. A smile crept across the seneschal’s face, as he recalled his own unfortunate encounter with human...substances.

 

Sharley hurried into the house, and discovered that, as she’d expected, the Lump was lurking beside Earlene as she fed Annwn. “I need to borrow this,” she said, picking up the cat, who made a very odd sort of sound -- it was something like  _ mraaa _ . As soon as Lorna was within the house, she found herself with an armful of fat feline. “Hug that thing.”

 

Hug it Lorna did, following her into the Heart Room. It was wonderfully warm in here, and she sank down onto one of the poufs, cradling the purring cat.

 

“Annwn, have you been good for Auntie Earlene?” Sharley asked. To her amusement, her daughter gave her a thumb’s-up before giving up her lunch.

 

“Me and Lump,” Annwn said, grinning. “Good.”

 

Earlene chuckled, handing the girl over before reassembling her clothing. “She’s always an angel, and Auntie Earlene gets to live in the past for another day. But...I’m sorry, that things are so difficult all of a sudden.” Her eyes were drawn to Calanon being carried into the room. “Oh dear.”

 

“Oh, they’re beyond ‘difficult’,” Sharley sighed, as her daughter snuggled into her side.   _ Ratiri’s in a coma. He had to have surgery last night because his brain was swelling -- they took out part of his skull to try to get the pressure down. He’s gonna be in there Eru knows how long, and Lorna somehow has to tell her kids. She think she’s gonna be okay handling this, but I’m not so sure. _

 

Earlene blinked. _ That’s a...bad one. Really bad. Aidan talked about that once. Does she realize he could die? And after all that’s gone on between them...Valar, what a mess. _

 

_ She hasn’t said, but I’m sure she does, given what happened to him. Now she’s getting eaten up by guilt and dread, and we’re gonna have to be careful how we handle this with Atia and Supri -- we came up with some ideas in the car, but she she might want some of us around when she tells them, to help. I’m gonna get to Chandra first, just because I think she’s gonna be like her mom, but worse. _

 

_ Alright. And thanks for the early warning. I’ll stay...here. I am guessing that Thranduil...told you, that it is not the same any more, for him. With his healing, I mean. _

 

_ He did,  _ Sharley said,  _ and we told Lorna, though  _ that  _ sucked. She’s almost as good at the kicked-puppy eyes as Thanadir, if she’s not actually trying. So far it hasn’t occurred to her that healing her is what’s drained him the most over the years, and I hope it doesn’t. That’s the last thing she’d need. _

 

_ Agreed. There was no way to know. But...where is she at?  _ Earlene wanted to know.  _ I thought she might have even ...well, she wants everyone punished for their mistakes. Just yesterday she still wouldn’t talk to him after however long it’s been. _

 

Sharley snorted.  _ She wanted him punished, not comatose. And it wasn’t that she wouldn’t talk to him, so much as she knew he wouldn’t come out if she was still outside his door. Look at how she’s handled Pat -- she was pissed at him, but also really, really guilty she’d hurt him. No, she didn’t hurt Ratiri herself, but after that first couple days, she’s never wished actual, physical harm on him. If she had, she’d’ve delivered it herself. _

 

_ I won’t pretend she makes sense to me,  _ Earlene smiled. _ I’ll just help if I can. _

 

With a glance at her tiny friend, Sharley said,  _ Lorna doesn’t make sense even to Lorna. Angie and I have been working with all the Donovan siblings, but they still have such a long way to go, and now this. And poor Ratiri...we don't know how long he’s gonna have to stay in the hospital, and we  _ won’t  _ know until the doctors have monitored his condition a few more days. Thanadir and Maglor can help Thranduil, once he’s in any position to have a ‘miraculous recovery’, and Eru knows I have enough power to loan as some...some kinda battery, which is something I need to talk to Thranduil about, once everybody’s settled in. Opioids and Calanon are an...interesting combination, to say the least. I’ve never seen an Elf high before, but hoo boy. _

 

_ Well that explains that,  _ Earlene noted as she glanced over at Calanon, whose eyes were glazed over as Ailill smoothed his hair, trying to keep him quiet.

 

_ It’s more adorable than it should be. It was even better when he was making Ailill blush in the Emergency Room -- not because he was saying anything skeevy or anything, but because he was just so happy. At least somebody was. _

 

“Has anyone checked on Pickles and Batman?” Lorna asked -- Batman was the kitten she had kept, named by Supri. He was a tuxedo whose coloring made him look like he had a mask, so Batman he had been.

 

“I like pickles! Big ones!” Calanon exclaimed loudly, before Ailill hurriedly shut him up with a kiss.

 

“I think Siobhan did, when she found out. At least, she said she would,” Earlene answered calmly, ignoring the outburst.

 

“That’s good, at least,” Lorna said, staring at the fireplace while she stroked the cat in her lap. Still, Calanon drew a little smile from her, because he really was too cute for words on painkillers.

 

Sharley frowned. She really didn't like the thought of Lorna and Supri alone in that cottage. “Lorna, for the first couple days, I want you to come stay here, will you?” she asked. “We’ve still got spare rooms, and I'd feel a lot better if you were closer to support than way out in the forest.”

 

Now Lorna looked at her. Much as she wanted to protest, that might not be a bad idea. “A couple days,” she said. “It’s...it’s hard being back here even without…that.”

 

“Siobhan or someone can go stay with you later, but I want to be able to go see you easily, and that’s harder with this little one here.”

 

“Huh?” Annwn asked, looking up at her mother.

 

“It’s very cold out there -- I don't want to take you outside, but your ada can’t stay home all day to watch you, either, little bug,” Sharley said, poking the tip of her daughter’s nose. “So I hope your Auntie Lorna will sleep here at night for a bit.”

 

“Oh. ’Kay. Still not bug, mama! Peg!”

 

Maglor smiled.

 

**

 

On receiving more information from her husband, Earlene rose and made a tray for Calanon. Heated biscuits with butter and honey, sliced fruit, yogurt and granola were piled on along with a steaming pot of tea plus fixings. The dazed elf looked at it uncomprehendingly, gaining a smile from Earlene. “Am I spoon-feeding him or are you?” she asked. “And does his leg need to be elevated?”

 

“Me and, yes please,” Ailill answered, feeling so sorry for Calanon. This was such peculiar role reversal.

 

“I’ll take care of the leg, you just worry about the airplane flying into the hangar.”

 

“The what?”

 

“It’s what you tell small children when they are learning to eat with utensils. A game.”

 

“Ahhh,” Ailill said, sighing. He would likely never have that particular experience, but, good to know.

 

“Aaaaaaiiiiiiiiplaaaaaaaane,” Calanon echoed, earning a smile from Earlene. The urge to cover his cheeks in maternally driven kisses was becoming disturbingly strong, so she moved along to bring another chair for his leg.

 

Lorna had decided her oldest children should know about this first, but it would take them twenty minutes to get here from the Halls, so she made them each up a plate and a nice hot mug of tea, because Christ knew they were going to be icicles when they arrived.

 

“All right Mam, what’s wrong?” Shane asked, once they’d burst, shivering, through the front door. Chandra’s cheeks and nose were red as a cherry, and she scurried over to stand beside the rocket heater as she unbuttoned her coat.

 

“Well, at least you’ve got right to the point,” his mother sighed. “Chandra, allanah, I want you to be ready to go off with your Aunt Sharley if you’ve got to, d’you hear me?”

 

Her daughter looked suitably alarmed by that, but nodded. “Ooookay.”

 

Lorna laid out the whole sequence of events -- and, because they were old enough, didn't hold back. Both of them were pale by the time she’d finished -- and, as she’d expected, Chandra looked ready to have a meltdown. “Go with your aunt, allanah,” Lorna ordered. “Go on.”

 

Sharley deftly nabbed the girl by the elbow, leading her off to the D&D’s common room, imparting enough telepathic Xanax to keep her from freaking out on the spot.

 

Shane sagged against the wall, scone forgotten in his hand. “Mam…” 

 

Lorna grabbed him and dragged him to the sofa. “I know, allanah,” she said. He was simply too tall for her to properly mother, but fuck it, she had to try. “Believe me, I know. When he looks likely to wake, I want to take you two to see him, if you’ll go.”

 

“Of fucking course I'll go,” he said, staring into the fireplace. “What’re we going to do about Chandra, though? The meds Angie’s got her on are helping her a lot, but this is kind’v...well, it’s  _ this _ .”

 

“We’ll take it a step at a time,” Lorna said, “and if Angie’s got to up them, there’s no reason why not. I might need mine upped, too.”

 

“And I might want to start taking...something.” Shane shut his eyes, and looked, in that moment, much younger than seventeen. “Calanon, are you okay, at least?”

 

“My leg hurts sometimes, but not right now,” he said, smiling glassily. “Because they made it greeeeen. See?” He pointed proudly to his cast. “Ailill picked out the number.”

 

“What number?” Shane asked, confused.

 

“The number green, silly. What else?” the ellon replied, frowning.

 

“He is very affected by the medicine he was given,” Ailill explained to Shane quietly. “He will be okay, he only broke his leg in a few places. For an elf I think that is not too terrible, though it still hurts him without the pills.”

 

_ At least somebody’s having a good day,  _ Shane thought, and turned to his mother. “Mam, what do we do?” he asked, feeling completely lost. “I mean, right now, today, what do we do?”

 

In truth, Lorna didn't know. For once in her life, she had no idea, and she almost missed the pull of booze and drugs -- at least she wouldn’t feel so adrift. She doubted she could focus on anything for more than five minutes, and she didn't think the twins could, either.

 

_ “Brush the cats,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “I’m serious -- get Angie, and brush the cats. They’re cute and fuzzy and they love you.” _

 

That...actually was not a bad idea. At least, Lorna couldn’t think of a better one. “We’re going to brush the kitties,” she said, “and we’re going to get your aunt Mairead to make us a cake. After that -- I don't know about after that. We have enough cats to be getting on with.”  _ Thranduil, can you tell Angie to bring Ratiri’s cat here? She’s going to need another home for a bit, and she’s better off with all these other critters. _

 

_ Yes.  _ “We can talk more if you wish,” Thranduil added. “All of us will do what we can to help you with what has happened.”

 

Shane looked at him. “What -- what’ll we do if he dies?” he asked quietly.

 

This was one of those times Lorna wished she knew how to lie to her children, but she didn't. “I don't know, allanah,” she said. “I hope we don't need to find out.”

 

“Keep living,” Earlene said quietly, though the question had not been directed at her. “But try not to think about ‘what-ifs’. They do no good at all, and can lead to a lot of anxiety for no reason. Maybe we should all educate ourselves about what is wrong with him, so we can understand better. Angie will know, but none of the rest of us do.”

 

“They took a piece’v his skull out,” Lorna said, “to ease the swelling’v his brain. That’s all I really know.” She hadn’t cared to ask exactly what had happened, because honestly, what difference did it make? The outcome was what it was, at the moment.

 

“What else is there to think’v, though?” Shane asked. “I mean...well, compared to this, what else even matters right now?”

 

She wished, oh so much, that she knew. “What matters is we’re here,” she said, “and that we’ve got to tell your sisters about this, but not the details or anything. If that’s too hard for you, you go on and stay with Chandra -- you haven’t got to be here when I do it.”

 

Thranduil communicated silently with Thanadir, who nodded subtly. They would resolve Calanon’s difficulty...in a while. “If you will all pardon Thanadir and I for a moment, we are going to check in on Chandra,” he noted before leaving the room.

 

Annwn didn't actually know what was going on -- just that her auntie and her cousin were sad, so she went and clambered up onto the sofa, calling the Lump over. “Kitty,” she said, when the animal jumped onto the sofa.

 

“Kitty indeed, allanah,” Lorna said.

 

“Well, one thing is a schedule,” Earlene the ever-practical said. “While we of course hope he recovers swiftly, these cases can take a long time for patients to be discharged. You can’t all be at the hospital all the time, you have to keep up your mental and physical health. And yet, it’s also not the worst idea to have someone there for part of every day. Brains are...funny. People should read to him, talk to him. Stuff like...that. And, Ailill, I can watch Calanon for a moment. I think you should go set up your bedroom for him. He will need to rest after he eats. Probably with an extra pillow for his leg.” The man left immediately to care for the matter.

 

“Chandra and I both have licenses,” Shane said, skritching the Lump between the ears. “But...maybe neither of us should go alone.”

 

“No, you shouldn’t,” Lorna said. “I want to see how Chandra does with this before I have you go without me. Angie never has told me exactly what she thinks is wrong with your sister, and I don't want to stress her into losing her shit, meds or no meds.”

 

_ “Angie thinks it’s Emotional Disregulation,”  _ Sinsemilla said,  _ “but she probably wouldn’t want me telling you that.” _

 

Thranduil cocked an eyebrow but said nothing from the other room, even as he strongly disapproved of Sinsemilla’s timing and breach of confidentiality. He would be reading about that, quite soon.

 

Sharley eventually returned to the Heart Room, Chandra in tow. She sat the girl beside her mother, sitting to her other side. Poor Chandra would have been a lot more of a mess if Sharley hadn’t hit her with enough telepathic Xanax to tide her over until Mairead could bring her actual meds.

 

“I talked to Ratiri,” Calanon slurred. “Lots and lots. If he were my Ailill I would give him a good spanking.” A delirious and slightly wicked grin came over his face. “I think I would give many of you a good spanking, for being eeeeeeeeeeeeejits.”

 

Earlene looked at him uneasily, but could not read his mind. So she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Uh, Calanon, maybe this isn’t the best time.”

 

“Oooooohhhh it is a wonderful time, Hiril vuin. Sometimes when others act like silly children, and cannot see what matters most, they need to hear about it.” The words poured from him musically, as he waggled his finger admonishingly toward most of the Donovans. “Calanon is very good at straightening out little elflings whose fear and pride keeps them from those they should love more than teapots.”

 

“Oh Valar,” Earlene breathed, not quite sure whether she should clamp her hand over his mouth, that currently displayed a happy grin. “Um, sorry...maybe I should take him upstairs. Calanon, meldir, eat your biscuit.” She got a bite into his mouth, but next he brandished the biscuit. “Honey does not make Calanon blind, my lovely Queen. Ratiri should have apologized but Lorna should not have made it impossible for him to do so. Children should not become bitterly angry with their fathers, as if they will never make a mistake in their lives either. Why is it so hard for all of you to see reason and let yourselves be governed by the love I know you have for one another?  That is why I shall give you all spankings, right after this biscuit eats me.”

 

Earlene buried her face in her hands.  _ Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Let the Krakatoa begin.  _ In one fluid motion, Earlene moved Calanon’s tray aside, and swept him into her arms in a panic and moved toward the stairs, no longer caring about her charade and that she should not be strong enough to do this. Anything, to get him and his uncensored truths the hell out of this room.

 

As she disappeared around the corner, Thranduil all but comedically ran in with Thanadir in tow. The seneschal silently removed the tray of food, and followed after Earlene. Lips parted, the King stared at Lorna, waiting for the backlash. “He is out of his head,” Thranduil pleaded. “Please forgive him for this.”

 

Lorna stared at him, and then facepalmed. Hard. “Chandra, allanah, go hit something,” she ordered. “I know you want to.”

 

“The hell good would  _ that  _ do?” her daughter growled, the glare she leveled at the stairs harsh enough to strip paint.

 

“Then will you let your aunt give you some telepathic Xanax? If I don't get to go Krakatoa, neither do you.”

 

Chandra scowled like thunder, but held out her hand. Sharley took it, and imbued her with peace. “Maybe you should take your meds early today,” she suggested. “Don't make this hard on your mam,” she added. “Calanon’s stoned off his gourd. “

 

“Who the hell is he, to tell me I shouldn’t get angry with Da?” Chandra demanded. “Da fucking deserved it, but now he’s in bloody hospital and I feel like shite for being so angry at him, even though he brought it on his goddamn self.”

 

Sharley folded her niece into a hug. “He’s  _ stoned _ , Chandra. He’s got less of a filter than Kurt does right now.”

 

_ “Hey!”  _ the voice protested,  _ “nobody has less of a filter than I do.” _

 

Shane crossed the floor to hug his sister and his aunt. “Go make some...some biscuit dough, or something,” he said, “and just eat it raw. It’ll help.”

 

“Yes, Martha Stewart,” Sharley said, leading Chandra off before the girl could even think of protesting.

 

“Who?” Shane called after them, before flopping down next to his mother. “He’s not wrong,” he added. “Broadly speaking, I mean. We had every right to be mad at Da, but this...well,  _ this  _ happened. Does any’v that even matter now?”

 

“No,” Lorna said softly, wrapping her arm around him. The Lump purred. “Though let me tell you, the first person who tries to spank me is getting something a lot more unpleasant than a boot up their arse, Elf or no Elf.” If she could manage Christmas Tree Eyebrows, surely she could do worse.

 

“He would never,” Thranduil said with extreme chagrin. “Though I am not fully certain he was joking about Ailill. And I should not have said that,” he murmured to himself, looking at both of them. “I...I know Calanon meant well. He never would have said those things aloud were he not in another solar system right now.”

 

Lorna twitched, because that really wasn’t a mental image she needed, thanks so much. Yeah, they were both pretty, but they were her friends, so...ew. “I know,” she said. “And like Shane says, he’s not wrong...not that that helps a lot right now. We need...we need to set things up, for whenever Ratiri is able to come home. Somehow. I did reading on brain surgery and it can take a year or more to recover from -- I mean, he’ll have help from you lot, but even so.”

 

“We can help a great deal, I think,” Thranduil said. “But as we have learned, minds are...tricky. There is a good chance there will be assorted difficulties that will linger.”

 

“Like what?” Shane asked, not sure he wanted to know.

 

“Anything. Everything. Difficult emotions, memory problems, trouble speaking or forming thoughts; the brain controls everything. We do not know what happened to him. Maybe a great deal, maybe nothing at all. That knowledge will come in time.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes. “But we -- you lot -- can help him recover in the end, right?” At this point, she could not assume she knew anything about Thranduil’s current ability to heal. “You’ve got Sharley to use as a battery, too.”

 

“I...am not sure how to do that,” Thranduil said, with rather a ‘deer in the headlights’ expression. “I have never...it has always been those sworn to me and Sharley is not.”

 

“And since she’s already sworn to Vairë, she couldn't be sworn to you even if she wanted to,” Lorna groaned. “And it’s not like you can exactly practice, unless Calanon lets you.”

 

“I...need to reflect on this, and maybe talk to Sharley,” he murmured. “I believe we can help a great deal,” he reiterated stubbornly, if only to reassure himself of that hope in the face of  his own uncertainty.

 

“Mam, we need to set up a room,” Shane said. “Da won’t be able to go up the stairs.”

 

“No, he wouldn’t,” she said, and did not add that the thought of being in their old room might be too painful right now. “We’ll put something nice together, and bring his cat here. She can be all acclimated by the time he gets home.” If she focused on that, it was easier to shove her fear away.

 

Sharley and Chandra returned to the Heart Room, bearing a large ceramic bowl of cookie dough and a plethora of spoons. “What’d we miss?”

 

“Yeah, what’d we miss?” Earlene asked on her return, looking a little haggard. “I’m sorry, to all of you. I should have taken him out of here sooner; I’d no idea that was coming. Ailill is mortified and Calanon is still four sheets to the wind.”

 

“Thranduil, will you tell poor Ailill he doesn’t need to feel bad?” Lorna said. That lad, who wasn’t actually a lad anymore...he’d been through plenty himself, the last two days.

 

“I will try,” Thranduil said, pinching his forehead. “But it is most always Calanon that has to straighten him out, not the other way around. Eru.”

 

“Everything’s gone arseways,” Shane sighed.

 

Annwn looked at Chandra, worried. Her cousin looked really really sad. “Lump, see Chandra,” she said, pointing. To Lorna’s incredulity, the cat, who had never listened to anyone or anything unless they were saying the word ‘food’, lumbered off her lap and flopped onto Chandra’s, purring.

 

“We’ll have to call you the Lump Whisperer,” Lorna said, booping the end of her niece’s nose. “That was impressive.”

 

*****

 

{November 5, 2034}

 

Ratiri was warm. He was very warm, though not in a bad way; he felt a little like a burrito. He didn't know where he was, and he kind of didn't care -- not at first, anyway. For a long while he lay still, not bothering to open his eyes, while a few things became evident: one, he was lying down; two, there was something shoved down his throat, and three...he’d forgotten number three, but there had been one, he was sure, but the tube down his throat was rather more pressing than anything.

 

His eyes opened, and he squinted at the harshness of the light. Something was beeping, too, and it was almost unbearably loud.

 

“Welcome back, Doctor Duncan,” the male nurse said. “I’ll have that breathing tube out in a jiffy if we’re on the same page. Can you blink once that you understand me? I need to see one lovely blink from you first.”

 

Ratiri blinked, far more than once, trying not to panic.

 

“Very good, excellent, there will be high marks on your report card,” the affable man smiled. “Now I want you to cough for me when I tell you to; your throat is going to feel like a river of poitín went down it, that’s perfectly normal. We’ll just take it one step at a time. Okay, give me your best cough now…”

 

The man didn't need to ask twice; Ratiri couldn’t help but cough, and oh, he was not wrong about that…  _ it burns, doctor, get it out  _ he thought irrelevantly.

 

“Excellent. Now don’t try to speak or anything silly like that; you’ll have a parade of staff coming through to bother you soon enough. Oh, and I should probably tell you, you’re in Cork University hospital; you had a wee accident on the M7 and now there is this beautiful all-expenses-paid vacation here in our lovely palace. I mean, intensive care unit. But you’re awake, which is always wonderful news. If you will pardon me, I will allow your lovely missus to talk at you while I care for a few matters.”

 

He’d had...what? All memory of any accident was not to be found -- nor was his voice, though he tried. Fortunately, here was Lorna, with some ice chips.

 

“Don't you go trying to talk just yet,” she admonished. She looked like hell, and he wondered how long he’d been here. He wondered why he’d been on the M7. He wondered a whole lot of things, but couldn’t keep any in his mind long enough to even try to give voice to them.

 

It was so, so hard not to cry, seeing him like this -- both from relief and from pain. Her poor husband...he looked so confused, so uncertain. It wasn’t like him at all. “You’re all right now, allanah,” she said. “You’ll be okay.”

 

She glanced out the door; the nurse was still outside the door. “The Elves will come to help you soon,” she whispered. “They couldn’t until you woke up, because you couldn’t just disappear from hospital like I did.”

 

That made, to Ratiri’s tired and fuzzy head, a certain amount of sense. He couldn’t even hold onto that thought, though; it too was gone after a few moments. His head felt oddly chilly, and he managed to reach up (there were too many tubes in his arms) to run a hand over his shorn scalp.

 

“Here now, don't go touching your bandages,” Lorna said, very carefully catching his arm. “Yes, they had to shave your head, but I’ve made you two nice soft hats, for when you can go home.”

 

They’d cut his hair? The thought dismayed him, in a dim way. Already he was drowsy again, but not having that thing down his throat helped immensely, as did the ice chips. His hand closed around Lorna’s, and then he was asleep again.


	158. One Hundred Fifty-Eight

{December 14, 2034}

Though Ratiri was steady on his feet, Lorna and Siobhan stood on either side of him anyway as they led him through the greenhouse. It had been agreed that he probably shouldn’t see the Heart Room in its drastically changed state. If they went through the greenhouse entrance, he’d see the dining-room, which hadn’t been altered nearly so much. The table had been shifted, and there were the music stands, but it wasn’t anywhere close to as extreme as the Heart Room.

 

The poor man looked so, so different. He’d lost weight, and there was so often confusion in his grey eyes. His hair had started to grow back, but it was still less than two inches long, and the scar on his head was fully visible -- and rather horrifying. Just now he wore one of the soft cashmere hats Lorna had knitted him, because it was nearly as cold as it had been on Halloween.

 

“We’ll get you settled, allanah, and you’ll probably be wanting another nap,” she said, even as he yawned. He’d slept a great deal in the last month and a half; whoever was sitting with him at any given time would bring a book to read until he woke up again.

 

“Are we going upstairs?”

 

Poor Ratiri. His memory-span was all but nonexistent; she’d told him eight times now they’d be living downstairs. “No, allanah,” she said. “None’v us want you having to walk up that staircase. Besides, downstairs there’s that lovely bathroom we haven’t used nearly enough.”

 

“Did you feed Puff?”

 

“Puff’s home, too,” she said. “But we’ve got to keep the cats off your pillow, insofar as we actually can.”

 

Shane and Chandra met them at the door, surrounded by the feline contingency. Puff tried to clamber up Ratiri’s trousers, but Shane, ever deft, caught the cat. “You just wait until your da’s laid down,” he said, while the animal meowed at him in protest.

 

Lorna and Siobhan got Ratiri into his room, which the entire Donovan clan had conspired to decorate. Their bed had been brought down from the upstairs, and Sharley had woven an absolutely gorgeous duvet rather like Allanah’s cloak -- this one showed sunrise over mountains whenever it was shifted. Their dresser had come down as well, but the end-tables were different -- Thanadir had brought them from the Halls. The Leg Lamp stood near Ratiri’s side of the bed, in the hopes of giving him a smile. At least it would be something to look at when he woke up.

 

Saoirse had painted the walls to look like a sunrise, with the wall facing the window a forest scene, and the ceiling was a beautiful rendition of the Milky Way. All their little knick knacks and photographs had been ranged around, in roughly the same order they’d been in upstairs. The floors were softened and warmed by colorful braided rugs, put together by most of the household over the last few weeks. Fortunately, someone had had the rocket heater going long before they got home, so the room was nice and warm, even though the afternoon light through the window was thin and cold.

 

“All right, you just sit down now, allanah.” Lorna and Siobhan managed to get him seated without incident, and get his shoes off. “We’ve got your PJ’s here and everything.”

 

“And before you protest, it’s not like I'm seeing you without your drawers,” Siobhan said, as Lorna deftly eased his T-shirt over his head -- hey she’d had four children, she was good at it. It was a bit like dressing a doll, though he did his best to help her as she got him into a nice, soft flannel shirt. Once he was into his trousers, she tucked him in, and the entire clowder came thundering into the room, meowing and purring as they investigated him thoroughly.

 

He stroked Midnight’s head until he fell asleep, not two minutes later, and then the entire lot of them settled either on or around him, purring away.

 

“I’ll go let everyone know he’s settled,” Siobhan said, even as she was halfway out the door.

 

“Da’s asleep?” Atia asked.

 

“He is indeed asleep, and I need tea.”

 

**

 

“This isn’t how I imagined this would happen,” Earlene told her mates in the privacy of their bedroom.

 

“This is sadly the only way this was going to happen,” Thranduil shook his head. “And soon we will try to do what we can to heal him.”

 

“That should help things quite a bit?” Earlene asked hopefully.

 

“I hope so. It has become harder for me, Earlene. I seem to be drained more easily with the passage of time. I suspect that I was never meant to help those that were not my own,” he admitted. “And yet that is a hard thing to do. It does not escape me that as time has gone on, I can still aid those sworn to me with relative ease but those who are not...” I can now perceive that it feels different. Takes much more. But what am I to say? Or do?”

 

She shook her head. “It feels so much like playing God. I can’t answer that.”

 

“I can,” Thanadir said. “You owe a sworn duty to those who have spoken vows to you. You must remain able to care for your own, foremost. After that, yes, you can help as you are able. Our law is very clear, on this.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Thranduil said sorrowfully. “It was...so nice, to be able to help others. I never thought I would say that. There was a time I never would even have cared.”

 

“That speaks so highly of you,” she said, hugging him. “I love you for many reasons, and near the top of that list is your compassion.”

 

**

 

{December 17, 2034}

 

 _Thranduil, would you like to talk? I’d like to talk to you_ . Sinsemilla had told Sharley of his revelation, and she wondered if he might not want to...well, to talk about it. Maybe she’d been spending too much time around Angie, and had thus picked up the shrink mindset, but this had to be a real sense of loss for him. _I’m in the D &D’s common room, weaving. _

 

He meandered in, some minutes later. “What do I want to talk about, and does it have to do with Christmas?” he asked, amused, as he leaned against the doorway. It was a cold day, which explained the head to toe black woolen clothing. Cat hair in assorted colors was beginning to magnetize itself to the lower hems of his trousers, but it seemed better not to mention that.

 

“It could if you wanted to,” Sharley said, leaning back from her loom. “But Sinsemilla told me what you told Earlene, and I can only imagine what that must be like for you.”

 

“Wait,” he frowned. “I tell Earlene many things. Is this about her insistence on extra desserts this year?”

 

“No, but I automatically agree with her on that,” Sharley said. “What about you, Annwn? Extra desserts?”

 

“Yep.” The little girl, bundled up in a soft patchwork dress, warm leggings, and fuzzy socks, was playing with marbles on the floor, the Lump at her side.

 

“Good little bug,” Sharley said, grinning.

 

Annwn looked up at her. “Not a bug.”

 

Sharley pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, little _ladybug_.”

 

Her daughter giggled, and poked the cat.

 

“Anyway, no, it’s about your ability, and what you’ve realized about it.”

 

“Oh, that,” he said, a little despondently. “I always knew I could not help everyone. But I could not have realized that this would end up as it has. A finite resource, especially for those not my own. I feel conflicted now. Who do I help? What if I help one person, only to have someone with a greater need follow on their heels? And...I have dreaded talking to Lorna. Part of me does not want her to know, even as I consider Ratiri’s injuries in light of what has become apparent to me. I know what to do for those belonging to me; it is a clear duty. It is...everyone else. I made promises to both of them, before I knew about this. It seems very hard.”

 

“I think,” Sharley said, “we’re gonna need to revise the Chart, so that it’s ‘catastrophic injury only’. If it’s something that will heal ordinarily with time, leave it be. If it’s something that could heal but cause permanent damage, heal it -- and if somebody's gonna die, yeah, do that. You’ve got me for a battery, you know that, right? It’s not perfect, but it can help.”

 

 _“And Lorna has to know, unfortunately,”_ Sinsemilla said. _“She’s gonna feel like complete and utter shit, so we’ve gotta figure out how to say this. She’s not unaware just how much healing energy you’ve spent on her over the years, Thranduil, and now here’s Ratiri.”_

 

“I know,” he replied softly. “Mostly this feels awful because she is my dear friend and I do not want to have to disappoint her. I did not mean for this to happen but it is like I am a...I fix things that are wrong with people, and now that is not so simple. And Sharley...we are not connected in the same way as those sworn to me. I...do not know how to work with you. Maybe I can? How do we find out without it becoming an experiment?”

 

“Thranduil, she loves you,” Sharley said. “You won’t disappoint her. You were, in that one area, the next best thing to a god, and now you can’t be.” She paused, thoughtful. “And...well, would Ratiri let himself be a guinea pig? I don't know how to test it without a little experimentation...shut up, Kurt...but...hmm. I do have a small amount of healing ability myself, so I wonder if we could somehow...connect it? If we could connect mine to yours -- shut _up_ , Kurt -- maybe it could work as a conduit.”

 

“It is what the others do when they aid me. Would it...what if we brought Thanadir and just tried to do something small, with Ratiri. You could join with us and we could...see. I do not know if it is the same for you; between us it is a transfer of spiritual energy. I suppose the worst that could happen is nothing helps?”

 

“That sounds like a plan to me. Come on, little ladybug -- we need to go see your Uncle Ratiri.”

 

“’Kay,” Annwn said, carefully putting all her marbles in their little wooden box. “Come on, Lump.”

 

**

 

 _Are you certain this is a good idea?_ Thanadir said, looking worriedly at Sharley while he held Thranduil’s hand. _She is not in any way bound to you._

 

_No, I am not. But we will never know if this can help if we do not try, Thanadir. She is...on our side, so to speak; in theory it can work, and she is powerful. You will touch me as you always have, so will she. I cannot imagine what could be the matter, but if something is, do what you need to do._

 

 _I do not like this, but will do as you ask,_ Thanadir sighed, glancing at Sharley.

 

 _Don't worry, Thanadir,_ Sharley said, briefly taking Thranduil’s hand to squeeze it in reassurance. _The worst thing that can happen is nothing._ To Lorna, she added, _We’re gonna try to help Ratiri without waking him, since his brain is still kinda scrambled eggs and we don't want to freak him out._

 

Thranduil took off his heavier outer garment that was a more elaborately embroidered version of  the heavy long-sleeved woolen jerkin many of the woodland elves wore in colder weather, leaving only the much lighter linen tunic he wore underneath. Thanadir drew his hair back out of the way; he and Sharley would need to touch his bare skin. The old elf could not help ghosting his fingers over the flawless surface that only he and Earlene had the privilege of enjoying in every way. Catching his husband’s thought, Thranduil smiled a little, but even he could not now be distracted by daydreaming of carnal delights; right now he felt far more worried than he let on to Thanadir.

 

Lorna looked down at her sleeping husband. Yes, it was probably better he snooze through this one, because she didn't want to know what scaring him would do. _Okay,_ she said. _Should I get the cats off him?_

 

_Probably a good idea._

 

The fluffballs protested when they were removed from their male human, but stayed off when she poked at them with a rolled-up _National Geographic._

 

Sharley touched Thranduil’s other shoulder, first making sure her fingers weren’t uncomfortably chilly (regulating her own body temperature could still get iffy, on cold days.)

 

 _Wait a moment and perceive what Thanadir does,_ the King advised Sharley, taking a deep breath to settle himself. _Then join in if you are able._

 

Thranduil reached forward to Ratiri, and concentrated on the man’s brain. The places where energy did not seem to move correctly. His light flared, and soon he felt the steady addition of Thanadir’s vitality; an old familiarity. Everything seemed to be going well; next came the beginnings of Sharley’s contribution. He frowned, just a little; this was something...not dissonant, but different. But energy was energy, and it was something to which he could adjust...until it kept changing. Growing and amplifying in intensity, until out of a sense of imminent disaster he hurriedly released his hold on Ratiri. He did not know if he actually said or did anything noticeable physically, but in his mind he was now helpless against an onslaught far too powerful for him to withstand...and it hurt. Worse, with every passing second.

 

Thanadir’s eyes widened, and he instinctively abandoned Thranduil to forcefully yank Sharley away from his husband, breathing heavily. This kind of connection was not meant to be broken hurriedly, and the seneschal appeared very disoriented. But not nearly as much as Thranduil, who for the first time in his life understood that this must be a headache. It felt...awful. Slowly moving his hands to his temples, he pressed inward. Anything, to dull the infernal pounding. “I need to take him to lie down,” Thanadir said in a tone that would accept no discussion. They left immediately.

 

Lorna stared after them, but Sharley cringed, and knelt to check on Ratiri. It was hard to tell while he was still asleep, but they did seem to have helped. Which was a damn good thing, because she wasn’t anxious to try that again, and she doubted Thranduil was, either.

 

 _Is he okay?_ Lorna asked. _Are_ they _okay?_

 

 _Ratiri’s fine,_ Sharley said. _Thranduil...I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I think my energy was too much. Thanadir and Earlene will take care of him._ She looked at Lorna. _There’s some stuff we maybe oughtta talk about._

 

 _You mean, why he’d need your help in the first place?_ Lorna asked. _I kind’v already know._

 

_You don't know the whole of it, so I’m gonna make some cocoa -- some high-octane cocoa -- and we’re gonna have a discussion._

 

_Because that doesn't sound ominous. I’ll be right here._

 

Off Sharley went, leaving the cats to resume their positions on and around Ratiri, who didn't so much as stir.

 

“Oh, allanah,” Lorna whispered, “we’re living in strange days.”

 

 _“You have no idea,”_ Jimmy said.

 

“And I'm not sure I want to,” she whispered back.

 

 _“Sadly, you’re gonna find out,”_ Layla said, and Lorna had a feeling that if the voice could pat her shoulder, it would have.

 

Sharley returned presently, a mug of cocoa in each hand, and they relocated to the wing chairs that faced the far window. It was a bay window, the shelf beneath it crowded with houseplants that spent a few hours each day beneath a full-spectrum lamp. _So, Thranduil needed my help because you and Ratiri aren’t sworn to him, which is why it’s so much harder for him to heal you. Between that and the fact that his healing ability isn’t a bottomless resource, Ratiri’s gonna be in recovery a while._

 

Well, now Lorna knew why the cocoa was high-octane. She took a healthy swallow, and sighed. _I already knew that, about its limitations as a resource -- it’s why we’ve got the Chart,_ she said, _but...shit._ There was no way she wasn’t going to feel fucking awful about that, because it was not -- and never had been -- lost on her, just how much of that Thranduil had expended on her over the years, in great things and in small.

 

Sharley poked her side. _None of that,_ she said. _He didn't want to tell you at first, because he knew you’d feel like that -- and he didn't want you to be disappointed in him._

 

Lorna choked on her cocoa, though thankfully not enough to shoot it out of her nose. _He -- what?! Why in god’s bloody name would I be disappointed in him?_

 

 _Call me Angie, but I wonder if he’s projecting,_ Sharley said. _I told him that was a load of shit -- though rather more delicately -- but you might want to go give him a hug later, once he’s recovered._

 

 _You bet your arse I will,_ her tiny friend said, eyes narrowing. _I think that will require hugging_ and _poking, possibly at the same time._

 

 _“That sounds really dirty,”_ Kurt mused.

 

“Only to you,” Lorna muttered. “ _Everything_ sounds dirty to you. _Taxes_ probably sound dirty to you.”

 

 _“Oh baby, you crunch those numbers,”_ the voice said, snickering.

 

Sharley fought the urge to facepalm. _Anyway, you maybe oughtta go reassure him you don't feel like you can’t rely on him, even if he can’t heal things like a god anymore._

 

_Oh, if he’s in any doubt’v that, he won’t be for long -- and shut up, Kurt._

 

Sharley smiled. Yeah, this would work out.

 

**

 

“I apparently would make a terrible human,” Thranduil whispered, in near disbelief at the train engine that felt like it roared through his head. “If this is a headache I am not certain how you manage.”

 

“I did not get those very often, and there are medications that can treat them,” Earlene soothed, realizing that this malady likely had an origin no human would ever manage. “Thanadir has gone for something that will help you. In fact, give me just a moment; there is something here that can make it better.” The freezing weather had not let up, and a convenient supply of ice hung off the eaves just outside. Breaking up an icicle to have a sizable piece, she wrapped it in cloth and held it against his head. “Cold can help, against where you feel the pain.”

 

“It does. This and being still,” he said, pausing. “I am sorry, Earlene, that this happened.”

 

“Why are you apologizing to me?” she asked, smoothing his his flaxen hair. “You did nothing wrong. I know why this was important to you. And...how were you to know without trying?”

 

He took her hand. “Because I am questioning my motives for having done so. Whether it was really that I wanted to keep helping, or that I was grasping at straws to...still be the one everyone looked to, even as that is becoming more fraught with difficulty.”

 

“Well, they are not divisible from each other,” Earlene pointed out. “And, there is nothing entirely wrong with either, Thranduil. It is not as if you have ever used your gifts to wield power over others or as some sort of...bargaining chip. You have only ever given freely what was given to you. Have you considered that perhaps our Lords and Ladies are allowing this to happen to you, for the specific reason of moving you away from a responsibility you never were meant to assume? For you are indeed an Elvenking, responsible foremost to your own people. That you have tried so hard to help others is wonderful, but perhaps they understand something different is meant to unfold.” Frowning, Earlene had to ask herself, _where in hell did that notion come from?_

 

A little laugh escaped him. “Whenever you do not know whence your words originate, that most always leaves me wondering if my King is the one speaking. Perhaps you are right, and I will take it to heart. Whatever the reason, the outcome is the same either way. My ability to help them will be greatly reduced.”

 

Thanadir chose that moment to come bustling in, with a small glass of liquid. “Drink,” he ordered.

 

“Thank the Valar and I thank you as well, already I can feel that helping,” Thranduil muttered. Thanadir leaned down to kiss his cheek, concerned.

 

“Good,” Thanadir answered. “But I want you to lie there for some time, just to be certain. I will make you some tea.” He disappeared again.

 

“He worries too much,” mumbled Thranduil. “I am hardly made of glass.”

 

“That is _why_ he is worried, silly,” Earlene admonished. “Because of what it takes to harm you in any way. I worry too, I just am far better at presenting an implacable exterior.”

 

He chuckled, hanging onto his temples. “Do not make me laugh, I am not ready for it yet. But I would like to sit up.”

 

She helped rearrange pillows so he could do just that, when a knock came on the door.

 

Sharley had agreed to stay with Ratiri (who still hadn’t woken up, bless him), so Lorna made her way through the house. Once she’d knocked the the bedroom door, she said, “Housekeeping! I don't have any cupcakes, but I don't have plague, either...and you weren’t around when I talked to Ailill on Halloween, so that makes no sense to you. Nevermind. Anyway, can I come in?”

 

“Yes, of course,” laughed Earlene, hardly able to even guess (and electing not to ask).

 

Lorna grinned as she entered, and went to give Thranduil a hug. “Sharley told me a lot’v stuff,” she said. “And if you think I'd ever be disappointed in you, think again. Well, okay, if you ever said you like English tea better than Irish, we might have an issue, but otherwise...hush about that.”

 

“ _Eloquent,”_ Kurt snickered.

 

“Spider-ball, Kurt.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, gazing down. “I just never expected this to happen, but Earlene opines that perhaps this is how our Lords and Ladies want it. And since I do not know either way, I have little choice but to accept.” A crooked but peaceful smile graced his face.

 

“You done us a load’v good, with that gift’v yours,” Lorna said, rather more seriously. “Hell, you’re the reason I’m upright and breathing, but you’re worth more than just what you can do for all’v us that way. You’re family, and we love you, and that’s not going to change even if we have to walk around with colds, covered in papercuts.”

 

 _“Why would someone get covered in papercuts if they had a cold?”_ Layla wondered.

 

Lorna glanced in her general direction for a moment, before she looked back at Thranduil and said, totally deadpan, “Kleenex.”

 

Earlene laughed, having heard Layla through her husband. “I don’t know how you stand those things brain-bombing you all the time,” she shook her head. “But that was a good one.”

 

“What was?” Thanadir asked, returning with the tea, that he placed in Thranduil’s hand with suitable fussing.

 

“Her retort to the voices,” Earlene answered. “About getting a papercut from Kleenex.”

 

“But….”

 

“Humor, meldir. It is humor.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“They can be annoying, but they have their uses -- except Kurt,” Lorna said, ignoring his strangled protest. “If nothing else, they’re entertaining. But anyway, Thranduil, if you’ve got to feel bad about this, don't do it on our account. Sinsemilla will tell me if you do, and then I’ll follow you around and poke you with something.”

 

_“That’s--”_

 

“Kurt?” Lorna said. “ _Mute.”_ She had no actual power to make him do that, but maybe it would work anyway.

 

“It does not work that way,” Thranduil glared. “These voices seem to forget that I can evade their spying easily enough, and if I _ever_ find out that they have lingered in this bedroom again I will be exceedingly displeased.” Earlene and Thanadir’s expressions now changed dramatically, as disapproving frowns came over both of them. “There is such a thing as privacy.”

 

 _“We know what goes on in here,”_ Jimmy said. _“Trust me, we don't hang out, because...hormones. Gross.”_

 

 _“That and there’s the spider-ball,”_ Layla added. _“Sharley asked Vairë how to make them, before she left. I think Kurt secretly wants to get stuck in it again, though, or he’d shut up.”_

 

“Kurt’s not capable’v shutting up,” Lorna said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, at least try not to feel bad about this, okay? I know it’s like losing a part’v yourself, and that’s got to be hard, but we love you no matter what.”

“Oh you do, do you? How _dare_ you” Earlene spat, becoming rapidly incensed at Jimmy’s words, and turning to Thranduil with fire in her eyes. As the King listened to her silent words both he and Thanadir suddenly had disturbingly happy expressions on their faces.

 

 _“Well, yeah,”_ the voice said. _“You’re married. Married people do...stuff. We have to avoid Sharley and Maglor’s room most of the time, too. People with bodies use them for some baffling shit.”_

 

“And yet you are in here now,” Earlene said icily. “OUT!! GET OUT!!”

 

 _“Of course we are, we followed L---mphhh!”_ One of the others must have muffled Jimmy, _somehow_ , and then there was silence.

 

“I wish there was a way to know if they were actually gone,” Lorna said, “but they probably went. The joys of living with disembodied...people.”

 

**

 

The Donovan clan marched their way to Eldamar a little after four in the afternoon, well bundled-up. Pat grumbled the entire while about climate change not doing what it was meant to and warming things up.

 

“Don't tempt Fate,” Grania said, shivering. “Better this than the ocean rises and floods us out.”

 

Lorna the Younger rolled her eyes, but said nothing. She and Saoirse were carrying a very large, squashy package between them; it wasn’t at all heavy, but it was so big and bulky that would have been awkward for one small person to lug along. “How’s Uncle Ratiri doing now?” she asked.

 

“He’s better than he was, but he’s still banjaxed,” her aunt said. “His short-term memory’s shot to hell -- you’ll have to repeat yourself six or seven times maybe, even over the course’v an hour, but don't let him know you’ve had to. No point in making the poor man feel bad.”

 

Lorna the Younger wondered why the Elves hadn’t totally healed him already -- which led her to the somewhat awful speculation that maybe he’d been so fucked-up they _couldn’t_ heal him right off. Her other aunt had said something to that effect, but no details had been given. Not that anyone probably wanted them.

 

They were all glad to get out of the frigid twilight, and burst through the front door of Eldamar in a huddle, shutting it firmly against the cold. “Nobody’s lost any important bits, have they?” Siobhan asked.

 

“Don't think so,” Saoirse said, eying her own hands. “All fingers present and accounted for.”

 

Coats were hung on the hooks that ran along the entryway wall, and the herd moved into the Heart Room, with its glorious fireplace. “We might steal the sofa and drive it home,” Siobhan said. “That’s a bloody cold walk.”

 

Sharley tried not to laugh. Even yet, she wasn’t used to seeing so many Donovans in a knot, and she could understand why so many people did a bit of a double-take upon viewing a whole group of them. “Well, it might just carry you all,” she said. “You’re little.”

 

Saoirse stuck her tongue out. “Is Uncle Ratiri awake?”

 

 _“Yes,”_ Sinsemilla said, and Sharley relayed the message, though she added, “Don't overwhelm him. In fact, don't all go in at once -- Saoirse, you and your family go in first, and then Siobhan’s can after.”

 

Annwn (and the Lump) ran up to her, the former giving her a hug and the latter a sniff, and then the girl was off to hug the whole family.

 

Thranduil had involved himself in meal preparation tonight, deciding of late that perhaps he should finally start learning to prepare more than eggs and bacon. Earlene was settled on a chicken piccata with risotto, which was made so easy by use of the electric pressure cooker that even he could find it enjoyable. While he was not occupied, he watched with interest as Thanadir prepared the lemons, snuggling up to and distracting him just as much as any other form of help.

 

Earlene rolled her eyes, but she smiled, busying herself with the Swiss chard gratin. Swiss chard was overflowing out of the greenhouses, because that was what Swiss chard did.

 

The Pat branch of the Donovans went to see Ratiri first, both daughters still carrying the big package. It had been wrapped up in a big piece of red velvet Thanadir had loaned them for the occasion, tied with a cord that also held a rather large, somewhat lopsided ribbon bow in place.

 

Lorna let them in, and Pat looked around. Siobhan and Grania had helped Lorna set the room up, but this was the first he’d seen of it. He liked the bookshelves, and all the Christmas lights strung across the ceilings, but the fact that the room didn't have a fireplace was just wrong.

 

Ratiri sat in one of the big wing chairs near the window, with a cat on his lap, one on each arm of the chair, and two perched across the back, purring and apparently standing guard. He looked up when they entered, and Grania winced. That poor man...he looked like a shadow of himself, sitting in pyjamas and a dressing-gown, a fuzzy hat where all his lovely hair should be. His eyes were clear, however; there was no haze of narcotics there.

 

They all paused, but Saoirse, cheerfully oblivious, said, “Hi, Uncle Ratiri. We made you a thing.”

 

“It’s not Christmas yet,” he said, rising. His balance was just fine now, at least, though some of his small motor skills were a touch impaired.

 

“Yeah, but we wanted you to have it before Christmas,” she said, holding out the package. “Open it, but don't let any cats sit on it.”

 

Lorna, who knew they were bringing something but not what it was, watched with interest as he worked out their somewhat...interesting...wrapping job. At least they hadn’t wrapped the damn thing in duct tape.

 

“We’ve got to give the velvet back to Thanadir,” Lorna the Younger added. “So it needs to not have any cats on it, either.” No sooner had she spoken than Pumpkin leapt up onto the bed and flopped on it.

 

Ratiri lifted its contents, leaving the cat to shed assiduously on what was probably priceless fabric. In his hands was a dressing-gown, an absolutely gorgeous item of some heavy, deep green fabric he could not identify -- it wasn’t velvet, but it was even softer, and the shade of it caught the light as he shifted it. It was held together not by a tie, but by six carved wooden buttons edged in silver -- Siobhan’s work, probably -- and all over it were embroidered vines and trees of metallic thread.

 

“We figured if you were going to be stuck in PJ’s for an extended period’v time, you might as well have something pretty and warm,” Saoirse said. “And with a pattern and embroidery and shit, it won’t matter if the cats fuzz all over you -- it’ll blend in.”

 

Ratiri was temporarily speechless. He knew there had been a mammoth fight between all of them, even if the details of it were hazy, and tended to get lost half the time. That he would be given this, now -- this beautiful garment, that they’d obviously put so much work into… “You did the embroidery, didn't you?”

 

“I did,” she said. “And Aunt Siobhan made the buttons, and I think almost everyone had a hand sewing it, and Aunt Sharley wove the fabric.”

 

“Put it on, before you freeze,” Siobhan added. “That one you’ve got’s no good for this weather.” It was a black fleece thing that would probably do well in an Irish summer, but not this frigid winter.

 

Ratiri swapped it for his new one, and managed to button the buttons with only a little effort. The cats circled him like sharks, sniffing it, before turning their attention on the Donovan herd.

 

“That is disturbing,” Siobhan opined while watching the felines, before Ratiri folded her and Saoirse into a hug. They all got one, albeit very carefully, because he was too moved for words.

 

“Here, allanah, you’ve got a new hat to go with it.” Lorna hadn’t actually seen the robe before, but she knew the color scheme, and she’d knitted him a cashmere hat in different shades of brown and green.

 

Pat’s eyes widened when Ratiri swapped hats; Siobhan had said he’d had his head shaved, but it was still...startling. The scar on his head was brutal, and yet it looked as though it were partially faded.

 

“It’s close to dinner time, allanah,” Lorna said. “D’you want to go show off your new togs?” She knew that he needed rest and quiet, but she also tried to engage him in the life of the household, for the sake of mental stimulation. It wasn’t enough for her to sit in here and read to him, or for him to try to read himself, because his attention span was still not what one might call stellar, nor was his short-term memory.

 

“You know, I think I do,” he said, even as he felt tears spring to his eyes. They’d had to have worked so hard on this beautiful thing, and for him…

 

Lorna wrapped her arm around his waist. “Good. Try not to step on any cats.”

 

Out they went, down the corridor, and yes, the cats thundered after them, offering up a symphony of meowing. The fact that none of the voices commented on that was a bit...odd, and Lorna hoped they weren’t off plotting some fresh hell.

 

“Now remember, allanah, the sofa’s different now,” she said. “The whole room is, but the sofa’s easier for you to get on and off’v than one’v the poufs.”

 

“Pouf sounds too much like Puff,” he said. “It sounds like you’re talking about sitting on my cat.”

 

Pat and Siobhan glanced at each other. Lorna had warned them that his mind sometimes went off on odd tangents, and told them not to comment.

 

“Let’s have your cat sit on you,” she said, as they entered the Heart Room. “All right, everyone. Admire.” She didn't actually ask Ratiri to strut like he was on a catwalk, but the temptation was there.

 

“Ooooooh,” Ailill said. “I have pyjama envy now.”

 

 _Better that than the other kind,_ Earlene quipped silently, causing Thranduil to shake his head. Thanadir ignored the comment, oblivious.

 

“Those are very attractive,” Pengolodh agreed, looking up from reading Kant. Which, frankly, he did not mind looking up from in the least. At this moment, Ratiri was considerably more interesting, to his estimation. It was not really Kant’s fault, but rather that tonight he felt a little tired.

 

Ratiri flushed like a brick, and no words that made any sense actually left is throat -- just some vague murmuring that Lorna translated as “Thank you” before getting him settled onto the sofa. Naturally, the cats hopped up as well, ranging all around him.

 

Annwn, Lump in her arms, toddled over and placed the cat on his lap. “Lump,” she said, as though that made all the sense in the world.

 

Ratiri stroked the animal between her furry ears, while Eris, Sam, and Donna moved to sit around him.

 

“Once it’s warmer, you need to come see the autogyro, Uncle Ratiri,” Sam said. “Aunt Lorna, Aunt Sharley, and I, we’ve all been working on it out at Mick’s mechanic. We ought to be able to test it by sometime early next year.”

 

Ratiri looked at Lorna. “You’re actually building that thing?”

 

“Of course we are. It’d be good for aerial surveillance, too,” she said, poking him, very gently, in the side. “It’ll need a name, just like the cars.”

 

“What’re we naming my next one?” Earlene wanted to know, intrigued.

 

“That’s up to you,” Lorna said. “If you want to go on with the _Star Wars_ theme, or try out something new. Given what happened to Rogue One, it might not be a name to repeat.”

 

“You know, I don't remember the accident at all,” Ratiri said.

 

“It’s better that way,” Lorna said, settling in beside him. “I think our brains sort’v...blank that out...for a reason.” Fortunately, Chandra had been so little that she wouldn’t remember hers either way.

 

“Hm. Well in that case I’m torn between the Millennium Falcon and Kylo Ren, just because I feel like living on the edge. Let’s see what kind of personality it has first. If it feels angsty, the latter. If I have to hit anything inside to get it to work, the former.”

 

Lorna glanced at Thranduil, arching an eyebrow. She’d agreed to not play with it too much, whatever ‘it’ would eventually be, but she was not going to allow Earlene to drive anything that would require percussive maintenance to keep driving. “I’d consider Kylo Ren, then,” she said. “I won’t leave anything for you to need to whack.”

 

Strangely, there was no Kurt. She blinked, and glanced at Sharley, who appeared equally confused. Their eyes met, and they gave a collective shrug, but Lorna was almost unnerved.

 

“Your autogyro needs to be the Millennium Falcon,” Ratiri said. “And what’s cooking? It smells like marzipan.”

 

“Your senses are still banjaxed, allanah,” Lorna said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m not sure just what it is, but it’s not marzipan.”

 

“Chicken piccata,” Earlene said. “But what you’re probably smelling is the risotto scented steam exhausting the pressure cooker. To be fair, there are some almonds in it.”

 

“There,” he said, looking down at his wife, “my sense of smell isn’t _entirely_ banjaxed.”

 

“Just mostly,” she said, wrapping her arm around him.

 

Shane rolled his eyes. “Aunt Earlene, Aunt Mairead sent me home with some new biscuit recipe she says you’ve got to try. I figure we could make them tomorrow.”

 

“I got the stuff for the chocolate filling,” Chandra added. “It’s supposed to be like chocolate syrup, but thicker.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes, but didn't facepalm. Yes, even now, chocolate syrup was a big fat no-go for her, all thanks to Baker Siobhan.

 

“Oh, Lorna, relax. She means creme filling,” Earlene chuckled. “Behave or one’v these days I’ll surround you with your nemesis.”

 

“Oh, good Jesus…” Kurt should have been all over _chocolate creme filling_ , and yet still there was silence. What the hell? “You people.”

 

“There’s a story here, isn’t there?” Shane asked, eying his mother and his aunt.

 

“And I’m guessing it’s probably not one we want to know,” Chandra added.

 

Ratiri’s brow furrowed as his memory struggled to make sense of any of that, and then he burst into nearly silent laughter. “No, you probably don't,” he said.

 

“Eh, it wasn’t that exciting,” Earlene said. “Just people putting food to unspeakable uses. Anyway. I think we can all start sitting down for dinner.”

 

“Where is Sean?” Calanon asked younger Lorna. “I thought he might come tonight.”

 

The Lorna in question tried not to flush, but it was no good; she felt her face heat. “If you want the honest truth, he thought it’d be too awkward if he came,” she said. “We’ll meet up sometime after dinner instead.”

 

“It sounds like the pair’v you are getting serious,” Eris said.

 

“I think we might be,” the young woman said. “I mean...yeah. I think so.”

 

“You’re a bloody Donovan there,” Siobhan sighed. “The lad likes you, you like him, you’ve been going out for ages...have you talked about the future yet?”

 

“Um...not much.” Not at all, in fact, but Lorna the Younger was hardly going to admit _that_ at this table full of people. “We’ll get there.”

 

Lorna the Elder glanced at her brother and Grania, and then at Ratiri. “As long as it doesn’t take you literally five years,” she said. “Don't be as bad as your parents.”

 

Her niece looked at them, blatantly horrified by the comparison.

 

“I’ll be quiet after this, I know what it’s like to get unwanted advice,” Ailill said. “But...don’t waste time. Life is meant to be lived.” He looked adoringly at Calanon, and took his husband’s hand, smiling shyly.

 

“True that,” echoed Earlene. She would not have changed a thing, really. At least, not when it came to gaining her cherished relationships. “Not to mention, if you want to have children...don’t look at me as an example, I’m a freak. Most women’s fertility drops way off after thirty. You don’t know how long you’ve got left before that window closes.”

 

That thought was disturbing, because Lorna the Younger had no idea how Sean would feel about kids -- well, yeah, she did. They’d probably scare the shit out of him. In some ways, he hadn’t grown enough confidence in his ability to not be a fuckup...though that was something most of the Donovans shared, if not in quite the same way, so he shouldn’t feel too bad about it. His own father had been a piece of shit, even if he hadn’t been able to see it that way as a child, and she had only to look at her da to see the kind of insecurity that could leave a person with. If you didn't have a decent example growing up, you’d have to figure it out on the fly, but Sean was smart enough that she trusted he could do it. “Well, there’s food for unnerving thought,” she said, mostly to herself.

 

“They’re right, allanah,” Grania said. “Your da and I, we wasted so much time we’ll not get back.”

 

“You mean, _I_ wasted it,” Pat said. “None’v it would’ve been wasted at all if I hadn’t been such a gob--”

 

Siobhan kicked him under the table, hard, and jerked her head at Annwn. They’d all been trying to minimize her exposure to, well, Irish speech, at least for now.

 

“Well, you know what I mean.”

 

“I do,” Grania said, and gave his hand a squeeze, “but I could’ve made a move again long before you did. Though if you hadn’t given me such a sappy present for my birthday, I might not’ve anyway.”

 

“What did he get you?” Eris asked.

 

Grania gave her husband a look of simple, rather amused affection. “He’d kept the ticket stub from the first film we ever saw,” she said. “He framed it, and gave it to me for my birthday. Which more than made up for the fact that we’d been arrested earlier in the evening.”

 

“All right, _that_ I haven’t heard,” Siobhan said, staring at her brother. “Why haven’t I heard’v this?”

 

“I’ll fill you in later,” her sister-in-law promised. Poor Pat looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.

 

“Oh, you lot,” Earlene huffed. “It was just an unnecessary pinheaded bureaucratic overextension of authority.”

 

Thranduil blinked. “What she means in English is, Pat was pulled over on a whim and forgot his driver license at home. He’d done nothing wrong. There really is not much of a story.”

 

“You forgot -- you know what, I'm not surprised,” Siobhan said, shaking her head. “Well, at least it worked out.”

 

“I thought Lorna was going to murder him,” Ratiri said, laughing. “She’d let him borrow the Charger.”

 

Poor Pat facepalmed, but Grania just wrapped him in a hug. “I’d never been arrested before,” she said soothingly, rubbing his back. “I felt like a proper Donovan.”

 

Lorna and Siobhan both laughed so hard they nearly cried, whereas Ratiri simply met Pat’s eyes in silent sympathy. Yes, their world was getting back on its axis again.

 

**

 

{January 17, 2035}

 

“Case conference for the latter half of January, 2035,” Indira began. “Everyone is responsible for their own notes like usual,” she lilted in her charming Indian accent. The gathered medical staff, all physicians and nurses, did their best to keep to what they agreed were some of the better practices of medicine in the human world. Case Conference was an institution they elected to keep. Every physician came prepared with their patient overview. Support staff could ask any questions and learn clarifications--the first requirement was that all egos be checked at the door of the Halls. No one here was better or more elevated than the other based on who held a physician’s degree and who did not. Treatment plans were shared, advice might be sought, comparisons made. These conferences served multiple purposes. Ongoing education for physicians and nurses, exchange of current information regarding patient needs in the event any of them had to step in for one of the others, plus the coordination of patient care. Theirs was a heavy responsibility; their calling brought them into intimate knowledge of their friends’ and neighbors’ most personal struggles. Which was why nothing ever said at this table left the room, for any reason.

 

Ben Martin consulted his notes. He had grown up in Skykomish, so at least he had known people when he moved here, even if he hadn’t seen most of them in years. His sister Sheila had called him three years ago, and told him to get his ass to Ireland; instead, he and his wife had gone to Skykomish and asked if they were all insane. They weren’t, or at least not about this, so he and his (at the time) heavily pregnant wife had moved to Ireland. It had been an...education, to put it mildly. “We still have sixty-eight asthmatics to cure,” he said. “All the worst cases have been dealt with, but the milder conditions are still on the list.”

 

“All of our known heart ailments have been, as well,” his wife said. Her accent was rather heavily Russian, but not incomprehensibly so. “Almost everyone is through with screening, so by June we should know who and what else remains to be dealt with.”

 

Thranduil nodded, realizing that it was...time. “There is something of which I have to inform you all. This is something I have suspected for a little while, but recent events with Ratiri have borne out my surmises to the point that I feel far more certain. It has to do with my ability to heal humans. It would seem that my gifts flow very easily to those who belong to me, whether human or elven. Those sworn to my service, and I to their care, is what I mean specifically. I have experienced an increasing difficulty at being able to help others. It takes more of my energy, and has become...Earlene likens it to an aquifer. Once it was filled with water, but now much of that water has been used up. The aquifer still refills, but slowly. Leaving me to be very cautious about how to use what remains. I still have the ability to turn to my people for help, for aid when there is great need. But they are not...batteries, to be used on a whim.” He sighed. “Now you know.”

 

Angie shot him a look of pure sympathy. “We will manage, Thranduil,” she reassured. “You have to realize….we aren’t supposed to have you. That we ever had you, that is the real miracle. There are also positives to everything; this just further reinforces the necessity for everyone to care for their health as best they can, because now there is no quick fix. It will be alright.”

 

Nadia’s dark eyes tracked between the two. “And I would say most of us are not suited to be subjects,” she said. “It is…” she searched for the words. “We do not have the mentality. No, we are not like the Irish, who dislike monarchy, but most modern humans...Earlene and Ailill are very unusual. And I think making vows to you is more than just words, is it not? It must be something we want for the right reasons?”

 

“It is,” the King answered softly. “The closest comparison I have to it is...you have religious institutions, in which those who wish it commit themselves for life to a set of principles and a manner of living. While of course it is not precisely the same, the mentality is similar. We are a...it is like I am the father of a very large family; this is not simply a relationship devoid of feeling. Plus, you are correct; I would never accept the service of one who came to me lacking the proper motivation and understanding. I take no offense; I am aware of our differences.”

 

“Will we still be able to heal the last of our chronic patients?” Ben asked. “I’ll do some research into homeopathic treatments for asthma, but most homeopathy is dubious at best -- at least, for anything serious.” He did not want to have to tell their remaining patients that they were going to have to stock up on inhalers, and hope they didn't run out before they died, and he doubted anyone else did, either. “We still have years in which to do it, if we ration our medications.”

 

“Barring some unforeseen disaster, yes,” Thranduil answered. “Which is another point of concern. While not wishing to disrupt the flow of this meeting, my mind has been much on what happened here in the past year. One angry exchange resulted in a full-blown crisis for three adults, and a serious disruption to many others. I am worried about our ability to weather similar occurrences once more serious stressors arrive in our lives. Those of you who care for the mental health of others also are not an unlimited resource.” His gaze drifted between Angie, Juana and a few of the others.

 

“We aren’t,” Angie said grimly, “but I'm not certain what to do about that. All the physicians have taken psychiatry courses, but that’s not the same thing as specializing. It takes a certain temperament to go into mental health, just like any branch of medicine, and we’re going to have to try to recruit as time goes on. I’ve stockpiled all the teaching material I can get my hands on, but until we find people of a certain bent, it’ll have to remain the few of us.”

 

“A bad psychiatrist or therapist can do a great deal of damage,” Juana added. She was a small woman, but she had a surprisingly strong voice. “Some people have a bad experience the first time around, and they’re turned off the whole idea forever. If you feel like you can’t trust your psychiatrist, you won’t be freely honest with them, and it won’t do any good.”

 

“And I hate to say this, given everything that’s happened to the poor man, but Ratiri’s a good example of someone with basic training not actually being any good at it,” Angie added. “I think everyone who really knows Chandra has always known there’s something wrong with her, but he seemed to chalk it up to her mother’s side of the family. Admittedly, it took me a very long while to find a diagnosis that fit, but he was unwilling to put her on medication until she reached adulthood.”

 

Indira snorted. “And if he wasn’t in such poor shape still, I’d tear him a new one over it. How is she doing?”

 

“It’s difficult for her,” Angie said. “The medication is helping, at least, but I still don't think I've found quite the right combination. I thought about putting her into inpatient therapy, in hopes of allowing her to bond with others in her situation.”

 

“Why did you decide against it?” Ben asked.

 

Angie sighed. “Because a large part of her problem is her inability to...shut things out. She can’t ignore the fact that the outer world is going to collapse in two years, and she’s often consumed and occasionally overwhelmed by the knowledge that everyone she meets out there is going to die horribly in very little time at all. The _last_ thing we want is for her to bond with outsiders.”

 

“I almost think it will be easier for her, once the plague has passed,” Indira said thoughtfully. “It will be over. There will be nothing to dread.”

 

 _Until the next thing comes along,_ Thranduil thought morosely, though he kept that pessimism to himself.

 

“Where is Patrick Donovan at?” Indira wanted to know. “He seemed to be doing better, and has the family been making any progress at learning about coping skills?”

 

“They have,” Angie said, “but it’s slow going. I could write an entire treatise on that family. They’re easily the most damaged people I've ever worked with, but Pat is recovering. His family are supportive, and I think helping Ratiri has been helping him as well. The therapy sessions with him, Lorna, and Siobhan, however...well, we’re getting _somewhere_. I’m just not sure where.

 

“I want to talk to Ratiri eventually, because his own childhood contributed a great deal to how he handled this situation -- and he couldn’t see it at all. Unfortunately, his short-term memory right now is still too poor for me to think it would be a good idea just yet.”

 

Indira sighed, and shook her head. “You know what? We have the opportunity to do better than this. We are sparing no effort to educate our community about the importance of understanding the fundamentals of physical health, trying to counteract the ignorance and oversight of what the outer world never prioritized--young persons being taught about the workings and care of their own bodies. Why are we not doing the same for emotional health? Teaching about emotions and coping skills and interpersonal relationships?”

 

Everyone in the room looked at everyone else in the room as though this was the most novel idea ever, because no it had not occurred to a single person there--including Thranduil. Smiling, Indira decided to press on while the concept settled.  “Alright. Next up I have one of the Dooley children, who had a simple fracture of the left tibia after running and tripping in the lower Halls…”

 

**

 

Ratiri was beyond frustrated. His memory was such that returning to work as a doctor wasn’t an option, which left him with only teaching to fall back on. That wouldn’t be a hardship if he didn't have at least five Derp moments every day. All the _knowledge_ was still there, but unless he took detailed notes, he would forget, from day to day, what he’d already taught the day before.

 

The Sullivan kids were patient with him, at least; knowing them, they’d probably researched traumatic brain injuries. They also likely saw right through his question-based approach, but they were nice enough not to say anything. “All right, who can name me the chambers of the heart?” he asked, even as he fed a little more wood into the rocket heater.

 

Unsurprisingly, Andaer raised his hand, while Lancaeron and Erynion had far more phlegmatic expressions. Looking side to side, he rolled his eyes at his less motivated siblings.

 

“All right, Andaer, let’s hear it,” Ratiri said, unable to suppress a smile.

 

“The two atria and the two ventricles,” he piped. “Thump thump.”

 

“What?” Lancaeron asked.

 

“That’s what it sounds like when the blood moves between the chambers,” Andaer countered. “Thump thump.”

 

Lancaeron rolled his eyes. Poor Uncle Ratiri meant well but Valar, this was boring

 

“He’s not wrong,” Ratiri said, and paused. “Here, all of you, place your fingers like this.” He pressed his index finger and middle finger over his pulse. “When I say ‘go’, start counting, and when I say ‘stop’, stop.” He waited for them all to find their place, and said, “All right, go.”

 

Three little heads lowered and counted silently to themselves.

 

“And, stop,” he said, after ten seconds. “All right, right down your numbers, and then let’s go run around in the woods.” Yes, it was cold, but they were peredhel. It was hardly going to hurt them, and the triplets especially looked like they could use a break.

 

15, 16, and 15 were dutifully written down, and they followed Ratiri as they were asked to.

 

“Coats, everyone, even though I doubt you’ll need them,” he said, shrugging into his own. “One lap ought to do it, but I won’t even try to keep up with you.” Yes, he was far taller than any of them, but they could run around on the trees and he could not.

 

It was even colder outside than he’d thought, so cold it nearly took his breath, but it was good to be outside for a moment...except he’d forgotten what the point of this was meant to be. Shit. Hopefully something would jog his memory before he had to own up to it.

 

The children dutifully raced each other around the greenhouse. “Why we doin’ this, Andaer?” Lancaeron asked. Both of Thranduil’s sons routinely looked to Thanadir’s child as a greater source of wisdom.

 

“I dunno,” the boy rolled his eyes. “If we’re really lucky, Uncle Ratiri remembers. Just play along, ‘kay? I’ll talk to adar tonight.”

 

“Yeah,” Erynion muttered as they worked their way around the track back to Uncle Ratiri. “Do we keep running?” he wanted to know.

 

Ratiri arched an eyebrow. These kids… “Once more, if you’d like. By then I might have caught up with you.” Honestly, right now he almost wished he could hear Sharley’s voices. At least they could remind him of things. “If I haven’t, go on back into the school room, and I'll explain.” Hopefully.

 

Somehow, the children kept their faces neutral as they repeated their course of running. “He forgot again,” hissed Erynion.

 

“I know that,” Andaer said. “But if we say that he’ll feel bad. He’s not right. His brain got hurt. We hafta remember how lucky we are, that can’t really happen to us. Adar says we have to show com...com…”

 

“Compassion,” Lancaeron guessed, sighing. The running was effortless, for these boys. “I just wish compassion wasn’t so boring.”

 

“We’re almost done, we can manage. Whatever...it is.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Ratiri managed to beat them back to the classroom, but barely, and then he took a slightly panicked look at their papers. Numbers...heart rate! Bingo. Okay, he could do this. Once the kids had made it back inside, he said, “All right, now we’re going to do the same thing -- count, then write it down, then multiply both numbers by six. Go.”

 

The numbers 19, 20 and 21 were dutifully written down on the papers, as the three children looked up, trying not to reveal in their faces how sorry they felt for him.

 

“That first number is your resting heartbeat -- everyone’s is different. It elevates with activity to pump extra oxygen into your muscles -- the harder you push yourself, the faster your heart will beat. None of you need to worry about doing yourself an injury through overexertion, at least.” He eyed them, and how very bored they looked. “And in the interest of keeping you all awake, I’m going to give you another assignment: go outside and play. Push yourselves. Come back in here every so often so we can take your pulse again.”

 

“Okay,” one of the boys said obediently. Once outside the conversation continued. “This is awful, ‘Daer. Might as well just sit here, or go hang out at the barn. Doesn’t matter what we do, the number’s gonna be about the same.”

 

“I know,” his brother answered morosely. “You’re right. Let’s at least go watch the chickens or something.”

 

“Yeah.” Off they scuttled, but not before Andaer reached out with a rather well-framed request to  Ada Thranduil. About fifteen minutes later, Thanadir appeared at the classroom door, a little tight-lipped.

 

“Pardon this intrusion,” the elf began. “It seems there was a mistake in scheduling the lessons, and that the triplets were supposed to be with Maglor just now for music. How badly will it disrupt your instruction if they go to him? I can always inform him that the boys cannot attend.”

 

“No, go on ahead,” Ratiri said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I sent them outside to play so they could get their heart rates up, and I could pretend I was still teaching school.”

 

Thanadir elected not to ask, and three elated boys whooped through the woods on their way to the Halls. Uncle Maglor was looooooaaaads better than poor Uncle Ratiri. But later that night, they met with their parents.

 

“I want you to understand something,” Thranduil said, placing his arms around all three of their shoulders. “I cannot and will not always rescue you from a boring lesson. But the reason I did, this time, is because of how kind you were to Ratiri even when it was not easy for you to do so. We are all proud of you, for this. And we will also see what can be managed, because this is not fair to your learning. However. I will ask that while he gets better, you will continue to try. Perhaps we can have another adult help him, so that this cannot keep occurring.”

 

“Yes, Ada Thranduil,” came the respectful answers, as the boys hugged him before scurrying off.

 

Earlene shook her head. “I just may have to help teach science. Pen and Maglor already have full schedules, and so do most of the other physicians in the Halls. And Thranduil, I do not think this is your idea of fun.”

 

“I would prefer to stay out of it,” he agreed. “And not because of anything about whether or not it is enjoyable. More of a...I am still supposed to be a King.”

 

“There is no ‘supposed to be’,” Thanadir said, frowning. “We will find a way. Really this is a small thing.”

 

“What is that saying you have, Earlene? Death by a thousand cuts?” Thranduil teased.

 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”  
  
**

{April 11, 2035}

 

“Well, I will miss you both, again,” Earlene smiled, nuzzling each of them. Surely this time had to go better than last.

 

Thanadir smiled. “I am certain that everything will be fine, meldis.” He held her tightly, covering her forehead in kisses. They were departing for their long-deferred vacation in the Forest of Dean, attempt number two.

 

“I love you,” she told him, brushing his cheeks and taking in the depths of his hazel eyes. Closing her own, for the zillionth time she thanked the Valar for all their blessings, and her mates. Her love for them ran very deep. Thranduil was already massaging half of Thanadir’s bottom, causing him to blush.

 

“None of that,” he said, swatting the hand away. “We have a long drive ahead.”

 

“As if I do not recall that part?” he chided. “You always make me wait,” he grumbled lightly.

 

“It is good for you,” Thanadir smiled back, pleased. “You will enjoy me more for the wait. And I will make it worth your while.”

 

“Because that won’t leave me in an unenviable state for the next ten hours,” Thranduil laughed.

 

“You still have me, and all your luggage is still in this room,” Earlene hinted. Hey, it never hurt to try. “It isn’t like you need very long.”

 

Thranduil looked off, considering. The seneschal snorted, shook his head, and chuckled as he grabbed two of their bags and headed to the car--going out the French doors and leaving the house entrance to their room securely locked. “You are sure?” he whispered, grinding himself against her hip.

 

“Sure? I’m timing you. And the clock is ticking.”

 

Laughing, her skirts were out of the way faster than she would have believed possible even for him. What happened in the course of the next forty-five seconds involved the smoothest part of their bedroom wall, no small amount of kissing so as to muffle each other’s noises, and two formerly ordered people clinging to each other as perspiration beaded on their foreheads and each struggled for air after they had strained against each other in a furious culmination of passion.

 

“I still say Alassëa was insane,” Earlene murmured. “Just, _daaaaaamn,_ Thranduil.”

 

He chuckled into her dark hair. “Or maybe she thought she was _quite_ sane, getting away from this.” Sated for the moment, he slipped out of her with a peck to her cheek, and sought a washcloth.

 

“Maybe, but don’t ask me to understand who would want to,” she commented, more than a little dazed, moving into their restroom to clean up. That had been....perfect. Completely perfect. With afterglow, and everything.

 

Exiting, she tried to un-muss her hair. This did not fool Thanadir in the least. “Thank you,” he said conspiratorially. “Now, we might make it across the Channel before he gets more ideas.”

 

“Did you plan that?” Earlene accused.

 

“Maybe,” the old elf grinned. “I love you, but you _are_ a little predictable.”

 

Earlene shrugged. What could she say? “Fair enough. Just use your state of grace to drive carefully.”

 

“I always do. I love you, and we will see you soon.”

 

Waving them both out of the room, she did not follow them outside to the car. No, for the next few moments, she sat in an armchair with an utterly sophomoric grin on her face, and enjoyed the memory.

 

*****

 

{April 13, 2035}

 

It was a chilly, misty morning, but it looked as though the fog would burn off before noon. Still, Lorna had on her sturdy leather overcoat, determined to keep warm until the weather decided to cooperate. Plowing took effort, but it wasn’t exactly cardio, so one had to wear a few layers.

 

The stables were busy, because she wasn’t the only one who would be out ploughing today, and the jingle of harness and squeak of leather was strangely musical. Her horse today was a big Irish Draught named Tiny, who seemed calm enough not to mind his ridiculous handle -- he was so huge she needed a step-stool to even reach his neck, and even then it could be tricky to harness him. He was black, with a blaze of white and white forelegs, and she gave him a scratch between the ears before gently easing the collar over his head, mindful of his ears.

 

 _If only you could see me now, Gran,_ she thought, buckling on the tracers. This was how Gran’s generation had done shite, when she was young, and it was no wonder they all looked wiry and half-starved -- it wasn’t just the scarcity of food, it was the fact that farming without automated machinery was a hell of a lot of work.

 

On went the saddle -- although why it was called that, Lorna didn't know, because it didn't look like any kind of riding saddle -- just behind Tiny’s withers. She hoped Ratiri would do all right today; it was his first proper day back at work, and they were finishing up the clinic. It was a far cry from what he’d been afraid they’d be dealing with, eighteen years ago; technology had advanced to the point that they could have an outfit that would, after the end, run at a very basic late 20th century level. It was amazing what modern sources of energy could do.

 

Still, she knew he’d been nervous, and she was nervous on his behalf, because she knew how frustrated he’d been as he slowly regained his cognitive function. It meant she wasn’t paying as much attention as she ought to, when she went to find the reins (because of course they weren’t with the rest of the fucking tack). “Bloody Christ, does nobody put anything away around here?” she grumbled, passing behind Tiny. “Give me a moment, mate. Don't go trying to wander off looking for second breakfast.”

 

She wasn’t quite sure what happened next; all of a sudden she was on the ground, pain exploding through the left side of her head. Her vision greyed out, fuzzing at the edges, and she blinked, hard. Red-hot agony spread out from her left temple, radiating down through her neck, her arm, her back, and it was just about the worst thing she could remember feeling.

 

“Jack, call for the docs,” one of the Baile old-timers said, who limped over after seeing the whole thing unfold. “Poor lass did an eejit behind ol’ Tiny.”

 

“Ohhh. He mighta thought she were a fly,” Jack opined, shaking his head sadly. “Been havin’ damn horseflies ‘round here lately, fekkin’ cunts.” Well, he was old, but he could still use a mobile.

 

Lorna blinked again. The pair of them sounded like she was hearing them underwater, the ringing in her head too loud to allow for any greater clarity. She tried to get up -- well, she _thought_ about getting up; her limbs utterly refused to cooperate. It was like her entire body had turned to very painful Jell-O.

 

 _“At least you didn't land in horse shit,”_ Layla said, genuinely trying to be helpful.

 

“Shit...Lorna, don't move.” Declan hadn’t seen it, but he’d heard it, and he hurried over, stripping off his flannel shirt. “Don't try to get up -- god knows what that might have done to your neck.” To his immense surprise, however, there was no blood. A head wound like that ought to be bleeding like a stuck pig, but the skin wasn't broken anywhere. What the fuck?

 

She blinked, but didn't otherwise respond, and now he was really worried. “Lorna, can you hear me?”

 

Another blink, but while there was no verbal response, she gave him a thumb’s-up. Well, that was good at least. She heard and she understood, and she could use her hand, so at least her neck wasn’t broken.

 

It took less than ten minutes for Alan and Ben to arrive, and most of that had come from loading up the backboard and collar. They needed an actual ambulance, because although this was a small community, this was probably not the only such accident they were likely to see in the future.

 

“You get the C-collar on, I’ll talk to her,” Ben told Alan. “So Lorna, can you tell me what happened?” he asked. She tried to shake her head no, but Ben quickly reached to stabilize her head. _Jesus, that was close._ “Ah-ah, no moving your head, young lady,” he admonished. “You can’t tell me what happened? Do you know what day it is, Lorna?”

 

Again, a thumbs-up sign. Alan frowned. “Lorna, can you understand us but not speak?”

 

Another thumbs-up.

 

 _Shit_ , Ben mouthed, out of the line of her sight, to Alan, who nodded. That part was true enough.

 

“Can any’v you tell me what happened?” Ben asked.

 

“Aye,” Jack piped up helpfully. “She got ‘er head in the way’v Tiny’s hoof. Good solid whack too, eh John?” he asked his friend.

 

“Yep. Nice one,” the old man agreed. “ ‘ee tought she were a bitin’ fly, I’ll wager.”

 

Lovely.

 

Lorna didn't resist the collar, nor did she try move when they loaded her onto the back board. She still felt like a noodle, and was for once in her life entirely pliant. Tiny had kicked her in the head, huh? _See if I ever give you any extra oats again, you ingrate,_ she thought muzzily. It was weird, because although her head hurt like an absolute bastard, it seemed to be...muffled. Distant. The feeling of being underwater persisted, except it was not at all scary.

 

She blinked once she was loaded into the back of the car -- whose car, or even _what_ car, she wasn’t sure. _They should use the Mystery Machine for an ambulance, later._ The thought came floating out of the ether of her mind, but it wasn’t a bad one. The poor van should be used for something, and...she lost her train of thought, but still.

 

“We’re taking you to the Halls, Lorna, to take some nice pictures and see what all happened with your noggin, okay?” Ben said to her, while Alan prepared to drive. “You still with us?” He was not about to let her fall asleep on him.

 

Another thumb’s-up was all she could manage, but at least she could manage it. Her limbs, her fingers, even her _toes_ were tingling. It was weird as hell, but not entirely unpleasant. Just...alien.

 

Over the CB, Indira said, “I’m not proud of this, but I’ve locked Ratiri out of the clinic. CT is prepped and ready to go.”

 

Alan tried not to wince. There was a reason doctors didn't treat their own families, and poor Ratiri had his own issues in the brain department. His memory-span had improved enormously, but he was still not where he’d once been. “Copy that,” he said. “We’ll be there in about ten.”

 

Lorna shut her eyes. Poor Ratiri. She’d have to give him a hug, once she had more than the strength of a wet dishrag.

 

Once at the terminus of the stables, elves took over carrying Lorna to the proper room. Ordinarily the farm utility vehicles on which Lorna was currently being transported would be forbidden this far into the stables, but medical emergencies were an obvious exception. As soon as could be managed, someone would return it to the farm, but for now here it would sit. Alan and Ben followed right behind the backboard, Ben occasionally asking Lorna this or that to ensure her continued presence.

 

She hunted for words, wanting to reassure him, but nothing actually came out. At least a thumb’s-up was a pretty good universal indication of ‘okay’. She was, however, getting rather sleepy, even through the pain, and winced when she yawned.

 

Angie had actually hustled Ratiri away from the clinic entirely, under threat of Sharley throwing him over her shoulder and just walking off like that. It meant Alan and Ben had unimpeded access to the door.

 

The clinic was rather impressive, all things considered. It was as modern a facility as one could actually manage, given what they had to work with: everything ran off of industrial batteries, which could be taken out and re-charged at the solar panels as needed. It was the one place in the Halls that had any wiring, Thranduil having relented out of necessity; wireless power did exist, but it would have been dicy in this kind of medical setting.

 

The vast room, which was almost more of a small hall of its own, was divided into three sections: hospital, surgery, and lab. It had eighty dedicated beds, with room for another hundred, a surgical table, autoclave, X-Ray machine, an ultrasound machine, even a Siemens CT Scanner, which used quite a lot less electricity than a standard piece of equipment. The trade-off was that it wasn’t as powerful, but it was far better than nothing.

 

“Alright m’dear, do you have any problems with claustrophobia? We need to pass you through the Holey Donut here, and it’s going to be a little noisy. But you won’t feel a thing, I promise. We just have to remove your jewelry, because we don’t need you floating away.”

 

Lorna wiggled her fingers, letting Alan slip off both her wedding rings. Her eyes squinched shut when Indira took her nose ring out. She’d never had a CT scan, but she’d seen what they looked like on TV, and although small spaces didn't thrill her, she wasn’t afraid of them.

 

What she did _not_ appreciate was how loud the damn thing turned out to be. The volume level made her cringe, and the bright light had her shutting her eyes against the glare. _Oh, stop this ride, I want to get off._ The words were there, but they weren’t finding their way out into the world.

 

“Almost done, you’re doing great,” came the voice over a speaker--of course it did, only her head was being exposed to whatever it was photon beams that made this thing run. Which probably wasn’t photon beams but sure as fuck, that sounded better. Moments later, it was over and she was being moved somewhere else.

 

Lorna yawned again, and cringed. She at least managed to swallow the large, bitter pill they gave her -- presumably a painkiller of some sort.

 

“No falling asleep on us yet, Lorna,” Nuala said, searching for a wound and finding none. Just...what? “Alan, come look at this. There’s no...well, anything. The skin isn't broken anywhere.”

 

Lorna couldn’t respond in words, but she flipped Nuala off, yawning yet again. Sleep sounded better than anything else right now, but she wondered how Nuala didn't know about her...well, gift from Manwë. Then again, how many people had she actually _told_? Right now her fuzzy brain couldn’t remember, but obviously Nuala was not among them.

 

If only she could tell them right now, god dammit. All sorts of words rose in her mind, but she couldn’t give voice to any of them; even with the rush of painkiller through her veins, it was odd, and totally unpleasant.

 

“Angie told me about this,” Alan said. “Her skin’s impervious -- it’s why we had to give her a pill instead of a line. Though we should clean this off anyway.” He touched the grime in her hair, and she winced a little; no, she wasn't cut, but a kick was a kick, and she’d have a fantastic bruise later.

 

Nuala fetched some water, disinfectant soap, and wet wipes, wondering just what in mother fuck Alan meant -- and how the hell Lorna had got that way. Even the Elves couldn’t do that to a person, but now was not the time to ask.

 

“All right,” Indira said, as they tidied their mess, “who wants to go and get Ratiri?”

 

A chuckle went around the room at the obvious fact that no one was volunteering. “Fine,” Ben said drily, giving Lorna one last visual inspection. “Coming right up.”

 

“He should be with Angie, in her and Alan’s flat,” Indira said. “She can help you, if you need it -- though probably he’ll just try to run right back here.”

 

Ben nodded, and disappeared. “Alright, Lorna,” Indira said, rolling her eyes. “Are you ready for Ratiri to drive you bonkers and start fussing? Don’t worry, I intend to sit on him if he is obnoxious.”

 

Lorna laughed, and okay, at least _that_ made a sound. When she tried to actually say something, however, there was still nothing -- it would have still frustrated her if she hadn’t been high as balls.

 

 _“I'm gonna go get Sharley,”_ Sinsemilla said, utterly bewildered by what she was seeing in Lorna’s mind. There was plenty going on, but none of it was actually getting out.

 

**

 

Ratiri was being such a pest that Sharley eventually gave up, knocked him onto the sofa (nearly mashing his face into the cushions) and sat on him. “Nope,” she said. “You’re not going anywhere. I can actually change my body mass, you know.”

 

That temporarily distracted him. “Wait, really?”

 

Angie rolled her eyes, because, well, _Ratiri._

 

“Yes, really. Calm down. This isn’t what happened to you, Ratiri.”

 

A knock came to the door. “She can have visitors now,” Ben said in a raised voice, knowing it might be easiest. Who even knows what Sharley was managing, bless her heart.

 

Sharley rose, but grabbed Ratiri before could just hurry off. Annwn giggled at her, and grabbed him, too. “Don't crowd her, don't pester her, and don't be surprised when she doesn’t talk to you,” she said. “She can’t talk right now, and if you keep asking her a billion questions, she’ll just get frustrated and pissed off.”

 

He blinked at her. “What do you mean, she can’t talk? You mean she can’t say anything at all?”

 

“Nope,” she said. “I’m not sure why yet, but we’ll figure that out. Meanwhile, she’s also stoned off her gourd, so let’s go cheer her up.”

 

She all but marched him out the door, Annwn in her arms. Ben visibly tried not to laugh at the poor man’s expression, which really did look a bit...harassed. Sinsemilla had told her that Lorna was lucid, and didn't appear to have sustained any kind of major physical damage. Worry could wait.

 

Indira met them at the clinic door. “Remember, Ratiri,” she said, glowering up at him, “don't harass her. Nadia’s got the CT results, at least. I’m going to go call Earlene, and if I come back and find you’ve upset your wife in any way, I'm going to shove you in that supply closet and leave you there overnight.”

 

That made him blink, because he knew she might just do it. “...Okay,” he said.

 

“Good. She’s in there -- Nuala, go with him.”

 

Nuala rolled her eyes, but off she went. “She’s not kidding, you know,” she said. “She’ll make you very unhappy.”

 

“Oh, I don't doubt it. She’s rather like my mam, that way.”

 

Lorna was asleep, but before he could say anything to her, Nadia appeared behind him, tapping on his shoulder. “Come with me,” she said. Ratiri looked at her carefully, and found he couldn’t read her expression at all. Oh, she was good.

 

She was a rather short woman, yet he had to jog a little to keep up with her when she led him and Nuala back to the lab. “Do you want good news, or bad news?”

 

“Since I’m going to get both anyway, let’s go with the good news,” he said, anxiety rising within him.

 

“The good news is, no broken bones beyond a skull fracture,” she said. “Lorna will be in traction for a while, but her neck is fine.”

 

Ratiri sighed with relief. A neck injury had been one of his bigger fears. “And the bad news?”

 

“Come here.” She led him to the station attached to the CT machine, which contained two digital screens. “See here, this dark patch on the left side? The inferior frontal gyrus? This is damage, and I think quite a bit of it. I am not a neurologist, but I think this is why she can’t speak right now. Anything further will have to wait until she wakes again.” They couldn’t know anything with greater depths without an MRI machine, and there was simply no way to run one with the power they had available to them. This model of CT machine had been specially designed for use in developing nations, but there was no comparable MRI unit -- and unfortunately, because Lorna was supposed to be dead, they couldn’t take her to a hospital to get it checked. This time, they were solely limited to what they had available within these Halls, but at least it was good practice for a time when the outside world no longer existed.

 

**

 

Indira already knew her eejit cousin was probably going to be a pest, so she’d get this out of the way. Nobody who wasn’t med staff knew that mobiles worked in the Halls, so she didn't make this call in the open; she ducked into another storeroom before she rang Earlene.

 

“Indira?” Earlene answered, gaining that special queasy feeling. “Why do I think you are not calling to invite me to tea?”

 

“There’s been a bit’v an accident,” Indira said, “and I might need to ask you to look after Supri for a little while. A horse kicked Lorna in the head this morning when she was hitching up to go to the fields. Fortunately she wasn’t seriously hurt -- a minor skull fracture -- but she can’t speak, and that has all of us a bit worried. Ratiri’s doing his best to not be useless.”

 

“Right...I can do that. Supri’s with Pengolodh in class just now and...I’ll take care of her. Just figure she and Aunt Earlene will have a slumber party as long as needs be. Are you going to tell Chandra and Shane or should I? And...Indira, is this something Thranduil needs to come home for? I really hope not, but if I have to call him I will.”

 

“Sharley and Angie will tell the twins,” Indira said. “Sharley can sit on either of them, if she has to. Apparently she had to sit on Ratiri. And...I would say no, Thranduil doesn’t need to come home. Lorna isn’t in any immediate danger, and if her speech centers truly are damaged, it isn’t like it won’t wait. She’ll just be blitzed on painkillers until they get home.”

 

“Thank god. If I had to interrupt that vacation again I’d never be able to say the words Forest of Dean for the rest of my life.” She massaged her forehead. “Alright, I’ll manage things here and see about Supri. Does she look okay enough for Supri to see her if she wants to?”

 

“I would say so,” Indira said. “She has an ice pack strapped on the left side of her head, but it might be better if Supri sees her before the bruising really sets in. She’s lucky she didn't get kicked in the face, or they’d likely still be picking up her teeth.”

 

“True…alright I’ll let you go, thanks for the call.” As she hung up the mobile, she pondered, not for the last time, that a shot of whisky would be utterly worthless to her. “Oh well,” she muttered, and went to set up their bedroom to make it welcoming for a young one.

 

Indira returned to the clinic, where Ratiri was hovering over his snoozing wife, but at least he hadn’t actually woken her up. Maybe this would be good for him, if he could be kept from driving Lorna spare in the meantime. He’d been feeling so frustrated, but keeping Lorna from getting up and doing something stupid would be a full-time job in and of itself.

 

Oh, she hoped whatever damage had been done to Lorna’s speech centers wasn’t bad, nor permanent. That she comprehended what was said to her was a good sign, at least. Indira was not about to say _It could be worse_ , however, because she knew better than to tempt the Universe like that.

 

**

 

“Supri, you and I are going to be spending some time together,” Earlene said kindly, kneeling down to speak to the child. “You mam got a bit banged up and had to go see the doctors.”

 

“Uh-oh,” the girl said, looking up at her aunt rather anxiously. “Was there a car?” Her da was getting better, sure, but a car had done a lot to him, and she didn't know what she’d do if another one had done something to Mam.

 

“Not exactly. This time it was a horse. She’s not going to die, everything’s fine that way. But she did get kicked in the head, so, I think you can guess that doesn’t feel good. You need to understand something about me, Supri. I’ll never tell you stuff to make you feel better or try to hide the truth from you. It’s ok to worry some about her, but no more than ‘some.’ No freaking out. I would not tell you your mam is okay if she wasn’t, even if I knew it would be hard for you to hear it. We’d just work it out together, like we will now. Okay?”

 

Supri regarded her carefully. She trusted Aunt Earlene not to be like Aunt Mairead, who would specifically Not Say Something (as opposed to just ordinary not-saying, which was a lot less annoying). “Is she coming home tonight?”

 

“No way,” Earlene smiled. “Which is why you and I are going to have a slumber party. But you can go see her, if you want. Though I have to warn you, they probably gave her medication for her head hurting, so who even knows if she’s awake.”

 

“We have to make sure to feed all the kitties,” Supri said. “Da still forgets sometimes. Or he forgets, and feeds them twice. Mam says it’s no wonder they’re getting fat again.” She bit her lip. “You’re like...totally sure she’s not going to be like Da? Did the doctors tell you so?”

 

“What, a space cadet? That part I can’t say, because I haven’t seen her yet myself. I just know that she isn’t going anywhere. Now, no stirring up imagined things to worry about. You can worry if and when you know something. Not before. Now we can go feed the cats, and then decide what to do.”

 

Pengolodh watched this exchange with sympathy, unable to avoid overhearing it. Fortunately, he had not assigned the child more than reading practice; she would have enough trouble with just that.

 

“Okay,” Supri said, slightly steadier. “Can we make biscuits to take to Mam? She’d probably like some, and I know how to help with those. I’ve helped Shane before.”

 

“Yes, we can,” Earlene smiled. “Do you know which kind you would like to make?” She winked at Pen, who moved past her to exit the classroom with a knowing smile.

 

“Shane found a recipe for chocolate chip with marshmallows,” the girl said. “I don't think they’d be too hard. Mam likes chocolate chip and Da likes marshmallows, and I know he’s going to eat like half’v them if she’s not careful.” She paused. “Does Shane know about this yet? Him and Chandra? Chandra’s got medicine now, but everybody worries some anyway. Mam says she’s still got issues, they just don't have a capital I anymore. Whatever that means.”

 

“Sharley is going to talk to your siblings. And what that means is, your sister is doing better than she was in the past, but still has a lot of difficulties to overcome. But back to the cookies, we need to make the marshmallow first, unless you have a secret stash of them that I don’t know about.”

 

Oh good. Aunt Sharley could sit on them if she had to. “I wish,” Supri said, giggling. “Da has marshmallow radar.” She hopped off her seat, and added, “I’d race you to the kitchen but I know I’d lose.” Mam had said that unlike Shane and Chandra, she’d probably inherited the Donovan short gene, which was kind of a pain; she was nearly eight, but she was a lot smaller than any of the triplets. Yeah, all of them had really tall das, but so did she, and her head barely reached any of their shoulders.

 

Earlene knew it would take quite a while to sort all of the cookie business, because there was not really any such thing as chocolate-chip marshmallow; it was more like, marshmallow entombed by cookie. Because marshmallows would sizzle up and melt in the heat of the oven, so each and every bit of white goo had to be perfectly coated in dough. Honestly, it gave the poor child something to do as well as a challenge. These were fun cookies, but tedious. Thank Eru, Thanadir was gone or there would simply be No Cookies. Hours later, their creations were boxed and ready to go (wisely, Supri had agreed that keeping four or five for herself at Eldamar might not go amiss).

 

Supri shrugged into her coat and grabbed her boots, stuffing her feet into them with effort. “Aunt Earlene, are you the one I’m reading to at night? I’m supposed to read to someone every night for a little bit. Uncle Pen says reading out loud is good for the mind.” Her da had agreed, saying it kept the brain elastic, but she didn't even want to think about her brain being like a rubber band. No thanks.

 

“Yes, that is what we will be doing. Uncle Pen is very intelligent, and quite right.”

 

Supri giggled as they plunged out into the cool April air. “Atia says he won’t let Mam teach English anymore, ’cause once she called it a mongrel bastard’v a language. I think she’s happier teaching Irish anyway, because she says Uncle Thranduil can’t pronounce it right. Uncle Pat says that just means other people can actually understand him.” She didn't splash in a puddle, though she really wanted to; it was a nice big one, and it spread halfway across the path.

 

“That would probably all be true,” Earlene rolled her eyes, imagining how that must have played out. “It sounds like you have learned to listen to everyone.”

 

“You can learn all kinds’v stuff when you listen,” Supri said, looking up at her aunt. “Especially when people don't know you’re doing it. I mean, Uncle Thranduil knows because he always knows where I am, but I’m sneaky.” She grinned. “I’m small, I can fit in really tight spaces.”

 

“Hm. Have you ever thought about learning to be even sneakier?” Earlene asked, seeing an interesting opportunity.

 

“You mean like, Elf-sneaky? Because that would be brilliant,” Supri said. “Lethal, even.”

 

“That is exactly what I mean. Have you ever seen it?”

 

“Not from an actual Elf, no. Mam showed me how she does it, but she said she’s not quite as good as an Elf, because she couldn’t…” Supri frowned, trying to remember exactly what her mam had said, “she can’t defy the laws’v bloody physics.”

 

“Maybe she can’t, but you could. Want to try?”

 

The girl blinked. “But I’m human,” she said. “That’s why Mam says she can’t do it. We weigh what we weigh, so skinny branches aren’t going to hold us.”

 

“That is because your mam would never listen to what was explained to her. She is older, and did not train her body when she was young to run. What the elves do is not easy, that part is true. But I learned all of it as a human being, and you could too. Elves weigh what they weigh too; there is no defying physics involved. There is, however, a lot of strength and coordination and special learning. Believing that something cannot be done is usually the first step to guaranteeing that outcome.”

 

Supri turned this over in her mind. “Can you walk on snow like the Elves do, Aunt Earlene? I know the rest’v us can’t, but I want to learn how to sneak around in the trees. Da says I’m like a cat because I like to be up high.” She was not, she knew, like her mam, who had for so long been afraid of heights.

 

“Yes, I can. And you are very small; you just might have some luck in some kinds of snow. Even an elf needs for the snow to be a little crusty. Don’t believe everything you read,” Earlene teased. “There are quite a few here that can teach you about moving through the trees. It’s something I think you’d be good at. Here. We will put the box of biscuits down here for a moment. How well can you hang on? If you rode on my back could you stay on no matter what?”

 

Supri giggled. “I could,” she said. “Da runs with me sometimes like that. He says it’s good training -- for him, not me. I get training in how to hang on like a monkey.”

 

“Good.” Earlene swung the child up to perch on her upper back, adjusting her elven jerkin. There were leather straps on it, to which she could hold as tight as she wished. Supri was so small that there was really no perception of an added burden, to her. “Are you hanging on like a monkey?” she double-checked.

 

“Yep,” Supri said, utterly delighted. Da hadn’t been able to run like this in a long time -- first he was too sad, then he was too hurt -- and she’d missed it.

 

“Alrighty then.” Earlene took a running start at the nearest decent sized tree, her palms and fingers gripping into the trunk and timing that against the movements of her feet. Once up high enough, she ran out on one of the allegedly unusable branches. “See if you can understand how I am moving on it, even though it yields the further out I get. Elves have weight; we all do. The trick is in using the flexing of the tree limb to get out further than you ordinarily could.”

 

When she reached the place of untenability, Earlene leaped off into space, having a different branch selected that she used to both slow her fall and drop her onto a much fatter limb, where she came to a stop, perched effortlessly on all fours. “You have to learn about every tree. What all of them are, the properties of their wood. How they flex and how their wood changes in the different seasons of the year.” Now a series of plunging hops and a final neat somersault brought them back to the ground. “It took me years, to learn all of that, and that was after I was already a runner and good at yoga. But it is a known fact that children who begin climbing early on, your body can actually change and adapt to this. You have to want it, though.” As if nothing had just happened, she dipped down to pick up the container of cookies. “You can stay up there if you want,” Earlene added as an afterthought.

 

Supri’s heart was pounding, because oh god, that had been really fun and really, really scary. She still clung to her aunt like a monkey, more than a little afraid to let go. “You could really do all that when you were human?” she asked, and at least managed to not add, _holy shit_. She knew Chandra and Saoirse kind of couldn’t help but swear, but she didn't have any such excuse. “Like, all of that? Because...wow.”

 

“Yes, all of that. Everyone wanted to believe I was some sort of superwoman. Yes, I am tall and fit and athletic, but...the point is, I worked for it so, so hard. That is usually the difference between people who seem to be so great at a given thing and those who are not. It’s like Uncle Maglor and his music. Yes, he’s phenomenal. He’s also spent probably about five million hours perfecting those skills. If you have some natural ability, and pair it with the relentless drive to accomplish something, you’re going to get there. That’s just how it works.”

 

This sobered Supri a little. “I don't have any real natural abilities, except being sneaky,” she said. “I’m not like the twins, they can do _anything_ . Mam says it doesn’t matter if I’m not like them, because I’m _me_ , not them, but it can still be...hard. I know they could read sooner than I could, and do all kinds’v stuff, but I’m just...normal. And Atia says it kind’v sucks, being the only normal kids in a house full’v peredhel and the twins. At least Mam can make people do stuff, even if she doesn’t know she’s doing it.”

 

“Everyone is good at something. Not everyone finds out at once what that is. I did not learn to climb like that until after I was forty years old. How old are you?” she asked with a lilt to her voice.

 

“I’ll be eight in May,” Supri said, surprised by this bit of information. Forty, huh? That was, like, _old_ , not that she’d say so out loud. “I can do that, though? Even if I stay little like this?” She knew that her mam was really, really strong, but she wasn’t that fast, just because, well, her legs were short. “I could balance, I bet. Mam said she couldn’t for a long time ’cause she hit her head a lot when she was little, but I’ve never done that...oh hey, is she going to trip all over stuff again now?”

 

“You can, and, I do not know. We will find out more in a few moments, though. Can you manage the password for the Gates?” Valar help her, she was curious if Lorna’s enunciation issues were contagious.

 

“What is it?” the girl asked. “I know it’s got Uncle Thranduil’s name in it, but I haven’t started talking much in Sindarin yet.”

 

“Ah okay, I did not know that. _Edro ennyn Thranduil_ ,” Earlene said clearly, so Supri could have a chance to hear the words.

 

“Edro ennyn Thranduil,” Supri repeated carefully. To her complete delight, the Gates swung noiselessly outward, letting the sunlight spill into the dimness. “I did it!”

 

Chuckling, Earlene patted her on the shoulder. “Let’s not tell your mother just now. It might make her swear.”

 

“Poor Mam,” Supri said. “She says the ‘th’ sound was made by the devil. Whoever that is. I know sometimes when she and Uncle Pat and Aunt Siobhan are talking, Da looks at them like they’re speaking some other language.” She blinked as they entered the shadows of the Halls, but Aunt Earlene didn't seem to need any time to adjust.

 

“The devil is a figure in some of the religions of the outer world. The easiest way to say it is, he is a lot like Morgoth.” Earlene paused, remembering to wait for Supri to be able to see. Oops.

 

“Like Morgoth? Ew. Da won’t let me read too much about him yet because he doesn’t want me getting nightmares, which just makes me want to read more.”

 

Earlene blinked. _Seriously, Ratiri??_ “Well, he was not nice, sums it all up. He only cared about himself.”

 

“I know he did bad things to Aunt Sharley,” Supri said solemnly. “I heard Mam and Da talking about it once when they didn't know I was outside their door. Do you know, if you press a glass to a door, you can hear what’s going on on the other side’v it?”

 

“Yes, I do know that,” Earlene smiled. _Oh, this kid has it all over those two._ And eventually in school you will learn why that works.”

 

“Don't tell Mam and Da, okay? Please? I don't want them knowing.” Except now that they were downstairs, listening was a lot harder. You never knew who might come down the hallway.

 

“I heard nothing,” Earlene said. Which was true enough; her obligation to rat out other people’s children only extended as far as something being a danger to them. Eavesdropping did not fall into that category. “Okay, do you feel ready to see your mam? Here we are.”

 

Supri hesitated a moment. Da had looked so scary when he came home -- skinny, and with all his hair shaved off. This had just happened to Mam, though, so… “Okay,” she said. “I am.”

 

Earlene led Supri through what passed for their medical clinic. With Lorna being the only person in there, it wasn’t terribly hard to locate her. Supri scuttled toward Ratiri, so Earlene found Indira. “So, where’s it at, aside from that he hasn’t stopped standing there fussing?” She kept her voice very low, for obvious reasons.

 

“She has damage in her inferior frontal gyrus,” Indira said quietly. “Just how much damage is difficult to determine without the aid of an MRI, but it’s one of the primary speech centers of the brain. It’s possible this inability to speak will resolve itself, but it’s also possible it won’t.”

 

“Um, hm. But her cognition seems okay? Or was she awake long enough to even tell?”

 

“From what we saw, cognitively she seems to be fine,” Indira said. “She could understand and respond to what was said to her, even if only through blinking, hand signals, and expressions.”

 

“Alright,” Earlene replied. What else was there to say, really? Unless she wanted to sing a rousing chorus of ‘Why is it always Lorna?’ the only thing possible was to just take care of Supri, since no one was likely to trust Ratiri with that task on his own at the moment. Years ago, it felt like everything always happened to her. No, wait, no it didn’t. Lorna still won that contest, though it wasn’t a competition. Whatever.  “I’ll stay awhile so Supri can visit but...then what?”

 

“We’ll need to observe her for the next week, to monitor her progress,” Indira said, quite grateful Earlene was looking after the girl. “I would say she can go back to Eldamar in a day or two, barring complications -- looking after her will give Ratiri something to do, if he doesn’t drive her round the bend first.” Yes, perhaps it was throwing poor Lorna under the bus, but it would keep her still and him occupied.

 

“Great. Well, right about the time he’s driving her spare Thranduil should be home so...yeah. Why don’t you show me her scan images, then I’ll learn something while they all visit?”

 

“With the caveat that none of us are neurologists, come and see.”

 

**

 

Supri approached her parents carefully. Mam didn't look so bad -- she had a big bandage on the side of her head, but she wasn’t like, mangled or anything. She also looked so dazed that she’d probably been given, as she’d put it, the good drugs. “Hi Mam.”

 

Mam gave her a happy grin and a little wave, reaching for her. Supri crawled up onto her hospital bed, and looked anxiously at Da.

 

“Your mam can’t talk right now,” he said. “She had a pretty big knock on the head, so we have to keep her in here and keep an eye on her for a bit. Your Aunt Indira says you’re staying with Aunt Earlene, so be good for her.”

 

Supri rolled her eyes. “I'm _always_ good for people, Da,” she said. “Aunt Earlene and I made biscuits -- they’re chocolate chips with marshmallows in the center.”

 

Mam grinned again, and made grabby-hands.

  



	159. One Hundred Fifty-Nine

{April 18, 2035}

 

It took Mairead a few days to get down to Lasg’len, but when she went, she took with her both a cake and a certain recipe she figured it was high time got passed on. She wasn’t getting any younger, after all, and Ratiri and Lorna were both walking evidence that you never could know what was going to happen to you out of the blue.

 

Atia had told her that Ratiri was driving Lorna mental, but she was letting him, because at least it kept him occupied. Enough was enough of that, however; he could damn well go outside and get some fresh air.

 

The cake stayed in the car when she went to rap on the door, because if there were any hounds about, she didn't need to drop it when they surged around her to say ‘hi’.

 

Supri answered the door, holding a spatula in one hand.  A streak of wayward flour dust graced the girl’s nose, but that was to be expected the first time the child learned why you didn’t turn the stand mixer to the highest setting right off. Earlene wasn’t far behind. “Tea, Mairead?” she asked, smiling.

 

“Tea sounds lovely, and I've got some cake to go with it,” Mairead said. “Two, actually. I can’t fit a large enough one in my oven to just bring one -- especially because’v Thanadir. Thought that he might not get enough just isn’t to be borne.” While she had never actually seen the Sad Eyes, she’d heard just how effective they were from multiple parties.

 

“Oh well you’re safe there,” Earlene grinned. “He and Thranduil are on their way home from a holiday. And...I’ve not told either of them what happened here, because the last time they tried to make this trip was smack around when the blowup happened over the...the...you know, the blowup.” It hardly needed elaboration.

 

Mairead winced. “Really? Oh good Jesus, those poor two...well, we’ll just be sure to save him some. Atia! Atia, go get the cakes, will you?” Her niece, who had come skidding into the kitchen, nodded and hurried out the door. “Has Ratiri driven Lorna mad yet? Atia said it was bad, but not  _ how  _ bad.”

 

“It’s getting dicey,” Earlene sighed. “I’ve played every card in my hand, assigning him bogus errands to the chemist’s, to Aislinn’s, even one to the liquor store. Anything to get him out’v here for an hour to give her some peace. I keep suggesting he and Supri go for a  _ walk _ to do those things, so instead he gets on the goddamned armchair and just buzzes down the road. I can’t have him in the kitchen; he forgets what he did two seconds ago. After he helped make hardtack after he doubled the flour into a dumplings recipe, that was the end’v that. And I can’t say anything, he’s already sensitive as hell about how he is. There so badly needs to be a way for him to spend his time that does  _ not _ involve staring at Lorna, but I’ve no idea what that is, at this point. Everything either frustrates him or he makes a hash’v it.”

 

Mairead didn't facepalm, but it was a near thing. “If I’ve got to throw him out, I will,” she said. “Geezer can make him run laps or something.”

 

Atia, carefully carrying the first of the cakes, came in and set it on the counter. Once she’d gone back out, Mairead said, “I’ve brought you something. I’m not getting any younger, and it’s high time I passed on this recipe -- Gran always said only give it to family who could do something with it, and you’ll be around long after I’m gone, I’m thinking.” She pulled it out of her handbag -- it was the original recipe, well over a century old, carefully laminated so it couldn't utterly disintegrate.

 

“Is that what I think it is?” Earlene cocked her eyebrow. “Sure god I hope you’ve at least...scanned that, or taken a photo of it. I have to admit, I’m curious.” Carefully, she took it from her distant cousin, slowly working out the old cursive that had faded in a few places. “Well now I wouldn’t’ve thought of that,” Earlene chuckled, seeing what the infamous Gran had done to the technique. “Clever woman, and before her time,” Earlene complimented. “I’ve seen doing this mentioned in certain recipes...but not quite like this.”

 

“I’ve got a typed-up version in my book at home,” Mairead said. “And Gran, she was a bit’v a food wizard -- had to be, given how scarce it was when she was young. I won’t lie, she was a bit mental, but a genius in the kitchen.”

 

“Well right now, Shane’s the one with promise for the future. As soon as he’s a bit older, and able to keep his mouth definitely shut, I’ll make sure he learns this. We both can, honestly. But it should stay in the family; not sure even the elves know this trick,” Earlene admitted. “The humans can still have cake ascendancy,” she joked.

 

“It’s the one thing we’ve got,” Mairead said, as Atia set the second cake on the counter. The girl then dashed off, and returned moments later dragging her father by the hand.

 

“Aunt Mairead needs your help with...something, Da,” she said firmly. “Don't you, Aunt Mairead?”

 

Poor Ratiri looked better than he once had, but he still didn't look good -- he’d obviously been awake far more often than he’d been asleep. “I shouldn’t leave Lorna,” he said.

 

“Ratiri,” his sister-in-law said, with strained patience, “if you don't leave her alone for at least the next hour, she’ll go completely spare. Go for a walk -- take your mobile, and I promise I’ll call you if...I don't know, her head spontaneously falls off.”

 

“ _ Ew _ , Aunt Mairead,” Atia said.

 

“Can that really happen?” Supri asked, rather anxiously.

 

“No, allanah, it can’t,” Mairead said. “Ratiri, I mean it. Go. I will throw you over my shoulder and drag you if I have to.”

 

He looked suitably disturbed -- probably because he knew she meant it. “Oh, fine,” he sighed. “One hour, and I'm timing it.”

 

“Da, she really is going to murder you in the face if you don't leave off,” Atia sighed, rolling her eyes as he went to fetch his coat and shoes.

 

“Well,” Mairead said, “ _ that’s  _ dealt with.”

 

“For an hour,” Earlene said drily. “And yet we’ll take it. Alright, which cake do we cut first? And then we’re all taking our slices to go eat with Lorna.”

 

“Let’s go for the first one -- I think she might appreciate the icing.” Said icing was a rendition of the Cascade mountains, in as great a detail as Mairead was actually capable of. “She still can’t talk yet?”

 

“No, and that part’s not so great. I put a cheap app on her tablet, it lets her answer more run of the mill questions pretty fast. She taps buttons and it speaks for her, but she either needs to get her brain back in order or get a way better app. Still, it’s better than making finger signs.”

 

“Especially since I’m sure she only knows two,” Mairead said, trying not to worry. She knew where all the dishes were, at least, and soon enough had cake for the pair of them, Atia, Supri, and Lorna. “Orla could probably make her something, if she had to -- all right, off, the pair’v you. If your da tries to come back in...poke him with something.”

 

“C’mon, Atia -- I think I know where there’s a stick,” Supri said, leading her elder sister away. 

 

Once they were gone, Mairead turned back to Earlene. “Exactly how frustrated is she right now? Krakatoa levels, or just -- I don't know, Mount St. Helens?” Lorna was Irish; they were not known for being a quiet people.

 

“That’s just it. I’m not Thranduil, and, she hides it. She’s really more like Kilauea at this point. No blowing, just a constant low-level of oozing.”

 

“Which means sooner or later she’ll go Vesuvius,” Mairead sighed. “Well, let’s go take her some cake, and head that off as long as we can. At least Thranduil can talk to her telepathically, once he’s home, and I’m sure Sharley’s been in and out.” Thank bloody god she had at least two people who could communicate with her easily, or she might have tried to shank someone by now.

 

Earlene declined to mention that Maglor and Pen had the same ability, but that they were as compatible with Lorna as oil was with water.  _ Best not go there. _ Earlene gave her characteristic rap on the door before opening it. “We got rid’v your husband and we brought cake. You owe your sister big time,” Earlene announced.

 

Lorna grinned in delight and sheer relief, and typed away at her mobile. “Thank you,” it said, and she wished the synthesized voice could accurately portray her gratitude. “And cake. Yay.”

 

Mairead was rather surprised at how...not bad...she looked. There was a truly epic bruise that took up most of the left side of her face, but otherwise she looked, if not good, at least not awful. “Yeah, well, eat this and count your blessings,” she said, handing her the cake. There were only two wing chairs, but the bed was more than large enough for the three of them to sit (after displacing a few cats, of course).

 

“Alright Lorna,” Earlene said between bites of cake. “On a scale of one to ten, how batshit crazy is Ratiri driving you? Thranduil and Thanadir are coming home in a matter’v hours, and it’s probably time to call in the troops on this one.”

 

Lorna set her cake down so she could type on her mobile. “Forty-two,” it said. More typing, and then, “I know it makes him feel better or I would have thrown a cat at him two days ago.”

 

Mairead didn't laugh, but it was a near thing. “Let Thanadir distract him,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll be back in exactly an hour, but we can always lock the door.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and how odd it was, that she could still laugh when she couldn’t speak. A moment later, and the odd, robotic voice of her mobile said, “He’d just come in through the window.”

 

“I want to ditch, so baaaaaaaaaad,” Earlene said, suddenly mischievous. “Ha ha! Lorna, you and Mairead can go to one of the rooms in the second wing, and I can lock the door behind and hop out the balcony. Oh god, that’s so petty and mean. What is wrong with me?” she giggled.

 

“Poor Ratiri’s been that awful, has he?” Mairead asked. “Let’s do it.”

 

_ It’s not petty, it’s hilarious.  _ The words lined up in Lorna’s mind, but still,  _ still  _ she couldn’t get them out. For a brief moment, she scowled like thunder before she typed. “It’s not petty, let’s go.” Ratiri could just deal, and she really didn't care if she went outside in her fuzzy PJ pants, a T-shirt, and an oversized flannel. It was warm enough that she didn't even need shoes.

 

“Meet you in the northeast room on the second floor,” Earlene said. “He’ll not find us there without a little effort. Pen and Maglor use it as a place to drink ale but not this early in the day, there’s seats and stuff.” The door was locked behind her, and a quick hop over the railing and run around later, they were reunited. “That would’ve been more entertaining if you still lived on the second floor,” Earlene admitted. “But it’ll still slow him down a little.”

 

Lorna was honestly most relieved that her balance hadn’t been affected by that blow to the head, and all the more so now, because it meant she could sneak around the house and eat her cake at the same time. Unfortunately, she couldn’t use her mobile when she had her hands full. She kept wanting to speak, and forgetting that she couldn’t, and grew ever more frustrated by it.

 

“I feel like we’ve just done something illegal,” Mairead snickered. “Makes me feel young.”

 

_ Like you ever did anything to get in trouble,  _ Lorna thought, but still, the words were trapped.

 

“Lorna,” said Earlene, as she caught some shifting expressions, “can you type out what comes into your head all the way? I mean, are you able to think clearly all the time but you can’t get it out with the tablet, or are the thoughts sometimes stuck in a ball? You can hold up one finger or two if that’s easier, since I’m not asking a yes or no question.”

 

Lorna held up one finger. It would almost be  _ easier  _ if her thoughts weren’t so complete and clear.

 

“So if you could type like the blazes, this wouldn’t be quite as awful?” Earlene asked, wanting to be very sure.

 

Lorna nodded, and gave her a thumb’s-up.

 

“I’m sure there’s something out there we could set up,” Mairead said. “Orla might even be able to make you something.”

 

“There have to be...things, to help with this. I just don’t know what they are, but I’m going to find out.”

 

Poor Lorna looked, for the briefest of moments, so sad, and Mairead poked her. “Let’s get moving, before Ratiri gets back. It’s a grand day for a walk in the forest.”

 

That drew a smile from her little sister, who nodded, and finished the last of her cake.

 

**

 

Thanadir drove down the M7, his long hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Occasionally, his eyes would dart to the side. “I know you’re staring at me,” the seneschal smiled. “Why?”

 

“Still remembering last night,” Thranduil admitted, twirling a lock of the brown hair. “I love you very much.”

 

Thanadir considered, as he safely passed a slower car before pulling into the other lane. “It is so strange, sometimes. We could not be more opposite, in terms of our physical needs, and yet we have found this happiness with each other.”

 

“I am not so sure it is strange at all,” the King said, releasing his hair and facing forward again. “What you give to me...yes, I desire you more than the other way around. But knowing that this kind of expression is not innate to you, and yet seeing that you love me so much that you welcome me in that way...you do not know what that feels like for me. Always you have been a gift of the Valar, in my eyes. It is only now that it has grown into something I could not have imagined, in years gone by.”

 

“You have always given me pleasure, when we join,” Thanadir smiled. “It is not as though I am sacrificing myself to do something horrible. Once I am participating, I enjoy myself. It is only that it does not come over me to begin in the first place. That is where you and I differ most, I think.”

 

“You have to admit, it is still funny, on some level, you and I.”

 

“True,” Thanadir laughed. “Earlene is right, you know. We are going to wreck Aman.”

 

“Probably. Meldir, between you and I, I think sometimes that wrecking Aman is exactly what they  _ want _ us to do.”

 

This had not occurred to Thanadir. “That is rather…”

 

“Unseemly,” they both said at the same time. Thanadir could not help it, he began laughing.

 

“Pull over, Thanadir,” Thranduil cautioned. “You have driven this whole way. It is my turn now.”

 

The request was easy to grant, as Thanadir really could not silence himself. Ten minutes down the road, Thranduil could not resist. “Did you know that at one time I did not believe you even had a sense of humor?” he asked.

 

“Really?” Thanadir asked, still having occasional outbursts of giggles. 

 

“Really.”

 

“Well, I was a little uptight,” he admitted, before they both burst into laughter again. Thank Eru, they were at their exit and would be home quite soon.

 

**

 

To save noise and bother, Thanadir elected to go in their side entrance with their bags; one never knew if their main bedroom door was locked or not. Thranduil, however, adjusted his cardigan just a little before opening their front door. The house was still standing; always a good sign.

 

Two cakes sat on the counter, one missing several pieces; Atia and Supri had taken theirs outside. Such was the lure of a Mairead cake that Ratiri had taken a second slice, however, even as he panicked slightly. Lorna, the sneaky little creature, had given him the slip -- her, Mairead,  _ and  _ Earlene, unless he was much mistaken. He had no idea where to look first, and his relief upon seeing Thranduil was palpable. “I know this is a terrible way to say ‘welcome home’, but please tell me where Lorna is. I’ll explain later.”

 

“What?” Thranduil asked, distracted because now Thanadir was making flirty eyes at him from behind Ratiri and grinning impishly.  _ Oh, someone was going to get a fun spanking later… _ “Or maybe I should ask, ‘why?’” Bits and pieces of Ratiri’s mental flotsam and jetsam were filtering in, and the confusion was far stranger than usual.

 

“She shouldn’t be running around right now,” Ratiri said. “Mairead ordered me out for an hour, and I came back to find she’d locked the bedroom door and run off god knows where. Please tell me where she is.” He was trying not to panic, and not succeeding very well.

 

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed.  _ Lorna, does Ratiri need to know where you are, and why is he behaving...like he is? _

 

Lorna, who was by now halfway across the forest, facepalmed -- and immediately regretted it. Oddly, while she couldn’t actually say  _ ow _ , she at least made some kind of noise.  _ He does not, but I know he’ll bother you until you tell him. I’m out in the forest with Mairead and Earlene, and he’s like he is because he desperately needs something else to do. I got injured a few days ago and he’s making it out as way worse than it actually is.  _ Which was not really a lie; she was fine, aside from the fact that she couldn’t speak. Somehow, that just made things more frustrating.

 

_ Alright. Good to know. _ His voice was laced with humor, and not one second later Earlene’s mind was bombarded with questions from her husband. 

 

“Oh. The boys are home,” she said casually, to cover for the strange expression that anyone looking would have seen come over her face. Once recovered, Earlene obligingly told Thranduil all that she knew.

 

The King looked at Ratiri. “They are in the woods enjoying ‘girl time.’ I learned the hard way not to interfere in that particular institution. Perhaps you could make tea for us, and we can all talk in the Heart Room in a few minutes? It would seem some things happened while we were away.”

 

_ Girl time…  _ Ratiri pinched the bridge of his nose, but he knew there was no point in arguing. “All right,” he said. “Any preferences?” He really was glad they had the chronic kettle, as he called it; not having to wait to heat water was even nicer than one might expect. He sighed, and wished he did not feel quite so defeated.

 

“Earl Grey, please,” Thanadir answered, resisting the urge to add ‘hot’.

 

“Oolong,” Thranduil added. “Thank you, give us just a moment.” Disappearing into the bedroom, he quickly caught Thanadir, who gasped in surprise to find himself tossed over Thranduil’s shoulder. 

 

“What is this about?” came the question. 

 

“This is what you get for making yourself appealing while I am trying to figure out what on earth has happened in our absence,” Thranduil growled, tickling him. “Later perhaps a spanking.”

 

“How was I supposed to know it was not ordinary flirting? You said you like it when I flirt with you.”

 

“I do, but it is more fun to tickle you over it.”

 

“This is the problem with sex,” Thanadir complained. “None of it makes any sense.”

 

“You want something that makes no sense? Come out there with me and learn about how Lorna was kicked in the head by a horse and now cannot speak, and Ratiri is driving her to distraction hovering like a hen with chicks.”

 

Thanadir blanched. “Can we do sex instead?”

 

“My point exactly, meldir,” Thranduil said, placing Thanadir on his feet with a sigh. “My point exactly.”

 

**

 

Once the ladies had been around a full tour of the forest’s perimeter, they made their way back to Eldamar. Mairead deposited their plates in the sink, and went on ahead to deal with Ratiri.

 

“No,” she said, pointing at him. “You’re driving Lorna mad, you’ve got no reason to be doing so, and if you give out at her over going for a bloody  _ walk _ , so help me god I’ll toss you in the boot’v my car and leave you there.”

 

He blinked at her, temporarily thrown. She couldn’t actually do that...probably. He was still recovering from his own injuries, and Mairead was built like a brick house. “Fine,” he sighed.

 

“Good. Thranduil, Thanadir, I hope you at least had a nice trip.” She half-sat/half flopped onto one of the poufs.

 

“Yes, do tell,” Earlene smiled, leaning down to kiss Thanadir while placing a plate of cake into his hands. Thranduil grinned. They were each relentless; they just had different methods.

 

“It was very nice. We took some photos, though not as many as will make Lorna happy. Mostly we enjoyed long walks in the woods, and the food was very nice. And we were only stared at on a few occasions? The expression ‘eye candy’ was in many minds, for better or worse.”

 

“I am eye candy?” Thanadir asked, with a smudge of frosting on his cheek. 

 

“Most always, meldir,” Earlene assured, smiling with amusement. Oh, she would have paid to see that…

 

“But what I want to know is, how did you manage to get kicked, Lorna? What were you doing?”

 

Lorna rolled her eyes, even as she sat beside her husband (and poked him mercilessly.)  _ I was hitching Tiny up to a plough,  _ she said,  _ and like an eejit, walked behind him. Next thing I knew I was on the ground with my head ringing like a damn church bell. _

 

“Ohh. Are there flies, right now?” Thranduil asked sympathetically, before relating to the room what she had said.

 

_ There must be, though I didn't see any. We got to test out our CT machine, at least, so we know it works. Earlene looked after Supri for a couple days while they kept me in the clinic for observation. They made some amazing biscuits.  _ She glanced at Ratiri.  _ We need to find him something else to do. I know he’s frustrated because he hasn’t been able to properly go back to work, but he needs to be given  _ something _. I can’t talk, but there’s nothing else bloody wrong with me -- not that you’d know that, with the way he’s been acting.  _ She loved her husband, and she hadn’t minded letting him hover, but enough was enough.

 

“That will be managed. Lorna, maybe you can start work with the cheesemakers. I am fairly certain there are a number of places in which there are jobs to do that will work out with your current issues. I know that you were capable at the field work, but in hindsight, perhaps transitioning into something without creatures whose feet are the size of your head is in order.”

 

Ratiri opened his mouth, and Lorna poked him again in the ribs. “I -- I’d rather she get one final exam, before she goes to work,” he said, defeated.  _ And this leaves out the fact that she can’t effectively communicate with anyone but you and Sharley,  _ he added.  _ She needs an assistive device. The app she has on her mobile isn't good enough. _

 

Lorna almost sighed with relief. That had been easier than she’d ever thought. Nevertheless, she stuck her tongue out at Thranduil.  _ I liked ploughing,  _ she said.  _ It was very zen, and it got me out in the fresh air.  _ Fortunately, she did know how to make cheese, thanks to all her time as a pinball -- but it wasn’t as much fun, dammit.

 

“So what are we going to do when you need to tell them that the cheese is moldy, or whatever the problem might be?” Thranduil queried. “I know writing is not so fun for you, but only a few of us can hear your thoughts. Perhaps it is also worth considering what you could possibly do to be near one of us who can hear you? Ideas?”

 

“She has a sort-of app on her phone,” Earlene said. “There are far better devices out there, but I was waiting for you to return and...well, is this going to go on for awhile? Just a few days? I didn’t want to bring in the big guns if she’ll be chatting away by next Tuesday.”

 

“True…” Thranduil said, regarding Lorna. “I should at least...look. Is that alright?”

 

_ Go ahead,  _ she said.  _ Sharley couldn’t see so much, because healing’s not really her thing.  _ If she did need something for a while, however long, it needed to be fairly bomb-proof, given that she went where the work was.

 

He touched the side of her head, gingerly, and then his eyes seemed to unfocus a little as he paid attention to things only he could perceive. Unhappily, he withdrew. “This...will not be gone in a week. Your inability to speak, I mean. I cannot say how long. Or…” he silenced himself abruptly. “I will know more in a few weeks, to see how fast you are healing.”

 

_ So I should definitely get some kind’v...device,  _ Lorna said.  _ I’ll talk to Orla. _

 

_ “That’s what she said,”  _ Kurt snickered.

 

She glowered in his general direction.  _ You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind’v glad the voices can read my mind. They’re easy to communicate with, at least. _

 

“Can’t you work with Sharley, Lorna?” Ratiri asked. “I know she weaves during the day, but I don't know what else she does.

 

_ I can’t,  _ she said to Thranduil.  _ Sharley...weaves. It’s a one-person job. _

 

“I can already answer that,” Earlene said. “Sharley is unique even as a weaver and can’t really be helped. But why can’t Lorna take on an adjunct textile skill like spinning? We’re never not going to need yarn. There’s room for carding here, if someone else isn’t already doing that. I’ll admit that it could get tedious as an only job but...someone has to do it. We sure aren’t going to run out of sheep.”

 

Lorna considered this.  _ Gran used to spin yarn, though I never learned how,  _ she said.  _ She said it was one’v the few things small hands were good for.  _ And they could leave the window open, at least, so the fresh air would come in.

 

“It’s just an idea,” Earlene said. “I don’t think we’re in a terrible rush either way.”

 

“Is there more cake?” Thanadir asked, hopefully.

 

Earlene bit the inside of her cheeks and took his plate. It was certainly another day at Eldamar.

 

**

 

The noise carried out in the distance; what first sounded like one or two dogs rapidly became and impressive chorus. All the more so because it seemed to occasionally shift direction while still moving as a unified sound. Two large hares ran past, fleeing through the straight track across the open field, driven on by the pursuing dogs. Now, the sound of hoofbeats mingled with the dogs, as Ailill and Calanon and Thaladir appeared in the distance, following the pack of eight or so singing dogs in full cry. All that was distracting enough, until a blur moved in her peripheral vision. Snapping her neck around, she looked just in time to see one hawk pinning the struggling hare, while the other was in the process of dropping from the sky onto the second. Just seconds later, the oncoming dogs caused the hawks to wing back out of the way. Two of the most dominant hounds were on the rabbits, shaking them violently by the heads. It was over in seconds. Dropping and nosing the rabbit, the dog stood panting happily, while its cohorts alternately snuffed and looked for something else to chase. 

 

Thaladir was first to ride up and vault off the horse, grabbing the first hare. 

“Nothing else to do,” he grinned at Calanon. Ailill already was past him, seeing to rewarding his birds with meat before he retrieved the second rather obviously stone dead animal. Well. There was at least enough here for stew, this time. Two big hares at once was a decent haul indeedy, not to mention two sets of ever-growing teeth that would not be eating the bark off of their apple trees.

 

Chandra, restless, hadn’t been able to settle down to anything. She’d visited Mam and Da after breakfast, but couldn’t seem to focus once she was back at the cottage. Eventually, figuring that the world wouldn’t end if she took a day off, she’d gone for a walk.

 

Generally, she didn't actually  _ see  _ anyone in the woods at this time of day -- the guards were there, sure, but because they were Elves, she could never be sure exactly where they were. Today, however, there was a shitload of activity, and watching it...damn. She’d never actually seen the hunt before; all she knew was that Ailill, Calanon, and Thaladir hunted with hawks and hounds, and their kills tended to make it into the dinner pot. Now, though... _ damn. _

 

The hounds didn't interest her. They were dogs, and dogs might be pretty, but she didn't find their energy and baying very appealing. The hawks, however -- they were gorgeous. Of course, she’d seen Ailill’s birds on and off over the years, but usually only at rest. She’d certainly never seen them kill before; the smooth elegance of it totally made up for their demented-baby cry. Watching the biggest one land on Ailill’s fist made her stay quite still.

 

“Chandra,” said Calanon, catching sight of her finally. “You are...out here?” The poor elf did not quite know what to say, it was certainly rare to randomly find someone from their family on a hunt.

 

“I needed to get outside for a bit,” she said. “Things’v been...well. You live here, you know what’s been going on. I’ve never seen them in action before now.” She pointed at the hawk on his glove, which baby-squeaked at her.

 

“It can be...alarming, sometimes,” he noted. “How they kill. So ruthless, between them and the dogs. And yet I cannot help but admire their grace. Plus, I tell myself we are helping with pest control.”

 

“They’re beautiful,” she said, as the bird regarded her with small bright eyes. “I mean, they’re pretty when they’re sitting, too, but seeing them in the air -- it’s simple. They’ve got an objective, and nothing’s going to get in the way’v it. They’re sure as hell a lot less confusing than people, it seems.”

 

“Yes. But even more demanding. I love Ailill, and yet I am married to these birds as much as to my husband. They are a...lifestyle, I think is how he says it, but I do not mind. I have come to appreciate them greatly, though without him I never would have learned this art. I hope you know you are welcome to hunt with us, if this interests you?”

 

Chandra blinked. “Wait, really? You’d actually  _ want  _ me around?” Nobody who wasn’t her family or one of her friends from Skykomish ever wanted her around.

 

Calanon blinked at her, not liking what he heard. For a moment he wavered, then with a flick of his wrist, he sent the hawk flying away from him and all but stuffed Chandra’s hand into the glove. “Hold your arm up so it is flat. Especially where your wrist is. Make sure it is held away from your face, it is awful when they miss. She will return to you, and then all you do is carry her. I will reward her with meat when she returns, but eventually you will do that yourself. It is important that the bird look to its handlers as its sole source of food; in their minds that is the foundation of the relationship; that if they remain with us they eat.”

 

She had a mental image of just what would happen if the bird ‘missed’; getting a face full of razor-sharp raptor claws didn't sound like her idea of a good time. The hawk was heavier than she would have thought, and actually exerted some force on her arm when it -- she -- took flight. “What’s her name?” she asked.

 

“This is Ladye,” he answered. “The other with Ailill is Skye.”

 

“Are they...are they siblings?” She watched Ladye soar through the air, poetry in feathery motion, seekinging prey. Evidently there was nothing to be found, for back she came, landing on Chandra’s wrist with surprisingly solid force.

 

“No,” Calanon said. “At least, not that we have any means of knowing about. A person has to have many qualifications to have the right to possess a bird of prey in Ireland, and so most of the ones that have come to Ailill have been on account of injury or being orphaned. He could tell you more about it, but I warn you. If you ask him about birds, you will be listening to the answer for a long time,” he grinned.

 

That drew a smile from her as well. “Oh, I know how that goes,” she said. “Mam and Shane’re the only ones whose eyes don't glaze over as soon as I get going on my geographer stuff. I think anybody who’s super-focused on one thing can get kind’v...intense about it.” She looked at this beautiful bird, who could so easily tear her face off in a heartbeat, but who instead chose to sit on her glove, watching her. “How many other people are learning to hunt with the hawks?”

 

“No one. I mean Thaladir of course knows what I know; he has worked with us since he was very small. But he has always had the most interest in the dogs. He spends many hours training them when we are not doing this. You see, this is not something to just come out and do from time to time. Almost every day, unless the weather is much too awful, we must hunt with them for hours at a time. And when we are not  hunting, it is preparing meat for them to be fed, or cleaning the perches, or perhaps working with a new bird when we have had one. In our spare time we have helped with some of the other work but mostly…” he shrugged. “This is our work, but most are unwilling to make that kind of commitment. I do not blame them.”

 

“Really?” she asked, eying the bird, who eyed her back. “Well...shit, that can’t stand. Someday all’v you’ll be going to Aman, won’t you? There’s going to have to be humans who know how to do that when you’ve gone. And if people can make commitments to...well, medicine, or cooking...then they can commit to birds.” She smiled at Ladye. “And animals are easier to understand than people.”

 

“Then you should talk to Ailill. I am but a humble servant,” he joked.

 

“What is he fabricating now?” Ailill said, coming close enough to hear the conversation. 

 

“Hi Chandra!” Thaladir added, proudly toting the hares. “Look! Big ones. Now they won’t make fun of me over the stew being more potatoes than rabbit.”

 

“Hi Thaladir,” Chandra said, careful not to startle Ladye as she turned. “Ailill, Calanon says I should talk to you if I want to learn more about these guys.” Ladye, as though she knew she was being spoken of, preened and squeaked.

 

“You should,” Thaladir approved. “Ailill’s a good teacher. No one else cares about this but us. Well, us and adar, but he can’t be out here much.”

 

“You guys really don't mind?” she asked, unable to hide her uncertainty.

 

“Why would we mind?” Ailill asked, confused.

 

“Because nobody in the house who isn’t my family or Aunt Sharley actually likes me,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ve known that for years. It’s part’v why I moved out.”

 

“Then I am nobody, because I don’t know what you are talking about,” Ailill said, sighing. “Is this another ‘Ailill is oblivious and stupid’ thing?”

 

“No it is not,” Calanon rebuked him sharply. “And I will tell you what I told half of her family when my tongue was loosened. I will take anyone over my knee who says such things about anyone else. Chandra, your family has not helped you as they should have. But neither are you seeing your circumstance clearly.”

 

“I never didn’t like you, Chandra,” Thaladir said slowly. “But the way you talked to people. How you’d be kind’v mean sometimes or swear at them. It is really hard for me to be around anyone who talks like that so I just...didn’t. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I thought you wanted to be by yourself. Most of us...think that. We didn’t know.”

 

“See?” Calanon said, gesturing. “We can all do better than this if we communicate. You two (he gestured at Chandra and Ailill) do not run yourselves down. I am certain we can all speak nicely to each other. And then I will not have to threaten anyone with spankings.” He folded his arms over his chest.

 

“He’s not joking,” Thaladir said, mildly worried. “Calanon doesn’t….won’t…”

 

“Put up with nonsense,” the ellon finished.

 

“Um, yeah. That,” Thaladir agreed.

 

“Sorry,” Ailill said, sighing. “I will choose better words next time. But it really is hard to always be the clueless…”

  
“Ah ah ah!!” Calanon warned, waggling his finger at his mate.

 

“Um, never mind?” Ailill asked.

 

“Exactly,” the elf smiled.

 

“But...hang on,” Chandra said, while Ladye shuffled on her arm, “Saoirse’s way worse about swearing than I’ve ever been, and nobody ever looked at  _ her  _ like most’v you looked at me...is it because she’s not ginger? Because we do have souls, you know, no matter what anybody tries to say.”

 

“No, it’s because she’s bloody hopeless,” Ailill answered. “Even I know that one.” Though, he darted a nervous look at his husband, who cocked an eyebrow. “Sorry,” he mumbled again.

 

“Apparently, so am I,” she said. “I don't think I'd be on all this bloody medication if I wasn’t. Did you know some meds can make you itch? Because they really can -- not with hives or anything, either. Angie had to swap me off...whichever one that was. I've gone through three by now.”

 

“That’s not true,” Thaladir said. “If you need medicine you need medicine. So what? We have all had something wrong with us that adar had to fix. Sometimes...fixing has to happen.”

 

“What he said,” Calanon agreed. “Your medicine is different than ours but I am grateful enough for it. When I was in the accident with your father it helped me. There is nothing wrong with needing help for an illness or injury.”

 

“What...what was that like?” she asked. “Da doesn’t remember. Mam, she and I were in one when I was a baby, but she doesn't remember it, either, and I was too young.” Not that Da remembered a whole lot anyway, though by now he was a lot better. Even if he was driving Mam absolutely up the wall.

 

Ladye, evidently bored, wiped her beak on the leather glove, shuffling a bit. “Oh, d’you want to go for another fly?” Chandra asked the hawk.

 

“C’mon,” Thaladir said. “You can ride on my horse. Just keep Ladye flying. We need to move or the dogs’ll be halfway to Baile looking for the next scent.”

 

Calanon answered the question while he gave Chandra a leg up on to the horse, leaving Thaladir to direct the animal so Chandra could continue to manage the hawk.

 

“It happened very fast,” he said as they rode off at a sedate walk. “I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye; the truck that was about to hit us. There was noise and terrible cold when the windows broke, and for me a great deal of pain. I think your father never did know what happened. People came to help us, which was very strange for me; I was afraid they would realize what I am. But it was not like that; they treated me well. I do not remember so much after that. I think it has been determined that your human pain medicine makes elves rather...rather…”   
  
“Complete space cadets,” Ailill chuckled. “He was singing answers to questions. It was wonderful.”

 

“See? He mocks my suffering,” Calanon said to Chandra, smirking. “After all I do for him.”

 

Ailill stuck his tongue out at Calanon and crossed his eyes when he was sure the ellon was looking away, causing Thaladir to giggle.

 

“Opioids will do that to some people,” Chandra said, unable to help but smile. “Mam was stoned off her gourd after she got her head kicked. Oh --” Ladye took off, the sudden flap of her wings rather startling. “Damn, look at her…” The hawk swooped down, temporarily disappearing among the undergrowth, and reappeared with something small and furry in her claws.

 

“Oh please let it be another rabbit, I can’t tell,” Thaladir piped up, immediately hurrying the horse toward the bird. 

 

“I’m not sure it’s big enough -- oh, shit.” The flap of Skye’s wings startled her, and she ducked a bit as the hawk sailed past. “Do you ever have to worry about them taking too many bites out’v whatever they bring down?”

 

“Not really,” Calanon said as Ailill rushed over to make an end of the poor creature. “The hawks only want the pieces we would think are the most revolting. So the good news is, we’re not really competing over the choice parts. The bad news is, if you do this long enough something unspeakable will be tossed into your face by the hawk. To date the worst thing that happened to me was a piece of rat liver into my mouth. Ailill has lots of stories.”

 

Chandra’s nose wrinkled. “ _ Into  _ your mouth?” she asked. That was...disgusting and yet more interesting than it should have been. “How did you know it was a liver? Are rat livers shaped a certain way?” Human livers were, so it would make sense, but rats were so small -- even the ones that looked monstrously huge. They were not large mammals. “What did it taste like?

 

“Because that was what she had just torn out of the rat. All livers are shaped like... you have not been to the butcherings? Livers all look like...well, livers. And I did not keep it in my mouth long enough to try to discern. I spat it out; never have I lacked food such I would wish to eat that. Blecccchhh.”

 

“Shane and I went to the butcherings once, but he didn't have much fun,” Chandra said, watching the undergrowth rustle. It reminded her of those little dinosaurs in  _ Jurassic Park  _ \-- the ones with frills on their heads, that ran around mostly unseen (until they tried to eat Nedry’s face). “Uncle Pat dared Mam to eat a rat when they were kids. Apparently she actually did it.”

 

“Well I hope it was at least cooked,” Ailill said drily, bearing Skye along with him. “If we keep having this much luck on the way back to the Halls your mother will hardly know what to do with this much actual meat for one stew,” he teased Thaladir. No one had ever really let the poor lad forget what his mother had to do, to turn his first kill into dinner for eighteen people.

 

“I'm pretty sure it was,” Chandra said, eying the hare with morbid fascination. “What do you do with the pelts? I mean, you’ve got to have a lot’v them by now.”

 

“They go to the Halls,” Thaladir answered. “Adar Thanadir has a place where skins and pelts from...well, everything, really...are stored. There is an ellon who spends part of his time tanning; nothing is wasted. Then if they are needed for clothing or something, there they are.”

 

“You should make gloves,” Chandra said. “Winter gloves, I mean. If you reinforced them, maybe you could use them to hunt.” Both hawks looked quite pleased with themselves. “Do they ever get bored, on the days it’s too cold or windy to go outside?”

 

“Those sound hard,” Thaladir replied uncertainly. “I am not like my father. I look at a needle and thread and something has already gone wrong.”

 

“Not really,” Ailill said. “It is no different than in the wild, when the weather is too awful to fly. They would just sit there all day, up in a tree. So, same difference.”

 

“Uncle Thanadir could probably make them for you,” she said, “and how well do they sleep at night, the hawks? They don't keep you guys awake? I know birds usually sleep as long as it’s dark, but does it work like that inside a house full’v people?”

 

“They stay asleep, and I have hoods for them too,” Ailill smiled.

 

“Here,” Thaladir said, holding all the dead rabbits out to her. “Can you hang onto these so I can do the reins?”

 

Chandra took the creatures. How long would it take, before rigor mortis started to stiffen them? And could they even be butchered once that had happened, or would they have to wait for it to pass? Maybe Da could tell her. It would make him feel useful. “Fresh meat,” she said, grinning.

 

Calanon looked over at Chandra. Dead rabbits in one hand, hawk on another. Yes, it suited her. Very well. He grinned back. So far so good.

 

**

 

{April 25, 2035}

 

Not so long after breakfast, a knock came at the front door. Atia, having already drained the last of her tea, ran to open it, and discovered a complete stranger. She was a young woman, or young-ish, dressed in torn jeans and a flannel, with as many piercings as Aunt Eris and a short, faded-pink bob. “Um...hi,” Atia said.

 

“Hi yourself. Orla gave me homework, and I've made something for your mam,” the woman said.

 

“Oh...okay,” Atia said, rather more enthusiastically. “C’mon. Mam! Mam, there’s something for you.” She led the odd young woman to the dining-room, which was still quite full.

 

“Hi, everybody. I'm Einir, and I made a thingy for Lorna. It’s sparkly and kind’v impossible to lose.”

 

Lorna wasn’t sure what she thought of that, especially as she’d never seen this woman before in her life, but when Atia added that Orla was involved...well, now she was really nervous.

 

The ‘thingy’ Einir produced from her handbag was the size of a large mobile phone, but appeared far sturdier, and it was covered in sparkly black and silver glitter that somehow shifted through rainbow shades when it was moved. “Here, check this out -- it’s easy. Here’s your keyboard, just like a normal mobile, but you’ve got a couple soundboards, too, because I got bored and figured you can never go wrong with a bunch’v mp3’s’v screaming goats.” She tapped a button, and sure enough, what sounded like a very human scream issued from a visibly annoyed goat.

 

Lorna blinked, glad she’d had tea, because Einir spoke just a bit too fast as it was. 

 

“I got ahold’v all the recordings’v your actual voice that I could -- don't ask how, that’s not important -- and tried to program this into something as close to it as possible. Type something.”

 

Fortunately, the fact that she’d never been willing to hassle with voice-recognition software meant she could still type quite well. Of course, she had to think of something  _ to  _ type, and naturally her mind blanked out. Finally, she coughed up, “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts, deedly dee”, and her eyes widened at how very much it really did sound like her. Yes, there was an unavoidable synthesized quality to it, and it sounded rather more deadpan than she would have actually sang it, but that just made it hilarious.

 

“Lethal. Play with it. Does anybody mind if I steal that cinnamon roll? I think I last ate yesterday afternoon. I think. It’s easy to lose track’v time when you’re making shite.” Einir’s blue eyes tracked around the table, as though she were only now realizing the rest of them were there.

 

Earlene took one look at Einir and sniffed prey. Oh, she knew the type. Young, survived on ramen noodles, stale candy bars and fizzy drinks. Skinny as a rail.  _ Nope. _ “Yes, I mind. Sit yourself down, Eleniel please get her a plate and flatware, and eat a proper meal before you go anywhere else. Did you want tea, coffee or cocoa?” she smiled sweetly, pointing at the chair in question in case there was somehow any doubt about her intention.

 

Einir blinked, and Ratiri smothered a smile behind his teacup. The woman wasn’t getting out of here now without a full breakfast, no matter what she actually thought of the matter.

 

“Er...coffee, please,” she said, and dragged her chair over to Lorna. “So, you’ve also got a cat soundboard, and Orla dared me to put in one’v burping, so I did. You can also record sounds and add them into your own soundboards -- see here, you can make new ones. And you can  _ kind’v  _ change inflections and tone, depending on how you type -- like, write something as a question, with a question mark at the end.”

 

Again, Lorna had to think for a moment. “Has anyone fed the Lump?” The tone did actually go up a bit at the end, in a questioning manner, though it remained slightly synthesized. “Oh god, I sound like Irish GLaDOS.”

 

Einir burst out laughing, so hard she nearly upended the cup of coffee placed before her. “Oh good Jesus, you do...thanks,” she added, as Eleniel handed her dishes. “Anyway, you’ve got two separate batteries for it, so you’ve still got one while you’re charging the other. And while you can drop it just fine, don't let anyone run it over.”

 

“How long did it take you to make that?” Ratiri asked.

 

“The hardware took me a day and a half,” Einir said. “The programming was more like four or five -- I kind’v lost track. The thing that took the most time was going through all the recordings’v Lorna’s voice and building a ‘voice’ off’v that.”

 

“Does it have unseemliness buttons?” Thaladir wanted to know.

 

“A ton,” Einir said. “Orla made a whole list’v what it needed. They’re under this playlist, Lorna, so don't go hitting it on accident.”

 

The thing really was incredibly clever -- each ‘list’ dropped down across the top of the screen, easy to scroll through, and the keyboard was the perfect size for Lorna’s tiny hands to type with ease. The wallpaper was a picture of all four of her children, sitting out in the sun surrounded by cats, but the more she played with it, she realized that it was actually part of a slideshow. 

 

“It comes with a kind’v case, too, that ought to loop onto your belt -- here.” Out of the handbag came a hard leather pouch, with a flap that buckled closed. “If this one works out, I can make extras.”

 

Thaladir narrowed his eyes; that was what he thought of Orla putting  _ that _ many bad words onto the new device. _ Then again Faeleth might know how to reprogram it. Hmmm… _

 

“None of that, son,” Thranduil said without looking up from his eggs.

 

_ Nuts _ . “Yes, Adar,” Thaladir answered his father. Someday, his chance would come.

 

“That seems very helpful,” Pengolodh opined, admiring what he could see of the device’s function. “Ingenious.”

 

“Don't say that quite yet,” Einir said, pausing to inhale the scent of the cinnamon roll. “We have to see how it works out in the field first. If it does, I’ll adapt them for whenever we get deaf people. That’s got to happen sooner or later, and I know not everyone’s going to want to learn sign language.”

 

“Well, that is nothing of which I would be capable,” Pen smiled. “Do you like it, Lorna?”

 

She typed. “I love it. I still sound like me, except kind’v creepy.”

 

“Orla said you’d appreciate that bit,” Einir said, and finally tucked into her breakfast. Oh god this was good...she actually couldn’t remember the last time she’d had homemade food. That was kind of pathetic, honestly, but she’d been busy.

 

Thranduil wisely elected not to pass that last tidbit on to his wife, lest this poor young woman never have a moment’s peace again. Already Earlene was drumming her fingers disturbingly as she watched Einir eat.  _ Uh-oh. Divert. Divert. _ “How has Pat been doing?” he asked. The question was mostly directed at his oldest twins, but Allanah was first to answer. 

 

“He helped hold one of the horses, the other day. I went out to put on a new shoe; he seemed happy enough.” Allanah had added some farrier work to her smithing skills, though Earlene had been adamant that this work be very intermittent. She was not about to watch her daughter wreck her spinal column before age thirty, thank you very much.

 

Ithiliel nodded. “He cultivated the potatoes the other day with Pixie and Speck. Did a good job, too. I’d say he’s doing well. Not everyone takes to working with the horses for field work. Declan ran the cultivator, though. It’s too much for one person.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” the King commented. He was glad to hear any good news, honestly.

 

“I hope he knows to watch out for Tiny,” Lorna typed, and oh, it really was surprisingly nice to her her voice again, even if through a secondhand source, so to speak. “Einir, can I take this if I go make butter or cheese?”

 

“It’s pretty bomb-proof,” the woman said, pausing eating just long enough to speak. “And waterproof, theoretically. I mean, don't stick it in the bath and leave it there, but if it does break, just make notes and call me.”

 

“How will I charge it after the plague, when there’s no more electricity? Can I hook it up to a solar panel?”

 

“There’s a converter for that,” Einir said. “Orla told me you’ve got one’v those smartflower things, so you can just charge it at your cottage. It shouldn’t overload the circuitry.” She’d tried not to inhale her food, she really had, and yet it happened anyway.

 

“So where are you living right now?” Earlene asked Einir in her best casually deceptive tone, having already seen too much. Thranduil’s eyes widened but he dared not say a word.

 

“I’ve got a bed-sit in Dublin,” the woman said. “It’s not far from Orla’s HQ. We all kind’v check in on each other every so often in person, but mostly we just talk online. It’s easier that way.”

 

“Why Dublin?” Earlene asked innocently. “You could live in Lasg’len for free, you know.”

 

Einir shrugged. “Location, I guess. I thought everybody in Lasg’len still lived in Lasg’len, if you know what I mean -- I didn't think there was any room.”

 

Lorna glanced at the young woman, and at Earlene. Oh dear.

 

“Oh, no. There are lots of places; quite a lot of the villagers live in the Halls now. In fact, you could live in the Halls too if you wished, though I know you would need Internet access for your work. Hm. There’s even the cottage; no one lives there anymore but the elves use it for computer access. I’d think it’d be far more peaceful, not having to be in the city.”

 

Einir blinked, and looked around the table. “There’s...a lot’v people here,” she said, with an expression Lorna could only think of as ‘deer in the headlights’. “In this area, I mean. In a different way than in Dublin, too.” Dublin was crowded, but anonymous; it was easy to be alone. From all she had seen of the Halls during holidays, everybody at least knew everyone else, and they, like,  _ talked  _ to each other.

 

“Oh, we manage to be alone,” Maglor said. “Not all of us are terribly social.”

 

Einir looked at the long table, with so very many people at it. “How can you manage it?” she asked.

 

“It is a very large forest,” the stunningly lovely ellon answered. “And there are thousands of rooms that are unoccupied. I am a temperamental musician. I know these things.” Yes, he was feeling mischievous today and knew exactly what his Queen was trying to do. Sue him.

 

“They don't have wifi or electricity, though, do they?” poor Einir asked, now looking somewhat terrified. “Kind’v need those. And plenty’v caffeine.”

 

Lorna patted her hand, and typed. “Don't fight it. They’ll get you where they want you sooner or later.”

 

“They don’t,” Earlene said. “But we do. There are numerous open rooms here at the house.”

 

Thanadir looked about to protest when a pointed transmission from Thranduil stopped him before he could utter a sound. 

 

“You should try it,” Ailill said. “Earlene cooks like this all the time. There are lots of people who hope to get invited to just one meal here.  You’d almost be crazy not to. I mean, soda, Dublin, and shite pub food, or a quiet place to work and three meals a day better than high-end restaurants at no cost. D’you really have to even think on it?”

 

Earlene smiled. Whatever Ailill wanted for dinner tonight, that was what she would cook.

 

“Um…I kind’v have to talk to Orla,” Einir said, a little desperately. This was amazing food, and this was a beautiful house, but she was used to being able to walk around in her underwear and a T-shirt she’d worn three days running. Human -- and Elven, in this case -- interaction did not come easily. Thinking on it was kind of essential, since she’d made some epically boneheaded decisions in her life by  _ not  _ thinking before she did something.

 

“Of course you do,” Thranduil smiled, realizing he had to at least make an attempt to support Earlene. “Well. None of us are going anywhere,” he smiled. 

 

“I am, Adar,” Allanah smiled. “I am going to get some work done.” Rising, she kissed her father, mother and Thanadir on the cheek, taking her plate to wash.

 

“Us too,” echoed Eleniel. “Today’s potato planting. Can’t miss that,” she joked.

 

“Moving rocks for Sean,” Algar added. 

 

“New puppies to start training,” Thaladir smiled. 

 

“I feel so shiftless by comparison,” murmured Earlene.

 

“I’m apparently finally fit to go back to work,” Ratiri said, trying not to roll his eyes. He’d been perfectly fine for weeks now, thanks so much.

 

“And I can actually communicate without needing telepathy,” Lorna typed, so happy about it that it was almost ridiculous.

 

“Annwn and I were thinking about going to see her Ada when he’s between lessons,” Sharley said, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “I’m going on a mail run soon, so they’ll have a lotta Ada-daughter bonding time.”

 

“When?” Thanadir looked up worriedly.

 

“A week or so,” she said. “Maybe a little longer. It depends on what the weather’s gonna be like, given how long I’ve gotta sit out in it before I can safely get onto the Straight Road. That, and I need to figure out the best way to pack the little bike trailer.”

 

“So...we should make sure everyone knows. To finish their projects,” the seneschal said.

 

“Well, this isn’t gonna be the last time I go,” Sharley said. “Don't feel like you’ve gotta finish absolutely everything. The whole family’ll be going in twenty-thirty-nine, but we’ll be gone a lot longer here.”

 

Einir stayed still, and listened, because this was new and confusing, and she was nothing if not a hoarder of information.

 

“Good to know, but I have letters to write,” Earlene said. “Probably lots do. We will make sure word gets out to the Halls. I don’t know how, but maybe Elrond has some way to get letters to Valinor. I do know that we will have some unhappy elves, if they don’t get a chance to reply to what you brought them on your last trip.”

 

“There’s a ferry from Tol Eressëa,” Sharley said. “It’ll probably take the replies a while to get where they’re supposed to go, but they’ll get there eventually. Oh, Thanadir, I should take some paper back with me, if you can get me some that’ll pack easy -- I’d rather not have to haul a piece of wood as a letter again. Takes up too much space.” It would be another four years before she, Maglor, and Annwn went back, so even by Aman-reckoning, that ought to be enough time for the letters to get there and the replies sent back.

 

She glanced down at the little girl. She was glad that Maglor would have a chance for one-on-one parenting, since he so rarely did; Annwn was still too little to accompany him to the Music Hall for very long, and he had too many students to devote much time to her during lessons. Once she was old enough to learn an instrument of her own, that would change, but now he would get a least four days of uninterrupted ada-daughter time.

 

“Well, that helps,” Earlene said. What she really wanted to tell Sharley was that she envied her, but given their mixed company that would be incredibly crass. Besides, she had been fortunate enough to see the Blessed Realm at all; it was more than either of her husbands had done. But the privilege accorded the Ainur to come and go...well, that was a big thing.

 

Thanadir withdrew into himself somewhat; he now had limited time to do the one thing he’d procrastinated the most. The dreaded second letter to Erestor. Which could be put off no longer. Taking his tablet, he retreated into the privacy of his craft room and disappeared.

 

“Allanah, I’m going to go play with cheese,” Lorna typed, kissing her husband on the cheek.

 

_ “That sounds kinda dirty,”  _ Kurt said.

 

_ “Kurt, you think everything sounds kinda dirty,”  _ Sinsemilla said, a trifle wearily. There were times the voices wished they could get away from one another -- or at least, away from Kurt.

 

_ “That’s because everything does. Even that screaming goat on Lorna’s thingy.” _

 

Lorna didn't roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. “Einir, I owe you and Orla. Give me like a week and then go see her. She’ll give you your thank-you gift.”

 

The young woman paused. “Should I be afraid?” She might not know Lorna, but she  _ did  _ know Orla.

 

Lorna grinned. “Not this time. Maybe later. Come back for dinner one’v these days.” She cast a glance at Earlene, who was sure to get what she wanted sooner or later. For a woman who hadn’t initially wanted to be Queen, she sure as hell handled it well. Then again, from the sound of things, she’d literally been born to do it.

 

“Yes, dinner,” Earlene smiled, now taking her own dishes to the kitchen.

 

“I will,” Einir said, and made her escape. 

 

Shaking her head, Lorna typed, “She has no idea what she’s got herself into.”

 

“No, she doesn’t, but I’m betting she’ll move in before next month is out,” Ratiri said. “And good. Poor girl needs a sandwich or five.”

 

“Ten,” Earlene projected forcefully from behind the glass doors.

 

“Not all at once,” Atia said. “She’d just sick them up again.”

 

“Where should we put her, exactly?” Ratiri asked. “Because we all know she’ll be moving in. I can’t even remember where all our empty rooms are now.”

 

“She’d probably be happiest in the new wing. No barking dogs, no young children. The noisiest thing over there is Maglor, and if she doesn’t like harp music…” Earlene shrugged. “She will learn to.”

 

Lorna cackled. “I’ll ask Orla what she’ll need,” she typed. “I’m sure we could lure her with tech upgrades. I don't know how old she is, but I doubt she’s reached twenty yet.”

 

“If this place needs a tech upgrade, Orla has been slacking,” Earlene mused. “Well, I am afraid I have a bunch of letters to get serious about writing, so, I’m off to tackle that.” After returning a few platters and dishes to their storage places, she disappeared into her room.

 

*****

 

{Meanwhile in Aman-Alqualondë}

 

The sun moved lower over the mountains, this very late afternoon. Erestor hustled along the route from the archive quickly as he was able, as he had every day since their return from Tol Eressëa some weeks ago. No longer did he merely exist, treading water in the face of his own doubts and sorrows. “I am married,” he would whisper to himself sometimes, just to be able to reinforce that reality. His mental focus now understandably had much to do with their shared home life, though that was kept private. The changes in him, to outward appearances, had been few and subtle. Those who worked under his oversight were accustomed to the scholar being withdrawn, and few remarked that he smiled sometimes now (usually to himself) or showed greater eagerness to finish his work and leave.

On their homecoming from holiday, curtains had been commissioned in order to cover windows that had any visibility to passers-by. Though it was true that their garden did much to shield the direct view of the dwelling from inquiring eyes, it paid to be careful; their home was also a sort of place of business. Elves would come with raw materials, elves left with items to be had from Glorfindel by way of trade. Especially in the early morning, those stopping by for the newly baked loaves of bread could be numerous; and on baking days (which really was every day but the one he set aside for himself) Glorfindel was up very early to fire the ovens and begin his tasks. Each of the former Lord’s days followed a pattern. Mornings, he baked the loaves that had their final rising overnight. A cool cellar held the doughs and the shaped loaves; the much warmer kitchen acted as a proofing area. Long ago a clever shelf had been built in above the thick clay of their ovens; it was the warmest spot in the home and where  bread completed the final rising prior to baking. 

All of the loaves were small ones; he preferred to shaping them round. They were only meant to supply one or two persons enough bread for a day or two, depending on their habits. Early on he learned it was far easier to have more of a Small Thing to share than less of Some Large Things, at least when it came to bread. When baking was done, the finished items were placed into cloth sacks that an elleth of Alqualondë sewed and re-purposed from discarded items; these were ubiquitous to the point that to possess one identified an elf as residing in this locale. Mid-mornings, Glorfindel made the dough that would ferment for the next two days before baking, and after this was achieved (it was no small task; often this could use as much as an entire sack of milled flour; it depended upon what was requested by those with whom he traded. Regardless, his powerful muscles remained thus through the very physical work of so much kneading).

Lastly, dough that had already fermented for one day would be shaped into the loaves meant to be baked tomorrow, and what needed to return to the cellar went. Afternoons were for candle-making; at some point in the morning the wax-pot was placed inside of a water bath that would be heated by the diverted warmth of the oven; several dippings could occur for tapers and what remained when the wax volume grew low might be poured into molds. Next (or perhaps interspersed with the candles, depending) would be preparation of their dinner, as well as whatever would be sent with Erestor for his lunch the following day. Glorfindel always fussed over this, trying to ensure his love would enjoy his meal away from home. Looking back, he realized it was one of the subconscious means by which he expressed his feelings for the dark beauty at a time when no other outlet for those emotions existed.

Evenings, however, Glorfindel belonged to Erestor. And Erestor lived on a cloud now, to be able to arrive at their garden, cut some of the many golden blossoms he grew there, and present them to his beloved. Just as he was doing tonight. One was particularly lovely, a fancy black-eyed goldenflower with frilly petals so reminiscent of his husband’s golden hair. His face beaming with a smile, he carefully plucked it. After adding a few yellow daisies, a spray of yellow yarrow and some greenery for contrast he brought it inside, closing the door silently behind him. Glorfindel stood waiting, his eyes lit with happiness to see both Erestor and the bouquet. Swiftly he was greeted with a chaste kiss and a gentle hug. “For me?” he asked eagerly.

The scholar nodded shyly, offering the blossoms. Whisked away, the arrangement soon graced a small vase that was one of their fancier possessions. (There was only one glassblower in the region, and that ellon’s wares were highly sought after.) Glorfindel was back in an instant, to indulge in a far more thorough welcome. “I missed you,” the dark elf murmured, relishing the attention, melting into his lover’s arms. “Nothing is the same now. Work used to be one long day in which I took my mind off of my existence. Now it is the time I enjoy learning new things while I look forward to coming home to you. To this.”

How Glorfindel loved to hear these words! There was only one problem. “You are supposed to let me manage to control myself until we retire, love. When you talk like that, I cannot help but want you. I too now work all day, eagerly awaiting the moment that door opens and you walk through it.” Already he felt aroused; the evidence of that desire pressed against Erestor’s belly.

“I am sorry, except...I am not,” came the mischievous grin. Slender, dexterous fingers caressed the bulge in his partner’s breeches.

“I can see that,” Glorfindel smiled ruefully. “Well, neither of us will focus on much before we can move past this obstacle.” With that, Erestor found himself whisked off his feet and tossed over the blond’s shoulder, where he giggled uncontrollably while Glorfindel gently smacked his bottom. “Bad elf.” More giggles erupted, until he found himself placed on the bed.

“Mmmm. That means I am to be disciplined?” Erestor teased saucily.

“Oh yes,” Glorfindel smiled, already working Erestor’s trousers off. “Going to discipline you so hard you will have trouble sitting down for dinner.”

“Promise?” The dark eyes smoldered with want.

“Just you wait,” Glorfindel retorted, though for all their banter he would never touch Erestor with anything other than gentleness and care. They had indeed become better accustomed to each other’s bodies for intimacy, but Glorfindel was still considerably larger and stronger and never forgot it. Erestor trusted this implicitly, which was why he could give free rein to his verbal provocations.

“What is for dinner?” Erestor asked curiously, even as he gasped to feel the first touch of his husband’s fingers.

“Later,” the blond smirked, giving one of the globes of his bottom another careful smack. “Dessert first.”

**

“There are many hours of daylight left still. I want to take you to the caves. I have been taking the liberty of speaking about using them with a variety of those who take my bread since we came back from Elrond’s, and the general consensus seemed favorable. I think we should take a closer look, both of us together.”

“Alright,” Erestor smiled. On one hand, any time spent with Glorfindel was good time. But he preferred less the activities in which they engaged together outside of their home, because they had to pretend they were not married in the sight of others. And it was hard, even though he had committed to their relationship with eyes wide open.  _ It will not be this way forever _ , he reminded himself. 

**

The path to the caves ascended in a series of winding switchbacks; their own home was further from the harbor rather than closer. Alqualondë was among the oldest populated regions of Aman but by no means the most popular among their people. Those who were fonder of ease, or prestige...those gravitated toward Tirion and its relative proximity to Valimar. Glorfindel liked to think of Alqualondë as a perfect hybrid of slight sophistication and rusticity. “Fish, fields, farms; foundry, fabric and food,” he loved to quip.Their community boasted parchment-makers, some of the best metalworkers in Aman, and easily the finest foods because so many in the region had their occupation in either the procuring or processing of foodstuffs. Glorfindel’s chosen work was but one example of how many elves contributed their talents in this quaint (but occasionally odoriferous) far-flung city. 

The path was wide enough to allow them to walk side-by-side, so they flirted with each other by allowing their hands to brush together often. Occasionally a finger would stroke a wrist or other such innocent contact; the odds of them being seen were next to nil but that did not stop them from being ever-mindful of the consequences of being found out. Glorfindel especially understood that at least at this time, Erestor was just beginning to heal from a very long sorrow. The last thing he needed was the scrutiny of being pushed into the center of a social maelstrom. It was certainly worth the prudence needed to ensure that this kind of attention was a long time off.

“They are just as I remember them,” Erestor murmured, stepping through the curving spaces that flowed one into the next. Light came in from above; many crevasses opened to the outer world thanks to the irregular formation of the steep Pelori. 

“I wish to show you something,” Glorfindel beckoned. “This way.” Threading through the passages, they arrived at one cavern that was much larger than the rest, before that diverted into yet more honeycombed chambers and tunnels. Gesturing, the blond guided his mate into the next cavern and smiled to hear Erestor gasp. In here, the sandstone had been lovingly carved. Shaped. Curving patterns pleasing to the eye swirled past occasional ornaments of vines and leaves rising in relief from the surface. Walls had been smoothed and decorated; here and there the shape of a sea-shell graced the pale stone. “Do you approve?” Now that they were so far inside the caves, he placed his arm around Erestor’s shoulder.

“I very much do. But who? And how? This is truly lovely. And look, already this could suffice as a room for an elfling, or perhaps a single person. There are places carved for belongings, clothing, even seats and….where would anyone sleep?”

“Hammocks,” Glorfindel answered, laughing. “This stone is easily shaped on account of how soft it is, and it will be possible to insert beams of wood for that purpose. This room is only one possibility; since each cave is unique no two could be exactly the same. And as for how, his name is Cantaro. I met him through a trade of a trade, one might say. I have sent word out of the kinds of skills this project might require, and was able to hire the services of one whose specialty is carving this kind of stone. He apparently enjoyed this very much, and hoped to do more.”

Slowly Erestor nodded his head. “You know, something occurred to me the other week that I failed to mention, in the throes of my newfound love. Elrond’s notes included the observation that apparently for each day that transpires here, eighteen days occur back in Ennor. If this is accurate, even if Thranduil receives the command to journey here fifty years into their future, it will not even be three years by our reckoning.”

Glorfindel blinked, having overlooked this detail. “You are certain?” he asked, a note of pathos now in his voice.

“I am certain of what was written down,” Erestor answered carefully.

“Then we have precious little time to ready nearly one hundred and sixty living quarters plus communal spaces.”

“How many adamants did Thranduil send?” Erestor asked in a small voice.

“Enough. We will manage, my love. But very soon we must send word to all of Alqualondë of what must transpire. We will need more artisans than Cantaro, to complete this task in time.”

A very different mood seemed to strike the dark-haired ellon, who moved to sit down on one of the carved benches. “Do you remember Thranduil’s Halls, Glorfindel? How beautiful they were?” he asked wistfully.

“I do, though...they were not a place I would have preferred to dwell. I have ever needed to see light, and sunshine. If I lived in such a place, I would have begged to be tasked with some duty that took place outside the caverns.”

“They did not bother me,” Erestor said. “I thought them magnificent.” He looked down. 

Realizing more was amiss, Glorfindel sat next to him. “You still grieve, in some ways, for the loss of the chance to live there?” he guessed.

Erestor’s mein began to crumble. “I am sorry,” he whispered, tears pooling. “I know that if I had remained, I would not have had you. We would have been sundered.”

“Do not be sorry, Erestor. I do not take offense; I know that your feelings are not a rejection of me. But I would like to try to understand better, if you are willing. Am I hearing that there was a greater aspect to your sorrow besides Thanadir?”

The inky head nodded, and yielded easily to the gentle pressure to lean against Glorfindel’s comforting warmth. One of the slender hands reached to hold onto his husband, as he always did now when it became necessary to speak of anything difficult. This innocent gesture still melted the heart of the powerful ellon; the knowledge that Erestor sought refuge in him caused waves of love to wash over his thought. “I have sought to understand it for a very long time,” Erestor began. “In many ways, life in Ennor was hard, Glorfindel. The wars, the risk. But were I to take my best guess, when there I felt...needed. Useful. I do not mean that I am by any means useless here, but it is different. There I could be part of something greater; a realm. There was a point to it all; success did not come easily. That was much of why I wished to remain there, with Thranduil. The chance to cling to a kind of life that in some ways gave me a greater sense of fulfilment.”

Glorfindel listened carefully, rubbing Erestor’s back to comfort him while he considered. “You have missed having a challenge, and when you were forced out of the Woodland Realm, your last chance to have a meaningful exercise for your talents was also lost? Am I close?” Without asking he lifted Erestor onto his lap, the better to hold him. His mate turned to nuzzle against his neck, which he also found to be charming.

“I will have to think about it longer to be certain. But...you have struck the target, if not the bulls-eye. I do not wish to...that feels...arrogant, and yet I cannot refute it,” Erestor said dejectedly. “Is something wrong with me, that I have found less happiness where there is safety and peace than what existed beforehand? And yet those are not the right words either. I am supposed to be good with words.” His hold on Glorfindel tightened.

“Well, you will have this, because with the exception of having more social contacts than you, my ability to contribute is far more limited. I lack your ability to plan or organize in this manner.”

“I disagree. You were a Lord of Gondolin.”

“Ancient history,” Glorfindel countered.

“Once a Lord, always a Lord,” Erestor shot back, cheering up a little.

“Once a ticklish elf, always a ticklish elf?” came the retort with a surprise attack to the ribs.

Laughter replaced tears as both rose, and Erestor hugged his husband. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For the thousandth time, for all you do for me. I love you very much, and you are right. I will have this. Soon I will ask Elrond to come at least for a few days, to approve the ideas that even now are forming.”

“Good. Now let us return before the light fades completely. I am not through with you yet.”

“Does that mean you made me dessert?” Erestor asked hopefully.

“There is only one way to find out,” Glorfindel smirked.

*****

 

{May 2nd, 2035}

 

“All right, Annwn,” Sharley said, lifting her daughter so she could kiss that rosy little face, “you be good for Ada, and make sure he sleeps a little while Mama’s gone. I’ll be back in four days.”

 

“Four?” the little girl asked, holding up a hand.

 

“Four.” Sharley gently folded down one tiny thumb. “There, like that. Keep Ada and the Lump outta trouble.” She looked up at Maglor, and grinned. “I’m sure you two’ll do something fun while I'm gone.”

 

“Several somethings,” he smiled, kissing her. “I have sent letters, but please give my love to Elrond.” It was very difficult, but he managed to keep the envy out of his voice. He still had to wait two more years, before he was permitted to visit his family.

 

“I will,” she said, hoping Elrond would have a little something to send back. “I love you two, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

“Love you, Mama,” Annwn said, waving.

 

“At least it’s not raining,” Lorna typed. “We’ll have a job unloading this as it is.” She really did sound like Irish GLaDOS, and she kind of loved it. ‘This’ was a portable trailer that would hitch onto the back of Sharley’s bike; getting it onto the ferry could prove a bit interesting, but they’d manage it somehow. 

 

“True enough. All right, nobody’s forgetting anything? You’re sure?”

 

Earlene held Thanadir’s hand. Only she could feel that the poor elf was trembling, a little, as he watched Sharley double check her pack with its letters--and in his case, manuscript--inside of it.  _ It will be alright, meldir. I promise you. Try not to worry so much. _

 

_ I know. Or, I am trying to know. It is still very hard, for me. _

 

Rather than answer, she squeezed his hand tighter. “Nothing I can think of,” Earlene smiled. Thranduil had chosen not to be there, as his letter to his father made its way out of their forest.

 

“All right then,” Sharley said, “I’ll be back in four days.” She gave her husband and her daughter one extra kiss, and hopped into the Mystery Machine. She and Lorna were off a few moments later.

 

Fortunately, Sharley had a keen appreciation of Jimi Hendrix, so they could both enjoy driving music. Once they reached the motorway, though, Lorna turned it down a bit. 

 

_ Sharley, why have I been so...okay...with this whole ‘muteness’ thing?  _ she asked.  _ Do I have more Valar poking me in the brain? _

 

Sharley grinned. “No,” she said. “You’re just adapting well.”

 

Lorna turned that over in her mind. It was true that she wasn’t without issues -- she really missed being able to sing when she played guitar, and she still caught herself trying to speak when she was tired, which was always frustrating -- but on the whole, she was surprised by how well she was taking the whole thing. It was not lost on her that Thranduil had yet to say anything about the injury; if he thought it might have an expiration date, he’d have told her. For all she knew, it might be permanent...and yet she was kind of okay with that. Which was weirding her right the fuck out, honestly.

 

_ I never thought I’d be able to say that about myself,  _ she said at last, feeling she ought to say  _ something _ . She was not normally someone who adapted well -- just look at her fight with Ratiri. Yeah, she’d functioned, but she hadn’t been happy.

 

“There’s a lot you wouldn’t say about yourself,” Sharley said. “That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

 

_ I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment. _

 

“Good. It was meant as one.”

 

**

 

Getting both bike and trailer onto the ferry was indeed an interesting proposition, but they managed it eventually, and then got to enjoy the slightly chilly trip to Inis Mor -- yeah, it was May, but it was also Ireland. Lorna accompanied Sharley until sunset, mostly because two people chatting looked way less weird than one person lurking with a bike. She only left to take the last ferry, giving Sharley a hug before she did.

 

_ Ride carefully, even though I doubt there’s anything you could run into. _

 

“There’s not,” she said. “Keep an eye on my husband and my kid.”

 

Lorna left her with a promise to do just that, and she set off onto the Straight Road. A bike was even better than rollerblades; it had been a long time since she’d ridden one, and to really pick up speed, hair flying behind her, was surprisingly nice.

 

Time was kind of impossible to judge here, but she was pretty sure her very first trip had taken her a couple of days. This time it seemed to go by much faster, which meant she could probably linger for dinner (or breakfast, or whatever meal was on when she arrived). She could properly linger next time she came, with Maglor and Annwn.

 

_ “You know, it’s so beautiful and peaceful that I wonder if people here ever get bored,”  _ Layla said, thoughtful.  _ “Especially the people who were used to...activity, strife...when they were on Earth.” _

 

That...was actually a good question. Sharley couldn’t imagine getting  _ bored _ , precisely, but when one was used to a certain way of life, it could be easy to feel lost without it. She did wonder how her Elves would adapt to such a change. They’d done well when meeting the modern human world, so they’d probably be okay here.

 

Getting bike and trailer up the path to the House That Is Home was something of a tricky proposition, but she managed it, and rapped on the door.

 

“Tirillë!” Elrohir exclaimed. “Welcome! Can I help you with your...your…” he looked at her helplessly and pointed. “That?”

 

“It’s a bicycle, and yes please,” she said, laughing. “I’ve got letters from the Woodland Realm. Letters, and...well, lots of stuff.”

 

“Ahhh. A courier visit. That means you will not be staying.” He sounded disappointed. “Or will you?”

 

“I can spend the day,” she said, “but no more than that. Maglor’s home with our daughter, and I don't want to be away from them for too long. It won’t be long at all -- by your reckoning -- before all three of us will be coming, though.”

 

“Erestor mentioned that, to our adar,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him to where large baskets were stored into which they could place all the letters. “So it is true, that time moves differently there? Faster?”

 

“Much faster,” she said, taking a basket. “The week I spent here before was a little less than four months on Ennor. By your reckoning, it might be only a few months before Maglor and I can come again.”

 

“And a few years before all of them come, which will be quite the day. I will help you unpack the letters. Then there is something my father will wish to show you,” he smiled. “Right now he is cooking our meal. You picked another good opportunity. Noodles, and cheese.”

 

“I haven’t actually looked to see when they’ll be coming,” she said, loading the last of the mail into the baskets. “I’m not sure I could keep that to myself if I knew, and I don’t think any of  _ them  _ want to know. But speaking of food, one of these little books are Ennor recipes you could make here. Lady Vairë decided muffins were pretty great.”

 

“Huh. Wow. Father will like this, very much. What are ‘cookies’?” he looked up at her, puzzled.

 

Sharley grinned. “One of the best things to come outta Ennor,” she said. “They’re small and sweet, and it’s easy to eat way too many before  you realize you’ve done it.”

 

“Ohhh. Please pardon me for a moment, I will show this to adar.” Holding it as though it were a sacred text, Elrohir went scuttling off to the kitchen. Soon enough he returned, with a very happy Elrond in tow, who greeted her warmly.

 

“It is good to see you again! But I have been a little afraid of this day. Elrohir, did you tell her?”

 

“No way, adar,” the mischievous face smirked.

 

“Follow me,” he told Sharley with a sympathetic glance. He took them to a door on the lower floor, apparently one of the guest rooms. Opening it, he simply added “they just kept coming.”

 

Sharley stared, and knew immediately she’d been in Ireland for too long, for her reaction was, “Oh, good Jesus. I shoulda brought a bigger trailer.” There was no way all this mail was going to fit -- she’d have to strap some of it to the outside, and some to the bike frame, and probably stuff a bit in her clothing...which was going to look very, very odd going back from Inis Mor. She fought the urge to facepalm. “Well, I brought some paper to send over, just in case any was needed, but it looks like they’ve found some since the last time I was here.” At least there was no wood.

 

“I warned that this might turn into too much. Elladan has helped me. The stack of items from any involved in your relocation are here,” he indicated a very reasonably underfilled basket on a chair. “All the rest of it is what happened after news spread that some of our people yet dwell on the other side. That stack (he indicated the mass of letters covering the bed) is ones we know are from former subjects of Aran Thranduil.  The rest…” he threw up his hands in a rather helpless gesture. “Who can say?”

 

“I guess we'll find out,” she said, trying to picture the expressions on everyone’s faces when she came home with this load. “At least next time, Maglor and I will both have bikes with trailers. I wish I’d thought to bring my backpack.” And she really hoped it wouldn’t be raining on the other side, when she got off the Straight Road.

 

“We have knapsacks,” Elladan said, appearing in the room. “If it would help, you may certainly take one.”

 

“We should help her pack this as best is possible,” Elrond sighed. “She cannot stay longer than to eat a meal with us.”

 

“Alrighty,” Elladan said, pondering the correspondence. “Well. Compression and string have never failed me yet.”

 

“It’s probably the only thing to be done,” Sharley said. “I’ll be smarter next time. Oh, the Donovan kids sent more English stuff for Erestor, too -- I’ll separate it out and you can give it to him whenever you see him next.”

 

“They will be here next week,” Elrond said. “You just missed them.”

 

“That’s a bummer,” she said. “Oh well, that just gives him some time to study it before Maglor and I come -- oh, I brought another little photo album. Annwn and I followed him around one day taking pictures.”

 

“You had your child!” Elrond realized. “That is wonderful. There is a picture of her?”

 

“Many,” Sharley said, digging through her basket until she found the little book. “She has Maglor’s hair.” Flipping through it, she found a photo of her husband holding Annwn in the Heart Room, reading to her out of a  _ National Geographic _ . “She’s the cutest little bug, even if she doesn’t like being called a little bug this time around.”

 

“Oooooh she does look like him. But you too. Annwn, you said? That is a pretty name. Daughters are special,” he said. For just a moment, he closed his eyes, an expression of pain crossing his face, before he smiled. “I will look forward to meeting her.”

 

“They are,” she said, with great sympathy. “Her father-name is Anna, which funnily enough is a name in the human world, too, though it doesn’t mean the same thing.”

 

“Leave it to Maglor to choose something very accurate,” he smiled. “Come, rest for a little while. My sons will manage the packing for you. You can tell me about this recipe book while I finish cooking.”


	160. One Hundred Sixty

{May 3, 2035}

 

Annwn wasn’t sure what she thought of her mama being gone, but it meant she stuck even closer to her ada. After dinner, she and the Lump went to snuggle with him in the Heart Room, comforted to have him near. Between him and the Lump, things were okay, even if Mama was gone.

 

Maglor stroked his daughter’s hair, which was growing longer now. Closing his eyes, he remembered doing this same thing with Elros and Elrond. Elros would tend to go to Maedhros more, leaving him with the other twin. While he had cherished those moments, they were always tainted. A pall was cast over his life then, of which he was finally free. Well, mostly free. Still he worried, sometimes, what she would think when she was old enough to understand who he was. What he had done. For now, all of that could be deferred. Someday, he hoped, Annwn would know her people. Not just this small pocket of them, but their totality. Who even knew what she might become, might choose to do with her life. There were so many possibilities.

 

“What do you think you want to be when you grow up?” he asked her, curious.

 

This required some serious consideration. There were so many things she could be, so many things she could do. “I want to be a tree doctor,” she said. “All the trees in the forest are happy, but I know trees outside can be sick, and I want to make them better.” They’d read about it in the shiny magazine not that long ago. “And I want to play a harp.”

 

“That is very good of you, to want to care for Yavanna’s creation,” he kissed her head. “The trees are very beautiful, and they give us the wood so that we can play the harp.”

 

“How big do I have to be before I can play?” she asked, looking at her hands. They were very small hands, but she was a very small person.

 

“I was your size when I began to learn,” he answered. “But at first it can hurt your fingers. Make them ouchy.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Ada, can I learn something? Can I learn and we can show Mama when she gets home? The Lump can listen.” She patted the cat, who purred contentedly.

 

“Of course you can. But it might be hard for you. You understand that, right?”

 

“I know. Mama says everything worth doing takes time to learn.” She looked at her fingers. “Why will my fingers be ouchy? Because of the strings?”

 

“Yes. See my fingertips? How hard they are? That is from a very long time of playing. We will take it slow at first. Not have you do so much all at once, and hopefully that won’t happen. But even if it does, you would heal quickly.”

 

Annwn poked at Ada’s fingertips. She hadn’t thought skin could do that. “Are the strings sharp?”

 

“No. But they are tight. They have to be, to make their sounds. Otherwise the music would not happen.”

 

“How long did it take you, to learn how to play pretty like you do?” she asked, looking up at him.

 

“Oh. Well, I was decent after maybe one hundred years. But sweetheart, I have been playing for more than ten thousand years. That is a very long time.” He booped her on the nose. “Too much to count.”

 

Ten thousand...that was a number so big she couldn’t actually imagine it. “How old am I, Ada?”

 

“You are eleven months old. Almost one year. Almost two years, by the way elves count age.”

 

That wasn’t very long at all. No wonder she was so small, when Ada and Mama were so big. “Ada, can the Lump and I sleep with you tonight? I don't want to sleep alone with Mama gone.”

 

“Yes,” he answered, wondering a little about some of the things he heard. “Does that mean you like to sleep alone with your mother here?”

 

“It’s okay being just me and the Lump when you and Mama are both here,” Annwn said. “But Mama’s gone, and I don't want it to just be me and the Lump.” Her mother being away was new, and strange, and while it wasn’t a  _ bad  _ thing, it wasn’t a good one, either.

 

“She will be back soon,” he smiled. “And there is the cat. Lump. The lump cat,” he said, forcing himself to utter The Name.

 

Annwn giggled. “She’s better than my stuffed animals,” she said, petting the cat, who purred like the engine of Auntie Lorna’s van. “We should make something for Mama, before she comes home. A thingy like the one Uncle Thranduil has hanging out on the porch, the makes noise in the wind.”

 

“You want to make a wind chime?” he asked, rubbing her back. “We can do that. That would be fun.”

 

“It would be. We can get stuff from the forest to make it, and Uncle Thanadir probably has bells or something.” It would be pretty, and it would sound nice.

 

She glanced at her aunt, who was typing away on her own thingy. “Ada, could what happened to Auntie Lorna happen to me?”

 

Maglor frowned. “You are peredhel, Annwn. Aunt Lorna is mortal. I cannot see any means by which that could happen to you.”

 

“Mama says I'm peredhel, but not like the other peredhel,” she said, somewhat relieved. “She says it’s because Auntie Earlene is human, but she’s a Maia, so we’re kinda the same but different. And that there was only ever one other peredhel like me, so we’ll have to...to see what happens as I get older.” She’d rather liked the sound of that.

 

“That is right. The other children here are half-elven, half-human. You are like Lúthien was.”

 

“I think Faeleth is kinda like me, Ada,” Annwn said. “Kinda. She’s not the same as her brothers and sisters.”

 

“That is...also true. I forget about that, sometimes. She is something else. Like you, but...more, I think. I suppose we will know when she is grown.”

 

The little girl yawned. “We won’t be grown up for a long, long time,” she said, hugging the Lump close. She was happy for it, too; right now, being little was fun.

 

“I will not mind,” he answered softly. “You are my little peg, and I am in no hurry for you to be my big peg.”

 

“Little peg. Big Lump. I love you, Ada, and so does the Lump.” She was so sleepy now -- Auntie Earlene’s dinners were always really good, and they always made her sleepy.

 

“I think it is time for us to say good-night,” Maglor said, smiling at Pen.

 

“I will bring the cat,” his friend offered, perceiving what needed to happen. 

 

“Thank you,” Maglor said gratefully.

 

The Lump yawned as well, and placidly let herself be carried. Annwn wiggled her fingers at her kitty, snuggling in her Ada’s arms. Mama was away, but it was okay. Home was safe, and she was loved.

 

*****

 

{May 6, 2035}

 

Sharley was not a happy bunny.

 

Elladan and Elrohir had mashed the letters down as best they could, bundling them tightly with string, but even so. The trailer was not only full, there were letters tied on all four sides, and letters tied to the bike frame, and even letters stuffed down the front of her shirt. Yeah, she definitely needed a bigger trailer -- both she and Maglor did, because good  _ grief _ . 

 

She got some very odd looks, too, not that she blamed anyone. Lorna’s surprised eyebrow, however, was almost more than she could endure.

 

_ Do I want to ask?  _ her tiny friend said.

 

_ News got around,  _ Sharley said dryly.  _ Every curious Elf in freaking Aman decided to look for a Woodland Realm pen-pal, it seems. _

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek, and somehow kept her laughter at bay. They managed to get bike, trailer, and mail onto the ferry and off again, and then Sharley collapsed into the passenger’s seat. There had to be some level of time dilation on the Straight Road, and she was now exhausted.

 

_ Annwn and Maglor made you something,  _ Lorna said, but refused to elaborate the entire way home, and eventually Sharley dozed.

 

She roused when they pulled into the driveway, however, and yawned. Oh, she could use a nap, after a ride like that.  _ Laurë, you are not gonna believe what I came home with. _

 

That sounded to Maglor like...needing help. “Come, your nana is home,” he told Annwn, hoisting his giggling daughter high up onto his shoulders. “I have a feeling they could use plenty of hands,” he told the household. Which basically meant that everyone in the Heart Room filed outside to do just that.

 

“You are not allowed to be nervous, it is just mail,” Earlene admonished Thanadir, seeing as they were first out the door.

 

“Valar,” the seneschal whispered. “That is not ‘just mail’. That looks like someone strong-armed a postal office.”

 

“Meldir, surely you are…” Earlene stopped mid-sentence. “What?” she said to Sharley, when finally they were close enough to see the full scope of the problem.

 

“According to Elrond, a whole lotta people got really interested when they heard there were still Elves on Earth,” Sharley said dryly. “This section here are letters from the former Woodland Realm. The rest of these are just from...whoever. Laurë, when we go, you need one of these trailers, too.” Even as she spoke, she pulled a bundle of letters out of the front of her shirt.

 

“It will take a day just to sort this,” Thanadir said helplessly.

 

“Well I cannot think of anyone more efficient than our capable seneschal,” Earlene said, stifling a smile. “I am certain you already have an organizational system in mind.”

 

“Yes but…”

 

“Oh, no buts. I expect to be impressed as always.” She kissed him on the cheek, hefted a bag over her shoulder, and began walking back to Eldamar, leaving him standing there with his lips parted. 

 

“I will help you, Hîr vuin,” Maglor smiled, knowing that Earlene was teasing him. “Tell me where you would like these to go.”

 

“Mama, Ada and I made you something!” Annwn said, grinning. “Ada, let’s show Mama first, can we?”

 

“Lorna said you made me something, and then refused to say anything more,” Sharley teased.

 

“We will show her, Annwn. But your mother is very tired, can you see how sleepy she looks? Ada suspects that mama has not slept since she left here, and is barely functioning. Which is why we are all going upstairs to our room so that mama can rest and so she can see what you made her,” he said silkily, with an edge of command to his soft voice as he slid his arm around his wife’s waist. “And you said I was the one who would not sleep,” he accused.

 

“That’s a long ride,” she said, yawning as she leaned against him. “ _ Did  _ you sleep, though?”

 

“We did, Mama,” Annwn said proudly. “Us and the Lump.”

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow.  _ Thank you for putting up with the cat,  _ she said.  _ I hope she at least left your posterior alone. _

 

_ Mine, yes,  _ Maglor smirked.

 

She burst out laughing.  _ Aman and the Straight Road might be beautiful, but I'm glad I’m home.  _ And yes, she yawned again.

 

“Show mama what you made?” he asked his daughter.

 

Annwn scurried off, and grabbed their wind chime. It was made of a multitude of things: painted cans, bottle caps, and a few tiny dessert spoons bought from the thrift shop. It clanked and tinkled quite satisfactorily, and Sharley grinned when she saw it.

 

“You two made this?” she asked, taking it when her daughter handed it over. 

 

“Yep,” Annwn said proudly. “Us and the Lump. Well, she watched.”

 

“I will hang it in the window,” Maglor smiled. “And now, young lady, would you like to come with me or nap with your mama?”

 

“Nap with Mama,” Annwn said. She was not actually sleepy, but she would be once she laid down. That was usually how it worked.

 

Sharley kissed her forehead. “Sounds like a good idea, little ladybug.” She kicked her boots off, swapped her jeans for flannel pajama pants, and curled up on the bed with her daughter (and their cat). Yes, Aman was beautiful, but Dorothy Gale wasn’t wrong when she said there was no place like home.

 

“Sweet dreams, little peg. And mama,” Maglor said, tenderly kissing both of them, and fussing with spreading a light blanket over them both. Pausing at the doorway, he looked back at what he loved most in this world before closing the door behind him.

 

**

 

Lorna pondered, and that afternoon went to talk to Siobhan and Geezer in the Woodworking Hall. As she ran into Pat halfway there, she dragged him along for the ride.

 

She’d been thinking a great deal about what would happen when the end actually came -- when the plague was destroying the outside world, and everyone would know it. She’d spent enough time around Angie over the years to realize that was going to have some immense psychological impact on a lot of people -- even people who thought they were mentally prepared for it -- and something would need to be done.

 

“We’re gonna need a period of mourning, I think,” Geezer said, when she explained her errand. He wasn’t about to interrupt his work just to talk, and kept sanding away at the lid of a trunk. “We’re not gonna be able to just go on business as usual.”

 

“No, that’d be a shit idea,” Siobhan agreed. “We can’t pretend it’s not happening, but we can’t let it grind things to a total standstill, either.”

 

“Well, we know what day it’s going to happen,” Pat said, fiddling with a hammer. “We’ll just have to have enough shite put together in advance, so we can take things easy for the next few days. People can...do whatever they need to do.”

 

“I can’t bloody believe it’s on my fucking sixtieth birthday,” Lorna typed. “Typical.” She paused. “We should put together a wake -- an old-style wake. Celebrate everything that’s passed, and let everyone have a good cry about it. It’ll all be gone forever, and there’s no point in trying to ignore that.” She herself was going to have a tough time knowing she’d probably never see Baile again. Yes, she’d accepted it ages ago, but that didn't mean it wouldn’t be a little hard. If there was any relief to be had, though, it was that just about everyone she’d talked to seemed to realize that it was going to be harder than they thought, just because who the hell could really prepare for something like this? The fact that probably most of them weren’t really ready -- and knew it -- was actually a huge relief. 

 

“Actually, that’s a fuckin’ good idea,” Geezer said. “Especially if we get input from everyone that wants to give it. Might help if people feel like they’re involved.” He hadn’t forgotten his earliest days in Vietnam, no matter how much he’d like to; yeah, he’d known  _ he _ wasn’t ready, but some of the other guys in his unit had figured they’d be cool with it all, and had gotten a nasty surprise. Camaraderie could make a lot of difference; if people trusted they could turn to each other, it helped. Putting some kind of wake together would be a group effort, so people would be less likely to wander off and get maudlin on their own.

 

Of course, this was easy for him to say. Everything he cared about in the entire goddamn world was here; he hadn’t left any friends outside to die. A lot of the people who’d come from outside Ireland had friends and colleagues left behind them -- people they knew were going to die horribly. That would be a hard fucking burden to carry, and the shrinks had been working with them -- but Angie and Juana were both kind of compromised in that area themselves. Shit, Angie had worked at the clinic in Sultan for thirty years, and had known all this time that her work friends were going to die in what was to come. Her patients, people she’d helped for years, would die, and she and all the other med people had carried that weight ever since they found out about the plague. 

 

Yeah, he and the Irish had it easy, which was why they couldn’t afford to forget the fact that not everybody did. 

 

“We should talk to Maglor,” Lorna typed. She was still getting used to her slightly robotic voice, but as it continued to remind her of Irish GLaDOS, that was okay. “He’s our music man. I know loads’v us can play an instrument, so we should see who wants to play what.” It saddened her to realize that, for the first time, she couldn’t sing when she played. She’d been a panhandler, once upon a time; playing and singing was what she did, and she might never be able to do that again. She wasn’t without hope that whatever was wonky in her brain might heal, but she also wasn’t going to get her hopes up.

 

Siobhan laughed. “Wasn’t he just the cutest fucking thing with that kid?” she asked. In the time Sharley had been away, father and daughter had gone everywhere together, including through the Woodworking Hall, examining potential things for their wind chimes. Annwn had spent most of her time sitting on his shoulders, until he set her down so they could inspect different bits of wood. Eventually, they’d decided to forgo that altogether, and make something out of cans instead.

 

“Dude deserves it, after everything,” Geezer said quietly. Didn't surprise him Maglor was so good with kids, either, given he’d raised Elrond and Elros.

 

“Well, let’s just write down ideas as we go,” Lorna typed. “We’ve got a couple years yet. Civilization can go out with a bang. Though hopefully not a literal one.”

 

_ “That’s,”  _ Kurt snickered,  _ “what she said.” _

 

*****

 

{Meanwhile in Aman--Tol Eressëa}

 

“Here again,” Erestor said, smiling happily as they walked the path from the ferry to the House that is Home. 

“Yes,” Glorfindel smiled, taking his hand. They were almost assuredly out of the sight of anyone at all, and he reasoned that even if someone were to see them, that if their contact did not continue for too long it could be explained away if need be. “Is there something special you would like to do this visit?”

“I had been thinking of asking Elladan to show me more about cheesemaking,” Erestor pondered. “Lately it has been on my mind that compared to many, my ignorance of anything having to do with food is appalling. Except, of course, how to eat it; I seem to have mastered that well enough thanks to your skills.” Laughing at himself, he patted his tummy, which had perhaps become just a little wider around since their marriage. But not too bad. “You have brought me to perhaps an excess of contentment.”

“I have no intention of changing that,” Glorfindel said with a raised eyebrow.

“Nor am I asking you to. Race you to the house!” Erestor took off like a shot, knowing that his self-afforded head start just might give him a chance. Glorfindel was powerful, but he was not as quick as the wiry scholar.

“Oh, you think so?” Glorfindel smirked, giving chase.

**

“What are these?” Erestor asked with awe.

“Cinnamon cookies. Specifically, Snicker doodlies.”

“What?” Erestor said, confused.

“See here? It is in the book Sharley brought me; she just was here last week. Snicker doodlies.”

“Isn’t that ‘Snickerdoodles’?” Erestor asked, reading more carefully and seeing the English word written next to the Sindarin.

“Well, maybe, but either way the word makes no sense. Does it matter?” Elrond asked, with his eyebrow raised questioningly.

“I suppose not,” Erestor admitted. “But Blessed Valar, these are delicious. Could you make these, Glorfindel?” His voice was laden with hopefulness.

“I could. I wonder how many of our people have your sweet tooth, Erestor? Perhaps I should branch out a little, if Elrond would give me permission to use his recipe.”

“It is hardly my recipe,” Elrond smiled. “I think quite a few of these are from Earlene, as well as the cooks in Thranduil’s Halls. There is something here that intrigues me, it is called ‘bacon’. The Wood-Elves apparently favor it second only to the greatest technological inventions of the humans.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows raised. “What is it?”

“Something you do to the meat from pig’s bellies. With a particular kind of salt milled with celery seeds.”

“Really? Well, the farmers outside Alqualondë have both of those things. I admit I am intrigued.”

“Well, you are welcome to copy whatever of this you wish while you are here,” Elrond said. “I do not want to face the wrath of my wife, were I to loan you the original.”

“Me? Oh no you do not, Elrond Eärendilion,” Celebrían scolded, hands on her hips. “Go on, tell them where that book is at night!”

Elrond mumbled something indistinct, blushing.

“What was that?” Celebrían said more loudly while the twins snickered. “Did you mean to tell them that you are sleeping with it under your pillow? I am not certain they were able to hear you.”

“I only wanted to know where it was, should I wake up late at night and wish to read it,” Elrond said unconvincingly.

“Of course you do, dear,” she said, rising to take her plate to the sink and put water on the fire for tea and giving him a kiss in passing.

Erestor shook with laughter at his friend’s predicament.

“Oh, do not laugh too hard, Erestor. You have not seen the stack waiting for you in the front room,” Elrond glared.

“What stack? Stack of what?” the dark elf asked.

“All of the things from the Woodland Realm. Nobody received more than you did.”

“I...what?” Nothing was penetrating.

“Cor-res-pon-dence, Master Erestor,” Elladan teased. “Or perhaps in your case, library materials. I expect we might not see much of you afterward. I think it will take even you awhile to wade through all that.”

“Come, Erestor. Now that this has been brought up, you will have no peace until your curiosity is satisfied. We can have our tea in the front room.” Elrond gestured for his friends to follow him; Elrohir and his brother lingered back to help their mother clean up from their meal.

“Sit,” their host ordered, ushering Erestor to a comfortable chair near the brightest of the lamps. A low table was dragged next to him, and then Elrond disappeared momentarily and returned with a large basket full of parcels that he plunked in front of Erestor. “Oh, and these were for you, Glorfindel.” Two (by comparison) puny envelopes were handed over to the baffled blond, before he returned his attention to Erestor. “One of those is from Maglor and Pengolodh,” he said. “I confess to being extremely curious what it is they have sent you that is so...voluminous.”

Erestor turned the package over in his hands, carefully unwrapping it. In the meantime, Glorfindel thought he recognized the rather perfect script he saw on one of the envelopes, and opened it. He hid his surprise, and took advantage of Erestor’s distraction to read the short letter inside.

_Hîr Glorfindel: Your regard matters to me, very much. Were our positions reversed, I would do no less for my husband or my wife. I willingly accept your penalty and promise to give my best effort. Not only because you ask it, but on account of this being the right thing to do. I am stricken, to learn of what I have done, and yet my feelings are of lesser importance. To the extent my vows to my rulers permit me, I place myself under this obligation to both you and your mate_ _. With humility, -Thanadir_

That had been...unexpected. Both to receive a direct reply, and so soon. He wondered what it meant, but did not have too long to wait before discerning the answer.

“This is...oh, my,” Erestor whispered. “In the world of men, as their civilization developed, ideas and principles fundamental to the betterment of their society were posed by those considered to be great thinkers. Maglor and Pengolodh have chosen to present those concepts in both Sindarin and the language English, with side by side translations, because it was made known that I had shown an interest in this. But...why? Why would they make this kind of effort for me? I have never met Maglor, and barely knew Pengolodh...this makes no sense.”

“Huh,” Glorfindel said evasively. “There is more in there, what else?”

A second parcel, with a letter, was next. “This is from Thanadir, it seems,” Erestor sighed. He opened it. This time, he would not need another to read it for him, though his heart beat a little faster in his chest. His thought was open to Glorfindel; of course he did not mind if his mate knew.

_ Hîr Erestor,  _

_ This letter is more difficult to write, for now I am no longer left in doubt as to the damage I have wrought. Please know that I am cut to the heart to learn of the effect my actions had on you. I will always be sorry, and will ever cherish that you have willingly forgiven me. Grief wears at my spirit, and yet it was pointed out to me that the greater understanding of the harm I caused you was not told to me so that I could slip into despair. A suggestion was made of how I might turn my sorrow to something of worth. Something more productive, than despondently reflecting on my sins.  _

_ So I began a book, of sorts. Tirillë (who we call Sharley, because it is her preference) told of your interest in the world on this side. I have done my best to describe this place to you, in both our tongue and the one most humans here use, English (she said English interested you as well). As there is so much to tell, I expect I will keep writing. But, this may also well be a chronicle of that which is lost, by the time it reaches you. A great sickness is coming--arguably the last remnant of the evils of Morgoth, for the plague is the invention of one of his creatures that lingered here. We expect almost all humans in the outer world to perish, even as we have struggled these last twenty years to afford some of them a means of survival inside of the Halls of our King.  _

_ The modern human world is filled with wonders, all of which exist at a cost. It is so difficult to explain, how much they have accomplished and how much has been ruined and wasted at the same time. I am only one elf, and this narrative reflects only my perspective and experiences. And yet I offer it, as a means to share what I should have offered so long ago--a friendly exchange of scholarly interest.  _

_ It brought me joy, to learn of your marriage. May our Father Eru grant you the fullest measure of happiness with your mate. I have kept my hopes for your continued well-being in my prayers. Blessings for your kindness and your mercy, Erestor. Sincerely, - Thanadir _

“Another volume, this time concerning observations of the world in which they dwell. Also in Sindarin and English,” Erestor commented, stunned. “With hand-drawn illustrations and diagrams.”

“Oooooh look, more,” Elladan said, enthusiastically poking at the pamphlets. “A picture book, and more of that language of theirs and all kinds of things. It is not fair, how are you so popular?” he pouted.

“Perhaps because he has a reputation for the appreciation of learning,” Glorfindel teased. “Something we always had quite a time trying to instill in  _ you _ . In fact if I recall, Erestor had to sit on you a number of times just to get you to complete your lessons.”

“Well, we cannot all be bookworms,” Elladan countered.

“That is true,” Elrond said, raising an eyebrow. “Someone has to know how to clean the stalls and milk the cow.”

“Nobody complains when they have my cheese to eat,” the twin grumbled, but with good humor. “I will just have to make my passionate appreciation of livestock better understood by those on the other side.”

“Why, so they can shower you with alfalfa seed?” Elrohir asked acerbically.

“They might,” Elladan huffed. “You never know.”

“Now boys,” Celebrían said, but she was smiling as she worked on her knitting.

Glorfindel looked at all of the items that Erestor still needed to sort through and felt he had a very good guess as to the reason for Erestor’s sudden popularity. He would not relent just yet, but already his heart softened toward Thanadir. The effort put forth was considerable, and he had not considered that the seneschal could possibly manage anything even before his arrival on these shores; it would seem he was wrong about that. Time would tell, but at the moment he felt pleased. Very pleased, indeed.

*****

{May 25, 2035}

 

Though Ratiri had been allowed back to work, Angie had ordered him to spend one day a week basket-weaving. According to her, it would be a therapeutic exercise, and he couldn’t exactly argue; basket-weaving was oddly Zen. He had to pay attention to what he was doing, but it didn't require a great deal of higher thought, and he could listen to Angelica and Lalo argue in Spanish. He’d actually picked up a bit of the language that way, though it was mostly swearwords; when the two weren’t bickering, they often kept up a competing monologue with their respective baskets. Generally, these were only punctuated by requests that he grab them something off some high shelf or another, since both of them weren’t much bigger than Donovan-sized.

 

Today he’d be making one for personal reasons -- Lorna’s birthday was coming up, and she needed something to store all her spinning-gear in. They’d bought her a modern metal wheel, and the frame, to his amusement, was shiny, black, and painted with shimmery pink hummingbirds and butterflies. Just...because, apparently.

 

So he left Eldamar in the cool morning after breakfast, breathing in the fresh air. The walk was nice -- just long enough for him to get his thoughts in order.

 

The clip-clop of hoofbeats sounded behind him. “Want a lift?” Allanah asked from Nimroch’s back. “I’m going into town, Uncle Ratiri. I have a lunch date.”

 

“If your horse doesn’t mind,” he said, trying to shift all his things in a manner that would actually let him mount the animal. “Who are you seeing?”

 

“Einir wanted to meet and talk about Eldamar somewhere besides Eldamar,” Allanah grinned. “So I’m meeting her at the diner. Nana said she really likes junk food, so I figured pie and cheeseburger would be easier than kale salad and hummus sandwiches. You know, break them in slowly.”

 

He burst out laughing as he swung himself up behind her. “Your nana is a very smart woman,” he said. “I know Einir’s type -- she’s probably even more anti-salad than your aunt Lorna.” Salads were not exactly finger food, and techies, like doctors, liked to eat and work at the same time. “Does it look like she might actually move in?”

 

“Not sure. Logically, if she’s asking about it, she must be considering it seriously. I’ll know more after today, I’d guess. I kind of hope so. On one hand, it was nice having the place a little more depopulated. But she strikes me as the sort that won’t be very obtrusive and honestly, she needs to adopt a few different habits if she is going to make the not so distant transition to future realities well.”

 

“Something tells me we wouldn’t see a great deal of her at first,” he said. “She’ll hole up in her room like a bear in a den at first. I think we may need to have her over for dinner a few more times, but let her talk with all of us one-on-one a bit. I can’t blame her for hesitating to move into a house full of literal strangers.” And they’d learned from poor Chandra -- nobody would expect her to come to mealtime.

 

“Doesn’t matter to me. And...I’ve talked a little with Nana about the idea of doing what the Halls do, on a smaller scale. Sure, she cooks the three meals a day and we all sit down to that. But in the Halls you can get food any time of the day; there’s always soup and rolls or...you know, something, that they keep warm in a big kettle and have ready to eat. It would be super simple to have something similar going; just an everlasting soup pot left on all the time. It’d be way better than what Einir is eating now, which I suspect is fizzy drinks, candy bars and pizza.”

 

“Considering how rarely we’re all in the same place at the same time anymore, that’s a very good idea,” he said. “See if you can talk Einir into going in for a physical sooner or later, because I suspect you’re right about her diet. And for Eru’s sake, help me out here: your aunt’s birthday is next month, and I’m making her a spinning-basket, but I have no idea what else to get her, and I know that I should.”

 

“Um...why don’t you do like what my family did for me? A holiday, just the two’v you? I mean, we’re running out’v time for those, and no one ever came up the worse for getting a breather from the forest. Your kids are old enough to stay with us. Why not someplace she can’t carry on about being too hot, like...I don’t know, Iceland or Sweden or Norway? One’v those? Finland? Ask my Nana. She knows everything.”

 

“That,” Ratiri said, “is a phenomenal idea. I think Lorna said something once about Norway, though of course I can’t remember what. Lovely fjords, and I believe a lot of Norwegians are fluent in English.” He was pretty sure it was part of their schooling, actually. “Hopefully your Nana will agree.”

 

“I’m sure she wouldn’t disagree...and she’s pretty good at finding out where the best places are to go and when and all that kind of thing. Everyone speaks English. If they spoke English in Tanzania I’m pretty sure it’s everywhere,” she chuckled.

 

“Well, it’s something to ponder while I weave a basket,” he said, trying not to roll his eyes. “As soothing as it is, I can’t help but feel like I should be doing something else.”

 

“Why? Baskets are really important, honestly. Just like horseshoes. Someone has to make the stuff, and I think it’s really good when people mix up jobs. I don’t like the idea of anyone having just one function. I hope our new society doesn’t become as elitist as the old one. Being a doctor is really important, but so is showing that doctors think making baskets is important. Something like that.”

 

“You’re too pragmatic for your age,” he said, trying not to laugh and failing. “You need to...to go riding a snowmobile in a Boba Fett helmet. Do something silly. We’ll all do our best to avoid future elitism, and hope that’s enough. Though if you ever want free entertainment, drop by Angelica and Lalo’s and listen to them argue in Spanish. They remind me of my parents.”

 

“Mmmm. Pragmatic is another word for boring, and boring can be just fine,” she smiled. “I’m perfectly content to leave the real excitement to others. I’d rather beat on glowing metal all day. It does not talk back to me.”

 

“Pragmatic is not boring,” he said. “Don't ever let anyone tell you so. But that doesn’t mean riding a snowmobile in a Boba Fett helmet should be entirely ruled out -- just don't run into a tree like I did. Medical students plus unrestricted access to alcohol is a poor combination, and I’m glad you’re not terribly Irish when it comes to liquor.” He was sure her mother was, too.

 

“I don’t mind drinking,” she said. “I don’t understand wanting to be drunk. It just has...no appeal. There are other things I’d rather do with my time and...I feel like it is something people do because they don’t have better things to be busy with? I have things I want to do, make. And if I’m not doing or making, I’m reading about things I want to know.” She shrugged. “I just have strong opinions on how I want to occupy myself, and they don’t include being plastered.”

 

“You don't have anything you want to escape,” he said. “For many people, they drink to avoid something. The Irish drink as a competitive sport. Though I can’t wholly lay it on the Irish, either; Lalo brews some traditional drink that I suspect would send a person blind if imbibed in too great a quantity at once. Fortunately it tastes rather like petrol, so drinking too much is unlikely.”

 

“Ewww.” Allanah shook her head. “Adar taught me that if you are going to bother, bother with something worth drinking. I cannot disagree.”

 

Ratiri was not going to mention how much of it he’d had himself, during the fallout from the discovery of Murder Night, as he called it. “Your Adar is right. Well, say hello to Einir, and tell her to come see us in the clinic. I know she won’t do it, but I’ll rest easier knowing the offer was extended.”

 

“Sure,” Allanah said, sliding off the horse easily out front of the flat. “Mind if I come in and see what you do? I’ve not been there before, nor have I met them.”

 

“Sure,” he said, adjusting his gear as he dismounted. A frond of some kind whapped him in the face, naturally. The problem with these two was that they liked making their more decorative baskets out of relatively odd (for Ireland) materials -- these were huge blades of some kind of grass bush that grew in Mairead’s front yard.

 

He didn't bother knocking on the door -- they’d told him not to ages ago, and in any event Angelica was already starting in on Lalo. They entered in time to hear her say, “Mira, tu tonto bastardo, ya no tienes hilos rojas!” If he had that right, she was calling him a stupid bastard and saying that he had no red...threads? Lines? Something?

 

Lalo rolled his eyes, flapping his hand in the universal symbol for ‘you’re talking and I’m not listening’. “Hola, Ratiri. You want some coffee?”

 

“No thank you,” Ratiri said, fighting laughter and barely winning. “Lalo, this is Allanah. Allanah, this is Lalo. Allanah is Earlene and Thranduil’s daughter.”

 

“Hola, Allanah.” The girl towered over him, but most people were taller than Lalo, and at least she wasn’t a giant like Ratiri.

 

“Hola,” she answered, smiling, and wondering greatly at their communication style. “¿Como estas?”

 

His dark eyes widened in delight. “Muy bien,” he said. “¿Hable español?”

 

“Muy poquito,” she answered, laughing. “Muy, muy poquito.”

 

“It is nice to hear even a little,” Angelica said, bustling in. “Do you want coffee? Or, I made sweets last night -- galletas.”

 

“Cookies,” Lalo clarified. “Me los comí a todos.”

 

Angelica glared at him. “Tú qué?  _ Todos? _ ”

 

“Estaban deliciosos,” he said. “I didn't see anyone else eating them.”

 

“I made them at  _ midnight! _ ” Angelica snapped. “Of course nobody else ate them, it was the middle of the night!”

 

“Then you should have put them somewhere else!”

 

“I shouldn’t have to hide food from mi marido!”

 

“Then stop making your food so delicious! Desde luego robo, lo es allí!”

 

“None for me, thanks,” Ratiri said, rolling his eyes. “I’m making Lorna’s present today, and I’d like to get it done, or mostly done.”

 

“No thank you,” Allanah seconded, hiding her general alarm at the communication style being displayed under this roof...if it could be called that. “I am meeting a friend for lunch at the diner but wanted to say hello. It is very nice to meet you both, have a good afternoon!” she waved, prior to departing. Quickly. These folks were a little too interesting.

 

“It was nice to meet you, too,” Angelica said kindly, before starting in on her hapless husband again.

 

“Whether or not there are biscuits, I have work to do,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. He was fairly certain Lalo had said he stole it because it was there, which was a very...Donovan way of thinking. 

 

**

 

“Meldis, what is this?” Thanadir asked politely as the very large pot of...it...was brought to the head of the table, and bowls full were served and passed down with the biscuits and sour cream and roasted carmelized brussels sprouts that already were on the table.

 

“This is pottage,” Earlene said, as if that meant anything to anyone.

 

Thanadir lifted a spoonful of the mixture in his bowl, fascinated as it fell of with a sound that was pretty close to ‘glrp.’

 

“Eat it, Thanadir. You will like it. This is the original one-dish meal.”

 

“Gran made something similar,” Lorna typed. She needed a bit more elbow room now, as well as enough space to set her Thingy when she wasn’t using it. “She said you threw in whatever you had and it just sort’v stayed on the stove all day, like eternal soup.”

 

Ratiri took a cautious sniff, and discovered it smelled quite nice, at least -- but of course it did. Earlene made it. That was kind of a given.

 

“You know,” Sharley said, helping Annwn butter her bread, “when we run outta salt, you can get a sort of...salt alternative...by boiling hickory sticks dry. What’s left is more of a paste than anything, but it does actually taste salty.”

 

“It’s a medieval food that sounded interesting. Though, I’m sure this is better seasoned than what the typical peasant ate,” Earlene explained. “And speaking of food, how did lunch with Einir go?” she asked Allanah.

 

“It was good. She’s quite nice, though interested in electronics to the exclusion of most everything else. But she’s really well-rounded. Part of what we talked about was metallurgy. I’m impressed with just how in-depth her knowledge is, of how those devices works. And I met the basket weavers that Ratiri works with.”

 

“Oh? What are they like?” Earlene asked, curious. 

 

“Um…” Allanah trailed off, uncertain what to say. ‘Unstable and maladjusted’ came to mind, but Ratiri seemed to like them and she did not want to be offensive. “Interesting,” she settled on.

 

“Loud,” Ratiri said, sensing she wouldn’t elaborate. “They remind me a lot of my parents, just with different languages.”

 

“They do?” Allanah said, her eyebrows raised. “Wow. I’m...sorry. That had to have been awful.”

 

“It was occasionally annoying,” he said, ladling out some pottage, “but it was mostly just...their method of communicating. They didn't actually mean anything nasty by it, and it was over as suddenly as it began. I never would have learned to swear in Urdu otherwise.”

 

“That isn’t communicating,” Allanah muttered under her breath. 

 

“It’s a way of filling up the silence,” he said dryly. “And I have to admit, it’s entertaining.”

 

Angie glanced at Allanah. She had yet to really meet these people, but the more she heard, the more alarmed she became. “Allanah, how did it make you feel, being around that?”

 

The young woman flushed a little bit. “With an emphasis that this is my perception and no one else’s, it seemed to me like two-way verbal abuse. They were shouting at each other. There was no respect. I have never seen a married couple speak that way to one another before and...honestly it was shocking. I would never tolerate my partner carrying on like that, and I hope they wouldn’t tolerate it from me. Not that I’d want to. I’m...sorry, this feels kind of awkward.”

 

“You were raised by Elves,” Ratiri said. “That wasn’t abuse. They love each other, and if either were to ever actually cross the line...well, the other one wouldn’t leave them in ignorance of it. Lalo grew up in a very large family; the only way to be heard was to shout, and Angelica worked in a restaurant, in the kitchen. Lorna, what is it you always say? Cultural differences?”

 

His wife had a piece of bread in her mouth, but she gave him a thumb’s-up.

 

Allanah’s lips pressed very thin, but she did not want to start an argument at the table.

 

“Allanah,” Angie said, “can you see Ratiri’s point of view?” 

 

The girl shook her head.

 

“Can you elaborate?”

 

Allanah took a deep breath, at least being the recipient of silent approval from her father that she had a right to express herself. “That I was raised by elves has nothing to do with anything. My mother, raised by humans herself, did not behave this way, ever. Neither did her parents. They may think they love each other, just like alcoholics don’t think they have a drinking problem. Someone else is free to call it ‘cultural differences;’ I am free to call it a totally dysfunctional family dynamic.”

 

Angie looked at Ratiri. “Ratiri?” she said. “Anything to say to that?”

 

Poor Allanah was so young and, quite frankly, so sheltered, that Ratiri wasn’t really surprised to find she’d think that way. “They do love one another,” he said. “They just have a somewhat odd, by our standards, way of showing it. Their relationship dynamic is not unusual in their culture. My parents’ wasn’t either, in either culture they came from. It’s just quite, quite different from anything in our family.”

 

Allanah said nothing, giving only a half-smile and returning to her food. She had expected to be dismissed. Not being stupid, it was obvious to her that in general, the weight of a teenager’s comments was minimal, at best. But her adar was right; she did have the right to voice her opinions. Especially if asked to do so directly.

 

Angie glanced at Thranduil. This bore following up on, but not at the dinner table, in front of god and everybody. That Ratiri hadn’t gotten defensive was a good sign, but she sensed that if they pressed this right now, he would.

 

_ Waiting would be wise,  _ Thranduil said, while giving no outward indication of his communication to Angie.  _ And for the record, I fully endorse my daughter’s point of view. But then again, we have already established that it is because I am an elf.  _ His mental voice seemed amused, and yet a little sad, too. That was not an arguable position; that he had a given belief because of his race...however illogical and condescending that actually was.

 

_ This won’t be easy,  _ she said.  _ He lost his parents too young. They were never knocked off their pedestals, so to speak. _

 

_ I do not know enough about this to comment either way. But I suspect this topic ties into why Ratiri behaved as he did last year, when everything came crashing down. It is, as you say, your wheelhouse. _

 

_ Oh, I'm sure it does,  _ Angie said grimly.  _ He was always the rational one until all of a sudden he wasn’t, and then he fell apart. That he managed to go nearly sixty years before that happened is astonishing, but it had to happen sooner or later. I think he would have problems if we brought Lorna into this, but maybe Siobhan could be of help, if necessary. _

 

_ Well, you know where I am,  _ he smiled. “May I have seconds of the pottage?” That pleased Earlene to no end. Thanadir would hoover her cooking unless it was inedible (which never happened), but if Thranduil wanted more, it was quite a stamp of approval.

 

*****

 

{May 27, 2035}

 

“This is a nice setup,” Earlene said approvingly, stopping into Sharley’s weaving room where Lorna had been gaining skill at spinning wool. Large bags of washed wool in various stages of carding surrounded Lorna’s spinning wheel, sorted according to color. Currently an off-white mass of fluff rested on her distaff, and the quiet whirr of the wheel and the clacking of the loom were at the moment the only sounds. There appeared to be a great deal of...textiles. Not to mention, it was colorful in here, and had a feminine touch. One of Sharley’s pieces was slowly massing along one wall and...well, one couldn’t say their home was boring.

 

Lorna picked up her Thingy. “Yeah,” she typed, “and maybe in five years I’ll be able to produce yarn I wouldn’t be ashamed to show someone else.” Her earliest efforts had been lumpy disasters that broke if you breathed on them; she was better at it now, but she still wouldn’t be giving what she produced to anyone just yet. Maybe it could get made into a doormat, or something.

 

“You’ll get there,” Sharley said. “It takes practice.”

 

“I have a new respect for my gran,” Lorna typed. “She used to spin the yarn to make all her kids’ scarves and things.”

 

“So I hear a birthday vacation is on the horizon,” she smiled. “Is it true? Iceland?”

 

Laughing, Lorna typed, “They have an Elf school there. Not for our kind’v Elves, obviously, but still. It’s too good to pass up.”

 

“Oh, that’s not all they have. Make sure you visit the phallus museum,” Earlene grinned. “It’ll be worth it just to watch Ratiri turn into a ginormous beet.”

 

Lorna’s eyebrows climbed. “Phallus museum?” she typed. “Iceland has a museum for langers? Are you serious?”

 

“Yep. It could not be more unseemly. If you go on Google there are even photos of the stuff in the gift shop. Want a dong backscratcher or bottle opener? They’ve got you covered. T shirts, coffee cups...candles…” Earlene began to laugh. “I’m going to spend the next two weeks narrowing down what I want you to get me.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Lorna typed, laughing so hard she nearly cried. “You lot have to go with us. Thanadir must see this place. He and Ratiri can go commiserate about unseemliness.” She wanted a langer back scratcher. She just...did. The joy of her Thingy was that it was wifi enabled, so she looked up ‘Iceland penis museum’ and just about died at what she found. The things in the gift shop...oh dear. The  _ candies _ …

 

“I’m leaning toward the bottle opener, myself,” Earlene grinned. “And I’m not sure about Thanadir. He can be funny, that way. Elves don’t have body shame issues, so to him it might just be another academic fascination. I mean, even an ellon isn’t going to offhand know what a whale penis looks like. Not sure I do either, and that’s even after looking at the photos.”

 

“Can you really tell me he wouldn’t find this Olympic Silver Team display totally unseemly?” Oh, she wanted to know how the hell that had even come to be a thing…

 

“Okay, what?” Sharley actually paused her weaving to peer over Lorna’s shoulder. “...Alrighty then.”

 

_ “I...I don't actually have any words for that,”  _ Kurt said, horrified with himself.  _ “Or rather, I have so many I can’t pick one.” _

 

“The bad part is, if you can sit there and not contemplate matching up the man to the, uh, memorabilia, you’re a better person than I am,” Earlene noted. “I mean, curiosity, and all that. Then again...I’m kind’v glad no one does this for breasts. Imagine the size of the display case they’d need.”

 

“You never know, there might be a tit museum,” Lorna typed. “And some’v these are a touch impressive, I must say, even if none’v them hold up to Ratiri.”

 

Sharley glanced down at her, and then at Earlene.  _ Do I even want to know just how endowed Ratiri actually is? _

 

“But you lot should come with us. It’d be more fun.”

 

“Well, you know how it goes, talk to the boss,” Earlene mused. While Iceland was not on her bucket list, it also held appeal. Ice. Volcanoes. Penises. What wasn’t to like?

 

“Don't tell them about the langer museum,” Lorna typed. “It’s more fun that way. Poor Ratiri. For a doctor, he sure can blush when anything sexual comes up.”

 

_ “Heh, comes up,”  _ Kurt snickered.  _ “That’s what she said.” _

 

_ “That actually  _ is  _ what she said, Kurt,”  _ Layla said, exasperated.  _ “Lorna is a she, and she said words.” _

 

_ “Actually, she typed them,”  _ Jimmy pointed out.

 

_ “Yeah, but it was still her voice.” _

 

“Can it, all of you,” Sharley said. “Earlene, Maglor and I can look after the younger kids, if you guys want to go.”

 

“Lorna should probably use her superpower on Thranduil. I’ll mention it to both of the ellyn. Then she can work her magic,” she chuckled. “Besides, I can’t imagine that there are people just beating the doors down to head off to Iceland. Somehow.”

 

A horrifying thought occurred to Lorna. “Oh god, what if my superpower doesn’t work now that I can’t talk?” she typed. “What if it was something in my actual voice, like the Bene Gesserit from  _ Dune _ ?”

 

“I’m not worried,” Earlene said, “and I’ve got to start lunch. We’ll revisit this later. Ta ta,” she waved good-bye.

 

“I’m not, either,” Sharley said, patting her shoulder. “You’re more than just your voice.”

 

“You know, there’s a volume control on this thing?” Lorna typed. “Check it out, I CAN SOUND LIKE I’M SHOUTING.” The speakers on the Thingy were rather impressive, all things considered, and Einir was smart enough to know that a shouty app would be necessary sooner or later.

 

“All right, that’s pretty impressive,” Sharley said. She was honestly amazed at the places technology had gone...and relieved that Lorna was taking her muteness as well as she was. Living with telepaths had to be helping.

 

“I know,” Lorna typed, at normal volume. “All right, I’ll go poke Thranduil after dinner, and see what can be done.”

 

**

 

“It is nice to see you again, Angie and Alan. I feel you do not come to eat with us often enough,” Maglor said to the human couple. He would always feel grateful for the help they had given Sharley during darker times. “Are you researching anything new?”

 

“At the moment, we’re trying to work out exactly how to talk to Ratiri about his parents,” Angie said, hoping the man in question wouldn’t come into the Heart Room just yet. “And I was wondering if you could help. His parents died when he was quite young, and he has them on something of a pedestal -- so much so that he can’t see their flaws as having been flaws. You’re the only one here that I can think of who has had a parent who was both loving and flawed; both Thranduil and all the Donovans had fathers who were nothing but abusive, and Earlene’s father, from what I’ve gathered, was a kind, well-adjusted man.”

 

Thanadir shuffled in just then, curling up in a chair and beginning to write in his book, as he most always did. He paid them no mind.  Maglor appeared a little baffled. “I am willing to help, though I am not certain how? I still love my father. I just wish that so many things had been different,” he said thoughtfully. Pengolodh patted him on the shoulder, in a show of support for what was perhaps the understatement of all civilization.

 

“You both love your father, and accept that he was flawed,” Angie said. “That’s what Ratiri needs to be able to do. Right now he sees some of their unhealthy habits as endearing; had they lived longer, he probably would have come to see them for what they really were, but now he knows his parents only as the memories he has of them.”

 

“Angie thinks that if he could see that realizing your parent had issues doesn’t mean they didn't love you, or that you can’t love them, it might help,” Alan added.

 

“Well, that becomes an interesting thing,” Maglor said carefully. “My father loved me. At one time. But then later I had a long time to reflect on what kind of loving father places his children in the situation Fëanor imposed on his sons? There was love, but it became twisted. I think this is where it can go wrong. Parents can mean to do right by their offspring, but if they are not careful of both themselves and their example....” he sighed. “I am not certain I have it worked out even now. But I very much have realized that it is possible for a parent to believe they love a child, while inflicting terrible damage.”

 

“I think the Silmarils twisted your father,” Sharley said. “They were something so beautiful I’m not sure they ever shoulda existed to begin with. He poured so much of himself into their making that he could never have duplicated them -- I think they were, in a way, also his children. And that they were taken as they were, along with the loss of his own father...I think he lost sight of which children oughtta matter more. The ones that lived and breathed, as opposed to the ones that just glowed.”

 

“All parents are fallible,” Angie sighed. “Some just more obviously than others. Ratiri’s are a more insidious case in that they were always supportive of him and anything he wanted to do. They never tried to usher him in one direction or another.”

 

Thanadir raised his head, listening to what was being said, and reflected on his own father for the first time in a long while. Somehow it had not dawned on him until just now, that he had a hope of seeing his parents again, when they were finally recalled. He did not think his father was flawed. His father had been steadfast, and kind to his only son. And he missed him, and his mother. He blinked back a few tears, and continued with his writing.

 

“Maybe,” Maglor opined. “But I would remind you that my father had some issues before his grandest achievement. He just spun further away from a place of wisdom after grandfather was killed and the jewels stolen.”

 

“True,” Sharley said. There had been much about Fëanor to admire, and just as much that repelled her. “I don't think Ratiri’s parents were ever...well, they were harmlessly insane, as he puts it. But neither of them realized that even...that even affectionate yelling, if you can call it that, isn’t a good environment for a kid to grow up in.”

 

“Especially not if that was the sort of home in which they were raised,” Angie said. “Cultural norms haven’t helped, in this regard, but Maglor, Ratiri trusts you, and unless I'm much mistaken, he won’t view you as attacking him if you’re the main participant in this conversation.” At the very least, Ratiri was less likely to get up and walk away.

 

“I will do what I can,” he said feeling a little like a deer in the headlights.

 

“You’ll be wonderful, Laurë,” Sharley assured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. 

 

Ratiri chose that moment to enter the Heart Room, cats at his heels and tea in his hand. “Lorna has evidently decided to go to the pub,” he said, making his way to one of the poufs, “so it’s just the cats and I, representing our part of the house.”

 

“I’m glad you’ve come,” Angie said. “How are Lalo and Angelica?”

 

“As ever,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a bit like music, honestly.”

 

“Do they really remind you so much of your parents?” Sharley asked, despite having seen them for herself in his history.

 

“They do. They both utterly mental, and yet at times so sickeningly sweet I can barely stand it.”

 

“What is ‘utterly mental’?” Thanadir asked, momentarily surfacing as the result of one conversational snippet.

 

“They argue over anything and everything,” Ratiri said, “if not with each other, than with whatever project they’re working on. Listening to someone give out at an uncooperative basket in Spanish is...well, it’s entertaining. Sometimes they hug and even kiss each other while arguing. Mam and Dad used to do that.”

 

“Ohhhhh,” said Thanadir, quickly retreating back into his project. That sounded completely ghastly. He remembered the soft, kind tones in which both his parents had spoken to him and each other. If they had ever raised their voices, he could not recall it. What Ratiri described sounded awful. Like Dagorlad, except in a foreign language.

 

Maglor blinked. “Oh, dear,” escaped him before he could realize it.

 

“What?” Ratiri asked.

 

“That...forgive me, I do not mean to offend, but that is deeply...not normal,” Maglor lowered his head, looking away. 

 

“Everyone always tells me that, lately,” Ratiri said, rolling his eyes and sipping his tea. “It was where I lived.”

 

A thought occurred to Sharley. “Ratiri, Lorna’s family was normal where  _ she  _ lived,” she said. “That doesn’t make it right. Yeah, your family loved you and each other, but that doesn’t mean they were healthy. Maglor’s father loved him, but he was hardly perfect. Nobody is.”

 

Thanadir’s head popped up again, and he involuntarily nodded. This was a very wise observation that Sharley had made. And one that expressed empathy. He approved, so much that he kept writing. 

 

“Well said,” Pen murmured, watching his friend ponder this new idea.

 

“All right, I’ll bite,” Ratiri said, “since I'm sure nobody’s going to let this go. Go ahead.”

 

“We don't want to rip your parents to shreds, Ratiri,” Sharley said. “They were good people, they just...made mistakes. And they didn't do you any favors, in a way. I mean, you made yourself ‘be the rational one’. Because somebody had to.”

 

“That is more responsibility than a young one should have,” Maglor added.

 

“And then, as soon as you actually lost your shit, you couldn’t handle it,” Sharley added. “You always had to be the rational one. The reasonable one. You didn't know how to not be, so you fell apart. And that’s not bad, so don't you go getting pissed off or upset.”

 

He looked away, but he didn't actually get up. He really didn't need the reminder of all that had gone on last year -- not that he remembered all of it anyway -- but he wasn’t going to get up and swan off.

 

“She has a point,” Angie said. “I’d like to talk to you some more, Ratiri, later on. I’m sure there’s more beneath the surface there, but I don't want you to think that I’m trying to dishonor your parents in any way. They loved you immensely -- it’s just that in some ways, they did you no favors.”

 

“If it helps, you are not alone. Many of us came from...interesting families,” Maglor said gently, trying to find the humor in the situation.

 

Ratiri arched an eyebrow. “Very true,” he said. “All right, Angie, but -- later.” 

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said. “Over a pint, if you must.”

 

“Now  _ that  _ I can agree to.”

 

Just then Thanadir became aware that his mates were now in the kitchen, having come in through the back. “Could I have tea?” he asked plaintively.

 

“Got it,” Earlene answered. “None for me,” Thranduil mentioned, before continuing into the room to sit next to Thanadir. Stretching luxuriously, he leaned over to kiss his husband’s cheek and ogle what he was writing this time.

 

_ Thranduil, can I talk to you?  _ Lorna asked, as she kicked off her boots.

 

_ You are talking to me,  _ he noted with fine humor.  _ So yes, you can.  _ He smirked, unable to help it. Thanadir lifted his head and tsk-tsked at him, disapproving. “That is unseemly,” he reminded his mate.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes.  _ You know what I mean. I’ll even keep the cats away. _

 

_ I do. And since I will be in trouble if I do not behave myself, what is on your mind? _

 

_ Ratiri and I are going to Iceland for my birthday, and will you guys come too? Pleeease?  _ If only she could give him the Thanadir Eyes, but alas, she still looked like a serial killer when she tried.

 

Thanadir’s head popped up once again, and he now looked at Thranduil in curiosity. The King grinned.  _ Well, Thanadir? Would you like to see Iceland? _

 

_ I would like to see anyplace, if it is with you and Earlene.  _

 

_ Alright. Happy Birthday,  _ Thranduil smiled, ruffling her hair.  _ At least this time you will not be too hot. _

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and hugged him.  _ Thank you. And you’re right.  _ She could wear her lovely green coat and not roast.

 

Sharley grinned. She was glad Lorna could still laugh, even if she couldn’t speak. 

 

Annwn must have caught that thought -- her fledgling telepathy was picking things out of the ether at random -- for she said, “Mama, how come Auntie Lorna can laugh, but she can’t talk?”

 

“You remember her getting kicked by the horse, right?” Sharley asked, pulling her daughter onto her lap. The little girl nodded. “Well, it damaged something inside her brain -- that part that makes a person able to form words.”

 

“Ada said it couldn’t happen to me.”

 

“Nor could it.” Sharley brushed her daughter’s soft hair back from her forehead. “You and I only have bodies because we want to. You’re too little to learn how to discorporate yet, but you’ll figure it out as you get older.”

 

“Dis-cor...what?”

 

“Discorporate. It means you’ll just be a voice, with no body.” Sharley booped the end of Annwn’s nose. “I’m not sure how old you’ll be, when that happens, but it oughtta just come naturally to you.”

 

Annwn turned this over. “Can Ada do that?”

 

“Nope.” Sharley cuddled her daughter close. “Ada is an Elf, and they stay the same on the outside. But he wouldn’t lose his words if he got kicked in the head, either.”

 

“...Oh. ’Kay,” Annwn said. “I’m glad.”

 

“Either way we do not have to fear such things,” Maglor told his daughter. “Eru cares for all of us. If something were to happen to me I would go to see the Vala Námo and he would take care of me until I was fixed up and returned. Eru takes care of all elves and men in his own way.”

 

“You’d go get your head fixed if you got kicked by a horse, Ada?” Annwn asked.

 

“Yes. That and not getting kicked in the first place.”

 

The little girl pondered this. “A horse couldn’t kick you in the head in the first place, Ada,” she said. “You’re too tall. Auntie Lorna’s little for a grown-up.”

 

Laughter issued from across the room, as Lorna rolled her eyes, trying not to jostle Pickles off her lap.  _ From the mouths of babes _ , she thought, shaking her head. It wasn’t like she could  _ deny  _ it, either, but having so much of her biological family around had helped a lot. Being this short still sucked, but at least she had company.

 

“I am shorter than some elves,” Maglor said. “I am shorter than my father. Though, not by much,” he admitted. “At least Lorna will never hit her head on a doorway. It isn’t all roses, you know.”

 

His daughter regarded him closely. “You’re taller than all the other Elves I’ve seen here,” she said. “Will I be tall like you and Mama? I love Auntie Lorna but I don't want to be little like her.”

 

Lorna laughed so hard she nearly cried, pressing her forehead against Ratiri’s shoulder. Pickles, disgusted, hopped off her lap and meandered over to greet the Lump.

 

Sharley’s shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. “Little ladybug, you shouldn’t say things like that,” she said. “It’s not polite. You’ll be however tall you want -- discorporation, remember?”

 

“Right.” Annwn crawled up onto the sofa to hug her father. “I’ll be as tall as you, Ada, and I’ll play the harp.”

 

“It would be my honor, to have you play with me,” Maglor said, kissing and cuddling his sweet child, the joy of his life. “Whatever size you are.”

 

Annwn giggled, and Sharley smiled. She was glad they’d had four days together, to do as they pleased.  _ How old should she be, before she starts formal lessons?  _ Thought of the pair of them sitting at his harp, while he taught her tiny fingers how to pluck the strings...it was too sweet for words.

 

_ There is no such thing,  _ he said as he looked at their daughter fondly.  _ She is different, than all the others. I believe she will learn at her own rate. Mostly I do not want her to feel pressured or rush. _

 

_ I think the Lump will distract her for a while yet,  _ Sharley said, shaking her head the rotund feline.  _ You should come to the bridge with us tomorrow. We’re almost done with another room for the frog house, and I know she’d want you to see it. _

 

_ Do the frogs have a music room?  _ he wanted to know.

 

_ They do not yet,  _ she grinned.  _ Annwn said you should be the one to design it, since you’d know what a frog musician would need. _

 

_ I do indeed.  _ He smiled, knowing that the moment his wife and child were asleep later on, he would be up all night in the Halls, making frog instruments for his little girl. It would be worth it, to see her joy.

 

The Lump waddled over and headbutted his hand, and gave him a trilling, “Mrow?”

 

“The Lump loves you too, Ada,” Annwn said, and it took every ounce of willpower Sharley had not to laugh at her poor husband’s expression.

 

“How old is that cat?” Maglor asked, scratching it on the ears.

 

“She’s...what, thirteen?” Sharley asked the other side of the room.

 

“Fifteen,” Ratiri called back.

 

“Huh,” Maglor said, making a mental note to learn about how long these animals actually lived. He worried, at times, of the bond his child had formed with a creature that was not only mortal but not long-lived. Hopefully it could hang on until she was at least a little older.

 

The Lump just purred and purred, ecstatic at the attention. Pickles, who was quite annoyed that her friend had waddled up, stalked by, tail waving, until Sharley skritched her ears. “So, we can look after the kids, when the rest of the parents go to Iceland, right?”

 

“Uh, of course,” he answered, wondering where that had come from. At least he knew that he would have help, just as when this had happened before. Calanon and Ailill at the very least would aid them, as would likely the older Sullivan children. “When is this?”

 

“Guys, when’re you going to Iceland?”

 

Lorna typed busily, trying not to elbow Ratiri. “We’re not sure yet. Sometime this summer. The idea just came up today.” He he,  _ came up _ ...oh dammit, Kurt was actually influencing her. Oh no…

 

The voice cackled.  _ “My day has come!” _

 

“Kurt,” she typed, and wished, oh so much, that she could add proper inflection into her words, “that’s what she said.”

 

“I must protest against unseemliness, with little ones present,” Thanadir said sternly, the usual doe-eyed expression replaced by the Moderate Scowl of Disapproval.

 

_ “He doesn’t even know what I said,”  _ Kurt protested.

 

“It’s you, Kurt,” Lorna typed. “He doesn’t need to. You’re the definition’v ‘unseemly’.”

 

_ “But --” _

 

“Kurt?” Sharley said, rolling her eyes. “Mute.”

 

_ “Thank you,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “I don't think Annwn can hear us very well yet, but she will.”  _ She had the first time around, and always at the worst possible moments.

 

Maglor scowled to rival Thanadir, upon hearing that tidbit. There might have to be a discussion with his wife about those...satellites of hers.

 

_ They did okay last time,  _ Sharley assured him.  _ And I can mute them now, even if it doesn’t last.  _ She still had no idea why, either.

 

_ Wonderful,  _ Maglor said acidly, but he left it at that. He had married his wife, not her traveling circus, and there were times he very much wished they would vanish back to whence they came.

 

Sharley patted his shoulder. They’d muddle through. They always did seem to, after all.

 

Annwn yawned, and Sharley stroked the hair back from her brow. “Someone’s sleepy, huh?”

 

Another yawn. “Mama, Ada, can I have my own room soon?”

 

Sharley looked at her, and then at Maglor, surprised. “Why don't we talk about it tomorrow, little ladybug?” It was probably about time, especially since she actually wanted one.

 

“’Kay.”

 

**

 

{June 26, 2035}

 

Reykjavik’s airport was an utter zoo -- unsurprising, given most flights from North America to Europe stopped here to refuel. Lorna stuck to Ratiri’s back like glue, lest she get stepped on, until they’d gathered their assorted bags and made it out into the cool, late-morning air.

 

Her Thingy was in its case on her belt, and she didn't want to risk breaking it by taking it out. Thus it was only Thranduil who heard,  _ My coat is useful here. _

 

Ratiri looked around. For such a mountainous country, the city seemed extremely flat, many of the buildings surprisingly colorful. “I’d bet you that’s because of the winters,” he said, nodding. “Better to have some brightness when it’s dark twenty hours out of the day.”

 

“Or they just like color. Other countries do this too that are in rather warm climates,” Earlene pointed out. “Either way, I like it. Can’t go wrong with a cheery palette. Did Orla say someone was meeting us here?” she asked, more to refocus Ratiri on looking for said individual than because she didn’t know the answer.

 

“She did,” he said, scanning the crowd -- sometimes, being so tall was a blessing. There were dozens of cardboard signs to be seen, most advertising some tour group or another, but one stood out: it was bright pink, being held by a young woman with purple hair and an equally purple coat. Rather than anything remotely professional, it simply said, ‘Donovans and Sullivans Ahoy’. “Aaaand I think I found her.”

 

“Excellent,” Earlene smiled, grinning at Thanadir, whose hand she held in the press of people. He seemingly was paying no attention whatsoever to anything but the interesting spectacle in the airport, not that she could entirely blame him. It was chaotic, even by airport standards.

 

Lorna stuck behind Ratiri as they made their way to their odd greeter, ever more frustrated that she couldn’t swear every time someone managed to bump into her anyway. Once they were away from this crowd, she was just going to take her Thingy off somewhere on her own and make it curse for a solid ten minutes.

 

“Hello,” Purple Hair said cheerfully, once she’d spotted them; no doubt they’d been described, and they certainly stood out. “My name is Eva -- you are Orla’s group, yes?”

 

“We are,” Ratiri said. “Pleased to meet you.”

 

“And you. All of you are...very tall.” Eva wasn’t Lorna-sized, but neither was she tall; she was more like Saoirse’s height.

 

_ Not all of us, _ Lorna thought, and waved from behind her husband.

 

“This is Lorna, who speaks with the assistance of an electronic device,” Earlene said. “I am Earlene, this is Lorna’s husband Ratiri, and these are Fionn and Cían. We are glad to meet you,” she smiled, deciding at the last minute that introducing her polygamous marriage might not be the best way to start off this vacation.

 

“You are in the Grand Hótel Reykjavik,” Eva said, leading them to a bus -- a rather interesting bus, covered in bumper stickers, and yet it was brand new. “Two suites.”

 

Ratiri got his and Lorna’s luggage loaded, and she dug out her Thingy. “Is there tea where we’re going?”

 

“Lots of it,” Eva said, laughing. “Go on and get in, I am sure you have been stepped on enough.”

 

“You’ve got that right.” Once Lorna was in the car, she switched over to the Cyrillic program, and typed out a number of highly awful Russian curses. Thanadir couldn’t call her unseemly if he didn't know what she was saying -- well, he could, but he wouldn’t actually have a leg to stand on.

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. Someday, in a distant future, he would tell her that he did not need to know exact words to understand her thought; it came across in impressions that transcended actual parts of speech. But there was no point ruining his fun, so he let it go, elbowing Thandir when out of the corner of his eye he saw his lips part at what he had failed to keep from his husband’s perception.

 

_ Think of it like a passing iceberg, love,  _ Earlene advised.   _ Better to just watch it float by, and be glad it wasn’t aimed at your boat. _

 

_ What??  _ The elf asked, looking at her uncomprehending. 

 

Earlene patted him on the knee. So the ship analogy hadn’t been the best. Oops.

 

_ Earlene means, ignore Lorna, meldir,  _ Thranduil translated.

 

_ Oh. Okay.  _ With an audible sigh, Thanadir leaned back against the seat and wondered if he would be as lost in Aman.

 

There, that was better. Lorna buckled up as Ratiri climbed in beside her, grinning.

 

“Mo chroí...never change,” he said, kissing the crown of her head. She gave him a thumb’s-up.

 

“There are many things in Iceland you will not find outside,” Eva said, as she fired up the van. “But we should eat something first. You need better than airplane food.”

 

“I could eat,” Thanadir ventured. Somehow, somehow no one laughed. 

 

“I think we could all do with something besides a bag of cookies,” Earlene said. On principle she usually refused airplane food because they charged for it and...one seriously never knew where that stuff had been. Unless there was little choice, of course.

 

“Skal! is very good and healthy,” Eva said, navigating the traffic with ease -- the very heavy traffic. It was even worse than Dublin -- it approached New York City levels near the airport, which was mad, since the population was far, far smaller. “Many things here are in English, but it is maybe not totally correct. People usually laugh, but if there is anything you can’t understand, tell me.”

 

“Healthy?” Earlene said optimistically. “I like it already.” With a smirk she caught Lorna’s eye. Oh, they knew where Skal! was, alright. But only they needed to know that.

 

Lorna somehow managed not to giggle. Somehow. She didn't dare look at Ratiri, lest she utterly lose it; she focused on the colorful buildings they passed. The traffic thinned out markedly once they were away from the airport; it was positively light by the time they reached Skal!. Why the exclamation point? Hopefully it meant the food was exciting. She only trusted the words ‘healthy’ and ‘food’ in the same sentence when they were in Earlene’s hands.

 

Eva parked on the street, rather close to the restaurant, and led them in. It was a large place, the walls made up entirely of big windows, with a dark hardwood floor and white tables. It was crowded, too, and they had to wait a moment to be seated.

 

_ Eva wasn’t kidding,  _ Lorna said to Thranduil, as she eyed the menu.  _ Eat and Drink. It gets the point across, I guess. _

 

“Oh wow, cod croquettes,” Earlene exclaimed. “I’m not usually a deep-fried fan, but I might relent for once. Ooooh and the charred broccoli with fermented garlic, that sounds delicious.”

 

“Order for me?” Thanadir said, confronted with too many strange words. 

 

“Sure,” Earlene said, wondering if he would eat pork skin or not…

 

Lorna and Ratiri agreed to order the steak and the arctic char, so they could split them. Lorna didn't care that it was midmorning, either; she ordered a gin and grape, whatever the hell that was. Hey, she hadn’t had anything to drink on the plane. Sue her.

 

The ellyn had the pork cheeks and beef skirt, three of the vegetable and fruit plates, and Earlene tossed in two pineappleweed cocktails, because anything with rhubarb and ginger had to be good on principle. But really, it was all a ruse. The real objective was just a little bit down the street…

 

Wiping her fingers, Lorna took out Thingy. “We should go for a walk after this,” she typed. “See what there is to see.” She wasn’t laughing. She really wasn't. Somehow.

 

“Good idea. It’s never too early to be angling for gifts for everyone back home,” Earlene agreed.

 

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek, hard, and sipped her drink. If she was eating, she couldn’t type, and was less likely to laugh. At least Thranduil seemed to be willing to let them get on with it, since there was no way he didn't know what they were talking about.

 

Ratiri, blissfully ignorant, just enjoyed his food. No wonder Icelandic people all looked so healthy.

 

Their meal concluded, a walk to look around outside seemed in order. Earlene grinned at Thranduil who smiled and shook his head a little. Somehow, Thanadir had not caught on yet. Whereas Ratiri had never had a chance. They strolled down the street. “Ooooh, is that what I think it is?” Earlene said, all but dragging Thranduil after her. A few passers-by chuckled to see the eager woman towing the very handsome blond man after her while making a beeline for the Phallological Museum, but Earlene pressed on, undeterred. “What do you think, Lorna? This I have to see.”

 

Lorna giggled so hard she could barely breathe, but she typed, “Oh, me too. Me too.” She looked up at her poor husband, who, just as she and Earlene had expected, was flushing like a brick. He was a doctor, for fuck’s sake; how could he blush so much over a piece of human anatomy? It was  _ adorable _ .

 

“You planned this,” he said, sounding a bit strained.

 

“We would never,” she typed, sticking her tongue out at him.

 

“Meldis...” Thanadir said, the nature of the edifice slowly beginning to dawn on him. “This is…”

 

“Absolutely educational,” Earlene completed his sentence for him. “Come now. You are about to learn more than you ever wanted to.”

 

Thranduil smiled innocently and elected to not hide too much that he would enjoy this immensely. He was a healthy male. Who did not want to know what a whale penis looked like? Never let it be said he lacked curiosity concerning Yavanna’s creation.

 

“See, allanah?” Lorna typed, still giggling. “It’s  _ educational.  _ And you’re always going on about that.” Einir had given Thingy an upgrade, so that she could add some emphasis to her Irish GLaDOS voice. It didn't sound natural, but it got the job done.

 

Ratiri glowered down at her, but he didn't try to argue, because he really couldn’t. Lorna snapped a picture of him (and his blush) with Thingy, cackling all the while.

 

Unsurprisingly, it was not the largest exhibit in the world, but more than made up for that with sheer variety. Hamsters. Some Olympic medal-winning team...which seemed more than a little peculiar as to origins. Penis skin lamps. Who knew?

 

“Okay, someone was bored,” Lorna typed, whey they approached an old-fashioned iron, the sort that was set directly on a woodstove to heat. Its handle was a nicely sanded and polished langer. “Maybe some woman whose husband was out to sea for a long time.”

 

Ratiri stared at the thing with a mingling of fascination and utter discomfort. Just... _ why? _

 

“Think there are one of those in the gift shop?” Earlene smiled, appearing from across the room. Thranduil was holding Thanadir’s hand, explaining some of the placards that made no sense to the seneschal. She was pointing at the phallic lamp that rested on a table. “The leg lamp could get an upgrade.” The problem was, she was completely serious, as she smiled innocently at Ratiri.

 

Lorna laughed so hard her breath started hitching in hiccups, while Ratiri eyed the thing. “You know what?” he said. “Why not. But I refuse to explain it to the children.” 

 

“Well,  _ I’m _ not going to,” Lorna typed.

 

“What’s to explain?” Earlene asked. “Half the kids can just look down, and the other half have seen their brothers already anyway. At least, ours have,” she shrugged.

 

“Ours haven’t,” Ratiri said. “Shane’s shy. He’s just now starting to get over that a bit.”

 

“We should get him that lamp,” Lorna typed. “Or no, we  _ really  _ need to get one for Siobhan.”

 

“I kind’v thought the backscratcher would be better for her,” Earlene opined.

 

“Earlene, elves would never...do this,” Thanadir said, gesturing around the entire room. That he was a little disturbed was obvious.

 

“True,” she said, slipping her arm around his waist. “But you have to look at it this way. Elves would also never collect glass insulators or beer cans. Honestly I have not known elves to collect anything at all. Humans find interest in the variety that exists among things which are purportedly all the same.”

 

The old elf blinked, considering this. “Perhaps. But I feel the items in the gift shop are unseemly.”

 

“But you were the one to tell me that elves are not ashamed of their bodies,” she countered. “What if all of those items were ears or fingers? Would you still feel the same?”

 

“No but…” Thanadir floundered. “But…”

 

“But it is a natural object that should be regarded the same as any other body part.”

 

“Well now, wait a moment,” he countered, waggling his finger. “You are forgetting to take into account the sensibilities of others.” 

 

“If I were to buy myself something from here and no one else had to see it, would it still be objectionable?”

 

Thranduil shook his head. This time, Thanadir was not going to win, but, he was staying out of it. Besides, he personally thought the bottle opener was very funny.

 

“Well I...no,” he had to admit, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “All right,” he sighed, beaten. “But please, no lamp.”

 

“No lamp,” Earlene agreed. Which was fine, because personally she had her sights set on an extra large t shirt for a nightdress.

 

“Allanah, I want a back scratcher,” Lorna typed.

 

“All right, mo chroí,” her husband sighed. “I will get you a phallic back scratcher, if I absolutely must.”

 

She grinned up at him, and he fought the urge to facepalm. She was too damned adorable for him to actually deny her that. “Thank you.”

 

_ We are being admired,  _ Thranduil told Earlene silently, taking her hand.  _ The woman behind you, with hair close to as pale as my own. _

 

_ But she is not admiring Thanadir as well?  _ Earlene wanted to know.  _ That seems a shame; he is beautiful too. _

 

_ I believe he is not her type,  _ the King smiled, grinning down at her. 

 

_ You are just exploiting the fact that I find you in a ponytail, black sweater and jeans to be nearly irresistible. _

 

_ Pretty much,  _ he admitted, pecking her cheek.  _ You realize we will have to make this up to Thanadir later. Perhaps a nice backrub and footrub.  _

 

_ I have never shirked my duty,  _ Earlene chuckled, tracing her fingertip down his cheek.

 

The young woman’s blue eyes traveled from them to Lorna and Ratiri, and widened. “You -- excuse me, this might sound crazy, but were you two ever in Ashford Castle in Ireland?” she asked. “You look very much like people in pictures from my parents’ honeymoon. You kicked a woman in the kut.”

 

Lorna looked at her, and at Ratiri, and burst out laughing all over again, because she didn't need to know what that word meant to guess anyway.

 

“We were, actually,” he said, hoping his wife wasn’t going to choke. “But how…” There had been a couple on honeymoon from Iceland, he recalled, though he no longer remembered their names.

 

“You made the newspaper,” the woman said, grinning. “Mamma showed it to me. It is framed over the toilet in our bathroom.”

 

That just made Lorna laugh even harder. Christ, her side hurt, but she couldn’t help it -- that two people they’d met almost twenty years ago had a picture of her kicking a slag in the snatch hanging over their toilet was possibly the best thing she’d heard in ages.

 

Earlene completed her purchases, and figured it was almost time to notify Eva that they were ready to move on to the next thing--which probably amounted to going to their lodging. “Friends and admirers?” she asked, poking Lorna gently.

 

Lorna somehow mastered herself enough to type, “Ratiri and I met her parents on honeymoon. They’ve got a picture’v me kicking that bint in the snatch hanging over their toilet.”

 

“It has been a conversation piece,” the young woman said. “I am Katje, and I am pleased to meet you.”

 

“I’m Lorna,” Lorna typed. “And likewise.”

 

“And I am Ratiri,” the poor man said, fighting an urge to facepalm. He wondered what had ever happened to that silly bint, and if she was as awful everywhere she went. Probably.

 

“This is my cousin, Earlene Sullivan,” Lorna added. She had no idea how Thranduil and Thanadir wanted to be introduced, so she’d leave that up to them.

 

“Fionn and Cian,” Earlene said, gesturing to the ellyn. “Nice to meet you. Small world, isn’t it?”

 

“Small world and small country,” Katje said, giving the three of them cheerful appraisal before her eyes turned back to Lorna and Ratiri. The pair of them, she thought, had aged very,  _ very  _ well. She wondered how they’d done it. “I make the little plates they sell here -- see? They’re pottery.” And pottery they were, finely glazed...with a penis standing up at the center. “They are meant for...what do you call them, onion rings? Things like that.”

 

“Very anatomically accurate,” Earlene smiled enthusiastically, while Thanadir blushed. “But we are meeting our tour guide. Are you staying in Reykjavik?”

 

“I am,” Katje said. “I stay with Freyja and Katrin -- I call them Móðir and Mamma. I think they would be happy to see you all, if you want to go to lunch someday?”

 

“I’d like to,” Lorna typed. She’d never thought they’d see any of that lot again, but they’d kind of bonded, standing out in the dark and the rain.

 

“Me too.” Ratiri was just glad to look away from that plate.

 

“We will know more about our time here by tonight,” Earlene chimed in. “Maybe Lorna could text you or email you?”

 

Katje pulled a small steno pad -- an actual, paper steno pad -- out of her purse. “This is me,” she said, writing down both her mobile number and her email. Her handwriting was tidy and very loopy -- a schoolgirl’s writing. “I will tell my parents I met you, yes?”

 

“Please do,” Lorna typed. She quite liked the fact that Katje didn't bat an eye at Thingy, unlike a number of other people in the outside world. Eva hadn’t, either, but others at the restaurant had. Fortunately, she was used to it by now.

 

“I will talk to you later, then. Enjoy the penises.” With a wave, she was gone.

 

“So,” Ratiri said, “ _ that  _ just happened. What are the odds?”

 

“Of enjoying the penises? Very high,” Earlene grinned. She was away from the forest and had no one for whom to set an example. Sue her. Thanadir groaned, and she took his hand. “I will give you the foot rub of all foot rubs to make it up to you, husband. Thank you for letting me act not my age.” Her eyes twinkled. Yes, she was having fun. Lots of it, too.

 

Ratiri blushed like a firebrick, and Lorna burst out laughing again. “It’s all right, allanah,” she typed. “She’s already got some, she doesn’t need another.”

 

“I need some air,” her poor husband said, and scarpered.

 

“How does he practice medicine like this?” Earlene asked no one in particular. “I don’t get it. The poor man.” She genuinely wondered if he blushed when he had to use the loo in the morning.

 

“He’s not like this when it’s just us,” Lorna typed. “I think it’s got something to do with you three, though fuck if I know what, or why.”

 

“I know I’m being adolescent and obnoxious today,” Earlene admitted. “But most happily married women with good sex lives...well, what’s not to like about penises? It’s like a good bottle of alcohol, except it can’t give you liver damage. You feel good from what it can offer. Lots of people agree. I mean, it’s not that complicated?”

 

“It’s really not,” Lorna typed. “They feel quite nice, even if you’re a touch sore the next day.”

 

“Exactly,” Earlene answered. Not that that was really an issue for her, but not everyone was lucky enough to have a spouse who was a good fit. Frowning, she paused. No one had ever discussed how...interesting?...it was that Thanadir and Thranduil were for all practical purposes identically endowed.  _ Were all ellyn?...Nope, not going there. Abort, abort, abort… _

 

Thranduil snorted and strolled up the street, bringing Thanadir with him. The poor elf.

 

Ratiri’s blush had calmed by the time they reached him, and Eva shooed them into the van. “Your hotel rooms are suites,” she said, pulling out onto the road again. “They are very nice. Good views. Lorna, Orla said you are always cold, so there is an extra heavy dressing gown for you.”

 

That only made Lorna laugh all over again. “Good to know,” she typed.

 

“That sounds wonderful,” Earlene added. After food and penises, a hot bath and...frankly, more penises sounded like a lovely idea. Either way. The bath was mandatory, the penises were optional.

 

“I will leave you a list of restaurants for dinner, if you want,” Eva said, weaving through the light traffic, “but the hotel food is good too.”

 

“I just want some tea and a nap,” Lorna typed. She would probably dream of penises, but oh well. Penis was such a weird word.

 

“I can second that,” Ratiri said. He was getting too old for jet lag.

 

“We will make do with whatever exists for food at the hotel,” Earlene confirmed. “We’re not that picky. If we want to get fancy, there is the rest of our time here. When should we expect to see you tomorrow, and what will we do? So we know how to dress.”

 

“Tomorrow we have the Elfschool,” Eva said. “It is indoors and out, so bring coats.”

 

“Elf school?” Thanadir asked, baffled.

 

“Yes. We will learn all about elves existing here in Iceland,” Earlene grinned. 

 

“But they do exist in Iceland,” he muttered, confused. “I have to…”

 

“Trust me, we will all enjoy it,” Earlene patted his hand. “Come with me. We will get settled and then I owe you quite a lot of attention and spoiling.”

 

Thranduil perked up. Though their wife had nothing carnal in mind, there were always possibilities…

 

“It starts at three in the afternoon, so we have the morning to do whatever you want,” Eva said. They were approaching a massive building that seemed to be largely made up of windows -- their hotel, possibly, though Lorna couldn’t yet see a sign.

 

“Relax,” Ratiri said. “That’s what I want to do, anyway.”

 

“I could handle that,” Lorna typed, arching an eyebrow at him.

 

“Behave,” he said, poking her.

 

“Why? We’re on holiday.”

 

“Holiday,” Thanadir echoed, still absorbing it all. “See you tomorrow,” he said to Eva, before Earlene led him off by the hand.


	161. One Hundred Sixty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 28-July 5, 2035

 

###  {June 28, 2035}

  
  


“Huh look at this, Supri,” Andaer said, bringing his tablet over.  His dusky brown hair hung charmingly in his face, on account of him managing to sneak past Ailill that he had not done the best job of combing his hair. “Look at what this art man did. All these colors. Dinosaurs and dogs and everything.”

 

“What?” asked Lancaeron, not about to be left out of his brother’s observations. “Ooooh. I like those. Wish we could do that but I can’t draw that good yet.”

 

“Wish we could do that to the dogs,” Erynion commented. “Think how cool that’d look.”

 

“We totally could,” Supri said, peering over her cousins’ shoulders. “Da still has all the powders from when we celebrated Holi, remember? He keeps them in the classroom with the chalk. That stuff’s non-toxic.” She’d hope so, anyway, given they’d all thrown it in each other’s faces. She’d eaten quite a bit, she was pretty sure, and she doubted she was the only one. “Look, cows. We could paint the cows. Powder them. Whatever.” And they’d be outside, which was probably important. Just because Uncle Thanadir wasn’t here to see them make a mess indoors didn't mean they ought to make one anyway.

 

“We don’t have ‘nuff of that stuff for all the animals,” Erynion pointed out, already showing some of his father’s supervisorial proclivities. “What’s there might do Thaladir’s dogs. Maybe. But then it wouldn’t look like the Andy...Andy...how do you say it?”

 

“I dunno,” Lancaeron answered. “But the computer does. Tap the voice thingy.”

 

“Oh yeah. Thanks.”

 

_ An-dy War-hol _ , came the computerized voice.

 

“Yeah, him. I want the animals to look just like that. Then we can take pictures. It’d be the best craic ever.”

 

“Well first we need more powder,” Erynion insisted, looking at Supri.

 

“That’s easy,” the girl said. “I know the password to Saoirse’s Amazon account. Me and my brother and sisters all use it for stuff, so we can just same-day ship it. Saoirse won’t mind. She might even help.”

 

“Huh,” Andaer said. That would be completely convenient; most everything was shipped by drone these days. “Lance, you want to look this stuff up? How do you spell it again?”

 

“R-A-N-G-O-L-I powder,” Supri said. “I don't think it costs a whole lot, but it’s not like money’ll be worth anything in two years anyway. Less than two.” Oh wow, they were going to need to stock up on a bunch of this for the future, but they could do that later.

 

Lancaeron swiftly searched; he was widely acknowledged as the most dextrous of his brothers. “Uhm, here it is. Hey look, there’s this one place that sells two kilo tubs, six colors for like a hundred and fifty Euros. That’s good, right?”

 

“Oooooh,” his twin agreed. “We could even do two horses, with that much. Think Allanah would let us borrow Nimroch? She’s white, that’d be perfect!”

 

“Allanah’s nice,” Andaer answered, with that doe-eyed innocence peculiar to his father. “Sure she would.”

 

“Mam’s pony’s kind’v grey-white,” Supri said. “Malen’kiy could be Allanah’s horse’s Mini-Me.” She grabbed her own tablet and signed into Saoirse’s account, ordering with a few clicks. “So maybe we’ll get this by the end’v the day, even.”

 

“Brilliant,” Andaer said happily. “Let’s see. Our names begin with A, S, L, and E. We can be S.A.L.E Warhol.”

 

“I’m not on sale,” Erynion protested. “What about A.L.E.S? This is Ireland, isn’t it? A.L.E.S. Warhol.”

 

“That sounds like we are all sick. Like, “A-I-L-S” grumbled Andaer. 

 

“Well, anyone got a better one??”

 

“It’s too bad we don't have someone whose name starts with R,” Supri said. “Then we could be L.A.S.E.R. Warhol. S.A.L.E also sounds like the sails in a sailing ship, though.”

 

“What if we used our middle initials too?” Andaer asked. “Then we get “M, D, D, and another A.”

 

Supri pondered this. “I’m not sure that would work so great,” she said. “If you add all our middle initials, that just makes ‘S.A.D.   M.A.L.E.S.’ You’re not sad and I’m not male.”

 

Unheard by any of them, Kurt howled with laughter. None of the voices had any intention of letting Sharley or Maglor know just what was going on, because this was far too entertaining, and it wasn’t like they were hurting anyone.

 

“Um….” Lancaeron said, frowning. “What if we don’t use all the letters? We could do A.D.D.L.E.S. ‘Addles Warhol.’ I actually kind’v like that, it has sort of an edge to it.”

 

“Plus it’s way better than S.A.D.D.L.E.” Erynion opined.

 

“You want to be addled?” Andaer asked in disbelief. 

 

“Sure, why not?” Erynion answered. “We’re kids. Doesn’t that...entitle us, or something?”

 

“And Andaer, if you don't want to be addled, look at it this way,” Supri said, “we’ll be addling everyone else. Anyone who looks at a Technicolor cow and  _ isn’t  _ addled has issues.”

 

_ “Kid’s got a point,”  _  Jimmy muttered.

 

“Well I guess if we are the ones doing the addling, that has some kind of aesthetic merit,” Andaer frowned.

 

Erynion and Lancaeron looked at each other, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. There were times Adar Thanadir shone out a little too much. “Well it’s on order, so now we should go to Nana’s barn and think about if any of those cows will work. But I’m not sure, ‘cause those are mostly Jerseys. Wrong color. We need a black and white cow, or a….oooooh. Didn’t Ith and El say they have White Park cows now? That’d be aaaaaaaawesoooooome. Totally white, with black hooves and noses.”

 

“A blank canvas,” Andaer said, clearly already seeing the poor bovine in technicolor.

 

“Yeah,” grinned Erynion. “We should check it out now, so we know where they all are.”

 

“We just have to be sneaky, so they don't try to hand us work to do,” Supri said. She actually liked working in the dairy quite a bit, but today was not the day for it. Stuffing her feet into her boots, she glanced out the window at the sunny sky, and hoped it stayed that way.

 

*****

 

“So what do I get?” Thanadir asked, amused. “What is going to make up for looking at embalmed penises for the better part of ninety minutes?”

 

Earlene laughed. “Now, that’s not fair. Not all of them were embalmed, some were dried.”

 

“And at least about a dozen were silver-plated,” Thranduil added, from his comfortable position on the bed.

 

“You are not helping, Lord,” Thanadir said acidly.

 

“I know. But you love me for it,” smirked Thranduil.

 

“Take off your pants,” Earlene encouraged, “and I will show you.”

 

“Why am I sure you two are planning something lascivious?” the elf sighed.

 

“Because you know us?” Thranduil chuckled.

 

“You are NOT HELPING,” Earlene glowered, hands on her hips.

 

“Mmmm but you love me for it too.” The blue eyes batted at her.

 

“When did he become this intractable?” she wanted to know, as she shook her head at her very alluring husband.

 

“I hate to tell you this, meldis,” Thanadir replied. “This is not new.”

 

“I suppose not.” Earlene frowned, and disappeared to obtain some towels from the bath. And also grab the fancy spa lotion that was complimentary for their suite. Seating herself comfortably, she held out one of the fluffy bathrobes to him. 

 

“I thought you said pants, meldis” Thanadir asked.

 

“I did, but if you want this to be extra wonderful you should probably just take it all off and wear this.”

 

“Ooooh, I like the sound of that,” Thranduil murmured, pausing his reading to admire his husband.

 

Earlene sighed. “You are incorrigible, Lord. Completely incorrigible.”

 

“That is not true,” Thranduil said archly. “When have I ever started seducing either of you in the Dining Hall? I am far more reserved than I was in my younger years.”

 

“I have worked hard to forget about that,” Thanadir muttered. “The time Alassëa...and the carrots...I swear she was trying to do me in.”

 

“She was,” Thranduil agreed, enjoying the sight of Thanadir before he covered up. “But were I to guess, you are not the only one who would prefer to forget about those years. In fact,” he sighed, “I am no longer left in doubt. I think it is time to share something I have kept private, while I reflected on what I was told. What Sharley did not know is that in the midst of all those letters addressed to me, one was from my former wife.”

 

“Oh?” Earlene asked, blinking, as she arranged herself comfortably and took one of Thanadir’s legs into her lap. “That must have taken a great deal of courage, for Alassëa to reach out to you in any manner. You do not have to discuss whatever it is if you do not truly wish to, Thranduil.”

 

“But I do,” he answered. “Truly wish to. You are my mates; I want you to know.”

 

Thanadir reached his hand over and offered it to Thranduil, who smiled and took it. “It is nothing dire. I am not really sure it is anything at all, except perhaps something that should have occurred thousands of years ago but did not--both of us acting like adults and discussing our relationship. Or rather, what was our relationship. If you do not mind, Earlene, I will translate to English for you? The Sindarin she uses is...it would be archaically formal and difficult to understand, to your ears.”

 

For a moment Earlene reflected. “That is why Elrond’s speech was a little challenging for me...and probably mine for him, too,” she realized. “I gave it no thought in my memory but of course languages change with time. Which is to say, please do.”

 

Thanadir just smiled, both at the discussion and the blissful feeling Earlene was already imparting to his feet. Her tenacious fingers were as skilled as his own, he had to admit, as a little tingle of pleasure jolted up his spine. Yes, this was lovely…

 

Thranduil cleared his throat, half stifling a laugh at his husband’s thoughts. Somehow, it all fit.

  
  


_ Thranduil, It is my hope that after many long years this finds you well and happy. From what news we have had, you are both, and for this I am truly glad. By now there is no longer any question that you have learned of my decision. Someday we shall speak again, and it seems only right that I take the opportunity afforded me to explain my actions. Currently, in our community here, only our son and your father know that we are no longer wed. Soon enough they all will find out otherwise; I have reconciled myself to this and really, it no longer matters. Though many still think of you with great fondness as their King, I have succeeded in my efforts to no longer be viewed as a queen. I am aware too that you have a new mate; in this I feel joyful as well. _

 

_ When I consider how to say this, nothing elegant comes to mind--so I shall be blunt. When we married I was younger, given to foolish notions and lacking in wisdom. Perhaps at the time of our union I fooled my parents, but as the years in which I had to reflect on our choices wore on, I could no longer fool myself. When I departed to come here, I felt anger. When years became centuries and you did not join me or send word of any kind, anger gave way to bitterness. And long after the Fourth Age began and the last of our people (excepting yourselves) came to these shores, bitterness gave way to a deep-seated compulsion to sever myself from any connection to you. I carried this out, but with the passage of yet more time something else replaced the compulsion, even long after my petition was granted. A sense of peace; that for me and my well-being, that this was the right decision. _

 

_ We had Legolas together; I can never regret him. But for the rest...we were both in so many ways ill-suited not only to each other, but to the commitment we undertook as well. I think back on the arguments and the cold silences and the unmet expectations and now I shake my head--at both of us. I accept my fair share of responsibility for the failure of our relationship. How much of it you deem my share--well, perhaps that is a conversation for some future time. I only wish you to know that there is no animosity now. I have found a different happiness and fulfilment here, and hope that the same holds true for you. In the meantime, I wish a safe passage home to both you and our people who yet dwell under your care. - Alassëa _

_ One other thing- please give my regard to Thanadir. That poor ellon. Hopefully he can forgive my many childish behaviors; one day I will ask him in person. _

 

Thanadir’s lips curled in a soft smile, as he shook his head. “I would not have believed it, but I am glad,” he told Thranduil.

 

“It sounds like she has grown a great deal, from the elleth you both knew. That is heartening,” Earlene observed. “You will probably get on with her much better now than you ever could have then.”

 

“Maybe,” Thranduil shrugged. “It is hard to know everything from a letter, but in many facets are certainly…”

 

“On the target?” Earlene smiled.

 

“Something like that,” Thranduil chuckled, re-folding the letter and stuffing it back into the book he was reading. He now nudged himself over to take Thanadir’s head and neck into his lap, pushing down the folds of the bathrobe and snatching up the lotion. The brown hair was twisted out of the way, and soon his neck and shoulders were being skillfully kneaded while little whimpers of happiness escaped Thanadir.

 

“You are like when a cat makes those chirping noises, and the human keeps on with what it is doing just to continue hearing it,” Earlene smiled, delving her thumb firmly along the arch of his foot.

 

“But it feels so good,” Thanadir mumbled. “What noises am I supposed to make?”

 

“Whatever ones you want, beloved,” Thranduil said, enjoying any excuse to touch the beautiful body underneath his hands.

 

“MMmmmmokaaaay.” Or at least, something like that, was what came out. 

 

Thirty minutes later, Thranduil looked up and smiled. “He is sound asleep. I would say there is no further point to our ministrations.”

 

“True,” Earlene admitted, sliding his limbs off of her lap. “But there is that lovely bathtub, and it is much too early for dinner.”

 

“My thoughts exactly,” he smiled, giving Thanadir a kiss and covering him with the robe. 

 

**

 

“All right, mo chroí, tell me you are tired.” Ratiri eyed Lorna over the top of Thingy, keeping the screen from her view.

 

Lorna, bundled up in her dressing-gown, her hair still drying, touched her sternum, then ran her thumbs down the inside of her chest.

 

“Now say you’re hungry.”

 

She had to think about that one a moment. The letter ‘h’ in Irish Sign Language looked hilariously like the devil horns popularized by Dio, but ‘hungry’ meant dragging it across her stomach like she was trying to gut herself. Whoever had come up with this language had rather an odd sense of humor.

 

They’d started learning sign language months ago, because it was hard to lay in bed and have a conversation when she had to type the whole time. Thingy was of much better use in a group; one-on-one interaction tended to come out far more stilted, even though Lorna typed quite fast. Probably nobody outside their family would care to learn it, but it would be a good skill to keep alive anyway, since it was only a matter of time post-plague that they’d wind up with deaf people, and no more Thingys would be forthcoming.

 

Lorna yawned, and once again signed that she was tired, so they gave it up for the night. More practice could come tomorrow, once they’d seen the Elfschool.

 

**

 

Elfschool, it turned out, was no mysterious conclave held deep in a forest, but rather a room with very comfortable seats and a gentleman who had continued the purpose of the previous gentleman (and founder) of the institution to share the lore pertaining to Iceland’s tradition of elves. Lorna and Ratiri were informed in no uncertain terms that they got to sit closer to the front on this occasion. It would be the first time in the school’s history that elves would go to Elfschool, even though hopefully they would be the only ones aware of that. The interior was charmingly cozy, with colored fabrics and Icelandic edible treats to share, and they were told that for roughly four to six hours they would be told extensive tales of lore, sightings, traditions, everything that could be summoned to explain why half the population of the country believed that elves existed.

 

Lorna couldn’t help but wonder how many ancient Icelanders had actually  _ known  _ Elves. ‘Invisible’ was an awful lot like ‘Faded’, after all; maybe, a long, long time ago, some humans had known some fading elves, and it had somehow morphed over the centuries. If that were the case, though, she highly doubted they’d bother going to church on Sunday, as Icelandic elves theoretically did. And at least they were kind enough to share the waters when everyone went fishing. She not-so-surreptitiously recorded the whole lecture on Thingy, knowing some of the Elves back home (and Sharley) would be entertained by it.

 

Earlene, meanwhile, carried on a rather lively dialogue with her spouses only they could hear. Everything from unbodied elves, to mass hallucinations, to a hidden population of Moriquendi to Nandorin elves who had kept moving until for whatever reason they settled here. In the end, they enjoyed the stories very much, especially Thanadir with his keener appreciation for lore. Doubtless, these tales would find their way into the next installment of Erestor’s book. At the finish, though, they realized that short of a sighting themselves, there was little to establish anything except anecdotal evidence. Still, fully half the population believing in something….  _ However _ , Earlene noted,  _ half the voting population of America elected Donald Trump, so… _

 

Reluctantly, Thranduil nodded imperceptibly. She had a point.

 

“How seriously do we take this?” their lecturer asked, his dark eyes trailing over all of them. “In the the nineteen-seventies, a construction crew wanted to build a motorway through the Elves’ land -- wanted to blast some big boulders. Everything went wrong for them; the workers got sick, the machinery broke, until eventually they brought out a psychic man to communicate with the elves, and ask what they want. All they wanted was for the boulders to be moved away, and not destroyed, which you can see today off the side of the motorway.”

 

Ratiri blinked. Perhaps that should not surprise him, and yet it did. It was always a surprise to find that otherwise rational people -- people who didn't actually  _ know  _ there was anything outside the prosaic human world -- who quite matter-of-factly believed in something seemingly outlandish. People in any kind of construction were not exactly known for their imaginations, and yet...this was Iceland. Clearly something of a world unto itself.

 

**

 

“Well that was more interesting than I’d’ve guessed,” Earlene said, stretching as they exited into the afternoon chill. “I think we aren’t doing much else today, did you want to see about eating somewhere with your friends?” she asked. “I think tomorrow we will move away from Reykjavik, so it might be as good a time as any.”

 

“I got Katje’s number,” Lorna typed, even as Ratiri dug through her satchel for the piece of paper. Unfortunately, Thingy did not actually substitute as a telephone (no real point, since she couldn’t talk), but she could text with it, and text she did.

 

_ Katje, this is Lorna and Ratiri. Can you recommend a good restaurant where we could all meet up?  _

 

She was surprised to get a response almost immediately:

 

_ Grillmarka _ _ ð _ _ urinn is very good. Mamma and  _ _ Móðir sell fish to them -- Mamma should be there right now. We can meet fifteen minutes? _

 

Thingy dutifully read the text aloud. Earlene glanced at Thanadir, who looked hopeful. Which meant he wanted to eat. She gave Lorna two thumb’s up.

 

_ That sounds great _ , Lorna typed back.  _ You’ll have to recommend specials. _

 

“Come on, mo chroí,” Ratiri said. “I’m curious as to what they’ve done in the last seventeen years. Aside from sell fish and adopt a daughter who likes phallic artwork, anyway.”

 

_ Fish _ , Lorna thought. They had to have a commercial trawler, if they were selling to restaurants, and that could come in really,  _ really  _ handy after the plague. If it could be dropped off in Galway just before the plague struck, it could sit there while the world died, and still be there once it was safe to leave the forest…

 

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, as he considered her reasoning.  _ You think they can...manage? _

 

_ We’ll find out,  _ Lorna said, as Eva brought the van around.  _ They rolled with things pretty well seventeen years ago, anyway. I’d imagine being an Icelandic lesbian would be somewhat difficult if you didn't have a very great deal’v common sense. _

 

_ True enough,  _ Thranduil admitted. Plus, her assessment was accurate; they would indeed find out. Momentarily they found themselves being ushered into the establishment with its very modern (Earlene called it IKEAville) furnishings and decoration and contemplating an largely unreadable menu. Except for the list of cocktails; somehow those were all in English. Earlene discreetly had ber mobile out, to see the restaurant’s website translated to English. And yet apparently the Icelandic language defied The Google. “Grilled Criteria,” “Tasty and Muscular Muscles,” “Suck and Salad” and “Whole Parents From the Heart of the External Fagradal” were apparently on the menu. Bursting into laughter, she handed her mobile to Lorna and gave up.

 

Lorna laughed so hard she nearly cried, and typed, “Don't betray anyone!” with Thingy. This was certainly...well, Icelandic must be up there with Irish on the list of ‘shit Google can’t handle’. Still giggling, she passed the mobile to Ratiri, who groaned.

 

“And yet people wonder why I dislike using Google,” he said, passing the phone back to Earlene. “Though I’m somewhat curious as to what ‘Grilled Criteria’ would actually look like.”

 

“Give it time,” Earlene insisted. “The Google knows all. Sees all,” she smirked, never having seen eye to eye with Ratiri’s insistence on being a technological Luddite.

 

“The Google doesn’t have that long,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Oh, here they come.”

 

Katje, beaming, made her way across the restaurant; she was tall enough that both her mothers were all but obscured behind her. Freyja was not exactly short herself, and her hair was every bit as red as it had been seventeen years ago, pulled back in a somewhat fuzzy, wind-blown ponytail; she was built in the same wiry manner as Lorna herself, even now. Katrin had gone a bit stouter with age, and her hair had some snow-white streaks in it that Ratiri suspected were natural.

 

“We did not think to ever be seeing you again,” Freyja said, eying them both. Katje had said they looked young, but they had barely changed at all -- only the hair, really. “It is good to be seeing you again.”

 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Lorna typed, even as Ratiri rose to grab extra chairs. “Katje told me what you’ve got hanging over your toilet. I just about laughed myself sick.”

 

Katje looked at Lorna and Ratiri, and at Earlene, Fionn, and Cian, and then back at her mothers. “Sérðu það?” she asked them. _Do you see it?_

 

Freyja and Katrin exchanged a glance, because yes, they did indeed. Katrin only gave her daughter’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Here, you lot, these are our housemates slash family slash friends,” Ratiri said. “Katrin, Freyja, meet Earlene -- she’s Lorna’s second cousin, or something -- and Fionn and Cian. Who are...well, also cousins, I suppose, by marriage.”

 

“Brother-from-another-mother,” Lorna typed, and offered no context whatsoever. Just...because.

 

_ They know, Lorna. And they are not running screaming. Somehow, they can...tell. Do you want me to...what do you want to do? _

 

She arched an eyebrow, because...well, this was a first.  _ I’d say just tell them to ask what they want,  _ she said.  _ Only in bloody Iceland _ .

 

Thranduil sighed, and smiled. “Usually humans cannot perceive what we are. I am willing to not bother pretending; mostly we do not wish to frighten or overwhelm others...and yet Iceland is different, it seems. Ask what you wish,” he shrugged. “We do not mind.”

 

Two pairs of blue eyes and one pair of green zeroed in on him, as the three women sat. “You are all Elves, aren’t you?” Freyja asked bluntly, looking from Thranduil to Earlene, and then to Thanadir. 

 

“ _ You  _ two are human, right?” Katrin added, to Lorna and Ratiri.

 

“We are,” Lorna typed, trying to choke down her laughter and not quite succeeding. “Ratiri and I are about as human as they come.” She almost missed having Kurt around to say, ‘That’s what she said.’ Almost.

 

“I’m, um,” Earlene blushed. This really had gone on for far too long. “I was human. But now I’m like them. It was complicated, and not likely to ever happen again,” she explained, shrugging. “Their real names are Thranduil and Thanadir. They are my husbands. We are all married to each other.”

 

“Thranduil?” Katje repeated, even as her mothers exchanged a glance. “I  _ knew  _ you looked like someone,” she added. “I just could not think who. You are  _ that  _ Thranduil?”

 

Her mothers exchanged a few soft, rapid sentences in Icelandic, and added, “We know of more Elves, but we can’t talk to them. They do not know our words, and we don't know theirs.”

 

“Yes, that one,” Thranduil smiled. “We live yet in our forest, hidden away. Though not, I think, like what I heard about at the Elfschool. I have no explanation for what or who is here. We do not know of them. At least, I do not think we do.”

 

_ What else will we find here?  _ Lorna asked.  _ Balrogs, Maiar, and now maybe other Elves?  _

 

“And you live in Ireland? That is not fair,” Katrin said, shaking her head. Perhaps she should be more stunned by this than she was, but, well, it was Iceland. “That is unfair. We are the ones who believe in you.”

 

“It’s why they’re safer in Ireland,” Lorna typed.  _ Thranduil, maybe, if we go see these ‘other Elves’, we could tell them about the plague?  _ “What have you been doing here, though? Katje says you fish?”

 

“We fish and we make things,” Freyja said. “Slippers, blankets, things for the tourists. We have our own sheep, even.”

 

“That seems quite useful,” Thanadir said, his soft eyes studying them with interest. “None of us really know how. To fish, I mean. The others we manage.”

 

Again the women shared a glance, but Katje, ever sunny, said, “Do you want to come out on the boat? I have not been in ages, I will go tomorrow -- you should see how it works, if you do not get seasick.”

 

Lorna had no idea if she would or not, but it was probably best not tested. “I ought to pass,” she typed. It sounded interesting (if smelly), but she didn't need to risk washing the decks with sick.

 

“Why not just take motion sickness tablets?” Earlene asked, guessing at the likely nature of Lorna’s reluctance. “For most people, they help more than enough.” 

 

_ And if they do not I will help you,  _ Thranduil told her.  _ I do not wish to hear excuses. If these women are important to you, then tomorrow represents an opportunity we probably cannot afford to miss. _

 

Lorna really couldn’t object to that.  _ Okay,  _ she said,  _ but I will pay you back somehow, dammit. And I’m not going to bring Thingy out onto a fishing trawler, so you’re kind’v the only one I can talk to without sign language.  _ “It’s worth a shot,” she typed. “I’d love to see how it works, even if I'm betting it smells.”

 

“Oh, it does,” Katrin said, “but you get used to it after maybe fifteen minutes.”

 

“Then you just think about all the money that comes in,” Freyja added. “It makes the smell go away very fast.”

 

“I could imagine,” Earlene smiled. In this aspect, it could not be so different than farming.

 

“We would all be delighted to come,” Thranduil answered. “I have never been fishing--I am fairly certain none of us has. Just tell us what time and where. And whether the elves are also going fishing,” he smiled, remembering the tale they were told.

 

“That is my favorite of the stories,” Katrin said. “My family, we always fished, so that was the first story I heard. Katje, you text them everything, will you?”

 

“I am, Mamma. This is everything: the name of the ship, outline of the dock, everything.”

 

“We call it the  _ Altaff Eitthdva _ _ ð _ ,”  Katrin said. “It means ‘always something’, because when my father inherited it, it really was always something, every week. It took years to make it what it is now.”

 

“We should name our next car that,” Lorna typed, grinning. “All right, you lot, help us pick out food.” 

 

*****

 

“It’s here!” Andaer whispered, having gone to check the front porch of Nana’s old cottage for the seventeenth time that afternoon. “I can’t carry it all, come help me.”

 

“Wait,” Lancaeron said. “We should get our knapsacks. That way none of this can get anywhere.”

 

“True,” Erynion said. “Ok I have another idea. Andaer and Lance, you get the powder in the knapsacks we bring here. Then me an’ Supri go to the Halls and get Nimroch and Malen’kiy. Then we can go to the cows. Ailill an’ Calanon both said we could all ride to the farm, so we got permission.”

 

“We have permission,” Andaer corrected.

 

“Yes, Adar Thanadir,” Erynion rolled his eyes. “We have permission.”

 

Supri didn't laugh, but it was close. Andaer could be...precious. “Sounds good to me,” she said. “Mam even asked us to make sure Malen’kiy got enough exercise.”

 

“‘Kay, let’s get our stuff quick so we can get to the Halls. Even if we run it’ll take a little while.”

 

**

 

_ Clip clip clip clop clip clop…  _ Supri and Erynion both had received smiles galore, as the sundry elves and humans had watched the young children trotting off on the horses, radiating adorableness. The identical twins’ semblance to their father had become completely eerie...though of course the King now lacked the boyish innocence his sons still possessed. Out of the trees they came, to meet their compatriots.

 

Malen’kiy was still a little big for Supri, but that was just because Supri had inherited the Donovan shortarse gene. She hoped she’d hit a growth spurt like Chandra and Shane had, but they’d always been tall kids. She might be stuck being...well, a Donovan. At least Malen’kiy didn't seem to mind; she just trotted along, occasionally pausing to sniff at some interesting plant or other. 

 

“I need to ask Uncle Thranduil where he found a pony this tiny,” she said. “I mean, Malen’kiy’s…well, she’s malen’kiy. Small. Super small. Donovan small.”

 

“Ponies  _ are _ tiny, that’s why they’re ponies,” Andaer grinned. “But we heard Adar Thranduil talking to Adar Thanadir about her. They looked real hard, to find her. She had to be pretty, and really well-trained and gentle, plus being the right size for your mam.”

 

“Mam actually cried a little about that, later,” Supri said. “I didn't realize grown-ups sometimes cry when they’re happy. They’re weird. Malen’kiy really is gentle, too.” She gave the pony a scratch between the years. “And she’ll be very pretty once we’re done.”

 

“Beautiful,” confirmed Erynion. “Just like Nimroch. Okay we have the powder, and phones? And no one’s wearing anything the grownups will be mad if it gets some color on it?”

 

A chorus of “Yeah” went around as they all climbed aboard; the triplets had slight difficulty but managed to hoist each other up to the back of Allanah’s tall horse.

 

Saoirse meandered out in time to see this, and eyed the lot of them. “Okay, I know you ordered shite off my Amazon account -- what’re you doing? Because somebody probably ought to actually keep an eye on it.”

 

“We’re making Andy Warhol animals,” Supri said. “Using  _ our  _ animals.”

 

One of her cousin’s eyebrows twitched. “Seriously? All right, I’m coming, and I’m bringing my camera.” It wasn’t hard for her to hop on behind Supri, given she was actually taller than her aunt, and Supri was so tiny that Malen’kiy didn't mind the added weight.

 

“Saoirse, could you help us with the colors? We saw the Andy Warhol cows an’ dogs. And we wanna make cows and the horses like that. Take pictures. We bought...um….darn it,” Andaer said.

 

“Blue and green, red and yellow,” Erynion offered.

 

“And I’m almost sure orange and pink?” Lancaeron finished. “We don’t know how many colors per animal so it’ll be right.”

 

“It’ll be a surprise when your parents get home,” Saoirse said. “Where are you planning to do this?”

 

“Out in the fields,” Supri said. “That way if there’s a mess it’s not in the house, and Aunt Earlene doesn’t have to kill us. Except she wouldn’t kill us, she’d find something worse, because powder plus her kitchen equals no.”

 

“Yup,” Andaer said cheerfully. “Can we do a slow trot?”

 

Everyone seemed amenable to that, so they did; moving them along a little faster through the forest paths but not by much. They looked carefully both ways before crossing the road that never had any traffic (it was a miracle if a car per three days passed the road). And soon, there was the pasture.

 

“Nobody step in anything’v the shit variety,” Saoirse said, once they actually found a cow -- two cows. The pasture at least was not sopping, even if it wasn’t precisely dry (this was Ireland,  _ that _ never happened); it only squelched a little beneath her boots as she dismounted. 

 

“So how do we want to do this?” Supri asked. “Tidy, or more...organic?”

 

“Andy Warhol was pretty tidy,” Saoirse said. “Just, you know, for what that’s worth.”

 

“She’s right,” Andaer opined. “His stuff doesn’t look like a color fight at Holi. Yeah there’s color, but it’s...placed, organized. How do we make it look like that? Like, what do we do to Nimroch? She’s all white.”

 

Saoirse considered this. “D’you want to do stripes of color, like the ones in the picture I’m thinking about? Because if so, line up different colors’v powder along his spine, then spread them down with your hands...except you might need to hold each other up to do it, the horse is so tall.”

 

“Malen’kiy will be easy, at least,” Supri said, giving the pony another pat. Malen’kiy just seemed happy to nom on some of the luxurious green grass.

 

“If we do that, how do we take a picture of it?” Andaer wanted to know. “None’v us can get up high enough. Wait. We could if we use the rock wall at the edge. You wanna do that?” he asked the group.

 

Glances back and forth seemed to indicate consensus. “Sure,” they all agreed. 

 

“‘Kay, tell us what colors.” The bags of powder were dutifully lined up in front of Saoirse, and four sets of expectant eyes followed her every move. Even the horses seemed interested in this new idea. They were getting grass and attention, what did they care?

 

Saoirse considered a moment, and then very carefully opened the bag of blue. Even more carefully, she shook out a line of the powder onto the horse’s back, then handed the bag to Supri. “Okay, watch what I do with this first one, and then I’ll film you lot doing the rest.” She laid her hand flat on top of the powder, palm-down, and brought the powder down in a graceful swoop of color that cast a perfect, widening stripe down Nimroch’s side.

 

“ _ Ooooooooh _ ,” all the kids said in unison. “Now what?”

 

“I’m going to put more colors along her spine, and you do what I just did,” Saoirse said, already opening the yellow. “If each one’v you does a different color, they won’t get mixed up on your hands.” Color by color she went -- green, red, yellow, in no particular order.

 

The children carefully imitated what she had shown them to do, and in surprisingly short order they had the vast majority of Nimroch buried under colorful stripes. Soon there was only her head, neck, legs, mane and tail. “Now what?” Erynion asked, mesmerized with the results. “She’s beautiful.”

 

“Christ, she  _ is _ ,” Saoirse said, and immediately began snapping away with her mobile. “We should do her neck. We could do that but still keep it away from her face.” She was pretty sure putting that near the horse’s eyes wasn’t the greatest idea.

 

“I hope it doesn’t rain,” Supri said. “I mean, look at how pretty she is. I’m going to get started with Malen’kiy, so they match.”

 

“Should she be the same or have a different color pattern? Like how Andy did it?” Lancaeron wanted to know. Once again, all eyes turned to Saoirse.

 

“Let’s do it how Andy did it,” Saoirse said. “And then we can go nuts on the cows.”

 

That worked for Supri. She was way too short to help with Nimroch’s neck, so she contented herself with very carefully lining up the colors along Malen’kiy’s back. It was harder, because she kept having to wipe her hands on her shirt to avoid contaminating the colors. Malen’kiy just chuffed, and happily kept munching.

 

Finally both horses were done. “This is amazing,” Andaer admired. “Wait ‘till Allanah sees her. She’s gonna love it.”

 

“Yeah,” nodded the mini-Thranduils. “So which cow do we get?” he asked. 

 

“Well, those two are closest,” Supri said, pointing to a pair about a dozen yards away. She didn't know how to make the cattle move unless they were getting ready to be milked; that was their job. Plus, tiny.

 

“We brought some line,” the twins said. “Our sisters showed us what to do. These are nice cows but when we’re working watch the horns, okay? Cows can be kinda dumb, they don’t think about us being mushy.” Soon enough two perfectly white bovines were contentedly grazing, each held by a twin. “We’ll hold them just to be safe, you lot do the color.”

 

“Let’s do like...let’s make that one’s front half green, and the other one’s back half, too,” Supri said. “And put stripes on the rest.” She knew to stand back until the cows were still (and busy eating). She did  _ not  _ want to get kicked in the head, because while Mam might enjoy having Thingy, she doubted she would.

 

Saoirse eyed the animals, pondering how best to do it. “Stripes first,” she said. “If we muck those up, the green can just go over the top.” 

 

Once again, both girls opened more bags, and they plus Lancaeron set to work. The powders were dry and starchy, and so bright under the sunlight.

 

In the distance, they heard the occasional bark of a dog, but thought nothing of it. The cows were done, and all of them stood there, entranced with the sheer magnificence. 

 

“Hey, look! It’s Flynn and Glenda! Bet they want to be like this too, an’ then we’ll have even more pictures!” All of them looked at Saoirse, who smiled and agreed this was an excellent idea. So momentarily, both hounds were tan and Holi powder instead of tan and white. Because it looked more like what Andy would do. Then they let the dogs go.

 

“We got really good at putting on the powder,” Andaer said proudly. His brothers were too busy recording video.

 

Too late, it occurred to Saoirse to wonder how they were to get it off the dogs, before everyone went back inside. Well, if all else failed, the hose would work...she hoped. Mam always made them basically strip after holi, and leave their powdery clothes outside. “Okay, that could get...well, they’d look good, at least.”

 

When Chandra saw two baying, Technicolor hounds come thundering back toward the trees, she arched an eyebrow, and wondered what the hell at least one of her little sisters had been getting up to. “Well then,” she said, as Glenda sneezed. “So,  _ that’s  _ a thing, apparently.”

 

“My dogs,” Thaladir whispered, horrified. “My dogs!” 

 

Calanon moved to intervene quickly. “Listen to me, young one. Your dogs are not harmed. They have only met with a little mischief; nothing is wrong with them. We will find out how this happened and make this righ--”

 

“Ha ha! Oh! That craic is ninety!!” Ailill howled. “Will you look at the…” his words died on his lips as he saw the fierce glower of his mate. “Sorry,” he mumbled, except he was not sorry at all, and stuck his tongue out at the elf the moment his back was turned.

 

“I  _ saw _ that,” Calanon said archly, even if it earned a laugh from Chandra. “You should not be encouraging the...the…” a sort of whimpering sound escaped him. “What in the name of all the Valar….??”

 

“See?!?” Ailill said smugly. “I told you so.”

 

“When they asked us for permission to go to the farm, no mention was made of this,” Calanon growled, reining his horse toward the cow pasture. How was he going to explain?

 

“And here all I did when all the parents left home was commit Grand Theft Sofa,” Chandra said, giggling as she followed. “It looks like it’s just holi powder. It’ll brush off, and hell, it actually kind’v looks like art. Real art.”

 

All of the children waved and ran excitedly to greet them. “Uncle Calanon! Uncle Ailill! Lookit, aren’t they beautiful? Just like real Andy Warhol!” Andaer, most always as reserved as his father, was literally jumping up and down with excitement. Ailill, in a rare display of dominance, laid a hand on his husband’s arm and silently told him to keep silent unless it was to say something nice.

 

“It is wonderful,” Ailill admired, dismounting and walking around to properly appreciate their work. “I think I like Nimroch best, but the cows are magnificent too. You did this all yourselves?”   
  


“Yeah,” Erynion grinned. “We read about art and Andy Warhol and we wanted to make art like his.” Their innocent faces and sheer joy made Calanon understand his husband’s wisdom. It was not going to be worth crushing their elation over harmless colored powder--though he still had no idea how he would explain this to Maglor, Sharley and Pen. “Hey, could you take a picture of the five of us with the animals?”

 

Thaladir had remained silent all this time, an internal struggle playing out. One one hand, this was terribly inappropriate. But as they talked, he realized that his siblings had no idea that they had done anything inadvisable. He looked down, and sighed deeply. “I’ll take the picture for you,” he smiled weakly. “Go stand in front of the horses and cows and call the dogs to sit in front of you.”

 

Ailill looked back at the young peredhel, impressed. Few knew Thaladir well enough to understand what he had just managed to...cope with.

 

“I’ll help you wash the dogs,” Chandra said. Of course Saoirse had got in on it...she wouldn’t have stopped to think it might be a bad idea. She’d also probably already emailed Mam and Da, so that could get interesting later...Chandra was going to put her ringer on mute for a while, juuuuust in case.

 

The kids and their so-called supervisor posed, while the animals ate on, content. “We did good work today,” Supri said proudly. “Pretty work. We should frame a picture’v it for when all the parents get home.”

 

“Yeah. An’ maybe use Photoshop to make it even more like an Andy,” Andaer said.

 

“Totally,” Saoirse said. “I’ll even drive to Kildare to get it printed.”

 

“We should continue our hunt,” Calanon said gently. “What will you do next?” 

 

“Go back to the stables,” the children piped up. “We hafta brush the horses ‘cause we rode them.”

 

“Then we will see you at home later this afternoon,” Ailill added, smiling. “We will make a nice dinner for everyone.”

 

“What?” Lancaeron asked, curious.

 

“Fettucini,” Ailill smiled, seeing the happy looks. Earlene would rarely fix such a fat-laden culinary monstrosity, thus everyone would like it all the more.

 

**

 

###  {June 29, 2035}

 

Well, that had been... _ interesting _ . And smelly. And kind of terrifying. Lorna no longer had a phobia of water, but if she’d known beforehand what being out on rough water in a trawler was like, she never would have gone. And yet, according to Freyja and Katrin, today’s sea had been a mild one. She didn't think she wanted to know what truly rough weather would look like, because there had been a few points she’d been convinced they were going to go under.

 

Because she didn't have Thingy, she’d spent most of her time trying not to panic at Thranduil, even while she gripped whatever railings might be at hand. The meds Katrin had given her at least kept seasickness at bay, but it still felt like being on a rollercoaster she couldn’t get off of. And they were out in it all damn day.

 

At least the others had managed to explain the coming plague -- why, and how, and when. They’d all agreed to meet up again for a drink the next day, to give the poor women some time to think up further questions.

 

For now, Lorna sat in the lovely Jacuzzi tub, trying to drive the sea’s chill from her bones, gripping the side like a life preserver. She’d known ‘sea legs’ were a thing, but she hadn’t realized they could fuck things up once you were back on shore.  _ At least I know I won’t be fishing in the future _ , she thought, squeezing her eyes shut.

 

Ratiri, truth be told, had had rather a hard time of it himself. He’d never been out in open sea, either, and had spent quite a while quietly gripping whatever handhold was nearest. He at least could verbally communicate, though, which helped quite a bit; he knew that if he somehow fell overboard, he could use actual words when he screamed for help.

 

He mixed poor Lorna a drink, figuring her shattered nerves would appreciate one. When he entered the (very steamy) bathroom, it was all he could do not to laugh, because she looked like a very soggy Cousin It, more hair than woman. Tendrils of it stuck to her face, and her cheek rested against the side of the tub. Somehow, she was hugging it.

 

“Mo chroí, enjoy this. I’m going to go see how the others are doing.”

 

She gave him a thumb’s-up, and sat up enough to knock back half her rum and Coke before hugging the tub again. At least she likely wasn’t going anywhere.

 

Shaking his head, he headed to the next room over, and knocked on the door.

 

“Come in please,” Thanadir invited, his long hair still just a little damp. He appeared mostly unperturbed. “Earlene and Thranduil are out of the shower. They are just dressing and will be done in a moment. Are you feeling better?” 

 

“I am,” Ratiri said, finally losing his fight against his own laughter. “Lorna, on the other hand, refuses to let go of the side of the bathtub. I left her with a drink.”

 

“Is the bathtub going somewhere?” Thanadir asked, puzzled.

 

“I think she’s trying to use it to steady herself,” Ratiri said. “She hasn’t been back on land long enough yet -- everything still feels like it’s moving. She would not make a good sailor.”

 

“Oh dear. That does not sound good.”

 

“Please tell me Lorna has not found a means to be seasick on dry land,” Thranduil asked, emerging fully dressed from the bathroom, a billow of steam following him out. Earlene emerged right behind him, electing to leave the door open. Because, humidity.

 

“It’s not seasickness -- she just doesn’t have her land legs back yet.” In truth, Ratiri didn't totally, either -- but he weighed more, and had not been knocked about nearly so much with each swell. Staying upright not been quite such an effort. “Well, they took that better than I’d expected, honestly.”

 

“When you believe in what they do, we are far less of a surprise,” Thranduil opined. “To be honest I worry more about the plague explanation than the elf explanation, at this point. We are running out of time.”

 

“Which is so...strange, to think of,” Ratiri sighed. “Twenty years became two -- less than two, now -- far too swiftly. And then it will all be over, forever, which is something I still struggle to grasp. How could anyone, really? To know it and to _ understand _ it are not the same thing.”

 

“We have seen many realms rise and fall,” Thanadir said sadly. “It is less unusual for us, though we are never happy about such things. But for you; I would imagine this will be a one-of-a-kind event that anyone would prefer not to experience.”

 

“There have been plagues before,” Ratiri said. “Some of them very bad, but something of this totality, and across the entire world….well.”

 

A knock came at the door, and when he answered it, he found Lorna all but hugging the wall. She ooched her way into the room and sat on the floor, back to the wall. “I’m cool as long as I’m touching something,” she typed. “What did I miss?”

 

“Plague talk, mainly,” her husband said. 

 

“Pat, Siobhan, and I were talking to Geezer about that,” she typed. “We want to have a wake for the world, basically. We can’t just go on like normal -- too many people will be psychologically fucked-up by it. The four’v us figured we could set everything up in advance, so that when the plague  _ does  _ hit, people can take time if they need it.”

 

Thanadir looked at Earlene, silently seeking explanation. 

 

_ Humans need to grieve, sometimes in peculiar ways. They feel this is something they need to do, in order to surmount the loss of their society.  _

 

Expressive hazel eyes shifted as the elf considered her words.  _ So this is one of those times where even though it does not make sense to me, it makes sense to someone? _

 

_ Yes, exactly. We will encourage them to do as they need to in order to feel better. Otherwise, Lorna is right; some will not cope as well. _

 

Thanadir blinked, considering. Thranduil simply added, “If there is some means by which we can help that does not disrupt other necessities, we will.”

 

“We’ll have to talk to Geezer and Angie,” Lorna typed, but paused when she got an email (she loved Thingy. It seriously did do almost everything.) Opening it, her eyebrows climbed halfway to her hairline, and she burst out laughing.  _ Oh...oh, good Jesus. Thranduil, look at this, and show the entire class.  _ She ooched across the floor to hand him the device, laughing so hard tears streamed down her face.  _ At least all Chandra did was steal the sofa. _

 

“Which of the children did this?” Thranduil asked, blinking.

 

_ The triplets and Supri, apparently _ , Lorna said, still giggling.  _ Saoirse helped, because’v course she did. _

 

Earlene and Thanadir heard ‘children’ and ‘did this’ and immediately crossed the room to view what was under discussion. Earlene immediately placed her hand so as to cover her lower jaw as fully as possible, while Thanadir stared unreadably. After several moments of silence, Earlene said, “It kind of looks like an Andy Warhol. Was that spray paint?”

 

_ It’s the powder we use for holi, so the animals  ought to be fine,  _ Lorna said, hiccuping.  _ And according to Saoirse, Andy Warhol was what they were going for. Oh Malen’kiy…  _ her little pony didn't seem to mind being a Technicolor wonder, at least.

 

Ratiri peered over Earlene’s shoulder, and facepalmed. “I wonder if Sharley and Maglor know about this yet.”

 

“Nothing died or took injury, and I am on vacation,” Earlene smiled. “I’m certain they can manage. Besides, it is good for Maglor to know what he is in for.” She glanced over. “Thanadir?”

 

“The pony needs more yellow,” he pointed out. 

 

“Shall I tell our sons that this is Adar Thanadir’s response to their project?” Thranduil said, laughing.

 

“Erm….perhaps not. It is better discussed once we return,” the old elf smiled, but with good humor. “I hope they had permission to go to the farm, though,” he added.

 

“I can’t imagine Andaer didn't ask first,” Ratiri said. The rest of them, maybe not, but Andaer was his father’s son. “I also can’t imagine they offered any details as to what they planned to do there.”

 

Lorna managed to stop laughing long enough to sign,  _ Saoirse helped. Of course she did.  _ It involved a lot of fingerspelling, because she didn't know a few of the words, but still.

 

“And since she’s Saoirse, it would never have occurred to her to stop it,” Ratiri sighed. “She probably just went ‘ooh, art’.”

 

“Wonder what the field hands thought when they made the end of the day rounds?” Thranduil mused. “I mean, you do not see that every day.”

 

“No, indeed you don't,” Ratiri said, shaking his head. “Well, if that’s the worst mischief they get up to while we’re away, I’ll count us fortunate.”

 

_ Me too _ , Lorna signed, finally sobering...a little. It was the kind of thing she and her siblings might have done, once upon a time.

 

“And you have to admit, they did a good job of it. I’m sure that’s not just my inner parent talking.”

 

“No, you’re right,” Earlene opined. “There has to be a story, and I’m curious to know what inspired this exactly. Andaer especially would not just up and decide to make a cow technicolor, so, there is more to this. Though personally, I like best what the did to your pony, Lorna. Somehow her striping pattern is particularly appealing.”

 

_ Text Saoirse back,  _ Lorna said.  _ Ask her just how that happened, because even though she helped, I doubt it was her idea. _

 

Thranduil relayed this to Earlene, who smiled and made a note to do that--later. She had meant never to be one of those hovering mothers that had to have their nose in every damn  thing, and felt she had done a stellar job at that part. “Okay. So, what’s the plan going to be, for our new Icelandic friends? Show up in 22 months? Sail into Galway just because? Fly here?”

 

Lorna made grabby-hands until she got Thingy back. “I think we should talk to them about it,” she typed, “but right now, I like the idea’v them putting into Galway like a week before the plague, and riding it out in the Halls.”

 

“Iceland could theoretically ride this out,” Ratiri added. “Maybe. They’d have to shut down their airports, though, and I can’t think of a single reason they’d do it short of an active, very well-timed terrorist attack.”

 

“That’s just it,” Earlene said. “Even if we sent out some kind of notification to anyone and everyone what this was and that the only prayer anyone has is being in isolation, they’d probably just hunt us down and accuse us of starting it. No one’d actually listen to what we’re saying. I’ve no idea how we could make a difference, in that regard.”

 

“Maybe we just need to get ham radios,” Lorna typed, “and send out messages once it’s started. Maybe someone will listen.”

 

“Even if only one person did, it would be worth the effort,” Ratiri said.

 

“We already have them. Some. There is a kid in Lasg’len who has a setup. He might even be an expat, hell if I know. But someone or someones is. I just don’t know much about it beyond, they exist. Aurnia knows who I mean,” Earlene said. “I heard her talking about it.”

 

“At quilting night,” Thanadir said, remembering.

 

“Quilting night?” Thranduil asked amused. 

 

“I might’ve gone with Thanadir and made some squares once or twice,” Earlene blushed, having wished to keep that bit under wraps because she felt she lacked talent at the craft.

 

“Then let’s do it,” Lorna typed. “But also let’s offer those three the chance to come to Ireland. They might know other useful people. Iceland seems to be more...pragmatic. Hell, I caught Eva tinkering with our van -- I think she’s a mechanic, too.”

 

“This one is all yours,” Thranduil smiled. “You have done very well, finding persons of merit. And I agree with your assessment about the pragmatism. This is a harder place to exist, and it has influenced those who dwell here.”

 

Lorna ducked her head a little. “I try,” she typed, feeling a touch awkward. “We can talk to anyone Freyja and Katrin know, and see what comes’v it. Maybe enough of  them will believe us that anyone who stays in Iceland will just go hole up for the month’v June. It’s not exactly difficult to find wilderness and solitude here.”

 

“True. And think of how much it’d thwart the bastard to have over a quarter million people fail to die. I mean, I personally would be thrilled,” Earlene noted.

 

“Oh, me too,” Lorna typed, with a grin that was more than slightly evil. “Wherever he is, I hope he knows it. I hope whatever’s left’v him knows he failed.”

 

“Steady on there, mo chroí,” Ratiri said. “We need to look up specifics about Galway, and what it will take for them to store their trawler there for the last week that will actually matter.”

 

“True. Not to mention the fuel to make that transit. No idea about those...maritime things. Sure god we could use a few fisherpeople on board. I wish even more we could somehow stockpile food on the Aran Islands, warn them all, and tell the useful folk in Galway to hole up there until it’s all over and take their boats and ships with them. That’d be something too, to have natives on this side that don’t die,” Earlene murmured. “Is it too early to go get a drink, or to have a drink sent here?”

 

“I already had one,” Lorna typed. “Might as well go for it. And why the hell can’t we warn people? We’ve got one telepathic Elf and one  _ Maia _ \-- I’m sure that could convince at least a few people. We wouldn’t look totally crazy if we could back it up with actual magic.”

 

“She has a point,” Ratiri said. “At this point, what do we really have to lose?”

 

“We still have to be careful to keep our secrecy,” Thanadir said worriedly. “Though we have done well and been fortunate thus far, we are still vulnerable to the outside world. It would be very bad, at this late juncture, to become a focus of the wrong attention.”

 

“Surely we could do this without telling anyone where we actually are,” Ratiri said. “I mean, we ought to talk to Sharley, too, but Thranduil, do you think that has any merit to it?”

 

“If it can help scattered populations to prepare and survive, I am all for it. But I think already that the best chance for them lies with people who already are leading a somewhat self-sufficient lifestyle. Farmers, unfortunately. Masses of urban dwellers...not so practical, that I can see? I do not know everything; I am certainly open to discussion.”

 

“I think that with places like Galway and the Aran Islands, they could ride it out if they knew it was coming,” Lorna typed. “If they knew it and they believed it. Just stock up on supplies and cut off contact with the outside. Sharley said it burns itself out fast; all they have to do is wait about three weeks for the plague to kill everyone, then what, another fortnight for it to stop being contagious?”

 

“He really didn't think it through all the way,” Ratiri mused. “What he designed is tailor-made for tearing through large populations, but it kills so fast that anyone far enough away from a major population center should stand a chance. They just need to know when to cut things off.”

 

“Well, then that means finding a way to win the trust of those in areas that have a good chance, while still exercising caution,” Thanadir said, shaking his head. “I want more to live and yet they will have to be in at least a position to help themselves. Do not forget, our preparations were for our own community. If a large number of refugees comes to us…” he shook his head. “It could be bad.”

 

“We can’t tell anyone exactly where we’ve come from,” Lorna typed. “It might actually be best to let them think we live out’v the country. Somewhere in Scotland, maybe, because’v Ratiri’s accent.”

 

“And between Thranduil and Sharley, I think we could manage it,” Ratiri added. “Winning their trust, I mean. No, it won’t work for everyone, but I'm sure we could save a few people that way.”

 

“I still like the idea about remote populations. Islands. Places no one thinks of, like Siberia or Mongolia or...I just wish there was a way to get word to people quickly, what this is, and what not to do. But I worry that if we are the source of that information someone will end up believing we somehow are responsible. Weirder things have happened,” Earlene sighed.

 

“You’re probably right,” Ratiri said. “We do run the risk of looking responsible...maybe we could try to get the word out in a wider context just as people are starting to get sick? By then it will have spread far and wide, but it’s possible someone would believe us and escape it.”

 

Lorna scowled. “I wish we could resurrect that sick fuck just so we could kill him again,” she typed, and Thingy’s voice was far too calm for what she actually meant. “I wish Sharley and I could slowly stab him to death with those little tines you use to eat corn on the cob with.”

 

“You might have to get in line behind Maglor,” Earlene reflected. “And I’m not sure what he’d leave for you to have fun with.”

 

Thanadir at first looked surprised, but then thought about it some more. With a sad expression, he nodded. “Those would not kill him, though,” he felt compelled to say. Thranduil patted him on the shoulder. He would rather forget the entire thing ever happened.

 

“Eh, we’d figure something out,” she typed. “And it would keep us entertained and out’v trouble.”

 

“Mo chroí, I think you need another drink,” Ratiri said, rolling his eyes.

 

“As if I would ever say no to that. Anyway, once we get home we should talk to Sharley, and see if we can come up with some kind’v pitch. Something to tell people in remote places that they might actually believe and trust.”

 

“Not just Sharley,” Thranduil added. “I think you need other Irish. In fact...the couple that used to rent to Ailill and Calanon. They are with us now, working at the farm. If you want to convince farmers, take one with you. Am I wrong?”

 

“You are not wrong,” Lorna typed. “Though they’re also pretty old, so we’d want some younger people, too. Then we could just sort’v see what happened.”

 

Ratiri had vanished quite suddenly, and reappeared just as swiftly, drink in hand. She grinned, gave him a thumb’s-up, and added, “The worst that could happen would be nothing, I suppose.”

 

“Wait. Where’d that come from?” Earlene wanted to know, having spotted the filled glass. “I still haven’t had my first drink.”

 

Lorna brought up a different screen -- another upgrade Einir had given her -- and grinned as she typed. The actual voice of GLaDOS said, “Well, that’s blasphemy. Ratiri, allanah, get her a drink.”

 

Her poor husband twitched. “I could poke Einir for that app,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s creepy and wrong. Earlene, I’m afraid all I’ve got on hand is rum and Coke.”

 

“I’m not feeling picky,” Earlene said. “I really can’t remember the last time I had either, but I recall liking those.”

 

“In that case, allow me. Thranduil, Thanadir, do you want one?” He tried not to laugh at Lorna as she sniffed hers, looking very like a snooty wine critic. At least she didn't down it in two gulps.

 

“Yes please, if there is enough. Both of us,” added Thranduil.

 

“Coming right up,” Ratiri said, shaking his head at his wife.

 

“I wonder if Sharley and Maglor know about the Andy Warhol Animals yet,” Lorna typed. “If there wasn’t facepalming involved, I’ll be disappointed.” She fired off a text, and tried not to cackle as she rose. Ratiri only had two hands, after all, and she doubted he could balance one on his head. She took one from him, and they returned to the room side-by-side.

 

Earlene refrained from rolling her eyes. She was never going to be a normal mom, but had resigned herself to that years ago. In the meantime, the drink was very tasty.

 

It was only a few minutes before there can an answering text from Sharley’s number: “We’ll talk later,” Thingy read out. “I’m going to guess that was a ‘no’.”

 

Ratiri sighed. “Oh, they can just wait until Annwn gets old enough to get into mischief,” he said. “Although her age-mates all live in the Halls. It’ll be a few years before she catches up with the rest of the peredhel.”

 

“I cannot believe Maglor cares. Not after what he told me about some of the things he and his brothers got up to,” Earlene snorted.

 

“It’s the kind’v thing we would have done when I was a kid,” Lorna typed, “except less explosive. They even did it outside, so it didn't destroy the house.”

 

“We hope,” Ratiri said. “Though nothing could be as bad as the malachite green incident.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Poor Tail. He looked so pathetic with half his hair shaved off.”

 

Thanadir looked a little worried when Earlene muttered something unintelligible, and decided to distract her with one incarnation of Thanadir Eyes. It appeared to work well, since she immediately focused on him and idly began patting his cheek.

 

“Well, if that’s the worst mischief they get up to while we’re away, I’ll count us lucky,” Ratiri said. 

 

“And Malen’kiy was so pretty,” Lorna typed. “Just like a Mini-Me to Allanah’s horse.” Unfortunately, she was still in the GLaDOS app, and her husband twitched a bit.

 

“Mo chroí, that app….”

 

“ _ Hush _ , you.”

 

Earlene let them carry on with their banter, but as they talked something else occurred to her. Galway. Trawlers. Things That Could Sail. The trawler was well and good, but what happened when the fuel ran out? Then it was just another piece of scrap metal that happened to float for the time being.  _ It didn’t used to be this way,  _ she reflected. But she also knew less than nothing about old sailing ships. Except that they existed. 

 

Thranduil, having followed her thought, raised an eyebrow.  _ That makes a great deal of sense. I think you should research it. _

 

_ I think we need to do far more than research it, Lord. With your consent, that is,  _ Earlene demurred.

 

_ You already have an idea? he asked. _

 

_ I think so. One of my friends, ages ago, was involved in this sort of thing. I am remembering snatches of conversation and...of course I need to gather information but yes, I have an idea. _

 

_ Consider yourself to have full authority,  _ he smiled.

 

Earlene smiled back.  _ Are you certain? This might be quite expensive. _

 

_ We are not taking that vault with us, meluieg. Do what needs doing. _

 

Her head dipped in acknowledgement of his words, and a goodly swig of her rum and Coke was downed.  _ Here goes nothing,  _ Earlene mused. 

 

*****

 

###  {July 5, 2035}

 

“So we went to see the volcano at Hekkla, because going to Iceland and not visiting a volcano is close to going to Yellowstone and skipping the geysers,” Earlene explained to the gathered family. “Then there was this Reynisfjara beach. Truly stunning; black sand everywhere but with an incredibly dangerous surf. So bad that they don’t want you getting even near the water because apparently it’s that easy to be swept out to sea. And out in the distance in the sea is this pillar they named  [ Dyrhólaey ](https://guidetoiceland.is/connect-with-locals/jorunnsg/dyrholaey--the-arch-with-the-hole) . It’s made of dark lava and is over one hundred meters tall. Then we went to the Blue Lagoon on the next day, where there is also a spa. Lorna gets to talk about that because we came to call it the Anti-Trawler.”

 

“It was amazing,” Lorna typed, “even if I had to leave Thingy. I actually think it was even better than the springs in the Halls, because we got to just sit and vegetate with this gorgeous view.” And she absolutely was not going to mention that she’d had to buy a child’s swimsuit. Nope. “And there were all the other spa things indoors. I got a foot massage.”

 

“We got massages too. Strangely enough I got the sense that the female masseuses were battling over which of my husbands they got to work on,” Earlene snorted. 

 

“Meldis, I recall a few of the male ones doing the same?” Thanadir smirked, not about to let that go unchallenged. 

 

“But a woman worked on me,” Earlene grinned. 

 

“But I saw…” Thanadir protested.

 

“Oh you saw a man take me back to a room, that much is true. And then I mentioned that the last person to put his hands on me anywhere that earned my disapproval went missing his reproductive organs. Next thing I knew, a lady arrived to take his place. Imagine that.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, but Ratiri shifted slightly uncomfortably. “I think my masseuse was a little...well. I’ve never had a massage before, maybe they’re all meant to be like that, but she was...anyway.”

 

Lorna arched an eyebrow at him. “You never said anything,” she typed.

 

“I didn't want you ripping all her hair out,” he retorted.

 

She paused. “Fair point. Except I would’ve just kicked her in the snatch.”

 

“You’re not going to just leave that hanging,” Earlene insisted. “What was ‘anyway’ exactly? Details.”

 

The poor man flushed like a brick. “It wasn’t that her hands actually went anywhere they shouldn’t,” he said, looking at nothing, “it was just the way she used them was a little...well, like I said, maybe massages are meant to be like that, but somehow I doubt it. Not in any reputable spa, anyway.”

 

“Ratiri Duncan, that tells me exactly nothing. There are only adults in this room. Dish. That’s an order,” Earlene said, hands on hips now. 

 

Thranduil looked at his wife, then Ratiri, then his wife again, and raised an eyebrow. There was no getting out of it now, Earlene was in That Mode.  _ You had better just tell her, else she will bring out the penis museum photos. This can only get worse if she does not get her way. _

 

Ratiri’s flush deepened to a degree that made Lorna worry for his blood pressure. “It was less a massage and more an extended caress,” he said. “It got to the point that I was wondering if I should just tell her that I was married and she was young enough to be my daughter, but I wasn’t sure either would stop her.”

 

“And you didn't want to make a scene,” Lorna typed. “You poor man. Though that explains that night.”

 

Earlene cocked an eyebrow. “Well. No, they are not supposed to be like that, and sadly, you are correct. It’s what they do when they are coming on to a person but need to be on the side of plausible deniability. I’m sorry that happened, but next time you should tell them off. Being tense the entire time waiting for them to be inappropriate is hardly relaxing to anyone.”

 

“No one did that to me,” Thanadir said. “Thank goodness.”

 

“Did the person talk to you?” Thranduil asked.

 

“Oh yes. They asked about me, and I proceeded to explain protocol and seemliness. It was very interesting.”

 

Lorna pressed her face against Ratiri’s shoulder to stifle her laughter. Poor Thanadir. “See, this is why I just got a foot massage,” she typed. “Well, feet and calves, and she threw in a hand massage because I think she didn't know what else to do, poor woman. I doubt spas get too many people who don't like to be touched.”

 

“Well, if I ever get one again, at least I know to trust my instincts,” Ratiri said dryly. “I’m nearly sixty bloody years old, this should not be happening.”

 

“Yeah, but you’re pretty,” Lorna typed.

 

Thranduil wisely said nothing. A female had worked on  him, and while she had not spoken or touched him inappropriately, he could not help overhearing her thoughts. It still gave him pause that the woman felt that just being able to touch a body like his was one of the high points of her existence. Oh well, his appearance was nothing of his own doing.

 

“Anyway,” Earlene continued, “then there was Asbyrgi canyon, this amazing horseshoe shaped gorge with links to folklore. It is also said to be a place where the elves, or hidden people, live.” She smiled crookedly, because that had all been...beyond strange.

 

“You say that as if there is more of a story to tell,” Pen queried. He had been watching Earlene carefully as she spoke.

 

“There is. Maybe?” She sighed and looked at Thranduil.

 

“We went there, and walked around the area at some length. Just the three of us, so that Lorna and Ratiri could enjoy some time to themselves. And we saw them, and they saw us,” he said to Pen with an air of helplessness. “They are the same as us except...not.”

 

“What do you mean?” Pen asked, his attention fully focused.

 

“I mean that Thanadir made a motion to go toward them but we were...commanded not to.”

 

“What?” Pen and Maglor exclaimed in unison.

 

“What he said,” Thanadir replied. “Earlene heard it too. We all did. A masculine voice, that said ‘stay; leave them’ in our language. I did not understand, but we all took it to be a command from one of the Lords and obeyed.”

 

Earlene nodded, there was really nothing else to add. “So there are faded elves in Iceland that we are supposed to ignore. I guess? What else was there to do?”

 

“Nothing but what you did,” Maglor said. “But anyone would be curious. Maybe someday we shall learn.”

 

_ Iceland was where Avathar woke up,  _ Sharley said to Thranduil.  _ I have to wonder if he had something to do with...well, why you couldn’t talk to them.  _ “I wonder just how many remnants of bygone Ages are still out there,” she said aloud.

 

“Well, they seem to be the inspiration behind Iceland’s myths and legends,” Ratiri said. “A little over half the country believes in them, and they seem, on the whole, to be rather benevolent.”

 

“I have to believe the Valar are caring for them in their own way,” Pen mused. “Obviously they know of them.”

 

“If Iceland manages to ride out the plague, maybe they’ll be able to...I don't know, mingle with the surviving humans,” Ratiri said. “I know they’re invisible and all that, but the Icelanders seem to be rather more perceptive than the average human. Katje and her parents spotted these three for what they were right off, and I think Eva had her suspicions even before we told her.” She too was coming to the Halls, along with her young daughter.

 

Maglor looked at Earlene with interest. “Hiril vuin, are you no longer a secret?” 

 

Earlene looked around and smiled crookedly. “Um, apparently not. Though as my admission didn’t seem to be a surprise, I can guess that it is the not-so-secret secret.”

 

Lorna snorted. “Earlene, it hasn’t been a real secret in ages,” she typed. “Everybody with working eyes can see you’re not like the rest’v us anymore, and that’s without having seen you glow in the dark like Ratiri and I did. Mairead gave you Gran’s recipe because she knew, even though nobody told her.”

 

“How exactly did that happen, anyway?” Ratiri asked. “I mean, obviously it was a gift of the Valar, and I can take a guess as to why, but how did it come about?”

 

A smile played over her face. “After Maglor’s trial I left to just try to have some time by myself. When I could, I would go to the mound of Ezehollar and sit with the remains of the trees. Tree. I would sit by what little was left of Laurelin. Manwë came to me there and we talked. Near the end of the conversation he wanted to know what I would ask for myself. I think you can guess what I told him; that I did not want to have to lose my family or the other way around. The Valar worry, you know, because there is a lot of risk of a human going mad from taking on the life of an elf. But it’s a problem I was willing to have.  What I asked was granted. And I learned a hard lesson that day that I never told you, Maglor. I badgered you to no end not to be afraid to ask for what you wanted from them. But when it was my turn, I found out how hard it was. I felt more than a little hypocritical.”

 

The ellon smiled. “I do not begrudge you. And while yes, there was similarity, there were differences. Which does not change that I understand.”

 

“You were born to be an Elf,” Lorna typed. “Possibly literally, since I'm not sure how just how much’v a hand Manwë had in your life. Somehow, I doubt you’ll go crazy.”

 

“We can hope. I will have help, at least.” The smile she saw on Thanadir’s face made her heart turn a little somersault.

 

“Is this something you still want us to keep to ourselves?” Ratiri asked. “Because Lorna’s right -- everyone who knows you has already figured it out.”

 

“I...don’t know? I don’t want to lie about it but by the same token...I mean, can you understand how it might feel to someone to hear ‘oh she got it but I can’t have it too?’ It’s more like, I’m trying to be sensitive because not everyone might comprehend how complicated a thing it is? You tell me, am I worrying about nothing?”

 

“Yes, you’re worried about nothing,” Lorna typed. “Earlene, you’re Queen’v the god damned Elves. Nobody’s going to wonder why you get immortality and the rest’v us don't. Honestly, I don't know how many people would really want to live forever, anyway -- not in this world.  _ I  _ wouldn’t. I’m happy to be able to live longer than I would’ve otherwise, but if you offered me immortality, I’d say ‘thanks, but no’.”

 

“And I'm inclined to agree,” Ratiri put in. “On both counts. If anything, people would think it unfair if you  _ weren’t  _ granted the same life as your spouses.”

 

“Well...and what about Ailill? I mean I know he knows but...yeah, I’m keeping out of it. That is between them and the Valar,” Earlene said, her voice tinged with worry. Because forgetting how this had worked for most everyone else who had ever married an elf was...naive at best.

 

Ratiri winced slightly. Yes, there was always Ailill, who at least would be allowed to go to Aman. “Well, even if you don't go around advertising it, it’s already common knowledge,” he said, “and we might as well not deny it if someone asks outright -- but only if you’re okay with it.”

 

“I can live with that,” she said. “I just....I mean, you’ve read the Athrabeth, right? I feel a little like Finrod must have. I believe both Eru and the Valar have some purpose, to how things are. But I don’t claim to have the wisdom to really know how all this is supposed to play out. Which makes me sound religions and then suddenly I feel really awkward.” Uncharacteristically she flopped into a chair and shuddered. “Ugh. Religious.”

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. Knowing what she did of so many Earth religions, she didn't wonder why Earlene shuddered. “It’s not religion,” she said. “Not as humans define it, anyway. It’s just...knowledge. We know Eru and the Valar are there, even if we don't know what they’ve got planned. Vairë told me even the Valar don't really know what Eru has in mind; in a lotta ways, even they kinda have to wait and see what’s to come. And I guess that isn’t even faith so much as...trust, if you take my meaning.”

 

Lorna did, at least. Trust was something deeper and more intrinsic than faith.

 

“Yeah. I think my problem is, I’m projecting. I’m projecting that all these people who I assume won’t really know these things about Eru and the Valar will...concoct stuff, and that it will have to be explained to them why that’s not right and then I imaging them arguing and needing convincing...I need to stop it. It is what it is, maybe half these people don’t even know I started out human. Whatever. I’ll work on containing myself. Or something,” Earlene muttered.

 

“Well, we’ll see what happens,” Lorna typed. “If we do have to explain, we’ll do it. I mean, we have an actual Maia here. Just enjoy that you’ll have your family forever, and let us worry about the bullshit.”

 

“Works for me,” she said. 

 

“I have a question that is not about Valar or your transformation, but do not wish to change the subject too soon?” Maglor asked politely.

 

“Sure. Please do.” Earlene looked over at Maglor, pondering for a moment that someone should make a statue of him. Because, loveliness.

 

“I have not heard you mention the food, and I have read that some unusual things are eaten in that country. Was it...strange?”

 

“Well, there were...Ratiri, what did you think?” Earlene felt like she was hogging the conversation.

 

“Some of it was rather...odd,” he said. “Unsurprisingly, they eat a lot of fish, but there are a few oddities in there.  Súrir hrútspungar -- and I mangled the pronunciation, I know -- is sour ram’s testicles. We all passed on that.”

 

“Their ice cream is deadly, though,” Lorna typed. “Some’v it’s weird -- I tried some that was pepper flavored -- but most’v it’s grand.”

 

Sharley glanced at Pen, and then looked at Maglor. “We’ll be enjoying ice cream in Oxford,” she informed him. “You and I are taking Quen and Annwn on holiday.”

 

“We what?” Maglor said helplessly, his eyes widening. A quick glance at his friend’s smug expression told him he was doomed.

 

“You heard her,” Pen said, laying a hand on his arm. “I planned everything, so you will feel safe and comfortable. Everything. You need to do this, Maglor. For both yourself and your family.”

 

“But I…” a ragged sigh escaped him. “When?”

 

“Any time in July works,” Sharley said, taking his hand. “I know you need a little time to wrap your mind around the idea, but Pen’s right. I want Annwn to see where you used to live and work. I thought we could all go through the Bodleian together, and she could hear all about Tolkien and the stories you told him.”

 

“Um...yes. Stories,” Maglor murmured, clearly lost. 

 

Earlene watched from across the room, taking in the pitiful sight. Nope. “Maglor, would you please come help me with something in the kitchen for a moment, if it isn’t too much trouble?” Earlene asked, rising and walking that way in the expectation of being followed.

 

Maglor unthinkingly did as he was asked, lumbering after her.

 

“You have your work cut out for you,” Thanadir said softly to Sharley, grinning.

 

“I know,” she said. “I know he hates to travel, but this is somewhere familiar to him, and I really do want Annwn to have some time out in the world with her family. And...maybe it’ll be good for him,” she added, more softly. “I hope it will, anyway -- I hope it’ll do him good to see Oxford without living in a cloud of despair. He’s free of that now, and I’d rather he remember the place through...different eyes, I guess.”

 

Pen did not react openly, but wondered if Sharley really understood her husband. True, he no longer walked about in a living nightmare--but that was a far cry from ‘free of that.’ But...he did not want to be the one to keep his friend from trying. And it really was time.

 

**

 

“Drink it,” Earlene admonished, placing the mug in Maglor’s hand.

 

“What is it?” he asked, still clearly more than a little stupefied.

 

“High octane hot cocoa. Trust me. You need some.” She crossed her arms over her bosom and tilted her chin up at him in that look that said ‘you really won’t be silly enough to argue with Earlene, will you?’ 

 

Cautiously he sniffed it, detecting that it was heavily doused with some spirit or other. But the first taste… “That is quite nice,” he said appreciatively. “I like this.”

 

“Good,” she beamed. “Now we will go back in there, and change the subject and you will enjoy your cocoa. That is an order.”

 

He chuckled. “Yes, Hiril vuin.”

 

Earlene glided out, pleased. Would that every problem could be so easily remedied. For the other question concerning oceangoing vessels and this notion of gaining the Icelandic trawler had come to mind, and would perhaps need serious research. Lorna’s idea was indeed sound; they would be fools to bypass the chance to have sea access after the plague. Sighing, she shook her head. First, a great deal of study. Then, hopefully, more would be clear.

 

**

 

“I’m here,” Einir called out from the foyer.

 

“Who is here?” Thanadir wondered aloud, not recognizing the voice right off.

 

“Ah. That would be my Nutrient Reformation Project,” Earlene smiled, rising to meet her.

 

“I’m here too,” came a second and utterly unfamiliar voice. Thanadir saw his wife pause and frown, and immediately followed. Because he was Thanadir. He came around the corner to see Einir, who he remembered. And another firieth, who he could not recall ever seeing.

 

“Hello,” he said. “I am Thanadir. I am afraid--”   
  


“Maire?” Earlene asked in disbelief. “You’re here? Like, here here?”

 

“Here here,” the woman grinned, flashing a warm smile and reaching to hug her. “I know we’ve been talking about this for what, more than ten years? But it never seemed like the right time. Until my man packed off on me and swung with all his shite and half of mine. I took it as a sign that it was time for some bigger changes. I’ve a little trailer; my loom’s packed into it along with all my fiber and...everything. You said you could take me on at anytime and...I know I perhaps shouldn’t’ve taken the invite quite so literally but...I go where the muse takes me, and she said ‘Maire, get over there’.”

 

Thanadir blinked, speechless.

 

“Well,” Earlene said. “Thanadir, if you would please show Einir to the room we thought she would find most suitable in the new wing and see if it meets with her approval? And Maire, you just drop your bags right there. We’ve more than one open room, so I’ll show you the house a little and then you can choose where you think calls to you most. But first, in here.” She guided her longtime friend/acquaintance into the Heart Room. “Everyone, this is Maire. Maire, this is Everyone. Except, Lorna, who you know, and Sharley, come with. Maire is the weaver we’ve told you off and on about for don’t remember how long, and we need to show her the weaving room. Which is right this way…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you thought we made that up...we really did enjoy watching videos about this! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=katosortbFE  
> www.theelfschool.com


	162. One Hundred Sixty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 5-14, 2035

{July 5-14, 2035}

 

“Remind me why in hell we kept going to Limerick all those years when there is this cute little place?” Earlene asked. “Ennis is just charming, and without the River Shannon dropping the temperature by an extra five degrees or so.”

 

“Damn good question,” Lorna typed. “We should go pub-hopping more often. You know, while we still can.” The problem with Thingy was that she couldn’t type and drink at the same time. The table before them was already littered with empties, along with a mostly-eaten platter of toasties and cheese sticks.

 

“I never thought I’d be happy to leave Dublin,” Einir said, knocking back a shot of Fireball. “Turns out there’s life outside’v it after all.”

 

Maire snorted. “I got out almost as fast as I got in,” she said. “Couldn’t stand the crowds and the smell.”

 

“Whereas I had to pick to live in the middle of nowhere because if I’d wanted another New York City I’d’ve stayed where I was.” Earlene nursed her Guinness, which sadly had no more potency for her than Kool-Aid. But dammit, she still liked the taste so drink it she would. 

 

Einir raised an eyebrow. “New York? Bit crowded there, innit?” 

 

“Yep. That is why I moved to Lasg’len, population next-to-nothing. It’s like what Maire said. New York is crowds and smell, with a better chance of being mugged,” Earlene noted.

 

“And it’s like being in a canyon,” Lorna typed. “The buildings are all so tall, it’s mad.”

 

“Are there really places the sun doesn't touch the ground?” Maire asked. “I read that somewhere ages ago.” She eyed her second shot of poitín, and went for it. She’d already had two shots of vanilla vodka, so that cleansed her palate, so to speak.

 

Now it was Lorna who arched an eyebrow, because Maire could hold her liquor as well as a Donovan, apparently. She approved.

 

“Um...probably?” Earlene answered. “I mean, I’d have to Google that or something, but the buildings are indeed ridiculous. Nothing here even  _ is _ a building, by comparison. Not to sound snooty it’s just...yeah.”

 

Lorna gave up. Her Guinness was staring at her, so she picked it up and downed half of it in a few long swallows -- though at least she managed not to belch. This time. “Yeah, but we have the Erection at the Intersection,” she typed, laughing. “Otherwise known as the most useless monument known to mankind.”

 

“Yeah, whose idea  _ was  _ that?” Sharley asked. She was the group’s designated driver for the evening, mostly because it was literally impossible to actually get her drunk. She’d told Earlene to just bring in a bottle of Elf wine, so she could enjoy the booze-y atmosphere.

 

“I don't know,” Maire snorted, “but I’m betting they were pissed out’v their mind when they had it. Either that or it was some man who felt he had to compensate for something.”

 

That just made Lorna laugh even harder. “Men who haven’t got as much below the belt shouldn’t complain,” she typed. “There’s loads that can be said against having a lot.”

 

_ “What the hell kind of attempt at a sentence was that?”  _ Jimmy asked.

 

“You just say that because your husband’s hung like a horse,” Sharley said. “And you’re tiny.”

 

“ _ Hush _ , you.” Hilariously, that phrase had been lifted wholesale from other recordings, so it sounded entirely natural.

 

“I dunno,” Einir said, tossing back her own ale. “There’s loads that can be said against having a little, too. I mean, they oughta come with stamps on the outside so you can pick. Like a vending machine, except for langers. Too long? Too wide? Too soft? Not to worry ladies, we’ve got you covered.”

 

Earlene snorted into her drink. That was the most absurd yet utterly reasonable thing she’d heard in awhile. “It worries me, how sensible I think that is.”

 

Maire joined Lorna in utterly helpless laughter. “Too bad we couldn’t do that with their bloody personalities, too,” she said. “I wasted too many years on a gobshite. And he didn't even have a decent langer.”

 

“All right, Sharley, spill,” Lorna said. “Does Maglor’s equipment match his height?”

 

Sharley knew her poor husband would not want his tackle being the subject of conversation, but too late now. “I’ve never measured,” she said, “but let’s just say I have no cause for complaint. Think Ratiri, probably.”

 

“In that case, it’s a good thing you’ve got a more elastic snatch,” her tiny friend typed. “Hey, would you ever want some leather restraints? Ratiri and I don't use them anymore, and  _ somebody  _ ought to have some fun with them.”

 

_ “Haha, you mean after Ratiri passed out and Thranduil had to come rescue you?”  _ Kurt said, cackling.

 

“Fuck off, Kurt,” Lorna typed, sticking her tongue out.

 

Maire glanced at Einir, wondering if the voices were as odd for the woman as they were for her. Neither could actually hear them, which made listening to others respond to them seem...well, bizarre. “Why don't you use them anymore?”

 

“There was an incident with dehydration and unconsciousness,” Lorna typed, “that left me stuck tied to the bed, wondering if my husband had just had a stroke or something. Because  _ that  _ was fun.”

 

“And what are the odds of that ever happening again?” Earlene rolled her eyes. “Poor lonely leather cuffs. No one to love them.”

 

Einir snorted. “Do I want to know?”

 

Earlene shrugged. “I’ve got two husbands. If I wanted to be restrained, for the longest time it was just a coin toss.”

 

“I don't know what the odds are,” Lorna typed, “but I'm not willing to risk it. Thranduil had to break into our room, Earlene. He had to deal with my unconscious nude husband, who at least wasn’t embarrassed about it later. Which made exactly one’v us.”

 

“I’ll take them,” Sharley said, “but I can’t promise they’ll get used. I have no idea where Laurë would be on using them in either direction.” She suspected that might be a Nope on his end, but she had Ideas. Time would tell.

 

An eyebrow raised on Earlene’s face and she smiled. On a hunch, she would guess that Maglor was not...wild...between the sheets. Then again, sometimes the quiet ones could surprise you. That is, if Thanadir was any indication. “Well, Thranduil has seen it all, so knowing him he didn’t care in the least. He probably just felt sorrier for you, than anything,” she said to Lorna.

 

“I’m sure he did,” Lorna typed, “but it was still humiliating. At least I managed to kick the duvet up enough to hide all the important bits.”

 

Poor Lorna...Sharley knew why she had so many issues in that area. “Finish your Guinness and I’ll do a shot with you.”

 

“As if I’d turn down that offer.”

 

“Are there any likely-looking lads out there, in the Halls?” Maire asked. “I’m not looking right now, but I'll want to again someday.” Probably. She didn't want to die alone, anyway.

 

“Honestly, you’d have to ask my sister,” Lorna said, wiping off her foam mustache. “She knows everything that goes on in there. It’s kind’v creepy, honestly.”

 

“Don’t wait too long, though. You don’t want the good ones snapped up. Then again, the definition might have to change,” Einir mused. “Everyone tries to avoid the ones that guzzle beer and watch football every spare minute. And when football’s gone...hell, maybe they’ll have to get off their arses and  _ play _ goddamn football instead. That’d be a switch. Might get some hardbodies out of that. Yummy.”

 

“True,” Maire said. “The shite ones -- or at least, the ones who’re a certain type’v shite -- won’t exist anymore. I’ll talk to your sister, Lorna -- what’s she look like?”

 

“Me,” Lorna typed. “Me, with hazel eyes. Yes, I know our family’s genetics are kind’v terrifying.”

 

“They really are,” Sharley mused. “I’ve never seen a family resemblance that exact, and I’ve seen a lotta families.”

 

“All right, I’ve got to ask,” Maire said, eying her empty shot glasses, “Lorna, you’re tiny and your husband is a giant -- how do things even work in bed?”

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “Very carefully,” she typed. “Which can honestly make it even more fun. When you’ve got to be careful, and actually have self-control, it can be, well, yeah.”

 

_ “Eloquent,”  _ Jimmy snickered.

 

“Fuck off, Jimmy.”

 

“He’s pretty,” Einir sighed. “All’v them are. You want to know why I stalled on moving in for so long? Thranduil bloody reads minds. Would  _ you  _ want someone reading your mind when you’re thinking somebody’s fit? Especially if you think  _ they’re  _ fit? And once you’ve thought it, there’s no un-thinking it.”

 

“I was always guilty, at first, when I’d think pervy thoughts about Ratiri around him,” Lorna typed, “but he really, genuinely doesn’t care. And now that we live in a forest full’v humans, your thoughts might not even register to him. As for thinking he’s fit, he’s used to  _ that _ too, by now. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Not for the first time, she realized that there were upsides to being unable to, er, ‘admire’ anyone who wasn’t Ratiri. How awkward would it be, if she actually  _ wanted  _ to look at Maglor’s arse? If she actually, you know, thought about it when she looked at him? Yeah, that inability was not necessarily a curse.

 

“He does in fact not care,” Earlene smiled. “I mean, look who we live with. Do you think I’ve never admired Maglor or Pen in an aesthetic sense? I’m married, not blind. Hell even Calanon is drop dead gorgeous in his own way and Ratiri...wow, do you know I just don’t look at Ratiri that way at all because the poor man is just too damn shy? I almost feel like he’d never make it if he knew I thought he was attractive. Poor bloke. Oh well.”

 

Lorna cackled. “Poor Ratiri has never adjusted to being as attractive as he is, I think,” she typed. “I think too many women made passes at him while he was at work, and he was so not receptive to it.”

 

“Human culture is...odd,” Sharley observed. “I think society doesn’t understand there’s a line between admiration and creepy leering.”

 

Maire ordered another shot, and snorted. “It’s because most people -- lads especially -- don't know how to do anything  _ but  _ creepy leering,” she said. “I mean Christ, I met Lorna and Earlene because’v a few gobshites who thought they were entitled to harass me over a pint. That sort’v shite can make any kind’v...of  _ admiration  _ seem skeevy and wrong.”

 

“Agree,” Earlene said. “If it was just...admiring in such a way that someone didn’t have to be made aware of it? That’d be one thing. Most everyone looks. But when it goes further than that, it’s not appreciated. And so many’v them feel entitled to give a leer or a grope. Though, I can honestly say I’ve not dealt with a groper in a very long time. Lucky for them.”

 

Einir laughed. “Another reason I love what I do. When your social life consists’v the lads at the Chinese take-out down the street and the pizza delivery drone, you avoid a whole lot’v that. Grabby hands can’t make it through a screen, last I checked.”

 

“There are advantages to being tiny and made mostly’v hair,” Lorna typed. “Not exactly something I have to deal with regularly, or ever did.”

 

“Whereas I think I was always just scary,” Sharley mused. “Lotta men are intimidated by tall women. Earlene, you probably found that yourself, huh?”

 

A snort erupted. “I think it was way worse than that. If it was possible to radiate ‘unavailable’ I’m sure I managed it. Everyone at work wouldn’t dare and I didn’t stand still long enough for anyone else to try. That’s why I had a gay friend at the office; he and I would always partner up for social events. We had a mutual non-admiration society but we were told all the time how great we looked together. Pretty sure a certain percentage of the firm believed we were having a longtime affair, because only me and one other person knew about his preferences. It was a thing of beauty.” Smiling at the memories, she wondered whatever had happened to Tim. 

 

“I wish you could give lessons on that,” Maire grumbled, and knocked back her shot. “Those gobshites in Dublin were far from the only ones. I wound up taking kickboxing classes, and had to use what I learned more than once, until I got out’v the bloody city.”

 

“Good on you,” Lorna typed. “And Earlene, what with some’v the circles you ran in, there’s no way for me to say this without it being rude, but a lot’v them were gobshites. I mean, that woman at that party, the drunk bint who was practically drooling over Thranduil? I’d thought that group was meant to be classy.” It still amused her, that her handling of the dizzy bitch had earned her job offers from people who didn't know her from Adam.

 

“Tried to tell you, being rich doesn’t mean they don’t all shit brown,” she smiled, swirling her Guinness. “Just means they probably will have shinier packaging.”

 

_ “Heh heh, she said ‘packaging’,”  _ Kurt snickered.

 

“ _ Kurt! _ ” Lorna typed, somehow in unison with Sharley’s speech. That was kind of impressive, honestly.

 

_ “I regret nothing.” _

 

“Okay, so, I’ve got to ask,” Maire said, fueled by alcohol, “do they ever, y’know,  _ comment _ , when you and Maglor are having it off?”

 

“Nope,” Sharley said. “They have a mute button now.”

 

“They used to try to comment about me and Ratiri, well, Kurt did, but Sharley threatened to stick him in a spider-ball if he ever did it again,” Lorna typed. “Which was good, because hearing him call my husband’s langer a ‘trouser-snake’ is a bit’v a mood-killer.”

 

“It doesn’t bug you, that Thranduil knows when you’re doing that?” Maire asked. “I’ll admit, my plastic friend and I haven’t had a date since I moved in, because...awkward.”

 

Earlene shook her head sadly. “This goes on with every new person. He’s not listening to you. And even if he was, all he’s going to do with it is wake me up and I’m not going to complain. Besides, he has two bed partners. He is uninterested in you or anyone else; elves are different. There really is desire only for your spouse; everything else is background noise.”

 

“Admittedly, Ratiri and I used to wait until we hoped he was asleep to get kinky,” Lorna typed. “Just because, otherwise it seemed rude.”

 

“Speaking of ‘kinky’, I need advice,” Sharley said. “Laurë is not what one might call adventurous in bed, but I’m curious about things, and I don't know how to tell him so without either weirding him out or, I dunno, somehow making him feel bad.” She couldn’t explain the complexities of that to Einir and Maire -- not without totally bringing the mood down, anyway -- but they didn't need to know  _ that  _ much.

 

“Sharley, the man worships the ground you walk on,” Lorna typed. “He’s not going to be weirded out, and I doubt he’d feel bad, either.”

 

“Why not start it as a more neutral conversation?” Earlene asked. “Like, say you heard us talking about whatever it is, or you read about it. Give him awhile to digest that such things exist in the world. Then a little later ask him how me feels about something like that. Maglor may be reserved but he’s highly intelligent; pretty sure he’ll realize that you are asking because you’re interested.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Sharley said. “I’m sure he’s wondering what we’re all talking about, anyway. He asked me just what ‘Girls’ Night’ entailed, and I told him it was booze, nibbles, and stuff we don't want to say around men for fear we’d make them blush.” He’d looked a touch disturbed, poor ellon. “I didn't have a libido for eighteen thousand years. He’ll just have to deal with that.”

 

Maire and Einir exchanged another glance. There was so much they knew they hadn’t heard about the household, and they could hardly ask -- not so soon. Still, someday Maire would, once she knew them all a little better. “Keep him away from certain parts’v the internet, though,” she said. “You don't need him getting scarred.”

 

Earlene looked on in sympathy. “Ok look, I’ll make this nicer. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Irish it’s that they think it’s rude to ask things an American would ask in a second. So...you know I’ve got two husbands. I started out human but I’m not really human any longer. I’m an elf now, in different packaging. I can speak telepathically to both of my mates, as they can with me. All elves can speak telepathically to their spouses. Elves don’t have body hair, and the males can go at it as many times as they want without a break. Other than that, the equipment acts and looks the same as on a human male. Or at least, a human male as I understand it; I’ve never been with anyone but my husbands. Nor am I likely to,” she grinned. “I don’t know about Sharley but I’m not shy. You can ask me anything, don’t feel like you have to wonder and be weirded out.”

 

The pair of them stared at her, while Lorna tried valiantly not to laugh. “Hang up a minute,” Maire said. “You started out human, you’ve got not one but  _ two  _ husbands who can have it off without a break...how are you not dead? I mean, I’d like to think I'm in decent shape, but I’d drop’v exhaustion in a scenario like that.”

 

Lorna bit her knuckle, hard, and was for once glad she couldn’t speak -- she might well have said something too perverted for human consumption (and she would blame Kurt).

 

“No body hair?” Einir muttered, half to herself. “Now that’s just not bloody fair.”

 

“Well, one’s asexual, so that’s not really an issue. And while Thranduil has a very healthy level of desire, being able to and wanting to are two different things. We’ve got ten kids. Priorities, and all. He is too busy to spend that much time going at it, so that kind of thing really only happens on vacations, maybe. Depends. Everyone gets what they want. And to answer the other question, well, I was a virgin when I met Thranduil. So I’m making up for what, twenty adult years of being left out? It seems fair to me,” Earlene grinned.

 

Neither woman knew just how old Earlene was when she met Thranduil (actually, they didn't really know how old she was  _ now _ ), but that seemed like a long time to wait. Then again, Maire  _ wished  _ she’d waited, because she would’ve saved herself a load of heartache and bullshit.

 

“At least you don't have humanity to hold you back on that anymore,” Lorna typed. “Ratiri and I’ve slowed down in the last few years. And the end’v the day, there’s often just not enough energy. That, and for a while he was paranoid he was going to somehow jostle my brain, even though he’s a doctor and bloody well knew better.”

 

Sharley burst out laughing. “Jostle your brain? You survived a kick to the head and came outta it mostly fine.”

 

“That’s what I told him. I finally had to threaten to knock him out with Benadryl and stick cats all over him. That always seems to work.”

 

“It’s different now, physically,” Earlene admitted. “I know that I’m lucky in that regard. But...and I think this is so much of what I’m going to be in for as time goes on...what’s piling up in here” (she tapped the side of her head) “just keeps accumulating. It’s still possible to be brain-tired, you know what I mean? Where you have to go to sleep not because you’re worn out in your muscles, but more from your experiences that day? I’m new at all this, I guess I’ll see more of it with time.”

 

“I know exactly what you mean,” Sharley said. “When I got all my memories back -- and that was eighteen thousand years’ worth -- well, there’s a reason I napped so much. It was the only escape I had. You’ve got all of us to help you out, though.”

 

“Even those’v us who’ll never be able to relate,” Lorna typed. Yeah, she and Ratiri were theoretically going to live a lot longer than most people, but they were still human. There hadn’t been any great shift in them physically.

 

Maire thought that almost sounded like depression, but obviously it wasn’t. She was still in the process of realizing how far in over her head she was -- not that she could say she minded.

 

“Well, at least I know it’s not just me. Um, so have we run out of mildly smutty topics?” she teased.

 

Lorna pondered this, even as she downed the last of her Guinness. “I’m sure I can think’v something,” she typed.

 

“I’m not sure I can,” Maire said. Her brain was pleasantly fuzzy, even as she pondered another shot.

 

“We’ve moved Annwn to her own room, so at least Laurë and I can...experiment...finally. I think he’s happy the Lump went with her, too.” Sharley fiddled with her drink. “I’m finding lighter strands in her hair. Blonde, but...silvery, not tow-colored.”

 

Lorna looked at Earlene, even as she typed, “You think it’s something to do with Marty?”

 

“She had silvery hair when I saw her in my vision, ages ago now.”

 

“I think they did a really special thing, for you,” Earlene said quietly. “Maybe it was the only thing they could think of, to try to make up for what you endured. Because I’ve talked to Pen at great length. Maglor and Ruscion too. If that really is what happened, if they let Marty be reborn as she should have been, the child of you and your husband, then she is unique in all of creation. It’s never been done before. And I kind of doubt it will be again. If it was to be for someone, I’m glad it was you.”

 

“I know it is,” Sharley said softly. “I’m sure of it. Annwn shoulda been his all along, and now she is. And that’s the best thing the Valar ever coulda given me. Given us.”

 

“Is this something we shouldn’t ask about?” Maire asked.

 

“You can,” Sharley said, “but it’s kind of a downer, so get another drink and I’ll give you the Cliff Notes version.”

 

“I’ll back up a little and give you the prequel if you get me another Guinness, Sharley, please?” Earlene offered. Apparently it was a fair trade, because Sharley smiled and left for the bar. “Okay so do either of you two know anything about the history of these elves? Read Tolkien? Nope? Ok well at some point you kind of have to do that. So, quick version. Maglor is one of seven sons of an elf called Fëanor. Quite possibly the most famous elf ever to live because he did things no one else could, both great and terrible. He was the High King, and talked most of his people and all of his sons into following him against the command of the Valar; the gods of this world. The brothers did a lot of terrible things, murdering many of their own people in pursuit of their goals. It all ended very badly. When Maglor left to follow his father, he left Sharley behind. Sharley followed, and was captured by the bad guys. The very bad guys. And she was messed up really badly. Didn’t remember anything about who she was or where she came from. Close to twenty thousand years later, she found Maglor living under our roof; he was the only one of his brothers to not have been killed. But he was sort of a fugitive from justice. He turned himself in to the Valar, and was pardoned after a very rough time. So now they have a chance for happily ever after. But obviously more stuff happened, which is where I’ll let Sharley tell you about Marty, her daughter.”

 

Sharley returned at that moment, with not just one but three pints, and a bottle of Fireball, because why the hell not. “Marty is also Annwn,” she said, taking her seat again. “It used to be, when I saw the future I just passed out and went thud, while my mind wandered around, unable to get back. In two thousand five, somebody found me like that and put me in the hospital, and a balrog -- basically a demon -- found me, figured out what I saw, and essentially stole me while I was still unconscious. Lots of bad shite happened, some of it of the rape-y variety, and I escaped and found I was knocked up.

 

“Thing was, I didn't remember any of that. My brain was in pieces back then, so I didn't know exactly where Marty came from -- I just loved her. She died when she was five, and you know, I  _ still  _ don't know how that coulda happened. Honestly, I'm not sure I want the answer.”

 

Maire looked at Einir, because she couldn’t imagine anyone, demon or not, being able to overpower Sharley enough to do...that. “And she’s -- she was what, reincarnated?”

 

“Pretty much,” Sharley said, and took a swig off her Guinness. “The Valar gave her back to me, and it’s interesting and kinda odd, because it’s like she remembers stuff, and yet she...doesn’t. Elf kids normally call their mothers ‘nana’, but Marty always called me ‘mama’, and Annwn does, too, just automatically. And she seems to remember her old frog house, and the diner, but she doesn’t seem to realize it’s a memory...I dunno. I'm kinda glad it’s not more complete than that, though, because I wouldn’t want Laurë to feel...left out, I guess.”

 

“Maybe you are also seeing the reasons why it usually isn’t done,” Earlene offered. “They are just beginning, just starting to develop. Maybe if she were all elven it would be...too much for her mind? I am just guessing, of course, but...they don’t ever do things for no purpose, it seems. I’ve pondered that one quite a lot. Maybe Eru has another plan. What do I know?” With a shrug, she took another swallow of her ale. “You know, it doesn’t even matter that I can’t get tipsy from this anymore. I still say it tastes wonderful.”

 

“I’ve thought of that,” Sharley said. “That there might be some purpose for her later. I’d be very surprised if there wasn’t. I'm not sure she’ll be like Faeleth, but I do wonder if she’ll wind up like me, in the whole ‘seeing the future’ thing. She didn't live long enough for me to find out, before.”

 

“She’s already the Cat Whisperer,” Lorna typed. “It’s not just the Lump that adores her.”

 

Earlene declined to point out that any elf was the Whatever Whisperer, and that it therefore went doubly so for one half-Maiar. It might seem churlish. Einir listened to all of this with a contemplative expression. “So...you all live in this big house but you don’t get on each other’s nerves. How does that even work? Aren’t there times you just want to hide in your room for a week and not come out?”

 

“Well I think I get the Resident Introvert Award,” Earlene mentioned. “I have a lot of places to go and be alone. Seriously, the forest. Find a tree you like and climb it. It’s beautiful and peaceful. And there are a lot of corners in the Halls no one lives or goes. Pretty places too, near the waterfalls and stuff. If that taps out, there are always the stables. Sometimes I just go pet my horse. Anyone’s horse, really. You just need a system, some place you can call more your own little hangout. Algar got into the greenhouses when he was a lot younger, and now that’s his place to putter. Come to think of it, exactly none of our kids are total extroverts except for maybe Thaladir? And even that’s iffy. We just all have our own things that we do to feel like we have our own space.”

 

“Winters can get sticky,” Lorna typed, “but then pretty much everyone either stays in their room, or goes to sit in front’v the fire in the Heart Room. It’s not hard to find solitude then, even if you don't want to go out into the cold.” She also suspected that solitude would not, at present, do Einir much good if there wasn’t technology involved. It was a bit early for that.

 

“We’ve been collecting a library, these last twenty years, too. A huge monstrous one, because, when the web goes down, we don’t want to rely on just electronic copies of the data. So there’s that. Most of us have some low-tech hobbies we do, too. Sort of 2035 meets 1860, more or less.”

 

“Which hasn’t always been easy, mind you,” Lorna typed. “At least, for the people living in the Halls. A lot’v people have got into crafts, like knitting and woodworking, so we don't go through our library too fast.” Saoirse had tried teaching drawing, but that had...not ended well. She was a natural artist, but definitely not a natural teacher.

 

“That reminds me,” Sharley said, “I’m thinking of getting a printing press. I don't like the thought of nobody ever writing a new book, and the Gutenberg setup is pretty basic. Some of us will just have to learn bookbinding.”

 

“I think Thanadir knows how to do that? We can ask, anyway. Or find out if we happen to have an archivist or a librarian in our midst.” Earlene finished her second Guinness, not minding in the least that being an elf meant having a far more functional bladder.

 

“I’d be very surprised if he doesn’t,” Sharley said. “It seems like the kinda thing he’d learn, just because he could. I’d hazard Laurë and Pen can, too.”

 

“It would be fun to learn,” Lorna typed. “And it would give me something to do besides spinning. The last time I almost dropped Thingy in a butter churn, I got banished from the dairy.”

 

Einir’s eyebrows shot up. What in hell was a butter churn? That sounded bad. “Well,” she announced. “I think I’m about buzzed for now. Any more and I’ll just be sick, which is pointless.”

 

“It’s always good to know where to quit,” Earlene said, quite happy from her ales and toasties.

 

“I’m going to have to say the same,” Maire said, patting her full stomach. The whiskey and poitín were fast going to her head, and she was too old to drink all night and not pay for it later.

 

Lorna could probably go another round, but ‘probably’ wasn’t ‘certainly’. “Yeah, we should probably think about heading home. I'm sure all the males are nice and nervous. They’ll think we were trash-talking their langers or something.”

 

“I doubt any of them are trash-talk-worthy,” Sharley pointed out. “Though they might be concerned we’d compare notes on other bedroom-related things.”

 

“Which we did,” Lorna typed, laughing.

 

“Not my lot,” Earlene firmly asserted. “They are both everything a gal could want. I am fairly certain they know they have nothing to fear by comparison. With apologies to any currently partner-less,” she added, wondering if she should have said that.

 

“Ratiri might be worried I’m getting ideas,” Lorna typed, and tried not to cackle.

 

Maire just sighed. “I’ll talk to your sister eventually, Lorna,” she said. “Hell, right now I don't want a relationship, but I’d settle for a friend with benefits, if I could find someone up to the job.”

 

_ “Heh heh, she said --” _

 

“Shut up, Kurt,” Sharley said, heading him off. “You never know, there’s a lotta people here now. Just be sure you get condoms. I know there’s a lot in the clinic, because the doctors have been stocking up for years.”

 

“True. Don’t follow in my footsteps,” Earlene smiled. “I’m the original Fertile Myrtle. Just ask this lot.”

 

Einir appeared perplexed. “Fertile Myrtle?”

 

“Earlene used to get pregnant if she sneezed,” Lorna typed. “Between that and the fact that she had three sets’v multiple births, the joke was that somewhere in our ancestry there was a rabbit.” She shook her head, grinning at Earlene. “I still maintain you were so fertile you somehow undid Ratiri’s first vasectomy by, I don't know, osmosis or something. That’s just not supposed to happen, but it did, and now I have a daughter I couldn’t actually name ‘Surprise’.”

 

“Wait, that’s why Supri is named Supri?” Maire asked. The thought of multiple births almost made her shudder, because the idea of pregnancy was vaguely horrifying to her.

 

“Yep,” Earlene verified, wondering if Lorna had ever told the poor child about that.

 

“We wanted a name that meant ‘surprise’, but couldn’t find one,” Lorna typed. “So, Supri.”

 

“Hey, it has meaning,” Sharley said, flagging down a server to settle the tab. “Annwn doesn’t know what hers means yet, either. She’s old enough now that she could probably understand, so I may as well tell her if she asks.”

 

“It’s something ‘otherworld’, right?” Lorna typed. What little Welsh she’d once spoken was now mostly gone, but she was pretty sure that was what it meant.

 

“Close,” Sharley said. “It means ‘from the Otherworld’, because she came back to us from the Gardens of Irmo.”

 

The server returned with their change, and Lorna packed up Thingy.

 

“It’s a pretty name,” Earlene murmured, working out how much to leave for a tip. “Well. That was fun. But there’s no place like home.”

 

“Indeed there’s not,” Sharley said. “All right, troops, get your shit together, and once we’re back, everybody human should chug some water and take some paracetamol.”

 

Lorna gave her a thumb’s-up even as she shrugged into her jacket. For someone who had once refused to carry a handbag, she sure did travel with a lot of shit now -- satchel, Thingy, and often her knitting bag, though at least she’d left that at home today.

 

The night air was cool, but not chilly, and the pavements were alive with tourists and locals alike. As was her habit, she stayed behind Sharley, letting the taller woman deal with the crowds so she didn't get stepped on. She was weaving a bit, nice and fuzzy and at one with the world.

 

Maire watched her clamber into the Mystery Machine, and wondered how she could handle being that short. No, she herself wasn’t a tall woman, but if she had to go through life being Lorna-sized, she might just murder someone. What was hilarious -- and what she was fairly sure nobody in the house actually realized -- was that all the tall people in the household tended to give her a relatively wide berth, as though to make sure she knew she wasn’t about to get stepped on.

 

Sharley fired up the Mystery Machine, the engine growling, and Maire paused. “This van is awfully familiar,” she said, as she climbed inside. “Were you on the motorway during a snowstorm, years ago? And hauled a jackknifed semi out’v the way?”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, and Sharley grinned. “Guilty,” she said. “We’ve always told Lorna this thing is stupidly overpowered, and that just proved it.”

 

“I still say we should have a Great Dane named Scooby for this thing,” Earlene mumbled.

 

Lorna took out Thingy. “Maybe Thaladir would want one,” she typed, as Einir got settled and they headed off into the night. “I know they’re not hunting dogs, but I’m sure he could find something for one to do, and he loves dogs so much.”

 

“Yeah, I just wished they lived longer. I already mom-failed by being gone when Thaladir lost the first two dogs, not that there was anything to be done about it. I like to space that kind of thing out as much as possible.”

 

“Yeah, at least hounds live longer,” Lorna typed. Bless Einir, Thingy had a function to backlight the keys, so she could type easily. It cycled through all the colors of the rainbow, too, apparently because it matched the glitter.

 

“All right, well, who wants to try to make all the males nervous when we get home?” Sharley asked. “Yeah, they’ll find out they don't need to be in a hurry, but if we all go in, look at them, and burst out laughing, we can disconcert them for a few seconds.”

 

“Sharley, allanah, you’re evil,” Lorna typed, “and I very much approve.”

 

“I promise not to let my thoughts leak all over the room,” Earlene agreed. It was the best they would get out of her.

 

It didn't take terribly long -- really, this was a much better place to go to for a drink, because it wasn’t a two-hour drive like Limerick. It was late enough that the small ones would have gone to bed by now, but not so late that the others would have; golden light still poured out of the windows when they pulled up into the driveway.

 

Lorna turned up the volume on Thingy, and as soon as they were  through the door, typed, “LUCY, I’M HOME!” The problem with Thingy was that it didn't quite know what to do with exclamation points, so the sentence came out, well, like Irish GLaDOS. Oh well.

 

Earlene walked into the Heart Room, and did not get much further than the doorway before she found herself elegantly grabbed, dipped back dramatically so that she reflexively kicked up one leg for balance, and had Thanadir kissing her deeply and insistently with perfect timing. Complete with tongue. And she had never been so confused in all her life. Suspiciously, Maglor was lurking. Because Earlene could see, whilst upside down, that Sharley was being pleasantly assaulted in the same manner while Ratiri smugly was waiting for Lorna to round the corner. 

 

Thanadir righted her, while Thranduil enjoyed the show.  _ Do I want to know?  _ She asked her husband.

 

_ Pen said it is called a ‘pre-emptive strike’. _

 

_ Okay, who ratted us out? _

 

_ Not telling,  _ he said smugly.  _ And if you attempt to speak I will kiss you again. _

 

_ You are the worst asexual ever,  _ Earlene noted.

 

_ Good. _

 

Lorna let out a rather loud  _ eep  _ when she entered the room, only to get snatched up by her husband -- who was dextrous enough to catch Thingy when it went flying from her hands. Given that they were not exactly prone to public snogging, she was quite shocked by the intensity of the kiss she received -- though not too shocked to return it, just a bit.

 

Oh, how she wished she could talk, because she couldn’t exactly demand to know what the hell  _ that  _ was all about without Thingy or free hands to sign. She didn't have to, however, for Ratiri said, “We figured you’d be discussing us while you were away.”

 

_ And that’s what’s behind this?  _ Lorna wondered.  _ Thranduil, tell him I’m extracting payment for that later. _

 

_ Oh, I think he knows. In fact I rather think he is counting on it,  _ he said smugly, paying almost no attention to her as he continued to watch Thanadir and Earlene. It had taken them  the better part of a half hour to work out who would do what exactly, but this exceeded his hopes.

 

“That’s it,” Maire muttered to Einir, “I’m getting a list’v all the available males in the Halls. Otherwise this dry spell’s going to annoy me way, way too much.”

 

Sharley, meanwhile, just giggled.  _ Laurë, we talked about many things,  _ she said,  _ and now I’m curious. Just...because. _

 

_ Do I want to know, since Lorna was probably the source of the curiosity? _

 

_ You might,  _ she said, kissing the tip of his nose.  _ It could be all kinds of fun. _

 

Ratiri eventually put Lorna down, just because there was no other way to talk to her. “You,” she typed, “totally ruined my entrance, mister. And I’m pretty sure I’m annoyed.” She couldn’t be entirely certain, however, after a kiss like that.

 

“That was more than half the point,” he said, “since we’re all quite sure you were talking about us.”

 

“As a matter’v fact, we were, among other things,” she typed, and smirked. Let him make of that what he would. “Supri’s in bed?”

 

“Indeed she is,” he said, now looking a touch nervous. That little Cheshire smile was...unnerving.

 

Thanadir pulled Earlene down to sit in his lap. Their older children were scattered about, ignoring them completely. Adars and Nana loved each other very much. That was lovely. Thranduil began chuckling, shaking his head, now eyeing Maglor with curiosity. Maglor had taken to wearing the pendant of his father’s house all the time now, and while Thranduil never believed he would say this, it suited him. Free from so much of his doubt and guilt, he indeed burned brightly.

 

_ And what is it, that could be all kinds of fun?  _ Maglor pressed Sharley, amused and relaxed.

 

_ Bondage, apparently,  _ she said.  _ Lorna and Ratiri had lots of fun with it, until he passed out from dehydration while she was, um, stuck. Neither one of us has to worry about that. _

 

Maglor said nothing for a few moments.  _ May I have some time to think about it? _

 

_ Take all the time you need,  _ she said, kissing his cheek.  _ And if the answer is ultimately a Nope, that’s okay. _ Surely she could think of something else. She lived with other married women, after all, and knew loads more in relationships.

 

Smiling, he turned his face very quickly, and stole a far more proper kiss. It paid to keep them wondering…

 

*****

 

{July 14, 2035}

 

The diner, as usual, was busy. At first, Lorna the Younger had wondered if it would ever have enough patrons, but she’d underestimated the lure of American food -- the Skykomish people were far from the only Americans who had come to live in the Halls, and as a result, the place was crowded more often than not.

 

She and Sean had needed to get away from the forest for a bit, because Melda had just dropped one hell of a bomb on them: after several months of trying, Lorna was now officially up the yard. It left her both elated and kind of terrified, because...baby. That was a big, big step, and no matter how much she wanted it, it was still daunting.

 

They sat now at a table next to the windows that looked out toward the fields, while she fiddled with her silverware. “So,” she said. “How the hell do we tell our families? It’s Mam’s birthday, it’ll be a grand present for her, but good Jesus I don't want to deal with all the helpful ‘advice’ I’ll get from all my female relatives.”

 

“And bless her heart, she can’t keep quiet about anything. Proper Irishwoman, your mam is. You have to be proud of that much,” Sean beamed. “I hope you’re as happy as I am. All my life. I never imagined I’d straighten out enough to be a da. I want to be a real da, Lorna. Bring him or her up proper, like. Not like me. I know it won’t be easy but I promise you I’ll make the best job I can of this.”

 

“I’m happy and I'm scared shitless,” she said. “But I think all mams are like that, at first. We’ll do this, Sean -- both’v us. Neither’v us had what you might call an ideal youth, but hell, maybe that just means we’re better-equipped, in a way, if that makes any sense at all. Christ, we need to tell your mam at the same time, or it won’t be fair, will it? I know she’ll be so bloody proud’v you.”

 

“You know…what d’you think about waiting to say anything? I know you’d like to surprise Grania with that but...we’re still riding the rollercoaster ourselves. Is it wrong to just keep quiet until we’re more settled to the idea, and we’re sure everything’s okay? I mean, doctor checkups and all? Because you’re right, everyone will have to say their piece, and...dunno about you but can’t say I’m looking forward so much to that bit?”

 

“Me neither,” she said, and sighed. “Mam’ll be happy whenever we tell her, and I’m pretty sure Da will just pull you aside and tell you not to be an eejit like he was. Though honestly, we should just go see Thranduil -- he can just look and say if everything’s as it should be or not, and he won’t tell anyone if we don't want him to.” Though she also intended to talk to Aunt Lorna, because the two of them had an identical height and build; yes, her aunt had been far older when she had Supri, but still. Her experience might serve as some kind of idea of what to expect from pregnancy. (The twins had been something of an exception, given they were, well, twins, and probably not representative of a single-child pregnancy.)

 

“Good point, that. Wonder if there’s a way we could meet him somewhere else. We don’t go to the house much, it’ll maybe raise questions?”

 

“I could just call him,” she said. “He goes all over during the day -- it’d be hard to get ahold’v him otherwise, unless he was at home at night.” Anymore, there were so many people in the forest that there was no guarantee of reaching him merely by telepathic shouting if he was far away.

 

Sharley couldn’t help but overhear this. She looked at Maglor, and grinned over the rim of her mug.  _ That’s adorable _ , she said.  _ Good for them. Should I call Thranduil? _

 

Maglor frowned lightly.  _ They might not like it? I feel a little sorry for the humans that live with us; their privacy is terribly intruded upon. If we keep quiet we can let them enjoy the illusion of their secret. Perhaps tell Thranduil later on so he knows what they wish of him, but I think we should not meddle beyond that? _

 

_ Good point. I admit, I'm still so new to having functioning telepathy that it doesn’t always occur to me what  _ not  _ to do with it, if I think it would help. _

 

He smiled.  _ I try to keep in mind that you and I are the most powerful telepaths in this realm, except for the King. Very few have the ability to block our...curiosity, if we wish to exercise it. For years I lived in anonymity, and I cherished it. I understand the desire to keep it. Most learn of Thranduil’s gift; few realize we are the same. I honestly believe their peace of mind might have been better off had they not known what Thranduil could do. _

 

_ Maybe,  _ she said,  _ but it would have been unfair -- and a lotta them woulda missed out on help they couldn’t have gotten if they didn't know. And even fewer know about you than know about me -- I don't even think all of the D&D’s do. They just know that you and I communicate like this because we’re married, and I’ve never told them otherwise. _

 

She paused.  _ I know you probably don't have a whole lotta common ground, but would you talk to Lorna sometimes? She has so few people she can talk to without needing Thingy or sign language, which so far nobody else but Ratiri knows. And at the very least, you both love string instruments and children. She’s handled losing her ability to speak pretty well, but I know it gets to her at times, and I can’t blame her.  _ Lorna could, by now, type extremely fast -- but she still had to type, which meant there was always an unnatural lag in any conversation, and Sharley knew that occasionally frustrated her. Nobody else minded it, but they weren’t the ones who were having to scramble to type a sentence. Ratiri was keeping an eye out for carpal tunnel syndrome, which was something minor enough that Sharley could deal with healing it on her own.

 

_ I could. But you are correct in that we do not have much in common of which I am aware. If you wish it, though, I will try. _

 

Smiling, she took his hand and squeezed it.  _ I’d appreciate it. I know she would, too. _

 

“Mama, can I have pie?” Annwn asked. She’d finished her whole dinner -- a grilled cheese sandwich and a fruit cup -- and the smell of cherry pie was almost more than she could handle.

 

Sharley looked at Maglor. “I dunno, little ladybug -- ada, d’you think she’s earned pie?”

 

Annwn immediately turned her big, mismatched eyes to her father, and did her best to imitate her Uncle Thanadir.

 

Maglor shook his head sadly and smiled. “You are not Hîr Thanadir, little peg. But you may have pie in spite of that difference. There is only one Thanadir, daughter. He has special powers.”

 

“Could he teach me?” she asked, even as Sharley rose to just get an entire pie. “I dunno how he does it, but he looks like, um, like I can’t look, with eyes...and everyone does what he wants,” she added in a whisper, as though it was a great secret.

 

“Maybe you should ask him if he can teach you,” Maglor teased, knowing full well that Thanadir was born with that face and had no control over it whatsoever--though there was little doubt that the beloved seneschal used his gifts to full effect. “Who knows what secrets he harbors?”

 

“Probably only him,” Sharley said, returning with both pie and a stack of plates. “Somehow, I doubt even Thranduil and Earlene know everything there is to know about him.” She dished up her daughter a little slice, looking down at the crown of the girl’s head. There was a definite streak of silvery-blonde amid all her beautiful dark hair.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Were I to guess, Earlene might have asked some things the King has not because...I think women have different interests than males. But freely sharing thought; it at least helps. And you know, that pie did smell good. Anna, are you going to eat that whole slice by yourself?” Maglor asked his little one.

 

The little girl nodded, and, because she had her mouth full, gave him a thumb’s-up (hey, it worked for Aunt Lorna).

 

“And she’ll be buzzing like a hummingbird later,” Sharley said dryly, dishing herself up some. “Laurë, do you want some? The cherries got shipped from Wenatchee. They only got picked four days ago.”

 

“Real cherries? I would be foolish to decline that offer. What do you think, Anna, do we want ice cream with our pie?”

 

She nodded again, but swallowed and said, “Yes pleeeease. Ice cream is always good. Turning it down is...is...blasphemy.” It was a new word she’d learned, and she liked it a lot.

 

Sharley bit the inside of her cheek, somehow keeping her laughter to herself. Eru she was precious.

 

Maglor smiled. “Oh. Well. Someday perhaps we will tell the Lord Manwë that. I think he would be interested to know about ice cream.”

 

Annwn’s eyes widened. “There’s no ice cream in Aman?” she said, looking at him in horror. “Ada, Mama, we need to take him ice cream. Why is there no ice cream?”

 

“Because you need sugar and ice to make it work,” Sharley said. “Aman doesn’t have either.”

 

“The poor Valar,” Annwn said. “To never have ice cream...poor Aman.”

 

“I’ll tell you what, little ladybug,” Sharley said, “we’ll just have to figure out how to make ice cream without ice, and then when we go to Aman to see Ada’s family, we can make them some.”

 

Maglor blinked.  _ Ice, in Tirion? _ Then again, what did he know…

 

*****

 

{July 15, 2035}

 

Annwn had never been further from home than Lasg’len, and now she was in a whole new world.

 

They’d taken the Mystery Machine -- Mama had said it was the only one of their cars that was big enough for all the grown-ups to actually sit in comfortably for such a long drive, and it also meant they could bring stuff home. It was definitely big enough for Annwn to nap in -- they’d left really, really early in the morning -- until they reached Dublin.

 

She’d cried a little at having to leave the Lump, who she couldn’t remember ever sleeping without, but Auntie Lorna had promised everyone would give the kitty lots of extra love and attention. Bug, her patched-up kitty from Before, was a good substitute...for a little while.

 

In Dublin, though, she woke with a vengeance, because in Dublin there was the thing called a ferry. Ada had said it was a big metal boat that would carry them across the water to England, where he and Uncle Pen had lived for so long -- so big that they and a load of other people would  _ drive their cars  _ onto it. It had been beyond her power to imagine until she actually saw it, and then she wanted to explore  _ everything _ . Mama held her up on her shoulders, so she could look down on the choppy water below (Ada was too tall for that), while Ada took lots and lots of pictures. She’d overheard Mama say Auntie Lorna would never forgive them if they didn't, which sounded weird.

 

Then there was another long drive, so she slept again while Ada sang quietly and played his small harp. 

 

Sharley glanced at the girl in the rearview mirror, unable to keep back a smile. That had certainly carried over from one life to the next -- the ability to sleep anywhere, any time, was kind of an enviable one. Not that she herself really  _ needed  _ much sleep, but it was still nice to have. As Earlene had said, there were times the mind got weary, even if the body didn't.

 

Much research had gone into B&B’s within the city -- it was necessary, when your husband was six-foot-eight, to make certain the mattress was going to be within screaming distance of long enough. The one they’d settled on was called Parklands, a three-story brick Victorian relic with an interesting assortment of gables and bay windows and, surprisingly, a large hemlock tree. She hadn’t known, until she researched it, that a number of Pacific Northwest Conifers had been imported to England decades ago, though it made sense -- the climates were so similar that it was only natural they’d do well here -- but it was still rare to see them outside of a village or dedicated forest.

 

The owners had been quite accommodating about Annwn, promising to make up a small bed for her in her parents’ room. Sharley knew from the pictures that there was a large, walled garden out back, where they could relax and their daughter could play safely. Annwn had her own tiny harp, as well as two beautifully carved and painted dolls dressed like members of the Forest Guard -- they had real hair, donated by Lorna after she bit the bullet and had three and a half inches lopped off. Mairead had dyed it to match Annwn’s dark tresses, and somehow laddered it down the dolls’ heads to make it seem longer than it was. Many a sunny day had seen the girl pretend they were stalking through the woods, hunting animals (Sharley had deemed her too young to learn about orcs just yet, apart from the fact that they had once existed, and Maglor hadn’t disagreed), and this would be new terrain for them to explore.

 

“It feels more than a little strange, to be coming back here,” Pen said. “We lived here and yet we did not, in so many ways. Now and again, briefly, I might venture out to see the libraries or things like that, but for so long our world was Tavrobel. And the corner market, for groceries. We led a simple life.”

 

“A simple life that I owe to you,” Maglor added, looking gratefully at his friend. “You took such care of me, and my debt to you cannot ever be repaid.”

 

“That is where you are wrong,” smiled Pen. “To see you like this, happy, and with a family. It is all I ever hoped for, for you. And it is more than payment enough.”

 

“Are you curious to see whatever might be there now?” Sharley asked, once they’d pulled into the little parking area. “I know I am.” She’d deliberately not Googled it, preferring to see it first in person.

 

“Oxford doesn’t really change a  great deal, that I’ve seen,” Pen said. “And yet we made it into the outer world so infrequently that in some ways we will feel just as you do. That we were such isolationists guaranteed that. You have to understand, though it was unlikely we or our ears or any such thing would be spotted, we were unwilling to take risk. I think it served us well. After the 1970’s, it might have been different. But in 1960, being discovered with pointed ears would have earned us nothing good.”

 

“Honestly,” she said, stretching as she opened the door, “anymore, I’m not sure who would blink twice. Plastic surgery, and all that -- there are a surprising number of humans who surgically alter their ears to point them, and not just Tolkien fanatics. Still, you two looking like...you two, it woulda made people look twice anyway.” She was honestly astonished nobody had gotten too close to sniffing things out ages ago, because even with humanity’s willingness to blind itself to things it believed should not be possible, just look at these two. Elves did not naturally blend well, physically, and they stood out a whole lot more than she ever had -- even with her hair.

 

“Yes but we had ways of minimizing that,” Maglor laughed. “You did not see me as I used to be. I was a mess, my hair almost in...it was awful. I did not care about my appearance, and I could sit behind a counter to disguise my height. I just looked like a…”

 

“...like an intellectual eccentric?” Pen teased.

 

“Yes, that,” Maglor had to agree, shaking his head at himself.

 

“That you managed to play and sing and not get sussed out...well, I think the phrase is ‘there are none so blind as those who won’t see’, or something like that.”

 

Annwn woke with a yawn. “Are we there yet?”

 

Sharley and all four voices laughed. “We’re here, little ladybug,” she said. “D’you need the bathroom?”

 

“Yeah. That was a long trip.”

 

“Oh kiddo,” Sharley said, shaking her head, “you have no idea what ‘long’ is yet. C’mon, let’s get you to a toilet, and we can unload the Mystery Machine.”

 

“’Kay.” Annwn was quite adept at getting herself out of her booster seat, her little shoes producing a solid  _ thud  _ when she hopped onto the floor. “Can you ask Auntie Lorna if the Lump is okay?”

 

Sharley fought a laugh, and barely won. “I’ll text her after dinner tonight. Then maybe she can send you a picture.”

 

Maglor rolled his eyes, but tried to remember that at Annwn’s age he had Maedhros to torment. His odds of cajoling Sharley into a second child were...probably dim. “We will get our bags,” he offered.    
  
“And I know where to check in,” Pen said confidently. “We will go take care of that.”

 

“You hear that, little ladybug? Your ada and your uncle have it covered.” Sharley led the little girl by the hand -- such a tiny hand -- into the rather beautiful house. The place was old, but the interior had obviously been renovated in the not-too-distant past. It had kept a slightly old-fashioned ideal: hardwood floors, cream wallpaper -- with warm lamps and a beautiful old front desk.

 

“We have a reservation under Corwin,” she said, picking Annwn up, “and this little one needs a restroom. My husband and brother-in-law ought to be in with our bags in a moment.”

 

“Of course, ma’am,” the lad behind the desk said. “The loo’s down the corridor, to the right.”

 

A few moments later, Maglor arrived, looking down on the male who stood at least a foot shorter. “We are the husband and brother-in-law,” he smiled. “Perhaps you can assist us?”

 

Another lad appeared before the first could speak -- a lad who looked so very like the first they were obviously brothers. “I can,” he said, with all the eagerness of adolescence, even as he stared up at the rather dauntingly tall man and wondering if help was even needed. “Just show me where you’re parked.”

 

The first lad gave him a not-quite-discreet kick to the ankle, and whispered, “Call him ‘sir’, Joey.”

 

“Er, right. Show me where you’re parked, sir.”

 

“The greenish van?” Pen pointed.

 

“I like the color. Looks like that van from  _ Scooby-Doo. _ ”

 

Sharley and Annwn emerged just in time to hear that, and both burst out laughing. “I’ll be sure to let Lorna know,” she muttered. “Have we got room keys?”

 

“You do, ma’am,” the lad said, holding out two keys on very shiny brass -- actual brass -- fobs. “Joey can show you the way, once he’s back.”

 

The aforesaid Joey, laden down with bags, scurried back inside. “I can indeed,” he said. “If you’d just follow me.”

 

_ Do you think either of them is much over twenty?  _ Sharley asked her husband.

 

_ No. Not remotely. _

 

They were led to a room on the second floor -- Pen’s was right next door -- that proved to be as nice as the pictures had shown. Soft brown carpet, tan and cream walls with white trim, and mahogany furniture -- including a bed with a footboard short enough to not obstruct their feet in the night. Sunlight streamed in through the bay window, casting golden squares on floor and bed, and the whole of it smelled faintly of some pleasant herb.

 

This was far nicer than their Spartan quarters in the loft of the bookstore, Pen thought as he looked around and set down his bag of clothes and personal items. It felt a little strange to be back here, under such changed circumstances. Yet how nice was it, to be able to turn more of his thought to his scholarly interests, instead of half his mind being occupied by the burden of concern for Maglor. Hopefully it would be a very nice holiday, with no disruptions.

 

“I dunno about anyone else,” Sharley said, “but once we’re done unpacking, I could do with dinner. Proper dinner, not ferry food.”

 

“It’s England, Mama,” Annwn pointed out. “They do tea here, too.”

 

“They do,” Maglor agreed. “But I think it might be a little late? We can ask, but we should get what your mama would like to have. Just remember, daughter. If mother is unhappy, no one is happy. That is what your grandmother says.”

 

_ “Wise woman,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

“There’s a place called Gee’s that’s about an eight-minute walk from here,” Sharley said. “According to their website, they do a lotta food inspired by Italy and Spain as well as English things.” Fortunately, Annwn was not a picky eater -- though she also really hadn’t been exposed to food not cooked by Earlene yet. Oh well, the place had good reviews, so they’d just have to hope for the best.

 

“Hate to say it, but most historians agree that English things are very...lacking in finesse,” Maglor groused. “This country’s cuisine was influenced by two thousand years of shite weather and sausage making.”

 

Pen sniggered but did not add anything to the comment.

 

Annwn giggled. “Shite weather like at home?” she asked.

 

“Even worse,” Sharley said, and inwardly decided Maglor had been around the Irish long enough to be corrupted. “Ireland’s got forty shades of green. England had forty shades of grey, though now there’s a lotta color too. Well, Italian food’s great, though if I've ever eaten Spanish food, I didn't know it. And look at it this way, Laurë: at least it isn’t haggis.”

 

_ “I’ve heard that’s actually pretty good,”  _ Jimmy said,  _ “but a lotta people can’t get over what it’s actually made outta.” _

 

_ “Intestines,”  _ Kurt said.  _ “Yum. Except not.” _

 

“This is England, not Scotland, Eru be praised,” Pen said, rolling his eyes. “But don’t tell Ratiri that. Honestly I’m surprised the household has never managed to get into some petty UK bickerfest. It seems almost inevitable. Who knows, Scottish food just might manage it; those folks are unnaturally fond of oats and questionable innards.”

 

“Funnily enough, he’s never tried to make Scottish food,” Sharley mused. “He’s made a lotta Indian food over the years, but never Scottish. Lucky for us, I don't think he’s terribly patriotic -- he just rags on the English because they’re English. He said once that his dad told him Great Britain was made up of three countries who were really good at democratically hating each other, so ragging on each other is practically a national pastime.”

 

“Waste of time, is more like it,” Maglor growled. “I can ignore the Irish vitriol; it isn’t without justification. But that does not change that it is a silly prejudice. I nor Pen had anything to do with what befell them, and probably the same could be said of most occupants of this country. Politicians and power-grubbers; that’s a different story. Hating something or someone as part of a group prejudice, though; I’ve no use for that mentality. Unless we are discussing orcs or anything having to do with Morgoth, of course. That is different.”

 

“I dunno how much of a thing it even is anymore,” Sharley said, stretching. “The things that caused it are long past, now. At least in the Halls, all the European expats just make fun of each other’s football teams, but otherwise get along pretty well. The younger generations haven’t grown up under the shadow of what happened to their grandparents and great-grandparents. Things like that get handed down; Lorna’s grandmother was a child during the Rising and the Irish Civil War, and all the anger and hatred got passed on down the line, through story after story. At least it stopped before it reached the kids.” She laughed. “They don't even care about football teams.”

 

“Blessed Valar, how could I not see it before?” Maglor said, stunned. “Football teams. All we ever hear about are conversations at punctuated intervals of what to do to keep everyone happy or content after the change happens. Teams. Sports. Competition. Humans love that kind of thing. Pen, don’t they even play darts in the pubs sometimes?”

 

“Yes. it’s like...Well, card night but taken up a few notches,” the scholar answered.

 

“What do you think, Sharley? Is it worth mentioning to the others?”

 

“It is, but with a caveat: humans, especially European humans with football, can take team sports a little too seriously,” she said. “We’re gonna have to be pretty adamant about the fact that while it’s a competition, it’s also just a game, or sooner or later somebody’ll get their nose broken.”

 

“Can I play football?” Annwn asked.

 

“Of course you can,” Sharley said, ruffling her hair. “But maybe you need to get bigger than the ball first.” Given how tall both of her parents were, she was still extremely small. Then again, she wasn’t much more than a year old.

 

“Well, my understanding was that there are rules to the society; and competition is not an excuse for barbarism,” Pen opined. “And yet I read the news.”

 

“We need to sit down and finish ratifying the rules,” Sharley said. “I know the Council’s been kicking around a document for the last few years.”

 

Annwn yawned. “Can we get food please? I’m hungry.”

 

“I am too,” Pen said, scooping her up in his arms. “What do you think, Annwn, shall we vote? All in favor of getting food right now raise a hand.” He adjusted his hold to raise a spare hand and the little girl giggled as she did the same.

 

“In that case, let’s go,” Sharley said. “We can unpack later.”

 

**

 

The poor Lump looked so pathetic that Lorna felt compelled to stay home and spin, just to keep the critter company. 

 

The rest of the clowder had the same idea, for they dog-piled the Lump, purring like a wad of hyperactive tribbles. Lorna had taken a few pictures of the pile and texted them to Sharley, so that Annwn could see her cat was being well-taken-care-of in her absence. 

 

It helped that the cat was no longer comically obese -- none of them were, now that Lorna locked away all her snacks. They were still balls of fluff, sure, and some were still overweight, but she chalked that up to age, and at least tried to make sure they got exercise via laser pointer.  _ Pickles  _ was quite rotund, but she knew that Pickles actually hunted, unlike the rest of her spoiled herd. (Somewhat hilariously, she had taken Puff under her figurative wing, and now it was not uncommon for the household to find parts of dead rodents left on the doorstep at various points of the day.)

 

A glance at Thingy told her it was nearing dinner, so she tidied away her wool. “All right, felines,” she typed, “let’s go.” She never left the door to this room open; between the spinners and the weavers, it was not a place that needed unattended cats sniffing around. Out they went, a surge of fur and meowing, little paws thundering down the corridor to the Heart Room. She knew better than to get in Earlene’s way in the kitchen, but at least if she was visible, she could lend a hand if needed.

 

Even Thanadir was standing back a little, tonight, as the objects of admiration sat on the counter. Earlene had brought up a site that showed him the instructions for how to tie the two crown roasts of lamb that would grace their table this evening, and there was to be a special dish of roasted new potatoes with a Dijon something or other. Though at least he knew by know that there was no such thing as ‘just mustard,’ having been schooled thoroughly in the art of making it from scratch (which interested him, because Pen and Maglor had limitless opinions on which ales to use in the process of creating new batches. It was something fun for him to discuss with his peers and generally the topic was beyond anything that could be considered confrontational.) 

 

“Lorna, don’t suppose you’re in a mood to peel too many small potatoes? These will honestly come out better with the skins off, much as I hate to do that. But only if you feel like it. And if some ale helps you feel like it, I saw nothing,” Earlene quipped.

 

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” she typed. “Stay, kitties.” At least they understood the word ‘stay’ -- either that, or they were simply smart enough to stay out of the kitchen while it was occupied. She hunted down the peeler and a small bucket, and set to work. The problem was that while she was peeling, she couldn’t type -- and yeah, situations like this could be frustrating. Even sign language would have been a no-go, so it was just as well nobody but Ratiri knew it (though the kids were learning, slowly).

 

“Lorna, I heard Sean and other Lorna are coming tonight, is that right? One nod for yes and nothing for Earlene got that fucked up.” Earlene tried to invent ways to make some communication possible, especially when she was responsible for hijacking Lorna’s hands.

 

Lorna nodded, and paused peeling long enough to give a thumb’s-up. That at least was universal sign language, more or less, though it frustrated her that she couldn’t speculate as to the reason for the visit out loud without Thingy. Generally they only came this way for holiday functions; they worked hard enough that a 20-minute walk each way wasn’t something they felt like doing that often.

 

“You can get pud guts on Thingy,” Einir said, passing through.

 

Lorna rolled her eyes, but took the hint. “I doubt they’re coming for no reason,” she typed, before resuming peeling.

 

“Oh. Well then it’s marriage, pregnancy, wanting a car or a different flat. Can’t think of too many other options, honestly. As much as I like to flatter myself that they sniffed out the crown roasts for tonight, somehow I don’t think that’s the deal,” Earlene opined, waving a spatula around while she gestured. “Poopers. Meldir, we need a good fistful of fresh oregano and one of the not-so-Italian lemons, could you be a love and bring those for me?”

 

Thanadir chuckled and shook his head, giving her cheek a tender kiss before he grabbed a bowl and some shears and headed toward the greenhouse. At least that was all in the nearest one.

 

“I hope it’s not some kind’v health problem,” Thingy said. “But if it was, Ratiri would’ve said, probably. Though then again, maybe not. He can be tricky like that.” He was always quite willing to fall back on doctor-patient confidentiality.

 

Personally, Earlene hoped to hell he would  _ not _ have said, because that would be all bad in her view. “Then again maybe they are just feeling social. One never knows, around here.” 

 

Just then Algar came in. “The green beans you wanted, Nana,” her son said, setting down the decent-sized hod. 

 

“Oh, perfect. Thank you for picking those. If you could just set them under running cold water? Thanadir can get them ready for the recipe when he returns. And dammit I should have told him to get  _ three _ lemons and parsley too,” she moaned. “For the beans. That was a fail.”

 

“I can get the extra things, Nana,” the peredhel said, eager enough to be able to make an escape.

 

Supri, grateful to escape her father and his fractions problems, skidded into the kitchen, saw what her mother was doing, and snatched a potato peeler. She had no qualms about sitting on the floor beside her mam, busily peeling so that Da couldn’t load her down with any more  _ maths _ . She said as much, too.

 

“You’re good at maths,” Lorna protested.

 

“That doesn’t mean I  _ like  _ them,” Supri said. “Fractions are only any fun when we’re cooking stuff, and now that we’re into multiplying them, cooking would be a pain in the arse.”

 

“Fair point. Poke your da until he comes up with something more creative.”

 

“I never understood about math teaching,” Earlene said, once again brandishing the spatula. “Once you know how to do something, why do you have to keep on doing it until you can hardly stand the sight of the thing? I mean, are they worried you’ll forget how, or something?” Thanadir returned with the herbs and requested fruit, adroitly avoiding his wife’s gesticulations.

 

“We haven’t even reached dividing fractions,” Supri said, making a face. “Da wants to make sure we remember how. He said that when you hate something, it’s really easy to forget it once you don't have to do it anymore.”

 

“He’s kind’v not wrong,” Thingy said. “I know when I was younger, there were things I almost deliberately forgot. Maths among them.”

 

“You need to know that to cook. And everyone should enjoy cooking. It’s a damn shame when people don’t,” Earlene opined, and this time Thanadir deftly snatched the spatula from her grasp. She blinked at him.

 

“I would like to use this,” he exaggerated, with The Eyes on low power.

 

“Oh, okay,” she replied absently, returning to her spice mix. “After you snap the green beans, we need a triple batch of pie crust, Thanadir.”

 

“We do? What kind of pie?” he asked, pretending disinterest and failing miserably. 

 

“Berry-apple,” Earlene murmured, trying to not forget the amount of paprika she needed next.

 

Thanadir turned his gaze to Lorna, who he saw was now unoccupied, and dialed up The Eyes, as he held up the hod of draining green beans.

 

She arched an eyebrow. “It’s a good thing you don't actually want to take over the world,” she typed. “All right, give them over. I know Atia’ll be along to help with the puds soon enough. And Earlene, what happens if you don't mind cooking, but you’re dreadful at it, like me?”

 

“You’re not  _ dreadful _ , Mam,” Supri protested. “You follow directions fine. Aunt Mairead says it’s when you try to do your own thing that it all falls apart.”

 

“I wish I could argue that, but I can’t.”

 

“Cooking is like science. You can do your own thing but only after you understand why things do what they do. At least, if being able to eat the results matters,” Earlene opined, realizing it was hard to talk without the spatula. Thanadir was already measuring out butter with it, though, so she could hardly get it back. Dammit. “Supri, do you want to peel the apples? We’ll need that huge bowl over there of the golden ones done. Because Uncle Thanadir really, really wants his pie.”

 

“I _ heard _ that,” he said sweetly. “And only nice wives get Thanadir footrubs.”

 

“See what I live with?” Earlene answered, not looking up at all but smirking.

 

“I’ve got it, Aunt Earlene,” Atia said, sliding into the kitchen on stocking feet. “Save me, Mam. Aunt Indira assigned me  _ poetry  _ homework.” The girl shuddered, and Lorna tried so, so hard not to laugh.

 

“Make her teach you poetry in Sindarin,” she typed. “And Earlene, how can you manage that, with two husbands? It’s all I can do to live with that from a single one.”

 

“Oh, it’s because he is joking. Nobody can beat Thanadir for how much any single individual has spoiled me. And I count my good fortune, and bake him sweets. I always thought I had the better part of the bargain. And it is time to start the water heating for the potatoes,” she murmured. “Oh, and poetry. I love poetry. So does Thanadir. We read Shakespeare to each other still. Bring it on.”

 

“Uncle Thanadir, can you give us something in Sindarin to learn? Pleeeease?” Atia asked, sitting on her mother’s other side to peel apples. “Poetry isn’t bad, I just don't want to have to dissect it backward and forward until it loses all meaning. I don't need to know what the writer was thinking when they wrote it to enjoy reading it. Except it pisses me off when it doesn’t rhyme.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, because she was exactly the same way. She quite liked it...if it rhymed. Otherwise, it seemed like it was cheating, somehow.  _ We are such a family of plebs _ , she thought. “I think we need to sit down with all the teachers,” she typed. “Learning isn’t worth much if you hate the process. I think the problem is that they’re still trying too much to mimic the way things are taught in the outside world. The way we all learned when we were young, that we hated.”

 

“I thought we were making a point of not doing that,” Earlene scowled. “I mean, why else am I teaching writing with creative assignments and math and science with cooking and botany you can eat? Hmpf. That won’t do. But back to poetry. There is a reason you should understand how to analyze it. Because not doing that is like being served a cake and only knowing how to eat the top layer of the frosting. That being said, it also does no good if you are being taught to dislike what you are learning.”

 

“That was a lot easier when it was just our kids,” Lorna typed. “Now there’s thirty kids’v different ages, and no teachers who aren’t doing it as a secondary job. None’v them ever actually formally studied teaching, come to that. They’ve all taken courses online.”

 

“Can we like, not go to school until they figure it out?” Atia asked. “Because if we do have to analyze poetry, I don't want it to suck.”

 

Lorna frowned. “Let me talk to your da,” she typed. “All the teachers can meet up, and we can figure out where it’s going wrong.”

 

Thanadir walked forward with a strange expression on his face and waited until he had everyone’s attention. He turned to Earlene, but was in full sight of Atia.

 

_ From you have I been absent in the spring, _

_ When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim _

_ Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, _

_ That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. _

 

As he spoke the last line as naturally as if the words were of his own origin, he quickly and excitedly hopped to Earlene’s other side, taking a lock of her hair into his hands, kissing it in a reverent display of his love for her.

 

_ Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell _

_ Of different flowers in odour and in hue  _

_ Could make me any summer's story tell,  _

_ Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; _

 

He gestured now as though all these elements of nature surrounded them, and took advantage of the small bouquet that sat on the countertop, riffling through the flowers stem by stem with elegant fingers as he spoke. He gracefully pulled a single red blossom, a small rose, from their midst.

 

_ Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,  _

_ Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; _

_ They were but sweet, but figures of delight,  _

_ Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.  _

_   Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, _

_   As with your shadow I with these did play. _

 

The stem of the rose was drawn across Earlene’s parted lips as he recited. And at the end, he leaned in and kissed her chastely but very romantically at the corner of her mouth, as she blushed furiously and smiled.

 

“That is poetry,” Thanadir told the girl. “Not dry words in a book. Feelings, and images, words so carefully chosen to inspire a thought of something deeper.” With a quick smile, he turned back to his pie crust as though he has done nothing at all. 

 

Earlene traced her finger over her lips, still blushing. “What he said.”

 

Supri wrinkled her nose, because  _ eeeeew, lovey-dovey stuff,  _ but Atia looked thoughtful. She was old enough now to find the idea intriguing, at least.

 

Well, that was...Lorna was going to poke Ratiri, because she couldn’t remember the last time they’d done anything that romantic.

 

It wasn’t long before the rest of the household arrived -- though that group seemed a lot smaller without the family in England right now. Apples and puds were peeled, beans were snapped, and the sofa in the Heart Room was all but buried under cats. All was as it should be.

Not long after, all of the meal was in assorted corners of the ovens, and Earlene insisted on time to be mushy with Thanadir while all of it baked, roasted and...whatever it was doing. Thranduil had been in charge of returning with dinner rolls from the Halls, since to do otherwise would have interfered with the pies. Sean and younger Lorna were invited to come in and join the family; Earlene waved at them as they wandered past. And that was when she noticed something, as she nestled against Thanadir.

 

_ Is that….? _

 

_ Yes,  _ he answered.  _ And I want to be praised for the fact that I no longer faint or even comment like I used to. I forget, you have never really seen this before now? _

 

_ No. I mean, I see a vague shimmer from everyone’s fae just as I would guess you do, but that is something else entirely. The child burns so brightly.  _

 

_ Child?  _ He smiled.

 

_ Oh. Oh yes, now I see. It is hard, they are so close together. Why did you never tell me it looked like that, to you? It is very beautiful. _

 

_ I am sorry. It seems ordinary, to us. But you are right. It is beautiful, like...stars. _

 

_ Huh. Well, at least I know now.  _ Closing her eyes, she snuggled against him once more, just in time for the timer to blare that the potatoes needed turning. A very unseemly word was not uttered aloud.

 

“Be right back,” Earlene sighed.

 

The Lump scurried up to Sean and Lorna the Younger, looking pathetic, until the latter picked the cat up. “This one misses Annwn, huh?”

 

“She does,” Lorna the Elder typed. “She’s disgustingly needy, and yet she’s cute and fuzzy, so I can’t ignore her.”

 

“She’s so pretty,” her niece said, giving the cat a gentle noogie. “So, Sean and I’ve got news -- I’m up the yard, as’v the twelfth. Nobody else knows yet, because we wanted Uncle Thranduil to make sure everything was in order before we dropped this bomb on our mams.”

 

_ I bloody knew it,  _ Lorna the Elder thought. “Congrats, you two,” she typed. “Whatever you wind up having, we’ve got loads’v baby clothes.” 

 

“Yeah, I was hoping to talk to you about pregnancy,” her niece said. “Given you and I are built exactly the same, and I’m not much younger than you were.”

 

“I had twins,” Lorna typed. “Supri wasn't nearly so bad.”

 

“Just the tiniest full-term baby I’d ever seen,” Ratiri said.

 

“Congratulations,” Thanadir said happily, unable to ignore the topic at hand.

 

“You’re going to eventually need to choose a temporary alternate profession,” Ratiri said. “You’re fine right now as long as you lift smaller rocks and are smart about it, but along about month five or six, you won’t want to. Trust me.”

 

“Kind’v already figured that,” Lorna the Younger said. “Sean and I’ve been looking about for anyone else who might be interested in masonry.”

 

“I’m going to build you an armchair for the Halls,” Lorna typed. If Sam helped her, it could get done in half the time. “You need one with a better suspension for the floors in there, but like as not you’ll be wanting one before the end, even if you have a Supri-sized baby.”

 

Lorna the Younger looked at Sean, because she’d always kind of wanted one of those things, and she knew she was not the only one.

 

Earlene returned to the room. “Did I hear the word?” she asked them, all smiles.

 

“Baby,” Lorna the Younger said, rubbing her abdomen. “We’re having one. And I still can’t quite believe I’m saying that.”

 

Earlene, happy and not paying attention, gushed. “It’s so exciting. And I always liked having two better, it made me feel like I was accomplishing something.”

 

“Meldis!” Thanadir said, mildly horrified, while tugging at her hand.  _  Earlene, they did not know that part. _

 

She turned to him, wide-eyed. “Uhm...well. Congratulations, and I am very excited for you both.” Blushing, she sat down.  _ Forgive me for every time I ever poked fun at you over this. It isn’t so easy, I see too late. _

 

He stroked her hair, smiling.  _ I do. Of all, I understand. And, there is no harm done. They would know eventually. _

 

Two?  _ Two?!  _ Lorna the Younger felt the blood drain from her face, her head spinning, because two?  _ Two?! _

 

_ Oh, good Jesus,  _ Lorna the Elder thought, guiding her niece to sit down before she fell. The Donovan genetics struck again, apparently...and she was definitely going to be needing a chair.

 

“Twins are manageable,” Ratiri assured his niece. “Your aunt did it.”

 

“Yeah, and she said it was bloody awful,” Lorna the Younger managed, wide-eyed. “Horrendous. Scarring, even.”

 

Lorna the Elder fought the urge to facepalm, and lost. Yes, she’d shared a few too many horror stories about her own pregnancy with twins, not pausing to think that it might bite her in the ass someday -- her  _ and  _ her niece.

 

Earlene barged in. “Well you’re not Lorna, and I had three sets of multiple births. I won’t pretend it is sunshine and unicorns, but nowhere is it written that you will have the same experience Lorna did, even though you are related. Because Lorna tells just as much how her gran championed her way through four children, so...yeah. That. Besides, you have a Thranduil to help you, and that is nothing to sneeze at.”

 

“Your cousin didn't have a terrible time’v it, either,” Lorna the Elder typed. “I think mine was only so awful because Ratiri’s so tall.” She was going to go with that, anyway. It sounded plausible. Sean was not a short man by any means, but neither was he unduly tall; he had only a few centimeters on Earlene, probably.

 

Lorna the Younger blinked, and looked at Sean. “Well... _ shit _ ,” she said. “I thought our flat would work as it is, but with two….”

 

“Don't worry about that right now,” Ratiri said soothingly. “Just eat some dinner and think up names. Would you want to know what the babies’ genders are?”

 

“Um...I would. Sean?”

 

Thanadir and Earlene looked at each other. “My big mouth does not extend to that level of insight. And I am sorry for spilling the beans about the twins. I was just really excited to be able to...see it. The babies, I mean. I never understood. It looks like stars being born, in your body. It is very beautiful,” Earlene said while Thanadir nodded in agreement. “But Thranduil could tell you.”

 

“Tell what?” Thranduil asked, walking past to the kitchen with a basket of warm rolls covered in layers of cloths. He returned to join them momentarily, divesting himself of a light outer garment and kissing Thanadir and Earlene both. 

 

“Genders,” Earlene smiled, pointing.

 

“Oh! Oh I see,” he said, breaking into a smile. “Congratulations, I am very happy for you both!”

 

“Thanks,” Lorna the Younger said weakly. “We’re a bit...we didn't see that coming, but I guess I should’ve. Donovan genes, and all that. I’d like to know the genders, at least -- not so sure about Sean.” She could start stocking baby clothes, if nothing else.

 

“Sean? If you do not wish to know I can tell only Lorna,” Thranduil asked.

 

“I, er, ah,” he rubbed his hand through his hair. “Eh, I’d best man up. Go ahead and please tell us both?” At least he remembered his manners so Geezer might not slap him upside the head.

 

“You have identical twin daughters on the way,” the King smiled. “I wish you as much joy as we have had with ours.” Babies. Babies were always a happiness. 

 

“As much joy, and fewer sleepless nights,” Ratiri said. “And just know, you have lots of help available to you. We’ve all been there, usually more than once.”

 

“Twins,” Lorna the Younger whispered, looking down at her abdomen almost accusingly. “Christ...well, at least we’ve got a while to think’v names.”

 

“We’ll want to keep an eye on you, in the clinic,” Ratiri said. “Regular checkups, and I want to start you on some prenatal vitamins.” She was healthy and in good shape, but she was at an age where it paid to pay a little extra attention -- especially as it was twins. Somewhere in that family there really was a rabbit.

 

“You two should start eating most only here or at the Halls,” Earlene said. “Lots of vegetables, good nutrition. We’ll fix you up, either way, wherever you prefer the food.” She would refrain from giving her opinion of prenatal vitamins. Those were for people who did not eat enough kale.

 

Thanadir rolled his eyes and pointed to Earlene behind her back, which Thranduil pretended not to see.

 

“There might come a time it would be easier for you to live here, toward the end,” Lorna the Elder typed. “In case you do actually want a chair, this house is a lot better-designed for pregnant women than the Halls are. You can have everything on one floor, which you might want once you can no longer see your feet.”

 

Lorna the Younger looked down at her feet, and twitched. She’d seen how big her aunt’s gut got with Supri, so she didn't want to imagine what  _ two  _ would be like. She’d been prepared for a Supri baby, but the possibility of twins had never occurred to her. Oops. “We’ll see,” she said. “It’ll be awfully cold right around the time I'll be starting to hate life, after all.” She glanced at Sean, because she didn't know what that would be like for him, living here.

 

“Well you are both very welcome here, if you decide it would suit you better,” Thranduil said, knowing that especially to Sean it would mean the most coming from him. “It is a little less...turbulent...than when the children were very young,” he smiled at the memories.

 

Sean nodded, managing to choke out a ‘thank you’ through his disbelief. Talk about...awkward. And reasons why a young man should think twice before acting like a drunken gobshite. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if only he had known.

 

“And there are kitties,” Supri said. “And dogs, and hawks, although you have to just kind’v look at the hawks. They sit there and are pretty, and sound like demented babies.”

 

“Think it over,” Lorna the Elder typed. “Meanwhile, do you want any fancy booze to give your mams, before you drop this on them?”

 

Her niece looked at Sean. “I know I want to give my mam some,” she said. “At the very least, an Irish coffee.”

 

“None for me, thank you,” Sean said. He knew that Geezer was trying to cut way back on the booze for both himself and Aurnia. And for himself...he was done with the stuff. He meant to be a proper da and the first part of that was staying off the one thing that had helped get him into every mess he’d ever been in all throughout his life. Not that it needed to be broadcast like he thought he was better than everyone else. It wasn’t like that. This was a...personal decision.

 

“Can we bring them here?” Lorna the Younger asked. “For a dinner, or something? I don't want to just tell it in the middle’v the Dining Hall, and if I try bringing a load’v food to our flat, every busybody cook’ll want to know why. I don't plan on letting this news out to god and everybody right off -- I know Mam and Aurnia’ll take care’v that for us.”

 

Earlene bit her lip and looked at Lorna, because clearly her niece did not understand elf radar. Then again, the elves wouldn’t actually _ say _ anything, which is more than the humans would manage if they knew.

 

“Pick a date,” Lorna the Elder typed. “Sharley, Maglor, Annwn, and Pen are gone all this week.”

 

“Um...Sean, what would you say to day after tomorrow?”

 

“Yes. That’d be very nice, thank you.” God, being an adult was really going to be something. A little perspiration beaded up on his forehead. Another alarm jangled in the kitchen, and Earlene dashed off yet again.

 

Lorna the Younger let out a slow breath. They could do this. “Okay then. Day after tomorrow, we’ll get my parents, your mam and Geezer...and I'm going to be smart and try to write down a list’v the questions I know in advance they’ll be likely to ask.” She knew Sean, and she knew herself -- put them both in the hot seat and they’d freeze up. “Twins,” she said, looking at him a little helplessly. “Two for the price’v one.”

 

“You’ll be glad’v that later,” her aunt typed. “Most childbirths aren’t like my first one, but they’re never fun, and if you can get twice the benefit, it’s worth it.”

 

The jarring clang of the iron triangle rang out just a few seconds later, signaling Thanadir and Lorna to return to the kitchen to help get the food onto platters and into the dining room, and for everyone else to take their places. The playful chasing of Ailill and Calanon could be heard overhead in the form of laughter and thudding as they ran over the bridges to the fire poles. Thranduil raised his eyes and shrugged. “ _ Mostly _ less turbulent.”

 

*****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanadir's poem is Shakespeare's Sonnet 98
> 
> Would you like to learn more about the coffin ships? Here are some links:  
> https://www.dunbrody.com/  
> http://www.historyplace.com/worldhistory/famine/coffin.htm
> 
> Obviously, references to the future state of management of the S/V Dunbrody or any other vessel mentioned in our story are fictional creations...but not necessarily that far off the mark. The organizations that operate tall ships often struggle with finances for a variety of reasons...but the dedication of these groups to keeping history alive is real--and commendable.


	163. One Hundred Sixty-Three

{July 16, 2035}

 

Pen had Annwn seated happily on his shoulders, both of his hands protectively holding her tiny legs. He had come to love the little girl much as though she was his own. In a way, she was, a little. It was long accepted that Pen loved Maglor with an unbreakable brotherly bond, and would therefore be more of an uncle to Maglor’s daughter than his own brothers by blood. He led the way down the gray Oxford streets from their hotel to their old bookshop, which Sharley and Annwn had never seen. It would be the first time in quite awhile, since they had not been back to see what had become of it since they sold it off for good (at an extremely handsome profit, not that money truly mattered any longer). Finally, they rounded the corner and Maglor’s sharp intake of air immediately preceded the tall elf stopping in his tracks. “Sweet mercy of Manwë,” he muttered helplessly. “Oh Eru, no…”

 

A garishly lettered new sign hung where their modest one used to be, that screamed “RIVENDELL” in blocky, Tolkienian script. Just outside the door, a cardboard cutout of Orlando Bloom as Legolas was propped up, gesturing to enter the shop.

 

“Pen, I am not sure I can do this. My eye is already twitching,” Maglor told him. “This looks hideous.”

 

“You can and you will,” Pen glowered, his jaw taking on an unusually stubborn set. “In fact, I am going to give Sharley her daughter to carry, because you and I are going to put on the show of our lives. Tuck your hair behind your ears. We are marching in there, and so help me you are going to sing the Lay of Leithian in Sindarin. You are now one of the two biggest Tolkien nerds ever to walk this earth.”

 

“I am?” Maglor said, wide-eyed.

 

“You are,” his friend insisted with all the authority of a king.

 

Sharley shook with suppressed laughter, but somehow managed to  _ keep  _ it suppressed. Before she took Annwn, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket -- if she didn't get this on camera, Lorna would never forgive her. “All right, little ladybug, let’s watch your ada and your uncle Pen blow their minds.”

 

“Blow their minds?” the girl repeated uncertainly.

 

“It means they’ll surprise this group, in a good way,” Sharley assured her. “And we will get it all on video, so everyone at home can see we did something on our vacation.” A few taps of the screen and she was ready to hit ‘record’.

 

Pen marched into the shop almost dragging his friend with him. That was when the full horror struck. A gigantic cutout of Smaug covered over the elegant wood paneling that had once held tasteful glass cases, wrapping around most of the shop to leer menacingly at those entering. More and more of the awful cutouts littered the interior. They saw tourists pausing near many of them, taking selfies of themselves standing near the assorted characters. Of course Tolkien books of every description were there, but none of the older and more special manuscripts, or rare offerings. These were only the cheapest of the paperback versions, featuring film stills on their covers. Stacks and stacks of them, designed to connect to the mass media marketing that had been done years ago. 

 

A sales clerk bounded toward them, halting Maglor in his tracks once again. The man wore obviously fake elf ears and a silly dark wig, but that was not what arrested his attention. No, that would be when Maglor’s eyes locked onto the insignia of the House of Fëanor emblazoned on the man’s costume tunic. “Cheerio,” the employee greeted them happily. “I’m Feenur. Can I help you find anything?”

 

Maglor simply stared. The man’s name tag proclaimed that the name he obviously could not pronounce was “Fëanor.”

 

“You are  _ not _ Fëanor,” Maglor stated, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice.

 

“Oh is that how you say it?” the bloke answered cheerfully. “Always wondered about that. All those crazy names, don’t you think?”

 

“No, I do not think,” Maglor said, turning to him. He spotted a harp on the countertop. “Does that instrument work properly?” he asked brusquely, pointing.

 

“Uh, I think so?” the young man said, baffled as Maglor stormed off toward it.

 

Pen leaned down. “He takes his Tolkien very seriously,” the scholar deadpanned. “And if I were you I’d get my mobile ready, because unless I am much mistaken you are about to get quite a show. You see, he is a Maglor impersonator.”

 

“Maglor? Who’s that?” the man asked. 

 

Pen blinked at him. “One of the sons of the elf you are supposed to be impersonating?”

 

“Oh. Oh THAT Maglor. Of course, how silly of me. I probably need a little more coffee. We’ve a lovely coffee counter in the back, and hope you stop in. I particularly recommend the lattes, we make everything with certified organic ingredients!”

 

“I’m certain you do,” Pen smiled, already hearing the sounds of Maglor tuning the harp.

 

Sharley had hit ‘record’ as soon as they entered the shop, and could barely,  _ barely  _ keep her laughter silent. Her poor husband...she was going to have to take him out for a drink. Several drinks, because this was actively painful...she’d never seen the bookstore in person, of course, but she’d seen it in his history, back when that was a thing she could actually do. This was -- well, it was literally a generation removed from when the films came out, and that was pretty damn obvious. They at least had tried to keep their ties to the actual books, but this barely had ties to the films. And those  _ ears _ ...she’d seen some quite good fake Elf ears at various pre-Halls Halloweens, but these were horrendous. They looked like something out of the bargain bin at a cheap costume shop.

 

_ “It burns, Doctor, get it out,”  _ Kurt said, horrified. If he’d had a face, or hands, she was sure he would have facepalmed.

 

Maglor finished tuning the harp and positively glowered at ‘Fëanor,’ beckoning him over. “Sit,” he ordered. “You work here and yet you know nothing, and I am going to teach you. You are going to hear a song, sung in the Elvish language that the one you pretend to imitate would have spoken. And then afterward you are going to find your computer, and you are going to order a set of ears like mine. Good ones. Ones put on with proper makeup so that you do not look like some sort of god-damned Irish flower fairy.” 

 

Pen stood by the lad, biting his cheeks in order to keep from grinning while Maglor’s fingers danced over the harp strings, and his extraordinary voice sang some of the introductory verses concerning the ill-fated peredhel of renowned beauty. Moments later the young man was slack-jawed, but had at least remembered to press ‘record’ on his device. Maglor stared at the hapless clerk the entire time, locking eyes with him. And when he had sung all he chose to of the haunting tune, he pointed at the man once again. “You will read  _ The Silmarillion _ . You will learn how to pronounce those names correctly and not make a mockery of a beautiful and reverent tradition. And from time to time, you will have someone get in here and polish this poor harp.” With the most care he had shown since entering, he returned the instrument to the counter and turned to his friend. “I am quite done here. Maglor is leaving the building.” He walked to his daughter, who he kissed lovingly on the cheek before hoisting her to his own shoulders and very carefully ducking both of them out of the doorway. If he never laid eyes on this place again, it would be too soon.

 

Sharley managed to avoid giggling until they were well away from the door, shutting off her phone’s camera. “Laurë, that was beautiful,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist. “In more ways than one. I’m not sure they’ll ever look at that harp the same way again.”

 

“Is that what you meant by blowing their minds, Mama?” Annwn asked. “Them staring at Ada like that?”

 

“It is indeed, little ladybug. I’m sure they’ve never heard the like before, and they never will again. We’re lucky we get to hear your ada play like that so often.” And she was not going to forget the fact that the words ‘god-damned Irish flower fairy’ had left her husband’s lips. Nope. “I’m sorry your shop got turned into...that.”

 

Pen gave free rein to his grinning now. “I think I was better prepared for the possibility than my dear friend. I am sorry, gwador, to ruin your sensibilities like that. However at the very least I think we can both let go of any desire to look backwards.”

 

Maglor just rolled his eyes and shook his head, before pointing out the tall buildings of Merton College to his daughter and discoursing a bit on their history. And that he and Pen remembered them being built, stone by stone…

 

Sharley took lots of pictures, just because the scrapbook for this trip was going to be the only one they’d ever have, probably. The clock was winding down, and she couldn’t imagine her husband would feel any reason to come back a second time -- especially not after what had been done to his poor bookstore. It was interesting for her, seeing this place that had been the closest thing he could call to ‘home’ for a very, very long time.

 

*****

 

Earlene had outdone herself at dinner, so everyone was nice and full (they’d topped it all off with blackberry pie and whipped cream), but all four parents were still visibly suspicious (and nervous). Lorna the Younger had known that would be the case, though, so she figured there was no point in dragging it out.

 

“Mam, Da -- Aurnia, Geezer -- I’m up the yard. With twins.”

 

Pregnancy was not a surprise to Grania, but  _ twins  _ certainly were. She’d figured there were very few reasons the four of them would be called out, and… “Twins?” she said. “Congratulations, allanah.” She rose to hug her daughter, hard, because she knew Lorna had been wanting children for years now -- and she actually trusted Sean to be a good da.

 

“Twins,” her daughter repeated. “Two girls, according to Uncle Thranduil. I’m scared shitless.”

 

“Of course you are,” Grania said, leaning back to look at her. “Every mam is, when she first finds out she’s up the yard. You get used to the idea.”

 

Pat sat frozen, wide-eyed, until Lorna the Elder threw a wadded-up napkin at him. It hit him in the side of the head, and at least made him blink. Words were not to be found, so he just went to hug his daughter.

 

Geezer looked at Sean. “Yeah, I think you're about ready for that,” he said. “Congrats, kid.”

 

“Thanks, Geezer. I owe you a lot. I owe everyone here a lot, for helping me and not writing me off. The only problem is, I’ll need more help. I want to be a good da, and I hope I can rely on all of you to keep me on my toes. And--”

 

A crashing loud knock could be heard on the front door, which immediately triggered Glenda and Flynn to a frenzy of baying. 

 

“STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!” Thanadir bellowed, silencing everyone in the room, plus the dogs. “Sorry,” he meekly apologized, as he rose to answer the door. Tonight he wore his hair in a ponytail, and looked so cute Earlene was having a terrible time keeping her hands to herself. And from the way Thranduil had stared at him all through dinner, she apparently wasn’t alone. He answered the door, wearing his favorite blue t-shirt complete with gold and black Star Trek insignia (The Next Generation era). “Hello,” he said politely to the two humans he did not recognize. “May I help you?”

 

Wednesday and Kyle had been warned back at Yellowstone just what kind of eccentric, pretty weirdos the Donovans lived with, and the man who opened the door certainly seemed, on first inspection, to be all three of those things. “We met the Donovans in Yellowstone,” she said. “They wanted us to come to Ireland, and now we’re  _ in  _ Ireland, and we figured we’d stop by and say ‘hi’.” That it had taken them two years was kind of pathetic, but work was work, until all of a sudden it wasn’t enough.

 

“Come in, please. Lorna is here. My name is Thanadir. We have just finished our dinner. Would you like some pie? Blackberry. My wife made it, it is very good.” The expressive, innocent eyes looked as though they would suffer permanent and unrecoverable disappointment were they to turn down the offer of pie.

 

Wednesday looked at her husband, and blinked. “Pretty sure turning down pie is blasphemy somewhere,” he said. “We would have called, except we realized we had no phone number for you guys -- just your address.”

 

“And you don't have a house phone, apparently,” she added, as they followed this tall, odd, pretty man into the house -- a tall, odd, pretty man with  _ pointy ears, holy plastic surgery, Batman.  _ Really  _ good  _ plastic surgery, too.

 

“That is true,” he admitted. “Ah well. Lorna, your friends are here,” he called around the corner. “Elder Lorna, I mean,” he added, frowning. “At least, I think that is what I mean. I will get them some pie.”

 

Lorna had absolutely no idea what the hell he was talking about -- she hadn’t been expecting anyone, and a glance at her family told her nobody else had been, either. She rose, Thingy in her hands, and her eyes widened, because holy shit, she had not expected to ever actually see these two.

 

Thingy had a soundboard specifically for cursing, and she brought it up with lightning speed, hitting “Holy shit” before adding, “When did you get here? And how? And are you staying?”

 

Ratiri rolled his eyes. “You lot, this is Wednesday and Kyle, who we met on holiday at Yellowstone.” He too was extremely startled, but he was rather better at dissembling than his wife. “Oh, and she can’t talk anymore,” he added to the pair, nodding at Lorna. “She took a blow to the head that damaged the speech centers of her brain, but she types fast.”

 

Wednesday eyed her, because everything to do with the human brain was fascinating, and she wanted details. “We got here yesterday,” she said. “Decided we needed a couple weeks away from home to de-stress.”

 

Thanadir returned with servings of pie, which he set down on one of the small tables between two chairs. 

 

“Fellow Americans,” Earlene quipped. “I’m Earlene, from New York originally. And Geezer over there, west coast. Welcome. We have room for you to stay; there isn’t much by way of lodging in the village.” There were many questions she wished to ask, but it was probably better not to interrogate the poor folk. Then again, she hardly needed to, as Thranduil began to share the information he gathered.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Kyle said, finding a seat near Ratiri, which had been vacated by the middle girl, Atia -- she’d scurried off, citing cats. “All of you.”

 

“Back atcha,” Geezer said. He was never garrulous at the best of times, and now he had to try to figure out how to be a decent grandfather. He had little brain power to spare for anything else.

 

“Sharley and her family are in England right now,” Lorna typed. “They’ll be back in five days. You said you’ll be here two weeks?”

 

“Yeah,” Wednesday said. “It’s really nice of you to offer us a place to stay, but are you sure it’s not an inconvenience?” Yes, this house was huge, but she had no idea how many people actually lived here. From what Lorna had said a few years ago, it was a lot. There were certainly a lot at this table.

 

“We do not lack room, and it is no inconvenience,” the King said. He understood why they were here, lured by Sharley. Might as well just go for broke. “My name is Thranduil. Many who live here are native Irish, and we are within day-driving distance of Dublin, Limerick and Galway. Then again, this is Ireland. We are within day-driving distance of the entire country, honestly.”

 

“Thranduil -- wait, really?” Wednesday asked. “Big fans?” He certainly looked the part, so much so it was uncanny.

 

“No,” he smiled. “I am just me. Welcome to the last Elven Realm left on this earth,” he smiled crookedly. 

 

“Surprise,” added Thanadir, also smiling and shrugging.

 

At that moment, Calanon came barreling around the corner, not noticing their guests. “Aran Thranduil, I was asked to tell you that there is a minor...issue in the Halls. Apparently some of the younger firin and firieth are rebelling about the arrangement in the shared baths. They are tired of the ones insisting on private bathing and they threw down all of the privacy screens and...words were exchanged. The guards have restored the peace but…” His eyes widened, as he only now noticed the strangers. “My Lord, I am sorry,” Calanon said, mortified. 

 

“All is well,” the King said to Calanon with a wave of his hand. “Honestly this sounds like a task for your Queen and Lorna, if they are willing.” He smiled crookedly at their guests. “Perhaps you would care to see the rest of Elvendom, at the price of your not telling the outside world of our existence?” he asked.

 

_ Oh, I’m more than willing,  _ Lorna told him, scowling like thunder.  _ It sounds like I might have to slap a few heads. _

 

Wednesday looked at her husband, rather helplessly, because...what? Just... _ what? _

 

“Can we take our pie?” he asked, just as helplessly.

 

“I like you already,” Thanadir said approvingly. “You have your priorities in order.”

 

Earlene rolled her eyes, rising. “Come on. And Lorna, before you decide to put a boot up a range of arses, I have some things to say. Like, in my opinion, the rebels are on the right track here. I think on the way there we need to talk about gender-segregated public bathing; it’s more than time this modesty crap got put into some kind of perspective. Hey, can someone get the sofa?” she asked. “Otherwise Lorna can’t type on Thingy while we go there.”

 

“Oh, I’ll get it,” Thanadir offered. “I am happy to drive it for you.” He vaguely hoped that these newcomers were the adventurous sort. That and, he felt it was his duty to attend to this with his Queen.

 

Again, Wednesday and Kyle looked at each other, pie in hands. Sofa?

 

“If people want to do gender-segregaturd public bathing, that’s great,” Lorna typed, and frowned. How the hell was ‘segregaturd’ in her autocorrect? It wasn’t even a word. Then again, at least it wasn’t PROMOTIONALKITTENBASKET, which had inexplicably popped up last week. “But they don't get to force that on anyone else. Earlene, you know why I’d never have gone for that, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. Statistically, there’s no way I’m not.”

 

“ _ You _ are always going to have a private bathing space,” Earlene noted. “And if I knew of someone in your circumstances, I’d let them use my own pool. We can always take special care of people with real fears or problems. But. It is also possible to bathe in swimwear, or even underthings, if one is that self-conscious bodily. There is just no real reason why anyone should be afraid of being nude among your own gender in a place where predatory or salacious behavior is simply not ever going to happen. My guess is that the backlog to use the bathing pools is through the roof and that a lot of filthy people are fed up. At the very least I intend to ask questions.”

 

“Why did the idea of bathing in swimwear never occur to me?” Ratiri asked, rather annoyed with himself. It was such an obvious solution, and yet he hadn't seen it -- probably because in any other circumstances it would be absurd. Or at the very least, cotton pants, since swim shorts would be rather less pleasant with soap. He would be one of the ones who would be self-conscious if he had to bathe in public, with people he barely knew, but cotton shorts would make that much, much easier for many.

 

“I don't know, but guys, look at the sofa,” Lorna typed to Wednesday and Kyle, as Thanadir drove it around the corner. “I built it for Earlene when she was pregnant with twins. There are two armchairs that go in the house, but this one has a petrol engine as well as electric. Except I converted the petrol to biofuel, but still. And Earlene, you’re better at questions than I am. I just shout at people, except I can’t do that anymore. Well, I can, but Thingy here can’t quite handle exclamation points yet.”

 

This was all a bit much, and Wednesday did the only thing she could do: she ate a bite of pie. That sofa was something else -- a rather impressive something else, honestly. She’d seen videos of armchair cruisers on YouTube, but this one put all the others to shame. And there were also two armchairs? If nobody had raced them yet, they needed to. Soon. “You guys have...caves?” she hazarded, because she still had not yet digested the whole ‘Elves’ thing. Thaaaat one was probably going to take a bit.

 

Earlene reappeared, wearing her crown. Her clothing was most always elven made anyway. Might as well look the part. “The sofa’s outside,” she commented. “Which is like, Hogwarts Express, forest-style.”

 

“Will it hold all our weight?” Kyle asked, eying it through the doorway.

 

“Oh yeah,” Lorna typed. “I made all’v them with a way higher weight capacity than I thought they’d need, because I figured they’d be used as entertainment later. And Earlene was almost never alone when she was on the armchairs, either. If there wasn’t at least one kid and two cats, something else was distracting everyone.”

 

“The thing goes too bloody fast, too,” Pat said. He had not forgotten that ride through the darkened forest on Halloween, so many years ago now.

 

“Does not. Everyone, hop on. It doesn’t matter if anyone’s got to hold onto the back, it can handle it. Who’s driving?”

 

“ _ I am _ ,” Thanadir said flatly. “Because it  _ does too _ go too fast, and I am not having Earlene’s pie spilled on the first bump in the pathway. You can drive it back if you wish to demonstrate its mechanical limits. And you need to be able to speak with Earlene.”

 

Lorna tried to give him the Thanadir Eyes, only to have her brother poke her and whisper, “Serial Killer!” Poor Pat was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was going to be a grandda. And actual grandda. He needed to talk to Sean, and tell him to be smarter than he himself had been. He’d wasted so many years that he should have had with Grania and Lorna...and yet, he wouldn’t have had Saoirse, if he’d stayed.

 

Grania wrapped her arm around his waist. “Just run with it,” she said. “Easier that way.”

 

Somehow, they piled onto the sofa -- and ‘piled’ was the right word, as everyone but Thandir had someone else on their lap, and Pat and Grania were hanging onto the back.

 

“I know it seems nuts,” Earlene said laconically. “I guess I should mention that I am the Queen of the Elves, just because your day isn’t weird enough already. Thus the shiny thing on my head. I’m not uppity about it but...we all have our little managerial roles to play here. There are really not that many elves here, just around two hundred. Whereas there are lots of humans living in the Elven Halls. So every now and then there are, uh, cultural differences. Something like that. But all in all it’s quite a nice setup. It definitely grows on a person.”

 

“And you...okay, at the risk of sounding really insulting, are you a human or an Elf?” Wednesday asked. Earlene seemed to have the superhumanly smooth Elf complexion on lockdown, but her ears did not appear to be pointed, and she was an American. Were there American Elves? Was she the last of them? Because if this was the last Elf civilization…  _ Stop it, brain. _

 

“I was changed into an elf,” Earlene answered. “Which is a very, very long story and not something that is likely to ever happen again. I was born human, but I am not human any longer. Which, I apologize in advance for adding to the weirdness. I know this is a lot to take in at once. My ears stayed the same, in case you are wondering. But all my children have pointed ears, because my husbands are both elves. Oh and yeah, that’s a thing too. Don’t worry, the polyamory is confined to us. We’re not contagious.”

 

“Just wait,” Lorna typed, as they took off. “You haven’t even reached the bottom’v the rabbit hole yet.”

 

“You’re human, right?” Kyle asked, trying to keep his plate balanced.

 

“We are,” she typed. “Sharley’s not, though. That’s another totally long story, and it might be even longer depending on how much you do or don't know about Tolkien lore. Might be best for her to explain that when she gets home.”

 

“There’s something else that does need explaining before then,” Ratiri said, “but it too can wait, for the moment.” They were probably going to want some booze with that one, because the only thing worse than finding out the world was going to end would be finding it out and having to stay sober.

 

“Alright, said Thanadir, pulling up neatly to the portico. “Oh, wait.” He turned to their guests. “Do you see a building, or a hillside?” he pointed straight ahead.

 

“A hillside,” Kyle said, wondering just where they were actually going.

 

Earlene stood up and crossed her arms. “Thranduil, if you wouldn’t mind?” she asked aloud, shaking her head. In her mind, she heard her husband’s chuckle of mischief. “Sorry,” she apologized. “He just really has too much fun with this, and never tires of it.”

 

“Holy shit,” the pair chorused, eyes widening. How was this -- how had this been hiding in Ireland for god knew how long? How had nobody come gunning for this forest? It was obviously ancient, as much so as the old growth forests at home. “How does that  _ work _ ?” Wednesday asked, rather weakly.

 

“Magic,” Lorna typed. “It’s a word you’d best get used to, because you’ll hear it a lot.”

 

“Yeah,” Earlene sighed. “That.” She turned to the Gates and in a clear voice spoke: “Edro ennyn Thranduil.” As ever, the massive portal swung inward. “It’s dim inside. We’ll walk in, then stand there until your eyes adjust. It’s a huge, beautiful cavern but it doesn’t have safety rails so you want to be able to see clearly. And are either of you afraid of heights? If you are we will help with that.”

 

“I can’t exactly say I’m fond of them,” Wednesday said, and, because she had her priorities straight, finished her last bite of pie. “This is...how have you hidden this, all this time? More magic?”

 

“Yes,” Thanadir answered, being the only one really qualified to comment. “I am the King’s seneschal. His magic and our vigilance have kept the outside world at bay for a very long time.”

 

“Seneschal?” Kyle repeated, totally unfamiliar with the word.

 

“Thranduil’s right-hand Elf,” Lorna typed. “If I have this right, he’s only below Thranduil and Earlene in terms’v in-chargeness.” The fact that autocorrect didn't try to mangle  _ that  _ was something of a miracle, to be honest.

 

“How many people live in here?” Wednesday asked, as they passed through the massive gates. “Humans and Elves?” She could see the appeal in living here, and yet, if they were fighting over bathing, obviously there were drawbacks. She wasn’t sure how happy she’d be about bathing in front of others, even other women, because she had her embarrassing problem areas she’d rather only Kyle saw. He wasn’t going to judge.

 

“Um...Lorna? Do we actually know that?” Earlene asked. She tended to stay more involved with statistics on inventories. 

 

“Five thousand, one hundred and twenty-two as of three days ago,” Thanadir answered without skipping a beat. “Humans and elves.”

 

“Thank you, meldir,” Earlene said. He really was a marvel.

 

_ Good grief,  _ Wednesday thought, blinking into the dimness. It took her eyes a little while to adjust, but when they had, all words left her. This was...she had no idea how this could exist, and yet she was glad that it did, just...because. This kind of beauty needed to exist somewhere. “How did...just, how?”

 

“Forgive me, I do not understand the question?” Thanadir replied, looking at her quizzically. 

 

“I think she means, how did this happen?” Kyle asked. “You, and the humans, all living here...is this new, or has it been a thing for a long while?” That people were fighting over the bathing area suggested it wasn’t exactly an established concern.

 

“What he said,” Wednesday said.

 

“Oh. That is because the plague is coming. They are here in order to survive. I hope you will be joining us, if you have come this far?” the old elf asked politely. 

 

Earlene blinked at him. “I might have tried for a better preamble, but he is not wrong. In two years most of the outer world will...die. Thranduil has offered this in order to try to save at least a substantial population from what is to come. Long ago these Halls were filled with thousands of elves. Most of them left for the Undying Lands. We too will leave, at some point, as has been required of us. But in the meantime, we are doing what we can.”

 

Kyle choked on a blackberry, and Lorna facepalmed. “Can we get them something slightly more alcoholic before we explain this one in more depth?” she typed.

 

“They aren’t Irish, maybe they can digest bad news on just pie?” Earlene quipped. “We have booze,” she rolled her eyes. “Come on. First we have to check in and make sure there aren’t...I don’t know, water balloon fights or something going on.”

 

“Did I say something wrong?” Thanadir asked, worried.

 

“No,” Earlene said. “It is just a lot for a human to absorb all at once. We here are too used to it now, and forget what it is like to hear about it for the first time.”

 

“Oh. That is true. I am very sorry,” Thanadir apologized to Wednesday and Kyle. “If you are afraid of heights please take my arm,” he offered to their guest. “We will cross the archways now.”

 

Wednesday, almost too stunned by all of this to think, did so automatically. “Just...what?” she asked. “How do you know this is coming, and can’t we stop it?”

 

“I wish Sharley was here,” Lorna typed. “She’s why we know, and the upshot is, no, we can’t stop it. We don't know how. Apparently it starts on my sixtieth birthday, though.” If only Thingy could convey her sheer annoyance, because seriously? What a birthday present.

 

“But...look, we have families,” Wednesday said. “I’ve got my parents, and Kyle’s got his sister and his mom. We have a third partner in our business, too -- can they come?” Why was she even considering this? It was insane. Even with everything they’d seen here, believing that there would, in a year, be a civilization-ending plague…no sane person would just accept that, and yet here she was. Here they both were, as Kyle notably did not protest.

 

“Probably?” Thanadir answered. “Everyone else has. Business. What is your business?”

 

“We run an alternative funeral home,” she said, rallying. “Our specialty is green burials.”

 

“Which basically means we avoid chemical embalming,” Kyle said, shaking himself, “and help clients give their families an eco-friendly burial and funeral of their choice, as opposed to what the traditional funeral industry often does.”

 

“You bury the bodies in the forest?” Thanadir wanted to know.

 

“I wish,” Wednesday said, slightly more sure of herself. “We do when we can get a permit. I don't know about Ireland, but in America they can be  _ really  _ picky about where you can put a body. If the bereaved have a certain spot in mind, we do an alkaline hydrolysis cremation and basically sneak the remains where they need to be. We really advocate for people to be part of the process, since Western society has divorced itself from death as much as it logically can. Then people are unprepared when they lose a loved one, and leave themselves open to the predatory funeral industry.”

 

“That sounds...complicated,” Thanadir said, never having really heard of anything like this. “Well, I am going to accompany Earlene and Lorna most of the way there, and then wait in the event there are sights it would be better for only ladies to see.” He led on to the lower levels and the large bathing pools there, and was surprised to see well over a dozen guards. All of their backs were turned away from the pools. “What in Eru’s name is going on?” he demanded of them.

 

“The pool is being used right now by the firith who do not object to seeing each other unclothed, Hîr vuin,” the guard answered. “Earlier those who objected were...shouting unseemly words and threatening physical violence. There were dozens more of these women than the others that wanted the privacy screens. So until someone could instruct us, this was our solution. Apologies, if we chose wrongly.”

 

Earlene massaged her forehead. “You did not choose wrongly. I am sorry, for the disruption. Lorna and I are going to speak with them, please let us through.”

 

“Of course, Hiril vuin.” The guard stepped aside. “C’mon, Lorna, and keep a good grip on Thingy.” Earlene felt amazed at some of the things she uttered, these days.

 

Lorna did just that. The pools were, well,  _ pools _ , irregularly spaced across the uneven floor, some bubbling, all steaming slightly, and yeah, this was rather hard. Lorna had come a long way on some issues, but that didn't mean they were wholly gone. “Guys,” she typed, staying well back from the edge of the nearest spring, “what the actual fuck? Why are you fighting over the screens?”

 

One woman was only too happy to answer. “Because I’m tired’v waiting five hours in a queue to get in hot water for a bath when this pool’s the size of a small lake, that’s why. I work in cow shite all day. I want to be clean. I don’t care who sees my tits or my snatch, if they can be clean tits and snatch. The others wouldn’t let us in here without waiting in their damn line for six bathing spots, so we did what needed doing.”

 

“What she said,” echoed from the other women in the pool. All of whom were submerged to a depth that no tits were visible either way, because of the nature of the reflections in the chamber and the lighting, only body parts above water could be seen. 

 

“Is anyone here from the group that wanted the screens?” Earlene asked.

 

“Hell no,” came a chorus of laughter and a little good-natured splashing. “They scuttled off amidst many curses.”

 

Earlene eyed Lorna. “Sounds like an email needs to go out, if you ask me.”

 

She sighed. “I would say so,” she typed. “So, you lot, I get that you wanted your baths and I can’t blame you, but for Christ’s sake don't go bashing on those that want the screens. We’ll work something out so everyone’s at least half-arsed satisfied, but look, there’s more than one reason a person would have a problem being naked around other people, or seeing naked people around them.” Had she been younger, she might not have been able to do it herself; it was only age, experience, and Estë that had got her past what she’d seen in the prison showers. She knew what it would have been like for her, years ago, and she couldn’t dismiss the potential that there were others like her.

 

This fell under the category of dual-relations, and Earlene frowned. Probably there were a few like Lorna, but...her guess was that women avoiding that kind of trauma were a small majority. “This can stand for today,” she said. “But be prepared to give over so the blokes can have equal time in here,” she said. “We’ll get the Council on this. And next time, if you could, please go through them first so that we can settle this before elves need to become involved. I understand your frustration, but we’ve got to use what’s available to settle problems before they can blow up like this.”

 

“Meantime, enjoy the water,” Lorna typed. “We’ll let you know what we come up with.”

 

“I guess this is just one of those things we’re gonna run into sooner or later,” Jessie said. Truthfully, she hadn’t been thrilled by shared bathing to begin with, but it was amazing what you could get over when you wanted to be clean.

 

“Probably.” It was not lost on her that most of the women in the pools were on the younger end of the scale, and none of them seemed, at least when clothed, to have any ‘problem areas’ society would tell them to be ashamed of. Sometimes, fear of judgement could be as bad as fear of being leered at.

 

“All but one of you are dismissed,” Earlene commanded the guards. “The women are to be given another hour in which to complete their bathing, free of males here. And then males are to have the same opportunity. After the hour, the one who remains is free to return to other duties or leisure. I am certain you know your assignments better than I.”

 

“Hiril vuin,” the one nearest answered. Thanadir shook his head sadly and sighed. There needed to be an easier solution; this pool was for elven use before any of this started becoming a point of conflict.

 

“Is there any way we could somehow do, I don't know, stand-up washes or something?” Lorna typed. “And just” she paused, because ohhh, here was an idea “why don't we set up a kind’v beauty shop, or whatever? People can go and get their hair washed, so they can do like mini-showers or whatever at home, if they really don't want to use the pools.”

 

“I like that idea. Not to mention, what about barbers? The thing is, that pool has a lot of pressure on it. The poor elves, I need to find out what they are even doing now that the humans have taken it over so much. And if this “few at a time” bathing routine has been going on awhile, what, are blokes doing without? That pool was meant for group use, not what’s happening now. We need to gather a lot of data on what’s needed, and quickly.”

 

“They’ve been doing  _ something _ ,” Lorna typed, following. “Nobody’s been ripe, at least not that I’ve been around. I think, if we can find something for the more easily embarrassed people to do, we can just start running shifts by gender.”

 

Unfortunately, because she was looking down, she very nearly walked right off the edge of the high walkway. Wednesday grabbed her before she could step right off into thin air. The word  _ shit  _ rose in her mind, but wouldn’t pass her lips; as ever, all the noise she managed to make was  _ eep! _

 

“Careful there, mo chroí,” Ratiri said. “Here, ride piggyback and you can still type.”

 

“Is that kind of problem a common one?” Kyle asked. “I mean, I’d think different cultures mashing together would be, well hard.” So far he’d heard American and Irish accents, but he wouldn’t be surprised if there were more. Not much of anything was likely to surprise him at the moment.

 

“First thing of its kind that’s come up, actually,” Earlene said, not letting on how much Lorna’s near miss alarmed her. “Though, I almost expect similar things once the shite hits the fan for real. Right now the stress level is lower. Later on…” she shook her head. “We’re not expecting it to be a party. And, Lorna, I’m okay with your idea with the caveat that there needs to be time for all genders. The elves want it, and they still need to have that in their own home. That’d address everyone’s wants until the Council can hash it out.”

 

“I’m sure it’ll work out somehow,” Lorna typed, from her perch on her husband’s back. “And at least we all know it’s not going to be any fun.”

 

Wednesday bit the inside of her cheek. Communal bathing certainly didn't sound like any fun at all, but there were other ways. And she honestly couldn’t believe she was pondering this, because it meant she was pondering moving in, which in turn meant she was actually accepting this story about a plague. And that was...that needed a drink. Just one. It could even be a bitch beer, though she doubted they had anything like  _ that  _ here.

 

“I think we are done here, if it’s alright with everyone? I want to go home and have a drink. And I am probably not alone,” Earlene said drily. 

 

“I want pie,” Thanadir said, offering Earlene his arm.

 

“Of course you do, sweetheart. We will get you another slice. Actually, do you mind if Thanadir and I walk? I want the time in the woods, but Lorna knows where the drinks are kept. We’ll be there just a few minutes after you,” Earlene said.

 

“No, go ahead,” Wednesday said, even as she sat on the sofa. The  _ sofa _ . They were riding on motorized living room furniture through the forest of the last civilization of Elves in the world. It was insane, and she would totally love it if not for the whole ‘plague’ issue. That was going to take some time. It was too bad the leafy green stuff wasn’t legal in Ireland, because a joint sounded  _ great  _ right about now.

 

**

 

“Where are we going today, Mama?” Annwn asked, as her mother tied her shoes.

 

“A place called Stonehenge,” Sharley said. “It’s very old, by human standards. It’s not exactly  _ new  _ even by Elf standards, come to that.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“You’ll see. To this day, nobody knows how it was built.” If only she could do what she’d once done, and see its history...next time they went back to Aman, she’d have to remember to ask if it was in the tapestries somewhere.

 

“Ada, did you ever go to Stonehenge when you lived here?”

 

“Yes,” he said, seeming to be somewhat faraway. “We lived here a very long time, Annwn. But much of it was dangerous, and unpleasant, though Pen always made sure we were protected. That was not a safe place for us to be, but we saw it. At a distance.”

 

“It’s safe now, right?” she asked.

 

“Very safe,” Sharley said.

 

“Nuts,” her daughter said unexpectedly. “Can we see something  _ not  _ safe someday?”

 

_ “Yeah, she’s her parents’ daughter, all right,”  _ Jimmy muttered.

 

Sharley fought the urge to facepalm. “Someday,” she said. “In a long, long time, when you’re grown up.”

 

The little girl gave her a look that said, plain as day,  _ I’ll hold you to that. _

 

Maglor smiled. “Chip off the old block, eh, Pen?”

 

“Oh absolutely,” the ellon smiled. “Just like her adar.”

 

Annwn grinned, and hopped off the bed. Though it was warm enough (by Irish standards) Sharley brought her little cardigan anyway. “Well, you can correct the history later,” she said. “Because I'm sure even what little we know is probably wrong. It’s too bad you never got into history books, but I dunno how you coulda without giving yourselves away.”

 

“We really cannot be too much help,” Pen admitted. “We maintained our safety by our gifts as elves but moreover, by keeping at the fringes of society. When able we lived in forests or other out of the way places. Stonehenge was a center of...we were not sure what. Pagan belief, ritual, Eru knows what. But crowds meant risk. The stones were and are very impressive. So we cannot really tell you what they believed or what they did. Only that they have been standing for a very long time, yes, even by our reckoning of years.”

 

“And cities -- any big civilization -- was pretty gross for a long time, huh?” Sharley asked, ushering Annwn out the door. “The Europeans I saw, before I took my last nap...yuck. None of the tribes I ever lived with were anywhere close to that level of Ew. Everybody bathed, even if soap wasn’t what it is today.”

 

“It was beyond that,” Maglor grimaced. “Try raw sewage in the streets, people emptying the most disgusting filth anywhere and everywhere because they knew no better. Families living in crowded squalor. Only relatively recently has it been any kind of good idea to live in the midst of men.”

 

“Plumbing is a blessing,” Sharley said, as they headed for the Mystery Machine. “Plumbing and water heaters. At least the Halls have pools, because I don't think anyone would want to go back to baths in front of the fire. Especially not after a long day’s work.”

 

“And yet those are infinitely better than not bathing at all,” Pen grimaced. He remembered many many days of just that, plus rubbing themselves and each other down with linen body cloths. There was not much else in the way of options, a thousand years ago.

 

Sharley shuddered, even as she got Annwn buckled into her booster seat. In all the tribes she’d lived with, people did their best -- even if, in the winter, it was scrubbing themselves with snow. It stimulated the circulation, certainly, but it also kept the funk away. “At least in America, nothing ever happened to make people afraid to bathe,” she said, opening the driver’s-side door. She still was not used to sitting on the right side of the car, and handling the Mystery Machine’s gearshift had taken practice. “All right, all aboard, troops.”

 

“All aboard,” Maglor echoed, content enough. He appreciated history, and admittedly had never come terribly close to this site.

 

It was a relatively short drive -- a little over an hour -- and then they and who even knew how many other people stood in the parking lot. She couldn’t say she was surprised, given it was a nice summer day and this was a big tourist draw, but she hoped Maglor would be all right. He’d probably prepared himself for it as well, so he ought to be fine.

 

_ “It’s a bummer you can’t just go up to them anymore,”  _ Layla said.

 

_ “Yeah, some of the impact’s lost when you have to see it at a distance,”  _ Jimmy said.

 

There was plenty of impact anyway. Looking at pictures, it was easy to underestimate the sheer size of the stones, and it made her wonder ever more how the hell it had been built. “You know,” she said, “people like to slag on ancient humans, as though everything worth knowing was only invented in the twentieth century, but  _ somehow  _ primitive humans built this place. We no longer know how to make Greek fire, or what makes Damascus steel so hard.”  _ That  _ she suspected was some remnant of the knowledge of Gondor, that somehow hung on long, long after its origins were forgotten.

 

“Ada, pick me up!” Annwn said, reaching for her father. “Pleeeease.”

 

“Of course, little peg,” he smiled, tossing her up and onto his shoulders, where she then had a view from over seven feet in the air. And could rest her chin on his head, for added benefit. “Those stones are very heavy. So heavy Aran Thranduil could not pick them up,” he smiled. “And they are not from here. Somehow they brought them from far away. No one knows exactly how they did it, but regardless how it was managed it was very hard work. In fact, that is an excellent science project. I shall mention it to Hîr Thanadir.”

 

“We can build a Stonehenge?” Annwn asked, intrigued. “Like, a big one or a little one?” She didn't know where they’d  _ put  _ a big one, but hey, you never knew. She hadn’t see the whole forest yet.

 

“We should build one outta Twinkies,” Sharley said. “Earlene’d be horrified.”

 

“Twinkies?” Maglor cocked an eyebrow. “What on earth are those? And why would they bother Earlene?”

 

Sharley grinned. “They’re this horribly unhealthy snack cake,” she said, “that’s nevertheless really addictive. They don't go bad, ever, so there’s a lotta jokes in America that even if somebody nuked the world, they could still live in their bomb shelters on Twinkies.”

 

_ “Seriously, if there’s a single actual  _ natural  _ ingredient in it, I’d be surprised,”  _ Sinsemilla said.  _ “If anything could make Earlene’s eye twitch, it would be that.” _

 

“We should buy some so we can see Auntie Earlene’s face,” Annwn giggled.

 

“Now, now,” Maglor scolded mildly. “She is my Queen. I am obligated to respect her. I cannot overhear any plotting against my sovereign,” he smiled.

 

“What he said,” Pen grinned, obviously thinking it would be hilarious but not saying so.

“Come on, everyone. We are here, let us educate ourselves and take the requisite photographs.” To emphasize this, he ordered Maglor and Sharley to stand where he could capture some nice shots of their family with the stones in the background.

 

That just made Sharley more determined to somehow get her hands on some Twinkies, just...because.  “I’m sure Ratiri could teach the kids how to break them down into their base components,” she said. “Might be something fun for them to do.” 

 

_ “Yeah, fun and messy,”  _ Layla said.  _ “That would have to get done outside. Though at least it’s not melted marshmallow.” _

 

It occurred to Sharley that they still had all those marshmallow crossbow guns somewhere. Maybe those needed to get brought out when they got home.

 

“Well, let’s walk as near as we are able, and take our photos,” Maglor said. One had to stare for a time, at the monoliths. Their symmetry was somehow compelling, and unfortunately they raised more questions than were ever likely to be answered.

 

“They’ll still be here, long after the bones of the modern world have crumbled,” Sharley mused. In two hundred years, modern London would be gone; eventually, even Oxford would be lost to the sands of time, but Stonehenge would remain.

 

“Can you guess, Annwn, why we know so little about those who built this place even though it is so old?” Pen asked the child.

 

Annwn pondered this, even as she looked at the giant stones. “Because we don't know their language?” she hazarded.

 

“You are very close,” Maglor praised. “Excellent thinking. Try again?”

 

“Because...because they didn't write it down?”

 

Maglor grinned at Pen. “I vote that she gets credit for that, and not just because I am her father.”

 

“Fair enough. Yes, Annwn. Though we think that the reason they did not write it down is that they did not write. That they did not have literacy, only spoken language.”

 

That didn't make any sense to the girl. She couldn’t really read herself yet, but didn't everybody learn? “How could they have a language without writing any of it?” she asked. “How would anyone know all the words?”

 

Pen smiled. “Written language was invented, even in the case of elves. If a given people did not invent a system for recording thoughts or words, then...they did without. That is why there are so, so many writing systems among mankind.”

 

Mama and Uncle Pen had both showed her alphabets -- the Latin, which was the one that was used in English, and Tengwar, that the Elves used. Tengwar was prettier, but Latin was easier. “Somebody just decided to make it up, and then everyone wanted to use it, too? How did they decide to make the shapes?”

 

“English borrows from Greek and Latin, and your grandfather invented Tengwar. You come from a very important family, little one,” Pen smiled.

 

“My grandfather made writing?” she asked, wide-eyed. “He made Tengwar? Really?”

 

“Really, little ladybug,” Sharley said. There was much Fëanor had done that she would always find terrible, but he had created some wonderful things as well. “He made it, and all Elves use it. You’ll learn it yourself, when you’re a little older.”

 

“Writing is important,” Maglor said. “It is how memories carry on. Even if no one remains to recall when they first happened. They had no writing, and those stones are their memories. But we have no idea what it is they meant to say, and that seems vaguely sad.”

 

“We write everything down,” Annwn observed. “Uncle Thanadir’s always writing, and the kids at school. Mama, do I have a grandfather from you, too?”

 

Sharley laughed. “Not in the same way,” she said. “Eru is the closest thing to a grandfather you’ve got through me. And we do write everything down. It’s not just your Uncle Thanadir -- Elves love to record things, especially history.”

 

“But you have great-grandparents too, who will love you very much when they get to meet you,” Maglor told her. “So in a way you will not lack for grandparents. Or uncles.”

 

Fortunately, so far as Sharley knew, the nasty brothers were still stuck with Námo, long may they stay there. “We’ll visit them in a few years,” she said. “You’ll see your grandmother and your uncles, and we can go and see Vairë, too. She’s the closest thing I have to a mama.”

 

“Sinsemilla said you ride a bike to get there,” Annwn said. “Will I be able to ride a bike by then?” They looked hard, because you had to balance. It looked like it shouldn’t be possible, actually.

 

“We will see, little peg. They are not that difficult. Something will be managed,” Maglor said.

 

“’Kay. Mama, Ada, I'm hungry.”

 

“And we cannot eat Stonehenge,” Pen grinned. “For it is not made of Twinkies. On to the next place, trusty companions!”

 

Maglor snorted. Pengolodh made everything more fun. He just...did.

 

**

 

#  {July 20, 2035}

 

“Uncle Pen, who were Osiris and Thoth again?” Annwn asked. “Uncle Pen, who were the Etruscans again?” “Uncle Pen, what was the...how did Chopin die again? I forgot.” “Uncle Pen, how did they make porcelain?” “Uncle Pen, who figured out gunpowder?” “Uncle Pen, why were the Kings in England so mean?” “Uncle Pen, what did the Celts do?” “Uncle Pen, why did the Romans not stay in Rome?” “Uncle Pen, those things mama said were snuff boxes. Why’d people have those?” “Uncle Pen, why did people write in Latin if no one can read it now?” “Uncle Pen, why’d everyone look so much at that Rose-Rose...stone thing?” “Uncle Pen…”

 

Maglor smiled a little wider every time. They had been worried Annwn would be bored and disinterested in the British Museum. Instead, their visit had unleashed a force of nature that made Uncle Pen’s drive home one long narration, until the poor ellon could hardly find the voice to speak any longer. He was deeply grateful when the child fell asleep on the ferry. Aran Thranduil’s peredhel had...not been quite like Annwn. The travelers returned home to Eldamar, tired but happy, in the early evening.

 

Sharley let the girl sleep once they’d got home; Annwn was so tired that she kept snoozing even when Sharley got her into her pajamas. The Lump, ecstatic, snuggled next to her, purring like a chainsaw. All was right in the cat’s little furry world.

 

Sharley headed back downstairs, hoping some food was available. As much fun as that had been, she was glad to be home.

 

“Soup’s on in the big crock-pot, if you’re hungry,” Earlene said, poking her head around the corner. “Rolls too. Ever since Einir came it’s made more sense to have grab-and-go. Oh, and your friends from America showed up. Poor Lorna could probably use some help.” With a smile, she disappeared back around into the Heart Room.

 

Friends from…? Did she mean Wednesday and Kyle? Sharley couldn’t imagine who else it would be. Oh dear. She’d been wondering if her compulsion had even worked, but apparently it just took a while.

 

She was hungry enough that she cadged some soup and a roll before heading to the Heart Room, trailed by half the household clowder. There indeed were Wednesday and Kyle, each sitting on one of the poufs, surrounded by the other half of the cat population.

 

“Hi,” Wednesday said, waving. “We just kind of showed up and stayed. And found out the world’s going to end.”

 

Sharley laughed in spite of everything. “Yeah, there’s that,” she said. “You guys gonna stay forever?”

 

Kyle shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “We have things to take care of at home, and family to bring out here.”

 

“And a cat,” Wednesday added. “Can’t forget her.”

 

In that moment, Earlene vowed to get Maglor a dog. Enough was enough. But she kept that thought to herself, because this plot would need to involve her son and Ailill...anyway. It was good to be Queen.

 

“We showed them around as much as we could,” Earlene said. “The farm, the kitchens, all the little projects and things that are going on around here. We thought maybe a day trip to Galway or Limerick would be nice for them, plus it would be a chance to get some fish, I’ve been thinking we’re long overdue for a decent seafood chowder,” she trailed off.

 

“I am going with you, if you do that,” Thanadir interjected, not looking up from his next book for Erestor. “This time they are not going to stink.”

 

“They didn’t stink, meldir. They were just...mildly pungent. They smelled like the ocean.”

 

“Then we will have to agree to disagree, beloved wife,” the elf insisted. He was not about to budge. Thranduil quirked an eyebrow.

 

“Hmpf,” Earlene grunted, but leaned over to kiss his cheek. Thranduil shook his head. Thanadir could get away with most anything at all. 

 

Lorna was not about to agree with Thanadir aloud, but that really had been rank. Oh well. That was fish for you. “Lorna the Younger’s up the yard,” she typed. “I thought Pat was going to die, especially when she said it was twins.”

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow, because it hadn’t been twins when she and Maglor had seen them. “I hope they’re prepared.”

 

“Nobody’s ever prepared for twins,” she typed. “You only think you are. The truth doesn’t hit until they’re both crying and spitting up at once.”

 

“Freyja and Katrin have reserved a spot for their trawler in advance,” Ratiri said. “They’ll be here well before the plague, and it can sit at anchor until the disease has burnt itself out.”

 

Wednesday wondered how they could all be so sanguine about this. Yeah, the’d had time to wrap their minds around the idea, but still. The world as they knew it was going to end, and most of its people were going to die -- rather horribly, if Ratiri was to be believed. She and Kyle had friends, acquaintances...people they wouldn’t be able to bring with them. There was no way that wasn’t going to be hard.

 

“Well, we’ll all need our best morbid humor,” Earlene said. “It’s what humans have done for ages. I mean, why do you think it’s still hilarious to quote ‘Bring out yer dead!’ ? You have to laugh, or you’ll just be too depressed about it all.”

 

Thanadir raised up, not having considered this. 

 

“Earlene, now you are going to get him going,” Thranduil complained.

 

“Don’t repress me!” Thanadir said. “My King,” he added hurriedly. But he giggled.

 

“He has a point,” Earlene smirked, caressing Thranduil’s cheek lovingly.

 

“I need tea,” Thranduil groaned, getting up to make himself some.

 

Lorna burst out laughing. “You know,” she typed, “we really will be an autonomic collective.”

 

“Autonomic?” Ratiri asked.

 

“God damn autocorrect,” she typed. “I need to get Einir to look at Thingy. It didn't used to do this.”

 

“If nothing else, it’s entertaining,” Sharley supplied.

 

“Well, you can’t entirely blame it for not knowing what an ‘autonomous collective’ is,” Earlene opined. “I mean, that movie is how old now? Sixty or so years?”

 

“Oh god, it  _ is _ ,” Ratiri groaned. “I feel ancient.”

 

“At least you don't have to look forward to the start’v a  _ plague  _ on your sixtieth birthday,” Lorna typed. “So not fair.”

 

“Yeah, I looked at how that happens,” Sharley said. "Bastard was a genius -- it spreads like wildfire while the person is still asymptomatic, and it's got such a long incubation period that that’s why it’ll be all over the place before anyone knows it.”

 

Lorna wrinkled her nose. “Don't know about you, but I kind’v want to go have a wee on his grave again. It’s been a while.”

 

“It’s a long story,” Ratiri said to Wednesday and Kyle. “Best not to ask for details.”

 

“Too bad we dissolved all of his teeth,” Earlene noted. “Could’ve just embedded them in the toilet porcelain. Think’v the trouble it would’ve saved.”

 

“Meldis, that is unseemly,” Thanadir objected. 

 

“Well, it was meant to be,” Earlene countered. “But I suppose you are right, as usual.”

 

The ancient elf rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, bother. Look what you made me do, now. I wrote ‘toilet’ when I had meant to write ‘turtle.’ How am I to explain that to Erestor?” he fretted. 

 

“Tell him the truth so he can laugh at the reason it happened?” offered Earlene.

 

“That would require a separate book,” grumbled Thanadir. “I want cookies.”

 

“This house,” Earlene sighed, but rose up because there was indeed cookie dough already made for just such occasions as these. “How many?” she shouted back to the Heart Room.

 

Lorna cranked the volume up on Thingy before she typed, “I want one!”

 

“Honestly, you might as well bring a plate,” Ratiri said. “It would save time and effort. Did you guys enjoy England?”

 

Sharley glanced at Maglor, and burst out laughing. “For the most part,” she said. “We went to Stonehenge, and the British Museum -- and we went to see what had become of Laurë and Pen’s old shop. It was...interesting.”

 

_ “That’s one word for it,”  _ Jimmy muttered.  _ “‘Tacky’ is another.” _

 

_ “As is ‘painful’,”  _ Sinsemilla added.

 

“What did they do?” Thanadir asked. “I thought the place was very pleasing, all that wood and the books. It was...restful. I liked it.”

 

“They turned it into...well, I don't properly know what it was,” Sharley said. “Sorta like a cafe, sorta like a bookstore, but it was called Rivendell, and it was full of cardboard cutouts from the  _ Lord of the Rings  _ and  _ Hobbit  _ movies, and the staff all had these horrendous fake Elf ears...oh, and one of them had a nametag that said ‘Fëanor’, but he pronounced it ‘Feenor’ and then didn't know who Maglor was. Laurë here trolled the hell outta them, though -- I got it on video on my phone.”

 

Ratiri’s expression grew ever more horrified, but eventually dissolved into laughter, because he could picture that all too well.

 

“Oh dear,” Thanadir said, edging down further into the cushion. He was not certain he wanted to know. Thranduil returned from stealing kisses from Earlene in the kitchen with his tea, and sat on his husband’s feet. 

 

“Let’s have it,” Thranduil insisted. “Big screen. We should appreciate this properly.” He waved for everyone to go into the movie room.

 

Lorna struggled to her feet off the pouf, helping Ratiri up as she went. Wednesday and Kyle followed after them, still marveling somewhat at the sheer variety of rooms this house possessed.

 

Sharley gave Maglor a kiss on the cheek before plugging her phone into the projector, dropping down the screen while she was at it. At first the video was marred somewhat by her giggling, but she’d managed to get a lid on it by the time Maglor had started playing. Not that it would have mattered by then, since everyone in the shop was swiftly enraptured.

 

“You recorded all of this?” he asked, flushing red. “Oh no….these infernal devices…”

 

“Of course I did,” she said. “You play and you sing beautifully, and that was probably the loveliest thing any of them have ever seen, or ever will see.”  _ And I will not forget the words ‘god-damned Irish flower fairy’ left your lips,  _ she added, grinning.

 

“I think Earlene needs help in the kitchen,” he mumbled, cheeks now flaming as he scurried off.

 

“Well, now I  _ know _ this is good,” Thranduil said laconically. “Keep rolling.”

 

“Keep an eye on ‘Feenor’,” Sharley said. “I think he was about to start crying, which woulda been touching, if not for those damn ears. I mean,  _ look  _ at them.”

 

“Oooooh. Those are really awful,” Thanadir agreed. “How could mortals think anything could function with ears like that? You could hang dishcloths on those to dry, in a pinch.”

 

“Quite true,” Thranduil concurred. 

 

“The sad thing is that some of those cutouts look really old,” she said. “I’m sure they’d just be called ‘vintage’, or some garbage like that. Though Laurë was so annoyed by the ears he actually said the guy looked, and I quote, ‘like a god-damned Irish flower fairy’. Ireland has rubbed off on him.”

 

Lorna beamed, because it was good to know they were good for something.

 

Thranduil chuckled, and Thanadir’s eyebrow raised. “Do not chastise him, meldir. I already know he feels embarrassed about his outburst. And at the same time I feel it was rather elegant in its use of unseemliness.”

 

Thanadir nodded, sighing. Earlene returned, with Maglor in tow. “Alright the cookies are in the oven. What’d I miss?”

 

“Laurë’s playing and singing blew a lotta human minds, and we all hashed out why the Elf ears on ‘Feenor’ were awful,” Sharley said. “And we need to save at least one of these for Annwn, for whenever she wakes up. She just about talked Pen’s ear off on the way home, asking questions about everything.”

 

“Where is Pen, anyway?” Earlene wanted to know.

 

“Asleep,” Maglor said softly. “He drove the whole way and our daughter quizzed him until he could barely speak about all the things she saw in the museum. Apparently her intellectual development is going to be...unique.” He shook his head. “My little brothers would not have asked who the Etruscans were, at her age. Nor would they have cared.”

 

“It’s the result of having you as an ada and all these other schoolkids, I think,” Sharley said. “Everybody in her life reads a lot, and we all love history. I think it’s rubbed off on her.” She’d been precocious before, too, though not to this extent -- Maglor’s genetics had given her even more of a boost, it seemed.

 

“Perhaps,” he allowed, choosing more to believe that there would not be any exact means by which to ever know.

 

“We’ll have to see if we can borrow any learning materials from Aman, when we go,” she said. “Next time I do a mail run, I’ll ask Erestor to see what might be brought back. If she’s this curious now, she’ll be ready for some real history when she’s older.” They could teach her some of it now, but she was too young for Morgoth and everything to do with him just yet.

 

Thanadir’s eyebrows raised, because he could smell the cookies like a hyena on the scent of a carcass. Earlene shook her head, and kissed the top of his hair. “Cookies in five minutes,” she announced, smiling as she walked back to the kitchen. Cookies, and...Etruscans.

 

*****

 

{July 21, 2035}

 

Earlene disconnected the call, watching the hapless visage of Frank from the Kennedy Trust in New Ross fade to black. Leaning back in the chair and grinning widely, she contemplated that she had just created a spectacular headache for Niamh. Then again, Niamh was no longer the only solicitor in their little community, and Earlene herself had not remained wholly ignorant of Irish law as the years had passed along. Call it professional passion, but it was impossible to not at least dabble a little bit in something  once so central to her existence. Really, it was hard to believe it had been nearly twenty years away from her career of old... _ alas _ . 

 

“Whose day have you ruined now, sweet one?” Thranduil asked, noticing her at one of their larger display screens.

 

“Well, Frank’s, for starters,” she mused, stretching. “But really it is for the best.”

 

“Is that so?” he murmured seductively, instantly mesmerized by his wife’s assets. “Do tell.”

 

Just to be horrible, she stretched back much further, knowing that her top would tighten over her breasts and leave nothing to the imagination. “Depends,” she answered as she righted herself. “Are you even listening to me, or are you under the spell of the hypnoboobies?”

 

“Busted,” Thanadir teased, ambling in. Today he wore his red ‘Beam Me Up’ tee shirt, which accented his hair rather nicely. First he kissed Thranduil, then Earlene. “You bought a  _ what _ ?” he asked, catching her stray thought that leaked out.

 

“A tall ship, and I have not bought it quite yet,” Earlene quipped back at him. “But I will be very surprised if I do not get what I want. There is a perfect confluence: A struggling nonprofit that has operated an attraction at a loss for decades, a dedicated core of volunteers that will do most anything not to see their beloved project fail, and an offer for a massive bailout as long as the ownership rights are transferred to us and we take financial control of the vessel, along with the agreement to fully restore it to seaworthiness and have it tour coastal cities of the country, for starters. Which will mean hiring and retaining the right people for the vessel’s needs, and not working to bolster an educational center. We will ensure their organization continues to have their star exhibit the vast majority of the time, while taking advantage of the fact that only two years ago a major hull reconstruction was completed--maintenance cost overruns being another reason their organization is financially struggling. Having a wooden sailing vessel requires the ability to cast Euros into the ocean and not care when they sink into the abyss.”

 

“Why do we want a ship?” Thanadir asked, baffled. They lived in a forest, and the river was but a stream these days. 

 

“More planning for after the plague, meldir. It was the trawler in Iceland that started me thinking. A ship that runs on petroleum fuel is not good enough. We need one that is wind-powered. The kind that used to be...well, the only kind. To carry cargo, and people. After all, this is a replica of a coffin ship. See?  _ Dunbrody _ , is the name of it, and quite soon I believe we will have an answer. Frank seemed to believe that they would convene an emergency board meeting to discuss the offer.”

 

“Coffin ship? Is that morbid Irish humor?” Thanadir asked, ignoring the last part. 

 

“Bloody wish it was,” came the voice of Thingy, while Earlene worked to frame a good lecture out of the answer. Lorna had appeared, and now was glowering at the very large picture of the three-masted barque that had just appeared on the screen. ‘British gobshites.’ “Back in the Famine in the eighteen hundreds, thousands’v Irish emigrated to escape debtors’ prison and starvation. Problem was, the ships they traveled on were shite, because god bloody forbid anyone treat us like actual  _ humans.  _ The ships got called ‘coffin ships’ because so many people died’v typhus and dysentery along the way, or after they got there. Might well’ve been half the passengers.”

 

_ “Oh boy, now she’s on a roll,”  _ Kurt muttered.

 

“Fuck off, you,” Lorna typed, glowering in the voice’s general direction. “Seriously, you lot don't even understand just how subhuman we were to those bastards. We haven’t hated the English and their monarchy for so long for no reason. The only reason the Famine was a problem in the bloody first place was because the English took all our food except potatoes. That was all we had to live on, but did they quit stealing all our food when the Blight hit? Of course not. We were just  _ Irish _ , after all. We’d go to England looking for work, and they’d deport us right back so that we could starve and not interfere with their idyllic bloody lives. Easier for them to forget they were a load’v thieving twats if they didn't have to watch us die in their streets.” 

 

Yes, her gran had had a great deal to say about it. If not for the fact that  _ her  _ gran had killed the tax man, she might have been among those who had to leave or starve. Her family had been lucky to own their place outright, and not have to deal with any greedy fucking landlord who’d happily drive them to their deaths with nary a qualm. Their biggest problem had been the ruinous taxes, but the joy of the confusion and unrest of that period meant that once the tax man was gone, they had a few years before anyone properly noticed. Her gran’s grandda had been a skilled stonemason, too, and they’d managed to hide a vegetable garden deep in the woods out behind the cottage. It was true that they were often hungry, but nobody starved. They had no coal, but they did have an arseload of peat, and Gran had been certain that the fact that they were never  _ too  _ cold was how they’d escaped the sickness that claimed so many others.

 

The black-and-tans had come, in the twenty-something years before the Rising -- mostly violent English criminals released and sent to Ireland for the express purpose of terrorizing and murdering the Irish without consequence. According to Gran, a group of them had come to Baile when she was five, and never left; subsequent generations of village children had been terrified by tales of the supposed mass grave not so far from the south end of the woods. Apparently, she’d actually seen Big Jamie’s great-grandda lure one into the pub and cut his throat before god and everyone. ‘It sprayed,’ she’d told Lorna, quite matter-of-factly. ‘My da let me hold a farthing once, and the blood smelled just like it, mixed with salt. Jamie, the first Jamie, he hung the bastard upside down in the back of the pub, over a bucket to catch the blood.’ Assuming that story was true -- and Gran had not, so far as Lorna knew, ever lied to her -- it explained quite a bit about Gran.

 

Thanadir listened, a troubled expression coming over him. He looked to Earlene, hoping to learn from her that this was somehow an exaggeration. Sadly, his wife shook her head No.  _ It was ten times worse than what she says, meldir. For brevity’s sake she is leaving out, well, most all of the worst stuff. _

 

“How can people do this to one another?” he asked plaintively. “That is horrible. Not even…” he looked up guiltily as Maglor entered the room.

 

“Not even Fëanor would have done something so awful to another elf,” the ellon finished quietly. “While I am deeply ashamed that my family is the standard for how low an elf can become debased, it is true. I would not willingly have left my…” he hung his head. “Maybe this is not the most ideal topic for conversation. It is still very hard for me to discuss this.”

 

“No, Maglor,” Earlene said, going to him and taking him by the arm. “That is the point of the thing. You came to understand that it was wrong. The English...this is no reflection on the English now. But back then, the morality of too many was just…”

 

“Appalling beyond words,” Pen finished for her, now also entering the room. “I hope deeply that if one thing comes of starting over when the time arrives, that it is a determination never to repeat such...inhumanity.”

 

All those present fell silent, uncomfortably reflecting on the horrors of history.

 

“They hadn’t got any morality,” Lorna typed. “I mean, that period’v history was just sort’v shite in general -- honestly, the English weren’t much better to their own poor than they were to us -- but I used to wonder why people went on about ‘the luck’v the Irish’ when for centuries we’d been some’v the  _ unluckiest  _ people in the world. Gran said that even when she was a kid during the Rising, if someone had gunned down the entire  royal family and all’v Parliament, Ireland would’ve thrown a party for a month. There wouldn’t’ve been much to  _ eat _ , but it’d be a party, and then we’d be hoping someone out there had got pictures.”

 

“I could not have blamed them,” Maglor said. “Those were disgusting times. So many, in so much need...it was heartbreaking to watch and to be able to do little to help.”

 

Earlene paused a moment. “How  _ did _ you two get through that era? I mean, it must have been in so many ways pretty…” she gestured widely. “Awful.”

 

“You mean, how did we humble Oxford printers on behalf of the Crown survive, Hiril vuin?” Maglor asked.

 

“Ah.” Earlene nodded her approval. “Smart move, all in all.”

 

“All we wanted was to survive. We helped those we could, and tried to buoy each other through the bitterness of knowing there were those beyond our aid.” Maglor’s eyes seemed to become misty, for a time.

 

Lorna gave him a light poke in the arm. “You did what you could,” she typed. “You couldn’t risk getting noticed any more than you already were.” Seriously, how in the fuck had six-foot- _ eight  _ Maglor blended in at all? Pen was far taller than the average human male had been up until relatively recently, too, and that was aside from the fact that they were Elves, and thus inhumanly pretty. It kind of beggared belief that they’d managed it so well, but Oxford was a uni town, after all.

 

“We managed,” Maglor said. “For many years we used the ruse that I was Pen’s crippled brother. I always worked seated, and carried a crutch. It was an excuse never to go out, and to work in our shop. We could only stay in a given location for fifteen or twenty years at a time. So we oscillated between London, Oxford and London--we had more than one building we owned under different names. Of course we had disguises and...things. As long as we kept moving and kept quiet, never becoming involved in anything remotely controversial, we were left alone. It worked, though at times the strain of doing nothing was great indeed.”

 

“Was it ever tempting, to just go and kill a few’v the worst’v those bastards?” Lorna asked. “I mean, some were worse than others. Hell, sitting out a lot’v human shite must’v been hard.”

 

“Yes, and no. We both understood that taking action could mean discovery. So we made a pact with each other never to place ourselves in that situation no matter the temptation. I will not say it was easy, it was not. But we decided long ago that to survive, well…” Maglor shrugged. 

 

“Say no more,” Lorna typed. “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. Gran was just proud Baile made it through without having to eat someone. Which, Christ, you’ve got to wonder if that’ll happen out in the wide world after the plague.” There was so much canned and preserved food that she certainly  _ hoped  _ not, but people could be weird. Really weird.

 

“How do these conversations become so strange?” Thranduil lamented.

 

“Lack of cookies?” Thanadir asked hopefully.

 

Shaking her head, Earlene went off to see about dinner while those behind her laughed. For good measure, she took Thanadir’s hand and brought him along. He needed less than a minute to wheedle chocolate chip bars for dessert.

 

Thranduil looked at Lorna and shrugged. “You know it is bad when discussing the purchase of a ship is the more normal topic around here.”

 

“Well, it’s us,” she typed. “This  _ is  _ our normal. Okay, maybe not the cannibalism, but you know. I wonder what sweet thing Thanadir will con Earlene into making.” Whatever it was to be, she wanted some.

 

“Chocolate chip bars,” he answered morosely. “Why do we not walk to the pub for a Guinness? We have not done that in a long time and...I feel like…” he paused for a moment before raising his finger. “Gauging public sentiment. Then you can tell me more about this potato famine that I already heard about but apparently not in enough depth.”

 

Lorna burst out laughing, because only Thranduil could sound so depressed over  _ chocolate _ . “Okay,” she typed, “but you’ll be wanting the Guinness and then some, because the Famine’s about as depressing a subject as you’re ever likely to run across. We might as well get some greasy pub chips while we’re at it, and just not tell Earlene.” Earlene had never actually made her opinion of John’s chips known, but she didn't need to.

 

“Shhhhh!” Thranduil gestured, looking out the doorway and toward the kitchen with an alarmed expression. When no Earlene appeared, he beckoned for all of them to sneak out the door. Because he was King, honest. Maglor shrugged and smiled.  They hurriedly snuck out the front door, en masse.

 

“Why are we behaving like naughty elflings?” Maglor wanted to know, clearly not understanding what ‘John’s chips’ entailed.

 

“Because if Earlene catches on that we’re going to go eat greasy pub food before dinner, she’ll make us wish we’d never been born,” Lorna typed. “She’s got some Opinions about food, especially about unhealthy food. You’ve seen all the blasted salads she makes.” And poor Lorna, as a parent, felt it her duty to set a good example and eat the damn things.

 

“Mum’s the word,” Maglor agreed.

 

They all but tiptoed to the edge of the forest, and Lorna burst into a fit of giggles. “I feel like I’ve just escaped the headmaster’s office,” she typed. “I’ll be so glad when Supri’s older, and I don't have to eat properly to avoid being a hypocrite. Give me greasy chips over salad any day.”

 

“You will not say that once I leave and you wreck your gallbladder,” Thranduil smiled. “Enjoy it while you may. I shall write from Aman and send you salad recipes.”

 

“Just how bad are these chips?” Maglor wanted to know.

 

Thranduil pondered that answer. “John, for all his meritorious aspects, is not that good of a cook,” he began diplomatically. Maglor’s eyebrow quirked and he now looked at Lorna for further explanation.

 

“He’s really not,” Lorna typed, even as she stuck her tongue out at Thranduil. “He makes greasy chips and greasy pub sandwiches, and while they’re tasty enough, they’re terrible for you. If you ever feel like leaving the forest, get Sharley to take you to Baile. Big Jamie, he runs its pub, and his wife’s an amazing cook. She’s not quite Earlene, but she’s close.” And Christ, there was a thought...if her gallbladder went to shit, she couldn’t get it removed. Thank bloody god she’d had her appendix out years ago, so at least  _ that  _ could never be a problem.

 

“We will hope John can be coaxed into retirement. Or working for Jaime,” Thranduil mused. “And his deep fat fryer decommissioned, never to be heated again. That has a certain appeal.”

 

“But for now,” Lorna typed, “we can enjoy the artery-clogging goodness it produces.”

 

Thranduil snorted, but he did not argue. Lorna was...Lorna.

 

#  {July 22, 2035}

 

Today was history day, and Aunt Sharley had insisted on teaching the students at their school with the promise that it would be an especially interesting lesson. As Pen did not doubt her capability, he gladly consented to the break from his usual duty, especially when she told him that the lesson plan was to review some of the historical places of interest they had seen on their trip and show the children photos. 

 

“All right, children,” Sharley said, fighting a grin. Annwn was with the students today, just because. “Today we’re learning about Stonehenge...and we’re going to build a model of it outta Twinkies.” She took three giant boxes of the snack cakes out of her bag, setting them on the table with a  _ thump.  _

 

Atia stared, and burst into giggles. “Does Aunt Earlene know about this?”

 

Sharley arched an eyebrow. “That,” she said, “is immaterial.”

 

“Which I’m assuming means ‘no’.”

 

Lancaeron and Erynion looked toward each other in synchronized motion and grinned. If Nana would not approve, that meant that it would taste wonderful and be awful for them. Which sounded entirely exciting. Andaer frowned but said nothing.

 

“Anyway,” Sharley said, passing out paper plates, “Stonehenge is a giant stone monument in the south of England, built about five to six thousand years ago. Its purpose isn’t known, but it likely had something to do with solar festivals.” With another pass around the room, she doled out Twinkies. “Nobody knows how it was built, either. It just proves that ancient humans weren’t as backward as their modern counterparts sometimes like to think.”

 

“Is it big?” Andaer wanted to know.

 

“Huge,” Sharley said. “Every stone’s at least thirteen feet high, and seven feet wide.” She turned on the projector, and brought up an image of the monument -- with a tiny human standing beside it for scale.

 

Expressions of confusion appeared on the faces of the assorted children scattered throughout the room. “You mean like, chopped off feet stacked on top of each other?” Erynion asked, trying to envision that. “That doesn’t sound that big, Aunt Sharley.”

 

“Um...oh hell.” She’d spent too much time in America.

 

_ “About four meters tall and two and a bit wide,”  _ Sinsemilla said.

 

Sharley duly repeated that. “All right, open them up. Fun fact: in Arthurian mythology, the stones of Stonehenge have healing properties, and were brought to England by giants who found them in Africa -- and brought them through Ireland, actually.”

 

“Really?” Atia asked, carefully ripping the plastic. “Whoa.”

 

A great deal of crackling and wrappers ensued, and it spoke well of all the pupils that to a one they brought all the trash to the rubbish bin. “This packaging is not environmentally sustainable,” Andaer remarked whilst, while the twins smiled and rolled their eyes at their far more sensitive sibling. Everyone knew why. He was from Ada Thanadir, and that is just how these things were.

 

Sharley debated telling him that neither were the Twinkies, but decided against it. “All right, everyone, take a look at that picture, pair up, and set up your Twinkies on your plates. We’ll set them up in a circle that’s as close to scale as we can manage.”

 

Supri eyed her Twinkies, and then looked at Annwn, who was doing the same. “Can we eat them after that?”

 

“Of course you can,” Sharley said. “Not many can say they’ve eaten a World Heritage Site, even if only symbolically.”

 

They all did as they were asked, gravitating quickly toward working in pairs. When Andaer had his Twinkies cooperating (the twins figured out that it helped if they nibbled the curved end off of each Twinkie to create a more stable base) he took a moment. “What is Sodium stearoyl lactate? And what is Red 40? Aunt Sharley, the cakes are yellow not red. Is this serious?”

 

“To answer the first, I don't actually know,” she said, helping Annwn and Supri. “To the other, Red 40 is a type of food coloring. I'm certain there’s some reason it’s in there, but I don't know what it is. Your nana would hate these things, Andaer, but eating them once won’t harm anything.”

 

“They’re good, too,” Supri said. “We’ve had them in America, when we go on holiday in the summer.”

 

“The thing with Twinkies,” Sharley said, “is that they don't decay. As long as you don't open the package, it will stay edible...pretty much forever. Sure, everything is like that within the forest, but not outside of it.”

 

“So this is like, magical food?” Andaer wanted to know. “Why would Nana not like magical food? That sounds really useful to me.”

 

“Because there’s no nutritional value to them,” she said. “Or very little, anyway, and you know how your nana feels about nutrition.”

 

Supri looked at Atia, and the pair of them giggled.

 

It needed about fifteen minutes (most of which was spent nibbling Twinkie ends) in order for the structure to remain stable, but in the end it was accomplished. TwinkieHenge, in all its splendid glory. The young ones stood back, feeling fairly proud of their creation. They had matched the standing stones precisely, and their little construction was more or less to scale. While they worked, Sharley continued to narrate facts and items of interest about the actual archaeological site. 

 

“Well done,” Sharley beamed. “I think you can enjoy your treats now.”

 

That was when it happened. The noise of a throat clearing was heard at the entrance to the classroom, where Thanadir stood, leaning against the wall. A triumphant expression fairly oozed off of the normally kind face. “What have we here?” he asked with false innocence.

 

“Stonehenge,” Sharley said, snapping pictures with her phone. “Twinkie Stonehenge. All right, guys, you can eat it now.”

 

Supri, Atia, and Annwn needed no second urging, though at least they were polite about it.

 

“What do I get if I do not tell Earlene?” Thanadir asked bluntly.

 

Sharley laughed. “A Twinkie, of course,” she said, handing him one. “Sponge cake with cream filling.” Maybe they could talk Earlene into making the healthy version of Twinkies, with actual cream.

 

“Look Ada!” Andaer tried to speak around his mouthful of Twinkie, whilst waving one of the wrappers around in his hand. “They have twenty-six ingredients and are magical!”

 

The seneschal burst into laughter before leaning down to kiss his son on the head and snatching a Twinkie for himself. “Do you like these?” he asked triplets. Three heads nodding and trying to lick cream fillings smiled up at him. Thanadir took a bite of his own. “Hmmm. Spongy, and unusually silky texture. Moist, yet not overdone. And the filling is like marshmallow, but not. Really the overall appeal is--”

 

“Is what?” Earlene said, now also standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and the glare she leveled at her husband could have frozen a bonfire.

 

“Is adequate but I am certain it is nothing compared to what you could do if you baked these yourself, meldis,” Thanadir replied smoothly, popping the last of the cake into his mouth and smiling.

 

Earlene stared for a moment and then gave up, looking at Sharley. “You have to admit, he’s good.”

 

“Really good,” Sharley agreed. “That was incredibly smooth.”

 

“Huh?” Annwn asked.

 

“Adults,” Supri said, rolling her eyes.

 

*****

 

#  { April 22 , 2036 -- please note, the story has moved forward about 8.5 months!}

 

These armchairs, Lorna the Younger decided, were so underrated. They needed to build a whole fleet of them in what time they had left, just so they could have a race. Her aunt had even programmed an alarm into her mobile, so people would know she was coming.

 

She needed the damn armchair, too, because walking was just a Nope right now. She could do it for short distances, but it sucked. Hard. It really was a good thing they were getting two for one, because she was  _ not  _ doing this again, thanks so much.

 

Showers were still nice, at least, and she tended to linger. The hot water eased her sore back and shoulders, and even though she couldn’t see her feet (and hadn’t been able to since not long past six months), this wasn’t  _ totally  _ horrible. Or so she thought, until she pissed herself.

 

Wait, what?

 

No, that wasn’t pee. That odd popping sound was not something she’d ever heard before, and it took her a moment to realize her water had broken. “Really?” she whined, staring at the floor. “In the  _ shower _ ? Fuck.”

 

She had the wherewithal to shut the water off, groping for towels. It could have been worse; it had been for two of her aunts. There were no cramps at all yet, which meant she probably didn't need to hurry about getting on her fleece PJ trousers, T-shirt, jumper, and Aunt Lorna’s beautiful Irish wrap, her long hair in a towel-turban. Panic tried to rise within her, because holy shit, she was on her way to showtime and she was beyond not ready. So far beyond.

 

The armchair didn't fit in the bathroom, so she hobbled out to it, and hoped she’d got all the amniotic fluid out at once, because the thought of...leaking...was too mortifying to be borne. “Um...guys,” she called, as she motored down the hallway, “uh, my water just broke, and I don't know what to do.” So much for not panicking.

 

Her aunt met her on the way to the Heart Room. “You sit back and relax,” she typed. “Which I know is easy for me to say, but until you start feeling contractions for real, all you can really do is sit.”

 

“Water broke?” Earlene guessed. “Time to hurry up and wait. Would you like some tea or anything, Lorna? Pregnant Lorna, not other Lorna, though either of you can have whatever you want.” She sighed. “God I miss having babies.”

 

Lorna the Elder shook her head. “And you’re probably the only woman on the planet who can say that,” she typed. “And Lorna, you ought to at least eat a sandwich. You might not want to later.”

 

“Um...tea and a salami sandwich?” Lorna the Younger hazarded. That sounded...ominous. Her aunt had taken great pains to assure her that her own birth had been an anomaly, and that Lorna herself probably didn't need to worry about that -- but Eris had had twins, too. That birth hadn’t been as nasty as Lorna the Elder’s, but it had gone on for almost  _ three days.  _ Ew.

 

“Yep, you’re pregnant,” Earlene said, laughing. “Alright. How do you feel, do you have questions about anything? I hope you realize this isn’t going to be anything like what most women deal with, you have Thranduil to help you.”

 

Did she have questions? She was sure she did, and yet she could think of almost none. “How long is this likely to go on?”

 

“There’s no way of knowing yet,” Ratiri said. “Every birth is different. Just sit back and try to relax, insofar as that’s actually possible. Which I know is easy for me to say, but it’s the best thing you can do just now.”

 

“The first one almost always takes longer,” Earlene pointed out as she worked on the bizarre sandwich request. “Your body thinks of it like a warm-up act. But it really does depend; no two are alike.”

 

Oh lovely. She pondered sending someone to tell Sean, but he’d fret even worse than she would just yet. She’d let him in on it once something actually started happening.

 

Her aunt dragged over a pouf. “Flip up the footrest on that thing and I’ll give you a foot rub,” she typed. “It’ll keep you distracted.”

 

“Fortunately I just washed -- oh, what.  _ What _ .” That had to have been a contraction -- a tiny one, but a contraction nonetheless, and oh it felt weird. 

 

Ratiri checked the time on his mobile, noting it. “We’ll keep track of those,” he said. “They’ll be a good indicator of when we need to get you to the Halls. You wanted to give birth in the pool, you said?”

 

“Yeah,” she said, eying her abdomen as though it were an alien thing. “It sounds a lot better than a hospital bed.”

 

“Might have just been a Braxton-Hicks contraction,” Earlene noted. “Those are like teasers. You think something’s starting to happen but it’s just your uterus, poking at you.”

 

“I never had a kid in a hospital bed,” Lorna the Elder typed, “but there’s something calming about giving birth in water. Well, as calming as anything actually can be when your body’s in labor.”

 

“Me either,” Earlene echoed, declining to mention that she had apparently given birth once on their dining room table. That just did not need mentioning, ever.

 

“Oh, I’m not ready for this,” Lorna the Younger moaned.

 

“Nobody is,” her aunt typed. “You’ll muddle through, once things actually start in. Right now it’s just ‘hurry up and wait’.”

 

Sharley appeared like a blue-haired ghost, bearing both ginger tea and a large sandwich. “Which is something women have had to go through since time immemorial,” she said, putting the tea in the chair’s cupholder. “It really is a wonder most women ever had more than one, back in the day.”

 

“Shane came out in a hurry,” Lorna the Elder typed. “I mean, he all but fell out. Chandra took her fucking sweet time, though. He was the impatient one.”

 

Lorna the Younger sipped her tea, and nibbled at her sandwich. She wasn’t actually that hungry, but food really was probably a good idea, so she nibbled until she’d eaten the bulk of it, and drank most of her tea. It did make her feel better, until another tiny contraction worked its way through her. It was odd, because it barely hurt at all -- that was probably why it felt so alien.

 

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, with Chandra,” Earlene said. “Ithiliel took damn near forever. I would have been happy if she  _ only _ would have taken her sweet time. Oh, kids. Good thing they’re such little miracles.”

 

“Chandra was like Ithiliel,” Lorna typed. “She wouldn’t have come out on her own. I don't know how the two’v them wound up such big babies, and Supri was so tiny. She weighed less than Boo when she was born.”

 

The cat, hearing her name, chirped.

 

“Guys, I really feel like I should do...something,” Lorna the Younger said. “I don't know what, but...something. Should we go to the Halls? I know Mam’s there. We can get Mam.” She desperately wanted her mother just now.

 

“Sure, we can do whatever you like,” soothed Earlene. “My husband already knows, and he is at the Halls. He will get your mother, and we can all meet in our rooms. We might as well get going now. Thanadir and I will go with you; you cannot take that armchair through the Halls safely.”

 

“I’ll get the sofa,” Lorna the Elder typed. “Allanah, get her some slippers, will you? I'm sure I’ve got some in our room.”

 

Ratiri did as bidden, and she went to fire up the sofa. She left it idling at the front door while her niece met her on the chair. “All right, let’s get you shifted,” she said, helping the younger woman onto the sofa. Sharley, bless her, came up behind them, bearing a comb and paddle-brush; they could get that taken care of at the Halls.

 

“I’ll even be good and not go too fast,” Lorna typed, as Ratiri got some slippers onto her niece’s feet. April though it was, it was still chilly, so they wrapped an afghan around her, too. “Everyone who’s going, hop onto this thing.”

 

Thanadir patted his lap; Earlene could sit there and leave plenty of room for others. “Alright. The Baby Express is leaving from Platform 9 ¾,” Earlene noted.

 

Ratiri, Sharley, and Annwn joined them, and Lorna the Elder carefully drove off, deeper into the forest. Lorna the Younger grimaced, shivering, because the air seemed far too chilly even with the afghan. Another little contraction worked its way through her, and okay, that one did hurt a bit.

 

“Are you gonna get your babies now?” Annwn asked.

 

“She’s gonna have them,” Sharley said, brushing back her daughter’s hair -- which had more silver-blonde in it than ever. “Right now they’re inside her tummy, but they’ll be out soon.”

 

“’Kay.” To Sharley’s relief, her daughter seemed to have no more interest in the subject; she was going to have to ask Earlene just how she’d talked about the facts of life with her own kids, because Annwn would get curious sooner or later. It wasn’t something that had ever come up, when the girl was Marty.

 

Lorna the Elder parked the sofa just outside the Gates, covering it in the plastic tarp normally folded up at the back. “All right, you lot. Lorna, can you walk?”

 

“Yeah,” the woman said, sounding a little steadier.

 

“Good. Let’s go.”  _ Sharley, can you, Earlene, and Thanadir stick close to her, in case she falls? _

 

_ Sure,  _ Sharley said, and relayed that request to the other two.

 

Thanadir did not seem to think ‘in case’ was any sort of option, because he stepped up and grabbed the woman’s arm, firmly latching it onto his own. She was not going anywhere at all. “Walk at your own pace,” he told younger Lorna gently. “If you become tired or very uncomfortable you are to tell me; I can carry you easily.”

 

“I just might need that,” the woman said. She tired so easily, and hadn’t walked very far in well over a month. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before she flagged -- not helped by the next contraction, which, yes, actually did hurt. Dammit.

 

“Alright, that is enough. You did well. Hold onto my neck, if you wish.” Effortlessly, the old elf swept her into his arms and proceeded to walk (much faster) to the King’s rooms.

 

“That never ceases to surprise me,” Lorna the Elder typed, as the rest of them followed. She knew how strong Thanadir was, and had known for years, but he was so slender that it was easy to forget. “You’d think it would, by now.”

 

Annwn watched, curiously, and Sharley said,  _ Earlene, I might need your help later. Annwn might have questions, and I'm not sure how to answer them in a way that a kid this young is gonna understand. _

 

_ Oh. Sure. They understand just fine. Be matter of fact, and keep it simple. They are children; they haven’t yet been taught to understand feeling ashamed of their bodies. And if you are lucky, they never will understand it. _

 

_ That’s a relief. I never had it explained to me, so I’m a bit at sea. What she asks will probably depend on how this goes, though I’m planning on taking her to Laurë once he’s done with his music lessons for today. Lorna the Younger doesn't need all of us hovering -- you and Lorna the Elder would be a comfort to her, I think, but I'm kinda superfluous.  _ She needed to go get Grania, wherever the hell she actually was -- probably the woodworking hall.

 

_ Eh, she probably wants her mam more than me. I’ll hang around, but it will be more to help Thranduil stay sane with that many Donovans hovering. And, sure. Happy to help any way I can. _

 

Sharley laughed.  _ He might need it.  _ She sent Ratiri off to get Grania, even as they all sort of spilled into Earlene and Thranduil’s flat.

 

“Ohhhh, why did I think this was a good idea?” Lorna the Younger groaned.

 

“Because you wanted children?” Earlene asked. “Listen. Lorna. Everyone has done this. Well okay, everyone with a uterus. You are going to be fine. You just  _ are _ . So try to relax. If you’re worried about something, talk to us, so we can tell you that’s all bullshit and you can feel better. Please. Trust me. Nine children. I know what I’m talking about here.” She patted Lorna’s hand while Thanadir rolled his eyes and laughed. 

 

“Earlene is in fact right,” he smiled. “Though I would not choose to use quite those words.”

 

“I know, beloved,” Earlene told him. “But I am speaking Donovan, not Thanadir.”

 

“That is a language?” he asked, confused.

 

“Oh, absolutely.”

 

“Too bloody right it is,” Lorna the Elder typed. “Ratiri’s gone to get your mam, allanah. Now you sit in front’v the fire, or you can get in the pool, or walk around a bit, if you feel up to it. Do whatever your body wants you to do.” She might have only done this twice, but she’d learned along the way.

 

“I think I just want to sit down,” her niece said. “Just for now...oof,  _ god  _ that feels weird.”

 

“Yes, it does,” Lorna the Elder typed. She knew her niece had on a few layers of shirts, so if she was the shy type and didn't want to be total bare-arsed in the pool she didn't have to.

 

It wasn’t long before Ratiri and Grania arrived, the latter slightly red-faced and winded from hurrying.

 

“Mam, I don't like this,” Lorna the Younger said.

 

“And it’ll only get worse,” was her mother’s heartening rejoinder, “but it’s worth it.”

 

“And keep in mind,” Lorna the Elder typed, “Thranduil can control your pain.”

 

Grania sat beside her daughter, hugging her. “And isn't that a bloody blessing,” she said. “Epidurals are shite unless you get one at exactly the right time.”

 

Thranduil arrived. “Hello, Lorna. Sean has been informed that you are in the early stages of labor.” He smiled encouragingly. “I am going to change into attire suitable for this, pardon me for a moment.”

 

Lorna the Younger gave him a weak wave, wishing her kidneys didn't feel like rocks. The babies were moving around like anything -- probably fighting over who got to get out first, because, Donovans. Sean might be a Hayes, but he’d relationshipped into the Donovan clan. “Will you two knock it off?” she ordered her abdomen. “You’ll get out when you get out. If you’d make up your minds, maybe we could get this over with faster.”

 

“Oh, you didn't listen, when I told you to get on with it,” her mother said. “Nope, you hung about so long they were pondering a C-section, because you were a gigantic baby. Not like these two must be.”

 

“Not helping, Mam,” Lorna the Younger groaned.

 

“You get to feel no pain, and while you’ve got two, I’m sure they’re little,” Grania pointed out. “You’ll be all right, allanah.”

 

“I know -- oh  _ god  _ that hurt.”

 

“Then we will fix that problem,” Thranduil said, coming to her and placing his hand on her back. He could already see that her pain tolerance was nowhere near Earlene’s and definitely nowhere near Lorna’s. And yet there was nothing to be done about it; everyone was different.

 

“Thank you,” she said, sighing in relief. “All right, everybody who’s done this before, have you got any advice?”

 

“You might feel better in the pool,” Lorna the Elder said. “We can get you some tea or nibbles. You’ll want to keep your strength up.”

 

“But the flip side is, walking can help keep the first stage of labor moving along,” Earlene. “Listen less to us and do what you feel like your body wants,” Earlene encouraged. “We’re here to answer questions but it’s your birth experience.”

 

Lorna the Younger had read that about walking, and figured it was worth a shot, now that she had Uncle Thranduil to keep the contractions from being obnoxious. “I’ll give some pacing a shot,” she said, hauling herself to her feet. 

 

“Might as well open the bedroom door,” Earlene opined. “So she can walk further.”

 

“Of course,” Thanadir said. He had done this how many times? He sighed a little. He too missed having babies but...they had had their joy. And sometimes that joy had been very frightening. “And then I will go to the kitchens and bring some snacks.”

 

“Thanks,” Lorna the Younger said, and started pacing. Now that the contractions didn't hurt, they just felt  _ weird _ , but weird was better that pain. “I’ll be able to see my feet again soon. I hope.” She didn't want to ask just how long this was going to last, because from what she’d read of the stages of labor, she could potentially be in for a world of shit. She could only pray that wouldn’t be the case.

 

“It will not be,” Thranduil said. “I am here with you. Focus on that you are going to meet your daughters, very soon. You will never forget this day, for it will change your life forever.”

 

“Have you got names picked out?” Lorna the Elder typed.

 

Her niece laughed. “Christ, that was a hard one,” she said. “We went around in circles on it, until we figured we’d call them Dana and Katherine.”

 

Ratiri caught that only a moment before Lorna did, and both of them burst out laughing. “I approve,” he said.

 

Lorna the Younger grinned. “What can I say -- we watched a lot’v  _ X-Files  _ over the winter.”

 

“I want to believe!” hollered Thanadir on his way out the door.

 

“Earlene, we really need to do something about his television habits,” Thranduil protested.

 

“Why? How many people can say they watched every Tom Baker  _ Doctor Who _ episode? I mean, Thanadir has some serious nerd credentials. I for one shall not deprive him,” she insisted.

 

“Why do I bother?” Thranduil asked, looking at the ceiling.

 

“Because it’s good to have a hobby?” Lorna the Elder offered.

 

“I’ve watched every Tom Baker  _ Doctor Who _ episode,” Ratiri said. “Thanadir has confirmed nerd status.”

 

“I am blaming all of you for corrupting my seneschal,” Thranduil waggled his finger. “He was completely proper beforehand, and would never have worn Star Trek t-shirts all week.”

 

“Can’t wait to take him to Aman,” Earlene said dreamily. “I want to see him give someone the Vulcan greeting.”

 

Thranduil glared at her.

 

Sharley giggled. “In Aman, they really  _ do _ live long and prosper,” she said. “I should take some  _ Star Trek  _ books on my next mail run, with translations for all the words Erestor won’t understand.”

 

“Oh are you going to ruin Erestor before we even can?” Earlene protested. “No fair. Then again...you know, that might actually help. Oh. Ohhhhh. If Pen helps us to not mess up the translations, we could not even tell Thanadir. It’d be like we’re pre-subverting Erestor for him. Think Glorfindel would mind?” she wondered aloud.

 

Sharley cackled. “I like it,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

 

“I say go for it --  _ oh!  _ Oh god that was weird. That was...more,” Lorna the Younger said. “I think that was a real contraction.”

 

“It was,” Thranduil encouraged. “Your womb has to push the baby out, and that is the only way it is going to happen. It is a good thing, however strange.”

 

“I think maybe I want to get in the pool,” she said. “And if Sean doesn’t get here soon, he might not find me any fun to be around.”

 

_ You’ll be even less fun to be around in a bit,  _ her aunt thought.

 

“He is coming from rather far afield,” Thranduil told her. “Trust me, he is not dallying. Someone had to ride out to get him.”

 

She drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, he’ll get here when he gets here, but I think I want to get in the pool now.”

 

“I will help you,” Thranduil said, walking in and offering her his hand. He had on his modest swim trunks and a colored t shirt; his hair was held up with a ponytail tie that kept all of it out of the water. He actually preferred on some level that Sean was not here yet, because he was too used to Irish males being useless for most things of this nature. Perhaps this would be the exception; one never knew.

 

To her embarrassment, she needed her aunt to get her socks off for her, but her T-shirt was long enough to be a dress, so even once she’d got her PJ trousers off, she wasn’t flashing the entire world. She took his hand so she wouldn’t fall flat on her face, and sighed at the warmth of the water. “Okay, I’m officially jealous,” she said. “This pool is awesome. And I thought mine was good.”

 

“Goes with the big chair in the main Hall,” Thranduil joked. “And is apparently the official birthing center for...just about everyone? It is shallow on this end, so you can keep walking here if you want. I will be nearby. Did anyone think to get some swimwear for Sean, since I doubt he wants to go bare in here?”

 

“Oh, the memories,” Earlene said drily, chuckling at when she gave birth to Thaladir with only a naked Thanadir to help her. Long before they married…

 

“He’s got a pair in our flat,” Lorna the Younger said, “but the key’s at Eldamar.”

 

“I’ll just go get Ratiri’s,” her aunt said. “If I take the sofa, it won’t take long.”

 

“That’s -- oh, one’v them’s moving. I think she’s getting all set to go.” Hopefully she wouldn’t stay that way forever, whichever one it was.

 

Sean arrived perhaps a half hour later, having had the presence of mind to clean himself and not track cow shite into an area where babies were going to be born (Earlene gave him full credit for brains). And time wore on, waiting. It was like  _ Waiting For Godot _ , except it was waiting for the cervix to dilate.

 

“Ugh, why is there no way to make this go faster?” Lorna the Younger asked. The contractions still didn't hurt, but they were weirdly tiring; she was as weary as though she’d done a long day’s work, and she hadn’t quite hit active labor yet. “I can tell one’v them wants out, but pushing doesn’t feel right yet.”

 

“It is actually going surprisingly fast,” Thranduil said, wondering if absolutely every Donovan simply did not want to deal with the realities of birth. However, he liked his privates intact, and was not about to mention that to one of them in labor. “You are not so far off from being ready. Your womb is working hard to go from the shape of a bottle-neck to something wide enough for a baby head to pass through.”

 

“You’ve just got to let it do what it wants to do,” Grania said. “Your body knows what it’s doing.”

 

“Is it weird that that kind’v freaks me out?” she asked. “It’s got a mind’v its own, and I’ve never really felt it go on without me, if you take my -- oooh, whichever one you are, stop kicking me. I swear they’ve been kickboxing in there for the last month.”

 

“That’s twins for you,” her aunt typed. “Your cousins were terrible that way. Though it might just be because they’re Donovans, because Earlene, yours didn't do that, did they?”

 

“Um, no. I remember that Thaladir kicked, but not excessively? Or wait, was that the twins? The first...you know, I’m afraid they have all sort of blended together. Probably Thanadir remembers better than we do, he was the one that pampered me through all of it.”

 

“I was worried Chandra and Shane would come out black and blue,” Lorna typed. “I’d got no sleep for a month prior, so at least I was half-assed prepared for having actual infants.”

 

“Or so we thought,” Ratiri said. “You two, you really should stay at the house for a while, because you’ll want Maerwen’s help. Trust me. Twins is more than even two parents can handle.”

 

Lorna the Younger looked at Sean, and grimaced as another, stronger contraction rippled through her. “What d’you think?” she asked.

 

“I think everyone here knows more’v caring for babies than I do. Surely the help couldn’t be a bad thing? I’ll do my best but sure god I’d love someone teaching me that knows an arse from a nappy bag.”

 

“In that case, yeah, we’ll stay at the house,” Lorna the Younger said. “And I think one’v them’s like...headed south. Really south. Am I read for that yet? Physically?”  _ Mentally  _ she was more than ready, because this felt  _ so weird _ . She knew that without Thranduil’s help, it would probably hurt like an absolute bastard; the fact that it didn't felt so unnatural.

 

“The first one is moving into the birth canal,” Thranduil explained. “Soon you may be able to begin pushing.”

 

“Oh thank fuck,” she sighed. “Though this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I'm just so tired already.” But then, she’d been tired for a while now; lugging around her gut, even with the aid of the chair, was wearying in the extreme. The fact that she couldn’t sleep comfortably hadn’t helped.

 

“Here, drink some tea,” her mam said. “Just a little. It’s ginger, it’s good for you.”

 

Lorna the Younger rolled her eyes, but smiled as she took the mug. Ginger tea had always been her mam’s cure-all, and it had a soothing effect that was almost Pavlovian. “Thanks, Mam,” she said, and then, “oh. Okay. Yeah, one’v them’s on the move down south -- do I push yet?” She was starting to suspect it wouldn’t matter if she pushed or not; one of her daughters wanted out, and wanted it  _ now _ .

 

“Yes,” Thranduil smiled. 

 

“You can reach down and feel her,” Earlene coached. “I guided many of my children out of my body. Sean can help you catch her and bring her to the surface. She won’t try to breathe until she is out of the water, but you want to be kind of quick about it.”

 

Under any other circumstances, reaching down to feel around her snatch would have been mortifying, but this was childbirth. It was different, and Lorna the Younger felt no shame as she fumbled around until she found her first daughter’s head. Pushing was not a fully conscious action, either; her body was going to do it whether she willed it or not, so out the baby came, into her hand.

 

“Sean, help,” she said, not wanting to drop her daughter. He came to the rescue, lifting the baby out of the water as though she were made of glass.

 

The kid was  _ tiny _ . Really, really tiny, so small she looked more like a doll than an actual human baby; she could easily fit in one of Sean’s hands. She started squalling immediately, though, red-faced.

 

“She’ll be wanting her dinner,” Grania said. “Best get her fed before her sister decides to join her.”

 

“Just like I taught you,” her aunt typed. “She’ll help.” Though in truth, she was so little Lorna the Elder wondered just how that would work.

 

It took a few tries, but eventually mother and daughter worked things out. “This one’s Dana,” Lorna the Younger said, sounding slightly dazed. “She came out first, she gets the first name.”

 

“Is she supposed to be that little?” Sean asked, worried.

 

“Look at the size’v Lorna,” Grania said. “And there were two’v them in there.”

 

“Yeah, she’s even littler than Supri,” Lorna the Elder typed, “but Supri was a healthy baby even though she was so small. You just have to make sure they stay warm, but that’s not hard in the house. We’ve still got loads’v Supri’s baby clothes, too, in case you need more than we’ve made already.” She was not going to mention how relieved she was that this little one didn't have the Donovan green eyes. There would be no Blank in her future.

 

“She is entirely normal,” Thranduil added calmly. “And healthy.” The cord was done pulsing, and Thanadir knelt poolside to assist with cutting the cord. “Do you wish to do this?” Thranduil smiled at Sean. The man nodded, swallowed hard, and carefully used the knife to cut where he was shown. “You can give her to Thanadir now,” Thranduil coaxed. “He and Earlene will dry, measure and weigh her, and care for other matters while her sister comes along.” He left out that this would include tying little ribbons around the child’s little ankles, to identify her.

 

Lorna the Younger was reluctant to let go of her daughter, but let go she did; the baby could finish her meal later. She wasn’t pleased about it being interrupted in the first place, if her crying was any indication. “Knows what she wants, that one,” she said. “God I feel woozy.”

 

“You’ve just had a big burst of endorphins,” Ratiri said, rising to follow Earlene and Thanadir. “Enjoy it.”

 

Katherine was still evidently doing backflips, possibly glad to have the uterus to herself. She kept on like that for another half hour, while Lorna sipped ginger tea and eventually had Dana returned to her.

 

“Well, you’ve got Supri beat,” Ratiri said, when he returned. “One point four five kilos.”

 

“Bloody Jesus,” Grania said. “And here Lorna herself weighed a little over a stone. Neither Pat nor I could figure out how she’d got so big.”

 

The mere thought of having a baby that big made Lorna the Younger shudder. Dana here had been just about perfect.

 

Earlene sighed, as she insisted on diapering and dressing the little girl. Surreptitiously, she leaned down to sniff the child. _ Baby smell. Mmmmmm. _ Her maternal hormones were positively raging, and it was the first time she seriously wondered...what would her future be? Would she be able to have more children, in the future? The thought was heartening and frightening all at the same time.  _ Be honest, Earlene. Would you ever stop, or would you single-handedly populate some random village with little Thranduils and Thanadirs? _ Sadly, she probably knew the answer to that question. And sighed again.  _ Dammit. _ Carefully, she placed the tiny baby over her breast, before tugging her woolen cardigan over Dana’s back, and fought off the urge to nurse the baby. She felt pretty sure her breasts were leaking milk at the mere idea...oh well. Dana needed her own mam’s milk, especially today. There was always a chance, though, sometime later.  _ I can hope _ .

 

Lorna the Younger cradled her daughter (wrapped in a towel, to keep her clothes dry while she nursed) but even after another forty-five minutes, Katherine didn't seem inclined to pop out and see the world. “Is she going to just keep doing that? It doesn’t feel like she’s...like she’s orienting herself. She’s just having a grand time kicking me in the spleen.”

 

“Ratiri?” Thranduil asked. “What do you suggest?” Yes, he could force Lorna’s womb to begin contracting again, but he would very much rather not have to do that. It was terrible for Earlene, though much of that was the size of their own twins.

 

“Lorna, if we can get you out of the water and onto a sofa, we might be able to deal with this without other intervention,” Ratiri said. “The fact that Dana came out just fine should make this easier.”

 

“Here, let me get your dressing-gown,” Grania said. “Get on up here and change out’v that shirt.”

 

Getting out of the pool wasn’t easy, but Sean and Ratiri helped her, and somehow her mother had her out of her shirt and into the dressing-gown in about five seconds. Lorna the Elder temporarily took Dana, and they all made their way out into the sitting-room.

 

“All right, this is going to seem weird, and you’ll need help to do it,” Ratiri said, “but kneel on the edge of the sofa -- we’ll make sure  you don't fall.”

 

Bewildered, Lorna the Younger did just that, and didn't protest when he helped her lean down until her hands touched the floor -- apparently she was just too short to do this the proper way. All the blood rushed to her head, leaving her dizzy, but she could feel Katherine shifting as her uncle and her mother helped her sit up.

 

“Thranduil, do you know exactly how Katherine’s lying?” Ratiri asked. “Can you tell?”

 

“She is mostly turned the right way now,” Thranduil said. “I think if you do that once more, gently?”

 

“All right, Lorna, once more,” Ratiri said. He and Sean guided her down again, to her utter dismay; she didn't like this  _ at all _ , because it left her so woozy she thought she’d be sick.

 

“I know it’s not fun, but you must be close to there,” her uncle said. “Then you and your babies can rest, and Sean can wait on you hand and foot.”

 

“The baby is aimed the right way, now,” Thranduil confirmed. “We will see if your womb decides to do something.”

 

“And if it doesn’t, I’ll bring you another sandwich,” Grania said. “C’mon, I know your T-shirt’s wet and cold, but it won’t be for long once we get you back in the water.”

 

Her daughter made it back into the bathing room easily enough, and into her shirt -- which was in fact freezing, but the warm water fixed that easily enough. “All right, Katherine,” she said, “enough messing about, you hear me? You--” Oh, yeah, there was a contraction -- a nice big one, that went on for what seemed like too long. That had to be a good sign, and indeed she could feel her second daughter headed south.

 

Thranduil refrained from rolling his eyes, choosing instead to enjoy private conversation with Earlene. This was arguably one of the easiest births he had ever seen, and that included the trouble-free occasions in which Earlene had basically birthed children without assistance from him. And yet...these tiny women that wanted children but not pregnancies. Maybe humans really did need to invent incubators and...he blinked, realizing that perhaps he had indeed watched too many science fiction movies.

 

“Oh -- oh, okay, Sean, get ready to catch,” Lorna the Younger said, wide-eyed. “I think she actually paid attention --” Her body started pushing of its own accord, so she went with it, helping her suddenly impatient daughter out into the pool.

 

Earlene smiled and caught Thranduil’s eye once again. At least her husband’s job was almost done. Now it merely was a question of ensuring that delivery finished without complication like bleeding to death, since she had proven that apparently that could be A Thing. And she still felt horrible, that her family and friends had to endure that. Though, it had hardly been her idea.

 

Getting Katherine out through the chute was an immense relief -- and, like her sister, she started screaming for her supper immediately, little fists waving. She was just as tiny, too, a little doll-baby who evidently wanted the world to know that she’d arrived in it.

 

“Oh, give her here,” she said, now woozier than ever as she took the baby from Sean. Fortunately, Dana had already eaten her fill, and was snoozing comfortably; Katherine didn't have to compete for her meal. “Thank bloody god they haven’t got The Eyes,” she added, looking down at the newborn. Of course it was impossible to know what shade they’d eventually settle on, but just at this moment they were the same shade of hazel as her da’s.

 

“Now you’ve just got to wait for the placenta, and it’s home for tea,” Grania said. 

 

“Yeah, we’ve still got the sofa,” Lorna the Elder added. “We’ll just bundle these two up well and drive slow.”

 

Thanadir shook his head. “I am a traditionalist. But if it was a TARDIS…”

 

“That would be amazing,” Ratiri said, even as he took Katherine to get her cleaned and weighed. Just like her sister, she did not appreciate it in the least. 

 

“Then maybe we wouldn’t have to jam onto it like sardines,” Grania said, shaking her head.

 

“Or if we had a transporter…” Thanadir dreamed rapturously. Thranduil rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

 

The afterbirth showed up in fairly short order, and then it was all down to bundling up Lorna the Younger, who was more woozy than ever. Both babies were well wrapped up -- Dana snoozed on, but Katherine finished up her dinner.

 

“I’ll get your da and meet you there,” Grania said. “Sean, want me to get your mam and -- Geezer?”

 

“Mam’ll kill me if she doesn’t get to see her new granddaughters. That aren’t named John.” Sean couldn’t help it. Sue him.

 

“We will walk,” Thranduil said, indicating Earlene and Thanadir. The tray of snacks had barely been touched, he knew there was wine in the sideboard, and he certainly was not leaving here in wet clothes. Yes, he had ulterior motives. Thanadir caught his thought and suppressed a grin. 

 

“I know there is soup at Eldamar,” Earlene said. “If you are hungrier, we can bring food with us from here?”

 

“I could do with a sandwich or two,” Ratiri said, “as could this one, whether she realizes it or not yet.”

 

“Huh?” Lorna the Younger said, not looking up from her sleeping daughter.

 

“That is evidently a ‘not’,” he said, shaking his head. “Sean, you ought to eat, too. You’ll both be waking up every two hours for the foreseeable future.”

 

“I don't miss that,” Lorna the Elder typed. “Not one bit. All right, is everything ready to go?”

 

“I think so,” Grania said. “Keep warm, and keep those babies warm.” Good grief but they were tiny. Had she not seen them with her own eyes, she’d swear newborns that small couldn’t possibly be real.

 

“Alright, we’ll grab a few things to bring,” Earlene promised, really wanting everyone to go but trying to pretend otherwise. Because, wine.

 

“All right, you lot, we’ll see you when we see you,” Lorna the Elder typed, hustling the herd out through the Halls. Her niece seemed to be on cloud nine, which was good, since god knew it wouldn’t last  _ that  _ long.

 

It was rather chilly outside, so it was a good thing mother and babies were both wrapped up like mummies for the trip back to Eldamar. Lorna the Elder drove very carefully, for once in her life, not wanting to jar either baby awake.

 

Once they reached the house, they got both of them inside without incident, and led Lorna the Younger to sit on the sofa near the fire in the Heart Room. Naturally, the household clowder came creeping in, thoroughly inspecting these two tiny new humans.

 

“Get away, all of you,” Ratiri said, shooing them with a rolled-up  _ National Geographic _ . They went, but grumpily, and he resigned himself to finding at least one pile of retaliatory vomit later.

 

Sean sat, blinking at them. It seemed hard to believe this was real. “Can I hold one of them?” he asked Lorna, feeling almost like he had just been part of something unreal.

 

“Of course you can,” she said, smiling in a slightly dazed way. “Dana has the purple hat.” It was cashmere, and had a little bobble at the end.

 

“So Sean,” Lorna the Elder typed, “I’m going to give you a bit’v advice, that I wish I’d had when mine were little: don't try to shield them from your past. Me doing that made Chandra get in trouble she might not’ve if I hadn’t. Someday they’ll be old enough to ask questions, and it’s always better to tell the truth. Who we were isn’t who we are now; you’ll be a great da.”

 

“Thanks,” he said. “Makes me wish I hadn’t been quite such a gobshite, but...what you said. Though, can’t say I am looking forward to explaining how I used to treat women like I did. Especially when I’d beat the tar out’v anyone that acts toward my own daughters the way I behaved...funny how that shite comes back to haunt you.”

 

“I had to explain to mine why I was a wreck’v a human once, and not someone to emulate,” she typed. “It’s hard, but it’s worth it in the end. And at least you’ve got a long while before that one might come up.”

 

Little Dana stretched, yawned, but didn't actually wake. “We’ll make sure your nursery corner is all set up,” Lorna the Elder typed. “You just sit and enjoy your babies.”


End file.
